■Mi 
 
LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. | 
 Slielf' A^^SX-' 
 
 UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 
 
POEMS 
 
 OF 
 
 THE ORIENT 
 
 BAYARD TAYLOR 
 
 SIXTH EDITION-. 
 
 BOSTON 
 
 TICKNOR AND FIELDS 
 
 M DCCC LXIII. 
 
 B S T N . 
 II OUOriTOX. ^MIFFLIN AXr> (O.MrANY 
 
 1S82. 
 
^.^v 
 
 ^ 
 
 % 
 
 b 
 
 ^il'i'^ 
 
 Entered, according to Act of Congress,- in the year 1854, by 
 
 Bayard Tatloe, 
 
 la the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the District of Massachusetts 
 
 Copyright, 1882, 
 Bv Marie Taylor. 
 
 8TKEE0TTPED AT TH'» 
 BOSIOK SXBSBOIYFK FOUNOST. 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 PROEM DEDICATORY. 
 
 FAOS 
 
 Ak Epistle filom Mount Tmolus 7 
 
 POEMS OF THE ORIENT. 
 
 A P^AN TO THE Dawn, .... . . 15 
 
 The Poet in the East, 19 
 
 The Temptation op Hassan ben Khaled, ... 22 
 
 The Arab Wabrior, 39 
 
 Arab Prayer, 41 
 
 El Khalil, 44 
 
 Ode to Indolence, 46 
 
 Song, 49 
 
 Amran's "Wooing, 60 
 
 A Pledge to Hafiz, ........ 69 
 
 The Garden of Irem, ..••••. 71 
 
 The Birth op the Horse, 75 
 
 The "Wisdom op Ali, ..••••.. 77 
 
 (3) 
 
An Oriental Idyl, 80 
 
 The Angel of Patience, 83 
 
 Bedouin Song, 86 
 
 Desert Hymn to the Sun, 88 
 
 Nilotic Deinblinq-Sonq, 92 
 
 Camadeva, 95 
 
 Nubia, 97 
 
 KiLIMANDJARO, 98 
 
 Mimosa Blooms, 103 
 
 The Birth of the Prophet, , . , . , , 105 
 
 To the Nile, Ill 
 
 Hassan to his Mare, , , 114 
 
 Charmian, 117 
 
 The Shekh, 121 
 
 Smyrna, 123 
 
 To a Persian Boy, 124 
 
 The Goblet, 125 
 
 The Arab to the Palm, . • • • , , , 130 
 
 AuRUM Potabile, ..,,,,.,. 133 
 
 On the Sea, 137 
 
 Tyre, 139 
 
 An Answer, 143 
 
 Requiem in the South, 144 
 
 gulistan, 147 
 
 Jerusalem, 150 
 
 The Voyage op a Dream, • 154 
 
 L'Envoi, 160 
 
n. 
 
 Hymn to Aib, •••• Ibo 
 
 Song, 1 172 
 
 The Mtsteet, 174 
 
 A Picture, 177 
 
 In iHE Meadows, 180 
 
 Sonnet, 182 
 
 The Winter Solstice, ....... 183 
 
 In Articulo Mortis, 186 
 
 Saturday Night at Sea, ....... 193 
 
 Song, 195 
 
 The Mid-Watoh, 197 
 
 The Phantom, 199 
 
 Lament and Consolation, 202 
 
Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 in 2010 with funding from 
 The Library of Congress 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/poemsoforient01tayl 
 
PROEM DEDICATORY. 
 
 AN EPISTLE FROM MOUNT TMOLUS. 
 
 TO RICHARD HENRY STODDARD. 
 
 O Friend, were you but couched on Tmolus' side, 
 In the warm myrtles, in the golden air 
 Of the declining day, which half lays bare, 
 
 Half drapes, the silent mountains and the wide 
 
 Embosomed vale, that wanders to the sea ; 
 And the far sea, with doubtful specks of sail, 
 
 And farthest isles, that slumber tranquilly 
 Beneath the Ionian autumn's violet veil ; — 
 
 (7) 
 
8 
 
 Were you but with me, little were the need 
 Of this imperfect artifice of rhyme, 
 Where the strong Fancy peals a broken chime 
 
 And the ripe brain but sheds abortive seed. 
 
 But 1 am solitary, and the curse. 
 
 Or blessing, which has clung to me from birth — 
 
 The torment and the ecstasy of verse — 
 Comes up to me from the illustrious earth 
 
 Of ancient Tmolus ; and the very stones, 
 
 Reverberant, din the mellow air with tones 
 
 Which the sweet air remembers ; and they blend 
 With fainter echoes, which the mountains fling 
 
 From far oracular caverns : so, my Friend, 
 I cannot choose but sing ! 
 
 II. 
 
 Unto mine eye, less plain the shepherds be. 
 
 Tending their browsing goats amid the broom. 
 Or the slow camels, travelling towards the sea. 
 
 Laden with bales from Baghdad's gaudy loom, 
 Or yon nomadic Turcomans, that go 
 
 Down from their summer pastures — than the twain 
 Immortals, who on Tmolus' thymy top 
 
 Sang, emulous, the rival strain ! 
 Down the charmed air did light Apollo drop ; 
 
9 
 
 Great Pan ascended from the vales below. 
 I see them sitting in the silent glow ; 
 I hear the alternating measures flow 
 From pipe and golden lyre ; — the melody- 
 Heard by the Gods between their nectar bowls, 
 Or when, from out the chambers of the sea, 
 
 Comes the triumphant Morning, and unrolls 
 A pathway for the sun ; then, following swifl, 
 
 The daedal harmonies of awful caves 
 Cleft in the hills, and forests that uplift 
 
 Their sea-like boom, in answer to the waves, 
 With many a lighter strain, that dances o'er 
 The wedded reeds, till Echo strives in vain 
 To follow : 
 Hark ! once more. 
 How floats the God's exultant strain 
 In answer to Apollo ! 
 
 " The wind in the reeds and the rushes. 
 The hees on the bells of thyme^ 
 The birds on the myrtle bushes^ 
 The cicdle above in the lime. 
 And the lizards below in the grass 
 Are as silent as ever old Tmolus was, 
 Listening to my sweet pipings. ^^ 
 
10 
 
 III. 
 
 I cannot separate the minstrels' worth ; 
 Each is alike transcendent and divine. 
 
 What were the Day, unless it lighted Earth ? 
 
 And what were Earth, should Day forget to shine ? 
 
 But were you here, my Friend, we twain would build 
 Two altars, on the mountain's sunward side : 
 There Pan should o'er my sacrifice preside, 
 
 And there Apollo your oblation gild. 
 
 He is your God, but mine is shaggy Pan ; 
 Yet, as their music no discordance made. 
 So shall our offerings side by side be laid. 
 
 And the same wind the rival incense fan. 
 
 IV. 
 
 You strain your ear to catch the harmonies 
 That in some finer region have their birth ; 
 
 I turn, despairing, from the quest of these, 
 And seek to learn the native tongue of Earth. 
 
 In " Fancy's tropic clime " your castle stands, 
 A shining miracle of rarest art ; 
 
 I pitch my tent upon the naked sands, 
 
11 
 
 And the tall palm, that plumes the orient lands. 
 Can with its beauty satisfy my heart. 
 
 You, in your starry trances, breathe the air 
 Of lost Elysium, pluck the snowy bells 
 Of lotus and Olympian asphodels, 
 
 And bid us their diviner odors share. 
 
 I at the threshold of that world have lain, 
 Gazed on its glory, heard the grand acclaim 
 Wherewith its trumpets hail the sons of Fame, 
 
 And striven its speech to master — but in vain. 
 
 And now I turn, to find a late content 
 
 In Nature, making mine her myriad shows : 
 Better contented with one living rose 
 
 Than all the Gods' ambrosia ; sternly bent 
 
 On wresting from her hand the cup, whence flow 
 The flavors of her ruddiest life — the change 
 Of climes and races — the unshackled range 
 
 Of all experience ; — that my songs may show 
 
 The warm red blood that beats in hearts of men. 
 
 And those who read them in the festering den 
 Of cities, may behold the open sky, 
 
 And hear the rhythm of the winds that blow, 
 Instinct with Freedom. Blame me not, that J 
 
 Find in the forms of Earth a deeper joy 
 
 Than in the dreams which lured me as a boy, 
 
12 
 
 And leave the Heavens, where you are wandering still 
 With bright Apollo, to converse with Pan ; 
 For, though full soon our courses separate ran. 
 
 We, like the Gods, can meet on Tmolus' hill. 
 
 There is no jealous rivalry in Song : 
 
 I see your altar on the hill-top shine, 
 
 And mine is built in shadows of the Pine, 
 Yet the same worships unto each belong. 
 Different the Gods, yet one the sacred awe 
 
 Their presence brings us, one the reverent heart 
 Wherewith we honor the immortal law 
 
 Of that high inspiration, which is Art. 
 Take, therefore, Friend ! these Voices of the Earth - 
 
 The rhythmic records of my life's career. 
 Humble, perhaps, yet wanting not the worth 
 
 Of Truth, and to the heart of Nature near. 
 Take them, and your acceptance, in the dearth 
 
 Of the world's tardy praise, shall make them dear. 
 
POEMS OF THE ORIENT. 
 
 Da dek West waed duechgekostet, 
 Hat be svs den Osi entmostet. 
 
 RUCKEET. 
 
 (13) 
 
15 
 
 A P^AN TO THE DAWN. 
 
 The dusky sky fades into blue, 
 
 And bluer surges bind us ; 
 The stars are glimmering faint and few, 
 
 The night is left behind us ! 
 Turn not where sinks the sullen dark 
 
 Before the signs of warning, 
 But crowd the canvas on our bark 
 
 And sail to meet the morning. 
 Rejoice ! rejoice ! the hues that fill 
 
 The orient, flush and lighten ; 
 And over the blue Ionian hill 
 
 The Pawn begins to brighten ! 
 
16 
 
 LI. 
 
 We leave the Night, that weighed so long 
 
 Upon the soul's endeavor, 
 For Morning, on these hills of Song, 
 
 Has made her home forever. 
 Hark to the sound of trump and lyre. 
 
 In the olive groves before us. 
 And the rhythmic beat, the pulse of fire, 
 
 Throb in the full-voiced chorus! 
 More than Memnonian grandeur speaks 
 
 In the triumph of the psean, 
 And all the glory of the Greeks 
 
 Breathes o'er the old -^gean. 
 
 III. 
 
 Here shall the ancient Dawn return, 
 
 That lit the earliest poet. 
 Whose very ashes in his urn 
 
 Would radiate glory through it — 
 The dawn of Life, when Life was Song, 
 
 And Song the life of Nature, 
 
17 
 
 And the Singer stood amid the throng 
 
 A God in every feature ! 
 When Love was free, and free as air 
 
 The utterance of Passion, 
 And the heart in every fold lay bare, 
 
 Nor shamed its true expression. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Then perfect limb and perfect face 
 
 Surpassed our best ideal ; 
 Unconscious Nature's law was grace — 
 
 The Beautiful was real. 
 For men acknowledged true desires, 
 
 And light as garlands wore them ; 
 They were begot by vigorous sires. 
 
 And noble mothers bore them. 
 O, when the shapes of Art they planned 
 
 Were living forms of passion, 
 Impulse and Deed went hand in hand. 
 
 And Life was more than Fashion ! 
 
 The seeds of Song they scattered first 
 Flower in all later pages ; 
 2 
 
18 
 
 Their forms have woke the Artist's thirst 
 
 Through the succeeding ages : 
 But I will seek the fountain-head 
 
 Whence flowed their inspiration, 
 And lead the unshackled life they led, 
 
 Accordant with Creation. 
 The World's false life, that follows still, 
 
 Has ceased its chain to tighten, 
 And over the blue Ionian hill 
 
 I see the sunrise brighten ! 
 
]9 
 
 THE POET IN THE EAST. 
 
 The Poet came to the Land of the East, 
 
 When Spring was in the air : 
 The Earth was dressed for a wedding feast, 
 
 So young she seemed, and fair ; 
 And the Poet knew the Land of the East — 
 
 His soul was native there. 
 
 All things to him were the visible forms 
 Of early and precious dreams — 
 
 Familiar visions that mocked his quest 
 Beside the Western streams, 
 
 Or gleamed in the gold of the clouds, unrolled 
 In the sunset's dying beams. 
 
 He looked above in the cloudless calm, 
 And the Sun sat on his throne ; 
 
20 
 
 The breath of gardens, deep in balm. 
 
 Was all about him blown, 
 And a brother to him was the princely Palm, 
 
 For he cannot live alone. 
 
 His feet went forth on the myrtled hills, 
 And the flowers their welcome shed ; 
 
 The meads of milk-white asphodel 
 They knew the Poet's tread, 
 
 And far and wide, in a scarlet tide, 
 The poppy's bonfire spread. 
 
 And, half in shade and half in sun, 
 
 The Rose sat in her bovver, 
 With a passionate thrill in her crimson heart - 
 
 She had waited for the hour ! 
 And, like a bride's, the Poet kissed 
 
 The lips of the glorious flower. 
 
 Then the Nightingale, who sat above 
 In the boughs of the citron tree, 
 
 Sang : We are no rivals, brother mine. 
 Except in minstrelsy ; 
 
 For the rose you kissed with the kiss of love 
 Is faithful still to me. 
 
21 
 
 And further sang the Nightingale : 
 
 Your bower not distant Hes. 
 I heard the sound of a Persian lute 
 
 From the jasmined window rise, 
 And like two stars, through the lattice-bars, 
 
 I saw the Sultana's eyes. 
 
 The Poet said : I will here abide, 
 
 In the Sun's unclouded door ; 
 Here are the wells of all delight 
 
 On the lost Arcadian shore : 
 Here is the light on sea and land, 
 
 And the dream deceives no more. 
 
22 
 
 THE TEMPTATION OF HASSAN BEN 
 KHALED. 
 
 Hassan Ben Khaled, singing in the streets 
 
 Of Cairo, sang these verses at my door : 
 
 " Blessed is he, who God and Prophet greets 
 
 Each morn with prayer ; but he is blest much more 
 
 Whose conduct is his prayer's interpreter. 
 
 Sweeter than musk, and pleasanter than myrrh, 
 
 Richer than rubies, shall his portion be, 
 
 When God bids Azrael : ' bring him unto me ! ' 
 
 But woe to him whose life casts dirt upon 
 
 The Prophet's word ! When all his days are done. 
 
 Him shall the Evil Angel trample down 
 
 Out of the sight of God." Thus, with a frown 
 
 Of the severest virtue, Hassan sang 
 
 Unto the people, till the markets rang. 
 
23 
 
 But two days after this, he came again 
 
 And sang, and 1 remarked an altered strain. 
 
 Before my shop he stood, with forehead bent 
 
 Like one whose sin hath made him penitent — 
 
 In whom the pride, that like a stately reed 
 
 Lifted his head, is broken. ** Blest, indeed," 
 
 (These were his words,) " is he who never fell, 
 
 But blest much more, who from the verge of Hell 
 
 Climbs up to Paradise : for Sin is sweet ; 
 
 Strong is Temptation ; wilUng are the feet 
 
 That follow Pleasure, manifold her snares, 
 
 And pitfalls lurk beneath our very prayers : 
 
 Yet God, the Clement, the Compassionate, 
 
 In pity of our weakness keeps the gate 
 
 Of Pardon open, scorning not to wait 
 
 Till the last moment, when His mercy flings 
 
 A splendor from the shade of Azrael's wings." 
 
 " Wherefore, O Poet ! " I to Hassan said, 
 
 " This altered measure ? Wherefore hang your head. 
 
 O Hassan ! whom the pride of virtue gives 
 
 The right to face the holiest man that lives ? 
 
 Enter, I pray thee : this poor house will be 
 
 Honored henceforth, if it may shelter thee." 
 
24 
 
 Hassan Ben Khaled lifted up his eyes 
 
 To mine, a moment : then, m cheerful guise, 
 
 He passed my threshold with unslippered feet. 
 
 III. 
 
 1 led him from the noises of the street 
 
 To the cool mner chambers, where my slave 
 
 Poured out the pitcher's rosy-scented wave 
 
 Over his hands, and laid upon his knee 
 
 The napkin, silver-fringed : and when the pipe 
 
 Exhaled a grateful odor from the ripe 
 
 Latakian leaves, said Hassan unto me : 
 
 " Listen, O Man ! no man can truly say 
 
 That he hath wisdom. What 1 sang to-day 
 
 Was not less truth than what I sang before. 
 
 But to Truth's house there is a single door. 
 
 Which is Experience. He teaches best, 
 
 Who feels the hearts of all men in his breast 
 
 And knows their strength or weakness through his own 
 
 The holy pride, that never was o'erthrown. 
 
 Was never tempted, and its words of blame 
 
 Reach but the dull ears of the multitude : 
 
 The admonitions, fruitful unto good, 
 
 Come from the voice of him who conquers shame." 
 
25 
 
 IV. 
 
 " Give me, O Poet ! (if thy friend may be 
 Worthy such confidence," ) I said ; " the key 
 Unto thy words, that I may share with thee 
 Thine added wisdom." Hassan's kindly eye 
 Before his lips unclosed, spake willingly, 
 And he began : " But two days since, I went 
 Singing what thou didst hear, with soul intent 
 On my own virtue, all the markets through ; 
 And when about the time of prayer, I drew 
 Near to the Gate of Victory, behold ! 
 There came a man, whose turban fringed with gold 
 And golden cimeter, bespake his wealth : 
 ' May God prolong thy days, O Hassan ! Health 
 And Fortune be thy wisdom's aids! ' he cried ; 
 ' Come to my garden by the river's side, 
 Where other poets wait thee. Be my guest, 
 For even the Prophets had their times, of rest, 
 And Hest, that strengthens unto virtuous deeds. 
 Is one with Prayer.' Two royal-blooded steeds. 
 Held by his grooms, were waiting at the gate. 
 And though I shrank from such unwonted state 
 The master's words were manna to my pride, 
 And, mounting straightway, forth we twain did ride 
 Unto the garden by the river's side. 
 
26 
 
 V. 
 
 Never till then had I beheld such bloom. 
 The west wind sent its heralds of perfume 
 To bid us welcome, midway on the road. 
 Full in the sun the marble portal glowed 
 Like silver, but within the garden wall 
 No ray of sunshine found a place to fall. 
 So thick the crowning foliage of the trees, 
 Roofing the walks with twilight ; and the air 
 Under their tops was greener than the seas. 
 And cool as they. The forms that wandered there 
 Resembled those who populate the floor 
 Of Ocean, and the royal lineage own 
 That gave a Princess unto Persia's throne. 
 All fruits the trees of this fair garden bore. 
 Whose balmy fragrance lured the tongue to taste 
 Their flavors : there bananas flung to waste 
 Their golden flagons with thick honey filled ; 
 From splintered cups the ripe pomegranates spilled 
 A shower of rubies ; oranges that glow 
 Like globes of fire, enclosed a heart of snow 
 Which thawed not in their flame ; like balls of gold 
 The peaches seemed, that had in blood been rolled ; 
 Pure saflTron mixed with clearest amber stained 
 The apricots ; bunches of amethyst 
 
27 
 
 And sapphire seemed the grapes, so newly kissed 
 
 That still the mist of Beauty's breath remained , 
 
 And where the lotus slowly swung in air 
 
 Her snowy-bosomed chalice, rosy-veined, 
 
 The golden fruit swung softly-cradled there, 
 
 Even as a bell upon the bosom*swings 
 
 Of some fair dancer — happy bell, that sings 
 
 For joy, its golden tinkle keeping time 
 
 To the heart's beating and the cymbal's chime I 
 
 There dates of agate and of jasper lay, 
 
 Dropped fi^om the bounty of the pregnant palm, 
 
 And all ambrosial trees, all fruits of balm. 
 
