■Hi HI SONGS A.ND OTHER FANCIES BY V HENRY D. MUIR " Who doth a7nbition shun And loves to live V the sun . . . Come hither^ come hither^ come hither! " — Shakespeare. CHICAGO IQOI JCJ6I THF LIBRARY OF TWO COPIE8 HECE(VEf> JAN. ?5 1902 CoPv»?|GHT ENTRy M&.Cf- JCf Of CLASS O/ XX& Mo. Copyright, 1901 By Henry D, Muir c • * i. <■ i l l < INFOHMAT ^-r — c — c C «. *" SON ^4;zy -person desiring a copy of these poems can obtain same by mailing $1.00 to the author. Address: Gross Point, Illinois, P. O. Box 8q. V |^ *|% CONTENTS fR^ tf]% s&fr JO NO J Title. Page. Dying Notes 11 Adventure 13 An Appeal 14 The Awakening 15 The Morrow 16 In Silence 17 A Note of April 18 The Lure 19 Chivalry 20 Perfumes 21 I Dreamed 22 In the Orchard 23 Musicians 24 River Songs 25 Transformation 26 The Dive 27 Messages 28 Pantheism 29 In Arabia 30 Our World. 31 Durva 32 Threads 33 At Flight 34 Slander 35 The Drowsing Gods 36 A Madrigal 37 Joy o' the Fields , 38 3 CONTENTS Title. Page. Rivals 39 The Bride 40 Rest 41 Bobolink 42 A Shadow 43 The Songs I Sang 44 Tangles , 45 No Anchorage 46 Disillusion 47 Words are as Foam 49 Sympathy 50 Sharing 51 Drearily 52 Refuge 53 Finis 55 L' Envoi 56 OTHER. FANCIED Ballade of Unrest 59 Drab and Gray 61 Quest 63 The River of Love 66 Duality 68 In Provence Born 69 A Rondel 70 You Whisper 71 The Burly World 72 Animalism « , 73 A Face on the Bridge , 74 Symphony No. 6 Tschaikowsky 75 Ivan Turgeneff 76 Edgar Allen Poe 77 Reconciliation -. 78 An Hiatus - . .. . 79 Hesitant 80 Death Rock 81 CONTENTS Title. Page. The Magic Fountain 82 Kesa, the Loyal Wife 83 Boccaccio 84 Chances 85 The Life-Chain 86 A Conspiracy 87 The Play 88 Ambition 89 Cheerful Pessimism 90 One Glow 91 Tranquillity 92 A Group 93 Hercules 94 America— A. D. 1900 95 Charities 96 Chicago 97 Louisiana 98 Fort Marion. 99 Walden 100 Evening in Concord 101 The Grave of Edwin Booth 102 '•The Mystery of Life" 103 Amber's Island 104 Stephen Crane 107 Jack— A Dog 108 Belle Isle 109 Lake Michigan 110 Singing Thy Hopes 112 Ballade of the Gray Wolf 113 Triolets 115 A Flower 117 Lullaby 119 A Fairy's Song 120 A Gift of the Sea 121 Overwhelmed 122 What Difference? 123 Just a Day 124 5 CONTENTS Title. Page. Gulls 125 Favors 126 Material 127 The Screen 128 Deserters 129 A Burial , 130 Pebbles 131 A Sketch 132 Myself 133 My House 134 The Frost- World 135 Truth 137 No Kin 138 Balzac 140 Emily Dickinson 141 The Pale Herders 142 Capacity . 143 Friends 144 Romances 145 The Veterans 147 The Crown of Blood 149 Hygeia 151 "Youth" 152 Spoilers 153 A Minute with Shaikh Saadi 154 The Lamp 156 Hameh 157 Daughter of Dives 160 At Mizpeh 162 Mary Magdalene 164 CHOP iOOT Life's Mosaic 203 Dread. 204 Values 206 Roommates 207 6 CONTENTS Title Page. Keeping Young 208 A Wooden Indian 210 Two Critics 212 Work 213 My Enemies 215 Heads 217 Professorial Brayers 219 The Great Editor. . . .- 221 Dr. Decetus 225 A Popular Author 228 An Original (?) . 231 The Egoist 233 Ye Curious Ones 234 Literature 236 An Unfortunate. 238 'Rastus Jefferson Jones 240 Courtesies 241 Poets 243 Peoples of Refinement , 245 The Moon 246 A Lost Bet, 247 Mental Dyspepsia 248 My Neighbor 250 Double Life 252 The Sick Lion 254 Three Air-Ships 256 I's . 258 A Question 259 Artistry 260 The Strange Hand 261 In the Hall of Ideals 263 iONOi Dying notes, and notes half heard Through the forest glooms ana lights* Echoes of a passing bird, Singing as his heart invites — They but make a moment ring. Though he faint with melody; Love, these simple songs I sing, Live and die for thee. New songs for the newest spring Leap from many eager throats; 'Mid the joyous heralding Steal unheard these dying notes — Notes that live and die for thee, Telling what the heart indites, Ebbing faint and fadingly Through the glooms and lights. 11 ADVENTURE Come, my soul, no farther grope Through this land Indifference, Straining thus thy fragile sense For the signal lights of hope. But come : away ! O, brave, my soul, and free, Be pinioned strong to act, to dare — To mount the heavens of ecstasy, To droop in hell-pits of despair. Come away! Here the musing Stoics sit, Heedful nor of sun nor rain, Gleaning naught of joy or pain, As the shadow-moments flit. But thou, away! But thou, my soul, be free ! O, 'scaping soon this stirless air, We'll sweep the heavens of ecstasy, Or sink to hell-pits of despair. Come away! 13 AN APPEAL Now ice doth break on stream and lake, And Spring's but gently sleeping, 'Neath snows so light and thin and white That half her charms are peeping. Why then so still, O heart, and chill, When joy shouldst fill thee, heaping? The sun's great love doth melt and move : See ! at his nod approving, Ev'n ice and snow do leap and glow And o'er the earth go roving. My sun art thou ; but shine, and, lo ! I, too, will glow with loving. 14 THE AWAKENING Now, while Winter wanes away, Comes a day, Sweet and glorious and free, — Comes to me! — And around my soul I fold it; Close unto my breast I hold it, Till my singing heart hath told it Dreams of melody. For to-day my heart can sing Songs that ring Musically light, and warm With the charm Of loosed river freely streaming, Of green meadows newly teeming, Of a forest palely dreaming Of some spent alarm. Joy of many, many things Leaps and sings In the heart's sweet wakening ; But must sing As the singing thrushes — higher Than may thought or word aspire; Free, with that unlessoned choir, At the feet of Spring. *5 THE MORROW Because rough winds had bitten The trees with teeth of hail; Because Winter had smitten Drear field and forest pale ; Because the sun had shrouded His face, and skies were clouded/ I falsely said, — "Lo, Spring is dead; Spring is dead." Because my heart was seared By fires and frosts of years; Because my soul had wearied Of fruitless hopes and fears; Because no dreams came nightly, On light wings flying lightly, I falsely said, — "Lo, Love is dead; Love is dead." For on the very morrow Came Spring through field and grove, And, through the mist of sorrow, Gleamed the near eyes of Love; And voices fell, reproving, But tender still with loving, — " 'Twas falsely said ; we are not dead : No ; not dead." 16 IN SILENCE Not by smile or glance or gesture Was love's blessed presence shown, Not by sweep of curl or vesture, Not by voice of melting tone : By a light more swift than glances, By a sign more chaste and lone Than in dream of purest fancies Was that blessed presence known. Silence held and gyved and bound us, Gyved and bound us all around, Vainly seeking to confound us In a maze of gloom profound. But that very silence brought us To the fane where love is crowned; And Love's self, in silence, taught us Without glance or touch or sound. 17 A NOTE OF APRIL Love, the birds are singing low, On brown-budded branches swinging; And my heart, my heart, also, Is a note of April, winging With the notes of their sweet singing, All aglow For the life and joy of spring. And no surer do I know, — Love, thou dearest in Love's keeping! — That the velvet buds will show Their green hearts than thy heart, leaping From its cave for winter sleeping, Soon will flow With mine in this gleam of spring. 18 THE LURE Thoughts that would be spoken, Thoughts that should be broken For some fantastic token Of melody and song, — How they leap and tremble, Fade and reassemble, Writhe in and out and whirl about — A most unruly throng! Quick they are and clever, Baffling each endeavor; No strategy can sever Fair number from their files : Lures that should allure them, Chains that should secure them, All, all are vain; from lure and chain They glide with taunting smiles. Only when I whisper Name than cresses crisper Comes every tiny lisper Of light melodic sound: Threats cannot compel them, And charms will not spell them; But at thy name, subdued and tame, They cluster thick around. 19 CHIVALRY Sweetly, sweetly, birds awoke me From the blank of night; And I let the music stroke me As it might, Till my thoughts were silken light. Then I sent one thought a-flying Over wood and moor, Where a prisoned heart was lying, Most secure, In a prison marble-pure. It should sing: "One cometh hither, To thy rescuing; And these bars, as rush, shall wither And the swing Of his sword tame everything." Softly, softly, birds around me Hush their song a space, And I know my squire hath found thee, Face to face. Courage ! I must ride apace. 20 . PERFUMES These perfumes of night, Dear, that fill us and thrill us With aerial might, They would slay, they would kill us ; Ay, kill us ; and fill us, Till, vase-like, we hold Soft spices of night — White, silent and cold. Love's breath, it alone, Dear, shall still us or thrill us; Love's perfumes or none, Dear, revive us or kill us; But night that would still us, O, night need not guess 'Tis Love's breath alone, Dear, his, that we bless ! 21 I DREAMED I dreamed, and thine eyes were clearer Than aught on earth that's clear; I dreamed, and thy voice was dearer Than music, — music dear! And thy face knew a light sincerer Than light of thy days, and nearer Thy soul than thought seemed near. So now, as in truth I hold thee, O life that is, not seems ! Now, while these arms enfold thee; Now, let shadows and gleams Dark thee with sin-clouds or gold thee With glow of heaven, — I'll behold thee Still through the eyes of dreams. 22 IN THE ORCHARD For these curling flakes, down shaken, O, so gently, o'er thy hair, Could love's sweetest blooms be taken, And my heart the boughs repair, — Then the blossoms of this playtime Of the clean and budding year Would not perish with the Maytime, But forever shower thee, dear! Shower thee ever, ay, forever, With exhaustless pink and white; And the boughs be barren never Of some new and rare delight. Love enchanting, frosts that harden Fail, nor any sun doth sear : In the soul's immortal garden Burst the buds forever, dear! 23 MUSICIANS Beethoven's divinity, Mozart's free serenity, And, for happy trinity, Schubert's lyric song: These I deemed enough for me, These musicians three, For life long. Fool ! I knew no rune of love, Nor the jealous croon of love: Standing in the June of love, Now you sing and play. Heedless I of minstrel three; But one song for me, All the day. 24 RIVER-SONGS From my dripping oars Music pours — Each light-splashing drop's a note divine : Tis the sweet prelude, Yet how seeming rude, 'Gainst this sweeter swelling strain of thine. For you sing, you sing — You that bring All life's gladness, all life's madness, to my heart. Ah, no lulled king Hath such soul-soothing, For all the soother's skill and minstrel art! The flushed Evening Hears thee sing, And folds back the shadows that would fall : Now she leans so low That the waters glow And the gold blush of heaven suffuses all. Thus, my dear, my dear, Singing clear, We shall drift through half the dreamy night. To our souls belongs Song, and only songs Shall guide, shall steer, shall lull us with delight. 25 TRANSFORMATION The rodded gold you trailed astern, While singing soft your song of love, O, 'twas as coarse as random weed; But lifted, — how the diamonds burn Down avenues of flame, and prove That 'tis a flower of fairy breed ! My flower of days as coarse did seem As rugged weed, ill-sown and wild, Abandoned in the thistled way; But it was splashed beneath a stream Of Love's sweet water undefiled; It gleams divine with pendant spray. 26 THE DIVE My course is as silent and green As hermit could wish ; And here is a palace serene, — The servitors; fish; And here, the bright nymph of the stream, And maids, in a ring: O, here, I will linger, and dream, And sway as a king! My heart that is heavy with love, And sick with love's care, Will shake from the fetters thereof, Be free of the snare; Will drowse as the heart of a child That knoweth but sleep : My life, be it bitter or mild, Shall over me sweep. But, love, the far light of thine eye Doth follow me here. What! am I a serf that must fly, And kneel, and revere? For my heart doth mount on the gleam; 'Tis fettered anew; 'Tis borne to the crest of the stream, To life, and to you. 27 MESSAGES Messages the winds are writing On the surface of the bay ; Messages in white, delighting With fair lines of foam and spray, Which are blotted quick away, Or transposed — Subtle messages are they, Half-disclosed. Only lovers' eyes can read them; Only your dear eyes and mine, From the tossing* skiff, do heed them And the liquid words define, Reading clear their every line; For our hearts Bear the indelible divine Counterparts. 28 PANTHEISM Tell my heart and creed, love? Nay, ask the birds that sing; Ask the bees that wing Among sweet flowers ; Ask the leaf that shakes ; Ask the gleaming lakes ; Ask the air that makes This happy clime of ours. For their creed is mine, love — The creed of light and joy, For hours that not destroy Themselves in gloom; The creed of sun and air, And all that showeth fair; A creed of joy, to share, To share, dear heart, with — whom? 29 IN ARABIA Strode a genie through the palace That fair dream had wrought, And his eyes were hot with malice; But I thought Of a worded talisman In my garb Arabian. Then his look was cooled to pleasure, And he knelt, my slave: "Ask and take of me that treasure Thou dost crave." But I hid my talisman, And dissolved the charm began. For I saw a light more splendid Than from magics wove — Love, thine eyes were on me bended, And their love Through my soul so richly ran, Shamed, I hid the talisman. 30 OUR WORLD What doth the cankerous world to-day? O, love, what doth it say? Are mad hearts striving still and sad hearts sighing? Nay, love, thou dost not care; So this our world be fair, These sweetly-crested hours before us flying. For this our golden world we'll plan On plan Sicilian; Ay, Theocritus, he, shall lute us numbers; And gentle Bion, too, And Moschus, friend, and true, And many a singer new that mutely slumbers. Wax-girted pipes, perchance, they'll play For us, and w T e will pay With wines Petelean the high endeavor ; And these our crested hours, With anise crowned and flowers, Will break the wreaths for showers and chaplets sever. So, love, what cares our world to-day What the mad world doth say; So that its hearts be light for kindly swaying; So that the ways be sweet And soft unto its feet, The winging pleasures fleet and not delaying. 3i DURVA Oft the holy Hindoo prayed : "Durva, Durva, sacred grass ! Into my existence pass All thy hundred roots, and braid All thy hundred stems divine With this life of mine. 'Then/' — the holy Hindoo said, — "Durva, Durva, green and fresh ! Will a hundred sins of flesh From my soul be sundered. And a hundred years prolong Life, and virtues throng/' Love, no holy Hindoo craves, Now, a hundred years of bliss; But two lips profane would kiss Thine, and be your rubied slaves. What's a hundred years to this — Love's immortal kiss ! 32 THREADS Love no idle shadow is, Shifting with the sun; But of surest substances Love is wove and spun. Where life's tapestries outspread Endless threads are wove — Strongest, brightest, is the thread Love. Let the grim Eumenides Shear and cut and maim, Tearing from the tapestries Health, or wealth, or fame : They can shear, unhindered, Every thread thereof, Save that brightest golden thread — Love. All the rest as shadows are, Love's the substance true; Gleaming hope, though every star Fail of hope and hue. Truth, at crystal fountain-head, Beauty, in her grove, Ever spin the golden thread — Love. 33 AT FLIGHT How can my heart be heedful, Loving thee so ! How can my heart be greedful Of what on earth may show; Having such heaven above me, Having scope to love thee! Ah, can my heart be heedful, — Loving thee so ! But what man deemeth needful 'Neath foot I throw, And with wide wings and speedful I move from high to low ; And from that low to highest, Even as thou fliest: How can my heart be heedful, — Loving thee so ! 34 SLANDER Eros, our god, is spiteful ; Eros hath jealous grown Of these our days delightful: He'd change our hearts to stone. For last night through my dreaming He glanced on wings of joy, And his arch face was beaming — So I addressed the boy : "To gentlest knight Tibullus Was Delia untrue, Xor found the sweet Catullus A love of constant hue ; But, Love, my love is truthful, And, Love, her heart is strong ; For see ! our days are soothful With balm and sun and song. "And, Love, with thee Fd wager My wealth, my life, my soul, That truer heart nor sager Doth beat 'twixt pole and pole." Showed he no face of mercy, But, with bored gesture, fled. "A woman false as Circe — Poor, doting fool !" he said. 35 THE DROWSING GODS Let the mild Apsarasas, Heavenly nymphs, refrain to pass Through these common fields of grass, And the gods of light that are — Indra, rest in glowing star; Mithra, Surya, Savitar, Drowse within the sun, — Dearest one! Find we not divinities Of a stronger grace than these Where our own and native trees Spread, and where the homely breeds Of flowers startle not the meads ? Pity we their languid needs, Love, and sing for them Requiem ! 36 A MADRIGAL O the sky, how blue it is ! O thy love, how true it is ! O the earth, how fair it is ! O our life, how rare it is ! And though Time reaps all of them, Now we'll heed the call of them, Mid the heart's delicious strife — Nature, Love, and Life. 37 JOY O' THE FIELDS O, and what were the joy o' the fields — The bird-notes loose and free, The perfumes light and the flowers bright, To hear, and to breathe, and to see, — If thou shared not with me, my love, If thou shared not with me ! But thou stand'st clear i ? the golden warmth, And hear, and breathe, and see ; And the world's complete, and life's as sweet As the life of the roving bee : For thou shar'st all with me, my love, O, thou shar'st all with me! 38 RIVALS Td sing thee a song, but alas ! The trees and the flowers and the grass Sing, and the echoless stream Sings, and the blue skies, in dream, Sing, — ay, and all that is silent doth teem With song, when I'd sing. So that, when I open my lips, Their songs, love, my pale songs eclipse And all my heart-flow make dumb To thee ; no melodies come To thee — the hive of their birth is their tomb Ere spread they a wing. 39 THE BRIDE To Titania, queen, I will send for a veil Of rich bridal sheen, And to Oberon, king, I will kneel for a ring, And the elvish Puck hail For minstrels, to sing And soothly to play, And for dancers to dance On our fair wedding day. For my bride must be seen In no filmier veil Than true fairy sheen, And no shaped metal cling To her hand, but a ring Forged 'neath the moon and pale; And heart it must spring To song with the fay, Nor a grosser wing glance Through the glad wedding day. 40 REST Sweet, the drowsy-natured June O'er and o'er one word doth croon Through the noon, and after noon,- "Rest." And it fills the daisy's ear, And the gentle grasses hear — Petal, leaf, and fairy spear Rest. We have felt the cold and heat, We have moved to restless beat ; Now we too, we too, my sweet, Rest. 4i BOBOLINK Not thy song's sweet clarity, Though as light and clear, Bobolink, O'er the earth it flows As freshet from pure snows — No ; 'tis thy sincerity Makes thee dear to heart and ear, Bobolink. For through pale humanity Runs swart threads of gloom, Bobolink, And our freest songs Still are bound in thongs Of thick-woven vanity — Woven doom of fateful loom, Bobolink ! But the notes you sing to us, So jocund and free, Bobolink, Lacking vanities, Bring us sweet heartsease, And stray hopes that cling to us, — Ay, till we could sing with thee, Bobolink ! 42 A SHADOW In this grove of many fountains May that faith that moveth mountains Move a shadow, fleecy-light, Yet of power to chill and blight. For but late, alone and dreaming, By these waters, splashing, gleaming, Love, I saw, too true, thy face Gleam from veil of foamy lace. And the eyes that now do glitter With warm light, — O, they were bitter As sad eyes that ne'er had told Love's held rosary of gold. Ah ! is love but as a curtain, Hiding depths unknown, uncertain, To the very heart? a gleam Of bright foam above the stream ? In this grove of leaping fountains May that faith that moveth mountains Lift a shadow, fleecy-light, That would chill and dark and blight ! 43 THE SONGS I SANG The songs I sang for you, love, Were warm and bright and free ; And wings they had, and, swift and glad, They flew 'twixt you and me. Through glad, swift days of pleasure, Through nights that knew no pang, So lightly flew, from me to you, The songs I sang. The songs I sing to-day, love, Are poor and sad, I know ; Bearing the weight of time and fate, How pale they are and slow ! From proud red gates of passion, No more like birds they wing ; Yet creep as true, from me to you, The songs I sing. 44 TANGLES Blows this scented breeze as free As the breezes of the sea, But it cannot blow away Circling thought as down or spray. Flowers and grasses are caressed Into soft and careless rest : O, that 'twere thy charge, good wind, So to cradle heart and mind ! But no touch or twirl of thine Can unknot the fated twine — Ah, these tangles must remain Long in soul and heart and brain ! 