W ^'^^r \./ ..^^: « • o V * '^^^cJAn^* ''^ ♦J DORIAN DAYS •The THE MACMILLAN COMPANY NEW YORK • BOSTON • CHICAGO ATLANTA • SAN FRANCISCO MACMILLAN & CO., Limited LONDON • BOMBAY • CALCUTTA MELBOURNE THE MACMILLAN CO. OF CANADA, Ltd. TORONTO DORIAN DAYS POEMS BY WENDELL PHILLIPS STAFFORD THE MACMILLAN COMPANY 1909 All rights reserved COPTEIGHT, 1909, By the MACMILLAN COMPANY. Set up and elcctrotyped. Published December, 1909. J, 8. Gushing Co. — Berwick & Smith Co, Norwood, Mass., U.S.A. Ci.A2528i5l CONTENTS PAOB The Belvedere Apollo 1 The Singing of Orpheus 4 The Playing of Marsyas 16 Action at the Bath of Artemis ... 32 Eurylochus Transformed 36 The Death of Helen 46 Among the Grecian Marbles .... 53 The Venus of Melos 55 Athens and Sparta 58 The Return to Nature 60 Keats 62 The Betrothal 64 The Muse of Paradox 65 The Reason 66 The Sistine Madonna 67 The Fairy Kerchief 69 On a Picture 71 V vi CONTENTS PA6K Behold the Day 73 Love Resurgent 75 Love's Testament 77 Guinevere's Defence 79 September in the North 81 Of Petrarch 85 Dismissing the Muse 87 The Song of the Fates 89 Consulting the Daisy 94 September the Eleventh 95 Inscription for a Fireplace .... 96 Paolo and Francesca 97 Beside the Mark 98 "Beyond the Sunset" 99 Men's Judex 102 New York 104 Viximus 106 Love Royal 107 Gloria Victis 108 The Forecast 110 F. S. S. . . Ill DORIAN DAYS DORIAIT DAYS THE BELVEDERE APOLLO When God lets loose in eastern sky The arrows of the dawn, Who now beholds the hand whereby The splendid bow is drawn? — The lucent forehead crowned with curls Brighter than gold may be; The mantle thrown in silver swirls Leaving the shoulder free! 2 THE BELVEDERE APOLLO One saw; and left for us to mark, In every marble line, The light triumphant o'er the dark, On-coming day divine. See, on the god's indignant brow The wrath has all but died; The hand that drew the string but now Is falling at his side. Soon all the passion stern and proud In that majestic mien Will vanish like a little cloud Into the sun serene. THE BELVEDERE APOLLO 3 The sculptor — from an unknown grave His nameless dust is blown; But men of latest time will save This one immortal stone. And when all hearts exalt the lord Of light and liberty, All eyes will turn with one accord, Transcendent shape, to thee! THE SINGING OF ORPHEUS (on his return from hades) He came with mane unshorn, — Curls colored like the morn, With god-bewildered eyes and brow impending; He leaned his harp of gold Where rivers manifold Leaped in one shining shaft, seaward descending; Then stretched the cords and made his mantle slack; The night-shapes cowered at his feet, the sun rose at his back. 4 THE SINGING OF OBPHEUS 5 Murmuring mystic things, He touched the strange-voiced strings, Waking with trembling art the strains of wonder, — Language of paws and wings, Song the insensate sings. The dove's glad moan, the jungle's throated thunder; Round him the thickets stirred and eye-balls gleamed; Once the lone eagle, poised on high, caught his war-note and screamed. 6 THE SINGING OF ORPHEUS Still, as the music rose Sweeter at every close, — Blended the glee and pain, love and rage blended, — Nearer the wood-bird hid. Nearer the bright snake slid. Nearer with quivering nose the hare attended. Nearer and lowlier yet the leopard shied Till one bare foot was cushioned soft upon her spotted side. Parting the fountain's sedge, Close at its oozy edge. THE SINGING OF ORPHEUS 7 With wet-lashed, wondering eyes, a naiad peeped; Deep in the dewy wood, Drunk with the music's mood. Crowned with gay flowers the satyrs _ laughed and leaped; >ff sped a faun to bring the Bacchic crew; 'or well they loved the cheerful strain, and well their love he knew. No voice of hound or horn Roused the wild boar that morn. Crunching the night-dropt mast in sloth he fed; 8 THE SINGING OF OEPHEUS Upon the windy down, In perilous ways unknown The woolly tribes wandered unshep herded; Hither with wreathed spears the hunter fare; To hear sweet praise of Pan to-day is all th( shepherds' care. He sang the heavenly mirth, Pang of the planet's birth. Primordial melody, chaos surceasing, — Why the dear daylight dies. Why the clear stars arise, THE SINGING OF OBPHEUS 9 Why through the amber night the moon increasing Leads on the black sea-wall her white-maned tides Till the breath of their nostrils is vainly blown high on its thundering sides : How the earth came to be Pregnant with deity, Peopling the purple air, the waters wan; How, ages out of thought, By very gods forgot, When Heaven and Earth embraced, Titanic man 10 THE SINGING OF ORPHEUS Sprang from their monstrous clasp a demi- god— His eyes were like the lightning, in his feet the lion trod: How from the throned skies Fell the old deities; How the hoar temple and star-pasturing plain From Saturn^s sceptre passed, And quarrels new and vast Sundered and shook his once serene domain; And unremembered odes of joy and love THE SINGING OF OBPHEUS 11 Ere any shadow fell from heaven, or any fear of Jove: Sang the weird sisters three With eyes fixed constantly, With mutterings hoarse and horrid un- dertone; One twirls the spindle, one Leads the thread, thinly spun, Between the gaping shears; the eldest crone. Blind hearkener for the doom's accomplished round. Breaks off the hum whene'er she lists to give the clacking sound. 