Qass ' ■ •:^ . 
 
 Book . v - 4 
 
 \'^bk 
 
Taken in Water town ^ Mass., October, 1874 
 
POEMS 
 
 I854*'l906 
 
 BY 
 
 Hman&a Jl. 3once 
 
 Author of "Ulah/' "Atlantis/' "A Prairie 
 
 Idyl/' "Rubaiyat of Solomon/' 
 
 and Other Poems. 
 
 # 
 
 NEW YORK: 
 
 ALDEN BROTHERS, PUBLISHERS. 
 1906. 
 
SEP 18 1906 
 
 
 Copyright 1866, 1905 anrf 1906 
 
 BY 
 
 Amanda T. Jones. 
 Copyright 1882 
 
 Jansen, McClurg & Company. 
 
SUSAN BROWNELL ANTHONY. 
 
 1820 — 1906. 
 
 She sleeps: Come cover her with mountain- 
 How ers, 
 Who first drew breath where mighty Greylock 
 
 climbs: 
 Wild service-boughs, sweet-healing elder- 
 cymes, 
 Blossoms of ash that when a darkness lowers 
 Suffice for whiteness, clematis whose bowers 
 Hide singing birds, arbutus, creamy limes 
 Compact of honey gathered in the times 
 When thick rains fell, — as fall these tears of 
 ours. 
 Last, bring the laurels: — Far and high they 
 throve. 
 Where Liberty her holy vigil keeps, 
 Dwelt with the snows and dared the bolts of 
 Jove, 
 To clothe with loveliness those barren 
 steeps. 
 A thousand years will Love, through glen 
 and grove 
 Repeat: 'Alas! How long — how late she 
 sleeps!" 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 THE AUTHOR TO HER FRIENDS. 
 
 Because you who have known me personaUy 
 have given me true affection, and you who, not 
 having met me, have yet proven yourselves kind 
 and dear, I am minded to preface tliis presuma- 
 bly final collection of my metrical writings (cov- 
 ering a period of fifty-two years), with a few 
 notes which may, in your estimation, add to its 
 value. Also, I have been so often solicited to 
 give some account of myself for others to print, 
 that I can scarcely avoid making use of this last 
 opportunity for showing by what inheritances 
 and through what impulses I was led to choose 
 the poet's vocation. Whatever is autobiographi- 
 cal herein, closes with my nineteenth year. After 
 that time the poems themselves continue the 
 story, since, whatever their demerits, sincerity 
 is nowhere lacking; and albeit my "singing robe" 
 may not be a fabric to wonder at, I may at least 
 claim that the spinning and weaving thereof 
 were most carefully done. 
 
 Upon an elevated, horizontal grave-slab in 
 
VI INTRODUCTION. 
 
 Watertown, Mass., dated in Puritan times, you 
 may read: "He Was a Painful Preacher." If 
 any shall say of me two hundred years hence: 
 "She Was a Painful Poet," what more could 
 be desired? 
 
 Henry Jones, born on Greylock Mountain 
 (then Saddle Back), Mass., March, 1798, of 
 early Welsh-Puritan, English and Scotch-Irish 
 ancestry, and Mary Alma Mott, born in Oriskany, 
 N. Y., February, 1813, of Huguenot, English 
 and (remotely) "North River Dutch" descent, 
 were united m marriage, July, 1828. They wel- 
 comed me, their fourth child, in East Bloomfield, 
 Ontario County, N. Y., October 19th, 1835. My 
 mother and her eight children then living wel- 
 comed the twelfth m Black Rock (Buffalo, N. 
 Y.) soon after my father's death, m the spring 
 of 1854. Six of these remain. 
 
 My great-grandfather, Isaac Jones, who in- 
 herited the upland farm taken up by the Jones 
 family about 1670, left home to serve two years 
 in the Revolutionary Army. Among his seven 
 mature sons (summed up by him as "forty-two 
 feet of boys") was one Seth, who — first being 
 ordained as a Baptist minister — puzzled his lone 
 way, by much Biblical reading, into Universal- 
 ism — then looked upon by most with feelings 
 akin to horror. He drew after him several 
 brothers and sixty of his one hundred and eighty 
 church members — "a third part of the stars of 
 heaven," my grandfather, Isaac, used to say. 
 And, indeed, his biographer, the loved Stephen 
 R. Smith, states that "so great was his fervor 
 
INTRODUCTION. Vll 
 
 and natural eloquence, Calvinists flocked to hear 
 him, while in sermons of almost interminable 
 length, but never wearisome, he won many over 
 to the doctrine of 'Free Grace.' " 
 
 Especially did his intense belief in the eflicacy 
 of the "Prayer of Faith" produce a deep impres- 
 sion — partly due to this unquestioned fact : Dur- 
 ing a distressing drouth (J. think near Sackett's 
 Harbor, N. Y.) an assemblage of farmers in 
 open field expressed in his presence utter hope- 
 lessness with regard to rain, saying that a single 
 day more would ruin every crop. "If you would 
 pray for rain with Faith it would come," he said. 
 "But we have no faith ! Will not you exercise 
 it for us?" Whereupon he knelt down upon a 
 stump and prayed mightily for three hours, 
 while (it was related) copious showers fell from 
 the eyes of his hearers. When he descended the 
 first great drops of a "glorious rain" were dash- 
 ing down. At eighty-three he presided over a 
 Universalist convention. 
 
 I am proud to record that a stranger, who 
 had been his parishioner in youth, once addressed 
 me because of a marked facial resemblance to 
 "Elder Jones." Nor was the likeness merely 
 facial. In my eighth year, while, one morning, 
 scurrying through the Lord's Prayer, an un- 
 voiced message arrested me as a bolt. "Child ! 
 You are not praying! You are insulting God!" 
 and I slunk away wholly ashamed. "Do you 
 pray?" asked our Sunday school superintendent 
 of each deeply pious child soon after ; but when 
 my turn came I alone answered "No!" I think 
 
Vlll INTRODUCTION. 
 
 the look in my mother's eyes meant approval. 
 Both she and my father abhorred a lie. 
 
 Now something had been lost across the way 
 in a vacant house, or its neglected garden, and 
 my eagle-eyed mother, with four others, had 
 made long and fruitless search. She stopped her 
 spinning one day and her song (''The Bovver 
 of Prayer") to offer me a reward if I would find 
 it. Such an easy thing to do! and there werq 
 beads in prospect! As I crossed the road the 
 impossibility of succeeding first occurred. Then 
 every thought was merged in one intense desire 
 to pray. Nozv I could ask! — which I had never 
 done in my Hfe. I fell on my knees among the 
 sunflowers, and seemed to myself going up, up. 
 almost to the clouds, for my answer. It came: 
 "Yes ! Child ! You shall have the key." It was 
 in my hand within five minutes. That same key 
 has since unlocked for me many heavy doors. 
 
 Several of my father's immediate family, in- 
 cluding himself, were not only devout Metho- 
 dists, but were truly subject to experiences such 
 as would now be called ''Psychic." Yet they 
 were not anemiacs ! I am inclined to refer cer- 
 tain tendencies of my own in that direction to 
 my father's mother, born Hannah Henry. Lis- 
 tening in 1856 to a rather noted blind revivalist 
 (author of quaint religious books — "Wedlock 
 and Padlock" for instance), who was liable to 
 be swept away in veritable trances, a young man 
 who was uncommonly apt in the study of human 
 nature, insisted that, despite my non-Methodism, 
 "Blind Henry" and I were "temperamental coun- 
 
INTRODUCTION. IX 
 
 terparts." The preacher proved to be my father's 
 first cousin. Now I have not a scrap of writ- 
 icn authority to prove that Patrick Henry be- 
 longed to a branch of our family, but the great 
 uncles said it. I reverence them. 
 
 My maternal grandmother, Naomi Daggett 
 (Mott), of Rome, N. Y., or thereabouts, was 
 the daughter of one who, acting as drum major 
 in General Wolfe's army, displayed such forti- 
 tude under hardships and so distinguished him- 
 self by bravery at the Battle of Quebec, that his 
 superior officer presented him with his own 
 sword, saying: "You have been a better and a 
 braver soldier than I." Alas and alas! His 
 children had that same sword "melted, beaten, 
 hammered or rolled" into — souvenir spoons! 
 Another of Naomi Daggett's ancestors was one 
 of those Mayhews driven out from among the 
 Puritans for liberality of religious teachings. 
 
 Louis Mott and his son Josef (or it may have 
 been Josef and his son Louis), being French Hu- 
 guenots, fled to America and settled in Mount 
 Pleasant, Hunterdon County, N. J. Dropping 
 an aristocratic prefix they speedily foregathered 
 with the Quakers. Ebenezer. a grandson of the 
 elder Mott, greatly enhanced his wide influence 
 in the society by marrying Sarah Collins, an 
 English Quaker lady, who had great celebrity 
 both at home and here as a "preacher" of singu- 
 lar sweetness and power, Both were memorial- 
 ized, old Quakers have said, in "The Lives of 
 the Saints." Each of their several sons was 
 given, on leaving home, sixteen Jos and thirty- 
 
X INTRODUCTION. 
 
 two half Jos — a Jo being a gold piece (Spanish- 
 Mexican I think), then rated as worth sixteen 
 and one-half dollars, when a dollar was of much 
 greater value than now. A spinster daughter in- 
 herited the Homestead property — willed to "that 
 one who should remain a Quaker." So far as I 
 know, this was the high water mark of financial 
 prosperity among all my progenitors! 
 
 Their son, my grandfather, John Mott, sup- 
 posed himself to be still a "Friend" (although 
 he had lost his "birth-right" by marrying out of 
 the society) until this happened: He was one 
 bitterly cold Sunday forced to defend his family 
 (a wife and three children, one but a day old) 
 from six marauding Hessian soldiers. They 
 broke down the barricaded door with axes, but 
 were without firearms, as was the case with my 
 grandfather (unless, indeed, tongs and poker 
 may be so classed). As a result three took to 
 their heels and the remaining three were cast 
 out over the door sill, dead. One of the two 
 little girls hidden in the cellar never forgot the 
 tumult overhead — she living to be not much un- 
 der a hundred. 
 
 The following morning John Mott went to 
 Valley Forge and received from Washington's 
 "own hand" a lieutenant's commission. With 
 no more delay than was necessary for the burial 
 of wife and babe, he recruited and equipped a 
 company at his own expense, and thereafter 
 spent all his possessions in the service of his 
 country, throughout five years and eight months, 
 till conclusion of peace. Be it noted that his 
 
INTRODUCTION. XI 
 
 ^'saintly" mother, after having been taken by him 
 through camp, humbly confessed that the ''car- 
 nal heart took pride and rejoiced in the pro- 
 tection of a son who was a tall and brave soldier." 
 That son would never apply for a pension, al- 
 though forced to support his third family (,a 
 wife and eight children, of whom my mother 
 was the youngest) by learning and practising 
 the tailor's trade— nor yet in a beggarly way, 
 for he had apprentices. Hale and unbowed at 
 seventy-seven, he died as did Washington, of 
 quinsy and mismanagement. Shortly before his 
 death his sons and others saw him crossing the 
 Mohawk River on the string pieces of a very 
 long bridge m process of building, but none dared 
 follow. 
 
 To digress: his second wife, Mrs. Mann, 
 brought him a step-son William, who became an 
 eminent educator of Pennsylvania, a president 
 of her colleges for thirty years. In a letter to 
 my mother, written in 1855, when he was very 
 old, he gave the credit of his great success 
 wholly to my grandfather, who had wisely ad- 
 vised and generously assisted him ; and he added 
 that, mindful of what had been done for him- 
 self, he had, beside his own family, "brought 
 up three boys who had become Governors of 
 their respective States." Further to digress : the 
 fact is beyond question that had it not been for 
 his eminent son, William B. Mann, of Philadel- 
 phia, who controlled the Pennsylvania delegation 
 to the Republican convention of i860, William 
 H. Seward would have been nominated for the 
 
:;it INTRODUCTION. 
 
 Presidency instead of Abraham Lincoln. "We 
 know not all the paths." 
 
 And yet more concerning John Mott. The 
 country, after the war, was overrun with desper- 
 ate men; and my grandfather, whose specialty 
 had been ''secret service," was chosen county 
 sheriff, to hold them in restraint. It came about 
 that a large family — even to a babe in the cradle 
 — was murdered — plunder being the object — dur- 
 ing his absence from home. Knowing nothing 
 of this, he dreamed that he entered mto an un- 
 traversed forest in his neighborhood, noting his 
 way carefully, and finally went down mto a 
 tangled dell where were two villainous looking 
 men lying under cover. A third, young and pre- 
 possessing, sat wringing his hands. "Why are 
 you doing that?" asked the dreamer, and was 
 ansvv'ered: "There is blood upon my hands. It 
 is the blood of a lamb," Upon his return homa 
 the next afternoon he organized a search party, 
 caused the glen to be surrounded and arrested 
 the three, who in all particulars answered to 
 those of whom he had dreamed — save that the 
 younger one instantly rose and made full con- 
 fession for all. As he had never before been 
 engaged in villainy, and had been compelled by 
 the others to drink to the point of frenzy, my 
 grandfather labored hard to get his sentence 
 commuted, although it was he who had, in dis- 
 traction, killed the babe. Grieved that he must 
 die with the rest, the sheriff resigned his office 
 and would never track another criminal. 
 
 I relate this incident because it permits me to 
 
INTRODUCTION. Xlll 
 
 say that the development of what may be called 
 capacity for spiritual illummation seems to me a 
 not unlikely result of those inner communmgS 
 characteristic of Quaker worship. I suppose my 
 mother to have drawn from this source a certain 
 power of pre-vision in dreams, sometimes fore- 
 showing even national events; as m 1832, I 
 think, when she saw the whole land covered with 
 tents, upon the largest of which she read: "In 
 186— there was war for liberty"— the last figure 
 seeming to be blurred as if made up of several. 
 Nor was I myself (since I am to be spoken of) 
 leftv absolutely without inheritance of such a 
 gift. As witness: "The Prophecy of the Dead,* 
 written when our apprehensions had been quieted 
 by the declaration of Seward that the Rebellion 
 would be over within ninety days. Leaving 
 mother at 10:30 one morning, and merrily telling 
 her that I had promised to write a love ballad, I 
 crossed to a large school-house and shut myself 
 in. Eight lines were written when I dropped 
 the pencil. Then all the billows rolled over me , . . 
 I wrung my hands, saying: 'T cannot write it!" 
 but the law of utterance was inexorable. At 
 noon I returned and read the poem to my mother. 
 She heard it with a pale face, and said solemnly; 
 "Amanda, you have been inspired!" I answered: 
 "Mother, I have been inspired." In July, 1862, I, 
 with others, expected to hear any day of the fall 
 of Richmond. Again prophetic knowledge and 
 utterance came — verified nearly three years later. 
 Love of country characterized our parents 
 equally. Our father read aloud to us the history 
 
XIV INTRODUCTION. 
 
 of the long struggle with as much evidence of 
 emotion as he exhibited at ''Family Prayers," 
 or in his fervid church meetings. Our mother 
 sang and recited to us innumerable revolutionary 
 ballads learned, before her tenth year, of her 
 father and half-brother, John, who had served 
 through the War of 1812. The latter had en- 
 joyed nothing more than slipping over into Can- 
 ada, where he was well known and certain to 
 be called on for entertainment, and singing those 
 very songs — the fun lying in the certainty of 
 arrest for "contempt of the King." Landed in 
 jail, for form's sake probably, he made the bal- 
 lads ring again till he was let out. 
 
 Our parents biased us politically, one as much 
 as the other, though I think mother most thor- 
 oughly instructed us. At nine I hurrahed by the 
 roadside, in a faint, scary way, for Henry Clay, 
 while the boys were singing: "Van! Van! Is a 
 Used Up Man!" 
 
 Also I ardently believed in a protective tariff — 
 having understood that "free trade" had virtually 
 annihilated woolen manufacture, my father be- 
 ing master of that art. And when a long Whig 
 procession trailed by before election, having a 
 great band wagon filled with young ladies, all 
 in white, to represent States (I forget how 
 many), I laughed at the one lady in mourning 
 following after with a flag: "Please let me in!" 
 What, let Texas in to make another slave State? 
 Not I. For sentiment, I delighted in hearing 
 my mother sing Whittier's "Yankee Girl." 
 
 When in later years my mother, as a widow, 
 
INTRODUCTION. XV 
 
 was dependent upon our oldest sister (see 'The 
 Life Beautiful") and her sons, for the support 
 of herself and the younger ones, two of the three 
 boys enlisted with her consent — one of whom did 
 not return. My sister never complained of her 
 added burdens. Patriotism was, in itself, a re- 
 ligion with us. 
 
 I had not — none of us had — our mother's phe- 
 nomenal memory ; but this is my earliest recol- 
 lection: I stood in green grass half as high as 
 myself, bareheaded, but clutching a bonnet in 
 my left hand. Before me, a few rods away, was 
 a clear creek, across which rose a green hill. 
 A red-faced and red-haired boy was pinching my 
 right arm. I was not crying (and that was char- 
 acteristic) but to avoid seeing his mocking face 
 I looked past him to a brown two-story house, 
 where I wanted to go, and all about me, so fix- 
 ing the landscape indelibly upon my brain. I 
 saw and recognized the place just fourteen years 
 later, on my way to a country school I was to 
 teach — ignorant of the fact that for a single 
 summer that house had been my home — I then 
 being less than two years old. I grieve to say 
 that the boy was in "State prison" at twenty-five. 
 My elder brother had a still more remarkable 
 memory of an event and a conversation which 
 transpired when he was but eighteen months old. 
 
 My parents imagined that a child of three, 
 exceptionally vigorous, who could name all the 
 letters of the alphabet after a single telling, was 
 old enough to go to school. And, indeed, an 
 older sister was in the highest reading class at 
 
XVi INTRODUCTION. 
 
 five. After snowfall they kept me out till the 
 time of mud. The first abiding affection I had 
 Outside of home was for a man who saw me 
 astray in the middle of the road on my way to 
 school, and, wading through, pulled me out of 
 my shoes and carried them and me to the school- 
 room door. As I never asked for help, the older 
 ones had forgotten me. I was quite seven be- 
 fore I was promoted from the New Testament 
 to the ''English Reader," practically a high school 
 reading book, made up of master classics. 
 
 A.t three we were visited by my grandmother 
 Mott, whose beautiful v;hite face filled me with 
 wonder. A year or two later I strayed from 
 home, through a meadow where tall grass al- 
 most hindered movement, and came upon a 
 Turk's cap lily. Perhaps I shall be as much 
 amazed Vshen I first open my eyes upon the 
 flowery wonders of Paradise, but I almost doubt 
 it. I worshipped the flower, until at last a con- 
 viction fastened itself upon my mind that here 
 was something God had '"just made !" 
 
 I v/as not quite six when imagination sprang 
 into existence — the manner of which is related 
 in "Coming Home.' Now in those days we 
 country people were mainly dependent upon the 
 v;eekly church newspaper and the "District 
 School Library" for reading, outside of the 
 Pible. Sunday school libraries hardly counted 
 if Charlotte Elizabeth's pious books had achieved 
 the honor of the Pope's malediction. (I used 
 to wonder why they seemed so tame.) But 
 hooks v/ere more necessary than daily bread to 
 
INtRODUCTION. Xvil 
 
 our parents. They taught the older ones, in- 
 cluding myself, to consider the religio-astronom- 
 ical works of Thomas L. Dick, D.D., L.L.D., 
 with Milton, Pollock, Baxter and Bunyan, as 
 almost Biblical. My father was impressed with 
 the idea that the Blest (his uncle, Seth, had 
 shaken his faith in there being any perpetually 
 unblest) would roam from star' to star to 
 learn of God, and perhaps find at last that ''Cen- 
 tral Sun," from which all glory and all law 
 emanates. I liked my father's ideas better than 
 rny mother's, for each time that she convinced 
 him_ of a literal resurrection of the body, from 
 Scripture texts, something unconvinced liim by 
 another sunrise. I too remained as unbelieving. 
 
 But we had lighter reading: Frederica Breme^i-. 
 Jane Austin, Maria Edgworth, Eliza Cook, and. 
 best of all, Felicia Dorothea Hemans, whose 
 passion flowers of poesy are unwithering. 
 
 Oh, but we had much more than this ! I do 
 not know how my mother had made such vast 
 reapings in English literature. She left school 
 at ten, when her father died, and was much em- 
 ployed in spinning and the like until her mar- 
 riage, five and a half vears later. But large 
 portions of Dryden, Pope, Campbell, Goldsmith, 
 Scott^ and many other poets were seemingly as 
 familiar to her as her own old spelling book, 
 v/hose chapter on orthography I heard her re- 
 peat in middle age. History, biography, romance 
 all had been gathered up as sheaves. She sprang 
 surprises upon me even to the last of my stay 
 with her — spiritual hymns, quaint '*love-and- 
 
XVllI IXTRODUCTIOX. 
 
 murder" songs, ghostly old ballads. Not less, 
 her own thoughts had swift and brilhant utter- 
 ance and her conversational powers were un- 
 usual. 
 
 During my ninth year came the great Millerite 
 excitement, and nearly all members of the Meth- 
 odist Church we attended were swept away. 
 'The tenth day of the seventh month" was to 
 be the great day of resurrection. With what 
 pride I listened to my mother on that wild, last 
 Sunday, when she arose in the midst of ''Halle- 
 lujahs" and silenced them with a plain exposition 
 of Scripture, gathering up text after text to 
 prove the delusive nature of their expectations! 
 Men and women locked at each other in dis- 
 may, while in a clear, controlled voice she 
 summed up her argument; and in the vestibule 
 one came to her sobbing: "Sister Jones, but for 
 you I should have gone over the bay !" 
 
 Such poems as came in my way between six 
 and nine retain their hold upon my memory yet. 
 "Barbara Lewthwaite" gave me the heartache, 
 and I never read this stanza of Whittier's with- 
 out a tremor: 
 
 "The stormy March has come at last, 
 
 With wind and cloud and changing skies ; 
 I hear the rushing of the blast 
 That through the snowy valley flies." 
 
 But I loved best of all that wonderful story 
 of Lady Mary Campbell's dream, as related in 
 verse by the family chaplain, beginning, "The 
 moon had climbed the highest hill." I longed 
 
INTRODUCTION. xix 
 
 to believe it true, as I have since learned that it 
 was. No ghost could have scared me — I loved 
 the very thought of them ! 
 
 I ought to have learned the meaning of grief 
 when eight years old, through the death of lit- 
 tle Mary (see *'A Flower of Paradise"), but 
 instead I lost myself in contemplation of some 
 imagined glory hiding her from sight. In lower 
 moods I planned how I would tell, when grown 
 up, about her beauty and sweetness, and how. 
 when exactly eight months old, she had with 
 perfect distinctness repeated a sentence of thir- 
 teen small words, shouted out by brother Bennie ; 
 and how God had wanted her — I was proud be- 
 cause He had wanted her! Three years later 
 I sobbed violently over the coffin of a school- 
 rnate, but it was not grief so much as a realiza- 
 tion of her wonderful loveliness. 
 
 At thirteen Sorrow took hold of me with 
 might. A brother but two years my senior died 
 in my presence in school, of heart disease. The 
 teacher, being frightened and incompetent, left 
 me to take entire charge of removal, summoning 
 physician and parents, and there could be no pos- 
 sibility of tears, grief was so vast. This was 
 the "pure young lad" of the poem "Father." He 
 was the most wonderful boy I ever knew. En- 
 dowed with the splendid intellect of our mother 
 as none of the others could claim to be, it had 
 been sublimated by the refining fire of his malady 
 into spirituality, so that I might well name him 
 in another poem, "The Sun-Bright Boy." After 
 this I was dull and morbid, finding little comfort 
 
XX INTRODUCTION. 
 
 save in study and the singing oi mournful 
 hymns. It was, in a sense, well for me that at 
 just fifteen I began teaching *'all by my lone" in 
 the backwoods, and rather strenuously, since 
 boys of eighteen were among my pupils. Two 
 years of alternate teaching and high school at- 
 tendance resulted in a failure of health, from 
 which I never fully rallied. 
 
 "The Dead Pine" signalizes a partial emer- 
 gence from a six years period of physical de- 
 pression and distress which had culminated in 
 such an excessive weakness of the lungs that 
 the ablest of physicians (Dr. Hubbard Foster of 
 Clifton Springs Water Cure — who, with Dr. Cor- 
 delia Green, undoubtedly saved my life) pro- 
 hibited the writing of verse for all time. That 
 poem concludes the volume entitled "Ulah" — 
 300 pages, copied, compiled and partly written 
 a year later. 
 
 "Lost and Saved" marks the opening of a new 
 era of thought and purpose, accompanied always 
 by such severe mental labor as uncertain well- 
 being would permit. I owe my increased length 
 of days to the care and tenderness of many 
 friends. 
 
 At this point I turn aside to say that but for 
 Davis W. Clark, D. D., editor of The Ladies' 
 Repository, and afterward a Bishop of the 
 Methodist Church, I doubt if the gates of that 
 sacred enclosure, where poets learn to sing, 
 would ever have been opened for me; and, in- 
 deed, the little quarterly payments for verses 
 contributed to that magazine during six years 
 
INTRODUCTION. XXl 
 
 comprised nearly all my earnings. A merry let- 
 ter which I wrote to him, in 1853, denouncing a 
 contributor for advising young poets to "stop," 
 appeared in the Editor's Table as having "bub- 
 bled up into our face." Now my father 
 firmly believed that I was to be a poet, and urged 
 me to send something for publication, him- 
 self selecting the verses. During the three fol- 
 lowing months I heard him several times say in 
 an undertone : I wonder whether Dr. Clark \vill 
 publish "The Transplanted Flower." While I 
 was standing by his bed — he slumbering toward 
 Death — the magazine, containing the sorry little 
 piece so named, was handed me; and to his un- 
 conscious soul I said: "Father, I will be a pcet 
 if only for your sake." 
 
 Now why should I add more.^ 
 
 A. T. J. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Susan Brownell Anthony 3 
 
 Preface 5 
 
 Early Verses. 
 
 The Future 28 
 
 Hide and .Seek 29 
 
 The King of the North :>i2 
 
 Our Playmate's Grave 34 
 
 The Death of the Old Year -5 
 
 Peace i^y 
 
 Glen Elgin 38 
 
 Summer 40 
 
 The Wind 41 
 
 The Laboring Man 43 
 
 Light 46 
 
 A Forest Interview 49 
 
 The Three Birdlings 50 
 
 Defense 57 
 
 The Dying Teacher 59 
 
 The Soul's Triumph 62 
 
 Starved Rock 66 
 
 The Dead Pine 93 
 
 Lost and Saved 108 
 
 Day and Night 119 
 
 Morta 120 
 
 The Prophecy of the Dead 123 
 
 The Soldier's Mother 125 
 
 Fort Donelson 127 
 
 Hertha 129 
 
 The Evening Star 133 
 
 Richmond 135 
 
 The Battle of Gaines' Hill 138 
 
 The Vision of the Lgyptian Priest 142 
 
 The Soldier's Bride 147 
 
 The Realm of the West 152 
 
 Floating on the Lake 153 
 
 White Violets 155 
 
 Anniversary Poem 157 
 
 The Night Battle Under Lookout Mountain. .. . 17.2 
 The Year of Emancipation 178 
 
XXIV. CONTENTS. 
 
 April Days i8i 
 
 Death in the Forest 182 
 
 Shine Sun of the Summer 183 
 
 My Glade in the West 185 
 
 A Rebel Flag of Truce 188 
 
 Do We Love as We Loved 191 
 
 Flowers of Autumn 193 
 
 Ballad of Ethel Lee 194 
 
 In Forest Lawn 197 
 
 The Year of Victories 198 
 
 The South Wind 201 
 
 Fort Sumter 202A 
 
 Threnody 203 
 
 Shipwrecked 206 
 
 The Year of Peace 208 
 
 The Soliloquy of Libert}^ 211 
 
 FaKen Fruit 214 
 
 Leonora 215 
 
 Atlantis 217 
 
 Art Immortal 264 
 
 Decoration Day at Antietam 271 
 
 Fast Asleep 277 
 
 A Morning Madrigal 280 
 
 One Night ^ 284 
 
 From Saurian to Seraph 290 
 
 Heart of Sorrows 301 
 
 These Three 309 
 
 Service and Sacrifice 311 
 
 When I Call 314 
 
 Dawn 315 
 
 Love's Largesse 317 
 
 Croquet 319 
 
 Married 321 
 
 Father 324 
 
 Roses 328 
 
 We Twain 332 
 
 Freddie 334 
 
 Merlin z^y 
 
 One of the Twelve 343 
 
 Canticles 353 
 
 A Prairie Idyl 360 
 
 Mother 375 
 
CONTENTS. XXV. 
 
 CONTENTS OF RUBAIYAT OF SOLOMON. 
 
 David Gray 5 
 
 William Pryor Letchworth 6 
 
 Henry L. Kendall 7 
 
 Afterthoughts lo 
 
 Shekinah 12 
 
 They Who Write 13 
 
 A Song of Joy 16 
 
 RUBAIYAT OF SOLOMON IJ 
 
 Deliverance 71 
 
 Imprisonment 7- 
 
 From a Far Countree 73 
 
 The Lady Gwyneth. 
 
 Kansas Bird Songs. — A Mocking Bird 91 
 
 The Thrush 92 
 
 The Purple Finch 93 
 
 Chewink 96 
 
 The Red-Bird 97 
 
 Abigail Becker 100 
 
 Sea-Trout loS 
 
 My Little Wife no 
 
 A Lover to His Lady 113 
 
 Epithalammm 116 
 
 The Child 119 
 
 "King David" 121 
 
 Bugler Dunn 123 
 
 Vincent Archer 125 
 
 Mamie's Kisses 127 
 
 A Small Pessimist 129 
 
 Beauty 132 
 
 Coming Home 135 
 
 Christmas Day 139 
 
 At the Ford. ." 141 
 
 A New Commandment 143 
 
 Comforted 144 
 
 Made Manifest 144 
 
 Doors of Olive 146 
 
 A Christian , 149 
 
 Food Seekers 151 
 
 The Sensitive Brier 152 
 
 One of Many 153 
 
 Flow^ers and a Weed 154 
 
 Spirit of Benediction 161 
 
XXVI. CONTENTS. 
 
 An Evangelist 162 
 
 Victim and Victor 164 
 
 One Merciful 166 
 
 His M inister 167 
 
 The Life Beautiful 169 
 
 Friends Remaining 171 
 
 His Voice . ^ i73 
 
 At First 175 
 
 Afterward 176 
 
 Their Heavenly House 17S 
 
 Without the Gates 182 
 
 A Flower of Paradise 184 
 
 America 188 
 
 The Saving of an Empire 190 
 
 Fort Riley 194 
 
 Hawaii 198 
 
 My Irish 199 
 
 America to England 202 
 
 Panama 205 
 
 A Song of Peace 207 
 
 O Listen My Country 209 
 
 America Magna 21 t 
 
 Motherhood 214 
 
 Whom I Shall Meet 216 
 
 Ascension 217 
 
 Daughterhood 218 
 
 A Home-Keeper ., . , 219 
 
 Sisterhood 221 
 
 Cousinship 222 
 
 A Poet of Nature 223 
 
 Her Children 224 
 
 A Song of Sunrise 226 
 
 Publisher and Editor 229 
 
 My Lucy 230 
 
 Kith and Kin 231 
 
 Fulfillment 232 
 
 For Consolation 233 
 
 One of Five 234 
 
 Solace and Shelter 235 
 
 Flowers of Healing 235 
 
 One More 236 
 
 Resurrection 238 
 
 Finis 
 
EARLY VERSES. 
 
 1854 — i860. 
 
 The chickweed is not called upon to humble 
 itself before the Held lily. Though its flowers 
 are scarcely discerniblCy they are rarely out of 
 reach, and belong to the honorable family of 
 pinks. White they arcy dewy they are — one may 
 even suspect them of ' 'ney; and they furnish 
 excellent food for song birds. 
 
 A. T. J. 
 
THE FUTURE. 
 
 1 stand on a barren shore, 
 
 With the Present at my side; 
 
 But, dreaming, 1 see on the waves before 
 The years of the Future glide. 
 
 I watch, with eager eyes, 
 
 Those mystical years to be ; 
 While the sweeping life-tide bears them on 
 
 As the ships are borne to sea. 
 
 The life-tide brings them on — 
 Unharmed by breaker or blast; 
 
 But around me lie on my spirit-strand 
 The wrecks of Mie desolate Fast. 
 
 The waters under my feet 
 
 Break into a grievous moan; 
 But afar the songs of billows swell 
 
 To a grand, triumphal tone. 
 
 I will not heed the words 
 
 That the low waves tell to me, 
 
 But my heart shall beat to the lofty tune 
 That surges across the sea. 
 
HIDE AND SEEK. 29 
 
 I will not mourn the Past, — 
 
 The Present will soon depart; 
 Life's storms may wreck the passing years, 
 
 But they shall not wre( k my heart. 
 
 Perchance some golden year, 
 
 Like a ship, wide-winged and free, 
 
 Will yet, all laden with blissful days, 
 Float over the deeps to me. 
 
 And the loud, rejoicing songs 
 
 That the far off billows sing:. 
 May be truly a presage, glad and sweet, 
 
 Of the joy those days will bring. 
 
 So thus on the shore I'll stand 
 
 By the side of the swelling sea. 
 And, dreaming, wait till the tide shall bring 
 
 The mystical years to be. 
 
 1854^ 
 
 HIDE AND SEEK. 
 
 Down by the garden paths winding, 
 
 Fearing to laugh or speak. 
 They hid ; and Kate, who was ''blinding,' 
 
 Came from her ''goal" to *'seek." 
 
30 HIDE AND SEEK. 
 
 Under the flowering currant 
 The meddlesome breezes blew, 
 
 And carried Susie's white garment 
 Out into Katie's view. 
 
 Away with musical laughter, 
 
 Over each bed and knoll, 
 Katie, with Susie after, 
 
 Hurried to touch the ''goal." 
 
 Then by the honeysuckle 
 
 And red rose bushes gay, 
 With many a gleeful chuckle, 
 
 Both of them looked for Mae. 
 
 They peered with dubious glances 
 Where the bright lily-worts grew— 
 
 Lifting their leaves like lances 
 Out of the morning dew. 
 
 In all its pretty regalia 
 
 Each garden posy smiled; 
 But daffodil nor dahlia 
 
 Covered the hidden child. 
 
 So they talked by the lilac cover, 
 And they said: "Where can she be? 
 
 We have hunted the garden over, 
 But nothing of Mae can see." 
 
 Then a voice with a light, sweet chuckle 
 Of triumph and glee combined, 
 
HIDE AND SEEK. 3I 
 
 Rang out from the honeysuckle: 
 
 *'l guess it's because you're so blind!** 
 
 The weeks went by; the Summer 
 Lay down with her flowers to die; 
 
 The red leaves dropped upon her 
 And clouds came mto the sky. 
 
 And down at the garden ending, 
 Mournfully gazing around, 
 
 Two little girls were bending 
 Over a newly made mound. 
 
 Under the weeping willo'v, 
 
 Tenderly hidden away, 
 Slept on her satin-white pillow, 
 
 The delicate, beautiful Mae. 
 
 With grief in their sweet eyes lying 
 
 Tenderly hand in hand, 
 Questioning and replying 
 
 Did the innocent maidens stand: 
 
 "Mamma says the dear angels love us 
 And come to us every day; 
 Maybe just now they're above us, 
 And with them our sister Mae." 
 
 "Then why can't we see her, Katie? 
 Let's look for her up in the skies; 
 
J THE KING OF THE NORTH. 
 
 And upward with tear-drops weighty. 
 She Hfted her azure eyes. 
 
 Their rivaUng bkie swept the ether, 
 But nothing of Mae could find; 
 
 She whispered: ''I cannot quite see her- 
 I guess it's because I'm so bUnd." 
 
 1854. 
 
 THE KING OF THE NORTH. 
 
 The winter, the mirth-chiUing winter has passed 
 From our home on his icy track away; 
 
 And hushed is the shout of the whirHng blast, 
 And the sound of his wild and solemn lay. 
 
 He has gone to the North — the brave old North — ■ 
 Where glimmer his crystal palace halls; 
 
 Where never is heard the song of bird, 
 Nor the roar of the rushing waterfalls. 
 
 Where stars are bright in the pallid night 
 He stalks — a sentinel white and old ; 
 
 He cannot smile, or weep the while, 
 
 For his brow and his heart are icy cold. 
 
 But the glance of his eye is wild and high, 
 And his lifted voice is clear and strong; 
 
THE KING OF THE NORTH. 33 
 
 The echoes sigh where the iceberg lie, 
 For he chants a bold and terrible song. 
 
 "I sweep over earth, bringing wailing and dearth, 
 And my sounding wings are broad and fleet; 
 
 Woe, woe to the flowers of the warm Summer 
 hours ! 
 I crush them all with my snow-white feet. 
 
 "The clouds that lie in the far, blue sky, 
 If I but pass with my freezing breath, 
 
 Rush down to their rest on the earth's cold 
 breast. 
 As white as the brow of the angel Death. 
 
 "And the coward Man grows pallid and wan, 
 While he shrinks away from my fierce embrace ; 
 
 I laugh at his plaint when his heart grows faint. 
 And I mock him in his dwelling place. 
 
 "But I love to stand in the brave Northland, 
 Where gHmmer my crystal palace halls; 
 
 Where never is heard the song of bird, 
 Nor the sound of rushing waterfalls. 
 
 "And here,. in the gleam of the stars supreme, 
 I stalk — a sentinel grim and old: 
 
 I sing at the sight of the Northern light — 
 But my brow and my heart are icy cold." 
 
 1854. 
 
34 OUR PLAYMATE S GRAVE. 
 
 OUR PLAYMATE'S GRAVE. 
 
 Beneath the cedar tree 
 
 A-swinging to and fro 
 With every touch the wild winds give 
 As o'er the hills they go. 
 
 There lies an humble grave, 
 
 Uncared for and alone; 
 No flowers are planted on the sod, 
 
 And, at the head, no stone. 
 
 The hill on which it lies 
 
 Slopes downward steep and low — 
 Ending within a tangled dell, 
 
 Where sunshine cannot go. 
 
 All day a little sound, 
 
 From out the vale beneath. 
 
 Comes stealing up the shadowy ground 
 To that abode of death; 
 
 A sound of moving trees, 
 Of bubbling water springs, 
 
 Comes, mingled with the hurried beat 
 Of restless, quivering wings. 
 
 Long years ago they laid 
 
 Our playmate to his rest. 
 And planted there the cedar tree 
 
 That swings above his breast. 
 
 A wooden slab beneath. 
 
 Unlettered, brown and bare; 
 
THE DEATH OF THE OLD YEAR. 35 
 
 And, for the rest, the sunshine brings 
 The sweet, spring-beauties there. 
 
 And if the rain-drop creep 
 
 Into his curtained bed, 
 It matters not; all things should weep 
 
 When such a boy is dead. 
 
 1854. 
 
 THE DEATH OF THE OLD YEAR. 
 
 The old, white-headed Year 
 Went murmuring to his rest. 
 
 And many a frozen tear 
 Fell on his snowy vest. 
 
 He shook his palsied head, 
 
 With a glance that chilled my heart, 
 And he pointed to the Dead 
 
 That were, of his spoils, a part. 
 
 His voice, like the night wind shrill, 
 Rang wofuUy on mine ear; 
 
 And I paused, while, murmuring still, 
 He crept to his icy bier. 
 
 "And dost thou weep for me?" 
 I, trembling, heard him say; 
 
 "I shed no tears for thee 
 When I stole thy gems away. 
 
36 THE DEATH OF THE OLD YEAR. 
 
 "I have plucked thy fairest flowers 
 And hidden them from sight, 
 
 And over thy gayest hours 
 
 Have thrown a withering bHght; 
 
 "My hand, amid thy cups, 
 
 Has turned their wine to gall; 
 
 And from thy heart thy hopes 
 As leaves of roses fall. 
 
 "Then wherefore weep for me," 
 The Old Year moaning said; 
 
 "The New Year comes with glee- 
 Rejoice when I am dead." 
 
 The chill night-wind arose, 
 And over the deep sky stole, 
 
 Wafting a cloud of woes 
 As dark as my own soul. 
 
 Down from the sable spheres, 
 With wild, funereal cries, 
 
 Came the long train of years 
 And closed the rayless eyes. 
 
 And with a heart like lead 
 I whispered by the bier, 
 
 "Would that I, too, were dead. 
 And cold as this dead Year." 
 
 January ist, 1855. 
 
PEACE. 37 
 
 PEACE. 
 
 There fell upon my soul a shadow dreary — 
 
 A lone heart's evening following its day, 
 With its long thought my toiling brain was 
 weary 
 And scarce could frame the prayer my lips 
 would say. 
 
 In the soul's oratory kneeling lowly, 
 
 Thus with the Giver of my Hfe I plead; 
 
 "O, let the angel Peace, high-browed and holy, 
 Bind her white flowers around my aching 
 head !" 
 
 All my sad heart dissolved in that petition ; 
 
 Then, to my prayer, a "still, small voice" re- 
 plied : 
 "Peace, of Love's labor, is the glad fruition; 
 
 The heritage that waits the furnace tried." 
 
 Then said I to my soul : "Where is thy labor ? 
 And where the cure thy healing touch has 
 wrought ? 
 Hast thou sought out thy sorrowing friend or 
 neighbor 
 And fed him with the bread of holy thought? 
 
 "Hast thou not loved thyself, O mournful spirit, 
 More than all living things on land or sea? 
 
 Thou hast? — Then thine own bitter thoughts in- 
 herit. 
 For the white flowers of Peace are not for thee. 
 
38 GLEN ELGIN. 
 
 "Never for thee, until thy selfish grieving 
 Dies in warm sympathy for others' woe ; 
 
 Then shall sweet Peace, unholy darkness cleaving 
 High-browed and radiant beside thee go." 
 
 1855. 
 
 GLEN ELGIN. 
 
 Sometimes when my lip has forgotten its mirth, 
 When the pain in my heart makes me weary of 
 
 earth, 
 When my cheek has grown wet with the fast 
 
 falling tears, 
 I love to remember my earlier years. 
 
 Glen Elgin, my home — I remember it well, 
 Where bright in its beauty the cataract fell, 
 Where the sun-painted bow softly smiled on 
 
 the spray, 
 And the crane and the kingfisher watched for 
 
 their prey. 
 
 I remember the bower that the long branches 
 
 made, 
 Where the brake and dwarf-yew were green in 
 
 the shade; 
 Where the robin trilled sweetly his beautiful 
 
 song. 
 And the creek with low laughter went rippling 
 
 along. 
 
GLEN ELGIN. 39 
 
 Where I laved my bare feet in its clear-running 
 
 tide, 
 And sprang o'er the wild rugged rocks by its 
 
 side, 
 Or climbed through the rough, tangled thicket 
 
 to search 
 For the tart sumac-fruit, and the fragrant black 
 
 birch. 
 
 I remember the place where so often I stood 
 By the cedar-crowned rock in the depth of the 
 
 wood, 
 Where the Solomon's seal decked the green, 
 
 mossy bed, 
 And the Jack-in-the-pulpit was nodding his head. 
 
 I used to lie down by the shadowy spring 
 To hear the shy locust his monody ring; 
 For I fancied (such thoughts through the young 
 
 brain will reel), 
 Twas a dear, fairy grandmother spinning her 
 
 wheel. 
 
 I remember the course of the bright-leaping rill 
 As it stole from the spring down the side of the 
 
 hill. 
 Where the light was so dim all the long summer 
 
 day. 
 And the jewel-weed blossomed, impatient and 
 
 gay. 
 
 It Is years since I wandered, a light-hearted 
 child, 
 
40 SUMMER. 
 
 Through the depth of that valley so tangled and 
 
 wild, 
 Since I gathered the pale, purple flowers of the 
 
 glade, 
 And bounded in glee by the foaming cascade. 
 
 I am wiser perhaps, but so little of woe 
 Did my soul in its freshness and purity know, 
 That I love to remember, wherever I roam. 
 The lovely Glen Elgin, my happiest home. 
 
 1856. 
 
 SUMMER. 
 
 To-day my soul discerned 
 
 A measure solemn and slow 
 That came and went and back returned 
 
 As waves in ebb and flow. 
 
 "The cowering world may lie 
 
 Under a wintry day, 
 But thou hast a summer drawing nigh 
 
 That never shall pass away." 
 
 Sweet tears to my eyelids start, 
 At thought of my wondrous gain ; 
 
 For I soon shall love with an angel's heart. 
 And think with an angel's brain. 
 
 1856. 
 
THE WIND. 41 
 
 THE WIND. 
 
 The Wind came over the hills one day 
 
 Singing a charming tune, 
 As light of sound as the viewless play 
 
 Of a hum-bird's wing in June. 
 
 I should not have heeded his idle song, 
 
 But his breath was on my face 
 And his arms around my neck were flung 
 
 In a fairy-like embrace. 
 
 Then ''Whither away, sweet Wind," said I, 
 
 "And why is thy song so gay, 
 And why do thy waving pinions fly 
 
 So busily all the day?" 
 
 'As a child asleep," the zephyr said, 
 "I have lain the whole, long night; 
 
 With the moonbeams spread above my bed. 
 For a covering smooth and white. 
 
 'But just as the sun from out of the sea 
 
 Had lifted his princely head, 
 The Morn, like a mother, lifted me 
 
 From out of my snowy bed. 
 
 'Then up, like a singing bird, I flew, 
 
 Over meadow and grassy hills; 
 I sprinkled the clover-heads with dew 
 
 Exhaled from a thousand rills. 
 
 'I swept the boughs of the beech aside 
 To fondle the nestling birds ; 
 
42 THE WIND. 
 
 The shadowed plants at the fountain's side 
 I cheered with my loving words. 
 
 "I fluttered around with the laughing hours 
 Over forest and creeping vine, 
 I gleefully kissed the bending flowers 
 Till their lips were as red as wine. 
 
 ''And thus I fly through the rustling grass 
 And the wheat on smiling farms, 
 Till the old nurse. Night, comes down at last 
 And cradles me in her arms." 
 
 Then "Wither away ?" said the Wind to me, 
 "And where hast thou been to-day? 
 
 And why is thy face so sad to see, 
 When everything else is gay?" 
 
 *'Alas, sweet Wind," I sighed to say, 
 While the tears in my eyelids grew, 
 I have not borne to a soul to-day 
 A draught of the heart's cool dew. 
 
 'T have not searched for the thirsty flowers 
 
 That wither along my way. 
 Nor noted the flight of the priceless hours, 
 
 Nor bent my knee to pray. 
 
 "But, oh, however my soul hath sinned. 
 
 Thy lesson of love I'll keep ! 
 Then pass thou on, sweet, wandering Wind, 
 
 And leave me alone to weep." 
 
 1857. 
 
THE LABORING MAN. 43 
 
 THE LABORING MAN. 
 
 I like the honest laboring-man — 
 
 A soldier brave and strong, 
 In the good war he leads the van, 
 
 A worthy theme for song. 
 
 I like him that he likes himself, 
 
 And scorns to sink so low 
 As to degrade his soul for pelf, 
 
 Though pressed by want and woe. 
 
 I like him that he wears no cloak 
 
 To hide an inward ill; 
 But moves among all human folk, 
 
 A human being still. 
 
 I like him for the love he bears 
 
 His earnest, toiling wife — 
 A love that lights her cloudiest cares 
 
 And glorifies her life. 
 
 I like him for the tender flower 
 
 That blossoms on his cheek, 
 When he has used his willing power 
 - To guard the small and weak. 
 
 Just such a man was he — my sire; 
 
 With heart of giant bulk, 
 That would not leave the ship, though fire 
 
 Had wrapped its sinking hulk. 
 
 Toiling from morn till night to send 
 Grim poverty away; 
 
44 THE LABORING MAN. 
 
 An honest man, an ardent friend, 
 A Christian every day. 
 
 Twelve little spirits crowned his life: 
 Beneath Love's pleasant eyes, 
 
 Nine gird themselves for earthly strife, 
 Three sought the peaceful skies. 
 
 Each birth brought added joy to him, 
 
 And added labor, too; 
 At every death his eyes grew dim, 
 
 To find no more to do. 
 
 His wife — our mother — when he found 
 
 Her weary, how he gave 
 His ready help, before a sound 
 
 The little boon could crave. 
 
 Which of us cannot say how much 
 He loved us — how his voice 
 
 Could soothe and how his gentle touch 
 Made the young heart rejoice? 
 
 In my glad childhood's healthy bloom, 
 
 Led by a wayward will, 
 I followed him from loom to loom 
 
 And wondered at his skill. 
 
 Pleased to receive his kind command — - 
 
 Of father-patience full — 
 I learned, with slow, mistaking hand, 
 
 To card the fleecy wool. 
 
THE LABORING MAN. 45 
 
 With gentle talk our thoughts he spun 
 To threads complete and strong; 
 
 And by his careful skill begun 
 The web will wear us long. 
 
 One day (alas! that suns should glow, 
 
 In spring, on hill and dale, 
 And our life's Autumn sunlight grow 
 
 So deadly cold and pale!). 
 
 He left his work— all slow and weak 
 
 With frequent, laboring sigh, 
 With drooping head and pallid cheek, 
 
 He sought our home to die. 
 
 With woe-worn hearts a-near we came, 
 
 And circling stood about 
 To see Love's mild and tender flame 
 
 In Death's dark wave go out. 
 
 Ah, me ! The grave king's icy breath 
 
 Had sudden, deadly power ! 
 Within the Arctic land of Death 
 
 We planted Life's fair flower. 
 
 And as we turned away we said, 
 
 With tears on heart and face, 
 Its holy perfume now was shed 
 
 Within a kindlier place. 
 
 God bless the honest laboring-man. 
 
 And sweeten all his toil ! 
 Keep him from harboring selfish plan, 
 
 Or swelling wild turmoil. 
 
46 LIGHT. 
 
 And when he gathers up his feet 
 And veils his blinding eyes, 
 
 Kind Father, give him Labor sweet 
 In the seraphic skies! 
 
 1858. 
 
 LIGHT. 
 
 Through a star-gleaming atmosphere, silvery 
 blue, 
 The meek Morning Twilight, whose brow was 
 so grand, 
 Sweeping by with strong influence after her 
 drew 
 The glad waves of sunshine all over the land. 
 
 As a sea-surge, yet silent withal, through the 
 pines 
 And green valleys they rolled — shadows flee- 
 ing before; 
 Till the edges of all things wore dainty, white 
 lines, 
 Where the light billows foamed on each glori- 
 fied shore. 
 
 There came such a murmur from hollow and 
 dell— 
 A sound with all silences so blended in. 
 So slumberous-quiet, you scarcely could tell 
 
LIGHT. ^7 
 
 Were it sunshine or breeze that was making 
 the din. 
 
 The soft air swam backward and forward to see 
 Who had laid such a sweet weight oi song 
 on her breast; 
 Yet went she all softly, lest rosebush and tree, 
 With the noise of her swimming, should wake 
 from their rest. 
 
 The tremulous eddy encircled the glade, 
 
 It brushed the pale lips of the flowers m the 
 wood, 
 Yet moved not the line of the quamtly-marked 
 shade 
 And rocked not the slenderest stem as they 
 stood. 
 
 There was something a-sighing along the hushed 
 world; 
 Now it swayecl the low grasses, \iow lilted 
 the boughs ; 
 Thereafter the folded, young leaflets uncurled, 
 Where trees, like robed bishops, were paymg 
 their vows. 
 
 It breathed — I know not if it uttered a word 
 
 (It may be the buds have more delicate ears) ; 
 But all living things with the Presence were 
 
 stirred, 
 As though they had heard some sweet voice of 
 the spheres. 
 
48 LIGHT. 
 
 They answered all softly — I heard the reply: 
 "O Spirit of Blessedness, circling us so 
 
 With the warmth of thine heart and the glow of 
 thine eye, 
 In the joy of thy coming, we grow — and we 
 
 GROW ! 
 
 And the sound of their growing, albeit as faint, 
 As the star-hymns that far through the dis- 
 tances fall, 
 On my heart that had long been so full of com- 
 plaint, 
 Lay in music-power, hushing its murmurings 
 all. 
 
 And such a perception, a harmony-sense 
 That seemed of the Infinite surely a part, 
 
 Came to me that softly, I cannot say whence 
 The voice of the Presence thrilled deep in my 
 heart. 
 
 It spoke of the wonder, the grandeur of Law; 
 
 It told of the Faith that constrains to obey ; 
 It said, while I kneeled, overburdened with awe: 
 
 "The coming of Love is the dawning of day.'* 
 
 Now did the glad waves of the sunlight in-roll! 
 Through the depth of God's silence, their 
 sweetness I knew; 
 Abundantly flowing they entered my soul! 
 In the joy of their fullness I grew — and 1 
 GREW I 
 
 Clifton Springs Sanitarium, May, 1859. 
 
A FOREST INTERVIEW. 49 
 
 A FOREST INTERVIEW. 
 
 **Chick-a-dee-dee-dee-dee-dee !" 
 
 Now what have you come to see? — 
 With your scholarly thinking-cap that lies 
 Black as a coal above your eyes) — 
 Like a college president's comical crown, 
 When he sits in silk commencement gown 
 And blinks as knowingly as though 
 He had fathomed all deep streams below ! 
 
 Ah, you are as wise as he — 
 
 "Chick-a-dee-dee-dee-dee-dee !" 
 
 "Chick-a-dee ! Chick-a-dee-dee-dee !" 
 
 Well, what do you think of me, 
 Little philosopher? Here I lie 
 Quietly under your studying eye, 
 While you peer and ponder and noisily shout; 
 Cannot you ferret the mystery out? 
 Saw you ever so strange a thing 
 Out of the green earth bourgeoning? 
 
 Neither blossoming shrub nor tree — 
 
 *'Chick-a-dee ! Chick-a-dee-dee-dee !'* 
 
 ''Chick-a-dee-dee-dee-dee-dee !" 
 
 How dare you make so free — 
 Pulling so petulantly at my dress — 
 What is it, pretty one? Cannot you guess? 
 Then you must do as learned gentlemen do. 
 And batter the wall you may never get through. 
 With so many bomb-shells of ponderous words, 
 That you quite bewilder the ignorant birds, 
 
 Who listen to you and to me — 
 
 And they cry: "Chick-a-dee ! D. D." 
 
50 THE THREE BIRDLINGS. 
 
 "Chick-a-dee ! Chick-a-dee-dee-dee !" 
 
 What a musical burst of glee! 
 Very improper — Haven't you heard. 
 Curious, little, pedantic bird, 
 Certain Chick-a-dee gossips say, 
 Parsons shouldn't be light and gay? 
 And clad in your sober clerical coat, 
 With a white cravat around your throat. 
 
 Do you know you are preaching to me ? 
 
 "Chick-a-dee ! Chick-a-dee-dee-dee !'* 
 
 "Chick-a-dee-dee-dee-dee-dee !" 
 
 How many a thing we see 
 And babble about with busy tongue 
 That puzzles the old as well as the young ! 
 And who, with flutter and noisy shout, 
 Could ferret every mystery out. 
 And weigh, in the delicate scale of mind, 
 Each new and wonderful thing we find? 
 
 Such little philosophers we — 
 
 "Chick-a-dee ! Chick-a-dee-dee-dee !** 
 
 Pineries, Genesee County, Mich., i860. 
 
 THE THREE BIRDLINGS. 
 
 Come Nellie and Mina and Mary, 
 Sweet sisters of mine come near; 
 
 For I have a beautiful story 
 To tell as you ever did hear. 
 
THE THREE BIRDLINGS. 5 1 
 
 A Story of three little birdlings, 
 All hatched in the beauteous May; 
 
 So what will you give me, my darlings, 
 To sing you my story to-day? 
 
 "A hundred and fifty sweet kisses ? 
 
 That cannot be worth your while; 
 For I shall be paid for my trouble 
 
 If you give me but one sweet smile. 
 
 But stand at my side while I draw you 
 
 A bucket up out of my well — 
 The well of my love for you sisters, 
 
 Much deeper than story can tell. 
 
 There were three little nests in the woodland, 
 
 Built carefully up out of reach; 
 One swung in a small witch-hazel, 
 
 And two in a lofty beech. 
 
 If you had climbed to them in April, 
 In each of them you might have seen 
 
 Little eggs, either prettily spotted 
 Or tinted with delicate green. 
 
 Well, when the bright May was a-laughing 
 And shaking her curls in the sun, 
 
 Of featherless, tiniest birdlings, 
 
 In each of the nests there was one. 
 
 For whether the rain had rained on them 
 Or some wicked boy had been there, 
 
52 THE THREE BIRDLINGS. 
 
 Or whether some owlet had robbed them, 
 I cannot this moment declare. 
 
 But certain it is there was only 
 
 A bird, at the last, in each nest, 
 That stretched up its neck for the feeding. 
 
 And slept 'neath the motherly breast. 
 
 Now when the June came with a mantle 
 Of gold all embroidered with green, 
 
 The birdlings, grown feathered and larger, 
 Began to look out on the scene. 
 
 And waving their light, downy pinions, 
 And hopping from this bough to that, 
 
 They happened to meet all together. 
 And stopped for a neighborly chat. 
 
 Said one : "1 make bold to acquaint you ; 
 
 It is little Miss Bluebird you see;" 
 Said another: "Your servant Miss Bluebird, 
 
 And I am Miss Chic-a-dee-dee. 
 
 "But step just a little one side, dear. 
 
 The better our voices to hush; 
 I am told that this Brownie beside us 
 
 Is nobody — only Miss Thrush. 
 
 "Now if this should be true, dear Miss Bluebird, 
 It is best we should 'cut' her you know ; 
 
 For they say that the 'family tree,' love, 
 Is very decidedly 'low !' 
 
THE THREE BIRDLINGS. 53 
 
 "And besides, without any more bother, 
 
 Her quahty truly to guess, 
 She is certainly lacking in style, dear — 
 
 Just look at the cut of her dress !" 
 
 "Indeed!" said the dainty Miss Bluebird, 
 As her delicate wings she unfurled, 
 
 "Let us hurry away, for I wouldn't 
 Be seen by her side for the world. 
 
 "For when I 'come out' I shall glisten 
 
 In colors so pretty and rich, 
 That Fm certain to capture the red-breast. 
 
 Or blue-jay, I cannot tell which. 
 
 "And if I should own her acquaintance 
 That scornful Miss Blackbird would tly, 
 
 And sound it all over creation. 
 To every bird in the sky !" 
 
 Now little Miss Thrush, the poor "Brownie," 
 Had heard every word they had said, 
 
 While the thought of her lowly condition 
 Crept into her wondering head. 
 
 And the dress that she wore looked so shabby 
 
 (Though really tidy and plain — 
 Just such a dark tint as a lady 
 
 Would choose to wear out in the rain). 
 
 That while, to their nests in the beech tree 
 She saw the pert misses depart. 
 
54 THE THREE BIRDLINGS. 
 
 Away to her humble witch-hazel, 
 She went with a sorrowful heart. 
 
 Saying: "Now I will stay here forever, 
 Out of sight of the Chick-a-dee-dee, 
 
 And never a red-breast or blue-jay 
 Shall perch in my 'family tree/ " 
 
 Now gone was the sweet lady Summer; 
 
 And gone was the Winter so wild; 
 And April came back to the woodland, 
 
 As bright as a beautiful child. 
 
 And shining in delicate azure, 
 
 Miss Bluebird 'came out' as she said, 
 
 And Miss Chick-a-dee-dee looked about her. 
 And thought it was high time to wed. 
 
 So she sang out: "My charming Miss Bluebird, 
 Since you are so bright and so gay, 
 
 And withal so accomplished and stylish. 
 You're certain to capture the Jay. 
 
 "But I hear that the Redbreast is partial 
 To something less gaudy and smart; 
 
 So I've put on my Quakerish mantle, 
 And mean he shall sue for my heart." 
 
 Now the Thrush in her lowly witch-hazel, 
 (Grown older and wiser, you see), 
 
THE THREE BIRDLINGS. 55 
 
 When she heard this absurd calculation 
 Could not forbear laughing with glee. 
 
 Her laughter gushed out in such music 
 That all the bright birds in a throng 
 
 Hurried into the echoing woodland 
 To list to the wonderful song. 
 
 For never, in concert or solo, 
 
 Was anything heard so complete. 
 So gleeful, so richly delicious 
 
 So mellow, so tenderly sweet.* 
 
 **Oh, who can it be?" cried the Blackbird, 
 And, ''Who can it be squalled the Jay?" 
 
 Said the Red breast: "Be still with your screech- 
 ing! 
 You'll frighten the lady away!" 
 
 Each crying aloud in his wonder, 
 
 And telling the others to hush — 
 Lo, out of the humble witch-hazel, 
 
 Came down the brown wings of the Thrush. 
 
 "O, sweet ! I'm delighted to see you !" 
 Sang out the glib Chick-a-dee-dee ; 
 
 "My charming Miss Thrush !" said the Bluebird, 
 "Come stay with us up in our tree !" 
 
 * Little girls: Let no conceited ornithologist 
 make you believe that young-lady thrushes never 
 sing; — they do — in Elfland. 
 
56 THE THREE BIRDLINGS. 
 
 '' *Our set' are all dying to know you ! 
 
 Where have you been hidden away? 
 My neighbor, Miss Thrush, Mr. Redbreast; 
 
 A friend of mine, good Mr. Jay." 
 
 But gaily she laughed, as she answered: 
 "My pretty young belles do you know 
 
 That my 'family tree', the witch-hazel, 
 Is very decidedly low? 
 
 "So I dare not fly up to your beach tree, 
 Though obliged to you nevertheless; 
 
 Don't you see that I'm lacking in style, dears? 
 Just look at the cut of my dress !" 
 
 Then back to her lowly witch-hazel 
 
 She flew with a carol of glee ; 
 Singing, "No, I will never forsake you — 
 
 My cherishing 'family tree.' " 
 
 Now Nellie and Mina and Mary, 
 If any one seem to look down 
 
 With sneers on your name and your station 
 Or scoflfs at the cut of your gown, 
 
 Never mind it, my sweet little sisters, 
 Nor rail at the world for its pride; 
 
 They have but their beauty or riches. 
 And you may have something beside. 
 
 A voice that is gushing with music, 
 A heart that is brimming with glee, 
 
DEFENSE. 5JJ 
 
 K mind full of wisdom are better 
 Than any tall family tree. 
 
 And if the bright world should be startled 
 Some day by the power of your song, 
 And feed you with honey-regard, dears. 
 Let flattery do you no wrong. 
 
 But lift up your light, little pinions 
 
 And away to the olden delight; 
 For the loves that are made by the fashion 
 
 Are the loves that are surest in flight. 
 
 May, i860. 
 
 DEFENSE. 
 
 My Friend and my Critic — the finder of flaws — 
 Said: ''One thing thou lackest, thou lover of 
 rhyme ! 
 Without which, however, thou cravest applause, 
 Thou wilt kindle no heart through the winter 
 of time. 
 
 "We feel that the rhymer — whatever her mood — 
 Who worships no love-god is weak and un- 
 wise." 
 
 Interpreted this way, what wonder I stood. 
 Assenting with laughter aaid mocking replies. 
 
58 DEFENSE. 
 
 "Aye, this thing is lacking ! I kindle no heart — 
 Enshrine no Ideal whence verse borrows light ! 
 
 In the caves where I dwell, there I practise my 
 art, 
 And call for applause on the spirits of night." 
 
 But afterward — being in solitude moved, 
 Perplexed with effect, but divining its cause, 
 
 I said to myself that perhaps it behooved, 
 I should truly respond to the finder of flaws. 
 
 Legem Coeli pa/reo: And who could do more? 
 
 Know thou, O my critic, the priestess of old. 
 When she sang her low songs at the temple's 
 broad door, 
 Brought not forth her god to the gaze of tHe 
 bold! 
 
 But suppose they had said: "Here is nothing 
 divine ;" 
 She had laughed in her heart: "There lies 
 Hermes asleep! 
 I have lavished my perfumes and oil on his shrine. 
 He will waken, perchance, when the midnight 
 is deep." 
 
 Lest any should enter, I sing by the door ; 
 
 He sleeps: — Not for that will I tremble and 
 pause ; 
 In secret my costly libations I pour" . . . 
 
 Deum decet me tegere! Thou finder of flaws. 
 
THE DYING TEACHER. 59 
 
 THE DYING TEACHER. 
 
 Smitten with fell disease, 
 He lies — a student who has climbed so high. 
 Earth's rugged hill of Science that his eye 
 
 No higher summit sees — 
 
 But peers into the night 
 That shrouds the mountain on its upper side, 
 Half seeing, where the raven clouds divide, 
 
 Some faint, far-shining light. 
 
 Life, as a book well worn 
 And diligently conned in youth and age, 
 Death, the stern master, opens at a page — 
 
 The last, defaced and torn. 
 
 His words are strange and few; 
 Yet even in this hour of mortal pain 
 J^.Iemory, the slumberer wakes nor turns in vain 
 
 The pages for review. 
 
 Ah, first the pictured book 
 Did his sweet mother open to his sight; 
 x-\nd, at his eager boyhood rapt delight, 
 
 Smiling, she bade him look. 
 
 Gentle as unfledged dove, 
 He nestled in her arms the while she read, 
 With weak, uncertain lips his lesson said — 
 
 His mother-lore of love. 
 
60 THE DYING TEACHER. 
 
 The winged years went and came 
 All radiantly. He hardly knew their flight, 
 For that dear smile which made with rainbow- 
 light, 
 
 Life's bubbles all a-flame. 
 
 Till in youth's sunny prime, 
 Another hand fluttered the golden leaves 
 And taught his soul the tale that fancy weaves 
 
 In music-gliding rhyme. 
 
 As silvery-vested dawn 
 Lightly precedes the vital, vigorous day, 
 When Fancy's gilded shallop cut the way, 
 
 Love in its wake was drawn. 
 
 His was the common lot; 
 He loved and suffered; so he learned that life 
 Is but a book with mournful chapters rife 
 
 And soiled with many a blot. 
 
 And thus, impatient grown 
 To master all Life's mysteries at a bound, 
 With passionate hand he swept the leaves and 
 found 
 
 Dread language and unknown. 
 
 Full sadly then he learned 
 That Time will but translate the present page, 
 And toil must every mystic line engage 
 
 'Ere any leaf be turned; 
 
THE DYING TEACHER.' 6li 
 
 And finding grief in store, 
 And bitter truths with sad precision taught, 
 Forsook wild dreams and on the waves of 
 thought 
 
 His sinking soul up-bore. 
 
 Where Wisdom's ocean sweeps, 
 He sought Creation's rare and hidden things; 
 Soul-gems that make men wealthier than kings 
 
 He gathered from her deeps. 
 
 And then, with kingly grace 
 (For most a king is honored if he stoop), 
 He took the golden chain of knowledge up 
 
 And bound him to his race. 
 
 A teacher — scorning not 
 Along with little souls to tread once more 
 The simple, tiresome paths of infant-lore, 
 
 Nor murmured at his lot. 
 
 Oh, meek, unselfish heart! 
 To see Fame's regal mountain-towers a-light 
 And many a path thereto his soul invite, 
 
 Yet act such humble part. 
 
 Prone on his couch he lies ! 
 Life's twilight-shadows gather on his brow, 
 And the warm loving light is fading now 
 
 From out his half-closed eyes. 
 
 The night is chill and whist — 
 The long, drear night that reigns beneath the 
 skies : 
 
62 THE soul's triumph. 
 
 "Tis growing dark," the gentle spirit sighs, 
 **And school may be dismissed." 
 
 Forevermore unvexed, 
 He ponders Love's illuminated scroll; 
 Oh, to be taught of him, whose happy soul 
 
 Masters that golden text! 
 
 i860. 
 
 THE SOUL'S TRIUMPH. 
 
 Come in, O my visitor Sorrow, 
 Come into my heart for a while; 
 
 Let me see if thine eyes cannot borrow 
 Some light from the sun of my smile. 
 
 The May waltzes over the meadow, 
 The little birds carol in tune ; 
 
 What news from the region of shadow? 
 Are clouds floating up for my June? 
 
 "O soul! the bright castle of wonders, 
 Built up in thine April delight. 
 
 Is rocked by reality's thunders. 
 
 And fades, as a mist, out of sight!" 
 
 It is well — for the structure was airy 
 And frail as a castle could seem ; 
 
THE soul's triumph. 63 
 
 Its hall were but fit for a fairy, 
 Its pillars were hewn of a dream. 
 
 Art thou come again, Visitor Sorrow? 
 
 How white is thy face and how thin! 
 Come thou to my June bower and borrow 
 
 The bloom and the lustre within. 
 
 The Summer sun laughs in the azure, 
 The gleeful winds laugh in the trees ; 
 
 And full of its youth and its pleasure 
 My light heart is laughing with these. 
 
 "Nay, soul ! for a pallor is creeping 
 Across the blue heaven of bliss; 
 
 Disease opes the fountains of weeping; 
 The mirth of thy laugh is amiss." 
 
 Now skeleton fetters have bound me! 
 
 Yet they are but fetters of clay; 
 And warmed with the sunshine around me, 
 
 I yet can be smiling and gay. 
 
 Again dost thou enter, O Sorrow? 
 
 Thy dark robe is faded and torn; 
 Hast thou come in thy squalor to borrow 
 
 These garments of light I have worn? 
 
64 THE soul's triumph. 
 
 I yield thee my August tiara, 
 And take the full cup thou dost bear — 
 
 It is brimming with waters of Marah — 
 What news from the land of despair? 
 
 "Wail, Soul! for the frowning September 
 Has hewn down thy loves to their graves; 
 
 Already the cruel November 
 
 His sceptre of dreariness waves." 
 
 Now dark is the earthly, the outer, 
 
 And icy my lustreless bower; 
 But shall I turn trembler and doubter. 
 
 The football of fear from this hour? 
 
 I will close up the door of my dwelling, 
 And light up the fire on the hearth; 
 
 My songs to the world shall be telling 
 All night of my banquet of mirth. 
 
 Once more, O dark prophetess Sorrow ! 
 
 Come into the house of my heart. 
 Let me see if thy form cannot borrow 
 
 Some warmth, ere I bid thee depart. 
 
 The light and the beauty are faded; 
 
 The gladness and glory are o'er; 
 Life's butterfly-wings are abraded — 
 
 What news from the Stygian shore? 
 
THE soul's triumph. 65 
 
 "O soul ! As I passed through the valley, 
 Where blackness hangs down as a weight, 
 
 I saw the fleet death-armies rally. 
 And lo ! they are here at thy gate !" 
 
 Now, Sorrow, thy name shall be Sorrow 
 
 No more while eternities roll; 
 Thou dost promise a brighter to-morrow 
 
 Than ever yet gladdened my soul. 
 
 The death-armies move at the pleasure 
 
 Of one who is mighty to save ; 
 The sun smiles again in the azure 
 
 And flowers droop over the grave. 
 
 Dost thou see not the mansion of wonders 
 Built up for my sky-climbing feet? 
 
 It is rocked by no terrible thunders, 
 Nor struck by sirocco or sleet. 
 
 And seest thou my shining tiara, 
 
 My glistering garment of white? 
 Oh, sweet are the waters of Marah, 
 
 And Sorrow, thy name is delight! 
 
 The loves of the cherubim feed me 
 As droppings of honey-comb dew. 
 
 To their lustrous, green bowers they lead me, 
 I wither — and blossom anew. 
 
 i860. 
 
66 STARVED ROCK. 
 
 "STARVED ROCK." 
 
 Abridgements from "Ulah : an Indian Legend Versi- 
 fied." The daughter of a powerful chieftain fled with 
 his foe Oconee. Being pursued, the lovers, with a 
 small band of faithful braves, took refuge upon the 
 summit of a great rock by the brink of the Illinois 
 River. Although their assailants were many they were 
 able successfully to defend the only path of ascent. 
 The baffled father and his warriors camped below and 
 relentlessly waited until all were starved. 
 
 PROEM. 
 
 Oh, if the rocks on which we tread 
 Could gather back the sounds long fled. 
 And crowd our ears with each wild tale. 
 How would the gayest spirit quail! 
 
 Beneath this low stone's mossy face. 
 Some spade has dug a burial place ; 
 Beside that boulder in the wood, 
 Some hand has spilled a brother's blood. 
 
 The half-breathed curse, the sudden blow, 
 That gurgling sound of dying woe, 
 The stifled moan, the panting breath 
 As some scared victim strove with death, — 
 
 Perchance all these in by-gone hours 
 Have rocked the air and bowed the flowers. 
 Have struck the rocks with viewless rod 
 And echoed in the ear of God. 
 
STARVED ROCK. iyj 
 
 There towers a rock in the far West, 
 Whose hapless history is guessed, 
 A story such as winds repeat, 
 Most sorrowful and yet most sweet. 
 
 Each mossy crevice drips with tears 
 Through all the sunny laughing years. 
 As if its flinty heart were wrung 
 With fears untold and woes unsung. 
 
 Through all the day delirious calls 
 Sink to the ground in fitful falls ; 
 Through all the night strange shadows fly 
 And spectral faces glimmer by. 
 
 It may be but the songs of birds 
 
 That seem to drop below in words ; 
 
 It may be but the fir's unrest 
 
 Or moonbeams, glancing from its breast: 
 
 But still, beside it, sudden dread 
 Will turn aside the bravest head. 
 And still the heart, with hurried beat, 
 Quickens the fall of the passing feet. 
 
 List to the tale : — A dying race 
 
 Claims for its legends kindly place. 
 
 Let the heart-throb of olden time 
 
 Pulse onward through the veins of rhyme. 
 
 And if the voice that in your ear, 
 Sings this wild tale of love and fear. 
 
68 STARVED ROCK. 
 
 Be weak, unmusical, forgive; 
 But let the simple story live. 
 
 I. 
 
 The Meeting. 
 
 When royal, sun-descended Spring 
 
 Had made the beggar world a King, 
 
 Had broidered robes of changeful green 
 
 His wintry nakedhess to screen. 
 
 Had starred his breast with blossoms white, 
 
 And crowned his brow with bands of light 
 
 Oconee, in his swift canoe. 
 
 Flung from his oar the river dew, 
 
 As lightly as a bird might fling 
 
 The raindrops from his rapid wing. 
 
 Alone and peaceful, gliding far 
 
 Toward the beauteous morning star, 
 
 His birchen bark through forests deep 
 
 Stemmed the slow waters' winding sweep. 
 
 Till many a lone and starry night, 
 
 Had watched its dark untiring flight. 
 
 The crescent to a half-moon grown 
 
 Her veil above the wave had thrown, 
 
 And dipped the wave with silver bowl. 
 
 Ere he had reached his secret goal. 
 
 Up the dim East the sunbeams flew 
 And lightly, faintly quivered through 
 Cerulean space, as wonders rise, 
 And light an infant's azure eyes. 
 How beautiful the morning seemed! 
 
STARVED ROCK. 6g 
 
 Far-out the foamy ripples gleamed ; 
 
 The light Miami-mist arose, 
 
 Refreshed with darkness and repose. 
 
 And opening her soft blue eyes 
 
 Looked drowsily toward the skies; 
 
 The red bane-berry's white-flowered boughs 
 
 Hid every low rock's mossy brows; 
 
 The red-bud in the still ravine, 
 
 Dropped flowers on every pathway green; 
 
 And many a plane-tree by the wave 
 
 Even as a young, rejoicing Brave, 
 
 Stood up and in the morning dim 
 
 To the Great Spirit sang a hymn. 
 
 The graceful doe led to the brink 
 
 Her slender, spotted fawn to drink ; 
 
 The meadow-lark arose and flung 
 
 The flute-like matins from his tongue; 
 
 The red-winged blackbird, darting out 
 
 From the high reed-mace joined the shout; 
 
 Innumerable gleeful throats. 
 
 Gave to the wind their music-notes ; — 
 
 So softly splendid and so new 
 
 The fair world swam into the view ! 
 
 Oconee's was a savage soul; 
 Yet did his crimson pulses roll 
 With swelling tide, beneath the Power 
 That wakened bird and tree and flower. 
 He saw and stayed his dripping oar 
 To see the glad sun upward soar. 
 Till the last ripple, that the blade, 
 With free and wing-like sweep had made, 
 Melted and but a silver gleam 
 
70 STARVED ROCK. 
 
 Told where his bark had cleft the stream. 
 And "Oh !" he thought, '' if death can bring 
 A brighter dawn, a sweeter spring, 
 If fairer hunting-grounds can lie 
 Blooming, beyond the shining sky, 
 Then were it very good to die!" 
 
 Suddenly, all the air around 
 Was shaken by a tide of sound, — 
 Whose resonant murmurs floated near 
 In veiwless billows, till the ear 
 Enraptured with their silvery throng. 
 Scarce knew the echoes from the song. 
 It floated near; — with glowing face 
 With bounding step and form all grace. 
 With glance as bright as sunrise beam, 
 A beauteous maiden sought the stream. 
 
 Oconee heard, and to the shore 
 He plied his light and muffled oar. 
 And when the last, sweet echo died 
 Had softly neared the maiden's side. 
 
 One slight foot planted in the flood. 
 With lightly drooping head she stood 
 To see the streaming of her hair 
 In raven length reflected th^re. 
 But started, with a sudden frown 
 Seeing another face look down. 
 And turned with angry haste to see 
 Who might this bold intruder be. 
 
STARVED ROCK. Jlj 
 
 Oconee's form was straight and fine 
 
 As is the stately forest-pine; 
 
 A chieftain's mantle girt his breast — 
 
 A snowy feather was his crest; 
 
 His blazing eye was clear and bright 
 
 As dark wave lit with mid-day light ; 
 
 And when he spoke his voice was like 
 
 The voice of billows when they strike 
 
 Some hidden rock, and singing so, 
 
 Capture the heart with tuneful flow. 
 
 "And does the maiden frown," he said, 
 
 ^'Because a warrior's step is led 
 
 I'oward her — as the thirsty deer 
 
 Seeks the clear stream when day is near? 
 
 Must wrathful thoughts her dark eyes light. 
 
 As fire-flies flash along the night, 
 
 Because a brother hopes to find 
 
 A friendly smile, a greeting kind ? 
 
 When the first spring-birds sing their lays 
 
 The frozen waters melt in praise; 
 
 The warrior's heart is brave and strong 
 
 But melted at the maiden's song." 
 
