^<^^^r0^rS"J 
 
GALGANO'S WOOING 
 
 AND OTHER POEMS. 
 
 BY ^ 
 
 SARAH BRIDGES STEBBINS. 
 
 J^ 
 
 NEW YORK: "^-^^ 
 
 COPYRIGHT, 1890, BY '^ 
 
 G. W, DillingJiaiyi, Pnblisher, 
 
 Successor to G. W. Carleton & Co. 
 
 MDCCCXC, 
 \All Kights Re serve d.\ 
 

CONTENTS. 
 
 Page 
 
 GALGANO'S WOOING 9 
 
 THE OLD LOVE 25 
 
 THE LION IN A MENAGERIE . . .53 
 
 Francis Villon, Poet ...... 63 
 
 One of the Commune ...... 68 
 
 Bajazet . 71 
 
 The Lark's Song ....... 74 
 
 An Old Time Singer ...... 78 
 
 A Song at the Feast ...... 80 
 
 Art 82 
 
 A Legend of the Talmud ..... 84 
 
 Praying ......... 86 
 
 Two .......... 88 
 
 Ad Altiora 89 
 
 Glory versus Labor ....... 90 
 
 Diana of Poictiers ...... 91 
 
 Patience 92 
 
 Barye , . 93 
 
6 Contents. 
 
 IN LANDS APART ..,,.. ^95 
 
 Off the Irish Coast 97 
 
 In the Coliseum . . ... 98 
 
 The Gothic Kings ..... 100 
 
 At the Ball at Long Branch . . . . 103 
 
 Niagara ....... 105 
 
 The Bahamas . . . . . . • 113 
 
 The Outlook ...... 116 
 
 The Lilies of Prosperity . . . . • 117 
 
 A Tropic Noon . , . . . . 119 
 
 A Tropic Sunset ...... 120 
 
 "Pan Sleeps " ...... 121 
 
 FLOWERS OF A TROPIC ISLAND . . 123 
 
 Snowdrops . . . . . . . 125 
 
 Oleanders ........ 126 
 
 Frangipani . . . . . . . 127 
 
 Laurestina ....... 128 
 
 Amaryllis 129 
 
 Poinsiana ........ 130 
 
 RONDEAUS 131 
 
 Our Starry Flag ..... . 133 
 
 A Rose-leaf Shell . ... . 134 
 
 The Poet's Land . . . . . 135 
 
 The Old Poets 136 
 
 Ann Hathaway ....... 137 
 
 Shakespeare's Girls ..... 138 
 
 Shakespeare's Boys ...... 139 
 
Contents. 
 
 WOMAN AND MAN 
 Dedication 
 Rebeckah — Esau 
 Leah — Jacob 
 Vashti — Ahasuerus 
 One of the Wives — Ezra 
 Panthea — Cyrus 
 Cleopatra — Caesar 
 Mariamne — Herod 
 Portia — Brutus 
 Aspasia — Pericles . 
 Xantippe — Socrates . 
 Hipparete — Alcibiades 
 Lais — Diogenes 
 Ayesha — Mahomet 
 Vittoria Colonna — Michel Angelo 
 Leonora D'Este — Tasso 
 Mary Stuart — Bothvvell 
 Marie Antoinette— Mirabeau 
 Josephine — Napoleon 
 Charlotte Von Stein — Goethe 
 Carlotta — Louis Napoleon 
 
 
 Page 
 
 • 
 
 141 
 
 
 143 
 
 146, 
 
 147 
 
 148, 
 
 149 
 
 150. 
 
 151 
 
 152, 
 
 153 
 
 154, 
 
 155 
 
 156, 
 
 157 
 
 158, 
 
 159 
 
 160, 
 
 161 
 
 162, 
 
 163 
 
 164. 
 
 165 
 
 166, 
 
 167 
 
 168, 
 
 169 
 
 170, 
 
 171 
 
 172, 
 
 173 
 
 174, 
 
 175 
 
 176, 
 
 177 
 
 178, 
 
 179 
 
 180, 
 
 181 
 
 182, 
 
 183 
 
 184, 
 
 ^85 
 
GALGANOS WOOING. 
 
POEMS. 
 
 GALGANO'S WOOING. 
 
 O, weary is that hapless lover's fate 
 Who loves too well because he loves too late ; 
 Who dreams of heaven in a burning lake 
 Without one grateful drop his thirst to slake ; 
 Who worships still the virtue he deplores, 
 And yet would fain destro}^ what he adores ! 
 Such contradictions sway one human soul, 
 That best and worst alike its aims control ! 
 And thus Galgano, a most noble youth 
 Famed in Sienna for his worth and truth, 
 Cast all the hope and interest of his life 
 On Messer Stricca's fair and stainless wife. 
 But careless of his passion and his pain. 
 Contented calmly o'er her home to reign, 
 Monaccio passed her dreamless, peaceful days 
 
1 2 Galganos Wooing. 
 
 Secure in pleasure at her husband's praise ; 
 
 Nor ever thought to try her honor's might 
 
 By dangerous dalliance on the verge of right. 
 
 Nor deemed could be beneath her placid ease 
 
 Unmeasured depths of unmoved sympathies. 
 
 In vain Galgano at the tourney wore 
 
 Her colors, and the prize of bravery bore, 
 
 No thrill of pride enkindled softer glance 
 
 For him alone her beauty to enhance ; 
 
 In vain at festivals he followed nigh 
 
 And where she was stood ever watchful by 
 
 Her shadow but her shadow was to her, 
 
 Nor in her heart or path made change or stir. 
 
 Indifference quells not love but feeds its fire. 
 
 While 'neath cool scorn its mounting flames aspire ; 
 
 So message after message she disdained, 
 
 His gifts declined, and all his ardor gained 
 
 Was thus provoked by quenchless zeal pursued, 
 
 She sometimes thought of him in angry mood. 
 
 Yet still Galgano, when by hope forsook, 
 
 Some specious counsel with his reason took ; 
 
 " Why should I strive," he said, " with selfish hand 
 
 To pluck this pure white lily ? Better stand 
 
 Unblessed afar, and see it spotless shine 
 
 In sunny garden that can ne'er be mine ! 
 
 That so my soul, thus taught true grace to know, 
 
 By sacramental sacrifice shall grow 
 
 In likeness of this innocence unbroke, 
 
Galgands Wooing. 1 3 
 
 And drop abashed desire's enslaving yoke ! 
 
 For ah ! if passion with its simoon power 
 
 But touch the leaves 'twill wither all the flower. 
 
 And love's own breath could never kiss away 
 
 Eartli's darkeningdust whose poison joy would slay!" 
 
 And then some vision of her witching face 
 
 Cold resolution's theory would chase, 
 
 And Circean memory again restore 
 
 Assurance faint to urge this quest once more. 
 
 Once Messer Stricca and his lovely wife 
 
 To taste the sweets of quiet country life 
 
 Their summer villa sought ; and hovering nigli 
 
 This lover bold, ere many days went by. 
 
 With hawk on wrist forever hunting seemed, 
 
 While still of dove uncaught he only dreamed ; 
 
 And Messer Stricca, with no guess of wrong, 
 
 Thus gladly met and greeted him ere long. 
 
 With social courtesy then liis entrance pressed 
 
 To that charmed house with her dear presence blest ; 
 
 But stammering heartfelt thanks he yet declined, 
 
 Stung with an honest shame but half defined. 
 
 To have thus yielded as to trusted friend 
 
 The easy means to his alluring end. 
 
 Then cursing his own pride he went his way; 
 
 And lo, it chanced liis footsteps sprang a jay ; 
 
 Swift as a thought he gave his hawk the wing 
 
 That failed not soon the quarry down to bring 
 
 Close to the villa door ; the bird's sharp cry 
 
14 Galgand s Wooing. 
 
 Had brought the lady to the balcony, 
 
 Who with her husband watched the skill and grace 
 
 With which the falcon followed in the chase, 
 
 And how the game at last was struck so true 
 
 The struggle scarce began before 'twas through ; 
 
 " Mark this fine hawk," then Messer Stricca said, . 
 
 " How well it works ; tlie vanquished jay is dead. 
 
 'Tis like its master, perfect of its kind 
 
 As he is first in person and in mind. 
 
 Sienna's boast in courage and in wit 
 
 Mere lauding words can scarce his merit fit ; 
 
 But as before his falcon fell the jay 
 
 Must women-hearts surrender to his sway I" 
 
 " And what may be this peerless hero's name ?" 
 
 The lady careless asked ; the answer came 
 
 With more of noble praise, " Galgano, love !" 
 
 Quick pulsed her blood ; she gently leaned above 
 
 The stricken bird, and he but heard her say 
 
 In accents sorrowful, " Poor Jay ! poor Jay !" 
 
 Ah, so mysterious is woman's mind. 
 
 That like Eolian harp played by the wind, 
 
 Its music rises oft from unseen cause 
 
 Of subtle influence unswayed by laws ! 
 
 And thus her husband's eulogy awoke 
 
 The love Galgano never could evoke 
 
 With all the earnestness of his own suit ; 
 
 And such strange seed bore speedy, ripened fruit ; 
 
 For brooding tenderly on this high praise 
 
Galgands Wooing. 15 
 
 Her heart recalled his image and his vva3-s 
 
 Who " first in all Sienna " humbly gave 
 
 To her alone the homage of a slave? 
 
 And o'er her former coldness that repelled 
 
 Such rare perfection tears of wonder welled ; 
 
 She sighing feared his hope had thus been killed, 
 
 And blushing then with fond prevision thrilled. 
 
 So when on embassy of moment sent 
 
 Good Messer Stricca to Perugia went, 
 
 Monaccio dispatched a message kind 
 
 Unto Galgano, promised lie sliould find 
 
 Her old indifference changed to courteous grace 
 
 And long-desired audience face to face. 
 
 The sad dejection of despairing mood 
 
 Was whelmed in sudden joy's Elysian flood, 
 
 And buoyed on expectation's blissful height 
 
 Enchanted air swift bore him to delight ; 
 
 For as the lady gave him welcome sweet, 
 
 He threw himself enraptured at her feet 
 
 And breathed the story of his love at last 
 
 And all the suffering of the cruel past, 
 
 And as she looked at him with softened eyes 
 
 And murmured tenderly her glad replies, 
 
 Both fondly deemed that in that rapturous hour 
 
 Life's dreams perfected bloomed in crowning flower. 
 
 Of love's pure nectar quaffing draughts divine, 
 By feast untasted of rare fruits and wine 
 
1 6 Galgands Wooing. 
 
 Served in his honor and 'mid roses spread, 
 
 They sat in tliat delicious silence bred 
 
 Of heart shared sestasy which words profane, 
 
 That exaltation in which man would gain 
 
 The borders infinite, save that his flight 
 
 To soaring feelings untranscended height 
 
 Stirs Nature's depths where lie the founts of pain, 
 
 And causeless sadness springs to draw again 
 
 The human to its level. In the light 
 
 Of this celestial mood Monaccio's sight 
 
 Cauglit sudden gleams of inner self intense. 
 
 That underlying life's less fervid sense, 
 
 In unsuspected passion's natal hour 
 
 Affrighted peace witii undeveloped power ; 
 
 While to Galgano inspiration came 
 
 Of love surpassing thrilling mortal flame, 
 
 Through crucifixion of the flesh endured 
 
 Of its own blest eternity secured. 
 
 But like the flitting of an angel's wings, 
 
 That passing holiness to earth's air brings 
 
 And bears a promise of the higher sphere. 
 
 Then leaves the breeze that from all blossom near 
 
 Gathers the fragrance of this world instead; 
 
 Before new joys these revelations fled ; 
 
 And then, in lover's wont, oft telling o'er 
 
 The hopes and fears that swayed his soul of yore, 
 
 Although his happiness scarce deemed it strange, 
 
 He asked the reason of his lady's change. 
 
Galgands Wooing. 1 7 
 
 A something mournful echoed in her tone, 
 
 And in her eyes a floating sadness shone 
 
 As thus she answered with her face aglow ; 
 
 " Galgano, now I love you, love you so. 
 
 With feeling sudden born full-grown and strong 
 
 That in my heart must sure have hidden long. 
 
 Unnoticed springing 'neath my tranquil days 
 
 Till summoned into life by startling praise ; 
 
 And of my love will truly tell you all !" 
 
 And then she bade his memory recall 
 
 That signal day she watched his falcon's flight 
 
 When struggling jay she was struck before her sight; 
 
 And told how Messer Stricca warmly spoke 
 
 Tlie commendation that love's yearning woke ; 
 
 And as she murmured generous tribute o'er, 
 
 Drooping his noble head, he felt once more 
 
 Through throbbing pulses honor's immanence 
 
 As smitten conscience strove with eager sense ; 
 
 " If I should wrong this trusting man ;" he tliought. 
 
 Who thus of mere good fame such dream hath 
 
 wrought 
 Of lofty worthiness, it will not be 
 In me alone, but in humanity 
 That he would lose belief ; his soul as well 
 As she and I would thus take hold on hell," 
 And then in majesty of trutli and faith 
 His loyal spirit rose ; o'er time and death 
 With clear eyes gazed upon God's secret things, 
 Upborne by strengtii renunciation brings. 
 
1 8 Galgands Wooing. 
 
 He seized a flower perfect in each part 
 From paler outer leaves to crimson heart, 
 And o'er it silent mused ; the lady too 
 In silence sat, half-mazed, half-awed to view 
 His mien and action, yet without offence 
 At seeming slight, in love's first confidence 
 Assured that explanation soon would show 
 Some happy meaning such strange course below. 
 
 Slowly he spoke at last, " Monaccio, 
 
 As this fair rose, all lovely things below 
 
 Methinks are images of those unseen, 
 
 Material outbirths into world terrene 
 
 Of spirit prototypes in higher lands, 
 
 And when each soul within their glory stands. 
 
 Remembrance of these mortal effigies 
 
 Shall swell and balance heavenly ecstacies. 
 
 And like earth's joys foreshadowed in a dream 
 
 Make an eternal home familiar seem ; 
 
 Thus too our love, as this perfected flower 
 
 Wiiose beauty and whose fragrance in this hour 
 
 Have reached the zenith of its peerless bloom. 
 
 May be but counterpart 'mid transient doom 
 
 Of that celestial rapture's changeless flow 
 
 That intermingling spirits ever know. 
 
 Ah, who can tell if my hot hand should crush 
 
 To drooping ruin this sweet blossom's blush. 
 
 That thus perchance its antitype or soul 
 
 May be like maimed ; and when I reach the goal 
 
Galganos Wooing. 1 9 
 
 We go to through the grave, and wondering pass 
 Through forms supreme once seen as through a glass, 
 A shade may fall upon the path of light 
 From memory's remorse, should shrinking sight 
 Behold this flower marred 'mid moulds divine, 
 Or miss in Paradise this rose of thine. 
 So too if we should smite immortal love 
 With passion's sure decay, in realms above 
 Regret and shame might canker heavenly bliss 
 Of deathless dream whose promise is in this ! 
 Or, it might be that wronged by human life 
 'Tvvould die for aye when ceases carnal strife ; 
 And, as unending punishment, its loss 
 Change all Elsyium's other joys to dross ; 
 But if unsullied faithful kept below 
 Of its own pureness everlasting grow !" 
 
 Bewildered first, and then with prescience pale. 
 
 The lady felt the heart within her fail, 
 
 Half doubting if he scorned her that her pride 
 
 Had striven not her yielding mood to hide ; 
 
 Then thrilled with fear at words that shadow bore 
 
 Of high resolve that he would come no more ; 
 
 Nor rose with him the flesh and sense above 
 
 To heights sublime where love o'ermastered love, 
 
 Till as she listened, gazing on his face 
 
 And saw it kindle with ennobling grace. 
 
 Her husband's praise of truth without a stain 
 
 Re-echoed in her troubled thought again, 
 
20 Galgaiios Wooing. 
 
 And woke a woman's yearning to upsoar 
 Unto her lover's level ; but once more 
 Love vanquished aspiration, and a strain 
 Rang through her answering voice of bitter pain ; 
 " Galgano, we are young, and life is long ; 
 I, but a woman, with a soul scarce strong 
 As thine to stand alone and seer-like gaze 
 Beyond the limits of our mortal days 
 On world I know not from the w^orld I know — 
 I — I would change not one sweet hour below 
 Of rapture sure like that we shared to-niglit 
 For dim eternity's untried delight ! 
 Oh ! canst thou love me as thou earnest swore 
 And banish love to Heaven's distant shore ? 
 And if we part, oh love, if we should part. 
 Some other happier, unwedded heart. 
 For which thine honor would not wounded be, 
 Would win thy very memory from me !" • 
 Then as the sudden tears o'erflowed her eyes, 
 Low at her feet he knelt with anguished cries : 
 " My love ! my love ! look down into my face, 
 Read there my agony's unerring trace I 
 Do I not love thee ? O Monaccio, 
 Glad would I all the coming years forego 
 To hold thee as mine own once here below ! 
 No higher joy could earth e'er hope to know ! 
 But like dividing waves of pathless sea. 
 Sadder than death there rolls 'twixt thee and me 
 •My threatening conscience,and his wrong whose trust 
 
Galgands Wooing. 2 1 
 
 Is 'gainst my selfish dream like God's hand thrust I 
 
 But oh, beyond, beyond this passing life, 
 
 Its ties, its passions, and this awful strife, 
 
 Thou wilt be mine, be mine, Monaccio, 
 
 Forever mine, unstained as Northern Snow ! 
 
 And evermore as now remembrance clear 
 
 To keep of this one hour to both so dear, 
 
 To nurse unchanging hope of bliss divine. 
 
 With every future thought my Christ's and thine, 
 
 I go from hence to convent cell secure. 
 
 And 'neath the cross will ceaseless there adjure 
 
 The thorn-crowned Saviour that thy days may be 
 
 Blest with His peace till He gives thee to me !" 
 
 With brow uplifted as towards Heaven's light 
 
 She seemed an angel rising in his sight ; 
 
 His noble nature had her spirit fired 
 
 And glow of sacrifice her mien inspired ; 
 
 " Our God has sent this worthy love," she said, 
 
 To draw us to Himself ; we hence are dead 
 
 To life's worst tempting, for 'twas His own voice 
 
 Called thee through suffering to thy holy choice ; 
 
 Nor dare I bid thee to the world again. 
 
 Where luring sin might prove salvation's bane ! 
 
 And I will strive thy rigliteousness to share, 
 
 And give response unto thy every prayer 
 
 By daily duties done in lofty faith 
 
 Of compensating sweetness after death ! 
 
 And see, though here we part for all our years. 
 
22 Galgands Wooing. 
 
 My eyes, Galgano, drop no more salt tears 
 
 For gladness that thou saved me ! I but felt 
 
 A little hour agone love only dwelt 
 
 Within my heart of flesh, and did repeat 
 
 *' 'Twould live for thee while that full heart should 
 
 beat ! 
 But now — Oh, I have come through thee to know 
 I am a soul ; and that true love can grow 
 In souls alone ; for hearts and hands are dust 
 But souls immortal are ! Nor time, nor rust 
 Souls' treasures can corrupt ! — Adieu ! adieu ! — " 
 She floated like a vision from his view ; 
 Mists dimmed his sight, his blood pulsed hot and fast ; 
 He stretched his arms to her ; his passion past 
 Swept like a flood athwart his reeling will ; 
 " Return, return !" he hoarsely breathed ; but still 
 She drew not nigh ; " O come !" then rang his cry, 
 "Come back, Monaccio, or else I die !" — 
 But only from the distance softly fell 
 Upon his swooning sense " Farewell ! farewell !" 
 
THE OLD LOVE. 
 
The Old Love, 25 
 
 BEFORE. 
 
 HE. 
 