 All flowers of precious odors, made the day 
 
 Sweet as a morn of Paradise. My breath 
 
 Failed with the rapture, and with doubtful mind 
 
 I turned to where the garden's lord reclined. 
 
 And asked, " Was not that gate the Gate of Death ? " 
 
 VI. 
 
 The guests were near a fountain. As I came 
 They rose in welcome, wedding to my name 
 Titles of honor, linked in choicest phrase, 
 For Poets' ears are ever quick to Praise, 
 The ' Open Sesame ! ' whose magic art 
 Forces the guarded entrance of the heart. 
 
28 
 
 Young men were they, whose manly beauty made 
 Their words the sweeter, and their speech displayed 
 Knowledge of men, and of the Prophet's laws. 
 Pleasant our converse was, where every pause 
 Gave to the fountain leave to sing its song, 
 Suggesting further speech ; until, ere long, 
 There came a troop of swarthy slaves, who bore 
 Ewers and pitchers all of silver ore, 
 Wherein we washed our hands ; then, tables placed. 
 And brought us meats of every sumptuous taste 
 That makes the blood rich — pheasants stuffed with 
 
 spice ; 
 Young lambs, whose entrails were of cloves and rice ; 
 Ducks bursting with pistachio nuts, and fish 
 That in a bed of parsley swam. Each dish, 
 Cooked with such art, seemed better than the last, 
 And our indulgence in the rich repast 
 Brought on the darkness ere we missed the day : 
 But lamps were lighted in the fountain's spray, 
 Or, pendent from the boughs, their colors told 
 What fruits unseen, of crimson or of gold. 
 Scented the gloom. Then took the generous host 
 A basket filled with roses. Every guest 
 Cried, " Give me roses ! " and he thus addressed 
 ITis words to all : " He who exalts them most 
 In song, he only shall the roses wear." 
 
29 
 
 Then sang a guest : " The rose's cheeks are fair ; 
 
 It crowns the purple bowl, and no one knows 
 
 If the rose colors it, or it the rose." 
 
 And sang another : " Crimson is its hue, 
 
 And on its breast the morning's crystal dew 
 
 Is changed to rubies." Then a third replied : 
 
 " It blushes in the sun's enamoured sight, 
 
 As a young virgin on her wedding night. 
 
 When from her face the bridegroom lifts the veil." 
 
 When all had sung their songs, I, Hassan, tried. 
 
 " The Rose," I sang, " is either red or pale, 
 
 Like maidens whom the flame of passion burns, 
 
 And Love or Jealousy controls, by turns. 
 
 Its buds are lips preparing for a kiss ; 
 
 Its open flowers are like the blush of bliss 
 
 On lovers' cheeks ; the thorns its armor are, 
 
 And in its centre shines a golden star, 
 
 As on a favorite's cheek a sequin glows — 
 
 And thus the garden's favorite is the Rose." 
 
 VII. 
 
 The master from his open basket shook 
 The roses on my head. The others took 
 Their silver cups, and filling them with wine, 
 
30 
 
 Cried, " Pledge our singing, Hassan, as we thine ! " 
 But I exclaimed, " What is it I have heard ? 
 Wine is forbidden by the Prophet's word : 
 Surely, Friends ! ye would not lightly break 
 The laws which bring ye blessing ? " Then they 
 
 spake : 
 " O Poet, learn thou that the law was made 
 For men, and not for poets. Turn thine eye 
 Within, and read the nature there displayed ; 
 The gifts thou hast doth Allah's grace deny 
 To common men ; they lift thee o'er the rules 
 The Prophet fixed for sinners and for fools. 
 The vine is Nature's poet : from his bloom 
 The air goes reeling, tipsy with perfume, 
 And when the sun is warm within his blood 
 It mounts and sparkles in a crimson flood ; 
 Rich with dumb songs he speaks not, till they find 
 Interpretation in the Poet's mind. 
 If Wine be evil, Song is evil too ; 
 Then cease thy singing,, lest it bring thee sin ; 
 But wouldst thou know the strains which Hafiz knew, 
 Drink as he drank, and thus the secret win." 
 They clasped my glowing hands ; they held the bowl 
 Up to my lips, till, losing all control 
 Of the fierce thirst, which at my scruples laughed, 
 I drained the goblet at a single draught. 
 
31 
 
 It ran through every limh like fluid fire : 
 " More, my Friends ! " I cried, the new desire 
 Raging within me : "this is life indeed ! 
 From blood like this is coined the nobler seed 
 Whence poets are begotten. Drink again, 
 And give us music of a tender strain, 
 Linking your inspiration unto mine. 
 For music hovers on the lips of Wine ! " 
 
 VIII. 
 
 " Music ! " they shouted, echoing my demand, 
 And answered with a beckon of his hand 
 The gracious host, whereat a maiden, fair 
 As the last star that leaves the morning air, 
 Came down the leafy paths. Her veil revealed 
 The beauty of her face, which, half concealed 
 Behind its thin blue folds, showed like the moon 
 Behind a cloud that will forsake it soon. 
 Her hair was braided darkness, but the glance 
 Of lightning eyes shot from her countenance, 
 And showed her neck, that like an ivory tower 
 Rose o'er the twin domes of her marble breast. 
 Were all the beauty of this age compressed 
 Into one form, she would transcend its power. 
 
32 
 
 Her step was lighter than the young gazelle's, 
 
 And as she walked, her anklet's golden bells 
 
 Tinkled with pleasure, but were quickly mute 
 
 With jealousy, as from a case she drew 
 
 With snowy hands the pieces of her lute, 
 
 And took her seat before me. As it grew 
 
 To perfect shape, her lovely arms she bent 
 
 Around the neck of the sweet instrument, 
 
 Till from her soft caresses it awoke 
 
 To consciousness, and thus its rapture spoke : 
 
 " I was a tree within an Indian vale. 
 
 When first I heard the love-sick nightingale 
 
 Declare his passion : every leaf was stirred 
 
 With the melodious sorrow of the bird, 
 
 And when he ceased, the song remained with me. 
 
 Men came anon, and felled the harmless tree. 
 
 But from the memory of the songs I heard. 
 
 The spoiler saved me from the destiny 
 
 Whereby my brethren perished. O'er the sea 
 
 I came, and from its loud, tumultuous moan 
 
 I caught a soft and solemn undertone ; 
 
 And when I grew beneath the maker's hand 
 
 To what thou deest, he sang (the while he planned) 
 
 The mirthful measures of a careless heart. 
 
 And of my soul his songs became a part. 
 
 Now they have laid my head upon a breast 
 
33 
 
 Whiter than marble, I am wholly blest. 
 The fair hands smite me, and my strings complain 
 With such melodious cries, they smite again, 
 Until, with passion and with sorrow swayed. 
 My torment moves the bosom of the maid. 
 Who hears it speak her own. I am the voice 
 Whereby the lovers languish or rejoice ; 
 And they caress me, knowing that my strain 
 Alone can speak the language of their pain." 
 
 IX. 
 
 Here ceased the fingers of the maid to stray 
 Over the strings ; the sweet song died away 
 In mellow, drowsy murmurs, and the lute 
 Leaned on her fairest bosom, and was mute. 
 Better than wine that music was to me : 
 Not the lute only felt her hands, but she 
 Played on my heartstrings, till the sounds became 
 Incarnate in the pulses of my frame. 
 Speech left my tongue, and in my tears alone 
 Found utterance. With stretched arms I implored 
 Continuance, whereat her fingers poured 
 A tenderer music, answering the tone 
 Her parted lips released, the while her throat 
 3 
 
34 
 
 Throbbed, as a heavenly bird were fluttering there, 
 
 And gave her voice the wonder of his note. 
 
 " His brow," she sang, " is white beneath his hair; 
 
 The fertile beard is soft upon his chin, 
 
 Shading the mouth that nestles warm within, 
 
 As a rose nestles in its leaves ; I see 
 
 His eyes, but cannot tell what hue they be. 
 
 For the sharp eyelash, like a sabre, speaks 
 
 The martial law of Passion ; in his cheeks 
 
 The quick blood mounts, and then as quickly goes, 
 
 Leaving a tint like marble when a rose 
 
 Is held beside it : — bid him veil his eyes, 
 
 Lest all my soul should unto mine arise, 
 
 And he behold it ! " As she sang, her glance 
 
 Dwelt on my face ; her beauty, like a lance. 
 
 Transfixed my heart. I melted into sighs, 
 
 Slain by the arrows of her beauteous eyes. 
 
 " Why is her bosom made " (I cried) " a snare ? 
 
 Why does a single ringlet of her hair 
 
 Hold my heart captive .'* " " Would you know ? " 
 
 she said; 
 " It is that you are mad with love, and chains 
 Were made for madmen." Then she raised her head 
 With answering love, that led to other strains. 
 Until the lute, which shared with her the smart. 
 Rocked as in storm upon her beating heart. 
 
35 
 
 Thus to its wires she made impassioned cries : 
 
 " I swear it by the brightness of his eyes ; 
 
 I swear it by the darkness of his hair ; 
 
 By the warm bloom his Hmbs and bosom wear; 
 
 By the fresh pearls his rosy lips enclose ; 
 
 By the calm majesty of his repose ; 
 
 By smiles I coveted, and frowns I feared, 
 
 And by the shooting myrtles of his beard — 
 
 I swear it, that from him the morning drew 
 
 Its freshness, and the moon her silvery hue, 
 
 The sun his brightness, and the stars their fire, 
 
 And musk and camphor all their odorous breath : 
 
 And if he answer not my love's desire 
 
 Day will be night to me, and Life be Death ! " 
 
 X. 
 
 Scarce had she ceased, when, overcome, I fell 
 Upon her bosom, where the lute no more 
 That night was cradled ; song was silenced well 
 With kisses, ea«h one sweeter than befoife, 
 Until their fiery dew so long was quaffed, 
 I drank delirium in the infectious draught. 
 The guests departed, but the sounds they made 
 I heard not ; in the fountain-haunted shade 
 
36 
 
 The lamps burned out ; the moon rode far above, 
 But the trees chased her from our nest of love. 
 Dizzy with passion, in mine ears the blood 
 Tingled and hummed in a tumultuous flood, 
 Until from deep to deep I seemed to fall, 
 Like him, who from El Sirat's hair-drawn wall 
 Plunges to endless gulfs. In broken gleams 
 Glimmered the things I saw, so mixed with dreams 
 The vain confusion blinded every sense, 
 And knowledge left me. Then a sleep intense 
 Fell on my brain, and held me as the dead, 
 Until a sudden tumult smote my head, 
 And a strong glare, as when a torch is hurled 
 Before a sleeper's eyes, brought back the world. 
 
 XI. 
 
 Most wonderful ! The fountain and the trees 
 Had disappeared, and in the place of these 
 I saw the well-known Gate of Victory. 
 The sun was high ; the people looked at me. 
 And marvelled that a sleeper should be there 
 On the hot pavement, for the second prayer 
 Was called from all the minarets. I passed 
 My hand across my eyes, and found at last 
 
37 
 
 What man I was. Then straightway through my heart 
 
 There ran a double pang — the bitter smart 
 
 Of evil knowledge, and the unhealthy lust 
 
 Of sinful pleasure ; and I threw the dust 
 
 Upon my head, the burial of my pride — 
 
 The ashen soil, wherein I plant the tree 
 
 Of Penitence. The people saw, and cried, 
 
 *' May God reward thee, Hassan ! Truly, thou, 
 
 Whom men have honored, addest to thy brow 
 
 The crowning lustre of Humility : 
 
 As thou abasest, God exalteth thee ! " 
 
 Which when I heard, I shed such tears of shame 
 
 As might erase the record of my blame. 
 
 And from that time I have not dared to curse 
 
 The unrighteous, since the man who seemeth worse 
 
 Than I, may purer be ; for, when I fell. 
 
 Temptation reached a loftier pinnacle. 
 
 Therefore, Man ! be Charity thy aim : 
 
 Praise cannot harm, but weigh thy words of blame. 
 
 Distrust the Virtue that itself exalts. 
 
 But turn to that which doth avow its faults. 
 
 And from Repentance plucks a wholesome fruit. 
 
 Pardon, not Wrath, is God's best attribute. 
 
38 
 
 XII. 
 
 " The tale, Poet ! which thy lips have told," 
 
 I said, " is words of rubies set in gold. 
 
 Precious the wisdom which from evil draws 
 
 Strength to fulfil the good, of Allah's laws. 
 
 But lift thy head, O Hassan ! Thine own words 
 
 Shall best console thee, for my tongue affords 
 
 No phrase but thanks for what thou hast bestowed ; 
 
 And yet I fain would have thee shake the load 
 
 Of shame from off thy shoulders, seeing still 
 
 That by this fall thou hast increased thy will 
 
 To do the work which makes thee truly blest." 
 
 Hassan Ben Khaled wept, and smote his breast : 
 
 " Hold ! hold, O Man ! " he cried : " why make me 
 
 feel 
 A deeper shame ? Must I to thee reveal 
 That Sin is as the leprous taint no art 
 Can cleanse the blood from ? In my secret heart 
 I do believe I hold at dearer cost 
 The vanished Pleasure, than the Virtue lost.'* 
 
 So saying, he arose and went his way ; 
 And Allah grant he go no more astray. 
 
39 
 
 THE ARAB WARRIOR. 
 
 FROM THE AEABIC. 
 
 Go, ask of men that know my name, 
 And they the truth will speak, 
 
 That I'm the terror of the strong, 
 The helper of the weak. 
 
 My spear has made the dragon brood 
 
 Succumb to galling bands, 
 And tossed before the jaws of War 
 
 The forage he demands, 
 
 I steer my horse through stormy fights, 
 As a seaman steers his craft ; 
 
 My joy, to splinter on my breast 
 The foeman's flying shaft. 
 
40 
 
 I am the latest laid to rest, 
 The earliest in the fight, 
 
 And while the others idly feast 
 I rub my harness bright. 
 
 And while the booty they divide 
 I heap the ranks of slain, 
 
 And when they scorn my poverty, 
 I scorn their greed of gain. 
 
41 
 
 ARAB PRAYER. 
 
 " La illali iV Allah ! " the muezzin's call 
 Comes from the minaret, slim and tall, 
 That looks o'er the distant city's wall. 
 
 " La illaJi iV Allah ! " the Faithful heed, 
 With God and the Prophet this hour to plead 
 Whose ear is open to hear their need. 
 
 The sun is sunken ; no vapor mars 
 The path of his going with dusky bars. 
 The silent Desert awaits the stars. 
 
 I bend the knee and I stretch the hand, 
 I strike my forehead upon the sand, 
 And I pray aloud, that He understand. 
 
42 
 
 Not for my father, for he is dead ; 
 Not in my wandering brothers' stead — 
 For myself alone I bow the head. 
 
 God is Great, and God is Just : 
 
 He knoweth the hearts of the children of dust • 
 
 He is the Helper ; in Him I trust. 
 
 My sword is keen and my arm is strong 
 With the sense of unforgotten wrong, 
 And the hate that waits and watches long. 
 
 God, let me wait for year on year, 
 
 But let the hour at last appear, 
 
 When Vengeance makes my honor clear. 
 
 Once let me strike till he is slain ; 
 His blood will cleanse my sabre's stain, 
 And I shall stand erect again. 
 
 Till then, I wander to and fro. 
 Wide as the desert whirlwinds go. 
 And seek, by the sun and stars, my foe. 
 
 Better than Stamboul's courts of gold, 
 Whose harems the Georgian girls infold, 
 Whiter than snow, but not so cold ; 
 
43 
 
 Better than Baghdad's garden bowers, 
 
 Or fountains that play among Persian flowers ; 
 
 Better than all delights and powers, 
 
 The deed God's justice will abide — 
 
 The stern atonement, long denied, 
 
 That righteous Vengeance gives to Pride. 
 
44 
 
 EL KHALIL. 
 
 I AM no chieftain, fit to lead 
 
 Where spears are hurled and warriors bleed ; 
 
 No poet, in my chanted rhyme 
 
 To rouse the ghosts of ancient time ; 
 
 No magian, with a subtle ken 
 
 To rule the thoughts of other men ; 
 
 Yet far as sounds the Arab tongue 
 
 My name is known to old and young. 
 
 My form has lost its pliant grace, 
 There is no beauty in my face, 
 There is no cunning in my arm, 
 The Children of the Sun to charm ; 
 Yet, where I go, my people's eyes 
 Are lighted with a glad surprise, 
 And in each tent a couch is free. 
 And by each fire a place, for me. 
 
45 
 
 They watch me from the pahns, and some 
 Proclaim my coming ere 1 come. 
 The children lift my hand to meet 
 The homage of their kisses sweet ; 
 With manly warmth the men embrace, 
 The veiled maidens seek my face, 
 And eyes, fresh kindled from the heart, 
 Keep loving watch when I depart. 
 
 On God, the Merciful, I call, 
 To shed His blessing over all : 
 I praise His name, for he is Great, 
 And Loving, and Compassionate ; 
 And for the gift of love I give — 
 The breath of life whereby I live — 
 He gives me back, in overflow. 
 His children's love, where'er I go. 
 
 Deep sunk in sin the man must be 
 That has no friendly word for me. 
 I pass through tribes whose trade is death, 
 And not a sabre quits the sheath ; 
 For, strong and cruel as they prove. 
 The sons of men are weak to Love. 
 The humblest gifts to them I bring ; 
 Yet in their hearts I rule, a king. 
 
46 
 
 ODE TO INDOLENCE. 
 
 Find me a bower, in silent dells embayed, 
 
 And trebly guarded from each wind that blows, 
 
 Where the blue noon o'erroofs the tranquil shade, 
 And poppies breathe an odor of repose ; 
 
 Where never noises from the distant world 
 Disturb the happy calm of soul and sense. 
 
 But in thy haven every sail is furled, 
 Divinest Indolence ! 
 
 There shall I summon all melodious measures, 
 
 And feel the hymns to thee, I sing to other Pleasures 
 
47 
 
 Within thy reahn the vexing tempests die 
 
 That strip the leaves from Life's aspiring tree, 
 
 And fairer blossoms open in thy sky, 
 To richer fruits maturing peacefully. 
 
 What is the clangor of Ambition's car 
 To thine eternal silence ? To thy rest, 
 What are the stormy joys that shake the breast, 
 
 And Passion's cloud, that leaves the thunder-scar ? 
 
 On brows that burn with Toil's relentless fever 
 
 Thy pitying hand is laid, and they have calm forever. 
 
 III. 
 
 Where thou dost sit, the shadow of Despair 
 Fell never ; Hate and Envy thence depart ; 
 
 Turn from thy gate the baffled hounds of Care, 
 And the great strength of slumber fills the heart. 
 