45 NO ANCHORAGE So long my mind had been at sea, That, when a port was neared, I saw no harborage for me, And to the main I veered; And scudded fast through froth of crest, And o'er wide trough of seas, And found more rest in stormy test Than in snug shelteries. The light flares redly from the mole, But 'neath its gleaming line, I know the bay too bound and shoal For such a ship as mine. But I will breast the iampless main And sweep what wave I please; Ere whelmed or slain, more calm I'll gain Than in the sheltered seas. 46 DISILLUSION Water of the spring I take, Water cool, And my burning thirst I slake At the pool ; And the fever in my blood Sinks and dies, As I quaff the magic flood. Now mine eyes are staring wide, And I see The dim paths on every side : Drearily Lead the paths o'er desert bare Of delights- Sterile gloom is everywhere. Yet one path but late I trod, And it seemed All the glories of a god Round me gleamed ; In the opulence of joy I was clad And the earth was but a toy. Now that path is like the rest, Stretching faint 47 O'er the desert's aching breast, And the taint Of despair and barren death Blights the air With most pestilential breath. May these waters cool and clear Be accurst, And the hour that brought me here, And the thirst. I, that like a prince had died At fierce noon, Muse in this pale eventide. 48 WORDS ARE AS FOAM Words are as foam that lightly breaks In long white lines of frothing bubble ; And thought's the wave that swells and makes That foam-life, — brief for joy or trouble : But, O, how ocean-deep and vast The flood-tide of the heart's emotion! Words are as foam, lightly upcast, Thoughts are but waves to crest that ocean. For silent, 'neath the seething tide, By darkness whelmed and all forsaken, Lie shattered wrecks of youth and pride, And stancher ships — yet, too, o'ershaken. There slow decays brave hulk and mast, And Love's swift galleys of devotion : Words are as foam, lightly upcast, Thoughts are but waves to crest that ocean. 49 SYMPATHY In hosts the blue flag lilies rise Above the stream; The flowers here have brilliant eyes ; They muse and dream. What care the little denizens Of these grassy meads and fens If a soul be aching, Or a heart is breaking — What care they? Have they not all song and hum The rich day yields ? When such laden breezes come Across the fields, Giving more than they do take Of sweet perfumes, how can ache Of a soul that's aching, Of a heart, slow breaking, Claim their care? Yet doth flow a sympathy, Silent, divine, Thrilling soft and warm and free, Through air and shine, Sent from dreamy bloom and leaf ; And I feel they share in grief With a soul that's aching, With a lone heart, breaking ; And they care. 50 SHARING Pollen grain to hungry leaves Now the worker bees are bearing; Now the smallest flower is sharing Some delight that it receives From the rain or sun or air ; Now, now, now, Pulsing from the twittering bough, Clear is heard One reiterated word, — "Share, share, share." Smallest flower of the mead, And ye birds and bees wayfaring, That such humble joys are sharing, Shall not I be wise and heed? Why should any soul thus fare, Cold, cold, cold, In the cloak of self enrolled? From the heart Tear the veiling garb apart — Share, share, share! 5i DREARILY Drearily, O, eerily, Sigh the winds o'er land and sea! Every wave and every tree Shudders at the mystery Buried those sighs within; And the sun forgotten is, And the summer's golden kiss, And dream-days of light and bliss, As no such hours had been. Drearily, so wearily, Have the pale years taunted me ; Gibing their malicious glee, As the hopes and pleasures flee— Shadows of truth and sin. Yet, though Love with Joy be flown, Yet the heart is not alone : Memories sing, and long 'tis known Where such sweet guests have been. 52 REFUGE Twas when the glade was brightest With flower and song and shine ; When Summer's sleep was lightest, And all her dreams divine; When gorgeous hue was fashion In plant, in transient wing, — Then, through my noon of passion, Came Love, hovering, And said : "Lo, all this splendor Of blossom, fern, and vine, And all these mosses tender, And all these grasses fine, Shall pass ; and their deflowering Will leave thy hopes as sere — Only this pine, o'ertowering, Can outlast the year." For in that fair glade-center . There reigned a monarch pine ; A gaunt and somber mentor, Far-shadowing many a line : So ev'n the stariest flowers Were darkened in some wise, Nor, save in droning hours, Gleamed free to the skies. 53 And O, with heart of loathing, Loathed I that gloomy pine ; That veiled in shadow-clothing Those forms of frail design ; That touched with melancholy Each slightest, lightest star, And all the glowing valley Subdued from afar. But now no birds are calling, But now bleak winds that whine, But now the snows are falling, But now no tendrils twine; And now no hope of meadow Can lie more sere than mine, — Yet now, in balming shadow, Now, bless I the pine. 54 FINIS Love that had such wings to fly, And such might That the world was all too small For his flight, And he needs must dart the sky, Through star regions heavenly, — Is this he? Here, on black pall ! Love that sang for day and night, Dreamingly, Songs that rang like fairy gold, — Is this he? And these lips of silent white, Are- they silent of delight — Silent quite; And pale, and cold? Yes, Love's light afar is blown — Far, indeed, The fair light is borne through haze. Now, with speed, Cover close the face of stone : But one tear ; then we'll be gone, Each alone, Down lonely ways. 55 L'ENVOI Cruised we the light seas and rough stresses; Pine islands and palm We saw, and the gold of Love's tresses Through moonglades of calm. And still swells the sea; every islet Waves palm or proud pine — But one ship, abandoned of pilot, Is salt as deep brine. And the shells of o { ur joys and our sorrows, On silence of sands, Lie chill: but the thronging to-morrows May lift in warm hands, And glance o'er the pinks and the azures; Ev'n hold to the ear 3 Till voice of far dolors and pleasures They faintly can hear. 56 OTHER. FANCIED .. BALLADE OF UNREST Well do we know on the world's gray pages, — Thumbed and ruffled and creased and frayed, Scrawled by" poets and fools and sages, — Light of wisdom and folly's shade : Well do we know ; yet, undismayed, We plunge through dark and mist and fire ; Paying life's debt, till all is paid ; Driven by the goad of the soul's desire. Thus did the heroes of outw r orn ages ; Thus did vassals, by sin betrayed ; Thus, when our ecstasies, sorrows, rages, Pains, and pleasures, suffered or played, Low in the tomb of time are laid — Pale as ashes of desert pyre — Onward the sensate calvalcade, Driven by the goad of the soul's desire. Truth or folly by turn engages : Motley and velvet, in close parade, Laugh or sigh, as the dreary stages Pass, and memories wax or fade. Hearts courageous and hearts afraid Spur through the snow, the dust, the mire, Shining courser and stumbling jade ; Driven by the goad of the soul's desire. 59 L'Envoi Princes who reap the uplands of trade ! Slaves who sweat for contemptible hire ! Ye, having life, have life's laws obeyed ; Driven by the goad of the soul's desire. 60 DRAB AND GRAY O, the drab and gray of life ! How it stifles, how it kills ! All the streams of hope it chills, Silently, and love's warm rills. O, this drab and gray of life ! Xot a phantom voice of night, Heard through mist of dream and sleep, Ebbing faint o'er Lethean deep, Dying echoless, did weep These frail words: "O, death, or light!" But a spirit, grossly held In the husk of life and sense, Feeling all the waves intense Of passion, and in the dense Of doubt and darkness, truth-impelled, Breathed the words : "O, light, or death !" And its sky, gray-hung and cold, Flashed no beacon streak of gold, Did no rifted hope unfold For the anguished eyes beneath. 61 Is it strange, since angels fell Having light in fadeless streams, That an earthly child of dreams, Finding only false-fire gleams, Burned in self-created hell? O, this drab and gray of life ! Ere the sullen hues unroll, Welcome to how many a soul, Falls the death-bells' gentle toll Through the drab and gray of life ! 62 QUEST With violent hands a path I tore Deep through the forest of the world, And, in the very heart and core, A space I freed of briars, and hurled Myself on mossy floor. Behind me lay the sanguine seas Of birth, soft-lapping, tremulous; Before me played Death's monodies : Ev'n from the portals of his house They crept on languid breeze. And long I watched, — a straining eye My soul, — the pallid, sentient files That swept in eager madness by — Mad host of life ! — and tears and smiles, Writhing so restlessly O'er faces, paled by pain or thought, Or moved by mirth's delusive sound, I saw ; and all their essence caught In one clear glance : all faces found, — All but one face I sought. Dim faces, worn by hunger's tooth — Heart-hungry ; faces blown with lust ; 63 Sweet faces, lovely with love's truth ; Dark faces, where the clouds and dust O'ershadowed gold of youth; Keen faces, flashing all the fires That life hath lit or heart may bear : All hopes, all joys, and all desires, All love's delight, all love's despair, Lit new on various pyres, — Showed now, as waving dream inwrought On vestments of the sandaled night, Pale seen of eyes but newly taught Sleep's mysteries : so swept this flight ; And yet one face I sought. Till waves of baffling weariness And outraged longing surged my heart, Like waters bitter of caress, I watched in silence and apart The onward-sweeping press : Yea, till lithe tongues of liquid gloom Moved stealthily upon my soul, To blast its inmost health and bloom, I watched ; then through the thicket stole To freer air and room. Ev'n w r here cool silences caressed The summer's fevered brow and hair, And shadows bathed her eyes with rest Divine, I came — yes; even there, On lone, intruding quest. 64 But saw not in those eyes of light The light I sought, nor in her face — Flowerlike and warm and radiant-bright — The gleams that wear through time and space, Through the world's day and night. • •••••••• Behind me roll the distant seas Of birth, soft-lapping, tremulous; Before me sigh Death's monodies : Ev'n from the portals of his house They steal on nearing breeze. 65 THE RIVER OF LOVE Out of the swirling river I leapt, The moss-green bank attaining; Out of the swirling River of Love, — Eddies encircling, enchaining, — Even in the heat of the fiery noon I sprang, with a heart disdaining. And I said : "Here the shadows lie cool, And here the acacia flowers ; And truly that man is a fool Who drifts through heat-harrowed hours- Drifts down the turbulent River of Love To the pool that gulfs and devours. "Buried in moss shall my coracle lie, Graved, and at rest forever; Buried, I, too, shall wear the day through ; Here, on the bank of the river; Here, where the gurgling waters of love Writhe in a serpentine quiver. "And shadows heralding queenly Night, And Night, and her stars attending, Shall deem me a part, in faint half-light, Of the shore, serenely blending; A sentinel guard of the River of Love, — A reft gnarled branch, o'erbending. 66 "The day may bind me with thin-spun dreams, But the night's swift language of fire Shall teach me, by sign of light divine, Hopes that will free and inspire, And lift me above this mad river Love — Insatiate stream of desire/' So musing, I drowsed in flowers and moss, Or watched the silvery gliding, And boats of voyagers swerve and toss, And voyagers, pale with riding — Riding 'mong rocks of the River of Love, And dangers, — lurking and hiding. When lo ! my woof of peace and of calm Fell, irrevocably riven ; Lo, through the gleam of sun and of stream, A face in the swirl down driven, — A face o'ersplashed by the current of love ; A spirit of hell — or of heaven ! And now with the coursing torrent I drift — Drift this heat-harrowed hour ; Mocked by the mocking waters of love, Bound in the chains of their power ; Drift down the turbulent River of Love To pools that gulf and devour ! 6 7 DUALITY She is a queenly flower, she is a weed ; She is true gold of stamped imperial breed, She is the basest metal for man's greed ; She is clear brook, she is the torrent dense ; She is the unshorn lamb of innocence, She is the serpent-coil of Sin's defence ; And snowy dove she is, and ebon crow ; The white of love she is, hate's murk of woe ; Firm star above she is, yet — phosphor glow ! 68 IN PROVENCE BORN ''In Provence born, why rov'st thou here, O singer of endearing strains — Thou minstrel heart of light and cheer, In Provence born ! This land, thou seest, with hails and rains Is drenched and pelted all the year ; No flower blooms, no bird remains." 'Yet, lady, is this land most dear; And sweet its life and chastening pains : Nor loves more warm, nor eyes more clear In Provence born !" 6 9 RONDEL Speak from thy heart but a word reassuring, Speak a true word, be it never so weak ; Dear, are the skies of our fair love obscuring? Speak ! O, better black darkness than sparkle and streak Golden as sunfire, but falsely alluring; Better the black night than love's day grown bleak. No word? and lips are as stone gates immuring Captives of death; but thine eye and thy cheek, And the heave of thy breast, in language enduring, Speak. 70 YOU WHISPER You whisper: "Dear, our skies will clear Of darkness, and the languid year, So sullen-sad, so numb, so dead, Will blossom yet with hopes of red And promises of golden cheer/' Your words beat idly on my ear — But one I hear, but one I hear : And still, when all the rest are fled, You whisper, — "Dear." O, how can sere and pallid Fear Wrench from my hours a sigh, a tear, When so you lean with tressed head Against my cheek : all heaven is spread Around us ; so, thus nestling near, You whisper, dear! 7i THE BURLY WORLD The burly world will not be held To rule and law, will not be quelled With paper bullets, — deftly creased By poet, prophet, scholar, priest, — Will not be cribbed, nor bound, nor celled. But moves, as in the days of eld It moved, primarily impelled, That stubborn, coarse, licentious beast- The burly world. And would we have it tamed and spelled With visionary's charm? or felled By every wind from west and east ? The ages say not so, at least ; Sparing, whatever else be knelled, The burly world. 72 ANIMALISM To be a dog, a free, a careless rover, Low-crouching in the daisy-dotted field ; Down grasses lush to roll over and over, Catching a thousand odors — late unsealed By Nature, in her boundless prodigence ; To leave the trim and measured paths of habit For one wild hour-long revelry of sense ; To splash in stream; through brush, to course the rabbit ; To take with bounteous chest the sun-cleansed air ! For is this life I live ? these pulseless years ! These starveling hours that pine for kindlier fare ! These bounded days of narrow hopes and fears ! A baser, grosser life than my poor dog E'en dreams of, — at my feet stretched like a log. n A FACE ON THE BRIDGE Toil-pale the face, but young and healthful yet, And all sanguine of life, though life harass With cares to bend a helmed head of brass ; Sweeping with morning where, tumultuous, set The tides of travel in keen, nervous fret, — This face I view, soft-peering from the mass : So, penned and latticed by the burdening grass, Shows through coarse meadow-growths some violet. Out of each morning gleams a treasured space Of time, wherein I read that patient face ; Crossing on bridge — how like the bridge of life ! And all the passionate sharp thoughts that burn Pass from me as brief flame : daily I learn To walk unmoved through the day's hate and strife. 74 SYMPHONY NO. 6, "PATHETIC"— Tschaikowsky Calm lakes, smooth rivers, undulating seas, Voicing light foam-songs for the amorous shore, Are left, — O, far behind ! This is the roar Of ocean's voice tempestuous : here each breeze Is sharp with bared life's quivering agonies ; And yearnings for strayed Peace, who turns no more, Float through the lulls of storm : now sylphids pour Love's requiem, in loveliest melodies. And on this sea of passion and despair, Through stress of sleet and wave and vibrant air, A boat drives roughly ; and a soul doth wait The last downsweep and final gulfing gate : Bravely it waits, nor questions when or where Of the stern helmswraith, — iron-fingered Fate. 75 IVAN TURGENEFF No surer hand, O Turgeneff, than thine E'er shaped, with coloring of earth and sky, Against the white of language, tracery Most delicate ; nor ear attuned more fine E'er caught the sob in Nature's voice divine, Thrilling through wakened hearts, — how silently ! Nor soul more zealous-proud for Liberty E'er bore her armor or obeyed her sign. Great Russian ! In the fragrance that doth breathe Thy pages through ; in hopes and fears that wreathe Themselves o'er sorrows vast — vast, as the drear Interminable steppes and marshes lone — In serfdom's faded scenes; in all, the tone Of truth and passion lives, — earnest, sincere. 7 6 EDGAR ALLEN POE (On October 7, the fiftieth anniversary of Poe's untimely death, the University of Virginia unveiled, with fitting cere- monies, a finely-executed bust of the poet. — News Item, i8gg. Time, sifting negligent these puny days With careless hand and eyes of languid droop, — Dull weariness outlined in every stoop Of his frail form, — now suddenly doth raise His head : 'tis for thee, Poe, his roused gaze Is bent — for lo ! glooms cavernous do loop Themselves and forth thy shadowy fancies troop Before him, sighing sadly down sad ways. Poe ! truly thou art crowned this day with fame. Ah, truly this thy country, rude and slow To welcome thee in hour of light or shame, To-day doth herald thee with prideful glow; To-day doth crown all graciously thy name, — Yea, like Time, rouses at the name of Poe. 77 RECONCILIATION Three messages, from forth the flare and blare Of war were borne three mothers; and the same Dark word fell, — "dead." And one upon God's name Called loud and raised her pallid face in prayer; And one, made fierce by overplus of care, Cursed God and man with tongue for fiery blame ; And one, nor pliable, nor wild as flame, Moved silent through the day with beamless stare. Yet, in fair sequence, were these moods distraught D Blended and moulded by one kindred thought And led in gentle chains of melancholy: So when three women, meeting through the years, Viewed with like eyes the backward path of tears, They twined a wreath for Time of rue and holly. 78 AN HIATUS What man may know the true face of his mind ! Atzal, our singer-priest, our comrade, strong Above our strongest to weave festal song, — Atzal from his rush-mat arose, and, blind Of sense, his way through temple court did wind. There, in the night, I heard him curse full long Man, priest, and God, as usurers of wrong; Ay, Montezuma's self his wrath entwined. Of his own mind what man may know the face ! When the next captive stained our jasper stone, That the sun's love be more auspicious bright, There was no step, no voice, of such free grace As Atzal's, and no eye so keenly shone. What of that strange hiatus in the night? 79 HESITANT Love spake to one in no uncertain tone, Saying, "Here are the flowers ; stand now and choose, Or all the perfumes of my world ye lose Forever. Stand ! make choice ; choose ye but one." Now in Love's hands, unwithered of the sun, But sweet and moist with charity of dews, Were clusters sacred from profaning hues, And clusters red as blood and proudly blown. And he who was to choose leaned to the white, But trembled back, nor craved the fragile grace ; And deep in ruby cups, so strong to sight, He knew the glow of Death's exulting face. So mused he, troubled; and so fled the hours. Love left him in that pathway of no flowers. 80 DEATH ROCK The Trap of Death, a stone electrical, In Arizona's mountains of heaped shale, Basalt, and porphyry, and granites pale, Is shunned, — a thing to fear. No foot may fall, Though soft as down of thistle and as small, Upon its floor and live; and there's a trail Of charnel bones along the rocky vale ; And airs of horror shift above it all. Yet even this black hell and gorge of death Hath its love-story writ against its breast : Two, that had fled the tribe, with desperate breath Clambered these crags, beyond the sanguine quest ; The hot pursuers, surging thick beneath, Fell, stricken. — Death and Love that night had rest. THE MAGIC FOUNTAIN King Nemo's eldest son spurred forth alone, His old-young brothers laughing with the king At this wild questing and the fabled spring, That whoso drank of, though sense void as stone, Henceforth would feel Truth's blood his crimson own, And glide 'neath gloss and garish covering. So, when hoof-beat had died and armor's ring, Safe courtier jests about those halls were blown. But when, o'er hoofless snows, halting, returned Their prince, haggard and white and beggar clad, And swept all faces, forms, with eyes that burned, The perfumed jest fell back, the welcome glad Within the jealous-hating heart was urned, And scarce the tongue could whisper : "He is mad." KESA, THE LOYAL WIFE (As presented by Mme. Yacco and the company of Japanese players, of the Imperial Theatre in Tokio.) Part strange of gesture, and of language strange, The pleasing primal tale of budding love With hates and jealousies again is wove For hearts that change not, though the whole world change, And shifty custom fly o'er town and grange : For when these lovers meet within the grove Of. cherries, and the pink blooms dance above, We drop the prompting leaf and with them range. Japan ! in thy rude music there's a note Of fragrancy that spices. O, thy voice Hath tone of simple freshness in it still, xAnd, like an aromatic truth, doth fill Deceitful interludes of boastful noise With essence of an age and clime remote. 