N 
 
 .\ 
 
 JX^ 
 
 LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 
 
 J 
 
 UNITED STATES OF, AMERICA. 
 
CREATED GOLD 
 
 AND OTHER POEMS 
 
r Scfd 
 
 

 COPYRIGHT 
 
 A. EDWARD NEWTON i CO. 
 
 1893 
 
 PRESS OF 
 
 GLOBE PRINTING HOUSE 
 
 PHILADELPHIA 
 
TO 
 
 JACOB SULZBERGER 
 
 THIS VOLUME IS AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATED 
 BY HIS FRIEND, 
 
 HENRY HANBY HAY. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Created Gold 13 
 
 Cupid's Hunt 22 
 
 Day-Break 24 
 
 Elijah 25 
 
 Where Pride must Stoop 32 
 
 Rhcccus 33 
 
 Flight of Daphne . . 36 
 
 Ope Tide 38 
 
 Odin 40 
 
 On a Raft 42 
 
 Mistress Mine ' 44 
 
 The Foot of the Palace Stair 45 
 
 Love Beyond Words 49 
 
 A Captive in Abyssinia 50 
 
 Love's Spirit 5^ 
 
 Serenade 57 
 
 Ultimate Music 58 
 
 Milo of Croton 66 
 
 How Beauty Came To 
 
 The Last Night of the Gods 71 
 
 II 
 
PAGE 
 
 The Welcome never Spent 79 
 
 Foreword 80 
 
 Joan of Arc 82 
 
 What the Coin Told 83 
 
 She whom the Sonnets Veiled 94 
 
 The Iron Mask 102 
 
 The Gaucho 103 
 
 Under-Thought 1 1 1 
 
 The Glory has Departed 112 
 
 How Garrick gave his " Rounds " 118 
 
 Flower and Flute keep Holiday 121 
 
 The Student Prince 123 
 
 12 
 
CREATED GOLD. 
 
 AT dawn there came a roar, and palace proud 
 Across the city to the minster bowed. 
 The soldiers roused and ran, ran priest and clown, 
 The stout old house beside the church was down, 
 The massy walls were gapped, the roof was gone, 
 The halted mob cry, as the priests press on, 
 " Devil and sorcerer ! " The ill words grow; 
 For all the people in the city know 
 The foreign scholar, thin, and lank, and spent, 
 Though seldom up and down the streets he w^ent ; 
 And when he came, the women raised a jeer, 
 And pointed at him. When they saw him peer 
 From the barred windows, children shrank away. 
 Now buried 'neath the ruined house he lay. 
 
 They raised the beams and bore him to the air, 
 
 Brokenly muttering words of fierce despair ; 
 
 They tossed aside the tiles and rafters old, 
 
 When lo ! there lay in boulders, virgin gold 
 
 Still warm to curious touch ; a lake of ofold 
 
 With branching streams across the hearth had rolled 
 
 2 13 
 
Here drops had pattered from a golden rain, 
 There golden writhings twist in tortuous pain, 
 Gold to the buttresses like gargoyles clung, 
 And gold stalactites from the rent roof hung, 
 The very coals were sparged with Ophir sands, 
 And rotten wood is held by golden hands ; 
 From one great hole looked out a golden eye, 
 A fount of gold had splashed its waves on high. 
 Surely a mighty wind from Afric's strand 
 Has driven grains of gold instead of sand. 
 
 Upon a bed the man lay, never still. 
 Patient, yet like a creature void of will ; 
 But as the waves lift bare the sands, he stirred. 
 And this is what the eager watchers heard : 
 
 " Spit in the caldron, metal ! bubble ! Ah ! 
 
 Proud things, ye rise, and flatten, and are not. — 
 
 That bubble is Ambition ; that one. Rank ; 
 
 And that Methusaleh — gone now — is Pride, 
 
 They pass away because I check the blast ; 
 
 So rank and pride shall vanish at my will. 
 
 Cool, metal, cool ! a mirror for my face. 
 
 Throbbing and trembling yet, as mortals shall. 
 
 Town, fire your cannon ! Night, ring joyful bells 
 
 Had ye imagination, dirty walls, 
 
 Ye'd leap and stretch to vast cathedral aisles ! 
 
 14 
 
My narrow bed — a narrow bed's a throne, 
 
 When on it a great Emperor has slept. 
 
 'Aye, here he slept,' they'll say. 'and mused and 
 
 dreamt. 
 And studied books, and worked with partners ; ' — 
 
 fools ! 
 Not to the partners of divided mind — 
 Great things belono- to sinorleness of aim. 
 To men who work alone. 
 
 Dull hovel, wait [ 
 
 That scrap upon the floor shall be leaf-gold ; 
 This common kitchen-ware shall lustre gold ; 
 That moulding sand, its black shall put on maize, 
 The grain men harvest with a brutal rage. — 
 
 But oh ! the chase, the hungry, eager road 
 
 Which led to that satiety, Success ! 
 
 For each man has his private road, his thought. 
 
 With mile-stone facts, and finger-posts of deeds. 
 
 Leading, when followed back, to firsts of time ; 
 
 So, toiling back, I reached that very first. 
 
 Saw the futility of those who mixed. 
 
 Who adding, 'neath the most auspicious stars. 
 
 Metal to metal, hoped and prayed for gold. 
 
 But what are God's creations after all ? 
 
 Drops from His endless reservoir of soul. 
 
 15 
 
God. when from greater thing-s He'd make a less, 
 
 Subtracts a quality. Thus worlds are made. 
 
 Five years I lived with electricity ; 
 
 My gain I keep from echo-telling air. 
 
 But what should dominate the process ? Will ? 
 
 Has will dynamic force ? It may be so ! 
 
 To-night — the bubbles cease — 1 say it has. 
 
 Again, but what could equal that first night ? 
 
 A choir of senses voicing one command. 
 
 The blast which drove my wheels — the lump of clay. 
 
 My will which charged the clay with force, — the fire 
 
 Subtracting the unwilling element, 
 
 Then clay was gold ! I held that lump of gold. 
 
 The earthy sceptre of all dominance. 
 
 Glass-pool, now you gloss face, I know you're base ! 
 
 I know your' re gold, which from this hour is dross. 
 
 The Kremlin has a crystal mirror, I 
 
 Will have a diamond to shine me back. 
 
 How dull this pool of precious liquid is ! 
 
 It flatters not its maker's face. Take note : 
 
 If I could add to it a woman's soul, 
 
 She would admit defects, then justify, — 
 
 Thus : ' Poughten steel is stained, new swords are 
 
 toys ; ' 
 Or, ' Better time-worn tower, than paint-smirked hall ; ' 
 
 i6 
 
' Wrinkled ? and worn ' ? nay, only tired, love ; 
 ' Rugged and old,' nay, only ripe with years. 
 Bah ! I am ugly ! so much more the power, 
 A hungry longing, set in wrinkled grime.' 
 Out ! haughty metal, on the hearth and cool ; 
 I'll fill the caldron till it groan with sand — 
 Your maw still hungers ? So ! up to the jaws — 
 Now food, that I may gather strength to see 
 The very atmosphere of what I'll do, 
 The air where doves of hope, and storm-cocks fly. 
 
 To-morrow I'll make barter of this stuff; 
 
 Then on to take possessions in the West ; 
 
 I'll buy me miles of plenty-breeding land ; 
 
 A yacht to dominate the summer seas ; 
 
 Acres of fruit, all breathing sweet with bloom ; 
 
 A palace where supremest architect 
 
 Has caused to flower the aloe of his soul ; 
 
 A palace, stored with art unproachable. 
 
 Supremacy of books, the swiftest horse ; 
 
 A bride not bought, but subtly gained by gold. 
 
 Her mere command shall mean all nature searched, 
 
 For I will fill her common air with sweets. 
 
 Will bless the city where she dwells, with good, 
 
 I'll sweep the ills of all her kin away ; 
 
 But in my gold she shall know me, the god — 
 
 17 
 
Pleasure, and joy, and wit shall woo her mine ; 
 
 How I will love her, fathom her desires. 
 
 And bring them to her, clad in splendid robes ; 
 
 Bathed in her air, I will recover youth. 
 
 The rose-flow of her joy shall torch my eyes. 
 
 Her purple bliss of youth shall dye my cheeks, 
 
 I'll light myself at her ecstatic shrine. 
 
 Ah ! beauty warms me not. O let me weep. 
 Because unmanned I cannot smile nor weep. 
 For I have sat and risen long with grief. 
 My bride is thought, motives of men my joy ; 
 My soul is tasteless, sees each potency 
 Bereft of all save power to destroy. 
 
 ii-. ^ :'ii ^ ^ •■ 
 
 Slaves, ye forgot to pad my chair of state, 
 I'll sit in the dust, the final seat of kings. 
 And from this seat prepare to launch a wind 
 To flatten palaces and strip their kings. 
 Tremble, ye rich, ye grubs of luxury ! 
 For I shall tear your soft cocoons away ; 
 I'll make your trust, your long desire, dirt. 
 The best of all good things is power ! power ! 
 I taste it now, at once it satisfies. 
 
 What war, with hellish hatred has not done. 
 Nor plague, nor famine, nor imperial thought, 
 
 18 
 
Nor equalizing knowledge, I will do ; 
 My interdict shall paralyze the world ; 
 Yea, I will do it, ere a hundred suns. 
 
 :•: :i: :;: :i: * * 
 
 The first day finds the Alps a mass of gold, 
 And the news spread in forty capitals : 
 Created Gold ! I hear the rich men laugh ; 
 But while they laugh, ten thousand chemists toil, 
 And test ten thousand running streams of gold. 
 That niofht men toss with doubt and rise with fear 
 To dawn's distrust, the boding day of doom — 
 Then days shall cease, men only count events, 
 And all the gold stored up in all the years 
 Shall kick the beam against a penny roll. 
 The mother gives her costly toys for bread. 
 The nobles blister haughty hands for bread. 
 Mansion and equipage are changed for bread. 
 Till sunburnt hands shall hold the spade of state. 
 The working muscles rule omnipotent. 
 
 Gold bubbles once more mock the caldron's worth. 
 Misers who coin the night, with this centime 
 I buy your labor, leave you overpaid. 
 Stay ! I must check the blast. This lever means 
 All precious metals put with kindred dirts. 
 The hand of labor on the rich man's neck, 
 The dawn of real things and reality. 
 
 19 
 
I make — 
 
 Poor boaster — what a little change ! 
 One sino^le throb, one intermittinof beat 
 Of the world's heart, pulsing these million years, 
 riiat brings a moment's gasp to dazed mankind ; 
 But naught is changed while love and lioht endure. 
 Will Raphael's virgin lose her perfect smile ? 
 Or vast St. Peter's doff sublimity ? 
 Are thrift and cunning banished from the land ? 
 I level values ; can I level thought ? 
 A little change : I drive to honest toil 
 The feeders on the bounty of the dead, 
 I put a metal to its proper use 
 
 Of cells for thieves, and feedinor-troucrhs for swine. 
 i\ha ! base gold, you bubble at the thought. 
 An Arab Almeh, looking in a well. 
 Straightway beholds the past and future there — 
 Let me, too, peer into this liquid pool. 
 And see, no future, but a past of sin : 
 Assassins, murderers and parricides 
 In cruel armies march before my sight. 
 The reckless robber and the subtle thief 
 Move like an evertiowing cataract. 
 Here are myriad graces stained for gold. 
 The men who bowed their manhood to its shine, 
 The billions thou hast maimed but not destroyed. 
 
Bards who unglossed their laurels in thy shade. 
 
 Aye, tremble, pool, thou scapegoat of all sins, 
 
 Blush, hellish metal, blush, for now I see — 
 
 All hot and shuddering — a pool of blood. 
 
 What groans ! — O God ! the lever — Ah ! the flame 
 
 My secret rocks the world — created gold." 
 
CUPID'S HUNT. 
 
 HUNT ! Dan Cupid, spy around ! 
 Search the woods from bound to bound, 
 Seek my love, ere, straying far, 
 She is snatched to make a star. 
 Set the Hly-bells a-ringing. 
 Send the butterflies a-wingfinof ; 
 Leave your torch : the darkest places 
 She'll illumine with her graces. 
 
 Where the hawthorns foam to whiteness, 
 She has passed and scattered brightness. 
 
 How to know her when you meet her ? 
 Philomel has voice no sweeter ; 
 You will know her by her smiling, 
 By her absolute beguiling. 
 By the speech with which she melts you. 
 By the quips with which she pelts you. 
 By the breath more sweet than posy. 
 By the twin lips soft and rosy. 
 
By the eyes amazing tender, 
 By the waist and ankles slender ; 
 And to name no other feature, 
 By the best in every creature. 
 
 If you find her, swift arraign her. 
 In the name of Love, detain her ; 
 Stay not ! or she'll take your arrows, 
 Mount your car and drive your sparrows 
 If her sugared words you drink, boy 
 Cupid, you shall be her link-boy ; 
 Bring her, then, with all her blisses, 
 To the prison of my kisses. 
 
 23 
 
DAY-BREAK. 
 
 THERE is a shudder in the air, 
 Ihough yester-noon was burning ; 
 And planets watching shine out bright, 
 The joyous morn discerning. 
 The bridge hghts grave the heavy bridge 
 Upon the star-lit river, 
 It's piers are poplars spaced in sets 
 Which crinkle, mass and quiver. 
 But stars fade out, come streaks of red, 
 Criss-crossed with flashino' finders, 
 A promise to the silent vale 
 Wliere dusky night still lingers : 
 The ruddy east to crimson grows. 
 The fears of nio-ht are fleeintr. 
 The arch of sky is bluish-gray ; — 
 A day throbs into being. 
 
 Eor me there is a rarer dawn. 
 The fadino- stars sfive warnincj 
 Of rosy sunrise richer far — 
 I meet my love this morning. 
 
 24 
 
ELIJAH. 
 
 OUT of the press and the battle, 
 And the van of the watcher I ranged ; 
 Fit by the flame of transition 
 To mirror the Lord's face. Changed — 
 All slofht, one essence of seeino-, 
 A wasteless desire to know ; 
 Millions of star-groups around me, — 
 There is neither above nor below ; 
 Nor a doubt, nor a thouoht of duration, 
 Nor a better, but always a best ; 
 And a tree of delight ever blooming. 
 Whose leaves are for solace and rest. 
 This, on the bounds of transition, 
 I know with my seership astir ; 
 For yet, in these regions supernal, 
 I burn with the actions that were ; 
 For the spirits that creep through death's portal, 
 And enter the state called Above, 
 Have left all their passions behind them. 
 All gifts, save the wisdom of love. 
 
 25 
 
But I, set apart by seership, 
 
 Hold more in my glorified form ; 
 
 I have seen how God works in His future, 
 
 And I come with my memory warm. 
 
 And yet is this very translation ? 
 
 Must I wake up again and endure ? 
 
 I will re-run the race of a life-time, 
 
 And finish my course and be sure. 
 
 Nor father, nor tender mother, 
 
 Nor brethren, bone of my bone, 
 
 On a slope of the Mountain of Witness 
 
 I dwelt from my boyhood, alone. 
 
 Winter was top of the mountain. 
 
 Summer reposed at its feet ; 
 
 I reck'd not the dew or the raindrop, 
 
 The sleep of the runner is sweet. 
 
 Rest, with a stone for a pillow. 
 
 Nor never arousing from sleep 
 
 But to strike down the leopard and panther, 
 
 And rescue the perishing sheep. 
 
 And the wind was my loving companion, 
 
 And the storm was a teacher to heed. 
 
 And the Mount was my garden of gladness, 
 
 And the roebuck my master in speed ; 
 
 26 
 
And I ate of the fig and the oHve, 
 And drank of the brook by the way, 
 And worshipped the God of my people, 
 Creator of man and of day. 
 I was lean as the cheetah a-hunting. 
 And brown with the tempests that blow, 
 And the lambs knew my foot on the ledges, 
 And the lion went back from my bow, 
 And the Lord of the sheep kept the shepherd. 
 For clad in secureness he trod ; 
 And beneath the foundation of nature 
 He fathomed the framework of God. 
 I herded the sheep twenty summers 
 In the sight of that forehead of snow ; 
 Then the Lord spake at peep of the dawning, 
 " Rise up ! O Elijah ! and go 
 To the ivory palace of Ahab ; 
 A word I will put in thy mouth, 
 And behold, they shall toil at thy bidding, 
 My servants, the rain and the drouth." 
 Then I saw, but a part of the future, 
 How the spirit of Jacob's God flows 
 Through what shall be, as Jordan's swift current 
 Unmixed throuorh Gennesaret croes ; 
 So I girt up my loins and I journeyed, 
 And the robbers shrank back from my path. 
 
 27 
 
And the hungry beast sank on its belly 
 
 From the foot of the witness of wrath. 
 
 I sped o'er the plains, leapt the courses, 
 
 Nor paused in my purposeful race 
 
 Till I stood by the temple of Baal, 
 
 Samaria's pillar'd disgrace. 
 