12 THE SINGING OF ORPHEUS He sang the love-god great, — How Jove forsook his seat, In low disguise, for love of mortal maid; How, through the pine-glooms. Pan His love's white feet outran. What turns she took, what bounds the goat-thighs made; How fleet Apollo clasped the loveless tree, And how Tithonus pines in heaven, aging immortally. To tenderer strains he wed Man's joy and drearihead, — Lethean birth, and boyhood's prescient bloom, THE SINGING OF ORPHEUS 13 Lovers sweet disquietude, The mid-life sweat and feud, Then age that looks aback and gather- ing gloom. At last the wailing ones in circling file, And dust enough to fill an urn raked from the smouldering pile. In tearful tones and slow He taught them all his woe; Again, in dead domains, he saw his bride; Hell followed his lament, Cerberus fawning bent. And Pluto wept the woes of mortal-tide : 14 THE SINGING OF OBPHEUS Proserpina leaned from her glimmering car Reining the shadowy pards — her smile beamed like a dying star. Back through blind ways he pressed, Heeding the hard behest, Nor once looked round threading the ghostly grove, But on Hell's threshold sheer Her foot he failed to hear, — Turned, — Hermes touched her, and in vain she strove; The great gates shuddered to with mighty moan, THE SINGING OF ORPHEUS 15 And up along his darkling path he sought the light — alone! Along the forest-side The stringed murmurs died; He loosed the cords and made his mantle fast; With low and leaden pace, And glory-faded face, Down the green alleys from their sight he passed. The swain bethought him of his sheep astray, And toward her lair, with side-long look, the leopard loped away. THE PLAYING OF MARSYAS (a faun's account of the contest be- tween THE SATYR AND APOLLO) Alack! give way! Pan, Pan, I bring thee news, — Oh, sadder than the forest ever heard! Now running through five green, bough- shadowed miles, I have not wet my hps in any brook. Nor pried for honey in one hollow trunk, 16 THE PLATING OF MABSYA8 17 Nor hearkened when the hamadryads called, Although three times, at least, the wind has flown Heavy with laughter right across my path. So far and fast I flew to tell thee, Pan, That thou wilt never smile again to hear Sweet pipings rising with the rising dawn, Sweet pipings dying with the dying day, For Marsyas is no more, your joy is dead! Weep not for Marsyas now, an hour will come For sorrow-piercing wail — another tree Must be encircled when the hoofed beat 18 THE PLAYING OF MARSYAS Shall make sad rhythm on the sullen sod, And I must teach you tears. Ah me! Ah me! O Pan, it is the dark enormous oak That leans with one foot on the sunny verge Of that gloom-girdled lawn where dozy bees String all the summer length of golden hours On the unbroken murmur of their song. Twas there we met, and Marsyas played while we Wove all our fleeting circles in and out That no unwonted step amid the maze Might mar the grace of thy solemnities. THE PLAYING OF MABSTAS 19 Meantime from every vale un visited By Phoebus' wain, from deep-boughed silences, Unfooted paths where-through the swart flowers press, And secret sobbing-places of the sea, They thronged to hear his pipings. All at once It was dead silence, like the dead of night Just when the owl will split it with his cry. Just like the screech-owrs was that voice we heard Calling on Phoebus to bring down his lyre And shame our Marsyan music. 'Twas a faun, 20 THE PLAYING OF MABSYAS But no one ever saw his face before Nor knew what forest claimed him. Marsyas cried, ''The string may lull the languid ears of heaven — Pan's own breath fills the reed!'' Before 'twas said The zenith lightened with the coming god And there Apollo stood, and all the grass Grew golden round his sandals. Then, Pan, All things swam round me, but I heard a noise, Two warring voices like two headlong streams, THE PLATING OF MABSYAS 21 Meeting and mingling in one mighty oath To have their strife before the woods that day And let the vanquished bide the victor's will. So Marsyas cHmbed the cliff a Httle way And found a jutting seat and dropped his face Till the abundant shadow of his hair Buried the sacred reed and both his hands. Long time he sat as if he only slept, And quiet settled till no sound was heard But one bold cricket piping in the leaves. At first, far off, a billowy night-wind rose And died away among the dreamy boughs. 22 THE PLAYING OF MARSYAS How sweet it seemed to slumber, with the lids Almost together, — just to see the light] And doubt if we were dreaming! Sweeter still To be awakened when the waking birds Sung all our eyes wide open, and the dawn Shook all her flowers above us. Rarest sport Was on, that morning; there were hares to rout. And mushrooms, the white blossoms of the dark, To pelt the dryads; there were acorn-cups With just a bright swallow of dew in each, THE PLATING OF MARSYAS 23 And hoard of golden honey in the heart Of the night-fallen oak. That was a day The forest-children doomed to endless mirth. Still was the squirrel chiding; all day long The frogs were clamorous in the plashy swamp; All day, above the height, the eagle flew In screaming circles round her nest ; far down, A dark ravine sloped to the tangled East Where tawny lions, treading to and fro, Thundered; and ever as the day flew on Faster and faster flew the merriment Till all the woods were reeling in one dance 24 THE PLAYING OF MARSYAS And every voice was music ! That was when The sun paused brightly over Pehon. But then the purple-shadowed Evening came And all the forest ways grew pensive, hushed, And all our musings grew a little sad, But sweeter for the sadness, — ah, more sweet Than maddest merry-making! Pan, is