 "And who are thou?" she shyly said, 
 With downcast eye and drooping head. 
 "Ulah is very young and weak: 
 Why should the Brave his sister seek?'* 
 *T am Oconee ; Far away 
 From the red clouds of setting day 
 I came to seek, beside the wave. 
 For Shabbonah's neglected grave. 
 He was my sire, — a chieftain great, 
 Whose bold heart was the eagle's mate, 
 
*J2. STARVED ROCK. 
 
 To all he loved as good and kind 
 'As the low-talking summer-wind; 
 But like the tempest that lays low 
 The highest trees, amid the foe. 
 
 "He had been wronged: From far he came 
 
 To bring his enemy to shame. 
 
 Pauwega heard his warriors shout 
 
 And sent a poisoned arrow out, 
 
 That pierced and smote him to the ground. 
 
 In the still night we gathered round 
 
 To hear his death-song; then we made 
 
 A grave beneath a rock's deep shade, 
 
 And to his rest the chief we laid. 
 
 *'Shall Shabbonah in his lone bed 
 
 Struck by the foe's unwitting tread, 
 
 By friend nor son be visited? 
 
 Shall his great spirit m^ourning go 
 
 Shamed with neglect and weighed with woe? 
 
 Not while Oconee's arm can guide 
 
 His swift canoe along the tide; 
 
 Though thousand moons between us sweep, 
 
 Oconee at his grave would weep. 
 
 Oh, when did woman ever hear 
 
 A tale like this nor shed a tear? 
 
 And "Oh !" the maiden cried, "but show 
 
 To Ulah where he slumbers low. 
 
 And she will rear above the dead 
 
 The purple cone-flower's lofty head, 
 
 And o'er the red-flower's clustering charms 
 
 Will wind the moon-seed's slender arms; 
 
STARVED ROCK. 73 
 
 The blazing-Star and blooming-feather 
 
 Shall lay their talking lips together 
 
 And tell how like a warrior great 
 
 Oconee s father met his fate; 
 
 When the sun's wigwam in the West 
 
 Lets the bright chieftain in to rest, 
 
 Then Shabbonah's brave soul will glide, 
 
 While its red doors are open wide, 
 
 From that far hunting-ground's bright shore 
 
 To see his lonely grave once more ; 
 
 And every flower that waves above 
 
 Shall whisper of Oconee's love." 
 
 The savage turned his grateful look 
 Full on the maiden till she shook, 
 With sudden heart-pulsations stirred, 
 As a bough swayed by startled bird. 
 "My sister has a loving heart," 
 He murmured while she drew apart 
 And screened from his warm eyes her cheek 
 That softly flamed to hear him speak. 
 "My sister's words are sweet and good 
 As rains that drop within the wood ; 
 Her looks are like the rainbow, bowed 
 In brightness on the Summer cloud. 
 
 ■ Once, when the chieftain's years were few. 
 
 Within his father's wigwam grew 
 
 A little, slender maiden-form 
 
 Whose heart with tender love was warm. 
 
 Oh, she was graceful as the lawn ! 
 
 Her smile was like the smile of dawn ; 
 
 Her face was like the new-moon white 
 
74 STARVED ROCK. 
 
 That glimmers through the clouds of night ! 
 And still. her step grew soft and slow, 
 And still her voice grew weak and low, 
 And still with every moon she grew 
 More pale and slender in our view. 
 When sixteen flowery springs had fled, 
 Owaissa slept among the dead. 
 
 "When the loud thunders roll around 
 
 The broken maize will seek the ground ; 
 
 So sank the warrior's broken heart 
 
 To see his sister's life depart. 
 
 And he has sought her grave and prayed 
 
 At earliest dawn to meet her shade; 
 
 Has piled the purple prairie-flowers 
 
 Above her head in evening hours, 
 
 And with wet face has sought the skies 
 
 To see Owaissa's starry eyes. 
 
 None love Oconee: — He is young. 
 
 But early grief has stilled his tongue. 
 
 When all his noisy warriors go 
 
 To chase the herded buffalo, 
 
 He flings his arrows out with skill, 
 
 But thinks upon Owaissa still. 
 
 When the sun rose to-day he felt 
 
 His icy sorrow in him melt. 
 
 And hoped, ere this bright morn had passed 
 
 To see his sister's soul at last, 
 
 And when he heard the maiden's voice 
 
 He deemed Owaissa did rejoice. 
 
 And knew not but his soul had found 
 
 His father's happy hunting-ground." 
 
STARVED ROCK. /5 
 
 Ulah had listened to the tale 
 With dewy eyes and face all pale; 
 But when the last low word had died 
 Up from her heart the crimson tide 
 Floated until her cheek's soft bloom 
 Rivaled the rose-bay's purple plume, 
 Like the slow wind at sunset came 
 Her soft reply : She breathed his name, 
 And whispered: "If my brother will, 
 Ulah shall be Owaissa still." 
 
 II. 
 Song of Ulah. 
 
 Oh, the world like a chief wears his blanket of 
 
 red 
 And clouds like white feathers wave over his 
 
 head! 
 Bright pleasure and plenty have gladdened his 
 
 sway 
 And his wigwam is warm with the smiles of the 
 
 day! 
 
 I saw her come out of her dwelling afar, 
 
 When there stood in the East but one beautiful 
 
 star ; 
 Like the corn-silk her tresses were over her 
 
 cast. 
 And her moccasins scattered white beads as she 
 
 passed. 
 
^^ STARVED ROCK. 
 
 Five times has the old moon forgotten to glow ; 
 Five times has she bent in the darkness her bow, 
 Since thou, my Oconee, didst sing in my ear, 
 And the river leaped up in its gladness to hear. 
 
 While we met in the place where the oak stands 
 alone 
 
 And his green, heavy mantle was over us thrown, 
 
 Thou saidst : ''When five full moons have bright- 
 ened the shade 
 
 The chief will wait here for the sweet-singing 
 maid." 
 
 All day has my fond heart been sounding thy 
 praise, 
 
 While I plucked with the maidens the ripe yel- 
 low maize; 
 
 I prayed the Great Spirit to grant me a sign, 
 
 And lo, as we husked them the red ears were 
 mine! 
 
 Thine eye is like lightning in darkness that 
 
 shines ; 
 Thy voice like the glad wind that sings in the 
 
 pines ; 
 Thy words like smooth arrows that leap from 
 
 the quiver, 
 Thy crest like the white foam that gleams on the 
 
 river. 
 
 I have dreamed in the night of thv fair Western 
 home; 
 
STARVED KOCK. "J"] 
 
 Unstring thy bent bow, let the prairie-wolf roam. 
 We will cross the great river that sings while it 
 
 flies ; 
 We will pass to the West as the stars in the 
 
 skies. 
 
 The warrior to his promise true 
 Had waited since the day was new, 
 Where swollen with Autumnal rains 
 Swept the broad river of the plains. 
 With wily glance, as one who knows 
 Each mound may hide revengeful foes. 
 Ere yet the early shades had shrunk, 
 He climbed the burr-oak's ragged trunk. 
 Thick were the boughs, the foliage dense ;- 
 Deep in the center, parting thence 
 The brown-leaved limbs to either side 
 His supple form he sought to hide. 
 
 Scarce was its rustling head at rest 
 Ere tumult shook his Indian breast; 
 For many a brave, with crimson crest 
 With naked limbs and painted chest 
 Crossed the brown plain with footstep fleet, 
 To scare the wolf from his retreat. 
 Ne-pow-ra led them— Ulah's sire— 
 A chief whose lightest hate was dire. 
 
 Why starts the hidden chieftain so? 
 
 Ne-pow-ra is his deadliest foe. 
 
 And he would bear, for vengeance's sake 
 
78 STARVED ROCK. 
 
 The hottest fires that light the stake, 
 Would smile to see the warriors swarm. 
 Exulting round his writhing form, 
 Could he but still, with fatal dart 
 The beating of that mighty heart. 
 Yet lifts he not his bended bow; 
 But with stern features, whispers low: 
 "He loves his daughter, — let him go; 
 How fierce will be his wrath to know 
 She leaves her father for a foeT 
 
 Upon the night-clouds' farthest line 
 The red-winged rays of daylight shine, 
 And Evening, like a timid maid 
 Blissful but coy and half afraid, 
 Following the ruddy planet Mars 
 Lifts her veiled face among the stars. 
 So nearer, nearer Ulah draws, 
 With lingering step and frequent pause. 
 Singing because her happy breast 
 Can no way let the echo rest. 
 
 As morning's hands the shades divide, 
 That banner all the heavens wide, 
 So from his lair Oconee starts, 
 And the dark foliage gaily parts, 
 Leaps lightly from its depths to meet 
 His Ulah's light and loitering feet. 
 Few are his words and but expressed 
 To still the tumult of his breast. 
 "Oconee's heart has longed for thee. 
 As longs the river for the sea. 
 
STARVED ROCK. 
 
 79 
 
 And where yon distant thicket waves 
 They wait for thee — my patient braves." 
 
 Away beside the rolling river 
 
 Where oar-tossed foam-beads whitely quiver. 
 
 They pass and leave the world to yearn 
 
 In tender tears for her return. 
 
 For her return : — Oh, long will Night 
 
 Veil with wild tears her blinding sight, 
 
 Long will the plaintive winds awake 
 
 And breathe a wail for Ulah's sake. 
 
 Long will the blue sky, leaning o'er 
 
 Look for the beautiful once more ! 
 
 The flower fades, the dew exhales, 
 
 The purple light of dawning palec. 
 
 The sweet moon dies, the breaking cloud 
 
 Wraps the white star as in a shroud. 
 
 The very gale that leaps with mirth. 
 
 Lags and lies dead upon the earth, 
 
 And maidens dear as Ulah, lay 
 
 Their loveliness beneath the clay! 
 
 It is but meet, for good must fill 
 
 The darkest consequences still, 
 
 And even death may yield a bliss 
 
 As sacred as a lover's kiss. 
 
 TIL 
 
 The Council Fire. 
 
 Ne-pow-ra in his wigwam stood 
 And mused alone in bitter mood. 
 
8o STARVED ROCK. 
 
 Where were the bounding feet that wont 
 To meet him coming from the hunt? 
 Where was the arm that used to wind 
 About his neck that Love might find 
 Swift ingress to his clouded mind? 
 Where was the hand that used to clasp 
 With pressure light his larger grasp, 
 Then haste with gentle touch and kind 
 His deer-skin moccasins to bind ? 
 Where were the eyes so warm and soft 
 That soothed his savage humor oft, — 
 The voice that sang at eventide 
 Wild songs, that fed his vaulting pride, 
 Of battle fought and valor tried? 
 Quenched was the k-eatth -fire's ruddy blaze- 
 No hand was there to crush the maize. 
 No face to beam with tender care ; 
 He dwelt alone with silence there. 
 But shall the Braves in council meet 
 And wait Ne-pow-ra's idle feet? 
 When the red war-fires climb and curl 
 Shall they their wild defiance hurl, 
 And he be silent as a girl? 
 He waits no more, — his heart is strong 
 To plan swift vengeance for its wrong. 
 From his low door, with footstep bold 
 Swift as a wolf that seeks the fold, 
 He leaps, as wind along the waves 
 And stands among his gathered Braves. 
 
 Then as a lightning-blasted pine 
 That scorns his kingship to resign 
 
STARVED ROCK. 8l 
 
 The chieftain towered above the throng 
 And told the story of his wrong: 
 ''Warriors, and. sons of warriors, hear: 
 Ye know Ne-pow-ra cannot fear. 
 And would the eagle meekly rest 
 To see the horned owl rob his nest? 
 Last night the moon was round and white. 
 And Nain-dee, hunting by its light, 
 Saw Ulah o'er the prairie go, 
 And, followii g her footsteps slow, 
 He heard her love-song faintly fly 
 On echo-wings toward the sky, 
 Saw where her coward-lover broke 
 The branches of the river-oak : 
 And when the warrior nearer drew, 
 Oconee's panther face he knew. 
 With whispered words, as those afraid. 
 Beneath the tree awhile they stayed. 
 Then, by the river's sighing breast. 
 They passed together toward the West. 
 Shall this vile foe unpunished stalk, 
 With laughing eye and bragging talk, 
 And say: "Ne-pow-ra's anger gnaws 
 His breast, but he must idly pause. 
 For all his trembling braves are squaws?" 
 
 Pauwega rose: Beneath his brows 
 An eye flashed out whose glance could rouse 
 The dullest warrior's heart and streak 
 With instant glow, his swarthy cheek. 
 His voic^ at first was low and light, 
 Then, rismg in a bolder flight, 
 6 
 
82 STARVED ROCK. 
 
 Rang through the wood so loud and clear 
 That the high tree-tops rocked to hear. 
 Never discordant, never sharp, 
 But as a full, resounding harp 
 When skillful fingers deftly fling 
 Grand, martial numbers from the string, 
 Kept still a little underswell 
 Like the faint echo of a knell 
 And in its highest eloquence, 
 Came subtly softened to the sense. 
 
 "Brothers, the chieftain's heart is sore; 
 Love lights his silent ho'me no more; 
 As yon bare tree, his head is old. 
 Already is his wigwam cold. 
 
 "The winds of winter, sharp and swift. 
 Will pile around the snowy drift. 
 And who shall build the fire to warm 
 At night, Ne-pow-ra's weary form? 
 
 "All day he looked to see the face 
 Where brightness made its dwelling-place. 
 All day in grief he sat alone. 
 Because his singing bird had flown. 
 
 "My brothers, who is this that comes. 
 With crafty step so near our homes, 
 And bears away toward the West 
 Our fairest flower upon his breast? 
 
 "Oconee, — son of that far foe, 
 Who, at our heart three springs ago. 
 
STARVED ROCK. 83 
 
 Aimed his swift darts and sought to tear 
 From our high heads the raven hair. 
 
 "Pauwega's heart grew hot to hear 
 Their bragging war-songs smite his ear; 
 From his strong bow the arrow fled 
 And Shabbonah bowed down his head. 
 
 "He came — a river strong and fleet; 
 Stern as the rocks we stood to meet; 
 And, as the cataract's waters pour, 
 He fell and sleeps forevermore. 
 
 "Shall the snake's offspring dare to rise 
 And with the eagle sweep the skies ? 
 Soar through the clouds and tell the sun 
 What deeds his crawling sire has done ? — 
 
 "Saying: The mighty chieftain made 
 Ne-pow-ra's haughty band afraid, 
 And I, Oconee, came from far 
 And bore away his brightest star?' 
 
 "Let the red West cry out in shame, 
 And let the South grow bright with flame ! 
 Let the keen. East wind swiftly blow, 
 And with the North-wind answer : *No !' 
 
 "Arise ! let us — a tempest strong — 
 Follow these flying leaves along. 
 While our swift arrows, in the wind. 
 Sing as the trees we leave behind. 
 
84 STARVED ROCK. 
 
 "Arise! and let the forest hear 
 Our war-cry, bursting loud and clear: 
 While the dumb rocks shall voiceful grow 
 And echo: 'Vengeance on the foe!'" 
 
 Ah, now Ne-pow-ra's voice could lead 
 A thousand Braves to vengeful deed ! 
 When once some mischief-loving hand 
 Flings out the little, burning brand 
 Into the prairie, a faint shine 
 Will mark its course and then a line 
 Along the ground v/ill redly gleam, 
 Like sunset-ray adown the stream, — 
 Then a still blaze and then at length 
 A sudden rousing into strength, 
 As though like a wild battle-steed 
 The leaping flame v\^ere urged to speed : 
 Then fiery hosts, like ambushed men, 
 Leap up from every pleasant glen, — 
 Till all along the grassy way 
 Death riots on his smitten prey, 
 Robs the sweet land of all its bloom, 
 And makes the world one vaulted tomb. 
 
 IV. 
 
 * ( * * jk ' * 
 
 All suddenly a timorous cry 
 Arose and pierced the silent sky: 
 "Oconee! wake! the foe is nigh!' 
 
STARVED ROCK. 85 
 
 Instant as lightning at the sound 
 A score of warriors spurned the ground, 
 And dashing down the silver dew 
 Along the dark shore westward flew. 
 With lengthened leap, like panther's tread, 
 The sinewy forms untiring sped, — 
 These, silent as the arrowy rays 
 That light the glittering polar ways. 
 Those following with whoop and vaunt, 
 With angry threat and jeering taunt ! 
 Fleet is the foot that terror flings. 
 But vengeance moves with fleeter wings. 
 Nearer each waving crimson crest. 
 And nearer still and nearer pressed! — 
 And now before them darkly towered 
 A massive rock with cedars bowered, 
 Girt by the Illinois, that shone. 
 Around its base as by a throne 
 A cloth of silver shining lies 
 And sparkles up to kingly eyes. 
 Most fit for kings the boulder lay, 
 Majestic, strong and stern as they, 
 The tyrant of the darkened land, 
 All isolated, cold and grand. 
 No foot could reach its lofty head 
 Save by a narrow path that led 
 Rock-guarded upward, dark and steep, — 
 Impregnable as castle keep. 
 Its walls the white moon lightly veiled, 
 There grape and crimsoning ivy trailed; 
 There glowing yet, were blossoms rare 
 That purpled in the Summer air; 
 A hundred feet above the swarm 
 
S6 STARVED ROCK. 
 
 Of eddying waves it reared its form. 
 
 And gave the swooping eagle rest 
 
 Upon its broad and mossy breast. 
 
 All day the great white heron stood 
 
 To watch the ever-flowing flood, 
 
 Intent upon his silent prey 
 
 Whose fins flashed through the river-spray ; 
 
 And there the broad-winged owl flew by 
 
 All the long night with tuneless cry. 
 
 Screened with its deepest shade — then first 
 A cry from the young chieftain burst: 
 **Ulah! my Braves! in boyhood's day 
 My feet have climbed this narrow way; 
 And O, be glad once more, for thus 
 Has the Great Spirit cared for us!" 
 Then linked with Ulah, led the flight 
 Up the dark bluff's gigantic height, 
 And searching where the rocks divide 
 Found a safe covert for his bride : 
 Then backward to the path he sprang 
 And loud his bold defiance sang: 
 
 "Ye are a mighty band, and we 
 Are little and we could but flee: 
 Yet follow here and our swift darts 
 Shall fly and tear your serpent hearts !" 
 
 Oh, twice ten thousand men would quail 
 That narrow, guarded road to scale; 
 Though but a score might fling their darts 
 That score could pierce a score of hearts 
 
STARVED ROCK. 87 
 
 With every lifted bow and still, 
 
 Hide from the enemy at will. 
 
 Beside the silver river's bed 
 
 A hundred valiant Braves lay dead; 
 
 While the fierce wolf watched from the plain 
 
 With hungry haste to reach the slain. 
 
 Like some strong beast withheld from prey 
 
 Ne-pow-ra sprang: The frenzied ray 
 
 That leaped within his lifted eyes, 
 
 Might almost make the dying rise. 
 
 Oconee saw him in the gloom, 
 
 And knew him by his princely plume: 
 
 Fleetly toward his towering head, 
 
 Winged with a curse the elf-bolt sped, 
 
 Met him as up the height he pressed 
 
 And sank into his maddened breast. 
 
 He paused : Like some high forest-tree 
 
 He stood a space, then turned to flee, 
 
 But ere his failing foot could leap 
 
 Reeled and swung powerless down the steep. 
 
 Forth at the sight Pauwega sprang 
 While the thick arrows round him sang, 
 And with a giant-strength he bore 
 The chieftain to the further shore: 
 Then softly gathering up the dead 
 A little way the warriors fled. 
 While, hid in many a rocky notch,- - 
 The wakeful sentry held his watch, 
 That no light foot should steal away, 
 And rob dread Hunger of his prey. 
 
88 STARVED ROCK. 
 
 Ne-pow-ra lived, if life can flow 
 When its red tide has sunk so low : 
 With gathered grass they piled his bed 
 Pillowed with moss his stirless head 
 And laid hnii where his opening eye 
 Could unobstructed sweep the sky. 
 
 He woke at last: His first slow gaze 
 Seemed to dawn forth in shrouding haze, 
 But suddenly flashed full and high, 
 While from his lips a gasping cry 
 Came hoarsely : "Let the cowards die !" 
 And to the savage senses, came 
 His meaning through his eye of flame. 
 
 The days moved drearily along, 
 
 A pallid and discordant throng, 
 
 The nights with clouds of darkness crowned 
 
 Dropped dews like death-damps to the ground. 
 
 Death was at work : The sluggish air 
 
 Was weighed with breathings of despair. 
 
 But not a wailing cry arose 
 
 To swell the joy of waiting foes. 
 
 At length along the world there came 
 An Autumn day, half-frost, half-flame 
 The red sun flung his banner high 
 And fleet, cold winds went wailing by. 
 Ne-pow-ra, rigid as the clay 
 
STARVED ROCK. 89 
 
 From which the soul has fled away- 
 Lay on his couch, — his glassy eye 
 Turned hungrily toward the sky. 
 He would not die till he could know 
 The rarest vengeance of a foe ; 
 Till he could say: "They cry for aid — 
 These women-warriors are afraid !" 
 Ah, what has roused the leaping blaze 
 That flashes through his lifted gaze? 
 What nerves the darkening brain anew 
 To light with life Death's clinging dew? 
 What lifts him from his grassy bed, 
 And rears once more his haughty head? 
 See ! on the boulder's mossy breast 
 There gleams aloft a scarlet vest 
 And through the air a sound of woe 
 Steals to the greedy ears below. 
 
 *'Ne-pow-ra — father — O, come nigh 
 And hear thine erring daughter's cry : 
 Let the last flame of wrath depart 
 And Ulah fill again thine heart. 
 
 "Oh, thou wert wont to say her eye 
 As thine own glance was brave and high; 
 And thou wert wont to say her feet 
 Were like her mother's, light and fleet! 
 
 "See ! dim the eye that used to shine 
 With lightning flame as bright as thine; 
 
90 STARVED ROCK. 
 
 And slowly now the feet must tread 
 That go to meet the mother dead ! 
 
 "Oh, thou wert wont with willing feet 
 To bring thy daughter tender meat; 
 And thou didst greet with kindly word 
 At morn and eve thy singing bird! 
 
 'Thou knowest how Ulah oft did bring 
 For thee cool water from the spring, 
 And crush the maize and build the fire 
 To feed and warm her warrior sire. 
 
 "Ne-pow-ra — father — hear my cry! 
 O, give us food ! we fail ! we die ! 
 Let the last flame of wrath depart 
 And Ulah fill again thine heart." 
 
 Vain prayer, to unresponding ear! 
 He heard not — or he would not hear! 
 Revenge — or something mightier, drew 
 Forever from the rock its dew. 
 Then all grew still; — the very wave 
 That seemed the pulse of Nature gave 
 No voice, but a low, sighing sound 
 As from a heart whose griefs abound. 
 They broke the chain of that weird spell, — 
 They came, they touched him and he fell; 
 They raised the plumed and kingly head, — : 
 He stirred not — spoke not : he was dead. 
 
starved rock. 9 1 
 
 The Death Song. 
 
 Then on the boulder's kindling crest 
 While the last sunbeam kissed his breast, 
 Oconee, pallid as the dead, 
 Like a tall poplar reared his head. 
 
 "Let the grey wolf his watches keep: 
 He cannot make Oconee weep 
 Fierce hunger in his breast may rave, 
 His voice is strong, his heart is brave. 
 
 "Who says the chieftain fears to die? 
 Let the keen winds of night reply, 
 While, with a louder, swifter breath 
 He sings his happy song of death. 
 
 "He need not be ashamed : his bow 
 Has laid no weeping woman low; 
 No boy has trembled at his tread ; 
 His hand had scalped no brother's head. 
 
 Ere yet his early years were gone 
 He learned to chase the flying fawn, 
 Scared the bold eagle from his nest 
 And sent an arrow to his breast. 
 
 "The prairie-wolf his voice to hear 
 Crept to his hole and shook with fear; 
 And if he sought the forest wide 
 The screeching panther turned aside. 
 
92 STARVED ROCK. 
 
 "Great Tautor beta's bloody hand 
 Smote the weak tribes and fired the land ; 
 Oconee's fleet, unerring dart 
 Drank the red river of his heart. 
 
 "Wi-com-i-ket was tall and brave 
 As trees that in the storm-wind wave; 
 With bursting yell he scared the day ; — 
 Oconee tore his scalp away. 
 
 ''Now while the Night's great shadows fall 
 Oconee hears his father call; 
 And sees the sunbeam in the West 
 That waits to guide him to his rest. 
 
 "Who says the chieftain fears to die? 
 Let the loud winds fling back the lie! 
 And let the great oaks tell the wave 
 How glad his heart is and how brave !" 
 
 The starving moon that walked the sky 
 With pallid face and patient eye 
 Had pined away with wasting charms 
 And died in evening's circling arms, 
 When to the boulder's towering head 
 His Braves the chief Pauwega led. 
 Wrapped to her lover's faithful b"east 
 Did Ulah take her dreamless rest. 
 The red, wind-shaken ivy trailed 
 Above her brow so meekly veiled 
 With drooping tresses and her face 
 Smiled on its swarthy resting-place. 
 
THE DEAD PINE. 93 
 
 As streams, that to the giddy verge 
 Where rolls the cascade's beaten surge 
 Their swift and willful courses urge, — 
 Along their green banks gliding single, 
 Till near the edge their torrents mingle, 
 Then clasping closely loving palms, 
 Chant in their fall concordant psalms, — 
 So were these savage lovers: Deep 
 And peaceful their eternal sleep! 
 Who such united fate could weep? 
 
 Pineries, Mich., i860. 
 
 THE DEAD PINE. 
 
 In the centre of the wood, 
 
 Where a little clearing lay, 
 A sequestered dwelling stood, 
 
 Waiting for my feet one day. 
 
 Coming in, a road cut out 
 
 Through the berry-brambles led. 
 
 Winding curiously about. 
 
 Where the matted roots were spread* 
 
 Half a thousand years before 
 
 Had been training up the pines — 
 
 All along the forest floor, 
 
 Marshalling them in stately lines. 
 
94 THE DEAD PINE. 
 
 Redly flamed the Autumn sun; 
 
 And upon the eddying air, 
 Came the torn leaves, one by one — 
 
 Some were dusky, some were fair. 
 
 Maples lithe and scarlet-leaved, 
 
 Leaning earthward, brushed my cheek, 
 
 And the drooping beeches grieved 
 As if just about to speak. 
 
 But the tales they would have told 
 By the minstrel pines were caught, 
 
 And in mystic language rolled 
 
 Downward for my solving thought. 
 
 Language eerie, soft and strange, 
 And I listened with a thrill; 
 
 Did it breathe of earthly change, 
 Or of something sadder still? 
 
 Must I, in this secret place, 
 See my life-hopes torn away, 
 
 As the pines, with solemn face, 
 Saw the forest leaves that day? 
 
 Who could tell? But this I knew, 
 Surely as the world doth roll, 
 
 1 must have my Autumn, too, 
 Chilling all my stricken soul. 
 
THE DEAD PINE. 95 
 
 Fresh from city sound and sight, 
 Bowed I then my head and sighed 
 
 With a sadness half deHght, 
 And a gladness tearful-eyed. 
 
 'Here a little while," I said, 
 Will I linger, to prepare 
 For the dwellings of the dead, 
 For the gloom and silence there. 
 
 ■'Gathering from the sweeping wind, 
 Gathering from the waving trees, 
 Sweetest thoughts to feed the mind, 
 Or a dream of miseries. 
 
 "Calm seclusion well may suit 
 
 Those who feel the Hfe-pulse fail — 
 Birds whose latest songs are mute, 
 Ended in a broken wail. 
 
 "It is very sad," I said. 
 
 But when sickness stays the flight, 
 Though we live we yet are dead. 
 In the morning crowned with night. 
 
 Standing In the cabin door 
 
 When the darker hours were gone- 
 Three most lofty pines before 
 
 Singing in the crimson dawn. 
 
^6 THE DEAD PINE. 
 
 Then i saw, not far away, 
 
 One which had been dead so long 
 That the rising wind of day 
 
 Could not rouse it into song. 
 
 "Oh, most bitter lot!" I thought, 
 
 "Thus to stand unthrilled and mute 
 When all else is music fraught, 
 As the breath within a flute. 
 
 "Silent, melancholy tree. 
 
 Saddest feelings thou dost bring; 
 Am I not akin to thee — 
 I who nevermore can sing?" 
 
 And a pity in my heart 
 
 For the heart of that dead pine 
 Grew, until it seemed to start 
 
 Into something more divine. 
 
 More divine than it could be — 
 Being dead, unfruitful, cold; 
 
 In its youth a simple tree — 
 Nothing now that it was old. 
 
 Oh, the heart will bud and bloom 
 Into little loves like this — 
 
 Loves that hover round a tomb. 
 Images of death to kiss! 
 
 Every morning thus I stood, 
 Looking past the stately three, 
 
THE DEAD PINE. 97 
 
 Where beside the withered wood 
 Towered my blasted, songless tree. 
 
 Every evening, thus I said; 
 **Ere another dawn shall break, 
 We who live and yet are dead. 
 In the final blast may quake." 
 
 Once at night I woke, and high 
 Raved the Winter's voice of fear; 
 
 Tempests rode along the sky, 
 Wind-wails sounded in my ear. 
 
 Strangely startled where I lay. 
 
 Looking southward through the glass, 
 I could see along their way 
 
 All the cloudy legions pass. 
 
 Oh, the mad, beseeching signs! 
 
 Oh, the long, despairing call! 
 Oh, the surging of the pines — 
 
 Like a roaring waterfall! 
 
 *Such are we," I murmured low, 
 "Mocked of life and racked with pain,; 
 Struck by all the winds that blow ; 
 Crying out for help in vain." 
 
gS THE DEAD PINE. 
 
 While my fierce rebellion grew 
 Strong, tempestuous as the wind, 
 
 Sudden sounds came in and drew 
 Outwardly my striving mind. 
 
 Something like a woful shriek, 
 Something like a hurried blow; 
 
 Then a gasping cry and weak; 
 Then an instant overthrow. 
 
 "Ah, no more, my silent tree. 
 Brother of my heart and life. 
 Will I look at morn on thee, 
 Ended evermore the strife." 
 
 Leaning toward my window pane. 
 By the dawning's earliest line. 
 
 Came a wonder to my brain — 
 Stood unbowed my blasted pine. 
 
 But of those — the kingly Three — 
 One green head was smitten low; 
 
 And there came a thought to me. 
 While I smiled to see it so. 
 
 "When the grief-wind, full of dread. 
 Raves around the human heart, 
 We who live and yet are dead 
 Are not they who feel the smart. 
 
 "But some life that never wore 
 Sign of scath or scar of wound, 
 
THE DEAD PINE. 99 
 
 Stricken to its very core, 
 
 Wailing, dying, seeks the ground.'* 
 
 Once again: The day was laid 
 At the noon-tide in a shroud; 
 
 And the woodman's labor made 
 All the air with echoes loud. 
 
 Talking by the fire-light-shine. 
 Some one, entering, said to me, 
 
 Soon will fall your blasted pine — 
 Hurry to the door and see!" 
 
 Leaning outward in the cold, 
 
 Then I whispered, with a sigh, 
 "Oh what use the sick and old ? 
 Brother of my heart, good-by! 
 
 Blows resounding, sharp and fast 
 Through the clearing, smite my ear; 
 
 Brother, once the cleaving past. 
 Thou and I have naught to fear." 
 
 Instantly, by prescience true, 
 As if something told me so, 
 
 Turned I to the stately Two, 
 Looking for the overthrow. 
 
 Then, at once, the axe grew still. 
 And I saw the loftiest wave 
 
100 THE DEAD PINE. 
 
 Just a little from the hill, 
 As if looking for a grave. 
 
 Slowly, slowly, slowly bowed — 
 Struggling with a giant strength — 
 
 From its dwelling near the cloud, 
 Came the noble head at length. 
 
 Oh, the quivering — the strain 
 Tugging at each fibre fine! 
 
 Oh, the yearning cries of pain ! 
 Oh, the falling of the pine! 
 
 With a sound of rushing power. 
 With a last, unearthly call. 
 
 Broken as a fragile flower. 
 Lay the stateliest tree of all. 
 
 Leaning outward in the cold, 
 "Brother of my heart," I said, 
 *'Who would smite the sick or old — 
 They who live and yet are dead? 
 
 "We the work of Time must wait 
 
 While the long years round us creep. 
 Ere we yield us to our fate. 
 
 Gently crumbling down to sleep." 
 
 Now the fair white-handed May 
 As a gentle nurse came near. 
 
THE DEAD PINE. lOI 
 
 Where the sick world moaning lay, 
 And she smiled away his fear — 
 
 Touched his pulses, faint and low. 
 
 Stirred his heart-strings worn and weak. 
 
 Till the life in sudden flow 
 Ran along his swarthy cheek. 
 
 Rambling over blossoming ground, 
 
 I, with infantile delight. 
 Some new glory ever found, 
 
 Waiting for my happy sight. 
 
 But one morn, upon the hill 
 
 Loitering in the joy of day, 
 Some weird feeling came to fill 
 
 All my soul with sore dismay. 
 
 This way, that way did I look — 
 Nothing strange was in my sight, 
 
 But the brake-fronds near me shook, 
 And the birds came down from flight. 
 
 Then a creaking, rending noise — 
 "Ah," I sighed, "my brother pine, 
 
 When all else is rocked with joys, 
 Saddest fate must now be thine." 
 
 But there came a horrid crash ; 
 
 In the fair face of the sun 
 There was made a sudden gash — 
 
 Earthward swept the stately One! 
 
102 THE DEAD PINE. 
 
 Green and flourishing and strong, 
 Yet some fibre underneath 
 
 As a lute-string strained too long, 
 Parting, sent it down to death. 
 
 Then I sat me down to think ; 
 
 For my lonely, leafless tree, 
 Stood above the streamlet brink 
 
 Looking down upon the Three. 
 
 "If the tempest-grief go by, 
 If misfortune's weapon spare, 
 They who thrive may sink and die 
 As the pine, when all is fair. 
 
 "But alas, O brother old, 
 
 We who live and yet are dead 
 Wait through night and wintry cold— 
 Bearing long our doom of dread." 
 
 Never came the hectic blush 
 To a lady's pleasant face, 
 
 Softlier than the crimson flush 
 Tinting every wooded place. 
 
 Never sank a lady's tone 
 To a more melodious fall 
 
 Than the dying summer's moan 
 While she waited for the pall. 
 
THE DEAD PINE. IO3 
 
 Now within the cabin door, 
 With a heavy heart and eye, 
 
 Outwardly I leaned once more, 
 Looking toward earth and sky. 
 
 "O most quiet home of mine, 
 Linked so tightly to my heart, 
 Give me now some farewell sign 
 Ere my loitering feet depart! 
 
 "Back to city sound and sight 
 Some new lesson let me bear. 
 That shall teach my soul aright 
 Both to suffer and to dare. 
 
 ''Not a song upon the wind, 
 
 And the sunset in the West — 
 So much evening shroud the mind! 
 So must silence seal the breast! 
 
 "O, thou still and leafless pine, 
 
 Thou whose day will surely end ! 
 Well I named thee brother mine; 
 To a common night we tend." 
 
 While I lifted up my eyes, 
 To its lofty top there came 
 
 Straightway from the Western skies, 
 Sudden lines of golden flame. 
 
I04 THE DEAD PINE. 
 
 Now my brother seemed to wear 
 Such a halo round his head 
 
 That no more my Hps could dare 
 Call the ancient prophet dead. 
 
 In his majesty he stood 
 Glorified before my sight — 
 
 Of the broad, encircling wood 
 
 He alone was crowned with light. 
 
 "Now perchance," I wondering said, 
 
 "He some other life may claim — 
 And this silence — like the dead — 
 Bear significance the same. 
 
 Surely soul has such full springs — 
 Is so infinite in scope, 
 Even dull, insentient things 
 May have spirit-life to hope. 
 
 "From The Father's breast a vein 
 Reaches down to every heart; 
 May not we send out again 
 Of our life some little part? 
 
 "If a globule of our love 
 
 Beat against a tree or flower 
 Does it not begin to move 
 Even with a soul that hour? 
 
THE DEAD PINE. IO5 
 
 "Why does sunset crown the pine 
 That is dead, if not to show 
 That its heart as well as mine, 
 Yet will triumph over woe? 
 
 "Coming out of midnight wind, 
 Coming out of wintry strife, 
 Leaving 'living Death' behind 
 In the realm of dying Life. 
 
 "And who knows but when in me, 
 Spirit-life shall sweetly thrive, 
 I shall find this stately tree 
 By my loving made alive? 
 
 'While the sunrise flames shall play 
 All around us, brother mine, 
 
 We may both be named that day, 
 Songful soul and songful pine." 
 
 Who the simple thought can blame? 
 
 For when sunset ends the day 
 Everything is touched with flame 
 
 Even to the sordid clay. 
 
 And my life-light shining low, 
 Streaming on this withered pine, 
 
 Made it seem, beneath the glow, 
 Something larger, more divine: 
 
I06 THE DEAD PINE. 
 
 More divine than it could be — 
 
 Lifeless, fruitless, gray and cold — 
 
 In its youth a simple tree: — 
 Now a cumberer of the mold ! 
 
 Still, thereafter, when I turned 
 Backward for a farewell gaze, 
 
 All my heart within me burned 
 As the hearts of August days. 
 
 Doubtful of my doubting thought — 
 "Live,"I said, "O, prophet tree! 
 
 Thou hast many a lesson taught — 
 Silent though thou art — to me. 
 
 *'If a globule of our love 
 
 Beat against a tree or flower, 
 We ourselves begin to move 
 With a larger soul that hour. 
 
 ''When I spread my wings in flight, 
 When my feet have spurned the clay, 
 I shall whisper: *'One at night 
 Did prefigure this my day. 
 
 ''One insentient, still and cold, 
 Lifting up his head on high, 
 Showed me how the sick and old 
 Catch the splendors of the sky. 
 
THE DEAD PINE. 
 
 107 
 
 ''Being bare of leaves, the wind 
 Passes by with scarce a blow; 
 Being sapless none can find 
 Reason for an overthrow. 
 
 'Being all unthrilled and mute, 
 
 Death who makes the heart-strings quake, 
 As a rough hand strikes a lute, 
 
 Cannot find a chord to break. 
 
 "It is very sweet,'' I said, 
 
 "When dark sickness stays the flight, 
 We may live, though we are dead — 
 In the eve be crowned with light. 
 
 "Thou art brother of my heart 
 Prophet-pine forevermore, 
 Not divided though we part — 
 I shall love thee while I soar." 
 
 Leaving the Pineries, September, i860. 
 
I08 LOST AND SAVED. 
 
 LOST AND SAVED. 
 I. 
 
 Alone on the mountain-side 
 
 The red sun seeks his lair, 
 And brown leaves over me ride 
 
 On the waves of the mocking air. 
 Like sinful souls unshriven, 
 
 Ashamed or afraid to pray, 
 They are whirled from their native heaven 
 
 And utterly cast away. 
 
 II. 
 
 Oh, just! that hither I roam 
 
 To this desolate hill's rude breast, 
 Having no kindred or home. 
 
 Finding no refuge or rest! 
 For I am the guiltiest woman 
 
 That ever to ruin went; 
 Not a law, Divine or human. 
 
 Has circled my soul unrent. 
 
 III. 
 
 Was I pure one day? so long 
 
 Are the dreary years between, 
 That fountain and zephyr and song — 
 
 Ah, what do the sweet words mean? 
 It may be the sunlight bathed me 
 
 Once, under a laughing sky; 
 But so has the lightning scathed me, 
 
 Dead, dead at the heart am I ! 
 
LOST AND SAVED. lOQ 
 
 IV. 
 
 O, love of my mother dear — 
 
 Mighty to shelter and save! 
 Gone, gone this many a year, 
 
 Fast locked in the wintry grave! 
 And I, left alone to perish— 
 
 Poor heart rejoicing in hope-— 
 Had no one to counsel or cherish, 
 
 Nor strength with the spoiler to cope. 
 
 Or ever the spring had fled 
 
 He found me in girlish grace .... 
 
 Ah, woe ! 'tis the face of the Dead ! 
 
 Where, where can I hide from the face? . . 
 There were sighs like the south wind's breathing, 
 
 But certain to blister and blast ; 
 There were silken promises, wreathing 
 
 The knife that would sever at last. 
 
 VL 
 
 Oh, ever God's terrible tides 
 
 Bring souls to the world below! 
 And ever the libertine hides 
 
 Lest God and the world should know ! 
 But alas, for the creatures slender. 
 
 Who out in the shock and roar, 
 Must clasp what the billows render, 
 
 And carry their babes ashore! 
 
no LOST AND SAVED. 
 
 VII. 
 
 I cradled the child on my heart; 
 
 I gave her a Christian name; 
 With the laborers bore my part 
 
 And suffered my sorrow and shame. 
 Till my darling grew wan in the morning 
 
 And crimson with fever at night: 
 In her dull eye was written the warning — 
 
 My bud was beginning to blight. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Then spindle and spool were still, 
 
 No loom wove the cotton or silk ; 
 There was only the heart's blood to spill- 
 
 The pitcher was emptied of milk ! 
 I left my lily a-sleeping — 
 
 How strange was her tranquil smile !- 
 To stifle my heart's wild weeping 
 
 And pray in the church a-while. 
 
 IX. 
 
 The church — with green it was decked, 
 
 The music thundered aloft, 
 Until by its passion wrecked 
 
 It died in a tremor soft. 
 And there by the sacred altar 
 
 Under the orange boughs, 
 With a voice that did not falter 
 
 He uttered his marriage vows. 
 
CX)ST AND SAVED. iIIU 
 
 X. 
 
 Was it for this I gave 
 
 To the fiend my roses red? . . . 
 Go back, go back to the grave, 
 
 O palUd face of the Dead ! . . . 
 In the deep of the night, where clamber 
 
 The vines of the balcony wide, 
 I climbed to the bridal chamber, 
 
 And smote him, so that he died. 
 
 XL 
 
 1 fled with a laughing eye, 
 
 For his bride slept sweetly and well; 
 And his lips gave out no cry, 
 
 When his soul rushed forth to Hell! 
 As a leaf by the tempest drifted, 
 
 I came to my hovel old; 
 My beautiful child I lifted— 
 
 And, ah, she was icy-cold! 
 
 XIL 
 
 O, Death! O, vengeance dire! 
 
 O, stillness of heart and breath ! 
 O, flames of consuming fire ! 
 
 O, agony worse than Death! 
 What were the end if I tarried! 
 
 Hunger would stab and stay; 
 And so through the dawn I carried 
 
 The dead, white thing away. 
 
112 LOST AND SAVED. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 Or else they had made it a bed 
 
 Saying the while: "It is well 
 That the child of shame is dead ; 
 
 Let us ring no funeral knell. 
 Not a sorrowing mourner grieves it, 
 
 Or over its coffin prays ; 
 For the mother is glad and leaves it 
 
 To follow her wicked ways." 
 
 XIV. 
 
 Alone on the mountain-side 
 
 I laid my perishing one, 
 Where the mossy crags would hide 
 
 Her face from the stating sun. 
 "The wind and the dew will kiss her/* 
 
 I said as I turned away; 
 **But my arms and my heart shall miss her 
 
 Eternally and a day !" 
 
 XV. 
 
 Afar from the sacred ground 
 
 I travelled, hungry and lone, 
 Till a slough of sin I found 
 
 In a city overgrown. 
 A slough of sin and cursing, 
 
 Of loathing and merriment dire; 
 Each day the last rehearsing, 
 
 But bringing the dark doom nigher. 
 
LOST AND SAVED. 11^ 
 
 XVI. 
 
 In bitter and black despair 
 
 This life of the lost I led, 
 Till I lifted my spirit in prayer. 
 
 And praying, arose and fled. 
 Haunted and mad I hasted, 
 
 Fainting and out of breath. 
 Till the gall of remorse I tasted, 
 
 Once more on the mountain of death. 
 
 XVII. 
 
 The mocking blast is wild 
 
 A-stripping the leaves away, 
 And the bones of my beautiful child 
 
 Are white in the failing day, 
 God knows how my sins outnumber 
 
 The leaves of His withering trees ; 
 But I sink to my last, long slumber 
 
 And wait for His just decrees. 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 O, pass trom my blinding eyes, 
 
 Poor ghost! let me perish alone; 
 But would that my prayers could rise 
 
 For thee to His great, high Throne! 
 And God will be Judge between us — 
 
 Judging woman and man as well ; 
 We shall see if His Grace will screen us 
 
 From the seven-fold fires of Hell. 
 
 T* ^ 5JC 3|» T* 
 
 8 
 
114 LOST AND SAVED. 
 
 XIX. 
 
 O, love of my mother dear ! 
 
 O, smile of a wonderful face! 
 O, singing voice in my ear! 
 
 O, plentiful showers of grace ! 
 Torn of the demons seven, 
 
 I came to the hill to-night; 
 Am I dreaming a dream of Heaven? 
 
 Or why is my robe so white! 
 
 Buffalo, October, i860. 
 
POEMS 
 
 1860— 1866. 
 
 ORIGINAL DEDICATION. 
 
 To the Members of The Nameless Club, I 
 would gratefully present the results of that 
 labor which they have so kindly encouraged and 
 approved; — praying them to accept therewith 
 earnest assurances of my sisterly regard. 
 
 A. T. J. 
 
DAY AND NIGHT. 
 
 DAY AND NIGHT. 
 
 119 
 
 One eve my Margery and I 
 
 Sat watching — blissfuly alone — 
 
 The splendor creeping down the sky, 
 The darkness climbing to its throne. 
 
 The sun was somewhere in the West ; 
 
 We knew it by the jets of light 
 That leaped against the evening's breast; 
 
 But he was sunken out of sight. 
 
 And as we marked the gleams that gave 
 To twilight transient hues of dawn, 
 
 The Night, that painter pale and grave. 
 Brushed out the lines that Day had drawn. 
 
 On lake and landscape, cloud and sky, 
 With violet shades blurred all the parts. 
 
 Until we felt — my love and I — 
 An evening in our very hearts. 
 
 And so I said — her hand in mine. 
 
 Her head against my shoulder laid — 
 
 "Wise Nature oft inscribes some sign, 
 Which, to interpret, makes afraid. 
 
 'While sunlight, Margery, always fair, 
 Is symbol, Sweet, of what thou art; 
 This hour, that darkens all the air, 
 Portrays mv own sad counterpart. 
 
I20 MORTA. 
 
 "Day dies with the approach of night: 
 Thus do I read the fateful sign ; 
 
 Thy Hfe, with its transcendent Hght, 
 Will perish if 't is linked with mine." 
 
 Straightway she answered, while a glance 
 Of lustrous meaning lit her eye : 
 
 "The shades of life its lights enhance. 
 And I, for love of thee, would die ! 
 
 "Yet day dies not, but being drawn 
 
 Beyond itself (so love is given), 
 Makes for the night a silver dawn. 
 And gains — a twilight glimpse of heaven." 
 
 i86r. 
 
 MORTA. 
 
 Hither some conquering magnet brings 
 My soul from shadowed haunts of Time: 
 Up through an empty space I climb — 
 
 I soar, and yet I wear no wings. 
 
 I pause, yet feel no earth beneath ; 
 
 I see nor sun nor moon nor star ; 
 
 I hear no murmurous seas afar; 
 I breathe no zephyr's perfumed breath. 
 
 Yet now a humming in my ears, — 
 A woful, wailing, wild refrain; 
 As if the Night, aware of wane, 
 
 Lamenting, woke the silent spheres. 
 
MORTA. T2I 
 
 And lo ! a radiance intense 
 
 Spreads far and wide ; so very white. 
 
 It seems the spirit of a light 
 Divorced by spirit-law from sense. 
 
 By spirit-law is given to me 
 The excellence of spirit-sight : 
 Ensphered by this undazzling light, 
 
 A silent, smileless group I see. 
 
 Two white-garbed spinners at a wheel 
 Whence constant, mad complainings flow ; 
 And One, whose task I may not know, 
 
 Nor its significance unseal. 
 
 An ebon crown, of regal mold, 
 
 Circles the grandeur of her head ; 
 
 The whiteness of her robe is dread ; 
 And she is wan and very old. 
 
 No wind is in her silver hair ; 
 
 No breath from her pale mouth exhales : 
 Yet, toward me, while she slowly sails, 
 
 My soul her answering speech will dare. 
 
 O woman of the shrouded eye. 
 
 Of frigid mien and ashen brow, 
 
 Speak : wherefore, whence and who art tHou? 
 Resolve this threefold mystery. 
 
 "By this calm brow — most dreary calm ! 
 
 By this white cheek — most deathly white ! 
 
 By this closed eye that knows no sight, 
 Sister, thou readest all I am. 
 
■[22 MORTA. 
 
 "From Time's dark fleece grave Nona's hand 
 Draws out the slender thread of Hfe ; 
 Whirling the humming wheel of strife, 
 
 Decima winds the tortured strand. 
 
 *'But I am Morta, — she who rends, 
 
 With instant touch its length in twain ; 
 And there is no more bliss nor pain 
 
 Forever, when the spinning ends. 
 
 "Who hears my solemn words, must rise 
 And follow, follow where I lead: 
 A captive, never to be freed, 
 
 With voiceless throat and sightless eyes." 
 
 And art thou Morta? O most rare, 
 Most piercing melody of voice ! 
 As if the heart had sung, "Rejoice!" 
 
 Even while the lips had wailed "Despair!" 
 
 Nona, arise ; put by the fleece, — 
 Life fails with torture overmuch; 
 Decima, stay thy guiding touch, 
 
 And let the troublous spinning cease : 
 
 Morta, I hear — I follow thee ; 
 I hold thee by thy robe of snow : 
 Yet go where thou canst never go, 
 
 And see what thou canst never see. 
 
 A fleece of shining white unrolled ; 
 
 A wheel whose turning has no end ; 
 
 A joined thread thou canst not rend. 
 And One the gleaming strand doth hold. 
 
/ 
 
 THE PROPHECY OF THE DEAD. 12 
 
 Softly the singing wheel revolves ; 
 Softly my heart sings evermore : 
 While, learned in Life's seraphic lore, 
 
 Death's threefold mystery it solves. 
 
 1861. 
 
 THE PROPHECY OF THE DEAD. 
 
 April, 1861. 
 
 Is the groaning earth stabbed to its core? 
 
 Are the seas oozing blood in their bed? 
 Have all troubles of ages before 
 
 Grown quick in those homes of the dead? 
 The red plagues of yore — 
 
 Must they to our season be wed ? 
 
 We thought the volcano of War 
 Would belch out its flames in the East ; 
 
 We knew where the winds were ajar 
 With the quarrel of soldier and priest ; 
 
 We shuddered — though far — 
 To think how the vultures might feast. 
 
 We said, "We have Liberty's smile: 
 Go to! we are safe in the West!" 
 
 But the plague-spot was on us the while, 
 And the serpent was warm in our breast: 
 
 We can no more revile — 
 The ox is for sacrifice dressed. 
 
t24 THE PROPHECY OF THE DEAD. 
 
 Do ye hear, O ye Dead, in your tombs — 
 Ye Dead, whose bold blows made us free — 
 
 Do ye hear the reveille of drums? 
 Can ye say what the issue shall be? 
 
 Past the midnight that comes, 
 Is the noon rising up from the sea? 
 
 Who whispered? Is life underneath 
 
 Astir in the dust of the brave ? 
 For there steals to my ear such a breath 
 
 As can only steal out of the grave : 
 "Ye must go down to death : 
 
 Ye have drunk of the blood of the slave." 
 
 We have sinned, we have sinned, O ye Dead ! 
 
 Our fields with the out-crying blood 
 Of Abel, our brother, are fed: 
 
 Must we therefore be drowned in the flood? 
 Waits no Ararat's head? 
 
 Is no ark guided there by our God ? 
 
 "Ye must go down to death : have ye heard 
 The tale of the writings of yore, — 
 
 How One in the sepulchre stirred, 
 
 And cast off the grave-clothes he wore? 
 
 In the flesh dwelt the Word- 
 Inheriting life evermore. 
 
 "When the foes of the nation have pressed 
 To its lips the sponge reeking in gall ; 
 
 When the spear has gone into its breast, 
 And the skies have been rent by its call ; 
 
 It shall rise from its rest : 
 It shall rise and shall rule over all." 
 
THE SOLDIERS MOTHER. 125 
 
 THE SOLDIER'S MOTHER. 
 
 Awake, little daughter, awake! 
 
 The sad moon is weaving her shroud; 
 The pale, drooping lily-bells quake; 
 The river is sobbing aloud. 
 
 I want your sweet face in my sight. 
 While I open my room to the night: 
 The torn clouds are flying, the lupine is sighing. 
 The whip-poor-will wails in affright. 
 
 There's a shadow just marked on the floor — 
 
 Now soaring and breaking its bond; 
 Tis the woodbine, perhaps, by the door 
 Or the blooming acacia beyond. 
 Oh, pitiful weakness of grief! 
 Oh, trouble, of troubles the chief! 
 When shades can assail us, and terrors impale us. 
 At sight of a quivering leaf. 
 
 I weep, little daughter, I weep; 
 
 But chide me not, love, for I heard, 
 Three times in the depth of my sleep. 
 The clang of a terrible word. 
 "Your Harry is dying," it cried: 
 'Ts dying" and "dying," it sighed; 
 As bells that, in tolling, set echoes to rolling, 
 Till fainting sound ebbs as a tide. • 
 
 Then the walls of my room fell away; 
 
 My eye pierced the distance afar, 
 Where, by the plowed field of the fray, 
 
126 THE soldier's MOTHER. 
 
 The camp-fire shone out as a star. 
 And southward, unhindered, I fled, 
 By the instinct of motherhood led; 
 The night-wind was blowing, the red blood was 
 flowing. 
 And Harry was dying — was dead! 
 
 I dreamed, little daughter, I dreamed — 
 
 Look ! the window is lit by a face. 
 Is it not ? Well, how life-like it seemed ! 
 Go, draw down the curtains of lace. 
 It may be 'twas only a flower; 
 For fancy has wonderful power. 
 The loud wind is whirring — hark! something is 
 stirring — 
 Tis midnight — the clock knells the hour. 
 
 The horseman had ridden all night ; 
 
 His garments were spotted with gore; 
 His foot crushed the lily-bells white — 
 He entered the vine-covered door. 
 "Your Harry is dying," he said: 
 The mother just lifted her head. 
 And answered, unweeping, as one who is sleeping, 
 "Not dying, good soldier, but dead !'* 
 
 1861. 
 
FORT DONELSON. 
 
 127 
 
 FORT DONELSON. 
 
 February 16, 1862. 
 
 (A Popular Song.) 
 
 Now what the tide of Right can stay? 
 
 The battle-demon cowers; 
 Our foes fling down their arms to-day- 
 Fort Donelson is ours ! 
 
 Up with the Federal flag, my boys ! 
 
 Down with the Stars and Bars! 
 Three times three cheers! — Rebellion 
 
 hears, 
 And owns the Stripes and Stars! 
 
 Three days have loyal hearts and true 
 Poured out their crimson showers; 
 Oh, never fell such precious dew! 
 Fort Donelson is ours! 
 
 Up with the Federal flag, my boys! 
 
 Down with the Stars and Bars ! 
 Three times three cheers! — our country 
 hears : 
 All hail the Stripes and Stars! 
 
 Wild ran the fire along our veins, 
 
 To nerve our failing powers; 
 We strewed with death the reeking plains ; 
 But — Donelson is ours! 
 
 Up with the Federal flag, my boys ! 
 
 Down with the Stars and Bars ! 
 Three times three cheers! till Europe 
 hears : 
 All hail the Stripes and Stars! 
 
128 FORT DONELSON. 
 
 The frowning hills above us stood 
 
 Like doorless, granite towers : 
 There cannons roared athirst for blood ; 
 They and the hills are ours! 
 
 Up with the Federal flag, my boys ! 
 
 Down with the Stars and Bars ! 
 Three times three cheers! — Creation 
 hears : 
 All hail the Stripes and Stars I 
 
 Down on our right their cannon-balls 
 Dropped swift as summer showers ; 
 On rushed our troops — right through their 
 walls ! 
 Fort Donelson was ours! 
 Up with the Federal flag, my boys ! 
 Down with the Stars and Bars ! 
 Three times three cheers! — high Heaven 
 hears : 
 All hail the Stripes and Stars! 
 
 Yes, Heaven and we have won the day— 
 
 The battle-demon cowers; 
 Now what the tide of Right can stay? 
 Fort Donelson is ours! 
 Up with the Federal flag, my boys! 
 
 Down with the Stars and Bars ! 
 Three times three cheers — three times 
 three cheers ! 
 God save the Stripes and Stars! 
 
 1862. 
 
HERTHA. 129 
 
 HERTHA. 
 
 Within my room, by heat oppressed, 
 
 (All morning shades being vanished quite,) 
 
 I loitered long — a favorite guest, 
 Right free to idle as I might ; 
 
 Yet fretted sadly, void of rest. 
 
 And in no thought could take delight. 
 
 "Obscure thy sun, fair August day !" 
 
 My peevish lips did sighing plead ; 
 "Drop down the shining, silvery way. 
 
 Yon far-drawn mists from rivers freed ; 
 Nor let the tawny eve delay — 
 
 Thou givest warmth beyond the need." 
 
 My tempted soul took up the thought : 
 "On some thy heart is greatly bent. 
 
 Who cold and scant returns have brought. 
 And thou withal hast been content ; 
 
 Perchance they sigh — 'O warmth unsought! 
 We would this noon of love were spent !* " 
 
 The birdling, happy in his cage, 
 
 Trilled like Venetian boatman's flute, 
 
 Nor could the golden creature gauge 
 His tireless voice my mood to suit ; 
 
 "Sweet song," I cried, "but it were sage 
 If now and then the bird were mute !'* 
 
 "Aye !" said my soul, "and do thou note 
 The same, lest thy beloved sneer: 
 
130 HERTHA. 
 
 'Sweet may thy song be, but by rote 
 We have its round of carols clear : 
 
 It were but wise to rest the throat, 
 And trouble less the sated ear.* " 
 
 But white-browed Hertha, gentle child, 
 Thereat came near, and, pleading, said: 
 
 "I know where waters undefiled 
 Are over rocks and rushes shed; 
 
 And softest mosses near them piled, 
 Make dewy cushions for the head. 
 
 *'Dear lady, through so green a nook 
 Your city pathways never strayed ; 
 
 Then come \" So urged, her hand I took, 
 And walked beside the little maid. 
 
 Through odorous clover, to the brook 
 That did its flowery bank abrade. 
 
 swift and pure ! half bright, half dark. 
 It trailed the supple willow bough; 
 
 Thence rose the grateful meadow-lark, 
 Singing as but the lark knows how : 
 
 1 looked therein, and blushed to mark 
 The fretful line across my brow. 
 
 "My loving Hertha," then I sighed, 
 *T am ashamed of grief to-day! 
 
 Be thou my mentor as my guide ; 
 Thy mood I'll mirror, grave or gay." 
 
 She pondered, laughed, and she replied, 
 "Then half yourself you'll throw away !*' 
 
HERTHA. 131 
 
 "Even so," quoth I, and laughed as well; 
 
 Meanwhile the brooklet at our feet 
 Had plunged into a cooling dell, 
 
 And under talking trees did beat : 
 Howbeit, though they had news to tell. 
 
 Their speech to us was obsolete. 
 
 Despite the roughness of the way, 
 
 With childish glee we wandered down ; 
 
 The scented brier would lean and sway, 
 And lightly pluck us by the gown ; 
 
 Our steps did many a bird affray. 
 Our laughter many a warble drown. 
 
 "Full densely here the boughs o'erlace, 
 
 Now let us rest," I often said ; 
 "Here, Hertha, is the loveliest place," — 
 
 And, "Here are cushions for the head." 
 She only turned a willful fac^ 
 
 And I, obedient, still was led. 
 
 But now a beech had turned the tide 
 
 Through spicewood bowers where followed 
 we; 
 
 It spread its silken meshes wide, 
 
 And down a chasm went floating free 
 
 Oh never veil of princess-bride 
 In broidery half so rich could be ! 
 
 There we on couches green did sink : 
 
 No burning sun might rest deny ; 
 But like a bird that chose to drink, 
 
132 HERTHA. 
 
 One iiake of light was flitting by. 
 And all the bubbles on the brink 
 Therewith did rainbows multiply. 
 
 Then, after rest and reverie long, 
 (For who could idly prattle there?) 
 
 I spake and did the sweetness wrong, — 
 *'Dear Hertha, life is full of care ; 
 
 And we, who are not wise and strong, 
 Have more of grief than heart can bear. 
 
 "But if we love — are loved in turn — 
 How light becomes the largest weight ! 
 
 Now tell me, for I fain would learn. 
 How shall we find such gentle fate? 
 
 Alas ! for love too many yearn. 
 And all their days go desolate !" 
 
 No straight reply the maiden chose, 
 But mused : "I saw a worm to-day 
 
 That slept and fed upon a rose. 
 
 Till something prompted it to stray ; 
 
 Slow creeping thence, it lost repose. 
 And piercing thorns were in the way !" 
 
 Her thought I seized : God's love being ours, 
 
 Still on a fadeless rose we feed ! 
 We bask in light, we bathe in showers ; 
 
 No softer couch our spirits need. 
 Thence creeping — ah we find no flowers ! 
 
 But thorns are sharp and hearts must bleed. 
 
THE EVENING STAR. 133 
 
 Within my arms the child I drew ; 
 
 She kissed away my bursting tears ; 
 **0 Rose," I cried, "yet fair and new. 
 
 Though left for thorns these many years! 
 My heart receives thy falling dew, 
 
 My climbing soul thy beauty nears !" 
 
 1862. 
 
 THE EVENING STAR. 
 
 Lean from the lattice, lady bright ; 
 
 Trifle no more with the pensive guitar ; 
 For the sun 'n an ebbing ocean of light 
 
 Is anchored, to wait for the evening star. 
 
 And yonder the palace-windows blaze : 
 
 Such radiant gold from the West they win, 
 
 That you say, in a sort of pretty amaze, 
 "Surely, there must be a sun within !" 
 
 Over your head a rose-vine clings, 
 Deftly the long stems climb and lace ; 
 
 And a full, red bul in the West wind swings 
 Brushing the rose of your beautiful face. 
 
 Lean from the lattice, lady sweet ,*« 
 The wind is blowing the bud apart ; 
 
 And one is coming adown the street, 
 To open to you his princely heart. 
 
134 THE EVENING STAR. 
 
 But your lips are touched by a scornful smile: 
 
 "What is he, but a boy ?" you say ; 
 "If I bent to him for a little while. 
 
 It was only the whim of a lady gay." 
 
 Trifle again with the vibrant guitar : 
 
 But the boy you scorn has reached your side, 
 And, looking away at the evening star, 
 
 You drop for a moment your sceptre of pride. 
 
 The star is leaning out of the skies, 
 
 To hearken to passionate words and low : 
 
 "I love" — and "I love," your heart replies, 
 Whether your lips assent or no. 
 
 What if you turn his fear to joy? 
 
 Yield him the heart he dares implore ? 
 Lean on the swelling breast of the boy, 
 
 And love him and love him for evermore ? 
 
 Your cheeks are hot, O lady proud ! 
 
 They prate of the pained heart's rapid throes ; 
 But over the star there sweeps a cloud, 
 
 And you — are crushing the half-blown rose. 
 
 Fine is the pride of the steady eye, 
 
 Of the curving lip, and the stately head ; 
 
 Measured and clear, with never a sigh, 
 Are the words of the cruel falsehood said. 
 
 Now close the shutters and light the lamp; 
 Recklessly toy with the merry guitar: 
 
RICHMOND. 135 
 
 The wind of the West is cool and damp, 
 And — what care you for the evening star? 
 
 And yet — and yet, O lady fair, 
 
 If yonder palace you think to win, 
 With its windows blazing with gold, beware 
 
 How you fancy there is a sun within! 
 
 Else, pierced by a life-long pain, I ween, 
 Robbed of all love-light, cheated of joy. 
 
 Even you, lady, will pine to lean 
 
 On the noble, burning heart of a boy. 
 
 1862. 
 
 RICHMOND. 
 
 July, 1892. 
 
 O Richmond, the summer that shines on thy 
 
 towers 
 Will tremble and shudder and turn from her 
 
 flowers. 
 Will creep over fields where our strong armies 
 
 paused. 
 And die at the sight of the blood thou hast caused. 
 
 Thou city of slaves. 
 For thee and thy sins earth is teeming with 
 
 graves. 
 
136 RICHMOND. 
 
 For thee and thy dark sins ! O Richmond, be- 
 ware, 
 Lest the dread wings of Pestilence move in the 
 
 air; 
 Lest Famine thy strength and thy loveHness 
 
 Wight; 
 Lest the arm of Jehovah be Hfted to smite: 
 
 For never before 
 Such fair vines of promise such bitter fruit bore ! 
 
 Death, death on the plains, in the vales, by the 
 
 wave; 
 Death, ghastly and stiff without coffin or grave; 
 Death clutching the bayonet — grasping the gun — 
 And the heat of God's anger ablaze in the sun! 
 
 O Richmond beware! 
 They die who the wrath of Omnipotence dare. 
 
 But the white dove of mercy above thee still flies, 
 And the rain of fire dashes not down the veiled 
 
 skies : 
 'Tis the lull, the long pause ere the vial is 
 
 poured, 
 And the plagues are let loose that run after the 
 
 sword. 
 
 Midway the bolt stays: 
 Love waits for repentance, and Justice delays. 
 
 Sink 'down in the dust ; own thy sins of the past ; 
 Let the bondman go free in thy borders at last; 
 While the hill-sides resound with thy suppliant 
 cry, 
 
RICHMOND. 137 
 
 Peradventure the Lord God will hear and reply: 
 
 If His grace thou deride 
 His arm will be lifted — then woe to thy pride ! 
 
 For a voice from the ''temple of Heaven" will 
 
 call — 
 *'It is done! it is done!" and the judgment will 
 
 fall ; 
 And "voices and thunders" around thee will 
 
 blend, 
 The fire will consume and the earthquake will 
 
 rend: 
 
 In the hurricane's path — 
 Thou shalt drink of the "wine of the fierceness 
 
 of wrath !" 
 
 And lo! at thy gates there will fall a "great 
 
 hail;" 
 Thy men will blaspheme and thy women bewail ; 
 For the plague thereof great and exceeding will 
 
 be: 
 But thy bondmen, O Richmond, shall rise and 
 
 go free; 
 
 And voices will cry, — 
 "The 'beast, scarlet-colored,' behold it must die !" 
 
I3o THE BATTLE OF GAINES' HILL. 
 
 THE BATTLE OF GAINES' HILL. 
 
 June 2j, 1862. 
 
 Inscribed to the gallant Pennsylvania Reserves 
 
 The battle's last, long thunders rolled ; 
 
 The witness-cloud to heaven was swept; 
 And night, the ghostly seer and old, 
 
 Around our blood-drenched borders crept : 
 Upon our arms we slept. 
 
 We slept: but Night, that ancient seer, 
 
 Conned o'er us his prophetic lore ; 
 And whispered low in many an ear, 
 
 *Thou art, but thou shalt be no more 
 When next the cannons roar." 
 
 Sleep that should lift the rugged cross 
 
 From staggering souls, but deepened pain. 
 
 With conscious sense of coming loss. 
 That like a wind preceding rain 
 Blew cold across the brain. 
 
 But ah, the rain to come! No noise 
 
 Within our guarded limits ran; 
 But heavy hands shook slumber's poise, 
 
 And wearily, in rear and van, 
 
 Our dark retreat began. 
 
 The stars, with crimson torches, sought 
 
 Their darkened pathways through the skies, 
 
 When woke our challenge-guns, and brought 
 From wary foemen's batteries 
 
 The boom of quick replies; 
 
THE BATTLE OF GAINES ' HILL. 1 39 
 
 As if fresh slaughter to prekide: 
 The while — by stratagem discreet — 
 
 Receding, pausing, scarce pursued, 
 With no disorder of defeat, 
 
 So moved our slow retreat. 
 
 But when the sun his sword unsheathed, 
 And smote us sore, at bay we stood — 
 
 To God, the Just, our lives bequeathed ; 
 Planted our guns by vale and wood, 
 To wait the rain of blood. 
 
 It came ! Full soon the war-fiend came — 
 
 Stern as hell's king, and fiery-browed ! 
 We saw him smite, with hand of flame. 
 The solemn battle-harp and proud, 
 
 Where rose the sulphurous cloud. 
 
 Behind our potent guns we stood — 
 Therefrom the awful war-bolts flew ; 
 
 Bomb following bomb, full many a rood 
 
 They plowed the smoking woodlands through, 
 And what beside — God knew. 
 
 We waited till the hour approved. 
 
 To hurl our forces undismayed. 
 Where Death in all his grandeur moved ; 
 
 God's cause and Liberty's to aid 
 By bayonet, ball, or blade. 
 
 There, fires that leap when patriots fall. 
 All startling sights that cowards shun ; 
 
140 THE BATTLE OF GAINES' HILL. 
 
 All sounds that hurtle and appall — 
 The bursting shell, the roaring gun — 
 On high, the seething sun ! 
 
 Full closely swarmed the Rebel horde; 
 
 Across the hill their bullets sang; 
 Along our yielding van they poured — 
 
 Their shouts like peals of victory rang- 
 Then, at the word, we sprang. 
 
 Sweeping into the front we came; 
 
 Awhile along the hill-side bent, 
 Charged through the deep ravine, to claim 
 
 Its walls, for none but heroes meant — 
 God with us, as we went. 
 
 Then did War's crashing music roll ! 
 
 Then did the fire of battle-wrath 
 Rush hot through every loyal soul; 
 
 And where we swept, along the path, 
 Was agony and scath. 
 
 The leaden hail smote left and right; 
 
 The air was like a furnace red; 
 The sky was dizzy with the sight; 
 
 The sun was reeling overhead: 
 
 You could not count our dead. 
 
 We saw their broken columns swerve ; 
 
 They shook and faltered at the test ; 
 New vigor shot through every nerve, 
 
 And hand to hand and breast to breast. 
 The glorious charge we pressed. 
 
THE BATTLE OF GAINES HILL. I4I 
 
 We drove them from the gory banks — 
 Through forest-aisles their courses urged; 
 
 By field and wood their eddying ranks, 
 
 Like storm-tossed billows backward surged. 
 By Northern valor scourged. 
 
 The battle's last, long thunders rolled; 
 
 And down the vaulted skies, once more, 
 Came Night, the ghostly seer and old, 
 
 To read fulfillment of his lore. 
 
 In streams of stiffening gore. 
 
 And we, with weak and gasping breath, 
 With hearts that bled for comrades slain. 
 
 Reeled, shuddering, from the hill of death. 
 And laid us down to sleep again. 
 The soldier's sleep of pain. 
 
 But every step upon the ground, 
 And every whisper stealing near. 
 
 Smote us anew with crashing sound, 
 As if the cannons rent the ear. 
 
 So loud the dead might hear. 
 
 The stars their darkest pathways trod. 
 
 When we once more, with staggering feet, 
 
 Low whispering to ourselves and God, 
 ''Only the sleep of death is sweet!" 
 Began our long retreat. 
 
142 THE VISION OF THE EGYPTIAN PRIEST. 
 
 THE VISION OF THE EGYPTIAN PRIEST 
 
 In the midst of the desert, companion was none : 
 My bed was the sand, and my pillow a stone ; 
 With my face to the East sought I slumber and 
 
 rest. 
 While entered Osiris that house of the West. 
 
 I feared not the power of the spirits that slay, 
 For I wore the white robe of the priesthood of 
 
 day; . 
 But the whirring of arrows I heard from afar, 
 Where Chamsin the Southwind made ready for 
 
 war. 
 
 By the fount where the gods wont to lave did 
 
 I lie: 
 It had shrunk to its caverns; its channels were 
 
 dry; 
 And I saw, in the dim skies, the Scorpion glare, 
 As the chariot of Night swept the zone of the air. 
 
 Lo! a shape from the earth rose, and darkened 
 
 and grew ; 
 With wings like the wings of a dragon it flew ; 
 The far constellations did tremble and reel : 
 Then knew I the vexer of Heaven, Adbeel. 
 
 I rose — I, the mortal — confronting the Shade; 
 Nor quailed in his pathway, nor cried out for aid : 
 Heaven was not, earth was not, time was not, nor 
 
 light: 
 But only Adbeel and my soul and the night. 
 
THE VISION OF THE .EGYPTIAN PRIEST. 143 
 
 His wild eyes I saw — eyes that never might 
 
 sleep — 
 Now lurid and baleful, now darkened and deep ; 
 His breath scorched the air like the wind of the 
 
 East, 
 And the censer he bore, and the rod of the priest. 
 
 In silence most awful we stood soul to soul, 
 And a great cloud of incense around us did roll; 
 The smoke of the incense did bend overhead, 
 Like Buthos, the Black-winged, that broods o'er 
 the dead. 
 
 "And thou art the Servant of Typhon," I thought. 
 "Is great Demiurgos then Ruler for nought ? 
 Has Neith torn the veil from her virginal breast? 
 Is Osiris fast bound in that house of the West ?" 
 
 The eye of the Vexer did lighten and ^leam, 
 While, always, that smoke from the censer did 
 
 stream ; 
 And lo, on its front, flames of scarlet did write, 
 "Great Typhon is Ruler — the god of the night. 
 
 "And thou art his servant : forever to dv»^ell 
 By Ameles, the fountain and river of helL 
 The robe of thine office strip from thee in dread, 
 Osiris lies low in the house of the Dead." 
 
 "I pay thee no homage, thou priest of the doud, 
 Though Isis go mourning, and Ammon be towed : 
 
144 THE VISION OF THE EGYPTIAN PRIEST, 
 
 Not Typhon is Ruler, while, daring his might, 
 One soul wears the robe of the priesthood of 
 light." 
 
 But symbols of fire ran anew on the scroll — 
 "Thou art sealed for the death: who shall rescue 
 
 thy soul? 
 For the signs of the zodiac tremble and reel 
 At the power of the Vexer of Heaven, Adbeel/* 
 
 "Go, seal thou the stars in the zone of the sky ; 
 Drag them down to the pit, from their houses on 
 high ; 
 At the feet of dark Typhon forever to roll : 
 But who, who shall darken the star of the soul ?" 
 
 More lurid and awful, quicic flames pierced the 
 
 cloud, 
 "At the feet of g^reat Typhon lies Neith in her 
 
 shroud ; 
 Demiurgos is fallen, Amenthe is won ; 
 Then where is thy savior, thou priest of the sun ?" 
 
 "Though the gods are asleep in the house of the 
 
 dead. 
 Behold ! I, the mortal, am god in their stead ! 
 And thou in my presence shalt tremble and reel. 
 Like the far constellations, thou Vexer, Adbeel !" 
 
 Then white was that cloud with the heat of his 
 
 ire; 
 He moved on, majestic, all shrouded in fire; 
 
THE VISION OF THE EGYPTIAN PRIEST. I45 
 
 With the rod of his priesthood upHfted,he strode; 
 He called forth his slaves from their secret abode. 
 
 They heard — they came forth, at his mandate in 
 
 haste : 
 Uprose, in their pathways, the sands of the waste ; 
 Their chariots, bird-drawn, through the desert 
 
 were driven ; 
 And wings shook the air, like the thunders o.V 
 
 heaven. 
 
 Their arrows, as scorpions, hissed in my ears ; 
 I was deaf with the clang and the whir of their 
 
 spears : 
 But I wore the white robe of the priesthood of 
 
 day — 
 They cowered at my feet, they fled, shrieking, 
 
 away. 
 
 Adbeel was alone, with the heat of his wrath : 
 He smote with the rod, he divided the path ; 
 The torn breast of earth gasped in audible breath. 
 Like the groaning of gods at the portals of Death. 
 
 From the chasm underneath gushed forth lava, 
 
 like blood ; 
 Beside me, around, ran the fire of the flood ; 
 Overhead was the blaze of the pendulous cloud; 
 Before, stood that servant of Typhon the Proud. 
 
 I lifted the rod of my priesthood on high — 
 The smoke of the incense went out of the sky : 
 I touched the hot sand — it was healed of its scars ; 
 
146 THE VISION OF THE EGYPTIAN PRIEST. 
 
 For the earth knew Asenath, the priest of the 
 stars ! 
 
 He saw : in deep silence we stood for a space ; 
 His breath, hke the breeze of hell, blew in my 
 
 face; 
 His eyes, within mine, did concentre and steep ; 
 They were subtle as Death, — as the pit they were 
 
 deep. 
 
 In the strength of my godhood confronting the 
 
 Shade, 
 I shook not, I quailed not, I shrieked not for aid ; 
 My eyes, within his, did not waver nor veer : 
 He trembled, he reeled, he was smitten with fear. 
 
 He fled from before me — his pinions were fleet! 
 Lo, the fount of the gods sprang anew at my 
 
 feet; 
 From the altar of Ammon, all stainless and white, 
 Came that mystical dove, the restorer of light. 
 
 And the lotus-flower out of the fountain was 
 
 born, — 
 Its azure and silver were fair as the morn : 
 There cradled, babe Horus the Beautiful slept. 
 Where the mother of gods in her solitude wept. 
 
 I looked to the East — there had risen a star ; 
 
 I saw the fair gates of Amenthe unbar ; 
 
 T beheld (yet I lived) through the veil of their 
 
 shrine, 
 Demirugos and Neith — One and ever Divine. 
 
THE SOLDIER S BRIDE. 
 
 147 
 
 Their love did constrain me — it drew nie above: 
 Through the gates of Amenthe, drawn on by 
 
 their love, 
 There, prostrate, adoring the Centre of Day, 
 I was numbered with gods — I was holy as they. 
 
 1862. 
 
 THE SOLDIER'S BRIDE. 
 
 At last the dread cloud that hung over the gorges 
 Has sailed to the West and extinguished the 
 sun; 
 At last, mid the mountains, war's thunderbolt- 
 forges 
 Have ceased their loud labor; all fighting is 
 done. 
 
 "My dearest, shrink not!" murmured he, when 
 we parted, 
 "But pray that Jehovah our freemen may 
 shield ; 
 And if I should perish, be not heavy-hearted." 
 In haste, then, he kissed me and sped to the 
 field. 
 
 So I have been calm, never weeping nor sighing, 
 While, yonder, my love rode in martial array ; 
 
 The battle-tide breasting, or wounded, or dying; 
 With cheers sweeping on, or borne down in 
 the fray. 
 
148 
 
 THE SOLDIER S BRIDE. 
 
