SHADOWS AND IDEALS FRANCIS S. SALTUS. Note — iooo copies only printed for America and England. Each numbered as issued. Type distributed. No. •f SHADOWS AND IDEALS POEMS BY / FRANCIS S. SALTUS L'art a des frontier es, la Pensee n 'en a pas. -Victor Hugo. BUFFALO CHARLES WELLS MOULTON 1890 COPYRIGHT, 1890, BY F. H. SALTUS „ , - Bigelow Press :— Buffalo, N. Y FROM The Valley of the Shadow TO HARSEN PRALL BENJAMIN, WITH LOVE AND AFFECTION. CONTENTS. PAGE. The Cloud i Rome's Magnificence 10 The Bayadere n Selfishness 12 Repasts 14 To Henry Wadsworth Longfellow 15 La Manola 20 Expectancy 21 Sonnet 24 Coronation 25 Confidants 27 Across the Steppes 28 Seville by Moonlight 35 The Earth Speaks 38 Modjeska as "Camille." 39 Love Song 40 An Episode of Waterloo 42 Huitzilopotchli 45 Pastel 49 Latham Cornell Strong 50 The Carp at St. Germain 51 The Secret 57 The Nautch Girl 59 Awakening 60 To Louis Blumenberg, Violoncellist 62 King to Favorite 63 To a Scrap of Sea-Weed 65 The False Lover 67 J. S. Thebaud: In Memoriam 68 The Sphinx Speaks 73 An Idyl of Provence 74 The Witness 76 xii CONTENTS. PAGE. Giants and Grubs .... 77 The Andalusian Sereno 79 Contrasts 82 Austerlitz 84 Souvenir 86 Proof 87 Jebel-Al-Tarik 88 To Ernesto Rossi, in " Hamlet " 92 Ihlang-Ihlang 93 Hero and Traitor 94 A Love Song 97 Gaetano Donizetti 100 Superior 101 A Mood of Don Juan 102 At the Morgue 103 The Old Rag-Picker of Paris 107 To an Antique Mirror no Phosphorescence ... in Revelation 112 Pax et Puritas 114 Stalactite 115 Landscape 116 Mothers 117 Evangels 118 The Gallery of the Mind 120 In Pere La Chaise 121 Patte de Velours 123 Flower Mad 124 Bamboo 125 Sleep's Regret 126 The Idol 127 Graves 128 Outre Tombe 129 False Worship 130 Vulnerable 131 Latin 132 CONTENTS. xiii PAGE. Italian 133 Anglo-Saxon 134 Spanish 135 Greek 136 French 137 Betrayed 138 The Sculptor 140 The Drowsy Glade 141 To a Mummy 142 Pensee Noire 143 Suffering 145 Defrauded . . . T49 Unasked 151 Awe 153 The Monk 156 Ghosts 159 Puella Erotica 162 Invocation 165 Posthumous Revenge 168 Caprices of Death 170 Devious Paths 173 Wave to Wave 175 The Cross Speaks . . . . • 177 Rivals 182 Carlo Alberto Cappa 187 FleurDeRiz 188 Blue Blood 189 To Max Maretzek 191 The Catacombs of Paris 192 Quartetto D'ltalia 195 A Farewell 199 En Sourdine 204 Souvenirs 206 De Anna, King of Baritones 209 A Caprice 210 Napoleon 211 xiv CONTENTS. PAGE. Gretchen 213 The Kiss 214 Une Bonne Fortune 216 1755 2I 7 Ravaillac Speaks 218 The Apostle 224 Michael Dmitrievitch Skobeleff 225 Faithful 226 A Meeting 227 A Sultan's Whims 228 Love Eternal 231 In a Sevillian Cloister 232 Napoleon II., Duke of Reichstadt 233 Alsatia 234 To-day, Delicious Agnes, Blonde and Fair 238 The Executioner's Dream 239 Agostino Susini 244 Mario 245 Rose-Window 246 Judas the Second 247 For the Jury to Appreciate 248 Pan is not Dead 25c In a Book-store 252 To Austin Dobson 258 Tapestry 259 Baudelaire 263 Four Sonnets 264 Chinoiserie 267 Les Mousquetaires 270 La Blasee 271 Le Marquis De Sade 272 Paul Hamilton Hayne 273 Pizzicato 274 To H. W. Longfellow 275 Gaetano Donizetti 276 A. T. B. Aldrich 277 CONTENTS. xv PAGE. " La Dubarry " 278 Sonnet 281 Envy 282 Originality 283 Inconsistency 2S4 The Masters 285 It Were too Tame 287 Deluded 289 Posthumous Self-Restraint 290 Satisfaction 291 Ananke 292 Henri De La Rochejaquelein 294 Moon Spleen 295 The Tower of Babel Speaks 296 Is Life Worth Living ? 297 Winds 29S Comedy 299 Resurrection 301 Bizarrerie 302 Dost Thou Recall, My Sweet Annette ? 304 The Elephant 305 The Oak 306 A Woman's Whim 307 To Henry W. Longfellow 308 Impromptu, Bout Rime 309 Women 310 A Way to Kill 311 Blue 313 Two Loves Found Refuge 314 Influence 316 A Whim 317 Temperament 318 Beata 319 To a Fire-Fly 320 Oblivion 322 A Wish 323 xv i CONTENTS. PAGE. Fantaisie 324 Chibouque 328 Famine 329 Vilanelle 330 Whims 332 A Mood of Hatred 335 The Harem 337 A Dream 340 Overgrowth 341 To Al-Leila 342 A Fancy 344 Metempsychosis 345 The Musketeers 348 Enigma 352 Implacable 353 When the Snow Falls 354 Like Poor Ophelia 355 Dream of Death 356 The Spirit of Ruins . 360 Tyll Owlglass 361 Bitter Tears 362 A Mood of Madness 363 In the Forest of Fontainebleau 365 THE CLOUD. Dedicated by permission to the Right Rev. G. T. Bedell, Bishop of Ohio. When light first dawned upon the startled Earth, In storm and wild confusion I had birth ; Tossed by impetuous winds on every side, I traversed countless leagues of fiery air Filled with dull thunder or the lightning's glare, Wondering at God's omnipotence and pride. II. From chaos and from nothingness I came, Borne on the wings of a creative flame ; While far below me I could hear the roar And exultation of the new-born seas, Moaning their joy of life unto the breeze, Beating with jubilant waves upon the shore. SHADOWS AND IDEALS. III. God willed that I for centuries should roam, With rest denied, upon their breasts of foam, Gazing upon a sad unpeopled strand, Until the glory of His might appeared, And rugged trees with swaying boughs upreared Their leafy loveliness at His command. IV. Sweet birds were born and flew for shelter there ; Blithe carolings of rapture filled the air ; And, lo ! upon the grassy slopes below I saw strange monsters in the rivers wade, And hideous serpents writhing in the shade, Or basking in the sunlight's freshest glow. Drifting from mountains of eternal ice To balmy islands redolent with spice, I marked the silent progress of His power. And from my bosom on the pregnant plain Issued the fecund ripple of my rain, While the young Earth became one blooming bower. THE CLOUD. VI. I could not know the fate God held for me, And, passive, wandered over land and sea, Now black with storms, now lurid with swift fire ; And when the tempests ceased and were no more, To starry heights in silence I would soar, A slave of God, unconscious of desire. VII. Of gold auroras I would form a part, Or linger, swooning, in the torrid heart Of angry Hecla thundering forth its praise In fiery showers ascending to God's throne ; And then again for countless years alone, I passed in calm the uneventful days. VIII. The glorious bow of Heaven in luminous light Lent me its various hues, and in the night The gentle stars guided my path thro' space, And I enjoyed the inestimable boon Of floating o'er the white brow of the moon, And gazing on the marvel of its face. SHADOWS A AW IDEALS. IX. Strange changes came, but brought me no release ; My aimless journey was not doomed to cease, And ages passed before I saw the Earth By God into an Eden of beauty wrought; While Man, created like myself from naught, Had in this awful lapse of time found birth. x. His seed had flourished, and on every side I, marveling, saw the traces of his pride, Cities and temples, monuments and towers ! Music was born, while mirth usurped dull fear, And from my azure birthplace I could hear Melodious reeds that charmed the weary hours. XI. No longer was I hurried by the storms, But over Babel I could count the forms Of rebel mortals who had dared aspire To scale high Heaven, and I saw their woe When God no more withheld the avenging blow, But filled their fields and cities with His fire. THE CLOUD. XII. And, lo ! base Sodom, in its odious shame, I saw destroyed in vivid sheets of flame, That volleyed thro' me rushing thro' the skies ; And after, by a sceptered king's command, I saw grave nations toiling in the sand, From which gigantic Cheops was to rise. XIII. Wafted by shifting winds from shore to shore, I gazed upon the splendors of Lahore, Its golden domes and avenues of palms, Where dusky bayaderes, with jeweled hands, Danced by the moon lascivious sarabands, Reeking with unguents and delicious balms. XIV. Where Nankin's porcelain turrets pierce the sky, Free from alarming storm, I wandered by And saw the haughty dragoned flags unfurled O'er golden kiosks, where Mongol warriors pass, And where the Hoang-ho, thro' the flowery grass, Like some huge, silver serpent, idly curled. SHADOWS AND IDEALS. XV. Bel-Shar-Uzzur upon his ivory throne In mighty Babylon I saw alone ; And in the spicy temples of great Bel I saw each virgin that was once Ishtar's, With eager lips and eyes that beamed like stars, Pray that Mylitta would her bliss foretell. XVI. Karnac and Memphis, Nineveh and Tyre Taught me their life, their tumult, their desire ; And o'er the sparkling seas of misty foam I saw great Caesar in his chariot stand, A glaive victorious in his valiant hand, Hailed by the exultant clamorings of Rome ! XVII. Then came a day of wonderment and pain To me, poor wanderer over hill and plain, To me, who trembled at the odious sight ; For subtle powers urged me from lea to lea, Until, beneath me, I again could see Jerusalem all glittering in light. THE CLOUD. XVIII. And, lo ! great crowds of frenzied people crushed The paths of Pilate's palace as they rushed, Driving before them with atrocious cries A pale, meek, suffering man, who made no sign, But stood in sorrow, beautiful, divine, With thorn-crowned brows and pardon in His eyes. XIX. They dragged Him forth to Calvary and death; I heard the hurried flutter of His breath, And saw Him bend beneath the cross He bare. Helpless I heard the crushing of each nail, Piercing His palms, and saw His brow turn pale, But no appeal for mercy rent the air. xx. The bearded soldiers pricked Him with their spears, The rabble laughed and shouted at His tears, While gall was tendered to His blistered lips, Till, suddenly, he prayed — and then the skies Were rent asunder, and His suppliant eyes Gazed on the heavens' wrath in strange eclipse. SHADOWS AND IDEALS. XXI. The florid day changed to a sudden night, While people fled in tumult and affright, And dizzy lightnings warned them of their doom ; But He was left upon the cross to die, Without a guardian, prayer, or pitying eye, To cheer the odious pathway to the tomb. XXII. And, lo ! He perished in His nameless pain, While from my breast there fell consoling rain, Too late, alas ! His sufferings to allay ; And in the midnight those who loved Him came, His tortured body as their own to claim, And with hot tears they carried it away. XXIII. Then I remained in wonder and surprise, Deprived of motion in the sultry skies, Until three dawns had passed ; then subtler change Passed through me as I lingered calmly still, Mute and obedient to a higher will, Filled with presentiments divine and strange. THE CLOUD. XXIV. A something sweet, and mystic, and divine, A feeling all mysterious was mine : I felt a buoyant gladness uncontrolled, While, lo ! a dazzling change came over me, And people on the plains below could see, With marveling eyes, that I had turned to gold. xxv. Radiant, resplendent, I hung breathless there, When, lo ! approaching through the silent air, A resurrected shape forsook the sod, And, ere I knew my happiness unpriced, I felt the pure and spotless form of Christ, Pass through me on the way to meet His God. June, 1884. io SHADOWS AND IDEALS. ROME'S MAGNIFICENCE. Oft through the mazes of the Roman mart And quaint Trastevere I have strolled alone ; And, in St. Peter's miracle of stone, Have felt the awe of God pervade my heart. The stately city in its every part Has to mine eyes its greatest splendor shown. Its loves, and pains, and sufferings I have known, Its dizzy Carnival, its peerless Art ! The Vatican recalls delicious days, And, with the flawless, mellow moon o'erhead, Through august ruins I have wandered free. But, oh ! I marvel at all, yet dare not praise ; On yonder green Campagna she lies dead, And what is Rome's magnificence to me ? THE BA YADERE. n THE BAYADERE. Near strange, weird temples, where the Ganges' tide Bathes domed Lahore, I watched, by spice-trees fanned, Her agile form in some quaint saraband, A marvel of passionate chastity and pride. Nude to the loins, superb and leopard-eyed, With fragrant roses in her jeweled hand, Before some Kaat-drunk Rajah, mute and grand, Her flexile body bends, her white feet glide. The dull Kinoors throb one monotonous tune, And wail with zeal as in a hasheesh trance; Her scintillant eyes in vague, ecstatic charm Burn like black stars below the Orient moon, While the suave, dreamy languor of the dance Lulls the grim, drowsy cobra on her arm. 12 SHADOWS AND IDEALS. SELFISHNESS. The sky was weird with storm and coming night, While, mute with hate, I paced the dismal street. The restless adders of my passion's spite Hissed in my heart, and yet I found them sweet. Oblivious to all, I did not hear Reverberant thunders swoon upon the air ! And knew not that my path was darkly drear, I, with no Mecca, wandering anywhere ! But sudden the dusk of Heaven before my eyes Broke, and, with scintillant throbs of livid blue, A snake of lightning writhed along the skies, Rending the voids of cloud it shuddered through ! Though dazed and blind, I shrieked unto the night : " Strike me, blue grandeur, ere again we part ! Scorch me to dust, thou awful god of light, Burn unto hell the hate that is my heart ! " SELFISHNESS. 13 Again the flash of quivering sheen shot by, Charring all near me, and I cried out still : " Coward ! why spare ? Oh, if I can not die, Give me at least thy peerless power to kill ! " But all in vain, oh ! insolence sublime ! What power would pause my wrongs to vindicate, Which, while I thought, could, for the millionth time, Encompass earth with its own lurid hate ! i 4 SHADOV/S AND IDEALS. REPASTS. Within a garret where all fire is dead, A poet dreams of Fame and seeks his bed, Avidly gnawing a foul crust of bread. ii. A fair young mother, happy and elate, Fills with kind hand her little darling's plate, The first real Christmas meal he ever ate. in. Across the way, a gouty nabob dines His friends with choicest fare and costly wines ; The table glitters with the wealth of mines. iv. On a frail raft, beneath a scorching sky, Three famished, shipwrecked sailors, with a sigh, Cast lots to see which one is doomed to die ! TO HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW. 15 TO HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW. IN MEMORIAM. Obiit March 24, 1882. " Emigravit is the inscription on the tombstone where he lies ; Dead he is not, but departed, — for the artist never dies." M Nuremberg," H. W. Longfellow. As the swallows, by the wintry winds belated, Seek the blooming East to sing their songs of love, So thy pure and stainless spirit has migrated To the beautiful and sunny land above. There was naught upon this sad earth to detain thee, For thy whitening locks were hidden by the bays ; On thy path of flowers there was no thorn to pain thee, And thy name was one of reverence and praise. Thou hast gained the deathless love and the devotion Of the millions who have found through thee a goal, By thy sacerdotal unction and emotion, By the purity and sweetness of thy soul. 16 SHADOWS AND IDEALS. For within thy most enchanting inspiration There forever dwelt a hatred of all wrong ; And the children came to thee in contemplation, As their wonderful and loving Christ of Song ! From our hearts thy cherished name has not departed, In imperishable beauty it survives ; For thy words have healed full many a pain that smarted, And thy songs have cast a glamour on our lives. Every line of thine was like a benediction, And could turn our thoughts from sorrow and despair, While thy voice, when heard in most supreme affliction, Was as soothing as the eloquence of prayer. Thou canst rest in peace, O Poet strong and vernal, And rapacious Death for thee has lost his sting, For thy melodies return to us eternal, With the birds, and bees, and blossomings of spring. Ah, when grief is swift, and haggard are our faces, When we hunger, when we thirst for grateful balms, We can seek and find in thee a safe oasis, With a breath of brooks and waving of high palms. TO HENRY W. LONGFELLOW. 17 The grand lesson of thy lifetime thou hast taught us, The clear sunlight of thy fancy fills our gloom ; And thy utterance evangelical has brought us To believe that all life ends not with the tomb. 11. When I dream of thee I see in grace and gladness The great feudal towers of Nuremberg arise, Where the rooks, like ghostly messengsrs of sadness, Whir their wings above the stone where Diirer lies. And when weighted down by pain and disaffection, When the soul is wrung by many a sorrow keen, We discover still a hopeful resurrection In the deathless faith of thine Evangeline. Over prairie-flowers there steals thy song mysterious, With its scent of golden grain, its pulse of fire, Hiawatha, with its savage cries imperious, With its dreams and dirge, its tumult and desire ! And from clear cathedral chimes thy words come ringing Down the lofty halls and highways of the past, Where the unseen choirs of seraphim are singing, When the ruthless fiend is stricken down at last. 1 8 SHADOWS AND IDEALS. Thou hast summoned up by marvelous necromancy The wild sagas of the Northland at thy call, With the thundering gods, the myths, the rites, the fancy, And the banner of Christ refulgent over all. By thy guiding hand our ravished memory follows Thine alluring muse that beckons with a sign, Through the dreamy glades and fairy-haunted hollows, Where the gnomes and elves make revel by the Rhine. And from many tales and many grave traditions Thou hast garnered for our ears a priceless dower ; And by subtle art and exquisite transitions, On these fields of tares thou findest every flower. O'er dull tomes and scrolls thy master-mind has pondered To extract some maxim new for human good, And with Dante's spirit thou hast gravely wandered In the mazes of the dark and sacred wood. Thou with tenderness hast taught us resignation ; Thou hast softened Fate's most pitiless decrees, And full many a cry of pain and desolation Thy delicious, dreamy music can appease ! TO HENRY W. LONGFELLOW. 19 Thou hast given to dawning youth a new incentive, Thou hast cheered the weak and stirred to deeds the strong; And, oh, sight sublime ! a nation was attentive When thy flowers of thought bloomed forth in perfect song! Ave, poet ! in the Heaven that guides us yonder, Ave J Ave ! noble singer, strong and kind ; While bereft of thy sweet cadences we wander, With thine image in our heart of hearts enshrined. Thou art gone to join the countless host of shadows, But thy sweetness will triumphantly remain, Like the perfume of the violets on the meadows, Made refreshing by the ripple of a rain ! 20 SHADOWS AND IDEALS LA MANOLA. A face of pink and nacker ! Tiger eyes, Fringed by long, silken lashes black as jet ! A tortoise-comb high in soft tresses set, A fan in hand of Oriental dyes, Screening delicious spheres that fall and rise Draped in a frail mantilla's gauzy net. A satin slipper on a foot that vies With Castile's Queen, and which will quickly fret When, near the Prado, sounds of castagnette Of some great revelry or dance apprise. A vague, strange look of passion you surmise, You catch a pleasant scent like mignonette ! She passes ! while from sensuous lips there flies The blue smoke of her twisted cigarette ! Madrid, 1873. EXPECTANCY. EXPECTANCY. When mellow autumn, with its gorgeous blight, Blooms grimly death-like among loosened leaves, I love, poor exile from all earth's delight, To seek sad woods on still October eves. And once, by many a moody thought o'erweighed, Wandering, without a definite path or aim, Unto the weird heart of a gloomy glade, Unknown to all my walks, I sudden came. Blurred by the mists of care, I did not see The pall of utter sorrow everywhere, That seemed to brood upon each dreamy tree And haunt the awful quiet of the air. The broken twigs cracked sharp beneath my tread ; No crickets in the grass mad music made ; The drowsy wood seemed desolately dead ; Sepulchral sadness lingered in its shade. 22 SHADOWS AND IDEALS. The leaves had long no pleasant breezes known ; The birdless boughs for summer seemed to yearn ; No insects hummed a noisy monotone ; No timid squirrel leapt amid the fern. And as I gazed, in marveling surprise, Up through grim branches to the streaks of sky, The fleet and frightened clouds before my eyes Seemed the dark spot to shun, and hurry by. Then deeper meaning in the solemn shade, And colorless, thin grass my fancy found, As I stood there alone and much afraid, Listening in vain for some sweet forest sound. Such harrowing silence did my sense appall, What does this mystery mean ? Is all here dead ? And as I spoke I saw before me crawl A lithe, lean viper, with erected head. I crushed it in dumb rage, and heard the hell Within it hiss me forth malevolence ! The charm was lost ; I gazed about — ah, well! Coward I may be, but I hurried hence ! EXPECTANCY. 23 For hideous terror, that can know no balm, Dawned on me in the silence of that wood ; Its grim tranquility, its fearful calm, In ways calamitous I understood. I then knew why it had so strangely slept, Bereft of birds, and why no beauteous bloom Of guileless flowers its intricacies swept, While clouds and sunlight shuddered from its gloom. For it was chosen, alas ! by God on high, In his omnipotence supremely grand, To wildly and most wonderfully die ! And, when the time did come, His awful hand Had doomed the fated spot in anger dire To feel, with utter horror and dismay, The first annihilating blow of fire Warning the world that it was judgment Day ! SHADOWS AND IDEALS. SONNET. TO . The vague and vestal beauty of thine eyes Recalls the splendor of some Cuban night, Where tropic storms, pulsing with golden light, Hurl dizzy flashes through dark voids of skies ! The trustful look of sweet Actsea lies Within their starry depths, that lure and smite The souls of men who scorn all woman's might, And, seeing them, marvel in supreme surprise. Ah ! when those eyes before me burn and shine In soft perfection, I can understand White Aphrodite's glance half blurred by foam, And how Cleopatra, pearl-crowned and divine, Gazed upon Antony in her passion grand, When for her sake he spurned imperial Rome ! CORONA TION. 25 CORONATION. God took the sapphire of the moaning sea In His omnipotent hand, mysteriously, And from the virgin firmaments on high Seized the immaculate turquoise of the sky. The livid lightning lumed his passing form, Grasping the awful ebon of the storm ! And in the labyrinths of space, secrete, He placed the topaz of the ripening wheat. The forest and the broad expanse of field Were called upon their emerald to yield. And ere the obedient day its task had done, He plucked the flamant ruby from the sun, 26 SHADOWS AND IDEALS. And from the darkness of the brooding night Ravished the jet that made its holy might. For rites divine, the mortal may not know, He tore the iris opal from the bow, The coral from an angel's lips, and, far In desolate space, the diamond of a star ! Then, with this matchless wealth before him set, God made himself an awful coronet ! 