 Even Love himself, far exiled, in thy bower, 
 From the bright paths of rapture which he trod. 
 Folds up his wing : in Indian Song, the god 
 
 Was born beneath the sleepy lotus-flower. 
 
 The only fugitive escaped the riot, 
 
 His presence glorifies thy charmed elysian quiet. 
 
48 
 
 IV. 
 
 Far from thee drift the shattered hulks of life ; 
 
 But the wrecked spirit slumbers at thy feet, 
 And, harbored now from every wave of strife. 
 
 Feels the strong pulses of Existence beat. 
 There hears the heart its native language, free 
 
 From the world's clamor ; with enlightened eyes 
 
 There doth the soul its features recognize. 
 And read its destiny ! 
 The dark enigmas which perplexed the sense 
 Fade in the wisdom, born of Indolence. 
 
 Yea, let men struggle, toil, exult, and win 
 The pigmy triumphs which they fret to wear ; 
 
 But I will fly the curse of primal sin. 
 And in thy lap the peace of Eden share. 
 
 Serener than a star on Twilight's breast, 
 A sea-flower, deep below the tropic waves, 
 Or sparry foliage of the dsedal caves. 
 
 My life shall blossom in thine arms of rest. 
 
 My breath grows calm ; my weary eyelids close ; 
 
 A nd the pursuing Fates have left me to repose. 
 
49 
 
 SONG. 
 
 Daughter of Egypt, veil thine eyes I 
 
 I cannot bear their fire ; 
 Nor will I touch with sacrifice 
 
 Those altars of Desire. 
 For they are flames that shun the day, 
 
 And their unholy light 
 Is fed from natures gone astray 
 
 In passion and in night. 
 
 The stars of Beauty and of Sin, 
 
 They burn amid the dark, 
 Like beacons that to ruin win 
 
 The fascinated bark. 
 Then veil their glow, lest I forswear 
 
 The hopes thou canst not crown. 
 And in the black waves of thy hair 
 
 My struggling manhood drown ! 
 4 
 
50 
 
 AMRAN'S WOOING. 
 
 YoTT ask, O Frank ! how Love is bom 
 Within these glowing climes of Morn, 
 Where envious veils conceal the charms 
 That tempt a Western lover's arms, 
 And how, without a voice or sound. 
 From heart to heart the path is found, 
 Since on the eye alone is flung 
 The burden of the silent tongue. 
 You hearken with a doubtful smile 
 Whene'er the wandering bards beguile 
 Our evening indolence with strains 
 Whose words gush molten through our veins 
 The songs of Love, but half confessed, 
 Where Passion sobs on Sorrow's breast, 
 And mighty longings, tender fears. 
 Steep the strong heart in fire and tears. 
 
51 
 
 The source of each accordant strain 
 Lies deeper than the Poet's brain. 
 First from the people's heart must spring 
 The passions which he learns to sing ; 
 They are the wind, the harp is he, 
 To voice their fitful melody — 
 The language of their varying fate, 
 Their pride, grief, love, ambition, hate — 
 The talisman which holds inwrought 
 The touchstone of the listener's thought ; 
 That penetrates each vain disguise, 
 And brings his secret to his eyes. 
 For, like a solitary bird 
 
 That hides among the boughs unheard 
 
 Until some mate, whose carol breaks. 
 
 Its own betraying song awakes, 
 
 So, to its echo in those lays. 
 
 The ardent heart itself betrays. 
 
 Crowned with a prophet's honor, stands 
 
 The Poet, on Arabian sands ; 
 
 A chief, whose subjects love his thrall — 
 
 The sympathizing heart of all. 
 
52 
 
 u. 
 
 Vaunt not your Western maids to me, 
 Whose charms to every gaze are free : 
 My love is selfish, and would share 
 Scarce with the sun, or general air, 
 The sight of beauty which has shone 
 Once for mine eyes, and mine alone. 
 Love likes concealment ; he can dress 
 With fancied grace the loveliness 
 That shrinks behind its virgin veil, 
 As hides the moon her forehead pale 
 Behind a cloud, yet leaves the air 
 Softer than if her orb were there. 
 And as the splendor of a star. 
 When sole in heaven, seems brighter far. 
 So shines the eye. Love's star and sun. 
 The brighter, that it shines alone. 
 The light from out its darkness sent 
 Is Passion's life and element ; 
 And when the heart is warm and young, 
 Let but that single ray be flung 
 Upon its surface, and the deep 
 Heaves from its unsuspecting sleep, 
 As heaves the ocean when its floor 
 Breaks over the volcano's core. 
 
53 
 
 Who thinks if cheek or lip be fair ? 
 Is not all beauty centred where 
 The soul looks out, the feelings move, 
 And Love his answer gives to love ? 
 Look on the sun, and you will find 
 For other sights your eyes are blind. 
 Look — if the colder blood you share 
 Can give your heart the strength to dare 
 In eyes of dark and tender fire : 
 What more can blinded love desire ? 
 
 III. 
 
 I was a stripling, quick and bold, 
 And rich in pride as poor in gold. 
 When God's good will my journey bent 
 One day to Shekh Abdallah's tent. 
 My only treasure was a steed 
 Of Araby's most precious breed ; 
 And whether 'twas in boastful whim 
 To show his mettled speed of limb, 
 Or that presumption, which, in sooth. 
 Becomes the careless brow of youth, — 
 Which takes the world as birds the air, 
 And moves in freedom every where^ — 
 
54 
 
 It matters not. But 'midst the tents 
 I rode in easy confidence, 
 Till to Abdallah's door I pressed 
 And made myself the old man's guest. 
 My " Peace be with you ! " was returned 
 With the grave courtesy he learned 
 From age and long authority, 
 And in God's name he welcomed me. 
 The pipe replenished, with its stem 
 Of jasmine wood and amber gem, 
 Was at my lips and while I drew 
 The rosy-sweet, soft vapor through 
 In ringlets of dissolving blue, 
 Waiting his speech with reverence meet, 
 A woman's garments brushed my feet. 
 And first through boyish senses ran 
 The pulse of love which made me man. 
 The handmaid of her father's cheer, 
 With timid grace she glided near. 
 And, lightly dropping on her knee. 
 Held out a silver zerf to me. 
 Within whose cup the fragrance sent 
 From Yemen's sunburnt berries blent 
 With odors of the Persian rose. 
 That picture still in memory glows 
 With the same heat as then — the gush 
 Of fever, with its fiery flush 
 
55 
 
 Startling my blood ; and I can see — 
 
 As she this moment knelt to me — 
 
 The shrouded graces of her form ; 
 
 The half-seen arm, so round and warm ; 
 
 The little hand, whose tender veins 
 
 Branched through the henna's orange stains , 
 
 The head, in act of offering bent ; * 
 
 And through the parted veil, which lent 
 
 A charm for what it hid, the eye. 
 
 Gazelle-like, large, and dark, and shy, 
 
 That with a soft, sweet tremble shone 
 
 Beneath the fervor of my own, 
 
 Yet could not, would not, turn away 
 
 The fascination of its ray. 
 
 But half in pleasure, half in fright, 
 
 Grew unto mine, and builded bright 
 
 From heart to heart a bridge of light. 
 
 IV. 
 
 From the fond trouble of my look 
 The zerf within her fingers shook. 
 As with a start, like one who breaks 
 Some happy trance of thought, and wakes 
 
56 
 
 Unto forgotten toil, she rose 
 
 And passed. I saw the curtains close 
 
 Behind her steps : the light was gone, 
 
 But in the dark my heart dreamed on. 
 
 Some random words — thanks ill expressed 
 
 I to the stately Shekh addressed. 
 
 With the intelligence which he, 
 
 My host, could not demand of me ; 
 
 How, wandering in the desert chase, 
 
 I spied from far his camping-place. 
 
 And Arab honor bade me halt 
 
 To break his bread and share his salt. 
 
 Thereto, fit reverence for his name, 
 
 The praise our speech is quick to frame, 
 
 Which, empty though it seem, was dear 
 
 To the old warrior's willing ear. 
 
 And led his thoughts, by many a track, 
 
 To deeds of ancient prowess back. 
 
 Until my love could safely hide 
 
 Beneath the covert of his pride. 
 
 And when his " Go with God ! " was said, 
 
 Upon El-Azrek's back I sped 
 
 Into the desert, wide and far. 
 
 Beneath the silver evening-star. 
 
 And, fierce with passion, without heed 
 
 Urged o'er the sands my snorting steed, 
 
57 
 
 As if those afrites, feared of man, — 
 Who watch the lonely caravan, 
 And, if a loiterer lags behind, 
 Efface its tracks with sudden wind. 
 Then fill the air with cheating cries. 
 And make false pictures to his eyes 
 Till the bewildered sufferer dies, — 
 Had breathed on me their demon breath, 
 And spurred me to the hunt of Death. 
 
 Yet madness such as this was worth 
 All the cool wisdom of the earth, 
 And sweeter glowed its wild unrest 
 Than the old calm of brain and breast. 
 The image of that maiden beamed 
 Through all I saw, or thought, or dreamed, 
 Till she became, like Light or Air, 
 A part of life. And she shall share, 
 I vowed, my passion and my fate, 
 Or both shall fail me, soon or late, 
 In the vain effort to possess ; 
 For Life lives only in success. 
 1 could not, in her father's sight. 
 Purchase the hand which was his right ; 
 
58 
 
 And well I knew how quick denied 
 
 The prayer would be to empty pride ; 
 
 But Heaven and Earth shall sooner move 
 
 Than bar the energy of Love. 
 
 The sinews of my life became 
 
 Obedient to that single aim, 
 
 And desperate deed and patient thought 
 
 Together in its service wrought. 
 
 Keen as a falcon, when his eye 
 
 In search of quarry reads the sky, 
 
 I stole unseen, at eventide, 
 
 Behind the well, upon whose side 
 
 The girls their jars of water leaned. 
 
 By one long, sandy hillock screened, 
 
 I watched the forms that went and came, 
 
 With eyes that sparkled with the flame 
 
 Up from my heart in flashes sent. 
 
 As one by one they came and went 
 
 Amid the sunset radiance cast 
 
 On the red sands : they came and passed, 
 
 And she, — thank God ! — she came at last ! 
 
 VI. 
 
 Then, while her fair companion bound 
 The cord her pitcher's throat around. 
 
59 
 
 And steadied with a careful hand 
 
 Its slow descent, upon the sand 
 
 At the Shekh's daughter's feet, I sped 
 
 A slender arrow, shaft and head 
 
 With breathing jasmine-flowers entwined, 
 
 And roses such as on the wind 
 
 Of evening with rich odors fan 
 
 The white kiosks of Ispahan. 
 
 A moment, fired with love and hope, 
 
 I stayed upon the yellow slope 
 
 EI-Azrek's hoofs, to see her raise 
 
 Her startled eyes in sweet amaze — 
 
 To see her make the unconscious sign 
 
 Which recognized the gift as mine, 
 
 And place, before she turned to part, 
 
 The flowery barb against her heart. 
 
 VII. 
 
 Again the Shekh's divan I pressed : 
 The jasmine pipe was brought the guest, 
 And Mariam, lovelier than before, 
 Knelt with the steamy cup once more. 
 O bliss ! within those eyes to see 
 A soul of love look out on me — 
 
60 
 
 A fount of passion, which is truth 
 
 In the wild dialect of Youth — 
 
 Whose rich abundance is outpoured 
 
 Like worship at a shrine adored, 
 
 And on its rising deluge bears 
 
 The heart to raptures or despairs. 
 
 While from the cup tl^e zerf contained 
 
 The foamy amber juice I drained, 
 
 A rosebud in the zerf expressed 
 
 The sweet confession of her breast. 
 
 One glance of glad intelligence, 
 
 And silently she glided thence. 
 
 " O Shekh ! " I cried, as she withdrew, 
 
 (Short is the speech where hearts are true,) 
 
 " Thou hast a daughter : let me be 
 
 A shield to her, a sword to thee ! " 
 
 Abdallah turned his steady eye 
 
 Full on my face, and made reply : 
 
 " It cannot be. The treasure sent 
 
 By God must not be idly spent. 
 
 Strong men there are, in service tried. 
 
 Who seek the maiden for a bride ; 
 
 And shall I slight their worth and truth 
 
 To feed the passing flame of youth ? " 
 
61 
 
 VIII. 
 
 " No passing flame ! " my answer ran ; 
 " But love which is the life of man, 
 Warmed with his blood, fed by his breath, 
 And, when it fails him, leaves but Death. 
 
 Shekh, I hoped not thy consent ; 
 But having tasted in thy tent 
 
 An Arab welcome, shared thy bread, 
 
 1 come to warn thee I shall wed 
 Thy daughter, though her suitors be 
 As leaves upon the tamarind tree. 
 Guard her as thou mayst guard, I swear 
 No other bed than mine shall wear 
 Her virgin honors, and thy race 
 Through me shall keep its ancient place. 
 Thou'rt warned, and duty bids no more ; 
 For, when I next approach thy door. 
 Her child shall intercessor be 
 
 To build up peace 'twixt thee and me." 
 A little flushed my boyish brow ; 
 But calmly then I spake, as now. 
 The Shekh, with dignity that flung 
 Rebuke on my impetuous tongue, 
 
62 
 
 Replied : " The young man's hopes are fair ; 
 
 The young man's blood would all things dare. 
 
 But age is wisdom, and can bring 
 
 Confusion on the soaring wing 
 
 Of reckless youth. Thy words are just, 
 
 But needless ; for I still can trust 
 
 A father's jealousy to shield 
 
 From robber grasp the gem concealed 
 
 Within his tent, till he may yield 
 
 To fitting hands the precious store. 
 
 Go, then, in peace ; but come no more." 
 
 IX. 
 
 My only sequin served to bribe 
 A cunning mother of the tribe • 
 To Mariam's mind my plan to bring. 
 A feather of the wild dove's wing, 
 A lock of raven gloss and stain 
 Sheared from El-Azrek's flowing mane, 
 And that pale flower whose fragrant cup 
 Is closed until the moon comes up, — 
 But then a tenderer beauty holds 
 Than any flower the sun unfolds, — 
 
63 
 
 Declared my purpose. Her reply- 
 Let loose the winds of ecstasy : 
 Two roses and the moonlight flower 
 Told the acceptance, and the hour-^ 
 Two daily suns to waste their glow, 
 And then, at moonrise, bliss — or woe. 
 
 X. 
 
 El-Azrek now, on whom alone 
 The burden of our fate was thrown, 
 Claimed from my hands a double meed 
 Of careful training for the deed. 
 I gave him of my choicest store — 
 No guest was ever honored more. 
 With flesh of kid, with whitest bread 
 And dates of Egypt was he fed ; 
 The camel's heavy udders gave 
 Their frothy juice his thirst to lave : 
 A charger, groomed with better care, 
 The Sultan never rode to prayer. 
 My burning hope, my torturing fear, 
 I breathed in his sagacious ear ; 
 Caressed him as a brother might, 
 Implored his utmost speed in flight, 
 
64 
 
 Hung on his neck with many a vow, 
 And kissed the white star on his brow. 
 His large and lustrous eyeball sent 
 A look which made me confident, 
 As if in me some doubt he spied, 
 And met it with a human pride. 
 " Enough : I trust thee. 'Tis the hour, 
 And I have need of all thy power. 
 Without a wing, God gives thee wings, 
 And Fortune to thy forelock clings." 
 
 XI. 
 
 The yellow moon was rising large 
 Above the Desert's dusky marge, 
 And save the jackal's whining moan, 
 Or distant camel's gurgling groan. 
 And the lamenting monotone 
 Of winds that breathe their vain desire 
 And on the lonely sands expire, 
 A silent charm, a breathless spell. 
 Waited with me beside the well. 
 She is not there — not yet — but soon 
 A white robe glimmers in the moon. 
 
65 
 
 Her little footsteps make no sound 
 On the soft sand ; and with a bound, 
 Where terror, doubt, and love unite 
 To blind her heart to all but flight, 
 Trembling, and panting, and oppressed, 
 She threw herself upon my breast. 
 By Allah ! like a bath of flame 
 The seething blood tumultuous came 
 From life's hot centre as I drew 
 Her mouth to mine : our spirits grew 
 Together in one long, long kiss — 
 One swooning, speechless pulse of bliss, 
 That, throbbing from the heart's core, met 
 In the united lips. O, yet 
 The eternal sweetness of that draught 
 Renews the thirst with which I quaffed 
 Love's virgin vintage : starry fire 
 Leapt from the twilights of desire. 
 And in the golden dawn of dreams 
 The space grew warm with radiant beams, 
 Which from that kiss streamed o'er a sea 
 Of rapture, in whose bosom we 
 Sank down, and sank eternally. 
 5 
 
66 
 
 XII. 
 
 Now nerve thy limbs, El-Azrek ! Fling 
 Thy head aloft, and like a wing 
 Spread on the wind thy cloudy mane ! 
 The hunt is up : their stallions strain 
 The urgent shoulders close behind. 
 And the wide nostril drinks the wind. 
 But thou art, too, of Nedjid's breed, 
 My brother ! and the falcon's speed 
 Slant down the storm's advancing line 
 Would laggard be if matched with thine. 
 Still leaping forward, whistling through 
 The moonlight-laden air, we flew; 
 And from the distance, threateningly, 
 Came the pursueVs eager cry. 
 Still forward, forward, stretched our flight 
 Through the long hours of middle night; 
 One after one the followers lagged, 
 And even my faithful Azrek flagged 
 Beneath his double burden, till 
 The streaks of dawn began to fill 
 The East, and, freshening in the race, 
 Their goaded horses gained apace. 
 
67 
 
 I drew my dagger, cut the girth, 
 
 Tumbled my saddle to the earth, 
 
 And clasped with desperate energies 
 
 My stallion's side with iron knees ; 
 
 While Mariam, clinging to my breast, 
 
 The closer for that peril pressed. 
 
 They come ! they come ! Their shouts we hear, 
 
 Now faint and far, now fierce and near. 
 
 O brave El-Azrek ! on the track 
 
 Let not one fainting sinew slack, 
 
 Or know thine agony of flight 
 
 Endured in vain ! The purple light 
 
 Of breaking morn has come at last. 
 
 O joy ! the thirty leagues are past ; 
 
 And, gleaming in the sunrise, see 
 
 The white tents of the Aneyzee ! 
 
 The warriors of the waste, the foes 
 
 Of Shekh Abdallah's tribe, are those 
 
 Whose shelter and support I claim. 
 
 Which they bestow in Allah's name ; 
 
 While, wheeling back, the baffled few 
 
 No longer ventured to pursue. 
 
68 
 
 ZIII. 
 
 And now, Frank ! if you would see 
 
 How soft the eyes that looked on me 
 
 Through Mariam's silky lashes, scan 
 
 Those of my little Solyman. 
 
 And should you marvel if the child 
 
 His stately grandsire reconciled 
 
 To that bold theft, when years had brought 
 
 The golden portion which he sought, 
 
 And what upon this theme befell. 
 
 The Shekh himself can better tell. 
 
A PLEDGE TO HAFIZ. 
 
