LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. dfmp ©qtgrftjfyt !f o* UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. Song Spray B\ THOMAS STEPHENS COLLIER New London, Conn. CARL J. VIETS 1889 .c. Copyright, 1SS9 By Thomas S. Collier All rights reserved THE CASE, LOCKWOOD A BRAINARD CO., PRINTERS, HARTFORD, CONN. TO A. C. C. If one should paint a vision of dBlight; □ r write a song, throbbing with passion's fire, That all true souls would cherish and admire; □ r win from Dut the silences of night, Some thought, so potent in resistless might, That a great nation's heart it would inspire To noble deeds, and heaven-ward desire, Would not love have the honor by all Tight? Therefore if in these pages one shall find A helpful thought, or pleasure-giving song, R beacon rising in life's tossing sea, It is the influence of thy tender mind; If I have -written helpful -words, or strong, Dr Idvb inspired, the honor lies -with thee, CONTENTS Page At Love's Gate ...... i Sun Glow 2 Recompense 3 A Pine Tree 5 A Garden Fancy 6 In Harvest Time 7 In Pace .... IO Quatrains — Infallibility 21 Power, 21 Grandeur, 21 Sacrilege . 16 April i9 An Egyptian Gem 18 Through Meadow Paths 22 Hafed 26 Quatrains — To-morrow 25 Love and Deati i 25 Fate 25 The Queen's Revenge . 29 Three Moods of Nature .33 Earth, Space, and Time 41 Not Lost, 35 Haroun al Raschid 36 Ll.IANOS ..... A Dream of the World Grown Weary Passion Life Oblivion . October . A Thunder Storm Jubilate . Off Labrador In the Golden Age Antiques — Venus Proserpine Sappho Cleopatra Zenobia On a Roman Coin Accurst Recording In Mountain Solitudes Wind A Spring Morning Kismet In November A Passion Picture A Ghost . Annihilation Triumph . Quatrains — Love Earth Results Question . Cleopatra Dying Love Deathless . Signs In Ruins ..... 90 A Triumph Song 9i Light and Dark 93 The Minstrel's Curse 94 To Love, to Live and Remember 98 Arms — Arrows . 100 Swords . 100 Battle Axes 101 A Spear Head IOI An Organ Symphony at Midnight 103 Greeting .... i°5 The Beggar's Wisdom . 106 Hope .... 109 The Spectre Ship no Fame .... 112 My Lady's Charm "3 Jupiter .... 114 Infinity .... 116 Bees .... 117 Sun Burst 118 Quatrains — Difference 124 Loss 124 A Miser . 124 A Conceit 125 Locusts .... 126 Promise — I. Of Light and Bloom 127 II. Of Light and Song 127 A Rose Song 129 Beethoven 131 At Gettysburg . 132 Quatrains — Accomplishment 137 Compensation 137 Inspiration 137 The Wind of Death 138 Sweet Love is Dead 141 Following the Chief 142 At Sea 144 Puck 145 The Past . 147 The Future 1 48 In Fancy's Realm 149 A Lover's Mood I S 2 Incarnation 154 The Petrel *55 A Deserted Farm '57 Quatrains — On an Old Proverb i59 A Wall Between 159 Discovery 159 Forever . 160 Royalty 163 Inspiration 165 Manhood . 166 Donizetti . 168 Quatrains — Disappointment 169 Time 169 Harvest Time 169 Answered 170 Love Supreme 170 Summer Time 171 Envoi 173 AT LOVE'S GATE Love came to me one Summer day Amid the mounds of fragrant hay, Laughed in my face, and went his way. Again, when Autumn woods aflame With gold and scarlet were, he came, And whispered low a dainty name. in And when the hills grew white with snow, And high north winds began to blow, He passed me by with footsteps slow. IV And now I wonder, will he bring His priceless gift when robins sing, And blossoms fleck the path of Spring ? For by the roadway to his gate, Clad as befits my lowly state, Humbly, a suppliant I wait. SUN CLOW Lo, THE sunlight, and the south wind, and the morning! Lo, the fragrance, and the glory of the day ! You, who sneer at life with wild and bitter scorning; You, who gather thorns and thistles by the way. Lo, the bird songs, and the blossoms, and the beauty! Lo, the purple and the amber of the sky! You, who scoff at hope that clings to toil and duty; You, who pass Love's shining gifts so coldly by. Lo, the distance, and the star-light, never weary! Lo, the river, seaward rushing, brave and true ! You, who see the weeks keep growing dull and dreary; You, who find no work for your strong hands to do Lo, the future, grand with purpose and endeavor ! Lo, the present, rich with struggle and emprise ! You, who moan and pray for some oblivious never. Shutting out each noble promise from your eyes. Lo, the hand-clasps, and the watching, and the waiting! Lo, the splendor and the faithfulness of love! You, who garner to your souls the senseless hating, That at last a tierce, destroying flame will prove. Lo, the music of the robins, and the beeches! Lo, the gladness of the willow and the larch ! You, who wander in life's gray and windless reaches; You, who in despair's sad army slowly march. Lo, the cornfields, with the sun-glow on them falling! Lo, the bounty of the ocean and the land ! Lo, the valleys to the hill-tops bravely calling! These are free to ready brain and willing hand. RECOMPENSE Dear friend, the grass is musical above The silent earth that holds you in its peace, And tossing daisies seem the place to love, And mark the passing hours with fond increase. Why should I mourn for one whose journey lies So near my path, that 1 can almost hear His love's swift answer, as its throb replies To all that stirs my heart with pain or cheer. The days with their recurring songs are loud, Even as they were when you were here with me, The sunlight lingers in the floating cloud, The wind is sweet with saltness of the sea. Low calls the sparrow from the frowsy hedge, The oriole shines among the restless leaves, The wind-flowers sway along the tumbling ledge, And hillsides gleam with heavy bearded sheaves. I hear the waves that murmur on the sand, The sea-birds crooning where the reef is bare, And see the white sails parting from the land, Bound for an orient freight of spices rare. This is the path our feet so often trod, And yonder ancient rock the accustomed scat ; The buttercups are yellow in the sod, The clover blossoms at its base are sweet. The valley narrows through the azure haze, Wherein the hills, like massive giants loom ; The river sleeps in willow-guarded ways, And lilies star the cool and fragrant gloom. There is no change in leaf, or flower, or tree, The wild thorn yonder is as sweet and strong As when you trod this windy path, and we Heard the clear gladness of the robin's song. Yes, you were here one little year ago, And saw the winsome earth grow sweet and fair, And now alone I wander to and fro, And seek you, knowing that you are not there. The shadowy silence holds you, yet I feel When in the old familiar haunts I stand, That one swift moment can your face reveal, And give to me the clasping of your hand. A PINE TREE Where, old and gray, the mountain rears its head, In sunlit silence stands a lonely tree. Far off along the valley you can see, When evening glories gather gold and red, Its sombre shadow : for the ages fled It seems a sentinel. Winds whistle free Down from the North o'er many a wide degree, And sing weird dirges for its comrades dead. Yet tall and straight it rises, firm and strong It hails the flying years that hurry by, And flings defiance to the tempest's might ; A noble poet, full of deathless song That rings aloud, or dark, or bright the sky, Rich with hope's promise, and sweet beauty's light. A GARDEN FANCY A crimson opulence and foam of white, Through which the bees wing with a drowsy drone A mound of pansies, belted with a zone Of dainty pinks, sweet with the kiss of night ; Great golden clusters, wherein moths delight, And scarlet sprays by whispering breezes blown Athwart the path, down whose cool way has flown A humming-bird, like sun-made iris bright. And here, where orioles make sumptuous feast, And robins gather in the fragrant shade, And butterflies are free to come and go, There blooms a lily from the distant east, That brings to mind a rare Circassian maid, Haunting some grim Sheik's dim Seraglio. IN HARVEST TIME Low wind ghosts flutter through the rustling corn, A locust drones in yonder whispering tree, And where dissolves the misty veil of morn. The lazy ships sail slowly out to sea In harvest time. The scarlet poppies cluster by the road, The sweeping scythes flash in the falling grass, And lumbering wagons, with their heavy load. Along the dusty highways- lingering pass In harvest time. The radiant sunlight slants among the leaves, As though no hidden covert it would miss, Bearing the gold sheen of the garnered sheaves, To all the ripening apples it may kiss, In harvest time. The honeysuckle by the porch is sweet, And noisy bees wing on from bloom to bloom, Full loath to leave, for yonder windless heat, The shade and coolness of the fragrant gloom In harvest time. The undulating wheat along the hills, That shimmers in the sun's refulgent beams, Its bearded kernels to completeness fills, And in contented splendor brightly gleams, In harvest time. When high the sun in noonday glory rides, Where willows keep the lake's green margin cool, The speckled trout amid their shadow hides, And dragon flies haunt every shaded pool In harvest time. The crows are silent in the sombre pines, And drowsy cattle pace with listless tread The shallow brooks, that run in silvery lines Where meadow blossoms flaunt their banners red, In harvest time. Where, clothing all the crumbling wall of stone, The wild grapes show their purple globes of wine, The butterflies hold carnival alone, And brilliantly their iris colors shine, In harvest time. The oriole, above his swinging nest, In the knarled pear tree plumes his orange coat, And, as the sun sinks slowly clown the west, Croons to his mate a low, melodious note, In harvest time. The moths make feast where pendulant blossoms sway, In woods that ring with shrill nocturnal songs, And while the shadows change to deeper gray, Some dreaming bird day's jubilant voice prolongs In harvest time. Beside the garden path, serenely fair, Clothed in her garmenture of odorous white, That wins fresh perfume from the heavy air, The lily shines, a star amid the night, In harvest time. Oh, bounteous season, rich through every hour In gifts that make our souls with joy a-tune, The fruitful earth is lavish of her dower From morning's flush, till glows the mellow moon, In harvest time. IN PACE In Memoriam Of the Men who fell in the Massacre in Fort Griswold, Groton Heights, Connecticut, September 6, 1781. Harken, O hearts ! and wonder, Concerning the days now dead, Days that were loud with thunder, And with livid lightnings red — When the war-drums smote with their rolling Through the dark, and swords were drawn, And the clangor of bells, and their tolling, Rose high in the startled dawn. Then out from the mist and the morning, The ships with their dissonance came, And the challenge of death, and the scorning, Flashed forth in a blood-red flame ; And the hills, with the sunlight mellow, And the woods, and the sloping shore, Heard the great, black guns, as their bellow Grew deep in a savage roar. There were kisses, and hands were clasping That never would meet again ; And the sinews grew stiff in the grasping Of swords that were free from stain ; And out from the homes, and the tender Sweet light of a love sublime, They marched to the gory splendor That has linked their names with time : They marched to the blood and the battle, To the rush and biting of steel, Their hearts elate with the rattle Of drums, and the charge's reel ; Marched out in the sunlight, glowing On plume, and musket, and sword, To bend and fall in the mowing, Whose harvest was given the Lord. Oh, men who were brave and fearless ! Oh, men who were tried and true ! Who toiled, when the days were cheerless, And the night had nor stars, nor dew ; Who met, when the morn was breaking, The rush and carnage of war, And heard the trumpets, awaking To sleep, and awake no more, — The grass and the blossoms above you Are fresh with the light and the rain, And we bow to your deeds, and love you, Who answered the call, and were slain. In the light that has dawned, and the glory, You live by the death that stung, When the hillsides were rent and gory, And the bullets whistled and sung ; When the foeman's steel, and its gleaming, Was bright in the tasseled corn, And his banners were widely streaming Through the cool, wan light of morn ; When up from the shadows and water He strode in his pomp and might, And the air grew keen with the slaughter, And you closed in deadly fight ; Closed, swift as the flash that passes, And leaves in the sombre gloom The withered blossoms and grasses, And the dead who wait the tomb ; And the storm swept by, like the leaping Of waves when the winds are high, And left you in peace, and sleeping Beneath the stars and the sky. The walls are silent and crumble With storms, and the weight of years, That were loud with strife, and the rumble Of guns, and the rush of cheers, When your hearts were swift in their beating, And your eyes were stern and hard, As the foe sprang on to the meeting, Over sward, and flinty shard, Sprang on through the flame-swept spaces, To the mad and stubborn thrust, And lay cold, and with blood-stained faces, Struck down to the bitter dust ; And their comrades came, like the rushing Of fierce winds that onward sweep, When great oaks to the ground are crushing, And the ships sink down the deep, — Surged over the ramparts, planted With death and the seeds of death, While the cannon about them panted And belched their murderous breath : And there, when the sun was sinking, You lay with your sightless eyes, And the earth and the rocks were drinking The blood of your sacrifice. On the rocks where the high wave dashes, The moon will shine, and the sun ; By war's sanguine carnage and ashes, The gladness of peace is won ; The smoke cloud of battle, uplifting, Dissolves in the vast of space, And the silent white mists go drifting, Where death ran a fearful race ; And over the graves sweeps the regnant, Swift glory of resonant days, Rich with singing of birds, and pregnant With the joy of jubilant ways. There are deeds that we cannot banish, There are thoughts beyond control ; Men build for a day, and they vanish, But leave us their strength and soul ; And out from the heat, and the flashing Of light that illumes the storm, From the thunder's roll and its crashing, The earth grows royal and warm. , Life comes with the flush, and the golden Enchantment of sunlit years ; Swept back are the sorrow, and olden Derision of pain and tears, When the rain that was swift in falling, Was dark with the stain of blood, And men heard the wail, and the calling 13 Of winds when the tide ran flood ; Heard the sound of musket and sabre, As they drank at the well of life, And ended their passion and labor, When the earth was wild with strife ; Saw the sulphurous war cloud bursting Where the waves ran up the shore, And the guns, with their black mouths thirsting For the kiss of flame once more ; And the darkness grew, and the hollow, Hoarse growl of the fight was still, And the cold, grim night seemed to follow The foe speeding down the hill ; And silent and sweet was their slumber, Whose turmoil and toil was done, And the graves grew many in number Beneath the light and the sun. From the throes that led to creation, From silence, and gloomful toil, Came the soul and strength of a Nation, Wrought out by battle and spoil. Ah, the years are swift in their passing, And they change, like tides that roll Where the rocks, in dark grandeur massing Meet the surges from the Pole ; Yes, they pass, but they leave behind them The good Love wins, and the song ; If you seek their steps, you will find them Where purpose and thought grow strong ; And time is a force that is blending With life, in the work of God, And the way they tread is unending, Like those by the great spheres trod. 14 Men die, but their deeds are eternal, To our hearts and love they cling ; They shine like the stars, and the vernal Sweet blossoms that May days bring. From the sea, with its great white beaches — From the plains with wheat agleam — From the mountain, whose pine-clad reaches Gloom down on the foaming stream ; — From the river, so swiftly flowing By forest and busy town, — From the cool, wide vales, that are showing The gold of their harvest crown ; — From the rocks where the ocean surges Dash high on New England's shore, — And from slopes, where the wind-made dirges Far up with the eagles soar, Sound the words that are like the ringing Of bells, when a people come, Through the glorious sunlight, bringing Their heroes in triumph home. For yours are the deeds that we cherish, Who died that we might be free, And your memory cannot perish While the land is kissed by the sea. i5 SACRILEGE Beside the wall, and near the massive gate Of the great temple in Jerusalem, The legionary, Probus, stood elate, His eager clasp circling a royal gem. It was an offering made by some dead king Unto the great Jehovah, when the sword Amid his foes had mown a ghastly ring, Helped by the dreaded angel of the Lord. There, on his rival's crest, among the slain, Through the red harvest it had clearly shone, Lighting the grimness of the sanguine plain With splendors that had glorified a throne. Above the altar of God's sacred place, A watchful star, it lit the passing years With radiance falling on each suppliant's face, Gleaming alike in love's and sorrow's tears, Till swept the war-tide through the sunlit vales Leading from Jordan, and the western sea, And the fierce host of Titus filled the gales With jubilant shouts, and songs of victory. 