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POETICAL WORKS 
 
 OP 
 
 LOUIS n. ELSHEnUS 
 
 AUTHOR OF " MAMMON," " LADY VERE," " THE MOODS OF 
 A SOUL," "SONGS OF SPRING," ETC. 
 
 FIRST SERIES 
 
 THE 
 
 Hbbey press 
 
 PUBLISHERS 
 
 114 
 
 FIFTH AVENUE 
 
 Xon^on NEW YORK flBontreal 
 

 THE LIBRARY OF 
 CONGRESS. 
 
 Two CoHttd Received 
 
 MAY. 23 1901 
 
 Copyright entry 
 
 CLASS CKjXXc. N». 
 
 COPY B. 
 
 ■Copyright, 1901, 
 
 by 
 
 L. M. ELSHEMUS. 
 
 All Dramatic Rights Reserved. 
 
 • • • 
 
THESE POEMS, 
 
 WHICH HAVE BEEN WRITTEN 
 
 AT WHITE HEAT, 
 
 MANY OF THEM IN THE VERY LAP OF NATURE, 
 
 THE AUTHOR DEDICATES 
 
 TO ALL THE SOUL- LOVING PERSONS OF THIS MERCENARY AGE 
 
 IF SOME OF THE POEMS MIGHT GIVE 
 
 SOLACE TO, OR MIGHT INSPIRE 
 
 SOME SORROW-LADEN MORTAL WITH NEW RESOLVE, 
 
 THE AUTHOR IS SATISFIED. 
 
 POETRY TO THE AUTHOR, AS IT WAS WITH 
 
 S. T. COLERIDGE, 
 
 HAS BEEN, AND IS, A PASSION. ' 
 
L. M. ELSHEMUS. 
 
BIOGRAPHICAL NOTE. 
 
 Mr. Louis M. Elshemus, the author of this book, was 
 horn in 1864, in New Jersey, at "Laurel Hill," near 
 Newark. After receiving his education at various 
 schools in this country and abroad he entered Cornell 
 University in 1882. His strong desire to study Art 
 inspired him to leave the University in his senior year 
 in 1885. After devoting some time at the Academy of 
 Design and at the Art League, he put in two years at 
 Julian's Academy at Paris, France. From 1888 he took 
 a studio in New York and, since that time, has steadily 
 made himself a reputable name in landscape and figure 
 painting; exhibiting at most of the annual exhibitions 
 in various cities of the United States, and also abroad. 
 His literary career began when he was nineteen, his 
 efforts being metrical at iirst — and only recently he has 
 taken to prose-writing. Mr. Elshemus is also a musi- 
 cal composer, having published "Six Musical Moods," 
 that have been well received by the press. He is a fair 
 linguist, and has traveled extensively in the United 
 States, in Europe, Africa, and England. 
 
 THE PUBLISHERS. 
 
Other Books by the Sat me Author 
 
 1. THE MOODS OF A SOUL: Being a Collection of Lyrics, 
 
 Ballads and Sonnets. 
 
 2. ''SONGS OF SPRING." A Volume of Poems. 
 
 3. " LADY VERE," AND OTHER NARRATIVES. Con- 
 
 tains two long modern idyls in blank verse ; one 
 long rhymed story of East-Indian pastoral life ; and a 
 few odes, sonnets, and fugitive poems. 
 
 4. MAMMON: A Spirit-Song. A Dramatic Poem. 
 
 5. '' A TRIPLE FLIRTATION " and Other Stories. Illus- 
 
 trated by the author. 
 
 6. SWEETBRIAR: A Novel. Illustrated bv the author. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 FAGB 
 
 THE POET : Proem 9 
 
 LIFE: A Trilogy— 
 
 1. The Course of Love 15 
 
 2. Contemplation 136 
 
 3. Suppositions of a Future Life 173 
 
 THE FABLES OF HUMANITY : an Epic i8r 
 
 Elegy, in Memory of Francis Saltus Saltus, Poet 227 
 
 LOVE— 
 
 1. Sweet Recollections ; including Description of a Moun- 
 
 tain-Storm , 251 
 
 2. To a Girl at " Cleopatra " Performance 287 
 
 A BATCH OF BALLADS- 
 
 1. Wanda of Flanders 295 
 
 2. The Monk's Deed 306 
 
 3. Ote Tabachani Oime 323 
 
 4. To Averro 326 
 
 5. The Frozen Crew 329 
 
 6. Aloadine 342 
 
 7. The Sweet Nightmare 349 
 
 8. A Poetic Day 3 1^7 
 
 9. A True Story 366 
 
 ID. The Pomp of Pride 375 
 
 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS— 
 Fragments : 
 
 A Vision 389 
 
 To Arrogno's Beauty . . 392 
 
 Random Strains 396 
 
 Written while Seated on a Rock 397 
 
 She and 1 399 
 
 Inspiration 402 
 
 Woman's Eyes 406 
 
 Spirit-Lore 407 
 
 Adieu to a Mountain-Brook 412 
 
 5 
 
6 Contents. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 ZU LEI K A, a Tragedy 419 
 
 Winter-Evening 435 
 
 La L]egende 443 
 
 Consciousness of Another's Death 449 
 
 Haunted 453 
 
 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS— 
 
 Idle Reveries 459 
 
 To Raffaelle 467 
 
 To a Beauty 469 
 
 Evening Hour 47 1 
 
 Song 472 
 
 A Conceit 473 
 
 Association 475 
 
 Too Perfect for Work 476 
 
 A Song 476 
 
 Welcome Thunder 477 
 
 Summer Evenings 478 
 
 Sign of Autumn 479 
 
 The Fireflies 479 
 
 Curfew's Tale , 480 
 
 Query 481 
 
 To May 482 
 
 To June 483 
 
 SONNETS— 
 
 " Festus," by Bailey 487 
 
 Summer Thunder-Storm . « 488 
 
 Analogy , 488 
 
 July Wind 489 
 
 The New-Bloomed Rhododendrons 490 
 
 July Gales 490 
 
 Fort George 491 
 
 Star-Strains 492 
 
 The Wind 495 
 
 Sonnet 49^ 
 
 To the Spider 496 
 
 On One of my Paintings 497 
 
 Her Eyes 497 
 
 E. A. Poe's Head 498 
 
 Evening on Mohawk River 499 
 
 Power 499 
 
THE POET. 
 PROEM. 
 
NOTE. 
 
 The author considers poetry the solace of a solitary soul ; by 
 that he means a soul that has been unfortunate in being unable to 
 find a human being who could entertain lofty thoughts or enjoy the 
 charms of nature-contemplation. 
 
 It is therefore that in the bustle of a metropolis or a city there 
 are so few persons who read poetry. Poesie is the silent introspec- 
 tion going on in the soul of a thinker. Poetry is not mere melodious 
 verse, nor can it be of value if it seeks only to ornament ancient in- 
 cidents, historical or mythical; poetry should strive to solace, as 
 well as to urge readers to deep and new thought. 
 
 To such souls, who entertain similar ideas of poetry's function, 
 this collection of poems might be of interest. 
 
POETICAL WORKS. 
 
 THE POET. 
 
 Would you be the poet ? — woo 
 
 All the breezes in the blue 
 
 Of the warm September-days. 
 
 Listen to the flower-lays, 
 
 As, through morning's coolness ringing, 
 
 From earth's heart they come upspringing, 
 
 Like youth's vigor. Keep the song 
 
 Of the lark within you long. 
 
 Let it thrill within your heart: 
 
 Anodyne for future's smart. 
 
 Let its joy enthuse your soul — 
 
 Knowing this will be life's goal. 
 
 Would you be the poet? — go 
 Where the quiet rivers flow 
 Past the holts and meadow-lands. 
 Where a-silvery shine the strands, 
 Listen to what the ocean teaches, 
 Murmuring on shelving beaches — 
 Like prophetic voices; stray 
 Where the field-flowers blow and sway. 
 
10 Poetical Works. 
 
 Cull some; read their occult worth. 
 Lo! they came from darkest earth! 
 
 Would you be the poet? — on 
 
 Highest peak of Helicon 
 
 Stand ; o'er vales, and mounts, and plains 
 
 Gazing, know the vast domains 
 
 That sky's showers cool and green; 
 
 Then compare the neighbor-stone 
 
 To your size — to rocks o'er-grown 
 
 With time's growth, to mountain's chain ; 
 
 Then look at your shape again, 
 
 Lo! transcendent thoughts arise: 
 
 Earth is gone — ^but in the skies 
 
 Raptures all your soul; how small 
 
 Is this form, this soul so tall 
 
 Spreading round, as branches grown 
 
 From that tree of Lebanon. 
 
 Would you be the poet? — lie 
 On the moss where dragons fly; 
 Where the stillness hears the drone 
 Of the bee ; where, by a stone. 
 Lizards linger, serpents glide 
 Through the flowers far and wide. 
 
 Would you be the poet? — dream 
 By the meadow's languid stream, 
 Under weeping willows: near 
 Sky-eyes twinkling everywhere 
 'Long the margin of the meadow — 
 
The Poet. ii 
 
 Where the bluebird flirts, and perches 
 On the briers, where he searches 
 For the ruby-berries. Bask 
 Then within the sun, and ask 
 All your fancies flit among 
 Willows, stream, and minstrel-song! 
 
 Would you be the poet? — listen 
 To the calm, all when stars glisten 
 Diamond-like, or like the gems 
 Kings wore on their toga-hems. 
 Let that inward ear be stored 
 With earth's secrets, whom adored 
 Hoary priests in Egypt old, 
 Or Pamere, the world's first fold. 
 Wander by Euterpe's groves 
 Where to him who music loves 
 Paeans, psalms, and songs are given 
 Fresh from founts in eternal Heaven. 
 List to angels in your breast; 
 Nobly work — more nobly rest! 
 
 Would you be the poet? — cling 
 
 Ever to God's marveling. 
 
 Though the storm-winds scatter round, 
 
 Howling over tree and ground, 
 
 Know the scents the flowers exhale 
 
 Ever in the air prevail! 
 
 Though mount's stagnant marshlakes be — 
 
 Dryless brooks rush gleefully 
 
 Through — and laugh and flood to the sea! 
 
t^ Poetical Works. 
 
 Would you be the poet? — dream 
 By the languid meadow-stream. 
 Learn your lesson from the woods. 
 From the mountains' solitudes. 
 Glorify the spheres; the deep, 
 Deep far universe; and steep 
 All your thoughts in Nature's lores. 
 Wend your steps to distant Shores 
 When your lyre will be taken — 
 Where a new Life will awaken! 
 
 ■(1887.)] 
 
LIFE. 
 A TRILOGY. 
 
 1. The Course of Love. 
 
 2. Contemplation. 
 
 3. Suppositions on a Future Life. 
 
NOTE. 
 
 The first part of this " Trilogy " was completed in the author's 
 twenty-fourth year. Before his nineteenth year he had never essayed 
 the poetical. 
 
 In order to keep the flavor of such early production, the author 
 has not changed any part of it, but has thought, in the strain of 
 Goethe, when asked to alter his *' Gotz von Berlichen," retorted 
 that he wished to preserve the freshness of his youth in his drama, 
 to present it to his readers in all its spontaneous expression and 
 naive charm. 
 
 The last two parts are the outcome of the author's final thoughts 
 about life and futurity, and were written during the years of 1898 
 and 1899. 
 
THE COURSE OF LOVE. 
 
 A DRAMA. 
 
 Characters. 
 
 Allonzo, Duke of a Province. 
 
 RoDERiGO, a young nobleman. 
 
 Hassan el Kader_, a scribe and metaphysician. 
 
 Phillippo^ a young student, and the son of a 
 
 duke. 
 Felicia, daughter of Allonzo. 
 Angelica, wife to Allonzo. 
 SoFFRiNA, maid to Felicia. 
 Rosa, an adventuress. 
 Host of Wayside Inn. 
 Hostess of Wayside Inn. 
 Melita, their child. 
 An Old Sailor. 
 First Senor. 
 Students, other noblemen, sefioritas, and waiters. 
 
 Place. — On the coast of Spain. 
 Time, — The present. 
 
 15 
 
i6 Poetical Works. 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 Scene I. — Opens in a spacious room of the 
 Scribe. Hassan el Kader reading old folios. 
 On the end of the antique table, in supine posture, 
 Phillippo is seated. The room is sparsely fur- 
 nished, hut it is overfilled with hooks, MSS., chemi- 
 cal material, and curios. 
 
 Phillippo (cheerftdly) . He's not a dunce, 
 
 Hassan ; he was born a light 1 
 Although his father's large estates inspire pride 
 In him, I do perceive a generous heart; 
 Seriously, my mentor, he hath brain, 
 And what not of that special property 
 You taught me was the essence of this life ! 
 
 (Gets up, and laughs.) 
 He'll ne'er own up that he is deep in love. 
 Though often has he muttered to himself 
 Without due cause; and often have I seen 
 Him steal away, of gloomy nights — alone— 
 To yonder grove, where we are wont to lie 
 At day, lost in our higher studies. Ha, ha! 
 
 {Looks over El Kader's shoulders.) 
 El Kader {reading to himself). "Although 
 
 the languages are vastly different, 
 We must approve of this assertion, that they are 
 The children of one great — the Aryan tongue ! " 
 Aye yes, aye yes, Phillippo ! aye — ^you spoke — 
 Aye, did you not ? ( Takes oif his spectacles, wipes 
 
 them.) He has a generous heart, 
 
The Course of Love. 17 
 
 And he may cast an eye upon that girl — 
 But surely she will never turn him hers ! 
 Phillippo. Why so? 
 
 El Kader. Because she is a wilful child. 
 
 She wants what others have not; she is — well, 
 In short — a prudish, spoilt and changeful girl. 
 Phillippo. Oh ! say not that. I know her bet- 
 ter, mentor! 
 She is a fond, sweet soul — and nothing else! 
 
 El Kader. The old, old course with two admir- 
 ers ! Phillippo, 
 ^Twere well if you should learn your sciences. 
 Aye, better be prepared to state the cause 
 Of vaporous air — and its effects on earth. 
 You know we have this lesson for the morrow. 
 Phillippo (laughs). Tophila! Have not I so 
 many more. (Sits upon edge of the table.) 
 El Kader. Aye, evil 'tis that you are not in- 
 structed 
 In morals ; sure, that nobleman's not thus ! 
 
 Phillippo. All sweets are in our passion — 
 
 woman's best! 
 El Kader. What use are all instructions! aye, 
 the deep, 
 Abstrusest metaphysics cannot show 
 To you, that virtue is man's truest blessing! 
 
 Phillippo (laughing) . But pleasure is for man 
 
 of gayest caliber. 
 El Kader. You aye forget resulting evils, my 
 friend ! 
 2 
 
1 8 Poetical Works. 
 
 Phillippo. He'll soon be here! — Good-by! — 
 
 Sweet Luzan's mine. 
 Felicia must be mine! Farewell — Adios! 
 
 (Runs out cheerily and carelessly.) 
 El Kader. Must I improve the mind of such a 
 
 man? 
 He has great intellect; some talents rare, 
 Which are the ornaments to any scholar. 
 Alas! his youth! and his companionships; 
 They have been those bad cankers in the bud — 
 Now they can never change to winged forms — 
 They must remain the maggots till they die! 
 'Tis like a welcome respite when, at times, 
 My Senor comes, to me confiding all 
 His troubling, heart-deep secrets; for he was 
 My pupil — and in all love is instructed; 
 Yet weak in that, which woman only teaches ! 
 . . . Aye! venerable tome; though sixty years 
 Ha' elapsed, thou hast not come to head in science. 
 Aye, if they knew it — that I am like Satan 
 In old disguise! — but hearken — a crackling sound! 
 A huge creak; steps repeat their tapp — tapp — tapp. 
 I wonder who will knock. (Looks sidewise toward 
 
 the door, then reads interestedly. A knock 
 
 at the door.) Come in — come in! 
 
 Enter Roderigo. 
 
 RoDERiGO (somewhat excited, yet composed). 
 Good Hassan ! as a friend, I adjure you, give 
 Me one more solvent for a mystery — 
 
The Course of Love. 19 
 
 A mystery that distracts me, though IVe Hved 
 These twenty-seven years ; oh ! disconcerts me ; 
 Drags me to utter incapabiHty — 
 Nay, makes me run awild — makes me a child ! 
 I saw her ! — in the garden. Roses paled before her. 
 Hassan ! all the flowers bowed before her — ^perfumes 
 Blew round her; sure, some nestled on my lips. 
 And now, th' intoxication, which fomented — 
 
 Hassan, 
 A solvent for this flint within my heart. 
 It must be melted — nay, you must dissolve it! 
 
 El Kader (astonished) . My Seiior — where are 
 those sternest studies gone to, 
 When we walked in acacia-scents ; where linger 
 Those abstruse sciences, we had propounded; 
 Where is my Senor's usual rigor now ! 
 
 RoDERiGO. True, true; I am upset. It is un- 
 manly 
 To lose the self-composure. Yet, good Hassan! 
 All science flits away, as birds from eve — 
 All knowledge effervesces, as foam in pools — 
 Good Hassan, all your teachings have not taught 
 One greatest mystery; — give me a solvent — 
 I entreat you, a solvent ! All my vitals burn ; 
 That flint, so flaming here, is killing me. 
 
 El Kader (stands up and taps the Senor on the 
 shoulder). Come, come, my Senor ! com- 
 pose yourself — 
 It is in man, the common effect of joy 
 Thafs not returned at once ; — you'll soon be o'er it ! 
 Come, let's beguile a moment with the fumes 
 
20 Poetical Works. 
 
 From strong Du Begue's rank leaves ; you know we 
 
 are 
 To musing friends; and with warm Turkey's pro- 
 duct 
 Our minds will leave this room, and sail the air 
 To fairest Fatmes by those fragrant strands, 
 That have a glimpse o' those sudden-born islands, 
 
 hailed 
 The children of fair Greece. Come, come, Sefior — 
 Here is the pouch — you do remember it? 
 That day, adown the " calle " walking — Napoli's 
 Own daughter bade us buy it for a nothing. 
 
 (Takes pouch and offers it. Brings Turkish 
 pipes. ) 
 
 (Both smoke.) 
 So there — ^be seated. Swing your mind upon 
 The memories of olden days, when from the sea 
 We learned more than what's in a parchment- 
 volume 
 Or pamphlet; — when your you . . . (Gets inter- 
 ested. ) 
 RoDERiGO. When from the brier, 
 
 That stuck upon my vestment, we had shown 
 The verisimiltude of parasites that cling 
 To plants, to those that bother thinking minds. 
 (Laughing.) Ha, ha! and what a trouble tear it 
 
 off 
 Again. Oh ! Dios ! so is that prickling, prickling 
 In me! — but — Hassan! to my love! for truly. 
 It is love rummaging within my heart! 
 
The Course of Love. 21 
 
 El Kader. Tobacco has its virtues. Those old 
 Turks 
 Were wise to smoke. I see, it soothed your temper. 
 It is a sedative, at best ; an equipoiser 
 Of man's warm-frigid nature. — When we lost 
 Our heads o'er some strange problem, then had gone 
 To the acacias ; from one bole we learned 
 To solve the mathematical involution. 
 
 RoDERiGO. Oh ! Hassan, nay, past days may not 
 relieve 
 Me of this burning, flaming 
 
 El Kader. Means are many; — 
 
 But what results will fruit, is left to chance. 
 I tell you, Seflor — sing fair songs to her 
 To-night — or try to get admission there. 
 But be not frightened if you see another. 
 For, Senor, she is fickle; there are other men 
 Who court her, try your best ; Haha ! I've passed 
 That bitter time, still redolent with joys ! 
 And yet, 'tis strange that you, a scholar, a man, 
 Should feel the sting so all substantially. 
 You know Phillippo — my pupil — he doth know 
 You as he knows the Koran, he professes. 
 But you and he are friends — were playmates, then; 
 I do forget it — ^but you know him yet? 
 
 RoDERiGO (walking up and down. Curtly). 1 
 do ; but I have my own thoughts of him. 
 But, what of him? 
 
 El Kader. He has an eye on her! 
 
 -"^KoDERiGO. He has! that . . . he would woo 
 Felicia's heart! 
 
22 Poetical Works. 
 
 Nay, she would be a lioness to tear him, 
 If she but knew. . . . 
 
 El Kader. Puff on — and reason now. 
 
 You always showed the signs of ready reason. 
 I tell you, sing to her; her ears must hear 
 Fair song ; and slowly woo her to your heart. 
 If she'll be loyal f you — the stars will tell ! 
 
 RoDERiGO. I always thought of serenading — 
 playing 
 The lute ; or lifting up my voice in rhymes 
 Of tender rhythm; but — ^but — Hassan, Hassan — 
 We're friends! to-night, yea, if the horned moon 
 Be prospering — before her garden-gate, 
 ril trill the air; and woo her from her slumbers ! 
 El Kader. Come this day's afternoon to our 
 grove. 
 Participate in my instructions, since 
 Your restless mind will not allow of work! 
 
 RODERIGO. A little while I'll stay.— But I must 
 go 
 To compose a ditty — and the music for it. 
 
 (Meantime there's a knock at the door.) 
 'El. Kader. Stay yet awhile ; and see who comes ! 
 Come in! 
 (Roderigo seats himself, and fumbles in the 
 books.) 
 
 Enter the Duke. 
 Buenas dias ! 
 
 Duke. I do presume — El Kader! 
 Beg pardon ! am I intruding — ^but I came, 
 With recommendations of Sefior Phillippo, 
 
The Coufse of Love. 23 
 
 To ask if you instruct the tender sex. 
 My daughter would dehght in knowing more 
 Of nature's manifestations. I thought you could 
 Be useful to her ; or tell me of another. . . . 
 
 El Kader. My Duke, I can. 
 
 Duke. You know me then! 
 
 El Kader. Yes, Duke! 
 
 Phillippo told me of you — last Friday noon 
 We saw you, by the copse — near to the brook. 
 My memory's not so feeble. 
 
 Duke. I have the pleasure! 
 
 So you can teach her what her hungry brain, 
 Just now so mooded, longs to harbor. — Well, 
 I hope to see you on the morrow's morn. 
 
 {Looks around the room.) 
 A real old study ; almost like magician's vault. 
 You are a scholar of the hidden arts, I see. 
 Those chemicals, those tubes, and there, those tomes 
 Whose weight could serve as dumbbells for a 
 
 giant — 
 That table — (Roderigo looks up.) Ah! your 
 Faustus, I suppose? 
 
 El Kader. Duke, let me make you know a 
 worthy man, 
 Seflor Roderigo. (RODERIGO rises and bows.) 
 
 Duke. Very charmed, Sehor; perhaps 
 
 In custody with magic; or a visitor .... 
 
 Roderigo. Nay, nay, a former pupil and old 
 friend, 
 My Duke . . . 
 
 El Kader. Yes, 'tis a room in great disorder. 
 
S4 Poetical Works. 
 
 Yet, we of sciences, abstractions, live 
 
 Like Nature almost — where great disorder reigns — 
 
 But she may lay her hand on everything 
 
 She looks for. 
 
 Duke. It was aye a myth to me 
 How tha' German songwright wrote his sym- 
 phonies. 
 When, as his aged servant says, he worked 
 Surrounded by confusion, in midst of strange dis- 
 order. 
 Well, well, Sefiores ; a good morning to you ! 
 RoDERiGo ( While the Duke makes his exit). My 
 
 Duke! 
 El Kader (accompanying Duke to the door). I 
 wish you a good day, my Duke! 
 
 (Exit Duke.) 
 Now, there's a chance to know Felicia! 
 If you can't, I shall read her each expression. 
 So soothe your heart — cheer up — make good the 
 
 day: 
 By singing to her — drive your gloom away. 
 
 Roderigo. But we have learned that, while the 
 sun doth shine. 
 Some vapors always laugh in distant realms. 
 So we may not foresee! 
 
 El Kader. Now go, and write 
 
 Your ditty ; flow a melody for to-night ! 
 Senor, this afternoon show your success. 
 I hope 'twill prosper, so you'll win her well. 
 
 Roderigo. All what I learned from you will free 
 from me 
 
The Course of Love. :^5 
 
 That burning — I shall stroke tranquillity! 
 El Kader. This afternoon. 
 RoDERiGO. I hope to sing you all. 
 
 (Exit RODERIGO.) 
 
 El Kader (seats himself). So — no disturb- 
 ance now till noon; — this tome 
 (Closes it.) May sleep; and languages may lie at 
 
 peace. 
 . . . ( Thinks. ) That love-affair doth trouble all my 
 
 mind. 
 I do foresee some bad effects — some coction, 
 Still latent to the common vision, yet to me 
 As clear as lazuli on bed of stream. 
 
 (Rests his head upon his hand.) 
 Felicia is a fickle girl. I saw her play 
 Upon the sward within the Ducal woods; 
 With noblemen about her ; she took their praises 
 So airily — yet petulantly — though all 
 Her prettiness gave her favor in their eyes. 
 Withal, she has a true good heart — 'tis spoilt ! 
 Those lavish flatteries to her, from lips 
 Of passive courtiers, will be showers of poison! 
 I do foresee — yet (if but for Rod'rig's sake) 
 These interested omens are but said to fate — 
 Inexorable fate — who bends the iron man ! 
 
 (Looks about the table.)^ 
 Ah ! here you are ; exhilarating — surely. 
 As fresh as mulse new-pressed by maiden-feet 
 Who dimples give to waters, purified 
 By seeds, whom Indian-girls have culled. — O 
 World! 
 
26 ]Poetical Workis. 
 
 What wisdom in thy tombs ! Yet they are left 
 Fast-sealed — as in the modern mind the glories 
 Of meditation : sense of soul-evection, 
 Which is the call from spirits in the man. 
 You, book ! in whom the thoughts of ancient men 
 Are stored; with whom the present staggers van- 
 quished. 
 For in the old, old days we were a race 
 Of mountain-thought ; and science was in glow. 
 {Thinking.) It is to me, our men dig in a flood, 
 And shovel up the clods, thus heaping all 
 Upon the bank — while onward flow the bubbles 
 That should have been their study ! Aye, my Soul ! 
 But who may preach to moles, and apple-borers. 
 
 {He reads awhile.) 
 Those old men were the flames of Aetna ! Allah ! 
 
 {Dips his nose into the tome.) 
 Thy glories thou hast given to pensive souls. 
 How hard to cultivate them in a soil of coins ! 
 {Looks up. ) Ah ! gray am I ; my life has been deep 
 
 thought ; 
 With mysteries my hours have been fraught. 
 Yet in these days, one science is ignored: 
 It is to know what all the ancients knew! 
 
 {He is deeply interested in reading.) 
 
 (Curtain drops.)^ 
 
The Course of Love. 27 
 
 Scene IL — Opens in the park of the Duke. A 
 bower to the left. To the right, in middle distance, 
 view of the castle. In the distance are hills, and a 
 hit of sea. It is nearing noon. 
 
 Felicia enters; she's dressed in a riding habit. 
 Speaking gleefully, and looking backwards. 
 
 Felicia. Oh ! hasten, mother ! 
 The Duchess (not on the stage; from a dis- 
 tance.) Wait, child! till I dismount! 
 Felicia (nervously, and playing with the riding- 
 whip). How slow my mother is; and I so 
 swift 
 Of blood ! She's like a condor, I, a bird 
 That flits from bough to twig! — Now, mother! 
 
 hasten ! 
 Or Rodios will be neighing impatiently, 
 And he'll be here ! — Why, there I see him come — 
 (Points.) He's at the gate! Now, mother, do 
 come here 
 
 The Duchess (running in from the right). 
 Child! what impatience! I am not so fleet 
 As you, my dear. You know youth is the morn 
 With blood astreaming, but that years bring on 
 The tranquil noon, and age doth sun itself! 
 
 Felicia (kisses her). I know't, dear mother! 
 but we promised him 
 To be near to this arbor — I would not wish 
 To disappoint him. 
 
 The Duchess. What was his new request? 
 
28 Poetical Works. 
 
 Felicia. To ask of you permission to go riding 
 O'er to the sea ; and then come back at eve. 
 But there he comes. 
 
 Enter Phillippo. 
 
 How punctual! We just came. 
 And I was scolding mother that she labored 
 Wi' the stirrups, and she did not leap adown, 
 As Amazons do, of whom the legends tell. 
 
 Phillippo (bowing). My Senoritas, a good, 
 good morning to you! 
 You were too kind to wait till I should come — 
 But punctuality is life to events. 
 Senora! would you gratify a wish of mine- 
 To let Felicia ride with me beyond 
 The dunes — we shall be back ere evening-time. 
 
 The Duchess. I have no reasons for declining it, 
 Sefior; but, you'll be back before the moon 
 Peeps through the gloaming, and the night would 
 
 let 
 Your moods be all unwary! Surely, Seiior, 
 I count upon your virtues, and your guidance ! 
 
 Phillippo. Thanks! — Sefiorita, you will be 
 equipped 
 With all the necessaries for a riding-bout! 
 At morn then! — 
 
 Felicia {laughing). Senon be assured of it. 
 To-morrow then! 
 
 Phillippo. Adios, Sefioras! 
 
 i^He takes leave. Exit.) 
 
 Felicia. Is he not full worthy 
 
The Course of Love. 29 
 
 Of confidence, dear mother? Why, although 
 So young yet, he's my senior by four years, 
 What cavaher ! a courtier to a king ! 
 How Hvely! and what comedy he plays! 
 Dear Mother ! we shall have a glorious time, 
 To-morrow — ^by the blue, warm sea, — we two; 
 And think ! we'll have a glimpse of our towers — 
 And I'll imagine seeing you there, waving 
 Your kerchief — and we both shall think of you. 
 
 (The Duchess kisses her.) 
 The Duchess (She goes to the bower, and seats 
 herself. Felicia follows). Here are some 
 tears for you ! (Felicia kneels at her feet. ) 
 You are upon 
 A shore, whose sea can swallow, and whose leas 
 Can furnish you with beds of asphodel ! 
 That I consent your going with him, implies 
 Not that I shall allow you every day. . . . 
 Felicia! Tell to me your secrets always. 
 I love to guide you ! 
 
 Felicia. Why such frightful words ! 
 
 Dear Mother, why in tears, when all the air 
 Is glowing ! See the glitter on the orange-bush ! 
 And hear the cheeping of the birds. 
 
 The Duchess (composing herself). 'Tis noth- 
 ing! 
 Felicia! I was only dreaming; 'tis not good 
 To burden youth with age's omens, though 
 Experience shows aright; but who doth know 
 If what I saw and felt will be your lot. 
 Dear child ! so let us trust to Providence. — 
 
30 Poetical Works. 
 
 For, what befalls us, misery, or fortune, 
 
 Is after all the course for all the world. 
 
 (Kisses her.) My maidenhood has gone — and I'm 
 
 a wife — 
 I passed the clefts engulfing thoughtless maids ; 
 And many are the jungles in the woods 
 Of wooing ; — happy she who glows a queen 
 In wifehood's reign; who listened to her con- 
 science — 
 . . . But I am dreaming, child; you cannot grasp 
 The meaning yet. ... 
 
 Felicia. Mother, what besets you, mother ! 
 
 Why all so fretful of your own Felicia? 
 Are we not merry — does your daughter anger 
 You? (Laughing.) Why, there is the nobleman 
 
 who courts me. 
 Then Senor Miquel sends me many flowers 
 And Duke this, and Marquis that bestow on me 
 Their compliments. But one has not approached 
 
 me — 
 I saw him blushing, at the early morn — 
 He thought he then was unobserved — and I 
 Did blush, all contrary to my will. What more 
 Can any Dona Clara wish; dear Mother, say! 
 The Duchess (smiles). You baby-girl! You 
 rosebud in the breeze! 
 You innocent; you have too many cavaliers. 
 And know not whom to give your heart to ! Child, 
 I think that he who steals his way to you 
 Doth dream of you ; and is the most sincere — 
 And if he blushed, what greater sign of love! 
 
The Course of Love. 31 
 
 Felicia. Senor Phillippo is so gracious, civil, 
 pleasing. 
 He calls me ever by sweet names, and brings 
 To me the rarest bits of novelty in town. 
 We know him long ; and he who blushes, finds 
 {thoughtfully) Two moons' slow rounds within our 
 home ! 
 
 The Duchess. But, child ! 
 
 Be wary ! Keep your conscience ; trust to love. 
 Be deaf to flatteries ; confide in me ! 
 
 Enter, from behind, the Duke. 
 
 The Duke {throwing orange-blossoms on the 
 two). See there! I found you. Mother 
 and daughter, bound 
 Together as any loving unadepts; 
 Exchanging sorceresses' dreams; conniving 
 Small wrongs, contracted by Rodios' amble — 
 Or by the caracole of Felicia's palfrey. 
 Abetted by the swift- following perfumes — blowing 
 From all our country's sweet luxuriance. 
 Angelica, Phillippo was right — I've found 
 The scholar ; Felicia ! now cater to your wish — 
 For he will come the after-morrow here, 
 And teach you, out in nature's arms, her truths 
 And unbeholden mysteries. 
 
 Felicia {stands up and kisses the Duke). I'm 
 so happy. 
 Dear father. Now can I weigh those questions well 
 Which sometimes come to me, while picking flowers. 
 
32 Poetical Works. 
 
 Or, riding through the avenues, when far 
 I behold the sea in haze or hear the gull ! 
 
 The Duchess (rising). Yes, now you may. 
 And many another secret 
 Will be disclosed. Now run to Soffrina, bid 
 Her order our repast. (Felicia kisses both.) 
 
 Felicia. And though my habit 
 
 Be inconvenient, like a Cupid I'll fly — 
 To please you, mother! (Exit.) 
 
 The Duke. There's the image, dear, 
 
 O' yourself, when I had wooed you long ago ! 
 When you had run about the lawns, and I 
 Had chased you, all in play's own gamboling! 
 Dear wife! what do you think about our child? 
 There are too many wooers — better, flatterers! 
 We must essay to choose one, and impress her 
 With his good qualities ; time will assist us ! 
 You, as her mother, know her better far 
 Than I, her father — she keeping more with you, 
 And sharing your own nature. Tell me what 
 She dreams of! 
 
 The Duchess. Maybe I do. She's like all girls : 
 At Spring's bright portal, when March blossoms 
 
 first. 
 Yet undecided; changeful — with no wish — 
 Nor any will, or thought. She's cradled on 
 The sea of desires, and fancies ; she parades 
 With many a cavalier ; she's vain, to know 
 That all give flowers, compliments ; or tell 
 Her things, that weigh on any other heart 
 But hers 
 
The Course of Love. 33 
 
 The Duke. You are my own dear wife — the day 
 Which glows, after the morn did prophesy 
 Its radiance by the dawn's dew, that exhaled. 
 You realize my one ideal, Angelica! 
 Yes, she is young — and we must guard her yet. 
 The Duchess. Not too severely. Let her know 
 all men. 
 Choose for herself. I had my choice, you know ! 
 {She kisses him.) I'm so glad — we must let our 
 child be th' same ! 
 The Duke. Yet one day's not example for the 
 following — 
 And radiant Saturday may give gloomy Sunday! 
 Angelica! we shall see! 
 
 The Duchess. There's one who steals to 
 
 her — 
 She knows it, but his silence doth annoy her. 
 She cannot understand such deeper love ! 
 
 The Duke. Yes, he was with El Kader. I 
 think him stern 
 Of mind, erudite, and what I saw — a nobleman ! 
 The Duchess. We know him not so well; yet 
 do I think 
 His love is sudden, therefore more sincere! 
 
 The Duke. O Angelica ! What a bother is this 
 seeking. 
 
 This searching for a lover, and this pairing. 
 We must consider ourselves more happy now ; 
 (Kissing her.) Each one must find the other; 
 
 Heaven directs! 
 What is the use of coupling adverse natures, 
 3 
 
34 Poetical Works. 
 
 Oh ! let the lovers be surprised at their own finds. 
 The parents give their daughters those they cherish. 
 Come, givQ your arm ! like lovers we shall walk, 
 Like whispering lovers shall we sweetly talk! 
 And to our chatellete, such fortunate home ! 
 Shall go. 
 
 The Duchess (takes arm). I am so happy — oh ! 
 
 so happy — 
 May Heaven give to my own child such bliss — 
 And when she's wedded, such dearest husband's 
 
 kiss! 
 O Heaven, forbear to shower stinging cares, and 
 
 woes 
 
 The Duke. Come, love! why think of woe, 
 
 when affluence flows ! 
 (Walking.) Why, there's Felicia — waiting on the 
 
 steps ! 
 The Duchess. So I've been waiting often- 
 times for you. 
 Do you remember when you kept me waiting — 
 Yet all at once strewed flowers on my head, 
 Then kissed me. ... 
 
 (They laugh and walk out. Curtain drops.) 
 
The Course of Love. 35 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 Scene I. — A grove with the blue sea through the 
 trees; upon the lawn, in background, students are 
 seated; each is interested in some natural object, 
 some form groups, the units of which discuss prob- 
 lems with each other. It is afternoon — a clear day 
 — here and there are tropical bushes. A general 
 murmuring is heard. 
 
 From the right enters Roderigo^ with a book 
 under his arm. Before coming forward, he stands 
 still and looks tozvard the pupils. 
 
 RoDERiGO. What hive of busy souls completes 
 the foreground 
 Of such a view, that emulates with Diaz' brush- 
 work! 
 Oh ! sea, the glory of our Spain ! so blue, 
 And calm; oh! grove, enriched with every hue 
 That rainbow's prism showeth, blessed be. 
 Of Spain her fairest charm, such scenery! 
 Aye, so was I in youth's unruly days, 
 When fluttering Psyche never steadfast stays; 
 In higher studies lost, the hours glowed! 
 But now Fm traveling on another road. 
 Oh ! youth lies in Spring's redolency, manhood 
 Walks sternly through some endless, addered 
 
 canon ! — 
 His class 's composed ; they're studiously employed. 
 
36 Poetical Works. 
 
 But where may Hassan be? He told me come, 
 And show him my quick ditty — nothing more 
 Than dew that falls at morn ! — 'Tis worthiest study, 
 Amongst them — What humming of bees industri- 
 ous! 
 They learn not marble lessons, but the blood 
 And lymph of every branch commingles richly 
 With their own minds, thus keeping all their 
 
 thoughts 
 In wondering strain, e'en as when lightning flashes 
 Before us, we never can forget it — so clings 
 The lore to them, since it was given alive ! 
 
 Enter Phillippo from the hack; he loses himself 
 among the pupils. 
 
 Is that he? Proud and giddy: he would woo 
 My love! — He sees me. 
 
 {Both how, and Phillippo comes up to him.) 
 
 Enter Phillippo. 
 
 Phillippo. Welcome to these halls ! 
 
 Where Pan is tutor, and the Zephyr our book — 
 We have not met for many days — say, Roderig! 
 And how's the heart this glorious afternoon ! 
 Expecting Hassan ? 
 
 RoDERiGO. Yes. I wished his counsel; 
 
 That's all. But how the class has grown. Aris- 
 totle 
 Could not have wished his walks more favored; 
 surely 
 
The Course of Love. 37 
 
 Our Hassan's Socrates — aye, Buddah revived! 
 Phillippo. And shaming all instructors of the 
 age! 
 Why, Sefior, we learn more in one short moment 
 Than they in weeks of study with their books. 
 RODERIGO. Yes, object-study *s the best ; and 
 youth can gaze 
 And meditate; to history they can give 
 A casual eye, for it abounds in wrong and sin ! 
 And is no study — since our children's thoughts 
 Should harbor things that edify the soul! 
 
 Phillippo. True; much that we are made to 
 know is means 
 To sin, be profligate — and mimic vice. 
 Yet what a world, if all would stately be 
 As Vestals — Roderig! gaiety for me! 
 
 RoDERiGO. But you've enlisted here, why not 
 improve 
 Yourself — and learn the charms of man to love! 
 Phillippo. Hell keep them ! Pluck the Spring- 
 bud in the May! 
 For in old age all pleasures fly away ! 
 
 Enter Hassan el Kader. 
 
 Ah! Mentor! why so late! the pupils mutter. 
 RoDERiGO. Good afternoon! I kept my promise, 
 
 Hassan ! 
 Hassan. Forgive my tardy arrival — but the 
 Duke 
 Stopped me and asked for kind participation 
 In our lessons; he'll come later on. 
 
38 Poetical Works. 
 
 Phillippo, you as head-pupil — prepare the class ! 
 
 {He goes and brings quiet and order in the class.) 
 Now, Roderig! that book has talismanic power! 
 Through it the stars will change their course's fury ! 
 E'en meteors will eclipse their burning showers. 
 Senor! she must fall prone before its essence, 
 Which you will waft to-night, e'en as the strain, 
 Mellifluent, of Philomel to Irene! 
 Show! (Reads.) 
 
 Like my pupil's; yet inspired by love 
 To dazzle my instructions with flowers' colors! 
 Seiior ! well done ! — And if the moon will glisten 
 Through fragrant jasmines, she will surely listen! 
 RoDERiGO. You flatter, Hassan! I did only 
 
 copy— 
 For right in front o' my brow those words did 
 
 hover. 
 It was a moment's penning; — ^but there's the 
 
 music — 
 Two pages further back — there — written sweetly! 
 Hassan. A simple measure — good!— you 
 
 listened to me 
 To take as models Schubert, or Schumann; well, 
 Senor..as passionate as Chopin's — sweet as Grieg's — 
 Harmonious as any of Haydn's motets. 
 This music must needs enter any heart ! 
 
 RoDERiGO. All owing to your kind suggestions, 
 
 though, 
 As was the roundelay, the melody flowed 
 While my pen moved o'er the five bars . . . 
 
 Hassan. Exactly 
 
The Course of Love. 39 
 
 My method — incHnation blossoms perfection! 
 And Spring-rains ever shower more sweetly down 
 When mellow hours fill all the atmosphere. 
 You'll sing it to her this night — will you not? 
 
 RoDERiGO. Why, these are plenilunary nights; 
 I shall, 
 Hassan, when the quiet seemeth more than still! 
 
 Hassan. The class! — I leave you to your 
 fancies, Roderigo! 
 
 {Goes to the pupils), 
 
 Roderigo. Now heart ! oh ! triumph once for all 
 — and night ! 
 Do prosper my undertaking of delight ! 
 But what's the matter, heart ! what sudden burn — 
 What rummaging — command that I must yearn! 
 Is it some unseen, unknown spirit's doings — 
 That, all at once, my mind is sweet with wooings? 
 What truth in proverbs ! Speak of one not nigh — 
 And there the spoken of comes suddenly ! 
 For there they are, o'er yonder through the green — 
 O she it is, whose sweetness none hath seen 
 But he who loved her. What a graceful step ! 
 She smiles so sweetly, as she nods assent — 
 Wait — I shall stay yet — see what favors me. — 
 O Dian, thro' the Heliconian mountains 
 Sweet running, has not ever sprung to fountains 
 As she now hastens onward ! — Her maid is by her — 
 The Duke lingers behind ; she's fraught with fresh- 
 ness — 
 O leaping, as the fragranced falls down moss-steps ! 
 
40 Poetical Works. 
 
 Enter Felicia, followed by her maid. 
 
 Felicia (running up). I'm here the first, 
 Soffrina! — Why, good afternoon, 
 Senor ! 
 
 RoDERiGO. You seem a little out of breath ! 
 Sefiorita! this is sweet surprise indeed. 
 Is this a visit to the school ? 
 
 Felicia. I came 
 
 To see El Kader's class; — quick, quick, Soffrina! 
 Do take this brier off my skirt. 
 
 RoDERiGO (detaching it). An envious 
 Branch; fate did let it share your vividness. 
 
 (Confused.) 
 
 Felicia (confused). 
 
 Enter the Duke. 
 
 The Duke. Why running in advance, dear 
 child! and leaving 
 Your father alone? Ah, Senor! (They shake 
 
 hands.) I find you here — 
 Excuse me please! I promised to El Kader 
 That I should come. Felicia, I'll soon be back! 
 
 (Walks to the background.)' 
 RoDERiGO (aside). Oh! sting. What pierces 
 
 me! a lance hurled through me! 
 Soffrina. Sefiorita, do rest awhile. 
 Felicia. I am not tired, 
 
 Soffrina; only a little out of breath. 
 
 RoDERiGO. A draught of water — ^there's a spring 
 near by. 
 
The Course of Love. 41 
 
 Felicia. Oh! do not trouble — Soffrina will be 
 waiting. (Exit Roderigo.) 
 
 There was a sudden sting within my heart ! 
 I>low that he left — a flame burns in its walls. 
 Soffrina, let us on this bank recline. 
 
 (Re-enter Roderigo.) 
 Thousand thanks! how kind of you! (Drinks.) 
 Vm quite refreshed ! 
 
 Re-enter Hassan and Duke^ in conversation. 
 
 Hassan. Yes, Duke! instruction is a noble 
 thing — 
 But there is art to it — a thought-deep art! 
 
 Duke. Come, come, Felicia. Here's your mas- 
 ter, — know him! 
 Felicia. Senor, all my powers and gifts will 
 bow before 
 Your biddings — I'm glad to be your pupil ! 
 
 Hassan. I hope, Senorita, your eyes will glisten. 
 Felicia. Oh! I'll irradiate beams as doth the 
 
 sun. 
 Roderigo (aside). Oh! happy earth, that liveth 
 
 in such rays! 
 Felicia (aside). I know not; he confuses me! 
 
 I blush. 
 Duke. Senor, be good enough to come with us. 
 Senor Hassan needs you as interpreter. 
 Felicia, wait awhile; we'll soon return. 
 Felicia. O father, you won't stay long. 
 
 (Retire Hassan, Duke and Roderigo.) 
 
42 Poetical Works. 
 
 Be lively now! Soffrina, stamp on the lawn — 
 
 Till all the flowers flow their fragrance out. 
 
 For, through my heart, there steals a soothing 
 
 sense — 
 Unknown before — like incense through the aisles 
 Of some all-hallowed grove. (Aside.) Of sudden 
 
 came 
 This pierce — O nay, this pleasant flame of scent. 
 Which, by its richness, widened the hot wound. 
 (Aloud.) Soffrina, see! — but who comes bounding 
 
 there — 
 As bounds a colt, o'er marigolds and cresses 
 To the vined fence to neigh at its own mother ! 
 SoFFRiNA. Senorita, 'tis the gallant cavalier. 
 
 Re-enter Phillippo. 
 
 PiriLLipPO (hozving). Here, here? Offend I 
 
 this sweet privacy? 
 Senorita — how blissful, to have found you here: 
 As sweetly canopied, as ^gle was. 
 When waterfalls did sing to nymphs and mortals. 
 (Lies down.) What perfect freshness strays about 
 
 this grove; 
 And sits at watch, at times, by some dark tree. 
 Oh ! here, fair Senorita ! 'twere sweet to blush — 
 To gaze — and find a Narciss in your eyes! 
 
 Felicia. You flatter all the gods of woods and 
 
 streams. 
 And make me be your pastime's idol only ! 
 My Senor, maidens are so shy to praisers, 
 
The Course of Love. 43 
 
 They often tremble at such glowing words. 
 
 Phillippo. Come, do not listen to heart's 
 sedater tenets — 
 Enjoy the scene with lover's fairer rules 
 Of quick enrapturement ! 
 
 Felicia. I cannot smile 
 
 At such dictations so presumptuous — 
 Please moderate those statutes — for my sake ! 
 
 Phillippo. Felicia! unveil your mind, and let 
 its soul 
 Be seen ! We wxre so dear to one another — 
 Why such a rupture now? Think of to-morrow — 
 Oh ! by the sea — ^by cliff, and colored reef I 
 
 Felicia. We'll cling together; be Daphnis and 
 
 his Chloe! 
 Phillippo. And speak fond language ; bill — and 
 sweeten 
 Our lives with delicate caressings. See here! 
 
 {He takes out a map and points out places to 
 her. During this, Roderigo comes from 
 background and looks at the tzuo.) 
 Roderigo. Heart ! 
 
 Be not the murderer of thyself by rash 
 And thoughtless action ! quell thy hatred ! be 
 The cliff, defying swiftest ocean-gales ! 
 That is the scene in which I would be actor — 
 But here I am the audience in a temper! 
 O Heaven, that such must be the course of love ! 
 And he's a friend ; what is her heart deciding. 
 For she is not completely lost to him. 
 Abide, O jealous heart! the stars will tell 
 
44 Poetical Works. 
 
 If, with my song, I win her truly well ! 
 
 (Retires again.) 
 Felicia. Please go and tell to father Fm impa- 
 tient. 
 He stays away so long. 
 
 Phillippo. Again you change 
 
 Your mood — and wish away the one who loves you ! 
 Felicia. To-morrow, all day we may dream and 
 
 talk. 
 Phillippo. So you are fair — my own Felicia — 
 see. 
 I do your bidding as the winds of May 
 Bid all the fields to quicken, and to fragrance ! 
 
 (Exit.) 
 SoFFRiNA. Sefiorita! he is gallant — ^yet there 
 winds 
 A guileful, unseen smiling through his words. 
 They seem a fairy-garden — yet beneath 
 Each bloom a beetle doth prepare destruction! 
 Felicia (laughs). O wisely maid ! you put your 
 lorgnettes on — 
 I need none — I prefer a view with haze; 
 With sparkles glowing; some knolls indistinct; 
 With here and there a coiling puff — and there some 
 
 marsh 
 In smoke! 
 
 SoFFRiNA. Yet you will know it soon! 
 Felicia (laughing). What, what! 
 
 SoFFRiNA. Fate tells not her designs — she's 
 
 veiled ! 
 Felicia (aside). Again ! 
 
The Course of Love. 45 
 
 Oh ! am I waking in my prime, as buds 
 In the fair Spring; or is my heart in bloom 
 Which since but felt the bud's unfolded leaves ! 
 Soffrina, I wish my fortune were told me. 
 
 SoFFRiNA. Trust not to them — those double- 
 tongued mouths. 
 Trust to a heart sincere — to sacred Time, 
 They are worth more than oracles, or means 
 Of seeing clearly what man's future harbor. 
 
 Felicia (laughing). Ha ha! transplant us to 
 Vesuvius — 
 Where, so I read, the witches met to form 
 Their spells. (Rises.) I wish dear father would 
 return. 
 
 (She gets to be languid and moody.) 
 Soffrina. It is an effort to be loving two at 
 once. 
 Resolve thyself to give thy heart to one 
 True noble being ! 
 
 Felicia (looking away). Where is he, who 
 stung 
 Me here? 
 
 Enter Duke and the others, speaking. 
 
 You, wretched father! Why so long? 
 Duke. You seem in sweeter glow ! ( Kisses her. ) 
 Phillippo. The rest begot 
 
 In her such colors as are seen in pinks. 
 When after showers, they reope their chalices. 
 Hassan. Senorita, you may inspect the grounds 
 
46 Poetical Works. 
 
 And flutter 'bout at butterflies' ease and will! 
 Felicia. Thanks, thanks! 
 
 (While eager to go, she confronts Roderigo.) 
 RoDERiGO (stepping slozvly aside). I shall not 
 
 bar your way — fly on ! 
 Felicia (startles a little). O Seiior, I wish you 
 always could — to keep 
 Me long within your premises ! 
 
 (Both are confused. She stands still awhile, 
 wishing to speak, hut cannot.) 
 Father ! show me all ! Senor Hassan, come with us ! 
 Duke. Fly on, my darling ! we shall follow you 
 In shortest minutes. 
 
 Felicia. Come, Soffrina, follow 
 
 Me to the classes. (Exit Felicia and Soffrina.) 
 Roderigo (aside). What was that she said? — 
 It was the blush of love — the accents true 
 Which skip across the quiet lake of love. 
 (Aloud.) Well, my Phillippo, let us join the 
 others ! 
 Phillippo (aside). It was as though she acted 
 maidenly. 
 She lost her will — yet on the morrow all 
 For me ! before it be too late a venture. 
 
 (Aloud.) We may — and see the beauty of the 
 party 
 Befit herself to cope with Juliet's grace 
 And loveliness. 
 
 Roderigo. Oh! more than that — no Flora, 
 
 Gracing the morn of mellow June, can swing 
 To her melliginous bowers, as she! 
 
The Course of Love. 47 
 
 Phillippo. She is 
 
 The simulacrum of a goddess. 
 
 Duke. Seiior, on! 
 
 (Exit Duke and Phillippo to the background,) 
 Hassan. This night will be the zenith-path for 
 you! 
 She did exhale her heart unconsciously. 
 Yet in her silence blushed the joy sincere 
 Of having complimented one she values. 
 
 RoDERiGO. Could any god have desired more 
 than that! 
 O may my song its serpentine way find quickly — 
 To touch the musing cells of her Aonian brain ! 
 O hope! diffuse odoriferous dreams of her! 
 May this clear night be as a dawn to them ! 
 
 Hassan. Be sure, to-night! Sing while the 
 moon is half 
 Way up the skies — for then the fragrance spreads 
 More richly — and a maiden's heart is longing. 
 So will your song be brought on fumes to her, 
 Which acts more than a spell. Then sing to her! 
 RoDERiGO. I shall ! — Be up, so I can tell to you 
 If Venus has been near her, or if Cupid's bow 
 Was strung to wound a new-won heart. 
 Hassan. I'll wait! But to the others! 
 
 {Begins to walk hack.) 
 RoDERiGo {walking with Hassan). Happy 
 hour ! 
 When love is silent — showing magic power! 
 
 {Both lose themseives in the background. Cur- 
 tain falls.) 
 
48 Poetical Works. 
 
 Scene II. — The stage shows to the right part of 
 the chatelet, with the room of Felicia visible to 
 the audience. This takes up one-third of the stage. 
 To the left of the chateau the park extends; and in 
 distance, an avenue gives an open on the sky. 
 
 Felicia is in her room, trying on a riding habit. 
 SoFFRiNA is assisting her. The moon is peeping 
 up from the horizon. 
 
 Felicia, Soffrina. 
 
 SoFFRiNA. So it should be; but this part needs 
 
 some basting. 
 Felicia. I had it new-made; since he takes me 
 
 out 
 (Thoughtfidly.) To ride o'er fields to the far sea's 
 
 fair shore ! 
 (Laughs.) Soffrina, will this do to bewitch a man? 
 For, as you know, sweet witchery employs 
 His mind — without that we may not woo a man ! 
 Soffrina. But whom are you to woo?— 'tis 
 
 man who wooes. 
 Felicia. Did I say so! we dream, when loving 
 
 men! 
 Our thoughts are away and away! . . . Soffrina! 
 
 think ! . . . 
 So, that doth narrow all my waist ... it is 
 The jewel men love to handle gently — isn't it — 
 I think so ! — At the gate he would be waiting. 
 My palfrey will be trapped — the best saddle — not? — 
 Go, let the candle burn, so that the dim 
 
The Course of Love. 49 
 
 Light mate with my strange dreaminess. I'll call 
 When you may be my soothsayer. Presently! 
 
 (Exit SoFFRiNA. Felicia goes to her boudoir 
 
 and opens a drawer, takes out a letter; she 
 
 scrutinises it rapidly^ then bursts out joy- 
 
 fully:) 
 Ha, ha, ha ! such missives form a treasure trove. 
 ( Sweetly. ) Sweet solace to a sorrowing soul ! these 
 
 words 
 Resuscitate me when a doubt o'erspreads. 
 (Reads parts of them.) Each sentiment quickens 
 
 my pulse ; each word, 
 That seems to have outpoured from his enamored 
 
 mind, 
 Impulsively! (triumphantly) — the spell which I 
 
 have wrought — 
 Speeds through me sweet assurances of love ! — 
 Phillippo ! He that was an ebb to me. 
 And love, a moon, drew all, so I am his ! . . . . 
 Now sleep, you signs of sympathy! — I'll lock 
 You up (dreamily) and my love too? — 
 
 (Laughingly.) 
 Oh, foolish girl! 
 So young yet, how can your heart stay its pulse, 
 Should brighter men command its beat! 
 
 (Puts letter away.y 
 Now flit, 
 You fancy-forms, numerous as sparkles on a sea, 
 When white clouds, and the sun, shine gloriously. 
 Yea, fancy figments are so rare; the delicate dale, 
 When vernal breaths are yet effete, and blow 
 4 
 
50 Poetical Works. 
 
 No more than but to haze with green the trees, 
 Has not such tenuous tints, as fancy mingles, 
 To spell — essentiate — aye beautify! (Dreams.) 
 
 SoFFRiNA comes in with a letter. 
 
 SoFFRiNA. This note the tardy news-man brings. 
 Felicia. You woke 
 
 Me from such pleasant dreams ; I would to scold 
 You ! ( Takes letter. ) Whose quaint hand is that ? 
 
 (Opens it.) Go, go ! (Exit SOFFRINA.) 
 
 Who wrote me! (Laughs.) O blush, so unde- 
 
 manded ; blush, 
 Whose tremor in me leapt, when he surmised 
 Quick love! (Reflect ful.) Full well had he, for 
 
 swifter far 
 Than the rose-hue, that morning spreads upon 
 Some scudding cloudlet, spread th' impulsive blood 
 On my surprised cheeks. (Smiling.) So, this 
 
 small note — (Puts it against her face.) 
 Oh ! scented like some Arab-token, with the fumes 
 Of roses, long distilled — tells me the truth, 
 He has suspected — (holder) nay, warmed with a 
 
 strong 
 Sure confirmation, his heart beat; but, after 
 His fevered hand wrote all, was it released 
 Of love's fierce burn, and swift pulsation! 
 (Pleased.) Now, I shall break it! see! 'tis not a 
 
 page— 
 A hasty hand — few words in gliding tune! 
 (Reads.) "Carnations, roses were not thine, — 
 
The Course of Love. 51 
 
 " Oh ! 'twas the joy of love divine. 
 
 " While, through the night, perfumes arise, 
 
 " Love, list to thy true lover's sighs ! " 
 
 A flower — a tryst — how pure and lovely — see! 
 
 (Runs to the zmndow.^ 
 The moon peeps through the bush — and shadows 
 
 draw 
 Themselves across the wood; the jasmine shines; 
 A few flowers only — seeming glittering gold ! 
 And there, the tamarind hath a halo round. 
 The vines are serpenting, with sheeny scales 
 Bespeckled ; — oh ! there the owl's snow-wings pale, 
 As under the deep oak-shade she mopes on! 
 The moon's light, pearly, and of palest tissue. 
 Seems heavy now on all ! it steeps all things — 
 Imbues each ray-upturned flower; exhales 
 Electric sweetness in the air — for us 
 To live in — oh ! for us to talk in — oh, for us — 
 For us? (Titrns back to the table.) 
 
 Oh ! let me feel how my heart beats ! 
 
 (While she is lost in meditation, Roderigo 
 
 enters from the left, slowly, with guitar 
 
 under his arm. ) 
 Roderigo. Stop rapping all so loudly, heart! 
 
 Be still ! 
 List ! Nature hath no voice that spoils the tones 
 Surrendering all their harmony to silence! 
 The late gold-thighed bee drones not so wildly, 
 He seems to know that with the moon all sleeps — 
 All life hath rendered up inquietudes, 
 And frettings ! — Thou may'st burn, but rap not so. 
 
52 Poetical Works. 
 
 For with the voice, the slumbering butterfly 
 May stir the drowsy wind; for, with thy taps 
 Her window-panes may ring ; and she be frightened, 
 Thinking some vile enchanter touched the lattice. 
 So be composed ! oh ! 'tis too near to her, 
 'Twill be like summer-lakes, or solstice-skies. 
 I may not calm its swells, or lashing billows, 
 That dash against its walls, as red-tinged waves 
 Against the autumn-shores of mountain-seas! 
 How full — ^brim-full! as forest-pools run over 
 Bouncing their gushes 'gainst the obstructing 
 
 boulders — 
 'Tis vain — beat on; convulse thy blood, O heart! 
 Let not next moment's act my loving thwart! 
 
 {He comes upon the road, and makes a mis- 
 step, thus some branches crackle. This^ 
 startles Felicia.) 
 Felicia. I heard a noise ; is it he ? — nay, 'tis the 
 owl 
 That perched on th' oak, descends to nether boughs. 
 (Goes to window.) But no — a shadow — a moving 
 
 shadow on the road I 
 Heart, sting not so! — away, he must not see me! 
 
 (Retires to chair.) 
 RoDERiGO. O moon, bright orb! to shine the 
 lover's way — 
 Thou glowest, comforting my drear suspense! 
 For with thy balm, thy silver, and thy beams 
 Young maidens lie enchanted in their dreams! 
 O moon ! now spell my fingers, and my throat, 
 To linger o'er the strings in amorous weal. 
 
The Course of Love. 53 
 
 To swell the perfume, that my song may steal, 
 As musk through evening, to her rosed ear! 
 
 (Walks around in shadow of the trees, where 
 the gate is.) 
 Now may my shadow tell not where I be. 
 O fairies ! flitting through the beams, or resting 
 Upon the delicate blossoms, folded now ! 
 
 queen of night ! glide through the balmy fumes — 
 Thy wand sway over me, bewitch thy realm ! 
 
 For now her heart must soften, as hard turf, 
 With flowers pied, grows soft to feel the doe 
 Prance o'er it! now she must her soul extend 
 Even as, after showers, the bright heavens ! 
 For now, through song and music, love must curb 
 Desire, and our love will bloom so fair! 
 
 (Prepares for a serenade.) 
 Felicia. Phillippo is to me the better of the two ! 
 
 1 will not listen to him — no, no ; no, no ! 
 RODERIGO (singing). 
 
 Hush, hush, sweet birds! She comes arrayed 
 
 In all her loveliness; 
 The rustle of her loose, silk dress 
 The soft air doth pervade! 
 Hush, hush, dear birds ! for through my longing trips 
 The fondest elfin, that moon-roses sips! 
 
 Abate thy whisper, gentle breeze! 
 
 She's decked with rose and pink — 
 With bleeding-heart, and sweet heart's ease! 
 
 And low the murmurs sink. 
 
54 Poetical Works. 
 
 The murmurs of the alley, with moon-scent 
 For my love's whisper all the heavens rent ! 
 
 Hush, hush, sweet birds ! My love comes here, 
 
 Where in the gloom I stay, 
 To brighten dark hours like fair day — 
 And mantle all with cheer ! 
 Hush, hush ! dear birds ! for in me she doth dwell — 
 My own fond loved-one, so adorable! 
 
 (After a short pause.) 
 
 RcDERiGO. Oh! doth she listen with enwitched 
 ear — 
 While, through her lattice, winds blow slow and 
 drear ! 
 ( While he tries to look through the bush at her 
 window. ) 
 Felicia. What draws me to the moon! what 
 potency 
 Enchains me ! as charmed lizards to a flute ! 
 What glorious storms sound through my soul, as 
 
 winds, 
 Olympus-scented, rove, all-madcap, 'round 
 The whipples of the mountain-oaks, in fall! 
 (Stands up.) Waves, ocean roaming, swell not so, 
 
 as on 
 To thee my heart-pulse dashes swiftly! 
 
 (Rushes to the window; but suddenly changes.) 
 
 Stay! 
 (With regretful arm-wave, seats herself, and 
 muses. ) 
 
The Course of Love. 55 
 
 RoDERiGO. Her form was like a ghost against 
 the pane, 
 And Hke a phantom must it quickly wane! 
 She hears, she hears, but maiden-shame brims over, 
 Impels her heart to flee her truest lover! 
 Immemorable sight! — To win her there again, 
 O stringed wood! pour out thy fairest strain! 
 
 (Sings again more passionately.) 
 
 How may the sun be shining — 
 
 When she walks in the air ! 
 She dazzles all the meadows — 
 Makes all things thrice as fair! 
 Then die, O sun! 
 For with her beauty 
 All of thy duty 
 Is far more fondly done! 
 
 Her beams are soft — 
 
 She shines aloft 
 In the blue of my widest dream ! 
 
 Her glow is dear — 
 
 It doth appear 
 On the fields where my heart doth gleam ! 
 
 Then pale, O sun ! 
 
 For with her sweetness 
 All of thy meetness 
 Is far more purely done! 
 
 How may the day be glowing, 
 When she is never there! 
 
S6 Poetical Works. 
 
 She dazzles all the meadows — 
 Blooms all things thrice as fair ! 
 
 Moon! thousand curses, if this strain doth fail 
 Its rosed target, soft with velvet blooms! 
 (Softly.) Felicia! love! why hesitating! — ^burst 
 The window; ring the silentness of night 
 With the slammed lattice, till the bats whirr round, 
 And silvery sounds their fright ; — then peer for me, 
 Till thy two orbs will luster, as Olymp's stars 
 Brightning woe-days in Hellas' sufferings! 
 Then call out gladly to all scents that purse 
 Their thousand lips to amorous night, a word 
 That shall bring rest to the rage-moon — and balm 
 To the wild turn of earth, and universe ! 
 
 Felicia (calls). Soffrina . . . Nay, I am re- 
 solved to grow 
 For Phillippo! (Undecided.) 
 
 RoDERiGO. Art thou culling fondest rose-bud 
 To throw it to the scented airs that will 
 Direct me to its beauty ! art thou loth 
 To lavish on those strains of love thy treasures ! 
 O Felicia! 
 
 Felicia (calls), Soffrina ! , . . the strain has 
 ceased. 
 Is he low under some rosebush — in tears ; 
 His love-heart swelling ; then, of hope bereft, 
 Is prey to love-regret, . . . and sheds more tears! 
 
 Enter SOFFRINA. 
 
 Go to the garden-gate with this short note. 
 Give it to him who sings sweet song, and strums 
 
The Course of Love. 57 
 
 A ravishing low tune upon the lute! 
 
 Go, go! (SoFFRiNA goes out with letter. J^ 
 
 RoDERiGo. Expect, O heart! to feel the beat 
 Of her pur'^ bosom, while her lips bring me 
 Such visions, the lotus-eaters know — away 
 Where Djerba dreams in oases of flowers! 
 Oh! all the jasmines dance in her swxet breath, — 
 She comes — it is the rose, who loses life! 
 It is the lily lolls no more — admiring! 
 It is the lonely fuschia shines no more. 
 All pales — 'tis she ! coming in all her charms, 
 As, through some Shiraz-grove, bland breezes flit 
 With stolen riches from fair Malabar! 
 Her steps I hear ! it seems, her hand doth fondle 
 Some purple flower, whose scents permit of dreams I 
 A stem, with crimson blooms enburdened, falls ! 
 Her breath steals on my burning cheek — she comes ; 
 She blooms before me ! 
 
 (SOFFRINA appears ; throws the note to ROD- 
 ERiGo; then she hurries hack again. Rod- 
 ERiGO looks intently at the frying figure.) 
 
 Not Felicia ! ! 
 {A pause.) What sea hath poured its contents vast 
 
 in me! 
 That like a swollen mountain-brook, my throat 
 Seems wild! unmanning every utterance! 
 Oh ! as in dog-days welters the hot air — 
 A glorious morn, with prospects bright and fair — 
 Is drowned in descending waves, to drench all life ! 
 So are these songs the night-winds heard. O doom ! 
 To love — to dream — all ended in a gloom ! 
 
 (Picks up the letter. y 
 
58 Poetical Works. 
 
 Yet is this missive sweet indicative of thought! 
 Moon, friend in this my woe, O bear with me, 
 Still shine for me, till her dear words I see! 
 
 (Opens the missive; gases at moon.) 
 Great monster! Who art thou, frustrating love! 
 Vile asp, to sting the last dear hope ; and rid 
 Me of the last fond thought I kept of her. 
 Blank sheet ! paler than the cold moon, whose white 
 Hath in it signs that she is not forlorn. 
 Sheet! folded by her tender, rose-envermeiled 
 
 fingers, 
 O sheet! (almost weeping) I would to turn thee 
 
 icy cold — 
 And in thy new-assumed hardness, thrust 
 Thee at her — till she freeze to arctic snow.— 
 Oh! could she send a note without a word! 
 Without a dot — without a crushed edge? — 
 Vile asp — can'st thou coil round the lover's heart- 
 Press till thy venom oozes out from every pore — 
 Deadly, till in its bath, my corpse liquesces! 
 Felicia (nervously). Soffrina, retire! 
 
 (SoFFRiNA exit.) 
 Good-night! my Roderigo, sleep! 
 Sleep, so thy wound be healed. I cut it not ! 
 My heart is his — we bow before our God ! 
 
 (She blozvs out candle and leaves the room.) 
 Roderigo (goes away with down-bent head). 
 
 Moon, hast thou no compassion with my 
 
 fate! 
 Bear up, my heart ! reap harvest soon or late I 
 
 XCurtain falls.) 
 
The Course of Love. 59 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 Scene I. — A sea-beach. Felicia and Phillippo 
 enter from the side. They are on horseback; and 
 dismount. 
 
 Phillippo. Wait! There's a hollow near the 
 beach — made low, 
 To shelter men from the wild briny wind ! 
 There the sea-air turns warm, and soft, and sweet; 
 And trees sprout there before the March is over ! 
 And plants I've seen develop buds before 
 Spring's cornucopia lets fair blossoms fall! 
 There we may rest erelong! (Exit with horses.) 
 
 Felicia. I'll wait for you ! 
 
 I do not know, but strange his manner seems, 
 This morning, as we rode over the plains. 
 He pressed me so to do his wishes all — 
 His speech was more romantic, and his eye 
 More glowing; yet was diffidence aroused 
 In him ; for his free hand touched mine with more 
 Reserve — shall I say with timidity! 
 
 ( Phillippo returns. ) 
 
 Phillippo. Felicia dear! gaze on the wide, far 
 sea! 
 The silver ripples, where the sun shines down. 
 Are resplendent ! see the curls of nearer waves ; 
 And hearken to the crashing surf! 
 
 (They seat themselves on the beach.)' 
 
 Felicia. " A haze 
 
6o Poetical Works. 
 
 Lies over all the distant sea ; — so gold, 
 
 Yet azure tints waft to it, like a gauze 
 
 Of violet-odors floating o'er gilly-flowers. 
 
 I love the sea, the fair, free ocean's realm. 
 
 Phillippo ! here a home would be so dear : 
 
 I love the sea-gull's scream ; and every tone 
 
 With which the main is gifted ; every sound 
 
 That rises from the deep is ever burdened 
 
 With stranger secrets! Oh! the fair free ocean — 
 
 In storm ; in placidness of surface — in a lull — 
 
 The surf is beating all eternally ! 
 
 Phillippo. A home! — When you will be mine 
 own, my dear, 
 Felicia, we shall dream within the spray. 
 Oh ! with the gale we must be friends ; the sea 
 Will cheer you, if you be mine only sweet! 
 
 Felicia. Soon we may know the truth ! 
 
 (Grozving to be affectionate, yet undecided.) 
 
 Phillippo. If we can sing 
 
 Those melodies which will one day be ours — 
 Felicia ! this sweet day my throat would carol out 
 Long promises of love, and home-kept faith. 
 (Affectionately.) Yes, 'bove some lea our towers 
 
 shall loom; our casement 
 Be radiant with full flowers, and their scents 
 Shall linger with the ocean-breezes — no more salt, 
 But sweet with thy speech, and my loving whispers ! 
 
 Felicia. Oh ! 
 
 Phillippo (takes her hand). Felicia! love, 
 sweet dear, O Seraph's lyre! 
 Thy castle in fair Spain will open gloriously! 
 
The Course of Love. 61 
 
 You do remember what you said, when by the lake, 
 Where jacqueminots and purple verbenas prided, 
 Your lips blushed that you would grant all to me ! 
 Your trembling hand sought mine — and with a 
 
 bound. 
 As when a hind leaps to her roe, in June — 
 Full-blossomed ! on my cheeks those pouting roses 
 Did pelt a rain of kisses! — Dear Felicia! 
 
 Felicia (slowly). I remember! — 
 
 PiiiLLipPO. Then we swore to be 
 
 true lovers. 
 Oh! with the radiance of the rippled lake 
 A honeyed compact did we seal ! wi' the birds, 
 We pledged our hearts to constancy forever. 
 In all our wild forgetfulness, we called 
 Unto the gods ! 
 
 Felicia (delighted). I was the wavelet — 
 seemed 
 The ripple playing with the lilies, bright 
 In the cool sunshine! 
 
 PiiiLLipPO. You were playful Nais — 
 
 Beamed as a sparkle on a mountain-brooklet, 
 Where flowery covers hide all save the pure sparkle ! 
 Felicia! (They kiss each other.) 
 
 Felicia (laughs). My Phillippo! 
 
 An Old Sailor appears. 
 
 Old Sailor. Gents ! 'xcuse me ! I lost 
 
 My little Friedie ; passing here, perchance, 
 You saw a little girl? 
 
 Phillippo. No human shape 
 
6^ Poetical Works. 
 
 Has met our gaze, while we rode over here. 
 But how had you lost her, my good old man? 
 Felicia. Was she so young — or did she steal 
 
 away 
 From home, fulfilling deeds inordinate? 
 
 Old Sailor. No, Senorita, she is my son's dear 
 
 child. 
 She is but five years old. At play she was; 
 With lads and lassies, where the beech-trees weave 
 A grateful net about our hut ; they danced, 
 The custom on each fourth day of the week. 
 All lived in the wild frolic — jars of ale 
 Lay in the nooks ; the pipers piped away. 
 When calling for my Friedie, not a voice 
 Did answer. Hastening through the crowd, not 
 
 one 
 Could tell me where she hid herself; through hut, 
 Through alley; down the dunes — up waves of 
 
 sand — 
 Nowhere — till here, upon the beach I seek. 
 With tremors creeping o'er me : has the sea 
 Ta'en away my Friedie — is she dead — i' she dead? 
 Felicia. Man ! hope yet — she must hide in some 
 
 near place 
 For children like to cheat their elders ; children 
 Will seek forlornest nooks, so that some one 
 Must think of them ; they know the wiles of lovers. 
 And to be cherished, they will leave their dear ones 
 Out o' spite — just — . . . 
 
 Phillippo. Just to aggravate our seek 
 
 ing. 
 
The Course of Love. 63 
 
 Fine philosophy ! Ha, ha, if a child could think like 
 
 that! 
 She must have run away — ^been led astray. 
 If we should meet her — what may be your name — 
 Where is your home? 
 
 Old Sailor. How kind, Senor ; and you, 
 
 Senorita — so kind! God bless you both! — 
 I live a furlong from this spot ; from yonder 
 Green dune your eye can see the red roof — and near, 
 The beech-trees clustering round the hut. My 
 
 name's 
 Bernardo; all know me; Tm the children's pet — 
 They ride on my old knees, and think the gale 
 That whips the ocean cannot gallop faster! 
 Adios! {Looking around, and to the sea.) Has 
 
 the sea my dear small Friedie! 
 Oh ! is she dead ! {After a pause.) Yon little speck 
 
 is sign 
 Of storm before the evening ! Adios ! — 
 
 {Wanders away disconsolately.) 
 Felicia and Phillippo. Adios! 
 Phillippo {aside). Now courage; she must 
 never thwart me! 
 {Aloud.) Felicia! see — the clouds are silvery 
 
 now — 
 For noon advances. Hear ! the surfs more sullen — 
 Because the quietude doth wax, when in the heavens 
 The sun is in the zenith ! 
 
 Felicia. See the gulls! 
 
 They sail in the gold haze — as in warm dreams. 
 They dip into their tea-rose-bath, and, on the sea, 
 
64 Poetical Works. 
 
 Rouse up its azure calm. How voracious they are! 
 
 Phillippo. For little fishes, whom they beak in 
 a moment; 
 Then soar again into their watch-towers — quiet 
 As, in the autumn-air, a white balloon ! 
 
 Felicia. But see ! those flocks upon the tur- 
 quoise wave — 
 How they do fly ; but seem so lost to our eye. 
 
 Phillippo. Oft have I watched them, when I 
 sailed alone 
 To Afric, from the vessel's side ; they bring 
 The boreal days, and sailors call them ice-birds. 
 
 Felicia. What more strange creatures did you 
 see? Tell, tell! 
 
 Phillippo. At morning did the dolphin tumble, 
 at noon 
 The geysers of the ocean spurted, and they seemed 
 Like golden jets, when the sun shone; but when 
 A cloud perturbed the flow of rays, a silver stream 
 Shot up within the vault, and all the crew, 
 Wild with delight, would shout; but when a boat 
 Was lowered, then the wide calm sea grew cheery — 
 The white-topped eagle grew frantic in such noise — 
 At time when down the day the sun doth travel 
 Oft would the winged fish fly on the tackle — 
 And when the West grew radiant, like a bloom 
 In Afric's wilds — and psalms were sung by Eve, 
 As in a dream, the siren sang strange song. 
 Melodious, yet sweet sorrow streaming through. 
 Felicia! reflective of those days, come, kiss 
 Your own dear Phillippo! (She kisses him.) 
 Dear love. , , , 
 
The Course of Love. 65 
 
 Felicia. How much youVe seen ! 
 