pain Only a pleasure we are yet to learn? For we were minded of all tearful songs, All tender stories; even then we wept At thy lost race for Syrinx and the reed THE PLATING OF MAESYAS 25 That broke within thy bosom! So again Immortal Night came down; the billowy wind Arose and died among the dreamy boughs; And quiet settled till no sound was heard But that bold cricket piping in the leaves. Oh, all the forest folk were laughing then, And Marsyas smiled. Apollo sat apart Under the oak and drew a golden thing Out of his mantle, curved like the horns The oxen wear; and it had strings that glanced 26 THE PLAYING OF MABSYAS Like lines of sun-lit rain. He whispered it And busied with the strings till all was still, And then the little wavelets of sweet sound Ran from his finger-ends till every one Was over-happy in his heart to call The contest even. But 'twas not to be; For the white lily of Apollo's throat Grew a great rose of wrath. Now as he struck The ringing chords he let his proud lips part. Oh, Pan! Pan! Pan! What pleasure now was in Athene's reed? What pleasure now was in Apollo's lyre? THE PLAYING OF MABSYAS 27 As, when the first puff of the winter wind Takes by the top our tallest mountain tree And loosens all his leaves of ruddy gold, One shower unintermitted falls and falls. So fell in Phoebus' breath the golden words Till Marsyas smiled no longer. First he hymned The untimed chaos and beginning dark, And Fate before and midst and after all. No curled-up worm escapes it; Zeus, all- feared, Sceptred with lightning, is its loud-tongued slave, — Eternal consequence the frame of things. 28 THE PLAYING OF MARSYAS Then how the heavens emerged, the earth became; Old starry legends of forgotten gods, Defeated fames and unveiled vh'gin loves, Ere Satm'n's long-lost wars. And then he sang What things he sees as he leans halfway o'er Reining the horse of heaven. Far down, between Their flying, flashing hooves and the burning wheels, He sees Olj^npus crowned with gleaming courts; Temples and dwellings of wide-wandering men THE PLAYING OF MARSTAS 29 Gray deserts drear and endless, glad, green woods; And, rising on broad elbows, limbs out flung, The river-bearing mountains, mighty-zoned; Then coiling, blue-scaled ocean, verge of all. O'erhead he sees the gold-winged swarming worlds; He sees beyond the bourn of palest stars; He sees the trail of every birth and death, — Old Hades in the womb of maiden time; ^Miatever was or is or is to be. All you have done to INIarsyas do to me, O sweetly cruel god, and more beside, Only unroll the long, gold song again! 30 THE PLATING OF MABSYAS There was rich laughter now — but far away, As far off as Olympus. Marsyas' lips Were white — he clutched the reed. The song- voice said: ^^Now I am going to my sun-bright house — When I have flayed him here and hung the fell Where all may see how fine a thing it is To strive with the undying gods." He drew Three long red osiers from the naiad's hands — Quick to the shaggy oak he bound him fast. I only lingered till the river of pain Broke, the first ripple, over Marsyas' face — Oh, keep us, keep us. Pan! The tale is told. THE PLAYING OF MABSYAS 31 So the tale faltered to its tragic close. But where Apollo hung the hairy fell A river issued, and to deep-leaved boughs Murmurs the Marsyan music evermore. ACTION AT THE BATH OF ARTEMIS My dogs outran me. I could hear the boar Crashing through rushes inaccessible Beyond Peneus. So I lay and breathed In that deep-cloven glen where the stream whirls Three times within the cave-god's clinging arms Ere she escapes him. Listening, first I heard A breeze-hke motion rippling up the leaves, 32 ACTION AT THE BATH OF ARTEMIS 33 Then sounds that followed, like spent hill- winds, close And quick with panting speed, — next saw her come Pausing mid-flight with leash of lolling hounds And startled backward glance. Watching her dogs Take the cool current on their dripping tongues. Once — twice — she peered above the pool, then droopt. Leaning along the mosses. Lingeringly Her fingers let the loosened sandals fall. 34 ACTION AT THE BATH OF ARTEMIS One hand, slow, as in dream, sought the great pearl That clasped her zone; her eyes were far away. But when she stood, and, with white elbows arched Above her brow, drew up from shaded ears And lily-slender neck her heavy hair, Braiding the gold of one reluctant lock. The girdle gave. Softly the thin-spun robe Slipped o'er the crescent bosom, sank and left The twin breasts bare, — two white-rose buds, unblown ACTION AT THE BATH OF ARTEMIS 35 But swollen with the sweetness of the spring. Then the long curve and slope of gUmmering limbs Broke on me, and I rest not from that hour. Are there no springs upon Olympus-side Where the immortal shapes may bathe and leave No memory to unman the mortal sight, But they must feel our streams and we must die? EURYLOCHUS TRANSFORMED (According to Homer, Ulysses, coming to the island of Circe, divided his band: one half remained at the ship, the other, led by Eury- lochus, entered the palace of Circe, where all, save their leader, partaking of the feast, were transformed to swine. In the following modification of the legend, Eurylochus him- self is supposed to have undergone the trans- formation, and to have spoken these words before and in the course of it.) Divine or human, by whatever name Mortals or gods have named thee, I salute, — 36 EURYLOCHUS TRANSFORMED 37 With reverence I salute thee, I alone. They that be with