1877. CONFIDANTS. 27 CONFIDANTS. One perfect night, when June lay wrapped in bloom, I strolled among the paths of Pere La Chaise, And, by the cloudless moon's phantasmal rays, Read the old names on many a grass-wreathed tomb. Strange moods had lured me to this hallowed gloom, And, urged by unknown powers that burn and craze, Happy above all men, I sought its ways, To find, for thoughts exultant, air and room. I did not dare confide to mortal ear The new, sweet bliss that through my spirit spread, Nor murmur it in prayer to God above ; — But I could tell my secret without fear To those I pity, the forgotten dead, Who have not seen the miracle I love ! 28 SHADOWS AND IDEALS, ACROSS THE STEPPES. PART I. From Nijni, over steppes, I wandered far To meet my friend Ivan Ivanovitch, Surnamed in Mohiler, " Ivan the Rich," And drink with him unto our glorious Czar. The wolves were many on the bleak, drear road, But Christus guided with a stainless star My frail kibitka where no snowdrifts bar The deep ruts bending to Ivan's abode. With eager arms he came to greet me there : " Parlus, my pigeon, thou hast wandered far. Enter ! I hear the hissing samovar. Thou shalt have sterlet and imperial fare. "The soulless snow shrouds the bare fields in white. Sanctus, our reverend Pope, has prophesied That until Easter Day will storms abide. Enter, and sip with me sweet teas this night." ACROSS THE STEPPES. 29 "Ivan Ivanovitch, thy heart is warm, Thy perfect friendship I have much revered ; Let me shake off the foam-sleet from my beard, And I will enter and hide me from the storm." Then, near his threshold did to me appear, In all the glory of emblazoned gold, The pure, all-holy image, seraph-souled, Of his sweet guardian, great St. Vladimir. "I here salute thy saint and kindly house," I murmured, while he brought me forth a glass Filled with a cellar-chilled and creamy quass, Whispering, " Dear pigeon, drink, the Saint allows." Then forthwith oaten cakes and caviar, Spiced fowl and stchi unto my hand were placed, And, until generous warmth the cold effaced, Silent I watched the hissing samovar. With many tales I, who had wandered far From Astrakhan to Minsk, regaled my friend. Of jests and citroned tea there was no end, And long we drank unto our glorious Czar. 30 SHADOWS AND IDEALS. I told Ivan of gems at Nijni's fair, Of far Bokhara, where the Tartar roams, And how Archangel's scintillating domes Tower like gold icebergs in the sunlit air. Ivan for me tuned his boleika sweet, His songs were soft as angels' when they pray, And till the first pale tinge of budding day, Ballads of love and war we did repeat. Drowsily listening to the samovar, The sleep-god with light pinions touched our eyes: Ivan Ivanovitch, who did early rise; I, who was worn and who had wandered far. Calmly we slept, Christus our Lord and Star, Communed with pious Vladimir that night, And their blunt aureoles, in a cross of light, Guarded our holy Russia and the Czar. PART II. Ivan Ivanovitch, my pigeon-friend, To Nijni, where I held my dwelling, came, As often he had promised me, to claim Shelter, and food, and friendship without end. ACROSS THE STEPPES. 31 The fields were flowerful with an early May When, in my garden, by a soft wind fanned, I tendered him a hospitable hand And all my heart, gentle to him alway. " Pigeon," I said, " the sun on yonder dome Has faded many times in peerless grace Since I have seen the smile upon thy face ; Its blessed radiance now will light my home." Ivan gave thanks in accents low and faint, Then slowly, reverently, bowed before The holy image, guardian of my door, Katrin the Pure, my Patroness and Saint. With ravished eyes he gazed on the divine And placid face, and murmured in my ear : " Pigeon, while she doth guard thee, have no fear ! Would, by my village Pope, that she were mine ! " Her hair is golden as the sun-kissed wheat ; Her eyes are like the Volga's matchless blue ; Those holy lips hold pardon ever new ; I long to throw my sins before her feet." 32 SHADOWS AND IDEALS. " Ivan Ivanovitch, thou hast wandered far ; Saint Katrin will protect thee, dearest guest ; Enter within, to chat and take thy rest ; I hear the hissing of the samovar. II Long hast thou tarried, like that sacred star, That tarried ere its soft, consoling light Lit green Judaea's valleys that sweet night, When Christ was born and shepherds came from far." My friend Ivan then lingered by my side, And ate my bread and dainty caviar, Quaffing strong quass unto our glorious Czar, Whose valiant deeds are honored far and wide. Doubtless an evil thought had galled my mind, For good Ivan, whose heart had never changed, Seemed in my house, which was his own, estranged And to gay jest his soul was disinclined. But I remembered he had wandered far, That he was worn by many a barren verst ; His weariness and voyage I rehearsed While listening to the hissing samovar. ACROSS THE STEPPES. 33 So I arose and spake: " I leave thee here ; Sleep, and may golden dreams delight thine ease, I go to rest among my granaries ; Saint Katrin guards thee, have no evil fear." When first the dawn with its sweet pulse of light Had throbbed thro' darkness to a perfect day, Friends came beside my bed, and in dismay Cried: "Parlus! know'st thou of thy pigeon's flight ? 11 With vile intent and sacrilegious hand, Soiling thy friendship with ignoble taint, He robbed thy house of its protecting Saint, And with it fled unto another land ! " But ere his feet, detested and accurst, Had left domed Nijni town two leagues afar, Christus withdrew his kind, protecting star, And gave unto his soul of deaths the worst. 11 Ivan, thy guest, when shunning thine abode, Knew not that gaunt wolves, terror of the town, Haunted each dismal wood and lonely down That leads from here unto the Moscow road. 34 SHADOWS AND IDEALS. " His worthless bones upon the holy ground, Picked clean and glossy, in the sunlight shine, And in his fleshless hand thy Saint divine, Intact, serene and beautiful, was found." Ivan and I through life had wandered far, But Satan tempted my poor pigeon-friend ; I often think of his unholy end When listening to my hissing samovar. SEVILLE BY MOONLIGHT. 35 SEVILLE BY MOONLIGHT. The blue and languorous midnight falls Upon Giralda's roseate tower, Down on the wide, white marble halls, Silent and slumberous as the hour. The air a scent of orange hides, The alamedas bloom with balm ; Where like a thread of silver glides The limpid Guadalquivir's calm. The grand cathedral prays and dreams In moonlit quiet, grave and still ; And every solemn portal teems With memories of Moorish skill. Near, on the plaza, white with stars, The indolent majos find repose ; Around them music of guitars Blends with the fragrance of the rose. 36 SHADOWS AND IDEALS. A swart gitano loiters by; Within his sash the knife sleeps yet : Bright as the luster of his eye Sparkles his twisted cigarette. A whir of fans half stills a laugh, The velvet flash of orbs divine Reveals fair manolas who quaff The golden, rich Montilla wine, While all the merry groups around, Living to love and to forget, Sing some mad bacchanal of sound, Timed by the clicking castanet. Within the steep and narrow lanes, There in the soft and shifting shade. Float on a song the loves, the pains, The languors of the serenade ! And till the warm, sweet night hath flown, The duenas doze, and gallants hope ; While from faint balconies of stone Dangles the tell-tale silken rope.. SEVILLE BY MOONLIGHT. 37 Hark! through the favoring gloom I hear The cautious tread of men that lurk ; An oath of anger shocks the ear, I see the glitter of a dirk. Waiting above move satined feet, Two eyes read passion in two eyes ; There, in delicious rapture sweet, Beauty and youth taste Paradise. 'Tis o'er ! I did not care to wait And feel the crimson rain of blood ; The clash of steel, the groans of hate Were long since silenced by the flood Of song and laughter, clear and loud, From gypsies gay who, hand in hand, A weird, grotesque and brawling crowd, Danced a delirious saraband Until the moon began to wane, And with its suite of dreamy stars, Sank into nothingness again Behind the gloom of Alcazars ! 38 SHADOWS AND IDEALS. THE EARTH SPEAKS. For years unnumbered I was pure and fair ; When God created me to move in space, His peerless smile was mirrored in my face, There was a glory on me everywhere. My mantle was of flowers and blossoms rare, My gardens bloomed with an undying grace ; Of dark decay there was no blighting trace, Death of my bosom's riches had no share. But then, alas! man in his weakness came, Upon me lived and loved, and wept and smiled Perishing swiftly as he swiftly spread, While I, all-pure, to my eternal shame, Was by his crowded carrion denied, And filled each day with foul and sheeted dead ! MODJESKA AS " CAMILLE." 39 MODJESKA AS "CAMILLE." Stately, she moves in calm, patrician grace, Conscious of power the multitude to thrill ! While, as a slave, proud Passion at her will Leaves on her cheek its fiery or tearful trace. The glooms of anguish dusk her mobile face, When cruel words, that maddening thoughts instill, Sting, by a prescient sense of future ill, The new, pure heart that throbs beneath the lace. But in that sad and agonizing hour, When fate relentless taints her perfect dream, And lips that loved insult what they should prize, It seems as if all Art by her grand power Had taken visible shape, to come supreme And gaze upon us from her luminous eyes ! January, 1878. 40 SHADOWS AND IDEALS. LOVE SONG. Oh, my love, on some languorous day, When the woodlands are dreaming of May, And the sky's sapphires gloam thro* them, With sweet love dawning soft in thine eyes, Let us seek the green shadows we prize, And in ravishment roam thro' them. Why delay, when the air all around Is so rare with the gay robin's sound And the scent of the tuberose ? Oh, my love, never sun with a light More supremely, transcendently bright, Over Maxos or Cuba rose ! Warm with passion and burning with love, We will watch the white clouds pass above, While the amorous minutes fly, And will see on the elm's haughty crest, The frail, beautiful moss-woven nest Where at twilight the linnets fly. LOVE SONG. 41 On my lips that are parched with desire, Oh, my love, with their redolent fire, Let thy kisses fall manna-like, While I gaze from the depths of my soul On thy bosom, voluptuous goal, And thy beauty Diana-like! SHADOWS AND IDEALS. AN EPISODE OF WATERLOO. {Composed in free meter for recitation.} The battle was waning, the sun had set Thro' the clouds of smoke on the shrieking plaint And the shattered bodies of men lay wet In great pools of blood and great pools of rain. The thunders of cannon still rent the air, And the crimson field had been barely won, While echoes of anguish drowned the blare And greeted the answer of brave Cambronne. Thro' the dusk and gloom from the north advanced, With helmeted heads and vigorous breath, The dragoons of Blucher, equipped and lanced, To swell the red tides of the river Death. And the Emperor stood on the gory field, With his great, calm eyes in a strange unrest, But his forehead's pale marble ne'er revealed All the burning hell in his tortured breast. AN EPISODE OF WATERLOO. 43 It was o'er, and the victor's eager cry Rose up in the night, while the piercing groans Of thousands of heroes left to die Blent shrill with the cannon's monotones. Thro' the heat of fire, thro' the bullets' rain, Thro' the sea of battle that stormed and waved, The pale man on the prancing horse again Led his legions on, for France might be saved. And though all seemed lost, he was still adored By those valorous hearts that knew naught of fear, And the maimed and dying, with limbs begored, As he hurried by would arise and cheer. There was one poor soldier, who lay between Five mangled Prussians and heard him pass ; He surmised him near, for he had not seen, And he struggled to rise from the bloody grass. He had left his mother in old Touraine, His sister Jeanne and his father blind, But remembered naught of their love again When the thought of his Emperor filled his mind. 44 SHADOWS AND IDEALS. He thought, as he wallowed in clotted gore, Of the sweetheart he quitted against his will, Of the dear old home he would see no more, But the Emperor held his heart's love still. His left arm had been shattered by grape and shell And hung to the bone by a single thread ! But he heard the great Emperor's voice — and, well, "I'll give one last proof of my love," he said. For he felt that his darling chief was nigh, And wrenched the dead arm from the broken blade And cried with his weak, poor, feeble cry, "It has served thee well, and for thee 'twas made !" And he waved it high in his frantic might As Napoleon passed with a flash and whir, And his last words rang through the awful night : 1 ' Vive I ' Empereur! Vive I ' Empereur! ' ' 1874- HUITZIL OPO TCHLI. 45 HUITZILOPOTCHLI. Great in the gory grandeur of thy palace, God over war and din ! Thy grave eyes glitter in a sullen malice On foe and kin And all who sin. Thou waitest tranquil near thy teocallis, Grim in thy stone, erect, austere and callous, Until the sacrificial rites begin. Thou seem'st to smile and hear the approaching thrumming Of lutes that hail the feast ; The serpent-skins sob with the angry drumming Of slave and priest, While, e'er increased, The trembling crowds like bees in swarms are humming, As from the distant, fair chinampas coming, They drag their palsied victims, man and beast. 46 SHADOWS AND IDEALS. High on the dizzy altar- green thou standest, Lit by the sacred fire ; Huitzilopotchli ! god of gods, our grandest, Serene and dire ! In might and ire O'er tzin, and slave, and peon thou commandest, And when in wrath thou haughtily expandest, Vast, shuddering throngs to grant thy whims aspire. The human hearts that reek upon thy altar, Oh, wondrous god, are ours ! Our flesh and souls by thy decrees ne'er falter ; We bless thy dowers, When crimson showers Of the fierce foe, the arrogant assaulter, Fall at thy feet ; for thy celestial halter Is soft unto our necks, oh, god of powers ! Our lives before thy glance are weak and brittle, Like thinnest slits of slate When smitten by the iron maquahuitl. Oh, god, abate Thy scorn irate. Oh, master of the sweet Ixtlilxochitl, Of thy great balm, waft on our heads a little To cheer and solace our poor brows prostrate ! HUITZILOPOTCHLI. 47 Around thy feet, oh, mighty god, and under The sacred odors steal Of clotted gore from bosoms torn asunder, Of limbs that reel ! Oh, bless our zeal, And o'er the cries and frenzied groans of wonder Of those tormented hurl thy angry thunder To drown their agonizing last appeal. The white and demon foe have ta'en our cattle, And yet we do not sigh! We have no food, no fruit, no cacao-latl. The hours pass by : Oh, lord most high, Lend us thy strength to struggle in the battle, And thro' the clash of arms when lances rattle To bring thee other victims ere we die ! Our arms are strong, our bows are long and slender, Our knives are curved and clear, Our maquahuitls find the foes' flesh tender. Oh, god, appear ! Superb ! Severe ! To guide us onward in a cloud of splendor, And o'er the carrion of the vile offender Our songs of praise, exultant, thou shalt hear. 48 SHADOWS AND IDEALS. Thy fearful anger sleeps, alert ! awake it ! And in thy proud disdain Cleave with thy lance the Christian spell and break it. Our arrows' rain Now falls in vain. If thou hast thirst, their veins were made to slake it. Thy people swoons, oh, god, do not forsake it Now, in this hour of servitude and pain ! Consume with fire, with pest and desolation, Stern Cortez and his band ! Harrow his pagan soul with war's vexation ! Thou, ever grand, Stretch forth thine hand, Strong and immutable for our salvation ! Sustain the Tzin Guatamo and the nation, Save Tenochtitlan and our holy land ! PASTEL. 49 PASTEL. Among the priceless gems and treasures rare Old Versailles shelters in its halls sublime, I can recall one faded image fair, A girl's sad face, praised once in every clime. Poets have sung, in rich and happy rhyme, Her violet eyes, the wonder of her hair. An art-bijou it was, but dimmed by time, A dreamy pastel of La Valliere ! I, too, remember in my heart a face Whose charm I deemed would ever with me dwell : But as the days went by, its peerless grace Fled like those dreams that blooming dawn dispel, Till of its beauty there was left no trace, Time having blurred it like that pale pastel ! 50 SHADOWS AND IDEALS. LATHAM CORNELL STRONG. DIED DECEMBER, 1879. Grim death has hushed the soft, melodious sound That filled thy spirit, and the vital flame, Engendering noble thoughts that graced thy name, Is spent, while dismal ashes strew the ground. Thy worshiped muse with thee in plenty found Delicious charm and beauty without blame ; Yet, while thy laurels were prepared by Fame, Thou didst not wait to be supremely crowned ! Oh, pious pilgrim in the paths of art, Thy gentle labor has not been in vain, Exalting excellence, combating wrong ! For all thy words were warm unto the heart, And ere thy days were done men saw thee gain The rare and radiant Mecca of sweet song ! THE CARP AT ST GERMAIN. 51 THE CARP AT ST. GERMAIN. 1515—1881. (A carp died in a pond at St. Germain in 1881. A thin plate of gold had been fastened to its gill by Francis First, King of France. ) The brave and manly form of Francis First, When I was young, in reverence I saw- Stooping to slake his fierce and royal thirst, Encompassed by his silent suite in awe. Beside him stood, obedient to his call, The merry Triboulet, his feathered fool, Who aped his gracious majesty in all And deeply drank the water of my pool. While the grim Spanish despot by his side, The haughty and all-sacred monarch Charles, Threw me some crumbs in his Castilian pride, Hushing his perfumed lap-dogs' envious snarls. I see as if no time had passed since then, Since those dead epochs of great deeds and sins, The knights, and cavaliers, and lordly men Who came to watch the flashing of my fins. 52 SHADOWS AND IDEALS. And I recall the merry and sunny day When Catherine, the withered Queen in black, Gazed on my silver loveliness at play, And how from her stern stare I glided back. Ay ! and I see again, like some bright star Of beauty in the heaven's eternal blue, The peerless glance of Margaret of Navarre Piercing the ripples that I wandered through. Bussy, the brave, has given me golden cake, When mute he pondered on his many loves ; And the vile mignons who, with envy ache, Tossed me their sugared fruit and scented gloves. And in their wake the anointed Henri came, Poodle-escorted and in folly sunk ; While near him stood, with greedy eyes of flame, Clutching a dirk, the lean, avenging monk ! Ah ! happier were the days when Gabrielle Fed me with the lithe beauty of her hands ; While the great King, good Harry, we loved well, Fought for the glory of our fertile lands. THE CARP AT ST. GERMAIN. 53 She passed before me like a radiant dream ; And then I saw a feeble man, unknown, Albeit a King, with Richelieu, supreme, Sneering in red, while crumbs were to me thrown. And there, alert, stood, smiling by his side, Armed to the teeth, a hero without fear, Bold D' Artagnan in all his Gascon pride, The beau-ideal of a musketeer ! Alas ! Death's harvest in those days was great. They lingered but a span. Then to me came The august Louis, in his powdered state, And sweet La Valliere with soft eyes of shame. And with him walked strange people, clad in black, Yet affable and seeming foes to care, Who gravely smiled behind the kingly back, And had odd names, like Boileau and Moliere. Then, after lapses of eventless time, The languid witchery of la Pompadour Drew me in rapture from my bed of slime, And to her hand my shyness did allure. 54 SHADOWS AND IDEALS. While near her, simple servant to her nod, With smiles and glances that no scorn could tire, Stood, beautiful and haughty as a god, The pale young monarch, trembling with desire. Alas ! he, too, forgot her beauty soon, Such is the destiny of love's eclipse, For when he came again, the summer moon Silvered his kisses ou Du Barry's lips. Then I beheld, bent down by many woes, A Caesar-browed humiliated Queen, While in the traitorous town afar arose The crimson horror of the guillotine. And once in agony of fear I heard Atrocious blasphemies pollute the air, And many an odious, God-defying word Thundered by Danton and by Robespierre. They passed, and I for days was left alone. Strange noises of the city came from far ; No dainty morsels in my waves were thrown ; The sky was burning like a fiery star. THE CARP AT ST. GERMAIN. 