 And the city, it stank with its idols, 
 
 Its Moloch with blood for his must. 
 
 The abomination of Sidon, 
 
 And Ashtaroth, deified lust. 
 
 And lo! from the litter of Ahab, 
 
 The cleaving multitude swayed. 
 
 And I cried, " As the Lord God liveth " — 
 
 And prancing horses were stayed — 
 
 " As the Lord God liveth, my Keeper, 
 
 The Only, the Righteous, the Lord, 
 
 Nor the dew nor the rain shall be on the land. 
 
 But according, O King, to my word." 
 
 And the green died out, and the dust rolled up, 
 
 And the sky had a copper heat, 
 
 And the seeds forgot to sprout, and the brooks 
 
 Were shoal to an infant's feet. 
 
 But water and pottage and pulse were mine. 
 
 As the Lord God made it clear. 
 
 28 
 
And after three years came the voice of the Lord, 
 
 " Go up, for King Ahab will hear." 
 
 Lo ! the famine is sore in the weary land, 
 
 The earth opens mouths in her pain 
 
 And the thirstless aloe is dead of the sun — 
 
 So I stood before Ahab again. 
 
 And he cried, " Art thou he who afflictest my folk? 
 
 We burn in the blast of thy fire." 
 
 And I answered, " O King ! not of me is the bale. 
 
 But of thee and the house of thy sire. 
 
 Assemble thy priests and let Baal give rain, 
 
 Lest the desert silt back where kings trod. 
 
 Now, will ye have Bel or Jehovah, the Lord ? 
 
 Choose ye 'twixt Baal and God." 
 
 But the priestly prayers were mumbled in vain, 
 
 In vain was their psalmody sung. 
 
 And the high priest's curse was uttered, not heard. 
 
 As it dropped from his blistering tongue. 
 
 For the sun swelled out till it filled the sky. 
 
 Till the world was a molten noon. 
 
 The shadows of men slunk under their feet 
 
 And the airless earth was aswoon. 
 
 * :): :•: * * * 
 
 Then I stretched my hand o'er the perished priests 
 To the God of the land and the seas. 
 And there came a sense of ofreen on the air, 
 3 29 
 
A scent from the famishino- trees, 
 
 A breath in the camel's nostrils stirred 
 
 With the promise of spring- and of grain. 
 
 Then I cried, " Prepare ! there are sounds on the air. 
 
 The rushincr abundance of rain." 
 
 At the hurricane's push, a sea poured down. 
 
 Till the sun-cracked chasms were rills, 
 
 And the horsemen are fled from the foaming vales. 
 
 To the green at the top of the hills. 
 
 For the earth laughed loud, and my human heart, 
 
 Adopting the people it feeds, 
 
 Swelled up with the brooks ; before Ahab I sped. 
 
 In triumph outrunning his steeds. 
 
 I borrowed God's glory, I tasted His wrath 
 
 Throuo-h the ratre of the Kind's evil wife, — 
 
 " I will make you," she said, " as the priesthood ot 
 
 Bel,"— 
 Then I fled to the desert for life. 
 Despairing of men, and despairing of times, 
 Self-righteous despite of my fear. 
 And then once again came the voice of the Lord, 
 " Elijah, what doest thou here ? " 
 And there in the wilds, I learned 'mid the throes. 
 When the peak to the precipice nods. 
 That God is a spirit and worshipped by truth, 
 That the small voice in all men is God's. 
 
 30 
 
And truly this is the immortal, the state 
 Which the hopes of the sages surmise ; 
 And my seership, my very possession from God, 
 In the sight of its full rapture dies. 
 
 31 
 
WHERE PRIDE MUST STOOP. 
 
 AT Rome I stood beneath the marble slab 
 Which shows, tradition says, the Saviour's height. 
 " Stoop," said a gentle priest, " too tall you are : 
 For some fall short, some pass, none reach that span. 
 The Perfect Stature of the Perfect Man." 
 
 32 
 
RHv^CUS. 
 
 WEALTHY was Rha^cus, a youth transcendent 
 and nimble as Phoebus ; 
 Lover of grasses and o-roves, he found in the forest a 
 
 willow, 
 Bent by the tempest ; the tree with stakes he securely 
 
 supported, 
 All-forgetting a tree was the foster-abode of a Dryad. 
 She, in return for her life so renewed, then revealed 
 
 to his vision 
 Blisses of color and form, conferring her kiss in 
 
 requital. 
 Quick did the nymph whose veins were filled with the 
 
 sap of the timber 
 Love him with ardor eterne, and she yielded herself 
 
 to a mortal. 
 Often he pillowed his head on the breast of the beau- 
 tiful Dryad. 
 Quicker than Hermes oft would her bee bid the youth 
 
 to the banquet : 
 Nectarines glowing with gold, ambrosial food of 
 
 Olympus. 
 
 33 
 
Once when the honey was new, and the three-leaved 
 
 clover in blossom, 
 Bade she her jetty-clad messenger quickly to summon 
 
 her lover. 
 Instant he tlieth along with the wood-nymph's amor- 
 ous mandate, 
 Untempted of blossomy limes, he rapidly crosses the 
 
 meadow ; 
 Gently to Rha^cus he comes, who, fanned by the boughs 
 
 of the beeches. 
 Eagerly watches the cast of the dice, abstracted in 
 
 pleasure. 
 Roughly he brushes away with his hand the dutiful 
 
 herald, 
 Hotly the flush of remembrance follows the sting of the 
 
 insect. 
 Then does he speed with leaps of the hare to the tryst 
 
 of the willow. 
 " Goddess of Love ! sweet Nymph of my soul ! " rings 
 
 fierce through the woodland. 
 Dark are the proves, and his keen siofht dulled ; for 
 
 the nymph, she has vanished. 
 Vanished ! he wept for the Good forsworn, and the 
 
 Gracious departed. 
 So let the Poet reply to the Muse and the voice of her 
 
 guidance : 
 
 34 
 
Little she asks save a love for the woodland and 
 
 hunofer for knowledofe, 
 Honey Hyblaean she gives, e'en a treasure unfading-, 
 
 her wisdom. 
 Be not enravished of cup, or of dice, or of pleasure 
 
 and joyance, 
 Knowing when glory has gone, and its wonderful 
 
 brilliance has faded. 
 When thought is elusive and shows not its shape, for 
 
 the fancy is palsied, 
 Verd are woods, 'tis the eye that sees not the green 
 
 of the willow. 
 
 35 
 
FLIGHT OF DAPHNE. 
 
 FLEETER than fawn, 
 Dizzily on, 
 Rinelets out straitrht. 
 Bosom all bare, 
 Fleeth the nymph, 
 Skimming the sod. 
 
 Flame at his mouth. 
 Flame in his eyes, 
 Tundeth the youth. 
 Runneth the god. 
 
 Crimson her cheeks. 
 Crimson her lips ; 
 Brushing the brakes. 
 Flying the brooks. 
 Faster she speeds. 
 Swifter she flies. 
 
 Elbows pressed close. 
 Marble lips set. 
 Thunders the god. 
 Lust in his eyes. 
 
 • 36 
 
Faster he leaps ; 
 Lighter she flies ; 
 Swifter than shaft 
 Shot from a bow, — 
 Sharply she turns, 
 Coursing- like hare. 
 
 Shows the cleft chin 
 Shows the white breast ; 
 Joyful he turns, 
 Clutches the fair. 
 
 " Dian ! " she moans, " hear a maid's prayer ! 
 Daphne is gone. Myrtle is there. 
 
 37 
 
OPE TIDE. 
 
 IT is Ope tide : surely, Spring ! 
 Birds declare it as they sing, 
 Gayly soars the royal sun, 
 Ocean shows another one : 
 Roads of gold roll o'er the sea, 
 Nature throbs with new-born glee ; 
 Snow-drifts fade from nook and shade, 
 Bronze and verdure clothe each glade 
 Rivers hum with dulcet purr. 
 Green thinos thrill with maoic stir ; 
 Tepid rains on sprouts alight, 
 Coyly coaxing them to sight ; 
 Dew-drops kiss the budding trees. 
 Perfume loads the dimpling breeze ; 
 Trees, from root to leafy cup. 
 Feel the quickened sap run up. 
 From the woods comes Boating near 
 Cuckoo's greeting, sad and clear ; 
 Velvet clumps of clinging moss 
 Warmly clothe the rough tree's boss, 
 
 138 
 
Every thorn that lifts its head 
 Has a dainty peep of red. 
 Household darling of the Spring 
 Sits the robin, twittering ; 
 Nimble herald of delio-ht 
 Now the cheery chaffinch bright 
 Fills with blithesome note the morn- 
 Winter's cold has died forsworn ; 
 Butterflies forsake their tombs ; 
 Joyfully the primrose blooms ; 
 Bees will soon pursue their race, 
 Gauzy insects flit through space. 
 Flakes of Spring from orchard trees 
 Soon shall fall with every breeze. 
 
 39 
 
ODIN. 
 
 HERE is a grand rude myth, 
 Worthy of those who love the shouting seas, 
 Who found and who foro-ot America, 
 Six hundred years before the Genoese. 
 
 Odin drew near a court ; 
 Up to the throne with mighty steps he trod. 
 "Welcomes," the monarch said, "are bought with 
 
 deeds." 
 " First give me meat ! " replied the burly God. 
 
 " Two trenchers," cried the King. 
 "This ruddy child your feasting powers shall test." 
 Odin devoured the food. Meat, bones, and all. 
 The child consumed. "What other feats, my guest? " 
 
 "I run," the stout God roared. 
 Then one sprang forth, a cold and shadeless ghost. 
 Who reached the goal, returned, went forth again, 
 Ere Odin spurted from the starting-post. 
 
 " Will you drink wine, my guest? 
 My horn — one draught will drain it — bear to him." 
 Three times the God essayed that horn to drain. 
 The wine crawled back two inches from the rim. 
 
 40 
 
"Who'll wrestle? " Odin yelled. 
 "My nurse," sneered out the King, "can conquer 
 
 thee." 
 Vainly did Odin tug- and pant and strive. 
 The toothless beldame forced him to his knee. 
 
 Then spake the trembling King, 
 " Thy mighty actions dread and awe inspire : 
 The presence that outstripped thy best was thought, 
 And he who eating, conquered thee, was fire ; 
 
 The mighty sea has sunk. 
 For my horn's end is planted in the sea ; 
 And that old hag, that toothless dame, was Death, 
 Which conquers men and only mastered thee." 
 
 41 
 
ON A RAFT. 
 
 TWIN mysteries from whose vexed depths 
 All eerie fancies creep, 
 Dawn, chilly, stark, and starless ; 
 
 Dawn, and a man asleep. 
 And sleep with dreaming, metamorphosed pain. 
 
 Transposed the anguish it might but assuage. 
 From woe of flesh and thews to mental strain. 
 
 His wound became a ship, — its throb, storm's rage. 
 Instead of thirst came that swift, mad despair 
 
 When the ship struck ; instead of fevered brain. 
 The clanging of the pumps alone, was there, 
 
 Beating forever faster, but in vain. — 
 
 The sea is gray, the air is hot, the sky an o'erturned 
 cup ; 
 
 His dream is gone, the man awakes, in wonder start- 
 ing up. 
 
 He looks, exults, throws up his hands, and worships 
 with his eyes ; 
 
 He sees — no dream, or life's a dream — a city in the 
 
 skies : 
 
 42 
 
The minarets are pointing down, the camels walk on 
 high, 
 
 The dates and airy palm-trees have their airy roots in 
 sky. 
 
 He greets the dwellers, greets the streets, and greets 
 the men with cheers ; 
 
 When, like a rainbow breathed on glass, the city 
 disappears. 
 
 Into the rising of the sun a flock of land birds By ; 
 
 He turns his helm and eastward seeks the city of the sky. 
 
 A day, a night, another day ; but ere its night began. 
 
 Within the shadow of the palms, he stood a rescued 
 man. 
 
 And as the city of his dream lay there in very deed, 
 
 He murmured out at stress of soul this vaguely- 
 worded creed : 
 
 " I do believe in love, and know that far beyond the now 
 
 There is a something men call orood. to which the 
 basest bow. 
 
 As up my fancy soars, I feel truth reigns and hopes 
 refine. 
 
 And I have fashioned God from these, the ore de- 
 picts the mine. 
 
 I know my earth-faith is mirage, its peopled streets 
 are dumb ; 
 
 Yet from real cities just beyond, the lovely visions 
 
 come." 
 
 43 
 
MISTRESS MINE. 
 
 I, LIKE an English swan, 
 To states and kings belong, 
 Yet sing for you this song : 
 
 Where does sweet delight abide ? 
 Nestled at my lady's side. 
 There desire clips fancy's wing, 
 There the groves are heavening ; 
 Bring no Indian spices there, 
 For herself contents the air ; 
 She alone usurps the vale. 
 With her twin, the nightingale. 
 All is hers which mortal needs ; 
 Beauty wears the hours for beads ; 
 Bliss is given without measure, 
 And contentment waits on pleasure. 
 
 44 
 
THE FOOT OF THE PALACE STAIR. 
 
 DON MELCHOR. 
 
 (A/ tlie head of the stair.) 
 
 O BLASTING word— O cruel sting ! 
 To-day I stood before the King. 
 With darkhno- smile, he looked askance 
 Upon my letter writ to France. 
 "Gainst Caesar's wife no breath must blow — 
 Send back the seals," he said, "and Pfo." 
 Then eyed the Captain of the Guard — 
 My head was flame — my breath came hard. 
 My lips choked back the fruitless prayer — 
 " It cannot be ! — O Christ ! — the stair ! " 
 
 [Slowly descending^ 
 
 What chimes are those ? Those hellish chimes ! 
 Sweet music rang they oftentimes. 
 'Disgraced, displaced,' — 'disgraced, displaced,' 
 Is that their chime. ' displaced, disgraced ? ' — 
 Stay ! stay, no haste ! my senses spin — 
 The very staircase-carvings grin. 
 Nay, here I'll stand, Spain's first grandee ; 
 The palace serfs shall bow to me. 
 
 4 45 
 
{A Chamberlain passes.^ 
 
 He passed ! bowed not ? Uncourteous ! stay, 
 
 He surely bowed. " Senor, good-day," 
 
 'Twas on this landing, last May morn, 
 
 I met Don Sancho all forlorn : 
 
 I had his office ! Breathing hard, 
 
 He sought his carriage, and the guard 
 
 Was there : I signed the warrant, I ! 
 
 Yet, like a prince he went to die. 
 
 Can I forget his lofty pace. 
 
 The scorn that filled Don Sancho' s face. 
 
 The dignity that conquered shame ? 
 
 He'd called me 'son' — the stairs are Hame. 
 
 He girt this sword about my waist. 
 
 A martyr cannot be disgraced. 
 
 Soon in my place Don Pedro stands, 
 
 Soon he will kiss the royal hands. 
 
 Soon panders tremble at the frown 
 
 Of him who has my chair and gown. 
 
 May sudden death — Who comes? 'tis he ! 
 
 ^Don Pedro ascends the stairs.') 
 
 Don Pedro's self; O God ! were we 
 But locked for death ; come weal, come woe ! 
 I'd risk my soul for one strong blow. 
 But no ! I'll twit the fawning cur : 
 *' Most welcome chance ! My noble sir ! 
 
 46 
 
You ask for news in court and town : 
 
 You're going up, I'm going down. 
 
 My doctor counsels foreign air — 
 
 Your pardon, Count, if I'm not there 
 
 To greet you at the Council Board 
 
 Where we were ever in accord. 
 
 One favor, Count ! I have a cat. 
 
 In my — your palace — she has sat 
 
 A year or two beside my chair : 
 
 I humbly pray for her a share 
 
 In feast of state, or private glee : 
 
 She loves the palace. Count, not me ! " 
 
 Go ! jackal, go ! my tide's at neap : 
 
 He upward strides, I downward creep. 
 
 Can this be I, so worn and old. 
 
 Who grasped all power and scattered gold ? 
 
 Down, down I go, weak, poor and spent : 
 
 I was 'The State,' ' the one event ! ' 
 
 Last year a Duke, I stepped aglow 
 
 Upon this landing. Hist ! be slow : 
 
 Here comes the Captain of the Guard. 
 
 {The Captain of the Guard descends the stairs.) 
 
 That smiling face is evil starred ; 
 
 The jackal first, the lion next ; 
 
 He comes to solve these doubts perplexed 
 
 47 
 
Shall I now break or yield my sword, 
 Or shall I pass my ducal word 
 To hie me to die prison fold ? 
 Seville for choice ; Madrid is cold. 
 " Captain ! 'tis cold — the ground is bare, 
 The poplars shiver in the air. 
 'Tis time to fly where grow the limes, 
 And I can bask 'neath sunny climes. 
 Envy me, in a day or so, 
 Beyond the malice of the snow." 
 He passes on — O God ! to feel 
 I am not worth the royal steel. 
 A short look back ; the Presence Hall 
 Is open. Curses on them all ! 
 The black-souled Kino- shows like a blioht : 
 Let me escape ! he palsies sight. 
 I almost hear the women purr, 
 Page, envoy, under-minister ! 
 He was all these ; Lord-Keeper's gown 
 He wore ! Poor fool ! keep going down 
 To what you were — a peasant clod — 
 A churl who bouo^ht his title. God ! 
 For rank and goki — a choked up spring — 
 I sold Don Sancho to the king. 
 I held his faith, I was his care : 
 'Tis just, O God ! the bottom of the stair! 
 