16 Then came the day when over all the walls The Romans surged, and Death laughed loud and high, And there was wailing in the palace halls, And sound of lamentations in the sky. Torn from its place, it lay within the hand Of Probus, whose keen sword had rent a way, With rapid blows, amid the priestly band Whose piteous prayers moaned through that dreadful day. And there, beside the wall, he stopped to gaze Upon the fortune that would give his life The home and rest that come with bounteous days, And bring reward for toil, and warlike strife. There was no cloud in all heaven's lustrous blue, Yet suddenly a red flash cleft the air, And the dark shadow held a deeper hue, — A dead man, with an empty hand, lay there. 17 AN EGYPTIAN GEM Men fashioned you, when by the slumberous Nile Rose stately temples, rich with carven stone, Through whose cool, lofty spaces rolled, wind-blown, Fierce triumph songs that loudly swelled the while Vast hosts went marching by, mile after mile Of gleaming spears and swords that brightly zone A conquering king, whose sounding name was known As master in each grand and massive pile. The temples now are crumbling into dust, The mighty men of war are long forgot, And even the king would be unknown to fame, Had not you held his deeds in sacred trust, And brought to us, unstained by cruel blot, The resonance and glory of his name. APRIL Aloft where bends the tall elm's topmost crest, Watching the sun, the robin sits and swings ; The amber light shines on his crimson breast, And loud his carol rings. The crocus buds break into starry bloom, And in the wind the golden tulip rocks, And garrulous sparrows chatter in the gloom Of prim and rounded box. The meadows stretching from the river, show The fresh, cool green of early springing grass ; The bending willows droop their branches low, As winds above them pass. A shimmering haze lies on the dreamy slopes, Of hills that rise against the lustrous west ; The waveless sea seems bright with radiant hopes Of summer's peace and rest. The south wind singing through the pasture, bends The fern's low frond, crowning a mossy plinth; And violet fragrance in the garden blends With sweets of hyacinth. 19 The mellow sunlight, breaking through the rifts, Burns like a flame along the widening plain, And down the sloping valley slowly drifts The murmur of the rain. The yellow cowslips toss their cups of gold, Where brooks go murmuring through the reedy marsh, And crows among the blooming maples hold A council loud and harsh. The ploughman, whistling down the furrow, sees Above the thin and opal-tinted mist, The rounded cones of budding orchard trees, Where blue-birds make their tryst. The massive monarchs of the forest now Are giant harps, melodious with song, That vibrates through each quaintly twisted bough, Swaying the hills along. The fragrant morn, clad in soft robes of white, Flings wide day's portal for the sunlit noon, And deep the purple stillness of the night Clings round the narrow moon. And fair with blooms, and buds that tell of these, Through merry songs across the valleys blown, Fresh from the sweetness of south-lying seas, Comes April to her own. QUATRAINS i INFALLIBILITY "Believe in me," the Prophet cried, " I hold the key of life and light : " And lo, one touched him, and he died Within the passing of a night?" POWER Haroun, the Caliph, through the sunlit street Walked slowly with bent head and weary breath, And cried — "Alas, I cannot stay my feet, That move unceasing toward the gate of Death." in GRANDEUR A level plain, reaching from day to night, And like a giant standing lonely there A solitary peak, whose fadeless light Shines a bright beacon in the upper air. THROUGH MEADOW PATHS Running from the shaded porch, , Where, like an inverted torch Swings the trumpet flower, the path, Glorious with the aftermath Of the early summer days, Leads us on to pleasant ways. Through the garden's perfumed space Where the lily's stately grace, Shines in all the fair and pure Whiteness of its garmenture, And the purple pansies nod Just above the circling sod. Velvet leaves of crimson hue, Sparkling with night's honied dew, Forming radiant caverns, where Gauze-winged mites make fragrant lair, Show the perfect, calm repose Of that regal bloom, the rose. Telling of the early spring, Violets to their sweetness cling, By a scarcely opened bud Crimson with high summer's blood, And the silver larches fret Over beds of mignonette. Where the lithe and rustling mass Of the meadow's ripening grass, Clings about the garden's edge, There we see, along the hedge, Creamy chalices, that hold Just a speck of yellow gold. Then the clover blossoms toss, Where the pathway winds across Level sweeps, where rise and sink Flutings of the bob-o-link, And the thrushes loudly call Just beyond the tumbling wall. Heavy with its bearded store, By the river's winding shore, Bends the wheat, that ready stands For the reaper's brawny hands, Murmuring a melodious song When the summer wind grows strong. Up against the mellow skies, Gradual sloping hills arise, Wooded by great trees, that screen With their whispering robes of green, Winding roads, whose shadows seem Like the vistas of a dream. Hee, along the noisy brooks, Lie the hidden sunlit nooks, Where the stared anemone Woos the kisses of the bee, 23 Blooming just within the shade By a massive oak tree made. Dreaming hours are all too fleet, And we move with lingering feet Down the slope, and see the sun, When the meadow paths are won, Flaming just above the crest Of a mountain in the west. 24 QUATRAINS TO-MORROW " To-morrow I give to Love, and the Lord ; But to-day is Fame's," he said, And the morning shone on a broken sword, And a mail-clad warrior, dead. ii love and death Earth hath two gifts all other gifts above, And both are born within a passing breath, Yet last throughout all time — the one is Love, The other — Death. in FATE Fate, passing over earth one night, Laid his stern seal on three new lives : One died a king, one sank in fight, One wasted in his felon gyves. 2$ HAFED The Bedouin chieftain, Hafed, in his tent Sat lone and desolate, for he was old ; His withered form with age was scarred and bent, His pulse beat slow, his blood was thin and cold. Ten years before, three stalwart sons had stood, When down the west the sun was lingering low, And asked his blessing, brave they were and good, Loyal to friends and bitter to a foe. The desert lands wherein their youth had flown Too narrow were for more than one domain, So Hafed bade them go and win their own, Where wide and fair lay valley, hill, and plain • Gave them his blessing, saw them ride away, And crushed the hot tears from his dimming eyes, Then turned again to see, day after day, The sandy desert land, the cloudless skies. Ten years were gone, and he had bid them come When these should pass, and tell him of their toil, Where in the world each one had made a home, And what had been their gain of fame or spoil. 26 And now he waited, and afar was heard The bells that told of some vast caravan, Their tinkling sounded like the call, a bird Sent through the dark, when first the day began. And then the blare of trumpets, and the sound Of trampling steeds came from the hilly North, The loud reverberations shook the ground, And rising, Hafed from his tent went forth. Eastward long lines of camels lengthening ran, Northward a host shone in its burnished steel, And in the west, a solitary man Beneath a heavy burden seemed to reel. The level rays of sunlight lit the west, When his three sons before him bent the head, One clad in armor, one in crimson dressed, One whose coarse robe fell down in rent and shred. " What bring you ? " Hafed cried. — The eldest spoke, Pointing where stood the camels and their load, And flinging wide his richly jeweled cloak — " These gifts I bring you from my far abode. " I am a merchant, and in Teheran, Men call me ' Omar of the icy heart,' And yet I do no wrong to any man — I only claim of mine each smallest part." " And you ? " — The second spoke. — "I bring a sword, A host of men who glitter like the sun ; Wide are the lands that own me for their lord," — " Yes, yes, I know, How were these wide lands won ? " 27 " Ah, red the rivers, and like leaves the dead, And Ali's blow was cruel as the grave, Or so my foemen in their fury said, And died, as die the catif and the slave." The last one spoke. — "I have no gold, nor land, No man has felt the swiftness of my blow, No beggar goes from me with empty hand, That love is mine, is all enough to know." " This burden I have borne for many miles, Are lowly gifts, by love made high and sweet, They came to me with laughter, and with smiles, I gladly lay them at my father's feet." Then Hafed cried — "Ah, woe for wasted years! Take back your gold, your cold and cruel arms, They bear the stain of blood and bitter tears, Of haunting care, and gloom, and wild alarms." " Only one gift my waiting brings to me, — Only one gift all other gifts above, To shine an island in life's barren sea, Won, not by sword or gold, but all by love." The level sunrays sank below the sand, A great wind blustered downward from the hills, A sudden gloom fell on the weary land, And black clouds gathered full of thunder thrills. One flash of light smote through the dark, and shone On Hafed's face, grown cold, and still, and white; The chief had borne his gift to heaven's Throne, And lay there dead amid the storm and night. 28 THE QUEEN'S REVENGE In northern lands, where over valleys bare, Wan clouds lie heavy on the sullen air, And silent plains, barren of shrub and tree, Merge their drear grayness in a sombre sea, There stands, amid the waste, a ruined tower, Wherein a fair Queen made her winsome bower, When knighthood's glory was no empty name, And life was held as nothingness to fame. There, like a bloom from some far tropic land, Thrown desolate upon the moaning sand, She saw the red sun rise, and set, and rise, And wander like a flame across the skies, His lurid light, the one bright thing that lay Within the narrow boundary of her day, Save when the winds from the far North would roam, And fill the waves with flecks of phosphor foam. Then, though the land was stern and bitter cold, The bay full many a busy ship would hold ; And the wide streets were loud with passing feet, And in the market-place for trade would meet Merchants from lands that lie far leagues away, And even swarthy Mongols from Cathay Came, with their fragrant teas and dreamy eyes, To shrewdly barter with the over-wise. 29 The ruler of this land, her sovereign lord, Was hard of heart, and ready with the sword ; And when she came, red-lipped and fair of face, Making a radiance in the dreary place, He had no kind word for her youthful bloom, But led her onward through the wintry gloom, And bidding that a page await her call, Left her, a stranger, in his castle's hall. Slowly she wandered through the dark abode, Where each chill room seemed freighted with a load Of sin or grief, and at the last she came To this small tower, and saw the sun's red flame Smite through the shadows like a sword, and here, Because the sea beyond lay wide and clear, She made her home, and bade them hither bring Soft silks, and lace, and every beauteous thing. And so they gathered tapestries and gold, And paintings that of love and prowess told, And ivory carvings, made by patient hands In unknown corners of far Orient lands, Flowers of rare hue and fragrance subtly sweet, And soft bright rugs to guard her dainty feet, And while the great winds shook their cloudy plumes, Warm light and perfume filled her lofty rooms. And here for months she waited all forlorn, While in the hills, following the huntsman's horn, Or on the sea, sweeping with fierce array Along some sterile waste or sunlit bay, The king went with his men, and left behind Sad wreck and ruin, and hot tears that blind, 30 Where signs of war marked the ensanguined plain, And ravished women wept their husbands slain. The months grew into years, whose slow steps fell Like the sad, monotonous tolling of a bell Telling of death, amid her wasted life : What good to her was the high name of wife ? What good to her the pageantry and state, Of victories that made her husband great ? Her weary heart could find no joy in this, While her red lips were barren of a kiss. There came a time, when, having fought and won In stubborn fight, with foes whose arms had run Full many a foray through his wide domains, The king came marching back along the plains, And saw, just at the borders of the night, A high tower flame with sudden stars of light, And then he thought, " Surely my Queen lives there, And all the world says she is very fair — And tired am I of this mad toil and heat ; Lo, I will rest, and taste of love, for sweet The banquet is" — and thus was led once more Unto his castle on the surf-beat shore, And sought his Queen, and when he came where she Had waited, longing, for this time to be, They pulled the curtains backward from the bed, And there the Queen lay, sweet, and fair, and dead. Then like a flash that parts the gloom, and falls, A breath of desolation on the walls 3i Once strong and stately, through his spirit drove The longing and intensity of love ; And with a cry that smote death's hungry ears, Like music flung from off resounding spheres, He cast himself beside the silent form, And sorrow filled him with its restless storm. They made her grave high on a windy hill, And though the king strove with a mighty will To lose his sorrow, still to him it clung. No more his banners to the breeze were flung, But with slow steps, and wan and moody face He came and went about the dreary place, Yet never passed the portal of her room, Where spiders wove amid the haunted gloom. His sword and mail grew red with idle rust, His standards heavy with their hoarded dust, And he alone, of all his brilliant host Roamed through the place like some forgotten ghost And in the streets were signs of swift decay, No more the ships came sailing up the bay, The markets echoed to no busy stride, And lifeless docks moaned to the ebbing tide. At last they found him one chill winter morn, His long white hair upon the wind outborne, Clinging, with stiff hands, to the gate that led Where lay the Queen that he had loved when dead ; And without state or ceremony bore His weary form within the narrow door, Then passed away, and ruin stalked alone, Through wide, deserted wastes of crumbling stone. 3 2 THREE MOODS OF NATURE Bright sunshine on the meadows lying, Low winds among the orchards sighing, Blush roses by the pathway blooming, And brown bees through the clover booming. Cowslips where murmurous brooks are flowing, Sweet violets by the roadside showing, Pink blossoms and white daisies greeting, And blue waves on the wide sands beating. Like flame-flecks through the verdant arches Of sturdy oaks and silver larches, With wealth of rapid, joyous singing, Blithe, merry robins swiftly winging. Over the dark and sullen reaches, Surging along the sodden beaches, Weird, vague songs in its deep intoning, The drear East wind is sadly moaning. With deep, sonorous roll, the thunder Reverberates the storm glooms under, And tossing seas high sprays are flinging, Where driving rain smites hard and stinging. 5 33 With fierce, hot glare, the lurid lightning Along the foamy crests is brightening ; Across the black clouds, linked and livid, Its flashes burn in splendor vivid. in Far, purple skies, serene and mellow, Mingling of crimson tints and yellow, Russet and amber leaves entwining, And barberries and sumachs shining. Gray shadows over hillsides drifting, Gold lights through swaying branches sifting, Birds softly to each other calling, And ripened nuts and apples falling. A little valley southward facing, A lake set in an emerald tracing, And hid from winds now growing chilly, The white bud of a fragrant lily. 34 NOT LOST Yes, cross in rest the little snow white hands. Do you not see the lips so faintly red With love's last kiss ? Their sweetness has not fled, Though now you say her sinless spirit stands Within the pale of God's bright summer lands. Gather the soft hair round the dainty head As in past days. Who says that she is dead, And nevermore will heed the old commands ? To your cold idols cling, I know she sleeps, That her pure soul is not by vexed winds tost Along the pathless altitudes of space. This life but sows the seed from which one reaps The future's harvest. No, I have not lost The glory and the gladness of her face. 35 HAROUN AL RASCHID Wide wastes of sand stretch far away ; A single palm stands sentinel Beside the stone rim of a well ; The sky bends down in shades of gray. Like some sad ghost, with measured pace, A man plods slowly through the sand, A pilgrim's staff clasped in his hand, A hopeless sorrow in his face. He leans against the lonely tree ; A low wind blowing from the south, Sweeps o'er the desert's sun-wrought drouth, With fragrant coolness of the sea. He bares his head ; his weary eyes Turn upward, full of reverent light : "Father of all, I own Thy might, Oh, give me rest ! " he sadly cries. "The sword has brought me gold and fame, And these have given me kingly state, Men bow to me and call me great, And what is greatness but a name ? 