FOUllKHINGS 
 THERE ARE 
 
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 MAY STRANATHAN 
 
 ri'.:l!;M'V., 
 
 
 
 
 
 
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 ch^'i T^iESJ'y 
 
 
 CGESRIGHT DEPOSm 
 
FOUR THINGS THERE ARE 
 
 AND OTHER POEMS 
 
 BY 
 MAY STRANATHAN 
 
 BOSTON 
 
 SHERMAN, FRENCH & COMPANY 
 
 1916 
 
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 <,-<> 
 
 ^(,00 
 
 COPTHIOHT, 1916 
 ShERMAK, FrINCH &> COMPAKY 
 
 OCT -2 1916 
 ©CI,A438832 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Four Things There Are 1 
 
 Premonition a 
 
 The Wind Storm 3 
 
 Metempsychosis 4 
 
 Translation g 
 
 The Wind in the Corn 8 
 
 Little Sam 9 
 
 Helen to Hector — Slain 11 
 
 The Search for the Infinite .... 12 
 
 Ole Mister Peters 14 
 
 To a Picture of Lucifer 16 
 
 The Croquet Fiend I7 
 
 "Infant, Aged One Day" 19 
 
 David at Hachilah 20 
 
 Horace 25 
 
 The Vale op Terheyl 26 
 
 To a Picture gg 
 
 Two Merry Jugglers 37 
 
 Little Brother 38 
 
 Queen Esther 43 
 
FOUR THINGS THERE ARE 
 
 Four things there are that will not wait, 
 But as the fleeting clouds they pass, 
 Or like the shadow on the grass, — 
 
 The flame, the flower, the song, and the fulfilled 
 desire. 
 
 They mock the soul insatiate. 
 Seeking to hold within its tent 
 These gifts, a fleeting moment lent, — 
 
 The flame, the flower, the song, and the fulfilled 
 desire. 
 
 As soon close time within the gate. 
 Or measure out a span for space, 
 For these have no abiding place, — 
 
 The flame, the flower, the song, and the fulfilled 
 desire. 
 
 [1] 
 
PREMONITION 
 
 As one who restless startles in his sleep, 
 Wonders and sinks to dreams again, nor knows 
 What 'twas that roused; but when the dawn 
 
 wind blows. 
 Finds an invading army at the keep. 
 Which in the darkness, like the surge of deep, 
 Marched onward to the city of its foes ; 
 Finds the guard fled, gone as the breath that 
 
 goes, 
 And only some wan specter left to weep : 
 
 So comes thy destiny and tramples low 
 
 And burns with fire the house the soul has 
 
 wrought ; 
 Wherein it tarried and wherein it drowsed, — 
 Roused, slept and dreamed, until the final blow 
 Destroyed the old and forth in terror brought. 
 To unknown ways and to new purposes 
 
 espoused. 
 
 [a] 
 
THE WIND STORM 
 
 First o'er the clear and moonlight summer sky, 
 Far in the north, a black cloud creeping came; 
 Slowly at first, then like some direful, dread 
 
 calamity. 
 Widening and spreading like the thick smoke 
 
 of disfame. 
 And as we listened, slow there came a faint, far 
 
 sound. 
 Like the sea's soft plaining on a distant shore ; 
 Then nearer, louder, closing us around, 
 From out their mystic chambers rushed the 
 
 winds with mighty roar. 
 
 [3] 
 
METEMPSYCHOSIS 
 
 THE BAT 
 
 O WARBLEE, dumbed of ancient dayspring hopes, 
 Fretted of deadripe meadows in the sun ; 
 Of purple nebulas of aster slopes, 
 And hillside coverts where blackberries run ; 
 Of deep green forests, sheltering from the heat, 
 Where thou, from some low twig the scene sur- 
 veying, 
 From 'neath a little cavern of moist leaves. 
 Hast heard the water with soft tinkling beat 
 The beads of some wan flower sister praying, 
 Within this cloister shut, where no world 
 grieves. 
 
 (A pale nun blooming in the cool, dank gloom, 
 To whom the sound of thy glad twittering 
 With lush joy fills the stillness of her tomb. 
 As if from heaven she heareth an angel sing.) 
 Fretted of reckless flight from Briereus' wrath. 
 The rain storm and the hail, till through a rift 
 Apollo smiles. And of deep, virgin vales. 
 Whom he leans down and kisses in his path, 
 As to him now their pensive deeps they lift. 
 Chilled by the cold caresses of the gales. 
 
 Fretted by eves, thy dole of vespers done, 
 Thou sailedst, a living bark, toward fields where 
 feed 
 
 [4] 
 
The snowy flocks those fleeces grow upon 
 That gleaming pile the sky, and ever speed 
 Looms where the heavens' tapestries are sprung. 
 Oh, hast thou seen thing that men never see, 
 In lands of homesick hearts the goal, 
 While the day like swelling bubbles upward 
 
 flung. 
 Complete, reflecting all eternity. 
 Burst, or like unstrung beads they roll? 
 
 Perchance thou wert some Buddha and came 
 
 back 
 To Yosodhara's aching arms. Couldst tell 
 A trystful tale of lures along the track 
 That quenched, save wings, divinity too well? 
 And what now troubles thee around my lamp? 
 What blurred and restless memory is there? 
 Some looks she wore, or someway turned her 
 
 head. 
 For whom the fields of peace thou didst decamp? 
 Or gleams the lamp like sun-glints in her hair? 
 Still wilt thou be no prophet from the dead. 
 
 [5] 
 
TRANSLATION 
 
 From the blue depth of heaven descend, 
 Thou sweet-voiced goddess with thy flute; 
 
 As pleases thee, thy clear tones lend. 
 
 Or strike the strings of great Apollo's lute. 
 
 Hear'st thou the music round me playing? 
 
 Else rapturous dreams do round me grow. 
 I seem in sacred woodlands straying. 
 
 Where waters fall and summer breezes blow. 
 
 The doves of Jove their watch did keep 
 When I on Voltur's mountain lay. 
 
 Worn out with play and fallen asleep, 
 A child from my Apulian home astray. 
 
 Without the gods, a timid child, 
 I seemed, by sacred laurel pressed. 
 
 Or gathered myrtle from the wild. 
 
 From bears and deadly serpents safe to rest ; 
 
 I, wonderful to those whose home 
 
 Is in high Acherantia's nest, 
 Or through the guarded woodland roam. 
 
 Or by Forentum's richest fields are blessed. 
 
 O muses, I belong to you ; 
 
 Yours, I am borne to Sabine heights ; 
 Yours, whether Baia's liquid blue, 
 
 Praeneste cold, or Tibur now delight. 
 [6] 
 
You saved me at Philippi's flight, 
 
 Since I your founts and dances love, 
 
 Nor hurled from Palinurus' height, 
 
 Nor let the falling tree strike from above. 
 
 With you I fear not any land ; 
 
 Before the gods the strong are frail ; 
 I'd try Assyria's burning sand. 
 
 And fearless o'er the angry Bosphorus sail. 
 
 Unharmed I dare the Scythian river, 
 The Britain, not to be withstood. 
 
 The fierce Gelones with the quiver. 
 