55 Then passed a man whose brow was white and great, As awful God himself, come here below, Marked by the calm serenity of Fate, The man of Jena and of Montereau ! But foes united, hundreds against one, Crushed by brute force amid the cannon's roar, His valorous eagles flying to the sun, And he, the mighty emperor, came no more. Then fertile peace showered blessings on the land ; Gross, idle kings held shackled Paris down, And near my fountain-brink would often stand Men greater far than warriors of renown. I watched kind Gautier's fascinating smile, And Hugo's grave communion with the muse ; Pale Lamartine, who cherished nothing vile, And Musset dreaming of his Andalouse. And then with powder and the barricade The second empire sullenly began ; While the new monarch passed, in gold arrayed, The trembling shadow of the Lodi man ! 56 SHADOWS AND IDEALS. But mirth and merriment were with him, too. In routs and revels he was not alone ; While cannon roared and many banners blew To hail the splendor of his phantom throne. And when barbaric hosts in steel again Sallied, my beauteous gardens passing by, I shrank into my bed of weeds in pain, Wearied by centuries, and glad to die ! THE SECRET. 57 THE SECRET. I sang with rapture to the passing breeze My dawning love's supremest mysteries, With the soft rhymes of passion beautified. The graceful melody spread far and wide ; And as my song was soothing as a prayer, The kind breeze lingered in the drowsy air, And when the long confession had been heard, I softly whispered it unto a bird, A wee, brown robin on a willow tree, That relished all and made great sport of me. Fearing the precious scandal might pass by, I told it to the brilliant butterfly ; Which, idly dallying 'mid the dewy flowers, Thro' the long, dreamy, languid summer hours, Straightway flew off to prattle of my woes, My hopes and sweet ambition, to the rose ; Which, having heard the loving words I said, Blushed in delight a purer, deeper red, And rashly vowed within its crimson core To keep and treasure them forevermore. 5S SHADOWS AND IDEALS. But, like a luminous star of love and light, The one I loved chanced to pass there that night, And gently plucked the dainty rose to share The silken splendors of her wavy hair. And then the mystery I held so dear Must have been tempted from the rose, I fear, For, though I surely had no subtle part, My secret fluttered to her ravished heart, And, like a dove that finds its shelter fair, Lovingly, confidently nestled there, Until its burden, longing to be free, Escaping from her lips flew back to me ! THE NAUTCH GIRL. 59 THE NAUTCH GIRL. Her limbs are lithe and supple as the sea ; Jet hair in perfumed waves is windward whirled ; And, below tinted lashes, crisp and curled, Her gold-black glances glitter like a bee ! Graceful and flexile as the desert tree, Her frame voluptuous, sapphire-starred and pearled, Slips in dusk radiance from its veil unfurled, A luring vision of guile and ecstasy. A Rajah's ransom glistens on a breast Burning with ardor as the timbrels boom ; And cruel eyes flash fire into the gloom, Stirring the senses to a vague unrest ; While, in her pagan passion uncontrolled, Her dreams are red like blood and bright like gold ! March 18, i88j. 6o SHADOWS AND IDEALS. AWAKENING. How terrible that fugitive moment seems, When tortured minds, steeped in serenest sleep, Awaken from the ravishment of dreams Only to recollect their woes and weep ! Now, when the grim realities of pain Dawn in vague, solemn ways within their breast, They fain would lull their sense to slumber again, And shun the odious light that brings no rest ! In that brief, harrowing second some recall The pitiless fate that o'er their path has crossed ; In their friendly sleep they have forgotten all ; They wake, alas ! to mourn a loved one lost ! Some mother, worn by vigils and by care, With sweet, fallacious visions now beguiled, Smiling, awakes and, ere she is aware, Calls by some pretty name her darling child ! A WAKENING. 6 1 But he is dead ; and, ah! her many tears Rebel against sleep's suave, delusive power ; Better the anguish of continual fears Than the false promise of that cruel hour ! Perchance some maiden of her winning grace Dreams, while no troublous thought disturbs her ease. She wakes, and then remembers the pale trace Stamped on her beauty by some fierce disease. The wounded soldier, tossing on his bed, Has visions of glory and of valorous strife. He wakes and with convulsive chills of dread Now recollects his limbs are lost for life. The contrite murderer in his damp, drear cell Dreams that he hears some merciful angel say : "God hath thy crimes forgiven, all is well." He wakes, and knows he will be hanged that day. O, bounteous sleep ! Restorer of the mind ! When poor souls suffer from misfortune's sting, Whisper to Death, thy brother, grave and kind : " Spare them the agony of awakening ! " 1877. 62 SHADOWS AND IDEALS. TO LOUIS BLUMENBERG, VIOLONCELLIST. The soul that lingers in the silent strings Rises in rhythmic magic by thy hand, A tuneful vassal e'er at thy command, A soul invisible that weeps or sings Melodious strains, like passing angels' wings, Seem from the speaking maple to be fanned While graver meaning, mystical and grand, A matchless grace unto our senses brings. Ah ! when those strains fall gently on my ear, I breathe in ravishment and seem to hear Seraphic choirs that worship and adore, And I, a skeptic, marveling in surprise, Feel wondrous tears of pity fill my eyes, And, penitent, believe in God once more. December n, 1884 KING TO FAVORITE. 63 KING TO FAVORITE. My stately modern towns are strangely cold ; Their hybrid architecture, dull and tame, Lacks pearls, and Paros, and symmetric gold To set thy beauty in a worthy frame. I dream for thee of svelt Greek colonnades, Or glorious Parthenons, where statues gleam Amid the flowery urns and frail arcades, And like a musing army of marble seem. I dream of marvelous granite cities, where, Guarded by sphinxes in eternal calm, Tall obelisks pierce the blue and cloudless air Above parterres of lotus and of palm. Fit for thy home, I see, near Araoy's skies, Great kaolin kiosks and weird pagodas glow, Bedragoned flags, idols with ruby eyes, And quaint junks gliding down the Hoang-ho. 64 SHADOWS AND IDEALS. Or yet, Ind's monstrous temples to Vischnu, Where gods with elephantine faces stand, And where, in Kief, ecstatic thou canst view The inhuman rites, the lawless saraband. I build for thee, beneath Granada's stars, Poems of stone, with Mihrabs in their heart, Supreme Alhambras, lofty Alcazars, One arabesque of Saracenic art ! But, ah ! these earthly splendors, everywhere, Pass in my dreams, imperfect, undefined, For I would have thy peerless beauty share The unbuilt Romes and Karnacs of my mind. 1877. TO A SCRAP OF SEA • WEED. 65 TO A SCRAP OF SEA -WEED. Neglected flower that in the ocean blooms, Poor exile from the fragrant groves of earth, What sorrow rises in thy salt perfumes, To what sad thoughts thy humble charm gives birth ! Tossed by the tempest and fluctuant tide, The vulgar plaything of the slimy eel ; Crushed by the vessel's keel or cast aside, What bitterness thy injured heart must feel ! Thy lovely sisters blush on field and lawn, The lily, pink and rose are kin to thee, Yet thou art destined, from grim night till dawn, To hide thy envy in the turbulent sea. Alas ! none know why thou wast strangely torn From leafy woodlands and rich orchards blest, Nor why thou shouldst not have been sweetly born A tuberose to grace my darling's breast, 66 SHADOWS AND IDEALS. Unless the Eternal, in His august might, A sacred usage for thy beauty found, And made thee to fulfill some sacred rite Upon the ghastly foreheads of the drowned. THE FALSE LOVER. 67 THE FALSE LOVER. I love thee as the wild bees love the South, When May has made the broad savannas fair ; I love the roses of thy perfect mouth, And all the redolent summer of thy hair. Thou art the Mecca of my pilgrim soul, The peerless dawn that floods my spirit's night ; Thou art my consolation and my goal, My ravishment, my solace, my delight ! Lift thy veiled eyes and scan the heavens afar, Far in those blue immensities, and see That radiant and imperishable star, Pure as my deathless worship is for thee. Why dost thou start, oh ! my delicious love ? What cruel fantasy thy soul appalls ? Oh, God ! Oh, God ! cast not thy eyes above, The warning star in trails of silver falls ! 68 SHADOWS AND IDEALS. J. S. THEBAUD. IN MEMORIAM. I. To a World unworthy, full of pride and peril, Thou hast given, as would a god, thy better part ; And upon its obdurate bosom, stern and sterile, Thou hast sown the sweetest lilies of thy heart. Thou hast built to Duty a new and sumptuous altar, Thou hast baffled Death upon its gloomiest porch ; And with firm, progressive hand that could not falter, Thou hast held through densest night thy science-torch ! Without power divine, thy gentle touch caressing Checked the spreading seeds of danger and decay ; And, as lepers went to Christ for balm and blessing, Thy afflicted poor would come to thee and pray. Thou hast not, like haughty kings, a throne or palace, And there gleamed no crown of rubies on thy brows ; But no human pain found thy great spirit callous, And no chagrin unallayed e'er left thy house. /. S. THEBAUD. 69 As the expectant shepherds in Judaea's valley Rose to follow one bright, luminous star divine, So disconsolate hosts of sufferers would rally And find solace in the glory that was thine. From a monument of Hope beamed forth thy cresset ; All around Death fluttered cold wings through the air ; But the pestilential chill could not repress it, Nor dissuade thy sheltered ones from lingering there. Thou hast braved life's taunts and bitterness unfailing, Yet thy will hath never trembled at the shock ; For, erect and firm, its blows were unavailing To destroy thy Faith's invulnerable rock. 11. As some mighty oak, assailed by storms outdaring, Mourns in vain its blighted boughs and scattered leaves, So my heart, in deepest trials of despairing, Mourns thy vanished smile on these sad winter eves. As the rose regrets the golden summer's splendor, As the lark recalls with woe its absent mate, So my soul regrets thy kindnesses most tender, So my thought recalls thy virtues strong and great. 70 SHA DOWS A ND IDEA L S. As the shipwrecked sailor, struggling with wild billows On some fragile spar, and to destruction tossed, Sadly yearns for his far home and village willows, So my stricken spirit yearns for what is lost. Thou art gone, but, ah ! the bitter, bitter anguish ! What have feeble words to sing thy value done? Thou art gone, alas ! and left us here to languish, Like some doomed planet without hope or sun. For we miss thy winning ways and joyous greeting, Thy bright, laughing eye, thy warm, responsive hand, As some wrinkled exile, waiting and entreating, Ever misses his dear tyrant-haunted land. Can the songs of bards in most supreme affliction, Can the silent grief, or grief with cheeks beteared, Can the humble prayer, or churchly benediction, Bring thee back to us, pale shadow we revered ? What are sobs of woe and dews upon the forehead, What are outward signs of pitiless pang and smart, When compared with the relentless, stern, all horrid, Strong and speechless torment of a desolate heart ? /. S. THEBAUD. 71 What strange tears were those shed on the mausoleums Of historic conquerors since the world was young ! Seems there not a sound of battle in their Te Deums ? Seems there not hot blood on every singer's tongue ? If such scourges by vile multitudes were petted, If cowed nations mourned such evanescent powers, What must be the pain of men who have regretted One great worthy soul, whose memory is ours ? Mother Earth, though grave and mute, is no despiser Of the few and noble sons that are her own ; And the world, by her grand prompting voice grown wiser, Will recall thy name when Caesar's is unknown. in. As the pliant palm, above the desert towering, Blooms in utter fear of some hot, mad simoom, So my groping mind, in dismal darkness cowering, Dreads to lift the awful shadow from thy tomb. Can our faith in some sweet future life supernal Cope with gnawing doubt, and all its vigor keep, When we know our separation is eternal On this hateful sphere, whose only balm is sleep ? 72 SHADOWS AND IDEALS. No ! The vials of wrath hold no more tribulation ; There must be some cruel limit to all pain ; Still we dream of thee in all our desperation, As a withering violet dreameth of the rain. From no Bible, or no Koran, can we borrow Consolation for the ravage Death has done ; And we long for thee thro' suffering and thro' sorrow, As the polar night longs for the absent sun. Like our mother's kiss, and like our youth's fond gladness, Like our perished hopes, and like our boyish fears, Like our first-born love, half passion and half sadness, We regret thee through the long and weary years. And, oh ! noble friend, for whom all pain has ended, I salute with my poor, melancholy song, Thy unsullied life, wherein all virtues blended, Thy superior mind, 'mid danger ever strong. I salute thy memory, I, the latest comer, And I mourn thy dolorous loss, uncomforted, As the brown, bare fields salute the dying summer, As the warm heart mourns when love is doomed and dead. December, 1876. THE SPHINX SPEAKS. 73 THE SPHINX SPEAKS. Carved by a mighty race whose vanished hands Formed empires more destructible than I, In sultry silence I forever lie, Wrapped in the shifting garment of the sands. Below me, Pharaoh's scintillating bands With clashings of loud cymbals have passed by, And the eternal reverence of the sky Falls royally on me and all my lands. The record of the future broods in me ; I have with worlds of blazing stars been crowned, But none my subtle mystery hath known Save one, who made his way through blood and sea, The Corsican, prophetic and renowned, To whom I spake, one awful night alone ! 74 SHADOWS AND IDEALS. AN IDYL OF PROVENCE. With Love's aurora beaming in their eyes, Mute and enraptured, going hand in hand, They slowly wander through the paradise Of their green, golden, blossom-haunted land. Their footsteps fade in mazes of soft ferns, The sunny air is languorous with flowers, And in the distance, where the blue Rhone turns, They see their vine-wreathed homes and trysting bowers. The changeless azure of the autumn sky Showers all its glory on the enamored pair, While the glad southern breezes gently sigh Amid the tangle of the maiden's hair. Her heart, as blithe as songs of summer birds, Sees life sun-colored now, without eclipse ; Her fond glance thrills him, and delicious words Part the warm scarlet of her perfect lips. AN IDYL OF PROVENCE. 75 The beauty of antique Aries, wine-tinged and Greek, Seems in her fluttering breast to grandly live ; And in shy ways she fain would claim and seek The kisses, long deferred, he fain would give. He tells her in the glow of youth and pride, With winning words, a murmur and a fire, How to this hour, supreme and sanctified, His timid soul did never dare aspire. He tells how all his love with fears did cope, And how from doubt and dream it nobly grew To this sweet resurrection of dead hope, To this felicity, divine and true. Then, from his buoyant heart, elate, sincere, He whispers all that Love holds pure and rare, Persuasive incoherences made dear, And accents tender as a vestal's prayer. While she, whose spirit is won and fails to speak, Gazes upon him in a charmed surprise, With deepening roses on each burning cheek, And all the trust of heaven within her eyes. 76 SHADOWS AND IDEALS. THE WITNESS. They tell me that I never loved the fair, Delicious maid, who now in endless sleep Can charm the grave ; because I do not weep, And shriek to the cold world my great despair. They say my heart of gentle ruth is bare As leafless trees, and that I do not keep Her memory sacred, while, sincere and deep, That heart is haunted by her everywhere ! Alas ! how can I prove ? Oh ! beauty mine, Wrapped in grim cerements, how refute them now ? Would /c^uTdstJ^thouj rise and tell my love unique. But I am helpless without guide or sign : The silent moon alone has heard my vow : — Damn thee, white, senseless thing ! Wilt thou not speak? GIANTS AND GRUBS. 77 GIANTS AND GRUBS. " II riy a que les petits esprits qui constatent les imperfections des chefs- d' ceuvre. — Voltaire. When will the shades of great men rest in peace And be revered, as they deserve, on earth ? When will the mongrel horde of scoffers cease To harm their memory and denounce their worth ? Will the Greek symmetry of their perfect thought Be ever ravaged by these modern Huns ? Can naught restrain these lesser beings, fraught With bitter hatred for dead, mighty ones ? Shall impotent critics, balked of fleeting fame, In envious wrath lay down Draconian law, Turning to ridicule some noble name That shows a brilliant diamond's lightest flaw ? Yet the world listens to their noisome words. Harks to their puerile rage and malcontent ; While they, like ignorant migrating birds, Would soil a Phidias with their excrement ! 78 SHADOWS AND IDEALS. An easy task, forsooth ! Delicious themes, To sneer at what is grand, and pure, and far ; But, to my eyes, their mad persistence seems Like some pale fire-fly jealous of a star. And when I see these pompous creatures strut, And note the paltry mischief they have done, I smile, and think of some foul Lapland hut That might be envious of a Parthenon ! THE ANDALUSIAN SERE NO. 79 THE ANDALUSIAN SERENO. With oaken staff and swinging lantern bright, He strolls at midnight when the world is still, Through dismal lanes and plazas plumed with light, Guarding the drowsy thousands in Seville. Gazing upon his ever star-thronged sky, With careless step he wanders to and fro ; The gloomy streets re-echo with his cry, His slow, low, sad and dreary " Se-re-no /" He sees the blonde moon fleck the rosy towers Of old Giralda with its opal sheen, And in broad alamedas, warm with flowers, He sees the Moorish cypress bend and lean. Then, vaguely dreaming, he recalls the nights His father passed beneath those very stars, The tales of escaladed walls, the fights, The mirth, the songs, the Babel of guitars ! 8o SHADOWS AND IDEALS. And all his sire had told him years ago, How, often, in the gardens dim and dark, He met full many a mantled Romeo, And stumbled over corpses cold and stark. But he, alas ! had heard no serenade ; No ladder hangs from Donna Linda's bars, And the wan glint of an assassin's blade He ne'er has seen beneath these quiet stars. So, weary, in the dead calm of the town, His soul regrets the Past's romantic glow, While mute, despondent, pacing up and down, He sadly moans his dreary " Se-re-no /" But sometimes in the grayish light of dawn He stops and trembles in his clinging cape, For he can see a lady's curtain drawn, And, in the street below, a phantom shape. Draped in quaint, antique garb, with sword and glove, Sombrero vast, and mandolin on arm, Which seems to play a weird, wild lay of love, And at his coming shows no quick alarm ; THE ANDALUSIAN SERENO. 81 But turns, and there a skeleton, all lean And haggard, leers within the lightless lane ! And the Sereno knows that he has seen The specter of the Past, the ghost of Spain ! SHADOWS AND IDEALS. CONTRASTS. I.— PAGANISM (?) Rome B. C. A thousand temples ! silver ! marble ! gold ! A revel of color and a feast of art ! Immortal poets ! a stupendous mart ! Victorious legends ! pageantry untold ! Man against beast ! the gladiators bold, The mangled tiger and the bleeding heart, The roars of lions groaning by the dart, And over all the banner of Rome unrolled ! Trophies of distant wars ! mad crowds a-glee ! A thunder of plaudits bursting o'er the town ! Conquest and splendor ! glory and renown ! And near the Coliseum I can see, Above the clarion-throated, seething mass, Great laureled Caesar to the Forum pass ! CONTRASTS. 83 II.— CIVILIZATION (?) Third Avenue at Night. Foul, heated houses in a garbaged street ! Great, shrieking locomotives rattling by ! The stench of cess-pools rising to the sky ; Squalor and horror ! rottenness effete ! Coarse rabble-crowds rush by, all sins to greet : Money and lust is their perpetual cry, While near the lamps the musky cyprians sigh, And lechery and filth hold power complete ! Great gangs of tramps and ruffians unclean, Ignoble panders to all vice and slime, Parade amid the rush of dirty cars, Or hold in corners minglements obscene ; While passing, gorged with beer and ripe for crime, Gross Germans bellow at the holy stars ! July, 1887. 84 SHADOWS AND IDEALS. AUSTERLITZ. On the broad field of Austerlitz I passed And watched, one wintry day, along its moor Thin flakes of snow fall silently and fast, Like powdered marble, flocculent and pure. The incoherent murmur of the breeze Sounded like ghostly drum-taps to my ear, While on the gaunt, bare, tempest-stricken trees, The shivering whir of bird-wings I could hear. My timorous guide, awed by an unknown dread, Had left me pathless in these icy glooms, Alone in this last bivouac of the dead, Alone amid innumerable tombs ! Pensive I gazed upon the drear expanse Where the Titanic struggle had been won, And where the legions of Imperial France Acclaimed the genius of Napoleon ! A USTERLITZ. 85 And then before me phantom visions soared Of men blood-maddened, hurrying to the fray ; Again the deep-lunged, angry cannon roared, Hailing the victory of that fearful day ! I heard again the conqueror's voice supreme, The shrill, sharp echo of the trumpet's blare, When horses plunge, and gory sabers gleam In one red revel of immense despair ! The fury of fancy took me by surprise And hurled me in the dread right's hottest glow ; But when I lifted up my eager eyes Naught greeted them but wastes of solemn snow ! Over the graves with bones heroic filled By one who for ambition greatly sinned, I only heard, while all my senses thrilled, The mournful misereres of the wind ! And as I passed in dreary monotone, Thro' groups of desolate pine and leafless fir, It seemed to me in agony to moan Vague, dismal sounds like " vive V Empereur!" 