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HESPER-PHOSPHOR 
 
 AND 
 
 OTHER POEMS 
 
 BY 
 
 JOHN WILLIAM SCHOLL 
 
 AUTHOR OF 
 
 ♦■ THE LIGHT-BEARER OF LIBERTY. ETC." 
 
 "SOCIAL TRAGEDIES. ETC." "AN 
 
 ODE TO THE RUSSIAN PEOPLE." 
 
 'Nonumque prematur in annum' — Horace 
 
 1910 
 
 George Wahr, Bookseller 
 
 ann arbor, michigan 
 

 Copyrighted xgio 
 
 by 
 
 J. W. SCHOLL 
 
 THE ANN ARBOK PRESS 
 
 ©c/. 
 
 ^268554 
 
^ ^ This Edition is limited to two hundred and 
 Jri fifty copies, each numbered and autographed by 
 the author. Two hundred copies are offered for 
 sale, of which this copy is Number 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 Hespdr-Phosphor 
 
 Page i 
 
 A Gray Day . . 
 
 " 35 
 
 Ben Hadad . . . . 
 
 " 39 
 
 Bai,i,ad of the: Good Ship, 
 
 
 ''Dauntless'' 
 
 " 43 
 
 Mid Clover Blooms 
 
 " 46 
 
 The Vanished Woods 
 
 " 48 
 
 A Song oe Renewal 
 
 " 51 
 
 Imperfection 
 
 " 55 
 
 Sonnet .... 
 
 " 56 
 
HESPER-PHOSPHOR. 
 
 Creak the icy maples drooping o'er the hedge's 
 
 crystal wall, 
 And the sheeted pinetrees shudder till their 
 
 ghostly burdens fall. 
 
 Shrouded thick in moonlit whiteness lies the 
 pavement and the street, 
 
 And the lawn, shrub-tufted, glitters with the 
 fret-work of the sleet. 
 
 Stiffened in his mail of hoar-frost, gone for aye 
 
 his fruited prime. 
 Lies the old Year, dying, dying, waiting for the 
 
 midnight chime. 
 
 Let us keep the wonted vigil! While the dying 
 
 hours go by. 
 While his frosted breath is on us, let us watch 
 
 the old Year die! 
 
 Many a midnight by the firelight have we 
 watched the old Year out. 
 
 Greeted then the new-born Year, and hailed 
 eachother with a shout. 
 
And the night grew wild with whistles, and the 
 
 merry anvil's sound 
 Woke the village, woke the sleeping countryside 
 
 for miles around. 
 
 But tonight be hushed alarum ! Peace brood o'er 
 
 us far and near, 
 For a wondrous Age is passing with the passing 
 
 of the Year! 
 
 And the youngest of us here will pass away 
 
 gray-bearded men. 
 Be forgotten as these verses, when a century 
 
 dawns again! 
 
 Vale! Vale! Strokes of midnight! Rustle of 
 
 the sable pall ! 
 Vale ! Vale ! Parting splendor ! Hush and 
 
 pomp funereal ! 
 
 Grandest Age of all the ages since the march 
 
 of mind began 
 From the dull unconscious atom to the crowning 
 
 type of man ! 
 
 First a million million ages ere the rolling year 
 
 was born, 
 Then a hundred million slumbered ere as yet 
 
 'twas early morn ! 
 
 "Out of Chaos into Cosmos!" was the infinite 
 decree, 
 
 And at dawn the dry land lifted from the uni- 
 versal sea, 
 
And the vapors hung and brooded o'er the hot 
 
 and humid earth 
 Till the tepid Ocean labored in her myriad 
 
 myriad birth ! 
 
 Life from Death? Aye, Life from Death, — a 
 wonder grown familiar now, — 
 
 Though remains unanswered still the old sphinx- 
 riddle of the "How?" 
 
 Ask no final Whence? nor Whither? 'Tis 
 enough to watch the sweep 
 
 Of the rising tide of life that issued from that 
 ancient deep. 
 
 Build your systems, Metaphysics ! Dream your 
 
 dreams. Enthusiasm ! 
 You will never find the Alpha, never bridge the 
 
 yawning chasm! 
 
 Whether countless universes ran their courses 
 
 one by one 
 Ere the present Wondrous Order its ascending 
 
 race begun 
 
 Leave to childish minds that love to chase the 
 rain-bow's hidden gold, 
 
 Or to starveling logic-hunters that have left the 
 shepherd's fold 
 
 Just to stray in barren pastures, tired of Truth's 
 
 green meadow-land, — 
 Just to thirst mid sage and cactus, Winded with 
 
 the drifting sand. 
 
 3 
 
Ask no final Whence ? nor Whither ? 'Tis enough 
 
 for you and me 
 If we mark the sea-weed drifting in that warm 
 
 primaeval sea, 
 
 For potential in that floating swarm of mute 
 
 Eoic life 
 Lies the soul of man awaiting its development 
 
 through strife. 
 
 How the green life chmbs the sea-shore, mounts 
 
 the everlasting hills ! 
 How the blind touch grows to eyesight! How 
 
 sensations grow to wills ! 
 
 And a thousand forms of creeping, running,, 
 
 leaping, flying things 
 Battle for the Earth's dominions like hereditary 
 
 kings. 
 
 Battles royal red with carnage, myriads perished 
 
 for the few, 
 But the little band that conquered peopled all 
 
 the earth anew. 
 
 Coward blood and weakness perished, strength 
 and royal blood prevailed, 
 
 Till tlie lion's thews were born, and Jove's cloud- 
 dwelling eagle sailed. 
 
 Rose erect at length among them one more noble 
 
 than the rest. 
 Life superior slowly growing to supreme in 
 
 head and breast. 
 
Heir of all that mind had conquered, son of half 
 
 a million years, 
 In his brain involved the greatness of a myriad 
 
 dead careers. 
 
 Reptile, bird, and beast had struggled, suffered 
 
 and enjoyed that he, 
 Crown of Life and Sum of Being, might fulfill 
 
 the old decree: 
 
 "Out of Chaos into Cosmos ! Out of darkness 
 
 into light! 
 Out of matter into spirit ! Out of blindness 
 
 into sight!" 
 
 Like a quiver stuffed with arrows from the 
 
 armory of the past 
 Brain and heart were armed with every shaft 
 
 that mind had ever cast. 
 
 Like the bearded grain that hoards within its 
 
 narrow flinty cell 
 Three months' sunshine. Soul imprisoned all the 
 
 mystic light that fell 
 
 From her blue skies overhead and from her 
 
 silent stars of night, — 
 Danae to the virile ages in their long incessant 
 
 flight. 
 
 Till a race was born that sometimes in its best 
 
 embodiment 
 Conquers Nature and compels her to subserve 
 
 its own intent, 
 
 5 
 
Makes a Caliban of lightning, rides the chariot 
 
 of the seas, 
 Ties the continents together, makes its dreams 
 
 realities ! 
 
 But impartial Nature levies on each race her 
 
 fatal tax. 
 Overplus in aught is purchased by a somewhat 
 
 else that lacks. 
 
 At each turning-point of races, as of men, they 
 
 stand and choose, 
 Conscious or unconscious, boots not, what to 
 
 gain and what to lose. 
 
 And we chose to stand erect with ample front 
 
 expanded high, 
 Masters of the fecund earth and lords of all the 
 
 sea and sky. 
 
 Gone therefore the thews that grappled, gone 
 
 the armor of defense. 
 Gone the hardihood that recked not, gone the 
 
 keenness of the sense. 
 
 Old Prometheus, manhood-maker, loosed the 
 tongue, nor failed to teach 
 
 Incoherent cries to mingle into man-uniting 
 speech, 
 
 Called the wild unsocial tribesman from the cliff 
 
 and from the den, 
 Made the village, chose the chieftain, gave new 
 
 laws to social men, 
 6 
 
Gave them flint and bronze and iron, kindled 
 
 fire upon the hearth, 
 Set the vestal in the home to guard the new and 
 
 marvelous birth. 
 