 The wild Concanus, drunk with horses' blood. 
 
 To you great Caesar seeks to come. 
 
 To your Pierian grot's delight, 
 When he has led his armies home. 
 
 And given to rest his warriors' wearied might. 
 
 Horace: Ode 4 Book 3. 
 
 m 
 
THE WIND IN THE CORN 
 
 Oh, the wind in the corn a-sounding like the sea 
 Brings back the thought of my childhood's days 
 
 to me; 
 Coming like the strains of an old, familiar song. 
 It overflows the fountains that have been sealed 
 
 up for long. 
 And I see the pure, fair features and I hear the 
 
 accents sweet 
 Of the playmate who was with me when the days 
 
 were full and fleet. 
 
 As when the storm is broken and the clouds have 
 
 drifted by 
 And the mists clear in the sunlight, that have 
 
 hid the earth and sky, 
 And we see the hills and valleys green all dewy 
 
 with the rain. 
 All the fairer for the showers, dawn upon our 
 
 sight again : 
 So the days past by forever and forgotten for 
 
 awhile. 
 As other friends and other scenes the fancy 
 
 doth beguile. 
 With the wind that in the cornfield goes a- 
 
 sounding like the sea. 
 Rush back as many waters that have parted 
 
 you and me. 
 
 [8] 
 
LITTLE SAM 
 
 Although the skies have been all dim, 
 
 And I sung triolets all day 
 Of buried joys and future grim, 
 
 Then does the sun come out to stay ; 
 
 The flowers put on their best array ; 
 
 No poet more commands their care 
 
 Than little Sam when he and I go out to take 
 the air. 
 
 What if no stately cavalier 
 
 Comes ever at my beck and call, 
 I have an escort far more dear, 
 
 Although he is not very tall ; 
 
 I cannot take his arm at all ; 
 
 But none has mien more debonair 
 
 Than little Sam when he and I go out to take 
 the air. 
 
 What though I lack the patronage 
 
 Of those the world calls great and wise; 
 There never lived a gray haired sage 
 
 Who better could philosophise, 
 
 Or show so grave a pair of eyes. 
 
 Or such a look of wisdom wear, 
 
 As little Sam when he and I go out to take 
 the air. 
 
 Oh, may his towey head ne'er feel 
 Time heavily upon it rest 
 
When it from his small legs shall steal 
 The wondrous speed by them possessed 
 When he runs at his level best. 
 And may it still this blessing spare, — 
 A little Sam to ever go with him to take the 
 air. 
 
 [10] 
 
HELEN TO HECTOR — SLAIN 
 
 Since first to Troy a baleful guest I came, 
 Through lowering doom of lurid, lingering 
 
 years, 
 Till now thou'rt gone where would that I my 
 
 tears 
 Might dry — though oft thy sisters spake my 
 
 name 
 With scorn, thy mother's woe, thy brothers' 
 
 blame 
 Pierced me, and mine own memories and my 
 
 fears 
 Vexed me of things which absence but endears — 
 Yet knew I naught from thee save gracious 
 
 fame. 
 
 O valiant brother, thus for thee I mourn, 
 Who friendship set in place so high and pure 
 It commoned even love when't had outblown 
 Its first bloom. And yet for myself forlorn, 
 Even more, since I to lose must now endure. 
 The truest friend that I in Troy have known. 
 
 [11] 
 
THE SEARCH FOR THE INFINITE 
 
 When we first moved into town, you know, 
 'Twas the queerest thing to see little Wat ; 
 
 Of all the curious things in the world, 
 
 The curiousest was the ones that blame child 
 thought. 
 
 I can't say just how it came about 
 
 That he knowed so much concernin' God, 
 
 Fer / haint learned at all in them things ; 
 But his ma, she was always kind of odd. 
 
 An' I suspicion that when I'd be out, 
 
 Lookin' round the place a Sunday afternoon, 
 
 She'd tell him stories out of the Book, 
 
 And I reckon she teached him them things too 
 soon. 
 
 An' so, when we moved into town that spring, 
 
 He must a thought we'd moved into heaven, 
 
 you know; 
 
 An' the first old chap that he saw on the street. 
 
 He called his ma, and "Is that God?" sez 
 
 he. 
 
 An' he'd keep on askin' "Is that God, ma.?" 
 Every old chap that 'ud come along; 
 
 Sure as his hair and his whiskers was white, 
 He ask her agin the same old song. 
 [12] 
 
Till old Pappy Jones come along one day, 
 (The cuss has a " sanctimous " look, sure 
 enough) 
 An' when little Wat saw him, right there he sure 
 thought 
 That he certainly now had struck the real 
 stuff. 
 
 So he yells to ma, away back in the house. 
 An' she come a runnin' an' all out o' breath. 
 
 An' he pinted to Pappy, and then sez he to her, 
 " That's the very God, ma! " just tickled to 
 death. 
 
 [13] 
 
OLE MISTER PETERS 
 
 When ole Mister Peters he come to our house — 
 He's the man that was in the same war with 
 pa; 
 
 An' saved his life one time, you know ; 
 
 An' he's jus' the nicest ole man you ever saw. 
 
 But when he come he jus' couldn't set upstairs, 
 Cause we had a furnace an' he wasn't use to 
 that; 
 An' he said an open fire was the only kind for 
 him. 
 An' if it wasn't for his grate at home he 
 couldn't keep so fat. 
 
 So he jus' went down cellar an' set on a bench 
 Irt front of the furnace, an' opened the door 
 
 So as he could see the fire ; an' we childerun, too. 
 Went an' set there with him, an' our dog Sam 
 on the floor. 
 
 An' ole Mister Peters tol' stories to us. 
 
 An' drinked out of a bottle every once in a 
 while, 
 A urb for his health, an' tol' us that he 
 
 Never went nothin' on fussin' an' style. 
 An' he tol' us stories all 'bout the war, 
 
 An' said Grant was great jus' cause he struck 
 luck, 
 
 [14] 
 
But when he saved pa, " I tell you," he said, 
 " It took a thunderin' big sight of pluck." 
 
 But he happened to think of us childerun then. 
 
 An' that's how it come that he done it, you 
 
 see. 
 
 But there's sumpin' about I don't understand. 
 
 Cause then they wasn't no Davey, nor dog 
 
 Sam, nor me. 
 
 [15] 
 
TO A PICTURE OF LUCIFER 
 
 (W. H. Phillips) 
 
 Even as Uncle Toby pitied thee, 
 
 So I, for by the languor of thine eyes 
 Thou weariest, hopeless of thy soul's emprise. 
 
 Beneath the disdain that so gracefully 
 
 Sits on thy lips, half hidden there, I see 
 
 A lingering sweetness, as before there dies 
 A mother's memory, — such as lies 
 
 For thee, if ever, in futurity. 
 
 To leaven the dull load of endless praise 
 
 In heaven, no woman's patience taught thee 
 
 how. 
 Still might she lead thee back to heaven's 
 fair site, 
 Or make a paradise of hell's dark ways. 
 
 " Justice and judgment, never," saith thy 
 
 haughty brow. 
 But thy lips saith silently, " Love might." 
 