86 SHADOWS AND IDEALS. SOUVENIR. Like a Sultana clad in raiment bright, Voluptuous Provence, draped in olive trees, Balmy with grain and the soft southern breeze, Dreamed to the star-thronged heaven one perfect night. It seemed as if our God had made the site His rare and unique fantasy to please, And for his wonders and his mysteries Created it from roses, calm and light ! 'T was there — sweet spot ! — where thy ripe lips divine, In passionate embrace — oh ! long-craved boon ! — Placed their soft, troubled warmth unto my own ; *T was there that thou wert mine, that I was thine ; While over us the autumn-mellow moon Silvered the languorous ripples of the Rhone ! PROOF. 87 PROOF. The world shrieks " atheist " in my face, and cries : " How canst thou the Eternal God aggrieve ? Why doubt ? He made the earth, the stars, the skies, And thy vile dust ! Yet thou wilt not believe ! " For answer I seek the woman whom I prize, One who can rule me by her slightest nod, And as I gaze in her calm, treacherous eyes, Convinced, I sigh, there can not be a God! 88 SHADOWS AND IDEALS. JEBEL-AL-TARIK. GIBRALTAR. A giant captive, I command The entrance to Hispania's strand ; A foreign flag above me floats, My flanks are girt by foreign boats, Inviolate I may remain, But all my spirit is with Spain. In the warm Andalusian sun I dream of the brave deeds undone ; I watch my rightful owners pass, With eyes averted, and, alas ! Although they merit my disdain, My love and hope are still with Spain. The red - coats on my haughty brow Pass stern and silent, even now ; While in the fertile plains below The idle Spaniards come and go. To claim their rights they do not deign But still my spirit burns for Spain. JEBEL-AL- TARIK. 89 She has no hosts of valiant knights, In armor clad, to scale my heights ; There is no Cid Campeador To drive the stranger from my shore, With flash of swords and fiery rain ; But still my spirit yearns for Spain. The days of valorous deeds have passed, And chivalry is dead at last. I see proud England's haughty fleet Hover in safety at my feet ; There is no blood to wash my stain ; But still my heart is warm for Spain. Ah ! better far the glorious years When Caliphs, flanked by Moslem spears, Fought on my terraces like men. Spain nursed a race of heroes then ; To humble me foes sought in vain ; For all my spirit was with Spain. I can recall with pride immense The rows of Saracenic tents, When Tarik dwelt upon my breast, Protected by the Moorish crest ; 9 o SHADOWS AND IDEALS. I saw his legions dot the plain ; But all my heart was true to Spain. I, too, recall when Guzman came In silk and steel, in smoke and flame ; The flag of Christ on high he waved ; My walls with Moorish blood he laved ; No danger could his hand restrain ; And all my soul was proud of Spain. Again the fierce Moors to me thronged, And to their sovereign I belonged ; While, warring with a Christian zeal, I saw Alfonso of Castile Die near his myriads of slain ; And all my soul went forth to Spain. Then came the hated men in red, For massacre and pillage bred ; In lines I marked their swift advance Against the chivalry of France. Alas ! the battle was their gain ; But still my heart believed in Spain. JEBEL-AL-TARIK. 91 They came in shouting bands, like Huns, And armed me with their thousand guns ; They filled my arcades, dark and dumb, With the loud rattle of the drum ; They trampled down the summer grain And bade defiance to my Spain. Ah ! how much longer must I stand A captive in my holy land? Will no Manrique arise to drag, Through blood and mire, that crimson flag? Must I live on in silent pain And learn to lose my love for Spain ? Ah ! no ; the future brighter seems ; Prophetic visions fill my dreams ; For there shall come a day of pride When I, with Spaniards at my side, Shall thunder from my guns again My loyal, deathless love for Spain ! 1882. 92 SHADOWS AND IDEALS. TO ERNESTO ROSSI, IN "HAMLET." Could glorious Shakespeare walk the earth again, Right merrily would he laugh at all the toil Of men bespangled, who forever soil His perfect " Hamlet," marvel of his brain. Yea, he would smile at their insensate Dane, Who, of his genius, was the proudest spoil. From all their frowns and groans he would recoil, And his great ghost would reason and complain. But, if he knew thee, Rossi, he would cry, " I see my ' Hamlet ' ; yea, the one I love Within my spirit's depths. I see the goal Of my own mind that is not born to die, And find in thine the thought which God above Gave to the deathless essence of my soul ! " November 8, 1881. IHLANG-IHLANG. 93 IHLANG-IHLANG. The gold Hoang-ho lulls with fluctuant tide The marble palace of the Mandarin ; Without bloom citron-gardens, and within Rise stately court-yards, porticoed and wide. I hear of tinkling bells the silver din From porcelain towers, whence caracole and ride Great hosts of Mongols, while from Han-tung's side The annual festivals with pomp begin. Ravished I see a lithe, sweet, doe-eyed girl, Che-Kiang's most sacred princess, passing through The merry town where dragoned flags unfurl Their gold and argent on her hair's dusk hue ; I see her enter, catch her smile of pearl, And smell a wondrous perfume, strange and new ! 94 SHADOWS AND IDEALS. HERO AND TRAITOR. Upon the confines of the Promised Land Two radiant seraphim forever stand, Guarding with flaming swords and tireless eyes The abode of heroes in God's paradise. Here the Eternal, in omnipotence, Ordains for them a lasting recompense. But few, alas ! in history's pages known, Can claim this perfect Eden for their own. But many are there whose names no rosters show, Spirits from Lodi's sun, from Moscow's snow. Relicts of Ivry and the perished brave Of Wagram's flame or Navarino's wave. Heroes of every race, of every creed — All who were valorous in the heart and deed. HERO AND TRAITOR. 95 II. Before Marengo's field was won in blood, A wounded ghost before the angels stood, Whose august brow, republican, severe, Stamped him as one that never knew a fear. With humble voice, unconscious of his fate, He craved admittance at the holy gate. The angels spake : " Presence, that com'st this way, How wast thou called?" The shade replied, "£>esaix." " Welcome, great hero from the battle's din, Reap thy reward forever, enter in." And, speaking thus, upon his brow they placed A laurel crown, which ne'er was better graced. Then, with their flashing glaives of ardent flame They carved upon the wall his hero-name ! But few of those in history's pages known Can claim this glorious Eden as their own ! in. The years went by. War reveled on the earth, And the sweet spot of heroes knew no dearth. g6 SHADOWS AND IDEALS. But few could stand and to the angels say, With bleeding limbs, "I, too, was like Desaix." But once a phantom-soldier sadly came And stood before the burning swords of flame. He looked with timorous eyes in mortal awe Upon the threatening obstacles he saw. Trembling with fear that naught could dissipate, He craved admittance at the holy gate. The angels with distrust upon him gazed, The swords, curled up like serpents, hissed and blazed. " How wast thou called ? " " My name was Bernadotte." " Depart thou hence, poor ghost, we know thee not ! " 1876. A LOVE SONG. 97 A LOVE SONG. I see of men the wicked ways, Intrepid acolytes of vice. I see Sin's snake its venom raise And with soft sibilance entice, While intuition tells my heart God in all this can have no part. I see ubiquitous red Crime Smile luridly on Peace and Trust ; I see sweet Candor soiled in slime, And Purity befouled by lust ! Falsehood within, Error without, And God's omnipotence I doubt. I see blind Justice slyly wink, And Truth on altar-steps defiled. I hear the great minds, formed to think, Chatter inanely, like a child. I see the world in treachery wrought, And in a higher Power find naught. 98 shadows and ideals. I see the pure and guileless doomed To daily pain, to hurtful woes ; I see vast intellect entombed By fate that more infernal grows ; I see all this and humbly cry, Where is the guarding God on high ? I see a sceptered maniac lead, Like brutes, a host of souls to fight ; I see brave hearts with anguish bleed And rot on gory fields of blight ; I see Death's scythe on every hand, And God's grace can not understand. Fire, plague and famine everywhere The universal race alarm. The dooming tempest haunts the air ; On earth all banes and venoms swarm I see the ravages of pest, And can not call Jehovah blest ! Doubt fills me with its cruel bane, Tempered by no fallacious lore. No Bible can avert my pain, No Koran to my soul can soar ; A LOVE SONG. 99 I simply wonder, doubt and say : Why should God harm us in such way ? But, when I see, in charmed surprise, Thy beauty, lovelier than the sea All haloed by Ionian skies, Filled with delight and mystery, I murmur in my inner soul : Who gave thee of my life control? What power occult, benign and rare, Gave to thine eyes seraphic light ? What marvel crowned thee with thy hair, A grace and glory to the sight ? What force could dower thy perfect lips To change my spirit's sad eclipse ? I do not know ; but when I gaze Upon thee, lowly and most meek, Struggling for words of love and praise Too wildly passionate to speak, A something sways me by its rod, And I at last believe in God. 1881. ioo SHADOWS AND IDEALS. GAETANO DONIZETTI. A thousand godsent melodies found birth, And, flower-like, sprang from thine angelic mind, To lull the unceasing sorrow of mankind, And charm the changeless ennui of the earth. Then, when the soul was moved, thy reaper, Mirth, Usurped dark Melancholy's throne, and twined Light sheaves of song, as buoyant as the wind, Turning the dross of care to golden worth ! Thy deathless Fame before no tomb shall bow ! No grave can close upon thy matchless art ! Cherished, supreme in palace as in mart, In proud, immortal calm thou standest now, With all the grace of Italy in thy heart, With all the glory of Song upon thy brow ! SUPERIOR. ioi SUPERIOR. Since Time began, the sun has wooed with fire Vast, virgin solitudes of polar snows ; And on each marvelous, icy Kremlin throws The scintillant rays of its supreme desire. A thought responsive it may ne'er inspire ; The gaunt bergs move not from their bleak repose ; But, with pure, lingering loves that never tire, It offers still one grand auroral rose. Patient and pleading, ever thrust aside, I watch o'er thee, oh ! fair and distant goal ; Cruelly conscious of thy utter right, But nobler far than thy poor, paltry pride, I, with the gold auroras of my soul, Deluge thy frozen heart with lavish light ! 102 SHADOWS AND IDEALS. A MOOD OF DON JUAN. One balmy night, serene with many stars, He wandered through the dark lanes of Seville, Alone, to young Elvira's domicile, Deep in the shade of frowning Alcazars. With no soft pizzicato of guitars Or gentle lute, strove he her love to thrill, But, sullen, waited, and to suit his will Her jeweled hand removed the window's bars. "Is all as I have bidden ?" he murmured low. "Yea." "And thou lovest me still?" "As worms, impure, Might love some white and wondrous star," she said. Then in an amorous and morbid throe Of mad, crude passion warm lips met secure, Beside a duenna's corpse whose wounds still bled. i*77> AT THE MORGUE. 103 AT THE MORGUE. Upon the cold, damp slab at rest She lies, with her white shoulders bare, A golden locket on her breast, A piece of sea-weed in her hair. A smile's fair shadow on her lips Floats sadly, though those lips are tinged With purple death, while softly drip The sea-drops from her lids, silk-fringed. Upon a beach of brownish sand They found her, on Long Island's shore ; She held a locket in her hand, Upon it was the word " Amor." The men who found her brought her here And on this marble stretched her out, Where city loiterers come to jeer, Where idle throngs parade about. 104 SHADOWS AND IDEALS. Is there no one in all this place To pray, or murmur a regret For that sweet-smiling, sorrowed face, Half covered by that long hair wet? Why does she smile, though still and dead ? Why is her dull stare child-like pure ? See the sweet curving of her head ! Too fair misfortune to endure. Yet no one comes — oh ! sad, bad earth ! Has he not missed her features mild ? Surely he has not spurned her worth ; She's but a girl, a flower, a child. See the vast crowds of callous hearts Assembling by mere fools' desire To witness all the morgue imparts Of loathsome, horrid, sad or dire. See them about the cold slabs swarm ! They gaze on all with mute surprise ; They glance upon her slender form, Her smiling lips, her great calm eyes. AT THE MORGUE. 105 They notice on her pulseless breast A golden locket — nothing more ; They leave with murmuring words, oppressed, But have not seen the word "Amor," Which tells me all the dreadful tale Of hopes frustrated, pain, despair — Which tells me why she is so pale, And why that alga decks her hair. I see, as if in dream, the day When she found false the one adored. ***** I see the expectant billows play ; I hear how wave and tempest roared. I see her shuddering face emerge, All red with shame and mad with love ; I see the mists of pearly surge, I hear the sea-gull's shriek above ! I see her sink, I hear her sighs, Those short, wild sighs, and all is o'er ! Upon her breast a jewel lies, A jewel with the word " Amor." 106 SHADOWS AND IDEALS. And I can understand it all, And that is why I linger here, To pay a tribute to her pall, The simple tribute of a tear. Upon the cold, damp slab at rest She lies with her poor shoulders bare, A golden locket on her breast, A piece of sea-weed in her hair. THE OLD RAG-PICKER OF PARIS. 107 THE OLD RAG-PICKER OF PARIS. When somber midnight glooms the rushing Seine, From dismal lanes and famine-haunted slums, Regardless of the biting sleet or rain, The chiffonier with tottering footsteps comes. Aroused reluctantly from pitying sleep, He must begin his long and changeless round, Pausing before each corner garbage-heap, With weary eyes that ever seek the ground. He sees the glitter of the boulevard, The life, the revel and the dazzling glare ; But from it all his spirit is afar ; He totters on without a hope or care. The merry throngs that rush to ball and/ GRETCHEN. 213 GRETCHEN. From the Italian of Lorenzo Stecchetti. Near the Cathedral door, as black and base As some foul witch loved by a demon crew, Squatting in filth, a weird hag met my view, The mark of bagnios stamped upon her face. But in the Beldame's wrinkles I could trace A vestige of dead beauty glimmering through ; Therefore, I asked, " What somber Fates pursue Thy life and make thee peddle in this place?" She answered : " / was Marguerite ! For gold I have unnumbered men since Faust enticed, And given to each my gladdened kiss of sin. And now, to warm my withered flesh so old, I sell these images of Saints and Christ To buy myself a penny's worth of gin." 214 SHADOWS AND IDEALS. THE KISS. Incorrigible, false coquette, She spurned my love and with a smile Bade me her promises forget ; Toying with glittering rings the while. (But tell it not.) Doubting of old her inconstant heart, The dreaded blow was less severe ; Wicked, she turned to see me start, Or mark, perchance, a falling tear. (But tell it not.) "If it must be, if cherished bliss Is lost to me forever," I cried, " Give me one last, sweet, parting kiss, Top soothe my passion's injured pride. (But tell it not.) With pretty gestures, like a bird In her rare loveliness unique, She, smiling, rose, without a word, THE KISS, 215 And gently kissed my lips and cheek. (But tell it not.) That peerless beauty, chaste and proud, Lies in her sumptuous coffin now ! Her sweet limbs hidden in a shroud, With spotless lilies on her brow. (But tell it not.) Friend, there are ways of pain and dread To veil youth's dawn in sad eclipse ; She could not see the poison spread On my pale cheeks and livid lips ! (But tell it not.) 216 SHADOWS AND IDEALS. UNE BONNE FORTUNE. A MOOD OF MADNESS. As fretful swords wear out their sheaths by pressure, As honey-laden bees grow sick from cloy, So ardent youth by soft excess of pleasure Grows weary of an oft-repeated joy. 'Tis rare to sip the myrrh of love's caresses, Godlike to feel a passion in its strength, But lips that kiss now gold, now raven tresses, Must ever yearn for something new at length. It would be sweet, when slumbers have allayed me, To wake from dreams that never knew alarms, And find, while cold and ghostly thrills invade me, Some vague and unknown Presence in my arms. To feel each rapturous kiss grow strangely colder, To breathe the fetor of unearthly breath, And, with delighted eyes, upon my shoulder To see the sweet and lovely face of Death ! December 18, 1876. SEVENTEEN HUNDRED FIFTY-FIVE. 217 1755. Lisbon, enamored of her beauty, lay Girt with a rosary of fragrant flowers ; Sun-loved and radiant in a maze of bowers, She dreamed the idle Summer hours away. In grateful mood, in shy, coquettish play, She called the Spirits and mysterious Powers, That guard and beautify her with their dowers, To come and share her soft, eternal May. Then the earth trembled, and the flawless sky Grew black with ominous shadows of despair, While tall towers tottered in a sudden flame ! A fiery hurricane of hell swept by, And in an utter darkness everywhere, With death and doom, the awful spirits came ! 218 SHADOWS AND IDEALS. RAVAILLAC SPEAKS. A MOOD OF MADNESS. 1600. The world is old and I am young. My tongue Talks after others who have wrought Their thought From tissues of fast speeding time, In rhyme Or prose, and who were great and strong In song. I come and am unjudged, unknown, Alone ; Aching my share of hate to earn, And learn The secrets of mysterious life, Now rife With wondrous changes of all kind. My mind Burns to attain some perfect goal, For soul RAVAILLAC SPEAKS. 219 Have I, and will, with strength and heart. The smart Of life is horrible to bear ; No prayer Can ease the torment of its spleen ; Half lean, Half fat, my wretched slice I suck. Ill luck Or good I swallow, heedless, rash ; And dash, With hopeful feet, unerring, fast, Far past The poisons that the hours instill To kill. I feel the world's tricks and its guiles, False smiles ; The worth of woman and of man I span. I do not care if others laugh, Or quaff Rare wines, or if they moan, or weep, Or sleep. I 've seen enough my mind to cloy Of joy ; 220 SHADOWS AND IDEALS, Am sick of friendship, love and lust. I thrust My curses, bitterer than gall, On all. I strive alone for other peace, Release From all the bitterness of life. The strife 'Twixt good and evil is unfair, And prayer Is not so soothing as one thinks ; The stinks Of vice fill life, of acrid scent And blent With hellish harmonies that tempt. Exempt No man is, and the soul will sin ; Begin, Eschew wrong first and I '11 adore ; Implore Your gods for proof, should I believe And grieve. I know the value of a tear ; Each year RAVAILLAC SPEAKS. 221 Brings me new proof ; I grow more wise ; Mine eyes See through the darkness and the night. More light Beyond, beyond, by fancy seen, Rich sheen I can descry ; and I am glad, Yet sad, To say that on this gallful earth, Where birth Was given me, I now love to dwell ; To tell That though I can not bend the rod Of God, Or learn the lesson from above To love, That I can curse each living thing, And sing Of hideous days, and horrid nights, Their blights, And all the essences of sin Therein ; Gall mixed with tears, and tears with blood And mud : SHADOWS AND IDEALS. And viperous loves as has a fiend, For, screened By callousness, I curse the hour And power That brought me to this hopeless hell To dwell. And yet I have an eager greed, A need, Like famished beasts that growl for food My mood Is chronic, and I hope to live And give It rest, ere I shall dwindle by And die. The ages of the world, untold, Are old ; Nations of splendor and of pride Have died ; Cities have filled the world with dread, Now dead ; Great men whom multitudes adored, Ignored By us, have lived in every clime, Their time ; RAVAILLAC SPEAKS. 223 Yet I am jubilant to learn My turn Has come upon this stupid sphere To sneer. My better blood doth quicker flow To know I have not come on earth too late To hate ; And to the waiting worms I '11 bring The King ! 224 SHADOWS AND IDEALS. THE APOSTLE. A. D. 100. Barefoot and sore, from Orient lands he came Great error-tainted Rome to see and save, And urge the incestuous empress and her slave By God-inspired words that burn like flame. He came their pagan infamy to tame, To shield pale martyrs from the beasts that rave Upon the Coliseum's sands, and brave To speak of Christ and tinge their brows with shame. The monster town that lawless pleasure felt Listened and chuckled at his words divine, While Caesar's minions led him thence afar To vile ignoble slums, where harlots dwelt, There to abjure, and left him clogged with wine, Shrieking foul oaths in Flora's lupenar ! iS 77 . MICHAEL DMITRIEVITCH SKOBELEFF. 225 MICHAEL DMITRIEVITCH SKOBELEFF. OBIIT 1882. The lion is dead, and Prussia now can breathe A little span before her doom draws nigh. She will not hear thy gallant battle-cry, Nor will she see thy glittering sword unsheathe. But thy armed spirit will to the Russ bequeath Its pristine valor that can never die, While thy brave grenadiers go hurrying by Their blades in German carrion to seethe. Dead art thou not, oh, warrior ! For thy name, Thy prowess and the memory of thy deeds Live indestructible through the Czar's domain ; And, in some murderous battle's din and flame, 'Mid sabered Hessians and bewildered steeds, Thy turbulent ghost shall find its sphere again ! 226 SHADOWS AND IDEALS. FAITHFUL. Supple and cruel as a languid snake That awes a linnet with dull eyes of flame, Thou lurest me by the magic of thy shame To throw my life away for thy foul sake ! With lawless vice thy ignoble instincts ache, And, Borgia-like, imperious, untame, Thy soul, to gain its ignominious aim, Would fain in blood some chaste existence take. Pale incest stamps its horror on thy brows, Red murder gleams in thy rebellious eyes, And throes erotic thy base passions thrill. No pity an outraged world for thee allows, The scaffold claims thy carrion as prize, But what is that to me? / love thee still ! A MEETING. 