36 " I cannot make love bless my lot ; Men show obeisance as they pass, But in my soul I cry, Alas ! And wish my greatness was forgot. " Haroun Al Raschid, Caliph grand ! So courtiers say, but not so I, For like all men, I, too, must die ; Who then will serve ? and who command ? " Across the sands a caravan Wound slowly, till it reached the place : The merchants gazed upon his face, And bent before the lonely man. " O, Caliph grand, the city waits In sorrow for your swift return ; The people for your presence yearn, And watchers throng the open gates. "Cast off your pilgrim gown and hood — Return to those who pray for you With souls where love reigns strong and true, Haroun Al Raschid, Caliph good ! " Along the sands he took his way — "They love me, then," he softly said, "But, ah, one must be lost, or dead, Ere knowledge brings this perfect day ! " 37 A DREAM OF THE WORLD GROWN WEARY Wide through the world I hear the wailing cry Of Nature's forces, sorrowing to die ; The swift revolving months, the rolling tides, The cataract foaming down the mountain sides, The high-piled glacier and the towering tree, And the deep fountains of the lower sea, These sound in solemn notes the weary woe Of years relentless, that with sun and snow, Cold rain, and winds tempestuous, roar along, Turning their sweetest anthems to sad song. " So long ! so long ! " they say, and sadly sigh, And in the meadows green the great herds lie, Or listless crop the grass that hangs the head : And the sweet flowers are moaning to be dead. The birds sing low, as though their hearts were cold, And dull and dusty are the flame and gold Of sunset clouds. The falcon, poised on high, Sees the white dove go slowly winging by, And does not strike : and wolves with sheep lie down, Where in the forest gather soft and brown The fallen leaves : even the bright brooks seem To lie entranced within a doleful dream. Among the languid blooms, too sweet to die, The droning bee on listless wing doth fly, Passing unheeded by the honied store So wont to tempt him in the days of yore, His merry hum all sadly out of tune, Even amid the golden light of June. The ships lie idle on the sun-bright sea, Their broad sails shining, as they hang all free From strain of wind ; not even a breath is there To wake the slumbering stillness of the air ; Only a few short sighs, that sweep the waves Like ghosts of breezes wandering from their graves. Slowly the moon sails by the fading stars, Whose thin light falls in broken silver bars, Between gray clouds, that like cold shrouds float o'er Her white and narrow face, a ghastly store Of robes to wreathe a beauty weary grown, And feeling all its youthful freshness flown. Then night's dim shadows die by slow degrees, And rising up from the cold shores of seas, Whose waves run up the sand without a sound, The storm clouds come, and darken all the ground ; Amid their gloom the lightning faintly glows, The thunder groans in low, despairing throes, And like tears wept for some slow sinking pain, In sad and solemn cadence falls the rain. All day confronting on a level plain, Where rotten falls the ripe, neglected grain, Two armies stand beside their silent guns, And watch the river, where it winding runs 39 Among the meadows ; stand, but do not fight — Their chieftains have in conquest lost delight. No more mad hate wells upward from its springs, And envy now has lost its bitter stings ; No eyes are bright, nor are there lips found sweet ; There are no trysts where lovers haste to meet ; The suitor turns him from the half-won kiss, There is no gladness left him even in this; Cold are the pleasures that were once so dear, And words like home and wife have lost their cheer. There is no prize can quicken the slow breath, Save the chill smile of swift approaching death. 40 EARTH, SPACE, AND TIME The cold, dense darkness of oblivion clings To distant ages, when bewildering heights Shone radiant in creation's primal lights, When earth saw -rising from her hidden springs, Chaotic germs, the shimmer of bright wings, The gloom of mastodons, the myriad mites That grew through centuries to nobler flights, The formless shadows of sublimest things. The countless worlds that roam celestial space, Are lonely as they swing their paths along. Who thinks of this with slow, deliberate breath ? The years that lie so heavy on earth's face, Are as a second to the years that throng The limitless life beyond the sleep of death. 4i PASSION LIFE Say, Sweet, that stars were fallen from their places, That one vast silence filled creation's pale, And sombre gloom lay heavy on our faces, Would love our spirits fail ? Would we sit desolate, and cold, and lonely, And not out-reach to grasp each others' hands ? But clinging to ourselves and sorrow only, Moan in the stricken lands, And losing all the subtle warmth that blesses When lips are harvesting Love's ripened grain, Sink shuddering in the chill, the grim caresses Of restless, burning pain ? And were we, Sweet, in rounded grave mounds lying, With roots of willows winding through our forms, Hid from the sad wind's wild and weary sighing, The rush of biting storms, Would no words pass between us in those regions, Through narrow ways, by nature's forces made ? Would not our passion-throbs, in countless legions, Sound through the heavy shade, 42 Till, palpitant with heat, the sods that cumber Our listless limbs would break from them away, And our two souls, free from the pulseless slumber, Meet in the joyous day ? Say, Sweet, that we were separate by distance, You, born into an everlasting light, I, compassed by strong bonds, whose fierce resistance Held me in hideous night, Would you forget to sound the shining reaches Lying between us, with a song, whose tone Would echo clear along the barren beaches, The forests, tempest blown, Till I should hear it through the darkness sweeping, And strong with gladness break my galling chains, And up the trackless air go swiftly leaping Toward your sunlit plains ? Ah, Sweet, there are no sea-caves dim and hollow, No purple altitudes of star-bright space, Where, if you went, I would not quickly follow, To find your woman's grace. And were I swept through swift and bitter stages, Across wide masses of waste land and sea, Still would your love, through multitudes of ages Roam tireless, seeking me. 43 LLIANAS Swung down in brilliant cluster or quaint festoon, Your crimson bells drape pendulous drooping trees, Where-through cool winds, from far, wide tropic seas, Sing slow and low some wild, weird tempest rune, While deep in your sweet wells, with lazy croon, Delighted linger great, gold-dusted bees, Who drain your honied nectar to the lees, And feast till warned home by the rising moon. On old, gray ruins, glooming lazy streams, Your color burns as bright as in lost years, When in your shadow, love fond vows would speak : Your blooms have seen the sunlight's torrid beams Shine on keen swords, and glitter in hot tears, When warriors gathered round some dead cacique. 44 OBLIVION Above bright orient seas, sun-kissed, arise The legend haunted isles, in whose dim groves The ghouls and genii sang their burning loves ; Whose forest paths are rich with fragrant sighs Of winds that lingering pass, where sleeping lies The glittering cobra, or where softly moves The lithe, sleek tiger, whose fierce blood-thirst proves The minister of death and swift surprise. There, sad and sleep-oppressed, the weary slave Sinks into dreams, where fallen orange blooms Lie like white stars amid the odorous shade, And mighty ruins mark an empire's grave. What nations slumber in those verdurous glooms ? How soon shall we to such oblivion fade ? 45 OCTOBER Bending beneath his load, October comes, With dreamy depths of gray blue sky, And smoke wreathes floating over quiet homes That in the valleys lie. Among the few lone flowers, the honey bees Roam restlessly, and fail to find The summer morning dew's rich perfumed lees, June's roses held enshrined. The purple grapes hang ready for the kiss Of red lips, sweeter than their wine ; And through the turning leaves they soon will miss The crimson apple's shine. Lazily through the soft and sunlit air The great hawks fly, and give no heed To the lithe songsters, that toward the fair, Far lands of summer speed. Along the hills, wild asters bend to greet The roadside's wealth of golden rod, And by the fences, the bright sumachs meet The morning light of God. 46 Slowly the shadows of the clouds drift o'er The hillsides, clad in opal haze, Where butterflies now seek the fragrant store Of flower-sprent summer days. All clad in dusted gold the tall elms stand Just in the edges of the wood, And near the chestnut sentinels the land, And shows its russet hood. The maple flaunts its scarlet banners, where The marsh lies clad in shining mist ; The mountain oak shows in the clear, bright air, Its crown of amethyst. Where, like a silver line, the sparkling stream Winds, murmuring, through the meadows brown, Amid the golden glory, like a dream A sail-less boat floats down. All day and night rare beauty seems to fold The wide land, where October stands With leaves of green and scarlet, brown and gold, Fa*t falling from his hands. His is the presence that with gladness crowns The long, long days of toil and care, His bright smile shining where November frowns, With snow-rime in his hair. 47 JUBILATE I read a song whose strain was high, A dirge, so full of sob and cry It made my soul sway with its sound ; And yet, whene'er I cast my eye Out where the hills, with sunlight crowned, Rose up against the purple sky, I thought, why moan, and sing so sad, When all the world was bright and glad : And lo, the song gave no reply. The swift years come, the swift years go ; The winter brings its drifting snow ; The spring its wealth of fragrant bloom ; And summer's golden grain-fields glow ; And autumn's store makes rich perfume ; While bright and fast the rivers flow, And robins fill the wood with song, And sorrow fades, and joy grows strong ; Sure bliss has wider realm than woe. Ah, mother earth, so good, so great, Why should we quarrel with our fate ? You hold us safely in your hand ; We can do nothing else but wait, And see your beauty clothe the land ; 48 And when you open wide the gate, Beyond which lie the mystic days, And upward tending, sunlit ways, Then will we grasp the future state. Swift as the meteor's lurid flight, That through the distances of night Flashes a moment, and is gone, So sorrow comes and blasts delight, But like the meteor goes on And quick has passed beyond our sight : And shining like a steadfast star, Joy sends her gladsome light afar, To make sad eyes grow strangely bright. Like ghosts of dreams the dead years sweep On through that vast, unfathomed deep, Where bright stars sing their anthems grand, Why should we for their sorrows weep ? Each one is but a grain of sand In centuries that safely keep All that the world has lost or won : In some far land beyond the sun, Ripen the harvests love will reap. From skies with brilliant stars bestrown, I hear the songs of joy, wind blown Down through the boundless realms of space ; And vague, like some dim undertone, Sounds the low voice of that sad race, Storm-tossed about a barren zone, Who shun the radiant opal sea, And grope where the cold shadows be, Cast out from ages that have flown. 7 49 Where brooding darkness, cold and vast, Holds sorrow, sweeping in wild blast Round gloomy planets, vexed with loss Of light and love, and over-cast By dense, black clouds that fret and toss, As distant stars sail grandly past, The dead years roll; there burning tears, And hunger fierce, and looming fears, Like giants gather grim and fast. Earth, rich in regal years, and strong With manhood, soars where great spheres throng Heaven's spacious ways ; and while it hears Murmurs of battles fought with wrong, Echoes with hope's triumphant cheers, And swiftly swings its way along : And far, where vast worlds hang remote, In billowing waves doth outward float The joyous gladness of its song. 5° A THUNDER STORM Heavy and black, along the western hills The low clouds hang ; their ragged upper edge Touching the sun, that sends a golden wedge Down through the dark; a thunder echo fills The heated air ; the birds sing in soft trills ; A wind wave shakes the river's reedy sedge, And stirs the bushes on the beetling ledge ; Then moaning storm-sobs every movement stills. The clouds roll o'er the sun : the sturdy trees Bend to the fury of the surging blast ; A fierce, red flash shines on the sombre plain ; Then down the slopes, like high, foam-crested seas, That on some rocky coast beat hard and fast, Comes the wild tumult of the rushing rain. Si OFF LABRADOR The storm-wind moans through branches bare, The snow flies wildly through the air, The mad waves roar as fierce and high They toss their crests against the sky. Dark and desolate lies the sand, Along the wastes of a barren land, And rushing on with sheets flung free, A ship sails down from the northern sea. With lips pressed hard the helmsman stands, Grasping the spokes with freezing hands, While white the reef lies in his path, Swept by an ocean full of wrath. The surf-roar in the blast is lost, — The foam-flakes by the wild wind tost High up in air, no warning show, Hid by the driving mass of snow. With sudden bound and sullen grate, The brave ship rushes to her fate ; And splintered deck and broken mast, Make homage to the roaring blast. 52 Amid the waves float riven plank, And rope and sail with moisture dank, And faces gleaming stern and white, Shine dimly in the storm-filled night. By some bright river far away, Fond hearts are wondering where they stay, Who sleep along the wave-washed shore And stormy reefs of Labrador. S3 IN THE GOLDEN AGE The sad winds, the cold winds are sighing, Where weary and panting for breath, The old years, the dim years are lying, With silence, and darkness, and death. " With wild war, and red war, and weeping, With carnage and trumpets we came, And swift steeds and dread steeds went leaping Mid slaughter, and famine, and flame." So sing they, so moan they, as roaring Through tempest, and thunder, and night, The great waves, the storm waves come pouring, Earth's barriers of granite to smite. Who hears them ? who fears them ? They perished, Their glory and greatness has fled ; The mad hate, the hot hate they cherished On poisons and sorrows was fed. The keen swords, the sharp swords hang idle, The ramparts are grassy and still, And rich loves, and pure loves now bridle Man's stubborn, fierce longing to kill. 54 By hard toil, and strong toil, and striving, Through dangers, and vengeance, and gloom, The bright lands, the wide lands are thriving, And growing in gladness and bloom. With sweet clang, and loud clang, the chiming Of knowledge, and peoples sweep by ; And vast thoughts, and high thoughts are climbim The shining blue splendors of sky. O weak hearts, O faint hearts, your shrinking, Your mourning and slander must cease, For long days, and clear days are drinking Bright vintage of wisdom and peace. The grand earth, the fair earth is pregnant With promise, and purpose, and might; And brave souls, and true souls are regnant, By daring, and battle, and right. 55 SONNETS Antiques VENUS This is the face that shone when Greece was free, And haloed by gray cloud or foaming wave, Thrilled coward hearts, and made them strong and brave ; For love that ruled supreme, love whose degree Was greater than the greatest kings could be, Glowed in the eyes whose brightness was the grave Of wise resolves, that should poor mortals save From this imperial goddess of the sea. The cool, sweet freshness of the sunlit deep, Lay warm and tender on her cheek's soft flush, And made delicious her rich, fragrant breath : Ah, how can such enchanting beauty sleep, Where sombre shadows fill the eternal hush, That lies so heavy on the land of death. PROSERPINE Ah, Proserpine, the gods were good to you, Though Pluto held you in his drear domains, For it was love who bound you in soft chains, Making the Styx glow with translucent hue, — 56 And Hades' cavern roofed with deepening blue, — And Death's sad king, grand by the bitter pains, That smote the dwellers on his arid plains, — And Cerberus a faithful slave and true. The violets that gemmed Sicilian vales, The nightingales there murmuring to the rose, The crimson wine that once your lips had known, And Pan's sweet pipings sounding down the gales, Faded along the mist where Lethe flows, When your fair beauty glorified hell's throne. in SAPPHO Calm with the burden of a great despair, Amid the starry glory of the night, Her clear eyes full of death's mysterious light, The moonbeams wandering through her yellow hair, Her royal beauty shining cold and fair, While far away dim sails show soft and white, And fragrant winds moan 'round the beetling height, She hears the sea's low sobbing fill the air. Ah, sorrow fierce, and throbs of biting pain, Oft have the bright eyes, now so sad and dry, Swayed by love's bitter gladness filled with tears, But never more will passion's color stain The bloodless cheeks, or kisses wake reply From lips grown cold with waiting through long years. IV CLEOPATRA Beneath a glorious light, that fondly lies On ruined temples, and wide sweeping sand, The Nile, gold fretted, lingers through the land. Once, long ago, your eager, hungry eyes, 8 57 With youth's glad wonder, sought the purple skies, Across the fields where graceful palm-trees stand, And saw the pyramids, superbly grand, Silent and massive from the desert rise. Then mighty fleets, alight with gleaming steel, And veteran legions rich in wealth of scars, Were freely offered for your rapturous kiss : Your luring smiles made earth's vast empires reel, And when your eyes shone out like cloud-set stars, Heaven had no light could make men turn from this. ZENOBIA The tawny sands girt high thy ruined fanes, Bronzed with the hot sun's burning torrid gold, And lonely are the courts, once wont to hold The wise and brave, held in thy beauty's chains : Where orchards bloomed, the sterile, thirsty plains, For countless leagues in weary sameness rolled, Sweep wide and desolate. The desert's fold Now hides the glory of thy fair domains. Yet thou in memory hast a holy place, And kindly have the hard years dealt with thee, While making havoc in thine earthly home : In cherished dreams we see thy noble face, Fair as the Grecian goddess of the sea, And grand with fire that dared the power of Rome. VI ON AN ANCIENT ROMAN COIN How long the years since you were fair and bright ? In what dim vault have you been hid away, — Coming with air antique to our clear day From out vast centuries of silent night? 