me stay without the porch, — Half of their number; but the other half Are sitting with Ulysses at the oars. For, following still that much-enduring man, By many oarless waters we have come. Dim coasts, and islands with far-shadowing peaks. And moving floods from the dark wilderness. And one Infernal gulf in thundering seas. And we have met with monsters, men like beasts; Centaurs, that, issuing from the caverned hills, 38 EUBYLOCnUS TRANSFORMED Eyed us unmovingly; Lotophagi; And Cyclops who devoured us day by day. And some have met us on the brink with blows, And some with smiles, and after that betrayed, Not knowing Zeus to be the stranger's friend. And some have paid us honors like the gods. Wine, and the sacrifice, and song of bards. And gifts at parting. For this cause I stand Alone to learn what welcome waits us here. EURYLOCHUS TRANSFORMED 39 {Circe having answered and offered him the cup, he proceeds.) Thy words were gracious, had thy looks not made All words superfluous. But keep thy cup! It w^ere not fitting that my lips should wear The wine-stain, goddess, while Ulysses' ears Thirst for these tidings. Give me leave! . . . No more; I yield. And, first of all, I spill to thee The bright libation; never one so bright Since that old morn when, in the sacred bowl, At Aulis, peering, I beheld a face 40 EURYLOCHUS TRANSFORMED New-bearded and with wide, forth-looking eyes, While near at hand the smitten oxen moaned, Greece waited, breathless, for the oracle, Far off the seamen called, and on my cheek I felt the breezes favoring for Troy. {He drinks.) Bacchus! What vine has bled into thy cup? I see the things that have been and shall be, — The gods, the earth-born race, the brood of Hell. Ah me! the pain! the quest without an end! EUBYLOCHUS TRANSFORMED 41 For, doubtless, one in after-time will say: Eurylochus came once to Circe^s house, Seeking the day of his return from Troy. Then all the rest watched through the stormy night, But these reclined at the ambrosial feast. He told her all the travail they had borne: She gave him of the cup that loosens care. So one will speak, weaving a winter's tale. Thou wilt be gladdening others with thy smiles, But I shall lie in earth in alien land. Sweet are the lips of music, ever sweet, — Sweeter to ears weary of wind and wave. 42 EURYLOCHUS TRANSFORMED Soft hands! white arms! Why should we rise at all? The gods rise not; prone at perpetual feasts, On sloping elbows they survey the world. Why do we work, knowing no work remains? Nothing abides; our very sorrows fade. Lest life should be made noble by despair. No new fire-stealer will high Zeus endure, Beak-tortured, on the lone Caucasian crag. To mock him with the never-changing eye. Oh, failing heart! how all dimensions, all. Have shriveled to the measure of thy hope! This life, which once was larger than all , worlds, EURTLOCHUS TRANSFORMED 43 Now looks less huge than the marsh-gendered fly's, Whose Lethean past and infinite to-come Are rounded in one little, sunny hour. The gods are blessed, knowing they endure; The beasts are blest, not knowing but they last; But man is cursed, knowing that he dies, — Unhappy beast, striving to be a god! Oh, for the life dreamed under drowsy boughs By old Silenus and his careless crew! With happy satyrs clamoring his approach To happier fauns, who, hearing, off will flee 44 EURYLOCHUS TRANSFORMED To prop the tipsy god, what time he nods Upon his dripping, purple-stained car, Half-holding, in one lazy, drooping hand. The leash of long-stemmed flowers wherewith he guides. At slumber-footed pace, the flexile, sleek, Indolent leopards, happiest of all! Nearer the kind earth better, nearest best ! To snuff the savory steam of upturned soil. To sally with the low-browed drove at dawn. Gurgling or jubilantly trumpeting. To where the sweet night-fallen acorns hide Under the lush, cool grasses, drenched with dew! EUBTLOCHUS TBANSFORMED 45 I know the down-faced posture; now I feel The low, four-footed firmness. Let me go! The glaring lights are lost in grateful gloom! And now I scent the rain-washed herbage; now The welcome shine of slumberous pools ap- pears, — The oozy beds of odorous wallowings — ugh! THE DEATH OF HELEN (Those legends which made Helen the daughter of Zeus also asserted that the latter was un- willing his child should suffer death. His purpose was thwarted, however, by certain intrigues which then vexed the politics of the sky, and Helen passed to Elysium, not Olympus.) {Helen speaks.) Hermione, I truly think that Zeus, This morning, yielded — some such thing I heard 46 THE DEATH OF HELEN 47 In sleep — and it is said among the gods, Helen to-day will die. Let no one now Run here with omens, if the sky turn wings ! Tell Lycidas I shall not need the herb. But pile my couch with purple in the porch — For there sleep leads me to the truest dreams — And I will look my last upon the sun O'er vallej^ed Lacedsemon. Bear me forth! For why should one the care of gods, the awe Of men like gods, pass like a sullen slave, 48 THE DEATH OF HELEN Watched by a leech and fended from the day? SunHght I loved, and things that love the sun, But walls and glooms I loathe, and ever did, More than the grave! Enough. Now some one bid Antenor not to gild the heifer's horns; Then let all go. Why should I pray to live? My name may live to string a wandering harp, Swept to the hoarse chant of a wintry bard. My loveliness may linger in a song, But I may be no more the one I was. THE DEATH OF HELEN 