227 A MEETING. "There is no God," I arrogantly cried ; "God is a myth, a fable, a disgrace ! Why in His boundless spaces doth He hide? Where are His might eternal and His pride? Where " — then I suddenly met him, face to face ! 228 SHADOWS AND IDEALS. A SULTAN'S WHIMS. She has perfumed the flow of her hair With the oil of the attar-gul rare, And the flowers that are dear to me ; She has tinted her lashes with khol, And she waits for the muezzin to toll, For the hour to be near to me. She has bathed her white body in nard, And the sleek, yellow hide of a pard Warms the delicate feet of her ; While the lily and rose of her breast By the glow of the moon are caressed, In the beauty complete of her ! All her turban's rich, delicate furls She has studded with orient pearls, Where the gems of her crescent are ; And has cut with her Alep blade's tip, To make redder, the red of her lip Where my kisses incessant are ! A SULTAN'S WHIMS. 229 She is clad in a shimmer of sheen, In a dolman of gold damascene, Starred with emeralds numberless. On a divan of cashmere she lies, With impatient, black flashings of eyes, Of black passion-eyes slumberless. Both her wee hands, of princess and fay, Have been tipped to the nail in henneh, To delight and charm me with ; While her slaves, with curved scimitars bare, Pace, with slow, cat-like tread, here and there, As a jest to alarm me with ! From the satin and silk of her kiosk She dreams out to the moon-glamored bosk, As she waits till I come to her ; While the songs of the bulbul arise, And the wail of the soft lute replies, And the sad guzlas thrum to her. From her palace, invading the dusk, Floats a subtle, soft odor of musk, And her sighings ascend with it ; 230 SHADOWS AND IDEALS. While the murmurs of millions of flowers, From the mazes of fountains and bowers, Seem in silence to blend with it. As she waits mid the perfumes that swarm, The checked passion that darts through her form Burns resistless and comet-like ; For her love there is no Rhamadan, And no fasting, no faith, no Koran, No tame passions, Mahomet-like ! She may wait by the moon, and may dream, But to-night, to her splendor supreme, My soul dares not be dutiful. I have given the love that she craves To Al-Leila, the pearl of her slaves ; To Al-Leila, the beautiful ! LOVE ETERNAL. 231 LOVE ETERNAL. {An Impromptu.} The flowers will still be springing From earth's green bed, Dark storms will still be bringing Their tale of dread, And birds will still be singing When we are dead. New buds will bloom delightful Upon our head, New storms, malign and spiteful, On earth will spread, And pain will reign still frightful When God is dead. But love alone, supernal, When two souls wed, Will live in rapture vernal On passion fed, Will live in joy eternal When death is dead ! 232 SHADOWS AND IDEALS. IN A SEVILLIAN CLOISTER. In a Sevillian cloister, old and quaint, I wandered once, and saw a picture rare : A goddess with sublimities of hair, Holding a rose-leaf to a suppliant saint. Her dark and perfect locks without restraint Fell on an ample bosom, white and fair, And, marveling much, I murmured, half in prayer, " 'T is but a dream an artist loved to paint ; A vagrant fancy of a fevered mind." For none beheld such glorious tresses shine On earth or sea, and they will ne'er be seen ! This I believed, until my eyes did find The misty marvel of thy hair divine, Fit for the brow of some celestial queen. NAPOLEON II. 233 NAPOLEON II., DUKE OF REICHSTADT. Dove that found birth within an eagle's nest, Bauble of circumstance and shifting fate, Thou wast too young to know thy imperial state, Before thy marvelous father, foe-oppressed, Fell like a hero ! And thou hadst not guessed, In thy sweet, guileless play, that thou wast great, And that his name, with its gigantic weight, Upon thy weakness was ordained to rest. When thou in after years, with tears and pain, The dazzling records of his deeds supreme, With all their pomp and splendor, didst peruse, How must have passed in thy bewildered brain Fantastic visions, fugitive as a dream, Of glorious Jenas and dire Waterloos ! 1877- 234 SHADOWS AND IDEALS. ALSATIA. The haughty Prussians proudly tread Upon the mounds that hold my dead ; They guard me armed with glittering steel, Unconscious of my mute appeal ; In serried lines their hosts advance, But all my love is still with France. In vain their hordes my valleys fill ; In vain they gird the Rhine and 111 With granite forts and bristling guns ; In vain these vile and hated ones With neighing steeds upon me prance, For all my soul is true to France. I can recall the days when Rome Sent legions through the Rhenish foam ; I fell, and was their Caesar's thrall, Yea ! with the other lands of Gaul ; But, oh ! I dreaded not his glance, Because there was no land of France. ALSATIA. 235 I can recall the stubborn fight Of Ariovistus, king by right, Who, with his brave, untutored hordes, Was stricken by the Roman swords. They left full many a shield and lance Upon the soil God made for France. The Alemanni seized me then With howling hosts of bearded men ; But Frankish warriors swiftly came To ravish me with iron and flame. I heard their grand, defiant chants, And all my spirit burned for France. Great Duke Adelrie o'er me reigned, And by the highest heaven ordained, His sweet Odilla, without taint, Became my patroness and saint. My fields were merry with the dance, And all my soul went forth to France. The long years grew ; I lived to share The mighty empire of Lothaire, And then for centuries my charms Were guarded by Teutonic arms. 236 SHADOWS AND IDEALS. They toiled upon my soil like ants, But all my soul was true to France. Then came a dictate from the throne, King Louis claimed me as his own. The hireling troops were stricken down, Deep in my rebel Rhine to drown ; Yea, and to-day my spirit pants With deathless memories of France. Then plenty and sweet peace were mine. Ruled by great kings of right divine, I lived for many bounteous years Free from oppression and from tears. I felt no more the German lance, And all my love went forth to France. Alas ! there came a day of pain, When German bandits seized again My fertile hills, and hold them now, Staining the beauty of my brow. In countless legions they advance, But all my soul is true to France. ALSATIA. 237 The day is near when France will claim My captive soil with fire and flame. The foreign jailors that are mine Will feed the fishes of the Rhine ; And until God this blessing grants, My heart and soul are true to France. 233 SHADOWS AND IDEALS. TO-DAY, DELICIOUS AGNES, BLONDE AND FAIR To-day, delicious Agnes, blonde and fair, In humble ways I reverently greet Thy youth that blossoms in woman's grace complete, Crowned by the golden glory of thy hair. In thy deep eyes of blue, intense and rare, My sad and musing spirit loves to meet A soul whose essence is sublime and sweet, Soft as the breath of dawn, and pure as prayer. And when on thee in ravishment I gaze, Vague dreams my wandering fancy will surprise ; Visions of Phidias and his unfound goal ! And I, too timid e'er to speak or praise, Think that I do behold in modern guise Some white Greek statue that enshrines a soul. THE EXECUTIONER'S DREAM. 239 THE EXECUTIONER'S DREAM. 1793. Accurse me not, oh, God ! and from my forehead Avert the world's disdains ; Thou who dost know how anguishful and horrid To me the midnight wanes, And how in sleep my harrowed soul of pains Dreams of red rains ! Each night in the hot terror of my dreaming, Swooning with utter dread, I see the fiends of memory round me teeming, Around my guilty bed ; And trunkless heads e'er flit before me, dead, Loathsome and red ! Those hateful heads, the heads that I have sundered, Draw near unto me — near On each dark night, as I have lain and wondered, In trembling and in fear. Some murmur awful secrets in my ear, Horrid to hear ! 2 4 o SHADOWS AND IDEALS. Around me in a buzzing cloud they haunt me, Those heads of clotted gore ; They sing, they weep, they laugh, they sob and taunt me; Some shriek, and some implore ; Oh, God ! They come to curse me more and more Than e'er before. Some kiss me with their clammy lips all gory, Some cling to me and bite ; Oh, severed heads ! is this your martyr-glory, To desecrate the night ? Why in my torture take ye such delight, Oh, fiends of fright? I swoon beneath their putrid, foul caresses ; New heads keep swarming still ; They brush my face with cold and bloody tresses, And sometimes whisper shrill, " Was it my crime if I was forced to kill Against my will ? " I see them in the pale, sad moonlight flitting, In dreams of wild despair ; I feel the icy contact of their spitting Upon my brows and hair ; They never stop nor cease, but through the^air Float everywhere ! THE EXECUTIONER'S DREAM. 241 They bite aside the drapery of my curtain, With white teeth keen, And in the ghostly, flickering light, uncertain, I see them o'er me lean, Murmuring constantly, with voice of spleen, La Guillotine! One brings between her teeth her wedding casket, With costly gems inlaid ; Another asks me have I changed my basket, And have I oiled the blade ; Another scoffs and tells me, undismayed, I never prayed ! The flesh of every latest victim winces Fresh from the reeking knife ; Soldiers and dukes, ladies and lords, and princes, With unearthly strife, Demand some news of mistress, friend or wife, And howl for life. As day appears my shattered sense grows bolder ; I calm my ghostly fears ; But dream again that, nestled on my shoulder, A bleeding head appears ; Its cold mouth smells of maggots and of biers, And at me leers. 242 SHADOWS AND IDEALS. I see a head among all others swimming, The swan-like neck still wet ; The eyes with gentle tears are over-brimming ; The lips are crimson yet ; The rare and regal head none can forget, Of Antoinette ! It still retains its proud, patrician beauty, And soft, silk tresses brown ; It tells me with a sigh I did my duty, And then it looketh down ; The head still wears a blood-bespattered crown, And does not frown. Unto my lips one head with signs of gladness And strangest fervor clings ; It gazes on my trembling form with sadness ; Oh, God ! at times it sings ! I note its august brow of sufferings ; It is the King's ! Protect me, angels, from the cruel staring Of countless angry eyes ; Protect my soul from their delirious glaring, Those seas of eyes that rise ; Spare me the horror of my victims' cries, And of their sighs ! THE EXECUTIONER'S DREAM. 243 Accuse me not, Oh, God ! and from my forehead Avert the world's disdains ; Thou who dost know how anguishful and horrid To me the midnight wanes, And how, in sleep, my harrowed soul of pains Dreams of red rains ! June 1, 187s. 244 SHADOWS AND IDEALS. AGOSTINO SUSINI. OBIIT 1884. There was a time when, laureled by sweet fame, You stood in youth's magnificence and pride, Your glorious tones now charmed, now terrified, And throngs attentive marveled at your name. Then the sere autumn of existence came, The meed of praise no longer could abide, And to the world, estranged and cast aside, Your artist soul no future praise could claim. But I remember the triumphant past, The charm and splendor of your perfect art, When on your brow was shrined all manhood's bloom. And, as the years pass on, I come at last To place, while sorrow thrills me to the heart, This humble flower of song upon your tomb. MARIO. 245 MARIO. Art reigned incarnate in thy lofty soul, Tuning that voice which was Rubini's peer, And whose delicious accents, firm and clear, Could hold each changing passion in control. But thou wast greatest in some thrilling role That shook the heart or drew the rebel tear ; And memories of thee, forever dear, Will live and linger now from pole to pole. Death can not ravish thy eternal fame, Nor can it snatch the laurel from thy brow ; The ermine of thy life is free of stain, And, for all time, thy ever-glorious name, Shrined in the future, as 't is honored now, Will pure, supreme and beautiful remain. December, 18S3. 246 SHADOWS AND IDEALS. ROSE -WINDOW. In Blois Cathedral, shunning care's restraint, In twilight hours I oft have sighed, alas ! When gazing on its wondrous colored glass, Emblazoned with bright forms of god and saint ; When, pensive, through the lofty aisles I pass, I seem to see a subtle life-tint faint Steal o'er their cheeks whene'er the solemn plaint Of claustral voices chants the vesper mass. And the strange thought will cling unto my mind, How the dead artists, who their charm have made, Live in those panes before me, side by side ; Some as pale martyrs, some apostles kind ; All in rare, radiant robes of light arrayed, Guarding the shrines their art has beautified. JUDAS THE SECOND 247 JUDAS THE SECOND. His Christ came unto him, and from the pain And dismal sloughs of misery and care Raised him with friendship saintly and most rare, Saying, "Be thou my friend, my friend remain." His Christ did more : He let his hand attain Honors he dared not humbly beg in prayer ; His sinful past in mercy he did spare, And to uplift him to a throne did deign ! Then, with the liberal laurels on his brows, The gift of one immortal, noble heart, Who made irradiant his disgraceful lot, He, traitor to his country and his vows, Betrayed that Master with a devil's art ; And hell doth know him now as Bernadotte ! 1880. 248 SHADOWS AND IDEALS. FOR THE JURY TO APPRECIATE, Callous by sorrow, in affliction strong, I never whispered unto alien ears The dreary, tragic story of my wrong, But held it sacred through the bitter years. With calm, angelic patience did I wait, Hoping at last to find some lenient soul, Some clement victim of unkindly fate Who with my dire misfortune might condole. By chance I met one, calling heaven kind, And all the pent-up sluices of my gall Were opened storm-wise to his lordly mind, And, like a weeping child, I told him all. All, all the hideous mystery of my tale ; A poem of hellish horror, strange and grand. Oh, God ! the words that would have made Christ pale Were null and lost, he did not understand ! FOR THE JURY TO APPRECIATE. 249 With wild eyes watching his unmoving face, Breathless, no sign of sympathy I found ; And, maddened by this unforeseen disgrace, I shot him as I would have shot a hound. 1877. 250 SHADOWS AND IDEALS. PAN IS NOT DEAD. Poets are always writing everywhere, In sonnets and in odes, that Pan is dead 7 The poor old god, whose syrinx charmed the air, For them to heaven, or somewhere else, has fled. Ten thousand times this falsehood they have said, And to repeat it daily they contrive ; In grievous error they have all been led, For we all know that Pan is still alive. They say that flowerful Greece no more is fair, In fact, that it is hideous instead ; That everything is stale, and flat, and bare, Because Pan went to the abode of dread. They weep and rave about his horned head, His ibex feet and beard, and ever strive Reports about his funeral to spread, But we all know that Pan is still alive. In vain in morbid stanzas they declare How the god lived, before his spirit sped To high Olympus, place of peace and prayer, PAN IS NOT DEAD. 251 And tell of all the briny tears they shed When first at school his piteous fate they read ; But all in vain fond fancy thus they drive ; 'T is sad upon their hobby's tail to tread, But we all know that Pan is still alive. ENVOI. Prince, when you read such poet's lines, beware, At wonderful conclusions they arrive ; They may mythology to tatters tear, But we all know that Pan is still alive. 252 SHADOWS AND IDEALS. IN A BOOK- STORE. I met her at the Chadwick ball ; We danced till it was ended ; And never did my mind recall A creature half so splendid. Perhaps my love her charm exalts, But I can not determine Whether she looked when in the waltz More sweet than in the German. My soul was filled with such delight, With ecstasy so nameless, That home I rushed and passed the night Scribbling at sonnets aimless. Some were preposterous, some sublime, But all were, in their fashion, Bold challenges to sense and rhyme, And Etna-like in passion. Alas ! I did not send my thought And ravings injudicious, IN A BOOK-STORE. 253 Although the blush they might have brought Unto her cheeks delicious. In fact, the love at my command Had not one trait redeeming ; I never dared to ask her hand, And only wooed her dreaming. Yet chances numberless I had Of timidly proposing, But always something new forbade The words my heart disclosing. I missed occasions at croquet, Three at her cousin's party, And two one night at Ocean Bay While we perused " Astarte" So, after that entrancing ball, I felt that luck had perished, And mournfully I gave up all The happy plans I cherished. Sad, on Broadway next afternoon, I strolled in listless manner, Humming her most detested tune, And smoking an Havana. 254 SHADOWS AND IDEALS. I thought my wittiest comrade dull, My best friend a deceiver ; I found new beauty in a skull And charms in yellow fever. I loved to muse on lives o'erthrown By hatreds energetic, And with all crimes and horrors known My soul grew sympathetic. Just then she chanced to pass Grace Church, Joyous, alert, vivacious, And never, though I tried to search, Saw I a kirk more gracious. I knew her by her dainty tread, Her chic among a million, Her wondrous eyes, her poise of head, And her bottine Sevillian. Then I, of course, forgot my woes, For her sweet smile, transcendent, Melted my ennui as the snows Melt by the sun resplendent. She beckoned me and, like a bird, Gayly and blithely chattered, IN A BOOK-STORE. 255 And, though I did not say a word, I was immensely flattered. She dazed me so by joke and jest, And by her mellow laughter, I left my secret unconfessed And put it off till after. But with impatience waited then The time to tell her clearly, That, of all born and unborn men, 'T was I who loved most dearly. In the sweet babel of her talk My sighs passed by unheeded ; But, after a delightful walk, I found out what she needed. "Stop in this book-store," she did cry ; "It looks like any other ; I quite forgot, I came to buy Some novels for my mother." We entered, and among the books She moved about delighted, Finding the best in hidden nooks, (She said she was near-sighted,) 256 SHADOWS AND IDEALS. Pausing to read a line or two Of Sindbad or Aladdin, Or something she was told was new From Huxley or from Braddon. Then with her great alluring eyes, As blue as heaven in Zante, In mute and wondering surprise She skimmed through Dore's Dante ; And said, while passing over " Maud," " I 've worshiped this for ages ; It is so sweet." The little fraud Was baptized from those pages ! O'er Dobson's " Vignettes " for a while She delicately lingered, And with a fascinated smile The " Cloth of Gold " she fingered. Then Petrarch's volume met her gaze ; She added : " I admire it." Laura, mon cher, deserved this praise ; I wish / could inspire it. Then, as she read each loving line, And seemed quite interested, IN A BOOK-STORE. 257 From the top shelf a book divine I seized, quite unmolested. It was a volume which I knew Before I dared adore her, And, with the title full in view, I laid it down before her. For half an hour, at any rate, She did not see that cover ; And bitterly I then did hate The great Italian lover. But finally she turned to look, Her peerless cheeks grew rosy, And the bright eyes upon the book Read, " / Promessi Sposi " / The hint was a sublime success ; (How could I thus have tarried ?) Those words alone I have to bless, For we are safely married. And now, within my book-case neat, Calmly repose together My dear Manzoni's works complete, All bound in Russia leather. 258 SHADOWS AND IDEALS. TO AUSTIN DOBSON. Upon receiving a volume of his poems. Across the seas a book by friendly care Comes with its witty verve and fancies rare To charm me by sweet lines of nameless grace, Woven in dainty ways like Mechlin lace, Perfect as some old Marquis debonair. They breathe of Versailles and the Pare aux Cerfs, Of Pompadour, Sabran and La Valliere ; I think I see the artist's dreamy face Across the seas. Watteau of rhyme, he ponders in his chair, Half Alcibiades and half Voltaire, Giving shy fantasy a merry chase, While smiling in the muse's warm embrace. To him, kind winds, my admiration bear Across the seas. TAPESTRY. 259 TAPESTRY. Sweet days were those, Oh France, when at my will Mine eyes could worship in artistic ease The prodigies of fancy, toil and skill Of thy delicious Gobelin tapestries. And when the sunlight through the gallery streamed Upon the fairy texture, all my soul Fused with the old mythology, and seemed A long-lost fragment of the perfect whole. Pale, languid nymphs, sporting with merry fauns, Beckoned me to them with a mystic charm, And in those amber, rosy, silken dawns My spirit dwelt unconscious of alarm. I gazed upon them tearfully elate, Enraptured by the ever-changing sight ; And in their midst I found myself in state, When the Musee had closed one summer night. 260 SHADOWS AND IDEALS. All who with cunning hand had been portrayed, Famous in fable, history or lore, Crowded around me in the solemn shade, Alluring dames, intrepid knights of yore. From every portion of the world of silk Descended goddesses and chatelaines ; Kings on emblazoned palfreys, white as milk ; Stalwart crusaders, Jewish slaves in chains. Looking upon me with large, curious eyes, Achilles, with his god-like forehead bare, Whispered in Greek, with accents of surprise, Some eager words to blonde La Valliere. Bluff Charles Martel, with battle-axe and shield, Pointed me out to Harry of Navarre ; And, led by Cupids from some blooming field, Cleopatra's glance fell on me like a star ! The august Louis, fourteenth of the name, Powdered and wigged, deigned for a time to scan My modern face, that burned with conscious shame, And gave opinions to inebriate Pan. TAPESTRY. 