58 Ah! how your glow gladdened a weary sight In times remote, when earth beheld the sway Of some great Caesar, scarred in many a fray, And marshaled countless legions to the fight. Perhaps a soldier, marching out from Rome, Gave you a token to his chosen fair, And ne'er came back to claim you his again ; Or you were left to guard some lonely home From fierce attack of hunger, want, and care, By a tanned sailor bound across the main. 59 ACCURST Devoid of love, bereft of hope, Companioned by a vague despair, He roams where blinded spirits grope O'er deserts hot and bare. The narrow path is rough and hard, And desolate the dreary land ; Hills glittering with flinty shard, — Plains swept by burning sand ; Low clouds, through which swift lightnings play, Freighted with never-falling rain, Shroud cities crumbling in decay, Whose gates he cannot gain. His slow steps pass like throbs of fate Where grinning skulls in thousands lie, Mute records of remorseless hate, Staring toward the sky. Through darksome valleys, to the shore Bestrewn with long-forgotten wrecks, Damp, slimy weeds the only store Between their rotten decks. 60 Down silent hollows of the sea He floats, a horror-haunted thing, Tide-swept past many a wide degree Where long, dank grasses cling. He feels the earthquake's mighty throe, Sweep shuddering through the sombre waves, And drifts where languid currents flow In deep, far-reaching caves. Dim caves, where shapes gigantic loom In darkened depths of lucent green, And cast a weird and ghostly gloom The sunken ships between. . Then slowly he revolves again, Where, with wind-tossed, disheveled locks, Wild faces, white from ceaseless pain, Fade down the sloping rocks. Flung far along a trackless space, Where lurid stars with flames alight, Swing thundering in an endless race, Through realms of doleful night ; Grand visions, lit by faces rare, Gleam for a moment on his sight, And then red fires in fierceness glare On some demoniac fight. There luring phantoms, saintly fair, With passionate, love-throbbing zones, Show, as he clasps their amber hair, A mass of rattling bones. 61 So through long days, and years that grow Bitter from loss of hope and trust, And heavy with their load of woe, He seeks for death and dust. But time's decay is not for him — The ages that resistless roll, Have no nepenthe that can dim The anguish of a soul. The countless centuries that hold Dead worlds to their oblivion tost, Like short years, keen, and drear, and cold, Speed py and leave him lost. 62 RECORDING A summer gloaming lit by one pale star, — When crickets' songs the night's weird echoes woke, And katy-dids sent their sharp notes afar From out the coolness of a spreading oak, Now fills my soul with memories most sweet : The light-house gleamed, a flame crowned sentinel, And where the lines of earth and ocean jneet, The long, low rollers softly rose and fell. Then, from the mist that hung above the sea, Like a gold cresset full of amber light The broad moon came. Above a bending tree A floating cirrus showed its snowy white, And coming with the moon and growing strong, The cool night wind ran o'er the heated ground, Making the low waves murmur into song, Through broadening circles of melodious sound. Who counts his life in fleeting hours and days, Makes sad mistakes ; but by sweet scenes like this We should keep record of its devious ways, And use for stops a hand clasp, or a kiss. Ah, what are all the years to that short hour, When only one pale star in heaven outshone, And sent its thin light wavering o'er the flower,- Dew-gemmed and sweet, that sealed you mine alone ! 63 IN MOUNTAIN SOLITUDES Vast crags of granite, piled in rugged mass Above a foaming cataract, whose roar Thunders along the solitary pass ; Dark, towering pines, that cast their shadows o'er Abysses that seem fathomless, where sleep Impenetrable glooms, thick, heavy, cold, That in their centuries of silence keep, Shadows that when man came were bent and old. A darksome cave, wind haunted, and below A deep lake lying like a mirror, where Show with their crowns of never-melting snow, The mountains that above it pierce the air ; And far beyond these, poised on tireless wing A solitary eagle, whose keen eye Watches a panther, all prepared to spring Upon a dun deer that is grazing nigh. Up from the hills, like mad waves wildly driven Upon a shaggy, wreck-strewn reef, the clouds Roll fast and furious o'er the western heaven, Robing the distance in wide, flowing shrouds ; And low the muttered thunder gruffly speaks, While swift along the surface of the plain The wind gust flies, and from the darkness breaks The lurid lightnings, linked in living chain. 64 On moves the clouds. The panther makes his spring, The affrighted deer sinks quivering in his hold, And as he grimly to its throat doth cling, The crags light up with a fierce flash of gold, And stricken by a thunder-bolt he lies. The rain comes rushing through the valleys low, The eagle screams, and slowly circling, flies Still higher up into the sun's bright glow. The storm sweeps past ; the high peaks grow alight In the clear glory of a noonday sun; The roaring cataract, with added might Between its boundaries of rock doth run ; Into the darksome cave the water sends A radiance, making it grow wan and gray, And where the sunlight with the shadow blends, Lies the dead panther and his bleeding prey. 65 WIND I come from the boundless realms of air That men call the sky, And was born, where planets great and fair Roll in thunder by. The low, sad wail of a million prayers, The murmur of tears, I have carried far through golden airs, And a host of years. I have kissed the breath from countless flowers, And the fragrance borne Where weary souls, through the silent hours Watched for slow-paced morn. I have seen great ships in storm-vexed sea Swiftly sink from sight, And their crew's last death-cry swept with me Through the shades of night. Where the sunlight glides the mountain, crowned With unmelting snow, Where shadows of ages lie, safe bound, In the vales below ; 66 Through tropic glory and northern gloom, In the night and day, Over bridal blossoms, and grassy tomb, There my footsteps stray. Where the reaper plies his fruitful task, Amid bending wheat, And where strong-limbed, sleepy tigers bask In the noonday heat ; Where war's battle carnage strews the ground With the spoils of death, And where sweet, low words of love abound, You will feel my breath. Men pray for me, where the desert's sweep Like a brown sea lies, And fear my songs, when I roam the deep, Under wild storm-skies. From the days when chaos ruled the world, I have roamed through space ; I will be, when spheres are rent and hurled From their star-bright space. 67 A SPRING MORNING The virginal lights of day flash up The lustrous blue of the eastern sky ; The dewdrops gleam in the violet's cup, And the robin's song drifts by. The cold, deep sea, on the shining sands, In murmurous cadence comes and goes, And visions of flower-sweet, tropic lands Are born from its tidal flows. As opal and gold its waters tinge, And tall sails loom from the shadows grim, The first sun-gleam parts the eastern fringe Of waves, where the gray gulls swim. And fragrant and rich the apple blooms Swing down from the knarled and mossy boughs, And amid the clover's purple glooms Brown bees hold a high carouse. On sloping hillsides, in meadows low, The new grass bends to the southern breeze, And anemones raise their stars of snow From the foot of bosky trees. And far away, like a radiant dream, The winding river its glimmer shows ; And nearer at hand the pastures gleam With the white of daisy-blows. And fair with blossoms, and glad with song, The morning comes through the misty haze, And swiftly the mountain crests along Its amethyst glory plays. 69 KISMET I walk alone with sad, neglected ghosts, Vague shapes of promise that were once to be The golden-freighted ships that sailed the sea, Bearing my treasure from far distant coasts. I hear the merry laugh, the jubilant toasts That in my halls rose musical and free. Ah ! but those days were happy days for me, And I had loving friends in countless hosts. They say the ships were wrecked on some cold shore: Where are the friends who held my love so dear? For neither friends or ships are now my own. How false the vows that red lips softly swore : How false the hopes that filled my soul with cheer For through life's sombre paths I walk alone. 70 IN NOVEMBER The flowers are dead, the regal, fragrant flowers ; And fled the blithesome robins whose sweet song From early morn made glad the fleeting hours, When sunlit days were long. The sable crow wings slowly o'er the hill, His harsh call sounding through the frosty air ; The meadow sweeps are brown-clad now, and chill ; The trees are gaunt and bare. The barn-fowls cluster where the low-hung sun Makes the earth warm beneath the slanting eaves ; The roadway paths are russet-robed and dun, — Thick-strewn with fallen leaves. The sky is gray, the sunlight falls across The distant mountains, thin, and white, and cold, Not radiant beams, that forest ways emboss With shifting flecks of gold. Amid the orchards harsh winds come and go, And wild and high the songs they roughly sing; And smitten with the chill of coming snow, The trees stand shivering. 7* Sharp ring the axe-blows on the mountain side, And thundering falls the tall and sturdy oak ; Soon will its form flame on the hearthstone wide, And fade away in smoke. No more the buckwheat blooms bend in the breeze, No more the clover blossoms lowly sway, No more we hear the honey-ladened bees, Boom on their homeward way. No lowing kine in upland pastures stand, When evening's gold shows the faint gleam of stars, Patiently waiting for some friendly hand To open wide the bars. The storm wind flings its banners up the sky, And rushing from the Northland's realm of snow, Its tempest-notes where great woods tower high, To louder murmurs grow. Where late we met October's sunny smiles, By yonder flowing river's silver gleam, Along the hill and through the forest aisles, November's garments stream. 72 A PASSION PICTURE Your little mouth glows like a rose most rare, And ringing melody the words it saith. Your eyes outshine those Queen Elizabeth Hated because they were than hers more fair. The purple darkness of your lustrous hair, Its subtle fragrance, rich as lily's breath, Whose royal sweetness swoons the bee to death, Clings round your brow, and makes an aureole there. In perfumed damask flushes your round cheek, Where dimples flutte* like kiss-luring charms ; And dainty lips reward the spirit's fire : This is the one great empire that I seek, The fond enthrallment of your clasping arms, And love that thrills me with its great desire. 73 A GHOST One, walking through drear wastes of sand, Saw by the lonely way, A ghost that loomed above the land, Mocking the sunlit day. An antique column, quaintly wrought, With symbols weird and strange, By men long faded from our thought Through time's relentless change. The songs of love, and joyous cheers Of some forgotten age, Had echoed round it for long years, A sad, sweet heritage ; And winds of sunny shores had told, By which the bright seas roll, Till its cold silence seemed to hold The yearning of a soul. With fierce, imperious, voiceless scorn, It bitter question made, Of some bright, blossom, fragrant morn, And dreamy orchard shade, 74 When priests in solemn pageant crept, Through temples cool and dim, And down the marble distance swept The cadence of a hymn. Then from the banks of rippling streams, Spread far the fruitful plain, And the warm sun's resplendent beams Lay on the bending grain. And now where once a city fair In stately grace had grown, It rises in the desert bare, A shaft of sculptured stone. 75 ANNIHILATION The great red sun glows like a thing accurst; Along the east the sailless ocean lies. Wide sweeping, with low waves that sink and rise In utter weariness. The bare hills thirst, For the fierce floods that once were wont to burst, With lightning's flash, in answer to their cries, Their thunder tones far echoing in the skies. The plains that shone in morning's light immersed, Rich with the glory ripened harvests gave, And silver fretted by a thousand streams, Now brown and lifeless merge in lurid space : Some withered reeds in ghostly breezes wave, And skeletons of leaves float like lost dreams, Above the dead world's sad and silent face. 76 TRIUMPH Within an ancient city of the east, A crowded place, girt with a massive wall, And loud with traffic and the sound of toil, A woman reigned : so fair she was, so wise, That all the nations echoed with her praise, And kings whose wide lands held both night and day Bent low as suitors by her crimson throne. Years came and went, and still she reigned alone, For she was hard and cruel in her love, Asking for more than any cared to give ; But all the while her people grew in wealth, And power and wisdom, for her subtle care Built in their hearts the bulwark of her strength, And what she said, to them was highest law. At last there came a time, when from the crowd A slave, whose birthplace was some northern land, Stood forth and said : — " Fair Queen, your love I ask, For lo, I love you with a passion, strong As death and pain." " As death and pain ? " she cried, " Beware ! your words but set the doom that comes To hide you from the sun, its life and light. Seize him ! " 77 The guards who ready stood, made haste To do her wish, but with a scornful laugh He shook them off. " You see, oh Queen ! " he said, " How easy were escape, but do your will, Your word is law to me in life and death : " And then he passed from sight, and no one knew Where he was held, or what had been his fate. There came a messenger one summer day, Making his low obeisance, and he said, " Oh, Queen ! my master, ruler of the lands Wave-girt and fair, that lie toward the east, Comes in his ships to crave a boon of you. His are the realms of fragrance and of gems, Swart Java and Sumatra, Borneo, And all the lesser groups where pearls lie hid, And spice and fruit perpetual harvest make, And there is not an hour devoid of bloom. His arms are mighty, and his fleet have sailed Down to that lowest level of the sea Where winds are never still, and biting cold Holds an unceasing reign ; but what his suit, Fair Queen, I leave for him alone to tell, And simply ask an audience for my King." The boon was granted, and with noise of drums, With blare of trumpets, and that pompous state Which girds an Orient ruler like a wall, His sovereign came, and after many days Made loud with pageants and the din of crowds, Besought her grace. 78 His great ships thronged her port, His retinue an army was, all brave With gold-wrought trappings, and with flags, which bore A blazon of the battles he had won ; Yet still the same her question — " Would his love Hold her as ample guerdon for the lands That owned him king ? Would he give up for her The power and glory of his tropic realm ? " And when he answered no, she bade them bring The stalwart slave whose love had braved her wrath. Up from a dungeon, dark as are the nights Wherein there is no wind to rend the cloud That lies low down along a wasted land, A land whose trees grow from a waveless flood, They brought the man : and rising from her throne She stood before him, fair as morn, and sweet With all the perfect bloom of womanhood, A golden serpent on her slender wrist Held in its mouth a ruby red as blood, A loose white robe fell downward to her feet, Clasped at the waist by one resplendent gem, And through it shone the glory of a form Faultless as are the statues of old time, And strong with all the beauteous strength of youth, And save these gems, no regal things she wore. She told the guards to leave the slave alone, Then bade him, as he valued life, recant The words of love that he had dared to speak, And folding close his arms, his noble form 79 Drawn to its utmost height, he hotly cried — " Recant my love, and see your face, and feel The subtle fragrance of your breathing thrill The coldest fibre of my tortured form ? See your clear eyes, your mouth, that lures my soul To dare a million deaths, if these could bring The kiss I crave ? Recant ? Oh, Queen ! I swear There is no pain that man has yet made his, Can make me say the words." Erect and firm, Like some grand statue in a gaping crowd. He stood and faced her. On his lips, the blood His teeth had drawn when stifling back a groan, Lay dried and blackened by the heat of pain ; And on his brow the veins stood in great knots, And his wrenched body showed the rack's fierce clutch, In mottled stains that flushed and quivered still. There came a mist before her eyes, and then Turning unto her stately guest she said — " What is your love, oh, king ! to love like this ? You will not give the paltry crown you wear, The empty symbol of a hollow state Which fate may rend from you within an hour, For all the hoarded sweetness I have kept, Waiting for him who at the last should come, And hold my love of earthly things supreme. This slave, whose mean estate you so despise, Has dared to love me, though grim death stood by, Laughed in his face, and clutched him by the hair ; 80 And were fierce danger with its hungry sword To rise against me, there would come between The rampart of his body, and his grave." Swift to his side she went and took his hand, And led him to her throne, a slave no more, For while her warm touch thrilled his blood like wine, And made his manhood more than royal seem She cried unto her people — " See, your King ! " 81 QUATRAINS i LOVE An old Egyptian monarch, when his arms Had girt the world, or what he knew thereof, Wrote on his tomb, " All bow to woman's charms, The greatest conquerer of the earth is Love." ii EARTH In storm, and thunder, and lurid light, Earth grew to beauty and perfect strength ; It will die in the wind and gloom of night, When the years have run their length. in RESULTS In life's fair morn I said on yonder height, My name will shine where rocks tower high and grand, And eastward looms the shadow of the night, And all that I have done is writ in sand. 82 QUESTION Blossoms were on the apple trees, The bees were humming in the air ; Nature concerted harmonies To rob the world of care. Down by the meadow stream, we two Saw the white clouds their shadows cast Along the distant mountains, blue And dreamlike as the past. We two ! Ah, that was years ago ; We thought the two would pass away, And that but one the days would know ; We thought the gods would play Wild songs of melody divine, To make the future bright and fair, And that the sun of joy would shine All times and everywhere. Just so a million souls have thought ! There came a day when tears were shed, And one the world's sad struggle sought, And one pined to the dead. He longed for fame that kept in sight, Yet ever shone beyond his grasp ; And she lost all life's hope and light, Striving his hand to clasp. 