 'Tis five and thirty years ! So long ! so long ! 
 Yet when I free my soul from out the leash 
 Of will that holds it to the present term, 
 Let it leap sudden back, there is no time 
 Betwixt that day and this ; so strong, so real 
 Was that one life of life ! So empty, vain, 
 Worthless and shadowy existence since ! 
 Yet I have earned my honors, won my spurs, 
 And now — at sixty — men account my name 
 A nation's pride ! My God ! I'd give it all — 
 Fame, knowledge, wealth and state, to have again 
 One of those hours of youth with my dear love ! 
 Those summer hours, when from the sunshine crept 
 A subtle softness through the heart and veins ! 
 When o'er the stream and trees and shining grass 
 Brooded a still repose, that gave to earth 
 A sort of sacred pureness that infused 
 And changed emotion into rapture sweet 
 As high and holy as the bliss of heaven ! 
 When we, love blended in a speechless dream, 
 Had scarcely sense but that we twain were one ; 
 Not woman, man, she, me, or flesh and blood, 
 
26 The Old Love. 
 
 But being only, out of human raised. 
 
 And infinite in the divineness deep 
 
 Of our celestial mood ! Those hours ! those hours ! 
 
 So few, so precious yet, when she was mine ! 
 
 Thank God, thank God, that I have never been 
 
 Another woman's since, have never swerved 
 
 From my enshrined memory of her. 
 
 E'en to the toying with fair, willing hand ! 
 
 Have kept a solitude in inner self 
 
 And longing quenched in work ! For once she said, 
 
 'Mid her white anguish in that parting scene 
 
 *"Tis but for Time. Whatever may betide, 
 
 Not one, the nearest, e'er shall enter in 
 
 My spirit's secret place where thou alone 
 
 Shalt be shut close. And when I pass away, 
 
 Am free from this world's circumstance, be sure 
 
 That thou wilt find me in the great beyond 
 
 Thy very, very own ! All life shall be 
 
 But death till then !" 
 
 Those words have kept 
 A steadfast faith for me through black despair. 
 Through awful weariness of all things ; e'en 
 'Mid reason's shrinking at appalling thought 
 Of immortality, brain-questioning 
 Of "Wherefore ?" and "What use of it?" and dread 
 Of ennui's possible in endlessness ! 
 For in my heart of heart hope slew grim doubt 
 With promise of love's ceaseless ecstasy. 
 And yet — it stings, stings worse than serpent fangs — 
 
The Old Love, 27 
 
 This knowledge of my kind that I have won 
 
 In this long strife for power and for place ! 
 
 Do I not know that woman, e'en as man, 
 
 Lives many lives, is feeling's palimpest, 
 
 Where each new writing covers o'er the last, 
 
 And that one last the only legible 
 
 E'en to themselves ? Have I not seen resolve, 
 
 The highest, finest, proudest, yielded up, 
 
 Though slowly it might be as hardest rock 
 
 Wears 'neath the water's drop, through daily means 
 
 Of unperceived effect ? How can I then 
 
 Keep trust that she, so tender through her sex, 
 
 So wielded by impressions through the needs 
 
 Of her soft nature, could have stood alone 
 
 An unchanged Inner Me as I have done ! 
 
 It scarce can be, but howsoe'er she clung 
 
 With struggle or intent to that old past. 
 
 The mouldering power of experience new 
 
 On coming always must have swept it off, 
 
 And other loves extinguished the first fire ; 
 
 For she has been a wife and mother since ; 
 
 And what devotion can e'er hold its own 
 
 Against a mother's yearning for her child ? 
 
 And she was wondrous capable of love. 
 
 So that it seemed as if she could not live 
 
 But in some love, or in love's atmosphere ! 
 
 Yet "Not the nearest e'er," she said that day — 
 
 And how she looked, upstanding straight and pale 
 
 To say it without faltering — how she looked — 
 
28 The Old Love. 
 
 As if all wills imperious that ruled 
 
 This earth from its beginning met in hers 
 
 And set the sternness of persistent force 
 
 Forever on her face ! — It flashed on me 
 
 That I had known but part of her till then, 
 
 That she herself — that none had ever known 
 
 What height, what depth, what might there was in her! 
 
 Was it but spark struck from the moment's stress, 
 
 Or true reverse of character's mild show ? 
 
 Alas ! How know I ? For self-exiled then 
 
 I have beheld her but in memory since ! 
 
 And now in my old age I come anear, 
 
 And all the years fall off, and I am stirred 
 
 To see her once again. Though she may be 
 
 Bowed down and wrinkled with her many cares 
 
 And white-haired as myself, yet I shall know 
 
 All truth of her in meeting face to face ! 
 
 SHE. 
 
 This letter — this — 'tis like the voice of Christ 
 Calling to Lazarus ; it conquers death, 
 Loosens my cerements, stirs life in me ! 
 Not in this world, and with my mortal eyes 
 Did I e'er think to see him once again ! 
 Now, after all these years he comes to me ! 
 And \o ! the joy and pain of that old time 
 Strives with long deadness, as within that grave 
 At far-off Bethany, renewing life 
 
The Old Love. 29 
 
 Throbbed faint at first with all the gasps and throes 
 Of an oncoming birth. And I had deemed 
 That I should only wake from death once more 
 When I should spring from earth to the unknown 
 And leave this crypt of my existence here ! 
 'Tis nigh on two score years since there was slain 
 The woman that I was ; slain, buried deep 
 Within the silence of my secret soul ! 
 This woman that I am is dead, dead, dead, 
 Since life is from the inward, and in me 
 The inward is a tomb that shut close in 
 My all of love ! This counterfeited me, 
 This breathing simulacrum of mere flesh, 
 Subsists but in externals, ne'er has let 
 One feeling touch a depth, or pierce below 
 The skin-deep show of knowledge how to act ; 
 Has been all head, stronger and clearer head 
 In that no heart cast up enfeebling mists ! 
 What are these years to me ? Not years of life — 
 But sleep — a night's sleep — full of changing dreams ; 
 And scarce have left more trace than just a sleep. 
 Forms bend, hands wither, dark hair bleaches white 
 Of those who open their interior selves 
 To sorrow, care, remorse, despair, and all 
 Emotion's train, that leave their ageing marks. 
 I knew not hope, nor grief, nor bliss, nor fret, 
 Since that one day I died. The dead feel naught. 
 But now these simple lines, these formal words 
 That ask an interview, strike through the cold 
 
-^o The Old Love. 
 
 And dull obstruction of sepulchral dark, 
 
 And unsealed stone begins to roll away. 
 
 Through sleep, through dreams, go back, go back, 
 
 my soul, 
 And quicken into life again 'neath memory's tone ! 
 Not to those days, ah, never to those days 
 Of exquisite delight in love's first glow, 
 Lest such distress should seize on thee as filled 
 The banished host at sight of heaven lost ! 
 But back unto the last of thy old life. 
 Revive the anguish, tell the story o'er. 
 And reassure thyself that thou hast kept 
 The promise made then ne'er to live again 
 Till thou wert his once more — beyond the grave ! 
 
 The only daughter of an ancient house. 
 Youth and my human were so strong in me 
 That all their thought of lineage and birth 
 Was as an idle song. Earth's rank and wealth 
 But outward gauds that decked the naked man. 
 My love had but his manhood. I, with him. 
 Was simple woman, nought disguised by state 
 Or circumstance. Condition, name, fell off 
 When his arms wrapped me in, my heart next his 
 To one embodied feeling all transformed. 
 But those akin disdained his lower grade 
 Of social place, nor stooped from their own sphere 
 In cognizance of character and worth ; 
 And with the shallow arrogance of gold 
 
The Old Love. 31 
 
 Esteemed unchosen poverty a crime ; 
 And sought with railings, arguments and sneers 
 To root impressions out engraft with life ; 
 But could not change with pleadings, reasons, threats, 
 . The Me which was become all Love. Besides, 
 My instincts, in world-sophistries untrained, 
 Clung fast to my own ownership, and held 
 The right inalienable to be 
 My own disposer ; brethren, sire, might claim 
 Affection, interest, by the tie of blood. 
 But equal with the daughter's, sister's debt 
 Birth brought to individual free soul 
 Interior enfranchisement from bonds. 
 So spite of all forbiddings, still we met, 
 And spite of urgings of another suit 
 Of one who patient came in fond belief 
 That while he waited on fruit out of reach 
 Would ripen, and at last fall in his hand. 
 We scarce had thought or fear but our strong wills 
 Would make our oneness an acknowledged truth, 
 And somehow, wrapped in our Elysian dream. 
 We did not realize that it could end ; 
 Till, warm and rosy with my love's last kiss, 
 One day with springing step I wended home 
 Through the long avenue of stately trees 
 That led thereto ; and sudden, face to face 
 My father met, all pale, with troubled eyes. 
 He linked my arm in his, subdued my pace 
 To his slow tread, and sighed like one in pain. 
 
32 • The Old Love. 
 
 I see him still — shall I e'er cease to see 
 
 That slender figure and that high-bred air, 
 
 Those thin, cold lips, and glances sidelong cast? 
 
 " He had a late to tell that I must hear," 
 
 He softly said ; and then unraveled forth 
 
 An unsuspected history of ill. 
 
 How he in politics entangled grew, 
 
 Although in ignorance of Law's great maze ; 
 
 And partly out of vanity to be 
 
 A leader, first ; and from excitement part. 
 
 Got mixed with the wrong men, who, sharp and sly. 
 
 Made him, unwitting still, their flattered tool 
 
 To work their evil, and without intent — 
 
 "God knows," he said, "without the least intent," 
 
 He found himself deep dyed in treason's guilt. 
 
 And liable at any moment near 
 
 To loss of honor, fortune, life itself. 
 
 He could not bear the old name should be stained, 
 
 And those he loved cast out to hard world's wrath ; 
 
 And there was but one way, but only one. 
 
 And it all rested upon me, to save 
 
 Honor and name, and life and gold ; on me ; 
 
 On my small hand — and then he held it close, 
 
 Lest when I heard it all I should start off 
 
 And spurn the earth that bred such plotting brains, 
 
 This suitor, who had taken no repulse. 
 
 Held, of this danger, all the clues and proofs, 
 
 Had such strong interest to betray the whole 
 
 That but by equaling advantages 
 
The Old Love. • y^ 
 
 Could he be rendered safe. That he loved me 
 I knew full well ; would proffer soon his love ; 
 Then if I wedded him would do no harm 
 Against his marriage ties. If I refused, 
 'Twould add a spur to possible intent, 
 A vengeful motive unto self-weal sure. 
 Certain he was that daughter of his house 
 Would let no girlish fancy interpose 
 Between her duty and her kin's sore need ! 
 
 All this he spoke with that unruffled calm, 
 
 Scarce raising his low voice, that breeding gives 
 
 Unto patrician manners, so that one, 
 
 Seeing us walk there 'twixt the bordering trees, 
 
 Might think an idyl of a father's love, 
 
 And child's responsive trust. 
 
 The sun shone on, 
 Afar the fields lay bright like pictures framed 
 Between the mighty trunks. The peaceful sky, 
 Serenely blue and still, spread over all. 
 And at my feet as blue a violet slept — 
 And ever since a violet has been 
 Death's symbol, and its scent a charnel smell ! 
 My bounding blood turned cold. Should I refuse. 
 To live the murderess of my household raec, 
 And poison all my future with remorse 
 By satisfying selfhood's reckless bent ? 
 Or with consent destroy all life in me. 
 And die forevermore to hope and joy.' 
 
34 • The Old Love. 
 
 And he — his trust — his happiness — My God, 
 What awful anguish seized me at that thought ! 
 I wrenched myself away from this man's grasp — 
 My foe who slew my life with his ill deeds, 
 Effacing fatherhood by holding fast 
 To blood-link, not for love's sake, but base use — 
 And fled, fled swift as if with hunted feet 
 To my lone lair, to darkness, and such strife 
 As devils must be glad of when they gloat 
 O'er sin-wrought suffering. 
 
 At the early dawn, 
 I sought the trysting place, and summoned him, — 
 My Love, my Love, I called you from your dreams 
 Of passionate delight to meet a doom ! — 
 Ah, how it stirs, this re-awakening life ! 
 Be still, be still, my soul, and read thy weird ! 
 Ah no ! Ah no ! E'en I, within the grave 
 Of years' repression, cannot, dare not look 
 Upon that morn again ! I should spring up 
 Too quick alive, and quivering with old pain !— 
 God's nobles do not always wear -a star ! 
 My father was a noble, and that one 
 He spoke of, wore their orders on their breasts 
 For men to mark the fineness of their caste ! 
 But this — this love of mine — no ribbon had 
 To deck his rare worth then ! Yet God He knows 
 If any on the earth was e'er his peer ! 
 His manhood shone through all that anguished time 
 As guiding light amid a dreadful storm ! 
 
The Old Love. 35 
 
 But I — I died — I died there in his arms ! 
 The woman that went back to face a fate 
 Was but the outer casing of a corpse, 
 Like those Egyptian sepulchres that bear 
 •The surface likeness of a human face ! 
 
 That very day this other suitor came, 
 
 Protesting ardent love — he called it Love 
 
 That bargained for possession, took no heed 
 
 Of hurt or shrinking in the heart he wooed — 
 
 To me, who died for it — to me — who knew 
 
 Of one whose life was martyrdom for loss — 
 
 That one who would have gone through fiercest fire 
 
 And smiled 'mid flames to save me from a pang ! 
 
 " We will not talk of love," I coldly said ; 
 
 " You know it not ; and I have none to give. 
 
 I tell you frankly, sir, that I am dead. 
 
 You ne'er will reach my soul though you should strain 
 
 Through all your mortal days. Is it worth while 
 
 To buy me at such a price ? Would there not be, 
 
 In generous grace to those within your power, 
 
 More true reward in honest self-esteem 
 
 And Mercy's tenderness ?" 
 
 He made reply : 
 " There is no human creature but o'erlives 
 An early fancy ; and in time you too 
 Will grow responsive to a husband's care. 
 These treason-proofs I hold are all my gage 
 That I shall win you now. I'll trust the rest. 
 
36 The Old Love. 
 
 And as for souls — 'tis not with souls we live, 
 
 But flesh and blood — keep your sweet soul for 
 
 prayers ! 
 You are the fairest woman in the realm ; 
 I shall be proud to have you bear my name ; 
 And if you lift that haughty head at Court 
 Beneath my coronet as you do now, 
 The queen herself will be out-queened in pride ! 
 And I have waited long to be thus sure 
 You could not choose but be my wife at last !" 
 I think the scorn that settled round my mouth 
 Fixed then its changeless lines ; the icy glance 
 'Neath which he shivered, glazed fore'er my eyes ! 
 " Then be it so," I cried. " It is a bond ! 
 You shall have flesh and blood — no more than that — 
 And but upon condition. Ere I wed 
 You shall give o'er into these very hands 
 All proofs and papers of this fatal web 
 Entangling me and mine — or else — no wife !" 
 He scowled, and caught his breath ; for he had 
 
 thought 
 To gloze with sentiment this barter o'er, 
 And help my vanity to self-deceit. 
 Then too, he fain had kept this threatening rod 
 To awe a victim and her trembling kin. 
 I only looked at him ; no shade of fear 
 Humbled my gaze ; the potent sway of will, 
 Unflinching and unsparing, ruled him then, 
 And ever after ; he could turn from me 
 
The Old Love. 'iil 
 
 No more than needle from the loadstone's spell ! 
 "Your sword is longest," said he, " I will yield ; 
 You are too beautiful to render up 
 E'en though a plot should tear the kingdom down !" 
 " You understand," I answered, " 'tis a bond — 
 For you this woman-semblance flesh and blood — 
 And all the outward seeming of a wife, 
 With buried life you never can come nigh — 
 For me — the freedom of my house — and you !" 
 It seemed he would have cursed me, were it not 
 For that race-courtesy that trains the tongue ; 
 Or broke the chain that bound him — spite of wrath, 
 But tliat he hugged the cankering coil too close ! 
 And so he only muttered — " 'Tis a bond." 
 And when I stood before my mirror next, 
 I could have struck and marred my hated face 
 Because he deemed it fair ! — but held my hand— 
 For ah, my love had kissed that pallid brow 
 And made it sacred even in my sight ! — 
 I held my hand — we do not smite the dead ! 
 
 Unseemly was the speed which hurried on 
 My bridal day — for safety was in haste — 
 And there might be just such discomfort too 
 As some men feel when watching in cold blood 
 A helpless creature slain when brought to bay. 
 The groom besides had formed a vague belief 
 That marriage would effect some magic change 
 Of never altered c^ilm to passion's glow. 
 
38 The Old Love. 
 
 The wedding-bells were ringing. Two were met 
 
 Within the stately library where fell 
 
 A solemn splendor through the colored glass 
 
 On book-lined walls and white busts of the great. 
 
 I entered in in all the costly sheen 
 
 Of priceless lace and shimmer of rare stones — 
 
 The family heritage on either side — 
 
 It seemed as if the gold and crimson lights 
 
 Strove to shed warmth upon my snowy state, 
 
 And in transfigurating glory wrapped 
 
 My shining dress and coronetted head. 
 
 They spoke no words, those twain — but gazed at me 
 
 As sacrificial priests before the stroke 
 
 Must once have looked on Iphigenia bound 
 
 Upon their heathen shrine. 
 
 I stretched my hand, 
 And one within it laid some papers sealed 
 Then, spite of ringing bells and waiting guests, 
 And bridegroom's frowning brow,and parents' shame, 
 I read them one by one, and counted o'er 
 Each separate proof ; then asked my anxious sire 
 If all were there down to the smallest hint ; 
 The other's face flushed hot. But faith was kept. 
 Then on the burning logs I laid them all. 
 And smoke of them went out the chimney wide 
 To taint pure a-ir vibrating with the clang 
 Of those loud wedding-bells — that pealed a knell ! 
 
The Old Love. 39 
 
 I kept my bond — nought flesh or blood could do 
 
 Was left undone ; no wifely duty failed. 
 
 If stronger mind and vision clear controlled 
 
 His daily course, regardless of conceit 
 
 Or throes rebellious, he could not but own 
 
 He was set higher by the wit not his. 
 
 I gave his rank such grace that he was proud, 
 
 The proudest envied him. And in his home 
 
 No jarring care disturbed his idle peace. 
 
 I tended him in sickness ; stood with him 
 
 By open graves, that were some his, some mine ; 
 
 Gave him all service of the head and hand 
 
 From greatest unto simplest ; and yet ne'er 
 
 In all those years once showed or knew one trace 
 
 Of aught like feeling. 
 
 At the first he took 
 The outward for the real, and was content. 
 Slowly a wakening came on him ; too late 
 A something, finer, truer, stirred his soul, 
 When passion's mockery of Love was gone, 
 And Love itself disturbed with keen desire 
 For closer marriage than the clasping hands, 
 For spirit mingling, share of inner life. 
 Too late, too late ! His torment never pierced 
 Below my sight of it ; no pity e'en 
 For haggard suffering moved me more than might 
 Have softened the sereneness of the dead ! 
 It grew to be a misery that he ne'er 
 Could grope beneath the surface, nor come near 
 
40 The Old Love. 
 
 The buried silence of the secret depths. 
 And out of his strong pain there came at last 
 A knowledge that his anguish rose from mine ; 
 And tenderness sprang forth from keen remorse, 
 And made him other than the man he was. 
 What was it unto me ? I kept my bond. 
 And when his death-time came it found him gray 
 And prematurely old, while I stood by 
 With strange-kept beauty all undimmed by age. 
 " Forgive me, oh, forgive me !" then, he cried, 
 *' I knew not what I did in selfish lust 
 To call you mine ! Have you no word at last 
 To slake the thirst I die of ?" And I said ; 
 " The dead do not forgive — no living pain 
 Affects the immobility that lies 
 Unanswering, unchanged. The dead are dead." 
 He lifted up his arms unto the heavens ; 
 " Is she a stone — this woman — " he exclaimed, 
 "Who wears a woman's attributes ? Or worse — 
 A soulless thing like Sirens of old tales 
 That lured men to destruction ? O my God ! 
 Give her a soul for just this parting hour 
 That I may have a hope for world to come I" 
 " One morning long ago," I calmly spoke, 
 "You made a bond with me — for flesh and blood- 
 Have I not kept the bond ? I told you then 
 My soul was out of reach. I tell you now, 
 That in the Great Hereafter you will be 
 No nigher to the unapproached Me 
 
The Old Love. 41 
 
 Than you have ever been. Till death do part 
 
 You will have flesh and blood — no more than that." 
 