 48 
 
LOVE BEYOND WORDS. 
 
 NO song for me? Has love indeed grown cold? 
 Is rapture quenched? Are youth and beauty 
 sere ? 
 Your gracious glances are my mirror dear ; 
 But altars far exceed the gift they hold, 
 The painting's vassal is its frame of gold ; 
 Love in the torch of phrase, brought haply near 
 Were Love departing ; witness Psyche's tear. 
 And he who loves is poor in words too bold. 
 We only burn the spices, pour the wine, 
 And chant aloud the lavish song of praise 
 When Death has sent its blast to make us sad ! 
 So when I sing your name, I gild your shrine — 
 Bring passion's hunt down love's sequestered ways — 
 But kiss we may, for action is all glad." 
 
 49 
 
A CAPTIVE IN ABYSSINIA. 
 
 I STRUCK till my sword-arm ached, 
 I shouted till speech was dry, 
 And at sunset the savages come 
 To see an Englishman die. 
 
 Last week as I trod this spur 
 
 Like a couchant lion's paw. 
 
 Though the cliffs were the basalt of Prester John, 
 
 A bit of England I saw. 
 
 Thistles and nettles with sting severe — 
 
 An exile can relish an English jeer — 
 
 Clover, and plantain, and sobbing grain ; 
 
 And the heart of a man with a childish pain. 
 
 Through a crack in the door of the hut 
 The sunbeams fitfully run, 
 
 Anointing my forehead, and touching my eyes, 
 So ! A lonof farewell to the Sun. 
 
 Kiss me, beam, you have moved across 
 Nettley Dell and Chipping Moss. 
 With nests and webs, rich plume, soft fur, 
 Rustling brakes that click, chirp, stir ; 
 
 50 
 
'Mid snap of sap, seed-feathered air, 
 
 Damp wind and greenage everywhere ; 
 
 Blossoms of plants with dew in their cores, 
 
 Perfect sufficiency, out of doors. 
 
 I have searched and not found, with verve untame ; 
 
 In the newer life I shall start with an aim. 
 
 Three singers there are embalmed in my thought. 
 
 " One searched for a phoenix, another one sought 
 
 A horse he had lost ; the last of the three 
 
 The shells of the seven-year locust : " he 
 
 Who feels no warmth when this fancy blows, 
 
 May burn his bards. Ah, my quest must 
 
 Close or enlarg-e. Does life's bubble burst ? 
 
 At least I shall wander exploring first. — 
 
 'Tis verily certain I pass from this. 
 To a joy, I think, of wisdom and bliss ; 
 Or, am I a worm with wrigglings odd. 
 Simply a part of the pastime of God ? 
 He has given me life, life given me joy, 
 'Tis the right of the Maker to shatter a toy, — 
 The spies of fancy report no dearth. 
 They never return. But I love the earth, 
 I love the liofht. since the earth besfan. 
 The primal essence adored by man, 
 A soul or sense, whichever I be, 
 O beneficient Mother ! farewell to thee ! 
 
 51 
 
For truer it is than the heavenly shore, 
 A man and his earth shall meet nevermore ; 
 The lips shall never touch peach again, 
 The brow shall never feel dew and rain. 
 Mountain and forest and sunshine and gale. 
 And I lift my hands as I chant, All hail ! 
 Hail ! to the earth with fruits of delight ; 
 Hail ! to the sky which gladdens my sight, 
 Hail ! to the cleansing floods of the sea, 
 Hail ! to the princes which follow ye — 
 Princes of perfume, and color, and form, 
 Of sunshine and motion, of lightning and storm. 
 What joys are massed in the joy of birth, 
 I will picture life's blisses, and praise the earth. 
 My tropics shall lack neither cold nor calms. 
 My deserts shall want neither oak nor palms. 
 Mid concourse of color, and conoress of scent, 
 I will revel and riot till fancy is spent ; 
 In the circle of nature accomplish my course. 
 And pass in a rapture of passion and force. 
 For fancy soft goes, where the wild bee sacks. 
 Nor rifles the honey, nor steals the wax ; 
 It holds the moth with the tips of trance. 
 Nor brushes the dust from its feathered dance. 
 And it borrows the smile from Hermes' lips, 
 But the smile still lingers without eclipse ; 
 
 52 
 
This pinnace of pleasure my fancy shall steer ; 
 
 Let me launch on the ether, my anchor is here. 
 
 O'er the ancient cities — mere tombless graves 
 
 In the silting- desert — I pass. Now the waves, 
 
 Leaping and dancing, my spirit exalt, 
 
 I taste and feel the sting of salt : 
 
 A fierce sea wild, and a soft sea tame, 
 
 A sea of milk, and a sea of fiame, 
 
 A sea of mountains which shift and roar, 
 
 A sea which lips its foam on the shore : 
 
 Coves of the sea, reddish rocks embayed, 
 
 Fruited with life, every shape and shade. 
 
 Fish, and shell, and pebbles ashine, 
 
 Grace-tinct sea-weed unsnatched from the brine, 
 
 Opaline jelly-fish ever afloat. 
 
 Where the lapping tide has content in its throat. 
 
 But the rolling main I see at its best, 
 
 Where sapphire 'neath crimson reigns in the west. 
 
 The red dies out in the upper fleece. 
 
 Then flushes, then fades till the moon of peace 
 
 Blanches it all to a silvern trail ; 
 
 Plates of thin silver, scale o'er scale. 
 
 Is the sea in the thrall of the faltering moon — 
 
 Then the vision passes, too soon ! too soon ! 
 
 Good-bye to the ciash of the one thing free. 
 
 Good-bye, and all hail to the shout of the sea ! 
 
 53 
 
Oh, the nervous mioht of the woods astir, 
 
 Whether gales rumble or zephyrs purr, 
 
 Unnelp^hbors the trees for restful oaze. 
 
 Distant be they from my drowsy maze ; 
 
 Beetle depart with your metal sheen ! 
 
 Wit shall not cover you, thing obscene — 
 
 To the feathery moth add your shining scale, 
 
 With dragon-fly pass like a comet's trail ; 
 
 Perfume and tint keep your marriage oath. 
 
 While I take of either, and take of both, 
 
 By the lake whose azure no breezes shake, 
 
 'Tis a star dropped down, and remained a lake ; 
 
 Pleasant and sleepy the breath of the south, 
 
 W^ith the smile of the sun for the smile of its mouth. 
 
 Sweet from the depths of the jessamine's heart. 
 
 In the joy of spices I have a part. 
 
 In the coo of doves, like the flute of dreams. 
 
 In the leap of trout, and the drone of streams. 
 
 Beetle return, why should I despise 
 
 A worthy lite in Jehovah's eyes. 
 
 No dancino- midore, no blossom slioht. 
 
 But takes of its maker and knows delight. 
 
 On ! where the cope of the world is fleeced. 
 
 When a moultino- bird, the roc of the east. 
 
 54 
 
Flying at times makes the welkin gray ; 
 
 Till hollow and hillock are feathered away ; 
 
 And the lips of the winds a silence keep — 
 
 Oh ! the clasp of the cold means a dreamless sleep. 
 
 On ! where the northern streamers Hush, 
 
 Over ice-oflazed oceans, a frozen hush, 
 
 Transparently smooth 'neath my gliding feet, 
 
 Blue 'neath the bluer morns they greet. 
 
 Whose sunsets are blood bemingled with gold : 
 
 Good-bye, and all hail to the blisses of cold ! 
 
 The keen cold goes, and the sky is near, 
 
 I could weep for the smell of the hawthorns here ; 
 
 I taste the cider, I stride and spring 
 
 O'er the sun-dried grasses, while reapers sing, 
 
 Let me linger in thought till the harvester's cheer — 
 
 What is this on my hand ? Not a dew-drop, — a tear. 
 
 Has mornino- broke? 'tis sweet, 'tis hard, 
 I hear the movement of the guard, 
 Their spears ! I stretch my hand to Thee, 
 O God ! who doeth rioht — take me. 
 
 55 
 
LOVE'S SPIRIT. 
 
 THE soft brown ringlets o'er her bosom stray — 
 New oTaces I discover as I bend 
 To kiss my wife, in dreamland softly penned ; 
 But slumber's solemn sanctitude cries " Nay ! " 
 I've smoothed her brow^ which bore world-lines to-day, 
 And eiven her such smiles as ano-els send ; 
 Restored a peace that kisses would offend : 
 A sway of empire holding love at bay. — 
 The Kohinor has tints no dye can paint, 
 Its action wearies, ever flash and flow. 
 In calm repose it has a crystal deep. 
 The spirit meaning came as day-break faint, 
 And on my knees, I whispered, soft and low, 
 "Ah! wife, I will not kiss you, sweetheart, sleep." 
 
 56 
 
SERENADE. 
 
 UNDER your casement, lady, I stray. 
 Lady awake ! 
 Night's cheek is crimson, longing for day, 
 
 Lady awake ! 
 Start from your slumber of softened delight, 
 
 Lady awake ! 
 Beam on your lover and banish the night, 
 
 Lady awake ! 
 Love endureth for a day, 
 
 We are lovers while we may. 
 
 II. 
 
 Eyes with dark glances of passionate glee. 
 
 Lady arise ! 
 Lips like the buds of a pomegranate tree, 
 
 Lady arise ! 
 Come where the orange grove trembles above, 
 
 Lady arise ! 
 Come to the rapturous arms of your love. 
 
 Lady arise ! 
 Love endureth for a day. 
 
 We are lovers while we may. 
 
 57 
 
ULTIMATE MUSIC. 
 
 MUSIC is light, emotion's underworld, 
 Whose incompleteness fascinates the soul ; 
 For God has three exponents in this world : 
 Love, which is comprehension, spirit, touch ; 
 And beauty, heaven's simulachrum here ; 
 And music, mystic echo of His voice." 
 So ever spake Paul Gasten. From roused youth 
 Interpreter of many instruments : — 
 His voice was storm, his gentle face was like — 
 Was like what Weber's might have been when young. 
 
 He thrilled you oft with unexpected traits : 
 To the first movement of that Symphony, 
 Beethoven's Ninth, the man has been compared. 
 Where tenors, basses, violins come in. 
 And yet we scarce know how. 'Twas so with Paul. 
 His tensioned nerves oft rose from force to fire, 
 The very flame of pure, unworded thought — 
 Such hours consumed the essence-oil of years. 
 
 Music he loved, as orioles the sun : 
 It was the very first of arts to him, 
 
 58 
 
" The universal tongue," he used to say ; 
 
 " For music stirs the source whence feehngs flow, 
 
 Teaching as other arts essay to teach, 
 
 By no coarse hint, but by suggestiveness." 
 
 He claimed that music was an art complete ; 
 
 So, spent his time in planning instruments 
 
 To body sounds of Nature's majesty. 
 
 Thus his " Omnific Organ " had its source ; 
 
 The ' Vox Humana ' principle had grown 
 
 To perfectness, impossible till reached. 
 
 One stop expressed a city's mighty chang ; 
 
 One spoke as Michael, the Archangel, might ; 
 
 Another imitated rustling pines 
 
 When the wind blows a grappling stormful breeze ; 
 
 The plashing sob of waves upon a beach, 
 
 And solemn Hebrew strains two others voiced. 
 
 All this I Pfather from his scribbled notes ; 
 
 For by his notes I know the things I tell. 
 
 With Cagliostro-boast, he could, he said, 
 
 Link beats aerial with ether beats. 
 
 And please the eye with color cadence-born. 
 
 For full three years Paul put aside his friends, 
 And drove trreat bands of cunnino- artisans. 
 Beneath whose fingers rose a mighty dome ; 
 The building was an organ, gossips said. — 
 
 59 
 
November had a week to run, when Paul 
 
 Invited ten musicians and myself 
 
 To come and judge his organ and his art : 
 
 Sending each guest a polished, harp-shaped key. 
 
 At dusk I hurried up his garden slope, 
 
 And when I turned the key, I stood within 
 
 A nave-like passage, ending in a hall. 
 
 One arch of blue, besprinkled o'er with stars 
 
 So high, they seemed to follow like the moon. 
 
 Midway was throned on high, a mighty group, 
 
 A fancy worthy of Thorwaldsen's skill ; 
 
 For there the soul-stirred maiden. Music, couched 
 
 Upon a bank of sorrel, while her lyre 
 
 Gave seeming to the ceaseless spheric song ; 
 
 And raptured Poesy not far off bent. 
 
 White stairs wound up around the grace-charged 
 
 group. 
 And three dark steps beyond, I reached a mound. 
 All round grew ferns, and palms, and tall bamboos. 
 Amazed, in India's heart I seemed to stand. 
 Beyond were woods, and wav)' rolling plains. 
 Until the gray horizon checked the sight. — 
 Beneath my feet, a mile or two beyond, 
 A lake with reed, and ibises and cranes. 
 Then gardens, shrined by beds of marigolds. 
 Geraniums, and scarlet blooms unknown ; 
 
 60 
 
Relieved by trees. I saw the palace-tomb, 
 
 The marble Tajh, which sparkled 'neath the sun. 
 
 Bemingled scent of jessamine and musk, 
 
 And pungent sandal-wood I seemed to smell : 
 
 For, mark, henceforth I speak but of effects. 
 
 Whether on eye or ear, I cannot tell : 
 
 I felt the things, and I can say no more. 
 
 Then on my pleased amazement music crept. 
 
 And softl)' wrapped me in the motif-w&h. 
 
 The web o'er which all later fancies flowed : 
 
 A lively movement by the drone-bass gloomed 
 
 And saddened by suspended chords. — It was 
 
 The bitter drop below deliciousness, 
 
 A silken frabric, but a solemn shade, 
 
 A lurkino- dread in aromatic uroves. 
 
 Then instant from each quarter round me stole. 
 
 In looming, strange, yet shrouded, potency, 
 
 A gathering of sounds which roused and moved. — 
 
 The sounds environed me and closer drew 
 
 Like a warm cloak, oppressive with its weight. — 
 
 The organ pealed and through its wreathing sounds. 
 
 As plain as speech, the deep archangel voice 
 
 Proclaimed aloud, " Ye people, where was I, 
 
 When all the morning stars together santr ? " — 
 
 o o o 
 
 Ever, anon, white flashes pierced the haze : 
 
 5 6i 
 
From every quarter waves of light burst forth, 
 
 The mighty harmonies intensified ; 
 
 More utterly the living rapture thrilled : 
 
 My eyes were dazzled and my ears entranced, 
 
 North, south, east, west, sprang into one great song, 
 
 ' Ranan, Ranan," the Hebrew word ' Rejoice ! ' 
 
 The chorus ceased ; a rosy flushing arc 
 Of rainbow-tinted gleams illumed the east. 
 Red blooms disparted with a blossom light. 
 As outer leaves fall back, and color show — 
 The webbed amber of the early sun ; 
 Then crisply low and mellow, breathed the flute. 
 The clarinet lent height, the bugle breadth. 
 To that all-filling, soft-breathed harmony 
 Which rolled like balls of down 'cross velvet bloom. 
 All sudden, dashing through the stealing sounds. 
 Came timbrel, fife and blaring burst of horns, 
 Tambours and kettle-drums and cymbals clanged, 
 A tramp of many feet in unison. 
 And o'er the risino- march a wild chant rose. 
 The march became a revel, then a dance, 
 A rhythmic, serpentine, erotic reel. 
 It neared us from the east, and circling rolled 
 Till on a western course it seemed to die, 
 Now loud, now soft, a fading revelry. 
 
 62 
 
As slowly died the march, die flutes were heard, 
 When far away pealed many happy bells. 
 Nearer, yet scarcely louder, grew their chimes, 
 Oboes and pipes were heard, suggesting flocks, 
 While sweet boy-voices filled the air, and waves 
 Of glad-toned sound were from the psalteries 
 In soft, vibrating movements cast around ; 
 Then every instrument to soft sighs sank, 
 As spake the cornet with its silver voice, 
 Embroidered with chromatic wonderments : 
 And far and wide there seemed a world of rhythm. 
 To tell the joys of bride and bridegroom blest. 
 
 The music changred beneath the hidden touch, 
 To distant sounds of waterfalls and birds. 
 Which told of bloom's delight in orarden-o-rounds. 
 And briefly now and then a dulcimer 
 Was answered by a wind-harp's soothing strain. 
 My fancy drifted down the sequent chords. 
 As onward came a flood of pearly notes : 
 The air seemed full of disembodied tints. 
 That bright effect which lingers when you turn 
 From gazing on crown-jewels bathed in sun. 
 A thousand tongues of flame which jetted up, 
 Which flamed and fainted, ever rose and sank. 
 
