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RALPH WALDO EMERSON. 
 
THE 
 EARLY POEMS 
 
 OF 
 
 Ralph Waldo Emerson 
 
 WITH 
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL INTRODUCTION 
 By HENRY KETCHAM 
 
 NEW YORK 
 A. L. BURT. PUBLISHER 
 
 V 
 
11362 
 
 Two Copies ^€CE<vc§ 
 JUN 4>7 1900 
 
 Ctpff<^m entry 
 
 StCtfttt C»fY. 
 
 Ddivoe* t« 
 
 onecii DivtsiON, 
 
 64410 
 
 Copyright, 1900, by A. L Burt. 
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH* 
 
 BY 
 
 HENRY KETCHAM. 
 
 
 Emerson's Ponns. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Biographical Introduction v 
 
 The Sphynx ... 1 
 
 Each and All 8 
 
 The Problem 11 
 
 To Rhea 15 
 
 The Visit 19 
 
 Uriel 21 
 
 The World-Soul 24 
 
 Alphonso of Castile 30 
 
 Mithridates , 35 
 
 To J. AV 37 
 
 Fate. 39 
 
 Guy 42 
 
 Tact 45 
 
 Hamatreya 47 
 
 Good-by .' 51 
 
 The Rhodora 53 
 
 The Huniblebee 55 
 
 Berrying 59 
 
 The Snow-storm , 60 
 
 Wood Notes. I G2 
 
 Wood Notes. II 71 
 
 Monadnoc 90 
 
 Fable , 112 
 
 Ode 114 
 
 Astraea 120 
 
 Etienne de la Boece 123 
 
 *' Suum Cuique " 125 
 
 Compensation 126 
 
 iii 
 
iv CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 '■ Forbearance 127 
 
 The Park 128 
 
 The Forerunners 129 
 
 " Sursum Corda " 181 
 
 Ode to Beauty : 132 
 
 Give All to Love 137 
 
 To Ellen, at the South 140 
 
 To Eva 142 
 
 The Amulet 144 
 
 Eros 145 
 
 Hermione 146 
 
 Ode. I 150 
 
 II. The Daemonic and the Celestial Love 158 
 
 The Apology 172 
 
 Merlin. 1 174 
 
 Merlin. II 179 
 
 Bacchus 182 
 
 Loss and Gain 186 
 
 Merops 187 
 
 The House .188 
 
 Saadi 190 
 
 Holidays 199 
 
 Painting and Sculpture 201 
 
 From the Persian of Hafiz 202 
 
 Ghaselle (From the Persian of Hafiz) 210 
 
 Xenophanes 212 
 
 The Day's Ration 214 
 
 Blight 216 
 
 Musketaquid 220 
 
 Diige 225 
 
 Threnodj'^ 228 
 
 Hymn 243 
 
BIOGEAPHICAL mTEODUCTION. 
 
 It is impossible to classify Emerson. His position 
 in literature and in life is unique. His " soul was 
 like a star and dwelt apart." The man with whom 
 he is most closely connected in the thoughts of liis 
 readers is Carlyle. But the points of difference are 
 quite as clearly marked as the points of likeness 
 bet\veen the two friends. Emerson ate pie for 
 breakfast and his spirit radiated sweetness and light : 
 Carlyle lived on oatnieal and was possessed of the 
 devil of dyspepsia. Emerson was quiet, regarded 
 huiohter as ill-bred: Carlyle rent the welkin with 
 peals of laughter. Emerson w^as a type of the re- 
 fined, cultivated gentleman: Carlyle was rugged. 
 The wonderful friendship of these two remarkable 
 men is an instance of the affiliation of opposites, 
 for their intellectual traits are quite as diverse as 
 the characteristics above mentioned. But, being 
 warm friends, they surely thought and loved much 
 in common. Both were true to their convictions 
 with a courage that failed to realize the existence of 
 fear. Both saw the truth by intuition and presented 
 it as they saw it. Both dealt freely, even lavishly, 
 in the use of symbols. But Carlyle used the battle^ 
 
Vi BIOGRAPHICAL INTRODUCTION. 
 
 axe with fierce and heavy blows, wliile Emerson 
 used the rapier with the polish, the grace, tlie sweet- 
 ness of a dancing master. Carlyle spoke in a series 
 of thunder claps, while Emerson cooed as gently as 
 any sucking dove. Nevertheless, the fact of their 
 ardent, intimate friendship lasting through nearly 
 half a century and sealed only by death, links the 
 two names in an indissoluble connection. 
 
 But if there be difficulty in classifying Emerson, 
 there is no doubt as to his leadership. He was a 
 leader of leaders, a teacher of teachers. His in- 
 fluence has affected the thought of this century, and 
 therefore of succeeding centuries, more than can be 
 measured. Lowell, who was an independent thinker 
 and a sound critic, says of him : " There was a 
 majesty about him beyond all other men that I have 
 ever known, and he habitually dwelt in that ampler 
 and diviner air to Avhich most of us, if ever, rise 
 only in spurts." These words are not stronger than 
 the words of admiration, bordering on devotion, 
 which large numbers of thinkers and writers of the 
 first rank have used. 
 
 Of Beethoven it was said that his fame survived 
 the praises of his friends. It is a penalty of genius 
 that it is honored not only by the thoughtful and 
 judicious, but that it is the object of the silly praises, 
 the unreasonable and altogether astonishing claims, 
 of the host of shallow-minded followers who use 
 this method chiefly to get into good company. This 
 
BIOGRAPHICAL INTRODUCTION. vii 
 
 unhappy result fell to Emerson as to others. But 
 time tries all things, and the annoying fact may be 
 passed Avith the mere mention of it. 
 
 Ealph AValdo Emerson was born in Boston, May 
 25, 1803, and died in Concord, Mass., April 27, 1882, 
 lacking just four weeks of eighty years of age. 
 
 He came of a long line of scholarly ancestors who 
 were college graduates, and many of whom were 
 clergymen — a large per cent, of educated men in 
 that day being clergymen. His father, the Reverend 
 William Emerson, was a man of unusual ability, and 
 so great was his influence upon artistic, literary and 
 educational development, that Boston, and through 
 Boston all New England, feels it to the present day. 
 For he was influential in the establishment of the 
 Lowell lectures, the Athengeum, and the Museum. 
 
 AVhen Ealph Waldo was eight years of age, his 
 father died. The church of which he was pastor 
 pensioned the widow with some degree of liberality, 
 but she had difficulty in meeting lier expenses and 
 educating her children. She took boarders, but she 
 did not withdraw the children from school. At one 
 time Pailph and his brother had but one overcoat 
 between them and so were able to attend school 
 only on alternate days. Schooling obtained at such 
 a cost is likely to make on the child's mind a deep 
 impression as to the value of scholarshi]). 
 
 He w^as graduated from Harvard College in 1821. 
 The fact that he delivered the poem on Class Day 
 
viii BIOGRAPHICAL INTRODUCTION. 
 
 must not be taken as evidence of ear.y poetic devel- 
 opment, for the honor had been successively offered 
 to seven othei's and by each of them positively 
 refused before it came to him. If he stood number 
 eight in ability, then cither ])oets were very thick 
 in the class of 1S21, or else his poetic genius did not 
 display itself until hiter. 
 
 He devoted himself to tlie study of divinity, and 
 after the completion of the prescribed course travelled 
 and resided in the 8outli for a year or two, preach- 
 ing occasionally with acceptance. In \S'2^ he was 
 settled as assistant pastor over the Second Unitarian 
 Church in Boston, and, the ])astor soon resif'-ninir. 
 upon the younger man fell the whole responsibility 
 of the ])astorate. Though he was loved, his connec- 
 tion with the church was presentlv severed owino- 
 to a change of his views. He was even more liberal 
 than that very liberal church. lie objected to dis- 
 pensing the sacrament, and on that account with- 
 drew in a manly, peaceable manner, without friction, 
 carrying the love and respect of the church. 
 
 lie was possessed of a small competency, most of 
 which came from his wife's estate. This enabled 
 him by plain living to devote liimself to high think- 
 ing, though too often he felt the pincii of poverty. 
 He retired to Concord, Mass., and gave himself to 
 literary work, spending the rest of his life in that 
 pursuit. After this comparative retirement for 
 several years, he in 1837 delivered the Phi Beta 
 
BIOGRAPHICAL INTRODUCTION. ix 
 
 Kappa oration at Ilai'vard, the following;' year an 
 address to the graduating class of the Divinity Col- 
 lege, Cambridge, and, a Aveek later, an address at 
 Dartmouth College. The attention which these 
 addresses attracted everywhere, the sensation, the 
 consternation which they caused in some quarters, 
 are not ejisily described. One thing is certain, he 
 had permanently emerged from ol)scurity though 
 residing in a (piiet New England village, and to tlie 
 day of his death Concord was, to his large school 
 of admirers, the chief city of the United States. 
 There he read, meditated, wrote. His inherited in- 
 come was not enough to su])])oi't him in comfort, 
 and so lie su])plemented it by lecturing. It was the 
 day of New England lyci\3ums, and lectures of the 
 better grade were greatly in demand. The com- 
 pensation was small as compared Avith that of the 
 pi'csent day, but it was something and the employ- 
 ment was tolerably steady. Eoryear after year he 
 itinerated from city to village, from university to 
 lyca3um, and the public never tired of him. Taken 
 foi' all ill all, Emerson was the most successful of 
 New England lecturers, and thei'e were giants in 
 those days. These lectures and addresses were pre- 
 ]);ired in the summer, delivered in the Avinter, and 
 later published in the form of essays. This Avas, in 
 the main, his routine of living. 
 
 His sermons are not preserved in their original 
 form. The substance of them has been spun over 
 
X BIOGRAPHICAL INTRODUCTION. 
 
 unci woven into liis lectures, — at least so much as Le 
 wished to ])reserve. But as sermons they have dis- 
 ai)peared. Coukl a volume be })ublished including a 
 considerable number of these as actually pi'eached, 
 it would be received witli an eagerness rarely given 
 to any hook. It is gratifying to know that Ave have 
 the thoughts, it would be an additional gratification 
 to have those thoughts in their original setting. 
 
 As one goes over the events of his life and notes 
 their meagreness, — for his life simply flowed like a 
 river, each year being as placid, as beautiful as all 
 the others, — it is interesting to read from his pen 
 the following apt utterance : " Great geniuses have 
 the shortest biogra])hies. Their cousins can tell 
 you nothing al)out them. They lived in their writ- 
 ings, and so their home and street life was trivial 
 and commonplace.'" 
 
 In 1829 he married- Miss Ellen Louisa Tucker, 
 "Nvho three years later died of consumption. From 
 her estate he received the property already men- 
 tioned. After her death he travelled in Europe. 
 The chief incident in this tour was his acquaintance 
 Avith Carlyle. This was the beginning of a remark- 
 able friendship which lasted a third cf a century 
 and gave to the \voi'ld the exti'aoidiiiary series of 
 letters which were interchanged between the two 
 men of letters. It is an interesting fact that at the 
 outset Carlyle's books sold better in the United 
 States than in England, which may have been due 
 
BIOGRAPHICAL INTRODUCTION. xi 
 
 to Emerson's influence ; while Emerson's books sold 
 better in England, which wus almost certainly due 
 to Carlyle's influence. 
 
 In 1835 Emerson married Miss Lydia Jackson, of 
 Plymouth, Mass., who survives him. The couple at 
 once took up their residence in Concord in the house 
 wdiich they occupied the rest of their lives, and 
 which is still an object of interest to admirers of the 
 philosopher and poet. Up to 1837 Emerson preached 
 witli tolerable frequency, supj)lying temporary 
 needs in the neighboring churches. But the efl'ect of 
 his Phi Beta Kappa oration at Harvard that year was 
 such that he Avithdrew permanently from preach- 
 ino- and thenceforward devoted himself to writ- 
 ing and lecturing, with a few occasional addresses on 
 questions of the day, espe^cially slavery. 
 
 A magazine was started by Emerson's friends 
 under the name of the " Dial," to which he contrib- 
 uted largely. The first editor was Margaret Puller, 
 but after a year or two she relinquished it and he 
 succeeded her. It was a hopeless enterprise. How- 
 ever meritorious it may have been from a literary 
 standpoint, it never covered expenses, and after 
 three or four years of struggling existence it died. 
 
 The death of his oldest son in 1842 was a heavy 
 blow. To Carlyle he wrote: " You can never sym- 
 pathize with me ; you can never know how much of 
 me such a young child can take away. . . . ii prom- 
 ise like that Boy's I shall never see. How often I 
 
xii BIOGRAPHICAL INTRODUCTION. 
 
 pleased myseir that one dny T sliould send to you 
 this Morning- Star of mine, aiul stay at home so 
 gkidly behind such a representative." 
 
 In 1847 Emerson made his second trip across tlie 
 Athmtic, visiting Great Britain and France. His 
 stay lasted only a few months, but it seems as if in 
 that brief period he met nearly all the famous men 
 and women in Europe. This fact is an indication 
 that his reputation, not to say his influence, was j 
 s[)reading widely among the most intellectual and, 
 formative minds of the day. I 
 
 During the civil war, and the years last preceding ' 
 the \var, he partici])ated freely in the anti-slavery 
 agitation. If the incisiveness of his addresses may j 
 be inferred from the storms of wrath they incited, 
 he may he ranked as one of the foremost platform 
 speakers of the period. His original plan was, like 
 that of Lincoln, to buy up the slaves at public ex- ' 
 pense. " A thousand millions were cheap." The 
 course of history necessarily modified this thought, 
 and his final word on abolition is : 
 
 " Pay rnnsoni to the owner. 
 
 And fill the bag to the brim. 
 Who is tlie owner? Tlie slave is owner, 
 And ever was. Pay him." 
 
 In 1872 his house in Concord took lire. The 
 neighbors not only rallied to the rescue in such a 
 way as to save his books aiul papers, but instantly 
 
BIOGRAPHICAL INTRODUCTION. xiii 
 
 raised by subscription a sum of money which not 
 only repaired the liouse perfectly, but left a hand- 
 some surplus to his credit in the bank. While the 
 house was rebuilding he, at the request of his gen- 
 erous friends, went to Europe. This Avas his third 
 and last trip. 
 
 During the last years of his life his mental facul- 
 ties declined. He could not recall the names of his 
 most intimate friends. But his spirit remained 
 serene until his death in 1882. 
 
 In personal appearance he was tall and slender. 
 He claimed to stand six feet in his shoes, but this 
 was an exaggeration. In \Yeight he turned the 
 scales at about one hundred and forty. 
 
 His face was of rare beauty, as may be seen from 
 his ]Mcture, Avhich is to-day a familiar sight. His 
 portrait is worthy for its beauty of a place by the 
 side of Mendelssohn, Mozart, and Fra Angelico. It 
 I was lighted by a sm^ile of remarkable sweetness. 
 j His voice, too, was melodious and charming. His 
 ! manner was that of absolute calmness. In re- 
 I ceiving the large number of visitors, many of whom 
 were far from agreeable, he was the incarnation of 
 patience. When in his anti-slavery addresses the 
 audience turned into a howling mob, he waited 
 patiently until they became quiet from sheer 
 exhaustion aud then finished the interrupted sen- 
 tence. 
 
 It has already been said that Emerson cannot be 
 
xiv BIOGRAPHICAL INTRODUCTION. 
 
 c'hissirKMl. For tlu' same reason, it is liard to give 
 a complete estimate of liis (jiialities. His writings, 
 however, have been before the })iiblic for so long 
 that at this present date his leading characteristics 
 are easily discerned. His most prominent qnality is 
 his terseness. Every sentence is packed and ramme 
 down with concentrated thought. All ol' his w 
 ings are marked bv symbolism. It seems as i 
 he conld express his thought even in its minutest' 
 divisions only through thcmedium of syndx)lism, or 
 else his thought w^as of that stamp and grade which 
 refused to be otherwise expressed. The iise of ex- 
 treme lanffuao'e marks his writino-s. Though he 
 forbade in others the use of the superlative, the 
 most characteristic and the most familiar of all his 
 phrases, — " IHtch your wag(^n to a star," — is suffi- 
 cient evidence that he himself was master of the 
 superlative, whatever his teachings may have been. 
 The combination of these qualities makes him the. 
 most quotable writer of the century. There is hard- 
 ly a paragraph or even a sentence in all his writings 
 which does not contain a brilliant epigram or a fig- 
 ure which fastens the attention of (he reader and 
 unlocks his imagination. 
 
 As far back as 1838, Longfellow wrote in his diary, 
 " He is vastly more of a poet than a |)hilosopher." 
 To the present writer it seems that iMuerson was 
 always a ])oet, in his essays as really as in his vt^rses. 
 Here it is pertinent to quote a few lines from James 
 
BIOGRAPHICAL INTRODUCTION. XV 
 
 Russell Lowell whose literary judgment was well 
 nigh perfect : 
 
 There comes Emerson first, whose rich words, every one, 
 
 Are like gold nails in temples to hang trophies on, 
 
 Whose prose is grand verse, while his verse, the Lord knows, 
 
 Is some of it pr — No, 't is not even prose. . . . 
 
 In the worst of his poems are mines of rich matter, 
 
 But thrown in a heap with a crush and a clatter. . . . 
 
 .... His is, we may say, 
 A Greek head on right Yankee shoulders, whose range 
 Has Olympus for one pole, for t'other the Exchange. 
 
 It is possible that Lowell would have modified 
 this judgment later in life, and yet it is substantially 
 correct as far as it goes. When he expressed the 
 same thought in prose and in verse, the elaborations 
 were different, but both were poetic. 
 
 His writings, emphatically the prose, are devoid of 
 formal logic, or of arrangement according to any 
 known law or usage. Tie understood by intuition. 
 He turned a thought or a subject over and over that 
 men might see it. In his discussions there is no be- 
 ginning or middle or end. He does not lead up to 
 a climax or even a conclusion. He does not finish, 
 he quits. There is no reason why the essay should 
 not go on, and, except for its own beauty, there is 
 no reason why it should not have come to a pause 
 one paragraph or ten paragraphs earlier. He wrote 
 not in discourses, but in paragraphs or in sentences. 
 
 Turning to his verse, one cannot overlook its lack 
 
xvi BIOGRAPHICAL INTRODUCTION. f 
 
 of rliyt]]iii. He had no ear for music. In early life 
 de joined a singing class, but was summarily dis^ 
 missed at the first lesson. His verse does not flow in 
 musical numbers. The beauty of thought has no 
 corres])onding beauty of cadence. One cannot but 
 regret that lie Lad not the skill of Spencer or of 
 Shelley in versification. 
 
 It IS impossible to describe bis terseness better , 
 than by reproducing the following lines : * 
 
 " I hung my verses in the wind, 
 Time and tide their faults may find ; 
 All were winnowed through and through, 
 Five lines lasted good and true. . . . 
 Sunshine cannot bleach tlie snow, 
 Nor time unmake what poets know. 
 Have you eyes to find the five 
 AVho five hundred did survive ? " 
 
 Among the noblest of Emerson's poems is the 
 " Threnody," the lament over the death of his young 
 son mentioned above. This poem is fully worthy of 
 a place at the side of the noblest in the English Ian 
 guage,— Milton's " Lycidas " and Shelley's ^' Ado- 
 nais." It is full of majesty of thought and heart- 
 rending pathos. 
 
 The " Problem " is brief, but it is great. In the 
 space of about seventy-five lines he discusses the sub- 
 ject of universal inspiration. The spirit of the poem 
 is reverent, (hjvout, while it is warm with sympathy, 
 human and divine. Some of the lines and phrases 
 
BIOGRAPHICAL mTRODUCTlON. xvii 
 
 have entered into the common thought and speech 
 of our people, there to stay, — notably the line, " He 
 builded better than he knew." It is not possible in 
 brief space to describe such a poem, but one must 
 be content with the bare mention of it. 
 
 The hymn on the Concord Fight, beginning 
 
 " By the rude arch that spanned the flood, 
 Their flag to April breeze unfurled, 
 Here once the embattled farmers stood 
 And fired the shot heard round the world,' 
 
 and the Boston Hymn, read in Music Hall, January 
 1, 1SG3, referring to the emancipation of the slaves, 
 deserve special mention. 
 
 It is not possible to give a list of all of Emerson's 
 best. His admirers would claim that his " best " 
 includes all that he ever wrote. But the poems here 
 named are enough to introduce the reader to a won- 
 derfully beautiful and dignified collection of poems. 
 
 In transparency of character, in sweetness, placid- 
 ity, and attractiveness, Emerson was king of men. 
 Thouo'h he was not in the least ao:o:ressive, few 
 people ever approached him without feeling the 
 fascination of his personality. Men of genius, 
 learning, culture, acknowledged his power. Upon 
 educated young men he had an indescribable in- 
 fluence. An anecdote narrated by Mr. Conway, is 
 here repeated, although it is familiar, simply because 
 it gives a more just and vivid picture of the win- 
 
xviii BIOGRAPHICAL INTRODUCTION. 
 
 soinciiess of this remarkable man than could be con- 
 veyed in a dozen pages of descriptive matter. 
 Father Taylor, the unique preacher at the Sailors' 
 Bethel, was connected with the Methodist denomina- 
 tion. Some of his zealous Methodist brethren ob- 
 jected to his friendship for Emerson, on the ground 
 
 that the latter, being a Unitarian, must go to ! 
 
 " It does look so," said Father Taylor, " but I am 
 
 sure of one thing : if Emerson goes to , he will 
 
 change the climate there, and emigration will set 
 that way." 
 