 He groaned a groan of infinite despair, 
 
 Then in long stillness thought ; until at length, 
 
 " My wife," he said, " I think somewhat there is 
 
 For me too to forgive. E'en though I die 
 
 Of hunger in the desert, I forgive, 
 
 And bless you also, since through you 'twas given 
 
 That Love should lead me from the slough of self, 
 
 And be its own reward. I sorrowed much, 
 
 But I am better that I loved you, dear, 
 
 And so can love you through Eternity, 
 
 Though resurrected feeling of your youth 
 
 Space wider than creation 'twixt us spread !" 
 
 E'en this no closer touched me than a wind 
 
 Blown o'er a tomb ; nor any time or word 
 
 More solemn seemed than other — I was dead ! 
 
 I bore his children — they were his — not mine ! 
 I put them from me from their very birth. 
 Lest soft hands on my breast should wake the dead. 
 Nothing of me was in them — they were his — 
 They wore his looks — repeated o'er and o'er 
 Their father's being — were so much of him 
 There was no room for me ; Nature itself 
 Conspired that nought of mine should pass to them, 
 Myself thus tempting self. I never took 
 One in my arms, and shut their voices out 
 From all my daily haunts. I would not give 
 
42 The Old Love. - 
 
 E'en these one throb of tenderness lest life 
 Should upward spring, and rob of his sole right 
 My lost beloved. 
 
 And yet I trained them well — 
 Put all my brains at that — trained them so well 
 They never had a will or wish but mine ; 
 And I took clearest wisdom for a guide, 
 But most of all took heed — for they were girls — 
 They should not know their hearts ere they were 
 
 wed ! 
 I married them to noblest in the land ; 
 For men were proud to take from such a hand 
 Such daughters for their wives. And if they loved 
 Their husbands I nor knew nor cared — 
 I had made sure they felt no love before, 
 Not e'en a mother's. For I kept my bond 
 To his as well as him, — for flesh and blood ! 
 
 And now — a time has come — has come at last — 
 
 That husband — children — never could command — • 
 
 When just these words upon a paper writ 
 
 Break all the tomb seals, and life struggles forth ! 
 
 My love, my youth, comes back to me again ! 
 
 And with my soul-sleep flit away long years 
 
 Of intermediate dreams. He comes, 
 
 He comes, my Love, who in world's worth ranks 
 
 now 
 Far higher than all those who scorned him once ! 
 Ah, all his crowning honors — nay, though earth, 
 
The Old Love. 43 
 
 Whole earth itself should set him on a throne 
 Of universal state and sceptered power — 
 Could never make him more or less than that 
 He always was — a Man ! The Man of Men ! 
 I do remember once my father sought 
 To stir the statue calm was his reproach, 
 By reading out the glories he had gained, 
 Casting his sidelong glance upon my face. 
 To mark if stone thus flung within my depths 
 Would send its circles to my changeless mien. 
 I fixed his shifting eye with my full gaze, 
 And with unshaken voice replied to him : 
 " To those king-born no title can make great ; 
 And triumph echoes do not move the dead !" 
 But thus I knew by his own deeds he stood 
 Peer of the mightiest. It was nought to me 
 More than his cloak or sword. My love was he, 
 Who, nameless, landless, gave me life of life ! 
 But oh — this sleep — this death — will it pass off 
 And leave me all alive as once I was 
 To meet him with old gladness ? O my soul 
 Thy quickening thrills must shake the fetters off 
 Of habit's coldness ! For he comes — he comes ! 
 
44 The Old Love, 
 
 AFTER. 
 
 HE. 
 
 So like, and yet so changed ! Time scarce has left 
 
 A mark upon her slender, graceful form, 
 
 Or trace of all these years upon her brow ! 
 
 Her very hands have kept their smooth, white youth, 
 
 And in the wavy shadows of her hair 
 
 Still lurk the golden gleams ! But that slow pace, 
 
 So different from the agile, airy step 
 
 Of her blithe girlhood — so funereal like, 
 
 Seemed as a mourner's tread that bore dead hope ! 
 
 And those strange eyes, so stony cold, yet keen, 
 
 As though they gazed, without one gleam of light 
 
 Into each spirit's secret place, and took 
 
 The measure of each motive ! And that mouth — 
 
 So dimpling soft and rosy smiling once — 
 
 Great God ! what scorn, and hate, and stern resolve, 
 
 She must have known to change her mouth like that I 
 
 It was as if that moment long ago, 
 
 When her strong will uplifted her from woe 
 
 To say unfaltering, " 'Twill be death in life 
 
 To me until we two shall meet again !" 
 
 Had fixed its power and fulfillment then 
 
 Upon her face forever ! " Death in life !" 
 
 I did not deem that these were more than words 
 
The Old Love. 45 
 
 To emphasize her constancy ! But now — 
 
 That pallor rare — that frozen mien bespeak 
 
 A life of buried memories and dreams ; 
 
 Yet to unknowing sight would naught convey 
 
 Through stoic aspect of such still repose. 
 
 Her stately courtesy might have greeted kings ; 
 
 The polished frost of her set phrases spread 
 
 A frigid elegance o'er intercourse 
 
 That curbed emotion into self-restraint. 
 
 If she saw change in me, she made no sign ; 
 
 If she remembered aught of that fond past 
 
 She spoke no word ; if she was moved within, 
 
 No tremor of it stirred her eyes or lips. 
 
 It seemed to me before I entered in 
 
 Her presence chill, that I could never keep 
 
 My life-long yearning for her in due bounds ; 
 
 That I should all forget that she had been 
 
 A wife and mother, and at touch of hand 
 
 Must snatch her to my breast, and feel again 
 
 Old rapture of those far off days ; must fling 
 
 My pent-up tenderness in frenzied speech ! 
 
 And so I strictly schooled myself to meet 
 
 All social needs — I counted up the years 
 
 So long between us full of other ties. 
 
 And set them sentries o'er my softer mood. 
 
 And masked all meaning in my guarded looks. 
 
 Alas, what mattered it ? I was as like 
 
 To clasp a marble statue in my arms. 
 
 Or breath of passion to the rigid Sphynx ! 
 
46 The Old Love. 
 
 She talked to me of honors I had won, 
 
 Of countries I had seen, of books and men ! 
 
 Her sentences were epigrams — her wit 
 
 Brilliant and pointed as a duel-sword. 
 
 Ah, my young love ! my innocent, fair love \ 
 
 So full of joy — so bouyant — so untouched 
 
 By worldliness — if I might render up 
 
 All so-called gain — my hard-won fame and place, 
 
 Nay — very life itself, to give you back 
 
 Your happy youth, 'twould be light thing to do ! 
 
 Ah, curses, curses on the evil deeds 
 
 Of plotting men that brought you to this pass ! 
 
 Sure am I that if my untiring love 
 
 Could but have guarded her from every ill. 
 
 The sweetness never would have left the face 
 
 That turned to me of yore so warmly bright ! 
 
 She looks like one in whom all love is killed ! 
 
 Ah me ; her love for me ! her love for me ! 
 
 Is that all wrecked ? How eagerly I watched 
 
 For any sign of living passion still ! 
 
 For it did seem at times as outward show 
 
 Of shining coldness was but armor worn 
 
 To shield the inward ! or like glittering ice 
 
 'Neath which the surging waters ever flow ! 
 
 Perchance this armor has been worn so long 
 
 The human knows not how to slough it off ! 
 
 Perhaps the ice is frozen through so deep 
 
 The hidden waters never can burst through J 
 
 And yet methinks, beneath the adamant 
 
The Old Love. 47 
 
 Is burning lava yet ! For on her cheeks 
 Two fever spots of gradual flame arose ; 
 And in her hands such restlessness was sliown 
 It seemed as though they would have wrung them- 
 selves 
 In wild unquiet ! — My Love ! my Love !— 
 I should have spoken out, all unappalled 
 By eyes and mouth ! For in her voice at last 
 Mingled a pathos as of coming sobs ! 
 My Love, my Love, I think love is not dead ! 
 And I will wait — will wait — until defence 
 Of armor is torn off the struggling soul ! 
 Until the rising waters overflow ! 
 And lava breaks through rock ! Dear Love, I wait ! 
 
 SHE. 
 
 Gone, gone — and all is lost ! O, soul of mine, 
 Thy death-bonds are so strong they could not rend 
 Thy way to life again ! Oh, awful years 
 Of self-withdrawal from all sympathy, 
 Ye have so shrouded the sharp, quickening throes 
 With custom's calm, that Love itself is numbed 
 In Arctic atmosphere ! So long, so long 
 Have I entombed the feelings of my youth 
 From every presence, that e'en his could not 
 Draw them to freedom in the glare of day ! — 
 Yet he was here ! — It was not some mad dream — 
 His hair was white ! — I think because 'twas white, 
 
48 The Old Love. 
 
 And that his head was stately as a king's 
 
 I could not leap to meet him with glad smiles 
 
 As I might once have done ! For I ne'er thought 
 
 To see him other than his olden self ! — 
 
 Ah me, the years, the years ! — Oh, why, my soul, 
 
 Must thou lie hid as from thine enemies 
 
 Before the love that questioned from his eyes? 
 
 There is no change in that — the old, old love ! — 
 
 It filled the air, and compassed me about. 
 
 Yet I shrank from it, could not brook its warmth, 
 
 Because my struggling soul had borne so long 
 
 The lonely coldness of a silent grave, 
 
 It is not pliable, thus habit-swathed 
 
 With strong repression, to spring into light 
 
 And speech and happiness, with sudden bound !— 
 
 'Tis vengeance of the Lord ! If I had kept 
 
 Some sweet humanities alive in me, 
 
 Nor let relentless pride and hate so bind 
 
 Existence with indifference, till all 
 
 My buried being was so fettered in 
 
 It knew not how to burst its wonted thrall, 
 
 I might have greeted him with blissful ease 
 
 Of one translated into Paradise ! — 
 
 My husband — you spoke true — something there was 
 
 For you too to forgive. I was too hard ! — 
 
 And oh — my babies — my unmothered babes ! 
 
 Would not the tender clinging of their arms. 
 
 The pressing of those little mouths, have reached 
 
 Through death and solitude, and made me live ; 
 
The Old Love. 49 
 
 So when he came at last I miglit not be 
 What I had made myself, a willing dead ! 
 How can I bear these yearnings that awake 
 With my arising soul ? O God, my God, 
 Have mercy, for my punishment is great ! 
 The passion of my youth up-heaves again, 
 And all my youth has past ! My love has come, 
 Has come, and gone, and I could make no sign ! 
 My love — for whom I died ! — My love, for whom 
 I burst the grave sealed by my slaying will ! 
 My love, who never guessed that he beheld 
 A whited sepulchre — of stirring life ! 
 And he has gone — and never understood 
 That I have kept my parting word with him. 
 And met him truly but beyond the tomb ! — 
 No mortal flesh can e'er endure these pangs ! 
 Give me but time — a little time, my God, 
 Still in this world to look on him again ! 
 The guarded stone is rolled away at last ! — 
 The spirit free has cast its grave clothes off, 
 And like deep calling unto deep, cries out 
 Unto its only love, that nought on earth. 
 Save striking of the flesh by God's own hand 
 Shall hold it back from him ! Oh God, my God, 
 Slay but Thy judgment on this failing frame ! — 
 For all the love of old was in his eyes ! — 
 Oh, give me time ! — I summon thee, my love ! 
 
50 The Old Love, 
 
 HE. 
 
 At last — at last — the burning lava burst 
 
 Througli prisoning rock — the waters have o'er 
 
 flowed ! 
 But oh, my love, would I had died for tliee ! 
 Or would that I could die ! For nevermore 
 Will sight of her wild agony of bliss 
 Pass from my sorrowing sense. Ne'er again 
 These sad arms cease with emptiness to ache. 
 I went to her all quivering with hope, 
 And almost felt as when I was a boy 
 And waited for her full of tender dreams : 
 My heart was hot beneath my whitened head 
 As untrained heart of youth — Love has no age ! — 
 She stood, up-risen from a pillowed couch. 
 With hands crossed on her breast, and eyes intent 
 Upon the doorway ! When I entered in 
 She spoke no word, but such a blaze of joy 
 Flashed in her face, 'twas revelation's light, 
 And I forgot all else — the years — the pain — 
 And saw but my young love come back to me — 
 One step, and I had caught her close, — so close ! — 
 Then on the silence broke such awful sobs 
 It seemed as Nature could not bear the strain ; 
 And I could only hold her close, — so close — 
 
The Old Love. 51 
 
 And rain my kisses on the pallid face ; 
 
 Until she lay like to a tired child 
 
 Upon my breast, and told me all her life, — 
 
 Her life ! — Her death ! Her very death in life ! — 
 
 Oh, then I thanked Thee, God, that I had kept 
 
 Such stainless faith to her, could listen there, 
 
 Without one tingling blush or thrill of shame, 
 
 Unto fidelity's most fearsome tale I 
 
 Then fell Time's chill on me, that there should be 
 
 Such short space left of life for one to strive 
 
 With being's whole devotion to repay 
 
 Such suffering and such love ! She lifted up 
 
 Those strange, sweet eyes to mine, and answered me : 
 
 " Dear love — the past is but a dream — 'tis gone ! 
 
 'Tis but a moment in the cycles vast 
 
 That stretch before our spirits. We have all 
 
 God's great Eternity to love in yet !" 
 
 And then as if she gazed beyond this world 
 
 Into the sureness of unfading peace. 
 
 Her face grew luminous with wondrous grace ; 
 
 "See, love," she cried, "the sting of death is o'er ! 
 
 The grave has lost its victory ! I live ! 
 
 Love-raised, love-quickened into endless life. 
 
 Thine own forevermore !" 
 
 Oh Love, my Love ! 
 Thy last words echoed from the hidden shores 
 Of Immortality ! 
 
 Once more we part ! 
 
52 The Old Love. 
 
 Yet oft it seems to me that she is near, 
 As one can feel a presence in the dark ! 
 I only wait till death dispels the gloom, 
 And I shall see her in the happy light 
 Of our Eternal Day ! 
 
 Once more I wait ! 
 
THE 
 
 LION IN A MENAGERIE. 
 
The Lioji in a Menagerie. 55 
 
 THE LION IN A MENAGERIE. 
 
 I turn and turn between these bolts and bars, 
 And up and down I pace and pace this den, 
 I — Lion of the Desert — in whose ken 
 
 Were once the boundless distance, countless stars ! 
 
 These stifling walls, this close shut cell for me. 
 That roamed at will from forest unto stream. 
 Or 'neath the soaring palms laid down to dream 
 
 Of flying prey, imperially free ! 
 
 Mine was dominion of the stretching plain, 
 
 Where, stalking lone, my roar shook trembling beasts, 
 And where 'mid wilderness staid royal feasts ! 
 
 Ah, solitude of that old life in vain 
 
 I long and pant for that leaf shaded lair 
 
 But lioness fight won might safely share ! 
 
 But here, here, here, these creatures' eyes do mock 
 My conquered strength, as circled round my cage, 
 They watch secure against the prisoned rage 
 
 That still can all their cowering natures shock. 
 
 For lo ! in one unchanged, defiant roar, 
 If I but lift resounding, threatening voice. 
 
56 The Lion in a Menagerie. 
 
 They couch supine with fear ; and I rejoice 
 With my one gladness that forevermore 
 The lion's menace quells the jackall's laugh, 
 
 The bear's rough growl, the eagle's shrilling screech ! 
 
 Ah — ah — for one long spring their throats to reach 
 With unsheathed claws, and fright-chilled blood to quaff ! 
 But I, like them, shall hunter's victim die 
 Craft-trapped, 'neath roof, instead of open sky ! 
 
 One blessing only does such captive know. 
 
 That lendeth freedom's charm a welcome space. 
 Prized boon of sleep — transforming state and place 
 
 To range unchecked where wide horizon's glow. 
 
 Once thus with couching head on outstretched paw,' 
 I marched from shadow of some ruins vast. 
 Whose shattered pillars of a grandeur past 
 
 The lion's shelter and the human awe ; 
 
 And while in waking vision gazing still 
 
 Dream-dazed o'er dazzling waste of desert-plain, 
 This vivid picture flashed from brain to brain 
 
 Electric stirring watching artist skill ; 
 
 And slumber-chasing voice spoke comrade-joj-, 
 
 " For aye with lions fame links Delacroix !" 
 
 Men deem their speech a privilege of race 
 Exclusive of all knowledge save their own- 
 
The Lion in a Menagerie. 57 
 
 While any creature in their every tone 
 
 The meaning, and the feeling too can trace ; 
 
 Although no man has learned 3-et to translate 
 The wordless language that within each kind 
 The world of animals through nature find 
 
 Communication's fit articulate; 
 
 And lying lazily with half-closed eyes 
 I listened to the converse of these twain, 
 Till, vague and dim, like mist of distant rain, 
 
 Began strange phantom memories to rise 
 
 Of antique lore, old other life intense. 
 
 With transmigration's, evolution's sense. 
 
 So raising thought pierced head that sudden seemed 
 As weighted with gray age, I sat up straight, 
 Impelled to see the secret things of Fate 
 
 That meteor-like on hapless Present gleamed ; 
 
 " Thus shalt thou sit," said one, " beside the Seine ; 
 A monumental type of lonely power, 
 Twin-mated by thyself, predicting hour 
 
 Of mystic forecast, when unequaled reign 
 
 Fulfills, in Paris, Time's prophetic law 
 Of world Avator ; who, as One before 
 Shall be the East, yet rule the whole West o'er ! 
 
 And looking on thy face — " Our Barye saw" — 
 
58 The Li 071 in a Menagerie, 
 
 Shall sage men say : " In lion-likeness rare 
 Is wisdom vvierd of Orient cycles there !" 
 
 " Ay," spoke the other, " he may come again. 
 The Great Napoleon, whose very name 
 Meant " Lion of the Desert," not the same 
 In form or feature, but the spirit strain 
 Unchanged from image of the lion-force ! — 
 And as this one, bronze still as yours will be, 
 Outstares his prison, o'er the ruthless sea 
 From rock Promethean, his sight's long course 
 Beheld, perchance, more empire than he lost ! 
 Mayhap was laurelled Caesar once again, 
 Greek Alexander, Ghengis, Tamerlane, 
 Rameses towering o'er a vanquished host ! 
 Yet now — who knows ? — may in this creature state 
 Here expiate the past, the future wait !" 
 
 ** Who knows, indeed," was solemn answer made, 
 What unsolved mysteries of death in life 
 And life in death in every being rife 
 
 Are on immortal soul as burdens laid ! 
 
 But let us thankful be, we lesser men 
 
 Than this Napoleon of your fancy's sight, 
 
The Lion in a Menagerie. 59 
 
 That all wliich was, or yet may be, in flight 
 Of forms and ages, is flesh hid from ken !" 
 And then they went their way. No lions tliey 
 To inward tumult as by tempest stirred 
 With ancient, modern, speculative word ! 
 To feel the ocean-wind cast hoary spray 
 Of centuries across a barren height. 
 Yet still unquelled keep garnered lion might ! 
 
 8 
 
 For at the magic titles, " Paris," " Seine," 
 Confused I heard a flowing river's sound 
 'Mid echoes of unbroken walls around ; 
 
 Triumphant passed o'er stony ways again ; 
 
 And when " Napoleon " thrilled my carnal frame. 
 Came up through avenues all thronged with eyes 
 Like surge of deafening waves that rise, sink, rise, 
 
 Reverberating shoutings of that name ! 
 