 Till noontide those grand, rhythmic thunders 
 resounding, 
 Aroused into courage my patriot-zeal : 
 But then my quick pulse ceased at once from its 
 bounding ; 
 Pain entered my breast like the piercing of 
 steel. 
 
 This is not the time for weak wailing and sob- 
 bing; 
 My heart must be patient though riven in 
 twain. 
 This tent — how its quietness sets my veins throb- 
 bing! 
 This ghastly white moon — how it maddens my 
 brain ! 
 
 "Go not," so they said, "lest his courage should 
 falter ; 
 Stay under the fig-tree and nourish the vine ; 
 His hearthstone keep bright, feed the fire on 
 home's altar" — 
 But what with? riiy heart, love, torn bleeding 
 from thine? 
 
 Ah well! let them chide! I have freely resigned 
 
 thee; 
 
 Believing thee worthy those fathers of ours. 
 
 But how could I suflfer Death's herald to find 
 
 thee. 
 
 Alone, unconsoled, and I — tending my flowers ! 
 
THE soldier's BRIDE. 149 
 
 How hushed is the camp-ground ! the moonhght 
 is waxing 
 More cruelly white and more deathly serene; 
 From far comes the cry of the whip-poor-will, 
 taxing 
 The sense with a dulcitude, fearfully keen. 
 
 In the shadow a-near me the sentinel paces ; 
 The lightning-rent oak looms, in silence, 
 above ; 
 Wherever I turn gleam prophetic, wan faces ; 
 That Banshee — or bird — chants the death-song 
 of love. 
 
 Hist ! the guard, at my right, stands to challenge 
 the straying 
 That hasten with tidings concerning the strife ; 
 They whisper! They whisper! God! what are 
 they saying? 
 "Since noon he is missing — small chance of 
 his life. 
 
 "They saw him, when on to the charge he was 
 rushing : 
 With valor superb he led forward his men ; 
 The sods where they swept red as roses are 
 blushing — 
 Their dead, all unburied, are strewing the 
 glen.'^ 
 
 Their dead — ^but not mine! for the death-blow, 
 recoiling, 
 
150 
 
 THE SOLDIER S BRIDE. 
 
 Had spared not my life had my lover been 
 killed: 
 My spirit, with his, waits the final despoiling — 
 The cup, being broken, — is not the wine 
 spilled ? 
 
 He lives ! on the cold clod he waits my appearing, 
 
 Ere love's golden glory can suffer eclipse; 
 He yearns for my smile, death's last agony 
 cheering ; 
 The clasp of my hand, and the touch of my 
 lips. 
 
 Lead thou the way, friend, for the sake of the 
 dying. 
 
 Now blest be the moon for its shining to-night ! 
 Low down in the glen where my darling is lying, 
 
 How long ere I found him, except for its light ! 
 
 Move faster! what! think you I shudder or 
 tremble ? 
 Not so ! by the strength of my love I am led. 
 Press on — through the plains where the living 
 assemble ; 
 Press on — through the passes where slumber 
 the dead. 
 
 And now, beyond all, where the sods blush the 
 
 brightest, 
 (His valor exceeding all valor, to prove,) 
 Where moonlight's white tissue is blanched tr- 
 
 its whitest. 
 
THE SOLDIERS BRIDE. I5I 
 
 Lo, tranquilly slumbering, here is my love ! 
 
 Awaken ! O waken ! at last I have found thee, 
 Dear, never again from thee, never to part ! 
 
 Awaken ! O waken ! my arms are around thee, 
 My cheek on thy cheek, and my heart on thy 
 heart. 
 
 Deep peace on thy brow, like God's blessing, 
 reposes ; 
 With joy thy pulse fails, weakly striving to 
 beat; 
 Oh, the patriots' death-couch is softer than roses ! 
 'Tis certain thy dreams have been heavenly 
 sweet. 
 
 Yet waken ; my presence is better than dreammg : 
 
 The sweetest completion of rapture it brings ; 
 And ah, with new glory thy pale brow is gleam- 
 ing— 
 Thy glad spirit hears me, just poising its 
 wings ! 
 
 Thine eye, with its lustre of love, is upon me — 
 Oh, never the sun with such affluence shone ! 
 
 From the clasp of Death's merciless arms I have 
 won thee: 
 I know thee forever — forever mine own. 
 
 For grief struck me cold ere thy fate had been 
 told me: 
 
152 THE REALM OF THE WEST. 
 
 My soul caught the news, and made ready for 
 
 flight; 
 Now tenderly kiss me, love, sweetly infold me : 
 Heaven dawns with to-morrow — Good-night 
 
 and good-night! 
 
 1863. 
 
 THE REALM OF THE WEST. 
 
 A Popular Song. 
 
 Have ye heard of the beautiful Realm of the 
 West, 
 Encircled by oceans and kissed by the sun ? 
 Have ye heard of the nations that thrive on her 
 breast, 
 
 Bright heirs of her grandeur, the "Many in 
 One"? 
 Kings cannot govern this land of our choice : 
 
 Liberty loves us, and Peace is our guest : 
 Shout for the Union with heart and with 
 voice — 
 God is our King in this Realm of the 
 West! 
 
 Have ye heard of the wonderful conflict of old? 
 
 The lion was torn by the bird of the sun : 
 Through the world was the fame of our Wash- 
 ington rolled, 
 
FLOATING ON THE LAKE. 1 53 
 
 And Heaven sealed to Freedom the ''Many in 
 One r 
 Kings cannot govern, etc. 
 
 Have ye heard of her sons? They are vaHant 
 and true. 
 They harbor no hate when their battles are 
 done : 
 Her daughters are lovely as flowers in the dew, 
 And sweet are the Homes of the "Many in 
 One!" 
 Kmgs cannot govern, etc. 
 
 Tis the psalm of the Free that is borne on the 
 breeze : 
 It leaps from the heart of each patriot son. 
 While the full, surging chorus is sung by the 
 seas, — 
 
 *'FOR EVER AND EVER — the "MaNY IN OnE !' " 
 
 Kings cannot govern, etc. 
 Music by John L. Roberts, Littleton, Col. 
 
 FLOATING ON THE LAKE. 
 
 Lightly floating on the lake, 
 All the merry, merr>^ day; 
 How the swells arise and break, 
 Flash and toss their pearly spray ! 
 
 While I dream — float and dream — 
 
 As the billows in my wake 
 Roll and bubble, elide and gleam, 
 Creep and vanish in the lake. 
 
154 FLOATING ON THE LAKE. 
 
 IL 
 
 Green the shore and fair the lake; 
 
 Here the bark and there the glade; 
 Here the ripple, there the brake ; 
 Here the sun and there the shade. 
 
 While I dream — float and dream. 
 
 Would my heart might never wakei 
 Swell and bubble, glide and gleam, 
 Creep and sparkle, laughing lake. 
 
 III. 
 
 Sigh and murmur, swelling lake, 
 
 I 've a lover on the shore ; 
 There he waits my hand to take, 
 When my wayward mood is o'er. 
 
 Still I dream — float and dream; 
 
 Shall I never, never wake? 
 Creep and bubble, glide and gleam. 
 Sink and swell, O tossing lake ! 
 
 IV. 
 
 Hark ! the wind is on the lake ; 
 
 Shadows drift and veil the skies; 
 Yonder cloud begins to break, 
 Forth the baleful lightning flies. 
 
 Still I dream — float and dream ; 
 
 O my foolish heart, awake! 
 See the billows roll and gleam. 
 Rise and dash across the lake ? 
 
WHITE VIOLETS. 1 55 
 
 V. 
 
 Shoreward flying o'er the lake — 
 Ah my friend, too long alone, 
 Faithful still though all forsake ; 
 Well my loving shall atone ! 
 
 While we dream — sweetly dream 
 
 Suns may shine, or storms may 
 break ; 
 Roll and bubble, glide and gleam — 
 Love is brighter, swelling lake! 
 
 1863. 
 
 WHITE VIOLETS. 
 
 My sweetest friend I sought to please ; 
 
 I led her down a cool descent. 
 Where trailed the boughs of ancient trees. 
 Most quaintly bent. 
 
 A glen we found all velvet lined. 
 
 Whence, peering fifty fathoms down 
 We saw the flashing rapids wind 
 
 Through boulders brown. 
 
 A light cascade flung crystal globes 
 
 On dense green moss and slender sedge; 
 Then flitting on, in gauzy robes, 
 Waltzed o'er the ledge. 
 
156 WHITE VIOLETS. 
 
 Full softly shone, through leaves half furled 
 
 And filmy, frail, spray-silvered nets, 
 Those loveliest blossoms in the world, — 
 White violets. 
 
 Oh pure, oh fragrant woodland things ! 
 My friend beheld them with delight ; 
 She lightly brushed their snow-flake wings 
 With hand as white. 
 
 "Faif flowers ; and is it sweet," she said, 
 
 "To dwell in such a glade of dews?" 
 Then lower drooped her faultless head, 
 And seemed to muse. 
 
 *'But human hearts," she murmured then, 
 
 "With cause for constant sighs are weighed 
 Wherefore we yearn, though green the glen, 
 For deeper shade. 
 
 "And watching breezy water- jets 
 
 In mossy woods, we straightway crave 
 By their attendant violets, 
 A quiet grave." 
 
 "Kind Claire," I sighed, "the thought is thine 
 
 Still should I pray for lengthened life, 
 If but that restless hand were mine — 
 Its queen — my wife ! 
 
 "Yet softer sleep could never be. 
 When this my pilgrimage must end. 
 
POEM. 157 
 
 Than under flowers beloved of thee, 
 My sweetest friend." 
 
 She raised a rapt, transfigured face : 
 
 ''Blest with thy love," the maiden said, 
 "No more shall Claire crave resting-place 
 Among the dead !" 
 
 Soft sang the wind through ancient bowers ! 
 
 Light swayed the gauzy water jets! 
 Loving and loved ! — Oh rarest flowers, — 
 White violets! 
 
 1863. 
 
 POEM. 
 
 Read at the Anniversary Festivities of the 
 ''Nameless Club," October 2"], 1863. 
 
 Would mine were some celestial minstrel's art ! 
 So should I charm with dulcitudes of rhyme 
 The Nameless Empress of our festal time ; 
 
 Who, spirit-like, draws from the world apart, 
 But lights the pupils of our finer sight. 
 And dwells among us, palpable and bright, 
 
 Like Love within the chambers of the heart. 
 
158 POEM. 
 
 II: 
 
 For she is worthy sweeter song than mine 
 Who wins the fealty of souls Hke these ; 
 And, deftly touching Friendship's organ-keys, 
 
 Draws forth the prelude meet for hymns divine; 
 With loyal souls, for her we gladly pour 
 Flower-scented honey from our Summer store, 
 
 And bid our choicest palm-fruits yield their wine. 
 
 III. 
 
 Ye who remember in what guise she came, — 
 In darkness draped, a shade with starry eyes; 
 Till grown self-luminous, like boreal skies, 
 
 Ye saw her form of beauty limned in flame; 
 Ye know how then ye made in sacred rite, 
 For love of her a covenant with night. 
 
 And gave yourselves the shadow of a name. 
 
 IV. 
 
 And we, of late adopted, whom she drew 
 
 By the strong magnet of her gracious will, — 
 Who at the threshold of her throne-room, still 
 
 Have loitered, — touch, to-night, with reverence 
 due. 
 Her sceptre : lo ! like Aaron's rod of old. 
 It breaks in bud, its gradual flowers unfold 
 
 And perfect almonds ripen ixi our view. 
 
POEM. 159 
 
 V. 
 
 For where is festive gathering like ours ? 
 Fair Clio, muse of history, draws near, 
 And with new wine revives the dying year; 
 
 Here sings Euterpe, fresh from laurel-bowers ; 
 Calliope, well skilled the heart to reach. 
 From Thought's deep river flmgs the foam of 
 speech ; 
 
 And oh scorn not the Poet's scanty flowers ! 
 
 VI. 
 
 No festival like ours : yet while we meet, 
 
 We might discern, had we clairvoyant powers, 
 The silent ecstasies of mingling flowers; 
 
 The electric currents in a kindling heat 
 Of mutual joy; the sounding rush and jar 
 Of reveling tides ; mount greeting mount afar. 
 
 Through roar of avalanches white and fleet ; — 
 
 VIL 
 
 The soft attraction of June clouds, that shine, 
 Yet hide the sun till day is tinged with dark ; 
 As cherub-wings, flung radiant o'er the ark, 
 
 Shielded from mortal eyes its light divine ; 
 And the recurrent, glad concourse above 
 Of burning stars that still approach and love. 
 
 And lean from their curved orbit's golden line. 
 
l6o POEM. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 But we have nobler union : being made 
 
 Sentient of God and Truth and our own souls ; 
 
 And while each delicate pulse within us rolls 
 
 Quickened with friendly fervor, we are weighed 
 
 In Heaven's just balance, and all things beside 
 
 Found less than we, — flower, mount, electric 
 
 tide. 
 
 Cloud,, star, and sun, — through each material 
 
 grade. 
 
 IX. 
 
 Linked sweetly, life with life, how glad should 
 prove 
 
 Our annual gathering ! since one dear name 
 
 We bear; and recognize the vital claim 
 Of strong resemblances, that strangely move 
 
 With sense of adaptation each to each ; 
 
 Or sharp antagonisms, like wasps, that reach 
 Into the heart, to get the sweets of love. 
 
 X. 
 
 For transient raptures of the lesser kinds 
 
 Of this, exceeding all, are but rude types ; 
 
 Or far-off echoes of these music-pipes, 
 Where lurk the rhythmic powers of poet-minds: 
 
 Nature has myriad revelers ; but we. 
 
 Royally human, hold our jubilee 
 As princes do, whose hall no peasant finds. 
 
POEM. l6l 
 
 XI. 
 
 Even thus the winds, that, all the season through, 
 Ply their light wings, and toss the feathery 
 
 spray 
 Among the roses, or arise from play 
 
 To bend the giant larches, cool with dew, 
 Merry and wild with aery willfulness. 
 In frequent, tuneful revelries congress. 
 
 And all their birthnight harmonies renew. 
 
 XII. 
 
 For once in central caverns, dark and dread, 
 Dwelt winged ^olus, when the earth was new ; 
 There all his sons and daughters voiceful grew, 
 
 And shook with noise the mountains overhead: 
 Till Saturn's son — the wave-controUing god — 
 Vexed with their music, smote with cleaving 
 rod 
 
 The rock, sea-shaken, and unleashed they fled. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 How rushed they forth, alert and strong and 
 free! 
 With dancing feet to thrid the dark-arched 
 
 woods ; 
 To plow the sands on desert solitudes ; 
 O'er drowsy plains to chase the flitting bee ; 
 Down dripping chasms the falling leaf to whirl ; 
 Cloud against cloud mid leaping flames to hurl ; 
 To beat, with forceful wings, the frothy sea : 
 
l62 POEM. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 But, back at last, in sudden joyful raids, 
 They wheel into the caverns of their birth, 
 To fill with laughter all the vaults of earth,- 
 
 The secret, rayless, dewy haunt of shades; 
 To smite wild harps on every beetling ledge • 
 To pour libations unto Pan, and pledge 
 
 Eternal love, beside the sea-cascades. 
 
 XV. 
 
 So we, the Nameless, being loud in song. 
 In speech persistent, vexed the gods to smite 
 Our noisy souls from secret caves of night ; 
 
 And, restles as the winds, the sad year long 
 We beat the billows of opinion, caught 
 Mid storm and cloud the lightning-flames of 
 thought, 
 
 Or teased the reed, or did the trumpet wrong. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 Small spheres are ours : but we, at least, aspire 
 And by our diligence in labor, prove 
 Our right divine to life and hope and love ; 
 
 And while we wield the sword or sweep the lyre, 
 And sculpture the serene designs of Fate, 
 Sure of the crown are we, and purple state, 
 
 In those high courts where dwells our Lord and 
 Sire. 
 
POEM. 163 
 
 XVII. 
 
 And now all burdens from the heart we fling ; 
 
 We float from tempests, we are glad and free ; 
 
 We pass the turbulent whirlpools of the sea 
 Of human effort, poising every wing 
 
 For flights ecstatic, while we toss the spray 
 
 Of gleeful words, and pour with laughter gay 
 Libations to our queen, whose praise we sing. 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 Were seasons bitter in the bygone year? 
 We feel no chill to-night from any cold : 
 Crossed we the desert? back the sands have 
 rolled, 
 And the Nile's lapsing symphonies we hear : 
 Was love withheld? still we had love to give: 
 Are loved ones dead? our dead shall surely 
 live: 
 Has earth receded? ah, then Heaven is near! 
 
 XIX. 
 
 And more to grace our natal night, behold 
 A miracle ! beside the honeyed hive 
 Our sweetest flowers (for there were flowers) 
 revive ; 
 
 The autumn breeze, but lately waxing bold, 
 Dies in the fragrance of the bursting rose : 
 The Past bids all its emerald gates unclose — 
 
 Backward we glide and test the joys of old. 
 
164 POEM. 
 
 XX. 
 
 The flash of mind converging toward mind, 
 Caught and refracted in Love's crystal lens, 
 Lighting those vehement fires that melt and 
 cleanse 
 
 The gold of character, else unrefined ; 
 
 Harmonious wills that made all converse sweet, 
 Like bugles played in time with marching feet, 
 
 Or varying voices, tunefully combined ; 
 
 XXI. 
 
 And that rare confluence of soul with soul, — 
 As meeting rivers that through valleys pour, 
 Will fret and chafe the intervening shore 
 
 Until it breaks and as one wave they roll 
 
 Through noontide splendor and through mid- 
 night shade. 
 And nevermore are wholly two, but made 
 
 Each heir of both and partner in the whole ; 
 
 XXIL 
 
 And all the silent sympathies that rose 
 
 After the falling of some frost of grief — 
 Like violets that push the growing leaf 
 
 Against the lingering lines of April snows : 
 These joys were of the Nameless — still ar^ 
 
 ours, 
 And shall be till we lose the breath of flowers. 
 
 And find, on Arctic plains, our long repose. 
 
POEM. 165 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 While we the Year's chrysalides unlace, 
 
 And all their silken threads around us creep, 
 What living memories start from shrouded 
 sleep ! 
 
 Upon whose broad, gold-dusted wings we trace 
 The penciled curves of many a pictured scene — 
 Sun-copied hills, the river's rippling sheen. 
 
 And the soft hues of many a shadowy place. 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 For when the days were in their rosiest bloom 
 We shook away the dust of city marts ; 
 And with a happy sense of lightened hearts, 
 
 Let fall awhile our heavy weights of gloom : 
 Right princely was our welcome to the wood, 
 The green-roofed paths, the valley and the 
 flood. 
 
 And to the generous board and tasteful room ! 
 
 XXV. 
 
 The moon came up that eve, full-orbed and fair — 
 That sovereign Cleopatra, — ruling Night, 
 And dropping ever in his loving sight 
 
 Her threaded pearls adown the wine-like air : 
 Half undissolved they sank through shadows 
 
 gray, 
 Embroidered Mo-no-sha-sha's robe of spray. 
 
 And caught in Deh-ga-ya-soh's silver snare. 
 
l66 POEM. 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 All night we heart the river-cataracts pour: 
 Their ceaseless timbrels smote the ear of sleep ; 
 Till all our dreams, like waves that landward 
 sweep, 
 Were wild and voluble with naiad-lore : 
 And we were reft of rest, and seemed to be 
 Kuhleborns and Undines, dripping with the 
 sea. 
 Or knights and ladies drenched upon the shore. 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 Surely the water-witches tricked us well ! 
 
 When the carved cuckoo made the morning 
 
 hours 
 Finish their rounds with song, mid falling 
 showers, 
 And rain-weighed rose-vines ; scarcely might we 
 tell 
 Whether we had not lost our souls in dreams 
 Of that past night, and were but sprites of 
 streams, 
 Oreads of hills, or elfs of knoll and dell. 
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 Upon the grass-fringed lakelet, fountain-fed 
 With cooling rills, just drained from hill-side 
 
 wells, 
 Where, to the tinkle of sweet water-bells, 
 
POEM. 167 
 
 Serial jets were waltzing overhead, 
 By sirens lured, how daintily we rode ! 
 Till, drawn too near their crystalline abode, 
 
 What showers the fickle creatures o'er us shed? 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 We trod the dim cool windings of the trail 
 That through the forest led to secret nooks, 
 Where lightly laughed the ever - raptured 
 brooks. 
 And the Mitchella repens blossomed, pale 
 From love of shade and rich excess of dew ; 
 Where pulsed the bubbling spring, and down- 
 ward threw, 
 From tiny heights, its moss-entangled veil. 
 
 XXX. 
 
 We sauntered by the still, sequestered lake, 
 O'er which the trees leaned low and disallowed 
 Reflection of blue sky or tinted cloud : 
 
 Hushed were we into silence, or but spake 
 
 Half to recite, half chant some rhymed phrase : 
 (Ah! such the witchery of those woodland 
 ways. 
 
 The very lovers there their loves forsake!) 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 But thou, O Genesee ! above thy tide 
 On grassy lawn we loitered in the shade. 
 And watched thy cascade-waves their network 
 braid 
 
1 68 POEM. 
 
 Of sunny coils, the notched, rude rocks to hide ; 
 
 And heard — as choir-sung hymns, past archi- 
 trave 
 
 And frescoed arch, and pillar-narrowed nave — 
 Ever, O Genesee, thy songs of pride ! 
 
 XXXII. 
 
 Vaunting, thou child of clouds, thy lineage high ; 
 
 Thine ermine-bordered, rustling, gemmed at- 
 tire ; 
 Thy rainbow-wrought pavilion, fringed with fire 
 Of ardent suns when reigns the proud July ; 
 
 Thy creeping, leaping, battling waterfalls ; 
 
 Thine ancient, steadfast, most imperial halls, 
 Whose lofty chambers swell thy lightest sigh. 
 
 XXXIII. 
 
 O home of peace ! O cedar-bbwered land — 
 
 Glistening Glen Iris, beautiful as heaven ! 
 
 O cloven hills, by flood or earthquake riven ! 
 O riotous stream, impetuous and grand! 
 
 There while we dwelt, gay laugh and mimic 
 feud 
 
 Our youth revived, our childhood half renewed, 
 And knit, forever one, onr songful band. 
 
 XXXIV. 
 
 But shall we yield our souls to dreams of rest? 
 Floating on gossamer-memories, away 
 From dissonant life and all the sad to-day, — 
 
POEM. 169 
 
 To sink into the poppy's scarlet breast, 
 
 Crying "Here linger! there is need of sleep!" 
 When round us "deep is calling unto deep," 
 
 Nation to nation in the East and West ? 
 
 XXXV. 
 
 List to their passionate voices : "Wake, oh wake ! 
 Our rulers rule not well : their yokes are hard ; 
 Their palaces the very day retard 
 With lengthened shadows, when the mornings 
 break : 
 Are we but slaves that thus we crouch the 
 
 knee? 
 Hearken ! God thunders, 'Ye are men — are 
 free!' 
 And dynasties beneath his judgments quake." 
 
 XXXVI. 
 
 How long shall Poland faint and Hungary sleep ? 
 How long shall sultan smite and emperor plot? 
 How long shall tears of blood earth's records 
 blot? 
 How long shall Afric, scourged, submissive creep 
 And drag the brutal trader's shameful chains? 
 How long shall Northern blood wet Southern 
 plains ? 
 How long shall heroes sow and dastards reap? 
 
 xxxvn. 
 
 O Power Supreme, thou knowest — thou aione 1 
 But there are omens in the air and sky, 
 That prove the very gods are drawing nigh — 
 
170 POEM. 
 
 Touched to the heart by every human groan. 
 Cloud-veiled, they ride to end the doubtful 
 
 fray; 
 Around their feet the obedient lightnings play ; 
 Dovvn mount and vale their heaven-forged bolts 
 are thrown. 
 
 XXXVIII. 
 
 Wild battle-blasts have withered half our land, 
 
 And Freedom pants and pales in hellish toils; 
 
 But ah, above the dragon's stiffening coils, 
 The car of Victory rolls from strand to strand ! 
 
 Its winged coursers cleave the smoke of strife ; 
 
 From mortal dust blooms deathless spirit-life; 
 Dread War rides on — but rides toward issues 
 grand. 
 
 XXXIX. 
 
 For God will speak; and clash of cleaving 
 sword, 
 And cherub-harps and archangelic songs 
 In larger sound will merge unheard, while 
 throngs 
 Of stars, made fair by his Creative Word, 
 Will hark to the ineffable voiceful breath: 
 "Columbia, rise — thou conqueror of Death ! 
 Savior of nations, counselor and lord !" 
 
 XL. 
 
 Comes not the hour? quake not the rock -based 
 hills? 
 
POEM. 171 
 
 Falls not g^rief's darkness over sea and plain? 
 
 Are not -the veils of temples rent in twain ? 
 Have not the Dead grown quick with throes and 
 thrills 
 
 Of actual Hfe? — appearing, saintly pale, 
 
 Through faint aureola and shimmering veil, 
 While Sin his own death-measure over-fills ? 
 
 XLI. 
 
 For us, who now all mournful thought forbear. 
 Weak, ''Nameless," we are children none the 
 
 less 
 Of Him, who ever waits jn heaven to bless 
 With kind "Well done !" our sad laborious care. 
 There shall our lives, that find rough channels 
 
 here, 
 Flow smoothly on, nor beat the shores of Fear ; 
 And all their hours be sweet and debonair. 
 
 XUI. 
 
 Thus when our souls, ascending, seek the sun, 
 Each from new heights of social joy shall turn, 
 And, looking earthward, find the broken urn 
 
 Of his past life with myrtle overrun ; 
 
 And hear some loiterer in the graveyard say, 
 'This soul was worthy of heaven's perfect day, 
 
 Who did the work God gave, and hindered none/' 
 
172 THE NIGHT BATTLE 
 
 THE NIGHT-BATTLE UNDER LOOKOUT 
 
 MOUNTAIN. 
 
 October 28, 29, 1863. 
 
 Be silent, lute, long used at need, what time the 
 
 heart seemed breaking; 
 And thou, my slumbering sylvan reed, forego 
 
 thy wild awaking. 
 Such deeds have filled Columbian crypts thaty 
 
 meet applause to grant them, 
 We want the trumpet at the lips and Gabriel's 
 
 voice to chant them. 
 
 And yet so high through songful speech God's 
 
 diapason rises. 
 Not even Gabriel's voice the reach of every stave 
 
 comprises ; 
 And we, who swell the lowest key, — albeit none 
 
 revere us, — 
 Shall soar and sing till land and sea, aye, all their 
 
 dead shall hear us! 
 
 Then wake from slumber, lute and reed! let no 
 bravuras falter: 
 
 Oh, not to drown your moans who bleed, self- 
 cast on Freedom's altar ! 
 
 But when the shock and roar of War roll out- 
 ward and diminish. 
 
UNDER LOOKOUT MOUNTAIN. I73 
 
 'Tis meet that sylvan notes afar the lessening 
 echoes finish. 
 
 When Hooker led his valiant men o'er rude and 
 
 devious courses, 
 And northward turning, in the glen, encamped 
 
 their weary forces, 
 The wary Southern host, thereby, in upland 
 
 haunts abiding, 
 Did in their silent trenches lie, from Northern 
 
 ardor hiding. 
 
 No time did faithful soldiers waste, no chance 
 they craved to dally. 
 
 But pitched the tent with cheery haste and forti- 
 fied the valley; 
 
 Until the bleeding sun at eve sank like a warrior 
 wounded : 
 
 His mountain-lair dared Longstreet leave? — no 
 answering cannon sounded. 
 
 But midnight poised her silver scale, with moon 
 
 and planet freighted, 
 And suddenly the rising gale another tale related : 
 Swift battle winds smote all the pines; through 
 
 branch and root they tingled, 
 And down the length of martial lines a thousand 
 
 volleys mingled. 
 
 On came the Southrons in their might; their 
 
 muskets crashed before us; 
 Their batteries smoked along the height, their 
 
 shells did riot o'er us : 
 
174 THE NIGHT BATTLE 
 
 To break our lines and beat us back, or slaughter 
 
 where they found us, — 
 Oh all the wolves were on our track, we heard 
 
 them howl around us! 
 
 Down into Geary's camp they pressed, and three 
 
 to one assailea him; 
 Uprose his veterans from their rest, and not a 
 
 warrior failed him; 
 But one to three they stood, to dare and face 
 
 the direst sequel: 
 Nay! three to three — since Freedom there and 
 
 God made numbers equal ! 
 
 Now Hooker at the fearful noise of onset and 
 resistance, 
 
 Cried: "Forward, double-quick, my boys, dash 
 on to their assistance !" 
 
 And into line fell Howard's corps; no storm- 
 lashed tides of ocean 
 
 E'er leaped from shoal to beach with more pre- 
 cipitance of motion. 
 
 The regal hills had drawn aside their purple 
 
 shades intrusive; 
 The dew-sown vales lay glorified with starry 
 
 gleams illusive; 
 The air was opulent with light, dissolving and 
 
 refining — 
 Was ever road to fame so bright? to Death so 
 
 fair and shining? 
 
 Their startled pulses rush like rills when rains 
 have made them greater! 
 
UNDER LOOKOUT MOUNTAIN. 1 75 
 
 They surge, they pour between the hills, as lava 
 
 from the crater. 
 Now they, full young, whose vigorous feet were 
 
 swift for merry meeting, 
 Shall in the rush of battle-heat, bring fearful 
 
 gifts of greeting. 
 
 Huzza, they sweep, through rocky glades in 
 
 serried order steady ! 
 Their strong hands grasp their hilted blades, 
 
 their hearts are blithe and ready: 
 Ah ! all at once throughout their flank the powers 
 
 of Hades enter; 
 And One of awful name and rank, unseen, is 
 
 in their centre ! 
 
 Beneath yon mountain foliage dark, strange 
 odors cling and stifle, 
 
 And countless jets of scarlet mark the pits for 
 man and rifle; 
 
 While such a rushing, fateful breath has blown 
 through wood and hollow. 
 
 That but the fleet, frore wings of Death in track- 
 less speed can follow. 
 
 "Go, take the ridge," our generals cry, and 
 safer passage warrant!" 
 
 Our columns rive in prompt reply like inter- 
 cepted torrent; 
 
 Those frontward, Victory's wreath to snatch, 
 where smoke of battle smothers, — 
 
 These upward, loyal blades to match with blades 
 of warring brothers. 
 
176 THE NIGHT BATTLE 
 
 And nimbly to the charge they leap, with gal- 
 lant Smith to lead them; 
 
 The pathless ridge is dark and steep — its tangled 
 boughs impede them. 
 
 The wind, half conscious, through the pines some 
 wailful strain is humming — 
 
 Where lurks the foe? his ambushed lines 
 silence wait their coming. 
 
 But now, the keen-edged lightning darts athwart 
 confronting trenches; 
 
 But now, resounding thunder starts, the brood- 
 ing cloud it wrenches; 
 
 Yell answers yell, all over-bold, as Hate than 
 Death were stronger. 
 
 And gates of hell had failed to hold its grap- 
 pling demons longer. 
 
 Thousands, intrenched, are on the heights, our 
 
 clambering hundreds meeting. 
 With bolt on bolt to crush and blight (alas that 
 
 brother-greeting !) 
 Such harvests of our men they reap, dismay — 
 
 defeat are wrought them ! 
 Nay! — but they rally! up they sweep as if a 
 
 whirlwind caught them ! 
 
 Up, reckless of the rifle's scope, from base to 
 
 brow they speed them: 
 Nor clinging brambles of the slope, nor fallen 
 
 trunks impede them ; 
 Nor crashing bolt nor bursting shell, nor clouds 
 
 that choke and blind them; 
 
UNDER LOOKOUT MOUNTAIN. 177 
 
 Nor breastworks lined with fires of hell, nor 
 foes that crouch behind them. 
 
 And lo you! where our little band the parapet 
 encumbers, 
 
 Assaulting madly hand to hand the foe's quad- 
 rupled numbers ! 
 
 With whirring balls and cleaving blows, our 
 glorious soldiers wound them; 
 
 In headlong, driving strife they close; they har- 
 ass, they astound them. 
 
 Never such wild hurras before from distance 
 
 pealed to distance! 
 From rifle-pits they rush, they pour in terrified 
 
 desistance. 
 Down the rough steep they leap, they creep, in 
 
 solitudes they hide them. 
 And as avenging spirits sweep our men behind 
 
 — ^beside them. 
 
 The ridge is ours ! but battle-gales are loudly 
 hurtling yonder: 
 
 Dash on, brave victors, down the dales ! stay not 
 to rest or ponder! 
 
 Ten thousand soldiers, left and right, there closer, 
 closer plant them ; 
 
 But Geary's ranks are grand in fight, and How- 
 ard's — who shall daunt them? 
 
 Line crowding line, rank urging rank, steel 
 
 pressed to hearts unshielded: 
 An instant's hush from flank to flank — and God 
 
 his bolt has wielded ! 
 
178 THE YEAR OF EMANCIPATION. 
 
 A subtle thrill, a blanchinor dread — skies bowed, 
 
 earth quaking under — 
 And all the Southern files are shred, are rent, 
 
 are hewn asunder! 
 
 Ah, Longstreet left his lair at night, no gallant 
 
 cohorts lacking; 
 But by their gore his backward flight the scout, 
 
 at morn, was tracking; 
 While Northern hands were digging graves to 
 
 hide his fallen numbers ! 
 Their widows weep — though not their slaves: 
 
 God grant them peaceful slumbers! 
 
 Be silent, echoing sylvan reed ! for Death's wild 
 
 bell is knelling. 
 And hearts of mourners break and bleed in many 
 
 a darkened dwelling: 
 But when War's dread apocalypse has hushed its 
 
 sevenfold thunder, 
 Such light will flood Columbia's crypts that 
 
 Gabriel's self must wonder. 
 
 THE YEAR OF EMANCIPATION. 
 January i, 1864. 
 
 Saw ye, when Azrael's sword of might had 
 touched the Old Year's heart, 
 
 Heaven's guarded gates at noon of night in 
 silent glory part ? 
 
THE YEAR OF EMANCIPATION. I79 
 
 Heard ye the angel's challenge ring from starry 
 
 heights sublime? 
 ''What ho! thy finished records bring, thou who 
 
 art done with Time !" 
 
 Then rose the sovereign from his bier, pale as 
 the glaciers are 
 
 That on their mountain-levels hear the voice of 
 God afar: 
 
 With brow serene and eye that braved the sky's 
 supernal light, 
 
 His cloud-dividing;- wings he waved, in far, ma- 
 jestic flight. 
 
 "Hast thou no joyful news, O Year?" cried that 
 celestial voice: 
 
 ''No word, that rolled from sphere to sphere, 
 shall bid the heavens rejoice? 
 
 No lance has bleeding Freedom hurled — her life- 
 long war to close? 
 
 Has Power yet leave to walk the wo*-ld and rend 
 each wayside rose?" 
 
 "I stood on proud Columbia's strand — where 
 
 Night her stars had left — 
 And near and far I saw the land incarnadined 
 
 and cleft: 
 There ghoulish War's insatiate fire his feast of 
 
 horror signed, 
 And swept its forked flames ever higher the 
 
 heavenward gaze to blind. 
 
 "The nation's brimmed communion-cup had 
 spilled its holy wine; 
 
l8o THE YEAR OF EMANCIPATION. 
 
 The slave his sad eyes iiited up, still gyved at 
 
 Belial's shrine; 
 Pale under Hatred's upas-shade, Truth, worn 
 
 and fainting, lay; 
 And Europe paused, with half-drawn blade, as 
 
 one who pants to slay. 
 
 *T saw, and thrilled the Ruler's heart — I nerved 
 the Ruler's hand; 
 
 And lo ! he rent the gyves apart, on fair Colum- 
 bia's strand ! 
 
 'Henceforth, forever be ye free!' (but God 
 had spoken first,) 
 
 And from the gulf to either sea, so died the 
 thing accursed! 
 
 "New vigor shot through Freedom's veins: 
 
 revived she trod the world; 
 Far over Southern battle-plains her shining lance 
 
 she hurled: 
 Now shrinks the deadly upas-shade — its dews of 
 
 poison cease; 
 And Europe sheathes her thirsty blade and 
 smiles a treacherous peace ! 
 
 "Now quails Rebellion's scattered host; stricken 
 
 and sorely pressed, 
 From sea and gulf and river coast they flee and 
 
 find no rest. 
 What god shall bid them rally back War's awful 
 
 front to dare ! 
 Lo, Belial's shrines their victims lack; he sleeps 
 
 nor answers prayer!" 
 
APRIL DAYS. l8l 
 
 "Aye, wide ye pearl-wrought shafts be riven!" 
 
 sang that seraphic voice; 
 "For never news more worthy Heaven made 
 
 Hstening spheres rejoice. 
 Let hallelujahs roll afar! — when God the work 
 
 has done, 
 And smiled thereon, how fair a star shall bloom 
 
 beside the sun!" 
 
 Saw ye, when surged along the land the orient 
 
 flood of day. 
 The New Year on Atlantic's strand his silvery 
 
 wings delay? 
 Some effluent song harp-sweet and clear stole 
 
 down the depth profound, 
 "Lo! God hath sent thee, beauteous Year! go, 
 
 heal Columbia's wound!" 
 
 APRIL DAYS. 
 Song. 
 
 Come through mist and dashing rain, 
 April days, April days ; 
 
 Break the last light crystal chain. 
 Teach the snowbird livelier lays. 
 
 Deck with verdure wood and plain, 
 April days, April days. 
 
 Years are long — the years are three, 
 April days, April days. 
 
1 82 DEATH IN THE FOREST. 
 
 Since my love went forth from me ; 
 Craving neither gold nor praise, 
 But free scope for valor free, 
 April days, April days. 
 
 Sun-bright flags for marshaled men, 
 
 April days, April days, 
 Flung ye out o'er hill and glen ; 
 
 All your winds sang battle-lays ; 
 Southward soared your eagles then, 
 
 April days, April days. 
 
 Flaunt your sun-bright flags once more, 
 
 April days, April days; 
 For the ship is near the shore, 
 
 And he comes whom all must praise : 
 Northward doth my eagle soar, 
 April days, April days. 
 
 Gayly shine, oh, brightly shine, 
 
 April days, April days! 
 Wounded in the vanward line, 
 
 Victor of a hundred frays. 
 Welcome home this love of mine, 
 April days, April days! 
 1S64. 
 
 DEATH IN THE FOREST. 
 
 Eddie had folded his dimpled hands 
 (Never so quiet heretofore!) 
 
 Shadows were dark through forest-lands, 
 Birds went mourning about the door: 
 
SHINE, SUN OF THE SUMMER. 183 
 
 But Eddie was still — ah stillness dread. 
 
 Through which the rustle of boughs they 
 heard ! 
 
 "He was done with life," so the neighbors said 
 And the mother answered never a word 
 
 Eddie had closed his dying eyes — 
 
 They looked when the last faint breath should 
 fail; 
 But the eyelids thrilled with a sweet surprise, 
 
 And a flush ran over his forehead pale, 
 1 hey saw the glory of Heaven flow 
 
 Down on the face so pure and meek ; 
 And oh, the smile — like a flower on snow — 
 
 That sank through the curves of his pallid 
 cheek ! 
 
 "Eddie was done with life," they said, 
 
 So they robed in white the beautiful clay ; 
 They veiled their eyes, for the child was dead, 
 
 And, sighing and sobbing, went their way. 
 But say it had chanced they wore no veils, 
 
 Methinks when the coflin slid below, 
 They had seen their boy through the forest-dales, 
 
 With just that smile — like a flower on snow ! 
 
 1866. 
 
 SHINE, SUN OF THE SUMMER. 
 
 June, 1864. 
 
 Shine, sun of the summer ; bloom, roses of June ! 
 Bring joy to the senses and health to the brain : 
 
184 SHINE, SUN OF THE SUMMER. 
 
 Our ears ache with cries from each Southerr 
 lagoon, 
 Our hearts ache with news from the fields oi 
 the slain — 
 
 Bring us balm for the pain. 
 
 Shine, sun of the summer; blow, wind of the 
 West, 
 And hurl these black battle-clouds back to the 
 wave. 
 Where, with seals of destruction on forehead and 
 
 breast. 
 Lies Slavery — scourge and reproach of the 
 Brave : — 
 
 Oh, deep be his grave ! 
 
 Shine, sun of the summer; smite, sword of the 
 free! 
 Smite well, till the coiled serpent, shuddering, 
 dies; 
 Till the war heaves no more the deep breast of 
 the sea, 
 And the white rose of peace North and South 
 shall arise, 
 
 Wooing dew from the skies. 
 
 Shine, sun of the summer ; on, flag of our trust, 
 Wherever the flames of Rebellion have crossed ! 
 Till earth hides with grass faces falling to dust. 
 And we — weep our lives out in woe for the 
 cost. 
 
 As we number our lost. 
 
MY GLADE IN THE WEST. 1 85 
 
 Shine, sun of the summer ; bloom, roses of June ; 
 Blow, soft wind, and heal the hot fevers of 
 hate; 
 Rise, rivers, and circle each Southern lagoon, 
 Till lilies are throned on your waters, in state, 
 Where blood ran, of late. 
 
 Shine, sun of the summer ; sink, dews of the air ! 
 Our wounded hearts ache for the hour of 
 repose : 
 But the God of the nation has answered our 
 prayer. 
 And the serpent lies dying, just under the 
 rose — 
 
 This is balm for our woes. 
 
 MY GLADE IN THE WEST. 
 
 I drop the drained pen ere the song I complete, 
 And sighing for solitude, silence, and rest, 
 
 I mind me, with sighs, of a tranquil retreat, — 
 A glade far removed, in the wilds of the West. 
 
 Sleep, world-weary senses ! afflict me no more ; 
 Too long has my soul by your fetters been 
 weighed ; 
 Like the freed dove, unhooded, I flutter, I soar, 
 My wings gather strength for their flight to 
 my glade. 
 
 On I speed to the West : O ye forests of mine, 
 I enter your soft summer-twilight of rest ; 
 
l86 MY GLADE IN THE WEST. 
 
 Dumb with rapturous freedom, I sink, I recline 
 On the dew-nurtured mosses, your lover and 
 guest. 
 
 The drooping beech-branches sweep low at my 
 feet; 
 The trefoil spreads near me her tremulous 
 screen ; 
 The tubes of the partridge-vine lowly and sweet, 
 Are rosily flushing their tendrils of green. 
 
 The wax-flower white-robed for the christening 
 rite, 
 Lies couched 'neatli the royal- fern's plumiest 
 crest ; 
 We are buried in greenery, deep out of sight, — 
 This flower and my soul, — in the wilds of the 
 West. 
 
 While the thrush — ah the thrush! if the flower 
 of the rose 
 Spell-changed into music from vision should 
 fade. 
 All her bountiful being, her raptures, her woes, 
 Would pour through the song of this bird of 
 the glade. 
 
 Cease, minstrel of love! Hft thy wings and 
 depart ; 
 Let the low, liquid cadences falter and close ; 
 For their sadness and sweetness are brimming 
 my heart; 
 I am filled with the soul of the flbwer of the 
 rose. 
 
MY GLADE IN THE WEST. 187 
 
 It is I who arise from the grave of the mold ; 
 
 It is I whom the wind and the rain have made 
 strong ; 
 My heart is the bud that begins to unfold, 
 
 My life is the blossom resolved into song. 
 
 Fly on, changeling throstle, the spell is complete : 
 Faint echoes, like fragrance, float far in the 
 glade ; 
 And oh, if the voice of my soul were as sweet, 
 From the sun and the dew it were heaven to 
 fade! 
 
 In holy content to lie yielding the ghost, 
 
 Mid silence and solitude shadowed and gray ; 
 
 While the rose of existence, in melody lost. 
 Would, fold after fold, vanish lightly away ! 
 
 Hark ! the pines are alert ! from the South they 
 have caught 
 A rustling, a surging, a soft rolling sound ; 
 Now comes the wind! tearing the meshes of 
 thought, 
 And waking my soul from its quiet profound. 
 
 Approaching, delaying, on-rushing with speed, 
 This secret, seraphic repose to invade, 
 
 With music of organ, harp, timbrel, and reed, 
 It sweeps through the grand Gothic arch of my 
 glade. 
 
1 88 A REBEL FLAG OF TRUCE. 
 
 The wind — oh the wind ! far above me it rolls ; 
 
 The trefoil rocks not, leaning over my breast ; 
 It breaks on the pines, as the sea among shoals, 
 
 They burst into song, they are tortured from 
 rest. 
 
 Haste, wild winds of Poesy, hitherward roll ! 
 Let me die not this soft-breathing death of 
 repose ; 
 Though I break in the blast, grant me music of 
 soul. 
 For the torn pine grows nearer to heaven than 
 the rose. 
 
 Wake, world-weary senses ; fair visions, depart ; 
 
 Green forest nor glade to the minstrel belong; 
 And a rapturous anthem is brimming my heart — 
 
 I suffer, I strive, I am vibrant with song ! 
 
 1864. 
 
 A REBEL FLAG OF TRUCE. 
 
 Let us bury our dead: 
 Since we may not of vantage or victory prate ; 
 And our army, so grand in the onslaught of late, 
 All crippled has shrunk to its trenches instead — 
 
 For the carnage was great : 
 
 Let us bury our dead. 
 
 "Let us bury our dead. 
 Oh, we thought to surprise you, as, panting and 
 flushed, 
 
A REBEL FLAG OF TRUCE. 1 89 
 
 From our works to assault you we valiantly 
 
 rushed : 
 But you fought like the gods — till we faltered 
 and fled. 
 
 And the earth, how it blushed ! 
 Let us bury our dead." 
 
 So we bury our dead — 
 From the field ; from the range and the crash of 
 
 the gun; 
 From the kisses of love; from. the face of the 
 
 sun! 
 Oh, the silence thev keep while we dig their last 
 bed! 
 
 Lay them in, one by one: 
 So we bury our dead. 
 
 Fast we bury our dead: 
 All too scanty the time, let us work as we may, 
 For the foe burns for strife and our ranks are 
 
 at bay: 
 On the graves we are digging what legions will 
 tread — 
 
 Swift, and eager to slay. 
 Though we bury our dead. 
 
 See, we bury our dead ! 
 Oh, they fought as the young and the dauntless 
 
 will fight. 
 Who fancy their war is a war for the right ! 
 Right or wrong, it was precious — this blood they 
 have shed: 
 
 Surely God will requite, 
 And we bury our dead. 
 
190 A REBEL FLAG OF TRUCE. 
 
 Yes, we bury our dead. 
 If they erred as they fought, will He charge them 
 
 with blame. 
 When their hearts beat aright, and the truth was 
 
 their aim? 
 Nay, never in vain has such offering bled — 
 North or South, 't is the same — 
 Fast we bury our dead. 
 
 Thus we bury our dead. 
 Oh, ye men of the North, with your banner that 
 
 waves 
 Far and wide o'er our Southland, made rugged 
 
 with graves, 
 Are ye verily right, that so well ye have sped ? 
 Were we wronging our slaves? 
 Well — we bury our dead! 
 
 Ah, we bury our dead ! 
 And granting you all you have claimed on the 
 
 whole — 
 Are we spoiled of our birthright and stricken in 
 
 soul, 
 To be spurned at Heaven's court when its records 
 are read? 
 
 Nay, expound not the scroll 
 Till we bury our dead ! 
 
 Haste and bury our dead ! 
 No time for revolving of right and of wrong; 
 We must venture our souls with the rest of the 
 throng ; 
 
DO WE LOVE AS WE LOVED LONG AGO IQI 
 
 And our God must be Judge, as he sits overhead. 
 Of the weak and the strong, 
 While we bury our dead. 
 
 Now peace to our dead : 
 Fair grow the sweet blossoms of spring where 
 
 they lie: 
 Hark ! the musketry roars, and the rifles reply ; 
 Oh, the fight will be close and the carnage be 
 dread — 
 
 To the ranks let us hie, 
 We have buried our dead. 
 
 1864. 
 
 DO WE LOVE AS WE LOVED LONG AGO ? 
 
 (Published, with music, 1864.) 
 
 I. 
 
 It was once, long ago, on the dawn-lighted river, 
 Our fairy canoe rode like foam down the tide; 
 White lilies afloat with the ripples did quiver, 
 But fairer than they was the girl at my side. 
 Now dost thou remember — ah dost thou re- 
 remember 
 The garland I wove for that forehead of 
 snow? 
 Forget the dead leaves of Life's frosty 
 December, 
 And say, do we love as we loved long ago ? 
 
192 DO WE LOVE AS WE LOVED LONG AGO 
 II. 
 
 The robin with song the glad morning was greet- 
 ing; 
 No mist rolled above the young sun to eclipse ; 
 •'I love thee, I love thee," my heart kept repeating, 
 Till Love throbbed its way from my heart to 
 my lips. 
 Now dost thou remember — ah dost thou re- 
 member 
 The blushes that mantled that forehead of 
 snow ? 
 Forget the dark days of our frosty Decem- 
 ber. 
 And say, do we love as we loved long ago ? 
 
 III. 
 
 Oh' loud trilled the robin ! oh bright v/as tlie 
 river ! 
 The white lilies danced on its ripples in glee : 
 'Neath thy low-drooping lids though the tear- 
 drops did quiver, 
 A smile, like the sunrise, flashed answer to me. 
 Now dost thou remember — ah dost thou re- 
 member 
 The kisses that fell on that forehead of 
 snow? 
 Forget the cold winds of our frosty Decem- 
 ber, 
 And say, do we love as we loved long ago ? 
 
FLOWERS OF AUTUMN. I93 
 
 IV. 
 
 It was long, long ago: all the sunbeams are 
 
 dying; 
 
 Our roses have lost their red leaves in the blast. 
 
 But still thy sweet smile to my heart is replying : 
 
 '*We love as we loved in the days that are 
 
 past." 
 Thou still dost remember — yes, proudly re- 
 member 
 The veil of the bride on that forehead of 
 snow! 
 Twill crown thee where Life has no frosty 
 December : 
 We always shall love as we loved long 
 
 1864 
 
 ago! 
 
 FLOWERS OF AUTUMN. 
 
 Ah, these are the last of my flowers ! 
 
 These pansies of purple and white ; 
 These mourning-brides, heavy with showers, 
 
 And veiled in the colors of night ; 
 This perfume-distilling sweet-pea, 
 
 Where the honey, unrobbed, lingers yei; 
 Forget-me-nots, blue as the sea. 
 
 And sprays of the sweet mignonette. 
 
 The last of my flowers in the vase ! 
 
 No more shall I steal out to view 
 Each fresh-budded, glad little face 
 
 A-nodding at me in the dew ; 
 
194 THE BALLAD OF ETHEL LEE. 
 
 No more shall I kiss them apart 
 
 In childish impatience of time ; 
 While the currents of love in my heart 
 
 Swell into the flower-buds of rhyme. 
 
 Ah me ! when my Summer shall die, 
 
 And Grief drops for me her sad showers, 
 O'er my poor lays some loved one will sigh. 
 
 Saying, "These are the last of her flowers!" 
 Yet, softly rehearing the lines. 
 
 Forbearing to cavil or sneer. 
 Will murmur, "Her spirit repines 
 
 No more at the fall of the Year. 
 
 "She has passed from the shade of the tomb; 
 
 She has put off the colors of night; 
 All her flower-buds of thought are in bloom. 
 
 And heavy with dews of delight! 
 Dear heart ! so the season is sweet, 
 
 For God's love enriches her hours ; 
 No more will she, sighing, repeat, 
 
 'Ah, these are the last of my flowers !* " 
 
 1864. 
 
 THE BALLAD OF ETHEL LEE. 
 
 I. 
 
 'Fair Ethel, the hill-side is cold. 
 The pathway is rugged and bleak ; 
 The whirling snows whiten thy cheek; 
 
THE BALLAD OF ETHEL LEE. 1 95 
 
 The north wind is ruthless and bold ; 
 
 Hear the firs, how they shudder and shriek ! 
 There is nought for a maiden to seek — 
 Not a blossom would dare to unfold ! 
 Lovely Ethel, return 
 To thy place by the hearth, where the scarlet 
 flowers brighten and burn !" 
 
 11. 
 
 "Oh barren and bleak is the hill ! 
 Oh cruel and cold is the wind ! 
 But the souls I am leaving behind 
 Are colder, less merciful still ! 
 
 They have thrust me out rude and unkind ; 
 Far I seek and no shelter I find ; 
 Through my heart, through my heart creeps 
 the chill ! 
 
 But I will not return ! 
 Not for me on their hearth shall the scarlet 
 flowers blossom and burn !" 
 
 III. 
 
 "Now, why have they thrust thee away, 
 This death of the outcast to dree ?" 
 "For the troth thou hast plighted to me, 
 
 Thy mother did spurn me to-day. 
 
 'He shall not wed the servant,' said she: 
 'Shall not stoop from his noble degree!' 
 
 Ride thou on to thy castle, and say 
 That I scorn to return 
 
196 THE BALLAD OF ETHEL LEE. 
 
 To the hearth of the proud, though the scarlet 
 flowers blossom and burn !" 
 
 IV. 
 
 Oh wroth was Laird William that hour ! 
 And he sware : ''Ere the daylight hath fled, 
 The son of her house thou shalt wed ! 
 The bells shall peal out in yon tower ; 
 The glad feast of our bridal be spread ; 
 And thy truth and thy beauty," he said, 
 ''Shall be counted rich treasure and dower! 
 And none shall dare spurn 
 My bride from the hearth where the scarlet 
 flowers blossom and burn." 
 
 How vain is thy scorn, Ethel Lee ! 
 
 He has snatched thee from sorrow and 
 
 death ; 
 Thy pale cheek is warm with his breath ; 
 His steed gallops fleetly and free. 
 
 "Ho ! my mother, make ready !" he saith ; 
 So a merry, brave wedding he hath ! 
 All the bells laugh aloud in their glee 
 At sweet Ethel's return ; 
 And she smiles by the hearth where the scarlet 
 flowers bio som and burn! 
 
 1864. 
 
IN "forest lawn. 197 
 
 IN "FOREST LAWN." 
 
 Porter Jones, 2d N. Y. M. R., Died October 14, 
 1864, Aged 18 Years. 
 
 Ah my brother ! 
 Thou, of old so merry-hearted. 
 
 Wont our saddest hours to cheer — 
 Thine abundant Hfe departed — 
 Thou must slumber here. 
 
 Ah my brother, 
 From the grave where first they bore thee, 
 
 When thy youthful lips were dumb, 
 With the bugles grieving o'er thee 
 
 And the burial drum; — 
 
 Ah my brother. 
 Thence at last with sobs we bring thee. 
 
 All thy soldier-work is done: 
 Here the long farewell we sing thee — 
 
 Thou hast fought — and won! 
 
 Ah my brother! 
 At thy games, the loud reveille 
 
 Startling, roused thy spirit proud. 
 Thine no holiday regalia: 
 
 Battle-garb — and shroud. 
 
 Ah my brother. 
 Vain are all our broken phrases; 
 Down the cliEs of farthest time. 
 
I9S THE YEAR OF VICTORIES. 
 
 Shall for such roll hymns of praises, 
 Surge-like and sublime! 
 
 Ah my brother,- 
 Thou, the loving boy and loyal. 
 
 From thy laughing life of late, 
 Hast arisen, more than royal, 
 
 Throned in grander state. 
 
 Ah my brother. 
 Through the sable years before us. 
 
 Heir of Heaven, thy soul of light 
 Shall, like Hesper burning o'er us, 
 
 Kindle all our night. 
 
 Ah my brother — 
 But alas ! alas ! to lose thee ! 
 
 Ne'er to wake thee out of sleep! 
 Theme for praise let others choose thee- 
 
 IVe must weep — must weep! 
 
 THE YEAR OF VICTORIES. 
 January i, 1865. 
 
 Pale-browed and breathless, flung in haste on 
 Night's black shallop, lies the Year: 
 
 And rushing sails across the waste of Death*s 
 deep sullen tides we hear; 
 
THE YEAR OF VICTORIES. I99 
 
 Oh, yet our mournful plea we urge — "Return! 
 
 return ! for thou wert brave ; 
 And while we trod War's roaring surge, wert 
 
 swift to reach and strong to save!" 
 
 Far, far he floats whose glories grew more bright 
 with every hour that passed — 
 
 Who loaded all the winds that blew with his tri- 
 umphal bugle-blast; 
 
 But while his dirge in solemn flow goes wailing 
 through our troubled reeds, 
 
 Break from the breathings of its woe and voice 
 the grandeur of his deeds. 
 
 He rent resisting Southern hosts, and filled with 
 
 righteous spoil our hands; 
 He smote their cannon-guarded coasts; he roda 
 
 victorious through their lands ; 
 Our flag he flung from tower and mast o'er many 
 
 a conquered fort and mere ; 
 Beneath the yawning seas he cast full many a 
 
 prowling privateer. 
 
 He touched the bondman, burden-bowed, long 
 
 taught the gory lash to dread — 
 Straight rose a soldier, free and proud — alas! 
 
 it was the master bled ! 
 He swept_ the harp of freemen's souls, till all its 
 
 rising murmurings 
 Rolled forth in thunder from the polls, and shook 
 
 the very thrones of kings ! 
 
 From torrid plains to northern snows his rhyth- 
 mic praise of heroes rang, 
 
2CO THE YEAR OF VICTORIES. 
 
 Till swift, impetuous boyhood rose and rushed to 
 
 dare the deeds he sang; 
 And ah, in Hues of vivid Hght that gild our grand 
 
 Columbian lore. 
 What deathless names we saw him write beside 
 
 the deathless names of yore ! 
 
 Farewell, farewell, O passing Year ! thy winged 
 
 bark shall stay its flight 
 Beside that shore whose crystal pier with all the 
 
 angelhood is bright; 
 There they whose peace no tears may move, 
 
 whose smiles no more our eyes behold, 
 To hear thy story of our love lean silent on their 
 
 harps of gold. 
 
 Farewell, farewell! o'er tidal seas the shimmer- 
 ing light begins to creep, 
 
 And fleetly, in the laughing breeze yon white- 
 sailed shallop rides the deep; 
 
 Lo! godlike on the silver prow he stands, the 
 New Year — pure of wrong: 
 
 Fair shines the olive on his brow; his glad lips 
 overflow with song. 
 
 O loyal souls, in reverence kneel and hail the 
 
 savior of the land ! 
 Swift rolls the tide — the cleaving keel is swept 
 
 in music up the strand. 
 Fling from your hearts their loads of fear; for 
 
 by this beauteous dawn we know. 
 Around the footsteps of the Year, full soon the 
 
 happy day will flow. 
 
THE SOUTH WIND. 20I 
 
 Then shall fair Freedom's temple rise — from sea 
 
 to sea our land invest ! 
 Its flashing dome shall climb the skies, and there 
 
 the rolling stars arrest; 
 Beneath its door shall nations throng, and low 
 
 their golden tributes pour; 
 There God's Republic, saved and strong, shall 
 
 wisely rule for evermore. 
 
 THE SOUTH WIND. 
 
 Oh, the light south wind ! 
 It brought us the odor of orange bowers, 
 Of citron-trees, and of all rare flowers, 
 As we sat by our doors in summery hours- 
 
 Did the light south wind. 
 
 Oh, the sweet south wind ! 
 It brought us the oriole's love-breathing note ; 
 The paroquet's praise of his pretty green coat; 
 The carols that gush from the mocking-bird's, 
 throat ; 
 
 Did the sweet south wind. 
 
 Oh, the loud south wind! 
 It brought the rude song and the African's jest; 
 It brought us (oh, shame!) his deep sighs of 
 unrest, 
 
202 THE SOUTH WIND. 
 
 When the foot of his master bore hard on his 
 breast ; 
 
 Did the loud south wind. 
 
 Oh, the wild south wind! 
 It brought us the murmurs of bitterness first; 
 Then threats, where loud Anger his story re- 
 hearsed ; 
 And the hum of a tempest just ready to burst; 
 
 Did the wild south wind. 
 
 Oh; the mad south wind! 
 It brought us that roar where the battle-fire's 
 
 bloom, 
 The cracking of rifles, the cannons' deep boom; 
 The crashing of mortars, the thunders of doom; 
 
 Did the mad south wind. 
 
 Oh, the sad south wind! 
 It told us anew the dark story of Cain; 
 Rehearsing, to grieve us, again and again, 
 The groans of the dying, the dirge for the slain ; 
 
 Did the sad south wind. 
 
 Oh, the glad south wind! 
 It brings the sweet bugle-note, piercing and 
 
 strong. 
 Proclaiming the triumph of Right over Wrong; 
 And we lift up our voices to join in the song 
 Of the glad south wind. 
 
 i86s. 
 
FORT SUMTER. 202A 
 
 FORT SUMTER. 
 
 Oh, the flag is afloat over Sumter at last, — 
 
 Hurra ! 
 From his birth-place the dragon Rebellion is 
 cast — 
 Hurra ! 
 Blow strong, O ye breezes, blow steady and bold, 
 Till we see our dear flag, without wrinkle or fold, 
 Fly abroad on the heights of the Southern strong- 
 hold. 
 
 Hurra! hurra! and hurra! 
 It shall float till the last bolt of vengeance has 
 rolled. 
 
 And then — float forever, hurra ! 
 
 T is the fort where our Anderson toiled at the 
 guns,— 
 Hurra ! 
 Where the South learned to mourn for her wan- 
 dering sons, — 
 Hurra ! 
 The sky was all crimson with flames of affray. 
 And crimson beneath were the waves of the bay, 
 Ere the banner came down that is floating today, 
 
 Hurra! hurra! and hurra! 
 It shall float till these bomb-torn embrasures 
 decay. 
 
 And still float forever, hurra! 
 
 Oh, we made the air mad with the rushing of 
 balls, — 
 Hurra I 
 
202B FORT SUMTER. 
 
 With the shrieking of shells and the crashing of 
 walls, — 
 Hurra ! 
 Till its thunders were dumb and its cannons o'er- 
 
 thrown, 
 And its keepers fled out from the ramparts of 
 
 stone ; 
 It was this way our flag was restored to its own, 
 
 Huvra! hurra! and hurra! 
 It shall float till the last king is dead on his 
 throne, 
 
 And still float forever, hurra! 
 
 Then resound, ye glad guns, over billow and 
 strand, — 
 
 Hurra ! 
 Let the noise of repoicing be loud in the land, — 
 
 Hurra ! 
 For Washington's spirit rejoices on high 
 On Sumter the flag of his love to descry ; 
 It shall float till the bed of the ocean is dry, 
 
 Hurra ! hurra ! and hurra ! 
 It shall float till the last trumpet sounds in the 
 sky, 
 
 And then — float in glory ! hurra ! 
 
 April, 1865. 
 
THRENODY. 2O3 
 
 THRENODY. 
 
 In Memory of Capt. John W. Falconer, 41st 
 Regt. U. S. C. T Who Fell at Appomattox, 
 April 8, 1865 
 
 Dread night of war, ah fade and fleet? 
 
 With those thy lurid phantoms fade; 
 Leave thou no shadow at our feet, 
 
 But such as erst the lilies made. 
 No longer pour on wave and shore 
 
 Thy vial-drops of Plague and Pain; 
 Let Peace her stainless dews restore, 
 
 And breathe her balms o'er dale and plain. 
 
 IL 
 
 Alas ! but if the lilies blow. 
 
 Fast crowding through each clasping sheath, 
 They needs must gather all their snow, 
 
 From out the wintry graves beneath ! 
 Or if the silver rains abound, 
 
 Or pure with balm be Summer's breath. 
 Dews will but damp the funeral mound. 
 
 And every wind will sing of death ! 
 
 in. 
 
 O ardent soul that loved the Right — 
 
 Most noble youth who grasped the brand, 
 
204 THRENODY. 
 
 When Freedom, from her towers of light, 
 Called far and near, *'Come, save the land !' 
 
 Friend, brother — in the rush and roar 
 Of battle-tides swept out to sea — 
 
 We stand together on the shore, 
 And all our hearts cry out for thee ! 
 
 IV. 
 
 Oh lost! no more when feasts invite, 
 
 And airs grow rich with jest and song, 
 When Sorrow, ghost-like, flits from sight, 
 
 Wilt thou the cheery laugh prolong: 
 For thee shall roses bloom no more. 
 
 Nor rivers roll, nor fountains play; 
 Nor sunsets blush, nor swift winds soar, 
 
 Nor white moons charm the night away. 
 
 V. 
 
 And yet arise the glowing morns ; 
 
 The starry evenings yet return; 
 Still Love her golden shrine adorns, 
 
 And bids the costly spices burn; 
 But if some far land stays the sea. 
 
 If tides that sink will surely swell. 
 If costlier spices burn for thee, 
 
 Oh, who the precious news will tell? 
 
 VI. 
 
 What stream our valley-shades will cleave. 
 Crystal with leaping mountain-rills, 
 
 Some verdant laurel-shred to leave. 
 And prove thee dweller on the hills ? 
 
SHIPWRECKED. 205 
 
 What bird her snowy wing will launch, 
 O'er floods where suns may never shine, 
 
 To bring the little, flowering branch, 
 And prove the whole sweet summer thine ? 
 
 VII. 
 
 Howbeit for these we vainly yearn, 
 
 What song nor cymbal may recite. 
 Nor eager eye and ear discern, 
 
 Our vibrant hearts will learn aright; 
 And, sinking into sunless sleep, 
 
 The glad refrain will murmur o'er, — 
 "Now drift us on, dark-rolling deep, 
 
 A friend will meet us on the shore !" 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Phantoms of war, ah fade and fleet ! 
 
 The lilies lift their chaliced snow; 
 Soft are the dews, the balms are sweet; 
 
 Some breath of heaven begins to blow. 
 And far and near the voice we hear 
 
 Of Freedom chanting o'er her slain, — 
 "The night is past, the dawn is clear; 
 
 O Sleepers pale, arise and reign !" 
 
206 SHIPWRECKED. 
 
 SHIPWRECKED. 
 
 I. 
 
 We two waited on the deck — 
 All around us rolled the sea ; 
 Helpless, on our reeling wreck, 
 
 Silent, wan and worn were we. 
 Where the little boat went down, 
 
 Where the sun had plunged from sight, 
 Hope and light alike did drown — 
 O'er us, dark as Fate, was night. 
 Face to face we stood alone, 
 
 Dreary, still, and sad were we; 
 Smitten by that swift cyclone, 
 
 All around us beat the sea, 
 Rose the sea, rushed the sea. 
 Roared the wrathful sea ! 
 
 II. 
 
 Cloudy shapes like hooded ghouls, 
 
 Flitted past our shuddering prow ; 
 Death was reaching for our souls, 
 Chill his breath upon the brow: 
 Then, oh then were we aware, 
 
 Through all war below, above, 
 Of a face sublimely fair — 
 
 Was it Death unveiled, or Love? 
 Heart to heart we stood alone, 
 Smiling and serene were we ; 
 Tortured by that wild cyclone, 
 All around us strove the sea. 
 Wailed the sea, mourned the sea. 
 Sobbed the toiling sea. 
 
SHIPWRECKED. 207 
 
 III. 
 
 While we watched, a seething tiae 
 O'er our sinking vessel crossed; 
 Out among the waters wide, 
 
 Smiling still, we two were tossed; 
 Tossed and drifted, overcome 
 In a crowd of surges dread. 
 Bruised and beaten, blind and dumb, 
 So we sank among the dead. 
 O my love, and mine alone. 
 
 Sweet it was to die with thee ! 
 Far beneath that dread cyclone, 
 All around us rocked the sea. 
 Crept the sea, sank the sea, 
 Slept the silent sea. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Through our slumber sweet and deep, 
 
 Stole the growing light of dawn ; 
 Heart and brain its warmth did steep. 
 Out of death our souls were drawn. 
 So we breathed, awoke, arose, — 
 
 Heart to heart and lip to lip ; 
 Where Love's golden ocean flows. 
 Ever sails our snowy ship. 
 
 Never sun so softly shone; 
 
 Fair, in saintly robes are we! 
 O'er us shrieks no mad cyclone, 
 
 All around us sings the sea, 
 Gleams the sea, glides the sea, 
 Laughs the lovely seal 
 1865. 
 
208 THE YEAR OF PEACE. 
 
 THE YEAR OF PEACE. 
 January ist, 1866. 
 
 Make room in heaven, ye starry choifS, that 
 loud your lofty anthems sing! 
 
 Here's one whose voice shall drown your lyres, 
 and make the sky-built arches ring: 
 
 While fleet as light he soars aloft, with milk- 
 white hand his harp he beats — 
 
 And hark! the midnight echo soft, some faint, 
 far-wandering strain repeats ! — 
 
 "Cleft is the steel-wrought helm of Wrath, and 
 
 shattered is the brazen shield; 
 His sword lies broken at the hilt; prone sleeps 
 
 the giant on the field; 
 No more those bolts of battle smite, that, onward 
 
 crashing shook the world ; 
 And from the battlements of Right are all its 
 
 mad assailants hurled. 
 
 "Columbia lives ! the mighty deeps whose purple 
 
 waves against her bore, 
 Roll back down Time's unsounded steeps, and, 
 
 darkly sinking, swell no more. 
 Columbia Hves! behold her rise, with glistening 
 
 raiment pure as snow ! 
 Her star of morning mounts the skies — she sees 
 
 the crimson glories grow. 
 
 "Enrapt, with heavenward gaze she stands — 
 God's oriflamme above her flung — 
 
THE YEAR OF PEACE. 209 
 
 With Victory's roses in her hands, and songs of 
 
 triumph on her tongue. 
 The sapphire doors half open sway, where all her 
 
 martyrs passed from view, — 
 Reluctant yet to darken day nor let such kingly 
 
 warriors througn. 
 
 *'From mountain range to mountain range a 
 
 proud prophetic voice is rolled: — 
 Though empires fall, though oceans change, still 
 
 shall Columbia wax not old ! 
 Ere Time her throne shall overthrow, or aught 
 
 its broad foundations rock, 
 The crescent moon shall cease to grow, the sun 
 
 to lead his starry flock !' " 
 
 Make room, make room, ye sun-bright choirs — 
 
 swell the loud anthem of the Year ! 
 Strike well your glad concordant lyres ; the sky's 
 
 reverberant arches hear ! 
 But hark ! ere yet the echo fails that soft your 
 
 midnight strain repeats. 
 Pale Sorrow in her cavern wails, and wild her 
 
 solemn harp she beats : — 
 
 "O ye who strove when close and fast War's 
 
 flaming arrows hissed afar, 
 And, where proud Victory rode, were cast to 
 
 death beneath his gory car; 
 And thou great Chief, who, sure of God, within 
 
 the fiery furnace thrown. 
 Like those of old securely trod, nor walked the 
 
 burning path alone; 
 
2IO THE SOLILOQUY OF LIBERTY. 
 
 "Bay-crowned, the golden hills ye climb, and holy 
 
 hosts your ranks surround: 
 They lead your skyward march sublime, while all 
 
 heaven's pealing clarions sound ; 
 The stars may linger in their spheres, the suns 
 
 may falter as they whirl, 
 Ye still will count your blissful years, — like silver; 
 
 shining flowers unfurl. 
 
 "But year on year shall roll away; while blos- 
 soms blush or fade the leaves, 
 
 Ye shall not through our valleys stray, nor bind 
 again our rustling sheaves. 
 
 Ah people, rear your shafts of pride, loud hymns 
 and endless praises pour — 
 
 Their countless graves ye may not hide, and 
 Love sits weeping evermore !" 
 
 Peace, peace, ye midnight harpers wild ! ye hills 
 
 your echoing sighs refrain ! 
 All cherub-fair yon rosy child, star-heralded, 
 
 comes down to reign, 
 From heaven a voice the silence rends — while 
 
 crowned and sceptred on he moves — 
 "Columbians, lo ! the fire descends, and God your 
 
 holocaust approves r* 
 
THE SOLILOQUY OF LIBERTY. 211 
 
 THE SOLILOQUY OF LIBERTY. 
 
 O Nation of my hope, 
 
 Prove true, I said : 
 The lines of thy horoscope 
 My Chaldean lore hath read: 
 And far through the night burns an arc of light, 
 Where the prophet-star hath sped: 
 Prove true, I said. 
 
 By God's most sacred hand, 
 
 (Prove true, I said:) 
 Into a bountiful land 
 
 Thine infant steps were led; 
 And the flower and the vine gave honey and wine. 
 
 Whereby thy life was fed: 
 
 Prove true, I said. 
 
 Hurt by the wrath of kings, 
 
 (Prove true, I said:) 
 Thou, under the eagle's wings. 
 Didst shelter thy drooping head. 
 While the rain of thy wound did cover the 
 ground. 
 Of lucid dew, in the stead : 
 Prove true, I said. 
 
 To the holy truth of God, 
 
 Prove true, I said : 
 Though struck by his chastening rod. 
 
 Or tried in the furnace dread. 
 Or chained, death-cold, to the rocks of old, 
 
 Where vulture flocks were fed, — 
 
 Prove true, I said. 
 
212 THE SOLILOQUY OF LIBERTY. 
 
 O people of my love, 
 
 Be free, I said : 
 Till all the fires above 
 
 From the altars of heaven are fled ; 
 Till the halls of light have sevenfold night, 
 
 And the spheres are dumb with dread,- 
 
 Be free, I said. 
 
 On Afric's golden strand, 
 
 (Be free, I said:) 
 The wild wind gave command, 
 
 And the ships before it fled, — 
 Till th3 Southern wine of this people of mine 
 
 With Afric's blood was red : 
 
 Be free, I said. 
 
 Ah, then fierce madness came ; 
 
 (Be free, I said!) 
 The air was hot with flame, 
 
 The rivers below ran red; 
 For the guns did roar from shore to shore, 
 
 And the heart of the nation bled : 
 
 Be free, I said. 
 
 Down fell the slaver's whip, 
 
 (Be free, I said!) 
 And clanking chains did slip 
 
 From limbs that shook with dread; 
 While the burning breath of that wind of death, 
 
 At the smile of Jehovah, fled : 
 
 Be free, I said. 
 
THE SOLILOQUY OF LIBERTY. 2I3 
 
 Then all the people bowed; 
 
 (Be free, I said:) 
 For the bolt that hissed in the cloud 
 
 From God's right hand had sped; 
 But heaven grew bright with dazzling light, 
 
 For the sake of the glorious Dead : 
 
 Be free, I said. 
 
 O nation of my hope, 
 
 Live long ! I said ; 
 With the lines of thy horoscope 
 
 A threefold splendor is wed ; 
 For thy stars with the moon, and the sun at noon, 
 
 On golden wings have sped: 
 
 Live long, I said. 
 
 Live till the seas go dry, — 
 
 Live long, I said; 
 Till the sluices of the sky 
 
 Their last, wild rains have shed ; 
 Till the roses pale, and the seasons fail. 
 
 And the mountains bury the dead: 
 
 Live long ! I said. 
 
 Thou nation of my heart, 
 
 Live long ! I said : 
 Live till the stars depart, 
 
 By the wan moon deathward led ; 
 Till the sun drops down as a shattered crown 
 
 From an old king's dying head: 
 
 Live long ! I said. 
 
 1866. 
 
214 FALLEN FRUIT. 
 
 FALLEN FRUIT. 
 
 L 
 
 O wild wind of the sea. 
 
 Blow on and mock my soul ! 
 For the red fruit falls from the fading tree, 
 And the last wine drips from the crystal bowl. 
 I sit all day in my chamber door ; 
 
 Over the sea the wind blows cold ; 
 I miss the white sail by the shore, 
 
 And the merrily chanted songs of old : 
 But the waves roll ever — 
 Over my dead are the proud waves rolled! 
 
 II. 
 
 O blue waves of the sea, 
 
 Roll on and mock my soul ! 
 For the sail was rent and the helm set free, 
 And the sailor hurled to his dreamless goal. 
 I sit alone in my chamber-door : 
 
 Over the sea the wind blows cold ; 
 Alas for the white sail on the shore, 
 And the merrily chanted songs of old ! 
 But the waves roll ever — 
 Over my dead are the proud waves rolled. 
 
 III. 
 
 O swift and angry sea, 
 
 Surge on and whelm my soul ! 
 For the last bird flies from the barren tree. 
 And I yearn for the sailor's dreamless goal. 
 
LEONORA. 215 
 
 I will sit no more in my chamber door : 
 
 O billows of ocean swift and cold, 
 Ye shall drag me down from the rocky shore, 
 Where my love lies mute as the songs of 
 old!— 
 
 So the waves roll ever: 
 Over the dead are the proud waves rolled! 
 
 1866. 
 
 LEONORA, 
 I. 
 
 Leonora, Leonora! 
 The chill drifts of winter thy bosom encumber ; 
 The shrill tempest beats at the door of thy 
 tomb: 
 Arise, O my love, from the silence of slumber. 
 Smile forth, and the glad world in roses will 
 bloom ! 
 
 Leonora, Leonora! 
 White soul of my bride, shall I lure thee in vain? 
 
 Draw near in the light of thy snowy array ; 
 
 Sweet singer, breathe softly thine olden refrain: 
 
 "Let the seasons roll on, let the moons wax and 
 
 wane. 
 
 But Love shall not perish, nor wither away." 
 
 IL 
 
 Leonora, Leonora, 
 The rushing winds thrill with the voice of my 
 pleading : 
 
2l6 LEONORA. 
 
 I die with my sorrow — oh hear and awake ! 
 See, cast at thy feet, how my torn heart is bleed- 
 ing! 
 Smile forth, and the morning eternal will 
 break, 
 
 Leonora, Leonora! 
 White soul of my bride, shall I lure thee in vain? 
 Draw near, and the midnight will burn as the 
 day: 
 Oh breathe again softly thine olden refrain : 
 ''Let the seasons roll on, let the moons wax and 
 wane, 
 But Love shal not perish, nor wither away." 
 
 IIL 
 
 Leonora, Leonora! 
 In their sun-guided ways all the stars look and 
 listen — 
 What light breaks at last through the door of 
 thy tomb? 
 I see thy white robes as they glimmxer and glisten, 
 And lo ! the sweet roses have burst into bloom I 
 Leonora, Leonora ! 
 White soul of my bride. Death shall lure thee in 
 vain, — 
 His snow-drifted midnight is burning with 
 day: 
 Thy lips murmur softly their olden refrain: 
 "Let the seasons roll on, let the moons wax and 
 wane, 
 But Love shall not perish, nor wither away." 
 
ATLANTIS. 21 
 
 ATLANTIS. 
 
 ARGUMENT. 
 