83 BOCCACCIO I, like the weasel, have my special burrow, When the wild winds are barbed with sleet or snow : He nestles deep 'neath some abandoned furrow; I, in my den, regret the summer's glow ; Until, haply, I chance on that blithe vendor Of summer thoughts, — thy book, Boccaccio,— And far Italia's mosaic splendor And scenes chivalric soft before me flow. Adventures bold, the loves grotesque or tender, Fantastic comedy and tragic woe, Play then before me cross the gleaming fender, And I regret no* more the summer's glow. Thou merry craftsman of sweet prose and rhyme, Thine is the monarch page for wintertime ! 84 CHANCES A thought divine, with sudden wings and swift Parting the sordid tyrants of the mind, Comes, lucent-crested, and we grope, half-blind, For the bright meaning. Likewise there will drift, So near to us that any soul may lift Into its life, rare chances to be kind, Which slip and fade where none hath eyes to find, Ev'n in that instant we would weigh and sift. Vain seemeth then the honor from hard years Wrested, and vainer still what wealth uprears ; And vain gleams Virtue's lamp — O, all is vain ; So there fly not, — as, forest-free, an elf Singing may fly, — beyond the walls of self, Sweet impulses, out-acted to fair gain. 85 THE LIFE-CHAIN These links, once washed in heaven's own molten gold, And all bright-beaded with elysian dew; This tarnished life-chain of lived days — so new, So light, so golden-pleasant to behold — How heavy now, how gray, how leaden! Cold These rings that slip my parted fingers through ; Unmusical and harsh, they sound adieu To their fled brightness ; all their tale is told. Ah, yet, though gross to every eye of day, Though proved as false and vain in Truth's assay, Some glints and curves of grace these links retain : O'er coil cognizant of full-flushing ray Now palest gleams of dying fancies play; And memories, wan as moonlight, kiss this chain. 86 A CONSPIRACY Anon the emissaries of low hate Came soft upon me through my spirit's night ; And all the earth was desolate of light, And eke the skies of heaven as desolate; And close 'twas whispered, — "Weighing so what fate Hath given thee, thou man of petty might, This heritage of men, this gift of spite, Wilt thou not pay the same in triple weight ?" My mind consented, "Yes ;" my heart cried, "No ; Keep far the slimy scales, ye reptile crew ! Because the lights of day are blurred and low, And vapors damp the air with poison-dew, Will peace exhale from hate's envenomed flow? Can light relume unless love shines anew?" 87 THE PLAY Not sadness dost thou bring, Melpomene ; Not sadness, though thy theme be death, but glow Of a clear joy is in me ; and this woe Of mimic-life, these sorrows, are to me (Viewing them thus, like god of destiny) But as light drift of shadow : for I know The ending; and w r hen death will wreck them low, These lives, ev'n then, love will claim victory. But when, O tragic queen, I view thy form From the lit portal, or cothurnate feet Hear close behind me down the living street, — Ah, then, held ignorant, the Erinys-swarm Around, mixing life's bitter with life's sweet, Darks then thy weight of sadness like a storm. AMBITION When, general-like, I muse on vast campaigns And draw concentered plans within the night; How I may scale the sheer Parnassian height, Or with bold numbers scour Thessalian plains, — Such epic grandeur stirs my heart that strains Of shepherd-music deem I poor and slight, And all my soul is girded for the fight Of conquest and renown and golden gains. But sleep comes ; then the day : and lo ! the sun That wafts the giant vapors from the field Breathes also from my mind what night hath spun; And flowers of humbleness, that are revealed Beneath that eye of truth, bring then, each one, More joy than serried files of warriors steeled. 8 9 CHEERFUL PESSIMISM As I review what this spent day hath done With me, its slave, I can but marvel greatly At incongruities of shade and sun, At cynic hours and hours serene and stately: For deep in Schopenhauer's philosophies, My mind, unleashed and venturous for roving, Strayed through the morning with attentive eyes ; And my tongue sanctioned all in speech approving. I said : "How true this is ; and this, how true ! How lost is man in hates and misery, In ignorance and folly! And this, too, The arrogance of women !" — Suddenly, Welled in my heart the cadence for a song, And I was happy as the day was long. 90 ONE GLOW So long as I may see bright Phoebus' beams Tinting the tremulous castles of the sky, And hear, far blown, the forest melody That greets all ears of dawn with elfin themes ; So long as I may, gliding, muse on streams, Past dripping moss and ferns and flowerets shy, And talk with Nature ere her face be dry, — That long will gentle thoughts and quiet dreams, Crusader-like, strong in brave truth to dare, Drive from that desecrated fane — the heart, White, meager prophets of the creed of care, And cleanse of blot and stain its every part. Thou bud-crowned Nature! Mother! let me share One glow of thine that pales all wiles of Art ! 91 TRANQUILLITY Lucretius, though thy atom-scheme may be Fantastical, of this there is no doubt, — That hearts that steer beyond the hue and shout Of striving greatness and servility Alone may gain the goal, alone be free For true life-joy, and do the gauds without; Content to view, in humble guise, the rout From the safe watch-tower of tranquillity. Tranquillity ! a mock-word for the age That is all darkly seething with unrest, That is so held in strifeful vassalage By the curst god that rules the endless quest; Yet ev'n to-day that soul serene is blest, And through life's tumult wins the fairest wage. 92 A GROUP Above all others, incomparable, Four faces ever bear fresh charm for me — The firm white face of brave Antigone; Perdita's face, like flower of the dell, Dewy and sweet as any fragrant bell; Cordelia's face of proved sincerity, Aglow, serene; and, of fair hours that be, Love's gentlest face, Viola's, rules the spell. This group of faces ever brings me charm And incense for my heart's repair. The harm Of idle, kindless moods they breathe away. These faces tell me, through their light and grace, That life is good to live and is not base ; So the soul holdeth true from day to day. 93 HERCULES I dreamed of Hercules, the god of might. He stood on radiant sands, beneath that fair Cool star that diadems the morning's hair, Where tossed a gleaming sea of foam and light, And shook from shaggy skins the dews of night. And, for his musing eyes so placid were, So free of mortal madness and of care, I said : "O Hercules ! in godhood dight, Dost now disdain those valorous deeds of earth For which men praise thee with impartial lips? Nay, add this task for crown ; add yet this one : Teach how a groveling race may stand in worth Erect and equal, through the sun's eclipse By Plutus' standard." He said : "My toils are done." 94 AMERICA— A. D. 1900 Now fraud and thievery strew thick the tares Among fair wheats of honor; and that man Who would mix foremost in the striving van Must root from out his heart what manhood bears For climes of happy sun and sweet soft airs ; Must shape his gardens on a grosser plan, To brave deceiving winds ; have mind to scan, With instant light, the pits, the shoals, the snares. And are, America, thine eyes so dim To truth ? or dost, in toleration sad, Regard the fleeting scandal of a day? Thou who mightst lead in honor ! let each limb Gigantic with bright native blood be glad ; Make thou the exulting wolves crouch and obey ! 95 CHARITIES Through clamor of the sodden, swarmed streets Ran light a voice : "Leave us alone, alone ! We asked for bread and have received a stone ; Wouldst gild the rock for us, ye canting cheats, And say that 'tis the loaf that Pharaoh eats ! O, leave us now alone, alone, alone ! Or share ripe firstlings of the harvest grown — Your mellow fruits, your wines, your oils, your wheats/' Leave them alone ; or, as knit brothers, share. Lo, pagan days have softened their hard fare, And they can still endure in savage dress. But let the gift of kindness and free light Glow from thee, world, then will be truce to spite ; For the unmeasuring heart may take no less. 9 6 CHICAGO With those who blame their gods for some ill chance And rail unwittingly along the dark, Stood I, Chicago ! and thy faults were stark Before mine eyes— thy giant arrogance, The lewdness of thy postures and thy glance, Thy brutal, stolid creed, thy sordid arc Of widening unrest, — these I did mark ; Then hurled at thee my curse, as poisoned lance. But when, on distant levels of the plain, I mused amid the snapping mongrel crew, And saw thee bend not, for complete disdain, One mighty sinew from its purpose true, But rearing proud and stalwart, — then, I knew Thy face in truth ; I was thy son again. 97 LOUISIANA Dreaming, the bayous gleam beneath the sun, Carelessly indolent, and the light air So stirless is that it may hardly bear Its heritage of odor; mosses, spun For the sad oaks, their trails of gray and dun Move not, but hang as sculptural; there Blows scarce a forest-message anywhere, Save when some mocker trills his glowing one. Fair Sleeper, sleep ; Louisiana, sleep ! Sleep fair as sleeper of the legend tale. Let thy robustuous sisters revel deep, Or stand before the world, alert and hale : They are enough; keep thou thy silence; keep The languors of thy dreams and slumbers pale. 9 8 FORT MARION Dusk ramparts, trodden by adventurous feet In the fierce century of blood and spoil, Lift, sullen still, their lines above the soil They guarded once, nor flag of pirate fleet Fear, nor the war-cry and hollow beat Of savage drum, nor any blown turmoil From land or sea. Only, alone, I toil Up silent stones ; the day is glad and sweet. I brood not o'er the ruin, nor would tear Hushed secrets from its heart — the tyranny, The murderous sorrows of the dungeon snare — For 'gainst my face the breeze is beating free ; Above is blue, below the world is fair, And froth the far white breakers of the sea. St. Augustine, Fla. 99 LcfC. WALDEN Humiliation of rough ax and flame Hath bowed thee, Walden, but thy heart is rude Still at free core, and will not be subdued To petty creeds and mercenary shame ; And still thy soul of silver gleams the same As when wild forest eyes o'er thee did brood At duskfall ; and thy beauty is renewed, Even this day, for one enmeshed and tame. Now well he knows by what soft chains and fine, Walden, thou held'st one voyager so fast That he could make of thee his world's true shrine, To be unalterable, and first, and last; That he could mock the worlds of toil and ease Alike, with cool and stanch philosophies. Written at Walden Pond, June 15, 1900. 100 EVENING IN CONCORD Concord! no happier name on town was graven Than thy true-telling name was graven on thee : Peace is thy kind and gentle deity, And, flattered well, in thee doth make her haven. Not Peace with pulses cold and heart grown craven, But Peace too great and strong and proud to be Other than one with Nature's amity, As fair as daisy, and as wise as raven. I sit upon a low rude hedge of stone, And thy home deity this eve is mine. Serene, I blend into thy very tone — I am thy note, thy hue at sunset shown; Three hallowed spirits weave my heart with thine, And thy sweet breath through all my soul is blown. 101 THE GRAVE OF EDWIN BOOTH No shade of worldly or of mimic grief Clouds this green slope, but all is lit and warm ; For the sun's spirit, keen in flower and leaf, Joys every gentle fern and grassy form. So 'tis a cheering thought that here should rest One whom the sorrows of two worlds had known, Who, with free art, a hundred griefs expressed Beyond the cloistered limits of his own. Far from Othello's scopeless jealousy, Far from the plaintive wail and rage of Lear, Far from the web of bloody destiny That held Macbeth in meshes of strange fear, Far from sad Hamlet's life and hapless doom, — Beneath the sun he rests, clear of all gloom. Mt. Auburn, Cambridge, Mass. 102 "THE MYSTERY OF LIFE " (A Painting in the Metropolitan Museum of Art.) Blue, beams the star of morning on the sea ; And on this scene : — It is the rocky shore, Where, through loose jagged cleft, as through a door, The waves have borne a woman, sullenly, And left her limp and fair — a shell : to be No more than shell or weed roughing the floor Of crinkled slimy sand, — no more, no more ! The fairest pearl o' the tide, no more, is she ! And in brown ancient hands, beside that form, A head of white is bowed ; and life is warm Within the husk of years ; and thoughts are sown — Those world-old questionings that flame from men, Pale in the night ; that foiled, but leap again Round Life's embattled tower, unsealed, unknown. 103 AMBER'S ISLAND (It is hardly bigger than a Cunarder, this Little Chebeague Island, whose name I changed to Avilion, and from wave- washed keel to flowery bowsprit the eye never lights upon a defilement or a stain.) — "Amber" in "Rosemary and Rue.' 3 Where the winds blow soft and sweet, And the daisies run to meet The blue sea down field and slope Of rough bank; and where a rope Of wild convolvulus vine O'er great tumbled rocks doth twine, Which the tides do leap to kiss Ere they leave the spicy bliss And ebb back with low complaining; Where the random birds are raining From high treasure-vaults of air Notes sincere and diamond-rare; And the pines are nodding free, In a green sufficiency Of balm and shade and sunny light; — Even there came I : and sight And keen odor and borne sound Of all things, so clasped around And islanded in sapphire sea, Were but partly strange to me — Misty-clear, as is a page Known and loved in a lost age. 104 Yes, I surely know this place ! Know the fragrance and the grace Of these buttercups and daisies, And the roses wild, and mazes Of the tangled meadow grass Where the road doth wind and pass ; And I know these birds that sing, And these rocks that bear the sting Of the salt lips of the sea — Surely, they are known to me! For this isle is Amber's Isle : She its queen, there was no wile Of enchantment that is wove That it did not weave in love, Gracious to all hours of day ; And, now she hath gone away, Still it duteously weaves Beauty for new dawns and eves. Now that she hath gone away ! "Is she gone, indeed?" I say To the flowers that round me dance, To the birds that o'er me glance, To the rocks, the waves, the sun. "She who felt your glory run Through her soul, to heal and clear, She would not be gone from here; From the shores whereon she wooed Blessed hours of solitude, Dreading to return again To the tyrannies of men." 105 Stay ! this is no bird I hear, Nor a fairy piping near, Shepherding his atomies Down pale pasture of the breeze- No; it is the island's queen, Singing, with a voice serene, Songs, whereof I will not tell, — Knowing, surely, all is well. Casco Bay, Me. 1 06 STEPHEN CRANE No stone doth mark, as yet, nor mar this grave Of one who wrote of heroes, and, as brave Himself as any hero of the field, Fell; fell with glory blazoned on his shield. So here, before a stone may tell the fame, And letter coldly to the world his name, I'll pluck this daisy from the clusters round And plant it loosely in the new-turned mound; The symbol white perchance may soothe the bed Of one who wrote with War's own pen of red. Elizabeth, N. /., July 8, 1900. 107 JACK— A DOG "Within two months," I said, "he will forget, And in new mould his fluent thought be set." Dog and dear comrade of the grassy ways, How lightly judged in careless-worded phrase ! For, in that time, came winging down the road, From green abandoned paths (together trod By us, when holding tenure and free lease On Summer's riches and her gift of peace) Wreathing, in sudden white, the wind of Death, And "Jack" was written by that vaporous breath. Dog and dead comrade of the grassy ways ! With pen as vaporous, your name I'll raise A moment more along the failing air : Of all that Time will give, dear comrade, share ! 1 08 BELLE ISLE Queen isle of beauty is the sweet Belle Isle; And bears the honor queen-like, with the smile And true regality of gentle breeding Alike for poor and rich. She would be feeding, Ever magnanimous, her subjects dear From the full measures of her verdant cheer, And soothing every heart where worry presses, And smoothing every brow with soft caresses. Ay, that same grace that charmed the barky prow Of Pontiac's braves doth gleam a welcome now. No longer wild, as then, but part retaining The ancient spirit whilst benignly reigning, Queen isle of beauty, thou art still Belle Isle. Happy my heart to share this day thy smile ! Belle Isle, Mich., July 29, 1900. 109 LAKE MICHIGAN Thou lake of storm and dream, That hold'st of life the key, There is no wave for me But these the waves of thee ! There is no blue of stream, But fair thou show'st it ; The ocean's note supreme, Thou know'st it ! When torn with bitter thought, And bled the sightless wound, And ne'er a friend was found On all the guarded ground, — Ah, thou refused me not, But sought to ease me ; Ay, ever, ever sought To please me. And in thy gentlest tone Gave song so soothing sweet That not a heart might beat And be unsoothed by it : There was no ticement known Thou didst not bring me, To lure from land of stone, And wing me, no And mount me high above My low and meager days, Till, through no falsing haze, I saw and scorned the maze ; Until I saw that love Alone was sparkling, When life's most regal grove Stood darkling. Or with thy thunder-tone Gav'st thou such hint of power That all my griefs did cower And die in foamy shower; And left me clean and lone, At thee to wonder, And at thy magics blown, And thunder. Thou lake of storm and dream, That hold'st of life the key, There is no wave for me But these the waves of thee ! There is no blue of stream, But fair thou show'st it ; The ocean's note supreme, Thou know'st it ! in SINGING THY HOPES Singing thy hopes through the summer-green valleys, Over clean fields to the woodland's cool alleys, Still mayst thou wander down mossiest slopes, Singing thy hopes ! For on a day when the world's bitter malice Stung like a goad, fleeing hovel and palace, I heard thee, unseen, where the forest glade opes, Singing thy hopes. And now, as I sit on my seat in the galleys, Comes the song of thy heart and inspires and rallies; And often I bend with the oars and the ropes, Singing thy hopes. 112 BALLADE OF THE GRAY WOLF When our sun rolls high and our earth is bland, And the seas are kin with the smooth blue sky, And the drowsiest month is queen of the land, And her butterfly rule is too sweet to deny, And the heart is a bower where fairies may lie, And ichor of g*ods runs swift with the blood, — Do we tell a light thought, of thoughts that fly, How the gray wolf slinks from his preyless wood ? Xo, never a one ! But our thoughts we band In the silken bands of a chosen dye ; Or loosing them, still outhold the hand, And flatter them ever, and keep them nigh, To dance in the warmth of a self-pleased eye : And openly clap them and shout "good, good/' — So furtive, so fearful lest they should spy How the gray wolf slinks from his preyless wood. But our sun rolls low and our earth is spanned By the arches of gloom and winds that sigh, And chill in a desolate road we stand, Unpitied and scorned of the passers-by, And the cold stars mock our wherefore and why, And there is no light in the dusk of our mood ; Ah, then w r e see, though the darknesses ply, How the gray w r olf slinks from his preyless wood. "3 L'Envoi Ye travelers that travel so shod and dry, Ye beggars stained with the dust and the flood, Turn boldly and face this same verity, — How the gray wolf slinks from his preyless wood. 114 TRIOLETS THE LOST DREAM A dream that was lost In the faraway dreamland, By years overmossed, — A dream that was lost Peers wraithlike, a ghost, From Futurity's beamland- A dream that was lost In the faraway dreamland. HUNGER Hungers the heart With hunger unceasing : Alone and apart, Hungers the heart ; In crowd and in mart There is no appeasing : Hungers the heart With hunger unceasing. A NEST OF LAST YEAR O'er this nest of last year, By the light birds forsaken, I bend and I peer ; For this nest of last year, lis As my heart is, is dear; And the warm tears are shaken O'er this nest of last year, By the light birds forsaken. I HAVE SUNG I have sung my free song, And the singing suffices. To unharkening throng I have sung my free song ; Mid the world's right and wrong, That suns hearts or ices, I have sung my free song, And the singing suffices. 