 What stores of knowledge must be yours. My 
 
 heart 
 Does make a music sweeter now than e'er! 
 Phillippo ! why must we wait, and wait, till we 
 Like one in laughter and sad tears can be? 
 
 Phillippo (aside). That knowledge spurns a 
 maiden's affections, ha ! 
 To win is all I do desire! (Aloud.) Felicia! 
 On the coast the savages would be concealed; 
 Defiant, they would do to me assault, 
 But, like a tiger, waxing more than furious 
 When numbers baffle him — so grew my powers — 
 My bravery did daunt them, and a victor passed 
 Before the ebon slain. Dear love, in wolds, 
 So intricate with tangling underwood — 
 My fingers placed the huge rose-flowers, large 
 As plaintain leaves. In some recess, I found 
 Such orange-blooms, whose flower-crowns could 
 
 deck 
 My head — and others, whose rich petals exhaled 
 Perfume more rare and sweet than spikenard-^aye 
 Than quince-flowers, or the linden-buds in summer ! 
 
 Felicia. Oh! more, more! How all enviable 
 you are ! 
 What else did sweet attract your studying eyes? 
 
 Phillippo. Way opposite that fertile isle, fair 
 Madagascar — 
 In Transvaal, where fair diamonds sparkle for man — 
 There blooms a plant, whose leaves are velvety — 
 Soft down makes them so flossy; no silver shines 
 5 
 
66 Poetical Works. 
 
 As they do when ghstering in the sun ! I have 
 Some at the castle — I shall give them to you, love — 
 O Felicia! 
 
 Felicia (aside). My love is bursting open — a 
 
 spring, 
 That knows its swells doth lave most radiant 
 
 flowers, 
 Bubbles not with such a bright delight as I ! 
 (A loud.) Phillippo ! {He kisses /ler.) But tutt ! 
 
 if mother knew of this! 
 Shame, shame! We do forget our promise! 
 
 Phillippo (aside). Patience. 
 
 A moment's thoughtfulness — a scud within 
 The pure blue of a perfect day ! 'twill leave her ! 
 (Aloud.) But, when the shores of Loando came in 
 
 sight, 
 Grim terror struck the crew : an army thick 
 Of black, strong warriors held dominion of the 
 
 coast. 
 Our men were few — yet they were resolute. 
 And cannons lurked from every side o' the ship. 
 We fired — how like the dark small clouds aft' storms 
 That leap into the air, in a wink's time, 
 Those black spots were dispersed, and vanished fast ! 
 We knew they feared us, so could moor, descend, 
 And take possession of their land. But loss 
 Comes often deep in the lusciousness of power! 
 Heading the crew, we reach the wood obscure; 
 When, suddenly, that Satan's brood surround us — 
 Firing, our crew but aggravate their menaces; 
 They are wild lions — grown apace to monsters ; — 
 
The Course of Love. 67 
 
 Lance, arrow, boomerang, stone, all fly 'round us. 
 They charge — we send our volley in their midst — 
 Strange things explode in time's unconscious nick! 
 Who thought some unexpected turn would bring 
 Death to those pitch men — and glory to our crew — 
 Felicia! {She grows amorous ^ and clings to hhn.) 
 
 All of sudden were the heavens gray; 
 Then black clouds rolled o'er the coast-woods — 
 
 quick fright 
 Rushed through our foes — we saw that they re- 
 treat — 
 Insuring for our side great victory; 
 So we, in numbers small, advanced — could reach 
 The woods — but those dark clouds were the air's 
 
 fiends 
 Revolting with the winds — so they blew over. 
 No sooner shines the declining sun again, 
 When all our adversaries re-establish battle! 
 We, luckful now, having the trees as battlement 
 And having re-supplied lost ammunition — 
 Evade their missiles ; each report from us 
 Sends one grim savage to the far-off world, 
 Till their quick loss perplexes them, like prey 
 Drive? 1 at bay — some cower — most run away. 
 Feliciji ! The evening grew to a glorious one ! 
 We /Jit up our banner — and its streamers 
 ^el'ied within the fragrant forest-wind! 
 
 Felicia. Such memories must be a constant day 
 To you! I see you, brave, determined, lead 
 The combatants to fight — and spur them on — 
 Phillippo ! I hear your voice — and the report 
 
68 Poetical Works. 
 
 Of such a shot, that levels savages with earth ! 
 Phillippo. O love! (Aside.) Oh! inadvised 
 
 moments — put 
 Before me to pronounce the means for conquest! 
 I must be listener — their advantage take ! 
 (Aloud.) But here the sun shines much too heavy 
 
 on us. 
 The sea is calm ; its azure doth proclaim 
 The birth of noon. The seabirds skim no more 
 The ocean's rippled surface ; the gulls sleep now, 
 Poised like some forlorn crescent in fair day. 
 The surf plays dreary tune, so like the humming 
 Of languid maidens, when their lovers roam 
 The fields and mountains for rich spoil ; the trees 
 Seem lit, and night lies round their bending trunks. 
 Come to yon hollow, where the breezes blow — 
 
 Letting their fragrance fall — abiding there. 
 So that the magic sun makes from it odors 
 More subtile, pure and rare than censer's fumes, 
 And fresher than the breaths of lily-angels ! 
 
 Felicia. Phillippo! with you I'll go the wide 
 
 world over! 
 Come, come. 
 
 Phillippo. Felicia! (They kiss. Aside.) 
 
 She is mine ! Rejoice ! 
 One more is mine — victorious heart! your health! 
 (Aloud.) Yes, there the air is bland and warm; the 
 
 sand 
 Is cushioned with soft tufts of blooming grass; 
 And lawns incite to indolence. Felicia, 
 O love ! we must enjoy this day-— oh ! come 
 
The Course of Love. 69 
 
 Prepare in pleasures our near and lovely home 
 By talking love, and back of dunes reclining, 
 Where airs are fragrant, have a blander shining ! 
 
 Felicia. Come, come! The rainbow, following 
 the storm 
 Across broad valleys, o'er pine-gloomed mountains, 
 Is not more close to the swift rolling cloud 
 Than I to you ! Phillippo ! 
 
 Phillippo. Perfect piece 
 
 Of handicraft ! sweet girl ! as though soft nature, 
 As in all of her myriad works, found joy 
 In culminating all her powers in such image ! 
 Come, run with me to the bright world's glow-end. 
 (Aside.) Victorious heart, beat proudly! (Aloud.) 
 
 I'm your friend, 
 Felicia ! — Sweetest of the honey-maidens you ! 
 Come, come! (Aside.) Poor girly! if she knew 
 my mind ! 
 
 Felicia. I hear the horses hinnying 
 
 Phillippo. They sniff ^ 
 
 The sea-air; grow to be as amorous as we. 
 O see the clouds put on their golden drapery I 
 The very wind is nepenthe-sick; the spray 
 Comes laden with Thetis' breath, and Proteus* lay I 
 
 Felicia. It seems to me that we are sympathetic 
 With all, that lives, and dies on earth I 
 
 Phillippo. We act — 
 
 We breathe — we work — we bear travail like all 
 Of creatures. Sweet ! fond love is but for man ; 
 And heavenly smiles steal only round your dimples. 
 How true to great creation's jubilee: 
 
7o Poetical Works. 
 
 T' have thought on love, and smiles, and blushes 
 
 free ! 
 T' have thought on what I now so sweet perform ! 
 To kiss thee while in love's most blooming storm ! 
 Felicia (laughing). See, there's an eagle on 
 that rock; how tame! 
 'Tis perched so near us. How I wish it could 
 Be mine, so that sweet posies it could carry 
 To you, when far in strange lands you do tarry ! 
 Let me but try — Phillippo, run with me ! 
 
 (Rims away.) 
 Phillippo. I'll follow you as Siroccos go to 
 Nubia, 
 To cool their impetuous whirl. (Aside.) Look at 
 
 the bird 
 Caught with vanilla fragrance ! Ere the sea 
 Be gold I'll know my passion's victory! 
 
 (Runs out.) 
 (Curtain drops,) 
 
 Scene II. — Tke garden of El Kader ; flower- 
 beds; here and there statues of Greek gods and god- 
 desses. A stone bench, shaded by sycamores^ to the 
 right. A two feet high stone-zvall shiits up the 
 background; over this wall trees bend, allowing 
 glimpses of the distant sea, and, to the left, coast- 
 mountains. It is early afternoon. Hassan, lying 
 on the stone bench, smoking. Roderigo^ walking 
 
The Course of Love. 71 
 
 up and down; then cowering at the feet of the 
 bench, takes his guitar, and begins to strum upon it, 
 
 Hassan. Let music soothe your perturbed spirit 
 — strike 
 The chords with passionate fingers — so 'tis good! 
 
 (Smokes.) 
 RoDERiGo (sings passionately). 
 
 What is best — 
 
 Strife, or rest? 
 In rest we forfeit all the joys of life; 
 In strife we win life's jewel in a wife! 
 
 Better weep! 
 
 Later, reap 
 A pleasure, that outshineth mortal bliss — 
 Till, with her troth, we harvest kiss and kiss! 
 
 ( Strums carelessly. ) 
 
 Dear Hassan, all is lost : the diamond bright 
 That to my darkest hours brought joy and light! 
 I have not told you all ! 
 
 (Strums his disappointments.) 
 Hassan. Away with disappointment! Your 
 song was love — 
 Timidity lay by her — she dared not open 
 Her jasmine-curtained lattice — for the night 
 Intrigues with girls; and oft they fear such songs 
 That wing the adventurous breeze's mysteries ! 
 Go ! try again ! one ill-success may change 
 Another night, to triumph's glorious skies ! 
 Just as a brooding storm can bring the morrow 
 
72 Poetical Works. 
 
 Deliglitful melodies, woven in the gauzy blue 
 
 Of immaculate day. Sing songs, flowered with 
 
 hope ! 
 And gore such terror-bulls, that rage so fiercely 
 In the arena of your heart ! 
 
 RoDERiGO. Hassan, speak 
 
 Not while your thoughts are lacking certainty. 
 All in the wildest passion of my voice, 
 I heard slow steps back of the roses — Hassan ! 
 My heart was like the fires in Edda's song — 
 Raging in their delight ! My fingers tripped along 
 The strings as bubbles, down the mountain-lynn, 
 That rush to seek their death against the rocks ! 
 My voice did wane — for softly did it flow — 
 Oh ! as slow whispers round the blooms of snow 
 When Hylas blushes ! Her dear name rushed out 
 Upon the glimmering bushes — Hassan ! weep — 
 For in her stead, her maid moved, ghost-like, by ; 
 And stayed no longer but to give to night 
 A sparkling jewel in a letter white 
 From her dear mistress. — I snatch it — Hassan — not 
 A word — no fold — no tear upon the blank — 
 If wild winds, hurled headlong from Eblis' snows, 
 Can drown the thunder of the seas — ^believe. 
 That disappointment, nay, woe worse than rack, 
 Seemed like a deluge on my heart's volcano! 
 My guitar hung on the jasmine-bough — my voice 
 Was far deep in the depth o' profound inuse — 
 Hassan! I cursed the moon; and menaced wildly 
 With my ill-fortune; till I almost swore 
 Deep vengeance on her ; but the solemn night, 
 
The Course of Love. 73 
 
 And the soft sprinkle of the fair moonbeams, 
 Acted as strong enchantment ; hipped, and wild 
 In heart, I sought the path that led my trust 
 To one, who, in the exuberance of love — 
 Even in the intoxication of sweet passion — 
 Did shower on me long snakes with icy fangs — 
 Oh ! poured the five great oceans in my throat ! ! 
 Oh! cruel heart of woman! 
 
 Hassan (leaning on one arm). Damn not wo- 
 man! 
 For, perfidy, suckling at her breast, can die — 
 And, where the vampire sucked, a sweetest scent 
 May nestle there ! 
 
 RoDERiGO {strumming away). She knows not 
 her own heart! 
 Felicia ! whom I loved — who filled mine eyes 
 With voluptuous tears — as wells of Pathia, 
 Swell in the perfumes of rich honey-flowers ! 
 
 {Sings.) 
 May love be hate, 
 
 One day! 
 Can love abate 
 
 Its sway! 
 Where the roses shiver, by the whispering river — 
 Can the bird no more voice the odorous shore ; 
 For his mate, she has flown away — 
 Leaving tears, and a long dismay ! 
 
 Hassan. Sing brighter themes ! 
 
 RoDERiGO. When such a nieht 
 
 is fresh, 
 
 fc>' 
 
74 Poetical Works. 
 
 As morning-dew upon the silken threads of webs, 
 In all my being — nay, dear Hassan, sport 
 May be an anodyne to deathly memories — 
 Laughter may weave a curtain, so to hide 
 Vindictive feelings — but to build a wall, 
 More firm than that which is great China's boast, 
 To cage the lover's woes — first make of light 
 A chaos! 
 
 Hassan. Tutt, tutt ! my friend ; I've seen, before 
 Your saddest misadventure, the sunken heart 
 Revive its freshness, as the trodden mosses, 
 Anemones, and deep-pressed forest-herbs, 
 Will stand in all their sweetened pride again — 
 Receiving their cool tribute from the morning's 
 
 kiss — 
 Rejoicing, with their odors, wandering lasses — 
 Replenishing, with berries, the wood-bird's nest — 
 So can your heart walk in the sun-rays bright 
 Of newest exaltation! Friend . . . 
 
 RoDERiGo. Oh ! never ! 
 
 The caverns round this heaving life-well seem 
 So dark — so uninhabited — as though 
 That Cyclops love had never lain his length 
 From one fire-wall to its adamantine opposite! 
 Dear Hassan! all your years have quenched the 
 
 flame 
 That, in our manhood, rages at the thought 
 Of love ! 
 
 Hassan. I do forget those tribulations ! 
 
 ( Thinks. ) 
 Far sterner than the loss o' substantial treasures. 
 
The Course of Love. 75 
 
 RoDERiGO. Why keep in hidden lofts your 
 secrets, Hassan? 
 Here, here, reclined upon such classic bench — 
 With cool airs murm'ring by — and sweet birds 
 
 twittering ; 
 And at wild intervals, the stringent strokes 
 O' this gentle instrument, to reverberate 
 A passion, assume the office fair of some 
 Improvisatore, whose swift verses told 
 Of long dead deeds, and recent woes ! — Recount 
 In your own mystic way — with mystic phrase — 
 With strangest similes — those hours of your love! 
 {Strums.) Do, do! Perhaps consoling me — per- 
 haps — 
 If deserts have small isles with palms and fountains, 
 Creating in the chamber of my torn heart 
 A world of thought — an oasis for life ! 
 
 Hassan. To you my sad recital will give 
 benefit ; 
 And if you take joy to your thoughts, while list'n- 
 
 ing 
 To my strange story, it will please me, Rod'rig ! 
 Full confident that you will comprehend me 
 Since you have learned to think — and by the means 
 Of stern analogy were taught to open 
 The golden portals to nature's hidden stores ! 
 RoDERiGO. Impatient as the storm, whose 
 heralds blow 
 Their horns and bugles ere it can be wild — 
 Is my curiosity — intense as woman's! 
 
 Hassan. But I'm to be the storm, and you the 
 poet, 
 
76 Poetical Works. 
 
 Who opens all his myriad senses to such show, 
 With which grand nature baffles art, and invention ! 
 RODERiGO. Ifstormsshowaturbulency, truly I — 
 If skies may do sad havoc to themselves, so I. 
 Hassan, sing your wild tune, though you are not 
 
 young — 
 I'll be the rain catching the wind's own song! 
 
 (Strums.) 
 The rainbow knows the dun thick cloud — 
 
 For it hangeth on it, as a babe to its mother. 
 Why may I not cling to stones proud. 
 
 For I love the sad plights of love, told by an- 
 other ! 
 Then ring the wild fragrant air — 
 
 Let murmurs provoke the tears in your eyes — 
 I shall strum for you song so fair, 
 
 To melt the last woes, and quench the last sighs. 
 {Lies down in listeniitg attitude^ 
 Recite, my Tasso ! think your Lenore nigh ! 
 At your feet a greater listener ne'er may lie! 
 
 Hassan. Accept this — you don't enjoy a houka 
 well — 
 This tribute of the Indian, these tobacco leaves; 
 Rolled so to lip them, and puff out their fumes. 
 'Tis one from that fair magic isle of flowers 
 Within the lone Caribbean sea — fair Cuba! — 
 Where rosewood-trees the continuous murmur hear 
 Of Guacanayabo's full-golden surf, 
 Sweet Manzanillo lies; from there it comes — 
 Fragrantest leaf, with dew-drops sprinkled o'er; 
 And here and there a golden beauty-spot 
 
The Course of Love. 77 
 
 Upon tlie hirsute leaf; all dreamers prize it. 
 To listen to my tale, the material world 
 Must be enveloped, as the river-mountains. 
 At early morn, when golden mists arise — 
 Shedding a dream around each object! — listen! 
 
 (Both smoke.) 
 Why must we cling to life, e'en as earth's air 
 Doth never fade ; but, aft' cloud-skies, doth blow 
 Its freshest breezes azure-clear ! So wears 
 My age, though in my manhood's prime, more times 
 Than change of tides I wished myself Heaven- 
 flown ! 
 Aft' leaving Zaffra, where my childhood leapt, 
 And brandished lance, or sling — O Zaffra, home ! 
 That, near a palm-girt shott, hadst grown my 
 
 dreams — 
 I sailed to Malaga, fair town — whose slants, 
 With vines made dreamy, gave to me a home, 
 Where, with the mysteries of alchemy and nature. 
 My heart found momentary solace. Once, 
 By Zaff ra's hills, so golden in the Noon's fierce sun ! 
 A slave, whose charms were sinuous as olives, 
 That bend in gardens of Pozzuoli's palaces, 
 Or those around Monaco's proud stronghold — 
 A slave, white as the white rose, blushed at me ! 
 'Twas morning in my thought — a sun rode forth; 
 My thinking's stream reflected each precious ray ! 
 All my ambitions centered toward possession. 
 To bask in such sweet sun were truly life — 
 But, Roderigo! how well the poet said: 
 Life is a dream, and all our actions through it — 
 
78 Poetical Works. 
 
 For while my impetuous passion penetrated 
 
 Most courageous designs — ^the jewel of my 
 
 thought — 
 The jasmine of my dreams, was forced away! — 
 Attempting wild pursuit, they baffled me; 
 And I was prisoner in Zaffra's tower. 
 With such a memory fair Malaga 
 Was tainted. Lost in study, I soon forgot 
 My heart had in it burning orbs of skies — 
 Soon was the savage-power mastered! — Day 
 Of glory — day that sprinkled dews of freshness 
 
 o'er — 
 Oh ! day when first my gaze was tranced sweet 
 By Malaga's fairest — brightest, tenderest, loveliest 
 (RoDERiGo strikes some joy fid accords and 
 
 rippling notes.) 
 Yea, strike such notes Orphean in their passion — 
 Or such that Krishna heard, to slumbers lulled. 
 By sensuous music, played by ravishing maids, 
 Oh ! almond-eyed — sun-girls by Jumna's reeds ! 
 At that time my researches were acknowledged 
 By the nobility ; so I found entrance 
 To most of castles. High upon a hill, 
 Her father's castle seemed a proud thought, reared 
 Upon our brain; how oft, of evenings, 
 That castle has been as planet to star-lovers. 
 And scrutinized as some slow meteor, round 
 Earth's years! — I loved her, she loved me as 
 
 deeply — 
 Dear Rod'rig ! you do love a duke's fair daughter — 
 A prince's jewel I've loved ; can planet win 
 
The Course of Love. 79 
 
 More sweet a radiancy than from the air 
 
 That doth suffuse bright colors, till it shines 
 
 A beauty in the wide glare-sky of eve! . . . 
 
 It was a calm, free night; the moon in glow — 
 
 The castle quiet; the sea, like peace, below! 
 
 The stars sweet garbed in moonbeam-gauzes drear, 
 
 When, with her, sharpest clangs of swords I hear ! — 
 
 More warmly we embrace — we murmur now. 
 
 We kiss — we say sweet syllables — we vow 
 
 Our love to be eternal ! ... it is he, 
 
 Who oft had won her arm — had whispered free. 
 
 Words that would flush her maiden-cheeks; with 
 
 sword 
 Outdrawn, with fire-eyes, flashing victory; 
 With quick voice warning me — oh ! wild with wrath 
 His sanguine sword he sways before me! — tigress, 
 Her young brood guarding, springeth no more 
 
 quickly 
 Against the insidious foe, than she her grace, 
 Grown glorious to unmatchable beauty, bounds 
 Between us ; screaming softly : " Do desist ! 
 ^' For sweet love's sake!" — He heedeth not; I 
 
 draw ! — 
 Like scintillating stars, around us flash 
 The sparks — and, in between, my pleading voice and 
 
 hers 
 Resound, as in the brook low moans of newts. 
 " I love both ; both I love ! " sounds like a burden 
 Around my ears. My sinews strengthen; strong 
 I grow; but, like some awful vision in dun 
 Of latest eve, her shape springs 'tween our swords, 
 Ere our eyes behold her sudden action. — 
 
8o Poetical Works. 
 
 As soon she falls down dead — in such great wrath 
 Indulgence wanes, the blood doth course unruled; 
 And, like a frenzied hero through the thick 
 Of Moorish battle, I spend my energies, 
 Killing my adversary ! — What could I do 
 But tell the truth to the proud prince — he knew 
 Of stories bold in past ancestral times ; 
 He knew the strength that love doth permeate 
 Within the man; and, not to break our friendship, 
 He banished me from Malaga only ! — Rod'rig ! 
 So I had lost my love! and, since that night, 
 My heart is shut to all appeals from woman. 
 
 RoDERiGO. Let me dark-improvise to such a 
 tale! (Strums and sings.) 
 
 What are you, love! what are you, love! 
 A chain sweet-girdling life for ages. 
 
 Yet you can be a misery. 
 That time, nor bliss, e'er assuages ! 
 
 Oh! love! bright morning through this life! 
 
 Oh! love! death loves thee, so doth strife! 
 
 Hassan. So is Felicia, as I deem, my Roderig! 
 Phillippo is your rival; woman chooses. 
 We ask — her answer is our bliss or wo! 
 
 RoDERiGO. It must be so — I shall, this after- 
 noon. 
 Go to her garden — for my heart still beats. 
 At moments. Hassan, all is not lost! 
 
 Hassan. He left 
 
 With her you love, this morn; on to the beach. 
 
 RoDERiGO. With her — with her ! Hassan, do not 
 tell me so. 
 
The Course of Love. 8i 
 
 I strumming idly here; and listening long 
 To tales of love, while she is taken — and she 
 Connives at words from one whose looseness serves 
 To enamor virgin-thought. They've gone together ! 
 While in this shaded nook, with Phidian statues 
 Adorned, to wo-sad sounds I sing the pangs 
 Of unrequited love ! — Hassan ! tell no more 
 That he has taken her — that he's my friend! — 
 With her — with her! — afar from home, with her! 
 
 {Gets lip.) 
 Hassan! fare you w^ell! your friend is wild; sweet 
 
 music ! 
 Cease! Rest is gone. . . . 
 
 Hassan. Take my experience, friend! 
 
 Use reason! rashness killeth fast as sword — 
 Let fate decide ; though man may w^ar against her 
 Till he be in the van, as high commander ! 
 
 RoDERiGO. With her— alone! What can I do! 
 oh Hassan! 
 The issue we leave with fate — we form the plan — 
 For, true, in fate's firm hand is all of man! 
 Hassan — if he — if he — ^but — away — away! 
 
 ( Throws guitar upon the ground.) 
 Oh ! if there be a Providence around 
 Us! — shield her! — Hassan! fare you well! . . . 
 
 Hassan {gets up, and detains him). Let not 
 The monster clutch you! wait, and dream awhile! 
 
 RoDERiGO. I will be quieted ; but when the time 
 Will burst — wo, wo to its promoter! — Hassan! 
 I must seek my lonely wanderings ; rejoice 
 In what sweet nature gives to forlorn man! 
 5 
 
82 Poetical Works. 
 
 Again our dreamy noons, when in me springs 
 Such consolation, that deep contemplation brings! 
 Adios! (Exit.) 
 
 Hassan. Keep your reason, Roderigo! 
 
 (Reclines upon bench, and puffs at pipe.) 
 Aye, others would have grown sheer mad from 
 
 such ! — 
 Good Rod'rig is indeed the trodden flower, 
 That rises in new glory ! — True were all 
 Those solicitudes I harbored yesterday! 
 They've come to head so quickly! what may the 
 
 morrow. 
 Or the near night develop ! — hush ! 
 Hush ! I have seen the glorious day be drowned 
 In blackest clouds when no one thought of storms ! 
 
 ( Curtain drops. ) 
 
 Scene HI. — To left: a room of an inn, occupying 
 two-thirds of the stage. To right: a country-road, 
 leading off upon hilly country. It is late evening, 
 and in the distant sky black clouds are gathering. 
 In the room: Hostess, and Host, and a Young 
 Girl (ten years old). At a table the Intriguante 
 is seated; she is dressed in a very elegant apparel. 
 
 Host. It is not safe to leave at present, lady ! 
 Thick clouds are in the western sky! 
 
 Hostess (opening door, and looking at the sky). 
 Yea, black 
 They are, and swelling rapidly. (Returned.) 
 Dear lady. 
 
The Course of Love. 83 
 
 'Tis far to where you Hve ; the storm will speed 
 Faster than you can drive. 
 
 Child {Jiugging her mother s knees). Mother, 
 I fear 
 The thunder, and the lightning! — 
 
 Intriguante. Come, dear child! 
 
 Don't cry ! here, hide your face — you'll be protected. 
 
 Hostess. Go to the lady! (Child goes.^ 
 
 Intriguante (caressing her). So, sweet child; 
 
 — how do 
 
 They call you? (Child is abashed.) 
 
 Hostess. But you know; what is your name! 
 
 Tell the good lady! 
 
 Child (timidly). Melita! (Runs to her 
 
 mother.) 
 Intriguante. Well, well! 
 
 Say! Host! some fine liqueur to keep me 'live! 
 In Valladolid the Students drink it; what a life 
 The Students lead! (Aside, smiling.) Myself 
 
 have studied there! 
 (Distant thunder is heard.) You were aright de- 
 terring my departure. 
 The distant rollings of sea-thunder announce 
 A furious storm! 
 
 Hostess. 'Twill soon be here, I'm sure! 
 
 (It grows more dusky. There is a noise out- 
 side; upon road arrive the Duchess and 
 Soffrina, both on horseback.) 
 The Duchess. Soffrina ! 
 
 'Twere better if we enter here; those clouds 
 Run faster than the steeds of Araby. 
 
84 Poetical Works. 
 
 They'll overtake us ere we are aware! 
 SoFFRiNA. Ho, ho! 
 
 Hostess. Dear, go! — See, who is there! 
 
 Host. The voice 
 
 Seems not like ours — 'tis soft — it must be woman's. 
 
 (Exit to right door.) 
 Aye, ladies! wait a moment! (Runs into room.) 
 Dear wife! a stool! 
 
 (Runs out with stool.) 
 So, now dismount! — My wife will see to you! 
 While to the horses will be given food 
 And rest. (Leads horses away.) 
 
 Enter the Duchess and Soffrina. 
 
 Hostess. The storm has overtaken you ! 
 
 The Duchess (aside). They cannot be far off 
 from here — 
 •For I had sight of a small streak of sea! 
 (Aloud.) Yes, woman! 
 
 Hostess. Rest, my ladies ; pale you are — 
 
 Your eye is quick, yet shows inquietude. 
 Melita! get a flask! — So, now you seem 
 Yourself again. Drink — drink! 
 
 Soffrina. 'Twill pass! thanks, thanks! 
 
 Host (reentering) . The wind is strong; already 
 whistle the trees; 
 The black clouds are dispersing in the van. 
 A sheet of white is underneath — in a wink 
 The blast will cover us — fear nought 
 
 Melita (goes to Intriguante). Hide me, 
 
The Course of Love. 85 
 
 Upon your lap; I'll sleep. 
 
 Intriguante. Good child, I'll be 
 
 A second mother to you; come, be quiet! 
 
 The Duchess {aside). She has a mother's 
 manners in her; strange, 
 That, by lost virtue, still love's feelings dwell! 
 (Aloud.) Soffrina! I hear the blast now; they 
 
 must be 
 Thick in the thunder — and no shelter. There! 
 Why had I wished to give joy to Felicia! — 
 Hear, hear! The peals of thunder! see the light! 
 Full balls of it bobbing in the room! 
 
 Host. 'Twill be 
 
 A storm worthy of memory! hearken now! 
 'Tis over us; may God spare all our lives! 
 
 Hostess. Be calm, good lady! 
 
 The Duchess (faintly). Mind me not, Soffrina. 
 Why had I given rash permission then! 
 
 Soffrina. They could have found some shelter, 
 I think, Seiiora. 
 Perhaps they know of this same inn; this road 
 Is the sole one that leadeth to the castle. 
 They must pass here. 
 
 The Duchess. There is yet hope, Soffrina ! 
 
 (Sinks into reflection.) 
 
 Intriguante. Your child has fallen asleep! — 
 What crack of thunder. 
 Some tree is struck! 
 
 Hostess. Oh ! God ! spare all young lives ! 
 
 Host. The quick succession of these claps de- 
 not^§ 
 
86 Poetical Works. 
 
 Mischief — may Heaven preserve us in this dread! 
 (A tremendous crashing follows.) 
 SoFFRiNA. Good God! 
 All. Good God! 
 
 SoFFRiNA. Good God! where 
 
 did it strike! 
 Oh! see! that fire under my dear mistress' chair! 
 Sefiora ! Sefiora ! up — up — or you will burn ! 
 Host. The lightning struck . . . 
 Hostess a7zd Intriguante {gunning to the 
 
 Duchess) Struck dead! 
 SoFFRiNA. My mistress dead! 
 
 {^She faints. Host revives her.) 
 Hostess. It was that terror-clash; oh! all is 
 lost. — 
 There is nought to revive the lightning-struck! 
 We only can bewail such sad mischance! 
 
 Intriguante. Her face is black ! oh ! let me see 
 
 no more! 
 SoFFRiNA. What shall I do ! alone here, and the 
 Count 
 He'll die of sorrow — ah ! he loved her so. 
 
 Host. Count! Fret not, Senorita; I will lead 
 
 the horse! 
 SoFFRiNA. Thanks, thanks. 
 Intriguante {consoling Soffrina). And I 
 shall see you home. Come, come ! 
 The Count must be prepared for such sad news. 
 I will be its stern messenger — refrain 
 From inquietude. . . . 
 
 Host. I hear the clatter of hoofs. 
 
The Course of Love. 87 
 
 {Goes out by the door. Felicia and Phil- 
 Lippo come trotting ttp the road.) 
 Phillippo. Felicia! here, at last, we may find 
 shelter ! 
 Man! take our horses! — Felicia, dismount. 
 
 {T/ie women have borne the corpse aside. 
 SoFFRiNA watches over it; she is with face 
 away from the center of the room. The 
 Intriguante is seated at the table.) 
 Intriguante. Some traveler, bound for home, 
 I do suppose. 
 {Aside.) Phillippo! aye, the last time you did kiss, 
 You swore that soon you would release me sure 
 From my bad life — Phillippo! 
 
 Phillippo and Felicia enter, hurriedly. 
 
 Phillippo. Take a chair! 
 
 Seiioras, what a storm! 
 
 {Sees Intriguante; startles.) 
 {Aside.) My mistress! 
 
 (Felicia's back is turned towards the Intri- 
 guante. He goes up to her, quickly.) 
 {Whispers.) Rosa! For love's own sake, know 
 not of me! 
 Intriguante {startled, zvhispers). I will not. 
 for our love's dear sake! 
 (Aside.) One lady here was prey to the storm's 
 
 lightning. 
 Her lady's maid is there, lost in bereavement! 
 Phillippo. Who is it? 
 
88 Poetical Works. 
 
 Intriguante. The wife of a count. . . . 
 
 Phillippo. (Aside.) Heaven's law! 
 
 It cannot be her mother. Tell her turn 
 Her face this way. . . . 
 
 Intriguante (goes to Soffrina^, and arouses 
 her). Oh ! be consoled ! 
 
 (Soffrina turns around.) 
 Phillippo (is speechless for a moment). How 
 
 tell Felicia! 
 Soffrina (recognizing the two). O God! 
 Salvation comes in need! 
 Phillippo ! Dear Felicia ! (ritns to Felicia and falls 
 upon her). Can you hear it 1 
 Felicia. Why here — what should induce you 
 be out here! 
 Has mother sent you after us; and she 
 Was fretting for her child! Oh! good, good 
 mother ! 
 Soffrina. She came with me. . . . 
 Felicia. Where, where is 
 
 she ! I must 
 Kiss her ... ah! be again in her dear arms! 
 Phillippo. 'Tis better to be short in telling such 
 sad fate. 
 (Goes to her.) Felicia! your mother has been 
 
 struck 
 By lightning! . . . (Felicia faints.) Hostess! 
 
 bring some water, quick, oh! quick! 
 . . . It would be well to lay her on a couch! 
 Intriguante. Yes, yes! 
 
 Phillippo. I'll carry her to the next 
 
 room! 
 
The Course of Love. 89 
 
 (Actions take place. Exeunt all. Returning to 
 the rooMj he stands before the corpse^ 
 There lies the mother of a child whose youth 
 I've spoiled! — Fate, fate! in smallest compass thou 
 Dost perpetrate thy doings. Time is not 
 A minister of thine, but thou art like the gale 
 That, in a moment, turns the sea's calm to mounts 
 Of seething turbulence ! — Great storm, thou wert 
 Th' admonisher of my day's actions sweet, 
 Art now the slayer of a saintly woman! 
 Thy thunder warned us — and thy lightning struck 
 An angel! . . . Oh! that we could see, or hear. 
 Or feel, or be foretold of such quick haps — 
 So that their suddenness would not incur 
 Upon our sensibilities such pain! 
 That bliss, and sorrow, thus should meet in one 
 Short day ! That, having won the heart of passion 
 Within its radiant glow — its drear decline 
 Should be the murderer of one so fair — 
 So true in love sincere; — her mother dead! . . . 
 
 {Rejects.) 
 Reenter Soffrina. 
 
 SoFFRiNA. Sefior ! she doth revive ; she breathes 
 
 again. 
 Phillippo {reUectful and to himself). Her 
 mother dead! And I have been so dastard 
 To be pollutor of her child! {Turns around.) 
 
 You there! 
 Is Felicia better! Tell me! 
 
 Soffrina. {Aside.) He must dream! 
 
96 iPoetical Works. 
 
 Yes, she can open her eyes ; her Hps seek utterance ! 
 
 Phillippo. Immediately away! to tell the 
 Count ! 
 Oh! strangest of coincidences! amassed, 
 To build a fortress, that doth stand the siege 
 Of strongest resolutions! Would you were 
 To subtile shapes transmuted, so our curse 
 Could make them volatile, and so be freed 
 Of their so ghastly phantoms! — She will ride 
 With you, Soffrina ! The corpse will be my charge. 
 Make ready! hasten — come, let us dispatch. 
 Host! quick, saddle the horses! 
 
 {Both exeunt, to room.) 
 
 Host {entering). Right away, 
 
 Seiior! {Gazing at the corpse.) Aye, aye, the 
 
 storm has got its prey! 
 Such tender woman! Had my wife been struck, 
 O God! what would it cost me! I could not live. 
 
 {While zvalking out of the room, curtain falls.) 
 
 At this stage of events an effective tableau can 
 he introduced, picturing the party riding back to 
 the castle. A gloomy night upon a zvavy land. In 
 the distance a cloudy horizon, with one or two stars 
 peeping out, in solemn places. Four horses woidd 
 he necessary. One with the corpse on its back, led 
 by Phillippo, on horseback. The others ridden 
 by Felicia and Soffrina. The Host, as protec- 
 tion, woidd have to zvalk alongside the funeral 
 cavalcade; a muMed silence accompanies them; and, 
 now and then, a Hash of lingering lightning woidd 
 
The Course of Love. ^1 
 
 give emphasis to the ghastly, gloomy, and solemn 
 procession. It would rest entirely with the inven- 
 tive and imaginative manager of scenes, whether 
 the tableau be effective and pathetic, or not. 
 
 ACT IV. 
 
 Scene I. — The park of the Duke. Some months 
 are elapsed since the death of the Countess. 
 The Duke is walking alone. 
 
 Duke. 'Tis solace, once in a long while, to leave 
 The castle, with its many memories — 
 And breathe the leafy air. Are four months fled — 
 Four months ! — In that long time no laughter went 
 From door to room, from path to flowery sward! 
 Her sweet light laughter ! oh ! her cherry-breath. 
 Fresh as the fragrant May! what am I now? 
 And dear Felicia's story grows to me 
 To assume the shape of contemptibility. 
 Be calm, gray hairs! O learn to bear your lot — 
 Though monstrous 'tis, look up to judging God ! 
 {Through the trees comes Felicia.) 
 Felicia comes — the last sweet likeness left 
 To love! when of my wife I am bereft. 
 'Tis like devotion to the soul — when round 
 Us strike the lightnings, and the thunders sound! 
 
()^ !Poetical Works. 
 
 Enter Felicia. 
 
 Come here, my child! (Kisses her.) You'll be my 
 
 comfort still — 
 And though thy acts be all contemptible! 
 
 Felicia (calmly). Dear father, will you love 
 me ever so — 
 1*11 love you longer, even in far Heaven! 
 
 Duke. Dear child! you ought to have some 
 younger love. 
 Has not Phillippo come? — you both were friends. 
 It seemed to me you made much of him, girl! 
 Aye, did you not? 
 
 Felicia. Yes, father; but he writes 
 
 No more to me. For many weeks no word, 
 
 No line (Vaguely.) O father! I feel culpable. 
 
 I must not see you any more; my dreams 
 Are filled with bloody scenes — it is to me, 
 I suffer from some ill-deed, I know not of! 
 
 Duke. You seem so pale — be hale and hearty, 
 child! 
 Remember how your mother smiled! 
 
 Felicia. O mother, 
 
 How can I see you in the face again! 
 
 Duke. What thoughts are making havoc in 
 your soul! 
 Sweet delicate child, come kiss me! 
 
 Felicia. No, dear father! 
 
 (Shudders abstractedly.) 
 I think I see the whole sweet past take claws, 
 And crawl along my way — to swallow me — 
 
The Course of Love. 93 
 
 Away! — Phillippo, when will you send a sign — 
 Be quick! let me not think you are malign! 
 
 Duke (aside). What craze is stealing over her! 
 (Aloud.) Come, come! 
 Felicia! courage! He will soon be here! 
 Go back to Soffrina, she will give you strength. 
 She knows what delicate girls need most. Go, go! 
 ril soon be with you, 
 
 Felicia. This kiss — to console me! 
 
 (Walks oif in a dreamy manner.) 
 Duke. She's changed; she's changed. What is 
 the cause? O God! 
 Could she have fallen, nay, oh! nay — thrice nay! 
 She is disturbed in thought — her mother's dead. 
 And these last weeks Phillippo has not come. 
 Phillippo! — but who's walking up the lane? 
 There're two — a long, rich gown — yea, 'tis Has- 
 san's gait! 
 Sefior Roderig must be with him. 
 
 Enter Hassan and Roderigo. 
 
 Hassan. Salutations 
 
 We thought of seeing you before we made 
 The designs for the chatelet — opinions serve 
 To modify projects, as you know, and tend 
 To improve the original. 
 
 Duke. True. Thanks, Sefiores ! 
 
 Come with me to the room ; and there we may 
 Have better means to amplify, construct, 
 Or create anew. 
 
94 Poetical Works. 
 
 RoDERiGO. We thought it well to form 
 
 The grand facade as in some Turkish mosque 
 
 Duke (moving onward). Quite good; the more 
 it seems oriental — the better — 
 
 RoDERiGO {follozmng). But it will be 
 
 Hassan {follozmng). I thought 
 
 that some new plinth . . . 
 
 {All exeunt.) 
 
 Enter Felicia and Soffrina. 
 
 SoFFRiNA. Dear mistress, oft I warned you, oft 
 I've told 
 You, that young men were made to tempt us 
 
 maidens — 
 So be consoled — you are not solely sad. 
 Oh! others, others have been drawn to guilt. 
 Felicia {looking around). But father was here, 
 
 just a few moments since. 
 Soffrina. He does expect some friends — so he 
 
 is home. 
 Felicia {dreainily) . And — and what did they 
 do to her; you said. 
 They often hooted at her — even threw stones — 
 Even spit upon her face — is that the truth? 
 
 Soffrina. So say the writers; but she was so 
 poor 
 That she was open to all talk — all eyes 
 Could see her everywhere. Now do not think 
 Of her — lest you be so wrought up to deem 
 Yourself more gross than any wench on earth. 
 Felicia. But did she have a lover so unfaithful ! 
 
The Course of Love. 95 
 
 To love her — then dispense with loving her! 
 
 Then all ignoring tokens sent to him, 
 
 Or did she wind her arms around him, to witch 
 
 Him, till her passions had enslaved his love 
 
 To hers ! {Picks a Hozver.) See there — such petals 
 
 white had shone 
 Within his fingers, when he sang his love, 
 To me ; when the last word he spoke was " Thine 
 Forevermore." I listened, as I would 
 To speech of my own mother; he had told 
 Me of such promises fit for a queen — 
 He {throzvs flower away) threw aside his love, as 
 
 I this flower! 
 And I should be like her, who madlike grew. 
 When to her eyes her babe was brought. I know 
 My fate, Soffrina! Do you think he loved 
 Me, when he came to sing, at moon-lit eve — 
 Do you remember — but I was proud to send 
 Him a blank note. Tell, tell ! . . . 
 
 SoFFRiNA. Dream not so much — 
 
 Some accident prevents Phillippo's visiting. 
 Sure, sure! 
 
 Felicia. Yes, hope is there — ^but pale sad hope! 
 Soffrina, is my burden worth the carrying — 
 Oh! to give birth to fruits that, when they blush, 
 Are scorned to death, are slandered by vile tongues ! 
 Soffrina! tell me stories of those fairy-days. 
 That in my childhood, blessed my happy mind. 
 So I may all forget — my love — my child — 
 My taint upon my mother's name, and death! 
 
 (Weeps abstractedly.) 
 
96 Poetical Works. 
 
 SoFFRiNA. Not thy fault 'twas, Angelica's 
 daughter fair! 
 'Tis man who makes poor woman lose her will — 
 'Tis man who swears to love, for her to care — 
 And lets her be to all contemptible! 
 So hear a tale : At first the snow did melt — 
 And sleeping blossoms knew that Spring would 
 come . . . 
 Felicia. See, there is Senor Rod'rig ; go, call 
 him here — 
 
 He may know where he is 
 
 SoFFRiNA. I'll run- — and call him. 
 
 (Exit — returns with Roderigo.) 
 Senor Rod'rig was with the Duke a while ago. 
 
 Felicia. So, so! — Good day 
 
 Roderigo. You asked a wish 
 
 of me? 
 Felicia. Have you not seen Senor Phillippo, 
 
 lately? 
 Roderigo. Not for some weeks; I've heard, he 
 left the land — 
 Some of my friends told me they saw him far 
 
 In Valladolid 
 
 Felicia. So far away! does he not write 
 To you? 
 
 Roderigo. No more; I think he leads so fair 
 A life, that writing is forgotten; how otherwise, 
 When gay eyes laugh with him — and ruby lips 
 Give up their wine to him — who loves them all! 
 Felicia (aside). Can I hear this! O God — ■ 
 Thanks, Senpr! But, Soffrina, come! 
 
The Course of Love. 97 
 
 Excuse us, please; we must be home anon. 
 {Aside to SOFFRINA.) Soffrina, I am choking — quick 
 — before I faint! {Exit with Soffrina.) 
 RoDERiGO. Sefioritas, good day! — 
 She grew so pale ; O tender bud, I see it all — 
 Thou wouldst not love me for my station's doom; 
 Now love thou him who sings with twenty maids — 
 Who cursed thee! Oh! I pity thee; what may be- 
 fall 
 Thee soon — 'tis life or death with thee, my love! 
 
 {Exit; curtain drops.) 
 
 Scene II. — The Study of Hassan. He is alone. 
 On the table are drawings, cartoons. He is think- 
 ing. 
 
 Hassan. This cupula requires computation. 
 Aye, Roderig has well designed the plan, but failed 
 to calculate the strength of posts and arches. It 
 will be a richly decorated construction, this chate- 
 let the Duke intends for his young daughter, as 
 dower. Aye, good Duke, you little suspect what a 
 man m.ay be, outside the pale of married life! I 
 thought 'twould be as now it shows itself : Phillippo 
 gone to entertain his mistress, while he kills his 
 other love! 
 
 Enter Roderigo. 
 
 Well, to work now, Roderig! We have to 
 prove the Duk^ that intellect is worth the many 
 7 
 
98 Poetical Works. 
 
 architects who pride themselves of supersharpness 
 in the cheapest way to erect their edifices ; we must 
 prove that thought, expended on . . . 
 
 RoDERiGO. Dear Hassan — 
 
 We must suspend our calculations now, 
 A moment. There is some ill-flavored wind 
 A-blowing, near to the Duke's far castle. Hassan, 
 On returning here, in the park, I was, sudden, called 
 By Felicia — and she asked me strangest things. 
 I was struck by her peculiar gaze — her look 
 Seemed far, far off — a pallor spread o'er her, 
 That haunts me even now; oh, rose-bud blithe. 
 That thou shouldst be so blanched by Longing's 
 
 rays ! 
 Hassan, she asked me where Phillippo was. 
 I did informx her with straightforwardness. 
 And told her of his life in Valladolid. Oh ! wrong 
 I did, it seemed to me ; for she did turn 
 To white — O Hassan, have you seen the roses 
 Of happy cheeks, of sudden, die — and in their stead 
 A gloomy white spread, like at moon-sung night, 
 With stormy clouds aflying — the moon streams 
 
 down 
 Her livid beams upon a mound of flowers! 
 She asked no more — but with heroic composure 
 She wished me pleasure; and, like an agony. 
 She dreamed away; but, as she reached the step?, 
 She fainted; then I hurried here, to think 
 Of what her fate will be; and muse on how 
 Phillippo find his penalty! 
 
 Hassan, Be calm! 
 
The Course of Love. 99 
 
 Dear Roderig, the more I teach — the more I see 
 That characters are born; and good ones hve 
 A destined day; while those, who sully all 
 Their higher nature, remain to badness linked! 
 Phillippo proves it — you do prove it too; 
 The one loves Heaven, the other earth's gross joys. 
 But for Felicia — she is the fair flower, plucked, 
 And must bear all her wo; or die alone. 
 I see the consequences, Roderig! 
 Bright nature loves the dead, and cares so little 
 For those who live! So temper yourself — and be 
 As I am, loyal to high Destiny! 
 
 RoDERiGO. She knows how he has treated her — 
 she knows 
 Her future; oh! she feels her inner soul 
 Loud wailing! She will dream and dream — and, 
 
 lost, 
 Will see her dreams take shape — what may result! 
 I dare not speak it. Hassan! is there not one way 
 To keep her bright of mind — oh! must he come 
 To her — he the wry Monster: maid's Despair! 
 
 Hassan. Go, pacify your heart! She could 
 not love 
 Thee now; and though she now begin to hate 
 Her own Phillippo — strange sequences will grow, 
 Erelong, dear Roderig! 
 
 RoDERiGO. ■ I shall go, and try 
 
 To soothe her wound ; and with apt words win her 
 To yield to fate — and bear. 
 
 Hassan What fruits will't yield ! 
 
 O Roderig! There seems a power over all 
 
 LofC. 
 
100 Poetical Works. 
 
 Our doings. What boots it question its designs! 
 Upon the threshold of our will we fail. 
 With wings of certainty to success we fly — 
 And as we are alighting on the ground — 
 Some irresistible current draws us far away. 
 Thus all we contemplate is frustrated — 
 It seems we are by some strange power led. 
 Roderig! the best and wisest you can do 
 Is standing patiently till time will clear 
 All clouds away — and brighter sun will reign. 
 Trust in the words of one who lived so long! 
 RoDERiGO. How can my heart beat — when I 
 
 know her sad — 
 Discomfited in mind — aye, wintry cold 
 In her dear dreams. Aye, Hassan, who forbid 
 The bland sweet breezes of the Spring to blow 
 Upon the snow-encumbered almond tree — 
 And there to breathe new life — so that some days 
 Will impart pink blossoms on its bare light twigs! 
 I will go ( There is a knocking at the door. ) 
 
 Who's knocking — 'tis some evil boding. 
 Hassan (opens). Good day, my lady. Do you 
 
 seek me? 
 
 Enter Soffrina. 
 
 SoFFRiNA. No, Seiior. 
 
 'Tis Senor Roderig, t' whom I should like to give 
 This note from my young mistress. 
 
 RoDERiGO. (impatient). Give, give! — 
 
 Pardon! (Reads letter.) 
 
' The Course of Love. loi 
 
 Fate, fate! — Hassan, you were right! — Fll quickly 
 
 reply. 
 Senora, was she well — aye, is she losing strength, 
 And will? {Goes to the table , and writes.) 
 
 SoFFRiNA. She seems to wither now. Oh ! day 
 By day. Sehor, there's nought to do for her. 
 My endeavors went all askew; she loves him yet. 
 But in her eyes there flash bitter rays of despair. 
 Aye, aye — I knew 'twould turn to this. You, 
 
 Seiior, 
 Were better as her suitor, but her childlike, 
 Capricious fancies shattered on gay cliffs — 
 And now she suffers wreck — remorse, and wo. 
 
 RoDERiGO. Well, I'll do all that's in my feeble 
 power 
 To win her take the course of reason — there! 
 Good Soffrina — let her read these lines and give 
 My love to her! 
 
 Soffrina. I will. I know she will 
 
 Be more composed, when she'll have read your 
 words. 
 
 RoDERiGO. May God prevail upon her! 
 
 Soffrina. Adios, Senores. 
 
 Hassan {showing her the door). Farewell, my 
 lady! {Exit Soffrina.) 
 
 Roderigo. I'll see her to-morrow. 
 
 When she doth walk about the garden-alleys — 
 Oh! now a plaintively cadenced step she has! 
 She vies no more with roses' richest red; 
 I see her lying, weeping on the grass; 
 I hear her, trembling: would that I were dead! 
 
102 Poetical Works. 
 
 Yea, I have wronged her; she writes so wildly — 
 So madly! Hassan, read, read — and say if love 
 Could be more sacred to a maid than hers. 
 But can I spot my character with falsehood! 
 Hassan, I answered her — she knows now all. 
 'Tis better so — the sun is better blessed 
 When shining brilliantly, so man is better 
 If with stern truth he acteth nobly! 
 
 Hassan. True ! 
 
 Dear Roderig, her words are cut with sharpest 
 
 wo; 
 And the rare essence streaming through them, 
 
 brings 
 Before me all her misery and sorrow. 
 
 RoDERiGO. Oh ! that a young fair flower should 
 be plucked, 
 And cast away into some forlorn nook, 
 Where no hope-rays pierce its obscurity! 
 Where no one dare to stretch a succoring hand 
 Where it is left to wilter — mold — exhale! 
 And such I loved — with strains of Hellas-tone 
 Have tried to woo her to my own affections. 
 Now all is disappointment — all is wail — 
 Both of us are like ships with shattered sails. 
 Hassan, Fll write a song again — to-morrow, 
 At moon's uprise — the breezes will be mine. 
 I'll charge them with the melody so bright 
 That roseate morning will beam in the night! 
 
 Hassan. Aye, noble soul! you are too angel- 
 like! 
 All-sacrificing labors futile prove on earth; 
 
The Course of Love. 103 
 
 Yet, well it is that you do act so truly. 
 
 Bid that the Muse will guide you — all is well 
 
 Yet, when one's soul does paint a heaven of hell! 
 
 RoDERiGO. True, master! you have taught me 
 to compose 
 Myself — even when wroth gales around me howl. 
 See here! your friend has learnt his lesson well — 
 And lives in heaven, though round him burnetii hell ! 
 But now to work, dear Hassan! 
 
 Hassan. Well, to work! 
 
 {Curtain drops.)] 
 
 Scene III. — Felicia's chamber; like in Act I. 
 It is night. She is seated; the windozv is half 
 opened; the moon is shining zvithout. On the table 
 letters and trinklets lie scattered. 
 
 Felicia (reflectively). He answered me! How 
 old my thoughts have grown! 
 I, antelope-Felicia — Diana's bow — 
 So did they call me; who calls me now! A few — 
 Who but exchange their common minds with mine ! 
 Exchange — O would he had not done it so 
 With his — exchange! O would I could my life 
 With that of some bright maid who loves yet love — 
 For all its sweetest bliss! How old IVe grown — 
 With this my burden unenjoyed — an iron 
 Cold iron working icy in my inner blood! 
 
104 Poetical Works. 
 
 O God! that he has left me! — Is man so: 
 To love, then leave his love in shame and wo! 
 He says — {goes to the table, takes a letter, and re- 
 seats herself .) He says : for life's sweet sake, 
 bear up! 
 Keep bright thy mind ; and think no more about it ! 
 And he does close with this : as ever your lover ! 
 But how bear up — when hourly my life's consumed 
 With thoughts that are too woful far for tears. 
 O blank cold eyes — no tears swell in your sockets — 
 They are as dry as streams in hottest summer, 
 With stones and rocks parched, all their verdure 
 
 seared I 
 Oh! would my tears could flow again, as months 
 Ago — but they've been shone upon by wo's 
 Own sun that scorches all within its reign! 
 O bear my shame! — oh! mother in the skies, 
 Look down upon thy daughter in distress!— 
 It would be sweet to fly to thee — and shirk 
 A life, bright with a child, whose father's name 
 Can ne'er be uttered — ne'er be loved again! — 
 Be loved again! — Oh! I begin to feel 
 A hate come weltering in my tortured heart! 
 Soffrina will come soon — she must console me. 
 What's consolation to a life irreparable : 
 Dew on one's life — absorbed by wo, remorse — 
 An ever-dying ray relumed by all 
 Its changing colors! Consolation — death 
 Alone may now console me — only death ! 
 Phillippo, Phillippo! rememberest thou that hour 
 When, kissing me, I fell a thrall to thee! 
 
The Course of Love. 105 
 
 How ardent were thy words — how true thy eyes — 
 Ah! I believed them — now thy lover sighs! 
 i Sighs ! nay, I will not sigh — yet, sighing soothes — 
 ■Yet kills me — oh! the pain from oversighing! 
 ( Throws letter on the table. ) Would that Soff rina 
 
 be here ! 'Twere better be amad 
 Than consciously with shame abide — a shame! 
 Nay, nay, live with past memories — ^and know 
 Them withered — poisoned — till they grow to be 
 Worse than vile detestation! 
 
 Enter Soffrina. 
 
 SoFFRiNA. Wroth again! 
 
 Come, come, Felicia! as a mother dear 
 I will give comfort. {Kneels before her.) You 
 
 have your father yet, 
 Who shines for thee, as for the earth the sun. 
 He*s ignorant of it — I shall prepare him; 
 He loves you so, that only tears will burst — 
 O tears of pity; do not worry! Come — 
 Oh! listen to stories of the May — the blossom- 
 month ! 
 ; 'Tis ever blossoming in our soul — there's not 
 A winter-blast! O May is soul-like, Felicia! 
 For though our hearts be icy — we can bloom 
 Our soul with hope's own hues and flowers ! 
 
 Felicia. More, 
 
 More, dear Soffrina! A mother cannot show 
 More fondness for her child, than you for me. 
 But tell me, tell me — that woman's face and dress 
 Will never leave my mind — is she a one 
 
io6 Poetical Works. 
 
 Who lost her virtue like myself — and now 
 Is being confronted by all men who sin? 
 
 SoFFRiNA (aside). O wretched meeting with 
 that lady!— Stop! 
 Stop ! Paint not pictures of wrong scenes and deeds 
 Within thy mind — 'tis far too much deep-colored. 
 Weep, dear Felicia! so tears may shed a screen 
 Of freshening dew upon the glaring truth! 
 
 Felicia (abstractedly) . She wanders now from 
 town to town! — she seeks 
 In bowers, fragrant with forbidden passion, 
 What many find when honey-days have come! 
 SoFFRiNA (aside). Her thoughts are sadly gone 
 astray! (She walks to the windozv, opens 
 it. ) Felicia — 
 See! there the suckle glows from the gold kiss 
 Of a more golden moon ! The birks are trembling. 
 How silvery they glitter ! — Come, and gaze 
 Upon the scene ! hark ! the nightingale 
 Sings forth her song — how the short close does 
 
 mingle 
 With the soft murmur of the wind, that steals 
 Through aisles, and oaken-rows its darkling way. 
 (Aside.) What, what! She does not stir! (Goes 
 
 to her.) Felicia, hear — 
 O hear me — ^be not all so silent! (A pause.) 
 
 Felicia (startled). What! 
 
 Did you speak? (Takes Soffrina's hand.) Leave 
 
 me not. Soffrina, stay 
 By me! I feel that I must die so soon! 
 Soffrina — a dream it was! You spoke to me? 
 
The Course of Love. 107 
 
 Sit here ! (Soffrina at her feet.) 
 
 SoFFRiNA {aside). O Heaven, preserve this 
 
 child! Say, say! 
 Felicia. I saw myself derided; 'twas in town; 
 And as I walked the streets, the people scoffed, 
 And pointed at me. Then I screamed — I ran — 
 I fell — they were upon me — then I raised 
 Mine arms, and cried for mercy — but no one 
 Would listen; till the crowd did tear my robes — 
 Than on an ass they placed me, who was naked. 
 Soffrina — then I screamed — and tore my tress — 
 I cried, and shrieked — and, with a bound, I leapt 
 From saddle to the ground — where bleeding, 
 
 crazed, 
 I bit myself, and died! {A pause.) 
 
 Soffrina. No more of this! 
 
 Felicia, if thou lovest me — cheer up! 
 {Aside.) How can I change her train of thoughts! 
 
 Here, take 
 Thy mandoline, and ring the night with tones 
 That will reverberate in echo low 
 To the fond murmur of the suckle-bees! 
 
 {She gives it to her.) 
 Felicia. Nay, nay! it doth remind me of that 
 
 eve. 
 When Senor Rod'rig thrilled my heart a moment. 
 O days of hours whose apt reason lost 
 Itself in prudish choosing! nay, away — 
 {She stares.) Could it have been — if — if — if I 
 
 had written! 
 Three words upon that note, that eve — perhaps: 
 
io8 Poetical Works. 
 
 His heart a treasure, and his knowledge worth 
 More than the stores of Babylon! Would life 
 Be joyous at his side — two lovers true 
 Sporting o'er scented fields — away, away — 
 Soffrina, take that ugly thing from me! 
 Oh! now! — irreparable — he would not look 
 At me. Oh ! what can I — worse than to be 
 Exiled to islands, homes of beasts of prey! . 
 Oh! mother! where art thou! — oh! father dear, 
 Thy daughter is disgraced; O could I fly 
 
 To thee, O mother See, there he walks, 
 
 And there beside him is that creature vile — 
 I'll spring upon them ! I have claws as strong 
 As any tiger's; they shall know that! — where 
 Art thou, my Roderig? ... 
 
 Soffrina. Listen, child! I beg 
 
 You, come to reason! . . . 
 
 Felicia. Reason — ha — ha — ^ha — 
 
 (She screams, and laughs. A pause,) 
 Soffrina. Felicia. (She tries to arouse her.) 
 Felicia, smile again! O smile! 
 O God! (She falls upon Felicia's lap.) 
 
 Enter The Duke. 
 
 The Duke (from door to left). What were 
 those screams, they came from here? 
 Felicia fallen asleep — and Soffrina too! 
 
 (Walks to them; startles.) 
 O God ! dead . . . dead ! (Kisses Felicia. Sof- 
 frina revives, and rises. ) Oh ! tell the dole- 
 ful story. 
 
The Course of Love. 109 
 
 SoFFRiNA. My Duke, your daughter died from 
 overpain. 
 Oh! listen to her fate: thy son-in-law 
 Has left her — she was with his child — how could 
 She, delicate, darling body, live with wo! 
 
 The Duke. He left her! — Oh! how can I 
 breathe amore. 
 When fate strikes down its bolts upon my doom 
 So quickly! — All is gloom and wailing now! 
 I^m left alone — I must needs die of grief. 
 
 Out in park enter Roderigo^ and sings. 
 
 RoDERiGO. Oh ! birdling, struck with wo. 
 
 Die not yet, for my sake. 
 Cheer up — for thee I glow — 
 
 My old love doth awake ! 
 Then sing thy songs again — and, sweeting, be 
 My love as in old days, when we were free! 
 
 The Duke. Who sings out there unconscious 
 of Death's blow? 
 Oh! he must soon this saddest story know! 
 
 SOFFRINA. *Tis Roderig — oh ! concourse of 
 these woful tales — 
 They shed their gloom o'er many a cheery heart. 
 The Duke. Oh ! soon we all must go to Death's 
 quiet vales — 
 We all must from our fond and loved ones part! 
 {They attend to Felicia while the curtain drops.) 
 
no Poetical Works. 
 
 ACT V. 
 
 Scene I. — El Kader's garden. View on the 
 sea. Hassan and Roderigo to the left, seated on 
 the stone bench. Two months have elapsed. 
 
 Roderigo. Aye, must the past loom up, as crag- 
 gy mounts 
 Rear up above a Scandinavian sea! 
 
 Hassan. Inopportunely you do mar your think- 
 ing 
 With incidents whose nucleus none can know — 
 Nor whose dark flowers none has plucked. Ah! 
 
 Roderig ! 
 The Past must dwell with us as, in our room, 
 The hideous spider, that we never see : 
 She spins her web, or if she hath forsaken 
 Her labors, leaving but the web — we know 
 It there, but do not reck its darkling life. 
 Oh! therefore shun to rummage in the cells 
 Of thy near memory — go out to view 
 The present scene, and take its brightness all. 
 The spider must be there; but there's no use 
 Of seeking for it — it does well alone! 
 
 Roderigo. O well you say — my master! for the 
 sea 
 Is blue — ^between the olive-leaves it sparkles! 
 And see the bluefinch, on yon myrtle-twig: 
 Hear how it chirps — now cheeps! — And, do you 
 
 smell 
 The perfume of those gladioli, rank 
 
The Course of Love. iii 
 
 Of growth, along that hedgerow, Hve with birds. 
 What balmy air, this morn; for Tasso fit 
 To sing a song to his Lenore — O Love ! 
 That now art in the Heavens where thou smilest, 
 Couldst be now near me, here — and dream 
 Upon my breast, and listen to my songs : 
 Such Dante, to his lyre, sung, when visions 
 Around him floated — blessed by his Beatrice! 
 Sad memory to all my life — that night, 
 When to thee had I sung my ditty sweet. 
 Unknowing of thy death! Felicia — name, 
 That would have darkened all my sterling fame! 
 Couldst thou have seen me when thy ghost was 
 
 free — 
 Oh! seen me singing songs of love to thee! 
 
 Hassan. Again in dreams! 'Tis wrong for 
 
 man to dream! 
 RoDERiGO. Nay, nay ! 'Tis well for man to keep 
 
 to dreams! 
 Demulcent 'tis to fair-transcend our day. 
 And turn our phrases to a lovelier lay. 
 But dreams are sweet prerogatives; it seems. 
 Those, whom the higher powers love the best. 
 By high fair dreams are sweetly filled with rest! 
 What truer, purer way to spend the hours 
 Than think of distant worlds of rosy flowers? 
 O Hassan! though that saddest day was mine — 
 Have I not cause to dream a dream divine! 
 
 Hassan. My words were rude, dear Roderigo — 
 
 yea, 
 You may dream so — yet manlier 'tis to bear, 
 
112 Poetical Works. 
 
 Forget your wo, and work anew for man! 
 
 RoDERiGO. True, true. Now two months have 
 
 been drearly ranging 
 Since she, Felicia, died a death of wo. 
 Three weeks are gone since her kind father died! 
 All dead! — what devastation to a house 
 Of noblest hearts thou br ingest — sudden Death! 
 Oh! would thou comest with a lightning-flash 
 To strike me dead! — But where's Phillippo, 
 
 Hassan ? 
 Two months, and more, no news from him. He 
 
 strums 
 To his lascivious songs — and kisses more 
 Than is man's due. 
 
 Hassan. I heard of him^ — ^he seems 
 
 To keep his paramour long company. 
 Holds dalliance with her near the fragrant coast. 
 
 RoDERiGO. To him I must ; — oh ! he, a murderer ! 
 Is it a truth that vile low thoughts, intact 
 Within his cultured brain, have sullied him! 
 Aye, aye ! though he's my friend — I would to drive 
 A javelin within his breast — and curse 
 His corpse! He's not acquainted with her death! 
 I would to see his face when he doth hear 
 That saddest tale. I fear no wide surprise 
 Would leer from him — ^but, soon as heard, he would 
 Back to his gay carouse — and loll his head 
 Upon a bosom hot with wine and lust. 
 He! Hassan! I shall start upon the morrow! 
 Hassan. What for? To perpetrate a crime, 
 
 that, done, 
 
The Course of Love. 113 
 
 Will burn your conscience! Let Heaven deal the 
 
 blow! 
 RoDERiGO. Oh! light! upon the azure sea; how 
 
 fair 
 Thy life, to lume the spheres so constantly. 
 Repairest then within thyself to warm 
 Thine orb, that gives light to us generously! 
 No ails, no frets, no wo — no past, nor pain 
 Hast thou. Oh! glorious in thyself, thou glowest 
 Full glorious all without; self-vital — self- 
 Inspiring — all thy life is giving life! 
 And we, dear Hassan, are the outcome sad 
 Of such a brilliancy! oh! strangeness vast 
 Of our life! we would to act, when all 
 We do is merely what a power ordains. 
 So, Hassan, will I listen to thy words — 
 Let Heaven rule our dooms — and I shall work 
 For man — at least do what my powers can! 
 Hassan. Such is the wisdom-strain within our 
 
 souls : 
 The highest he who overmasters passions. 
 He acteth most, who listens to his soul. 
 For in that song the deeds of Heaven dwell! 
 RoDERiGO (standing up). So let us walk to 
 
 yonder cove, and lie 
 Upon the beach — and there forget to sigh! 
 
 (Curtain drops, while they walk away.) 
 
 Scene II. — In a village in the Southern part of 
 Spain. To the left is a tavern; the stage represents 
 8 
 
114 Poetical Works. 
 
 the tavern garden, with vine-arbors; Hozvers, and 
 zvalks; the garden ends in a wall, overlooking the 
 tables are many girls ivith young Senors, At 
 one in the right foreground is Phillippo_, with 
 Rosa. The scene opens with the girls in a row, in 
 front of the stage, singing to mandolinatas which 
 the men are strumming. 
 
 Song of Girls. Amamos todos los besos 
 De los Senores nobiles — 
 Teniendo entre los dedos 
 
 Sus cigarritos per fumar. 
 Besa V. ! sonreiamos. 
 Con Vs. en alguna parte vamos ! 
 ( They go back to several tables, and drink and 
 chat.) 
 
 Phillippo. Dear Rose! This jolly crowd is as 
 a draught of wine — 
 Their song so fiery — flamed with warmest love ! 
 
 Rosa. Now that we married are, and live all day 
 Together — they please me all the more; Phillippo! 
 Dost know it — 'tis a wretched life they lead. 
 Before I knew thee — such was mine. 
 
 Phillippo. Rejoice 
 
 Then, Rose, that fate was generous, to have given 
 Thee one who kisses thee when passionate; 
 And does for thee all thou dost wish be done. 
 Heh! fill our glasses! Loy, be quick! — Such wine 
 They grow nigh Syracuse, inspires Joy 
 To play the game Silenus loved; not so, 
 
The Course of Love. 115 
 
 Dear Rose? 
 
 Rosa (drinks the last quaff). 'Tis Pleasure run- 
 ning down my throat, 
 And laughing in each crevice of my heart. 
 Phillippo ; buoyant do I feel — these cherished quaiTs 
 Do me, and thee, more good than all the proverbs 
 The prelate in the village spouts upon 
 His tethered sheep! Ha-ha! What imagery 
 Uprises in the mind. . . . 
 
 {While speaking, some of the Senores sur- 
 round their table.) 
 1ST Senor. Phillippo, these two strangers came 
 to-day. 
 I told them that your Rose's voice was sweet — 
 Divine as Seraph-song; they begged me ask 
 
 Her trill awhile 
 
 {The evening advances, lights are lit — the 
 moon is seen rising.) 
 Phillippo. Welcome to our town! 
 
 Senores ! 
 
 1ST Senor. This is Senor Cosmo; this 
 Is Senor Vegas. 
 
 Phillippo {standing up). Senores! Pray, ac- 
 cept 
 My hospitality. Seilora ! know 
 Sefior Cosmo — Senor Vegas. 
 
 Rosa. Strangers are 
 
 As birds that fly to us with news of Spring! 
 Senor Cosmo. Senora ! You do compliment us ! 
 Senor Vegas and Cosmo. Thanks ! 
 
 ( T/iej/ seat themselves^ 
 
Ii6 Poetical Works. 
 
 Phillippo. Boy, four large bottles of that 
 bloody wine! 
 Be quick! . . . The Sefiora will now gratify your 
 
 wish. 
 Senores! This most beauteous night will serve 
 To make the song enchanting. A mandoline! 
 
 (iST Senor gets one,) 
 Now Rose! 
 
 (He fakes her chair, and puts it in the shade 
 of a tree; Rosa sits down in a languid pose. 
 He returns to table.) 
 
 So sing that love song, languid more 
 Than aromatic winds that fill the hill-side dark, 
 Where birds sing dreamily. (He strums.) 
 
 Rosa (sings). 
 
 I. 
 
 I Porqu^ piensas tu 
 Que non amare te siempre? 
 Un pajara me ha dicho, 
 
 Nel' canzonata su, 
 Que has lorrado para me — 
 
 * * * * :|c 
 
 Hombre nobil' ! amo te — 
 Despues el muerte te amare! 
 ***** 
 
 II. 
 
 Homos visto d nosotros — 
 Hemos dado muchos b^sos la 
 
The Course of Love. 117 
 
 Los pajaras han cantado — 
 Oh! Dios! que gran'gusta da 
 L'amor que vive siempre — 
 
 jj! * * Hi * 
 
 Los besos de un hombre nobile! 
 
 He H^ H: H: Mc 
 
 Senor Vegas. Enchanting! 
 
 Senor Cosmo. Full 
 
 Of languorous sound — 'tis Love's substantial song. 
 Senor Vegas (aside to Cosmo). 'Tis all his 
 
 way! 
 Senor Cosmo (aside). Odd fancies aye were 
 
 his! 
 1ST Senor. I see that you are pleased! 
 Phillippo (taking a glass of wine). Sefiores, 
 now 
 To drink the health of her who sang so sweetly! 
 Come, dearest Rosa, on my lap! 
 
 (Drinks — all join him.) 
 Senor Vegas. Indeed, 
 
 Your mistress sings like angels in the skies. 
 'Tis all divine, her voice! 
 
 1ST Senor. Our dearest 'tis — 
 
 The sweetest 'mong the belles of our town — 
 You are, Sefiora — you cannot deny it. 
 
 Rosa. I must submit — the one who compliments 
 Is a fair judge! 
 
 1ST Senor. Thanks, thanks. 
 
 (Kisses her hand.) 
 
ii8 Poetical Works. 
 
 Phillippo (gets to be maudlin). Seiiores, luck 
 To you! (Drinks.) 
 
 Senor Vegas (aside to Cosmo). Ha, this will 
 aid us! 
 
 Senor Cosmo. And the darkness! 
 
 Phillippo (takes tip his glass). Sefiores! 
 Down Guadalquivir to the sea, 
 We often sailed, and Rosa sang all way! 
 Her voice was from the magic gardens got — 
 Near Manzanares' quiet flow. Bright wine! 
 Aye, drink with me a glass ! may glory shine — 
 And fame upbear to you her banners all ! 
 Now, Rosa, sing your quatrain : union sweet 
 To wine, that floweth to old Bacchus' feet! 
 
 Rosa (sings). 
 
 Bloody wine — wild flowing — 
 
 Makest eyes fire-glowing — 
 Thou comest from red skies down-showering — 
 Thy blood in us is overpowering! 
 
 Phillippo (sings, then all join in the last lines), 
 Senores, tell of your exploits! 
 
 Senor Vegas. Too cruel 
 
 My tale for any one to hear ! 
 
 Senor Cosmo (aside to Vegas). Stop! let 
 Me drive the dagger in his breast by art ! 
 (Aloud.) But I know one, I heard on our road 
 From the blue sea to Madrid's battled walls. 
 
 1ST Senor. So tell it us! 
 
The Course of Love. 119 
 
 Phillippo (drinks). To him who's funny- 
 
 tongued ! 
 Let comedy play love with adventurous hap! 
 So there, my Rosa and myself, we listen! 
 
 (Takes Rosa around her waist.) 
 Senor Cosmo. He walked with us. He was so 
 
 stern of mind 
 To show his moral tenets, e'en while jesting! 
 He had a tear swim in his eye, at close 
 Of his strange woful story. 
 
 Phillippo (drinks). Tell the tale. 
 
 Senor Vegas (aside). He's maudHn; tell the 
 
 truth, my Roderigo! 
 Senor Cosmo. You seem quite interested — I 
 
 will tell : 
 It seems, he passed a castle, some long months 
 Ago; and there he met with ugly sights. 
 He saw the noble house in wail — a coffin 
 Lay in the hall — wide open — in it was 
 The body of a fair young girl — scarce old 
 Enough to know the bitter of the world. 
 Aghast, he noticed that her waist was swollen — 
 She was with child — a young dear mother dead — 
 Dead ere a nursling could have mouthed her breast ! 
 So was she in the flowered bier — ^her face 
 Wild with unrest — her eyes yet full of pain — 
 Her lithe fair body sweet to see — alas, 
 A mother, dead ere she could kiss her babe! 
 He said he gazed at her awhile, when soon 
 Into the hall a tall old man appeared. 
 The house was solitary — no one there — 
 
120 Poetical Works. 
 
 The hall left all unlocked. . . . 
 
 Phillippo (aside, with heavy breath). What is 
 
 he saying! 
 Senor Cosmo. He followed the man's ways — 
 he bent his head 
 Low o'er the girl — when, suddenly, he screamed; 
 And fell upon the coffin's edge — he ran 
 Towards him — but trying to revive him was vain — 
 The old man died at seeing his daughter's corpse. 
 Phillippo (aside). What veil is taken from 
 my memory! 
 Senor, who was that man w^ho walked with you? 
 Senor Cosmo (aside to Vegas). The point is 
 piercing. (Aloud.) Never have I seen 
 Him ere that time. He was reserved, and silent 
 About his name. 
 
 Phillippo (drinking; affecting unconcern). 
 
 Most strange and sad — ^but, more! 
 Senor Cosmo. After, he aided in the obsequies. 
 He learned the tale — oh! sorrowful it was; 
 And while he told it to me, he did weep. 
 
 Phillippo (aside). Is my Hfe to be told! (A- 
 rousing himself. Takes glass, and drinks.) 
 Say, wine! my friend. 
 Senor Vegas (aside to Cosmo). Well told. He 
 
 feels his conscience burning him. 
 Senor Cosmo. He wept — it seems, his daughter 
 had been sworn 
 To a young nobleman; they loved — ^but he, 
 After he gave sweet tokens of his love. 
 Deserted her; left her to dream away 
 
The Course of Love. 121 
 
 With longing which grew to a grim despair. 
 Is this not sorrowful — a man who swore — 
 To leave his love, and love her nevermore! 
 
 Phillippo (waving away some hallucination. 
 
 Sees Rosa on his lap — disgustingly repulses 
 
 her, and intends standing up — hut as soon is 
 
 seated; strokes his forehead). 
 
 {Aside.) Felicia! {Aloud, and standing up.)^ 
 
 Aye, Sefior! unsheath your sword! 
 How o'er audacious are you to disclose. 
 In company of others, the hidden secrets 
 That lie concealed within my heart. 
 
 Senor Vegas {aside to Cosmo). Too much 
 You have revealed. The wine in him excites 
 His fancy! 
 
 Senor Cosmo. I am not aware I've told 
 A word concerning you, Senor! 
 
 Phillippo {regaining his senses; aside). Fool, 
 fool! 
 '{Aloud.) Dear Rosa! Come, upon my lap! 
 