 [16] 
 
THE CROQUET FIEND 
 
 When pa bought little Bill a croquet set, 
 
 He was the tickledest child in the world, you 
 bet. 
 He played when the sun shone down so hot 
 'Twould melt him, clean into grease, you'd a' 
 thought. 
 
 An' when it rained, he took an umbrel', 
 An' played right on fer another spell. 
 
 His hair got bleached as white as tow. 
 
 His face got red and 'most blistered, you 
 know. 
 
 The boy that lives across the street 
 Come over an' played till he got beat, 
 
 An' then he give Bill some of his chin, 
 
 An' so they fell out and fought like sin. 
 
 So little Bill was left all alone. 
 
 Feeling some like a dog that's lost his bone. 
 He'd lots of big brothers an' sisters, too, 
 
 More than he needed, I can just tell you. 
 
 But they had to wash the dishes, or they had 
 to milk the cow, 
 An' never found no time to play with little 
 Bill, somehow. 
 
 [17] 
 
But little Bill, he was keen to play, 
 
 So he managed to make out a game someway. 
 
 He got to be the blue ball, an' the red ball too, 
 An he slashed right into himself, I tell you. 
 
 Then after awhile he took in the green. 
 
 An' played as good a game as ever you seen. 
 
 Till, fin'ly, he played with the whole of the six, 
 An' sure learned an uncommon lot o' tricks. 
 
 Why, the child even skunked himself one time. 
 Though how he done it was sure a crime. 
 
 That child he developed an intellect 
 
 Such as no congressman ever had, I expect ; 
 
 Till his ma got scared for fear he would die. 
 An' I swan, by gosh, if so didn't I. 
 
 When he come to his grub he'd set an' stare, 
 A wonderin' which ball he was last, out there. 
 
 Till we thought that his head would certainly 
 burst. 
 Or anything else that could happen the worst. 
 
 He got so he'd sneak the lantern outside. 
 
 An' play at night, with it settin' by his side. 
 
 He sure was as looney over that croquet. 
 As I've seen religion get folks that way. 
 
 [18] 
 
"INFANT, AGED ONE DAY" 
 
 'TwEEN two that hence had gone, ripe, full of 
 
 years, 
 I found thee, " Infant, aged one day." A 
 
 glance 
 Thou gavest to this world's pricks and pranks 
 
 askance, 
 Then left for ways no more unknown. Your 
 
 fears. 
 Maybe, were more for this. Perhaps he steers 
 The better there who wreckage here no chance 
 Has given — But e'en the theologian's lance 
 Bends, as thy place and how 'twere gained he 
 
 clears. 
 
 Ah, little sneak ! Thou didst not know of all 
 The broidered petticoats within the drawer ; 
 That men such splendours but awhile to flaunt 
 Deem worth years' toil. Yet luck, thou com- 
 rade small ; 
 What learned of life do I dare boast the more 
 Than swaddled infant, clutching things that 
 daunt? 
 
 [19] 
 
DAVID AT HACHILAH 
 
 I rose up that night and journeying came 
 Unto the place where Saul, the king, did lie. 
 Taking with me Abishai, who had said, 
 " I will go down unto the camp with thee," 
 Past all the sleeping host of Israel's King 
 We went, and still I knew no fear, because 
 God led me all the way, and none could harm. 
 At last, within their midst I came to Saul, 
 His sword stuck in the ground beside his head; 
 And as we looked, Abishai said to me, 
 " This is the day the Lord hath promised thee 
 To render Saul into thine hand. I pray. 
 Now let me smite him to the earth but once, 
 And I shall never need to smite again." 
 
 But I could not kill Saul, for as I watched 
 Him sleeping, with the starlight on his face, 
 I thought how many a time gone by I watched 
 Him sleeping when the music of my harp 
 Had broken the spell that bound him, driving 
 
 back 
 The demon from his eyes. And I could not 
 Forget that he had loved me in those days. 
 Then passed as in a dream the weary times 
 That Saul had sought to take away my life : 
 The time when in the king's house still I dwelt 
 At Gibeah, and as I played, still watched 
 The demon lurk in his deep, glowing eyes, 
 [20] 
 
And leap forward with the javelin as it struck 
 The crimsoned broidered cushions whence I 
 
 sprang ; 
 And after, when I fled and slunk away 
 From Saul, deep in the wilderness of Ziph, 
 God's promise the one ray of light in my 
 Dark life, until there came to me the one 
 To whom my soul has ever cleaved since first 
 I raised my eyes to his within Saul's tent, — 
 And stayed my soul and said, " My father's 
 
 hand 
 Shall never find thee nor his son betray ; 
 Now shall the Lord be witness 'tween us two." 
 After in Maon from King Saul I 'scaped, 
 Watching as when a hare, hid in the wood. 
 Fleeing the dogs, lies trembling 'neath the 
 
 leaves. 
 
 These things before me passed as in a dream, 
 And as I looked on Saul they seemed a dream, 
 And he had never sought to take my life, 
 But still he was to me my father Saul, — 
 Although the Lord had willed that I should 
 
 seem 
 His enemy, to steal away his throne. 
 And to Abishai, " Now the Lord forbid 
 That I against his own anointed one 
 Should raise my hand or suff'er thee to slay. 
 For by the Lord of Hosts, as he doth live. 
 The Lord shall smite him, or his time shall come 
 [21] 
 
To die, or he shall fall amid the noise 
 
 Of battle, but mine hand shall ne'er destroy 
 
 The king, my lord. Touch now him not, for 
 
 who 
 May guiltless stretch his hand against him 
 
 whom 
 The Lord anointed king o'er Israel? " 
 
 So took we then the sword out the ground 
 At Saul's head, and the cruise of water near. 
 And went our way as silently as we came. 
 None saw us nor awaked, because the Lord 
 That led me was my guardian all the way. 
 But when the morning light was come, I stood 
 Upon the hill beyond the host of Saul, 
 The cruise of water by me and Saul's sword 
 Held in my hand, and cried to them aloud. 
 Came Abner forth, inquiring, *' Who art thou 
 That crieth to the king? " And mocking him, 
 I cried, " A great and valiant man art thou ! 
 Who in all Israel like is unto thee? 
 Now surely, thou should'st die for this. 
 That thou has guarded not the king, thy lord. 
 For one came in the night to him when all 
 His mighty army slept, for see thou now 
 The king's spear where it stands, and see the 
 
 cruise 
 Of water that was by his side." Then came. 
 Even as I spoke. King Saul from out the tent, 
 
 [22] 
 
And fixed on me those glowing eyes that 
 
 charmed 
 My boyish heart and since have never lost 
 Their spell. Eyes like a night of clouds with 
 
 gleams 
 Of lightning in their depth. And then he 
 
 spoke, 
 " David, my son," he said, " is that thy voice? " 
 " O king, my lord, it is my voice," I said, 
 And then in bitterness of soul, for I 
 Remembered times when none but I availed 
 To drive away his gloom. " What hast thou 
 
 found 
 In me of evil that thou hunt'st my soul. 
 Pursuing even unto death.'' Now if 
 The Lord hath stirred thee up against me, I 
 Will bring an offering unto him, but if 
 It be but men hath done this thing, accursed 
 Be they before the Lord who drive this day 
 Me out from mine own land to cast my lot 
 Among the heathen worshippers of Baal. 
 As one who hunts a flea art thou, my lord. 
 Or in a mountain searches for a quail." 
 Then Saul's heart smote him and he answered 
 
 me, 
 " Return to me, my son, for I have sinned 
 Against thee, but no more will evil do 
 To thee, since thou didst spare me when the 
 
 Lord 
 Delivered me into thine hand once more. 
 