 Then felt my brow-weight was an iron crown ! 
 
 Smelt war-red carnage ! Joined with mine the roar 
 On cannon-conquest spreading kingdoms o'er ; 
 
 And then — a falling horror, down and down, 
 
 Till blazed in fire on rock 'mid pathless sea 
 
 The fatal " Waterloo " death-charged with me ! 
 
 9 
 
 For was not I that man — that destined One ? — 
 A moment's clearance strange of Being's cloud, 
 
6o The Lion in a Menagerie, 
 
 Mind-clutcliecl through beast's obscure, allowed 
 
 Long trail of vision o'er career time-run — 
 
 Ah — ah — if he — why not those other Great ? — 
 Then gathered I all strength of sternest will 
 From that supremest power latent still 
 
 To catch self-hold on farther human state ; 
 
 And lo ! like mirage-wonders on the sand, 
 
 That flash with realness o'er approaching sight, 
 And fade deceptive in excess of light 
 
 When striving nearness finds but empty land, 
 
 Phantasmagoria of fates apart 
 
 Did o'er identitys eternal start ! 
 
 lO 
 
 Led lives mediaeval through plottings deep 
 Of subtlety that guided martial gift 
 Where Roman phases signal echoes swift 
 Of " lo Caesar," " Et tu. Brute," aye keep ! — 
 O'er ravaged countries sweeping in the van 
 As fusing soul of rushing Asian hordes. 
 Pulsed barbarous pride unbridled power affords 
 In fleeting shade of conquering Tartar Khan ! — 
 Heard through long eras phalanx triumph hails 
 Link battle names, " Abylos !" " Austerlitz !" 
 And 'twixt colossi Pharaoh faith submits 
 To custom hierophantic law entails ; 
 " Sleep, son of Ra !" a voice from Sphynx arose, 
 " The Temple Sleep that earthly future shows !" 
 
The Lion in a Menagerie. 6i 
 
 II 
 
 Oh, what a dream of life's successive range 
 
 Through masks all fitted for the nature's growth, 
 Where rich advance and retrogressions both 
 
 Were harvesting experience from change ! 
 
 Till I beheld 'neath Oriental sky 
 
 A plain immense whereon outstretching view 
 Knelt nations prone of every tongue and hue, 
 
 A marvellous multitude, 'mid whom on high 
 
 Sat One upon a lofty golden throne, 
 
 'Neath canopy emblazoned o'er with bees ; 
 And at each side like guarding destinies 
 
 The Lions of the Seine ; and on his own 
 
 Was that majestic look of wisdom hoar 
 
 Their moulded visages so weirdly bore. 
 
 His foot was on a lion ; o'er his head 
 
 The Roman eagle held a gem-starred crown, 
 Where every jewel had engraven on 
 
 A kingdom's name ; across his knees was laid 
 
 Two crossing keys upon an unsheathed sword ; 
 And in his hand he held a lotus-flower. 
 The concentration of all empire power 
 
 Was in his awful mien, when at a word 
 
62 The Lion in a Menagerie. 
 
 A myriad weapons flashed upon the air, 
 And all the host as by one vision spelled, 
 A city far and glorious beheld, 
 
 With world-controlling sceptre lifted there! 
 
 And then like thunders rolling on and on 
 
 To upper vastness rang " Napoleon !" 
 
 13 
 
 Napoleon ! Napoleon ! that mighty shout 
 
 Swelled 'gainst a " Paris " written in my heart. 
 And woke me with a lion's wildered start 
 To bolts and bars and cages all about ! — 
 No longer am I mocked with creatures' eyes ; 
 No more defiant roars curb petty spleen ; 
 For striving in me with shall be, has been, 
 The human with the brute commingling lies, 
 And sets its growing mark on massive face ; 
 For oft, perplexed, this Barye since has gazed 
 To grasp elusive something that amazed 
 His artist insight 'yond the modelling trace ; 
 Yet touch by touch wrought in his lions dumb 
 A prophecy of One Who Is To Come ! 
 
Fi'aiicis ] 11 Ion, Poet. 6 
 
 J 
 
 FRANCIS VILLON, POET 
 
 When Master Francis Villon, 
 
 Outlaw and cut-throat, thief, 
 For crimes abode in prison. 
 
 From death saw no relief ; 
 His limbs galled sore with fetters, 
 
 Shut out from light and air ; 
 Half killed with cruel torture, 
 
 Quite starved into despair ; 
 Then 'mid his only comrades, 
 
 Snakes, rats, upon the floor, 
 And with no other listener 
 
 Than jailor at the door ; 
 He sang a song of " Fortune " 
 
 To comfort his sad strait, 
 Forgotten in the darkness 
 
 His mortal end to wait. 
 
 Was it a toad enraptured 
 
 That croaked it in the moat ? 
 Or hard-voiced jailor gurgling 
 
 The lay within his throat? 
 It strayed out to the sunshine 
 
 Somehow from dungeon night ; 
 And rhyme of Villon's Fortune 
 
 Far pulsed in air and light. 
 
64 Francis Villon^ Poet. 
 
 King Louis, riding proudly 
 
 In progress through the land, 
 Saw front of Meung's castle 
 
 Before him frowning stand ; 
 His Fool beside him jingled 
 
 His staff of silver bells : 
 " Now read my riddles, Louis ; 
 
 Shall pearls lie lost in wells ? 
 Or fosse of yonder fortress, 
 
 Through Preacher of the Word, 
 Be changed by voice of Fortune 
 
 To cage for singing bird ?" 
 And on the right a courtier 
 
 Sang softly, sweet and low, 
 "The Old Time Ladies' Ballad," 
 
 And " Where is Last Year's Snow?" 
 Was tenderly re-echoed 
 
 Among the cavaliers, 
 Till fused with gentle sadness, 
 
 The very breeze breathed tears. 
 Then on the left a courtier 
 
 Took up another strain, 
 Of "Old Time Lords a Ballad," 
 
 And througli the king's long train 
 Rang out earth's deepest question 
 
 In human-born refrain. 
 Soul-stirring men 'neath grandeurs, 
 
 "Where's doughty Charlemaine ?" 
 
Francis Villon, Poet. 65 
 
 While near, a wayside beggar 
 
 Loud carolled mid the trees, 
 " In life there is no treasure 
 
 But just to have one's ease !" 
 And then from some one hidden 
 
 Tlie words were solemn borne, 
 "True hearts by Christ are bounden 
 
 To succor one forlorn !" 
 
 " Methinks," then quoth King Louis, 
 
 "The music in the air 
 
 Is all a-rhyme with Villon, 
 
 That poet debonnaire ; 
 Through all my people's spirits. 
 
 Lord, peasant, high and low. 
 He here to-day is singing — 
 
 How does his ' Fortune ' go ?" 
 
 Up then out-spoke the jester, 
 
 " Ask toad in yonder moat 
 Who caught its first faint numbers 
 
 From Villon's gag-strained throat !" 
 
 Forth stepped Orleans' stern Bishop, 
 
 (Well Villon cursed his name !) 
 Proclaiming to the monarch 
 
 The poet's crimes and shame ; 
 "Assassin, drunkard, robber, 
 
 Companion of the vile, 
 
66 Francis Villon, Poet. 
 
 Knave, gambler and despoiler, 
 
 Adept in every wile ; 
 For evil deeds unnumbered 
 
 The court awarded death ; 
 No more soon e'en in dungeon 
 
 Will sound his tuneful brcatli !" 
 
 " Ho, ho," the jester's mockery 
 
 Sharp tinkled with his bell, 
 "Read, Louis, are my riddles, 
 
 Song-pearl and castle-well ! 
 But good my Lord the Bishop, 
 
 That none hear caged bird sing, 
 Lock up your newts and tadpoles 
 
 That Villon's Fortune bring !" 
 
 For Louis murmured " Villon," 
 
 And Louis wore a smile. 
 And smiles were scarce with Louis 
 
 Whose face was grave with guile : 
 " Good Bishop," then he answered. 
 
 Rein marking measure slow, 
 As on his right sang courtier, 
 
 " Ah, where is last year's snow ?" 
 " Within this France, our Kingdom, 
 
 Full many rogues befall ; 
 At least a hundred thousand, — 
 
 We well might hang them all !" 
 
Francis Villon, Poet. 67 
 
 And up and down his fingers 
 
 Still swayed the rhythmic rein, 
 As on his left trolled courtier, 
 
 "Where's doughty Charlemaine ?" 
 "But not another poet 
 
 Like Villon could we make ! 
 So set him free, good Bishop, 
 
 For rarest song's sweet sake !" 
 Then chirped the wandering beggar 
 
 Among the rustling trees, 
 " Sure know I there's no treasure 
 
 Except to have one's ease !" 
 And as the king rode onward 
 
 By wind were these words borne, 
 "True hearts by Christ are bounden 
 To succor one foilora 1" 
 
68 One of the Commune . 
 
 ONE OF THE COMMUNE. 
 
 Yes, I am one of tliem, one of the Commune, 
 
 A man of the people — a man, that is all. 
 
 Not learned in much book-lore, but born with my brains, 
 
 And a soul — or something that swells in my frame 
 
 At the thought of the many crushed down by few. 
 
 Till it seems to my sense gigantic to grow 
 
 'Gainst the wrongs of dumb peoples ; feels in its arms 
 
 The strength of blind Samson that pulled down the roof 
 
 On Philistines making their sport of his might ! 
 
 One drop in the wave that leaps up like a wall, - 
 
 As in far Southern seas, scarce muttering of storm, 
 
 Then sweeps in an awful and death-bearing flood 
 
 O'er the landmarks of ages, thundering ingulfs 
 
 The churches, the forts, the carved monuments reared 
 
 To the glory of bloodshed, graved with proud names 
 
 Gained by marching red-shod o'er sacrificed lives ! 
 
 But I know why I fought, I knov/ why that wave, 
 
 An aggregate fearful of atoms obscure, 
 
 Rose up as the earth shook with menace of change 
 
 And did its dire work, and fell back to its place. 
 
 Ensanguined with dead things that floated atop ! 
 
 Build dykes, O ye rich ! Set your thrones, O ye kings, 
 
 'Mid your courtiers on shore ; command back that sea ! 
 
 What worth in the barriers when wind of its wrath 
 
 Stirs the leveling deep ? Did Canute sit firm 
 
One of the Commune. 69 
 
 When the dark mocking ocean swept o'er his feet ? 
 Ah, we knew what we fought for, 7£'^ knew who stood 
 Mong tlie wild whirling mass like clear thoughts out- 
 spoke 
 'Mid lunatic fancies of curses and song ; 
 For lo ! as tlie smoke of your cannon upcurled, 
 Misty hands of millions unborn waved us on. 
 And the sound of your guns but echoed their cry 
 " Fight for us. Brothers ! Make humanity free ."" 
 And an army of ghosts pressed on us behind, 
 And their voice floated up through shouts of the strife, 
 " Avenge us ! Stand firm 'twixt the future and past !" 
 And we knew though we died, though iron-clad heels 
 Should stamp on our graves till the traces were gone. 
 And not e'en a dewy-leaved daisy should lift 
 Its tender head there in token of love, 
 The seed we were sowing would spring up in fruit. 
 Fed to ripeness by blood, our blood, which we poured 
 In solemn libations on altar of faith ! 
 And when Time shall tear stinging Calumny's mask 
 Off faces now hid from the world's judging sight, 
 Ours will wear not a blush that glowed in the van 
 Of fierce battle To-day ! for ah ! they will shine 
 In eyes of To-morrow with holy ideas ! — 
 Mere ideas, you say ; — but ideas are the wheels 
 That roll up the earth on her course through the heavens 
 Towards the Sun of Achievement ! Then when she 
 
 stands 
 Bright with Liberty's light, warm with Truth's rays, 
 
70 One of the Commune. 
 
 She will know 'twas our work that made smooth the road ! 
 
 Do we long for no more ? that fame keep our names ? 
 
 Bah ! No ; it is good to have helped this great world 
 
 To reach her grand goal ; that though, eases the tomb 
 
 We go to in darkness, defeat — not despair ! 
 
 For nations look on while our last breath departs, 
 
 And the peoples, the peoples of lands far and near, 
 
 Lift listening heads as ours drop to tlie ground, 
 
 And link resolute hands, stand upright as men, 
 
 For they hear, O they hear, through cannon and shells, 
 
 Through Music of Triumph, our rallying cry ; 
 
 And their crown-shaking breath catches up our faint gasp 
 
 And it rings round the globe, " Vive, vive La Commune !" 
 
 And when like that shape on yon trophy o'erthrown, 
 
 Your Bonapartes, Bourbons, lie broken in dust, 
 
 'Gainst clear sky of Justice one figure shall stand 
 
 Sublime through the ages ; a grey-headed man 
 
 With breast bared to bullets. True brothers to come, 
 
 That barricade pedestal mounted by him 
 
 \^ your Column Vendome ! 
 
 My turn, did you say ? 
 'Tis well ; I am ready. What terror has death 
 For us who have seen our Delcscluze die ? 
 Have I any last words for loved one or friend ? 
 You're kinder, my soldier, than most of your caste. 
 No need to speak low, or to bend down your head ; 
 My last words are for you, for France, for the world. 
 And I say them out loud — " Vive, vive La Commune !" 
 
Bajazet. 71 
 
 BAJAZET. 
 
 Aloft upon a grassy hill 
 
 There sat a shepherd swain, 
 And played upon his rustic pipe 
 
 A simple, plaintive strain ; 
 His heart was in the music sweet, 
 
 He looked nor here, nor there, 
 As through the sunny stillness stole 
 
 The tones of tender air. 
 
 His feeding flock around him made 
 
 The slopes of verdure white 
 Amid the calm of brooding peace 
 
 In noontide's golden light ; 
 As swelled from happy innocence 
 
 The gentle roundelay 
 In melody of inner world 
 
 That sped the lonesome day. 
 
 Below o'er the echoing, startled plain 
 Surged sudden the pomp of martial train ; 
 An army that marched in strife's array. 
 With glitter of splendor on vengeful way ; 
 For fury raged high o'er stifled grief 
 In haughty resolve of royal chief. 
 
 Since out from the depths of steppes vast 
 The Tartar had rushed to fair Sebaste 
 
72 Bajazet. 
 
 With hordes that had razed its towers down, 
 And changed into desert dearest town, 
 With all of its people scattered, slain, 
 By sword of unsparing Tamerlane. 
 
 The Sultan's own son, beloved and brave, 
 
 Met doom of the captured in bloody grave ; 
 
 And forth in a storm of hate and woe 
 
 The monarch swift whirled to face his foe ; 
 
 When tempest of host for battle ripe 
 
 Was thrilled through by strains of peaceful pipe. 
 
 They touched his full heart 'neath shield of wrath, 
 
 And cast sorrow's prescience o'er his path ; 
 
 "Ah, Swain," cried he, "let thy burden be 
 
 Unhappy Bajazet, never to see 
 
 Again thy bright days of pleasure past, 
 
 Thy son, or thy city, fair Sebaste !" 
 
 Then on to his fate the Sultan swept. 
 
 And quiet once more o'er hillside crept ; 
 
 But victor another victor found ; 
 
 And loaded with chains, like wild beast bound. 
 
 He crouched in his cage 'mid conqueror's train, 
 
 Bereft of life's all by fierce Tamerlane. 
 
 And oft when the Tartar watched him there, 
 Saw stony eyes set in hapless stare 
 As brooding o'er power forever fled, 
 
Bajazet. 73 
 
 And deemed that he dreamed of glory dead, 
 Bajazet but listened in soul again 
 To music of simple shepherd swain. 
 
 For still upon the grassy hill 
 
 His pipe the shepherd played ; 
 No stir among the feeding flock 
 
 An empire's fall betrayed ; 
 Yet 'mid the artless, wistful notes 
 
 Of guileless rustic strain 
 A something deeper earnest flowed — ^- 
 
 A chord of human pain. 
 
74 TJie Lark's Song. 
 
 THE LARK'S SONG. 
 
 " No larks live in this land ;" 
 From early childhood I had heard it said ; 
 
 Yet ever longed to hear 
 A soaring lark's voice from a high cloud shed. 
 
 Oft watching in the fields, 
 I looked for lonely nest upon the ground, 
 
 From which two fluttering wings 
 Should upward float on rising waves of sound. 
 
 On crumb-spread window-sill 
 I heard the welcome robins whistling clear, 
 
 And Summer in their notes 
 Stirred Spring to start from breast of Winter drear. 
 
 And in the arbor vines 
 The tender, tiny wren's low chirping filled 
 
 Their leafy screen, and flowed 
 Into the sun like rythmic rain-drops spilled. 
 
 The unseen thrush's strain 
 Shook like a holy thing the hawthorn hedge. 
 
 That, as the burning bush 
 From which God spake, glowed at the meadow's edge. 
 
 And mid the mellow calm 
 Of that still hour when day and evening meet. 
 
The Lark's Song. 75 
 
 AH Nature's chorussed voice 
 A many-throated mocking-bird sang sweet. 
 
 Each brought to heart and brain 
 A subtle something never caught by word ; 
 
 A widening of vague love ; 
 Yet still I said, " The Lark's voice is not heard .'" 
 
 Across the seas at last, 
 I listened to the nightingale at night 
 
 Half-swooning in the flood 
 Of plaintiff melody thrilled with delight. 
 
 That woke the buried dead 
 Of youth and hopes and happy dreams of yore, 
 
 Till all my spirit's chords 
 Were tuned with memory's music of "no more." 
 
 " The nightingale," I said, 
 " Sings sweetest with her breast against a thorn, 
 And sad her gladdest song ; 
 But of pure joy the Lark's light lay is born !" 
 
 Once from a golden field 
 Of waving wheat I saw a speck upstart 
 
 Mid breathless harmony 
 That shook the air like beats of music's heart. 
 
 Higher and higher still. 
 Farther and farther flowed the fluent sound, 
 
 Until like morning light. 
 It spread and filled the broad horizon's bound. 
 
76 TJie Lark's Song. 
 
 Then from a snowy cloud 
 Shaped as an angel leaning from the blue, 
 
 And luminous, as if 
 Heaven's glory shone in rift it wandered through, 
 
 There poured such wondrous tone 
 Such pure triumphant resonance of glee, 
 
 As if the seraph sung 
 Some blissful strain of hallowed symphony ; 
 
 Then sudden ceased, and left 
 A palpitating silence on the sky. 
 
 And all the welkin throbbed 
 With rippling pulses of dumb ecstasy. 
 
 We knew ourselves again. 
 Saw quivers running through the yellow wheat. 
 
 Heard leaves of listening trees 
 Through rapturous quiet rustling sighs repeat. 
 
 And watched tiie changing cloud 
 Pass out of sight, grown strange, and still, and dark. 
 
 While life had gained and lost ; 
 And some one softly said, "It was the Lark !" 
 
 The Lark ! and yet the Lark, 
 This incarnation of the voice divine, 
 
 But filled my yearning dreams 
 With lovely hints, as grapes may give of wine, 
 
The Lark's Song. TJ 
 
 Of something still beyond, 
 Some marvelous music of immortal birth, 
 
 That, having heard the Lark, 
 I wait for, knowing 'twill not be of earth ! 
 
78 An Old Tmie Singer. 
 
 AN OLD TIME SINGER. 
 
 Ah, my mind looks back at thee, 
 
 Poet of an older day, 
 Whose choice, dainty madrigals 
 
 Love's own heart will thrill alway. 
 
 Goodly wert tliou in brave dress, 
 Booted, and with sword at side, 
 
 Laces rich at breast and Vv^rist 
 Tasselled collar fine and wide, 
 
 Velvet coat of gayest hue. 
 
 Kerchief fit for modish dame — 
 
 Thus all blades of thine own time 
 Were bedight this gorgeous same. 
 
