^j^ J"^ vwL-wwrtMy*!awww,«V!rHinry>.^*?^ Class _:Pg 1.2 s"^ Book iHA_§__ Copyright N" COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. THE CHILDREN '5 LONGFELLOW Illustrated HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY BOSTON Si NEWYORK, UVRARY ot COneREGS^ Iwo CoDiss rteceivdtf JUL 30 W08 0»wyri|("i entry OLASSi «^ XXc. Nu COHY B. COPYRIGHT IQOS BY HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY ALL RIGHTS RESERVED <«\ H 6^- 'V r^' -> PUBLISHERS' NOTE Longfellow has been fitly called the children's poet. Many of his poems have from their first appearance been favorites with youthful readers, and they have been widely used in the schools, but heretofore there has been no comprehensive collection of the poems best adapted for children's reading. It is believed, therefore, that this book will find a ready welcome at the hands of young people and their parents. The poems here printed have been divided into groups which follow, in a general way, the arrangement in the Cambridge Edition of Longfellow's Poems. With three exceptions, each poem is reprinted in its entirety. In the case of Evangeline, The Song of Hiawatha, and The Courtship of Miles Standish it has been necessary to make a selection of one or two complete divisions from each. Boston^ 1908. CONTENTS VOICES OF THE NIGHT Page A Psalm of Life ..... 3 The Light of Stars ..... 5 Flowers ....... 7 BALLADS AND OTHER POEMS An April Day ...... 13 Woods IN Winter . . . . . -15 The Skeleton IN Armor . . . . 17 The Wreck of the Hesperus . . .24 The Village Blacksmith .... 38 It is not always May . . . . -30 To the River Charles . . . . 33 Maidenhood ....... 34 Excelsior ....... 37 The Slave's Dream . . . . -39 The Slave in the Dismal Swamp . . 41 Serenade, FROM "The Spanish Student" . 43 THE BELFRY OF BRUGES, AND OTHER POEMS The Belfry of Bruges (Carillon; The Belfry of Bruges) ...... 47 The Arsenal at Springfield . . -54 The Norman Baron . . . . . 57 Rain in Summer ...... 60 The Bridge ....... 64 The Day is Done . . . . . -67 To the Driving Cloud .... 69 Walter von der Vogelweid . . . •72 vii CONTENTS The Old Clock on the Stairs ... 75 The Arrow and the Song . . . -78 Curfew ....... 79 NARRATIVE POEMS Evangeline (Part I) . . . . . S3 The Song of Hiawatha (Hiawatha's Sailing; Hiawatha's Fishing) . . . . .130 The Courtship of Miles Standish (The Sail- ing of the Mayflower) .... 144 THE SEASIDE AND THE FIRESIDE The Building of the Ship . . . 157 The Secret of the Sea . . . .172 Twilight . . . . . . .174 Sir Humphrey Gilbert . . . . .176 The Lighthouse . . . . « 178 The Builders . . . . . . . iSi Gaspar Becerra . . • . . ,183 Pegasus in Pound . . . . . .185 BIRDS OF PASSAGE The Phantom Ship . . . . . .191 The Warden of the Cinqjie Ports . . 194 The Emperor's Bird's-Nest .... 197 Victor Galbraith ..... 200 My Lost Youth ...... 202 The Ropewalk ...... 206 The Discoverer of the North Cape . . 209 The Fiftieth Birthday of Agassiz . . 214 Daybreak . . . . . . .216 Sandalphon . . . . . .217 The Children's Hour ..... 220 Enceladus ....... 222' viii CONTENTS The Cumberland .... Snow-Flakes .... A Day of Sunshine Something Left Undone Christmas Bells .... The Castle-Builder . The Brook and the Wave The Old Bridge at Florence Travels by the Fireside The Sermon of St. Francis SoNGO River ..... A Dutch Picture Castles in Spain . The Revenge of Rain-in-the-Face A Ballad of the French Fleet . The Leap of Roushan Beg The Three Kings .... The White Czar From My Arm-Chair Robert Burns .... The Windmill .... To the Avon .... Mad River ..... Decoration Day The Monk Felix, from "The Golden Legend "....., 324 226 227 329 330 233 233 ^34 235 237 239 241 244 24S 350 253 257 360 261 364 367 369 370 273 275 TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN Paul Revere's Ride King Robert of Sicily The Building of the Long Serpent The Bell of Atri The Ballad of Carmilhan 283 389 29S 302 307 IX CONTENTS The Legend Beautiful . . . .317 Charlemagne . . . . . . -322 INDEXES Index of First Lines ..... 327 Index of Titles ...... 331 ILLUSTR.\TIONS THE VILLAGE BLACKSMITH (page 28) Frontispiece And children coming home from school Look in at the open door THE WRECK OF THE HESPERUS ... 24 He wrapped her warm in his seaman's coat Against the stinging blast EVANGELINE ^'$> Homeward serenely she walked with God's bene- diction upon her. When she had passed, it seemed like the ceasing of exquisite music HIAWATHA'S FISHING 136 And he dropped his line of cedar Through the clear, transparent water THE BUILDING OF THE SHIP. . . .160 The sun shone on her golden hair, And her cheek was glowing fresh and fair THE CASTLE-BUILDER 233 A castle-builder, with his wooden flocks, And towers that touch imaginary skies PAUL REVERE'S RIDE 2S6 A voice in the darkness, a knock at the door THE BUILDING OF THE LONG SERPENT . 298 ' ' Men shall hear of Thorberg Skaf ting For a hundred year ! " VOICES OF THE NIGHT ^ A PSALM OF LIFE b. ^' C- =i«\ • '-> r^i Tell me not, in mournful numbers, Life is but an empty dream ! — For the soul is dead that slumbers, And things are not \\hat they seem. Life is real ! Life is earnest ! And the gra\ e is not its goal ; Dust thou art, to dust returnest, Was not spoken of the soul. Not enjoyment, and not sorrow, Is our destined end or w^y ; But to act, that each to-morrow Find us farther than to-day. Art is long, and Time is fleeting. And our hearts, though stout and brave, Still, like mufiled drums, are beating Funeral marches to the grave. A PSALM OF LIFE In the world's broad field of batde, In the bivouac of Life, Be not like dumb, driven cattle ! Be a hero in the strife ! Trust no Future, howe'er pleasant! Let the dead Past bury its dead ! Act, — act in the living Present ! Heart within, and God o'erhead ! Lives of great men all remind us We can make our lives sublime. And, departing, leave behind us Footprints on the sands of time ; Footprints, that perhaps another. Sailing o'er life's solemn main, A forlorn and shipwrecked brother, Seeing, shall take heart again. Let us, then, be up and doing, With a heart for any fate ; Still achieving, still pursuing, Learn to labor and to wait. THE LIGHT OF STARS The night is come, but not too soon ; And sinking silently, All silently, the little moon Drops down behind the sky. There is no light in earth or heaven But the cold light of stars ; And the first watch of night is given To the red planet Mars. Is it the tender star of love? The star of love and dreams? Oh no ! from that blue tent above A hero's armor gleams. And earnest thoughts within me rise, When I behold afar. Suspended in the evening skies, The shield of that red star. O star of strength ! I see thee stand And smile upon my pain ; Thou beckonest with thy mailed hand. And I am strong again. 5 THE LIGHT OF STARS Within my breast there is no light But the cold light of stars ; I give the first watch of the night To the red planet Mars. The star of the unconquered will, He rises in my breast, Serene, and resolute, and still. And calm, and self-possessed. And thou, too, whosoe'er thou art, That readest this brief psalm. As one by one thy hopes depart. Be resolute and calm. Oh, fear not in a world like this. And thou shalt know erelong. Know how sublime a thing it is To suffer and be strong. FLOWERS Spake full well, in language quaint and olden, One who dwelleth by the castled Rhine, When he called the flowers, so blue and golden, Stars, that in earth's firmament do shine. Stars they are, wherein we read our history, As astrologers and seers of eld ; Yet not wrapped about with awful mystery. Like the burning stars, which they beheld. Wondrous truths, and manifold as wondrous, God hath written in those stars above ; But not less in the bright flowerets under us Stands the revelation of his love. Bright and glorious is that revelation. Written all over this great world of ours ; Making evident our own creation, Li these stars of earth, these golden flowers. And the Poet, faithful and far-seeing. Sees, alike in stars and flowers, a part Of the self-same, universal being, Which is throbbing in his brain and heart. r FLOWERS Gorgeous flowerets in the sunlight shining, Blossoms flaunting in the eye of day, Tremulous leaves, with soft and silver lining, Buds that open only to decay ; Brilliant hopes, all woven in gorgeous tissues. Flaunting gayly in the golden light ; Large desires, with most uncertain issues, Tender wishes, blossoming at night ! These in flowers and men are more than seeming, Workings are they of the self-same powers. Which the Poet, in no idle dreaming, Seeth in himself and in the flowers. Everywhere about us are they glowing, Some like stars, to tell us Spring is born ; Others, their blue eyes with tears o'erflowing. Stand like Ruth amid the golden corn ; Not alone in Spring's armorial bearing. And in Summer's green-emblazoned field. But in arms of brave old Autumn's wearing, In the centre of his brazen shield ; Not alone in meadows and green alleys. On the mountain-top, and by the brink Of sequestered pools in woodland valleys. Where the slaves of nature stoop to drink ; 8 FLOWERS Not alone in her vast dome of glory, Not on graves of bird and beast alone, But in old cathedrals, high and hoary. On the tombs of heroes, carved in stone ; In the cottage of the rudest peasant. In ancestral homes, whose crumbling towers. Speaking of the Past unto the Present, Tell us of the ancient Games of Flowers ; In all places, then, and in all seasons, Flowers expand their light and soul-like wings, Teaching us, by most persuasive reasons, How akin they are to human things. And with childlike, credulous affection. We behold their tender buds expand ; Emblems of our own great resurrection. Emblems of the bright and better land. ^^ V- BALLADS AND OTHER POEMS When the warm sun, that brings Seed-time and harvest, has returned again, 'T is sweet to ^'isit the still wood, where springs The first flower of the plain. I \o\e the season well, When forest glades are teeming a\ ith bright forms, Nor dark and many-folded clouds foretell The coming-on of storms. From the earth's loosened mould The sapling draws its sustenance, and thrives; Though stricken to the heart with Avinter's cold, The drooping tree revives. The softly-^^■arbled song Comes from the pleasant ^^■oods, and colored wings Glance quick in the bright sun, that moves along The forest openings. 13 AN APRIL DAY When the bright sunset fills The silver woods with light, the green slope thro\\s Its shadows in the hollows of the hills, And wide the upland glows. And when the eve is born, In the blue lake the sky, o'er-reaching far. Is hollowed out, and the moon dips her horn, And twinkles many a star. Inverted in the tide Stand the gray rocks, and trembling shadows throw, And the fair trees look over, side by side, And see themselves below. Sweet April ! many a thought Is wedded unto thee, as hearts are wed ; Nor shall they fail, till, to its autumn brought. Life's golden fruit is shed. 14 WOODS IN WINTER When winter winds are piercing chill, And through the hawthorn blows the gale, With solemn feet I tread the hill. That overbro\\s the lonely vale. O'er the bare upland, and away Through the long reach of desert A^oods, The embracing sunbeams chastely play. And gladden these deep solitudes. Where, twisted round the barren oak. The summer vine in beauty clung, And summer winds the stillness broke, The crystal icicle is hung. Where, from their frozen urns, mute springs Pour out the river's gradual tide. Shrilly the skater's iron rings. And voices fill the woodland side. Alas ! how changed from the fairy scene, When birds sang out their mellow lay. And winds were soft, and woods were green, And the song ceased not with the day ! 15 WOODS IN WINTER But still wild music is abroad, Pale, desert woods ! within your crowd ; And gathering winds, in hoarse accord, Amid the vocal reeds pipe loud. Chill airs and wintry winds ! my ear Has grown familiar with your song ; I hear it in the opening year, I listen, and it cheers me long. 16 THE SKELETON IN ARMOR "Speak ! speak ! thou fearful guest ! Who, with thy hollow breast Still in rude armor drest, Comest to daunt me ! Wrapt not in Eastern balms, But with thy fleshless palms Stretched, as if asking alms, Why dost thou haunt me ? " Then, from those cavernous e3'es Pale flashes seemed to rise. As when the Northern skies Gleam in December ; And, like the water's flow Under December's snow. Came a dull voice of woe From the heart's chamber. ' ' I was a Viking old ! My deeds, though manifold. No Skald in song has told. No Saga taught thee ! Take heed, that in thy verse Thou dost the tale rehearse, Else dread a dead man's curse ; For this I sought thee. 17 THE SKELETON IN ARMOR "Far in the Northern Land, By the wild Baltic's strand, I, with my childish hand. Tamed the gerfalcon ; And, with my skates fast-bound. Skimmed the half- frozen Sound, That the poor whimpering hound Trembled to walk on. * ' Oft to his frozen lair Tracked I the grisly bear. While from my path the hare Fled like a shadow ; Oft through the forest dark Followed the were- wolf's bark. Until the soaring lark Sang from the meadow. "But when I older grew. Joining a corsair's crew, O'er the dark sea I flew With the marauders. Wild was the life we led ; Many the souls that sped, Many the hearts that bled. By our stern orders. ' ' Many a wassail-bout Wore the long Winter out ; 18 THE SKELETON IN ARJMOR Often our midnight shout Set the cocks crowing, As we the Berserk's tale Measured in cups of ale, Draining the oaken pail, Filled to o'erflowing. Once as I told in glee Tales of the stormy sea, Soft eyes did gaze on me, Burning yet tender ; And as the white stars shine On the dark Norway pine, On that dark heart of mine Fell their soft splendor. "I wooed the blue-eyed maid. Yielding, yet half afraid, And in the forest shade Our vows were plighted. Under its loosened vest Fluttered her little breast, Like birds within their nest By the hawk frighted. "Bright in her father's hall Shields gleamed upon the wall, Loud sang the minstrels all. Chanting his glory ; 19 I THE SKELETON IN ARMOR When of old Hildebrand I asked his daughter's hand, Mute did the minstrels stand To hear my story. ' While the brown ale he quaffed, Loud then the champion laughed. And as the wind-gusts waft The sea-foam brightly. So the loud laugh of scorn. Out of those lips unshorn, From the deep drinking-horn Blew the foam lightly. ■ She was a Prince's child, I but a Viking wild. And though she blushed and smiled, I was discarded ! Should not the dove so white Follow the sea-mew's flight. Why did they leave that night Her nest unguarded? Scarce had I put to sea, Bearing the maid with me, Fairest of all was she Among the Norsemen ! When on the white sea-strand, Waving his armed hand, 20 THE SKELETON IN ARMOR Saw we old Hildebrand, With twenty horsemen. " Then launched they to the blast, Bent like a reed each mast, Yet we were gaining fast. When the wind failed us ; And with a sudden flaw Came round the gusty Skaw, So that our foe we saw Laugh as he hailed us. ' ' And as to catch the gale Round veered the flapping sail, ' Death ! ' was the helmsman's hail, ' Death without quarter ! ' Mid-ships with iron keel Struck we her ribs of steel ; Down her black hulk did reel Through the black water ! "As with his wings aslant. Sails the fierce cormorant. Seeking some rocky haunt. With his prey laden, — So toward the open main. Beating to sea again. Through the wild hurricane. Bore I the maiden, 21 THE SKELETON IN ARMOR "Three weeks we westward bore, And when the storm was o'er, Cloud-like we saw the shore Stretching to leeward ; There for my lady's bower Built I the lofty tower, Which, to this very hour, Stands looking seaward. ' ' There lived we many years ; Time dried the maiden's tears ; She had forgot her fears, She was a mother ; Death closed her mild blue eyes. Under that tower she lies ; Ne'er shall the sun arise On such another ! "Still grew my bosom then, Still as a stagnant fen ! Hateful to me were men. The sunlight hateful ! In the vast forest here, Clad in my warlike gear, Fell I upon my spear. Oh, death was grateful ! "Thus, seamed with many scars. Bursting these prison bars, 22 THE SKELETON IN ARMOR Up to its native stars My soul ascended ! There from the flowing bowl Deep drinks the warrior's soul, Skoal! to the Northland ! skoal!'' Thus the tale ended. 23 THE WRECK OF THE HESPERUS It was the schooner Hesperus, That sailed the wintry sea ; And the skipper had taken his little daughter, To bear him company. Blue were her eyes as the fairy-flax, Her cheeks like the dawn of day, And her bosom white as the hawthorn buds, That ope in the month of May. The skipper he stood beside the helm, His pipe was in his mouth. And he watched how the veering flaw did blo^v* The smoke now West, now South. Then up and spake an old Sailor, Had sailed to the Spanish Main, ' I pray thee, put into yonder port. For I fear a hurricane. ' Last night, the moon had a golden ring. And to-night no moon we see ! ' ' The skipper, he blew a whifl'from his pipe, And a scornful laugh laughed he. 24 He zurapped her warm hi his seaman's coat Against the stinging blast THE WRECK OF THE HESPERUS Colder and louder blew the wind, A gale from the Northeast, The snow fell hissing in the brine, - And the billows frothed like yeast. Down came the storm, and smote amain The vessel in its strength ; She shuddered and paused, like a frighted steed. Then leaped her cable's length. Come hither ! come hither ! my little daughter, And do not tremble so ; For I can weather the roughest gale That ever wind did blow." He wrapped her warm in his seaman's coat Against the stinging blast ; He cut a rope from a broken spar, And bound her to the mast. ' ' O father ! I hear the church-bells ring, Oh say, what may it be ? " '"T is a fog-bell on a rock-bound coast ! " — And he steered for the open sea. ' ' O father ! I hear the sound of guns. Oh say, what may it be? " "Some ship in distress, that cannot live In such an angry sea ! ' ' 25 THE WRECK OF THE HESPERUS ' O father ! I see a gleaming light, Oh say, what may it be? " But the father answered never a word, A frozen corpse was he. Lashed to the helm, all stiff and stark, With his face turned to the skies. The lantern gleamed through the gleaming snow On his fixed and glassy eyes. Then the maiden clasped her hands and prayed That saved she might be ; And she thought of Christ, who stilled the wave, On the Lake of Galilee. And fast through the midnight dark and drear, Through the whistling sleet and snow, Like a sheeted ghost, the vessel swept Tow'rds the reef of Norman's Woe. And ever the fitful gusts between A sound came from the land ; It was the sound of the trampling surf On the rocks and the hard sea-sand. The breakers were right beneath her bows, She drifted a dreary wreck, And a whooping billow swept the crew Like icicles from her deck. 26 THE WRECK OF THE HESPERUS She struck where the white and fleecy waves Looked soft as carded wool, But the cruel rocks, they gored her side . Like the horns of an angry bull. Her ratding shrouds, all sheathed in ice, With the masts went by the board ; Like a vessel of glass, she stove and sank, Ho ! ho ! the breakers roared ! At daybreak, on the bleak sea-beach, A fisherman stood aghast. To see the form of a maiden fair. Lashed close to a drifting mast. The salt sea was frozen on her breast. The salt tears in her eyes ; And he saw^ her hair, like the brow n sea-weed, On the billows fall and rise. Such was the wreck of the Hesperus, In the midnight and the snow ! Christ save us all from a death like this. On the reef of Norman's Woe ! 27 THE VILLAGE BLACKSMITH Under a spreading chestnut-tree The village smithy stands ; The smith, a mighty rnan is he, With large and sinewy hands ; And the muscles of his brawny arms Are strong as iron bands. His hair is crisp, and black, and long. His face is like the tan ; His brow is wet with honest sweat. He earns whate'er he can, And looks the whole world in the face, For he owes not any man. Week in, week out, from morn till night, You can hear his bellows blow ; You can hear him swing his heavy sledge. With measured beat and slow, Like a sexton ringing the village bell. When the evening sun is low. And children coming home from school Look in at the open door ; They love to see the flaming forge. And hear the bellows roar, 28 THE VILLAGE BLACKSMITH And catch the burning sparks that fly Like chaff' from a threshing-floor. He goes on Sunday to the church, And sits among his boys ; He hears the parson pray and preach, He hears his daughter's voice, Singing in the village choir, And it makes his heart rejoice. It sounds to him like her mother's voice. Singing in Paradise ! He needs must think of her once more, How in the grave she lies ; And with his hard, rough hand he wipes A tear out of his eyes. Toiling, — rejoicing, — sorrowing. Onward through life he goes ; Each morning sees some task begin, Each evening sees it close ; Something attempted, something done. Has earned a night's repose. Thanks, thanks to thee, my worthy friend, For the lesson thou hast taught ! Thus at the flaming forge of life Our fortunes must be wrought ; Thus on its sounding anvil shaped Each burning deed and thought. 29 IT IS NOT ALWAYS MAY The sun is bright, — the air is clear, The darting swallows soar and sing, And from the stately elms I hear The bluebird prophesying Spring. So blue yon winding river flows. It seems an outlet from the sky, Where, waiting till the west wind blows, The freighted clouds at anchor lie. All things are new ; — the buds, the leaves. That gild the elm-tree's nodding crest, And even the nest beneath the eaves ; — There are no birds in last year's nest ! All things rejoice in youth and love, The fulness of their first delight ! And learn from the soft heavens above The melting tenderness of night. Maiden, that read'st this simple rhyme. Enjoy thy youth, it will not stay ; Enjoy the fragrance of thy prime. For oh, it is not always May ! 30 IT IS NOT ALWAYS MAY Enjoy the Spring of Love and Youth, To some good angel leave the rest ; For Time will teach thee soon the truth, -There are no birds in last year's nest ! 31 TO THE RIVER CHARLES River ! that in silence windest Through the meadows, bright and free, Till at length thy rest thou findest In the bosom of the sea ! Four long years of mingled feeling, Half in rest, and half in strife, I have seen thy waters stealing Onward, like the stream of life. Thou hast taught me, Silent River! Many a lesson, deep and long ; Thou hast been a generous giver ; I can give thee but a song. Oft in sadness and in illness, I have watched thy current glide. Till the beauty of its stillness Overflowed me, like a tide. And in better hours and brighter. When I saw thy waters gleam, I have felt my heart beat lighter, And leap onward with thy stream. 32 TO THE RIVER CHARLES Not for this alone I love thee, Nor because thy waves of blue From celestial seas above thee Take their own celestial hue. Where yon shadowy woodlands hide thee, And thy waters disappear. Friends I love have dwelt beside thee. And have made thy margin dear. More than this ; — thy name reminds me Of three friends, all true and tried ; And that name, like magic, binds me Closer, closer to thy side. Friends my soul with joy remembers ! How like quivering flames they start. When I fan the living embers On the hearth-stone of my heart ! 'T is for this, thou Silent River! That my spirit leans to thee ; Thou hast been a generous giver. Take this idle song from me. 33 MAIDENHOOD Maiden ! with the meek, brown eyes, In whose orbs a shadow lies Like the dusk in evening skies ! Thou whose locks outshine the sun, Golden tresses, wreathed in one, As the braided streamlets run ! Standing, with reluctant feet, Where the brook and river meet, Womanhood and childhood fleet ! Gazing, with a timid glance. On the brooklet's swift advance. On the river's broad expanse ! Deep and still, that gliding stream Beautiful to thee must seem. As the river of a dream. Then why pause with indecision, When bright angels in thy vision Beckon thee to fields Elysian ? 34 MAIDENHOOD Seest thou shadows sailing by, As the dove, with starded eye, Sees the falcon's shadow fly? Hearest thou voices on the shore, That our ears perceive no more. Deafened by the cataract's roar? Oh, thou child of many prayers ! Life hath quicksands, — Life hath snares ! Care and age come unawares ! Like the swell of some sweet tune, Morning rises into noon. May glides onward into June. Childhood is the bough, where slumbered Birds and blossoms many-numbered ; — Age, that bough with snows encumbered. Gather, then, each flower that grows, When the young heart overflows. To embalm that tent of snows. Bear a lily in thy hand ; Gates of brass cannot withstand One touch of that magic wand. Bear through sorrow, wrong, and ruth, In thy heart the dew of youth. On thy lips the smile of truth. 35 MAIDENHOOD Oh, that dew, like bahn, shall steal Into wounds that cannot heal, Even as sleep our eyes doth seal ; And that smile, like sunshine, dart Into many a sunless heart, For a smile of God thou art. 36 EXCELSIOR The shades of night were falling fast, As through an Alpine village passed A youth, who bore, 'mid snow and ice, A banner with the strange device, Excelsior ! His brow was sad ; his eye beneath, Flashed like a falchion from its sheath. And like a silver clarion rung The accents of that unknown tongue, Excelsior ! In happy homes he saw the light Of household fires gleam warm and bright ; Above, the spectral glaciers shone, And from his lips escaped a groan. Excelsior ! Try not the Pass ! ' ' the old man said ; Dark lowers the tempest overhead, The roaring torrent is deep and wide ! ' ' And loud that clarion voice replied. Excelsior ! 37 EXCELSIOR "Oh stay," the maiden said, "and rest Thy weary head upon this breast! " A tear stood in his bright blue eye, But still he answered, with a sigh. Excelsior ! "Beware the pine-tree's withered branch ! Beware the awful avalanche ! " This was the peasant's last Good-night ; A voice replied, far up the height. Excelsior ! At break of day, as heavenward The pious monks of Saint Bernard Uttered the oft-repeated prayer, A voice cried through the startled air. Excelsior ! A traveller, by the faithful hound, Half-buried in the snow was found. Still grasping in his hand of ice That banner with the strange device. Excelsior ! There in the twilight cold and gray. Lifeless, but beautiful, he lay. And from the sky, serene and far, A voice fell, like a falling star, Excelsior ! 38 THE SLAVE'S DREAM Beside the ungathered rice he lay, His sickle in his hand ; His breast was bare, his matted hair Was buried in the sand. Again, in the mist and shadow of sleep, He saw his Native Land. Wide through the landscape of his dreams The lordly Niger flowed ; Beneath the palm-trees on the plain Once more a king he strode ; And heard the tinkling caravans Descend the mountain road. He saw once more his dark-eyed queen Among her children stand ; They clasped his neck, they kissed his cheeks. They held him by the hand ! — A tear burst from the sleeper's Uds And fell into the sand. And then at furious speed he rode Along the Niger's bank ; His bridle-reins were golden chains, And, with a martial clank, 39 THE SLAVE'S DREAM At each leap he could feel his scabbard of steel Smiting his stallion's flank. Before him, like a blood-red flag, The bright flamingoes flew ; From morn till night he followed their flight, O'er plains where the tamarind grew. Till he saw the roofs of Caflre huts. And the ocean rose to view. At night he heard the lion roar. And the hyena scream. And the river-horse, as he crushed the reeds Beside some hidden stream ; And it passed, like a glorious roll of drums, Through the triumph of his dream. The forests, with their myriad tongues, Shouted of liberty ; And the Blast of the Desert cried aloud. With a voice so wild and free. That he started in his sleep and smiled At their tempestuous glee. He did not feel the driver's whip. Nor the burning heat of day ; For Death had illumined the Land of Sleep, And his lifeless body lay A worn-out fetter, that the soul Had broken and thrown away ! 40 THE SLAVE IN THE DISMAL SWAMP In dark fens of the Dismal Swamp The hunted Negro lay ; He saw the fire of the midnight camp, And heard at times a horse's tramp And a bloodhound's distant bay. Where will-o'-the-wisps and glow-worms shine, In bulrush and in brake ; Where waving mosses shroud the pine, And the cedar groA\s, and the poisonous vine Is spotted like the snake ; Where hardly a human foot could pass. Or a human heart would dare, On the quaking turf of the green morass He crouched in the rank and tangled grass. Like a wild beast in his lair. A poor old slave, infirm and lame ; Great scars deformed his face ; On his forehead he bore the brand of shame. And the rags, that hid his mangled frame. Were the livery of disgrace. All things above were bright and fair, All things were glad and free ; 41 THE SLAVE IN THE DISMAL SWAMP Lithe squirrels darted here and there, And wild birds filled the echoing air With songs of Liberty ! On him alone was the doom of pain, From the morning of his birth ; On him alone the curse of Cain Fell, like a flail on the garnered grain; And struck him to the earth ! 42 SERENADE FROM "the SPANISH STUDENT " Stars of the summer night ! Far in yon azure deeps, Hide, hide your golden light ! She sleeps ! My lady sleeps ! Sleeps ! Moon of the summer night ! Far down yon western steeps. Sink, sink in silver light ! She sleeps ! M}- lady sleeps ! Sleeps ! Wind of the summer night ! Where yonder A\'oodbine creeps, Fold, fold thy pinions light ! She sleeps ! My lady sleeps ! Sleeps ! Dreams of the summer night ! Tell her, her lover keeps Watch ! while in slumbers light She sleeps ! My lady sleeps ! Sleeps ! 43 ♦. .