83 Well, it was years ago, I said : The stream is there, the blossoms flush The trees with glory, — she is dead. The bees, they do not hush Their humming as they seek the sweet. I wonder, though, if we two may Within the future love and meet, And find a perfect day ? 84 CLEOPATRA DYING Sinks the sun below the desert, Golden glows the sluggish Nile, Purple flame crowns Sphynx and Temple, Lights up every ancient pile Where the old gods now are sleeping; Isis and Osiris great, Guard me, help me, give me courage Like a Queen to meet my fate ! "I am dying, Egypt, dying!" Let the Caesar's army come, I will cheat him of his glory, Though beyond the Styx I roam. Shall he drag this beauty captive Where the crowd his triumph sings? No! no, never! I will show him What lies in the blood of kings. Though he hold the golden sceptre, Rule the Pharaoh's sunny land, Where old Nilus rolls resistless Through the sweeps of silvery sand, He shall never say I met him, Fawning, abject, like a slave; I will foil him, though to do it I must cross the Stygian wave. 85 Oh, my hero ! sleeping ! sleeping ! Shall I meet you on the shore Of Plutonian shadows ? Shall we, Death passed, meet and love once more ? See, I follow in your footsteps, Scorn the Caesar and his might, — For your love I will leap boldly Into realms of death and night. Down below the desert sinking Fades Apollo's brilliant car, And from out the distant azure Breaks the bright gleam of a star, Venus, Queen of Love and Beauty, Welcomes me to Death's embrace, — Dying, free, proud and triumphant, The last sovereign of my race. Dying ! Dying ! I am coming, Oh, my Hero, to your arms ! You will welcome me, I know it, — Guard me from all rude alarms ! Hark ! I hear the Legions coming — Hear their shouts, exultant swell, But, proud Caesar, dead, I scorn you ! Egypt — Antony — Farewell ! 86 LOVE DEATHLESS Who claims that death is one cold, endless sleep, Has never felt love's gladness in his soul, — Has never made a woman's heart his goal, Nor from red lips a harvest tried to reap. Why should we love if graves are made to keep Body and spirit in their calm control, While waves of pulseless slumber o'er us roll, And centuries unheeded by us sweep ! Who solves the mystery held by one sweet kiss, — Who reads the song that shines in brilliant eyes, — Who gathers wisdom from warm, fragrant breath, — He makes eternal love and beauty his, — He garners all the glory of clear skies, — He lives secure above the call of death. 87 SIGNS Not with the sound of trumpets, Not with the roll of drums, Out from the cold and silence The great Redeemer comes ; But sweeping the dust and ashes, The pain and sorrow away, He walks through the starlit gloaming, And heralds the coming day. Not with the storm of passion, Not with the wind of wrath, You mark, along the moorland, The winding of his path ; But here by the fragrant blossoms, And there by the whispering grass, You know the sign of His presence, Though you do not see him pass. What though the days are weary ? What though the hours are long ? Still comes the gold of harvest, Still comes the joy of song ; Yea, and the burden of blessings That fall from His open hand, Lie soft like a benediction All over the sleeping land. Out from the toil and watching, Out from the barren years, Flashes the sun of promise, Aye, though we see through tears ; And flushing the hilltops yonder, And piercing the gloom of night, It fills the soul with its glory, And gladdens the world with light. You who are bound by sorrow, You who are held by chains, Listen, the call is ringing Over the wide, waste plains, And He for your love is seeking, Ah, not with the wind of scorn, But fair with the great fruition, And the sun-burst of the morn. Life has no time for weeping, Earth has no place for dross, Ever the new life surges Over the graves of loss ; And out from His watchful keeping The radiant days sweep on, Till we to His heart are gathered, And pain and watching are gone. Not in the rush of battle, Not in the winds that smite, Not in the roar of tempests Wakens his trenchant might, But soft in the still night watches You hear the sound of His voice, " Lo, I am with you forever, And the world is glad. Rejoice ! " 12 IN RUINS The ivy clings to the slow crumbling stone, And blooms make glad the half-filled, tideless moat, Whose waves once saw broad, stately banners float From battlements the swallows claim their own, The terrace steps, with gray moss overgrown, Where now the toads like lazy topers gloat, While warm light mellows each gray mottled coat, The touch of dainty feet have often known. Brown bats are clinging to the quaint device, Telling of some great deed, forgotten long, And low winds through the casements lingering pass From broken wainscotes peer the timid mice, And on the porch a wren makes garrulous song, And sparrows chatter in the bending grass. 90 A TRIUMPH SONG O, summer sweet ! O, summer fair ! Now forest ways are dusk and cool, And radiant through the sunlit air, The dragon-flies dart o'er the pool. The heavy heads of bearded wheat, Wave slowly, rich with harvest gold, And in the orchard's dim retreat, The birds a merry council hold. The crimson poppy bows its head Where late the rose and pink were seen, And gladioles, and fuchsias red, Burn in the garden's robe of green. Where hollyhocks nod in the breeze, And clover blossoms lowly bloom, The golden-dusted bumble bees Revel in honey and perfume. The purple swallows circling fly, Where ruined stands the ancient barn ; The blackbird sends its whistling cry, Across the placid mountain tarn. 9 1 I hear the chatter of the wren Along the vine-clad, tumbling wall ; And safe hid in the distant fen, The heron wakes his dreamy call. Free from the mist of early morn, The brooks, through shaded valleys run ; The low winds toss the growing corn, The wheat fields shimmer in the sun. Where, by the v river, willows stand, With branches falling long and lithe, In level sweeps of meadow land, The stalwart mowers swing the scythe. The patient oxen lingering pass Along the maple-shaded road, Or standing, crop the scented grass, While men pile high the scented load. Each year I seek the sturdy oak That crowns the wind-swept, lonely hill, And see the city's looming smoke. The river flowing deep and still ; And lying there, the long years fade, And toil and care are all forgot; The world lies wide beyond the shade,' — Love makes a world of that small spot. There, when along the mellow skies, Rippled the waves of noontide heat, Love's answer came from gray-blue eyes, O, summer fair ! O, summer sweet ! 92 LIGHT AND DARK In far, bright spaces of sun-lighted air, My soul went wandering one summer day, And saw, in clouds remote, fierce lightnings play About huge worlds, whose mountains, high and bare, Shone lurid in the never ceasing glare ; These swung along a wild tempestuous way, Where storm and darkness held eternal sway, And high winds roared their loud, unceasing blare. Then turning from this vast and troubled scene, In purple distances I saw those spheres Where life is rich with love, and glad with song ; Who could not choose these different worlds between ? Give me the light, even though it shine through tears, Annihilation is too cold and long. 93 THE MINSTREL'S CURSE From the German of Ludwig Uhland In dim feudal ages, a castle strong and high, Where sea and mountain saw it, rose up toward the sky; Bright fountains flowed about it, and gardens rich with bloom Made for the haunt of lovers, dusk retreats of fragrant gloom. Sullen and cold the king who ruled the castle's royal state ; His heart was hard and cruel, and swayed by wrath and hate ; And mad delight made bright his eyes, when sorrows sweeping flood Rose in fierce wail above the corse his fury drenched in blood. Two minstrels sought the castle, when the western heavens glowed With the sunset's golden glories. A noble steed one rode ; About his harp his long gray hair by soft cool winds was blown ; The fresh young face beside him in evening's splendor shone. 94 " Now let your sweetest songs be heard," the old man slowly said, " For goodness cannot perish quite until a heart be dead, And may we make its mellow tones in melting accents roll Across the frozen fountains of the tyrant's savage soul." Up the great hall with shields ablaze, the minstrels proudly came ; High on his throne the monarch sat, his eyes with rage a-flame ; Beside him, fair as sunny morn when earth is glad and green, Beamed the sweet face and winsome eyes of her he called his Queen. With light, deft touch, the old man's hands along the harp-strings glide, And rich and clear the sweet notes come, in ringing, joyous tide : And mingled with the melody, like dreams that souls rejoice, Among the gray-beard's deeper tones, rang out the fair youth's voice. The grim knights gathered closely 'round; too oft their feet have trod The paths whose foray-carnage marks the way that leads from God ; And in bright tears the kindness of the fair Queen softly flows, And from her breast she flings the youth a velvet-pet- aled rose. 95 Swift in the firelight flashes the king's sword, bright and keen ; " You have bewitched my chieftains, and dared to tempt my Queen," He cries — the heavy blade cleaves through the golden shadowed air, And cold the singer's lips have grown, death's darkness dims his hair. As leaves by tempests scattered, the warriors turn away, Clasped in his comrade's arms, the youth doth still and lifeless lay. He shrouds him in his mantle, and sets him on his horse, And sad and slow, into the night, goes with the bloody corse. Soon he hath reached the portal, the hot tears burn his eyes : He stops where strong and stately the massy pillars rise, And shivers there his harp whose tone was sweetest in the land, Then sends his clear voice ringing back amid the crouching band. " Woe to you, king ! your castle's hall shall never hear again A minstrel's voice in night or day, in sorrow or in pain ; But trembling curses and sad sounds shall haunt it, till it lies, A shunned and crumbling mass beneath the pity of cold skies. 96 " Its gardens then shall have no bloom, and birds will shun the spot ; Even the fame you strive to win by men shall be forgot ; And where you ruled, a desert waste will show the san- guine stain Of one, who based his fleeting power on blood, and sin, and pain. " O'er all your land, o'er all your deeds, oblivion shall fling A gloom, and none will know that you were ever hailed a king ; Build as you may, your dwelling place will swiftly meet decay, And all that you have done, or made, fade from the earth away." Where is the castle of the king? No one can show the place, Of garden's bloom and fountain's flow the years have left no trace; A single column, fair and tall, that tells of grandeur fled, From a drear plain, in sunlit air lifts high its carven head. Here rumor says the castle stood, but none can surely say, Or what the king's name was, or when he held a kingly sway : For neither history nor song his glories now rehearse, And silence seals the justness of the minstrel's bitter curse. x 3 97 TO LOVE TO LIVE AND REMEMBER Why weep in the darkness when flame and gold Lie up in the west, and the hillsides glow With the opaline light along them rolled, From the sun that is sinking low ? The surge of the storm sweeping far away, With its glitter of lightning linked and curled, Now dashes its tossing and torrent spray Beyond the cold edge of the world. And the flowers that bent down before its blast, Now open their eyes to the brilliant sun ; And from tears by the storm-clouds on them cast, A glorious garment is spun. And the hope that darkened, when darkness lay On the earth like a mantle, comes once more, And its clear glance sees through the fading day The loom of eternity's shore. And the love that was born when morning came In crimson and amber along the sea, Now has grown a giant no death can claim, And sovereign, not slave, will be. 98 It can never forget, it can never die, Like the marks of time and the bounds of space, It is older than earth, than the sun more high And has seen God face to face. When a soul loves true, then the saints bend down From their thrones of light, and life loses tears, And immortal made by a kiss, they crown It master of all the years. 99 SONNETS Arms i ARROWS When heavy woods, hung on the beetling steep Of mountains rising sheer against the sky, Echoed the savage and sonorous cry Of some huge brute, roused from his gluttonous sleep, Then did your feathery swiftness, whirring, leap From strong bows answering to the watchful eye And through the palpitant shadows you would fly, Your sharp point searching when the heart lay deep. The Parthian plains, the red Arabian sands, The oak-clad English glades, and islands set Like sombre stars in sweeps of argent sea, The Amazonian pampas, and the lands With Arctic glaciers for a coronet, Are rich with graves, whose dead were given to thee. ii SWORDS Who fashioned first the keenness of your blade ? Was it swart Nomads by the upper Nile ? Or men who dwelt, where, rising pile on pile, The palaces of Babylon stood arrayed ? Whose hate for you the earliest harvest made ? Rude Northmen rushing through some dark defile ? Or southern armies, marking every mile With sanguine ruin and death's fearful shade ? The giants of the world, whose tombs were lost, Before the seething waters of the flood Rushed down the wide and waste Assyrian plains, High up the sunlight your pure brightness tost, Then quenched your glory in the rust of blood, And all the years are lurid with your stains. in BATTLE-AXES Cumbrous and hard, among the ancient trees, That tossed where foaming rivers swept along, Flung swift and sure, one sung a deathful song, And brought the Indian warrior to his knees. Where bluff Norse prows, above the stormy seas Met in rude shock, a fierce and mail-clad throng With cold, hard hearts, and sinews firm and strong, Made their bright keenness whistle down the breeze. Now dull and rusted on the castle wall, One hangs where droop the banners rent and old, The relics of dead years and kingly sport ; But smooth it shone when answering to the call Of valiant Harry, it crushed through the gold That crowned a ducal head at Agincourt. IV A SPEAR-HEAD Once in the bowels of the earth I lay, Circled with fire, that fused my different parts With all the subtlety of mighty arts, Till the pure metal shone amid the clay ; Then throes gigantic swept the dross away, And like the beating of a myriad hearts Busy amid the rush of teeming marts, A continent rose pulsing through the spray. Years passed, and man came, claiming for his own The world, and all that lay within its hold, And I was wrought to serve his strength and skill ; Shining a spear-head where fierce cries, wind-blown, Compassed a brow, whose gleaming crown of gold Was the dread sign of Rome's Imperial will. AN ORGAN SYMPHONY AT MIDNIGHT Low sounding, like the storm-foretelling moan That sweeps through forests vast, The organ notes swell out with solemn tone ; The torch glare, dimly cast Along the broad aisle, deepens into gloom, Where an old painting keeps Watch o'er an alter, 'mid whose sweet perfume A pictured Saviour sleeps. Slowly the music gathers strength, and rolls In bold, swift power along, Even as the tempest 'mid the shaggy boles, Rises to ringing song. And then the chanting comes — "Glory to Thee" Sounds echoing up the dome, Like the weird voices of the storm-swept sea, Sent far through driving foam. " Father, Oh, Father ! Hear us f " sounding low Then — " Thou art king of all ; " Like fierce wind-trumpets, when they whirl the snow 'Mong trees that bend and fall. "Give us Thy loving rest" like soft air blown O'er fields of golden grain ; Then — " Lord have mercy ! We are Thine alone ! " Sounds out like throbs of pain. 103 "Be with us ever, hold us in Thy care" Like the sad wail of those Who see their homes made desolate and bare By the mad hate of foes. "Give us Thy love, Oh, Lord! Thy love most high! Like streams that ripple sweet Where green grass grows, and darts the dragon fly, Shaded from summer heat. " God of our fathers, draw us near to Thee," Like leaves that slowly sway, Mingled with blossoms, where the booming bee On busy wing doth stray ; "Help us, Oh, Lord, help us! " like swords that rinj Where battle's tumult floats ; " Glory to Thee! Our Father, and our King !" In loud, victorious notes. "Oh! Father! Father!" like a suppliant's prayer, Repenting some great wrong ; "The earth is Thine; Thy love makes all life fair," In high, triumphant song. Then slowly, slowly sink the notes, and fades The torches' flaring light, But still the music echoes in the shades That shroud the steps of night. 