 On thy shoulders careless fell 
 Heavy wealth of curling hair. 
 
 And thine attitude was grace. 
 Easy, simple, debonnaire. 
 
 While thine eyes half-merry, sad. 
 Looked on wine when it was red, 
 
 As thy jest o'er flowing bowl 
 Lustre on its sparkle shed ; 
 
 Or thy mellow, virile voice 
 
 Rang out measures clear and stron; 
 
All Old Time Singer. 79 
 
 Stirring echoes tender, true, 
 
 'Neath all lightness lingering long. 
 
 Naught of these placed thee apart — 
 
 Many men have revelled, sung, 
 Other countless cavaliers 
 
 In such wise their lives have flung ; — 
 
 But around thee, poet born, 
 
 Was there no felt atmosphere 
 That to comrades marked thee lone, 
 
 Higher set thee than their cheer? 
 
 Was there sense in dimmer minds 
 
 Linked in common mortal race, 
 With thee sharing wit and wine, 
 
 Of a nobler, finer grace ? 
 
 Inner being, outward man — 
 
 Ah, what difference in show — 
 Gentle gallant, poet rare. 
 
 Could they both in one guise know ? 
 
 But those years, and thou, art gone — 
 
 Yet these lyric words of thine 
 Vision of thy presence brings 
 
 Vanished from the world long syne ; 
 
 And the sc-ul was really thee 
 
 Over centuries can reach 
 Touching ours to kinship sweet 
 
 By song's subtle spirit speech. 
 
8o A Song at the Feast. 
 
 A SONG AT THE FEAST. 
 
 The feast was rich, the table gleamed 
 
 With cates and dainties rare 
 And flowers wreathing all about 
 
 Rainbowed the fragrant air ; 
 
 While crystal flagons sparkling flashed 
 
 With golden, ruddy wine, 
 Like amber, ruby gems that held 
 
 Imprisoned pure sunshine ; 
 
 The guests were gay, the laughter light ; 
 
 Well knew the happy host 
 With blithesome ease and witty grace 
 
 To draw forth jest and toast ; 
 
 And sweetest music flowing soft 
 
 Pulsed through the pause of speech, 
 
 Scarce noticed, yet to issues fine 
 Heart-touching mirth in each ; 
 
 Then, as convivial, wild strain 
 Was changed to higher mood, 
 
 The wary host a singer called 
 Who in the background stood ; 
 
 ** A song," he cried, " to float our souls 
 Our lower selves above ! 
 
A Song at the Feast. 8i 
 
 We drink to Bacchus, god of wine, 
 To Venus, sing, of Love !" 
 
 Then mellow, tender, through the hall 
 
 Swelled luscious, melting tone, 
 So stirring with the thrills of Love 
 
 All memories felt their own. 
 
 Yet some strange pathos in the voice 
 
 Tiirough this chord deeper smote 
 Upon the secret silences 
 
 Made each from each remote. 
 
 One in his brimming goblet gazed 
 
 As though to keep down tears ; 
 One stared upon the empty wall 
 
 As if it visioned fears. 
 
 Bui none looked in another's face 
 
 To see the wine flush fade, 
 And hands that grasped the bubbling cup 
 
 In stillness by it stayed, 
 
 Till sudden ceased the spelling notes, 
 
 When all their beakers drained 
 To stifle back the rising sigh 
 
 Of Nature overstrained ; 
 
 But none unto the other said. 
 
 With free returning breath, 
 That though the song had told of Love, 
 
 It brought the thought of Death. 
 
82 Art, 
 
 ART. 
 
 All Art is joy — conception is the glow 
 
 Of pure creative bliss when fancy draws 
 From chaoc depths by form — evolving laws 
 
 Ideal fashioned to existing show ; 
 
 And when the finished work is all the earth's, 
 A part of being as a hill or tree, 
 None marvel more at 'wildering mystery 
 
 Of Spirit moulds projecting mundane births, 
 
 Than sculptor who beholds his statue breathe 
 
 Clear human from the marble's senseless white, 
 Or painter, as his picture yields to sight 
 
 The latent meaning Nature's scenes enwreathe, 
 
 Or Poet, when elusive suited word 
 
 Has grasped the subtle thought, a scripture heard. 
 
 But deem not ye who stand with reverent hearts 
 Before the glories genius has wrought, 
 That high achievement to true artist brought 
 
 Uplifting pride that from self-sources starts. 
 
 Nay — only for the while it was undone 
 The thing of beauty was his very own ; 
 Once forth from him 'tis his no more alone. 
 
ArL 83 
 
 Owned by all Love, inspired worth world won, 
 
 Transcending consciousness by grace that came 
 From his ebbed mortal limits, whilom swayed 
 By power which humbles in its witness made 
 
 For immortality that consumes his fame, 
 
 Soul-grateful that a chosen life-breath he 
 
 Of Master-Maker for the " Let there be." 
 
 To One whom Nature has begot for Art, 
 
 Though thorns bestrew his dark and weary road. 
 Though bends his life 'neath pains' unsparing load, 
 Thougli fame's success cheers not his straining heart, 
 If some rare tempting chance should offer make 
 To give for genius in vast exchange 
 All gainful gifts that in earth's values range, 
 Wealth, power, love, his soul could ne'er forsake 
 The God within him. Thougli the waiting cross 
 Through anguish of Gethsemane should loom, 
 Hosannas still should lead him to his doom, 
 These other treasures counting only dross — 
 '' Art crowns," he cries, " Art is exhaustless mine ! 
 Art is pure Love for beauty's truth divine !" 
 
84 A Legeiid of the Talnmd. 
 
 A LEGEND OF THE TALMUD. 
 
 King David, the singer, Nature's bard 
 Sang to his harp at the close of day 
 
 A stirring song, and the poets' fire 
 
 Burned and glowed in the wonderful lay. 
 
 His soul was thrilled by his own sweet notes, 
 Borne on them still as on sweeping wing; 
 
 But human thought may not soar too high — 
 Pride filled the heart of the holy king. 
 
 And down from the starry vault of heaven. 
 
 Out of effulgence of unseen throne. 
 Away from voices of seraph hosts, 
 
 Dropped dreams of glory up on his own. 
 
 "Among all thy creatures. Lord," he cried, 
 " Dwelling beyond or beneath the sky, 
 Hast one who utters in praise to Thee 
 Such grand, melodious psalms as I ?" 
 
 No answer came on the evening breeze, 
 
 Strange stillness seized on the rippling air ; 
 
 Through open window a locust flew 
 To his mantle's hem and settled there. 
 
 Its tones rang clear through the silent room, 
 Mates joined it as an echoing choir ; 
 
 A nightingale's sudden music shook 
 Shadows with sound like a hidden lyre. 
 
A Legend of the Talmud. 85 
 
 The ear of the King was opened then ; 
 
 Uprose a myriad changing strains ; 
 All Nature's harmonies mingling swelled 
 
 Ecstatic rythms of glad refrains. 
 
 He heard the tinklings of many brooks, 
 Rustlings of woods, and pulsings of life, 
 
 The varied range of the wind's great chords, 
 And roll of the sea with mystery rife ; 
 
 And symphonies of shining spheres, 
 
 Stars that sung in their measureless height, 
 
 And paens of white-robed angel bands 
 
 Throbbing through courts of celestial light. 
 
 Then wisdom entered the minstrel's mind ; 
 
 Hearing yet the locust's chirping tone, 
 His humbled spirit repentant deemed 
 
 That the insects' song excelled his own. 
 
 He owned the lesson divinely taught ; 
 
 Over his harp bowed his head and heart; 
 In ceaseless and universal hymn 
 
 Taking lowly then his simple part ; 
 
 All creatures of His, praise ye the Lord ! 
 
 Praise Him in all His marvellous ways ! 
 Thou, likewise, oh my innermost soul, 
 
 Humbly join in thy Maker's praise ! 
 
86 Prayings 
 
 PRAYING. 
 
 Ill temple of myself I pray my prayer, 
 
 And let it lie 
 Like planted seed to bear me precious fruit 
 
 Of due reply. 
 
 Not as I wish, perhaps, will be fulfilled 
 
 My urgent need, 
 And not in pathways where I fain would tread 
 
 Will God's hand lead. 
 
 Yet somewhere out of darkness I shall turn 
 
 Into the Light, 
 And after groping through the dim obscure 
 Rejoice in sight ; 
 
 And looking back upon the troubled course 
 
 Thorny and long. 
 Where oft my weary soul with struggling faint 
 
 Beheld but wrong. 
 
 At last in calmness of a great peace won 
 
 Shall clearly see 
 Where blood-stained foot-prints mark the onward steps 
 
 Towards sweet To Be ; 
 
 And all the wounds, the pain, the blinding tears. 
 As jewels shine, 
 
Praying. 87 
 
 While groanings in the night like echoes swell 
 Of strain divine ! 
 
 For some day I may feel God's way is best 
 
 Howe'er I go ; 
 And though His word be hard to understand 
 
 I yet shall know ! 
 
 And so although amid my strife I pray, 
 
 'Tis not because 
 I hope to 'scape the dealings of His grace, 
 
 Or change His laws ; 
 
 But 'tis that when all mortal joys seem far, 
 
 And earth is drear, 
 My soul in yearning soars beyond the flesh, 
 
 And feels Him near ; 
 
 And having only human words to speak 
 
 In limits bound, 
 I utter cries for help, while spirit depths 
 
 Find no true sound; 
 
 For Wisdom's Infinite and Present Love 
 
 Brood o'er my fate ; 
 So lying low upon His sheltering arm 
 
 I learn to wail ! 
 
Two. 
 
 TWO. 
 
 Together, each day by day, 
 
 In all the show of life ; 
 Together before the world 
 A wedded man and wife ; 
 Together in duty, in wealth, in name. 
 Together in outside weal and shame ; 
 Linked by the church and fettered by fate, 
 Together for all their earthly state ! 
 
 Far apart as star from star, 
 As frozen pole from pole ; 
 Far apart in tastes and hopes, 
 In sympathy of soul ! 
 Far, far apart in all inward needs, 
 Far, far apart in dreams and deeds ; 
 Far, far apart when seeming anear, 
 And farthest apart e'en when most dear ! 
 
 One by the fiat of oath. 
 
 Two by God's awful will ; 
 One by the strong marriage tie. 
 Yet two by Nature still ! 
 One to suffer, to chnfe, and to wait ! 
 Two in their spirits never to mate ! 
 One by the voice and law of men ! 
 Two that death will sunder in twain ! 
 
Ad Alitor a. ^9 
 
 AD ALTIORA. 
 
 " Oh, tirra lirra !" sang a youth, 
 
 While " tra la 1" warbled maiden, 
 And " Buzz, buzz," breathed the busy bee 
 
 With Summer honey laden ; 
 When o'er them burst a carol clear 
 
 Of small bird homeward winging ; 
 Youth, maid, and even busy bee 
 
 Paused all to list his singing. 
 
 Sweet thrilling through the sunny air, 
 
 The music seemed aspiring 
 To mingle with angelic songs 
 
 And woke a vague desiring ; 
 " Oh, world beyond !" exclaimed the youth ; 
 
 « Oh, happy nest !" sighed maiden ; 
 "Oh, ecstacy of idle joy !" 
 
 Buzzed bee with treasure laden. 
 
90 Glory Verstis Labor. 
 
 GLORY VERSUS LABOR. 
 
 Venus, to Vulcan wedded, looks on Mars, 
 
 And quite forgets her duty to her lord, 
 Who, grimed with dust, at his black anvil works, 
 
 While the proud war-god sheathes his glittering sword, 
 And clad in panoply of mailed array. 
 
 With victor laurels round his helmet twined, 
 Lingers at Beauty's side, nor heeds the din 
 
 Of bloody fields borne on the warning wind ; 
 In idle chariot his battle-steeds. 
 
 Terror and Flight, await his guiding skill. 
 While the fair goddess, dazzled, tender, kind, 
 
 The hero holds a willing captive still ! 
 Thus martial show from homely Toil wins Love, 
 
 Though Vulcan forges thunderbolts for Jove ! 
 
Diana of Poictiers. * 91 
 
 DIANA OF POICTIERS. 
 
 " The conqueror of him who conquers all !" 
 
 So graved tlie Lyonnaise in loving leal 
 Upon Diana's medal ; and the king 
 
 In his own slavery only pride could feel 
 When gazing on the witching face that won 
 
 Admiring tribute of a peoples' zeal ; 
 For love ruled him indeed who ruled the land ; 
 
 And years no lustre from her grace could steal 
 Whom poets praised, and at whose worshipped feet 
 
 Where bowed a crown, the world was glad to kneel 
 In coronation of a throneless queen ! 
 
 But ah ! how Time with love and lives doth deal ! 
 He conquered all ! She conquered him ! What now 
 Is Henry's passion, Poictiers* peerless brow ? 
 
92 Patie7ice. 
 
 PATIENCE. 
 
 An English poet of the olden days 
 
 Wrote " Patience is the soul of peace," and I, 
 Almost three centuries apart from him 
 
 And fretted sad with cares, glanced careless eye 
 Over the page, and caught this wisdom's word, 
 
 That, as a ripple striking on the shore 
 Made by a stone chance-thrown on Times' deep wave, 
 
 Touched my great need, and freshened life once more. 
 'Twas like a staff put in a blind man's hand 
 
 To lead through tortuous ways to pastures still ; 
 Or seed, that taking root in battle soil. 
 
 Springs up, with grain the blood-stained field to fill ! 
 Oh, human poet-soul ! dost thou now know 
 
 How far, how long, inspired eciioes go "i 
 
Barye. 93 
 
 BARYE. 
 
 With clearest thought, keen sight, and pliant hands 
 He caught the meaning of those lower lives 
 Where Being ever onward, upward strives 
 
 Till in the human it transcendant stands. 
 
 The grace and beauty of their strength he saw, 
 Thrilled at the pathos of their limits straight. 
 And found within their dumb, unhonored state 
 
 The mighty impress of impelling Law. 
 
 World-welcome to old Truth made new is aye 
 The cross or fagot, e'en though borne unseen ; 
 But unto this rare soul must power have been, 
 
 Mid lone despite of Fame, joy ever high. 
 
 Since in himself through Genius he could know 
 
 Life-range from creature sense unto creating glow ! 
 
IN LANDS APART. i 
 
 i 
 
Off the Irish Coast. 97 
 
 OFF THE IRISH COAST. 
 
 Land, land at last ! White sea-gulls poised 
 
 Upon their outspread wings, 
 Whose floating grace to weary ships 
 
 Sweet shoreward tidings brings, 
 Swift dip upon the crested waves 
 
 Their orange feet in foam, 
 And with faint cries give welcome glad 
 
 To spirits nearing home. 
 
 Through veiling mists the shadowy hills 
 
 Loom cloud-like o'er the sea ; 
 We speed ; the barren headlands brown 
 
 Slope sunlit on the lee ! 
 On, on, and on ; the longing heart 
 
 An added witchery yields, 
 For like a draught to those athirst, 
 
 There shine the soft green fields ! 
 
 Then dancing on the sparkling deep. 
 
 Frail skiffs speed from the shores, 
 And sentinel on threatening rock 
 
 The lonely lighthouse soars ! 
 On, on and on ! The harbor won, 
 
 The anchor drops at last ! 
 Safe in the haven of the land. 
 
 The ocean dream is past ! 
 
98 hi the Coliseum. 
 
 IN THE COLISEUM. 
 
 Go stand within the Coliseum walls, 
 
 And 'mid the sunny stillness call again 
 
 The Roman multitudes of other days 
 
 Back to their cruel lives athirst for blood, 
 
 And place them there in all their ancient state, 
 
 Row upon row of fierce expectant eyes, 
 
 A palpitiating mass of eager zest ; 
 
 Behold the Emperor in his purple robes, 
 
 Who deemed himself a god, set in their midst ; 
 
 And in the wide arena, war-worn men 
 
 Grouped, sword in hand, to fight unto the death ; 
 
 Then, in that moment's quiet, when the hush 
 
 Of breathless listening quells the restless crowd. 
 
 That moment's calm, when those about to die 
 
 Salute the Caesar, think, if in such time 
 
 Once long ago there could have sudden flashed 
 
 On that great audience a vision clear 
 
 Of what their amphitheatre is now, 
 
 A silent ruin overgrown with weeds, 
 
 One keen and instant sense of mortal fate. 
 
 The transientness of building, empire, man, 
 
 Would not an awful solemn stillness then 
 
 Have stolen o'er them such as reigns within 
 
 The shattered Circus of their sports to-day ? 
 
 And moving slowly, softly, one by one, 
 
Til the Coliseum. 99 
 
 Would they have gone out, fear-struck to their souls ? 
 
 Or would the whole assembly, smote at once 
 
 With this same realizing, madly rise 
 
 In all their lusty health, and with one shout 
 
 Of terror-clinched conviction echo there 
 
 The Gladiator's words, " About to die — 
 
 Oh, Caesar, we salute thee — we — who die !" 
 
lOo The Gothic Kings, 
 
 THE GOTHIC KINGS. 
 
 FOUR STATUES ON THE PINCIAN HILL, ROME. 
 
 Ancient captives we, 
 Bound eternally ; 
 With weary hands enchained, 
 And faces bowed and pained, 
 While eras dawned and waned 
 We thus have watched the mightiness of Rome ! 
 
 Never to be free ! 
 
 Wither could we flee 
 To reach some blessed land 
 Unheld by conquering band, 
 Ungrasped by outstretched hand 
 Of an insatiate and world-possessing Rome ! 
 
 Images of stone, 
 
 Mournful and alone. 
 Amid the bright To-Day, 
 Signs of things past away, 
 We symbolize the sway 
 Of unrelenting and resistless olden Rome ! 
 
 Types of something more : 
 In those days of yore 
 
The Gothic Ki7igs. loi 
 
 Some subtly thinking Greek 
 Beholding strength grow weak, 
 Made deathless marble speak 
 Of Freedom's yearning strife against enslaving Rome ! 
 
 For as sculptor wrought 
 
 Farther reaching thought 
 Saw happy coming hour 
 When e'en earth's conquering power 
 No more could darkly lower ; 
 For death the prisoners freed e'en of law-girt Rome ! 
 
 Musing o'er the clay, 
 
 " Lo," he said, " alway, 
 O Captives, ye shall stand 
 Personifying band, 
 In emblematic land. 
 Of bondage wider than the thralldom of great Rome I 
 
 " Types of awful Fate, 
 Common human state, 
 Whose chains of circumstance 
 Forbid the soul's advance 
 Towards fetterless expanse 
 Of liberty beyond our stern condition's Rome ! 
 
 "Endless spirit-strife 
 Throughout motal life 
 
I02 The Gothic Kin^s. 
 
 i>^ 
 
 Of effort to prevail 
 'Gainst destiny's entail 
 Of being finite, frail, 
 Controlled and crushed by an inexorable Rome ! 
 
 " As the ages roll 
 From man's unseen soul 
 Shall evermore arise 
 The secret anguish cries 
 Of doubt that never dies. 
 Humanity's protest against ordaining Rome ! 
 
 *' Questioning of death 
 ' If with end of breath 
 The bonds of time and place, 
 Of Nature and of race, 
 Of heritage's trace 
 Shall fall forever off from slaves of this earth's Rome ?' " 
 
 Thousands come and go 
 Our sad gaze below, 
 But few the seeing eyes 
 That in our captive guise 
 Know hidden meaning lies 
 Of Fate-environed life midst universal Rome ! 
 
A^ the Ball at Lojig Bra7ich. 103 
 
 AT THE BALL AT LONG BRANCH. 
 
 Wildly swells the witching music, 
 
 Throbbing through the summer night 
 Rising, falling, fevering, maddening, 
 
 Mid the perfumed warmth and light ; 
 Waltz delirious, delicious, 
 
 Crashing, flowing soft as sigh, 
 Stirring, whirling human pulses 
 
 In voluptuous harmony. 
 