 [23] 
 
Behold, before thee I have played the fool." 
 But I went not again before King Saul, 
 But said, " Send thou a man to fetch the king 
 His spear again to him. And may the Lord 
 Requite me all that I forbear this day 
 Toward thee, and still may he deliver me 
 From all mine enemies." And then King Saul 
 Blessed me and I again went on my way ; 
 For still I knew that there would come to him 
 Again the evil spirit, and that I 
 Would one day perish by his hand, did I 
 Not flee. So crossed I with my men to Gath 
 And dwelt in Ziklag, given me by that king. 
 And I ne'er saw King Saul, my lord, again. 
 
 [24.] 
 
HORACE 
 
 I LINGERED long by Mt. Leucretilus, 
 
 Neath summer shade, and quaffed the Sabine 
 
 wine. 
 And there he told me never to repine ; 
 Life is not always dark, and not to miss 
 Whate'er the day might bring of joy or bliss. 
 Though white the snow might on Soracte shine, 
 Sweet Pan will bring the spring. Pluck what 
 
 is thine, — 
 The song, the dance, or dear Myrtale's kiss. 
 
 But afterwards he spoke in graver strain. 
 That when this side our shades the Styx shall 
 
 roll, 
 Naught will avail of earthly pomp or gain, — 
 From Carthage e'en to Gadiz the control ; 
 The rich and poor alike the skies disdain. 
 If honest virtue dwell not in the soul. 
 
 [25] 
 
THE VALE OF TERHEYL 
 
 Between Terheyl and Khorsa for three score 
 
 of years 
 There had been peace. But still in Terheyl's 
 
 vale 
 The mothers told their wilful boys and girls 
 That near the monstrous Khorsans lay in wait 
 For wicked children, bearing them away 
 Beneath the flaming banner of their land 
 To horrid slavery. Secure seemed all 
 The vale, and round the rude huts of the town 
 Grew wheat and corn, in vigor springing up 
 From earth made fertile by the blood 
 Of men slain when the Khorsans laid it waste. 
 
 But now again to Terheyl came the tale, 
 Their ancient enemy again o'erran the land 
 From Pinar unto Zar. And things were told 
 That made the stolid men of Terheyl pale, 
 And made the women clasp their children tight. 
 From all the valley gathered all the folk, 
 And all the men prepared to meet the foe. 
 A messenger from distant Sibellane 
 Came into Terheyl, saying he alone 
 Of all that village lived, mother and child 
 Falling, as well as men, before the foe. 
 Whose banner was a fiery dragon borne 
 Aloft before the host. Shuddering he told 
 The men of things unmeet for women's ears. 
 
 [26] 
 
The men of Terheyl stood as made of stone, 
 Pausing as they prepared for battle. Then 
 When all was ready for the hurried start 
 To check the dragon at the pass of Mir, 
 If so they might be able, each man called 
 His wife apart and swore her that when she 
 Aloft should see the Khorsan dragon borne. 
 And knew by this no man of Terheyl lived. 
 She then — for so she swore — herself and all 
 Her household straight would slay. And once 
 
 again. 
 When all the men had gathered in the street. 
 Full armed with aU that Terheyl could com- 
 mand, — 
 Scant, for long peace had made this quiet folk 
 Neglect the arts and instruments of war, — 
 Then came the women out before them all. 
 Bearing their babes in arms, and clinging tight 
 Around their knees those old enough to walk. 
 Shifting her burden, every woman held 
 Her right hand up to heaven and swore. 
 At signal from her lord, that neither she 
 Nor any of her household would she leave 
 At mercy of the Khorsans, but that she 
 Would rather put to death all those held dear. 
 And every damsel swore to him she loved 
 She ne'er would victim of the Khorsan be. 
 Calmly they swore, for these were stolid folk. 
 And what they felt they said not; least of all 
 The women, taught in silence to obey. 
 [27] 
 
But seeing, when the men were fully armed, 
 No weapon was there left which they could use, 
 " How think ye," said they, " shall it be with 
 
 us, 
 The women and the children left behind. 
 When all our men are slain, if slain ye are, 
 And when the men of Khorsa enter here? 
 Your guns we know not how to fire at best, 
 If any guns there were to leave for us. 
 Let us together with our children die. 
 Slain by you now before you go," so said 
 The women, " rather than that we should fall 
 Into the hands of Khorsa." " Why, then, go 
 We out against the foe, if not to save 
 Our women and our children and our homes ? " 
 The men replied. " But no arms may we spare 
 Of our scant store, nor can we leave you thus." 
 " The river," said the women, " flows hard by. 
 And in its bed shall we deliverance find. 
 For in the water every woman may 
 Herself and children cast and safety find 
 In death from all the horrors that we dread." 
 
 It thus agreed, to meet the foe went forth 
 The men of Terheyl, and there went with them. 
 Shouldering his gun, walking with manly stride, 
 A lad who was but thirteen years of age, — 
 Whose father was no more, and who had begged 
 That he might take his place among the men ; 
 And so they suffered him. And he, too, sware 
 [28] 
 
His mother and his sisters that they fall 
 Alive not into Khorsa's bloody hands. 
 His mother said no word, but let him go, 
 But sat dry-eyed and silent from that day, 
 And wondered why should women bear brave 
 
 sons 
 In agony for such an end as this. 
 And looked upon her daughters and then 
 
 thought 
 Within her heart, better for them to die 
 Virgins than know such sorrow as was hers. 
 
 In Terheyl now no man was left at all 
 
 Of those who could bear arms. But here and 
 
 there 
 An old man, waiting but for death, remained 
 To make his moan he could not service give, 
 And tell in feeble, quavering voice, how once, 
 A mighty man of war, he led the hosts 
 'Gainst Khorsa, three score years and more ago. 
 The women tilled the fields, tended the herds 
 And flocks, and ever as they worked they 
 
 watched. 
 Lifting their heads to gaze a-down the vale 
 Through which their men had gone to block 
 
 the pass 
 Beyond which lay the ruins of ravished towns 
 Marking the Khorsans' path. All day and 
 
 night 
 A woman stood upon the hill and scanned 
 [29] 
 
The uneven rim of that green cup which held 
 These women and their children and their 
 
 homes, 
 Their herds and fields, the valley of Terheyl. 
 By night there Avandered by the river's brim 
 Many a woman, there to make her wail, • 
 While slept her children, who could thus forget. 
 So passed the weary days and weeks away. 
 