 Put the skins of beasts upon them, gave them 
 
 flocks and lowing kine. 
 Curved the plowshare, yoked the oxen, taught 
 
 the elm to wed the vine, 
 
 Marked the seasons, set the feast-days, gave the 
 virgins dance and song. 
 
 Wreathed the bowl of rich Lyaean whence the 
 cup went round the throng. 
 
 Centuries of centuries titanic daemons of Fore- 
 thought 
 
 With their ever-crescent forces daily, hourly 
 moved and wrought. 
 
 Till the vasty lump was leavened, man became 
 
 self-conscious mind. 
 And papyri kept the record of the deeds of 
 
 humankind. 
 
 But a sable thread was mingled in the growing 
 
 web of life. 
 At the earliest dawn of being Fear was born 
 
 amid the strife; 
 
 Then Life's field of darkness widened, broidered 
 with a sable thread. 
 
 And the Parcae's subtle weaving grew a chron- 
 icle of dread. 
 
Starving from the fruitless chase the rude bar- 
 barian in his tent 
 
 Dreams of starting noble game and follows till 
 the night is spent, 
 
 Sees his comrades, shouts among them, lets the 
 
 fatal arrow fly, 
 Bickers o'er the fallen booty, — greets the new 
 
 day's golden eye, — 
 
 And the dreaming and the waking are one 
 
 vision unto him, 
 Real as the strength that unspent throbs within 
 
 each lusty limb. 
 
 While his body lies supine a subtle something 
 
 wanders free, 
 Seeks again the distant godland, climbs the 
 
 mountain, skims the sea. 
 
 Or, in hostile ambush fallen, screams and flies 
 
 the demon shapes. 
 Makes for the deserted body, wakes in anguish 
 
 and escapes. 
 
 So the dreamer's airy phantoms, shades of 
 
 friends and enemies, 
 Live for his untutored fancy Being's primal 
 
 verities. 
 
 When the long long sleep that wakes not with 
 its white calm supervenes, 
 
 And the chieftain's ghostly double wanders on 
 in distant scenes, 
 8 
 
Shout the assembled guests and kinsmen, shout 
 the slaves of his domain, 
 
 Wake ten thousand mournful echoes to recall 
 him home again. 
 
 Sit and watch the placid sleeper, drive the vul- 
 tures from their prey. 
 
 Till the ghastly rigor warns them of the shade's 
 too long delay. 
 
 Drunk perchance with undreamed splendor in 
 the great ancestral Hall 
 
 He forgets their ancient homage, hears not their 
 despairing call. 
 
 Honored in that Hall of Fathers, chief among 
 the warrior hosts, 
 
 He returns not to their yearning from the sun- 
 set land of ghosts. 
 
 Then the funeral pyre is built and high the 
 
 honored corse is laid, 
 Fire is kindled, to the flames a thousand votive 
 
 gifts are paid, 
 
 And the best-loved wife in transport leaps into 
 
 the sacred fire, 
 And the slaves make loud contention which shall 
 
 mount the master's pyre, 
 
 And his horse is slain beside him harnessed for 
 
 the regal chase. 
 And the stag-horn lance is brought him and the 
 
 ponderous armored mace, 
 
 9 
 
Long the funeral feast is kept, as suits the war- 
 rior's high degree. 
 
 Thousands heap the lofty barrow for immortal 
 memory. 
 
 But the earth is not the same earth, and the sky 
 
 is less serene, 
 For the empire of the Unseen claims allegiance 
 
 of the Seen. 
 
 Swift as thought, unseen as wind, unfelt but 
 
 present everywhere, 
 Lowers the ghostly Tyranny and broods the 
 
 never-sleeping Care. 
 
 Time revolves his swiftest cycles. Death, the 
 
 harvester of Time, 
 Thrusts his sickle in the nations, and men fall 
 
 before their prime. 
 
 Hind and hero fall together, chaff amid the 
 
 golden corn. 
 But the fallen hero only overlives the morrow 
 
 morn. 
 
 Thus with each translated warrior grows the 
 unseen realm of shades: 
 
 Will on will, a countless synod, earth and sea 
 and sky invades. 
 
 Till the very air is darkened, earth infected with 
 
 a pest. 
 And the ocean-stream roars round her with a 
 
 demon-stirred unrest. 
 
 10 
 
How the crushed souls writhe in anguish, how 
 the mangled forms rebel 
 
 'Twixt those millstones of despair, an upper and 
 a nether hell ! 
 
 For the all-beholding heaven from his brazen 
 
 canopy 
 Shakes the pitiless plagues upon them as the 
 
 sun-god's arrows fly, 
 
 Hurls the thunderbolts and hailstones, pours the 
 
 devastating flood, 
 Sends the legions of the hoar-frost, blights the 
 
 fruit within the bud. 
 
 While the old confederate earth-god, hoarding 
 up the sun-god's beams, 
 
 Feeds the Hydra of the fen and 'stills a poison 
 in his streams. 
 
 Fear, Life's first-born, child of panic, tyrant of 
 
 the seeing eye, 
 Slave of every unseen terror hung between the 
 
 earth and sky. 
 
 Gathers up her unhewn stones and heaps an 
 altar to her foes. 
 
 Where the blood of countless victims in propitia- 
 tion flows ; 
 
 Temples rise on every hilltop. Python sleeps in 
 
 every cave, 
 Voices fraught with fearful boding speak where 
 
 oaks centennial wave, 
 II 
 
Flights of birds athwart the heavens weave their 
 
 meaning in the sky, 
 Entrails of the slaughtered victim steam with 
 
 hidden prophecy; 
 
 Earth and air are dark with riddles and the 
 
 omens never cease, — 
 And it's oh for certain knowledge, for the crusht 
 
 soul's health and peace! 
 
 So betwixt the gods and men the sacerdotal 
 
 caste is given, 
 Shepherds of the people, first, to guard them 
 
 from the wrath of heaven, 
 
 But erelong grown crafty despots reaping where 
 
 they have not sown. 
 Zealous for the temple's treasure just to plunder 
 
 for their own. 
 
 War-gods ruled the tribal heavens, war-chiefs 
 their vice-gerents stood. 
 
 Blood was wine to god and hero, and the gods 
 were drunk with blood. 
 
 Tribe was swallowed up in tribe, and gens 
 enslaved by hostile gens, — 
 
 Perished discord and disunion, perished civic 
 impotence, 
 
 Conquered valor, conquered union, conquered 
 right that strengthens might, 
 
 Conquered cunning, craft and forethought, con- 
 quered might that makes for right. 
 
 12 
 
Myriad rills of civic manhood, gathered into 
 
 widening streams, 
 Rolled majestic down the ages bending to the 
 
 despots' dreams. 
 
 Bounded swift and ever swifter forward then 
 the race of man. 
 
 One by one the eastern empires swift but glor- 
 ious courses ran, 
 
 Till at length a conquering manhood, having left 
 
 its Aryan home. 
 Made the splendor that was Greece and made 
 
 the glory that was Rome. 
 
 Long the golden eagles brooded o'er the imperial 
 
 seven hills. 
 Long the Eternal City flourished, built a purple 
 
 name that fills 
 
 Ten long centuries with splendor. Rome, the 
 
 mistress of the seas. 
 Stretched her right hand to the westward, — 
 
 Gaul unlocked her treasuries, — 
 
 Stretched her left hand to the eastward, — Asia 
 
 filled it with the spoils 
 Of the old Levantine empires, cloth of gold and 
 
 perfumed oils, — 
 
 At her right foot lay the honors brought from 
 
 Dido's ruined pile. 
 At her left foot knelt the Egyptian with the 
 
 offerings of the Nile, 
 13 
 
While behind her rose the war-cries and the 
 clash of German swords 
 
 Driven o'er the Rhine and Danube with their 
 wild barbarian hordes. 
 
 Civic virtue, martial valor, justice and the reign 
 
 of law, 
 Hearts of oak and thews of iron, and the nations 
 
 stood in awe ! 
 