 Still forever mid the pauses 
 
 Of the gay dance measure's sound, 
 Sweeps there up a hollow moaning 
 
 As for something never found ; 
 Beating through the ravished senses, 
 
 With its solemn monotone. 
 Till the spirit that is in us 
 
 Stands among the throng alone. 
 
 Rolls and rolls its heavy echo 
 
 Through the thrills of vague desire. 
 Till to dreamy yearning changes 
 
 All the glow of mounting fire ; 
 Till the show as shadowy glitter, 
 
 Dims upon the vacant sight ; 
 Only phantoms float around us, 
 
 And a mist comes o'er the light ; 
 
I04 Ai tJie Ball at Long Branch. 
 
 And a feeling of the far-off 
 
 Fills the separate, saddened soul, 
 An outstretching towards the shoreless, 
 
 Surging with tlie ocean's roll ; 
 For as sounds through trancing music 
 
 The deep voice of boundless sea. 
 Dwells amid life's finite falseness 
 
 Awful, true eternity. 
 
Niaga7'a. 105 
 
 NIAGARA. 
 
 NIAGARA : A PSALM. 
 
 It makes of the whole earth a temple, 
 
 Is the altar and Holy Place there ; 
 God's presence, broods over its waters, 
 
 Wings of cherubim gleam through its veil ; 
 The Word from the Voice of Almighty 
 
 Midst the tumult of motion is heard ; 
 The Lord reigns in glory forever 
 
 On its grandeur by day and by night ! 
 
 For cycles the wilderness trembled 
 
 As the white foaming torrents swept through ; 
 For ages the solitudes listened 
 
 To the thunderous leap o'er the brink ; 
 For eras uncounted wild surges 
 
 Sprang sunlit in snowy spray-founts ; 
 The awful floods swirled into whirlpools ; 
 
 Long ere Nature knew Man in the world ! 
 
 But stars in their courses looked downward, 
 Sun and moon shed their silver and gold, 
 
 The bow spanned the space with its brightness, 
 And the wind-wreathing waves hurried on ; 
 
io6 Niaga7'a. 
 
 Still Power majestic, resistless, 
 
 And the desperate impulse of Force 
 
 Kept then 'mid the tumult and terror 
 The same calm underlying as now ! 
 
 For lo ! from the Lord God Jehovah 
 
 Had gone forth the great word to the deeps. 
 *' Thus far thou shall go, and no farther !" 
 
 They praise Him in their limits and might ! 
 And angels came down from the heavens 
 
 Ere humanity chorussed their hymn, 
 In the shrine of these floods overfalling 
 
 To adore 'mid the incense of mist ! 
 
 What bliss in the sense of creation, 
 
 And what joy must Omnipotence know 
 To bring forth from chaos such beauty, 
 
 To conceive out of nothingness, this ! 
 In ecstasy silent of worship 
 
 We reflect but the exquisite thrill 
 Of earth at this birth from her bosom 
 
 When the Maker belield " it was good !" 
 
 The tranquil wide river in ripples 
 
 Flows in peace on its long quiet way, 
 Then swift into fierce currents rushing 
 
 Plunges over the precipice steep ; 
 With strength, and with grace, and with glory 
 
 Falls and dies in the troubled abyss ; 
 Dies : — then like a spirit ascending 
 
 In sun-illumed mist soars above ! 
 
Niagara. 107 
 
 The soul of man bows down before thee, 
 
 O Niagara, for upon thee 
 He gains of the Infinite glimpses, 
 
 And beholds the Eternities rest ! 
 Amid all his fear and his wonder, 
 
 Lifts his heart in unspeakable praise, 
 For even in turbulence headlong 
 
 There is hidden invincible Law ! 
 
 Lord God of the cataracts, rapids, 
 
 O Lord God of the fountains and spray ! 
 
 Thy presence is over the waters ! 
 
 And Thy will guides the waves on their way ! 
 
io8 Niagara: The Legend, 
 
 NIAGARA : THE LEGEND. 
 
 The awe in the heart of the red men 
 
 As they gazed on the heights and the depths 
 As they looked on the. falling waters, 
 
 On the solemn mists purple and gold, 
 Awakened the yearning to render 
 
 Some rare tribute, some treasure of love, 
 As sacrifice laid on an altar 
 
 Of the spirit who dwells in the flood ! 
 
 Tliey gave of their purest and dearest, 
 
 The young maiden most fair of the tribes ; 
 They heaped the white boat with bright flowers, 
 
 And in worship knelt down on the shores 
 As singing her death song of triumph 
 
 She swept out o'er the terrible cliff, — 
 Then luminous spray and the rainbows 
 
 In the secret place folded her in ! 
 
 For years Niagara's requiem 
 
 Swelled anew o'er this offering of grace -, 
 It troubled the heart of the waters 
 
 With the weight of a gift unreturned. 
 The land brought its best and its sweetest. 
 
 As proud subjects press gems on a king ; 
 What royal bestowal befitting 
 
 Should the current yield back to the land ? 
 
Niagara: The Legend. 109 
 
 It nourished and ripened a nature 
 
 Upon lofty thoughts breathed by its foam, 
 Baptized with the strength of its splendor 
 
 A soul that it reared to its height ; 
 And when in the time of her trial 
 
 The sad country was groaning with pain, 
 Niagara gave her a hero 
 
 The great waters had made for the land ! 
 
no Niagara: A Memory. 
 
 NIAGARA: A MEMORY.* 
 
 War's tocsin liad sounded and echoed— 
 
 There were terror, and triumph, and tears I 
 The North had collected her legions — 
 
 Fields were wet with an awful red dew ! 
 Then come up the men of his region, 
 
 " Lead us forth ! we will follow till death !" — 
 Ah ! home and the sweet wife were precious ! — 
 "We will march under no other chief !" 
 
 Through cry of the men of his region 
 
 Rose the fateful deep sound of the Falls ! — 
 From love and from peace and from household 
 
 He went out to the turmoil of blood ; 
 Went out where the duty was strongest, 
 
 With the heat of the cause in his heart ; 
 Went out to the peril and patience 
 
 Of Mortality waiting on Fame ! 
 
 At last came the doom and the moment 
 
 When the starry Flag dro'oped on its staff; 
 
 When bravest sank back from the slaughter, 
 From the fiery hell of the strife ! 
 
 * Of Colonel Porter, who was killed in the early part of the 
 Civil War while leading a forlorn hope. 
 
Niagara : A Memory. 1 1 1 
 
 No hope for the gallantest venture, 
 And no chance save for honor and death ! — 
 
 Then heading the host of Niagara 
 Set the chieftain his front to the foe ! 
 
 Nor faltered the men of his region — 
 
 Could they shrink from the leader they chose ? — 
 They followed with destiny loyal 
 
 Gazing straight in Eternity's gulf ! 
 For power resistless compelled them 
 
 In firm tread that marched on to the end ; 
 As over the face of their chieftain 
 
 Shone the light of a strange, solemn smile ! 
 
 Light borne from the far-away waters, 
 
 Of the calm underlying the rush ! — 
 He thought of the tranquil bright river 
 
 In untroubled course sweeping along. 
 Then dashed into whirlpools and tumults 
 
 Until making one terrible leap 
 It plunged o'er the precipice fearful, 
 
 And died down in the foaming abyss! 
 
 He smiled then with a memory tender, 
 
 For before him arose from the depths, 
 Like spirit ascending to heaven. 
 
 The illumined ethereal spray ! 
 They looked, the brave men of his region. 
 
 On that smile as they marched unto death, 
 
112 Niagara : A Memory. 
 
 And thought of Niagara's grandeur 
 And the bow on the sunlighted mist ! 
 
 Lord God of the whirlwind and torrent ! 
 
 O Lord God of the battle and strife ! 
 Thou upliftest Thy waters to heaven, 
 
 And Thou callest Thy martyrs to Thee ! 
 
The Bahamas. 113 
 
 THE BAHAMAS. 
 
 Over the trackless, distant waste 
 
 Columbus gravely, slowly sailed ; 
 Heart-lone, time-worn, on tardy ship 
 
 His sleepless eyes the bright land hailed ; 
 What echo keeps that sounding sea 
 
 Still rolling to the island shore 
 Of glad Te Deum 'neath the cross 
 
 That claimed the New World won of yore ? 
 
 Haughty and brave, from far-off Spain, 
 
 By fancy steered to sunn}' coast 
 To seek *mid palms sweet Fount of Youth, 
 
 Famed Ponce de Leon led his host ; 
 Never a trace holds tinted waves 
 
 Sparkling beyond the island shore 
 Of gallant dreamer's ardent quest 
 
 So long ago death-gained and o'er. 
 
 Her worthies sturdy England sent 
 
 To seize her share of storied land, 
 Oueen-sped from whitened cliffs to seas 
 
 That purpled to the golden sand ; 
 What signs of Raleigh's brilliant aim 
 
 Are wafted to the island shore ? 
 Of Drake's adventures on the foam 
 
 That cresting shines, then is no more? 
 
114 ^^^^ Bahamas. 
 
 Black as their lives the Pirate's flag 
 
 Darkened the limpid, azure deep, 
 Dread harbinger of blood-stained greed 
 
 Fierce as the hurricane's wild sweep ; 
 What shadow marks the gentle swell 
 
 That softly curves on island shore 
 Of lawless passion, evil deeds, 
 
 Or gales that sank with ebbing roar? 
 
 Out of beleaguered, war-closed ports 
 
 Defiant vessels slipped away, 
 And fleet with fear on ocean free, 
 
 Secure in Southern waters lay ; 
 What murmurs of a nation's strife 
 
 Now ripple to the island shore? 
 What thunders of old battles crash 
 
 On billowy calm of storm-wrath o'er? 
 
 Now peaceful barks of commerce ride 
 
 From many lands in harbor still ; 
 And to and fro the white sails glide 
 
 That balmy breezes safely fill ; 
 But when To-Morrow's tide has swept 
 
 The Future to the island shore, 
 What of To-Day shall seaward bide 
 
 More than the Past has graved before ? 
 
 The sea rolls on the same, the same, 
 Majestic, solemn, lone and great ; 
 
The Bahamas. 1 1 5 
 
 Ages and Ages still it rolls 
 
 Unchanged, untouched by human fate ! 
 But as his memories engulphed 
 
 By waves around the island shore, 
 Man, o'er Eternity's vast space 
 
 Must pass, like ships forgot of yore ! 
 
ii6 The Outlook. 
 
 THE OUTLOOK. 
 
 The ships are anchored in the bay 
 
 The weary ships with haven won ; 
 Encompassed by the purple waves 
 
 Beneath the brilliant Tropic sun ; 
 At last upon the Summer sea, 
 
 Untossed, at rest, they quiet lie ; 
 In idle ease, scarce darkened o'er 
 
 By fleecy clouds in azure sky. 
 
 Far off upon th' horizon's verge 
 
 A white-sailed sloop speeds swift from sight, 
 Like some glad bird whose outspread wings 
 
 Cleave straight into the realms of light ; 
 It leaves behind the fair green isle, 
 
 The waters sparkling on the reef, 
 To seek a shore, o'er ocean gray, 
 
 Where winter withers bud and leaf. 
 
 Like those moored vessels worn with storms, 
 
 Now sheltered safe in harbor calm. 
 We too repose through glowing days 
 
 Beneath the shadow of the palm ; 
 But ah ! our thoughts are like the bark 
 
 That sweeps across the rounding main ; 
 Love wafted from bright, softer clime, 
 
 To our own land of cold and rain. 
 
The Lilies of Prosperity. 1 1 7 
 
 THE LILIES OF PROSPERITY.* 
 
 White shining in the tropic sun, 
 
 Uplifting from the clustered green 
 The snowy, slender leaves that bear 
 Their gold-rayed chalices atween — 
 
 Oh, Earth, in all thy places choice 
 
 Dost thou, in beauty's verity, 
 Hold grace and pureness sweeter than 
 The Lilies of Prosperity ? 
 
 Long brightening o'er the weedy wilds 
 
 Of lone, forsaken garden beds 
 From still, deserted house behind 
 
 They swayed their tender, stainless heads, 
 
 For whispering winds the sadness breathed 
 
 Of change as human verity 
 'Twixt perfect hills and palm-fringed sea 
 To Lilies of Prosperity ! 
 
 Of yore adown those lofty steps, 
 
 And round about those bordered ways, 
 
 Fair vanished women musing walked 
 'Mid flower stars of other days — 
 
 * " Prosperity " is the name of an estate in St. Croix, Danish 
 West Indies. 
 
ii8 The Lilies of Prosperity. 
 
 White clad were they in Summer land? 
 
 White souled In gentle verity, 
 Thine island sisters of the Past, 
 
 Oh, Lilies of Prosperity ? 
 
 Now pearly cups yield greeting too 
 
 For stranger on your sunny shore, 
 Like finger-touches petals light 
 
 Thrill 'gainst a woman's robe once more! 
 And 'neath the Southern sunset sky, 
 
 Celestial colors' verity, 
 Soft pleading melodies arise 
 From Lilies of Prosperity ! 
 
 "Ah, life within the empty home. 
 
 And speech amid the silences. 
 Love-thoughts among the solitudes, 
 A welcome presence brings to bless ; 
 
 Then here in soothing Lethe airs, 
 
 Where peace is world-sought verity, 
 In calm of quiet hours stay 
 With Lilies of Prosperity !'" 
 
 Oh, Lilies, Lilies, fair to see. 
 
 Or soon, or late, is death-chance sure, 
 And o'er wide seas the winged ships go, 
 What mortal state shall e'er endure ? 
 
 But grave or wave for living heart, 
 
 In Nature's steadfast verity, 
 'Mid fadeless green will still bloom on 
 The Lilies of Prosperity. 
 
A Tropic Noon. 119 
 
 A TROPIC NOON. 
 
 Were I a child-eyed Greek of Time yet young 
 Out-gazing on this shining sea and sky, 
 Where sheet of diamond sparkles flashing lie 
 
 By dazzling arch of lustrous deeps o'erhung, 
 
 I should behold the vision poets sung, 
 Not needing fancy sight to verify, 
 Of goddess floating there to glorify 
 
 Still more the splendors noon around her flung — 
 
 And as her rosy shell should bear her o'er 
 Effulgent swell, the thrilled, ecstatic air, 
 Engoldened with the sheen of flowing hair 
 
 Light-veiling gleams of star-white shape from shore, 
 
 Should to adoring soul breathe truth unworn 
 That Venus from the sky and sea was born ! 
 
I20 A Tropic Sunset. 
 
 A TROPIC SUNSET. 
 
 Majestic sinks day's globe of blinding fire 
 Behind the dark horizon line of sea, 
 Whose azure circling sweeping vast and free 
 Upholds the cloud-chain that like hills aspire 
 Between its blue and separate far sapphire 
 Still solemn in the golden radiancy, 
 Till blending tints, like rainbow paling, flee, 
 As upward stream from flame of dying pyre. 
 Mist-white and spectral, lengthening, fan-spread rays 
 To arching deeps of peace, where pallid fades, 
 'Mid melting violets' most tender shades, 
 A phantom spheric moon in waning grays 
 Beneath the silvery crescent-hung below 
 The one, first star of amber Afterglow. 
 
''Pan Sleeps r 121 
 
 "PAN SLEEPS." 
 
 Goethe's remark to eckerman in a garden at sunset. 
 Scene : West Indies. 
 
 In moveless silence broods the air 
 Dream-seethed in amber afterglow ; 
 
 The sculptured shadows of still clouds 
 Lie dusk on heaveless sea below ; 
 
 Naught stirs between abysmal deeps ; 
 Pan sleeps. 
 
 The waving fields whose purple plumes 
 The winds have fluttered through the day, 
 
 Are spelled into a breathless calm, 
 That, after tossing, breezy play, 
 
 Each fringe of upright feather steeps ; 
 Pan sleeps. 
 
 The mist-white rays slant broadening up 
 
 From far horizon sunset dyed 
 'Gainst sky of violet lost in blue 
 
 Where color in its temple wide 
 The sacredness of stillness keeps ; 
 Pan sleeps. 
 
 The quiet of the graceful slopes 
 Has settled to a holy hush 
 
122 ''Pan Sleeps!' 
 
 Where on their greenness rosy rests 
 
 The glory of a lingering flush 
 As light's last wing-poise downward sweeps ; 
 Pan sleeps. 
 
 Day's throbbings cease in pause serene ; 
 
 World's fever-thrills no more excite ; 
 Life-sense is in abeyance held ; 
 
 On threshold of approaching night 
 Where darkness all their fruitage reaps ; 
 Pan sleeps. 
 
 The god-horned brow has touched the ground ; 
 
 Through victory's shell no loud voice blows ; 
 Catch pointed ears no outer sound ; 
 
 From hand-dropped reed no music flows ; 
 The satyr-hoof no longer leaps ; 
 Pan sleeps. 
 
 Soul, havened in Time's solitude, 
 
 Enwrapt in Memory's afterglow. 
 Glad be in wisdom's lingering light 
 
 That 'neath the peace when day is low 
 Which all thy waiting being steeps, 
 Pan sleeps. 
 
FLOWERS 
 
 OF 
 
 A TROPIC ISLAND. 
 
Flowers of a Tropic Island. 125 
 
 SNOWDROPS. 
 
 What time the violets in Northern fields 
 
 'Mid screening grass send tell-tale fragrance up, 
 And gemmed with dew the golden crocus cup 
 
 Sways in the showery breeze that quickening yields 
 
 E'en to the tender green of shadowy wealds 
 
 That mong the frost-brown moss of bosky nooks, 
 By rippling music of clear, sunless brooks. 
 
 The trailing beauty of Arbutus shields ; 
 
 In emerald islands of the Southern Sea 
 
 The fragile snowdrop lifts its stainless flower 
 In lambent radiance of noontide hour, 
 
 By wind-swept roadsides and on open lea ; 
 
 And made akin in decking dawning Spring 
 
 All Nature's blooms her subtle yearnings bring. 
 
126 Flotucrs of a Tropic Island. 
 
 2 
 
 OLEANDERS. 
 
 Choice, stately blossom of all Southern climes, 
 That sweetens sunny air with spicy scent 
 From grouped coronas of rich blushes blent, 
 
 Here thou art companied with yellow limes, 
 
 And all the affluence of fruitage times, 
 The granadilla's gold, the branches bent 
 With orange ripeness, the pomegranates rent 
 
 By ruddy pulp, 'mid breeze-stirred, leafy chimes ; 
 
 Yet thou dost brighten too dry, dusty ways 
 Of storied Italy, and in lone piles 
 
 Of silent ruins, through their saddening grays 
 Thy roseate grace crowns fallen peristyles, 
 
 As blithesome on the grave of ancient Rome 
 
 As 'mid the fecund life of island home. 
 
Flowers of a Tropic Island. 127 
 
 3 
 FRANGIPANI. 
 
 All leafless in the stripping winter wind 
 
 Unlovely stands the rough and barren tree ; 
 
 No hint prophetic of grace yet to be 
 In bareness hid could alien vision find ; 
 When lo ! the springtide rains this dearth unbind 
 
 Till empty boughs bud out in greenery, 
 
 And soon far floats the ripened fragrancy 
 Of rosy blossoms clustering sun-steeped rind. 
 Thus may the human heart, kept hard and cold 
 
 By adverse poverty's bleak, blasting powers. 
 Burst into bloom undeemed it could unfold 
 
 'Neath summer-softening of Fortune's showers, 
 And Nature's generous sweetness be unrolled 
 
 In splendor of prosperity's fair flowers. 
 