116 A FLOWER In a forest bower, Hid from human sight, Grew a nameless flower, Beautifully white. And the dewdrops kissed it In the early light, — Kissed, and washed the flower Beautifully white. And the busy squirrels, From the treetops' height Came to view the flower, Beautifully white. And the birds of passage, Pausing in their flight, Sang unto the flower, Beautifully white. Till a cruel maiden, Eager as the day, Crowned, and blossom-laden, Forced a pathless way ; 117 And, plucking the flower, Beautiful and white, Bore it through the forest In too wild delight : For, dashing the brambles, She, in sudden spite, Threw away that flower, Beautifully white. Broken, and unnoticed In its bruised plight, Died the little blossom, Beautifully white. And the birds and squirrels, They were sad that night; For they'd missed the flower, Beautifully white. Ah ! but what's a flower In a world of might — But one nameless flower, Beautifully white! Flaunting blues and purples Nod on left and right ; What's a nameless flower, Beautifully white! Ah ! though rived and perished, Lost in utter blight, In some heart 'tis cherished, Beautifully white. 118 LULLABY In this hush of night Who can fright thee? • (Blossom, blossom, nestle close!) Lo, the fireflies light thee With swift golden light ; Each is spurred by fairy knight : They would lure thee, with those gleams, To strange dreams. (Blossom, nestle close!) But these arms shall fold — Guard and fold thee. (Blossom, blossom, nestle close!) Though the fairies scold me, Though they bribe with gold, Still these arms shall hold, shall hold; And a faithful haven keep For sweet sleep. (Blossopn, nestle close!) 119 A FAIRY'S SONG Through the oak and fir, Love, the zephyrs stir; Near you were, dear you were, Were you only mine — But thy fancy ranges ; Thou'rt for other granges ; Singing light, winging bright, In this starry shine. So I'll croon alone; Faithless elf, begone! Maddest one, saddest one Of a wanton line. Ah ! thy heart upspringeth . , Ah ! how fair he wingeth ; Singing light, winging bright Through the starry shine. 120 A GIFT OF THE SEA There was commotion in the pines : The saplings shook with dread ; For on the sand-beach, at their feet, A white-plumed bird lay dead. The saplings were but innocents, Nor knew of life or death; Their only visitor, the breeze, Spoke with but half his breath. He told them of the tropic isles Where played the sons of palm ; And nestled they by mother trees, And drank sweet draughts of balm. Till tired grew the gray old sea To hear such prattling tone ; And so before their tender feet This white-plumed bird was thrown Emotion swayed the parent boughs, And fled the glossing breeze ; But ere another morning broke, The sapling pines were trees. 121 OVERWHELMED The day is too long for me, strong for me; lo! I am sinking, Borne to earth by mere odor and sound and swift golden spears of the sun : Bold 'gainst the morning I ranged, and battled, un- shrinking — Now, overwhelmed by a zephyr, by wave-purl outdone. For the day is too long for me, strong for me ; summer breath sweeps me, And I toss to its will as a blade in world of fragrance and dew, And my lance it is shattered and hopeless, and the victor keeps me Deep in a prison of green and gold and purple and blue. Ah, thou day too long for me, strong for me, hadst thou but ended Faint ere the noon, I had stood, dear fighting and strong; Thou hadst not withed me and drowsed me, till, so unde- fended, I fail 'neath the front of an odor, a color, a song! 122 WHAT DIFFERENCE ? To sing of life or death — What difference? Life wears the flowers of death, Death life's buds beareth. Waste not breath. But view both flowers and buds, Snow-cold of sense : They are but flowers and buds, On Acre of Moods, In Dream Woods. 123 JUST A DAY Just an hour For bird and flower Then? Then, child, away. Just an hour For lovelit bower . . Then? Then, youth, away. Just an hour For rule, for power Then? Then, man, away. Just a day To round, portray. And then? Ah! where away? 124 GULLS To the gulls I spoke, — "Fools, to pursue, Through streamers of smoke, This blot on the blue; 'To barter the wide Clean fields of the sea For scraps from the side — Beggars are ye !" But the gulls laughed loud: "Beggars? 'tis true; And fools in the bargain — To do as ye do!" I2s FAVORS And the world will be asking for favors, From meridian glow to pale end, With palate and tongue for all flavors, And face disguised as a friend. And neighbor will purr over neighbor, Or threaten, or grovel to slime, To gain a poor tithe of his labor Or money or power or time. O a health to the lord of the jungles That leaps with a roar on his prey And through his successes and bungles Declares a vouched purpose to slay! And health to that Nature who grumbles And rumbles her warnings from far To the ear of the city that crumbles Beneath the doom of its star ! But the world will be asking for favors, From noon till the crash of its end, With tongue drooling creams of all savors, And voice purring gently, — "My friend." 126 MATERIAL Death glared on one with horrid eyes, And said : ''Prepare, arise I" As he made ready, Serene and steady, Death cried : "No, no; not so ! Alone Til go." Now through the shadow of that vale, Up bubbled nigh this wail, — "Kind Death, but spare me; I'll nightly prayer thee." Death seized that scuff : "Enough ! You're proper stuff." 127 THE SCREEN As once I went I spied a rent Along the smiling screen, And through I spied. On every side, Ah, what revolt was seen ! There, high, I saw the flaming law — A disk on distant hill — But, nigh, I saw no prostrate awe, But men erect to kill. And bullets flew and pierced and slew, Yet shed no drop of blood ; Though men were shot, they knew it not And as unscathed stood. And rich and poor, the sage, the boor, Were robbed, and robbers, too ; But that it stole believed no soul In all the thieving crew 7 . And licensed lust of dust for dust, Enwound with loop of gold, Was fiercely fain to rend the chain Ere yet the links were cold. I backwards bent and gazed intent Upon that smiling screen : It was as fair as azure air Or groves jocund and green. 128 DESERTERS Love and Glory fade Down the glade ; Kiss they smilingly the rose-tipt fingers. I am left alone. How the sea doth moan ! Sunset lingers. Ye wise stars, aglow O'er me now, Would we scar this hour for Love, for Glory? Let them flee apace ; They have had their place In the story. 129 A BURIAL 'Neath a sky of lead One was laid to rest ; And a prayer was said, — " Tis all for best." But out in the roadway, Glad, the children played, And a sanguine hunter Through the near woods preyed. And I bent my head Lowly to the breast, While the prayer was said, — " Tis all for best." Yet, out in the roadway, Shrill, the children played ; And, with eager echo, Near, that hunter preyed. 130 PEBBLES Children laugh at pebbles thrown From the shore — Pebbles that, when they are gone, Gleam once more, With the native shingle strown. Then, what though the songs I sing Have been sung? Brought the votive wreath I bring ? Though, where clung "Was," "Is," 'neath "Shall Be," I string? 131 A SKETCH On the sands a gull, Lying, Wearied to the full, Dying. All the meadows near, Singing Happy notes and clear Ringing. The expanse, a shield, Glistening. One that walks afield Listening, Happy-hearted, strong, Sending Self to wave and song, Blending. All the meadows near, Singing Happy notes and clear Ringing. On the sands a gull, Lying, Wearied to the full, Dying. 132 MYSELF Thoughts spring, fly and die, And leave no print behind; But that I am I, I know with steadfast mind : Through all the whirl and glow, Only this I know, — That I am I. Oft they lure me far, These stranger thoughts that come, Some as high as star, And some as low as tomb ; Yet through all chill, all glow, Only this I know, — That I am I. Welcome then, ye thought, To take what cord ye find, Tie in glowing knot, And all my fancies bind; For yet I still shall know, Lure ye high or low, That I am I. 133 MY HOUSE Stood I in a palace of stone, Wonderful, fretted ; it shone, For soft lamps were statued in rows. I said : " Tis my house. My treasures ! Fve known them of yore — Greek, Roman, Arabian, Hindoo." The owner strolled in at the door; I left by a window. Stood I at noon in a hut- Dank, and from sunshine 'twas shut By castles of ominous brows. I said: "Be my house! From threads white and simple I'll weave Such guises the gods may deem proper." A beggar returned in the eve ; I flung back a copper. Shelterless, stood I aloof. "Doming or low, if a roof I'd have in these alien lands, I must build with hands." So gathered I stones and great boughs, And sand, with the quick limes to mingle : Even now on the tree of my house I'll place this frail shingle. 134 THE FROST-WORLD Late stood I with the crew, Surly and mutinous; Now, Fm Columbus, too; From ship, — my house — A virgin world I view. I ope my door, and range. In elf-tome history No plan of world so strange As world I see, This once familiar grange. My world ! so white it is ! As ghosts had strown the seed,- Had strown it wide amiss, For plant, for weed, To crown the realm of Dis ; To heap with purity To free and fair excess, That this, the mystery, No eye should guess — How nigh its hell might be. 135 What ! shall this world of mine Prove but as worlds of earth : Swart gloom below the shine, Sorrow 'neath mirth, False the true-seeming line ? And I, Columbus-like, And shall I too bear chains If I my banner spike In these domains? No matter ! Forward ! Strike ! 136 TRUTH Truth ! it is the yeast In this dough we knead, Tis the fecund seed Midst the rock and weed, — Truth ! it is the least, And greatest ; AYorst, and first, and best, And latest. For a grain, so small That no eye can view, Gives the essence true Unto virtue's hue : Vices, blown and tall, Who'd follow- But some tinct makes Saul Apollo ! Truth's the good and bad, And the heaven and hell, The hope-knolling bell, Joy's light marriage swell ; Truth is burial sad, And revel — Nude, a god; ill-clad, A devil. 137 NO KIN Chancing on the sculptured form Of Shakespeare, one heart grew warm In a passer's breast, as he Through the park strolled restfully; And before the bronze he stood In a reverential mood, Feeling some of grandeur flow From those days of long ago ; Musing with the poet-king At the glad creative spring. Soon he heard a voice exclaim,— "Stop, and look; Shakespeare's the name!" "He's no relative of mine," Came the answer ; "let's go dine." With a careless sneer 'twas said. On they passed with oxen tread. No, no relative of yours ! Naught of kin is he to boors ; To the herds that downward root, Though above hang bloom and fruit. No ; but he is relative To the souls that flame and live On the mountain crags of white, Leaping brightly to the light. 138 He is relative to all That are great or that are small ; So each doth, of self, unfold Some true characters in gold; So each doth aspire to wing 'Bove the clays that smirch and cling; So each doth some fragrance give — He to such is relative. But to those who bear the chain Of a single life profane How can he be relative? They, ere birth, have ceased to live. 139 BALZAC The world of Balzac Is a world grown black With avarice, vice, and stupidity ; And money's the honey For lips harsh or bonny, And the capital town is Cupidity. 'Tis there one may start With bravado heart, And a brave purse where clink louis d'or; But when he's felt many Hard stabs from that pen, he Will rejoice o'er a sou, through the floor. Yet this world Balzac Does oft lure me back From plumed worlds of romance and vanity ; For though it is low, it Is life as we know it In the sordid sad world of humanity. 140 EMILY DICKINSON The gentle red clover Was huge for her song, The bee slipping over A theme giant-strong. And grass blades were lances, And fertile of might A wave's silver glances, An orchard bough white. Yet sable Death, winging, Not o'er flew her song, Nor for her brave singing His strong theme too strong. 141 THE PALE HERDERS While asses bray and bulls do bellow loud, And stir the adulations of the crowd, Why do the Hamlets and the Amiels Still herd strange sheep beyond that bulwark cloud? Why do they herd unmarketable sheep Along the stunted verdures of the steep, When they might make a music for the crowd? Or take no heed at all, and guardless sleep? Yet there they sit, so pale in reverie That travelers mark the sad impotency, And shrug and laugh, or pityingly say: "Alas, alas, such wilfulness should be!" But some, who look with more undusted gaze, Note the strange sheep, and linger on their ways ; And some to hold such idle crook were fain— But O, how chill it is through evening grays ! New asses bray, new bulls do bellow loud. And stir new adulations of the crowd — But still the Hamlets and the Amiels Herd their pale sheep beyond the bulwark cloud. 142 CAPACITY Prod not thyself for thought — Thought that is aught Will come unsought. But where thy treasures are, Leave thou some door ajar; They'll steal from far, These naked thoughts, to dress In thee their nakedness. Ah, may they bless The garnered store they find — Not face to giftless wind, Naked, unkind! 143 FRIENDS "Be friend to thyself; Tis thy lone hope : All else in life Is bubbled from soap"- Thus, down every age, Hath spoke every sage. And, truth, it needs not The brain of a seer To read life's screed — 'Tis written clear. Keep home in thy shell And all will go well. "But 'tis so lone here !" Not so, — explore: I knew one who found Friends, true, and four- Books, nature, a dog, And a crackling log. 144 ROMANCES A sage, from his mountain, Strayed down to the vale ; He paused at a fountain, Himself to regale. Two lovers, there loving, He presently spied ; To his glance, reproving, They boldly replied : "Old dotard, why fret thee At life, as 'tis known? Go onward, and get thee Romance of thine own." Then sang they a ditty From love's dreamy page ; He entered the city. What there saw this sage ? Romances of dollars : — A romance of mart, A romance of scholars, A romance of art, 145 10 A romance of pleasure, A romance of gall — Yea, life there did measure Out romance for all. But back to his mountain Climbed he from the vale, Nor stopped at the fountain, His soul to regale. 146 THE VETERANS (Parade of the G. A. R. at Chicago, Aug. 28, 1900. ) Hurrah ! On they march, Through the white and welcoming arch, Veterans, grim and bent and gray- Clear the way ! Some step spruce to fife and drum; Some Scarce may bear the toiling frame, But game ! Every eye's aglow with pride, Every face is vivified, Every heart Feels and acts its better part. Hard antagonistic days, Diverse ways, Thoughts, opinions, prejudice Hedge like ice : But to-day one sun is glowing, x\nd, for all, Lo, a common stream is flowing Magical. They are brothers, — brothers still! Time may kill, 147 But no lesser hand can sever. Brothers ever ! Sworn to each in drench of blood, In marsh and vale and wood. These were linked by links of pain From Shiloh's hellish chain: These ! what forged their brotherhood ? Gettysburg's encrimsoned hill : And these stood Ranged on field of Chancellorsville : And these? These knew the stress Of the fateful Wilderness, And fought with Death amid the scraggy trees. Hurrah ! We'll cheer again, And still again, again, Ye iron men ! Veterans that tread to-day your last great march ! On, on; Beyond our welcoming arch, Beyond all praises won, On, Ev'n to the final camp, and stack your arms. Ye heed no more alarms, Your part is played; Above your furled rags, This reverence paid, We'll raise our newer flags. 148 THE CROWN OF BLOOD Death held a blood-red crown. "Which head," he said, 4 'Of all the hundred heads, may bear this blood-red crown ?" The century of years Upheld their dripping spears. ''Aline !" "Mine !" they cried, as each would cry his fellows down. Death frowned: ' 'Silence! or I depart, and none be crowned/' Back rolled the wave of noise ; But one assured voice Advanced : "I am that year, Across whose carmine path War, smiling, glanced — Bloody and large and near. The crown divine Is miner Advanced a voice of thunder, — "Not so ; 'tis mine ! 'tis mine For cities rent asunder. Tumbled the dusk leagues under. All hence! 149 'Tis mine; 'tis mine!" Hissed then, As from a serpent's torpid den, In loathsome whine, The year of Pestilence, — "'Tis mine!" "Liar!" Shrieked the mad year of Fire ; " Tis mine — mine !" "Never ! but mine ! Blest year of Wind and Flood, To me the crown of blood." So blustered they: But the last year of all outspoke serene and sure,- "I was an epicure, Nor gorged my prey; So all thy gods, O Death, grew kind and wrested All honors down." Death gave to him the crown. No voice protested. 150 HYGEIA There is one goddess of the sacred hill That men may worship still — Hygeia, thou white of foot, thou bright of tress! There is one name beyond our profanation, One place to kneel and pour the clear libation In all heart-singleness. Beneath the limpid skies Thessalian, Lo, what world-caravan! Pale votaries of renounced gods, they come ! No charm circean now, no bacchic revel, Can stir the lip to mirth or lock dishevel : Unmoved they kneel and dumb; Lifting thy pearls, O goddess, 'gainst the sun, That thou mayst smile thereon ; Quaffing each sanctioned drop that sparkling plays. A kindred voice they own, these voices many, — A kindred voice for praise, — nor praise thee any That chant not thus the praise : — 'Thou sole lone goddess of the sacred hill That men may worship still — Hygeia, thou white of foot, thou bright of tress! That yet one name doth live for adoration, That yet one fane doth feel the poured libation, We can but kneel to bless ! Hygeia, regnant! Behold, we kneel and bless !" 151 "YOUTH" (A portrait by Henri Rondel.) Eyes that grasp one — half In a roguish laugh, Half in regal scorn, As by goddess worn; Cheeks aglow, and hair Flowing thick and fair : Face that is the prayer Of Pleasure. Keen, and glad, and clear! Nectars nourish her. Let the gods complain; She, as proud, will drain Hebe's cherished cup : When they sit and sup, Lo! she snatcheth up That measure. Raptured, as she moves, Not a heart reproves ; All the heaven is hers And the godly spheres. Youth! thou know'st that Earth Needeth more thy mirth — Thou, her dearest birth And treasure ! 152 SPOILERS I loosed my fancies in a wood — An autumn wood. I said : "Bring gold, for me to hold Through winter's cold, That in the mind may clink, And russet cloak, from beech or oak, And blood for me to drink/' I loosed my fancies in that wood — An autumn wood. Back stole those spoilers through the wood- The autumn wood. They said : "No gold, nor mantle fold, Nor blood behold; To toss, to wear, to drink. Our strongest plot availed us naught To force one lightest link." I slew my fancies in that wood — The autumn wood. 153 A MINUTE WITH SHAIKH SAADI Let gem sink basely in the mire, It doth remain the same rare stone ; Let dust of earth to heaven aspire, Yet, even there, as dust 'tis known. A wise man, like an ointment vase, Is silent and of virtues full ; The babbler, drumlike, irks the place With noise, yet empty is and dull. As snarling market curs out fly At sporting dogs industrious, So men of idle breed decry The busy names illustrious. A tongue of oil will oft unlock What arguing wisdom may not stem ; For ignorance is as a rock, And so can bruise the brightest gem. The sinner, prodigal and free, Who lifts some sadness from the day, Is better than the devotee Who begs and hoards the gold away. 154 The evil fortunes of the good But turns their faces to the sky, While the fair fortunes of the rude Links them but closer to their sty. Though dress from sovereign's hand be fair, Yet seems our own rough garb completer ; The great man's feast 'tis sweet to share, But yet our poor home-foods are sweeter. Two persons labored to vain end- One gathered wealth and did not spend ; The other gained, by books and wit, Science, — but did not practice it. That which is musk we know by smell, Not by what crafty labels tell : If ye be skilled, O Painter, Poet, Ye need not speak, your work will show it. On same served joint ten people feast, But two dogs snarl o'er stricken beast. Greed, with a world, is still unfed; Content dines rich on crust of bread. Not every man that's glib of tongue In mart may mix the shrewd among; And many a gracious form and slight, The veil withdrawn, — O, what a fright ! 155 THE LAMP (A Persian Episode.) Lo! stood my bright beloved Before me in the door. I rose, and my sleeve, sweeping, The feeble flame o'erbore. Laughed she, — "O slave to darkness ! Why didst thou quench the light, Ev'n on my steps of entrance, And leave us girt with night ?" I said: "Thou moon-faced charmer! What worth that petty glow, When, at thy smile, effulgence Doth through the chamber flow? "Besides, what saith the wise man, — 'When comes thy love, and charms, Extinguish thou the taper And catch her in thy arms/ " 156 HAMEH Zafir slew his soul one night With a sword of flaming light, And he sought his peace in flight. But from town to desert's rim, Through whirled sand and shadow dim, Lo, the corpse he dragged with him, Till, beneath a craggy knoll, Stumbling on, he found a hole — Therein laid he down his soul. And he said: "Thou angel-fiend, That I sheltered soft and screened ; Thou, who blazed and flared and sheened, "Using me as quivering veil For thy fires of red and pale To glint through, — as samite frail, "Fluttering from side to side, Tween the winds of lust and pride And the sweet airs purified, — "Thee, ay, thee, this hand hath slain. Lo, the rival lights are ta'en From thy altar-home and fane. 157 "I am free of thee — 'tis well ! In third heaven ineffable, Let the angel Azrael, — "Azrael, the dutiful, Shed a tear divine and cool, From his book thy name annul. "Yet Til lay thee towards the West, Meccaward, for thy full rest. Now I leave thee; so 'twere best." And thereon, for nights and days, Wandered he the barren ways, Idly as the hoof that strays, Till he gained, with heart elate, Jowf's fair palms of shade and date. Grasped he firm his staff of fate. Low he bent o'er trickling stream. "Now," cried he, "I live my dream ! Gentler than these drops that gleam, "Shall my new days quietly Flow to ocean." From a tree Shrilled, all sudden/ 'Iskoonee!"