 Of Emerson, Bishop Huntington w^rote, "We 
 have never heard a moral blemish imputed to him, 
 or [seen] any deviation in him from the straight 
 course of a clean and honorable manhood." E. P. 
 Whipple demands, " What doctrine of heredity can 
 give ns the genesis of his genius ? " The judgment 
 of Holmes is, " It seems to us to-day that Emerson's 
 best literary prose and verse must live as long as the 
 language lasts." Bryant is rejiorted to have said 
 that if any American author of to-day is read a 
 thousand years hence, it will be Emerson. 
 
 Ilis was a sweet, gentle, serene, loving spirit, and 
 his place in literature is permanent. 
 
 HENRY KETCHAM. 
 
POEMS, 
 
 THE SPHYNX. 
 
 The Sphyiix is drowsy, 
 
 Her wings are furled, 
 
 Her ear is heavy, 
 
 She broods on the world. — 
 
 " Who'll tell me my secret 
 
 The ages haxe kept ? 
 
 — I awaited the seer. 
 
 While they slumbered and slept ;- 
 
 The fate of the manchild. 
 The meaning of man ; 
 Known fruit of the unknown, 
 Daedalian plan ; 
 
THE SPHYNX. 
 
 Out of sleeping a waking, 
 Out of waking a sleep, 
 Life cleatli overtaking, 
 Deep underneath deep. 
 
 Erect as a sunbeam 
 Upspringetli the j^alni ; 
 The elephant browses 
 Undaunted and calm ; 
 In beautiful motion 
 The thrush plies his wings ; 
 Kind leaves of his covert ! 
 Your silence he sings. 
 
 The ^vaves unashamed 
 In difference sweet. 
 Play glad ^vdth the breezes, 
 Old playfellows meet. 
 The journeying atoms, 
 Primordial wholes. 
 Firmly draw, firndy drive. 
 By their animate poles. 
 
THE SPHYNX. 
 
 Sea, eartli, air, sound, silence, 
 
 Plant, quadruped, bird. 
 
 By one music enclianted, 
 
 One deity stirred, 
 
 Eacli tlie other adorning, 
 
 Accompany still ; 
 
 Night veiletli the morning. 
 
 The vapor the hill. 
 
 The babe by its mother 
 Lies bathed in joy, 
 Glide its hours uncounted. 
 The sun is its toy ; 
 Shines the peace of all being 
 Without cloud in its eyes. 
 And the sum of the world 
 In soft miniature lies. 
 
 But man crouches and blushes. 
 Absconds and conceals, 
 He creepeth and peepeth, 
 He palters and steals ; 
 
THE SPHYNX. 
 
 Iiifirin, melancholy, 
 Jealous glancing around, 
 An oaf, an accomj^lice. 
 He poisons the ground. 
 
 Out spoke the great mother 
 Beholding his fear. 
 At the sound of her accents 
 Cold shuddered the sphere ; — 
 Who has drugged my boy's cup, 
 Who has mixed my l^oy's bread ? 
 Who Avith sadness and madness 
 Has turned the manchild's head ? "- 
 
 I heard a poet answer 
 
 Aloud and cheerfully, 
 
 " Say on, sw eet Sphynx ! thy dirges 
 
 Are pleasant songs to me. 
 
 Deep love lieth under 
 
 These pictures of time. 
 
 They fade in the light of 
 
 Their meaning sublime. 
 
THE SPHYNX. 
 Tlie fiend tliat man harries, 
 Is love of tlie Best ; 
 Yawns the Pit of the Dragon 
 Lit l)y rays from the Blest. 
 The Lethe of Natnre 
 Can't trance him again, 
 Whose sonl sees the Perfect, 
 Which his eyes seek in vain. 
 
 Profonnder, profounder, 
 
 Man's spirit mnst dive ; 
 
 To his aye-rolling orbit 
 
 No goal Avill arrive. 
 
 The heavens that draw him 
 
 With sweetness nntold. 
 
 Once fonnd, — for new heavens 
 
 He spurneth the old. 
 
 Pride mined the angels, 
 Their shame them restores, 
 And the joy that is sAveetest 
 Lnrks in stings of remorse. 
 
THE SPHYNX. 
 
 Have I a lover 
 Who is noble and free, — 
 I Avoiild lie Avere nobler 
 Than to love me. 
 
 Eterne alternation 
 Now follows, now Hies, 
 And under pain, pleasure, 
 Under pleasure, pain lies. 
 Love Avorlvs at the centre. 
 Heart-heaving alway ; 
 Forth 'speed the strong pulses 
 To the borders of day. 
 
 Dull Sphynx, Jove keep thy five wits ! 
 
 Thy sight is gi'owing blear. 
 
 Rue, myrrh, and ciiniiiiin for the Sphynx, 
 
 Her muddy eyes to clear."" 
 
 The old Sphynx bit her thick lip, — 
 
 " AVho taught thee me to name ? 
 
 I am thy spirit, yoke-fellow ! 
 
 Of thine eye I am eyebeam. 
 
THE SPHYNX. 
 
 Tlioii art the unanswert'd (juestion ; 
 Coiildst see tliy proper eye, 
 Alway it asketli, asketli, 
 And eacli answer is a lie. 
 So take tliy quest tlirongli nature, 
 It through thousand natures ply, 
 Ask on, thou clothed eternit}', — 
 Time is the false reply." 
 
 Uprose the meriy Sphynx, 
 And crouched no more in stone, 
 She melted into purple cloud, 
 Slie silvered in the moon. 
 She spired into a yelloAv flame. 
 She flowered in blossoms red, 
 She floAved into a foaming Av^ave, 
 She stood Mouadnoc's head. 
 
 Thorough a thousand voices 
 Spoke the universal dame, 
 " Who telleth one of my meanings. 
 Is master of all I am." 
 
EACH AND ALL. 
 
 LiiTLE thinks, in tlie field, yon red-cloaked 
 
 clown. 
 Of tliee, from the hill-top looking down ; 
 And the heifer, that lo\vs in the upland farm, 
 Far-heard, lows not thine ear to charm ; 
 The sexton tolling the bell at noon, 
 Dreams not that great Napoleon 
 Stops his horse, and lists Avitli delight, 
 Whilst his files s^veep round yon Alpine 
 
 height ; 
 Nor kno>vest thou Avhat argument 
 Thy life to tliy ueighbor\s creed has lent : 
 All are needed l)y each one, 
 Nothinii; is fair or i^-ood alone. 
 
 I thouglit the sparroAv's note from heaven, 
 Singing at (L-n\'n on the alder l^ough ; 
 
EACH AND ALL. c 
 
 I brouo^lit him home in his nest at even : — 
 He sings the song, but it pleases not now ; 
 For I did not bring home the river and sky ; 
 He sang to my ear ; they sang to my eye. 
 
 The delicate shells lay on the shore ; 
 The bubbles of the latest wsive 
 Fresh pearls to their enamel gave ; 
 And the bellowing of the savage sea 
 Greeted their safe escape to me ; 
 I wiped away the weeds and foam, 
 And fetched my sea-born treasures home ; 
 But the poor, unsightly, noisome things 
 Had left their beauty on the shore 
 With the sun, and the sand, and the wild up< 
 roai'. 
 
 The lover watched his graceful maid 
 As 'mid the virgin train she strayed. 
 Nor knew her beauty's best attire 
 Was woven still by the snoAV-white quire ; 
 
IQ EACH AND ALL. 
 
 At last slie came to liis liermitage, 
 
 Like the l)ii'(l from tlie Avoodlancls to the 
 
 cage — 
 The gay enchantment ^vas undone, 
 A gentle ^vife, l)iit fairy none. 
 
 Then I s ud, '' I covet Truth ; 
 
 Beauty is unripe childhood's cheat, — 
 
 I leave it behind ^\itli the games of youth." 
 
 As I spoke, beneath my feet 
 
 The ground-pine curled its pretty A\'reath, 
 
 Iwunning over the club-moss biUTs ; 
 
 I inhale the violet's breath ; 
 
 Around me stood the oaks and firs ; 
 
 Pine cones and acorns lay on the ground ; 
 
 Al)ove me soared the eternal sky, 
 
 Full of light and deity ; 
 
 Again I sa^v, again I heard, 
 
 The rolling I'iver, the morning bird ; — 
 
 Beauty through my senses stole, 
 
 1 } ielded myself to the perfect Avhole. 
 
THE PKOBLEM. 
 
 I LIKE a cliiircli, I like a cowl, 
 I love a prophet of tlie soul, 
 And on my lieai't monastic aisles 
 Fall like sweet strains oi' pensive smiles ; 
 Yet not for all liis faith can see, 
 Would I that cowled churchman be. 
 Why should the vest on him allure, 
 Which I could not on me endure ? 
 
 Not from a vain or shallow thought 
 
 His awful Jove young Phidias brought ; 
 
 Never froin 11] )S of cunning fell 
 
 The thrilling Delphic oracle ; 
 
 Out from the lieart of nature rolled 
 
 The burdens of the Bible old ; 
 
 The litanies of nations came, 
 
 Like the volcano's tongue of flame, 
 
 11 
 
12 THE PROBLEM. 
 
 Up from the burning core l^elow, 
 
 The canticles of love and woe. 
 
 The hand that ronnded Peter's dome, 
 
 And groined tlie aisles of Christian Rome, 
 
 Wrought in a sad sincerity, 
 
 Himself from God he could not free ; 
 
 He huilded better tlian lie kne^v^,* 
 
 The conscious stone to beauty grew. 
 
 Know'st thou ^vliat vrove yon woodl)ird's nest 
 
 Of leaves and feathers from her 1 )reast ; 
 
 Or liow the fish outbuilt its sliell, 
 
 l^iinting Avitli morn eacli annual cell ; 
 
 Or ]l()^v the sacred pine tree adds 
 
 To lier old leaves new myriads? 
 
 Such and so gre>v these holy piles, 
 
 Whilst love and terror laid the tiles. 
 
 Earth pnmdly wears the Parthenon 
 
 As the best gem upon her zone; 
 
 And Morning opes ^vIth haste her lids 
 
 To gaze n[)oii the l\ramids ; 
 
THE PROBLEM, 13 
 
 O'er England's ab])ey's l^ends the sky 
 As on its friends a\ itli kindred e3^e ; 
 For out of Thought's interior sphere 
 These wonders rose to upper air, 
 And nature gladly gave them place 
 Adopted them into her race. 
 And granted them an ecpial date 
 With Andes and ^^iih Ararat. 
 
 These temples grew as grows the grass, 
 
 Art might obey l^ut not surpass. 
 
 The passive Master lent his hand 
 
 To the vast soul that o'er him |)lanne(i, 
 
 And the same po^ver that reared the shrine, 
 
 Bestrode the tribes that knelt Avithin. 
 
 Even the fiery Pentecost 
 
 Girds with one flame the Countless host, 
 
 Trances the heart through chanting (piires, 
 
 And through the priest the mind inspires. 
 
 The word unto the prophet spoken 
 AVas writ on tallies yet unbroken : 
 
14 THE PROBLEM. 
 
 The ^vol'd l)y seers or sibyls told 
 In gi-oves of oak, or fanes of gold, 
 Still floats npon the morning wind, 
 Still whispers to the ^villing mind. 
 One accent of the Holy Ghost 
 The heedless world hath never lost. 
 
 I ]u\o\v what say the Fathers wise, 
 The Book itself before me lies. 
 Old Chrif^ostoni^ l)est Augustine, 
 And he who Ident both in his line, 
 The younger Golden-Vips or mines, 
 Taylor, the Shakspeare of divines, 
 His ^v()rds are music in my ear, 
 I see his co^vled portrait dear. 
 And yet for all his faith could see, 
 I AN'ould not the good bishop be. 
 
TO RHEA. 
 
 Thee, dear friend, a brother soothes, 
 Not Avith flatteries, but truths, 
 Which tarnish not, but purify- 
 To light which dims the morning's eye. 
 I have come from the spring- woods, 
 From the fragrant solitudes ; 
 Listen what the poplar tree. 
 And murmuring waters counselled me. 
 
 If with love thy heart has burned. 
 If thy love is unreturned. 
 Hide thy grief within thy breast, 
 Though it tear thee unexpressed. 
 For, when love has once departed 
 From the eyes of the false-hearted. 
 And one by one has torn off quite 
 The bandages of purple light. 
 
16 TO RHEA. 
 
 Though thou weii; the loveliest 
 Form the Soul had ever drest, 
 Thou shalt seem in eaeli reply 
 A vixen to his altered eye ; 
 Thy softest pleadings seem too bold, 
 Thy praying lute shall seem to scold. 
 Though thou kept the straightest road, 
 Yet thou errest far and broad. 
 
 But thou shalt do as do the gods 
 In their cloudless j^t^i'iods : 
 For of this lore be thou sure, 
 Though thou forget, the gods secure 
 Forget never their command. 
 But make the statute of this land : 
 As they lead, so follow all. 
 Ever have done, ever shall. 
 Warning to the blind and deaf, 
 'Tis written on the iron leaf. 
 Who drinJcs of CiipiiTs nectar cup 
 Loveth dowmoard and not up ; 
 
TO RHEA. 17 
 
 Therefore who loves, of gods or men, 
 Shall not by the same be loved again ; 
 His s^veetheart's idolatry 
 Falls in turn a ne^v degree. 
 
 When a god is once beguiled 
 
 By beauty of a mortal child. 
 
 And by her radiant youth delighted, 
 
 He is not fooled, l)ut warily kno^veth, 
 
 His love shall never be re(|uited ; 
 
 And thus the wise Immortal doeth. 
 
 'Tis his study and delight 
 
 To bless that creature, day and night. 
 
 From all evils to defend her. 
 
 In her lap to pour all splendor. 
 
 To ransack earth for riches rare. 
 
 And fetch her stars to deck her hair ; 
 
 He mixes music with her thoughts. 
 
 And saddens her with heavenly doubts ; 
 
 All grace, all good his great heart knows. 
 
 Profuse in love the king bestows. 
 
13 TO RHEA. 
 
 Saying, Hearken, Earth ! Sea ! Air ! 
 
 This monument of my despair 
 
 Buikl I to the All-Good, All-Fair. 
 
 Not for a private good. 
 
 But I from m}^ beatitude, 
 
 Albeit scorned as none ^\as scorned, 
 
 Adorn her as was none adorned. 
 
 I make this maiden an ensample 
 
 To nature through her kingdoms ample, 
 
 Whereby to model newer races. 
 
 Statelier forms, and fairer faces, 
 
 To carry man to new degrees 
 
 Of power, and of comeliness. 
 
 These presents be the hostages 
 
 Which 1 pa\\'n for my release ; 
 
 See to thyself, O universe ! 
 
 Thou art better and not worse. — 
 
 And the god having given all. 
 
 Is freed forever from his thrall. 
 
THE VISIT. 
 
 AsKEST, " How long thou shalt stay ? " 
 
 Devastator of the day ! 
 
 Know, each substance and relation 
 
 Thorough nature's operation, 
 
 Hath its unit, bound, and metre, 
 
 And every ne^v compound 
 
 Is some product and repeater, 
 
 Product of the early found. 
 
 But the unit of the visit. 
 
 The encounter of the wise. 
 
 Say what other metre is it 
 
 Than the meeting of the eyes ? 
 
 Nature poureth into nature 
 
 Through the channels of that feature. 
 
 Hiding on the ray of Sight, 
 
 More fleet than waves or w^hirhvinds go, 
 
 19 
 
20 THE VISIT. 
 
 Or for service or delight, 
 
 Hearts to hearts their meaning show, 
 
 Sum their long experience, 
 
 And import intelligence. 
 
 Single look has drained the breast, 
 
 Single moment years confessed. 
 
 The duration of a glance 
 
 Is the term of convenance, 
 
 And, though thy rede l)e church or state, 
 
 Frugal nudtiples of tliat. 
 
 Speeding Saturn cannot halt ; 
 
 Linger, — thou slialt rue the faidt. 
 
 If Love his moment overstay, 
 
 Hatred's s^vift repulsions i)lay. 
 
URIEL. 
 
 It fell in tlie ancient periods 
 Wliicli tlie brooding soul surveys, 
 Or ever the wild Time coined itself 
 Into calendar months and days. 
 
 This was the lapse of Uriel, 
 
 Which in Paradise befell. 
 
 Once among the Pleiads walking, 
 
 Said overheard the young gods talking, 
 
 And the treason too long pent 
 
 To his ears i^vas evident. 
 
 The young deities discussed 
 
 Laws of form and metre just, 
 
 Orb, quintessence, and sunbeams, 
 
 AVhat subsisteth, and what seems. 
 
 One, with low tones that decide. 
 
 And doubt and reverend use defied, 
 
 21 
 
22 URIEL. 
 
 AVitli a look tliat solved the sphere, 
 
 And stirred the devils everywhere, 
 
 Gave his sentiment divine 
 
 Against the being of a line : 
 
 " Line in nature is not found. 
 
 Unit and universe are round ; 
 
 In vain produced, all rays return. 
 
 Evil Avill bless, and ice will burn." 
 
 As Uriel spoke Avitli piercing eye, 
 
 A shudder ran around tlie sky ; 
 
 The stern old Asar-gods sliook their heads, 
 
 The seraphs fro\vned from in}^rtle-beds ; 
 
 Seem sd to the holy festival, 
 
 Tlie rash ^vord ])oded ill to all ; 
 
 The })alance-beam of Fate was bent ; 
 
 The bonds of c^ood and ill were rent : 
 
 Strong Hades could not keep his own, 
 
 But all slid to confusion. 
 
 A sad self-knowlediTc witherinir fell 
 On the beauty of Uriel. 
 
URIEL. 23 
 
 In heaven once eminent, tlie god 
 Withdrew that hour into his cloud, 
 Whether doomed to long gyration 
 In the sea of generation, 
 Or by knowledge grown too bright 
 To hit the nerve of feel3ler sight. 
 Straightway a forgetting ^vind 
 Stole over the celestial kind, 
 And their lips the secret kept, 
 If in ashes the fibre-seed slept. 
 But no^v and then truth-speaking things 
 Shamed the ano:els' veilins^ an ino-s, 
 And, shrilling from the solar course, 
 Or from fruit of chemic force. 
 Procession of a soul in matter. 
 Or the speeding change of water. 
 Or out of the good of evil l:)orn. 
 Came Uriel's voice of cherub scorn ; 
 And a l)lush tinged the upper sky, 
 And the gods shook, they knew not why. 
 
THE WORLD-SOUL. 
 
 TiiAXKs to tlie morning liglit, 
 
 Thanks to tlie seething sea, 
 
 To the uplands of New Hampsliire, 
 
 To the ixreen-haired forest free : 
 
 Thanks to eacli man of eonrage, 
 
 To tlie maids of lioly mind, 
 
 To tlie l)oy Avitli his games undaunted, 
 
 Who never looks behind. 
 
 Cities of proud hotels, 
 
 Houses of rich and great, 
 
 Vice nestles in > our chambers. 
 
 Beneath your roofs of slate. 
 
 It cannot con([uer folly, 
 
 Time-and-space-con(|iiering steam, — 
 
 And the liglit-outspeeding telegraph 
 
 Bears nothing on its beam. 
 
THE WORLD-SOUL. 25 
 
 The politics are base, 
 The letters do not cheer, 
 And 'tis far in the deeps of history — 
 The voice that speaketh clear. 
 Trade and the streets ensnare us, 
 Our ].)odies are weak and Avorn, 
 AVe plot and corrupt each other, 
 And we despoil the unljorn. 
 
 Yet there in the parlor sits 
 Some figure of noble guise, 
 Our angel in a sti'anger's form. 
 Or Avoman's pleading eyes ; 
 Or only a flashing sunbeam 
 In at tlie Avindo^v pane ; 
 Or music pours on mortals 
 Its beautiful disdain. 
 
 The inevitable morning 
 Finds them who in cellars be. 
 And be sure the all-lo^ang Nature 
 Will smile in a factory. 
 
20 THE WORLD-SOUL. 
 
 Yon ridge of })iirple landscape, 
 Yon sky between the Av^alls, 
 Hold all the hidden wonders 
 In scanty intervals. 
 
 Alas, the sprite that haunts ns 
 Deceives our rash desire, 
 It AN'hispers of the glorious gods, 
 And leaves us in the mire : 
 We cannot learn tlie ci[)lier 
 That's Avrit upon <-)ur cell. 
 Stars help us l)y a mystery 
 ^Mlich M'e could never spell. 
 
 If l>ut one hero lvne^v it, 
 Tlie world would l)lush iu flame. 
 The sage, till he hit the secret. 
 Would hang his head for shame. 
 l>ut our brothers have not read it^ 
 Not one lias fonnd the key, 
 And lieiiceforth ^ve are comfoi'ted, 
 AVe are but such as they. 
 
THE WORLD-SOUL. 27 
 
 Still, still the secret presses, 
 The Hearing clouds draAV down, 
 The crimson morning flames into 
 The fopperies of the town. 
 Within, without, the idle earth 
 Stars Aveave eternal rings, 
 The sun himself shines heartil}^, 
 And shares the joy he brings. 
 
 And what if trade so^v cities 
 Like shells along the shore, 
 And thatch Avith towns the prairie broad 
 With railways ironed o'er ; — 
 They are but sailing foambells 
 Along Thought's causing stream, 
 And take their shape and Sun-color 
 From him that sends the dream. 
 
 For destiny does not like 
 
 To yield to men the helm, 
 
 And shoots his thought by hidden nerves 
 
 Throughout the solid realm. 
 
28 THE WORLD-SOUL. 
 
 The patient Daemon sits 
 
 With I'oses and a sliroiul, 
 
 lie has his way, and deals his gifts — 
 
 But ours is not alloNved. 
 