 Neptune, having made war with Athena for the pos- 
 session of Acta, and being about to prevail, the noise 
 of their conflict reached the ears of Zeus, monarch of 
 the gods, who, descending, commanded that Neptune 
 should inherit all lands, save only Acta; upon whose 
 plains still should flourish the olive, symbol of the 
 power of Athena, and whose people should worship 
 only her forever. 
 
 The ocean-god, fain to submit to the unalterable fiaf, 
 sped thence across the Ionian and Tyrrhenian waters, 
 passing beyond the Pillars of Hercules, and delaying 
 not until the wheels of his chariot had swept the 
 shores of that mid-sea island, Atlantis. 
 
 There abiding, with Amphitrite, his wife, all good for- 
 tune befell the island and the people thereof. 
 
 Nevertheless, having afterward permitted that his 
 sons should rule in his stead, — receiving all kingly ob- 
 servances as became their divine birth, — they grew over- 
 proud, murmuring among themselves against that de- 
 cree of Heaven, and desiring tribute and adoration from 
 the Athenians. 
 
 Their ever-loyal subjects, hearing their murmurings, 
 and being concerned for the honor of their god, gath- 
 ered themselves together with all the armaments of war, 
 and voyaged toward Acta, designing to compel her peo- 
 ple to forsake their queen, Athena, and worship only 
 Neptune, — counted greatest among terrestrial powers. 
 
 But the children of Acta, having been warned to pre- 
 
2l8 ATLANTIS. 
 
 pare for war by many signs and wonders in heaven 
 and on earth, met them in great force when they had 
 landed, and waged warfare with them mightily for the 
 space of half a day. Being driven back, however, to 
 the foot of their mountains, they must have utterly per- 
 ished, had not Athena hastened to their rescue. Her 
 following, they turned upon whose Islanders, overcame 
 and wholly slew them, so that all the valleys were laden 
 with dead. These, being upgathered, were cast upon 
 the decks of their vessels, and, drifted by a miraculous 
 tide, came at sunset to their own country, where was 
 then great wonder and grief for what had befallen 
 them. 
 
 Zeus, perceiving that the people of Atlantis had dealt 
 guiltily by the Athenians, striving to make slaves of 
 those himself had pronounced free, caused that an 
 earthquake should rend their island, and utterly over- 
 whelm it in the sea. 
 
 PRELUDE. 
 
 If earth's lost youth thou hast revived in 
 dreams, 
 Hast set swift sails and moored in ports of 
 yore, 
 Up shining channels traced forgotten streams 
 Enriched with lilies white from rim to core ; 
 Thou needs must know that strange bar- 
 baric shore 
 (Nathless unhistoried now and long sub- 
 merged,) 
 
ATLANTIS. 219 
 
 Where Neptune's sons imperial sceptres 
 bore; 
 Against whose sparkling borders, blossom- 
 verged, 
 Their fleet, wave-climbing steeds, the gods of 
 ocean urged. 
 
 11. 
 
 Unkinged, Atlantis, are thy hapless guests ; 
 They mourn, they wail for thee through ice- 
 wrought caves; 
 By torrid isles they lift sea-burdened breasts, 
 They fail with grief, they sink in sobbing 
 
 waves. 
 Ah, their rich temples loud with singing 
 slaves — 
 Their tribute-yielding people prone to kneel ! 
 Ah, their broad realm! the pathless deep it 
 paves ; 
 Above its mountains reef-torn vessels reel: 
 No minstrels chant its woe and none recite its 
 weal. 
 
 III. 
 
 Lo ! yet our marvel-loving souls have caught 
 
 That old belief profanely scoffed as vain — 
 "Beyond the heights of Hercules, 't is thought, 
 Of yore an island gorged the whelming 
 
 main: 
 In sooth strange dyes the stagnant waters 
 stain. 
 
220 ATLANTIS. 
 
 And all seafarers of the West aver, 
 
 There weedy shoals their urgent barks de- 
 tain, 
 And rushes o'er the ruffled surface stir — 
 That seem of fearful matters always to confer." 
 
 IV. 
 
 So they — the careful scribes of ancient lore: 
 Thereat no visionist waves the doubting 
 head; 
 For while rare dreams their precious chrisms 
 outpour, 
 Our souls perceive the light of cycles fled, — 
 Breathe alien airs and traffic with the dead; 
 Drink of deep founts that erst in coolness 
 welled ; 
 Aye ! with thine awful rulers, reverent tread 
 Across thy very meads, thou isle of Eld! 
 Thy name we have not scorned, nor faith there- 
 in withheld. 
 
 CANTO I. 
 
 I. 
 
 When first Athena's wind-borne arrows 
 sang 
 Through Acta's clouds and down its ranges 
 grand, 
 At once to life her symbol olive sprang, 
 
 And Terra hailed her goddeSs of the land: 
 But mighty Neptune rushed upon the strand, 
 
ATLANTIS 221 
 
 (Far-off the firm hills, trembling, felt the 
 shock !) 
 His whirling trident left the sinewy hand, 
 It struck and tarried, vibrant in the rock, 
 And crested billows there did rise and round it 
 flock. 
 
 II. 
 
 "Behold!" he cried, "mine are the rugged 
 
 vales ; 
 
 The fearful cliffs my dread approach attend ; 
 
 Up the green slopes my foam-white sea-bird 
 
 sails ; 
 
 And briny founts these roofs of granite 
 
 rend !" 
 Straight did her bow the maiden-goddess 
 bend, — 
 "Mine are the plains," she echoed, "mine the 
 shores ! 
 For me their songs the light cicadse blend ; 
 I call — from sun-dried chasms the torrent 
 pours, 
 While fruitful groves make haste to drop their 
 bloomy stores." 
 
 III. 
 
 Far flew the shaft through Acta's morning 
 
 air — 
 The bucklered breast of Neptune felt the 
 
 stroke : 
 Then burst such war as only gods may dare! 
 
222 ATLANTIS. 
 
 Then giants rose, then sluggish Triton 
 
 woke; 
 His wonted bound the reeking ocean broke, 
 And, mad with tides, went plunging down the 
 dales ; 
 Rolled over all the crater's jetty smoke, 
 The hissing lava chased the valeward gales, 
 And through the seething floods did wreathe its 
 ruddy scales. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Strong were the wrathful gods — the strife was 
 dire: 
 From glittering shield and helm and bald- 
 rick brave, 
 Their clashing javelins strewed the winds 
 with fire; 
 In onset swift they trode the frothing wave — 
 Till highest heaven an echoing clamor gave. 
 And Zeus, dread monarch of the gods, arose : 
 Down darkened steeps his dreadful bolts he 
 drave — 
 They shook the brooding mists with sunder- 
 ing throes, 
 And, crashing, smote apart the fierce, unvan- 
 quished foes. 
 
 From pale recoil immortal brows they reared, 
 
 In all the pride of majesty divine: 
 Howbeit their Titan minions fled afeared — 
 
ATLANTIS. 223 
 
 Deep caves received them and the bound- 
 less brine, 
 Whose tides, receding, sought their past con- 
 fine; 
 Volcano-springs their fiery rivers stayed; 
 
 The whirlwind died along its darkful line; 
 The tempest-herded clouds did shrink and 
 fade. 
 And rolling seas of light pursued the fleeting 
 shade. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Lo, the sheen azure of the crystal vault 
 
 Rose, arch on arch, beyond the ravished 
 sight ! 
 Effulgent hues noon's glory did exalt 
 Of sapphire, ruby, and fair chrysolite, 
 Opal and pearl, chalcedony most white, 
 And pure, pellucid beryl ; soft did blaze 
 
 Their sevenfold splendors: while from in- 
 finite height, 
 As one whose voice the skyey realm obeys, 
 Swiftly descending, came the god of countless 
 days. 
 
 VII. 
 
 Supernal radiance sphered his sovran head: 
 The lustrous sun before him paled and 
 pined ; 
 In golden rest the seas unbillowed spread. 
 And whelming light entranced the songless 
 wind. 
 
224 / ATLANTIS. 
 
 Worldward the Sire his awful eyes declined. 
 Where knelt the strivers, pale as snow-fed 
 flowers : 
 "No more," he said, "the blasts of War un- 
 bind! 
 Still for Athena flourish Acta's bowers; 
 All else be thine, thou lord of sea-abiding pow- 
 ers!" 
 
 VIIL 
 
 He spake, and up receiving heavens ne passed ; 
 Beneath his feet there rolled a luminous 
 brede 
 Of stars, whose vivid nebulae, white and vast, 
 The swift-pursuing vision did impede. 
 Slowly the fading day, from shore and 
 mead. 
 Soared zenithward, and, glimmering, died on 
 high: 
 As saintly souls, so did from earth recede 
 Its tremulous flames, and night began to sigh 
 Along the desert wave and through the sunless 
 sky. 
 
 IX. 
 
 Uprose the whilom warriors : free of use, 
 
 Helmet and shield and javelin cast aside. 
 Gleamed on the dusky strand in silent truce: 
 Nor might the darkness which did there re- 
 side 
 Those glowing shapes of beauteous godship 
 hide : 
 
ATLANTIS. 
 
 225 
 
 But brow and breast and limb of ivory shone 
 Fair as the milk-white moons that rise and 
 glide 
 Through distant Herschel's night-involved 
 zone, 
 And bid admiring spheres their veiling shades 
 disown. 
 
 X. 
 
 Now grows the dim world voluble: the dells 
 
 With choral ranks of forest-dwellers gleam ; 
 
 And fountain-nymphs, who peal their silver 
 
 bells, 
 
 That make the sleeping hills of echoes 
 
 dream. 
 Sweetly the hours from silence they re- 
 deem — 
 They cry "Athena comes! Behold, behold 
 
 The silver stars above her break and beam! 
 Green olives high their singing boughs up- 
 hold ; 
 They hail her Acta's queen with voices mani- 
 fold." 
 
 XI. 
 
 Slow-waving flowers arise, as if the Spring 
 Had blown his reedy music far and wide — 
 
 And nightingales begin to wave the wing 
 And pant and thrill in ecstasies of pride; 
 Their welling raptures ripple and subside, 
 
 Till all the passing zephyrs swoon with song: 
 
226 ATLANTIS. 
 
 "Athena comes! more fair than crowned 
 bride ! 
 With blast nor sleet, ye mounts, her presence 
 wrong : 
 Breathe softly-loud her praise, afar the chant 
 prolong !" 
 
 XII. 
 
 Now swells the sea its coming lord to greet : 
 
 From isle to isle full fast the tidings drift; 
 The speedy billows roll around his feet; 
 A crescent-shapen chariot high they lift; 
 They urge the steed from out the watery rift, 
 While foamy hands make haste to fling the 
 rein ; 
 Ascends the god — the dripping wheels are 
 swift, 
 The glittering hoofs fast heat the charmed 
 main, 
 Whose surges crouch before and all their waves 
 restrain ! 
 
 CANTO II. 
 I. 
 
 How summer-fair, in central ocean, rose 
 Thy shore, Atlantis, wrought with fret and 
 bay; 
 
 What time the orient banners might disclose 
 The azure-staining gules of dawning day ! 
 How frail thy scarf of zephyr-wafted spray. 
 
ATLANTIS. 227 
 
 That glimmered while the sunshine yet was 
 scant ! 
 How green thy paths, where glancing lights 
 did play 
 And softly sweep the forest-shades aslant! 
 How blest the soul were such its everlasting 
 haunt ! 
 
 n. 
 
 There grew all flowers the brightness to en- 
 hance ; 
 There lyre-like winds did chime in every 
 glade; 
 A thousand heights did shining streams elance, 
 From sun-lit crag to valley steeped in shade ; 
 A thousand lucent, winding rivers strayed 
 By fragrant mounds, where flights of golden 
 bees 
 Each leaf-enshielded chalice over-weighed, 
 Spilling the dew to reach the honey-lees; 
 And there were verdant palms and many stately 
 trees. 
 
 HI. 
 
 There shells of crimson strewed the shadowy 
 sands, 
 As sunset clouds on ashen skies afloat ; 
 And there all birds that dwell in lightsome 
 lands 
 Shook wings of flame, and sang and soared 
 remote. 
 
228 ATLANTIS. 
 
 Till fain the senses ceased thereon to dote, 
 And but the happy heart with song was sweet ; 
 And ah, the deepening floods of light that 
 smote 
 The leafy- gates of every dim retreat. 
 And on the waveless lakes made white each flow- 
 ery fleet! 
 
 IV. 
 
 There lovely flowers on lowly tendrils clung, 
 
 Spicing each breeze o'er field and fertile 
 
 cape; 
 
 All tropic drupes from rustling branches hung. 
 
 Sun-steeped, delicious, fair of hue and 
 
 shape ; 
 And vines far-climbing, such as greenly 
 drape 
 Unsightly rocks, on every boulder grew; 
 Dark waxed the crowded clusters of the 
 grape, 
 Their swelling globes earth's rarest sweetness 
 drew, 
 Till warm and rich they swung, a-drip with pur- 
 ple dew. 
 
 V. 
 
 Peace smoothed the velvet sward of every 
 slope ; 
 Earthquake nor avalanche dared the still- 
 ness shock; 
 By swift cascades the lithe-limbed antelope, 
 
ATLANTIS. 229 
 
 As fleetly vaulting, leaped from rock to 
 
 rock; 
 Each glen did some pure fountain-source 
 unlock, 
 Where panther, ounce, and tawny lion drank 
 
 Beside the antlered herd and fleecy flock; 
 No scarlet death might stain or wave or bank, 
 For none his fellow vexed — no menaced weak- 
 ling shrank. 
 
 VI. 
 
 There human voices, ever soft and clear. 
 Framed murmuring speech or rose in wafts 
 of song; 
 And tremulous laughters, light and sweet to 
 hear. 
 Echo's fine bugles faintly did prolong: 
 Gentle and free the race, and brave and 
 strong ; 
 As blithe and kindly as the showers of Spring. 
 Its graceful youth the blossomed ways did 
 throng. 
 With smiles and blushes bright as Love may 
 bring : 
 In beauty bloomed they all, and none went sor- 
 rowing. 
 
 VII. 
 
 Sea-queen of Eld, while thus the cymbals clash, 
 
 The lips unskilled essay the stately theme — 
 
 How all thy greatness did the world abash; 
 
230 ATLANTIS. 
 
 Thy rule, adoring kings account supreme ; 
 How, for thy hurt, dared priest nor mon- 
 arch scheme, 
 Till thine own deed the grievous ruin dealt — 
 Oh, may the rugged strain some sweetness 
 seem 
 To gather, as the breezy echoes melt ; 
 And grander bards forgive, who at thy grave 
 have knelt! 
 
 VIII. 
 
 No murky cloud his spotless disk to hide. 
 The sun, through surges vast his way had 
 cleft. 
 And all the crisping, restive waters wide, 
 Of twilight's wave-encumbering shades be- 
 reft. 
 Did glister as a snowy-threaden weft, 
 With flickering gems afloat in every fold. 
 
 And soft sea-colors interwoven deft : 
 I wis nor daisied path nor street of gold. 
 Mote shine as this whereon great Neptune's 
 chariot rolled. 
 
 IX. 
 
 All night its gleaming wheels had tracked the 
 
 waste ; 
 
 Like serpents ran the ripples in their wake; 
 
 Their beamy coils the quivering furrows 
 
 traced, 
 
 As moonbeams, over crested billows, break 
 
ATLANTIS. 231 
 
 Through undulating shade and frothen 
 flake: 
 All night the ocean-steed, with tossing head 
 And speedful limbs no bird might overtake, 
 With streaming mane on buoyant winds out- 
 spread, 
 From Acta's coast, full far, his westward course 
 had sped. 
 
 X. 
 
 Across the wild Ionian floods that pour 
 Libations low at burning Etna's feet, 
 Where grand Charybdis breathes his sullen 
 roar. 
 Where Tyrrhene gulfs their Alpine bound- 
 aries beat, 
 Through pillar-guarded straits that roll to 
 meet 
 The deep Atlantic — cool with Arctic streams, 
 And sounding airs too swift for summer- 
 heat. 
 Yet fresh and pure as childhood's morning- 
 dreams — 
 He came, the god, for whom with life old ocean 
 teems. 
 
 XI. 
 
 Around the reverent water-creatures trooped 
 
 Nereid or nymph or siren, each unveiled 
 Her wondrous eyes, whose teary lashes 
 drooped 
 
232 ATLANTIS. 
 
 Down lovely cheeks with cavern-slumbers 
 
 paled ; 
 On lapsing waves their filmy raiment 
 sailed, 
 Nor scarce their half-emergent forms might 
 screen ; 
 Along the surf their white arms lightly 
 trailed, 
 Or lifted high the sea-weed garland green: 
 They swarm on either hand — the chariot rolled 
 between. 
 
 XII. 
 
 And every naiad-voice at whiles out-breaking, 
 In bursts of songful sweetness pealed 
 around ; 
 Thereafter valley-groves and uplands, waking. 
 All resonant, air-enriching murmurs found. 
 No passing breath but bore its freight of 
 sound, 
 And by unrifled roses, dying, sang; 
 
 Nor jarring note the eager ear might wound, 
 But clear and loud the choral paeans rang, 
 As up the pebbled beach the steed, unweary, 
 sprang. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 To earth light leaped the god, while dale and 
 plain, 
 And ledge-built cave where falling waters 
 hide. 
 
ATLANTIS. ^Z2> 
 
 Thrilled with his lifted voice that rang amain ; 
 And **Amphitrite ! Amphitrite!" — wide 
 The bruiting winds his ardent summons 
 cried, 
 With "Amphitrite !" startling all the strand : 
 Her name the dewy breeze, far-floating, 
 sighed. 
 The crimson trouble of her cheek it fanned, 
 While, slow and love-constrained, she crossed the 
 bounteous land. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 Majestic was her mien; her stately head 
 Enwreathed with silver flowers of lake and 
 lea, 
 Wherefrom the fragrance-loaden drops were 
 shed 
 Down all her hair that, circling, floated free ; 
 It seemed as light and shade did there agree, 
 And dimly-lustrous, blend and interlace: 
 
 Deep were her eyes and colored like the sea ; 
 As wind-brought wave she moved with undu- 
 late grace. 
 And all the goddess shone resplendent in her 
 face! 
 
 XV. 
 
 And where her lingering feet did press the 
 vales, 
 There snow-excelling asphodels did spring; 
 Her smile beholding, mild as are the gales 
 
234 ATLANTIS. 
 
 Of slumberous Iran grew the wreakful 
 
 king; 
 Trident nor warring javelin might he fling, 
 But tuneful as celestial marriage-lyres 
 
 His rapturous song made all the aether ring, 
 Through azure spaces — far as Love aspires! 
 Abashed the ocean shrank and hushed its trem- 
 bling choirs. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 "My bride," he sang, "the golden isle be ours ! 
 From verge to verge its splendor shall ex- 
 ceed; 
 Its founts shall rise in youth-renewing show- 
 ers, 
 Its blushful fruit undying lips shall feed. 
 Here Pan all day shall blow his river-reed. 
 All night shall oreads breathe their roundels 
 sweet ; 
 Their flitting shapes, from whispering ce- 
 dars freed, 
 Shall haunt as dreams our shadow-veiled re- 
 treat, 
 Where slumber-silenced hours shall move with 
 slothful feet. 
 
 XVII. 
 
 "Here while the cycles blissfully appear. 
 Our kingly sons their steadfast thrones shall 
 
 climb : 
 Swift hands shall toil their templed halls to 
 
 rear. 
 
ATLANTIS. 235 
 
 Whose cloud-hung bells on soaring winds 
 
 shall chime; 
 No mystic scripture there shall threat of 
 time, 
 No voice of prophet utter woes abroad: 
 But clang of harp and chant of lore sub- 
 lime, 
 Shall heaven's Hgh- vaulted roofs of peace de- 
 fraud : 
 For always minstrels proud the island gods shall 
 laud! 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 "Here shall the sphere-descended powers re- 
 cline, 
 Their half- furled wings yet tremulous with 
 flight; 
 Their rose-like cheeks aflush with nectarous 
 
 wine, 
 Their locks afloat on aery billows bright; 
 While mossy couches soft to rest invite, 
 By rills, whose brinks with crystal overflow. 
 
 Their love celestial shall the land requite. 
 Bid vaunting Death the beauteous clime fore- 
 
 And on its blooming race immortal life bestow. 
 
 XIX. 
 
 "And there shall be no darkness of despair, 
 No voice of wailing grief, no briny tear; 
 The flower, to-day half-budded, shall be fair 
 
236 
 
 ATLANTIS. 
 
 To-morrow, nor to-morrow disappear; 
 The strain melodious, willing ears shall hear 
 Unsated day by day ; the laughing eye 
 
 Shall lose no light, though fleet year follow 
 year; 
 There shall no beauty fade, no friendship die, 
 And ever sweetly kind shall Love to Love reply." 
 
 CANTO in. 
 
 I. 
 
 O mystic realm where ruled the deathless kings, 
 While times unmeasured rolled in light 
 away ! 
 Serene wert thou with oft-recurring springs. 
 And soft reflections of transplendent day. 
 Celestial heralds waved their bright array 
 Upon thy sunbeat mountain-peaks, aglow 
 With wandering clouds and drifts of shining 
 spray ; 
 Far soaring skyward, or descending slow, 
 Their silver-plumed wings swept ever to and fro. 
 
 IL 
 
 Along thy rills there crept no boreal breath; 
 No sounding storm through tranquil val- 
 leys whirled; 
 Far-fleeting thence, that silent warrior Death, 
 On mountain snows his conquering ban- 
 ners furled. 
 
ATLANTIS. ^Z7 
 
 Nor darkened noon nor crossed a withering 
 world. 
 Oft through thy skies, with pomp imperial 
 riven, 
 Rode mighty Zeus, his hissing bolts un- 
 hurled : 
 Down jasper ways his flying steeds were 
 driven, 
 And all the isle was sweet with effluent airs of 
 Heaven. 
 
 III. 
 
 Alas, the sons of Neptune! proud were they, 
 
 Of princely step and beauty all divine; 
 Their word the fleet, capricious wind did sway, 
 Of rushing streams the boundaries did as- 
 sign. 
 Nor less compelled the ever-moving brine: 
 Low at their feet the reverent people knelt. 
 
 With all translucent gifts of wave and mine: 
 'Neath pillared domes of wroughten ore they 
 dwelt. 
 And tribute-burdened fleets their shelly <:oasts 
 did belt. 
 
 IV. 
 
 For them the West its riches did unbar; 
 
 Kingdoms obeyed them from their island 
 throne : 
 Nathless, in Acta's glowing land afar. 
 
 Loved of the gods, Athena ruled alone! 
 
238 ATLANTIS. 
 
 Against her cliffs the fettered floods did 
 moan; 
 Her opulent olives drooped with tawny fruit; 
 Her thousand fields with crystal torrents 
 shone, 
 Where sylvan sirens smote the lightsome lute, 
 And held, with dulcet song, all wrack ful tem- 
 pests mute. 
 
 Through groves where lentisk-boughs. their 
 fragrance breathed. 
 As flitting birds abroad her arrows flew ; 
 The whirring barbs in many a dell were 
 sheathed, 
 Whose secret waters well the summons 
 
 knew; 
 Elate they tossed their gemmy founts of 
 dew — 
 Whereby the turf its sweetest flowers released : 
 Spray-cooled and fleet the delicate breezes 
 blew. 
 Nor soft-blown pipes their light responding 
 ceased. 
 While loitering nymph or goddess spread her 
 fruity feast. 
 
 VI. 
 
 And all was rest ! the deer unhunted ranged. 
 
 The archer's aim no circling wing assailed; 
 From bloom to bloom the dreamful seasons 
 changed ; 
 
ATLANTIS. 239 
 
 The moony nights but rarer sight unveiled. 
 Of blossom vapor-white, or rainbow paled. 
 Or faint and fleecy citadel of cloud, 
 
 Whose glimmering spires in ruddy flame ex- 
 haled, 
 What time to greet the sun mid harpings loud, 
 At once the glacial heights with beacon-fires grew 
 proud. 
 
 VII. 
 
 The sea-born rulers murmured in their tow- 
 ers — 
 "Shall isles revere, shall North and South 
 obey. 
 Shall heaven be red with gold of falling show- 
 ers. 
 But Acta's clime no costly tribute pay? 
 Behold, afar, her haughty hills array 
 Their slopes in summer verdure: fair below 
 Sleep spicy groves and rivers warm with 
 day, 
 Whose beds are gems, whose waters pure and 
 slow. 
 Seem stained with yellow dates, where palms 
 their shadows throw. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 "And lo, the stealthy leopard o'er her plains 
 
 Basks in the sun his lustrous black and gold ; 
 And scarlet plumes and snow of feathery 
 trains 
 
240 ATLANTIS. 
 
 Flicker among the grasses of the mold; 
 With many a graceful coil and flexile fold 
 Do gayly glittering serpents charm the sight; 
 Unstinted there are fadeless hues outrolled 
 Of amber, blushing rose, and lucid white — 
 So fair is Acta's land, so blooming-rich and 
 bright!" 
 
 IX. 
 
 They murmured in their halls, and near and 
 far. 
 From lip to lip in haste the tale was told. 
 With voice of rising wrath and vaunt of war. 
 Fast-gathering ranks and counsels manifold. 
 The laughing children at their games grew 
 bold, 
 Commanding ''Give us arrows, sharp and 
 strong ! 
 No more shall Acta's sons their wealth with- 
 hold.' 
 And lance was wrought, with halberd, shield 
 and thong. 
 Mid clang of steel and brass and burst of battle- 
 song. 
 
 X. 
 
 In turbulent haste the cavemed hills were rent, 
 Their marble pillars cleft and overturned. 
 
 Their firm rocks torn from gorge and deep de- 
 scent, 
 Till all revealed their golden bases burned. 
 
ATLANTIS. 241 
 
 Vainly the lofty oak his fellows spurned — 
 Rived, from his lordly height, he, shrieking, 
 fell; 
 Full soon the strong-built ships for ocean 
 yearned. 
 With flashing prows that did the surf repel, 
 And wavering sails wherein the fair winds 
 sought to dwell. 
 
 XL 
 
 Dawned there a morn, and all with one accord 
 Their peaceful garb aside the people cast; 
 Their voiceful legions trod the lilied sward. 
 Loud as the floods where hurricanes have 
 passed ; 
 At Neptune's shrine 'neath echoing arches 
 vast. 
 Thronging they bade the ivory gates divide : 
 **0 thou whose arm withholds the winnow- 
 ing blast, 
 Be ours thy strength, great king of seas !" they 
 cried — 
 "Thee shall nor mortals mock nor scornful gods 
 deride.'' 
 
 XIL 
 
 At once within the temple's sacred gloom, 
 On opalescent shrine and coral stair, 
 
 Swift-spreading flames brake forth in crimson 
 bloom, 
 And flushed their light along the dusky air. 
 
242 ATLANTIS. 
 
 The fragrant floors of sandal-wood did wear 
 The hue of roses ; arch and pictured wall, 
 Embossment, frieze, and wreathen column 
 rare, 
 Entablature and snowy statue, all 
 Shone fair as rifted clouds when suns of sum- 
 mer fall. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 And, famt and soft, a rippling sound began 
 
 Along the glowing corridors to steal: 
 Onward the ear-enchanting numbers ran. 
 Far-flowing, throbbing, swelling, peal on 
 
 peal, 
 Till, music-whelmed, the floating sense did 
 reel : 
 "He hears!" the people shouted, all attent; 
 
 'The grateful god approves our holy zeal: 
 With affluent glory lo, he smiles assent; 
 And his exulting voice foretells the glad event !" 
 
 XIV. 
 
 Thereat the surge-like din to silence fell: 
 
 But snatched on brazen clarions burst anew ; 
 While reed and light bandore with gentle 
 swell. 
 Did softly beat and harsher strains subdue 
 Their seaward ways did rapturous throngs 
 pursue : 
 The foam of striving waters at their feet 
 
ATLANTIS. 243 
 
 One long and glittering thread of silver 
 threw ; 
 And viewless aery spirits, wild and fleet, 
 AH merrily and loud their wings began to beat. 
 
 XV. 
 
 I ween it was a fair and goodly sight — 
 A thousand vessels rocking on the tide, 
 Like white swans half-afloat, half-poised for 
 flight. 
 That not in wave nor yet in air abide ; 
 And with the winds, that seemed their stay 
 to chide, 
 Went streaming scarlet pennons ; and the stir 
 
 Of yellow flag and silken awning wide, 
 And cleaving oar of hurrying Islander, 
 Did all with music soft the lingering morn deter. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 Followed the Noon, her white hand dipping 
 
 low 
 
 To fret the goldened waters ; sweet as sleep 
 
 Breathed parting songs that, trembling, drifted 
 
 slow 
 
 From shores receded: eyes there were did 
 
 weep, 
 In bowery haunts, to see the far sails sweep 
 Their snow against the azure of the East; 
 But well the proud ships rode the sunny 
 deep, 
 
24 "^^ ATLANTIS. 
 
 Full well thereon the mirthful din increased, 
 And lofty-minded youth no vaunt of victory 
 ceased. 
 
 XVII. 
 
 The skies were fair, the light mist swam above ; 
 
 Under the lee the trooping billows laughed ; 
 The breeze was gentle as the voice of love ; 
 
 On dimpled waves the white crest waltzed 
 abaft ; 
 
 The seas, inebriate, still the sunlight quaffed, 
 And sank and sighed with luxury of wine: 
 
 Idle the seamen on their rocking craft, 
 That Orientward did constantly incline. 
 And ever fleetly rode the unresisting brine. 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 Cuirass and graven helmet caught the sun, 
 Canopied throne and flashing crown were 
 there ; 
 Brave webs whose thread was of the fine gold 
 spun, 
 And kingly forms adorned beyond compare. 
 Lightly they rode, nor did their speed for- 
 bear: 
 Ah, goodly was the sight ! but first that day. 
 Death, in thy vales, Atlantis, spread the 
 snare ; 
 Hid under dewy flowers the sure dismay ; 
 Drew his unfailing bow and set the shafts that 
 slay. 
 
ATLANTIS 245 
 
 XIX. 
 
 Then first within the bud the slow worm 
 
 crawled ; 
 
 Then vipers first were found and reptiles 
 
 foul; 
 
 Then first the linnet's downy brood, appalled, 
 
 Shrank from the murdering talons of the 
 
 owl: 
 Then beasts, grown terrible, began to prowl 
 Within the wood; then children learned to 
 wail, 
 Maidens to sigh and vengeful youth to 
 scowl. 
 Woe, woe, Atlantis, thou who didst prevail ! 
 Where shall thy refuge be, when angry gods as- 
 sail? 
 
 CANTO IV. 
 
 I. 
 
 In Acta's realm a cry of fear was heard, 
 
 ''What mean these troublous voices of the 
 sea? 
 Wilder than shriek of battling ocean-bird 
 They utter prophecies of woes to be; 
 They call, they answer — 'Who shall help de- 
 cree? 
 Behold the wings of swift despair outspread! 
 Sleep shall make bond the souls that yet are 
 free: 
 Deep sighs there be, low-breathed among the 
 dead, 
 
246 
 
 ATLANTIS. 
 
 With whisperings faint they rise, the dewless 
 winds they tread !' " 
 
 11. 
 
 And pale were Acta's children: "Lo," they 
 cried, 
 'The sun, at noon, has worn the veil of 
 night ! 
 Nor now in steadfast state the stars abide, 
 They break from bound, they cleave the 
 
 skies in flight. 
 Drawn on the vaporous heaven are visions 
 white 
 Of mighty ships with mimic sails, that dare 
 
 Aerial deeps, and loud on every height 
 Mysterious tidings sound: 'Prepare, prepare! 
 The ravening eagle flies, the lion leaves his lair !' 
 
 III. 
 
 "And fateful clouds that guard the Delphic 
 shrine 
 Are quick with flames that threaten to de- 
 vour; 
 And dismal cries and chantings sibylline. 
 Make terrible the midnight's moonless hour. 
 In haste, through every naiad-haunted 
 bower. 
 Some herald, terror-pale, in shadow fleets : 
 'How dread,* they cry, 'how dread great 
 Neptune's power! 
 
ATLANTIS. 247 
 
 With wanton speed he rides the billowy streets : 
 Prepare ! Athena's voice the slumbering land en- 
 treats !' " 
 
 IV. 
 
 Straight flashed the steely barb ; with bor- 
 rowed fire 
 Shone burnished mail and golden-hilted 
 glaive : 
 Slept on the sunny turf the fallen lyre ; 
 And tocsin-peal, and blare of cornet brave, 
 And beaten tabret did the winds enslave: 
 Up from their homes the hurrying people 
 pressed, 
 WUh wandering eyes that scanned the roll- 
 ing wave, 
 Or pierced the vaulty azure of the West, 
 And sought, they knew not what, or, trembling, 
 dimly guessed. 
 
 V. 
 
 Perchance no more than darkness of eclipse, 
 Or silver star beyond his fellows whirled; 
 
 Or far fantastic forms of mimic ships, 
 With frail, ethereal sails in air unfurled: 
 Or if Destruction o'er a darkening world. 
 
 Sped by the angry gods should whet his blade, 
 Ere yet the dire-impending wrath were 
 hurled, 
 
 Might fair Athena, swift her sons to aid, 
 10 
 
248 ATLANTIS. 
 
 Arrest his crimson arm and bid their doom be 
 stayed. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Such heavenly help the kneeling people sought ; 
 
 At every shrine they breathed their reverent 
 
 vows: 
 
 When, borne from far, on rising blasts, they 
 
 caught 
 
 The noise of swelling floods and cleaving 
 
 prows. 
 UpHfted they their earth-abased brows, 
 With breath that scarce, for wonder, heaved 
 the breast; 
 As when his path the sparry iceberg plows 
 Through drifting deeps, fast rending crest 
 from crest, 
 So that far-voyaged fleet the waters did molest. 
 
 VII. 
 
 And scarlet pennons floated on the gales. 
 
 And yellow flags were waving in the sun ; 
 On glittering yards full whitely swung the 
 sails — 
 Bay-wreathed were they, as Victory, lightly 
 
 won, 
 Already smiled and told of battles done ; 
 Loud were the singing crews, the dense array 
 Of armed men, proud sire and princely son : 
 Their lances poised, their arrows winged for 
 fray, 
 
ATLANTIS. 249 
 
 Bright-panoplied they stood, alert and strong to 
 slay. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 On tides that did the verdant headlands threat 
 
 Their bounding ships rode up the whelmed 
 
 shore ; 
 
 For rushing winds did rushing waves abet — 
 
 Those struck the mast, these at the helm 
 
 did roar, 
 Till, cast on verdant meads, the keels for- 
 bore, 
 And eddying surges, sinking, swept the beach. 
 Not then did kneeling crowds their gods 
 implore ; 
 None made assay to daunten or beseech : 
 But swift as hurtling clouds each launched his 
 bolts on each. 
 
 IX. 
 
 Then was there din that shook the crag-built 
 land, 
 Upstartling every harp-lulled mountain- 
 blast ; 
 Then cavern-spirits shrieked from strand to 
 strand, 
 While oreads fled, and giants stood aghast! 
 Front hurled on front with tramp of legions 
 vast, 
 Clashing of shields and clang of flying spear ; 
 
250 ATLANTIS. 
 
 With flame of far-flung missiles foeward 
 cast ; 
 With neigh of steed, wild shout of charioteer, 
 A.nd rush of wheels on-rolled in battle's mad 
 career. 
 
 X. 
 
 Ah, fair Atlantis, island of the blest, 
 
 What crystal fountain fed these fiery veins? 
 What sounding lyre of star-descended guest. 
 Chimed prelude soft to rouse these war- 
 ring strains? 
 What purple bloom outbreathed in summer 
 rains, 
 Foretold the hue of Acta's blushing soil, 
 When these, thy sons, should tread her 
 lovely plains. 
 With fearful onslaught urging dire recoil, 
 rill flight and swift pursuit should Acta's 
 strength despoil? 
 
 XL 
 
 Against her hills the waning battle rolled. 
 Through shadowy grove, green glade, and 
 dewy strath; 
 And tossing plumes and gleams of ruddy gold, 
 And flaunting banners flashed along its path. 
 The drowsy caverns caught the voice of 
 wrath, 
 That shrieked from rank to rank, the fierce 
 harangue, 
 
ATLANTIS. 251 
 
 The cheer, the dying wail on fields of scath. 
 The din of falling blades, the trumpet-clang, 
 That, grandly pealing forth, of certain victory 
 sang. 
 
 XII. 
 
 Athena heard and snatched her ancient bow, 
 Whose shafts had cleft the round of many 
 a shield; 
 Far down the heights of everlasting snow 
 The winged steeds her silver chariot 
 
 wheeled. 
 Their fleet hoofs struck the gashed and 
 bleeding field, — 
 Through all the land celestial splendors ran, — 
 "Arouse!" she cried: "your idle javelins 
 wield: 
 No coward foe shall smiling Neptune scan!" 
 And waved her standard white and led the whirl- 
 ing van. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 As when some strong wind smites an ocean's 
 verge. 
 And buffets back the rage of rising tides, 
 And haling swell on swell and surge on surge, 
 (Afleck with foam down all their reeking 
 
 sides ;) 
 On vaulting waves majestically rides — 
 So swept Athena's hosts, their strength un- 
 shorn, 
 
252 ATLANTIS. 
 
 Wild with the call of clarion-sounding 
 guides : 
 So hurled her foes in headlong flight forlorn, 
 Triumphant rode them down and laughed their 
 power to scorn! 
 
 XIV. 
 
 So perished all their glory ! in the vales, 
 
 Like new-mown flowers, the fallen heroes 
 lay; 
 Gules on the breast and down their shining 
 mails, 
 As each his beauteous being gasped away: 
 Nor trampling steed nor legion might aflfray 
 Their dying eyes, slow-turning toward the 
 West; 
 Somewhat they seemed to see of isle and 
 bay; 
 Green forest, silvery fount, and sun-bright 
 guest, 
 Whereat in smiles they sank, with healing slum- 
 bers blest. 
 
 XVa 
 
 Not fairer are the lilies; every brow 
 
 In smooth repose seemed sculptured of the 
 snow; 
 And many a palm-tree's victor-loving bough 
 Thereon did soft and wreathed shadows 
 throw. 
 
ATLANTIS. 253 
 
 Rolled Acta's paeans o'er her fallen foe, 
 Yet calm as restful conquerors were these, 
 Who, pale and battle-worn, their spoils 
 forego, 
 Content with silence and with balmy ease. 
 Lulled by the rustling winds, and stir of whis- 
 pering seas. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 White lip to lip the cavern-spirits sighed — 
 "And shall their morning songs resound 
 no more, 
 Their laughter sweet the mourning zephyrs 
 chide, 
 When ghostly Evening flits from shore to 
 
 shore ?" 
 Each sobbing wave the grievous burden 
 bore, — 
 "And shall they perish, they who long did 
 reign ? 
 Shall ocean-kings nor heavenly powers 
 restore ? 
 Lo! where Athena triumphs o'er the slain — 
 Their god shall aid them not — herein his might 
 is vain !" 
 
 XVII. 
 
 'And hark! the people answer, — ^'WHo shall 
 save? 
 From Acta's fields up-gather ye the dead; 
 
254 ATLANTIS. 
 
 Let proud Atlantis haste to build their grave, 
 And weave her linens white to deck their 
 
 bed. 
 How is her hope despoiled, her greatness 
 fled. 
 Her beauty faded, and her strength waxed old ! 
 How are her vessels freighted — in the stead 
 Of silks and- precious things, and slaves and 
 gold ! 
 They shall return, nor long their merchandise 
 withhold.' " 
 
 xvni. 
 
 On Acta's strand are tidal surges tossed; 
 The keel-rent swards each golden frigate 
 spurn : 
 Woe, woe for those who wait the bannered 
 host, 
 And dream of sails and prate of sweet re- 
 turn ! 
 It skills not now that blushing love should 
 yearn, 
 Or spread the feast, or honeyed nectar pour: 
 
 Full fair in heaven the sunset glories burn. 
 Against a scarlet West the white sails soar, 
 But from the prow no voice shall hail the rising 
 shore. 
 
 XIX. 
 
 Yet happy eyes are watching while the spray, 
 Like filmy gossamer wavers in the air ; 
 
ATLANTIS. 255 
 
 Where drive the ships along their homeward 
 way, 
 As ever silently to land they fare. 
 Jocund are throbbing hearts and debonair 
 The rippling laugh, the lightly lifted face: 
 
 What soul the starless night of swift despair, 
 Beyond such soft and lustrous eve could 
 trace — 
 Or, trembling, feel the doom whose terror comes 
 apace ? 
 
 XX. 
 
 Idly the fleet lay rocking in the bay — 
 
 None trimmed the mast or furled the silken 
 sail; 
 There blazed no sun-lit shield, no gemmed 
 array 
 Of armed princes, mighty to prevail : 
 They slept, who erst made mirthful every 
 gale— 
 Their death-drawn lids full heavy were with 
 rest ! 
 Then who for fear and wonder waxed not 
 pale. 
 Nor shrieked with grief, nor beat the sobbing 
 breast ? 
 But hate nor weeping love the slumberers might 
 molest. 
 
 XXI. 
 
 Alas, the pallid dead! they mutely slept. 
 Forever unaware of foe and friend: 
 
256 ATLANTIS. 
 
 If roses bloomed, if skies their grandeur kept, 
 If whirlwinds made the writhing seas con- 
 tend, 
 If earthquakes all the panting hills did rend. 
 They recked not: Peace, to them, her quiet 
 gave, 
 Wail, wail, Atlantis ! since if Love must end, 
 No bounding heart shall wintry grief out- 
 brave : 
 When fall the bolts of wrath, no god enthroned 
 shall save. 
 
 XXII. 
 
 And soon shall Heaven its fiery vengeance 
 wreak ; 
 Destruction hastes, and none shall help 
 decree. 
 Vainly the guilty people, kneeling, shriek — 
 Powerless the arm to thwart, the foot to 
 
 flee. 
 O stricken island, dread thy doom shall be! 
 From verge to verge, lo, sudden darkness falls, 
 
 And utter silence, sealing land and sea. 
 An awful solitude the soul appalls — 
 No night-bewildered bird, or beast, his fellow 
 calls. 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 Then through the desert spheres, okc, soaring, 
 sped, 
 
ATLANTIS. 257 
 
 Whose far-heard voice of wrath did proph- 
 esy: 
 *'Shall proud Atlantis yet exalt her head, 
 Uprear her puny arm, the heavens defy. 
 Make mock afar and snatch what gods 
 deny? 
 Behold the veiled stars her judgment wait, 
 The unleashed thunders crouch within the 
 sky! 
 Who shall the rage of whelming tides abate? 
 3he shall be fallen, fallen, fallen, who was 
 great!" 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 What dying prayers avail when gods revile ? 
 
 Burst then the terrors of the hour of doom ! 
 Ah, then how shook the river-natured isle, 
 Through all its dewy vales of summer 
 
 bloom ! 
 Hurled on its cliffs did briny surges loom, 
 Up-gathered from the valleys of the deep ; 
 Yawned underneath the hills their welter- 
 ing tomb. 
 And waves therefrom did cedarn harvests 
 reap; 
 Sank glade and toppling dome, tall palm and 
 cloven steep. 
 
 XXV. 
 
 Sank — while on high the sheeted lightnings 
 burned. 
 
258 ATLANTIS. 
 
 And wasting clouds were white with bil- 
 lowy fire — 
 Arose and sank, as yet the sea-queen yearned 
 For empire lost; with strife of strong desire 
 Lifting from midnight gulfs the shattered 
 spire, 
 The city overthrown, the fallen height; 
 
 Till all revealed and shamed with ruin dire 
 The wrath-doomed realm, slow-sinking, van- 
 ished quite. 
 With all her pride and pomp, her beauty and 
 her might! 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 Rolled over all the devastating floods . 
 
 No more will lovers haunt the babbling rills ; 
 No more will Summer dress her golden buds. 
 Or wind her misty wreaths among the 
 hills; 
 No more will breezy night be sweet with 
 trills, 
 In light, delicious, music-morsels tossed: 
 But still the sea-born kings recount their 
 ills. 
 Nor evermore their mournful theme exhaust. 
 Of all thine ancient worth, thou island loved 
 and lost! 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 By torrid shores they breathe their constant 
 plea — 
 
ATLANTIS. 259 
 
 ''Arise, O thou of majesty serene! 
 Break from the prison-chambers of the sea, 
 Come forth in all thy jeweled garments 
 
 green V 
 And where, full far, the Arctic ships careen, 
 Through ice-wrought caves their wailing sor- 
 rows swell: 
 "Where are thy templed hills, O fallen 
 queen ? 
 Arise, Atlantis, thou who didst excel!" 
 Light winds their voices waste: — proud isle of 
 Eld, farewell. 
 
 EPODE. 
 I. 
 
 O loved, my Country ! there was one of old, 
 Whose chariot on the peace-charmed surges 
 rode ; 
 The morning sun was in his locks of gold, 
 And on his cHeek rose-ruddy youth abode; 
 His ocean-steed thy sparkling borders trode ; 
 The while his voice he reared, and rock and 
 lea 
 On bruiting winds abroad their echoes 
 strowed : 
 "Awake," he cried, "O goddess of the Free ! 
 Reach forth thy sceptred hand, and rule from 
 sea to sea." 
 
25o ATLANTIS. 
 
 II. 
 
 Uprose fair Liberty: her stately head 
 
 Enwreathed with snow-exceUing fountain- 
 flowers, 
 
 That Hghtly down her savage vesture shed 
 In honey-heavy drops their silver showers. 
 "My bride," he sang, *'the golden land be 
 
 ours 
 
 Aflush with fruit its vines shall sunward climb : 
 Herein shall swift hands build our glittering 
 towers. 
 Where bards shall chant their heaven-taught 
 lore sublime ; 
 Nor hand along the wall nor scripture threat of 
 Time. 
 
 III. 
 
 "While blissful cycles rise and disappear, 
 Shall vaunting Death the beauteous realm 
 forego : 
 Its stars shall shine though fleet year follow 
 year, 
 Through boun rous vales its crystal rivers 
 
 flow. 
 On all its dazzling mountain-peaks of snow 
 Shall blaze the beacons of celestial day; 
 
 From verge to verge their sun-lit fires shall 
 glow, 
 Pierce the dun mists and burn the shades away : 
 Therewith shall field and flood themselves in 
 light array." 
 
ATLANTIS. 261 
 
 IV. 
 
 My Country, thus with Truth and Freeaom 
 
 blest, 
 
 Who for thy hurt had dared to barb the dart, 
 
 Save that thine arm, far-reaching from the 
 
 West, 
 
 Had plunged the knife in Afric's bleeding 
 
 heart. 
 O guilty nation, jeering at the mart 
 Where men were scourged, and swarthy 
 maidens sold, 
 When Vengeance rose what arm his bolts 
 could thwart? 
 Unstayed the blood-dyed waves above thee 
 rolled — 
 Down dropped the night of Death! Ah then 
 what heart was bold ? 
 
 While yawnea amid the deeps thy weltering 
 
 tomb, 
 Lo, yet, thy late repentance winged the 
 
 prayer ; 
 Heaven smiling heard, blue skies began to 
 
 bloom. 
 Dawn touched thy hills and wrapped thy 
 
 valleys fair ; 
 Woke all thy seers, of deepening light 
 
 aware ; 
 
262 ATLANTIS. 
 
 Swift- falling flames thy crimson altars caught ; 
 Day crowned thy Ruler: he who, strong to 
 dare, 
 Had long with hell-born Slavery, grappling, 
 fought, 
 And hurled him down the pit and thv salvation 
 wrought. 
 
 VI. 
 
 On Freedom's golden threshold mute he stood, 
 And bore aloft the star-embroidered sign — 
 His drooping brow bedewed with sweat of 
 blood, 
 His sad eyes steeped in tears of love divine ; 
 And sighing, yet, *'Thy will, O God, not 
 mine,'' 
 His clinging crown of thorns half-snatched 
 away. 
 His wan lips wet with crucifixion-wine — 
 He stood — pale herald of millennial day, 
 While Judas paused afar and whispered, *'Slay 
 him — slay !" 
 
 VII. 
 
 O people wailing for the first-born, dead! 
 O morn transplendent, quenched in utter 
 night ! 
 O graves from which the sheeted sleepers fled ! 
 O martyr, heavenward caught from Olive's 
 height ! 
 
ATLANTIS. 263 
 
 Yet in the book shall listening prophets 
 write ; 
 Yet through the heavens the seven swift 
 angels soar; 
 Vials shall yet be given and swords shall 
 smite ; 
 On sea and land red Wrath his plagues shall 
 pour: 
 Lo, Babylon the Great shall fall to rise no more ! 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Come out of her, my Country — stand afar! 
 To heaven her smoke of torment shall be 
 rolled ; 
 Her thousand streets shall feel the earthquake's 
 jar; 
 Her strong-built temples crumble, waxing 
 
 old. 
 Woe for her fruits, her merchandise unsold, 
 Her precious wood, her pearls and linen fine. 
 Her slaves and souls of men, her silks and 
 gold! 
 The kings of earth are drunken with her wine : 
 Partake not of her sins nor make her judgments 
 thine. 
 
 IX. 
 
 Come forth ! for thee the golden city waits, 
 Within whose guarded wall is found no 
 
 night : 
 II 
 
•264 -^RT IMMORTAL, 
 
 Of lucid pearl are all its shining gates; 
 
 Lo, its foundations garnished are and bright 
 With sardonyx, chalcedony full white, 
 Topaz and crystal jasper past compare, 
 
 Sapphire and sardius and chrysolite, 
 Jacinth and amethyst and beryl fair: 
 Who shall the length and breadth and height 
 thereof declare? 
 
 1865-1866. 
 
 ART IMMORTAL. 
 
 Read at the Annual Opening of the 
 
 Academy of Fine Arts, 
 
 Buffalo, N. Y., 
 
 February 7th, 1867. 
 
 I. 
 
 Dawn thou on our lifted vision, Spirit of divinest 
 Art!— 
 
 Wraith of some celestial Summer, bid thy sphere- 
 lit glories start ; 
 
 Feed with warmth our mossy valleys, bid the 
 drifting clouds divide, 
 
 Strew the lakes with new-blown lilies, on the fir- 
 clad hills abide ! 
 
ART IMMORTAL. 
 
 ^65 
 
 Trembling, fearing, doubting ever, toiling up 
 
 through wastes of snow, 
 By thy light our height we measure — if we near 
 
 the skies or no. 
 
 Breathe through all our raptured senses, Spirit 
 
 fair of Art Divine ! — ' 
 Winged and wandering Peri, all our best and 
 
 purest shall be thine, — 
 
 Thine to bear from earth to Heaven, whose white 
 votaries wait to prove 
 
 Whether we in truth be worthy their companion- 
 ship and love. 
 
 II. 
 
 Ancient Masters of the spell 
 Whose commandment cabalistic, 
 Secret words and symbols mystic 
 
 Did the viewless Powers compel,- 
 Cleaving all the air with flame, 
 
 Till your charm-wrought wonders made, 
 
 Star-forsaken Night afraid 
 And her darkness overcame ; — 
 
 While for cloudless suns we yearn 
 Back we turn our wondering eyes 
 Where the spirit-peopled skies 
 
 With your fadeless limnings burn! . . 
 Mythic forms and fancies scenic. 
 
 Glowing out from temple shade ; 
 
266 ART IMMORTAL. 
 
 Marching host and cavalcade 
 Of the stately race Hellenic ; 
 
 King-built barges sea-ward drifted; 
 Victims cast on funeral pyres ; 
 Chariots hurled through battle-fires ; 
 
 Faces of old gods uplifted ; 
 Large-eyed Aphrodites, weeping 
 
 Over fairest archers killed, 
 
 Fauns with forest-music thrilled; 
 Nymphs, on crested billows sleeping ; 
 
 Royal feasts whose rubied flagons 
 Foam and flash with draughts of light ; 
 White-maned horses winged for flight; 
 
 Golden-scaled and fire-eyed dragons. 
 
 III. 
 
 Thus while Athens and Ionia to their bright 
 
 Ideals clung, 
 Lo, a sudden gust from Heaven, down the snowy 
 
 manna flung! 
 
 Prophet-led, at dawn, the murmuring, tent-abid- 
 ing multitude. 
 
 In the wilderness, up-gathered bread of angels 
 for their food. , 
 
 Love Eternal, dwelling with them, desert-paths 
 imparadised 
 
 With the sacred sweetness falling from the hal- 
 lowed lips of Christ. 
 
ART IMMORTAL. 26/ 
 
 Then the sons of men, awaking, issued from their 
 
 Pagan dreams. 
 As from glaciers of the mountain rush to life 
 
 the happy streams ; 
 
 And the hearts of men were melting, throbbing 
 
 down to holier plains, 
 Where the gentian-flower, a-tremble, felt the 
 Summer in its veins. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Watchers for millenial light, 
 Pallid seers, awake from slumber ! 
 Ye whose forms the marbles cumber, 
 
 Move before our mortal sight. 
 Rising from your martyr-homes 
 
 In the secret burial-halls, 
 
 Where your faith made rich the walls 
 Of the vaulted catacombs ; 
 
 Come from Tuscan chapels, faintly 
 Glowing in the taper's blaze. 
 Where your child-adorers gaze. 
 
 Rapt from earth in visions saintly; 
 Calm us with your pure Madonnas, 
 
 Haloed with seraphic fires — 
 
 While the shepherd-greeting choirs 
 Breathed on high their loud hosannas ; 
 
 Traitor and Evangelist — 
 Bid them gather round the board 
 Where the blood-red wine was poured 
 
 Of the blessed Eucharist. 
 
268 ART IMMORTAL. 
 
 Shadow forth the grief and loss 
 Of our teacher, meek and lowly ; — 
 Paint his slumber deep and holy — 
 
 Earthward lifted from the cross. 
 Of his life's renunciation, 
 
 Move us with the tender story, 
 
 Help us comprehend the glory 
 Of his white transfiguration. 
 
 So shall die the dewless blossoms of the cavern- 
 realm of dreams, 
 
 And like full and sun-fed roses, glow with life 
 Art's chosen themes: 
 
 While interpreters of Nature search for Beauty's 
 
 living soul, 
 Finding more than light and color, grace and 
 
 grandeur in the whole, — 
 
 Even as the Knights Teutonic, when the heart 
 
 and head are sick, — 
 They shall ministrate before us, till our dead 
 
 delights grow quick. 
 
 For the lightest wind that murmurs and the frail- 
 est leaf that waves 
 
 Prove the proud world something greater than 
 inheritor of graves. 
 
ART IMMORTAL. 269 
 
 You who rightly love her, yours the task her 
 
 luminous life to seize. 
 Paint the Spirit breathing in her, veiled through 
 
 Infinite degrees. 
 
 yi. 
 
 Yours the rugged rock to smite — 
 
 Ours to quaff the precious rain : 
 
 Yours to climb from out the plain, 
 Meeting God on Horeb's height. 
 
 Yours to show that fruitage ripe, 
 Waving flower or forest green, 
 In some realm of soul unseen 
 
 Hath a living archetype. 
 Catch the still, electric fires 
 
 In the glance of star and moon 
 
 (Faint predictions of the noon 
 That beneath the East aspires !) ; — 
 
 In the foam upon the rocks, 
 Like the sea-found pearl for whiteness ; 
 In the soft and billowy brightness 
 
 Of the ocean's wandering flocks ; 
 In the steady radiance pure 
 
 Where the shadowed skies are paling; 
 
 In the crimson meteor, trailing 
 Far its flaming curvature ; 
 
 In the pale out-streaming splendor 
 Of the haunted Northern coasts, 
 
270 ART IMMORTAL. 
 
 Where the palaces of ghosts 
 Rear their towers and turrets slender. 
 
 VII. 
 
 Dawn-like Spirit, on the mountains fling abroad 
 
 thy banners white: 
 Lo, our toil-worn city-dwellers, rise rejoicing at 
 
 the sight! 
 
 Flash the fire of suns around us, blush through 
 
 vapors golden-lined, 
 To our souls the bloom fore-shadow of the 
 
 Heaven they yet shall find; — 
 
 All that sets the quick brain dreaming, all that 
 
 thrills the trobbing heart, 
 All that proves our life supernal, — sets us from 
 
 the world apart. 
 
 Build above us holy chambers like the Jewish 
 
 House of old, 
 Framed with olive-tree and cedar, bright with 
 
 lily- work and gold; — 
 
 Base and chapiter and border, graven palm and 
 molten sea, — 
 
 With pomegranates for a promise of the won- 
 drous fruits to be. 
 
 I 
 
DECORATION DAY AT ANTIETAM. 2'Jl 
 
 DECORATION DAY AT ANTIETAM. 
 
 I. 
 
 Fall nevermore, O crimson rains 
 
 That, where a severed people warred. 
 Dashed on the golden-fruited plains 
 
 And as a river drenched the sward. 
 Twice-crowned, proud Freedom, proudly rest 
 
 Nor lead thy lion-hearted sons 
 Where Slaughter rears his flaming crest 
 
 And Death laughs out from all the guns. 
 
 II. 
 
 Full lovely are the fields with flowers, — 
 
 Their Summer-lives but late begun : 
 They need no more such ghastly showers 
 
 To keep them blushing in the sun. 
 The frailest plant, in battle crushed, 
 
 Still sends its golden fibrils down 
 And, fair as when of old it blushed. 
 
 It lightly rears its jeweled crown. 
 
 III. 
 
 But still will flit the sorrowing crowds 
 Where, over purple-furrowed clay. 
 
 War's fiery chariot rent the clouds 
 And snatched the souls they loved away. 
 
272 DECORATION DAY AT ANTIETAM. 
 
 Along the glade and by the shore 
 Behold the sighing mourners throng! 
 
 Their lost no pitying years restore ; 
 The eyes they loved will slumber long. 
 
 IV. 
 
 And if a breeze-caught limb but break. 
 
 Or if a shaken bowlder fall, 
 At once a thousand echoes wake, 
 
 And pallid grief interprets all : — 
 Hears yet the roaring hurricane 
 
 Of shot and shell, the dread replies, 
 The flying bullets' whirring rain, 
 
 The faint farewells, the dying sighs. 
 
 Oh, hush ! Among the shadowy hills, 
 
 In dying clangor borne away, 
 A wild, reverberant music thrills. 
 
 Where ghostly armies make affray. 
 And, echoed far from hills and caves, 
 
 We hear some silver trumpet-voice: 
 "Together deck your heroe's graves. 
 
 And in their brotherhood rejoice!" 
 
 1877. 
 
A PRAIRIE IDYL 
 
 AND 
 
 OTHER POEMS. 
 
 1868— 1879. 
 
To 
 
 MISS JANE W. KENDALL, 
 
 Providence, R. L 
 
 what gift, my friend, can be worthy of you, to 
 
 whom i owe so much ? but take this little book for 
 
 yours, and know that if, out of all the world, you 
 
 only should love the verse, i should still rejoice 
 
 to have written it for your deab sake. 
 
 The Author. 
 
FAST ASLEEP. 
 
 FAST ASLEEP. 
 
 I. 
 
 Oh, to be buried, ever so deep. 
 
 Under the myrtle tree! 
 Always and always fast asleep 
 
 As the nereids are in the sea. 
 With the ghostly stories of earth all told, 
 Caught to the heart of the matron old, 
 Veiled in her lustrous green and gold 
 
 As only the dead can be : 
 Pale and pulseless, mute and cold, 
 Calm as the Sisters three, 
 Content with the dread decree, 
 Nothing to do or dree. 
 
 II. 
 
 Oh, to be lost and lost and lost 
 
 To world and star and sun ! 
 To river and forest, flame and frost. 
 
 To battles wasted or won; 
 Lost to the throbbing of hearts elate, 
 To the horror of lives accursed of Fate, 
 To the soul I love and the face I hate, 
 
 To the lips I seek or shun ; 
 Stilled and lying in awful state, 
 Shrouded away from the sun, 
 With a shroud of the white fleece 
 
 spun, — 
 Forever and ever undone. 
 
 277 
 
27S FAST ASLEEP. 
 
 III. 
 
 Sweetly the nereids rest In the deep: 
 
 Once they were singers proud ; 
 None remember the eyes asleep, 
 
 Or the sea-harps rich and loud. 
 But they sang till the dwellers of isle 
 
 and town 
 Sank in the wild wave, fain to drown, 
 And they sang till the cruel mermen brown 
 
 Were a weeping, wondering crowd ; 
 And they sang and they sang till the gods 
 came down 
 In fire to the singers proud, 
 And the sky to the sea was bowed, 
 And the sea was a crimson cloud. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Hither, come hither, marvellous Death, 
 
 Under the myrtle tree : 
 With lips that never have breathed a breath. 
 
 Drop honey of kisses free ; 
 Till the last, last terrible story is told. 
 And I creep to the heart of the matron old. 
 Wrapped in her rustling green and gold, 
 
 Always and always free : 
 Grand and griefless, pure and cold, 
 As only the dead can be; 
 Wan as the Sisters three. 
 Or the nereids under the sea. 
 
FAST ASLEEP. ^79 
 
 V. 
 
 Buried — and never a bell will toll, 
 However the wind may sweep: 
 But always the world will roll and roll, 
 
 And the tides around her creep. 
 And never a dweller of isle or town 
 Will mourn because of our lost renown. 
 And never a murmuring merman brown 
 
 Will sorrow under the deep, 
 Nor sigh ; no, not if the gods came down 
 From the heights so far and steep, 
 For a songless world to weep ! 
 And we shall be fast asleep. 
 
28o A MORNING MADRIGAL, 
 
 A MORNING MADRIGAL. 
 
 I. 
 
 My cottage-roof with flickering green is 
 draped, 
 Whose sun-drawn tides, in haste to reach the 
 light, 
 Have burst their viny channels, whence escape:: 
 They roll their gold and scarlet into sight. 
 O foliage, rich with bloom, 
 Sail in on fragrant airs, and grace my curtained 
 room! 
 
 II. 
 
 How tenderly they live — these underlings ! 
 
 Lo, on the new-rosed brier, an oriole guest 
 Wing-weary, flutters down and sings and 
 sings 
 As if all Heaven were in his little breast. 
 Ah, sweet and very sweet! 
 Trill on, delicious voice, — the silence still defeat. 
 
 III. 
 
 But he is dead — my love, who made the earth 
 
 Yield me all rosy marvels of the year : 
 Who fed with laughter sweet life's morning- 
 mirth ; 
 Who filled my cup with dripping honeys clear, 
 Who made all pleasures mine, — 
 The hearth, the green-roofed hall, and Lovc'l 
 white lamp to shine. 
 
A MORNING MADRIGAL. 28 1 
 
 IV. 
 
 He lies upon the trestles, calm as Fate : 
 
 But not the less burn red, thou clinging vine ; 
 His lips move not — their music died of late: 
 Yet keep the brier, thou bird, astir with 
 thine ; 
 Be glad, O world, and fair ! 
 So may this loving soul awhile his flight forbear. 
 
 Cast by the trailing sheet that hides the dead,^ 
 Low sleeps my boy, who bears his honored 
 name ; 
 The yellow ringlets blown about his head, 
 His cheeks a scarlet miracle of flame ; 
 The fallen hands at rest 
 In drifts of blossoms culled to deck the shrouded 
 breast. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Forgotten purpose : Yet how sweet they are ! 
 Such flowers as children love — the creamy 
 phlox. 
 Fiery nasturtium blooms that flash afar, 
 And candytufts and ruby hollyhocks, 
 And great carnations red 
 As if their veins ran rich with blood of Summers 
 dead. 
 
282 A MORNING MADRIGAL. 
 
 VII. 
 
 His tears are spent — my darling ! let him sleep : 
 Soft be his dreaming as the • breath of 
 flowers. 
 Across his curls a shadowy hand will creep, 
 Athrob with purer, finer life than ours. 
 O earth, your joys array! 
 With light and luminous threads this passing 
 soul delay. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 For oh, to feel him gone ! — some upward way, 
 Strown white with lilies for his wandering 
 feet; 
 Heaven's rippling rivers dashed in snowy spray^ 
 And every flying breeze with treble sweet: 
 So fair, so far and fair, 
 Remembrance well might sink and slumber una- 
 ware. 
 
 IX. 
 
 Ah, wrong him not, poor heart! smce Love 
 alone. 
 Whose thoughts are all familiar with the 
 sun, 
 Can face with tranquil eyes that Summer-zone 
 Where sunk in flowers the living waters run. 
 He draws me while he soars; 
 My soul, half-sainted, floats and nears delightful 
 shores. 
 
A MORNING MADRIGAL 283 
 
 X. 
 
 Be strong, my soul, for Love is ever strong ; 
 
 Draw him and all his life of beauteous days : 
 
 Thy wistful sighs shall thrill his world of song, 
 
 Thy smiles shall light its lily-whitened ways. 
 
 Behold, all hours we share; 
 
 He conscious of the earth, and I of Heaven 
 
 aware ! 
 
 1868. 
 
284 ONE NIGHT. 
 
 ONE NIGHT. 
 I. 
 
 As one whose indolent hand forgets to hold 
 A falling flower, I loosed the rose of sleep; 
 
 Across my lips I felt the night-breath, cold 
 With spray of reefs, and heard the restless ^rieep 
 
 Troubling the shore with movings manifold : 
 I dropped the rose of sleep. 
 
 11. 
 
 Straightway mine eyes I raised : Before my bed 
 One moved — I saw the moonlight in her hair ; 
 
 I turned. The watcher's waxen torch was dead: 
 He dreamed, forgetful, in his velvet chair. 
 
 "It w.;5 no wafture of the wind," I said; 
 "T'he light was in her hair." 
 
 III. 
 
 Then I bethought me of the fever-fire 
 
 That lately burned my life, — but I was calm; 
 
 I vv-earied not, nor wasted with desire 
 
 Of mountain-snow or breath-reviving balm; 
 
 My heart beat lightly as a lover's lyre, 
 And all my veins were cajni. 
 
 IV. 
 
 I lo^^ked beyond my window's trailing sprays 
 (Stirred by that gust of passion from the sea) : 
 
ONE NIGHT. 285 
 
 I saw the grandeur of those heavenly ways 
 
 That wait the ghostly journeyings of the Free, 
 The forest-circling drifts of fallen haze, 
 The gray and gusty sea. 
 
 V. 
 
 As one who need not haste, the moon on high 
 Crossed the blue space from stellar sign to 
 sign: 
 I saw her heedful acolytes supply 
 
 The feast of Hght : full softly she did shine. 
 From thoughts that hurt, the moon, that crossed 
 the sky, 
 Did sign me with a sign. 
 
 VI. 
 
 "On such a night," I mused, ''for angels meet. 
 O Love long-lost! we heard the trampling 
 deep; 
 And what we said the angels will repeat, 
 
 When in their snowy rms we lie asleep: 
 Not Death shall drown us from their voices 
 sweet, 
 Albeit his floods are deep. 
 
 VII. 
 
 "We trod the surf-washed promontory, pale 
 As that wan foam beneath us ; we must part. 
 
 Not less we laughed — the grief to countervail ; 
 Sang our lignt songs, and found the honeyed 
 heart 
 
285 ONE NIGHT. 
 
 Of many a blossomed rhvme ; though every gale 
 Went whispering — we must part. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 "We talked of desert-people; how they make 
 The dewless ways their place, the palm their 
 tent, 
 And watch the red sand-whirlwinds overtake 
 And wrap their loaded camels, travel-spent. 
 'That were a life not ill,' we gaily spake : 
 'The desert-palm our tent.' 
 
 IX. 
 
 "We told of wives who dare the torrid glade, 
 Nor quake to hear at hand the lion roar ; 
 
 Of queens who walk the scaffold undismayed, 
 Whereon their loved have met the axe before. 
 
 *It were not hard to do,' we softly said; 
 'Love heeds no lion's roar.' 
 
 X. 
 
 "At this we turned, — and lo, that plant of Love 
 (The fragrant snow of snows), was all in 
 flower ! 
 Its opening sweetness while we leaned to prove, 
 
 Our first long kiss sublimed the regnant hour. 
 What more we said the seraphs sang above ; 
 Love's plant was all in flower. 
 
ONE NIGHT. 287 
 
 XI. 
 
 Ah, that last night! 'Peace crown thee. Sweet,' 
 I said: 
 'Behold, her moonbeams linger in thine hair!' 
 She answered low: 'When p-^.st is all we dread, 
 
 And Heaven for thee lets down its bridges fair. 
 Thy friend will wait before thy silent bed, 
 The moonlight in her hair.' " 
 
 XII. 
 
 "Will wait." .... I raised mine eyes: the 
 heavens were white; 
 Against his reefs I saw the sea prevail ; 
 And borne abroad, those wreathing mists of 
 night, 
 Torn in the wanton wanderings of the gale ; 
 Within my room that sanctitude of light: 
 I felt my soul prevail. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 "And art thou here?" I cried; "and hast thou 
 crossed, 
 For me, the airy boundaries of the sky; 
 With summer-spiced fruits and wines of cost, 
 
 The sweetness of thy love to verify ; 
 To kiss the lips of Death and melt his frost 
 With breathings of the sky?" 
 
 XIV, 
 
 Thereat, with haste, a gathering darkness came. 
 In which the sea and sky were wrapped away. 
 
288 ONE NIGHT. 
 
 With star and moony disk : save one fair flame 
 
 That on its silver plumage made delay. 
 Ere yet my soul its further thought could frame 
 The world was whelmed away, — 
 
 XV. 
 
 Save one pure flame : I saw its gleamy light, 
 Pale as the shadeless vesture of the dead, 
 Pause and beat back the filming waves of night 
 Thou lost, my Love ! from round thy drooping 
 head. 
 O mine ! my friend ! swayed from seraphic flight : 
 And I had called thee dead ! 
 
 XVI. 
 
 What subtle, stealthy tides essayed to rise. 
 
 That all my soul should bathe in healing dews ? 
 
 Beneath the tender watching of thine eyes, 
 The smiling of thy lips, I could not choose 
 
 But lapse into the rest that satisfies 
 The soul with balmy dews. 
 
 XVII. 
 
 O sloth supreme ! O silent floods and cold ! 
 
 From far-off shores, across the moonless deeps, 
 There came a grieving voice that cried : ''Behold 
 
 How all is lost ! Our friend forever sleeps !" 
 And I arose, — as if a wind had rolled 
 And cleft the moonless deeps. 
 
ONE NIGHT. 289 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 Then as a new-wrought star, whose clouds are 
 gone, 
 Caught in a solar snare, — all unafraid 
 I moved; and lo, the zones, aflame with dawn, 
 
 Were populous with ghosts in snow arrayed! 
 I heard thy singing voice, and, Heavenward 
 drawn, 
 I answered, unafraid. 
 
 XIX. 
 
 O, blithe the fire-nerved frame and swift tb 
 flight ! 
 Sweet, fold thine arms about e : grief is done. 
 Yet lest thy smile be somewhat vailed from sight 
 
 Turn thou thy face an instant from the sun. 
 Ah, quivering kiss ! . . . . Nay, Love engenders 
 light: 
 Behold, the night is done! 
 1870. 
 
 Scrihner's Magazine, 1873. 
 
290 FROM SAURIAN TO SERAPH. 
 
 FROM SAURIAN TO SERAPH. 
 
 [History of Thomas Taylor, Manchester, N. Y.] 
 I. 
 
 T was a poor blacksmith did the work before ; 
 
 The pony interferes : you'll please get down ; 
 I served apprenticeship seven years or more 
 
 In London, ere Victoria wore the crown, 
 And I can shoe a horse with any man. 
 
 [Whoa there! stand still!] ... I saw you 
 on the road; 
 You ride as well as any lady can, — 
 
 And he's a trim beast, worthy such a load. 
 
 II. 
 
 Fine day for riding: how the sun laughs out I 
 
 Look at those rapids, glittering down the fall. 
 And have you heard the birds? they shout and 
 shout — 
 
 Sun, birds, and waters — well, I love them all. 
 Yet once I was a brute : what was a bird, 
 
 That I should stay to watch him in his flight? 
 Forty-two battles I've been in, and heard 
 
 My horse's hoofs clang hard through every 
 fight. 
 
 in. 
 
 Oh, then I had rich times ! then I was proud I 
 You should have seen : the sabre in my hand 
 
 Was just one red, and dripping. like a cloud ! 
 There never was a life so glad and grand. 
 
FROM SAURIAN TO SERAPH. 29I 
 
 But when the last ball's ricochet made rout. 
 
 And the last shell tore up the bloody sod, 
 I used to call my corps of blacksmiths out 
 
 And drive the nails till every beast was shod. 
 
 IV. 
 
 *'Rest?" Bless you! have such creatures need of 
 rest ? 
 Look, girl! you've heard of that old Saurian 
 age 
 When scaly monsters crowded breast to breast 
 
 And tusk to tusk in one destroying rage? 
 I do believe that mad, blind, battling force 
 
 That smote so at the bass of earth's great harp, 
 Through finer ages rolled its cloudy course, 
 And shook my frame with thunder swift and 
 sharp. 
 
 V. 
 
 For there's a law that sums each cycle gives 
 
 Its full, stern impulse to the life beyond: 
 And every spirit, weak or strong, that lives 
 
 Is nerved to feel such urgings and respond. 
 Oh^they refine, I grant, through starry fire! 
 
 The Saurian rage that lights a seraph's eyes 
 Is just that still white flame that sends him 
 higher, 
 
 With "Alleluia!'* challenging the skies. 
 
292 FROM SAURIAN TO SERAPH. 
 
 VI. 
 
 That for the seraph : but for me you know, 
 
 Why I was in the sloughs — a very brute! 
 In stifling airs my soul began to grow, 
 
 Mire-clogged — as all God's grandeur to rcfu*e I 
 Yet more than Saurian in spite of all : 
 
 I felt the winds blow cooler now and then ; 
 Down the wide wastes heard far sweet voices 
 call, 
 
 And knew my beasts and dimly yearned for 
 men. 
 
 VII. 
 
 I'll drop my metaphors : you'll understand 
 
 I served ten years because I loved to slay ; 
 And having fought, was fed. Oh, it was grand I 
 
 My brutish blood ran richer day by day. 
 I had a Quaker mother .... well, she died : 
 
 I think till then she never lived — in me. 
 My father and myself fought side by side, 
 
 Grim battle-mates; small chance for her, you 
 see. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 But after death I saw her — where she came, 
 A spirit pale, right through my furnace heat : 
 
 *'Such fire and no one warmed? O son, for 
 shame!" 
 And I fell down and trembled at her feet. 
 
FROM SAURIAN TO SERAPH. 293 
 
 That proved me man; for mark, no beast will 
 wake, 
 
 At call of angels ! I began to stir, 
 And question of the sloughs what way to take 
 
 If I might rise and follow after her' 
 
 IX. 
 
 I left the service when my time was out, 
 
 And crossed from Canada to settle down; 
 But I could only drift and drift about, 
 
 And wander drearily from town to town. 
 One day it chanced I came upon a crov/d 
 
 Mobbing an orator — a boorish gang: 
 "Bring on your rotten eggs !" one called aloud ; 
 
 "We'll hear no Abolitionist harangue." 
 
 X. 
 
 Well, I went in for sport: I filled my hat 
 
 And shot out straight (I never miss my aim) ; 
 It struck the man between the eyes, — at that 
 
 A laugh went roaring upward like a flame. 
 Just then a hand fell softly on my head : 
 
 "My man, has thee no better wares to vend?" 
 I turned (an egg half-raised) : "Let be!" he said; 
 
 "Thee doesn't know what thee is doing, friend." 
 
 XI. 
 
 Oh, how ashamed I was — dyed red clear through I 
 I felt as small as any crawling worm. 
 
 Meantime a shower of stones above me llew: 
 "Yon fellow'll flinch," I thought; but he stood 
 firm. 
 
294 FROM SAURIAN TO SERAPH. 
 
 Then like a lion startled with the hunt, 
 
 Whose sudden voice will strike the Arabs mute, 
 
 All quivering wrath, I bounded to the front: 
 The very man in me unleashed the brute! 
 
 XII. 
 
 What happened further ? Nay, I hardly know ! 
 
 I meant just slaughter. "Touch him if you 
 like r 
 I roared : "Come on ! I'll give you blow for blow ! 
 
 Look ! here's a British fist ! now feel it strike !" 
 I routed them — the cowards ! made them fly 
 
 Howling as if the world was like to end. 
 And then I found my Quaker: "Well," said I ; 
 
 "IVe sold my wares!" He laughed: "Thee's 
 valiant, friend; 
 
 XIII. 
 
 "Thee'd better keep with us ; we'll do thee good." 
 
 And so they did : A truer life I found. 
 Caught at the golden lines of brotherhood 
 
 And scrambled from the mire to safer ground. 
 You see those Quaker mothers took me in, 
 
 And fed me, starving, with the holy bread 
 Christ brake among the twelve; and what can 
 win 
 
 Like those dear words the lowly Master said ? 
 
 XIV. 
 
 And there I learned the story of the slave 
 (That earthquake-tremor sure to rend the 
 land) ; 
 
FROM SAURIAN TO SERAPH. 295 
 
 And, signing me that I should haste to save, 
 
 In every cloud I saw my mother's hand; 
 In every wind I heard her voice : ''My son: 
 
 And will thy boasted strength but serve to slay? 
 Under the cross of labor, scourged, undone, 
 
 They need thee zvho are falling by the way." 
 
 XV. 
 
 So, many years I kept the secret track, 
 
 To guide those straying negroes into rest ; 
 And when their masters followed, sent them back 
 
 The poorer by a slave or two at best. 
 But sometimes, when pursuit was fierce and hot, 
 
 I caught some cruel fellow with a grip. 
 And bound him hand and foot. I kept my shot 
 
 For bloodhounds — but I lent his slaves my 
 whip. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 For I was brutal still; and yet I learned 
 
 All Blackstone in those days, and much of 
 Coke; 
 I read the histories where their battles burned. 
 
 And laid me under Shakespeare's "gnarled 
 oak," 
 (Whose acorns sprout in every soil to make 
 
 The round earth green !) ; loved Junius, Cicero, 
 And Whittier ; made the sober Quakers quake 
 
 For laughter, with my violin and bow. 
 
296 FROM SAURIAN TO SERAPH. 
 
 XVII. 
 
 Meanwhile I took a wife ; — for what's a man 
 
 With all his loves at dry-rot in his heart? 
 Unseasoned timbers — bound to mar the plan 
 
 And sink the ship, however fair the chart. 
 But a good wife is like a strong sweet breeze 
 
 That searches in and out and keeps all right : 
 Ah, yes ! and fills the sails till childly seas 
 
 Leap up and clap their hands in sheer delight ! 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 There's nothing like a wife ; and mine's a queen. 
 