* O'er that face the wind of pain Swept, and glanced the lightning's chain ; Then his brow was cleared of stain. *"Give me drink 1" 158 And ere the repeated word From the boughs again was heard, Spake he, in calm, — "O hameh-bird, "Well I know thy voice : I heed ; So would I, though girdling steed Of the dauntless Nejdee breed; "So would I, though borne serene, Where the air is cool and clean, A roc's mighty wings between. "Sound no more thy 'Iskoonee ;' Thou shalt have thy drink of me— Wait but till the stars I see." Zafir slew himself that night With his sword of flaming light, And the hameh-bird took flight. 159 DAUGHTER OF DIVES Wines of Sharon and Sorek, And the rich red rose of love, — Can they lure thy griefs away? From thy life the stings remove? We saw her through the portal-gate, Fair as fair flowers she sat among, And handmaidens on her did wait, And for her cheer they sweetly sung. No note was there might bring her cheer, Though delicate of tone and string ; Her eyes were wild as eyes of deer, And heaved her breast with passioning. Wines of Sharon and Sorek, And the rich red rose of love, — Can they soothe these griefs away; Can they ease the sting thereof? To us, through moonshine pale, she came- As fragile-fair, a beam of night! Ev'n to the haggard house of shame Came she, so spiritlike and white, 1 60 And said, — "If you have that to give That is not hard of self, and chill As gold, then bid my heart to live, That is so bound, so torn, so ill." Wines of Sharon and Sorek, And the rich red rose of love, — Can they wile such grief away? From such heart the sting remove? We saw her, ere the dawn had grown To day and knew a crown of gold, Down pace the porticoes, alone, With black bent head and eyelids cold. From her white robes we saw a gleam Of quick light glitter through the gray. We saw her fall. As in a dream, We knelt above her where she lay. Wines of Sharon and Sorek, And the rich red rose of love, Could not lure thy grief away — From thy life the sting remove ! 161 11 AT MIZPEH White wools we spun, our hearts at flight With missel thrush and locust bird That made the summer orchards bright, Through casement heard. (Sweet child of Jephthah's! how thy song doth flow- Sweeter it soothes than balms of Jericho.) Pure robes enwrapped us, soft and new, And with lithe gold our arms were glad, The fillets of our hair were blue; So we were clad. (Fair child of Jephthah's ! how thy face doth show- Fairer to see than Hermon's velvet snow.) She said: "My father's note I hear; He hath o'erthrown the waxen hosts. Why, when such victor draweth near, Keep we like ghosts?" (Bold child of Jephthah's ! how thine eye doth glow- Bolder of glance than oryx netted low\) Placed we sweet chaplets on the head, And timbrels beat, close following ; She danced before with measured tread, And bade us sing. (Light child of Jephthah's ! how thy feet do go — Lighter of pace than desert-dwelling roe.) 162 Stern Jephthah rent his robe atwain ; He looked on her with fearful eyes. "Alas, my child, thou art but slain For sacrifice. " (Pale child of Jephthah's ! pale of cheek art thou — Paler thy cheeks than foam or blossoming bough.) She said : "Father, let this be done ; But for two months, so God will wait, Among the hills we will bemoan My maiden fate/' (Brave child of Jephthah's ! vanquisher of woe — Braver thy heart than warrior s, fronting foe.) God smiled that day that she was slain- — There was no fleck in the fair sky — For sacrifice more free of stain Never did die. (Pure child of Jephthah's ! pure of soul, we know — Purer thy soul than any maid's below.) 163 MARY MAGDALENE (Lysanias, tetrarch of Abilene, to his nephew Narcirns at Athens?) Narcirus, dear Narcirus, hadst thou known How those few words of thine, so lightly strown O'er tabula borne hitherward to me At Rome — words traced, I doubt not, carelessly; For on you sweep (I see the impatient start!) To matters far afield — loosed in my heart The dumb and prisoned passion of pent years, And fire of sighs, and water of swift tears, — O, wonder then had whelmed thee as a cloud! It was as though some regal shape and proud Had met me in the temple's silent space And had with hands majestical for grace Waved me across that silence, silently, Ev'n to the white shrine of Mnemosyne. For memories came more sudden than keen flight Of birds, dim seen in pale autumnal light- Gold memories of days full glorious. So now, Narcirus, in the imperial house Of Claudius, where, for a restless week, I must remain, and nod and laugh, and speak Idly, and flatter with the flattering throng, Fll analyze for thee those surges strong — 164 Those memories — and haply so may find Relief and blessed solace for my mind, Ere back to Abilene I retire ; And write, as well, those answers you desire. For you must know that this Mercurius, This bold chief speaker, Paul, that didst arouse Such stir and clamor in the hill of Mars With doctrines of new life beyond the stars; Who preached the Unknown God, — ay, such an one That sent to die on earth his only son And raised him from the mute and joyless dead (So runs the story that this sect hath spread) For a true sign to men; — why, this man, this Paul — Full twenty years ago the Tarsian, Saul — I knew and loved. He was to me, in truth, The dearest friend and comrade of my youth. Not any night of utmost revelry, But if his face were lacking, mirth would flee, And all the hue and sparkle from the wine; And sweetest lutes and shawms were harshest whine, If his near voice I heard not. For a year We were as lovers fathomlessly dear; Yet our lives parted, as blown flakes of fire — I, for home, Abilene; he, for Tyre. Before Jerusalem our parting was ; On Mount of Olives. "O Lysanias ! See how," he said, "o'er teil and sycamine, These glistening tears of morning bead and shine — Sweet sorrowing! for sight of kindred hearts Faring from each for dim and lonely parts. 165 These tender grasses, this ripe-headed grain, Are swayed, not by the wind, but by our pain, That they so droop in dearest sympathy. The birds forbear their wonted melody, And stealthily, from dewy bush to bush, Redstart and starling and the joyous thrush Move silenter than golden crisped leaves, Light wavering through flush of autumn eves. Now ere I turn for Joppa and the sea, And you to wend through fruitful Galilee, One brief hour from the day tyrannical We'll steal for balm 'gainst dreary hours of gall That soon may follow. Speak, Lysanias ! Swifter than eagles the swift moments pass." So down we sat beneath those olive boughs, And breathed anew our friendship ; and the vows Clasped in the circlet of a glowing year Loosened, and found that they had grown more clear In eloquence, more steadfast in fair truth ; So that to each fell memories more sooth Than Fancy's dreaming, and we voiced them all. Ah, even now, Narcirus, I recall, Beyond the scattered years, what then we said — How we discussed, but briefly, scrolls late read Under wise Gamaliel's care and charge; How that our leaping minds, though given at large Lush Jewish pastures, still afield would range Where gleamed new rills through grasses moist and strange ; How to the shores Hellenic, warm, divine, 1 66 With echoes of Apollo and the nine Sweet sisters, and voice no less warm, divine, And sweet than any of the heavenly Nine, — Sappho's, came we o'er the immortal seas Of thought ; how into cool philosophies We'd plunged with all youth's ardor and rash zest, To straight belie those truths we loved the best ; And of free days, and of excursions made By moonlight to one wild familiar glade, We talked, reconjuring again lost dreams Dreamt idly on the lazy lakes and streams. So dropt that hour in Time's too-eager glass. And then we severed ; then our lives did pass Singly and far apart ; and from that day To this hath each kept to his separate way. Mine through Samaria led ; and that same night I lay at Shiloh. Never gleamed more bright The summer stars, never more gently crept The cradling breeze to soothe me while I slept Than on that housetop in the placid town ; And never tenderer moon or lovelier looked down From heaven than that proud Dian of the skies That woke me with soft touch on brow and eyes At midnight. From that serene hour, till dawn Dispelled the witchery, I lay as one Crowned an anointed king of golden lands, Sea-girt, mid music ; and a fleece of hands Invisible, but sensitive of all That soothes, caressed me with light rise and fall ; And from the heavy sense all grossness rolled. i6 7 Twas while I reigned in that pale land of gold, Monarch of thronging fancies, that there stole Across the court of dream where ruled my soul That sweep of lustrous eyes, the radiance And swift fire-essence of magnetic glance, — The star, the lodestar, that would ever shine Above my firmament, this life of mine, And guide me goldenly with steadfast rays Through lands of dusk and utmost devious ways. Sufficiency of splendor and of light ! It peered aslant from veilings of the night, And down the intricate dreamways had gone Ere died that gleam that in the coming shone. And lo ! no sooner had I found new birth In that new dawn than came the dawn of earth Most jealously upstealing, — coarse, profane, — And frail enchantments of the night were slain. My man, good Habeeb, shouted from the court, — Part duteous, but most in voice of sport That I should wish to be aroused so soon, Whose usual hour, alack! too oft was noon. But I was eager to be on the way And to gain iEnon ere the death of day; So, having eaten some rough cakes of meal, Our mules we mounted and set off with zeal. But nothing by that roadside could I find To waken from sweet trance my dreaming mind. No bird with song could waken — not ev'n he, The rarest voice of Jordan's minstrelry; Nor any field of flowers or fair wheat 1 68 Could lure my inward eyes from vision sweet. No; to tell truth, I would not have forsaken That light enchantment could my soul have taken Wings magical for loftiest pinnacles, To view all earthly charms, all heavenly spells. As, sudden, o'er my heart there fell an awe, And in my brain blazed a mysterious law I ne'er had read before, I mused away The long and sultry stages of the day Until midafternoon, when a sharp cry From Habeeb roused me. Tumultuously, Down the white road, between the whitened fields,— Now harvest-ripe, prophetic of rich yields For sowers patient, — came a huddled throng Of villagers; and we were borne along, Ev'n in the heart and bosom of that crowd. To some I spoke, — ''Friends, may I be allowed To raise a voice, protesting; I protest Against this burly and officious zest In backwarding my steed. — O, he hath teeth Which sometimes leap beyond their hairy sheath With piercing frankness, and his heels are fire To those who stir the embers of his ire." Quick answered one, — "Stranger, if you but knew The source and secret of this odd ado, You would not marvel at our trespass wild, But marvel rather that we seemed so mild. For know that in the hollow, 'twixt yon hills 169 Of terraced vineyards, there are coolest rills Of water and cool groves, and there but late We heard such words as even now vibrate In alert senses ; there but now we parted With one of all mankind the purest hearted And of all souls divinest, even Christ, The sent Messias." Thus another, — "Spiced Were the tame sodden musings of our minds, At his first utterance, with truth. As winds Fanning a gale blow masking sands away From desert pitfalls and the depths betray To eyes half-blinded, so his clear words swept Away the flattering sophistries that slept Over our hearts and showed us as we were." Spoke then a woman, — "Weary traveler, Press ye no farther through the dust and heat, But turn with us to Sychem. There i' the sweet And cool of evening you will hear retold To populous courts those blessed words of gold, And of the manner of this man divine Will hear, and of like wonders. I and mine Know him Messias surely. At the well Sacred to Jacob, firm-thewed Israel, We met by hap ; and truly, when he spoke With voice strong in its gentleness, awoke Within my breast a new and cleansing glow, Which still I feel and may forever know. To him the days that I had lived and spent, Fair deeds and foul, — ay, thoughts, the closest pent, And sad and secret phantoms of the brain, Were as wide daylight vistas, open, plain. Is not this then the Christ ?" 170 O, how I write, Narcirus ! how I stray in random flight, Forgetting your good patience and forgetting Coherency and all in this long setting Of wordy detail ; tortuous as the flow Of Jordan — not as swift. Though you would know Few facts, and most are answered, still the stream, Once wakened from the dark to air and gleam, Must flow at will. But I shall try, dear friend And nephew, to glide smoothly to the end. What though at times I make a curve or two, As any stream of ample sweep may do, And bear thee, shouldst thou follow with my tide, Through cavern darkness and where jungles hide With cane, with willow, w T ith dense tamarisk, The pastoral world and Phoebus' garish disk, — We'll soon emerge and woo the calmer scene, And hold with steadier will our course serene. So, then, mid those mad folk, to Sychem I Straight turned, and gladly ; for the town was nigh, And I could see its fair-appearing towers, From the hill's rise, and the deep green of bowers And orchard trees that cooled the long white walls. And when, ere dusk, through pleasant courts and halls And colonnaded avenues, I walked Where busy clusters buzzed, or stood where talked Some ancient red-turbaned Samaritan, Winding his hearers in a meshing plan Of doctrinal discourse, — when, as I say, The stir and bustle of each public way I felt ; there seeing life, so free, so warm, 171 Light whimmed for various play with face and form - I found it in my wish to bide a while In that keen place, and there, mayhap, beguile A week or so with novelty and change, With custom, and with entertainment strange : More specially, being received of them — Though garbed as Jew and from Jerusalem — With honor and w r ide hospitality. Oft have I sailed across the shiftful Sea Of Dream, and, sailing so, it oft hath seemed That all my feverish days had been but dreamed ; That only now my life, true-poised and sure, Beat rightly the right course, through mists obscure And heavy-battling titan-hearted waves. O, I had lived a thousand lives, whose graves Closed far behind me ! and with buoyant sweep I cleft each heave of that untrammeled deep. Ah, truly, what the sages say is true — That every soul is dual. For I knew, When sleep came o'er me on that selfsame night, Again the freedom of such dreamy flight, And picked the threads of dream-existence up. New life was poured from infinitesimal cup. I woke. The moon curved high ; the plants were wet With dew. I loitered near the parapet, And mused upon the strange and midnight scene, With mind yet half-adream. So lulled and clean I felt, it was as though my spendthrift life Had been cut from me and the very knife, Clear of the deed, placed in my passive hand 172 For token that my will could hence command What road, what soil, it would ; could shape anew Fair-spreading paths of beauty, or could hew Darkly through pleaching briars some wilful way, Yes, even as this town of Sychem lay Between the valleys draining east and west To Jordan and the blue Great Sea — the crest, The jewel crown and mitre of the land — So stood I, with my life on either hand Palely outspread : all the dim days were there, Past and to come, mist-hidden, — there, ev'n where Freed Israel marched with Joshua the bold In that oft-sung tempestuous time of old, They moved in faint review. Though no Levites Now hurled their threats or blessings from those heights, Ebal and Garizim, and all seemed still, Came there not mystic breathings from each hill, "Where, like couched mammoths, in the quietude Of night they lay — shaggy with rock and wood? At least I thought so ; but the thoughts, scarce worn, Vanished with swiftness. From the street, upborne Sweetly unto mine ears, came cadencies, Which rose and fell like the surf voice of seas, Singing, for Summer, some mock-wrathful song, Wherein stern chords are weak, the weak ones strong ; And presently adown that thoroughfare Came the strange music and a dazzling flare Of torches and swung lamps. At the first thought I deemed them marriage feasters that now sought Their scattered dwellings, but a closer ear Proclaimed them revelers of careless cheer, 173 Emboldened to the core by glow of wine ; For thus they sang: — "And o'er that joyance shine No sun, no sun ; Apollo's too benign — He spies on everyone : But we, Bacche ! But we, but we, Swinging the thyrsus, are free, free, free; Free in the night, Free in delight, Free! Bacche ! Bacche ! Bacche ! "Again fill cups with wine — Have care, have care ! Each drop's a key divine Will open regions rare : A key, Bacche ! To free, to free ! Even as the gods be, so be we— Free of the earth, Free in our mirth, Free! Bacche ! Bacche ! Bacche ! . . . Evoe! Evoe!" Through the pale moonshine, clear almost as day, They came ere that last chorus died away : Fantastically came they, wreathed and bound In drooping flower-chains and with ivy crowned, 174 Throwing their torches from mad hand to hand And dancing, like lithe wraiths from shadowland — A mingled rout of maidens and young men, In number, haply, some two score and ten. And so, with dance and song, they had passed by And vanished, but for one keen roving eye Chancing upon me in that space of shade That clustered roof-plants in the moonlight made. Soon all that band of high and prankish blood Held their flambeaux aloft and silent stood, Upgazing at me from the narrow street. How near they were ! My face flushed with their heat, And through my veins the ruddy current flowed Impetuous, and radiantly glowed My heart, as though, like them, I had drunk fire From the grape's heart and did as bold aspire. For I could feel, it seemed, their breath ; could see Each curve that rose and fell voluptuously Beneath light robes of rarest Tyrian And many a jewel gleaming, and could scan Each face with clearness — its subtilities, The loose-blown hair, the wide audacious eyes. A breathless silence. Then a murmur ran From lip to lip, and presently began More revelry. To the weird music's beat Again they danced, and did again repeat: "Even as the gods be, so be we — Free of the earth, Free in our mirth, Free! Bacche! Bacche! Bacche!" 