-a*£s_ THE BELFRY OF BRUGES AND OTHER POEMS Y^ A/y-'^ /, THE BELFRY OF BRUGES ^^^ CARILLON In the ancient town of Bruges, In the quaint old Flemish city, As the evening shades descended, how and loud and sweetly blended, Low at times and loud at times. And changing like a poet's rhymes. Rang the beautiful ^\ ild chimes From the Belfry in the market Of the ancient town of Bruges. Then, with deep sonorous clangor Calmly answering their sweet anger. When the wrangling bells had ended, Slowly struck the clock eleven, And, from out the silent heaven. Silence on the town descended. Silence, silence everywhere, On the earth and in the air, Save that footsteps here and there 47 THE BELFRY OF BRUGES Of some burgher home returning, By the street lamps faintly burning, For a moment woke the echoes Of the ancient town of Bruges. But amid my broken slumbers Still I heard those magic numbers. As they loud proclaimed the flight And stolen marches of the night ; Till their chimes in sweet collision Mingled with each wandering vision, Mingled with the fortune-telling Gypsy-bands of dreams and fancies, Which amid the waste expanses Of the silent land of trances Have their solitary dwelling ; All else seemed asleep in Bruges, In the quaint old Flemish city. And I thought how like these chimes Are the poet's airy rhymes, All his rhymes and roundelays, His conceits, and songs, and ditties. From the belfry of his brain, Scattered downward, though in vain, On the roofs and stones of cities ! For by night the drowsy ear Under its curtains cannot hear, And by day men go their ways, 48 THE BELFRY OF BRUGES Hearing the music as they pass, But deeming it no more, alas ! Than the hollow sound of brass. Yet perchance a sleepless wight, Lodging at some humble inn In the narrow lanes of life. When the dusk and hush of night Shut out the incessant din Of daylight and its toil and strife. May listen with a calm delight To the poet's melodies, Till he hears, or dreams he hears, Intermingled with the song, Thoughts that he has cherished long ; Hears amid the chime and singing The bells of his own village ringing. And wakes, and finds his slumberous eyes Wet with most delicious tears. Thus dreamed I, as by night I lay In Bruges, at the Fleur-de-Ble, Listening with a wild delight To the chimes that, through the night. Rang their changes from the Belfry Of that quaint old Flemish city. 49 THE BELFRY OF BRUGES In the market-place of Bruges stands the belfry old and brown ; Thrice consumed and thrice rebuilded, still it watches o'er the town. As the summer morn was breaking, on that lofty tower I stood, And the world threw off the darkness, like the Aveeds of widowhood. Thick with towns and hamlets studded, and with streams and vapors gray. Like a shield embossed with silver, round and vast the landscape lay. At my feet the city slumbered. From its chimneys, here and there. Wreaths of snow-white smoke, ascending, vanished, ghost-like, into air. Not a sound rose from the city at that early morning hour, But I heard a heart of iron beating in the ancient tower. 50 THE BELFRY OF BRUGES From their nests beneath the rafters sang the swallows wild and high ; And the world, beneath me sleeping, seemed more dis- tant than the sky. Then most musical and solemn, bringing back the olden times. With their strange, unearthly changes rang the melan- choly chimes, Like the psalms from some old cloister, when the nuns sing in the choir ; And the great bell tolled among them, like the chanting of a friar. Visions of the days departed, shadowy phantoms filled my brain ; They who live in history only seemed to walk the earth again ; All the Foresters of Flanders, — mighty Baldwin Bras de Fer, Lyderick du Bucq and Cressy, Philip, Guy de Dam- pierre. I beheld the pageants splendid that adorned those days of old ; Stately dames, like queens attended, knights who bore the Fleece of Gold ; 51 THE BELFRY OF BRUGES Lombard and Venetian merchants with deep-laden argosies ; Ministers from twenty nations ; more than royal pomp and ease. I beheld proud Maximilian, kneeling humbly on the ground ; I beheld the gentle Mary, hunting with her hawk and hound ; And her lighted bridal-chamber, where a duke slept with the queen, And the armed guard around them, and the sword unsheathed between. I beheld the Flemish weavers, with Namur and Juliers bold. Marching homeward from the bloody battle of the Spurs of Gold ; Saw the fight at Minnewater, saw the White Hoods moving west, Saw great Artevelde victorious scale the Golden Drag- on's nest. And again the whiskered Spaniard all the land with terror smote ; And again the wild alarum sounded from the tocsin's throat ; 52 THE BELFRY OF BRUGES Till the bell of Ghent responded o'er lagoon and dike of sand, " I am Roland ! I am Roland ! there is victory in the land!" Then the sound of drums aroused me. The awakened city's roar Chased the phantoms I had summoned back into their graves once more. Hours had passed away like minutes ; and, before I was aware, Lo ! the shadow of the belfry crossed the sun-illumined square. 53 THE ARSENAL AT SPRINGFIELD This is the Arsenal. From floor to ceiling, Like a huge organ, rise the burnished arms ; But from their silent pipes no anthem pealing Startles the villages with strange alarms. Ah ! what a sound will rise, how wild and dreary, When the death-angel touches those swift keys ! What loud lament and dismal Miserere Will mingle with their awful symphonies ! I hear even now the infinite fierce chorus, The cries of agony, the endless groan. Which, through the ages that have gone before us. In long reverberations reach our own. On helm and harness rings the Saxon hammer, Through Cimbric forest roars the Norseman's song, And loud, amid the universal clamor, O'er distant deserts sounds the Tartar gong. I hear the Florentine, who from his palace Wheels out his battle-bell with dreadful din. And Aztec priests upon their teocallis Beat the wild war-drums made of serpent's skin ; 54 THE ARSENAL AT SPRINGFIELD The tumult of each sacked and burning village ; The shout that every prayer for mercy drowns ; The soldiers' revels in the midst of pillage; The wailof famine in beleaguered towns ; The bursting shell, the gateway wrenched asunder, The rattling musketry, the clashing blade ; And ever and anon, in tones of thunder The diapason of the cannonade. Is it, O man, with such discordant noises, With such accursed instruments as these. Thou drownest Nature's sweet and kindly voices, And j arrest the celestial harmonies? Were half the power that fills the world with terror. Were half the wealth bestowed on camps and courts, Given to redeem the human mind from error, There were no need of arsenals or forts : The warrior's name would be a name abhorred ! And every nation, that should lift again Its hand against a brother, on its forehead Would wear forevermore the curse of Cain ! Down the dark future, through long generations. The echoing sounds grow fainter and then cease ; And like a bell, with solemn, sweet vibrations, I hear once more the voice of Christ say, "Peace ! " 55 THE ARSENAL AT SPRINGFIELD Peace ! and no longer from its brazen portals The blast of War's great organ shakes the skies ! But beautiful as songs of the immortals, The holy melodies of love arise. 56 THE NORMAN BARON In his chamber, weak and dying, Was the Norman baron lying ; Loud, without, the tempest thundered, And the castle-turret shook. In this fight was Death the gainer, Spite of vassal and retainer. And the lands his sires had plundered, Written in the Doomsday Book. By his bed a monk was seated. Who in humble voice repeated Many a prayer and pater-noster. From the missal on his knee ; And, amid the tempest pealing. Sounds of bells came faintly stealing. Bells, that from the neighboring kloster Rang for the Nativity. In the hall, the serf and vassal Held, that night, their Christmas wassail ; Many a carol, old and saintly. Sang the minstrels and the waits ; 57 THE NORMAN BARON And so loud these Saxon gleemen Sang to slaves the songs of freemen, That the storm was heard but faintly, Knocking at the castle- gates. Till at length the lays they chanted Reached the chamber terror-haunted, Where the monk, with accents holy. Whispered at the baron's ear. Tears upon his eyelids glistened, As he paused awhile and listened, And the dying baron slowly Turned his weary head to hear. ' Wassail for the kingly stranger Born and cradled in a manger ! King, like David, priest, like Aaron, Christ is born to set us free ! ' ' And the lightning showed the sainted Figures on the casement painted, And exclaimed the shuddering baron, "Miserere, Domine! " In that hour of deep contrition He beheld, with clearer vision. Through all outward show and fashion, Justice, the Avenger, rise. 58 THE NORMAN BARON All the pomp of earth had vanished, Falsehood and deceit were banished, Reason spake more loud than passion. And the truth wore no disguise. Every vassal of his banner. Every serf born to his manor. All those wronged and wretched creatures. By his hand were freed again. And, as on the sacred missal He recorded their dismissal. Death relaxed his iron features. And the monk replied, ' ' Amen ! ' ' Many centuries have been numbered Since in death the baron slumbered By the convent's sculptured portal. Mingling with the common dust : But the good deed, through the ages Living in historic pages. Brighter grows and gleams immortal, Unconsumed by moth or rust. 59 RAIN IN SUMMER How beautiful is the rain ! After the dust and heat, In the broad and fiery street, In the narrow lane. How beautiful is the rain ! How it clatters along the roofs, Like the tramp of hoofs ! How it gushes and struggles out From the throat of the overflowing spout ! Across the window-pane It pours and pours ; And swift and wide. With a muddy tide. Like a river down the gutter roars The rain, the welcome rain ! The sick man from his chamber looks At the twisted brooks ; He can feel the cool Breath of each little pool ; His fevered brain Grows calm again. And he breathes a blessing on the rain. 60 RAIN IN SUMMER From the neighboring school Come the boys, With more than their wonted noise And commotion ; And down the wet streets Sail their mimic fleets, Till the treacherous pool Ingulfs them in its whirling And turbulent ocean. In the country, on every side. Where far and wide, Like a leopard's tawny and spotted hide. Stretches the plain, To the dry grass and the drier grain How welcome is the rain ! In the furroAved land The toilsome and patient oxen stand ; Lifting the yoke-encumbered head. With their dilated nostrils spread. They silendy inhale The clover-scented gale, And the vapors that arise From the well-watered and smoking soil. For this rest in the furrow after toil Their large and lustrous eyes Seem to thank the Lord, More than man's spoken Avord. 61 RAIN IN SUMMER Near at hand, From under the sheltering trees, The farmer sees His pastures, and his fields of grain As they bend their tops To the numberless beating drops Of the incessant rain. He counts it as no sin That he sees therein Only his own thrift and gain. These, and far more than these. The Poet sees ! He can behold Aquarius old Walking the fenceless fields of air ; And from each ample fold Of the clouds about him rolled Scattering everywhere The showery rain. As the farmer scatters his grain. He can behold Things manifold That have not yet been wholly told, - Have not been wholly sung nor said. For his thought, that never stops. Follows the water-drops Down to the graves of the dead, 62 RAIN IN SUMMER Down through chasms and gulfs profound, To the dreary fountain-head Of lakes and rivers under ground ; And sees them, when the rain is done, On the bridge of colors seven Climbing up once more to heaven, Opposite the setting sun. Thus the Seer, With vision clear. Sees forms appear and disappear. In the perpetual round of strange. Mysterious change From birth to death, from death to birth. From earth to heaven, from heaven to earth ; Till glimpses more sublime Of things unseen before. Unto his wondering eyes reveal The Universe, as an immeasurable wheel Turning forevermore In the rapid and rushing river of Time. 63 THE BRIDGE I STOOD on the bridge at midnight, As the clocks were striking the hour, And the moon rose o'er the city. Behind the dark church-tower. I saw her bright reflection In the waters under me, Like a golden goblet falling And sinking into the sea. And far in the hazy distance Of that lovely night in June, The blaze of the flaming furnace Gleamed redder than the moon. Among the long, black rafters The wavering shadows lay. And the current that came from the ocean Seemed to lift and bear them away ; As, sweeping and eddying through them. Rose the belated tide. And, streaming into the moonlight, The seaweed floated wide. 64 THE BRIDGE And like those waters rushing Among the wooden piers, A flood of thoughts came o'er me That filled my eyes with tears. How often, oh how often. In the days that had gone by, I had stood on that bridge at midnight And gazed on that wave and sky ! How often, oh how often, I had wished that the ebbing tide Would bear me away on its bosom O'er the ocean wild and wide ! For my heart was hot and restless. And my life was full of care. And the burden laid upon me Seemed greater than I could bear. But now it has fallen from me, It is buried in the sea ; And only the sorrow of others Throws its shadow over me. Yet whenever I cross the river On its bridge with wooden piers, Like the odor of brine from the ocean Comes the thought of other years. 65 THE BRIDGE And I think how many thousands Of care-encumbered men, Each bearing his burden of sorrow, Have crossed the bridge since then. I see the long procession Still passing to and fro. The young heart hot and restless. And the old subdued and slow ! And forever and forever, As long as the river flows. As long as the heart has passions, As long as life has woes ; The moon and its broken reflection And its shadows shall appear, As the symbol of love in heaven. And its wavering image here. 66 THE DAY IS DONE The day is done, and the darkness Falls from the wings of Night, As a feather is wafted downward From an eagle in his flight. I see the lights of the village Gleam through the rain and the mist. And a feeling of sadness comes o'er me That my soul cannot resist : A feeling of sadness and longing. That is not akin to pain, And resembles sorro\v^ only As the mist resembles the rain. Come, read to me some poem, Some simple and heartfelt lay. That shall soothe this resdess feeling. And banish the thoughts of day. Not from the grand old masters, Not from the bards sublime. Whose distant footsteps echo Through the corridors of Time. 67 THE DAY IS DONE For, like strains of martial music, Their mighty thoughts suggest Life's endless toil and endeavor; And to-night I long for rest. Read from some humbler poet. Whose songs gushed from his heart, As showers from the clouds of summer. Or tears from the eyelids start ; Who, through long days of labor. And nights devoid of ease, Still heard in his soul the music Of wonderful melodies. Such songs have power to quiet The restless pulse of care, And come like the benediction That follows after prayer. Then read from the treasured volume The poem of thy choice, And lend to the rhyme of the poet The beauty of thy voice. And the night shall be filled with music. And the cares, that infest the day. Shall fold their tents, like the Arabs, And as silently steal away. 68 TO THE DRIVING CLOUD Gloom\" and dark art thou, O chief of the mighty Omahas ; Gloomy and dark as the driving cloud, whose name thou hast taken ! Wrapped in thy scarlet blanket, I see thee stalk through the city's Narrow and populous streets, as once by the margin of rivers Stalked those birds unknown, that have left us only their footprints. What, in a few short years, will remain of thy race but the footprints ? How canst thou walk these streets, who hast trod the green turf of the prairies ? How canst thou breathe this air, who hast breathed the sweet air of the mountains ? Ah ! 't is in vain that with lordly looks of disdain thou dost challenge Looks of disdain in return, and question these walls and these pavements. Claiming the soil for thy hunting-grounds, while do\A'n- trodden millions Starve in the garrets of Europe, and cry from its caverns that they, too. Have been created heirs of the earth, and claim its divi- sion ! 69 TO THE DRIVING CLOUD Back, then, back to thy wocxis in the regions west of the Wabash ! There as a monarch thou reignest. In autumn the leaves of the maple Pave the floors of thy palace-halls with gold, and in summer Pine-trees waft through its chambers the odorous breath of their branches. There thou art strong and great, a hero, a tamer of horses ! There thou chasest the stately stag on the banks of the Elkhorn, Or by the roar of the Running- Water, or where the Omaha Calls thee, and leaps through the wild ravine like a brave oftheBlackfeet! Hark ! what murmurs arise from the heart of those mountainous deserts ? Is it the cry of the Foxes and Crows, or the mighty Behemoth, Who, unharmed, on his tusks once caught the bolts of the thunder. And now lurks in his lair to destroy the race of the red man ? Far more fatal to thee and thy race than the Crows and the Foxes, Far more fatal to thee and thy race than the tread of Behemoth, 70 TO THE DRIVING CLOUD Lo ! the bii? thunder-caiioe, that steadily breasts the Miss(3iiri's Merciless current ! and yonder, afar on the prairies, the camp-fires Gleam through the niglit ; and the cloud of dust in the gray of the daybreak Marks not the buffalo's track, nor the Mandan's dex- terous horse-race ; It is a caravan, whitening the desert where dwell the Camanches ! Ha ! how the breath of these Saxons and Celts, like the blast of the east-\\"ind. Drifts CAcrmore to the west the scanty smokes of thy wig\rams ! 71 WALTER VON DER VOGELWEID VoGELWEiD the Minnesinger, When he left this world of ours, Laid his body in the cloister, Under Wiirtzburg's minster towers. And he gave the monks his treasures, Gave them all with this behest : They should feed the birds at noontide Daily on his place of rest ; Saying, ' ' From these wandering minstrels I have learned the art of song ; Let me now repay the lessons They have taught so well and long." Thus the bard of love departed ; And, fulfilling his desire. On his tomb the birds were feasted By the children of the choir. Day by day, o'er tower and turret, In foul weather and in fair. Day by day, in vaster numbers, Flocked the poets of the air. 72 WALTER VON DER VOGELWEID Oil the tree \Ahose heavy branches Overshadowed all the place, On the pavement, on the tombstone. On the poet's sculptured face, On the cross-bars of each window, On the lintel of each door. They renewed the War of Wartburg, Which the bard had fought before. There they sang their merry carols. Sang their lauds on every side ; And the name their voices uttered Was the name of Vogelweid. Till at length the portly abbot Murmured, "Why this waste of food ? Be it changed to loaves henceforward For our fasting brotherhood." Then in vain o'er tower and turret, From the walls and woodland nests. When the minster bells rang noontide. Gathered the unwelcome guests. Then in vain, with cries discordant. Clamorous round the Gothic spire. Screamed the feathered Minnesingers For the children of the choir. 73 WALTER VON DER VOGELWEID Time has long effaced the inscriptions On the cloister's funeral stones, And tradition only tells us Where repose the poet's bones. But around the vast cathedral, By sweet echoes multiplied. Still the birds repeat the legend, And the name of Vogelweid. 74 THE OLD CLOCK ON THE STAIRS Somewhat back from the village street Stands the old-fashioned country-seat. Across its antique portico Tall poplar-trees their shadows thro\\^ ; x\nd from its station in the hall An ancient timepiece says to all, — ' ' Forever — never ! Never — forever ! ' ' Half-way up the stairs it stands, And points and beckons with its hands From its case of massive oak, Like a monk, who, under his cloak. Crosses himself, and sighs, alas ! With sorrowful voice to all who pass, — ' ' Forever — never ! Never — forever ! ' ' By day its voice is low and light ; But in the silent dead of night. Distinct as a passing footstep's fall. It echoes along the vacant hall, Along the ceiling, along the floor, And seems to say, at each chamber-door, — ' ' Forever — never ! Never — forever ! ' ' 75 THE OLD CLOCK ON THE STAIRS Through days of sorrow and of mirth, Through days of death and days of birth, Through every swift vicissitude Of changeful time, unchanged it has stood, And as if, like God, it all things saw, It calmly repeats those words of awe, — Forever — never ! Never — forever ! ' ' In that mansion used to be Free-hearted Hospitality ; His great fires up the chimney roared ; The stranger feasted at his board ; But, like the skeleton at the feast. That warning timepiece never ceased, — Forever — never ! Never — forever ! ' ' There groups of merry children played, There youths and maidens dreaming strayed ; O precious hours ! O golden prime. And affluence of love and time ! Even as a miser counts his gold, Those hours the ancient timepiece told, — Forever — never ! Never — forever ! ' ' From that chamber, clothed in white. The bride came forth on her wedding night ; 76 THE OLD CLOCK ON THE STAIRS There, in that silent room below, The dead lay in his shroud of snow ; And in the hush that followed the prayer, Was heard the old clock on the stair, — Forever — never ! Never — forever ! " All are scattered now^ and fled, Some are married, some are dead ; And when I ask, with throbs of pain, ' Ah ! when shall they all meet again ? ' ' As in the days long since gone by. The ancient timepiece makes reply, — Forever — never ! Never — forever ! ' ' Never here, forever there. Where all parting, pain, and care. And death, and time shall disappear, — Forever there, but never here ! The horologe of Eternity Sayeth this incessantly, — Forever — never ! Never — forever ! ' ' 77 THE ARROW AND THE SONG I SHOT an arrow into the air, It fell to earth, I knew not where ; For, so swiftly it flew, the sight Could not follow it in its flight. I breathed a song into the air. It fell to earth, I knew not where ; For who has sight so keen and strong. That it can follow the flight of song ? Long, long afterward, in an oak I found the arrow, still unbroke ; And the song, from beginning to end, I found again in the heart of a friend. 78 CURFEW Solemnly, mournfully, Dealing its dole, The Curfew Bell Is beginning to toll. Cover the embers, And put out the light ; Toil comes with the morning. And rest with the night. Dark grow the windows, And quenched is the fire ; Sound fades into silence, — All footsteps retire. No voice in the chambers, No sound in the hall ! Sleep and oblivion Reign over all ! n The book is completed. And closed, like the day ; And thelhand that has written it Lays it away. 79 CURFEW Dim grow its fancies ; Forgotten they lie ; Like coals in the ashes, They darken and die. Song sinks into silence, The story is told, The windows are darkened, The hearth-stone is cold. Darker and darker The black shadows fall ; Sleep and oblivion Reign over all. 80 N.\RRATIVE POEMS .# #"^"' ^D EVANGELINE This is the forest primeval. The murmuring pines and the hemlocks, Bearded with moss, and in garments green, indistinct in the twilight. Stand like Druids of eld, with voices sad and prophetic, Stand like harpers hoar, with beards that rest on their bosoms. Loud from its rocky caverns, the deep- voiced neighbor- ing ocean Speaks, and in accents disconsolate answers the Avail of the forest. This is the forest primeval ; but where are the hearts that beneath it Leaped like the roe, when he hears in the woodland the voice of the huntsman ? Where is the thatch-roofed village, the home of Aca- dian farmers, — Men M'hose lives glided on like rivers that water the woodlands, 83 EVANGELINE Darkened by shadows of earth, but reflecting an image of heaven ? Waste are those pleasant farms, and the farmers for- e^■er departed ! Scattered like dust and leaves, when the mighty blasts of October Seize them, and whirl them aloft, and sprinkle them far o'er the ocean. Naught but tradition remains of the beautiful village of Grand-Pre. ^ Ye who believe in affection that hopes, and endures, and is patient. Ye who believe in the beauty and strength of woman's devotion, List to the mournful tradition, still sung by the pines of the forest ; List to a Tale of Love in Acadie, home of the happy. 84 PART THE FIRST In the Acadian land, on the shores of the Basin of Minas, Distant, seckided, still, the little village of Grand-Pre Lay in the fruitful valley. Vast meadows stretched to the eastward, Giving the village its name, and pasture to flocks with- out number. Dikes, that the hands of the farmers had raised with labor incessant. Shut out the turbulent tides ; but at stated seasons the flood-gates Opened, and welcomed the sea to wander at w ill o'er the meadows. West and south there w^ere fields of flax, and orchards and cornfields Spreading afar and unfenced o'er the plain ; and away to the northward Blomidon rose, and the forests old, and aloft on the mountains Sea-fogs pitched their tents, and mists from the mighty Atlantic Looked on the happy valley, but ne'er from their station descended. 85 EVANGELINE There, in the midst of its farms, reposed the Acadian village. Strongly built were the houses, with frames of oak and of hemlock. Such as the peasants of Normandy built in the reign of the Henries. Thatched were the roofs, with dormer-windows ; and gables projecting Over the basement below protected and shaded the doorway. There in the tranquil evenings of summer, when brightly the sunset Lighted the village street, and gilded the vanes on the chimneys. Matrons and maidens sat in snow-white caps and in kirtles Scarlet and blue and green, with distaffs spinning the golden Flax for the gossiping looms, whose noisy shuttles within doors Mingled their sounds with the whir of the wheels and the songs of the maidens. Solemnly down the street came the parish priest, and the children Paused in their play to kiss the hand he extended to bless them. Reverend walked he among them ; and up rose matrons and maidens, 86 EVANGELINE Hailing his slow approach with words of affectionate welcome. Then came the laborers home from the field, and se- renely the sun sank Down to his rest, and twilight prevailed. Anon from the belfry Softly the Angelus sounded, and over the roofs of the village Columns of pale blue smoke, like clouds of incense as- cending. Rose from a hundred hearths, the homes of peace and contentment. Thus dwelt together in love these simple Acadian farmers, — Dwelt in the love of God and of man. Alike were they free from Fear, that reigns with the tyrant, and envy, the vice of republics. Neither locks had they to their doors, nor bars to their windo^vs ; But their dwellings were open as day and the hearts of the owners ; There the richest was poor, and the poorest lived in abundance. Somewhat apart from the village, and nearer the Basin of Minas, Benedict Bellefontaine, the wealthiest farmer of Grand- Pre', 87 EVANGELINE Dwelt on his goodly acres ; and with him, directing his household, Gentle Evangeline lived, his child, and the pride of the village. Stalworth and stately in form was the man of seventy winters ; Hearty and hale was he, an oak that is covered with snow-flakes ; White as the snow were his locks, and his cheeks as brown as the oak-leaves. Fair was she to behold, that maiden of seventeen sum- mers. Black were her eyes as the berry that grows on the thorn by the wayside, Black, yet how softly they gleamed beneath the brown shade of her tresses ! Sweet was her breath as the breath of kine that feed in the meadows. When in the harvest heat she bore to the reapers at noontide Flagons of home-brewed ale, ah ! fair in sooth was the maiden. Fair was she when, on Sunday morn, while the bell from its turret Sprinkled with holy sounds the air, as the priest with his hyssop Sprinkles the congregation, and scatters blessings upon them. 88 Homezvard serenely she walked zvith God's befiediction upon her. When she had passed, it seemed like the ceasing of exquisite music EVANGELINE Do\\n the long street she passed, with her chaplet of beads and her missal, Wearing her Norman cap, and her kirtle of blue, and " the ear-rings, Brought in the olden time from France, and since, as an heirloom. Handed down from mother to child, through long gen- erations. But a celestial brightness — a more ethereal beauty — Shone on her face and encircled her form, when, after confession, Homeward serenely she walked with God's benediction upon her. When she had passed, it seemed like the ceasing of exquisite music. Firmly builded with rafters of oak, the house of the farmer Stood on the side of a hill commanding the sea ; and a shady Sycamore grew by the door, with a woodbine wreathing around it. Rudely carved was the porch, with seats beneath ; and a footpath Led through an orchard wide, and disappeared in the meadow. Under the sycamore-tree were hives overhung by a penthouse, 89 EVANGELINE Such as the traveller sees in regions remote by the road- side, Built o'er a box for the poor, or the blessed image of Mary. Farther down, on the slope of the hill, was the well with its moss-grown Bucket, fastened with iron, and near it a trough for the horses. Shielding the house from storms, on the north, were the barns and the farm-yard. There stood the broad-wheeled wains and the antique ploughs and the harrows ; There were the folds for the sheep ; and there, in his feathered seraglio. Strutted the lordly turkey, and crowed the cock, with the selfsame Voice that in ages of old had startled the penitent Peter. Bursting with hay were the barns, themselves a village. In each one Far o'er the gable projected a roof of thatch ; and a staircase. Under the sheltering eaves, led up to the odorous corn- loft. There too the dove-cot stood, with its meek and inno- cent inmates Murmuring ever of love ; while above in the variant breezes Numberless noisy weathercocks rattled and sang of mutation. 90 EVANGELINE Thus, at peace with God and the world, tlie farmer of Grand-Pre Lived on his sunny farm, and Evangeline governed his household. Many a youth, as he knelt in church and opened his missal, Fixed his eyes upon her as the saint of his deepest devotion ; Happy w as he who might touch her hand or the hem of her garment ! Many a suitor came to her door, by the darkness be- friended, And, as he knocked and waited to hear the sound of her footsteps, Knew not which beat the louder, his heart or the knocker of iron ; Or at the joyous feast of the Patron Saint of the village. Bolder grew, and pressed her hand in the dance as he whispered Hurried words of love, that seemed a part of the music. But, among all who came, young Gabriel only A\as welcome ; Gabriel Lajeunesse, the son of Basil the blacksmith. Who was a mighty man in the village, and honored of all men ; For, since the birth of time, throughout all ages and nations, Has the craft of the smith been held in repute by the people. 91 EVANGELINE Basil was Benedict's friend. Their children from ear- liest childhood Grew up together as brother and sister ; and Father Felician, Priest and pedagogue both in the village, had taught them their letters Out of the selfsame book, with the hymns of the church and the plain-song. But when the hymn was sung, and the daily lesson completed, Swiftly they hurried away to the forge of Basil the blacksmith. There at the door they stood, with wondering eyes to behold him Take in his leathern lap the hoof of the horse as a play- thing. Nailing the shoe in its place ; while near him the tire of the cart-wheel Lay like a fiery snake, coiled round in a circle of cin- ders. Oft on autumnal eves, when without in the gathering darkness Bursting with light seemed the smithy, through every cranny and crevice, Warm by the forge within they watched the laboring bellows, And as its panting ceased, and the sparks expired in the ashes. 