 When from his egg that huge war-python 
 crept, 
 She let me go ; and yet if you had seen 
 
 How hard it was, I think you would have wept. 
 But I — my happy heart beat fast and loud 
 
 (Made greater by Love's ichor in the veins), 
 To share — my horse and I — through fire and 
 cloud 
 
 That world-wide rapture of the hurricanes. 
 
 XIX. 
 
 I never blame the Rebels : but be sure 
 I do not blame myself for shooting them. 
 
 There's not a wind in Heaven so cool and pure, 
 It has not brushed some martyr's blazing hem! 
 
 There's not a waving flower throughout the 
 skies 
 So white, it is not rooted deep in mud ! 
 
FROM SAURIAN TO SERAPH. 297 
 
 Between the suns there's not a seraph flics 
 That somehow, somewhere, did not wade in 
 blood! 
 
 XX. 
 
 Why, even you — bright-glancing— you, who 
 stand 
 
 So lightly poised, like any forest-bird, 
 That if you did not urge me (voice and hand 
 
 And ardent eye), I should not speak a word 
 For fear you'd soar! There'll come a time 
 you'll set 
 
 Those milky teeth — will clasp your girdle well. 
 And on the nearest stone the knife you'll whet 
 
 To flay some scarlet dragon late from Hell ! 
 
 XXI. 
 
 But, grander still, from out your gold you'll sift 
 That sand of self, the whole deep mountain 
 through : 
 Because of Love, such weights of care you'll lift, 
 
 The sweat of blood will gather fast as dew. 
 God help you, girl ! for all the deaths you'll dare; 
 Wind, frost and flood, serpent and beast you'll 
 greet : 
 Till one shall come and hale you by the hair 
 Straight to the fagots ! . . . There's the secret 
 sweet. 
 
298 FROM SAURIAN TO SER^\PH. 
 
 XXII. 
 
 I've guessed it partly. Pausing in the fight 
 
 One day, behold my mother standing near ! 
 And all around her played such tongues of light 
 
 As would have made the bravest martyr fear. 
 More pallid than the dead, and waving slow 
 
 Her hands toward the South: "I bore thee, 
 child/' 
 She said, "with bitter pangs: but thou shalt knozv 
 
 A larger grief than mine!" — and then she 
 smiled. 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 Now, when my soul from that dread trance 
 awoke 
 
 (Low reeling in the saddle, reins all slack), 
 A man I loved came plunging through the smoke 
 
 With half a score of Rebels on his track. 
 I flung between ; I galloped to and fro ; 
 
 Broad sweeps of sabre barred the fell pursuit: 
 But so they took me prisoner ; caged me so 
 
 All bleeding; starved me as a jungle brute. 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 Two summers .... "What of them?" Hush! 
 never wish 
 
 To read those inky tablets of the flood ; 
 Down by the altar set no silver dish 
 
 To catch the dripping of the bullock's blood; 
 
FROM SAURIAN TO SERAPH. 299 
 
 Ask not of fires that drank all currents up, 
 Aye, emptied out the hollows of the sea ! 
 
 Nor dare with those young lips to press the cup 
 They drain who travail in Gethsemane! 
 
 XXV. 
 
 They brought me home, an idiot, to my wife ; 
 
 My children kissed me, and I did not know. 
 Just one last drop was in the springs of life, 
 
 And long they watched if any wave could flow. 
 It came at last — slow rising to the brim. 
 
 The deep sweet fountain drawn through veins 
 of Death, 
 Out of that dear, abundant Heart of Him 
 
 Most Calm, who lives all life, who breathes all 
 breath. 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 And now I blow the coals, I pare the hoof 
 
 (God labors ; so must we) ; I come and go; 
 But when some lightning rends this rainy roof — 
 
 An instant stroke (they say it will be so), — 
 Ah, then, all drenched and charred beneath, above 
 
 All supple grace ! — who knows what holy cheer 
 Of kisses me will greet ? what whorls of Love 
 
 Will fold me round, sphere rolled on rosy 
 sphere ? 
 
300 FROM SAURIAN TO SERAPH. 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 This certain : That dread Power, so prone to 
 waste, 
 
 That bids the Saurian gnash devouring teeth, 
 The gunner plant his guns, the martyr haste 
 
 To perish in the fagots' flaming sheath, 
 Nerves still some white and virile hand that flings 
 
 Wide open all the gateways of the sky ; 
 Rounds out some seraph's voice, the while he 
 sings 
 
 His "Holy, holy is the Lord Most High.'" 
 
 1873- 1877. 
 
HEART OF SORROWS. 3OI 
 
 HEART OF SORROWS. 
 
 I. 
 
 Her path breaks off, — she strikes some jut- 
 ting-wall 
 Night hidden, thrust across. Thereby a 
 rock 
 Light-shaken rolls: the tumult of its fall, 
 The long, long silence and the far ciown 
 shock 
 
 Take all her breath ; 
 "For certain I have found" (so in her heart 
 she saith) 
 
 "The very haunts of Death." 
 
 n. 
 
 The mountain-air that should be blithe and 
 loud 
 Blown dense with dripping vapor doth 
 not stir; 
 She feels it cling as though it were a shroud: 
 From Earth and Hell and Heaven it covers 
 her. 
 
 If, fain to guide, 
 Some torch-upholding seraph tread the spaces 
 wide. 
 
 Yet will these shades abide. 
 
 HI. 
 
 Howbeit she, groping, finds a stony bed — 
 Not strown upon with cones of cedar 
 sweet, 
 
302 HEART OF SORROWS. 
 
 But ragged, sharp to hurt: there rests her 
 ' head 
 
 And will not shrink nor gather up her 
 feet. 
 
 "If this may be, 
 And Death through these abysmal gates reach 
 after me, 
 All may be well" (saith she). 
 
 IV. 
 
 So waits on sleep: But still some tempest- 
 thought. 
 Flame-winged, sweeps back that billow's 
 soft advance. 
 "And is this net-work of the flesh for 
 naught" 
 (She sighs) "but to be torn at every 
 chance ? 
 
 Or doth it keep 
 Some desert-creature, ready for the outward 
 leap. 
 The rush, the tireless sweep? 
 
 V. 
 
 "O soul (and if there be a soul), unmeet 
 
 For pastures green and rivers of delight! 
 For thou wert cavern-born and fierce and 
 fleet; 
 A thing unclean, a prowler of the night. 
 Lo, fettered fast, 
 What power, moved by thy moans, will set 
 thee free at last, 
 
 To rove Saharas vast? 
 
HEART OF SORROWS. 303 
 
 VI. 
 
 "No doubt the Solitudes befit thee well: 
 But how if One all shining cross the 
 sands, 
 With tranquil eyes that evermore compel, 
 And strange converting touch of holy 
 hands : 
 In still accord 
 (Upbraiding not), full gently leading thee to- 
 ward 
 
 The gardens of the Lord — 
 
 VII. 
 
 "Deep-set among the fair eternal hills, 
 With entrances of balsam-yielding fir 
 And date-sustaining palm; where (since He 
 wills) 
 Thou shalt perceive far-off the murmur- 
 ous stir, 
 
 The vestments white. 
 Of those melodious ones, — and, shadowed safe 
 from sight, 
 
 Shalt dream thy dreams of light? 
 
 VIII. 
 
 "Musing, how wondrous are the heights of 
 fire! 
 What cool and fruitful vales their spurs 
 secrete ! 
 Awaiting through hushed aeons of desire 
 Till thou shalt hear His voice, so loud, so 
 sweet 
 
304 HEART OF SORROWS. 
 
 With words that rule: 
 'Arise and enter in, thou who art white as 
 wool, 
 
 And let thy joy be full!' 
 
 IX. 
 
 "And oh, the many streams from Lebanon!! 
 The pleasant winds that flow out East and 
 West, 
 From myrrh and frankincense and cinna- 
 mon ! 
 And oh, the beds of spice whereon to rest I 
 And oh, the King! 
 Lilies and clustering flowers and vines behold 
 him bring. 
 
 About thy feet to cling. 
 
 X. 
 
 "Ah me! the anguish, the devouring haste 
 Of this, my soul, to touch the hands that 
 save! 
 But if there be no gardens — if the Waste 
 Stretch boundless on from empty grave 
 to grave, 
 
 If shriek and curse 
 And wail of furthest voices through the uni- 
 verse 
 
 An infinite Woe rehearse, — 
 
 XL 
 
 • "Thou soul who rendest so the fleshly net, — 
 Set free and to the desert-sweeps out-cast, 
 
HEART OF SORROWS. 305 
 
 With all thy noon-tide thirst upon thee 
 yet,— 
 Shalt load, with desolate cries, the arid 
 blast ; 
 
 Or crouch and wait 
 Beside the bitter springs whose waters will 
 not sate 
 
 Thine everlasting hate. 
 
 XII. 
 
 "But oh, to be so mocked ! where late I lay, 
 Choked by that cruel Ganges thick with 
 mire 
 Men call Love's river, eyelids stiff with clay, 
 Flung out to perish, scorched in winds of 
 fire, 
 
 Till One passed by. 
 And drew me from the flood and whispered 
 Tt is I ! 
 
 Behold, thou shalt not die!' 
 
 XIII. 
 
 "How did my heart within me melt and 
 yearn ! 
 What copious tears washed out my blinded 
 eyes! 
 Far up the silver steeps I saw Him turn, 
 Then vanisn — gathered to the awful skies: 
 And witnout rest 
 I followed but to kiss some rock his feet had 
 prest. 
 And be forever blest. 
 
306 HEART OF SORROW? 
 
 XIV. 
 
 "The jostling crowds did jeer and buffet me 
 
 Along the burning plains: At fall of night 
 Among the steep-set rocks I shook to see 
 Their olden beds uptorn by torrents white, 
 The sheer descent 
 Beside whose soundless deeps I trod, fear-faint 
 and spent, 
 
 Nor found the way He went." 
 
 XV. 
 
 Here lifting up her voice she cries aloud : 
 "Sore-beaten by the dread four winds that 
 blow 
 From crag to crag the fell red-bosomed cloud, 
 Oh, yet I thought to climb and near Him so I 
 If still afar. 
 Only to wait and worship, silent as a star, 
 Where all the glaciers are." 
 
 XVI. 
 
 Upstarting from her bed — as one who hears 
 Supernal sighings and remote farewells, 
 With crash of final bolts that lock the spheres — 
 "O Thou Serene" (she mourns) "whose love 
 excels ! 
 
 I may not reach 
 To clasp Thy robe and weep, and of Thy lips be- 
 seech 
 Their honey-dropping speech; — 
 
HEART OF SORROWS. 307 
 
 XVII. 
 
 "Engirt with deathful snares: Yet hadst Thou 
 seen 
 Before the gulfs yawned black from north to 
 south, 
 How had Thy tears of pity washed me clean 1 
 How had I felt the kisses of Thy mouth I 
 Now without doubt 
 The very gates of Hell, across the skies flung out, 
 Have compassed me about." 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 Even at the word from ledge to crevice steals 
 An undulant motion, as of opening graves, 
 Or influent surges when the sea unseals 
 The strong, sepulchral door of ancient caves ; 
 Till, waxing bold, 
 Earth sends her thunders out : beneath the moun- 
 tain rolled. 
 They cleave its bases old. 
 
 XIX. 
 
 With stroke on stroke all down the wavering 
 steep 
 
 They cast this grieving one But 
 
 now a light 
 Smites darkness out from cope to centre deep : 
 Hurled through the white abyss in headlong 
 flight. 
 
 From mortal harms, 
 The Angel of the Torch, whom Death nor Hell 
 alarms. 
 Upbears her in his arms. 
 
308 HEART OF SORROWS. 
 
 XX. 
 
 She lies upon his breast like drifted snow : 
 "My Lord and thine hath sent for thee" (he 
 saith) ; 
 She feels the winds of Paradise outblow — 
 Full fain is she to breathe their holy breath : 
 Aloes and myrrh, 
 All the chief spices with their wafting wings astir, 
 Divinely comfort her. 
 
 XXI. 
 
 Such need hath soaring Love, the heavens make 
 way; 
 With all their stars they vanish as a scroll : 
 The King's pavilions — beautiful are they ! — 
 Behold, with sweets He satisfies her soul ! 
 But I, less white, 
 Among the clefts of rocks, with creatures of the 
 night, 
 
 Hide me in sore affright. 
 
 1877. Scribner's Monthly, 
 
THESE THREE. 3O9 
 
 THESE THREE. 
 I. 
 
 I said of Love : "She hath no dwelling-place 
 
 On earth or in the air : 
 Or near or far no man hath seen her face, 
 
 That he should name it fair ; 
 
 The lion hath his lair 
 Among the olive-thickets cool and green, 
 The glittering serpent hath his balmy screen, 
 
 And they who lightly bear 
 The weight of floods — those murderous creatures 
 
 — sleep 
 Within the hushed recesses of the deep: 
 But as for Love, she is not here nor there." 
 
 II. 
 
 I said of Life : "Too well I know that queen 
 
 Who bathes in blood her feet : 
 Hard by the soundless pit her gateways lean : 
 
 Her hate is fiery-fleet ; 
 
 Her love is like the sleet 
 
 That pierces to the heart with bitter cold : 
 The timbers of her palace burn with gold, 
 
 But she is all unsweet. 
 Haply she once was not, she shall not be; 
 Full to her throne-room creeps the crafty sea, 
 And secret waters weave her winding-sheet." 
 
310 THESE THREE. 
 
 III. 
 
 I said of Death : "She is not young .lor old : 
 
 Her paths the heavens explore ; 
 Times, times and countless times have made her 
 bold : 
 
 Yet enters she my door ; 
 
 Her lifted hands out-pour 
 Vials of odors — costly oil that drips 
 Upon the eyes till seals of soft eclipse 
 
 Their olden sleep restore. 
 I have not seen her face, if she be fair ; 
 If she be sweet I know not, I, nor care ; 
 But what she is she will be evermore." 
 
 IV. 
 
 Deatn took me oy the hands and kissed my lips : 
 
 Thereafter I was still. 
 "Behold," she said, "One in the wine-press dips, 
 
 That thou shouldst drink thy fill !" 
 
 Did ever voice so thrill ? 
 I turned to see if that were Death who spake ; 
 Sun-like she smiled: "Thou who has slept, 
 awake ; 
 
 See thou my grapes distill 
 Their sweets from out the purple." Then I knew 
 Life's blood-bathed feet, — but named her Love, 
 
 and drew 
 Within her banquet-house to feast at will. 
 
 1877. Scribner's Monthly. 
 
SERVICE AND SACRIFICE. 3 II 
 
 SERVICE AND SACRIFICE. 
 
 I. 
 
 Whiter than dew-bleached flax or fleCGes shorn, 
 Large-moulded as for treading out the corn, 
 Adorned with garlands looped from horn to 
 horn, 
 
 Meek-faced and gentle — creatures without flaw 
 Yoked in with banded gold and set to draw 
 From camp to camp the tables of the law, — 
 
 O happy oxen ! thus approved to wear 
 Before the holy ark the symbols fair; 
 Light yokes of service for the Lord to bear ! 
 
 II. 
 
 Struck down beside the altar — wonder-eyed. 
 The warm blood pouring from their gashes 
 
 wide, 
 So wetting cleanly hoof and snowy hide. 
 
 With deep heart-pantings and with horns 
 
 down-tossed 
 Among the wild-voiced people, desert-lost, 
 Paying, of all their sins, the crimson cost, — 
 
 O happy, happy oxen ! thus to lie 
 
 And wait the swift flame circling down the 
 
 sky. 
 Wrapped in the mantle of the Lord to die ! 
 
312 SERVICE AND SACRIFICE. 
 
 III. 
 
 But Aaron's priestly heart with pity yearned; 
 And when along the well-seared flesh out- 
 burned 
 The fragrant oil, ajd tent-ward all had turned, 
 
 He drew the fine-twined hangings close around 
 The sacred court, and falling to the ground 
 Cried ''Hear me, Lord, and let Thy grace 
 abound ! 
 
 "Thou, brooding still above the mercy-seat, 
 Are these red hands yet holy, and these feet 
 Painted with slaughter — is their service sweet? 
 
 IV. 
 
 "And hear me yet (for I am faint with dread) : 
 Before Thy graven word, with down-bent 
 
 head, 
 Through sun and storm the beasts were, wont 
 
 to tread, 
 
 "While sweat of toil ran down like dropping 
 
 rain: 
 Hadst Thou no sorrow, therefore, for their 
 
 pain, 
 When all their life-blood washed the trampled 
 
 plain? 
 
 "Are they who serve Thee chosen still to feel 
 About their throats the gashing of the steel, — 
 And Thou all wrath? Herein Thyself reveal." 
 
SERVICE AND SACRIFICE. 313 
 
 V. 
 
 Then Aaron lay and trembled ; for the grace 
 And glory of the Lord had filled the place 
 Most Holy, so that none might show his face. 
 
 Out of the cloud a voice : "Have I not said, 
 *At morn and eve Mine altars shall be red?' 
 My peole— are they not with bullocks fed? 
 
 ''But know that I am God : Hath any need ? 
 His toil and grief are Mine ; with him I bleed : 
 Yoked in with Death that thou and thine may 
 feed. 
 
 "Behold, who yields his life — an offering 
 
 meet — 
 Thenceforth is yoked with Love ! Arise and 
 
 eat; 
 Thy hands are holy and their service sweet." 
 
 1877. 
 
314 WHEN I CALL. 
 
 WHEN I CALL. 
 I. 
 
 On the Lord when in sorrow I call 
 
 And He pours out my drink, 
 From that cup of the wormwood and gall 
 
 In rebellion I shrink : 
 
 All unworthy, unworthy, 
 Unworthy to drink of the gall. 
 
 n. 
 
 Over flowers while His gentle rains fall. 
 
 And their heads they lift up, 
 Still He gives me the wormwood and gall ; 
 
 Whispers, "Drink of the cup: 
 I would have thee be worthy^ 
 Be worthy to drink of the gall." 
 
 HL 
 
 O my heart, cease for honey to call ! 
 
 Hush and heed the dear Voice: 
 "While I pour out the wormwood and gall, 
 
 Be thou glad and rejoice; 
 
 I have counted thee worthy, 
 Well worthy to drink of the gall." 
 
 IV. 
 
 Precious Master, whatever befall, 
 
 Though I die at Thy feet. 
 Fill my cup with the wormwood and gall; 
 It is sweet, it is sweet, 
 
 Oh, how sweet to be worthy. 
 Made worthy to drink of the gall ! 
 1877. 
 
DAWN. 315 
 
 DAWN. 
 
 Too long has been the night ; my veins are chill ; 
 
 Unhappy, scaring dreams have wasted sleep. 
 For buried Memory would have her will, 
 
 Cross grave-yard bounds, wring ghostly hands 
 and weep 
 About the keeping-places of Desire, 
 
 Lamenting murdered Love ; winds without rest 
 Would shrill thro' ruined rooms, where never fire 
 
 Upon the hearth flames up for heir or guest. 
 
 II. 
 
 I will arise, go forth and meet the sun : 
 
 Astarte whitens heaven, and, where the sea 
 Steals round the world, pellucid ripples run: 
 
 I will arise, fling open doors — go free. 
 Already shoots the gold athwart the sky, 
 
 Already breaks the scarlet through the foam ; 
 Lo, lightly loosed, the wavering shadows fly, 
 
 Flits out the darkness from the desolate home ! 
 And we are glad, are glad, my heart and I, 
 
 And we are glad, are glad, and fain to roam, — 
 To quit the ivied, haunted, skeleton-place, 
 
 A spiders' mansion, rafterless and lone ; 
 To flee that ancient woe of pictured face, 
 
 These hollow-sighing halls where spectres 
 moan. 
 
3l6 DAWN. 
 
 III. 
 
 Already chirpers cry and warblers sing, 
 
 Already lilies weep and roses blush : 
 Higher and higher, through the skies a-swing, 
 
 Shines the sun-pendulum. I leap, I rush 
 Out from the chambers, down the swerving stair ! 
 
 My heart and I escape the falling towers. 
 Already wings of eagles beat the air ; 
 
 I run, I laugh, I bury feet in flowers. 
 O welcome, welcome, welcome infinite Light! 
 It is the dawn : too long has been the night. 
 
 1877. 
 
LOVE'S LARGESSE. 317 
 
 LOVE'S LARGESSE. 
 
 L 
 
 Say not you love me : spare to speak with guile : 
 
 Too well your faltering speech and failing smile 
 
 Betray Love's secret lack. "This sheltered 
 
 niche," 
 (Sighs the lone soul), "this haunt with ver- 
 dure rich, 
 Is all so sweet I needs must rest awhile, 
 And from the silver-heavy mosses wile 
 
 Their slow, cool drops : because my thirst is 
 
 great. 
 Content to curve the hand and woo and wait. 
 But oh, to find some ruddy-templed isle, 
 Palm-rooted in the lotos-laving Nile! 
 And oh, to leap and plunge in that divine white 
 
 rush 
 From Afric's golden peaks, with fiery clouds a- 
 • flush !" 
 
 II. 
 
 Nay, springs lie deep, and hearts are not so 
 
 small. 
 Behold if any love me, he shall call — 
 
 Osiris unto Tsis through the dawn: 
 "Arise ! my world awaits, — its veil withdrawn, 
 Its ghastly coverts bared from wall to wall. 
 Its deserts unredeemed, its gods in thrall. 
 
3i8 love's largesse. 
 
 Be certain there are monsters in -the seas, 
 And eagles on the crags ; but fear not these, 
 Nor let the wild loud-laughing storms appall : 
 For I am with you — I, who rule them all." 
 Then shall I hear and answer, breaking from the 
 
 gloom, 
 *T come with affluent waves : make broad your 
 paths for bloom!" 
 
 1878. 
 
CROQUET. 319 
 
 CROQUET. 
 
 I. 
 
 Gate carved in granite, with griffins at rest, 
 Arches built grandly to welcome the guest, 
 Elm-guarded avenue dim as sea-caves, 
 Sweep of quaint bridges and rush of clear waves, 
 Group of acacias, dark cluster of pines. 
 Mansion half-whelmed in a torrent of vines. 
 Fountain a shower of fire, lake a soft gloom, 
 Garden unrolling broad ribbons of bloom. 
 Lawn smooth as satin and air cool as spray, — 
 Roland and Christabel deep in croquet! 
 
 11. 
 
 Christabel — Roland — the flower of our clan, 
 
 Noble and bountiful, — match them who can. 
 
 He fleet and supple, yet strong as young Saul ; 
 
 She in ten thousand the fairest of all ; 
 
 He quick to anger, but loving and leal ; 
 
 She true and tender, though tempered like steel; 
 
 Both of all weathers, fine dew and fierce hail, 
 
 Ice on the mountain and flowers in the vale : 
 
 All their still frostiness melted away, 
 
 Just for that nonsense — a game of croquet! 
 
 III. 
 
 Only croquet ? Never trust to the game, 
 Kindling such raillery, feeding such flame; 
 Keeping such bird-bolts of laughter in flight, 
 Tossing such roses of battle in sight! 
 Roland in triumph and ready to scoff, 
 
320 CROQUET. 
 
 Christabel, poising her mallet far-off, 
 Ball speeding on with the wind in its wake, 
 Smiting its rival and hitting the stake ! 
 Who is the victor? Proud Roland, at bay, 
 Captures the hand that has won at croquet. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Now is their magic enchainment complete ; 
 Haughty, shy Christabel — far-away sweet. 
 Caught in that wind from the Aidenn of souls, 
 Blushes rose-bright as red snow of the poles ! 
 Out of all lovers match these if you can; — 
 Spotless, great-hearted, the flower of our clan. 
 If they should quarrel — half-right and half- 
 wrong — • 
 Oaks root them deeper when breezes are strong. 
 Now may Love lead them away and away, 
 Through the wide Heavens, from that game of 
 croquet ! 
 
 1878. 
 
MARRIED. 321 
 
 MA^^RIED. 
 
 I. 
 
 I entered Broadway where the rush is the 
 greatest, — 
 You must wait by St. Paul's ere you cross, 
 Near the grave stones green-fretted with 
 moss; 
 Lips have mouldered long decades ago, at the 
 latest, 
 That Love used to kiss : 
 The dead were on that side, the living on this. 
 
 IL 
 
 Up the street arm-in-arm walked a man and a 
 woman : 
 Their garments were ancient and odd : 
 Centenarians under that sod 
 Might have fashioned and worn them, what time 
 they were human. 
 And dust was in bloom : 
 These two, they were old, they were ripe for 
 the tomb. 
 
 in. 
 
 Now ^ said to myself, as I wondered and watched 
 
 them : 
 "They are poor ; their good clothes are worn 
 
 out; 
 They have ransacked the garret, no doubt, — 
 
322 MARRIED. 
 
 Mended garbs of ancestress and ancestor, botched 
 them, 
 But so done their best, 
 Caught in Poverty's grip, to be decently 
 dressed." 
 
 IV. 
 
 While half the crowd turned to look after, or 
 tarried 
 To see them so queerly attired 
 (Yet the camlet had once been admired), 
 Some wag struck an attitude, crying : "Just mar- 
 ried, — 
 And off on a tour!" 
 Then he laughed out aloud, like a jolly young 
 wooer. 
 
 V. 
 
 Ten steps, and I faced the twain, each to each 
 smiling : 
 Amused, as it seemed, with the jest. 
 And meekly content for the rest: 
 Dear Love in one moment their sorrows exiling 
 Down fifty years' life 
 To that glad hour when God said, ''Be husband 
 and wife." 
 
 VI. 
 
 And if ever I saw how Love's glory embright- 
 ened 
 A countenance, wrinkles and tan. 
 This I saw in the smile of the man 
 
MARRIED. 323 
 
 As he looked on his bride, with her brown hair all 
 whitened, 
 Her beauty all dim, — 
 The one lovely face in the wide world for 
 him. 
 
 VII. 
 
 Ah, but for his help how the worn feet had stum- 
 bled ! 
 For the eyes were as blind as a stone 
 That had dwelt on one sweetheart alone, — 
 Her sorry old bridegroom, who saw her so hum- 
 bled, 
 And led her along 
 As a king leads his queen through the midst of 
 the throng. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Just married !^— eternity stretching before them; 
 Suns kindled to lure them from earth ; 
 Full wine- jars for second-day mirth: 
 Revered be the vestments, the lovers who wore 
 them — 
 This queen and this king! 
 God's host will their epithalamium sing. 
 
 1880. 
 
324 FATHER. 
 
 FATHER. 
 
 I. 
 
 I plucked the bird-foot violets, 
 
 Long-lobed, white-hearted, azure-pale, 
 And odorous as heliotropes. 
 I said: "The sun in Heaven begets 
 No fairer flower to scent the gale 
 That fans the angel-haunted slopes : 
 I would beneath his eyes they grew 
 Who loved me when my years were few." 
 
 H. 
 
 Oh. he was gentle, generous, true! 
 
 He loved his home, he loved his church, 
 
 He pitied sinners everywhere ; 
 The virtues of his friends he knew, 
 
 But was not used their faults to search. 
 Nor found them — if they were not there. 
 Whoever else is sick or sad, 
 I have no doubt his life is glad. 
 
 HI. ' 
 
 Ah me ! if but the flowers he had ! 
 
 That leaning down from where he sings 
 (Up-floated from the Heavenly plains 
 
 With that ineffable glory clad), 
 He might behold the pallid things 
 All newly washed in silver rains, 
 
 And pleased, reminded, murmur low: 
 
 The earth bore violets, long ago. 
 
FATHER. 325 
 
 IV. 
 
 "My little daughter watched them grow : 
 She traveled all the fields and dales, 
 Crept under zig-zag fences rude, 
 Waded through shallow waters slow. 
 Went shoulder-deep in meadow-swales, 
 And, charmed with woodland solitude, 
 Sank down at last, where, weighed with dew, 
 The pretty, pretty blossoms grew. 
 
 "But these are holier of hue, 
 
 Are lovelier far, more sweet of breath, 
 More altogether of the skies. 
 And can it be that world I knew 
 Is reeling out from darks of Death ? 
 And would my children all arise 
 And welcome me, if I should bend 
 My flight their way and so descend, — 
 
 VI. 
 
 "Hand holding hand as friend with friend?' 
 And I believe that he would yield 
 His crown, and in the guise that hid 
 His soul before the journey's end, 
 
 Would in the doorway stand revealed ; 
 Would catch my hands as once he did ; 
 Would lift me, kiss me, hold me high, 
 And bid me gaze into the sky. 
 
326 FATHER. 
 
 VII. 
 
 Then I should see the stars go by ; 
 And I should see — nor die to see — 
 Far-off, far-off, and very faint. 
 As through a glass, not eye to eye, 
 
 Those who were bond but now are free, 
 The well-beloved of that blest saint : 
 The two fair babes whose haste to go 
 Half-broke his heart, he loved them so; 
 
 VIII. 
 
 The pure young lad who yearned to know 
 Some far, imagined, perfect land. 
 Some rose-illumined Sharon's vale, 
 And hasted on through wind and snow 
 With leaping foot and reaching hand 
 As Galahad to find the Grail, — 
 Till passed some burning charioteer 
 And snatched him; white with holy fear; 
 
 IX. 
 
 And that proud patriot-boy, all dear 
 To God arid us: no tongue can tell 
 
 How deep the hurt when he went down ; 
 And, over all, those gray eyes, clear 
 As some unfathomable well 
 
 Wherein all doubts and sorrows 
 drown — 
 The mother, sighing: "Long I wait; 
 These are but four, and those are eight." 
 
FATHER. 227 
 
 X. 
 
 Then I should see the light abate ; 
 Should lose and lose the vision'fair- 
 Should sink and sink, more closely 
 pressed, — ^ 
 
 Upon m}^ lids a flowery weight, 
 A scent of violets in the air;' 
 
 Till he would Hft me from his breast 
 All swoonmg— love me, lay me down. 
 J"ass out, and so resume his crown. 
 
 May, 1878. 
 
328 ROSES. 
 
 ROSES. 
 
 I. 
 
 In that garden of yours by the sea 
 
 You have willed shall be mine when we wed 
 (So kingly your gracious decree!), 
 
 There are "roses on roses," you said; 
 I can fancy their opulent grace, 
 Where they glimmer — each one in her place : 
 Mystic roses . . .These lavish of red 
 
 (One would say their hearts bled) ; 
 Those deeper — a skyful of light 
 
 Would not alter their night; 
 Here yellow — gold-leaf newly shred 
 
 (Egypt mourning her dead) ; 
 There white — calyx-coffined, struck through 
 With that grief of the dew; 
 Ah, sweet, deathly sweet they must be, 
 In that garden of yours by the sea! 
 
 II. 
 
 But wait — I have somewhat to say: 
 
 Forgive while the bitter winds blow; 
 I have heard of your roses to-day, — 
 Who gathered them Summers ago: 
 Who, fain in your Heaven to dwell. 
 Was caught in the flames of your Hell ; 
 
 Wrapped around, all her raiment of snow 
 Strown in ashes below ; 
 
ROSES. 329 
 
 Drenched with tears and left ghastly and 
 stark 
 Just to die in the dark ! 
 I have heard, — for a fountain, you know, 
 
 Once opened, will flow, 
 Till, however far off, you may fill 
 The white cup, if you will. 
 I have drunk those salt waters astray: 
 You will wait — I have somewhat to say. 
 
 III. 
 
 First: Spare me your evil-wrought shield — 
 
 Gules on azure .... I know the device 
 When a knight like yourself takes the field. 
 
 And the trumpets bray out in a trice; 
 When heralds and pursuivants meet, 
 Through a babble of voices too sweet : 
 
 "Look ! his armor was bought with a price ! 
 
 Be not over-nice:" — 
 Though down in your donjon so deep, 
 
 Awake or asleep. 
 Lies that dragon whom nought will suffice, 
 
 And they see you entice 
 Fair maidens to thrust in at need 
 (For a dragon must feed !) .... 
 Nay, close your barred visor, sit steeled ; 
 But down with your blood-blotted shield ! 
 
 IV. 
 
 I, a woman, will hurl out my lance. 
 Though a worldful of hisses should greet. 
 
330 ROSES. 
 
 Did I love you this morning, perchance ? 
 
 Did I blush when your kisses were sweet? 
 Oh, we of the roses will glow 
 In all lights — from above or below ; 
 And ever Hell's lava-tides beat 
 
 Close under our feet! 
 But you of the fires never quail 
 Though we shrivel and fail, 
 When your wiverns and griffins we meet 
 
 In their cursed red heat! 
 To your donjon, O Knight of renown, 
 Shall I follow you down? 
 All that dragonish craving enhance? 
 As for me, I will hurl out my lance. 
 
 For what is this miracle-rose 
 
 Of womanhood holy and white, 
 But the marvel of God, where he glows 
 
 In the bush, and we kneel at the sight! 
 Where His spirit, unsearchable, breathes 
 Creative, through luminous sheathes 
 Till souls are revealed out of night 
 
 In such glory of light 
 His prophet would put ofif the shoe ! . . . 
 
 But prophets like you 
 Snatch all cressets to quicken the flight 
 
 Of that Pagan fire-fright, 
 When your victims lie, strangled and pale, 
 On the altars of Baal. 
 See Egypt's brute-god where he lows! 
 Shall he trample earth's miracle-rose? 
 
ROSES. I 331 
 
 VI. 
 
 All is said: You will pass from my door. 
 
 What? you cry that you love me, and cling? 
 All ashamed of that armor you wore, 
 
 At my feet casque and corslet you fling? 
 Rise : Here is a Rose for your shield : 
 Rid# away to your donjon, new-steeled ; 
 
 Unchain that fell beast, — loose the wing, 
 
 Bid the drawbridge out-swing; 
 Full fair in the face of the sun 
 
 Be your fierce battle won; 
 Strike his heart till its currents you bring 
 
 Spouting hot from their spring; 
 Wash away your attainture of shame 
 In that river of flame : 
 So come to me, dipped in bright gore ! 
 I will love you Pass out from my door. 
 
 1878. 
 
332 WE TWAIN. 
 
 WE TWAIN. 
 I. 
 
 Oh, Earth and Heaven are far apart! 
 
 But what if they were one, 
 And neither you nor I, Sweetheart, 
 
 Had anyway misdone? 
 When we Hke singing rivers fleet 
 
 That cannot choose but flow, 
 Among the flowers should meet and greet. 
 
 Should meet and mingle so, 
 Sweetheart, 
 That would be sweet, I know. 
 
 n. 
 
 No need to swerve and drift apart. 
 
 Or any bliss resign: 
 Then I should all be yours, Sweetheart, 
 
 And you would all be mine. 
 But ah, to rush, defiled and brown. 
 
 From thaw of smirched snow. 
 To spoil the corn, beat down and drown 
 The rath red lilies low, — 
 Sweetheart, 
 I do not want you so ! 
 
 in. 
 
 For you and I are far apart. 
 
 And never may we meet, 
 Till you are glad and grand, Sweetheart, 
 
 Till I am fair and sweet: 
 
WE TWAIN. 333 
 
 Till morning-light has kissed us white 
 
 As highest Alpine snow, 
 Till both are brave and bright of sight, 
 Go wander high or low, 
 Sweetheart ; 
 For God will have it so. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Oh, Heaven and Earth are tar apart 1 
 
 If you are bond or free. 
 And if you climb or crawl, Sweetheart, 
 
 Can no way hinder me. 
 But see you come in lordly state. 
 
 With mountain v/inds aglow, 
 When I by dazzling gate shall wait 
 
 To meet and love you so, 
 Sweetheart, — 
 That will be Heaven, I know. 
 
 1878. 
 
334 FREDDIE. 
 
 FREDDIE. 
 
 I. 
 
 Precious Freddie, just breathing his last, 
 Gave one and another his wee hand to kiss; 
 Looked long at mamma and so lovingly passed, 
 Fearing height nor abyss. 
 
 II. 
 
 But what of the babe after this? 
 Did the small-featured cherubim haste and make 
 room? 
 Did any uphold him, lest aught he should miss 
 Of the blaze and the bloom, — 
 
 III. 
 
 Dust rendered to dust in the tomb? 
 Oh sweet, through God's silence, to ponder and 
 dream 
 With what gradual glory, through vanishing 
 gloom. 
 His good-morrow might gleam! 
 
 IV. 
 
 Not thro' sephulchre door-ways would 
 stream 
 In one burst, all that excellence. Rather, I think 
 Little Freddie would wake at some wandering 
 beam 
 Darting in past the chink: 
 
FREDDIE. 335^ 
 
 While down on his breast there would sink) 
 Some rich-tinted flower, and he, drowsy, would 
 peer 
 Through the shadows each way, to see who 
 dropped the pink ; 
 Reach out hands, have no fear, — 
 
 VI. 
 
 And the Presence would smile and draw 
 near. 
 So lifted, caressed, he would nestle and cling, 
 Drop lids, fall on slumber as babes do who hear 
 The hushed mother-voice sing. 
 
 VII. 
 
 Now indeed would the grave-doors out- 
 swing 
 And the dawn break : but Freddie, asleep, would 
 not know. 
 Till some soft hand magnetic would wave, as a 
 wing. 
 To and fro, to and fro, 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Over infantine limbs, and the flow 
 Of new life-tides, like quicksilver streams, would 
 rush through. 
 Charged with vigor angelic; the wan face 
 would grow 
 Like June-roses in hue, — 
 
336 FREDDIE. 
 
 IX. 
 
 Blush-lovely, yet cool as the dew. 
 Then the child would leap up, brave to traverse 
 the spheres — 
 Bright or dark, so they led to the dear ones he 
 knew, 
 Sitting blinded with tears! 
 
 X. 
 
 When we wake at the end of our years. 
 In the half-open tomb, dropping pinks, will he 
 stand ? 
 Heart-thrilled with babe-laughter, forgetting 
 our fears. 
 Shall we kiss his wee hand? 
 
 1879. 
 
MERLIN. 337 
 
 MERLIN. 
 
 I. 
 
 I crush wild grapes ; I fill the cup 
 With what the strong hand wins : 
 For when my vassal-star is up, 
 My wizard-work begins. 
 
 I tread the magic round ; 
 I shake the solid ground ; 
 The hurricane, whose hollow wings 
 
 Drag through the snow of both the poles, 
 Dies when I sign ; the grewsome things 
 That gibe and mock tormented souls, 
 Aye hush, and heed my word ; 
 Back to the clouds they leap, 
 Their lurid ways are steep : 
 But till he hears who never heard, 
 
 V/ho roams and has no rest, 
 And till the heart that never stirred 
 Rocks in his kingly breast, 
 
 My phantom sheaves I reap, 
 I delve in sorceries deep. 
 
 II. 
 
 Uprears the star : nor will I quaff, 
 
 For blessing or for bane, 
 The drink that makes the white gods laugh, 
 
 The black gods howl with pain. 
 
338 MERLIN. 
 
 Though they be fain and loth, 
 Like sonship have they both; 
 Ripe math is theirs and vintage red ; 
 
 The sacred sour-and-sweet they pour; 
 Deep in the dish dip hallowed bread ; — 
 And these will sink, and those will soar. 
 O tangled bird and snake ! 
 
 O world that joys and drees! 
 
 glad and fell decrees ! 
 Till he shall come his thirst to slake 
 
 Who never drank of wine, 
 And smile : "Brave Merlin, hearts must ache, 
 But health to thee and thine !" — 
 
 1 rob my nights of ease ; 
 
 I wade through sable seas. 
 
 III. 
 
 All spells that ever mortal wrought 
 
 To daunt the demon-train, 
 All moonlight gossameres up-caught 
 Are webbed about my brain. 
 Nathless, when late I slept 
 One near me wept and wept : 
 "Oh, wear thy silver shoon tonight. 
 
 And see thou pluck no water-weed ; 
 But say thy potent weird aright 
 
 Full thrice, for sore will be thy need. 
 Be thine enchantments wise; 
 
 For when the North out-slips 
 Her fiery-masted ships, 
 Then will he lean across the skies : — 
 O Merlin, guard thee well ; 
 
MERLIN. 339 
 
 For thou shalt read in midnight eyes, 
 What none may hear or tell : 
 The while thy wine he sips, 
 With dread, desiring lips." 
 
 IV. 
 
 And now I don my charmed shoon ; 
 
 I ponder thrice the text; 
 I trouble not the rathe, round moon; 
 I leave the sea unvexed : 
 I nail the windy gates 
 Where wild Arcturus waits ; 
 And ever, while the lissom flame 
 
 Runs round my trench of precious oil 
 I kneel and write the Holy Name 
 In awful symbols on the soil. 
 Awake, O North! forego 
 Thy polar couches dim, 
 While yet thy star may swim 
 Uswallowed of the swathing snow. 
 
 Send out thy ships of fire. 
 And burn him hither, friend or foe ; 
 For great is my desire 
 
 To clash loud brim with brim. 
 To rise and strive with him. 
 
 V. 
 
 Her smouldering coals have caught the gales. 
 Her masts are zenith-high: 
 
340 MERLIN. 
 
 How fair outswell the yellow sails 
 Against a paling sky ! 
 
 Those glassen floods are wide 
 Wherethrough her vessels ride : 
 They follow East, they follow West, 
 
 They follow South for weal or woe ; 
 Now first within his wieldy breast 
 The mighty heart swings to and fro. 
 All dark from battle-sods 
 
 His samite raiment fine, — 
 All brackish from the brine : 
 He feels that spur of scourging rods, 
 
 He treads the gulfs of loss ; 
 He knows that wanton thirst of gods ; 
 He leans the heavens across. 
 
 I bruise my grapes for wine — 
 Good health, sweet brother mine ! 
 
 VI. 
 
 I know thee, that thy name is Death, 
 
 Thou drainer of the blood: 
 Thy lips I gift with dainty breath ; 
 I crown thee, leaf and bud. 
 
 Though near, unlawful eyes 
 I draw thy proud replies : 
 "Sweet health, O Merlin, gentle king, 
 Forever wait on thine and thee ! 
 But wilt thou quit thy ghostly ring? 
 And art thou brave to strive with me ?'* 
 Now never youth so burned 
 
MERLIN. 341 
 
 To Stride his warling steed, 
 To slay the dragon-breed, 
 As I, the yet Unthrown, have yearned 
 
 To meet thee fair in fight; 
 And, till thy riddles I have learned, 
 To wrestle, mind and might ! 
 Or thou or I must bleed, — 
 So sore is this my need ! 
 
 VII. 
 
 Beyond my trench whose falling oil 
 
 tjpwafts the wasteful flame, 
 Unclothed of sorceries I toil. 
 Yet breathe the Holy Name. 
 And art thou wroth to hear ? 
 And dost thou quake with fear ? 
 Art thou that hewer of the rocks. 
 
 That builder of the towers of Bel? 
 Hast thou the master-key that locks 
 
 The clanging doors of Heaven and Hell? 
 For rapture or for dole 
 
 Thou liest, struck with steel, 
 
 Thy heart beneath my heel ! 
 
 Art thou that keeper of the scroll 
 
 Whereon the lightnings write, — 
 
 That bids thee seize and chain the soul, 
 
 Or whirl it, starred, from sight? 
 
 Though thunders seven outpeal, 
 I break the seven-fold seal. 
 
342 MERLIN. 
 
 VIIL 
 
 I read: "When Death has quenched his 
 
 THIRST 
 
 Where Merlin strips the vine, 
 His trusty lance shall win, who first 
 Has named the Name DIVINE. 
 Suns' veins for him shall bleed; 
 Bees' honey him will feed: 
 Last, One, full strong to soar and sink, 
 Heaven-veiled in purples vast and dim 
 Will break his bread, will share his drink, 
 Will rise and sweetly strive with him ; 
 Heart-pierced will strike him down, — 
 Will whisper : 'Thou shalt know, 
 Fair son. My weal and woe ; 
 Shalt follow where the black gods frown, 
 
 Self-soaked in bitter brine. 
 With me there plunge and deeply drown, 
 Spill out thy blood as wine: 
 Uplift them, friend or foe, — 
 So KISS them white as snow r " 
 
 1878. 
 
ONE OF THE TWELVE. 343 
 
 ONE OF THE TWELVE. 
 [After death, in converse with his brethren.] 
 
 They answered, "What is that to us ? 
 See thou to that. . . . Who bids the dead to rise 
 
 Himself shall die. Is he not blasphemous ? 
 Full of sedition — prophes}'ing lies? 
 
 It shall be seen if he be marvelous!" 
 
 II. 
 
 Woe unto me for mine offense ? 
 These thirsted, as the lions when they spring, 
 
 And in the bended neck of Innocence 
 Fasten their whited teeth and pant and cling : — 
 
 Be sure till they have drunk they go not thence. 
 
 III. 
 
 I flung them down their thirty coins — 
 The silver Caesars shedding blood as rain ; 
 
 I fled, as lepers flee, whom no man joins, — 
 Who shriek, through covered lips, from camp to 
 plain, 
 Struck deep with scall — accursed in life and 
 loins. 
 
344 ONE OF THE TWELVE. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Lo, yet, if him they chanced to meet, 
 Their burning flesh, as foam of Galilee, 
 
 Grew cool and soft, — through spikenard dance J 
 their feet; 
 But I — the earth me hated and the sea ! 
 Him had I sold who made the lepers sweet. 
 
 V. 
 
 Him had I stricken dumb who sealed 
 The mouths of rending spirits. Fair was he, — 
 
 Most lowly fair, as lilies of the field : 
 He made the lame to walk, the blind to see ; 
 Him, if one touched, that hour his hurt was 
 healed. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Weeping, he comfort gave who drew 
 From out the Heaven of heavens that flying dove : 
 
 Him wonderful, the holy prophets knew, — 
 Who from the tender branches of his love 
 
 Fed, as with grapes, the Gentile and the Jew. 
 
 VII. 
 
 Them if he taught, *' Blessed are they — 
 The poor, the merciful — they shall rejoice," 
 
 Like singing birds the laden went their way: 
 Now had the tuneful harpings of his voice 
 
 Become as thunders of the Lord, that slay. 
 
ONE OF THE TWELVE. 345 
 
 VIII. 
 
 My feet, which late he washed, the sward 
 Disdained to bear ; my flesh, his wine had cheered, 
 Self-hung, fell down, spurned of the knotted 
 cord: 
 No vengeful sword mybursting eyeballs seared, — 
 My Sin, the sword, against my life, that 
 warred. 
 
 IX. 
 
 A spirit clothed upon with flame, 
 (As when that multitude the lanterns brought 
 
 And over Cedron's brook with weapons came, 
 That I should hail and kiss him whom they 
 sought,) — 
 I, Judas, issuing, put the night to shame. 
 
 X. 
 
 None valiant stood my course to stay, 
 Slinging the stone that I should fall thereby ; 
 
 None terrible, whom evil ones obey; 
 Not Cain nor Lamech, driven of Him, Most 
 High, 
 Nor winged Abaddon, raging for his prey 
 
 XL 
 
 If any sun, across the vault. 
 To Hermon's cliffs me traitorous might aid. 
 
 That I, upon their topmost snows should halt, 
 I searched as those of Sodom, all afraid. 
 
 Nor quenched me in their wretched sea of salt. 
 
34^ ONE OF THE TWELVE 
 
 XII. 
 
 That emptiness wherein I trode 
 Was spread with odors foul, — as it had kept 
 The four days dead, who there corruption 
 strowed, 
 Till one had stood without, had groaning wept, 
 Had cried ''Come forth T — with whom the life 
 abode. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 Down-reaped and garnered as the grain, 
 How went that sleeper out, loosed hand and foot ! 
 
 Me might he so have loved, me called amain ; 
 For this the curse was on me branch and root : 
 Who raised the dead, him had I kissed and 
 slain. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 If but the outermost to find, 
 Of that black-hollowed sepulchre, full wide, 
 
 I journeyed on, far-going as the wind. . . . 
 How sweet his voice upon the mountain-side ! 
 ''Thee have I chosen:" — Wherefore was he 
 kind? 
 
 XV. 
 
 Did he not know if once the springs 
 Ran out red blood, that I should dip and drink? 
 
 Was he not lifted, as on eagles' wings ? 
 If he but spake, did not the tempest sink ? 
 
 Who slayeth not the adder, ere he stings? 
 
ONE OF THE TWELVE. 347 
 
 XVL. 
 
 How with a whirlwind swept and piled, 
 The money-changers fled — blown out as leaves ! 
 ''The place of prayer," he said, "ye have 
 defiled; 
 i\[y Father's house ye make a den of thieves." 
 Did I not rob the poor ? — On me he smiled. 
 
 XVII. 
 
 Fiercely within me wrought my deed ; 
 Without, the midnight was as it were not : 
 
 My heart did sow abroad its fiery seed, — 
 Yea, heated as a furnace seven times hot, 
 
 Itself upon itself did turn and feed. 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 Dread as a cloud whose lightning threats, 
 Now came I to a sea, walled East and West, — 
 Even that whereby they toiled, who cast their 
 nets 
 When from their ship the hungered souls he blest. 
 Who drew them, great with what the surge 
 begets. 
 
 XIX. 
 
 Scattered were they who him obeyed : 
 "Abide in me," he spake ; '7 am the vine." 
 
 How were they desolate and all dismayed ! 
 Or ever of his fruit the boughs gave sign, 
 
 Iscariot, at the root, the axe had laid. 
 
34^ ONE OF THE TWELVE. 
 
 XX. 
 
 O cities nine ! O region swept 
 With plagues, where late he dwelt ! On all that 
 coast, 
 None lifted up the head, none wailed or wept. 
 There did the violent floods make stormy boast, 
 And none their rage rebuked. . . . The 
 Master slept. 
 
 XXI. 
 
 Neared I such desert-land as girds 
 The templed mountain and the palmy groves, — 
 Strown round with multitudes, like famished 
 herds 
 Which none had watched : For such he brake the 
 loaves, 
 The while they loved him for his peaceful 
 words. 
 
 XXII. 
 
 Twelve did he choose: "Go forth," he 
 said; 
 *'Be even as I, the fallen ones to lift: 
 
 Cast ye the devils out, raise up the dead.", . . 
 What had I rendered him for this, his gift? 
 Had I not killed my Lord, these had been fed. 
 
ONE OF THE TWELVE. 349 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 Palsied and leprous, maimed and sick — 
 How had they leaped and laughed, new-cleansed 
 and clothed ! 
 Haply myself had made these dead men quick 
 (One working in me) . . . Them to see I 
 loathed : 
 About that place the pestilence was thick. 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 Upon me were His terrors turned : 
 As Eden's cherubim had fenced the sod 
 
 With wings that high as Abel's offering burned, 
 As I had heard the awful Voice of God, 
 
 Helped on of mighty winds the rocks I spurned. 
 
 XXV. 
 
 Albeit His wrath Jehovah curbs, 
 Behold His glittering sword he stays to whet ! 
 
 Beneath my fleeing feet, that crushed the herbs. 
 Forth sprang the blood, — my raiment all was wet : 
 
 I sped as one whose heel the grave disturbs. 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 Forthwith the buried ones uprose ; 
 They sorely pressed — they smote me while they 
 spake : 
 "Shall earth, before her season, feel the throes? 
 The seals wherewith He sealed us dost thou 
 break ? 
 Wilt thou, withal, our nakedness disclose? 
 
350 ONE OF THE TWELVE. 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 "How had we lain and slept?" they cried, 
 "Bound with the scented linen fine and clean ; 
 
 Till, as a bridegroom seeking for his bride, 
 Our Lord had come, and, with his arrows keen, 
 
 Had slain that king with whom the dead abide ! 
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 "How had we risen, arrayed as flowers ! 
 Whiter than fuller's cloth had we been white — 
 
 So had he made his noontide splendor ours ; 
 That we should feast among the sons of light, 
 
 How had he led us through the olive-bowers !'* 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 Bitter that I his life had spilt. 
 As waves of thronging seas they round me surged. 
 
 Meantime if any refuge had been built 
 For such as I, whom these avengers urged. 
 
 I sought to enter in and hide my guilt. 
 
 XXX. 
 
 When lo, the city ! she who scorns 
 Her King ; who wastes the costly ointment sweet ; 
 
 Nor yet for wedding-mirth her house adorns; 
 Now did I think to reach the mercy-seat, 
 
 And lay mine hands upon the altar-horns. 
 
ONE OF THE TWELVE. 35 1 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 Scourged thither, whence of late I fled, 
 Deep sick was I, as one his wound who probes: 
 That I, where him I wronged, might vail my 
 head, 
 Might rend from off my limbs their filthy robes. 
 Great were my wrestlings with the fleshless 
 dead. 
 
 XXXII. 
 
 Ere yet the scarlet courts I neared, 
 The mountains trembled and the crags were torn ; 
 
 Him I beheld upon the cross upreared ; 
 Whom I betrayed, forsaken there did mourn. 
 
 On Elohim he called. . . Now first I feared! 
 
 XXXIII. 
 
 Him did the prince of Hell assault — 
 That serpyent whom the sons of men accuse ; 
 
 Yea, Death his crest did verily exalt, 
 That he, the well-beloved son should bruise — 
 
 One altogether lovely, without fault. 
 
 XXXIV. 
 
 Meekly the Christ gave up the ghost. . . . 
 Now saw I him in glistening beauty clad, 
 
 Brighter than he who leads the starry host. 
 White-walking with the dead — them making 
 glad; 
 Among their shining throngs he shining most. 
 
35^ ONE OF TPIE TWELVE. 
 
 XXXV. 
 
 As one the crimson bolt who shuns 
 With Hfted hands, down at his feet I fell : 
 More naked than the gnawed and dreadful 
 ones, — 
 Self-stripped and shamed. . . . On me his eyes 
 did dwell, 
 As they, for light, had gathered up the suns. 
 
 XXXVI. 
 
 Now was I slain as with the sword: 
 Even pierced to the dividing of the joints, — 
 Cut down and withered like the prophet's 
 gourd. 
 As one for burial who his child anoints, 
 On me the vials of his love he poured. 
 
 XXXVII. 
 
 For me, of murderers most abhorred, 
 With Death he darkly strove ; behold he wept ! 
 
 "Eli/" he cried, "me, sorrowful, rcivard!" . . . 
 As I full sweet, beneath the flowers had slept, 
 
 All fair as they, I rose — and kissed my Lord. 
 
 XXXVIII. 
 
 Lo, meet for salts of Judgment, shorn 
 And all despoiled — among the twelve the least 
 
 Among the poor and vile, that one forlorn, — 
 Yet was I bidden to the marriage-feast : 
 
 Honey, with honeycomb, and oil, and corn. 
 
 1878 
 
 t 
 
CANTICLES. 353 
 
 CANTICLES. 
 
 // a man die shall he live again f 
 
 I. 
 
 All pleasant are the greenwoods where abide 
 
 Soft-hued Hepaticas and wind-flowers pale, 
 The shaly clefts where streaked herb-Roberts 
 hide, 
 The slants where droop the harebells fairy- 
 frail ; 
 And pleasant are the marshes mallow-rosed, 
 
 The grassy dips that hold the shallow ponds, 
 The waterfalls through flood-torn banks dis- 
 closed, 
 The haunts where ferns uncurl their delicate 
 fronds ; 
 And pleasant are the glooms of towering pines. 
 Moss-beds whose scarlet-dotted tufts secrete 
 Low wintergreens white-globed, and partridge- 
 vines — 
 Twin-leaved, twin-tubed, faint-tinged and per- 
 fect sweet; 
 Full pleasant are the pink-boughed laurel-bowers 
 Where children climb and cling and load their 
 hands with flowers. 
 
 IL 
 
 Up, mourning soul ! Why for the Dead remain 
 In Grief's illimitable caverns mute? 
 
354 CANTICLES. 
 
 Herein shall hills their leaping pulses drain, 
 
 Nor yield thee any profit, bloom or fruit ; 
 Her sombre doors against thy feet made fast, 
 
 Still must thou, groping, track this aisled snare, 
 Deep in some ghastly grave-room plunge at last, 
 
 Touch crumbHng hands? (Oh, once their 
 brows were fair 
 Who now from Summer gladness lie aloof!) 
 
 Call thou, and cry : if any tempest lower, 
 Bid thou its bolts thy sealed jail unroof; 
 
 Or if, far down, the terrible Earthquake cower, 
 With tremblings as of one whom fears prevent, 
 Command thou that these rock-wrought fast- 
 nesses be rent. 
 
 III. 
 
 My little torch, uplifted, lights me round 
 
 The drear earth-chambers: Here a stony rose. 
 And there a goblet dashed upon the ground : 
 
 But never dew exhales, or sweet wine flows 
 From mimic flask or tankard ; never drips 
 
 Down bowls ancestral Love's metheglin clear — 
 Bee-plunderings, fitly strained for poet-lips. 
 
 Beneath immeasurable vaults I veer 
 The kindled brand, nor gild unfeatured night 
 
 Beyond an arm-reach ; now some water-ink. 
 To light impervious, blanks the downward sight, 
 
 And stays the search; and now, in truth, I 
 think 
 
CANTICLES. 355 
 
 To shriek so loud the very Dead must rise, 
 Break through immuring walls, let sun into mine 
 eyes. 
 
 IV. 
 
 The Dead. . . . Ah, verily not asleep they lie! 
 
 So bitter-loved they are, they needs must live. 
 And hear — though Hades smother up the cry. 
 
 And every volant zephyr prove a sieve 
 To spill the sounds. What then remains to do 
 
 But call and call? Be certain they will come. 
 Dispart the rocks, to outward climbings woo; 
 
 Voicing their proud "We are!" strike Sorrow 
 dumb; 
 Harping *'We shall be !" thrill the resonant deeps 
 
 With roar of echoes — shake reverberant earth. 
 Smite down, demolish intercludinp- steeps, 
 
 Exalt and fill with everlasting mirth 
 Their dear-beloved — no more to dwell and dwine 
 In hollows subterrene, dark-locked from things 
 divine. 
 
 And healthful are the tamarack-scented airs, 
 Deep vale-suspirings, upland-breathings keen. 
 
 Out-blowings of the mountain-gale that shares 
 That smell of rifts where berried cedars lean; 
 
356 CANTICLES. 
 
 Healthful the swift surf-ploughing trade-winds 
 all, 
 Sky-coursing blasts that roll the thunder- 
 wains, 
 Far-whirled cyclones that make the forests fall, 
 
 Black, unresisted, levelling hurricanes; 
 And healthful are the shinings of the noon, 
 Mist-emanations thin as spectral shroud, 
 Dew-gatherings, drif tings dense that blot the 
 moon. 
 Rain-sprinklings cool, down-pourings of the 
 cloud. 
 Stand forth, cave-prophet: — Wind and earth- 
 quake-din, 
 Then fire : the still, small Voice, and lo, the Lord 
 therein ! 
 
 VI. 
 
 Soul, be thou humble : It is good to hear 
 
 The cooing of the babes, their gurgling speech, 
 Child-wonderings, when the sly gusts interfere, 
 
 And sail the rainbow-bubbles out of reach; 
 To hear the young laugh out where skaters 
 throng. 
 
 The free sled-riders shout in coasting-time. 
 True-lovers murmur, mothers croon the song, 
 
 Choirs chant loud anthems when the church- 
 bells chime; 
 Better to hear the prayings of the old 
 
 Who wait Death's ocean-deep baptismal rite, 
 
CANTICLES. 357 
 
 Who, sighing, sink in slow submergings cold, 
 
 Who soar, exulting, vailed from narrow sight. 
 Oh, best, on hushed and holy heights to meet 
 And hear, from spirit-lips, familiar words and 
 sweet ! 
 
 VII. 
 
 Soul be thou pure : Rise, clean as river-flowers 
 
 From out the soil and slime, the covered 
 shame. 
 As sweet-bay blossom-cups that gather showers, 
 
 Whose tree-upholden whiteness none can 
 blame ; 
 Pure as thrice-winnowed snow on peaks of Ind, 
 
 As North-fire flickerings up the starry ways, 
 As planet glancings, streamings of the wind 
 
 That sweeps the splendors far when comets 
 blaze ; 
 As beamings of the central Sun that warms 
 
 The uttermost concealments of the night, 
 Our one-revolving Universe informs 
 
 With awful inter-penetrating light 
 Infused from Godhead ; pure as are the blest 
 That on the Infinite Bosom smiling lean and rest. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Soul, be thou not remote and slow to love : 
 Be as the flakes that on the snowdrop melt, 
 
 Making the sweet more sweet; as fumes above 
 Full incense-vases where the coals have dwelt, 
 
358 CANTICLES. 
 
 Whose odoriferous atoms, smoking out 
 
 From gum and stacte, onycha and myrrh, 
 Infold the righteous and the undevout; 
 
 Be thou as Eden's atmosphere astir 
 With walkings of the Lord ; be as the fire 
 
 To snow-bewildered wanderers ; c.s the sun 
 To dungeon-wretches — life's fulfilled desire; 
 
 As altar-flame when sacrifice is done ; 
 As burning furnace-heats, where unalarmed 
 Thy loved shall enter in, meet God. and move 
 unharmed. 
 
 IX. 
 
 And beautiful shall on the mountains be 
 
 The feet of them that bring good tidings 
 
 down, 
 
 That haste to publish peace; and thou shalt see. 
 
 Yet in thy flesh, thy Maker: He shall crown 
 
 Thy days with ecstasies, thy nights with calms; 
 
 And He shall make thee rich with meal and 
 
 wine, 
 
 With fatness of the flocks, with powders, balms, 
 
 With milk and honey, clusters of the vine, 
 Olives, pomegranates, dates and mandrakes 
 sweet ; 
 And thou shalt bid the sick, the halt, the blind, 
 In to the feast ; and thou shalt bathe their feet 
 Wih smelling ointments; thou their wounds 
 shalt bind, 
 Therein the precious oil of healing pour ; 
 And thou shalt feed His poor, withholding not 
 thy store. 
 
CANTICLES. 359 
 
 X. 
 
 The holy ones shall cover not from thee 
 
 The brightness of their faces where they shine : 
 From that all-cold sepulture of the sea 
 
 Thou shalt come forth; and lo, the Hand 
 Divine 
 Shall so uplift thee, thou shalt surely hear 
 
 The four-and-twenty elders say : "All things 
 Thou hast created, Lord!" and thou shalt near 
 The golden altar where the incense clings — 
 Sweet, sweet, most sweet with prayers of all the 
 saints ! 
 Shalt see the golden censer, filled with fire, 
 Cast into earth, whence rose thy long complaints ; 
 Shalt hear the creatures four, whose great 
 desire 
 •Rests not, forever say (thyself not dumb) : 
 * 'Worthy the Lord, which was, and is, and is 
 TO come!" 
 
 1878 
 
360 A PRAIRIE IDYL. 
 
 A PRAIRIE IDYL. 
 I. 
 
 Four groves stood up In Western lands, 
 
 Burr-oaks and poplars — thickets dense ; 
 Four ways they faced, and linked their hands, 
 
 From rude unreverent eyes to fence 
 A closure fair and ample ; 
 To well seclude the swaying wheat, 
 
 The low luxuriant belt untilled. 
 From lawless tread of vagrant feet, 
 
 From bursting wind-storms, frantic-willed, 
 From brutes that rend and trample. 
 
 11. 
 
 That liberal field the granaries filled; 
 
 But in the centre, screened and cool, 
 Deep-cradled, all its babbling stilled, 
 
 Peered out a limpid, lazy pool, 
 
 A-swoon with lulls and hushes; 
 Thence either way for many a rod. 
 
 From willows gray to brambles green, 
 Drove never plough-share through the sod. 
 
 Flashed never scythe or sickle keen \ 
 
 Athwart the pipes and rushes. 
 
 III. 
 
 I would that place you might have seen : 
 Day after day, four seasons round, 
 
A PRAIRIE IDYL. 361 
 
 I wandered there in shade or sheen, 
 
 And aye some pretty newness found — 
 Some trace of spirits tricksy. 
 There Nature had her willful way; 
 
 Toiled, lay at ease, frowned, sobbed, oi* 
 smiled ; 
 Was now a nimble sprite at play, 
 And now a queen, a laughing child, 
 A witch, a water-nixie. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Her winter-whiteness, undefiled. 
 
 Lent flowery grace to withered weeds, 
 Where hardy insects ran, and wild 
 
 Brave snow-birds, searching after seeds 
 Through Boreal blore and bluster; 
 But when the drifts were April-kissed, 
 
 Marsh-marigolds on mound and fen 
 Through vapor soft (like nebulous mist, 
 
 All suns to astronomic ken), 
 Did gloriously cluster. 
 
 V. 
 
 And certain birds came seeking then 
 
 For nesting-nooks aloft or low: 
 Song-sparrow, blue-bird, robin, wren, 
 
 All new in love as one might know — 
 Deliriously trilling. 
 Ah, how the world enchanted them ! 
 
 They fluttered, floated, flaunted by, 
 Set clinging feet on stalk or stem. 
 
 And sent roulades into the sky 
 As if it needed filling. 
 
362 A PRAIRIE IDYL. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Sweet tunes, I know not how or why, 
 
 Transfusing, enter sweetest flowers ; 
 From where the songs went, far and high, 
 
 Came down the violets in showers, — 
 Blue, blue they were, and veiny; 
 With early crow-foot lamps ablaze. 
 
 And avens-globes, that, rounding slow. 
 Are purple-dusk on thirsty days. 
 
 But like betrothal rubies glow 
 Rich red when all is rainy. 
 
 VIL 
 
 Waved everywhere those grasses low 
 
 That bloom in yellow, blue, and white ; 
 Green panicles tossed to and fro. 
 
 Out-floating sleaves and spinnings light- 
 Sheer webs, diaphanous laces; 
 Dead gold of moneyworts outflung 
 
 In royal largess, vetches rare. 
 Blue-flags with paling rainbows hung, 
 
 Wood-sorrels exquisitely fair, 
 
 Like wondering infant faces. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Swept long processions here and there 
 Of shooting-star flowers, rosy-stoled, — 
 
 Pink-purple crane's-bills, eyes a-stare 
 At ragged neighbors overbold — 
 Red-roots and Roman-candles. 
 
A PRAIRIE IDYL. 363 
 
 No lack of scarlet bugs be sure, 
 
 Of boat-flies, dragon-flies, and moths, 
 
 Sly lion-ants that trap and lure, 
 With tiger-beetles fierce as Goths 
 And terrible as Vandals; 
 
 IX. 
 
 Green span-worms, clambering like sloths, 
 
 Cicadse whetting horny beaks. 
 Gold spiders weaving silvery cloths, 
 
 And bees that rob like very Greeks 
 
 To feed their queen-commanders; 
 Red-mites that love the noon-day heats, 
 
 Wood-nymphs and peacock-butterflies. 
 Small aphides exuding sweets. 
 
 Ichneumons dipped in Tyrian dyes, 
 Like mimic Alexanders. 
 
 Ah, then, all out of perfect skies 
 
 Rushed in the lover-bobolinks! 
 Like Paganini, music-wise. 
 
 Each bird will tell you all he thinks 
 On just that one-stringed viol. 
 Should Handel, Mozart, Mendelssohn, / 
 
 Set awful challenges afloat, 
 This little master, all alone 
 
 Half-way in Heaven, would tune his throat 
 And dare them to the trial. 
 
364 A PRAIRIE IDYL. 
 
 XL 
 
 Even so: The sun is for the mote, 
 
 And for the nautilus the sea; 
 Aerial space for one sweet note, 
 
 The universe for you and me ; 
 God's own accords and closes 
 For capel-meister great or small. 
 
 O sealed stone lips of desert-sphinx, 
 Keep silence ! . . . These will answer all. . . 
 
 Meantime my singing bobolinks 
 
 Brought down the heavens in roses! — 
 
 XII. 
 
 All single-wild, with hyssops, pinks, 
 
 Miami-mists, pyrolas white. 
 Slight cleavers winding blossomed links, 
 Fringed orchids, painted-cups fire-bright, 
 And delicate lobelias ; 
 Blue skull-caps meant for reverend elves, 
 Gay butterfly-weeds, their wings back- 
 turned 
 From whirling flights to guard themselves. 
 Wan arrowheads that poolward yearned 
 Like love-distraught Ophelias. 
 
 XIIL 
 
 But now the subtle sense discerned 
 
 Attenuations faint and fine, 
 From where the sun at zenith burned 
 
 Down to the shrinking water-Hne > 
 That left the naiads dying; 
 
A PRAIRIE IDYL. 365 
 
 Diminuendos organ-sweet, 
 
 Charmed zephyrs vibrative and slow, 
 As, after bells have ceased to beat, 
 
 The pleasured ear will hardly know 
 When hills forego replying. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 Began a crazy wind to blow; 
 
 Loomed up a black and massy cloud ; 
 Fell down the volumed floods that flow 
 
 With volleying thunders near and loud, 
 With lightnings broad and blinding. 
 A week of flying lights and darks, 
 
 Then all was clear ; from copse and corn 
 Flew grosbeaks, red-birds, whistling larks, 
 
 And thrushes voiced like peris lorn, 
 Themselves of Heaven reminding. 
 
 XV. 
 
 Deep trails my hasty hands had torn, 
 Where, under fairy-tasselled rues, 
 Low vines their scarlet fruits had borne, 
 That neither men nor gods refuse, — 
 Delicious, spicy, sating. 
 As there through meadow red-tops sere 
 
 I toiled, my fragile friends to greet. 
 Out sang the birds : "Good cheer ! good 
 
 cheer !"— 
 "This way !"— "Pure, purity !"— ''So 
 sweet !" — 
 
 "See ! see ! a-waiting — waiting !" 
 
366 A PRAIRIE IDYL. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 I saw: Each way the rolHng wheat, 
 
 The wild-flower wilderness between, 
 Therein the sun-emblazoning sheet, 
 
 Four ways the thickets darkly green, 
 The vaporous drifts and dazzles; 
 Swift lace-wings flittering high and low, 
 
 Sheen, gauzy scarves a-sag with dew. 
 Blown phloxes flaked like falling snow, 
 
 Wide spiderworts in umbels blue. 
 Wild bergamots and basils; 
 
 XVII. 
 
 And oh, the lilies; melted through 
 
 With ocherous pigments of the sun! 
 Translucent flowers of marvellous hue. 
 
 Red, amber, orange, all in one, — 
 
 Their brown-black anthers bursting 
 To scatter out their powdered gold : 
 
 One half with upward looks attent. 
 As holy secrets might be told, 
 
 One half with turbans earthward bent, 
 For Eden's rivers thirsting. 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 And now the winds a-tiptoe went. 
 As loth to trouble Summer-calms; 
 
 The air was dense with sifted scent, 
 
 Dispersed from fervid mints and balms 
 Whose pungent fumes betrayed them. 
 
A PRAIRIE IDYL. 367 
 
 The brooks, on yielding sedges flung, 
 Half-slept — babe-soft their pulses beat; 
 
 Wee humming-birds, green-burnished, swung 
 Now here, now there, to find the sweet, 
 As if a billow swayed them. 
 
 XIX. 
 
 Loud-whirring hawk-moths, large and fleet, 
 
 Went honey-mad ; the dipters small 
 Caught wings, they bathed in airy heat ; 
 
 I saw the mottled minnows all, — 
 So had the pool diminished. 
 No Sybarite ever banqueted 
 
 As those bird-rioters young and old : 
 The red-wing's story, while he fed, 
 
 A thousand times he partly told, 
 But never fairly finished. 
 
 XX. 
 
 Some catch the reeling oriole trolled, 
 
 Broke of¥ his black and gold to trim; 
 Quarrelled the blue-jay fiery-bold, — 
 
 Or feast or fight all one to him, 
 True knight at drink or duel; 
 New wine of berries black and red 
 
 The noisy cat-bird sipped and sipped ; ' 
 The king-bird bragged of battles dread, 
 
 How he the stealthy hawk had whipped 
 That armed marauder cruel. 
 
368 A PRAIRIE IDYL. 
 
 XXI. 
 
 While so they sallied, darted, dipped, 
 
 Slow feathered seeds began to sail ; 
 Gray milk-weed pods their flosses slipped,- 
 
 !More blithely blew the buoying gale, 
 And sent them whitely flying. 
 Rose up new creatures every hour 
 
 From brittle-walled chrysalides; 
 The yellow wings on every flower 
 
 With ringed wasps and bumble-bees 
 Shone, Danae's gold outvying. 
 
 XXII. 
 
 Somewhat I missed of rhythmic ease, — 
 Warm equipoise of North and South: 
 
 Those silver weights of tropic seas 
 
 Bore down the scale; the days of drouth 
 Caught gusts from vast expanses. 
 
 Now this way, that way, through the field 
 The rattling reapers reaped the grain; 
 
 And much men talked of heavy yield, 
 Who reckoned up their garnered gain 
 And schemed for market-chances. 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 But I went out and faced the rain: 
 
 I started up the prairie-hens, 
 Heard dripping mourning-doves complain, 
 
 Amid the stubble saw the dens 
 
 Of gophers, moles, and rabbits; 
 i he quails and phoebe-birds and I 
 
 A-wet were not afraid to roam; 
 
A PRAIRIE IDYL. 369 
 
 Chipmunks and chittering squirrels shy 
 From gleaning raids I followed home, 
 Despite their wary habits: 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 Striped burrowers in the rooty loam, 
 
 Tree-nesters, vaulters black and gray, 
 Was ever airling, brownie, gnome 
 
 Or elf more deftly housed than they — 
 Those rapid disappearers? 
 But now that arias all were sung 
 
 And voices tired of wild voleeSy 
 Sweet-sounding gitterns half-unstrung, 
 
 One well might look for rare boquets 
 Flung out from heavenly hearers. 
 
 XXV. 
 
 Almost one saw through yellow haze 
 
 The laughing loiterers peering down : 
 With haste I crossed the fieldy ways, 
 
 Nor stopped for briers nor held my gown 
 From burrs and clinging loments. 
 Those milk-froth spurges well I knew, 
 
 Whose little dead-white clocks among 
 The gilded wheat had two moons through 
 
 Their triple-seeded pendules swung 
 To tell the lagging moments. 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 Now all abroad — though curtains clung 
 About the doors of noondays warm, 
 
3/0 A PRAIRIE IDYL. 
 
 And dawns were chill — their corymbs hung, 
 Self-fashioned in a flowery storm, 
 As when a snow-cloud settles. 
 And visible, yet pale the while 
 
 As cherubs seen through waning flame. 
 Those May wood-sorrels, infantile, 
 Bore once again their earthly name. 
 And dwelt among the nettles. 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 All sunny-quick as quivering flame, 
 
 The ruby-throats hummed round about 
 Those nectarous thistles people blame, 
 
 And tipped their flasked elixirs out, 
 
 Nor wronged one growing germen. 
 Soft-mirrored in the crimsoned pool, 
 
 Plumed iron-weeds — Quixotes grim — 
 Kept witless guard. From lurkings cool 
 
 Green pepperworts, that love to swim, 
 Came floating up like mermen. 
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 Cone-flowers, corollas rim to rim — 
 
 Czarinas, queens, sultanas all — 
 Stood crowned with beauty, stately-slim, 
 
 By right divine the purple pall 
 
 Magnificently wearing. 
 
 And radiant namesakes of the sun, 
 
 From East to West a glittering band, 
 Bright-belted satellites every one. 
 
 Turned on their axes, golden-grand. 
 Celestial ardor sharing. 
 
A PRAIRIE IDYL. 37I 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 Along the turf-made bridge that spanned 
 
 The narrow slough and sunken swale, 
 To keep the feet on firmer land, 
 
 I, lingering, watched the ant-folk frail 
 Prepare for bitter weather; 
 Race in, race out, bear weighty spoils, 
 
 Dig drains their humid hills to sluice, 
 Build cities, plan Herculean toils, 
 
 Make war on giant-foes, grant truce, — 
 Go jaunting off together. 
 
 XXX. 
 
 And now was every cleft of use, 
 
 Some bronzed and sharded thing to hide, 
 Some brilliant creature, small and spruce, 
 
 That late went rambling far and wide. 
 The blue his sole pavilion. 
 Followed a blast, a rainy rush. 
 
 Careering clouds that met and crashed; 
 Then hints of frost, — a doubtful blush. 
 
 One sumach, like a palette, dashed 
 With umber, gold, vermilion. 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 And out again the sunlight flashed; 
 
 An owl (his sleeping-time confused 
 With tempest-darkness), dazed, abashed. 
 
 Fled forest-ward as one accused. 
 Untimely flittings ruing: 
 
372 A PRAIRIE IDYL. 
 
 Straightway those clannish sable-coats 
 
 That clamor music steeple-high 
 (Sevenths, ninths, harsh inter-jarring notes), 
 Wheeled out of ring, swooped down the 
 sky, 
 
 The blundering fowl pursuing. 
 
 XXXII. 
 
 "Aha! so you are caught!" said I: 
 
 ''Gray, tufted mouser — spoiler fell! 
 But who shall join the hue-and-cry 
 
 To catch the felon crows as well?" 
 With that, a rifle sounded ; 
 And one whom pitying grace must reach 
 
 If he escape, sprang out and laughed. 
 I went my way; what need of speech? 
 
 The world was fair in spite of craft — 
 Rose-apples yet abounded: 
 
 XXXIII. 
 
 Red, golden-cored, a stolen graft 
 
 From Paradise ; whose roots, green-girthed, 
 Such carmine spilth of suns had quaffed. 
 
 One sacred seed, plucked out and earthed, 
 Had vivified Sahara. 
 "But, O, sweet-slumbering roses, sleep !" 
 
 I sighed, "nor dream what weaklings shrink, 
 What plunderers prowl, what murderers creep, 
 
 What souls, i@T dews of Hermon, drink 
 The loathed drops of Marah!" 
 
A PRAIRIE IDYL. 373 
 
 XXXIV. 
 
 I saw the splendors southward sink, 
 
 And turned to wonder while I might 
 At all those asters — azure, pink, 
 
 Gray-blue, pure indigo, purple, white, — 
 Not yet the cold had harmed them: 
 No blighting breeze, descending low, 
 
 Had browned morasses greenly-deep, 
 Where shell-flowers orbed that never blow, 
 
 But smile — forever sound asleep, 
 As Viviane had charmed them. 
 
 XXXV. 
 
 Nor dared the frost his films to sweep 
 
 Across the gentians fringed and blue, 
 Frail tabernacles veiled to keep 
 
 Some holiest-holy place from view. 
 Where never light should enter. 
 And now I called my slave of lamps, 
 
 To lift the field and move it thence, 
 With all its odors, fervors, damps. 
 
 Its blooms, its thickets hazel-dense, 
 The slopes from verge to centre ; 
 
 XXXVI. 
 