49 Nothing is any longer what it was. Last time I rode to Aphrodite's door I was gazed on by pygmies where of old Each common stone of the thronged stairs would seem To pedestal a god ! Girl, wilt thou smile To be beloved of men, as men are now? Far other were the ones I served that night. When, putting on a slave's disguise, I poured Their wine within the tent of truce. Beside The Scsean gate they pitched it, and the foes Mingled as friends. There I beheld, between Hector and Troilus, thy father dear; Yet Menelaus did not know his wife. 50 THE DEATH OF HELEN Here sat Achilles; and I filled the cup For all — but his most slowly — all save one: Odysseus, only, watched me with side looks. This brooch I wore. It made the tunic tight About my shoulder. Suddenly it snapt And gave this whole arm naked to his eyes. He scowled at both Atrides. I — I came — Not back to pour his wine! . . . Oh, Paris! Are you very sure the dream Was sent by Aphrodite? Yet how dark The waves have grown! And howsoe'er we speed THE DEATH OF HELEN 51 The foam's white fingers always point us back. Sweet, do not frown, lest Love, too, purse his brow! . . . Have I not trusted ? . . . Kastor! Kastor, — please! . . . No, Polydeukes; never will I bathe When those bright fish are darting in the pool ! I'll find my hollow where the deep green leaves Will cover me all over. Could you hear Now if I screamed? A fur-eared faun creeps up, Oft times, and frightens me just as I wake. 52 THE DEATH OF HELEN Oh, Hermes! Hermes! I am glad. See, now, My feet depress the daisies less than thine! Is the way long unto Elysium? AMONG THE GRECIAN MARBLES Here lies the wreckage of old heavens up- thrown. This the wave spared to poor posterity — So much of all that golden argosy Which by the breath of the young dawn was blown O'er the blue laughing waters from unknown Marges of light and immortality — Spared for our eyes that impotently see, And for our greeting, which is but a groan. 53 64 AMONG THE GRECIAN MARBLES Oh; when will man again his lax loins gird? When will he leave soft Circe and her sty, Or learn to labor without looking down? Thou, thou, my country — in a dream I heard It was thy sons would dare the old sweet sky And bring back beauty for the earth to crown. THE VENUS OF MELOS He "ordered that the young women should go naked in the processions. — ''Lycurgus," Plutarch's Lives, Fair creatures! whose young children's children bred Thermopylae its heroes — not yet dead But in old marbles ever beautiful. — Keats, Endymion. 56 56 THE VENUS OF MELOS Thoughts of those deathless forms thou dost awake, That unashamed in beauty strode along Through the high Spartan street, a naked throng, Deep-wombed, with bosoms fit whereon to take The heads of hero husbands, or to make With strenuous milk the next-age man- hood strong, — Maidens that heard unfeared the Dorian song. Mothers of might the battle could not break. THE VENUS OF MELOS 67 Spartan bride! — to me thou seemest so — The lovehness of mountain-heights thou hast, — As near to heaven, anchored to earth as fast, And yet suffused with such a tender glow As turns to fire their pinnacles of snow When rosy evening smiles her sweetest, last. ATHENS AND SPARTA Athens reclined, but Sparta sat, To take the cup. Deliberating, Athens sat; Sparta stood up. In speaking, Athens made a show Of word and wit. Spartan debate was Yes and No. That settled it. Athens, when all was vainly fought. Fled from the field. Sparta brought home, or else was brought Upon, the shield. 68 ATHENS AND SPARTA 59 The Attic pen was wielded well; The world has read. What Lacedsemon had to tell, Her right arm said. Something the Spartan missed, but gained The power reserved That lets the crown pass unobtained, Not undeserved. THE RETURN TO NATURE (on reading WILLIAM MORRIS' POEM, THE DEATH OF PARIS) I MUSE the mournful story halfway through : How, in the lazy-leaguering times that wore Hard on Troy's end, one day was dire uproar Where Philoctetes' fatal arrow flew; And how, next morn but one, the garden dew Was brushed by feet of silent shapes that bore 60 THE JRETUBN TO NATURE 61 The wound-sick man out of the palace door, Turning towards Ida and one vale he knew — But there I shut the book, nor any more Ponder of Paris, but ourselves, whose grief Is the world's arrow, dipt in venom sore: Like him, we make at last a visit brief To Her who loved us, and was loved, before, And pray, of the Implacable, relief. KEATS (''the true MARCELLUS of ENGLISH SONG") Why we turn a drowsy ear From the over-brimming sweetness Of the music-burdened year, — Why we list with hand a-hollow, Lean to catch and yearn to follow, Songs that half-bereave us here, — Who can tell us, dear? Neither may I tell thee, love. Why this hapless singer charms me Every happier bard above. 