 Meanwhile the men of Terheyl gained the pass 
 Before the enemy had come, and made 
 A rampart wide, with logs ambushed with brush 
 And leaves from out the forest. Desperate 
 
 men 
 They were, and so they fought when they 
 
 engaged 
 The Khorsans, each man from his place behind 
 The brush. And back of every man who fired 
 A comrade with his loaded gun stood close; 
 And when the first man fell a second took 
 His place. Great was the slaughter of the host 
 Of Khorsa, score to one of Terheyl's band. 
 And when the enemy had fled in haste, 
 Leaving their hundreds slain upon the ground, 
 Like demons rushed the men of Terheyl forth, 
 Pursuing till the darkness hid the flight 
 Of Khorsa's remnant. Then its banner bright, 
 The fiery dragon gleaming in the sun. 
 Wrought curiously of brass and scarlet cloth. 
 With shimmering tail and fiery eye of glass, 
 [30] 
 
They took, slaying the bearer as he fled. 
 Burying their dead upon the battlefield, 
 Toward home the men of Terheyl took their 
 
 way; 
 And as they went they bore aloft in pride 
 The captured banner of the Khorsan host ; 
 Remembering but the victory hardly won 
 And thinking of their peaceful valley homes, 
 Their wives and children and their crops and 
 
 herds ; 
 Dreading to bear the news of those who died 
 That those remaining might in safety dwell. 
 
 The morning sun rose bright over Terheyl's 
 
 vale; 
 The weary watcher, as she scanned the sky 
 And found all clear, felt hope rise in her heart, 
 A presage that the weary days were o'er. 
 From out their cottages the women came, — 
 Stolid and square and squat, no comeliness 
 But that of constant toil and narrow range, — 
 And uncomplaining taking up their work, 
 Doubled that now the men had gone to war, 
 Some to the fields, some to their household cares 
 Repaired, and all seemed well. Then suddenly 
 Throughout the valley rang the fearful cry : 
 " The dragon of the Khorsans ! It has come ! " 
 Each woman left her task ; some to the hill 
 Hastened and saw the mighty dragon flame 
 Far down the vale, against the western sky. 
 [31] 
 
No moan these silent women made, but turned, 
 Each one to her own house, and silently 
 Each one her brood about her gathered there 
 And to the river hastened, dreading more 
 The flaming dragon in the sky than those 
 Dark waters. What took place on that dread 
 
 day 
 No tongue was ever left to tell. Brave went 
 These women to their death, and in their arms 
 They clasped their children, leaving none 
 
 behind. 
 Of lamentations wailed up to the sky, 
 Or shriek of frightened child too young to know 
 Why thus its mother hurried it to death. 
 The pitiless heavens alone could tell the tale. 
 Hundreds of women and their babes that morn 
 Went to their deaths beneath the flowing 
 
 stream. 
 And when high noon had come no life remained 
 In Terheyl save the sheep and kine, and here 
 And there where faithful dog, forlorn, made 
 
 moan. 
 Wandering disconsolate among the huts. 
 Or stood upon the river's bank and howled. 
 The river choked with bodies in its throat ; 
 The waters gurgled over them and spread 
 About the waving grain within the fields. 
 
 An hour death reigned in Terheyl; then the 
 shout 
 
 [32] 
 
Of men resounded from the hills ; and soon 
 The victors came to their forsaken homes. 
 No children sprang to meet them as they came ; 
 No wife stood in the doorway; but the dogs 
 Sprang forth to meet their masters, and with 
 
 tongues 
 Licking their faces, strove to tell the tale. 
 
 The captured banner trailed low on the ground. 
 Which lately they had borne aloft in pride; 
 Into each other's faces gazed these men 
 And dared not speak of what they knew too 
 
 well. 
 With one accord they to the river turned. 
 Beheld its sleepy current choked with death. 
 Out from the waters drew they forth their 
 
 dead. 
 The mothers and the children ; boys too young 
 To carry arms; girls, and the aged men. 
 Then did the stolid men of Terheyl weep. 
 Lifting their voices up as children wail. 
 Of women none remained to comfort them 
 As mothers comfort children; all were dead. 
 And he who was but thirteen, when he saw 
 His mother with his little sisters clasped 
 Tight in her arms, upon them threw himself 
 And sobbed, who in the fight had stood rock 
 
 firm. 
 The men of Terheyl gathered wood and made 
 A funeral pyre on which they placed their dead, 
 [33] 
 
And placed beneath it wood brought from the 
 
 slopes, 
 Until its burning reached far up the sky. 
 And when it died away more wood they brought 
 Till naught but bones and ashes was there left. 
 
 And after all was over and of all 
 
 The women and the children in Terheyl 
 
 But bones and ashes was there left, the men 
 
 Returned each one to his deserted house 
 
 Where lay the work his wife had left in haste. 
 
 In some rude loaves of bread run all to waste, 
 
 Or burnt to cinders in the fire forgot ; 
 
 The garments, plain and simple, which they 
 
 stitched. 
 Lay on the floor. Some left the churn, and 
 
 some 
 Their washing still upon the river's bank. 
 There lay the toys, crude and home-fashioned 
 
 all, 
 Children had thrown aside when mothers called 
 Them to their death in that first wild alarm. 
 Hasted each man, as he together brought 
 Such things as he might need, from out the 
 
 house. 
 Which mocked him with remembrance of the 
 
 past. 
 They gathered there before their silent huts, 
 And said to one another, " Now no more 
 May Terheyl ever be a home to us. 
 [34] 
 
What part or portion have we In this place? " 
 Bewildered children seemed these men, and lost. 
 Again they said, " Where shall we go and how 
 Shall we find homes in any other land? 
 What use is there for any man in all 
 The world, but that he toil for wife and child? 
 And what to us is any land, whose wives 
 And children are no more upon the earth? 
 Nor may we dwell in this accursed Terheyl." 
 So speaking gathered they their flocks and 
 
 herds. 
 And called their faithful dogs unto their heels, 
 And down the valley made their weary way. 
 Leaving dread Terheyl and Its dead behind. 
 Sadly the elders to the young men said, 
 " You will find other wives in other lands, 
 And see your children play about your doors ; 
 But why go we to any other place. 
 Whose lives will be too short that we forget? " 
 The young men answered, " Nor shall we for- 
 
 get." 
 And of the boy who was but thirteen years 
 They said, " He will forget, for he is young " ; 
 But he made answer, " I shall not forget." 
 
 So passed they sadly on their dreary way, 
 Journeyed to other lands they knew not of. 
 And ne'er again to Terheyl did they come; 
 And to this day deserted lies the vale. 
 
 [35] 
 
TO A PICTURE 
 
 When there I saw those earnest eyes wear yet 
 The same expectant, boyish look they wore 
 Ere we forgot our morning wishes for 
 Strange gods in distant lands, again did fret 
 A slighted memory, like an emerald set 
 Around with meaner stones ; and then once 
 
 more 
 The fields bloomed green and fresh, as, years 
 
 before. 
 Those shining tablelands where first we met. 
 
 Then many a skeleton the shifting sands 
 Ever refused to hide was all forgot ; 
 Babbled a brook within this oasis 
 That blossomed in the desert ; than strange 
 
 lands 
 More strange seemed well known lands ; things 
 
 dear as naught; 
 And all seemed gloomed and distanced but this. 
 