92 EVANGELINE Merrily laughed, and said they were nuns going into the chapel. Oft on sledges in winter, as swift as the swoop of the eagle, Down the hillside bounding, they glided a\vay o'er the meadow. Oft in the barns they climbed to the populous nests on the rafters, Seeking with eager eyes that wondrous stone, which the shallow Brings from the shore of the sea to restore the sight of its fledglings ; Lucky was he who found that stone in the nest of the swallow ! Thus passed a few^ swift years, and they no longer were children. He was a valiant youth, and his face, like the face of the morning, Gladdened the earth with its light, and ripened thought into action. She was a woman now, with the heart and hopes of a woman. " Sunshine of Saint Eulalie " was she called ; for that was the sunshine Which, as the farmers believed, would load their or- chards with apples ; She, too, would bring to her husband's house delight and abundance. Filling it with love and the ruddy faces of children. 93 EVANGELINE II Now had the season returned, when the nights grow colder and longer, And the retreating sun the sign of the Scorpion enters. Birds of passage sailed through the leaden air, from the ice-bound, Desolate northern bays to the shores of tropical islands. Harvests were gathered in ; and wild with the winds of September Wrestled the trees of the forest, as Jacob of old with the angel. All the signs foretold a winter long and inclement. Bees, with prophetic instinct of want, had hoarded their honey Till the hives overflowed ; and the Indian hunters as- serted Cold would the winter be, for thick was the fur of the foxes. Such was the advent of autumn. Then followed that beautiful season. Called by the pious Acadian peasants the Summer of All-Saints ! Filled was the air with a dreamy and magical light ; and the landscape Lay as if new-created in all the freshness of childhood. Peace seemed to reign upon earth, and the restless heart of the ocean Was for a moment consoled. All sounds were in har- mony blended. 94 EVANGELINE Voices of children at play, the crowing of cocks in the farm-yards, Whir of wings in the drowsy air, and the cooing of - pigeons. All were subdued and low as the murmurs of love, and the great sun Looked with the eye of love through the golden vapors around him ; While arra}xd in its robes of russet and scarlet and yellow. Bright with the sheen of the dew, each glittering tree of the forest Flashed like the plane-tree the Persian adorned with mantles and jewels. Now recommenced the reign of rest and aiFection and stillness. Day with its burden and heat had departed, and twi- light descending Brought back the evening star to the sky, and the herds to the homestead. Pawing the ground they came, and resting their necks on each other. And with their nostrils distended inhaling the freshness of evening. Foremost, bearing the bell, Evangeline's beautiful heifer. Proud of her snow-white hide, and the ribbon that waved from her collar, 95 EVANGELINE Quietly paced and slow, as if conscious of human affec- tion. Then came the shepherd back with his bleating flocks from the seaside, Where was their favorite pasture. Behind them fol- lowed the watch-dog, Patient, full of importance, and grand in the pride of his instinct. Walking from side to side with a lordly air, and su- perbly Waving his bushy tail, and urging forward the strag- glers ; Regent of flocks was he when the shepherd slept ; their protector. When from the forest at night, through the starry si- lence the wolves howled . Late, with the rising moon, returned the wains from the marshes. Laden with briny hay, that filled the air with its odor. Cheerily neighed the steeds, with dew on their manes and their fetlocks. While aloft on their shoulders the wooden and ponder- ous saddles. Painted with brilliant dyes, and adorned with tassels of crimson. Nodded in bright array, like hollyhocks heavy with blossoms. Patiently stood the cows meanwhile, and yielded their udders 96 EVANGELINE Unto the milkmaid's liand ; whilst loud and in regular cadence Into the sounding pails the foaming streamlets de- scended. Lowing of cattle and peals of laughter were heard in the farm-yard, Echoed back by the barns. Anon they sank into still- ness ; Heavily closed, with a jarring sound, the valves of the barn-doors, Rattled the wooden bars, and all for a season was silent. In-doors, warm by the wide-mouthed fireplace, idly the farmer Sat in his elbow-chair and watched how the flames and the smoke-wreaths Struggled together like foes in a burning city. Behind him. Nodding and mocking along the wall, with gestures fantastic. Darted his own huge shadow, and vanished away into darkness. Faces, clumsily carved in oak, on the back of his arm- chair Laughed in the flickering light ; and the pewter plates on the dresser Caught and reflected the flame, as shields of armies the sunshine. 97 EVANGELINE Fragments of song the old man sang, and carols of Christmas, Such as at home, in the olden time, his fathers before him Sang in their Norman orchards and bright Burgimdian vineyards. Close at her father's side was the gentle Evangeline seated. Spinning flax for the loom, that stood in the corner behind her. Silent awhile were its treadles, at rest was its diligent shuttle. While the monotonous drone of the wheel, like the drone of a bagpipe. Followed the old man's song and united the fragments together. As in a church, when the chant of the choir at intervals ceases. Footfalls are heard in the aisles, or words of the priest at the altar. So, in each pause of the song, with measured motion the clock clicked. Thus as they sat, there were footsteps heard, and, suddenly lifted, Sounded the wooden latch, and the door swung back on its hinges. Benedict knew by the hob-nailed shoes it was Basil the blacksmith, 98 EVANGELINE And by her beating heart Evangeline knew who was with him. "Welcome ! " the farmer exclaimed, as their footsteps " paused on the threshold, "Welcome, Basil, my friend ! Come, take thy place on the settle Close by the chimney-side, which is always empty without thee ; Take from the shelf overhead thy pipe and the box of tobacco ; Never so much thyself art thou as when through the curling Smoke of the pipe or the forge thy friendly and jovial face gleams Round and red as the harvest moon through the mist of the marshes." Then, with a smile of content, thus answered Basil the blacksmith. Taking with easy air the accustomed seat by the fire- side : — "Benedict Bellefontaine, thou hast ever thy jest and thy ballad ! Ever in cheerfuUest mood art thou, when others are filled with Gloomy forebodings of ill, and see only ruin before them. Happy art thou, as if every day thou hadst picked up a horseshoe." 99 EVANGELINE Pausing a moment, to take the pipe that Evangeline brought him, And with a coal from the embers had lighted, he slowly continued : — ' ' Four days now are passed since the English ships at their anchors Ride in the Gaspereau's mouth, with their cannon pointed against us. What their design may be is unknown ; but all are commanded On the morrow to meet in the church, where his Majesty's mandate Will be proclaimed as law in the land. Alas ! in the mean time Many surmises of evil alarm the hearts of the peo- ple." Then made answer the farmer : ' ' Perhaps some friend- lier purpose Brings these ships to our shores. Perhaps the harvests in England By untimely rains or untimelier heat have been blighted. And from our bursting barns they would feed their cattle and children." ' ' Not so thinketh the folk in the village, ' ' said, warmly, the blacksmith, Shaking his head, as in doubt ; then, heaving a sigh, he continued : — " Louisburg is not forgotten, nor Beau Sejour, nor Port Royal. 100 EVANGELINE Many already have fled to the forest, and lurk on its outskirts, Waiting with anxious hearts the dubious fate of to- morrow. Arms have been taken from us, and warlike weapons of all kinds ; Nothing is left but the blacksmith's sledge and the scythe of the mower. ' ' Then with a pleasant smile made answer the jovial farmer : — " Safer are we unarmed, in the midst of our flocks and our cornfields. Safer within these peacefuldikes, besieged by the ocean. Than our fathers in forts, besieged by the enemy's cannon. Fear no evil, my friend, and to-night may no shadow of sorrow Fall on this house and hearth ; for this is the night of the contract. Built are the house and the barn. The merry lads of the village Strongly have built them and well ; and, breaking the glebe round about them. Filled the barn with hay, and the house with food for a twelvemonth. Rene Leblanc will be here anon, with his papers and inkhorn. Shall we not then be glad, and rejoice in the joy of our children ? ' ' 101 EVANGELINE As apart by the window she stood, with her hand in her lover's, Blushing Evangeline heard the words that her father had spoken. And, as they died on his lips, the worthy notary entered. ni Bent like a laboring oar, that toils in the surf of the ocean, Bent, but not broken, by age was the form of the notary public ; Shocks of yellow hair, like the silken floss of the maize, hung Over his shoulders ; his forehead was high ; and glasses with horn bows Sat astride on his nose, with a look of wisdom super- nal. Father of twenty children was he, and more than a hundred Children's children rode on his knee, and heard his great watch tick. Four long years in the times of the war had he lan- guished a captive. Suffering much in an old French fort as the friend of the English. Now, though warier grown, without all guile or sus- picion. Ripe in wisdom was he, but patient, and simple, and childlike. 102 EVANGELINE He was beloved by all, and most of all by the children ; For he told them tales of the Loup-garou in the forest, And of the goblin that came in the night to water the horses. And of the w hite Letiche, the ghost of a child who un- christened Died, and A\'as doomed to haunt unseen the chambers of children ; And how on Christmas eve the oxen talked in the stable. And how the fever ^vas cured by a spider shut up in a nutshell. And of the marvellous powers of four-leaved clover and horseshoes. With n hatsoever else was writ in the lore of the vil- lage. Then up rose from his seat by the fireside Basil the blacksmith. Knocked from his pipe the ashes, and slow ly extending his right hand, " Father Leblanc," he exclaimed, "thou hast heard the talk in the village, And, perchance, canst tell us some news of these ships and their errand." Then with modest demeanor made answer the notary public, — " Gossip enough have I heard, in sooth, yet am never the wiser ; And what their errand may be I know not better than others. 103 EVANGELINE Yet am I not of those w ho imagine some evil intention Brings them here, for we are at peace ; and why then molest us ? " God's name ! ' ' shouted the hasty and somewhat iras- cible blacksmith ; " Must we in all things look for the how, and the why, and the wherefore ? Daily injustice is done, and might is the right of the strongest ! " But without heeding his warmth, continued the notary public, — " Man is unjust, but God is just ; and finally justice Triumphs ; and well I remember a story, that often consoled me. When as a captive I lay in the old French fort at Port Royal." This was the old man's favorite tale, and he loved to repeat it When his neighbors complained that any injustice was done them. " Once in an ancient city, whose name I no longer remember. Raised aloft on a column, a brazen statue of Justice Stood in the public square, upholding the scales in its left hand. And in its right a sword, as an emblem that justice pre- sided Over the laws of the land, and the hearts and homes of the people. 104 EVANGELINE Even the birds had built their nests in the scales of the balance, Having no fear of the sword that flashed in the sunshine above them. But in the course of time the laws of the land were corrupted ; Might took the place of right, and the weak were op- pressed, and the mighty Ruled with an iron rod. Then it chanced in a noble- man's palace That a necklace of pearls was lost, and erelong a sus- picion Fell on an orphan girl who lived as a maid in the household. She, after form of trial condemned to die on the scaf- fold, Patiently met her doom at the foot of the statue of Justice. As to her Father in heaven her innocent spirit ascended, Lo ! o'er the city a tempest rose ; and the bolts of the thunder Smote the statue of bronze, and hurled in wrath from its left hand Down on the pavement below the clattering scales of the balance. And in the hollow thereof was found the nest of a magpie, Into whose clay-built walls the necklace of pearls was in^^■oven , ' ' 105 EVANGELINE Silenced, but not convinced, when the story was ended, the blacksmith Stood like a man who fain would speak, but findeth no language ; All his thoughts were congealed into lines on his face, as the vapors Freeze in fantastic shapes on the window-panes in the winter. Then Evangeline lighted the brazen lamp on the table. Filled, till it overflowed, the pewter tankard with home- brewed Nut-brown ale, that was famed for its strength in the village of Grand-Pre ; While from his pocket the notary drew his papers and inkhorn, Wrote with a steady hand the date and the age of the parties. Naming the dower of the bride in flocks of sheep and in cattle. Orderly all things proceeded, and duly and well were completed, And the great seal of the law was set like a sun on the margin. Then from his leathern pouch the farmer threw on the table Three times the old man's fee in solid pieces of silver ; And the notary rising, and blessing the bride and the bridegroom, 106 EVANGELINE Lifted aloft the tankard of ale and drank to their wel- fare. Wiping the foam from his lip, he solemnly bowed and departed, While in silence the others sat and mused by the fire- side, Till Evangeline brought the draught-board out of its corner. Soon was the game begun. In friendly contention the old men Laughed at each lucky hit, or unsuccessful manoeuvre. Laughed when a man was crowned, or a breach was made in the king-row. Meanwhile apart, in the twilight gloom of a window's embrasure. Sat the lovers, and whispered together, beholding the moon rise Over the pallid sea, and the silvery mists of the meadows. Silently one by one, in the infinite meadows of heaven, Blossomed the lovely stars, the forget-me-nots of the angels. Thus was the evening passed. Anon the bell from the belfry Rang out the hour of nine, the village curfew, and straightway Rose the guests and departed ; and silence reigned in the household. 107 EVANGELINE Many a farewell word and sweet good-night on the door-step Lingered long in Evangeline's heart, and filled it with gladness. Carefully then were covered the embers that glowed on the hearth-stone, And on the oaken stairs resounded the tread of the farmer. Soon with a soundless step the foot of Evangeline fol- lowed. Up the staircase moved a luminous space in the dark- ness. Lighted less by the lamp than the shining face of the maiden. Silent she passed the hall, and entered the door of her chamber. Simple that chamber was, with its curtains of white, and its clothes-press Ample and high, on whose spacious shelves were care- fully folded Linen and woollen stuffs, by the hand of Evangeline woven. This was the precious dower she would bring to her husband in marriage. Better than flocks and herds, being proofs of her skill as a housewife. Soon she extinguished her lamp, for the mellow and radiant moonlight 108 EVANGELINE Streamed through the \\indows, and lighted the room, till the heart of the maiden Swelled and obeyed its power, like the tremulous tides " of the ocean. Ah ! she was fair, exceeding fair to behold, as she stood with Naked snoAV-white feet on the gleaming floor of her chamber ! Little she dreamed that below, among the trees of the orchard, Waited her lo\ er and watched for the gleam of her lamp and her shadow. Yet were her thoughts of him, and at times a feeling of sadness Passed o'er her soul, as the sailing shade of clouds in the moonlight Flitted across the floor and darkened the room for a moment. And, as she gazed from the window, she saw serenely the moon pass Forth from the folds of a cloud, and one star follow her footsteps. As out of Abraham's tent young Ishmael wandered with Hagar ! rv Pleasantly rose next morn the sun on the village of Grand-Pre. Pleasantly gleamed in the soft, sweet air the Basin of Minas, 109 EVANGELINE Where the ships, with their wavering shadows, were riding at anchor. Life had long been astir in the village, and clamorous labor Knocked with its hundred hands at the golden gates of the morning. Now from the country around, from the farms and neighboring hamlets. Came in their holiday dresses the blithe Acadian peas- ants. Many a glad good-morrow and jocund laugh from the young folk Made the bright air brighter, as up from the numerous meadows. Where no path could be seen but the track of wheels in the greensward, Group after group appeared, and joined, or passed on the highway. Long ere noon, in the village all sounds of labor were silenced. Thronged were the streets with people; and noisy groups at the house-doors Sat in the cheerful sun, and rejoiced and gossiped to- gether. Every house was an inn, where all were welcomed and feasted; For with this simple people, who lived like brothers to- gether. no EVANGELINE All things were held in common, and what one had was another's. Yet under Benedict's roof hospitality seemed more ' abundant : For Evangeline stood among the guests of her father ; Bria:ht \\as her face with smiles, and words of welcome and gladness Fell from her beautiful lips, and blessed the cup as she gave it. Under the open sky, in the odorous air of the orchard, Stript of its golden fruit, was spread the feast of be- trothal. There in the shade of the porch were the priest and the notary seated ; There good Benedict sat, and sturdy Basil the black- smith. Not far A\-ithdrawn from these, by the cider-press and the beehives, Michael the fiddler was placed, with the gayest of hearts and of waistcoats. Shadow and light from the leaves alternately played on his snow-white Hair, as it waved in the wind ; and the jolly face of the fiddler Glowed like a living coal when the ashes are blown from the embers. Gayly the old man sang to the vibrant sound of his fiddle, 111 EVANGELINE Tons It's Ihitrgeois de C/iartrcs, and Le Carillon dc Dini- qiwnptt^ And anon with his wooden slioes beat time to the mnsie. Merrily, merrily \\ hirled the wheels of the dizzying dances Under the orchard-trees and down the jxitli to the meado\\ s ; Old folk and young together, and children mingled among them. Fairest of all the maids m as E\'angeline, Benedict's daughter! Noblest of all the youths m as Gabriel, son of the black- smith ! So passed the morning away. And lo! m ith a sum- mons sonorous Soimded the bell from its tower, and o^•er the meado\\s a drum beat. Thronged erelong was the church with men. Without, in the churchyard, Waited the ^\•omen. They stood b}- the graves, and hung on the headstones Garlands of autumn-lea^■es and evergreens fresh from the forest. Then came the guard from the ships, and marching proudly among them Entered the sacred portal. With loud and dissonant clangor 112 EVANGELINE Echoed the sound of dieir brazen drums from ceiling and casement, — Echoed a moment only, and slowly the ponderous portal Closed, and in silence the crowd awaited the will of the soldiers. Then uprose their commander, and spake from the steps of the altar. Holding aloft in his hands, with its seals, the royal commission. " You are convened this day," he said, " by his Ma- jesty's orders. Clement and kind has he been ; but hovv^ you have answered his kindness, Let your own hearts reply ! To my natural make and my temper Painful the task is I do, which to you I know must be grievous. Yet must I bow and obey, and deliver the will of our monarch ; Namely, that all your lands, and dwellings, and cattle of all kinds Forfeited be to the crown ; and that you yourselves from this province Be transported toother lands. God grant you may dwell there Ever as faithful subjects, a happy and peaceable people ! Prisoners now I declare you ; for such is his Majesty's pleasure ! " 113 EVANGELINE As, when the air is serene in sultry solstice of summer, Suddenly gathers a storm, and the deadly sling of the hailstones Beats down the farmer's corn in the field and shatters his windows, Hiding the sun, and strewing the ground with thatch from the house-roofs. Bellowing fly the herds, and seek to break their enclo- sures ; So on the hearts of the people descended the words of the speaker. Silent a moment they stood in speechless wonder, and then rose Louder and ever louder a wail of sorrow and anger, And, by one impulse moved, they madly rushed to the door-way. Vain was the hope of escape ; and cries and fierce im- precations Rang through the house of prayer ; and high o'er the heads of the others Rose, M ith his arms uplifted, the figure of Basil the blacksmith. As, on a stormy sea, a spar is tossed by the billows. Flushed was his face and distorted with passion ; and wildly he shouted, — ' ' Down with the tyrants of England ! we never have sworn them allegiance ! Death to these foreign soldiers, who seize on our homes and our harvests ! ' ' 114 EVANGELINE More he fain would have said, but the merciless hand of a soldier Smote him upon the mouth, and dragged him down to the pavement. In the midst of the strife and tumult of angry con- tention, Lo ! the door of the chancel opened, and Father Felician Entered, with serious mien, and ascended the steps of the altar. Raising his reverend hand, with a gesture he awed into silence All that clamorous throng ; and thus he spake to his people ; Deep were his tones and solemn ; in accents measured and mournful Spake he, as, after the tocsin's alarum, distinctly the clock strikes. " What is this that ye do, my children? what madness has seized you ? Forty years of my life have I labored among you, and taught you. Not in word alone, but in deed, to love one another ! Is this the fruit of my toils, of my vigils and prayers and privations ? Have you so soon forgotten all lessons of love and for- giveness ? This is the house of the Prince of Peace, and would you profane it 115 EVANGELINE Thus with violent deeds and hearts overflowing with hatred? Lo ! where the crucified Christ from his cross is gazing upon you ! See ! in those sorrowful eyes what meekness and holy compassion ! Hark ! how those lips still repeat the prayer, ' O Father, forgive them ! ' Let us repeat that prayer in the hour when the wicked assail us. Let us repeat it now, and say, ' O Father, forgive them!'" Few were his words of rebuke, but deep in the hearts of his people Sank they, and sobs of contrition succeeded the pas- sionate outbreak, While they repeated his prayer, and said, ' ' O Father, forgive them ! " Then came the evening service. The tapers gleamed from the altar. Fervent and deep was the voice of the priest, and the people responded. Not with their lips alone, but their hearts ; and the Ave Maria Sang they, and fell on their knees, and their souls, with devotion translated, Rose on the ardor of prayer, like Elijah ascending to heaven. 116 EVANGELINE Meanwhile had spread in the village the tidings of ill, and on all sides Wandered, wailing, from house to house the women and children. Long at her father's door Evangeline stood, with her right hand Shielding her eyes from the level rays of the sun, that, descending, Lighted the village street with mysterious splendor, and roofed each Peasant's cottage with golden thatch, and emblazoned its windows. Long within had been spread the snow-white cloth on the table ; There stood the wheaten loaf, and the honey fragrant with wild-flowers ; There stood the tankard of ale, and the cheese fresh brought from the dairy. And, at the head of the board, the great arm-chair of the farmer. Thus did Evangeline wait at her father's door, as the sunset Threw the long shadows of trees o'er the broad ambro- sial meadows. Ah ! on her spirit within a deeper shadow had fallen, And from the fields of her soul a fragrance celestial ascended, — Charity, meekness, love, and hope, and forgiveness, and patience ! 117 EVANGELINE Then, all-forgetful of self, she wandered into the village. Cheering with looks and words the mournful hearts of the women, As o'er the darkening fields with lingering steps they departed. Urged by their household cares, and the weary feet of their children. Down sank the great red sun, and in golden, glimmer- ing vapors Veiled the light of his face, like the Prophet descending from Sinai. Sweetly over the village the bell of the Angelus sounded. Meanwhile, amid the gloom, by the church Evange- line lingered. All was silent within ; and in vain at the door and the windows Stood she, and listened and looked, till, overcome by emotion, "Gabriel ! " cried she aloud with tremulous voice ; but no answer Came from the graves of the dead, nor the gloomier grave of the living. Slowly at length she returned to the tenantless house of her father. Smouldered the fire on the hearth, on the board was the supper untasted. Empty and drear was each room, and haunted with phantoms of terror. 118 EVANGELINE Sadly echoed her step on the stair and the floor of her chamber. In the dead of the night she heard the disconsolate rain fall Loud on the withered leaves of the sycamore-tree by the window. Keenly the lightning flashed ; and the voice of the echo- ing thunder Told her that God was in heaven, and governed the world he created ! Then she remembered the tale she had heard of the justice of Heaven ; Soothed was her troubled soul, and she peacefully slum- bered till morning. V Four times the sun had risen and set ; and now on the fifth day Cheerily called the cock to the sleeping maids of the farm-house. Soon o'er the yellow fields, in silent and mournful pro- cession, Came from the neighboring hamlets and farms the Aca- dian women. Driving in ponderous wains their household goods to the sea-shore. Pausing and looking back to gaze once more on their dwellings, 119 EVANGELINE Ere they were shut from sight by the winding road and the woodland. Close at their sides their children ran, and urged on the oxen, While in their little hands they clasped some fragments of playthings. Thus to the Gaspereau's mouth they hurried ; and there on the sea-beach Piled in confusion lay the household goods of the peasants. All day long between the shore and the ships did the boats ply ; All day long the wains came laboring down from the village. Late in the afternoon, when the sun was near to his setting. Echoed far o'er the fields came the roll of drums from the churchyard. Thither the women and children thronged. On a sud- den the church-doors Opened, and forth came the guard, and marching in gloomy procession Followed the long-imprisoned, but patient, Acadian farmers. Even as pilgrims, who journey afar from their homes and their country, Sing as they go, and in singing forget they are weary and wayworn, 120 EVANGELINE So with songs on their lips the Acadian peasants de- scended Down from the church to the shore, amid their wives and their daughters. Foremost the young men came ; and, raising together their voices, Sang with tremulous lips a chant of the Catholic Mis- sions : — "Sacred heart of the Saviour ! O inexhaustible foun- tain ! Fill our hearts this day with strength and submission and patience ! ' ' Then the old men, as they marched, and the women that stood by the wayside Joined in the sacred psalm, and the birds in the sun- shine above them Mingled their notes therewith, like voices of spirits de- parted. Half-way down to the shore Evangeline waited in silence. Not overcome with grief, but strong in the hour of affliction, — Calmly and sadly she waited, until the procession ap- proached her. And she beheld the face of Gabriel pale with emo- tion. Tears then filled her eyes, and, eagerly running to meet him, 121 EVANGELINE Clasped she his hands, and laid her head on his shoul- der, and whispered, — ' ' Gabriel ! be of good cheer ! for if we love one an- other Nothing, in truth, can harm us, whatever mischances may happen ! ' ' Smiling she spake these words ; then suddenly paused, for her father Saw she slowly advancing. Alas ! how changed was his aspect ! Gone was the glow from his cheek, and the fire from his eye, and his footstep Heavier seemed with the weight of the heavy heart in his bosom. But with a smile and a sigh, she clasped his neck and embraced him, Speaking words of endearment where words of comfort availed not. Thus to the Gaspereau's mouth moved on that mourn- ful procession. There disorder prevailed, and the tumult and stir of embarking. Busily plied the freighted boats ; and in the confusion Wives were torn from their husbands, and mothers, too late, saw their children Left on the land, extending their arms, with wildest entreaties. So unto separate ships were Basil and Gabriel carried, 122 EVANGELINE While in despair on the shore Evangeline stood with her father. Half the task \vas not done when the sun went down, ■ and the twilight Deepened and darkened around ; and in haste the refluent ocean Fled away from the shore, and left the line of the sand- beach Covered with waifs of the tide, with kelp and the slip- pery sea-M'eed. Farther back in the midst of the household goods and the wagons. Like to a gypsy camp, or a leaguer after a battle. All escape cut off by the sea, and the sentinels near them. Lay encamped for the night the houseless Acadian farmers. Back to its nethermost caves retreated the bellowing ocean, Dragging adown the beach the rattling pebbles, and leaving Inland and far up the shore the stranded boats of the sailors. Then, as the night descended, the herds returned from their pastures ; S^veet was the moist still air with the odor of milk from their udders ; Lowing they \\'aited, and long, at the well-known bars of the farm-yard, — 123 EVANGELINE Waited and looked in vain for the voice and the hand of the milk-maid. Silence reigned in the streets ; from the church no Angelus sounded, Rose no smoke from the roofs, and gleamed no lights from the windows. But on the shores meanwhile the evening fires had been kindled, Built of the drift-wood thrown on the sands from wrecks in the tempest. Round them shapes of gloom and sorrowful faces were gathered. Voices of women were heard, and of men, and the crying of children. Onward from fire to fire, as from hearth to hearth in his parish. Wandered the faithful priest, consoling and blessing and cheering. Like unto shipwrecked Paul on Melita's desolate sea- shore. Thus he approached the place where Evangeline sat with her father. And in the flickering light beheld the face of the old man. Haggard and hollow and wan, and without either thought or emotion, E'en as the face of a clock from which the hands have been taken. 