62 KEATS 63 Lo, each other told his story, Won his maiden, wore his crown — Death in both hands shut the glory Of his unfulfilled renown. THE BETROTHAL Whatsoever vows were said, Never thou wert woman-wed. Sunset-flushed and starry-eyed Waited one to be thy bride. Ages ere thy Hsping word All thy loving songs she heard, All thy fond behests obeyed, All her charms for thee arrayed. She shall take thee for her own. Thou shalt worship her alone: Beauteous may others be — Beauty, soul and self, is she. 64 THE MUSE OF PARADOX Reach here thy hand — I am the utmost star; Look, and I am the darkness ; list — Only my silences are audible: Fragrance bewrayeth me by lips of flowers Precipice-loving, inaccessible : Pursue me — I will be the lightning-spark; Or dare me — I will be the thunder-stone : Be thou the fugitive — I am the goal : Wilt thou be old and die? I must be born; But be thou born — then I am he that died. Now have I told thee plainly who I am, So shalt thou never miss me when we meet. r 65 THE REASON Why should I toil with thankless care To leave a work of beauty rare? When I am dead the flower will blow To finer shape than art can show; With sweeter songs than I can sing The morning wilderness will ring. But did the blossom or the bird Ask ever to be seen or heard? And I, if unobserved as they, The same deep impulse must obey. 66 THE SISTINE MADONNA Other madonnas ever seem to say, ^^My soul doth magnify the Lord''; but she, Dove-Uke in sweetness and humihty, Has caught the words of wonder day by day, And kept them in her heart. Look as we may, The mother is yet more a child than he Who nestles to her. In his eyes we see The prophecy of lightnings that will play About the temple courts, the conqueror 67 68 THE SISTINE MADONNA Traveling in the greatness of his strength, — But in her eyes only the love unsleeping Wherewith, all times, he will be waited for, Which, as the cross lets down its load at length. Will take her babe once more into her keeping. THE FAIRY KERCHIEF So filmy I could almost furl it up > Inside an acorn-cup, Yet now I spread out all its fairy folds Green earth, starred heaven, it holds. For touching this I touch her half-seen hand, — Lady of Gloaming-land. I hear her where forgotten music pours Out of old forest doors; I meet her where the feet of dreamland go; But oh, I do not know Whether for me she let the kerchief fall, Or sees my face at all! 69 70 THE FAIBY KERCHIEF Faint fragrance of a nameless flower it bears Only our lady wears; Half-echoes of a haunting song it brings Only our lady sings; And when on day-blind lids it softly lies I see great gloaming eyes, Great shadowy nights of muse and mystery Where I would give all golden suns to see One little star for me! ON A PICTURE I THANK the painter whom this autumn scene Held like enchantment till his brush obeyed And touch by burning touch the charm conveyed To his cold canvas. Lazily between Its gorgeous banks in that all-mellowing sheen The slow stream spreads. The cattle unafraid 71 72 ON A PICTURE Drink. On the bridge above the boy and maid Through never-interrupted musings lean. It is my ow^.lost youth he painted there. So swelled one radiant autumn-tide around; So stood the sun in golden haze above. And as I look the old-time sweet and rare Comes back and fills the world without a sound, And love returns, and the first kiss of love. BEHOLD THE DAY (January 1, 1901) Behold the day The Lord sends down, — _ his dearest, Most beautiful of all about his throne, With azure eyes the sweetest and severest, Far-fiaming sword and silver wings far- flown! His naked foot is on the mountain nearest. His golden trumpet to his lips up thrown ; And for thine ears, world, if thou but hearest, 73 74 BEHOLD THE DAT The summons of the century is blown: " The word of truth that shaketh all foun- dations, The word of love that maketh all its own, The word of beauty, crown of all creations — These shalt thou hear and heed and these alone. Love, Truth, and Beauty — for all tribes and nations Be these the names whereby our God is known!'' LOVE RESURGENT (I My love no longer loves me — let me die ! The glory is gone out, upon the hills, And the gray downfall of its ashes fills The old bright places of the earth and sky. Why should I wander up and down and cry To every ghost of joy whose presence thrills The heart of sorrow till his cup over- spills? I will lie down upon my face and die/' 75 76 LOVE RESURGENT One bent above him with resplendent wing: *^'Twas not her love for thee set earth aglow; 'Twas thine own love for her — that still is thine. '^ Joy sent him like an arrow from the string: ^' Show me the rough ways where her feet must go — I never loved before, O Love divine ! " LOVE'S TESTAMENT (on a mirror) If you shall kneel some day at this clear shrine And find no comfort in its oracle, And think how sweetly the responses fell In days when life was dear and love divine; If you shall read its record, line by line. Of all the fluent years have had to tell. And muse of one who keeps the silence well, 77 78 love's testament Then you shall take to heart this word of mine: The years rob not your sweet brow of its grace; If with their libels it were all o^erwrit I would believe no word their fingers trace; And if God said J ''Thou shalt remould her face And fashion all as love shall find more fit, ^^ I would not change one dear, odd way in it. GUINEVERE^S DEFENCE We did not seek out love, But us, oh, us! he sought. The falcon with the dove Worketh the way he wrought. He fetched no dainty fare; He gave us gall to drink. And, round our shoulders bare. The Nessus robe to shrink. We saw this love appear Like God upon his throne. Guiding his winged sphere Along the heaven alone. 79 80 GUINEVERE' S DEFENCE We did not kiss his wand, Nor call his coming sweet. He smote us with his hand, He trode us with his feet. And when we sent our shrill Cry to the ears above. He only said, '^Be still. And know that I am love!'