 Senor — 
 Resume the tale — the sad mishaps recounted 
 Stirred up my mind — I thought myself concerned. 
 It is a woful story. 
 Senor Cosmo. All is told, Senor ! 
 Phillippo. But what became of him whose 
 heart 
 Was low enough to kill a tender girl? 
 
 Senor Cosmo. He lived like many a prodigal 
 son, afar. 
 With women who conceive life's only joys 
 
12^ Poetical Works. 
 
 To be the sipping passion without love. 
 
 Phillippo. Ha, ha ! Here, Rosa ! drink to him ! 
 What wit 
 He must have had! Life's cares and pains are 
 
 drowned 
 In wine — and woman's grace inspires in us 
 The satisfaction that we Hve. Drink, drink! 
 1ST Senor (drinks). Philhppo! you do always 
 drink to love! 
 Senores, drink! 
 
 Senor Cosmo (rises). Nay, never! I thought 
 I was 
 With estimable men. 
 
 Phillippo (laughing). He thought he would 
 to preach 
 To us, who are like magnates to wild love ! 
 Sit down! 
 
 Senor Vegas (aside). 'Twere better to conjoin, 
 
 my Roderig. 
 Senor Cosmo (not heeding). Commanding me 
 to sit, when I'm his guest! 
 Ha! 'tis an insult! 
 
 Senor Vegas (aside). Stop! Forget not words 
 I told thee! 
 
 Phillippo (drmking). Ho there ! Boy ! Wine ! 
 (Stops suddenly.) And I — 
 Am I the one who killed her? — who does know 
 
 it?! 
 (To Senor Cosmo.) Will you not drink to our 
 
 carousing life? 
 Again a drink to him who had some wit 
 
The Course of Love. 123 
 
 In him to live! Ha, ha! 
 
 Senor Cosmo. My blood is boiling — he had 
 killed Felicia; 
 Killed my own love; no, no! {Draws his sword 
 
 out.) It is too much; 
 I will not drink, but will inflict harsh wounds 
 On those who slay a woman's only hope. 
 You who are drinking to their life, must be 
 Akin to them! 
 
 Phillippo (aside). His words do sting me! 
 Senor Cosmo. Draw! 
 
 And if you are a nobleman, show your worth! 
 
 (Phillippo rises. Rosa holds him back.) 
 Rosa. Be calm! 
 Senor Vegas (to Cosmo). Let Fate decide. 
 
 No murder! 
 Phillippo. Here is the nobleman! — Away (to 
 Rosa). 
 (They tight with szuords. The people of the 
 background are startled and look at the pro- 
 ceedings. Phillippo is wounded. Rosa 
 faints. ) 
 Senor Cosmo (runs to him and holds him up). 
 My friend! (Recollects himself, and stands 
 ■firm. ) 
 So there you reap what you deserve! 
 
 Senor Vegas (aside). Too rash, 
 
 My Roderig! 
 
 1ST Senor (tending to Phillippo). It is not 
 fatal, Senor! 
 Merely a cut — it needs a fortnight's healing. 
 
124 Poetical Works. 
 
 I bow before so fair a fencer! 
 
 (Senor Cosmo goes to Phillippo, and whis- 
 pers in his ear.) 
 Phillippo. My God — is this my doom! 
 
 (Rosa recovers.) How 
 is my love? 
 Rosa (runs to him). You are not dead! 
 Phillippo. A trifle only, love! 
 
 Fate is life's queen! we all must bow before her! 
 Senor Vegas. I am displeased that this has 
 grown amongst 
 Our company — ^but virtue holds her reign — 
 And will victorious be for any price. 
 
 Senor Cosmo. So let us off! — Phillippo — you 
 have been 
 A base man; you do know it. I have had 
 My own requital — live now as you will — 
 Your doom is in the hands of higher powers! 
 Phillippo. 'Tis you, my Roderig ! — this wound 
 has told 
 Me that Tve wronged two hearts. I trust 
 For life in Him who is in dealings just. 
 Farewell! You were a messenger of news 
 That would have made me weep — if in my mind 
 I then had been. Will you forgive me, Roderig? 
 Senor Cosmo. Forgive ! I came out here to show 
 you all 
 Your meanness; think upon it! ask forgiveness 
 Of Him who judges you when death comes to you. 
 Farewell ! 
 
 Senor Vegas. We cannot linger any more. 
 
The Course of Love. 125 
 
 Farewell, Sefiores. 
 
 {Exeunt. 1ST SenOR retires to background^ 
 Phillippo (raising himself a little). Perfidious 
 act of mine ! 
 Come, Rosa! You must tend to me. We must 
 Curse those two men. They spoilt our night 
 In which we ever drink to love's delight. 
 
 Rosa (bending over him). All will he well, 
 Phillippo ! all wounds must heal — 
 I'll be a tender nurse to you! (Kisses him.) 
 
 Phillippo (while curtain is falling). O God, 
 Where Thou dost curse us. Thou dost bless again! 
 I was harsh punished — ^yet I have near me 
 A heart, who makes me praise, and thank but Thee ! 
 
 [(Curtain falls.) 
 
 Scene III. — El Kader's garden. Same as in 
 Scene I. 
 
 Hassan is smoking, reclined on the stone bench. 
 RoDERiGO leans against bench, his guitar lying on 
 the ground. 
 
 Hassan. The messenger said all the truth — the 
 letter. 
 Sent to us by our friend, corroborates it. 
 
 RoDERiGO. Aye, is it so ? Phillippo in his grave. 
 And Rosa, as he called her — ^by his side! 
 And though she was such woman, she had love ; 
 
126 Poetical Works. 
 
 Affection clung to her — she would not live 
 Alone. I do suppose he treated her 
 Too well; so she no more could single be. 
 But follow him. 
 
 Hassan. It must be true, that often 
 
 Lost womanhood returns — and sprouts to leaves 
 That take up drops from heavenly showers! 
 
 RoDERiGO. Yea, 
 
 Her story tells it to us. How it moves 
 My heart. I almost could forgive Phillippo! 
 
 Hassan. Relent not to the softer nature in us, 
 Roderigo. 
 'Tis done — the vaster powers willed it so. 
 
 Roderigo. How was the incident: he felt the 
 wound 
 Grow worse than had at first been said. Ah me, 
 Foreshadowings in life are futile: speak 
 A word, and lo! its meaning may be turned. 
 Who settles our future — no one knows. 
 Who thought that two deaths would evolve from 
 
 one 
 Small wound alone ; aye, who thought, that a mind. 
 Sworn to the bad that's in us, once would beam 
 A flash of diamond-sparkle to the world! 
 For Rosa's soul did fulminate that hour — 
 Her past life burned to ashes — there was born 
 Her woman's purity; and love's large flower 
 Exhaled its fragrance as on Love's sweet morn! 
 So must her heart's affection have arisen 
 Seeing her lover dead — his grave was hers! 
 If she could hear me, I should sing a song 
 
The Course of Love. 127 
 
 In her remembrance; but, alas! the dead 
 
 Are to such subtile essence changed, they hear not. 
 
 Hassan. What has become of Soffrina, she who 
 cared 
 So for Felicia? The day we left, she seemed 
 Forlorn — her dearest friends had died — alone 
 She stood, to face grim life! 
 
 RoDERiGO. I offered station 
 
 To her; she did refuse. 
 
 Hassan. I have a thought! 
 
 Suppose we ask her live with us, and be 
 A keeper of our hold! 
 
 RoDERiGO. 'Tis loyal — yea! 
 
 But where has she repaired to — many months 
 No signs of her existence. She may drop 
 Upon us like the Phoenix-bird on Egypt 
 Was wont to, once in five hundred years! 
 
 Hassan. When men 
 
 Speak of the devil, he is sure to appear. 
 I'll give mine orange-tree to you, if Soffrina 
 Will not be present ere the sun has set! 
 
 RoDERiGO. Proverbs say generally the truth. 
 We'll see. 
 
 Hassan. Do sing your song in memory of 
 Rosa's love. 
 Compose the words while you're preluding to't — 
 Gaze, through the limes, upon the ocean's blue, 
 And listen to the throstle's madcap notes; they will 
 Pour soul astirring melodies in you ! 
 For many days you have not touched the lute! 
 
 RoDERiGO {taking his lute, and strumming on it 
 
128 Poetical Works. 
 
 aimlessly). 'Tis poetry that taught that 
 nature's sounds 
 Are sweet suggestions for some nobler aim 
 Of man. 'Twas music the fair child! Oh! listen. 
 The throstle maddens in his song! so must 
 The poet in his rapture be, when soaring high 
 Above the earth! O Hassan, what is song 
 But the deep bubble breaking through man's soul, 
 Till on the air 'tis all-resplendent made 
 By sympathetic listeners, who, like rays 
 Of our fair sun, beam color, sparkle on 
 That bubble, rounded in man's nobler heart. 
 
 Hassan. True, true. You are a poet; born 
 poet; born 
 To be like any bird that sings in Spring! 
 The poet's art is not acquired — 'tis laid 
 Within his heart — and blooms when his soul 
 
 dreams! 
 So improvise a song — and tune a melody — 
 Though yet it have no life — thy genius quickens 
 It, like a flower, bursting through the leaves. 
 When Winter fades away! 
 
 RoDERiGO. So let me be 
 
 The strain that, through the Scandinavian pines 
 Glides so canorously — when to the day 
 The fragrant Southwind sings her dulcet song! 
 {Plays on the lute, then sings.) 
 
 O strew no maledictions on 
 A woman who was left alone, 
 At Spring of life! 
 
The Course of Love. 129 
 
 To face the cold, cold world — to shun 
 The beams of love — the radiant sun 
 Of blissful wife ! 
 
 For lo! she can be purer far 
 In secret soul, than others are. 
 
 I know of one 
 Who led gay days — then loved a man — 
 And when he died — to his grave she ran, 
 
 And died alone! 
 
 Hassan. 'Tis fitted to the tale as rare silks, 
 woven 
 To gauze, lie warm and close to Zillah's waist. 
 Yes, inspiration's the touch of sympathy 
 Upon a human heart. If Rosa's fate 
 Had not impressed you so to flame up wildly 
 To your fair soul, those words and tones would not 
 Have lived. What does bring life to nature's 
 
 works — 
 It is the breezes bounding as quick gnu 
 Throughout the air. 
 
 RoDERiGO. Nay, inspiration is 
 
 The union sweet of love and high aspiring! 
 Without love, nought hath value — and without 
 An aspiration our love doth melt away! 
 
 Hassan. Another song: another version to it! 
 See yonder, where the cyclamen their flowers 
 Rich hang upon their tender boughs — see there 
 Does not the sparkles on those leaves dictate 
 To us, to brighten our life till all be sheen! 
 9 
 
130 Poetical Works. 
 
 RoDERiGO. It does ; and does not our soul spread 
 glow 
 On our life, as does the very orb of day — 
 Oh! if we could keep all our soul, as the earth 
 Doth keep her sun — all would be hope and cheer! 
 Then listen, Hassan! and the birds, that carol 
 O'erhead of us, will be surpassed! 
 {Preluding; sings.) 
 
 There lived a maiden, fair to see — 
 
 Her eyes had magic in their sparkling brown — 
 
 Oh! weep not yet — I'll tell to thee 
 
 A sadder tale than happed to any crown! 
 
 Judge not a woman so badly — 
 Before thou seest her grave — 
 
 May she have lived e'er so madly- 
 One day, she proved more than brave. 
 
 That maiden roamed all over the world- 
 She kissed full many a cavalier — 
 
 At last she loved a nobleman well 
 
 And lived with him in conjugal cheer! 
 
 Alas for the happy pair — 
 
 Soon she alone was there. 
 
 (If the world believe it not — 
 
 Shame, shame upon their low base thought!) 
 
 For on his grave she was found — 
 
 Dead, like a death-flower, on the ground. 
 Wail, wail — yet judge not a woman so badly — 
 Her heart did love, though she lived e'er so madly! 
 
 But who walks there, among those trees, with vines 
 
The Course of Love. 131 
 
 O'ergrown ? Who sought an entrance to your gar- 
 den? 
 Why, 'tis a woman. 
 
 Hassan. Orders are that friends 
 
 Be welcomed here. I do suppose that woman 
 Must be quite dear to us, my Roderig. 
 
 RoDERiGO (straining his sight). What cheats 
 me! The gait is Hke Soffrina's — 
 'Tis she! (Goes up, and walks toward her.) — 
 
 Enter Soffrina, hack of the trees. She is dressed 
 rather shabbily. 
 
 What! you, Soffrina? — What has happened? 
 Hassan (goes up). Most welcome here; an old 
 
 friend's blessed, Soffrina! 
 Soffrina. Thanks, thanks! and thanks a thou- 
 sand times! 
 That you do love me yet, for I am now 
 Forsaken by the world — upon the edge 
 Of my life's cliff — ready to fall — and die! 
 Thanks; in the memory of olden days. 
 We can be friends — though I have none afar! 
 Hassan. See, Roderig! Was I not right! — 
 Soffrina ! 
 Five minutes gone, we thought of you — we said 
 How dear it would be if Soffrina's days 
 Could be made happy near by us. Oh! God, 
 Our plans, sometimes, are strangely sanctioned; 
 
 see — 
 We spoke of them, and here comes one whose wants 
 
132 Poetical Works. 
 
 Make bloom our good intention. — Come, Soffrina, 
 This bench shall be our auditor; relate 
 Your mishaps! 
 
 RoDERiGO. Yes, Soffrina, we shall do 
 
 For you all what we can ! ( They seat themselves. ) 
 
 Soffrina. Dear friends, your kindness 
 
 Is overbounding. {She weeps.) God! that I 
 
 should find 
 Such refuge in this paradise — and more, kind hearts 
 That beat so warmly for me! My story's short. 
 The common doom of those who roam this world 
 Alone. My relatives are dead — my friends 
 Of old have gone to heaven. I am here 
 Alone — left to the hearts of kindest people. 
 
 Hassan. Old friends can never separate, — we 
 three 
 Shall form a cozy household — wherein thought 
 Must be the master; do you acquiesce, Soffrina? 
 
 Soffrina. Not only acquiesce, dear Hassan — 
 may God 
 Spend all His dearest blessings on you! 
 
 RoDERiGO. Yea, 
 
 Thought must be master — must be life; what boots 
 This world of doing — when saddest disappoint- 
 ments 
 Have been preponderating! 
 
 Soffrina. Til be widow; 
 
 And all the time seek courtship with your thoughts. 
 
 Hassan. What happy trefoil this will be ! — more 
 sweet, 
 Methinks, than living in some Persian park, 
 
The Course of Love. 133 
 
 Where bulbuls shower their songs on roses fair. 
 
 For here, by musing, we engross the spark 
 
 That Hves in Heaven, making us God's heir! — 
 
 So then — let happy thoughts be ours — come! 
 
 In song, and love, and thought, we'll bless our 
 home ! 
 SoFFRiNA. How young I feel — it seems, new 
 life has found 
 
 Itself a nook within my heart. Is't true 
 
 That in this paradise of songs and flowers 
 
 I may live quietly in peace with you — 
 
 And think and dream in these most fragrant 
 bowers ? 
 
 Great Heaven! Would that all those minds, that 
 live 
 
 Dejectedly, journey to friends of old, 
 
 They give rare comfort! 
 
 RoDERiGO. I'll be there erelong! 
 
 I want to watch the golden clouds awhile. 
 
 As they sail o'er the azure sea! 
 
 Hassan (taking Soffrina under the arm). Be- 
 guile 
 
 Your weary thoughts with pictures of the ocean — 
 
 And let its beauties quiet your sad emotion. 
 
 {To Soffrina.) Come, I shall show you where 
 to rule, and what 
 
 To subjugate — and, lastly, what to love! 
 RoDERiGO. Till noon! 
 Soffrina. I go with you to live, and chat — 
 
 I'm certain that our days will joyful prove! 
 
 {Exeunt, laughing and ckatting.) 
 
134 Poetical Works. 
 
 RoDERiGO. Rich scents of all those flowers, ag- 
 gregated 
 By the soft lingering breezes by this sea — 
 How may you well evolve this mystery 
 That to my life has been so strangely mated! 
 O golden oranges ! that shine within the heat 
 Of glowing day — smile on me, to complete 
 My joy that sprung to life when Soffrina came! 
 She can relate, on whispering eves, the same 
 Sweet stories, that some youthful mariner heard 
 Aft' his love fell a prey to the sad sea — 
 And he sat lonely on the gray bare sand, 
 Alist'ning to an immemorable word 
 Repeated by the main's immensity — 
 And echoed from the cliffs that gird the land ! 
 Rare opiates — languidly embowering 
 Yon cypress, and yon olive-trees — you bring 
 Long trains of pictures to me — like the skies 
 On June's fair eves, when clear sounds quicken 
 To Seraph-tones, and all is languid stillness. 
 You birds, that flit from rose-stem to the yew; 
 Or pipe within the orange — or in the blue 
 Of yon warm bower's shade — flush forth your 
 
 notes ; 
 Rain consolation on me from your throats! 
 Oh! is the day come that doth shroud my life! 
 My love is dead — I ne'er can bless a wife! 
 Irrevocable death — when thou dost work, 
 Or when thou in our inmost heart dost lurk — 
 Who may cry loud enough to call thee back 
 And take another one on thy gloom-track! 
 
The Course of Love. 135 
 
 No voice is ours — we bear ill as well — 
 
 The good we taste hath in it dregs of hell! 
 
 But nature! thou hast pleasures none can give; 
 
 With thee and thought shall I till life's end live. 
 
 Felicia! — Ring thy tone, O hollow sea — 
 
 There is a hope-note wafted gloriously! 
 
 Oh! warble! bird upon yon rose-bough — sing! 
 
 With thee I mean to meditate — and bring 
 
 To flower newer lore — and sweeter days — 
 
 For all the world's good! — And some darker ways 
 
 Of mystery will lead me to a heaven 
 
 On earth, where shall to each his love be given! 
 
 ^Curtain falls,\ 
 
CONTEMPLATION. 
 
 Persons. 
 
 Hassan el Kader. 
 
 Roderick. 
 
 soffrina. 
 
 Time. — The present. 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 Scene I. — A garden in California. A viezv on 
 the Pacific Ocean. Five years have elapsed. 
 
 Roderick seated near an arbor of passion- 
 flowers; he is smoking a Turkish pipe. 
 
 Roderick. Conflicting trains of thought, that 
 work drear havoc 
 To all those dreams of promise and of glory, 
 Cannot the twang of yon poised emerald gem 
 That sucks the honey of bloodred passion-flowers 
 Transform your grim, dark, dire reality 
 136 
 
Contemplation. 137 
 
 To some fair winged element that could evolve, 
 
 In future days to supernatural things, 
 
 Such that an Indian knows of when he dreams 
 
 In trances of most exquisite duration! 
 
 Five years have gone, and with them many dreams 
 
 That, once believed so true, are now mere ghosts — 
 
 Nay, are like exhalations of a flower! 
 
 Five years! ah! is there such a word as time? 
 
 One moment's thinking takes me through all space. 
 
 One instant's thought-review, and all the scenes 
 
 That crossed mine eyes through five long years, 
 
 pass by 
 My mind in swift succession like wild levin! 
 Time must a fiction be, wrought in man's brain. 
 There is no time — for these five years have seemed 
 As they were lengthened to some planet's seasons 
 That in their long, long course would bring to 
 
 head 
 A thousand worlds such like our prodigal globe. 
 So teeming with rare growths and strange events! 
 Ah me! and think of how the Fo-tree grows 
 From a small seed to its majestic stature 
 In less than five long years! Ah me! five years! 
 Who can account for all the things that fell 
 Upon my sight; for all the haps and woes 
 That chained me, or did spell my wondering mind. 
 Who say how in that time my soul hath spread 
 Its magic branches to the mystic worlds 
 That turn afar, to all our eyes unseen! 
 Where are my dreams of youth — they all are gone 
 Like pageants of a summer-sunset sky. 
 
138 Poetical Works. 
 
 Youth held before my visionary eyes 
 A happy Hfe. Methought fate would award to me 
 Sweet days as had been fair apportioned then 
 T' my noble sire; — he had joy's cup filled full; 
 He drank the potion sweet of wedded bliss — 
 Had children sporting round him — and his wife 
 Had proved as Hannah in the biblic days. 
 And me she bore — a golden spoon was mine. 
 As princes hunting in the royal woods 
 Or dancing in the rich illumined halls 
 So lived I through my childhood days; and joy 
 Was my boon friend. I thought when years had 
 
 passed 
 I too would find a loving spouse — and live 
 On some estate. But manhood came, and left 
 Me all forlorn of love, of house, and joy. 
 I've wandered all o'er earth — and here I am 
 A lonely single man to whom life seems 
 A comedy — and nothing more — a comedy! 
 Felicia dead! and since her death my heart 
 Has never felt a thrill at sight of woman. 
 My love has gone with her into the grave; 
 It died with her! And now my love has turned 
 To the Creator — whose lavish Hand has spilled 
 Such wonders on this earth on which I breathe. 
 Were they not visible or had I not 
 That blissful inner eye that shows me ever 
 New wonders — aye, I should have settled accompt 
 With nature and with man long time ago. 
 But all creations tend to console the wo 
 That blights our life. They are to our high mind 
 
Contemplation. 13Q 
 
 Ks to our body quickening bath in brooks, 
 Whose crystal waves lap us refreshingly — 
 Exhilarate us; — to marvel at a shell 
 Upon the strand is joy enough for me. 
 And list'ning to the breakers soothes my pain. — 
 Aye, marking, o'er some mountain, eagles sailing; 
 Or hearing through the woods the sighing trees, 
 As on the northwind hurries — are to me 
 Most welcome boons. Again I wish to live! 
 
 Enter El Kader. 
 
 Ah! there you are! What glory lives to-day! 
 The passion-flowers turn up their chalices 
 As though grown proud that they are bosom friends 
 Of the fair sun. Scarce blows a wind — but from 
 
 the sea 
 A fan-like waft brings freshness to the air 
 That lies as calm as Beauty sleeping soft 
 On couch of flowers. And see the ocean far — 
 A stretch of smoothest azure; come, my friend! 
 Sit down; and we shall talk of deeper things 
 Than most men think of during earthly life. 
 El Kader (sits down). I will comply, dear 
 Roderick. Fair the moment 
 When two congenial souls may true-commune 
 Together, while all nature shines in glory — 
 Such was the Godhead's first design, when He 
 Created man, with intellect as high 
 Prerogative o'er any brute — and breathed 
 In us His spirit. For man from brute doth differ 
 In speech articulate — in soul-evection — 
 
140 Poetical Works. 
 
 In conversation speculative — in deeds 
 Compassionate. Yes, friend, most men prefer 
 To talk of profits — of labor that promotes 
 Their welfare — of necessaries — and of coins. — 
 But, ah! how few there are who deign to broach 
 High thought — or rare invention — or fair love. 
 Convention calls a poet mad; society 
 Deem prophets all insulting; — barter treats 
 The artists deprecatingly ; — and wealth 
 Sneers at the minds who would make of this world 
 A brotherhood. Yet so it always was. 
 The riddle, that lies all unraveled still, 
 Is why proud ignorance must reign; why souls 
 Who have the light of Heaven are scorned by all; 
 Why poets, the inspired heads of mankind- 
 Are left to starve — unnoticed in their need. 
 And, last, why man to sweet religion tends 
 Yet in his heart no shadow of a God 
 Is visible; and man does crime — and sins — 
 And, man, unwilling to listen to the pure 
 High poet-song, — still is the " blatant brute " of 
 
 yore! 
 Yes I am most enraptured that we talk 
 Of things more deep than average mankind's think- 
 ing. 
 For I have known bright intellects expire 
 For want of sympathy with their great thoughts. — 
 No one could understand them — their high minds 
 Could not find men; all they could find 
 Were sordid brains! Then what is life, dear Rod- 
 erick ? 
 
Contemplation. 141 
 
 Roderick. Ah! could we know — fain would I 
 
 show my powers 
 That seem to prove that in my mind are harbored 
 The minds of seven men! So thou art too! 
 Yet we are rare in mankind. Hence are shorn 
 Of popularity — and recognition. 
 One-sided minds successful are; vain boast 
 We uttered years ago — we thinking then 
 That all our knowledge would increase 
 The world's esteem; but nay! our friends that know 
 The commonplace so well, but never dream 
 Or try to be original — they shine 
 Before the self-sufficient world all times; 
 While we sit all forlorn in solitude, 
 Dejected; knowing not why they ignore us. 
 
 El Kader. The temporizers win renown; but 
 
 those 
 Whose genius towers above them, they must know 
 Obscurity — as it has been all time. 
 When he the young '' sun-treader "* walked this 
 
 earth, 
 No more than ten souls loved his songs sublime — 
 He was ignored. But he who lives to-day, 
 The temporizer, f writing dialect 
 And tuning his shrill horn to martial measures, 
 Inventing ribald balladry — he's hailed 
 A genius great. Haha ! They sing for fame, 
 Perchance for lucre, but their graves will bear 
 No monument — nor will they be adored 
 By dreamy souls in far futurity! 
 
 * Shelley. f Kipling. 
 
14^ Poetical Works. 
 
 They pleased the crowd; they pleased no intellect: 
 
 The crowd within a century improves, 
 
 So will their low songs be forgotten then; 
 
 Whereas those lofty dreamy men's own lays 
 
 That erst escaped the multitude, will be 
 
 Received; for in them lay the seeds of truth; 
 
 In them were stored the thoughts sublime, the 
 
 throbs 
 Of feelings fair that dwell in genius-souls. 
 
 Roderick. Aye, here in young America, so 
 
 young 
 In all the fine arts, for the lust of gold. 
 The multitude buy books of minor men — 
 Whereas the works of souls supreme lie idle 
 On shelves of stores — and rarely find new bids 
 For second issues. Novelists sing praises 
 For versifiers, extolling them as poets — 
 Whereas the hidden geniuses, lacking 
 Their high encomium, must despair — and live 
 Forgotten. Stern high thought is never valued; 
 But comic censure, humorous sacrilege, 
 And persiflage, all these have largest praise. 
 Where is fair justice? 
 
 El Kader. The nation is yet young; 
 
 And youth, if not by genius guided, cares 
 For pleasure, nonsense, catches, and for puns. 
 O wait for days as in fair Hellas shone 
 When Pericles had chiseled marbles fair, 
 And poets sang of beauty, soul, and, God. 
 Those days must bloom! As soon as Mammon 
 
 finds 
 
Contemplation. 143 
 
 Decline in worship, then the fine arts all 
 .Will tower serene as once in Athens old! 
 
 Roderick. O it doth seem God hath no power 
 to change 
 This world grown wild ; or are there other Powers, 
 Beyond, in worlds unthought of? Can it be? 
 Were Shakespeare living now, his works were vain. 
 For, nowadays, those facile fiction-mongers 
 Reign; they have prostituted art; and soul 
 Is a mere word; but money hath estranged 
 Fair literature, since most men write devoid 
 Of feelings deep, of fiction beautiful — 
 They write of man, his crimes, his baser nature — 
 Oblivious of the soul, of books and flowers. 
 O there must be a world where all must shine 
 In rays of a fair sun most gloriously. 
 For are not poets, artists, dream-musicians, 
 And scientists above the haggling crowd? 
 
 El Kader. They stand above the tricky mul- 
 titude 
 Like splendrous peaks of the wide snow-capped 
 
 Rockies 
 Above the torrid silent desert-sands. 
 Yet tradesmen deem themselves superior — 
 For they think profits need more brains than song 
 Or picture, or some epic — Milton-fair. 
 
 Roderick. Aye, brains they have to wait till un- 
 timely death 
 Doth snatch a poet lone away from life — 
 Then may they laugh ; for fame that was denied 
 The harassed poet while he toiled alone 
 
144 Poetical Works. 
 
 Is quick all after death — and so they live 
 
 On works of him who, all for lack of praise, 
 
 Was forced to use the bodkin to his breast ! * 
 
 Why must true genius — lofty in its works — 
 
 Sublime of thought — and pure in heart — 
 
 Be so ignored by men contemporary. 
 
 When in the future all bow to his genius? 
 
 Ah! then too late! — and herald him abroad! 
 
 It is the tricky brains of bartering men; 
 
 That is the cause, I know it all too well! 
 
 They think but of low gain — their pelf — 
 
 But never think of godliness; are they 
 
 Church members, who, affecting Christ's high 
 
 creed, 
 In reality are lower than those crowds 
 That set their mart within the temple's halls — 
 And whom Christ lashed out with His leather- 
 thong. 
 Reproaching them? Are they all pure in heart? 
 Theirs is severe attendance at their church — 
 But all through week-days they deny their Christ — 
 And homage pay to Satan and to Mammon. 
 Their prayers are forced; their sanctity is feigned; 
 A cloak they wear to hide their demon low; 
 Have they a God? 
 
 El Kader. Their God is trade — to it 
 
 They are but slaves. I pity them their thraldom ! 
 Roderick. Then what is life, I ask again. I 
 know 
 
 * Chatterton. 
 
Contemplation. 145 
 
 That life meant friendship, brotherhood, at first. 
 But that is passed these latter days, when flurry 
 And selfishness fleet, hand in hand, o'er earth; 
 Discarding noble life and thought and love — 
 Profaning sentiment — and relegating virtue. 
 Oh! must we join them? We the dreamers great 
 Like thunderclouds on summer-noons that tower 
 Above the thirsting plains and valleys broad? 
 Must we the thinkers be with them — ^those minds 
 So mercenary, who prefer to praise 
 An average talent to a genius glorious? 
 It is all sad, but true! Aye, are we moderns 
 More civilized than Greeks of olden glory? 
 Nay, we are not; for to the soul's exploits 
 None lend an arm. Yet war thrives as of yore; 
 And nations still prefer intestine feud 
 To peace. The world hath no fair brotherhood — 
 But as of old lives inharmoniously — 
 One nation seeking to destroy its neighbor. 
 Though we are civilized — we are indeed 
 Like savage-tribes that pillage, war, and kill 
 All ruthlessly. Though patriots are most loyal 
 
 The}^ fighting for their country 
 
 El Kader. Paradox — 
 
 The patriot, thinking he shows loyalty 
 When killing his own brother — shows a heart 
 As savage as Apaches of the desert. ^ 
 
 His country may in word be different. 
 But 'tis the same in eyes of the Creator. 
 'Twas trade and rivalry that made him be 
 An enemy to his own brother. Pelf 
 10 
 
146 Poetical Works. 
 
 Lured him away from any friendly feelings; 
 At first, when men lived as in sinless Eden 
 All loved one another — but possession 
 Caused all to shun their brother's welfare — while 
 Their selfishness enthused them to be kings — 
 And afterwards low tyrants. 
 
 Roderick. All so true, 
 
 Dear friend and tried — yet though stern laws exist 
 Not one doth punish nations that do war — 
 And murder all their brothers. Single crimes 
 Find penalty — ^but when a power commits 
 Iniquity — or when a nation's king 
 Orders his subjects to be murderers, 
 'Tis well — unscathed the crime is done — and praise 
 Is showered on him who hath succeeded well 
 To murder thousands of his fellow-men ! 
 
 Oh ! senseless laws ! and selfish motives have 
 Enacted them — while money e'er connives 
 Such selfishness — so is the deed done basely! 
 El Kader. Yet who can change the wilful 
 
 world? 'Tis sad 
 To know that evil must exist — and savages 
 Whom missionaries essayed to civilize 
 Remain as unrefined as in ages old; 
 A Dante hath ne'er sung in Java's woods — 
 No Shakespeare wrote on Congo's lavish shores — 
 A Newton never graced a Natchez-town — 
 The savage was created for a wild career — 
 While, through our special gifts from God, we 
 
 stand 
 [The glory of this earth's innumerous life. 
 
Contemplation. 147 
 
 Yet evil runneth wildly o'er the lands, 
 Shunning high goodness. 
 
 Roderick. Therefore must a Power 
 
 Rule wild abroad, that tries to run to death 
 The glorious Good. The Hindoos' just conception 
 Of waging powers in the universe 
 Is rational. The Creator, with whom reign 
 Two Sovereigns : the Destroyer gaunt — 
 And the Preserver fair — these rule our world. 
 Hence, look to the Creator for a balm — 
 He guides our spirit, o'er whom the others 
 Have not the merest sway. 
 
 El Kader. And yet, truth's doubt 
 
 Finds habitation in each breast devout. 
 Do you forget the wealth-forlorn — those souls — 
 If souls they have — that crouch so pitiless 
 Near Need's wild flowerless precipice? That 
 
 balm — 
 "Which you think God dispenses — is not there! 
 At best, dear Rod'rick, all that man can prove 
 Tends spiritward — and winged thoughts fly to you ; 
 But saying that one Power rules everything: 
 Why are there filthy hovels side by side 
 With palaces? Why, though a man hath genius 
 Must he be deep in poverty, while he 
 Who dandles away his time in vain display 
 Of dress, and hath no gifts of soul to boot — 
 Sits in a marble room with ornaments 
 Around, and has a swarm of flatterers near? 
 Not one God reigns — but, as methinks, each month 
 Hath on its throne a God, individual! 
 
148 Poetical Works. 
 
 The planets rule us all; their potency 
 
 Is felt within our blood; we are as mastered; 
 
 We serve them even though we try repulsion. 
 
 God the Creator wrought the worlds, and all: 
 
 He left His creatures roam about at will — 
 
 Their instinct tells them how to act in peril. 
 
 But God cares nought — He thrilled us with life's 
 
 blood — 
 The blood is master over us — it thinks 
 And doth perform more marvels than a surgeon! 
 Roderick. Right! Blood is gifted with a 
 
 brightest mind — 
 For who could heal more wondrously than blood? 
 What surgeons do with their own hands, ofttimes 
 Requiring most ingenious instruments — 
 The blood does all invisibly alone! 
 
 El Kader. Yet though this marvel-blood hath 
 
 skill 
 And almost intellect — there is a power 
 That lurks anear — and ere a leaf hath time 
 To fall from lowest branch upon the sward 
 So Death doth quickly work destruction gray— - 
 And all the occult might of blood hath left 
 The body. Sad to think that fabric rare 
 Must needs grow molded — then in time 
 Be powder and nought more. — 
 
 O friend! 
 Our earthly span is short — and it is time 
 That we should thrill our souls with thoughts 
 
 divine ; 
 For wo to those who but to matter bowed 
 
Contemplation. 149 
 
 And things spiritual left untouched; — they must, 
 Methinks it true, be born again on earth 
 Till they have thought deeply enough to know 
 That soul exceeds all else in earthly life! 
 
 Roderick. Yea, soul alone should guide a states- 
 man's actions — 
 If not, he's like a leper to a nation. 
 Soul thrones o'er all! The artist fails; the scribe 
 Writes feebly — the musician slights his Muse, 
 If in his rare performance soul is wanting. 
 Th' enduring works are blazoned with rare soul; 
 And soul reigns ever! 
 
 El Kader. But men differ still; 
 
 Some have no soul — some ridicule a lofty strain — 
 Some smile at how an artist dreams alway, 
 While they who wondered raise their eyes and say : 
 *' Hm ! Hm ! there must be something more 
 Than commonplace in him, who lets new scenes 
 Have life upon the canvas-white. 'Tis well; 
 He must have soul ! " Yet they cannot unravel 
 The secret means by which the artist worked; 
 Nor through their life can they be well-informed 
 How difficult a task the artist hath. 
 
 Roderick. This leads me to the understanding 
 new 
 How lofty music finds ill-favor ever 
 With the world's masses — and how Beethoven's 
 
 soul 
 Scorned negro-songs, and popular tunes. 
 
 El Kader. Yes, though the public are a flock of 
 sheep — 
 
i5o Poetical Works. 
 
 That follow blindly the fat bell-dame " Custom "— 
 I vouch, my friend, that in the end soul triumphs — 
 Immortal proves! . . . But there comes our Sof- 
 frina ! 
 
 Enter from rear, Soffrina. 
 
 Ah! Welcome, welcome, rare and favored dame 
 
 Soffrina, friend ! It seems that woman was born 
 
 To be the idol of some man — ^but now. 
 
 In this large mercenary town, bright eyes 
 
 Win quickly what of yore took years to conquer, 
 
 The race hath grown emancipated now — 
 
 Sweet wooing they forsake — since money only 
 
 Doth set their breasts aflutter ; — ^join our talk — 
 
 Soffrina ; take a seat — and we three souls 
 
 Can argue on the vivid theme : " Fair Woman." 
 
 Soffrina. And gladly will I give my life's 
 own facts 
 As illustration thereto. 
 
 Roderick. Yes, since her Death 
 
 You must have seen much of the world. 
 Ah! how the sexes must seek union sweet — 
 And yet, there are some women that forswear 
 Fond love's long tie. The human races own 
 Alone the lofty love — yet women oft 
 Provoke many a man to deem love's reign 
 Illusionary. 
 
 El Kader. a woman is unfathomable; 
 Her mind is like the sparkling sea always — 
 Her heart is like a mountain-lake where springs 
 
Contemplation. 151 
 
 Are glacier-cold, and round the waters flow 
 Warm as the Gulf-stream near th' Atlantic shore. 
 SOFFRINA. Hold ! I am here, friends, to de- 
 fend my own. 
 Though true your sayings — fickleness 
 Clings not forever to her variable mind. 
 She seems to dote on being April-changing, 
 And thinks that showers, snow, and shine, all living 
 At once, will win her men and make them love her. 
 Thus is her mind, and still she is unconscious 
 That 'tis ill-doing's way to show herself 
 Not as she really is, but as dissembling. 
 Aye, 'tis our nature that we're so; the moon, 
 So changeful, has been named a lady fair — 
 And well 'twas given. For woman has her moods — 
 Man never owned that he had solved her quaint. 
 Delusive character — for, as the reed 
 Bends to each breath of wind, so woman's mind 
 Bends to her strange caprice, that comes and goes 
 As doth the moonlight through a cloud-flecked sky. 
 I know you, Rod' rick, think most women cold — 
 You deem us light of heart — and reasonless; 
 Why should you not? Your life-experience clings 
 To your warm heart as tightly as lianens 
 Coil firmly to the boles of forest-giants. 
 And all the cruel end still hurts your heart — 
 And all its memory still enshrouds your soul. 
 Not over-fickle are we — nay, 'tis pride 
 That makes us timid when we think we love. 
 But most, 'tis that our mothers taught us to be 
 On guard when men come wooing. 
 
152 Poetical Works. 
 
 Roderick. Ah! and men 
 
 Make love to gay dissemblers — who are oft 
 Like Jack-o'-lanterns in some fenny nook — 
 We think we see their love-spark in their eyes — 
 But, oft, too quickly does it vanish! 
 
 SOFFRINA. Shame ! 
 
 My Rod' rick! Show some pity for our weakness. 
 Perhaps we cannot help it, for it seems, 
 'Tis nature made us with our petty faults — 
 Perhaps that men should love us tenfold. 
 Ah! who can tell! 
 
 El Kader. You banter pleasantly— 
 
 'Tis lovely thus — it seems like the soft splash 
 Of nymphs in quiet shady dell at morn: 
 How splash and plash make merry music there: 
 Resounding through thicket and down brooklet's 
 
 way 
 So clearly. Beauteous woman, as methinks, 
 Was made for manly strength — and should keep 
 
 sacred 
 Her place in God's wise plan; why emulate 
 With him in deed or thought — 'tis needless trying : 
 For nature made her his own sweet companion. 
 She rules by serving man — he rules by loving — 
 If not, she serves him who despises her. 
 Man IS the lord, and woman the favorite. 
 Thus God had placed them on this wondrous earth 
 And so they shall remain, in spite of those 
 That wish to act as men, and reign as lords. 
 
 SOFFRINA. You say full well, El Kader, wisest 
 man. 
 
Contemplation. 153 
 
 Your judgment I revere — we are at best 
 But helpmeets of you men — and sweetest soul 
 Is she, who helps her master lovingly — 
 Who, soul and heart, concenters in his thoughts 
 Her varied activities, that beam for him. 
 
 Roderick. Yea, you say well, my friends — and 
 now 
 I'll think of woman as she were a blessing 
 Created for us men — and shall no more 
 Misjudge her for her faults, that ofttimes prove 
 To be the sore effects of man's own shame. 
 So, sing, Soffrina, songs of praise again. 
 I love sweet beauty only since God made her — 
 My love is dead, but beauty lives fore'er — 
 In new-recurring types in endless nature! 
 
 Soffrina. Aye, songs we'll sing together, 
 friends, to them 
 The beauties that are budding to the world. 
 To those, so innocent, kept in the dark 
 By their own mothers, who fall erelong — and live 
 Their days in vice. To those, who toil away — 
 Constant to virtue's stricter whispers ever; 
 To those, who, affluent, lead a life of sloth 
 And brainless pleastu'e; to those whose souls are 
 
 fire 
 And love fair art and song — and poesy, 
 Though rare they be. 
 
 El Kader. I join you in your songs — 
 
 For though I'm old — I love the rosy cheeks 
 Of nubile girls — and all their beauty glows ~~ 
 Before mine eyes as though a garden small 
 
1 54 iPoetical Works. 
 
 Of richest roses exhaling scent and freshness 
 Were shining at me in June's softest morn. 
 
 SoFFRlNA. But oh ! that girls must fade and 
 one day change! 
 I feel my years swift-gath'ring in my hair — 
 The white streaks tell-tale that fair beauty's gone. 
 Ah ! all's instinct with pitiless decay — 
 Not even God's most beauteous women will 
 Live fresh and fiery — though her soul is brave 
 And feels youth's adulation in her age. 
 
 El Kader. Too true — ^but as you say the soul 
 still lives 
 As in the days of youth — so at strange death 
 'Tis fit to range to regions new and young 
 Where in new shape it reigns, perhaps to glow 
 In youth-blessed knowledge many centuries. 
 But who can tell! 
 
 Roderick. Aye, who can tell — 
 
 All mysteries are all unsolvable. 
 We try to search for truth, yet, seeking, find 
 We know no more than when we sought at first. 
 So is all query futile; we are chained — 
 Like Titans to the cliffs of Tartarus — 
 Tight chained to all-relentless laws, and there 
 We must abide in patience till our end. 
 
 El Kader. I know it too, dear brother, I who 
 long 
 Have fathomed every mystery here on earth — 
 And by analogy essa3^ed to speculate 
 What lives we might enjoy all after death. 
 But every time my dreams sped on to realms 
 
Contemplation. 155 
 
 Unknown — ah me! they ever brought me back 
 My query sealed as I had sent it out! 
 Philosophy hath messengers that voyage 
 The heights o' the dark and brilliant universe : 
 Those messengers return with blackest page 
 From God; and it doth seem that we should live 
 In ignorance here through our earth-life long. 
 For what have sage astronomers revealed? 
 Nought else but that which any eye can see. 
 To know that Saturn hath his four great rings 
 Hath no great worth — for strife- full wo still 
 
 grieves ; 
 And poverty frets yet through moneyed towns. 
 And wars still crush the weaker — while Injustice 
 Hobnobs with Mammon fattening at the expense 
 Of Virtue, Honesty, Truth — who live alone 
 Like patriarchal oaks on some high hill 
 O'erlooking plains that stretch down to the sea! 
 
 SOFFRINA. Then seems all vain — a wild chimera's 
 work — 
 A God who wrought a fanciful sweet world 
 With redolent blooms rioting in lawn-filled wood 
 To tempt us rove therein — and pluck the flowers 
 And lie at ease by brooks pellucid, when lo ! 
 As we lie dreaming, from the grassy hollow 
 A viper darts ! — and, ere we think to pray. 
 The aspic's bite limits the sweets of life — 
 And we must die ! 
 
 Roderick. Indeed a woful world — 
 
 A saint is born — a high and pious mind 
 Writes lofty dictates to his fellow-men 
 
156 Poetical Works. 
 
 Who live in darkness — when this servant pure 
 Of God is exiled from his country's bounds — 
 Thus Luther met his fate full years ago. 
 The noble men are slain by God's own men — 
 The Devil gets his due — the angels mourn — 
 And crimeless genius weeps in solitude, 
 While criminals hold festive days in sight 
 Of all the world ! 
 
 El Kader. Too true — I do not know 
 How we can reconcile the works of God 
 With all the deviltries that men are heir to, 
 Or that the cruel heart reaps fair insigniae 
 While nobleness is thrust within the ditch 
 Of low forgetfulness, as proud girls throw 
 God's beauteous roses, hardly plucked, away 
 Into a mire. There see a Shelley serene — 
 Who helped many a man in poverty — 
 Yet he was exiled from his natal fields 
 And died, forgotten, in Italia's scenes — 
 While here to-day there lives a man 
 Who goes to war and murders, in cold slaughter, 
 Ten thousand human beings innocent. 
 Yet he is lorded, feasted, medal-orned — 
 And wins a wife — his name is Kitchener — 
 The victor over perilous Omdurman. 
 Oh ! think ! God plays at swift creating beings 
 That He destroys in playful way and cruel — 
 To Him death is a finger-move — to Him 
 A life is but as mold born suddenly 
 On trees aft' showery nights in summer-time. 
 Him listeth not if pain besets young clay — 
 
Contemplation. 157 
 
 Nor if a myriad germs infest our breath — 
 
 To Him creation is a play — and lo ! 
 
 He cares not if in two short hours of war 
 
 Ten thousand souls most poignant pangs sustain — 
 
 Then die — and are a prey to crying vultures ! 
 
 SOFFRINA. And we are said grim lies when 
 we are born — 
 What fairy-tales my infant mind had stored — 
 What voices whispered to me of sweet bliss 
 When girlhood blossomed. But ah ! too soon I 
 
 learned 
 The thorns that pricked me when in womanhood. 
 O that sweet truth were told our infant ears — 
 And fables were forbidden to be sung — 
 But more of snares were shown us, so we keep 
 Out of low harm. 
 
 Roderick. Aye, many a girl were spared 
 Her fall, had her own mother told the truth ! 
 
 El Kader. And many a lad of twenty years 
 had thought 
 Before temptation, had he been instructed 
 In what is noble in a manly heart; but lies 
 Are told to youth — and age is loth to guide — 
 Full often actuated by great fear 
 To spoil the secret joys that pleasure hath. 
 
 SOFFRiNA. And so with woman too ; the hid- 
 den sweets 
 Are sacred to her. 
 
 Roderick. Who can laws enact 
 
 To beautify our actions ? Who is wise 
 Enough to check youth's passions, and to grow 
 
158 Poetical Works. 
 
 In manhood godlike attributes, that bloom 
 
 Life to a perfect state of welfare, who ? 
 
 Ah me ! when shrewd philosophy sets out 
 
 In simple way to sing the world to right — 
 
 Swift in the air a grim alarum sounds : 
 
 The multitudinous tempers of all men 
 
 Shriek riotous — and each will see its reign 
 
 Supremely set in wild and bold defiance 
 
 To one small law : thus is each man a world 
 
 Unto himself — a god he seems — a power 
 
 Whom not the Demigorgon can assail 
 
 And trample down. See Luther, heavenly pure, 
 
 With wisdom fired, he sang his hymns sublime 
 
 In honor of the God — yet his own sovereign. 
 
 Who ruled his subjects, revolted, and in ire 
 
 He had great Luther exiled from his land. 
 
 See Hugo — who took pity on his own : 
 
 Oppressed by tyrants, he was banished 
 
 Though Heaven's truth and reason's liberty 
 
 Rang from his lyre inspired. It seems this world 
 
 Runs riot in itscentifold governing: 
 
 The law is weak ; man always finds a path. 
 
 Most labyrinthine, that deludes the pursuer; 
 
 And so lives all unpunished in his guilt. 
 
 This world is like a garden richly kept 
 
 Where flowers, grandly blooming, trees superb, 
 
 And innumerable plants, in variant gloss, 
 
 Grow splendrous there — but though well tended to, 
 
 Rude nature's weeds will spring all unsuspected ; 
 
 So, though stern laws have civilized most men. 
 
 So, 'twixt sweet virtue and fair honesty 
 
Contemplation. 159 
 
 The shotten eyes of vice and drink and game 
 Leer ominous ; where sainthood dreams of good — 
 There crawl the vipers of wry villainy — 
 Aye, wherefore sing as Memnon sang of yore ? 
 Aye, wherefore write new laws on tablets mystic — 
 What boots it — nature sways us all — the good 
 That Moses wrought was scorned when Nero ruled 
 And Rome was one grand hideous lupanar ! 
 
 El Kader. And you, my brother, have too suf- 
 fered much : 
 With all your clean and constant heart you failed 
 To reap the love that Heaven had showed your 
 
 sight. 
 Heaven fired your heart — but that which Heaven 
 
 gave you 
 The Fiend snatched ruthlessly — yet he too failed. 
 For death saw all, and, cruel-minded, smote 
 Thy love's fair reason, till she sudden expired. 
 Aye, is there fair perfection to be found 
 Within this world ? and e'en within man's mind 
 Sits error, watching, so Perfection lose 
 Her sway. See Shakespeare, peer of all of men 
 Thus mortals vouch, but lo ! he hath his faults. 
 And Milton, who had studied all his life 
 To sing his song sublime in Lydian tones 
 And ^olian modulations deep — he too 
 Struck some wrong chords ; and Dante pure and 
 
 great 
 Whose genius towered above his fellowmen 
 Like ^tna looming 'bove the isle Sicilian — 
 He failed in showing reason, for in him 
 
i6o Poetical Works. 
 
 Blind superstition lay, and myth and fable 
 Clung to his genius though so vast and glorious ! 
 Roderick. Then wherefore live ? Why breathe 
 
 the air that clothes 
 This wondrous earth with all its villainous world 
 When we do know the poet's word hath no power, 
 The seer's prophecy is like a moan 
 Some lost one makes in the wood's deeps forsaken. 
 I know of one young boy scarce eighteen years 
 Whose brain was over sedulous to delve 
 In philosophic books — and thus learned more 
 Than even man of seventy winters' load. 
 His mind saw all the world's injustice low — 
 Saw how the masses will not rise to be 
 Furnished with common knowledge, reason just- 
 Saw that most men adhere to olden lore — 
 And saw the world still groveling in its vice. 
 Then he despaired — what use was he to them 
 That would not listen to his words superior 
 And from the God inspired — so in his youth 
 He said farewell to all — a pistol-shot ! 
 And he lay dead. O why still live and be 
 Sentient that one hath Angel-ken yet seems 
 Vile treated by the world as though I were 
 Some insignificance whom most ignore. 
 
 SOFFRINA. Aye, you might say why should 
 
 some girls still live — 
 When they walk all degraded in the eyes 
 Of their own sisters ! Or when destitution 
 Assails some beauteous woman, whose young days 
 Were all luxurious, and whose mind was pure — 
 
Contemplation. i6i 
 
 But when grim poverty knocked at her door — 
 She fell, to earn a pittance so she breathe. 
 
 Roderick. 'Tis true, Felicia, your sex seems 
 worth more 
 Of pity than we men deserve. For we 
 Have strength and villainy to boot — while you 
 Must aye succumb to us, since coin is power. 
 Were barter not — aye ! love were just as sinful ; 
 But love is just — and sins not as for money. 
 Were marriage law as in fair Besalim,* 
 Where all must married be — a woman's shame 
 Were never rudely played with — but true love 
 From early years on would be age's bliss — 
 And so no vice can be — since each man owns 
 A woman to whom he hath pledged deep love. 
 But ah ! 'twere long to alter what seems rooted 
 In society that shuts an eye to vice. 
 Then wherefore live we yet — you teacher deep, 
 Who knows more than the famed Crichton knew — 
 Hast seen all human phases, vicious, pure ; 
 And written words fit for the God to con. 
 And you, Francesca, who has known all bliss — 
 All wo that life may give to womankind. 
 And I, worsted in love ; a dreamer deep — 
 Philosopher, a songwright, artist, author, 
 A poet and a child of God who showed me 
 Signs wondrous in the midnight summer skies ! 
 
 SOFFRINA. O there are still for me sweet joys 
 
 to boot — 
 
 Remembrances of love-filled moments fond — 
 
 * Vide Bacon's " N^w Atlantis," 
 11 
 
1 62 Poetical Works. 
 
 Long parleys with dear friends of autumn-morns ; 
 And bantering. There is the bond of friendship 
 That makes me think of others ; and the thought 
 That in my age I yet may joyaunce give 
 To some lone being left forlorn and sad. 
 And may we three not spend rapt evenings, 
 As now, to muse of things unknown, unfelt 
 Before — oh ! in the peace of nature's realm 
 We find new thought to wish we lived fore'er ! 
 El Kader. My Roderick, though there 
 
 is little pleasure 
 The world affords to one whose mind hath grasped 
 The deeper meaning of this fitful life, 
 There's nature with her myriad works to love ; 
 She gives me food yet for my abstruse thought. 
 She shows new life. There are her elements 
 That yet inspire me with delight and awe. 
 O fire, O earth, O water, and O air ! 
 See how the winter-ingle entertains — 
 The flames burn blue and white, and rage 
 Above in yellow glow that takes quaint shapes 
 Like letching tongues — or arabesques, or swords. 
 Or in the autumn-fields, the stubble-piles 
 Are lit — and crackling fire leaps and dances — 
 While clouds of fumes coil dense around, above. 
 And in the evening-gloom what fairer sight 
 Than when the yeomen set the leaves afire — 
 While *bove the heavy woodland, in the east, 
 The argent moon looks on, benignly rising : 
 And earth ! what wonders dost thou bear in thee — 
 On thy round surface, wooded, rock-bound, flowery — 
 
Contemplation. 163 
 
 Hilly, or valley-blest, or mountain-crowned. 
 
 Thine unknown deeps, or fiery, or water-filled. 
 
 They may bear things we men have never seen. 
 
 What marvels move upon thy bosom, earth — 
 
 What beauty-growths glow in thy murmurous dells — 
 
 What wondrous trees stand, ages-long, on hill. 
 
 On plain or Alpine vales ; to thee, O earth, 
 
 We owe that soul and spirit are refreshed 
 
 When in the world we find no sympathy. 
 
 And thou, O water, art a solace pure : 
 
 For thou dost seem the sparkle of the earth — 
 
 O sea, thou vast expanse, omnipotent — 
 
 Lord of the other two — thou checkest fire — 
 
 Thou hidest earth — when dashing over the beach, 
 
 Thou never ceasing sustainer of all life. 
 
 For without thee the earth were swayed by fire. 
 
 Nor would the flowers blow — nor creatures roam ; 
 
 Nor clouds tower in the west — nor showers sing 
 
 In summer's heat. O water ! what joy we feel 
 
 When to the woods we wander some June morn 
 
 And sit beside the brook that sings all time 
 
 And lets me swim and plash at will and shout 
 
 And be exhilarated by its cooling gift. 
 
 Or by the cliff -shored river smooth — where glide 
 
 The swans of commerce to the distant seas ; 
 
 And skiffs sail, triumphing o'er oar-moved boats. 
 
 Or by some inland lake, what charm the sheet 
 
 Of sparkling water shows the weary wand'rer — 
 
 Where he perchance bathes in its lucent waves. 
 
 And oh ! the crystal springs, so icy cold, 
 
 That haunt the fields, or solemn oaken-glooms — 
 
164 Poetical Works. 
 
 Those mystic wells whom nature fashioned fair 
 
 That bubble lastingly for all world's good. 
 
 And, last, the showers pouring beneficent 
 
 On all the solstice-withered grass and flowers — 
 
 Replenishing the dried-up streams and rills — 
 
 And filling man-dug wells with liquid store 
 
 For yeoman and his various stock and fowl. 
 
 Such, water, givest thou. And air — O air — 
 
 Supreme o'er all — for thou sustainest them. 
 
 Thou keepest the wild flame in lively glow — 
 
 And art the spirit of the earth and sea. 
 
 Thou lutist in the summer eves ; thou trumpeter 
 
 When th' hunter wild seeks shelter in the woods 
 
 From autumn windstorms, bending herb and trees. 
 
 Thou melodist at morn, when mellow June 
 
 Smiles radiant on her lawns of jeweled green. 
 
 And oh ! when through the midnight mountain 
 
 woods 
 Some maddened village Magdalen runs wild 
 Thou moanest weirdly, till the stilly skies 
 Re-echo thy low moan. Thou hast ten score 
 Of voices — and thy lyre ten thousand strings — 
 Preluding — singing — shrieking — bellowing — 
 Now whispering — then sad'ning in thy tone. 
 O Wind — thou art the m older of the clouds — 
 Thou tearest them asunder — and thy stress 
 Doth drive them, like the dreaded lion's growl 
 Drives herds of antelopes o'er desert lones, 
 O'er the blue firmament ; the full-blown blooms 
 Of summer's afternoon thou carriest triumphant 
 From bound to bound — and at the solemn eve 
 
Contemplation. 165 
 
 When the large sun makes roses of their foam — 
 Thou breakest them and scatterest them — till scud 
 
 and scud 
 Fly swift athwart the glare of eventide. 
 Thou quickenest all life, that dies when once 
 Bereft of thee, O air ! Thy miracles procure 
 Rapt sight for us whose minds are weary grown. 
 My brother, there are many beauties still 
 That nature shows to tempt us live on earth : 
 The seasons' changes ; each bountiful in gifts ; 
 Her lavish store of forms, of life, of works ; 
 All marvelous. But often those who fail 
 To drive the fell, grim tempter from their thoughts 
 Away, are not the ones who tire of knowledge. 
 They either are bereft of normal reason, 
 Or last despair and destitution prompt 
 Their suicide. So will we live here, friends, 
 Awaiting reverently death, when 'tis 
 The hour for us to die by nature's wish. 
 No matter if a cruel end we reap. 
 Or are the preys of germs — or accident — 
 'Tis well, we are content 'twas thus to be — 
 For we our spirit give to Him the Peer. 
 
 Roderick. And I still love the flower-aisles of 
 forests ; 
 The thuds of falls in mystic woodland gorge. 
 Where solemn silence spreads her sullen spell ; 
 The rorid morns along the river-curves 
 When fields shine splendent in the ripening sun. 
 O, friend, you say too true— we souls that live 
 Above the motley crowds as those that spend 
 
1 66 Poetical Works. 
 
 Their hours in s-tyle, and show, in market-halls — 
 We find sweet moments in rapt thought and sights 
 In varied nature. They care not for her charms — 
 Nor study all her works ; intent on gain, 
 They fatten on their riches — but their minds 
 Are void of nature — adoration — they are dull — 
 And when their day of last despair draws near 
 They think of naught but what the world will say, 
 And kill themselves. But we engross our minds 
 With beauties that fond nature shows to us 
 Who open our hearts to her — and all our senses. 
 And thus we are become true poets fair — 
 For poets are the love and world-forlorn, 
 The souls that see the shallowness of show — 
 And find at last how full of glorious works 
 This earth yet proves to be. Aye, you said true, 
 El Kader ; we all are governed by the planets. 
 Hence, laws are good for definite temperaments, 
 But not for all. We poets need no laws : 
 For we are born with angel-fiber in us — 
 In all world's history not one poet ever 
 Offended laws. For those that love low vice 
 There must be laws, else would they grow to be 
 Hell's vermin. It seems that some are born all- 
 bad— 
 And penalty corrects not their offenses. 
 When set at liberty — they do again 
 Their evil acts. Ah me ! who form a fair 
 And perfect government ; old Greece, and Rome, 
 Have gloried in their time — but soon 'twas gone — 
 And now Acropolis stands cold on high 
 
Contemplation. 167 
 
 While Athens breathes an air of sad decay. 
 
 And Rome, though beauties still abound, is dead — 
 
 For the inspiring spirit is flown — 'tis swayed 
 
 By Pope and King — and most are ignorant 
 
 Of art, poetry, and song, as then ago. 
 
 Hence too the strange disparity of gifts 
 
 'Mong men — 'tis best to seek affinities. 
 
 Else is our life an altercation sad. 
 
 All without end. 
 
 SOFFRINA. So too the marriage-law 
 Should be : let similar natures pair in youth. 
 
 Roderick. It seems to me that all we learned 
 in youth 
 Is but a blinding of our eyes, that age 
 Importuned, so age pleasure in secrecy. 
 For most we know must be unlearned in manhood. 
 Were we not taught to honor honesty? 
 But lo ! the tradesman's mind is aye deceitful. 
 Were we not told that virtue reigns supreme ? 
 When lo ! shame laughs, and vice is universal. 
 We are the dupes of fabling men — are we — 
 And all of life is but a struggle fierce 
 To scale the towers of fame and wealth and power. 
 Then wherefore lose fair thought with such that 
 
 care 
 Not for the higher soul ; why talk to merchants 
 Who only think of profits — when our dreams 
 Are far too wondrous for their earthy brain. 
 We poets have our soul in Heaven — yet give 
 Two thoughts to the proud haggling world at times. 
 We live in spheres transcendent — and it seems 
 
1 68 Poetical Works. 
 
 That we are fit to joy in higher realms 
 
 When we shall die ; for we have thought so much — 
 
 Have delved in mysteries ; and loved to learn 
 
 Of all the greatest men that graced this world. 
 
 So let us sing to nature — my dear friends — 
 
 I love her quiet — in the eve to muse ; 
 
 And sit beside a gently flowing stream 
 
 And think of life. And though perplexed I see 
 
 The infinite types of men, and nature's works 
 
 On earth, in ocean, in the air eternal — 
 
 There is a consolation comes to me: 
 
 All was created ; creation needs a Spirit 
 
 That thinks — and in the glory of that vision 
 
 I know a Power — a God — a Spirit lives. 
 
 So will I here abide in trust and love — 
 
 And still learn more of His deep mysteries, 
 
 For that is time well spent — exceeding all 
 
 The many games the world plays — games that 
 
 shame 
 The soul — for soul is e'er instinct with God. 
 
 El Kader. Aye, soul and spirit — those two 
 
 are from Heaven. 
 But mind and brain, they crouch still on the earth. 
 It needs a soul to love the jocund morn ; 
 A spirit to feel the tears of joy come sudden. 
 A soulful man may thrid the woodlands green 
 And listen to the many birds that trill ; 
 And pluck the lone white violet in some nook — 
 And he will never slay the timid game. 
 A soulless man will rove the woods through day 
 And shoot the meek brown deer, or some fair bird 
 
Contemplation. 169 
 
 But for his passing whim ; he never kneels 
 
 Before a tiny flower, and studies deep 
 
 Its delicate forms, nor rings a praise to One 
 
 Who thought of hue, and shape, and sap and root. 
 
 Aye, soul and spirit — employ them, pitiless man, 
 
 And then thou'lt think that nature-dreams are 
 
 fair — 
 For thy rude manners will be softened then, 
 Thy heart have pity — and thy joys be more. 
 For such is the true import of this life : 
 To tend to th* hidden powers of the Spirit. 
 All else is futile — then rebirth will be — 
 But soul-dreams and high spirit-thoughtfulness 
 Prepare one for the life beyond the tomb. 
 
 SOFFRINA. Then let us live a lovely life yet 
 here — 
 Though age is ours, El Kader, manhood yours. 
 My Sefior, we have joys enough as pleasure — 
 And you have years before you so you win 
 High fame — and oft create great works of thought. 
 O, there's the freshness of the morning air — 
 The gentle thrill that trembles all the trees 
 When burgeoning in the May. There are the clouds 
 Heavy in storms ; soft foaming in the calm — 
 And sending in the brisk west-wind through day. 
 There are the secrets of the mind, whom none 
 On earth hath yet divulged full well ; the soul 
 Hath sweet surprises for the tedious hours — 
 What thoughts loom up of sudden ; what pictures fair 
 Are painted for our solitude to see. 
 We have the vast and ceaseless oc«an ; and the sky 
 
170 Poetical Works. 
 
 A miracle of azure when the sun rolls round — 
 A splendor of stars when night holds solemn sway. 
 And people, creatures, flowers, plants, and mounts, 
 And waterfalls ; enow for us to dream by 
 When weariness overtakes us ; thus we soon 
 Forget the wo-sighs of the proud small world ! 
 
 Roderick. *Tis well ! God's laws stand stern, 
 and none will bend 
 To please the whim of mortal power. Lo ! 
 We all are flies that whisk the magic wheel 
 That keeps the universe's laws in order — 
 We are like children who strike at their eye 
 Not knowing that their hand is their own hand — 
 We stand upon the beach of immensity 
 Wishing to cry, but the hoarse surf drowns us — 
 And the unseen remains a marvel still ! 
 So let us love our life, and all that's ours — 
 Soon, soon, change comes to make our world an- 
 other — 
 And then, what use were all our questionings — • 
 Our fears, our small solicitudes, our moans — 
 Life's happiness rests in this sweet assurance : 
 Perform the best within your power — trust 
 To God the marvelous Maker of us all. 
 Those who are villains or low mercenaries — 
 They will return on earth until they find 
 That soul is highest — and that lowlihood 
 Crowns all — and is the Key to Heaven's Halls 
 That is : the state of spirit's bright perfection. 
 
 El Kader. Well said, my trusty friends — 
 there's still 
 
Contemplation. 171 
 
 The lavish world of nature for our weal. 
 
 For you, dear Roderick, quickening love still lives — 
 
 And on some rubious lips of nubile girl 
 
 You still have anodyne for woes untold. 
 
 You, dame esteemed, who unreproached has lived, 
 
 You have the friendship of us two — and oft 
 
 Fond musings at the tender evening hour — 
 
 When westering the sun glows all majestic 
 
 And o'er the cotes and farms the swallows dip 
 
 In golden airs, refreshed by breezes cool 
 
 The evening breeds. And I who am so old 
 
 And am nigh worn of mind from overstudy — 
 
 I still have thought, and praise to give to Him 
 
 Who though He seems far-off from earth and man — 
 
 By mystic means He still hath access strange 
 
 To soul and spirit. Then let us praise and praise — 
 
 For such is truest to the man of soul. 
 
 Who hath no praise to give — I count him bad. 
 
 For praise is testimony that a mind hath thought, 
 
 Hath studied deep — and seeing mystery there 
 
 Hath communed with Him the All Unknowable ! 
 
 Then let our thoughts be luminous with joy — 
 
 For still we have rare health, and sanity — 
 
 Without the two this life is not worth living. 
 
 See, yonder is the surf beating the sand — 
 
 And there the headland looms above the sea — 
 
 A lonely pine bends as if plaining there — 
 
 And ever and anon the crash of surf 
 
 Comes softly to our ears. We have this garden — 
 
 This fair hacienda for our own, and all 
 
 That man of reason should enjoy ; so, friends ! 
 
172 Poetical Works. 
 
 We may not moan ; content with little here 
 Is happiness on earth. We have the charms 
 That nature shows around us ever there — 
 So let us live — and praise ; what next may be 
 The God omnipotent hath in His Hands. 
 
SUPPOSITIONS ON A FUTURE LIFE. 
 
 A REVERIE. 
 
 Is Truth all truthful ; has her tongue a way 
 To sing low guile to all that round her throng ? 
 We're taught that Christ takes pity on the poor- 
 But lo ! a Nabob feasts, while at his gate 
 A wretch breathes out his last for want of food. 
 In youth we're told that virtue wins a wife — 
 But manhood sees that villainy is wreathed — 
 And women pity those that stray from right — 
 And leave the just, the loveful, to their woe. - 
 Ay, Truth ofttimes hath lies upon her lips 
 And she laughs at our deep credulity — 
 So must each soul think on life's import high 
 And must not trust what men of fame had said. 
 Each soul must work out his salvation fair — 
 And must conjecture what will be aft' death. 
 No one hath from the shades returned, to tell 
 What there exists ; what company he hath — 
 Nor how the soul feels aft' the body's end — 
 So much we dream what could be blossoming, 
 What could the heaven be, whom all await. 
 The antepast of Heaven is each one's own — 
 The song we hear in solitude all hear ; 
 But who hath well unraveled what it holds ? 
 
 173 
 
174 Poetical Works. 
 
 A mystery still veils us from the truth — 
 We ask, and ask — but 'tis like asking stars; 
 They reign in silentness, all dumb — and mute! 
 Some think all dies at once, body and soul. 
 Annihilation absolute us owns; 
 Some dream the soul lives on in other spheres. 
 Some say we live again on earth — our soul 
 Reentering births in generations new. 
 Oh! complexity of suppositions dim — 
 As walking in some forest's inmost gloom 
 We know not which way leads us to the plain. 
 Who says the truth — for truth means one sure 
 
 path — 
 But there are many paths on every side. 
 Oh! torture of the soul — have demons placed 
 Us in a wilderness of doubt — that we 
 Can never know where death will lead us to? 
 Or is all sheer imagination's trick 
 That we should feel a longing for new^ scenes 
 When death, the mystery, stops short earth-life? 
 Ah! me! methinks that heaven were beautiful — - 
 Perhaps our greatest joys we know on earth 
 Prolonged to hours and days; insatiate 
 The sweet desires man knows when woman loves. 
 Perchance no ugHness lives there; but beauty 
 Reigns there as flowers the fairest grow in woods 
 By Amazonian shores. Or, could our work — 
 Such work those do that pleasureth the soul — 
 Be done without the worry that accrues 
 When knowing that most may not understand 
 Our fair ideal. Methinks each talent seeks 
 
A Reverie. 175 
 
 A region where it may enjoy its bent — 
 For artist craves a place; while he who labors 
 In field or wood desires such country-life; 
 And he, a king who rules, would wish a sphere 
 Where he were sovereign to eternity. 
 Each man doth crave continuance of his joy — 
 Then wherefore should not death lead to such place 
 Where what through life he loved so well in all 
 Were aye his pleasure. Aye, to me Heaven seems 
 A garden glowing, with rarest scenting flowers; 
 And wondrous trees ; and mossy lawns ; and brooks 
 In bubbling flow, winding; and there no houses 
 Should be, but all the air were temperate 
 Through day and night ; no seasons, but sweet spring 
 Forever smiling in its dewy innocence. 
 No creatures wild — but radiant birds; fluting all 
 
 time — 
 And animals, such as the timid doe — 
 Or the gazelle. And there should be sweet beauties 
 That naked walk through all this peaceful sphere. 
 They living but for love. Then for my soul 
 I'd while away the hours by singing songs — 
 Creating works of beauty; and would share 
 My transports with my loves, who knew enough, 
 By intuition given, to understand all! 
 My bed would be on flowers ; each eve sweet maids, 
 All beautiful, would burn the flowers large 
 To scent the vesper-hour — then they would bring 
 Fresh roses, lilies, and all meadow-blooms 
 And make my couch for me to sleep through night 
 That is so warm, I lie there robeless — free! 
 
176 Poetical Works. 
 
 Food is in plenty — fruits and nuts — sweet herbs — 
 Nought else; no labor there — just pluck it off 
 The tree; no wines; but on some vines there grow 
 Large beauty-gourds, filled with a juice like nectar. 
 No manual labor there is requisite — the soul 
 Alone lives there in power absolute. 
 Such would my paradise insure — but ah! 
 A Nabob could not tolerate nor love 
 Such sweet simplicity — he would be longing 
 For palace, pomp; and pageants; festal show; 
 And viands, tidbits, for an Epicure. 
 Perchance among the billion stars and planets, 
 Whom no astronomer hath seen, there roll 
 Through space some worlds where he could live in 
 
 wealth 
 And show, like Borgia or Rome's pom^pous King. 
 Perhaps, I would it were so, there's a sphere 
 For me to live in, when my earth-form dies — 
 O I must have my beauties, love, and soul — 
 My flowers, nooks, and woodland-shades for me — 
 Naught else I crave — my paradise it is! 
 
 'Twere paradise, indeed, to be away 
 
 From earth, all silly customs of the world: 
 
 And joy in spheres where no conventions are. 
 
 For, sad it is that we must woo so long 
 
 Before the bridal kiss be ringing sweet. 
 
 O for a world where the sweet sex may love 
 
 Untrammeled by propriety, and show 
 
 Their fire-emotion when 'tis joying them. 
 
 Where garbs are not, to make them loveless, vain. 
 
A Reverie. 177 
 
 But where their thoughts yearn but for tender love — 
 Love, that Hves on caresses soft — and seems 
 To ne'er grow weary of endearments fond. 
 O for a world where value is not known, 
 Where gold rules not; where love and intellect 
 And music reign — so all exaltant thrive — 
 So all are Memnons, all are Aphrodites! 
 
 Vain wishes! — as the summer-dust on stones 
 Lies oft in strange designs whom hazard formed, 
 When blows the wind, how quickly fleets and flies 
 The dust within the air — and all the stones 
 Lie bare and solitary — so our dreams 
 We shape upon our many hopes — are blown 
 Away when comes to us the mocking Daemon 
 And shrieks: Blinded ye are! you Spirits strange 
 Can never know where after death you range! 
 12 
 
THE FABLES OF HUMANITY. 
 
 AN EPIC. 
 
 WITH 
 
 AN ELEGY IN MEMORY OF FRANCIS SALTUS 
 SALTUS, POET. 
 
NOTE. 
 
 The biography of this work is, in short, as follows : 
 
 The first attempt was written in 1891. 
 
 In 1898 the author was aware of the ludicrousness to let God 
 speak — so the author started anew, the fruits being the novel epic. 
 
 The epic was written at Intervale, White Mountains, N. H., 
 during July and August. He sat on the grass, five feet away from 
 the valley brook, and generally wrote with the ease of the breezes 
 playing around the grand elms that give such beauty to the Inter- 
 vale. 
 
 The " Elegy " was written in 1891. 
 
THE FABLES OF HUMANITY. 
 
 PROLOGUE. 
 
 'Tis God's loud voice majestic rolling 
 
 Over all the earth's great ages — 
 It spumeth to the skies — and there discloses 
 
 All the wrong within the Bible's pages ! 
 God's voice it is — and Nature is witness — 
 
 He proclaimeth life's beginning — 
 God never wrought for man wild plaining — 
 
 God denounces Eve's and Adam's sinning!! 
 
 All, all was made for joy and smiles and flowers — 
 All comes from God's fair myriad Love-ruled 
 
 powers^ — 
 'Twas man that wrought cares, woes, and grief and 
 
 trouble — 
 For God sent joy to all — even to the brook's lone 
 
 bubble! 
 'Tis God's loud voice majestic rolling 
 
 Over all the earth's great ages — 
 It spumeth to the skies, and there discloses 
 All the wrong within the Bible's pages! 
 
 i8i 
 
1 82 Poetical Works. 
 
 BOOK I. 
 
 Of Spirit, he the stronger ; and of Soul, 
 
 She blest with timid sweetness from the first, 
 
 I do indite. From these conjoined, there grows 
 
 A fire-genius — in the few observed — 
 
 Which is the peak of all man's earthly labor, 
 
 And nought exceeds such summit. So, my Muse! 
 
 Inspire me as oft thou hadst of yore — 
 
 When masters none had governed all my mind 
 
 But Thou Thyself! Infuse in me such light 
 
 That, used, shall tremble in my song, and lume 
 
 The minds of those that con this tale. For Thou 
 
 dost know 
 All that lies covert in the souls of men — ■ 
 And in the world of God! even of God's Self 
 Thou hast rare knowledge, so to Thee I pledge 
 Myself as auditor — let me be a child. 
 Not made to serve by means of rod or lash. 
 But whose bright heart grows tender under words 
 Of truth! So with Thy guidance rare, promote 
 My love to delve great mankind's cradle-lay — 
 That it be plain^ and by men understood! 
 
 Out of Himself God had created all — 
 
 As man of higher mind creates his will. 
 
 And diverse powers! God fashioned all the laws 
 
 That hold the universe in heavenly order — 
 
The Fables of Humanity. 183 
 
 He thought — He weighed, and all was made! the 
 
 spheres 
 Of fire, revolving in great cyclesi, held 
 The ether's whirl! and all phenomena 
 Were strewn abroad, at random, for some use. 
 Till then, no earth was yet aglow; for God 
 Had thought not of the shining trees or plains, 
 Of animal life — of mind intelligent — 
 But nebulous, or fiery — the ponderous globes 
 Whirled through the ether's infinite realm — 
 All servants of God's law, that keeps aright 
 The orbs celestial I 
 
 Where God doth reign God made 
 Rare fluid images, so sensitive as air — 
 Those electric shapes were gifted with His 
 
 thought — 
 $0 He with them could oft commune! About 
 His Spirit He had filled His thought with space, 
 In which His self- wrought ministers could range 
 And be of service! Thus came to truth what men 
 Upon this earth have angels ever called! 
 Thus grew Heaven's Hierarchy — and Heaven's 
 
 Realm ! 
 God in His Realm called all His ministers 
 And God spake thus: 
 
 "Of all my work so far 
 I am well pleased! You foremost in my Realm, 
 You Angels ! are equipped with My stern Thought — 
 So when I tell ye to perform rare tasks. 
 By quick intuition ye obey! So listen! 
 New means I shall employ for newest issue; — 
 
184 Poetical Works. 
 
 My Realm is done! — While brooding in my glow, 
 Methought to fashion out of ether's damp, 
 And of our fiery spheres, life many fold — 
 Complex — enigmas of creation strange — 
 Rapt frames for spirit, thought, and soul ! At first, 
 One sphere shall feel the wet of ether mix 
 With the wild heat; then will the change be cool- 
 ness — 
 And o'er the globe slowly large vapors loose 
 Shall float; till the sphere's crust shall crumble, 
 And, with the moisture married, it shall be 
 A far-extended floor for myriad shapes, 
 Which I will now design; and you may judge 
 If they would yield us pleasure, or disgust ! " 
 
 At which, before Heaven's Head could farther 
 
 utter — 
 All Angels sang in harmonies unknown 
 To us; and the Realm rang, as when, at morn, 
 On earth, at Monte Rosa's verdant feet. 
 Ten thousand thrushes hail the sun's uprise. 
 Majestic ! 
 