128 Flowers of a Tropic Island. 
 
 4 
 LAURESTINA. 
 
 In years agone within a garden old 
 
 Of distant city home, long vanished both, 
 Was reared a Laurestina's tender growth, 
 
 Exotic in a land of Northern cold ; 
 
 And on my memory as a little child 
 
 The fragile beauty of its rose-hued flowers 
 Was stamped forever, linked with gleeful hours 
 
 And faces dear that on my fresh life smiled ; 
 
 Now aging pain has led me to far shore, 
 
 With graves of those beloved beyond the sea, 
 And in a Tropic garden wild and free 
 
 I look on Laurestina bloom once more 
 
 A child again, glad with new truth there sprung, 
 
 That spite of Time the Soul is always young. 
 
Flowers of a Tropic Island. 129 
 
 5 
 
 AMARYLLIS. 
 
 When roamed the Indian o'er wooded hills 
 
 And forests dense of verdant Carib isle ; 
 He saw 'mid tangled brush, by trickling rills, 
 
 Twinned scarlet lilies at his footsteps smile ; 
 And when alternate over ocean's waste 
 
 Old Europe's peoples sought a far exile. 
 These floral jewels with their splendor graced 
 
 The gardens that could solitude beguile. 
 On upright stem from spreading spathes of green 
 
 Still shall the brilliant Amaryllis shine 
 In days to come by eyes of mine unseen ; 
 
 Yet Joy of Beauty with its mood divine 
 But gladdens me to know though I be gone 
 
 That Nature's loveliness lasts ever on. 
 
130 Flowei's of a Tropic Island. 
 
 POINSIANA. 
 
 Outstretched and gaunt upon the chxling air 
 
 The long limbs moveless lie ; stiff, stark, 'mid all 
 
 The waving rustlings of the landscape fair, 
 
 Or when their rattling pods from dryness fall ; 
 
 A very Death in Life ; no vernal sign 
 Betokens to the teeming world about 
 That at appointed time will bourgeon out 
 
 A sudden glory of rich, superfine, 
 
 And vivid color clothing o'er the tree 
 
 With carmine flowers scintillant with gold, 
 
 To startle vision that this lethargy 
 Such body spiritual could enfold ; 
 
 God's typic word of hidden Life in Death, 
 
 When fame forgets, and stirs no more Earth's breath. 
 
RONDEAUS. 
 
Rondeaus. 133 
 
 OUR STARRY FLAG. 
 
 Our starry flag — a stirring sight 
 When floating out its red and white 
 
 To greet and cheer in foreign air ; 
 
 We hold it ne'er so dear and fair. 
 So full of meaning and of might 
 As when beside its colors bright 
 No other ensigns ever quite 
 
 In grace or power can compare 
 
 With starry flag ! 
 
 Its proud outwaving seems aware 
 Of all the star-states shining there 
 
 To shed abroad their freedom's light ! 
 
 Oh, Native Land, at utmost height 
 Keep ever with a noble care 
 
 Our starry flag ! 
 
T34 Ro7ideaus. 
 
 A ROSE-LEAF SHELL. 
 
 A rose-leaf shell ; as petal light 
 
 Just fallen from a flower bright 
 
 Upon the golden tropic strand, 
 Yet cast upon the shining sand 
 
 By world-long swell of ocean's might, 
 
 Its beauty meets our wondering sight 
 
 With mystery of the sea bedight, 
 
 And Nature's secrets awe command 
 In rose-leaf shell. 
 
 In sunless deeps of color's night 
 Whence came this blushing tint of light ? 
 
 How could such fragile grace withstand 
 Unfathomed press of surges grand ? 
 God's laws His miracles indite 
 
 In rose-leaf shell. 
 
Rondeaus. 135 
 
 THE POET'S LAND. 
 
 The Poet's land — it has no name ; 
 
 No map its boundaries proclaim ; 
 
 And though his steps rove everywhere, 
 He ever breathes his native air, 
 
 And holds 'mid changes feoff the same. 
 
 There ope the temple doors of Fame ; 
 
 There is Love's home of peerless Dame ; 
 And Summer smiles forever there 
 
 In Poet's land. 
 
 Its light beams from his soul aflame 
 With fancy's glow and beauty's aim ; 
 Ambrosia is its common fare, 
 And only gods its nectar share, 
 For lost Elysium became 
 
 The Poet's land. 
 
1 36 Roiidemis. 
 
 THE OLD POETS. 
 
 The Poets old — ah, there they shine 
 On crowded shelf in bindings fine, 
 And yet they truly nowadays 
 Get less of reading than of praise ; 
 No longer Fashion knows the Nine. 
 
 Old Homer nods ; and none divine 
 With Virgil's former mystic line ; 
 Immortal Greeks wear faded bays 
 
 As Poets old. 
 
 In Hell unoped must Dante pine, 
 While Fairy Queen's a locked up serine ; 
 Inglorious, mute, now Milton stays 
 Beside the Dramatist's dead plays ; 
 But Shakespeare's thumbed as quoting mine 
 
 'Mone; Poets old. 
 
Rondeaus, 137 
 
 ANN HATHAWAY. 
 
 Her Shakespeare said : " Ann hath a way .'" 
 Wlien in youth's halcyon, blinding day 
 
 He thus to Shottery was led ; 
 
 Where graceful Art must sure have shed 
 O'er charms mature deceptive ray. 
 
 What way did marriage tie betray, 
 That, London-lodged, in love's decay, 
 
 " My Ann shall stay where she was bred !" 
 Her Shakespeare said. 
 
 Did she, at night when down he lay, 
 
 Like Mrs. Caudle, say her say. 
 
 That as revenge, when will was read, 
 " I leave my wife my second bed ;" 
 
 Was all of his Ann Hathaway 
 
 Her Shakespeare said ? 
 
138 Rondeatts. 
 
 SHAKESPEARE'S GIRLS. 
 
 Dear Shakespeare's girls — a lovely train 
 Immortal born from Poet's brain ; 
 
 What model maid their traits combined 
 
 In crucible of fusing mind 
 Till each did separate soul attain ? 
 
 Did his young daughters foreordain 
 Marina pure, Miranda fain, 
 Perdita modest, Rosalind 
 
 'Mong Shakespeare's girls ? 
 
 Or did his inspiration gain 
 
 From Her the Sonnets scarce explain, 
 
 A Juliet true, a Celia kind, 
 
 Or " Lady Tongue " but Love could bind ? 
 Who made sweet Page, French bevy vain, 
 
 Dear Shakespeare's girls ? 
 
Rondeaus. \ ^n 
 
 SHAKESPEARE'S BOYS. 
 
 Dear Shakespeare's boys — a parlous few 
 Too cute for youth, as Gloster knew, 
 
 " So wise, so young, do ne'er live long ;" 
 And victims to Ambition's wrong 
 His Princely juvenals he slew. 
 
 Each Page but serves as word-play cue ; 
 His Roman Puppets tears bedew ; 
 No real fun gladdens us among 
 
 Dear Shakespeare's boys. 
 
 Did his own boyhood so imbue 
 
 With sadness, shrewdness, boys he drew ? 
 
 Or did child Hamnet's death make strong 
 Impress of likeness on his song ? 
 That thus precocious, doomed, askew, 
 
 Are Shakespeare's boys ? 
 
WOMAN AND MAN. 
 
DEDICATION 
 
 TO 
 
 WILLIAM T. WALTERS. 
 
 If in a casket filled with jewels rare 
 
 A cluster of the humblest flowers were laid, 
 
 Though costly splendor should their bloom o'ershade 
 
 Some fragrance faint would mark their presence there ; 
 
 And just for sake of one remembered place 
 Wherein their simple redolence had birth, 
 They might be vested with a moment's worth, 
 
 And win 'mid precious gems slight welcome grace, — 
 
 Thus into temples of the highest Art, 
 
 Where genius has richest treasures brought, 
 
 Are borne these gathered leaves of rythmic thought, 
 
 With Nature's touch alone to reach the heart ; 
 And should their value lie in memory of a name, 
 Thus linking them to thine will give their surest fame. 
 
in every character there are unfathomable depths 
 which the poet can never analyze, but must only dimly 
 guess at, and still more dimly sketch them by the actions 
 which they beget." 
 
 Charles Kingsley, 
 
146 Woman and Man, 
 
 REBECKAH. 
 
 Daughters of Heth — within my tent they stay, 
 
 These, Esau's wives, and scorn me with their eyes ! 
 For know I not the thoughts that in them rise 
 
 For Esau's sake when Esau is away ! 
 
 Within their half-wild hearts they mock this son 
 Who lingers at my side, in that he brings 
 No smell of fields, no blood-stained hands, nor flings 
 
 Low at my feet strength's reeking victim won ; 
 
 Yet what availed they 'gainst my daring skill, 
 And his adroitness, from distrust to gain 
 The first-born's blessing of dominion's rein, 
 
 To curb the future ? Though I had my will, 
 Their looks do taunt me till I weary of my life — ■ 
 And Jacob, from my kin, shall only take a wife ! 
 
Woman and Man. 147 
 
 2 
 
 ESAU. 
 
 My brother comes — Arise, my men of might, 
 Go forth with me to honor in the land 
 The twin-born, who, at birth, with grasping hand 
 Clung to my spurning heel ; Now in my sight 
 lie shall have grace — he is my father's son ! 
 He comes with great array of gathered store, 
 And dreads my vengeance for the deeds of yore, 
 For craft-fed fears all noble trusts outrun ! 
 He won my mother's love from me ; his art 
 
 My birthright from my starving weakness wiled, 
 And with his devilish subtilty beguiled 
 My blessing from my blind old father's heart ! 
 But still he is my brother ! Love stirs — and Hate is 
 
 dead. 
 And Love forgives ! " He should be blessed !" So, 
 Isaac said ! 
 
148 Woinan mid Man. 
 
 3 
 
 LEAH. 
 
 Lo ! all these many years unloved, I love — 
 No slight, nor coldness, nay, nor hate avails 
 To quench my heart's well-spring that never fails 
 
 Though misery, like a stone, be rolled above ; 
 
 Shall he not turn to me some day, who knows 
 The patient waiting of untiring dream. 
 And catch, through sympathy, some earnest gleam 
 
 Of growing passion, from its light that glows 
 
 Forever yearning in my tender eyes ? 
 
 For but my father pitied, and made sure — • 
 Well he and I knew Rachel's place secure — 
 
 To make my life of worth by wifely ties ! 
 So if 'gainst love of theirs I sinned in sight of Heaven, 
 Through Love, for Love's sake, may be Love at last 
 forgiven ! 
 
Woman atid Man. 149 
 
 4 
 JACOB. 
 
 Love filled me as thy fairness smote my eyes 
 
 When standing shyly 'mid the thronging sheep ; 
 Love overflowed, so I could only weep 
 
 And kiss thee, speechless with the glad surprise 
 
 That thou wert Rachel ! Nor e'er deemed it hard 
 To spend my youth in toil, 'neath scorching sun. 
 Or stung with frosts, since such long service done 
 
 Should bring the sweetness of my great reward ! 
 
 Then on this Love whose single thought was thine, 
 Thy cunning father, for my labor's sake, 
 Grafted cold hate ! — Leah's sin was this, to take 
 
 Love's duty from Love's right, a claim divine ! — 
 Lo ! she is recompensed — dearer thy death-born child 
 Than all her elder brood whereon her sad Hope smiled ! 
 
150 Woman and Man. 
 
 5 
 VASHTI. 
 
 Ah ! this was he I called my lord and King, 
 For wliose sake sought I to be worthy queen 
 Of life and land ! — One moment's drunken spleen 
 Long years of love does to oblivion fling ! 
 And that I would not stoop from my estate 
 Of queen and wife into a wanton's place, 
 And shameless cast the veil off this poor grace 
 His pride made senseless boast of, so to sate 
 The lustful eyes of wine-besotted men. 
 
 He makes decree to strike all wives through me ! — 
 Sure Memucan has one who will not be 
 Slave unrebellious, so gall tips his pen ! — 
 Whose loss was most, Oh, King ? From throne in 
 
 woman's trust 
 See, woman's loveless scorn thy Kingsliip treads in 
 dust ! 
 
Woman and Man, 151 
 
 AHASUERUS. 
 
 Oh, Vashti, Vasliti ! queen of heart and throne, 
 By my own mad decree I wrought this pain 
 That never sliall I see thy face again — 
 
 That face whose loveliness vv^as all my own ! 
 
 All mine alone, thy beauty and thy love ! 
 Thy love that made thy beauty sacred seem, 
 And gave thee courage to resist, to deem 
 
 That sober sense would set thy pride above 
 
 My shallow vanity ! My injured one, 
 I cannot put thy banished grace away 
 That haunts me still ! — Yet Memucan did say 
 
 That husbands should have rule ! — Now, this is done. 
 Come, Cursed Counsellors of witless hours of wine, 
 To quench tliese memories drear some new device 
 divine ! 
 
152 Woman and Man. 
 
 1 
 ONE OF THE WIVES. 
 
 Oh, Prince of Israel, I am thy wife, 
 
 And mother of thy babes ! I sought not thee, 
 But thou didst take me from my land to be 
 Thine own ! I left all kin to share thy life ! — 
 And now at this fanatic's word, thou'lt rend 
 
 These heart-born ties! He says, this priest, that 
 
 He, 
 Ilis God, ordains it ! Can this God then be 
 Jehovah, in whom Love and Justice blend 
 As thou hast taught ? Ye Hebrews Moloch hate 
 Because of children who pass through his fires ! 
 Yet over Moloch Ezra's God aspires 
 By thrusting wives in hell ! Not such my fate 
 Shall ever rule ! This God, this priest, my love de- 
 fies ! — 
 Thus, unexiled, my wifehood on thy bosom, dies ! 
 
Woman and Man, 153 
 
 8 
 
 EZRA. 
 
 Oh, Lord my God, Thy servant's heart is sore 
 For this Thy people's sin ! I did proclaim 
 Loudly before the King that wrath and shame 
 
 Should fall on those who would forsake Thee more — 
 
 And now these sons of Israel have ta'en 
 
 Strange heathen wives, the daughters of the land. 
 And broke, like punished sires, Thy stern com- 
 mand ! 
 
 And prophet's burden Thou on me hast lain 
 
 To cry Thy judgments ! And the people weep, 
 While banished women look on me with hate. 
 And bid their children curse me in the gate 
 
 Whence thy go fortli ! — yet must I hard eyes keep. 
 For bondsmen to Thy vengeance all these weary years, 
 This nation's destiny fails not for woman's tears I 
 
154 Woman and Man. 
 
 9 
 
 PANTHEA. 
 
 Oh, my beloved, what ecstacy, what bliss 
 To be again within thy tender arms I 
 To know that all thine own, from war's alarms 
 
 And captive's peril, I was spared for this ! 
 
 For my poor beauty and rich queenly state 
 
 Were doomed the destined prize of kingly power — 
 Nay — tremble not — behold, I do not cower 
 
 From off thy breast with shame — As equal great 
 
 In conquest over nations or desire 
 
 Thus Cyrus stayed my poniard's self-aimed stroke, 
 And living love here called thee to invoke 
 
 Thy gratitude for grace ! — Ah ! these inspire 
 Thy fervid zeal e'en life itself to freely spend 
 To prove my Abradates Cyrus' worthy friend! 
 
Woman and Man. 155 
 
 CYRUS. 
 
 When of Panthea's grace Araspes spoke, 
 
 Still peerless in her grief o'er fortune's phase, 
 He marvelled that my heart was steeled by praise 
 
 Of conquering beauty 'gainst Love's thralling yoke ! 
 
 Yet he was banished as its hapless slave ; 
 
 And she, who, thankful, by its power brought 
 Her noble husband to my cause, has sought 
 
 Her death on his red sword, and shares his grave ! — 
 
 Love rules the spirit and enchains the mind ; 
 He who would men control must self command 
 From passion's influence, and seem to stand 
 
 Above the ills that lower natures bind ! 
 And Cyrus, hailed as god by war's triumphant liost, 
 Must, god-like, never fall 'neath human uttermost! 
 
156 Woman and Man. 
 
 II 
 
 CLEOPATRA. 
 
 My Charmian, robe me in my royal state, 
 And with my regal diadem once more 
 Crown me for death — the asp I proudly wore 
 'Mid power's joy, frees me from abject fate ! — 
 Suck close, O snal<e, where Caesar kissed of old ! — 
 For lo ! dead Anthony calls in my heart 
 His Egypt shall die queen ! — The poison's art 
 Smites Iris down — my hot blood turns to cold— 
 But Charmian, cling thou to passing breath 
 That when Octavius shall anxious send 
 His messenger to claim my life — at end, 
 Thou may'st then answer though in pangs of death 
 To " Is this well ?" with, " Ay, most worthy well in one 
 From kings descended !" — Dark ! — Ah, Egypt's day is 
 done ! 
 
Woman and Man. 
 
 157 
 
 C^SAR. 
 
 Rome waits for conquered Egypt — Egypt dies — 
 And when for Actium I triumph there 
 And eager rabble all expectant stare 
 
 For storied charms can never greet their eyes ; 
 
 And whisper to each other, " Where is she 
 That serpent of Old Nile wiio made a thrall 
 Of Anthony?" Ah, what a shade must fall 
 O'er laurelled pageantry, thus lacking thee .' 
 
 Yet balifled so, beside thy golden bed 
 
 Where glorious still in crown and witching smile 
 Thou queenly slept, for just a moment's while 
 
 I envied Anthony ! — Thus proudly dead, 
 r, Caesar, give thee back to him in thy last home — 
 For lifeless captives make no welcome show at Rome ! 
 
158 Woman and Man. 
 
 13 
 MARIAMNE. 
 
 Think'st thou, O Herod, that my woman heart 
 Knows not true love from semblance of it worn 
 O'er jealous passion ? Love is rightly born 
 
 Tvvin-souled, two mingled selves ne'er felt apart ! 
 
 And ancient stories have unfailing told 
 
 That Love will die that the beloved may live i 
 But, thou, in tyrant wont, the cliarge dost give 
 
 If death takes thee, tiie tomb shall me enfold ! 
 
 For vile suspicion makes thy pride unjust 
 
 Toward my chaste mind, lest other man should 
 
 please ; 
 While false Salome can rob of trembling ease 
 
 Thy soul that has not learned pure love is trust ! — 
 Thy purple cannot raise my higher, nobler race. 
 Nor can thy love, for my dead brother's blood, find 
 
 grace 
 
Woman and Man, 159 
 
 14 
 HEROD. 
 
 Here, here, among these desert wastes, alone, 
 My sorrows can find voice — my awful grief 
 In anguished cries may seek its sole relief — 
 For silence strangles on my life-thronged throne ! 
 Ah, Mariamne, what to me are all 
 
 Earth's values now, crown, treasures, honors, state ! 
 These gave the power that doomed thy hapless 
 fate ! 
 Storm-whirlcvl with rage, saw I not then would fall 
 Thy death upon my heart like lightning's stroke 
 To blast and wither, yet scorch with lurid pain 
 Akin to madness ! — for since thou wert slain 
 The mortal love thy living beauty woke 
 Changed sudden to intenseness sounding hidden deeps 
 Of soul-self yet unknown that now these blood-tears 
 weeps ! 
 
i6o Woman and Man, 
 
 15 
 PORTIA. 
 
 Where now, O Portia, is the lofty mood 
 
 That ere the ides of Marcli cut deep and sure 
 In my soft flesh, that calmly to endure 
 
 The sharpest pain, might show the fortitude 
 
 Of Brutus' wife to share his brooding thought, 
 And hold the secret of that mighty deed ? — 
 But since at Elea my heart took heed 
 
 Of pictured parting full of sorrow wrought, 
 
 I weep o'er sad Andromache's distress 
 
 When " first in danger as the first in fame," 
 Her Hector leaves her ! My own woe the same ! 
 
 So change we women from our great to less ! — 
 What message, Man, from Philippi ? — Ah! — Death, 
 
 once more 
 Though makest Cato's daughter worthy as of yore ! 
 
Wo7nan and Man, i6i 
 
 i6 
 
 BRUTUS. 
 