^ SEPTEMBER IN THE NORTH O LOVE, do you remember, When you and I were wed, That sun — a golden ember — Those hills — a regal red? It was not old November With ashes on her head; It was not cold December In mantle dun and lead: 'Twas burning, bold September, 'Twas gorgeous, gold September, 'Twas scarlet-stoled September When you and I were wed. G 81 82 SEPTEMBER IN THE NORTH It was not April heaping The snowdrops on her head; It was not summer sleeping With poppies round her bed; It was not winter faring With slow and sullen tread, For ball and sceptre bearing A withered staff instead; Twas golden-globed September, Sceptred and globed September, 'Twas royal-robed September When you and I were wed. SEPTEMBER IN THE NORTH 83 'Twas not Love's hour of roses: They faded ere he fled From sun-forsaken closes, Where all his dreams lay dead, With mantle frayed and flying And wounded wings outspread, To his own kingdom lying Guerdoned and garlanded. 'Twas glory-rolled September, — Fold-upon-fold September, Purple and gold September, When you and I were wed. 84 SEPTEMBER IN THE NOBTH Ah, sweet, do you remember? We lauded Love and said : '^Now June and not December Be counted drear and dread: Love kept his daffodillies Till all their gold was dead; He slept among his lilies Till all their gold was shed: But then he gave September, The bright and brave September, And now, God save September j When you and I are wed!'' OF PETRARCH (two thoughts) I ] Was Laura's loveliness, to all save one, But a fair chalice, empty of delight, Only a frozen miracle of art. Till Petrarch held it upward in the sun Where every winsome curve swam into sight, And brimmed it with the warm wine of his heart? 85 86 OF PETRARCH II Reading on Petrarch's page his Laura's life, The charmed Fame Hf ts not her eyes to ask What petty nobleman had her to wife, — What jeweled hand held hers through that night's masque: The night is gone; it is the poet's day; Smiling he leads his bride immor- tally away. DISMISSING THE MUSE If we plighted a tryst, the goddess and I, Then mistress the soot-face was sure to be there; If my sleeves were turned up, the muse would - stroll by Persistently humming my favorite air. So I fashioned a temple of light for the muse, And implored her to leave her low rival alone; And I found her a stithy as black as her shoes. And gave the drudge orders to keep to her own. 87 88 DISMISSING THE MUSE Now the slave goes up in her smoky frock And fills all the fane with the clatter of tools, And the goddess will perch on the anvil-block Till the fire goes out and the iron cools. It is plain that one of you two must go: Not you, dark maid, with averted eyes And breast half-naked to free the blow. Lest you prove, as I fear you, a god in disguise. But you, you other, with lips aflame And eyelids bright with the day of day, Shame of my pride and pride in my shame, Divinely perverse — Yet stay! oh, stay! THE SONG OF THE FATES (to e. s.) Thou to whom, hy presage strong, All tTie future's gifts belong, Take thy first of gifts — a song. Whosoe'er shall sing for thee When they set the cypress-tree, — Take a hirth-song now from me. Musing here, a moment gone, While unseen the hearth-light shone, 89 90 THE SONG OF THE FATES While unseen the flaming day Fell to ashes cold and gray, I have heard their spindle's drone — Adamantine monotone — To whose cadence, chorusing, Stars of eve and morning sing, — Overheard their muttered strain Spinning slow thy fragile skein. While their pauses, hushed and dread, Hope and fear interpreted. The Chant Long began our spindle's sound Ere the spool for thee was wound; THE SONG OF THE FATES 91 Long again its sound shall be Ere 'tis wound again for thee; Evermore the threads begin — Nevermore for thee we spin. Yet before eternal heaven Unto thee this thread was given: All the gods of craft and power Could not thwart thee of thine hour. Lower, sisters, low and slow Let the words unerring flow: He shall go the way of all Where the fates, like chances, fall; He must seem his path to choose Where his feet cannot refuse. 92 THE SONG OF THE FATES Closer, sisters, bend the head, Slow and slower lead the thread. Though betwixt our fingers run Strands that may not be unspun, Never, sisters, let him name You and me to bless or blame: If his life as heaven be glad. From himself that heaven he had: If his soul be bound to pain, 'Twas his soul that forged the chain; For the thread we spin partakes, Making, of the power that makes. Humming through our solemn chant With the droning adamant, THE SONG OF THE FATES 93 Giving voice with all our three To confirm the destiny. Now no cadence of our song In his ears may linger long, Yet he shall not shrink to do All the strain hath bound him to : The soul itself has doomed its state, And fate is equal to its fate. CONSULTING THE DAISY (He loves me — loves me not) I WONDER if my lover loves me still. I know he loved me madly yester-eve; His morning missive says I must believe; He threw a kiss back as he crossed the hill — But oh, such things may happen in an hour! Ah, does he love me now? Tell me, you Delphic flower. 94 SEPTEMBER THE ELEVENTH 1889 The child of man, blind offspring of the all-foreseeing past, Of anguished birth and dubious doom, is here. Joy now! with grief hereafter at the grave — If death be not the gods' last, perfect gift. Borne like their first between the knees of pain. 96 INSCRIPTION FOR A FIREPLACE Prometheus, Epimetheus — both are we, For looking in the fire we seem to see The things that have been and the things to be. VIM HABUIT DEMOSTHENES They say you had great vim. We cannot doubt it. Who could say such heroic things without it? There was that other story — pardon me — ah — But did you show your heels at Chseronea? 