 When the Caesar's mighty hands the Janus- 
 temple gates had closed. 
 
 And beneath the mild Augustus all the happy 
 world reposed. 
 
 What Cassandra mid the purple could the im- 
 pending fates foretell. 
 
 While the poet's proudest vaunting unto all men 
 sounded well; 
 
 That the empire should be bounded only by the 
 
 ocean-stream 
 And endure to endless ages splendid as the 
 
 Caesars' dream? 
 
 But, alas ! the mighty rhythm of the age's up- 
 ward surge 
 
 Dooms all glory to extinction, even at its top- 
 most verge. 
 
 Roman valor drained in battle, virtue checked 
 
 in her career. 
 Turned to wealth and luxury nor dreamed that 
 
 any doom was near, 
 
 14 
 
Till the mocking legionaries set the Caesars' 
 throne to sale, 
 
 Swearing to the highest bidder with their thun- 
 derous "All hail !" 
 
 Soon the roving hordes that fretted on the 
 Danube's burdened shore 
 
 Saw the wealth and saw the weakness, saw and 
 lusted more and more 
 
 For the spoils of conquered kingdoms, for the 
 booty of farm and town, 
 
 Looked and lusted, leaped the barriers, on the 
 eagles' nest swooped down. 
 
 Wave on wave of primal darkness, pouring from 
 
 the frozen North, 
 Swept the Caesar from the throne and swept the 
 
 glory from the earth, 
 
 And the only light that glimmered in the uni- 
 versal night 
 
 Was the aftershine of Athens lingering round 
 Byzantium's height. 
 
 Centuries long that darkness brooded and the 
 moon was blood on high 
 
 And the stars forgot their office in the blackness 
 of the sky. 
 
 Came again the twin-born scourges, priestly 
 mitre, royal sword. 
 
 And the half-quenched powers of evil were re- 
 quickened and restored. 
 
 15 
 
Wild iconoclasts had smitten every marble into 
 
 dust 
 And consigned the precious parchments to the 
 
 realms of moth and rust, 
 
 Wan fanatics scourged their flesh and made with 
 God's wide-flashing levin 
 
 Life the worthless antechamber of an endless 
 golden heaven, 
 
 While the fierce, ambitious zealots armed with 
 
 scaffold and with flame 
 Raged to stifle human progress, strove the daring 
 
 soul to tame. 
 
 Flamed the fagots, flashed the axes, one by one 
 
 the noblest fell 
 Mid the solemn priestly mockery and the wild 
 
 mob's fiendish yell. 
 
 Then the herds of human cattle bent their necks 
 
 beneath the yoke. 
 Harnessed to a brutish service, patient to the 
 
 driver's stroke. 
 
 Yet the sleepless Soul of Nature, never thwarted 
 
 of her end. 
 Sowed the blood and calmly waited for the 
 
 harvest, blood must send. 
 
 But the thick-sown seeds of nations slumbered in 
 
 the Empire's mould 
 Though Life's May time could not wake thent 
 
 from the Winter's lingering cold. 
 i6 
 
Goth and Vandal, Celt and Saxon, and the 
 
 tardier Muscovite, 
 Were the dim prophetic promise of some far 
 
 dawn's whitening light. 
 
 For in God's seonic rhythms every fall beneath 
 
 the plane 
 But foredooms a rise above it, — every loss is 
 
 crowned with gain. 
 
 Thanks to thee, O blinded Turk, the heathen's 
 dread, the christian's scorn ! 
 
 Thanks and hail, O glorious city, guardian of 
 the Golden Horn ! 
 
 Gallant Winkelried of nations, dying that a 
 
 world might live, 
 Thou hast given in ample measure all that mortal 
 
 strength can give. 
 
 When the Moslem hordes came sweeping thou 
 didst bare thy warrior breast, 
 
 Sheathe the death within thy heart and win the 
 victory for the West, 
 
 And thy purple life-blood scattered through the 
 
 nations of the earth 
 Warmed the dreary winter midnight, quenched 
 
 at last the age-long dearth, 
 
 Turned the face of manhood forward, lifted up 
 
 the spirit's eye, 
 Wrought the new birth of a world, and set 
 
 Hope's radiant star on high. 
 
 17 
 
Greece reborn and Rome rewakened! Though 
 the cowled monastics raved, 
 
 From their crypts the precious hundredth of the 
 morning Hght was saved. 
 
 Had the Scarlet Sibyl sitting muffled in her Cave 
 
 of Night 
 Offered to the heedless Ages all her hundred 
 
 leaves of light, 
 
 And at each refusal scattered half the treasure 
 
 to the winds, 
 Till, despairing, she had flung the remnant to 
 
 her shaven hinds? 
 
 Or with long unsated hatred had she hunted 
 
 down the light 
 Till it found a long asylum in her dungeon's 
 
 kindly night? 
 
 Little recked the patient scholar how the precious 
 
 leaves were lost, 
 While he drank the golden Wisdom that his soul 
 
 could not exhaust. 
 
 How the eyes grew dim with searching, how the 
 hands with toil grew weak! 
 
 How the fires that burned within him turned 
 to ash upon his cheek ! 
 
 But the World-soul flamed within him, and a 
 
 thousand kindred lives 
 Glowed like purple clouds of dawning when 
 
 their radiant god arrives. 
 i8 
 
Woke the giant Demos starting, night's dark 
 mantle half withdrawn, 
 
 Moved his mighty limbs and struggling turned 
 his huge face to the dawn, 
 
 And the nations felt a shudder running under 
 
 altar and throne 
 As of earthquake under cities dreading to be 
 
 overthrown. 
 
 Pair Italia, bride of Athens, mother of the 
 modern world. 
 
 Thine the daring Ocean-tamer who with faith- 
 led sails unfurled 
 
 Westward braved the saragosso on the salt sea's 
 stagnant verge. 
 
 Braved the faithless compass needle, and Atlan- 
 tic's stormiest surge, 
 
 followed still with hope and wonder, cheered by 
 seabirds' landward flight. 
 
 Gazing from his lofty flagship till a New World 
 hove in sight. 
 
 Thine the bards and thine the scholars who with 
 
 dauntless energy 
 Toiling mid the wrecks of Time restored the lost 
 
 Antiquity. 
 
 So the dreams of men were widened by thy 
 
 gifts, O lavish land, 
 And the souls of countless thousands felt their 
 
 little world expand. 
 
 19 
 
Life drew meaning from the vastness of its 
 long inheritance, 
 
 Earth gave promise in the vistas of her measure- 
 less expanse. 
 
 When the German built his presses and swift. 
 
 cunning multiplied 
 Thousandfold the scriveners' hands the Demon 
 
 of the Darkness died. 
 
 Quickening leaves with morning light sped over 
 
 all the waiting earth, 
 And the yearning soul of genius leaped and came 
 
 to marvelous birth. 
 
 Woke the giant Demos struggling like a lion 
 
 from his lair, 
 Dashed the sleep from out his eyes, and shook 
 
 the dews from out his hair, 
 
 And the trembling nations grappled to maintain. 
 
 their empery ; 
 Yet the triple crown was shivered in the giant's 
 
 victory. 
 
 Stalked the Titan through the nations, snatching 
 
 here a kingly crown, 
 Planting there a human right, there putting 
 
 proud Assumption down, 
 
 Till at length he built a nation hewn from virgin 
 
 wilderness 
 Where the dragon of Oppression nevermore- 
 
 should find access. 
 
 20 
 
Grandest Age of all the ages since the march of 
 
 mind began 
 From the dull unconscious atom to the crowning 
 
 type of man, 
 
 Heir of all the countless ages, son of half 
 
 a million years. 
 In thy purple youth embodied strength of 
 
 myriad strong careers, 
 
 Noble bards sang round thy cradle, and a glor- 
 ious burst of song 
 
 Filled and thrilled thy youth with music that 
 reechoes loud and long; 
 
 Not the songs of helmed heroes flashing through 
 
 the imbattled host, 
 Nor of tempest-driven sailors touching every 
 
 charmed coast. 
 