 63 
 
ot long- the bird-and-fount-notcs intervened, 
 When all abruptly changed the music's key. 
 There seemed to come a hoary sigh of cold, 
 A heavy breatli ot unguents sweetly spiced. 
 And through the awful, sudden, death-like hush, 
 Bassoon and tolling bells bereaved my soul, 
 And joined the cello's notes to wail a dirge. 
 Slowly the heavy sadness dropped away. 
 And left one wailing voice — one uttered sob. 
 
 And next, a solemn, stately march began, 
 A march of nations, not of armed arrays, 
 Through which at times a mighty voice crt^pt in, 
 A man-comi)elling utterance — a voice 
 Which flowed like solemn throb of Universe. 
 The nations' hymns resounded loud, then died. 
 No battle-urging, rapine-bidding strains ; 
 Yet guns boomed forth, the guns of great defence, 
 A mighty ringing march which thrills the blood, 
 Makes all conditions something more than men, 
 And sets a cause above all lights and stars. 
 The individual not massed, but joined. 
 A restless shudder swept away the march : 
 So feels a lonely dweller on an isle. 
 Possessed by moonlight and the night's drc^ad hour. 
 Fhe motif-zoxit grew altogether sad, 
 
 64 
 
When, with a siitltlennt'ss which stilled my heart. 
 
 Stupendous trumpet-notes broke one by one, 
 
 And on the pedal, terror put its foot ; 
 
 The waves of sound seemed belching' thunder-bolts. 
 
 Rumble and roar and groaning- filled the |)lace, 
 
 A maddened Samson shook the marble dome, 
 
 The stones leaped up, tht' mound swelled 'neath ni)' feet, 
 
 The walls were bowing out with surging sound. 
 
 xAt the roar's centre reigned Paul (iasten's will. 
 
 We turned antl lied through horrent, jetty gloom ; 
 
 An acrid dust was in my eyes and throat, 
 
 Ihe organ-howl o'er-mastered crackling wood, 
 
 And crash of beams, and thunder from the walls 
 
 Which split and cracked, and stone rejected stone ; 
 
 'Neath the arched nave I cowered, bruised and safe. 
 
 Next day we dug j)oor (iast('n from th(' wrcxk. 
 
 Placid and crushed, his tingeron the keys. 
 
 With him the resurrection music died ; 
 
 Yea, all the music of that sj)lendid work 
 
 Was only hinted ; yet I fancy still 
 
 I hear in dream, or from my soul's stirred d(;[)ths. 
 
 The strains of rai)turc;d joy and thankfulness. 
 
 With which he surely would have closed the throes 
 
 Of that most awful resurrection trump. 
 
 There he had written, " I\ai)ture with the blest ! " 
 
 65 
 
MILO OF CROTON. 
 
 SHOOTING ten thousand arrows Phoebus drove 
 His chariot across the eastern sky, 
 And earth emerged from darkness and from dream. 
 His arrows smote the peaked Arcadian hills, 
 And on the shrine of Zeus poured swift gold ; 
 Then dripping down disclosed the rugged trunks, 
 The full-leaved groves, Olympia's lyred plain. 
 One saffron shaft has touched the hero-brow 
 Of Milo, mighty-muscled, triple-strong. 
 He rose, and ere the sun-darts licked the dew. 
 Passed with earth-shaking tread among the beeves, 
 Caught a young heifer stretched upon the mead. 
 And with huge, massive fingers gripped its throat. 
 And swung the carcass 'cross his ample back : 
 As when a lion leaps upon a stag. 
 The unled deer fly, heedless, through the groves, 
 Bellowing loud the herd of oxen fly. 
 With tireless striding Milon held his way 
 And notes the white-walled circle of the games ; 
 Then, on the ground, he cast his strangled prize, 
 Carvinor choice bits, and laid them on the coals ; 
 And thus he fed. 
 
 66 
 
Now is the heiofht of noon. 
 
 Now frankincense lends perfume to the flame ; 
 
 And the good wine is poured upon the blaze 
 
 In full libation to the sire of gods, 
 
 Before whose throne the mighty heroes stand, 
 
 And swear with horrid oaths to do the right. 
 
 And having sworn, out marched these men of might, 
 
 Ox-chested, hairy sons of Hercules, 
 
 Whose hearts beat steady, and whose lungs are full. 
 
 Some frown, some try to lessen and disperse 
 
 The rising fear in laughing spray of words : 
 
 But Milon, breathing slow, in silence goes. 
 
 And orazers murmur, " Great in oirth, not heicrht. 
 
 Moving like dancer poised on spreading toes ; 
 
 See how the mighty crowding muscles show 
 
 Like roots of oak-trees starting- from the trround ; 
 
 How war has blessed the sinews of his legs." 
 
 Then peals one cry, " 'Tis Milon, Croton's pride." 
 
 The triple victor, wearer of the crown. 
 
 * * * :;: * :!: 
 
 Victor and vanquished many times have ploughed 
 With muscled feet the vast arena's sand. 
 Now waits Philotas, and now Milon comes ; 
 And foot to foot, they face, they watch, they wait ; 
 Their swelling muscles stay the flash of thought. 
 Philotas' arms have anchored to his side, 
 
 67 
 
While Milon stands with easy fino-ers stretched ; 
 Which quickly swoop ; the brazen talons dig 
 Into the foeman's flesh, and check his blood ; 
 His arms are numbed, his shoulder-joints unhinged 
 While round him Milon' s ruoraed arms are locked. 
 The victor's girdle tijjhtens 'cross his ribs, 
 Vain are his clutching arms and straining legs ; 
 Upward, by inch, past Milon' s neck he glides, 
 Then, as the catapult may shoot a stone, 
 \\ ith hanging head is hurled into the air, 
 And, spouting blood, down grovels on the sand. 
 And Milon stands, victor of Greeks and men. 
 
 Part Second. 
 
 Again proud Greece, the same but not the same. 
 Night's chariot is coursered by the wolves. 
 On the chill air dull sounds the woodman's ax, . 
 The breeze is heavy with the pungent smell 
 Of woodland spoiled, of russet, dying leaves. 
 Which scatter 'neath old Milon's dragging feet. 
 Where is the joy of Greece ? His veins are cold ; 
 Another victor wears the laurel crown. 
 The snow is on his head and in his soul ; 
 The faded fashion of an empty thing, 
 Forgot of Atropos and heaven, he goes. 
 The fallen leaves annoy his trembling knees ; 
 
 68 
 
And yet they fall and rustle 'neath his tread. 
 
 At length, within a glade, 'mid scattered chips. 
 
 He spies a stump, the sire of many oaks, 
 
 A knobby, gnarled and many-lichened log, 
 
 A gaping, wedge-pierced, ax-defying trunk. 
 
 And as he gazed upon the tensioned wound. 
 
 The lust of ancient deeds possessed his soul. 
 
 Down Milon knelt, and plumbed with eager hands 
 
 The gaping mouth, and felt the twisted grain. 
 
 Then called on Hercules, and with a shout. 
 
 He gripped and tugged ; the fibres snapped and 
 
 broke, 
 Cast forth the wedge, the trunk yawned like a grave. 
 Not long he tugged. There came unsalted days, 
 And the name Milon strange on lips of men. 
 The borrowed strength departed with a sigh 
 And the wood conquered, snapped, and gripped his 
 
 hand. 
 Anguished, he bowed, imprisoned in the oak. 
 And pitying Phoebus lashed his steeds ; night came. 
 And the o-ods sent him darkness and the wolves. 
 
 69 
 
HOW BEAUTY CAME. 
 
 O'ER Atlas broke the day in saffron pride, 
 And he who knelt and worshipped morning's 
 ray, 
 Saw movement slowly stirring gold-tinged gray ; 
 The sun came forth ; an early rainbow died : 
 A scented zephyr fanned the mist aside : — 
 Aurora's kiss upon that life-pure way, 
 Evoked a shape from shadow, sun, and spray 
 Transcendent, fair, a universal bride : 
 Her cheeks the inner blushing of a shell, 
 Eyes bluer than the dew-kissed gentians are, 
 Her arms astir as if to hidden flute 
 By lover fingered : — With soft bosom's swell 
 On tinted sea-foam, glad to make her car, 
 Rose V^enus, Queen of Beauty absolute. 
 
 70 
 
THE LAST NIGHT OF THE GODS. 
 
 OLYMPUS. 
 
 JOVE in his vasty hall reclines, and feasts 
 On jellied sweet ambrosia and stalks 
 Of mallow, brought by Ceres from the banks 
 Of choiring Arno. Empty seats are there ; 
 Less sparklingly the honeyed nectar flows, 
 Less sharply aromatic smells the thyme : 
 Resteth on all, reflected from Jove's brow. 
 The shadow of a shadowing of dread, 
 A nameless fear : in Rome few altars smoke, 
 Yet still the vestals raise their nightly hymns ; 
 A causeless portent : the unerring Fates, 
 Wooed by the scent of vervain, have decreed :- 
 "Vesta shall reign, and Venus ever rule, 
 And incense rise to the Omnipotent, 
 Till men lack courage, women cease to bear." 
 The trance is broken, loud the sire proclaims — 
 " Ye Gods, ye deities, assemble all, 
 O Seasons four, adorn my Hermon grove : 
 With virgin-loving Vesta w^e would sup." 
 
 71 
 
Then Father Jove and his immortal Court 
 Streamed down Olympus to the heavenly gate, 
 Where, near her blooded steeds, Aurora stood, 
 Gold-winged and willowy. She dropped the bar, 
 And with the pageantry of Jove's great march, 
 So grandly flamed the jewelled plains of heaven. 
 That watching shepherds cried, "The planets fall ! " 
 
 EVENING HYMN OF THE VESTALS. 
 
 FIRST VESTAL. 
 
 High-seated Jove, wide-thundering, 
 Giver of dews and many days, 
 
 Of orods and men, mild Sire and Kinpf, 
 Our chant to thee we raise. 
 
 Descend ! Pandora's issue, pray — 
 
 And flame across the Milky-Way. 
 
 VESTAL. 
 
 Sun-born Apollo, God benign. 
 
 Fountain where joy and pureness blend. 
 At whose approach the rivers shine, 
 
 ( )h, Prophet-God, descend ! 
 Thou tauo-ht'st the birds and us to sincr, 
 Descend in beauty ravishing ! 
 
 72 
 
VESTAL. 
 
 Mother, whose wreaths are barley-silk, 
 O, foodful Ceres, Season-born, 
 
 Whose scent is honey, wine and milk, 
 Descend, and grant us corn ! 
 
 Come, scented Queen ! thy blessings shed, 
 
 Or man sinks 'neath thy curse, unfed. 
 
 THE VALE OF VESTA. 
 
 That very night a weedless garden sprang 
 
 Near Hermon's slope, where sleeps a shady dale. 
 
 Still sings the Jordan as that eve it sang. 
 
 Yet. in that night-browed valley, peasants quail. 
 
 There the four Seasons, all their blossoms frail. 
 
 Assembled, in a mixed, surprised delight ; 
 
 Tulip, moss-rose and cactus in its mail. 
 
 Bright peony, red leaves by Autumn dight ; 
 
 A galaxy of tint for bloom-wreathed F"lora's sight. 
 
 There, central, rose Jove's huge deopoten, 
 
 Whose flowers of blue, great spots of gold o'er-spread. 
 
 It stood 'mid plants as Hector stood 'mid men, 
 
 Fairer in form, and taller by a head. 
 
 Its pistils, jetty black, were set in red ; 
 
 73 
 
Hairy and vast, of hue intense yet clear, 
 And all around engrossincr scent it sped. 
 Beside it, great horned poppies stood, and near 
 Primroses peeped, nor feared the red-crowned aloe's 
 spear. 
 
 Beside a fount which laughingly upbroke, 
 Roses with common mallow were allied, 
 And parsley vied in verdure with the oak ; 
 The tiger-lily stood in lonely pride. 
 For the white lily came not ; she had hied 
 To crown a maid, who slept where angels tryst. 
 The souls of blossoms lambent, flame supplied, 
 No single bloom from lamping might desist : 
 Red hawthorn all around diffused a rosy mist. 
 
 In inner, close-set rino-, ranofed sacred trees, 
 
 Thick-foliaged. There gifted olive grew. 
 
 And myrtle loved by many deities. 
 
 There, bearing drops of blood for fruit, the yew 
 
 Gazed on the oak tree, new when time was new. 
 
 Spreading its branches to the outer band 
 
 Of berried hollies, tremmed with evening dew ; 
 
 Ivy from tree to tree stretched fingered hand, 
 
 And kindred sap rejoiced to wood at Jove's command. 
 
 74 
 
The amaranth and juniper obeyed, — 
 Uncalled came tender flowerets primly dressed — 
 Then first in neutral tints were flowers arrayed ; 
 Immortals basked, obeying Jove's behest — 
 There almond trees displayed a bloomless crest. 
 O'er the three roads which centred at this spot, 
 Great Jove sat throned, with anxious care opprest : 
 Neptune, through strange presentiment, came not, 
 Forewarned that fishermen should 'gainst Olympus plot. 
 
 Swept rustling chariots and forms aflame, 
 Whose golden-sandalled feet the pebbles belled ; 
 But no more noise, or sound or motion came, 
 Than night's soft pulsing when her breath is held. 
 Colors and shapes filled all the grove, and spelled 
 All hearts with charms which Beauty's self outran. 
 White arms their pearly ornaments excelled : 
 Here flashed a woman fair, there flamed a man, 
 The subject-dreams of youth, and such as sculptors 
 plan. 
 
 From Corinth, leavinp- a trail of musk on air, 
 Fair, love-inviting Venus proudly drave. 
 Wreathed panthers drew her car, and Cupid fair 
 Tugged at the reins. Creation was her slave. 
 Nymphs fanned their Queen, the Ens of shifting wave, 
 
 75 
 
Born queen of grace and utter loveliness, 
 
 All beauty paled before her. Sage and knave, 
 
 Poet and king had died to kiss a tress. 
 
 And potent Gods and men were wax at her caress. 
 
 When zephyr-mated Flora came in cloud, 
 
 Daisies found wings and hovered 'round her head, 
 
 And all the other flowers in homaee bowed. 
 
 Vesta lay couched upon a violet-bed, 
 
 And yellow lilies cupped the grape-juice shed. 
 
 That old Silenus and the rest might quaff. 
 
 Young Bacchus, stretched where fattest grapes were 
 
 spread. 
 Black-curled and flushed, but straight as Juno's staff, 
 vStirred gladed woods ensilvered with his laugh. 
 
 That niofht Mount Hermon showed distinct and hioh 
 
 Snow clothed its side and sparkled on its crest. 
 
 In conscious majesty it smote the sky, 
 
 A lofty judge in purest ermine dressed. 
 
 Snow feathered down, and hid a starry guest, 
 
 A meteor which onward travelled slow. 
 
 Snow searched the dale, and 'gainst the hollies pressed. 
 
 Without was loneliness and driving snow ; 
 
 Within were revelling, delight, and life aglow. 
 
 76 
 
Yet ayond sweet spikenard and acacia's rule, 
 Where breath of orange, meeting- rank smells, died, 
 'Mid hairy leaves, there welled a sullen pool. 
 And purple nightshade ringed it like a bride ; 
 And mandrake's fleshy roots dipped in the tide. 
 Its drauo-ht raised dance-delirium in the breast, 
 Flames nameless, which control may not abide ; 
 Games rushed to revels, such as stars detest. 
 As Venus cupped great draughts for all, save Jove 
 oppressed, 
 
 A cry cut through the dance, an essenced moan — 
 With force of wind, red-berried hollies bent, 
 And let the snow athwart the Gods be blown. 
 Dishevelled, faded, blanched with wilderment, 
 Across the dale toiled Pan, his garments rent. 
 " Jove, Jove," he wailed, "to-night our reign is spent :" 
 And from the darkness, weeping came and went. 
 From space through space, the anguished cry was 
 
 spread, 
 "Wail, wail, ye woods and peaks ; for Pan, great Pan, 
 
 is dead." 
 
 Dumb sat the Gods, as through the inner ring- 
 Peered pale Prometheus, and rose the swell 
 
 6 77 
 
Of mighty song, " Immanuel is King." 
 Instant the trees and flowers forsook the dell : 
 Blithe Bacchus tore his hair with nightmare yell, 
 And all the rest went down like soldiers slain : 
 Grim Pluto crouched, and Venus backward fell : 
 The snows were whirled across a barren plain, 
 And naked fled great Jove, and his dis-sceptered train. 
 
 78 
 
G 
 
 THE WELCOME NEVER SPENT. 
 