 He is no churl or triiier, 
 
 And his \ ic-eroy is none, 
 
 Love-without-Aveakness, 
 
 Of genius sire and son ; 
 
 And his will is not th^varted, — 
 
 The seeds of land and sea 
 
 And the atoms of his body bright, 
 
 And his behest obey. 
 
 lie serveth tlie servant, 
 
 Tlie bra\'e he loves amain, 
 
 lie kills the cripple and tlic sick, 
 
 And straio-ht beii-ins au^ain ; 
 
 For m)ds deliii^lit in liods, 
 
 And thrust the weak aside; 
 
 To him \\ho scoi'iis their chai'ities, 
 
 Their arms ily open n\ ide. 
 
THE WORLD-SOUL. 29 
 
 When tlie old world is sterile, 
 
 And the ages are effete, 
 
 lie will from ^vrecks and sediment 
 
 The fairer Avorld comj^lete. 
 
 He forLids to despair, 
 
 His cheeks mantle with mirth, 
 
 And the nnimagined good of men 
 
 Is yeaning at the birth. 
 
 Spring still makes spring in the mind. 
 
 When sixty years are told ; 
 
 Love wakes ane^v this throbbing heart. 
 
 And Ave are never old. 
 
 Over the ^vinter glaciers, 
 
 I see tlie snmmer glow 
 
 And through the wild-piled snowdiift 
 
 The warm rose buds below. 
 
ALPHONSO OF CASTILE. 
 
 I Alpiionso live and learn, 
 
 Seeing nature go astern. 
 
 Thincrs deteriorate in kind, 
 
 Lemons rnn to leaves and rind, 
 
 Meagre crop of figs and limes. 
 
 Shorter days and harder times. 
 
 Flowering April cools and dies 
 
 In the insufficient skies ; 
 
 Imps at high Midsummer blot 
 
 Half the sun's disk Avith a spot ; 
 
 'T^^•ill not now avail to tan 
 
 Orange cheek, or skin of man : 
 
 Roses bleach, the goats are dry, 
 
 Lisbon quakes, the people ciy. 
 
 Yon pale sci-awny fislier fools. 
 
 Gaunt as l)itterns in the pools, 
 30 
 
ALPHONSO OF CASTILE. 31 
 
 Are no brothers of my blood, — 
 They discredit Adainhood. 
 
 Eyes of gods ! ye must have seen. 
 O'er your ramparts as ye lean, 
 The general debility, 
 Of genius the sterility. 
 Mighty projects countermanded, 
 Eash ambition broken-handed. 
 Puny man and scentless rose 
 Tormenting Pan to double the dose. 
 Kebuild or ruin : either fill 
 Of vital force the wasted rill, 
 Or, tumble all again in heap 
 To Aveltering chaos, and to sleep. 
 
 Say, Seigneurs, are the old Mies dry, 
 Which fed the veins of earth and sky, 
 That mortals miss the loyal heats 
 AVhich drove them erst to social feats, 
 Now to a savage selfness grown, 
 Think nature barely serves for one ; 
 
ALPHONSO OF CASTILE. 
 
 Witli science poorly mask their hurt, 
 And vex the gods with question pert, 
 Immensely curious whether you 
 Still are rulers, or Mildew. 
 
 Masters, Fm in pain with you ; 
 
 Masters, I'll be plain ^^ itli you. 
 
 In my palace of Castile, 
 
 I, a king, for kings can feel ; 
 
 There my thoughts the matter roll. 
 
 And solve and oft resolve the whole, 
 
 And, for I'm styled Alphonse the Wise, 
 
 Ye shall not fail for sound advice. 
 
 Before ye Avant a drop of rain. 
 
 Hear the sentiment of Spain. 
 
 You liave tried famine : no more try it ; 
 Ply us noAv with a full diet ; 
 Teach your pupils noAV Avith plenty, 
 For one sun supply us twent}^ : 
 I liave thought it thoroughly over. 
 State of hermit, state of lover ; 
 
ALPHONSO OF CASTILE. 33 
 
 We must have society, 
 
 We cannot spare variety. 
 
 Hear you, then, celestial fellows ! 
 
 Fits not to be over zealous ; 
 
 Steads not to ^\ ork on the clean jump. 
 
 Nor ^vine nor brains perpetual pump ; 
 
 Men and gods are too ex tense, — 
 
 Could you slacken and condense ? 
 
 Your rank overgrowths reduce, 
 
 Till your kinds abound with juice ; 
 
 Earth crowded cries, " Too many men," — 
 
 My counsel is, Kill nine in ten. 
 
 And bestow the shares of all 
 
 On the remnant decimal. 
 
 Add their nine lives to this cat ; 
 
 Stuff their nine l)rains in his hat ; 
 
 Make his frame and forces square 
 
 With the labors he must dare ; 
 
 Thatch his flesh, and even his years 
 
 With the marble which he rears ; 
 
 There growing slowly old at ease, 
 3 
 
34 ALPH0N80 OF CASTILE. 
 
 No faster than liis planted trees, 
 He may, by ^va^^ant of his age, 
 In schemes of broader scope engage ; 
 So shall ye have a man of the sphere, 
 Fit to grace the solar year. 
 
MITHRIDATES. 
 
 I CANNOT spare water or wine, 
 Tobacco-leaf, or poppy, or rose ; 
 From the earth-poles to the Line, 
 All between that works or grows, 
 Every thing is kin of mine. 
 
 Give me agates for my meat, 
 Give me cantharids to eat. 
 From air and ocean bring me foods, 
 From all zones and altitudes. 
 
 From all natures, sharp and slimy, 
 Salt and basalt, wild and tame. 
 Tree, and lichen, ape, sea-lion. 
 Bird and reptile be my game. 
 
 Ivy for my fillet band, 
 Blindins; do^^wood in my hand. 
 
36 MITHRIDATES. 
 
 Hemlock for my sherbet cull me, 
 And the prussic juice to lull me, 
 Swing me in the upas boughs, 
 Yampire-fanned, a\ hen I carouse. 
 
 Too long shut in strait and few, 
 
 Thinly dieted on dew, 
 
 I will use tlie a\ orld, and sift it, 
 
 To a thousand humors shift it, 
 
 As you spin a cherry. 
 
 O doleful ghosts, and goblins merry, 
 
 O all you virtues, methods, mights ; 
 
 Means, appliances, delights ; 
 
 Keputed Avrongs, and l)raggart lights ; 
 
 Smug routine, and things allowed ; 
 
 Minorities, things imder cloud ! 
 
 Hither ! take me, use me, fill me, 
 
 Vein and artery, though ye kill me ; 
 
 God ! I Avill not be an owl, 
 
 But sun me in the Capitol. 
 
TO J. W. 
 
 Set not tliy foot on graves ; 
 
 Hear what wine and roses say ; 
 
 The mountain chase, the summer waves, 
 
 The crowded town, thy feet may well delay, 
 
 Set nor thy foot on graves ; 
 
 Nor seek to unwind the shroud 
 
 Which charitable time 
 
 And nature have allowed 
 
 To wrap the errors of a sage sublime. 
 
 Set not thy foot on graves ; 
 
 Care not to strip the dead 
 
 Of his sad ornament ; 
 
 His myrrh, and wine, and rings, 
 
 His sheet of lead, 
 
 And trophies buried ; 
 
 37 
 
38 TO J. W. 
 
 Go get them where he earned them when alive, 
 
 As resolutely dig or dive. 
 
 Life is too short to waste 
 The critic bite or cynic bark, 
 Quarrel, or reprimand ; 
 'Twill soon be dark ; 
 Up ! mind thine own aim, and 
 God speed the mark. 
 
FATE. 
 
 That you are fair or wise is vain, 
 
 Or strong, or rich, or generous ; 
 
 You must have also the untaught strain 
 
 That sheds beauty on the rose. 
 
 There is a melody born of melody, 
 
 Which melts the world into a sea. 
 
 Toil could never compass it. 
 
 Art its height could never hit. 
 
 It came never out of wit, 
 
 Bvit a music music-born 
 
 Well may Jove and Juno scorn. 
 
 Thy beauty, if it lack the fire 
 
 Which drives me mad with sweet desire, 
 
 What boots it ? what the soldier's mail 
 
 Unless he conquer and prevail ? 
 
40 FATE. 
 
 What all the goods thy pride a\ hich lift, 
 
 If thou pine for another's gift ? 
 
 Alas ! that one is born in blight, 
 
 Victim of perpetual slight ; — 
 
 When thou lookest in his face, 
 
 Thy heart saith. Brother ! go thy ways 1 
 
 None shall ask thee what thou doest, 
 
 Or care a rush for what thou knowest, 
 
 Or listen when thou repliest, 
 
 Or remember where thou liest, 
 
 Or how thy supper is sodden, — 
 
 And another is born 
 
 To make the sun forgotten. 
 
 Surely he carries a talisman 
 
 Under his tongue ; 
 
 Broad are his shoulders, and strong, 
 
 And his eye is scornful, 
 
 Threatening, and young. 
 
 I hold it of little matter. 
 
 Whether your jewel be of pure water, 
 
 A rose diamond or a white, — 
 
FATE. 41 
 
 But whether it dazzle me with light. 
 
 I care not how you are clrest, 
 
 In the coarsest, or in the best, 
 
 Nor whether your name is base or brave, 
 
 Nor for the fashion of your behavior, — 
 
 But whether you charm me, 
 
 Bid my bread feed, and my fire warm me, 
 
 And dress up nature in your favor. 
 
 One thing is forever good. 
 
 That one thing is success, — 
 
 Dear to the Eumenides, 
 
 And to all the heavenly brood. 
 
 Who bides at home, nor looks abroad. 
 
 Carries the eagles, and masters the sword. 
 
GUY. 
 
 MoiiTAL mixed of middle clay, 
 
 Attempered to the night and day, 
 
 Interchangeable with things, 
 
 Needs no amulets nor rings. 
 
 (jiiy possessed the talisman 
 
 That all things from him began. 
 
 And as, of old, Polycrates 
 
 Chained the sunshine and the l)reeze, 
 
 So did Guy betimes discover 
 
 Fortune was his guard and lover; 
 
 In strange junctures, felt with awe 
 
 I lis OAvn symmetry with law. 
 
 That no mixture could withstand 
 
 The virtue of his lucky hand. 
 
 He gold or jewel could not lose. 
 
 Nor not receive his ample dues ; 
 42 
 
GUY. 43 
 
 Tu tlie street, if lie turned round, 
 His eye the eye 'twixs seeking found. 
 It seemed liis Genius discreet 
 AVorked on tlie ]V[aker\s own receipt, 
 And made eacli tide and element 
 Stewards of stipend and of rent; 
 So that tlie common ^vaters fell 
 As costly wine into liis well. 
 He had so sped his Avise affairs 
 That he caught nature in his snares ; 
 Eai-ly or late, the falling rain 
 Arrived in time to s^vell his grain ; 
 Stream could not so perversely Avind, 
 But corn of Guy's Avas there to grind ; 
 The whirhvind found it on its Avay 
 To speed his sails, to dry his hay ; 
 And the world's sun seemed to rise 
 To drudge all day for Guy the wise. 
 In his rich nurseries, timely skill 
 Strong crab with nobler blood did fill ; 
 The Zephyr in his garden rolled 
 
44: GUY. 
 
 From pliiin trees vegetable gold ; 
 And all the hours of the year 
 With their o^v u harvest hovei'ed were 
 There was no frost but welcome came, 
 Nor freshet, nor midsummer flame ; 
 Belonged to wind and Avorld the toil 
 And venture, and to Guy the oil. 
 
TACT. 
 
 What boots it, thy virtue, 
 What profit thy parts, 
 While one thing thou lackest, 
 The art of all arts ! 
 The only credentials, 
 Passport to success. 
 Opens castle and parlor, — 
 Address, man. Address. 
 
 The maiden in dan2:er 
 Was saved by the swain. 
 His stout arm restored her 
 To Broadway again : 
 
 The maid would reAvard him, — 
 
 Gay company come, — 
 
 They laugh, she laughs with them, 
 
 He is moonstruck and dumb. 
 
 45 
 
46 TACT. 
 
 This clenches the bargain, 
 Sails out of the bay, 
 Gets the vote in the Senate, 
 Spite of Webster and Clay ; 
 
 Has for genius no mercy, 
 For speeches no heed, — 
 It lurks in the eyebeam, 
 It leaps to its deed. 
 
 Church, tavern, and mai'ket, 
 Bed and board it will sway ; 
 It has no to-morro^v, 
 It ends Avith to-day. 
 
HAMATREYA. 
 
 MiNOTT, Lee, Willard, Hosmer, Meriam, Flint, 
 Possessed the land, which rendered to their toil 
 Hay, corn, roots, hemp, flax, apples, wool, and 
 
 wood. 
 Each of these landlords walked amidst his 
 
 farm. 
 Saying, "'Tis mine, my children's, and my 
 
 name's. 
 How sweet the west wind sounds in my own 
 
 trees ; 
 
 How graceful climb those shadows on my hill ; 
 
 I fancy those pure waters and the flags 
 
 Know me as does my dog : we sympathize. 
 
 And, I affirm, my actions smack of the soil." 
 
 Where are those men ? Asleep beneath their 
 
 grounds, 
 
 47 
 
48 HAMATREYA. 
 
 And strangers, fond as they, their furrows 
 
 plough. 
 Earth laughs in flowers to see her boastful 
 
 boys 
 Earth proud, proud of the earth which is not 
 
 theirs ; 
 Who steer the plough, but cannot steer their 
 
 feet 
 Clear of the grave. — 
 
 They added ridge to valley, brook to pond. 
 And sighed for all that bounded their domain, 
 "This suits me for a pasture ; that's my park, 
 We must have clay, lime, gravel, granite-ledge. 
 And misty lowland where to go for peat. 
 The land is well, — lies fairly to the south. 
 'Tis good, when you have crossed the sea and 
 
 back. 
 To find the sitfast acres where you left them." 
 Ah ! the hot owner sees not Death, who adds 
 Him to his land, a lump of mould the more. 
 Hear what the Earth says : 
 
hamatreya. 49 
 
 Eaktii-Song. 
 
 Mine and yours, 
 
 Mine not yours. 
 
 Earth endures, 
 
 Stars abide, 
 
 Shine down in the old sea, 
 
 Old are the shores. 
 
 But where are old men ? 
 
 I who have seen much. 
 
 Such have I never seen. 
 
 The lawyer's deed 
 
 Ran sure 
 
 In tail 
 
 To them and to their heirs 
 
 Who shall succeed 
 
 Without fail 
 
 For evermore. 
 
 Here is the land, 
 Shaggy with wood, 
 With its old valley. 
 
50 HAMATREYA. 
 
 Mound, and flood. — 
 But the heritors — 
 Fled like the flood's foam ; 
 The lawyer, and the laws, 
 And the kingdom, 
 Clean swept herefrom. 
 
 They called me theirs. 
 
 Who so controlled me ; 
 
 Yet every one 
 
 Wished to stay, and is gone. 
 
 How am I theirs, 
 
 If they cannot hold me, 
 
 But I hold them ? 
 
 When I heard the Earth-soncr, 
 
 I was no longer brave ; 
 
 My avarice cooled 
 
 Like lust in the chill of the grave. 
 
GOOD-BY. 
 
 GooD-BY, proud world, I'm going home, 
 Thou'rt not my friend, and I'm not thine ; 
 Long through thy weary crowds I roam ; 
 A river-ark on the ocean brine, 
 Long I've been tossed like the driven foam, 
 But now, proud world, I'm going home. 
 
 Good-by to Flattery s fawning face, 
 
 To Grandeur, with his wise grimace. 
 
 To upstart Wealth's averted eye, 
 
 To supple Office low and high, 
 
 To crowded halls, to court, and street. 
 
 To frozen hearts, and hasting feet. 
 
 To those who go, and those who come, 
 
 Good-by, proud world, I'm going home. 
 
 .51 
 
52 GOOD-BY. 
 
 Fm going to my own lieartli-stone 
 T-^osomed in yon green liills, alone, 
 A secret nook in a pleasant land, 
 Whose groves the frolic fairies planned ; 
 Where arches green the livelong day 
 Echo the blackbird's roundelay. 
 And vnlgar feet have never trod 
 A spot that is sacred to thought and God. 
 
 Oh, when I ain safe in my sylvan home, 
 I tread on the pride of Greece and Rome ; 
 And Avdien I am stretched beneath the pines 
 AVhere the evening star so holy shines, 
 I laugh at the lore and the piide of man, 
 At tlie sophist schools, and the learned clan ; 
 For what are they all in their high conceit, 
 W^hen man in the bush with God may meet. 
 
THE RHODORA, 
 
 ON BEING ASKED, WHENCE IS THE FLOWER. 
 
 In May, when sea- winds pierced our solitudes, 
 I found the fresh Rhodora in the woods. 
 Spreading its leafless blooms in a damp nook. 
 To please the desert and the sluggish brook. 
 The purple petals fallen in the pool 
 Made the black water with their beauty gay ; 
 Here might the red-bird come his plumes to 
 
 cool. 
 And court the flower that cheapens his array. 
 Rhodora ! if the sages ask thee why 
 This charm is wasted on the earth and sky. 
 Tell them, dear, that, if eyes were made for 
 
 seeing, 
 
 Then beauty is its own excuse for being ; 
 
 5*3 
 
54 THE RHODORA. 
 
 Why thou wert there, O rival of the rose ! 
 I never thought to ask ; I never knew ; 
 But in my simple ignorance suppose 
 The self-same power that brought me there, 
 brought you. 
 
THE HUMBLEBEE. 
 
 Burly dozing humblebee ! 
 Where thou art is clime for me. 
 Let them sail for Porto Rique, 
 Far-off heats through seas to seek, 
 I will follow thee alone, 
 Thou animated torrid zone ! 
 Zig-zag steerer, desert-cheerer, 
 Let me chase thy waving lines, 
 Keep me nearer, me thy hearer, 
 Singing over shrubs and vines. 
 
 Insect lover of the sun, 
 
 Joy of thy dominion ! 
 
 Sailor of the atmosphere. 
 
 Swimmer through the waves of air. 
 
 Voyager of light and noon. 
 
 Epicurean of June, 
 
 Wait I prithee, till I come 
 
 55 
 
56 THE HUMBLEBEE. 
 
 Within ear-shot of thy hum, — 
 
 All without is martyrdom. 
 
 When the south wind, in May days, 
 
 With a net of shining haze. 
 
 Silvers the horizon wall. 
 
 And, with softness touching all, 
 
 Tints the human countenance 
 
 With a color of romance. 
 
 And, infusing subtle heats, 
 
 Turns the sod to violets. 
 
 Thou in sunny solitudes, 
 
 Kover of the underwoods. 
 
 The green silence dost displace, 
 
 With thy mellow breezy bass. 
 
 Hot midsummer's petted crone, 
 Sweet to me thy drowsy tune. 
 Telling of countless sunny hours. 
 Long days, and solid banks of flowers. 
 Of gulfs of sweetness without bound 
 In Indian wildernesses found, 
 
THE HUMBLEBEE. 57 
 
 Of Syrian peace, immortal leisure, 
 Firmest cheer and bird-like pleasure. 
 
 Auglit unsavory or unclean, 
 Hath my insect never seen. 
 But violets and bilberry bells. 
 Maple sap and daffodels, 
 Grass with green flag half-mast high, 
 Succory to match the sky, 
 Columbine with horn of honey. 
 Scented fern, and agrimony. 
 Clover, catchfly, adders-tongue, 
 And brier-roses dwelt among ; 
 All beside was unknown waste, 
 All was picture as he passed. 
 
 Wiser far than human seer, 
 Yellow-breeched philosopher ! 
 Seeing only what is fair, 
 Sipping only what is sweet, 
 Thou dost mock at fate and care, 
 Leave the chaff and take the wheat. 
 
5S THE BUMBLEBEE. 
 
 When tlie fierce northwestern blast 
 Cools sea and land so far and fast, 
 Thou already slumberest deep, — 
 Woe and want thou canst out-sleep, — 
 Want and ^voe ^vhich torture us, 
 Thy sleep makes ridiculous. 
 
BERRYING. 
 
 " May be true wliat I had heard, 
 
 Earth's a howling wilderness 
 
 Truculent with fraud and force," 
 
 Said I, strolling through the pastures, 
 
 And along the riverside. 
 
 Caught among the blackberry vines, 
 
 Feeding on the Ethiops sweet, 
 
 Pleasant fancies overtook me : 
 
 I said, " What influence me preferred 
 
 Elect to dreams thus beautiful ? " 
 
 The vines replied, '' And didst thou deem 
 
 No wisdom to our berries went ? " 
 
 59 
 
THE SNOW-STORM. 
 
 Announced by all the trumpets of the sky 
 Arrives the snow, and, driving o'er the fields, 
 Seems nowhere to alight : the whited air 
 Hides hills and woods, the river and the 
 
 heaven. 
 And veils the farm-house at the garden's end. 
 The steed and traveller stoj)ped, the courier's 
 
 feet 
 Delayed, all friends shut out, the housemates 
 
 sit. 
 
 Around the radiant fireplace, enclosed 
 
 In a tumultuous privacy of storm. 
 
 Come, see the north wind's masonry. 
 
 Out of an unseen (quarry evermore 
 
 Furnished with tile, the fierce artificer 
 
 Curves his white bastions with projected roof 
 60 
 
THE SNOW-STORM. 61 
 
 Kound every windward stake, or tree, or door. 
 