261 Borgia and Phryne, both on pleasure bent, Laughed at my novel raiment for awhile ; And behind Pharaoh's diamond-studded pschent I saw Du Barry's pink, bewitching smile. Saladin, arm and arm with Luther, came, One with his scimitar, one with his book ; And on my palpitating, ravished frame The fair Madonnas cast a pitying look. Before my eyes Prometheus, unbound, Kissed the gemmed hand of Marie Antoinette, While the grim vulture, harmless on the ground, Flapped its great wings and timed their minuet. Ninon de 1' Enclos courted Caesar's youth ; Hector to Pompadour wild wars rehearsed, And in surprise I heard the Biblic Ruth Merrily chat with Huss and Charles the First. Snake-haired Medusa smiled on Huguenots ; Agnes Sorel praised Bayard's mighty strength ; Nero escorted Mary Queen of Scots ; Moses propounded creeds with Leo Tenth ! 262 SHADOWS AND IDEALS. All passed in flesh and blood before my sight, One miracle of beauty most supreme ; Oh, cruel sun ! how I despised thy light, That proved to me that all was but a dream ! 1SS1. BA UDELAIRE. 263 BAUDELAIRE. Ame puissante en deuil ! tes haines fremissantes Ont peuple ton esprit de sujets monstrueux ; Les cauchemars affreux de tes nuits effrayantes Viennent baver leur sang d' un noir enfer hideux. L* Ennui ronge ton coeur, et les voix eclatantes Des archanges divins, aux doux yeux radieux, Ne sauraient t' eloigner de tes noires amantes, La Mort ! et le Dugout ! poete merveilleux ! Ta Muse, au front reveur, qui rugit et qui brame, Repond en ricanant a ce monde irrite, Que le " Laid c' est le Beau," que le Laid est une ame, Et ta rime de feu, pleine d' autorite, Sait montrer a nos yeux aveugles et rebelles Que la fange contient choses chastes et belles. ' Sono i giojelli della tua corona L'emulo sei di Duprez, di Rubini E anzi o favorito del destino, Nella tua voce vive, grida e suona L'anima colossale del Salvini. CHINOISERIE. 267 CHINOISERIE. A la Prince sse Tung-Chwd-Hlin. Je voudrais etre ton miroir, Et le soir, Refleter tes yeux, noirs et doux, Quand tu te mires, ma charmante Indolente, Sur ton lit de bambous. Ah ! je voudrais etre le vent Languissant, Faisant fremir ton eventail ; Ou bien la coupe d'or qui baise, A son aise, Tes levres de corail, Ah ! que ne suis-je Mandarin, Fort, hautain, A trois dragons d'or singuliers ; Pour oser te surprendre en traitre Puis en maitre, Baiser tes petits pieds. 268 SHADOWS AND IDEALS. Que ne suis-je l'esclave noir, Qui le soir Vient parfumer tes bleus cheveux ; Ou bien le suave k'hol qu'il passe, Avec grace, Sous tes yeux langoureux ! Que ne suis-je le colibri Ebloui, Qui te reveille le matin, Baisant d'amour, quand il se penche Ta main blanche Comme le Kaolin ! Ou bien encor, le brodequin, Si mutin, Qui chausse ton blanc pied d'enfant, Ou le pur attar-gul qui tombe, Ma colombe, Sur ton corps ravissant ! Dans les beaux jardins de Pekin, Et Nankin, En babillant avec les fleurs, CHIN0ISER1E. 269 Je fais pour te plaire des odes Aux Pagodes, Et je cache mes pleurs. J'ecoute quand dans ton palais D'or et jais, Tu prends ta Yue-Kin le matin, Et ta voix d'oiseau qui m 'enchante, Et qui chante, Notre Buddha divin. Rose de Chine, Fleur de The, Je serai A toi fidele pour toujours. Mon arae fuit parmi les ombres Des bois sombres Pour cherir ses amours. Je t'aime et je te suis, helas, Pas a pas, Mais ton coeur ne sait qu 'oublier, A ! si je meurs, quand la nuit tombe, Sur ma tombe, Viens un instant pleurer. 270 SHADOWS AND IDEALS. LES MOUSQUETAIRES. Le premier a l'assaut, vrai Bayard du carnage ! Ail sourire reveur, a 1' eloquente voix, Pourfendant les Anglais, ferraillant avec rage, Type des anciens preux, noble Athos, je te vois. Salut, beau d'Artagnan, superbe de vaillance, Arme de pied en cap sur ta maigre jument, L'oeil vif et le front haut, cherchant insolence Criant, " Mordious, Messieurs, mettez flamberge au vent"! Et toi, naif Porthos, aux combats temeraire, Au doux coeur chaleureux, a, 1 'invincible main, Je t'entends grommeler de ta voix de tonnerre, Ah ! 9a maitre hotelier ! qu 'on m'apporte du vin ! Salut bel Aramis, adore des marquises, Qui fait si bien la cour et le sonnet galant, Quel chic dans tes duels, quelles facons exquises, Mousquetaire coquet, gentil abbe fringant. 7876. LA BLASEE. 271 LA BLASEE. Dans son boudoir Watteau, l'indolente Marquise, Agace de son pied mutin, blanc et mignon, Le museau moite et noir de son petit bichon, Tout en baillant un peu d'une facon exquise. Pour fuir le spleen naissant, Madame alors devise, " Si je lisais Balzac ? . . bah ! 9a m'enerve . . . non Pour charmer mes ennuis Gautier n'a plus le don, Mais que faire mon Dieu ? pauvre femme incomprise ! Gounod est insipide, et j'execre Verdi, Encore un peu, ma foi, j'aimerais mon mari, S'il venait consoler sa blonde delaissee ; C'est drole tout de merae etre ainsi desceuvree. Vraiment je n'y comprends rien, Hen absolument, Et pourtant j'ai change ce mois deux fois d'amant ! 1S87. 272 SHADOWS AND IDEALS. LE MARQUIS DE SADE. Sublime libertin ! qu'on nomme a tort immonde, J 'admire tes hauts faits ; esclave du desir, Tu ravageais Paris pour pouvoir assouvir Tes fieres passions, ta verve furibonde. Pour toi, tout etait bon, Marguerite ou Joconde, Tes sens voluptueux ne savaient point dormir ; Et, pour un amour vil, un bizarre soupir, Ton coeur aurait voulu bouleverser un monde ! La douce vierge brune, ou la blonde marquise, Les catins du trottoir, et les dames d'atours, Ont recu tes baisers, Roi de la paillardise ! Frere en peche, merci, de ton secret infame, Jes sais enfin creer ces sublimes amours, Qui font vibrer ma chair et rayonner mon ame ! PAUL HAMILTON HAYNE. 273 PAUL HAMILTON HAYNE. Je suis emerveille, ta splendide carriere, O poete reveur, apdtre de la foi ! L 'Art pur et la Beaute* font ta divine loi ; Au doute tentateur tu sais crier " arriere"! Comme le grand Hugo, dans ta force pleniere, Bien loin du monde aime qui t'acclamerait roi, Tu cherches l'Id£al, en exil comme toi, Et rien n'a pu fletrir ton ame chaste et fiere. Triste mais courageux, sans peur, sans defaillance, Tu caches a nos yeux les fievres de tes nuits ; Quand ton cceur dit JV/anf, ta voix dit Esperance. Helas, ami, je sens tes immenses ennuis ; Tu chantes noblement, penche sur un abime, Et j'aime et je comprends ton devoument sublime ! 6 Novembre, 1878, 274 SHADOWS AND IDEALS. PIZZICATO. Pincant du doigt la mandoline, Je veux chanter jusqu' a demain, Car j'apercois ta blanche main, Soulevant la rouge courtine. Si j'ai froid, mon arae est en feu, Et que m'importe la nuit sombre ? Je vois briller a travers l'ombre Comme une etoile ton oeil bleu. Tu te penches tremblant encore Ta duegne doit etre endormie, Allons ! du courage, ma mie, Laisse tomber l'echelle d'or ! O ! brune fleur de Barcelone, Pourquoi me fais-tu tant languir ? Je veux baiser, ou bien mourir, Tes roses levres de Madone ! TO H. W. LONGFELLOW. 275 TO H. W. LONGFELLOW. Sonetto composlo pel nobile Signor Enrico W. Longfellow, dopo aver letto il suo Capo lavoro " // Ponte Vecchio di Firenze.'" SONETTO. Scritto hai di luoghi al cor Toscano santi, Dell' Arno e di Santa Maria Del Fiore, D'Amalfi tutta rose ed amaranti, Di Roma augusta in tutto il suo splendore ! Rifulge Italia d' immortali incanti, Nei versi che t' inspira ardente il core ; E le sue glorie, i pregi, i prieghi, i pianti, Trovano un eco in te sempre d' amore ! E della bella Italia tu sei degno, Che a te lascio Petrarca V armonioso Plettro d 'amor ; Boccaccio il suo sorriso ; Ma di Danto il sublime e forte ingegno, Rese il tuo spirto grande e vigoroso, Ne mai il tuo nome fia dal suo diviso ! 276 SHADOWS AND IDEALS. GAETANO DONIZETTI. Degno sei tu d 'Italia, o genio santo. Fulge il tuo nome in immortal splendore, Ed i sospir del tuo celeste cuore Ai nostri spirti daran sempre incanto. L' accento tuo, o sia di riso o pianto, Sara pel suol natio eterno onore, Poiche, per te la Musa con amore Vestissi tutta d'unnovello aramanto. GV inspirati concenti di Lucia, Prova de genio e di preclara mente, Riviveranno in rimembranza pia Di te chi festi elettrizzar la gente i Saranno un letto di olezzanti fiori, Perpetueranno insiem gloria ed onori ! A T. B. ALDRICH. 277 A T. B. ALDRICH. Grand poete amoureux de la beaute puissante, Votre ame peut creer un fler accent vainqueur, Pour chanter dignement d 'une voix enivrante Les fortes passions, la grace et la douceur. Partout dans vos beaux vers la muse nous enchante, Et, captives, emus, par leur pure splendeur, Nous savons y trouver, 6 surprise charmante, L' exquise originality de votre cceur ! Poete, pour ces dons vous etes adore, Et toujours, quand je lis, ebloui, penetre, Un de vos chants ailes et doux comme un mystere, J 'entends du haut du ciel un murmure, et je vois Gautier, tout souriant, qui de sa noble voix Vous dit, "Beni sois-tu, mon bien-aime, mon frere ! ' ig Mars, 1881. 278 SHADOWS AND IDEALS. "LA DUBARRY." A Pose of Song, Plucked from the Guillotine and the* Pillory of History. Quand dans Paris ton charme etrange, Fille adorable, fut connu, Comme etant ton droit et ton du, La ville te baptisa "V Ange." De tes amants tu faisais fi, O, gracieuse Dubarry ! Quand a la cour etincelante De Louis, le Roi Bien Aime, Reine de grace et de beaute, Tu vins, belle enfant rayonnante, Son coeur royal fut ebloui, O, seraillante Dubarry ! Quand dans son palais, entouree, Ecoutant les propos galants, Les madrigaux des courtisans, Qui t' appelaient Madone ou fee, Ta levre a gentiment souri, Delicieuse Dubarry. " LA DUBARRY." 279 Quand dans ta chambre tapissee, Bijou de Boucher et Watteau, Tu grignotais un gros gateau, Mignonne gourmande adulee, Le Roi te trouvait belle ainsi, Rieuse et folle Dubarry. Et quand de tes atours paree, Tu pris ton verre aux soupers fins, II aimait de ses blanches mains Caresser ta gorge adoree, Le vin le rendait etourdi, Tu rougissais, o Dubarry ! Pourquoi part-il de son vieux Louvre ? Ou court-il par ce vilain temps ? Ah, bon ! j 'oublie, — tu 1' attends, II parle bas : — la porte s 'ouvre. Ne crains rien, je suis endormi ; Discret surtout, ma Dubarry. Quel charmant regne de folies, De mouches, sonnets et bichons, D'amour, de guerre et de chansons, 280 SHADOWS AND IDEALS. De langoureuses insomnies : Ton bon Louis etait ravi, N 'est-ce-pas, belle Dubarry ! Helas, ici tout n 'est pas fete, Les temps sont changes : — il le faut, On outragea ta blonde tete, Joyau de roi, sur 1' echafaud ! D 'angoisse atroce elle a fremi, Pauvre, innocente Dubarry ! SONNET. 281 SONNET. Tu rirais gentiment, coquette jouvencelle, Si je te murmurais doucement et tout bas, Que mon coeur t' appartient, que je te trouve belle, Et qu 'un baiser mignon vaudrait un noir trepas. Ah, oui, tu sourirais, et la brune etincelle Jaillirait de tes yeux, si je faisais un pas, Pourquoi me permets-tu d 'esperer, ma cruelle, Quand je t' adore tant, si tu ne m 'aimes pas ? Ton coeur est done ferme a triple cadenas ? Mais, est-ce bien un coeur ? Non, une citadelle, Qu' il faut prendre d 'assaut a grand renfort de bras. J' en ferai le doux siege, alert, arme, fidele, Pour conquerir ton coeur, mais si je tombe, helas, Daigneras-tu panser ma blessure mortelle? 282 SHADOWS AND IDEALS. ENVY. The imperious sun, grown sullen by great hate, Holds in its mighty heart of light and fire A wild and uncontrollable desire, That night can soothe not, nor can time abate. Dead seons numberless have seen it wait, Haughtily patient in its awful ire, Hopeless, alas ! yet striving' to aspire To goals impossible, as deaf as Fate. Had it the power to merit one sweet boon, Gladly it would forever in gloom eclipse The glorious Heaven of light that in it glows, For it is fain to silver, as did the moon, Juliet's delicious and ecstatic lips, When resting flower-wise upon Romeo's. 1877. ORIGINALITY. 283 ORIGINALITY. Once, as I pondered o'er strange books and sought From secrets of the past some knowledge new, Within my laboring mind there sudden grew The perfect germ of a stupendous thought ! No bizarre brain as yet had ever wrought This odd, weird wonder into shape, and few Could from the store of fancy bring to view A whim to equal this, to me untaught ! I hailed its brilliant advent with delight. But, as I dreamed, I heard a sad voice say : " /, who am living in a spirit home, With the same thought that pleasures thee to-night Charmed grim Tiberius on a festal day, And made tumultuous laughter roar through Rome!' 284 SHADOWS AND IDEALS. INCONSISTENCY. Once in the chancel of a church austere, Upon the illumined altar-steps I prayed, While near me knelt, in somber garb arrayed, Hosts of repenting sinners thrilled with fear. Without, the tempest swept by, swift and drear, When suddenly a fiery and livid blade Of lightning struck the shining spire, and laid Its Gothic beauty shattered far and near ! And then the germs of doubt dawned in my soul, Why, if God lived within this house to know That suppliants bowed and dared to Him aspire, Did He, with wrath and wondrous uncontrol, Strike it to dust with His infuriate blow, And mar its majesty with avenging fire ? THE MASTERS. 285 THE MASTERS. I.— A CIRCUS MASTER SPEAKS TO THE CLOWN. Come, rouse yourself, ridiculous old clown, Try to be funny, try to please the town. One hundred seats are sold ! And, tho' you're poor and old, You're paid enough to cartwheel and to jest, Come ! show your jolly tricks, and be possessed Like devils with mad laughter ! What are you crying after ? Your child is dead? Bah ! Jump right in the ring. A whining clown forsooth's a silly thing. Turn twenty hand-springs right away, Or else, by God ! I'll stop your pay. Dance all your pain and carrion to the grave, For all I care — but make the people rave. Click ! Clack ! (Snaps his whip.) II.— GOD SPEAKS TO THE EARTH. Awake, and be submissive to my powers, Cover thyself again with ferns and flowers. 286 SHADOWS AND IDEALS. How dost thou dare to dream Infecund, where, supreme, I bid thee roll incessantly and work ? Can fancies mutinous in thy nothing lurk ? Produce, and bow before me, Create, bring forth, adore me. Slavishly give to men both balm and bane. Let naught forgotten be of woe and pain, Else I will visit thee with fire, My malediction and my ire. Revolve, vile earth, and, silent as the grave, Obey me, for thou art my thing, my slave ! Click! Clack! IT WERE TOO TAME. 287 IT WERE TOO TAME. A MOOD OF MADNESS. It were too tame my hated foe to kill ! I fain would drug him in such subtle ways, That sullen Death my handiwork would praise, That friends who guarded him thro' hopeless days Should never know that he was living still. The livid, flawless pallor of his face Would leave no sign of potent poison sipped, When in his bands and flowing shroud equipped, He should be laid in the ancestral crypt, The last vile scion of a lawless race. And I would be there in the close, cold gloom, When all had gone, and, with dilated eyes Leering in rapture at my cherished prize, Would calmly wait to hear his hellish cries For mercy when he wakened in the tomb. 288 SHADOWS AND IDEALS. What grander vengeance could my injury claim Than there to hear his agonizing groan, The frantic effort in the dark alone, The supplicating pleas, the maddening moan, And thro' the coffin crack to shriek my name ? Ah ! then to say, " I pity thy sad lot," And of sweet pardon eloquently speak. Oh, somber joy, delicious and unique, While his low, airless sighs grew faint and weak, To draw one nail, give hope — but open not I July, 1877. DEL UDED. 2 8g DELUDED. I pity all whose superstitions need Perpetual prayer vague terrors to allay ; Poor trembling bigots who, till they turn gray, Place fervent trust in some unworthy creed. Dreading a phantom hell, they meekly plead, The crafty priest religiously obey, And think by genuflections night and day, That God will for their frailties intercede ! Fools ! when the world is but an atom rolled Amid the starry vastness of dim space, This vain and miserable human chaff, With confidence derisive to behold, Dreams that to Heaven ascend its cries for grace, And can not hear God's cold, contemptuous laugh. 2go SHADOWS AND IDEALS. POSTHUMOUS SELF-RESTRAINT. Were I to lie below some marble tomb, In cold decay, forgotten of mankind In the foul quiet and eternal gloom, Such utter peace my weary bones would find, That, should a gentle spirit to me come, Seeing me there, cadaverous and stark, And tell me in my startled torpor, numb With awful whispers in the awful dark, That it had loved me and possessed the power, God-given and rare, to animate my clay, That if I chose, I could in one brief hour Find sweetest life again and go my way, I, in my coffin's darkness and disgrace, Sure of its power the promise to fulfill, Would closer wrap the shrould around my face, And with contempt unspeakable lie still. 1878. SA TISFA C TION. 29 1 SATISFACTION, Men, tranced by beauty, pause and gaze upon The azure-starred sublimity of night, Or watch with moods of wondering delight The shifting clouds that veil a dying sun. They think of all the good the Lord hath done In the stern calm of His eternal might, And hardened sinners marvel at the sight Of luminous spheres that move since time begun. Ravished and mute, with eager eyes, they stand, Feeling new awe within their spirit blend, And of unending praise their lips are loud. While, far above them, infinite and grand, God hears this homage to the throne ascend, And of his work is insolently proud. SHADOWS AND IDEALS. ANANKE. A tree is blooming in some distant grove, A mammoth oak whose branches pierce the'sky, Peopled with birds, where agile squirrels rove, Where owlets hoot and where the eagles die. A maid is seated in a dreary room, Her drearier thoughts are far, ah ! far away, While, with a heart immersed in utter gloom, She wears a cerement till the close of day. Fair flowers are sleeping in the frozen ground, Until spring beckons them with signs unseen To aid the glory of new nature crowned, And, starlike, light the meadows' dewy green. A block of marble in a quarry lies, Inert, unfeeling in its silent sleep, While o'er it, roaring thro' the somber skies, The wintry winds their doleful vigils keep. ANANKE. 293 From that same tree my coffin will be wrought, Kind hands will place those flowers upon my head, The maiden's work will be the shroud I sought, The marble block will hold me with the dead. 1889. 294 SHADOWS AND IDEALS. HENRI DE LA ROCHEJAQUELEIN. At the Battle of Chenille 1 , April nth, 1793. I. Soldiers ! Though yonder fiery flood should swallow me, I, true, will fight for France, And when you see me for her sake advance, Follow me! Soldiers ! With joy yon deadly squares can thrill me, I scorn their sabered might, And should I turn or waver in the^fight, Kill me ! in. And should a bullet with their corpses range me, And leave me gashed or dead, Soldiers, by God's omnipotence o 'erhead, Avenge me ! March, iS8g. MOON SPLEEN. 295 MOON SPLEEN. Doomed by a cruel god to pine alone, Chaste and serene, in continents of space, I weary of gazing on the Earth's dull face, Whose secrets since creation I have known. I can recall the blond glow I have thrown Where Babylon reared its grandeur and its grace, And over pillared Karnac I can trace Dead rays that linger on immortal stone. But, ah ! the glories of Neronian Rome And templed Greece are sweet no more to me ! I tire of lending light to mart and dome, And loath the palpitant splendors of the sea ; While desolate, in my star-encompassed home, I roam forever in my white ennui. 296 SHADOWS AND IDEALS. THE TOWER OF BABEL SPEAKS. In ways unknown to mortals, I regret The memory of that grand and haughty hour, When the symmetric insolence of my tower Awed the pale heaven that braves my anger yet. No stone of mine now crumbling can forget My palm-clad pomp in those sweet days of power, When my colossal summit made stars cower And shrink before my awful silhouette. Oh ! despicable, puny hordes of men ! When I held sky and space within my reach, What souls had ye thus to be overcome ? Why did your coward hands desert me, when Jehovah, in his wrath, had blent all speech ? Could ye not work, oh, fools! though ye were dumb ? IS LIFE WORTH LIVING? 297 IS LIFE WORTH LIVING? If we could rub Aladdin's lamp each day, And at our palm attentive genii find To grant our every whim and wish resigned ; Yea ! could we lure the golden goose to lay A precious egg that we might keep alway ; And had we wishing-mantles round us twined, Or Fortunatus's rare wallet lined, And youth's elixir to avert decay, — Then life, perchance, might sweet and pleasant be. Who knows ? Such magic might delight us much, Yet we, perhaps, might yearn for something more. We would find qualms and deem ourselves unfree, Find life obnoxious to the light and touch, And dream and doubt, dejected as before ! 29S SHADOWS AND IDEALS. WINDS. The Night has girdled on her garb of glooms, The bleak north wind shrieks shrill along the air, While startled clouds are tossed afar like plumes, And stricken forests shiver in despair. Out on the heaving ocean, vast and dark, The mad storm drives, with swift, succeeding*shocks And angry hiss, a frail and mastless bark To utter doom upon the expectant rocks. Heavy with spice, and languorous with calm, The soft south wind, fresh from gold tropic seas, Caresses with delicious wafts of balm The summer splendor of the Antilles. It seeks amid the emerald of its bowers The hammock where a Creole, pale and fair, Lies like a flower among the other flowers, And plays with the soft splendors of her hair. COMEDY. 