 [36] 
 
TWO MERRY JUGGLERS 
 
 Leaving the crowd within the room, 
 
 And sudden coming to the door, 
 Known way as strange about us loom, 
 
 And that which leads us backward seems 
 beckoning from on before. 
 
 Leaving what filled the idle day. 
 
 The soul bewildered is the more 
 Amid the deemed familiar way ; 
 
 Seeing things follow after that beckoned from 
 on before. 
 
 Two merry jugglers, Time and Place, 
 
 Dancing upon Life's dusty floor, 
 Becloud eternity and space, 
 
 Making to follow after what beckons from on 
 before. 
 
 [S7] 
 
LITTLE BROTHER 
 
 A BIG boy now was little brother grown ; 
 Almost ten years he'd lived, and seen so much; 
 Traveled all by himself upon the train. 
 He was a mighty hero in the eyes 
 Of the two little sisters, tow-haired Kit, 
 Five years, and little Ginia, not yet three. 
 What great adventures he had seen ; how much 
 He knew! His tent, the Indian scout he was 
 In summer ! Mighty with his sled and skates 
 Was brother in the winter time ; and head 
 'Most always of his classes stood in school. 
 He knew not fear, and one day, visiting, 
 Took Kit along to explore the deep ravine 
 Back of the house, where ran a brook and where 
 In the deep woods it looked like lions lurked. 
 Full many a fond adventure brother had. 
 And several journeys he had taken alone; 
 But no one thought of the last journey made 
 By brother, blithe and debonair, alone. 
 And from which he has never yet returned. 
 Before he went a strange adventure came 
 To brother. Suddenly he stricken was, 
 And from the dignified and quiet soul 
 He always seemed, since first a baby he 
 In round-eyed wonder gazed upon this world, 
 Changed was he in the twinkling of an eye 
 To restless, tossing stranger. From the sky 
 
 [38] 
 
It seemed that something had struck brother 
 
 down — 
 Something whose name strikes terror to the 
 
 hearts 
 Of parents, nurses, doctors, all alike — 
 In heydey of his health and happiness. 
 Three days and nights he sailed on stormy seas, 
 Then landed for a space on peaceful shore. 
 " Have I the smallpox.'' " brother asked, aware. 
 When he came to himself, of something wrong, 
 "What have I.'*" when they said it was not 
 
 that; 
 And when they told him such a long, strange 
 
 word, 
 Brother was pleased, thinking he'd conquered it. 
 A peaceful two weeks then did brother lie 
 In quiet haven, though a little dazed, 
 And often having something to his nose 
 That made him sleep and not know what they 
 
 did. 
 But he was getting so much better now. 
 And when he saw the doctor coming in 
 He would begin to work his arms and legs, 
 And turn his head from side to side to show 
 What good use he had got of them again. 
 And on the bed sat his big Teddy bear, 
 Whose legs he'd flop, to show him better too. 
 Upon the ceiling over brother's bed, 
 A brown stain sprawled, by awkward doctor 
 
 made, 
 
 [39] 
 
Who let some medicine squirt from a tube ; 
 Just like a lion, brother said it looked. 
 And so it did from where he lay in bed ; 
 But when he looked at it another way, 
 As he was held in Uncle John's strong arms 
 Until his sheets were changed, it was a bear, 
 Sitting upon its haunches, like the one 
 That danced, led by the Italian by the nose. 
 Two good friends brother had, which lay in bed 
 With him much of the time and kept him warm ; 
 He called them little Alpha and Noseam, — 
 Such were their names as written on each box. 
 And sometimes he would ask for them, Noseam 
 Against his feet, and Little Alpha placed 
 High up within the sheets to warm his back; 
 Cuddling them close against him he would sleep. 
 Another thing sent brother oft to sleep; 
 A tiny, round, white lozenge brought by nurse, 
 Bought at the drug store; just a peppermint, 
 But still to brother it had magic power. 
 As hungry as a hound was brother now, 
 And ate and talked and laughed and felt so 
 
 fine — 
 The only trouble was he talked too much. 
 And one day came the banished sisters by 
 And stood below his window in the yard. 
 And called to him, " Hello," and he to them. 
 And little Kit's voice he could hear, for she 
 Could send a shrill yell like an Indian brave, 
 Being five years old ; but little Ginia's voice 
 [40] 
 
So tiny was she could not make him hear, 
 Being not yet three, although she tried her best. 
 But so much better was he by this time 
 The doctor said next Sunday they could come 
 To see him after everything was fumed. 
 Brother was happy as he lay and heard 
 The doctor say he never yet had seen 
 A child who rallied so, whose mind became 
 So clear: his constitution was so good. 
 He thought of how he'd tell the other boys 
 About how he had walloped this disease, 
 When he was out among them once again. 
 But now so tired and sleepy brother was 
 He did not even wish to try to think 
 Of its long name, but just to lie and doze. 
 And when they roused him up to take his food 
 And medicine, he'd rather they would let 
 Him sleep. So brother stayed for many a day ; 
 But afterward they could not rouse him up. 
 He lay like marble on his snowy bed. 
 Sometimes his eyes were open, shining bright, 
 And big and wondrous beautiful. Sometimes 
 His eyes were closed. And still he gave no heed 
 To anything that passed around his bed. 
 If brother knew aught of the stress and trial, 
 Conflicting hope and fear, within the room. 
 He gave no sign ; but once as from far off 
 He murmured, " Come here, baby," as if he 
 Remembered her whose voice he could not hear. 
 So to his last adventure brother passed; 
 [M] 
 
Quiet and self reliant as he was 
 
 Since first he looked, a round-eyed baby boy, 
 
 Calmly on this world and its foolishness. 
 
 What time his little body lay in state 
 
 Upon the bed from which his spirit passed. 
 
 Tribute of flowers from his schoolmates came, 
 
 Dogwood and Aaolets and daisies white. 
 
 And fragrant lilacs, scenting all the room ; 
 
 Flowers of springtime plucked by children's 
 
 hands 
 And sent where they were not allowed to come. 
 Surrounded by these blossoms brother lay, 
 And they were still around him when he passed 
 Back to the silence whence we all have come. 
 Preserved forever from the change that makes 
 Strange to each other all who dwell on earth. 
 
 [42] 
 
QUEEN ESTHER 
 
 Without, a clear, cold, winter night, 
 A dingy town whose faults the sifted snow 
 Had covered with its kindly robe of white, 
 Crisp under foot and sparkling in the glow 
 Of crescent sailing fast, or now cloud caught. 
 Within, a little town hall, where is played 
 By moderns tale of ancient land and time: 
 Great Babylon's court, like dwarfed mummy 
 
 brought 
 From out the dust of centuries and arrayed 
 In mimic splendor and attuned to rhyme. 
 
 It is the court of that most mighty king 
 
 Who dwelt in Shushan. Look you where he 
 
 comes. 
 And with him that fair Esther whom they 
 
 brought 
 In Vashti's place. List to the beat of drums. 
 See flashing arms as soldiers stalk about. 
 Courtiers and ladies follow. Should you dare 
 To doubt all real in these great splendors 
 
 shown. 
 Call them but gilt and tinsel, and to flout 
 Those royal robes ; look you, a maiden there 
 Who never doubts the wonders round her 
 
 grown ; 
 
 [48] 
 
But moves as one enchanted through the play, 
 
 Which is the tale of wicked Haman's plot 
 
 Against the Jews, who far in exile stray ; 
 
 Whom Esther saves from most unhappy lot. 
 