 Not the maddening dithyrambics filled with 
 
 ruddy Bacchus' praise. 
 Nor the lays of unveiled Venus set to feast the 
 
 public gaze, 
 
 But the songs of human yearning and of pur- 
 pose chaste and high. 
 
 Songs of love's imperious passion quenched by 
 pitiless destiny, 
 
 Songs of vernal greenth and beauty and of pure 
 
 autumnal gold. 
 Songs of summer woods and bird-notes, songs 
 
 of harvest hundredfold, 
 
 21 
 
Songs of hoary Ocean panting 'neath his 
 
 burdened argosies, 
 And of happy havens taken after stormy 
 
 voyages, 
 
 Odes to Freedom, odes to Victory, and the free- 
 man's battle hymn. 
 
 Shouts of patriot exultation while the mortal eye 
 grows dim, — 
 
 Songs of inner mystic beauty, songs of perfect 
 form and grace. 
 
 Flowers of heart and soul that make the crown- 
 ing glory of our race. 
 
 ''Alma Pax !" the new Age groaned with all the 
 patient power of prayer, 
 
 But the immortal gods were deafened by the 
 brazen trumpet's blare. 
 
 War's loud front and horrid hair were shaking 
 terrors through the world. 
 
 And his blood-red banner waved to every stormy 
 blast unfurled. 
 
 Now his hounds are kept in leash a-snarling in 
 
 their secret dread, 
 Keeping peace by daily wasting Europe's tithes 
 
 of wine and bread. 
 
 For the hand of Toil grown thrifty, fostered by 
 
 an armed peace. 
 Clutches at the Demon's throat and bids the red 
 
 destruction cease, 
 
 22 
 
Though in Afric's vast dominions and degen- 
 erate Cathay 
 
 Thrift lets loose the dogs of war to open Trade's 
 untrammeled way. 
 
 Yet the Soul of Manhood dreaming sits upon 
 
 his central throne 
 Forging with unfailing prescience times unborn 
 
 and realms unknown. 
 
 Centuries long the Dream broods on though 
 tides of wrong surge wild below, 
 
 Broods above the sightless tumult while the ages 
 come and go, 
 
 And the floods grow calm and calmer as the 
 
 cycles whirl away, 
 Till the Dream is regnant Truth and nations 
 
 come beneath its sway; 
 
 Then a new Dream of the Ages mounts to Man- 
 hood's awful throne, 
 
 Broods and conquers through the cycles till the 
 whole world is its own. 
 
 So the hard unbending Real which with cruel 
 
 strength compels 
 Man the helpless worm to creep and eat the dust 
 
 wherein he dwells. 
 
 Yields to the Eternal Manhood brooding through 
 
 his silent years. 
 And the Man, his dreams made flesh, mounts up 
 
 through widening careers, 
 
 23 
 
Grasps the wheel with conscious hand, the pilot 
 of Earth's stormy bark, 
 
 And with eyes on God's stars gazing guides the 
 nations through the dark. 
 
 Mounting so with firm foot planted on the 
 wrecks of conquered wrong, 
 
 Man, embodied Cosmic Hope, stands forth at 
 length a titan strong. 
 
 Wrestles with the dragon-brood that still his 
 
 upward way infest. 
 Cheered amid the mortal conflict, girded for the 
 
 endless quest. 
 
 Happy Age that saw the shackles burst from 
 
 fifty million hands, 
 Saw the hunted beast of burden, trembling in the 
 
 marish lands, 
 
 Into man transformed, transfigured, cleansed by 
 streams of precious blood 
 
 Poured in red unstinted measure, — millionfold 
 baptismal flood, — 
 
 Whose red chrism has healed the nations ! O ye 
 
 Freemen ! O ye Just ! 
 Shall we stand as idle dreamers o'er our fallen 
 
 patriots' dust 
 
 And permit the sons of freemen in our land to 
 
 be enslaved, 
 Unprotesting when the injustice falls on him our 
 
 fathers saved? 
 24 
 
But the Age rolls on above them, and the evil- 
 doer dies, 
 
 For the tide of Life is setting toward the side 
 where justice lies. 
 
 Happy Age that saw the monarch sinking to the 
 
 servant's place, 
 And the free man rising regnant o'er the tyrants 
 
 of his race ! 
 
 Happy Age that saw the priesthood sinking into 
 slow decay. 
 
 And the free soul mounting regnant into heav- 
 en's glorious day ! 
 
 Happy Age that saw the letter perish from the 
 
 sacred page, 
 And the spirit shining regnant in the soul life 
 
 of the sage ! 
 
 Happy Age that saw a chaos leap into a universe 
 At the magic touch of science, Truth dispel the 
 ancient curse. 
 
 Drive the demons from the air, and drive the 
 gods from out the sky. 
 
 Purge the earth of half her evil bidding all her 
 follies fly ! 
 
 Happy Age that saw the Yonder fading from the 
 
 dreams of men. 
 And the Now of Love's occasion dearer than a 
 
 ghostly Then ! 
 25 
 
Happy Age that conquered distance, brought the 
 
 heavens down to man, 
 Narrowed all the hostile oceans to a river's 
 
 friendly span. 
 
 Saw the far horizon lift and distant nations 
 heave in sight, 
 
 Saw the isolated burgher grown at length cosmo- 
 polite ! 
 
 Happy Age that conquered time, the hoar ally of 
 
 distance gray, 
 Changed the centuries to years, and crowded 
 
 seasons in a day, 
 
 Flasht the lightnings, sped the couriers, keeping 
 thought's impetuous pace, 
 
 Sent the electric thrill of manhood widening 
 down the human race ! 
 
 Lo, a hand unveils the ages, flashing on my 
 
 startled sight, 
 And a voice of power prophetic cries from out 
 
 the darkness, 'Write !" 
 
 See ! Two mighty rival races filling all the happy 
 
 earth, 
 Rivals still in glorious deeds but conscious of 
 
 one common birth. 
 
 Gone the tread of armed feet, and gone the 
 
 champing battle-steed. 
 Breathes the gentle Ocean-stream from all his 
 
 hostile navies freed, 
 26 
 
Sunk in quiet beds of ooze and lost a hundred 
 
 fathoms deep 
 Lies the last death-belching monster muzzled in 
 
 Lethean sleep; 
 
 Glides the plowshare through the ruins of the 
 
 forts of old renown, 
 Harvests wave with golden hope where stood 
 
 the ancient walled town; 
 
 Marshes drained, saharas watered, harnessed 
 winds and cataracts. 
 
 Tropic belts of tangled Eden wrought to habit- 
 able tracts; 
 
 Gone the city's crowded space that bred a ver- 
 min race of men, 
 
 Gone the pest-infected airs exhaled from Vice's 
 reeking den; 
 
 Happy millions dwell in peace dispersed on fer- 
 tile vale and down. 
 
 Here an orchard-scented hamlet, there a park- 
 embosomed town; 
 
 Rich and poor forgotten evils, crime and sick- 
 ness slunk away 
 
 Shamed and conquered by the beauty of the 
 soul's untrammeled sway; 
 
 Flesh made pure and sweet within, the temple 
 
 of a chastened life, 
 Dead the feud of body and soul and closed the 
 
 passions' blinding strife; 
 
 27 
 
Birth the sacrament of hope, and death the old 
 man's crowning grace, — 
 
 Hallowed sunset after sunrise, — keeping still an 
 equal pace 
 
 That no earth-born soul by climbing cause an- 
 other soul to fall, 
 
 But our Mother's ample bosom be the nourisher 
 of all ; 
 
 Less and less the Code's compulsion, more and 
 
 more the inward Law, 
 More and more disintegration of the power that 
 
 holds in awe, 
 
 More and more new integration by the bonds of 
 
 free consent 
 To the Inward growing Outward — social life's 
 
 embodiment ; 
 
 Gone the hope of selfish heavens, come the faith 
 
 in deathless deeds. 
 Sunk the individual wish in serving universal 
 • needs, 
 
 Will and Fate at length consenting, Life far- 
 seeing and sublime. 
 