124 EVANGELINE Vainly Evangeline strove with words and caresses to cheer him, Vainly offered him food ; yet he moved not, he looked not, he spake not, But, with a vacant stare, ever gazed at the flickering fire-light. *" *" Bejiedicite ! '' '' murmured the priest, in tones of com- passion. More he fain would have said, but his heart was full, and his accents Faltered and paused on his lips, as the feet of a child on a threshold. Hushed by the scene he beholds, and the awful pre- sence of sorrow. Silently, therefore, he laid his hand on the head of the maiden. Raising his tearful eyes to the silent stars that above them Moved on their way, unperturbed by the wrongs and sorrows of mortals. Then sat he down at her side, and they wept together in silence. Suddenly rose from the south a light, as in autumn the blood-red Moon climbs the crystal walls of heaven, and o'er the horizon Titan-like stretches its hundred hands upon mountain and meado\v, 125 EVANGELINE Seizing the rocks and the rivers and piling huge shadows together. Broader and ever broader it gleamed on the roofs of the village, Gleamed on the sky and sea, and the ships that lay in the roadstead. Columns of shining smoke uprose, and flashes of flame were Thrust through their folds and withdrawn, like the quivering hands of a martyr. Then as the wind seized the gleeds and the burning thatch, and, uplifting, Whirled them aloft through the air, at once from a hundred house-tops Started the sheeted smoke with flashes of flame inter- mingled. These things beheld in dismay the crowd on the shore and on shipboard. Speechless at first they stood, then cried aloud in their anguish, ' ' We shall behold no more our homes in the village of Grand-Pre!'' Loud on a sudden the cocks began to crow in the farm- yards. Thinking the day had dawned ; and anon the lowing of catde Came on the evening breeze, by the barking of dogs interrupted. 126 EVANGELINE Then rose a sound of dread, such as stardes the sleep- ing encampments Far in the western prairies or forests that skirt the Nebraska, When the wild horses affrighted sweep by with the speed of the whirlwind, Or the loud bellowing herds of buffaloes rush to the river. Such was the sound that arose on the night, as the herds and the horses Broke through their folds and fences, and madly rushed o'er the meadows. Overwhelmed with the sight, yet speechless, the priest and the maiden Gazed on the scene of terror that reddened and widened before them ; And as they turned at length to speak to their silent companion, Lo ! from his seat he had fallen, and stretched abroad on the sea-shore Motionless lay his form, from which the soul had de- parted. Slowly the priest uplifted the lifeless head, and the maiden Knelt at her father's side, and wailed aloud in her ter- ror. Then in a swoon she sank, and lay with her head on his bosom. 127 EVANGELINE Through the long night she lay in deep, oblivious slumber ; And when she awoke from the trance, she beheld a multitude near her. Faces of friends she beheld, that were mournfully gaz- ing upon her, Pallid, with tearful eyes, and looks of saddest com- passion. Still the blaze of the burning village illumined the land- scape. Reddened the sky overhead, and gleamed on the faces around her, And like the day of doom it seemed to her wavering senses. Then a familiar voice she heard, as it said to the people, — "Let us bury him here by the sea. When a happier season Brings us again to our homes from the unknown land of our exile, Then shall his sacred dust be piously laid in the church- yard." Such were the words of the priest. And there in haste by the sea-side. Having the glare of the burning village for funeral torches. But without bell or book, they buried the farmer of Grand-Pre. 128 EVANGELINE And as the voice of the priest repeated the service of sorrow, Lo ! with a mournful sound, like the voice of a vast congregation, Solemnly answered the sea, and mingled its roar with the dirges. 'T was the returning tide, that afar from the waste of the ocean, With the first dawn of the day, came heaving and hurrying landward. Then recommenced once more the stir and noise of embarking ; And with the ebb of the tide the ships sailed out of the harbor. Leaving behind them the dead on the shore, and the village in ruins. 129 THE SONG OF HIAWATHA HIAWATHA'S SAILING Give me of your bark, O Birch-tree ! Of your yellow bark, O Birch-tree ! Growing by the rushing river, Tall and stately in the valley ! I a light canoe will build me. Build a swift Cheemaun for sailing. That shall float upon the river. Like a yellow leaf in Autumn, Like a yellow water-lily ! " Lay aside your cloak, O Birch-tree ! Lay aside your white-skin wrapper, For the Summer-time is coming, And the sun is warm in heaven, And you need no white-skin wrapper ! ' ' Thus aloud cried Hiawatha In the solitary forest. By the rushing Taquamenaw, When the birds were singing gayly, In the Moon of Leaves were singing. And the sun, from sleep awaking. Started up and said, " Behold me ! Geezis, the great Sun, behold me ! " And the tree with all its branches Rustled in the breeze of morning, 130 HIAWATHA Saying, with a sigh of patience, " Take my cloak, O Hiawatha ! " With his knife the tree he girdled ; ■ Just beneath its lowest branches, Just above the roots, he cut it. Till the sap came oozing outward ; Down the trunk, from top to bottom. Sheer he cleft the bark asunder. With a wooden wedge he raised it. Stripped it from the trunk unbroken. " Give me of your boughs, O Cedar ! Of your strong and pliant branches. My canoe to make more steady, . Make more strong and firm beneath me ! " Through the summit of the Cedar Went a sound, a cry of horror, Went a murmur of resistance ; But it whispered, bending downward, *' Take my boughs, O Hiawatha ! " Down he hewed the boughs of cedar, Shaped them straightway to a frame- work. Like two bows he formed and shaped them. Like two bended bows together. ' ' Give me of your roots, O Tamarack ! Of your fibrous roots, O Larch-tree ! My canoe to bind together. So to bind the ends together That the water may not enter. That the river may not wet me ! " 131 HIAWATHA And the Larch, with all its fibres, Shivered in the air of morning. Touched his forehead with its tassels, Said, with one long sigh of sorrow, " Take them all, O Hiawatha ! " From the earth he tore the fibres. Tore the tough roots of the Larch-tree, Closely sewed the bark together. Bound it closely to the frame- work. " Give me of your balm, O Fir-tree ! Of your balsam and your resin, So to close the seams together That the water may not enter. That the river may not wet me ! " ' And the Fir-tree, tall and sombre. Sobbed through all its robes of darkness. Rattled like a shore with pebbles. Answered wailing, answered weeping, *' Take my balm, O Hiawatha ! " And he took the tears of balsam. Took the resin of the Fir-tree, Smeared therewith each seam and fissure, Made each crevice safe from water. " Give me of your quills, O Hedgehog ! All your quills, O Kagh, the Hedgehog ! . I will make a necklace of them. Make a girdle for my beauty, And two stars to deck her bosom ! " From a hollow tree the Hedgehog 132 HIAWATHA With his sleepy eyes looked at him, Shot his shining quills, like arrows, Saying with a drowsy murmur, Through the tangle of his whiskers. Take my quills, O Hiawatha ! " From the ground the quills he gathered. All the little shining arrows, Stained them red and blue and yellow. With the juice of roots and berries ; Into his canoe he wrought them. Round its waist a shining girdle. Round its bows a gleaming necklace. On its breast two stars resplendent. Thus the Birch Canoe was builded In the valley, by the river. In the bosom of the forest ; And the forest's life was in it. All its mystery and its magic. All the lightness of the birch-tree. All the toughness of the cedar. All the larch's supple sinews ; And it floated on the river Like a yellow leaf in Auturhn, Like a yellow water-lily. Paddles none had Hiawatha, Paddles none he had or needed, For his thoughts as paddles served him. And his wishes served to guide him ; owift or slow at will he glided, 133 HIAWATHA Veered to right or left at pleasure. Then he called aloud to Kwasind, To his friend, the strong man, Kwasind, Saying, ' ' Help me clear this river Of its sunken logs and sand-bars." Straight into the river Kwasind Plunged as if he were an otter, Dived as if he were a beaver, Stood up to his waist in water. To his arm-pits in the river, Swam and shouted in the river, Tugged at sunken logs and branches, With his hands he scooped the sand-bars, With his feet the ooze and tangle. And thus sailed my Hiawatha Down the rushing Taquamenaw, Sailed through all its bends and windings. Sailed through all its deeps and shallows, While his friend, the strong man, Kwasind, Swam the deeps, the shallows waded. Up and down the river went they. In and out among its islands, Cleared its bed of root and sand-bar. Dragged the dead trees from its channel. Made its passage safe and certain. Made a pathway for the people, From its springs among the mountains, To the waters of Pauwating, To the bay of Taquamenau . 134 HIAWATHA HIAWATHA'S FISHING Forth upon the Gitchie Gumee, On the shining Big-Sea- Water, With his fishing-line of cedar, Of the twisted bark of cedar, Forth to catch the sturgeon Nahma, Mishe-Nahma, King of Fishes, In his birch canoe exulting All alone went Hiawatha. Through the clear, transparent water He could see the fishes swimming Far down in the depths below him ; See the yellow perch, the Sahwa, Like a sunbeam in the water. See the Shawgashee, the craw-fish, Like a spider on the bottom. On the white and sandy bottom. At the stern sat Hiawatha, With his fishing-line of cedar ; In his plumes the breeze of morning Played as in the hemlock branches ; On the bows, with tail erected. Sat the squirrel, Adjidaumo ; In his fur the breeze of morning Played as in the prairie grasses. 135 HIAWATHA On the white sand of the bottom Lay the monster Mishe-Nahma, Lay the sturgeon, King of Fishes ; Through his gills he breathed the water, With his fins he fanned and winnowed, With his tail he swept the sand-floor. There he lay in all his armor; On each side a shield to guard him, Plates of bone upon his forehead, Down his sides and back and shoulders Plates of bone with spines projecting ! Painted was he with his war-paints, Stripes of yellow, red, and azure. Spots of brown and spots of sable ; And he lay there on the bottom, Fanning with his fins of purple, As above him Hiawatha Li his birch canoe came sailing. With his fishing-line of cedar. "Take my bait," cried Hiawatha, Down into the depths beneath him, 'Take my bait, O Sturgeon, Nahma! Come up from below the water. Let us see which is the stronger ! " And he dropped his line of cedar Through the clear, transparent water, Waited vainly for an answer. Long sat waiting for an answer. And repeating loud and louder, 136 And he dropped his line of cedar Through the clear, transparent water i/-. k HIAWATHA • Take my bait, O King of Fishes ! ' ' Quiet lay the sturgeon, Nahma, Fanning slowly in the water, Looking up at Hiawatha, Listening to his call and clamor. His unnecessary tumult. Till he wearied of the shouting ; And he said to the Kenozha, To the pike, the Maskenozha, ' Take the bait of this rude fellow, Break the line of Hiawatha ! " In his fingers Hiawatha Felt the loose line jerk and tighten ; As he drew it in, it tugged so That the birch canoe stood endwise, Like a birch log in the water. With the squirrel, Adjidaumo, Perched and frisking on the summit. Full of scorn was Hiawatha When he saw the fish rise upward. Saw the pike, the Maskenozha, Coming nearer, nearer to him, And he shouted through the water, ' ' Esa ! esa ! shame upon you ! You are but the pike, Kenozha, You are not the fish I wanted. You are not the King of Fishes ! " Reeling downward to the bottom Sank the pike in great confusion, 137 HIAWATHA And the mighty sturgeon, Nahma, Said to UgLidwash, the sun-fish, To the bream, with scales of crimson, ' ' Take the bait of this great boaster. Break the line of Hiawatha ! ' ' Slowly upward, wavering, gleaming. Rose the Ugudwash, the sun-fish, Seized the fine of Hiawatha, Swung with all his weight upon it, Made a whirlpool in the water. Whirled the birch canoe in circles. Round and round in gurgling eddies, Till the circles in the water Reached the far-off" sandy beaches, Till the water-flags and rushes Nodded on the distant margins. But when Hiawatha saw him Slowly rising through the water, Lifting up his disk refulgent. Loud he shouted in derision, ' ' Esa ! esa ! shame upon you ! You are Ugudwash, the sun-fish. You are not the fish I wanted, You are not the King of Fishes ! ' ' Slowly downward, wavering, gleaming. Sank the Ugudwash, the sun-fish. And again the sturgeon, Nahma, Heard the shout of Hiawatha, Heard his challenge of defiance, 138 HIAWATHA The unnecessary tumult, Ringing far across the water. From the white sand of the bottom Up he rose with angry gesture, Quivering in each nerve and fibre, Clashing all his plates of armor, Gleaming bright with all his \v ar-paint ; In his wrath he darted upward. Flashing leaped into the sunshine, Opened his great jaws, and swallowed Both canoe and Hiawatha. Down into that darksome cavern Plunged the headlong Hia\\'atha, As a log on some black river Shoots and plunges down the rapids. Found himself in utter darkness, Groped about in helpless wonder. Till he felt a great heart beating, Throbbing in that utter darkness. And he smote it in his anger. With his fist, the heart of Nahma. Felt the mighty King of Fishes Shudder through each nerve and fibre. Heard the water gurgle round him As he leaped and staggered through it. Sick at heart, and faint and weary. Crosswise then did HiaAvatha Drag his birch-canoe for safety. Lest from out the jaws of Nahma, 139 HIAWATHA In the turmoil and confusion, Forth he might be hurled and perish. And the squirrel, Adjidaumo, Frisked and chattered very gayly, Toiled and tugged with Hiawatha Till the labor was completed. Then said Hiawatha to him, ■ O my little friend, the squirrel. Bravely have you toiled to help me ; Take the thanks of Hiawatha, And the name which now he gives you ; For hereafter and forever Boys shall call you Adjidaumo, Tail-in-air the boys shall call you ! ' ' And again the sturgeon, Nahma, Gasped and quivered in the water, Then was still, and drifted landward Till he grated on the pebbles, Till the listening Hiawatha Heard him grate upon the margin, Felt him strand upon the pebbles. Knew that Nahma, King of Fishes, Lay there dead upon the margin. Then he heard a clang and flapping. As of many wings assembling, Heard a screaming and confusion. As of birds of prey contending, Saw a gleam of light above him. Shining through the ribs of Nahma, 140 HIAWATHA Saw the glittering eyes of sea-gulls, Of Kayoshk, the sea-gulls, peering. Gazing at him through the opening, Heard them saying to each other, *" T is our brother, Hiawatha ! " And he shouted from below them. Cried exulting from the caverns : " O ye sea-gulls ! O my brothers ! I have slain the sturgeon, Nahma ; Make the rifts a little larger. With your claws the openings widen. Set me free from this dark prison. And henceforward and forever Men shall speak of your achievements. Calling you Kayoshk, the sea-gulls. Yes, Kayoshk, the Noble Scratchers ! " And the wild and clamorous sea-gulls Toiled with beak and claws together. Made the rifts and openings wider In the mighty ribs of Nahma, And from peril and from prison, From the body of the sturgeon. From the peril of the water. They released my Hiawatha. He was standing near his wigwam. On the margin of the water, And he called to old Nokomis, Called and beckoned to Nokomis, Pointed to the sturgeon, Nahma, 141 HIAWATHA Lying lifeless on the pebbles, With the sea-gulls feeding on him. "I have slain the Mishe-Nahma, Slain the King of Fishes ! ' ' said he ; ■'Look ! the sea-gulls feed upon him, Yes, my friends Kayoshk, the sea-gulls ; Drive them not away, Nokomis, They have saved me from great peril In the body of the sturgeon, Wait until their meal is ended. Till their craws are full with feasting, Till they homeward fly, at sunset. To their nests among the marshes ; Then bring all your pots and kettles, And make oil for us in Winter." And she waited till the sun set. Till the pallid moon, the Night-sun, Rose above the tranquil water, Till Kayoshk, the sated sea-gulls. From their banquet rose with clamor. And across the fiery sunset Winged their way to far-off islands. To their nests among the rushes. To his sleep went Hiawatha, And Nokomis to her labor. Toiling patient in the moonlight. Till the sun and moon changed places, Till the sky was red with sunrise, And Kavoshk, the hungry sea-gulls, 142 HIAWATHA Came back from the reedy islands, Clamorous for their morning banquet. Three whole days and nights alternate -Old Nokomis and the sea-gulls Stripped the oily flesh of Nahma, Till the waves washed through the rib-bones, Till the sea-gulls came no longer, And upon the sands lay nothing But the skeleton of Nahma. 143 THE COURTSHIP OF MILES STANDISH THE SAILING OF THE MAYFLOWER Just in the gray of the dawn, as the mists uprose from the meadows, There was a stir and a sound in the slumbering village of Plymouth ; Clanging and clicking of arms, and the order impera- tive, "Forward! " Given in tone suppressed, a tramp of feet, and then silence. Figures ten, in the mist, marched slowly out of the vil- lage. Standish the stalwart it was, with eight of his valorous army. Led by their Indian guide, by Hobomok, friend of the white men, Northward marching to quell the sudden revolt of the savage. Giants they seemed in the mist, or the mighty men of King David ; Giants in heart they were, who believed in God and the Bible, — Ay, who believed in the smiting of Midianites and Phi- listines. 144 THE COURTSHIP OF MILES STANDISH Over them gleamed far off the crimson banners of morn- ing; Under them loud on the sands, the serried billows, ■advancing, Fired along the line, and in regular order retreated. Many a mile had they marched, when at length the village of Plymouth Woke from its sleep, and arose, intent on its manifold labors. Sweet was the air and soft ; and slowly the smoke from the chimneys Rose over roofs of thatch, and pointed steadily east- ward ; Men came forth from the doors, and paused and talked of the weather. Said that the wind had changed, and was blowing fair for the Mayflower ; Talked of their Captain's departure, and all the dangers that menaced. He being gone, the town, and what should be done in his absence. Merrily sang the birds, and the tender voices of women Consecrated Avith hymns the common cares of the household. Out of the sea rose the sun, and the billows rejoiced at his coming ; Beautiful were his feet on the purple tops of the moun- tains ; 145 THE COURTSHIP OF MILES STANDISH Beautiful on the sails of the Mayflower riding at anchor, Battered and blackened and worn by all the storms of the winter. Loosely against her masts was hanging and flapping her canvas, Rent by so many gales, and patched by the hands of the sailors. Suddenly from her side, as the sun rose over the ocean, Darted a pufl" of smoke, and floated seaward ; anon rang Loud over field and forest the cannon's roar, and the echoes Heard and repeated the sound, the signal-gun of depar- ture ! Ah ! but with louder echoes replied the hearts of the people ! Meekly, in voices subdued, the chapter was read from the Bible, Meekly the prayer was begun, but ended in fervent entreaty ! Then from their houses in haste came forth the Pil- grims of Plymouth, Men and women and children, all hurrying down to the sea-shore. Eager, with tearful eyes, to say farewell to the May- flower, Homeward bound o'er the sea, and leaving them here in the desert. 146 THE COURTSHIP OF MILES STANDISH Foremost among them was Alden. All night he had lain without slumber, Turning and tossing about in the heat and unrest of his fever. He had beheld Miles Standish, who came back late from the council, Stalking into the room, and heard him mutter and murmur ; Sometimes it seemed a prayer, and sometimes itsounded like swearing. Once he had come to the bed, and stood there a moment in silence ; Then he had turned away, and said : " I will not awake him ; Let him sleep on, it is best ; for what is the use of more talking ! " Then he extinguished the light, and threw himself down on his pallet. Dressed as he was, and ready to start at the break of the morning, — Covered himself with the cloak he had worn in his cam- paigns in Flanders, — Slept as a soldier sleeps in his bivouac, ready for action. But with the dawn he arose ; in the twilight Alden beheld him Put on his corselet of steel, and all the rest of his armor. Buckle about his waist his trusty blade of Damascus, Take from the corner his musket, and so stride out of the chamber. 147 THE COURTSHIP OF MILES STANDISH Often the heart of the youth had burned and yearned to embrace him, Often his lips had essayed to speak, imploring for par- don ; All the old friendship came back, with its tender and grateful emotions ; But his pride overmastered the nobler nature within him, — Pride, and the sense of his wrong, and the burning fire of the insult. So he beheld his friend departing in anger, but spake not, Saw him go forth to danger, perhaps to death, and he spake not ! Then he arose from his bed, and heard what the people were saying, Joined in the talk at the door, with Stephen and Richard and Gilbert, Joined in the morning prayer, and in the reading of Scripture, And, with the others, in haste went hurrying down to the sea-shore, Down to the Plymouth Rock, that had been to their feet as a doorstep Into a world unknown, — the corner-stone of a nation ! There with his boat was the Master, already a little impatient Lest he should lose the tide, or the wind might shift to the eastward, 148 THE COURTSHIP OF MILES STANDISH Square-built, hearty, and strong, with an odor of ocean about him. Speaking with this one and that, and cramming letters and parcels Into his pockets capacious, and messages mingled to- gether Into his narrow^ brain, till at last he was wholly bewil- dered. Nearer the boat stood Alden, with one foot placed on the gunwale. One still firm on the rock, and talking at times with the sailors. Seated erect on the thwarts, all ready and eager for starting. He too was eager to go, and thus put an end to his anguish. Thinking to fly from despair, that swifter than keel is or canvas, Thinking to drown in the sea the ghost that would rise and pursue him. But as he gazed on the crowd, he beheld the form of Priscilla Standing dejected among them, unconscious of all that was passing. Fixed were her eyes upon his, as if she divined his in- tention, Fixed with a look so sad, so reproachful, imploring, and patient, 149 THE COURTSHIP OF MILES STANDISH That with a sudden revulsion his heart recoiled from its purpose, As from the verge of a crag, where one step more is de- struction. Strange is the heart of man, with its quick, mysterious instincts ! Strange is the life of man, and fatal or fated are mo- ments, Whereupon turn, as on hinges, the gates of the wall adamantine ! " Here I remain ! " he exclaimed, as he looked at the heavens above him. Thanking the Lord whose breath had scattered the mist and the madness. Wherein, blind and lost, to death he was staggering headlong. "Yonder snow-white cloud, that floats in the ether above me. Seems like a hand that is pointing and beckoning over the ocean. There is another hand, that is not so spectral and ghost- like. Holding me, drawing me back, and clasping mine for protection. Float, O hand of cloud, and vanish away in the ether ! Roll thyself up like a fist, to threaten and daunt me ; I heed not Either your warning or menace, or any omen of evil ! 150 THE COURTSHIP OF MILES STANDISH There is no land so sacred, no air so pure and so \\hole- some, As is the air she breathes, and the soil that is pressed by ■ her footsteps. Here for her sake will I stay, and like an invisible pre- sence Hover around her forever, protecting, supporting her weakness ; Yes ! as my foot was the first that stepped on this rock at the landing. So, with the blessing of God, shall it be the last at the leaving ! ' ' Meanwhile the Master alert, but with dignified air and important, Scanning with watchful eye the tide and the wind and the weather. Walked about on the sands, and the people cro^^-ded around him Saying a few last words, and enforcing his careful re- membrance. Then, taking each by the hand, as if he were grasping a tiller, Into the boat he sprang, and in haste shoved off to his vessel. Glad in his heart to get rid of all this worry and flurry. Glad to be gone from a land of sand and sickness and sorrow, 151 THE COURTSHIP OF MILES STANDISH Short allowance of victual, and plenty of nothing but Gospel ! Lost in the sound of the oars was the last fa:rewell of the Pilgrims. O strong hearts and true ! not one went back in the Mayflower ! No, not one looked back, who had set his hand to this ploughing ! Soon were heard on board the shouts and songs of the sailors Heaving the windlass round, and hoisting the ponder- ous anchor. Then the yards were braced, and all sails set to the west- wind, Blowing steady and strong ; and the Mayflower sailed from the harbor. Rounded the point of the Gurnet, and leaving far to the southward Island and cape of sand, and the Field of the First Encounter, Took the wind on her quarter, and stood for the open Atlantic, Borne on the send of the sea, and the swelling hearts of the Pilgrims. Long in silence they watched the receding sail of the vessel, Much endeared to them all, as something living and human ; 152 THE COURTSHIP OF MILES STANDISH Then, as if filled ^vith the spirit, and wrapt in a vision prophetic, Baring his hoary head, the excellent Elder of Plymouth Said, "Let us pray ! " and they prayed, and thanked the Lord and took courage. Mournfully sobbed the waves at the base of the rock, and above them Bo\\ed and whispered the wheat on the hill of death, and their kindred Seemed to awake in their graves, and to join in the prayer that they uttered. Sun-illumined and ^^ hite, on the eastern verge of the ocean Gleamed the departing sail, like a marble slab in a graveyard ; Buried beneath it lay forever all hope of escaping. Lo ! as they turned to depart, they saw the form of an Indian, Watching them from the hill ; but while they spake with each other, Pointing with outstretched hands, and saying, " Look ! " he had vanished. So they returned to their homes ; but Alden lingered a little. Musing alone on the shore, and watching the wash of the billows Round the base of the rock, and the sparkle and flash of the sunshine. Like the spirit of God, moving visibly over the waters. 153 0t ■l^ THE SEASIDE AND THE FIRESIDE :LZ.Jii__k THE BUILDING OF THE SHIP ' Build me straight, O worthy Master ! Stanch and strong, a goodly vessel, That shall laugh at all disaster. And with A\ave and whirlwind wrestle ! ' ' The merchant's \\ ord Delighted the Master heard ; For his heart was in his work, and the heart Giveth grace unto ever\' Art. A quiet smile plaj^ed round his lijDs, As the eddies and dimples of the tide Play round the bows of ships, That steadily at anchor ride. And \\ith a voice that ^\■as full of glee. He answered, " Erelong ^ve A\ill launch A A'essel as goodly, and strong, and stanch, As e\er weathered a wintr}' sea ! " And first w ith nicest skill and art. Perfect and finislied in e\erv part, L)7 THE BUILDING OF THE SHIP A little model the Master AATOught, \\^hich should be to the larger plan What the child is to the man, Its counterpart in miniature ; That with a hand more swift and sure The greater labor might be brought To answer to his inward thought. And as he labored, his mind ran o'er The various ships that were built of yore. And above them all, and strangest of all Towered the Great Harry, crank and tall, Whose picture was hanging on the wall. With bows and stern raised high in air, And balconies hanging here and there. And signal lanterns and flags afloat. And eight round towers, like those that frown From some old castle, looking down Upon the drawbridge and the moat. And he said with a smile, "Our ship, I wis. Shall be of another form than this ! ' ' It was of another form, indeed ; Built for freight, and yet for speed, A beautiful and gallant craft ; Broad in the beam, that the stress of the blast, Pressing down upon sail and mast. Might not the sharp bows overwhelm ; Broad in the beam, but sloping aft With graceful curve and slow degrees. That she might be docile to the helm, 158 THE BUILDING OF THE SHIP And that the currents of parted seas, Closing behind, with mighty force. Might aid and not impede her course. In the ship-yard stood the Master, With the model of the vessel, That should laugh at all disaster, And ^vith \\ ave and whirlwind wrestle ! Covering many a rood of ground. Lay the timber piled around ; Timber of chestnut, and elm, and oak, And scattered here and there, with these. The knarred and crooked cedar knees ; Brought from regions far away. From Pascagoula's sunny bay, And the banks of the roaring Roanoke ! Ah ! what a wondrous thing it is To note how many wheels of toil One thought, one word, can set in motion ! There 's not a ship that sails the ocean. But every climate, every soil. Must bring its tribute, great or small. And help to build the wooden ^vall ! The sun was rising o'er the sea. And long the level shadows lay. As if they, too, the beams would be Of some great, airy argosy, 159 THE BUILDING OF THE SHIP Framed and launched in a single day. That silent architect, the sun, Had hewn and laid them every one. Ere the work of man was yet begun. Beside the Master, when he spoke, A youth, against an anchor leaning. Listened, to catch his slightest meaning. Only the long waves, as they broke In ripples on the pebbly beach, Interrupted the old man's speech. Beautiful they were, in sooth, The old man and the fiery youth ! The old man, in whose busy brain Many a ship that sailed the main Was modelled o'er and o'er again ; — The fiery youth, ^^ ho was to be The heir of his dexterity, The heir of his house, and his daughter's hand. When he had built and launched from land What the elder head had planned. " Thus," said he, " will we build this ship ! Lay square the blocks upon the slip. And follow well this plan of mine. Choose the timbers with greatest care ; Of all that is unsound beware ; For only what is sound and strong To this vessel shall belong. 