 Speeding, the myriad-handed, his wild work 
 
 So fanciful, so savage, naught cares he 
 
 For number or proportion. Mockingly 
 
 On coop or kennel he hangs Parian wreaths ; 
 
 A swan-like fonn invests the hidden thorn ; 
 
 Fills up the farmer's lane from wall to wall, 
 
 Maugre the farmer's sighs, and at the gate 
 
 A tapering turret overtops the work. 
 
 And when his hours are numbered, and the 
 
 world 
 Is all his own, retiring, as he were not. 
 Leaves, when the sun appears, astonished Art 
 To mimic in slow structures, stone by stone, 
 Built in an age, the mad wind's night- work. 
 The frolic architecture of the snow. 
 
WOOD NOTES. 
 
 For this present, hard 
 
 Is the fortune of the bar { 
 
 Born out of time ; 
 
 All his accomplishment 
 
 From nature's utmost treasure spent 
 
 Booteth not him. 
 
 When the pine tosses its cones 
 
 To the song of its waterfall tones, 
 
 He speeds to the woodland walks, 
 
 To birds and trees he talks. 
 
 Caesar of his leafy Rome, 
 
 There the poet is at home. 
 
 He goes to the riverside, — 
 
 Not hook nor line hath he : 
 
 62 
 
WOOD NOTES. 63 
 
 He stands in the meadows wide, — 
 
 Nor gun nor scythe to see ; 
 
 With none has he to do, 
 
 And none seek him, 
 
 Nor men below, 
 
 Nor spirits dim. 
 
 Sure some god his eye enchants, 
 
 What he knows, nobody wants. 
 
 In the wood he travels glad 
 
 Without better fortune had, 
 
 Melancholy without bad. 
 
 Planter of celestial plants. 
 
 What he knows, nobody wants, — 
 
 What he knows, he hides, not vaunts. 
 
 Knowledge tliis man prizes best 
 
 Seems fantastic to the rest. 
 
 Pondering shadows, colors, clouds, 
 
 Grass buds, and caterpillars' shrouds. 
 
 Boughs on which the wild bees settle. 
 
 Tints that spot the violet's petal. 
 
 Why nature loves the number five. 
 
64 WOOD NOTES. 
 
 And why the star-form she repeats, 
 Lover of all things alive, 
 Wonderer at all he meets, 
 Wonderer chiefly at himself, — 
 Who can tell him what he is, 
 Or how meet in human elf 
 Coming and past eternities ? 
 
 And such I knew, a forest seer, 
 A minstrel of the natural year. 
 Foreteller of the vernal ides, 
 Wise harbinger of spheres and tides, 
 A lover true who knew by heart 
 Each joy the mountain dales impart ; 
 It seemed that nature could not raise 
 A plant in any secret place. 
 In quaking bog, on snowy hill, 
 Beneath the grass that shades the rill. 
 Under the snow, between the rocks. 
 In damp fields known to bird and fox. 
 
WOOD NOTES. 65 
 
 But he would come in the very hour 
 It opened in its virgin bower, 
 As if a sunbeam showed the place, 
 And tell its long-descended race. 
 It seemed as if the breezes brought him. 
 It seemed as if the sparrows taught him, 
 As if by secret sight he kne^v 
 Where in far fields the orchis grew. 
 There are many events in the field 
 Which are not shown to common eyes. 
 But all her shows did nature yield 
 To please and win this pilgrim wise. 
 He saw the partridge drum in the woods, 
 He heard the woodcock's evening hymn. 
 He found the tawny thrush's broods. 
 And the shy hawk did wait for him. 
 What others did at distance hear, 
 And guessed within the thicket's gloom, 
 AVas showed to this philosopher. 
 And at his bidding seemed to come. 
 
GQ WOOD NOTES. 
 
 Ill luiploughed Maine, lie sought the lumberer's 
 
 gang, 
 Where from a hundred lakes young rivers 
 
 sprang ; 
 He trod the unphuited forest-floor, a\ liereon 
 The all-seeing sun for ages hath not shone, 
 Where feeds the moose, and Av^alks the surly 
 
 bear. 
 And up the tall mast runs the woodpecker. 
 He sa^v, beneath dim aisles, in odorous beds, 
 The slight Linna^a hang its t^vin-born heads. 
 And blessed the monument of the man of 
 
 floAvers, 
 Which breathes his s^veet fame through the 
 
 Northern l)o\vers. 
 He heard A\hen in the grove, at intervals, 
 AYith sudden roar the aged pine tree falls, — 
 One crash the deatli-hymn of the perfect tree, 
 Declares tlie close of its green century. 
 
WOOD NOTES. 67 
 
 Low lies the plant to wliose creation went 
 
 Sweet influence from every element ; 
 
 Whose living towers the years conspired to 
 
 build, 
 Wliose giddy top the morning loved to gild. 
 Through these green tents, by eldest nature 
 
 drest, 
 lie roamed, content alike with man and ])east. 
 AVhere darkness found him, he lay glad at 
 
 niglit ; 
 
 There the red morning touched him with its 
 
 lidit. 
 Three moons his ij^reat heart him a hermit 
 
 made, 
 So long he roved at will the boundless shade. 
 The timid it concerns to ask their Avay, 
 And fear a\ hat foe in caves and swamps can 
 
 stray. 
 To make no step mitil the event is known. 
 And ills to come as evils past bemoan : 
 Not so the wise ; no coward ^^'atch he keeps, 
 
68 WOOD NOTES. 
 
 To spy what danger on his pathway creeps ; 
 Go where he will, the wise man is at home, 
 His hearth the earth; — his hall the azure 
 
 dome ; 
 Where his clear spirit leads him, there's his 
 
 road, 
 By God's own light illumined and foreshowed. 
 
 'Twas one of the charmed days 
 
 When the genius of God doth flow, 
 
 The wind may alter twenty ways, 
 
 A tempest cannot blow : 
 
 It may blow north, it still is warm ; 
 
 Or south it still is clear ; 
 
 Or east, it smells like a clover farm ; 
 
 Or west, no thunder fear. 
 
 The musing peasant lowly great 
 
 Beside the forest water sate : 
 
 The rope-like pine-roots crosswise grown 
 
 Composed the network of his throne ; 
 
WOOD NOTES. 69 
 
 The wide lake edged with sand and grass 
 
 Was burnished to a floor of glass, 
 
 Painted with shadows green and proud 
 
 Of the tree and of the cloud. 
 
 He Avas the heart of all the scene, 
 
 On him the sun looked more serene, 
 
 To hill and cloud his face was known, 
 
 It seemed the likeness of their own. 
 
 They knew by secret sympathy 
 
 The public child of earth and sky. 
 
 You ask, he said, what guide. 
 
 Me through trackless thickets led. 
 
 Through thick-stemmed woodlands rough and 
 
 wide? 
 I found the waters' bed : 
 I travelled grateful by their side. 
 Or through their channel dry ; 
 They led me through the thicket damp. 
 Through brake and fern, the beavers' camp, 
 Through beds of granite cut my road. 
 And their resistless friendship showed. 
 
70 WOOD NOTES. 
 
 The falling waters led me, 
 
 The foodful ^vaters fed me, 
 
 And brought me to the lowest land, 
 
 Unerring to the ocean sand. 
 
 The moss upon the forest bark 
 
 Was pole-star ^^ hen the night was dark ; 
 
 The purple berries in the wood 
 
 Supplied me necessary food. 
 
 For nature ever faithful is 
 
 To such as trust her faithfulness. 
 
 When the forest shall mislead me. 
 
 When the night and morning lie. 
 
 When sea and land refuse to feed me, 
 
 'Twill be time enough to die ; 
 
 Then will yet my mother yield 
 
 A pillow in her greenest field. 
 
 Nor the June floAvers scorn to cover 
 
 The clay of their departed lover. 
 
WOOD NOTES. 
 II. 
 
 As sunbeams stream through liberal s])ace^ 
 And notliing jostle or displace^ 
 So ivaved the pine tree through my thought^ 
 And fanned the dreams it never brought. 
 
 " Whether is better the gift or the donor ? 
 
 Come to me," 
 
 Quoth the pine tree, 
 
 " I am the giver of honor. 
 
 My garden is the cloven rock. 
 
 And my manure the snow. 
 
 And drifting sand heaps feed my stock, 
 
 In summer's scorching glow. 
 
 Ancient or curious. 
 
 Who knoweth ausrht of us ? 
 
 ^ 71 
 
72 WOOD NOTEa 
 
 Old as Jove, 
 
 Old as Love, 
 
 Wlio of me 
 
 Tells the pedigree ? 
 
 Only the mountains old, 
 
 Only the waters cold, 
 
 Only moon and star 
 
 My coevals are. 
 
 Ere the first fowl sung 
 
 My relenting boughs among, 
 
 Ere Adam wived, 
 
 Ere Adam lived. 
 
 Ere the duck dived, 
 
 Ere the bees hived. 
 
 Ere the lion roared, 
 
 Ere the eagle soared, 
 
 Light and heat, land and sea 
 
 Spake unto the oldest tree. 
 
 Glad in the sweet and secret aid - 
 
 Which matter unto matter paid, 
 
 The water flowed, the breezes fanned, 
 
WOOD NOTES. 73 
 
 The tree confined the roving sand, 
 
 The sunbeam gave me to the sight, 
 
 The tree adorned the formless light, 
 
 And once again 
 
 O'er the grave of men 
 
 We shall talk to each other again 
 
 Of the old age behind. 
 
 Of the time out of mind, 
 
 Which shall come again." 
 
 " Whether is better the gift of the donor ? 
 
 Come to me," 
 
 Quoth the pine tree, 
 
 " I am the giver of honor. 
 
 He is great who can live by me ; 
 
 The rough and bearded forester 
 
 Is better than the lord ; 
 
 God fills the scrip and canister, 
 
 Sin piles the loaded board. 
 
 The lord is the peasant that was. 
 
 The peasant the lord that shall be, 
 
74 WOOD NOTES. 
 
 The lord is hay, the peasant grass, 
 
 One dry and one the living tree. 
 
 Genius with my boughs shall flourish, 
 
 Want and cold our roots shall nourish ; 
 
 Who liveth by the ragged pine, 
 
 Foundeth a heroic line ; 
 
 Who liveth in the palace hall, 
 
 Waneth fast and spendeth all : 
 
 He goes to my savage haunts, 
 
 With his chai'iot and his care. 
 
 My t^vilight realm he disenchants. 
 
 And finds his prison there. 
 
 What prizes the town and the tower ? 
 
 Only what the pine tree yields, 
 
 Sinew that subdued the fields. 
 
 The Avi Id-eyed boy who in the woods 
 
 Chants his h}'mn to hill and floods. 
 
 Whom the city's poisoning spleen 
 
 Made not pale, or fat, or lean, 
 
 Whom the rain and the ^vind purgeth, 
 
 AVhom the dawn and the day-star urgeth, 
 
WOOD NOTES. Y5 
 
 In whose clieek the rose leaf blusheth, 
 
 In whose feet the lion rusheth, 
 
 Iron arms and iron monld, 
 
 That knew not fear, fatigne, or cold. 
 
 I give my rafters to his boat, 
 
 My billets to his boiler"'s throat. 
 
 And I will swim the ancient sea 
 
 To float my child to victory, 
 
 And grant to d\vellers with the pine, 
 
 Dominion o^er the palm and vine. 
 
 WestAvard I ope the forest gates. 
 
 The train along the railroad skates. 
 
 It leaves the land behind, like ages past. 
 
 The foreland fioAvs to it in river fast, 
 
 Missouri I have made a mart, 
 
 I teach loAva Saxon art. 
 
 Who leaves the pine tree, leaves his friend, 
 
 Unnerves his strength, invites his end. 
 
 Cut a bough from my parent stem, 
 
 And dip it in thy porcelain vase; 
 
 A little while each russet gem 
 
76 WOOD NOTES. 
 
 Will swell and rise with wonted grace, 
 But when it seeks enlarged supplies, 
 The orphan of the forest dies. 
 
 Whoso Avalketh in solitude, 
 And inhabiteth the wood, 
 Choosing light, wave, rock, and bird. 
 Before the money -loving herd. 
 Into that forester shall pass 
 From these companions power and grace ; 
 Clean shall he be without, within. 
 From the old adhering sin ; 
 Love shall he, but not adulate, 
 The all-fair, the all-embracing Fate, 
 All ill dissolving in the light 
 Of his triumphant piercing sight. 
 Not vain, sour, nor frivolous. 
 Not mad, athirst, nor garrulous. 
 Grave, chaste, contented, though retired, 
 And of all other men desired. 
 On him the light of star and moon 
 
WOOD NOTES. 77 
 
 Shall fall with purer radiance down ; 
 All constellations of the sky 
 Shed their virtue through his eye. 
 Him nature giveth for defence 
 His formidable innocence, 
 The mountain sap, the shells, the sea, 
 All spheres, all stones, his helpers be : 
 He shall never be old. 
 Nor his fate shall be foretold ; 
 He shell see the speeding year. 
 Without wailing, without fear ; 
 He shall be happy in his love. 
 Like to like shall joyful prove. 
 He shall be happy whilst he woos 
 Muse-born a daughter of the Muse ; 
 But if with gold she bind her hair. 
 And deck her breast with diamond. 
 Take off thine eyes, thy heart foi'bear. 
 Though thou lie alone on the ground : 
 The robe of silk in which she shines. 
 It was woven of many sins. 
 
/^g WOOD NOTES. 
 
 And the slireds 
 
 Which she sheds 
 
 In the Av earing of the same, 
 
 Shall be grief on grief, 
 
 And shame on shame. 
 
 Heed the old oracles. 
 
 Ponder my spells. 
 
 Song wakes in my pinnacles, 
 
 AVhen the wind swells. 
 
 Soundeth the prophetic wind, 
 
 The shadows shake on tlie rock behind, 
 
 And the countless leaves of the pine are strings 
 
 Tuned to the lay the wood-god sings. 
 
 Hearken ! hearken ! 
 
 If thou wouldst know the mystic song 
 
 Chanted when the sphere ^vas young. 
 
 Aloft, abroad, the pi«an s^vells, 
 
 O Avise man, hear'st thou half it tells ? 
 
 O Avise man, hear'st thou the least part ? 
 
 'Tis the chronicle of art. 
 
 To the open ear it sings 
 
WOOD NOTES. 79 
 
 The early genesis of tilings ; 
 
 Of tendency tlirongli endless ages, 
 
 Of star-dust, and star -pilgrimages, 
 
 Of rounded worlds, of space, and time. 
 
 Of the old flood's subsiding slime, 
 
 Of chemic matter, force, and form. 
 
 Of poles and powers, cold, wet, and warm, 
 
 The rushing metamorphosis 
 
 Dissolving all that fixture is. 
 
 Melts things that be to things that seem, 
 
 And solid nature to a dream. 
 
 Oh, listen to the under song. 
 
 The ever old, the ever young. 
 
 And far within those cadent pauses, 
 
 The chorus of the ancient Causes. 
 
 Delights the dreadful destiny 
 
 To fling his voice into the tree. 
 
 And shock thy weak ear with a note 
 
 Breathed from the everlasting throat. 
 
 In music he repeats the pang 
 
 Whence the fair flock of nature sprang. 
 
80 WOOD NOTES. 
 
 O mortal ! tliy ears are stones ; 
 
 These echoes are laden with tones 
 
 Which only the j^ure can hear, 
 
 Thou canst not catch what they recite 
 
 Of Fate, and AVill, of AVant, and Eight, 
 
 Of man to come, of human life. 
 
 Of Death, and Fortune, Growth, and Strife." 
 
 Once again the pine tree sung ; — 
 
 " Speak not thy speech my boughs among. 
 
 Put off thy years, wash in the breeze. 
 
 My hours are peaceful centuries. 
 
 Talk no more with feeble tongue ; 
 
 No more the fool of space and time. 
 
 Come weav^e with mine a nobler rhyme. 
 
 Only thy Americans 
 
 Can read thy line, can meet thy glance, 
 
 But the runes that I rehearse 
 
 Understands the universe. 
 
 The least breath my boughs which tossed 
 
 Brings again the Pentecost ; 
 
WOOD NOTES. 81 
 
 To every soul it soundetli clear 
 
 In a voice of solemn clieer, 
 
 ' Am I not thine ? are not these thine ? ' 
 
 And thy repl}^, ' Forever mine.' 
 
 My branches speak Italian, 
 
 English, German, Basque, Castilian 
 
 Mountain speech to Highlanders, 
 
 Ocean tongues to islanders. 
 
 To Finn, and Lap, and swart Malay, 
 
 To each his bosom secret say. 
 
 Come learn Avith me the fatal sonsf 
 
 Which knits the world in music strong. 
 
 Whereto every bosom dances 
 
 Kindled with couraGfeous fancies : 
 
 Come lift thine eyes to lofty rhymes 
 
 Of things with things, of times ^vith times, 
 
 Primal chimes of sun and shade. 
 
 Of sound and echo, man and maid ; 
 
 The land reflected in the flood ; 
 
 Body with shadow still pursued. 
 6 
 
82 WOOD NOTES. 
 
 For nature beats in perfect tune, 
 
 And rounds witli rhyme her every rune, 
 
 Whether she ANork in hmd or sea, 
 
 Or hide underground her alchemy. 
 
 Thou canst not ^rave thy staff in air. 
 
 Or dip thy paddle in the lake, 
 
 But it carves the boAv of beauty there. 
 
 And the I'ipples in rhymes the oar forsake. 
 
 The wood is wiser far than thou : 
 
 The wood and Avave each other know. 
 
 Not unrelated, unaffied. 
 
 But to each thought and thing allied. 
 
 Is peifect nature's every part. 
 
 Booted in the mighty heart. 
 
 But tliou, poor child ! unbound, uiu'hymed, 
 
 Whence earnest thou, misplaced, mistimed ? 
 
 AVhence, O thou orphan and defrauded ? 
 
 Is thy land peeled, thy realm marauded ? 
 
 Who thee divorced, deceived, and left ; 
 
 Thee of thy faitli anIio hath bereft. 
 
 And torn the ensigns from thy bro^v, 
 
WOOD NOTES. 83 
 
 And sunk the immortal eye so low ? 
 
 Thy cheek too white, thy form too slender, 
 
 Thy gait too slow, thy habits tender, 
 
 For royal man ; they thee confess 
 
 An exile from the wilderness, — 
 
 The hills where health with health agrees, 
 
 And the wise soul expels disease. 
 
 Hark ! in thy ear I will tell the sign 
 
 By which thy hurt thou niayst divine. 
 
 When thou shalt climb the mountain cliff. 
 
 Or see the ^vide shore from thy skiff, 
 
 To thee the horizon shall express 
 
 Only emptiness and emptiness ; 
 
 There is no man of nature's worth 
 
 In the circle of the earth. 
 
 And to thine eye the vast skies fall 
 
 Dire and satirical 
 
 On clucking hens, and prating fools. 
 
 On thieves, on drudges, and on dolls. 
 
 And thou shalt say to the Most High, 
 
 ' Godhead ! all this astronomy, 
 
84 WOOD NOTES. 
 
 And Fate, and practice, and invention, 
 Strong art, and beautiful pretension, 
 This radiant pomp of sun and star. 
 Throes that ^vere, and worlds that are, 
 Behold ! were in vain and in vain ; — 
 It cannot ])e, — I will look again, — 
 Surely no^v ^\'ill the curtain rise, 
 And earth's fit tenant me surprise ; 
 But the curtain doth not rise. 
 And nature has miscarried wholly 
 Into failure, into folly.' 
 
 Alas ! thine is the bankruptcy. 
 
 Blessed nature so to see. 
 
 Come lay thee in my soothing shade. 
 
 And heal the hurts which sin has made. 
 
 I will teach the bright parable 
 
 Older than time. 
 
 Things undeclarable. 
 
 Visions sublime. 
 
 I see thee in the crowd alone ; 
 
WOOD NOTES. 85 
 
 I will be thy companion. 
 
 Let tliy friends be as the dead in doom, 
 
 And build to them a final tomb ; 
 
 Let the starred shade which mighty falls 
 
 Still celebrate their funerals, 
 
 And the bell of beetle and of bee 
 
 Knell their melodious memory. 
 
 Behind thee leave thy merchandise, 
 
 Thy churches, and thy charities. 
 
 And leave thy peacock wit behind ; 
 
 Enough for thee the primal mind 
 
 That flows in streams, that breathes in wind 
 
 Leave all thy pedant lore apart ; 
 
 God hid the whole world in thy heart. 
 
 Love shuns the sage, the child it crowns, 
 
 And gives them all who all renounce. 
 
 The rain comes when the wind calls. 
 
 The river knows the way to the sea, 
 
 Without a pilot it runs and falls. 
 
 Blessing all lands with its charity. 
 
 The sea tosses and foams to find 
 
80 WOOD NOTES. 
 
 Its way up to the cloud and wind, 
 The shado^v sits close to the flying ball, 
 The date fails not on the palm tree tall, 
 And thou, — go burn thy wormy pages, — 
 Shalt outsee the seer, outwit the sages. 
 Oft didst thou thread the woods in vain 
 To find what bird had piped the strain,— 
 Seek not, and the little eremite 
 Flies gayly forth and sings in sight. 
 
 Hearken ! once more ; 
 I ^v\l\ tell the mundane lore. 
 Older am I than thy numbers wot, 
 Change I may, but I pass not ; 
 Hitherto all things fast abide. 
 And anchored in the tempest ride. 
 Trendrant time behooves to hurry 
 All to yean and all to bury ; 
 All the forms are fugitive, 
 But the substances survive. 
 Evei' fresh the broad creation. 
 