 The storms blown in, one knew not whence, 
 The slumberous pool, the waterlings. 
 
 The rose-lake dawns, the noons intense. 
 The glossy mites, the soaring things. 
 Tone-sweets and dissonances. 
 
374 A PRAIRIE IDYL. 
 
 "Take up the place, O servant mine!" 
 I bade, "and bear it many a mile. 
 
 Since wizards trick, conjure, divine, 
 I too with woven spells would wile, 
 And practice necromancies. 
 
 XXXVII. 
 
 "Maybe," I said, and laughed the while, 
 
 "This fair King-Oberon's-Realm may seem 
 An Avalon, a flying isle, 
 
 A soft-emblossomed poet's dream, 
 A sun-and-wind suspension: 
 So let it swim in upper air, 
 
 Made evident to mortal sight, — 
 A clear mirage, a rainbow-snare, 
 
 A dewy exhalation slight, 
 A spirit-like ascension. 
 
 XXXVIII. 
 
 "And if it waste in airy light. 
 
 And if it melt and all diffuse. 
 And if it rise and vanish quite. 
 
 Desired on high, — its lovely hues 
 A white-translated seven, — 
 There are who gazing long will muse 
 
 On world-similitudes serene. 
 Will smiling seize the beamy clues. 
 
 Climb up from where God's earth is green. 
 Look in, and see His Heaven." 
 
 •Torrey's Field," Clinton, Wis., 
 1878- 1879. 
 
MOTHER. 375 
 
 MOTHER. 
 
 I. 
 
 "Since near me cureless invalids bide 
 Who pine in darkened rooms," I said, 
 ''Where bitterly that hour they wait 
 When they from mortal sight shall glide, 
 Discarnate (never name them dead), 
 I, sorrowing long, who sank of late 
 Even to the Hps in silent seas, 
 To comfort me will comfort these 
 
 11. 
 
 "Too well I know they get no ease. 
 But suffer, suffer night and day; 
 They never fill the weary lungs 
 Beneath yon lichen-crusted trees 
 With soft and odorous airs of May ; 
 Nor seek her golden adder-tongues, 
 The flowers her penciling hand adorns. 
 Her crinkle-roots and squirrel-corns. 
 
 HI. 
 
 "Heath-rosy as the rosy morns, 
 
 They follow not the pebbled streams 
 That down the hollows drip and dash; 
 Nor hasten home, when twilight warns. 
 To tranquil rest and balmy dreams ; 
 Nor rise full early, lift the sash. 
 Lean out, let sunrise startle sight 
 With furnace-colors, blinding bright. 
 
376 MOTHER. 
 
 IV. 
 
 "Now shall it be my one delight 
 
 To cull and cluster bloom and leaf — 
 Their dewy growth my daily task : 
 And if the breathing beauties slight 
 But for a moment banish grief 
 
 From these poor hearts, no more I ask 
 Dear were the sick, and very dear, 
 To her who fell asleep last year. 
 
 V. 
 
 "And should her spirit hover near 
 As some would say and as I think 
 
 (For she was never far and slow. 
 If any neighbor wanted cheer. 
 But smoothed the pillow, poured the drink. 
 And made her deeds her kindness show)- 
 She will be glad my flowers to see, 
 Solace the sad and solace me. 
 
 VI. 
 
 "And though her garden fairer be 
 (Why disbelieve she breaks the soil 
 To drop those Heaven-perfected seeds ?) 
 Coming and going holy-free — 
 
 She may observe my loving toil; 
 May smile approval, know my needs 
 And all unseen, my heart-strings thrill 
 With mother-praises, spirit-still." 
 
MOTHER. 377 
 
 VII. 
 
 So back and forth, with eager will, 
 I trod my small inclosure round, 
 Through every leisure, able hour, 
 To shape the circle, sow the drill, 
 Make fine the pulverable ground, 
 
 And fondly dream of bud and flower. 
 "Grow ! grow !" I cried : "awake and stir ! 
 If only for the love of her." 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Did any embryo defer 
 
 To lift the plumule, faintly green, 
 I did not spare to fume and fret, 
 And all impatiently aver 
 
 The nights were cold, the land was lean, 
 The surface baked, the subsoil wet; 
 Until, in spite of tremulous doubt. 
 The latest sort began to sprout. 
 
 IX. 
 
 Then in, across, and round about, 
 By angle, parallel and curve. 
 
 With much transplanting, careful-slow, 
 I wrought my pleasant fancies out, 
 Panting and ill and weak of nerve. 
 
 "And this," I mused, "she used to grow 
 For perfume; this for grace of form; 
 And this for color deep and warm. 
 
378 MOTHER. 
 
 X. 
 
 "And this for blackness, — never storm 
 Wore inkier hues; this lemon-bell 
 For never-withering fragrant green; 
 And this, that butterflies might swarm 
 To sip its delicate hydromel ; 
 And this for modesty of mien 
 And whiteness; this for rarest hue, — 
 She loved to call it 'Heavenly blue/ " 
 
 XI. 
 
 Right thriftily the seedlings grew: 
 And I went searching, day by day, 
 For axil-shoot and clasping scale, 
 Whence buds might issue, fair and new : 
 Till tempering clouds were burned away, 
 And all the sky was Summer pale 
 Before the time ; the weeks passed by, 
 Dew ceased to fall and wells were dry, 
 
 XII. 
 
 Another noon my plants must die. 
 Half-blind with looking for the mist 
 Through sunset-fires that scorched the 
 brain, 
 I sought my couch with many a sigh, 
 Faithless as any atheist : 
 
 "It will not, will not, will not rain!" 
 I sobbed; but weeping, dropped asleep, 
 Or sank in tranced silence deep. 
 
MOTHER 379 
 
 XIII. 
 
 I say not Love the dream must keep 
 As verity ; nor, idly fond, 
 
 Would sacred truth with falsehood leaven : 
 But sleepers walk where athletes creep ; 
 And what may break the during bond 
 That brings the mother out of Heaven, 
 To prove and evermore make good 
 The tenderness of motherhood? 
 
 XIV. 
 
 And lo, within my sight she stood ! 
 She gravely gazed, she dimly smiled ; 
 Had well rebuked, — but all her heart, 
 As never heart of mortal could, 
 Within her melting for her child. 
 Seemed welling up to take my part, 
 Excuse the fault, the merit claim : 
 She might not praise, she would not blame. 
 
 XV. 
 
 But nearer, nearer while she came, 
 She brought, upon her open palms, 
 An earth-bound root, that angel-lore 
 Had surely named some hallowed name 
 Beneath inviolable calms, — 
 
 So white the single flower it bore. 
 And "Set the plant," she uttered low, 
 ''Among your other plants to grow." 
 
380 MOTHER. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 I took the glistening green and snow : 
 "Mother, I thank you," then I said ; 
 **I never saw a bloom so pure : 
 But tell me if the name you know." 
 
 Her eyes in mine their sweetness shed; 
 Soft was her voice as bells that lure 
 From far the wandering soul to prayer: 
 "The flower of Patience : give it care." 
 
 XVII. 
 
 Between us swam the dizzying air, — 
 I reached my arms, I lost the sight ; 
 Within my ear the music failed. 
 First darknesss ; then a scarlet glare ; 
 
 Burst the long thunder through the night. 
 Peal hurled on peal ; the wild winds 
 wailed ; 
 As though some Heavenly sea to drain. 
 Came down the rain ! came down the rain ! 
 
 1879. [Clifton Spa. Sanitarium, 1871.] 
 
■y-WLA^ 
 
 Q^(^'yy/t_JX,yn^l^cL CX- V-' / 
 
 ^r-jK^X-^ . 
 
RUBAIYAT OF SOLOMON 
 
 AND 
 
 OTHER POEMS. 
 
 1879 — 1896. 
 
Copyright, 
 
 Amanda T. Jones. 
 
 A. D. 1905. 
 
INSCRIBED 
 
 With immeasurable gratitude 
 
 and affection 
 
 To My Brothers : 
 
 Long known among men as 
 
 THE REV. RUFUS COOLEY 
 
 AND 
 
 WILLIAM COLLINS JONES: 
 
 Lovers of Holiness, Israelites indeed in whom was 
 
 no guile. 
 
 A. T. J. 
 
INTRODUCTION. 
 
 BY J. N. LARNED, 
 
 [Author of ''Seventy Centuries of the Life of 
 Mankind;' and editor of "History for Ready Ref- 
 erence and Topical Reading."] 
 
 When a poet invites me to associate my name 
 with her own, in such a volume of verse as this, 
 I cannot decline the honor, even though I must 
 take it by the assumption of an office which I 
 ought not to fill. Except in the modesty of her 
 own feeling, there is no reason for what seems 
 to be my presentation of Miss Jones to readers 
 who know her much better than they can pos- 
 sibly know me. It may be that her song is 
 more widely familiar than her name; since 
 much of it has gone unnamed, in the first in- 
 stance, to the world, and is cherished lovingly 
 in many memories, waiting for the personal as- 
 sociation which this book may afford. 
 
 To a considerable public the present collec- 
 tion of Miss Jones's poetical work may reveal 
 a new star in American literature ; but the poets 
 recognized her and welcomed her to their com- 
 pany at the beginning, almost, of her published 
 
VI INTRODUCTION. 
 
 writing. The little volume, of some twenty 
 years ago, that took a title from its leading 
 poem, *'A Prairie Idyl" (issued anonymously, 
 except in a few private copies), drew letters of 
 warm admiration from Whittier, Holmes, 
 Boker, Stoddard, Jean Ingelow, Austin Dob- 
 son, and many more, and was reviewed with 
 very hearty appreciation by the foremost crit- 
 ics of the day ; but an unfortunate fire destroyed 
 most of the edition and it went into not many 
 hands. It deserved a very different fate; for 
 nothing finer in thought, feeling, imagination, 
 phrasing or melody, is to be found in American 
 verse. The title poem is a perfect nature-picture 
 from the teeming West. Then, by a striking 
 change of note in the next poem, entitled *' Serv- 
 ice and Sacrifice," the most solemn impressive- 
 ness is given to a great religious thought; and 
 that is followed by a delicious modulation into 
 strains of tenderness in the third poem, "Fa- 
 ther" (the noblest in the book, for me) ; and so, 
 throughout, the emotional variations are mar- 
 vellously wrought. 
 
 In imaginative richness and power, .but not 
 in sweeter qualities, those poems are surpassed, 
 perhaps, by some which appeared in an earlier 
 volume, written mostly in the years of the civil 
 war, and inspired by the griefs, the hopes, the 
 heroic passions of that trial time. One poem 
 in the older collection, entitled "The Proph- 
 ecy of the Dead," written in April, 1861, can 
 
INTRODUCTION. VU 
 
 never have been read and forgotten by one who 
 had Hved through the emotions of that dread 
 month. 
 
 It is to be hoped that some day, not distant, 
 will give us a collected edition of the writings 
 of Miss Jones. What we receive now adds 
 largely and importantly to her poetical work, 
 especially in the historical quality which so 
 many of her lyrics have taken from the inspira- 
 tion of great events. "The Saving of an Em- 
 pire," dedicated to John Hay, and *Tanama," 
 are among the fine poems of recent years which 
 have that historical significance, and which 
 greatly enrich the book. 
 
 To say that a permanent high place in Ameri- 
 can literature belongs to the poem.s of Amanda 
 T. Jones is to express the judgment of many 
 whose critical opinion has vastly more weight 
 than mine. 
 
 Buffalo, N. Y., May, 1905. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Introduction 1 1 
 
 David Gray 15 
 
 RUBAIYAT OF SOLOMON. 
 
 Scroll I. 
 
 Labor without End 17 
 
 Desolation of the Wise 18 
 
 Scroll IL 
 
 Vanity of Greatness 20 
 
 Wisdom and Folly 22. 
 
 Portion without Labor 24 
 
 The Gifts of God 25 
 
 Scroll IIL 
 
 Times and Seasons 26 
 
 Equity in Judgment 28 
 
 Scroll IV. 
 
 Oppressors 30 
 
 The Miser 31 
 
 Union in Labor 31 
 
 The Multitude 32 
 
 Scroll V. 
 
 The Place of Worship ^^^t^ 
 
 God's Omniscience 34 
 
 Wealth and Poverty 35 
 
 Happiness 36 
 
 Scroll VI. _ 
 
 Possessions not Enjoyed 38 
 
 Life without Honor 38 
 
 One Place for All 39 
 
 Walking by Desire 39 
 
 Evil and Good 40 
 
 Scroll VII. 
 
 A Good Name 41 
 
Vlll CONTEXTS. 
 
 Scroll VII. — Continued. page 
 
 Wisdom in Sorrow 41 
 
 Patience under Oppression 42 
 
 Wisdom a Defence 43 
 
 Searching for Wisdom 46 
 
 Scroll VIII. 
 
 The King 48 
 
 Sentence Delayed 49 
 
 Judgment Mis-applied 50 
 
 The Work of God 51 
 
 Scroll IX. 
 
 Life and Death S3 
 
 The End of All 54 
 
 Joy in Life 54 
 
 Time and Chance 55 
 
 The Reward of Wisdom 56 
 
 Scroll X. 
 
 The Wisdom of Discretion 58 
 
 Government 61 
 
 Neglect 61 
 
 Feasting 62 
 
 The Wisdom of Secrecy 62 
 
 Scroll XI. 
 
 Charities 63 
 
 Light and Darkness 64 
 
 Judgment to Come 65 
 
 Scroll XII. 
 
 The Spirit 66 
 
 The Preacher 68 
 
 Deliverance 71 
 
 From a Far Contree 7^ 
 
 The Lady Gwyneth. 
 
 Part I 74 
 
 Part II 77 
 
 Part III 82 
 
 Glossary 89 
 
 Kansas Bird Songs. 
 
 A Mocking-Bird 91 
 
 The Thrush 92 
 
 The Purple Finch 93 
 
 Che-wink 96 
 
 The Red-Bird 97 
 
CONTENTS. IX 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Abigail Becker loo 
 
 Sea-Trout io8 
 
 Interludes. 
 
 My Little Wife no 
 
 A Lover to His Lady 113 
 
 Epithalam'ium 116 
 
 The Child 119 
 
 "King David" 121 
 
 Bugler Dunn 123 
 
 Vincent Archer 125 
 
 Mamie's Kisses 127 
 
 A Small Pessimist 129 
 
 Beauty 132 
 
 Coming Home 135 
 
 POSTLUDES. 
 
 Christmas Day 139 
 
 At the Ford 141 
 
 A New Commandment 143 
 
 Comforted 144 
 
 Made Manifest 144 
 
 Doors of Olive 146 
 
 A Christian 149 
 
 Field and Garden. 
 
 Food-Seekers 151 
 
 The Sensitive Brier 152 
 
 One of Many 153 
 
 Flowers and a Weed 154 
 
 DuLCISSIMvE. 
 
 Spirit of Benediction 161 
 
 An Evangelist 162 
 
 Victim and Victor 164 
 
 One Merciful 166 
 
 His Minister 167 
 
 The Life Beautiful 169 
 
 Friends Remaining 171 
 
 The Hereafter. 
 
 His Voice 17:; 
 
 At First 175 
 
 Afterward 176 
 
 Their Heavenly House i;8 
 
 Without the Gates 182 
 
 A Flower of Paradise 184 
 
X CONTENTS. 
 
 National and International. pace 
 
 America i88 
 
 The Saving of an Empire 190 
 
 Fort Riley i94 
 
 Hawaii iq8 
 
 "My Irish" I99 
 
 America to England 202 
 
 Panama 205 
 
 A Song of Peace 207 
 
 Finis 209 
 
DAVID GRAY. 
 
 I. 
 
 //, for a breathing-space, reprieved we were, 
 
 Who still in these dim-windozved prisons mourn,— 
 To Heaven's empurpled veils full high zverc borne. 
 Then should we see and evermore aver, 
 Slighter they are than sheerest gossamer. 
 
 Within, white souls, to souls from earth up-torn 
 Or loosed in slumber-time from bodies worn. 
 The all-sweet sacraments administer. 
 Into that lucency a poet passed. 
 
 Of whom men said: "There flits a woodland 
 bird, 
 "From Scotland blown— scarce ruffled in the blast! 
 
 Be still and seem as though we had not heard 
 And he will sing the more.'' . . . Oh, stillness vast, 
 Wherein nor voice nor wing of throstle stirred! 
 
 II. 
 
 Ah. let us dream! . . . And, being welcomed there, 
 JVifh gentle words low-murmured in the ear: 
 "Wait thou with us until our Lord draw near. 
 Who will appoint thee," — many a spirit fair 
 Came greeting him; and songs were in the air: 
 Till lie, forgetting self, all fain to hear, 
 Cried: "Soft your voices are and silver clear! 
 "Shall not these bards the very laurel wear?" 
 
 Then silence fell . . . Even as a wind tJiat Alls 
 The uuderboughs where buds zvcre held from 
 bloom. 
 The Lord passed through .... Rose such a voice 
 as thrills 
 The dullest ear: "Great Dante, out of gloom 
 "Delivered long! — Crowned poets on the hills!— 
 A poet comes to worship: give him room!" 
 
RUBAIYAT OF SOLOMON. 
 
 WILLIAM PRYOR LETCHWORTH. 
 
 [Doctor of Laws, Writer of Books, Director 
 of Charities, Dispenser of Benefits, Founder of 
 Philanthropies.] 
 
 God said : "As Living Springs his hfe shall 
 be- 
 Even as Rivers in a thirsty land 
 That make men glad ! — I putting forth the 
 hand 
 To lead the under-currents of the sea 
 Through mountains where the great rocks wait 
 for Me. 
 Them have I moved about : — Behold they 
 
 stand 
 As cups to hold that drainage of the sand. 
 Until I choose to set the waters free. 
 
 Should I withhold them, neither send my 
 dew 
 Upon the deserts, crusted with the salt. 
 How would My palm-trees perish where 
 they grew ! 
 For his delight, in whom I find no fault. 
 Still for his Poor, the Streams will I re- 
 new, — 
 Howbeit, among My sons, I him exalt." 
 
 February, 1906. 
 
RUBAIYAT OF SOLOMON. 7 
 
 HENRY L KENDALL. 
 
 [Providence, R. L, 1805-1883.] 
 
 L 
 
 A Voice went forth : — the stars heard and the 
 sea; 
 ''Shall laborers with their babes and zvives 
 
 lack bread, 
 And those I set above them, richly fed, 
 Bondage and bitterness for them decree?" 
 Then one made answer : ''Lord, I offer Thee 
 The service of my hands, my heart, my head, 
 My waking thoughts, my dreams upon my 
 bed. 
 Lest any suffer aught because of me." 
 
 Wherefore he cast out many a line to 
 plumb 
 The deeps of Commerce, lit the smelting 
 fires. 
 Set vats for seething, made his engines 
 hum 
 To whirl the belted wheel that never 
 tires, — 
 Till, where his working folk did go anc? 
 come, 
 Their merry speech was sweet as sing- 
 ing lyres. 
 
RUBAIYAT OF SOLOMON. 
 
 11. 
 
 Turn back and greet us, thou of trusty race ! — 
 Whose sires eight hundred years ago were 
 
 named 
 ''King's Keepers of the Dales";* — all un- 
 ashamed, 
 In halls and homes and hearts thy record trace. 
 Thou, of the stately mien, benignant face 
 And steadfast soul ! — who, whether praised 
 
 or blamed, 
 Spake only truth nor any one defamed, 
 Nor wrought for self nor sought for lofty 
 place. 
 Nay, rather let thy shadow fall before ! 
 Seem thou as one who hides a blinding 
 light : 
 For thou hast met the very Christ who 
 bore 
 That shameful cross, — hast walked the 
 burning height 
 With him, as did the prophets known of 
 yore,— 
 His face the sun, his raiment perfect- 
 white. 
 
 * This title, conferred by the early Norman Kings, 
 became by contraction the surname Kendall. 
 
RUBAIYAT OF SOLOMON. 
 
 III. 
 
 And, having greeted us, behold our need! 
 Did not thy lowly Master lean and touch 
 Those who were worn or burdened over- 
 much, 
 Or torn and scarred with many an evil deed ? 
 And did he not his desert-followers feed 
 
 That were an-hungered? — sweetly cleansing 
 
 such 
 As, being leprous, came his robe to clutch — 
 Whom yet the scorn of man condemned to 
 bleed?— 
 Giving those well-beloved and giving thee 
 That power of healing in the market- 
 place, 
 That wrath that bids the money-changers 
 flee,— 
 Accepting still the coin where Caesar's 
 face 
 Was stamped in honesty; — And shall not 
 we 
 Inherit also that abundant grace? 
 
lO RUBAIYAT OF SOLOMON, 
 
 AFTERTHOUGHTS. 
 
 But what of them who share God's rains and 
 suns, 
 Quaff sparkHng water, breathe dehghtsome 
 air 
 Wherethrough the winds dear Eden's per- 
 fumes bear, 
 And yet exult? . . . "Here Fortune's tor- 
 rent runs : — 
 What though it drown our neighbor's kine? 
 Who shuns 
 The swim for that?" . . . They, lurking, 
 
 set the snare : 
 "Should any chance thereby, let them be- 
 ware : 
 Shall we be holden for the foolish ones?" 
 
 Or say they pass to that far world instead : 
 Wilt thou confront them with that 
 crowned brow, 
 With majesty of lifted hand and head : 
 "Come ye for rest? How fare the 
 people now? 
 Did you of power and purpose stint their 
 bread 
 And to yourselves the wines of cost 
 allow?" 
 
RUBAIYAT OF SOLOMON. II 
 
 11. 
 
 Nay ! not with anger speak the Justified, 
 Where all the dews of Mercy are distilled : 
 But tenderly : "My brothers, let us build 
 A tabernacle on the mountain-side, 
 Where you that dark unrighteousness may hide 
 Whose frost so many beauteous gardens 
 chilled : 
 Till you be named (your cleansing-time ful- 
 filled) 
 Keepers of those who in the Dales abide. 
 
 Where, sick with want, the angry toilers 
 throng, 
 You, breathing peace, shall walk the 
 stony street; 
 Shall enter where the plotting ones belong 
 (With whom you plotted!) — there 
 their strength defeat; 
 Shall, weeping, share with all whom you 
 did wrong. 
 Your sacramental Wine and Bread most 
 sweet. 
 
 February, 1906. 
 
12 RUBAIYAT OF SOLOMON. 
 
 SHEKINAH. 
 ITo a Valued Friend.] 
 
 To each his faith, his visions, thoughts and 
 creeds. 
 You, laden with your oil and wafers, wait 
 Beside the broidered hangings of the gate. 
 That final hour when Israel's offering bleeds. 
 Nor will the bullock fail, whoever leads. 
 To feel the priestly hands that consecrate 
 For sacrifice; and on the brassen grate 
 Burn, with your wheaten flour, for sinful deeds. 
 Low rests a cloud between the cherubim, 
 And GoD^ beyond endurance, shines 
 revealed. . . . 
 I, drawing near, mark how the flames 
 grow dim; 
 **Come forth !" I cry : ''Let not your 
 eyes be sealed! — 
 O, w^alk with me ! — No less revering Him, 
 Whose white Shekinah flowers on every 
 field!" 
 
 February, 1906. 
 
RUBAIYAT OF SOLOMON. 1 3 
 
 THEY WHO WRITE. 
 I. 
 
 Oh, the plastic worlds and the forces high ! — 
 
 Forever the cosmic lightnings fly 
 
 From orbit to orbit, from sky to sky, 
 
 In irreducible splendor; 
 
 And nothing of all that is sifted or wrought. 
 
 Or molten or niolden, or globed and caught 
 
 As dew by the leafage tender, — 
 No throb of the heart, no innermost thought. 
 But is seized and held when the flash comes 
 nigh ! 
 Each particle, poised on the verge of nought — 
 Emblazoned therewith — to the Seeing Eye, 
 Its radiographs must render! 
 
 IT. 
 
 A thin, pure Element, violet-bright 
 Is Helium — beautiful wraith of Light! 
 So faintly affined with the sense of sight, 
 We well nigh miss the glory. 
 No less — when the gorgeous orange day, 
 With slow vibrations, flows our way, 
 
 It falls, on glaciers hoary, — 
 Melts through to the sward and the deep, red 
 clay, 
 
14 RUBAIYAT OF SOLOMON. 
 
 Slips into the earth's hot heart of might, 
 Then out where the flitter-bats darkly stray, 
 While the half-world swinrjs in a trance of 
 night — 
 
 Stone-deaf to song and story. 
 
 III. 
 
 And there that Energy, born of the sun, 
 On the glittering molecules, one by one, 
 Will write of the smouldering fires begun. 
 Their swift, supernal surging; — 
 Will picture the comets that streamed alone, 
 By winds terrific, through aether blown. 
 
 From swirling mists diverging; 
 Will show how the seeds ofstars were sown. 
 
 How the holy curtains of Heaven were spun ; 
 Nay ! paint the prophet with tables of stone 
 (Lest tribes in the desert be all for-done!), 
 Through Sinai's cloud emerging. 
 
 IV. 
 
 But oh, that orb of the human brain ! 
 Partaker with God in the infinite gain 
 Of crush and fusion, passion and pain, 
 
 When mind and flesh are blended! 
 When the jubilant sons of the suns draw near, 
 To watch where a Spirit, through gulfs of fear, 
 Soars up — its conflict ended ! 
 
RUBAIYAT OF SOLOMON. 1 5 
 
 It speeds — an Essence, a Thoug-lit made clear 
 
 Enkindles the worlds that else were vain : 
 
 On all their atoms, while souls revere, 
 Writes out that glyphic Scripture plain: 
 
 The Scribbler's Club, Buffalo, N. Y., 
 March 26, 1906. 
 
l6 RUBAIYAT OF SOLOMON. 
 
 A SONG OF JOY. 
 [For Music] 
 I. 
 I saw a mother red-bird swing 
 
 Upon a rosy tree : 
 With but a single tune to sing, 
 She taught her song to me: 
 '7oy! Joy! Joy!" 
 "Joy! Joy! Joy!"— 
 So glad, so glad was she! 
 
 11. 
 Maybe she heard her nestlings call : 
 
 "The rain begins to pour; 
 The wind is high, we fear to fall, — 
 Come show us how to soar !" 
 "Joy! Joy! Joy!" 
 "Joy! Joy! Joy!" 
 She sang, she sang the more! 
 
 III. 
 O, happy mother, up in Heaven, 
 
 Keep singing — far or near : 
 And I — though spheres be one or seven, 
 Though skies be dark or clear — 
 Joy! Joy! Joy! 
 Joy! Joy! Joy! 
 Will climb and climb to hear ! 
 
 April 17, 1906. 
 
RUBAIYAT OF SOLOMON. 
 
 Third King of Israel. 
 1015—977 B. c. 
 
 SCROLL I. 
 Labor without End. 
 
 I. 
 
 Hear what the Preacher, son of David, saith 
 All is but vanity and idle breath ! 
 
 What profit hath a man for labor done? 
 For all is vanity from birth to death. 
 
 11. 
 
 Man's generations pass — remaineth none 
 But earth abideth still ; also the sun 
 
 Ariseth, goeth down and to his place 
 Whence he arose, hasteth the shining one. 
 
 III. 
 
 The wind that goeth South a little space, 
 Toward the North, turneth about his face; 
 
 Whirling continually returneth he 
 And in his circuits doth the earth embrace. 
 
1 8 RUBAIYAT OF SOLOMON. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Lo, all the rivers run into the sea 
 
 Yet is the sea not full! — therefrom set free, 
 
 Into the place from whence the rivers run 
 Do they return, each one in his degree. 
 
 V. 
 
 For all is labor underneath the sun : 
 Man cannot utter it; the eye of none 
 
 Is satisfied with seeing, nor the ear 
 Yet filled with hearing that Vv^hich hath been 
 done. 
 
 VI. 
 
 The thing that hath been, shall again appear. 
 Of what may it be rumored far or near : 
 
 See ! — this is new ! — a miracle revere ! 
 Foolish are they that speak and they that hear. 
 
 Desolation of the Wise. 
 I. 
 
 Hear, Israel ! I the King of David's line, 
 Preached in Jerusalem of things divine. 
 
 I gave my heart to seek and search them 
 out. 
 By wisdom moved to make all knowledge mine. 
 
RUBAIYAT OF SOLOMON. IQ 
 
 11. 
 
 Seeking within the temple and without, — 
 Concerning all things yet w^as I in doubt. 
 
 God giveth unto man this travail sore, 
 So to be exercised and tossed about. 
 
 III. 
 
 I have seen all the works done heretofore 
 And know that vanity is all their store. 
 
 That W'hich is crooked cannot be made 
 straight, 
 That wanting aught cannot be numbered more. 
 
 IV. 
 
 I with my heart communed : What shall abate 
 My glory? I am come to great estate. 
 
 Above all men of knowledge I am chief : 
 Yea, in experience my heart is great! 
 
 V. 
 
 All is vexation! as the flying leaf 
 Wisdom and folly pass, — their time is brief. 
 
 Behold, much wisdom maketh desolate! 
 Increasing knowledge man increaseth grief. 
 
20 RUBAIYAT OF SOLOMON. 
 
 SCROLL IL 
 Vanity of Greatness. 
 
 L 
 
 Go to, my heart ! thee will I prove with mirth. 
 Enjoy thy pleasure; take thy fill of earth; 
 
 To madness and to mirth thyself resign : — 
 This, too, is vanity and nothing worth. 
 
 IL 
 
 Say thou of all delights: Lo, they are mine! 
 Therewith I sought to give myself to wine. 
 That I with wisdom might my heart ac- 
 quaint 
 I let my steps to folly's w^ays incline. 
 
 IIL 
 
 So, laying hold on folly with restraint 
 Of wisdom, — while the laborers made com- 
 plaint 
 I sought to know that which was good for 
 them ; 
 What maketh to rejoice and what to faint. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Greater was I than all of royal stem : 
 Neither might any man my works condemn : 
 
RUBAIYAT OF SOLOMON. 21 
 
 Also I had possessions over all 
 Aforetime dwelling in Jerusalem. 
 
 V. 
 
 Houses I had within the city wall ; 
 
 Upon the hills much cattle great and small ; 
 
 Gardens with pools and orchards manifold 
 Whose w^atered trees all kind of fruit let fall. 
 
 VI. 
 
 I gat me servants, — none their number told, 
 Bo^n in my house : silver I had and gold 
 
 And the peculiar treasure of the kings 
 And provinces : — did none their gifts withhold. 
 
 VII. 
 
 I gat me the delight that music brings: 
 Women and men — yea, every voice that sings ! 
 All instruments, the greatest and the least : 
 Their sound v/as like the roar of mighty wings. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 On the delights of men my heart did feast ; 
 Neither desire of sweets nor pleasure ceased ; 
 
 Also my wisdom still remained with me. 
 So I was great and greatly I increased! 
 
22 RUBAIYAT OF SOLOMON. 
 
 IX. 
 
 Within my courts did all men bow the knee; 
 I hid not what mine eyes desired to see; 
 
 My heart rejoiced at every work begui: — 
 That joy in labor should my portion be. 
 
 X. 
 
 Then did I look on all my labors done. 
 The works my hands had finished — every one. 
 Their memory was as the winds that flee 
 There was no profit underneath the sun! 
 
 Wisdom and Folly. 
 
 I. 
 
 To wisdom, madness, folly turned I then : 
 After the king what work is left for men ? 
 Or how shall joy in labor them incite 
 What is already done to do again? 
 
 II. 
 
 Wisdom excelleth folly far as light 
 Excelleth darkness. If the sun be bright 
 
 How are the foolish blinded ! Yet the wise 
 May in his presence walk, nor veil the sight. 
 
RUBAIYAT OF SOLOMON. 23 
 
 III. 
 
 The fool in darkness walketh. Lo, mine eyes 
 Perceived this also : Underneath the skies 
 Is one event that happeneth to all, — 
 Neither can wisdom any help devise. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Then said I in mine heart : It doth befall 
 To me, who builded high the city wall. 
 
 As to the fool. In what have I surpassed ? 
 If foolish or if wise, shall none recall 
 
 For all shall be forgotten as the blast 
 That smote the tree, or as a shadow cast 
 
 Upon the field — a raven going by. 
 The wise man dieth as the fool at last. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Therefore I hated life: Or low or high, 
 Nothing but vanity could I descry. 
 
 Grievous is this : Man's time of labor past, 
 His works shall perish and his memory die. 
 
24 rubaiyat 01^' solomon. 
 
 Portion without Labor. 
 
 I. 
 
 I hated all on which my store was spent — 
 My palaces, my places of content, — 
 
 Yea, all the books I wrote that men might 
 know 
 How great was I — of these I did repent. 
 
 11. 
 
 The man that cometh after me will show 
 My works for his and on my greatness grow : 
 So, with my light his darkness to disguise, 
 He reapeth for himself where I did sow. 
 
 ni. 
 
 Therefore I went about with many sighs. 
 Desiring to despair! . . A man most wise 
 
 In equity, yet leaveth his estate 
 To one who all his labor did despise. 
 
 IV. 
 
 What profit doth the laborer await? 
 
 His days are sorrows and his travail great : 
 
 Even in the night he resteth not, — his eyes 
 Beholding still the things he did create. 
 
rubaiyat of solomon. 2^ 
 
 The Gifts of God. 
 
 I. 
 
 For man is nothing better than to eat 
 And drink and make his soul with labor sweet. 
 It is God's hand, whereby we walk aright. 
 That I may feast, no man hath swifter feet! 
 
 II. 
 
 If any man find favor in His sight, 
 
 He giveth wisdom, knowledge and delight : 
 
 Yet to the wicked giveth travail sore, 
 And for the sinner's good doth sin requite. 
 
 III. 
 
 This is the sinner's labor evermore : 
 To gather and heap up nor spend the store. 
 What though the sun ariseth, crowned 
 with might? 
 His eyes are downward, — how should he adore ! 
 
26 RUBAIYAT OF SOLOMON. 
 
 SCROLL IIL 
 
 Times and Seasons. 
 
 L 
 
 To everything its season : There shall be 
 A time to every purpose and decree; 
 
 A time to live, to die, the Preacher sailh ; 
 A time to plant and to pluck up the tree. 
 
 IL 
 
 A time to kill and to revive the breath, 
 
 To heal the stricken heart that sorroweth. 
 
 To break down and to build, to suffer pain, 
 To weep, to laugh, to mourn because of Death. 
 
 IIL 
 
 A time to dance, to gather in the grain : 
 Stones to cast down and stones upon the plain 
 To gather up that kings may there abide; 
 A season to embrace and to refrain. 
 
 IV. 
 
 A time to get, to keep, to cast aside, 
 
 To rend the robe, to sew, to walk in pride, 
 
 To speak and not to speak, to love, to hate, 
 To war, to rest in peace well satisfied. 
 
RUBAIYAT OF SOLOMON. 2/ 
 
 V. 
 
 What profit hath a man in his estate, 
 Not knowing who shall enter at his gate, 
 
 Inheriting that which his hands have 
 wrought ? 
 Howbeit, God giveth man this travail great! 
 
 VI. 
 
 He hath made all things beautiful, — hath 
 
 brought 
 Each in his time to grow or come to nought, 
 From the beginning even to the end; 
 Yet none have found Him out of all who 
 
 sought. 
 
 vn. 
 
 There is no good I know but to depend 
 On labor, to rejoice and to befriend 
 
 The poor, the sick, the widow in distress, 
 Do good and eat and drink and none offend. 
 
 vni. 
 
 It is the gift of God wherewith to bless 
 Them that fear Him and walk in uprightness. 
 His work shall be forever : nothing more 
 Can any put thereto, nor make it less. 
 
2S RUBAIYAT OF SOLOMON. 
 
 IX. 
 
 That which hath been, is now : Shall men im- 
 plore 
 
 The dead to rise, whom they to burial bore? 
 Or plead with Death that he should make 
 redress ? 
 
 God doth require the past and all restore. 
 
 Equity in Judgment. 
 
 I. 
 
 Under the sun I saw the Judgment-place : 
 There wickedness had lifted up his face; 
 
 Yea, in the place where righteousness 
 should dwell 
 The judges did iniquity embrace. 
 
 II. 
 
 Then said I in my heart : God judgeth well 
 The good that fear, the wicked that rebel ; 
 
 The time for every purpose He doth 
 know, — 
 Who lack in wisdom, who therein excel. 
 
 III. 
 
 God mij^bt make maiiifest to all below 
 Plow poor is man's estate! Instructed so 
 And having knowledge, they themselves 
 might see 
 That they are beasts and into darkness go. 
 
RUBAIVAT Oi' SOLOMON. 2(J 
 
 IV. 
 
 Subject to one commandment and decree, 
 Even as the beasts that perish man shall be : 
 That which befalleth them doth him be- 
 fall : 
 All have one breath and in their death agree. 
 
 V. 
 
 All are of dust, to dust return they all : 
 They go unto one place, beyond recall. 
 
 So that a man hath no pre-eminence 
 Over the ox that dieth in the stall. 
 
 VI. 
 
 The spirit of a man hath excellence : 
 
 It goeth upward to the place from whence 
 
 It came: and shall he not rejoice herein? 
 The spirit of a beast goeth not hence. 
 
 VII. 
 
 Then I perceived that nothing good hath been 
 Save to be glad and keep himself from sin. 
 Neither let man to knowledge make pre- 
 tence, 
 But joy in labor for his portion win. 
 
30 RUBAIYAT OF SOLOMON. 
 
 SCROLL IV. 
 Oppressors. 
 
 I. 
 
 When to my meditations I returned, 
 Under the sun oppressions I discerned. 
 
 Behold the tears of such as are oppressed ! 
 To comfort them my heart within me burned. 
 
 IL 
 
 Oppressors in authority were dressed: 
 Therefore I praised the dead which are at rest 
 More than the Hving which are yet aHve. 
 Better, who hath not lived, nor evil guessed! 
 
 in. 
 
 Then I considered all for which men strive: 
 Lo, they that thrive not envy them that thrive. 
 The fool in idleness his hands will fold, 
 Eat his own flesh nor any good contrive. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Better with quietness a handful hold, 
 
 Than, both hands full, and yet be unconsoled. 
 
 What joy in labor will the rich derive 
 Who vex their spirits but to gather gold ? 
 
rubaiyat of solomon. 3 1 
 
 The Miser. 
 
 I. 
 
 I saw but vanity under the sun : 
 
 Then I considered further . . . There is one, 
 
 Alone, who hath no second, neither child 
 Nor brother, and no labor doth he shun. 
 
 11. 
 
 With heaping riches are his eyes beguiled. 
 Whom hath he fed ? w^hat neighbor reconciled ? 
 Neither saith he : This only have I done : 
 I have bereaved my soul and am reviled. 
 
 Union in Labor. 
 
 I. 
 
 Two laboring together have reward : 
 For if one falieth, fainting on the sward, 
 The other lifteth him upon his feet. 
 Work without fellowship is work abhorred. 
 
 II. 
 
 If two shall lie together they have heat. 
 Yea, two a strong oppressor may defeat : 
 
 Not quickly broken is a three-fold cord ;- 
 Therefore is brotherhood in labor sweet. 
 
32 rubaiyat of solomon, 
 
 The Multitude. 
 
 I. 
 
 A king, grown old will let no man advise: 
 Better a child from prison, poor and wise. 
 
 One cometh out of poverty to reign : 
 One, born a king, will no possessions prize. 
 
 II. 
 
 Then I considered all that seek for gain, — 
 The second ones that in their stead obtain : 
 
 They come, they go, of men there is no 
 end — 
 They that have been and they that yet remain. 
 
 III. 
 
 They also that come after, they who rend 
 The robe because one dieth, — even his friend 
 
 Who did rejoice in him and praise ordain, 
 Shall, with the multitude to death descend ! 
 
RUBAIYAT OF SOLOMON. 33 
 
 SCROLL V. 
 The Place of Worship. 
 
 L 
 
 Go to the house of God, yet keep thy feet 
 From seeking out the most exaUed seat. 
 
 Be thou more ready holy things to hear 
 Than to give sacrifice of oil and meat. 
 
 IL 
 
 Fools offer sacrifice and nothing fear, 
 Not knowing they are evil. Draw thou near 
 To God, but not with hasty utterance: 
 He is in Heaven : do thou on earth revere. 
 
 UL 
 
 So let thy words be few : Shall one advance 
 By multitude of words? Or, if perchance 
 Through multitude of business one shall 
 dream, 
 Can a fool's prophecy God's word enhance? 
 
 IV. 
 
 Hold not thy vows to God in light esteem : 
 If thou defer to pay them thou shalt seem 
 
 Even as the fools in whom no joy He hath. 
 That which thou owest pay : thy vows redeem. 
 
34 RUBAIYAT OF SOLOMON. 
 
 V. 
 
 Better thou shouldst not vow than suffer scath 
 Because of lies! Let truth attend thy path. 
 
 Forbid thy mouth to cause thy flesh to sin 
 Lest God destroy thy labors in His wrath. 
 
 VL 
 
 Lo, dreams and divers vanities have been! 
 But think not thou thy flesh from death to win. 
 All are cut down as weeds in time of 
 math. 
 Fear God : be clean without and clean wuthin. 
 
 God's Omniscience. 
 
 I. 
 
 When to oppress the poor the proud agree, 
 And in a province wicked judges be — 
 
 Perverting judgment, overthrowing right 
 With violence, be certain God doth see. 
 
 IL 
 
 Higher than they His ministers of light. 
 Who in His courts the griefs of men recite. 
 Yea, higher than the highest one is He 
 Who overlooketh judgment day and night! 
 
rubaiyat of solomon. ^5; 
 
 Wealth and Poverty. 
 
 I. 
 
 The earth for every man doth profit yield, 
 The king himself is served by the field. 
 
 Who loveth silver is not satisfied 
 With silver, though he hath great store con- 
 cealed. 
 
 11. 
 
 He that abundance loveth, having tried 
 Earth's luxuries nor been of aught denied, 
 
 Desireth more and cannot be at peace 
 Till all be spent and poverty abide. 
 
 III. 
 
 And if, by any chance, men's goods increase 
 They are increased that eat them: What re- 
 lease 
 Have they from toil? What pleasure do 
 they gain 
 Save the beholding? How shall sorrow cease ? 
 
 IV. 
 
 Whether the laboring man eat or refrain 
 
 His sleep is sweet: but they who have domain 
 
 Sleep not. Behold, this is an evil sore 
 That any, to their hurt, should wealth retain! 
 
36 RUBAIYAT OF SOLOMON. 
 
 V. 
 
 Riches kept for their owners are no more 
 Than hurt to him who gathered in the store. 
 
 His son is born with nothing in his hand, 
 Because of evil travail gone before. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Naked he came for whom the swaddling band 
 Was ready, — naked still, at Earth's demand, 
 Shall he return and carry nought away, 
 This also, is an evil in the land. 
 
 VII. 
 
 He, that hath labored for the wind, will stay 
 No longer than the wind. Lo, every day — 
 While sorrow, sickness, wrath he must 
 withstand, — 
 He eateth bread in darkness and dismav! 
 
 Happiness. 
 I. 
 
 Behold, this have I seen and understood! 
 For one to eat and drink and take the good 
 
 Of all his labor, this is man's estate. 
 Yea, and to dwell with men in brotherhood. 
 
RUBAIYAT OF SOLOMON. 2>7 
 
 11. 
 
 God giveth each his portion soon or late: 
 If one have wealth and riches without rate. 
 
 So let him eat and drink even as he should : 
 Remembering little, for his joy is great. 
 
3.8 RUBAIYAT OF SOLOMON. 
 
 SCROLL VL 
 
 Possessions not Enjoyed. 
 
 L 
 
 Under the sun an evil I have found : 
 One man for wealth and honor is renowned, — 
 All that his soul desired he hath achieved : 
 Yet are his days and nights with sorrow 
 crowned. 
 
 IL 
 
 He perisheth — his hunger unrelieved; 
 A stranger eateth what his hands received. 
 Evil is this disease : that one abound 
 Whom of his power to eat God hath bereaved. 
 
 Life without Honor. 
 
 I. 
 
 If any man not good shall live on earth 
 And, after, have no burial — wanting worth, 
 Though he an hundred children should be- 
 get 
 Better than he is an untimely birth. 
 
RUBAIYAT OF SOLOMON. 39 
 
 11. 
 
 He Cometh in with vanities beset. 
 Under the sun walketh in darkness yet, 
 
 Laboreth not, dehghteth not in mirth, 
 Departeth and his name all men forget. 
 
 One Place for All. 
 
 I. 
 
 Yea, though he live a thousand years twice told, 
 A fool will never any good behold! 
 
 Do not all men go to one place at last. 
 As sheep that shepherds drive into the fold? 
 
 II. 
 
 To labor for the mouth and yet to fast, 
 Knowledge to win, yet no event forecast, 
 
 Even so it is with all. The poor and old 
 Who nothing have, in nothing are surpassed. 
 
 Walking by Desire. 
 
 I. 
 
 Better are seeing eyes than wandering feet. 
 Men, walking by desire, vexation meet. 
 
 Is not man known? Can he his Maker 
 cheat. 
 Or yet contend before the judgment seat? 
 
40 rueaiyat of solomon. 
 
 Evil and Good. 
 
 I. 
 
 Seeing that things do vanity increase 
 And till his death no man may find release, 
 In what is he the better ? Let him eat, 
 Enjoy his portion and abide in peace! 
 
 II. 
 
 Who knoweth what for man is good and meet 
 All his vain days, — the bitter or the sweet? 
 What shall be after him when life shall 
 cease — 
 Spent as a shadow in the time of heat ? 
 
RUBAIYAT OF SOLOMON. 4I 
 
 SCROLL VIL 
 
 A Good Name. 
 
 L 
 
 Better than precious ointment a good name ; ^ 
 More sweet than spikenard is a just man's 
 
 fame. 
 Glad was the day in which the man-child 
 
 came ; 
 More glad the day of death, if without shame. 
 
 Wisdom in Sorrow. 
 
 L 
 
 Better is grief than feasting : Go thy way 
 Unto the house of mourning,— there survey 
 The end of all mankind : for it is well 
 The living to his heart this truth should lay. 
 
 IL 
 
 Sorrow excelleth laughter : None may tell 
 What hour he also with the dead must dwell. 
 
 By sadness of the countenance, the heart 
 Is turned to God that did from Him rebel. 
 
42 RUBAIYAT OF SOLOMON. 
 
 III. 
 
 The wise man chooseth still the better part, 
 But if, within the house of mirth, thou art 
 
 Among the fools, better than song shall be 
 The wise rebuke that woundeth as a dart. 
 
 IV. 
 
 As crackling thorns, under the pot, set free 
 Their sparks that straightway into darkness 
 flee, 
 Even so the laughter of the fool doth start ; 
 And all his works with vanity agree. 
 
 Patience under Oppression. 
 
 I. 
 
 Oppression maketh mad. Who shall with- 
 stand 
 
 By wisdom the despoilers of the land ? 
 
 Lo, gifts destroy the heart! Wouldst 
 thou befriend? 
 
 With recompense of labor fill the hand. 
 
 11. 
 
 Than the beginning better is the end. 
 Better to bear with patience than contend ; — 
 
 To stoop and toil beneath the weary load, 
 Than, proud in spirit, scorn the neck to bend. 
 
RUBAIYAT OF SOLOMON. 43 
 
 III. 
 
 Let not the evil deed to anger goad : 
 
 In the fool's bosom seeds of anger sowed 
 
 Bear thorns for harvest. Be thou wise in 
 wrath 
 Lest God destroy thee from His high abode. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Say not: Behold the world great sorrow hath 
 
 Which was not so before ! Men suffered scath 
 
 Aforetime even as now : Lighten their 
 
 load ; — 
 For them and for thyself make smooth the 
 
 path. 
 
 Wisdom a Defence. 
 
 I. 
 
 Wisdom is good with an inheritance 
 For by it there is profit, if perchance 
 
 Men see the sun, nor blindly make pre- 
 tence. 
 How shall they miss the way who so advance ? 
 
44 RUBAIYAT OF SOLOMON. 
 
 11. 
 
 Wisdom is a defence and a defence 
 Is money, being gaiiied with innocence. 
 
 But wisdom giveth life and maketh great. 
 Therefore is knowledee full of excellence. 
 
 III. 
 
 The work of God consider; Lo, thy fate 
 
 Is in His keeping! Who can make that 
 
 straight 
 Which He hath crooked made, or aught 
 
 destroy 
 Before His time for making desolate. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Be thy prosperity a time of joy: 
 But if adversity thy thoughts employ. 
 
 Consider : God hath knowledge when to 
 bless : 
 Kor will the gold endure without alloy. 
 
 V. 
 
 Tliere is that perisheth in righteousness. 
 There is that liveth long and doth oppress. 
 
 Be thou not wise nor righteous overmuch, 
 Lest thou destroy thyself and nought possess. 
 
RUBAIYAT OF SOLOMON. 45 
 
 VI. 
 
 Nor overmuch be wicked. See thou clutch 
 No neighbors' goods ; nor with thy finger touch 
 Things that defile, even as the foolish 
 would : — 
 Before their time to die sin slayeth such. 
 
 VII. 
 
 Thou shouldst take hold of this, for it is good. 
 Fear God and live with all in friendlihood. 
 Yea, also, not from this withdraw thinjg 
 hand : — 
 They shall come forth who evil have withstood. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Strengthened with wisdom a wise man shall 
 
 stand 
 Against ten chosen men — a mighty band 
 
 From out the city. Though a man be just 
 He cannot say : No evil have I planned : 
 
 IX. 
 
 For all do sin and in their folly trust . . . 
 Hear not the w^ords that curse thee lest thou 
 
 must 
 One of thy very servants reprimand, — 
 Through whom thy curses were as arrows 
 
 thrust. 
 
46 rubaiyat of solomon. 
 
 Searching for Wisdom, 
 
 I. 
 
 This have I proved by wisdom. Though I 
 
 said : 
 I will be wise, yet wisdom from me fled. 
 
 Lo, that which is far off, exceeding deep, 
 Who can find out and bring to light instead ! 
 
 11. 
 
 As one who seeking wisdom, cannot sleep 
 I did from sloth my nights and mornings 
 keep: 
 That I the reason of all things might 
 know, — 
 Why men in folly sow, in madness reap? 
 
 III. 
 
 Than death more bitter that enticing foe 
 Whose heart is snares and nets; who reacheth 
 
 so 
 Her hands, as bands they girdle men 
 
 around. 
 As for that woman's house, therein is woe! 
 
RUBAIY.AT OF SOLOMON. 47 
 
 IV. 
 
 Who pleaseth God escapeth : They abound 
 Whom she hath snared. Behold, this have I 
 found : 
 Among a thousand counting one by one, 
 One man of grace, for purity renowned! 
 
 Among a thousand women found I none. 
 My soul found only this when all was done : 
 God made men upright, — yea, with beauty 
 crowned ! 
 But after strange inventions they have run. 
 
48 RUBAIYAT OF SOLOMON. 
 
 SCROLL VIIL 
 The King. 
 
 Who as the wise man, by considering, 
 Can give interpretation to a thing? 
 
 Wisdom will make the countenance to 
 shine 
 Change his bold face, — thereto all meekness 
 bring. 
 
 IL 
 
 The oath of God regarding, be it thine 
 To keep the king's commandment nor incline 
 To hasten from his sight. Stand thou not 
 in 
 A\^ith evil men when they his hurt design. 
 
 in. 
 
 He doeth what he pleaseth and wherein 
 
 He hath transgressed who may rebuke the sin 
 
 Or any punishment to him assign? 
 The wise discern when judgment should begin. 
 
rubaiyat of solomon. 49 
 
 Sentence Delayed. 
 
 Because to every purpose time is set 
 And till his season judgment halteth yet, 
 
 Therefore the misery of man is great, 
 For lack of knowledge doth despair beget. 
 
 11. 
 
 No man hath power to bid the spirit wait 
 Till he shall death desire : nor will debate 
 
 Arrest the falling sword. And in that war 
 Is no discharge, — all share the self-same fate. 
 
 III. 
 
 Neither shall wickedness deliver nor 
 The fear of God. Builder and counsellor 
 Shall perish with whatever is begun,- 
 The laborer and that he labored for. 
 
 IV. 
 
 When I applied my heart, that which was done 
 I saw : yea, every work beneath the sun. 
 
 If one will rule, cometh a season when 
 He ruleth to his hurt, beloved of none. 
 
50 RUBAIYAT OF SOLOMON. 
 
 V. 
 
 The wicked who had come and gone again 
 From where the place was holy, saw I then 
 Buried, forgotten where they so had 
 wrought, — 
 Their strength put by that was the strength 
 of ten. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Because a sentence rendered is not brought 
 To speedy execution, seeming nought, 
 Set to do evil are the sons of men : 
 A.nd innocence is sold and judgment bought. 
 
 Judgment Mis-applied. 
 
 I. 
 
 Though one do evil many times nor cease 
 From doing evil and his days increase, 
 
 It shall be well with them, I surely know 
 That fear the face of God who giveth peace. 
 
 11. 
 
 But with the wicked it shall not be so, 
 Who fear not God nor yet in wisdom grow : 
 Neither shall man himself his days pro- 
 long. 
 That as a moving shadow come and go. 
 
RUBAIYAT OF SOLOMON. 51 
 
 III. 
 
 This is a vanity : Amidst the throng 
 There be just men who will not compass 
 wrong. 
 It happeneth to these whom none condemn 
 As they were wicked men — oppressors strong. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Again tliere be who dip the garment's hem 
 In guiltless blood nor any evil stem : 
 
 As they were righteous even from their 
 birth, 
 Honored they dwell within the tents of Shem. 
 
 V. 
 
 Then I perceived the beauty and the worth 
 That shall abide : Men have upon the earth 
 No better thing than this, God giveth 
 them — 
 To eat and drink ! And I commended mirth. 
 
 The Work of God. 
 I. 
 
 When I applied mine heart to know aright 
 (For there is One that neither day nor night 
 
52 RUBAIYAT OF SOLO.MCN. 
 
 Hath rest, nor seeth slumber with his 
 eyes ) , 
 The work of God w^as hidden from my sight. 
 
 IL 
 
 For w^hether He doth bid the mountains rise 
 Or bringeth clouds or maketh broad the skies 
 Or spreadeth out the sea or givetH light, 
 It is His work : therein is no man wise. 
 
RUBAIYAT OF SOLOMON. 53 
 
 SCROLL IX. 
 
 Life and Death. 
 
 L 
 
 For I considered : There is no man great : 
 Righteous and wise, the works their hands 
 create 
 Are in the hand of God. What shall be- 
 fall— 
 Perceiving not — they cannot love nor hate. 
 
 IL 
 
 For one event comcth alike to all, 
 To righteous and to wicked, great and small, 
 Clean and unclean, — them that bring sac- 
 rifice 
 And them that lead no ox from out the stall. 
 
 in. 
 
 To them that swear and swear not, that en- 
 tice 
 The hearts of men to evil with a price. 
 
 Madness is theirs : at last they, stumbling, 
 fall 
 Among the dead, with whom is no device. 
 
54 RUBAIYAT OF SOLOMON. 
 
 The End of All. 
 
 I. 
 
 For there is hope of one who Hveth yet : 
 A Hving dog, should any foe beset, 
 
 Is better than a Hon that is dead. 
 How should that carcass any fear beget ? 
 
 11. 
 
 The living know the measure of the bed 
 Where they shall lie, but they that sleep in- 
 stead 
 Can know not anything nor have reward. 
 They are forgotten as the worm they fed. 
 
 III. 
 
 Also shall they whose hearts were in accord 
 And they who hated, lie beneath the sward, 
 One in corruption, to corruption wed. 
 None to another saith : My king and lord ! 
 
 Joy in Life. 
 I. 
 
 Yet go thy way and eat thy bread with joy, 
 Yea, drink thy wine with merriment ; employ 
 Thine hands in service, at thy lord's be- 
 hest. 
 God will accept thy works nor thee destroy. 
 
RUBAIYAT OF SOLOMON. 55 
 
 11. 
 
 White as the snows of Hermon be thy vest: 
 Let not thy head lack ointment of the l)est. 
 
 Live joyfully with her, thy chosen wnfe :— 
 Thy labor shall be sweet and sweet thy rest. 
 
 IIL 
 
 Better than sword or sacrificial knife, 
 The tools of labor, — neither stirring strife, 
 Nor causing grief nor giving babes af- 
 fright. 
 War not and be thy fields with plenty rife. 
 
 IV. 
 
 And since thou knowest not when death shall 
 
 smite, 
 Do what thou hast to do with all thy might : 
 For in the grave is neither hope nor life 
 Nor work nor understanding nor delight. 
 
 Time and Chance. 
 L 
 
 Then I returned and saw under the sun 
 Nut to the sw^ift, what time the race is run. 
 
S6 RUBAIYAT OF SOLOMON. 
 
 But to the steadfast — toiling span by 
 span : 
 Nor to the strong the battle that is won. 
 
 11. 
 
 The wise lack bread; riches forsake the mai 
 Of perfect understanding: Neither can 
 
 The skillful one get favor in his need. 
 All happeneth by chance, — there is no plan! 
 
 III. 
 
 Man knoweth not his time nor giveth heed. 
 As fishes that are taken where they feed 
 
 In evil nets, as birds where fowlers ran 
 To set the snare, — so men whom follies lead. 
 
 The Reward of Wisdom. 
 
 I. 
 
 Tliis wisdom have I seen that seemeth great: 
 There was a little city; to its gate 
 
 A great king came who did encamp there- 
 by. 
 Determining to make it desolate. 
 
RUBAIYAT OF SOLOMON. 57 
 
 11. 
 
 Therefore, besieged with bulwarks great and 
 
 high, 
 The few therein might not that host defy. 
 Now did one, poor and wise, deUverance 
 
 plan, 
 And saved the city, — nor did any die. 
 
 III. 
 
 While they rejoiced their wine as water ran.^ 
 Howbeit none remembered that same man! 
 
 Humble and poor, in misery he died. 
 Yet he is wise wdio doeth what he can. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Then said I : Only wisdom shall abide ; 
 Strength is to age and feebleness allied : 
 
 Not less the poor man's wisdom men de- 
 spise, 
 And, without listening, his words deride. 
 
 V. 
 
 In quiet heard, the sayings of the wise 
 Are more than his who ruleth men wath cries 
 And shoutings from the palace-porches 
 wide, — 
 Destroying good and slaying men with lies. 
 
58 RUBAIYAT OF SOLOMON. 
 
 SCROLL X. 
 The Wisdom of Discretion. 
 
 I. 
 
 Dead flies will make the precious ointment 
 
 stink. 
 So one of whom no man doth evil think, 
 
 Will for a little folly honor sell, 
 And mix with bitter herbs his daily drink. 
 
 IL 
 
 A wise man's heart guardeth his right hand 
 
 well. 
 The evil heart that prompteth to rebel 
 
 At the left hand will guide the fool astray. 
 Who, that he is a fool, to all will tell. 
 
 IIL 
 
 And if the ruler whom thou shouldst obey 
 In spirit rise against thee, see thou stay; 
 
 For yielding pacifieth all oflfence : 
 Nor do thou to his charge thy folly lay. 
 
RUBAIYAT OF SOLOMON. 59 
 
 IV. 
 
 Yet evil have I seen proceeding thence : 
 Folly is set in dignity from whence 
 
 The rich are thrust ; servants on horses sit 
 And princes walk, nor any gifts dispense. 
 
 V. 
 
 He that for other men doth dig a pit, 
 Shall, as a stumbling ox fall into it. 
 
 Whoso doth break a hedge, him serpents 
 bite : 
 Nor shall the Judge his punishment remit. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Whoso removeth landmarks from the sight, 
 With his own field his neighbor's to unite, 
 Shall suffer hurt thereby ; one cleaving 
 wood 
 Shall be endangered : set thine axe aright. 
 
 VII. 
 
 And if he whet not iron as he should 
 Then must he put more strength to make it 
 good. 
 Wisdom is profitable to direct, — 
 Against the sharpened axe no tree hath stood. 
 
60 RUBAIYAT OF SOLOMON. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Surely unless enchantment take efifect 
 Serpents will bite, nor any man respect : 
 
 So is the babbler when he babbleth lies : 
 None may from slanderers himself protect. 
 
 IX. 
 
 Gracious the mouth of him whose words are 
 wise : 
 
 One, knowing nought, much evil may sur- 
 mise; 
 
 A fool himself will swallow with his lips, 
 
 That so his foolishness he may disguise. 
 
 X. 
 
 Even as one who in the darkness trips, 
 IMischievous madness doth his mind eclipse 
 
 And also he is full of words, — a man 
 Can nothing find, who. in that water dips. 
 
 XL 
 
 What shall be after him whose life began 
 In folly, and who laboreth as he can. 
 
 Wearying all : on every path he slips, — 
 AM^.ich way to go he hath no wit to plan. 
 
RUBAIyAt of SOLOMON. 6 1 
 
 Government. 
 
 I. 
 
 Woe unto thee, O land, when for thy king 
 Thou hast a child! Then will thy princes 
 cling 
 As leeches, and the law of God trans- 
 gress — 
 Eating all night : It is an evil thing. 
 
 11. 
 
 Blessed art thou, O land, whose long distress 
 Thy king, a son of nobles, doth redress : 
 
 Thy princes, in due season banqueting. 
 Shall eat for strength and not for drunkenness. 
 
 Neglect. 
 
 Though thou build greatly, so that all men say 
 *Tt is a palace: here the princes stay," 
 
 Yet afterward be slothful, day by day 
 It droppeth through and all its beams decay. 
 
62 rubaiyat of solomon". 
 
 Feasting. 
 
 I. 
 
 A feast is made for laughter; yea, and wine 
 Increaseth merriment. Thy giiests assign 
 
 Each to his place ; and if the cost be thine, 
 Money will answer all. Eat nor repine. 
 
 The Wisdom of Secrecy. 
 
 I. 
 
 Not even in thy thought curse thou the king, 
 Nor in thy chamber whisper anything 
 
 Against the rich man: lest a bird take 
 wing 
 Carry thy voice and all the matter sing. 
 
RUBAIYAT OF SOLOMON. 63 
 
 SCROLL XL 
 
 Charities. 
 
 L 
 
 Cast bread upon the waters, go thy ways 
 And thou shalt find it after many days. 
 
 With seven, with eight divide, lest God 
 
 decree 
 A time when thou shalt faint, with none to 
 
 raise. 
 
 IL 
 
 If clouds be full of rain, they as a sea 
 Empty themselves on earth; and if the tree 
 Fall to the North or South, in that same 
 spot 
 Whereon it falleth, there the wood shall be. 
 
 in. 
 
 He that the wind observeth, soweth not. 
 He that regardeth clouds the winds begot 
 
 On high, shall reap not that which hath 
 been sown. 
 Can man their purpose and their path allot? 
 
64 RUBAIYAT OF SOLOMON. 
 
 IV. 
 
 What is the spirit's way thou hast not known : 
 Nor how, one being with child, the bones are 
 
 grown 
 Within the womb. With God alone is 
 
 power, — 
 Howbeit His works to thee He hath not shown. 
 
 V. 
 
 Sow in the morning, in the evening hour 
 Thine hand withhold not: Cometh heat or 
 
 shower. 
 Yet here or there the harvest shall be 
 
 mown. 
 Thou knowest not whether this or that will 
 
 flower. 
 
 Light and Darkness. 
 
 Truly the light is sweet. When night is done, 
 It is a pleasant thing to see the sun. 
 
 Live many years, rejoice in all : But none 
 Shall count thy days of darkness, one by one ! 
 
rubaiyat of solomon. 65 
 
 Judgment to Come. 
 
 I. 
 
 Rejoice, O young man in thy youthful days, 
 Let thy heart cheer thee, — still on folly gaze: 
 
 Walk in the vision of thine eyes and be 
 Content with vanity and foolish praise. 
 
 II. 
 
 But know, for all these things God judgeth 
 
 thee: 
 Therefore put sorrow from thine heart and see 
 
 The evil of thy flesh. Be all thy ways, 
 For them that follow, from the pitfalls free. 
 
66 RUBAIYAT OF SOLOMON. 
 
 SCROLL XIL 
 
 The Spirit. 
 
 L 
 
 In youth remember thy Creator now 
 While evil days come not nor sayest thou: 
 
 I have no pleasure in them : Neither sigh : 
 What good remaineth? God hath stripped the 
 bough. 
 
 IL 
 
 Or ever yet the evil years draw nigh. 
 Or sun or light or moon within the sky 
 
 Be darkened not, nor clouds return again 
 After the rain, what time the clouds went by. 
 
 in. 
 
 The keepers of the house shall tremble when 
 The day approacheth and the mighty men 
 
 Shall bow themselves; then shall the 
 grinders cease : 
 Those at the window shall be darkened then. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Doors shall be shut and in the streets be peace : 
 None at the grinding shall the meal increase : 
 
RUBAIYAT OF SOLOMON. 6/ 
 
 He shall rise up when the bird's voice 
 doth call, — 
 From that commandment shall be no release. 
 
 V. 
 
 They that love music — yea, her daughters 
 
 all!— 
 Shall be brought low ; and also they that fall 
 Along the way, afraid of what is high. 
 Fears shall confront and dangers shall appall. 
 
 VI. 
 
 The almond tree shall flourish nor deny 
 Its bitter fruit. The grasshopper shall lie 
 
 A burden on the breast ; desire shall fail : 
 Yet he perceiveth not that he must die. 
 
 VII. 
 
 Because a man, stricken in years and frail 
 Goeth to his long home, the mourners wail 
 About the streets and none with them con- 
 dole. 
 Against that foe what weapon shall prevail? 
 
 VIII. 
 
 That which is broken cannot be made whole. 
 Turn thou or ever God require thy soul, 
 
68 RUBAIYAT OF SOLOMON. 
 
 Or loose the silver cord that bindeth fast 
 Spirit with flesh, or break the golden bowl, 
 
 IX. 
 
 The broken pitcher by the fountain cast, 
 The wheel beside the cistern : At the last 
 
 Dust shall return to earth, — thou to thy 
 goal. 
 God gave to thee a spirit, — this thou hast. 
 
 The Preacher. 
 
 I. 
 
 Behold the vanity of vanities — 
 The folly and the sum of secresies ! 
 
 For all is vanity, the Preacher saith : 
 Moreover he was wise in mysteries. 
 
 11. 
 
 That he might solace one who laboreth 
 All day and in the evening sorroweth, 
 
 The people — yea, the poor ! — he sought to 
 teach. 
 Counsel is sweet and knowledge comforteth. 
 
RUBAIYAT OF SOLOMON. 69 
 
 III. 
 
 Them to refrain from sin he did beseech. 
 With words acceptable, their hearts to reach, 
 He set in order proverbs old and new — 
 That they should render justice each to each. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Wise words as goads with valor men imbue : 
 They are as nails, fastened when builders hew, 
 
 That, by the master of assemblies thrust, 
 (Given from one shepherd!) keep the timbers 
 true. 
 
 V. 
 
 My son, be thou admonished : Folly must 
 Be taught of wisdom : — Be thy sayings just. 
 Of making many books there is no end. 
 Study is weariness, — for flesh is dust. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Hear the conclusion of the matter: Spend 
 Thy days with God; He only doth befriend. 
 
 Men to that Judge must every secret trust, 
 Whether the work be worthy or offend. 
 
DELIVERANCE. 7 1 
 
 DELIVERANCE. 
 
 Prefatory: Addressed to Francis F. Browne, Editor 
 The Dial; Poet, Critic and Friend. 
 
 Strange weeds the ocean-paths redeem: 
 Me-seems of Summer Uowers they dream, 
 And tremble with desire to share 
 That glory of the orchids fair 
 That have no bitterness to dree. 
 They are as poems yet to be, 
 Whose haunts may none but poets guess. 
 
 Or if, on sandy reaches b*are. 
 Futile and frail and blossomless, 
 
 Washed clean of salt, the red they wear 
 By any wonderful decree — 
 As fountain naiades, possess 
 A faint, elusive loveliness — 
 Not one shall with the rose compare! 
 
 II. 
 
 Belike, where mever billozvs swell. 
 With monsters of the deep they dwell, 
 Glimmer in phosphorescent light. 
 Nor know of stars and spaces white. 
 
 Yet, by some whirlzvind, black of blee, 
 Whose mighty arms take up the sea, 
 Mayhap they shall be lifted high, 
 
 For great deliverance none too slight, — 
 Borne through the all-embracing sky 
 Where rush the raptured spirits bright 
 That out from battle-trenches flee, — 
 Cast down, in golden light to lie, 
 Dimly to dream and sweetly die 
 And be, as poems, lost to sight! 
 
72 RUBAiyAt of SOLOMON. 
 
 IMPRISONMENT. 
 
 [Inscribed May 22, 1882, upon the Ay-leaf of^ "A 
 Prairie Idyl" for Francis Fisher Browne, Editor of "The 
 Dial." Transcribed by him for this collection.'] 
 
 Among thy treasures, this be one: 
 
 Oh, not because of merit rare! 
 My sea- fronds rooted where the sun 
 
 Was darkly veiled; — they budded there 
 
 Unkissed by any wandering air. 
 
 II. 
 
 Yet keep them, long as heart shall beat: 
 For bitter was the task to face 
 
 The blinding spray, the surf -rush fleet. 
 The calm of many a treacherous place 
 To snatch therefrom their doubtful grace. 
 
 III. 
 
 Shut in this flask, be thine to trace 
 Proud Poesy's empurpled veins. 
 
 Within the crystal's narrow space, — 
 She dumbly throbbing in her chains, 
 Dwarfed as the Djinnee — cramped with pains. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Too long her king- enchanter reigns 
 And leaves the magic zvord unsaid! 
 
 If one her prisoned soul disdains. 
 
 Say thou: "That hour the seal is shred. 
 Wide as the heavens her wings will spread." 
 
FROM A FAR CONTREE. 73 
 
 FROM A FAR CONTRfiE. 
 
 He lighted and louted and bent his knee 
 But never his visor uphfted he : 
 "Sweet Ladye — too sweet for a mortal to be — 
 So please you, mount blithely and ride with 
 me." 
 
 They paced wdiere the knights held the tourney 
 
 great 
 (The swords in their hands v.ere a leaden 
 
 weight!) ; 
 They rode till they rode through the postern 
 
 gate: 
 None saw them returning or soon or late. 
 
 Said one : "He came out from a far contree : 
 "A lordlier Presence may no man see." 
 One vowed him a king : But they all agree 
 That never his visor uplifted he. 
 
 And will she abide where the salt seas beat? 
 Sit high on a throne when the proud lords 
 
 meet ? 
 Ride merrily forth on a palfrey fleet? — 
 Ah, waly and woe for the Ladye sweet! 
 
 [Princess Charlotte: Heir to British croimi: 
 1796-18 17.] 
 
74 RUBAIYAT OF SOLOMON, 
 
 THE LADY GWYNETH. 
 
 A Romance Embodying Beliefs and Super- 
 stitions of Midland England in the 14th Cen- 
 tury. 
 
 Part I. 
 
 Was never one of mortal mold, 
 Withouten guile, save Mary's son. 
 
 Knight Eardwulf slew Earl Athelwold 
 Who had his lady's favor won. 
 
 Was never sinner woman-born, 
 That did not woeful penaunce dree : 
 
 Between the middle night and morn 
 A grimly dwarf did Eardwulf see. 
 
 A sullen goblin wild and wight, 
 
 With mantel red and gleaming mail 
 
 I trow it was his wone to fight 
 
 And cause the sons of men to quail ! 
 
 "Rise up, rise up fromward thy bed. 
 
 Rise up straight- forth and come with me; 
 For thou shalt be my thrall," he said,* 
 
 "A thousand fathom under sea. 
 
THE LADY GWYNETH. 75 
 
 ''Before the forge there shalt thou swmk, 
 To shape the sword for treacherous deed, 
 
 The tears shall salt thy draff y drink ^^ 
 And thou on horrid flesh shalt feed. 
 
 ''Hew gat ve leave my soul to slay 
 
 And drag me down with fiends to den? 
 
 "Oh, thou hast long forborne to pray 
 Or honor him who died for men! 
 
 "Thou art pollute with brother's death : 
 Ne didst thou keep thy marriage-oath, 
 
 For thou wert false to fair Gwyneth 
 Or ever she had broken troth." 
 
 Uprose Knight Eardwulf from his rest, 
 In gloomy cote himself he dight, 
 
 Ne not with baldrick dipt his breast. 
 But gat him, groaning, with the spright. 
 
 It was not horse whilk they bestrode, 
 It was no beast of flesh and bone: 
 
 Withouten whip or spur he yode, 
 
 He neighed as he were Satan's own. 
 
 A demon-creature shod with flame. 
 He strak the flint as he were wode : 
 
 A fire from out his nostrils came, 
 
 As coals his burning eyeballs glowed, 
 
/O RUBAIVAT OF SOLOMON. 
 
 Most like the rolled thunder-wain 
 That pounding of his mighty feet. 
 
 As one thrust through with mortal pain, 
 So did Knight Eardwulf loudly greit. 
 
 ''O Mother Mary, virgin white, 
 
 Gif thou art queen of earth and sky, 
 
 Save thou my soul, defoulen quite, 
 Ere cursed place it cometh nigh !" 
 
 Nathless did none that creature let : 
 
 Eftsoons earth shook and yawned wnde. 
 
 Together all his hooves he set 
 
 And through the sliftered hill gan slide. 
 
 Oh, dreary, dreary was the way 
 Down to the goblin's prison-pen ! 
 
 Well deep and steep it went astray, 
 All slippy w ith the blood of men ! 
 
 And dolesome, dolesome was the din 
 Up-roaring from the pit foreby : — 
 
 I wis, all men had feared sin 
 
 To hear yon earthling clepe and cry! 
 
 Oh, he hath left the flowery haunt. 
 
 The fresh, green herb, the silvern strand, 
 
 -\nd he must herd with demons gaunt 
 That hurl the scathly levin-brand ! 
 
THE LADY GWY^'ETII. 7/ 
 
 And he w ith girning elf must carp, 
 Full oft the hell-born creatures feed; 
 
 And he must forge the weapons .-.harp 
 That maken goodly knights to bleed! 
 
 ''Ye wilsome spright, now tellen true 
 Gif long I tarry here and yearn!" 
 
 "Oh, thou shalt bide till welkin blue 
 With sun at middle-night shall burn ! 
 
 "And thou shalt bide till grisly Death 
 
 Is starven in his castle-keep; 
 And thou shalt bide till false Gwyneth 
 
 Shall come and on thy bosom weep ! 
 
 ''And thou shalt bide till Athelwold 
 Hath won meek maiden Mary's smile, 
 
 Hath gotten armor all of gold 
 
 And kissed the man withouten guile!" 
 
 Part 11. 
 
 Oh, sweet the holy chaunterie 
 Where masses oft bin said, 
 
 iVnd sweet the breath of Charitee 
 Out-praying for the dead ! 
 
78 RUBAIYAT OF SOLOMON. 
 
 Full sweet when service-bells do ring 
 The voice of monk and nonne : 
 
 *'Kyrie Eleyson !'' so they sin.s:: 
 **Have mercy, Mary's son!" 
 
 And veray sweet the love, I weet, 
 
 Our lady hath for all: 
 But Jhesu's love is honey-sweet, 
 
 That saveth great and small! 
 
 Hath dured a year, a w^eary year, 
 A tw^elf-month and a day, 
 
 Syn Athelwold, with sundered spear 
 For-cleft in combat lay. 
 
 Syn low he slept in dim chapelle. 
 
 Most pityful to see! 
 Ne heard the noise of clanging bell 
 
 Wherefrom the devils flee. 
 
 His weapons good beside him put, 
 Disturbled nought his rest, — 
 
 The fire and earth at head and foot, 
 The salt upon his breast. 
 
 About his froren body stood 
 The waxen candles white: 
 
 While monks upheld the holy rood 
 And prayed from morn till night. 
 
THE LADY GWYNETH. 79 
 
 Ah, knight so brave, to lie in grave, 
 
 Unhouseled, slain in ire! 
 Ah, save him, Christ, who died to save! — 
 
 How must he feel the fire ! 
 
 A bitter year, a rueful year, 
 
 Gwyneth, on bended knee, 
 Hath called on Mary-mother, dear, 
 
 Whose prayers mote set him free. 
 
 Each morn her flesh the scourge hath felt 
 
 And she hath fasted oft, — 
 For penaunce worn the thorny belt 
 
 To hurt her body soft. 
 
 Gif haply she aggrace might win, 
 
 Hath slept on jagged scree : 
 New she is cleansed of her sin 
 
 And houseled worthilee. 
 
 Upon the cross wdiere Jhesu hung 
 
 Oh, she hath sw^oren well, 
 To wake this night the dead among, 
 
 All in the lone chapelle ! 
 
 And she will pray for Athelwold 
 
 Asleep beneath the stone, 
 And she will pray for Eardwulf bold 
 
 Wherver he may wone. 
 
80 RUbAiyAT of SOLOMON. 
 
 Deep in the middle of the night — 
 Was neither moon ne star : 
 
 Gan shine a great and dredely Hght — 
 High up it was and far. 
 
 As though a-thwart the welkin wide 
 God's hand a sun had whirled, 
 
 So did that selcouth dawn abide, — 
 It raught from sky to world. 
 
 Rolled off the carven stone that lay 
 Full long on knightly breast ! 
 
 As he had slept but yesterday, 
 Rose up the dead from rest. 
 
 Stood up from stead of shrouded bed 
 
 The ghostly Athelwold : 
 *'Laud be to Mary's son!" he said, 
 
 "That is so sweet and bold! 
 
 ^'Within my breast a living breath 
 He breathy d soft and deep : — 
 
 Stark-star ven lyeth grisly Death 
 All in his castle-keep! 
 
 "Long in the furnace did I burn. 
 Long time in anguish greit, 
 
 For that I wedded wyf did turn 
 With counsail evil-sweet. 
 
THE LADY GWYNETH. 8l 
 
 "Algates I heard amid the din 
 
 From gobHn-land foreby, 
 Where they must v/rawle that nursle sin, 
 
 Knight Eardwulf weep and cry. 
 
 ''And now he prayed to Mary maid 
 
 And now did long for death, 
 And now — sore-shent with demon-blade 
 
 He namyd fair Gwyneth. 
 
 "This hour was stalwart angel sent, 
 And he was blithe and grand, — 
 
 Me out of hellish trap he hent, 
 And griff of devil's hand. 
 
 *'0 lady, thou hast gotten grace! 
 
 Rise up from bended knee; 
 Go thou, and seek that wretched place — 
 
 Deep-delven under sea. 
 