299 COMEDY. Oh, bitter life ! Unsufferable task, When some poor mime to earn his daily bread Must play the clown, or don the Thespian mask, And hide with rouge the tears he may have shed. Some see their rival with a loved one strain Exulting eyes to watch their suffering, And, while swift jealousy fires every vein, Repeat an odious rdle, or laugh and sing. The favorite actor, by the mass loved best, Makes his entric while thronged admirers cheer ; Alas ! they see not Death in every jest, His low, consumptive cough they can not hear. The girl whose grace and art cause such delight, Praised for her charming ways and dainty tread, Smiles sweetly still, but know you how, last night, With tearful eyes she mourned her mother, dead ? 300 SHADOWS AND IDEALS. No, no ! The very man you have preferred, Whose tragic power among the best is styled, May think as Hamlet, Lear, or Richard Third, Of dismal garrets and his starving child. Yet proud, fault-finding critics of the play, Carelessly judging without heart or right, With flippant mien and drawling voice may say, V How badly So-and- So performed to-night." RESURRECTION. 301 RESURRECTION. A placid lake dreamed the dull days away In Scotland's leafy heart, the wild deer's home, Yet never knew the ecstasy of foam, The curl of waves, or the grim tempest's sway. But storms encompassed it one fatal day, The snaky lightnings o'er its bank did roam, And to its sheltering snow-girt cedars clomb, Stirring the blue depths in wild disarray. Like that calm lake, my heart serenely dreamed, Unconscious of alarm, until you came, Leading Love with you, vigorous and free ; Then the strong lights of passion grandly gleamed, My heart arose, new-born, in fear and flame, Made by new love one vast and troubled sea ! 302 SHADOWS AND IDEALS. BIZARRERIE. II y a des hiros en mal comme en bien. — LaRochefoucauld. How dull historic page would be If every race were ruled with justice ; If men in every clime, born free, Could live in peace, content to see The eventless reign of an Augustus ! How sad, if mild apostles swayed With lenient laws a mighty nation ! If glorious War no longer preyed, If noble conquests were not made, If hearts possessed no emulation. How flat the universe would seem. Without debauch, and crime, and famine ! Slaughter made grand with glaives that gleam, Pestilence, outrage, sin supreme, And eager prayers to God and Mammon ! Had the broad world seen such dead time, Had nations died with no offender, BIZARRERIE. 303 Would we have had grim Dante's rhyme, Titian unique, Shakespeare sublime, And Art in all its vivid splendor ? No ! The millennium given to man, Though sought and begged for through the ages, From Patagon to Astrakan, Would please but for a fleeting span, And would not crush his Gothic rages ! And all who lived in indolence, Bereft of tyrant, god and hero, Would in their tame magnificence Rebel, and with desires intense Long for a Caesar or a Nero ! 304 SHADOWS AND IDEALS. DOST THOU RECALL, MY SWEET ANNETTE ? Dost thou recall, my sweet Annette, How hand and hand we went together, In fragrant fields by soft dews wet, And how we kissed below the heather? Dost thou recall those nights in June, That only poets' minds can treasure, When love's sweet path with flowers was strewn, When Hope and Joy were born of Pleasure ? Oh ! such a past can not be mute, Such bliss can not be crushed in sorrow, Although thou art a prostitute, And I am to be hanged to-morrow. THE ELEPHANT. 305 THE ELEPHANT. He strides, majestic, through his vast domain ; All India's jungles unto him belong. To battle with the pards God made him strong, And he of his sharp, glittering tusks is vain. There, sheltered from the sun-fire and the rain, Unconscious of the javelin or the thong, He thunders forth his wild and wooing song, When monstrous loves have thrilled his flesh again. But when I see him, with all courage fled, Chained as a captive on an alien ground, Far from the torrid pleasaunce of his home, I think of those great days, forever dead, When Hannibal led his ancestry renowned To crush the Imperial phalanxes of Rome ! 306 SHADOWS AND IDEALS. THE OAK. When in the stately groves, where thou dost bloom, I roam and gaze upon thee from below, I glory in the grandeur thou dost show, And even my thoughts thy majesty assume. The storms of ages and the tempests' gloom Have striven in vain to lay thy glory low, While starred, serene and wreathed in mistletoe, Thou giv'st to myriad birds a home or tomb ; And as I mark thy brown and rugged trunk, That Gallic lances proudly could defy, I dream of those dead days in leafy June, When, with white trailing robes and visage shrunk, The trucculent Druids grimly passed thee by With bleeding victims haloed by the moon ! A WOMAN'S WHIM. 307 A WOMAN'S WHIM. Utterly weary of these modern creeds, That hail the pain and passion of a cross, My doubting soul, that finds in them but dross, A far more grand and glorious worship needs. This sempiternal God, that pants and bleeds To save mankind, can locks all gory toss, Thorn-crowned, superb, but I feel not His loss ; Such useless martyrdom to my sense ne 'er pleads. Mahomet's cult, like Manitou's, is tame ; Brahma and Buddha teach no lofty things ; I see a God that can their powers eclipse, And long in some wild chaos of sacred flame To seek sweet shelter under Satan's wings, And kiss all hell upon his perfect lips ! 3 o3 SHADOWS AND IDEALS. TO HENRY W. LONGFELLOW. After Reading His Italian Sonnet to the Old Bridge at Florence. Thou sing'st of lands dear to the Tuscan heart ; Of peerless Arno glittering in dull gold ; Of rosy Amalfl, where thy feet have strolled ; Of Rome's great gloom or of the Pisan mart ; In thy rare poesy, as perfect as thine art, Italy revels in a flawless mold, And all her prayers and sufferings manifold Form of thy theme the supreme nobler part. For Petrarch's spirit from the dimly grand Vague lapse of centuries has thy fancy moved, And languid suns Venetian o 'er thee steal. Italia's glory smiles at thy command, While through thy song, which Dante would have loved, I hear Boccaccio's silvery laughter peal. IMPROMPTU BOUT RIME. 309 IMPROMPTU BOUT RIME. The warm sun slants upon a myrtled plain ; Brown linnets watch the blue Ilissus flow ; Benignant gods their choicest gifts bestow ; Calm and serene the shifting twilights wane. The woods are still that heard war's pomp and pain ; The silent beaches hide no ships of woe ; And Thracian javelins no longer glow Across the flowery hills like steely rain. Dead and unvestaled is the temple's fire, Flown are the valiant hosts of nobler kind, And flown the dream of beauty and of peace ; No hope, nor hope of hope, no new desire, Naught but the drowsy murmur of the wind, Through voiceless glens, and yet this once was Greece. 1881. 3io SHADOWS AND IDEALS. WOMEN. Were I a woman, I would not pray to be The great Semiramis or Joan of Arc, The fair Sorel, a Catherine grim and dark, Or Cleopatra, supple as the sea. Nor would it in sweet manner pleasure me To be fond Juliet listening to the lark, Nor yet a Stael, with genius for a mark. Nay, nor pale Marie Stuart, queen and free. Had I of such rare transformation choice, I would be Messalina, warm and lewd, Or amorous Sappho, with wild whims impure. Yea ! and my lawless spirit would rejoice To live in white Dubarry's bosom nude, Or on the glittering breast of Pompadour ! A WAY TO KILL. 3" A WAY TO KILL. For lying lips that lent me hope, I wasted Years in unmanly dalliance at your feet, And by false promises of joys untasted, I found the infamous abasement sweet. You spurned my love ! Well, conscious of my blunder, I go without reproach, without a sigh, To seek in Orient lands grim battle's thunder, Forget, and in some revel of steel to die. Courting the hissing bace, the brutal saber, My soul to all the glory of war will yield, And the calm night upon the bloody labor Will fall and find one lifeless on the field. Beneath the warm and eastern sky, star-spangled, Half-hidden in the long and gory grass, Over my livid corpse, all crushed and mangled, Great hosts of maddened cavalry will pass ! 312 SHADOWS AND IDEALS. The iron hoofs will stamp out every feature, All, all the luckless face that charmed you not, Until none recognize a human creature In that foul, shapeless mass of blood and rot. Blessed be the sun upon my carrion falling ! Blessed be the wind that lulls it ! For my soul, That hovers near it in the gloom appalling, Will find at last its vengeance and its goal. Oh, enviable Death ! Supreme perdition ! God speed the gaunt flies which, with virus sleek, Born from the hell of my decomposition, Will cross far seas to bite your rosy cheek ! July 8, 1877. BLUE. 313 BLUE. Upon the ocean's vivid blue A scorching sun hurls down, intense, One torrid, incandescent hue Of anger and malevolence. Blue is the hot and sultry air, Blue are the depths of drowsy waves, A mad, blind blue falls everywhere, And one poor mortal raves Upon a cracking raft alone, With throbbing throat and palsied limbs ; None hear his low and hideous groan ; A silent shark swift by him swims. Slowly the raft sinks down and rots ; The sun has faded now from view, And in his lidless eyes are spots Of livid and atrocious blue. 314 SHADOWS AND IDEALS. TWO LOVES FOUND REFUGE. A MOOD OF MADNESS. Two loves found refuge in my happy heart, One for my bride, one for the healing art ; Each of my spirit claimed an equal part. No jealous phantom through the years could rise. I drew new courage from her radiant eyes, And grew in science and experience wise. But, as my talent rose and waxed mature, Love for my bride became more insecure, Love for anatomy more deep and pure. Until, oblivious of past cherished days, Proud of strange studies and a city's praise, My soul began to hate her winning ways. Her kiss was odious ! To her beauty blind, I felt new longings, strange and undefined, The fiend of science had perturbed my mind. TWO LOVES FOUND REFUGE. 315 Each day a hellish wish, a mad desire Throbbed in my veins with a demoniac fire. Her smiling innocence aroused my ire. She was a subject to my eyes alone ; Not woman, forsooth, but so much flesh and bone, Sinew, and blood, and skin, which were my own. And I had lawful right, with foul intent, I who for progress on this sphere was sent, To use her body for experiment. So in her wine I dropped consuming blight, One moaning, shadow-haunted winter night, And, watching, clutched my scalpel's handle tight. Then, ere her eyes, that agony expressed, Had closed forever, with impatient zest, My hands were red dissecting her white breast. 1877. 316 SHADOWS AND IDEALS. INFLUENCE. Oft when some weary city calmly sleeps, Oblivious for an hour of hate and spite, The livid moon, with sad, phantasmal light, Strange vigils in the spotless azure keeps. In ghostly ways she indolently creeps Among the sable glories of the night, And with insidious rays of deadly white The dreamy town in one pale glamour steeps. Then, should some mortal with enamored eye Gaze on her beauteous presence, chaste and proud, With maddening joy her luminous fibers beat, And beams more potent from her brightness fly ; While men can hear the echo long and loud Of maniac laughter in a startled street ! April jg, 1878. A WHIM. 317 A WHIM. If I were sure that kind and fecund Death Brought sweet annihilation and repose ; That with the sudden parting of our breath We ended for eternity our woes ; Yea, if I knew that I would ne'er arise In other forms, in other spheres remote, I would applaud a God so great and wise And. with a prayer of rapture, cut my throat ! 3i8 SHADOWS AND IDEALS. TEMPERAMENT A cruel despot reigned ; each living thing Shuddered before him ; in his vast domains Hundreds of suffering wretches died in chains ; The land was weary of their clamoring. He loved to see wild hands in anguish cling ; His heart was shut to pity and to pains, While death made riot in his city's lanes, Reigning with him, a dreaded, mightier king. Then came upon the land a blighting blow ; All that had blossomed on the fields was swept Skyward by tempests in their outraged power ; For dreary months no shrub was known to grow, And it was told that this harsh tyrant wept When pressing to his lips one withered flower^! 1S78. BEATA. 319 BEATA. She walks among us in her innocence, Supreme in the blond glory of her hair, Serenely chaste, a vision of peace and prayer, With dreamy Vestal eyes of blue intense. None who have seen her purest glance know whence Comes its Madonna radiance soft and rare, When, pitying angel, she goes forth to share With foul and leprous poor her opulence. Men deem her candor from all evil free, And that her heart, in which no vice can grow, Is like her face, impeccable, divine. But, ah ! the foolish world knows not how she, Flower-wreathed and passionate, in a bagnio, Has madly pressed lascivious lips to mine ! iS 77 . 320 SHADOWS AND IDEALS. TO A FIRE -FLY. Sprinkling with fire the midnight's utter dark, When the summer thickens mid the drowsy bowers, Art thou ordained by God, oh, living spark, To guard the mystic passions of the flowers ? Or, with an ardent longing of delight, Dost thou for some sweet tryst of lilies burn ? Or art thou in the solitude of night The star for which the rose and violet yearn ? Perhaps thou art one of the Fury's tears, Dropped from a doomed and direful planet far. Or yet, borne from the crash of dying spheres, Some luminous atom of a fallen star. Perchance from altars where the grim Parsees Worshiped Ahura with melodious lyres, Long centuries gone, thou comest over leas, A glittering remnant of their holy fires. TO A FIRE-FLY. 321 But no ! For this thy glamour is not faint, The chill of ages would its heat dispel ; Such vividness, that burns without restraint, Must be some floating particle of hell. But why should I thy beauty thus compare, Oh, most fantastic of ethereal things ? For, when thy sheen illumes the soft June air, Thou art more like a topaz tipped with wings. Yet thou art fairest when Brazilian dames Twine thee in bracelets on their white arms bare, Or when they place the splendor of thy flames Deep in the dusky torrents of their hair ! 322 SHADOWS AND IDEALS. OBLIVION. Far in far Colorado's cafioned gloom, Girt by the shadow of Titanic trees, Swept by the swift and eagle-haunted breeze, There stands a desolate and forgotten tomb. No hunter knows the dead one's name or doom; No soul to garland it has passed the seas ; It lies there one of earth's sad mysteries, Where cougars crawl, where weeds and nettle bloom. The bounding bisons trample on the stone, The tempests lull the unknown form to rest. Unconsecrated, friendless and unblest, It stands until the end of time, alone. Such is the oblivion that I fain would win When death relieves me of this life of sin. 1880. A WISH. 323 A WISH. It would be sweet to leave the joys of earth, And all the crowded ways that men invade, To seek the depths of some mysterious glade, Untrodden since the universe had birth ; To hear the wild birds fill with twittering mirth The solemn elms, and in the twilight shade Muse on the power supreme that all things made, And with conflicting thoughts dispute His worth. Yea, and to taunt this mighty Force unknown With skeptic scorning and a cynic sneer, Deeming his awful silence a disgrace ; To doubt, and challenge Him upon His throne, In tones accusative to teach me fear, And then to suddenly meet Him, face to face ! 1882. 324 SHADOWS AND IDEALS. FANTAISIE. To please the insolence of my caprice, When Spleen has clutched me with its tireless hands, My gentle Muse, white prophetess of peace, Herald of utter and sublime release, In radiant peerlessness before me stands. While, mute, I watch with ravishment intense The avatars of her magnificence. To chase the dolorous fancies from my brain, She rises as a Gaditana draped, With languid eyes that hold the glow of Spain, Silk-shod, mantilla-wrapped, now arch, now vain, Lissom and laughterful, and leopard-shaped ! Warbling &jota, twirling cigarettes, Amid the clicking of mad castanets. Then, should I frown, before me, svelte of air, Will glide in slow, voluptuous morbidesse, The lithe, dusk beauty of a bayadere, With gem-crushed ankles and dark sequined hair, FANTAISIE. 325 A pearl of Punjab in nude loveliness, Dancing in drowsy cadence, warm with flowers Beneath the palmy shade of Agra's towers. Spinning huge tufts of flax in dreamy way, Again I see a Gretchen, rosy and blonde, In some quaint dorf upon the close of day, Listlessly humming an old roundelay, Or tender scraps of Heine, while beyond The rising moon o'er Ehrenbreitenstein Silvers the sleepy ripple of the Rhine ! Untempted still, the rapturous phantom dies, And, gravely fair and tearful, near me stands A sweet Madonna, with consoling eyes And heaven-illumined brows, who hears the sighs Of sinners kneeling with imploring hand, While all around me the transfigured air Seems purer by the mystery of prayer ! But I am desolate ; and then appears A rough and painted siren, lewd and bold ; A revel of flesh by vice bereft of tears, Tempting my eager sense with lecherous leers, 326 SHADOWS AND IDEALS. Mad by the warmth of wine, the clink of gold, Whose shameless soul, polluted by sin's fire, Hoards nameless lusts ! Infernos of desire ! Again she comes as Artemis divine, Bathed in Greek moons, with lilies in her hair, With eyes that dream of Ephesus, and shine Below white brows of chastity, and pine Endymion's glance from slumber to ensnare ; Softly she passes o'er vague Attic grounds, Serene amid the clamor of her hounds ! Then should I, motionless, no rapture show, Clasping a jeweled nargileh unsipped, I see again her perfect beauty glow, The petted lily of the seraglio, With koholed lids and fingers henneh-tipped, Languidly chatting to her favorite birds In suave, voluptuous Circassian words. Then should I murmur at such Orient grace, Mephitic odors from foul graves assault My sense, and down dim vistas I can trace The worm-gnawed outline of my Muse's face FANTAISIE. 327 Peering upon me from some putrid vault, To blight me by her pestilential breath, And cheer my ennui by the sight of Death ! And should I, shuddering, turn away in dread, From some wee window-sill, where mignonette And heliotrope their balminess have spread, I there can see the eager, bird-like head Of some blithe, merry, exquisite grisette, Feeding her pet canary in fond way, While singing you lewd songs by Beranger. Alas ! made callous by the blows of fate, No subtle metamorphosis of hers Can ever hope by fancies to abate The horror of a heart grown desolate, The cringing slave of spleen that nothing stirs ; Grim spleen, oh, God ! that dulls to me the immense Grand avatars of her magnificence ! 1880. SHADOWS AND IDEALS. CHIBOUQUE. At Yeni-Djami, after Rhamadan, The Pacha in his palace lolls at ease ; Latakieh fumes his sensual palate please, While round-limbed almees dance near his divan. Slaves lure away ennui with flowers and fan ; And as his gem-tipped chibouque glows, he sees, In dreamy trance, those marvelous mysteries The prophet sings of in the Al-Koran ! Pale, dusk-eyed girls, with sequin-studded hair, Dart through the opal clouds like agile deer, With sensuous curves his fancy to provoke ; Delicious houris, ravishing and fair, Who to his vague and drowsy mind appear Like fragrant phantoms arabesqued in smoke ! FAMINE. 329 FAMINE. The father all haggard, the mother lean, In the bare room's solitude Sat alone while the first-born slept serene — They had given it blood for food ! For weeks in the mart there had been no grain, And the sun had scorched the grass, And in awful silence, in throes of pain, They counted the long hours pass. For great heaps of gold they could buy no bread, God to prayer or curse was dumb, And the streets were choked with their kindred dead, And they cried for death to come. Then the haggard father, the mother lean, With a look of fierce delight, Gazed long on the child that slept serene, And said, "We have food to-night." March, 1878. 330 SHADOWS AND IDEALS. VILANELLE. Spleen fills my soul with morbid pain ; I feel its chill touch o'er me creeping. Ah ! when will Love return again ? Before me shadowy phantoms wane, My livid lips in rank gall steeping ; Spleen fills my soul with morbid pain ! Alas ! who can efface the stain Of desolation and of weeping ? Ah ! when will love return again ? To soothe or calm all prayer is vain ; For still, its eager vigil keeping, [Spleen fills my soul with morbid pain ! Of my hope-flowers that lack mild rdn, An early harvest it is reaping. Ah ! when will Love return again ? VILANELLE. 331 I feel the fiends of blight and bane, Grim wings above my forehead sweeping. Spleen fills my soul with morbid pain ! My passions, that so long have lain Forgotten, now are madly leaping. Ah ! when will love return again ? Ah ! grant me death, sweet God humane, For I am cursed awake or sleeping ; Grim spleen has gorged my soul with pain, And love will ne'er return again ! 332 SHADOWS AND IDEALS. WHIMS. To please the morbid yearnings of my soul, And free myself from Spleen's atrocious bane, I fain would mingle in complete control Churchly austerity with joys profane. In lieu of dreary days that I despise, Although my hours upon the earth are brief, I see as life flits by before mine eyes Great possibilities of supreme relief — Relief that can bequeath a dual life, One that can soothe me as a loyal friend, One that can blunt the sword of earthly strife, One that can bring indifference for an end. It would be sweet to seek some desert spot, Some monkish cell or forest cavern bare, Wherein to ponder on my hopeless lot And turn my rebel clamoring to prayer, WHIMS. 333 And then to leave it for the illumined town, Where jocund Carnival spawns mirth intense, And, casting off the coarse and drugget gown. Revel in Sin's supremest insolence. Ah ! sweet it were to riot in such way, Tho' marked unto the soul with Ennui's scar, And blend in one, without a fool's dismay, The crucifix, the jest, the lupanar ! To see at morn the calm and flower-eyed nun Telling her beads in soft, ecstatic trance, And court with smiles ere that same day be done A harlot's cold and scrutinizing glance. Ay ! sweet unto the senses as a dream, 'Twould be to humbly bow at vesper mass, And at its end, in revelry supreme, To see the gold wine glitter in the glass ! But sweeter far to see the flawless moon Flooding La Trappe's monastic elms with sheen, And leave it, in its blond celestial June Amid the clouds, for revelries unclean. 