WOOD NOTES. S7 
 
 A divine improvisation, 
 From the heart of God proceeds, 
 A single will, a million deeds. 
 Once slept the world an egg of stone, 
 And pulse, and sonnd, and light was none ; 
 And God said. Throb ; and there was motion, 
 And the vast mass became vast ocean. 
 Onward and on, the eternal Pan 
 Who lajeth the world's incessant plan, 
 Halteth never in one shape, 
 But forever doth escape. 
 Like wave or flame, into new forms 
 Of gem, and air, of plants and worms. 
 I, that to-day am a pine, 
 Yesterday was a bnndle of grass. 
 He is free and libertine, 
 Pouring of his power the wine 
 To every age, to every race. 
 Unto every race and age 
 He emptieth the beverage ; 
 Unto each, and unto all, 
 
88 WOOD NOTES. 
 
 Maker and original. 
 
 The world is the ]'ing of his spells, 
 
 And the play of his miracles. 
 
 As he giveth to all to drink, 
 
 Thus or thus they are and think. 
 
 He giveth little or giveth much, 
 
 To make them several or such. 
 
 AVith one drop sheds form and feature, 
 
 With the second a special nature, 
 
 The third adds heat\s indulgent spark, 
 
 The fourth gives light which eats the dark. 
 
 In the fifth drop himself he flings, 
 
 And conscious Law is King of Kings. 
 
 Pleaseth him the Eternal Child 
 
 To play his sweet will, glad and wikl ; 
 
 As the Lee through the garden ranges. 
 
 From world to world the godhead changes ; 
 
 As the sheep go feeding through the waste, 
 
 From form to form he maketh haste. 
 
 This vault ^vhicli glows immense with light 
 
 Is the inn where he lodges for a night. 
 
WOOD NOTES. 89 
 
 What recks such Traveller if the bovvers 
 
 Which bloom and fade like snmmer flowers. 
 
 A bunch of fragrant lilies be, 
 
 Or the stars of eternity ? 
 
 Alike to him the better, the worse. 
 
 The glowing angel, the outcast corse. 
 
 Thou metest him by centuries. 
 
 And lo ! he passes like the breeze ; 
 
 Thou seek'st in globe and galaxy, 
 
 He hides in pure transparency ; 
 
 Thou askest in fountains and in fires, 
 
 He is the essence that inquires. 
 
 He is the axis of the star ; 
 
 He is the sparkle of the spar ; 
 
 He is the heart of every creature ; 
 
 He is the meaning of each feature ; 
 
 And his mind is the sky 
 
 Than all it holds more deep, more high." 
 
MONADNOC. 
 
 TiioiTSAND minstrels woke ^vithin ine 
 
 '' Our music's in the hills ; " — 
 
 Gayest pictures rose to Avin me, 
 
 Leopard-co] ored rills. 
 
 U[) ! — If thou knew'st who calls 
 
 To twilight parks of ])eech and pine, 
 
 High over the river intervals, 
 
 Above the ploughman's highest line. 
 
 Over the o^vner's farthest avails ; — 
 
 Up ! — ^^here the airy citadel 
 
 Overlooks the purging landscape's SAvell. 
 
 Let not unto the etones the day 
 
 Her lily and rose, her sea aud land display; 
 
 Read the celestial sign ! 
 
 Lo ! tlie South answers to the Nortli ; 
 
 Bookworm Lreak this sloth urbane ; 
 90 
 
MONADNOC. 91 
 
 A greater Spirit bids tliee forth, 
 
 Than the gray dreams ^vhich thee detain. 
 
 Mark how the climl^ing Oreads 
 Beckon thee to their arcades ; 
 Yonth, for a moment free as they, 
 Teach thy feet to feel the ground, 
 Ei*e yet arrive the wintry day 
 When Time thy feet has bound. 
 Accept the bounty of thy birth ; 
 Taste the lordship of the earth. 
 
 I heard and I o1)eyed. 
 Assured that he Avho pressed the claim, 
 Well-kno^vn, but loving not a name, 
 Was not to be gainsaid. 
 
 Ere yet the summoning voice was still, 
 I turned to Cheshire's haughty hill. 
 From the fixed cone the cloud-rack flowed 
 Like ample banner flung abroad 
 
92 MONADNOC. 
 
 Round about, a hundred miles, 
 With invitation to the sea, and to the border- 
 ing isles. 
 
 In his own loom s garment drest, 
 By his own l)()unty blest. 
 Fast abides this constant giver. 
 Pouring many a cheerful river ; 
 To far eyes, an aerial isle, 
 Unploughed, ^vliich finer spirits pile, 
 Which morn and crimson evening paint 
 For bard, for lover, and for saint ; 
 The country's core, 
 Inspirer, prophet evermore. 
 Pillar Avhich God aloft had set 
 So that men might it not forget, 
 It should l)e their life's ornament. 
 And mix itself with each event ; 
 Their calendar and dial, 
 Barometer, and chemic pliial. 
 Garden of berries, pcrcli of birds, 
 
MONADNOC. 93 
 
 Pasture of poo] -haunting herds, 
 Graced by each change of sum untold, 
 Earth-baking heat, stone-cleaving cold. 
 
 The Titan minds his sk}^-affairs, 
 Rich rents and ^vide alliance shares ; 
 Mysteries of color daily laid 
 By the great sun in light and shade, 
 And sweet varieties of chance. 
 And the mystic seasons' dance. 
 And thief-like step of liberal hours 
 Which thawed the snow-drift into flo^vers. 
 O wondrous craft of plant and stone 
 By eldest science done and shown ! 
 Happy, I said, whose home is here. 
 Fair fortunes to the mountaineer ! 
 Boon nature to his poorest shed 
 Has royal pleasure-grounds outspread. 
 Intent I searched the region round. 
 And in low hut my monarch found. 
 He was no eagle and no earl, 
 
94 MONADNOC. 
 
 Alas ! my foundling was a churl, 
 With heart of cat, and eyes of bug, 
 Dull victim of his pipe and mug ; 
 Woe is me for my hopes' doA\^nfall ! 
 Lord ! is yon squalid peasant all 
 That this proud nursery could breed 
 For God's vicegerency and stead ? 
 Time out of mind this forge of ores, 
 Quarry of spars in mountain pores. 
 Old cradle, hunting ground, and bier 
 Of Avolf and otter, bear and deer ; 
 Well-built abode of many a race ; 
 Tower of observance searching space ; 
 Factory of river, and of rain ; 
 Link in the alps' globe-girding chain ; 
 By million changes skilled to tell 
 What in the Eternal standeth Avell, 
 And ^vhat obedient nature can — 
 Is this colossal talismnn 
 Kindly to creature, blood, and kind. 
 And speechless to the master's mind ? 
 
MONADNOC. 95 
 
 I thought to find the patriots 
 In whom the stock of freedom roots. 
 To myself I oft recount 
 Tales of many a famous mount. — 
 Wales, Scotland, Uri, Hungary's dells, 
 Roys, and Scanderbegs, and Tells. 
 Here now shall nature crowd her powders, 
 Her music, and her meteors, 
 And, lifting man to the blue deep 
 Where stars their perfect courses keep, 
 Like wise perceptor lure his eye 
 To sound the science of the sky. 
 And carry learning to its height 
 Of untried power and sane delight ; 
 The Indian cheer, the frosty skies 
 Breed purer wits, inventive eyes. 
 Eyes that frame cities where none be. 
 And hands that stablish what these see : 
 And, by the moral of his place. 
 Hint summits of heroic grace ; 
 Man in these crags a fastness find 
 
96 MONADNOC. 
 
 To fight pollution of the mind ; 
 In the wide thaw and ooze of wrong, 
 Adhere like this foundation strong, 
 The insanity of towns to stem 
 With simpleness for stratagem. 
 But if the brave old mould is broke, 
 And end in clowns the mountain-folk. 
 In tavern cheer and tavern joke, — 
 Sink, O mountain ! in the sw^amp. 
 Hide in thy skies, O sovereign lap ! 
 Perish like leaves the highland breed ! 
 No sire survive, no son succeed ! 
 
 Soft ! let not the offended muse 
 Toil's hard hap with scorn accuse. 
 Many hamlets sought I then. 
 Many farms of mountain men ; — 
 Found I not a minstrel seed, 
 But men of bone, and good at need. 
 Rallying round a parish steeple 
 Nestle warm the highland people, 
 
MONADNOC. 9T 
 
 Coarse and boisterous, yet mild, 
 Strong as giant, slow as child, 
 Smoking in a squalid room, 
 AVhere yet the westland ])reezes come. 
 Close hid in those rough guises lurk 
 Western magians, here they work ; 
 Sweat and season are their arts, 
 Their talismans are ploughs and carts; 
 And well the youngest can command 
 Honey from the frozen land. 
 With sweet hay the swamp adorn. 
 Change the running sand to corn. 
 For wolves and foxes, lowing herds. 
 And for cold mosses, cream and curds ; 
 Weave wood to canisters and mats, 
 Drain s^veet maple- juice in vats. 
 No bird is safe that cuts the air, 
 From their riHe or their snare ; 
 No fish in river or in lake, 
 But their long hands it thence will take ; 
 And the country's iron face 
 
98 MONADNOC. 
 
 Like Avax their fasliioiiing skill betrays, 
 
 To fill the hollows, sink tlie hills, 
 
 Bridge gulfs, drain swamps, l)iiild dams and 
 
 mills. 
 And fit the bleak and howling place 
 For gardens of a finer race. 
 The Avorld-soul knows his o\\'n affaii*, 
 Fore-looking Avhen his hands prepare 
 For the next ages men of mould, 
 AVell embodied, well ensouled. 
 He cools the present's fiery glow, 
 Sets the life pulse strong, but slow. 
 Bitter winds and fasts austere. 
 His (piarantines and grottos, ^vliere 
 He slowly cures decrepit flesh. 
 And brings it infantile and fresh. 
 These exercises are the toys 
 And games Avith an hicli ]w. breathes his 
 
 boys. 
 They bide their time, and \vell can prove, 
 If need Av^re, their line from Jove, 
 
MONADNOC. 99 
 
 Of the same stuff, and so allayed, 
 
 As that whereof the sun is made ; 
 
 And of that fibre quick and strong 
 
 Whose throbs are love, whose thrills are song, 
 
 No^v in sordid weeds they sleep, 
 
 Their secret now in dulness keep. 
 
 Yet, ^vill you learn our ancient speech, 
 
 These the masters who can teach, 
 
 Fourscore or a hundred words 
 
 All their vocal muse affords, 
 
 These they turn in other fashion 
 
 Than the w^riter or the parson. 
 
 I can spare the college-bell. 
 
 And the learned lecture well. 
 
 Spare the clergy and libraries, 
 
 Institutes and dictionaries. 
 
 For the hardy English root 
 
 Thrives here lui valued underfoot. 
 
 Rude poets of the tavern hearth, 
 
 Squandering your unquoted mirth, 
 
 Which keeps the ground and never soars. 
 
100 MONADNOC. 
 
 While Jake retorts and Reuben roars, 
 Tougli and screaming as birch-bark, 
 Goes like bullet to its mark, 
 While the solid curse and jeer 
 Never balk the waiting ear : 
 To student ears keen-relished jokes 
 On truck, and stock, and farming-folks,- 
 Nought the mountain yields thereof 
 But savage health and sinews tough. 
 
 On the summit as I stood. 
 
 O'er the wide floor of plain and flood. 
 
 Seemed to me the towering hill 
 
 Was not altogether still, 
 
 But a quiet sense conveyed ; 
 
 If I err not, thus it said : 
 
 Many feet in summer seek 
 Betimes my far-appearing peak; 
 In the dreaded winter-time. 
 None save dappling shadows climb 
 
MONADNOC. 101 
 
 Under clouds my lonely head, 
 
 Old as tlie sun, old almost as the shade. 
 
 And comest thou 
 
 To see strange forests and new snow, 
 
 And tread uplifted land ? 
 
 And leavest thou thy lowland race, 
 
 Here amid clouds to stand. 
 
 And would'st be my companion, 
 
 Where I gaze 
 
 And shall gaze 
 
 When forests fall, and man is gone, 
 
 Over tribes and over times 
 
 As the burning Lyre 
 
 Nearing me, 
 
 With its stars of northern fire, 
 
 In many a thousand years. 
 
 Ah ! w^elcome, if thou bring 
 My secret in my brain ; 
 To mountain -top may muse's wing 
 With good allowance strain. 
 
102 MONADNOC. 
 
 (xentle pilgrim, if thou know 
 
 The gamut old of Pan, 
 
 And how the hills began, 
 
 The frank blessings of the hill 
 
 Fall on thee, as fall they will. 
 
 'Tis the law of the bush and stone — 
 
 Each can only take his OAvn. 
 
 Let him heed who can and will, — 
 
 Enchantment fixed me here 
 
 To stand the hurts of time, until 
 
 In mightier chant I disappear. 
 
 If thou trowest 
 
 How the chemic eddies play 
 
 Pole to pole, and what they say, 
 
 And that these gray crags 
 
 Not on cracks are liunc:. 
 
 But beads are of a rosary 
 
 On prayer and nuisic strung ; 
 
 And, credulous, through the granite seeming 
 
 Seest the smile of Reason beaming ; 
 
 Can thy style-discerning eye 
 
MONADNOC. 103 
 
 The hidden-working Builder spy, 
 Who buihls, yet makes no chips, no din^ 
 With hammer soft as snow-flake's flight ; 
 Knowest thou this? 
 O pilgrim, wandering not amiss ! 
 Already my rocks lie light, 
 And soon my cone will spin. 
 For the world was built in order, 
 And the atoms march in tune. 
 Rhyme the pipe, and time the warder. 
 Cannot forget the sun, the moon. 
 Orb and atom forth they prance, 
 AVhen they hear from far the rune. 
 None so backward in the troop, 
 AVhen the music and the dance 
 Reach his place and circumstance, 
 But know the sun- creating sound. 
 And, through a pyramid, will bound. 
 
 Monadnoc is a mountain strong, 
 Tall and good my kind among. 
 
104 MONADNOC. 
 
 But well I know, no mountain can 
 
 Measure ^vith a perfect man ; 
 
 For it is on Zodiack's writ, 
 
 Adamant is soft to wit ; 
 
 And ^vllen the greater comes again, 
 
 With my music in his brain, 
 
 I shall pass as glides my shadow 
 
 Daily over hill and meadow. 
 
 Through all time 
 
 I hear the approaching feet 
 
 Along the flinty pathway beat 
 
 Of him that cometh, and shall come, — ■ 
 
 Of him who shall as lightly bear 
 
 My daily load of woods and streams, 
 
 As noAv^ the round sky-cleaving boat 
 
 Which never strains its rocky beams, 
 
 Whose timbers, as they silent float, 
 
 Alps and Caucasus uprear. 
 
 And the long Alleghanies here, 
 
MONADNOC. 105 
 
 And all town-sprinkled lands that be, 
 Sailing tlirougli stars with all their history. 
 
 Every morn I lift my head, 
 
 Gaze o'er New England underspread 
 
 South from Saint La^vrence to the Sound, 
 
 From Katshill east to the sea-bound. 
 
 Anchored fast for many an age, 
 
 I await the bard and sage, 
 
 Who in large thoughts, like fair pearl-seed, 
 
 Shall strins: Monadnoc like a bead. 
 
 Comes that cheerful troubadour, 
 
 This mound shall throb his face before, 
 
 As when with inward fires and pain 
 
 It rose a bubble from the plain 
 
 When he cometh, I shall shed 
 
 From this well-spring in my head 
 
 Fountain drop of spicier worth 
 
 Than all vintage of the earth. 
 
 There's fruit upon my barren soil 
 
 Costlier far than wine or oil : 
 
106 MONADNOC. 
 
 There's a berry blue and gold, — 
 Autumn -ripe its juices hold, 
 Sparta's stoutness, Bethlehem's heart, 
 Asia's rancor, Athens' art, 
 Slowsure . Britain's secular might. 
 And the German's inward sight ; 
 I will give my son to eat 
 Best of Pan's immortal meat. 
 Bread to eat and juice to drink. 
 So the thoughts that he shall think 
 Shall not be forms of stars, but stars. 
 Nor pictures pale, but Jove and Mars. 
 
 He comes, but not of that race bred 
 Who daily climb my specular head. 
 Oft as morning wreathes my scarf. 
 Fled the last plumule of the dark. 
 Pants up hither the spruce clerk 
 From South-Cove and City- wharf ; 
 I take him up my rugged sides. 
 Half -repentant, scant of breath, — 
 
 I 
 
MONADNOC. 107 
 
 Bead-eyes my granite chaos show, 
 
 And my midsummer snow ; 
 
 Open the daunting map beneath, — 
 
 All his county, sea and land, 
 
 Dwarf to measure of his hand ; 
 
 His day's ride is a furlong space. 
 
 His city tops a glimmering haze ; 
 
 I plant his eye on the sky -hoop bounding ; — ■ 
 
 See there the grim gray rounding 
 
 Of the bullet of the earth 
 
 Whereon ye sail 
 
 Tumbling steep 
 
 In the uncontinented deep ; — 
 
 He looks on that, and he turns pale : 
 
 'Tis even so, this treacherous kite. 
 
 Farm-furrowed, town-incrusted sphere, 
 
 Thoughtless of its anxious freight. 
 
 Plunges eyeless on forever. 
 
 And he, poor parasite, — 
 
 Cooped in a ship he cannot steer, 
 
 Who is the captain he knows not, 
 
108 MONADNOC. 
 
 Port or pilot he trows not, — 
 
 Risk or ruin he must share. 
 
 I scowl on him with my cloud, 
 
 With my north ^v ind chill his blood, 
 
 1 lame him clattering do^vn the rocks, 
 
 And to live he is in fear. 
 
 Then, at last, I let him down 
 
 Once more into his dapper town. 
 
 To chatter frightened to his clan. 
 
 And forget me, if he can. 
 
 As in the old poetic fame 
 
 The gods are blind and lame, 
 
 And the simular despite 
 
 Betrays the more abounding might, 
 
 So call not waste that barren cone 
 
 Above the floral zone, 
 
 Whei'e forests starve : 
 
 It is pure use ; 
 
 AVhat sheaves like those which here we glean 
 
 and bind. 
 Of a celestial Ceres, and the Muse ? 
 
MONADNOC. 109 
 
 Ages are thy days, 
 
 Thou grand expressor of the present tense, 
 
 And type of permanence, 
 
 Firm ensign of the fatal Being, 
 
 Amid these coward shapes of joy and grief 
 
 That will not bide the seeing. 
 
 Hither we bring 
 
 Our insect miseries to the rocks. 
 
 And the whole flight mth pestering wing 
 
 Vanish and end their murmuring, 
 
 Vanish beside these dedicated blocks, 
 
 Which, who can tell what mason laid ? 
 
 Spoils of a front none need restore, 
 
 Replacing frieze and architrave ; 
 
 Yet flowers each stone rosette and metope 
 
 brave. 
 Still is the haughty pile erect 
 Of the old building Intellect. 
 Complement of human kind. 
 Having us at vantage still. 
 Our sumptuous indigence, 
 
110 MONADNOC. 
 
 O barren mound ! thy plenties fill. 
 
 We fool and prate, — 
 
 Thou art silent and sedate. 
 
 To million kinds and times one sense 
 
 The constant mountain doth dispense, 
 
 Shedding on all its snows and leaves, 
 
 One joy it joys, one grief it grieves. 
 
 Thou seest, O watchman tall ! 
 
 Our towns and races grow and fall, 
 
 And imagest the stable Good 
 
 For which we all our lifetime grope, 
 
 In shifting form the formless mind ; 
 
 And though the substance tis elude, 
 
 We in thee the shadow find. 
 
 Thou in our astronomy 
 
 An opaker star. 
 
 Seen, haply, from afar, 
 
 Above the horizon's hoop. 
 
 A moment l)y the raihvay troop, 
 
 As o'er some bolder height they speed. 
 
 By circumspect ambition. 
 
MONADNOC. Ill 
 
 By errant Gain, 
 
 By feasters, and the frivolous, — 
 
 Recallest us, 
 
 And makest sane. 
 
 Mute orator ! well-skilled to plead. 
 
 And send conviction without phrase, 
 
 Thou dost supply 
 
 The shortness of our days, 
 
 And promise, on thy Founder's truth. 
 
 Long morrow to this mortal youth. 
 
FABLE. 
 
 The mountain and tlie squirrel 
 
 Had a quarrel, 
 
 And the former called the latter, " little prig " 
 
 Bun replied, 
 
 You are doubtless very big, 
 
 But all sorts of things and weather 
 
 Must be taken in together 
 
 To make up a year. 
 
 And a sphere. 
 
 And I think it no disgrace 
 
 To occupy my place. 
 
 If I'm not so large as you, 
 
 You are not so small as I, 
 
 And not half so spry : 
 
 I'll not deny you make 
 112 
 
FABLE. 113 
 
 A very pretty sqiiii-rel track ; 
 Talents differ ; all is well and wisely put ; 
 If I cannot carry forests on my back, 
 Neither can you ciacK a nut. 
 
ODE. 
 
 INSCRIBED TO WILLIAM II. CHANNIISTG. 
 
 Though lotli to grieve 
 The evil time's sole patriot, 
 I cannot leave 
 My buried thought 
 For the priest's cant, 
 Or statesman's rant. 
 
 If I refuse 
 
 My study for their politique, 
 
 Which at the best is trick, 
 
 The angry muse 
 
 Puts confusion in my brain. 
 
 But who is he that prates 
 
 Of the culture of mankind 
 
 Of better arts and life ? 
 