 This maid of honor, waiting on the queen, 
 
 A Persian is by her bright sash of red, 
 
 But still her heart is all with Israel's race. 
 
 To her there's nothing lacking in the scene ; 
 
 Her spirit ranges free, by fancy led 
 
 To realms beyond the bounds of time and space. 
 
 For her the little stage is magic changed 
 
 To courts with mighty pillars stretching wide 
 
 And reaching far ; while guarding them are 
 
 ranged 
 Those mystic droning lions in their pride. 
 Haughty and grim, with drowsy, half-closed lid, 
 Forever waiting, watching, like the soul 
 Lingering inanimate, to spring to life, — 
 Enchanted and enchanting, with thoughts hid. 
 Fancy has taken her in its control; 
 Her heart is torn for Israel in the strife. 
 
 And every night she lay on her bed, 
 
 A Persian princess, waiting on the queen. 
 
 All gorgeous ; but rose up each morn instead, 
 
 That sweeter thing, a schoolgirl of fifteen. 
 
 And through the limping age that made her 
 
 day. 
 And held from the enchantment of the eve, 
 [4*4.] 
 
Mid Latin verbs and geometric lines, 
 Would haunting lines of mournful music stray. 
 But more than all did Mordecai's voice grieve, 
 As thus for Israel's peril he repines: 
 
 " The mood uncertain of thy lord, the king. 
 Wilt thou not dare for down-trod Israel's sake? 
 And if deliverance to us thou bring, 
 Doubly of Israel's joy shalt thou partake. 
 And it were better far that thou shouldst die 
 Even, for country and for kindred dear. 
 Than wear a crown ; then to the king go thou. 
 Thou only star in Israel's knighted sky ; 
 Though not according to the law, for near 
 Is our destruction if thou go not now. 
 
 " Who knowest but now by God thou hast been 
 
 sent 
 Into the kingdom for a time like this. 
 And Israel's wrongs and perils all are spent 
 To lead thee long the thorny path to bliss? 
 But haply if thou boldest now thy peace. 
 We shall from other place deliverance know. 
 And thou shalt have no part nor portion there." 
 Then Esther's voice, who feels her faith in- 
 crease : 
 " Fast ye, and pray for me ; for I will go 
 Unto the king and Israel's burden bear." 
 
 [45] 
 
Within the town and through the country side 
 Much talk the play had made because the 
 
 church 
 Would reap the profit; and the critics wide 
 Noised their disproval : " Better in the lurch 
 To leave God's cause than use the devil's way 
 To help it. Better struggle, debt oppressed, 
 Than thus to make a mock of God's great grace 
 Upon the stage. Next thing they would essay 
 To play the very Christ himself, obsessed 
 By hope of gain, like that vile foreign place: 
 
 That town whose name none can pronounce, 
 
 wherein 
 The sacred passion is portrayed before 
 The gaze of impious crowds. Next thing the 
 
 sin 
 Of licensed Europe will our Sabbath make no 
 
 more." 
 But others thought the theme made good the 
 
 play, 
 And well might turn the minds of thoughtless 
 
 folk 
 To study more God's Word, Within her home 
 The maiden heard discussion day by day. 
 As neighbors did her mother's help invoke 
 To sanction or condemn, as friend or foe did 
 
 come. 
 
 [46] 
 
The mother doubtful was where this thing led, 
 And were it well her daughter to take part. 
 The father, freer in thought, but laughed and 
 
 said, 
 The child should go, since she had set her heart 
 Upon it. All he asked was that each night 
 A neighbor lad should see her safely home. 
 And he, a herald in the play, assumed 
 The task with gladness ; and thus did the light 
 Of past deeds take her heart, made it to roam 
 In lands far off, and with romance illumed. 
 
 But more than all did Mordecai's voice grieve. 
 And who has had in mind a Mordecai 
 Bearded and stern like prophet old, must leave 
 This picture as our Mordecai comes by. 
 A youth as fair and ruddy-haired as strode 
 Young David, when returning from the fight, 
 He came with praise of tens of thousands slain 
 Among Philistia's host, to where abode 
 In Gibeah a princess, and where the sight 
 O'erthrew her heart before him in the train. 
 
 The leader of a band of lawless youth. 
 Changed now to godly Mordecai was he, 
 Because his was the only voice, forsooth, 
 Suited to that strange minor mood and key. 
 And that so wild a boy should take the role 
 Again gave critics chance to carp and talk 
 Of sacrilege. But naught for this cared he, 
 [4-7] 
 
Who, 'tween the scenes, hummed a light bar- 
 carole, 
 Waltzed with the girls or did a gay cakewalk, 
 And by his pranks made all pass merrily. 
 
 But at last the storm broke round his head. 
 When it was learned that on the closing night 
 A giddy crowd by whilom Mordecai led 
 Had planned to dance till coming of daylight 
 Upon the stage where late God's word was 
 
 played. 
 This Mariette heard as, hid behind the scenes, 
 Two girls discussed the tale. " It is a shame 
 To thus have sacred things a mockery made," 
 Said one, indignant. " This is what it means 
 To ask to sing a person of such fame. 
 
 " For my part I opposed it from the first start." 
 
 " But yet he has a lovely voice," replied 
 
 Her friend. " None else so well could do the 
 
 part." 
 " But don't you think he flats his notes ? " 
 
 decried 
 The first. " Oh, yes, he often flats a note. 
 But that is nothing to the way he'll spoil 
 The whole eff'ect of our cantata, give 
 To those who opposed it room to talk and gloat. 
 Hold up their hands in horror, make turmoil. 
 And say they knew no good with it could live. 
 
 [48] 
 
For so I hear, and it comes straight to me, 
 A crowd of boys from out by Reinersville — 
 And you know what that means — have come 
 
 to see 
 The play, and as they passed the Renrock still. 
 That every mother's son of them drew rein 
 And hailed old Sturko, who came toddling out, 
 And placed a jug beneath the buggy seat, 
 Which, 'fore the dance is over, they will drain. 
 And you may well believe 'twill be a pretty bout 
 With girls we would not look at on the street. 
 
 " Just listen, how he now sings, ' Woe is me. 
 Since prospers now what wicked men essay ' ; 
 Who else so great a hypocrite as he. 
 Who thus leads our young boys and girls 
 
 astray? 
 For many of the chorus mean to stay 
 And join the dancers. But no use to speak 
 To him or try to change his mind." This 
 
 thing 
 Our maiden pondered through the play, 
 Until what time the beauteous queen and meek 
 Unto the king her people's plea did bring. 
 
 Then makes she her resolve, as open lie 
 
 The plots against the Jews. When Haman 
 
 slain 
 Has been on gallows fifty cubits high; 
 When they who, weeping, had gone forth, again 
 [49] 
 
Had come rejoicing, bringing in their sheaves; 
 Then like another Esther she made plea, 
 Not to the king, but unto Mordecai; 
 Not for herself, but like to one who grieves 
 For other's hurt, she shyly asked that he 
 Would use his power to let the dance go by. 
 