334 SHADOWS AND IDEALS. A humble crust at morn, at night the choice Of dainty viands and delicious fare ; At morn an Ave told with vinous voice, At eve a ribald couplet debonair ! To tempt frail virtue to a hopeless snare, To steel the heart to every sacred vow ; And to the solemn altar-steps repair With mirth or murder marked upon the brow. Contrition ! Genuflections that allure ! Calumny, lascivious fancies more than mad, The Bible's lessons, marvelous and pure, And then the lecherous prowess of de Sade ! Oh, envied life ! to be the rampant beast Steeped in hot sin and from no vices free ; To alternate the ruffian with the priest, The padre with the insolent grandee ! And feeling life hath nothing more than this No pleasure more delectable or sweet, Until Death proves me with his icy kiss That heaven itself is but a grand deceit ! A MOOD OF HATRED. 335 A MOOD OF HATRED. I hate the red, intolerable sun That on my sorrowing brow pours searching light, And wait in anger till its task be done. Delicious night ! But often, alas ! allured by treacherous sleep, In the dark midnight when the forest grieves, I wake to see foul, luminous dawn-tints creep Between the leaves. A flood of splendor in the happy skies Hails the calm, haughty sun, announcing day, And blinds me, even before my dazzled eyes Can turn away ! It would be grand to live in those grim years As yet unborn, and feel, with soul aghast, That God had doomed them here and in all spheres To be the last! 336 SHADOWS AND IDEALS. How sweet to enjoy the horror that each day, Slow, certain, fatal, to my mind could lend, And see the world in terror and dismay Approach its end ! Then in sore anguish men in vain would cry And beg inexorable fate to spare ; Piteous appeals would rend the hollow sky, Curses and prayer ! And I would witness with a mad delight Our mutual and inevitable doom, Patiently waiting through the somber night And ghastly gloom, That slowly o'er the hopeless earth would fall, Never to rise ; to hear with eager dread Strange, awful voices through dim spaces call, " The sun is dead J '" July 3 , 1877. THE HAREM. 337 THE HAREM. Solemn Seraglio, stern sojourn, What dormant passions in thee burn ! What ardors craving a return ! Splendor of splendors, gold and sheen, Where priceless treasures damascene Each lily-browed and languid queen. Rivers of rubies, blent with pearls, Trail in long scintillating whirls O 'er swan-like necks and glossy curls. Carpets of Smyrna, furry, deep, Deaden the tread when eunuchs creep Noiselessly where Sultanas sleep. Hear the white foam from fountains fall Out through the marble-pillared hall, Out where the dark gloom covers all. 338 SHADOWS AND IDEALS. Here repose houris, dreamlike fair ; Eyes half amort by amorous care ; Marvels of flesh, wonders of hair ! Khanouns arrayed in gemmy fire Here chant upon the drowsy lyre, Slowly, in honor of their sire. Perfumes of attar scent the air, Strange odors mingle everywhere, Odors of love, odors of prayer. Voluptuous music thrills through space, In soft melodious throbs of grace, Chasing the care from beauty's face. Devoid of heart, of sense or soul, Eunuchs stand watching, black as coal, Stared at by peris from their Kohol. Scimitars crescent, dirks of gold, Kandjars falcated, chill and cold, Hang by their sides to guard the fold. THE HAREM. 339 Pale Rouchen, saffron-tinged Asme, Nourmahal, Pembeh-al-Hare, Leila the Rose, dusk Adile, Dream 'neath the shade of Abdul's crest ; Dream in their beautiful unrest ; Dream, fanning each irradiant breast. Encrusted hookahs, amber-tipped, Chibouques in gold and silver dipped, By rich, red lips are slowly sipped, While clouds of perfumed smoke arise In dreamy opal to the skies, Veiling the fire of lustrous eyes, Veiling Sultanas, lithe and fair, Mute with ennui and amorous care, Marvels of flesh, wonders of hair ! 340 SHADOWS AND IDEALS. A DREAM. I dreamed that the great God, who rules us all, Was numbered with the nameless hosts of dead, That He had perished beyond Time's recall, And all my soul was rilled with speechless dread. A holy horror o'er my senses crept, My mind groped wildly through the feverish dream ; And then I thought, while painfully I slept, How can Death harm the Godhead all supreme ? Then, in the awful silence of the night, A something swiftly in my presence came, A mist, a phantom of seraphic light, A shape of fire, a vagrant film of flame ! A vision which no wretched mortal eyes Had ever seen upon this stricken sod, And as I gazed a strange voice cried : " Arise ! Worship me still ; I am the ghost of God ! " OVERGROWTH. 341 OVERGROWTH. God spoke to haggard Death : " I bid thee cease Thy grim destruction of unnumbered years, For I am weary of my creatures' tears ; Until I call thee, go thy way in peace." And haughty Death, though scorning such release, Obeyed ; while millions on the ample spheres Marveled to see, with many doubts and fears, Humanity in wondrous ways increase. Until, grown sure of life, all men disdained The Mighty's boon and dreamed, in impious pride, That they with immortality were blessed. Then God in wrath called Death with power regained, And suddenly the vile earth, terrified, Shrieked in the awful asronies of Pest ! 342 SHADOWS AND IDEALS. TO AL-LEILA. TURQUERIE. Oh ! warm with the fire of thy perfumed caresses The chilly ennui of my desolate soul, And rouse, by the swaying of undulate tresses, Love's sweetest excesses, with pleasure for goal. Oh ! touch with thy finger-tips, rosy with henne, Serenely the chords of my dreamy desire ; As sweet as the words of one Prophet-God, when he Spake loud in Mosques many his precepts of fire. Oh ! let thy dusk eyes lull with luminous flashes As light as a dream all my spirit's dismay ; And sweep from my cheek, with thy tremulous lashes, The tear-drop that dashes, or kiss it away. TO AL-LEILA. 343 Oh ! let me ne'er dream of a turbulent morrow ; Let ballads Arcadian upon thy lips ring, And let me from rapture a calmer joy borrow, Sweet queller of sorrow, oh, more to me bring ! For, wearied and worn of the battle's red thunder, With yataghan broken, I fain now would rest, All trusting in Allah, and craving sweet plunder Upon that white wonder, thy passionate breast ! 344 SHADOWS AND IDEALS. A FANCY. I feel the advent of the fatal hour, Bringing with it oblivion, and sigh ; For, all unransomed from Death's evil power, I must prepare with fortitude to die. And then I envy the eternal God, Who lent the universes shape and breath, He who can rule the planets by a nod, He who knows not the agony of death. METEMPSYCHOSIS. 345 METEMPSYCHOSIS. My soul, by nature's law in ages past, Blended with color, perfume light and sound, Before in ignominious rest, at last The unworthy heaven of my flesh was found. When Eden, dreaming in delicious calm, Lulled the yet sinless Eve to chaste repose, That soul brought to her sense ecstatic balm, Deep in the crimson petals of a rose. By wondrous change it formed a deadly part Of the malarious wind by God's behest, Ordained to awe grim Pharaoh's callous heart, And sweep fair Egypt with its blighting pest. In Syrian groves it found a new release, In gentle twilights wooing drowsy flowers, And, as a ray of the soft stars of Greece, It silvered with its sheen great Ilium's towers. 346 SHADOWS AND IDEALS. Long centuries fled ; transformed by powers unseen, Earthward it fell, a pearl unique and rare, And on loud, ferial nights in splendor shone On Cleopatra's dusk and flowerful hair. That soul, oh, horror ! on one desolate morn, Innocent then as it is guilty now, Formed of an awful crown the sharpest thorn That plunged a barb in Christ's forgiving brow. On Isabeau de Bariere's slender wrist It perched, a falcon, eager for its prey ; And, as a dove, it guided to their tryst Dante and Beatrix, in the redolent May. Through years of night, as the pale, feeble spark Of a poor fire-fly, it would humbly glow, Till, resurrect, it thrilled the new-born lark That sang of dawn to amorous Romeo ! Cursed for this kind and timely warning rash, It crawled, a loathsome python, sleek and black, Until the day when it became the flash That gleamed upon the dirk of Ravaillac ! METEMPSYCHOSIS. 347 For lordlier uses, its strange essence came Through centuries to be a scrap of sun, And over Wagram's desolating flame Prompted the genius of Napoleon. A formless atom then, it sped along Thro' unknown spheres of which it held no part, Till, as a sweet inspired, melodious song, It softly stirred in Donizetti's heart. Oh, soul serene ! Oh, soul supremely fair ! Thou, that like winds wast vigorous and fresh, What devil doomed thy peerlessness to share The pain and passion of my hateful flesh ? 343 SHADOWS AND IDEALS. THE MUSKETEERS. D'ARTAGNAN. Thou art eternal, tho' the mighty brain That brought thee forth from shadowland is dead ; In thee he lives imperishable, wed To every joy of thine, to every pain. Thy valiant deeds indelible remain ; We love thy young, hot blood in battle shed, And by thy every daring deed are led More firmly admiration to retain. Whene'er thy name defiant meets mine eyes, I see thee hurrying on a foaming steed With valorous Porthos ripe from war's alarms. And then again in sadness I surmise How thy fond spirit must have bled, indeed, When pressing thy dead Constance in thine arms ! THE MUSKETEERS. 349 ARAMIS. Thy heart was one of craft, yet thou wast brave As steel Castilian ; but ambition's bane Lurked in the subtle essence of thy brain, And naught beyond this passion did 'st thou crave. Battling for decades by an open grave, Thou did 'st not swerve, nor did'st thou e'er restrain Thy mental greeds, thy ceaseless chase for gain, Which at the end thy comrade could not save. Ah ! nobler far wast thou on that blue morn, When Porthos, sinking in a grave of stone, Fell like a Hercules, no more to rise. Then, anguished, mute, irresolute, forlorn, Thy heart lay broken by his dying groan, And tears surprised the desert of thine eyes. PORTHOS. Oh, child-like giant ! in thy massive frame A heart that grasped the world did nobly beat. Type of the gallant musketeer complete, Thy blow was death, thy rapier was a flame ! 350 SHADOWS AND IDEALS. Pleased with a bauble, a baronnie name, No fertile plain or castle-crowned retreat Could stay the riotous rushing of thy feet, When time for wonderful adventure came ! I see thee battling with a hero's zeal, Brave in that blessed land where all are brave, Eager for estocade at dawn or gloom ; And then, again, on pinnacled Belle Isle, I see the grim, red hell-light of thy cave, And watch thee die in thy Titanic tomb ! ATHOS. Thy mind was fit for prehistoric time, When man was perfect, ere the birth of guile ; I love the gentle glamour of thy smile ; I love thy heart beyond all taint or crime. No passion base e'er touched thee with its slime ; In thee dwelt radiant honor and no wile ; And not a thought ignoble could defile Thy soul, that ever higher seemed to climb ! THE MUSKETEERS. 351 Whene'er of all thy prowesses I read, I see thee, grave, before me, with thy wine, The mellow vin d' Anjou thou lov'dst so well ; And then again, Homeric, on thy steed, Clearing the foemen with a smile divine, Below the embattled walls of La Rochelle ! 352 SHADOWS AND IDEALS. ENIGMA. My bosom bounds with rapturous faith elate ; Youth in its spring stirs gently thro' my veins ; Consciously strong, I fear no future pains ; My sinless soul as yet knows naught of hate. Unyielding, I can bear life's onerous weight, Scorning the anger it for me retains ; But, ah ! I dread the woman whom Fate ordains To make me vile among all men, or great. The awful query ever thrills my lips : Shall the rich virgin treasuers of my heart Be given to some chaste creature, lily-frail ; Or shall my soul, plunged down in dark eclipse, Be lured to ruin by the infernal art Of some white Eve-like harlot, passion-pale ? 1867. IMPLACABLE. 353 IMPLACABLE. Upon the desert of my sorrowing mind I nursed a little, unpretending flower, Hoping within its virgin core to find A sweet perfume in tribulation's hour. 'Twas all I loved, 'twas all that made me glad, This cherished bud I guarded as my breath ; And when God knew the great love that I had, He struck the harmless blossom unto death ! 354 SHADOWS AND IDEALS. WHEN THE SNOW FALLS. The spider Spleen, that slowly and subtly weaves Its odious web upon my golden thought, Left no foul hint forgotten or unsought To taint a swerving soul that doubts and grieves. My faith, once strong, is now like withered leaves In the chill vortex of a tempest caught, And, by the artful world's vile lessons taught, I know that smiling chastity deceives. There is no purity on earth, I cried ; Gold of a virgin can a plaything make ; There lives no stainless thing save burning fire ! While the pure snow upon the lowlands wide, God's silent answer, fluttered as I spake, But nothing proved ; the sun will make it mire. 1878. LIKE POOR OPHELIA. 355 LIKE POOR OPHELIA. Like poor Ophelia, pale. Murillo-fair, The beauteous one, whose love once fired my brain. Roams thro' my dwelling, silent and insane, In the blond splendor of her tangled hair, Unconsciously she bares the round and rare Carrara of her breast without a stain, While I, who of her beauty am still vain, Smile grimly at her dull and vacant stare. When, like an amorous cat, she toward me bounds, I love to see her, warm with wanton fire, Invent endearments new in bizarre wise ; And when she lisps odd, idiotic sounds, To watch the inferno of her strange desire Gleam weirdly in her colorless dull eyes ! Nov. 36, 1877. 356 SHADOWS AND IDEALS DREAM OF DEATH. A MOOD OF MADNESS. Pondering upon my many woes, I lay One sad night in my hope-deserted room ; Even sleep my febrile call would not obey, And, with rebellious thoughts, awaiting day, I calmly watched the blood-red coals decay, Sprinkling with lurid gleams the uncertain gloom. The ominous silence was akin to pain ; My uneven pulses only gently stirred ; Oppressed by the strange stillness, I was fain With incoherent clamoring to gain Release from such unhealthy and morbid strain, And strove to rise ; but suddenly I heard A low, soft voice that called me by my name In such sweet tones, that, turning in my bed, I scanned the room, to see from whence it came. DREAM OF DEATH. 357 It seemed so strange, for my vile heart could claim No friend or love ; then suddenly a flame Hissed fiercely from the hearth ; the coals were dead ! Then, in the utter darkness, a something passed Before me as I listened, mute and thrilled. It seemed as if an icy cavern vast Had opened, and, with blighting fury, cast The chill and piercing air in gusts aghast. Awe, I ne'er felt for God, my spirit filled. And then again the same voice came to me, Like some sweet song sung by a freezing breath, And cried, " Oh, man ! if thou can 'st fearless be ; If, like thy soul, thy flesh from dread is free, Hark to my words and listen to my plea : Know that I love thee, and my name is Death. " I love thee for thy hatred of mankind, And the imprisoned lusts that chafe within Thy brain, to purity and conscience blind. I love thee for the rancor of thy mind, That ever new and odious crime can find ; I love thee for thy infamy and sin. 358 SHADOWS AND IDEALS. "Thy soul, by fates unpitying aged and galled, Prayed to no thorn-crowned God in its despair. By thoughts of my omnipotence unappalled, Thou liv'st in unbelief, by spleen enthralled ; Earth hath no rose wherein thou hast not crawled, Oh, mortal worm I madly love, and spare ! " If, then, I awe thee not, and thou art bold, I will take human shape and, love-possessed, Offer thee joys undreamt of and untold. Shrink not, nor tremble, dreaming Death is cold, But, like warm adders, let thine arms enfold These icy charms no mortal has caressed." " Oh, Death ! White, warm, voluptuous Death ! " I cried, " Take the frail soul that God and world defies ! Take all, my blood, my hate, my flesh, my pride ! " And, as I spake, I felt a vague form glide, And saw, with thrills of rapture and surprise, A strange, weird woman with delicious eyes. All ye who live when I am dead, have care Of that strange being from dreadful travail torn, From one who knows no mercy, heeds no prayer ; DREAM OF DEATH. 359 Fear more than God, ever and everywhere, The monster who, in moments of despair , From my gra?id hate and Mother Death was born ! Feb. 23, 1878. 360 SHADOWS AND IDEALS. THE SPIRIT OF RUINS. I have hung my misty ivy over all The pomps of antique Rome, and the gray blight Of my grim touch upon the Rhine doth smite Full many a haughty burg and crumbling wall. In ways severe, implacable, I fall Where colonnaded Parthenons rise white Into the nimbus of the soft Greek light, Or where proud Baalbec's dismal shades appall. Oh, morbid joy have I, when towns of towers, And insolent Karnacs, by grave sphinxes girt, Perish before my dark, destructive powers. And I am glad to view, with eyes alert, The mute magnificence of their leafless bowers, Their glory shattered in palatial dirt ! TYLL OWLGLASS. 361 TYLL OWLGLASS. OBIIT 1530. Like some mad meteor plunging through the dark Abysmal vastness of the silent night, Leaving a smoky trail of scintillant light Behind, its weird and luminous route to mark, So did'st thou thro' the Middle Ages cark ; And thy rare humor and thy jesting bright Dispelled the gloom of men, who, awed by fright, Prayed for the dawn of which thou wast the lark! From that grim, tyrant-haunted, monkish time Of superstition, bigotry and ill, No kindlier record would have reached our ears Than one long, dolorous tale of blood and crime, Had it not been for thee ! And we hear still Thy mellow laughter ebbing through the years ! Decs, lS 77- 362 SHADOWS AND IDEALS. BITTER TEARS. RONDEAU. O, bitter tears unchecked, that rise again, What balm to my dead heart can ye bestow ? How can your dreary advent e 'er contain Mandragoras for my supremest woe ? A faded flower heeds not the gentle rain, That to revive its loveliness were fain ; And while sad memory's smoldering embers glow Ye can not blot the dark past from my brain, O, bitter tears ! That flood, my will is powerless to restrain, Adds to pale grief a keener, deeper trace ; Morbid self-pity I would fain forego ; So leave me to the majesty of pain, To suffer and be silent ; cease to flow, O, bitter tears ! A MOOD OF MADNESS. 363 A MOOD OF MADNESS. TO I asked the pallid woman I called wife, Chaste, nun-like being, whose will I can not break. To leave for sin and lust her prayerful life, And pledge with me a toast for hell's sweet sake. I longed to chafe her calm soul with alarms, And, with Satanic craft, its candor taint ; Wrench it forever from all churchly charms, And give the demon access to the saint. This bigot-gnat that worries God all day, Filling his temples with loud psalms and sighs, Grew pale and answered, " No," as in dismay She gazed upon me with her Christ-like eyes. Ah ! from that moment a resistless fate Dropped in my fungous heart of gall and gloom Innumerable seeds of rankest hate, To germ and in vile vegetations bloom. 364 SHADOWS AND IDEALS. She would not pledge with me, but spurned me there, As angels would a spitting toad malign ; She left me for some unctuous orgy of prayer — The fool, the triple fool — alone with wine ! ***** Oh, luminous hell ! thy gall to me is sweet, From thee my sick, sad spirit never shrank ; Remember how in vassalage complete, While she belched litanies, to thee I drank. Did God she sued, grown weary of her voice, Protect her from the inferno in me rife ? Did not her hymn-deaf cherubim rejoice When at her throat they saw my gleaming knife ? She prayed too much ; that night her severed head 'Mid fruits and viands on my table stood ! Sweet saint ! for her an aureole of red I made with long wet hair and clotted blood ! And then I closed her Christ-like eyes divine, That cursed me ; and her great dead thirst to slake, I filled her livid mouth with glorious wine, And the night long she drank for hell's sweet sake ! July 27, 1878. IN THE FOREST OF FONTAINEBLEAU. 365 IN THE FOREST OF FONTAINEBLEAU. Deep in the tangled mazes of a wood, The shady haunt of many roaming herds, In summers' idleness I musing stood, Charmed by the soft staccati of the birds. The giant oaks that towered in stately might Seemed born the soul of winter to defy ; Huge, rugged Samsons among trees, whose height And spreading boughs colossal pierced the sky. And then I wondered, what will be the fate Of all the green magnificence spread here ? Will flame its swaying glory violate, Or will the storms of centuries leave it sere ? Who knows ? The lordly tree that yonder stands, Proud of the robin that upon it sings, Felled to the earth by rough and callous hands, May be the prop of palaces for kings ! ;66 SHADOWS AND IDEALS. Its mate stupendous, brooding there apart, Dismembered and uncrowned before all eyes, May yet be changed into a whirring dart, To kill yon eagle soaring thro' the skies ! Another, refuge of the hunted stag, That seeks its shadow with a panting breath, May yet uphold the proud, triumphant flag That France unfurls for liberty or death ! A hideous shape, before a brawling throng, Yon old and knotted trunk may yet be seen, Bereft of leaves and of the linnet's song, Turned to the horror of a guillotine ! And, ah ! perchance that other standing there In leafy splendor, shading now my head, May be the coffin, still unformed and bare, Destined to hold and keep me with the dead ! 1881. 3477-7 D Deacidified using the Bookkeeper process Neutralizing agent: Magnesium Oxide Treatment Date: Oct. 2009 PreservationTechnologies A WORLD LEADER IN COLLECTIONS PRESERVATION 111 Thomson Park Drive Cranberry Township, PA 1 6066 (724)779-2111