 " Your acclaim is satisfying ! 
 At first, the crust will change to thousand forms — 
 Where from the globe will swift assume high 
 
 mounts. 
 And precipices sheer, and sloping vales — 
 Then, with the elements, that served us long. 
 Renewal of those forms shall be ! With spells. 
 The atoms of some forms shall disunite 
 And change to liquid or to air — or fluid, 
 
The Fables of Humanity. 185 
 
 Commixed with stronger elements, shall stiffen — 
 Amorphously, or to shapes strictly fair ! 
 As I shall think it best ! ! '' 
 
 x\t which one hierarch, 
 Whose ethereal shape dazzled in the van of all, 
 Fast interrupted : " Mighty All-Creator Thou — 
 What use are all such changes to the air 
 Or when 'tis compact so to form hard clay 
 Or harder stone? What purport hath a sphere 
 When all denuded of rare life that moves 
 From place to place — that hath a thought to act — 
 Or to enjoy what Thou hast made of yore ? " 
 At which the Spirit of All smiled passively — 
 As one of ours do — when some rash youth 
 Quick knowing more than he with snowy locks, 
 Doth prattle wisdom all beyond his years. 
 And thus God answer gave : 
 
 " Wouldst thou forerun 
 My thoughts, as lightning doth the thunder's 
 
 clap — 
 Or power the rolling sphere! Await the sequence 
 To my designs — and now, learn what will grow 
 Upon the globes, to which the means for growth. 
 And sustenance, I shall bequeath. When air 
 Will be — and the orbs' heat create the clouds — 
 From them will bloom sweet flowers with scents 
 
 endowed. 
 On whom apt seeds will form, to be upblown 
 By winds, rare force, born of change relative 
 'Twixt heat and cold, — and by them scattered free 
 Abroad, to alight upon the hills or plains, 
 
1 86 Poetical Works. 
 
 So they may blossom soon again — and seed — * 
 
 So on forever! Then will I invent 
 
 Strange shapes — not complex — but most capable 
 
 Of motion in the element assigned them — 
 
 No seed v^ill they be burdened v^ith — but marvel! 
 
 While live they shall divide themselves, or cut 
 
 Themselves in numerous parts — that live when 
 
 severed 
 Anew — to share the fate of those before them! 
 So on forever! Those will live alone 
 In water — never on the land around. 
 Then in the waters there shall live a myriad 
 Strange creatures, some of whom must stay 
 Near to the bed of ocean, never higher. 
 And others in the middle-depths shall reign — 
 While some may part enjoy the land and sea. 
 Then on the earth a horde of creatures 
 Shall roam about at will. All strange to behold — 
 
 (After having seen the absurdity of letting God 
 speak of things that had not been created at the 
 time of His utterance — and also of using definite 
 words (which were invented many centuries after 
 the time I am discussing), for creatures and growths 
 that did not exist then, I refrain from continuing 
 the epic on the lines of my first idea in 1891. I 
 therefore rearrange my thoughts, and start anew 
 with my epic — treating it in a more logical manner.) 
 
 (1898.) 
 
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 yfc-tr-^ ^lCc-i..e^ ^ir<^]tfr»**- -U-*-H/-t-^HtyC? 
 
The Fables of Humanity, 187 
 
 PROEM. 
 
 Thou Who hadst whispered to great Milton's soul 
 
 Word-harmonies, like sounds from thunder-storms 
 
 That rage o'er fair ^gina's flowery plain — 
 
 And mellow strains like Lydian melodies 
 
 That still rise from the fragrant dales and groves 
 
 At feet of hoar Olympus — Thou inspire 
 
 My humble soul these days, when all proclaim 
 
 That life is fairer, juster than of yore — 
 
 But sterner minds well feel that much is lost 
 
 Of life sublime, when Sappho sang her woe — 
 
 When great Aeschylus urged his mind to frame 
 
 Immortal songs; when still the soul was lord 
 
 Of mankind — and fair Beauty had a shrine 
 
 And votaries unnumbered gave her tribute 
 
 With flowers, incense, song, and dance, and prayer. 
 
 Thou Muse, whom mortals so defame these days — 
 
 Thou Heaven's Voice, whom most forget to love; 
 
 Whom most deride ; Thou, make in me Thy Home, 
 
 And sing to me, so with my patient pen 
 
 I may indite for other eyes what Thou, 
 
 O sacred Presence, dost to me, lone man. 
 
 Sweet sing — so like sweet flutings in the spring 
 
 When sun and birds show love for Wondrous God ! 
 
 A PASTORAL EPIC. 
 I. 
 
 Where shall I lay the scene of this my song 
 Our country is so fair, so strange — to choose 
 
i88 Poetical Works, 
 
 Is hard. Yet, 'tis so beautiful all over 
 
 That any place where nature has endowed^" 
 
 The land with mountains, hills, and woodlands low 
 
 Is fit for song. Thou lovely fond America — 
 
 Sweetest of scenes of all the world, for here 
 
 All unmolested may I dream — far, far 
 
 From royal sway — from petty rulership— 
 
 Thy vales and woods are free to all that love 
 
 True liberty! Grand are the Alpine heights 
 
 With everlasting snow encrowned; and fair 
 
 The flower-bowers (where Queen Semiramis 
 
 Lay languid on her marble couch, of yore) 
 
 That view the ocean far from Egypt's hills; 
 
 Great are the towers, towns round famed Gizeh; 
 
 And great is Balbeck; where placid Arno flows, 
 
 Stupendous palaces stand on the hills; 
 
 And, from the rich Campagna, Saint Peter's dome 
 
 Seems like a star gigantic sparkling at day! 
 
 I know that Candanabbia her gardens grows 
 
 With rarest flowers, trees; and from her heights 
 
 She loves to view her saphire sheet of water 
 
 That lies at rest with all the coves so fair — 
 
 And oft reflects her glorious mountains old. 
 
 I know that Guadalquiver sees the spires 
 
 Of fair Sevilla's quaint cathedrals loom 
 
 Above the gardened roofs of the old town; 
 
 And Porto Vino stands commemorate 
 
 Of Mauresque handiwork; and the Alhambra 
 
 Immortalizes the name of Boabdil. 
 
 And more I know; but all those vestiges 
 
 Of luxury have in their memory 
 
The Fables of Humanity. 189 
 
 The power of kings and work of slaves ; while here 
 Our own do labor willingly most times — 
 And power grows lenient in the hands of men 
 Who know that kingship is o'erruled by all 
 The people's voice. O though as yet our land 
 Shows no great monuments to boast — we have 
 Most beautiful grand scenes, not less sublime 
 Than any where great kings their scepters sway, 
 Forget not snow-encrowned Mt. Hood ; nor lose 
 The view immemorable from the Needles 
 Upon the vale : there at thy feet the Colorado 
 Flows, winding like an endless dragon dread 
 From left to right ; there, further, stretches fair 
 The plain, with oases of cotton-wood sweet 
 
 spotted — 
 Till lost in haze, where hills and rugged mountains 
 Climb, range, as far as naked eye can see ; 
 Such view perchance the soul of Milton knew 
 When thinking of the scapes he would depict 
 For Satan's combat with the Angels pure, 
 Victorious then. Keep sacred all the scenes 
 So wonderful in the Yosemite : 
 
 The glaciers broad, above strange formed Half- 
 Dome. 
 The fall Nevada — those Rainbow falls, all near 
 The Brothers, those huge spires of rock, that top 
 The Sequoi-pines ; and opposite, the wondrous falls 
 Three in succession, that have their source up high : 
 Two thousand feet above the Merced-river cold. 
 That spirits the vale. Nor leave to oblivion's care 
 What spreads before the sight from Douglas Fort 
 
190 Poetical Works. 
 
 In wild Utah : beyond the flowery hill, 
 Whereon the gatlins stand as sentinels, 
 Three miles away the city lies, the quaint 
 Cathedral conspicuous; then, all beyond, the lake 
 Black, spreading weirdly there, broods in the vale — 
 And, farther, a wild range of mountains dark 
 With bald rocks, cuts, with shaggy line, the sky. 
 We too have deserts vast, whose sandy hills 
 Change through the years — and some dwindle from 
 
 sight — 
 While on a level stretch a mount appears — 
 The work of winds that pile up sand on sand, 
 When Whirlwind raves. And also may we boast 
 Of aged towns such that of Luna, built 
 Of clay and straw — as like the Arab- folds 
 Along the foothills of the Atlas hoar — 
 Midway within the Sahara — desert lone. 
 Still think of pleasant valleys, Napa first: 
 That leads from Merced to the Geysers strange. 
 A valley like a paradise; so beautiful. 
 So green its mountain sides — so flower-loved 
 Its lawns, and brooks ; I know of none in lands 
 Across the Atlantic; then verdant Delaware, 
 Most lovely where the river's islands dream: 
 By Shawnee's shady fields — idyllic place. 
 Then Shenandoah; Mohawk, fairest graced 
 Near Utica; then Saco-valley's charm, — 
 Forever beautiful at Intervale, 
 Where from the richest clover-meadow will 
 The eyes behold most glorious view undying 
 Upon the range, of which Mount Washington 
 
The Fables of Humanity. 191 
 
 Is sovran peak ; then Keene : along its bed 
 
 Wild mountains are, where savage bears yet roam — 
 
 And farther in their wilds the puma lurks — 
 
 The wild-cat prowls, and wild deer haunt the lakes. 
 
 And thousand other valleys, pleasant — fair 
 
 As paradise. 
 
 So will I choose as scene 
 A vale, whom many know full well — for here 
 The farmer loves its fertile ground — the boy 
 At village school frequents its trout-loved stream — 
 The girls, who dream of winning men, at times. 
 Gaze at the woodlands where a tryst would prove 
 Delightful spot ; and people, from the cities great, 
 Enjoy its air salubrious, and its calm 
 That seems to change their thoughts of greed and 
 
 show — 
 To thoughts of primal happiness, when all would 
 
 love 
 The free, sweet sanctitude of nature pure. 
 
 To west of Intervale, across the Saco-valley, 
 The farm of Thurston lies upon the flat. 
 Below grand White Horse-ledge — beyond its ridge 
 Moat-Mountain rears its humped back, reclining 
 Southward into the wide, fair Conway region. 
 Mark Thurston, at the age of manhood, lived, 
 With wife and child, five years upon this farm. 
 The sheriff's daughter, Mary, was full formed — 
 Abundant jet black hair, in Greek-knot tied, 
 High, convex brow — two deep brown eyes, that 
 gazed 
 
192 Poetical Works. 
 
 With love, benevolence, at friend or foe — 
 Two perfect lips, sweetly voluptuous they — 
 Red as a juicy fuchsia-petal — such 
 That Love doth mould for kisses long and fond — 
 Those beauties Mark had loved when first he saw 
 Her at the school. Her body, tall and rounded fair. 
 Was like some cherished girl Bologna graced, 
 Whom Guido oft had copied in his prime — 
 Immortal work; their child, sweet Susie named — 
 (In memory of the Black-eyed-Susans, growing 
 So plentiful near by — and for her hair 
 That had the color of their dark-brown eyes) 
 She was their second life; for, joyous child. 
 She sang tmconsciously sweet songs of wood 
 And open wild ; her mother called her the idol 
 Of her own heart — and Mark loved, at the eve, 
 When weary of the day's long work, to take 
 Her on his knee, and tell her things too deep 
 For her to understand — and kiss her cheeks 
 That ruddy glowed, as after pastime free 
 In field or lawn. 
 
 They were content — and Mark 
 Worked happily, while to her chores fair Mary 
 All willing went. One evening on their porch 
 They sat: just then the thunder-clouds reposed 
 Upon the mountain range, reluctant yet 
 To dash upon the vale or roar their thunder 
 Yet through the dark ravines; still they remained 
 Mount-tarrying; while from the west the sun 
 Sent flood and flood of colors on the clouds — 
 Those resting o'er the summits lined with gold — 
 
The Fables of Humanity. 193 
 
 And, while the sunset-changes there transpired, 
 
 Mary and Mark held converse amative — 
 
 Till Mark made query : '' Mary, you have learned 
 
 More at the school than I, for earning bread 
 
 Was my grand duty; tell me what your books 
 
 Say of the way that man and woman first 
 
 Found life upon this world. I oft have thought — 
 
 When in the fields or raking hay, or hoeing 
 
 The gardens fair, how strange is life and death — 
 
 To think : at once all, all is gone forever ! " 
 
 " Dear Mark, the books say much about it all — 
 
 Yet long it takes to comprehended it well — 
 
 Much contradiction yet prevails — no truth 
 
 All definite." To which Mark then rejoined: 
 
 " On one thing I am yet at sea — why say 
 
 Our Adam and his Eve sinned in fair Eden — 
 
 What was the sin? That knowledge should have 
 
 proved 
 Fit crime for penalty, I fail to see — 
 Do not the books expound on that strange lie?** 
 Then Mary : *' No, Mark, not one book Fve read 
 Elucidates why Adam and his Eve 
 From Eden's groves and lawns were banished then. 
 The Book of Books records thus : they had sinned — 
 They disobeyed God's orders not to eat 
 The fruit of one fair tree. All on a day 
 Eve sat beneath that tree, and while adream 
 A serpent then beguiled her — and did tempt her 
 To taste of its fine fruit. Then Adam ate — 
 When Gabriel with his fiery sword showed them 
 The Gateway of their paradise — forever lost. 
 
 13 
 
194 Poetical Works. 
 
 The Bible has it thus." " But that is false- 
 Some fairy-tale for children's ears — ^but now 
 I'm old enough to reason for myself. 
 Dear Mary, who is there to explain full well 
 The mysteries that I cannot see full clear ? " 
 " I know not, Mark. But there is happiness 
 For us here in this vale ; and we hear Suzie. 
 How can we think of sin while gazing long 
 In her dark eyes? " To which Mark said rejoiced: 
 " Dear Mary, you say true; and thus I'll rest 
 Content till years might show new light on things 
 That still are dark to me." And, in his joy, 
 He fondly kissed his lovely wife ; while dews 
 Rained unperceived upon the valley's fields — 
 And clear the afterglow shone on all round; 
 And from the eastern sky the moon enlarged 
 Began to shine ; for summer's first fair reign 
 Had culminated in the end of June. 
 
 Thus lived they; happy in their ignorance — 
 As doth the common world — that still believes 
 In old traditions — and in works, designed 
 To lead the thoughtless multitude astray. 
 Mark saw his kine, his fowl— his horses two — 
 With consciousness that they were his own world. 
 The valley's beauties he could not enjoy — 
 Because he seldom dreamed. His duties all 
 Engrossed his mind: through summer, to his farm 
 He had to give attention; rarely going 
 To Conway, where world-news he could acquire. 
 Each day seemed as the other; for, in the morn, 
 
The Fables of Humanity. 195 
 
 He tended to his kine and fowl ; in the field 
 
 He was till noon, when to his frugal meal 
 
 He then repaired ; nor long he stayed, nor talked 
 
 With Mary, but, as soon as done, fieldward. 
 
 And then worked till sunbeams touched tops of trees, 
 
 All horizontal. Evenings he was tired; 
 
 No intellectual pastimes could he then 
 
 Enjoy; his body all exhausted seemed — 
 
 And sleep was welcome ; so his brain nor mused — 
 
 Nor thought beyond the things he saw before him. 
 
 How could he know if stories biblical 
 
 Were true, or once invented ages back? 
 
 To books he had no access — and too weary 
 
 At night he was to feel desire for them. 
 
 And through the winter when less work there was 
 
 Thinking of next year's crops, and labor ahead, 
 
 He sported in the snow with sledge, or cu^ 
 
 Thick ice from Echo -lake near by; small need 
 
 He felt for study; less time he spent to read 
 
 Those mighty books of nations old, that sang 
 
 Of Mystery, and thought, and spirit unseen. 
 
 As do the worldly, so he lived most time 
 
 As those who needs must worry for the morrow — 
 
 Intent on gain; nor, having more than needed, 
 
 Content themselves with riches, but must seek 
 
 For wealth untold. So Mark his life enjoyed 
 
 Yet now and then he would grow moody-wise — 
 
 Short time those periods endured — not long enough 
 
 To fathom deepest mysteries; for days 
 
 And weeks and years alone of untiring thought 
 
 May let some rays of light divine shine fair 
 
196 Poetical Works. 
 
 Till truth doth gleam ; as then, in times now gone, 
 The alchemist, to make pure gold, kept watch 
 For thirty years o'er crucibles and fire, 
 Until the hard- wrought gold for use lay there ! 
 
 And Mary, though to books she oft found fond re- 
 course — 
 Her mind all unendowed with higher power. 
 Such that the seers know — she read awhile — 
 But sleep came. Country-bred, not having seen 
 A city large, nor knowing of the world's deceit, 
 Its petty gains, its robberies, and vices — 
 She still was innocent ; a Black-eyed Susan 
 That blows amongst the meadow-grasses thick — 
 And happy as that flower that smiles with eyes 
 So dark as Mary's at all around: the mounts. 
 The ledges worn; the changeful skies; the moon 
 That glows with light so bright — in it a lover 
 May read a tender letter he so loves — 
 The farmers gathering the hay ; and all that lives 
 Upon the ground in its sweet neighborhood. 
 So Mary's mind : the weak recipient of learning 
 Such that a country school may furnish well — 
 But having no self-will to think, to delve 
 Deeper than what in books expounded lies. 
 And thus the world remained all stationary — 
 Wanting self-will ; alone intuitive minds, 
 Or those whom Genius sways — they aye have made 
 Fond Progress give her bounteous boon to earth. 
 But rare they be ; and therefore Christ's own reign. 
 That blossoms the Millennium, is so far — 
 
The Fables of Humanity. 197 
 
 Impossible. 
 
 Mark's wife to Virtue swore 
 True 'legiance, since she found her lover strong. 
 And once, Temptation tried to win her well — 
 But she was victor. One year aft' their child 
 Was born, fair Mary proved herself a heroine : 
 Before her plain espousal, there was Ralph, 
 A former schoolmate, who a passion felt 
 For Mary's heart. He sued full long; but Mark, 
 His rival, who was in her eyes more honest, 
 Found her to be his wife. One evening, 
 When Mark had gone to Conway, errand bent, 
 And Mary with her one-year babe alone 
 At home remained, Ralph called on her ; he knocked 
 And Mary opened the door — she welcomed him. 
 Upon the vine-engarlanded veranda 
 They found three chairs. They sat themselves 
 
 adown — 
 While dusk began to waver o'er the vale — 
 And, far. Mount Washington wore darkest robe 
 Of ocean-blue ; at times the whippoorwill 
 His death-call sent from 'neath a bushy bosk — 
 And from the water-lily-burdened pool 
 The frogs in intervals their weird lone " cherughs " 
 Tonight rung loud ; and dismal sounded then 
 The rush of Saco's waves, as passed the coves. 
 With rocks and boulders filled, they glided down. 
 Ralph, after converse commonplace had waned. 
 Began his amorous quest, with devil-thoughts 
 Embroidered rich; and, night approaching, smooth 
 He thought his way would be to Mary's heart. 
 
198 Poetical Works. 
 
 So he began : " Dear Mary, long I've waited 
 For this fair chance to see you all alone." 
 And he let loose his hand within her palm — 
 She not opposed; ''Quick sing the babe asleep, 
 Then I'll be up — and then we'll talk it over." 
 The thought of Suzie made sweet Mary do 
 His bidding — and she left him to his thoughts. 
 Alone, with weird young night abroad, Ralph sat 
 Thoughtful : '' Why not ? I've loved her ; 'twas 
 
 mere chance 
 That Mark had heard her say her * yea ' to him. 
 She might have loved me first! What are the 
 
 odds — 
 I'm not the first who's soiled the marriage-bed — 
 The parsons have not shunned to disobey 
 The very words they preach ; and I, a farmer — 
 O Mary, you will love me yet, in spite 
 Of Mark and Suzie." Other thoughts, more fit 
 For Beelzebub to ponder, Ralph discussed 
 While sitting in the dark; then he no longer 
 Heard Mary humming the lullaby. " Asleep 
 She's now ! Quick, up to her, and win the sweet ! " 
 Ralph rose at once — and, up the stairs, he ran 
 Into the room, sacred to Mark and Mary. 
 There Mary stood : one hand yet resting fond 
 Upon the cradle's edge; her eyes sweet dreaming. 
 " St ! She's asleep ! " she whispered. " Come, we'll 
 
 talk 
 More in the next room ! " So they went together — 
 A candle-light was all to illumine the chamber; 
 And in the dim room Ralph quickly took Mary 
 
The Fables of Humanity. 199 
 
 Upon his lap — and kissed her lips and smothered 
 
 her. 
 So wild his passion ; Mary let him love her so. 
 In return her Hp moved bhssfully to his. 
 '' O Mary, let us love more rapturously ! " 
 He cried ; and, strong of arm, Ralph bore her form 
 To a large couch in corner of the room. 
 And laid her down; but as he stood to take his 
 
 breath 
 Up Mary leapt, and hurried down the stairs — 
 Ralph following. She knew where Mark's own 
 
 rifle 
 Lay charged with shot ; then, leveling it, she cried : 
 " Ralph, never had I thought that you, who love 
 
 me, 
 Would be so cowardlike to soil my name — 
 And soil my child! Though other wives may play 
 At wifehood, I will brave temptation yet — 
 And keep me pure. So go your way, Ralph — go ! " 
 And, in her pardoning anger, Mary wept. 
 Ralph's conscience smote him hard. He said no 
 
 word — 
 But as a cur, on whom the lash was used, 
 Ralph left the room; and, out into the night. 
 He hurried through the woods to his own house 
 A mile away. And from that night she felt 
 That purity is sweet — and so her child 
 Grew fair, and fond of one who kept her life 
 All angel-blest. On days when from the mountains 
 The northwest wind came glorying with loud tune 
 And bent the smaller trees, and made of elm 
 
200 Poetical Works. 
 
 And walnut-whipples lyres, heroic song — 
 Such air sweet Suzie loved — and to the banks 
 Of wild, sand-bedded Saco she would wander — 
 Sitting upon a freshet-carried birch-bole — 
 One end of it the braided current Hpped — the other 
 Was lost in covert of tall grass and flowers, 
 And there she sang; for she as gift from nature 
 Received a voicfe which, though so young, was 
 
 sweet — 
 And rich of tone. And she would wander, seeing 
 The trees and bushes wave: their leaves turn 
 
 white — 
 And see the grasses move as flames — and see 
 The sunlight play upon them — till the scene 
 Seemed filled with light so strange, that made the 
 
 eyes 
 Glow with new joy! And Suzie smiled — and held 
 Her chubby hands in front of her, as wishing 
 To catch the grasses streaming wildly from her— 
 And there she sat — till she did hear the bell — • 
 Low-tinkling a short while — her mother rang 
 To call her home. She ran o'er blossoming fields — 
 And passed the apple-trees — and through a gate- 
 way — 
 When in the garden of the farm she laughed 
 And chirped full gay — for now she felt the kiss 
 Of her fond mother on her cheek and lips. 
 O envious lot! 
 
 And thus they lived as tune 
 From master mind lives on the viol-strings — 
 Oft heard in bowers fragrant years ago, 
 
The Fables of Humanity. 201 
 
 By Amalfi's towers. So lived they, farmer he — 
 And country woman she — absorbed in tasks 
 That need no higher faculties to fulfil — 
 Most manual — which, oft performed, leave lone 
 The philosophic mood — they fail to foster 
 The arts, inventive thought, and dreams spiritual. 
 So lives the world also : absorbed at ease 
 In tasks mechanic day aft' day — oblivious 
 Most time of greater things that would improve 
 Their humdrum life ; but they prefer to toil 
 For gold — leaving all dormant the high soul 
 That, when its splendor is felt, man grows of sud- 
 den 
 A glorious god : perchance feeling himself ignored 
 By all the multitude while earth-bound here — 
 But in his inner self he feels the glow 
 Of angel-life ; and at rare intervals 
 A light divine suffuses through his mind 
 That makes him conscious be of higher worlds, 
 When death releases the unseen spirit immortal 
 From this our clay. So lived they in that vale, 
 Mark hoping for solution plain of tales 
 That throng the Book of Books ; Mary unable 
 To think for her own self what truth should be. 
 While Suzie lived, bloss'ming into maidenhood. 
 
 PART II. 
 
 This life is strange : divinest men are least 
 Thought prominent in eyes of sage and boor. 
 First, Avon's bard walked o'er the wooded hills. 
 
202 Poetical Works. 
 
 Or dreamed of eves by village-bridge half-worn — 
 
 Or at the tavern stood, observing men and things — 
 
 Yet 'twas unknown; and all unwritten then 
 
 In book or daily organ issuing news. 
 
 Then he who swallowed swift " the poisoned bowl " 
 
 He trudged along the strand or sought the shade 
 
 In Hyde Park's lovely lanes ; yet no one knew 
 
 That in that lonely, man-forsaken soul 
 
 Did dwell a god ; and later though the world 
 
 Did pride itself in civilized acts. 
 
 He, who was exiled from his London home 
 
 To Tuscan hills and Alpine lakes, his life 
 
 Was unobserved by all his fellow-men — 
 
 Yet, fifty years all aft his death, the world 
 
 Acknowledged him prince lyrist of all time. 
 
 And others — all innumerable — led lives 
 
 Sublime upon this earth — yet seemed like flowers 
 
 That bud and bloom and die way near some rock 
 
 Up Glacier mount, in the Yosemite, 
 
 Most wondrous valley. Canst thou tell me. Muse, 
 
 True cause of this ; or does high God keep hidden 
 
 To common eyes His fairest men — as He 
 
 Secluded keeps His fairest works : in deepest woods 
 
 In deepest seas — in farthest skies untraveled? 
 
 Not in days gone alone those men divine 
 
 Were left untalked of — but in these later years 
 
 The sordid world still doth forbear to raise 
 
 Full fair acclaim; and all unknown their own 
 
 Great men were laid within their simple grave! 
 
 Here Poe, the mystic; there, Jones Very, great — 
 
 Too great for the world's understanding scant, 
 
The Fables of Humanity. 203 
 
 Whom most had thought all mad — ^but he was mad 
 As Jesu was, who, proud, said He was Son 
 Of great Jehovah; then fair Lanier came 
 To build a song of his own country's charms, 
 Yet but a few know that he Hved. Then Drake 
 His amorous lute played ; sweet Fancy called, 
 Till she sang dulcet songs, which he recorded. 
 Here Whitman, soul supreme who smote full 
 
 chords 
 That only late in life were heard to sound 
 Around the world; and he too died obscure 
 Within a hut, far from the world's applause. 
 And, most like to a god, came Saltus young: 
 Yet, all unknown, in manhood's prime he died, 
 Unwept, save by his own, and nearest friends. 
 So doth the world. 
 
 O Muse, thy themes come fair 
 Most like high music to Euterpe's own — 
 Thou lovest preludes — how their thrilling chords 
 Touch all our inmost core! Then follow tones 
 That deftly simulate emotions deep 
 In heart or soul. Or art thou sweet in bond 
 With her — that much of her dear sway prevails 
 Within these lines; or are ye as one spirit? 
 For great Beethoven's tones seem like some epic 
 That thou inspirest. Yet I love both of you! 
 
 So now guide me again t' indite this tale 
 Of philosophic fibre. 
 
 This beauteous vale 
 Lay in its loveliness unsung — unseen 
 
204 Poetical Works. 
 
 In all its deepest nooks; until one day 
 
 A lonely singer came: fond child of Him 
 
 Of an immortal name. Unsought was he — 
 
 As though some being strange whom most will 
 
 shun. 
 For to the higher musings of his soul 
 None could respond. So, lonely was he there. 
 Large hostel sheltered him — and sumptuous board 
 He found — and regal entertainment kept 
 Him loath to sadden at his life secluded. 
 His name was Saltus — known to bard and sage 
 In towns where the Thames flows dreaming on — 
 
 the Seine 
 Winds through rich plains to gardened Normandie. 
 And also to the fruitful hills, and homes. 
 Where Donizetti dreamed his songs; but here. 
 His native land, none knew him, save four friends. 
 Alone he went his way — for are there many 
 Who love to dream? Most are to Mammon leal — 
 And to his soul-ignoring life true slaves. 
 To be a bird for once — or live the life 
 Of cloud and meteor in our mind, would spoil 
 The means to win large coffers full of gold. 
 Yet Mammon has an army vast that cling 
 To his hard life; a few forbear his sway 
 And to those few rare Saltus claimed true bondship. 
 It was an evening aft' a sultry day 
 He had arrived; no one gave welcome due 
 No one could see that lofty soared his soul — 
 Or warmly beat his heart; nor people grouped 
 Around him ; but as though he were all worthless 
 
The Fables of Humanity. 205 
 
 They treated him. Then out into the dusk 
 
 He went: the early stars began to glow; 
 
 And in the east the moon fell slowly down. 
 
 He marked the distant mountain-range, that dark 
 
 Walled in the elm-tree-shadowed valley wide. 
 
 And heard the whippoorwill's drear call sound forth 
 
 From wooded hills not far; he walked: to left 
 
 A serpent-road wound up into a copse 
 
 Of birch and pine, and his weird soul thought seeing 
 
 A train of mourners ; to right, all farther on. 
 
 The valley spread back of three barns, the vale 
 
 Half lit from the bright glare above the mount 
 
 That hid the west. Such he enjoyed — and swift 
 
 New imageries did flood his mind: new store 
 
 For poems to be sung. 
 
 Next morn he found 
 A nook that suited well his mind. At foot 
 Of a birch-shaded hill, a crystal brook 
 Flows pleasant past — there three old birches 
 
 stand — 
 And, farther, one wide maple and an elm — 
 Their branches spreading o'er the deep smooth pool. 
 There, near the two broad birches, is a mound — 
 All mossy, its western border laved all time 
 By flowing waters cold; and through the heat 
 Of solstice hours the shade cools all the air. 
 Reclined upon the moss, a wanderer sees 
 The vale, the brooklet near : soon lost behind 
 A stately elm-tree whose long foliage screens 
 The distant mount; he hears the robin's song 
 So lubricant and clear, the highhole's call — 
 
2o6 Poetical Works. 
 
 And, at rare moments, in the meadow green 
 The farmer whistHng tunes. Behind him rise 
 Gigantic pines that grow upon the slope, 
 And they breathe music when the winds are strong. 
 This nook sequestered Sahus found — and joy 
 Enwrapt his soul. Here he could dream: the 
 
 rush — 
 So velvety of tone — the brook let sound 
 Seemed like the voice of some sweet maiden true; 
 And was to him like her own company. 
 Here he would sit and muse, till thoughts would 
 
 come: 
 And, facile with his quill, sweet flowed the words 
 That formed a poem fair — the world would love 
 Long aft' his death. 
 
 On other days, he roamed 
 About — and o'er the valley's fields — along 
 Wild Saco's wooded banks — till soon he knew 
 Each nook — the fairest trees — and found the flowers 
 That there prevail. 
 
 At the hostel large, abode 
 People from cities great — sojourning there. 
 Yet to their eyes our Saltus was no one; 
 They could not know that in him raged the thoughts 
 Of Job — or dreams of Christ to enbetter the world — 
 For on his brow, or on his build nought lay 
 Enciphered plain, what were his talents rare. 
 His name ne'er gloried on the weekly page — 
 Whereon most names were writ, names of plain 
 
 men 
 Yet all unfurnished with seraphic lore. 
 
The Fables of Humanity. 207 
 
 One Sabbath morn, when most had gone to service, 
 Our Saltus sought the Saco's wooded bank ; 
 And on a grassy open in the shade 
 He lay to dream, as was his wont Sundays. 
 Now at full length reclined — then walking slow 
 From pine to birch and back again, then down 
 Upon the grassgrown sod to delve some thought 
 All sudden-born — he thus would dream alone. 
 And, thinking how the people treated him, 
 Now loud a phrase — then in his mind — he said, 
 All to himself: " For what was I then born? 
 Nor universal knowledge, nor a heart full warm, 
 Nor a fair genius-equipped soul 
 Wins public praise; those people know me not — 
 They cannot see me as I am; they act 
 As though I were a low nonentity — 
 Nought more. 
 
 My mind is plenished with wide store 
 Of knowledge but a few can know ; I've seen 
 All beauteous countries of this globe; have learned 
 Thrice ten strange tongues; life's mysteries are 
 
 mine : 
 For years and years of earnest observations showed 
 To me why things exist — in deepest abstrusions 
 I've heard God whisper secrets, but divulged 
 To saintly men; I've studied all religions, 
 So strange, that check life's progress or enhance 
 The civilized nations ; — ^book on book 
 I've written — wondrous symphonies and songs 
 Have flowed from forth my brain prolific; all 
 The sages of old times have known is mine — 
 
2o8 Poetical Works. 
 
 And more, yet when among the people there 
 
 It seems that I were like a menial man — 
 
 No one feels drawn to me; I sit alone — 
 
 None come consulting me — nor all desirous 
 
 To know a man superior of the mind — 
 
 Nor seem to wish to talk to a genius fair." 
 
 Then rose he ; while he trod the flowery grass, 
 
 He spake aloud : " Apollo's lyre emits no tones 
 
 Fairer than those I've sounded in my song; 
 
 My themes linger in neighborhood of angel's — 
 
 And from the depths of hell I've brought full weird 
 
 And wild a mood. No sweeter flutings rise 
 
 From violet broidered dells, when Hylas sings. 
 
 Than those that teem within my golden works. 
 
 Yet I'm ignored; and those who seek the news 
 
 Reporting it, they never think to say 
 
 A word to me, nor ask what I am doing. 
 
 Hence no one knows that he who sings of God 
 
 Is at the hostel large. Why is it thus ? " 
 
 Then he stooped at a flower fair — and gazed 
 
 Long, long, to keep its colors and its form 
 
 In memory; while in his mind he saw 
 
 The Hand of God in all he studied there. 
 
 And then he thought how in the holy house 
 
 They sat, dressed in their fineries, away 
 
 From the fair sun; not seeing things that prompt 
 
 To adoration; listening to speech 
 
 Of him who lives, perchance, a life of sin ; 
 
 All while he praised his Maker from his soul — 
 
 While flowers, trees, and birds, descanting free — 
 
 And sky, with halcyon clouds adored — rejoiced 
 
The Fables of Humanity. 209 
 
 In liberty. Then in his mind he thought: 
 
 " No titles have been given to me ; although 
 
 IVe mastered sciences full well, and more, 
 
 Have added to discoveries in this world. 
 
 Because I dream, most deem me useless here — 
 
 Because I sing, they think a high degree 
 
 In anything superfluous — and because 
 
 I hearken to the God the clergy shirk 
 
 My honest sermons; the world must see a badge — 
 
 The world must have substantial proofs; but when 
 
 A poet would to say a scientific truth 
 
 They laugh : * How can he know what others' 
 
 minds 
 Have taken years to fathom ? ' but in a flash 
 We singers learn the deepest lore and arts." 
 Then rising, Saltus said aloud : " We are 
 Like trappers of ago, when Boone was known — 
 They knew the woodsi, the streams, the valleys 
 
 long — 
 And knew the mounts ; their life had been to learn 
 Each herb, each flowery bush, and tree of splendor — 
 They knew each stone along a mountain-brook — 
 Or in an open; they slept on Mother Earth — 
 And with the skies conversed — with wind and 
 
 breeze 
 Made friends — and with the tempest on the peaks. 
 So we in Mystery's so varied world — 
 We know it well. Not prone before low Mammon, 
 Nor servile to vain greed, we shun through life 
 Sick Speculation; but, instead, we dream; 
 And for our dreaming sweet Mystery unbars 
 14 
 
210 Poetical Works. 
 
 Her ebon-draped doors — and Light divine we see, 
 And enter in her beauteous lands of glow : 
 Unseen to others. Yet, for all our knowledge, 
 No title do we earn — no honors reap — 
 Nor win applause — but, lonely, aye we live — 
 Like him who in his prime could no more hear 
 His mighty symphonies, that came unbidden 
 To his great soul." Thus mused he there — alone. 
 
 To South where Thurston lived, near Echo-lake 
 Spread placidly her sheet of unfathomed water, 
 With sand-beach circled ; and, on the western side, 
 Cathedral-Ledge doth rise: sheer — pine-tree 
 
 crowned. 
 Brown is the ledge all smoothed years ago 
 By glaciers, cutting gradual down. And there 
 Our Saltus oft would sit upon a log 
 And see the clear reflections of the trees 
 And rocks and sky. Then, farther, through the 
 
 woods, 
 He walked ; till to near Thurston's farm he came — 
 And there our Saltus spoke to him one day — 
 A day of June. 
 
 The house was painted white — 
 The barns dark-brown; the garden, redolent 
 From roses, pinks, verbenas purple, beauteous 
 With hollyhocks, poppies, and fuchsias red. 
 Was fenced in ; around, fair trees gave shade 
 And freshness, prized through the long dog-day- 
 hours. 
 In front, the meadow stretched to where the ground 
 
The Fables of Humanity. 211 
 
 Abruptly fell three feet within the sandy bank 
 O* the changing Saco. Saltus asked the way 
 Back to fair Intervale — and Thurston said — 
 " The way you came — for to the north no bridge 
 Is there." And as he saw how Saltus wondered 
 He asked : " The river is too wild up yonder 
 To bridge it; freshets are too high in Spring — 
 'Tis useless building." Then he bade our Saltus 
 Rest on his stoop — and there they talked together. 
 " My wife and I have seen you often : sitting 
 On the other bank — and writing. What can claim 
 Your time to write and sit each day, my Sir ? 
 'Tis seldom that we see men writing thus 
 Seated by brook and in the woods." And Saltus, 
 His dreamy eyes turned to the farmer, said: 
 " I write my works there; most in verse, for verse 
 Is like a bath in crystal waves to me. 
 And swifter can I write in nature staying — 
 With winds at play, and birds singing their songs. 
 And seeing the Avaves rushing before my eyes. 
 I know you wonder, friend; not you alone 
 But also those from cities great who stay 
 Near to their homes. I am a poet, friend — 
 A man who loves to dream — and learns from nature 
 Great lessons all untaught in schools wide-famed." 
 Then Thurston pricked his ears — and in his mind 
 He thought perhaps this poet knows the truth — 
 And quickly then he interrupted him, saying: 
 " You learn more than is written in the books — 
 From you I want to learn. For years I've tried 
 To read the Bible right, but failed. I wonder 
 
212 Poetical Works. 
 
 If you can throw a light on my dark mind — 
 Tell me what was the sin of Adam and Eve, 
 Why were they banished from fair Paradise?" 
 Then Saltus gazed long at the farmer's face — 
 Wondering why he should ask such question deep, 
 Too deep for country-folk; but as he saw 
 His eye all honest, Saltus wilHng felt 
 To make it clear; so with no diction cumbrous 
 But simple words applied to abstruse thought 
 He thus began : " The hoodwinked multitude 
 Ignores to meditate when reading long 
 The Book of Books, the Bible. All the words 
 Are not sincere; but many had been changed 
 To suit contemporaneous customs, friend! 
 Advice promulged by Moses — seems all strange 
 To these our days; his people loved their idols, 
 While, when Paul lived, the Christian faith arose ; 
 A bud at first — then blossoming large — glorious 
 Through two long centuries of doubt and fear. 
 Now, mark my words, my friend, in olden times 
 When chroniclers wrote their histories, they knew 
 That science were too hard a drug to force 
 Upon the people — so they made neat fables 
 Which could be understood." Then Thurston 
 
 smiled : 
 " All as I thought — but tell me more, my Sir ! " 
 And Saltus, fanned by his approval, proof 
 That he perchance had thought through years of 
 
 doubt — 
 Enriched his phrase : " Were Truth the guiding star 
 Mankind were more intelligent — the sun 
 
The Fables of Humanity. 213 
 
 Is truthful — ever luming brilliantly the world 
 
 And all thereon; but, alas, our fathers, 
 
 Long ages back, had friended with Deceit 
 
 As like an ebon vapor rising full 
 
 Before the sun; and thus the multitude 
 
 Doubtful remained, nor saw the sunlike Truth. 
 
 Not all are gifted with high powers, friend — 
 
 So also when our primal sires roamed 
 
 The glorious world: they too were fain to hear 
 
 Fair stories read, reflecting what the years 
 
 Had proffered; telling of the many mysteries 
 
 Felt in the mind and heart; explaining well 
 
 The world's beginning; and of the birth of man. 
 
 And so arose the fables in our Bible, 
 
 Strange wondrous Truth ! " " But the sin, I ask 
 
 Of you what was the sin that wrought 
 
 Displeasure to the One Creator high ? " 
 
 Impatiently inquired Thurston thwart — 
 
 Then Saltus said : *' Another fable tells 
 
 That Adam and Lis Eve had sinned — but reason 
 
 Comes to our aid, so like a stream of sunlight 
 
 Flashing from thundercloud down on the fields — 
 
 At once in glow — and shows that man thought 
 
 passion 
 The primal sin — but God had wrought its bliss 
 As sign of sweet delirious joy. The men 
 Who wrote that fable thought to check the pulse 
 Lascivious of their people — and as example 
 Created a tale, that, read, would make them fear 
 Eternal banishment from pleasure ordinate 
 And moderate. Such tales prevail as well 
 
214 Poetical Works. 
 
 In books of other nations — the Koran strange, 
 
 Bhata Gavita — Zenda Vesta, the Sagas, 
 
 A hundred others." Then Sahus, feeling rapt 
 
 At having audience, seeming fit and fair 
 
 To understand, soared with his soul to Heaven; 
 
 And with his tongue and lips he uttered lore 
 
 He heard, from Heaven's empyrean sent. 
 
 While thus he sat on Thurston's porch, flower- 
 
 orned : 
 " Great God, a Spirit Eterne, made all you see — 
 He made us sinless; — sin is relative, 
 For in the orient our sins are none; 
 What they call sin we do as though it were 
 A common act. Man and his consort sweet 
 Dwelled joyfully through primal ages fair 
 With nature's guidance; but there was a time 
 When sordidness in powerful men arose — 
 And greed was born; and love of riches grew; 
 And Mammon ruled — then Woe spread like a pest 
 Over the nations all; and Poverty 
 Was heard to wail beneath his heartless sway — 
 And Sin and Crime joined her — and then the bloom 
 Of nature fled from men and women — lo! 
 God's paradise was gone — and now we live 
 A life of flesh and blood — oblivious of the soul — 
 Too earthly to enjoy the Spirit's glow 
 'That our first fathers loved so sacredly. 
 Fair nature hath not changed — we see her beauties 
 Wherever we may roam. When first the sun 
 Shone on the worlds all that we see was there — 
 Th' Creator acts — and fast as lightning thrids 
 
The Fables of Humanity. 2i5 
 
 The Intricate paths through thunder clouds — His 
 
 power 
 Made all, at once; all subject to His laws 
 Of growth and transmutation strange. The won- 
 drous 
 Designer built the seed: a billion seeds 
 Not like in shape — wherefrom a billion lives, 
 Diverse of form and thought, prevailed on earth, 
 And still prevail. Not from gray chaos rose 
 Earth's life, as most still think it had — nor long 
 Through ages nebulous, glacial, fiery, grew 
 All that earth holds this day — but, all prepense, 
 God let life myriad-fold move in this globe, 
 Within its waters many — in its air 
 Of changing clime. For all our eyes behold 
 Is gifted with inscrutable mysteries — 
 And every creature, plant, or rock shows forth 
 The subtle design of Him by Whom 'twas wrought. 
 God let fond joy be all His creatures' goal — 
 And man and woman shared the same — man's love 
 Wrought sin and vice. Death is a change — 
 Nought else; and only fools find dread 
 To dwell within their hearts when thinking long 
 That death must come. The universe, this globe 
 Both team with life miraculous and strange; 
 All seems to be fair foreordained — and life 
 Depends on death to bloom again full fair 
 In shapes all new — continuous life in death — 
 Eternal life — and thus death is a name — 
 A means to change existences for higher — 
 A way to let life be forever new — 
 
^i6 Poetical Works. 
 
 Forever sweet. All glories in the Lord, the Mighty. 
 
 Or, God smiles ever at beholding fond 
 
 His works; He made them, so His mind be glad; 
 
 And in them all He found rare satisfaction. 
 
 Go, gaze on anything thine eyes can see — 
 
 'Tis gifted with rare beauty; even so 
 
 The ugly shapes have in their forms a mark 
 
 That glows all beauteous : see the Iguan strange. 
 
 Uncouth — yet no more beauteous colors 
 
 Can Pao find, or Flora when she showers down 
 
 Her myriad flowers on Napa's valley-lawns 
 
 At fresh Spring-tide. See any reptiles slimy: 
 
 Repugnant first — but where they swim in waves 
 
 Of mountain-brooks — what emerald shapes of grace 
 
 Move there — and where they glide o'er stones, what 
 
 glow 
 Of color flashes — the envy of royal spangles! 
 And more. The Lord hath not wrought wars out- 
 rageous. 
 He made all, that we live in peace. — Strife rose 
 When envious greed was born — and greed caused 
 
 wars — 
 And wars made men be cruel — so thou seest 
 That much within the Bible is all false — 
 Tales wrought by man." " Ah ! that is true — but 
 
 still 
 We're taught what here lies written — 'tis a bane 
 That we should learn such falsehoods — e'en in 
 
 age ! " 
 And Thurston seemed lost in deep meditation. 
 Then Saltus, still exalted, flowed rapt words 
 
The Fables of Humanity. 217 
 
 Of Truth and light: "The greatest Book is Na- 
 ture — 
 There God's great Word Hes hidden and revealed. 
 To her thine observation lend — to her thy love 
 Each day express — and from her read thy fate! 
 She writes no fables — nor envelops all her works 
 With myths fit for an infant mind; all glows — 
 All sparkles — and Truth lives by her every life — 
 And, if thou study her, light will be thine — 
 Thou'lt know the Truth — and thou shalt live all 
 
 blest. 
 From Nature, all exhaustless in her wonders fair, 
 All men of fame of old had found their themes 
 •To sing — to teach : so Job, and Solomon — 
 So Jesu; John — and Peter, his apostles — 
 So Luther — Fox; — so poets true and great — 
 So those who fathom the heights of starry night; 
 So those that love the sciences — so those 
 That love to dream. In all her glorious time 
 Fair Nature hath no sin inscribed — nor shows 
 Her various life aught signs that sin is real. 
 Sin came with barter ; and the Golden Calf, 
 In times of Moses, was the summit sin 
 Had reached in mankind. They forgot fair Nature ; 
 They loved the gold that but allured their eye; 
 And gave to them joys sensuous, nothing more. 
 Gold is a toy the common mind enjoys — 
 As children love their playthings — so the world 
 Had loved their coins, that, by man's laws, had 
 
 power 
 To make of saints the vilest villains: vice. 
 
S2i8 Poetical Works. 
 
 Debauchery sprung in a woman's heart 
 When gold bought virtue; sin is but a word — 
 Live, love, and praise — that pleases God always. 
 He made all so we pleasure deep and fond — 
 Forsake the greed that came with Mammon's 
 
 reign — 
 And love the God. My friend, a few there be 
 Who take the time to break the seed of thought, 
 Extracting the sweet kernel that discloses 
 The real truth : some throw the seed away 
 Thinking nought lies within — thus can they know 
 No deepest mysteries ; some see the core. 
 But deem the kernel unpalatably hard — 
 Ignoring thus to taste the deeper flavor — 
 That, tasted, is like Hasheesh, showing fair 
 To soul and intellect the wonders strange 
 That throng the universe." Then Saltus gazed 
 At Thurston, who perplexed stared out abroad 
 O'er field and mountain blue. " Much have I 
 
 learned 
 From your discourse — and I now see the light 
 That should be given to young and old all times. 
 I feel that progress is retarded by the schools 
 That teach traditions, fable, and strange myths. 
 Forgetful of the nobler lessons that we learn 
 From nature's boundless store of things and lives : 
 True love of God." Thus Thurston spoke in words 
 Unwonted to his common speech — as though 
 He were possessed by some strong Spirit, giving 
 To him strange power: as poets are at times; 
 When, like the waters gushing down a brook 
 
The Fables of Humanity. ^19 
 
 All aft' a mountain thunderstorm, new thoughts 
 Rush to their brains. And Saltus, feeling this the 
 
 cause, 
 Answered in fire-words : " Friend, you are blest 
 With love and child — and home, with flowers, field, 
 And kine and varied fowl — to you is given 
 True happiness; nought sweeter can there be 
 Than family-life harmonious, sacred kept 
 By ties that bind one to the Spirit's realm. 
 Live on in that true way ; oh ! would the world 
 Choose such sweet model — sin were never known; 
 Nor crime, nor suicide." Then Saltus bade 
 Farewell; and walked away: passed Echo Lake — 
 Passed Conway — to the pleasant hostel large 
 At Intervale. 
 
 That night Mark Thurston sat 
 With Mary on his porch — and there he told 
 As well he could, what from the poet's lips 
 He had just learned. And Mary, hearing, smiled : 
 " Aye, poets are wild men who dream and dream ; 
 And have no whit of knowledge of the world." 
 " Perhaps it's true; but they have powers supreme — 
 As this one had, who roams our valley's length. 
 And seems to find new story from its charms. — 
 Aye, Mary, more and more I think he told 
 The truth — for as he spoke his eyes seemed fire. 
 His words came flowing as he were inspired — 
 I do believe him." But Mary doubted yet. 
 She said : " Yes I have seen him sit of noons 
 Upon the other bank — while I worked hard; 
 
220 Poetical Works. 
 
 I thought then what long futile hours he spenf 
 To write of things no one can prove be true. 
 While every man doth labor for some coin — 
 No matter if his stores be filled with gold — 
 He seems not made for us ; he leads a life 
 That not a worldly man would dream to lead." 
 Then Thurston fast rebuked his wife — and said : 
 " You have the world's ideas ; the world is wrong — 
 Much have I learned from him; and light hath 
 
 glowed 
 Within my soul, since he hath sung to me. 
 I know he is God's special child beloved — 
 For what he uttered, no book e'er had broached. 
 He cleared my mind of doubt — and showed to me 
 That man, obedient to fair nature's laws, 
 Can never sin — that poets live on earth 
 To blazon evermore the lasting God. 
 And to my mind, that now is more than fair, 
 I think 'twere well if more were done for poets — 
 Who, all unselfish, serve the God alone — 
 Unmindful of riches that from greed 
 Accrues so fast. Aye, Mary, from this day 
 I shall acquaint myself with poet- works — 
 And read most sedulous; for they must be 
 The sayings of the Spirits : those that fill 
 The poet's soul with love unknown to men 
 Who toil, invent — or think they know so much." 
 Then Mary answered him, with voice sincere — 
 " Yes, darling, as I think now, you are right ! " 
 And thus their thoughts dwelled sweet in harmony — 
 As sounds from Saco's waves in sweetness mingle 
 
The Fables of Humanity. 221 
 
 With bird-notes, sounding all the live-long day 
 In woods near by. 
 
 Our Saltus long remained 
 To sing of meadow-flowers, and bobolinks — 
 Of nenuphares that numerous blow in glow 
 In meadow-pools; he wandered through the pines 
 That lead to neat Kearsage, two miles away. 
 And sat full oft beneath the graceful boughs 
 Of giant-elms, that stand full glorious there 
 Upon the meadow-sweep, all wild-flower-grown. 
 And sang of all. Yet never any one 
 Rang kind acclaim — nor in the papers stood 
 His name once as a man of worth. 
 While others, who had no fair genius-souls. 
 Their names appeared each week; their common 
 
 haps 
 Recorded were — their silly games made known; 
 Their dresses praised; their walks enlarged — and 
 
 strange 
 Alone their worthless parts were signalized — 
 While anything that showed a soul to sway 
 Ne*er on the paper's sheet appeared. Most strange ! 
 And in the fall our Saltus left that vale 
 When crimsoned woods wailed melancholy tales 
 Of Winter's reign. And, when he left, no one 
 Surmised that he had written Heaven-lore — 
 Had sung wild dreams; and had immortalized 
 Their nooks and fields, and mountain peaks in glow. 
 Save one lone girl, who gave sweet music-hours 
 To guests, of eves, she went with him the last 
 Fair moment of his stay — and bade him well. 
 
222 !Poetical Works. 
 
 He sought the wilds of countries strange and far 
 
 In India, and on Afric's golden shores, 
 
 Where Mozambique doth stretch luxuriantly 
 
 Within the main. He sang great songs of all 
 
 He saw — and when, after four years, he dwelled 
 
 Among his native hills, sweet nestled near 
 
 The Hudson's flow — he died — in life's full prime — 
 
 Unwept by his own countrymen, who knew 
 
 Not that their country's greatest genius lay 
 
 At rest; — for, while he lived, the world forsook 
 
 To honor him as he deserved — nor raised 
 
 Acclaim as most they raise unworthy noise 
 
 For little men — whose works die when they're dead. 
 
 But his great works, in music, poetry. 
 
 In wit, and tale, in drama wonderful, 
 
 Will live for aye ! For in them flash the thoughts 
 
 Of superhuman minds — of Daemons wild — 
 
 Of Angels beatific — and ofttimes 
 
 The very voice of God rings through their songs. 
 
 Yet so the world treats those, whose genius soars 
 
 Above the masses. Even Christ, whom all 
 
 Called Son of God, the world hath killed unjustly. 
 
 Yet those whose irreligion mocks at God — 
 
 Who are to Satan's lures true thralls, they reap 
 
 Loud plaudits from the crowd; and are revered! 
 
 Thus evil will persist to rule the world — 
 
 And greatness will be aye ignored — and so 
 
 The great, much-promised, fair Millennium 
 
 Can never reach this earth — for soul must rule, 
 
 And where the soul is absent — Satan sways. 
 
The Fables of Humanity. 223 
 
 III. 
 
 What were this hfe with no fond child's caress — 
 No voice that babbled love as clearly as brook 
 Through mountain-gorge? Sweet child that run- 
 nest wild 
 O'er field in unconcern, thou bringest joy 
 To every one — for in thy laughter dwells 
 The purity of Angels — and their roseate face 
 Makes flee from all our thoughts the truth 
 That sin can blight God's bloomiest earth ; O child, 
 Thou art the leaven of life — and makest care 
 Grow light — and wo smiles when she sees thee play, 
 When thou dost romp adown the fragrant lane 
 At May-tide — Anger doth forgive — and Fury 
 Forgets her passion — and grim Crime forsakes 
 To deal the blow. For thou art God's sweet smile — 
 Thou art the triumph of love; the world's sole gem 
 That ever will be prized ! — 
 
 So Suzie grew — 
 In beauty, by fair Saco's succulent fields 
 And leafy woods. Eight years it was since she 
 Played in the sight of Saltus, — when he lived 
 In sad obscurity at Intervale. 
 And now she helped her mother more than well, 
 For to her sisters two and younger brother 
 She oft would give delight. Sweet girl of twelve, 
 She seemed to know a mother's duties fair. 
 Tended to them as though she were a woman — 
 And loved to sing her brother young to sleep, 
 He, the last born, and, at the moment then^ 
 
224 Poetical Works. 
 
 Just two years old. Her form had grown so fair; 
 
 Sweet-plump her body grew — her face 
 
 So beautiful, that villagers seemed charmed 
 
 When Suzie passed through shady streets, where she 
 
 On errands went. 'Twas fair to see her stroll 
 
 To Saco's woody bank of glorious days — 
 
 When high Mount Washington seemed near to all — 
 
 For in the glowing rays the house was live 
 
 With brilliant light — and one could see the rocks 
 
 So plain as though they were ten feet away — - 
 
 She sat upon a rock — and saw the birds 
 
 Fly down the river's course — and heard the buzz 
 
 Of straying bees within the flower-field. 
 
 And saw, across the stream, the farmers work ■■ 
 
 As they were taking in high loads of hay — 
 
 Or whistling gay. Then run a-home o'er fields — 
 
 When slow the sun fled all the mountain-sides. 
 
 And solemn grew the vale, as though fair nature 
 
 Prayed, filled with awe. 
 
 Thus Thurston and his own 
 Lived there in happiness and self -contentment — 
 Gazing at sky and mountains; walking o'er 
 His fields — and through the woods — unthoughtful 
 
 aye — 
 Caring not why the flowers varied-bloomed — 
 Nor seemed solicitous to know the cause 
 Of freshets — nor what made the moon change 
 
 shape. 
 He lived — and worked; and though those words 
 
 momentous. 
 That Saltus uttered many years ago, had clung 
 
The Fables of Humanity. 225 
 
 To his small mind, he let them be forgotten 
 As books of wisdom : lying in a case 
 Of some gay flirt — who leaves them hid away 
 Preferring worldly vanities and joys. 
 Thus Thurston lived his labor-life, oblivious 
 Of what sweet nature shows to man who dreams, 
 And learns high lore through quiet meditation. 
 'Tis also thus with all the masses wild — 
 They aye forego to dream. And too the world, 
 Fast-chained to proud society, is lost 
 To all that tends to purity and thought. 
 The world at large still clings to olden myths, 
 Traditions, and to scriptures, writ for times 
 Long past; and modern children still are taught 
 What to our reason is but fairy-tale. 
 Teach them the truth; the mysteries of life — 
 The remedies of evil — show the glow 
 Of good — and health — and love forevermore. 
 Teach them what Christ, the poet, preached — forego 
 To load their searching minds with fables worn; 
 With history of the olden books, that tell 
 How God slew nations in His vengeance dire. 
 Forbear to broach that hell's fire-pit is true ; 
 But sing to them that beauty leads to God; 
 And goodness, love, and health, mean happiness. 
 Then would we all be poets — and Christ-like — 
 And thus our cities blooming with fair men 
 And lovelier women — and our countries will 
 Be Edens, where all work in harmony. 
 15 
 
526 Poetical Works. 
 
 epilogue; 
 
 O MAY these words be borne all o'er the world 
 
 Full-glorious, like a storm, that purges 
 The pest-like air of towns that live in sin — 
 
 And hurls its rain-clouds, like the ocean surges, 
 Against a rocky headland-shore! 
 For in their flow the voice of God prevails — 
 
 He willed me so to sing in world's defiance — 
 To make new men read nature's glorious book 
 
 And seek with Truth and Love full-high Alli- 
 ance — 
 With Him Whose wonders all adore. 
 For we are born of Joy — of Love, of God — 
 
 But sin is born of proud and thoughtless man. 
 In glory we are born upon this sod — 
 
 And heirs to Heaven in God's all-wondrous Plan. 
 
A HUMBLE TRIBUTE TO 
 
 FRANCIS SALTUS SALTUS, 
 
 SOLICITATION TO THE MUSE. 
 
 DiVlNEST child, my Muse ! thy blessings give — 
 
 So these sad tunes may ever, ever live ! 
 
 For, with my shell, I strike a saddest key 
 
 To one who died when manhood bloss'ming be ! 
 
 Yet, through this mourning, as through eve's lament, 
 
 Hope's glorious stars will thrill the song's warm 
 
 scent ! 
 Aud Muse ! with thy most lofty sympathy 
 Like hymn sublime will be this threnody ! 
 
 PROEM. 
 
 Rare Saltus ! thou unknown to me — yet dear 
 
 Because I read those tributes thine 
 To every nation of this sweet sad world — 
 
 To joy's gay smile — to sorrow's frosty tear — 
 To man's strange moods, satanic or divine — 
 
 Of all thou hadst unfurled 
 The sails, and, with thy genius-pen as rudder strong, 
 Hadst steered to where rare beauties throng — 
 
 227 
 
228 Poetical Works. 
 
 Then lead us to such gorgeous vales in dewy bloom 
 That we dream, oblivious of our doom ! 
 
 To this strange age of diamond-dross and greed 
 
 Urania had a god bequeathed — 
 With heart, fond nature's — and with soul so rare — 
 
 Singing as sweetly as swart Pan with reed. 
 As sweet-voiced Moschus, he was laurel-wreathed. 
 
 With lyrics flower-fair, 
 And melodious songs, he dowered the rough, sordid 
 crowd — 
 Yet he to all was a spring-cloud : 
 Unloved at first, but people knew, all after hours, 
 It gave them fairest summer-flowers ! 
 
 Oh ! had I been to thee a comrade true — 
 
 What strain of purer light would pour 
 From forth my lyre's strings, this gloomy time. 
 
 But all I know : the heaven's tender blue ; 
 Man's many passions, and man's wide-spread lore, 
 
 Were thy themes in every clime — 
 So is my song the seer's : conjecturing from thy 
 joys, 
 Thy fears, thy life's most sad annoys. 
 What in thy heart upsprung — or rose within thy 
 soul, 
 While singing life's strange birth and goal 1 
 
 He walked among earth's men so like a child, 
 That fame did fear to wreath his brow ; 
 
 And wide repute hid her hot face in awe ! 
 Yet were world's geniuses by him beguiled ; 
 
Francis Saltus Saltus. 229 
 
 And to Urania he made a vow- 
 To love Art as a law ; 
 
 And he drank soul- wine — cared for Beauty's vibrant 
 lyre; 
 So was his way not by greed's mire — 
 
 But to Apollo's Muses devotion he had sworn, 
 To last beyond Soul's fairer morn ! 
 
 Oh ! had we known each other but an hour — 
 
 What love from me would have been blown ; 
 For thou hadst doted on Euterpe's soul — 
 
 And Clio shed on thee her rarest flower ; 
 And Memnon's liquid inspirations shone 
 
 As in thee they found their goal ! 
 Oh ! had we ! — woodland's meekest nooks — and 
 glorious trees 
 Of rarest blooms ; and prophecies 
 Of worlds to come — sweet love — and fell mysterious 
 lore — 
 To us were dearer more and more ! 
 
 A traveler, and a voyager, he learned 
 
 All of the beauties of this earth ; 
 Yet fathomed he the mires of the race — 
 
 So that a fire of songs from him had burned 
 That, though unseen by his, will be a birth 
 
 Of marvel, when, apace, 
 The world progressive love the mighty Muse again, 
 
 And all the soul's life-thrilling strain — 
 When, while a poet walks among a people's crowd, 
 
 He will be praised with eulogiums loud ! 
 
230 Poetical Works. 
 
 Oh ! sad the day when thou hadst left us lorn — 
 
 Yet may we love thy myriad strains ; 
 Praise thee for thy heroic faithfulness 
 
 To all the mind's rare gifts of Heaven born. 
 And I may in my fancy's winged wains — 
 
 With purity as dress — 
 Ascend to thee, while loving the rich gold and blue 
 
 With which thou didst thy songs imbue — 
 Till, fond conferring with thy Spirit, Heaven flown, 
 
 I hear thy voice now Angel-grown ! 
 
 The sweets of Keats he knew — yet Satan's eye 
 
 Bewitched him to bemoan man's lot — 
 So that his lyre resounded lily-strains, 
 
 Commingled with moans where ebon rivers ply. 
 He sang of cool winds, and of samiels hot — 
 
 He loved that which profanes 
 Man's fair conception of ethereal solitude — 
 
 And sang of passion's voluptuous food- 
 Yet, since his lyre was to all earth's nations dear- 
 He sang of days beyond our bier ! 
 
 Oh ! Francis ! weird soul thou — and tender heart — 
 
 The child's delight was in thy mind. 
 Yet with thee were Cimmerian dsemons housed ! 
 Thou gloomy man, from whom rare songs would 
 part 
 As fumes from various flowers that virgins bind — 
 
 Thou hadst more moods espoused 
 Than Jove of old, when he would joy with god- 
 desses — 
 
Francis Saltus Saltus. 231 
 
 Thou god of myriad melodies ! 
 I see thee now with asphodel adorned — admired 
 By the dead great who had aspired ! 
 
 He slept not — but he did invade each nook 
 
 Of sweet or vile recess on earth. 
 And like a Titan he had weighed all wrongs — 
 
 He praised the fair in nature or in book — 
 He had encompassed the world's wonder-girth ; 
 
 And in his marvel-songs 
 Recorded only beauties, mysteries, and dreams ; 
 
 And from them flashed rare lightning-beams — 
 Which will forever fulminate when men shall read 
 
 What thrills as quaff of Olymp's mead ! 
 
 We should have dreamed together by the woods — 
 
 Or weighed world's bad or good in towns. 
 We should have loved the mind's vast field of 
 thought — 
 Oh ! longed to know of purer solitudes — 
 And proved what ekes the mercenary frowns — 
 
 What blooms a thought to God ! 
 Oh ! aimed at superlunar stars in universe's light — 
 
 And pledged ourselves new gods each night. 
 For in thy company would my songs have faster 
 swelled — 
 And truths unknown from them have welled ! 
 
 A second Poe had dwelled among this age ! 
 
 His ghoulish mind fattened in gore. 
 And he from Death had wrenched the crimson cup 
 
 That, quaffed, will let our eye read page 
 
2^2 Poetical Works. 
 
 And page of hidden mystery and lore. 
 
 He thought — and conjured up 
 Most hideous shapes of daemons, and adventurous 
 mortals wild, 
 That ne'er our blacker dreams beguiled — 
 But he had thoughts of hell — and dreams of Angel- 
 eyes — 
 Of mad heavens, and of serene skies ! 
 
 Oh ! had we whispered, when the wintry wind 
 
 Upbore the sullen leaves — and moaned 
 Within some desolate brake where tarns lie still — 
 My hand in thine ; our ej^es, grown nature-blind. 
 Would have seen phantoms — while they groaned — 
 
 And with a ghoulish thrill : 
 Our minds have stored one thousand ugly tales, to 
 tell 
 When o'er the roof the hailstorms swell— 
 Our hearts known more than Hoffman, maddened, 
 while he wrote, 
 To see his imps about him gloat ! 
 
 A poet, mingling resonant words of glow 
 
 With liquid sentences, for lays — 
 He too was spelled by sounds to harmonize 
 
 Great dramas with rare music's rhythmic flow — 
 And when he roamed o'er fond Euterpe's ways 
 
 His soul, thrilled so god-wise. 
 Let from his fingers purl such tender tunes and 
 dreams 
 As linger near fair Lethe's streams — 
 
Francis Saltus Saltus. 233 
 
 At once a poet with the pen — his melodies came 
 Inspired with Jove's rarest flame ! 
 
 Oh ! soul of thee, rare Saltus ! wander near, 
 
 When, in the dim dark of the eve. 
 The melancholy mists o'er rivers rise — 
 
 And, in my chamber, memory's ghosts appear — 
 So, from my tremulous fingers, tones may grieve ; 
 
 And form such melodies : 
 Like Chopin's own, or gloom-Beethoven*s in his 
 sorrow. — 
 So may I from thy musings borrow 
 A breath of hope — and with thy blessed spirit soar 
 Where thou hadst many eves of yore ! 
 
 INTERLUDE. 
 
 No flower-wreaths adorn the poet's brow, 
 
 Here in this land of young emprize and glow ; 
 
 And if an eagle's pinions sweep our air, 
 
 No one will love to see it soaring there. 
 
 So thou, my love — my Spirit-love ! wast doomed 
 
 To be reviled for all thy songs, that bloomed 
 
 Within thy mighty soul — fed by the nations 
 
 Who gave thee never any acclamations, 
 
 But left thy lyre-songs like thrushes' singing, 
 
 Unheeded — worth no fond and sweet thanksgiving. 
 
 The greatest singers linger through lone life 
 
 Unknown to theirs in whom low greed is rife™ 
 
 A Whitman's eagle-wings were clipped by Gold — 
 
234 Poetical Works. 
 
 Yet he was praised a god in England's fold ! 
 
 Oh ! most of ours, before they shone for us, 
 
 At first in foreign lands were illustrious. 
 
 How had they dealt with him whose giant-soul 
 
 Was like a Titan's — whose ambition's goal 
 
 Was to be singing on Aonian hills — 
 
 And drinking from fair Aganippe's rills ! 
 
 Our vampire-men bled his most precious heart, 
 
 And murdered him with low neglect's swift dart. 
 
 Oh ! thou Apollo ! hast no altars rare 
 
 Whose fumes may purify our smoky air. 
 
 Thou hast no virgins swinging garlands round ; 
 
 Nor sisters nine to thrill this land with sound — 
 
 Thou art for Greece, or lands where love is all — 
 
 But here thou canst not win for thee one thrall 1 
 
 So Saltus ! like some inspiration's thrill 
 
 Thou art to me — when poetry is so still 
 
 That who may dream there is a Heaven's spark, 
 
 When all are drowned in greed and lucre's dark ! 
 
 The crown of cultured races is rare song. 
 
 Had Greece not shown it? Her immortal throng 
 
 Have never been by precedents surpassed. 
 
 She, while she loved rare quiet, and fled greed's 
 
 blast, 
 Had known the charms of singing's roseate fruit, 
 And chosen as achievement's peer the wreathed lute ! 
 For, as rare Spring may flourish but in calm — 
 So men progress when steeped in airs of balm ! 
 What art had lived when Bernadotte raged — 
 What beauties bloomed while we wild battle waged 
 
Francis Saltus Saltus. 235 
 
 With those that held a lower race in chains — 
 
 When we our own deceive by sordid gains ! 
 
 What arts may glow when men like huddling sheep 
 
 Hurry day after day to rooms that keep 
 
 Those daemons Gold and Swindlle fat and thriving, 
 
 And never is a moment left for shriving — 
 
 Like beetles, eating what from others comes, 
 
 They, hazardwise, get what for others blooms — 
 
 Not earning, they, like thirsty pirates, hold 
 
 Their fellows' lives by using up their gold ! 
 
 Urania ! — shed a tear with me this day. 
 
 Heaven's song hath fled from money-thieves away ! 
 
 Urania ! let thy fulgors glow intense — 
 
 So they those mercenary spirits cleanse ! 
 
 And by thy tunings, sent to me these hours. 
 
 Change all their greed to Heaven-striving flowers! 
 
 Like subtile influence that drapes our globe, 
 So was thy soul to each great race a robe, 
 With marvel diapering — and weaving rare, 
 That showed to all their own quaint customs there. 
 Thou wast a universal soul ! — like lightning — 
 Like any wonder-work, that all is bright'ning — 
 Thou hadst the ease to learn — to know — to use 
 All what was round thee : slim, or world-profuse — 
 Great — bad ; — sad — glorious ; — aye, anything, 
 A thrall to beauty thrilled thy soul to sing ! 
 Though born on our strands where thou hadst died 
 To thee thy nation's praises are denied — 
 Because thy songs outsoar their horizon low — 
 Thy doom's to shine a god in thy own glow ! 
 
236 Poetical Works. 
 
 Oh ! better sparkle in thy lovely splendor there — 
 
 Rare Saltus ! thou wast praised by bards more fair 
 
 Than we do own these days — in countries far — 
 
 And thus thou art become a diamond-star, 
 
 Whose superluminosity doth glow 
 
 For all the races — who thy marvels know ! 
 
 Not one lone country's songs of praise are thine, 
 
 But all the earth's ! — America will chime 
 
 With those when she will think on deeds divine — 
 
 And learn that God alike sways every clime — 
 
 So that thy songs which they may love not now 
 
 Will win thee all their bay-leaves for thy brow ! 
 
 ELEGY. 
 
 Ye melancholy souls of ancient days ! 
 Come forth — and sing with me elegiac lays ! 
 For one of you, who on the hilltop stood. 
 Worshiping the surrounding solitude 
 And the high sky's expanse of blue. 
 Hath passed away from all to nature true. 
 He hath most need of some canorous wail ; 
 For he was God's own child, in town or vale ! 
 He loved the beauty on the hills at dawn — 
 And would to stroke, at noon, the timid fawn. 
 He smiled when he the snowy violet saw, 
 Weeks after the last flakes of snow did thaw. 
 And when the moon in splendorous fulgence rose, 
 He as a child leapt ! and when manhood's woes, 
 
Francis Saltus Saltus. 237 
 
 Like blight on silvery tassels of rare corn, 
 
 Had tried to parch his throat, to make him worn, 
 
 His childlike Angel-soul sparkled gladfully. 
 
 And he again sang of the summer-tree — 
 
 Of lustrous flowers in the sylvan glade — 
 
 Of blue-birds — orioles — flitting in the shade — 
 
 Of opals, morning-wet ; and many-tinted stones 
 
 That love to live in mountain's brook-sung lones. 
 
 Of the soft quiet spell 
 
 That nestles in June's fragrant bee-sought dell ! 
 
 Of all that to the heart delight doth bring — 
 
 Of all their glowing beauties would he sing ! 
 
 And of the wilder world he made a lay 
 
 That never from man's ears can fade away. 
 
 Of ocean's roar, and waves' tumultuous swells, 
 
 He gave to us their heart-pulse and their spells. 
 
 To Erebus he strung his lyre's silvery strings ; 
 
 And touched them, so they quivered forth strange 
 
 things. 
 That mortals seldom see — or wish to know — 
 For they blur out joy's all immortal glow. 
 And of the charnels he sang deliriously — 
 Of cold, sweet death ! 
 
 And of the afterdoom of clay's last breath ; 
 Yet ever swelled aloft eternity. 
 To God he lifted timid praises fair — 
 Yet is not death from God in Heaven there — 
 And doth not God weep at His sorrow-work — 
 For where God glows on earth, black spots do lurk — 
 Alone in death we may a paean raise 
 To God, and Him with words undoubting praise. 
 
238 Poetical Works. 
 
 For God hath made the asp, and canker vile — 
 So must His child's own soul have earth's own rile ; 
 And where a rose blooms in the wood's recess, 
 There glimmer eyes of lurid filthiness ! 
 
 Ye timid poets of these nearest years, 
 
 Come, wind a wreath — let fall some true warm tears ! 
 
 For him who from your limits soared up high 
 
 And built euphonious songs for earth and sky ! 
 
 He dwelt not by religion's barriers dun, 
 
 But sang the mysteries of stars and moon, 
 
 And delved within the fire-maws of earth, 
 
 To see aright this world's wild fire-birth ! 
 
 He dumb the summits of all mountains lone. 
 
 And trumpeted that God on all had shone ; 
 
 And though he dreamed by streams of Unbelief, 
 
 He sailed to halls of God through pain and grief ! 
 
 He too had felt the burthen of this wo, 
 
 Yet swift transmagiked it to song's rare glow. 
 
 For he had tuned his shell for fair or rude — 
 
 True man he was to sing of bad or good. 
 
 And hath not Shakespeare cursed his loose-grown 
 
 age— 
 And vice and lust becrimson page on page ? 
 And hath not the great Book of Books a taint — 
 Some of Christ's own last words were a complaint ! 
 Still he had moments when his Spirit saw 
 The face of God — he yielded to His Love and Law ! 
 Oh ! ye one-stringed lyres, sound no more — 
 We know too much of sweetly-spoken lore — 
 But truth — the black high truth we oft ignore — 
 
Francis Saltus Saltus. 239 
 
 The truths God made so black — 
 Those truths which grow when youth comes no more 
 
 back — 
 But when the rare strange spell of Death us shakes 
 And in us yearning for God's Realm awakes ! 
 And like a sage, deciphering Egypt's signs, 
 He had unrooted things no one divines — 
 He hid among death's damp white crowd — and knew 
 Their secrets ; and of sudden moods that grew 
 On us like insects that leafs shape assume, 
 He showed they were not of us — but our doom : 
 That we with higher works were oft in bond — 
 Pointing to highest lives — in worlds beyond ! 
 He walked not in a walled room of stone — 
 He in a heaven of flowers, and fall's sweet tone, 
 Dreamed — wondered — thought, and brought to light 
 Such things that are to others starless night ! 
 He was not satisfied to sing of scenes 
 That all eyes see — but there where Mystery gleans 
 Her untold treasures he had wandered wild, 
 And gave to us the sooths of Mystery's Child : 
 Rare occult wonders lying round man's brain, 
 But never seen or known by those whose strain 
 Of life is but one same machine-like tune. 
 He loved his fellow-men, and woman soon — 
 And praised his strength — her beauty soft and rare — 
 And feared not to enhance what riots there, 
 But with melodious glorious language thrilled 
 Our hearts ; and like a fountain's spray, he spilled 
 On all our parched common brains a sweet 
 Refreshing rain that makes our love more fleet ! 
 Of history's pangs he chaunted like a priest — 
 
240 Poetical Works. 
 
 And Strang his strings to fair songs of the East, 
 
 Where passion is fair woman's rare domain, 
 
 And love hath sway when young hearts love its pain, 
 
 And is not hampered by a man's own gain, 
 
 Nor laughed at by a woman's low disdain ; 
 
 But where such love is blossoming, there it blows — 
 
 They love and wanton, while the passion glows. 
 