 Reaping now in wise content the harvests of the 
 Coming Time. 
 
 ''Prophet!" cries the voice of thunder; "leap a 
 
 hundred ages back! 
 Lo, the nations, how they struggle in the old 
 
 war-beaten track! 
 28 
 
Speaking courteous words of peace but cram- 
 ming brutish arsenals, 
 
 Turning wholesome bread and wine to monster 
 navy-sinking shells ! 
 
 These must perish from the earth and lose their 
 curst inheritance ; 
 
 Dying now the Latin nations, dying even glor- 
 ious France — " 
 
 But a wreath of smoke low trailing hides the 
 
 vision from my sight, 
 And the deafening wheels of commerce drown 
 
 the voice that bade me write. 
 
 O ye clamorous sons of Trade ! Alack, the per- 
 ilous thirst for gold ! 
 
 Worship still the least erected of the fallen gods 
 of old? 
 
 From the valley of the shadow of that gilded 
 
 thing. Success, 
 Lift your eyes, O burdened nations, to the hills 
 
 of Helpfulness ! 
 
 Hear the call of the Ideal like a trumpet from 
 the van. 
 
 Gird your loins and quit the valley for the dawn- 
 lit heights of man. 
 
 Grandest Age of all the ages since the march of 
 mind began 
 
 From the dull unconscious atom to the crown- 
 ing type of man, 
 29 
 
Vale ! Vale ! Strokes of midnight ! And a solemn 
 
 passing hour ! 
 Vale! Vale! Parting splendor, shall we mourn 
 
 thy passing power? 
 
 Salve! Salve! Turn we forward from the sable 
 
 funeral car! 
 Salve ! Salve ! Mightier Aeon, heralded by Love's 
 
 own star! 
 
 Star of all the countless ages, Hesper of the ages 
 
 gone, 
 Phosphor of the unborn aeons, Hesper-Phos- 
 
 phor. Night and Dawn ! 
 
 How the heart leaps up to greet thee, Bringer of 
 
 a mighty hope, 
 Light that lightens down the darkness where the 
 
 infant nations grope ! 
 
 Heir of all that mind has conquered, son of half 
 
 a million years. 
 Sharer of all vital progress, seed of endless new 
 
 careers, 
 
 Thirty circles of the months have fed my soul 
 
 ambrosial food. 
 And I pour a full libation to the Roman god that 
 
 stood 
 
 At the entrance of the years, and may he grant 
 
 one prayer to me. 
 That my steps may pass the midmost milestone 
 
 of the century, 
 30 
 
That my eyes may see the fruitage of the seed 
 
 this age has sown, 
 That my hands may sow a harvest greater than 
 
 the world has known. 
 
 (I, the type J not I, the ego, held aloof from in- 
 tercourse, 
 
 Egotist of egotists that hold myself the uni- 
 verse.) 
 
 Hail, O Brothers ! Hail, O Helpers ! By a cosmic 
 
 law divine 
 All my work is wholly yours and all your work 
 
 is wholly mine. 
 
 Through ye only have I strength to mould me to 
 
 the cosmic plan, 
 Million brained and million handed, millionfold 
 
 a manly man ! 
 
 Hail, Democracy, the star-eyed, climbing from^"^ 
 
 the ancient mire. 
 Trampling down their crowns and scepters who 
 
 forbid thee mounting higher! 
 
 Spread thy palm above all nations, teach all peo- 
 ples to be free. 
 
 Banish war's red pestilence, and bring the golden 
 age to be, 
 
 Tear the bandage from the eyes of partial Jus- 
 tice that her sword 
 
 Smite the votarists of Pluto till their stolen 
 gold's restored, 
 
 31 
 
That her scale-beam tip as lightly for the weak 
 
 as for the strong, 
 And her judgments ring out clearly through the 
 
 clamorous cries of wrong. 
 
 Lift the torch of Reason higher, set it by the 
 
 lamp of Faith, 
 Till their light forever banish Superstition's 
 
 sheeted wraith. 
 
 Warm the heart, expand the brain, and make the 
 
 spirit large and free, 
 Till we reach the godlike selfhood and devote 
 
 our strength to thee. 
 
 And beyond our power of asking lead us upward 
 
 into light, 
 Overrule us when we stray and strengthen only 
 
 in the right! 
 
 Hail, Democracy, the star-eyed, mounting ever 
 
 to the stars ! 
 Hail to thee whose day is brightening with the 
 
 century's morning bars ! 
 
 Slowly moves the hand of Progress o'er the dial- 
 plate of Time, 
 
 Till we half despair to see it move beyond the 
 hour of prime. 
 
 But if life appear to linger, nations halt or back- 
 ward creep, 
 
 'Tis the stalwart athlete, Nature, backing for a 
 mightier leap. 
 
 32 
 
Shall we curse the age as senile just because our 
 hair is gray, 
 
 Count that light and hope are dead since even- 
 ing glooms about our day? 
 
 Life is young, Time's latest born, his arch of 
 promise lingers yet 
 
 Resting on its charmed gold, Youth's goal for- 
 ever onward set. 
 
 Aye the young man's dreams are truest, and the 
 
 burnt-out fires of age 
 But the dead and dying camp-fires of each last 
 
 preceding stage. 
 
 O despair not, men and brothers, deeming hu- 
 man nature weak! 
 
 Toothless age must ever mumble through hia 
 snow-heaped hollow cheek,, 
 
 That the year is growing cold and the harvest- 
 fields lie dead, — 
 
 Stubble where he hoped for blade, and sunlight 
 changed for skies of lead. 
 
 When ten thousand ages toiling fashioned man 
 their crowning work, 
 
 Shall we find that potent seeds within his in- 
 most being lurk, 
 
 Waiting only fair occasion to expand to hideous 
 
 life 
 And destroy the rarest fruitage of developmental 
 
 strife? 
 
 33 
 
What a million years have made no less than 
 million years can mar. 
 
 Then despair not, men and brothers, though per- 
 fection lingers far, 
 
 For we judge as simple children when we make 
 
 our little day 
 God's criterion of progress and the measure of 
 
 his way. 
 
 Forward ! then the century's birth-cry ! Forward ! 
 
 still the cry of Youth ! 
 Forward ! yet the hope of manhood ! Onward to 
 
 the goal of Truth ! 
 
 Forward! though the days be gray that follow 
 
 morning's purple bars ! 
 Forward! for the darkest night is ever thickest 
 
 sown with stars ! 
 
 Come, thou hoped-for happier Aeon, sung by 
 bards, by seers foretold. 
 
 When the earth shall bask in sunlight of her 
 lordlier Age of Gold ! 
 
 Or, if floating in the distance far beyond our 
 
 power to seize. 
 Drop the mirage of its splendor just beyond our 
 
 certainties, 
 
 That the glamour of Time's promise, hovering 
 
 o'er the horizon line. 
 May compel its own fulfilment in the evolving 
 
 Life divine ! 
 Dec. 26, 1900. 
 
 34 
 
A GRAY DAY. 
 
 A gray day 
 For a May day 
 And a gloom in the heart for me I 
 O the puppet play! 
 And they dance as gay 
 As the crickets leap 
 In a scented heap 
 Of new-mown hay ! 
 And I, ah me, 
 The one in a million to see ! 
 
 II 
 
 A ghost hand 
 From the coast-land 
 Whither all things hurry and flee! 
 O the unseen hand! 
 How its fingers expand 
 And clutch at the wires! 
 And the play retires 
 To the shadowy strand. 
 And I, ah me, 
 The one in the million to see ! 
 35 
 
Ill 
 
 A chess game, 
 (A mere dress game,) 
 With helpless pieces aboard ! 
 O the bootless game ! 
 Knights fall for fame 
 As the pawns for food 
 Or the Ermine's good, 
 Kings checked the same ! 
 And I, ah me. 
 One conscious pawn in the horde ! 
 