96 PAOLO AND FRANCESCA These hearts, two torches that together came In God's firm hand, burst into one bright flame. Which will you blame — the brands to ashes turned, Or the great Hand that held them while they burned? 97 BESIDE THE MARK Who cares how well the bow is strung, How finely wrought in every part, If, when the silver cord has rung, The arrow has not reached the heart? 98 "BEYOND THE SUNSET'' (j. C. E. D.) Singer, whose brow the god of song has bound With whitest fillets, and whose proud attire Proclaims thee of the purple-vestured choir That filled our younger day with golden sound, — Thou that with brighter garlands hast en- wound 99 100 BEYOND THE SUNSET Thy seaward prow, and with thy morn- ing lyre Charmest the waves beyond the sunset fire, — Tis not for me to crown thee: thou art crowned. And sweeter lips will greet thee from the shore Whereto thou sailest, for the happy strand Will be more happy when thy sail is seen — BEYOND THE SUNSET 101 Lo where she comes ! still wearing as she wore Her singing robes — the roses in her hand — And rising, in her coming, like a queen. MENS JUDEX High on her single-seated judgment throne, With forward-gazing eyes, girded, erect. Sits the wide-browed, undaunted In- tellect Resolving her own doubt. Love, making moan. Clings round her neck; and reaching to her zone Pale Pity kneels; and, striving to deflect Her forthright vision. Falsehood stands bedecked; 102 MENS JUDEX 103 Blind Rumor's trumpet in her ear is blown, And with raised hand white Vengeance whispers, ''Slay!'' Unmoved she sits till Falsehood gHdes away. Rumor lets fall his trump, Vengeance his stone, And Love and Pity turn aside to pray. Then, calling back her angels, heaven- ward flown — Justice and Truth — listens to these alone. NEW YORK Titan daughter crouching by the sea, Playing with ships and channehng the sands And gathering evermore in eager hands Poor shells and pebbles for thy jewelry, Unheedful how the nations swarm to thee From all the shallows of distressful lands, — More busy braiding weeds in idle bands Than mothering the millions at thy knee, — Oh, when thy destiny shall bid thee rise, 104 NEW TOBK 105 And thy god-heart with love of man shall burn, How towards thy feet the human tides will yearn, While all the muses waken in thine eyes. And floods of blessing leave thy lifted urn As April mornings overflow^ the skies! VIXIMUS Oh, love, the song is vain and all is vain — Vain as long days when death is drawing near! Yet we who love between a smile and tear Loving have lived if none may live again. 106 LOVE ROYAL Your face, my lady, in its flowery prime, A fair sweet kingdom, owned me for its king. Do monarchs hold their realms in winter- time Less dear than in the spring? 107 GLORIA VICTIS Let the song cease and him who sang depart, Singer and song have found enough of praise; The tale was all for one and touched her heart ; He only sang to one and wore her bays. Bear the dead knight in triumph though o'er thrown; 108 GLOBIA VICTIS 109 The herald, who proclaims him con- quered, lies; He jousted for his queen's delight alone, And she looked on him with acclaiming eyes. Let the pale martyr bleed; he but obeyed The unrelenting conscience's behest. Of her, not of the world, he walked afraid. And when he gave her all she gave him rest. THE FORECAST What losses and crosses Our coming dawns may bring, What stories, what glories, Our setting suns may sing — Be still! 'tis not for men to say What shape the gods may wear; 'Tis ours to greet them day by day And take the gifts they bear. 110 F. S. S. In the strange heaven of my distracted soul The sun's red largess falls now east, now west; Star after star rises and goes to rest In burning beauty; from vast goal to goal The stately constellations poise and roll; The sweet, sad moon veils and unveils her breast, Luring her lover on a far, foiled quest — Not such art thou, my pure star of the pole! Ill 112 F. S. S. Nought knowest thou of change. Thou risest not, Nor goest to thy setting. Never thou, Waxing and waning, growest dim or bright. But, with calm, equal splendor ever fraught, Thou shinest ever where thou shinest now. To give my soul safe-conduct in its night. October, 1909. Other "Works by Percy Macfcaye Ode on the Centenary of Abraham Lincoln Cloth, gilt top, i6mo, $.y^ net " Of a form nearly faultless, its strong, resonant metre and lofty sentiment and imagery make of it one of the distinctive produc- tions of the day, a poem to be read, reread, and remembered." — Argonaut. 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PUBLISHED BY THE MACMILLAN COMPANY 64-66 Fifth Avenue, New York By CONINGSBY WILLIAM DAWSON The Worker and Other Poems Cloi/i, i6mo, $i.2§ net "Characterized by unusual tenderness and spiritual uplift," says one critic, " a quiet unstriving beauty that will repay reading." ^ By SOPHIE JEWETT The Pilgrim and Other Poems Cloth, i2mo, $i.2S net There are many who will treasure these verses almost as a personal message from one whose interpretations of life were singularly poetic, clear-sighted, and beautiful in sim- plicity. By ALFRED AUSTIN Sacred and Profane Love And Other Poems Cloik, i2mo, $1.40 net "Sacred and Profane Love," the name ascribed by tradi- tion to the well-known picture by Titian in the Villa Borghese, Rome, suggested the title to the author. The picture has long been regarded as symbolical, likewise is the poem. 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