104 GREETING TO F. S. S. Like one who meets along a desert path, Wherein his feet through weary sands have trod, Some tiny blossom, or green bit of sod, Of former verdure the last aftermath, And feels that earth some bright oasis hath, Even though in sterile lands his life may plod, Some vestige of the footprints of a God, Shining amid grain wastes of death and wrath : So, friend of mine, your stirring genius shone, A glory and a promise grand and high, Filling my spirit with divine desire ; If you thoughts mountain crests have made your own, And with brave face fronted fame's brightest sky, My soul to lesser heights may still aspire. 14 105 THE BEGGAR'S WISDOM Blear-eyed and ragged, by the palace gate The beggar, Cyrus, crouching used to wait, With sad voice asking for a beggar's alms ; And over him the tall and stately palms Sang songs of gladness, and the purple doves Along the wall cooed out their trustful loves. The Caliph, riding by, would often fling A coin of gold, or richly jeweled ring, Saying — " Go, feast, the world is wide and fair, Make merry on its wine and sunlit air " : Yet saw, when morning shone across the plain, The beggar crouching in his place again. One day, when silent were the drooping trees, And over dewless flowers, the droning bees Fluttered on lazy wing, and bearded grain, Yellow and heavy, heard no low refrain Borne by the wind from where the ocean rolled, A waveless waste of changing, sun-made gold ; Pausing within the cool and fragrant gloom That filled the wide space of his audience room, The Caliph saw a shadow vaguely thrown Along the court-yard's tesselated stone, A shadow whose loose rags and visage lean, Told of the beggar ere his form was seen. 1 06 So hot the day, so wearisome, even where The murmuring fountains cooled the listless air, There was no travel in the heated land; And empty was the beggar's outstretched hand ; Yet calm and patient by the palms he stood, Leaning upon his staff of olive wood. Wondering, the Caliph cried — " Bring Cyrus here " : And when he came, so sad, so wan, and sere, Looking as though he saw death's visage grim, Turned, with its chilling message, full on him, The Caliph bowed and said — " What cheer to-day ? I see no passers in the dusty way ; Even my courtiers, a most needy race, Have failed to praise the glory of my face ; Empty your hand — here, take this gold, and buy Wine that will cool your lips, so parched and dry ; And tell me why each day your weary form, Casts its gaunt shadow through the sun or storm, Between the palms ; yes, tell me why you stay, Patient and lonely there from day to day ? " " Oh, Caliph, have you lived so many years, The master of a people's smiles and tears, And know not that he who has naught, can reap Bright dreams, the glory of night's restful sleep, Holding such company with princely state, As I have, crouching by your palace gate ? You have the weariness, the pain, the care, And 1, though clothed in rags, your riches share ; 107 Your have the curses when your justice stings, The fool you whip his pittance to me flings ; You have the danger, and the bitter strife, Where is the man who envies me my life ? I am a beggar, but I have my wine. Say, which is best, your life, O king ! or mine ? And daily here beside your gate I stand, Glad that I beg, and that you rule the land." 108 HOPE One standing on a wild and wind-swept beach, Saw, far away, the white gleam of a sail, A moment saw, and then the furious gale Had borne it far beyond his eyes' wide reach. Shipwrecked he was, without the kindly speech Of fellowmen to mingle with his hail, Or aid, when fell despair, with fierce assail, Strove his soul's strength and manhood to impeach. The place was desolate ; dark, frowning rock Rose over valleys full of storm-scarred trees ; No shrub or grass made bright the seaward slope, Whereon great waves rolled with resistless shock ; Yet even amid such dreary haunts as these, One light made glad his heart, the smile of Hope. 109 THE SPECTRE SHIP When April skies are bright with sun, And swiftly through the meadows run The shining brooks and violet blooms Freight sunny nooks with sweet perfumes, Along a narrow sandy beach, That fronts an ever widening reach Of tossing waves, a ghostly sail Does battle with a spectral gale. Up from the horizon it bears, The sunlight through the great hull glares ; The rigging strains, the masts are bent, From clew to head the sails are rent ; And on the dark sides, wet and dank, The mad waves toss the riven plank, And hoarse command and windy roar Speed swift along the curving shore. And all the while, the sunlight gleams On budding trees, and whispering streams ; The fisher boats drift with the tide ; The gulls each other softly chide ; The wide sea rolls with changing lights Amid its depths, and sloping heights Show dimly through the opal haze, The shimmering green of April days. When westward shadows fleck the way, Far out amid the misty gray That marks the southern water-line, The streaming sails like white sprays shine ; And swift across the windless deep, The huge, black ship her course will keep, Sweep past the beach and disappear, Fled utterly for one long year. Her hull is fashioned quaint and old ; Bright is her flag with blazoned gold — Four lions rampant on a shield, Set high above an argent field, Two crossed swords and a double crown, And underneath a bastioned town, The arms of one whose restless soul Was wont to spurn at earth's control. Three centuries and more ago, So stories say, when winter's snow Had melted in the April sun, And violets to bloom had won, His ship sped fast before the wind And left the English cliffs behind, Love watched the slow years come and wane, But saw no sail rise up the main. From out the silence comes no sound, To tell us of the land she found ; No word has drifted from the deep, Wherein her oaken timbers sleep ; Only, when in the April skies, The golden springtime glory lies, This blazoned flag and ghostly sail Stream out upon a spectral gale. FAME One sitting in a cavern by the sea, Wrought for long days upon a block of stone ; He heard the rhythmic cadences, wind-blown From tropic forests, where each giant tree Was rich with music ; and these seemed to be The spell wherein that form divine was shown, Which ruled his dream, a dream his soul had known When life was young, and love from sorrow free. They set the statue in a temple, where The columned aisles were hushed, and dim, and vast, And there its glorious beauty shone like flame ; And still men call the stone supremely fair, But centuries have drifted swiftly past, And silence holds the artist and his name. MY LADY'S CHARM. Let Petrarch sing his lady's clinging hand ; And Dante tell of calm, angelic eyes, Holding the faultless color of clear skies ; Let Shakespeare chaunt, in numbers sweet and grand, Of hair that shone like sunlight in the land ; And Spenser, of a voice, whose low replies Made souls all armed to dare some great emprise, Its melody to hold in fond command. Yet even these, though mighty singers all, Are not the lords to say whose grace is best, Nor with their judgment my Love's charms eclipse; Ah, but her mouth so dainty is, and small, That I secure in this one thing can rest, No kiss can match the one given by her lips. '5 JUPITER I am like one who stands where rise The lone capes fringed with ice, and sees, Beneath the cold of sunless skies, The great sea stretch its wide degrees : Who, watching for some sign of life, With chilling blood and languid breath, Feels, like the keen thrust of a knife, The touch that heralds death. The splendors of my youth have flown — No more my temples meet the light Set, like a deathless monarch's throne, Along the crest of some vast height ; No more men seek my aid, or hold My august presence fair and great. Across my realms there long has rolled The waves of adverse fate. When Typhon and Hyperion stood, With strong limbs swelling for the fray, Where through the darkness of a wood The fierce wind-trumpets sent their bray, And I defied their lusty girth, And hurled them through unfathomed space, Gods hailed me as the lord of earth, And glory lit my face. 114 To me the Assyrian made his prayer, To me the Persian bent the knee, And by the Nile, the sunlit air Was glad with songs men sang to me: The Grecian Phalanx sought my aid, The Roman Legion owned my sway, — My fierce bolts in the darkness made Signs potent with dismay. The centuries that passed were mine ; I ruled the founts of joy and tears, And, like a giant, lay supine Along the foam of surging years. What need of watchfulness or arms ? I held the world within my hands, And laughed, when came the low alarms From Galilean lands. What need of fear for one who bore The cross of passion and of pain, Where, tossed along a barren shore, Life seethed, but could not break its chain ? Yet sands are mighty, and their mass Drives back the strong and restless waves, And when too late I woke, alas ! My realm was one of graves. And slowly, step by step, my feet Have sought the weary lands, that lie Where stormy winds in fury meet, And fiercely rend the leaden sky. Beyond these sinks that vast unknown, Where-through great meteors, swiftly hurled, Gather the frothing wreck-waifs, blown From off the sunlit world. "5 INFINITY Lo, I am he, who, looming through the mist Of years and centuries, have seen the world, Along its narrow circle swiftly hurled By laws and forces it could not resist; The mighty storms, whose gales have roared and hissed Across its face, their black clouds 'round me furled, While some great sun, with its rare light impearled The windless spaces where bright stars held tryst. And I have seen the bloom of countless springs, The ripened harvests of unnumbered years, The wreck of continents and the death of lands, The rounded graves of long-forgotten kings, A nation's triumph dimmed by bitter tears, — And held fate's lurid lightning in my hands. 116 BEES When far above the boughs, starred pink and white With dainty blooms, the sunlit skies of May, In purple altitudes, with fleecy gray Of drifting cirrus sailing out from sight, Hold for the dreamer visions of delight, The bee's boom sounds amid each fragrant spray; Then when south winds with June's sweet roses play, He seeks their dew filled wells with ready flight. And all the year the clover blossoms know His busy visits, and the mignonette And honey-suckle add unto his store ; Well wots he of the buckwheat's swaying snow, And lily bells that gleam with rain drops wet He haunts, as fairies haunt some sun-bright shore. ii7 SUN-BURST i Oh, hear you the sound of shouting far over the eastern waves, The voice of a people calling, " Come, help us, for we are slaves" ? And see you the banners flying, the sinister glow of steel, As the hordes of the tyrant gather, and the plains be- neath them reel ? Why do the valleys of Erin ring with sound of a name Once it were treason to utter ? Why are her hill-tops aflame ? Has the long slumber been broken ? Have the dead spoken at last, Sending the slogan of battle far on the wild sweeping blast? Ah, but the years are returning. Time is the righter of all. He will repay for the slaughter, his voice will answer the call That loud through the echoing ages, the ages of hatred, has told How the hand of the slayer has reddened, his heart in its anger grown cold. 118 " What have we done that is criminal ? Why are we holden in chains? Where is the blot on our 'scutcheon ? Where, on our record, the stains ? Have we not stood for our brothers when, like a fierce, crimson rain, Over and over our bodies surged the red blood of our slain ? " Who, when our graves grew in number — who, when our hearthstones were bare, Came with the burden of plenty, strong-limbed, and loyal, and fair ? Was it the nation that held us ? She who grew rich from our spoil ? Rich from our courage in battle, rich from our daring in toil ? " No. In her halls she was feasting. What though we starved at her door; We, who had beaten her foemen back from her wave- beaten shore, We had no grain from her threshing, we had no wine from her press ; Only the scorn of her silence, while the store in our hovels grew less. " Far over wide leagues of ocean came the white sails of the ships Bearing the bread that would help us, the wine that was sweet to our lips. 119 What have we then to be glad for, what have we then to repay To her who listened unheeding, holding her shut hands away? " Nothing but hate do we owe her, nothing but battle and wrath; She who has grown on our hunger, the serpent that rose in our path, That filled our green valleys with wailing, and stole the strength of our lives, And left in our desolate dwellings the tears and the moaning of wives. "Look at the years in their passing — what have they given the world ? Hope for the gladness of nations, thought at all tyranny hurled, Freedom for men held in bondage, deeds that were kindly and just, — Only one land was forgotten, one banner still trails in the dust. " Nothing have we to be glad for : once we had glory and pride, Holding the beacon of promise, sending our call far and wide ; Then when the brightness of morning shone through the swift fading mist, Loud rose the sound of our progress, song in our val- leys made tryst. 120 " Say we are hard in our anger ; say that our hands have grown red. Have we not watched in the darkness, ay, there by our murdered dead, In the beautiful land that bore us, the land that is ours by right, Telling our sorrow in whispers, and fearing the gladness of light? " Ours is the patient waiting ; yes, and ours is the gar- nered wrong ; We have seen all our bright days darken, and the years grow cold and long ; We have worked when our hands were weary, but we did not reap the gain : They have gathered the wheat and comfort, and left us the chaff and pain. " Yet we do not envy their riches, — let them keep all their heavy gold, And leave us our ancient birthright, the freedom we won of old, When the dawning flashed in splendor on the lines of our level spears, And we charged on the Danish foemen, while the air grew loud with cheers. " The days of our waiting are numbered, the time of our serving past: You can hear the braying of trumpets, the roll of drums on the blast; 16 121 And now when the war clouds gather, let us stand as we oft have stood, When we held the front of the battle, and the earth was red with blood. "Oh, men who have seen the sun-burst, the radiant coming *of morn, Surge over the purple mountains, shining down on your bending corn, — By the triumph that brought you glory, by the blood that made you free, Send us now a shout of greeting across the wide reaches of sea. " For now, when our foe is marching, and the great guns dimly frown, And the heavy wrath of the tempest on our famished land bears down, When the lurid light of the bale-fires is gleaming up in the sky, Far out through the growing darkness, we send you our passionate cry." in Why are the fetters clashing ? And why do the bright swords shine ? Is there coming another harvest of blood that is red as wine? Yes; up through the heights of purple you can hear the cry, wind-blown, Of a people loudly calling to be brought unto their own. 122 Ah, but the years are returning, and the dead will not lie still; You can see their garments trailing far along each windy hill, And the air is full of moaning, and the earth is salt with tears, And the hate that is strong in battle is the bitter hate of years. The high waves surge on the headlands, the wild winds sweep through the land, And the murmurs of strife are rising : who now will idle stand ? For the tyrants are banded together, they will strike again and again, And the struggle is that of Freedom, the strong, sweet Freedom of men. 123 QUATRAINS i DIFFERENCE With heart elate we front the morning sun, The leagues are short, our steps are swift and strong: How fast the unfruitful years grow, one by one, And each new mile, how weary and how long ! ii LOSS Within my path an angel cried, "Three gifts I bring, Love, Wealth, and Fame Choose" — but he parted from my side Ere I my gift could name. in A MISER Lean and unkempt and clothed in rags, With eyes that burn, and hands so cold They scarce can grasp his money-bags, Sits Midas, shivering by his gold. 124 A CONCEIT When rising like a spirit from the dust, Wherein the past has buried all its wrong, A fragrant lily woos the morning song Of winds that hold the sea's sweet breath in trust, Does not that power whose love is pure and just Give earth the sign that man has sought so long, Saying that souls by noble thought made strong Shall regnant be over all sin and lust ? We see the golden chalice where the bee Gathers his harvest, and the parting rose That vibrates with the melody of birds, And pass them by, not thinking blooms so free May hold with winds, and rain, and drifting snows, A legend rich with love's most precious words. 125 LOCUSTS When, broad and bright, the summer sun rides high, And lowly bend the heads of bearded wheat, And garden ways with lily-blooms are sweet, And fleecy clouds lie in the western sky, Then where the low breeze through the leaves doth sigh, The locust makes a cool and safe retreat, And all the sultry day his chimes repeat Their monotone, and meet a quick reply. There is a weary sameness in his song, Caught from his seventeen dark years of sleep In the cold silence of neglected fields. How brief a day for night so drear and long ! What sombre music earth holds buried deep, If this be all the harvest that it yields ! 