 IV 
 
 A ghost hand 
 From the lost land 
 Whither all things stagger and reel! 
 O the cold mist hand! 
 Its fingers are spanned, 
 And knight and pawn 
 And bishop are gone 
 And the game is banned ! 
 And I, ah me, 
 The one in the million to feel! 
 
 V 
 
 A blind law, 
 (Were't a kind law? 
 Which the uttermost stars obey ! 
 O the pitiless law ! 
 An insatiable maw 
 Engulfs all lives. 
 And what survives 
 Has tooth and claw. 
 And I, ah me, 
 Must prey, or become a prey I 
 36 
 
VI 
 
 I could dream, 
 (O a good dream!) 
 That the fecund years might see 
 The dusk grow to gleam, 
 The ice burst to stream, 
 The thistle make room 
 For the rose to bloom, 
 Use and beauty supreme ! 
 But this, ah me, 
 Takes the millions of years to be ! 
 
 VII 
 A clear voice. 
 And a near voice. 
 Speaks out of my soul to me. 
 O the sweet clear voice ! 
 O freedom of choice 
 That the clear voice speaks ! 
 O the light on the peaks 
 Where the dawns rejoice ! 
 But I, ah me. 
 The message is false, I can see! 
 
 VIII 
 
 It grows old. 
 Ay, it grows cold. 
 For suns and systems will die! 
 
 O the spaces untold ! 
 
 Worlds of worlds manifold 
 
 All coming to naught! 
 
 O why were they wrought 
 
 To perish in cold? 
 And I, ah me. 
 To breathe but one instant and die ! 
 
 37 
 
IX 
 
 What discord 
 With this chord 
 Struck sharp from the lyre of my soul ! 
 O the trembling chord ! 
 Like the thrust of a sword 
 In a valiant heart 
 Is the poignant smart 
 Of Fate's stern word. 
 For I, ah me, 
 Am a part to be ruled by the whole ! 
 
 X 
 
 O the gray day, 
 The lost May day, 
 And the gloom in the heart for me! 
 
 O the puppet play ! 
 
 Let it dance away 
 
 As the crickets leap ! 
 
 Let them blindly keep 
 
 Life's holiday, 
 
 Though I, ah me, 
 Am fated to feel and to see ! 
 
 April 24, 1900. 
 
 38 
 
BEN HADAD. 
 
 Ben Hadad toiled along an endless road, 
 A massy wall of stone on either hand, — 
 
 Mecca his goal — and ever as he strode 
 
 His sandals crushed into the yielding sand. 
 
 Bowed down beneath a shapeless heavy load 
 With anxious eye the narrow way he scanned. 
 
 One day — no whit less weary than the rest — 
 Ben Hadad heard swift footsteps from behind, 
 
 Yet turned not to behold the pilgrim guest — 
 Whose haste betrayed him godlessly inclined — 
 
 But labored undistraught like one possessed 
 Of some diviner passion than his kind. 
 
 "Allah be praised, who made this glorious day, 
 Good friend, and dropped it fresh from Para- 
 dise 
 To lighten pilgrim feet upon their way ! 
 
 The heart leaps up to see such sapphire skies 
 Arch spotless o'er earth's festal cup of clay 
 Where Allah mingles priceless wines and 
 spice !" 
 
 "A drunken word, and blasphemous as well!" 
 
 Ben Hadad answered, plodding on apace. 
 He saw not how unwonted shadows fell, 
 
 Cast by the radiance of his fellow's face, 
 Nor marked the queer round shoulders — like the 
 swell 
 Of sleeping wings — that marred his tunic's 
 grace. 
 
 39 
 
"A spotless sky? What madness this, I pray? 
 
 Spiced wine ! 'Tis by our holy word forbidden ! 
 Our prophet spoke naught of 'a glorious day.' 
 
 What he revealed not is most wisely hidd».n. 
 Look to your feet, and keep the narrow way, 
 
 A blameless walk, a spotless soul unchidden." 
 
 'Xook up, Ben Hadad ! Trust the living eye !" 
 The shining guest replied, and smiled benignly : 
 
 "Old laws decay and with their givers die. 
 But Allah still renews himself divinely 
 
 To heart and soul that ever open He 
 
 To Truth and Beauty. Take not thus supinely 
 
 Life's arduous gifts. These walls on either hand 
 Though scarce breast high, shut out the world 
 from you. 
 Behold the olive groves that dot the land. 
 
 The gardens and the lilied fields in view, 
 Tne palm's tall hostelry by zephyrs fanned 
 That waves mute welcome to the pilgrim 
 crew." 
 
 ''Allah forbid!" Ben Hadad straight replied: 
 "Though I had faith beyond the prophet's 
 measure, 
 I would not rise. To prove a madman lied. 
 What saint would jeopardize his earthly treas- 
 ure? 
 This sacred pack upon my shoulders tied 
 
 I'll scarce discard to do a stranger pleasure." 
 
 "Pray, what unshapely thing is this?" he cried, 
 
 And smote the burden with his knotty staff. 
 
 Great clouds of dust burst forth on every side. 
 
 40 
 
The shining guest pealed forth a hearty laugh : 
 "An ancient bed, I'll warrant, true and tried, 
 By daily use worn down to musty chaff." 
 
 "Have you no rootage in the sacred past? 
 
 No treasures rescued from the pirate years? 
 No priceless old memorials that last 
 
 From age to age? Pour forth your vollied 
 sneers, 
 Rash infidel, I care not for the blast. 
 
 The ear alone such idle mocking hears." 
 
 "An inventory !" And again that laugh. 
 
 Ben Hadad answered with indignant grace: 
 "A bronzen tablet with an epitaph 
 
 Snatched from the tomb of him who sired our 
 race ; 
 A foot-worn doorsill, broken quite in half. 
 
 The threshold of our first abiding-place; 
 
 "A tent-cloth stained by sun and morning dew, 
 My grandsire's shelter when he fled from 
 home ; 
 
 A sword-hilt, set with gems, wherewith he slew 
 A templar-knight ; a crescent from the dome 
 
 The sheik, my father, built in Kambalu, 
 Beside the infidel's huge hippodrome; 
 
 "My mother's loom; a lock of silver hair; 
 
 The prophet's holy word securely bound ; 
 My swaddling clothes; an old illumined prayer; 
 
 The collar of my brother's faithful hound; 
 The crib that knew a nurse's watchful care 
 When childhood's dreamless sleep enswathed 
 us round. 
 
 41 
 
"These have I kept, though grieved at heart to 
 know 
 
 So much must perish of no meaner worth. 
 These will I keep, and when at last I go 
 
 To Allah's bosom, and forsake the earth, 
 My son shall have the pack, and I bestow 
 
 My wayworn sandals to increase its girth. 
 
 ''Allah is God. He shall not lose through me 
 One tittle of his world's uphoarded gain!" 
 
 Ben Hadad ceased. His fellow wept to see 
 The tortured form, the martyrdom of pain, 
 
 And sighed: "Allah is God! May he set free 
 Ben Hadad' s soul from all its labors vain ! 
 
 'Xose all and gain all !" Here the angel guest 
 Touched with his staff the vast unshapely pack. 
 
 Its cords in sunder broke at this behest. 
 
 The huge bulk rolled in dust from ofif his back. 
 
 Ben Hadad rose erect with startled breast 
 And saw no more the narrow beaten track. 
 
 He saw the sapphire skies, the olive groves. 
 Gardens and lilied fields on either hand, 
 
 White cornfields waving, flights of turtle-doves, 
 And lofty palms by gentle breezes fanned, 
 
 Sheep on a hundred hills, cattle in droves, 
 And happy towns that dot the pleasant land ; 
 
 And o'er him, mounting in seraphic flight. 
 
 His guest. He smiled, and fell upon his face 
 And died. For joy at that unwonted sight. 
 Or from despair, none knew. But Allah's 
 grace 
 Upon his corpse, in death's benignant light, 
 Of that first smile preserved the blessed trace. 
 