 Brim the bowls with Shiraz wine I 
 Roses round your temples twine ; 
 Brim the bowls with Shiraz wine — 
 Hafiz pledge we, Bard divine ! 
 With the summer warmth that glows 
 In the wine and on the rose, 
 Blushing, fervid, ruby-bright, 
 We shall pledge his name aright. 
 
 Hafiz, in whose measures move 
 Youth and Beauty, Song and Love — 
 In his veins the nimble flood 
 Was of wine, and not of blood. 
 All the songs he sang or thought 
 In his brain were never wrought, 
 But like rose leaves fell apart 
 From that bursting rose, his heart. 
 
70 
 
 Youth is morning's transient ray ; 
 
 Love consumes itself away ; 
 
 Time destroys what Beauty gives ; 
 
 But in Song the Poet lives. 
 
 While we pledge him — thus — and thus 
 
 He is present here in us ; 
 
 'Tis his voice that cries, not mine : 
 
 Brim the bowls with Shiraz wine ! 
 
71 
 
 THE GARDEN OF IREM. 
 
 Have you seen the Garden of Irem ? 
 
 No mortal knoweth the road thereto. 
 
 Find me a path in the mists that gather 
 
 When the sunbeams scatter the morning dew, 
 
 And I will lead you thither. 
 
 Give me a key to the halls of the sun 
 
 When he goes behind the purple sea, 
 
 Or a wand to open the vaults that run 
 
 Down to the afrite-guarded treasures, 
 
 And I will open its doors to thee.' 
 
 Who hath tasted its countless pleasures } 
 
 Who hath breathed, in its winds of spice, 
 
 Raptures deeper than Paradise ? 
 
 Who hath trodden its ivory floors, 
 
 Where the fount drops pearl from a golden shell, 
 
 And heard the hinges of diamond doors 
 
 Swing to the music of Israfel ? 
 
"/■2 
 
 Its roses blossom, its palms arise, 
 
 By the phantom stream that flows so fair 
 
 Under the Desert's burning skies. 
 
 Can you reach that flood, can you drink its tide, 
 
 Can you swim its waves to th^ farther side, 
 
 Your feet may enter there. 
 
 I have seen the Garden of Irem. 
 
 I found it, but I sought it not : 
 
 Without a path, without a guide, 
 
 I found the enchanted spot : 
 
 Without a key its golden gate stood wide. 
 
 I was young, and strong, and bold, and free 
 
 As the milk-white foal of the Nedjidee, 
 
 And the blood in my veins was like sap of the vine, 
 
 That stirs, and mounts, and will not stop 
 
 Till the breathing blossoms that bring the wine 
 
 Have drained its balm to the last sweet drop. 
 
 Lance and barb were all I knew, 
 
 Till deep in the Desert the spot I found. 
 
 Where the marvellous gates of Irem threw 
 
 Their splendors over an unknown ground. 
 
 Mine were the pearl and ivory floors. 
 
 Mine the music of diamond doors. 
 
73 
 
 Turning each on a newer glory : 
 Mine were the roses whose bloom outran 
 The spring-time beauty. of Gulistan, 
 And the fabulous flowers of Persian story. 
 Mine were the palms of silver stems, 
 And blazing emerald for diadems ; 
 The fretted arch and the gossamer wreath, 
 So light and frail you feared to breathe ; 
 Yet o'er them rested the pendent spars 
 Of domes bespangled with silver stars, 
 And crusted gems of rare adorning : 
 And ever higher, like a shaft of fire. 
 The lessening links of the golden spire 
 Flamed in the myriad-colored morning! 
 
 Like one who lies on the marble lip 
 Of the blessed bath in a tranquil rest, 
 And stirs not even a finger's tip 
 Lest the beatific dream should slip, 
 So did I lie in Irem's breast. 
 Sweeter than Life and stronger than Death 
 Was every draught of that blissful breath ; 
 Warmer than Summer came its glow 
 To the youthful heart in a mighty flood. 
 And sent its bold and generous blood 
 To water the world in its onward flow. 
 
74 
 
 There, where the Garden of Irem lies, 
 Are the roots of the Tree of Paradise, 
 And happy are they who sit below, 
 When into this world of Strife and Death 
 The blossoms are shaken by Allah's breath. 
 
75 
 
 THE BIRTH OF THE HORSE. 
 
 FBOM THE AEABIC. 
 
 The South Wind blows from Paradise — 
 
 A wind of fire and force ; 
 And yet his proudest merit is 
 
 That he begat the Horse. 
 
 When Allah's breath created first 
 
 The noble Arab steed, — 
 The conqueror of all his race 
 
 In courage and in speed, — 
 
 To the South Wind He spake : From thee 
 
 A creature shall have birth. 
 To be the bearer of my arms 
 
 And my renown on Earth. 
 
76 
 
 The pride of all the Faithful, he — 
 
 The terror of their foes : 
 Rider and Horse shall comrades be 
 
 In battle and repose. 
 
 Then to the perfect Horse He spake : 
 
 Fortune to thee I bring • 
 Fortune, as long as rolls the Earth, 
 
 Shall to thy forelock cling. 
 
 Without a pinion winged thou art. 
 And fleetest with thy load ; 
 
 Bridled art thou without a rein, 
 And spurred without a goad. 
 
 Men shall bestride thee who have made 
 Their fame, their service, mine ; 
 
 And, when they pray upon their way^ 
 Their prayers shall count as thine. 
 
 The worship which thy master speaks 
 
 Thou sharest silently ; 
 By mutual fate he rises up, 
 
 Or falls to Earth with thee. 
 
77 
 
 THE WISDOM OF ALL 
 
 AN ABAB LEGEND. 
 
 The Prophet once, sitting in calm debate, 
 Said : " I am Wisdom's fortress ; but the gate 
 Thereof is Ali." Wherefore, some who heard. 
 With unbelieving jealousy were stirred ; 
 And, that they might on him confusion bring, 
 Ten of the boldest joined to prove the thing. 
 " Let us in turn to Ali go," they said, 
 " And ask if Wisdom should be sought instead 
 Of earthly riches ; then, if he reply 
 To each of us, in thought, accordantly. 
 And yet to none, in speech or phrase, the same, 
 His shall the honor be, and ours the shame." 
 
 Now, when the first his bold demand did make, 
 These were the words which Ali straightway spake 
 
78 
 
 " Wisdom is the inheritance of those 
 Whom Allah favors ; riches, of his foes." 
 
 Unto the second he said : " Thyself must be 
 Guard to thy wealth ; but Wisdom guardeth thee." 
 
 Unto the third : " By Wisdom wealth is won ; 
 But riches purchased wisdom yet for none." 
 
 Unto the fourth : " Thy goods the thief may take ; 
 But into Wisdom's house he cannot break." 
 
 Unto the fifth : " Thy goods decrease the more 
 Thou giv'st ; but use enlarges Wisdom's store." 
 
 Unto the sixth : " Wealth tempts to evil ways ; 
 But the desire of Wisdom is God's praise." 
 
 Unto the seventh : " Divide thy wealth, each part ^ 
 Becomes a pittance. Give with open heart 
 Thy wisdom, and each separate gift shall be 
 All that thou hast, yet not impoverish thee." 
 
 Unto the eighth : " Wealth cannot keep itself; 
 But Wisdom is the steward even of pelf." 
 
7.0 
 
 Unto the ninth : " The camels slowly bring 
 
 Thy goods ; but Wisdom has the swallow's wing." 
 
 And lastly, when the tenth did question make, 
 These were the ready words which Ali spake : — 
 *' Wealth is a darkness which the soul should fear ; 
 But Wisdom is the lamp that makes it clear." 
 
 Crimson with shame the questioners withdrew. 
 
 And they declared: "The Prophet's words were 
 
 true ; 
 The mouth of Ali is the golden door 
 Of Wisdom." 
 
 When his friends to Ali bore 
 These words, he smiled and said : " And should they 
 
 ask 
 The same until my dying day, the task 
 Were easy ; for the stream from Wisdom's well, 
 Which God supplies, is inexhaustible." 
 
80 
 
 AN ORIENTAL IDYL. 
 
 A SILVER javelin which the hills 
 Have hurled upon the plain below, 
 
 The fleetest of the Pharpar's rills, 
 Beneath me shoots in flashing flow. 
 
 I hear the never-ending laugh 
 
 Of jostling waves that come and go. 
 
 And suck the bubbling pipe, and quaff 
 The sherbet cooled in mountain snow. 
 
 The flecks of sunshine gleam like stars 
 Beneath the canopy of shade ; 
 
 And in the distant, dim bazaars 
 I scarcely hear the hum of trade. 
 
81 
 
 No evil fear, no dream forlorn, 
 
 Darkens my heaven of perfect blue ; 
 
 My blood is tempered to the morn — 
 My veiy heart is steeped in dew. 
 
 What Evil is I cannot tell ; 
 
 But half I guess what Joy may be ; 
 And, as a pearl within its shell, 
 
 The happy spirit sleeps in me. 
 
 I feel no more the pulse's strife, — 
 The tides of Passion's ruddy sea, — 
 
 But live the sweet, unconscious life 
 
 That breathes from yonder jasmine tree. 
 
 Upon the glittering pageantries 
 Of gay Damascus streets I look 
 
 As idly as a babe that sees 
 
 The painted pictures of a book. 
 
 Forgotten now are name and race ; 
 
 The Past is blotted from my brain , 
 For Memory sleeps, and will not trace 
 
 The weary pages o'er again. 
 6 
 
82 
 
 I only know the morning shines, 
 And sweet the dewy morning air ; 
 
 But does it play with tendrilled vines ? 
 Or does it lightly lift my hair ? 
 
 Deep-sunken in the charmed repose, 
 This ignorance is bliss extreme : 
 
 And whether I be Man, or Rose, 
 
 O, pluck me not from out my dream I 
 
83 
 
 THE ANGEL OF PATIENCE. 
 
 " Patience is the key of Content." — Mahomet. 
 
 To cheer, to help us, children of the dust, 
 More than one angel has Our Father given ; 
 
 But one alone is faithful to her trust — 
 
 The best, the brightest exile out of Heaven. 
 
 Her ways are not the ways of pleasantness ; 
 
 Her paths are not the lightsome paths of joy , 
 She walks with wrongs that cannot find redress, 
 
 And dwells in mansions Time and Death destroy 
 
 She waits until her stern precursor, Care, 
 Has lodged on foreheads, open as the morn. 
 
 To plough his deep, besieging trenches there — 
 The signs of struggles which the heart has borne. 
 
84 
 
 But when the first cloud darkens in our sky, 
 And face to face with Life we stand alone, 
 
 Silent and swift, behold ! she draweth nigh. 
 And mutely makes our sufferings her own. 
 
 Though with its bitterness the heart runs o'er, 
 No words the sweetness of her lips divide ; 
 
 But when the eye looks up for hght once more. 
 She turns the cloud and shows its sjolden side. 
 
 Unto rebellious souls, that, mad with Fate, 
 To question God's eternal justice dare. 
 
 She points above with looks that whisper, " Wait 
 What seems confusion here is wisdom there." 
 
 To the vain challenges of doubt we send, 
 No answering comfort doth she minister • 
 
 Her face looks ever forward to the end. 
 And we, who see it not, are led by her. 
 
 She doth not chide, nor in reproachful guise 
 The griefs we cherish rudely thrust apart ; 
 
 But in the light of her immortal eyes 
 Revives the manly courage of the heart. 
 
85 
 
 Daughter of God ! who walkest with us here, 
 Who mak'st our every tribulation thine, 
 
 Such light hast thou in Earth's dim atmosphere. 
 How must thy seat in Heaven exalted shine ! 
 
 How fair thy presence by those living streams 
 
 Where Sin and Sorrow from their troubling cease J 
 
 Where on thy brow the crown of amaranth gleams, 
 And in thy hand the golden key of Peace ! 
 
86 
 
 BEDOUIN SONG. 
 
 Fbom the Desert I come to thee ' 
 
 On a stallion shod with fire ; 
 And the winds are left behind 
 In the speed of my desire. 
 Under thy window I stand, 
 
 And the midnight hears my cry : 
 I love thee, I love but thee, * 
 
 With a love that shall not die 
 
 Till the sun grows cold^ 
 And the stars are old. 
 And the leaves of the Judgment 
 Book unfold / 
 
 Look from thy window and see 
 
 My passion and my pain ; 
 I lie on the sands below, 
 
 And I faint in thy disdain. 
 
87 
 
 Let the night-winds touch thy brow 
 
 With the heat of my burning sigh, 
 And melt thee to hear the vow 
 Of a love that shall not die 
 
 Till the sun grows cold, 
 And the stars are old. 
 And the leaves of the Judgment 
 Book unfold ! 
 
 My steps are nightly driven, 
 By the fever in my breast, 
 To hear from thy lattice breathed 
 
 The word that shall give me rest. 
 Open the door of thy heart, 
 
 And open thy chamber door. 
 And my kisses shall teach thy lips 
 The love that shall fade no more 
 
 Till the sun groios cold. 
 And the stars are old. 
 And the leaves of the Judgment 
 Book unfold ! 
 
88 
 
 DESERT HYMN TO THE SUN. 
 
 Under the arches of the morning sky, 
 
 Save in one heart, there beats no life of Mai ; 
 
 The yellow sand-hills bleak and trackless lie. 
 And far behind them sleeps the caravan. 
 
 A silence, as before Creation, broods 
 
 Sublimely o'er the desert solitudes. 
 
 A silence as if God in Heaven were still. 
 And meditating some new wonder ! Earth 
 
 And Air the solemn portent own, and thrill 
 With awful prescience of the coming birth. 
 
 And Night withdraws, and on their silver cars 
 
 Wheel to remotest space the trembling Stars. 
 
89 
 
 III. 
 
 See ! an increasing brightness, broad and fleet, 
 Breaks on the morning in a rosy flood, 
 
 As if He smiled to see His work complete, 
 And rested from it, and pronounced it good. 
 
 The sands lie still, and every wind is furled : 
 
 The Sun comes up, and looks upon the world. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Is there no burst of music to proclaim 
 
 The pomp and majesty of this new lord .? — 
 
 A golden trumpet in each beam of flame, 
 Startling the universe with grand accord ? 
 
 Must Eartli be dumb beneath the splendors thrown 
 
 From his full orb to glorify her own ? 
 
 No : with an answering splendor, more than sound 
 
 Instinct with gratulation, she adores. 
 With purple flame the porphyry hills are crowned, 
 
 And burn with gold the Desert's boundless floors ; 
 And the lone Man compels his haughty knee. 
 And, prostrate at thy footstool, worships thee. 
 
90 
 
 VI. 
 
 Before the dreadful glory of thy face 
 
 He veils his sight ; he fears the fiery rod 
 
 Which thou dost wield amid the brightening space, 
 As if the sceptre of a visible god. 
 
 If not the shadow of God's lustre, thou 
 
 Art the one jewel flaming on His brow. 
 
 VII. 
 
 Art thou, Sun, Vicegerent of His will. 
 To make on Earth His presence manifest ? 
 
 By Him created, yet creator still. 
 
 Great Nature draws her being from thy breast : 
 
 Where thou art. Life's innumerous pulses play ; 
 
 And where thou ai't not. Death and fell Decay. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Wrap me within the mantle of thy beams, 
 And feed my pulses with thy keenest fire ! 
 
 Here, where thy full meridian deluge streams 
 Across the Desert, let my blood aspire 
 
 To ripen in the vigor of thy blaze. 
 
 And catch a warmth to shine through darker days ! 
 
91 
 
 IX. 
 
 I am alone before thee : Lord of Light ! 
 
 Begetter of the life of things that live ! 
 Beget in me thy calm, self-balanced might ; 
 
 To me thine own immortal ardor give. 
 Yea, though, like her who gave to Jove her charms, 
 My beiil^ wither in thy fiery arms. 
 
 Whence came thy splendors ? Heaven is filled with 
 thee ; 
 
 The sky's blue walls are dazzling with thy train ; 
 Thou sitt'st alone in the Immensity, 
 
 And in thy lap the World grows young again. 
 Bathed in such brightness, drunken with the Day, 
 He deems the Dark foreyer passed away. 
 
 XI. 
 
 But thou dost sheathe thy trenchant sword, and lean 
 With tempered grandeur towards the western gate ; 
 
 Shedding thy glory with a brow serene. 
 
 And leaving heaven all golden with thy state : 
 
 Not as a king discrowned and overthrown. 
 
 But one who keeps, and shall reclaim, his own. 
 
92 
 
 NILOTIC DRINKING-SONG. 
 
 You may water your bays, brother-poets, with lays 
 
 That brighten the cup from the stream you doat on, 
 By the Schuylkill's side, or Cochituate's tide, 
 Or the crystal lymph of the mountain Croton : 
 
 (We may pledge from these 
 
 In our summer ease. 
 Nor even Anacreon's shade revile us — ) 
 
 But I, from the flood 
 
 Of his own brown blood, 
 Will drink to the glory of ancient Nilus ! 
 
 Cloud never gave birth, nor cradle the Earth, 
 To river so grand and fair as this is : 
 
 Not the waves that roll us the gold of Pactolus, 
 Nor cool Cephissus, nor classic Ilissus. 
 
93 
 
 The lily may dip 
 
 Her ivory lip 
 To kiss the ripples of clear Eurotas ; 
 
 But the Nile brings balm 
 
 From the myrrh and palm, 
 And the ripe, voluptuous lips of the lotus. 
 
 III. 
 
 The waves that ride on his mighty tide , 
 
 Were poured from the urns of unvisited mountains ; 
 And their sweets of the South mingle cool in the mouth 
 With the freshness and sparkle of Northern fountains. 
 
 Again and again 
 
 The goblet we drain — 
 Diviner a stream never Nereid swam on : 
 
 For Isis and Orus 
 
 Have quaffed before us, 
 And Ganymede dipped it for Jupiter Ammon. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Its blessing he pours o'er his thirsty shores, 
 And floods the regions of Sleep and Silence, 
 
 When he mal^s oases in desert places, 
 And the plain is a sea, the hills are islands. 
 
94 
 
 And had I the brave 
 
 Anacreon's stave, 
 And lips like the honeyed lips of HyiaS; 
 
 Pd dip from his brink 
 
 My bacchanal drink, 
 And sing for the glory of ancient Nilus 1 
 
95 
 
 CAMADEVA. 
 
 The sun, the moon, the mystic planets seven. 
 
 Shone with a purer and serener flame. 
 And there was joy on Earth and joy in Heaven 
 When Camadeva came. 
 
 The blossoms burst, like jewels of the air. 
 
 Putting the colors of the morn to shame ; 
 Breathing their odorous secrets every where 
 When Camadeva came. 
 
 The birds, upon the tufted tamarind spray, 
 
 Sat side by side and cooed in amorous blame , 
 The lion sheathed his claws and left his prey 
 When Camadeva came. 
 
96 
 
 The sea slept, pillowed on the happy shore ; 
 
 The mountain-peaks were bathed in rosy flame ; 
 The clouds went down the sky — to mount no more 
 When Camadeva came. 
 
 The hearts of all men brightened like the morn ; 
 
 The poet's harp then first deserved its fame, 
 For rapture sweeter than he sang was born 
 When Camadeva came. 
 