126 PROMISE i OF LIGHT AND BLOOM Dim vales, and voiceless rivers, cold and deep, A low, flat coast along a restless sea, A sailless wreck that drifts where, far alee, Dark, savage rocks in silent grandeur sleep ; A lightning-riven pine, crowning a steep, Where wind-songs into jubilant thunders rise, And weary wastes of leaden-colored skies, That over foamless waves sad vigils keep ; One glint of gold, that through the sombre mass Of gloom drives upward like a gleaming wedge, And on the barren facing of a ledge, A single bloom, crowning a tuft of grass. ii of light and song Swift rain that beats upon the sodden land, A dark, wild night, whose slow hours closely cling To swollen streams, and woods that hoarsely sing, And great waves rolling on wide sweeps of sand; 127 A hollow roar, where, through the waters, run The sinuous tracings of blue phosphor flame, And like as though from great despair it came, The dull reverberations of a gun ; A gust of wind up-rising fierce and strong, Breaking the low clouds into sullen drift, A far white star out-shining from a rift, And in the gloom a bird's low matin song. 128 A ROSE SONG The red rose blooms by the tumbling wall, The blush rose bends by the open gate, The mocking-bird, with its low, clear call, Sings on, though the hour is late : The yellow rose like a star shines out, The white rose sways, a wan, sweet ghost, The beetles boom, and the marshes shout The joy of their living host. The red rose burns with a crimson glow Like wine that gleams when the blood is warm, And brings vague dreams of the long ago, When the world was wild with storm — When a stalwart knight, with lance at rest, Drove swift through the battle's angry tide, With a red rose bound to his helmet's crest, And there in the carnage died. The blush rose tells of a distant time When the Persian groves were loud with song, And camel bells woke a merry chime Where the desert paths grew long ; When a love-lorn maiden lingering stayed, Waiting for one who had grown a-cold, Till the rose and she at rest were laid In the garden's fragrant mould. 17 129 The yellow rose, with its heavy breath, Recalls wide forests and dim lagoons, Where loathsome serpents keep watch for death, In the light of tropic moons ; And ruins massive, and grim, and vast, In silent grandeur a vigil keep, Where the giant kings of a mighty past Lie cold in a dreamless sleep. The white rose pictures a vision dim, Of aisle, and transept, and sculptured saint, Where the dying echoes of a hymn In distance throb and faint ; And shining out, where the arches bar The purple gloom of the rounded dome, A face that glows like a glorious star Set deep in a sea of foam. The red rose tosses its crimson spray, The blush rose falls in a fragrant rain, The mocking-bird, where the cool leaves sway, Sings on with his low refrain ; The yellow rose with the dew is wet, The white rose — where has the white rose flown? Ah ! yes ; I made it a coronet For a fond love, all mine own. 130 BEETHOVEN Like resonant winds, sounding amid the trees Hanging above cold, rock-strewn valleys, where, In cavernous glooms, weird echoes made their lair, Rolled out the passion of thy symphonies : The mighty chorus of tumultuous seas, That tossed white crests, lurid with phosphor glare, When heavy night was black with Typhon's hair, Made answer when thy fingers touched the keys. There are no years, no centuries, for thee ; Thy spirit rose beyond the realms of pain, Reaching that zone where love holds regal sway ; And at the meeting of the land and sea, Listening, we hear the murmur of a strain No other hand but thine could ever play. 131 AT GETTYSBURG The Repulse of Pickett's Charge, July 3, 1863 The flame and the smoke of battle surged over the Round Top's crest, The whistle of shot, and the rattle of muskets that knew no rest, The flashing of steel grown gory, the shouting that rose and fell, Where over the hill-tops hoary went shrieking the vi- cious shell, Were mingled in wild derision, and faces all sternly white Shone out as they shine in a vision, as deepened the deadly fight. We could see, through the vapor lying low down like a sulphurous cloud, The flags in the long lines flying, where our dead lay waiting the shroud, We could see the bayonets gleaming, and felt in the wind's low breath, The cold, damp moisture, seeming like the swift, chill kiss of death, ' And hands that were hard from labor, where the har- vest fields were large, Closed firm on musket and sabre, and waited the foe- man's charge. 132 Then up from the moaning valley, like a wave white- crowned with foam. While shrill rose the bugles' rally far along the wooded dome, The foe in his might came sweeping, and the shell grew swift again, And the riderless steeds went leaping through struggling mazes of men, And cries that with death were bitter, and blows that with rage were keen, Were loud where the bayonet's glitter grew red in a sanguine sheen. Back, back like the tiger bating each step with a hate that grieves For the hours and the thirst of waiting, and the blood on the trampled leaves, Back, step by step, while the beating of our hearts grew fast and warm, And we bent like the tree-tops meeting the fierce first rush of the storm, Bent, only to rise in passion, and smite with the blows that sting, As the tiger his foe will dash on with gripe, and clutch- ing, and spring. Men die, but their deeds are lasting, they shine through all the years, And nerve us to bear earth's fasting, its sorrow, and falling tears, And there, while just before us, the foe in his might was strong, J 33 Loud sounded the swelling chorus of right that had conquered wrong, And fast were the swift blows falling where the guns were hot with flame, For the dead from their graves were calling, the dead who had left us fame. From the fields of wheat, down-trodden, from the or- chards rent and torn, From the grass grown red and sodden with the strife that woke the morn, Men, who had met the waking of the day with eyes that shone, And hearts that had known no quaking, stared up in the death sleep prone ; And we who had stood beside them when the rain of lead smote hard, Now fought for a place to hide them among the sand and the shard. Swift, swift was the foe, and louder rose his fierce triumphant cry, And the sulphurous fumes of powder seemed like a pall to lie, As back to the hills he thrust us in a path where death was king, And we thought that the cause of justice no strength to our arms could bring, And still the hot guns bellow, and their flame came thick and fast, Till the leaves grew wan and yellow in that dire sirocco blast. i34 With blows to their blows replying, with swords that were swift to smite, With vengeance unto us crying, we sprang again to the fight, And keen was our steel, and ready the answer it gave to our call, And onward with footsteps steady, we pressed our foe to the wall, Back, over the path so gory with the blood of our com- rades slain, But their's, yea, their's were the glory should our flag sweep over the plain. Like rain by the wild winds driven that leaves neither blossoms nor grass There where the dead lay unshriven, like a swarth of flame we pass, Pass, leaving the heights, and holding our way to the plain once more, With the hot white smoke enfolding the pathway lying before, And over the fierce, infernal red rush of the strife below, The pines, with their vesture vernal, are loud with the shrieks of woe. Who noted the high sun's splendor? who heeded the cries of pain ? Yea, even though hearts were tender with tears that are soft as rain ? We were wild with the thirst so olden, the thirst that but death can slake, i3S Or the gift of the fame crown golden, yea, even though hearts should break : And back, while the blood like water along our pathway flowed, With horrible carnage and slaughter we drove our foe in his road. And the guns were fierce, and the thunder of battle was loud ift the land, Till his line was riven asunder, and weakened his ready hand ; And we knew, as we heard the cheering that rose as we forward rolled, That the end of the strife was nearing, and the foe had lost his hold, Knew, though not a word was spoken, as our way we onward bore, That the strength of his arm was broken, and the field was ours once more. The years in their might are growing, like a dream the old days come, When the battle was 'round us flowing, and we sprang to the call of the drum ; Each day we are less in number, and our ranks are narrowing fast, But sweet is the final slumber, now the days of strife are past ; And never may hate's wide portal be opened again to us here, For only love is immortal where the light of God shines clear. 136 QUATRAINS i ACCOMPLISHMENT Great souls oft die, their task half done, And in the lowly crowd appears A patient and a plodding one, Whose perfect work shines through the years. ir COMPENSATION No ceaseless vigil with hard toil we keep, And to grim want give but a passing breath, For after labor comes the rest of sleep, And hunger cannot make its home with death. in INSPIRATION Amid the shadows of a starless night, Whose sombre gloom filled all the cheerless place, There swept a sudden glory, and the light Gave to my soul one sweet impassioned face. iS 137 THE WIND OF DEATH Where mighty ruins, grim and vast, With fallen architrave and span Mark some dead city of the past, The golden sunshine rippling ran ; Two giant palms beside a well Rose with a stately, solemn grace, And, sweet and clear, a camel's bell Made echoes in the lonely place. A white tent in the shadow gleamed, And close beside its open door, Above some salt, lance pennons streamed — The ready signs of peace and war. A neighing horse made answer loud To tramping steeds that nearer drew, And southward, like 'a rising cloud, The sand-storm swept heaven's lustrous blue. Silent, upon his well-worn mat, With eager eyes and ready hand, The Bedouin chieftain, Kaled, sat, And watched the widening sweeps of sand. He heard the hoofs beside him crash, He heard the shouts that bade him rise, He saw the swords in anger flash, • A cold light shining in his eyes. 138 Then springing to his feet, he said, In bitter words that cut and stung, " Well was it that about his head, Ferdullah dust and ashes flung, For he had lived to see a horde Of hireling slaves debase his name, And dared not curse the mighty Lord For this sad heritage of shame. " You are a hundred men to one, And yet I scorn your hoarded wrath, Even as yon distant, brilliant sun Scorns the black clouds that mar his path. Strike — for the words I speak are truth, And ere I kneel unto a slave, The fame and glory of my youth Will rot within a loathsome grave. " Strike ! " And his folded arms were clasped, His massive head was forward thrown, While bearded horsemen fiercely grasped Their swords, and sinews grew like stone ; Backward they drew in sullen line, Ready to charge with fearful might — Their pennoned lances grimly shine, Their eyes flame with a baleful light. Then, like a bolt that drives across The sky, with hot and sulphurous breath The dread sirocco's sand plumes toss About them in a swirl of death : i39 Its roar sweeps down the arid plain And in the western distance dies, And silence holds unbroken reign Beneath the cloudless purple skies, Save that the camel bells are sweet Beyond the windless palms, and there The Bedouin's slow and trembling feet Make weird sounds in the heated air. And southward, where the level sand Had run in an unbroken sweep, Low mounds are scattered through the land, And hate and wrath beneath them sleep. 140 SWEET LOVE IS DEAD Sweet Love is dead, — yes, dead and laid to rest. Ah, dainty was the fabric of his shroud, Cut from the pearly edges of a cloud. They placed a fragrant lily on his breast, And all the souls his visitings had blest Followed him to the grave with heads low bowed, Though there were many great, and good, and proud, And those by fame and fortune oft caressed. Poor Love ! he could not live when golden dross Bought the warm kisses that were once his due, Paid for the tender clasp of clinging hands, And banished the fair flowers that were the bands Binding the loving hearts that served him true, And so he died — oh, who will tell the loss ? 141 FOLLOWING THE CHIEF Bright and keen the flashing swords, Whose red harvest is the Lord's ; Sharp and swift the leaden sting Where the whistling bullets sing. Yet the tempest touched him not In that hurricane of shot. Firm as adamantine rock In the conflict's wildest shock, Watchful, silent, while the strife Swept along the ways of life, Southward faced, and every day Found him farther on the way, Where the Mississippi's flood Washed away the stains of blood, And where Shiloh's restless pines Loomed above the tangled vines, Where Chattanooga's sombre crags Showed war's blazonry of flags, And where battle's withering breath Filled the Wilderness with death ; Onward still his way he bore, Through the varying stress of war, Sinking, when this brought the end, All the foeman in the friend. 142 Calm amid the storm of wrath, Never swerving from the path Where his duty seemed to lead, Heedful of the Nation's need, Now, when death has brought him sleep, All the nations for him weep. Down the long embattled line Where the glinting bayonets shine, Following the muffled drums, There our silent chieftain comes : Hushed at last the sound of strife, Ended all the pain of life. We who followed where he led, Follow now with measured tread, While the banners, drooping low With their drapery of woe, In the sad winds slowly wave By the pathway to his grave. Death has vanquished him, they say; But we proudly answer, nay! Though his eyes have lost their light, Though his face is cold and white, In our hearts he lives the same, And death cannot conquer fame. i43 AT SEA Wide sweeps of gold, that stream along the sea To where blue water meets the azure sky, And break in radiant gems, that floating He Upon the waves ; a bird that flies a-lee, With all the ocean's vastness to him free ; A tall, white sail, that tells the searching eye Of fellow mortals who are drawing nigh ; White crests, that full of changing glories be ; And in the west, a mass of clouds, that rise Fringed with the amber light, that through their rifts Comes in broad columns ; while, like shadows dark, The sea-weed from a reef that far off lies, Through the cool silence of the water drifts, Fathoms below the swift keel of our bark. 144 PUCK When summer days are sweet and long, And murmuring woods are loud with song, Then Puck, across the scented land, Wanders with ever open hand, And lo, the wheat-fields burn with gold, And peaches redden in the sun, And grapes a duskier purple hold, From changing lights of morning won. When scarlet poppies gleam with dew, And skies have grown to deeper blue, He seeks some mossy cliff, that stands Where low waves whisper on the sands, And there, while stars above him shine, Breathes, through the short, mid-summer night, Wind-stolen fragrance of the pine That sentinels the lonely height. He drains the deep and fragrant well That lies within the lily's bell, And wins his knighthood's high degree In valiant battle with the bee: The butterflies that find him out, Where hidden by some leaf he lies, His rosy lips in mischief flout, And softly fan his sleepy eyes. l 9 145 Where winds are still at highest noon, He hears the lazy water croon Where minnows skim the lucent pool, And ferns make shadows deep and cool ; Then fashions, from a floating leaf, A boat to seek the farther shore, And brings the dragon-fly to grief That seeks to bar his passage o'er. Thus, while the sun refulgent shines On heavy ladened trees and vines, Through mellow days and star-sprent nights, He reaps a harvest of delights. But when the northern blast grows loud, Ere yet the woods have lost their green, Flashing along the drifting cloud, His southward tending wings are seen. 146 THE PAST Wild sounds of battle and fierce cries of pain, Vague murmurs of dim hopes and dreams most rare, A glitter of bright swords in sunlit air, And desolate cities, ghastly with their slain ; In cloister cell, a vexed, imperious brain — In hamlet rude, a face deep lined with care — On lonesome seas, a soul all space would dare — Some " learned churls " that did not live in vain ; Babylon and Nineveh, and radiant forms Of marvelous beauty ; Cleopatra's face Set round with dented shields; brave chiefs, who died Where serried legions met like clashing storms ; A useless fame, bought by death's cold embrace ; And fagot embers a charred stake beside. i47 THE FUTURE. Why sing the past, whose hollow sounding years Lie in dim graves with mail-clad skeletons, The muttered thunder of ten thousand guns, And baleful light of keen and level spears ? The past is dead ; the future now uprears Beyond the land where Lethe's river runs, Its glad, young face made glorious by great suns, And loud and far ring out its lusty cheers. Oh, time of conquest and victorious days, When manhood, free from chains, shall front the sky, And dense oblivion hold grim want and wrong — Are far shores washed by your on-rushing sprays ? And do we hear, in echoes rising high, The resonant chorus of your triumph song? IN FANCY'S REALM With eyes half shut, I lie upon the sand And hear the waters whisper to the land ; And in the east, through flame and gold, is born The glowing radiance of the sunlit morn. Far off the light gilds a soft-swelling sail, That like a lessening star grows slowly pale ; And lazily along low, crested waves, A solitary gull its white breast laves. On sloping hills the daisy blossoms show Their harmony of blended sun and snow, And from cool sweeps of meadow, sweetly ring The choral notes that joyous warblers