 As if some star, unnoticed in the sky, 
 Should come to earth to claim a mortal glance, 
 So seemed she to him ; and her wish once given. 
 No thought had he but to forgo the dance. 
 Though, cunningly, he seemed but slow to yield ; 
 For having yielded, what excuse was there 
 To keep her longer, hear her, grave, explain 
 How those who planned the play should have 
 
 fair field 
 To show no harm had come of it, and where 
 No chance were given their critics point to 
 
 gain. 
 
 " I'll get my horse and go straight home," he 
 
 said, 
 " And then the rest will know the dance is off. 
 I'll speak a word or two to Tom and Fred, 
 They'll understand, and let the others scoff. 
 Good-by," he said, and stretched his hand for 
 
 hers, 
 Which, given, he held a moment in his own. 
 His eyes held hers a moment with their smile. 
 He turned, and flinging on his riding furs, 
 [50] 
 
Made good his word and rode away alone, 
 Pondering new things within his heart the while. 
 
 And then an evil genius crossed her path, 
 Blotted the beauty and the glamour out ; 
 Winter, a dull, gray, sodden aftermath. 
 Passed in drear clouds that compassed her 
 
 about. 
 Gone were the nights of wonder, which her days 
 Had linked like glowing beads upon a chain ; 
 The beads had slipped and passed, the chain 
 
 remained. 
 But who knows whither maiden fancy strays? 
 Or who can shut within the child again 
 A damsel's mind which other fields has gained? 
 
 Then came there an evangelist and preached 
 Judgment as swift as that which Haman slew. 
 A score of miles around his thunderings reached, 
 And every eve the audience larger grew. 
 There every night with souls were filled 
 The seats reserved for penitents, and all 
 The church was filled with supplicating prayers 
 And shouts of the redeemed ; till e'en were 
 
 stilled 
 In wonder those who came to scoff, and fall 
 Did some of these, convicted unawares. 
 
 Not as a penitent came Mariette, 
 But rather in the scorner's seat she sat, 
 [51] 
 
Among the singers, most of whom did fret 
 The preacher, aiming burning words thereat. 
 And when he came and spoke to her alone, 
 She held her little head up very high. 
 Declaring that she cared not for his talks 
 And did not feel she had much to atone — 
 Which was the truth. But in the preacher's 
 
 eye 
 Was sin unpardonable, in pride that stalks. 
 
 But afterward came whilom Mordecai, 
 And him they also brought into the choir. 
 Then soon she, happy he again was nigh. 
 Felt burning fierce within resentment's fire. 
 For Felix Drew, the second night he heard 
 The words of fearful judgment sure to come 
 For deeds done in the body, feared and quaked. 
 Remembering things that now his conscience 
 
 stirred. 
 And beat upon his heart like funeral drum ; 
 And all his better nature was awaked. 
 
 Was it with grief or terror that he wept? 
 Was it his stubborn will refused to go 
 Unto the king for pardon, while she kept 
 Her little head held high, disdain to show? 
 But in her heart burned indignation hot, 
 This man should with his rant of burning hell 
 Drive to indecent 'sposure of the soul 
 Poor fools who knew no better ; and the thought 
 [52] 
 
That now her dearest friend were fallen as well 
 Who used to be so merry and so droll, — 
 
 Dancing between the acts with all the girls, 
 Except herself, who ne'er had learned to dance, 
 Her mother being 'gainst it ; pulling curls. 
 Mocking the king's gait, then with a prance 
 Taking his place to wait his cue beside 
 The curtain, and when that was passed, became 
 The solemn Mordecai, with voice to lift 
 Above this earth and things that here betide. 
 So passed she home, her heart like bark aflame, 
 Lost and alone, on strange, chill seas adrift. 
 
 The early meeting drew her forth next morn. 
 Wondering herself what went she out to see, 
 For Felix was not there; and all forlorn 
 The church seemed and the sun shone drearily 
 Through stained windows on the aged men 
 And women who were spared from house and 
 
 field. 
 Who told of struggles with the evil one 
 In barn or wood or household duty, when 
 Temptation came; how, that God would yield 
 His blessing, years they sought, till like the sun 
 
 That sudden blinded Saul when on his way 
 Damascusward, the blessing came. Strange 
 
 lore 
 It seemed, as heard in foreign lands astray, 
 [5S] 
 
Bj Greek to whom it foolish meaning bore. 
 And in the evening full as strange it seemed: 
 The crowd that filled the room, the prayer,' the 
 
 song, 
 That swayed the people as a battle hymn 
 Drives men to death. It were as though she 
 
 dreamed 
 Of fantasies that rushed the way along, 
 Filling all space, till her own world grew dim. 
 
 Full of enchantment was that fatal night ; 
 For Esther's tale it was the preacher read. 
 Again she saw the great king's court alight ; 
 To Shushan back on memory's wings she sped, 
 And heard again the voice of Mordecai: 
 " Go thou unto the king and intercede 
 For this, thy people, though thou perish there." 
 And then the queen, as thus she made reply: 
 " Fast thou and pray for me ; my people's need 
 Drives me before the king to make my prayer." 
 
 And when at last the sermon reached its end 
 The preacher turned his face against the choir, 
 Exhorting all unsaved of these to tend 
 Their footsteps toward the path that would 
 
 inspire 
 A life of godliness. And all who yet 
 Among these were outside the fold straightway 
 Arose with one accord and sought the light, 
 Except these two. He turned with lashes wet 
 [54] 
 
And looked at her. She knew of his delay 
 She was the cause, and in her heart was night. 
 
 Then those strange beings 'gan to move about 
 Who talk to sinners, pointing them the way: 
 Hard-visaged men who tell of Satan's rout, 
 Or foolish women, garrulous, who essay 
 To tell how others may to glory climb. 
 Through such as these should Felix find sur- 
 cease 
 Of pain, and she all share in it refuse? 
 Again she heard his song: "If at this time 
 Thou altogether now shouldst hold thy peace. 
 From other place will come help to the Jews." 
 
 Was he not dearer far to her than all 
 Of Jewry was to Esther, the fair queen? 
 Should she refuse before the king to fall 
 Although his favor long she had not seen? 
 " And who dost know but thou hast come this 
 
 day 
 Into the kingdom for a time like this ? " 
 So ran the song, the same that oft has made 
 Prophet and martyr ; and on her full sway 
 The song took hold deeper than thought of 
 
 bliss. 
 With wild adventure naught could make afraid. 
 
 Love's calenture was on her, and she rose 
 And laid her hand in his and went with him 
 [55] 
 
Unto the king, — In recklessness as goes 
 A light brig to its doom, driven by whim 
 Of restless seas. And did to her the king 
 Extend his golden scepter? Or she grieve, 
 His face from her ? By unknown currents 
 
 sped. 
 Did she her bark to friendly haven bring? 
 The end to others we perforce must leave: 
 Theologues rush in where poets fear to tread. 
 
 [56] 
 

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