 All breathing life a newer spirit quaffed, 
 A second life, a bliss beyond a name. 
 And Death, half-conquered, dropped his idle shaft 
 When Camadeva came. 
 
97 
 
 NUBIA. 
 
 A LAND of Dreams and Sleep — a poppied land ! 
 With skies of endless calm above her head, 
 The drowsy warmth of summer noonday shed 
 Upon her hills, and silence stern and grand 
 Throughout her Desert's temple-burying sand. 
 Before her threshold, in their ancient place. 
 With closed lips, and fixed, majestic face. 
 Noteless of Time, her dumb colossi stand. 
 O, pass them not with light, irreverent tread ; 
 Respect the dream that builds her fallen throne, 
 And soothes her to oblivion of her woes. 
 Hush ! for she does but sleep ; she is not dead : 
 Action and Toil have made the world their own, 
 But she hath built an altar to Repose. 
 7 
 
98 
 
 KILIMANDJARO. 
 
 Hail to thee, monarch of African mountains, 
 Remote, inaccessible, silent, and lone — 
 Who, from the heart of the tropical fervors, 
 Lifiest to heaven thine alien snows. 
 Feeding forever the fountains that make thee 
 Father of Nile and Creator of Egypt ! 
 
 II. 
 
 The years of the world are engraved on thy forehead ; 
 Time's morning blushed red on thy first-fallen snows ; 
 Yet lost in the wilderness, nameless, unnoted, 
 Of Man unbeholden, thou wert not till now. 
 Knowledge alone is the being of Nature, 
 
99 
 
 Giving a soul to her manifold features, 
 Lighting through paths of the primitive darkness 
 Tne footsteps of Truth and the vision of Song. 
 Knowledge has born thee anew to Creation, 
 And long-baffled Tinne at thy baptism rejoices. 
 Take, then, a name, and be filled with existence, 
 Yea, be exultant in sovereign glory. 
 While from the hand of the wandering poet 
 Drops the first garland of song at thy feet. 
 
 III. 
 
 Floating alone, on the flood of thy making, 
 Through Africa's mystery, silence, and 'fire, 
 Lo ! in my palm, like the Eastern enchanter, 
 I dip from the waters a magical mirror. 
 And thou art revealed to my purified vision. 
 I see thee, supreme in the midst of thy co-mates, 
 Standing alone 'twixt the Earth and the Heavens, 
 Heir of the Sunset and Herald of Morn. 
 Zone above zone, to thy shoulders of granite. 
 The climates of Earth are displayed, as an index, 
 Giving the scope of the Book of Creation. 
 There, in the gorges that widen, descending 
 From cloud and from cold into summer eternal. 
 
100 
 
 Gather the threads of the ice-gendered fountains — 
 Gather to riotous torrents of crystal, 
 And, giving each shelvy recess where they dally 
 The blooms of the North and its evergreen turfage, 
 Leap to the land of the lion and lotus ! 
 There, in the wondering airs of the Tropics 
 Shivers the Aspen, still dreaming of cold : 
 There stretches the Oak, from the loftiest ledges. 
 His arms to the far-away lands of his brothers. 
 And the Pine-tree looks down on his rival, the Palm. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Bathed in the tenderest purple of distance. 
 
 Tinted and shadowed by pencils of air, 
 
 Thy battlements hang o'er the slopes and the forests, 
 
 Seats of the Gods in the limitless ether. 
 
 Looming sublimely aloft and afar. 
 
 Above them, like folds of imperial ermine. 
 
 Sparkle the snow-fields that furrow thy forehead — 
 
 Desolate realms, inaccessible, silent. 
 
 Chasms and caverns where Day is a stranger, 
 
 Garners where storeth his treasures the Thunder, 
 
 The Lightning his falchion, his arrows the Hail ! 
 
101 
 
 Sovereign Mountain, thy brothers give welcome : 
 They, the baptized and the crowned of ages, 
 Watch-towers of Continents, ahars of Earth, 
 Welcome thee now to their mighty assembly. 
 Mont Blanc, in the roar of his mad avalanches, 
 Hails thy accession ; superb Orizaba, 
 Belted with beech and ensandalled with palm ; 
 Chimborazo, the lord of the regions of noonday, - 
 Mingle their sounds in magnificent chorus 
 With greeting august from the Pillars of Heaven, 
 Who, in the urns of the Indian Ganges 
 Filter the snows of their sacred dominions, 
 Unmarked with a footprint, unseen but of God. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Lo ! unto each is the seal of his lordship, 
 Nor questioned the right that his majesty giveth 
 Each in his awful supremacy forces 
 Worship and reverence, wonder and joy. 
 Absolute all, yet in dignity varied. 
 
103 
 
 None has a claim to the honors of story, 
 Or the superior splendors of song, 
 Greater than thou, in thy mystery mantled — 
 Thou, the sole monarch of African mountains, 
 Father of Nile and Creator of Egypt ! 
 
103 
 
 MIMOSA BLOOMS. 
 
 I BREATHE your perfume, blessed flowers ; 
 
 And looking out, the blue waves o'er, 
 From Cadiz and her snow-white towers, 
 
 I see the Egyptian shore. 
 
 Grateful as joy that comes again 
 With solace sweeter than erewhile, 
 
 Your balsam fills my heart, as then, 
 Beside the palmy Nile. 
 
 Your golden dust is on the sands 
 
 Where yet my transient footprint lies ; 
 
 And in the heaven of brighter lands 
 
 # 
 
 Your little stars arise. 
 
104 
 
 Ye fringe with down the thorny stems ; 
 
 Ye flood the year with balm and spice, 
 More precious than the plant that gems 
 
 The dells of Paradise. 
 
 Pure as a sinless virgin's prayer, 
 Sweet as a sleeping infant's breath, 
 
 Ye mingle with the solemn air 
 Of old Repose and Death. 
 
 Ye bear the bliss of Spring to realms 
 Where endless Summer rules the hours ; 
 
 Noon's fiery deluge ne'er o'erwhelms 
 The morning of your flowers. 
 
 Types of a Faith whose odors free 
 Gently the stress of Life beguile, 
 
 Long may ye bloom and breathe for me. 
 Ye darlings of the Nile ! 
 
105 
 
 THE BIRTH OF THE PROPHET. 
 
 Thrice three moons had waxed in heaven, thrice three 
 
 moons had waned away, 
 Smce Abdullah, faint and thirsty, on the Desert's bosom 
 
 lay 
 In the fiery lap of Summer, the meridian of the 
 
 day; — 
 
 II. 
 
 Since from out the sand upgushing, lo ! a sudden foun- 
 tain leapt ; 
 
 Sweet as musk and clear as amber, to his parching lips 
 it crept. 
 
 When he drank it straightway vanished, but his blood 
 its virtue kept. 
 
106 
 
 III. 
 
 Ere the morn his forehead's lustre, signet of the Proph- 
 et's line, 
 
 To the beauty of Amina had transferred its flame di- 
 vine : 
 
 Of the germ within her sleeping, such the consecrated 
 sign. 
 
 IV. 
 
 And with every moon that faded waxed the splendor 
 
 more and more, 
 Till Amina's beauty lightened through the matron veil 
 
 she wore, 
 And the tent was filled with glory, and of Heaven it 
 
 seemed the door. 
 
 V. 
 
 When her quickened womb its burden had matured, 
 and Life began 
 
 Struggling in its living prison, through the wide Crea- 
 tion ran 
 
 Premonitions of the coming of a God-appomted 
 man. 
 
107 
 
 For the oracles of Nature recognize a Prophet's 
 
 birth — 
 Blossom of the tardy ages, crowning type of human 
 
 worth — 
 And by miracles and wonders he is welcomed to the 
 
 Earth. 
 
 VII. 
 
 Then the stars in heaven grew brighter, stooping down- 
 ward from their zones ; 
 
 Wheeling round the towers of Mecca, sang the moon 
 in silver tones, 
 
 And the Kaaba's grisly idols trembled on their granite 
 thrones. 
 
 VII7, 
 
 Mighty arcs of rainbow splendor, pillared shafts of pur- 
 ple fire, 
 
 Split the sky and spanned the darkness, and with manj 
 a golden spire, 
 
 Beacon-like, from all the mountains streamed the lam- 
 bent meteors higher. 
 
108 
 
 • IX. 
 
 But when first the breath of being to the sacred infant 
 
 came, 
 Paled the pomp of airy lustre, and the stars grew dim 
 
 with shame, 
 For the glory of his countenance outshone their feebler 
 
 flame. 
 
 Over Nedjid's sand^ it lightened, unto Oman's coral 
 
 deep, 
 Startling all the gorgeous regions of the Orient from 
 
 sleep, 
 Till, a sun on night new-risen, it illumed the Indian 
 
 steep. 
 
 XI. 
 
 They who dwelt in Mecca's borders saw the distant 
 
 realms appear 
 All around the vast horizon, shining marvellous and 
 
 clear. 
 From the gardens of Damascus unto those of Bende 
 
 meer. 
 
109 
 
 XII. 
 
 From the colonnades of Tadmor to the hills of Hadra- 
 
 maut, 
 Ancient Araby was lighted, and her sands the splendor 
 
 caught, 
 Till the magic sweep of vision overtook the track of 
 
 Thought. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 Such on Earth the wondrous glory, but beyond the 
 sevenfold skies 
 
 God His mansions filled with gladness, and the seraphs 
 saw arise 
 
 Palaces of pearl and ruby from the founts of Para- 
 dise. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 As the surge of heavenly anthems shook the solemn 
 
 midnight air, 
 From the shrines of false religions came a wailing of 
 
 despair, 
 And the fires on Pagan altars were extinguished every 
 
 where. 
 
110 
 
 XV. 
 
 'Mid the sounds of salutation, 'mid the splendor and the 
 
 balm, 
 Knelt the sacred child, proclaiming, with a brow of 
 
 heavenly calm : 
 " God is God ; there is none other ; I his chosen Prophet 
 
 am!" 
 
Ill 
 
 TO THE NILE. 
 
 Mysterious Flood, — that through the silent sands 
 
 Hast wandered, century on century, 
 Watering the length of green Egyptian lands, 
 Which were not, but for thee, — 
 
 Art thou the keeper of that eldest lore, 
 
 Written ere yet thy hieroglyphs began, 
 When dawned upon thy fresh, untrampled shore 
 The earliest life of Man ? 
 
 Thou guardest temple and vast pyramid, 
 
 Where the gray Past records its ancient speech ; 
 But in thine unrevealing breast lies hid 
 What they refuse to teach. 
 
112 
 
 All other streams with human joys and feai^ 
 Run blended, o'er the plains of History : 
 Thou tak'st no note of Man ; a thousand years 
 Are as a day to thee. 
 
 Thou, from thine unknown sources to the sea, 
 
 Art of the Human Race a type sublime ; 
 And Ocean waits thee, as Eternity 
 
 Waits for the stream of Time. 
 
 What were to thee the Osirian festivals ? 
 
 Or Memndh's music on the Theban plain ? 
 The carnage, when Cambyses made thy halls 
 Ruddy with royal slain ? 
 
 Even then thou wast a God, and shrines were built 
 
 For worship of thine own majestic flood ; 
 For thee the incense burned — for thee was spilt 
 The sacrificial blood. 
 
 And past the bannered pylons that arose 
 
 Above thy palms, the pageantry and state, 
 Thy current flowed, calmly as now it flows, 
 Unchangeable as Fate. 
 
113 
 
 Thou givest blessing as a God mignt give, 
 
 Whose being is his bounty : from the slime 
 Shaken from off thy skirts the nations live, 
 Through all the years of Time. 
 
 In thy solemnity, thine awful calm. 
 
 Thy grand indifference of Destiny, 
 My soul forgets its pain, and drinks the balm 
 Which thou dost proffer me. 
 
 Thy godship is unquestioned still : I bring 
 
 No doubtful worship to thy shrine supreme ; 
 But thus my homage as a chaplet fling, 
 To float upon thy stream I 
 8 
 
114 
 
 HASSAN TO HIS MARE. . 
 
 Come, my beauty ! come, my desert darling ! 
 
 On my shoulder lay thy glossy head ! 
 Fear not, though the barley-sack be empty, 
 
 Here's the half of Hassan's scanty bread. 
 
 Thou shalt have thy share of dates, my beauty ! 
 
 And thou know'st my water-skin is free : 
 Drink and welcome, for the wells are distant. 
 
 And my strength and safety lie in thee. 
 
 Bend thy forehead now, to take my kisses ! 
 
 Lift in love thy dark and splendid eye : 
 Thou art glad when Hassan mounts (he saddle — 
 
 Thou art proud he owns thee : so am I. 
 
115 
 
 Let the Sultan bring his boasted horses, 
 Prancing with their diamond-studded reins ; 
 
 They, my darling, shall not match thy fleetness 
 When they course with thee the desert-plains ! 
 
 Let the Sultan bring his famous horses, 
 Let him bring his golden swords to me — 
 
 Bring his slaves, his eunuchs, and his harem ; 
 He would offer them in vain for thee. 
 
 We have seen Damascus, O my beauty ! 
 
 And the splendor of, the Pashas there : 
 What's their pomp and riches ? Why, I would not 
 
 Take them for a handful of thy hair ! 
 
 Khaled sings the praises of his mistress, 
 And, because Pve none, he pities me : 
 
 What care I if he should have a thousand, 
 Fairer than the morning ? / have thee. 
 
 He will find his passion growing cooler 
 Should her glance on other suitors fall ; 
 
 Thou wilt ne'er, my mistress and my darling. 
 Fail to answer at thy master's call. 
 
116 
 
 By and by some snow-white Nedjid stallion 
 Shall to thee his spring-time ardor bring ; 
 
 And a foal, the fairest of the Desert, 
 
 To thy milky dugs shall crouch and cling. 
 
 Then, when Khaled shows to me his children, 
 I shall laugh, and bid him look at thine ; 
 
 Thou wilt neigh, and lovingly caress me, 
 With thy glossy neck laid close to mine. 
 
117 
 
 CHARMIAN. 
 
 Daughter of the Sun ! 
 
 Who gave the keys of passion unto thee ? 
 Who taught the powerful sorcery 
 Wherein my soul, too willing to be won, 
 Still feebly struggles to be free, 
 But more than half undone ? 
 Within the mirror of thine eyes, 
 Full of the sleep of warm Egyptian skies, — 
 The sleep of lightning, bound in airy spell, 
 And deadlier, because invisible, — 
 
 1 see the reflex of a feeling 
 Which was not, till I looked on thee : 
 A power, involved in mystery. 
 
 That shrinks, affrighted, from its own revealing. 
 
118 
 
 Thou sitt'st in stately indolence, 
 
 Too calm to feel a breath of passion start 
 
 The listless fibres of thy sense, 
 
 The fiery slumber of thy heart. 
 
 Thine eyes are wells of darkness, by the veil 
 
 Of languid lids half-sealed : the pale 
 
 And bloodless olive of thy face. 
 
 And the full, silent lips that wear 
 
 A ripe serenity of grace. 
 
 Are dark beneath the shadow of -thy hair. 
 
 Not from the brow of templed Athor beams 
 
 Such tropic warmth along the path of dreams ; 
 
 Not from the lips of horned Isis flows 
 
 Such sweetness of repose ! 
 
 For thou art Passion's self, a goddess too, 
 
 And aught but worship never knew ; 
 
 And thus thy glances, calm and sure, 
 
 Look for accustomed homage, and betray 
 
 No eflEbrt to assert thy sway : 
 
 Thou deem'st my fealty secure. 
 
119 
 
 in. 
 
 Sorceress ! those looks unseal . 
 The undisturbed mysteries that press 
 Too deep in nature for the heart to feel 
 Their terror and their loveliness. 
 Thine eyes are torches that illume 
 
 On secret shrines their unforeboded fires, 
 And fill the vaults of silence and of gloom 
 With the unresting life of new desires. 
 
 1 follow where their arrowy ray 
 Pierces the veil I would not tear away, 
 And with a dread, delicious awe behold 
 Another gate of li^e unfold, 
 
 Like the rapt neophyte who sees 
 
 Some march of grand Osirian mysteries. 
 
 The startled chambers I explore. 
 
 And every entrance open lies. 
 
 Forced by the magic thrill that runs before 
 
 Thy slowly-lifted eyes. 
 
 I tremble to the centre of my being 
 
 Thus to confess the spirit's poise o'erthrown, 
 
 And all its guiding virtues blown 
 
 Like leaves before the whirlwind's fury fleeing. 
 
120 
 
 IV. 
 
 But see ! one memory rises in my soul, 
 
 And, beaming steadily and clear, 
 
 Scatters the lurid thunder-clouds that roll 
 
 Through Passion's sultry atmosphere. 
 
 An alchemy more potent borrow 
 
 For thy dark eyes, enticing Sorceress ! 
 
 For on the casket of a sacred Sorrow 
 
 Their shafts fall powerless. 
 
 Nay, frown not, Athor, from thy mystic shrine 
 
 Strong Goddess of Desire, I will not be 
 
 One of the myriad slaves thou callest thine. 
 
 To cast my manhood's crown of royalty 
 
 Before thy dangerous beauty : I am free ! 
 
121 
 
 THE SHEKH. 
 
 PHOM THE ARABIC. 
 
 Not a single 
 
 Star is twinkling 
 Through the wilderness of cloud : 
 
 On the mountain, 
 
 In the darkness, 
 Stands the Shekh, and prays aloud 
 
 God, who kindlest aspiration, 
 Kindlest hope the heart within, - 
 
 God, who promisest Thy mercy, 
 Wiping out the debt of sin, — 
 
 God, protect me, in the darkness. 
 When the awful thunders roll : 
 
 Evil walks the world unsleeping. 
 Evil sleeps within my soul. 
 
122 
 
 Keep my mind from every impulse 
 Which from Thee may turn aside ; 
 
 Keep my heart from eveiy passion 
 By Thy breath unsanctified. 
 
 God, preserve me from a spirit 
 
 Which Thy knowledge cannot claim ; 
 
 From a knee that bendeth never 
 In the worship of thy name ; 
 
 From a heart whose every feeling 
 Is not wholly vowed to Thee ; 
 
 From an eye that, through its weeping, 
 Thy compassion cannot see ; 
 
 From a prayer that goes not upward, 
 In the darkness and the fear. 
 
 From the souPs impassioned centre, 
 Seeking access at Thy ear ! 
 
 When the might of Evil threatens, 
 Throw Thy shelter over me : 
 
 Let my spirit feel Thy presence. 
 And my days be full of Thee 1 
 
m 
 
 SMYRNA. 
 
 The " Ornament of Asia " and the " Crown 
 Of fair Ionia." Yea ; but Asia stands 
 No more an empress, and Ionia's hands 
 Have lost their sceptre. Thou, majestic town, 
 Art as a diamond on a faded robe : 
 The freshness of thy beauty scatters yet 
 The radiance of that sun of Empire set, 
 Whose disc sublime illumed the ancient globe. 
 Thou sitt'st between the mountains and the sea ; 
 The sea and mountains flatter thine array. 
 And fill thy courts with Grandeur, not Decay ; 
 And Power, not Death, proclaims thy cypress tree. 
 Through thee, the sovereign symbols Nature lent 
 Her rise, make Asia's fall magnificent. 
 