160 The SU71 shone on her golden hair. And her cheek was glowing fresh and fair THE BUILDING OF THE SHIP Cedar of Maine and Georgia pine Here together shall combine. A goodly frame, and a goodly fame, And the Union be her name ! For the day that gives her to the sea Shall give my daughter unto thee ! " The Master's word Enraptured the young man heard ; And as he turned his face aside, With a look of joy and a thrill of pride. Standing before Her father's door. He saw the form of his promised bride. The sun shone on her golden hair, And her cheek was glowing fresh and fair. With the breath of morn and the soft sea air. Like a beauteous barge was she, Still at rest on the sandy beach, Just beyond the billow's reach ; But he Was the restless, seething, stormy sea ! Ah, how skilful grows the hand That obeyeth Love's command ! It is the heart, and not the brain. That to the highest doth attain. And he who followeth Love's behest Far excelleth all the rest ! 161 THE BUILDING OF THE SHIP Thus with the rising of the sun Was the noble task begun, And soon throughout the ship-yard's bounds Were heard the intermingled sounds Of axes and of mallets, j)lied With vigorous arms on every side ; Plied so deftly and so well, That, ere the shadows of evening fell, The keel of oak for a noble ship. Scarfed and bolted, straight and strong, Was lying ready, and stretched along The blocks, well placed upon the slip. Happy, thrice happy, every one Who sees his labor well begun, And not perplexed and multiplied, By idly waiting for time and tide ! And when the hot, long day was o'er. The young man at the Master's door Sat with the maiden calm and still, And within the porch, a little more Removed beyond the evening chill. The father sat, and told them tales Of wrecks in the great September gales, Of pirates coasting the Spanish Main, And ships that never came back again. The chance and change of a sailor's life, Want and plenty, rest and strife. His roving fancy, like the wind, 162 THE BUILDING OF THE SHIP That nothing can stay and nothing can bind, And the nuigic cliarm of foreign lands, With shadows of palms, and shining sands, Where the tumbling surf, O'er the coral reefs of Madagascar, Washes the feet of the swarthy Lascar, As he lies alone and asleep on the turf. And the trembling maiden held her breath At the tales of that awful, pitiless sea. With all its terror and mystery, The dim, dark sea, so like unto Death, That divides and yet unites mankind ! And whenever the old man paused, a gleam From the bowl of his pipe would awhile illume The silent group in the twilight gloom. And thoughtful faces, as in a dream ; And for a moment one might mark What had been hidden by the dark, That the head of the maiden lay at rest. Tenderly, on the young man's breast ! Day by day the vessel grew. With timbers fashioned strong and true, Stemson and keelson and sternson-knee. Till, framed with perfect symmetry, A skeleton ship rose up to view ! And around the bows and along the side The heavy hammers and mallets plied. Till after many a week, at length, 163 THE BUILDING OF THE SHIP Wonderful for form and strength, Sublime in its enormous bulk, Loomed aloft the shadowy hulk ! And around it columns of smoke, upwreathing, Rose from the boiling, bubbling, seething Caldron, that glowed, And overflowed With the black tar, heated for the sheathing. And amid the clamors Of clattering hammers, He who listened heard now and then The song of the Master and his men : — Build me straight, O worthy Master, Stanch and strong, a goodly vessel, That shall laugh at all disaster, And with wave and whirlwind wrestle ! ' ' With oaken brace and copper band, Lay the rudder on the sand, That, like a thought, should have control Over the movement of the whole ; And near it the anchor, whose giant hand Would reach down and grapple with the land. And immovable and fast Hold the great ship against the bellowing blast ! And at the bows an image stood. By a cunning artist carved in wood. With robes of white, that far behind 164 THE BUILDING OF THE SHIP Seemed to be fluttering in the wind. It was not shaped in a classic mould, Not like a Nymph or Goddess of old, Or Naiad rising from the water, But modelled from the Master's daughter ! On many a dreary and misty night, 'T will be seen by the rays of the signal light, Speeding along through the rain and the dark, Like a ghost in its snow-white sark, The pilot of some phantom bark. Guiding the vessel, in its flight, By a path none other knows aright ! Behold, at last. Each tall and tapering mast Is swung into its place ; Shrouds and stays Holding it firm and fast ! Long ago. In the deer-haunted forests of Maine, When upon mountain and plain Lay the snow. They fell, — those lordly pines ! Those grand, majestic pines ! 'Mid shouts and cheers The jaded steers, Panting beneath the goad. Dragged down the weary, winding road 165 THE BUILDING OF THE SHIP Those captive kings so straight and tall, To be shorn of their streaming hair, And naked and bare. To feel the stress and the strain Of the wind and the reeling main, Whose roar Would remind them forevermore Of their native forests they should not see again. And everywhere The slender, graceful spars Poise aloft in the air, And at the mast-head. White, blue, and red, A flag unrolls the stripes and stars. Ah ! when the wanderer, lonely, friendless. In foreign harbors shall behold That flag unrolled, 'T will be as a friendly hand Stretched out from his native land, Filling his heart with memories sweet and endless ! All is finished ! and at length Has come the bridal day Of beauty and of strength. To-day the vessel shall be launched ! With fleecy clouds the sky is blanched, And o'er the bay, 166 THE BUILDING OF THE SHIP Slowly, in all its splendors dight, The great sun rises to behold the sight. The ocean old, Centuries old, Strong as youth, and as uncontrolled, Paces restless to and fro, Up and down the sands of gold. His beating heart is not at rest ; And far and wide. With ceaseless flow. His beard of snow Heaves with the heaving of his breast. He waits impatient for his bride. There she stands, With her foot upon the sands. Decked with flags and streamers gay, In honor of her marriage day. Her snow-white signals fluttering, blending, Round her like a veil descending. Ready to be The bride of the gray old sea. On the deck another bride Is standing by her lover's side. Shadows from the flags and shrouds. Like the shadows cast by clouds. Broken by many a sudden fleck. Fall around them on the deck. 167 THE BUILDING OF THE SHIP The prayer is said, The service read, The joyous bridegroom bows his head ; And in tears the good old Master Shakes the brown hand of his son. Kisses his daughter's glowing cheek In silence, for he cannot speak. And ever faster Down his own the tears begin to run. The worthy pastor — The shepherd of that wandering flock, That has the ocean for its wold, That has the vessel for its fold, Leaping ever from rock to rock — Spake, with accents mild and clear. Words of warning, words of cheer. But tedious to the bridegroom's ear. He knew the chart Of the sailor's heart. All its pleasures and its griefs, All its shallows and rocky reefs. All those secret currents, that flow With such resistless undertow. And lift and drift, with terrible force. The will from its moorings and its course. Therefore he spake, and thus said he : — ' Like unto ships far off" at sea. Outward or homeward bound, are we. Before, behind, and all around, 168 THE BUILDING OF THE SHIP Floats and swings the horizon's bound, Seems at its distant rim to rise And cUmb the crystal wall of the skies, And then again to turn and sink, As if we could slide from its outer brink. Ah ! it is not the sea. It is not the sea that sinks and shelves. But ourselves That rock and rise With endless and uneasy motion, Now touching the very skies. Now sinking into the depths of ocean. Ah ! if our souls but poise and swing Like the compass in its brazen ring. Ever level and ever true To the toil and the task we have to do, We shall sail securely, and safely reach The Fortunate Isles, on whose shining beach The sights we see, and the sounds we hear, Will be those of joy and not of fear ! " Then the Master, With a gesture of command, Waved his hand ; And at the word. Loud and sudden there was heard. All around them and below, The sound of hammers, blow on blow. Knocking away the shores and spurs. 169 THE BUILDING OF THE SHIP And see ! she stirs ! She starts, — she moves, — she seems to feel The thrill of life along her keel, And, spurning with her foot the ground. With one exulting, joyous bound, She leaps into the ocean's arms ! And lo ! from the assembled crowd There rose a shout, prolonged and loud. That to the ocean seemed to say, ' Take her, O bridegroom, old and gray, Take her to thy protecting arms. With all her youth and all her charms ! ' ' How beautiful she is ! How fair She lies within those arms, that press Her form with many a soft caress Of tenderness and watchful care ! Sail forth into the sea, O ship ! Through wind and wave, right onward steer ! The moistened eye, the trembling lip. Are not the signs of doubt or fear. Sail forth into the sea of life, O gentle, loving, trusting wife, And safe from all adversity Upon the bosom of that sea Thy comings and thy goings be ! For gentleness and love and trust 170 THE BUILDING OF THE SHIP Prevail o'er angry wave and gust ; And in the wreck of noble lives Something immortal still survives ! Thou, too, sail on, O Ship of State ! Sail on, O Union, strong and great ! Humanity with all its fears, With all the hopes of future years, Is hanging breathless on thy fate ! We know what Master laid thy keel, What Workmen wrought thy ribs of steel, Who made each mast, and sail, and rope. What anvils rang, what hammers beat. In what a forge and what a heat Were shaped the anchors of thy hope ! Fear not each sudden sound and shock, 'T is of the wave and not the rock ; 'T is but the flapping of the sail, And not a rent made by the gale ! In spite of rock and tempest's roar, In spite of false lights on the shore. Sail on, nor fear to breast the sea ! Our hearts, our hopes, are all with thee, Our hearts, our hopes, our prayers, our tears, Our faith triumphant o'er our fears. Are all with thee, — are all with thee ! in THE SECRET OF THE SEA Ah ! what pleasant visions haunt me As I gaze upon the sea ! All the old romantic legends, All my dreams, come back to me. Sails of silk and ropes of sandal, Such as gleam in ancient lore ; And the singing of the sailors, And the answer from the shore ! Most of all, the Spanish ballad Haunts me oft, and tarries long. Of the noble Count Arnaldos And the sailor's mystic song. Like the long waves on a sea-beach, Where the sand as silver shines. With a soft, monotonous cadence. Flow its unrhymed lyric lines ; — Telling how the Count Arnaldos, With his hawk upon his hand. Saw a fair and stately galley. Steering onward to the land ; — 172 THE SECRET OF THE SEA How he heard the ancient helmsman Chant a song so wild and clear, That the sailing sea-bird slowly Poised upon the mast to hear, Till his soul was full of longing, And he cried, with impulse strong, — ' ' Helmsman ! for the love of heaven, Teach me, too, that wondrous song ! " *' Wouldst thou," — so the helmsman answered, ' ' Learn the secret of the sea ? Only those who brave its dangers Comprehend its mystery ! ' ' In each sail that skims the horizon. In each landward-blowing breeze, I behold that stately galley, Hear those mournful melodies ; Till my soul is full of longing For the secret of the sea, And the heart of the great ocean Sends a thrilling pulse through me. 173 TWILIGHT The twilight is sad and cloudy, The wind blows wild and free, And like the wings of sea-birds Flash the white caps of the sea. But in the fisherman's cottage There shines a ruddier light. And a little face at the window Peers out into the night. Close, close it is pressed to the window, As if those childish eyes Were looking into the darkness To see some form arise. And a woman's waving shadow Is passing to and fro, Now rising to the ceiling. Now bowing and bending low. What tale do the roaring ocean. And the night- wind, bleak and wild. As they beat at the crazy casement, Tell to that little child? 174 TWILIGHT And why do the roaring ocean, And the night- wind, wild and bleak. As they beat at the heart of the mother Drive the color from her cheek ? 175 SIR HUMPHREY GILBERT Southward with fleet of ice Sailed the corsair Death; Wild and fast blew the blast, And the east- wind was his breath. His lordly ships of ice Glisten in the sun ; On each side, like pennons wide. Flashing crystal streamlets run. His sails of white sea-mist Dripped with silver rain ; But where he passed there were cast Leaden shadows o'er the main. Eastward from Campobello Sir Humphrey Gilbert sailed ; Three days or more seaward he bore, Then, alas ! the land-wind failed. Alas ! the land-wind failed, And ice-cold grew the night ; And nevermore, on sea or shore. Should Sir Humphrey see the light. 176 SIR HUMPHREY GILBERT He sat upon the deck, The Book was in his hand ; Do not fear ! Heaven is as near," He said, * ' by water as by land ! ' ' In the first watch of the night, Without a signal's sound. Out of the sea, mysteriously, The fleet of Death rose all around. The moon and the evening star Were hanging in the shrouds ; Every mast, as it passed. Seemed to rake the passing clouds. They grappled with their prize. At midnight black and cold ! As of a rock was the shock ; Heavily the ground-swell rolled. Southward through day and dark. They drift in close embrace. With mist and rain, o'er the open main ; Yet there seems no change of place. Southward, forever southward, They drift through dark and day ; And like a dream, in the Gulf-Stream Sinking, vanish all away. 177 THE LIGHTHOUSE The rocky ledge runs far into the sea, And on its outer point, some miles away. The Lighthouse lifts its massive masonry, A pillar of fire by night, of cloud by day. Even at this distance I can see the tides. Upheaving, break unheard along its base, A speechless wrath, that rises and subsides In the white lip and tremor of the face. And as the evening darkens, lo ! how bright. Through the deep purple of the twilight air. Beams forth the sudden radiance of its light With strange, unearthly splendor in the glare ! Not one alone ; from each projecting cape And perilous reef along the ocean's verge. Starts into life a dim, gigantic shape. Holding its lantern o'er the restless surge. Like the great giant Christopher it stands Upon the brink of the tempestuous wave. Wading far out among the rocks and sands, The night-o'ertaken mariner to save. 178 THE LIGHTHOUSE And the great ships sail outward and return, Bending and bowing o'er the billowy swells, And ever joyful, as they see it burn. They wave their silent welcomes and farewells. They come forth from the darkness, and their sails Gleam for a moment only in the blaze, And eager faces, as the light unveils. Gaze at the tower, and vanish while they gaze. The mariner remembers when a child. On his first voyage, he saw it fade and sink ; And when, returning from adventures wild, He saw it rise again o'er ocean's brink. Steadfast, serene, immovable, the same Year after year, through all the silent night Burns on forevermore that quenchless flame. Shines on that inextinguishable light ! It sees the ocean to its bosom clasp The rocks and sea-sand with the kiss of peace ; It sees the wild winds lift it in their grasp, And hold it up, and shake it like a fleece. The startled waves leap over it ; the storm Smites it with all the scourges of the rain, And steadily against its solid form Press the great shoulders of the hurricane. 179 THE LIGHTHOUSE The sea-bird wheeling round it, with the din Of wings and winds and solitary cries, Blinded and maddened by the light within, Dashes himself against the glare, and dies. A new Prometheus, chained upon the rock. Still grasping in his hand the fire of Jove, It does not hear the cry, nor heed the shock, But hails the mariner with words of love. Sail on ! " it says, "sail on, ye stately ships ! And with your floating bridge the ocean span ; Be mine to guard this light from all eclipse. Be yours to bring man nearer unto man ! " 180 THE BUILDERS All are architects of Fate, Working in these walls of Time ; Some with massive deeds and great, Some with ornaments of rhyme. Nothing useless is, or low ; Each thing in its place is best ; And what seems but idle show Strengthens and supports the rest. For the structure that we raise. Time is with materials filled ; Our to-days and yesterdays Are the blocks with which we build. Truly shape and fashion these ; Leave no yawning gaps between ; Think not, because no man sees, Such things will remain unseen. In the elder days of Art, Builders wrought with greatest care Each minute and unseen part ; For the Gods see every \\'here. 181 THE BUILDERS Let us do our work as well, Both the unseen and the seen ; Make the house, where Gods may dwell. Beautiful, entire, and clean. Else our lives are incomplete, Standing in these walls of Time, Broken stairways, where the feet Stumble as they seek to climb. Build to-day, then, strong and sure. With a firm and ample base ; And ascending and secure Shall to-morrow find its place. Thus alone can we attain To those turrets, where the eye Sees the world as one vast plain. And one boundless reach of sky. 182 CASPAR BECERRA By his evening fire the artist Pondered o'er his secret shame ; Baffled, weary, and disheartened, Still he mused, and dreamed of fame. 'T was an image of the Virgin That had tasked his utmost skill ; But, alas ! his fair ideal Vanished and escaped him still. From a distant Eastern island Had the precious wood been brought ; Day and night the anxious master At his toil untiring wrought ; Till, discouraged and desponding, Sat he now in shadows deep. And the day's humiliation Found oblivion in sleep. Then a voice cried, " Rise, O master ! From the burning brand of oak Shape the thought that stirs within thee ! " And the startled artist woke, — GASPAR BECERRA Woke, and from the smoking embers Seized and quenched the glowing wood ; And therefrom he carved an image, And he saw that it was good. O thou sculptor, painter, poet ! Take this lesson to thy heart : That is best which lieth nearest ; Shape from that thy work of art. 184 PEGASUS IN POUND Once into a quiet village, Without haste and ^\■ithout heed, In the golden prime of morning. Strayed the poet's winged steed. It was Autumn, and incessant Piped the quails from shocks and sheaves, And, like living coals, the apples Burned among the withering leaves. Loud the clamorous bell was ringing From its belfry gaunt and grim ; 'T was the daily call to labor, Not a triumph meant for him. Not the less he saw the landscape, In its gleaming vapor veiled ; Not the less he breathed the odors That the dying leaves exhaled. Thus, upon the village common, By the school-boys he \\'as found ; And the wise men, in their wisdom, Put him straightway into pound. 185 PEGASUS IN POUND Then the sombre village crier, Ringing loud his brazen bell, Wandered down the street proclaiming There was an estray to sell. And the curious country people, Rich and poor, and young and old, Came in haste to see this wondrous Winged steed, with mane of gold. Thus the day passed, and the evening Fell, with vapors cold and dim ; But it brought no food nor shelter. Brought no straw nor stall, for him. Patiently, and still expectant, Looked he through the wooden bars, Saw the moon rise o'er the landscape, Saw the tranquil, patient stars ; Till at length the bell at midnight Sounded from its dark abode. And, from out a neighboring farm-yard, Loud the cock Alectryon crowed. Then, with nostrils wide distended. Breaking from his iron chain, And unfolding far his pinions, To those stars he soared again. 186 PEGASUS IN POUND On the morrow, when the village Woke to all its toil and care, Lo ! the strange steed had departed. And they knew not when nor where. But they found, upon the greensward Where his struggling hoofs had trod, Pure and bright, a fountain flowing From the hoof-marks in the sod. From that hour, the fount unfailing Gladdens the whole region round, Strengthening all \\ ho drink its waters. While it soothes them with its sound. 187 BIRDS OF PASSAGE >--:^e"g^^..g^ THE PHANTOM SHIP ^ ^"^ ^.^ ■.^^ In Mather's Magnalia Christi, Of the old colonial time, May be found in prose the legend That is here set do^^ n in rhyme. A ship sailed from New Haven, And the keen and frosty airs, That filled her sails at parting, Were heavy with good men's prayers. O Lord ! if it be thy pleasure ' ' — Thus prayed the old divine — To bury our friends in the ocean. Take them, for they are thine ! " But Master Lamberton muttered. And under his breath said he, This ship is so crank and walty, I fear our grave she will be ! " 191 THE PHANTOM SHIP And the ships that came from England, When the winter months were gone, Brought no tidings of this vessel Nor of Master Lamberton. This put the people to praying That the Lord would let them hear What in his greater wisdom He had done with friends so dear. And at last their prayers were answered : It was in the month of June, An hour before the sunset Of a windy afternoon, When, steadily steering landward, A ship was seen below. And they knew it was Lamberton, Master, Who sailed so long ago. On she came, with a cloud of canvas. Right against the wind that blew. Until the eye could distinguish The faces of the crew. Then fell her straining topmasts. Hanging tangled in the shrouds. And her sails were loosened and lifted, And blown away like clouds. 192 THE PHANTOM SHIP And the masts, with all their rigging, Fell slowly, one by one, And the hulk dilated and vanished, As a sea-mist in the sun ! And the people who saw this marvel Each said unto his friend, That this was the mould of their vessel. And thus her tragic end. And the pastor of the village Gave thanks to God in prayer, That, to quiet their troubled spirits. He had sent this Ship of Air. 193 THE WARDEN OF THE CINQUE PORTS A MIST was driving down the British Channel, The day was just begun, And through the window-panes, on floor and panel, Streamed the red autumn sun. It glanced on flowing flag and rippling pennon. And the white sails of ships ; And, from the frowning rampart, the black cannon Hailed it with feverish lips. Sandwich and Romney, Hastings, Hithe, and Dover Were all alert that day, To see the French war-steamers speeding over. When the fog cleared away. Sullen and silent, and like couchant lions. Their cannon, through the night. Holding their breath, had watched, in grim defiance. The sea-coast opposite. And now they roared at drum-beat from their stations On every citadel ; Each answering each, with morning salutations, That all was well. 194 THE WARDEN OF THE CINQUE PORTS And down the coast, all taking up the burden, Replied the distant forts, As if to summon from his sleep the Warden ' And Lord of the Cinque Ports. Him shall no sunshine from the fields of azure. No drum-beat from the wall. No morning gun from the black fort's embrasure, Awaken with its call ! No more, surveying with an eye impartial The long line of the coast. Shall the gaunt figure of the old Field Marshal Be seen upon his post ! For in the night, unseen, a single warrior. In sombre harness mailed. Dreaded of man, and surnamed the Destroyer, The rampart wall had scaled. He passed into the chamber of the sleeper. The dark and silent room. And as he entered, darker grew, and deeper. The silence and the gloom. He did not pause to parley or dissemble. But smote the Warden hoar ; Ah ! what a blow ! that made all England tremble And groan from shore to shore. 195 THE WARDEN OF THE CINQUE PORTS Meanwhile, without, the surly cannon waited, The sun rose bright o'erhead ; Nothing in Nature's aspect intimated That a great man was dead. 196 THE EMPEROR'S BIRD'S-NEST Once the Emperor Charles of Spain, With his swarthy, grave commanders, I forget in what campaign. Long besieged, in mud and rain. Some old frontier town of Flanders. Up and down the dreary camp. In great boots of Spanish leather. Striding with a measured tramp. These Hidalgos, dull and damp. Cursed the Frenchmen, cursed the weather. Thus as to and fro they went Over upland and through hollow. Giving their impatience vent. Perched upon the Emperor's tent. In her nest, they spied a swallow. Yes, it was a swallow's nest. Built of clay and hair of horses. Mane, or tail, or dragoon's crest, Found on hedge-rows east and west. After skirmish of the forces. 19r THE EMPEROR'S BIRD'S-NEST Then an old Hidalgo said, As he twirled his gray mustachio, ' Sure this swallow overhead Thinks the Emperor's tent a shed, And the Emperor but a Macho ! ' ' Hearing his imperial name Coupled with those w^ords of malice, Half in anger, half in shame. Forth the great campaigner came Slowly from his canvas palace. ' Let no hand the bird molest, ' ' Said he solemnly, " nor hurt her ! " Adding then, by way of jest, 'Golondrina is my guest, 'T is the wife of some deserter ! " Swift as bowstring speeds a shaft, Through the camp was spread the rumor. And the soldiers, as they quaffed Flemish beer at dinner, laughed At the Emperor's pleasant humor. So unharmed and unafraid Sat the swallow still and brooded. Till the constant cannonade Through the walls a breach had made, And the siege was thus concluded. 198 THE EMPEROR'S BIRD'S-NEST Then the army, elsewhere bent, Struck its tents as if disbanding, Only not the Emperor's tent, For he ordered, ere he w ent, Very curtly, " Leave it standing ! " So it stood there all alone, Loosely flapping, torn and tattered. Till the brood was fledged and flown, Singing o'er those walls of stone Which the cannon-shot had shattered. 199 VICTOR GALBRAITH Under the walls of Monterey At daybreak the bugles began to play, Victor Galbraith ! In the mist of the morning damp and gray, These were the words they seemed to say : "Come forth to thy death, Victor Galbraith ! " Forth he came, with a martial tread ; Firm was his step, erect his head ; Victor Galbraith, He who so well the bugle played. Could not mistake the words it said : *' Come forth to thy death, Victor Galbraith ! " He looked at the earth, he looked at the sky. He looked at the files of musketry, Victor Galbraith ! And he said, with a steady voice and eye, ■ Take good aim ; I am ready to die ! " Thus challenges death Victor Galbraith . Twelve fiery tongues flashed straight and red, Six leaden balls on their errand sped ; Victor Galbraith 200 VICTOR GALBRAITH Falls to the ground, but he is not dead : His name was not stamped on those balls of lead, And they only scath Victor Galbraith. Three balls are in his breast and brain, But he rises out of the dust again, Victor Galbraith ! The water he drinks has a bloody stain ; Oh kill me, and put me out of my pain ! " In his agony prayeth Victor Galbraith. Forth dart once more those tongues of flame, And the bugler has died a death of shame, Victor Galbraith ! His soul has gone back to whence it came. And no one answers to the name, When the Sergeant saith, ^'VictorGalbraith!" Under the walls of Monterey By night a bugle is heard to play, Victor Galbraith ! Through the mist of the valley damp and gray The sentinels hear the sound and say, ' ' That is the wraith OfVictorGalbraith!" 201 MY LOST YOUTH Often I think of the beautiful town That is seated by the sea ; Often in thought go up and down The pleasant streets of that dear old town, And my youth comes back to me. And a verse of a Lapland song Is haunting my memory still : *' A boy's will is the wind's will, And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts." I can see the shadowy lines of its trees, And catch, in sudden gleams, The sheen of the far-surrounding seas. And islands that were the Hesperides Of all my boyish dreams. And the burden of that old song. It murmurs and whis{>ers still : ' ' A boy's will is the wind's will, And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts." I remember the black wharves and the slips, And the sea-tides tossing free ; And Spanish sailors with bearded lips. And the beauty and mystery of the ships, And the magic of the sea. 202 MY LOST YOUTH And the voice of that wayward song Is singing and saying still : "A boy's will is the wind's will, And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts." I remember the bulwarks by the shore. And the fort upon the hill ; The sunrise gun, with its hollow roar. The drum-beat repeated o'er and o'er, And the bugle wild and shrill. And the music of that old song Throbs in my memory still : "A boy's will is the wind's will, And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts." I remember the sea-fight far away. How it thundered o'er the tide ! And the dead captains, as they lay In their graves, o'erlooking the tranquil bay Where they in battle died. And the sound of that mournful song Goes through me with a thrill : "A boy's will is the wind's will. And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts." I can see the breezy dome of groves, The shadows of Deering's Woods ; And the friendships old and the early loves Come back with a Sabbath sound, as of doves In quiet neighborhoods. 203 MY LOST YOUTH And the verse of that sweet old song, It flutters and murmurs still : "A boy's will is the wind's will, And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts." I remember the gleams and glooms that dart Across the school-boy's brain ; The song and the silence in the heart, That in part are prophecies, and in part Are longings wild and vain. And the voice of that fitful song Sings on, and is never still: "A boy's will is the wind's will. And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts." There are things of which I may not speak ; There are dreams that cannot die ; There are thoughts that make the strong heart weak, And bring a pallor into the cheek, And a mist before the eye. And the words of that fatal song Come over me like a chill : ' ' A boy's will is the wind's will. And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts." Strange to me now are the forms I meet When I visit the dear old town ; But the native air is pure and sweet. And the trees that o'ershadoweach well-known street, 204 MY LOST YOUTH As they balance up and down, Are singing the beautiful song, Are sighing and whispering still : "A boy's will is the wind's will. And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts." And Deering's Woods are fresh and fair, And with joy that is almost pain My heart goes back to wander there, And among the dreams of the days that were, I find my lost youth again. And the strange and beautiful song, The groves are repeating it still : "A boy's will is the wind's will. And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts." 205 THE ROPEWALK In that building, long and low, With its windows all a-row, Like the port-holes of a hulk, Human spiders spin and spin, Backward down their threads so thin Dropping, each a hempen bulk. At the end, an open door ; Squares of sunshine on the floor Light the long and dusky lane ; And the whirring of a wheel. Dull and drowsy, makes me feel All its spokes are in my brain. As the spinners to the end Downward go and reascend. Gleam the long threads in the sun ; While within this brain of mine Cobwebs brighter and more fine By the busy wheel are spun. Two fair maidens in a swing, Like white doves upon the wing. First before my vision pass ; 206 THE ROPEWALK Laughing, as their gentle hands Closely clasp the twisted strands, At their shadow on the grass. Then a booth of mountebanks. With its smell of tan and planks. And a girl poised high in air On a cord, in spangled dress. With a faded loveliness. And a weary look of care. Then a homestead among farms, And a woman with bare arms Drawing water from a well ; As the bucket mounts apace. With it mounts her own fair face, As at some magician's spell. Then an old man in a tower, Ringing loud the noontide hour. While the rope coils round and round Like a serpent at his feet, And again, in swift retreat. Nearly lifts him from the ground. Then within a prison-yard, Faces fixed, and stern, and hard, Laughter and indecent mirth ; Ah ! it is the gallo^vs-tree ! 