 ATHER the fragments ! " When with doubt- 
 
 ful mind 
 
 They asked, " O Lord, the multitude are fed? " 
 How patiently methinks their master said, 
 " Nay, not quite all, for some toil on behind, 
 And one is weary, one is lame, one blind. 
 They should not lack the blessing and the bread ; 
 On them I have compassion," so he plead, 
 "Some fragments of a welcome they shall find." 
 O Lord ! when time like phantom gold is spent. 
 And with my limping doubts I cross death's rim, 
 Where thought is judged, nor hinderance forgot. 
 Say, as thou weighest breathings of intent, — 
 "The fragments of a welcome are for him 
 Because he followed, thouorh he saw me not." 
 
 79 
 
FOREWORD. 
 
 BIRDLIME is cruel, but the eagle fears it not, 
 The swimmer glides above the traitor hollows 
 
 of the lake, 
 And there is dangler in the face which o-ives no index 
 
 to the soul, 
 The danger of the fog, which takes its hundred ships 
 
 where storm takes one ; 
 Danger, save to the poet ; faces are not masks to him. 
 I know ye actors, know ye, man and maid — 
 You with the turbid mien, from your depths lilies 
 
 come ; — 
 You with clear eyes, — does clearness stand for trust ? 
 I know of pools by arsenic made bright. 
 My scouts of mind, my filaments of will. 
 Affinities with perfect power to feel. 
 Have probed you all ; each tip has felt and knows 
 The passion urging to the incident. 
 The incident which makes the tragedy. 
 And thus I dive deep into spirit things, 
 Yet seek no spell, I duplicate no ghost ; 
 Not the old prophet's spectre coming up. 
 
 80 
 
Not those shapes which amazed Jerusalem, 
 
 When the Christ hung all silent on the tree ; 
 
 Nor the ghost-hand whose burning touch defaced the 
 
 lady's wrist ; 
 Not all the mushroom growth from ancient pasture 
 
 fields, 
 From the deep hollow caverns of the past ; 
 Nor forms made matter as to-day pretends 
 To hungry hope or fatted foolishness. 
 But, sure as Dante walked the streets of Hell, 
 I stretch to souls, unfleshed but yet alive, 
 And bring back spirit stuff, which recomposed 
 In virgin ore, shall fill the dies of song. 
 
JOAN OF ARC. 
 
 PATIENT and passionless Joan led her flock, 
 When, visioned dimly, bleeding France appeared, 
 Circled widi ruined homes and fields war-seared. 
 It made her life one plan ; her pity, rock. 
 She snatched a sword: France rose 'mid England's 
 
 mock ; 
 Joan drove the foe like sheep, their fleeces sheared. 
 With fleur-de-lis in maiden-hand upreared, 
 She chased and routed Britain, shock on shock. — 
 France crowned her, " Bravest Virgin 'neath the sun," 
 And then betrayed to England's baffled host 
 That Maid whose form is skyed till time shall cease. 
 Joan, great in triumph, greater was undone: 
 France gave her much, harsh England gave her most ; 
 Three royal gifts — Fame, Martyrdom, and Peace. 
 
 82 
 
FIRST VISION. 
 
 WHAT THE COIN TOLD. 
 
 IT lay within the hollow of my hand, 
 A copper coin, beneath whose vine-decked face 
 The first Agrippa sought to hide his name. 
 Had not the modern sorcerer avowed : 
 " The earliest hand that grasps a coin with power. 
 Leaves in the metal, spirit-influence, 
 Tendrils that track the parent soul through space " ? 
 I clutched the piece and stood in solid gloom. 
 Whose massy blackness smote my naked brow. — 
 I heard the muttered jargon, then a groan — 
 For lo ! the dark had made itself a core ; 
 Nothing and nowhere rendered back a form ; 
 Dread smote me with the witch of Endor's fear. 
 Armed was that form, on cheeks the dew of youth ; 
 Before that face, dark, beautiful and sad. 
 My pride fell down ; a little child I stood. 
 
 83 
 
There came a sense from the quiet, like the voice of 
 a dream profound. 
 
 Which lacketh nor manner, nor sadness, a meaning 
 disrobed of its sound : 
 
 " The answer forbidden to rashness, Jehovah allows 
 to thy love ; 
 
 I am Resheph the Hebrew, the Hame of the Lord 
 above. 
 
 It beseems not a seeker to tremble ; shall the olive 
 branch turn to a spear ? 
 
 Shall the torch hate the world it would licrhten ? The 
 wisdom of God is not fear. 
 
 As a dwelling supreme and supernal, in the mists of 
 the morning of youth, 
 
 Jehovah created the Hebrew, and made him the tem- 
 ple of truth. 
 
 And the oil of his first anointing was full of a pleas- 
 ant grace. 
 
 To set him apart from all people, a chosen peculiar race ; 
 
 So was his dedication, in a diff'rence that cannot die, 
 
 It is carved on the brow, and pictured in the brilliant 
 light of the eye ; 
 
 'Tis shown in the olive visage, in the pride which no 
 toils can tame : 
 
 Years roll and kingdoms perish, but the Nation is 
 still the same. 
 
 84 
 
Supreme in its thought and passion, in its prayers 
 
 which never cease ; 
 Supreme in the spirit of counsel, supreme in the 
 
 message of peace ; 
 Supreme in the arts of ruHng, supreme in the singing 
 
 of song, 
 It has seen the dust of the robber, it will see the 
 
 ashes of wrong. 
 It will joy in the joyance of mortals, chanting the 
 
 truth which is true, 
 'God with us in his beauty,' shines in the heart of 
 
 the Jew. 
 But the full intent of Jehovah, nor man nor spirit 
 
 has weighed, 
 And we wait for our rightful priesthood, by the 
 
 whips of the Gentiles delayed ; 
 Down the storm still hurry our homeless, the winds 
 
 still echo our groans, 
 All nations have borrowed our blessings, all nations 
 
 have stoned us with stones. 
 But I, in the presence of terror, in the glare of the 
 
 Temple aflame, 
 Have heard the prophetic future, and the end of the 
 
 people's shame. 
 
 85 
 
I saw the City of jiidah like a wheat-field, rippling 
 and fair. 
 
 Tramped 'neath the feet of the armies, in the mire 
 of death and despair. 
 
 O Jerusalem ! City of David, the joy and the hope 
 of the earth, 
 
 In the heart of the Nation forever, thou hast a per- 
 petual birth. 
 
 'Twas the wax of the moon in Tebeth, and the first- 
 lingrs of grass fringed the springs. 
 
 And behind her three walls, with their ramparts, re- 
 posed the City of Kings. 
 
 Reposed in her castled splendor, in a shallow bowl 
 of the hills ; 
 
 Around her were vineyards and olives, about her 
 were orchards and rills. 
 
 There were strivings and brawls in the palace, there 
 were riots and frays in the mart. 
 
 There were hurrying crowds in the Temple, our faith's 
 and Jerusalem's heart, 
 
 \\ ith its glory of beauty and color, with Its wonder 
 of vastness and height. 
 
 With its flashes of splendor supernal, with its perfect 
 uplifting of white. 
 
 86 
 
But mark how a foot-man is running, he comes as the 
 
 even-tide falls — 
 'Tis Titus;' 'the Roman approaches,' re-echo the 
 
 watch on the walls. 
 The Roman ! we feared not his armies, as first from 
 
 our fastness we sprang. 
 And scattered the foe in our fury, while Jacob exult- 
 ingly sang : 
 God has grone out ! 
 Jehovah is the leader of his people ! 
 Praise ye the Lord ! 
 The heathen shout, 
 With the sounding of trumpets. 
 And the clashing of arms, — 
 But the Lord, he is God. 
 
 Awake ! awake ! Judah ; 
 
 When the watchman shaketh his garment 
 
 Turn not back, O Israel ! 
 
 Run ! cry aloud ! spare not ! 
 As the sudden raging of Jordan, 
 As the lion hunteth the water-brook, 
 Slay ! devour ! break in pieces ! 
 
 The wild boar trampleth the vineyards, 
 
 The tempest scattereth the olive. 
 
 So are thy mighty men in the day of battle. 
 
 87 
 
The oppressors flee and are slain ; 
 In the basin of dehght, 
 In die valley of Zion, 
 Praise ye the Lord ! 
 
 Up ! Up ! ye children of Jacob, 
 
 For the Lord has remembered his covenant 
 
 As in the days of old : 
 
 When the Red Sea covered them, 
 
 By the hand of Barak, 
 
 By the spear of Gideon, 
 
 By the breath of Jehovah, — 
 
 They perished ! they fell ! 
 
 And the earth remembered them not ! 
 
 But the Lord our God endureth forever : 
 
 Praise ye the Lord ! 
 
 " But the Romans have driven us backward, and 
 
 circled our city with steel ; 
 They have felled all the fruit-trees for engines, and 
 
 slowly the outer walls reel. 
 We fight through the spring-time undaunted ; we 
 
 fight till the harvest is sped ; 
 We know by the heat it is vintage, but the gardens 
 
 and vinevards are dead. 
 
Not the falling of figs, but of heroes ; 'tis blood, not 
 
 the bubbling of must ; 
 And our bravest are smit in the onset, and our noblest 
 
 lie in the dust. 
 No longer we sing of our triumphs, our hope and 
 
 elation are gone. 
 When the garments are waved from the ramparts, 
 
 men die ; but the legions come on. 
 We fight when the fierce sun arises, we fight when 
 
 the scorching sun falls. 
 And we envy the dead man who lieth at peace 'neath 
 
 the foe-battered walls. 
 No rest from the stones of the engines, from the edge 
 
 of the famine no rest, — 
 And the mother in madness devoureth the infant that 
 
 sucked at her breast. 
 Men gaze on the Temple for solace, then hurry in 
 
 rapture to die : 
 A mountain of snow and of beauty beneath the un- 
 changeable sky. 
 The last of our strongholds it standeth, a centre 
 
 serene and profound. 
 In a valley of death and destruction, with the foe and 
 
 the desert around ; 
 
 89 
 
In a crater of burning and fury, in a pit of the Nation's 
 
 despair, — 
 While the pestilence walks through the city, and rides 
 
 on the stone-hurtled air. 
 Chastised, to the Temple transcendent, we flee in our 
 
 angruish and blight. 
 The sharpness of death is upon us, and hour by hour 
 
 we fight. 
 Through the blood and the smoke and the burning, 
 
 time drifts to that twice-fatal day, 
 When erst 'neath the foot of Chaldea our temple and 
 
 palaces lay ; 
 Not a tree nor a beast on our hillsides, — and worst 
 
 of distraction and woe. 
 Against the proud walls of the Temple, the legions 
 
 exultingly flow ; 
 The scent and the crackle of cedar, flames licking the 
 
 Beautiful Gate ; 
 The torch of the Romans has triumphed, we lie 'neath 
 
 the harrow of hate. 
 Then we know that the blow is impending, the stroke 
 
 of the chastening rod ; 
 And the prophets cry out to the people, — 'O fudah ! 
 
 Forgotten of God !' 
 
 90 
 
I heard mid the crackHng of jasper, and the shriek of 
 
 a nation in pain, 
 The chorus of Judah's fidl anguish, the anthem of 
 
 Israel's reign : 
 Alas ! for the towers of Zion, which the flames of the 
 
 godless destroy, 
 Weep ! weep ! for Jerusalem stricken — but look to a 
 
 future of joy. 
 They shall smite thee, already sore smitten, afflict 
 
 thee and put thee to shame. 
 But at length all the nations shall seek thee and 
 
 kindle their lamps at thy flame. 
 Hunted ! shall Jacob be hunted ? driven from woe to 
 
 despair ? 
 The stag is unbounded when mating, there are times 
 
 of rest for the hare. 
 The bear may sleep in the winter till the berries ripen 
 
 anew : 
 No season of peace for the Hebrew ; all days are 
 
 for hunting the Jew. 
 From the sun of mercy and justice, shall Israel be 
 
 exempt, 
 And the common pity of any, be given with his con- 
 tempt. 
 
 91 
 
Aye, the race which tortures thy children, and pours 
 
 their blood on the sod. 
 Shall do it with lyrics of Judah, and invocations to 
 
 God; 
 But the shame of creation departeth, the years of thy 
 
 midnight of groan ; 
 In the soul of creation Right burnetii, and pride shall 
 
 cease in thine own. 
 Thou shalt learn that the knowledge thou guardest — 
 
 of God, the Jehovah, the True, — 
 Is the refuge and hope of the Gentile, its priesthood 
 
 belongs to the Jew : 
 The priesthood for which thou wert scattered among 
 
 every people and name. 
 That mortals by justice awakened, should kindle their 
 
 lamps by thy flame. 
 Men call upon God, upon Allah, their prayers to 
 
 ' Jehovah ascend, 
 Jehovah the pure, undivided, unknowable, world with- 
 out end. 
 Who appointeth each race a God-leader, to teach it 
 
 that PTace from above. 
 Who ordained for the union of races, that Jehovah's 
 
 new name should be Love." 
 
 92 
 
Then the voice ceased. Came those thoughts from 
 
 within? 
 Aeain the solid blackness was entire — 
 I held the coin behind whose vine-decked face, 
 The first Agrippa sought to hide his name. 
 
 93 
 
SECOND VISION. 
 
 SHE WHOM THE SONNETS VEILED. 
 
 COLD force compels me : must I speak ? O shame ! 
 What potencies this moidered morrow holds — 
 By thought compelling face, by face, the word ! 
 
 I wake ! Rejoice ! I was Will Shakespeare's love. 
 Love plumed my state. I, the queen-virgin's maid, 
 Her youngest maid, my sire, her councillor. 
 
 What was Love's first ! Has Love, then, any first? 
 
 Interrogate the winding banks of Thames, 
 
 With England's barge, and sweeping swans atween ; 
 
 Let bosky Greenwich render back the tale 
 
 In reassuming pomp of years long gone — 
 
 Only full blossoms dwell in this Eterne. 
 
 What amplitude of largesse, Shakespeare's love ! 
 
 There should have been no room for state and pride ; 
 
 Shall frieze, shall cloth of eold earb naked love ? 
 
 He was to me the fort of holy dreams. 
 
 The giver of new days, delight and song. 
 
 My highest days ? This song proclaims my first, 
 
 94 
 
First Sonnet. 
 
 When eager bees assail the trembhng- bloom, 
 
 The tranquil honey drops are snatched away ; 
 
 When gusty winds are freighted with perfume, 
 
 They rive some petals from the bliss of May ; 
 
 Or when the moss is brushed by fleeting doe, 
 
 It shames the conscious verd with yellow streak : 
 
 So, in partaking of thy bosom's glow. 
 
 And the persuasive velvet of thy cheek. 
 
 Then might thy nature lose a sometime gloss ; 
 
 Though senses batten, yet would grace be stole 
 
 From spirit use ; then my desired loss 
 
 Is but the tithe demanded by thy soul ; 
 
 If honey-eager lips unslaked stay. 
 
 Yet from thy soul no bloom is brushed away. 
 
 I saw him king it next — the queen was there : — 
 Beneath the mimic crown his pale brow thought. 
 My bosom's heaving snow escaped from pride, 
 My longing finger-tips forgot their rank, 
 And poised, with love's uplifting, flushed, I stood, 
 And sent love envoys from my lumined face. 
 He looked : from brilliant beauty's earnest deep 
 Again, again he wooed with eyes aglow, 
 Marriage of souls — that night another song. 
 
 95 
 
Second Sonnet. 
 
 As the surprising sunset, flaming bold, 
 
 Dazzles with dyes unwonted staring earth, 
 
 Knighting the dull cloud-fleeces, calls them "gold," 
 
 On wondered sea to wonder giving birth : — 
 
 So have I bloomed with soft-dyed courtesies, 
 
 Gilding myself with borrowed majesty ; — 
 
 Because my sunset sinks In ever night. 
 
 Throw, sweetest love, thy raptured light on me, 
 
 Until the visage of my present prove 
 
 The very sum of Love's totality. 
 
 The very self and eloquence of Love. 
 
 So make my setting glad In woe's despite. 
 
 By shining with an unrestrained light. 
 
 We met : Do not your maidens keep that day, 
 That June day, sacred ? Swearing by that day 
 Are not swains wed, and happy babes ensured ? 
 That morn I donned the dainties of a bride. 
 Through Greenwich park I went, possessed with 
 
 wealth. 
 The treasure of the world, Will Shakespeare's love : 
 I cried, " Fair form, be proud ! you shrine his love — 
 White face, contrast the olive glow of his. 
 Be glad, soft breast ! the pillow of my lord. 
 
 96 
 
purposed voice, born sweet to lute mine own." 
 Aye, was I proud, for, if to meet me there 
 
 He perilled liberty, I perilled fame. 
 
 Then he was with me, all-fulfiUinor life ! 
 
 Death has no pains to match such gladed ]oy . 
 
 Ah ! That caress ! — we needed few brave words — 
 
 He crowned me with his one sufficing phrase, 
 
 " An angel lodged in shining fields of air." 
 
 Music it was to feel him very near, 
 
 'Twas sounds betrothed in cells of harmony ; 
 
 Far sweeter than the fruity-fragrant rose. 
 