U4 
 
 TO A PERSIAN BOY, 
 
 IN THE BAZAAB AT SMYBIfA. 
 
 The gorgeous blossoms of that magic tree 
 Beneath whose shade I sat a thousand nights, 
 Breathed from their opening petals all delights 
 EmbJmed in spice of Orient Poesy, 
 When first, young Persian, I beheld thine eyes, 
 And felt the wonder of thy beauty grow 
 Within my brain, as some fair planet's glow 
 Deepens, and fills the summer evening skies. 
 From under thy dark lashes shone on me 
 The rich, voluptuous soul of Eastern land. 
 Impassioned, tender, calm, serenely sad — 
 Such as immortal Hafiz felt when he 
 Sang by the fountain-streams of Rocnabad, 
 Or in the bowers of blissful Samarcand; 
 
125 
 
 THE GOBLET. 
 
 When Life his lusty course began, 
 And first I felt myself a man, 
 And Passion's unforeboded glow — 
 The thirst to feel, the will to know — 
 Gave courage, vigor, fervor, truth, 
 The glory of the heart of Youth, 
 And each awaking pulse was fleet 
 A livelier march of joy to beat, 
 Presaging in its budding hour 
 The ripening of the human flower, 
 There came, on some divine intent. 
 One whom the Lord of Life had sent. 
 And from his lips of wisdom fell 
 This fair and wondrous oracle : — 
 
126 
 
 Life's arching temple holds for thee 
 Solution quick, and radiant key 
 To many an early mystery ; 
 And thou art eager to pursue, 
 Through many a dimly-lighted clew, 
 The hopes that turn thy blood to fire, 
 The phantoms of thy young desire : 
 Yet not to reckless haste is poured 
 The nectar of the generous lord, 
 Nor mirth nor giddy riot jar 
 The penetralia, high and far ; 
 But steady hope, and passion pure, 
 And manly truth, the crown secure. 
 
 in. 
 
 Within that temple's secret heart, 
 In mystic silence shrined apart, 
 There is a goblet, on whose brim 
 All raptures of Creation swim. 
 No light that ever beamed in wine 
 Can match the glory of its shine, 
 
127 
 
 Or lure with such a mighty art 
 The tidal flow of every heart. 
 But in its warm, bew#dering blaze, 
 An ever-shifting magic plays, 
 And few who round the altar throng 
 Shall find the sweets for which they long. 
 Who, unto brutish life akin, 
 Comes to the goblet dark with sin. 
 And with a coarse hand grasps, for him 
 The splendor of the gold grows dim, 
 The gems are dirt, the liquor's flame 
 A maddening beverage of shame, 
 And into caverns shut from day 
 The hot inebriate reels away. 
 
 IV. 
 
 For each shall give the draught he drains 
 Its nectar pure, or poison stains ; 
 From out his heart the flavor flows 
 That gives him fury, or repose : 
 And some shall drink a tasteless wave, 
 And some increase the thirst they lave ; 
 And others loathe as soon as taste, 
 And others pour the tide to waste ; 
 
128 
 
 And some evoke from out its deeps 
 A torturing fiend that never sleeps — 
 For vain all arts t^ exorcise 
 From the seared heart its haunting eyes. 
 
 V. 
 
 But he who burns with pure desire, 
 
 With chastened love and sacred fire, 
 
 With soul and being all a-glow 
 
 Life's holiest mystery to know, 
 
 Shall see the goblet flash and gleam 
 
 As in the glory of a dream ; 
 
 And from its starry lip shall drink 
 
 A bliss to lift him on the brink 
 
 Of mighty rapture, joy intense, 
 
 That far outlives its subsidence. 
 
 The draught shall strike Life's narrow goal, 
 
 And make an outlet for his soul. 
 
 That down the ages, broad and far, 
 
 Shall brighten like a rising star. 
 
 In other forms his pulse shall beat, 
 
 His spint walk in other feet, 
 
129 
 
 And every generous hope and aim 
 That spurred him on to honest fame, 
 To other hearts give warmth and grace, 
 And keep on earth his honored place, 
 Become immortal in his race. 
 9 
 
130 
 
 THE ARAB TO THE PALM. 
 
 Next to thee, O fair gazelle, 
 
 O Beddowee girl, beloved so well ; 
 
 Next to the fearless Nedjidee, 
 
 Whose fleetness shall bear me again to thee ; 
 
 Next to ye both I love the Palm, 
 
 With his leaves of beauty, his fruit of balm ; 
 
 Next to ye both I love the Tree 
 Whose fluttering shadow wraps us three 
 With love, and silence, and mystery ! 
 
 Our tribe is many, our poets vie 
 
 With any under the Arab sky ; 
 
 Yet none can sing of the Palm but I. 
 
131 
 
 The marble minarets that begem 
 
 Cairo's citadel- diadem 
 
 Are not so light as his slender stem. 
 
 He lifts his leaves in the sunbeam's glance 
 As the Almehs lift their arms in dance — 
 
 A slumberous motion, a passionate sign, 
 That works in the cells of the blood like wine. 
 
 Full of passion and sorrow is he, 
 Dreaming where the beloved may be. 
 
 And when the warm south-winds arise. 
 He breathes his longing in fervid sighs — 
 
 Quickening odors, kisses of balm. 
 That drop in the lap of his chosen palm. 
 
 The sun may flame and the sands may stir. 
 But the breath of his passion reaches her. 
 
 Tree of Love, by that love of thine. 
 Teach me how I shall soften mine ! 
 
 Give me the secret of the sun, 
 Whereby the wooed is ever won ! 
 
132 , 
 
 If I were a King, O stately Tree, 
 
 A likeness, glorious as might be, 
 
 In the court of my palace I'd build for thee ! 
 
 With a shaft of silver, burnished bright, 
 And leaves of beryl and malachite ; 
 
 With spikes of golden bloom a-blaze. 
 And fruits of topaz and chrysoprase : 
 
 And there the poets, in thy praise, 
 
 Should night and morning frame new lays — 
 
 New measures sung to tunes divine ; 
 But none, O Palm, should equal mine ! 
 
133 
 
 AURUM POTABILE. 
 
 Brother Bards of every region — 
 Brother Bards, (your name is Legion !) 
 Were you with me while the twilight 
 Darkens up my pine-tree skylight — 
 Were you gathered, representing 
 
 Every land beneath' the sun, 
 O, what songs would be indited, 
 Ere the earliest star is lighted. 
 To the praise of vino d'oro, 
 
 On the Hills of Lebanon ! 
 
 II. 
 
 Yes ; while all alone 1 quaff its 
 Lucid gold, and brightly laugh its 
 
134 
 
 Topaz waves and amber bubbles, 
 Still the thought my pleasure troubles, 
 
 That I quaff it all alone. 
 Oh for Hafiz — glorious Persian ! 
 Keats, with buoyant, gay diversion 
 Mocking Schiller's grave immersion ; 
 
 Oh for wreathed Anacreon ! 
 Yet enough to have the living — 
 They, the few, the rapture-giving ! 
 (Blessed more than in receiving,) 
 Fate, that frowns when laurels wreathe them. 
 Once the solace might bequeath them, 
 Once to taste of vino d'oro, 
 
 On the Hills of Lebanon ! 
 
 III. 
 
 Lebanon, thou mount of story, 
 Well we know thy sturdy glory. 
 
 Since the days of Solomon ; 
 Well we know the Five old Cedars, 
 Scarred by ages — silent pleaders, 
 Preaching, in their gray sedateness, 
 Of thy forest's fallen greatness, 
 
135 
 
 Of the vessels of the Tyrian, 
 And the palaces Assyrian, 
 And the temple on Morian 
 
 To the High and Holy One ! 
 Know the wealth of thy appointment- 
 Myrrh and aloes, gum and ointment ; 
 But we knew not, till we clomb thee, 
 Of the nectar dropping from thee — 
 Of the pure, pellucid Qphir 
 In the cups of vino d'oro, 
 
 On the Hills of Lebanon I 
 
 IV. 
 
 We have drunk, and we have eaten. 
 Where Egyptian sheaves are beaten ; 
 Tasted Judah's milk and honey 
 On his mountains, bare and sunny ; 
 Drained ambrosial bowls, that ask us 
 Never more to leave Damascus ; 
 And have sung a vintage paean 
 To the grapes of isles iEgean, 
 And the flasks of Orvieto, 
 
 Ripened in the Roman sun : 
 
136 
 
 But the liquor here surpasses 
 All that beams in earthly glasses. 
 'Tis of this that Paracelsus 
 (His elixir vitse) tells us, 
 That to happier shores can float us 
 Than Lethean stems of lotus, 
 And the vigor of the morning 
 
 Straight restores when day is done. 
 Then, before the sunset waneth. 
 While the rosy tide, that staineth 
 Earth, and sky, and sea, remaineth, 
 We will take the fortune proffered — 
 Ne'er again to be reoffered — 
 We will drink of vino d'oro. 
 
 On the Hills of Lebanon ! 
 Vino d'oro ! vino d'oro ! — 
 
 Golden blood of Lebanon ! 
 
137 
 
 ON THE SEA. 
 
 The pathway of the sinking moon 
 
 Fades from the silent bay ; 
 The mountain-isles loom large and faim 
 
 Folded in shadows gray, 
 And the lights of land are setting stars 
 
 That soon will pass away. 
 
 boatman, cease thy mellow song ! 
 
 minstrel, drop thy lyre ! 
 Let us hear the voice of the midnight sea, 
 
 Let us speak as the waves inspire. 
 While the plashy dip of the languid oar 
 
 Is a furrow of silver fire. 
 
 Day cannot make thee half so fair, 
 Nor the stars of eve so dear : 
 
138 
 
 The arms that clasp and the breast that keeps. 
 
 They tell me thou art near, 
 And the perfect beauty of thy face 
 
 In thy murmured words I hear. 
 
 The lights of land have dropped below 
 The vast and glimmering sea ; 
 
 The world we leave is a tale that is told,— 
 A fable, that cannot be. 
 
 There is no life in the sphery dark 
 But the love in thee and me I 
 
139 
 
 TYRE. 
 
 The wild and windy morning is lit with lurid fire ; 
 
 The thundering surf of ocean beats on the rocks of 
 Tyre — 
 
 Beats on the fallen columns and round the headland 
 roars, 
 
 And hurls its foamy volume along the hollow shores, 
 
 And calls with hungry clamor, that speaks its long de- 
 sire : 
 
 *■ Where are the ships of Tarshish, the mighty ships of 
 Tyre?" 
 
 Within her cunning harbor, chokod with invading sand. 
 No galleys bring their freightage, the spoils of every land 
 
140 
 
 And like a prostrate forest, when autumn gales have 
 
 blown, 
 Her colonnades of granite lie shattered and o'erthrown ; 
 And from the reef the pharos no longer flings its fire 
 To beacon home from Tarshish the lordly ships of Tyre. 
 
 III. 
 
 Where is thy rod of empire, once mighty on the 
 
 waves — 
 Thou that thyself exalted, till Kings became thy slaves? 
 Thou ihat didst speak to nations, and saw thy will 
 
 obeyed — 
 Whose favor made them joyful, whose anger sore 
 
 afraid — 
 Who laid'st thy deep foundations, and thought them 
 
 strong and sure, 
 And boasted midst the waters : shall I not aye endure ? 
 
 Where is the wealth of ages that heaped thy princely 
 
 mart ? 
 The pomp of purple trappings ; the gems of Syrian art ; 
 
141 
 
 The silken goats of Kedar ; Sabsea's spicy store ; 
 
 The tributes of the islands thy squadrons homeward 
 
 bore, 
 When in thy gates triumphant they entered from the 
 
 sea 
 With sound of horn and sackbut, of harp and psaltery ? 
 
 Howl, howl, ye ships of TarsHsh ! the glory is laid 
 
 waste : 
 There is no habitation ; the mansions are defaced. 
 No mariners of Sidon unfurl your mighty sails; 
 No workmen fell the fir-trees that grow in Shenir's 
 
 vales, 
 And Bashan's oaks that boasted a thousand years of 
 
 sun, 
 Or hew the masts of cedar on frosty Lebanon. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Rise, thou forgotten harlot! take up thy harp and 
 
 sing: 
 Call the rebellious islands to own their ancient king : 
 
142 
 
 Bare to the spray thy bosom, and with thy hair un- 
 bound, 
 
 Sit on the piles of ruin, thou throneless and discrowned ! 
 
 There mix thy voice of wailing with the thunders of the 
 sea, 
 
 And sing thy songs of sorrow, that thou remembered 
 be! 
 
 VII. 
 
 Though silent and forgotten, yet Nature still laments 
 The pomp and power departed, the lost magnificence : 
 The hills were proud to see thee, and they are sadder 
 
 now; 
 The sea was proud to bear thee, and wears a troubled 
 
 brow, 
 And evermore the surges chant forth their vain desire : 
 " Where are the ships of Tarshish, the mighty ships of 
 
 Tyre?" 
 
143 
 
 AN ANSWER. 
 
 you call me cold : you wonder why 
 The marble of a mien like mine 
 
 Gives fiery sparks of Poesy, 
 
 Or softens at Love's touch divine. 
 
 Go, look on Nature, you will find 
 It is the rock that feels the sun : 
 
 But you are blind — and to the blind 
 The touch of ice and fire is one. 
 
144 
 
 REQUIEM IN THE SOUTH. 
 
 Thou hast no charm to turn the edge of Sorrow, 
 
 Bird of the mournful stram ! 
 From thee doth Love a love more fervent borrow, 
 
 But Pain a sharper pain. 
 
 Why sing so loud, the passion-dream recalling, 
 
 That ceased in sudden gloom ? 
 Why sing from boughs, whose ripened bloom is falling 
 
 Upon a maiden's tomb ? 
 
 There needs no prompter for the love, belonging 
 
 To that sweet memory ; 
 The heart's wild outcry, not its perished longing, 
 
 Demands a voice from thee. 
 
145 
 
 The blackness of a grief that will not soften 
 Clings round me through the day, 
 
 And to the grave that hides her, wandering often, 
 I weep the nights away. 
 
 In this fierce sorrow there is no partaker — 
 
 It seeks no healing balm : 
 Yet, though my lamentations cannot wake her. 
 
 The exhausted heart grows calm. 
 
 Here, filled with sorrows of its own creation, 
 The night- wind swells and dies ; 
 
 And, drooping in their dumb commiseration, 
 The palms around me rise. 
 
 Here, from the fury of my passion fleeing, 
 
 The barriers slowly fret. 
 Which dam the restless river of my being 
 
 To stagnate in regret. 
 
 And I may conquer this o'ermastering anguish. 
 
 And find my peace again ; 
 The manly heart must sometime cease to languish, 
 
 Ruled by the manly brain. 
 10 
 
146 
 
 And what is wax shall be as steel within me, 
 
 And be my fortune then : 
 All soft indulgence powerless to win me 
 
 From the stern ways of men. 
 
 And let them say : " His heart is cold and cruel, 
 He knows not love's desire : " 
 
 I gave the essence of my life as fuel 
 To one extinguished fire. 
 
147 
 
 GULISTAN. 
 
 AN ARABIC METRE. 
 
 Where is Gulistan, the Land of Roses ? 
 
 Not on hills where Northern winters 
 Break their spears in icy splinters, 
 
 And in shrouded snow the world reposes ; 
 But amid the glow and splendor 
 Which the Orient summers lend her, 
 
 Blue "the heaven above her beauty closes : 
 
 There is Gulistan, the Land of Roses. 
 
 Northward stand the Persian mountains ; 
 Southward spring the silver fountains 
 
 Which to Hafiz taught his sweetest measures, 
 Clearly ringing to the singing 
 Which the nightingales delight in. 
 When the Spring, from Oman winging 
 
 Unto Shiraz, showers her fragrant treasures 
 On the land, till valleys brighten, 
 
148 
 
 Mountains lighten with returning 
 Fires of scarlet poppy burning, 
 And the stream meanders 
 Through its roseate oleanders, 
 And Love's golden gate, unfolden. 
 Opens on a universe of pleasures. 
 
 There the sunshine blazes over 
 Meadows gemmed with ruby clover ; 
 There the rose's heart uncloses. 
 
 Prodigal with hoarded stores of sweetness, 
 And the lily's cup so still is 
 Where the river's waters quiver. 
 That no wandering air can spill his 
 
 Honeyed balm, or blight his beauty's fleetness. 
 Skies are fairest, days are rarest — 
 Thou, O Earth ! a glory wearest 
 From the ecstasy thou bearest. 
 
 Once to feel the Summer's full completeness. 
 
 Twilight glances, moonlit dances. 
 Song by starlight, there entrances 
 Youthful hearts with fervid fancies, 
 
 And the blushing rose of Love uncloses : 
 
 Love that, lapped in summer joyance, 
 Far from every rude annoyance. 
 
 Calmly on the answering love reposes ; 
 
149 
 
 And in song, in music only 
 Speaks the longing, vague and lonely, 
 Which to pain is there the nearest, 
 Yet of joys the sweetest, dearest. 
 As a cloud when skies are clearest 
 On its folds intenser light discloses : 
 This is Gulistan, the Land of Roses. 
 
150 
 
 JERUSALEM. 
 
 Fair shines the moon, Jerusalem, 
 
 Upon the hills that wore 
 Thy glory once, their diadem 
 
 Ere Judah's reign was o'er : 
 The stars on hallowed Olivet 
 
 And over Zion burn, 
 But when shall rise thy splendor set ? 
 
 Thy majesty return ? 
 
 The peaceful shades that wrap thee now 
 
 Thy desolation hide ; 
 The moonlit beauty of thy brow 
 
 Restores thine ancient pride ; 
 Yet there, where Rome thy Temple rent, 
 
 The dews of midnight wet 
 he marble dome of 
 And Aksa's minaret. 
 
 The marble dome of Omar's tent, 
 
151 
 
 Thy strength, Jerusalem, is o'er, 
 
 And broken are thy walls ; • 
 The harp of Israel sounds no more 
 
 In thy deserted halls : 
 But where thy Kings and Prophets trod, 
 
 Triumphant over Death 
 Behold the living Soul of God — 
 
 The Christ of Nazareth ! 
 
 The halo of his presence fills 
 
 Thy courts, thy ways of men ; 
 His footsteps on thy holy hills 
 
 Are beautiful as then ; 
 The prayer, whose bloody sweat betrayed 
 
 His human agony, 
 Still haunts the awful olive shade 
 
 Of old Gethsemane. 
 
 Woe unto thee, Jerusalem ! 
 
 Slayer of Prophets, thou, 
 That in thy fury stonest them 
 
 God sent, and sends thee now : — 
 Where thou, O Christ ! with anguish spent. 
 
 Forgave thy foes, and died, 
 Thy garments yet are daily rent — 
 
 Thy soul is crucified I 
 
152 
 
 They darken with the Christian name 
 
 The Hght that from thee beamed, 
 And by the hatred they proclaim 
 
 Thy spirit is blasphemed ; 
 Unto thine ear the prayers they send 
 
 Were fit for Belial's reign, 
 And Moslem ci meters defend 
 
 The temple they profane. 
 
 Who shall rebuild Jerusalem ? — 
 
 Her scattered children bring 
 From Earth's far ends, and gather them 
 
 Beneath her sheltering wing ? 
 For Judah's sceptre broken lies, 
 
 And from his kingly stem 
 No new Messiah shall arise 
 
 For lost Jerusalem ! 
 