175 Then came much laughter, as a rain of flowers Swept over me in well-directed showers ; And one bright garland round my waist did twine, A moment clinging- in coil serpentine, At which rose joyous clamor and wild shout. Debating with my heart, I watched the rout, Nor moved ; debating if I should not keep These pale calm hours for unprofaned sleep — Not tarnish them for privilege to be The maddest soul of that mad company : For knew I well my soul's capacities. Was this not better : — So, apart, to please The sense with contemplation of the scene, But mingle not in act? to hold between This riotous life and my desires the web Of fantasy, and view the flow and ebb Of whirlwind pleasures through its shielding folds With eyes still safe? — serene as he who holds Watch with astrologers on some gray hill, To glean the starry fields for good or ill. And, reasoning thus, those revelers appeared, Indeed, as habitants removed, — insphered On strangest world of all the strange far space. A gleam of eyes, a regal head, a face Pale in the torch-flare, curved uplifted arms, In sinuous arch, that spanned a bosom's charms And dusked with shadow, and a voice that won Precedence above sounds of lavish tone, Which wafted, "Come;" — this in a breath o'erthrew Proud toils of thought, — this in a moment drew 176 My escaped soul to the established land, — This in an instant linked me to their band. The brief stone steps that wound unto the street Knew but the flying pressure of my feet, And I had joined them : gladly was received My slight addition, gladly torched and wreathed, And garlanded with mock solemnity. Then an arch mouth that hovered close to me Whispered : "Thou worshiper of fair late skies. So dropt amongst us ; by the sparkling eyes Of Venus, thou art now right welcome here, With such fresh cheeks and face of happy cheer. But I shall lead thee swiftly to our queen; For think ye not, for all our frolic scene, Our minds own no restraint : think not because Our court is lawless that it has no law r s, And that we live in utter dalliance." Was I a dreamer whom the guides of chance Led dreamily through sleep's unfooted lands, To learn those secrets of the printless sands That may be shown ? Some led me, and I went Tamely with them amid new revelment, Until again that fairest face I found : Then the trance-chains were broken; I was bound No more to sheer subjection; gently sprung Thoughts to my mind and language to my tongue. "O Queen, — I know you are, — of this blithe throng, You see, I come — I, that light dance and song, And all enchantments save one lifted hand And one sweet breathed word could well withstand, 177 12 Bow thus before thee : take Lysanias, And from the crude and so unseemly mass Shape such proportions as thou deemest fair To live within thine eye-sweep — captive there. Did not proud Hercules, his strength in lull, Spin for the Lydian queen the servile wool, And work her will, obedient ? Compare not me, O Queen, with that great hero-deity — But thou, how fairer than that Lydian queen !" "What words !" she said, "what gossamer words ! what sheen Of moondrift language ! O, such flatteries Fall soothless on the ears that they would please. But you are welcome to our revels, you May tread with us the windings we pursue So carelessly — O, see your heart be light ! — And I that am the queen for this one night Shall consort, through perplexing mysteries, Even yourself. Arise! Now, Lois, ease The trumpet's mute impatience." This was said, This last, to my arch friend, who tossed her head, Jingling bright golden coins that held the hair Back from her brow, and then, with eager care, Blew a shrill note peculiar, which wound among The tumult voices, chaining each free tongue, Until a thralling silence ruled complete. Soon we were surging down the shadowy street. Gaining the gates, a glittering bribe of gold Released us shortly from the city's fold; Then all the freedom of that moonlit vale, 178 As fair as an}- feigned in poet's tale, Was ours for roaming- — all the trees, the flowers, The shrubby hillocks, all, all, all, were ours. O, the rich night — how prodigal it was ! How far beyond the sordid day's its laws ! Now every blossom delicately slight Might loose, for its sweet peace and heart's delight, Those odors that in drowsy hours of heat Could grow no dainty wings wherewith to beat Impalpable through the impaling air. Xow the fair skies of heaven were more than fair, So bound with shadow — do not shadows give The setting wherein joys and glories live, Starlike ? And now each sound, each random tone, Each careless cadence to the breezes thrown, Caressed as music of a keen-strung harp. Clear in that fertile vale, upjutting sharp, Stood certain tumbled ridges of white rock, Or bluish-gray, such as rude ancient shock Had postured strangely; and, this night, these same Appeared as muscles of some giant frame, Stretched prone and low upon a vanquished field Among the ruins of his spear and shield. Soon treading lightly up one rugged slope, I saw where 'neath the crags a door was ope— Dark, and rough-hew r n. Through this rock door we passed Singly, and gained a cavern dim and vast. A hundred cubits were the walls apart, At least conjecture. Now, within the heart 179 Of that wide chamber swelled two mighty trees, Which arched above our heads their canopies Of verdure, and roof other none there was. Depositing my torch, the while a buzz Stirred lazily the languors of that room, I peered about through half-relieved gloom. The cleft brown walls and yellow ledges knew Frail flowering presences, and, higher, grew Wild honeysuckles, striving to be free, Scaling the topmost stones for liberty. Bright birds down fluttered through the doming green, By sudden flame distracted ; there the clean Sleek-collared turtle flew, and orioles Golden I saw, and gorgeous-plumaged fowls. At whiles a star was seen, but peeped no moon. With branches light and leaves of sweet lemon The floor was littered, and on that strewn floor Lay spread a feast, delicious to its core. There swelling bowls of kibby stood, asteam, Dishes of lebbeny and clotted cream, Fishes and rice and thinnest wafer-bread ; And various fruits in season there were spread In color heaps and fragrant pyramids ; And for such jaded palate as forbids Free relish and insatiable delight Clay-balls from rich Damascus could invite A novel tasting: also, crisp roasted peas, Sweetmeats, pistachio. But o'ertowering these In all affections, as themselves o'ertowered With graceful bulk all dainties that endowered The feast, gleaming, were jars of wondrous wine. 1 80 Thus faring rich, did each at ease recline And let luxurious hours unnoted fly, Till pleasures furled their wings most languidly, And songs grew careless of the measured chime Of music, breaking from the bonds of time. By this had dancers danced us many dances, With easy liquid gestures and bright glances, And tales and following laughter had been heard. And merriment pressed from each jesting word. Now soon the rosied cup ceased to inspire, And hands fell listlessly from lute and lyre, And stole a soothing silence through the place. Long had I gazed on that surpassing face That breathed close by me down the mirthful hours- A peerless flower, among expanding flowers Torn from far-scattered gardens of the world ; But when our voicings daintily were curled Within some crevasse of those walls around, — As in a sea-cave sleeps the ocean's sound, — Again, I gazed on that surpassing face, Gleaning anew for beauty and for grace. No stain of henna or rare foreign dyes Profaned the cheeks or shaded the clear eyes — Soft-shining lights of dark, caressing brown! Xor ornament she bore, saving a crown Of snowy pearls ; but, gold-brow r n, the hair Gleamed free, — loose dancing, or embosomed fair As goddess's of Homer's deathless story. O, her whole aspect was a whelming glory, Whereon the sense might feed, insatiate, 181 Till the last folding of its earthly fate. Those full red lips that swelled to meet Love's kiss Might give more love than they could take of his ; Those arms might bend the radiant archer's bow And send darts swifter than his skill could show; Those eyes beholden once, the blindfold god Would ne'er again in willing gloom abroad, But treasure every beam of sun and moon. I said : "There is a vale of Lebanon, Ev'n in those highlands where your Jordan wakes To being and his first light murmur makes, Called 'Meadow of Clear Fountains/ In this place My father reared a villa, which might grace With dignity Italians proudest slope. That now is mine, and if my soaring hope May reach a sweet fulfillment, that is yours ; Together with such passion as endures In a new heart, new-lifted and redeemed From cheerless stagnancy. O, once I dreamed,— Why, 'twas last night at Shiloh ! these your eyes, Now bending on me with such dear surmise, Lit then with starry splendor all my sky Of vision : was it not fatality ?" Laughing, she said: "Of course, of course it was; What else but fate, thou crude Lysanias : Would not life's fardels press with deadly weight, If we could shift them not on that same Fate? Fate, then, be thou my god — a god as good As any formed from metal, stone, or wood, And prayed at daily by tossed argosies 182 For homeward winds and fair auspicious seas ; Fate, so thou doest all that I require; Fate, so thou givest all that I desire, And pamper every whim of day and night, — So long, O Fate, HI be thy proselyte! But if my flattered ears have gained the truth Of thy so fervent words, my goodly youth, You would enstar me ? mong the mountains blue, As mistress to thy home and like to you. The crags of Lebanon! their majesty I've known through summer azures ; I could be Happy among them for — how long ! — a week ? Xo, no, Lysanias, I would not seek To tarnish with my utter variant ways The promise and the beauty of thy days. That bird that dips along the sprayful sea Must bear no bolder heart nor sing more free Than Mary Magdala. Therefore, to-night Live as we may, the morrow's wakening light Will beckon sunward to Gennesareth." "And there," I cried, "go I; and O, let death Alone gainsay — not thou !" She gazed at me A space with musing eyes ; then, tenderly, — 'There grows in Persis, as you will no doubt Recall, (for so its fame hath blown about The world), a tree that in the glaring hours Shows blighted, withered, all bereft of flowers, While fading blossom-dust, as white as snow, Sheets thick and negligent the ground below. Now, when the star Hesperian lights on high The flocks of heaven to pastures of the sky, With silent throe, from whispering groves apart, That tree of sorrow yieldeth up her heart ; And, on the passing of the midmost hour Of night, it spreads like one celestial flower Of fadeless being, of immortal breath : Yet, on the touch of day, it withereth. My life, Lysanias, is like that tree. Comes there at times some blighting phantasy Across my mind, and thoughts of shrouding gray Cloud to a semidarkness that my day. Could laughter clear the gloom, O, I could jest And fright afar the devils of unrest ; But 'twill not : only, only can the peace Of kindest-catering night bring swift surcease. Ah, then there gleams no opulence of heaven, But that my chariot-soul might there be driven — Light-drawn by lightest thoughts of winged desire; O, then there thrills no ecstasy, no fire Of passion, no fine winding of delight That is not found me by the catering night. Come, I shall sing for thee, Lysanias; Cannot this dwindled night, eager to pass, Be stayed a while with music? See, they lie All snug adream, our gallant company ! Two hearts alone the sluggish charm disdain; Two hearts yet live, — the rest by sleep are slain. Look ! there the lovely Mirta veils her eyes — O, lovelier now than in her coquetries ! See how my frolic Lois yet will smile : Though held to drowsiest bounds, she'd romp the while. And what a bunch of beauty have we here — 184 Bulkes, Hada, Cypros; and, drowsing near The bold Greek, Scander, see where Miriam lies : He is a god of gold in those young eyes. Careful, I'll steal her idle dulcimer, And sing for thee." On which, with motion subtiler Than the lithe Libyan panther's, sleightful, she The instrument from twining arms did free, And played it soft and low with surest skill; Fitting unto its voice her voice's will, Which was at first most gentle. Cool and clear As morning is in springflush of our year — That frailest spring, dying almost at birth, Yet making for brief time a heaven of earth — Was the cool-throbbing music ; and the tones Inwove with it were cool and gracious ones. My thoughts were strangely led by those sweet guides. With them I clambered, swift and free, the sides Of grassy hillocks ; and where meads were bred To complete beauty, there my sense was fed. A child for glee, again I knew the hours By the slight curlings of the petaled flowers, And let my fancy nestle down again In soft and fragrant blooms of hill and glen. A thousand glowing growths held charms to please — Globe hyacinths, the frail anemones, Daisies and marigolds and daffodils, The nodding cyclamen, blue iris, squills, Sweet anise, basil of the fields, the clove Gilliflower, for bees a treasure trove, Pink phlox, dame's violet, asters of white, 185 The flaming tulip, lilies chaste as light At sunrise is and queenly 'bove compare, And the wide sisterhood of roses fair, And lupins tall, and arums, and wild thyme, St. John's-wort, with its golden flowers in prime, The stately narcissus ; — these but a few Of those the thousand growths that glowed anew For me that instant. Sang no mounting bird Across my spring of life that was not heard Singing and mounting with the music sweet, Voiced magical, its wings of tireless beat. The broad sloped threshing floors again lay spread Before me, and new grain was winnowed By careful husbandmen, — that while I sat Propt careless on the meadow's yellowing mat, And, so, watched lazily their movements brisk ; Or, with glad playfellows, in romp and frisk, Centered the far-blown chaff, being a child Once more — free-chartered, privileged, and wild. But as the clarity and sweep of art Caught glow of passion from the singer's heart, Lo, every note became a note of fire Upwhirled on wings of light to its desire, And every simple word and pale became Complex, fantastic, roseate with flame, And now that crystal coolness fell away. Behold, what mist had lifted ! Life could ray, Free and intense and radiant, around ; And the white fancies of my heart were crowned With answering flame and glowed as radiantly. So was I borne, so passionate, so free, Along the sounding waves tempestuous ! 1 86 No burly banqueter, from Neptune's rouse, Parting the waters of the reeling sea, Might sweep more passionate, exalt, and free ! O, the whole essence of whole life outpoured, Sudden and fierce, with each true-sounded chord Of music ; and the ecstasies and fears, The hopes, the sorrowings of passion-years, Blown by sharp flame of life's omnipotence, Beat as irradiant rain across the sense,— Ay, as a sleet of fire did sweep the soul. . . . A quavering, and silence . . . On me stole A strain like dripping nectars ; and that strain Became the chosen links for slumber's chain. Throughout the Jewish land, Xarcirus, there Is not a view more gloriously fair Than from Mt. Tabor, when the evening hushes The profane notes of day and soft the blushes Of heaven fall golden on the vales and hills. A scene of serene grandeur 'tis ; it fills The heart alike with wonder and with peace, And with most delicate subtilities Of thought makes musical the chimeless brain : Almost, it frees the soul of gyve and chain ; So that, beyond the narrow scope of flesh, Beyond the sin, the darkness, and the mesh Of low-restraining, sorrowful desires, The spirit might be clothed in sunset fires, And catch some wine of glory as it spills Richly among those hosts of rounded hills And down that fertile plain, Esdraelon. 187 Then from the snowy giants might be won A tempering coolness. Hermon, best of these, Though veiled so close in spotless draperies, Would give fair greeting; and each peak would bow To heap the chalice-cup with gift of snow. But dearer than the mountains, or the plains And valleys fruitful, which the trees and grains, The flowers and grasses pattern variously With hues of light and shade, — there, one may see The Galilean lake — how beautiful ! Narcirus, for a month that lake did lull My life; I was its votary; the swell Of those blue waters as desirable Became to me as date-groves to the eyes Of caravan beneath wide blazing skies. For came Love's voice through every lightest purl, Love's eyes peered out from every azure curl; And still, in calm or storm, Love's breath was known To make all airs divine with monotone Divinest of all tones that may be sung. A month, Narcirus, gleaming white among The glooms and darknesses of herded years, Like diamond's gleam or gleam of happy tears. Spelled hours we sailed, my queen and I, — my queen ! — Along those limpid waters' molten sheen, Lustrous and glittering with the fervent sun ; And endless, shifting glories were unspun From sea, from plain, from cloud, from craggy crest, — Ay, from all things whereon dream-eyes might rest. Was there a hint of beauty, palely given ? — Straightway our fancies built a radiant heaven. 188 Was there a sound in nature, faintly blown? — Ravished no harper ears with fuller tone Than swept to us over the silver seas. Was there a wind of velvet that might please, And odorous? — Nor frankincense nor myrrh Could stir with more of sweet a peaceful air. So sailed we hours, abandoned to such ease As dreams may give, 'neath fluttering canopies Of purple; and our galley kissed the waves At amorous will, and they became our slaves. So, too, our slaves the flowers, the trees ; each palm, Lotus and oleander held a balm For us : the potency of separate charm Could soothe the mind, as softest-circling arm The body soothes, when arms are tenderest, And lull indefinite unrest to rest. Even the thistles and the leafless thorn Were kind to us as any flower born. The birds, of others free, were slaves to us. And when we ranged the cities populous, The fortress towns, the clustered villages, What pleased there of delights and luxuries That were not ours ? One day, on sea of glass, Our boatmen oared from royal Tiberias ; Prow to the north, where smiled Capernaum ; Sails drooping idly, for no wind would come. The airs were languid, even as my thought, And on my dreaming the brisk world was wrought Quiet, a picture — for the distant stir Of fleet, of herds, of clouds, the quieter. One sweet light voice could rouse, alone had power ; 189 Soon spake the sharer of that tranquil hour, — "Behold, how beautiful Gennesaret To-day, and my Magdala, see, how set Like a white jewel mid the clasping green. Dear, you have fed your eyes on richness, seen In far soft lands an ampler majesty Of plain, vast-spreading, citied regally ; But now, for my heart-comfort, let your eyes Be as eyes wakened to a paradise, — So virgin-new that they would pasture there Oblivious, nor dream of aught more fair Than this, my native plain. Lysanias ! O, say its living beauty doth surpass The dead pale lands of withered memory — Then will its living beauty live in thee ! Here first I drew my breath of innocence ; And the surrounding hills, and the intense Sky, and the blue lake, and the happy vales Companioned me through girlhood ; and the tales They whispered me were memorable and sweet, — So that, despite of time, they linger yet. There, where the watchtower looms, I once — but look ! Look how the boats flock shoreward ; see, each nook Of beach and quay alive with multitude Of swaying people,— gestural, endued, So seems it, with the ardor of one thought. Join we? What think you? O, my heart hath caught, Ev'n here, the fervor of their surging zeal, And it would mix with all they say arid feel." Lightly our boat veered to the peopled shore ; And the dividing blue dwindled before 190 The long, free, even strokes of tireless oars, And we had landed on that curst of shores. "Curst" did I write ; and yet I hardly know Whether 'twere better I should leave it so, Or else write "blest." For truly who can say Whether Elysium or Hades lay Within the compass of a centered act Which lies so deep in years ; which time hath racked Into a thousand forms intangible, Taking at whim the glints of heaven or hell. For though I lost the soul of my desire, And fair Love's ardent heart of whelming fire, What I did gain I set so far above The flame and fire and ardency of love, That, like as gold, it shows amid the dross Of life: it fills all measure of all loss. O, 'tis the soul of love — beyond the heat Of love, how cool and delicate and sweet In memory ! Yea, in my soul it lives, This soul of love, and, there, assurance gives. "The Nazarene, the Christ ; he speaks to us" — vSo answered prompt a scrivener. Emulous Of the enfolding crowd that held us fast, Along the chosen plain we moved ; at last Sighting a mound, luxuriant of green, On the sloped side of which a man was seen O'erlooking all ; and by sheer dint of will We gained a place of hearing near the hill. He was of noble stature, this same Christ, And well-proportioned; and his face enticed 191 All eyes, — for beautiful it was and kind, Yet with regality and power behind The infinite grace, the quiet tenderness ; And if by one rude word I would express His look, but one, that word were "sympathy." His tones they filled the very soul of me With wonder : so simple and so profound — The music and the poetry of sound Garbing the naked thought, but showing 'neath Lit eloquence the truths of life and death. The words were plain to hear as no or yes. White purity of thought, unselfishness And utter abnegation was the theme ; And how r the treasures of the earth that seem So rich for grasping were but poor indeed, When God's great love the fowls of air did feed And clothed the languid lilies of the field In more than kingly pride ; how that revealed Were all men's souls unto the Father's eye ; Nor could the veil of thick hypocrisy Suffice to hide, but all men should be known By their proclaiming fruits and justly shown. "Judge not," he said, "that ye may not be judged. View not the motes some wind of chance hath lodged Within thy brother's eye and fail of light To know what beams obscure thine own frail sight. Throw not thy holiest bread to dogs, nor cast Your pearls before the swine, lest they at last Trample them under foot and rend the giver; Yet ever what ye would have men deliver To you, in word or act, give ye to men." 192 More in such strain be spoke — high words! — and then Descended to the plain. The multitude Pressed round, but brushed him not; they were sub- dued To inexplicable and nameless awe. Then glancing sidelong, my love's face I saw, And marveled at the change I saw thereon, And at the light that from her eyes outshone Like veiled fire ; for the rose cheeks were wet With tears and the lithe lips as firmly set As gates that hold at bay a mounting flood. I said no word, but silent, waiting, stood. Slowly towards us came this Christ, the crowd Giving him way. The waning sun was proud To shine above him. On the hair, like wine In color, golden-rooted, long and fine, On the cheeks' tempered bloom, the forehead's white, And in the eyes of blue and brilliant light There was full majesty of poise and glow. And as he walked, with glancing look, and slow, Behold a leper, muffled close around, Pressed into view and sank upon the ground Before him, saying, — "Master, shouldst thou deign To notice me, then were I clean again." And straight the Christ put forth his hand, and said : "I will; now be thou clean." The ghastly head He touched