 Ere Caesar fell 'neatli Ponipey's statue, mute, 
 lie saw my dagger's gleam, and looked at me ; 
 And 3'et once more I struck to set Rome free, 
 Nor faltering shrank to hear his " Et tu, Brute !" 
 So when at midnight through my tent did flare 
 Strange light about portentous shape that said, 
 " Again at Philippi we'll meet !" no dread 
 Disturbed my calm reply, " I'll meet thee there !" 
 Then as mid battle-din I sought for death 
 Tins " Evil Genius " turned off the swords, 
 The while I trembled not at boding words, 
 " But hand that Ceasar smote shall stay thy breath !' 
 Defeat shall ne'er make Brutus tyrant's living slave — 
 Unfearing still, this blade shall thus his freedom save ! 
 
i62 Woman and Man. 
 
 17 
 
 ASPASIA. 
 
 Not mine the household use of woman's lot, 
 Soft slavery that custom's fetters bind ; 
 But sexless equalling of mind with mind, 
 
 And power's joy by intellect begot ! 
 
 To stand with Pericles on level height, 
 With sage Anaxagoras soar o'er dream 
 Of childish faiths to truth of One Supreme, 
 
 Share e'en with Socrates pure wisdom's light, 
 
 And know my kindling thought through such allies 
 Will spread new fire 'mid world of smaller men — • 
 This is life's sweetness, thrilling highest when 
 
 Love through Ambition with prophetic eyes 
 Sees while Earth honors Athens, her immortal fame 
 Shall Pericles enshrine linked to Aspasia's name ! 
 
Woifian and Man. 163 
 
 18 
 PERICLES. 
 
 Dear friends, who sit around my dying bed, 
 Deem ye my dulling sense takes no more heed, 
 As proudly ye recount my every deed 
 
 That lustre on my name or Athens shed ? 
 
 My funeral speech, the matchless Parthenon, 
 Nine trophies for nine Victories, and all 
 Through fortune's might to other chiefs befall — 
 
 But ye recall not noblest part, whereon 
 
 Now lying here, my memory gladly rests. 
 That not one citizen through act of mine 
 Ere mourning wore ! — Yet, city loved, 'twas thine 
 
 To smite those near me with hate's false behests — 
 Slew Phidias, exiled Anaxagoras years, — 
 Saw for Aspasia pleading Pericles in tears! 
 
164 Woman and Alan. 
 
 19 
 XANTIPPE. 
 
 Men deem my Socrates a worthy sage ; 
 
 They follow, harkening, where his footsteps roam — 
 (Had he no listeners he'd bide more at home — ) 
 
 No care that cackling gilds no nestling's cage ! 
 
 For while he questions in the market place, 
 And plays the oracle upon the street, 
 I toil and toil to make the bare ends meet 
 
 Of living for his babes and liim ; small grace 
 
 Therefore I gain ; for when at idle hands 
 
 And wagging tongues I rail ; (one must have vent !) 
 With smiling eyes on some far vision bent 
 
 Like his own statues stony still he stands ! — 
 He may be higher than my poor power to scan, 
 But I had happier been with nearer, meaner man ! 
 
Woman and Man. 165 
 
 20 
 
 SOCRATES. 
 
 " How shall ye bury me ?" my Crito asks — 
 First, Crito, of myself you must get hold ! — 
 Still thinks he, friends, this body dead and cold 
 Will be the Socrates whose latest tasks 
 Have been the iiappiness of proving truth 
 To comfort ye, ttiat when I leave ye here 
 I go to blessed joys — be of good cheer, 
 Nor wail o'er empty flesh with grief or ruth, 
 While the immortal soul is living, safe ! — 
 Send home Xantippe, Crito, no loud cries 
 Should mar the patience, peace, of one who dies- 
 And bring me my last cup — Nay, wherefore cliafe 
 That I delay not — go rejoicing on my way ? — 
 That God my journey prosper onlj?^, parting, pray ! 
 
1 66 Woman and Man. 
 
 21 
 
 HIPPARETE. 
 
 I, Hipparete, the lawful wedded wife 
 Of AlcibiadeSj pray this high court 
 Of Areopagus, — my last resort, — 
 
 To give me my divorce from his vile life ! 
 
 I have borne much ere seeking here relief, 
 Forgiven oft, in tliat he swore ray love 
 Was need of finest moods, raised him above 
 
 Low levels to high aims ; and stilled my grief 
 
 By tender hope to wean him to his best^ 
 And yet this morn he passed my very door 
 In swan-shaped chariot, my gift of yore, 
 
 With Phrynne's yellow head upon his breast ! — 
 That voice ! — my name ! — his open arms ! — cease, heart, 
 
 thy strife — 
 Oh, Alcibiades, forgive thy foolish wife ! 
 
Woman and Man. 167 
 
 22 
 
 ALCIBIADES. 
 
 These women, Socrates, are merely toys 
 Swayed by a word ; a wife upon our breast 
 Will still accusing ; while like long-won quest 
 Fair Phrynne stales. Wine, wit, have lost their joys, 
 And riot wearies. So I seek once more 
 Thy wisdom. Probe this changeful heart 
 With thy deep questions till some worthy part 
 Shall justify the love thine ever bore. — 
 Thine eyes are sharp, thy truths are cutting keen — 
 Ay, through all folly thou discernest clear 
 Strong aim with every breeze to safely steer 
 Toward fortune's port ; and thou hast ever seen 
 That whether it be war, love, skill, or best, or worst, 
 Thy Alcibiades must ever be the First ! 
 
1 68 Woman and Man, 
 
 23 
 
 LAIS. 
 
 All, every son of woman I have known 
 
 Are arrant slaves to never conquered sense ! 
 Not e'en the strongest has the least defense 
 
 'Gainst my allurement ; just my smile, my tone. 
 
 Will whirl their brains like fumes of Samian wine ! — 
 All tribute bring, fame, wisdom, youth, and age ! — 
 Lo there, Diogenes, the crusty sage — 
 
 I did but stand where sunlight made me shine 
 
 From golden hair adown to snowy feet. 
 
 Stretched rosy hands, and breathed a luscious power 
 Forth from my lithesome grace, and he did cower 
 
 Beneath my sole whose touch turned spurning sweet ! 
 These men are willing Helots of their natures vile ; 
 I, love-void Lais, joy to lash them with each wile ! 
 
Woman and Man. 169 
 
 24 
 
 DIOGENES. 
 
 Two shadows marred my sunshine ; one, a king, 
 Came offering aught a vanquished land might 
 
 yield ; 
 And I was wroth — no sceptre earth can wield 
 A better gift tlian heaven's light could bring ! 
 Then Lais — a warm whiteness in the beams, 
 
 Soft, rounded, pulsing 'neath her flowing hair ; — 
 From eyes and palms a subtle flame did flare 
 All through me of sweet longing and mad dreams ! — 
 Scorn-echoes stilled hot tumult of the blood, 
 And struggling up with awful battle throes 
 From life's abyssmal deeps, such shadow shows 
 Me worthless as all men — Light is sole^good ! — 
 And tempting Lais, dragging world-grimed souls to 
 
 dust, 
 Unwitting teaches that the watching gods are just ! 
 
170 Woman and Man. 
 
 25 
 AYESHA. 
 
 When Abu Thaleb to Mahomet said, 
 
 *' Let be — think thine own thoughts — stir not old 
 
 ways 
 To strife with new," the Prophet, e)'es ablaze, 
 Cried, "Nay, God's Truth compels, though men strike 
 
 dead !" 
 And I, Ayesha, asked, " Is my fair youth 
 Not dearer than Kadijah's stricken years ?" 
 " By Heavens, No I" he answered me with tears, 
 " She was the first who owned ' Thou hast the Truth !'" 
 True is this Truth to me, for I have heard 
 No other — I believe I do believe — 
 Grasp sure the power it yields — yet still perceive 
 A strange and subtle essence in these stirred 
 I know not — God's fire, blending, drawn to Faith's 
 
 Above, 
 That makes more worth her memory than all earthly 
 love. 
 
Woman and Man. 171 
 
 26 
 
 MAHOMET. 
 
 In awful silences of solitude, 
 
 'Neath infinite far depths of solemn sky, 
 In rapturous soul-visions, even I 
 Discerned the whole world Truth ; not dim, or crude, 
 But radiant clear, as though the desert air 
 
 Pulsed golden with it, swept my being through, 
 Till reverent ecstasy stirred mission new 
 To lift from idols in like praise and prayer 
 Men needing Gospel — this — that God is Great, 
 And One, and all our human ways His will ! 
 And he whom with Himself He thus doth fill 
 Hath never choice of muteness — Speech is Fate ! 
 Though but a Voice I am His Prophet, chosen so, 
 His Prophet to all Earth — for them that hear not, — 
 Woe ! 
 
172 Woman and Man. 
 
 27 
 
 VITTORIA COLONNA. 
 
 Love made youth beautiful ; keeps tender still 
 My widowed heart, where joy destroying grief, 
 Like angel in disguise, brought woe's relief 
 By leading up to God rebellious will ; 
 And by His light amid this suffering shed 
 
 Came clearer sight of reverend church and creed — 
 Thus memory filled one part of Nature's need, 
 Religious trust my freer spirit fed ; 
 Yet still my searching intellect had turned 
 Both these to witless agents of unrest, 
 But Friendship's kindred mind with wakening best 
 To answering Thought pressed powers that in me 
 burned. 
 Thus, Michel, in sweet aim to share thy lofty heigh 
 My weaker being gained strength from thy matchless 
 might ! 
 
Woman and Man. 173 
 
 28 
 MICHEL ANGELO. 
 
 A long, lone life — yet now 'tis nearly done 
 My soul is glad that it was long and lone — 
 But consecrated solitude can own 
 
 Inspired dreams by Time to being won. 
 
 Ah, not for naught my Moses' head has shown 
 The Tauric horns of power ! On desert height 
 Must he have dwelt amid divinest light 
 
 Who brings to men the word of God in stone ! — 
 
 More sacred than all popes to me was Art, 
 E'en when for Medici it wrought in snow, 
 Or skyward dome sublimed grand church below ; 
 
 Life's joy was there ! — But one pain smites my heart, 
 That by death's awed I sought not memory's bliss, 
 And on Vittoria's brow laid one last, only kiss ! 
 
174 Woman and Man, 
 
 29 
 LEONORA D'ESTE. 
 
 Once more, Alphonso, hear my anguished prayer — 
 Set Tasso free — if but for thy own fame — 
 For as time goes men prize a poet's name 
 
 Far more than one mere princely — none will spare 
 
 To ban thee in long sorrow o'er his fate. 
 For sacred, rare, a precious thing apart, 
 Is Genius to Wisdom's kindred heart ; 
 
 And Patience ever on its ways should wait ! 
 
 Then too his other gracious gifts of grace 
 
 Should woo thee from thy hard, relentless will 
 His cup of suffering to overfill 
 
 For guiltless guilt wrought by my hapless face ! — 
 Alas ! what bitterness to be so near a throne 
 Whose splendors mock at love that makes a woman 
 lone ! 
 
Woman and Man, i75 
 
 30 
 TASSO. 
 
 Said some one I was mad ? Is madness pain, 
 And dungeon darkness, thirst, cold, or grief 
 At parting with belove d one, or belief 
 
 That friends are false, and foes would have me slain ? 
 
 Or is it ecstasy of rapturous hour 
 That only rarest spirits ever know, 
 When inspiration's lovely visions flow 
 
 Into word-harmony of living power ? 
 
 Is madness to have linked my deathless fame 
 
 To prince ungrateful ?— To have breathed in song 
 The tenderest passion ever deemed a wrong ?— 
 
 No poets' love was e'er a princess' shame ! — 
 Mad thus, and prisoned here, still can my winged soul 
 
 flee 
 From freed Jerusalem, oh Leonore, to thee ! 
 
176 Woman a7id Man. 
 
 31 
 MARY STUART. 
 
 Shall I, born Queen, in Scotland's straitened way 
 Keep step like any single-natured dame ? — 
 My like such know not, though they judge and 
 blame ! — 
 
 For through my complex make blood mixture plays, 
 
 Stuart and Guise, warm South and chilly Norili, 
 Will mark me as world's riddle to the end ! 
 While in this one so many women blend 
 
 That fitting time draws different showing forth ! 
 
 And every separate self needs suited mate 
 Joyed o'er, and lost unwept, as wax or wane 
 Sways of hid being — thus, Darnley, weak and vain, 
 
 French Chastelard, strong Bothwell's mastery great — 
 Each deemed in what he gained he only had won all — 
 While never yet one loved held Mary whole in thrall ! 
 
Woman and Man. 177 
 
 32 
 BOTHWELL. 
 
 Loud 'neath my dungeon roar the stormy waves ! 
 Loud from my soul cries out my quenchless ire 
 'Gainst guilt as deep as mine in curses dire 
 
 But sea-gulls hear as foam each strong wing laves ! 
 
 Go, bear them, birds, to Scotland's distant shore, 
 And shriek them in the shrinking ears of band 
 That shared the blood-stains on my fettered 
 hand ! — 
 
 Oh ! for a breath of mountain air once more ! — 
 
 These chains outweigh a crown ! — Yet to be free 
 To wreak my vengeance on the churls that fear 
 The love that won my Queen, so bound me here 
 
 With deeper craft than mine ! Ah, fool, to flee 
 In sudden madness — that besets my tortured brain 
 Whene'er my anguish hears her last farewell again ! 
 
178 Woman and Man. 
 
 33 
 MARIE ANTOINETTE. 
 
 Alas! To prison-bourne from palace-birth, 
 
 With queenhood, wifehood, motherhood, all gone, 
 Accursed by gory hate hard as this stone, 
 
 What holds my hopeless being on this earth ? 
 
 For but one thing is merciful and sweet 
 Amid this maelstrom of bewildering fate — 
 Sleep gives me back my children, husband, state, 
 
 My youth, my throne, the glad world at my feet I — 
 
 Grief only, loss-born, marks all these not dreams ! — 
 Yet 'mong the figures that bewhirl luy life. 
 Kings, courtiers, statesmen, mad canaille in strife, 
 
 One stands alone, and /V, and never seems, 
 A Titan-soul — true-royal — kindred — strong to Can — 
 Marred face with human eyes — dead Mirabeau — a 
 Man ! 
 
Woman and Man. ^ 79 
 
 34 
 MIRABEAU 
 
 Queen of Roi Faineant, in tliy royal strait 
 
 Great Queen to me — not woman — what the charm 
 Spelled me, my order's renegade, to warm 
 
 In knightly promise for thy threatened state? 
 
 Ah me ! She felt 'mid wild Riquetti blood, 
 
 Self-fouled and banned, the pulse of old noblesse ; — 
 Through heirdom of five centuries — no less — 
 
 Her words, like trumpet, stirred cliivalric good ! — 
 
 And yet — these millions — trodden, howling brutes, 
 Who deem her Circe dooming them to mire — 
 Ye too are human — God ! what suffering dire 
 
 Made me their brother ? — Reason still refutes 
 For them past Chivalry ! — O Earth, for this my part 
 Give power — to bear all these, a queen, France, on my 
 heart ! 
 
i8o Woman and Man. 
 
 35 
 JOSEPHINE. 
 
 Forth from thy palace, from thy throne, thy lieart, 
 I go, Napoleon ; but these bitter tears 
 Flow not for splendors lost, dead hopes, past years, 
 But that with me thy glory will depart ! 
 Tliough higher in the sight of trembling world 
 Thy power's impetus may raise thee still, 
 Yet hollow 'neath thy pageantry and will 
 Waits the abyss wherein shall all be hurled ! 
 For while thy destiny was linked to mine 
 
 Fate brought thee kingdoms, Fortune gave her 
 
 smile. 
 Since first arose o'er that far Western isle 
 Thy trusted Star, which soon will cease to shine, 
 As thou, in quenching love, its mystic light shall 
 
 drown, 
 For unto w.?, not thee, was prophesied a crown ! 
 
Woman mid Man. 
 
 i«i 
 
 36 
 
 NAPOLEON. 
 
 Blind world of Europe, on this rock sea-bound 
 The fear of me shall rule while mortal state 
 Holds me the One whom will-compellinc; Fate 
 Ordained to compass purposes profound ! — 
 All cycling time awaited pregnant hour, 
 
 That marked commencement of another age. 
 When I, who was To Come, on History's page 
 Wrote fadeless name of destined fame and power I — 
 " Out of the West," the Eastern Prophet said, 
 
 "Should beam Earth's next Avatar's guiding star !" 
 / was the Secret of the Sphinx — afar 
 Old lands expected new, enlightening head ! — 
 Peace was my war-aimed goal — peace ripening vast de- 
 signs — 
 Mind-realm, fire barred — this, too, is East — life's star 
 still shines ! 
 
1 82 Woman and Man. 
 
 37 
 CHARLOTTE VON STEIN. 
 
 Love, Goelhe ! thou hast known but love of love — 
 Mere tempting simulacrum of the true, 
 From knowledge craving born, that would eschew 
 
 To set ripe passion sentiment above ! 
 
 Test absence ever thine allegiance broke, 
 As Italy outrivalled link of years ; 
 Yet land and song I could forgive with tears, 
 
 But not thy yielding to a lower yoke ! 
 
 And surely thou, who makest human fate 
 Thy endless study, knowest every sin 
 Holds germ of its own punishment within, 
 
 Nor canst expect to 'scape the common fate ! 
 Thus shall this Christiane with vengeance due repay 
 Youth's prudent, fickle heart that loved, and rode 
 
Woman and Man. 
 
 38 
 GOETHE. 
 
 The great world-gift was mine, that life and time 
 Transmute to Immortality ! All things 
 Without but fed tlie inner springs 
 Of Poesy's soul-fount, till stream sublime 
 Of Nature-knowledge marked the garnered best 
 That Thought and Feeling gave the written page 
 From Youth's earth-roving to sequestered age, 
 Through Sturm and Drang to Weimar's peaceful rest 
 Love, pain, and sorrow, friendships rare and liigh. 
 Art, Science, honors, passion, all shed light 
 On mortal deeps that cast but spray to sight — 
 Yet still I crave more light until I die ! 
 For soon will night shades close o'er Goethe's busy 
 
 day ; 
 But from the human heart shall Faust ne'er pass 
 
 away 
 
184 Woman and Man, 
 
 39 
 CARLOTTA. 
 
 Once more I hear the awful sound of war — 
 And like one rising from a silent tomb 
 I wake to watch the dawning of thy doom, 
 The battle quenching of thy pallid star ! 
 The murdered dead and I will speechless sit 
 
 Close, close beside thy humbled, tottering throne, 
 The while our discrowned brows shall mock thine 
 own 
 All shrunken from its circlet's olden fit ! 
 His mouldering shroud, my mourning garb shall 
 sweep 
 Across thine ermine's flow. When o'er thy soul 
 The guns of Victory thundering paeans roll 
 One far death-volley shall the echoes keep ! 
 Through strife-red mists, O Louis, sybil-like, I see 
 Some Waterloo avenging Mexico, and Me ! 
 
Woman and Man. 185 
 
 40 
 LOUIS NAPOLEON. 
 
 Before Sedan, a wierd, prophetic dream 
 
 Sleep murdered since ; — I stood in front of throne, 
 Long waited for, and tlirough skill destined, won, 
 
 And on it loomed, what first did shadow seem, 
 
 Majestic, sceptered, in imperial state 
 
 The Great Napoleon — power supreme of will 
 Out-flowed from him my soul upholding still 
 
 As terror hearkened to the Voice of fate — 
 
 "Son of Hortense," he said, " mine is this throne, 
 France-given while France is — Yet that I died 
 Uncrowned in human sight, none else beside 
 
 Henceforth upon it shall die crowned !" Then lone 
 From barren rock I saw him gaze on empty seat — 
 Saw Maximilian's sword, and D'Engheins', o'er it, 
 greet ! 
 
LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 
 
 016 225 885