 "Lead up that poor, mis-happy knight, — 
 
 Him cheer with wyvely kiss. 
 Gif he with wrothful elf must fight, 
 
 I shame to bide in bliss?" 
 
 Oh, holy-sweet the chaunterie 
 Where oft the mass is said. 
 
 And sweet the heart of Charitee- 
 That beateth for the dead ! 
 
82 RUBAIYAT OF SOLOMON. 
 
 Full sweet to hear at dawn of day 
 The voice of monk and nonne : 
 
 *'Christe Eleyson?" do they say: 
 *'Thou crucified one!" 
 
 And sweet the love that bendeth knee 
 
 Above the buried breast: 
 But they, that for the living dree, 
 
 Sweet Jhesu loveth best. 
 
 Part III. 
 
 So ugsome bin the fiends of night, 
 
 So terryble and swart of blee, 
 They haten sight of hallowed light, 
 
 From sound of blessed bell they flee. 
 
 Yet in their Dismal, well I ween 
 Is One whose love can never sleep. 
 
 Gif He should make them fair and clean. 
 For joy the savyd souls would leap. 
 
 The lady girdeth for the quest : 
 
 Claspeth the beads Knight Eardwulf gave; 
 Hideth the rose within her breast 
 
 He gatheryd from a martyr's grave. 
 
THE LADY GWYNETH. 83 
 
 She steppeth out, she peereth far : — 
 It is a fearsome night and black: 
 
 Beholdeth neither moon ne star, 
 
 Ne lire of marsh ne glow-worm track. 
 
 She turneth South, she turneth West, 
 She turneth to the North Contree : 
 
 Across some hidden mountain's breast 
 A blood-red road she gins to see. 
 
 Good sooth their courage must not fail, 
 Who follow Mary's dearworth son! 
 
 I wis it is some devil's trail, — 
 Yet will the lady walk thereon! 
 
 Alas, she listeth harrying feet 
 Of wolves on wold and wastorel! 
 
 Loud scritcheth many a demon fleet 
 That hath his wonning deep in hell. 
 
 Across the sky a wind doth roar; 
 
 Ne in its bed will ocean keep : 
 A frightsome wave doth burst a-shore 
 
 And over heath and hillock sweep. 
 
 Against her heart the waters beat, — 
 
 The lady suppeth bitter brine; 
 From out the Hft a spiteful sleet, 
 
 Fell-cruel, stingeth face and eyne. 
 
84 RUBAIYAT OF SOLOMCN. 
 
 Nathless she telleth rosarie, 
 
 Her precious rose she guardeth well : 
 
 Brave as Saint Winifred is she, 
 
 Whom neither prince ne sword might quell. 
 
 Thrice-blessed Jhesu heareth prayer : 
 
 The Eagre rolleth back a-pace; 
 Bloweth a soft and gentle air 
 
 As she were in some flowerie place. 
 
 Oh, sikerly, the far chapelle, 
 
 With blissful wights is thronged full! 
 
 Loud, loud doth ring the beaten bell 
 With never mortal nigh to pull! 
 
 Me-seemeth Mary, throned a-height, 
 Her contrite daughter loveth well : — 
 
 Agasted flee the fiends of night; 
 They enter at the doors of hell. 
 
 Fore-nenst that rift bin set the cross : 
 Black, black the doors a-low that lead! 
 
 Who follow there must tholen loss; 
 I wis, of many wounds they bleed ! 
 
 Soothly Gwyneth hath gotten grace! 
 
 She entereth in where demons strive : 
 They hurl them over head-long place, 
 
 No villainie they durst contrive. 
 
THE LADY GWYNETH. 85 
 
 Abhorreth she to wander down 
 
 From happy hearth and castle-tower, 
 
 From holy shryne and busy town, 
 
 From meadow green and bird in bower. 
 
 Up-cometh many a noise of dread : — 
 Within the cloven mountain pent, 
 
 Her heart is heavy as the lead, 
 
 Sharp rocks her tender flesh have rent. 
 
 Her belt of thorn hath fallen free ; 
 
 The rose is from her bosom caught ; 
 Gone is her blessed rosarie — 
 
 Each bead of holy olive wrought. 
 
 Weepeth the ladye: ''Gif to-night 
 
 "I perish here in derneful stead, 
 Knight Eardwulf, toren from delight 
 
 Must bide till trump shall wake the dead!" 
 
 Deep-groaneth she and maketh moan : 
 'Thou Holy Ghost whom all do fear — 
 
 Disdaining not in Hell to wone — 
 
 Help me to save mine husband dear!" 
 
 Beameth a glory overhead 
 
 Her steep and perilous path to show : 
 Uneath a ruddy light doth spread 
 
 From where the roaring forges glow. 
 
86 RUBAIYAT OF SOLOMON. 
 
 Oh, she hath crossed that brig o' sand 
 That spanneth Satan's pitchy lake, 
 
 And she hath won to gobUn-land, 
 Ne will, for all its horrors quake ! — 
 
 Hath passed where loathly beasts abound 
 (On spilth they feed of battle bold!) 
 
 And that unseely knight hath found 
 That slew the gentle Athelwold ! 
 
 With many tears him kisseth she, 
 
 She holdeth fast his grimy hand : 
 ''O husband, thou must come with me 
 
 To smell the flowers of Engle-land ! 
 
 "Thou shalt be fed on wastel-bread — 
 Ne drink wroth-hail with cursed spright. 
 
 That precious blood, on Calvary shed. 
 Will flow a-fresh to wash thee white !" 
 
 Quoth wicked goblin, dour and grim : 
 
 'Though Mary's self should deave mine ear, 
 
 Or ever she should loosen him. 
 
 His heart should feel the stithied spear ! 
 
 "Forth get thee up to Christen strand ! 
 
 But gif thou shrink the coals to tread. 
 Or gif thou sink through brig o' sand, 
 
 Thou'rt mine till trump doth start the dead !" 
 
THE LADY GWYNETH. 87 
 
 "O Dwarfie, smeared with the rud! 
 
 I gess, before ye ravyned here, 
 Ye well were drunken on the blood 
 
 That did not spill from wolf or deer. 
 
 *'I rede ye seek the pitying One! 
 
 Mayhap, full riche in goodly-head, 
 He pardoneth even elves for-done, 
 
 Gif they repent their murders red : — 
 
 "Sithence they too are fallen men, 
 And He is still their loving Lord. 
 
 But this, mine husband, well I ken 
 
 Mine houseled soul his life shall ward!" 
 
 Oh, they have crossed the stenchy land, 
 Where flaming beasts unquenched lie, 
 
 Have trodden many a hurled brand. 
 Nor gotten any hurt thereby! 
 
 About her knight the lady sweet 
 
 Hath Icckt her arms lest he should trip. 
 
 And they have crossed, with flying feet. 
 That brig where-through the guilty slip! 
 
 But oh, the steep and sliding scarp! — 
 Nathless tw^ay thewy hands most white, 
 
 Y'thrust with cruel nails and sharpe, 
 Upliften them from height to height. 
 
88 RUBAIYAT OF SOLOMON. 
 
 The whiles a tendre voice they hear : 
 ''Gif that in soothfast love ye keep, 
 
 True knight and lady lief and dear. 
 In Heaven ye shall my lilies reap!'' 
 
 Oh, they have spied the singing bird 
 That springeth up at break of day ; 
 
 And they the sweet, sweet bell have heard 
 That calleth Christen folk to pray! 
 
 Have seen the smoking censer borne 
 Where singers worship Mary's son : — 
 
 **Christe Eleyson!" still they mourn; 
 "Save us, thou crucified one!" 
 
 And they have kneleden hand in hand 
 W'ell savyd from the wrack of hell : 
 
 God keep His herd on everie strand 
 From treacherie and murder fell ! 
 
 White, white the doors that upward lead, 
 And white bin they that pass thereby; — 
 
 Snow-white the pitying ones that bleed 
 Lest any sinful soul should die. 
 
 But who so w^onderous white as He 
 That wonneth with the demons deep? 
 
 When He hath made them bright of blee 
 I trow, for joy, they loud must weep ! 
 
 Withouten ween He loveth all : 
 
 But a3^e shall faithful man and wife 
 
 With Mary walk in snowT pall, 
 With Jhesu break the bread of life. 
 
THE LADY GVVYNETH. 89 
 
 GLOSSARY. 
 Agasted— Aghast. 
 Aggrace — Grace. • 
 
 A-height— On high. 
 Algates — Always. 
 Baldrick — Belt for weapons. 
 Bin— Plural or pp. of be singular. 
 Blee — Complexion, appearance. 
 Brig — Bridge. 
 
 Chaunterie — Chapel for masses. 
 Clepe — Call for aid. 
 Christe Eleyson— O, Christ, have mercy. 
 Dearworth — Most precious. 
 Derneful — Solitary, mournful. 
 Dight — Dressed. 
 
 Dismal— A noun, signifying hell. 
 Disturbled — Disturbed. 
 Dour — Unyielding. 
 Draffy— Filthy. 
 Dredely — Inspiring awe. 
 Dree — To suffer. 
 
 Eagre or Eygre— A great tidal wave. 
 Eftsoons — Quickly. 
 Foreby — Very near. 
 For-cleft— Cut through. 
 For-done — Ruined. 
 Fore-nenst — Over against. 
 Froren — Cold, frozen. 
 Gif— If. 
 
 Girning — Grinning as with a snarl. 
 Goodly-head — Goodness and beauty. 
 Greit — Weep. 
 Griff — Grip, grasp. 
 Grimly — Ferocious. 
 Grisly — Terrible. 
 Harrying — Roaming for prey. 
 Hent — Snatched. 
 
 Houseled — Having partaken of the Lord's Supper. 
 Kyrie Eleyson — O, Lord, have mercy. 
 Let — Hinder. 
 
 Levin-brand — Lightning. 
 Lift— Sky. 
 Lief— Kindly. 
 
90 RUBAIYAT OF SOLOMON. 
 
 Nathless — Nevertheless. 
 
 Nursle — Nurse, cherish. 
 
 Pall — A coronation robe. 
 
 Quell— To kill. 
 
 Raught — Reached. 
 
 Rede — Advise. 
 
 Rud — Thick gore, blood. 
 
 Scarp — A steep slope. 
 
 Scathly— Hurtful, deadly. 
 
 Scree — Rough pebbles. 
 
 Scritch — To shriek wildly. 
 
 Selcouth — Miraculous. 
 
 Shent — Slashed, cut. 
 
 Sikerly — Surely. 
 
 Soothly — Truly. 
 
 Soothfast — Loyal. 
 
 Sliftered — Riven, split. 
 
 Spright — Goblin: disembodied spirit. 
 
 Stark-starven — Stripped and dead. 
 
 Starven — Dead. 
 
 Stead — Place. 
 
 Stithied — Forged upon an anvil. 
 
 Swink — Toil. 
 
 Swart — Black. 
 
 S^'n — Since. 
 
 Tholen— To suffer. 
 
 Thunder-wain — Thunder-wagon. 
 
 Ugsorne — Revolting, hideous. 
 
 Uneath — Underneath. 
 
 Unseeiy — Utterly mis-i^rable, wicked. 
 
 Wastel-bread — Made of finest wheat flour. 
 
 Wastorel — Waste land. 
 
 Whilk— Which. 
 
 Wilsome — Obdurate. 
 
 Wight — a — Nimble (n.), a spirit. 
 
 Withouten ween — Doubtless. 
 
 Wode— Mad. 
 
 Wone, n. — Wont, custom. 
 
 Wone, V. — To dwell. 
 
 Wonning — Dwelling, abode. 
 
 Wrack— Destruction. 
 
 Wroth-hail — Converse of wassail. 
 
 Wrawle — To wail as a cat or panther. 
 
KANSAS BIRD SONGS. 
 
 A MOCKING-BIRD. 
 
 I. 
 
 Yon mocking-bird that singing soars, 
 Borrows his Httle music-scores 
 And mimics every piping tone 
 By sylvan lovers lightly blown 
 To make his morning gladness known, — 
 Till down that molten silver pours, 
 Globule on globule, fast and faster : 
 Dare any blame the blithe tune-master 
 Who counts all minstrelsy his own? 
 
 IL 
 
 But daylight ended, — then indeed, 
 As jet by jet a wound will bleed 
 
 His very singing self breaks through ! 
 Even so (lost Eden shut from view), 
 Some wildered soul to sighing new, 
 When human lips first touched the reed — 
 Heart-pierced with rending love and sorrow 
 Breathed notes too god-like sweet to borrow. 
 So, poet, shall it be with you. 
 
 The Century Magazine. 
 
 Tzventiefli Century Classics. 
 
9^ RUBAIYAT OF SOLOMON. 
 
 THE THRUSH. 
 
 I. 
 
 Through half a June day's flight, 
 Upon the prairie, thirsting for the showers 
 The cactus-blooms and prickly poppies 
 white, 
 The fox-gloves and the pink-tinged thimble- 
 flowers 
 Drooped in the Lord's great light. 
 Now suddenly, straight to the topmost spray 
 Of a wild plum-tree (I thereunder lying). 
 
 Darted a thrush and fifed his roundelay 
 W'himsey on whimsey, not a stave denying. 
 Quoth I : 'Trom regions measureless miles 
 away, 
 ''He hears the soughing winds and rain-clouds 
 flying ; 
 And gathering sounds my duller ears re- 
 fuse. 
 He sets the rills a-rush 
 This way and that to ripple me the news 
 (Right proud to have his little singing say!), 
 x\nd brings the joy to pass with prophesying." 
 So gladly trilled the thrush ! 
 
 n. 
 
 Soon was I made aware 
 Of his small mate that from the Judas-tree 
 
THE PURPLE FINCH. ^,3 
 
 Dropped softly, flitting here and flitting 
 there, 
 And would not seem to hear or seem to see. 
 
 He, in that upper air, 
 All mindful of her wayward wandering, 
 (Primrose and creamy-petaled larkspur bending 
 And yellow blossomed nettle, prone to 
 sting!), 
 Shook out his red-brown wings as for descend- 
 ing 
 But lightly settled back, the more to sing, 
 **0 bird!" I sighed, "thy heedless love befriend- 
 ing 
 ''With that celestial song-burst — whirling 
 swift 
 As Phaeton's chariot-rush ! — 
 Should my dear angel's voice so down- 
 ward drift 
 Quick would my music-lifted soul take 
 wing!" 
 Now had earth's happiest song a heavenly end- 
 ing- 
 Sped, with his mate, the thrush. 
 The Century Magazine. 
 
 THE PURPLE FINCH. 
 I. 
 While lurked the coyote in his root-bound bur- 
 row. 
 Through haunts of the hare and the badger 
 gray. 
 
94 RUBAIYAT OF SOLOMON. 
 
 Vsl'iere never the share of a plr.w turned far- 
 row. 
 I, gathering silk-flowers, wetU my way. 
 Wide-rimmed were the trumpets of sil- 
 ver blue, 
 Their slim tubes slipping out wet with honey : 
 Thence blown by the winds through the 
 spaces sunny, 
 White butterflies high as the elm-tops 
 flew. 
 
 II. 
 
 The ground-squirrel under the elders scam- 
 pered 
 Or wheeled to show me his gold-brow^n bars : 
 Not I with the eggs of the pedee tampered, 
 Nor caught the green beetles that blazed like 
 stars. 
 The shy, scarlet birds where the low 
 boughs meet 
 Looked out and went on with their whistling 
 
 merry. 
 Till down came the finch from the sun-burnt 
 prairie. 
 And silenced them all with a chanson 
 sweet. 
 
THE PURPLE FINCH. 95 
 
 III. 
 
 So secret is lie, not a boy discovers 
 
 That home he has built for the nestlings dear ; 
 So softly he carols, the hawk that hovers 
 Intent upon murder, can hardly hear. 
 
 Now trimming his crimson in coverts 
 dim, 
 Now perching wherever his mood was 
 
 suited 
 He sang in the sumac velvet-fruited. 
 
 Or sprang to the oak of the twisted limb. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Till ''Higher! mount liigher!" I cried, "dear 
 pleader : 
 The sum of delights shall be granted thee!" 
 Therewith, from the height of the one dead 
 cedar. 
 The linnet sped out like a soul set free. 
 
 Ah, why need the souls of the blest fly 
 far!— 
 Pure honey the humming-bird moth went 
 
 sipping ; 
 Pale gold was the sky where the sun was 
 dipping; 
 Came out the new moon and a great, 
 white star ! 
 
 The Century Magazine. 
 
96 RUBAIYAT OF SOLOMON. 
 
 CHE-WINK. 
 
 I. 
 
 Sing me another solo, sweet, — 
 
 I have learnt the one by rote; 
 The endless, merry-go-round repeat 
 Of the tuneful, tender, teasing note: 
 **Che-wink ! che-wink ! 
 Che-wink ! che-wink !" 
 A moment's rest for the tired throat — 
 Just long enough for a heart to beat — 
 
 And at it again : ''Che-wink ! che-wink !" 
 
 11. 
 
 O, bird, dear bird with tlie outspread wings 
 
 And little to chant about ! — 
 When death reaches over the Avrecks of things 
 To stifle the soft, delighted shout :' 
 "Che-wink! che-wink! 
 Che-wink ! che-wink !" 
 And, all unruffled by dread or doubt. 
 Your musical mite of a soul up-springs, 
 
 "Will you still go crying: "Che-wink! che- 
 wink?" 
 
 IIT. 
 
 Liftle T know, but this I hold: 
 
 If the rushin,!": stars should meet, — 
 
 Their crystal spheres into chaos rolled. 
 Let only this one pure voice entreat : 
 
THE RED-BIRD. 97 
 
 '*Che-wink ! che-vvink ! 
 Che-wink! che-wink!" 
 Great Love would answer the summons 
 sweet 
 And a universe fresh as the rose unfold. 
 So at it again: "Che-wink! che-wink!" 
 
 The Century Magazine. 
 
 Twentieth Century Classics. 
 
 THE RED-BIRD. 
 
 I. 
 
 Blithe bird of the beautiful plumage — bred 
 Where cottonwoods, tossing their branches, 
 
 shed 
 Their seeded snows on the mossy bed — 
 Did you dip your wings in that crimson tor- 
 rent, 
 When the dragon of Anarchy, all abhorrent, 
 Came over the border . . . and Kansas bled ? 
 
 11. 
 
 When wolves went prowling — each out of his 
 
 den. 
 When Pawnee and Kaw hid their squaws in 
 
 the glen, 
 While down from the West rode the fierce 
 
 Cheyenne, — 
 
98 RUBAIYAT OF SOLOMON. 
 
 Did you frighten those braves with your school- 
 boy whistle? 
 
 For they fled, as they came, over poppy and 
 thistle, 
 Nor murdered the babes of the white-faced 
 men. 
 
 III. 
 
 Be the weather never so cold, we hear 
 Your voice in the tree-tops, trombone-clear : 
 "Come out in the bitter!" — **Now what do 
 you fear?" 
 But ever your challenge, bright trumpeter va- 
 ries : 
 "Come hither!" — "Come hurry!" — "Come see 
 the green prairies !" 
 "Wild roses !" — "Primroses !" — "Blue 
 vetches!"— "S-o n-e-a-r!" 
 
 IV. 
 
 A Kansan I knew who was dear and brave; 
 
 He lived but to cherish, — he perished to save. 
 
 Unworthy was I of the love he gave : 
 But flit where he marched over hill and hollow, 
 I would rise and follow — would follow — 
 follow% 
 
 To hear you chant on a soldier's grave. 
 
THE RED-BIRD. 99 
 
 V. 
 
 Sing on, lovely warbler of thicket and plain! 
 
 "Was never a martyr v^' ho sorrowed in vain !" 
 
 "O, hark!"— ''He is sending His rain!"— 
 
 "His rain!" 
 
 "He wnll load with corn all the wharves and 
 
 ferries!" 
 "But first he will sweeten the nettle-tree ber- 
 ries, 
 And comfort his birds with the golden 
 grain !" 
 
lOO RUBAIYAT OF SOLOMON. 
 
 ABIGAIL BECKER. 
 
 Capt. E. P. Dorr, of Buffalo, who, with others, visited 
 Mrs. Becker the day after the rescue herein faithfully 
 described, secured for her a gold medal from the N. Y. 
 Life-saving society, and gifts from Buffalonians enabling 
 her to build a home on the mainland. She seems to 
 have been overlooked in Canada. From her j^oun-^est 
 daughter, Miss Ella Rohrer, this statement is elicited : 
 Abigail Becker was by descent American, German- 
 Quaker and French-Canadian. She was of powerful 
 frame, 5 ft. 8 in. in height, of superb figure and 
 carriage, and possessed of a magnanimity and tender- 
 ness of nature equal to her bravery. She subsequently 
 rescued from imminent death, five others, nor thought 
 her deeds at all wonderful. 
 
 Wreck of the Schooner Conductor, off Long 
 Point Island, Canada West, near Buffalo, Nov. 
 1853. 
 
 The wind, the wind where Erie plunged 
 
 Sou'west, blew, blew from land to land. 
 The wandering schooner dipped and lunged, — 
 Long Point was close at hand. 
 
 Long Point — a swampy island-slant. 
 
 Where, busy in their grassy homes, 
 Woodcock and snipe the hollows haunt 
 And muskrats build their domes. 
 
 Where gulls and eagles rest at need; 
 
 Where, either side, by lake or sound, 
 King-fishers, cranes and divers feed 
 And mallard ducks abound. 
 
ABIGAIL BECKER. 10 1 
 
 The lowering night shut out the sight: 
 
 Careened the vessel, pitched and veered ; 
 Raved, raved the wind with main and might, — 
 The sunken reef she neared. 
 
 She pounded over, lurched and sank : 
 Between two sand-bars settling fast 
 Her leaky hull the waters drank. 
 And she had sailed her last. 
 
 Into the rigging, quick as thought, 
 
 Captain and mate and sailors sprung, 
 Clambered for life, some vantage caught 
 And there all night they swung. 
 
 And it was cold, oh, it was cold ! 
 
 The pinching cold was like a vise; 
 Spoondrift flew freezing, — fold on fold 
 It coated them with ice. 
 
 Now when the dawn began to break, 
 
 Light up the sand-path drenched and brown, 
 To fill her bucket from the lake 
 
 Came Mother Becker down. 
 
 From where her cabin crowned the bank 
 Came Abigail Becker, tall and strong. 
 She dipped and lo ! a broken plank 
 Rode rocking close along. 
 
102 RUBAIYAT OF SOLOMON. 
 
 She poised her glass with anxious ken : 
 
 The schooner's top she spied from far; 
 And there she counted seven men 
 
 That clung to mast and spar. 
 
 And oh, the gale! the rout and roar! 
 
 The blinding drift, the mounting wave! 
 A good half-mile from wreck to shore 
 With seven men to save ! 
 
 Sped Mother Becker : ''Children ! wake ! 
 
 *'A ship's gone down! they're needing me! 
 Your father's off on shore ! the lake 
 Is just a raging sea ! 
 
 *'Get wood, cook fish, make ready all !" 
 
 She snatched her stores, she fled with haste, 
 In cotton gown and tattered shawl, 
 Across the barren waste. 
 
 Throngh sinking sands, through quaggy lands. 
 
 And nearer, nearer, full in view, 
 Went shouting through her hollowed hands : 
 "Courage ! we'll get you through !" 
 
 Ran to and fro, made cheery signs. 
 
 Her bonfire lighted, steeped her tea, 
 Brought driftwood, watched Canadian lines 
 Her husband's boat to see. 
 
ABIGAIL BECKER. IO3 
 
 Cold, cold it was, oh, it was cold ! ^ 
 
 The bitter cold made watching vain : 
 With ice the channel laboring rolled, — 
 No skiff could stand the strain. 
 
 On all that isle, from outer swell 
 
 To strait, between the landings shut. 
 
 Was never place where man might dwell 
 
 Save trapper Becker's hut. 
 
 And it was twelve and one and two 
 
 And it was three o'clock and more : 
 She called : "Come on ! there's nought to do 
 But leap! and swim ashore!" 
 
 Blew, blew the gale; they did not hear. 
 
 She waded in the shallow sea, 
 She waved her hands, made signals clear : 
 "Swim ! swim ! and trust to me !" 
 
 "My men," the captain cried, "I'll try : 
 
 "The woman's judgment may be right; 
 For swim or sink, seven men must die 
 If here we swing to-night." 
 
 Far out he marked the gathering surge ; 
 Across the bar he watched it pour; 
 Let go and on its topmost verge 
 Came riding in to shore. 
 
i04 RUBAIYAT OF SOLOMON. 
 
 It Struck the breaker's foamy track: 
 Majestic wave on wave up-hurled, 
 Went grandly toppling, tumbling back 
 As loath to flood the world! 
 
 There blindly whirling, shorn of strength, 
 
 The captain drifted, sure to drown; 
 Dragged seaward half a cable's length. 
 Like sinking lead went down. 
 
 Ah, well for him that on the strand 
 
 Had Mother Becker waited long! 
 
 And well for him her grasping hand 
 
 And grappling arm were strong! 
 
 And well for him that wind and sun 
 
 And daily toil for scanty gains 
 Had made such daring blood to run 
 Within such generous veins. 
 
 For what to do but plunge and swim? 
 
 Out on the sinking billow cast. 
 She toiled, she dived, she groped for him. 
 She found and clutched him fast. 
 
 She climbed the reef, she brought him up. 
 
 She laid him, gasping on the sands. 
 Built high the fire and filled the cup, — 
 Stood up and waved her hands ! 
 
ABIGAIL BECKER. IO5 
 
 Oh, life is dear ! The mate leaped in : 
 
 "I know," the captain said, "right well, 
 **Not twice can any woman win 
 A soul from yonder hell!" 
 
 **'I'll start and meet him in the wave." 
 
 "Keep back!" she bade. "What strength have 
 you? 
 "x\nd I shall have you both to save, — 
 Must work to pull you through !" 
 
 But out he went. Up shallow sweeps 
 
 Raced the long white caps, com!) on comb : 
 The wind, the wind that lashed the deeps, 
 Far, far it blew the foam. 
 
 The frozen foam went scudding by,— 
 Before the wind, a seething throng, 
 The waves, the waves came towering high I 
 They flung the mate along. 
 
 The waves came towering high and white, 
 
 They burst in clouds of flying spray ; 
 There mate and captain sank from sight 
 And clinching, rolled away. 
 
 O, Mother Becker, seas are dread. 
 
 Their treacherous paths are deep and blind! 
 But widows twain shall mourn their dead 
 If thou art slow to find! 
 
I06 RUBAIYAT OF SOLOMON. 
 
 She sought them near, she sought them far ; 
 
 Three fathoms down she gripped them tight : 
 With both together, up the bar 
 She staggered into sight. 
 
 Beside the fire her burdens fell: 
 
 She paused the cheering draught to pour. 
 Then waved her hands: "All's well! all's well! 
 "Come on! Swim! swim ashore!'' 
 
 Sure life is dear and men are brave : 
 
 They came, they dropped from mast and 
 spar; 
 And who but she could breast the wave 
 And dive beyond the bar! 
 
 Dark grew the sky from East to West 
 And darker, darker grew the world: 
 Each man from off the breaker's crest 
 To gloomier deeps was hurled. 
 
 And still the gale went shrieking on; 
 
 And still the wrecking fury grew, 
 -vnd still the woman, worn and wan 
 
 Those gates of death went through! — 
 
 As Christ were walking on the waves 
 And heavenly radiance shone about. 
 All fearless trod that gulf of graves 
 And bore the sailors out ! 
 
ABIG.UL BECKER. IO7 
 
 Down came the night, bat far and bright, 
 
 Despite the wind and tiying foam, 
 The bonfire flamed to give them Hght 
 To trapper Becker's home! 
 
 Oh, safety after wreck is sweet, 
 
 And sweet is rest ni hut or hall! 
 One story Life and Death repeat : — 
 God's mercy over all! 
 
 Next day men heard, put out from shore, 
 
 Crossed channel-ice, burst in to find 
 Seven gallant fellows sick and sore, 
 A tender nurse and kind; 
 
 Shook hands, wept, laughed, were crazy glad! 
 
 Cried : "Never yet on land or sea 
 "Poor, dying, drowning sailors had 
 A better friend than she ! 
 
 ''Billows may tumble, winds may roar, 
 
 Strong hands the wrecked from death may 
 snatch. 
 But never, never, nevermore 
 
 This deed shall mortal match !" 
 
 Dear Mother Becker dropped her head ; 
 She blushed as girls when lovers woo : 
 "I have not done a thing," she said, 
 "More than I ought to do!" 
 
 The Century Magazine. 
 Canadian High School Reader, 
 
I08 RUBAIYAT OF SOLOMON. 
 
 SEA-TROUT. 
 
 I. 
 
 Blithe young fishermen were they 
 
 Who many a chantey knew. 
 Their snow^-sailed shallop crossed the bay 
 As a flower cast forth to drift astray ; 
 But one would wed on the coming day 
 
 And they were a merry crew. 
 
 II. 
 
 Bride and bridemaids full of glee 
 
 Stood laughing by the gate : 
 "Their lines shall riot far and free. 
 Shall capture your beautiful tribes, O, sea! 
 And rich at night will the bridegroom be,- 
 
 Returning slow and late." 
 
 III. 
 
 "Rise, O, trout, from the hollows cold 
 Where quinnat and red fish hide! 
 All out of the wonderful deeps cajoled, 
 And out of the dim sea-gardens trolled, — 
 The groom shall buy from a purse of gold, 
 A ring for the happy bride." 
 
SEA-TROUT. 109 
 
 IV. 
 
 Out on the sea was a squall at play 
 (The winds no merriment lack!) ; 
 And there was a shallop caught astray, 
 As a flower it drifted into the bay .... 
 The singing fishermen, where were they? 
 For only the boat came back ! 
 
 V. 
 
 Where was the glittering wealth foretold — 
 
 Cajoled from under the sea? 
 Away with its beautiful tribes it rolled! 
 Where, rich with the salt, its flowers unfold, 
 There fin of silver and scale of gold 
 Are rioting far and free! 
 
 The Continent. 
 
INTERLUDES. 
 
 MY LITTLE WIFE. 
 
 My little wife's a world too sweet 
 For such a man as I am : 
 
 But she's a Trojan — hard to beat 
 As Hector, son of Priam ! 
 
 A winsome, wilful morsel, she : 
 Brought up to grace a palace, 
 
 She ran away to marry me, — 
 Half love, half girlish malice. 
 
 She never has repented though: 
 We built a cot in Jersey : 
 
 She wore delaine and calico, 
 And I wore tweed and kersey. 
 
 So great our love it bridged across 
 
 Whatever might divide us. 
 However went the gain or loss 
 
 We felt as rich as Midas. 
 
 I helped her with the brush and broom 
 Her morning labors aiding: 
 
 She followed to the counting-room, — 
 Made out my bills of lading. 
 
MY LITTLE WIFE. HI 
 
 And once, when sick of chills I lay 
 
 She balanced up the pages; 
 Did all my work from day to day, 
 
 And brought home all my wages. 
 
 Then I was just a shipping clerk, — 
 Old firm of Graves and Gartner: 
 
 Till, after long and weary work, 
 They took me in as partner. 
 
 So year on year went gaily round 
 
 While we grew rich and richer, 
 Until, in every spring we found, 
 
 We dipped a golden pitcher. 
 
 When Gartner left, grown old and lame, 
 
 I bought him out completely; 
 Made wife a partner; changed the name 
 
 To Wheatly, Graves and Wheatly. 
 
 A silent partner ? Not at all ! 
 
 With genius more than Sapphic, 
 She improvised — that lady small — 
 
 The poetry of traffic. 
 
 And, flitting through our offices. 
 With word and smile admonished: 
 
 **We'll work no metamorphoses 
 To make a lie look honest." 
 
112 RUBAIYAT OF SOLOMON. 
 
 Meantime the business grew and grew 
 With not a cloud to daunten : 
 
 Till wife, who wanted tea like dew- 
 Sent me a-drift for Canton. 
 
 No sooner was I well at sea, 
 Than with a whirl insanic, 
 
 Down came that flood of seventy-three, 
 And shook the world with panic. 
 
 Then many a house as strong as life 
 Was caught and torn asunder : 
 
 Till Graves came trembling to my wife 
 And said: "We're going under!" 
 
 Wife saw the gulf but kept her poise; 
 
 Disposed of plate and raiment, 
 Sold all her jewels (but the boys!), 
 
 And met the heaviest payment. 
 
 So Graves and she, with work and wit 
 
 With care and self-denial. 
 Upheld the firm, — established it 
 
 The surer for the trial. 
 
 Through all the strife they paid the hai^ is 
 Full price, — none saw them falter, 
 
 And now the house, rock-founded, stands 
 As steadv as Gibraltar. 
 
A LOVER TO HIS LADY. II3 
 
 But wife keeps with us, guards us through 
 
 Like Miriam watching Moses; 
 She drinks her tea as pure as dew 
 
 And sells it — fresh as roses! 
 
 Yes, she's a Trojan ! Hard to beat 
 
 As all the sons of Priam : 
 But bless you ! she's a world too sweet 
 
 For such a man as I am! 
 
 The Continent. 
 
 A LOVER TO HIS LADY. 
 
 This earth was never so fair and sweet 
 
 So merry and sweet before, 
 Since glaciers wasted away with heat 
 
 And nestlings learned to soar. 
 Since the orchis blew and the palm-tree grew 
 And the balm its blood-red blossoms bore. 
 
 n. 
 
 For where was Love when the land was new ? 
 
 He swam with the reptile then, 
 With the auroch roamed, with the vulture 
 flew 
 
 And woned in the lion's den. 
 
114 RUBAIYAT OF SOLOMON. 
 
 Till Straight to the light he sprang in flight 
 And sang his way to the souls of men. 
 
 III. 
 
 Since then, my Queen, there is no more 
 night : 
 Whenever the day seems done 
 Some lover goes scaling the crag-built height 
 And tells of a dawn begun : 
 Goes mounting afar from cloud to star 
 And loud and long he laughs in the sun. 
 
 IV. 
 
 They throng the heavens, so many they are — 
 
 Those earth-born lovers true, 
 Who planted the vine by the salt-sea bar 
 
 And the fig where thistles grew ; 
 Who cleared the fen and the cave-bear's den, 
 Who drave out the wolf and the tiger slew. 
 
 V. 
 
 We also delve in desert and glen, 
 
 We labor in sun or sleet ; 
 For Love, that wones in the hearts of men, 
 Will have his world complete 
 With the fig-tree and balm, with the rose and 
 palm. 
 Till it grows forever and ever sweet! 
 
A LOVER TO HIS LADY. II5 
 
 VI. 
 
 Dear Heart, when whirling winds grow cahii 
 
 And seas have fallen asleep, 
 When hills are holy with harp and psalm 
 And roll of harmonies deep. 
 When the blest earth cries to the frownless 
 skies 
 And down its cliffs hears the answers leap, 
 
 VII. 
 
 When beasts are gentle and men are wise 
 
 And Love has had his will, 
 When the angels look through all disguise 
 
 And laugh to find no ill, 
 True lovers will gaze on the flowery ways 
 Where now but a barren heath we till ; 
 
 VIII. 
 
 And calling : ''O, ye, of the olden days 
 
 Who set these lilies a-row ! 
 Is Love more sweet where the twelve suns 
 blaze 
 Than Love in the world below?" — 
 They shall hear us far from our own fleet star : 
 ''More sweet! more sweet! climb hither and 
 know l" 
 
Il6 RUBAIYAT OF SOLOZ.iCN. 
 
 EPITHALAMIUM. 
 
 I. 
 
 For the dawning of Love, lo, a universe waits! 
 The blush runs up higher, the darkness 
 
 abates ; 
 Out strikes a white arm bursting wide the red 
 gates 
 And purple runs down through the 
 heather : 
 Over all, while the happy seas laugh 
 Far flashes God's heliograph : 
 ''Be ye wedded and travel together!" 
 
 11. 
 
 Now long be your journey, O, bridegroom and 
 
 bride ! 
 Be the peace of your spirits whatever betide 
 As the peace of still waters where lilies abide 
 That fail not the winters to weather, — 
 As the peace of fair Sharon, so blest 
 When the Master at noon-day took rest 
 Where the brooks ran in shadow together ! 
 
 III. 
 
 Press on through green valleys if so it may 
 
 diance. 
 Over hills where each cataract hurls a white 
 
 lance. 
 
EPITHALAMIUM. WJ 
 
 Across the crevasses where glaciers advance, — • 
 To chmb or to halt v^ho knows whether? 
 Then back through the snows 
 Where the eidelweiss blows 
 And you find a warm shelter together. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Lightly pass where the dark prophets dwell in 
 
 their caves 
 Wailing: ''Dread will it be when the hurricane 
 
 raves !" 
 ''Look out for the torrent! its death-dealing 
 waves. 
 Are as tigers, no mortal can tether." 
 Laugh out : "At their will let them leap : 
 "Love is lordlier still, — we shall keep 
 Afloat while we ferry together." 
 
 V. 
 
 Never heed the small souls you will happen to 
 
 meet. 
 Complaining : "Alas ! there is cold !" — "There is 
 
 heat !" 
 "You must tread the sharp rocks, they will tor- 
 ture the feet!" 
 Laugh on : "Let them cut through the 
 leather : 
 "And, if we must clamber unshod, 
 It will be of the goodness of God 
 That we clamber full sweetly together." 
 
IlS RUBAIYAT OF SOLOMON. 
 
 VI. 
 
 O, hearken! Such music of speech you shall 
 
 hear, — 
 Voices, echoes of voices all crying: **Good 
 
 cheer !" 
 And clasping small fingers eternally dear, — 
 Care floating away as a feather, 
 You will lovingly answer the call : 
 "Merry cheer! come and feast one and 
 all; 
 Let us breathe the world's rapture to- 
 gether." 
 
 VII. 
 
 But the Master is certain to summon His 
 
 own; 
 And one will be taken and one left alone: 
 Your late-budding roses will wither unblown, 
 With the low, purple bells of the heather. 
 They will blight, they will shrivel and 
 
 fade: 
 But deep in the safety of shade 
 Their roots search for sweetness together. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Ah, the one that is left — slipping out from dis- 
 guise, 
 
 Will hear the loved voice crying: "Sweetheart, 
 arise ! 
 
THE CHILD. 119 
 
 'There is dew on the grass, there is Hght in the 
 
 skies, 
 
 There are shouts between upper and 
 
 nether ; 
 
 •Speed hither, O, bridegroom and bride 
 
 Immortal! — who says ye have died?^ ^^ 
 
 High as heaven come journey together!' " 
 
 THE CHILD. 
 I. 
 
 How long shall the child be yours 
 To cherish and hold 
 With a tenderness all untold — 
 
 The dimples, the lovely contours, 
 The infantile, exquisite hues 
 Where the rosy and white interfuse, 
 
 The smile and the soul that allures? 
 Ah, who will dare venture to say : 
 'To-morrow shall be as to-day, 
 
 This sweetness forever endures?" 
 
 II 
 
 Hew long shall the child be yours? 
 From the sun out-rolled, 
 The earth in its orbit of gold, 
 Our light and our life secures 
 
I20 RUBAIYAT OF SOLOMON. 
 
 With a vigor that shall not l^g 
 
 Till the wheels of the great sun drag 
 And chaos the glory obscures. 
 
 Yet who will have courage to say : 
 
 ''Whatever else passes away 
 The planet forever endures?" 
 
 III. 
 
 How long shall the child be yours? 
 Through the night and the cold ? 
 Oh, Love with an utterance bold, 
 
 The gladness and glory assures! 
 ''The fashion of earth may pass 
 With the flower and the springing grass,- 
 
 The tomb all flesh immures : 
 
 But none shall be able to say 
 "The spirit is one with the clay 
 
 Whose darkness forever endures." 
 
 IV. 
 
 How long shall the child be yours? .... 
 
 When the heavens are rolled 
 
 As a scroll — all the stars being old, 
 
 And the fiat destruction insures. 
 
 Yet you and the child most sweet — 
 Angelic, of stature complete — 
 
 '''ill follow the heavenly lures 
 
 Hand in hand up the infinite way, 
 While singing, the seraphim say: 
 
 "}dost holy is Love that endures." 
 
KING DAVID. 121 
 
 "KING DAVID." 
 
 Prince Edward of York, aged five years. 
 
 (Written during the South African War.) 
 
 I. 
 
 ''King David," whose sires, by the grace of 
 God, 
 
 Ruled more than a thousand years ago. 
 May number his years by the penduhim-rod 
 
 Swung merrily five times to and fro. 
 
 He is^'ready to wrestle or race or row 
 
 And he talks the talk of the sailors,— oh, 
 Not wicked, of course, but— rather odd ! 
 A rollicking boy, by the grace of God! 
 
 11. 
 
 ''King David" is young, by the grace of God. 
 
 He blir.ks at his forefathers all in a row : 
 The laddie, through wearisome books must 
 plod, — 
 
 Just think! such a long, white mark to toe, 
 
 Three steps away from a throne you know ! 
 
 While over the ocean the swift ships go 
 And skies rain daisies on every clod ! 
 Yet he laughs and he learns, by the grace of 
 God. 
 
122 RUBAIYAT OF SOLOMON. 
 
 III. 
 
 ''King David" will reign by the grace of God 
 When the tides roll in : — O tides, be slow ! 
 
 C), years be many and velvet-shod! 
 
 Ere, mightily bending his good cross-bow, 
 His knights by his side and the seas at flow, 
 He shall swear, as a true King must, I trow, 
 
 To cling to his heritage, every rod 
 
 And rule it a-right — by the grace of God. 
 
 IV. 
 
 **King David" is loved, by the grace of God, 
 
 Wherever the valorous Britons go ; 
 The walls of Jericho tremble and nod 
 
 When all together their trumpets blow! 
 
 Proud England, seeing the wounds they 
 show, 
 
 Out-weeping and smiling, murmurs low — 
 Full tenderly kissing the crimson sod : 
 *'Ye are all my kings, by the grace of God!" 
 
 V. 
 
 "King David" is kin, by the grace of God, 
 To Jonathan's boys, — they fancy so: 
 
 They are hardly as meek as the man who trod 
 The mountain of Horeb long ago; 
 
BUGLER DUNN. 123 
 
 But they care for their cousins, whether or 
 
 no; . 
 
 And they call across while the great winds 
 blow : 
 ''Sweet health to 'King David!' Peace hallow 
 
 the sod 
 \\a-iere the vvnse queen rules, by the grace of 
 God!" 
 The Youth's Companion. 
 
 BUGLER DUNN. 
 
 I. 
 
 O drummer-boy, nations have heard of your 
 
 fame! 
 The four winds went shouting and snigmg 
 
 your name : 
 It soared on the wings of a miracle-flame, 
 
 It flashed from Colenso to Dover : 
 A Are leaping out from the heart of the sun, 
 Went writing on clouds of the honor you won, 
 When under you trembled the earth Bugler 
 
 Dunn, 
 And chariots of battle rolled over! 
 
124 RUBAIYAT OF SOLOMON. 
 
 11. 
 
 *'\Ve crossed the Tugela, the child in our van : 
 We held him back, thrust him back, man after 
 
 man : 
 A ball tore his arm but he laughed as he ran — 
 
 Changed hands, not a bugle-note wanting. 
 No peril could tempt him his duty to shun : 
 Twice-wounded, we send him to you, Sergeart 
 
 Dunn : 
 We all love our drummer, — be proud of your 
 son. 
 An army his merit is vaunting." 
 
 III. 
 
 Good sooth, you had only your guerdon to 
 
 claim ! 
 "Now Vvhat shall I ask of the Queen in your 
 
 name ?" 
 Said good Princess Christian, that bountiful 
 
 dame : 
 "Please to send me back soon?" Ah, you 
 
 rover ! 
 So eager to dash at the Boer with his gun, 
 Tn front of your fusiliers, sharing the fun ! 
 But turn round and love him, when fighting is 
 
 done. 
 And the thunders of God have passed over ! 
 
VINCENT ARCHER. I25 
 
 IV. 
 
 O lad of Colenso, long burn the white flame 
 That burst through the war-cloud revealing 
 
 your name! 
 Till boys, going downward to sorrow and 
 
 shame 
 Start back and look up at the wonder, — 
 Spring forward and follow you, facing the 
 
 gun, 
 Or gather green laurels at home. Bugler Dunn, 
 While over them flashes that fire of the sun, 
 And blue-bells and beauties bloom under! 
 
 VINCENT ARCHER. 
 
 I. 
 
 Great battles are won without sabre or gun : 
 Right well may a father rejoice in his son, 
 Who leaps out to play, when his duty is done. 
 
 Glad-hearted, defiant of evil! 
 He scatters good seed to the wind and the rain : 
 It roots in the stubble, it thrives on the plain. 
 It lives through the winter — snow flying 
 amain ! 
 
 And God saves the wheat from the weevil. 
 
126 RUBAIYAT OF SOLOMON. 
 
 II. 
 
 Behold then, my hero! — None blazoned his 
 
 fame: 
 Mayhap the white angel, recording his name, 
 WVote plainly thereafter : '*A soul without 
 
 blame." 
 Not ten years old, shy as a plover, 
 He knew about angels . . . His mother 
 
 was one! 
 He watched the boys rush to their game in the 
 
 sun — 
 "Come out," they all shouted, ''and share in the 
 
 fun !" 
 He shook his head, blushing all over 
 
 III. 
 
 If I were Apollo and played the great lyre 
 On Olympus, to all the bright gods and their 
 
 sire, 
 I would sing of the boy through a halo of 
 fire : — 
 Unselfish, devoted and tender. 
 To care for three children save him there was 
 
 none: 
 His part to make merry, no trouble to shun, 
 To comfort his father when labor was done, 
 All manner of service to render. 
 
ma.mie's kisses. 127 
 
 IV. 
 
 A-trundliiig the baby, for pleasure he came, 
 Two Httle ones tumbhng and spoiHng the 
 
 game — 
 Beheve me his mother, where gates are aflame, 
 
 Called out to each heavenly rover; 
 Smiled proudly and sweetly: 'Took! that is 
 
 my son !" 
 And you and I know in our hearts every one, 
 Their deep-seeing eyes were with tears over- 
 run, 
 Though they laughed with delight looking 
 over ! 
 
 MAMIE'S KISSES. 
 
 [Mary Earned.] 
 
 I. 
 
 "Kiss me, Mamie!" so they teased her, 
 
 Every guest to laughter stirred. 
 But not one among them pleased her,- 
 
 Shy as any woodland bird. 
 Then they offered ribbons, dresses, 
 
 Watches, golden filagree : 
 Still she shook her sunny tresses — 
 
 Turned and smiled and came to me. 
 
128 RUBAIYAT OF SOLOMON. 
 
 II. 
 
 ''Ah," they said, ''you little Tartar! 
 
 "Is your naughty will so strong? 
 She's a poet : will you barter 
 
 Mamie's kisses for a song?" 
 Now I hold that nothing worse is 
 
 Than to vex a child for fun ; 
 So I said : "Fll write the verses : 
 
 "Will you kiss me, pretty one?" 
 
 III. 
 
 Then the little maid grew bolder, 
 
 Heeded not the mocking mirth : 
 Freely let me lift and hold her — 
 
 Daintiest creature on the earth! 
 Breath like winds the flowers caressing, 
 
 Soft lips lightly touching mine. 
 Left thereon for endless blessing 
 
 Kisses sweet as muscadine. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Now may earth and Heaven blending- 
 All below and all above — 
 
 Evermore her cause defending — 
 Bless the little girl I love! 
 
A SMALL PESSIMIST. 1 29 
 
 What she wins or what she misses, 
 Love or sorrow, peace or strife, 
 
 Sweeter than her own sweet kisses, 
 First and last be Mamie's life. 
 The Bright Side* 
 
 A SMALL PESSIMIST. 
 
 Scene: — Glen Elgin Falls, Lowth, Canada 
 West. Time, 1845. 
 
 L 
 
 Three girls — little lovers of sunlight and rain, 
 
 Ran off to the hills in a flurry: 
 '*Or else we might drown in the creek or the 
 
 drain," 
 Said Miranda; "and look at that poisonous 
 
 crane ! 
 *'Folks say if he bites, you will die of the pain. 
 Let's go and get out of the worry." 
 
 XL 
 
 We went till we found a red thorn-apple tree, — 
 
 Such apples no grocer could sell you : 
 Delicious to eat and enticing to see. 
 But Miranda grew solemn as solemn could be : 
 
 *A popular young folks' paper published by 
 John B. Alden previous to the Chicago fire, 
 and for a time edited by the Author. 
 
130 RUBAIYAT OF SOLOMON. 
 
 "I shake like a leaf! I'm so scared!" whis- 
 pered she; 
 *'0 girls, I have something to tell you ! 
 
 III. 
 
 'There's a Spirit that flies when the sky is all 
 blue, — 
 You can't see a cloud if you try to ! — 
 East, West, North and South, like the wan- 
 dering Jew : 
 I have heard it so often I know it is true. 
 He is looking this moment for me and for you, 
 And there isn't a cave we can fly to. 
 
 IV. 
 
 **Take hold of my hands : I am all of a chill ! 
 
 He's a terrible, terrible Spirit! 
 Folks say when he sees little girls on a hill 
 By a thorn-apple tree — if they've eaten their 
 
 fill- 
 He comes and he kills them ! We'd better keep 
 still: 
 If we only just squeak he can hear it." 
 
 V. 
 
 Sobbed Dorothy Jane: "We could run if we 
 
 tried ; 
 "We are all of us quicker than weasels." 
 Then we leaped to our feet: "Let us run! let 
 
 us hide!" 
 
A SMALL PESSIMIST. I3I 
 
 And we ran and we ran, for the world was so 
 
 wide, 
 Down the slope, through the hollow, across the 
 
 divide, 
 Right over the burdocks and teazels. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Now there was a factory down by the race, — 
 
 Alas, it is sixty years older ! 
 Where we "handed in ends" (pray, was that 
 
 a disgrace?) : 
 Up the stairs, to the belfry — oh, wild was the 
 
 chase ! — 
 To the ridge-pole ! — was ever so secret a place ? 
 And there we sat, shoulder to shoulder. 
 
 VII. 
 
 "O, girls, let me tell you ! It isn't a lie. 
 
 It's the truth," said Miranda the tragic. 
 "If w^hen you've been frightened (it's easy to 
 
 try). 
 You can feel a pulse beating right under your 
 
 eye, 
 In just twenty minutes you're going to die!" 
 And down fell the tears by some magic. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Now this was too much for poor Dorothy 
 Jane : 
 "You may stay here and scare one another. 
 Or die if you want to! — nobody'll complain. 
 
132 RUBAIYAT OF SOLOMON. 
 
 You'll be bitten, 1 s'pose, by that poisonous 
 
 crane : 
 Most likely you'll all double up with the pain ! 
 As for me, Fll go home to my mother." 
 
 IX. 
 
 "But we haven't — been — scared!" said Mi- 
 randa to me, 
 "So we're safe, — though I think it's a won- 
 der. 
 
 It was dangerous under that thorn-apple tree, 
 
 For the sky was so blue any spirit could see; 
 
 And painters and wolves could have eaten all 
 three. 
 Or it might have been— earthquake — or 
 thunder." 
 
 BEAUTY. 
 
 [For Catherine Manierre and Other Little 
 Ladies.] 
 
 In a lovely dream-garden Child Beauty one 
 
 day 
 Met Bliss, the Queen-Fairy whom dreamers 
 
 obey. 
 Said Beauty : ''Come kiss me ! and what shall 
 
 we play?" 
 
BEAUTY. 133 
 
 "Let us play you are thinking, my dear," 
 smiled the Queen : 
 
 ''While I wave my light wand of the hazel- 
 tree green, 
 
 Whatsoever you think shall fly out and be 
 seen." 
 
 Beauty laughed and thought rainbows: — they 
 
 floated in light ! 
 There was never a cloud, but they must have 
 
 been right, 
 For the pale city-children clapped hands at the 
 
 sight. 
 
 Then she mused about morning and what the 
 
 winds bring 
 When, rushing, they set the bird-cradles 
 
 a-swing, — 
 Toss the gauzy, slight insects nor tarnish a 
 
 wing. 
 
 Out came darning-needles, rich beetles and bees 
 (Caught wading in dusty gold up to their 
 
 knees ) , 
 Purple emperor-butterflies floating at ease. 
 
 And shining white mother-moths, — who could 
 
 guess where 
 They flew out or blew out to make people 
 
 stare ? — 
 As you would and I would if we had been 
 
 there 
 
134 RUBAIYAT OF SOLOMON. 
 
 Now who could be thinking out curious things 
 Forever? — with feelers and stingers and 
 
 wings ? 
 Beauty thought little beggars (she might have 
 
 thought kings!). 
 
 They swarmed without number: — and ah, 
 
 they looked old. 
 Lean, ragged and wretched, lame, hungry and 
 
 cold! 
 They quarreled, they snatched, they were 
 
 saucy and bold! 
 
 Cried Beauty: ''Dear Bliss, do not wander 
 
 away : 
 ''All these will be angels, one beautiful day! 
 O, see! they are angels! Come back: let us 
 
 play!" 
 
 [The garden! the garden I — Does any one 
 know 
 Where its rosemaries, balsams and eglantines 
 
 grow? 
 To and it how far must a poor cripple gof^ 
 
COMING HOME. I35 
 
 COMING HOME. 
 
 A six-year's child I climbed the gate 
 All round the world to see: 
 
 ''Oh, why does mother stay so late? 
 Where can she, can she be?" 
 
 I saw the pool as grey as lead, 
 
 Blue Iris near the brink, 
 The rough-railed pasture, sorrel-red, 
 
 The meadow, clover pink. 
 
 I saw the yellow sands where lay 
 
 My periwinkles brown. 
 Silver Cayuga wind away 
 
 And purple mists fall down. 
 
 I saw the flume, the waterfall, 
 The white and flying foam, 
 
 Yet missed the dearest sight of all, 
 My mother — coming home! 
 
 It surely, surely would be night! 
 
 The lady four-o'clocks 
 Unwound their silky ribbons bright, 
 
 Shook out their party frocks. 
 
136 RUBAIYAT OF SOLOMOX. 
 
 The miller-moth went high and higher, 
 Went round and round about ; 
 
 The sun's broad face was red as fire 
 He was so tired out. 
 
 So down he sank behind the brush. — 
 I thought he dropped a spark, 
 
 Right after such a crimson blush 
 Ran kindling through the dark. 
 
 A spark, a blush, a smoky blaze 
 
 Began to creep and turn, 
 To climb and cling, — a hundred ways 
 
 To burn and burn and burn. 
 
 Oh, was it truly fire? I thought, 
 
 Or people of the air, 
 With mantles from the sunset caught 
 
 And fiery, floating hair? 
 
 My heart beat hard with fancy- fright : 
 "Should mother come that way. 
 
 And should they snatch her, hold her tight, 
 What would we, would we say? 
 
 "Their shiny cloaks, how far they blow ! 
 
 They'll wind her round and round. 
 She'll never think, she'll never know, 
 
 She'll never hear a sound : 
 
COMING HOME. 1 37 
 
 '*Not even should we call and call, 
 
 They'll take her up so high! 
 They'll hide her, wrap her, burn her all 
 
 'Way through- the blazing sky!" 
 
 Out gushed my tears — the silly child! 
 
 Such bitter grief I h.ad : 
 First thing I knew, there mother smiled, 
 
 And all my world was glad! 
 
 O, mother! mother! thought is swift: 
 But, who would count the hours, 
 
 Since lightly blew that snowy drift 
 Right in among the flowers? 
 
 Ah, not so long ago — not long, 
 You passed the lowly gate! 
 
 I know your love is sweet and strong; 
 Why will you stay so late! 
 
 What use to me the grey and blue, 
 
 The rosy and the white, 
 The silks of Summer, fair of hue? 
 
 It surely will be night! 
 
 You, you I want! I call your name, 
 All round the world I see : 
 
 So whirled away in holy flame — 
 Where can you, can you be? 
 
138 RUBAIYAT OF SOLOMON. 
 
 Hush, foolish one, heart-struck with fear! 
 
 The sorry thought let go. 
 You look so far, she comes so near, 
 
 Soft-smiling, still and slow! 
 
 Not rushing fires that skyward fling, 
 
 Though wide they be and wild. 
 Not Life nor Death, nor anything 
 
 Will keep her from her child. 
 
 Turn round and face the heavenly sight; 
 
 Spring to the loving breast! 
 O, sweet surprise! O, dear delight! 
 
 All kissed away to rest! 
 
 Goodform. 
 
 Poets and Poetry of Buffalo. 
 
POSTLiJDES. 
 
 CHRISTMAS-DAY. 
 
 Friendless and ragged and old 
 Wretched and wicked was I, — 
 A woman to harry and hate! 
 And if I had made so bold 
 As to seek for a place to die — 
 Open to all the sleet — 
 Dragging my black-bruised feet 
 Near to a rich man's gate, 
 His dogs had howled me away : 
 Aye, even on Christmas-Day! 
 
 n. 
 
 But vipers may crawl in the street : 
 That morning they let me stay 
 Not far from Trinity's door, 
 While the chiming bells did beat 
 And the proud went in to pray. 
 I heard the choir-boys sing : 
 *'Glory to God our King!" 
 And the great-voiced organ roar 
 *Their Christ is risen," I said, 
 ''Mine sleeps forever instead! 
 
140 RUBAIYAT OF SOLOMON. 
 
 III. 
 
 "I have no spices to bring, 
 Nor oil on his feet to shed 
 
 Though an angel should lead me in. 
 However the glad chimes ring, 
 
 My Lord lies murdered and dead, — 
 Buried and makes no sign!" — 
 That moment a hand caught mine, 
 Forced open the fingers thin : — 
 In haste, as I turned my head, 
 The beautiful vision fled. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Lo! there — fire-tried and fine — 
 Lay gold for a half year's bread, 
 With a red rose fresh and sweet! 
 I answered the chant divine: 
 **He is risen! is risen!" I said: 
 *'0, lift your heads ye gates! 
 For the King of Glory waits!'* 
 And my soul rose up to meet 
 The Lord of the hungry and cold, 
 
 The Christ of the wicked and old. 
 
 Goodform. 
 
AT THE FORD. I4I 
 
 AT THE FORD. 
 
 The crossing washed with turbulent waves, 
 The footing sHght, the sight a-strain : — 
 
 Is yonder isle the place of graves, 
 
 All dimly seen through pelting rain? 
 
 The spume has soaked my vesture through: 
 From stone to stone, with none to aid. 
 
 In haste my lampless cell to view, 
 I leap and will not be afraid. 
 
 Low rolls the nimbus overhead; 
 
 Sharp thunder breaks, — earth shakes with 
 noise ; 
 Glitters that sheeted spectre dread 
 
 Whose lightest finger-touch destroys. 
 
 Let loose from every cloud at last 
 With tumult dire the fire-ghost flies. 
 
 And lo, the roaring torrent passed. 
 An open grave before me lies ! 
 
 Though dank and dark and spaded deep, 
 I will not heed, — I need not care : 
 
 These fleshly senses cast asleep, 
 
 Their captive slipping from the snare. 
 
142 RUBAIYAT OF SOLOMON. 
 
 O, subtle spirit, thou shalt be 
 
 Potent as heat and fleet as Hght, — 
 
 A storm-escaping splendor, free 
 To make the outer spaces bright ; 
 
 To flash through inter-stellar ways 
 
 Where spins the host of ghostly suns : — 
 
 Long furnace-fined from mortal gaze, 
 They lure the feet of blessed ones. 
 
 Dead! dead! where fell the lightning-stroke! 
 
 Their hoards, their homes, their hopes 
 a-dust ; 
 The worlds whereon they dwelt a-smoke 
 
 And into formless ruin thrust, — 
 
 Oh, yet they build, they nothing lack! 
 
 No evil charms, no harms befall : 
 Nay ! but for these the heavens were black, 
 
 Who, love-illumed, illumine all ! 
 
 Flit forth, sweet sprite, to long delight : 
 Thou, too, shalt glow with holy fire; 
 
 Shalt traverse suns all spirit-white, 
 Whose dross-consuming flames expire; 
 
 Shalt soar through elemental jar 
 
 Where each in gloom his doom awaits ; 
 
 Shalt guide the trembling loiterers far 
 And comfort them with delicates. 
 
'*A NEW COMMANDMENT. I43 
 
 "A NEW COMMANDMENT." 
 
 [For Mary E. White.] 
 
 I. 
 
 "Children, love one another," One said:— 
 We climbing and clinging- obey, 
 
 And whether we lead or are led 
 In His wonderful, beautiful way, 
 Up-looking we whisper and say: 
 " 'Strait and narrow' yet wide as the day 
 
 Oh, wide as God's love is this excellent 
 way !" 
 
 II. 
 
 Even so the archangels who stand 
 
 **In the midst" by His holy white throne, 
 
 Soared thither strong hand clasping hand. 
 Nor entered His presence alone. 
 Their thousands, of number unknown — 
 Every creature who laughs or makes moan, 
 
 Crying: "Worthy! Most worthy!" shall stand 
 by His throne. 
 
144 RUBAIYAT OF SOLOMON. 
 
 COMFORTED. 
 
 "Eyes that have wept see clear." 
 E. B. Browning. 
 I. 
 
 Up I rose when the babe was gone ! 
 "How shall my soul the silence meet? 
 
 How shall I — sick for the buried grace — 
 Cover the beautiful face and feet, 
 Yield to the night my flower of dawn?" 
 
 {The dews of the Lord are szveet!) 
 
 n. 
 
 Blew His winds till the skies were bare ! 
 Under His Heaven four rivers run. 
 
 Saw I their foam on the dark shore 
 break — 
 Flake upon flake, each flake a sun; 
 O, my Beloved, thy paths were fair! 
 
 (His night and His day are one!) 
 
 MADE MANIFEST. 
 
 I. 
 
 O, Master of the banquet, since we thirst, 
 Give us to drink according to our need! 
 
 Spilth of the vineyards when their full grapes 
 burst. 
 Rank juice of acrid herbs, or honeyed mead, 
 
MADE MANIFEST. 1 45 
 
 Or mountain-waters drained 
 Through fissured rocks from fountains un- 
 profaned : — 
 
 II. 
 
 Whether the draft be clear as innocence, 
 
 Turbid as drift of valley-scourging floods, 
 Purple as pools when battle-clouds are dense 
 And all is carnage, red as Judas-buds 
 
 That blushed with fear and shame 
 When, fain to die, sweet Jesu's murderer 
 came, 
 
 III. 
 
 Yet black at last shall be the hellebore! 
 
 Then shall we push all wide the jasper gate 
 And pass, disdaining Death : — Forevermore 
 
 Endowed with holy love and holy hate, — 
 Set free and unafraid 
 
 Of depth or height or any creature made. 
 
 V. 
 
 Ah, heed thou not our feeble, petulant cries ! 
 
 Pour as we need, whatever we desire. 
 Thou didst for us, aforetime, span the skies: 
 
 There shall we track thee by the paths of 
 fire 
 
146 RUBAIYAT OF SOLOMON. 
 
 Where-through, with thee, we came; 
 And weep and say "Our Father!" — void of 
 blame. 
 
 DOORS OF OLIVE. 
 
 I. 
 
 Oh, the palace hewn of stone 
 
 Pure as mountain snows, 
 Where the King receives His own 
 At the daylight's close! — 
 Beams of cedar, olive doors, 
 Planks of fir to line the floors. 
 
 Chambers set in ivory towers, 
 Lavers wrought about the brim, 
 Carven-work of open flowers, 
 Palms and cherubim. 
 
 11. 
 
 Lo, the splendor of the sight 
 Where His beacon glows! 
 Thither, at the fall of night, 
 One came breathing woes : 
 Knocking at the outer gate, — 
 "Lord, behold me where I wait ! 
 
 All about Thy fair abode 
 Hear the wandering lions roar : 
 Fear is on me as a load : 
 Open, Lord, the door!" 
 
DOORS OF OLIVE. 1 47 
 
 III. 
 
 Answered one : **Thy crying spare : 
 
 Should the door unclose, 
 Soldiers of the King are there, 
 Arrows at their bows — 
 Set to pierce the evil heart: 
 How shouldst thou escape the smart? 
 
 If thou enter, child of shame, 
 Myrrh and mandrakes thou must bring; 
 Thou must name His very Name : 
 Trouble not the King." 
 
 IV. 
 
 Ah, the courts and porches white — 
 
 Pillars set in rows! 
 Ah, the roofs of silver bright 
 Clean as driven snows! 
 Sobbing: "Lord, behold I wait! 
 Wilt Thou not my grief abate? 
 
 Meet for lion's food am I : 
 Yet my sinking soul restore; 
 Bid me enter ere I die: 
 Open, Lord, the door!" 
 
 V. 
 
 "Nay," one cried: "Behold, the King 
 
 "To His banquet goes! 
 Clusters of the grape they bring, 
 
 Soon the doors will close. 
 
148 RUBAIYAT OF SOLOMON. 
 
 All their mid-day labors done — 
 Girt with robes of linen spun — 
 
 Here His sons and daughters meet. 
 Who shall mar their holy sport? 
 
 Yet, to hear their laughter sweet, 
 Wait thou by the Court." 
 
 VI. 
 
 Swells the music through the night, 
 
 As a sea it flows! 
 Bloom the windows, full of light, 
 Each a golden rose! 
 Sorely weeping: **Lord, I wait: 
 "I have heard Thy Love is great, — 
 Hear me in Thine House of Rest. 
 Lord, I love thee ! Can I more ? 
 Let me die upon Thy Breast : 
 Open, LoRD^ the door." 
 
 VIL 
 
 Answered still the voice: ''Forbear! 
 
 "Who shall heed thy woes?" 
 In His banquet chamber fair 
 Then the King uprose; 
 To the sacred portal came: 
 "One," He said, "has named My Name,- 
 
 At the outer gateway knocks, 
 Heedless of the lion's roar:" — 
 Set His hand upon the locks, — 
 Opened wide the door. 
 
DOORS OF OLIVE. I49 
 
 VIIL 
 
 Oh, the wonder of the sight! 
 
 Three hy three in rows, 
 Stood the soldiers clad in white, 
 Arrows at their bows : 
 In their midst a crowned One 
 Clothed upon as with the sun. 
 Who so lowly as the King? 
 All the kisses of His mouth 
 Are like odors of the Spring 
 Blowing from the South! 
 
 IX. 
 
 Girt with rich pomegranate bowers, 
 
 Snowed upon with snows, 
 Olive doors in ivory towers, 
 Chambers of repose! 
 Boards of fir and cedar made, 
 Spread with gold and overlaid; 
 
 Lavers wrought with leaf and vine- 
 Lily-work from brim to brim; 
 Open flowers and carvings fine, 
 Palms and cherubim ! 
 
 Northwestern Christian Advocate. 
 
150 RUBAIYAT OF SOLOMON. 
 
 A CHRISTIAN. 
 
 [William Collins Jones, aged 66.] 
 
 I. 
 
 ''Show us a Christian that we may believe," — 
 The young men mocked. Then from their 
 
 midst one came: 
 "Lord, be it mine to win that precious name! 
 I love thee : wilt thou not my love receive ?" 
 Answered that Prince of Peace: "Thyself be- 
 reave 
 That others may be fed; by furnace-flame 
 Thrice-heated earn their bread; suffer no 
 shame 
 To touch the innocent ; for sinners grieve. 
 
 So wilt thou bring me gold without al- 
 loy, 
 Spices and pleasant fruits and wines 
 new-pressed. 
 To prove thy love, God will thy flesh 
 destroy, — 
 With pangs unutterable thy patience 
 test." 
 Then lifted he his voice and sang for 
 joy. 
 So passed that Christian . . . Oh, 
 to share his rest! 
 
FIELD AND GARDEN. 
 
 FOOD-SEEKERS. 
 
 I. 
 
 A wide-winged butterfly, 
 Upon the white flowers of a bitter weed 
 Settled to satisfy his noon-day need. 
 
 Through sunshine far and high 
 His kindred wavered but he took no heed : 
 Pretty it was to watch his dainty greed. 
 
 II. 
 
 A wondrous beetle came — 
 All emerald green, save that upon his back 
 There blazed a mimic sun; and in his track, 
 
 Lured by the dazzling flame, 
 A lace- wing fluttered — purple, gold and black. 
 Of pleasure for them all there was no lack. 
 
 in. 
 
 Down dropped a bird that flies 
 Near to the clouds yet perches for his seed 
 And sings and sings God's little choir to lead. 
 
 I lifted up mine eyes: 
 "Dear Lord, Thy fragile creatures richly feed! 
 Content me, also, with Thy bitter weed." 
 The Youth's Companion. 
 
 Poets and Poetry of Buffalo, 
 
152 RUBAIYAT OF SOLOMON. 
 
 THE SENSITIVE BRIER. 
 
 [A procumbent perennial, American genus 
 Schrankia, found on the rolling prairies of 
 Kansas and other Southwestern states. Be- 
 cause of the exceeding loveliness and unsur- 
 passable fragrance of its flowers, it is popu- 
 larly known as The Sensitive Rose.] 
 
 I. 
 
 When sweetly breathed the budded rose 
 In new-made majesty and grace, 
 Did not the Master for a space 
 A holy stillness interpose, — 
 
 Forbidding any wind to brush 
 Her clasping petals? . . . Ere they stirred 
 While yet her whispered name, half -heard, 
 Sank silenced in that heavenly hush. 
 Did He not turn to fashion thee, 
 O, babe-like flower ! and smile to see, — 
 Deep-musing on the Christ to be? 
 
 II. 
 
 Pales in thy woof the rainbow's red ; 
 Her gold adorns the raveled veils 
 AVhere-through thy blessed breath exhales; 
 
 Her lucid dews are on thee shed. 
 
 So sweet! so sweet! — The beds of spice 
 
ONE OF MANY. 1 53 
 
 Whereon our fair, first mother slept, 
 No daintier drops of honey kept 
 To feed the bees of Paradise. 
 
 Lo, where thy shrinking leaves retreat 
 At coming of the sinner's feet ! 
 Yet will thy soft forgivings greet. 
 
 III. 
 
 Ah, if the Lowly One might pass 
 And yonder blowing roses all 
 Their fragrant loveliness let fall 
 To cushion smooth the thickening grass, 
 How would I haste thyself to choose 
 FVom all the pure! and lifting high 
 These most abundant blossoms, sigh : 
 "Thou who canst virtue give nor lose, 
 With whom the burdened ones find 
 
 rest, — 
 The while I touch thy seamless vest, 
 Gaze but on these and I am blest!'* 
 
 Truth, 
 
 ONE OF MANY. 
 
 Behold a silver-glistening track 
 Across this freshet-furrowed sand, 
 Where crept a worm not long ago, 
 Straightforward, never turning back, 
 
154 RUBAIYAT OF SOLOMON. 
 
 Discerning neither friend nor foe! 
 Called to uprear some temple grand, 
 Some miracle-work serenely planned — 
 
 World-masonry where all was wrack! — 
 
 This way he passed : And dragging so 
 His length (renowned for movement slack!), 
 Far as a spider's thread might blow 
 He many an inch of empire spanned. . . . 
 Not less the nestlings make demand, 
 For singing birds must nothing lack. 
 
 And worms are dull — oh, dull and slow! 
 But if he perished who can know, — 
 Or why he perished understand? 
 
 FLOWERS AND A WEED. 
 
 I. 
 
 In my garden there grew the Sweet-Pea, fair 
 to see! 
 Hardly sweeter in Eden can be 
 The scent of the blossoms that heal. 
 Wing, banner and keel guard and hold the fine 
 gold 
 That it will not reveal 
 Till you kneel and make search for the treas- 
 ures untold, 
 While you reel 
 As you feel 
 
FLOWERS AND A WEED. , 1 55 
 
 How the pure odors steal 
 Through the brain with a subtle soft 
 
 power 
 From the wee fairy-bower of the flower! 
 There my grave Salpiglossis, dear Quaker, did 
 make her 
 A drab satin gown ; 
 Yet could not quite keep the shy rose-color 
 dow^n 
 When the fleet breeze did shake her. 
 Flamed in red my Dianthus; 
 My long-tube Centranthus 
 Wore exquisite pink like the tint of a shell : 
 But she paled while you gazed, as refusing 
 to tell 
 With too ardent a glow 
 What was throbbing below 
 In that virginal heart, — though you loved 
 her right well ! 
 And under 
 That wonder 
 The babe Gilia-tricolor sunned her; 
 Secure in blest innocence, creeping from 
 
 shade, 
 Faced the Lord in His firmament, no-wise 
 afraid ! 
 And I said : 'T will cede 
 "To no vagabond weed, 
 An inch of the soil that the Beautiful need. 
 Let them march on the highways, 
 Or slink through the by-ways, — 
 
156 RUBAIYAT OF SOLOMON. 
 
 Poor hoboes and beggars the world has 
 
 agreed. 
 / think they are anarchists — dreadful of 
 
 deed!" 
 
 II. 
 
 Saw you ever the green earth on fire with 
 desire 
 To be one with the things that aspire? 
 With the red-bird that burns as he flies? 
 With brave and bright spirits of grace, 
 cleaving space 
 On their way to the skies 
 Where the orbits of comet and star inter- 
 lace? 
 Even so 
 You will know 
 How Nasturtiums a-glow 
 Their manifold splendors up-bore 
 As flames when the furnaces roar. 
 Yet, engirt with those heats — vision-dazing, 
 out-blazing 
 The suns where they set, 
 Unhurt, cool with dew, dwelt my meek Afig- 
 nonette, 
 Rich in virtues past praising! 
 Near by, with her spices, 
 The Pink, that entices, 
 Sent many a blithe, honey-sipper away 
 Half-drunken, wing-heavy and reeling 
 astray. 
 
FLOWERS AND A WEED. 1 57 
 
 Not the less, had a bUght 
 Swept all these in the night, 
 Left them bloodless and budless, bent, sod- 
 den and gray, 
 One flower 
 In that hour 
 Had not needed to tremble and cower : 
 Oh, still had my garden a Paradise seemed, 
 While, fragrance-diffusing, my Violet 
 dreamed ! 
 ''They must die!" was my creed. 
 ''Who my darlings impede! — 
 The Red-root, the Jimpson of poisonous 
 breed, 
 The Sand-burr you handle 
 With dread and that scandal 
 The yellow-faced Nettle that stabs till you 
 
 bleed !— 
 Each far-tramping, grass-trampling, Coxey- 
 ite weed! 
 
 III. 
 
 There my Heliotrope like a saint, death-faint 
 Feared that radiant azure to paint 
 Where Faith sees Love's mansion of rest ; 
 Yet for all her pale doubting did bear, un- 
 aware, 
 A Heaven in her breast; 
 And v;e leaned and we longed in that 
 Heaven to share. 
 
158 RUBAIYxXT OF SOLOMON. 
 
 Be your quest 
 East or West 
 You will bid not a guest, 
 To your banquet of flowers, who will 
 
 dare 
 Wear the hues of my Phlox, past com- 
 pare : 
 As if sunrise itself had descended and blended 
 Its cinnabar-red 
 That fades, through all shades till the last 
 blush has fled — 
 In a snow-dazzle ended, 
 But as for my Pansies, 
 Though I tossed you the stanzas — 
 Chrysalides bursting with fancies more 
 
 bright 
 Than great August butterflies, basking in 
 light— 
 I could never report 
 Half the beautiful sport 
 Of their violet, crimson, bronze, orange and 
 white ! 
 How bluing. 
 Imbruing 
 Their petals in purple, accruing 
 Elf -gold from the underworld vastness, they 
 
 hid 
 To keep safe from my murderous clutch 
 (oh, they did!). 
 Just one of that breed 
 To aversion decreed, 
 
FLOWERS AND A WEED. 1 59 
 
 Out of muddy, low places crept in at his 
 need ! 
 Nay! his wretched coat flaunting, 
 His poverty vaunting — 
 Up-stood with the lovely, their dancing to 
 
 lead, 
 That saucy, intrusive, small scamp of a 
 Weed! 
 
 IV. 
 
 Him I spied out at last — bending down with 
 a frown: 
 Behold, the bold brows of the clown 
 Wore the crown of a heritage true ! 
 Flowers of heavenly hue — oh, he dared to 
 be seen 
 Jeweled only with dew ! 
 Though here smiled an empress and there 
 laughed a queen 
 And he knew 
 The winds blew 
 Through his rags with a whew! 
 But out of those jewels shot sparks 
 As of planets that light up the darks 
 After sunset, when little ones, turning their 
 yearning 
 Wide eyes to the skies, 
 Discerning, say softly: ''God's great angel 
 flies 
 *'And sets His lamps burning!" 
 
l6o RUBAIYAT OF SOLOMON. 
 
 Ah, Nature, most loyal, 
 Proclaimed her tramp royal, — 
 His Most Serene Highness (ten titles be- 
 side!) : 
 Scoff not! lest the King of all kings you de- 
 ride! 
 "Thrive here with the rest. 
 Honored, loved as the best;" 
 So I wept : ''When I bloom where the Holy 
 abide, 
 "White-growing, 
 Peace knowing. 
 In God's very presence out-blowing. 
 Should some of His Seraphim happen my 
 
 way 
 And see me — a sinner, yet crowned — they 
 will say : 
 "Lo, He suffers a weed 
 With His fair ones to feed ! 
 All its poison drained out when He caused 
 it to bleed, — 
 A\^ith a tender, sweet daring, 
 Its firm roots up-tearing! 
 Novv^ set in His garden, what more can it 
 
 need ? 
 For He loves it! He loves it! He planted 
 the seed!" 
 
 Kansas State Social Science Federation 
 Booklet. 
 
DULCISSIM^. 
 
 SPIRIT OF BENEDICTION. 
 [Jane W. Kendall, Providence, R. I.] 
 
 I. 
 
 Oh, Love must lay her viol down 
 
 To silence wed, 
 Wan Life put off her starry crown, 
 Lost earth forego all dear renown, 
 Beloved, if thou art dead! 
 
 IL 
 
 Thou wert the flower of friendliness. 
 
 Of tender ruth 
 That will not any evil guess, 
 Of charity that yearns to bless. 
 Of holy-hearted truth. 
 
 IIL 
 
 Will God thy Heart of Hope deny, — 
 
 Slay Love's desire? 
 Lo, where thy pure dove-offerings fly ! 
 Thine altar gifts with spikenard lie 
 A-smoke in fervent fire! 
 
1 62 RUBAIYAT OF SOLOMON. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Sweet, when we pass as spirits may, 
 
 Through skies all clear. 
 Turn first, the face we knew, our way, 
 That we may weep for joy and say: 
 Behold, our friend is here! 
 