207 THE ROPEWALK Breath of Christian charity, Blow, and sweep it from the earth ! Then a school-boy, with his kite Gleaming in a sky of light, And an eager, upward look ; Steeds pursued through lane and field ; Fowlers with their snares concealed ; And an angler by a brook. Ships rejoicing in the breeze. Wrecks that float o'er unknown seas. Anchors dragged through faithless sand ; Sea-fog drifting overhead. And, with lessening line and lead. Sailors feeling for the land. All these scenes do I behold. These, and many left untold. In that building long and low ; While the wheel goes round and round. With a drowsy, dreamy sound. And the spinners backward go. 208 THE DISCOVERER OF THE NORTH CAPE A LEAF FROM KING ALFRED'S OROSIUS Othere, the old sea-captain, Who dwelt in Helgoland, To King Alfred, the Lover of Truth, Brought a snow-white walrus-tooth, Which he held in his brown right hand. His figure was tall and stately. Like a boy's his eye appeared ; His hair was yellow as hay, But threads of a silvery gray Gleamed in his tawny beard. Hearty and hale was Othere, His cheek had the color of oak ; With a kind of a laugh in his speech, Like the sea-tide on a beach. As unto the King he spoke. And Alfred, King of the Saxons, Had a book upon his knees, And wrote down the wondrous tale Of him who was first to sail Into the Arctic seas. 209 THE DISCOVERER OF THE NORTH CAPE " So far I live to the northward, No man lives north of me ; To the east are wild mountain-chains, And beyond them meres and plains ; To the westward all is sea. " So far I live to the northward. From the harbor of Skeringes-hale, If you only sailed by day, With a fair wind all the way. More than a month would you sail. ' ' I own six hundred reindeer, With sheep and swine beside ; I have tribute from the Finns, Whalebone and reindeer-skins, And ropes of walrus-hide. "I ploughed the land with horses. But my heart was ill at ease, For the old seafaring men Came to me now and then. With their sagas of the seas ; — ' ' Of Iceland and of Greenland, And the stormy Hebrides, And the undiscovered deep ; — Oh I could not eat nor sleep For thinking of those seas. 210 THE DISCOVERER OF THE NORTH CAPE "To the northward stretched the desert, How far I fain would know ; So at last I sallied forth, And three days sailed due north, As far as the whale-ships go. * ' To the west of me was the ocean. To the right the desolate shore. But I did not slacken sail For the walrus or the whale, Till after three days more. ' ' The days grew longer and longer. Till they became as one. And northward through the haze I saw the sullen blaze Of the red midnight sun. "And then uprose before me, Upon the water's edge. The huge and haggard shape Of that unknown North Cape, Whose form is like a wedge. ' ' The sea was rough and stormy, The tempest howled and wailed, And the sea-fog, like a ghost. Haunted that dreary coast, But onward still I sailed. 211 THE DISCOVERER OF THE NORTH CAPE "Four days I steered to eastward, Four days without a night : Round in a fiery ring Went the great sun, O King, With red and lurid light." Here Alfred, King of the Saxons, Ceased writing for a while ; And raised his eyes from his book. With a strange and puzzled look. And an incredulous smile. But Othere, the old sea-captain, He neither paused nor stirred. Till the King listened, and then Once more took up his pen, And wrote down every word. "And now the land," said Othere, "Bent southward suddenly. And I followed the curving shore And ever southward bore Into a nameless sea. "And there we hunted the walrus. The narwhale, and the seal ; Ha ! 't was a noble game ! And like the lightning's flame Flew our harpoons of steel. 212 THE DISCOVERER OF THE NORTH CAPE There were six of us all together, Norsemen of Helgoland ; In two days and no more We killed of them threescore, And dragged them to the strand ! ' ' Here Alfred the Truth-teller Suddenly closed his book, And lifted his blue eyes, With doubt and strange surmise Depicted in their look. And Othere the old sea-captain Stared at him wild and weird. Then smiled, till his shining teeth Gleamed white from underneath His tawny, quivering beard. And to the King of the Saxons, In witness of the truth. Raising his noble head, He stretched his brown hand, and said, "Behold this walrus-tooth ! " 213 THE FIFTIETH BIRTHDAY OF AGASSIZ May 28, 1857 It was fifty years ago In the pleasant month of May, In the beautiful Pays de Vaud, A child in its cradle lay. And Nature, the old nurse, took The child upon her knee. Saying : ' ' Here is a story-book Thy Father has written for thee." "Come, wander with me," she said, ' ' Into regions yet untrod ; And read what is still unread In the manuscripts of God." And he wandered away and away With Nature, the dear old nurse, Who sang to him night and day The rhymes of the universe. And whenever the way seemed long, Or his heart began to fail. She would sing a more wonderful song. Or tell a more marvellous tale. 214 THE FIFTIETH BIRTHDAY OF AGASSIZ So she keeps him still a child, And will not let him go, Though at times his heart beats wild For the beautiful Pays de Vaud ; Though at times he hears in his dreams The Ranz des Vaches of old. And the rush of mountain streams From glaciers clear and cold ; And the mother at home says, " Hark ! For his voice I listen and yearn ; It is growing late and dark. And my boy does not return ! " 215 DAYBREAK A WIND came up out of the sea, And said, " O mists, make room for me." It hailed the ships, and cried, "Sail on, Ye mariners, the night is gone." And hurried landward far away, Crying, ' ' Awake ! it is the day. ' ' It said unto the forest, "Shout ! Hang all your leafy banners out ! ' ' It touched the wood-bird's folded wing. And said, " O bird, awake and sing." And o'er the farms, " O chanticleer. Your clarion blow ; the day is near." It whispered to the fields of corn. Bow down, and hail the coming morn." It shouted through the belfry-tower, Awake, O bell ! proclaim the hour." It crossed the churchyard with a sigh. And said, "Not yet ! in quiet lie." 216 SANDALPHON Have you read in the Talmud of old, In the Legends the Rabbins have told Of the limitless realms of the air, Have you read it, — the marvellous story Of Sandalphon, the Angel of Glory, Sandalphon, the Angel of Prayer? How, erect, at the outermost gates Of the City Celestial he waits. With his feet on the ladder of light. That, crowded with angels unnumbered, By Jacob was seen, as he slumbered Alone in the desert at night ? The Angels of Wind and of Fire Chant only one hymn, and expire With the song's irresistible stress ; Expire in their rapture and wonder. As harp-strings are broken asunder By music they throb to express. But serene in the rapturous throng. Unmoved by the rush of the song. With eyes unimpassioned and slow, 217 SANDALPHON Among the dead angels, the deathless Sandalphon stands listening breathless To sounds that ascend from below ; — From the spirits on earth that adore, From the souls that entreat and implore In the fervor and passion of prayer ; From the hearts that are broken with losses. And weary with dragging the crosses Too heavy for mortals to bear. And he gathers the prayers as he stands. And they change into flowers in his hands. Into garlands of purple and red ; And beneath the great arch of the portal. Through the streets of the City Immortal Is wafted the fragrance they shed. It is but a legend, I know, — A fable, a phantom, a show. Of the ancient Rabbinical lore ; Yet the old mediaeval tradition. The beautiful, strange superstition. But haunts me and holds me the more. When I look from my window at night, And the welkin above is all white. All throbbing and panting with stars, Among them majestic is standing 218 SANDALPHON Sandalphon the angel, expanding His pinions in nebulous bars. And the legend, I feel, is a part Of the hunger and thirst of the heart. The frenzy and fire of the brain, That grasps at the fruitage forbidden, The golden pomegranates of Eden, To quiet its fever and pain. 219 THE CHILDREN'S HOUR Between the dark and the daylight, When the night is beginning to lower, Comes a pause in the day's occupations. That is known as the Children's Hour. I hear in the chamber above me The patter of httle feet. The sound of a door that is opened, And voices soft and sweet. From my study I see in the lamplight. Descending the broad hall stair, Grave Alice, and laughing Allegra, And Edith with golden hair. A whisper, and then a silence : Yet I know by their merry eyes They are plotting and planning together To take me by surprise. A sudden rush from the stairway, A sudden raid from the hall ! * By three doors left unguarded They enter my castle wall ! 220 THE CHILDREN'S HOUR They climb up into my turret O'er the arms and back of my chair ; If I try to escape, they surround me ; They seem to be everywhere. They almost devour me with kisses, Their arms about me entwine. Till I think of the Bishop of Bingen In his Mouse-Tower on the Rhine ! Do you think, O blue-eyed banditti. Because you have scaled the wall. Such an old mustache as I am Is not a match for you all ! I have you fast in my fortress, And will not let you depart. But put you down into the dungeon In the round-tower of my heart. And there will I keep you forever. Yes, forever and a day. Till the walls shall crumble to ruin, And moulder in dust away ! 221 ENCELADUS Under Mount Etna he lies, It is slumber, it is not death ; For he struggles at times to arise. And above him the lurid skies Are hot with his fiery breath. The crags are piled on his breast, The earth is heaped on his head ; But the groans of his wild unrest. Though smothered and half suppressed, Are heard, and he is not dead. And the nations far away Are watching with eager eyes ; They talk together and say, ' To-morrow, perhaps to-day, Enceladus will arise ! " And the old gods, the austere Oppressors in their strength. Stand aghast and white with fear At the ominous sounds they hear. And tremble, and mutter, " At length ! " 222 ENCELADUS Ah me ! for the land that is sown With the harvest of despair ! Where the burning cinders, blown From the lips of the overthrown Enceladus, fill the air ; Where ashes are heaped in drifts Over vineyard and field and town, Whenever he starts and lifts His head through the blackened rifts Of the crags that keep him down. See, see ! the red light shines ! 'T is the glare of his awful eyes ! And the storm- wind shouts through the pines Of Alps and of Apennines, " Enceladus, arise! " 223 THE CUMBERLAND At anchor in Hampton Roads we lay, On board of the Cumberland, sloop-of-war ; And at times from the fortress across the bay The alarum of drums swept past, Or a bugle blast From the camp on the shore. Then far away to the south uprose A little feather of snow-white smoke, And we knew that the iron ship of our foes Was steadily steering its course To try the force Of our ribs of oak. Down upon us heavily runs. Silent and sullen, the floating fort ; Then comes a puff" of smoke from her guns, And leaps the terrible death. With fiery breath. From each open port. We are not idle, but send her straight Defiance back in a full broadside ! As hail rebounds from a roof of slate, Rebounds our heavier hail From each iron scale Of the monster's hide. 224 THE CUMBERLAND ' Strike your flag ! " the rebel cries, In his arrogant old plantation strain. ' Never ! ' ' our gallant Morris replies ; *' It is better to sink than to yield ! " And the whole air pealed With the cheers of our men. Then, like a kraken huge and black, She crushed our ribs in her iron grasp ! Down went the Cumberland all a wrack. With a sudden shudder of death. And the cannon's breath For her dying gasp. Next morn, as the sun rose over the bay. Still floated our flag at the mainmast head. Lord, how beautiful was Thy day ! Every waft of the air Was a whisper of prayer, Or a dirge for the dead. Ho ! brave hearts that went down in the seas Ye are at peace in the troubled stream ; Ho ! brave land ! with hearts like these. Thy flag, that is rent in twain, Shall be one again, And without a seam ! 225 SNOW-FLAKES Out of the bosom of the Air, Out of the cloud-folds of her garments shaken, Over the woodlands brown and bare, Over the harvest-fields forsaken, Silent, and soft, and slow Descends the snow. Even as our cloudy fancies take Suddenly shape in some divine expression. Even as the troubled heart doth make In the white countenance confession. The troubled sky reveals The grief it feels. This is the poem of the air. Slowly in silent syllables recorded ; This is the secret of despair, Long in its cloudy bosom hoarded. Now whispered and revealed To wood and field. 226 A DAY OF SUNSHINE GIFT of God ! O perfect day : Whereon shall no man work, but play ; Whereon it is enough for me, Not to be doing, but to be ! Through every fibre of my brain. Through every nerve, through every vein, 1 feel the electric thrill, the touch Of life, that seems almost too much. I hear the wind among the trees Playing celestial symphonies ; I see the branches downward bent. Like keys of some great instrument. And over me unrolls on high The splendid scenery of the sky. Where through a sapphire sea the sun Sails like a golden galleon, Towards yonder cloud-land in the West, Towards yonder Islands of the Blest, Whose steep sierra far uplifts Its craggy summits white with drifts. 227 A DAY OF SUNSHINE Blow, winds ! and waft through all the rooms The snow-flakes of the cherry-blooms ! Blow, winds ! and bend within my reach The fiery blossoms of the peach ! O Life and Love ! O happy throng Of thoughts, whose only speech is song ! O heart of man ! canst thou not be Blithe as the air is, and as free ? 228 SOMETHING LEFT UNDONE Labor with what zeal we will, Something still remains undone, Something uncompleted stiU Waits the rising of the sun. By the bedside, on the stair, At the threshold, near the gates. With its menace or its prayer, Like a mendicant it waits ; Waits, and will not go away ; Waits, and will not be gainsaid ; By the cares of yesterday Each to-day is heavier made ; Till at length the burden seems Greater than our strength can bear, Heavy as the weight of dreams, Pressing on us everywhere. And we stand from day to day. Like the dwarfs of times gone by, Who, as Northern legends say. On their shoulders held the sky. 229 CHRISTMAS BELLS I HEARD the bells on Christmas Day Their old, familiar carols play, And wild and sweet The words repeat Of peace on earth, good- will to men ! And thought how, as the day had come, The belfries of all Christendom Had rolled along The unbroken song Of peace on earth, good- will to men ! Till, ringing, singing on its way, The world revolved from night to day, A voice, a chime, A chant sublime Of peace on earth, good-will to men ! Then from each black, accursed mouth The cannon thundered in the South, And with the sound The carols drowned Of peace on earth, good-will to men ! 230 CHRISTMAS BELLS It was as if an earthquake rent The hearth-stones of a continent, And made forlorn The households born Of peace on earth, good- will to men ! And in despair I bowed my head ; There is no peace on earth," I said ; ' ' For hate is strong, And mocks the song Of peace on earth, good- will to men ! " Then pealed the bells more loud and deep : God is not dead ; nor doth he sleep ! The Wrong shall fail. The Right prevail. With peace on earth, good-will to men ! " 231 THE CASTLE-BUILDER A GENTLE boy, with soft and silken locks, A dreamy boy, with brown and tender eyes, A castle-builder, with his wooden blocks. And towers that touch imaginary skies. A fearless rider on his father's knee, An eager listener unto stories told At the Round Table of the nursery. Of heroes and adventures manifold. There will be other towers for thee to build ; There will be other steeds for thee to ride ; There will be other legends, and all filled With greater marvels and more glorified. Build on, and make thy castles high and fair. Rising and reaching upward to the skies ; Listening to voices in the upper air. Nor lose thy simple faith in mysteries. 232 A castle-builder, zvith his wooden blocks. And tozvers that touch imaginary skies THE BROOK AND THE WAVE The brooklet came from the mountain, As sang the bard of old, Running with feet of silver Over the sands of gold ! Far away in the briny ocean There rolled a turbulent wave, Now singing along the sea-beach. Now howling along the cave. And the brooklet has found the billow. Though they flowed so far apart. And has filled with its freshness and sweetness That turbulent, bitter heart ! 233 THE OLD BRIDGE AT FLORENCE Taddeo Gaddi built me. I am old, Five centuries old. I plant my foot of stone Upon the Arno, as St. Michael's own Was planted on the dragon. Fold by fold Beneath me as it struggles, I behold Its glistening scales. Twice hath it overthrown My kindred and companions. Me alone It moveth not, but is by me controlled. I can remember when the Medici Were driven from Florence ; longer still ago The final wars of Ghibelline and Guelf . Florence adorns me with her jewelry ; And when I think that Michael Angelo Hath leaned on me, I glory in myself. 234 TRAVELS BY THE FIRESIDE The ceaseless rain is falling fast, And yonder gilded vane, Immovable for three days past, Points to the misty main. It drives me in upon myself And to the fireside gleams, To pleasant books that crowd my shelf, And still more pleasant dreams. I read whatever bards have sung Of lands beyond the sea. And the bright days when I was young Come thronging back to me. I fancy I can hear again The Alpine torrent's roar. The mule-bells on the hills of Spain, The sea at Elsinore. I see the convent's gleaming wall Rise from its groves of pine, And towers of old cathedrals tall. And castles by the Rhine. 235 TRAVELS BY THE FIRESIDE I journey on by park and spire, Beneath centennial trees, Through fields with poppies all on fire, And gleams of distant seas. I fear no more the dust and heat. No more I feel fatigue. While journeying with another's feet O'er many a lengthening league. Let others traverse sea and land, And toil through various climes, I turn the world round with my hand Reading these poets' rhymes. From them I learn whatever lies Beneath each changing zone, And see, when looking with their eyes, Better than with mine own. 236 THE SERMON OF ST. FRANCIS Up soared the lark into the air, A shaft of song, a winged prayer, As if a soul released from pain Were flying back to heaven again. St. Francis heard : it was to him An emblem of the Seraphim ; The upward motion of the fire, The light, the heat, the heart's desire. Around Assisi's convent gate The birds, God's poor who cannot wait. From moor and mere and darksome wood Come flocking for their dole of food. " O brother birds," St. Francis said, " Ye come to me and ask for bread, But not with bread alone to-day Shall ye be fed and sent away. ** Ye shall be fed, ye happy birds. With manna of celestial words ; Not mine, though mine they seem to be, Not mine, though they be spoken through me. 237 THE SERMON OF ST. FRANCIS " Oh, doubly are ye bound to praise The great Creator in your lays ; He giveth you your plumes of down, Your crimson hoods, your cloaks of brown. ' ' He giveth you your wings to fly And breathe a purer air on high. And careth for you everywhere. Who for yourselves so little care ! ' ' With flutter of swift wings and songs Together rose the feathered throngs. And singing scattered far apart ; Deep peace was in St. Francis' heart. He knew not if the brotherhood His homily had understood ; He only knew that to one ear The meaning of his words was clear. 238 SONGO RIVER Nowhere such a devious stream, Save in fancy or in dream, Winding slow through bush and brake. Links together lake and lake. Walled with woods or sandy shelf, Ever doubling on itself Flows the stream, so still and slow That it hardly seems to flow. Never errant knight of old, Lost in woodland or on wold. Such a winding path pursued Through the sylvan solitude. Never school-boy, in his quest After hazel-nut or nest, Through the forest in and out Wandered loitering thus about. In the mirror of its tide Tangled thickets on each side Hang inverted, and between Floating cloud or sky serene. 239 SONGO RIVER Swift or swallow on the wing Seems the only living thing, Or the loon, that laughs and flies Down to those reflected skies. Silent stream ! thy Indian name Unfamiliar is to fame ; For thou hidest here alone. Well content to be unknown. But thy tranquil waters teach Wisdom deep as human speech, Moving without haste or noise In unbroken equipoise. Though thou turnest no busy mill, And art ever calm and still. Even thy silence seems to say To the traveller on his way : — " Traveller, hurrying from the heat Of the city, stay thy feet ! Rest awhile, nor longer waste Life with inconsiderate haste ! ' ' Be not like a stream that brawls Loud with shallow waterfalls. But in quiet self-control Link together soul and soul." 240 A DUTCH PICTURE Simon Danz has come home again, From cruising about with his buccaneers ; He has singed the beard of the King of Spain, And carried away the Dean of Jaen And sold him in Algiers. In his house by the Maese, with its roof of tiles. And weathercocks flying aloft in air. There are silver tankards of antique styles, Plunder of convent and castle, and piles Of carpets rich and rare. In his tulip-garden there by the town. Overlooking the sluggish stream. With his Moorish cap and dressing-gown. The old sea-captain, hale and brown. Walks in a waking dream. A smile in his gray mustachio lurks Whenever he thinks of the King of Spain, And the listed tulips look like Turks, And the silent gardener as he works Is changed to the Dean of Jaen. 241 A DUTCH PICTURE The windmills on the outermost Verge of the landscape in the haze, To him are towers on the Spanish coast, With whiskered sentinels at their post, Though this is the river Maese. But when the winter rains begin, He sits and smokes by the blazing brands. And old seafaring men come in. Goat-bearded, gray, and with double chin. And rings upon their hands. They sit there in the shadow and shine Of the flickering fire of the winter night ; Figures in color and design Like those by Rembrandt of the Rhine, Half darkness and half light. And they talk of ventures lost or won. And their talk is ever and ever the same, While they drink the red wine of Tarragon, From the cellars of some Spanish Don, Or convent set on flame. Restless at times with heavy strides He paces his parlor to and fro ; He is like a ship that at anchor rides. And swings with the rising and falling tides. And tugs at her anchor- tow. 242 A DUTCH PICTURE Voices mysterious far and near, Sound of the wind and sound of the sea, Are calling and whispering in his ear, Simon Danz ! Why stayest thou here ? Come forth and foUow me ! ' ' So he thinks he shall take to the sea again For one more cruise with his buccaneers, To singe the beard of the King of Spain, And capture another Dean of Jaen And sell him in Algiers. 243 CASTLES IN SPAIN How much of my young heart, O Spain, Went out to thee in days of yore ! What dreams romantic filled my brain, And summoned back to life again The Paladins of Charlemagne, The Cid Campeador ! And shapes more shadowy than these. In the dim twilight half revealed ; Phoenician galleys on the seas. The Roman camps like hives of bees. The Goth uplifting from his knees Pelayo on his shield. It was these memories perchance. From annals of remotest eld, That lent the colors of romance To every trivial circumstance, And changed the form and countenance Of all that I beheld. Old towns, whose history lies hid In monkish chronicle or rhyme, — Burgos, the birthplace of the Cid, 244 CASTLES IN SPAIN Zamora and Valladolid, Toledo, built and walled amid The wars of Wamba's time ; The long, straight line of the highway. The distant town that seems so near. The peasants in the fields, that stay Their toil to cross themselves and pray. When from the belfry at midday The Angelas they hear ; White crosses in the mountain pass. Mules gay with tassels, the loud din Of muleteers, the tethered ass That crops the dusty wayside grass. And cavaliers with spurs of brass Alighting at the inn ; White hamlets hidden in fields of wheat, White cities slumbering by the sea, White sunshine flooding square and street, Dark mountain ranges, at whose feet The river beds are dry with heat, — All was a dream to me. Yet something sombre and severe O'er the enchanted landscape reigned ; A terror in the atmosphere As if King Philip listened near, 245 CASTLES IN SPAIN Or Torquemada, the austere, His ghostly sway maintained. The softer Andalusian skies Dispelled the sadness and the gloom ; There Cadiz by the seaside lies, And Seville's orange-orchards rise, Making the land a paradise Of beauty and of bloom. There Cordova is hidden among The palm, the olive, and the vine ; Gem of the South, by poets sung, And in whose mosque Almanzor hung As lamps the bells that once had rung At Compostella's shrine. But over all the rest supreme, The star of stars, the cynosure. The artist's and the poet's theme, The young man's vision, the old man's dream, Granada by its winding stream, The city of the Moor ! And there the Alhambra still recalls Aladdin's palace of delight : Allah il Allah ! through its halls Whispers the fountain as it falls. The Darro darts beneath its walls, The hills with snow are white. 246 CASTLES IN SPAIN Ah yes, the hills are white with snow, And cold with blasts that bite and freeze ; But in the happy vale below The orange and pomegranate grow, And wafts of air toss to and fro. The blossoming almond trees. The Vega cleft by the Xenil, The fascination and allure Of the sweet landscape chains the will ; The traveller lingers on the hill, His parted lips are breathing still The last sigh of the Moor. How like a ruin overgrown With flowers that hide the rents of time. Stands now the Past that I have known ; Castles in Spain, not built of stone But of white summer clouds, and blown Into this little mist of rhyme ! 247 THE REVENGE OF RAIN-IN-THE-FACE In that desolate land and lone, Where the Big Horn and Yellowstone Roar down their mountain path, By their fires the Sioux Chiefs Muttered their woes and griefs And the menace of their wrath. " Revenge ! " cried Rain-in-the-Face, ' ' Revenge upon all the race Of the White Chief with yellow hair ! " And the mountains dark and high From their crags reechoed the cry Of his anger and despair. In the meadow, spreading wide By woodland and river-side The Indian village stood ; All was silent as a dream. Save the rushing of the stream And the blue-jay in the wood. In his war paint and his beads, Like a bison among the reeds. In ambush the Sitting Bull Lay with three thousand braves 248 THE REVENGE OF RAIN-IN-THE-FACE Crouched in the clefts and caves, Savage, unmerciful ! Into the fatal snare The white Chief with yellow hair And his three hundred men Dashed headlong, sword in hand ; But of that gallant band Not one returned again. The sudden darkness of death Overwhelmed them like the breath And smoke of a furnace fire : By the river's bank, and between The rocks of the ravine, They lay in their bloody attire. But the foemen fled in the night, And Rain-in-the-Face, in his flight, Uplifted high in air As a ghastly trophy, bore The brave heart, that beat no more, Of the White Chief with yellow hair. Whose was the right and the wrong ? Sing it, O funeral song. With a voice that is full of tears. And say that our broken faith Wrought all this ruin and scathe. In the Year of a Hundred Years. 249 A BALLAD OF THE FRENCH FLEET OCTOBER, 1746 Mr. Thomas Prince loquitur A FLEET with flags arrayed Sailed from the port of Brest, And the Admiral's ship displayed The signal : " Steer southwest." For this Admiral D'Anville Had sworn by cross and crown To ravage with fire and steel Our helpless Boston Town. There were rumors in the street, In the houses there was fear Of the coming of the fleet. And the danger hovering near. And while from mouth to mouth Spread the tidings of dismay, I stood in the Old South, Saying humbly : ' ' Let us pray ! ' ' O Lord ! we would not advise ; But if in thy Providence A tempest should arise To drive the French Fleet hence, 250 A BALLAD OF THE FRENCH FLEET And scatter it far and wide, Or sink it in the sea, We should be satisfied. And thine the glory be. " This was the prayer I made, For my soul was all on flame, And even as I prayed The answering tempest came ; It came with a mighty power, Shaking the windo\v s and walls, And tolling the bell in the tower, As it tolls at funerals. The lightning suddenly Unsheathed its flaming sword, And I cried : "Stand still, and see The salvation of the Lord ! ' ' The heavens were black with cloud. The sea was white with hail. And ever more fierce and loud Blew the October gale. The fleet it o\'ertook. And the broad sails in the van Like the tents of Cushan shook. Or the curtains of Midian. Down on the reeling decks Crashed the o'erwhelming seas ; 251 A BALLAD OF THE FRENCH FLEET Ah, never were there wrecks So pitiful as these ! Like a potter's vessel broke The great ships of the line ; They were carried away as a smoke, Or sank like lead in the brine. O Lord ! before thy path They vanished and ceased to be. When thou didst walk in wrath With thine horses through the sea ! 