 42 
 
THE BALLAD OF THE GOOD SHIP 
 "DAUNTLESS." 
 
 Three weeks with never a breath of wind 
 
 Off Wynland's marches moored 
 The captain's good ship 'Dauntless' lay 
 
 With all her crew on board. 
 Her flag hung dead at her tall masthead, 
 
 No ripple round her poured. 
 The sea-birds circled overhead 
 
 And screamed across the fjord. 
 
 The grizzled captain paced the deck, 
 
 He strode impatiently. 
 His eye now marked the frozen land, 
 
 Now swept the western sea. 
 Upspake the mate in sore estate: 
 
 ''O captain, sennights three 
 We've waited the rising of the wind. 
 
 What may the matter be?" 
 
 43 
 
The captain raised his sullen glance, 
 
 He lifted his hand to the sky: 
 "Why serve we longer the great White Christ 
 
 Who thrones with God on high, 
 When a Wynland hag with a tattered rag 
 
 His rule can thus defy? 
 The hand that is far when help is cried 
 
 For harm can not be nigh !" 
 
 Then spake the pilot, a man of blood, 
 
 And a mighty oath he swore: 
 "O captain, give me your goodly sword 
 
 And of men a gallant score. 
 I'll scour the land on every hand, 
 
 I'll hunt through mountain and moor, 
 Till I bring you this hag with her tattered rag, 
 
 In chains from yon frozen shore." 
 
 ''Go, take my sword and of men a score. 
 
 And bring me the sisters weird !" 
 "O women weird, ye feel my power. 
 
 No longer are ye feared. 
 Now give me a breeze to skim the seas, 
 
 Or by Beelzebub's beard 
 I'll perch your heads on the tall masthead!" 
 
 His words the pilot cheered. 
 
 "Ho, ho!" they cried, those sisters weird: 
 
 "Fair winds hath this tattered rag. 
 Three pounds tobacco, a pipe apiece, 
 
 Three guineas of gold in a bag. 
 And the captain's ship shall dance and skip 
 
 And never a moment lag 
 Till English wives and EngHsh babes 
 
 Shall greet his homeward flag." 
 
 44 
 
The captain took their hell-wrought clout, 
 
 But a crafty man was he. 
 He smote the captives with his sword. 
 
 The crew cheered merrily. 
 That magic shred to the tall masthead 
 
 The captain nailed in glee. 
 Three knots in a string, and a tattered rag, — 
 
 Three winds he held in fee. 
 
 He clove the first knot with his sword. 
 
 A wind rose steady and strong. 
 "Home, homeward bound!" the pilot sang, 
 
 The crew joined in the song. 
 Right merrily sped she straight anead 
 
 All day and all night long. 
 The sea-birds scream across the main. 
 
 The sea-beasts round her throng. 
 
 His good sword clove the second knot. 
 
 The wind, it blew a gale. 
 It veered now east, it veered now west. 
 
 The mate grew ghastly pale. 
 The good ship lunged, she leaped and plunged, 
 
 And shuddered with straining sail, 
 But she held her way for a night and a day, 
 
 Though waves dashed o'er her rail. 
 
 "Ho, ho! my good ship rides the storm," 
 
 The burly captain cried: 
 "The gale in the cordage whistles and howls, 
 
 Such song is the seaman's pride. 
 So gallantly borne, by the morrow morn. 
 
 At anchor we shall ride, 
 And EngHsh wives and English babes 
 
 Shall gather at our side." 
 
 45 • 
 
His good blade leaped and clove once more. 
 
 The gale, it grew a blast. 
 The billows leaped, the good ship crashed, 
 
 The captain stood aghast. 
 For straight ahead from the ocean's bed 
 
 A rock rose ribbed and vast. 
 The loosened demons shrieked and laughed 
 
 As on to her doom she passed. 
 
 The White Christ smiled on the waters wild, 
 
 They grew as smooth as glass. 
 Next morn on a wild and unknown coast 
 
 A wide-eyed fisherman's lass 
 At play on the sand of the salt sea strand 
 
 Saw floating corpses pass ; 
 But never a priest in all the land 
 
 For their wandering souls said mass. 
 
 MID CLOVER BLOOMS. 
 
 O to lie mid the tangled blooms, 
 
 A child of Earth and the blue Jrme skies. 
 And list to the song of the bumblebees 
 That tipsy with honey go tumbling over 
 From head to head of the purple clover 
 That swing in the clutch of their golden knees! 
 
 O to lie 'neath the blue June skies 
 In tune with the life of the scented glooms! 
 
 46 
 
The cricket sings where the golden light 
 
 Is quenched in the dusk of the standing grass, 
 And the grasshopper climbs to the topmost leaf 
 To bask in the sun of rare midsummer, 
 A holiday guest and chance new-comer, 
 That drains life's cup though the feast be brief 
 
 Nor grieves at last o'er the empty glass 
 As he drifts in dream to the voiceless night. 
 
 The katydid calls from her leafy bower. 
 
 And a boisterous sisterhood over the way 
 Affirm and deny with impetuous zeal, 
 A gossiping town without purpose or guerdon. 
 Till the garrulous hedgerow grows a burden. 
 While the shrill cicada with mail of steel, 
 
 From his tall acacia startles the day, 
 And stabs with his song the noontide hour. 
 
 O white cloud floating in liquid blue. 
 
 That driftest so lazily over my head! 
 A breath blew out of the west at morn, 
 And out of the void of the fleckless ether. 
 Rejoicing to greet fresh fields beneath her, 
 A feathery form, sweet cloud, was born ! 
 
 Shall her bright life for their thirst be shed? 
 Or melt in the blue sky whence she grew? 
 
 O to lie in the scented glooms, 
 
 A child of Earth and the blue June skies, 
 And list to the voices of summertide. 
 And feel the beat of life's mystic weaving. 
 With an open heart life's gifts receiving, 
 A pensioner willing on bounties wide ! 
 
 O to lie 'neath the blue June skies. 
 At one with the purple clover blooms ! 
 Nov. 23, 1 90 1. 
 
 47 
 
THE VANISHED WOODS. 
 
 How changed the scene from what I knew. 
 Sweet woods, when last we bade adieu ! 
 The woodman's axe has loudly rung 
 December's ice and snows among 
 And chased each Dryas from her berth 
 To feed some ravenous-throated hearth. 
 
 Perennial woods I deemed ye then, 
 Centennial peace for unborn men, 
 A sacred gloom for revery, 
 The nurse of star-eyed poesy, 
 Sequestered shrine and husht retreat, 
 Unstained by greed's unhallowed feet, 
 
 And in your scented shades I nursed 
 A Hfe in richest dreams immersed, 
 While numbers to the visions came, 
 Songs careless of or name or fame, 
 Where beauty seemed its own excuse 
 And song the soul's most perfect use. 
 
 Reclined full-length beside the stream 
 That guiltless of day's garish beam 
 Ran darkling down and gurgling broke 
 O'er serpent roots of gnarled oak, 
 I gazed upon one rift of blue: 
 The softened radiance sifted through 
 
 48 
 
And iris mingled with the green 
 
 The drooping beechen boughs between, 
 
 Until its far-off glory seemed 
 
 The goal of all the poets dreamed. 
 
 So lost in revery I lay 
 
 And dreamed the golden hours away! 
 
 O shameful idleness and sloth, 
 
 Companion to the rust and moth ! 
 
 O judge not so, poor dreamless friend; 
 
 The lily of the field may spend 
 
 Her whole sweet life 'neath unsought skies, 
 
 Her cup unseen by mortal eyes. 
 
 And yonder pink anemone 
 
 That nods so lightly unto me 
 
 Sits dreaming by the brooklet here 
 
 In silence through the whole long year 
 
 To bloom one week in modest wise 
 
 For one chance pair of charmed eyes. 
 