 But let the wild ass on her hills 
 
 Its foal unfrighted lead, 
 And by the source of Kedron's rills 
 
 The desert adder breed : 
 For where the love of Christ has made 
 
 Its mansion in the heart. 
 He builds in pomp that will not fade 
 
 Her heavenly counterpart. 
 
153 
 
 How long, O Christ, shall men obscure 
 
 Thy holy charity — 
 How long the godless rites endure, 
 
 Which they bestow on thee ? 
 Thou, in whose soul of tenderness 
 
 The Father's mercy shone. 
 Who came, the sons of men to bless 
 
 By Truth and Love alone. 
 
 The suns of eighteen hundred years 
 
 Have seen thy reign expand, 
 And Morning, on her pathway, hears 
 
 Thy name in every land ; 
 But where thy sacred steps were sent 
 
 The Father's will to bide. 
 Thy garments yet are daily rent — 
 
 Thy soul is crucified ! 
 
154 
 
 THE VOYAGE OF A DREAM. 
 
 There is a cloud below the mountain peak, 
 
 Moored in the pauses of the uncertain air. 
 
 Its fleecy folds piled idly, self-involved, 
 
 Fashion the semblance of a floating throne, 
 
 Torn, in the clash of airy anarchy. 
 
 From the halls of Thunder ; haply, once surcharged 
 
 With elemental fire and threatening death — 
 
 Fit seat for the Destroying Gods ! — but now 
 
 Of ivory all compact, and touched with gold 
 
 And opal radiance on its sunny hem. 
 
 As if a peaceful Angel steered it down 
 
 From empyreal heights, with folded wing 
 
 Slow sinking through the yielding deeps. A throne 
 
 It seems, where disembodied Thought may sit. 
 
 Unquestioned take the sceptre of the world, 
 
 And, exercising power anticipant, 
 
 Go forth to try his lordship. 
 
155 
 
 I accept 
 The moment's offer, mount the seat sublime, 
 And on the winds whose wings I feel no more. 
 Because I move before them, boldly try 
 The blue abyss whose measure no man knows. 
 Straight, down the mountain sinks ; the mountain pines 
 Send a last drowning murmur faintly up 
 The ingulfing air, then stand in moveless calm, 
 Like coral forests rooted on the floors 
 Of Ocean. Plummeted with all her sins. 
 The Earth, down-sliding through the limpid sea, 
 Bears far below, the noises of her broils — 
 The greeds, the struggles, the devouring cares, 
 The endless agitations — leaving free 
 To the enfranchised spirit the still fields 
 Of amplest ether. Speed, my winged throne ! 
 Wherever Thought may pilot, stretch thy flight, 
 Higher than eagle dares, above the peaks 
 Of Himalayan snow, o'er seas and sands, 
 Through tropic green, or where the eternal ice 
 Stiffens around the forehead of the Pole ! 
 The World is mine ; the secrets of her heart 
 Lie at my feet ; she cannot shut them out : 
 And as she spins on her appointed round 
 From daylight into dark, from dark to dawn 
 The mysteries of ages, problems which 
 
156 
 
 A hundred centuries have left unsolved, 
 
 Give one by one their answers. Yonder burst 
 
 From the hot heart of Africa the springs 
 
 Of waters that have rocked Egyptian gods, " 
 
 When the great stream that leaped in thunder dbwn 
 
 From Primnis and Syene's barrier, bore 
 
 The chaplets and the consecrated oil 
 
 To his own godship poured : — Beyond those hills, 
 
 Whose tops against the Indian Caucasus 
 
 Uplift their snowy helms, behold the vast 
 
 Wind-driven platforms, whence the earliest Men 
 
 Went with the streams to greener pasture-fields, 
 
 And bore — their only heritage — God's name, 
 
 The altars of his worship, and the truths 
 
 Whose rude foundations underlie the piles 
 
 Of states and sovereignties, upholding firm 
 
 The masonry of Time : and whatsoe'er 
 
 Of summer beauty in the virgin isles, 
 
 Of lifeless grandeur in the emerald crags 
 
 Of undissolving ice, was never yet 
 
 By bold Adventure wrested from the keep 
 
 Of savage Nature, gives its secret up, 
 
 Helpless beneath the master-gaze of Thought, 
 
 As that of God. 
 
 Sweep downward, streams of air ! 
 And thou, my cloudy chariot, drop thy shade 
 
157 
 
 To roll, like dust, behind thy silent wheels, 
 
 And draw round Earth the triumph of our march ! 
 
 See where, from zone to zone, the shadow moves - 
 
 A spot upon the Desert's golden glare — 
 
 A deeper blue on the far-stretching plains 
 
 Of Ocean's foamy azure — pausing now 
 
 To cloak with purple gloom the shoulders bare 
 
 Of mighty mountains, or ingulfed and lost 
 
 Deep in their folded chasms, or sailing slow 
 
 On wide savannas, the elysian home 
 
 Of flowery life, or quenching splendors vain 
 
 That dance upon the gilded domes .of men. 
 
 And blind their eyes to the great light of Heaven. 
 
 As in this rarer ether I surmount 
 
 Life's numberless obstructions, and my gaze 
 
 Takes in the whole expanded round of Earth, 
 
 So, lifted o'er the narrow walks of Time, 
 
 The weary years have dwindled to a point. 
 
 And all their lessons compassed in the sphere 
 
 Of one sole thought, as in the dew-drop lies 
 
 The large orb of the morning sun. The years — 
 
 The ages, that from their accretion grow — 
 
 The cyclic eras — shrink, and all the Past 
 
 Lies round and clear beneath me, swallowing up 
 
 In one grand circumspect the separate lives, 
 
 The individual links whereby our hearts 
 
158 
 
 Walk slowly back the difficult paths of Time, 
 Or climb some lesser eminence, to gain 
 A forward look that dimly penetrates 
 The nearest Future. Past and Future now 
 Unite their worlds in equal counterpoise, 
 And, effortless as dreams, the wisdom comes 
 That reads the hidden issues of all life, 
 The purpose of Creation. 
 
 Mount no more, 
 Thou flying cloud, but rather turn to dew 
 And weep thyself upon the clover meads. 
 And mix thy being with their honeyed bloom. 
 Than float alone within the highest vault 
 Of blue-cold ether, to dissolve alone 
 Into the thin, unfriendly air. Come down ! 
 Come down ! and let me quit this perilous height, 
 This icy royalty of thought, to glide 
 Nearer the homes of men, the embowered nests 
 Of unaspiring, lowliest content, 
 And joy, that from the beams of many hearts 
 Crathers its radiant focus, like a star 
 In the warm mists of Earth : nor yet enough 
 To glide above, but drop me in the fields 
 Or in the vales at evening, when from work 
 Accomplished, rest the glowing limbs of Toil, 
 
159 
 
 And men have time to love — and I will kiss 
 
 The rugged cheek of Earth, with thankful tears 
 
 For every throb of every human heart 
 
 That welcomes me to share the general law, 
 
 And bear the mutual burden. Man alone 
 
 Creates Elysium for the soul of man. 
 
 The ample Future, and the godlike reach 
 
 Of new existence, are the prophecies 
 
 Of humblest Love, and in the souls that love 
 
 And are beloved the shining ether swims. 
 
 Whereon exalted, we o'erlook the world. 
 
 And Life, and Death, and every thing but Heaven. 
 
160 
 
 L' ENVOI. 
 
 Unto the Desert and the desert steed 
 
 Farewell ! The journey is completed now : 
 
 Struck are the tents of IshmaePs wandering breed. 
 And 1 unwind the turban from my brow. 
 
 The sun has ceased to shine ; the palms that bent, 
 Inebriate with light, have disappeared ; 
 
 And naught is left me of the Orient 
 
 But the tanned bosom and the unshorn beard 
 
 Yet from that life my blood a glow retains, 
 As the red sunshine in the ruby glows ; 
 
 These songs are echoes of its fiercer strains — 
 Dreams, that recall its passion and repose. 
 
161 
 
 I found, among those Children of the Sun, 
 The cipher of my nature — the release 
 
 Of baffled powers, which else had never won 
 That free fulfilment, whose reward is peace. 
 
 For not to any race or any clime 
 
 Is the completed sphere of life revealed ; 
 
 He who would make his own that round sublime, 
 Must pitch his tent on many a distant field. 
 
 Upon his home a dawning lustre beams, 
 
 But through the world he walks to open day, 
 
 Gathering from every land the prismal gleams, 
 Which, when united, form the perfect ray. 
 
 Go, therefore. Songs ! — which in the East were born 
 And drew your nurture — from your sire's control ; 
 
 Haply to wander through the West forlorn, 
 Or find a shelter in some Orient soul. 
 
 And if the temper of our colder sky 
 
 Less warmth of passion and of speech demands, 
 They are the blossoms of my life — and I 
 
 Have ripened in the suns of many lands. 
 11 
 
II. 
 
 (163) 
 
165 
 
 HYMN TO AIR. 
 
 The mightiest thou, among the Powers of Earth, 
 The viewless Agent of the unseen God, 
 
 What immemorial era saw thy birth ? 
 
 What pathless fields of new Creation trod 
 
 Thy noiseless feet ? Where was thy dwelling-place 
 In the blind realm of Chaos, ere the word 
 Of Sovereign Order by the stars was heard, 
 
 Or the young planet knew her Maker's face ? 
 
 No wrecks are hid in thine unfathomed sea ; 
 Thy crystal tablets no inscription bear; 
 
 The awful Infinite is shrined in thee, 
 Immeasurable Air ! 
 
166 
 
 II. 
 
 Thou art the Soul whoroiu tlie Earth renews 
 
 The nobler life, that heals her primal sears ; 
 Thine is \hc nuintle of all-glorious hues, 
 
 Which makes htu- beautiful among the stars; 
 l^'hine is the essence that informs her frame 
 
 With manifoKl existence, thine the wing 
 
 From gults of outer darkness sheltering, 
 And from the Sun's uplifted sword of flame. 
 She sleeps in thy protection, lives in thee ; 
 
 Thou nuik'st the foreheads of her mountains smile ; 
 His heart to thine, the all-surrounding Sea 
 
 Spreads thy blue drapery o^er his cradled isle. 
 Thou art the breath of Nature, and the tongue 
 
 Unto her dumb material being granted, 
 
 And by thy voice her sorrowing psalms are chanted — 
 Her hymns of triumph sung I 
 
 III. 
 
 Thine azure fountains nourish all that lives ; 
 Forever drained, yet ever brimming o'er, 
 
ir,7 
 
 Thoir Ijillows in f;tf;rnul frr^slirioss pour, 
 And from \\<'.r choicest froasury Nature; gives 
 A glad ropayrnorit of the debt shf; owf;s, 
 
 Replenishing tl>y sources: — balmy dews, 
 
 That on thy breast their summer tears difTuse ; 
 Strength from the pine, and sweetness from the rose; 
 The spice of gorgeous Ind, the scents that fill 
 
 Ambrosial forests in the isles of palm ; 
 Leagues of perennial bloom on every hill ; 
 
 Tvily ?i.nd If>ti]s in the watf;r's calm ; 
 And where the torrent leaps to take thy wing, 
 
 Hut dashes out its life in diamond spray. 
 Or multitudinous waves of ocean fling 
 
 Their briny strengtli along thy rapid way — 
 Escapes some virtue which from thee they hold : 
 
 And even the grosser exhalations, fed 
 
 From Earth's decay. Time's crowded charnel-bed, 
 Fused in thy vast alembic, turn to gold. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Man is thy nursling, universal Air! 
 
 No kinder parent fosters him than thou: 
 How soft thy fingers dally with his hair! 
 
 How sweet their pressure on his fevered browl 
 
168 
 
 In the dark lanes where squaliQ Misery dwells, 
 Where the fresh glories of existence shun 
 
 The childhood nurtured in the city's hells, 
 And eyes that never saw the morning sun, 
 
 Pale cheeks for thee are pining, heavy sighs 
 
 Drawn from the depth of weary hearts, arise — 
 
 The flower of Life is withered on its stem. 
 
 And the black shade the loathsome walls enclose 
 Day after day more drear and stifling grows, 
 
 Till Heaven itself seems forfeited to them ! 
 
 What marvel, then, as from a fevered dream 
 The dying wakes, to feel his forehead fanned 
 
 By thy celestial freshness, he should deem 
 
 The death-sweat dried beneath an angel's hand ? 
 
 That tokens of the violet-sprinkled sod, 
 
 Breathed like a blessing o'er his closing eyes, 
 Should promise him the peace of Paradise — 
 The pardon of his God ? 
 
 What is the scenery of Earth to thine ? 
 
 Here all is fixed in everlasting shapes. 
 But where the realms of gorgeous Cloudland shine, 
 
 There stretch afar thy sun-illumined capes, 
 
169 
 
 Embaying reaches of the amber seas 
 Of sunset, on whose tranquil bosom lie 
 The happy islands of the upper sky, 
 
 The halcyon shores of thine Atlantides. 
 
 Anon the airy headlands change, and drift 
 Into sublimer forms, that slowly heave 
 Their toppling masses up the front of eve, 
 
 Crag heaped on crag, with many a fiery rift, 
 
 And hoary summits, throned beyond the reach 
 Of Alp or Caucasus : again they change. 
 And down the vast, interminable range 
 
 Of towers and palaces, transcending each 
 
 The workmanship of Fable-Land, we see 
 
 The " crystal hyaline " of Heaven's own floor • 
 
 The radiance of the far Eternity 
 
 Reflected on thy shore ! 
 
 VI. 
 
 To the pure calm of thy cerulean deeps 
 The jar of earth-born tumult cannot climl) ; 
 
 There ancient Silence her dominion keeps. 
 Beyond the narrow boundaries of Time. 
 
 The taint of Sin, the vapors of the world. 
 The smokes of godless altars, hang below, 
 
170 
 
 Staining thy marge, but not a cloud is curled 
 Where those supernal tides of ether flow. 
 
 What vistas ope fronn those serener plains ! 
 
 What dawning splendors touch thine azure towers ! 
 When some fair soul, whose path on Earth was ours 
 
 The starry freedom of its wing regains. 
 
 Shall it not linger for a moment there. 
 
 One last divine regret to Earth returning, — 
 One look, where Light ineffable is burning 
 In Heaven's immortal Air ! 
 
 VII. 
 
 Thine are the treasuries of Hail and Snow ; 
 
 Thy hand lets fall the Thunder's bolt of fire; 
 And when from out thy seething caldrons blow 
 
 The vapors of the whirlwind, spire on spire 
 In terrible convolution wreathed and blent, 
 
 The unimagined strength that lay concealed 
 
 Within thy quiet bosom is revealed 
 To the racked Earth and trembling firmament. 
 And thou dost hold, awaiting God's decree. 
 
 The keys of all destruction : — in that hour 
 
 When the Almighty Wrath shall loose thy power, 
 Before thy breath shall disappear the sea. 
 
171 
 
 To ashes turn the mountain's mighty frame, 
 And as the seven-fold fervors wider roll, 
 Thou, self-consuming, shrivel as a scroll. 
 
 And wrap the world in one wide pall of flame ! 
 
172 
 
 SONG. 
 
 Now the days are brief and drear : 
 Naked lies the new-born Year 
 In his cradle of the snow, 
 And the winds unbridled blow, 
 And the skies hang dark and low-^ 
 For the Summers come and go. 
 
 Leave the clashing cymbals mute ! 
 Pipe no more the happy flute ! 
 Sing no more that dancing rhyme 
 Of the rose's harvest-time — 
 Sing a requiem, sad and low : 
 For the Summers come and go. 
 
 Where is Youth ? He strayed away 
 Through the meadow-flowers of May. 
 
173 
 
 Where is Love ? The leaves that fell 
 From his trysting-bower, can tell. 
 Wisdom stays, sedate and slow, 
 And the Summers come and go. 
 
 Yet a few more years to run, 
 Wheeling round in gloom and sun ; 
 Other raptures, other woes — 
 Toil alternate with Repose : 
 Then to sleep where daisies grow, 
 While the Summers come and go 
 
174 
 
 THE MYSTERY. 
 
 Thoit art not dead ; thou art not gone to dust ; 
 
 No line of all thy loveliness shall fall 
 To formless ruin, smote by Time, and thrust 
 
 Into the solemn gulf that covers all. 
 
 Thou canst not wholly perish, though the sod 
 Sink with its violets closer to thy breast ; 
 
 Though by the feet of generations trod, 
 
 The head-stone crumbles from thy place of rest. 
 
 The marvel of thy beauty cannot die ; 
 
 The sweetness of thy presence shall not fade ; 
 Earth gave not all the glory of thine eye — 
 
 Death may not keep what Death has never made. 
 
175 
 
 It was not thine, that forehead strange and cold, 
 Nor those dumb lips, they hid beneath the snow ; 
 
 Thy heart would throb beneath that passive fold, 
 Thy hands for me that stony clasp forego. 
 
 But thou hadst gone — gone from the dreary land, 
 Gone from the storms let loose on every hill. 
 
 Lured by the sweet persuasion of a hand 
 
 Which leads thee somewhere in the distance still. 
 
 Where'er thou art, I know thou wearest yet 
 The same bewildering beauty, sanctified 
 By calmer joy, and touched with soft regret 
 . For him who seeks, but cannot reach thy side, 
 
 I keep for thee the living love of old. 
 And seek thy place in Nature, as a child 
 
 Whose hand is parted from his playmate's hold, 
 Wanders and cries along a lonesome wild. 
 
 When, in the watches of my heart, I hear 
 The messages of purer life, and know 
 
 The footsteps of thy spirit lingering near, 
 
 The darkness hides the way that I should go. 
 
176 
 
 Canst thou not bid the empty realms restore 
 That form, the symbol of thy heavenly part ? 
 
 Or on the fields of barren silence pour 
 
 That voice, the perfect music of thy heart? 
 
 O once, once bending to these widowed lips. 
 Take back the tender warmth of life from me. 
 
 Or let thy kisses cloud with swift eclipse 
 
 The light of mme, and give me death with thee ! 
 
;ry 
 
 A PICTURE. 
 
 Sometimes, in sleeping dreams of night, 
 
 Or waking dreams of day, 
 The selfsame picture seeks my sight 
 
 And will not fade away. 
 
 I see a valley, cold and still. 
 
 Beneath a leaden sky : 
 The woods are leafless on the hill, 
 
 The fields deserted lie. 
 
 The gray November eve benumbs 
 The damp and cheerless air; 
 
 A wailing from the forest comes. 
 As of the world's despair. 
 12 
 
1/3 
 
 But on the verge of night and storm. 
 
 Far down the valley's line, 
 I see the lustre, red and warm, 
 
 Of cottage windows shine. 
 
 And men are housed, and in their place 
 
 In snug and happy rest. 
 Save one, who walks with weary pace 
 
 The highway's frozen breast. 
 
 His limbs, that tremble with the cold 
 Shrink from the coming storm ; 
 
 But underneath his mantle's fold, 
 His heart beats quick and warm. 
 
 He hears the laugh of those who sit 
 
 In Home's contented air ; 
 He sees the busy shadows flit 
 
 Across the window's glare. 
 