 Go, blind worm, go, 
 114 
 
ODE. 115 
 
 Behold the famous States 
 
 Harrying Mexico 
 
 With rifle and with knife. 
 
 Or who, with accent bolder, 
 
 Dare praise the freedom-loving mountaineer, 
 
 I found by thee, O rushing Contoocook ! 
 
 And in thy valleys, Agiochook ! 
 
 The jackals of the negro-holder. 
 
 The God who made New Hampshire 
 
 Taunted the lofty land 
 
 With little men. 
 
 Small bat and wren 
 
 House in the oak. 
 
 If earth fire cleave 
 
 The upheaved land, and bury the folk, 
 
 The southern crocodile would grieve. 
 
 Virtue palters, right is henc^ 
 Freedom praised but hid ; 
 Funeral eloquence 
 Rattles the coffin-lid. 
 
116 ODE. 
 
 What boots thy zeal, 
 O glo^ving friend, 
 That would indignant rend 
 The northland from the south ? 
 Wherefore ? To what good end ? 
 Boston Bay and Bunker Hill 
 Would serve things still : 
 Things are of the snake. 
 
 The horseman serves the horse, 
 The neat-herd serves the neat. 
 The merchant serves the purse. 
 The eater serves his meat ; 
 'Tis the day of the chattel, 
 Wei) to weave, and corn to grind. 
 Things are in the saddle. 
 And ride mankind. 
 
 There are two la^vs discrete 
 
 Not reconciled, 
 
 Law for man, and law for thing ;. 
 
ODE. 117 
 
 The last builds town and fleet, 
 
 But it runs wild, 
 
 And doth the man unking. 
 
 'Tis fit the forest fall, 
 The steep be graded, 
 The mountain tunnelled, 
 The land shaded, 
 The orchard planted, 
 The globe tilled. 
 The prairie planted, 
 The steamer built. 
 
 /^ 
 
 Let man serve law for man. 
 
 Live for friendship, live for love. 
 
 For truth's and harmony's behoof ; 
 
 The state may follow how it can. 
 
 As Olympus follows Jove. 
 
 Yet do not I implore 
 
 The wrinkled shopman to ray sounding woods. 
 
 Nor bid the unAvilling senator 
 
118 ODE. 
 
 Ask votes of thrushes in the solitudes. 
 
 Every one to his chosen work. 
 
 Foolish hands may mix and mar, 
 
 Wise and sure the issues are. 
 
 Eound they roll, till dark is light. 
 
 Sex to sex, and even to odd : 
 
 The over-God, 
 
 Who marries Right to Might, 
 
 Who peoples, unpeoples, 
 
 He who exterminates 
 
 Races by stronger races. 
 
 Black by white faces. 
 
 Knows to bring honey 
 
 Out of the lion. 
 
 Grafts gentlest scion 
 
 On Pirate and Turk. 
 
 The Cossack eats Poland, 
 Like stolen fruit ; 
 Her last noble is ruined, 
 Her last poet mute ; 
 
ODE. 119 
 
 Straight into double band 
 
 The victors divide, 
 
 Half for freedom strike and stand, 
 
 The astonished muse finds thousands at her side. 
 
ASTRJi^A. 
 
 Himself it was wlio wrote 
 
 His rank, and quartered his own coat. 
 
 There is no king nor sovereign state 
 
 That can fix a hero's rate ; 
 
 Each to all is venerable, 
 
 Cap-a-pie invulnerable. 
 
 Until he write, where all eyes rest, 
 
 Slave or master on his breast. 
 
 I saw men go up and down 
 
 In the country and the town, 
 
 With this prayer upon their neck, 
 
 ^' Judgment and a judge we seek." 
 
 Not to monarchs they repair, 
 
 Nor to learned jurist's chair. 
 
 But they hurry to their peers. 
 
 To their kinsfolk and their dears, 
 120 
 
ASTR^A. 121 
 
 Louder than with speech they pray, 
 What ain I ? companion ; sa)^ 
 And the friend not hesitates 
 To assign just place and mates, 
 Answers not in word or letter, 
 Yet is understood the better ; — 
 Is to his friend a looking-glass. 
 Reflects his figure that doth pass. 
 Every wayfarer he meets 
 What himself declared, repeats ; 
 What himself confessed, records ; 
 Sentences him in his words, 
 The form is his own corporal fonn. 
 And his thought the penal worm. 
 
 Yet shine for ever virgin minds, 
 Loved by stars and purest winds. 
 Which, o'er passion throned sedate, 
 Have not hazarded their state. 
 Disconcert the searching spy. 
 Rendering to a curious eye 
 
122 ASTR^A. 
 
 The durance of a granite ledge 
 
 To those Avho gaze from the sea's edge. 
 
 It is there for benefit, 
 
 It is there for purging light, 
 
 There for purifying storms. 
 
 And its depths reflect all forms ; 
 
 I cannot parley with the mean. 
 
 Pure by impure is not seen. 
 
 For there's no sequestered grot. 
 
 Lone mountain tarn, or isle forgot. 
 
 But justice journeying in the sphere 
 
 Daily stoops to harbor there. 
 
ETIENNE DE LA BOECE. 
 
 I SERVE you not, if you I follow, 
 
 Shadow-like, o'er hill and hollow. 
 
 And bend my fancy to your leading, 
 
 All too nimble for my treading. 
 
 When the pilgrimage is done. 
 
 And we've the landscape overrun, 
 
 I am bitter, vacant, thwarted. 
 
 And your heart is unsupported. 
 
 Vainly valiant, you have missed 
 
 The manhood that should yours resist, 
 
 Its complement ; but if I could 
 
 In severe or cordial mood 
 
 Lead you rightly to my altar. 
 
 Where the wisest muses falter. 
 
 And worship that world-warning spark 
 
 Which dazzles me in midnight dark, 
 
 123 
 
124 ETIENNE DE LA BOECE. 
 
 Equalizing small and large, 
 While the soul it doth surcharge, 
 That the poor is wealthy grown, 
 And the hermit never alone, 
 The traveller and the road seem one 
 With the errand to be done ; — 
 That were a man's and lover's part, 
 That were Freedom's whitest chart. 
 
^'SUUM cuique;' 
 
 The rain has spoiled the farmer's day ; 
 
 Shall sorrow put my books away ? 
 
 Thereby are two days lost : 
 
 Nature shall mind her own affairs, 
 
 I will attend my proper cares, 
 
 In rain, or sun, or frost. 
 
 125 
 
COMPENSATION. 
 
 Why should I keep holiday, 
 
 When other men have none ? 
 
 Why but because when these are gay, 
 
 I sit and mourn alone. 
 
 And why when mirth unseals all tongues 
 
 Should mine alone be dumb ? 
 
 Ah ! late I spoke to silent throngs* 
 
 And now their hour is come. 
 126 
 
FORBEARANCE. 
 
 Hast thou named all the birds without a gun ; 
 
 Loved the wood-rose, and left it on its stalk ; 
 
 At rich men's tables eaten bread and pulse ; 
 
 Unarmed, faced danger with a heart of trust ; 
 
 And loved so well a high behavior 
 
 In man or maid, that thou from speech refrained, 
 
 Nobility more nobly to repay ? — 
 
 be my friend, and teach me to be thine ! 
 
 127 
 
THE PARK. 
 
 The prosperous and beautiful 
 To me seem not to wear 
 The yoke of conscience masterful, 
 Which galls me everywhere. 
 
 I cannot shake off the god ; 
 On my neck he makes his seat ; 
 I look at my face in the glass, 
 My eyes his eyeballs meet. 
 
 Enchanters ! enchantresses ! 
 Your gold makes you seem wise : 
 The morning mist Avithin your grounds 
 More proudly rolls, more softly lies. 
 
 Yet spake yon purple mountain. 
 
 Yet said yon ancient wood, 
 
 That night or day, that love or crime 
 
 Lead all souls to the Good. 
 128 
 
THE FOKERUNNEES. 
 
 Long I followed happy guides, — 
 
 I could never reach their sides. 
 
 Their step is forth, and, ere the day. 
 
 Breaks up their leaguer, and away. 
 
 Keen my sense, my heart was young. 
 
 Right goodwill my sine^v^s strung, 
 
 But no speed of mine avails 
 
 To hunt upon their shining trails. 
 
 On and away, their hasting feet 
 
 Make the morning proud and sweet. 
 
 Flowers they stre^v, I catch the scent, 
 
 Or tone of silver instrument 
 
 Leaves on the ^vind melodious trace. 
 
 Yet I could ne\'er see their face. 
 
 On eastern hills I see their smokes 
 
 Mixed with mist by distant lochs. 
 
 I meet many travellers 
 
 9 129 
 
130 THE FORERUNNERS. 
 
 Who the road had surely kept, — 
 
 They saw not my fine revellers, — 
 
 These had crossed them while they slept. 
 
 Some had heard their fair report 
 
 In the country or the court. 
 
 Fleetest couriers alive 
 
 Never yet could once arrive. 
 
 As they went or they returned, 
 
 At the house wdiere these sojourned. 
 
 Sometimes their strong speed they slacken, 
 
 Though they are not overtaken : 
 
 In sleep, their jubilant troop is near, 
 
 I tuneful voices overhear, 
 
 It may be in wood or waste, — 
 
 At unawares 'tis come and passed. 
 
 Their near camp my spirit knows 
 
 By signs gracious as rainbows. 
 
 I thenceforward and long after 
 
 Listen for their harp-like laughter, 
 
 And carry in my heart for days 
 
 Peace that hallows rudest ways. — 
 
^'SURSUM CORD A." 
 
 Seek not tlie Spirit, if it hide, 
 
 Inexorable to tliy zeal : 
 
 Baby, do not whine and chide ; 
 
 Art thou not also real ? 
 
 Why should' st thou stoop to poor excuse ? 
 
 Turn on the Accuser roundly ; say, 
 
 " Here am I, here will I remain 
 
 Forever to myself soothfast. 
 
 Go thou, sweet Heaven, or, at thy pleasure 
 
 stay."— 
 
 Already Heaven with thee its lot has cast. 
 
 For it only can absolutely deal. 
 
 131 
 
ODE TO BEAUTY. 
 
 Who gave thee, O Beauty ! 
 
 The keys of this breast, 
 
 Too credulous lover 
 
 Of blest and unblest ? 
 
 Say when in lapsed ages 
 
 Thee knew I of old ; 
 
 Or what was the service 
 
 For which I was sold ? 
 
 When first my eyes saw thee, 
 
 I found me thy thrall, 
 
 By magical drawings. 
 
 Sweet tyrant of all ! 
 
 I drank at thy fountain 
 
 False waters of thirst ; 
 
 Thou intimate stranger. 
 
 Thou latest and fii'st ! 
 
 Thy dangerous glances 
 
 Make women of men ; 
 132 
 
ODE TO BEAUTY. 133 
 
 New-born we are melting 
 Into nature again. 
 
 Lavish, lavish promiser, 
 Nigh persuading gods to err, 
 Guest of million painted forms 
 Which in turn thy glory warms, 
 The frailest leaf, the mossy bark. 
 The acorn's cup, the raindrop's arc. 
 The swinging spider's silver line. 
 The ruby of the drop of wine. 
 The shining pebble of the pond, 
 Thou inscribest with a bond 
 In thy momentary play 
 Would bankrupt Nature to repay. 
 
 Ah ! what avails it 
 To hide or to shun 
 Whom the Infinite One 
 Hath granted his throne ? 
 The heaven high over 
 Is the deep's lover, 
 
134 ODE TO BEAUTY. 
 
 The sun and sea 
 
 Informed by thee, 
 
 Before me run, 
 
 And draw me on, 
 
 Yet fly me still, 
 
 As Fate refuses 
 
 To me the heart Fate for me chooses, 
 
 Is it that my opulent soul 
 
 Was mingled from the generous whole, 
 
 Sea valleys and the deep of skies 
 
 Furnished several supplies, 
 
 And the sands whereof I'm made 
 
 Draw me to them self -betrayed ? 
 
 I turn the proud portfolios 
 
 Which hold the grand designs 
 
 Of Salvator, of Guercino, 
 
 And Piranesi's lines. 
 
 I hear the lofty Paeans 
 
 Of the masters of the shell, 
 
 Who heard the starry music. 
 
 And recount the numbers well : 
 
ODE TO BEAUTY. 135 
 
 Olympian bards who sung 
 
 Divine Ideas below, 
 
 Which always find us young, 
 
 And alwaj^s keep us so. 
 
 Oft in streets or humblest places 
 
 I detect far wandered graces. 
 
 Which from Eden w:ide astray 
 
 In lowly homes have lost their way. 
 
 Thee gliding through the sea of form. 
 Like the lightning through the storm. 
 Somewhat not to be possessed. 
 Somewhat not to be caressed, 
 No feet so fleet could ever find, 
 No perfect form could ever bind. 
 Thou eternal fugitive 
 Hovering over all that live. 
 Quick and skilful to inspire 
 Sweet extravagant desire, 
 Starry space and lily bell 
 Filling with thy roseate smell, 
 
136 ODE TO BEAUTY. 
 
 Wilt not give the lips to taste 
 Of the nectar which thou hast. 
 
 All that's good and great with thee 
 Stands in deep conspiracy. 
 Thou hast bribed the dark and lonely 
 To report thy features only, 
 And the cold and purple morning 
 Itself with thoughts of thee adorning, 
 The leafy dell, the city mart, 
 Equal trophies of thine art, 
 E'en the flowing azure air 
 Thou hast touched for my despair, 
 And if I languish into dreams. 
 Again I meet the ardent beams. 
 Queen of things ! I dare not die 
 In Being's deeps past ear and eye, 
 Lest there I find the same deceiver, 
 And be the sport of Fate forever. 
 Dread power, but dear ! if God thou be, 
 Unmake me quite, or give thyself to me. 
 
GIVE ALL TO LOVE. 
 
 Give all to love ; 
 Obey thy heart ; 
 Friends, kindred, days, 
 Estate, good fame. 
 Plans, credit, and the muse ; 
 Nothing refuse. 
 
 'Tis a brave master. 
 Let it have scope, 
 Follow it utterly, 
 Hope beyond hope ; 
 High and more high. 
 It dives into noon. 
 With wing unspent. 
 Untold intent ; 
 But 'tis a god. 
 Knows its own path. 
 
 137 
 
138 GIVE ALL TO LOVE. 
 
 And tlie outlets of the sky. 
 'Tis not for the mean, 
 It requireth courage stout, 
 Souls above doubt, 
 Valor unbending ; 
 Sucli 'twill reward. 
 They shall return 
 More than they were, 
 And ever ascending. 
 
 Leave all for love ; — 
 
 Yet, hear me, yet. 
 
 One word more thy heart behoved, 
 
 One pulse more of firm endeavor. 
 
 Keep thee to-day, 
 
 To-moiTow, for ever, 
 
 Free as an Arab 
 
 Of thy beloved. 
 
 Cling with life to the maid ; 
 
 But when the surprise. 
 
 Vague shadow of surmise, 
 
GIVE ALL TO LOVE. 139 
 
 Flits across her bosom young 
 Of a joy apart from tliee, 
 Free be she, fancy-free, 
 Do not thou detain a hem, 
 Nor the palest rose she flung 
 From her summer diadem. 
 
 Though thou loved her as thyseK, 
 
 As a self of purer clay, 
 
 Tho' her parting dims the day, 
 
 Stealing grace from all alive, 
 
 Heartily know, 
 
 "When half -gods go, 
 
 The gods arrive. 
 
TO ELLEN, AT THE SOUTH. 
 
 The green grass is growing, 
 The morning wind is in it, 
 'Tis a tune worth the knowing. 
 Though it change every minute. 
 
 'Tis a tune of the spring, 
 Every year plays it over, 
 To the robin on the wing. 
 To the pausing lover. 
 
 O'er ten thousand thousand acres 
 Goes light the nimble zephyr, 
 The flowers, tiny feet of shakers, 
 Worship him ever. 
 
 Hark to the winning sound ! 
 
 They summon thee, dearest, 
 
 Saying ; " We have drest for thee the ground. 
 
 Nor yet thou appearest. 
 140 
 
TO ELLEN, AT THE SOUTH. 141 
 
 " O hasten, 'tis our time, 
 Ere yet the red summer 
 Scorch our delicate prime, 
 Loved of bee, the tawny hummer. 
 
 " O pride of thy race ! 
 
 Sad in sooth it ^vere to ours, 
 
 If our brief tribe miss thy face, — 
 
 We pour "New England flowers. 
 
 " Fairest ! choose the fairest members 
 Of our lithe society ; 
 June's glories and Septembers 
 Show our love and piety. 
 
 " Thou shalt command us all, 
 April's cowslip, summer's clover, 
 To the gentian in the fall, 
 Blue-eyed pet of blue-eyed lover. 
 
 " O come, then, quickly come. 
 We are budding, we are blowing. 
 And the wind which w^e perfume 
 Sings a tune that's worth thy knowing." 
 
TO EVA. 
 
 O FAIR and stately maid, whose eye 
 
 Was kindled in tlie upper sky 
 
 At the same torch that lighted mine ; 
 
 For so I must interpret still 
 
 Thy sweet dominion o'er my will, 
 
 A sympathy divine. 
 
 Ah ! let me blameless gaze upon 
 Features that seem in heart my own, 
 Nor fear those watchful sentinels 
 Which charm the more their glance forbids, 
 Chaste glowing underneath their lids 
 With fire that draws wdiile it repels. 
 
 Thine eyes still shined for me, though far 
 
 I lonely roved the land or sea, 
 142 
 
TO EVA. 143 
 
 As I behold yon evening star, 
 Which yet beholds not me. 
 
 This morn I climbed the misty hill, 
 And roamed the pastures through ; 
 How danced thy form before my path, 
 Amidst the deep-eyed dew ! 
 
 When the red bird spread his sable wing, 
 And showed his side of flame, 
 When the rose-bud ripened to the rose. 
 In both I read thy name. 
 
THE AMULET. 
 
 YouK picture smiles as first it smiled, 
 The ring yon gave is still the same, 
 Your letter tells, O changing child, 
 No tidings since it came. 
 
 Give me an amulet 
 That kee^^s intelligence with you. 
 Red when you love, and rosier red, 
 And when you love not, pale and blue. 
 
 Alas, that neither bonds nor vows 
 
 Can certify possession ; 
 
 Torments me still the fear that love 
 
 Died in its last expression. 
 144 
 
EROS. 
 
 The sense of the world is short, 
 
 Long and various the report, — 
 
 To love and be beloved ; 
 
 Men and gods have not oiitlearned it. 
 
 And how oft soe'er they've turned it, 
 
 'Tis not to be improved. 
 
 145 
 
HEEMIONE. 
 
 On a mound an Arab lay. 
 
 And sung liis sweet regrets, 
 
 And told his amulets ; 
 
 The summer bird 
 
 His sorrow heard, 
 
 And when he heaved a sigh profound 
 
 The sympathetic swallow^s swept the ground. 
 
 If it be as they said, vshe was not fair ; 
 
 Beauty's not beautiful to me, 
 
 But sceptred Genius aye inorbed, 
 
 Culminating in her sphere. 
 
 This Hermione absorbed 
 
 The lustre of the land and ocean, 
 
 Hills and islands, vine and tree. 
 
 In her form and motion. 
 
 I ask no bauble miniature, 
 
 Nor ringlets dead 
 146 
 
HERMIONE. 147 
 
 Shorn from her comely head, 
 Now that morning not disdains, — 
 Mountains and the misty plains — 
 Her colossal portraiture : 
 They her heralds be, 
 Steeped in her quality, 
 And singers of her fame. 
 Who is their muse and dame. 
 
 Higher, dear swallows, mind not what I say. 
 
 Ah ! heedless how the weak are stron; 
 
 Say, was it just 
 
 In thee to frame, in me to trust. 
 
 Thou to the Syrian couldst belong ? 
 
 I am of a lineage 
 
 That each for each doth fast engage. 
 In old Bassora's schools I seemed 
 Hermit vowed to books and gloom. 
 Ill-bested for gay bridegroom : 
 I was by thy touch redeemed ; 
 When thy meteor glances came. 
 
 ^g) 
 
148 HERMIONE. 
 
 We talked at large of worldly Fate, 
 And drew truly every trait. 
 Once I dwelt apart, 
 Now I live with all ; 
 As shepherd's lamp on far hill side, 
 Seems, by the traveller espied, 
 A door into the mountain heart. 
 So didst tliou (juarry and unlock 
 Highways for me through the rock. 
 
 Now deceived thou wanderest 
 
 In strange lands, unblest, 
 
 And my kindred come to soothe me. 
 
 South wind is my next of blood ; 
 
 He is come through fragrant wood, 
 
 Drugged with sj^ice from climates warm, 
 
 And in every twinkling glade. 
 
 And twilight nook, 
 
 Unv^eils thy form : 
 
 Out of the forest way 
 
 Forth paced it yesterday, 
 
HERMIONE. 149 
 
 And, when I sat by the water-course, 
 Watching the daylight fade, 
 It throbbed up from the brook. 
 River, and rose, and crag, and bird, 
 Frost, and sun, and eldest night 
 To me their aid preferred. 
 To me their comfort plight : 
 " Courage ! we are thine allies ; 
 And with this hint be wise, 
 The chains of kind 
 The distant bind : 
 Deed thou doest, she must do. 
 Above her will, be true ; 
 And, in her strict resort 
 To winds and waterfalls. 
 And autumn's sun-lit festivals. 
 To music, and to music's thought, 
 Inextricably bound. 
 She shall find thee, and be found. 
 Follow not her flying feet. 
 Come to us herself to meet." 
 