 In sooth, good friend, it seems to me, 
 A dreamer born, howe'er it be. 
 That idle dreams are food and drink. 
 That one hour by a river's brink. 
 Lapped cool in dappled shade, is more 
 Than all your wise men's thrifty lore. 
 
 O wasteful purblind prodigals 
 Intent upon your barns and stalls. 
 Heap high your stacks of yellow sheaves, 
 Feed fat your herds of shining beeves. 
 And take no thought for aftertimes, 
 For aftertimes nor poets' rhymes. 
 
 49 
 
Heap on the wood and toast your shins 
 And snugly dream of bursting bins, 
 Of widening fields of new-cleared land, 
 Of virgin soil on every hand, 
 Of log-heaps, smoking pioneers 
 That make a way for whitened ears. 
 
 sordid Comfort, full-fed Ease, 
 Green-shuttered there 'mid orchard trees, 
 For whom the rain of apple-blooms 
 
 Is only sweeter than the glooms 
 That linger round my beechen roots, 
 By promise of autumnal fruits, 
 
 1 thought that Greed had shunned this space 
 To chaffer in the market-place. 
 
 But lo, his hand is everywhere! 
 Alas for all the good and fair ! 
 His hand has slain my favorite trees. 
 And all I loved are gone but these. 
 
 O wasteful purblind prodigals, 
 When the tornado madly falls. 
 Unroofs your barns, and blinding rains 
 Spoil half the season's garnered grains, 
 When frost pulls up your clover-roots 
 And blights in May your blooming fruits. 
 
 When whole young orchards winter-kill. 
 Unsheltered from the storm-king's will. 
 When snowless wheatfields freeze and thaw. 
 When crows o'er sprouting cornfields caw, 
 When summer drought burns all things dry, 
 And lawns are parched, and meadows die, 
 
 50 
 
Then reave you hair and beat your breast 
 And bring an offering of the best, 
 Make feast with open heart and free, 
 And plant each year some noble tree 
 Those banished Dryads to placate 
 And wrongs ancestral expiate ! 
 June 2, 1900. 
 
 A SONG OF RENEWAL 
 
 Fling wide my garret window 
 
 Here in my house on the hill, 
 Far out in the edge of the city 
 
 Where sounds of traffic grow still! 
 I will lounge in the open casement, 
 
 I will perch on the window-sill, 
 To breathe for one moment, a freeman, 
 
 And cast off my gyves with a will. 
 
 Out yonder the fields are basking 
 
 In July's golden glare. 
 Ripening harvests of beauty 
 
 In the languorous murky air. 
 While here I perish of mildew. 
 
 And rot with profitless care. 
 Old books, adieu ! And my papers, 
 
 Farewell ! Long truce to despair ! 
 
 51 
 
I will fly this parchment kingdom, 
 
 This mine of the Arimasps, 
 This universe of vellum, 
 
 Of leather and brazen hasps, 
 Where the soul is pent and straitened 
 
 In boards with double clasps, 
 And the mind like a pinioned demon 
 
 For freedom struggles and gasps; 
 
 Where I feel like a marginal figure 
 
 In purple and green and gold,. 
 Done with an infinite patience 
 
 By a dull old monk of old, 
 As conventional, dead, and unmeaning. 
 
 As the empty tale retold 
 It illumined in gaudy splendor, — 
 
 To crumble at last into mould ; 
 
 For here the soul is a quarto. 
 
 Or at best but a folio. 
 And I long for the perfect unfolding 
 
 That mortals seldom know. 
 To lie spread out and unbroken 
 
 In God's supernal glow. 
 The Cloud-Compeller above me. 
 
 The old Earth-Mother below. 
 
 Out yonder the fragrant meadow 
 
 Dotted with hay-cocks stands. 
 I can hear the workmen's laughter 
 
 As they ply their busy hands. 
 Heaping the giant hay-bed 
 
 As it creaks through the bottom-lands, 
 Drawn like a car triumphal 
 
 At some high-throned queen's commands. 
 
 52 
 
Who guides yon rural progress? — 
 
 No less than a queen, I vow! — 
 'Tis the farmer's buxom daughter, 
 
 As lithe as a nymph, I trow ; 
 A golden rock-rose in her hat-band, 
 
 Her nut-brown cheeks and brow 
 Aglow with health and beauty 
 
 That queens might envy her now. 
 
 And over beyond the rail-fence. 
 
 Mantled with ivy and vines, 
 Where the purple ripe raspberry nestles 
 
 And the evening primrose shines. 
 The dead-ripe wheat is standing, 
 
 Straw-broken, with pendant crines. 
 And unchidden by stewards of Ceres 
 
 The querulous sparrow dines. 
 
 And down in the lower bottoms, 
 
 Along the dreaming brook 
 That winds down its slumberous valley 
 
 In many a sickle's crook. 
 Where willow and sycamore, stooping, 
 
 At their sun-flecked images look. 
 The cattle breast-deep are standing 
 
 In many a shady nook. 
 
 And away and around in the blue haze. 
 
 To vision's uttermost bourn, 
 In billows of green that from evening 
 
 Run to the shores of morn, 
 Round meadow and pasture and wheat-field. 
 
 Stretches the sea of the corn. 
 O why should the city's toiler 
 
 Yon teeming paradise scorn? 
 
 53 
 
For there is a tangled Eden, 
 
 Where the trimmers' hands are too few 
 To garner the gifts of Ceres 
 
 While -serving Pomona as true. 
 So wilding beauty runs riot, 
 
 And the weeds, a rolHcking crew, 
 Preempt every chink of the sunshine 
 
 And stretch out their palms for the dew,- 
 
 But see ! There's a pause in the haying ! 
 
 The hay-bed, piled to the boom, 
 Is ready to choke with its fragrance 
 
 The barn's wide-throated room. 
 Now the jug with its beaded coolness, 
 
 Filled from the well's deep gloom, 
 As dear as e'er flagon at banquet, 
 
 Is haled from its tangle of bloom 
 
 To gurgle around the circle 
 
 From lip to laughing lip. 
 Now deftly the farmer's daughter 
 
 From its cool rim takes a sip 
 To bless the draught for the workmen 
 
 As its waters bubble and drip. 
 Then here's to the Queen of the Harvest! 
 
 Long live toil's comradeship ! 
 
 No longer my soul shall tarry 
 
 Wing-clipt in this ancient mew. 
 I'll away to the fields and meadows 
 
 Where living deeds are to do. 
 I'll out in the dews at sunrise, 
 
 I'll toil the long day through. 
 And wear out this mildewed body 
 
 And win me a soul anew. 
 
 • 54 
 
And when the long day closes, 
 
 And life has forgotten its husk, 
 By the side of the farmer's daughter 
 
 In odors dearer than musk, 
 To the homestead nested in pine-trees 
 
 That bite the sky like a tusk, 
 To the goal of a rest supernal 
 
 I'll walk through the cool sweet dusk. 
 
 IMPERFECTION 
 
 Never a summer breeze 
 
 From his far sea-cradle blows 
 But lingers among the gardens 
 
 To sigh for one dead rose. 
 
 55 
 
SONNET 
 
 My letter was returned with seal unbroken. 
 
 ''Deceased!" Some cold official hand had 
 traced 
 
 The penciled euphemism in careless haste 
 To send across the world the joyless token, 
 That love's last word was left for aye unspoken. 
 
 Dead? Is he dead with whom I daily chased 
 
 The beauteous phantoms o'er great Homer's 
 waste 
 Wide ocean ? Shipwrecked Hes our vessel oaken ? 
 
 O friends, why mock ourselves with gloomy 
 
 fictions ? 
 Broad seas and broader years have not the 
 
 power 
 To rob true friendship of one precious hour. 
 We hold sweet converse still, — dare Fate's 
 
 restrictions, — 
 And face to face, whate'er cold reason saith, 
 We'll wander through the world untouched by 
 
 death. 
 
 56 
 
UL 27 19^» 
 
One copy del. to Cat. Div. 
 
 )Ut 2T »**■