 You poets writing what the age proclaims 
 
 As only fit for timid rhymers' fames. 
 
 Come, build for him a monument of fire — 
 
 He had outsoared your heights of weak desire, 
 
 As the great condor doth the glades of birds. 
 
 He winged Thought's highest airs and glowing 
 
 words, 
 Like echoing strains of Orpheus, spread around: 
 At once the skies were live with marvel-sound, 
 Such that Apollo once was wont to make 
 When Greece to all his music was awake ! 
 Such music dwells within his poems' strains^ — 
 Such glow abides in them, sung without pains ! 
 Such mountain-freshness from them doth exhale — 
 Such lightning-flashes in their thoughts prevail — 
 Such candor — beauteous fond abandon's prize — 
 Such knowledge deep as seers', or of the wise — 
 That when you gaze upon your own conceits 
 You all must own that his great work completes 
 The stern requirements of song's art, and more — 
 He sang, undaunted, from his own heart's core ! 
 And wondrous miracle : in this age of gain. 
 He warbled forth a never heard of strain : 
 
Francis Saltus Saltus. 241 
 
 He sang of things he saw not round him growing, 
 But gave his moods and dreams in songs so glowing 
 That we must shudder — smile and deem to see 
 Those thoughts as though they were reality ! 
 
 Ye melancholy Hours ! floating o'er earth's graves, 
 
 Weep not for him who felt the spume-tipped waves, 
 
 And sat inspired by the warbling wood, 
 
 Or by the brawling seaward-dashing flood. 
 
 He needs no tears — save that we weep and weep ; 
 
 And for the dead unnecessary dolor keep. 
 
 For they are blessed — and God takes each away — 
 
 When he had died, he saw God's own Array ! 
 
 So weep not, for your tears are idly spent — 
 
 For God weaves life's strange shroud — by Death 'tis 
 
 rent ! 
 And wailing through the sorrow-years is vain — 
 His life was run — he sang his doomed strain ! 
 But melancholy Hours ! praise his genius fair, 
 And mourn that he so young was taken There ; 
 And let some glistening drops purl down, to rue 
 That few are born to be so poetry-true — 
 That few love music with a child's own love — 
 That few may sing new songs of stream or grove — 
 That few may delve the depths of man*s own mind — 
 That few may love the deeds of their own kind — 
 That few may, child-like, sing in manhood on — 
 That few, greed-proof, live blessed all alone ! 
 
 Ye melancholy Hours ! garland for his grave 
 Sweet perfumed flowers — or tang from the wild wave 
 16 
 
242 Poetical Works. 
 
 He sang to when he wandered by the sea, 
 
 And marveled at its weary majesty ! 
 
 Oh ! strew upon the mound that covers him 
 
 White HHes given you by Seraphim ! 
 
 He earned them — he a hero of fair song ; 
 
 Who loved his lyre, his art, and music's throng, 
 
 More than a kingdom, or a titled name — 
 
 He worshiped Her, fair Muse, with lasting flame ! 
 
 Oh ! sing to him rare symphonies of love ; 
 
 About his grave, from your rare urns above, 
 
 Let incense rain, to keep his tomb-flowers sv/eet ; 
 
 And on his mound let grow the rose, so meet 
 
 For such as he : the troubadour ; the bard ; 
 
 The seer ; creator ; and of Love a ward ! 
 
 Ye melancholy Hours ! he has died ; 
 
 But all his songs and works are death denied ; 
 
 They live, though he be in his oft-sung grave. 
 
 And he hath on the mighty Spirit- Wave 
 
 His fair, allotted place — we know not of 
 
 Save that it swells on to rare Heaven's Love! 
 
 Oh ! thoughts that wallow in the sea of madness, 
 
 And dreams that float in lakes of morbid sadness. 
 
 You need his pen that sang so tunefully 
 
 Of all your lives ; but now his soul is free 
 
 To soar to regions all beyond eyes* ken. 
 
 He hath emerged from the low crowd of men. 
 
 He may have seen his dreams, or known their 
 
 worth. 
 While o'er his death dawned soul's new glorious 
 
 birth! 
 
Francis Saltus Saltus. 243 
 
 But for this world no other may indite 
 
 So well those moods born of grim vice, or fright, 
 
 Or sights the madness see. He was alone 
 
 Their great depicter ; though he ne'er lay prone 
 
 To their disasters ; but imagination rare 
 
 Let him feel, know, and do as madmen fare ; 
 
 And from his will those moods were flash-like 
 
 born — 
 His powers were fresh and sane like glorious 
 
 morn ! 
 
 How like a shadow of some glorious cloud 
 
 That roams o'er hills and peaks, where winds are 
 
 loud ; 
 Down sylvan steeps, o'er oceans, calm or riled ; 
 All o'er this world he wandered, a fair child, 
 An unassuming boy, a man of truth, 
 A mortal in whose mind was rose-fresh youth ; 
 A ghost of glory and a spirit of sheen. 
 With thoughts of all men glowing in between 1 
 The pangs of love, the curse of pelf he knew, 
 The hell of vice, the charms of friendship true ; 
 All, all this world breeds, foul or heaven-fair. 
 Swelled from the inspired strings, as wind in air. 
 Nor left the lonely flowers unsung — that show 
 That God had thought of them as of soul's glow! 
 And where too fearful sights had startled his eyne, 
 He knew they were quaint nature's deft design ! 
 Ye melancholy Hours! when Sappho's dirge 
 Had faded in the ages* dusky surge, 
 In Scotland's glades a plowman sang her strains ; 
 
244 Poetical Works. 
 
 And Poesy had mounted magic wains 
 
 To flash anew such songs that thrill a world. 
 
 And true as roses will be e'er unfurled 
 
 By nature's never-lessening resurgent power, 
 
 So ever blooms rare Poesy's rosiest flower ! 
 
 And though we think her lyre's strings unstrung, 
 
 A bard unknown comes forth, like morning young, 
 
 To sing of light, and air, and water, and fire ; 
 
 Of dole and joy, despair, and sweet desire ! 
 
 So will those sounds of an Amphion new 
 
 Spread 'neath this green-swayed country's glorious 
 
 blue ! 
 And he hath need of some sublimer praise 
 Than nations to their common mortals raise. 
 A hero on the field of thought and feeling ; 
 An emperor to music's heart appealing; 
 A god in the strange realm of romance weird. 
 He for all nations had a temple reared 
 That will outstand the pyramids of yore. 
 His songs and works are like the ocean's shore 
 On whose soft sands the waters ever run, 
 And never will be less within the sun ; 
 Since one of universe's powers reigns 
 Supreme o'er them — so will his glorious strains. 
 Though o'er them Slander tries to gain her power, 
 Be never lost — since on them angels did shower 
 A lasting freshness, so that men must love 
 Those melodies inspired from above ! 
 
 Sweet Saltus ! rare and dreamy features thine — 
 Who may deny thou wast a man divine ? 
 More, more than others was thy heart so soft — 
 
Francis Saltus Saltus. 245 
 
 Thou wast beloved by powers 'way aloft, 
 Where now thy Spirit hath more sweet a way 
 To make immortal thought's pure glowing lay ; 
 Where to thy nature's moods thou canst now weave 
 In Spirit-language songs that no more grieve, 
 But that inform all who may love thy strains 
 That in rare Heaven all that's earthly wanes ; 
 So that our all immortal dreams may be 
 For once a Spirit's sweet reality ! 
 
 Oh ! new rare country of the free and brave, 
 
 Mourn, mourn, that he had known such early grave ! 
 
 But all rejoice that he had left behind 
 
 High songs of beauty — lays like summer wind — 
 
 And ditties, fair as tress that Cressid curled 
 
 When, near her, founts of nectarine waters purled ! 
 
 And glowing sonnets — stern or sweet or rare — 
 
 And moans of madness, wild as winter's air — 
 
 And jewel-strains of passion and desire — 
 
 And elegies fair-toned like Angels' Choir — 
 
 And thoughts strung to a carcanet of song — 
 
 And dreams that lash the soul as Satan's thong— 
 
 And hundred harmonies of new acchords 
 
 That come to man from Heaven's myriad hordes ! 
 
 Come, sound the organ ! sing an anthem sweet 
 
 For all his works sung in his still retreat — 
 
 Where he with Spirits thought, communed, and 
 
 learned 
 What in man's inner self had ever burned ; 
 What in our dreams doth riot, or what spells, 
 What glows like light — what like sea-surges swells. 
 Come, sound a praise for hi^ heroic life ; 
 
246 Poetical Works. 
 
 To work with love in streets where pelf is rife — 
 To sing for love in towns where vice is free — 
 To chaunt for love on fields where warriors be. 
 Doth he deserve not the rare laurel-wreath, 
 Or the high praise that men to bards bequeath ? 
 He let the rushing flood of men, not sure 
 Of what they do, flow on to its own goal — 
 While he was child to his true Mother-Soul ! 
 
 From these fair hills and dales, the Hudson rears, 
 A young Amphion's gone ! — Oh ! shed some tears, 
 You noble trees that heard the arrows' twang 
 Whizz through the air when battle-helmets rang ; 
 And proud Bourgoyne surrendered to your haunts 
 What makes a King that he his power vaunts — 
 And you, you golden flowers in smiling sprays, 
 Half-nodding, half in pride, through summer-days. 
 Your sunny hours beguiling — think of him ! 
 And graceful wood-side birk, with tremulous limb, 
 And silvery leaves, when through you breezes blow, 
 Let the fair tune be soft, and plaintive low — 
 You columbines, the cliffs' fair venturous daughters, 
 When o'er you flies the spray of toppling waters. 
 Let wails be heard in where the dwarf-bird builds 
 Her unseen nest ; — and you, rare flower, that gilds 
 The haunts of springs — you golden violet ! 
 Murmur to the quiet bubble : our eyes are wet ! 
 And you, trim gentian, mourning through the 
 
 fall- 
 Where m.eadows stretch their luscious grasses all — 
 Fold your sad purple petals that they tell 
 A singer no more warbles in wood or dell ! 
 
Francis Saltus Saltus. 247 
 
 And you, proud downward sailing waves, that crowd 
 Past towns, and fortress — past great cities, loud 
 With traffic, to the Atlantic's stormy surge, 
 Resound for this our poet a mighty dirge ! 
 
 He loved the stars at evening, when they seem 
 Love-tears illumed — in longing's tender dream. 
 He loved the moss in wood's dim lone recess, 
 And loved a maiden's love- warm sweet caress. 
 He loved all nature loves, that nature hates — 
 All that our heart affrights ; our soul elates : 
 The silk-downed petal of the pigeon-flower — 
 The soft low murmur of May's first warm shower — 
 The gloom that comes when Hesper shines in 
 
 glow — 
 The haze that swims o'er all when young swains 
 
 mow — 
 The carols, clear as drops on lonely pool — 
 The still retreats where airs are sweet and cool — '■ 
 All, all he loved, with child's own love at heart. 
 And loved them all when he from us did part 
 In manhood's years — when other things should lead 
 To win a title, or be a king of greed ! 
 
 But he hath an immortal name — he glows 
 In Heaven ! — and from the skies his splendor goes 
 To all the world ; till in the future's days 
 That starlight will grow to a glorious blaze — 
 As when a nearest meteor flashes down : 
 The night is glowing with light like sun's own 
 crown ! 
 
LOVE. 
 
NOTE. 
 
 This was written in 1885 in the White Mountains, at Fabian's. 
 
 The storm, described in middle of the poem, is a transcript of the 
 storm which transpired there in August of the same year, of which 
 the author was a witness. 
 
 The second poem was written in 1891 in New York, 
 
LOVE. 
 
 SWEET RECOLLECTIONS. 
 
 All after this morn's pelting thunderstorm. 
 That whitened the high peak ; gave fuller tone 
 To all the rushing stream; and cooled the air; 
 When the sun left the blue sky's zenith ; — all 
 The birds chirped through the pine and ash-tree 
 
 woods ; 
 And when the August-sun had warmly looked 
 Askance at the gray mountain-range ; O then 
 It was that I strolled on the mountain-way ; 
 And breathed the afternoon's fresh balm, and joyed 
 In its gay mood. 
 
 Along the gushing stream 
 The Amonoosuc, whom the Indians named — - 
 I heard its legends lull the long thick grass 
 To quiet sleep. I thought to hear the names 
 Of noble warriors, who, aglow, had shot 
 Their arrows o'er its crisping waves — to pierce 
 The heart of deer, or eye of savage bear. 
 Or, then, heard murmur, by the gurgling fall, 
 Fair lonely Indian lowers, birds, and does. 
 O how they played, and gamboled o'er the meadow 
 
 251 
 
^^^ Poetical Works. 
 
 Gilded, and bluey, and rosy — flushed with clover 
 And flaked with gold-eyed daisies ; how they swarm 
 Through the stream's petulant waves — their 
 
 bronzed shoulders 
 Borne gracefully — and all their long thick hair, 
 Black as the lushest ashbud's, when a breeze 
 Blows winter to the North, astreaming back 
 Like glossy bands of purest jet — ^be jeweled 
 And sparkling. Then saw I fair-formed Indian 
 
 maidens 
 Weave o'er the mossy floor of the dark-wood 
 Their sacred dance ; with flowery garlands o'er 
 Their rounded loins; like fragrant bunches seemed 
 Their bosoms, heaving free; — and shining fair, 
 As shines the hazel, when one ray of sun 
 Pierces one side, through many a sappy leaf ; 
 And wreaths twined in their flowery tresses black; 
 And how their joyous ebon eyes flamed bright! 
 But soon these visions slow dissolved 
 As Hymen's fumes, that from the altar rise, 
 Curl languidly — then melt within the shade 
 Of lemon-groves — where fragrance dreams alway. 
 Ah ! so those visions fled my thoughts, as far 
 Away flowed now the legend-whispering stream 
 Whose waves the low-grown willows hid. 
 
 The path 
 Now crossed the meadows — and a pine-tree brake. 
 My eyes were wandering with a full-blown cloud ; 
 Or trailing some ravine — that shot its beaded foam 
 Headlong ; and trimmed its sides with richest 
 
 green. 
 
Love. 253 
 
 Or musing with the distant golden clouds, 
 Caressing with their warmth the high mount-rocks ; 
 And darkening some high gulch ; or giving reins 
 To some long-prisoned sentiment — that flowed there 
 
 fast 
 Its strong reproaches to the earth. 
 
 My thoughts 
 Were by my distant love. O each sweet thought 
 Grew sweeter in my loneliness ; each word, 
 Recalling all those days, was changed to songs 
 That harmonized with her dear sweetnesses 
 And lovelinesses. I asked my mind for signs 
 Of love — if truly she had loved me then. 
 Then whispered it in softest tones to me ; 
 " When first you saw her — seated lonely there 
 In midst of students learning skill in art — 
 She knew not you. And back of her, you drank 
 All that her perfect maidenhood exhaled. 
 You saw her limbs crossed — like the tender vine 
 Clasping the blossomy twigs of one lone bush 
 Of suckle, in whose lower murmurous leaves 
 Bright passion-flowers sing songs of summer's 
 
 breeze. 
 She dreamed of no strong man she loved — hence 
 
 gave 
 To passion's languid bidding willing sway. 
 But when you knew her better — when you told 
 Her low of views on Alpine heights and vales: 
 When she had said that she had dreamed ago 
 By Como's flowery hills — had sung in joy 
 When greeting Monte Rosa, flushed at morn — 
 
5^4 Poetical Works. 
 
 When breathing icy breezes, blown from glaciers 
 
 high 
 In Rhone's wide cradle ; when she knew that you 
 Were so like her — then she would sit sedate 
 And seem so innocent as any child. 
 So must she then have felt soft love spring fair 
 For you — she loved you then — aye loved you ! " 
 I bounded as I heard. I gazed — and stared 
 At one white cloud blooming like giant-rose. 
 And then I was aware that five short paces 
 Only I walked — and all seemed said in less 
 Than five short seconds. Now in passionate words 
 My mind said on — for proofs of love were blooming 
 Like largest Sharon roses, dewy, flushed, 
 After a brief May-shower. 
 
 " Do you remember 
 That happy morn, when she was there to draw 
 With you : that morn, when you had wished to be 
 Her neighbor, so to whisper in her ear ; — 
 But you sat back of her, as is the sun 
 To his sweet love, the earth, when winds and hail 
 Are driven by fair JEolus to lands 
 Of azure seas and emerald peaks of ice ; 
 Her perfect nose ; her flushed cheek ; one eye ; 
 And one sweet ear ; and the quaint swell of ruffles 
 That heaved now fast, now quietly, were yours 
 To gaze at, while your hand was shaping lines 
 To form a tender youth with arms and eyes 
 Uplifted, praying to his mighty Jove : 
 Yet would she speak no word to you. At times. 
 Her two smile-eyes would show their magic glance • 
 
Love. 255 
 
 Her lips would form a rose-bud ; and her dimples 
 Shine lustrously, like pinks in sunlight-glow. 
 Aye she would gaze at you — and longing shone 
 From out her eyes. Then, dreamily — one arm 
 Would rise — and arch above her dreamy head — 
 And she would seem like maids by Capri's cave — 
 Who play their castagnettes awhile, then droop 
 Like dripping flower, a dreamy beauty form 
 With yearning arms, and passionate eyes that yearn 
 Excessively, upon the lawn that cools 
 The chestnut-roots ; — and lulls the olive-leaves. 
 All wafting tales to the calm sea! So, often, 
 She only turned for you — to see you there ; 
 She loved you then — as sure as love bespeaks 
 The strong desire to see the one beloved !" 
 
 One moment I did smile to hear such words 
 Indicative of love. One instant sped 
 My glance to where the raven seemed a vulture 
 Against the bluey mount. One eye-flash sped 
 To where the river muttered low its woes. 
 Then kissed I a thousand times my love — and kissed. 
 But my mind would rustle the colored leaves 
 On memory's lawn ; and joyed : 
 
 " Do you remember ! 
 'Twas on that same sweet morn, she came to you ; 
 All voluntary — unbidden ; but seemingly 
 Driven to you as Lilith went to Adam — 
 With mood that joyfully meandered through 
 The gardens of desire ; and dreamed to entice ; 
 Waylay; ah! woo and tease, befriend her lips 
 
256 Poetical Works. 
 
 To his ; so came she then. She stood with hands 
 Pressed on her blooming thighs ; her fair curled 
 
 head 
 Reclined to one dream-side. Then as you asked 
 Her tell what she did think of your design, 
 O then she hovered all before the sheet 
 As a mountain-swallow hovering o'er a pool ! 
 Before it settles at the brink, to sip 
 The fresh cool water. Long she gazed — deep- 
 thoughtful ; 
 While you, in sweet suspense, did wait her answer. 
 Then turned she round — and said — O how describe 
 
 it? 
 How quaint her lisped accents fell ! how deep 
 Their meaning lay! How love-gone, Lydian-lulled 
 Their swell had strayed to your lorn heart ! Her 
 
 eyes 
 Beamed ; all in one word she her heart outpoured. 
 She gave her whole pure soul in one sweet sound, 
 Reverberating through your mind ; she spoke 
 One word : * O perfect ! ' and she flushed — and 
 
 glowed — 
 And seemed to burn ! Then stepped she near to 
 
 you — 
 And blushed all warm ; as though she played with 
 
 Love 
 At giddy meritot; till all her breath 
 Had flown ; and all her blood came sprinkling pink 
 On her sweet cheek. Then sprang she with wild 
 
 Love. 
 O arm in arm as happy girls dance gay 
 
Love. 257 
 
 When flowery June wings o'er the rose-bloomed 
 
 hedge. 
 O hopped with Love through burning fields aflame 
 With deep-red poppies, sprinkled with corn-flowers. 
 Then swung with Love on one strong serpent wand 
 Of aged vine — whereon were strung full roses 
 And mignonette, laburnum, and wild flowers. 
 O how the wind blew fuller as they fell 
 Upon the fragrant air ; and waned in song 
 As through the scented balm they flew ; till, swing 
 And flowers left behind, they rambled o'er 
 Bright orient lawns; and culled such blooms, that 
 
 orn 
 The richest chamber of a Daiman ! 
 Then ran they, while the wildest songs flowed by, 
 To slumberous nooks ; aroused the fays, and danced 
 To strummings of the elfins ; how they circled — 
 O how they spinned, till Love and she were borne 
 On mossy flowery canopies through air 
 To where you stood ; and how she glowed by 
 
 you ! — 
 • O perfect ! ' rang around the glistening room ; 
 It swelled your heart. * O perfect ! * With her hands 
 Uplifted, she seemed like Danae, when amazement 
 Flashed from her eyes that saw Jove's gold rain 
 
 down! 
 She longed to tell you her sweet thoughts — ^but how 
 Abashed you looked — how silent was your tongue. 
 How like the arum-lily drooped her head. 
 And like the white rose paled her cheek ! Alas ! 
 The deep loves of you two had met at once; 
 17 
 
258 Poetical Works. 
 
 And as the amorous breeze when wooing soft 
 The cool east wind, both breathe on one another — 
 O what deep calm pervades the airs around ; 
 What stillness reigns! So were you too those mo- 
 ments : 
 It was the calm that thrills the lover's soul 
 When speech is silenced by the meeting thoughts 
 Of cither's love. And all the morn that word 
 ' O perfect ! ' sang to you in harmonious tone. 
 O then she loved — for love sees all in hues 
 Enhanced — and deems all fair that is not fair — 
 And magnifies the qualities and gifts 
 Of the beloved. Aye, she doth love you truly." 
 
 Such sweet avow^als proving love rung loudly 
 
 Round my entranced ears ; so that the birds 
 
 That perched on ash, and oak, and spruce, sung wild 
 
 In thrilling carols their surprise and joy. 
 
 And when the lispings of my mind grew faint — 
 
 And murmured only, like the western breeze 
 
 That sucks the saffron-speckled mere, and wooes, 
 
 With liquid lip, the sleeping enchlore wold. 
 
 My path was auditor of one wild falls, 
 
 And roaring pool. And there I whiled some time. 
 
 To left there moldered an old mill — all gray 
 
 And black from storms and lightning's sudden burn. 
 
 A monument of labor and busy days. 
 
 A ruin, crooning through its rotten boards 
 
 Of barter by the brawling brook ; of thrift 
 
 Anear the blue-brown thicket ; now it stared 
 
 Aweird in solitude ; a mill forlorn, 
 
Love. 259 
 
 Left to the bats, — or for sad shelter scant 
 Of some lost wanderer. The roost for ravens ; 
 A nook for owls that with their sparkling eyes 
 Light the darkest corner, when the moon is high. 
 There stood the mill, whose trellised boards below 
 Got drenched with the spray, and foam so fresh 
 Of the white falls. Felled pines lay strewn about. 
 And weathered lumber lay in midst of vines 
 And white, blue-berry-draped rocks. Ere foamed 
 The gushing waters down in tumbling course, 
 There straggled some dwarf-pines adown the slant 
 Of glistening water-sleeked quartz; there bloomed 
 The white-flowered winter- berry — so daring, 
 To flourish near the mount's wild whirling falls — 
 A wild Charybdis for the small white bloom ! 
 Terror-thrilled frothed the roaring torrent down 
 The caved, colored rocks ; its spume spat wild ; 
 Its spray seethed, fleeting ; and its libertine 
 Loud song of exultation to the pines 
 Startled the flowers, as they gossiped there 
 And smiled 'neath mossy stones. It dragged along 
 The bluey veil of distant dome-like mount, 
 Thus tinting all its cream-soft flood; and caught 
 The distant summer-thunder — and raged adown 
 Its narrow flume — till all its growls of wo, 
 Its moans of wild despair, and haunting pain, 
 Plunged with one thunder-thud in an eddying pool : 
 A basin, whose wild-waved bosom whirled a million 
 Pink-shivers and splinters, red as pine-tops are 
 When blight has bronzed their needles' green. And 
 shot, 
 
26o Poetical Works. 
 
 In curves and dashes, streaks of pale golden bredes, 
 Passed jutting sparkling rocks adown the current — 
 Lost in a dark pine forest. And farther on, 
 Some long, long, eagle-flights from where the roof 
 Of the old mill shone — there a deep blue mount 
 Rose, like a giant-mound in Thor's great garden. 
 A deep blue shroud, so lucid, that there glimmered 
 Athrough the trees of the high mount — and, like 
 A silver spangle, the stream, that in white bredes 
 Sped down a gulch. Above there rolled gold clouds, 
 With purple tints dark shadowed — with gradiant 
 
 gray 
 Soft rising to the lustrous foamy gold — 
 Such scene and view absorbed my thoughts ; such 
 
 roar 
 Confused my mind ; such wildness wrought a mood 
 In me, forgetful of myself — oblivious 
 Of musings on my love. 
 
 I left the falls— 
 And turned, to take the same path as I came 
 To stroll homeward. In the distant shining clouds 
 There rose a rumble — that subsided grim 
 To one low howl; till, rolling, like stray rocks 
 Adown a granite-ledge, through the drear space, 
 The sounds seemed like the low, faint ripple-rune, 
 Rising from forest-brook. There was a storm 
 In yonder mountains ! 
 
 Again the clouds seemed loud. 
 Again an echo ran up the mountain-sides. 
 And leapt, with sudden bound, in a voiceful gulch. 
 And all this time my thoughts still heard the roar 
 
Love. 261 
 
 Of the wild thunder- falls. But as the waters 
 Flow down and meet with boulders, mossy stones — 
 Their fierce sounds softer grow — so with myself 
 Soon was my mind melodious — and it sang. 
 And thus I listened to my mind again. 
 To lusty lays it seemed to tune its lyre. 
 I listened — for the accents fell like drops 
 Of fragrant fountains falling on a bed 
 Of roses : 
 
 O carnation-blossoms faintly 
 Resemble that day's super-glow and scent. 
 Take Eden-garlands, wreathe them with the aid 
 Of vermeil-fingered angels — let such lips. 
 That smile when all the Cherubs chant their hymns 
 Of jubilant joy, breathe o'er their brighter glow 
 A scent that fills rejoicing minds with fire 
 O such that flamed when Ruth saw in the corn 
 Her lover there ! And lastly, let such throngs 
 Of folds of saffron, emerald — and sapphire 
 Fan a low breeze around you ; so you hear 
 Through it the melodious tones of Angel-strains 
 And happy Heaven-harmonies ; such, on earth, 
 Mozart sublime had taken from Heaven's Halls, 
 And soothed therewith all low dejected minds ! 
 May mimicry, may pen of greatest scribe 
 Make clear that momentary attitude 
 Of your sweet fondest flower? Who can tell 
 What breath shook trees when lightning flashed? 
 What flower drooped its head, just when the night 
 Was purply glowing — seemed for a moment's space 
 A sea of light and light? Who may? Who may! 
 
262 Poetical Works. 
 
 But I shall whisper you how sweet your love 
 Seemed when unconsciously her love for you 
 Burst to fair passion — and she swayed her form — 
 Ah ! who but poets have sweet power to tell 
 What happens swiftly — all unseen to others — 
 So with a poet's words I will describe 
 What then you saw. Now, listen to me — now 
 
 listen ! 
 Alll students were industrious that morn, 
 When you walked to your easel. Then you cast 
 A glance at her, who with her friends did talk. 
 When she saw you — oh ! how she startled sweetly — 
 She lost her staid composure, and to love 
 Surrendered — aye, to languid love — it seemed 
 Her love lost hold of tendrils — and her heart 
 Bound joyfully — as when a flower torn off 
 By amorous Zephyrus — doth flutter free 
 Away o'er meads of daffodils — and plains 
 With cowslips gilt — with blue flags velveted! 
 Her sudden love played in her limbs — it seemed 
 Her frame was like a twig of rose-bush fair 
 With one rose-bud — that madly fluttered o'er 
 The scented fields of passion; how the leaflets 
 Tremble in the breeze ; the twig dances lightly on 
 As doth the bud; that heaves, droops, waves, 
 
 responsive 
 To Zephyrus — as he doth sigh, or smile ! 
 So was her frame : her languid arms were raised 
 To grace her softly heaving bosom — how her feet 
 Rose violet-high ! — O how her body seemed shaken 
 Like a bush of lilac, when its sprays are swaying 
 
Love. 263 
 
 Just aft' the bluebirds left their night's warm lodge 
 To sing a carol to the morn ! So drooped she — 
 So wawed she — sweetest thrall to tender passion. 
 ' 'Tis said to us through ancient lore and lay 
 Of Acrisius, King of Argos, old and great, 
 An oracle had said : his daughter's child 
 Would slay him; then he built a brazen tower 
 Upon the bourne of his domain, and cast 
 Therein fair Danae ; to seclusion doomed 
 Far from the sight of men, the dream of love. 
 *' Aye, rather let her die, than let her slay me ! " 
 Said he Acrisius, King of Argos old. 
 And so lone Danae in that brazen tower 
 Lived pining. But the gods are powerful more 
 Than limited man — so Jupiter, high god 
 Of all the gods, with his all-seeing eyes. 
 Saw her; — loved; contemplated — wooed, and won! 
 Then when he entered — and Danae saw him — 
 Why wonder that she trembled, gazed — and 
 
 blushed — 
 When on her bosom showered those countless grains 
 Of purest Olym-gold. So was your love — 
 When she let flow one short lived " oh ! " from lips 
 That pursed unconsciously. How can one weary 
 To tell of such sweet mood, you saw that day! 
 It seems that, as on waters by Ind's temples 
 There cradles sweet the glory-lily fair. 
 Her maiden-mold was swayed by songs of love — 
 As opes, in languid, lolling June, the rose 
 Its crimson petals to the sky — all sudden; 
 As rifts the clotid, when Aeol blows upon 
 
264 Poetical Works. 
 
 The Atlantic isles — and thus reveals a space , 
 
 Of brightening azure — how the rose-bee joys 
 
 To suck the juices from the soft pink petals — 
 
 The libant libellula darts to the bush 
 
 Where safe it sippeth from the laurel's chaste 
 
 And purply-eyed blossoms small ; and far 
 
 The gauzy-winged hummer strays to watch 
 
 The sweet suffusing blush of bud burst red; 
 
 So seemed her love to bud to sudden passion; 
 
 That thrilled her body — and made her carol sudden 
 
 Its wild delight — at your approach that day! 
 
 She loves you — thinks of you — for passion blooms 
 
 But at the thought of him who flamed her heart! "' 
 
 So spoke my mind to me — in luscious language. 
 
 And well I recollected that odd day 
 
 When, bashful, I forebore to speak to her — 
 
 Not knowing hov/ to act — after I saw 
 
 Her tremulous shape, and heard that sigh of love ! 
 
 But it shall e'er be in my memory — 
 
 Sweet tended to, as the fire in the fane 
 
 Of Vesta — kept well watched as rarest treasures. 
 
 Then, dreaming, strayed I past the gadding vines^ 
 The bryony, that clung to hedges old, and worn 
 By mountain-fiends : nor failed to touch the flowers 
 Of tender stems, with flitting wings of blue; 
 And on the meadow found the lush straw-berry. 
 That greened on some late plant, and ruddy glowed 
 Its tempting face, to win, and buzz the lips 
 Of such as I : the dreamer of the mounts, the seer 
 
Love. 265 
 
 Of their vast range — the prophet of their skies! 
 
 The herds grazed drowsily; the steeds stood shy, 
 
 And, browsing, turned ; then galloped far, as though 
 
 In fear. The birds piped through the liquid eve 
 
 Delightful canticles ; nor left a word 
 
 Of carpings 'scape the wailing wind's sharp tongue ; 
 
 For every purl was pure, and harmonized 
 
 With all the melodies that nature rang! 
 
 " 'Tis such that glorifies great nature's works : 
 
 Its harmony! . . . What breathings multiplex; 
 
 What sounds of pitch inscrutable ; what lays 
 
 Of softest tones, as not to be distinguished ; 
 
 What clamors rise from out of nature's maw ; 
 
 What clangors start from the awe-universe 
 
 To bound against our globe, so wonderful! 
 
 What music, low and elevate, we hear 
 
 Resound in air; and all are one! of one! 
 
 Though myriad- voiced, from one source pouring fast 
 
 To one new spring of sound; a various joy, 
 
 Belonging all to one fair, mighty song ! 
 
 O, glorious revelation ! marvel-thought : 
 
 Design! — In nature nothing jars. The man 
 
 With steam and ugly sounds doth spoil the law 
 
 Of nature's harmony. Let God be praised ! 
 
 He thought out a world for fairest breathing 
 
 meant ; 
 But man, with greed and restlessness, hath set 
 A brangling voice to mar the purer life : 
 Deep adoration to the marvel-world 
 Of harmony ! ** 
 
 So thought I, as I gazed 
 
266 Poetical Works. 
 
 Upon the distant mountains — with their crests 
 Here capped with down-Hke snow — there crowned 
 
 with clouds, 
 That pinked with the decHning sun; while near, 
 The swift song of the laughing waters gushed. 
 And swashed in numbers rapid of gone days: 
 Where even-time was worshiped with hands folded, 
 When souls spent incense through the fading air 
 To heaven ! And by the rushes flew the fowl. 
 Nor hastened fast — for here was lonesome spot: 
 Retreat for those that fled the booming rod: 
 Invention's dire offense to man and beast ! 
 Then trod the road. The evening spun its web 
 Of Quiet; Silence sat upon the peaks; 
 Repose grew calm along the gulches' sides; 
 And Piety strew round its fresh'ning balm, 
 O'er sky and dark'ning landscape ; for the sun 
 Was shedding gold upon the lagging vapors — 
 Was red'ning the dun dugs of the fair vale, 
 And glanced yet o'er the highest pines — and lost 
 The sweet embrace of one arm of our earth! 
 
 All seemed a sepulchre of some hierarch old: 
 Where strong mails kept true watch, and voices low 
 Trailed sweet, but sad, their hymnal o'er the tomb: 
 Till full-sonorous, joined the guardsmen : deep 
 And plaintive songs of long-mourned losses, 
 
 brimmed 
 With moaning and bereavement. So the eve 
 Full rendered obsequies monarchial 
 To dead day! 
 
Love. 267 
 
 And the mystic raven spotted 
 The gleaming West ; and rooks, in wavering flight, 
 Wove weirder speckles athwart the shining pane 
 Of evening's drab abode! and loiteringly 
 I dreamt : by haw-haws, and their vying vines 
 With golden tendrils, burning leaves, inmixed 
 With the far luster of the western glare. 
 
 So loitered. Till a gloom o'erspread the vale. 
 Nor weened I what its cause; so turned around — 
 When lo ! the brightened West was shrouding fast ; 
 As runs, so rapidly, the storm-swept wave 
 Upward the sand — till its froth-mouths devour 
 Each particle of beach, so swung a cloud 
 Its huge weight o'er the distant mountain-head. 
 Or as in wind-storm swinged forest-fires 
 In far Nevada, when the floods are dried, 
 Smoke-flames swift cowl the loftiest pines, so 
 
 covered 
 Tremendous clouds the dying West; till, goaded 
 By unseen giant howls, it spread itself 
 To the sky's zenith, where it broke; and lunged 
 Askew— aslant — and prone, in diverse ways: 
 As o'er some plane, vaste slab, below a cliflf 
 By shuddering Baflin's waters, the towered wave 
 Is weighted ponderously down — and battleth 
 With myriad-flashed thought, to win again 
 Its brothership, within the surging sea. 
 So that the heavens heaved, and quailed, and lashed 
 Their fury within themselves; dashed furiously 
 Their thousand-fingered hands against each other. 
 
268 Poetical Works. 
 
 Rage-stricken! with dire shocks of Titan-wrath 
 Convulsed their bodies 'gainst each other, till 
 It seemed, as when upon a wide far plain 
 Quaint battle raged : 
 
 Fierce Huns with Saracens; Moors, 
 With dusky faces, brandishing arage 
 Their sabers ; Teutons, club-arms, warding homes 
 From unkempt matrons, clasping virgins boon : 
 Defending lusty arms their purport low, 
 Protective ; cries of cheery glory ; wails 
 From pierced throats and breasts — and rushing gore 
 As woodland streams, heard from afar, when no 
 Soft Zephyrs blow, to lull their leaden gurgle. 
 A war of warriors multiform — with odd- 
 Shaped panoply, free morions; gorgets; gloves; 
 Gilt hauberks; others, girded with cow-hides; 
 And shafts, from hoary pines, the airs wild menace ; 
 Bare features, crowned with curls : and slings of 
 
 flax. 
 Or fashioned with their spoil's black curls ; a swarm 
 Of men and women strange, and charging fierce 
 Without the boom of cannon — ^but with voice 
 Of victory, and lamentable loss. / 
 
 Such scene. 
 From some high promontory viewed in quiet. 
 Resembled the waging clouds and airs. 
 
 "And now 
 The tumultuous skies flashed forth quick zig-zag 
 
 streams 
 Of fire: short — swift — in intervals swift — short; 
 Now denser bulged the flood of dimmest vapors : 
 
Love. 269 
 
 Insidiously uptowering — swooping; caught 
 By flames, impacting hard, then scattering — 
 Yet centering, as stronger bulks, with firm 
 Allision, brooked the raged course, hence these 
 The victors. As before the world was welded 
 Firmly out of dun chaos; some Heaven's Angel 
 Beheld the shapeless vapors ferment, foam, 
 So stood I, staring there ; nor felt this globe 
 Beneath my awe-bound feet ; surprised — confused — 
 Confounded — such was I, unconsciously 
 Dissembling spectator sublime of vast 
 And humbling spectacle in the aerial domes. 
 Against the Cimmerian mountain-chain, there rose 
 A rim of gray: as seen, at times, on nights 
 Of tempestuous moon; the ghastly mock of bands 
 Float — lurch — and stream uncannily through clouds 
 Of appalling form, with riot running through 
 Their thews. And rising, hid the crests; and hid, 
 The mountains disappeared; while through the 
 
 zenith — 
 As o'er the savage coals, in wilder regions 
 Formed hard, with leaping swiftness swarms the hot 
 And burning naphtha — penetrating — sped 
 By sallow brands, that flicker, flash, and flame — ■ 
 Some demon-essence boisterously sprang ; and shone 
 Its furious bounds in livid light; then roved 
 More mystic fluid, colored as the pink 
 That garbs the Arab, dashing o'er the waste — 
 Far, far from Bassorah, with falcon awing, 
 And piercing, with his scream, the desolate air. 
 Then gleamed athwart the tumult of the storm 
 
270 Poetical Works. 
 
 Wan green — and sulphurous glow; there seemed 
 
 to be 
 Wild combat 'twixt fell throngs and brows serene — 
 Pitch-showers, with flower-rains of songful flowing ; 
 Heaven-vestments, torn by gory claws — and wails, 
 And anthems, striking discordant, yet in strange 
 Unison! All while the mountains disappeared. 
 And faster sped the gray rim o'er the sides. 
 And now my nostrils smelled the air on fire, 
 Lightning-lit; the brewing spent its odor keen, 
 Nor clashed, in tremulous beats, the thunder far 
 Unheard — but louder, growling as the lion 
 That shakes, and sounds Comoro's cliffy shore, 
 It roared its joy supreme — as king, as lord 
 Of skies and earth ! With timorous moan it left 
 The squabbling skies. Approaching, with clear 
 
 shawm. 
 The lightning's purple ire — then clattering low 
 Its shattered cymbals, gongs and drums, wherewith 
 The thunder's train sounds wild, despondent notes, 
 The storm-foreboding resonance died — -as by 
 Yon ancient groves, in centuries' halls of thought, 
 Ephysian youths were wont to revel deep 
 In vintner's sweet delight ; to swell the gourd 
 With wine — and gulp it ; to swim in dreamy sweets, 
 Lewd, sportive; sing with luscious bunches, culled 
 At moments lecherous and fresh; and lyre 
 Their vine-laced curls to dreams Lucullean; swoon 
 Before couth epicurean bosoms, panting, 
 Dew-fraught, from lips too-amorous, swelled by 
 
 passion — 
 
Love. 271 
 
 Soft pillows for their fuzzled brows — when late 
 At eventide; while nightingales chant free 
 Their dulcet ditties — through the dark'ning trees 
 The dithyrambic throng moves gleamingly : 
 With loitering dancers' heads, twined arms — 
 With raiments flowing — curls fumed with the breath 
 Of envious breeze — and with the far, far swash 
 Of melodious named stream, the laughters gay; 
 The tambourines, mad-tinkled; cymbals, tapped 
 By fairest of the feasted maids; the songs. 
 Half-chafing, half hilariously broken in tone, 
 And mutterings of the teased, with their quips, 
 Commingle faint. So played the thunder, lord 
 Of lofty welkin, his various song of growl. 
 And trembling clash of drunken cymbal clear. 
 Now waxed the odor of the heavens; flashed, 
 With lightning mixed, athwart the airs and land; 
 Contagious; — caught — the scent grew rank and 
 
 sharp. 
 Pervading all; till, as gray Hades fumed, 
 All stunk with prickling scents; nor cave 
 Of Pluto showed less odious sulphur- fumes ! 
 
 ^' O, thou who wellest forth the poet's heart ; 
 Who shinest his soul! Thou strengthen me, my 
 
 pen; 
 Depict with worthy words what now ensued ! 
 'Tis all too vast a subject for the Muse, 
 Muse, Heaven-born! yet with thy guidance rare 
 My lofty flight may wing its burden on 
 As conqueror! Such subject — out of air, 
 
272 Poetical Works. 
 
 Out of the void of art; with no quiet aid 
 Of ancient works or thought antique, as gild; 
 A memory! witnessed in the mountains hoar. 
 Self-taught; self-thought to breathe its life 
 For eye that saw not; subject never drawn, 
 Nor penned, to dare the sword of judgment pierce 
 Its sensitive core. O, lofty theme! proud end! 
 The Muse blooms only when the love is virile — 
 It liveth when the Spirit's fire-truth 
 Flashes through soul ! O, thou, who wellest forth 
 The poet's stream of thought — guide me — till words, 
 Divinely sent, will glow ! " 
 
 So noised the skies, 
 While shifted on the gray- white vapor broad 
 Over the mountain-heads; the mountains lost. 
 The pine-tops lost their blue. As living sheet 
 Drawn o'er some mighty waterfall, that stems 
 Its flow with seething foam, and sky-lost froth. 
 With spume from rock-dashed boles on boring 
 
 pillars 
 Of boiling water, towering thick above 
 The high rim of the fell — till all weave one 
 Huge, broad white sheet of coiling spray — so 
 
 loomed 
 And neared the vapor 'neatli the sounding storm. 
 And whiter grew, as more approached the vale. 
 As incandescent suns, hurled carelessly 
 By monster-will dow^n the abyssmal depth 
 Of the strong universe, till, spinning, less 
 The law of mind or fore-design — circle swift 
 
Love. 273 
 
 Within each other — nor spare recoil — nor falter, 
 Offensive to each other, smite themselves, 
 Conflicting grimly — till all swim in light — 
 Amorphous — a welded mass of glaring silver — 
 So seemed the sheet of white, now driven on 
 By sudden-sprung blast, that echoed loud — and blew 
 Its ghastly blare, though blown within some maw 
 Of nether-demon^s craggy world! The sheet 
 Blanched village-huts in distance; a mile off, 
 Invested roofs with snow — till the last house 
 Submerged; and, greed-like, lashed it onward fast 
 Like fog-bane, fleeting o'er the angry roar 
 Of Boothia's icy deep. Soon sped within 
 Some eagle-circuits from the stream, that chafed 
 Its dread in hoarser monotone to me. 
 Was this the ultimate shield the earth wove stanch 
 To daunt its creatures! a wall, firm and vast. 
 To crush all on its raging storm-like speed: 
 Devouring — killing — impassive — ruthless, sworn 
 To reap its ire, to be the last great feat 
 The earth could boast of ! What would come ! A cry. 
 As vain as questioning Death what fields of blooms 
 They view, when our brothers, one by one. 
 Expire ! 
 
 Then heard mine ear a seething sound, 
 That oozed from forth the nearing sheet; a buzz. 
 As though the swarms of Hybla were let loose 
 To drown oblations, sung by virgin-nymphs. 
 Oak-sheltered, fanned by fragrant winds of Levant. 
 ■A chirring bustle, as the clouds, that roll 
 O'er Gobi'c sands (when the sun dips its crown 
 18 
 
274 Poetical Works. 
 
 Into the Lion's mane, to gild its tiar 
 With more than gold) ; a living cloud, with life 
 And voice ! — a wonder ! wandering, death as wings 
 O'er wastes, to home upon the boundless fields 
 Of far Calcutta — preying, and destroying! 
 As heard, on magic nights, the wild witch-wave 
 Of dark Walpurgis, when o'er dauntless Brocken 
 Broods deepest ebon dream, and but the sigh 
 Of one wan moon faint gleams their horrors dread, 
 Unspoken ! — so swelled a sound withforth the sheet, 
 That now its whiteness waxed : it seemed so huge 
 As avalanche witho'er some Alpine vale. 
 That gorges village, rocks and vale! — forever! 
 The whiteness eked wroth; its fury lashed 
 With harshest tones, and brangling hate ! as from 
 Some jasmine-bower — with one — you startle — list! 
 Gruff quarreling, and brutal cries, and voices, 
 With wine excited, rise to jangling sounds; 
 Disputes intolerable increase — all wrangle; 
 Their loud, discordant screams pitch round yon 
 
 manor, 
 That gilds its muUions, flames its turrets ; while 
 
 'bove 
 The quiet hill a wreath of hues dispels 
 The glare of one who shone throughout the day ! 
 
 O, ward me from such rage ! what deaf 'ning tones 
 And surges loud uproar! Have oceans vast 
 With seas unboundable conspired, to friend. 
 And rise — and force their weights, united strong, 
 At once upon me, shuddering man! What noise! 
 
Love. 275 
 
 And winds that howl — and seething, flashing spray ! 
 
 Huge-towered — bastioned to foam of waves, 
 
 And beaten by a thousand-tongued blast. 
 
 Unearthly! Is this the death-gasp of the globe! 
 
 Is this the pain-moan of the skies ! the roar 
 
 Of vanquished heaven — the end of all that's fair ! 
 
 How all ungovernable the wind! the blast 
 
 Jeers at strong nature's laws, with strength to sunder 
 
 The Himalayas! burst their peaks — drive them, 
 
 As flock of huddling sheep is by the dog 
 
 Fast driven — and push their load and magnitude 
 
 Beyond the interstellar lones — as though 
 
 Its force resistance superpowerful 
 
 Had 'gainst that awful law, that claimeth all 
 
 To earth, and centers each strong link within 
 
 The matrix of our mother-earth! And such 
 
 Was the fleet might of wind, that drove the sheet 
 
 Within me. And my senses were all swallowed; 
 
 My breath was gone; my eyes were pressed; my 
 
 ears 
 Were ringing with a thousand roarings — all 
 That make the body live — were, for the blink, 
 As dead; till consciousness broke loose, as spark 
 From some dead stone — so sudden flashed to light 
 By wonder-impulse : quick as leaps of waves, 
 Fast down the giant-rocks by Fingal's towers. 
 Into the dashing tumult of drear surge: 
 The ocean's voice ! So could I then be aware 
 What grandest storm was combating the scene : 
 O, indescribable! 
 
 But with the wand of fair, 
 
276 Poetical Works. 
 
 Sweet Poesy shall my slow numbers sway 
 Their warring words to harmony of flood : 
 That with odd whirlpools, maelstroms, with 
 Charybdis' boiling battle, all hemming rocks, 
 Indomitable ! within the main its troubles 
 Doth tranquilly impour; so flow my tempest 
 Of words, despite of jarring sounds, and trumpet- 
 blares, 
 Into the calm, and wide profound of thought, 
 That lives when I am not ! 
 
 Tell, tell ! the thoughts 
 When saint beholdeth lure of lewdest love — 
 Alone — in chapel-solitude — and Heaven high 
 Within his pious gaze — what stirs within: 
 Revolt at bondage — heart-chains clanging loud — 
 Desire — a zest unappeasable — a hunger 
 And thirst unquenchable — insatiate — 
 Wild conflict with a troth that tears his flesh — 
 A pledge, that leereth mockingly — a pain, 
 That prays for death. What maze of thought. 
 With piercing stings, runs through his brain : to do, 
 Is sin — to desist, is agony — to kill, is sin — 
 To murder, is damnation. Codes are canceled — 
 New vows are pledged — hell enters heaven — the 
 
 saint 
 Falls man! What race of dreams wild froths 
 When kisses ring no longer, and Satan fell 
 Lies writhing in the prints o' the action's tread ! 
 May'st track each swift reflection's trail — may'st 
 
 seek 
 To catch each firm design, that quivers fast, 
 
Love. 277 
 
 As silver-drops withthrough some marble-ruins — 
 May'st find thy path to sloughs of abject smiles 
 To hovels of vice ; may'st scale the lightning-ladders 
 That join the soul to heaven — else soar, with pinions 
 
 of sakes, 
 To have revealed to thee the fervent prayer : 
 " O, save ! let me be shrived ! " 
 
 Tell, tell, what storms 
 Withthrough the feelings roar, when one stands, 
 
 armed 
 With weapons brought by others, before a lass, 
 That kneeleth : eyes that shine like dew at even — 
 Hands wringing wildly — bosom bare ; a hope 
 To be then spared ; and hair all streaming round. 
 What feelings heave within him, rough at heart, 
 A man that lives to kill — a man whose home 
 Is death, and slaughter; what may rush to stay 
 His dastard act; what foam to hasten the stroke; 
 Ah ! how he frowneth as compassion ; what 
 May quell his gory stream of thought; what do 
 To show him sky, and lead him to the right! 
 
 Tell, tell ! what hurled within the Mind of Him 
 
 Who formed the void : with Unity, as Law ! 
 
 Shaped images, so vast and diverse-drawn. 
 
 To people; to feed; to joy; to entertain 
 
 This globe! How sapient He! What wond'rous 
 
 floods 
 Of giant-thoughts rushed; what gigantic trains 
 Of marvel-ecstasy permeated through, 
 And filled His Soul with sweet Designs! Say, 
 
 may'st 
 
278 Poetical Works. 
 
 Thou fathom how His Mind was builded, had been 
 
 taught ! 
 (But teacher He Himself — and all His knowing 
 Out of Himself — nor could a wiser Mind 
 Have thought before! 
 
 ^'O, God! Thy Majesty 
 Is far too vast for Thy lone child to think 
 Upon! A flash: an age of knowledge; a blink: 
 An aeon for creations multiform; a word: 
 Ten thousand tomes of sapiency divine ! 
 All horded lore of cycles past is but 
 One pearl of dew that wanders lone and proud 
 Withthrough the expanse sublime of heaven's air: 
 Unfathomed — unvoyaged ! to that unknowable 
 
 Store, 
 That resteth balanced in thy Scales ! O, God ! 
 And shall we know the more when Thy great Good- 
 ness 
 Calls us within the glowing Halls of Heaven! 
 Or will earth's knowledge worthless be; since 
 
 Heaven 
 Is not as earth — and welded otherwise; 
 And bliss of brain is not the jubilant sense 
 Of soul ! Since all must molder, and the Spirit 
 Outlasts Eternity!") 
 
 May'st wot how tore 
 Along the currents of His Will; how plunged 
 Within His Sea of Awe some Wonder- Work: 
 A mood of Lighting — a Sense of Power and Thun- 
 der! 
 Tell, may'st thou seem to know what smote His 
 Thought 
 
Love. 279 
 
 To marvel out a World — such that the thoughts 
 Of billion times a billion men could ne'er unravel ! 
 Tell, tell, what Partisan had fondly swayed 
 Him to give ear to kind protection — heed 
 The beaming lip of sufferer's recompense; 
 And not kill the nefarious ill of wrong. 
 Of mad thought, and the insupportable weight 
 Of last despair ! What struggles dragged His Mind 
 To submit to One great, stern Decree: Death, 
 
 Death ! 
 May'st follow the wild race of musings deep 
 That had as goal Eternity! May'st gaze 
 Upon a Brow that thought upon a way 
 To unite a labyrinthine life to Love ! 
 May'st master how the flash-like Mood, aye, Whim ! 
 To sit, as Lord, as God, on empyrean Throne 
 Seized His ineffable Spirit, when It moved 
 Not yet all o'er the depths of ebon void ! 
 Who can — who will ! None — not a one ! Nor may 
 God's huge thought e'er encompassed be by man! 
 God's thought it is — and God's it shall remain 
 E'er last! 
 
 So stormed the skies, and hail hurled 
 
 through 
 And, driven by steeds of lightning on, snow fell. 
 There moaned the menaced winds, and waved their 
 
 wails. 
 As gale-pushed swells, upon the far Pacific, 
 Their doleful dirge. There blew the tearing fiends 
 Their deadly blasts, and slew all in their race : 
 And bending trunks of trees, as reeds; and twigs 
 
28o Poetical Works. 
 
 They grasped, and swept them through the storm. 
 The torrents gushed ; and seethed furiously : 
 Like steams of geysers through a thunder-cloud, 
 Where weird Kamtschatka mourns. And, thick and 
 
 fast, 
 The hail, and snow, and rain drove down the 
 
 heavens, 
 That groaned loud; nor exhausted all their rage: 
 Commanders of the wilderness of warmth 
 And cold ! As boiled the pools of Simois 
 Their deafening surge and tumble, swirled and 
 
 spumed 
 The ocean-air of deep-embittered storm. 
 That fought as fought of yore the demons of hell 
 Against the lily-throngs of angels pure, 
 Victorious ! 
 
 Sounded shriek-like now the gust; 
 It pierced the trees, that sighed and soughed ; it tore 
 The storm, and slung the elements : confusion 
 Around; toppling in such emotion wild 
 As bales of high pine-trunks upon a sea 
 Of old tradition, when grim Wodan was 
 The terror of all beings ! 
 
 There stormed the trains 
 O f phantom-courses — sable-hooded — draped 
 With pale robes, long and wide! How fleet the 
 
 steeds ; 
 With supernatural manes and tails — flooding: 
 As lashing spray of myriad levantins — 
 That splashed the mythy white of the cold sea: 
 Far back in lays of crystal queen and king, 
 
Love. 281 
 
 Upon their emerald thrones! how wild the arms 
 
 O' the wilder ghosts sway out their swiftness — stay 
 
 With jerking breast-bounded vehemency, the rush 
 
 Of the infuriate, foaming nostrils! How 
 
 The hoofs, with rings of hollow bones, chafe sullen, 
 
 As though a swathe of mystic music wound 
 
 About the sparks, that flashed at each bound made. 
 
 What song of deathly intonation darts 
 
 From forth the speeding race, and spreads its 
 
 surge : 
 Upwelling — then subsiding — round the train, 
 Appalling with its frantic flight ! And is 
 It passed ! or follow coursers more, and fill 
 The aereal plains with never-wonted play! 
 
 Unceasing hiss the hollow-throated winds: 
 Fable-Boas — ichored god-like, winding. 
 And writhing their blanched coils in agony 
 Intense; high leaping for a spoil afar — 
 Surcease for torrid hunger. Lash on lash 
 They gash deep wounds withon their torturer: 
 The furious cloud. Assailant and offenced 
 Harsh moan their pain — while none die — both 
 Are spelled to warfare all unending — doomed , 
 
 Eternal adversaries! 
 
 Shelter sought 
 I in a lonely shed — and so could see 
 And hear, unhurt, the storm. It whipped the roof ; 
 And the cold waters splashed around me — sleet 
 And snow drove passed, as thought, athwart the 
 brain, 
 
282 Poetical Works. 
 
 Momentous memories! And faster driven — 
 
 As though it were Levanter furious, 
 
 In seconds fired across the sandy plains, 
 
 The wind, rage-company to the tempest frore, 
 
 With fleetness, (mortal ear would doubt its speed) 
 
 vSuch that a planet shows, sped o'er the vales. 
 
 Then flashed the lightning! 
 
 Words are wanted, tell 
 The levin's movements — all its ways and tricks 
 To stound the cowering beast — to awe the savage, 
 And bow the wise head. Thoughts are shrugged 
 
 and paled. 
 The mind hath nought to paint the storm's swift 
 
 force — 
 The storm's indomitable means to herald 
 The coming terrors of its brutal train : 
 A train of demons, having voices, as the gales 
 Upon peaks, icy-cold; and groans and growls. 
 As lions, overmultlplied in cave-abodes, 
 All warring with their speech, imperially swayed, 
 To deaden the very monarchs of the airs. 
 
 The lightning streaked — purple-painting — dashed 
 in quivers ; 
 A rainbow-coloring sifted through its traceless 
 And soundless path of light ; it struck itself. 
 And split its light ; and rushed unevenly ; 
 Glowed — fitfully flashed — unmercifully burned ; 
 Till, as it quivered into being, so shivered 
 Its glare into the unharmed storm ! And all 
 In less time than the eye may see, than mind 
 
Love. 283 
 
 Hath power to grasp an infant-thought ; a wink ; 
 A flash ; a flash : and nothing there ! and lo ! 
 A crack ! 
 
 As though the mountains heard them- 
 selves 
 Fall toppling o'er each other ; as though a forge 
 Of giant-frame were struck by a myriad large 
 And heavy hammers — at once ! As though the 
 
 wolds 
 Of all the world were felled : their crack uproared, 
 Mingling in cloudy heights ; and warring wild 
 With common sounds ; a concord, loud with awe ! 
 Then growlings growing — howlings mowing deep 
 The loudest winds — and crashes, cutting sharp ; 
 And moans and groans subduing the loud angors. 
 The thunder raved ! 
 
 Destruction, with its menace, 
 Cut huge trees ; rent the huts — and spared no spot ! 
 Revengeful, left its stamp of ire all over ; 
 Till in the storm the wind rolled by ; the rain 
 Swept the hot air- — the sleet snatched what it could ; 
 The snow tore ice, and slapped the trees, and sent 
 Its chill throughout the storm, yet in its fury ! 
 Yet howled the violent winds, and thunders yet 
 Rolled — lightnings dashed across, and gales their 
 
 horns 
 Blew still with dreadful note ! 
 
 As in the home 
 Of ducal family, when feuds uprose 
 'Twixt stern brows and the bluest eves, the ties 
 Were sundered ; and the chambers, all forlorn, 
 
284 Poetical Works. 
 
 Were tenanted by spirits ; while they spoke 
 Distrustfully ; discoursed with scorn and spite : 
 Till one most beautiful hour, when Even shone 
 Her tiar with jewels of an orient luster, 
 There smiles the cheek of one, and frowns of him 
 Smoothe, as the ruffled bloom, when left to nature! 
 And stern brows shine in glory, and the eyes 
 Of sapphire hue englow their orbs, and peace 
 And concord join their whitest hands — 'tis well ! 
 Disputing blooms devotedness ; and quarreling 
 Queries, with warmthful rays, for quips and quirks: 
 O, 'tis reconciliation by the hearth ! 
 In nations : loud dissension's afterglow ! 
 The kiss of unseen spirits on both brows ! 
 In nations : revolution's bright'ning bloom ! 
 O, change of wrath to bliss — of wo to joy — 
 O, change of life to death — of death to Heaven! 
 So changed the storm to quietude — so changed 
 The tearing winds to whispering breezes ; so 
 The whirlsleet strayed above the mountain-tops ; 
 And so the snow lay soft upon the vale. 
 The thunder played musically through the gulches ; 
 The lightning streamed its beauty through the skies, 
 Now breaking — bulging into forms. 
 
 The storm 
 Had passed ! 
 
 And through the lagging clouds a moon 
 Of silver paleness rode in wo — and bleared 
 The vapors with a saddening stream of drops 
 Of light. The calming airs seemed strange : with 
 breath 
 
Love. 285 
 
 Of magic freshness ; and a warble lonely fell, 
 From mount to mount, with plaintive cadence ; all 
 Wore legends ; and a mystery hung low 
 Its pale, gold shroud ; a stillness sat in calm, 
 And odors bristled their tenuous fumes : it was 
 The dream of one who sees with other eyes 
 And hears and feels by supernatural frame ! 
 
 And while the clouds had clomb the peaks, the 
 vales 
 Breathed out their plaints in weary veils, and films 
 Of mystic-moving vapors ; till kissed slow 
 By the sad moon, a bow of iridescent light 
 Clung over them, and with them moved ; with dreams 
 About them, languorously reached the peaks ; 
 Till in the unknown melted. And more and more — 
 Till like a fairy-land the heavens seemed : 
 So calm and beautiful ! 
 
 Now stars sparkled through, 
 And lit the skies ; and but the drops, trickling down 
 The delusive trees and shrubs, whispered that storm 
 Of terror had been beating drums of battle 
 A violet's-bursting-time ago ! 
 
 How serene ; 
 How beauteous the quietude ; the balm ; 
 The magic sense of such an eve : with moon 
 To paint — and stars to glow — and vapors lone 
 To mystify the woods and mountains* cowled crests. 
 
 O, boon of nature. Aft* the tumults, fiercely fought ; 
 Aft* wildest wars betwixt the elements, to shed 
 
286 Poetical Works. 
 
 Upon the battle-field a sanctity, 
 A sweet breath of the dearest peace ; to bring 
 Beatitude before untamed confusion — 
 Pervade the air with music, and with scents : 
 Such that a Mustapha would love to hear, 
 And drink ; suffuse about the mountains wild 
 An essence, hushing their low wail — and ring 
 Them with a calmful song of solitude ! 
 Unheard — but felt within our inmost soul ! 
 
 In such Seraphic air I joyed the evening hours ; 
 As marvel-gardens by some Persian stream, 
 When dream-Arabia told its tales, and sung 
 Its fancies to the maidens, flower-robed. 
 Such air, as in some park enchanted, filled 
 My way ; and by the moon I knew the flow 
 Of laughing brook ; and saw the silver-birk 
 Waver its fillets to the wide-winged breeze. 
 Such languid breath wove weird illusions round, 
 As by some Harem, float the dying fumes, 
 With songs to way them to voluptuous realms! 
 
 And as the last slow vapor saw itself 
 Within the moon, and gloried in a crown 
 Of jewels — my thought lingered — till the moon 
 Enchanted it ! And, in its beams, I dreamed ! 
 
Love. 287 
 
 TO A GIRL AT ''CLEOPATRA" PER- 
 FORMANCE. 
 
 Saturday nighty Feb. 20, 189 1. 
 
 I DO not whisper that you haunt me — 
 Nay, once a death-face haunted me — 
 
 But you do round my forehead garland 
 Rich roses, keeping sweet your memory! 
 
 As you did come so sudden behind me 
 
 Unwittingly my head did turn ; 
 And when I saw your face and bosom, 
 
 My lips for your rich lips did yearn ! 
 
 My glances, as bubbles streaming shoreward 
 
 To run against each pearl or shell, 
 Swift streamed to where your eyes were dreaming- 
 
 Ah ! me ! were doomed my heart to spell ! 
 
 O Eros ! she had large brown eyes fair. 
 With tress hued as the bleached sedge, 
 
 When on it lingers the warm sunset. 
 And birds cheep by the rosed ledge ! 
 
 O Eros ! she had lips so languid 
 
 And rich, and hued like shell's own lips 
 
 That whisper to the Southern ocean — 
 Or like a rose from whom dew drips ! 
 
 O lips ! that seen, melt all one's sorrow, 
 And longing lingers in one's breast — 
 
288 Poetical Works. 
 
 Such lips that Venus had when dreaming, 
 And spelled her lord with sweet unrest ! 
 
 O Eros ! lips that thou hadst given 
 
 To women only, and to love — 
 For when they quiver, love's emotion 
 
 Doth ever sweetest peeress prove ! 
 
 O Eros ! hers was like the swan's neck — 
 
 So white, and round with beautoaus grace- 
 All like the neck of a full lily, 
 
 So lolled it 'neath her languid face ! 
 
 And like the swell of white-rose petal 
 So curved her neck to her full bosom, 
 
 That heaved beneath rich ebon laces, 
 As, on a pool, a snow-ball blossom ! 
 
 A bosom, like the purest snow-swell 
 That rested on a pine-cone high, 
 
 To which the fluting breezes murmur 
 When birds sing 'neath a clear blue sky! 
 
 O Eros ! like a Peri was her figure — 
 Her face, with innocence still there ; . 
 
 And oh ! those eyes and lips would languish- 
 Methought I heard Love's dulcimer ! 
 
 And ever while the tragic passion 
 Of Cleopatra thrilled mine eyes, 
 
 My heart was drawn so warmly to you — 
 You strange one, built so Houri-wise ! 
 
Love. 289 
 
 Not all the opulence of Egypt, 
 
 When Antony wooed her queen, 
 Would lure me from thy languid eye-glance, 
 
 From thy pure bosom's snowy sheen ! 
 
 Not all the jewels, scents, and music. 
 
 That lay where Cleopatra lay. 
 Would be as was the strange emotion 
 
 While seeing you in your array ! 
 
 While knowing your fair eyes sweet falling 
 
 Upon me, as I glanced at thee — 
 While thy strange aura was sweet mingling 
 
 With all my heart's strong wizardry ! 
 
 Oh ! while I blushed ! — Oh ! did you see me — 
 You must have had — for you would seek 
 
 My glance e'er after — at the ending 
 
 Your eyes were on my bliss-wooed cheek ! 
 
 You peer-creation of God's morning so — 
 You woman-maiden, soft with dreams — 
 
 From you did languish love's own languor, 
 As murmur from Jumna's lotus-streams ! 
 
 You Charmian of my queenly thinking — 
 You mirror for my love-spelled eyes — 
 
 From you had I those hours been drinking — 
 Such nectar rare, where Lethe sighs ! 
 
 You languorous, womanly, beauteous maiden, 
 
 With tresses like a bunch of blooms 
 
 Of those rare faint-gold Everlastings — 
 
 Yet unculled for earth's virtue-tombs ! 
 19 
 
290 Poetical Works. 
 
 Oh, Eros ! she was not of thine own, 
 
 For she breathed life by Lethe's bourne — ' 
 
 Oh ! she was goddess of love's languor ; 
 To love-lost Venus she was sworn ! 
 
 Of you I thought more than of Sarah 
 
 Divinely acting Egypt's queen — 
 No art was needed for your witchcraft — ' 
 
 You were art's fairest apogeen ! 
 
 Oh ! languorous mouth, oh ! languorous bosom- 
 And languors, in thine eyes, slept, rapt ! 
 
 To languish in thy soft arms' fondling, 
 Would make me in love-languor apt ! 
 
 Before I saw you, magic thrilled me, 
 And magic made me gaze on you ! 
 
 And when I saw you, magic awed me — 
 
 And magic thrilled me through and through ! 
 
 So that I could not but adore you. 
 
 And gazed, till your eyes knew my gaze.'' 
 
 Oh ! then we both felt love's emotion, 
 And either's longing was ablaze ! 
 
 So was it when Jove looked on Juno — 
 Olympos glowed in rainbow-hues — 
 
 At once Jove wrought the fairest rainbow — 
 And music sweet as from sea-mews ! 
 
 But we could only gaze, and wonder — 
 We could not let love's thrill impart 
 
Love. 291 
 
 What, if my lip had touched your roselip, 
 Would have been fire in either heart ! 
 
 Oh ! fate — thou mocker of our pleasures — 
 
 Thou tantalizer to our love — ■ 
 Thou showest me such love-lulled treasures, 
 
 Yet never dost a donor prove ! 
 
 Oh ! Venus fresh from ocean's frothing, 
 Make way for this my sweetest maid. 
 
 On Lesbian waves she too may born be — 
 Or lie, adored^ 'neath Pyrian-shade ! 
 
 You strange one, built like fairest Houri, 
 With strange faint-golden, flaxen tress, 
 
 And Lethe-eyes, and richest lips for kisses — 
 My song's for your rare loveliness ! 
 
 Oh ! could you listen to these murmurs. 
 
 Like Amphion's, when he soothed the stones, 
 
 And grant me one more thrilling love-glance, 
 I should translate you to Heaven's thrones ; 
 
 For you are worthy to be borne, triumphant, 
 Like Cleopatra, through pomp's halls — 
 
 And still more worthy for your beauty 
 
 To have for you Heaven's peers as thralls ! 
 
 For to your languorous woman beauty, 
 
 A childlike innocence is wed. 
 That makes you like a Nais, playing — 
 
 Yet meet for Daphnis' rapturous tread ! 
 
292 Poetical Works. 
 
 I could translate you to the heavens, 
 That nightly in the stars you shaped 
 
 A set, eclipsing rare Orion's, 
 
 With softest light forever draped. 
 
 Or could I know your name — you have none — 
 
 Save one that poets only give — 
 To those whose charms are so transcendent 
 
 That only on their lyres live ! 
 
 Oh ! live there like the airs ^olian 
 
 That sound but when the breezes blow — 
 
 So do those names ring sweetly only 
 When poet-souls stir through them so ! 
 
 So live you, strange one — Houri-beauteous ! 
 
 Within this song I sing for you — 
 When others hear it it shall thrill them 
 
 As you had thrilled me through and through ! 
 
 I do not whisper that you haunt me — 
 Oh ! once a death-face haunted me — 
 
 But you do round my forehead garland — 
 Rich roses, keeping-fresh your memory. 
 
A BATCH OF BALLADS. 
 
 THE SUBJECTS TAKEN FROM ACTUAL OCCUR- 
 RENCES IN MODERN DAYS. 
 
NOTE. 
 
 These ballads were written at intervals during 1891 and 1899. 
 
 Those I do not mention below were taken from books. 
 
 " Wanda von Flanders " describes an actual occurrence that 
 happened in New York in 1897. 
 
 " The Frozen Crew " is from life. In 1891 the papers recorded 
 the incident in barely fifteen lines of print. The author wrote it at 
 white heat in five hours' time in 1891. 
 
 " The Sweet Nightmare " is original. 
 
 " A Poetic Day " is a personal incident. 
 
 " A True Story " records the actual life of a hermit and his 
 daughter in the woods of New Jersey. Written in 1897. 
 
 •* The Monk's Deed " is original and imaginative. 
 
A BATCH OF BALLADS. 
 
 THE SHORT STAY ON EARTH OF WANDA 
 VON FLANDER. 
 
 Of love that burnetii vestal-true — to sucH 
 My lyre I tune — so her fair name be kept 
 Alive in minds of men, when dead I be. 
 
 She left her woods and fields — her mansion old — 
 And crossed the deep sea to Columbia's fold. 
 Ah! Wanda — sixteen summers rosed her face 
 And German air had rounded her body's grace. 
 Bright eyes — how large, ingenuous-looking they — 
 Curled tresses — ^brown as is the summer-bay — 
 Moist lips — quick tongue — and teeth as white 
 As grains of corn seen in noon's bright sunlight; — 
 Plump shape — to please a satyr in the grove. — 
 A heart, she had brimmed sweetly with true love. 
 So came she here. 
 
 She left a large fine home — 
 But youth's pulse urged her far from home to 
 
 roam. 
 Alone she fled — to seek adventure strange, 
 To feel convinced she could unhampered range 
 
 295 
 
296 Poetical Works. 
 
 And not hear only censures from her own — 
 
 But live all independently alone. 
 
 Such character she had — like some of ours 
 
 Who flee th' parental roof at sudden hours 
 
 To find new life in cities large — and end 
 
 Their young days sadly — without a nearest friend! 
 
 Who cares for poverty — who gives a mite 
 To lonely girls that wander through the night: 
 Friendless and sad? This Wanda knew full well — 
 So that she was prepared with want to dwell — 
 As waitress at a plan cafe she worked 
 And never any of her duties shirked. 
 When yet a child she was so fond to dance — 
 She imitated ballets at a glance, 
 And, so unpleasant to her mother's sight- 
 High kicking was her infantine delight. 
 This latter gift — for all that comes aswift 
 To us, is but of Heaven a kind good gift — 
 She used, to bring fond smiles to visitors ; 
 For when they came, her antics made them stay. 
 Her beauty seemed to keep them well in doors — 
 But soon the owner sent the girl away. 
 Yet, when she found a new place, they would go 
 And homage pay to Wanda's tricks and glow. 
 Ah! do not passage birds fly to the dales 
 Where beauty-trees give fragrance, shelter, shade? 
 Then why should men not follow some fair maid 
 In whose sweet presence rose-bloomed mirth pre- 
 vails ! 
 
A Batch of Ballads. 297 
 
 One year she lived like this — at place and place 
 Waiting — and showing her high-kicking's grace 
 To tipplers, loungers, all who came to drink, 
 Smoke, chat with fellows, or to rest and think — 
 Till, two weeks after Wanda added one 
 Quick year to her sweet sixteen summers gone, 
 She saw a young fair man, whose face did sway 
 Her heart — she felt it beat — and he would stay 
 To see her dance — then chat and drink and sing — 
 And also he felt love's strange rummaging! 
 Oh ! love, the theme for all world's bards to come — 
 The cynic, in thy meshes caught, must hum 
 A tune thy influence prompted to some youth ; 
 And once at least to maidens rich and couth 
 Though they be mercenary, thy sweet lay 
 Will fall upon their ears with rapture gay. 
 Be festooned, arbor, where Love dreams to show 
 New souls what she sends so they thrill and glow. 
 And Love, thou abstract sense, that magic fails 
 To interpret justly — be where joy prevails — 
 For true love ever bursts the sluices warm 
 That fill our frame with heat as of June's storm. 
 Oh! Love, though Mammon rule — and Right 
 Sits judge through Mammon — thy all-quickening 
 
 light 
 That welleth in our souls, forever proves 
 That joy lives — where a swain a sweet nymph 
 
 loves ! — 
 
 They loved each other. " Wanda, you must bloom 
 My wife, and you will leave this vulgar room 
 
298 Poetical Works. 
 
 For three sweet others, where the sun will stream 
 In on you — while we both shall love and dream ! '* 
 No fairer words had ever struck her ears 
 Than these that Billy uttered — and warm tears 
 Of joy purled down her dumpling cheeks that day. 
 Next morn she went from the saloon away — 
 In richly ornamented rooms they dwelled 
 Like man and wife. Oh ! Wanda's heart was spelled 
 By genuine love — and Billy loved her deep — 
 Contentment shone — and joy was ne'er asleep — 
 Like festive hours their days were rose-enwound, 
 And happiness would fleet with dulcet sound 
 To their love-bliss. And Wanda felt her love 
 Grow stanch — and more and more her heart would 
 
 prove 
 To her own mind that she at last was blest 
 With one who shared with her love's loyal zest. 
 
 But man is mean at times though stronger-grown 
 Than frail woman. — Man has often shown 
 His brutish temperament — has proved full oft 
 That though his spirit come from realms aloft 
 He still is thrall to fleshly sin and shame 
 And drags into the mire his godly name! 
 But w^oman is truer, I should deem — she keeps 
 Her love aglow — though, for neglect, she weeps — 
 If once she loved — her heart will hold the troth 
 
 Till death. 
 
 So happened it that though they both 
 Loved one another all sincerely then, 
 'Twas fickle man who broke the troth the first — 
 
A Batch of Ballads. 299 
 
 And after two full moons — (of love the worst) 
 
 He left her waiting while with other men 
 
 And women he consorted — to the wo 
 
 Of Wanda, to whose heart this sudden separation 
 
 Seemed like a bolt of thunder — who could know 
 
 Why Billy left her in her desolation! 
 
 She waited days and days — but never came 
 
 Her lover — her young heart was clove in twain. 
 
 She ran to her fair casement; called his name; 
 
 Asked where he tarried — all, all was in vain! 
 
 So after days of long endurance, she — 
 
 To soothe her heart-pain — sang this melody: 
 
 Reverie. 
 
 When violet-thoughts sweet bound me 
 
 In childhood's happy days. 
 All seemed so sweet around me, 
 I trilled such simple lays — 
 But now, when in the world I'm wandering. 
 Its meanness and its woes I'm pondering. 
 
 They spoke of love's affection, 
 
 And said men had true hearts — 
 O God! see my dejection — 
 My only lover parts — 
 He swore he'd marry me — ah ! sorrow — 
 He broke his word upon the morrow ! 
 
 I've wasted all those hours 
 
 Through dreary fretful days — 
 
300 Poetical Works. 
 
 No more he sends fair flowers, 
 And he his calls delays. 
 Where can I find him — he's past finding — 
 Perhaps some other's heart he's binding! 
 