sing. Here, where the earth and ocean brightly meet, I lie at ease, and murmurs strangely sweet Ring through my soul, weird notes that rise from where The mermaids sing, and comb their yellow hair. I have dim dreams of wondrous melodies, By tawny Tritons blown down sapphire seas That girt some island lying, fair and lone, In the glad splendor of the tropic zone. 149 Then fades the present, and I wander far, Through lands where cities shine out like a star, Great cities, crowned and glorious with fame, Whose only memory is a sounding name. I see the Assyrian maidens wander on, Beside the terraced heights of Babylon ; And breast the jubilant waves of human foam That greet the triumph songs of ancient Rome. I pass where, with slow steps, the pilgrims gray Toward Jerusalem hold their silent way, And, dim and far, see spire and minaret Rise in their grandeur over Olivet. I hear the merry laugh as plumes advance Along the shaded ways of sunny France, Where winsome ladies sway, with dainty charms, The swords and shields of mighty men-at-arms. Where sultry Java swelters in the sea, I watch bright birds flit on from tree to tree, While, in the fading pomp of ruins old, The royal flowers of Ind their leaves unfold. Across the waters of the ocean vast, I, in the Mayflower, speed before the blast, And reach the unknown shores that sternly rise Beneath the gloom of wild, tempestuous skies. For me the wheat-fields ripen in the plain, And hill-side orchards croon the sweet refrain Of winds, made cool by restless wanderings where The snow-crests gleam in upper heights of air. !5° The world, and all that it has known, is mine — For me the grape grows rich with crimson wine, And caravans, with sweetly tinkling bells, Gather at eve by deep, palm-shaded wells. And slowly from the earth there fades away The clash of swords, and battle-trumpets' bray, And angel hosts that wing the world above, With loud hosannahs swell the songs of love. And lying here, I dream of that glad time When joyous bells shall ring in every clime, And crumbling ramparts slumber in sweet rest, And frowning cannon hold a sparrow's nest. 151 A LOVER'S MOOD With gold-flushed foam of daisy stars, The meadow sweeps are all agleam, And through the willows, sun-made bars Ripple athwart the murmuring stream. The blackbird whistles in the marsh, The sparrows chatter in the hedge, And crows make discord, loud and harsh, Where dark pines crown the beetling ledge. With slow, glad steps we thread the path That leads through tangled grasses sweet, And like a fragrant aftermath, The clover clusters at our feet. Where lithe masts by the river rise, We hear the capstan's cheerful clink, And listen, while the air replies With joy songs of the bob-o-link. Supreme in wide and lusty girth, The great oak crowns the rounding hill, And throws along the sloping earth A shadow that is never still. Between the purple blooms and white, With lingering steps we slowly pass, Climbing the hill, where calm delight Broods over all the scented grass. 152 And prone upon the ground we lie, And see the river gloom and shine, While lazy sails go drifting by, Shadowed by pendant bough and vine. The valley trends toward the west, And fertile, shimmering fields increase, Rich with the golden sign of rest, And affluent with promised peace. The dusty bees drone down the slope — A butterfly, with radiant wings, Floats, like a messenger of hope, Where in the wind a daisy swings ; And far away there sinks and swells The cadence of a mellow horn, Wind-blown along the wooded dells, And deep amid the shadows borne. Still loud the meadows are with song, But here the birds more softly croon, And fast upon our spirits throng The blessed lassitudes of noon. We know those sacred feelings wrought By unknown distances, that move The hidden subtleties of thought Toward the passion pulse of love. Ah, what is left life after this ? What higher goal can be our aim ? Enough for us love's triumph kiss, Even if we die unknown of fame. 20 153 INCARNATION If I must lie asleep with Death at last — Death, that stern monarch of supreme desire, Who, when he sees aught that would fain aspire To better things, sends his swift chilling blast, And lo, a silence on its hope is cast, And only embers mark where once was fire — I pray that fate will build my funeral pyre Amid some mighty ruin of the past. There let me sleep, where, centuries ago, Was love, and mirth, and kisses sweet as wine, And blooms whose ashes have a fragrant breath, For then perchance my soul will commune know With one who saw the primal sunlight shine, Before the world had known the cold of Death. »54 THE PETREL Oh, bird of tireless wing, that flies A black spot on the leaden skies, When tempests loudly roar, Where rise the rocks that are your home? Frown they where Arctic surges foam Along an ice-bound shore ? What mysteries of death and storm Are held within that buoyant form? What ship, whose waiting port Still watches for her rising sail, Sank down the vortex of a gale Whereof you made but sport. Where tropic islands gem the sea, And over many a wide degree The orange groves foretell The nearing land, your lazy wing, Shadows the coral groves that spring Deep down in ocean's well, When cyclones bluster where the waves Roll high and white above the graves Of fleets, lost long ago, Like some lone spirit holden fast Within the fury of the blast, You drift amid the snow. *55 Where rippling seas are cool along Wide sands, melodious with song, Your sable pinions hold Their onward way, while valleys wide A moment -in your vision bide, Rich with rare autumn gold. And at the last, what fate is yours ? When age grows strong, and sun allures, Then, where the foam lies bright In equatorial parallels, Do you ride softly on the swells Through summer day and night ? Oh, bird, whose trackless way has seen The Arctic glaciers, and the green Of far off orient lands, Full oft has blown the wind that bore Us outward from the stormy shore, Where lie our shrouding sands. i S 6 A DESERTED FARM It stands alone in the narrow dell, An old red house with an ancient well ; A brook gleams bright in the moaning wood, Where the crimson flush of the maples hood Shines high on the sombre rocks, that rise Like a wall against the northern skies. A noisy fall from a mountain tarn, Flashes and foams by the tumbling barn, Whose open door to the wind is free, And by it, a moss grown apple-tree, Storm rent, and barren of fruitage stands, Like a ghost in the warm October lands. The tangled copse by the tumbling wall Shades the winding road, and strong and tall The mulleins grow where the rose was sweet ; And grass has hidden the trace of feet, Whose merry patter has passed away, And left grim silence, and shadows gray. In the meadow path the daisies toss, And the gate is barred with spider floss ; The garden is rich with weed and burr ; Through the empty rooms the swift bats whir; The roof stares wide at the purple sky, And heavy mould on the hearth doth lie. l S7 On the sunny stone that lies before, The web enshrouded and creaking door, A lazy toad with a mottled coat, Dozes and blinks as the brown flies float Just out of his reach, and sharp and shrill The crickets chirp on the window sill. • No love is bright in this lonely place, Though there lingers still the subtle grace That tells of its glory, faith and hope, For low winds murmur along the slope, And high in an elm a brown thrush swings, And a merry carol loudly sings. And here where the lithe green grasses grow, Some sturdy flowers still bud and blow, And the shadowy halls are never dumb, Though the ruin of time to them has come, For the echo of song and laughter seems To linger amid the dusky beams. i S 8 QUATRAINS ON AN OLD PROVERB " Half of a loaf is better than no bread." When one is hungry, right good logic this — But who would take the proverb to his bed, If Love should offer him one-half a kiss ? ii a wall between The beggar at the palace gate, By silver is made rich and great ; The king within, grown stern and cold, Is poor amid his hoarded gold. in DISCOVERY Out from the silence of the unknown world, A whisper falling from invisible lips Grew a loud challenge through vast distance hurled, And flecked the ocean with adventurous ships. »S9 FOREVER In dim ages long ago, When the silver moon first shone Over wastes of drifted snow, Far along cold ice-fields blown, There two spirits, earthward tost, By Love's altar bent the knee. Never has his light been lost, Dear, by you and me. When resplendent shone the sun, And above the ocean vast Rocky peaks their way had won ; Where huge monsters floated past, Shining in the golden air, Two vague forms heard Love's decree, And the lonely world grew fair, Dear, for you and me. When, through high and gloomy woods, Giants of the old brute world Listened to the glacier floods Down the groaning mountains hurled, There beside a sea now dead, Where winds murmured weird and dree, Some low words of love were said, Dear, by you and me. 160 When, where rise the, orient isles, Man achieved his present form, Radiant with happy smiles, Filled with passion, pure and warm, There Love's first betrothal kiss Glorified each fair degree, Ah ! the countless years, since this Came to you and me ! Has time's silence cast its pall On years when through fragrant glooms, Came the tiger's purring call, And ripe fruit and bursting blooms Bent where flowed the restless tide, And the purple tropic sea Girt the populous lands, and wide, Ruled by you and me ? Deep in Afric's burning zone We have seen great empires rise ; Crumbling masses of huge stone Tell their story to the skies. In those ruins, grim and old, We held revel late and free, Tawny slaves, in chains of gold, Serving you and me. We have camped in IshmaeFs land, Fought with brave Semiramis, Marched with Antony the Grand, Ere Cleopatra's love was his ; Saw stout Cceur-de-Lion's blade Make the Paynim warrior flee ; And in China once were made Graves for you and me. 161 Far in centuries to come, Over land where waves are high Sometime will our footsteps roam ; Earth renewed and fresh will lie ; We shall hear the vanished years, Dirge-like, past us sweep, and see Space reveal its brilliant spheres, Then, to you and me. We have been since Time was born, We shall be when Time is not ; Worlds may see a radiant morn, Live their day, and be forgot ; But nor dreamless sleep, nor death, Can our rulers ever be — Love all foemen vanquisheth, Dear, for you and me. 162 ROYALTY Out from the dust of ages, Out from the wreck of years, Fronting the work of sages, Fronting the waste of tears, Radiant, swift, immortal, Earth flings the soul of man, And shuts the iron portal That hides creation's plan. Here with the gate behind him, Here in the narrow path, Fronting the suns that blind him, Fronting the winds of wrath, Man, with his head uplifted, Man, with his hair out blown, Virile, and strong, and gifted, Builds for himself a throne. Say that the grave is waiting, Say that the shroud is white, Say that the strength of hating Owneth no victor's might, Earth, from the cycles olden, Holds for the life complete, Blossoms, and sunlight golden, Red lips, and kisses sweet. l6 3 Whose are the chains that fetter? Whose are the swords that bite ? Master's, and yet no better Than we, who brave the fight ; Earth hath no royal races — Crowns, yea, and swords must break, When in the hidden faces Death finds the hearts that quake. Why fear the pain that passes ? Lo, birds will always sing — Yea, and the vernal grasses Wake with each waking spring : And from the silent sleeping, Strong grow the weary eyes, Ere comes the upward sweeping Far through the distant skies. Fronting the years that lengthen Like some recurring chain, Souls in life's combat strengthen, Conquering death and pain : Battling in God-like fashion Through ways that none have trod, Rise they, by noble passion, Up to the heights of God. 164 INSPIRATION Narrow and steep the pathway we must tread, And even then the crown may be of thorn, That all the years thereafter must be worn, Till silence numbers us among the dead : Hard must we toil to win this bitter bread, And through the clear flush of the radiant morn, Oft see the clouds, with edges tempest torn, Rise in dense gloom, by disappointment led. Yet is not all this strife a better gift, Than aimless journeyings through sunlit days ? Does not each upward struggle serve to lift The soul to where God's clearer radiance plays, Till through some stern and rock-embattled rift, We reach at last life's firm and level ways ? i6 S MANHOOD You sneer at me, and cry forsooth — Because within my heart I hold This visage grim, and form uncouth, Better than beauty, or than gold. Why prate of things that have no charm To stay the withering breath of age ? Lo, here within this brawny arm, I hold what can all griefs assuage. The subtle mechanism of thought, That grows to fruitage in the brain, By this strong hand to shape is wrought, Until it stands complete and plain. I know that beauty gladdens life, That wealth and comfort are allied, And yet, why fill the hours with strife, Because they will not seek my side ? Shall I, because the days are long, And toil with each more weary grows, Say that the birds have lost their song ? And find no fragrance in the rose ? The purpose of my life is this, To make each hour its treasure yield, Even though some passing joy I miss, While busy in the harvest field. 166 And what at last will be my loss, If from the gloom of stormy lands, And waves that high in fury toss, I win my way to sunlit sands? Ah, if life's purpose I fulfill, What more can potentate or king, Who see men bow before their will, Unto the bar of judgment bring? In that new land to which we win, He leads, who gathers while he can, In ways beset with strife and sin, The stature of a noble man. Rough and uncouth in speech and form, I hold within that gift divine — A heart with tender passion warm — Whose treasure then is more than mine ? Sneer if you will, yea, scoff and laugh, But what have you I cannot save When from death's sombre flood we quaff, And find the level of the grave ? 167 DONIZETTI When tempests swept the pine-clad Appenines, Humbling the pride of many a towering tree, The fierce storm music to thy heart was free : And when the wild bee, in the clustering vines Where sleepy Arno like a jewel shines, Winged lazily, he sang sweet songs to thee, And winds that held weird murmurs of the sea Made for thy soul vast, echo-haunted shrines. What are the ages to a soul like thine, Whose work is for all time, soaring away From pain, and death, and every earth-made bound? Ah ! fadeless are the wreaths the long years twine In fond remembrance of thy magic sway, O mighty master of melodious sound ! 1 68 QUATRAINS DISAPPOINTMENT From the drear wastes of unfulfilled desire, We harvest dreams that never come to pass, Then pour our wine amid the dying fire, And on the cold hearth break the empty glass. II TIME Time has no flight — 't is we who speed along ; The days and nights are but the same as when The earth awoke with the first rush of song, And felt the swiftly passing feet of men. in HARVEST-TIME Winter is keen with wind and white with snow, And Spring gives blossoms to the orchard trees, Then wheat-fields ripen in the Summer's glow, And Autumn harvests all the strength of these. 22 169 IV ANSWERED A dark, cowled figure knelt before a shrine, And prayed, " Oh, Father, give my hate its will." Then lurid lightnings in the temple shine, And leave a shadow lying cold and still. v LOVE SUPREME You ask what love is ? It is this, my own : To hold all women pure because of you, Yet give heart reverence unto you alone, And for your sake be steadfast, brave, and true. 170 SUMMER TIME A golden glory lies along the hills ; A few light cirri float across the blue Of the far sky. In leafy coverts, thrills Of bird songs waken, but the notes are few. The bees hum lazily, though flowers are sweet, And ripened fruits blush with a gleam of red ; And drowsily the cattle move and eat, With eager, buzzing flies about each head ; And the hot sun is now in its full prime, For it is summer time. Silently through the meadow flows the stream, Flashing, but murmurless ; not as in spring, When, rich in music, it sent out a gleam Of silver where, mid rocks, its eddying ring Made mimic whirlpools. Slowly waves the corn, And slowly swing the scythes along the field Where weary workers wait the dinner-horn, That noontide rest to tired arms will yield ; And slowly doth the locust sing his chime In the ripe summer time. High overhead the bright sun holds his way; His lucent rays glow in the mellow peach, The apples catch his fire at close of day, Pears, berries, flowers, he gives his strength to each ; 171 And though so hot he is, his torrid beams Make the grapes purple grow along the wall ; With harvest gold the heavy grain-field gleams, And swallows sharply to each other call; And the sad whip-poor-will doth chant his rhyme, These nights of summer time. Oh, happy time of blossom, fruit, and leaf, When all the land is glad with glorious life, When barns grow rich with many a high-piled sheaf, And forest warblers make melodious strife. Long may you crown the passing of the years With promise of a plenteous autumn store, Robbing old winter of its grizzly fears That cast their phantom shadows on before. Welcome, fair bounty, gladdening our sweet clime, Refulgent summer time ! 172 « ENVOI If I have taught one soul to feel that life Is something higher than the toil and fret, The pain, the waste of love, the cold and strife We may not all forget, — If I have made one hour of pleasure fall Within the path where torn and weary feet Move slowly onward, answering duty's call, Then is my work complete. 173 r/m TmVm'iV/