with gentle fingers. Lo, the man rose Clean, with his eyes clear-shining and the throes Of new blood working in each pallid cheek, And with light step his home and friends did seek. On this same moment Mary Magdalene 13 193 Stole from my side, ere I could intervene My strength and protestation, and she fell Ev'n in that place where late the miracle Was wrought ; her gold head drooping to the grass Like a drooped flower — so faint and fair it was ! And as a flower revives when moist winds stir, So that head lifted when Christ spoke to her Softly a word or two. I could not glean The syllables, but what my Magdalene Returned to him ran something like to this, — "Nay, I am all unworthy. Not that kiss Of pure pale airs that fan the peaks of white At holiest sessions of the soft moonlight, Nor that lone purity of air-borne cloud Athwart the burning noon, nor any proud Mysterious signal of the failing sun Could breathe into my soul, as thou hast done, Sweet instant messages of stainless peace, Such balm and comfort for the torn heart's ease. This leper that thy mercy didst recall From worse than folding tomb and deathly pall To a clean life, was he not hideous And shunned of all? so gross, — O, so leprous ! Yet was his outward seeming fair indeed Beside this soul inmost, which thou didst read With pitying and all-perceptive glance That soothed divinely. Now, while radiance Of new-beholden glory doth invite New thoughts, I thank thee, Master, for the light So comforting. — O, yet it will be blown Away ! and then ? — O, I shall be as one Thirsting for water and beholding how 194 It cools near grasses may not cool the brow And perishes ; and so shall I succumb." Then Christ : 'To-morrow, at Capernaum, Find ye the water." And thereon he passed, With a kind look and gesture. Through the massed And pressing throngs I forced an arduous way For the late suppliant, nor did delay Our passage till the seacoast had been gained And that stone quay whereto our boat was chained. The arm that clung to mine was white and moist And all a-tremble, but my heart rejoiced To see the lights of reason in those eyes Dwelling, and hear the voiced pleasantries Again, and know the cadence of her tongue ; For through some musing interval she sung Gently a song in modest undertone. Along the quay we walked, and quite alone. Bound in the gold of evening arched the sky, Hushed as the air around us ; harmony Lay double on the waters ; not a wave Might more than hint its heart and, timid, lave The sands of sympathy. I could but feel That on this fallen day was set some seal Of high approval : yet I could watch it die "With anxious mind and vague and brooding eye. And soon I spoke : 'The wonders of this day Are marvelous beyond all speech to say; Had not mine eyes vouched truly these same acts, Nor tongue fanatical, nor lettered wax, 195 Had stirred the credence of a fond belief. This Christ that spake so fair and gave relief To loathsome leprosy, hath wisdom's power, And powers medicinal, and a full dower Of magic veiled by low simplicity; Yet, though he show of men the prodigy, Still is he man." — "No, he's a god, a god, Lysanias ; nor such hath ever trod Before on earth in regal humbleness, To soothe the pained world, to guide, to bless ! Doth not each drop within my veins attest To his divinity ? For my sweet rest What supplicated peace hath from the sky Fallen in hour distraught? But now 'tis nigh! Soon shall I rest." Thus talking in strained mode, We came to where our silken galley rode, Like a fair sea-swan, on the drowsing sea, Manned and complete and eager to be free; And, pausing shortly, each on other gazed Through a sad silence ; then, abashed and dazed By the foreknowledge of a sealed event, Which, without word, was made most eloquent To both, cast downward glances on the sea. There was no light of hope thereon for me. She said: "The resolved purpose of my heart Hath in thy heart been sounded : there's no art Can guise the simple language with wreathed grace, Or lend a coloring softness to the face Of truth, severe and white ; — so, love, farewell !" 196 She moved away. I caught her hand ; I fell Before her, speaking, with a tongue of fire, What words I know not : in my brain a pyre Was kindled — they were the wild blown brands That flared and glowed at random on waste sands. And when the passion of my voice was spent, She said, — "Lysanias, from this intent, Which now grows strong within me, none may turn My w 7 ill ; nay, not ev'n thou, for whom doth burn Still in the tabernacle of my soul The rarest incenses of love. Control Thy grief; for sure that dearest grief can give, Controlled, a strength immortal, power to live Dauntless through destined years, and sweetness, too, And quiet lights of beauty. Falls no dew Like the pure dews of sorrow. May you know The touch thereof. I say no more ; I go." Her hand I loosed, regrettingly, and then Clasped it anew, saying, — "Our thoughts have been Ever at even flight; so be they now. Yea, my rebellious heart with thine shall bow, And rest like thine submissive. Whate'er gods There be that rule men from their soft abodes, And thwart and scourge, and strangle with the thread Of wayward circumstance, to such my head And heart I bow — so thou wouldst have it so. See how they bend ! — Not yet ! Yea, thou shalt go ; But take some gift — O, stay ! — some simple gift That will keep memory clear, as far we drift Coldly apart — some gift — one gift !" 197 She said : "Be sure, dear heart, until this heart be dead, Thy love shall gleam as vestal's lamp within A temple purified and cleansed of sin, And that clear flame will keep remembrance clear For thee where'er thou art, or far or near. Yet will I take of thee one gift — the vase Of alabaster, kept for ancient phrase Egyptian and the quaint lost mould : 'tis filled, Thou know'st, with precious ointments — nard, distilled, And of the wounded myrrh, the first rich tears. This will I bear with me; and when the years Bring to my life some more than mortal hour, This then I'll break for consecrating shower." Directly, without word, I sprang aboard The galley ; and bore soon from scattered hoard Of treasure to her down-stretched hand the vase Of ointment, gazing mutely on her face That was both frail and strong ; and finding there Such steadfast light as only eyes can share With a resolved heart, I opened not My lips to voice the echoes of sad thought Vainly, but pressed them to the fingers white For momentary touch and last delight. Then signaled I to loose the galley free ; The poised, obedient oars splashed to the sea. "Back to Tiberias," I said ; and feeling A new wind of the north upon us stealing, I bade that sails be flung to amplest spread. The gold of sundown touched the bared gold head, Lone on the lessening quay ; and soon the blue 198 Form faded. Swiftly we sailed. There was no hue Of color in the sky or on the sea. Narcirus, in the spring, I look for thee To bring thy face of gladness, and thy free Bold voice and heart, and all thy happy ways To my poor court, to cheer the cheerless place As thou wert wont to do in springs we've known. Then, in some cloistral night, when there is blown To us sweet secrets from the white jasmine, And no star gleams but shares its heart therein For a bright fellowship with lowliest earth; When each true thing doth show- its soul of worth - Then, my Narcirus, having heard, I'll tell Strange stories marvelous : till then, farewell ! 199 Chop Jooy {Being a rather incongruous mixture of allegory, fable, satire \ metaphysics, and sheer nonsense?} 201 LIFE'S MOSAIC I was reading Nietzsche. On that page The weak ones were stroked not ; Strength was the god Sole to be incensed On earth. Lo, this thought came to me — That priest and that scribe, The pale buzzers, the dilettanti, All lifted the hands of a palsied impotency They'd captioned "Life," Which fell back again on their idol, When released, Clanging base metal inanely. And as I read, Sounded near the clangors of metals, — Hollow and false. But soon I looked from the window, Saw T the tiniest blades verdant 'neath oak-trees, Daintily cowering field-flowers, and unbashful roses, A fluttering of butterflies, a far sweep of sea-gulls, A mosaic of beautiful weak things and beautiful strong things all over the earth : So I put aside my philosopher, And went out for a walk. 203 DREAD Fear of the unknown! Causes unguessed, unseen, Simple causes, Even ridiculous causes, — Yet of man's ignorance, His pitiable weaknesses, His superstitions, His misty entanglement of creeds, Make they not play-toys For devils ? Last night I was sleeping, Careless, abandoned, Dream-deserted, A chip in Lethe, A three-year-old, A blank: Sudden it seemed That all earth was shattered To fragments, As globe of crashed arc-lamp, Storm-blown into darkness ; And I, on one atom, Nakedly shivered Alone. Down weird thunderous avenues 204 Fell various colors of star-dust — Blue, red, and golden — And Venus, Mars, Jupiter, Saturn, Were not. Leaped I from the bed In terror's paroxysm — Moist, craven, a-tremble, Pallid, limp, utterly Distraught ; Yet when through the window Floated an isolated rumble of cab-wheels, From over the pave-stones, Immediate drowsiness lulled me. Without a thought, I turned again to my pillow. Two minutes afterward, I was a blank, A chip in Lethe, A three-year-old. 205 VALUES Once, in a great city, There dwelt an honest man — Stranger, 'tis true! This man had two quarters : Smooth the one from much using, But the other a counterfeit, Glittering, argent, Basely leaden at heart. Over a counter Handed this man the silver ; 'Twas waved back in scorn : Absently, then Gave he the base one ; Nimbly fingered, 'Twas taken. Whereupon this honest man, — Puzzled, abashed, entrusted, Girt in the darkness Egyptian, — Slowly walked out to the curbstone, And thought Deeply. 206 ROOMMATES The man who tried to run away From himself Gave up at last, And said : "Shake, old boy; I see plainly That we must bunk Together/' So now they dwell, fairly harmonious, In the same house ; Although 'tis a grievous truth That they occasionally have an Extempore boxing Match, And sometimes go in and out And around For whole cross days Without looking at one another Or even speaking A word. 207 KEEPING YOUNG Through that thicket of decayed underbrush, A library, I was stalking a word, — An artful, curious word, — To the death. Suddenly aside I looked; Saw, bent o'er brown primeval leaves, A pale old young man — Hectic, feverish, unnatural. I said: "Friend, what's up ! Is our good steady-going planet About to drop into The orbit of Saturn, Freezing us all Out?" "Nay, I know not," Said he; "But I read once in a book That one may keep young And cheerful By maintaining his enthusiasm On some certain layer, or stratum, Of human knowledge. Sir, these five years have I 208 Kept myself young And cheerful By maintaining an enthusiasm To define specifically, definitely, precisely, The real cause Of the Variability of Multiple And Homologous Parts." This quaint youth Contemplated I a space Silently, Looking my deep pity And commiseration. Then I handed him A quarter And told him to go over To the lake And take a boat-ride. I myself, Through that thicket of decayed underbrush, Continued to stalk a word, — An artful, curious word, — To the death. u 209 A WOODEN INDIAN Moss-backed aphorisms These : That Love laughs at locksmiths ; That Love hath wings ; Also, That the same capricious little god Will not be chain-bound, Except with chain of his own Forging. Yet one fool brain conceived a chimera, Which was, — That one might drag Love Into a cold lusterless life By the ears. One day A man propounded this odd question To himself: "Am I a wooden Indian ?" Then he swept Descartes, Hegel, Spinoza, And several others, Into the waste-basket, Shied the "Critique of Pure Reason" At the astounded cat, And went out. 210 When the clock had ticked off certain hours, He returned. Gazing long into guileless, unconvinced eyes, He propounded this mathematical Problem : "What is the precise point Of difference Between, — A wooden Indian, And, An unreflective, shallow-pated, blunder-footed, Thistle-eating, herbivorous, Arcadian Ass?" 211 TWO CRITICS Two critics married, — Ay, the soft nuptial knot They tied. What delight For gods and men ! His hair (she said) was always mussed up. Her hat (he said) was never on straight. Is that tie (she inquired) a manifesto That you have turned toreador? Or- is it simply a danger signal? Ere you warble that soulful ditty Again (He suggested) Will you not kindly Bolt the door of the china-closet? Etc., etc., etc., — Chiefly, etc. But all this happened One hundred years Ago. Last week Two wing-weary shivering souls Passed in the bleak mid-spaces, . Vacant-cold of eye, Without slightest suspicion That they had ever met, Each the other, Before. 212 WORK It has long been a favorite Axiom of mine That work, like time, was Made for slaves. But this morning I saw a domesticated Epileptic cat Chasing her maltese shadow In and around A hastily improvised Circus-ring. Shortly afterward, A well-fed but entirely Unsophisticated Dog Whirled by me, The end of his long bushy tail Grasped firmly in his Mouth. Even now, As I sat here by the roadside, Trying to become honest enough To break into The exclusive society Of nut-dropping Squirrels, 213 I saw a perspiring millionaire Head swiftly his new Automobile Towards a swart dim blur on the clean sky. I called: "Where to,— friend !" The answer reached me with dust in its Throat, But finally coughed out : "To work !" 214 MY ENEMIES What saith the cynic? Life would indeed weigh heavily, At times, But for the pleasant hatreds Of our enemies. Those pleasant little hatreds, Like little stuffed Manikins, I often delight to set up in rows On top of rural Fences. Then I back off a distance and Knock them over With coarse wayside Stones. However, I soon tire of that kind of Child-play. There are so many other things, In the near live fields, To look at. After awhile, The grinning little over-bowled manikins Are very far below the new 215 Horizon-line Of my on-journeying Regard. Yet, somehow, I am always passing careful, And precise, In making true mental notation Of the grassy abandoned Falling-places Of those little manikins. Who knows! Perhaps, On the day after to-morrow, I may wish to hurl More stones. 216 HEADS To me, reader, even to me, Your most humble and obedient servant, The occasional, jaundiced, world-reorganizing Carper Applies that vulgar appellation, — "Swelled* head." Anger-flushed, slowly, musingly, Raise I my hand to the high-domed habitation Of my insulted mentality. Alack ! 'tis often to find My hat-lining taut with strange stretching; And aware I become Of gaseous, vaporish spaces Surmounting gray convolutions of brain. Nothing daunted, Straightway I assign myself The task of remodeling and worthily filling out The unsightly vacuums. When I have shoveled in enough Meritorious knowledge To justify possession of protuberances Unique and embarrassing, Boldly I turn me to light. But look ! these same saffron-faced wise men Have been so intent on the reorganization Of worlds 217 That their own heads have shriveled several six- teenths, And divers hat-brims, down-journeying, Are now pressing out unregarded pinna of ear Into lines quite palpably Horizontal. 218 PROFESSORIAL BRAYERS Once in so often, (However, not infrequent) An unbalanced, muddle-headed, professorial Ass Breaks loose from his lush Clover-fragrant meadow And gallops, hee-hawing, down the Common hot highway Of dust. To casual ears The uninterpreted flood of his braying Sounds w r eird and ridiculous ; When interpreted, it sounds Only ridiculous. I met one long-eared professorial Brayer, once, Who, wandering abroad, Brayed this, — That if the great barbed steed Of War Should come thundering down that roadway, 'Twould be wise and humanitarian Policy For one to lie pliant in the dust And calmly let himself be Hoofed over. 219 Yesterday I heard another — Thus : "Croesus, even he who owns all this Fine meadowland and all the Sweet-water springs Thereon, — Croesus, I say, Is a man of much vaster Genius, Of more superior present and Ultimate worth, Than yon idle Thespian barnstormer, Sophocles." Aghast, I harkened. Then, over the fence-top, Caressing a gray hirsute muzzle, I asked : "In reference to our friend Balaam, there, Is that the natural condition Of the beast?" "Neigh," returned my new acquaintance, Thrusting familiarly His cool and bristly nose down my Shirt-bosom, "He has eaten rather too much clover to-day ; Regard him not." And, indeed, When that professorial brayer saw That I regarded him not, u He very shortly Quit braying. 220 THE GREAT EDITOR A Great Editor ! All editors, of course, Are great, But this Editor Was Greater. His greatness, while innate, Was due chiefly to sedulous development Of that keen, acute, newspaper Instinct, — That subtle, infallible, marvelous Sense, — Which prompted him to recognize A piece of news, As news, After it had appeared in first editions Of contemporaries, And to expedite the formal presentation Of same, Under big brazen capitals, In his own Subsequent Issues. But this Great Editor Developed two fatal manias ; The which, in good Time, 221 Led to his being Thrown down. He displayed an ingenious fondness For enthralling chairs, tables, desks, And human furniture Within carmine-red circuits Of tape. Moreover, he posted an appendix To the Ten Commandments ; Laying down certain conditions, under which His subdued and malleable Hirelings Might still be allowed The sweet halcyonian privilege of existing On earth. To the naturally playful Office cat Gave he the squelch effectual, In shooting her groundward through An pneumatic Tube. In brief, To drop our fine frenzy Of involved Thoughts, But to guide, nathless, The rapt molten fusion of same Into a common-day mould American, He was a rigid, stiff-necked Disciplinarian, 222 An unpardoning Formalist, Clenching the inaccessibility Of his proud standpoint In life With Scriptural joints of quotation, Such as : "Be ye therefore perfect,"— "My thoughts are not your thoughts," — "Rejoice with trembling," — Et cetera. His other fatal mania Was the mania for decapitating. Robespierre was his divine Model Of heroism. When he could find no Pale-browed timorous reporter To lop off, Stealthily he'd toe down lonesome hallways To conduct the immediate impromptu Guillotining Of some unmercurial Copy-boy. However, before all material Was exhausted, The proprietor came to light And gently suggested That the Great Editor Decapitate Himself. Swiftly the difficult feat 223 He accomplished, With deft, automatic nonchalance Of experience. Happily, The seed of his broad diversity Of talent Fell not on waste ground. Indeed, His clean Roman features Suffered no commentatorial Eclipse, Being seen but lately In the healthy burgh of Medicine Hat, Where, 'tis reported, He captured immense critical-eyed Audiences, By the manifest relish And unction With which (as Marks, No. 2) He wound, unwound, wound, Unwound, wound, Long reaches of encompassing Carmine-red Tape, In a gigantic, renovated, double-barreled Production Of "Uncle Tom's Cabin." 224 DR. DECETUS This is how it happened : Two rival cliques of Healthy and determined Bacilli Of the tribe Rhinoscleromatis Met in a narrow, clotted-up Artery, And, Neither faction giving right of way, A free-for-all fight Followed. That same night The fragmentary remains Of all combatants Were carried swiftly away On long clean rivers Of blood. But ere the occurrence of this Subterranean tragedy, The owner of aforesaid Artery Had withdrawn his own dear little account From the bank, In order that that of Dr. T. I. Phoid is 225 Be augmented and enlarged. He had also mortgaged his House and lot, That the material welfare of Dr. Tuber's family of growing children Be made secure. Now, for several months, He had adjusted his business solely To the modest requirements Of Dr. Decetus ; Receiving in return for Said adjustment Various costly distillations Of sassafras And medicinal unboiled Lake-water, — Not to mention scrips bearing Awe-compelling Latinity Of phrase, Arabian numerals, And a mysterious embellishing Of quaint serpentine Hieroglyphics. But— A. Penn Decetus, M. D. Is now the only Physician In town. All others are but crude Horse-doctors. If your rating in 226 Brads treefs Pleases the eye of his imperious And discriminating Fancy, Even you, gentle stranger, May venture into the ^sculapian Presence, Or await your turn, Fearfully, At his office. 227 A POPULAR AUTHOR Hearing that my dear old Journalistic friend and whilom side partner, Penn Holder, Had become that vaunted phenomenon Known as A Popular Author, I concluded to bear him my condolence In person, And ascended to his airy office On the twenty-seventh floor of the Icarian Temple. The poor man was hammering wildly At his reverberating Type-writer, But recognized me at once And waved me politely To a chair. "In good time/' quoth he; "I have just reached Chapter XXVIII, which is the point where My plots jog on good-naturedly alone, Allowing me to devour the contents of my Tin lunch-box. I can now talk, eat, and work At one and the same Period/' 228 Which said, Manipulating his machine With one hand, He secured a robust sandwich In the other And settled back for a quiet Little chat. I sighed, regretfully. "I see/' said I, "that it is Quite impossible For you to come out to my farm At Frog Hollow and Simply loaf For a month or two." He looked up with great startled eyes : "Tempter, avaunt ! Within that dread fated time I shall have ceased to be — A Popular Author." "And is it really possible/' I queried, "That you have fallen So low?" "Ay, friend, 'tis true. The first edition of my latest Historical romance, The Snuff-Box of the King/ Comprising some 150,000 Copies, (See advertisement) Was entirely bought up Before publication. 