 I love him from my bosom 
 
 Deep, deep — and love has grown 
 Within my heart a blossom 
 That blooms for him alone; 
 But if he ne'er returns — my sighing! 
 'Tis best that I end wo by dying! 
 
 So doleful sounded this sad lay of hers — 
 
 Like evening-wind, that the gray petals stirs 
 
 Of everlasting blossoms — trembling by the bourne 
 
 Of some dark wood where pines and ash-trees 
 
 mourn. 
 She thought by singing she would lose the pain 
 Her waiting caused her expectant heart — ^but vain 
 Was all — love that hath the true mettle rare 
 Can only happy be when love is there. 
 And when the object be afar, life grows 
 A lich-field, strewn with monuments of woes! 
 Oh! Wanda sang — then to the window ran — 
 And looked adown the street — then she began 
 Again to sing — but, this time, passing swift 
 Her dimpled fingers through her auburn tress — 
 Because she felt an impulse wildly shift 
 From thought to thought — in her sad wretched- 
 ness. 
 She felt a deed take hold of her — she saw 
 
A Batch of Ballads. 301 
 
 Her fate rise — and it did her heart overawe — 
 She pressed her bosom — till she screamed aloud: 
 What should she do — no means to find her Bill — 
 For he had never told his name — how still 
 Her deep suspense — her thought was like a cloud 
 One sees in April speeding under heaven — 
 Dashed down — then by a sudden blast quick driven 
 Up to the blue, that still is streaked with cold. 
 Her thought grew desperate — poor Wanda lone — 
 Far, far away from your dear natal fold 
 And not a one to soothe you — not a one ! 
 Poor heart, fed with the legendary lore 
 Of Germany — and having in its core 
 The tendency to think that love is true — 
 Not only fit for idle flirts, that sue 
 Short pleasure moments — flitting then away 
 To sip at other blooms on th' following day. 
 Poor heart! these towns of burs ignore the truth 
 Of love — hence fickle is our pride-led youth. 
 Our girls are set upon the wedlock-mart 
 Till one rich man pay what the parents ask. 
 So is true love overthrown — the parents thwart 
 Fair nature's sweet design, that love should bask 
 In genial sunshine; so are love-ties torn, 
 And thus the mercenary trait is born! 
 What could you do, poor Wanda, in whose mind 
 Thy thoughts would love wreaths for another bind ? 
 Ah! many a day for him you bore his pain; 
 And now he never did come back again. 
 Your tender heart-strings needs must burst in 
 twain — 
 
302 Poetical Works. 
 
 For harshest pain is love, that's given in vain! 
 You thought, that when a man doth love, his heart 
 Would beat for her till death would either part. 
 You thought, that if you showed your love sincere, 
 He would love you forever — or far, or near. 
 But now you are aware that men can lie — 
 That men can be the slaves of perfidy! 
 Ah! sad but true, that men can make of love 
 A toy, and only sip the honey thereof; 
 And never be ashamed that they have blasted lives — 
 That they have killed those who should be their 
 wives ! 
 
 Poor Wanda slept but little through the night. 
 Awake, she thought of why Bill had not come. 
 But when she asked herself in wild affright: 
 Why he loved her no more, white as a tomb 
 Her cheeks grew, and her eyes stared round the 
 
 dark. 
 Then, at each sound, she startled, and would hark. 
 Those dreary hours — through that last night on 
 
 earth — 
 She seemed like Alcyone, upon the girth 
 Of the blue sea, when she had waited, waited, 
 For her own lover, on a galleon freighted 
 With rarest jewels, freshest fruits from Ind; 
 But never came he — o'er the breakers blind. 
 So Wanda waited — till the roses faint 
 Of sashed and ribboned Aurora blushed 
 Above the twilight o'er the land all hushed ! 
 Till through the satin curtains, diapered quaint, 
 
A Batch of Ballads. 303 
 
 Three rays of sunlight flashed! — till with a bound 
 Out of the bed she leapt. Then to the light. 
 She hearkened now. Oh! had she heard a sound? 
 She gave her fancy sw^ay: to see his bright 
 Young face ; but ever .she her head let fall 
 Upon her bosom — then grow to wo a thrall. 
 When dressed, her eyes they stared, they seem 
 Like windows of old barns, deserted long — 
 At time the whippoorwills call — and they throng 
 The copses on the hills, where fire-lights gleam 
 Of sudden — then die, as spray blown to the lea, 
 Where sweet verbena scents the sand so free 
 By lorn Del Mar. She frowns — she screams — ah 
 
 me! 
 Her thought is deep — she'll do it speedily. 
 But, ere she leaves the casement, there she sings 
 A strain of firm resolve: 
 
 Ah! Wherefore yet endure 
 
 The pain of life, 
 When I am sure 
 Never to be a wife? 
 A wife who loves her husband — but no other one — 
 A wife who lives for one alone. 
 
 Aye! I could live through years 
 
 A vagabond; 
 But then, what tears 
 
 I'd shed for him so fond? 
 Oh ! I was told that love is but for one alone — 
 Better be dead when love is gone! 
 
304 Poetical Works. 
 
 My Bill will ne'er return. 
 
 Aye, I will die. 
 I cannot yearn, 
 
 Nor, waiting, moan and sigh! 
 'Tis too much pain — so will I die this day— 
 'Tis too sad to live alone alway. 
 
 I'll die this day for love; 
 
 Let others sin. 
 But I will prove 
 
 That love shines far within — 
 Let others lead a life of shame alway — 
 But I will die this very day! 
 
 Her song was filled 
 With bitter sadness — ah! young seven years 
 And ten — your dreams, told when your childhood 
 
 fears 
 Were scarce unfolded, were ruthlessly thrilled 
 With the ideal, that seldom glows on earth. 
 Here, love is nought, but wealth has sovereign worth. 
 Then Wanda went to buy some poison strong; 
 Returned, she meditated yet some hours. 
 Her thoughts, grown dreamy, swelled to passionate 
 
 song, 
 While others floated, as on lakes dead flowers: 
 " Yea, die I will — for what is life — my life — 
 When never 'tis with love requited rife? 
 Those months with Billy were like queenly living; 
 He loved me so, and was forever giving 
 Me proofs of his undying love; but now — 
 
A Batch of Ballads. 305 
 
 He has brought me to shame — and crime; for how 
 Can love be true, if to another I 
 Give all my soul and heart and constancy? 
 Nay, rather die than, like my sisters weak. 
 Live on — committing sins of shame; or wreak 
 Their vengeance by tell-taling; nay, to death 
 I'll tell my secret — and live in glory there. 
 Above the stars, where surely blows an air 
 Sweet-suited for a soul that sorroweth ! '' 
 
 Then bubbled up a song so sad, yet sweet 
 Withal — that seemed some cropping crocus-bloom 
 Out from the moldered leaves, at Spring's own 
 
 feet— 
 For in it her young soul sang her drear doom: 
 
 Sweet is death, that cometh 
 
 With no pain to me. 
 I will dance — the mirror 
 
 Will let me my dancing see. 
 So to death's own portal I'll come dancing: 
 Like a joyous girl, to him I'll come advancing. 
 
 Then took she the strong poison! — With her 
 
 dress — 
 The fairest — round her curved loveliness. 
 She danced before the mirror. Ah! how fair 
 She seemed — like those dance-girls whom Solomon 
 Made dance before his throne's rich- jeweled stair, 
 So he be joyed. Ah ! Wanda danced till death 
 Came stinging her — came sucking her young breath ; 
 ^0 
 
3o6 Poetical Works. 
 
 And, when she felt the poison do its service sad, 
 And, fallen on the floor, she murmured soft: 
 " Ah ! Billy ! think of all the bliss we had. 
 Farewell! — I'll live for thee in realms aloft.'* 
 Then, writhing to the poison's pressure, she 
 Gasped her last breath in lonely agony! 
 
 THE MONK'S DEED. 
 
 All over the dusky heaven 
 
 A crowd of fiends move on. 
 It is the third wild even 
 
 Since she had died on earth without a moan. 
 I am a monk, you know; 
 
 And, with cowl and coat. 
 Through the dark woods I go. 
 But, when the moon doth gloat 
 
 Upon the cloister's tawny lake, 
 I wrap my head with cowl, 
 
 My wretched path no longer take, 
 But crouch adown — to scowl! 
 So hearken to what to me befell 
 Upon the day no funeral knell 
 Could signal her a human grave — 
 She rests low 'neath the brooklet's wave! 
 That night that wrought the ebon crowd 
 Of fiends, swift darkening all — aloud 
 I shrieked, as some lone mad girl would 
 Whose lover had left her to wan solitude! 
 I shrieked : " Avaunt ! ye faces 
 
A Batch of Ballads. , 307 
 
 That cut your wry grimaces 
 To make me ne'er forget 
 
 What I did her, that frightful night 
 When clouds were dark as jet — 
 
 The trees howled in a wild affright — 
 Avaunt ! " But ever they would cut 
 Grimaces — till their cheeks showed rut 
 And rut filled with fire — red fire — 
 (Oh! friend! dost know an avenger's ire!) 
 Three nights of torture have I spent 
 But ever there those hellfiends went 
 Before mine eyes that bulged way out — 
 So that my lips were urged to shout 
 As madmen, when their visions are live — 
 And all their reason is in a gyve! 
 Three days I so did roam about. 
 And every night the lowery skies were filled 
 With fiendish faces, that my reason killed — 
 
 fiendish faces, such Stylitus knew 
 
 When on his self-made rack he fiendish grew! 
 You ask me how I killed my love — 
 Far in that haunted chequered grove! — 
 Come 'neath the coolness of yon tree 
 Where the moonbeams not so watching be — • 
 In the murmur of that trickling rill — 
 There, there shall I your thinking thrill! 
 You know to fair Loisa's heart 
 
 1 was in bondage — and to part 
 From her were more than cruel sting 
 To all my being — (still I cling 
 
 To her as though she breathed her hour — 
 
3o8 Poetical Works. 
 
 Had Death urged me to kill such flower!)" 
 
 I cannot think it true! . . . We strolled 
 
 Together often merry, happy-souled — 
 
 To one fond grave where tiger-lilies 
 
 Grow thick, and where the daffodillies 
 
 Their golden heads droop in April's winds, 
 
 And where at times the stray white hinds 
 
 Assemble to lip the crystal waters- — 
 
 And where at night you hear the laughters 
 
 From Elfins upon the air — 
 
 As though a fairy feast were given there! — 
 
 O dearest hours of love-blest sw^eets 
 
 Now culling brier and marguerites — 
 
 Then kissing and caressing long — 
 
 All in the king-bird's rapturous song — 
 
 Then avouching that true love 
 
 Is best for souls that heavenly prove- — 
 
 All while day's hours floated around — 
 
 And summer was heavy with fragrant sound! 
 
 Alas! that petals of the lotus 
 With their blushing tips can fade away — 
 And breezes scenting a dreamy day 
 
 Can die when howls the stormy Notus! 
 So died those days of tendernesses 
 Sweet interchanged — and love-caresses 
 Were wilted, as leaves in Autumn-woods — 
 Because she had her will, her moods — 
 Loisa changed her mind — oh! she 
 Who called me noble, perfect, free 
 From any taint — could she have cheated 
 Me once — when at the morn I greeted 
 
A Batch of Ballads. 309 
 
 Her respectfully — and she did gaze 
 
 Away — which made my temper ablaze! 
 
 I followed her — she waved me aside — 
 
 My blood boiled — and inwardly I cried — 
 
 Yet let her go her way! ... A day 
 
 Passed by — the third, I heard one say 
 
 That she was friendly with a Count — 
 
 And loitered with him past the fount 
 
 Which we were wont to praise each morn 
 
 Since in our hearts our love was born. 
 
 I heard — I thought — I calculated — said 
 
 Three words — and thrust out a foot — to tread 
 
 The visions down that rose to haunt my brain — 
 
 Then swore — succumbing to my bitter pain! 
 
 " Aye, she must never lie with him — 
 
 And be the feather of his whim — 
 
 Aye, she must die — aye, she must die — 
 
 Ere she with that proud Count doth lie ! "' 
 
 Those words, uttered as summer's heat 
 
 Proclaims a storm with dark wings fleet. 
 
 Since then did roll within my rankled brain 
 
 As waves roll in from the eternal main! 
 
 Oh! bulge not out your eyes, that seem 
 
 As in the dusk's so darkling sky 
 Two holes, where the far heavens gleam — 
 
 For true, what follows rapidly 
 Is as a tale told on some phantom ship 
 That's in the Soath-calm's inextricable grip — 
 So listen: One night ere any glare 
 Witho'er the eastern hills doth herald 
 The moon's wan up-rise — she was there, 
 
310 Poetical Works. 
 
 Beside the woods, with her Count Gerald — 
 Behind a graceful group of birches 
 I stood concealed — when on their perches 
 The human-voiced owls moped on — 
 The two had thought they were alone — 
 
 friend — provoke no prepense sight — 
 Wait till I'll tell you all aright — 
 
 1 hearkened — like a lull at sea — 
 
 Or that between the ebb and flow of the surge 
 When to the sand the wave's snowclaws emerge- 
 Then downward glide — how silently! 
 Such stillness reigned around each tree; 
 Such agonizing calm prevailed — to me 
 It was as though some thunderbolt 
 Would crash and burn and raze a blooming holt. 
 Hast ever known wild jealousy 
 To creep so like a snail in thee — 
 Then be bewitched (when in your heart 
 It lingers), to a counterpart 
 Of tearing monsters working wild — ■ 
 So that you feel like lakes, storm-riled! 
 Such entered in me — and my hands 
 Did clutch each other — till like bands 
 Of iron both arms seemed to weigh — 
 My all seemed like inanimate clay — 
 And I fell prostrate on the ground — 
 Inert — praying to ease the wound 
 She caused me while I saw her there 
 In amiable talk with Count Ridaire. 
 I had my dagger well abelt — 
 O God! why had my anger dealt 
 
A Batch of Ballads. 311 
 
 So rashly with me — ^but I stood 
 
 Up — ran — a moment — and the wood 
 
 Did darken all my stature proud — 
 
 When to my love I cried aloud: 
 
 " Aye, once you loved me ; you did smile — 
 
 You called me with sweet phrases fond — 
 And called me perfect all the while." 
 
 I thought she would to such respond — 
 But, like a lull at sea — 
 Or that between the surge's ebb and flow — 
 The scene was still — and quiet so — 
 
 That not an answer quick quoth she — 
 But then the Count's sharp voice did rise 
 That shook the glittering stars up high: — 
 " How dare you, vagrant, us surprise — 
 When we do wish not one soul nigh ! " 
 He had said vagrant — God — my head 
 Swam in mine anger — and I said 
 A few words like a scourge upon 
 Some nation having lived for years 
 In vice and pleasure — and hot tears 
 Rolled on my cheeks — oh! should I shun 
 The liberation of my love — 
 Or kill him in this gloomy grove? 
 Such thoughts fell in my burning brain — 
 As in a canon fire-rain! 
 But I was crazed — my dagger sought — 
 And in less time than grows a thought — 
 I stabbed the Count! — then turned I fast 
 To her who made me like a blast 
 At sea — swelling the waves to hills — 
 
312 Poetical Works. 
 
 When the fiend-wind the heavens fills. 
 
 I clutched her bodice — tore the threads — 
 
 Till her fair bosom lay abare — 
 
 Then sticked I at her nipple-heads, 
 
 Like some wild Tartar, in the glare 
 
 Of even, sucks the blood of one 
 
 Who to his passion was a slave — 
 
 Then dies forlorn after the deed is done! 
 
 I sucked, while clasping her fair form — 
 
 Oh! God — her ears were cold — but warm 
 
 Her neck — O cygnet-beautiful — 
 
 And white, as froth upon a wave — 
 
 Thereon my heavy head to lull 
 
 An hour had been my bonny dream. 
 
 Alas! I never won her praise. 
 
 Not even in fair midnight-dream — 
 
 Not even in my passion-craze — 
 
 I clasped her form, and sucked, till she 
 
 For pain shrieked most vociferously — 
 
 Then to her lips my lips I pressed 
 
 And bit till all her rosy blood 
 
 Purled down in one slow ruby-flood 
 
 Upon her bosom, which I caressed. 
 
 I had rare vengeance then — I screamed — r 
 
 I thought a moment that I dreamed — 
 
 But God — the ground was rosy red — 
 
 Upon my shoulder lay her head — 
 
 O God! her eyes — what glare — O she was dead! 
 
 So she died from my bites so wild — 
 
 She my one love — who ne'er beguiled 
 
 One hour of all my loving days— 
 
A Batch of Ballads. 313 
 
 But had been scorning me always. 
 
 Oh! was it sinful that she died near me — 
 
 When I bore years of longing for her ee — 
 
 For all her soul and body fair — 
 
 Oh! was it wrong that I was there — 
 
 I felt my love return, I held 
 
 Her corpse as though she were alive, 
 
 But fiend — what powers demoniac weld 
 
 Our hatreds to one throttling gyve! 
 
 When I did see the Count near by. 
 
 All, all my craze swelled like the cloud 
 
 Upon a clear, but windy sky, 
 
 So that I madlike grew, and loud 
 
 My voice reverberated round — 
 
 That filled the stillness with fiendish sound — 
 
 So that I flung her form away. 
 
 As though I would a clod of clay, 
 
 And with mad imprecations curse 
 
 Her — wishing that her death were worse. 
 
 Then left I the gloom grove — the moon , 
 
 Had cast her sable shadows o'er 
 
 The brooklet, and her beams did pour 
 
 Upon the fields, and she did croon 
 
 Her weird songs for the ghostly hour. 
 
 And a few darkling clouds would lower ' 
 
 When, drawn by sudden backward power, 
 
 My head I turned to her once more. 
 
 O God! what is the human brain? 
 
 Indeed no matterous cells that get 
 
 Their pictures from our eye of jet, 
 
 But round those cells a fiend-host range, 
 
3i4 Poetical Works. 
 
 To swift conjure our mind to pain, 
 
 A crowd of images so strange, 
 
 Revolting, God, so ghastly, horrible. 
 
 That to no earthly shape it e'er befell 
 
 To see, but round our brain there swim 
 
 The ghosts of unknown spirits grim; 
 
 And we do see them in our mind — 
 
 Writhe, smirk, daunt, craze, and shriek and wind, 
 
 Like in the dens of Afric-snakes 
 
 When them a forest-fire awakes 
 
 Out of their slumber! — To her once more 
 
 I turned my face, when lo! two hundred score 
 
 Of fiends from out her body flew. 
 
 And from that crowd a fire-blast blew, 
 
 So that I felt the hissing breath 
 
 And felt the smell that flies fromi death. 
 
 Fiend! worse than plagues of flies that fill 
 
 The Syrian air, so that they people kill — 
 
 Worse than the tortures of the crazed 
 
 When they see visions they themselves have raised — 
 
 Worse than the flocks of ravens of eve 
 
 When they do flaunt and flap, and heave 
 
 Athwart an autumn's afterglow, 
 
 When all the earth is dark — but lo! 
 
 Tlie West is livid with a ghastly flare — 
 
 Worse than all myth, when I did stare 
 
 Once more at those two corpses cold — 
 
 One on the field, one near the wold — 
 
 Was that wild throng of fiendish forms 
 
 Uprising winding like the bellying storms 
 
 'Of lifted oceans in the yeasty skies. 
 
A Batch of Ballads. 315 
 
 Oh! ever rising, and with cries 
 
 And shrieks wild, rending all the scene, 
 
 So that I threw myself upon 
 
 The grassy ground — till morning shone 
 
 Once more, and made all shining green, 
 
 And jewels flashed like her eyes alive. 
 
 And birds sang, and the bees did thrive. 
 
 The gentle chill of zephyrs laved 
 
 My temples, and the gold sim paved 
 
 The heavens with silvery light. O God! 
 
 Then could I walk again thy blooming sod. 
 
 But I did travel far away 
 
 From where my loved one I did slay, 
 
 O'er mountain, to this blushing plain. 
 
 But every night I saw the train 
 
 Of fiends flash o'er the dark ghost-skies, 
 
 Haunting my brain with agonies; 
 
 And ev'n here, where you do sing 
 
 To me of nights in perfumes shrouded, 
 
 My wild thoughts ever are dark-clouded 
 
 With faces of those fiends and forms 
 
 Of smirking demons winding like the storms 
 
 Of lifted oceans in wild yeasty skies. 
 
 Three days are gone since she has died. 
 
 Yet never will those fiends with demon-cries 
 
 From my wild haunted vision hide! 
 
 Intact within my brain, they swell 
 
 At each suggestion of her name, 
 
 'And then I feel the pains of hell, 
 
 And all my brain is one wild flame. 
 
 You say forget her — aye — tell nature 
 
3i6 Poetical Works. 
 
 To shun her laws that grow each creature. 
 
 Avaunt! see there they come again, 
 
 From the horizon o'er the dusky plain. 
 
 See, there they bend, then flap as shrouds 
 
 Of giant-sails wrestling with clouds 
 
 Of pitch, and hail, and wind's loud blares. 
 
 See how that train of demons tears 
 
 That crowd of fiends, till both are lost 
 
 Within thems ' es, as waves storm-tost 
 
 Plunge in the frothy, seething brine. 
 
 Yes, they are gone now, but a line 
 
 Still pauses o'er the mountain-crown ; 
 
 As, long the belty sea, a bar 
 
 Of dark clouds, when the sun is down, 
 
 And o'er its rim the evening star 
 
 Peeps like an evil eye, whose mate 
 
 Is shut to hide his mind's low hate! 
 
 So now you know how I have killed 
 
 My love, O friend. Say, has it thrilled 
 
 Your mind? No, do no violence now 
 
 Keep silent, furrow your fair brow 
 
 Till in your soul the story clears 
 
 Itself from crime or murder — rage — 
 
 And you acknowledge all your fears 
 
 Are dissipated ; read this page 
 
 Of my wild life aright, O friend, 
 
 Would you not be amad, and rend 
 
 Your heart atwain, if your love should 
 
 Scorn all the deepest love you bore 
 
 To her. O friend, O tell me, could 
 
 You live while knowing that her core 
 
A Batch of Ballads. 317 
 
 Was mocking you, and silently 
 
 Denuding all its love to one 
 
 Who ne'er deserved love's constancy, 
 
 But was a man whom virgins shun. 
 
 Well, friend, you are composed — you share 
 
 With me my pain and grief — despair. 
 
 You sing again, knowing that we 
 
 Are pardoned for love's jealousy! 
 
 O keep this saddest deed to you. 
 
 How shall I pass the nights to come! 
 
 O let me listen to your songs of home 
 
 While I may cherish all your friendship true. 
 
 O God! O there they come again, 
 
 Those fiends, that form a funereal train 
 
 And rack and haunt my burning brain. 
 
 They Hap and Haunt as sails at stormy sea. 
 
 And take wild shapes, and huge dark forms, 
 
 Arising, winding like the bellying storms 
 
 Of lifted oceans to wild yeasty skies. 
 
 O God! friend, sing those songs to me, 
 
 That soothe my brain, and show mine eyes 
 
 Sweet nooks sequestered for sweet children, where 
 
 Neat mothers watch them in the summer's air. 
 
 So now they vanish, but a line 
 
 Still lingers o'er the low dark hills — 
 
 A line as long the belty main 
 
 A bar of dark clouds doth recline. 
 
 And now they're gone — they'll come again 
 
 To-morrow night! — O friend, what thrills 
 
 You? — be at peace; I've done a deadly deed 
 
 By love's strong power actuated. 
 
3i8 Poetical Works. 
 
 She scorned me, yet she had not sated 
 
 My love. — God pardons us in our great need! 
 
 THE CITY IN THE SEA. 
 
 An Irish Legend. 
 
 On the shores of the bay of Moher, 
 While I strolled, all aheark to the roar 
 Of the ceaseless loud surge of the waves 
 
 O'er, and about the caves, 
 An old crony she beckoned to me ; 
 And she pointed her finger to sea: 
 " Thou dost know not why angry they foam 
 O'er the vanished king's palace and home 
 
 Near where the rock-sprites roam ? " 
 And aghast had I stared at the dame, 
 Whose small eye was with fire aflame. 
 And her brow with the level brown grooves 
 Did reveal that strong hope futile proves — 
 
 Hope not for life behooves! — 
 Yet, I listened to all of her words 
 That came flocking like tumultuous birds, 
 When the autumn's blood-red rolls aghast, 
 In the eventide's dole, at the blast — 
 
 All while the sun doth last. 
 I had listened, while broke the wild waves , 
 'Gainst each other and o'er the sea-caves: 
 " 'Tis to-day, after seven long years. 
 That the king's splendrous city appears. 
 
A Batch of Ballads. 319 
 
 Once it was loud with cheers! 
 But it rises from that sullen wild spume 
 In its glory, but mute — since its doom 
 Was to fall in the waves, long ago. 
 For a crime caused its sea-king's overthrow — 
 
 Wild with shame — oh! wo! — 
 But 'tis said that if mortal can reach 
 The fair city, arist from the beach, 
 Ere it vanish again into the sea, 
 He may save it from wild witchery — 
 
 Then he may royal be! 
 For there lieth a treasure full fair, 
 For the one who is savior there. 
 Here I came in the early bland eve 
 To try win the rich prize that may leave 
 
 Queenly me, ne'er to grieve! 
 Wilt thou come with me — man so alone — 
 Leap the rocks, wade the pools, till the groan 
 Of the waters may cheer us to scale 
 The bright turrets — its treasures to hail ! 
 
 Try with me, though we fail ? " 
 After taking my past, as they draw 
 A wide seine from the ocean's deep maw, 
 When they find their experience well earned, 
 So the days of ago I discerned — 
 
 '* Well ! " and my heart-core burned. 
 When the sun sprinkled pollen around. 
 Whose gold tints draped the sea and its sound — 
 All of flitting gold-motes was the air. 
 As if myriad gold flies, past compare, 
 Filled the eve. live with fair 
 
320 Poetical Works. 
 
 Indescribable resplendent gold-breath, 
 Such that floats aft' a lily-field's death, 
 When the honey-gold stamens uprise 
 To do homage to all the glow-skies. 
 
 So was the eve's surprise! 
 And the burning gold-sun lay asea, 
 There imparting gold-glare, gloriously — 
 Then those waves that seemed never to rest 
 Seemed with glitter, oh ! finer than on vest, 
 
 Covering Asme's breast. 
 " It is well," cried the crony to me. 
 Then, like meteor's quick flash, from the sea 
 Rose the town, like a seal, from the spume. 
 And the dripping-soft drops, gold-abloom, 
 
 Fell from the town in doom! 
 Sparkling g.emmy, like limes in the sun, 
 When the shower is sprinkling, then done. 
 So the turrets and citadels shone. 
 And the windows, and steeples alone, 
 
 Towers, and the walls of stone. 
 The vast city was glittering in glow 
 All the jewels of Egypt, I trow, 
 In bright gorgeousness thrilled the proud town ; 
 Splendor gloried — magnificence fell down — 
 
 Beauty wore radiant crown! 
 Exultation fair lavished on all 
 Rare exuberance on large and on small — 
 " Oh ! be gazing on city while we 
 Traverse rocks and salt-pools to the sea ; 
 
 Till we sure victors be ! " 
 So we kept our wild eyes city-ward ; 
 
A Batch of Ballads. 321 
 
 While the dazzle and maze on us poured, 
 We leapt rocks, waded pools ; and we dumb 
 O'er reefs — while the city was dumb — 
 
 Dead, like a forlorn tomb ! 
 With rapt eyes on the splendors ahead, 
 We hastened to reach the city so dead. 
 But while clutching the rocks, that lay close 
 To the walls of the town that arose 
 
 Pomp-like in grand repose, 
 As a fire-fly dieth in night, 
 The town fell in its splendors full bright, 
 Like a glint of the sun on a wave. 
 Like the lizard's escape from the cave. 
 
 Quick as looks, flashed to save ! 
 So the opulent turrets and towers. 
 The town, ruled by a king with rare powers, 
 Yet doomed ever to live all unknown — 
 Mingled, rushed in the sea-waves' wild groan — 
 
 . Lost to our sight, was gone ! 
 And the waves swashed incessantly there. 
 The wild spume murmured through the dun air; 
 So we waded the pools and we leapt 
 O'er green rocks, till we dolefully stept 
 
 Where light foam-bubbles swept 
 The gray sand in low curving long hills. 
 And we knew disappointment e'er fills 
 The hearts, hoping for things in their minds, 
 That the desires we wish are like winds — 
 
 None his ideal finds, 
 Here on sands of our life by thought's sea. 
 Then we gazed ocean-ward — thoughtfully — 
 2X 
 
322 Poetical Works. 
 
 Where that pompous bright city shone fair 
 In the sun-down's gold-liquid live air — 
 
 Oh! like a gold myth rare! 
 " Our attempt is thus thwarted ! " she cried, 
 Wild, unearthly, she seemed — evil-eyed — 
 " Ha, ha, ha ! " and she melted away 
 In the sorrowful dusk of the day — 
 
 Melted as scud at play! 
 Yet asoft came some words, omen-filled — 
 They put me atrembling, and thrilled 
 My own soul : " Vain deluded lone man, 
 That dark secret no body may scan — 
 
 Dark as great nature's Plan. 
 That king's crime will remain sealed forever, 
 As the bed and its lives of Life's River. 
 And man's questioning heart, like yon surge, 
 Will be e'er at man's death a wild dirge 
 
 Form whose depths may emerge. 
 In a period, a flash of the tale, 
 But will fade — then will mystery prevail, 
 As yon tumultuous sounds, buffeting wild. 
 So yon city will keep the sea's bosom riled, 
 
 Wild as an unstained child ! " 
 So I loitered alone on the beach, 
 But could never the town's towers reach. 
 As Death keeps its secret from Life, 
 So that city reveals not its strife 
 
 Where ten low crimes were rife. 
 So I gazed at the surges o'er there. 
 That would never be calm as still air, 
 But would ever be swashing their waves ) 
 
 Out and about the caves! 
 
A Batch of Ballads. 323 
 
 BALLAD. 
 
 From Chinese History. 
 
 I. 
 
 Fair Ote Tabachani Oime — 
 Why doth she wander by the sea, 
 While the rude tempest blows and scolds 
 And makes a whirlwind of her gold-laced folds — 
 While through the spray 
 The gulls harsh scream alway — 
 There's no one near, she is alone — 
 Why, on this eve, away from feast and throne? 
 
 IL 
 
 More lovely than the loveliest maid 
 
 That views the Yellow Sea from tamarind's shade 
 
 Sweet Ote was; she loved her emperor 
 
 Who was so great and strong in peace or war — 
 
 She loved him well — 
 
 Deeper than words can tell — 
 Till shouts and clamors shook the land, 
 
 War deeds were seen. 
 
 Then the Mikado to his queen: 
 " Away from thee — from life so bland. 
 
 Away to carnage, think of me. 
 
 While I in battle's strife will be ! " 
 Then to the wars he sailed. 
 Grief, sorrow in the palace-room prevailed — 
 Like lilies carrying in their golden hearts 
 Soft drops of dew, when morning parts — ■ 
 
324 Poetical Works. 
 
 Letting no sun kiss them away, 
 
 So Tabachani held memorial aye 
 Her emperor's words and parting — 
 
 Till on a day, 
 When she for a lone walk was starting, 
 
 A messenger sped in — 
 Ah me ! — her emperor was near the coast — 
 
 But wild the tempest blew — 
 
 And all his ships and crew 
 Were lost. 
 
 Then did strange thoughts begin 
 
 To crowd within her brain- 
 All clad in queenly robes she sped 
 
 Away, away, in blast, through rain, 
 Near where, on stormy seas, floated the dead! 
 
 III. 
 
 Fair Ote Tabachani Oime — 
 Why runs she through the tempest free — 
 Upon the headland rushing fast, 
 While howls and whistles the wild blast ; 
 And, on the surging wave. 
 Float many, whom none can save — 
 Wild flaps her queenly raiment in the wind — 
 What may she in this hurly-burly find? 
 
 IV. 
 
 Upon the headland standing, she 
 
 Cries to the ocean dolefully, 
 
 But no one hears her anguish prayer, 
 
 Save wind and surge and gulls down there. 
 
A Batch of Ballads. 325 
 
 " Let me appease 
 
 Thee, tempest of the seas — 
 Thy blast abate, thy roars cease sounding, 
 So that the surge against the old rocks pounding 
 
 May lightly carry to the shore 
 My dear, deplored emperor ! " 
 But only answer bellowing herds of wind — 
 The surge so loud that all the coast doth grind — 
 
 Only the sough of spray 
 
 Yielding to wind's affray — 
 Only the cry of storm-tossed gulls — 
 Only the moan of lulls — 
 So that Ote, despairing, cried: 
 
 " Ye blasts that blow and blare, 
 
 Ye fiends that riot in the air. 
 Oh! cease — so I may save who plied 
 The seas from war-plagued lands 
 To these our holy far-famed strands. 
 Cease, cease — or may I power show 
 To rule the storm that riots so — 
 I will, I will — oh ! ocean deep ! 
 Here is my life ; may it keep 
 
 My emperor for his great empire — 
 
 That is my only last desire ! " 
 So shrieking. Ote Tabachani Oime, 
 The lovely queen, leapt in the stormy, sad, dumb sea ! 
 
 V. 
 
 Upon the darkest wave that comes, 
 Burdened with bodies of the emperor's crew, 
 Of sudden a large white water-rose blooms, 
 
326 Poetical Works. 
 
 And blooms, and circles petals round and round 
 Till they by waves, succeeding fast, are drowned, 
 Then towers that wave o'er rocks and surge 
 And roars and sings — 'tis the queen's mystic dirge! 
 
 While near, the sad curlew 
 Flies o'er the weltering brine. 
 That gave a grave to such a queen divine — 
 Whose love thought she could sway 
 The tempest — save from death a drowning clay! 
 
 VI. 
 
 Yet cuffs the blast the headland's foaming feet. 
 But no more runs a lovely maid so fleet 
 
 Upon the headland's turf — 
 
 Yet circles and moans the foaming surf — 
 But not a man may take from that mad sea, 
 The lovely blossoming queen — fair Ote Tabachani 
 
 O'ime ! 
 
 TO AVERRO, THE GIRL CONTORTIONIST. 
 
 Come, Tatze! cease thy grace-contortions now, 
 And sit upon my lap, so I may feel 
 Thy hand in mine; and then I would to gaze 
 Deep in thine eyes, and try to read thy thoughts! 
 O could I ! 
 
 How young thou art, scarce fourteen years, 
 Still, thy fair body is so flexible — 
 Can it be true thou hast a framework rare 
 As we, who never once have tried to curve 
 
A Batch of Ballads. 327 
 
 Our spine as thou? It seems thou hast no bones! 
 What may thy thoughts be, Tatze — I would to 
 
 know. 
 There shines a light from out thine eyes that seems 
 As though thou hadst heard angel-choirs singing — 
 And in thy heart a tenderness must be 
 That can feel love — the higher love — devotion 
 That loves caresses, kisses, and kind words! 
 How can I know thy thoughts — thou hast no store 
 Of abstruse learning in thy brain, thy life 
 Was spent in perfecting thy body frail 
 So thou couldst move it all a hundred ways. 
 Thy thoughts cannot be many, Tatze, sweet ! 
 Thy work is all enough for thee ; why load 
 Thy mind with erudition but the few 
 Can ever own! Live thou thy strangest life! 
 Perform each day before the populace; 
 And reap applause — 'tis all enough for thee! 
 And think at times of some fair flower — and praise 
 Its beauty! 
 
 But, my Tatze, when I gaze 
 At thee from out the audience-room, while thou 
 Dost stand aside, to wait thy turn — upon 
 The glowing stage; oh! Tatze — then I'm spelled! 
 For in thine eyes there glows a strange, soft light — 
 Strange, as no other's glance is like to thine. 
 Soft, soft as melting pity thrilled to tears ! 
 I know not but my look is riveted — 
 I must gaze at thee! Oh! such tenderness — 
 Such childlike sweet sincerity — and then 
 Thy smile — like beatific pure contentment 
 
328 Poetical Works. 
 
 That beams out from young radiant innocence! 
 What may it be — but thou art otherwise 
 Than many a child I know. O thou must be 
 A foretaste of the beings that in Heaven 
 Their dwelHng have. Thee I can study ever! 
 Thou hast sweet features — sweet reflecting there 
 Thy young glad soul — and thy soul cannot know 
 The taints that the foul world hath soiled it with. 
 Thy soul still sees the joys of unriled thought, 
 Pure as a Cherub's. 'Tis therefore that I love 
 To gaze at thee — for then I feel sweet transports, 
 Those that make glad the heart, unsullied yet 
 By gain, and lust, and vanity, and show. 
 Oh! Tatze, when I see thee standing there, 
 I know not, but I am enthralled — and when 
 Thou movest forward, to show thy marvel-work. 
 Thy arm-waive is so graceful, and so tender 
 It is as though thy gaze angelic moved 
 Thy arm so strangely tenderly, that all 
 My eyes can do is to be gazing — gazing long — 
 And then I would that I could touch thy hand 
 For once — and if thou feelest how some spell 
 Makes me love thee, then wouldst thou kiss me, 
 Tatze ? 
 
 1899. 
 
A Batch of Ballads. 329 
 
 THE FROZEN CREW.^ 
 Prelude. 
 
 Not all is known to man 
 
 Of nature's mystic plan — ^r 
 
 Many a secret dwells 
 
 Within the myriad spells 
 ^Of nature's moody world — 
 
 Many a work is furled — 
 
 And hidden lies the lore 
 
 Of most of nature's store 
 
 Wherewith she eketh all — 
 y Small, wide, short, lithe, or tall — 
 
 Yea, every thought in man 
 
 Substantial, in her plan. 
 
 Appears — let fancy dream — 
 
 Imagination seem 
 
 Wilder than wildest thought — 
 
 To substance 'twill be wrought 
 
 And live and act in nature — 
 
 As plant or stone, or creature! 
 
 Methought in dreams that man 
 
 Could have vile poison's ban 
 
 Within him — lo ! 'tis true — 
 
 There are wild negroes gaunt '' 
 
 Have lips of bluey hue. 
 
 When furious they daunt 
 
 The boldest — for they bite 
 
 Their foes — that die outright! 
 
330 Poetical Works. 
 
 Methought that men could freeze 
 All, all — their very blood — 
 'Tis true — for in a flood 
 Of arctic wind the seas 
 Were frozen, and the crew 
 Changed to ice-shapes, and grew 
 No more, nor breathed, nor moved- 
 The frost most deadly proved. 
 O many spells hath nature. 
 To daunt plant, stone or creature- 
 Many a secret lies 
 Deep in nature's mysteries! 
 And all's not known to man 
 Of nature's mystic plan! 
 
 BALLAD. 
 
 AlOUSHTa's vineyards, with their grapes 
 
 Delicious as juicy pears, 
 Glowed ! like a row of sheened capes 
 
 Aft' showers in vernal airs. 
 
 " Hark ! Man ! thou with thy snow-striped beard- 
 
 With far-thrust look, and thy legs 
 Bent like a fallen fence, dusk-weird — 
 
 With thy lips that have known life's dregs. 
 
 " Yea, thou hast seen most ghastly things — 
 
 Murder and calamities — 
 But never such that the ice-fiend brings 
 
 When stiffening airs and seas ! 
 
A Batch of Ballads. 331 
 
 " Now that on Aloushta's sod again 
 
 My feet may wander at ease — 
 Old man ! bless me that you hear a strain 
 
 Of the dangers of the seas." 
 
 " Thou art so young yet — with thy curls ' 
 
 Around thy stanch brown neck, 
 And thy eyes aglow with flirts and girls, 
 
 And thy form with youth's jaunty beck. 
 
 " How may'st thou know of more evil things 
 
 Than I, mate with ninety years ? " 
 " Old man ! time's dial may know not what fate sings, 
 
 So youth knows of age's fears ! 
 
 ** And many a snowy head knows not 
 
 Of hardships, borne by hearts 
 That flushed, like maid's with love-song fraught, 
 
 While they felt most cruel smarts ! 
 
 " So list to the wo I saw two nights 
 
 Ago in the Axine-sea — 
 Then answer me fast what more affrights 
 
 Thy life or this tale by me ! 
 
 " Rise not, old man ; yet linger you — 
 
 For sure as Aloushta's wine 
 Flows in your vale, my tale is true — 
 
 As true as your lemons shine ! " 
 
 " Thine eyes affright me, for in them glows 
 
 A fire that burns in the crazed — 
 Ah ! have the horrors, the frostening woes. 
 
 Thy mind with such power amazed, 
 
33^ Poetical Works. 
 
 " That the memories enkindle their dread, 
 
 And thou seest the scenes — 
 The pitiless, the wretched, the dead . . .'* 
 
 " Old man — thy dreaming gleans 
 
 " From my fiery eyes some of my tale ; 
 
 But listen to me, old man ! " 
 ** Thou strange, old, young one — thy story prevail — • 
 
 I listen as old ears can ! " 
 
 " I was captain of the hapless crew — 
 
 I alone was saved that night — 
 When the ice-winds blew and howled and slew, 
 
 And the airs and seas were white ! 
 
 " Many a wondrous death hath been — 
 
 Ere the Christ preached three short years ; 
 
 But the icy death that mine eyes had seen 
 Would have filled a Nero's with tears ! 
 
 " Off Kaffa, on the Chersonese, 
 
 That once to the Golden Horde 
 Had given their wines and all their ease 
 
 We sailed, with masts and cord 
 
 ** New-mended for a long sea-lurch. 
 
 Across the Tausic main. 
 To the shores where my own small hill-side church 
 
 Sparkles to wide fields of grain. 
 
 " *Twas evening on a November's day, 
 In the year when Browning died, 
 
A Batch of Ballads. 333 
 
 That our vessel veered out in the bay 
 And sped on with the Black Sea's tide. 
 
 ** Oh for Kaffa's tune ; her Tartar-song — 
 
 Her violet-odor; her wines — 
 That evening each man with his voice did throng 
 
 The breezes with joyous lines ; 
 
 " And the pomegranates, the limes, the grapes. 
 
 All luscious on the boughs — 
 And the wild-eyed Tartars, their maddening shapes — 
 
 And our dreamily whispered vows. 
 
 " All, all had a nook in each man's mind — 
 
 While afar the headland waned 
 With the light that faded in the dusk-loved wind ; 
 
 And the ship's prow was sea-salt stained ! 
 
 *' Old man ! oh ! mark you — the cheering crew 
 
 Were mad with the frolic of feast — 
 And, while the balmy Limat blew 
 
 Out from the fane of the east, 
 
 ** As o'er the Black Sea's lid, the rose-tinged moon 
 
 Hung like a coin on the breast 
 Of a Tartar — lying down to croon — 
 
 The vessel was loud with jest ; 
 
 " And the tepid scents that floated around 
 
 Or dipped in the languid wave. 
 Were drenched with their day's sweet laughter and 
 sound " 
 
 " Young man, you rave, you rave. 
 
334 Poetical Works. 
 
 " For how could the balm of the evening bring 
 
 Disaster to a cheery crew ? " 
 " Forbear, thou man with thy murmuring — 
 
 Pinch thou thy brow — and sue 
 
 " To Wonder to give thee reason to know 
 
 That, as in man's own mind, 
 Where liquid whispers balmily flow, 
 
 May harrow an icy wind ! 
 
 " But listen ! forbear to mutter between, 
 
 Else will the thread of the tale 
 Be torn — and the truth of what I had seen 
 
 Will turn indistinctly pale ! 
 
 ** Yea, drenched were the airs with their lays — 
 
 While the citrine moon arose, 
 And a wide sea path the lurid rays 
 
 Cut, with caps like drifted snows. 
 
 " So listen, old man, with thy lank gaunt neck — 
 As gaunt as a lithe sea-rock, that juts 
 
 In the seething surge — so rude with a wreck — 
 O listen to truth — of woes unknown to huts. 
 
 " The sea-god alone hath power to wage such wo — 
 Old man, let thy ashen locks fall wavelike there, 
 
 On the brawn of thy bare arm that's wrinkled so — 
 And, in the even's dusk, as entranced, stare. 
 
 " Aye, four-and-twenty men were of the crew — - 
 All stanch like warriors of heroic Tamerlane — 
 
A Batch of Ballads. 335 
 
 And like a whisper the lulling Limat blew — 
 
 While the stars seemed shining to assuage earth's 
 pain ! 
 
 " Like a prayer the angels pray when Virtue dies, 
 So was the sea, so solemn yet fresh with balm — 
 
 And our voices rose so madcap to the skies, 
 
 And the ripples murmured, and the night was 
 calm. 
 
 " But the Limat blew so childlike in innocence. 
 That the men did their work as though it were 
 weal — 
 When suddenly, a gale made the air grow dense, 
 And the tackle rattled — the ship did lurch and 
 reel; 
 
 " And the stars they twinkled as though rioting 
 
 aloft— 
 
 And the moon drew a host of vapors as her slaves — 
 
 And the sea, with all its dimples so snowy and soft, 
 
 Bore flash-like a weltering throng of plangent 
 
 waves. 
 
 " Oh ! most of the crew were at work — when I had 
 given 
 My order to unfurl the sails — and quicken our 
 speed — 
 But, ere I had thought of next hour's act, the 
 heaven. 
 The sea, the ship, the stars, and clouds indeed 
 
336 Poetical Works. 
 
 " Were deluged in frost and cold, so biting and shrap. 
 That I ordered my men to take refuge within ; 
 
 But lo ! when my officer went — his skin did warp — 
 And his body grew to ice — from feet to chin. 
 
 " Then with caution I peeped out on the deck to 
 see — 
 O God ! such sight no man on Thy earth has 
 known — 
 For all my men, that stood at their posts so free, 
 Stood frozen — stiff — life-like, each to icy stone ! 
 
 " The helmsman at his helm the helmsman was he— 
 But his eyes were glassy, and his fingers were 
 frozen ; 
 And the sailor who furled the sail stood where he 
 be— 
 Who ran to the tackle, for which he was chosen, 
 
 " He ran yet, but his knee was bent, and his foot 
 Was up in air, and his ice-charged body ran ; 
 
 But never moved he — held by the frost's firm root — 
 And frozen to chilly stone was every man ! 
 
 " O God ! such sight was not known to thy fair earth, 
 Such cold had changed each limb and organ to 
 ice; 
 
 And where it clutched the men at work or in mirth. 
 Its clutch was worse than death's — for its device 
 
 ** Was to keep the form as it grew to-manly grace — 
 Victorious o'er black decay, or fire's claws. 
 
A Batch of Ballads. 337 
 
 The limbs, the fingers, the hair, the chest and face 
 Were like wan marble, lord o'er death's quick laws ! 
 
 " And momently the somber swell uprose, 
 
 That on the rigging dashed, and there it froze — 
 
 So all the masts and crew were frozen stiff, 
 
 And all the ship and sea were in the frost's white 
 ' griff- 
 
 " Then to the warm room had I gone, and there 
 Methought what best to do to save our ship ; 
 
 But then I heard the swells dash, sound the air. 
 And the ice-vessel lay in the frost's tight grip. 
 
 " The air was icy ; the waves, the spray, were ice. 
 And the ship turned to a shape of gelid build ; 
 
 So that it rode no more — and, in a thrice. 
 
 The sea washed thro* the hold, and we were 
 thrilled ! 
 
 " Thrilled, as an army routed in a pass, 
 
 Where no breadth there be to disperse their men ; 
 
 So were we driven to flee the frozen mass, 
 
 That gradually sunk, low to the salt-whale's den ! 
 
 " As the troopers with sabers high, that had died 
 By Tartars in the vale by Balaclava's plains. 
 
 So saw we all our crew die by our side — 
 
 While we unhooked the boats, clashed the chains. 
 
 " And while myself and eight brave men were asea, 
 
 Like the roar of lions on some rocky height — 
 22 
 
338 Poetical Works. ' 
 
 So thundered the ship, and with her ice-men found- 
 ered she — 
 With her ice-men like stone, she sunk out of 
 sight ! 
 
 " Oh ! those men, iron-hard, so stiffly frozen, fell 
 To the caves where the myriad fishes be. 
 
 What a death ! no shrift, no kiss, no burial-knell — 
 Ice-welded — prey to the icy sea ! 
 
 *' Nay, man, thine eyes from their sockets bulge 
 
 As a snowy moon from a wold ..." 
 ** Young brave one, methought this span to divulge 
 
 The mystery of warmth and cold. 
 
 " Methinks that death is the griff of the frost 
 
 That clutches the heart in a thrice. 
 Oh ! hast thou touched the clay that is lost, 
 
 And feltest not there Cold's ice ? " 
 
 " Old man ! but listen, art thou in dreams ? 
 
 Divulge, when I have done. 
 Fifty, fifty miles far from Theodosia's beams, 
 
 Fifty miles through air with no sun ! 
 
 " 'Twas midnight past, with the air as cold 
 
 As round the polar belt ; 
 And the gale sped by ; the waves they scowled ; 
 
 And my men, for prayers, knelt ! 
 
 " Afar from lute, from forest-strain, 
 Out on an icy-sea — 
 
A Batch of Ballads. 339 
 
 In a boat on an angry snow-frothed main — • 
 O God ! what misery ! 
 
 " I rowed — we set up sail — we sped 
 
 Through the ebon night so fast, 
 That ere the morn her roses shed 
 
 On the orient sky, to last 
 
 " An hour, we saw a skiff afar, 
 
 And we knew that Caffa sent, 
 Such craft beyond the city's bar — 
 
 So sprung new merriment 
 
 " Of mind within each eye of my crew ; 
 
 But, one by one, they died, 
 As the morning-winds so sweetly blew — 
 
 Died, one by one, at my side ! 
 
 *' Oh ! one by one, as the red leaves fall 
 
 When the chilly autumn weeps. 
 So were they summoned, at death's weird call, 
 
 To fall down oblivion's steeps. 
 
 ** And he, who had rowed for an hour, fell 
 
 On the edge of our fleeting boat ; 
 And he, who had rigged the mast with swell 
 
 Of sail, with his eyes did gloat, 
 
 ** As in the dark lone wood two snowy stones 
 
 In a jungle of ribbed twigs — 
 And he I had whispered to in lower tones 
 
 To keep yet for me the last figs. 
 
340 Poetical Works. 
 
 ** He sat there, as stark as a trunk with no leaves ; 
 
 And his face was as marble so white — 
 Then cried we, as he, who, swimming, shrieves 
 
 To the Lord of the sea and the night. 
 
 " We cried, we, last of the vessel's crew, 
 
 To the Lord of the ice and sun ; 
 We cried while silently the Limat blew 
 
 Around our heads ; one by one ! 
 
 " O delicious as Aloushta's wines, 
 
 The Limat was for us three ; 
 And we drank ; and we said sweet lines 
 
 In praise of our safety ! 
 
 " As the fires of morn burned on each ripple 
 And tinged rosy our comrades* cheeks, 
 
 And the morn began her gold fields to tipple. 
 Then their cheeks were like sun-lorn leaks. 
 
 " O the sun flashed on Theodosia's roofs and walls- 
 
 We heard the dreamy bells ; 
 And saw the turrets of the Senachal's 
 
 And the shoreward swells ! 
 
 " But we were too weak to shout or sing. 
 
 So we gazed up to the skies ; 
 And, every moment, we were nearing 
 
 The port of our destinies. 
 
 " O for the touch on the wave, that rippl^th 
 
 And tumbleth on to the shore — 
 Aft* having seen twenty victims of death, 
 
 And felt the ice at one's core ! 
 
A Batch of Ballads. 341 
 
 O for the smells of the orange and grape, 
 
 And the sight of the town — 
 Aft* having known of death's other shape, 
 
 And seen twenty comrades fall down ! 
 
 We anchored — we were taken by friends 
 
 To shelter for our worn hearts, 
 And I felt like a man who rends 
 
 His body in thousand parts! 
 
 Another hour in that cold and gale, 
 
 And not a man on earth. 
 Would have heard this sorrowful deathly tale 
 
 That from my lips had birth ! 
 
 Old man, why broodest thou so like a loon 
 
 On a cliff in the briny breeze? 
 And thine eyes far, far, where a dreary moon 
 
 Doth thread the darkling trees ! 
 
 Say on, old man with neck wrinkled so, 
 
 Like an ocean-bitten boat ; 
 And thy locks a-flying to and fro. 
 
 As the spume o'er the surf-wave's throat ! 
 
 " Young man, methought to see the world all cold, 
 
 The air and the universe, 
 Methought that I have grown so old, so old — 
 
 My heart in ice to immerse. 
 
 " Thy tale tells of exquisite suffering. 
 
 And thou hero in the gale — 
 Thou art older than I, though I wing 
 
 Thought's skies with pinions pale j 
 
342 Poetical Works. 
 
 " For thou hast borne such cold that kills — 
 
 O hero, my blessing take — 
 And whoever hears thy tale it thrills 
 
 The soul — and pity's awake ! 
 
 " The speedwell's blush is on me again — 
 
 The violet's fragance I love, 
 And man's vigor returns aft' sharpest pain. 
 
 And I love this lime-tree grove." 
 
 Come, old one, with death in thy crowded dreams, 
 
 To yon height by the shining sea — 
 And there I may catch the fresh sun-gleams 
 
 To cowl this memory ! 
 
 ALOADINE. 
 
 Aloadine, the tyrant King, 
 Held shrewdness in his hands. 
 
 He prayed to Mohammed 
 And loved his glorious lands. 
 
 Aloadine, the mighty lord, 
 
 In Tartary was born — 
 Held sway with tyrant-laws 
 
 And held the world in scorn. 
 
 Full many years in power was he — 
 
 His fair dominion spread 
 O'er many a mile of plain — 
 
 O'er many a mountain-head. 
 
 Near to the white metropolis 
 A long wide vale lay there, 
 
A Batch of Ballads. 543 
 
 With wooded mounts that rose 
 Majestic in the air. 
 
 This vale so pleasant did it lie 
 
 He thought 'twould be a place 
 Fit for the Paradise 
 
 The Koran pledged the race. 
 
 He kept an army strong and proud, 
 
 But oft some would rebel ; 
 So in his thought he vowed 
 
 To rule them by some spell : 
 
 He'd teach the young the Koran fair — 
 
 Tell of the Paradise 
 Mohammed promised those 
 
 That followed him, the wise. 
 
 And when their eyes were glowing wild 
 
 With scenes of sweetness rare, 
 He*d promise them, as boon. 
 
 That he would lead them there. 
 
 Providing they would aye obey 
 
 His stern behests all hours : 
 To kill his enemies. 
 
 And keep full-strong his powers. 
 
 No sooner thought than Aloadine 
 
 Began to act and guide ; 
 And, at the vale's both ends, 
 
 A castle strong and wide 
 
344 Poetical Works. 
 
 His builders reared all beautiful — 
 
 So none could enter there. 
 Then long his builders worked 
 
 To make the valley fair : 
 
 The fairest trees, with blossoms glowing, 
 Or those that green all time ; 
 
 And trees with luscious fruits — 
 The pistache and the lime, 
 
 They planted *long the valley- ways. 
 
 The rarest flower-beds 
 In fair designs they laid — 
 
 Gold hues and motley reds — 
 
 The fuscous lilies, all the store 
 
 Tartarean valleys yield ; 
 And from far Ormus too — 
 
 That blow in wood and field. 
 
 This done, many a palace gay 
 With dome, and turret fair, 
 
 And pleasure houses quaint. 
 They built, and here and there ; 
 
 And bridges, ornamented rare. 
 Arched o'er the pellucid stream — 
 
 Meandering slow in curves 
 Beneath the sun's gold beam. 
 
 And to those palaces there flowed. 
 Through conduits, milk and wine, 
 
 Clear water, honey rare — 
 In sooth, real drinks divine ! 
 
A Batch of Ballads. 345 
 
 While, when all lay in glory done, 
 
 Aloadine sought, wide 
 And far, for damsels young 
 
 And sweet, to there abide. 
 
 For they should be the Houris blest 
 
 Of whom Mohammed said : 
 They are more perfect formed 
 
 Than fairest earthly maid. 
 
 And they were given instruments, 
 
 The harp and dulcimer. 
 So to the halls and rooms 
 
 Soft music they confer. 
 
 So now his Paradise was crowned 
 
 With all that bliss doth know ; 
 Fit vale for men to love — 
 
 For them aft* death to go. 
 
 Aloadine then taught young boys, 
 
 And budding men all things 
 The Koran holds — and too 
 
 Mohammed's promisings ! 
 
 And told them he could lead them thither, 
 
 If they would promise him 
 To be his slaves in war, 
 
 And do his every whim. 
 
 And, when they grew in knowledge wise, 
 He gave them opiates rare — 
 
546 Poetical Works. 
 
 Then twenty boys were brought 
 By slaves within the valley fair : 
 
 Slowly they woke ; and, once awake, 
 Their wondering eyes grew wide — 
 
 True Paradise they saw — 
 In front, on every side : 
 
 The greenest lawns, the freshest streams- 
 Fantastic mountains rose — 
 
 Stupendous palaces — 
 
 Fair trees, in groups and rows ; 
 
 Pavilions from whence music came — 
 
 Gold pleasure-houses rare ; 
 And here and there nude maids — 
 
 Voluptuous — Houri-fair. 
 
 There did they stroll beneath a sky 
 Of azure, with clouds of foam, 
 
 Slow wand'ring, till they died ; 
 
 Then through the groves would roam, 
 
 And lie within the sun-tree's shade, 
 
 Or linger by the flowers, 
 Smelling their heavenly scent, 
 
 Till called the evening-hours. 
 
 Then to the pleasure-house they strolled. 
 And entered, hearts aflame ; 
 
 For at the rich-orned portals 
 
 Four maids called them by name. 
 
A Batch of Ballads. 347 
 
 Four maids, in brilliant-tinted gauzes, 
 
 With golden girdles bound, 
 With flowers in their tresses, 
 
 With diamond-crescents crowned. 
 
 And through their raiment shone their bodies, 
 
 Shaped fair for beauty's prize, 
 And lips for kisses long, 
 
 With passion in their eyes. 
 
 These led them to the fountained rooms, 
 
 With curtained windows high ; 
 And marble-floors and pillars, 
 
 With incense floating nigh ; 
 
 And in the dimmer corners waited 
 
 Silk-covered lounges wide, 
 Whereon lay languorous damsels. 
 
 Coral-lipped and pleasure-eyed. 
 
 With them the boys all fondly dreamed — 
 
 While, in the pauses, wine 
 And honey, confits, fruits — 
 
 And other sweets divine. 
 
 By dusky slaves were offered them — 
 
 Then mellow music charmed 
 The mystic beauteous room — 
 
 Their boyish senses warmed ; 
 
 And soft sweet songs the slaves intoned — 
 Till all those spells lulled slow 
 
34^ Poetical Works. 
 
 The boys to dreamful sleep — 
 To love-filled slumbers low. 
 
 Such bliss the youths enjoyed for days- 
 To them were opiates given — 
 
 And by the King's own slaves 
 Dragged out from joyful Heaven. 
 
 Aloadine then summoned them, 
 And queried how they fared. 
 
 They answered : " In Paradise — 
 We all its sweets had shared ! '* 
 
 Content with his success the King 
 Spake thus with earnest tone : 
 
 "If you will aye obey me — 
 
 Bow down to the Lord's throne, 
 
 " Then will such Paradise be yours ! '* 
 To which they swore high troth. 
 
 And, since, those youths were firm, 
 To kill they were not loth — 
 
 But all the tyrant's enemies 
 By them were soon destroyed. 
 
 The land, the people all, 
 
 By them were a.yQ annoyed. 
 
 Aloadine the mighty tyrant grew 
 
 Redoubtable, the more 
 His faithful soldiers showed 
 
 Their love for war and gore, 
 
A Batch of Ballads. 34^ 
 
 Till Ulan heard of him, and went 
 
 With army to his land. 
 There he besieged his castle, 
 
 And warred with mighty hand. 
 
 All after three years* siege great Ulan 
 Took castle — killed the King — 
 
 The Paradise was razed 
 
 With palace and everything. 
 
 And now no ruin stands to tell 
 Where its Paradise once lay — 
 
 'Tis gone — its charm — its spell — 
 All beauty died away ; 
 
 And only winds pass o'er the vale, 
 O'er mountains mighty high — 
 
 The only witness there 
 
 Is the warm, blue Tartar sky ! 
 
 THE SWEET NIGHTMARE. 
 
 A FLARE spread o'er the west 
 
 Above the pitch-black mountain-crest. 
 
 While o'er the oaken-gloom 
 
 A cloud hung like a bird of doom. 
 
 Beside the runnel's flow 
 
 That took the sky's uncanny glow 
 
 We halted — we, three sires 
 
 Of long repute to love's desires — 
 We halted there, for we had lost our way — 
 The way, we lost at night, was known to us by day ! 
 
350 t^oetical Works. 
 
 Low, sullen, metal-clear. 
 The bubble's fillip sounded near — 
 Mournfully, one dry sheath, 
 Bent by the wind, the flowers beneath 
 Did rustle ; — while the stillness sent 
 Through us a chill of wonderment — 
 And sullen, clear — yet low. 
 The bubbles filliped, while the glow 
 Waned o'er the mountain-crest — and livid grew 
 The sky — darker the cloud — that like a griffin flew. 
 
 We three were bounden firm 
 
 By friendship's bond for life's long term. 
 
 We three had sinews strong 
 
 And hearts that sought to right a wrong. 
 
 We three were girded fair 
 
 For emprize valiant, everywhere — 
 
 For we by love were sent 
 
 To seek her long-lost armament. 
 Ah ! Lost when Love had strayed to Mammon's 
 
 lanes, 
 To lose her kiss, but live with pelf and sordid gains. 
 
 Two slept, while I lay still 
 To watch beside the rustling rill — 
 Two slept, while in the dark 
 I watched — till o'er the mount a spark 
 Arose — a flicker — a blaze — 
 Then glowed a star above the maze 
 Of mottled mountains and low heavy clouds — 
 Then grizzly night drew round her all her sable 
 shrouds. 
 
A Batch of Ballads. 351 
 
 I watched — and dimly heard 
 A tiny snap — and the whirr of bird 
 That, scared from quiet sleep, 
 Upflew — fled to the delly deep. 
 I watched — and saw the mist 
 Above the brook slow wind and twist. 
 I saw the glint of glare upon the fallow grass 
 And saw the star gleam in the pool, as smooth as 
 glass. 
 
 Then thought I of the hours 
 
 We three had whiled, with love and flowers. 
 
 I felt her soft caress 
 
 Again, and saw her loveliness. 
 
 We three had drunk full deep 
 
 Of mystic wine from Pleasure's steep. 
 And all the moments of our loves returned— 
 The years before, when we for kiss and love had 
 yearned. 
 
 I rolled my eyes around — 
 Above the mounts, and on the ground. 
 I listened — all was still — 
 Save murmurs from the lonely rill — 
 Save in my ears a surge 
 Like, heard afar, the ocean's dirge — 
 'Twas all — there rose a scream — so shrill — so dread — 
 It seemed like fear's own voice, when fleeing from 
 the dead ! 
 
 I turned — his eyes stared free, 
 His mouth agape ; and nervously 
 
352 Poetical Works. 
 
 His arms before his head 
 
 As though he flew from scenes of dread. 
 
 " What aileth thee ? " I said. 
 
 He answered not, but seemed like dead. 
 Then did I wake our comrade ; then we heard 
 What sudden dreadful dream his peaceful sleep had 
 stirred ! 
 
 Of all the dreams that love and passion 
 Have sent me through these twelve long years, 
 No sweeter dream, yet none more dreadful, 
 This night came to me — ah ! what fears 
 I battled with — till one loud piercing cry 
 Spared me the fate that I should sudden die ! 
 
 let me touch your hand, I shiver 
 
 When thinking on the dream's uncanny end — 
 So, now I feel revived a little — 
 What way the dream be, what portend ? 
 I know not. Comrades ! listen to me now— 
 'Twill thrill you to the very blood, I trow ! 
 
 1 lay beside a beauteous maid 
 Upon a floor rare carpeted — 
 
 The walls were all with figures laid, 
 Gold-colored — fair were form and head — 
 One wall was curtained — and the folds waved down : 
 What in the next room lived I've never known ! 
 
 She lay with me — and her I fondled : 
 We let our passions playful be — 
 Her languid head upon my shoulder, 
 My elbow on her zone so free. 
 
A Batch of Ballads. 353 
 
 My hand drooped down — and thrills played through 
 
 our frames, 
 And kiss and kiss wrought in us languor's flames ! 
 
 So played we, till the flood of passion 
 Flowed copious to my dallying hand — 
 Then grew she wearied — and I questioned 
 Would she be happy in love's land. 
 O had I never asked her — then the dream 
 Were sweet through all like lily^watched stream 1 
 
 For all at once her eyes were blazing 
 With fire unwonted to my eyes — 
 There burst a light and in a moment — 
 What never mortal could surmise — 
 In front of me her triumphant body stood — 
 Transfigured, white and fit for Angelhood. 
 
 The while her mortal body withered 
 
 Upon the floor rare carpeted — 
 
 I joyed to see her glance triumphant 
 
 Within her face transfigured — 
 But grieved to see her mortal body lie 
 Writhing, upon the floor, in agony ! 
 
 *' Oh ! see me where no passions trouble, 
 My form resplendent for the soul — 
 But look upon my former body — 
 That shows to you each mortal's goal. 
 
 Oh ! look and see me writhing in my blood; 
 
 While here you see me formed for soul lovehood ! ** 
 23 
 
354 Poetical Works. 
 
 Then gazed I at her writhing body : 
 It seemed liquescent — it did seem 
 Like shadows gaunt of willow branches 
 Dark-wavering on a tranquil stream. 
 So wavered her voluptuous loveliness — 
 Like reflections on a bay when breezes shoreward 
 press ! 
 
 Then called I, drunken yet with kisses : 
 " I rather feel thy luscious bosom — 
 I rather kiss thy cheeks all crimson, 
 And soft as petals of a blossom — 
 For there is blood that warms, and ekes desire — 
 For there is passion, burning with its blissful fire ! ** 
 
 Then shivered her liquescent body — 
 And more resplendent grew her face, 
 That beamed, and lit her form transfigured 
 With newborn charms and angel grace- 
 Then turned my eyes toward the curtained wall — 
 The curtain moved so gently — what would befall ! 
 
 Then through my brain a taunt flew grimly — 
 Defying life and Heaven's light — 
 I shot a jeer at her — then dreading, 
 I gazed upon the floor so bright — 
 Then felt I as if something made me turn 
 Towards the curtain — and my forehead *gan to 
 burn ! 
 
 For gently moved it — and it quivered 
 As if a wizard-breeze did sway 
 
A Batch of Ballads. 355 
 
 It from the other side so lightly — 
 Then waved the folds of gold-array — 
 Then widened the scant rift a little space — 
 I thought that soon would leer a demon's face! 
 
 It widened, but it closed as gently, 
 
 While all the while the curtain moved — 
 
 *' Ha, ha ! I do defy thee, demon ! 
 
 And what that you a grifBn proved, 
 I know that nothing is more hideous seen 
 Than her dead body turned to blue and green ! 
 
 " Ha, ha ! I know the face that's horrid 
 And grows long teeth and straggly hair — 
 I know the bones will show, and brute-like 
 The features grow, of sweetness bare — 
 And know that all her curves so beautiful 
 Will shrivel, and change to slimy hues all dull." 
 
 So cried I, as the curtain quivered 
 
 So gently, as by breezes swayed — 
 
 Then grew I curious to unravel 
 
 What in that room, so hidden, stayed. 
 I had my fears to see a monster there — 
 I trembled to see a face with death's cold stare. 
 
 Therefore, when now the rift slow widened, 
 I thought the thing would bound on me — 
 Conjecturing what it would seem like 
 I saw all what most monstrous be — 
 Then moved the curtain and I felt a breath — 
 The folds waved, and I thought to see grim death ! 
 
3S6 Poetical Works. 
 
 The breath seemed near me, and the curtain 
 
 Heaved heavily, the rift grew wide. 
 
 "Oh ! are you come, you dreadful monster? 
 
 I fear not at your hideous side ! " 
 Then rushed something out from the curtain fair — • 
 I saw — but screamed — my eye lids closed fore'er 1 
 
 Then woke I. Comrades, is our living 
 But seeming, are our dreams quite true — 
 All what I saw was like at daylight, 
 And still it doth my thought imbue— 
 I see yet that wry monster — but nevermore 
 Can see the form that writhed upon the floor. 
 
 So spake he, tremor-filled, 
 And all our blood seemed sudden thrilled — 
 His eyes stared yet, and wide 
 His mouth kept open — wonder-tied 1 
 He sought my hand — and soon 
 Above the mountain rose the moon 
 And filled us all with quiet — for new things 
 Appear as soon, to soothe our dreadful shudderings ! 
 
 New things appear for us 
 
 When we are deep solicitous — 
 
 New life lives though we be 
 
 In solitude far from love's glee — 
 
 Ah ! nature smiles, and shows 
 
 New beauties, so our fancy glows — 
 So was the flame-tinged moon a welcome guest, 
 For with new calm and trust it filled each fearful 
 breast ! 
 
A Batch of Ballads. 357 
 
 Full-orbed she sailed up high ; 
 
 And shed her beams uncannily 
 
 On rim of mountain-far — 
 
 On herb, on tree, and where the waters are. 
 
 And with her solemn sheen 
 
 A wind awoke — that moaned between 
 The hill and grove — and played with reed and 
 
 flower — 
 And crooned around our ears a dirge with ghostlike 
 power. 
 
 Then could we see so dim 
 Our path, beyond by poplars slim — 
 So on we marched, 'mid gloom, 
 'Mid silence, — while the mount did loom 
 Against the sky moon-kissed — 
 We marched, while all were whist — 
 And each dreamt dreams of love and passion sweet, 
 Of smiles on rosy cheeks, when we our loves would 
 meet ! 
 
 A POETIC DAY. 
 
 The day woke with a smile upon its cheeks ; 
 And I was wrapped with indecision's veil, 
 As like a glorious mount with evening's haze. 
 I walked abroad. I thought my sadness would pro- 
 long 
 Its quiet stay within my wearied mind; 
 But unexpected things occur when least 
 They are thought near; and so it was, when morn 
 
358 Poetical Works. 
 
 Prevailed upon my mood to seek new fields, 
 
 I crossed the bridge that leads from Utica 
 
 Across the Mohawk-creek to Deerfield's lanes. 
 
 O' the other side I found a car — when lo ! 
 
 Across the bridge a pink-dressed maiden came: 
 
 A blossom blown across my way — a waft 
 
 Of dream-days when my hours were Hatem-fair ! 
 
 She came; and stepped into the car, and sat 
 
 Her down just opposite to me. Alone 
 
 We two were, and our eyes met lightning-fast, 
 
 Till I made timid overtures with queries 
 
 About the village. Then I sat me side 
 
 Of her dear side; and soon we bantered gay 
 
 As though we knew each other many months. 
 
 She told me she loved flowers wild; ah me! 
 
 She was a rarest flower with a soul 
 
 That sparkled forth from her eyes so bright and 
 
 young. 
 She told me of her father's kiln, which she 
 Did point out to me as the car sped on. 
 I watched her smiles that came and went as fast 
 As ruby-ripples 'neath a rose-bush rare, 
 In Garda's gorge. 
 
 I know not, but her dress — 
 A delicate linen hued as petal pink 
 Of tea-rose — made her seem more beautiful 
 Than had she gleamed to me in garments gay, 
 That those affect, when walking afternoons 
 To show their fineries to motley crowds. 
 'Twas thus: her gauzy dress with flying bands 
 Around her waspish waist; her cygnet-neck; 
 
A Batch of Ballads. 359 
 
 Those folds coquettish, hiding limb and bosom; 
 All gave her features something luminous, 
 As though the blushing raiment fair-suffused 
 Her face with its own brightness. Black her tress — 
 Her eyebrows; and above her Cupid-lip 
 Soft tinge — as delicate as, on the thyme, 
 The bee-sought down, low in the calyx warm. 
 Her laughing eyes, bright with her wit, were 
 
 brown ; 
 Her skin, though clear, seemed breathed all over 
 With dusky hue, as on some evening-sky 
 When haze prevails, and night sighs for her hour! 
 Such charms had she, young girl, just through 
 
 schooldays 
 Anticipating what a seminary 
 Could add to frolick-hours of her youth. 
 Then, as I pointed to a mansion large 
 " That seems like a hotel," I said — when ah ! 
 She suddenly sprang up and laughed : " No, Sir ! 
 That's where I live ! " and like a fawn, ne'er turning 
 To bid farewell, she fled from me, whose eyes 
 Grew wide — and then I felt abashed a bit 
 At what I said. The car sped on, and then I saw 
 Her enter at the postern door — but she 
 Nor turned her dark brown eyes to bid me well 
 Nor waved her hand in token of our talk. 
 She seemed a dream to me ; a sweet surprise 
 All after lonely hours of travel far; 
 And seemed as when we over meadows roam, 
 Thinking they bear no flowers fair at all. 
 At once, by a lone rock that loometh up, 
 
360 Poetical Works. 
 
 There smiles at us a lonely sweet-brier-bush 
 That soothes our heart! 
 
 Such for the morn's surprise. 
 Then on I traveled to fair Trenton-Falls, 
 A half an hour's ride from Utica. 
 And side by side I sat with a young lass. 
 We talked ; and often would my knee touch hers, 
 And so both felt sweet thrill of blood; and so 
 Till at the station we both bade farewell. 
 Then in the stage a lady was, with whom 
 Sweet interchange of casual thought I had — 
 Till, at the house, we parted, for she dwelled 
 In a fair cottage there. 
 
 Then went I slow 
 To see the falls. Through leafy woods the path 
 Did wind to the deep gorge; steep steps led down 
 To where the waters wild sped on their course 
 Narrow — with gashes deep within the rocks. 
 Along the furious current upon the edge 
 My feet found foothold scant at times; but soon 
 The gorge did widen: there in front of me 
 A fall of foaming snow rushed down. I stood; 
 And did imprint its wild display full well 
 Upon my memory. Then on — a bend — 
 Another fall — wide — with a series fair 
 Of smaller ones; all white as mountain-snow. 
 And at the feet of these, upon a slab, 
 A party sat, that picnicked quietly there. 
 Two maidens and a couple young. I passed 
 Them, after gazing at the beauty-girls, 
 For they were in those years when nature gives 
 
A Batch of Ballads. 361 
 
 Them charms, soft, warm, that spell the manly] 
 
 heart 
 To love and woo. They smiled at me; then up 
 The cliff I cHmbed — along the downward waters. 
 Then on — another bend — and on — till there 
 The widest falls gloried in all their grandeur. 
 And I sat down to do them homage deep — 
 I sat — and heard the roar, and heard the gurgle 
 And saw the foam be driven by the breeze. 
 Then up the stairs ; till, all above, I stood ; 
 And thought to be a Wodan, bent to rule 
 The spirits of the waterfall and gorge. 
 Up there the gorge was wide, five hundred feet — 
 And woodland went up steep on either side. 
 Oh! there it was the sweetest sight I saw. 
 So imexpected — are not we the toys 
 Of higher spirits? Aye, for we are shorn 
 Of all events that may be some day ours. 
 We live in dreams, and walk abroad in doubt; 
 And know not, when we wake, what wretchedness 
 May knock at our own door at noon, nor tell 
 What teeming tenderness may nudge us softly 
 When o'er the woods the crescent saileth slow! 
 Another bend — but not a path, nor right 
 Nor left ; but, all along the rushing waters, 
 My feet had needs must grope their way at rislc 
 Of slipping into pools of seething foam. 
 Then, at the bend, my eyes beheld a sight 
 So fair for poet's pen — for artist's brush 
 So classic — subject fit for Moscheles, 
 Or Bion's muse : right on the shining slab, 
 
362 Poetical Works. 
 
 At edge of shallow waters, sat a girl — 
 
 Scarce twenty summers here — who had her limbs 
 
 Exposed 'way 'bove the rounded knee; she wiped 
 
 them, 
 Aft' wading in the shallow part of the wild flood. 
 Unconscious of two wondering eyes — in thought 
 That she were in a place where no rude eyes 
 Would see what Fauns so dote on; she was free 
 To lie at ease, while sunrays bathed her limbs 
 So rosy-white, and shaped, as were quick Dian's 
 When Acteon saw too much, and paid the price 
 With being doomed to wander o'er mead and hill 
 In shape of a fair stag. I saw, and turned 
 To left, thinking a path were there to take — • 
 And so not violate propriety; but no — 
 Steep, straggly all with shrub, and dense with tree, 
 There was no path up the left side to take. 
 She looked my way; my eyes met hers; but smile 
 And smile beamed from her face ; yet seemed she all 
 Abashed; aye, was she angry that a man 
 Had privilege to see what our convention hides 
 From general view? But, as it was, she smiled. 
 I smiled, but said no word, and walked past her. 
 But, ah! I saw her perfect limbs so white 
 Naked from foot to swelling hip so fair. 
 Her rounded knee with muscles stretched; her feet 
 So dainty pink — I envied all the pool 
 That lapped its ripples o'er their soft fair flesh — 
 As rose's petal. There she wiped them dry ; 
 And bent her leg, or stretched it on the rock, 
 While turning her sweet features to my own, 
 
A Batch of Ballads. 363 
 
 And smiling at me. I would have said a word, 
 
 But then, just as I moved my lips, there came 
 
 Two women to my view; both old, her aunt 
 
 Perhaps; the other some acquaintance old; 
 
 So that I simply gazed and smiled; and passed. 
 