 1 trembled, quivered, flushed, immortalized : 
 In all my senses yielding to my lord. 
 
 Rapture for rapture, glance for glance, we clung ; 
 And then he kissed me full upon the lips, 
 In lips' delight we wedded breath to breath. 
 
 Be blamed, my love, you kissed and killed me not. 
 Then came the hunt, as death comes, creeping near, 
 Then came the hunt, as death comes swift at last, 
 " O take me, love ! " I cried, " or kill me, love ! " 
 
 Still is his wherry speeding down the Thames. 
 Yea, some men die ; Will Shakespeare cannot die ; 
 Some age ; forever is he beautiful — 
 If his heart broke not writino- our last songr. 
 
 97 
 
Third Sonnet. 
 Oft have I marked a sun-coaxed tree assume 
 The green untimely fashion of the Spring ; 
 The virgin white of fruit expectant bloom, 
 And luscious scent of summer wantoning. 
 Then winter bye and bye doth backward shoot 
 Her ice-plucked darts ; with whistles of distress 
 She checks the ardent current at his root, 
 Translating bloom to withered nakedness. 
 So, lodged in me despair makes rapture mute, 
 And withers promises of hope to be, 
 Usurps love's emp'ry, tampers with the lute. 
 And, killing joy, forbids recovery — 
 If winter then nips bloom with hasty rust, 
 Why blame the sun in doing what it must ? 
 
 :i: * :}; :is ^ :i: 
 
 My torch of hope ! My star of lover's love ! 
 I was the sun which flattered thee to bloom, 
 Thine was the summer infinite in scope. 
 
 I make my protest to the Universe 
 
 'Gainst separation, not 'gainst death and doom. 
 
 Bid me not speak the anguish of my soul ! 
 Make proclamation of my ruined years ! 
 'Twould take delight from lovers yet unmade. 
 
 A week — or was it weeks, and months, and years ? 
 'Twas not by putting bliss at usury, 
 
But by my woe I found compare for his. 
 Tied to a heavy clog, a kimpish thing, 
 A Hvinor death with its ring--circled hand, 
 Love's prescient truth declared his helpless state : 
 That he who craved the bloom, had snapped the root ; 
 That he who fled my arms, adored my charms ; 
 That when he killed the hapless babe of love, 
 Anguish and grief usurped the vacant place. 
 
 I wept awhile, and all the lilies sank. 
 
 And found the restful bosom of the lake. 
 
 Then no more tears ! But all nioht lono- I thouo^ht. 
 
 And in the morn the lilies rose, fresh dewed. 
 
 Shame ! They had slept, and had the power of tears. 
 
 Rest ! If I rested, he would surely come ; 
 
 Reasons and ranks and fortunes pass away. 
 
 I plucked wild blossoms nigh the place we'd stood, 
 
 A garland for my head, the head he loved. 
 
 I kissed my hands — the last things he had kissed — 
 
 The cup, abrim with hope's allotted days. 
 
 My love-lorn fingers, mad with anguish, spilt. 
 
 Chill splash and sharp-panged dream, the deep pond 
 
 throbbed, 
 Each lily to its sister sank and bowed. 
 Against the pulseless temples lilies tapped, 
 Lilies starred space 'tween floating strands of hair, 
 
 99 
 
And twined the slender finders, loveless now. 
 Lilies adored, nor heeded rash despair ; 
 From eager chalices sent wave on wave 
 Of fragrant praise to greet their lord, the Sun. 
 I rose, a pain- and pleasure-naked thought. 
 
 Punished ? Ah, yes ! but Love was arbiter. 
 
 Amid my past — made light — alone I dwell. 
 
 Question me not ! for isolation cells 
 
 My righteous penance ! That last thoughted night 
 
 I knew not what I mused, but now I know 
 
 The eventful train behind each wordless ghost. 
 
 And thus I thought — " If he walked brambles twined, 
 
 Could I untwist them, make his path, tread pricks ? 
 
 Yea, I could lacerate my milky hands, 
 
 And add another anguish to his way ; 
 
 When sad he sought my breast, and said, 'Love speak ! ' 
 
 I could not open him a well unplumbed. 
 
 And give him drink, and lave his throbbing brow, 
 
 And bid him look upon the glassy cool. 
 
 And, 'spite sun's blazing, see reflected stars. 
 
 But I could love, be gladly spent for him. 
 
 Could far anticipate his starting tears. 
 
 Love him ! was all to me, but what to him ? 
 
 Is very multitude of snowy sheep 
 
 Diminished or increased by one ewe lamb ? 
 
Love him ! draor with soft liands on his raised arm, 
 When he would dip his pencil in the stars ! 
 I could have draoraed down arm, and kissed it, too ! 
 Are there not twenty worlds for him to think ? 
 And only one brief world for me to love ! 
 Ah, but the thine is here — the hard truth kills — 
 Another year, another vaster theme, 
 And with another theme, another face. 
 And mine not baby-faced, but pale and meek. 
 Yea, I could love him, shame him, clog his fame, 
 But, by his love, I knew the time must come. 
 When, God forgetting nothing, he'd forget. 
 Another face ! thoughts, dare you to complain 
 Against my lord, and so against your lord ? 
 Are not heights won by breath-sobs, aching breasts ? 
 Cold winds blow up from valleys infinite. 
 And yet I — keeping ' I ' still for the core — 
 Dreamt, how I'd remake self a peer for him — 
 Hands strong for sceptre, sword and emphasis. 
 Eyes dark as shade, beneath a bridge sun-kissed. 
 And bloom with crimson glow and splendor rich. 
 Budding in earls and chiefs ; all boys, all boys. 
 All matchless saplings of an unmatched oak. 
 If self were bulwarked with such walls, what grace 
 If he camped in the castle of my state ? 
 Dreams ! When we strike 'eainst earth, then heaven 
 is left." TOT 
 
THIRD VISION. 
 
 THE IRON MASK. 
 
 I WAS a courtier in King Louis' train, 
 Had handsome face, a witty tongue, some brain. 
 And a King's toy, his wanton, did I thrall. 
 A woman false to self is false to all ; 
 She swayed the King, I swayed her utterly ; 
 He bought her kisses, kisses showered on me. 
 With her one morn, I wore the royal ring ; 
 She laughed to see me ape our pompous King, 
 ' Merci, Monsieur,' then hissed a voice, ' Encore,' 
 And Louis' eyes glared through the secret door. 
 Unwashed, unwigged, the sallow face lacked red ; 
 My heart stood still, the wanton fell as dead. 
 ' You play the King ; so be it ! Have your will, 
 Be monarch till that daring heart is still. 
 Sleep in fine linen, feed on royal fare. 
 Command all elements save sun and air. 
 Reign silent in our loyal, mute Bastille, 
 Until you hunger for the axe and wheel ; 
 But. lest your royalty should mine displace, 
 No mortal eye shall look upon your face.' 
 Prisoned I lived with all that wealth can ask — 
 I was the man they called the Iron Mask." 
 
THE GAUCHO. 
 
 WHERE the snow-capped Andes merge in the 
 bhie, 
 And the custard-apple delights to the core, 
 'Mid the purple grapes of relaxed Peru I was born. 
 
 Born in that land where men shriek out, ' Temblor ! ' 
 
 Sudden as love, no time for dread, 
 
 Then multitudes flying, dying, dead ; — 
 
 Solid earth swung like a hammock ; 
 
 Clenched and unclenched like a fist, 
 
 Dust of destruction blotting the day, 
 
 Filled with a sulphurous mist. 
 
 I was rich and strong ; so rich, so strong : 
 
 Day games, night feasts, and never day too long ; 
 
 Acres of roses, lakes where regias sprawl, 
 
 Cherries, camelias, sprinkled all 
 
 With musk, and pungent scents ; — 
 
 Red lips, vanilla sweet, were mine to kiss, 
 
 I had so much of revelry and bliss. 
 
 So strong, so potent, was my nod. 
 
 What needed I of Church, or God ? 
 
 103 
 
Volcanic Risti towered above our town, 
 
 First point of sunshine, first of tempest's frown ; 
 
 Up ! eighteen thousand feet it Hfts its head, 
 
 A church-bride, veiled in white, whose passions are not 
 
 dead ; 
 A shadow and a threat of flame and roar. 
 The very chimney of the dread Temblor, 
 And yet 't is majesty forevermore. 
 
 As the mount dominates the house-filled plain. 
 So dominating- me was Madelaine. 
 
 Does hunger seek food ? Do eyes seek light ? 
 
 Does flame lick oil with a wild delight ? 
 
 So I loved Madelaine ; hair of night. 
 
 Eyes of a liquid, amorous dusk — 
 
 Changeful as opals, potent as musk ; 
 
 In her softer hours she was love, all love. 
 
 Sweet, soft as that flower called the Holy Dove. 
 
 Two moods she had : As the Rimac goes. 
 
 Many channelled in Winter, shallow it flows. 
 
 Scarcely a motion, errant and wild. 
 
 With the little free, silvery laugh of a child ; 
 
 When the yellow-eyed sun melts the snow on the 
 
 hills. 
 And the rain on the mountains wells up in the rills, 
 
 104 
 
Swift, deep, with fierce motion, beflooding- the plain- 
 In her last mood I worshipped my Madelaine. 
 A creature of motion, but never of calms, 
 Of as many delights as the forest has palms. 
 But rivers are fettered, their music is lost, 
 By the conquering North, and its myrmidon frost ; 
 And Madelaine, meant for soft raiment and feast. 
 Was turned to a nun ; I was foiled by a priest. 
 What was left for me then ? Whatever remains 
 When the blood of Pizarro is hot in your veins : 
 But to call up your spirit, cord sinews, store breath, 
 And dart like the puma, to vengeance or death. 
 Forgive ! let my mind give my spirit the lie — 
 When the jaguar ceases from slaying, then I. 
 What bliss like a fight in the brisk mountain air. 
 An equal opponent, bare breast, daggers bare. 
 To watch, feint, and parry, then forming your plan, 
 To dart like the puma, and strike like a man. 
 On that which injures me I swear 
 To take my vengeance anywhere ; 
 When the man was a weakling, or injured one, 
 I have fought him left-handed, but pardoned none. 
 
 With priest or woman, no one fights. 
 
 But spite of the saints, I must have my rights — 
 
 105 
 
I swore to give my revenge a crown, 
 At the steps of the altar to strike him down, 
 While man shrieks out, and woman faints, 
 To insult the priest in the face of his saints. 
 
 And yet that priest — I had seen him near — 
 Had gray, cold eyes, but not eyes which fear ; 
 A nature exact, a close-built one. 
 Like the joints of the Temple of the Sun. 
 He — Madelaine said — could yearn and plead, 
 And softly entreat till the heart would bleed, 
 Could stretch out of Heaven to draw men in, 
 Could wrestle and toil and trample clown sin. 
 
 The Cathedral blazed, 'twas a great feast day ; 
 
 I rode down the streets prepared to slay ; 
 
 No fiend in my nature might be supine, 
 
 I'd bristled them all with Pisco wine. 
 
 First to spill his blood, and then away ! 
 
 A ship with tripped anchor stayed in the bay. 
 
 Omens guarded that man of the cowl. 
 My dog turned back on my track with a howl, 
 And a riderless horse came galloping past ; 
 Like smoke from a burning mountain, fast 
 Swept a mighty flock of birds from the shore — 
 Yes, I met on the road omens o'er and o'er. 
 
 io6 
 
I stood in the church. A gorgeous sight, 
 Festooned' with roses, with banners dight, 
 Like a virgin wood in my native land, 
 Colossal trees where the pillars stand ; 
 There giant creepers stretch and bind 
 The forest too^ether, twistino- and twined, 
 Orchids red-striped, and brown blue-barred. 
 All the riot of nature unpruned and unmarred. 
 
 The censers swino^, still the forest I wist, 
 With its odorous o-ums and mornino^ mist ; 
 Nigh the censers the silver of chanting is born. 
 Canaries and thrushes saluting the morn ; 
 Bass thunders — and follows the silverness sweet, 
 Like the voice of the jaguar hunting his meat ; 
 And behind jewelled vestments are swinging in line, 
 Bright birds seen through branches ; vast, solemn, 
 
 divine. 
 Chanting and marching while incense floats high, 
 Chanting and marching the chanters flow by ; 
 As the priest passed on at the end of wave, 
 I caught his gray glance — but the man was brave — 
 Meditation first, and then surprise. 
 Then a great command possessed his eyes, 
 And he looked me down till I dropped my gaze — 
 The sun only seems to dim a blaze ; 
 
 107 
 
It creeps and it spreads in the light or mirk. 
 And consumes forever man's cunning work — 
 I dropped my eyes, but not to repent, 
 I knew my dagger and my intent. 
 
 Still the hymn like a sleepy starlight stole, 
 I felt it quiver and melt my soul. 
 
 Ave Maria, Mother of God, 
 
 Sunset is gilding the inoiintain and sod, 
 
 Sunlight is dying der city and bay. 
 
 Starlight of sinners. 
 
 Or a pro me. 
 Children zuho suffer, hear. Mother pure ; 
 Women who anguish, teach to endure. 
 Lighten the toilers of city and bay. 
 
 Ave Sanctissima, 
 
 Or a pro me. 
 
 They had chanted a sentence in Latin o'er, 
 When the worshippers swayed, and shouted ''Tem- 
 blor"! 
 "Temblor ! Temblor" ! was in each man's mouth 
 As the great church quivered from north to south — 
 And many rushed for the tight-closed door. 
 But the walls had settled, then came a roar — 
 
 io8 
 
Some shrieked, some prayed, some fell in a fit, 
 
 Others ran round like a beast in a pit ; 
 
 Came a crash of beams, 
 
 The roof showed seams. 
 
 Sulphur stole up through the broken floor. 
 
 Shock followed shock, and through all the roar. 
 
 And the twisting surge of the anguished sphere. 
 
 Three minutes convulsed, though it seemed a year — 
 
 Then the rumble ceased, but the quiver spread. 
 
 And the multitude broke through the walls and fled — 
 
 All but the fainting, dying, and dead ; 
 
 Though the solid floor boiled beneath my tread. 
 
 And the banners blazed above my head, 
 
 Still I stood in the brimstone taint, 
 
 Sick of soul, I the strong man, faint. 
 
 But what of the priest in that hour of dread ? 
 
 He solemnly chanted the prayers for the dead — 
 
 The gear of the altar pinned his feet, 
 
 But his voice was full, and the tones were sweet, 
 
 Chanting the prayers for the dying and dead — 
 
 What was the end ere I shrieked and fled ? 
 
 The shocks continued, the shocks increased, 
 
 Earth opened its mouth and swallowed the priest, 
 
 And the chancel went down in that last great pant. 
 
 In the storm and the night-time, I still hear that chant. 
 
 109 
 
I fled to the sea, and I take it no shame, 
 While Risti behind me spat lava and flame ; 
 And the tidal wave met me — O God ! what a sight 
 On the top of the billows, the ship of my flight. 
 
 A fact or a fancy — did Madelaine stand. 
 
 As the wave filled the vessel, a cross in her hand ? 
 
UNDER-THOUGHT. 
 
 ' \/OND the region of thought there's a mighty 
 
 A track, 
 
 Where a few have ventured and straight fled back, 
 Fearing the will should be dazed or slain 
 By madness. A picture will make it plain — 
 On the ver^e of a forest a hut is reared, 
 Around it a tropic acre is cleared, 
 Vanilla beans hang in the sun to dry. 
 There are brindled skins, and some fruit near by, 
 Some logs of dye-wood, a heap of ore, 
 A decoction of bark, and little more — 
 A chip from a mountain, a skin from a herd. 
 An echo of thunder, a plume from a bird, 
 From a thousand forests a single frond 
 Snatched from the skirts of the great beyond — 
 The great beyond, ninety leagues by ten. 
 Multitudinous beastdom, and hints of men, 
 Cordials with potencies yet unknown. 
 Treasures to buy all the good of a zone ; 
 But beasts are there, and not in a cage, 
 And poisons which blister, or numb, or enrage. 
 And the will may be lost, or turn distraught, 
 For this is the reo^ion of Under-thousfht. 
 
THE GLORY HAS DEPARTED. 
 
 A HISS ! a death-shaft — actress be yourself — 
 Nothing, good Marie, nay, the hair will do ; 
 Gray hair defies the deftest touch. Now talk. 
 How were you pleased ? First shade the naked glare, 
 And let the rose-light kiss my smarting eyes ; 
 Now, straight before the mirro'r wheel my chair. 
 How kind you are, my watchful, dear old friend ! 
 When I played Adrienne, you once did weep. 
 And did you weep to-night ? You see, I did ; 
 The first act — yes, I feel it here — was cold. 
 But in the next — ah, flatterer — my best ? 
 Once Raymond wrote — but was it ever true ? — 
 " Her motion is not youthful, it is youth ; 
 She gives new meanings to the tritest phrase ; 
 We share with her a heritage of ease, 
 Taste the ripe perfectness of womanhood ; 
 She adds to life an infinite delio^ht, 
 And lends to lanoruao^e, music not its own." — 
 O lovely words ! and some of them were true ; 
 Yes, say you, Marie, all of them and more. 
 