252 THE LEAP OF ROUSHAN BEG Mounted on Kyrat strong and fleet, His chestnut steed with four white feet, Roushan Beg, called Kurroglou, Son of the road and bandit chief, Seeking refuge and relief, Up the mountain pathway flew. Such was Kyrat' s wondrous speed. Never yet could any steed Reach the dust-cloud in his course. More than maiden, more than wife, More than gold and next to life Roushan the Robber loved his horse. In the land that lies beyond Erzeroum and Trebizond, Garden-girt his fortress stood ; Plundered khan, or caravan Journeying north from Koordistan, Gave him wealth and wine and food. Seven hundred and fourscore Men at arms his livery wore, Did his bidding night and day ; 253 THE LEAP OF ROUSHAN BEG Now, through regions all unknown, He was wandering, lost, alone, Seeking without guide his way. Suddenly the pathway ends, Sheer the precipice descends. Loud the torrent roars unseen ; Thirty feet from side to side Yawns the chasm ; on air must ride He who crosses this ravine. Following close in his pursuit, At the precipice's foot Reyhan the Arab of Orfah Halted with his hundred men. Shouting upward from the glen, " La Illah ilia Allah ! " Gently Roushan Beg caressed Ky rat's forehead, neck, and breast ; Kissed him upon both his eyes, Sang to him in his wild way. As upon the topmost spray Sings a bird before it flies. O my Kyrat, O my steed. Round and slender as a reed. Carry me this peril through ! Satin housings shall be thine, 254 THE LEAP OF ROUSHAN BEG Shoes of gold, O Kyrat mine, O thou soul of Kurroglou ! ' Soft thy skin as silken skein. Soft as woman's hair thy mane, Tender are thine eyes and true ; All thy hoofs like ivory shine, Polished bright ; O life of mine, Leap, and rescue Kurroglou ! " Kyrat, then, the strong and fleet. Drew together his four white feet. Paused a moment on the verge. Measured with his eye the space. And into the air's embrace Leaped as leaps the ocean surge. As the ocean surge o'er sand Bears a swimmer safe to land, Kyrat safe his rider bore ; Rattling down the deep abyss Fragments of the precipice Rolled like pebbles on a shore. Roushan's tasselled cap of red Trembled not upon his head. Careless sat he and upright ; Neither hand nor bridle shook. Nor his head he turned to look. As he galloped out of sight. 255 THE LEAP OF ROUSHAN BEG Flash of harness in the air, Seen a moment like the glare Of a sword drawn from its sheath ; Thus the phantom horseman passed, And the shadow that he cast Leaped the cataract underneath. Reyhan the Arab held his breath While this vision of life and death Passed above him. " Allahu ! " Cried he. "In all Koordistan Lives there not so brave a man As this Robber Kurroglou ! " 256 THE THREE KINGS Three Kings came riding from far away, Melchior and Caspar and Baltasar ; Three Wise Men out of the East were they, And they travelled by night and they slept by day. For their guide was a beautiful, wonderful star. The star was so beautiful, large, and clear. That all the other stars of the sky Became a white mist in the atmosphere, And by this they knew that the coming was near Of the Prince foretold in the prophecy. Three caskets they bore on their saddle-bows, Three caskets of gold with golden keys ; Their robes were of crimson silk with rows Of bells and pomegranates and furbelows. Their turbans like blossoming almond-trees. And so the Three Kings rode into the West, Through the dusk of night, over hill and dell. And sometimes they nodded with beard on breast. And sometimes talked, as they paused to rest, With the people they met at some wayside well. "Of the child that is born," said Baltasar, "Good people, I pray you, tell us the news ; 257 THE THREE KINGS For we in the East have seen his star, And have ridden fast, and have ridden far, To find and worship the King of the Jews." And the people answered, " You ask in vain ; We know of no king but Herod the Great ! ' ' They thought the Wise Men were men insane, As they spurred their horses across the plain. Like riders in haste, and who cannot wait. And when they came to Jerusalem, Herod the Great, who had heard this thing. Sent for the Wise Men and questioned them ; And said, " Go down unto Bethlehem, And bring me tidings of this new king. ' ' So they rode away ; and the star stood still. The only one in the gray of morn ; Yes, it stopped, — it stood still of its own free will. Right over Bethlehem on the hill. The city of David, where Christ was born. And the Three Kings rode through the gate and the guard. Through the silent street, till their horses turned And neighed as they entered the great inn-yard; But the windows were closed, and the doors were barred. And only a light in the stable burned. 258 THE THREE KINGS And cradled there in the scented hay, In the air made sweet by the breath of kine, The little child in the manger lay, The child, that would be king one day Of a kingdom not human but divine. His mother Mary of Nazareth Sat watching beside his place of rest. Watching the even flow of his breath. For the joy of life and the terror of death Were mingled together in her breast. They laid their offerings at his feet : The gold was their tribute to a King, The frankincense, with its odor sweet. Was for the Priest, the Paraclete, The myrrh for the body's burying. And the mother wondered and bowed her head. And sat as still as a statue of stone ; Her heart was troubled yet comforted. Remembering what the Angel had said Of an endless reign and of David's throne. Then the Kings rode out of the city gate. With a clatter of hoofs in proud array ; But they went not back to Herod the Great, For they knew his malice and feared his hate. And returned to their homes by another way. 259 THE WHITE CZAR Dost thou see on the rampart's height That wreath of mist, in the light Of the midnight moon ? Oh, hist ! It is not a wreath of mist ; It is the Czar, the White Czar, Batyushka ! Gosudar ! He has heard, among the dead, The artillery roll o'erhead ; The drums and the tramp of feet Of his soldiery in the street ; He is awake ! the White Czar, Batyushka ! Gosudar ! He has heard in the grave the cries Of his people : " Awake! arise ! " He has rent the gold brocade Whereof his shroud was made ; He is risen ! the White Czar, Batyushka ! Gosudar ! From the Volga and the Don He has led his armies on. Over river and morass. Over desert and mountain pass ; The Czar, the Orthodox Czar, Batyushka ! Gosudar ! 260 FROM MY ARM-CHAIR TO THE CHILDREN OF CAMBRIDGE WHO PRESENTED TO ME, ON MY SEVENTY-SECOND BIRTHDAY, FEBRUARY 27, 1879, THIS CHAIR MADE FROM THE WOOD OF THE VILLAGE BLACKSMITH'S CHESTNUT TREE. Mr. Longfellow had this poem, which he wrote on the same day, printed on a sheet, and was accustomed to give a copy to each child who visited him and sat in the chair. Am I a king, that I should call my own This splendid ebon throne ? Or by what reason, or what right divine. Can I proclaim it mine ? Only, perhaps, by right divine of song It may to me belong ; Only because the spreading chestnut tree Of old was sung by me. Well I remember it in all its prime. When in the summer-time The affluent foliage of its branches made A cavern of cool shade. There, by the blacksmith's forge, beside the street, Its blossoms white and sweet Enticed the bees, until it seemed alive, And murmured like a hive. 261 FROM MY ARM-CHAIR And when the winds of autumn, with a shout, Tossed its great arms about, The shining chestnuts, bursting from the sheath, Dropped to the ground beneath. And now some fragments of its branches bare, Shaped as a stately chair, Have by my hearthstone found a home at last. And whisper of the past. The Danish king could not in all his pride Repel the ocean tide. But, seated in this chair, I can in rhyme Roll back the tide of Time. I see again, as one in vision sees, The blossoms and the bees. And hear the children's voices shout and call, And the brown chestnuts fall. I see the smithy with its fires aglow, I hear the bellows blow. And the shrill hammers on the anvil beat The iron white with heat ! And thus, dear children, have ye made for me This day a jubilee. And to my more than threescore years and ten Brought back my youth again. 262 FROM MY ARM-CHAIR The heart hath its own memory, like the mind, And in it are enshrined The precious keepsakes, into which is wrought The giver's loving thought. Only your love and your remembrance could Give life to this dead wood. And make these branches, leafless now so long. Blossom again in song. 263 ROBERT BURNS I SEE amid the fields of Ayr A ploughman, who, in foul and fair, Sings at his task So clear, we know not if it is The laverock's song we hear, or his, Nor care to ask. For him the ploughing of those fields A more ethereal harvest yields Than sheaves of grain ; Songs flush with purple bloom the rye, The plover's call, the curlew's cry, Sing in his brain. Touched by his hand, the wayside weed Becomes a flower ; the lowliest reed Beside the stream Is clothed with beauty ; gorse and grass And heather, where his footsteps pass. The brighter seem. He sings of love, whose flame illumes The darkness of lone cottage rooms ; He feels the force, 264 ROBERT BURNS The treacherous undertow and stress Of wayward passions, and no less The keen remorse. At moments, wrestling with his fate, His voice is harsh, but not with hate; The brush- wood, hung Above the tavern door, lets fall Its bitter leaf, its drop of gall Upon his tongue. But still the music of his song Rises o'er all, elate and strong ; Its master-chords Are Manhood, Freedom, Brotherhood, Its discords but an interlude Between the words. And then to die so young and leave Unfinished what he might achieve ! Yet better sure Is this, than w^andering up and down, An old man in a country town. Infirm and poor. For now he haunts his native land As an immortal youth ; his hand Guides every plough ; He sits beside each ingle-nook, 265 ROBERT BURNS His voice is in each rushing brook, Each rustling bough. His presence haunts this room to-night, A form of mingled mist and light From that far coast. Welcome beneath this roof of mine ! Welcome ! this vacant chair is thine, Dear guest and ghost ! 266 IIIE WINDMILL Behold ! a giant am I! Aloft here in my tower, With my granite ja\\s I de\our The maize, and the \\ heat, and the rye. And grind them into flour. I look down oxer the farms ; In the fields of grain I see The har\cst that is to l)e. And I fling to the air my arms. For T know it is all for me. I hear the sound of flails Far off', from the threshing-floors In barns, with their open doors. And the w ind, the w ind in ni}- sails. Louder and louder roars. I stand here in m\- place, With mv foot on die rock below. And w hiche\cr way it may blow, I meet it face to face As a bra\ e man meets his foe. 267 THE WINDMILL And while we wrestle and strive, My master, the miller, stands And feeds me with his hands ; For he knows who makes him thrive. Who makes him lord of lands. On Sundays I take my rest; Church-going bells begin Their low, melodious din ; I cross my arms on my breast. And all is peace within. 268 TO THE AVON Flow on, sweet river ! like his verse Who lies beneath this sculptured hearse ; Nor wait beside the churchyard wall For him who cannot hear thy call. Thy playmate once ; I see him now A boy with sunshine on his brow, And hear in Stratford's quiet street The patter of his little feet, I see him by thy shallow edge Wading knee-deep amid the sedge ; And lost in thought, as if thy stream Were the swift river of a dream. He wonders whitherward it flows ; And fain would follow where it goes. To the wide world, that shall erelong Be filled with his melodious song. Flow on, fair stream ! That dream is o'er ; He stands upon another shore ; A vaster river near him flows, And still he follows where it goes. 269 MAD RIVER IN THE WHITE MOUNTAINS TRAVELLER Why dost thou wildly rush and roar, Mad River, O Mad River ? Wilt thou not pause and cease to pour Thy hurrying, headlong waters o'er This rocky shelf forever? What secret trouble stirs thy breast ? Why all this fret and flurry ? Dost thou not know that what is best In this too restless world is rest From over- work and worry ? THE KtVER What wouldst thou in these mountains seek, O stranger from the city ? Is it perhaps some foolish freak Of thine, to put the words I speak Into a plaintive ditty ? TRAVELLER Yes ; I would learn of thee thy song, With all its flowing numbers, 270 MAD RIVER And in a voice as fresh and strong As thine is, sing it all day long, And hear it in my slumbers. THE RIVER A brooklet nameless and unknown Was I at first, resembling A little child, that all alone Comes venturing down the stairs of stone, Irresolute and trembling. Later, by wayward fancies led, For the wide world I panted ; Out of the forest, dark and dread. Across the open fields I fled. Like one pursued and haunted. I tossed my arms, I sang aloud, My voice exultant blending With thunder from the passing cloud. The wind, the forest bent and bowed, The rush of rain descending. I heard the distant ocean call. Imploring and entreating ; Drawn onward, o'er this rocky wall I plunged, and the loud waterfall Made answer to the greeting. 271 MAD RIVER And now, beset with many ills, A toilsome life I follow ; Compelled to carry from the hills These logs to the impatient mills Below there in the hollow. Yet something ever cheers and charms The rudeness of my labors ; Daily I water with these arms The cattle of a hundred farms, And have the birds for neighbors. Men call me Mad, and well they may. When, full of rage and trouble, I burst my banks of sand and clay, And sweep their wooden bridge away, Like withered reeds or stubble. Now go and write thy little rhyme, As of thine own creating. Thou seest the day is past its prime ; I can no longer waste my time ; The mills are tired of waiting. 272 DECORATION DAY Sleep, comrades, sleep and rest On this Field of the Grounded Arms, Where foes no more molest. Nor sentry's shot alarms ! Ye have slept on the ground before, And started to your feet At the cannon's sudden roar. Or the drum's redoubling beat. But in this camp of Death No sound your slumber breaks ; Here is no fevered breath, No wound that bleeds and aches. All is repose and peace, Untrampled lies the sod ; The shouts of battle cease. It is the truce of God ! Rest, comrades, rest and sleep ! The thoughts of men shall be As sentinels to keep Your rest from danger free. 273 DECORATION DAY Your silent tents of green We deck with fragrant flowers ; Yours has the suffering been, The memory shall be ours. 274 THE MONK FELIX FROM "THE GOLDEN LEGEND" One morning, all alone, Out of his convent of gray stone. Into the forest older, darker, grayer. His lips moving as if in prayer. His head sunken upon his breast As in a dream of rest, Walked the Monk Felix. All about The broad, sweet sunshine lay without. Filling the summer air ; And within the woodlands as he trod, The dusk was like the Truce of God With worldly woe and care ; Under him lay the golden moss ; And above him the boughs of hoary trees Waved, and made the sign of the cross, And whispered their Benedicites ; And from the ground Rose an odor sweet and fragrant Of the wild-flowers and the vagrant Vines that wandered. Seeking the sunshine, round and round. These he heeded not, but pondered On the volume in his hand, 275 THE MONK FELIX Wherein amazed he read : * ' A thousand years in thy sight Are but as yesterday when it is past, And as a watch in the night ! " And with his eyes downcast In humility he said : *' I believe, O Lord, What is written in thy Word, But alas ! I do not understand ! ' ' And lo ! he heard The sudden singing of a bird, A snow-white bird, that from a cloud Dropped down. And among the branches brown Sat singing. So sweet, and clear, and loud, •It seemed a thousand harp-strings ringing, And the Monk Felix closed his book, And long, long, With rapturous look, He listened to the song, And hardly breathed or stirred. Until he saw, as in a vision. The land Elysian, And in the heavenly city heard Angelic feet Fall on the golden flagging of the street. And he would fain 276 THE MONK FELIX Have caught the wondrous bird, But strove in vain ; For it flew away, away, Far over hill and dell. And instead of its sweet singing He heard the convent bell Suddenly in the silence ringing For the service of noonday. And he retraced His pathway homeward sadly and in haste. In the convent there was a change ! He looked for each well-known face. But the faces were new and strange ; New figures sat in the oaken stalls, New voices chanted in the choir ; Yet the place was the same place, The same dusky walls Of cold, gray stone. The same cloisters and belfry and spire. A stranger and alone Among that brotherhood The Monk Felix stood. 'Forty years," said a Friar, ■ Have I been Prior Of this convent in the wood, But for that space Never have I beheld thy face ! " 277 THE MONK FELIX The heart of the Monk Felix fell : And he answered, with submissive tone, *' This morning, after the hour of Prime, I left my cell, And wandered forth alone, Listening all the time To the melodious singing Of a beautiful white bird. Until I heard The bells of the convent ringing Noon from their noisy towers. It was as if I dreamed ; For what to me had seemed Moments only, had been hours ! " "Years ! " said a voice close by. It was an aged monk who spoke. From a bench of oak Fastened against the wall ; — He was the oldest monk of all. For a whole century Had he been there. Serving God in prayer, The meekest and humblest of his creatures. He remembered well the features Of Felix, and he said. Speaking distinct and slow : "One hundred years ago. When I was a novice in this place, 278 THE MONK FELIX There was here a monk, full of God's grace, Who bore the name Of Felix, and diis man must be the same." And straightway They brought forth to the light of day A volume old and brow n, A huge tome, bound In brass and w ild-boar's hide, Wherein were written down The names of all who had died In the convent, since it was edified. And there they found. Just as the old monk said, That on a certain day and date. One hundred years before. Had gone forth from the convent gate The Monk Felix, and never more Had entered that sacred door. He had been counted among the dead ! And they knew, at last. That, such had been the power Of that celestial and immortal song, A hundred years had passed, And had not seemed so long As a single hour ! 2r9 TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN a; :h ^ 'V-' ^' PAUL REVERE'S RIDE Listen, my children, and you shall hear Of die midnight ride of Paul Revere, On the eighteenth of April, in Seventy-five; Hardly a man is noA\' alive Who remembers that famous day and year. He said to his friend, " If the British march By land or sea from the town to-night. Hang a lantern aloft in the belfry-arch Of the North Church toA\er as a signal light, — One, if b}- land, and two, if by sea ; And I on the opposite shore will be, Read}- to ride and spread the alarm Through every Middlesex village and farm. For the country folk to be up and to arm." Then he said, "Good night ! " and with muffled oar Silently ro\ved to the Charlesto^^■n shore, Just as the moon rose o^'er the bay, 283 PAUL REVERE' S RIDE Where swinging wide at her moorings lay The Somerset, British man-of-war ; A phantom ship, with each mast and spar Across the moon like a prison bar, And a huge black hulk, that was magnified By its own reflection in the tide. Meanwhile, his friend, through alley and street, Wanders and watches with eager ears, Till in the silence around him he hears The muster of men at the barrack door, The sound of arms, and the tramp of feet. And the measured tread of the grenadiers. Marching down to their boats on the shore. Then he climbed the tower of the Old North Church, By the wooden stairs, with stealthy tread, To the belfry-chamber overhead, And startled the pigeons from their perch On the sombre rafters, that round him made Masses and moving shapes of shade, — By the trembling ladder, steep and tall. To the highest window in the wall. Where he paused to listen and look down A moment on the roofs of the town. And the moonlight flowing over all. Beneath, in the churchyard, lay the dead, In their night-encampment on the hill, Wrapped in silence so deep and still 284 PAUL REVERE'S RIDE That he could hear, like a sentinel's tread, The watchful night-wind, as it went Creeping along from tent to tent, And seeming to whisper, ' ' All is well ! " A moment only he feels the spell Of the place and the hour, and the secret dread Of the lonely belfry and the dead ; For suddenly all his thoughts are bent On a shadowy something far away, Where the river widens to meet the bay, — A line of black that bends and floats On the rising tide, like a bridge of boats. Meanwhile, impatient to mount and ride, Booted and spurred, with a heavy stride On the opposite shore walked Paul Revere. Now he patted his horse's side, Now gazed at the landscape far and near. Then, impetuous, stamped the earth. And turned and tightened his saddle-girth ; But mostly he w atched \vith eager search The belfry-tow^er of the Old North Church, As it rose above the graves on the hill. Lonely and spectral and sombre and still. And lo ! as he looks, on the belfry's height A glimmer, and then a gleam of light ! He springs to the saddle, the bridle he turns. But lingers and gazes, till full on his sight, A second lamp in the belfry burns ! 285 PAUL REVERE'S RIDE A hurry of hoofs in a village street, A shape in the moonlight, a bulk in the dark. And beneath, from the pebbles, in passing, a spark Struck out by a steed flying fearless and fleet : That was all ! And yet, through the gloom and the light, The fate of a nation was riding that night ; And the spark struck out by that steed, in his flight. Kindled the land into flame with its heat. He has left the village and mounted the steep. And beneath him, tranquil and broad and deep. Is the Mystic, meeting the ocean tides ; And under the alders that skirt its edge. Now soft on the sand, now loud on the ledge. Is heard the tramp of his steed as he rides. It was twelve by the village clock. When he crossed the bridge into Medford town. He heard the crowing of the cock. And the barking of the farmer's dog. And felt the damp of the river fog. That rises after the sun goes down. It was one by the village clock. When he galloped into Lexington. He saw the gilded weathercock Swim in the moonlight as he passed. And the meeting-house windows, blank and bare, 286 A voice in the darkness, a knock at the door PAUL REVERE'S RIDE Gaze at him with a spectral glare, As if the}- alread}- stood aghast At the blood}' ^\ ork they would look upon. It was two by the \'illage clock, When he came to the bridge in Concord to\\n. He heard the bleating of the flock, And the t^\■itter of birds among the trees. And felt the breath of the morning breeze Blowing over the meadows brown. And one was safe and asleep in his bed Who at the bridge 'would be first to fall, Who that day would be lying dead, Pierced by a British musket-ball. You know the rest. In the books you have read. How the British Regulars fired and fled, — Ho\v the farmers gave them ball for ball. From behind each fence and farm-yard A\all, Chasing the red-coats doA\n the lane, Then crossing the fields to emerge again Under the trees at the turn of the road. And only pausing to fire and load. So through the night rode Paul Revere ; And so through the night went his cry of alarm To every Middlesex village and farm, — A cry of defiance and not of fear, A voice in the darkness, a knock at the door, 287 PAUL REVERE'S RIDE And a word that shall echo forevermore ! For, borne on the night-wind of the Past, Through all our history, to the last, In the hour of darkness and peril and need, The people will waken and listen to hear The hurrying hoof-beats of that steed And the midnight message of Paul RcAcre. 288 KING ROBERT OF SICILY Robert of Sicily, brother of Pope Urbane And Valmond, Emperor of Allemaine, Apparelled in magnificent attire, With retinue of many a knight and squire, On St. John's eve, at vespers, proudly sat And heard the priests chant the Magnificat. And as he listened, o'er and o'er again Repeated, like a burden or refrain. He caught the words, " Deposuit potentes De sede^ et exaltavit humiles ; ' ' And slowly lifting up his kingly head He to a learned clerk beside him said, ' * What mean these words ? ' ' The clerk made answer meet, * ' He has put down the mighty from their seat. And has exalted them of low degree." Thereat King Robert muttered scornfully, '"T is well that such seditious words are sung Only by priests and in the Latin tongue ; For unto priests and people be it known, There is no power can push me from my throne ! " And leaning back, he yawned and fell asleep, Lulled by the chant monotonous and deep. When he awoke, it was already night ; 289 KING ROBERT OF SICILY The church was empty, and there was no light, Save where the lamps, that glimmered few and faint. Lighted a little space before some saint. He started from his seat and gazed around. But saw no living thing and heard no sound. He groped towards the door, but it was locked ; He cried aloud, and listened, and then knocked, And uttered awful threatenings and complaints. And imprecations upon men and saints. The sounds reechoed from the roof and walls As if dead priests were laughing in their stalls. At length the sexton, hearing from without The tumult of the knocking and the shout. And thinking thieves were in the house of prayer, Came with his lantern, asking, " Who is there ? " Half choked with rage, King Robert fiercely said, ' ' Open : 't is I, the King ! Art thou afraid ? ' ' The frightened sexton, muttering, with a curse, "This is some drunken vagabond, or worse ! " Turned the great key and flung the portal wide ; A man rushed by him at a single stride. Haggard, half naked, without hat or cloak, Who neither turned, nor looked at him, nor spoke, But leaped into the blackness of the night. And vanished like a spectre from his sight. Robert of Sicily, brother of Pope Urbane And Valmond, Emperor of Allemaine, 290 KING ROBERT OF SICILY Despoiled of his magnificent attire, Bareheaded, breathless, and besprent with mire. With sense of wrong and outrage desperate, Strode on and thundered at the palace gate ; Rushed through the courtyard, thrusting in his rage To right and left each seneschal and page, And hurried up the broad and sounding stair, His white face ghastly in the torches' glare. From hall to hall he passed with breathless speed ; Voices and cries he heard, but did not heed. Until at last he reached the banquet-room, Blazing with light, and breathing with perfume. There on the dais sat another king, Wearing his robes, his crown, his signet-ring. King Robert's self in features, form, and height, But all transfigured with angelic light ! It was an Angel ; and his presence there With a divine effulgence filled the air. An exaltation, piercing the disguise. Though none the hidden Angel recognize. A moment speechless, motionless, amazed. The throneless monarch on the Angel gazed, Who met his look of anger and surprise With the divine compassion of his eyes ; Then said, "Who art thou ? and why com'st thou here? " To which King Robert answered with a sneer, ' ' I am the King, and come to claim my own 291 KING ROBERT OF SICILY From an impostor, who usurps my throne ! " And suddenly, at these audacious words. Up sprang the angry guests, and drew their swords ; The Angel answered, with unruffled brow, ' Nay, not the King, but the King's Jester, thou Henceforth shalt wear the bells and scalloped cape. And for thy counsellor shalt lead an ape ; Thou shalt obey my servants when they call. And wait upon my henchmen in the hall ! ' ' Deaf to King Robert's threats and cries and prayers, They thrust him from the hall and down the stairs ; A group of tittering pages ran before, And as they opened wide the folding-door, His heart failed, for he heard, with strange alarms. The boisterous laughter of the men-at-arms, And all the vaulted chamber roar and ring With the mock plaudits of ' ' Long live the King ! ' ' Next morning, waking with the day's first beam. He said within himself, ' ' It was a dream ! ' ' But the straw rustled as he turned his head, There were the cap and bells beside his bed. Around him rose the bare, discolored walls, Close by, the steeds were champing in their stalls. And in the corner, a revolting shape. Shivering and chattering sat the wretched ape. It was no dream ; the world he loved so much Had turned to dust and ashes at his touch ! 292 KING ROBERT OF SICILY Days came and went ; and now returned again To Sicily the old Saturnian reign ; Under the Angel's governance benign The happy island danced with corn and wine, And deep within the mountain's burning breast Enceladus, the giant, was at rest. Meanwhile King Robert yielded to his fate, Sullen and silent and disconsolate. Dressed in the motley garb that Jesters wear. With look bewildered and a vacant stare. Close shaven above the ears, as monks are shorn, By courtiers mocked, by pages laughed to scorn, His only friend the ape, his only food What others left,— he still was unsubdued. And when the Angel met him on his way, And half in earnest, half in jest, would say, Sternly, though tenderly, that he might feel The velvet scabbard held a sword of steel, ' Art thou the King? " the passion of his woe Burst from him in resisdess overflow, And, lifting high his forehead, he would fling The haughty answer back, " I am, I am the King ! ' ' Almost three years were ended ; when there came Ambassadors of great repute and name From Valmond, Emperor of AJlemaine, Unto King Robert, saying that Pope Urbane By letter summoned them forthwith to come 293 KING ROBERT OF SICILY On Holy Thursday to his city of Rome. The Angel with great joy received his guests, And gave them presents of embroidered vests, And velvet mantles with rich ermine lined. And rings and jewels of the rarest kind. Then he departed with them o'er the sea Into the lovely land of Italy, Whose loveliness was more resplendent made By the mere passing of that cavalcade. With plumes, and cloaks, and housings, and the stir Of jewelled bridle and of golden spur. And lo ! among the menials, in mock state, Upon a piebald steed, with shambling gait. His cloak of fox-tails flapping in the wind. The solemn ape demurely perched behind. King Robert rode, making huge merriment In all the country towns through which they went. The Pope received them with great pomp and blare Of bannered trumpets, on Saint Peter's square. Giving his benediction and embrace, Fervent, and full of apostolic grace. While with congratulations and with prayers He entertained the Angel unawares, Robert, the Jester, bursting through the crowd. Into their presence rushed, and cried aloud, I am the King ! Look, and behold in me Robert, your brother, King of Sicily ! This man, who wears my semblance to your eyes, 294 KING ROBERT OF SICILY Is an impostor in a king's disguise. Do you not know me ? does no voice within Answer my cry, and say we are akin?" The Pope in silence, but with troubled mien. Gazed at the Angel's countenance serene ; The Emperor, laughing, said, " It is strange sport To keep a madman for thy Fool at court ! ' ' And the poor, baffled Jester in disgrace Was hustled back among the populace. In solemn state the Holy Week went by. And Easter Sunday gleamed upon the sky ; The presence of the Angel, with its light. Before the sun rose, made the city bright, And with new fervor filled the hearts of men, Who felt that Christ indeed had risen again. Even the Jester, on his bed of straw. With haggard eyes the unwonted splendor saw, He felt within a power unfelt before. And, kneeling humbly on his chamber floor. He heard the rushing garments of the Lord Sweep through the silent air, ascending heavenward. And now the visit ending, and once more Valmond returning to the Danube's shore. Homeward the Angel journeyed, and again The land was made resplendent with his train. Flashing along the towns of Italy Unto Salerno, and from thence by sea. 295 KING ROBERT OF SICILY And when once more within Palermo's wall, And, seated on the throne in his great hall. He heard the Angelus from convent towers, As if the better world conversed with ours, He beckoned to King Robert to draw nigher, And with a gesture bade the rest retire ; And when they were alone, the Angel said, ' ' Art thou the King? " Then, bowing down his head, King Robert crossed both hands upon his breast. And meekly answered him : ' ' Thou knowest best ! My sins as scarlet are ; let me go hence. And in some cloister's school of penitence. Across those stones, that pave the way to heaven. Walk barefoot, till my guilty soul be shriven ! " The Angel smiled, and from his radiant face A holy light illumined all the place. And through the open window, loud and clear. They heard the monks chant in the chapel near. Above the stir and tumult of the street : ' ' He has put down the mighty from their seat, And has exalted them of low degree ! " And through the chant a second melody Rose like the throbbing of a single string : " I am an Angel, and thou art the King ! ' ' King Robert, who was standing near the throne. Lifted his eyes, and lo ! he was alone! 