 But at the other bend I sat me there 
 
 And rested. Then I peeped around the bend; 
 
 She hastened on her stockings; then she turned 
 
 And I quick put my head away, lest she 
 
 Should think me like those two old biblic men, 
 
 Who wantonly had gazed at Sarah 
 
 While bathing in the pool. I sat awhile. 
 
 Then went my way; and by that time the girl, 
 
 The women — all had left the spot. And, ah! 
 
 I still could see her seated with her limbs 
 
 Exposed to my Faun-like eyes; still shone 
 
 Her marble limbs, and bent her rosy knee, 
 
 And was it like a vision all I saw; 
 
 For all intangible she was to me. 
 
 So are our dreams while sleeping through the night, 
 
 And is our waking but another dream 
 
 That such sweet sights flit by us as in dreams? . 
 
 Who knows ! But strange it is that still I see 
 
 The beauteous girl, whose dress was up her waist 
 
 And all the charms voluptuous of her limbs 
 
 Were free to view ! And still I see her smile 
 
 When turning, all abashed to see a man. 
 
 O fond surprise, with which our earthly day 
 
 Is all too chary, wilt pay me visit sweet 
 
 Again, to make my mind full eager yet 
 
 To live awhile? I trust thou wilt again, 
 
364 Poetical Works. 
 
 So I may sing anew still sweeter songs. 
 'Twere all too fond such proofs of Fate's good will 
 That through the day she bless my rapture-gaze. 
 But often in the day sweet scenes will crowd 
 In numbers that another's sight is blessed with 
 In one long month. So on I went along " 
 The rushing brook : under an iron bridge ; 
 Till soon the wide gorge narrowed sudden there. 
 There were the rocks cut by the torrent wild 
 And deepest holes that sizzled and foamed were 
 
 formed. 
 Full thousand feet I crept from rock to rock 
 Till the wild waters gushed so near to me 
 That not a foothold found I there, and so 
 I was compelled to turn my steps homeward. 
 And when the gorge widened to pleasant shores 
 I saw a party camping under boughs 
 Of elm and ash. And three young stalwart girls 
 Were there ; two of them waded in the brook. 
 Such shapes they had as lasses of fair Erin, 
 Their skirts raised to the buxom waists, their limbs, 
 White as hydrangea in its second color, 
 Naked — their ankles hidden in the headlong flow 
 Of turbulent brook. So waded they full long ; 
 And I stood there to watch them plashing well, 
 Standing at times all bashful, yet withal 
 Emboldened by the wild seclusion, the din 
 Of rush and roar, so that they seemed to be 
 Like happy Highland-maidens, in some loch 
 When June has showered freshness on the hills 
 And all is blossoming. So left I them 
 
A Batch of Ballads. 365 
 
 At pleasure all so innocent; and left 
 That place so made for Indian camps full weird. 
 And left those pools, those various waterfalls, 
 Those steep ravines, those paths with wood and 
 
 moss. 
 And traveled to new scenes and ventures bold. 
 
 O, ever will that day poetic be — 
 
 A fond remembrance when wild wo or care 
 
 Be mine. I'll press this sweet romantic day 
 
 Well in the leaves of all my memory — 
 
 I'll never lose it; but will keep it there, 
 
 A posy of sweet faces, and of limbs 
 
 Sweet naked in the wilds of nature's reign; 
 
 Of smiles from unknown maidens and their glances. 
 
 And with a thanks to Fate for those surprises 
 
 My pen may well lie quiet now till hours 
 
 In future days send me new scenes so fair. 
 
 If not touched with a sweeter grace than on 
 
 That fortunate day; perhaps enlivened by a kiss 
 
 Or a soft touch — a thrill of love and joy. 
 
 Yet, be it as it may, those eight fair hours 
 
 Can never fly away from my lone mind — 
 
 Caged there forever, vigilance of mine 
 
 Will tend to them with never-lessening love! 
 
366 Poetical Works. 
 
 'A TRUE STORY. 
 
 We two are hunters in the wilds of Maine. 
 
 My friend had shot big moose full oft, 
 
 And scared the partridge from the oak's broad 
 
 croft. 
 I can excel him shooting — I'm not vain — 
 Aye, shooting bear — and killing wild-cats grim ! 
 
 One day, when summer-leaves turn amber clear — 
 And others shine like rubies in the sun, 
 The air is bracing — and the brooklets run 
 In frolic laughter down the waning year — 
 One day we left our village for the woods. 
 
 Our shining guns ashoulder — sacks well filled — 
 And, true to hunters, plenished with strong wine-— 
 We trod the path, that passed by pine 
 And pine — till near a gloomy cliff we stilled 
 Our heartbeats, resting on a mossy ledge. 
 
 Then onward pressed — along the mountain-brook 
 That roared o'er boulders — till we reached the place 
 Where we would give a long undaunted chase 
 To game that haunted that lone mountain nook — 
 And there we waited — eyes alert for moose. 
 
 But as he waits at trysting-places long, 
 
 And seeing no fair nymph come for his kiss — 
 
 We waited — and, waiting, found our place amiss; 
 
A Batch of Ballads. 367 
 
 Then in despair we sang our hunter's song, 
 And took a path to new secluded scenes. 
 
 One hour's trudging, till an open smiled full glad, 
 And there we sat us down — for grass was soft — 
 And liquid blew the breeze from hidden loft. 
 There joyed we — in nature no one can be sad — 
 And laid us down to quiet musing's charm. 
 
 Then from our dreaming were we sudden aroused 
 By wondrous singing soft, from human throat — 
 As clear as birdsong rose each melodious note. 
 Ah me! had these wild woods some strangers 
 
 housed — 
 These woods high up above the busy vale? 
 
 High up above the valley, live with trade — 
 Here in seclusion wild, unknown to most — 
 Here — where we nigh our mountain-path had lost. 
 Should wondrous strains from human throat be 
 
 made? 
 It seemed as though a mountain-spirit sang! 
 
 We listened — involuntary tears uprose — 
 What scene were we to see back of the trees? 
 Our hearts they beat — enchantment by the seas 
 Of fairy kingdoms could not thrill our woes 
 As did that hidden voice here in this wood. 
 
 Clear, pure, as though the voice from Aegle came — 
 Some Aegle, singing by her cherished pool — 
 Clear, pure the strains kept floating in the cool, 
 
368 Poetical Works. 
 
 Fair mountain-air — while we were fain to name 
 That spot in honor of an unseen god! 
 
 Then ceased the singing — the lull seemed awful to 
 
 us — 
 Alone, where not a hut was far around 
 The quiet tingled — and we thought the sound 
 Had died with such a suddenness to show us 
 Unwritten scenes, Faust saw on Venus' mount ! 
 
 Then rose the voice again — and we were drawn 
 
 Resistlessly by all its spell-like tone. 
 
 Back of the trees there sat a lass alone — 
 
 A lovely fair-shaped lass upon the lawn 
 
 Of this wild wood, far from the valley's noise. 
 
 But when she saw us, like a startled doe 
 She fled across the lawn — and cried aghast. 
 We followed — till by a boulder she had passed : 
 And there beside a man, with locks of snow, 
 She fell prostrate — while we held breath and won- 
 dered ! 
 
 We wondered that in this secluded spot — 
 Far from a human habitation — lived 
 Two beings lonely — and that they had thrived — 
 In body strong and sane in lonely thought — 
 And then we questioned him with locks of snow. 
 
 At first all loth he was his tale to tell; 
 But soon his secret he exposed full fain; 
 And as we sat us down, we heard his strain 
 
A Batch of Ballads. 369 
 
 That pleasant flowed — then passion full would 
 
 swell, 
 And seemed like tales of kings in exile pent: 
 
 " Well wonder ye two hunters at my state — 
 
 And well ye do to gaze at me full long; 
 
 For sadder than the tale of Lear is mine — 
 
 More villainy I had to bear than kings 
 
 Of olden days; and tears I shed as warm 
 
 As old Tithonus when he felt that he 
 
 Was thralled to tedious immortality. 
 
 You see that through my manhood studious hours 
 
 Were mine; all books the world's great minds had 
 
 bloomed 
 I had pored over — and fair fame had wreathed 
 A fragrant garland, tribute to my works. 
 I was a star in poesy's fair sky — 
 Yet hidden from the aping world at large 
 By clouds that fair sublimity evolved. 
 And whom the dull majority could not pierce 
 With their mole-eyes. My fair ideal shone 
 In galaxies wherein all greatest souls 
 The world had brought to light flamed brilliant: 
 Grave Chaucer; Spenser, sweetest of the stars; 
 Fire-Shakespeare; Milton, harmonist divine; 
 Keats; Shelley, spirit seer like Israfel; 
 Meek Very, most divine of all our bards ; 
 Sad Poe; fair Tennyson; and our Saltus, i 
 
 He, Ishmael of song — and left forlorn 
 In this degenerate age by his own friends — 
 To be with them I strove; my works were fit 
 
370 Poetical Works. 
 
 To lie with theirs — but dull the world is ever : 
 
 What tends to take mankind to Heaven's reign 
 
 The world ignores and ridicules; — I found 
 
 This truth when works sublime of mine were left 
 
 Unnoticed on the shelves — whereas trite scripts 
 
 That dealt with mundane commonplace and vice 
 
 The hypocritic crowd sought eagerly. 
 
 Then was it that my mind with flames was filled — 
 
 I lost sweet Patience — and Resolve stood strong 
 
 Before my thought. Yet, as reflection came 
 
 As ripple of the rain, I dreamed of wood 
 
 And field and sky — and moon and stars; and all 
 
 That God had made for man when he is sad. 
 
 Then thought I too of woman sweet again — 
 
 For woman was like inspiration to me ! 
 
 I was a widower then; alone — childless. 
 
 I thought of her who helped me in my work — 
 
 Whom death had taken when she was so young — 
 
 Alone to live seemed like in prison pent — 
 
 I could not work; then thought I of the hours 
 
 We spent together: reading — writing oft — 
 
 Communing of the higher things of life 
 
 Such that induce fair dreams. And I resolved 
 
 To wed anew. I found a fair young soul 
 
 That to the lofty nature of myself 
 
 Could lift itself at times harmoniously. 
 
 We wedded; happy months of joy and bliss 
 
 Were ours — and soon she bore a girl — and glad 
 
 Was I — for she grew up in health and beauty: 
 
 The image of the mother. — 
 
 But two years 
 
A Batch of Ballads. 371 
 
 Had gone, when at an evening in the fall 
 
 On my way home, I saw my brilHant wife 
 
 In company with gallants in the street. 
 
 I shuddered. Then truth and all dawned suddenly 
 
 Upon me. My wife untrue to me? What fears 
 
 Beset my mind! That night I learned the truth. 
 
 My roof was alien to her, for she returned not. 
 
 All kindness, gifts, and rich support she scorned — 
 
 She left me all alone with Lilian young. 
 
 What could I do? Then, with the bitterness 
 
 Of mind set at the world for their dull brains 
 
 And their low sordidness, this new experience 
 
 Galled all my heart — so in a fit of rage, 
 
 I hated the dissembling world's low life — 
 
 And I resolved to flee to woods afar. 
 
 Yet take with me my child, to keep me young. 
 
 And to these woods I went — just sixteen years 
 
 Ago. And sixteen years we lived alone — 
 
 No human soul trespassing in these wilds. 
 
 You are the first men that have strayed this way. 
 
 See, here's my Lilian, grown to beautyhood — 
 
 Strong, healthy, molded like her mother fair; 
 
 Yet all untainted with low city-thoughts! 
 
 Aye, it doth seem that pristine country life 
 
 In sympathy with nature had been wisest — 
 
 For here in this wild place my Lilian's heart 
 
 Is pure, and free — yet in the city's streets 
 
 With artificial life, planned by some fools 
 
 Who in days past had set some rules to please 
 
 Their vapid brains, it seems that nature fair 
 
 Had lost its hold upon the social man 
 
372 Poetical Works. 
 
 And those who bred in city-college 
 
 They serve the heartless codes of etiquette 
 
 And show. Thus Lilian is a perfect flower — 
 
 Her intellect I cherished — and I taught her 
 
 All useful things, and the soul's sweeter task: 
 
 To love the fair ideal, such that prompts 
 
 To work at art, or song, or sweet reflection. 
 
 You question how she writes and reads and sings — 
 
 Ah ! I had taught her all ; for I had books — 
 
 And to the village far down in the valley 
 
 I oft would go, to buy materials there. 
 
 She sings as sweetly as the damsels great 
 
 That in the opera-houses thrill the crowds 
 
 Of winter-nights. Yet sweeter still — for clear 
 
 As bird-notes purl her songs in liberty — 
 
 She has a gift that she may carol fair 
 
 As Syrens had on far Calypso's reefs, 
 
 T' enthrall Ulysses. You heard her fairy-voice 
 
 Awhile ago. You say it thrilled you— well, 
 
 You art not common men, I see — and though 
 
 You hunt big game, you are well read and like 
 
 At times to con the poets of the past. 
 
 I still can read the human face, and feel 
 
 By sudden impulse what you are at heart, 
 
 For I had studied everything man knows — 
 
 And when I came here, with such knowledge full, 
 
 The solitude seemed more for thought and dreams 
 
 Than for new study. Here these sixteen years 
 
 IVe delved the secrecy of life — of love — 
 
 Of strife and greed, and all that makes man act. 
 
 And my conclusion is that all is vain, — 
 
A Batch of Ballads. 373 
 
 All serves as toys for grown-up people's play — 
 Else what should be? Man's laws have altered life 
 That once was pure, serene and full of bliss. 
 As Scott sang: man has foiled fair nature's plan — 
 And I have found it true. The soul needs nought 
 That man of common intellect deems useful: 
 We all are social — yet society turned 
 Our natural instincts to obsequiousness; 
 And dress has aye deranged a woman's brain. 
 See Lilian — she enjoys sweet nature's woods 
 And loves the brook : yet dresses ; but so plain 
 A raiment hath she on, she thinks nought of it. 
 Her soul hath richer rainients than fair Sheba's — 
 She praises all she sees in nature — and she glows 
 When we together sing our Vesper song in praise 
 Of One-In-All. She hath more knowledge sweet - 
 Of God, than all your girls at church — who hie 
 There save to show their fineries; or gossip. 
 Each morn she chants with dulcet voice a hymn ' 
 I wrote in this fair wood — and fervently ! 
 Though she seems like a savage being — hark! 
 She hath more beauty in her heart, than many 
 A lady, owning equipage and house. 
 And she is happy — nothing base she knoweth yet — 
 Reared in these woods, sweet purity is hers — 
 Dear nature's ward! No vanity incenses 
 Her mind — nor doth she ever think of gold. 
 I reared her, so her maidenhood be fair. 
 Her knowing thoughts are clothed with beauty- 
 words — 
 And fr^e from envy is her heart — that beats 
 
374 Poetical Works. 
 
 Accordant with the truths of Hfe she learned 
 From me these years. So now you know the life 
 We led; — come, Lilian, sing the beauty-song 
 That lauds the woods and brooks I wrote for 
 thee!" 
 
 We stalwart hunters listened to her song — 
 While then her voice rose clear and resonant, 
 As sounds the wind when blowing down the slant 
 Of cedarn groves, and voices all the throng 
 With tones, so full with dreams of olden hours. 
 
 Yes, she had genius in her young good soul — 
 And therefore much she did, came from above — 
 For spirits rule us — we must bear strong love 
 To them, so they our creative mind control — 
 Then are we powerful as Obs, the god. 
 
 She walked like sweet Elaine of Astolat 
 So maidenly and chaste she walked about. — 
 And smiled at us — or her red lips would pout 
 When both our eyes, gazing at this and that. 
 Would quickly turn toward her, the nature-child. 
 
 Then would she huddle at her father's feet — 
 And sit as daughters of the skalds of old. 
 Intent to their sire's strains from harps of gold. 
 Or smile into his face with love so sweet, 
 As deep, sincere as came from Jesu's eyes. 
 
 O there the ideal girl lay, beauty-bred — 
 No low desires — nor the world's vain show 
 
A Batch of Ballads. 375 
 
 Soiled her young heart; but fair in nature's glow, 
 
 She was a prize for loyal man to wed — 
 
 A soul that praised the works of glorious God. 
 
 How strange she seemed to those we left behind 
 By shop and gay saloon, or on the street — 
 Their eyes had no faint gleam of what was sweet 
 To souls — but they flashed barter-crazed, and blind 
 To all that lifts the mind from earthy things. 
 
 We tried persuade him join us to the vale, 
 But firm he kept his promise there to stay — 
 And holding his young daughter — divinest clay — 
 Within his arm — he bade us well and hale — 
 And, wond'ring still, we left them to their joys. 
 
 THE POMP OF PRIDE. 
 
 Upon the lea, all succulent of grass. 
 And shaded by a grove of dark live-oaks, 
 Loheese and Ramon lay reclined. Loheese 
 With languor-mellowed eyes, and pleached tress- 
 A sweet, rare remnant of the dreamy souls, 
 That still love all that nature shows and grows. 
 A fair, sweet remnant of the minds, atune 
 To deeper things than worldly life and joy. 
 Loheese, the full-lipped, full-cheeked girl 
 Fair-formed for Lippo's chisel ; full of dreams 
 And loving all that keeps the mind full fair. 
 With Ramon, he the visionary young — 
 
576 t^oetical Works. 
 
 Who saw strange scenes pass at high noon-tide hour 
 Within his mind — who knows when friends will 
 
 die, 
 For by weird signs in sky or in his dreams, 
 Dark Mystery foretells the fatal day ! 
 They lay reclined. The soft sea-breezes came 
 And laved their faces — ^pink from loving much. 
 And scents from scores of wild verbena 
 Filled all the air around; while, on the beach, 
 The tang lay serpenting — and glistened bright, 
 For, down the western heaven's slant, the sun 
 His chariot sped with no fair retinue 
 Of scud and foaming cloud; the surf was calm. 
 And like the tapping of rosed baby-hands 
 Upon her mother's bosom, plashed and splashed 
 The gentle surf towards the shell-decked sand. 
 While o'er the crests the gray-winged gull sailed bold. 
 Or sea-ducks flew ; or pelicans, henne-billed. 
 And white as patches of sweet celandine. 
 Swift-fluttered, or floated in the breeze aglow. 
 Then Ramon spoke in accents musical — 
 While his Loheese peered up to him, her love : 
 " Loheese, how strangely men live on this earth — 
 Though God's rare influence all surrounds — the few 
 Reign sovereign still o'er the luckless multitude. 
 How kings of old were favored by harsh Fate — 
 They aye enjoyed the utmost of this life. 
 While nations aye were slaves to toil and wo. 
 Yet so it e'er had been — in times of old 
 When Moses tried to check the monarch's power — 
 When Nero made of Rome one lupenar — 
 
A Batch of Ballads. 377 
 
 When Milton vainly strove to cleanse his isl( 
 And Luther had no audience for his mission. 
 In pristine days some men elect enjoyed 
 Glorious life to their fill, while others toiled — 
 And, toiling, sought perchance an early grave ; 
 Till, when inventions entered some great minds 
 And currency was made an evil sore, 
 The greater intellects, and brains more shrewd. 
 Concerted to rule unbounded, to the wo 
 Of poverty — till pomp and station high 
 Made them proclaim themselves proud kings su- 
 preme. 
 Yet so 'twill be forever, till the end 
 Of worlds in the great boundless universe. 
 But that will never be — for there's no end 
 To the whole plan of God Almighty Lord. 
 Loheese the faithful girl, the long-tried heart — 
 She wistful glanced at Ramon — when he praised 
 Him Who no longer lives to skeptic men. 
 " O Ramon, all my sisters use His gifts 
 For show — to deck their beauty with all time. 
 Rare flowers they ne'er adore, save when they 
 
 throne 
 Upon their bodice for the sake of show. 
 Sweet singing birds hop from the apple-boughs 
 Upon the flowery, thick, long orchard-grass — 
 But they are nought to them — yet in their pride 
 They stick their cold dead bodies on their hats; 
 No thought of admiration nor of praise 
 To Him Who made them fair comes from their 
 lips; 
 
37^ Poetical Works. 
 
 Ah me! my sisters' hearts are like the stone 
 That lies exposed to winds of Labrador. 
 Now tell me, as you promised, of those Kings 
 In Tartary — who lived in wondrous times 
 When aged Mohammed fled to fair Medina. 
 And I will listen, while the breezes low, 
 Soft music make, as fair accompaniment. 
 
 Then Ramon held her hand that lay adangling 
 O'er one mossed stone; and with a look as one 
 Who seemed to gaze in lands afar, unseen 
 By eyes — ^but radiantly expanding before 
 The soul's unfathomed realm — he spoke 
 In accents dreamers bold are wont to use — 
 They seemed like sounds in fair October woods 
 When bracing airs reign in the sun's bright beams — 
 Sounds, slowly coming from a hidden brook; 
 Now loud, then soft, as veers the moody wind — 
 Now mellow — and again strong-sounding there — 
 Thus Ramon told Loheese of Tartar-kings : 
 " Loheese, my charm — my gift of God the Good — 
 Thy sweet request doth vivify my mind — 
 And clear my thoughts are now — as after hours 
 When truest lovers loved on mossy lawns. 
 And in a brook refreshed their bodies moist — 
 My tongue is loosed — and like a mountain-brook 
 So gush my flood of words, for thee to hear! 
 Of Kubla thou dost know full well, Loheese! 
 He once decreed a pleasure-palace rare 
 Within his sacred valley to be built — 
 And maidens draped in robes of gausy silks 
 
A Batch of Ballads. 379 
 
 Hued as a dove's breast, or as coral red — 
 
 Or striped with tinsel — or spotted purply-argent, 
 
 Dreamed in those fountained halls — or played 
 
 Upon their pearl-ingrained dulcimers. 
 
 And round this marvelous palace, marble-pillared, 
 
 And studded, on the walls, with stones of price — 
 
 A beauteous park, with pleasant meadows, wound. 
 
 Enlivened fair with springs — and rivers loud — 
 
 With game for hunts, and brindled leopards trained, 
 
 That rode on snow-white palfreys, so to leap 
 
 Upon the stage, when wild the hunt doth grow, 
 
 He had — for he delighted in such ways. 
 
 And there he lived through all the summer long — 
 
 There too he had ten thousand horses white — 
 
 White as the lilies growing in Cathay; 
 
 None durst drink of their milk, save he whose name 
 
 Is Timgis — and those horses were like idols 
 
 They lived, full reverenced, in liberty. 
 
 He was the mighty lord in his domain; 
 
 All people bowed before his sovereignty. 
 
 He had the wealth of forty thousand barons. 
 
 And every wish he uttered was fulfilled. 
 
 Four wives brought bliss to him — and from their 
 
 bliss 
 Sprung two-and-twenty sons of fair strong build. 
 Like Solomon his retinue of slaves 
 And girls to dally with in amorous hours 
 Was thousand strong — they came from Virgut far, 
 Where dwelled a nation famed for fairest maids. 
 Ah ! so are we too, we love countless lips — 
 Loheese — all kings loved beauty, pomp, and feasts; 
 
386 Poetical Works. 
 
 We all are kings — ^but that we have no powef 
 
 Like theirs to make the cringing populace tremble. 
 
 So must we be content with little here 
 
 And satisfy our heart from one love-fount." 
 
 At this Loheese reproachful gazed at Ramon — 
 
 And pouted : *' Art thou longing for a host 
 
 Of damsels ? — Am I not full fair for thee ? " 
 
 At which he pressed his lips on hers — and smiled. — 
 
 Then he resumed his tale more joyously: 
 
 " Loheese, thou art like many damsels fair 
 
 To me — for thou dost love me from thy heart — 
 
 And many favorites are like the stars 
 
 That glorify the moon on autumn nights, 
 
 When two days long no tremor of a vapor 
 
 Hath risen from the mountain vales and range. 
 
 Aye there were many kings in Tartary — 
 
 But greatest for display, was King Fanfur. 
 
 Quinsay, * the town of Heaven,* was his seat — 
 
 And there he ruled with generous golden hand. 
 
 In ages past his ancestors had set 
 
 A mighty palace in center of a space 
 
 Ten miles in circuit; 'twas near Quinsay's towers. 
 
 Strong walls surrounded the fair country-stretch; 
 
 Into three parts he had divided it. 
 
 The central one was beautiful immured; 
 
 Had stately portals, rich-designed, as entrance; 
 
 While on the other side long galleries 
 
 Ran with the wall ; and there had orned roofs 
 
 Sustained by pillars, wrought in gold all pure — 
 
 And some in finest azure that Mangi gave. 
 
 Throughout those galleries were paintings rare — 
 
A Batch of Ballads. 381 
 
 Scenes in the lives of his sires long deceased. 
 
 And likenesses of those who heroes proved 
 
 All painted by the ablest in his land. 
 
 And in this palace, marble-wrought, he held 
 
 His court — on certain days, festivities — 
 
 To which ten thousand men from Quinsay went: 
 
 His lords, the merchants great from far and near — 
 
 And artificers rich — and men renowned. 
 
 Ten days the feast would last — and each glad guest 
 
 Was then apparelled in richest vestments fine: 
 
 A pomp supreme, scarce seen in other lands. 
 
 Back of this palace was a marble wall ; 
 
 And back of this a cloister stood full fair — ^ 
 
 For solemn was its strong design — rare pillars 
 
 Firm holding up the quaint magnificence. 
 
 In it were seen the private chambers of Fanfur, 
 
 Rare ornamented, joined by golden halls; 
 
 And from these cloistral rooms an entrance led 
 
 Within a gallery, six paces wide, that overlooked 
 
 The glassy lake, fair bordered by rare trees, 
 
 'Neath whose rich umbrage walks were laid — and 
 
 green 
 And flowery wound the forest-aisles to hills 
 Afar — that, lucent in the sun, shone fair. 
 On each side were ten courts like cloisters built — 
 And each contained fifty chambers great — 
 With fairy-gardens blooming for each room. 
 In these, Loheese! the king his damsels kept — 
 One thousand beauties for his pleasure-hours — 
 And oft with them (at times the queen would join)' 
 Dream-voyages within his royal-barge 
 
382 Poetical Works. 
 
 Upon the mile- wide lake he would enjoy. 
 
 And sailing passed some sacred grove where stood 
 
 Within the solemn gloom of trees gigantic 
 
 A temple — there he would moor, and go to pray 
 
 To his great idol for a solemn hour. 
 
 These buildings rare did constitute one part 
 
 Of Fanfur's famed pleasure ground; — the rest 
 
 Of all the ten fair miles showed groves — and 
 
 lakes — 
 And fancy gardens — planted with quaint trees- — 
 Where sported twenty different kinds of beasts — 
 Tamed leopards, lions young — and bears — 
 And game: stags, roebucks, hares and conies 
 
 small — 
 Gadderi swift — and antelopes fair-hued. 
 And there the king held chase, his favorite damsels 
 Leading. When weary, they would rest— and 
 
 shout 
 In sport to one another o'er the waters — 
 Till echo laughed at echo — and the air 
 Rang joyous with the music of their voices. 
 Ofttimes, when August afternoons beamed bright. 
 Those damsels would untie their belts of silk 
 And let their draperies of luxurious stuffs 
 Fall on the sparkling green — then, in the sight 
 Of King Fanfur, they swam across the cove 
 And, from the tepid water swift emerging. 
 Upon the mossy rock would stand aglow 
 In all their beauty, like a goddess white 
 Upon a lawn of olden Pelion. 
 And other days when weary of the hunt 
 
A Batch of Ballads. 383 
 
 He gave great banquets in those fragrant groves, 
 His damsels serving — dressed in gausy silks. 
 All beautiful — all young — and all his own. 
 For not a man set foot within those grounds. 
 Oh I happy sweets had king Fanfur those days, 
 When peace smiled like a child with raven hair ; 
 And he ruled all-beloved by lord and knave. 
 But now that paradise lies half in ruin. 
 Loheese! Long years he dreamed and held sole 
 
 sway — 
 But war burst forth — and he was killed — while all 
 The palace fell — and many galleries crumbled 
 Under the frantic feet of soldiery. 
 The beasts are gone, the game are now no more — 
 And all the pleasures King Fanfur once had 
 Are but a memory on the lips of men." 
 Then o'er the far horizon where the line 
 Of sea grew dark, a bank of heaving cloud 
 Swelled up — and near its wavy rim of gray 
 The sun was lowering. Loheese sat dreaming — 
 Then peered up to her lover — while she said: 
 " 'Twas like a fairy-tale — for pomp and glow 
 Enframed the marvelous pictures thou hast drawn. 
 Can I believe it true that kings of old 
 Once led such glorious life, when now they lead 
 Oft barren lives in palace-rooms alone. 
 And think! my Ramon — how we live — we people 
 Who have no kings — but have great millionaires — 
 (Who after all are like to kings in times 
 Now out of mind.) 
 
 Those worthy kings of old 
 
384 Poetical Works. 
 
 They knew how life is filled with pleasures pure — 
 
 But our gold-kings are satisfied with gain. 
 
 They rest not from the toil of heaping riches — 
 
 They dream not in fair nature's fairy-realm — 
 
 Nor think to build rare mighty palaces 
 
 That stand the siege of Time. But, thralls to greed, 
 
 They horde vast sums to squander uselessly — 
 
 Nor think to fill their homes with art or song.'' 
 
 To which Ramon replied reproachfully: 
 
 " Loheese, our millionaires enjoy this life. 
 
 For in the eastern cities stand their homes: 
 
 Rare ornamented palaces of stone. 
 
 And there are found rich rooms with art-designs 
 
 And halls with pillars, all of marble made. 
 
 They know to have great feasts; and dance and 
 
 sing. 
 But true — like kings of old they thus forsake 
 The many that for want of food must perish. 
 Yet thus, Loheese. all generations old 
 Have been — and thus will all the future be. 
 A king must reign — or, in our states united, 
 The millionaires must have their being so. 
 It is a law of humankind forever." 
 To which Loheese with thoughtful gaze replied: 
 " O Ramon, here upon this world, where life 
 And death play hazard games with women, men, 
 And children, wealth insures sad poverty. 
 The tall, full-limbed oak basks in the sun 
 And feels so proud that all the sunshine pours 
 Upon its stately crown — but who can say 
 What host of lives it thwarts within its shade. 
 
A Batch of Ballads. 385 
 
 The violet at its roots, that gets no sun — 
 The many tiny nits that thus are barred 
 Of candent light — and many more, are placed 
 In shadow — thus impoverished, they must die." 
 Then Ramon stood upon the rock and gazed 
 Far out to sea; and beckoned to Loheese 
 To stand up by his side. Now the gray cloud 
 Had to a tyrian dye fair-turned, while low 
 Above the sea's curved line the sun poured through 
 A flood of brilliant liquid gold — that spread 
 Above the cloud, slow-lessening its glow 
 As in the zenith's blue it melted gradually. 
 Then dropped the ball of gold beyond the sea 
 Into vast space ; and solemn grew the air. 
 As if soft voices sang rare praise to God. 
 The warm air grew more chill — and slowly crept 
 The gentle dusk athwart the lea, and grove, 
 And undulant sea. Then Ramon and Loheese 
 Slow wandered long the beach, that sinuous ran 
 With surf, and hill, and rocky headland bold. 
 Then lost to view — while, where they long had lain 
 That afternoon, deep solitude sang there — 
 The wind, as to some herbs it whispered low — 
 And soon all lay deep steeped in starry night, 
 
 Left to the ravages of fate and death. 
 25 
 
MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
NOTE. 
 
 The Fragments were all written out of doors ; generally on the 
 spot where the incidents transpired. 
 
 The first three were written in 1887. 
 
 " She and I " is a souvenir of Ellen ville, N. Y.f penned out of doors 
 in 1889. 
 
 " Inspiration," written in 1886 at Williams's Farm, near Ithaca, 
 N. Y. 
 
 " Spirit-Lore," written at white heat at Paris, France, in 1887. 
 
 The author has thought well to add these brief notes — as the more 
 interested readers might better enjoy the poems if a clue to their 
 origin is given. Be this as it may, the author has tried his best ; if 
 he has failed, he has at least the satisfaction that his endeavors have 
 been honest, and that all his works have sprung from a sincerity of 
 heart. 
 
FRAGMENTS. 
 
 A Vision. 
 
 {Written at Arrogno — near Lugano Lake^ Italy. 
 Descriptive of a happening at Varese, at feet 
 of Monte Rosa,) 
 
 All the winds of the West were blowing 
 
 Their scents o'er the leafy trees and flowery lane ; 
 All the golden stars of the heavens were glowing, 
 
 After the day, their mysteries again — 
 When a youth he gazed o'er the vale 
 
 To the distant Alps in their snow arrayed. 
 And he heard through the night-scented gale 
 
 A few whispers that were part in darkness laid. 
 And he stood in the dark, in the Western wind, 
 
 No one afront — aside — or behind. 
 Alone — like the central star, when the gloom 
 Hath not yet called the night's glowing doom. 
 Alone — like the moon in its nebulous white. 
 When yet the sun sheds forth his waning light. 
 
 And he stood in the dark, while afar a cloud 
 In the east where the sun would be — 
 When the nightingales sing long and free — 
 
 Was lined by the peeping moon's yellow shroud; 
 And his dreamy eyes they wandered far 
 
 389 
 
390 Poetical Works. 
 
 From moon to eternity — from earth to v 
 
 While around him the surge of the west-blowing 
 
 gale 
 Now rosed his cheeks — now turned them pale. 
 For the gale it blew scents of longings and kisses ; 
 But then rustled anear, like the tread of a crazed 
 
 one. 
 For the gale it sang loud of connubial blisses ; 
 But there it moaned, like an adulteress all alone ! 
 And he leered at the ascending globe. 
 Like daffodils at eve was her glowing robe ! 
 And slowly, as the thought that rises in prayer, 
 The moon arose from forth her vapory lair ! 
 And a faint mist shed o'er the Alps and far vale. 
 While ever blowed surgingly the west-coming gale. 
 The moon rose, as some Hindoo-goddess in her 
 
 gold. 
 Majestically doffing her dark-blue fold. 
 As queenly the moon from forth the clouds did rise, 
 As Sheba, when she fair Nubia did surprise : 
 With her calm, her majesty, and beauty supreme ! 
 And he gazed at the distant array, with its gleam 
 From enchantment-land — that was veiling the scene. 
 Like the hope that all of our troubles doth screen ! 
 And alone — no one afront, aside, nor behind — 
 He listened intently to the surging wind 
 That was blowing from Monte Rosa's icy solitude ; 
 Yet scented it came, to where the lone youth stood, 
 And the moon's golden glow in his eyes 
 Conjured up dusky maid's jewelries — 
 From Malabar, where the palms grow wild ; 
 
Miscellaneous Poems. 391 
 
 From Ceylon, where the Limat blows mild ; 
 
 From hoary Elfs they came snowy down : 
 
 In their marble whiteness, and rosy gown. 
 
 From those isles, where the maidens grow 
 
 Voluptuous, as their flower-stems aglow ! 
 
 And he gazed into the orb in its sallow glare ; 
 
 And him thought a maiden's face were there ; 
 
 And he kissed it — and he swore a troth for an age; 
 
 And he wreathed her brow, and he grew arage. — 
 
 When, as breaks the surge on the sandy shore, 
 
 That sweet-eyed maiden was there no more ; 
 
 But on his lips hung a cold white mold, 
 
 That smelled of the clay that hath turned to cold — • 
 
 But where he kissed with impetuous breath, 
 
 A face gleamed there — that face was Death ! 
 
 And the rustle in the near arbor bush 
 
 Seemed a train of mourners crying fierce — 
 
 When, of a sudden, there was a mournful hush — 
 
 Encompassing in its quiet the universe ! 
 
 And him was as though to shatter his life where he 
 
 stood, 
 Than live any longer in weary solitude. 
 And as the gleam of the moon stole o'er the scene 
 He would to be where planets no more are seen. 
 In some world .... 
 
39^ Poetical Works. 
 
 TO THE YOUNG WIFE OF THE ARROGNO 
 TAVERN KEEPER. 
 
 Lugano Mts., Italy, 1888. 
 
 Methought to see thee by the arbor-flowers, 
 
 Near to thy room, where purple petals bunch, 
 
 Alluring heelings from their honey-way, 
 
 With fragrance filling all the mild, calm day. 
 
 Methought to press my lips, yet young and free, 
 
 Upon those accents flowing from thy mouth, 
 
 When oh ! alas ! I faltered sorrowingly 
 
 To know the fairest bloom of perfumed South 
 
 Had left her home, and crossed the blue 
 
 Deep waters of the winding lake — 
 
 To seek Lugano's streets, and there to do 
 
 Quiet barter for thy home and husband's sake. 
 
 I met thee where the vineyards fall, 
 
 Held up by ivied wall and wall ; 
 
 Where chestnuts grow in tender green — 
 
 Where wild pinks blow — and all between 
 
 Forget-me-nots recall the dewy day 
 
 Where songful streamlets stem their current's sway. 
 
 Where songsters are at will to warble long 
 
 Whatever in their glad heart-throbs will throng — 
 
 I met thee where the winding vineyard-way 
 
 Is flushed with flowers in many-hued array ; 
 
 Where on the wall the spotted lizards run 
 
 And glisten in the warm rays of the sun. 
 
 Perchance the scarlet-breasted Iguans chase — 
 
 Or slyly glides the snake from murky place — 
 
Miscellaneous Poems. 393 
 
 Where drones the heavy bee with honeyed thighs ; 
 Where ever breezes blow and melodize — 
 Where seldom feet the hollowed slope have trod — 
 Or lovers found their bliss on blooming sod. 
 As in those dreams that come to us at night 
 When consciousness thrills not — nor doth excite 
 The actual movement — some fair face appears, 
 So was I startled — when a black shape stepped 
 Adown the steep towards me — it neared me — kept 
 A fairy carriage like a maid's in years 
 When trippingly she hastens over fields — 
 Or when her blush a quickened grace-step yields. 
 So camest thou, O image of sweet days — 
 Of dreams of music, singing sweet always. 
 Surprised to meet thee, for I would thy feet 
 Had pressed the pebbles where those round stone- 
 tables 
 Invite to tell, with sparkling wines, old fables 
 Of Prince and Knight, when steed and lance were 
 
 fleet- 
 Surprised to see thee by this flowery steep — 
 Yet glad thy graceful shape had come. 
 
 To keep 
 My weary heart aglow, thy fair-toned accents fell, 
 Like perfect notes of melody ; and well 
 Their meanings dear were in my heart translated ; 
 For when I heard them I grew so elated — 
 As when some tranquil wind the oaken-grove 
 Of sudden moves, and perfumes it with love 
 And tingling rapture ! — 
 
 Down thou camest slow, 
 
394 Poetical Works. 
 
 As broken stem with flower-bud, whom blow 
 
 The amorous smiles of Spring's delightful air. 
 
 As graceful-slow, as down the purple hill 
 
 The crowding sweetnesses of all the evening fair, 
 
 Descend, the vale with dreamy songs to fill ! 
 
 Methought thee some limp country-lass — unknown 
 
 To me ; methought thee some one all alone 
 
 That strayed away to find some lover, where 
 
 The hiding green would fill the glowing air 
 
 With kisses softly-pressed — yet quickly ! — at last 
 
 It came to me that thou, like some outcast 
 
 From hearth and heart, didst wander so at will 
 
 By walking e'er — to keep thy conscience still. 
 
 But as thy short robe did reveal the white 
 
 Of thy neat stockings — as with steppings light 
 
 And maidenly thy body thou didst sway 
 
 And nearer to me camest — then a ray 
 
 Of recollection struck me ! — and thy speech 
 
 To me addressed- — those accents to beseech 
 
 Me then to dally — were a spell on me — 
 
 And so we spoke together — bashfully — 
 
 Then " Mi rincresce ! " saidst ; thy deep brown eyes 
 
 Searching if I were sorry, sorry too — 
 
 Then gazed I to the far, blue, sun-lit skies — 
 
 And bade thee one long sorrowful Adieu ! — 
 
 " Farewell, to meet again ! " and down the way 
 
 Thy sylvan shape stepped ; while the early day 
 
 Began to pour its rays with fire-love — 
 
 I saw thee pass away, as thoughts that prove 
 
 For moments fair delight — but when they leave 
 
 The mind — O how our heart and soul do grieve ! 
 
Miscellaneous Poems. 395 
 
 As sights, so transitory, in our sleep 
 
 Melt, ere the dawn awakes — so from this steep 
 
 Thy grace had melted — and as the fair bird flies 
 
 Beyond some flowery hill — so with low sighs 
 
 Of sad regret I saw thy grace-swayed form 
 
 Turn by the wall ! — Then through the air so warm 
 
 Yet cool with breezes interluent — clomb 
 
 I the steep mount to seek thy fragrant home ! 
 
 Alone I passed thy Mary -chapel small — 
 It seemed a casket by the chestnuts tall — 
 That sang their choruses with solemn tone 
 Around the leafing vineyards all so lone. 
 No flowers I threw within the cold small space 
 To lie with others, that were cast as grace 
 To Mary, Virgin Mother — sad it be 
 Have faith in things no one did ever see ! 
 And up I trudged the winding path ; and clear 
 The birdlings' songs ; the thrushes' calling cheer 
 Of trill, and treble, chirp and medley-lay 
 To seem long concert give throughout the day. 
 I turned — below me lay the lake all blue — 
 And far the mountains breathed cerulean hue — 
 And the snow-peaks were soft as lily-cheeks 
 When sorrow paled them ! — O but thee nowhere 
 I saw — and down where ne*er the sun-ray seeks 
 A nook for dalliance, thou, sweet, wast not there. 
 Methought to see thee on the boat that plied 
 The quiet waters — but to me such was denied. 
 And, as one knowing that some grief must grow 
 Upon the path each walks — life still must show 
 
396 Poetical Works. 
 
 A face resigned to all what hath to come — 
 So, grieved, yet wisely, cheerfully, I clomb 
 The steep green mountain-side. 
 
 For had I not 
 Those sweet fair flowers, that grow in dell and grot — 
 Upon the cliffs, and glacis glittering — 
 And high, where breezes silver foam-clouds fling 
 As fumes from craters — were not on my way 
 The woods in vestments dight for feast-array ! 
 And were not all the brooks filled with a song 
 That reconciled me to ilLchance ; — that throng 
 Of fairy-blossoms on the new-won trees 
 Did they not daze me ; and where in ecstasies 
 The songsters warble, grew not shrub and herb 
 Of euchlore — and of prasine leaf ! O blew 
 Not blandest breezes — and such view superb 
 Of Alpine scene — anon the eagle flew 
 Above the nearest summit — then prey-birds 
 Alighted on that distant ledge ; the cobalt lake 
 Peeped out of shining green ; the oaks were gold 
 A moment — then sap-fresh ; and every fold 
 That perched or nestled showed no want nor girds. 
 
 RANDOM STRAINS. 
 
 And the gusts were trailing o'er the dusky streets, 
 As to the piper's tune the wild-child leapt — 
 The mellow breezes in a hoar-crook slept. 
 While the wild-winged flew from their retreats. 
 
 Till a solemn singer came — 
 The votary of an immortal name. 
 
Miscellaneous Poems. 397 
 
 I am the sweet bright planet, there 
 Up yonder through the evening-gleam.* 
 Or a morn's brightest Lucifer 
 Of day the sparkling waking-dream ! 
 My soul is like dear Gabriel — who soothes, consoles — 
 I am the generation's God-child — high above earth's 
 poles. 
 
 I am the shooting-star 
 Falling fair and free — 
 Falling through the fire-domes 
 Where legions of spirits reign. 
 I am the lightning of the heat. 
 In vivid softest flashings burning the east — 
 While through the night the murmurs sweet 
 Entone their weirdness over man and beast ! 
 
 W^RITTEN WHILE SEATED ON A ROCK IN 
 THE ERZGEBIRGE, SAXONY. 
 
 Here must I rest awhile ; and sing a song 
 Responsive to this close — and upward wind. — 
 Here must I muse ; and write some theme akin 
 To what the pines proclaim throughout the woods. 
 Here will I rest awhile ; for yonder leads 
 A rocky stile to the low promontory 
 That seems like some wood-demon's pulpit wild— 
 When to the sylvan spirits he delivers 
 Demoniac sermon ; for inmidst the woods 
 This solitary rock-upheaval awes 
 
398 Poetical Works. 
 
 The wanderer's simple-wonted eye ; it lies 
 
 In huge disorder : green with fern and moss — 
 
 And dimly grayed by pretty native lichens. 
 
 Here must I linger ; for brown fawns could play 
 
 In yonder brake, lit by the distant close — 
 
 And through the pillar-growing pines some deer 
 
 Could chase his too unwilling doe ; and, where 
 
 The distant tender green peeps through the gloom, 
 
 Methinks some stray maid could have found 
 
 A resting-place — where edible berries grow. 
 
 And here I have a table-rock as seat. 
 
 With soft moss o'ergrown ; and standeth high 
 
 above 
 The way, that gleams and glooms in light and shade 
 Alternately — till in the blue of far 
 Off woods irrecognizably it fades. 
 Affording me some patriarch's privilege 
 When in the pristine period of existence . 
 Stray preachers mesmerized some Vandal-throng 
 To purify their hearts, and ennoble their souls 
 With apposite aphorisms and rhetoric. 
 I see the concourse of the multitude, 
 The women, children, and the babes on breasts 
 Of tender mothers ; and the knightly youth 
 Leaning 'gainst golden tresses of fair maids — 
 And swains nod due assent to friends in quest 
 Of some new-spoken crime ; and yearning eyes, 
 Peering athrough long curls of purest flax, 
 Told of her loneliness ; while, yonder, groups 
 Of militant men announced fray's destiny. 
 I heard my voice ring clear through forests lone 
 
Miscellaneous Poems. 399 
 
 As even the breeze that brought the orient rain — 
 And knew it touched their hearts ; for tears poured 
 
 down 
 Some swarthy cheeks ; and streamed down those of 
 
 women. 
 Till all the mass of motley beings heaved 
 As on some field the herbs and flowers, weeds 
 And bushes vibrate, or tremble to the sway 
 Of the fruit-bringing wind. ... 
 And here the stillness telleth well, how some 
 Are happy being hermits far from all 
 The hectic heaviness of world's conceit 
 And wrongs ; this sanctitude infers that here .... 
 
 SHE AND I. 
 
 She and I 
 To the dark and lonely woodland strolled, 
 
 While overhead. 
 Below Night's starlit sky. 
 The weird large thunder-phantom sped, 
 All broken ! — now a star 
 Peeped through, then lost to sight — 
 While huge gray clouds hurried, in affright — 
 Like ghosts, from some Walhallah far, 
 Their mighty forms wave in the deep midnight ! 
 She thought of strains of Paganini's wo, 
 While I was charmed by her eyes' deep brown 
 
 glow — 
 Her deep brown tress ; her form's voluptuousness ; 
 And ah ! her genial aura with mine mingling, 
 While all my frame as magic-warmed was tingling. 
 
400 Poetical Works. 
 
 From gloaming's light, we came to be 
 
 Enveloped in the wood's obscurity. 
 
 Dark, dark the trees — the path all dark — 
 
 Save here a dim light — there a spark 
 
 The fire-flies danced to a leafy tune 
 
 That sang of mystery, and the moon. 
 
 When suddenly her eyes gazed to the ground. 
 
 And I, quick bending to the wood path, found 
 
 A glow-worm writhing, curling there, 
 
 While radiant, diamond-like, a soft white flare 
 
 Around it spread, to light the stone, 
 
 The blade of grass, the dry leaf lone. 
 
 And even the orange lichen-bloom that grew 
 
 Upon the smallest of the pebble-crew ! 
 
 She stooped, and placed it on her tender palm— r 
 
 I gazed — while round lay mystery and calm 
 
 As quiet as hoar Saturn in his glen, 
 
 When all were gods, and none were men. 
 
 And oh ! we loved together all to see : 
 
 The brilliant glow, so lemon-silvery 
 
 As that of Dian's, when sad Juno mourns, 
 
 That lived around the caterpillar's horns. 
 
 It seemed it took ten minute moons — 
 
 Had ten fair minute crescents caught — 
 
 And some strange power's weird gloom-thought 
 
 Had placed the moons on either side, 
 
 The crescents round its mushy body's girth, 
 
 So that they glowed ! while Nox her love-tale 
 
 croons 
 And the full moon illumes the sun-lorn earth, 
 Where Darkness and her lover Gloom abide. 
 
Miscellaneous Poems. 401 
 
 It curled — it seemed to be a polyp-crown 
 
 Deep in the midnight-sea, way down — 
 
 Then writhed its ringed length, like agony — 
 
 O doth not Anguish so, in woman's misery ! 
 
 She wrapped it in her silken kerchief white 
 
 And there it glowed, within the deep dark night — 
 
 So like those pretty lanterns Creoles use 
 
 When moon-feasts in the garden's gloom they 
 
 choose. 
 Oh ! were we not with Mystery in bond — 
 A living form with fire, white as diamond ! 
 A writhing worm to be at night 
 A beauteous wreath of silvery light ! 
 At day a thing rejected and unseen — 
 At night a marvel of mystic silver-sheen ! 
 So nature loves to cozen oft 
 Her children with gloom -mysteries from aloft. 
 So hath a thing ungainly, wondrous gifts — 
 And none the veil of Mystery lifts. 
 
 She walked beside me — and her voice 
 Was ringing with a dulcet fairy-noise 
 All in the gloomy night, 'neath pitch-dark trees — 
 With not a sound, and not a breeze 
 Save the far gush of one lone waterfall— 
 And that was all I 
 26 
 
402 Poetical Works. 
 
 INSPIRATION. 
 
 ( Written out of doors principally.) 
 
 Loud rolls the wave of inspiration — 
 And clamors rise, as from some nation 
 (That strong ovation shout to king 
 Who, back from gory slaughtering, 
 His triumphant head upbeareth proud). 
 Swells tumult, mixed of voices loud 
 And high. 
 
 An inspiration rolled 
 Athwart me ; and its pressing mold 
 Deep rent my brow ; my eyes it lumed 
 As, through the night yet mirky gloomed, 
 The comet flashes ; sparkling trails of light 
 And lashing the star-vault in its weird flight. 
 As round the law-enacting lictor, famed, 
 The rabble and blatant ribalds, all untamed, 
 And nobles — aristocracy, high-browed, 
 Their various voices unrelenting flowed — 
 With shouts and eager whispers — and with noise 
 Uproarious, blending each their swollen voice 
 With the fleet wind that wailed of war and waste — 
 So swelled strong sound — as in ungoverned haste 
 It quickened what to engender was — around me ; — 
 And with its spell of song and surge it bound me 
 To its wild-hurrying impulse — 'tis not shown 
 To other minds — to Apollo's child alone ! 
 What governs man's own mind — what feeds the 
 brain 
 
Miscellaneous Poems. 403 
 
 Of him who listens — writes a hurried train 
 Of wisdom, light, and universal moral deep 
 That in humanity deft influences keep 
 Well chained ? What cometh all within the skull 
 To fashion, in deep quiet, songs so beautiful? 
 Say, what doth flow, and surge, and spume, and roar 
 Within man's mind — when with a head so hoar — 
 As the lone harper's, where the caves the splashing 
 Of some green shumbling sea in its wild dashing 
 Momently feel and hear — he lifts his head 
 To wonder what those unseen lips have said ? 
 What is that mood that cometh as the thunder 
 O'er the dark mountains and the ledges under — 
 That teareth trees, uprooteth rocks, and rolleth 
 
 down 
 Its intermittent bolts upon the frightened town 
 That lieth nestled snug between the greener hills ? 
 Tell, what usurps the dew of morn — the calm of 
 
 eve. 
 And what the spotless blue, when no tear-cloudlets 
 
 grieve ? 
 What ruthlessly doth quell that sweeter breath of 
 
 day. 
 And what doth chase the languid shade of groves 
 
 away ? 
 And lo ! what sheens upon the gray-green hills ? 
 What sparkles jewel the high ledge-like sill 
 O'er some fair-carved old door that leads to mines 
 Of Demons? — Behold, the clouds are breaking — 
 
 shines 
 Not the old sun on pines so tall and blue — 
 
404 Poetical Works. 
 
 Ah ! what may spread so all glistens in silver hue ? 
 O sheen, serenity — O glittering glow — 
 Why brighten, why glisten, why smile you so ? 
 What sways the poet's limbs to bear him fleet and 
 
 lone 
 To some quiet brooklet, whose sweet undertone 
 Voices the murmurings of the Past and Sorrow, 
 And purleth lightly what will breathe to-morrow ? 
 What tells his mind to choose some vaster subject 
 
 pure 
 Than common brain ? and seems to try allure 
 His fancy to some Houri-world where Peri pant 
 In some exceeding joy ? . . . 
 O say, can man instruct such mystery and law 
 That springeth clear and pure and high, with not a 
 
 flaw 
 Of grossness — nor the ludicrous — nor the smile 
 Of Satire — not the skulking speech of treacherous 
 
 guile? — 
 But, as upon some hoary peak, where the clear air 
 Its keenest breath exhales — the crystal spring so 
 
 sheer 
 Uppurleth like the dawn of day — so pure, so fresh. 
 So white and sheen, as corn when peasants thresh 
 Its kernels, when the lark starts up and clearly 
 
 sings — 
 So bubbleth the slow song of poet — so its melody 
 
 rings 
 With the low tinkle down the streamlet — and its 
 
 warmer 
 Deep strains resound, as round the Magian-charmer 
 The battling alchemies their tones prophetic swell. 
 
Miscellaneous Poems. 405 
 
 Till ever in the world his songs and wisdom dwell. 
 Tell, what doth breathe upon the poet's brow, to 
 
 pour 
 Upon him feelings vast and glowing evermore ? 
 What is it — tell, O Phantom, large as universe, 
 Yet couched in brain — and small as though a midge 
 
 to pierce ! 
 Unconsciousness of body, copious flow of spirit — 
 O tell, where art thou born — what wouldest thou 
 
 inherit ! 
 Uncanny, when thou flashest — weird, when whisper- 
 ings 
 Of thine I hear — yet couth and fond when from 
 
 thee sings 
 Such voice sweet for the world ! 
 
 Say, say, what art thou ? where 
 Thy sphere ? why whisperest thou, and hauntest the 
 
 bright air ? 
 How camest thou — how wanderest thou — and when 
 
 wilt thou 
 Leave me ? or wilt thou ever cling to me ! — O brow 
 Of poet — visionary eyes — and bitter lip — and yet. 
 The smile of radiant dreams — as on a flower-pet ! 
 O dream of day, of night! one true, one sadly true. 
 The other false, ah ! grievous false, and to eschew 
 Either, death ? death ? — but wilt thou, poet-soul, 
 Prevail when through the midnight pealeth toll on 
 
 toll— 
 Or, like the light that twinkles through the evening 
 
 bush — 
 Wilt flicker, then die out, till all around is *' hush ! " 
 
4o6 Poetical Works. 
 
 So asked my brain, with speed that flashes orbs 
 
 through airs — 
 And as the meteors, sudden born with fire-flares 
 Tracking their terrors, then sudden dead — so rose, 
 
 and died 
 Quick echoes in my brain, as, on the haunted side 
 Of some cHfT-belted sea, there hello sounds of awe. 
 Then faint — all seems as if we some huge demon 
 
 saw ! 
 
 WOMAN'S EYES. 
 
 I LOVE to dream in woman's eyes — 
 
 For aye I think to see 
 Gay angels animate those skies. 
 
 And hymn : Eternity ! 
 
 A charm the eye of woman hath : 
 There rings a laughter unheard ! 
 
 A sparkle plies a jeweled path. 
 That some sweet sorcerer stirred ! 
 
 Oh ! Circe-mites are in her eyes ! — 
 
 Saints ever love-sick prove 
 When gazing in those smiling skies, 
 
 Lit by the light of love ! 
 
 O sweet ! whose eyes are heavenly fair — 
 
 I would to dream, till mad. 
 Aye dream in eyes so debonaire — 
 
 How could I then grow sad ! 
 
Miscellaneous Poems. 407 
 
 I love to dream in woman's eyes ! 
 
 For aye I think to hear 
 God's Voice, above in azure skies : 
 
 " They bloom life's love and cheer ! *' 
 
 SPIRIT-LORE. 
 
 O SPIRITS, show yourselves ! 
 O show yourselves ! 
 
 " We come, we come — 
 
 From a land unknown 
 
 Where never sun had shone. 
 
 We bring thee spirit-runes; 
 
 For thee to render swift 
 
 As we that Veil uplift 
 
 That hides to others — 
 
 Thy fellows, thy sisters and brothers — 
 
 The secrets of mystery. 
 
 One of ours this secret croons, 
 
 but to thee, only to thee ! '* 
 
 1 see you swarming to me 
 
 As, in the summer's noon, golden bees 
 In legions do swarm to acacia-trees ! 
 All glittering in your spirit-years 
 Even as the lilacs in the morning be, 
 Below the singing acacia-tree ! 
 And one is bending a thoughtful head, 
 While all are entoning anthemnal song, 
 As I used to hear when dreaming so long, 
 
4o8 Poetical Works. 
 
 Where the bedabbled morning refreshed the 
 
 bees, 
 That to me such mysteries said, 
 That I con them, and con them these three 
 
 years. 
 Oh ! listening am I, — listening serene, 
 Even as the eagle, in the sunny blue, 
 Hears the soft whiskings in the green, — 
 O listening am I, O listening to you ! 
 
 ** O thou meteor-babe, — 
 
 What use the seaman's astrolabe, — 
 
 Thou flashest through the world, 
 
 Descending, descending, 
 
 Seeming to have no ending — 
 
 Only a trail of tears. 
 
 But each golden as stars — 
 
 Gives warning that thou 
 
 Hast a secret unfurled 
 
 Of its fiery robes, and spangled bars, 
 
 So that even pretentious seers 
 
 Never know the way how I " 
 
 " We are spirits that flash 
 
 In the soul, like a swash 
 
 Of the rock-cutting wave — 
 
 We illumine the dark grown wood 
 
 O'er which the whole world brood, 
 
 In vain, in vain. 
 
 For they listen not, listen 
 
 Not to our sounding strain, 
 
Miscellaneous Poems. 409 
 
 That portendeth to save, to save — 
 Till their knowing eyes glisten ! '* 
 
 O Spirit, sing ! that poiseth there, 
 Alone, in midst of all thy spirit-fellows : 
 As the giant-moth in moonlight's air 
 When the fragrance of moon-glories mellows. 
 Thou knowest what to sing, and what to tell 
 
 me — 
 For I have asked thee what the hidden spell 
 
 be 
 To see thee, and hearken to thy lore — 
 Even as I listen to my sweet one, singing 
 
 evermore ! 
 
 " We let him sing, we let him sing ; 
 
 While we spirit-fragrance round us fling. 
 
 His song will weave into thy soul — 
 
 As drawing-power mingles with all stars that 
 
 roll: 
 Through Mystery's veil, the vast inane. 
 This veil we lift — to let fall soon again ! 
 
 Heaven ! — *Tis a place 
 For each one of earth's race. 
 Lo, ether is a subtile heat — 
 Spirit is its quintessence — 
 Life is not at death complete — 
 Death is Spirits' fuller crescence. 
 Then cheer within thy spirit 
 That Heaven's Bliss to inherit. 
 
410 Poetical Works. 
 
 Often sleeps the body deep, 
 
 When thought stern vigils keep ; ' 
 
 Often sleeps the spirit well, 
 
 When down to it comes lofty spell. 
 
 Read all over in the inane : 
 
 Spirit hath no boundaries : 
 
 A wink, and we are there again — 
 
 Away from all thine imageries! 
 
 One moment, and we be away — • 
 
 Fleeter than virgin saycth : nay ! 
 
 Spirit ! — Lie awake at day — 
 
 So innumerous they come : 
 
 Thoughts that bring back youth and home ! 
 
 Spirit is that test of God — 
 
 Through it you know all He wrought. — 
 
 We, that come to you, are His; 
 
 We do reign where Heaven is ! '* 
 
 Oh ! Heaven ! — Spirit ! — ever swelleth 
 A wave of doubt, that Heaven 
 Could be, when fire, fire welleth 
 All over — burning, deadly driven,' 
 Consuming all, yet all-sustaining. 
 Oh ! lift that veil a little higher — 
 Ere your hours will be waning, 
 And tell of Heaven with no fire 1 
 
 " Fires are tools ; — the universe 
 A veil, abaft of whom the new 
 New Spirit-ether quivers ; nurse 
 Thy Spirit ! — though flames imbrue 
 
Miscellaneous Poems. 411 
 
 Thy body — till it be cinder-dust — 
 
 Thy spirit leaves its mansion's crust 
 
 At once, to be, as lightning, there, 
 
 Where we sing in that calm pure air ! 
 
 See ! they lift the veil — O see ! 
 
 What your words may not frame for those 
 
 Who see not. — See ! the life — the glee — 
 
 For these God's love more brightly glows! 
 
 In dreams we plagued thee oft — 
 
 But never in that Heaven soft ; 
 
 For there is truly Bliss : 
 
 Realization of God's kiss ! '* 
 
 I see, I see ; O Spirit ! — O I see ! 
 
 *' He sung to thee ; — we back must hie, 
 On airs of Spirit — to our Spirit-sky ! " 
 
 Oh ! there they wander — swift as beams 
 Of light ! O darkling now the horizon gleams. 
 Where are ye. Spirits ! where, O Spirits ! say ! 
 Come ye again before the close of day.*^ 
 
 " We come to thee when silently , 
 
 The night-breaths lay a gauze 
 
 O'er all the towns and plains so free — 
 
 When in thy work's a thinking-pause ; 
 
 We leave thee, when thy body feels 
 
 The sense of sleep ; we come again : 
 
 We subtly allay thy pain — 
 
 We strengthen, when thy courage reels ! " 
 
412 Poetical Works. 
 
 O mystery doth let its darkling trail, 
 Yet fulgent with swift flashing lights, 
 Wave back, to finger to earthly nights, 
 To point to stars : hope-spark for wo and 
 wail ! 
 
 ADIEU TO A MOUNTAIN BROOK. 
 
 (Adirondacks.) 
 
 {Written on the spot in 1885.) 
 
 Am I to leave thee, Brook, for aye — 
 
 O Mountain Brook ! 
 With thy perpetual stir : 
 
 A plash, when passing by a nook — 
 A long, long swish — adown the stones — 
 
 Some low tones 
 When lost, low in the woody lones ;— 
 A rippling lull, 'neath an o'erhanging burr ; 
 O'er rocks, like laughter from a nymph at play ! 
 
 O Mountain Brook ! 
 Thy note hath notched itself 
 
 Deep in my heart ! — 
 
 And to depart 
 From thee, O Mountain Brook ! 
 I wish I were the mate of woodland-elf 
 To tell to her how dear thou art 
 To me ! 
 And she 
 Could croon to thee my wo and wail — 
 When I am far on ocean-sail — 
 
Miscellaneous Poems. 413 
 
 Or in cities strange and populous — 
 Or in southern gardens odorous. 
 
 Then, O Mountain Brook, 
 I shall weep in silent streams — 
 Wish that thou couldst weave my dreams — 
 
 O Brook, O Mountain Brook ! 
 
 May I leave that haunt of mine — 
 Where the chequered shade is cool — 
 Where the leaves and twigs do twine 
 
 As hoary vine — 
 And where the constant splashing pool 
 With rocks encrowned — (so deft 
 For nymph's quick winsome theft 
 To a Satyr on his bearded cheek — 
 Then the glow-eyes speak : 
 A language eloquent, and free ; 
 Such as spake the guileless child of old 
 When perched upon its father's knee — 
 It spake and spake — when all the tale was told). 
 And where the constant splashing pool 
 Is constant melody — full-toned, 
 To my own ear — to my own ear ! 
 And when the tune I owned 
 It was to me so dear, so dear ! 
 
 May I leave this haunted beechen-grove 
 Where in Indian-days the spirits roved, 
 Where the Indian wrestled with the bear, 
 And the water's note had chaunt so strong 
 As to nerve the sinews of the struggling Huron ; 
 Where the corpse was dragged along 
 
414 Poetical Works.- 
 
 To the pool — the victor then would tear 
 
 Its hide, — five claws, — a sign — a warrior Huron ! 
 
 Here in budding spring, mayhap — 
 
 A spring, when th' world was young. 
 
 A bronzed maid, with warm black eyes 
 
 And streaming tresses, as the booklet piles — 
 
 Here she lulled a babe upon her lap — 
 
 A babe, but born few months — a son — 
 
 And oh ! the joyful tongue ! 
 
 And when her mother's duty done, 
 
 On a bough her boy she hung — 
 
 And innocently then — her gown aground — 
 
 Her bronzed soft skin she sprinkled 
 
 With the crystal waters — how they twinkled ! 
 
 Then the grove reechoed the fresh clear sound 
 
 Of plashes, and a mother's joy. 
 
 She in the waters — on the bough her boy ! 
 
 How limp the languid mold bends o'er. 
 
 What suppleness the limbs display — 
 
 A nymph that bathed nigh Cynthus' shore 
 
 She was not formed to worthier clay. 
 
 O how refreshed ! — What brightness beams 
 
 Out from her eyes ! — what babble streams 
 
 Out from her lips, as to her babe she smiles. 
 
 O linger still — long in this grove — my maid — 
 
 But past the beechen trees I see her tread — 
 
 Her bending head is mirth-filled with fond 
 
 mother-wiles ! 
 
 O Mountain Brook, 
 When the thick gemmy dew doth burthen the 
 
 green, 
 
Miscellaneous Poems. 415 
 
 I've sat upon a rock by thy dear side — 
 
 And, through the alder bush, the sun's bright 
 
 sheen 
 Made sparkle thy bubbles wide ; 
 And where thy waters plied 
 
 In quietude — 
 The trees of the green wood, 
 And all the many rocks and crags. 
 Were seen more tender in thy waters — 
 And at some spots the shaggy cloud, that lags 
 Athwart the blue was in them seen. 
 Brook, if afar thy falls sound hollow, deep, 
 Anear, thy gurgle seems like laughters. 
 Such as spring from maiden-throats, 
 When upon their playground gloats 
 A worn worn woman, with a peep 
 
 In her eye 
 
 Of witchery ! 
 
 O Mountain Brook, 
 Am I to leave thee. Brook, for aye ! 
 But thy ripple says : Nay, nay ! 
 For in lands of stranger scenes 
 Thou wilt haunt my soul — 
 Whose sweetest goal 
 Is like thy song, that nature gleans ! ' 
 
ZULEIKA. 
 
 A TRAGEDY IN ONE ACT. 
 
PERSONS REPRESENTED. 
 
 Prince of Po A young prince. 
 
 LoDOVico A peasant. 
 
 Zui^EiKA A Greek peasant living in Italy. 
 
 Time. — First half of this Century. 
 Pi^ACE.— Italy, 
 
ZUIvElKA. 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 Scene I. — A stormy night in a wood. To left a 
 hut. Prince of Po appears from back to right. 
 
 Prince of Po. The storm is brewing ; wildly, 
 gust on gust, 
 The wind blows round my pallid cheeks and curls ; 
 As if 'twould fain devour my flesh, and pierce 
 My very bones with icy, deadly fangs. 
 The woods are dreary — darkness all around — 
 And quiet all, save pattering, trickling rain 
 That's falling on the phantom-branches weird ! 
 Hark ! flashing wild, the sudden lightning rides 
 Through death-like forest loneliness and sky. 
 Ha ! crashing, roaring, he stumbles o'er a tree — 
 And long the steed's deep roar doth fill the air — 
 And thrills my soul — and smalls my lordly look ! 
 Yea, Mansello had told me true ; he said 
 As I departed late this morn, that soon 
 A wood so dark and drear would greet my gaze ; 
 And, after long and tedious wandering, 
 A hut would welcome me, poor wanderer — 
 And there would find the maiden he had told 
 Me of. Ah ! kind thou art, my Mansello — 
 But how now find my way — when darkness reigns ; 
 
 419 
 
420 Poetical Works. 
 
 How bless that cot, so wished for by my heart ! 
 
 {He looks aheady and seeing the cot :) 
 Joy, praise and everlasting peace to thee, 
 Bright youthful eyesight ! Now I gaze on yon 
 Low cot — and faster, faster beats my heart. 
 My soul soars high in blissful realms of blue ; 
 And flutters like the happy dove's white wings 
 When she a tale bears to her sweet young joy ! 
 But lo ! am I so sure of Hope's late vow ? 
 Am I so sure of finding her, my love. 
 In secret ? Ah ! be temperate, heart, and flow 
 With lowlier stream ! — Friend Mansello hath warned 
 Me not to act so rashly what I planned — 
 An adventurous pilgrimage to Cupid's dell ! — 
 For fair Zuleika's heart doth know not yet 
 Of Ravello's love — not even knoweth she 
 He saw her! — Days have rolled with time since 
 
 then : 
 Bright day ! — 'twas after gay St. Antonio's feast — 
 The crowding peasant folks, with glowing faces. 
 Prepared for homeward ride. I, in disguise, 
 Along the strada walked with dignity — 
 Zuleika stood before me — she passed — I turn. 
 And follow — ask a friendly chap her name. 
 Ah ! why now tarry — musing harms an act ! 
 The cot is there — a stout and noble heart — 
 And love — to sting a proud princess's soul ! 
 
 (Knocks at cot door. From within voice singing .*) 
 
 L'amore, I'amore 
 Dolce, coUa lyra 
 
Zuleika. 42 1 
 
 Cantar la canzone : 
 L'amore, Tamore — 
 ( Faintly^ L'amore, Tamore: 
 
 'Tis she ; Zuleika singing Love's soft dream ! 
 
 (Knocks louder^ 
 O, how I wish that she would ope the door — 
 To see her in her innocence and joy — 
 To see her lit by candle-light, with dim 
 Bright halo round her sweet, soft face — her locks 
 Of jetty hue — and flowing as a brook ! 
 
 {The door opens gently — a hand holding a lit 
 candle appears^ 
 Voice. Chi e ? 
 
 Prince. A poor lone wanderer. 
 
 Voice. Begone ! begone ! 
 
 Prince. A poor lone wanderer, who hath no 
 roof 
 To shelter his tired and chilled form from rain. 
 Have *' compassione," sweet " ragazza mia," 
 But bread and bed for me, and I shall say 
 Farewell. 
 
 (She looks at him.) 
 Voice. Come, I shall give to eat and drink. 
 Prince (aside), O praise to her; yea, she hath 
 
 read my look 
 With care. And now for wooing — winning her ! 
 (Light vanishes J and Vkii^QY. follows. Door is 
 closed. 
 
422 Poetical Works. 
 
 Scene II. — Room in Zuleika's cot. Table in 
 middle. A few chairs. A candle illumines the room. 
 Ravello eating last bit on table. ZULEIKA watch- 
 ing him from, a chair near to the table. 
 
 ZuLEiKA. Liquor ! thou wishest more ? 
 
 Prince. No, thanks, dear girl ! 
 
 How good thou art to me. I've supped like king 
 To-night ; and owe it all to thy dear eyes 
 And thy soft voice. Not every stormy night 
 We see so good and fair a girl like thee ! 
 Pray tell your name. 
 
 ZULEIKA. Zuleika, Signor. 
 
 Prince. That name 
 
 Flows as the quiet brook in dreams of bliss ! 
 Yet music dwells in thee, how aptly true 
 To thy sweet face — to thy sweet form and moods ! 
 
 ZULEIKA. Yes, Padre Castellino gave it me. 
 He was a father to me — loved me too, 
 Took care of me as if I were his child. 
 I well remember when he said to me, 
 " Now, dear Zuleika, I must part. Before 
 I go, take this young man for guidance thine ; 
 And if thou findst him well, then cling to him 
 As to a rock — and call him husband mine! " 
 I shed tears then — (weeps) and thought my heart 
 would break ! 
 
 Prince. Fair girl i away with sorrow — joy 
 blooms near. 
 Believe me, I too feel the sting as thou — 
 
Zuleika. 423 
 
 Let me console thy tears with one soft kiss 
 And then thou mayest go on with thy dear tale. 
 
 {Kisses her eyes ; he dreams^ 
 Let not that one sweet sign of love offend 
 Thee, dear ! But with it let thy tale of life 
 Flow as an innocent meek voice ; cast fear 
 Away, and trust in me as in a friend. 
 
 Zuleika. Signor, you know the old palazzo, 
 there 
 Near to the town of Lordio — well, there 
 It was that he had left me lone and sad. 
 That ere I walked so slowly homeward bound 
 Almost I let the ants that ran along 
 The road o'erpass my pace — for thoughts of life 
 Then crowded in my mind, and made me mute. 
 But 'neath the threshold of my cot, erect, 
 In thought, stood Ludovico, my betrothed — 
 With love, I ran to his strong arms, and found 
 Myself consoled. {Sighs.) He swore his love. — Then 
 
 we 
 Two went to holy Christ's meek cross — to pray ! 
 
 {She makes the sign of the cross ^ 
 
 Prince. Ah, sweet Zuleika ! Thy true tale doth 
 touch 
 My heart. Pray, tell me more. I listen with love. 
 {Aside.) She hath a lover ! 
 
 Zuleika. We loved each other — lived. 
 
 In peace and concord. I was young. Time flew. 
 Few months ago, he asked me be his wife. 
 I kissed him. And he said : " Love, 1*11 be back 
 In time to see the feast. So, wait till then. " 
 
4^4 Poetical Works. 
 
 Prince. And when doth come that feast — that 
 feast for you ? 
 
 ZULEIKA. Ere dawn creeps noiselessly through 
 night he comes. 
 
 Prince. So soon ! (Aside.) No tarrying now ! 
 {Aloud.) Ah ! fair, sweet girl. 
 Zuleika thou ! How can I hide the flame 
 That glows for thee ? How can I prove to thee 
 The boundless wish to soothe my breast on thine ; 
 To drink the hallowed dew that wets thine eyes — 
 To rest my weary locks on thine — ^to dream 
 With thee, and muse in thy sweet presence now ? 
 O answer me. Couldst thou not love me more 
 Than him — and couldst 
 
 Zuleika. Signor, what speakest thou ! 
 
 Thou know*st me but for moments few — and still 
 Thou speak'st to me as if thou knew'st me long. 
 Believest thou that I am weak and fickle? 
 And how thou durst to speak in such bold wise 
 When thou art but a beggar, a peasant, come 
 To seek warm shelter 'neath my roof ! Is that 
 The recompense thou boastedst of? And me, 
 Poor maiden, wouldst, with vile, alluring tongue. 
 Bring down to shame, to sin unpardonable ! 
 Regretful am I now that entrance here 
 Was granted thee, but thy good look forbade 
 Me " nay " to say. And as I gaze at thee 
 Now sharp, I know not what to think of thee. 
 
 Prince. Zuleika dear ! Behold me, know me : 
 Prince 
 Ravello — poorly, beggarly clad for thine 
 
Zuleika. 425 
 
 Own sake. I saw thee at St. Antonio's feast — 
 And since loved thee as lover but can love ! 
 j (Zuleika falls on her knees — looks away.) 
 
 Ah ! rise, and fear me not. I come but here 
 To woo thee, fairest of the fair, and make 
 Thee my princess. Oh ! wilt thou be my love ? 
 {Silence. ZULEIKA rises ; shoots flashes of scorn 
 at the Prince.) 
 