'Twill be dramatized 229 Next week. And hark me further! I have this very morn engaged Five nimble-fingered and alert Students To tear all secrets from the Knavish dusty past And lay the reeking trophies At my feet. This month's 'Prattle' (didst see't?) Contained a ten-page interview With my toothless good old Irish nurse." Emotion o'ercame me. Softly I rose and left; ► Ev'n as that man of granite Attacked his machine again With both hands, Beginning Chapter XXX. 230 AN ORIGINAL (?) In the year 2002, Christian era, A native of Kansas made several Abortive attempts to be Original. He was the only adult in that state (At large) Whose name did not inkily girdle The earth. This fact alone made him Original, but He did not think so. Despairingly, he cried: "By the Celestial Sunflower ! I wither." Then he summoned his powers for One last rally, And wrote to the Editor : — "I have, Dear Editor, no kick Coming. In the pursuit of Happiness, I Cut 'cross lots And headed off the jade By a considerable Margin. I'll O. K. everything and everybody 231 On earth. Though a member of the proud Alfalfa Trust, I Sometimes detect myself Despising wealth and Determining to give up business At eighty-three — or, four — or, five. Then, indeed, shall life be A rosy banquet; Then, shall the Christmas goose Swing low; Then, shall the lavish steward Furnish forth Skittles and beer." 232 THE EGOIST Weary am I of philosophers Measuring the Lilliputian dimensions Of man And catechising sagely, — "What's anything?— Nothing." Fellows who argue that The whole proud race of humans Is of no more vital importance to the scheme Than a brief shooting star, Yet who never neglect to sign their Illustrious names To each new paralyzing damper For ambition. Why, when I stroll down the street And observe my brave world, — All the theatres, stores, clubs, restaurants, Lights, noises, events, color, bustle, movement; See haply through plate-glass my millionaire slaves, My sturdy club-wielding Hercules on corner; All, and everyone, conspiring for the welfare and peace Of me, — Puffs easily my chest with pride, And, pompous, I ascend the steps of my Automobile ; Proffering an obsequious vassal a nickel, From pure lordly impulse And elvish whimsicality of spirit, As we jaunt gaily Along. 233 YE CURIOUS ONES I have shelved as absurd fallacy Of youth, As veriest moondrift of error, The idea that this our world is globular In shape. Nay, is it not humped plainly A mass interrogative? And does it not busy ever among The regardless, quiring stars, Asking questions? For of us what creature, On the most cautious of days, Can avoid the gantlet and spear-throwers ? Do not the myriad prying, nipping little shafts Glance from door, window, street, corridor, conveyance, Everywhere ? What man of the polite town Can change the color of his neckgear From brilliant flamingo red to a peacock green Without a hundred eyes flashing their Interrogation ? Can a man of the countryside Trundle modestly adown the rutted road A new-bought wheelbarrow And not a dozen tongues inquire 234 (More or less pertinently) The price? What person riding the stresses of life alone, Rafted fraily on narrow float Of bread and cheese, Is not asked to explain manifold reasons For not taking a partner on board And steering blithely for the uncharted matrimonious Seas ? Who may — But I have shelved forever That most absurd error of mine, That this our world is spherical In shape. Hereafter, it shall continue to revolve, In my mind's eye, As a hump-backed mass interrogative, Busying grotesquely among The beautiful regardless stars, Asking questions. 235 LITERATURE When hurtling through a vast buzzing Department store, It occasionally chances that, having had My teeth filled, My eyes examined, My photograph taken, My correct weight (for one cent) ascertained, And circling with elastic arm various edibles, Mayhap, I pause a moment in the Department of Literature. Lo, mine eyes are gladdened and refreshed by Wonderful indications of the advanced state Of the world's erudition. Giant pyramids and towers of authors, Dead and alive, (Many living dead authors, but more dead living ones) Rear ceilingward, like stacked salmon. What bargains ! Here (cheapest of all) I see "Our Poets ; only 9 cents Each, or Three for a Quarter." The austere Milton is being brushed aside By a lithe bright-eyed damsel, Who is manifestly searching for "Little Goldie's Lovers." Yon stern-jawed determined virgin 236 (No doubt questing a cook-book) Is perusing with outraged cast of countenance A divine page of Browning's "Sordello." In the next corner one may obtain Complete works of immortal novelists For $1.99. Surveying the aesthetic scene, A wild desire to become immortal, too, Stirs ambitiously my breast. Could not I also create beautiful heroic characters, Write about fame, love, and the stars, And (discopyrighted) Be fervently pawed over Some fifty years hence? Vain dream ! Illusive castle of cloud ! With a low guffaw of mingled despair And cynical bitterness, I turn away; Purchasing, at the most frivolous counter, "A Ton of Fun ; or, Two Thousand Square Laughs/'- For desperate and hasty means of elevating My complete depression of spirits, As I ride homeward In the car. 237 AN UNFORTUNATE It appeared that the pimply young man On the other end of the Park bench Was having a perverse run Of luck. "Friend," he began, sliding easily into The sanguine benevolence of my look, "What's the fare to St. Louis ? Having vainly supplicated work In hard and mercenary cities Of seven states, Lo, I am now pressing, — Weary, footsore, disillusioned, — To that the happy town Of my nativity. Nevertheless, scorn I degrading alms Of the charitable. Behold this beautiful gold watch, For the which, in careless days of flushiness, I expended the gross of sixty-three Dollars. I shall now sacrifice to you the same For a paltry fiver, Throwing in, gratis, chain and charm." Thereupon he drew from his red-dotted Green vest 238 A great, glittering, brass-dropping Timepiece. "O, my poor young fellow !" I exclaimed, "You have been most monstrously Beguiled. Those watches are selling, Even now, at Ropem, Inn & Co.'s Colossal store, At only $3.67^ per dozen, — To say nothing of a reasonable discount For cash." As wearily the unfortunate young man Moved off, I could not help musing: ''How calamitous ! So far away from his snug And happy home In St. Louis, With no personal property To quote But a green red-dotted vest And a great, massy, gilt-dripping Gold watch Of a purely nominal Value." 239 'RASTUS JEFFERSON JONES Down in Georgia, I saw a dusky descendant of Ham Gathering peaches, Supplemented by some nine or ten tattered Pickaninnies. I said: " 'Rastus Jefferson Jones, What's your philosophy of life? What think ye that the mystical, the golden Future Will body aptly forth In moral, mental, and financial Betterment Of the sun-loved race Ethiopian ?" He said: "My 'los'fee, massa! Ef I done git mo' chillens, Deu I kin pic' Mo' peaches." 240 COURTESIES Through the fair heart of Michigan Serenely walking, Lo, reared there a dusty, infamous, Wayside philosopher Huge in my path. I said: "How far to Kalamazoo?" He said: "Have you got a match ?" When he had appropriated, For his own present And future Exigencies, Some three-quarters Of my sulphurous property, And lit an antique, well-blackened Corn-cob Pipe, Leisurely vouchsafed he To enter the antechamber of my interrogation, And, Issuing thence, Indulged in a critical, galloping Comment On society, politics, life, Human nature, And affairs in 18 2 4i General. So I, Tramping onward, Found there were several things To think about Besides the scenery. Soon it befell, On the road's gentle slope, A youth, Gaily-appareled, From a bicycle hailed me : "Sir, a thousand pardons, But— Have you a match ?" A cigarette, fragrant and Turkish, Lighted he; Profuse of thanks, Wheeled he away. But I, Tramping townward, Began to feel very much Like An empty, embossed, hastily-shut-down Match-safe. 242 POETS I saw a great swarming Of fretful little pale-featured men, Playing fretful little tunes On little harps of One string, Beneath a fair mist-wreathen hill. It was quite amusing to see The intensely serious Aspect Of each fretful little harp-player, As he hung amorous over his own Fretful little tune, — Commissioning the while one sly eye For sidelong surveillance On his neighbor. When any of all that pallid swarming Attempted to ascend the fair Mist-wreathen hill, They were immediately dragged back By near comrades. Drawing closer, I saw how one pale player, Stealthily ambitious, Was endeavoring to fasten an Extra string In his tiny little 243 Instrument. He was soon discovered, Set upon fiercely, Thrown down, Beaten. A sturdy passing wood-cutter Also noted this last happening, With quiet, amused Eyes. To him I said : "Who be these pitiful, pale-featured, Fretful little People ? And what are they Up to?" Shrugged he, laconic : "Poets !" 244 PEOPLES OF REFINEMENT Reared in a godly country Where people of refinement And education ' Punctiliously turn To the right, The man in homespun Encountered with a natural suffusing irritation The man in the bearskin coat, Who persistently, doggedly, ostentatiously, Turned to his left. One day a heavily-loaded cane Adjusted the swing of its parabola To the angle Of a gross barbaric Head. Cheerfully condoning fine and costs, The sensibility of our hero in homespun Received its first real Jolt. For so it appeared, — That this man in bearskin Hailed from a godly country Where people of refinement And education Punctiliously turn To the left. 245 THE MOON When I sauntered into the Village square It was a fine moonlit night, And all seats, save one, Were occupied. I said : "How complete a moon ! how lovely !" One cried : "You see only one side." These, also : " 'Tis but sunshine reflected." "Not inhabited — no water." "Distance from earth, 238,650 miles." "Changes her phases monthly." "An opaque spheroid." I said: "How complete — how lovely!" One insisted: "You see but one side." These, also: "Just sunshine reflected." "Not inhabited — no water." "Distance, 238,650 miles." "Changes monthly." "A spheroid opaque." It was a fine moonlit night when I Sauntered out of the Village square, And all seats were occupied, Save one. 246 A LOST BET As I awaited the street-car, Two flush-faced women sailed into Sight, Vociferously loquacious. Sponsoring the active right hemisphere Of my brain, I proposed a little bet with the dormant Unworked left one, Saying : "Ten to one, partner, That these too-eager, flush-faced women Are discussing Some new article of attire, — Shape, set, color, style, — Or else 'Tis all about 'him\" Alas! My gray mental coinage Was placed to the bad. The sweet and charitable duennas Were simply at the old, old, commonplace Amusement Of snipping, clipping, ripping Another woman's sole reputation Up the back. 247 MENTAL DYSPEPSIA A well-groomed imaginative youth Was affecting the cynical blase world-weariedness Of expression, Nigh me on the train. Clever he was and adept; Some of his wisdom was as old as The scholarly and revered Book Of Kagemna. Even the volatile tongue of his Young lady friend Was locked by the key of wonder. His faults were duly aired with charming naivete, With candor superb. "You already know what a boor I am," He said, "In social life, — How, irremediably, I've insulted or estranged, By word, by act, by demeanor, Acquaintances, comrades, pseudo- and Quasi-, friends; But you had ought to glimpse me during Office hours: Then am I a supreme beast, Worthy of wearing horns. You should see with what mute Caligulean cruelty I turn people down. 248 The concentrated glare of my left orb Is truly basilisk-dire In effect. Yet oft in my softer hours Morosely I muse o'er my stubborn unamiable heart And query myself 'Am I capable of loving?' Alas! I would love, but I cannot. To cap all," he concluded, "I am perfectly aware of my own Dire malady — 'Tis mental dyspepsia." So spoke this world-weary, well-groomed youth To his young lady friend On the train : But that same night, when I strolled into The "Cider Jug,"— To encompass my habitual Welsh rabbit And read the postings of the O'Dullivan-McLoy fistic combat, Then being pulled off at Coney Island, — Did I not see the ferocious, adamantine Caligula Centering gaily a group of worldlings, The soul, life, enthusiasm, joy, Of that whole unmoralizing Assembly? 249 MY NEIGHBOR When I grow tired of seeing myself About the house, I often cut across meadows And pay a social visit To my neighbor. She is a dear motherly creature, This neighbor of mine, And is so well remote from the foibles And the frivolities Of youth That her mere quiet presence Soothes like a white mantle of dream My perturbed spirit. Gazing on her serene and meditative face, And the dark kindly eyes, Through speechless and reverential minutes, The gentle passivity of her nature Envelops me entire. At such moment, I sweepingly ask, What heart of human Can feel clearer foretaste than mine Of the boasted peace of Nirvana ? 'Tis always with increased respect That I bid my neighbor A cheery good-bye, — 250 Leaving her calmly chewing her cud, And swishing the flies from her beautiful Black and white hide With easy mechanical Swish. 251 DOUBLE LIFE A worthy and honored member Of society, At the sedate age of fifty-three, Was shocked to observe That he had not been living a Double life. "But is it not yet possible/' He reflected, "For me to retrieve this my present Disgraceful and anomalous Position ?" That night he craftily procured Slouch, mask, sand-bag, Downed a lonely and ruminating Pedestrian, And made good his escape with the Following booty : — Currency, 87 cents ; One nickel-plated watch, One Alaska-diamond scarfpin, One pearl-handled penknife (blades broken), One meal ticket (half punched) Good on the justly-famous and popular "Golden Drip Restaurant." It was next morning, While carelessly glancing over a 252 Check for $565,000, Representative of his Monthly dividend As president of the great world-embracing Hook-and-Eye Trust, That this worthy and honored member Of society Collided with a thought : "Heavens ! what labor requisite For the evolution and fattening of my slender Newly-created shadow-half Into anything like proportionate Greatness !" So reluctantly he abandoned His infant self On the lowest doorstep of his ambition : But bore from that ignoble day An indelible impression of secret sorrow And discouragement That was heart-harrowing To behold. 253 THE SICK LION A concourse of sagacious people, During their yearly visit to the great Zoo, Noted, with astonishment, that The big African lion Repaid not their glances of admiration At compound interest, But looked vacantly, dreamingly, reminiscently, Far over their prying heads, At blank opposite wall. So wisely among themselves Whispered they, Saying — " Tis a sick lion ; Poor lion! What he needs is society." Soon the surrounded and protesting Keeper Was compelled to drag that cage Next to the cage of the "Happy Family,"— Which family consisted of Unspiritual hard-featured hyenas, Cunning intellectual foxes, Gruff domineering bears, Prattling tell-tale parrots, 254 Beautiful conceited peacocks, And lecherous fun-loving monkeys. Then saw those sagacious people. Indeed, That 'twas a sick lion; For, With bitter shake of mane, The mighty monarch of jungles Gave one last long ineffable roar, Fell onto his golden tawny back, And immediately Expired. 255 THREE AIR-SHIPS i Three men of dogma, Though differing in very many Essential points, Centered harmoniously in this, — That the best way to reach the devil-ridden Ears Of the vulgar Was by way of speaking-trumpets and Aerostation. So each man constructed, Privately, His own frame of longitudinal bamboos, Whalebone, or steel, Envelopes, light but strong, And stanch gas-bags,— Giving much feverish attention to Buoyance, shape, level, power, But, above all, to Stability, Which is the ecliptic On which all other requisites Are strung. Thus came it to pass, That, 256 ( )n the day of the Great Fair. Three proud ships, Anchored carefully to base earth By tapering chains Of known weight, Was the magnet supreme For a fickle, untutored, alive Populace. Exultingly, Each dogmatician was making clear The infallibility and truth of his Special doctrine, With delicate aid of the Graphophone, When a fat burgher swelled amply his chest, And shouted : "Twenty thousand marks — To that man Who can clear fifty miles First !" While three excited air-ships were coursing Down the faint pale-blue Sky-line, This same fat burgher Unrolled a mysterious many-colored Chart, And proceeded to give reasons Why the assembled Trojans Should most completely and unhesitatingly Endorse His own private little Scheme. 17 2 57 rs Fs, Fs, Fs ! Self-flattering, clattering, chattering Fs! Fs, Fs, Fs ! Fs, Fs, Fs ! Everywhere, Fs, — No escape! Pour they shrieking from window, Shout they from street unto housetop, Sit they on ridges of churches, Cling they to steeples. Fs, Fs, Fs ! Fs, Fs, Fs ! The pained winds clap hands to ears, But they creep through the fingers — Persistent Fs, conceited Fs, ignorant Fs, Small, cowardly, hypocritical, commonplace i's, Big blustering Roman I's, Empty-headed, ornamented, full-dressed 3Ts, Bookish Fs, (Do not whole symposiums wrangle herein?) Religious Fs, pagan Fs, judicial Fs, criminal Fs, Fs, Fs, Fs ! Fs, Fs, Fs ! Buddha's blest sea, can it contain them all? Jehovah's high heaven, can it receive them all? Fs, Fs, Fs! Alas, God help them ! 258 A QUESTION Pulpiter ! You who expound so vehemently The most delicate whys and wherefores Of Sin, salvation, life, death, and after-death, And familiarly tongue /'Heaven'' and "hell," Explain me but this : — Where go the nonentities, The cowards, The great pallid bulk, The boneless souls, the lack-hearts, Encompassers nor of good nor of evil, — Where go they ? The great pallid bulk, The boneless ones, Nonentities, Cowards ! 259 ARTISTRY As I came down the valley, Fell marble-dust loosely Around me. I saw the blue-bloused men Chiseling figures of grace And of beauty Free from the rude ponderous blocks. Delighted, I watched them. Then nestling my ear on one bosom That ravished completely My vision, I listened for heart-beats. Unanswered, I leaned to another, Waiting for heart-beats. Then desperately sought I another, Another, another. "Fool !" shouted near chiselers, Hatefully glaring; "Gross, commonplace fool, Bending for heart-beats — Get thee, thou inane one, Insufferable dinosaur, From our Valley of Art!" 260 THE STRANGE HAND When I had attained the Interesting age Of seven, Astonished I was and dumbfounded, Awakening sudden, To find a small strange hand Resting beside me On pillow. "Whose hand was this?" And "Where had it come from?" , These natural questions Fought slow in the mist Of my juvenility. The mere gross fact That this hand of mystery Was securely attached To my own Wrist Made little or no difference. But, Ever from that day, Earnestly, carelessly, thoughtfully, foolishly, Still have I searched ; In probable places, in improbable places, 261 Still have I searched — Searched for the true owner of that Mysterious hand. Vain ! Not in church, theatre, market-place, In the libraries of the theologians, In the schools of the philosophers, In observatories of the astronomers, On the tables of the anatomists, In laboratories of the chemists, In the sweet green singing groves of the poets, In crowd of the surging agora, In town or afield, Have I succeeded in finding The true owner Of that Mysterious hand. So now, Though I have not quite abandoned The search, I have concluded to rest awhile ; Keeping, however, This strange piece of property Hard at work As my Amanuensis. 262 IN THE HALL OF IDEALS I unlocked the door: I entered my Hall of Ideals. The rusts and the dusts, Clouding, nigh choked me ; But my lamp Soon from a niche was dim-shining. Ruin and ruin ! Xot one statue of all Left on pedestal standing — Prone all, broken all, shattered. I said : "It is well ; Let them lie prone in dust : It is well, O illusions ! I live far beyond you." But even while speaking, Came sadly, slowly, the thought : "Is not the illusion of disillusion An illusion more false Than even these false-fair illusions; These, through all falseness, gave beauty ; That, wraps but in darkness Life and itself." Then tried I to rear One stone-heavy statue, But could not ; 263 Then brushed I the faces, And wearily studied each feature — Dust-doomed forever. At last, I lifted my lamp from the niche And clanged close the door; Carrying, light in my arm, Only a pale little bust — Twas one of the heavenly Muses — Away. 264 i] 3 :i l£*»*rvWF Deacidified using the Bookkeeper process. 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