 His heart is full of love unspent, 
 
 His eyes are wet and dim ; 
 For in those circles of content 
 
 There is no room for him. 
 
179 
 
 He clasps his hands and looks above ; 
 
 He makes the bitter cry : 
 "All, all are happy in their love — 
 
 All are beloved but I ! " 
 
 Across no threshold streams the light, 
 
 Expectant, o'er his track ; 
 No door is opened on the night, 
 
 To bid him welcome back. 
 
 There is no other man abroad 
 
 In all the wintry vale. 
 And lower upon his lonely road 
 
 The darkness and the gale. 
 
 I see him through the doleful shades 
 Press onward, sad and slow. 
 
 Till from my dream the picture fades. 
 And from my heart the woe. 
 
180 
 
 IN THE MEADOWS. 
 
 I LIE in the summer meadows, 
 
 In the meadows all alone, 
 With the infinite sky above me 
 
 And the sun on his mid-day throne. 
 
 The smell of the flowering grasses 
 
 Is sweeter than any rose. 
 And a million happy insects 
 
 Sing in the warm repose. 
 
 The mother lark that is brooding 
 Feels the sun on her wings. 
 
 And the deeps of the noonday glitter 
 Whh swarms of fairy things. 
 
From the billowy green beneath me 
 To the fathomless blue above, 
 
 The creatures of God are happy 
 In the warmth of their summer love. 
 
 The infinite bliss of Nature 
 
 I feel in every vein ; 
 The light and the life of Summer 
 
 Blossom in heart and brain. 
 
 But darker than any shadow 
 By thunder-clouds unfurled, 
 
 The awful truth arises, 
 
 That Death is in the world ! 
 
 And the sky may beam as ever. 
 And never a cloud be curled ; 
 
 And the airs be living odors, 
 But Death is in the world ! 
 
 Out of the deeps of sunshine 
 The invisible bolt is hurled : 
 
 There's life in the summer meadows, 
 But Death is in the world ! 
 
ii2 
 
 SONNET. 
 
 The soul goes forth and finds no resting place 
 
 On the wide breast of Life's unquiet sea 
 
 But in the heart of Man. The blazonry 
 Of Wealth and Power fades out, and leaves no trace ; 
 Renown's fresh laurels for awhile may grace 
 
 The brow that wears them, but the dazzling tree 
 
 Has canker in its heart ; Philosophy 
 Is not Content, and Art's immortal face 
 
 Is trenched with weary furrows : but the heart 
 Hoards in its cells the satisfying dew 
 
 Which all our thirst is powerless to exhaust. 
 Let Life's uncertain dignities depart, 
 And if one single manly heart be true. 
 
 My own, contented, counts them cheaply lost. 
 
183 
 
 THE WINTER SOLSTICE. 
 
 O DARKEST day of all the year ! 
 
 O day of Winter and of Death ! 
 Thy reign is in the North, yet here, 
 
 The Southern Ocean feels thy breath. 
 Yon ruddy sun, that from the wave 
 
 Climbs up his path in summer glow, 
 Will light, ere long, a frozen grave. 
 
 Too cold to melt its pall of snow. 
 
 And I must find the sunshine pale. 
 
 The tropic breezes chill and drear, 
 For when the gray autumnal gale 
 
 Came to despoil the dying year. 
 Passed with the slow retreating sun, 
 
 As day by day some beams depart. 
 The beauty and the life of one. 
 
 Whose love made summer in my heart. 
 
184 
 
 Day after day, the latest flower, 
 
 Her faded being waned away, 
 More pale and dim with every hour — 
 
 And ceased upon the darkest day ! 
 The warmth and glow that with her died 
 
 No light of coming suns shall bring ; 
 The heart its wintry gloom may hide, 
 
 But cannot feel a second Spring. 
 
 O darkest day of all the year ! 
 
 In vain thou com'st with balmy skies, 
 For, blotting out their azure sphere, 
 
 The phantoms of my Fate arise : 
 A blighted life, whose shattered plan 
 
 No after fortune can restore ; 
 The perfect lot, designed for Man, 
 
 That should be mine, but is no more. 
 
 She was the sun, that rose above 
 
 The landscape of the life I dreamed, 
 And through the portals of her love 
 
 The promise of my Future beamed. 
 Though buried long, those dreams arise 
 
 To mock me wheresoever I roam — 
 The happy light of household eyes, 
 
 The blessing and the peace of Home. 
 
185 
 
 And I behold the changing fire 
 
 Of alien heavens increase and pale 
 On many a sunbeam-gilded spire 
 
 And many a moonlight-silvered sail : 
 The pomp and glory of the lands, 
 
 The range of Earth, is given to me ; 
 But every touch of loving hands 
 
 Recalls my blighted destiny. 
 
J8§ 
 
 IN ARTICULO MORTIS. 
 
 I WOULD be left alone — with none but you, 
 
 The last, sole friend, where all have fallen off 
 
 Like summer birds, and left your nest alone 
 
 Amidst the withered foliage of my heart. 
 
 Give me your hand : your soul will walk with mine 
 
 Into the shadows, far as life may go 
 
 Within the porch of Death, and send its cry 
 
 Of faithful love across the mighty gulf. 
 
 When we are forced asunder. 
 
 Nay, Priest ! nay : 
 Stand not between me and the fading light 
 Of my last hour. I know my soul is weighed 
 With many sins — the pages of my life 
 Soiled with unworthy records ; that I go 
 Redder than scarlet to the awful bar 
 Where God shall judge me : but even, knowing this, 
 And stung with wild, unutterable woe. 
 
187 
 
 As the lost chances of my life arise, 
 
 With all their opportunities of good 
 
 Deepening the blackness of the evil choice, 
 
 I will not lean upon another's arm, 
 
 Or lift my soul upon another's prayer, 
 
 Or bid a human intercessor plead 
 
 My perilous cause ; but I will stagger on, 
 
 Beneath my sins, unto the feet of God, 
 
 For, were the crushing burden tenfold great, 
 
 He sees the secret heart which they obscure 
 
 And not withholds His mercy. He is just, 
 
 And I am sick of human justice. I 
 
 Will go to Him, who sent me on the earth 
 
 Wisely, though I have trampled on His gifts ; 
 
 In love, though I have tasted most of pain ; 
 
 And justly, though the monstrous wrongs that men 
 
 Perpetuate in His name have borne me down 
 
 Beyond all virtue, but my faith in Him. 
 
 Go, Priest ! the absolution which I seek 
 
 No prayer of yours can purchase : I have gone 
 
 Beyond your reach already, and the last 
 
 Weak props of life one after one give way. 
 
 O father — father ! In what fatal school 
 Learned you the iron creed that drove your child. 
 Sore with the scourging of its rigid laws. 
 
188 
 
 To the alluring license of the world ? 
 
 Why did you crush the healthy joys that craved 
 
 Growth in a liberal air, the motions free 
 
 That leap along the bounding pulse of Youth 
 
 And pluck delight in the fresh fields of Time, 
 
 Building your stern religion round the dreams 
 
 That fill, self-born, the morning sleep of Life, 
 
 And give us courage for its day of toil ? 
 
 Had you not hedged each simple joy with sin, 
 
 And from the guileless blooms of Nature driven 
 
 My steps, to falter on your and wastes 
 
 Of harshest duty, I had never looked 
 
 To Sin for joy, nor plunged amid the rank, 
 
 Dense overgrowths of Pleasure, which conceal 
 
 Her soundless quicksands : had you turned the tide 
 
 Of warm, impetuous blood, that beat so strong 
 
 In every vein, to mingle with the streams 
 
 Of manly action, I had spent its force 
 
 In watering many a pleasant field of life 
 
 With fertilizing increase ; but you set 
 
 Your unrelenting dogmas in its path. 
 
 Locked the dark barrier with a cruel hand, 
 
 And thought the fierce rebellion you provoked 
 
 By tyranny against my nature's law. 
 
 The evidence of Hell ! The buttressed walls 
 
 You built to stay me madly burst away. 
 
189 
 
 And like a captive by recovered light 
 Blinded, and in the long-lo^t airs of Heaven 
 Reeling inebriate, I was tossed along 
 Upon a flood I knew not how to stem, 
 Through the wide sea of desolating years, 
 Until the flying wreck on which you hurled 
 Your stern anathemas, is thrown at last, 
 A heap of ruin, on the barren shores 
 Where the world's outcasts take their bitter leave 
 Of the cold world's injustice. 
 
 Wholly lost 
 Not then was I, father ! had you shown 
 The awful pathos of a father's grief, 
 Or dropped one word that spoke a father's love, 
 Bursting, as from a heart at lava-glow. 
 Through the cold wrath that made you adamant, 
 In that brief time, when loathingly I turned 
 From the palled company of Vice, to throw 
 My heart, repentant, at the feet of one 
 Who might have lifted me from out the deeps, 
 And set my feet upon the steady paths 
 I labored to recover. But, when you, 
 My father, spurned and drove me back to sin, 
 You snapped the feeble chain to which I clung, 
 And she, and you, and all the blinded world — 
 
190 
 
 God, how blind ! — you saw me fall, ana tall, 
 
 And loosed my frantic clutch from ^very prop 
 
 Until the floods above my head were rolled 
 
 So deep, I bade farewell to light and took 
 
 My portion with the darkness. You have passed 
 
 To other life already : I will think 
 
 You did but deal with me as you were taught 
 
 By heartless laws of Sect, which you mistook 
 
 For Heaven's commandments. In this solemn hour 
 
 Death washes out the bitterness that filled 
 
 *The Past, and I forgive : — God ! that a son 
 
 Should ever have such need ! 
 
 She, whom I found 
 Amid those dreary haunts where brazen Sin 
 Laughed o'er her fall from virtue — she, whose love, 
 Her only weakness, to the brink betrayed 
 Where one blind step condemns to endless woe — 
 She was not false : she threw before my feet 
 Her bruised and trampled heart, and from the wrecks 
 Of outraged tenderness built up anew 
 The shrine of Love, the saddened counterfeit 
 Of that, which from the bowers of innocent hearts 
 Sends the pure incense of its perfect joy 
 To God's high throne. She clung to me with truth 
 That might have cleansed her from the stains of shame, 
 
191 
 
 Were Man less cruel. Hunted, driven to bay- 
 By persecution and by keenest want, 
 She spurned the tempters who would blight the last 
 Pale flower, that in her ravaged fields of life 
 Recalled the happy days when she was pure. 
 Rest thee, thou weary spirit ! Were there tears 
 In the cold eyes of men, thy touching faith 
 Should draw them forth, and gentlest Charity, 
 Veiling thy frailties, leave thy memory white 
 With the redemption of that saving love ! 
 
 You, too, my friend — (still keep my hand in yours^ 
 For we are nigh the parting) — you were true. 
 Faithful where all were faithless. In the dark 
 Which filled the chambers of my soul, you saw 
 The wreck of manliness that might have been, 
 Capacities for love which never came, 
 And the deserted shrines whence Faith had fled : 
 But you alike had suffered from the laws 
 That wrought such devastation ; you had felt 
 In suffering, the kind regard of Heaven, 
 And all the guilty records of my life 
 Knit you the closer, till your love became 
 The agent of God's pity. I will think 
 He shall not wholly cast me off, nor doom* 
 My soul to endless company with sins 
 1 loathed while I committed ; that, if He 
 
192 
 
 Shut His bright tieaven against me, there may be 
 Among his myriad worlds some lonely place, 
 Though far remote, within the radiant sphere 
 His glory blesses, where she waits for me, 
 And you will join us in a little while. 
 He gave us to each other : will He now 
 Break the sweet links whereby we felt our hearts 
 First drawn to Him ? He, the All-Merciful, 
 Who not deserted us when men forsook, 
 And loved when they despised us, will not judge 
 Too harshly, when our naked souls go up 
 To meet His awful presence. 
 
 I am chill. 
 And the room darkens : let me feel your hand 
 Here, where my heart beats feebly. Friend — dear 
 
 friend ! 
 Kiss me upon the cheek, before it grows 
 Too cold, and lift my head upon your breast. 
 Tears on my face ? The scalding tears of man, 
 Not lightly shattered from their iron cells, 
 Shed thus for me ? It sweetens Death, to know 
 Such rain as this will consecrate my dust. 
 
193 
 
 SATURDAY NIGHT AT SEA. 
 
 Come, messmates, fill the cheerful bowl ! 
 
 To-night let no one fail. 
 No matter how the billows roll, 
 
 Or roars the ocean gale. 
 There's toil and danger in our lives, 
 
 But let us jovial be, 
 And drink to sweethearts and to wives, 
 
 On Saturday night at sea ^ 
 
 The chill nor'wester hurls the spray 
 
 Our icy bulwarks o'er, 
 As swift we cleave our stormy way, 
 
 A thousand miles from shore ; 
 And while the good ship onward drives, 
 
 Let none forget that he 
 Must drink to sweethearts and to wives. 
 
 On Saturday night at sea ! 
 13 
 
194 
 
 The joys that landsmen little reck 
 
 We best can understand, 
 Who live a year upon the deck, 
 
 A month upon the land. 
 And rough as are our sailor lives, 
 * Full tender hearts have we 
 To drink to sweethearts and to wives, 
 
 On Saturday night at sea ! 
 
 Our frames are worn and little worth, 
 
 And hard our rugged hands ; 
 We struggle for our hold on Earth 
 
 With the storms of many lands : 
 But the only love that lights our lives 
 
 Shall still remembered be ; 
 We drink to sweethearts and to wives, 
 
 On Saturday night at sea ! 
 
195 
 
 SONG. 
 
 They call thee false as thou art fair. 
 
 They call thee fair and free — 
 A creature pliant as the air 
 
 And changeful as the sea : 
 But I, who gaze with other eyes — 
 
 Who stand and watch afar, 
 Behold thee pure as yonder skies 
 
 And steadfast as a star ! 
 
 Thine is a rarer nature, born 
 
 To rule the common crowd, 
 And thou dost lightly laugh to scorn 
 
 The hearts before thee bowed. 
 Thou dreamest of a different love 
 
 Than comes to such as these ; 
 That soars as high as heaven above 
 
 Their shallow sympathies. 
 
196 
 
 A star that shines with flickering spark, 
 
 Thou dost not wane away, 
 But shed'st adown the purple dark 
 
 The fulness of thy ray : 
 A rose, whose odors freely part 
 
 At every zephyr's will, 
 Thou keep'st within thy folded heart 
 
 Its virgin sweetness still ! 
 
197 
 
 THE MID -WATCH. 
 
 I PACE the deck in the dead of night, 
 
 When the moon and starlight fail, 
 And the cordage creaks to the lazy swells, 
 
 And heavily flaps the sail. 
 On the darkness glimmers the binnacle-lamp 
 
 With feeble and lonely spell : 
 No sound but the passing sentry's tramp 
 
 Or his measured cry : " All's well ! " 
 
 To and fro, with accustomed step, 
 
 I walk in the night alone, 
 And I think of a thousand watches kept 
 
 In the years forever flown ; 
 Of the friends in whose manly fellowship 
 I labored long ago, 
 i Till Dfeath relieved their watch on earth, 
 ' And they went to rest below. 
 
198 
 
 1 think of the gallant ones who died 
 
 When our broadsides shook the sea, 
 And sorrow for them subdued the pride 
 
 Of our cheers of victory : 
 Of those who fell in the fevered lands, 
 
 Or sank in the whelming wave — 
 Whose corpses waste on the barren sands, 
 
 Or float in a fathomless grave. 
 
 And the looks revive that were faint and dim 
 
 In the shadows of the years, 
 And I scan them o'er till my eyelids swim 
 
 With the strange delight of tears : 
 They people the dark with their pallid brows 
 
 As they silently throng around. 
 And the sea its phosphor radiance throws 
 
 On the faces of the drowned. 
 
 So many a noble heart is cold 
 
 That shared my duties then, 
 I have loo*ked full oft in the face of Death, 
 
 But he comes to better men ; 
 And let him come in his chosen time. 
 
 Some friend will think of me, 
 And I shall live in the lonely hours 
 
 Of his midnight watch at sea. 
 
199 
 
 THE PHANTOM. 
 
 Again I sit within the mansion, 
 
 In the old, familiar seat ; 
 And shade and sunshine chase each other 
 
 O'er the carpet at my feet. 
 
 But the sweet-brier's arms have wrestled upwards 
 
 In the summers that are past, 
 And the willow trails its branches lower 
 
 Than when I saw them last. 
 
 They strive to shut the sunshine wholly 
 
 From out the haunted room ; 
 To fill the house, that once was joyful, 
 
 With silence and with gloom. 
 
200 
 
 And many kind, remembered faces 
 Within the doorway come — 
 
 Voices, that wake the sweeter music 
 Of one that now is dumb. 
 
 They sing, in tones as glad as ever, 
 The songs she loved to hear ; 
 
 They braid the rose in summer garlands, 
 Whose flowers to her were dear. 
 
 And still, her footsteps in the passage, 
 
 Her blushes at the door, 
 Her timid words of maiden welcome, 
 
 Come back to me once more. 
 
 And, all forgetful of my sorrow, 
 
 Unmindful of my pain, 
 I think she has but newly left me, 
 
 And soon will come again. 
 
 • 
 
 She stays withcfUt, perchance, a moment, 
 To dress her dark-brown hair ; 
 
 I hear the rustle of her garments — 
 Her light step on the stair ! 
 
201 
 
 O, fluttering heart ! control thy tumult, 
 Lest eyes profane should see 
 
 My cheeks betray the rush of rapture 
 Her coming brings to me ! 
 
 She tarries long : but lo ! a whisper 
 
 Beyond the open door, 
 And, gliding through the quiet sunshine, 
 
 A shadow on the floor ! 
 
 Ah ! 'tis the whispering pine that calls me. 
 The vine, whose shadow strays ; 
 
 And my patient heart must still await her, 
 Nor chide her long delays. 
 
 But my heart grows sick with weary waiting. 
 
 As many a time before : 
 Her foot is ever at the threshold. 
 
 Yet never passes o'er. 
 
202 
 
 LAMENT AND CONSOLATION. 
 
 False, fleeting Youth, ah ! whither fled 
 
 Thy golden promise ? 
 Thy joy is past, thy love is dead. 
 And every arrowy hope we sped 
 
 Falls distant from us. 
 
 Ah, where the wondrous alchemy 
 Thy steps that haunted ? 
 
 The happy airs of Arcady 
 
 That fanned thy brow, the fancy free, 
 The faith undaunted ? 
 
 The glories caught from Nature die. 
 
 And men deceive me ; 
 Star after star goes down the sky, 
 And darker, sadder hours are nigh. 
 If Song should leave me. 
 
203 
 
 For Song can still the living light 
 
 Of Memory borrow, 
 With faded dawns to flush the night, 
 And hide with gleams of old delight 
 
 The present sorrow. 
 
 Let Faith and Love and Hope depart, 
 
 Since Fate so wills it : 
 Some foliage yet may shade the heart, 
 And blossom in the beams of Art, 
 Whose presence fills it. 
 
 On thee, dear Song ! the loss I cast, 
 
 Beyond redressing : 
 Let gone be gone, and past be past, 
 But, Angel ! I will hold thee fast, 
 
 And force thy blessing !