 V. 
 
 Then smile and all thine angel-grace 
 
 To us reveal : 
 So lead us to thy chosen place. 
 The while thy clinging arms embrace, 
 Thy lips our welcome seal. 
 
 Providence Journal. 
 
 AN EVANGELIST. 
 
 [Melissa Lendrum Johnson, Traverse City, 
 Mich.] 
 
 Ah, lovely advocate of good, 
 
 Sweet pleader in the house of prayer, 
 
 Strong heart of gracious womanhood, 
 Wife, mother, neighbor — prone to share 
 Our griefs and half our burdens bear, — 
 
AN EVANGELIST. 1 63 
 
 II. 
 
 Frail helper of the tempest-tossed, 
 Who guided many a wandering soul 
 
 From desert ways by torrents crossed, 
 To where the healing waters roll 
 That make the loathsome leper whole, — 
 
 III. 
 
 Thou wert like Martha, serving much! 
 No less, like Mary, thou didst choose 
 
 The Master's seamless robe to touch, 
 Low at his feet to hear and muse 
 And all thyself in him to lose! 
 
 IV. 
 
 Beloved inheritor of grace: 
 Thou art uplifted now so far, 
 
 Thy lamp that lights celestial space 
 Shines as a new-created star 
 Where God's eternal glories are. 
 
 Well didst thou keep it trimmed and fed 
 Through many years — till one drew nigh 
 
 ''Behold, the bridegroom comes," he said; 
 And gladness ran from earth to sky 
 When, leading thee, the Lord passed by. 
 
164 RUBAIYAT OF SOLOMON. 
 
 VI. 
 
 "Henceforth they from their labors rest." 
 Look down, O, joyful saint, and see 
 
 How with his words of comfort blest, 
 Our dearest solace still shall be 
 To love him more for loving thee. 
 
 Memorial Booklet. 
 
 VICTIM AND VICTOR. 
 
 [A. S. C, author of a lost poem entitled 
 "His Bitter Wine," of which the three lines 
 italicized herein are the only ones remembered.] 
 
 I. 
 
 Racked and rent and sick at heart, 
 
 Sang a beauteous friend of mine : 
 "Let my youth and strength depart,— 
 
 All Life's sweetness I resign; 
 While His well-beloved sup, 
 
 Leaning on the breast divine, 
 If he reach to me the cup, 
 
 / can drink His hitter wine." 
 
VICTIM AND VICTOR. 1 65 
 
 11. 
 
 Ah, the long, red script of pain, 
 
 Traced in heart's blood line by line! 
 Subtly sent through every vein 
 
 Went the treacherous anodyne, — 
 Blighting sense and crazing thought. 
 
 Sobbed that bruised friend of mine: 
 "Shall He trouble me for nought? 
 
 / can choose His bitter wine/' 
 
 III. 
 
 Fleeing from the fires of doom, 
 
 On her flesh their blackening sign, 
 Where the silent waters gloom. 
 
 Sank that broken friend of mine. 
 Saw me trembling on the brink ; 
 
 Whispered from the gulfing brine : 
 "He has given me to drink : 
 
 / can bless His bitter wine/' 
 
 IV. 
 
 Afterward I slept : One came 
 
 Clad in silver raiment fine : 
 In my dream I named her name : 
 
 "Beautiful! O, friend of mine! 
 Is it well with thee?" I said 
 
 "Lo, upon the breast divine 
 Well-beloved I lean my head! 
 
 Fear not thou His bitter wine.'' 
 
1 66 RUBAIYAT OF SOLOMON. 
 
 ONE MERCIFUL. 
 [Hattie Monroe, South Haven, Mich.] 
 
 I. 
 
 Sweet as the honey with the honey-comb 
 Were all thy works, O, friend for whom we 
 grieve ! 
 
 Heart of compassion, angel of the home, — 
 Fulfilling more than duty morn and eve: 
 
 Samaritan who went abroad to see 
 
 If any by the wayside needed thee! 
 
 11. 
 
 Thou who wert great of heart shall greater 
 grow. 
 
 And still the larger life include the less. 
 Though seas go dry and rivers cease to flow, 
 
 Yet will not memory fail nor tenderness. 
 Envy and wrath must die : Love only shares 
 Eternal life with Him whose name she bears. 
 
 in. 
 
 Though round thee suns innumerable blaze, 
 Though aether breathe out flowers thy smiles 
 to woo. 
 
 Though many a happy spirit cross thy ways 
 And kiss thy lips as we were wont to do. 
 
 Pity will turn thee back to seek thine own, 
 
 Lest grief of theirs should be to thee unknown. 
 
HIS MINISTER. 167 
 
 IV. 
 
 Nay! Heavenward pass! But in some holy 
 calm 
 The Word shall come and thou wilt sweetly 
 heed: 
 ''Daughter, behold thy Loved, dispensing balm ! 
 
 Visit thou them and consecrate the deed." 
 Then wilt thou weeping answer: "Lord, I go! 
 "Thou knowest I love them : grant they too 
 may know!" 
 
 HIS MINISTER. 
 [Lydia Alden.] 
 
 "Should any spirit chance my way 
 Upon some saving errand bent, 
 
 And smile across and wave her hand — 
 Pass as the wind nor dare to stay. 
 Therewith I would be well content, 
 
 Would wait and rest and understand," — 
 I mused : but nothing could I say ; 
 For as a ruined blossom, rent 
 
 From God's great rose-tree, on the sand 
 I lay within the washing tide — 
 The strip all narrow, seas all wide! 
 If He had sent His messenger 
 Abroad, I could but look for her. 
 
l68 RUBAIYAT OF SOLOMON. 
 
 II. 
 
 Not through the airy void she came, 
 From out the star-engendering blue, — • 
 Beside me verily she stood! 
 As in a dream I knew her name 
 
 And well her human sweetness knew, — 
 That beauty of her maidenhood, 
 The red-rose blush — Love's hallowed flame, 
 The lips whose laughters breaking through 
 Made bitter sweet and evil good. 
 Upon the drifting thing she gazed, 
 Brought back the flower none else had praised. 
 By miracle to breathe and stir — 
 So gathered to the heart of her. 
 
 III. 
 
 And oh, the wide, white brow upraised 
 For giving thanks, while dark as night 
 
 Lapsed the long billow victimless. 
 Once more for me the sunlight blazed, — 
 Set in a cup of malachite 
 
 As there were still some loveliness. 
 But she, full soon, with glory dazed 
 (For she was precious in His sight!). 
 Rose up, laid by her mortal dress, 
 Put on the garment beautiful — 
 More white than thrice-white fuller's wool — 
 And so became God's minister .... 
 But long, oh, long, I watch for her! 
 
THE LIFE BEAUTIFUL. 1 69 
 
 THE LIFE BEAUTIFUL. 
 
 [Harriet Permelia Jones, aged 74.] 
 
 I. 
 
 O, thou whose courage, Heaven-imbued, 
 Was like the wind-blown cedar strong, 
 Who toiled with patience unsubdued 
 
 Nor grieved nor made complaint of wrong, 
 Who asked no meed of gratitude 
 
 Though tasks were hard and service long, — 
 Well might we search our hearts to see 
 If there some worthiness might be, — 
 Loaded with benefits from thee! 
 
 IL 
 
 Thou didst not search nor seem to know 
 
 If any failed in thankfulness; 
 Returning yet again to show 
 
 Some way of making labor less, 
 And without recompense bestow 
 Nor ever weariness confess. 
 
 Beloved, art thou content to be 
 Where all are happy, safe and free 
 And none have any need of thee? 
 
170 RUB AI VAT OF SOLOMON. 
 
 III. 
 
 No widowed mother to sustain? 
 No hunger- wolf to keep at bay 
 From helpless orphans ? Nought to gain 
 
 For others ? — Lo, but yesterday 
 One passed through all the floods of pain ! 
 Didst thou not meet him on the way? 
 And did he not cry out to thee: 
 "O, sister, thou art fair to see! 
 And art thou come to comfort me?" 
 
 IV. 
 
 Ah, well we know if thou dost pass. 
 
 Unchanged, to where the heavens are bowed 
 While those beside the sea of glass 
 
 Cast down their crowns and cry aloud, 
 Thou canst but choose the paths of grass 
 Where children walk in wind and cloud! 
 Since Love that doth encompass thee 
 Is deeper than the deepest sea. 
 What thou desirest — that shall be. 
 
FRIENDS REMAINING. 
 I. 
 
 Long time have I traveled this round-the-world 
 
 road ; 
 Long time I have carried this wearisome load : 
 But why do these friends whom I happen to 
 meet 
 Reach out, as in pity, my steps to steady, 
 And softly the comforting phrases repeat 
 Folk use when they know there is evil to bode ? 
 Why bring me the callas and violets sweet 
 As though I were dead already? — al- 
 ready. 
 
 IL 
 
 I know where the wasp and the bumble-bee dip 
 In red and white clover — there blissfully sip; 
 I know where the humming-birds flicker 
 and drink 
 That nectar of Hebe, honeyed and heady : 
 What then?— Am I one to be frighted and 
 shrink ? — 
 Though a carnival-masquer my raiment should 
 grip 
 (I chancing to pause!) : 'Tass along! One 
 would think 
 You had lodged with the dead already !"— 
 already. 
 
172 RUBAIYAT OF SOLOMON. 
 
 III. 
 
 Ah, Beloved! — Will you tremble with wonder 
 
 and fear 
 To find me at rest? — Will you shudder and 
 veer 
 And follow the mummers from temple to 
 mart ? 
 Nay! How should your pulses be feeble 
 and thready, 
 So fed and so filled from a generous heart! 
 You have counseled me, cherished me, given 
 me cheer, 
 Have praised me and loved me as that were 
 a part 
 Of your creed and I dead already! — al- 
 ready. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Were I verily dead what could hinder to say? 
 In a fleet caravel I should voyage away, 
 
 To a golden, great Continent cry "All hail !*' 
 
 But oh, should there be some returning, 
 
 swift eddy, 
 
 Some swerve of the helm or some trick of 
 
 the sail. 
 
 Whereby I might float back — yea, enter the 
 
 bay! — 
 While we smiled on each other God's peace 
 would prevail 
 As though you were dead already ! — already. 
 May 2S, 1905. 
 
THE HEREAFTER. 
 
 HIS VOICE. 
 
 [Porter Jones, 2nd N. Y. Mounted Rifles.] 
 I. 
 
 Ill those most grievous years 
 When cradled babes woke with the shock of 
 
 drums 
 And lister.ers mourned : '*So close the danger 
 comes, 
 "Our best beloved, even ours, must go!" 
 Mine also went : — For what are women's 
 tears 
 That fear of them should work a nation 
 woe? 
 But I, in forests deep 
 Where the wake-robin, smiling still ap- 
 pears 
 White-rosy after melting of the snow% 
 Hid me with birds that in the shadow keep, 
 Since mine it is to sing while others weep. 
 
 II. 
 
 There slowdy news blew in 
 Like thistle-seeds full softly taking root 
 To wound forevermore the naked foot 
 Of any school-boy rambler and to make 
 
174 RUBAIYAT OF SOLOMON. 
 
 The blushing flower he covets hard to 
 win, 
 But so it chanced that once, at dawn 
 awake, — 
 Thrilled with a soul-sent cry 
 That rent this robe of flesh worn all too 
 thin — 
 I rose up trembling: "Twice my name he 
 spake ! 
 "As I were by his bed I heard him sigh 
 And knew his dying voice .... Ah, must he 
 die?" 
 
 III. 
 
 "Answer and comfort me," 
 Long after whispered I, and wept and wept : 
 Then were the clouds from my dull eyeballs 
 swept. 
 Saw I, wnthin the deep, disparted sky 
 
 An army moving like a glittering sea . . . 
 He, leaping from the ranks with hand flung 
 high 
 As victor's signal-flame 
 And happy mouth where kisses well might 
 be. 
 Me had he kissed, — his legions half gone by 
 (Did I not hear his voice that named my 
 
 name?) 
 But earth plucked back my soul and darkness 
 came. 
 
AT FIRST. 175 
 
 AT FIRST. 
 
 I. 
 
 If I should fall asleep one day, 
 
 All over-worn, 
 And should my spirit from the clay 
 Go dreaming out the Heavenward way, 
 Or thence be softly borne, — 
 
 11. 
 
 I pray you angels do not first 
 
 Assail mine ear 
 With that blest anthem oft rehearsed : 
 •'Behold, the bonds of death are burst!" 
 Lest I should faint with fear. 
 
 III. 
 
 But let some happy bird at hand 
 
 The silence break : 
 So shall I dimly understand 
 That dawn has touched a blossoming land 
 And sigh myself awake. 
 
 IV. 
 
 From that deep rest emerging so, 
 
 To lift the head 
 And see the bath-flower's bell of snow 
 The pink arbutus and the low 
 Spring-beauty streaked with red, 
 
176 RUBAIYAT OF SOLOMON. 
 
 V. 
 
 Will all suffice; no otherwhere 
 
 Impelled to roam. 
 Till some blithe wanderer, passing fair, 
 Will smiling pause — of- me aware — 
 
 And murmur: "Welcome Home!" 
 
 VI. 
 
 So sweetly greeted I shall rise 
 
 To kiss her cheek, 
 Then lightly soar in lovely guise, 
 As one familiar with the skies 
 Who finds and need not seek. 
 
 The Century Magazine. 
 
 Poets and Poetry of Buffalo. 
 
 AFTERWARD. 
 
 I. 
 
 I shall not find the heavens too bright, 
 
 O, Loved, my Friend! 
 When to thine islands of delight. 
 Angelic, swift and clear of sight, 
 Exulting I ascend. 
 
AFTERWARD. I J J 
 
 II. 
 
 There swimming in a silver space 
 
 Unharmed of heat, — 
 Their nodding flowers shall do us grace. 
 Nay! suns must swerve to give us place 
 When face to face we meet! 
 
 III. 
 
 Ah, then into the deep, dead Past, 
 
 We two will sink ! 
 Will clutch and hold each other fast, — 
 Climb up from that salt sea at last. 
 
 Stand trembling on the brink ! 
 
 IV. 
 
 Peer far into the dim abyss, 
 
 Laugh out to find 
 Not even earth may roll amiss! .... 
 Turn round and with a clinging kiss 
 Blend heart and soul and mind. 
 
 Balsams and mints beneath our feet 
 
 With violets white, 
 A singing sound where thrushes meet 
 Shall with the blowing winds make sweet 
 Our islands of delight. 
 
178 RUBAIYAT OF SOLOMON. 
 
 VL 
 
 And they who come and go, or yet 
 
 In peace abide, 
 Will as the prophets shine — who met 
 Our sorrowing Brother, ere was set 
 The cross whereon he died. 
 
 VII. 
 
 We too shall glistening raiment wear, 
 
 Exceeding white .... 
 Lo, yet I breathe this desert air! 
 Their prey the ravening lions tear, — 
 / swooning at the sight! 
 
 Dec, 1 89 1. 
 
 THEIR HEAVENLY HOUSE. 
 
 I. 
 
 No star among the stars can be 
 
 More swift in flight 
 Than is my ransomed soul set free : 
 Through aether speeding far I see 
 A world with summits white. 
 
THEIR HEAVENLY HOUSE. 179 
 
 II. 
 
 Thither I soar: — Up-swings amain 
 
 Its morning sun! 
 Through seven fair colors laughs the rain : 
 I ween that is a beauteous plain 
 Where yonder rivers run ! 
 
 III. 
 
 Down traveling as one in haste, 
 
 By crag and mere, 
 I brush the dewy mosses, laced 
 With balmy plants of wood and waste 
 (On earth I held them dear!) : 
 
 IV. 
 
 Small eye-bright, creeping princess-pine. 
 
 Pure coolwort pale, 
 Striped dragon-root and partridge-vine, 
 W^ith slim, red-yellow columbine 
 That roots in crumbling shale. 
 
 V. 
 
 Here by the slipping falls I glean 
 
 The bell-flower blue, 
 Here snowy mandrakes look and lean, 
 As searching for the hollows green 
 
 Where ^first they drank the dew, — 
 
I So RUBAIYAT OF SOLOMON. 
 
 VI. 
 
 What time, a child, I passed their way 
 
 And all the vale 
 Was cool with shade and flying spray 
 That set the jewel-weed a-sway — 
 So tall it was and frail. 
 
 VII. 
 
 Lo, here the drooping beeches hide 
 
 Their giant brakes, 
 And here the alder trees divide, 
 Where babbling mountain brooks make wide 
 The white-emblossomed lakes. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Far-spreading to the level skies, 
 
 Here, drift on drift. 
 Red meadow-lilies sink and rise, 
 For many a humming creature flies 
 And Summer gales are swift. 
 
 IX. 
 
 As doubtful of the way I turn,— 
 
 Behold, above. 
 Pellucid domes as bubbles burn! 
 To reach that Holy House I yearn, 
 I tremble — sick of love ! 
 
THEIR HEAVENLY HOUSE. l8l 
 
 X. 
 
 There two abide in deep content : 
 
 Soft sounds there be 
 Where late their choral music went, 
 Whose mountain-echoes, all unspent, 
 Are like a singing sea. 
 
 XL 
 
 O, hark ! Within a raptured cry : 
 
 **She comes, full fair. 
 Who heard, at night, the Master sigh 
 And whispered, grieving : 'Here am 1 ! 
 With me thy sorrows share !' 
 
 XII. 
 
 ''Oft with her burdens overweighed, 
 
 Where snares abound. 
 Erring and sinful — deep afraid, 
 She followed him whom men betrayed, 
 
 And pierced with many a wound. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 "Arise! His well-beloved greet, — 
 
 Long needing rest! 
 Has he not named our daughter sweet 
 As flowers that kissed his wandering feet- 
 In whom we too are blest ?" 
 
1 82 RUBAIYAT OF SOLOMON. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 Not less I weeping answer : "Nay ! 
 
 "These many years, 
 Save for your footprints in the clay 
 I had not kept the narrow way!" . . 
 Fast fall their happy tears ! 
 
 Kansas Woman's Press Association. 
 
 WITHOUT THE GATES. 
 
 I. 
 
 When, new in Heaven, I turn aside 
 
 From friends long dear, 
 And where the starry paths divide 
 Within a holy shadow hide 
 
 And to my Lord draw near, — 
 
 II. 
 
 Late mountain climber, sore distressed, 
 
 Torn hands and feet, 
 Lo, as a babe upon His breast, 
 Rest, rest, immeasurable rest 
 Will be my portion sweet! 
 
WITHOUT THE GATES. l^Z 
 
 III. 
 
 As a full river Peace will flow: 
 
 Till satisfied 
 I sigh : ''Thy bliss I faintly know : 
 ''Give me no less to share thy woe. 
 And with thy lost abide." 
 
 IV. 
 
 Thence passing — evermore to be 
 
 His messenger — 
 How will His darkness cover me! 
 O, leper most abhorred ! to thee 
 My love shall minister, — 
 
 Even to the uttermost of grief, 
 
 Than death more dread :^ 
 Till thou — of sinful ones the chief — 
 Full sorely weeping, past belief, 
 Shalt from the tombs be led. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Behold, without the city-gates 
 
 The Master stands 
 And thy desired coming waits ! 
 There shalt thou pluck the honeyed dates 
 With healed and hallowed hands, — 
 
184 RUBAIYAT OF SOLOMON. 
 
 VII. 
 
 His words, through many a flowery place 
 
 Repeating oft: 
 A happy, happy child of grace, — 
 Caressing winds upon thy face 
 And infant-kisses soft. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Hewer of sepulchres, make wide 
 
 The doorways dim, 
 Where outcasts lurk whom men deride, 
 There will my Lord and I abide: — 
 I shall be safe with Him. 
 
 A FLOWER OF PARADISE. 
 
 "Now a phantasy, 
 A simple shape, an image of the brain, 
 Is merely passive, does not retroact, 
 Is seen but sees not.'' 
 
 Eli::abeth Barrett Brozvning. 
 
 I. 
 
 Long since, ere the bloom of my youth went 
 
 by, 
 
 The hand of a spirit was on me laid : 
 ''Look now on the sun, nor be dismayed. 
 
A FLOWER OF PARADISE. 185 
 
 It rocks ! It pales ! — By the symbol high, 
 The lord of the household soon must die." 
 
 II. 
 
 A^^ain (and now with a soft command) : 
 '*He has left his work ere the day is done; 
 He drops from his place as a falling sun. 
 Let there be no mourning in all the land 
 While God, for your father, puts forth His 
 hand. 
 
 III. 
 
 "To give him a welcome they gather afar 
 On the mount where the chanting harpers 
 
 meet, — 
 The brothers he loved and the sisters sweet 
 The sires who wander from star to star. 
 The mothers who stay where the cherubim are, 
 
 IV. 
 
 "With the sun-bright boy and the babes that 
 first 
 He kissed, when the loves and thoughts of 
 
 them 
 Were like rills that a fallen leaf could stem. 
 Pure waters, dripping where rocks had burst 
 When The Father pitied his father-thirst." 
 
l86 RUBAIYAT OF SOLOMON. 
 
 V. 
 
 Then sank my soul in a sobbing flood 
 (The grief of the young is a bitter sea!) : 
 Till I sighed : *Tf only there fell on me — 
 A trembling creature of flesh and blood — 
 From the flowers of his Eden, a single bud!" 
 
 VI. 
 
 Down dropped my lids, as a friend had pressed, 
 And a great light spread! (Let no one say 
 That the Lord walks not in the cool of the 
 day; 
 For I verily know that a Christian blest 
 Might pass, in that light, to his glad, long 
 rest!) : 
 
 VIL 
 
 And out of ineffable silence came 
 
 A child, who moved as the lilies will, 
 In a holy gravity, white and still : 
 Her eyes held mine: "Is your love the same? 
 *'Did you know me once? Can you name my 
 name?" 
 
 VIIL 
 
 Then my heart sprang up as a sun had burst, 
 While the bergs of an ice-world, sinking 
 
 deep, 
 Forever and ever were sent to sleep : 
 
A FLOWER OF PARADISE. 1 8/ 
 
 *'0, Mary ! Mary ! — the glory first, 
 Then thou . . . and the river to quench his 
 thirst!" 
 
 IX. 
 
 How sure is the peace of the undefiled! 
 As all my sins were a sealed book 
 She looked on me as the seraphs look ; 
 But the face where-through her spirit smiled, 
 Was the dimpled face of an earth-born child. 
 
 A rain fell into the new-made grave 
 
 Where deep in the dust that dust was laid 
 Was ever a blossom that would not fade ?- 
 
 Away on the hills God's banners wave . . . 
 
 But oh, the smile and the look she gave ! 
 
 XI. 
 
 Turn thou and see — though the eyes be dim- 
 The babes, the brothers and sisters far, 
 The sires who travel from star to star. 
 The sun-bright boys who are fleet of limb. 
 The mothers who stay with the cherubim. 
 
l88 RUBAIYAT OF SOLOMON. 
 
 NATIONAL AND INTERNATIONAL. 
 
 AMERICA : ELECT AMONG NATIONS. 
 
 I. 
 
 Now who are these thronging thy gate? 
 
 One knocks at thy door : 
 '^Behold, where my multitudes wait ! 
 
 They hunger and great is thy store! 
 They have drunk of the fountains of salt 
 
 Where the red lions breed; 
 They are leprous and fevered and halt, 
 
 They are humbled and bruised as the reed." 
 
 Is not this the Master indeed f 
 
 Foot-iveary and worn 
 
 The heat of the day he has home: 
 Wilt thou comfort all these in their need? 
 
 II. 
 
 Wert thou not cast up from the sea 
 
 To a banquet of blood? 
 And are there not balsams for thee. 
 
 Magnolias and laurels in bud? 
 Thy harvests — who reckons their worth? — 
 
 Wheat and corn in the seed : 
 For the armies that trample the earth 
 Who numbers thy cattle that bleed ? 
 
AMERICA : ELFXT AMONG NATIONS. 189 
 
 Shall Christ for his desolate plead 
 
 Nor move thee to bless? 
 
 O, thou who art rich beyond guess, 
 Turn back to thy records and read! 
 
 III. 
 
 Uplift them the Black and the Brown ; 
 
 Anoint the torn feet. 
 Are they troublers ? — of evil renown ? 
 
 Yet cleanse them and they shall be sweet. 
 Who murdered that Lover of Men? 
 
 Not theirs was the deed. 
 Should they wound thee in anger, what then ? 
 He calls thee : O, serve him with speed ! 
 
 Stand forth in thy beauty and feed 
 
 His Poor unashamed. 
 
 Full szveetly thy name shall be named 
 And who shall thy glory exceed! 
 The Outlook. 
 
IQO RUBAIYAT OF SOLOMON. 
 
 THE SAVING OF AN EMPIRE. 
 
 Inscribed to John Hay, U. S. Secretary of 
 State. 
 
 I. 
 
 Said one among his counselors : 
 "My soul the battle-creed abhors: 
 
 Yet to be Czar indeed, 
 My neighbor's hate must I provoke, 
 Lay on Manchuria my yoke — 
 
 Cleave China for my need." 
 
 Hearkened the angel of the yellow seas: 
 ''And if thou plunder these — 
 
 God's ancient, foolish, well-beloved folk — 
 Canst thou His wrath appease f 
 
 II. 
 
 "J sicken with desire," quoth he: 
 ** Needs must I reach the open sea, 
 
 Drink up its winds like wine, — 
 Send round my armored ships of oak 
 To meet my rushing trains a-smoke. 
 
 And make its harbors mine!" 
 
 Answered the angel of the lesser seas : 
 
 ''Armed are the Japanese, 
 Jealous and fierce, a mighty Jsland-folk: 
 
 And wilt thou slaughter these?" 
 
THE SAVING OF AN EMPIRE. I9I 
 
 III. 
 
 *'GoD keep our fatherland from wars!" 
 Spake one among his counselors : 
 
 ''But tell me what prevents 
 That I, on China's coast, evoke 
 My world-defying thunder-stroke 
 
 And stretch abroad my tents?" 
 
 Sighed the great angel set to guard the seas : 
 '''That thou rnayst pillage these.'' 
 
 Break in upon the homes of humble folk 
 And kill their honey-bees?" 
 
 IV. 
 
 ''Nay! but they spurn the Christ!" said he*. 
 "The blood of martyrs calls to me ! 
 
 Hear ye my just decrees : 
 Lead in my ships, their channels choke, 
 And where Confucius loved and spoke 
 
 Their holy city seize!" 
 
 "Hozvbeit to thee they, loathing, bend the 
 knees, 
 
 They worship whom they please: 
 And dear to God are all His sinful folk; 
 
 Art thou more just than these?" 
 
192 RUBAIYAT OF SOLOMON. 
 
 V. 
 
 Spake one far off: '*0, Counselors, 
 
 "Plague not the weak with wounds and wars 
 
 And ravenings ill to meet! 
 Through open doorways Peace invoke; 
 Speak, as of old, the Master spoke, 
 
 And win a welcome sweet." 
 
 Cried the strong angel of the sheltered seas : 
 
 ''Come ye and comfort these 
 With righteous traffic till the busy folk 
 
 Laugh out and live at ease!' 
 
 VI. 
 
 Again from far: ''O, Rulers great, 
 A\ hose armies warring without hate. 
 
 Your crimsoning flags unfold, — 
 Albeit God's holy truce ye broke 
 S^e that ye wield no thunder-stroke 
 
 To cleave His empire old." 
 
 Chanted the angel of the embattled seas: 
 
 "Russian and Japanese — 
 IVar if ye must but spare His pagan folk 
 
 Who strive their dead to please/' 
 
 VII. 
 
 Among his pallid counselors 
 One sig^hs : ''Their greed the earth abhors, 
 ''Who haste to seize and hold. 
 
TPIE SAVING OF AN EMI IRE. JO3 
 
 Alas! and who shall lift the yoke 
 From Russia's poor? — their bareness cloak? 
 Crush their revoltings bold?" 
 
 Sorrowed that angel of the drowning seas : 
 
 ''Corruption taints the breeze. 
 By fort and hill who counts the slaughtered 
 folk? 
 
 What sunken ships are these?'' 
 
 VIII. 
 
 O, thou, beside thy broken wall, 
 An opium-slumberer held in thrall, 
 
 Great-limbed and dull of sight, 
 Rise, China ! Not in battle-smoke 
 Christ comes .... Be thine his easy yoke 
 
 A.nd thine his burden light. 
 
 Sings the white angel treading down the seas : 
 
 ''Nczu wine or hitter lees, 
 Lo, God shall give to all His mighty folk 
 
 As they shall give to these T 
 
194 RUBAIYAT OF SOLOMON. 
 
 FORT RILEY. 
 
 Through the efforts of General Philip Henry 
 Sheridan, a tract of 20,000 acres along the Re- 
 publican and Smoky Hill Rivers, Kansas, was 
 set aside by Congress in 1886 as a perpetual 
 training-ground for a National School of 
 Cavalry and Artillery. This tract includes Col. 
 Ogden's monument, which stands exactly upon 
 the geographical center of the United States. 
 
 I. 
 
 Where the prairies under a zenith white 
 
 Through the golden flowers of the 
 ''Sunny State," 
 
 Have opened their wildering paths of Hght 
 To the inmost heart of a nation great, 
 The hills for the trampling squadrons wait. 
 
 11. 
 
 Left bare in the billowy movements grand 
 When the gods that rise from a fiery tide 
 
 Beneath the roof of the crusted sand — 
 
 Recking the earth with their clamberings 
 wide — 
 
 Went shoving and shouldering seas aside, — 
 
FORT RILEY. 195 
 
 III. 
 
 They stand a-daze in a glimmer of smoke 
 Through a luminous ether soaring high, 
 
 From the dusky thickets of elm and oak 
 
 On guard where the calm, blue rivers lie, 
 To the gray rock-brows that front the eye. 
 
 IV. 
 
 O, soldiers — loved by a soldier great — 
 
 Ere the night-like shadow of war obscures, 
 
 Ride in to your home through a golden gate, 
 For the nation's inmost heart is yours 
 As long as the heart of the world endures ! 
 
 V. 
 
 Yours, when the winds are fleet and sharp, 
 That out of the ice-cold countries blow. 
 
 When you gallop abreast over valley and scarp 
 And follow the flight of the powdered 
 
 snow. 
 To scatter the lines of a phantom foe; 
 
 VI. 
 
 Yours when the hurrying springs return 
 
 And up from the low^-land creeps the fire, 
 
 While the withered sun-flowers crackle and burn 
 And all in a blossoming glory aspire 
 To the star-sown realm of their long 
 desire ; 
 
196 RUBAIYAT OF SOLOMON. 
 
 VII. 
 
 Yours when the boughs of the red-bud glow 
 
 In the mossy ravines where the thrushes 
 
 sing, ^ 
 
 Where the pink wood-sorrels and daisies grow 
 
 And the fair-faced flowers of the compass 
 
 swing 
 On the slopes where the jubilant larks up- 
 spring; 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Yours when the yucca lifts her head, 
 
 As a princess might, while the troops go 
 past, 
 
 And the sensitive-roses and mallows — red 
 As a patriot's life-blood oozing fast, 
 Are under the hoofs of your horses cast ! 
 
 IX. 
 
 But what of the heir of a Roman name — 
 The young Republic stately and proud, 
 Whose sons were swathed in a garment of 
 flame, 
 What time the head of the prophet was 
 
 bowed 
 And the Lord rode by in the thick, black 
 cloud ? 
 
FORT RILEY. 197 
 
 X. 
 
 And what of the people first and last — 
 
 Saxon and Norman — Puritan-bred, 
 Huguenot — whirled in a devil's blast, 
 
 When Charles looked out and the night 
 
 was red 
 And his beautiful cities were heaped with 
 dead? 
 
 XL 
 
 Peasant and anarchist, prince and serf 
 
 (Cargo of sinking ships out-thrown!), 
 
 African — tramping a blood-soaked turf. 
 Drift of the continents overgrown, 
 Dust of the Orient hitherward blown! 
 
 XII. 
 
 When the toppling monarchies crashing fall 
 (The world a-weary of purple state!) 
 
 When the empire-gulfing waters all 
 
 Up-gathering, towxr in an eagre great, 
 And Madness rides on the waves elate, — 
 
 XIIL 
 
 Far over the Freeman's country hurled : 
 O, soldiers, loved by a chieftain tried 
 As the mighty gods of the underworld 
 
 (With the people beneath in a fiery tide), 
 Arise and shoulder the seas aside! 
 
 America. 
 
198 RUBAIYAT OF SOLOMON. 
 
 HAWAII. 
 
 A Recognized Republic, Feb., 1894. 
 
 I. 
 
 ''Let the zvaters divide/' said the Lord in His 
 power, 
 ''And the finnaiiient be:" 
 Then rose a white mist Hke the hly in flower,. 
 
 Where Hawaii, set free, 
 (With His fire in her heart,) stood before Him 
 that hour 
 And gathered her islands up out of the 
 
 sea : 
 ''As the rose they shall blossom/' said He. 
 
 II. 
 
 Be at peace, ye proud billows that haste to de- 
 vour ; 
 His Beloved is she! 
 The rulers that trample the lilies in flower 
 
 And their war-plagues decree, 
 If they touch but Hawaii's gold borders shall 
 cower : 
 For out of the whirlwind His answer shall 
 
 be 
 When He spreadeth His light on the sea. 
 
199 
 III. 
 
 O, Hawaii, the sunrise is on thee this hour! 
 
 Be it spoken of thee : 
 "She hallows her beautiful mountains that 
 tower 
 
 Where the cloud-shadows flee; 
 She is white in His sight as a lily in flower; 
 
 As gardens of spices her islands shall be — 
 
 Most sweet in the midst of the sea!" 
 
 Overland Monthly. 
 
 "MY IRISH." 
 
 [In Reverent Memory of Victoria the Good.] 
 
 I. 
 
 "Now thanks to my Irish!" out-spake the 
 great Queen : 
 "Hot-hearted, courageous and knightly, 
 Away marched their infantry, gallant of mien, 
 
 And oh, but their troopers were sightly! 
 They crossed the wide sea where the vessels 
 
 careen, 
 They faced the thick bolts of Death, speeding 
 unseen, — 
 Ah, how shall I honor them rightly? 
 
200 RUBAIYAT OF SOLOMON. 
 
 II. 
 
 "So vast is the reach of my empire terrene, 
 My snows, North and South ghmmer 
 whitely : 
 Tides laugh where my beautiful isles intervene, 
 
 Suns garnish my continents brightly, 
 Full blithely shall African harvesters glean : 
 But alas, for the wounded and slain!" sighed 
 the Queen : 
 "And how shall I honor them rightly!" 
 
 III. 
 
 "Go pluck me the pride of your island-demesne, 
 Child-wanderers gentle and sprightly! 
 
 To pin on my breast where the little ones lean 
 That comfort me daily and nightly. 
 
 To them I will talk of my Irish who screen 
 
 My throne at such cost, — they shall learn," 
 said the Queen : 
 "Of heroes and honor them rightly. 
 
 IV. 
 
 "Bring hither their bugler, too young for that 
 scene 
 Where War plowed the furrows un- 
 sightly : 
 
 Yet ever his bugle rang out clear and keen 
 
201 
 
 While, bleeding, he clung to it tightly. 
 I will give him another of silvery sheen, 
 And send the boy back to the front," smiled 
 the Queen. 
 
 "To prove that I honor him rightly. 
 
 V. 
 
 **GoD speed you, dragoon, fusilier and marine! 
 
 Your lowliest soldier is knightly : 
 With Roberts and Kitchener, — what do they 
 mean 
 Who speak of my Irish so lightly? 
 No doubt but great Wellington, riding unseen, 
 Went leading the ranks that are wearing the 
 green : 
 Shout, England and honor them rightly! 
 
 VI. 
 
 *'Blow, blow, little bugler! your melody keen 
 
 Oft sounded shall never ring tritely. 
 Your bugle starts echoes from rock and ravine 
 
 However you breathe in it slightly! 
 Unscared sing the love-birds — their plumage 
 
 they preen 
 On the graves of My Irish : yet blow," spake 
 the Queen, 
 "Your music shall honor them rightly. 
 
202 RUBAIYAT OF SOLOMON. 
 
 VIL 
 
 "O, Ireland, so narrow the channel between 
 
 The sea-gulls cross over it lightly! 
 Your seeds have blown hither : See, deep in this 
 green 
 Your shamrock is blossoming whitely! 
 Who says that I love not my Irish ? I ween 
 It is little he knows of true love," quoth the 
 Queen : 
 "My heart breaks to honor them rightly !" 
 
 AMERICA TO ENGLAND. 
 
 [At Close of the South African War.] 
 
 I. 
 
 Hail, thou of whom false seers did prophesy 
 
 Of late, upon the hills, with hands out- 
 spread ! 
 "Tremble, O, England ! Stretched athwart the 
 sky,^ 
 
 To drink thy blood the dragon War hath 
 sped. 
 
 To whom, erevvhile, were knights and 
 maidens fed : 
 
 Tremble nor look for help. . . St. George 
 is dead. 
 
AMERICA TO ENGLAND. 203 
 
 11. 
 
 "Lo, proud Assyria to her greatness wed, 
 
 Wise Egypt and Phosnicia none descry! 
 Call if thou wilt, — no sleeper lifts the head: 
 It is the roaring lion makes reply. 
 Greater thy fall as thou art built more 
 
 high : 
 Art thou not dying? Harken! thou shalt 
 die!" 
 
 IIT. 
 
 Rent were the mountains when the Lord passed 
 by: 
 
 Up-rose the wild-haired warriors, Island- 
 bred, 
 Who crushed against the spears, hearts drain- 
 ing dry 
 
 To keep thee fair and free for whom they 
 bled. 
 
 They leaped to life from where they made 
 their bed : 
 
 They had been fierce and fell, — their 
 ghosts were dread ! 
 
 IV. 
 
 ^'Britain, be these our sons, to carnage led, 
 Full loud of voice and swift as hounds in 
 cry? 
 
204 RUBAIYAT OF SOLOMON. 
 
 For thee must they the leopard's pathway 
 thread 
 While darkening heaven the bearded vul- 
 tures hie? 
 O, Sweet, our blether ! Thee should they 
 
 deny, 
 Ourselves would smite them, warring 
 eye to eye! 
 
 V. 
 
 "What though thy wandering feet the jungle 
 
 try 
 
 Where close the tigress creeps, her young 
 
 unfed. 
 
 Fast shall they follow, lest thou sink and sigh 
 
 Wounded, for-done, with many foes 
 
 bested ! 
 Content thee ! their's the toil : turn thou 
 
 and spread 
 Thy board with milk and flesh and sacred 
 bread!" 
 
 VI. 
 
 Hail, England ! Thou to more than greatness 
 wed ! 
 As for thy martyrs, evermore they cry 
 Before his face who did the wine-p**ess tread : 
 "Holy is He who gave us leave to die 
 For our Beloved ! Far her doves shall fly 
 And Mercy brood between the sea and 
 sky." 
 
PANAMA. 205 
 
 VII. 
 
 Enriched with lilies shall thy years go by, — 
 
 The TREE of trees thy shelter overhead : 
 Behold, the leaves upon its branches high 
 Are for the healing of the nations shed! 
 Twelve are its fruits — the purple and the 
 
 red. 
 Pluck thou and eat and be with sweetness 
 fed. 
 
 PANAMA : 
 
 Home of the Dove-plant, or Holy Ghost Flower. 
 
 I. 
 
 What time the Lord drew back the sea 
 
 And gave thee room, slight Panama, 
 *T will not have thee great," said He, 
 But thou shalt bear the slender key 
 Of both the gates I builded Me. 
 And all the great shall come to thee 
 For leave to pass, O, Panama ! 
 
 [Flozi'cr of the Holy Ghost, ivhitc dove, 
 Breathe snueetiiess lijhere He urought in 
 love!'] 
 
 II. 
 
 His oceans call across the land ! 
 
 "How long, how long, fair Panama, 
 Wilt thou the shock of tides withstand, 
 
206 RUBAIYAT OF SOLOMON. 
 
 Nor heed us, sobbing by the strand ? 
 Set wide tliy gates on either hand, 
 That we may search through saltless sand 
 May clasp and kiss, O, Panama! 
 
 [Flozcer of the dccp-emhosonied dove 
 So should His mighty nations love!] 
 
 III. 
 
 Outpeal His holy temple-clocks ! 
 
 It is thine hour, glad Panama : 
 Now shall thy key undo the locks ; 
 The strong shall cleave thy sunken rocks : 
 Swung loose and floating from their docks. 
 The world's white fleets shall come in flocks 
 To thread thy straits, O, Panama! 
 [Flozver of the tropics, snowy dove, 
 Forbid, unless they come in love.] 
 
 IV. 
 
 How beautiful is thy demesne! 
 
 Search out thy wealth, proud Panama, 
 Thy gold, thy pearls of silver sheen, 
 Thy fruitful palms, thy thickets green, 
 Load thou the ships that ride between : 
 Attire thee as becomes a Queen, — 
 
 Tlie great ones greet thee, Panama. 
 {Flozver of the zvhite and peaceful dove 
 Let all men pass zvho come in love.] 
 
 The Ceyitnry Magazine, 
 
A SONG OF PEACE. 207 
 
 A SONG OF PEACE. 
 
 I. 
 
 From out the flowering lilac-tree 
 
 A singing sound saluted me : 
 
 I said: ''Is that the wren?" 
 
 Or bird or spirit, still the voice 
 
 So made my leaping heart rejoice, 
 
 I sang: "Declare, my tongue and pen, 
 **He comes ! he comes ! the Man of men !" 
 
 11. 
 
 And all the lilac-blossoms white 
 Breathed out their odors of delight 
 
 To gladden field and fen : 
 While through enraptured spaces high 
 Where wear's reverberations die, 
 
 One called : "Prepare ! ye nations ten ! 
 
 "Behold he comes ! the Man of men !" 
 
 III. 
 
 O, world, with blood of slaughter wet, 
 Are not the vials emptied yet 
 
 That deluge hill and glen ? 
 Through smoke of human sacrifice. 
 Still must the cry of pleading rise : 
 
 ''We know that thou wilt come . . . but 
 
 when ? 
 Earth groans for thee, thou Man of 
 men!" 
 
208 RUBAIYAT OF SOLOMON. 
 
 IV. 
 
 The listening lilacs white as snow 
 
 That loveliness of him shall know : 
 Sing low, enchanting wren. 
 
 Lest we should lose some echo soft 
 
 Swooning, reviving far aloft, 
 
 Where, screened of God from mortal ken, 
 Souls chant: ''Behold the Man of men!" 
 
 V. 
 
 No bursting bomb shall mar the feast ; 
 
 No nation, as an hungered beast, 
 
 Come snarling from the den; 
 
 No armies, all dismembered, hear 
 
 The shrieking wounded far and near; 
 No wailing women answer then : 
 When he shall come — the Man of men. 
 
 VI. 
 
 O, mourners, cover well your dead! 
 Into God's peace their souls have fled. 
 Sweet, sweet, O, singing wren, 
 Love's plenteous dews on vale and hill! 
 There shall his lilies drink their fill ! 
 
 Ah, crucify him not again! 
 
 Behold, he comes ! the MAN^of men ! 
 
 Kansas Federation of Women's Clubs. 
 
RUBAIYAT OF SOLOMON. 209 
 
 O, LISTEN MY COUNTRY! 
 
 (For music.) 
 
 I. 
 
 O, listen my Country! — The forests are call- 
 ing,— 
 The palm and the red-wood, the balsam and 
 fir: 
 "Behold how the dews from our branches are 
 falling 
 On fields of delight where the grey deserts 
 were. 
 Our birds wing their way from the cloud to the 
 prairie, 
 Our timbers are roofing your palaces grand ; 
 By fires we have lighted your children make 
 merry. 
 The good ships we gave you speed out from 
 the strand." 
 Ah, listen ! — "To serve you we r6st not nor 
 slumber : 
 We hold back the torrents that ravage 
 the sod. 
 By thousands the years of our gladness we 
 number, — 
 Nor shall we out-live you, O, Chosen of 
 God!" 
 
2IO RUBAIYAT OF SOLOMON. 
 
 II. 
 
 O, listen my Country ! — The oceans are calling : 
 ''We follow you East and we follow you 
 West : 
 To greet you our long tides are rising and fall- 
 ing,— 
 We lift up the suns or we drift them to rest. 
 We rock in our cradles each beautiful river 
 That rolls from your mountains through val- 
 leys of gold ; 
 We laugh under vessels that rush to deliver 
 Your wealth to the people whose sorrows are 
 old." 
 Ah, listen! — 'To guard you we rest not 
 nor slumber : 
 We curb the tornadoes with thunder- 
 bolts shod: 
 By millions* the years of our splendor we 
 number ; 
 But who shall out-live you ? — O, Chosen 
 of God r 
 
 III. 
 
 O, listen my Country! — The nations are call- 
 ing: 
 "We borrowed your seeds, — we are plough- 
 ing the sward : 
 
RUBAIYAT OF SOLOMON. 211 
 
 Around us the walls of our prisons are falling : 
 Come help us to build on the rocks of the 
 Lord! 
 To whiten your raiment His billows are flow- 
 ing, 
 To lead your sweet worship His evergreens 
 sing: 
 While winds of the world round His altars are 
 blowing, 
 The fruits of your love for a sacrifice bring." 
 Ah, listen ! — "Forever shall Tyranny 
 slumber ! 
 Your roses are blooming where armies 
 
 have trod : 
 Though stars the bright years of proud 
 
 Liberty number. 
 She shall not out-live you, O, Chosen of 
 God! 
 
 April, 1906. 
 
 AMERICA MAGNA. 
 
 [Music by John L. Roberts.] 
 
 L 
 
 She stands on the mountain, her grandeur re- 
 vealing ; 
 
212 RUBAIYAT OF SOLOMON. 
 
 The deep soil she hallows where slumber her 
 Dead; 
 
 She guides through our valleys the rivers of 
 healing ; 
 She charms into silence the battle-clouds red. 
 America Magna! . . . To-day and to- 
 morrow — 
 All days be her beauty and glory increased! 
 Arise and salute her, O, Children of Sorrow ! 
 Come forth out of shadow, make merry and 
 feast. 
 
 II. 
 
 She calls from her summit: "Your dwellings 
 
 keep holy ; 
 Your little ones cherish, — grant Labor his 
 
 part; 
 Give strength to the feeble, pure food to the 
 
 lowly ; 
 Set thrones for white Honor in temple and 
 
 mart !" 
 America Magna! — 'Tour out your rich 
 
 treasure 
 When cities go down where the floods are 
 
 released : 
 Cast low by the earthquake ah, stint not 
 
 your measure! 
 Cry loudly and sweetly : Take comfort and 
 
 feast!'" 
 
RUBAIYAT OF SOLOMON. 2I3 
 
 III. 
 
 O, spirit more lovely than orbs that are 
 shining 
 Where belted Orion moves on through the 
 night ! 
 More bright than the vapors the sun-burst is 
 lining ! 
 More calm and majestic than planets in 
 flight ! 
 America Magna! . . . We start from our 
 sleeping : — 
 Her beautiful day-star swings high in the 
 East: 
 We clash our glad cymbals, her Jubilee keeping ; 
 We sing to all people: ''Come share in our 
 feast r 
 
 April 22, 1906. 
 
14 RUBAIYAT OF SOLOMON. 
 
 POEMS FOR REMEMBRANCE. 
 
 MOTHERHOOD. 
 
 [Jane Nichol Johnston. Written for her chil- 
 dren.] 
 
 I. 
 
 If I should say : "I knew your mother well : 
 She was a gracious woman, — wise, discreet, 
 Most kind to me and altogether sweet. 
 Loving and loved," — how little that would 
 
 tell! . . . 
 A soul strong-moving as the floods that swell 
 And through her own dear Scotland's inlets 
 
 beat, 
 Yet gentle as the waves when tides retreat 
 That ripple back nor any fear compel. 
 
 So tranquil are the shoals where children 
 play, 
 Guiding their mimic boats with shouts 
 of glee. 
 While foreign craft come sailing up the 
 bay 
 And sweethearts meet : "Now shall the 
 voyage be: 
 We cross to happy places far away. 
 God grant us evermore a quiet sea !" 
 
RUBAIYAT OF SOLOMON. 21 5 
 
 11. 
 
 Ah, who the greater soul has understood 
 
 That loves, restrains, forgives and loves 
 
 anew ? 
 That as a surge flows over, bringing through 
 From far, unsounded deeps, the precious 
 
 good — 
 Withholding every ill. . . . Valley and wood 
 Are fertile with the crystal streams that 
 
 drew 
 Their springs fro, . ocean-currents, — fresh 
 with dew 
 Thence brought : So bounteous was her mother- 
 hood ! 
 I knew her did I say? — Most foolish 
 word! 
 Since even you, her dearest and her 
 best, 
 Saw not the height where she with God 
 conferred, 
 Nor followed through the deeps where, 
 over-pressed, — 
 She called on Him : We only know He 
 heard 
 And gave sweet answer : God knows all 
 the rest. 
 
 January, 1906. 
 
2l6 RUBAIYAT OF SOLOMON. 
 
 WHOM SHALL I MEET. 
 
 [Frances Hubbard Larkin.] 
 
 When I shall meet you, on some happy day 
 Astir among your flowers, in that sure land 
 Where all who meet will love, — I, hand in 
 hand 
 With one who brings me there and bids me 
 
 stay 
 To learn of you the words that angels say 
 And none below can tell or understand, — 
 Your voice will be as ripples on the strand. 
 As thrills of red-bird utterance far away. 
 
 And this I know : For you have thoughts 
 that sing 
 The while they fly some lovelier world 
 to seek. 
 And you have slender hands that reach 
 and cling — 
 Yet are they strong to aid the slow and 
 weak. 
 And I shall lean upon you, silencing 
 
 My lips — my very breath to hear you 
 speak. 
 
 January, 1906. 
 
RUBAIYAT OF SOLOMON. 21/ 
 
 ASCENSION. 
 
 [Nettie Ermina Manley: Instructor.] 
 
 L 
 
 Me-thinks you were meant for a mountain- 
 maid, 
 
 Fair chikl of the golden prairie : 
 I'^or Nature in many a field and glade 
 
 Her flood-borne seeds must bury. 
 Oh, the tendril-clingers ! — up they raid ! 
 They clamber as never a swamp-weed strayed, 
 They blossom in beauty, nothing afraid, 
 
 Where the wild, four winds make merry ! 
 
 II. 
 
 So ever you reach for the crags, my dear. 
 
 Where the eagle builds his eyrie, — 
 Where paths are narrow and clefts are sheer — 
 
 And oh, but the peaks are fiery ! 
 They stand in a sun-burst, scarlet-clear : 
 Therefrom you may see how the oceans veer 
 With the great ships plunging far and near 
 To the cities white and spiry. 
 
 III. 
 
 Go search your way to the mountain-top 
 (Dear Lord^ O, safely lead her! 
 
2l8 RUBAIYAT OF SOLOMON. 
 
 And well we know Thou art slow to lop 
 One bough from the sweet red cedar. ) . 
 
 The wonderful ones their bridge will drop, — 
 
 Down-calling: *Tts length will the high hills 
 prop: 
 
 Now therefore who shall the climber stop ? 
 Because of our love we need her !" 
 
 DAUGHTERHOOD. 
 
 I have but heard of you, as one who hears 
 Of some rare orchid in a Tropic wood, 
 Which, could it be transplanted, would make 
 good 
 All words of praise sung through the golden 
 
 years, 
 Of every flower that on the earth appears 
 Or floats in air, — as though a Spirit stood 
 Waving a symbol-flower of Daughterhood 
 To charm our eyes or hallow them with tears ! 
 No flower : — A human heart with sorrow 
 tried, 
 A soul whereon immortal souls may 
 lean! 
 Come thou to us: Be daughter, sister, 
 bride— 
 
RUBAIYAT OF SOLOMON. 219 
 
 A friend of friends, a happy, houseli< kl 
 queen, 
 A glimpse of dawn, a star of eventide, 
 At midnight all that life and love may 
 mean. 
 
 February, IQ06. 
 
 A HOME-KEEPER. 
 
 [Martha Manley Hood.] 
 
 I. 
 
 We held her dear,— were loath to let her go 
 
 When Love drew near and plucked her by 
 the sleeve: 
 
 Pleasant was she as restful airs of eve, 
 As flowers in Summer, fire in time of snow. 
 Pure wine of comfort, when the pulse ran low. 
 
 "Nay! be content!" quoth Love: 'Though 
 I bereave. 
 
 An hundred-fold the more ye shall receive. 
 What God hath planted that will surely grow." 
 
 n. 
 
 But have you seen a sheltered mountain-lake 
 Held in the hollow of His mighty hand 
 
220 RUBAIYAT OF SOLOMON. 
 
 Who gathered up the seas and shaped the 
 land? 
 Or watched the clouds that scatter silver, break 
 Above? or followed rills that thither take 
 The coolness of His rivers, deeply planned — 
 With gneiss and porphyry and granite 
 spanned ? — 
 Or dipped the cup to drink for Love's dear 
 sake? 
 
 III. 
 
 Such her secluded Home! — Beneath the skies 
 Open to birds and messengers of grace, 
 No battle clamors vex the quiet place ; 
 The hills, forever green, around it rise 
 Nor keep the sunshine from her loving eyes ; 
 Storm-clouds pass darkly by and leave no 
 
 trace ; 
 The moon brings peace ; the morning's lovely 
 face 
 Looks blushing through, that hour His dark- 
 ness flies. 
 
 IV. 
 
 And as the late and lingering twilight-star 
 Lies orbed within the wave, immortal 
 thought 
 
RUBAIYAT OF SOLOMON. 221 
 
 Descends to dwell with her; soft gales have 
 caught 
 The freshness, not the salt, from floods afar : — 
 And what the whiteness of that flower shall 
 mar 
 She bears upon her breast? or hinder auglit 
 Of her sweet, patient work in silence 
 wrought ? — 
 Between her soul and Heaven there falls no 
 bar. 
 
 February, 1906. 
 
 SISTERHOOD. 
 
 [Margaret McMaster.] 
 
 I walked with her along her toilsome way : — 
 In early life one ^vhom a lover woos — 
 Still fair and sweet : Yet never did she choose 
 To say to me (well-lcved) : "That went astray 
 I most desired, and I am worn and gray, — 
 When I would climb my feet sink deep in 
 
 ooze: 
 Yet gladly all the world's delight I lose 
 To keep my brother happy, day by day. 
 
 And he was kind, — would often proudly 
 say: 
 
 1 
 
222 RUBAIYAT OF SOLOMON. 
 
 "No wife for me! — My Margaret is so 
 dear!" 
 Then she would smiUng mswer: "Glad 
 am I 
 If sister-love suffice!" But I drew near 
 And dwelt with them, and saw where 
 griefs might lie 
 So deep ... I turned aside for very 
 fear. 
 
 February, 1906. 
 
 COUSINSHIP. 
 
 [Wesley Mott.] 
 
 Brimming with youth I called to one remote : 
 "My cousin, w^ill you not our kinship own 
 Although we never met?" . . . First 
 came a tone 
 Slow-sweet, as when some dreamer plays by 
 
 rote 
 Uncertain of the tune : then such a note 
 As any rising wind, of source unknown, 
 Through some tall organ-reed might well 
 have blown, 
 Making you long in seas of sound to float. 
 
RUBAIYAT OF SOLOMON. 223 
 
 ''The honest Judge," men call you : I say 
 
 more : 
 Deep - thoughted poem - lover, through 
 whose brain 
 Echo those never-silenced songs of yore 
 That breathe immortal love and mortal 
 pain! 
 Oh, but to hear you when the great pipes 
 roar 
 And your full voice joins in to swell the 
 strain ! 
 
 March, 1906. 
 
 A POET OF NATURE. 
 
 [Lydia Avery Coonley Ward.] 
 
 I sought the haunts of Nature if by chance 
 I might perceive the dear, elusive sprite — 
 A rose-winged maiden from t.iat ''Land of 
 Flight" 
 Wrecked Wilkins found, who drifted there in 
 
 trance 
 Through channeled ice by marvelous advance. 
 But when I saw her flitting, slim and white, 
 That instant she was merged in effluence 
 bright 
 
224 RUBAIYAT OF SOLOMON. 
 
 As sunbeams are that fill a vast expanse. 
 
 One brought your poems: While I read 
 and mused, 
 It seemed she hovered near: — I all 
 aware 
 Of buds half-blown, of light wings lightly 
 used. 
 Of joys made vocal, sweet, strange wafts 
 of air 
 With Aidenn's very perfumes interfused, 
 ... d her pure Presence, delicately fair. 
 
 HER CHILDREN. 
 
 [Charles Haines Manley and Anna Manley 
 Pierce : Whose mother was Martha Haines 
 Manley.] 
 
 I. 
 
 She waits (I said) in ''islands of delight," 
 From heat and cold and darkness set apart : 
 Yet they who seek her need no guiding chart. 
 
 Since all the heavenward pathways lead aright. 
 
 Past flaming orbs they wind, they cross the 
 night 
 
RUBAIYAT OF SOLOMON. 225 
 
 Where stars go dimly, dying at the heart, 
 To be re-made and kindled for the start, — 
 From God's concentered glory taking flight. 
 Oh, not so high and not so far away, 
 
 Nor in the meshes of the sky so caught. 
 She could not hear the lightest word you 
 say 
 If she should bend and listen,— catch 
 the thought 
 That as a bird released you sent astray, 
 Or praise whatever glittering weft you 
 wrought ! 
 
 11. 
 
 And now I think that having met her so-- 
 For Love is prone to seek and swift to 
 
 find !— 
 She, in fresh loveliness of heart and mind 
 (That which was lovely needs must lovelier 
 
 grow!), 
 Will give assurance: ''All your good I know: 
 If there were any evil I was blind." 
 And speaking sweetly — having me in mind : 
 ''Your generous grace you did not spare to 
 show." 
 Then calling : "Boys, is not your play-time 
 done?" — 
 "Daughter, the two who left yon 
 blithely dwell 
 
226 RUBAIYAT OF SOLOMON. 
 
 Within my heart and home : But you, my 
 son, 
 Of all your nine have not a grief to 
 tell." 
 And smiling with enchantment : ''Here is 
 one 
 Who was your father, children : Love 
 him well!'' 
 
 February, 1906. 
 
 A SONG OF SUNRISE. 
 
 [Roll-call at Sunset: Ellen B. Hodg- 
 kins,* Mary Bartlett Darbee, Jeannette Tomp- 
 kins Saleno, Caroline Johnson Morrisee, Eliza 
 Phillips, Ellen Phillips Blossom : — Early 
 friends : — Mothers and teachers of long ser- 
 vice.—^. T. /.] 
 
 I. 
 
 Now who is afraid to follow at night. 
 
 In a boat with never a spar. 
 Out over the sea to the headlands bright 
 
 That are crowned with the morning star? 
 
 * This one responded to the call Feb. 17, 
 1906. She was for fifty years a teacher in the 
 public schools of Buffalo, N. Y. 
 
RUBAIYAT OF SOLOMON. 22/ 
 
 There flowers out-number a million-fold 
 The buds we gathered long time ago, 
 When we walked on silver and cloth of gold. 
 Oh, the buttercups and moneyworts bold ! 
 
 We laughed to see them grow. 
 Alas ! the blossoms were ill to hold ! 
 
 The wind of the North did blow and blow 
 
 That peace of the world to mar ! 
 Our eyes were blurred with the falling snow 
 As we peered across where the billows rolled 
 By the icebergs lurching to and fro, 
 With many a grinding jar. 
 
 II. 
 
 But hark to the deep-sea murmurs now ! 
 
 No hurricane whirls his car ; 
 Light waves run smoothly under the prow, 
 No battle-ships bicker and gnarr ; 
 No dead, cast out, come drifting nigh, 
 
 No drowning mariners call and pray : — 
 To the wrath of the world we die ! — we die ! 
 We hear the glad wharf-people cry : 
 
 "You cannot go astray : 
 And ever the undertow runs by 
 
 To carry your worn-out robes away — 
 You have brought so far ! — so far ! 
 Come clothed as the lilies in rich array : 
 
228 RUBAIYAT OF SOLOMON. 
 
 Uncage your griefs, — through a saffron sky, 
 As larks, they soar with the soaring day, — 
 They sing where the singers are. 
 
 III. 
 
 "Oh, the salt, salt floods they are toiling 
 through. 
 Whose sins were black as tar ! 
 But the River of Life runs clear for you. 
 Whose flames did nothing char 
 But the stinging nettle and poisoning weed: 
 
 Who gathered the children about your knees 
 And tenderly bade them all take heed 
 To steal no nests where the shy birds breed, 
 
 To rob no neighbor's trees, 
 To make no innocent creature bleed. 
 
 To harvest the honey nor starve the bees 
 And never a soul debar 
 From merrily sowing the world's good seed. 
 You poured your wine, tossed out your 
 lees ; — 
 And the Lord will give to you all you need 
 As each were His best-loved star." 
 
 February 7, 1906. 
 
RUBAIYAT OF SOLOMON. 229 
 
 PUBLISHER AND EDITOR. 
 
 [Addressed to John B. Alden.] 
 
 Before that City of the Lake made Hght 
 
 For half a nation (she engulfed in flame!), — 
 Son of that May-flower Pilgrim known to 
 fame, 
 Vou came and said : 'To make the hours more 
 
 bright 
 For children, I have hung my screen arigM: 
 And as a star thereon will set your name. 
 Come, stand within :— Lead on the merry 
 game 
 \nd with your shadow-pictures charm the 
 sight." 
 A little time I stood: ''Well done! Well 
 done!" 
 You cheered, and held "The Bright 
 Side" torches high. 
 Portraying all, as with a mimic sun ! 
 Till down I sank . . . What value then 
 had I? 
 Ah, but you clung!— You and that beaute- 
 ous one 
 Your sister; — strove with Death . . . 
 and Death passed by. 
 
 1 870- 1 906. 
 
230 RUBAIYAT OF SOLOMON. 
 
 MY LUCY, 
 
 [For Music] 
 
 I. 
 
 If you were more sweet than a red-rose tree 
 Not low at your feet would I bend the knee : 
 My Lucy, my Lucy I still would see, 
 For the heart of her true heart beats for me. 
 
 IL 
 
 Were you bright as a star in your grace and 
 
 pride, 
 I would draw down the curtain your face to 
 
 hide; 
 My Lucy, my Lucy with me should bide 
 My rose and my star and my soul-sweet bride. 
 
 IIL 
 
 When the blossom is dead and the darkness 
 
 grows. 
 When the cloud swings low and the death-wind 
 
 blows, 
 My Lucy — more lovely than star or rose. 
 Will welcome me home, while the gates unclose. 
 
 For Tracy Robinson, 
 
RUBAIYAT OF SOLOMON. 23 1 
 
 KITH AND KIN. 
 
 [Ruth R. Larkin.] 
 
 I. 
 
 You are truly the kith of the larks, my child 
 
 (Your dear name tells me so!) ; 
 And you need not fear when the winds are 
 wild 
 Though a hundred ways they blow. 
 The little larks hide in the tall, green wheat 
 Where the purple cockle-flowers grow, 
 And they keep so still you would never 
 know 
 They belong to the loud birds far and fleet, — 
 Till up they spring, when the red clouds 
 glow, 
 That rim of the sun to greet. 
 II. 
 You are kin to the spirits in Heaven, my 
 child 
 (The white birds tell me so!) ; 
 On a day when the wilful winds are wild 
 You will float away like snow. 
 The little souls hide where the flowers are high 
 While the great ones come and go; — 
 Till the wondering cherubs look below : 
 "O, Souls, sweet Souls, it is time to fly !" 
 Then out you will soar, with a rush, I trow, 
 And sing till the stars reply I 
 May 27, 1906. 
 
22,2 RUBAIYAT OF SOLOMON. 
 
 SISTERS AND A BROTHER. 
 
 FULFILLMENT. 
 
 [Emily M. J. Cooley.] 
 
 Still spreads thy tree of life .... Ah, once 
 how clear 
 Earth's dancing streams! How green her 
 
 fields of peace! — 
 Save that the troubled heart would never 
 cease 
 To tremble: "Lord, Thy vines have clung so 
 
 near 
 My oak is clothed with grace ... I fear, I 
 fear 
 Thy rending winds that year by year in- 
 crease !" 
 "Nay, even so will I the boughs release 
 From these grape-giving climbers — not less 
 dear ! — 
 Sift through My sunshine, feed the deep 
 roots well 
 From secret springs: Each leaf shall 
 take the dews 
 And let them fall where many a flowering 
 bell 
 Will into loveliness the drops transfuse. 
 
RUBAIYAT OF SOLOMON. 233 
 
 Lo, from the groves where thy Beloved 
 dwell 
 I send thee nightingales to tell the 
 news." 
 
 FOR CONSOLATION. 
 
 [lilanche Cannon Jones.] 
 
 Ah, why so bruised and broken, sister mine? 
 A heavy burden to the earth he cast, 
 Went singing into Paradise at last — 
 A dear disciple, blest with bread and wine. 
 Remember how he loved you, how the nine 
 Were w^elcomed sweetly — how he held yoii 
 
 fast. 
 For holy comfort, when the death-wind 
 passed : 
 ''Lord, take the three : they and the rest are 
 Thine ! 
 And, whatsover come, I bless Thee now 
 For wife and children and for Saving- 
 Grace !" 
 So singing still — the death-dew on his 
 brow : 
 "I love Thee," he was gathered to his 
 place. 
 "I love Thee, Lord, I love Thee!" answer 
 thou : 
 Arise and smiling, meet him face to face. 
 
234 RUBAIYAT OF SOLOMON. 
 
 ONE OF FIVE. 
 
 [Benjamin Fillmore Jones.] 
 
 I shall be rich in brothers when I pass 
 Where glory so excels, the deepest shade 
 Will seem like hands upon the eyelids laid 
 For benediction, — like a darkening glass 
 Held up where children leap along the grass : 
 "Look ! For the Lord has dimmed the sun 
 He made ! 
 See how the long, long lights out-stream and 
 fade — 
 The great ball swinging slow as melting brass !" 
 Yet am I not all poor — as having none 
 To answer when I call : "Brother, what 
 cheer?" 
 Since you remain, who need not bid that 
 sun 
 Cover his face that yours may show 
 more clear, 
 As would the other four. Still there is 
 one 
 To watch the heavens with me, till those 
 appear ! 
 
 I 
 
RUBAIYAT OF SOLOMON. ^35 
 
 SOLACE AND SHELTER. 
 [Helen Ermina Colvin (^'Nellie")-] 
 My comrade-brother, quick to feel the frost 
 Left me (too young that sorrow to resist) 
 Seeing no flower since that pale flower i 
 missed. 
 One said : ^'Behold a sister, who has crossed 
 So wide a sea and been so billow-tossed 
 You needs must all your tenderness enlist 
 For her dear sake!" Then first I bent and 
 kissed 
 Your small, sweet face, as I had nothing lost. 
 Wife, mother,— God has made your life a 
 screen 
 For other lives,— you fearing not the 
 
 blast! ^^ ^ 
 
 And now I smile to see you proudly lean 
 Upon your sons. As for the babes who 
 
 passed, 
 That brother you revere but have not seen, 
 Close to his happy heart will hold them 
 
 fast. 
 
 FLOWERS OF HEALING. 
 [Marion Isadore Manley ("Mina").] 
 Our mother sowed her balsams in a row 
 And watched them bloom through many a 
 weary hour, 
 
236 RUBAIYAT OF SOLOMON. 
 
 Enchanted with the beauty of the flower. 
 But when you came before the first, light snow, 
 She smiled : "Here is my Balsam : It shall grow 
 Deep in my heart, whatever tempest lower.'^ 
 Oh, sweet is motherhood in sun or shower! 
 You, answering nought, did more than peace 
 bestow. 
 If you have never been so tried as she, 
 Who found that Summer solace all so 
 dear, 
 Yet many loads must fall to set you 
 free : — 
 Full heart of flowers, the frost is yet to 
 fear! 
 But peace, with healing, afterward shall 
 be: 
 Long will your balsams blossom far and 
 near! 
 
 4 
 I 
 
 ONE MORE. 
 [Mary Henri Forrest.] 
 
 Beloved, you came into a darkened place. 
 Where but for that best sister, ev^ she 
 Who gave you life, might well have ceased 
 to be. 
 
 And since you could not see your father's face 
 
RUBAIYAT OF SOLOMON. * 22^^ 
 
 Our mother wept : ''Boys you have need of 
 grace : 
 Here is uiie more to add to those and me." 
 They laughed; and WilHam said : "The mer- 
 rier we 
 To welcome her! We want no vacant space!*' 
 So liglitly made were you, so scantly 
 nursed, 
 \^'e hardly hoped your flickering life to 
 win. 
 Now three, with her, have seen the morn- 
 ing burst ; 
 And when five other happy dawns have 
 been, 
 You, climbing late, will hear the song re- 
 hearsed : 
 "Welcome as all the rest! Come in! 
 Come in!" 
 
238 RUBAIYAT OF SOLOMON. 
 
 RESURRECTION. 
 
 I. 
 
 The last, green prairie-weed has felt the 
 frost, — 
 It is a fallen, dank and ruined thing; 
 
 The wood-leaves die, but will not quit the 
 bough ; 
 In trailing mists the level ways are lost, 
 Where late the feet in matted bloom would 
 cling : 
 Nor man nor maid were fain to tread them 
 now. 
 
 XL 
 
 The pond that used his yellow bells to swing 
 In every ruffling wind, lies blank and grey, — 
 Gentians and lilies — all their lovely kind — 
 Swept under ! . . . Hearken ! — not a bird will 
 sing, 
 No droning harvest-locust hither stray. 
 No buzzing wasp a fertile blossom find ! 
 
 III. 
 
 The scarlet mite that hurried on his way, 
 As God's imperative work were scantly done, 
 
RUBAIYAT OF SOLOMON. 239 
 
 He feeding not the Summer's failing 
 fire, — 
 Was he consumed therein ? ... Ah, who can 
 say. 
 If burning atoms waste, one after one, 
 How long before the furnaces expire? 
 
 IV. 
 
 The small, white spider, where her web was 
 spun 
 For gathering dews (each drop a rainbow 
 snare!). 
 Enshrouded lies, nor any splendor weaves : 
 That radiancy of rippling wave and sun 
 Nor dragon-flies nor whirling-beetles 
 share, — 
 They drift, dis-burnished, brown as with- 
 ered leaves. 
 
 V. 
 
 Below the sward, slain Knight-Crusaders wear 
 Helmet and glittering mail, — their Saracen 
 foes 
 Usurping Holy Land : — Belike they lie 
 Well-houseled, all at rest . . . How shall they 
 fare 
 When Earth's innumerable graves unclose 
 And all the trumpet-hearing Dead rush 
 by? 
 
240 RUBAIYAT OF SOLOMON. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Me-seems it shall be answered : They which rose 
 Spake in His Presence, fearing : . . . Lord, 
 let be! 
 Lest seeing Thee we die, be sight withheld. 
 But, if Thou grant us vision, interpose 
 
 Thy twelve great suns between our eyes and 
 Thee: 
 Yea, all the suns that are of Thee com- 
 pelled. 
 
 VIL 
 
 Howbeit, these fragile ones from Death set free, 
 All habited in beauty as they were. 
 
 Each one in that same raiment that he 
 wore, 
 But glorified for spirit-eyes to see. 
 
 Lighting the darkness of Thy sepulchre. 
 Canst Thou forget what shining lamps 
 they bore? 
 
 VIIL 
 
 And yet beseech Thee, Lord ! Administer 
 Thy light, where Thou dost quicken them 
 anew, 
 
RUBAIYAT OF SOLOMON. 24 1 
 
 Full tenderly : nor wilt these flowrets, 
 sweet 
 As wafted smoke of Frankincense and myrrh : 
 Reve not from them the perfume, and the 
 dew : — 
 Shade these and us, Thy little souls, from 
 heat. 
 
 IX. 
 
 That we may nothing miss of all which grew, 
 Revive Thy wanderers of the earth and 
 air, — 
 The loving hound that leaped the hand to 
 kiss, 
 The steed that in Thy flood-time bore us 
 through. 
 The doves we fed : — Oh, be Thy gateways 
 fair 
 Set wide between Thy lesser world and 
 this. 
 
 X. 
 
 Remember now what weights of Time we 
 bear! . . . 
 Did not the red-wood and the sounding pine 
 Strike deep their roots before Thy latest 
 star, 
 
242 RUBAIYAT OF SOLOMON. 
 
 Half-orbed, swung to its place, of Thee aware ? 
 Cypress, Sequoia, cedar — they are Thine: 
 Call thou and they will answer from afar. 
 
 XI. 
 
 Haply, thy clustering grapes pull down the 
 vine, — 
 How shall we faint — Thine apples being 
 ours? 
 These orchard-pools no crumpled insects 
 drown. 
 The while we drink Thy cool, pomegranate 
 wine. 
 Lo, where beside us, fresh from jungle- 
 bowers. 
 Thy beauteous pards and tigers lay them 
 down. 
 
 xn. 
 
 As for Leviathan: Thy cloud that lowers 
 Above the deeps yet unexplored, shall free 
 The pent-up hurricane and summon him 
 From night and sleep and hunger that devours : 
 He and those others, plunging through the 
 sea, 
 Shall in Thy boundless tides rejoice to 
 swim. 
 
RUBAIYAT OF SOLOMON. 243 
 
 XIII. 
 
 Nay, touch our eyes for seeing ! — Shall not we, 
 Seeing no eft afraid, be yet more bold? 
 Will not the four-winged, twilight-haunt- 
 ing moth, 
 Ere sunset issue? and the belted bee 
 And ruby-throat, all unabashed, behold 
 Thy blazing sun at noon — Thou no- wise 
 wroth ? 
 
 XIV. 
 
 Likewise Thy birds: They nest in vale and 
 wold; 
 By twos they search for seeds, full keen of 
 sight — 
 Content with any bough whereon to swing. 
 Last, on Thy deep-torn cliffs their wings they 
 fold, 
 Look up to Heaven's unmeasurable height 
 And with Thy white and harping seraphs 
 sing. 
 
 XV. 
 
 Now lead us forth between Thy worlds of 
 light ... 
 These be the fields no mortal men have seen 
 
244 RUBAIYAT OF SOLOIvIOX. 
 
 Save dreaming Prophets. Lo, where, 
 free of bond. 
 Most glad, most beautiful — as Hesper bright — 
 Thy heralds flit or pause and smiling lean. 
 Wave welcoming arms, soar on and pass 
 beyond ! 
 
 XVI. 
 
 We humble folk yet stay Thy pinks to glean : 
 And if we loved a flower in that dear Place — 
 Heart's-ease or innocence or painted-cup. 
 As well remembering us, amid the green 
 Thy plant appears — its happy morning face. 
 For gracious salutation lifted up. 
 
 XVII. 
 
 And whatsoever trees have showm us grace — 
 Made cool our villages through Summer 
 heat. 
 Harbored Thy birds or given us to feast, 
 Yea, suffered wound that we thereon might 
 trace 
 For heart's delight, the name most dear and 
 sweet, — 
 They shadow us, the greatest with the 
 least. 
 
RUBAIYAT OF SOLOMON. 2-15 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 Thereunder we the singing words repeat 
 Of many a bard who used the dales to 
 roam, — 
 TelUng of Youth and Love and those 
 which go 
 Down to the sea in ships, though winds be fleet 
 And their Beloved wait and weep at home; 
 And how the Dead come back and hear 
 and know. 
 
 XIX. 
 
 So thinking olden thoughts, cast up as foam 
 Of dashing waters . . . One, immortal, 
 cries : 
 "Gather ye those who left these loitering 
 ones 
 (Yet loving them,) and up from darkness 
 clomb, — 
 That these may clasp their holy hands and 
 
 rise — 
 . For whom the Lord has kindled all His 
 suns ; — 
 
 XX. 
 
 ''May soar, not blinded, through the silver skies 
 Wherein the morning stars together sing, 
 
246 RUBAIYAT OP SOLOMON. 
 
 Pass where His inner glories are revealed, 
 So that archangels cover up their eyes . . . 
 Flows the clear River, from the crystal 
 Spring : 
 Nor yet the Sayings of the Book aie 
 sealed ! 
 
 XXL 
 
 "For every creature shall his offering bring 
 To Him with Whom is neither night nor 
 day,— 
 Angels, and beasts and elders, those He 
 led 
 Through tribulation, all that wave the wing. 
 Or roam the hills or through the desert stray, 
 Or under earth or in the sea are fed." 
 
 xxn. 
 
 I heard a great Voice out of Heaven say : 
 "Earth shall be filled with Love's unceasing 
 fire! 
 And none will any little one offend 
 Or bird or beast or creeping thing will slay ; 
 Neither will any perish of desire. 
 Forever and Forever, without end." 
 
 Chicago Kymry Society, Jan. 1906. 
 
FINIS. 
 
 I. 
 
 In the ttttcrmost hour, zvhen the singing is done 
 
 (for a poet must slumber!) and over the sun 
 
 Fall the veils of the firmament, one by one, — 
 
 Nozif tell me, all ye who are wise and 
 
 young 
 (The hell, oh, the bell hath a silver tongue 
 When the blithe hand pidls!), may zve 
 
 hear among 
 Those far-away echoes a zvord out-Hung: 
 "Let the spinning-wheel rest, for the fleece is 
 spun : — 
 What song hath the whirling spindle 
 
 sung?' 
 
 11. 
 
 When, robed as the lilies, the noble and fair 
 
 Pass on to the crowning — the cardinals there 
 
 In their hats (but the head of the King is 
 
 bare!), — 
 
 Nozv tell me, all ye who are foolish and old 
 
 (Oh, faintly — oh, slozvly the bell will be 
 
 tolled 
 By the palsied hand!), may a page be bold 
 To cry. 'Here is thread for a loom to 
 hold; 
 And a small, pale singer, who climbs the stair, 
 Hath need, great need of the cloth of 
 goldr 
 
RUBAIYAT OF SOLOMON. 
 
 Will that skein, by the reel from the spindle 
 
 caught, 
 Be warped and woven and all in-zvrougJit 
 IVith shimmering pearls through the deep seas 
 brought? 
 Now tell me, all ye zvho are lifted high 
 (The bell, oh, the bell! let the murmurs 
 
 die 
 While we listen — listen!), may one dran^ 
 
 nigh 
 And zvatch, as the weaving shuttles fly? 
 Be clothed with that loveliness — passing 
 thought? 
 Yea, speak zmth the King as the King 
 moves by? 
 
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