296 KING ROBERT OF SICILY But all apparelled as in days of old, With ermined mantle and with cloth of gold ; And- when his courtiers came, they found him there Kneeling upon the floor, absorbed in silent prayer. 297 THE BUILDING OF THE LONG SERPENT Thorberg Skafting, master-builder, In his ship-yard by the sea, Whistling, said, " It would bewilder Any man but Thorberg Skafting, Any man but me ! " Near him lay the Dragon stranded. Built of old by Raud the Strong, And King Olaf had commanded He should build another Dragon, Twice as large and long. Therefore whistled Thorberg Skafting, As he sat with half-closed eyes, And his head turned sideways, drafting That new vessel for King Olaf Twice the Dragon's size. Round him busily hewed and hammered Mallet huge and heavy axe ; Workmen laughed and sang and clamored : Whirred the wheels, that into rigging Spun the shining flax ! . 298 Men shall hear of 'Thorberg Skaftir.g For a hundred year ! ' ' THE BUILDING OF THE LONG SERPENT All this tumult heard the master, — It was music to his ear ; Fancy whispered all the faster, ' ' Men shall hear of Thorberg Skafting For a hundred year! " Workmen sweating at the forges Fashioned iron bolt and bar, Like a warlock's midnight orgies Smoked and bubbled the black caldron With the boiling tar. Did the warlocks mingle in it, Thorberg Skafting, any curse ? Could you not be gone a minute But some mischief must be doing, Turning bad to worse ? 'Twas an ill wind that came wafting From his homestead words of woe ; To his farm went Thorberg Skafting, Oft repeating to his workmen. Build ye thus and so. After long delays returning Came the master back by night; To his ship-yard longing, yearning, Hurried he, and did not leave it Till the morning's light. 299 THE BUILDING OF THE LONG SERPENT " Come and see my ship, my darling ! ' ' On the morrow said the King ; ' ' Finished now from keel to carling ; Never yet was seen in Norway Such a wondrous thing ! ' ' In the ship-yard, idly talking, At the ship the workmen stared : Some one, all their labor balking, Down her sides had cut deep gashes, Not a plank was spared ! ' ' Death be to the evil-doer ! ' ' With an oath King Olaf spoke ! ' ' ' ' But rewards to his pursuer ! ' ' And with wrath his face grew redder Than his scarlet cloak. Straight the master-builder, smiling. Answered thus the angry King : " Cease blaspheming and reviling, Olaf, it was Thorberg Skafting Who has done this thing ! " Then he chipped and smoothed the planking, Till the King, delighted, swore, With much lauding and much thanking, ' ' Handsomer is now my Dragon Than she was before ! ' ' 300 THE BUILDING OF THE LONG SERPENT Seventy ells and four extended On the grass the vessel's keel ; - High above it, gilt and splendid, Rose the figure-head ferocious With its crest of steel. Then they launched her from the tressels, In the ship-yard by the sea ; She was the grandest of all vessels, Never ship was built in Norway Half so fine as she ! The Long Serpent was she christened, 'Mid the roar of cheer on cheer ! They who to the Saga listened Heard the name of Thorberg Skafting For a hundred year ! 301 THE BELL OF ATRI At Atri in Abruzzo, a small town Of ancient Roman date, but scant renown, One of those little places that have run Half up the hill, beneath a blazing sun. And then sat down to rest, as if to say, "I climb no farther upward, come what may," — The Re Giovanni, now unknown to fame. So many monarch s since have borne the name. Had a great bell hung in the market-place. Beneath a roof, projecting some small space By way of shelter from the sun and rain. Then rode he through the streets with all his train, And, with the blast of trumpets loud and long, Made proclamation, that whenever wrong Was done to any man, he should but ring The great bell in the square, and he, the King, Would cause the Syndic to decide thereon. Such was the proclamation of King John. How swift the happy days in Atri sped. What wrongs were righted, need not here be said. Suffice it that, as all things must decay. The hempen rope at length was worn away, Unravelled at the end, and, strand by strand, 302 THE BELL OF ATRI Loosened and wasted in the ringer's hand, Till one, who noted this in passing by. Mended the rope with braids of briony. So that the leaves and tendrils of the vine Hung like a votive garland at a shrine. By chance it happened that in Atri dwelt A knight, with spur on heel and sword in belt, Who loved to hunt the wild-boar in the woods. Who loved his falcons with their crimson hoods. Who loved his hounds and horses, and all sports And prodigalities of camps and courts ; — Loved, or had loved them ; for at last, grown old. His only passion was the love of gold. He sold his horses, sold his hawks and hounds, Rented his vineyards and his garden-grounds. Kept but one steed, his favorite steed of all. To starve and shiver in a naked stall. And day by day sat brooding in his chair, Devising plans how best to hoard and spare. At length he said : ' ' What is the use or need To keep at my own cost this lazy steed, Eating his head off in my stables here. When rents are low and provender is dear? Let him go feed upon the public ways ; I want him only for the holidays." So the old steed was turned into the heat 303 THE BELL OF ATRI Of the long, lonely, silent, shadeless street ; And wandered in suburban lanes forlorn. Barked at by dogs, and torn by brier and thorn. One afternoon, as in that sultry clime It is the custom in the summer time. With bolted doors and window-shutters closed. The inhabitants of Atri slept or dozed ; When suddenly upon their senses fell The loud alarm of the accusing bell ! The Syndic started from his deep repose. Turned on his couch, and listened, and then rose And donned his robes, and with reluctant pace Went panting forth into the market-place. Where the great bell upon its cross-beams swung. Reiterating with persistent tongue, In half-articulate jargon, the old song : "Some one hath done a wrong, hath done a wrong ! " But ere he reached the belfry's light arcade He saw, or thought he saw, beneath its shade. No shape of human form of woman born. But a poor steed dejected and forlorn. Who with uplifted head and eager eye Was tugging at the vines of briony. " Domeneddio! " cried the Syndic straight, ' ' This is the Knight of Atri's steed of state ! He calls for justice, being sore distressed. And pleads his cause as loudly as the best." 304 THE BELL OF ATRI Meanwhile from street and lane a noisy crowd Had rolled together like a summer cloud, And told the story of the wretched beast In fi\'e-and-t\\enty different ways at least, With much gesticulation and appeal To heathen gods, in their excessive zeal. The Knight was called and questioned ; in reply Did not confess the fact, did not deny ; Treated the matter as a pleasant jest. And set at naught the Syndic and the rest, Maintaining, in an angry undertone, That he should do what pleased him with his own. And thereupon the Syndic gravely read The proclamation of the King ; then said : ' Pride goeth forth on horseback grand and gay, But Cometh back on foot, and begs its way ; Fame is the fragrance of heroic deeds. Of flowers of chivalry and not of \veeds ! These are familiar proverbs ; but I fear They never yet have reached your knightly ear. What fair renown, what honor, what repute Can come to you from starving this poor brute ? He who serves well and speaks not, merits more Than they who clamor loudest at the door. Therefore the law decrees that as this steed Served you in youth, henceforth you shall take heed To comfort his old age, and to provide Shelter in stall, and food and field beside." 305 THE BELL OF ATRI The Knight withdrew abashed ; the people all Led home the steed in triumph to his stall. The King heard and approved, and laughed in glee, And cried aloud : " Right well it pleaseth me ! Church-bells at best but ring us to the door; But go not into mass ; my bell doth more : It Cometh into court and pleads the cause Of creatures dumb and unknown to the laws ; And this shall make, in every Christian clime, The Bell of Atri famous for all time. ' ' 306 THE BALLAD OF CARMILHAN At Stralsund, by the Baltic Sea, Within the sandy bar, At sunset of a summer's day. Ready for sea, at anchor lay The good ship Valdemar. The sunbeams danced upon the waves, And played along her side ; And through the cabin windows streamed In ripples of golden light, that seemed The ripple of the tide. There sat the captain with his friends, Old skippers brown and hale. Who smoked and grumbled o'er their grog, And talked of iceberg and of fog, Of calm and storm and gale. And one was spinning a sailor's yarn About Klaboterman, The Kobold of the sea ; a spright Invisible to mortal sight, Who o'er the rigging ran. 307 THE BALLAD OF CARMILHAN Sometimes he hammered in the hold, Sometimes upon the mast, Sometimes abeam, sometimes abaft. Or at the bows he sang and laughed. And made all tight and fast. He helped the sailors at their work. And toiled with jovial din ; He helped them hoist and reef the sails. He helped them stow the casks and bales, And heave the anchor in. But woe unto the lazy louts, The idlers of the crew ; Them to torment was his delight, And worry them by day and night. And pinch them black and blue. And woe to him whose mortal eyes Klaboterman behold. It is a certain sign of death ! — The cabin-boy here held his breath, He felt his blood run cold. II The jolly skipper paused awhile. And then again began ; There is a Spectre Ship," quoth he, A ship of the Dead that sails the sea, And is called the Carmilhan. 308 THE BALLAD OF CARMILHAN ' A ghostly ship, with a ghostly crew, In tempests she appears ; And before the gale, or against the gale. She sails without a rag of sail, Without a helmsman steers. ' She haunts the Atlantic north and south, But mostly the mid-sea. Where three great rocks rise bleak and bare Like furnace chimneys in the air. And are called the Chimneys Three. And ill betide the luckless ship That meets the Carmilhan ; Over her decks the seas will leap, She must go down into the deep, And perish mouse and man." The captain of the Valdemar Laughed loud with merry heart. ' I should like to see this ship," said he ; ' I should like to find these Chimneys Three That are marked down in the chart. I have sailed right over the spot," he said, "With a good stiffbreeze behind. When the sea was blue, and the sky was clear, - You can follow my course by these pinholes here,- Aiid never a rock could find." 309 THE BALLAD OF CARMILHAN And then he swore a dreadful oadi, He swore by the Kingdoms Three, That, should he meet the Carmilhan, He would run her down, although he ran Right into Eternity ! All this, while passing to and fro. The cabin-boy had heard ; He lingered at the door to hear, And drank in all with greedy ear. And pondered every word. He was a simple country lad, But of a roving mind. ■ Oh, it must be like heaven," thought he, ' Those far-off foreign lands to see. And fortune seek and find ! ' ' But in the fo'castle, when he heard The mariners blaspheme. He thought of home, he thought of God, And his mother under the churchyard sod, And wished it were a dream. One friend on board that ship had he ; 'T was the Klaboterman, Who saw the Bible in his chest. And made a sign upon his breast. All evil things to ban. 310 THE BALLAD OF CARMILHAN m The cabin windows have grown blank As eyeballs of the dead ; No more the glancing sunbeams burn On the gilt letters of the stern, But on the figure-head ; On Valdemar Victorious, Who looketh with disdain To see his image in the tide Dismembered float from side to side, And reunite again. 'It is the wind," those skippers said, That swings the vessel so ; It is the wind; it freshens fast, 'T is time to say farewell at last, 'T is time for us to go." They shook the captain by the hand, Good luck ! good luck ! ' ' they cried ; Each face was like the setting sun. As, broad and red, they one by one Went o'er the vessel's side. The sun went down, the full moon rose. Serene o'er field and flood ; And all the winding creeks and bays And broad sea-meadows seemed ablaze, The sky was red as blood. 311 THE BALLAD OF CARMILHAN The southwest wind blew fresh and fair ; As fair as wind could be ; Bound for Odessa, o'er the bar, With all sail set, the Valdemar Went proudly out to sea. The lovely moon climbs up the sky As one who walks in dreams ; A tower of marble in her light, A wall of black, a wall of white, The stately vessel seems. Low down upon the sandy coast The lights begin to burn ; And now, uplifted high in air. They kindle with a fiercer glare, And now drop far astern. The dawn appears, the land is gone, The sea is all around ; Then on each hand low hills of sand Emerge and form another land ; She steereth through the Sound. Through Kattegat and Skager-rack She flitteth like a ghost ; By day and night, by night and day, She bounds, she flies upon her way Along the English coast. 312 THE BALLAD OF CARMILHAN Cape Finisterre is drawing near, Cape Finisterre is past ; Into the open ocean stream She floats, the vision of a dream Too beautiful to last. Suns rise and set, and rise, and yet There is no land in sight ; The liquid planets overhead Burn brighter now the moon is dead. And longer stays the night. IV And now along the horizon's edge Mountains of cloud uprose, Black as with forests underneath, Above, their sharp and jagged teeth Were white as drifted snows. Unseen behind them sank the sun, But flushed each snoAvy peak A little while with rosy light, That faded slowly from the sight As blushes from the cheek. Black grew the sky, — all black, all black ; The clouds were everywhere ; There was a feeling of suspense In nature, a mysterious sense Of terror in the air. 313 THE BALLAD OF CARMILHAN And all on board the Valdemar Was still as still could be ; Save when the dismal ship-bell tolled, As ever and anon she rolled, And lurched into the sea. The captain up and down the deck Went striding to and fro ; Now watched the compass at the wheel, Now lifted up his hand to feel Which way the wind might blow. And now he looked up at the sails, And now upon the deep ; In every fibre of his frame He felt the storm before it came. He had no thought of sleep. Eight bells ! and suddenly abaft. With a great rush of rain, Making the ocean white with spume, In darkness like the day of doom, On came the hurricane. The lightning flashed from cloud to cloud. And rent the sky in two ; A jagged flame, a single jet Of white fire, like a bayonet. That pierced the eyeballs through. 314 THE BALLAD OF CARMILHAN Then all around was dark again, And blacker than before ; But in that single flash of light He had beheld a fearful sight, And thought of the oath he swore. For right ahead lay the Ship of the Dead, The ghostly Carmilhan ! Her masts were stripped, her yards were bare, And on her bowsprit, poised in air. Sat the Klaboterman. Her creAV of ghosts was all on deck Or clambering up the shrouds ; The boatswain's whistle, the captain's hail Were like the piping of the gale, And thunder in the clouds. And close behind the Carmilhan There rose up from the sea. As from a foundered ship of stone, Three bare and splintered masts alone : They were the Chimneys Three. And onward dashed the Valdemar And leaped into the dark ; A denser mist, a colder blast, A litde shudder, and she had passed Right through the Phantom Bark. 315 THE BALLAD OF CARMILHAN She cleft in twain the shadowy hulk, But cleft it unaware ; As when, careering to her nest. The sea-gull severs with her breast The unresisting air. Again the lightning flashed ; again They saw the Carmilhan, Whole as before in hull and spar ; But now on board of the Valdemar Stood the Klaboterman. And they all knew their doom was sealed ; They knew that death was near ; Some prayed who never prayed before, And some they wept, and some they swore, And some were mute with fear. Then suddenly there came a shock. And louder than wind or sea A cry burst from the crew on deck. As she dashed and crashed, a hopeless wreck. Upon the Chimneys Three. The storm and night were passed, the light To streak the east began ; The cabin-boy, picked up at sea. Survived the wreck, and only he, To tell of the Carmilhan . 316 THE LEGEND BEAUTIFUL ■ Hadst thou stayed, I must have fled ! " That is what the Vision said. In his chamber all alone, Kneeling on the floor of stone, Prayed the Monk in deep contrition For his sins of indecision. Prayed for greater self-denial In temptation and in trial ; It was noonday by the dial. And the Monk was all alone. Suddenly, as if it lightened, An unwonted splendor brightened All within him and without him In that narrow cell of stone ; And he saw the Blessed Vision Of our Lord, with light Elysian Like a vesture wrapped about Him, Like a garment round Him thrown. Not as crucified and slain, Not in agonies of pain, Not with bleeding hands and feet. Did the Monk his Master see ; 317 THE LEGEND BEAUTIFUL But as in the village street, In the house or harvest-field, Halt and lame and blind He healed. When He walked in Galilee. In an attitude imploring. Hands upon his bosom crossed. Wondering, worshipping, adoring, Knelt the Monk in rapture lost. Lord, he thought, in heaven that reignest. Who am I, that thus thou deignest To reveal thyself to me? Who am I, that from the centre Of thy glory thou shouldst enter This poor cell, my guest to be ? Then amid his exaltation. Loud the convent bell appalling. From its belfry calling, calling. Rang through court and corridor With persistent iteration He had never heard before. It was now the appointed hour When alike in shine or shower. Winter's cold or summer's heat, To the convent portals came All the blind and halt and lame, All the beggars of the street, For their daily dole of food 318 THE LEGEND BEAUTIFUL Dealt them by the brotherhood ; And their almoner was he Who upon his bended knee, Rapt in silent ecstasy Of divinest self-surrender, Saw the Vision and the Splendor. Deep distress and hesitation Mingled with his adoration ; Should he go or should he stay? Should he leave the poor to wait Hungry at the convent gate. Till the Vision passed away? Should he slight his radiant guest, Slight this visitant celestial. For a crowd of ragged, bestial Beggars at the convent gate? Would the Vision there remain? Would the Vision come again? Then a voice within his breast Whispered, audible and clear As if to the outward ear : Do thy duty ; that is best ; Leave unto thy Lord the rest ! ' ' Straightway to his feet he started. And with longing look intent On the Blessed Vision bent. Slowly from his cell departed, Slowly on his errand went. 319 THE LEGEND BEAUTIFUL At the gate the poor were waiting, Looking through the iron grating, With that terror in the eye That is only seen in those Who amid their wants and woes Hear the sound of doors that close. And of feet that pass them by ; Grown familiar with disfavor. Grown familiar with the savor Of the bread by which men die ! But to-day, they know not why. Like the gate of Paradise Seemed the convent gate to rise. Like a sacrament divine Seemed to them the bread and wine. In his heart the Monk was praying. Thinking of the homeless poor, What they suffer and endure ; What we see not, what we see ; And the inward voice was saying : ' Whatsoever thing thou doest To the least of mine and lowest. That thou doest unto me ! ' ' Unto me ! but had the Vision Come to him in beggar's clothing, Come a mendicant imploring, Would he then have knelt adoring, 320 THE LEGEND BEAUTIFUL Or have listened with derision, And have turned away with loathing ? Thus his conscience put the question, Full of troublesome suggestion, As at length, with hurried pace. Towards his cell he turned his face, And beheld the convent bright With a supernatural light. Like a luminous cloud expanding Over floor and wall and ceiling. But he paused with awe-struck feeling At the threshold of his door. For the Vision still was standing As he left it there before, When the convent bell appalling. From its belfry calling, calling, Summoned him to feed the poor. Through the long hour intervening It had waited his return. And he felt his bosom burn. Comprehending all the meaning. When the Blessed Vision said, ■ Hadst thou stayed, I must have fled ! ' ' 321 CHARLEMAGNE Olger the Dane and Desiderio, King of the Lombards, on a lofty tower Stood gazing northward o'er the rolling plains, League after league of harvests, to the foot Of the snow-crested Alps, and saw approach A mighty army, thronging all the roads That led into the city. And the King Said unto Olger, who had passed his youth As hostage at the court of France, and knew The Emperor's form and face : " Is Charlemagne Among that host ? ' ' And Olger answered : ' ' No. ' ' And still the innumerable multitude Flowed onward and increased, until the King Cried in amazement : ' ' Surely Charlemagne Is coming in the midst of all these knights ! ' ' And Olger answered slowly : ' ' No ; not yet ; He will not come so soon." Then much disturbed King Desiderio asked, " What shall we do. If he approach with a still greater army? " And Olger answered : ' ' When he shall appear, You will behold what manner of man he is ; But what will then befall us I know not." 322 CHARLEMAGNE Then came the guard that never knew repose, The Paladins of France ; and at the sight The Lombard King o'ercome with terror cried : ' This must be Charlemagne ! ' ' and as before Did Olger answer : ' ' No ; not yet, not yet.' ' And then appeared in panoply complete The Bishops and the Abbots and the Priests Of the imperial chapel, and the Counts ; And Desiderio could no more endure The light of day, nor yet encounter death, But sobbed aloud and said : ' ' Let us go down And hide us in the bosom of the earth. Far from the sight and anger of a foe So terrible as this ! ' ' And Olger said : ' When you behold the harvests in the fields Shaking with fear, the Po and the Ticino Lashing the city walls with iron waves, Then may you know that Charlemagne is come. " And even as he spake, in the northwest, Lo ! there uprose a black and threatening cloud. Out of whose bosom flashed the light of arms Upon the people pent up in the city ; A light more terrible than any darkness, And Charlemagne appeared ; — a Man of Iron! His helmet was of iron, and his gloves Of iron, and his breastplate and his greaves And tassets were of iron, and his shield. 323 CHARLEMAGNE In his left hand he held an iron spear, In his right hand his sword invincible. The horse he rode on had the strength of iron, And color of iron. All who went before him. Beside him and behind him, his whole host. Were armed with iron, and their hearts within them Were stronger than the armor that they wore. The fields and all the roads were filled with iron. And points of iron glistened in the sun And shed a terror through the city streets. This at a single glance Olger the Dane Saw from the tower, and turning to the King Exclaimed in haste : "Behold! this is the man You looked for with such eagerness ! ' ' and then FeU as one dead at Desiderio's feet. 324 INDEXES INDEX OF FIRST LINES Page A fleet with flags arrayed 250 A gentle boy, with soft and silken locks 232 A mist was driving down the British Channel .... 194 A wind came up out of the sea 216 Ah ! what pleasant visions haunt me 172 All are architects of Fate 181 Am I a king, that I should call my own 261 At anchor in Hampton Roads we lay 224 At Atri in Abruzzo, a small town 302 At Stralsund, by the Baltic Sea 307 Behold ! a giant am I ! 267 Beside the ungathered rice he lay 39 Between the dark and the daylight 220 " Build me straight, O worthy Master ! " 157 By his evening fire the artist 183 Dost thou see on the rampart's height . . ... 260 Flow on, sweet river ! like his verse 269 Forth upon the Gitchie Gumee 135 " Give me of your bark, O Birch-tree ! " 130 Gloomy and dark art thou, O chief of the mighty Omahas . 69 " Hadst thou stayed, I must have fled ! " 317 Have you read in the Talmud of old 217 How beautiful is the rain ! 60 How much of my young heart, O Spain 244 I heard the bells on Christmas Day 230 I see amid the fields of Ayr 264 I shot an arrow into the air 78 I stood on the bridge at midnight 64 327 INDEX OF FIRST LINES In dark fens of the Dismal Swamp 41 In his chamber, weak and dying 57 In Mather's Magnalia Christi 191 In that building, long and low 206 In that desolate land and lone 248 In the ancient town of Bruges 47 In the market-place of Bruges stands the belfry old and brown 50 It was fifty years ago .214 It was the schooner Hesperus 24 Just in the gray of the dawn, as the mists uprose from the meadows . 144 Labor with what zeal we will 229 Listen, my children, and you shall hear 283 Maiden ! with the meek, brown eyes 34 Mounted on Kyrat strong and fleet 253 Nowhere such a devious stream 239 O gift of God ! O perfect day 227 Often I think of the beautiful town 202 Olger the Dane and Desiderio 322 Once into a quiet village 185 Once the Emperor Charles of Spain 197 One morning, all alone 275 Othere, the old sea-captain 209 Out of the bosom of the Air 226 River ! that in silence windest 32 Robert of Sicily, brother of Pope Urbane 289 Simon Danz has come home again 241 Sleep, comrades, sleep and rest 273 Solemnly, mournfully 79 Somewhat back from the village street 75 Southward with fleet of ice 176 Spake full well, in language quaint and olden .... 7 328 INDEX OF FIRST LINES " Speak ! speak ! thou fearful guest ! " 17 Stars of the summer night ! 43 Taddeo Gaddi built me, I am old 234 Tell me not, in mournful numbers 3 The brooklet came from the mountain 233 The ceaseless rain is falling fast 235 The daj is done, and the darkness 67 The night is come, but not too soon 5 The rocky ledge runs far into the sea 178 The shades of night were falling fast 37 The sun is bright, — the air is clear 30 The twilight is sad and cloudy 174 This is the Arsenal. From floor to ceiling 54 This is the forest primeval. The murmuring pines and the hem- locks 83 Thorberg Skafting, master-builder 298 Three Kings came riding from far away 257 Under a spreading chestnut-tree 28 Under Mount vEtna he lies 222 Under the walls of Monterey 200 Up soared the lark into the air 237 Vogelweid the Minnesinger 72 When the warm sun, that brings 13 When winter winds are piercing chill 15 Why dost thou wildly rush and roar 270 329 INDEX OF TITLES Page April Day, An 13 Arrow and the Song, The 78 Arsenal at Springfield, The 54 Avon, To the 269 Ballad of Carmilhan, The Ballad of the French Fleet, A . Belfry of Bruges, The Bell of Atri, The Bridge, The Brook and the Wave, The . Builders, The Building of the Long Serpent, The Building of the Ship, The 307 250 47 302 64 233 181 298 157 Carillon 47 Castle-Builder, The 232 Castles in Spain 244 Charlemagne 322 Children's Hour, The 220 Christmas Bells 230 Cumberland, The 224 Curfew 79 Daybreak Day is Done, The Day of Sunshine, A . . . Decoration Day . . . Discovery of the North Cape, The Driving Cloud, To the 331 216 67 227 273 209 69 INDEX OF TITLES Dutch Picture, A 241 Emperor's Bird's-Nest, The 197 EnCELADUS 222 Evangeline, Part I 83 Excelsior • • 37 Fiftieth Birthday OF Agassiz, The . . . .214 Flowers 7 From my Arm-Chair 261 Caspar Becerra 183 Hiawatha's Fishing 135 Hiawatha's Sailing 130 It is not always May 30 King Robert of Sicily 289 Leap of Roushan Beg, The 253 Legend Beautiful, The . . . . , .317 Light of Stars, The 5 Lighthouse, The 178 Mad River 270 Maidenhood 34 Monk Felix 275 My Lost Youth 202 Norman Baron, The 57 Old Bridge at Florence, The 234 Old Clock on the Stairs, The 75 332 INDEX OF TITLES Paul Revere's Ride 283 Pegasus in Pound 185 Phantom Ship, The 191 Psalm of Life, A 3 Rain in Summer Revenge of Rain-in-the-Face, The River Charles, To the Robert Burns .... 60 . 248 32 . 264 Ropewalk, The 206 Sailing of the Mayflower, The, from " The Courtship of Miles Standish " . Sandalphon Secret of the Sea, The Serenade, from *' The Spanish Student " Sermon of St. Francis, The Sir Humphrey Gilbert .... Skeleton in Armor, The . Slave in the Dismal Swamp, The Slave's Dream, The .... Snow-Flakes Something Left Undone . SoNGO River 144 217 172 43 237 176 17 41 39 226 229 239 Three Kings, The 257 To the Avon 269 To the Driving Cloud 69 To the River Charles 32 Travels by the Fireside 235 Twilight 174 Victor Galbraith 200 Village Blacksmith, The 28 333 INDEX OF TITLES Walter von der Vogelweid 72 Warden of the Cinque Ports, The .... 194 White Czar, The 260 Windmill, The 267 Woods IN Winter 15 Wreck of the Hesperus, The 24 334 CAMBRIDGE . MASSACHUSETTS U . S . A