" Unfading- youth, undying spark of grace," 
 So Raymond ended ; dead this twenty year. 
 
 Now kiss me, Marie, say this once was true ; 
 
 Say I can act, though jealous envy hiss. 
 
 Some yawn, some pity — Oh ! they pity me, 
 
 Whose horseless carriage they were glad to draw, 
 
 Glad in the compensation of my smiles ; 
 
 That year a prince, an envoy, kissed my hand. 
 
 A hiss ! So ends the pantomime awry, 
 
 The gracious columbine becomes a crone. — 
 
 A hiss ! 'Tis envy's tribute, ah ! not so ! 
 
 Envy may hiss, but envy never yawns ; 
 
 You tremble, Marie, foolish, 't is the cue 
 
 To my new play ! O, I shall act it well ; 
 
 "The glory has departed," is its name. 
 
 Leave me ! First put that incense-casket near 
 That crimson scrap-book. Why, when this was new, 
 We two were gfirls, the rose was in our cheeks, 
 You'd lovers, I had fame. Good night, dear, go. 
 
 Yes, praise, and praise, the pure C-note of praise. 
 Out, funeral-baked meats ! yet it thrills, it thrills. 
 To read this record of my callow days. 
 An amateur, of course, but even then 
 
 113 
 
" Giant 'mid pigmies," our director cried. 
 
 — He'd been an actor — thundered out "superb," 
 
 My father, too, and yet his eyes smiled not. 
 
 I watched and waited, while I worked I flamed — 
 
 Only allowed to utter scene-shift lines, 
 
 While others nasaled, flatted, parroted 
 
 The noble words I could have swelled with soul. 
 
 I hungered for my fruitage ; they are prayers, 
 
 Our deep, un worded, absolute desires ; 
 
 They meant in me, if they had rushed to words. 
 
 Be mine the bliss of holdino- men an hour, 
 
 And I will ofive work, unremitting- toil. 
 
 Must I give more — comfort, repose, home, joy ? 
 
 More ! love then, and ? I offered nothing else. 
 
 Why should I offer ? My desire had come. 
 
 I heard a sermon preached long years ago — 
 
 " Granted desires tracked by punishment." 
 
 " They sought for quails," he cried, " but when the 
 
 quails 
 W^ere in their mouths, scarce tasted, came the 
 
 plague." 
 But I did win, my title-deeds are here, 
 Are written here, and on my mind, should tears 
 Quench sight. 
 
 114 
 
They advertised the " Marble Heart." 
 Did Zavatowsky fear it as they said ? 
 "The part needs youth, that helHsh charm which 
 
 makes 
 Men love your person while they hate your soul." 
 And she was passe. What a soul she had ! 
 She kissed me, dressed me in her own fine gowns, 
 And taught me when, and how, and what to be. 
 That nigrht, not I, but Venus trod the stao^e. 
 Youth clad in endless wiles of endless years. 
 My tide was rising, sparkling, leaping in ; 
 Such tides in ebbing leave mud-wastes, dead things. 
 That night, at first, I held my powers in hand. 
 " Where did she learn it all ? " they said next day. 
 I reached the crisis — all the house grew still — 
 When in her woman's vanity, she sought 
 To win the lover just discarded, back ; 
 I played to win my lover and the town. 
 Showered from shining eyes and languid limbs 
 An ample brilliant aura of the flesh, 
 Antony's all ; mayhap, some women frowned. 
 The whole house rose with one triumphant cry. 
 The critic slapped his thigh, girls waved their fans, 
 Young men with flaming glances yelled applause, 
 I triumphed — from that hour to now, their queen. 
 That night ten critics bowed above my hand, 
 
 115 
 
My father blest me, then the old man wept, 
 
 And Michael sent a note which broke our troth, 
 
 Broken, in fact, when first I flattered Fame. 
 
 " Love cannot breathe the air publicity, 
 
 Your art needs self-assertion " — so he wrote — 
 
 " And never dream that 1 will seek again 
 
 To speak the all-sufficiency of love ; 
 
 Yet will I show the poorness of that fame 
 
 Which you would g-arner, and I think you will 
 
 Know public fame means loss of private rights, 
 
 Means learning but the outside of all things. 
 
 Means restless fever fed on flattery ; 
 
 The public is a cat, which purrs when stroked ; 
 
 It gives you plaudits, yet demands of you 
 
 Be always buoyant, beautiful and young ; 
 
 Let not heart anguish, let not bosom ache. 
 
 On cold and callous ear let base hints fall. 
 
 The actor's fame — if imitation, passion-charged, be 
 
 art — 
 Is like a fire of shavings burning fierce 
 And quick and high, which leaves no warmth behind. 
 Lived — vanished, designates theatric fame. 
 In their orations speakers faintly live, 
 The spire forever tells the architect ; 
 E'en should his lanoruao-e die, the bard's verse lives. 
 The actress—" here I threw the letter down. 
 
 ii6 
 
Why should I read ? Upon my table lay 
 
 Papers which lauded me with sugared phrase, 
 
 And built my fame on Zavatowsky's fall, 
 
 And here they are, here, private notes of praise ; 
 
 Here's my command to act before a king, 
 
 My benefit the greatest triumph yet. 
 
 With dukes contending for the seats. When all 
 
 My guild were honored, playing foil to me. 
 
 Oh, it is hard, unjust, 't is cruel hard, 
 
 To have one's powers measured by one's years, 
 
 Now that I know emotion's gamut, now 
 
 I know all acting in its finer shade. 
 
 And never better actor than to-day. 
 
 Nay, by our popularity we live, 
 
 I draw no longer echoes from the town. 
 
 My beauty, nay, my beauty has not gone ; 
 
 This hand of mine is very soft and fair 
 
 With shifting dimples, and the shining nails 
 
 Are like arrested rose-leaves, Michael said. 
 
 My face, why should our theatres need glare ? 
 
 With this rose-shade and lace we'd beat back time. 
 
 Lace o'er the hair, and lace against the throat, — 
 
 Oh, I have been an actress, I have been. 
 
 117 
 
HOW GARRICK GAVE HIS "ROUNDS. 
 
 WHEN we were young, we two were men ; 
 But now they sip, and munch ; 
 When I made pretty Peggy " toast," 
 I drank three bowls of punch." 
 The full-paunched gaffers lumber on. 
 O'er stones of London Town, 
 To see the youthful Garrick hurl 
 All stage tradition down. 
 " Come gossip, this is Goodman's Fields. 
 A cat — it cracks my jav/s — 
 Could scarcely tread that sloping stage. — 
 Egad ! The fellow draws : 
 That's Pitt himself: there's Mr. Pope : * 
 The beaux are thronging in. — 
 We'll see : — You've wept with Betterton ; 
 And I have laughed with Quinn." 
 
 " The little chap has fire and strength, 
 A panther stirs beneath — 
 No actor, it is Richard's self, 
 Prince-devil born with teeth ; 
 
 ii8 
 
His vile, sarcastic speeches sear. 
 
 A camp of hell his eye ; — 
 
 If he should leap into the pit, 
 
 I sM^ear, we all would fly. 
 
 His rage — my God ! how terrible — 
 
 That hypocritiq sneer 
 
 Is worse ; my forehead drips with sweat — 
 
 I breathe ; the end is near — 
 
 He fights as tigers fight, my breath 
 
 Storms with his war-note — ha ! 
 
 He falls ; his fierce nails dio- their crraves — 
 
 Hurrah ! he dies ! Hurrah ! 
 
 I missed the music of the verse, 
 
 So swift the drama fled ; 
 
 ' Bind up my wounds ; ' what anguish there- 
 
 I'm elad that Richard's dead." 
 
 Again the curtains fall apart : 
 
 The g-affers sittino; mute 
 
 Roar out with mirth, as 'cross the stage 
 
 Zig-zags Sir Knight John Brute — 
 
 His wig awry, his face ashine, 
 
 His very manhood sunk 
 
 In drunkenness ; from logging legs 
 
 To hanging lips, all drunk. 
 
 The curtains close and ope once more. 
 
 Behind a chair stands he, 
 
 119 
 
And tragedy, before their eyes 
 
 Contends with comedy. 
 
 Now terror thrills, now anguish melts. 
 
 Now lauofhter chases tears ; 
 
 The fancy in the actor's brain 
 
 Upon his face appears ; 
 
 And now he stands an Emperor, 
 
 And now a 'prentice grins : 
 
 The gossip sobs "That's Betterton ; " 
 
 The ancient shouts, " That's Ouinn." 
 
 They turned and left the little house ; 
 
 " Why, Granfer ! Well a day ! 
 
 That acting? then there has been none." 
 
 " Right, right, egad ! I say. 
 
 To-night we've seen age, youth, hate, mirth, 
 
 Fine fops, and lumpish clowns : 
 
 Aye, twenty actors do their best, 
 
 When Garrick ogives his rounds." 
 
FLOWER AND FLUTE KEEP HOLIDAY. 
 
 HOLLA ! song is born to-day : 
 Ope the gates of gladness ; 
 Heifers riot on the mead 
 With a playful madness ; 
 Pants the clover in the field, 
 Trumpeting, the summer ; 
 "Welcome, song," the summer cries, 
 "Welcome, gentle comer." 
 Joy ! ye light and gracious things, 
 Joy ! O filmy fleetness. 
 Sweet, sweet drop of nature's heart, 
 Have thy hour of fleetness. 
 
 O'er the grass trip boy and girl, 
 Pink and poppy laden, 
 Every maid is just a rose, 
 Every rose a maiden. 
 Down the chestnut-skirted road, 
 Ayond the woods all hieing, 
 To the very bower of love. 
 Where the boy is lying. 
 
Through his stained Hps wells a lilt, 
 Mellow, low, and fluty, 
 And his rosy balminess, 
 Pales the smile of beauty. 
 
 One such gala-day has been — 
 
 Never comes another — 
 
 When the father of the boy 
 
 Mated with his mother. 
 
 That is why the sig'hts and sounds 
 
 Throb with silver fire, 
 
 Find the mother in his laugh, 
 
 In his brow the sire. 
 
 That is why the flowers and flutes 
 
 Call him son and brother — 
 
 Paintinof is the sire of sonor 
 
 Music is his mother. 
 
THE STUDENT PRINCE. 
 
 A Grove near Wittenberg. 
 
 Enter Hamlet and Horatio. 
 
 Ham. Up to pain's thin partition have I laughed. 
 
 Hot. Your mirth set all the sitters' lungs acrow. 
 
 Ham. A lenten play, fool-seasoned for a king ; 
 
 No John Bo-peep ! 'twas Hercules himself, 
 Untlckled too by his own dull delight, 
 Stiff as an hour-glass shaped to standing still, 
 While through him runs the dancing sand of 
 mirth. 
 
 Hot. The lady's beard did prick her bussing swain — 
 No sigh was raised in thinking on her sex. 
 The sting comes after from the softer cheek. 
 
 Ham. Deal we, my fellow-student, with the play. 
 
 Whose clown Dame Nature shaped against 
 
 the dumps ; 
 If sense appeared, his mouth would grin it 
 back ; 
 
 123 
 
His very presence was a tavern-sign 
 
 Painted with present sliow of cheer within. 
 Hot. Merry, my lord, should be the royal cook, 
 
 For merry adds much increment to kings. 
 Ham. Nay, lad, if laughter puts me to my girth. 
 
 The edge of over-mirth shall keep nie pared. 
 
 Marry ! there is no doctor like Sir Jest 
 
 And Jig is his apothecary. 
 Hor. And Rhenish is his 'prentice, my good lord. 
 Ham. Rhenish is but the grindstone of a gab. 
 
 And, over-driven, leaves a blunted edpfe. 
 
 But laughter is the privilege of youth ; 
 
 Therefore, the throat is stronger than the eye, 
 
 And tickle stays, when tear has run away. 
 Hor. To question mirth puffs out the bubble, laugh. 
 
 And like Orestes, you, my lord, shall frown. 
 Ham. Oh, sir, in life, the tragedy comes last. 
 
 Manners made matter barren yesternight. 
 Hor. My lord, it pleased you not? 
 Ham. Orestes ? nay ! 
 
 A tailor with his needle has more fence ; 
 
 A clown with hiltless lath had broke his o-uard. 
 Hor. 'Twas written in this play he should succeed. 
 Ham. E'en so ; but Nature first wrote failure down. 
 
 I saw our Hamlet once, Horatio ! 
 
 A list, by courtesy ; in stroke, 'twas war : 
 124 
 
The pride and mettle of the world was there — 
 
 Peers, (mark me !) bulhes, who had clashed 
 
 , with Thor ; 
 
 No garnish lacking of our stubborn Dane, 
 
 Of valiant Englishmen and agile Frank. 
 
 There rode my father ! — I usurp the name 
 
 To call that war, that stately godhead mine, 
 
 AHke with heady axe or clubbing mace, 
 
 With leaping shaft or levin-shining thrust. 
 
 While she, earth's paragon, the breast I sucked, 
 
 Whose brow is mine, my mother and my faith. 
 
 Beamed on her warrior with eager smile. 
 
 But this Orestes ! — 
 Hor. Nay, my dearest lord„ 
 
 Your roused fancy fires the mimic words. 
 
 Your breast's the wall which makes their echo 
 
 sound. 
 Ham. This puppet-mouther, while his blade dripped 
 
 blood. 
 Bawled like a tinker on his mating- day. 
 How looks he, faith, who breaks this mortal 
 
 pearl ? 
 A sweaty paleness marches through his frame ; 
 His voice is from the soul, where trembling 
 
 sits ; 
 On gaping visage, on the white-plunged eye. 
 Is branded the surprise of Cain. To kill — 
 
 9 125 
 
Hor. Hot war, my lord. 
 
 Ham. For war is heat not cold. 
 
 If winks could kill, then eye-lids should be 
 
 stone. 
 An ant-hill swerves compassion's foot — A man ! 
 To see this master-piece, this nonpareil, 
 'Chance, wrapped in sleep, God's truce, and 
 
 thus twice God's. 
 To stick this throbbing wonder with a knife, 
 To feel the sprinkle of the blood, to mark 
 The lively anguish of the fading eyes, — 
 O horrible ! Spilt blood corrupts the world, 
 (To push beyond the actor to his tale) 
 Lacking the vinegar of salt-revenge. 
 The flaming of uncovenanted right. 
 
 Hor. So struck Orestes, bidden by the Fates. 
 
 Ham. Ban Fate, or keep her prisoned in the soul. 
 Foreboding is a niorht-fowl, shall not come 
 Into the day nor goblins play man's part. 
 Though they, perchance, inform his ear and 
 sio^ht. 
 
 Hor. But if the truth were there, his sword did well. 
 
 Ham. He slew them, meddled with a state not yet ; 
 An instrument, one in the using soiled. 
 Had Heaven no liofhtnine but his daofSfer's 
 point ? 
 
 126 
 
What writ from Cerberus made him at once 
 
 A God, a judge, an executioner? 
 
 What spotless manhood stood behind his 
 
 stroke ? 
 Were there no sins upon his guilty soul ? 
 No breath of slaughter done on innocence ? 
 Hot. Certes ! to spill the life from which his flowed 
 Was monstrous ; showed her taint was in his 
 
 veins ; 
 Her birth-pang should have palsied his death- 
 point. 
 Ham. The father's blood of stern Orestes struck. 
 She robbed the earth ; his father was a god 
 And she, his holy place. She mangled peace. 
 On sacrilege let monstrous anguish wait. 
 But he, her paramour, like rushes trod, 
 What duty did he owe this lord of kings ? 
 A shard, a let, a dung-hill impudence— 
 A something which we use and pay and loathe. 
 It lent him dignity to give him hate. 
 How should this meat for passion ever rise 
 To merit noble blows from noble hands ? 
 Hor. Sweet lord, he smelt of guilt. 
 Ham. Her guilt, not his. 
 
 At his queen's eyes, the servant lights his lust. 
 If bears lick honey, let the honey plead 
 
 127 
 
'Gainst the stinged modesty which guards the 
 sweets. 
 
 What are the rights of human appetite ? 
 
 Who draws the Hmit whence excess is crime ? 
 
 Heap up the balance high, with right 'gainst 
 wronof. 
 
 The poise shall be as tremblingly exact 
 
 As innocence when weighed 'gainst innocence. 
 
 Until nice weighing may be nicely done, 
 
 Let doing nothing be philosophy, 
 
 And life's reward be never to have been. 
 Hot. Being the jest of fate, we should be sad ; 
 
 Yet you, my lord, have pleasure in the play. 
 Ham. For in this commonwealth it seemeth wise, 
 
 Where men and women badly act some part, 
 
 To hug the folk who would be what they 
 seem, — 
 
 Players who bear a flaming link to thought. 
 Hor. An actor is, my lord, suppression's dream. 
 