ODE. 
 I. 
 
 INITIAL LOVE. 
 
 Venus, when her son was lost, 
 
 Cried him up and down the coast, 
 
 In hamlets, palaces, and parks. 
 
 And told the truant by his marks. 
 
 Golden curls, and (piiver, and bow ; — 
 
 This befell long ago. 
 
 Time and tide are strangely changed. 
 
 Men and manners much deranged ; 
 
 None will now find Cupid latent 
 
 By this foolish antique patent. 
 
 He came late along the waste. 
 
 Shod like a traveller for haste, 
 
 With malice dared me to proclaim him, 
 
 That the maids and boys might name him. 
 
 150 
 
INITIAL LOVE. 151 
 
 Boy no more, lie wears all coats, 
 
 Frocks, and blouses, capes, capotes, 
 
 He bears no bow, or quiver, or wand, 
 
 Nor chaplet on Ins head or hand : 
 
 Leave his weeds and heed his eyes, 
 
 All the rest he can disguise. 
 
 In the pit of his eyes a spark 
 
 Would bring back day if it were dark. 
 
 And,— if I tell you all my thought, 
 
 Though I comprehend it not, — 
 
 In those unfathomable orbs 
 
 Every function he absorbs ; 
 
 He doth eat, and drink, and fish, and shoot. 
 
 And write, and reason, and compute, 
 
 And ride, and run, and have, and hold, 
 
 And \vliine, and flatter, and regret. 
 
 And kiss, and couple, and beget. 
 
 By those roving eyeballs bold ; 
 
 Undaunted are their courages. 
 
 Bight Cossacks in their forages ; 
 
 Fleeter they than any creature. 
 
152 INITIAL LOVE, 
 
 They are liis steeds and not his feature, 
 
 Inquisitive, and fierce, and fasting, 
 
 Restless, predatory, hasting, — 
 
 And they pounce on otlier eyes, 
 
 As lions on their prey ; 
 
 And round their circles is writ, 
 
 Plainer than the day. 
 
 Underneath, within, above, 
 
 Love, love, love, love. 
 
 He lives in his eyes. 
 
 There doth digest, and work, and spin, 
 
 And buy, and sell, and lose, and win ; 
 
 He rolls them Avith delighted motion, 
 
 Joy-tides swell their mimic ocean. 
 
 Yet holds he them Avith tortest rein, 
 
 That they may seize and entertain 
 
 The glance that to their glance opposes. 
 
 Like iiery honey sucked from roses. 
 
 He palmistry can understand, 
 Imbibing virtue by his hand 
 
INITIAL LOVE. 153 
 
 As if it were a living root ; 
 The pulse of bands will make Lim mute ; 
 Witli all liis force he gathers balms 
 Into those wise thrilling palms. 
 
 Cupid is a casuist, 
 
 A mystic, and a cabalist, 
 
 Can your lurking Thought surprise. 
 
 And interpret your device ; 
 
 Mainly versed in occult science. 
 
 In magic, and in clairvoyance. 
 
 Oft he keeps his fine ear strained. 
 
 And reason on her tiptoe pained, 
 
 For aery intelligence, 
 
 And for strange coincidence. 
 
 But it touches his quick heart 
 
 When Fate by omens takes his part. 
 
 And chance-dropt hints from Nature's sphere 
 
 Deeply soothe his anxious ear. 
 
 Heralds high before him run, 
 He has ushers many a one, 
 
154 INITIAL LOVE. 
 
 Spreads liis welcome where lie goes, 
 And touches all things with his rose. 
 All things Avait for and divine him, — 
 How sliall I dare to malign him. 
 Or accuse the god of sport ? — 
 I must end nu' true report. 
 Painting him from head to foot. 
 In as far as I took note. 
 Trusting an ell the matchless power 
 Of this young-eyed emperor 
 ^\\]\ clear his fame from e\ ery cloud. 
 With the bards, and ^^ith the crowd. 
 
 He is wilful, mutable, 
 Shy, untamed, inscrutal)le. 
 Swifter-fashioned than the fairies. 
 Substance mixed of pure contraries, 
 His vice some elder virtue's token, 
 And his good is evil spoken. 
 Failins: sometimes of his o^vn, 
 He is headstroni:>: and alone ; 
 
INITIAL LOVE, 155 
 
 He affects the wood and wild, 
 
 Like a ilower-liunting child, 
 
 Buries himself in summer waves. 
 
 In trees, with beasts, in mines, and caves, 
 
 Loves nature like a horned cow. 
 
 Bird, or deer, or cariboo. 
 
 Shun him, nymphs, on the fleet horses ! 
 
 He has a total ^vorld of wit, 
 
 O how wise are his discourses ! 
 
 But he is the arch-hypocrite. 
 
 And through all science and all art, 
 
 Seeks alone his counterpart. 
 
 He is a Pundit of the east. 
 
 He is an augur and a priest. 
 
 And his soul will melt in prayer, 
 
 But word and wisdom are a snare ; 
 
 Corrupted by the present toy. 
 
 He follows joy, and only joy. 
 
 There is no mask but he will wear, 
 He invented oaths to swear. 
 
156 INITIAL LOVE. 
 
 He paints, lie carves, he cliants, he prays, 
 
 And holds all stars in his embrace, 
 
 Godlike, — but 'tis for his fine pelf, 
 
 The social quintessence of self. 
 
 Well, said I, lie is hypocrite. 
 
 And folly the end of his subtle wit, 
 
 He takes a sovran privilege 
 
 Not allowed to any liege. 
 
 For he does go behind all law, 
 
 And right into himself does draw, 
 
 For he is sovranly allied. 
 
 Heaven's oldest blood iloAvs in his side, 
 
 And interchangeably at one 
 
 With every king on every throne. 
 
 That no God dare say him nay. 
 
 Or see the fault, or seen betray ; 
 
 He has the Muses by the heart, 
 
 And the Parcse all are of his part. 
 
 His many signs cannot be told. 
 
 He has not one mode, but manifold, 
 
INITIAL LOVE. 157 
 
 Many fasliions and addresses, 
 
 Piques, reproaches, hurts, caresses. 
 
 Action, service, badinage, 
 
 He will preach like a friar. 
 
 And jump like Harlequin, 
 
 He will read like a crier. 
 
 And fight like a Paladin, 
 
 Boundless is his memory, 
 
 Plans immense his term prolong. 
 
 He is not of counted age, 
 
 Meaning always to be young. 
 
 And his wish is intimacy, 
 
 Intimater intimacy. 
 
 And a stricter privacy. 
 
 The impossible shall yet be done. 
 
 And being two shall still be one. 
 
 As the wave breaks to foam on shelves. 
 
 Then runs into a wave again, 
 
 So lovers melt their sundered selves. 
 
 Yet melted would be twain. 
 
II. 
 
 THE DEMONIC AND THE CELESTIAL 
 LOVE. 
 
 DEMONIC LOVE. 
 
 Man was made of social earth, 
 
 Child and brother from his birth ; 
 
 Tethered by a liquid cord 
 
 Of blood through veins of kindred poured, 
 
 Next his heart the fireside band 
 
 Of mother, father, sister, stand ; 
 
 Names from awful childhood heard, 
 
 Throbs of a wild religion stirred. 
 
 Their good was heaven, their harm was vice, 
 
 Till Beauty came to snap all ties. 
 
 The maid, abolishing the past, 
 
 With lot us- wine obliterates 
 158 
 
THE CELESTIAL LOVE. 159 
 
 Dear memory's stoiie-inearved traits, 
 And by herself supplants alone 
 Friends year by year more inly known. 
 When her calm eyes opened bright, 
 All were foreign in their light. 
 It Avas ever the self -same tale, 
 The old experience ^vill not fail, — 
 Only two in the garden walked. 
 And with snake and seraph talked. 
 
 But God said ; 
 I Avill have a purer gift. 
 There is smoke in the flame; 
 New flowerets bring, new prayers uplift, 
 And love without a name. 
 Fond children, ye desire 
 To please each other well ; 
 Another round, a higher. 
 Ye shall climb on the heavenly stair, 
 And selfish preference forbear ; 
 And in right deserving, 
 
160 THE DEMONIC AND 
 
 And without a swerving 
 Each from your proper state, 
 Weave roses for your mate. 
 
 Deep, deep are loving eyes, 
 
 Flowed with naphtha fiery sweet, 
 
 And the point is Paradise 
 
 Where their glances meet : 
 
 Their reach shall yet be more profound, 
 
 And a vision without bound : 
 
 The axis of those eyes sun-clear 
 
 Be the axis of the sphere ; 
 
 Then shall the lights ye pour amain 
 
 Go without check or intervals, 
 
 Through from the empyrean Avails, 
 
 Unto the same again. 
 
 Close, close to men. 
 
 Like undulating layer of air, 
 
 Kight above their heads. 
 
 The potent plain of Daemons spreads 
 
 Stands to each human soul its own. 
 
THE CELESTIAL LOVE. 161 
 
 For watch, and ward^ and furtlierance 
 
 In the snares of nature's dance ; 
 
 And the lustre and the grace 
 
 Which fascinate each human heart, 
 
 Beaming from another part, 
 
 Translucent through the mortal covers, 
 
 Is the Daemon's form and face. 
 
 To and fro the Genius hies, 
 
 A gleam ^vhich plays and hovers 
 
 Over the maiden's head. 
 
 And dips sometimes as low as to her eyes. 
 
 Unknown, — albeit lying near, — 
 
 To men the path to the Daemon sphere, 
 
 And they that swiftly come and go, 
 
 Leave no track on the heavenly snow. 
 
 Sometimes tlie airy synod bends. 
 
 And the mighty choir descends. 
 
 And the brains of men thenceforth, 
 
 In crowded and in still resorts. 
 
 Teem with unwonted thoughts. 
 - II 
 
102 THE D^^MONIC AND 
 
 As when a shower of meteors 
 Cross the orbit of the earth, 
 And, lit by fringent air, 
 Blaze near and far. 
 Mortals deem the planets bright 
 Have slipped their sacred bars. 
 And the lone seaman all the niirht 
 Sails astonished amid stars. 
 
 Beauty of a richer vein, 
 
 Graces of a subtler strain. 
 
 Unto men these moon-men lend, 
 
 And our shrinking sky extend. 
 
 So is man's narro^v^ path 
 
 By strength and terror skirted. 
 
 Also (from the song the wrath 
 
 Of the Genii be averted ! 
 
 The Muse the truth uncolored speaking), 
 
 The Daemons are self-seekinir : 
 
 Their fierce and limitary will 
 
 Draws men to their likeness still. 
 
THE CELESTIAL LOVE. 163 
 
 Tlie erring painter made Love blind, 
 
 Highest Love who shines on all ; 
 
 Him radiant, sharpest-sighted god 
 
 None can bewilder ; 
 
 Whose eyes pierce 
 
 The Universe, 
 
 Path-iinder, road- builder, 
 
 Mediator, royal giver, 
 
 Rightlj^-seeing, rightly-seen, 
 
 Of joyful and transparent mien. 
 
 'Tis a sparkle passing 
 
 From each to each, from me to thee, 
 
 Perpetually, 
 
 Sharing all, daring all, 
 
 Levelling, misplacing 
 
 Each obstruction, it unites 
 
 Equals remote, and seeming opposites. 
 
 And ever and forever Love 
 
 Delights to build a road ; 
 
 Unheeded Danger near him strides, 
 
 Love laughs, and on a lion rides. 
 
164 THE DEMONIC AND 
 
 But Cupid wears another face 
 
 Born into D^^mons less divine, 
 
 His roses bleach apace, 
 
 His nectar smacks of wine. 
 
 The Daemon ever builds a wall, 
 
 Himself incloses and includes. 
 
 Solitude in solitudes : 
 
 In like sort his love doth fall. 
 
 He is an oligarch, 
 
 He prizes wonder, fame, and mark, 
 
 He loveth crowns. 
 
 He scorneth drones ; 
 
 He doth elect 
 
 The beautiful and fortunate, 
 
 And the sons of intellect, 
 
 And the souls of ample fate, 
 
 Who the Future's gates unbar, 
 
 Minions of the Morning Star. 
 
 In his prowess he exults, 
 
 And the multitude insults. 
 
 His impatient looks devour 
 
THE CELESTIAL LOVE. 165 
 
 Oft the humble and the poor, 
 
 And, seeing his eye glare, 
 
 They drop their few pale flowers 
 
 Gathered with hope to please 
 
 Along the mountain towers. 
 
 Lose courage, and despair. 
 
 He will never be gainsaid. 
 
 Pitiless, will not be stayed. 
 
 His hot tyranny 
 
 Burns up every other tie ; 
 
 Therefore comes an hour from Jove 
 
 Which his ruthless will defies. 
 
 And the dogs of Fate unties. 
 
 Shiver the palaces of glass. 
 
 Shrivel the rainbow-colored walls 
 
 Where in bright art each god and sibyl dwelt 
 
 Secure as in the Zodiack's belt ; 
 
 And the galleries and halls 
 
 Wherein every Siren sung, 
 
 Like a meteor pass. 
 
 For this fortune wanted root 
 
166 THE DEMONIC AND 
 
 In the core of God's abysm, 
 Was a weed of self and scliism : 
 And ever tlie Daemonic Love 
 Is the ancestor of wars, 
 And the parent of I'emorse. 
 
 CELESTIAL LOVE. 
 
 Higher far, 
 
 Upward, into the pure reahn. 
 
 Over sun or star. 
 
 Over the flickering Daemon film, 
 
 Thou must mount for love, — 
 
 Into vision which all form 
 
 In one only form dissolves ; 
 
 In a region where the wheel, 
 
 On which all beings ride. 
 
 Visibly revolves ; 
 
 Where the starred eternal worm 
 
 Girds the world with bound and term ; 
 
 Where unlike thino^s are like. 
 
 When good and ill, 
 
THE CELESTIAL LOVE. 16T 
 
 And joy and moan, 
 
 Melt into one. 
 
 There Past, Present, Future, slioot 
 
 Triple blossoms from one root 
 
 Substances at base divided 
 
 In tlieir summits are united, 
 
 There the holy Essence rolls, 
 
 One through separated souls, 
 
 And the sunny J^]on sleeps 
 
 Folding nature in its deeps. 
 
 And every fair and every good 
 
 Known in part or known impure 
 
 To men below. 
 
 In their archetypes endure. 
 
 The race of gods, 
 
 Or those w^e erring own, 
 
 Are shadows flitting up and down 
 
 In the still abodes., 
 
 The circles of that sea are laws, 
 
1G8 THE DAEMONIC AND 
 
 Which publish and which hide the Cause. 
 
 Pray for a beam 
 
 Out of that sphere 
 
 Thee to guide and to redeem. 
 
 O what a load 
 
 Of care and toil 
 
 By lying Use bestowed, 
 
 From his shoulders falls, who sees 
 
 The true astronomy, 
 
 The period of peace ! 
 
 Counsel which the ages kept, 
 
 Shall the well-born soul accept. 
 
 As the overhanging trees 
 
 Fill the lake with images. 
 
 As garment draws the garment's hem 
 
 Men their fortunes bring with them ; 
 
 By right or wrong. 
 
 Lands and goods go to the strong ; 
 
 Property will brutely draw 
 
 Still to the proprietor, 
 
THE CELESTIAL LOVE. 169 
 
 Silver to silver creep and wind, 
 And kind to kind, 
 Nor less tlie eternal poles 
 Of tendency distribute souls. 
 There need no vows to bind 
 Whom not each other seek but find. 
 They give and take no pledge or oath, 
 Nature is the bond of both. 
 No prayer persuades, no flattery fawns, 
 Their noble meanings are their pawns. 
 Plain and cold is their address, 
 Power have they for tenderness, 
 And so thoroughly is known 
 Each other's purpose by his own, 
 They can parley without meeting. 
 Need is none of forms of greeting. 
 They can well communicate 
 In their innermost estate ; 
 AVhen each the other shall avoid. 
 Shall each by each be most enjoyed. 
 Not with scarfs or perfumed gloves 
 
170 DEMONIC AND THE 
 
 Do these celebrate their loves, 
 Not by jewels, feasts, aud savors, 
 Not by ribbons or by favors. 
 But by the sun-spark on the sea. 
 And the cloud-shadow on the lea, 
 The soothing lapse of morn to mirk. 
 And the cheerful ]'ound of work. 
 Their cords of love so public are, 
 They intert^^ ine the farthest star. 
 The throbbing sea, the quaking earth, 
 Yield sympathy and signs of mirth ; 
 Is none so high, so mean is none. 
 But feels and seals this union. 
 Even the fell Furies are appeased, 
 The good applaud, the lost are eased. 
 
 Love's hearts are faithful, but not fond, 
 Bound for the just, but not beyond ; 
 Not glad, as the low-loving herd. 
 Of self in others still preferred. 
 But they have heartily designed 
 
THE CELESTIAL LOVE. 171 
 
 The benefit of broad mankind. 
 And they serve men austerely, 
 After their own genius, clearly 
 Without a false humility ; 
 For this is love's nobility, 
 Not to scatter bread and gold. 
 Goods and raimant bought and sold, 
 But to hold fast his simple sense. 
 And speak the speech of innocence. 
 And with hand, and body, and blood. 
 To make his bosom-counsel good : 
 For he that feeds men, serveth few, 
 He serves all, who dares be true. 
 
THE APOLOGY. 
 
 Think me not unkind and rude, 
 That I walk along in grove and glen ; 
 I go to the god of the wood 
 To fetch his word to men. 
 
 Tax not my sloth that I 
 Fold my arms beside the brook ; 
 Each cloud that floated in the sky 
 Writes a letter in my book. 
 
 Chide me me not, laborious band. 
 For the idle flowers I brought ; 
 Every aster in my hand 
 Goes home loaded with a thought. 
 
 There was never mystery. 
 
 But 'tis figured in the flow^ers, 
 
 Was never secret history, 
 
 But birds tell it in the bowers. 
 172 
 
THE APOLOGY. 173 
 
 One harvest from thy field 
 Homeward brought the oxen strong ; 
 A second crop thine acres yield, 
 Which I gather in a song. 
 
MEELIN. 
 
 I. 
 
 Thy trivial harp Avill never please 
 
 Or fill my craving ear ; 
 
 Its chords should ring as blows the breeze 
 
 Free, peremptory, clear. 
 
 No jingling serenader's art, 
 
 Nor tinkle of piano strings, 
 
 Can make the wild blood start 
 
 In its mystic springs. 
 
 The kingly bard 
 
 Must smite the chords rudely and hard, 
 
 As with hammer or with mace, 
 
 That they may render back 
 
 Artful thunder that conveys 
 
 Secrets of the solar track. 
 
 Sparks of the supersolar blaze. 
 
 174: 
 
MERLIN. 175 
 
 Merlin's blows are strokes of fate, 
 
 Chiming with tlie forest-tone, 
 
 When bouglis buffet ]:>oughs in the wood ; 
 
 Chiming with the gasp and moan 
 
 Of the ice-imprisoned flood ; 
 
 AVith the pulse of manly hearts. 
 
 With the voice of orators, 
 
 With the din of city arts. 
 
 With the cannonade of wars. 
 
 With the marches of the brave. 
 
 And prayers of night from martyrs' cave. 
 
 Great is the art, 
 
 Great be the manners of the bard ! 
 
 He shall not his brain encumber 
 
 AVith the coil of rhythm and number, 
 
 But, leaving rule and pale forethought. 
 
 He shall aye climb 
 
 For his rhyme : 
 
 Pass in, pass in, the angels say, 
 
 In to the upper doors ; 
 
176 MERLIN. 
 
 Nor count compartments of the floors. 
 But mount to Paradise 
 By the stairway of surprise. 
 
 Blameless master of the games, 
 King of sport that never shames ; 
 He shall daily joy dispense 
 Hid in song's sweet influence. 
 Things more cheerly live and go, 
 What time the subtle mind 
 Plays aloud the tune whereto 
 Their pulses beat, 
 And march their feet, 
 And their members are combined. 
 
 By Sybarites beguiled 
 He shall no task decline ; 
 Merlin's mighty line, 
 Extremes of nature reconciled. 
 Bereaved a tyrant of his will, 
 And made the lion mild. 
 
MERLIN. 1Y7 
 
 Songs can the tempest still, 
 Scattered on tlie stormy air, 
 Mould the }ear to fair increase, 
 And bring in poetic peace. 
 
 He shall not seek to weave, 
 In ^v eak unhappy times. 
 Efficacious rhymes ; 
 Wait his returning strength, 
 Bird, that from the nadir's floor. 
 To the zenith's top coidd soar. 
 The soaring orbit of the muse exceeds that 
 journey's length 1 
 
 Nor, profane, affect to hit 
 
 Or compass that by meddling wit, 
 
 AVhich only the propitious mind 
 
 Publishes when 'tis inclined. 
 
 There are open hours 
 
 When the god's will sallies free. 
 
 And dull idiot might see 
 
 The flowing fortunes of a thousand years ; 
 
 12 
 
178 MERLIN. 
 
 Sudden, at unawares, 
 Self -moved fly-to the doors, 
 Nor sword of angels could reveal 
 What they conceal. 
 
MEELIK 
 11. 
 
 The rhyme of the poet 
 
 Modulates the king's affairs, 
 
 Balance-loving nature 
 
 Made all things in pairs. 
 
 To every foot its antipode, 
 
 Each color Avitli its counter glowed, 
 
 To every tone beat answering tones, 
 
 Higher or graver ; 
 
 Flavor gladly blends ^vith flavor ; 
 
 Leaf answers leaf upon the bough. 
 