 Zuleika. Ah ! Prince Ravello, hast thou never 
 heard 
 That I am the betrothed of him who may 
 Appear at any moment now ? Hast thou 
 Not princely blood and soul enough to fall 
 Adown ashamed before me now, and ask 
 My pardon ? Thanks to dear and alway kind 
 Old Padre Castellino ! who had taught 
 Me virtue's ways, and all her blessings true 
 Ha!- 
 
 Prince. Hear me, dear Zuleika, hear my voice — 
 Consider all the jewels — all the bliss, 
 Contentment, happy dreams of life, that we 
 Should give our thoughts to muse with, when we 
 In wedlock are. And think of home on shores 
 Where glow the rubied castles, towering high 
 O'er blue and ruffled lake with woodland frame. 
 Anon, the rushing brook fast breaking through 
 Some wild and verdant vale, thund'ring to clasp 
 In desperate love embrace the calm and sun- 
 Lit bosom of the lake. And think of halls 
 Arrayed in splendor, shaped for king 
 And queen ; of orned rooms to dwell in — there 
 
426 Poetical Works. 
 
 To dream in quietude, and muse with thoughts 
 
 But lofty-loving ! Think of gardens green 
 
 Where flowers of fairest hues are blooming — vines 
 
 And trees entwine their limbs in friendship true — 
 
 And purling fountains, richly fashioned fair 
 
 By sculptor's genial thought — spending an air 
 
 That swells and swells with music low and sweet. 
 
 And thou, Zuleika dear ! wouldst be the star, 
 
 The goddess fair of all those realms — wouldst blush 
 
 For me ! — wouldst roam about them — rule, and be 
 
 Sole mistress of the realm, and I thy slave ! 
 
 Oh ! speak, speak, speak ! and torture me not long ! 
 
 Zuleika. Prince, no ; and thrice no — no again ! 
 Not I 
 The country-lass who plays with life like that — 
 Not I the fickle maid who smiles at gems, 
 At gold and trinkets or at lofty castles. 
 Who lends an ear to lords — who flatter aye ! 
 And wishing but for passionate joy and bliss. 
 I say, begone, if this thy purpose be. 
 And lay not hands upon my form, for sore 
 Repentance waiteth there in time for thee ! 
 Ah ! Prince ! 
 
 Ravello. Be calm, my love ! my passion burns 
 And all thy words are futile — thrown to air ! 
 I love thee — and I love thee well — and want 
 My love to find sweet place in thy dear heart. 
 How sweet thy face — thine eyes so pure and fair — 
 How like the lily is thy hand of snow — 
 How heaves thy bosom as storm and passion grow 
 With wondrous fleetness — then subside to calm ! 
 
 (Ravello draws near to her.) 
 
Zuleika. 427 
 
 Ah ! flow, flow on, sweet passion, bliss and joy ! 
 Sweet made for youthful souls and blood and mind. 
 Now flows the soul to soul, and word to word ; 
 Now whispers breezy incensed laugh of love ; 
 Now smiles the eye in glistening freshness glad ; 
 Now purl the fountains, rich in loving words ; 
 And oft their brink doth kiss some secret flown, 
 For passion hath no bounds, and overflows 
 In streams that tear and rush through beds o'er 
 
 rocks 
 With quickness as handmaiden to sweet love — 
 Ah ! sweet Zuleika, couldst thou but be mine ! 
 
 (Trying to take her around the waist ^ 
 
 I should 
 
 Zuleika. Beware, oh Prince, pray calm thyself — 
 Ravello. Be mine, oh dearest ! come and flee 
 
 with me 
 Ere he doth come to grasp thee from my hold. 
 Zuleika. No, never shall I act in such low 
 
 wise — 
 I tell thee, thou hast trod upon the path 
 Of shame, and drag a poor true lass along. 
 O God ! have mercy with thy child — O God ! 
 
 {She tears herself away, kneels down and prays. 
 
 Ravello looks at her^ then clasps her into 
 
 his arms.) 
 Ravello. Oh ! happy, ever happy moment this ! 
 Zuleika dear — and ever dear to me. 
 Zuleika sweet — and ever sweet to me. 
 Bethink thy words — be mine, and flee with me — 
 The castles are awaiting thee — the gardens green 
 
428 Poetical Works. 
 
 Glow in rare dappled splendor, all for thee ! 
 
 ZULEIKA. Begone, my Prince ! begone, and 
 mercy have 
 With me — poor maiden, soon to be a wife ! 
 
 Scene III. — From door enters slowly LODOVico. 
 Startled at seeing the two^ he mutters, 
 
 LODOVicO {aside). Ah ! there again that in- 
 fidelity 
 Of maiden's vows ! Hath she forsworn her 
 heart ! 
 ZULEIKA. Prince ! Leave me. Never shall I 
 quit this room 
 With thee ! I'm his — I love him all too well 
 And truly! 
 
 LODOVico {aside). My heart is melting at her 
 
 words ! 
 ZULEIKA. Bethink thyself, and off to town — thy 
 
 home ! 
 Ravello. Zuleika dear, be mine, and trust him 
 not. 
 He might not think of thee — perchance hath wooed 
 
 Another girl 
 
 LODOVicO {aside). Ha! thou shalt pay me 
 much ! {Seeks for knife in belt.) 
 
 Ravello. Yea, thou shalt lose his name and his 
 poor home 
 And for it take the glory and the fame 
 Of one who loves thee ardently and truly. 
 
Zuleika. 429 
 
 LODOVICO {aside). Ah! too much for mine ears. 
 —But he shall fall ! 
 {Aloud}} Prepare, Signor ! Too many words have 
 
 flown 
 Out from thy mouth — and thou shalt pay me much. 
 Behold me, Lodovico ; the betrothed 
 Of her whom thou hast dragged almost to shame. 
 (Zuleika, recognizing him, disentangles herself 
 . from Ravello's embracement^ and flies to 
 LoDOVico's arms.) 
 Dear love — not now to me — wait, I'll avenge 
 His insult ! 
 
 (Ravello, not finding his sword, takes a stiletto 
 from out his coat.) 
 
 To thee, seducer, vile and lewd ! 
 (Lodovico and Ravello fight. Zuleika 
 screams and tries to separate them^ but 
 Ravello falls too soon.) 
 Now, viper thou ! repair thou to the home 
 Of him who liveth in eternal glow 
 Of burning, eating fire. Be cast among 
 That tribe of dark and horrid fellows. Live 
 A life of hardship — harvest not the fruit 
 Of mortal's high salvation — crawl amidst 
 The throng of rabid, haggard, cursed forms — 
 
 And dwell 
 
 Zuleika. Lodovico dear, enough disdain 
 Thrown on a man who was a prince, and might 
 Have grown to be a royal man. For know 
 That he, Ravello, Prince of Po — yes he 
 Hath come here wooing me — he was disguised 
 
430 Poetical Works. 
 In peasant's clothing 
 
 LODOVICO. What, he was a prince — 
 
 And might have been a king — but for his corpse 
 I should have scorned him more — ^yet death is 
 
 death, 
 And silence reigns then over all the world. 
 Yea, those grand princes are a crowd of knaves 
 Who think that they are made to rule the world 
 And we to be their slaves, ay, dogs and swine. 
 Ah 1 were this world with man but all a joy, 
 But one grand union strong to tie all men — 
 With but strong hearts to combat wo and strife, 
 To rule the over-animated masses loud — 
 So all could meet the other's eyes with love 
 To join them to a band of links and bars 
 So that the lengthy chain should bear the weight 
 Of all mankind, its generations all. 
 Oh ! then the earth would be a paradise 
 Of old, as once the Eden green was kept ; 
 With love and meekness ruling all the throng — 
 With but the robe of justice and of high 
 Fraternity disguising truthfulness. 
 Sublimity that swells and guides her heart. 
 Ah ! then no dastard rogue would venture bold 
 To steal the gentle dove who has been found 
 To be your wife, your life and all your bliss. 
 
 ZULEIKA. Dear Lodovico, what now do with 
 him 
 Whom thou hast slain ? Ah, rashly thou hast dealt 
 The blow of vengeance ; no reflection quiet 
 Of soul has guarded thy ebullient blood 
 
Zuleika. 431 
 
 To flow in peace and concord to its dale 
 Of lifelong lasting visit. Therefore storm 
 And thunder's roar with glaring lightning's sword 
 Could but have led the ship with pitching sway 
 And splashing waves to wet its sides — onward. 
 LODOVICO. Bah ! with it let my rancor die and 
 
 rot! 
 Why should a prince woo lowly maids — why, why ? 
 Let each look to himself, and not come down 
 To seek another's fortune for pleasure's sake. 
 Let prince woo princess — let boor woo his fair lass. 
 The ivy twines its tendrils around the elm ; 
 It never dreams to kiss the rank, coarse pine. 
 As jewels are but for high-born wealthy duke ^ 
 So staunch, brisk work is but for healthy boor. 
 Play not with nature — use her gifts with care. 
 Thus should the law of man be written — and not 
 As now : Shun nature — listen to the man. 
 His wealth ; let arrows of vice pierce where they 
 
 may 
 And brace the bow of force with nervous arm. 
 Where reason fair should dwell, there sways rude 
 
 pride — 
 Oh ! world, hast thou come thus to dust ; hast thou 
 Lost all pure liveliness of natural pulse's beat — 
 Where are thy concord, peace, serenity ? 
 But peace now — his body will be buried soon. 
 Ay, let us live in love — in love for aye ! 
 
 Zuleika. Ha ! kiss me, Lodovico ! dear to 
 
 me — 
 Ah ! happy shall the hymeneal bells 
 
432 Poetical Works. 
 
 Now chime for us — for Love hath come with thee. 
 With it our vows shall make us one for aye ! 
 
 LODOVico. Thanks, thanks, dear maid — thine 
 ardor will be prized. 
 Let us from this small incident see wisdom ! 
 For others care with tempered zest — and ne'er 
 Go down nor up to find what is not thine — 
 Be tempter not where thy cot does not stand — 
 Be tempter but in gardens like thine own. 
 A kiss, dear wife ! Ah ! sweet the kiss to girl 
 Who is the light to matrimony's halls, 
 Who leads me to the dales of fatherhood. 
 
 ( They embrace. Curtain falls ^ 
 
 {Written in 1883.) 
 
WINTER-EVENING. 
 
WINTER-EVENING. 
 
 Day's glowing lord hath hid behind the hills, 
 But rosy blushes tint the dome of blue ; 
 The vespers* bell hath rung — and all is still — 
 Save murm'ring leaves that eve hath clothed with 
 dew. 
 
 I sat alone in dusky, dreary room ; 
 And gazed with eyes full-wide at even's lone. 
 The glowing embers shed a mystic gloom 
 Upon my soul that now in dream land shone ! 
 
 The blue hath kissed the even's shroud of gray — 
 The rosy blush a sallow hue doth spread — 
 Not over all the heaven's darkening way. 
 But near yon snow-draped hill, above its head ! 
 
 In low faint swells I hear the wind-tune wane, 
 As it to me sings through the window-pane. 
 I see the tossed tree-tops, weeping, bend — 
 The lofty clouds to forms fantastic rend ! 
 
 Methinks now, as it darker, darker grows 
 That hill and grayish dome two lips bespread, 
 And that the sallow hue, that still there glows, 
 A huge, devouring gulf of Satan bred. 
 
 435 
 
43 6 Poetical Works. 
 
 I stare bewildered at its mocking glare 
 And stare benumbed at cliffs of melting ore. 
 What doth the glaring mocking specter bear ? 
 Why do the darkening rocks their war-cry roar ? 
 
 Out rusheth Satan's band of aping imps 
 Still distant, all in battle array and fierce, 
 Now tumbling — grumbling — and the raging imps 
 Grow furious — hideous — yelling high and fierce ! 
 
 They fly with fleetness, as the lightning soars, 
 And huger — huger grows their fearful form. 
 Ha ! burning breath they spit at me with roars- 
 Like thundering, mocking, tearing, Northern storm 
 
 I feel the blood there trickling down my brow — 
 The echoes drumming loudly on my ear — 
 The imps in fury tear my eye-lids now. 
 Oh ! horror ! the crash of Demons' laugh I hear ! 
 
 The scofBng laugh so loud, so full — a shriek ! 
 Made startle me — made turn around and around. 
 The burning embers, staring there with weak 
 Nigh dying glow, revealed the hellish sound ! 
 
 My trembling hand now sought to cool the blood 
 That hung like rubies on my heated brow. 
 It was but the outpouring purling flood 
 Of fancy's boiling ocean, calming now ! 
 
 I strained my eyes in vain to meet the horde, — 
 My fancy had conjured the waving trees 
 That pledged with blowing wind in weird accord 
 And still their phantom arms my soul do sei?:c I 
 
Winter-Evening. 437 
 
 The distant, faint and low-bent trees o'er there 
 Methought to be the crowding hellish crew. 
 With them the tumbling rolling cloud's dark glare 
 Had wrought the army's roaring, as it flew ! 
 
 The eve was dark'ning fast as I now mused ; 
 The clouds they sped like phantoms o'er the gray. 
 The wind through window-pane so softly oozed 
 As oozeth music from the spattering spray. 
 
 I cast my eyes up there, where night doth reign, 
 And gazed and gazed, and gazed in wonderment — 
 How weird, how gray, fantastic all that plain ! 
 How grand, how awe-inspiring all that meant ! 
 
 What fancies drear the wand'ring clouds do bear — 
 What phantoms wild the wind creates at will ! 
 How great, oh ! infinite vast those regions there — 
 How small our soul — how meek and low — and still ! 
 
 No, never can I tire whilst gazing at the heaven 
 When waving shroud of somber hue is spread — 
 No, never am I weary, never lonely driven — 
 For I know Him to be, and Him to rule o'erhead ! 
 
 And on the fleet, unwary clouds their dirge let 
 
 flow — 
 Anon the moaning wind, with cutting gushes wild. 
 Alights the massive air-ship, like a mortal foe, 
 And scatters his fleecy captives o'er the circling 
 
 field, 
 
438 Poetical Works. 
 
 My sight sped with the captives, till the window- 
 frame 
 
 Cast back my wayward gaze, as a rocky bounding 
 shore 
 
 Repels the furious foaming main, to thereby tame 
 
 Its wild attack, and gain new strength for splash- 
 ing more ! 
 
 Behold ! what gleams there *neath your fringed 
 
 sailing cloud — 
 What misty vapors, tinged with fallow light, emerge 
 From under yon dark-pillowed phantom drear and 
 
 proud ? 
 It is the youthful moon at play — her flowing serge ! 
 
 Yes, youthful, pale grown moon, the storms dwell 
 
 yonder too — 
 Not gray hairs only flow with strife and storm and 
 
 wo — 
 The golden locks of frolicksome young joy well 
 
 knew 
 The moments, burning fast the bliss of hours ago ! 
 
 With pallid glance, O fair princess of stormy skies. 
 Thou rulest o'er the glowing throng of heavenly 
 
 spheres ! 
 How placid, meek thy look — how peaceful, lowly, 
 
 lies 
 Thy world up high ! — -for much is wrought where no 
 
 one fears! 
 
Winter-Evening. 439 
 
 I long did watch the moon's pale light and long did 
 muse 
 
 On her weird flight — but no — the clouds they fleet- 
 ing flew ; 
 
 Which made me pause, and ask my soul if he did 
 choose 
 
 To call the moon our God — and clouds His children 
 true ? 
 
 Thus contemplating all the world of eve 
 I sat alone in th* dark and dreary room — 
 The embers, burning low, now bade me leave 
 My dreamy mood to nurse their spectral gloom ! 
 
 (1883.) 
 
LA LECENDE. 
 
 By WINIAOWSKI. 
 
 AND OTHER BALLADS. 
 
LA LEGENDE. 
 
 A VIOLIN PIECE BY WINIAOWSKI. 
 
 No human lip reported what I know. 
 
 I heard it where the weird wind wild did blow — 
 
 Down, down, in the mighty valley, 
 Where grow the lilies, soft and pure as snow. 
 
 There bend the weary willows' branches weird ; 
 They sigh to wandering breezes, mountain-reared, 
 
 And voice it to the woodland-alley : 
 Where ghouls at midnight at a wanderer leered. 
 
 That wanderer came to this strange nook last year. 
 And haunts the gloom with heart-sigh and warm 
 tear ; 
 While moaning of love's wild losses. 
 For one who gave for love low taunts and jeers. 
 
 He walketh through the woodland-ways and lane, 
 Wild rending the sweet calm with sobbing strain. 
 
 While far the gray oak-crown tosses. 
 And tosses, o'erwhelmed by loneliness and pain. 
 
 The clouds like omens float and float and float, 
 And in between the moonbeams peer and gloat, 
 
 443 
 
444 iPoetical Works. 
 
 While near the soft too-who-whoing 
 Of small white-owls seems like wizard's note. 
 
 And in the dark and dreary nooks so dank, 
 Where like a smaragd sheet spread the bank, 
 
 He dreams of his first sweet wooing 
 When he sweet love from eyes all-loving drank. 
 
 And while his visionary eyes so bright 
 
 With all the ghoul-eyed drear, oh ! drear moonlight 
 
 And purple pink tinge were vying, 
 Out flowed his wild despair and wilder plight, 
 
 In tones unearthly, such no man hath heard, 
 With strange sweet mourning as of widowed bird 
 
 When slowly the snows are dying. 
 Oh ! tones far plainer than our richest word. 
 
 At first, a song sad-mingling with sorrow's pang- 
 Then lessening as though lone Anguish sang ; 
 
 Alone in her drear despairing. 
 Then shorter notes as though a soul-rune rang. 
 
 While in its anguish melting tones of love 
 Still would their life-preserving power prove, 
 As though life and death were pairing, 
 So like sad notes from spouse-lorn woodland-dove. 
 
 Out flowed that song of anguish wild and deep 
 That slow re-echoed from the awe-swayed steep, 
 
 And waned in the woodland-hollows 
 Like sighs that cling to spray when sea- waves creep. 
 
La Legende. 445 
 
 Wild, wild, Continuous in its anguish wild, 
 
 Till, like strange shrieks of some lost maid defiled, 
 
 Whom harshest pale anguish follows, 
 His song grew to a drear shrill, sighing mild : 
 
 Such that a lorn sad bird at evening spills 
 When too much loss her song with sorrow fills, 
 
 Far far in a Southland-forest. 
 Then could that wanderer walk the sombre hills ; 
 
 Till to a ledge he came, and there outpoured 
 His grief and anguish to the gracious Lord, 
 
 (Thou Lord, Who our pleasures marrest !) 
 But all at once his wail of anguish soared 
 
 Beyond its dole ; and brazen did it sound 
 So like a rasping in a Hell-ruled ground 
 
 Where moans change to tumultuous taunting, 
 And where, instead of songs, vile shrieks are found. 
 
 Then rolled the echo of his grief along 
 
 The mighty valley, wide, with oak-trees strong. 
 
 Loud rang it like daemon's haunting, 
 Till it inspired weird Night's starry throng. 
 
 Yet, as it grieved, soft love stole in between 
 Fair dances when the woods were golden green 
 
 And kisses to lovely lasses. 
 As though his sorrows never could have been. 
 
 While through the drear great valley shone the 
 
 beams 
 Of the bright lemon-silvery moon in dreams, 
 
446 Poetical Works. 
 
 And darkened the gloomy passes 
 And ghoul-songs veiled the sleepy brooks and 
 streams. 
 
 Then lifted he his anguish all again, 
 
 But with a mightier, more sublime a strain, 
 
 As Satan, defeated, sang once ! 
 Till in wild ripples did he soothe his pain. 
 
 With many mingling melodies ending never, 
 So is the surge and splash of seaward-river 
 
 When thunder's clear cymbals clang once ! 
 Then near him would the flower's blue crown 
 quiver. 
 
 His song waxed surging as a sea when fast 
 
 O'er all its calm drives the storm's thund'rous blast. 
 
 And caps rise, plunge, ceaseless foaming. 
 Till the moon called a dark cloud, as aghast 
 
 She gloated at the wanderer wild and mad. 
 Then once again he drew forth sounds so sad, 
 
 Sad as a young mother roaming — 
 Gasps at the cruel fate her first child had. 
 
 Then shrieked he long, and sang discordant strains, 
 Such when the harvest moon in anguish wanes, 
 
 And wild are the woods with raining 
 Harsh notes, like hail's, upon the winter-panes. 
 
 Uplifting all his grief and losses to the air. 
 And thinking it would kill his deep despair. 
 
 His wo, and his love's complaining. 
 But not one fervent answer to his prayer ! 
 
La Legende. 447 
 
 So wild his looks grew, and they sadness showed, 
 Till in a swollen flood-song he outflowed 
 His anguish in maddened raging — 
 While moon and stars, relentless, coldly glowed. 
 
 Then like a moonbeam's life upon a mote, 
 So flashlike leapt he down where ghouls do gloat — 
 In the wild vale, with night-ghosts waging — 
 Fell dead, bereft of woe and song's sweet note. 
 
 And heart-blessed fleecy cloudlets fell upon 
 The wanderer all of sudden ; and a crown 
 
 Of snow-white soft clouds they fashioned ; 
 And all around him wove a shrine alone. 
 
 So all upbore him through vast night intense ; 
 All lingeringly they took him away and hence — 
 
 His head on white cloudlets cushioned, 
 And through the valley fell darkness drear and 
 dense. 
 
 Faint songs uprose — reminiscent echoes soft 
 Of all his woes, accompanying him aloft 
 Like motes in uprising fragrance ! 
 So murmur-soft — so soft, as o'er a croft 
 
 That standeth in a maze of violets and rose 
 A noontide whisper creepeth to the close 
 
 When wasps flit through the summer's vag- 
 rance. 
 So came that strain of anguish again to those 
 
448 Poetical Works. 
 
 Druidal rocks upon the pine-loved ledge 
 
 And brought his dirge to all the sleeping sedge, 
 
 Where herons were asleep, a-dreaming. 
 His anguish rose again and his dismay. 
 
 O, softly as the sea-spray murmuring lone ^ 
 Upon an algae-wrapped Dromlech-stone ; 
 
 Or as the white seething billows* 
 Soft song is heard beyond the breakers' moan. 
 
 That song of anguish smote the samite moon 
 And fired the star that wove rare glowing shoon- 
 
 And flamed the weird shade of willows 
 Where in the vale they seemed an Eidoloon. 
 
 And brazen-soft some notes were lifted high 
 As memory of his wild-toned sigh 
 
 He uttered on ledge so lonely, 
 Ere to weird Death he gave his last long cry. 
 
 Then upward bore those fleeey clouds his form- 
 Above, above the earthly days of storm, 
 Where swell grief and sorrow only, 
 Above, to lands spiritual, rare and warm. 
 
 And while in the faint moonlight vanished he, 
 Down, down within the hollow vale so free. 
 Dark ghouls wailed their sad dirges — 
 They wailed strangely, undulatingly ; 
 
 As waves of sound, now hollow low, then swift 
 Their modulated broken chords would drift, 
 
 Like sursurrus in the surges. 
 Then silvery sang the fairies, and would lift 
 
La Legende. 449 
 
 Soft saddest sighings rollingly in between ; 
 Till with those changing sounds the night's wan 
 sheen — 
 In ledge, vale, and oaken alley — 
 Grew sad and seemed as though such had not been. 
 
 But I know that his ghost appears each moon 
 Just when the ghouls and elves begin to croon 
 
 In that awful and mighty valley — 
 To me 'twas told all leave that region soon ! 
 
 MYSTERIOUS CONSCIOUSNESS OF AN- 
 OTHER'S DEATH. 
 
 Here may I write what to delicate maids, 
 Listening, would cause hysteria dire. 
 
 Here, dreaming in the maple shades 
 And listening to the brook-falls' murmur — 
 
 Here may I write what in the night 
 Would freeze the blood — once hot as fire ; 
 
 Ay, here, at morn, I may indite 
 
 Last night's most gruesome ghostly scene of horror! 
 
 There is a man who walks at will 
 
 Within this charming summer-home— 
 
 To look at him promotes a chill 
 
 In us — for he looks haggard — deathly ! 
 
 His frame is a mere skeleton. 
 Yet he uncannily doth roam 
 
 Abroad — with eyes like onyx-stone. 
 
 And quivering gait ahalt at death's dark doorway. 
 ^9 
 
450 Poetical Works. 
 
 Last night with happy thoughts to bed 
 
 I went, — unconscious of his state — 
 When lo ! at dead of night, what led 
 
 To my lone dreams a horror image ! 
 Then woke I — trying to clutch the dream 
 
 That throttled me, — then did I wait — 
 And think : I thought a cool fresh stream 
 Of air would change my dreadful dream like night- 
 mare ! 
 
 It was no nightmare, — so I rose 
 
 From bed, — and in the dark my way 
 
 Groped — when against a door, half close, 
 I struck my neck — ah ! lucky mishap ! 
 
 If I had struck my temple's side ! 
 
 (But gentle souls my movements sway !) 
 
 Then opened I the windows wide — 
 
 When sudden gruesome thoughts flooded my think- 
 ing ! 
 
 No thoughts I harbored of the man — 
 
 I felt the fresh air lave my cheek. 
 Ah ! who may solve strange nature's plan ? 
 
 At once like gales o'er quiet ocean, 
 An image weird took hold of me — 
 
 Then wished I that some one would speak — 
 The image held me potently — 
 'Twas he came to me, who looked haggard, deathly. 
 
 He came, like breaths of dusk in glooms ; 
 
 Stern, with his sunken cheeks yellowed ; 
 Slow, like the last smoke of gun-booms ; 
 
 Weird, like a wraith, half putrid — livid. 
 
La Legende. 451 
 
 Then came he to my bed, and bent 
 
 His bony body o'er me — there flowed 
 A musty smell ; — and then I rent 
 Him into parts, that in foul dust did vanish. 
 
 I lit a candle — so to free 
 
 My thoughts of all the darkness dread. 
 But too in dim-light would there be 
 
 Uncanny feelings, that did chill me. 
 I spoke to courage — so blew out 
 
 The light, — but when in the warm bed 
 Again I lay, I seemed a clout 
 That lies on frozen river in deep winter ! 
 
 Though under covers warm I lay — 
 
 Awake — my body felt like ice ; 
 
 My temples were warm, but round my clay 
 
 An icy film pressed, as a death-shroud ! 
 And all the while I saw him there — 
 
 And heard the ghostly rustle twice — 
 And thrice ; and though the fresh cool air 
 Laved me, I knew he watched me with stern leer- 
 ing ! 
 
 To banish gruesome thoughts, I dwelled 
 With Lydia, and on valley flowers dreamed. 
 
 But sleep would come not, — ever swelled 
 The image of him that controlled me. 
 
 At once I felt my chest constrained, 
 
 Then took I breath ; and then I seemed 
 
 To work my will so life, that pained 
 
 Me then, stiU keep me fresh for coming morrow ! 
 
452 Poetical Works. 
 
 Sleep came not, — I was haunted then : 
 All power to trample the image to death 
 
 Like Sisiphus — most strong of men — 
 Was useless working 'gainst fate's power. 
 
 So lay I waiting for the dawn ; 
 
 With icy body, and hampered breath — 
 
 With some strange something o'er me drawn — 
 
 Half seen, half heard, half felt, yet all intangible ! 
 
 In agony, half slumberingly 
 
 I lay in power of some cause — 
 Full two long hours — when in mystery 
 
 The thin dawn crept up slowly, slowly- 
 Then sang a timid thrush a tune 
 
 That cheered me as when loving voices rouse 
 Our solitude in woods of June — 
 And slow the haunting image left my thinking ! 
 
 And slowly left the icy sense 
 
 That pressed against my sensitive frame. 
 Calm came to me I know not whence — 
 
 Perhaps from the bird's morning singing. 
 What change ! from the night's gruesome hours, 
 
 With a dead face chilling me, there came 
 The liquid madcap vocal showers 
 Of thrush and lark — hymning the day's fair dawning ! 
 
 This could I write here by the brook. 
 
 Whose shallow falls make murmurous song ; 
 
 Where sunlight hides from grove and nook 
 The weird suggestions of the midnight. 
 
La Legende. 453 
 
 This, what would cause hysteria dire 
 
 To delicate maids — or weirdly throng 
 Men's minds to chill them once warm as fire — 
 At morning's fresh bright hours I may sing darkly. 
 
 Ah ! strange that some are gifted so — 
 
 To feel when others near them die — 
 Yet happy they who do not know 
 
 When death will touch some neighbor's shoul- 
 ders. 
 For what I felt and what I saw 
 
 But strong nerves can survive — and try. 
 Then tell to me of nature's law 
 That fills your mind with thoughts so ghostly, 
 gruesome ! 
 
 HAUNTED. 
 
 A voice sounds in those aisles! 
 
 No glory-crowned nun, 
 But one whose life with smiles 
 
 And hopes had once begun. 
 
 It is the hour when drear 
 The bats ring in their flight. 
 
 In that lone corner there 
 
 The nun's ghost shrieks to-night- 
 
 The bats flap leathern on, 
 Their sinuous shriek will ring 
 
 When there from that white stone 
 Will rise the ghastly thing! 
 
454 Poetical Works. 
 
 A young fair nun with hair 
 
 As curly as Gertrude's, 
 When all the May was fair ; 
 
 But from her back exudes 
 
 Rich blood from a sharp wound 
 A dagger dashed wide ope, 
 
 When she fled passion's sound, 
 And lived with virgin hope. 
 
 With her will rise the ghost 
 Of Rutledge, he the monk, 
 
 Who led with him lust's host 
 From vice's cup had drunk. 
 
 He loved the nun, but she 
 Would hold her cross instead ; 
 
 Then took his dagger he 
 
 And stabbed her ; — to death she bled. 
 
 That act will he repeat ; 
 
 The nun's wild shriek you'll hear; 
 While through the aisle will fleet 
 
 The faint sound of her tear. 
 
 And when the moaning wind. 
 
 The rustle of the leaves. 
 Will fall upon the blind, 
 
 And shiver all the sheaves ; 
 
 Then will their ghosts melt slowly. 
 
 As moisture on a blade ; 
 Or as on windows holy 
 
 The breath upon it laid ! 
 
La Legende. 455 
 
 When bats their leathern wings 
 
 Beat 'gainst the uncanny air, 
 Strange low faint murmurings 
 
 Within those aisles you'll hear, 
 
 Then hie away — lest soon 
 
 You see things far too murk, 
 As in a lone lagoon 
 
 Faint spirits rise and lurk. 
 
 Ah ! haunted are those aisles ; 
 
 And happy he who goes 
 Away with low fair smiles, 
 
 While gloomy the wild wind blows. 
 
 A voice rings in those halls ; 
 
 A shriek from a virgin's throat, ' 
 Whom passion's sweets appals. 
 
 Preferring religion's note. 
 
 And when you dream there, muse 
 That though she passion had fled, 
 
 His will had stronger use ; 
 She reaped harsh death instead. 
 
MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 IDLE REVERIES. 
 
 Ah me ! those languid days of two full months, 
 With all their bright-bloomed hours, their fragrant 
 
 joys ! 
 Those blooming four-score days, when she was 
 
 wont 
 To come to school, and cheer my heart and soul 
 With her dear tender sway ; it seemed to me 
 She dreamed once by a silvery pool at eve 
 When Dian mirrored her wan cheeks and lips, 
 And lighted a dim slot ; then, stately borne. 
 Two antlers shook the faintly glittering trees ; 
 And soon a doe came to the forest pool. 
 Both sipping bliss. And there she watched the 
 
 neck, 
 The dreamy head, the sinuous lines, the bend, 
 And graceful side-step of the perfect doe, 
 All movements she would make, when both would 
 
 join 
 To seek their home-path through the dusky woods. 
 For so she yielded her dear curls to mood 
 Pervading all her languor-given mind ! 
 Ay, sheened the musty walls with all her bloom 
 
 459 
 
460 Poetical Works. 
 
 And tender tints that laved her cheeks ! Her 
 
 flush, 
 (Like flitting petals of the sweet pea's flower 
 When warmer weather weans their buds to bloom 
 In flying liberty !) that paid to time, 
 To rosy time, a tribute for a long, 
 Ay lasting boon of her flushed charming cheeks, 
 That shone with a purer radiancy than all 
 The buds and half-oped blossoms of the May ! 
 And when she hung her neat small sacque — and all 
 The while lifting the most bewitching waist 
 That maiden could be proud of — how her head 
 Would droop : I saw the languid dahlia 
 In that dear face, flushed to its richest hue. 
 And would have imaged its tall stem, if there 
 Were any visible undulations fair 
 Like those calmed wavelets laving all her mould ! 
 Then would she finger with her rosy fingers 
 A charm on her snug robe — that when it heaved 
 It raptures sent through all my happy frame — 
 Ay finger it, and put aside the orning ruffles 
 That with a milk-white garniture of lace 
 Hid those bud-lilies from my eager eyes. 
 O, and that neck would bend — ay was not she. 
 By magic means, transformed to bird that prides 
 'Long flowery bourne in far luxuriant South : 
 A rosed flamingo (rosier hued by glow 
 That flashed and blazed through some west-nodding 
 
 woods) 
 All solitary in entangled vines and flowers. 
 And fairest of its flock — with graceful necl: 
 
Miscellaneous Poems. 461 
 
 And pride-lit eye, viewing its plumes, to lay 
 Them smooth, or let some shine more radiantly 
 In rays of the departing orb ! 
 
 As nymph 
 That paces 'long a golden garden-pool 
 Gilt by lit sprays of fragrant jasmine-flowers 
 Whose seed was sent from Himalaya's heart 
 In one fair vale known for its jasmine flowers — 
 So paced she through the room, with ease and grace, 
 A grace and ease but nymphs display, when lone 
 In dreamy woods, or when they languidly 
 Allure some faun or fair disguised god ! 
 And all the while our glances had not met 
 To greet the morn. 
 
 Then with a grace her own, 
 And only hers, (for who could sway a form 
 So beautiful and maidenly, since none 
 But she possesses it ?) she searches round, 
 And, searching, bends her waist, and smiles and 
 
 blushes 
 Unconsciously — perhaps her maiden shame 
 Arouses fears that her fair hair is curled 
 Not as she saw it in her ivory mirror ; 
 Or one of her chaste sapphire fillets dangle 
 Too near her perfect shoulders feminine. 
 Not square, but curving like a purest pear, 
 Sweet widening to the arms ; and such, or like 
 To such — till suddenly our enraptured eyes 
 Enflame and meet, as spark of levin meets 
 The dreary gleam that hangs o'er blackened mount, 
 But vanishes as soon. 
 
462 Poetical Works. 
 
 Now sat she there, 
 With eyes intent on one fair Hermes-head, 
 And I saw each sweet bend of elbow when 
 The lines would bid her hand to move, now there, 
 Now here, on the white sheet. 
 
 And how that hour 
 Flushes now ! O while my pen creaks faintly fast, 
 The slumbrous tick-tick of one old clock cradles 
 
 slow — 
 And like a hail-stone, whisk a beetle^s wings 
 Against the dark, dark pane ; and far the trill, 
 Long, sad, sepulchral trill ! — that seems a voice 
 Of omen, its sole drear note the night may swell. 
 Or then, the sudden seething, rushing roar — 
 And sudden gush — retreating — dying — lost — 
 Of the flash-chariot — wheeling like a storm, 
 Whose winds are goaded by the salt-sea fiend ! 
 
 That day, when all the lines and shadows drawn 
 
 Were rendered fleetly ; as if some fairy-hand 
 
 Had touched my fingers ; — ay, with what sweet 
 
 view 
 My eyes fed their so eager sight ! They gazed 
 With charmed look at her so tender waist ; 
 Her neck, that needed no Fillippo's stone 
 As counterpart ; as it was delicate more 
 Than any in the beauty-marbles pure 
 That Lippi chiseled ; he who chiseled grace 
 But for its loveliness, beauty and charm. 
 And such a mass of curls, and neat-combed hair ! 
 Surpassing that of Venus, when her maids 
 
Miscellaneous Poems. 463 
 
 Had braided her last tress, and she stood there 
 In spacious grot — surprised — amazed — ashamed — 
 At suddenly beholding Acteon's form 
 With bow unstrung, and arm about to seek 
 An arrow in the quiver. 
 
 O that day ! 
 It flushes my cheeks, that wish its bloom soon back. 
 Then she would turn her grace-head from my gaze ; 
 Till I saw only her finely-moulded chin, 
 Aspiring nose-tip, and a crescent white 
 Of her dear eye — whose sparkling orb flashed rays 
 Even when her face was turned away from me. 
 
 Ah me ! those pleasant mornings when love 
 
 bloomed ! 
 When my eyes were at perfect liberty 
 To gaze at her, to devour her grace ! When she 
 Was not wroth, if I silently surprised 
 Her dreaming eye with my small foolish self. 
 And when I spoke to her, she seemed abashed ; 
 Bent her head low — and would not frankly look 
 In my two flashing eyes ! but like a flower 
 That droops its weighty petals gracefully, 
 So she her head — full-browed and wisdom filled. 
 Why had not words, like joyful laughing falls. 
 Broken loose their bounds, and streaming from her 
 
 lips 
 Had voiced the room ; but she spoke like fair 
 
 birds. 
 The sweetest birds, in smiling accents, low 
 
464 Poetical Works. 
 
 And soft ! 
 
 But when the hour struck highnoon 
 Ah me ! such sight my pen, or pencil's dash 
 May ne'er express ! Let Hellas flash before 
 Th' imagination's sky ; then single out 
 The fairest goddesses ; and nymphs ; and maids, 
 That danced for kings, or warmed their lord's rich 
 
 couch, 
 And from those let thy passionate taste choose one 
 That far outshines the others ! She will seem 
 Like her that morn, that memorable morn ! 
 Or take thy sorcerer's wand, strike at the air, 
 Call thrice : ** Ay, come, ye beauties of the East ; 
 Circassian dainty-flowers, with flashing eyes 
 And sparkling bosoms ! Appear, ye languid lassies 
 That dance to cymbal-clashes, die in swoons ! 
 Come, fairest ladies, wined in Malaga-towers ; 
 Bred in the midst of fragrant blooms ; your thoughts 
 All fed with passionate dreams, the low breeze 
 
 swings 
 And swings again ! — O graceful girls, that woo 
 The bland Arabian airs with sweetest songs. 
 That wind sweet wreaths about your polished loins 
 And dance your dreamy, winding body-dance ! 
 Ah ! you, that languish in luxuriant garden-walls 
 'Way near Amalfi's perilous cliffs, with lute 
 And jasmine sprays waft to the sapphire sea 
 Your Syren-lays ; and draw the noblest men 
 To your warm charms — come, show yourselves ! ** 
 Call thrice thuswise ; and when the air seems 
 
 thronged 
 
Miscellaneous Poems. 465 
 
 With all those beauteous shapes, with faces fair — 
 Then single out from all the beauteous one — 
 The one outshining all the other flowers ! % 
 
 The one whose languid grace is like the elm*s ; 
 Whose drooping curls fall like the thick-leaved vine, 
 With crimson, velvety, lustrous, dark-green leaves, 
 That climbs the trees in Java's tangled groves ; 
 Whose bosom heaves as Indian lily-buds ; 
 
 Ere gold stars shine through lusty petals white. 
 Whose eyes beam blessings and desire ; whose Hps, 
 As wood-azaleas rosy and so sweet. 
 Smile now, then scorn themselves ; then, like the 
 
 flowers 
 Of flippant suckle, purse to murmurous laughter, 
 That hangs, and flies, and droops, and flames — like 
 
 one 
 
 Fair blithsome bush of roses in the breeze 
 
 That stole its evening-song from southern blooms. 
 
 Whose brow seems like a noble mound of flowers. 
 
 A brow that knows of death, and wo, and pain, 
 
 And blushes deep at all the sweetnesses 
 
 Of living gratitude — and piety ! 
 
 Whose waist is as the wasp's so delicate ; 
 
 Whose dapper feet outstrip the fleetest elf's, 
 
 That lived on plains, where Oberon stations all 
 
 His castle-sweets on bourne of a dark wood. 
 
 If from that motley flower-throng you see 
 
 A bloom as like to this — it is herself. 
 
 And so she was that blissful morn ; that morn 
 
 Of memorable mirth and loving joy and bliss. 
 
 O, as she seemed prepared to leave the room 
 30 
 
466 Poetical Works. 
 
 In haste — O, there she stopped, aglow for me ! 
 O, how she looked with longing eyes, her head 
 Half bent — in half suspense to stay or leave. 
 Now listen to strains that sing of all her grace 
 That morning. 
 
 As when Iphigenia 
 Caressed the welcome doe on pyre aflame, 
 And whispered thanks to Dian in the cloud, 
 Full-rosed ! so seemed my charming love who bent 
 Her head to gaze at her fair waist whereon 
 Her dear hand rested. Then her dapper feet 
 Raised her a bit, so that she seemed to list 
 To cherubs singing soft ; while all the while, 
 That precious while, her laugh-eyes wandered here 
 And there, but nearer to my anxious eyes. 
 And her dear fingers fondled her dear waist 
 As if she wished that her fair limbs were changed 
 To heavenly ones and carried tenderly 
 By angels to gardens by great Gabriel's home. 
 And visions, such that came to Hagar's soul, 
 Were tissued to ecstatic fancy's garb 
 That flashed them athwart my fitful gaze 
 And chained me there ! O, chained me there; and 
 
 when 
 I left that rapturous spot where she had stood, 
 The beauty of it haunts me sweetly well — 
 *Tis there e'en when its power hath waned and died. 
 
 Ah me, those dreamy hours of four-score days ; 
 Will they bloom sweet again ? Will their hot flush 
 Enhance the air ; when both breathe fondest love ? 
 
Miscellaneous Poems. 467 
 
 Will tiic/ — will she again smile sweetness, laugh 
 As laughs the gorgeous pink aft* summer showers ? 
 And pierce her eyes deep into my glow-heart, 
 As though they seemed two living stars in heaven 
 When only two are shining with the moon. 
 Ah me ! those days when Rapture ran with me, 
 Delight sped with me on love's flowery lawn. 
 And Bliss with eager breath sang to my tune 
 Of love more lovingly than e'er before ! 
 Ah me ! I dare not hope — and still I dream 
 (When evening wafts so drowsily her balm) 
 To flush her cheeks with all the pink and bloom 
 That oozeth from the deep, deep kiss, the kiss 
 That wildly drinketh out the wells of love. 
 The kiss I hope to give her when she says 
 In joyous accents, all exultingly : 
 " O, loved and cherished one, here are my soul, 
 My heart, my body, all for thee alone ! " 
 
 (1885.) 
 
 TO RAFFAELLE, AN ANDALUSIAN, 
 
 WHO CANNOT READ NOR WRITE. 
 
 As when a bee that thrids through fragrant ways, 
 
 Alights upon a bloom so strange to it, 
 At once its perfume's loved, and there it stays. 
 Full-sipping all — so for its love-lips fit. 
 So wast thou, Raffaelle, 
 When first we met, 
 
 At once a mutual spell 
 Told each was either's pet. 
 
468 Poetical Works. 
 
 We loved each other ; nor could jealousy 
 
 Part us, nor absence long could sever us 
 As tint to cloud, our love was unity. 
 
 And as the wave to main 'twas welded thus, 
 So, Raffaelle, we loved ; 
 At once a thrill 
 
 Between us twain had proved 
 That love should linger still. 
 
 Thou beauty ! sprung from Arab blood, and reared 
 
 In Andalusian airs where wines are sweet ; 
 Thou with thy large black eyes my wo hadst 
 cheered. 
 Then, with thy shape so lithe and charm complete. 
 Fair Raffaelle hadst given 
 Me one true test 
 
 That Hourisin Mahmud's Heaven 
 Through thee were manifest. 
 
 Thy tress so as some cavern's darkest air, 
 
 Upon whose rare abundance laugh and glow 
 Fair flowers, making thy face more than fair. 
 Ah me ! their witchery doth dazzle so ; 
 Methinks, my Raffaelle, 
 The Arab eyes 
 
 Knew Heaven's manners well 
 To ordain for maids such guise. 
 
 Thy swift eye-glance — a trance ; thy nose a gem ; 
 
 Thy dainty lips, to press them, blooms our love. 
 Thy small feet, peeping from thy gauze dress* hem ; 
 
 Thy perfect bosom, and thy neck above ; — 
 
Miscellaneous Poems. 469 
 
 O RafTaelle, they are 
 As beauteous made, 
 
 As is the sparkle o' star — 
 And dreamy as perfumed shade ! 
 
 But though thou art the cynosure of all, 
 
 Thy shape's fair charms, thy flashing orbs of jet, 
 Thy love, thy passion, all my mind enthrall, 
 Ah, me ! one night I knew, to my regret, 
 That thou, my Raffaelle, 
 Fair as moonlight, 
 
 (Although I love thee well) 
 Couldst not even read or write. 
 
 O, nature moulded thee to dazzle love ; 
 
 And beauty shed on thee her bounties fair 
 But literature is all thy mind above — 
 Thy fingers never held a lithe quill there. 
 But, Raffaelle, thou art 
 More perfect blessed 
 
 With depth of soul and heart ; , 
 And love within thy breast. 
 
 TO A BEAUTY UNKNOWN TO ME, 
 
 BUT SEEN AT HOTEL IN SPAIN. 
 
 Thou white-faced Amazon 
 With frame so warrior-strong 
 
 On whom proud Beauty shone 
 And wove thee from sweet song ; 
 
4/0 Poetical Works. 
 
 Thou art too fair to dwell 
 
 Upon this globe so foreign to rare Beauty's spell ! 
 
 On stateliest of steeds, 
 
 White as the wild sea's foam, 
 Thy beauty fair must needs 
 Superbly, godlike, roam 
 Over the flower-banked roads 
 
 Of witching love whose sumptuous passion onward 
 goads. 
 
 Thou goddess ! O how full 
 
 Thy limbs, thy hips — thy bosom, 
 Thy stature beautiful. 
 
 Thy face a living blossom 
 Wherein pride flames her fires ; 
 Yet soothed by timid love and woman's soft desires ! 
 
 Thou Dido of these years ! 
 
 A spear would give thee grace ; 
 A tumult of warrior's cheers 
 
 Would rose thy glorious face, 
 
 potent queen of power — 
 
 Yet delicately minded as the scents o' a flower ! 
 
 I know thee not, nor spoke 
 
 A syllable to thee. 
 I saw — and swift awoke 
 Sweet strains of poesy. 
 And in thy large soft eye 
 
 1 found a spark that called for our proximity! 
 
Miscellaneous Poem§i 47i 
 
 Woman, on Beauty's brink — 
 
 With summer's sumptuousness — 
 Be languid yet — and think 
 
 That soon thy rich brown tress 
 May show long streaks of snow — 
 The winter to thy matchless reign in love and glow ! 
 
 white-faced Amazon 
 Too glorious for our race, 
 
 Thou shouldst dwell all alone 
 In glory of thy grace. 
 O powerful queen — Yet thou 
 Hast love and timidness upon thy wide fair brow ! 
 
 1 know thee not, nor spoke 
 A syllable to thee. 
 
 I saw — and swift awoke 
 Sweet strains of poesy. 
 Yet — never wilt thou know 
 That thou, O peer of women, mad'st my verses flow ! 
 
 EVENING HOUR. 
 
 Birds are singing — 
 Insects ringing — 
 
 Coolest breezes blowing from the hills. 
 Golden sunbeams — 
 Glorious sunshine — 
 
 Sunning all the grasses by the rills. 
 'Tis the even : 
 Blazing heaven, 
 
47^ Poetical Works. 
 
 Shed thy light upon the streams and land ; 
 
 While the sundown 
 
 Is resplendent, 
 Sing thy chorals to the Angels bland ! 
 
 E.ippling waters — 
 
 Insects* laughters, 
 Shadows lengthening on the bluey grass — 
 
 O' the evening 
 
 Cool and languid, 
 While the sun rolls 'baft the mountain's mass ! 
 Cool and gentle breezes of the evening-hour. 
 Bring to me my fond love, or some Angel-Power ! 
 
 SONG. 
 
 Art thou shut within thyself 
 
 Like the rose of Jericho, 
 Turning all thy beauty into pelf, 
 
 Careless of soul's fairest fumes that blow? ^ 
 
 Open all thy heart again * 
 
 To the voices of thy doom, 
 As the silvern morning's joyous strain — 
 
 Makes the gorgeous Sharon-rose to bloom ! 
 
 Art thou shut within thyself — 
 
 Like the rose of Jericho? 
 Scorn the clutched paws of sordid pelf — 
 
 See thy beauteous soul in Heaven's glow / 
 
Miscellaneous Poems. 473 
 
 A CONCEIT. 
 
 Ere, as the fumes of incense rise 
 To melt within the azure skies, 
 This fragrant flower of the mind 
 Its change into oblivion will find ; 
 Rare pen ! most dear invention, blest 
 By all the gods that give us rest, 
 Thou must commit to paper white — 
 
 were it wart on sammite exquisite ! — 
 This small conceit that sailed 
 
 Within my mind, and there prevailed. 
 
 As doth a skiff of golden prow 
 
 Move in a harbor — Syren-tended. 
 
 So move to words what on my brow 
 
 The sprites of thought have sweetly blended 
 
 With my couth mind ; so write it now : 
 
 My musing mind is drifting 
 Upon fair Poesy's silvery sea — , 
 As doth a shallop, shifting 
 Upon a main so musingly. 
 
 1 let it drift — so stilly ; 
 
 I let the breezes take its prow 
 
 To lands of dreams so hilly 
 
 Where winds of perfume lave my brow. 
 
 Unreefed the sails ; they're swelling 
 To every passing breeze that blows 
 Near to its prow the welling 
 Of soft small waves sweet music flows. 
 
474 Poetical Works. 
 
 I lie within ; and, dreaming, 
 Reck not whereto it takes its way. 
 But when dear winds come streaming 
 I make mine own their every lay. 
 
 My mind is drifting, drifting 
 
 Upon fair Poesy's tranquil sea 
 
 As doth a shallop, shifting 
 
 Upon a main so murmuringly. 
 
 Allowing winds to take me 
 
 To groves of bloom — or strands of gold ; 
 
 Or letting music wake me 
 
 When it hath reached a Mermaid-fold. 
 
 So dream I, all unwitting 
 
 What will betide, where I shall moor. 
 
 Upon the poop dream-sitting 
 
 I wait for breezes, fair or poor. 
 
 For to the shallop's master 
 
 And to the winds that guide it fair 
 
 I leave it : to sail faster. 
 
 Or float ashine in soothing air ! 
 
 My musing mind is shifting 
 Upon sweet Poesy's argent sea. 
 As doth a shallop, drifting 
 Upon a main so meand'ringly, 
 I dream ; till pleasant breezes 
 Awake in me some strain or song ; 
 While, sailing where it pleases. 
 My musing mind is moved along. 
 
Miscellaneous Poems. 475 
 
 So am I dreaming daily 
 
 Unwitting what will fill my mind. 
 
 I trust to them that gaily 
 
 Lave all my brow with murmuring wind. 
 
 God is my shallop-master, 
 
 The sprites of thought guide on my lay, 
 
 So may I write, or faster 
 
 Or dreamily, each summer's day ! 
 
 ASSOCIATION. 
 
 Bach's dream-Adagio flowed 
 Out from the fifty strings that glowed 
 With scented musing light, such that fair redolent 
 music yields. 
 
 So soporific 'twas ; 
 
 Methought last summer's breeze did pass, 
 And touched my lids, while I lay sleeping on warm 
 flowery fields. 
 
 That somnolent soft strain 
 Brought summer's languid breeze again 
 Upon my brow, my eyes — to make me drowsy as of 
 yore. 
 
 So may a present bliss 
 Recall a bygone love-blest kiss ; 
 Above, Heaven's sweets may be like those we knew 
 on life's fair shore. 
 
476 Poetical Works. 
 
 TOO PERFECT FOR WORK. 
 
 It is a day when doing is ignored — 
 
 A sense of dreams pervades our moods— 
 
 We must hie to some beauty full-adored, 
 With her run to the lonely singing woods. 
 
 I may not paint — some cloudlike wain should be 
 Prepared for soaring through the balmy skies, 
 
 For dreamy is my mood to-day, and she 
 
 Would seem a quaff of Heaven's Alchem.ies. 
 
 Molest not him who to the Angels sings — 
 For on this day they whisper deepest lore — 
 
 And one, He to me seer's knowledge brings. 
 So may I my lone mind with wisdom store. 
 
 It is a day when doing should be dead — 
 And nature-praising should be as a law ! 
 
 Then far from toil — by my own fond one led, 
 To tell me all she in her dreaming saw ! 
 
 A SONG. 
 
 {Translation of J. du Bellay,) 
 
 To you, light-winged swarm. 
 That fly, from cold to warm, 
 Around this world's wide girth — 
 And, with a sibilant twitter, 
 
 Th' umbrageous trees, that glitter, 
 Soft-touch, so songs have birth — 
 
Miscellaneous Poems. 477 
 
 I offer these violets — 
 
 These lilies — these flower-sets — 
 
 And these fair roses — 
 
 The marvelous roses, born 
 
 Fresh in the breath of morn — 
 
 And those dark posies ! 
 
 With your sweet breath — 
 Soft-praise this plain 
 This day's refrain — 
 This hand that laboreth 
 
 To winnow all my wheat, 
 
 In the day's mellow heat! 
 
 WELCOME THUNDER. 
 
 Thou welcome thunder roll o'er head — 
 The long live day has been so hot — 
 
 We crave for rain — the day is fled — 
 The sky is wild with dark clouds shot. 
 
 All heavy is the air — no breeze 
 
 Blows now — and stillness reigns all o*er- 
 But grumbling over town and trees 
 
 And sea, thou rollest with low roar. 
 
 O welcome is thy growl to all, 
 
 Mysterious thunder, whom no man 
 
 Hath fathomed yet — but thou art thrall 
 To God, Ruler o'er nature's plan. 
 
478 Poetical Works. 
 
 Roll, roll ! and long thy roll may sound — 
 Thou thunder heralding fresh rain — 
 
 Loud trump of God — swift wet the ground- 
 And cool the air for us again ! 
 
 SUMMER EVENINGS. 
 
 O WAIT awhile, ye Evenings 
 Of summer's golden imaginings 
 When birds their clear-tuned songs begin 
 That sound like Bacchanalian din ! 
 
 O rest awhile, ye halcyon eves 
 On summer's portly tranced leaves. 
 Flow now your incensed mellow beams, 
 So music-thrilled, to dales of dreams ! 
 
 O look upon those lazy skies : 
 Gilt clouds, from south, in splendor rise ; 
 Each fringe hath one warm glowing rhyme 
 To tell of fragrant orient clime. 
 
 O sail ye on, ye dreamy fays 
 In raiments, bringing back the days 
 When ye had dreamed on swelling lanes ; 
 Wept, as ye fondled sparkling mains ! 
 
 O wait awhile, ye Evenings 
 
 Of summer's balmy bickerings. 
 
 Oh ! ring yet long your scented hymn 
 
 So Beauty all your heavens limn. 
 
Miscellaneous Poems. 479 
 
 SIGN OF AUTUMN. 
 
 Long, long time aft* even-fall — 
 In the chilly month of death — 
 
 When the sky its crimson wreath 
 Along its border sheds — a pall ! — 
 
 I see a floating serpent fly 
 
 Beneath the dome of blue up high — 
 Winding, winding — drifting, drifting — 
 A line of black, like serpents shifting ! 
 
 What may it be ? — I discern 
 
 A flock of passage-birds in line — 
 They fly to where the sun doth shine ; 
 
 Where grow the palm and fern — 
 
 Way down to Southern regions warm — 
 Where free they are from cold and harm ! 
 
 THE FIRE-FLIES. 
 
 When the moon is seen in our imagination 
 The evening is dark, lit up by stars — 
 
 Then frequent the sloughy sedges by the mountains 
 Where the watercourse the valley bars. 
 
 A lazy haze grazes upon the distant mountains — 
 The mountains are black, with a speckled gray — 
 
 The meadow is dank and drear, the grass is tranquil, 
 For the breeze is blowing far away ! 
 
 The shrill chirp of the cricket is heard in the valley, 
 The loud belch booms forth from the marrish- 
 
 gras 
 
 s- 
 
480 Poetical Works. 
 
 A mist, transparent, is hung o'er the sedges 
 The clouds prevent the mist to pass. 
 
 O, then it is that the myriad fire-flies gather 
 And iUumine the sedge with flickering glow — 
 
 O, then it is that the goblins are strangely flying- 
 In desperate chase aft' the foes they know. 
 
 {Adirondack Mountains^ 
 
 CURFEW'S TALE. 
 
 I HEAR the curfew tolling there 
 And long its music fills the air — 
 So solemn, quiet, full, its peal — 
 That nought but lowliness I feel. 
 
 'Twixt joy and pain its metal rings, 
 Then ghastly visions drear it brings, 
 Then faintly soft of angels tells 
 As prelude for its heavenly swells. 
 
 Methinks, at first, the glare to see 
 
 Of some fantastic open sea 
 
 Where countless laughing mermaids play, 
 
 And music lulls the sparkling spray ! 
 
 As still it pealeth — softer now — 
 Methinks to hear the distant vow 
 Of lone repentant Magdalen — 
 Anon, the wood's repeating strain ! 
 
Miscellaneous Poems. 481 
 
 Methinks, as mellow now it waves 
 To muse amongst the church-yard graves — 
 To hear the rustling leaves commune. 
 And hear the specter's clatt'ring tune ! 
 
 And, as the curfew fades away, 
 
 My soul, with darkness, wends his way 
 
 To regions far below our reach — 
 
 To realms where lurketh Death's dark Beach ! 
 
 QUERY? 
 
 Wilt thou tell me whence the shadows 
 Lingering on the flowery meadows 
 
 Get their shades of gray — 
 While the sun is goldish shining < 
 And the light on trees reclining 
 
 In the eve of day ? 
 
 Is it substance, that comes falling, 
 When the birds for rest are calling, 
 
 On the grasses green ? 
 Is it nothing that is graying 
 Mountain-sides — and there delaying 
 
 In the western sheen ? 
 
 Canst thou tell me? Nay! thou sayest?- 
 
 Well for thee, for when thou mayest 
 
 Tell why shadows gloom — 
 
 Then thou art a god of Heaven, 
 
 Secrets thus with earthly steven 
 
 Disclosing out of doom ! 
 31 
 
482 Poetical Works. 
 
 TO MAY. 
 
 High in the mountains yet the sober snow 
 Keeps icy many a crevice unexplored — 
 But, in the valleys, blossoms blush and blow. 
 Thy floral tribute to the year's adored ; 
 And, by the well, young Innocence dreams sweetly. 
 Aft* blustering blasts, with e'er inconstant hours. 
 Aft* rain and sun at hide-and-seek all day, 
 Thou ush'rest in for Beauty a thousand flowers ; 
 Thou singest clearly : " Here is mild green May ! " 
 And all of nature re-echoes thee most meetly. 
 
 Within our woods, I know, the anemones 
 
 Are seen ; rare pink arbuti peep from leaves ; 
 
 And golden lilies nod by blushing trees ; 
 
 And fragrant violets blow ; and, by young sheaves. 
 
 Birds sing inimitable songs of sweetness ! 
 
 And, once, where thou. May, sangst thy scented 
 tune, 
 
 'Twas Love that prompted her to pluck thy blossom. 
 
 Then was it thou who made me follow soon, 
 
 To cull thy fairest flower for her young bosom. 
 
 Then shone thy radiant realm with true com- 
 pleteness. 
 
 Thou beauteous May ! bathed in sweet fragrant air, 
 And lulled in oceans of rare lays and songs — 
 I love thee — for strong man and woman share 
 With thee the rapture that to thee belongs. 
 And all the thrills that make thy various flowers ! 
 
Miscellaneous Poems. 483 
 
 I love thee, for thy wreaths the hope crown now 
 That, through the winter drear, made us her thrall. 
 Thou hast sweet loosened the sorrow from our 
 
 brow — 
 As, with thy splendors, the frozen waterfall. 
 For love and joy dwell, dreaming, in thy bowers ! 
 
 JUNE. 
 
 Here loll I in the long and flowering grass — 
 
 While June-bees, heavy with the honey sweet 
 From jasmines fair, and suckles, by me pass — 
 
 With quicker wings to speed to hive's retreat. 
 And where the blue-bird piped — the roses blow — 
 
 In scarlet — creamy-pink — and saffron hue — 
 And the full bush seems like a maiden's glow 
 
 When on the lawn she sees her lover true ; 
 And, while my ravished eyes peer round the scene 
 My heart knows June brings jeweled luscious green ! 
 
 'Twas there, near to the clambering blossoming 
 vines. 
 
 That sweet enrobe an old large cherry-tree — 
 And where the sun on twinkling flowers shines — 
 
 We talked together in most child-like glee : 
 Our thoughts expectant of a future hour, 
 
 When we could know our bliss united change 
 To some fair blossom, like June's full-blown flower. 
 
 And that it would like June-birds singing range — 
 
484 Poetical Works. 
 
 We thought — as blossoms think of summer-days 
 When all their blushes change to fruit-decked 
 sprays ! 
 
 O June ! fair nature's sweet first transport art! 
 
 As, in the life of wedded loves, she feels 
 That soon a gift be blooming for her heart — 
 
 Her radiant eyes — her soul's delight and weals — 
 All, all foreknow her summer's moments blessed ! 
 
 So thou, with blushes playing o'er thy fields— 
 And thy green woods by thousand blooms caressed — 
 
 Dost long, expectant ! for charms the autumn 
 yields. 
 And, like a woman, thou dost bloom and blush — 
 For where thy blossoms swelled, sweet fruits will 
 flush! 
 
SONNETS. 
 
SONNETS. 
 
 WHILE READING " FESTUS," BY BAILEY. 
 
 As many beauty-shapes are unknown to us, 
 
 So are elaborate poems hidden away — 
 Till fickle Chance, with flirting mood, doth woo us, 
 
 And leads us to a niche with lay, and lay 
 Of unsurpassed excellence ! — while reading 
 
 Thy work — oh ! noble work ! — with colossal 
 thought — 
 With flesh, and soul ; — with sorrow-heart ableeding — 
 
 (For from thy inner self the lay was wrought) 
 I became chained — spelled — read, and read, and 
 read — 
 So filled with intensest admiration stern — 
 As all before my love ! — Her thoughtful head — 
 
 Her radiant eyes — her grace in every turn 
 Of her beauty-form, could not have spelled me 
 more 
 Than thy great " Festus " : soul's life — and life's 
 lore ! 
 
 487 
 
Poetical Works. 
 
 SUMMER THUNDER-STORM. 
 
 Kind premonition of fond nature ! — fair 
 
 The sun sprinkled its golden rays on the woods, 
 And shot its diamond-arrows all to where 
 
 The mossy waves resound Pan's solitudes ! 
 We wandered up the gurgling brooklet's maze — 
 
 Deep in the Rhododendron-glooms : passed scents, 
 Delusive — for, like hidden treasures' blaze, 
 
 Far from a curious eye, where none frequents, 
 They perfumes covert kept ; — by rocky pool. 
 
 Where mosses told their secrets green ; — in shade 
 Of laurels we bathed in babbling waters cool — 
 
 When far the thunder rolled ! — and over glade. 
 Wood, rock, a blast blew ; — swiftly come the shower — 
 Thick drops profuse — to drench the tree, and flower ! 
 
 ANALOGY. 
 
 As sweetest moments come to barren lives : 
 
 Oh ! some strange maiden, fair and delicate. 
 Who doth arouse the gentle sense, that gives 
 
 To us sweet thoughts of love ; to speak — relate 
 To her strange deeds, new dreams — how sweet it is 
 
 To let one's fingers be a humming-bird. 
 That sippeth honey from a columbine — 
 
 And feel a gentlest thrill pervade one ! oh ! the 
 bliss — 
 
 There is no metaphor — no poet's richest word 
 That telleth such a moment love-divine ! 
 
Sonnets. 489 
 
 Alas — a half an hour — and farewell ! — 
 Forever ! — So in the poems of the blest 
 
 We find a line — a thought, sweeter than spell — 
 Which, like a maid's one blush, outshines the rest ! 
 
 JULY WIND. 
 
 Hath autumn passed us, as a moan of sea 
 
 Continues on through lonely oaken-brakes ! 
 The stars are shining on the linden-tree 
 
 That through the day such murmurous music 
 makes, 
 Filled with the honey-seeking bees !— What wail 
 
 Through the dark, sleeping groves ; and rush of 
 wind 
 Above the lofty pine ; and o'er the dale 
 
 What whistling ! as round winter's chestnut-rind ! 
 The flashing levin brightens the dark scene ; 
 
 Heaven's Lion lashes his tail forward to run; 
 The meadows smell with hay — and all is green 1 
 
 Yet fierce gales blow, and whistle !— is it done 
 Symbolic of wo-days in manhood's prime. 
 Of wild's blasts blowing through a blooming clime? 
 
490 Poetical Works. 
 
 THE NEW-BLOOMED RHODODENDRONS. 
 
 Thy dreary descant utter forth — while drear 
 The June-moon wanders o'er the nook-filled moun- 
 tain, 
 O whippoorwill ! thou bird with some shed tear 
 Forever purling down thy call ! — The Fountain 
 Of June's fair graces rises full — and full ! 
 For where the moon peeps through the flowery 
 
 grove 
 Where brook-sounds linger low, a flower of love 
 Bursts ope her pale pink blossoms beautiful ! 
 Oh ! on her springy boughs the ghouls are swinging. 
 In her chalices the fays sing free and hale. 
 The Rhododendrons to the woods are bringing 
 What, since the May, the laurels did exhale. 
 O bird of call forlorn, though grief be thine, 
 Thy sorrow grows bright through all those blooms 
 divine I 
 
 JULY GALES. 
 
 Persistent pilferers of iron thews, 
 
 You gales, that race, through starry summer-night, 
 
 More fiercely than mad bison-herds in dews 
 
 O' the morning, you inspire me to write 
 
 Some epic grander than the Homeric song; 
 
 More strange than Brunhild's golden strength ; more 
 
 weird 
 Than Toussaint's battles in th^ dusky land ; 
 
Sonnets. 491 
 
 Sublime as Titan-tumults dashed along 
 
 Old Kronos' mounts. Some song that, on Time's 
 
 strand, 
 Fair sung, would by the Cherubs high be cheered ; 
 Some epic shaped in stellar dreams alone, 
 Whose grandeur would shake the fair Empyrean- 
 Throne. 
 An epic thrilling all — as you — wild gales — 
 Heroic-swirling through the woods and vales ' 
 
 FORT GEORGE. 
 
 Ay, who could think that in this wild-grown wood 
 
 Once Malcolm held the fort against the foe. 
 
 No landmark tells of war, waged long ago ; 
 
 But for tradition, it were solitude. 
 
 For here the bramble breaks through pine and vine ; 
 
 The Solomon-seed, and carrot wild, hold sway. 
 
 And ripe raspberries fill the trenches gray ; 
 
 And all is rank with wild flowers and low pine ! 
 
 Had here the Indians yelled for English spoil ? 
 Had here the guns roared down upon the lake? 
 Is this the ruin of brave Malcolm's toil. 
 Now left to flowers, vines, and this wild brake ? 
 Ah ! were it not that man told of the place, 
 No sign tells : here fierce foes met face to face ! 
 
492 Poetical Works. 
 
 STAR STRAINS. 
 
 I. 
 
 Just when the wild flower-fields, with smell of 
 
 eve, 
 Lose most of all their summer murmurs, come 
 From out the east faint clouds of rosy bloom ; 
 Then in the west, the sun hath left earth grieve 
 That soon she must her hair with gold-stars wreathe. 
 But ere weird darkness steals o'er wood and home, 
 Just when eve's film veils all and bland winds roam — 
 Then timidly a glimmering star doth breathe 
 Forth a soft strain, that the small blossoms love — 
 So soft and plaintive like a lily-sigh — 
 J Like lyre-breaths that linger Love above, 
 
 Timid like fledgeling's ditty ere it fly — 
 Such strain that star doth breathe, that spreads a 
 
 spell 
 All o'er eve's hour, and hill, and wood, and dell. 
 
 IL 
 
 The daisy-disks turned all their tonguey spokes 
 Towards their gold-cores — and violets closed their 
 
 eyes — 
 An hour ago ; gray night rules all the skies. 
 The somber hills ; the valleys sleep — the folks 
 Have lit their tapers, while the farm lies still. 
 A few gold stars spot the filmed heaven of blue, 
 When, sudden, sparkles bright Venus — to imbue 
 The early night with shimmer, o'er field and hill. 
 
Sonnets. 493 
 
 Then the lone muser, by the streamlet's haunt, 
 Hears a wild, glorious music in the air — 
 Like songs of Oreads, with long flowing hair — 
 Like jubilant chorus — or like virgin's chaunt — 
 That sparkle of the evening star hath strain 
 To mitigate the moans of harsh world-pain ! 
 
 IIL 
 
 A bristling something moves through the night air ; 
 The woods are solemn — and the fields lie still. 
 Fire-flies their smaragd lights lume, then distill- — 
 Till flashlike die they ; then the night is fair, 
 And all the myriad stars, like stones so rare, 
 Their sparkles spread, till they all nature thrill ; 
 And every musing head with wonder fill — 
 Then pours a subtle magic strain from there, 
 
 That like a mighty oratorio sounds — 
 
 Like fane-chaunts heard from surging fairy shores, 
 
 Like wondrous litany from angel cores — 
 
 Then grow the muser's eyes, that he confounds 
 
 The starry sky with Heaven in its glory — 
 
 Those myriad star-strains sing to him God's Story ! 
 
 IV. 
 
 The charioteer, wild Arctos, leads his steed 
 Down to the portals of the dawn — while night 
 Doth feel a slight spell of the morning white. 
 Then hath the earth no sense, but deep dream feeds 
 Her, till she breathes no more, but is all hushed. 
 Then scintillate the diamond stars and glow ! 
 
494 Poetical Works. 
 
 Serene, — awe-rooted to the calm blue flow 
 Of night's deep ether — with star-vapors flushed ! 
 Oh ! ere dawn's slim light tips night's lazul-crown, 
 The large-grown stars sing out with not a song — 
 But are like fair Surprise, without a tongue — 
 Yet ah ! what wonderment and awe are shown 
 Within that eye — so all those stars express 
 Night's strange sublime and tingling awfulness ! 
 
 V. 
 
 From chilly barn the cocks their first crows rise ; 
 While like a shiny ghost dawn creeps abroad ; 
 With creamy shimmer rests the land, new-awed. 
 To know new change disturbs the solemn skies. 
 Then twinkle pale stars within the milky heaven : 
 They seem soft eyes in whom dance tears of joy : 
 Pale diamonds, glittering with no alloy ; 
 And they sing forth a jubilant strain — as given 
 
 To Memnon, when he to the young world sung — 
 Fresh rorid rimes as virgins', in Love's bower — 
 So crystaUine, as tunes in June's good shower; 
 Ecstatic as a bride's — whose love is young — 
 For soon the mightier star with gold array 
 Will marshal in the glorious hours of day ! 
 
Sonnets. 495 
 
 THE WIND. 
 
 Thou subtlest artist, Wind, whose dreamy waft 
 Moves maiden's raiments so they ding or fold 
 Upon her round shape so they take sweet hold, 
 
 Abiding there momently ! Ah ! no craft 
 Of ours could deftly lay fair drapery on 
 
 Some nymph's round nubile form as thou, strange 
 Wind ! 
 
 For thou art dreaming while thy waftings find 
 Artistic sense to whirl her willing gown ! 
 
 So should the artist draw — all dreamingly — 
 Allowing languorous moods to sway his hand ; 
 
 Forgetting strict rules — or neat symmetry — 
 Sweet letting fancy blow around his mind ; 
 
 Thus shaping fair unconscious lines with wand 
 Moved as thou blowest dreamily, O Wind ! 
 
 SONNET. 
 
 When star-strewn heaven is illumined fair — 
 
 With what, my friend? With all these steadfast 
 
 lights 
 That shine divinely through our glorious nights. 
 Whose element doth travel through the air 
 As doth a fluid ; and that light rebounds 
 Against the substance cold of the dead moon, 
 Showing that what we see not may have shoon 
 And body — so it Reason's mind confounds. 
 
496 Poetical Works. 
 
 Ay true, the carol of tree-nestling bird, 
 
 Or e'en the flash from eye to eye surprised, 
 
 Must be a fluid — though intangible, 
 
 Yet hath a substance — e'en as rubber's spell — 
 
 For light rebounds from objects frankly prized- 
 
 And so from lip to lip the fatal word ! 
 
 TO THE SPIDER. 
 
 Thou mite to this our human eye — but thou 
 Hast power to sway thy body in the air ; 
 With thy strange exudations dost repair 
 
 From branch to branch ; from leaves to burgeoned 
 bough 
 
 Of this mimosa — under whom I dream ! 
 Exhaustless as a poet's store of lays 
 Thy body's charged with juices on thy ways ; 
 
 Through air to web ; for thy support they stream. 
 
 Canst thou behold the summer-colt that quivers 
 Above the desert river — and barren hills ? 
 
 Or see me watching while thy body shivers ? 
 
 More power hast thou than what man's frame 
 fulfils. 
 
 Oh ! could we have a way to exude web strange, 
 
 From star to star towards Heaven's realm to range ! 
 
Miscellaneous Poems. 497 
 
 ON ONE OF MY PAINTINGS. 
 
 Dance thou, nymph with thy full blown shape, 
 dance thou — 
 While soft sunshine of ling'ring afternoon 
 Spreads gently over all, while the glad croon 
 
 Of the low fall with the faint tune of the bough 
 
 Of yon broad oak doth mingle marryingly — 
 Dance, while thy song beguiles thy sisters two: 
 One bathing her pink feet, one with ado 
 
 Doth stand, drying her long tress, falling free ! 
 
 Ah ! though forever thy couth legs to dance 
 
 Are graced, and though forever she her feet doth 
 
 wash, 
 It seems I hear the bubble, the gentle swash 
 
 As yon dwarf-fall spills in the widening pool. 
 
 And though I know thou canst not e'er advance, 
 
 When looking, I know thou and thine are cool. 
 
 HER EYES. 
 
 The hind, brown as the darker autumn-leaf. 
 When bounding o'er the brambly close, hath eyes 
 No fairer than when Hattie in surprise 
 Looks at me with a flash that hath no grief. 
 But there's a startled wildness, as of does 
 When in pursuit of hunters sudden they come 
 
 To hurtles, and thus find their untimely doom. 
 32 
 
49^ Poetical Works. 
 
 Then Hattie bites her lips and her lids close ; 
 Her neck a-hearkening, her nostrils full of life ? 
 Her brown swift eyes astartle with strange rays ; 
 Her whole strange self reminds my thought always 
 Of some fair magic hind in glorious woods 
 That is the brig-htness of those solitudes ! 
 
 E. A. POE'S HEAD. 
 
 Thy lurid eyes, with night-thoughts in them glowing, 
 
 Rare Poe, made thee forever world-ignored, 
 
 The world that since strife's birth had trade adored, 
 
 For which it shunned the thinker's dsedal knowing. 
 
 Yet thou hadst that so fatal curve of line 
 
 That tells of art's intensest faculty. 
 
 And of imagination's lurid potency. 
 
 That shows within thee dwelled a soul divine. 
 
 So when I gaze upon thy likeness fair. 
 That bulge, above thy temples, tells the tale : 
 Too great thy art ; too great thy music-wail 
 So that the world would never wish thee there. 
 So wander thou, O Poe, thou genius great, 
 To yonder planet where great poets wait ! 
 
Miscellaneous Poems. 499 
 
 EVENING ON THE MOHAWK RIVER. 
 
 {Utica, New York.) 
 
 The chilly soberness of eve descends 
 
 Upon thy tranquil waters flowing by 
 
 Past stretches green, and fields, past bosky bends, 
 
 As grayey hues spread o'er the cloudless sky. 
 
 The busy factories, that through the day 
 
 Brought clangours to thy winding bosks all green — 
 
 Stand lifeless now ; but, in the groves, the gay 
 
 Sweet songs of birds are heard ; and, in between, 
 
 The clatter of some homebound cart comes low. 
 
 And o'er thy bridge near whom ten tracks are laid 
 
 The city's favorites pass, with smiles aglow ; — 
 
 They pass — but I stand gazing at thy hills 
 
 So quiet lying in the evening-shade. 
 
 That all my being with fit stillness fills ! 
 
 POWER. 
 
 Sardanapalus, in his lavish reign. 
 
 How powerful he was — to Nero's throne 
 A world had homage done ; Napoleon 
 
 His power had spread o'er seven kingdoms vain. 
 
 Yet no one could besiege quick Death ! or pain- 
 And, when nude Salome danced all alone. 
 High Antipas's blood to desire had grown, 
 
 And Love is Victor with her l^sciye strain. 
 
Soo Poetical Works. 
 
 Dark Mystery hath power o'er death and love — 
 
 Strange God doth rule the stars — and spirit's 
 power, 
 
 But though His rare creations, stone or flower, 
 Love, hope — blood's feelings strange, so wondrous 
 prove — 
 
 Oh ! God ! Thou hast no power to change greed, 
 strife — 
 
 While we sad love-lorn poorlings breathe earth- 
 life ! 
 

 
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