 The turning^ what is inside, out. 
 Ham. And dreams 
 
 Are action's ecstasy, are limits passed. 
 
 Prithee, Horatio, and are not acts 
 
 The humble ministers that wait on thought ? 
 
 Therefore, we fence and eat and compass 
 lands. 
 
 I 28 
 
Upon the years of leap and run and fight 
 Are built the dizzy palaces of thought. 
 Yet while, enforced, I tread this molten globe, 
 I hold it well to speak as all men do ; — 
 Let silence tomb the most of what I know ; 
 To grasp at dirt, call action, nobleness ; 
 Nor cut this flesh from kindred sympathy — 
 Being the slave of belly and of brain — 
 To make a comfort midst my slavery. 
 ' Tis wise, Horatio, to fear the king, 
 To view authority with visage grave. 
 To o-ive the bending^ of the knee to some, 
 The guarded sunshine of the face to all. 
 
 Hor. And so, my honored lord, the actors do. 
 
 Ham. And they do well ; yet better 'tis, i' faith. 
 To pay a tithe to act, the bulk to thought. 
 
 Hor. My lord, nice doubting is distempered thought. 
 
 Ham. It is the price we pay for precious bales ; 
 
 For thought is sight, who pricks men for the 
 
 war. 
 And would have substance, not bombasted 
 
 fronts. 
 "Strip bare," he cries, "let naked manhood 
 
 show !" 
 Then shall you seethe canker 'neath the flesh ; 
 Defects of secret sin and perished sire ; 
 129 
 
The gall which feast has mingled with the 
 blood ; 
 
 The slow breath, learned in civet-breathinof 
 courts. 
 Hor. Outside our own dominions need we go 
 
 To seek afield for wolves ? 
 Ham. 'Tis certain, sir. 
 
 O inborn sight, you strip my raiment, too. 
 
 And show a conflict, me in arms 'gainst mine ! 
 
 Here are confusion, self-love, bitter rag-e. 
 
 And with confusion, king^doms are undone ; 
 
 For wicked folk, unpunished, tread the ground, 
 
 And good men wane, uncordialled by their king, 
 
 And purity pales in the flaunt of guilt. 
 Hor. Kingship is mortgaged by a king unfit. 
 Ham. A bitter saw which bears but half the truth. 
 
 When self-love feeds, 'tis prodigal and picked. 
 
 With it, past vows are banquets long devoured ; 
 
 For this self-love does tyranny purvey, 
 
 And though the kingdom perish, it must feed. 
 
 Too, in my state, self-love is sauced with rage ; 
 
 And raee is man dissevered from his wits, 
 
 Who quarrels, being purblind, with a post ; 
 
 Who on nice forms and judgments turns his 
 back, 
 
 Who weeps, but oft has killed a father first, 
 130 
 
Hor. The poor plain man has point of vantage then, 
 For his love empery's full and limitless ; 
 A bliss ne'er slaked. 
 Ham, None 'scape the grip of law, 
 
 Their immortality must limit all. 
 These pleasant, flaming sprites allowed control, 
 — Dictator now to be usurper soon — 
 Palsy and tame the council of ourself 
 Be prodigal in all but squandering soul, 
 And when you revel, first dismiss the sage ; 
 Let not the soul know when the beast-part 
 
 dines. 
 Supping forget the butcher of the haunch. 
 Impetuous love thumps his own fabric down 
 Which seasoned, had endured felicitous years; — 
 Passion o'erwrought is Jove to Semele, 
 The God invoked brings fire to destroy. 
 Enough ! we stay too long in corridors, 
 With groom and page and those who keep the 
 
 gate. 
 To oversteep life's stuff is but to brew 
 A mental monster. Therefore, wise men 
 
 laugh. 
 
 So, let them play an interlude to-night, 
 
 Ajig ; and bring the foils, Horatio : 
 
 We'll breathe ourselves. \_Exit Horatio. 
 
 131 
 
Enter Bernardo, 
 
 Ber. Letters, my Prince, from Elsinore. 
 Ham. What news ? 
 
 Ber. Such news that only paper bears unmoved. 
 Ham. Time has mowed down the Lord Polonius ? 
 Norway has forced a wedge into the land ? 
 My uncle sickens ? — yet no answering face ! 
 Speak — \opens lette7'\ Or my father shall. 'Tis 
 
 not his siofn ! 
 How many words ! Speak out ! 
 Ber. The king is dead. 
 
 Pardon my office. Dead, my lord, and tombed. 
 Ham. My mother's dead ! 
 
 Be7\ * The weeping queen is well. 
 
 Ham. Why, then, thou liest ! He's not dead, not 
 tombed ! 
 My mother and my father are but one. 
 O pardon, sir ! 'Tis pain shrieks 'gainst your 
 
 truth, 
 Your trembling lips proclaim it, he is dead. 
 \_Aside.'] And she endures for Denmark and 
 
 her son ! 
 South wind, be mine ! For I would grasp thy 
 
 mane, 
 And bear some comfort to the sad, sick queen. 
 132 
 
[To Bernardo.'] My welcome Is no churl. 
 
 'Tis lame, God-struck ; 
 Yet are you welcome, sir, to Wittenberg. 
 Within, all entertainment be your meed 
 From man to horse. To-nieht, eood sir, we 
 
 crave 
 Your fair attendance hence to Elsinore. 
 
 \_Exit Bernardo ; enter Horatio, with 
 foils. Hamlet takes one, and tries the 
 point with his hand7\ 
 
 Hor. My lord, you'll prick your bosom ! Why, you 
 shake ! 
 Disaster, from your face, has wiped the red. 
 Ham. My father, mine, the king — the king is dead ! 
 Hor. Ah, woeful loss ! sweet prince, I would my 
 words 
 Were fathered by thy needs ; to cheer their 
 
 sire 
 Shake not the bough of facts, they bear a crown. 
 Ham. The boughs are shaken, facts were once a king. 
 Enough of this ! And now, good friend, fare- 
 well ! 
 My heart-strings draw me back to Elsinore. 
 This push of inclination, I obey ; 
 
 133 
 
And yet I know not that which goads me on I 
 Ere Hamlet, then, to Hamlet go, take this : 
 That in the stable balance of my soul 
 You are my comrade, firm beloved and 
 
 crowned ; 
 The proof and seal of many-thoughted joy ; 
 The privet-hedge of quiet memories, 
 Behind whose shelter herbs of knowledge grew. 
 And wisdom bloomed — without are moor and 
 
 fen, 
 [Horatio kneels and kisses Hamlet's hand.~\ 
 Hor. Lord of my soul, and sovereign of my land, 
 I, once thy twin, now servant, ask a boon. 
 Who never yet have taken from thee aught 
 But friendship, which, like sun, calls forth no 
 
 thanks, 
 Being beyond the need and will of them ; 
 But newest sovereign grants the newest prayer. 
 And ever gives, at first, the richest thing. 
 Let others wear the ermine, bear the sword. 
 Coffer the taxes willing subjects pay ; 
 Let me be called the second Hamlet's friend — 
 His fingers, when his right hand tires — his eyes 
 Behind the throne, more steady for the dusk ; 
 Let me be poor, who have that union rich, 
 The nothing-everything of Hamlet's love ; 
 
 134 
 
And let this word be written on my grave : 
 "He saw a noble thine, and knew its worth, 
 And knowing, loved it, loving country, too." 
 
 [^Exii Horatio. 
 Ham. A king ! Let judgment tell ambition this, — 
 That he must reign in patience like a priest. 
 In war, a cubbed bear, in sweetness, silk ; 
 In ruth and rage forever keeping step 
 With the jog-trot or race of circumstance : 
 Mulish in will, in presence like a god. 
 Fenced from all vision he must eat and drink, 
 To sneeze is coughing dignity away, 
 To laugh invites the treason of contempt : — 
 And all this seeming is the plume of act. 
 To act ! to be the soul on which souls wait. 
 The prosper-leaven of the common weal ; 
 The goat whereon is laid all nature's lapse. 
 All plagues, disasters, accidents and fates. 
 To be the exhaustless spring whence flow 
 
 rewards, 
 Honors, emoluments and dignities, 
 Despairs and tortures, anguish, shame and 
 
 death ; 
 To understand that future tongues shall wag 
 As now : how Alexander wrought this wrong ; 
 How Ccesar brought this curse upon the world ; 
 
 135 
 
How countries' ruin dated from your reign. 
 Or, drunk with power to do some monstrous 
 
 thing, 
 And add a Tarquin grim to infamy, 
 A noisome smell to very noisomeness. 
 Who grips the rod of state and trembles not, 
 Has his anointing from high heaven itself. 
 Or is permitted by the Enemy. 
 Irresolution wipes the balm from kings. 
 
 A Street near the Mansion of Polonius. 
 Enter two Clowns. 
 
 Fii'st Clozvn. I'd like it well to have a king crowned 
 every morn ; for when the conduits run with 
 ale, it is a crime against our bellies when we 
 cry, "Long live the King! " He's a right 
 king who makes the penny loaf as big as 
 two. 
 
 Second Clown. Ay, goodman, by'r Lady, 'twas Octo- 
 ber ale. 
 
 He called us his good people, and his 
 words were parlons fine. Lakin ! I saw 
 the black hair underneath his golden crown ; 
 the queen and king smacked lips, they 
 bussed, i' faith ; and when he put his foot 
 
 136 
 
upon his gown and stumbled, all groaned 
 and cried, alas ! 
 First Clown. Good neighbor gossip, it was Hamlet's 
 robe, and Hamlet was a proper man and 
 tall. 
 Second Clown. He cuffed me once. Nay, an' he did. 
 
 Alack ! poor soul. 
 First Clown. Go to ! He took a foot more digging 
 for his grave, and aching bones ! Bethink 
 thee, it was March, and not a stoup from 
 cockcrow unto noon. 
 Second Clown. Nay, but he was a king. His voice 
 outcried the crier. And (I was bear-warden 
 once) his cuffs were strong. 
 First Clown. He filled his armor like a wholesome 
 nut, talked parson's bass, and swunga thump- 
 ino- axe. Too free, too free, he asked no 
 question ; and when he rode, 'twas jump or 
 .'neath the hoof. A gadabout, he killed a 
 power of Danes, and from his fights brought 
 nothing home but flags, and now and then, 
 a pale and hungry knight. An' I were king, 
 I'd let my captains sweat, and stay at home, 
 take comfort from my wife, and teach my 
 cubs to scratch. To be a miller or a king, 
 is good ; for, while they never sow, they 
 137 
 
always eat. To conclude, Hamlet is dead ; 
 you cannot earn a six-pence from his cuffs. 
 
 {TJic Clown sings.) 
 
 Throw on the earth, for Tom is dead. 
 And Dick shall have his spade and bed ; 
 In green or gray, 'twill run, 'twill crawl. 
 Or Jack or Meg, it comes to all. 
 
 Enter Hamlet. 
 
 Second Clown. By the mass ! shall my Meg, when I'm 
 in the ground, fill up my clothes with Ned ? 
 
 First Cloivn. Sirrah, Meg took thee for a man ; and, 
 beinpf dead, thou art no man, thou hast no 
 hose ; thy clothes are Ned's, because he has 
 a leg. Will grief buy pickled herring, and 
 small ale ? Thou hast no arms to clip her 
 with, no lips to buss. A living tinker is far 
 better than a bushel of buried knights. Ned 
 is a liohted candle, thou art blown out, noth- 
 ine but a smell. Arg-al, when thou art dead, 
 then Ned shall have thy wife. Come, let's 
 away ! \Exit Clowns. 
 
 Ham. 'Tis from some wind-fall chance the proverb 
 springs. 
 
 J3^ 
 
As judge, who sees a lawyer spin his web, 
 And, so instructed, straight declares it law. 
 
 ( Several peals of ordnance. ) 
 
 Not yet entombed ! Then two shall mourn 
 
 the King 
 Whose tears flow 'gainst advancement. It is 
 
 strange, 
 Perception ceased with him ; methought I 
 
 heard 
 A monster multitude which shout for joy. 
 
 [Shouts heard.) 
 
 Distracting thought ! Alas ! bereaved Queen, 
 Thy coronation ! and thou stand' st alone 
 Now, uncompanioned. Timidly she speaks, 
 Her other voice o'er-deeped the lawless blast. 
 The sceptre shakes in her unsinewed hand, 
 While he would walk majestic with a beam. 
 The aching crown bows down her widowed 
 
 head ; 
 It was the proper shadow for his brow. 
 Who filled, by Heaven ! the large eye of the 
 
 world. 
 
 [Shou/s heard.) 
 139 
 
On dreams conceived, 'mid dreams, i' faith, I 
 
 build, 
 Methought I heard them shout, " Long hve 
 
 the king." 
 
 \_Enter from the house, Poix3NIUS.] 
 
 Pol. Bring me, Reynaldo, — stay, sir ! let me see — 
 Ay ! by the mass, my chain of silver gilt; 
 'Tis, see you now ! marry, a pretty toy, 
 A Balas-ruby ; mark, a fair device : 
 "All faithfulness!" 'Fore God,- a goodly 
 
 phrase. 
 I've had it, by my guess, some thirty years. 
 Nay, two-and-thirty, aye, say, thirty-two. 
 I had it from King Hamlet, when he brought 
 His queen from France, the fair queen majesty. 
 I know my duty to the King and state. — 
 Speed, good Reynaldo, speed ! 
 
 Rey. I will, my lord. 
 
 Pol. And bring my 'broidered cloak, the sky is gray. 
 
 [PoLONius am^anges his gari7ient.~\ 
 
 Hmn. My father's word-conveyor gay, so gay ! 
 
 Nay, not a tear ! dry as the parchment of his 
 
 precedents. 
 Oh, I forgot, the King is two months dead. 
 
 140 
 
This mouth of proverbs has his guiding saws — 
 Quench fires at Michaelmas, though rivers 
 freeze. 
 
 Is this aeain a dream within a dream ? 
 
 Who shall unravel these uncertainties ? 
 
 Distinofuish threads from shadows of the 
 threads ? 
 
 Nay, which is first, the shadow or the thing ? 
 
 I touch my brow, permitted by the soul. 
 
 He's dead ! Can I not wink the fact away ? 
 
 So wink myself to non-reality ? 
 
 To non-existence, restful nothinorness ? 
 
 Shadows ! and I the shadow of them all, 
 
 Not yet proclaimed a substance or a shade. 
 Pol. My good Lord Hamlet ! Welcome, noble 
 
 prince. 
 Ham. Another bow ! You're prodigal, my lord ! 
 
 More than the noteless crooking of the neck 
 
 Your black commends you to my father's son. 
 Fol. My lord, fast yields to feast, and feast to fast. 
 
 Time is a woodman, prunes dead boughs away, 
 
 Whereby the tender applings sprout and grow. 
 
 The leech who mourns for good blood spilt, 
 makes haste 
 
 lo 141 
 
To staunch the wound, lest all the body die. 
 From sire to son, from child to children's child 
 Are link of link. Your noble lordship goes 
 To hear your name proclaimed, which, to be 
 
 brief, 
 Should make a rainbow showing through your 
 
 tears. 
 Ham. The rainbow is. when smile o'ercomes the tear. 
 Xoo much of love and grief, my lord, is mad ; 
 Too much of smoke drives out the honeyed bee ; 
 Too much of salt is poison to the snail ; 
 And too much sunlight kills the sprightly 
 
 midee. 
 Where is my mother ? 
 Pol. With the King, my lord. 
 
 {Ti^imipets sound.) 
 
 Ham. In God's name, speak ! I hear not. 
 
 Pol. With the King. 
 
 I must to them. Farewell, my honored lord. 
 
 Ham. O, God ! at mine own thoughts I fear to peep. 
 Does parchment flaunt in silk to greet the dead? 
 She is not dead, and she is " with the King ! " 
 Perchance, returned from some glorious fray, 
 'Tis Hamlet's name at which the commons roar. 
 142 
 
{Trumpet sounds. Herald proclaims :) 
 
 Herald : " Know all men, that we do proclaim the high 
 and mighty Prince Hamlet, our heir and suc- 
 cessor to the throne of Denmark. 
 
 Claudius and Gertrude." 
 
 Long live the King and Queen ! 
 Ham. Away, limp sickness ! I will understand. 
 
 My uncle King, my uncle has to wife 
 
 The common voice has told the common thing. 
 Common ! Upon the panels of the brain 
 Are pictures daubed in dyes from pools of lust, 
 Of vice-besotted kings and monstrous queens, 
 Who, tamely mated, fellowed where they would. 
 The Roman prince beneath his brother's 
 
 wheels. 
 While incest sits aloft by murder joined. 
 Mother ! to belch that mother-part and die ! 
 Around my uncle-king the courtlings throng, 
 There, with 'tent eyes my father's statesmen 
 
 bow. 
 She swells his pomp, she clings about his neck, 
 Paugh ! all is trick, and villainy and lie — 
 A misbegotten dweller on this star 
 Am I, who'd war against the things that are. 
 
 143 
 
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