 And match the paired cotyledons. 
 
 Hands to hands, and feet to feet, 
 
 In one body grooms and brides ; 
 
 Eldest rite, t^vo married sides 
 
 In every mortal meet. 
 
 Light's far furnace shines, 
 
 179 
 
180 '. MERLIN. 
 
 Smelting balls and bars, 
 Forging double stars, 
 Glittering twins and trines. 
 The animals are sick with love, 
 Lovesick with rhyme ; 
 Each with all j^ropitious Time 
 Into chorus wove. 
 
 Like the dancers' ordered band, 
 
 Thoughts come also hand in hand, 
 
 In equal couples mated. 
 
 Or else alternated, 
 
 Adding by their mutual gage 
 
 One to other health and as'e. 
 
 Solitary fancies go 
 
 Short-lived wandering to and fro, 
 
 Most like to bachelors. 
 
 Or an ungiven maid. 
 
 Not ancestors. 
 
 With no posterity to make the lie afraid. 
 
 Or keep truth undecayed. 
 
MERLIN. 181 
 
 Perfect paired as eagle's wings, 
 Justice is the rhyme of things ; 
 Trade and counting use 
 The self -same tuneful muse ; 
 And Nemesis, 
 
 Who with even matches odd, 
 Who athwart space redresses 
 The partial wrong, 
 Fills the just period. 
 And finishes the song. 
 
 Subtle rhymes with ruin rife 
 Murmur in the house of life. 
 Sung by the Sisters as they spin ; 
 In perfect time and measure, they 
 Build and unbuild our echoing clay, 
 As the two twilights of the day 
 Fold us music-drunken in. 
 
BACCHUS. 
 
 Bring me wine, but wine ^vliich never grew 
 
 In the belly of the grape, 
 
 Or grew on vine whose taproots reaching through 
 
 Under the Andes to the Cape, 
 
 Suffered no savor of the world to 'scape. 
 
 Let its grapes the morn salute 
 
 From a nocturnal root 
 
 Which feels the acrid juice 
 
 Of Styx and Erebus, 
 
 And turns the Avoe of night, 
 
 By its own craft, to a more rich delight. 
 
 We buy ashes for bread, 
 
 We buy diluted wine ; 
 
 Give me of the true, 
 
 Whose ample leaves and tendrils curled 
 
 Among the sibber hills of heaven. 
 
 182 
 
BACCHUS. 183 
 
 Draw everlasting dew ; 
 
 Wine of wine, 
 
 Blood of tlie world, 
 
 Form of forms and mould of statures, 
 
 That I, intoxicated. 
 
 And by the drauglit assimilated. 
 
 May float at pleasure through all natures. 
 
 The Lird-language rightly spell. 
 
 And that which roses say so ^vell. 
 
 Wine that is shed 
 
 Like the torrents of the sun 
 
 Up the horizon walls ; 
 
 Or like the Atlantic streams Avhich run 
 
 When the South Sea calls. 
 
 Water and bread ; 
 Food which needs no transmuting, 
 Rainbow-flowering, Avisdom-fruiting ; 
 Wine which is already man, 
 Food A\ Inch teach and reason can. 
 
184 BACCHUS. 
 
 Wine whicli music is ; 
 Music and wine are one ; 
 That I, drinking this, 
 Shall hear far chaos talk with me, 
 Kings unborn shall m alk m ith me, 
 And the poor grass shall plot and plan 
 What it Avill do when it is man : 
 Quickened so, ^vill I unlock 
 Every crypt of every rock. 
 
 I thank the joyful juice 
 For all 1 know ; 
 Winds of remembering 
 Of the ancient being blow, 
 And seeming-solid walls of use 
 Open and flow. 
 
 Pour, Bacchus, the remembering wine ; 
 Eetrieve the loss of me and mine ; 
 Vine for vine be antidote. 
 And the grape requite the lote. 
 Haste to cure the old despair, 
 
BACCHUS. 185 
 
 Reason in nature's lotus drenched, 
 The memory of ages quenched ; — 
 Give them again to shine. 
 Let wine repair what this undid, 
 And ^vhere the infection slid, 
 And dazzling memory revive. 
 Refresh the faded tints, 
 Recut the aged prints. 
 And write my old adventures, with the pen 
 Which, on the first day drew 
 Upon the tablets blue 
 The dancing Pleiads, and the eternal men. 
 
LOSS AND GAIN. 
 
 Virtue runs before the muse 
 And defiles her skill, 
 She is rapt, and doth refuse 
 To ^vait a painter's will. 
 
 Star-adoring, occupied. 
 Virtue cannot bend her, 
 Just to please a poet's pride, 
 To parade her splendor. 
 
 The bard must be with good intent 
 No more his, but hers. 
 Throw a^vay his pen and paint, 
 Kneel with worshippers. 
 
 Then, perchance, a sunny ray 
 
 From the heaven of fire. 
 
 His lost tools may overpay, 
 
 And better his desire. 
 186 
 
MEROPS. 
 
 What care I, so tliey stand the same, — 
 Things of the heavenly mind, — 
 How long the power to give them fame 
 Tarries yet behind ? 
 
 Thus far to-day your favors reach, 
 O fair, appeasing Presences ! 
 Ye taught my lips a single speech. 
 And a thousand silences. 
 
 Space grants beyond his fated road 
 
 No inch to the god of day. 
 
 And copious language still bestowed 
 
 One word, no more, to say. 
 
 187 
 
THE HOUSE. 
 
 There is no architect 
 Can build as the mnse can ; 
 She is skilful to select 
 Materials for her plan ; 
 
 Slow and av arily to choose 
 Rafters of immortal pine, 
 Or cedar incorruptible, 
 Worthy her design. 
 
 She threads dark Al})ine forests, 
 
 Or valleys by the sea, 
 
 In many lands, Avith painful steps, 
 
 Ere she can find a tree. 
 
 She ransacks mines and ledges. 
 
 And quarries every rock, 
 
 To hew the famous adamant, 
 
 For each eternal block. 
 188 
 
THE HOUSE. 189 
 
 She lays her beams in music, 
 
 In music every one, 
 
 To the cadence of the Avhirling world 
 
 Which dances round the sun. 
 
 That so they shall not be displaced 
 By lapses or by wars, 
 But for the love of happy souls 
 Outlive the ncAvest star. 
 
SAADI. 
 
 Trees in groves, 
 Kine in droves, 
 
 In ocean sport the scaly herds, 
 Wedge-like cleave the air the birds, 
 To northern lakes fly wind-borne ducks, 
 Browse the mountain sheep in flocks, 
 Men consort in camp and town, 
 But the poet dw^ells alone. 
 
 God who gave to him the lyre. 
 Of all mortals the desire. 
 For all breathing men's behoof, 
 Straitly charged him, " Sit aloof ; " 
 Annexed a ^varning, poets say, 
 To the bright premium, — 
 Ever when twain together play, 
 
 Shall the harp be dumb. 
 
 190 
 
SAADI. 191 
 
 Many may come, 
 
 But one shall sing ; 
 
 Two touch the string, 
 
 The harp is dumb. 
 
 Though there come a million 
 
 Wise Saadi d\vells alone. 
 
 Yet Saadi loved the race of men, — 
 
 No churl immured in cave or den, — 
 
 In bower and hall 
 
 He ^vants them all, 
 
 Nor can dispense 
 
 With Persia for his audience ; 
 
 They must give ear. 
 
 Grow red with joy, and white Avith fear, 
 
 Yet he has no companion. 
 
 Come ten, or come a million. 
 
 Good Saadi dwells alone. 
 
 Be thou ware ^vhere Saadi dwells. 
 Gladly round that golden lamp 
 Sylvan deities encamp, 
 
192 SAADI. 
 
 And simple maids and noble yoiitli 
 
 Are welcome to tlie man of truth. 
 
 Most welcome they ^vho need him most, 
 
 They feed the spring which they exhaust 
 
 For greater need 
 
 Draws better deed : 
 
 But, critic, spare thy vanity, 
 
 Nor show thy pompous parts. 
 
 To vex Avith odious subtlety 
 
 The cheerer of men's hearts. 
 
 Sad-eyed Fakirs swiftly say 
 
 Endless dirges to decay ; 
 
 Never in the blaze of light 
 
 Lose the shudder of midnight ; 
 
 And at overflowing noon. 
 
 Hear wolves barking at the moon ; 
 
 In the bower of dalliance sweet 
 
 Hear the far Avenger's feet ; 
 
 And shake before those awful PoAvers 
 
 Who in their pride forgive not ours. 
 
SAADI. 193 
 
 Thus the sad-eyed Fakirs preach ; 
 " Bard, when thee would Allah teach, 
 And lift thee to his holy mount, 
 He sends thee from his bitter fount, 
 Wormwood ; saying, Go thy ways, 
 Drink not the Malaga of praise. 
 But do the deed thy fellows hate. 
 And compromise thy peaceful state. 
 Smite the white breasts ^\ hich thee fed. 
 Stuff sharp thorns beneath the head 
 Of them thou shouldst have comforted. 
 For out of woe and out of crime 
 Draws the heart a lore sublime." 
 And yet it seemeth not to me 
 That the high gods love tragedy ; 
 For Saadi sat in the sun. 
 And thanks was his contrition ; 
 For haircloth and for bloody whips, 
 Had active hands and smiling lips ; 
 And yet his runes he rightly read, 
 And to his folk his message sped. 
 J3 
 
194 
 
 SAADI. 
 
 Sunshine in his heart transferred 
 Lighted each transparent ^vord ; 
 And Avell coidd honoi'ing Persia learn 
 "What Saadi Avished to say ; 
 For Saadi's nightl}^ stars did burn 
 Brighter than Dschami's day. 
 
 Whispered the muse in Saadi's cot ; 
 O gentle Saadi, listen not, 
 Tempted by thy praise of an it, 
 Or by thirst and appetite 
 For the talents not thine OAvn, 
 To sons of contradiction. 
 Nev^er, sun of eastern morning, 
 Follow falsehood, follow scorning. 
 Denounce who will, ^vho Avill, deny. 
 And pile the hills to scale the sky ; 
 Let theist, atheist, pantheist. 
 Define and wrangle hoAV they list, — 
 Fierce conserver, fierce destroyer. 
 But thou joy-giver and en j oyer, 
 
SAADI. 195 
 
 Unknowing war, unknowing crime, 
 Gentle Saadi, mind thy rhyme. 
 Heed not \v'hat the brawlers say, 
 Heed thou only Saadi's lay. 
 
 Let the great world bustle on 
 
 "With war and trade, with camp and town. 
 
 A thousand men shall dig and eat. 
 
 At forge and furnace thousands sweat, 
 
 And thousands sail tlie purple sea. 
 
 And give or take the stroke of war. 
 
 Or crowd the market and bazaar. 
 
 Oft shall Avar end, and peace return. 
 
 And cities rise where cities burn. 
 
 Ere one man my hill shall climb, 
 
 Who can turn the golden rhyme ; 
 
 Let them manage how they may, 
 
 Heed thou only Saadi's lay. 
 
 Seek the living among the dead : 
 
 Man in man is imprisoned. 
 
 Barefooted Dervish is not poor, 
 
196 SAADI. 
 
 If fate unlock his bosom's door. 
 
 So tliat what his eye hath seen 
 
 His tongue can paint, as bright, as keen, 
 
 And what his tender heart hath felt, 
 
 With equal fire thy heart shall melt. 
 
 For, whom the muses shine upon, 
 
 And touch with soft persuasion, 
 
 His words like a storm-wind can bring 
 
 Terror and beauty on their wing ; 
 
 In his every syllable 
 
 Lurketh nature veritable ; 
 
 And though he speak in midnight dark, 
 
 In heaven, no star ; on earth, no spark ; 
 
 Yet before the listener's eye 
 
 Swims the world in ecstasy, 
 
 The forest waves, the morning breaks, 
 
 The pastures sleep, ripple the lakes. 
 
 Leaves twinkle, flowers like persons be, 
 
 And life pulsates in rock or tree. 
 
 Saadi ! so far thy words shall reach ; 
 
 Suns rise and set in Saadi's speech. 
 
SAADI. 197 
 
 And thus to Saacli said the muse ; 
 
 Eat thou the bread which men refuse ; 
 
 Flee from the goods which from thee flee ; 
 
 Seek nothing ; Fortune seeketh thee. 
 
 Nor mount, nor dive ; all good things keep 
 
 The midway of the eternal deep ; 
 
 Wish not to fill the isles with eyes 
 
 To fetch thee birds of paradise ; 
 
 On thine orchard's edge belong 
 
 All the brass of plume and song ; 
 
 Wise All's sunbright sayings pass 
 
 For proverbs in the market-place ; 
 
 Through mountains bored by regal art 
 
 Toil whistles as he drives his cart. 
 
 Nor scour the seas, nor sift mankind, 
 
 A poet or a friend to find ; 
 
 Behold, he watches at the door, 
 
 Behold his shadow on the floor. 
 
 Open innumerable doors. 
 
 The heaven where unveiled Allah pours 
 
 The flood of truth, the flood of good, 
 
198 SAADI. 
 
 The seraph's and the cherub's food ; 
 Those doors are men ; the pariah kind 
 Admits thee to the perfect Mind. 
 Seek not beyond th}^ cottage wall 
 [Redeemer that can yield thee all. 
 While thou sittest at thy door, 
 On the desert's yellow floor, 
 Listening to the gray-haired crones, 
 Foolish gossips, ancient drones, — 
 Saadi, see, they rise in stature 
 To the height of mighty nature. 
 And the secret stands revealed 
 Fraudulent Time in vain concealed. 
 That blessed gods in servile masks 
 Plied for thee thy household tasks. 
 
HOLIDAYS. 
 
 FRo:\r fall to spring the russet acorn, 
 Fruit beloved of maid and boy, 
 Lent itself beneath the forest 
 To be the children's toy. 
 
 Pluck it now ; in vain : thou canst not, 
 Its root has pierced yon shady mound. 
 Toy no longer, it has duties ; 
 It is anchored in the ground. 
 
 Year by year the rose-lipped maiden, 
 Play-fellow of young and old. 
 Was frolic sunshine, dear to all men. 
 More dear to one than mines of gold. 
 
 Whither went the lovely hoyden ? — 
 
 Disappeared in blessed wife. 
 
 Servant to a wooden cradle, 
 
 Living in a baby's life. 
 
 199 
 
200 HOLIDAYS. 
 
 Still thou pla3^est ; — short vacation 
 Fate grants each to stand aside ; 
 Now mnst thou be man and artist ; 
 'Tis the turning of the tide. 
 
PAINTING AND SCULPTURE. 
 
 The sinful painter drapes his goddess warm. 
 
 Because slie still is naked, being drest ; 
 
 The godlike sculptor will not so deform 
 
 Beauty, which bones and flesh enough invest. 
 201 
 
FROM THE PERSIAN OF HAFIZ. 
 
 [The Poems of Hafiz are held by tlie Persians to be mystical 
 and allegorical. Tlie following ode, notwithstanding its ana- 
 creontic style, is regarded by liis German editor, Von Ham- 
 mer, as one of those which earned for Hafiz among his coun- 
 trymen the title of " Tongue of tlie Secret."] 
 
 Butler, fetcli tlie ruby ^YIne, 
 
 Which with sadden greatness fills us ; 
 
 Pour for nie who in my spirit 
 
 Fail in courage and performance ; 
 
 Bring the philosophic stone, 
 
 Karun's treasure, Noah's life ; 
 
 Haste, that by thy means I open 
 
 All the doors of luck and life. 
 
 Bring me, boy, the fire-water 
 
 Zoroaster sought in dust. 
 
 To Hafiz revelling 'tis allowed 
 
 To pray to Matter and to Fire. 
 
 Bring the wine of Jamschid's glass 
 
 That shone, ere time was, in the Neant. 
 202 
 
FROM THE PERSIAN OF HAFIZ. 203 
 
 Give it me, that througli its virtue 
 
 I, as Jamscliid, see through worlds. 
 
 Wisely said the Kaiser Jamschid, 
 
 This Avorld's not ^vorth a barleycorn. 
 
 Bring me, boy, the nectar cup, 
 
 Since it leads to Paradise. 
 
 Flute and lyre lordly speak. 
 
 Lees of wine outvalue crowns. 
 
 Hither bring the veiled beauty 
 
 Who in ill-famed houses sits ; 
 
 Lead her forth : my honest name 
 
 Freely barter I for wine. 
 
 Bring me, boy, the fire-water. 
 
 Drinks the lion — the woods burn. 
 
 Give it me, that I storm heaven, 
 
 Tear the net from the arch-wolf. 
 
 Wine, wherewith the Houris teach 
 
 Angels the ways of Paradise. 
 
 On the glowing coals I'll set it. 
 
 And therewith my brain perfimie. 
 
 Bring me wine, througli ^vhose effulgence 
 
204 FROM THE PERSIAN OF HAFIZ. 
 
 Jam and Chosroes yielded light : 
 Wine, that to the flute I sing 
 Where is Jam, and where is Kaiiss. 
 Bring the blessing of old times ; 
 Bless the old departed Shahs ; 
 Bring it me, the Shah of hearts. 
 Bring me ^vine to wash me clean, 
 Of the Aveather-stains of care, 
 See the countenance of luck. 
 While I dwell in spirit-gardens, 
 Wherefore sit I shackled here ? 
 Lo, this mirror shows me all. 
 Drunk, I speak of purity. 
 Beggar, I of lordship speak. 
 AVhen Hafiz in his revel sings, 
 Shouteth Sohra in her sphere. 
 
 Fear the changes of a day : 
 Bring wine which increases life. 
 Since the Avorld is all untrue. 
 Let the trumpets thee remind 
 
FROM THE PERSIAN OF HAFIZ. 205 
 
 How the crown of Kobad vanished. 
 
 Be not certain of the world ; 
 
 'Twill not spare to shed thy blood. 
 
 Desperate of the world's affair, 
 
 Came I runnino; to the Avine-house. 
 
 Give me wine Avhich maketh glad, 
 
 That I may my steed bestride, 
 
 Through the course career with Eustem. 
 
 Gallop to my heart's content. 
 
 Give me, boy, the rub}^ cup 
 
 Which unlocks the heart with wine, 
 
 That I reason quite renounce. 
 
 And plant banners on the worlds. 
 
 Let us make our glasses kiss. 
 
 Let us quench the sorrow-cinders : 
 
 To-day let us drink together. 
 
 Whoso has a banquet dressed, 
 
 Is with glad mind satisfied, 
 
 'Scaping from the snares of Dews. 
 
 Alas for youth ! 'tis gone in wind, — 
 
206 ROM THE PERSIAN OF HAFIZ. 
 
 Happy lie who spent it well. 
 Give me wine, that I o'erleap 
 Both worlds at a single spring, 
 Stole at dawn from glowing spheres 
 Call of Houris to mine ear ; 
 " O happy bird ! delicions soul ! 
 Spread thy pinion, break the cage ; 
 Sit on the roof of the seven domes, 
 Where the spirit takes repose." 
 In the time of Bisurdschimihr, 
 Menutscheher's beauty shined, 
 On the beaker of Nushirvan, 
 Wrote they once in elder times, 
 " Hear the Counsel, learn from us 
 Sample of the course of things ; 
 Earth, it is a place of sorrow. 
 Scanty joys are here below, 
 Who has nothing, has no sorrow." 
 
 Where is Jam, and where his cup ? 
 Solomon, and his mirror where ? 
 
FROM THE PERSIAN OF HAFIZ. 207 
 
 Which of the wise masters knows 
 What time Kauss and Jam existed ? 
 When those heroes left this world, 
 Left they nothing bat their names. 
 Bind thy heart not to the earth, 
 When thou goest, come not Lack. 
 Fools squander on the world their hearts. 
 League with it, is feud with heav^en ; 
 Never gives it ^vhat thou wishest. 
 
 A cup of wine imparts the sight 
 
 Of the five heaven-domes Avith nine steps : 
 
 Whoso can himself renounce, 
 
 Without support shall walk thereon. 
 
 Who discreet is, is not wise. 
 
 Give me, boy, the Kaiser cup, 
 
 Which rejoices heart and soul ; 
 
 Under type of wine and cup 
 
 Signify we purest love. 
 
 Youth like lightning disappears, 
 
 Life goes by us as the wind : 
 
208 FROM THE PERSIAN OF HAFIZ. 
 
 Leave tlie dwelling with six doors, 
 And the serpent with nine heads ; 
 Life and silver spend thou freely, 
 If thou honorest the soul. 
 Haste into the other life ; 
 All is nought save God alone. 
 Give me, boy, this toy of daemons. 
 When the cup of Jam was lost, 
 Him availed the world no more. 
 Fetch the wine-glass made of ice, 
 Wake the torpid heart Avith wine. 
 Every clod of loam below us 
 Is a skull of Alexander ; 
 Oceans are the blood of princes ; 
 Desert sands the dust of beauties. 
 More than one Darius was there 
 Who the whole world overcame ; 
 But since these gave up the ghost, 
 Thinkest thou they never were ? 
 Boy, go from me to the Shah, 
 Say to him : Shah crowned as Jam, 
 
FROM THE PERSIAN OF HAFIZ. 209 
 
 Win thou first the poor man's heart, 
 Then the glass ; so kno^v the world- 
 Empty sorrows from the earth 
 Canst thou drive away Avith wine. 
 Now in thy throne's recent beauty, 
 In the flowing tide of power, 
 Moon of fortune, mighty king. 
 Whose tiara sheddeth lustre. 
 Peace secure to fish and fowl. 
 Heart and eye-sparkle to saints ; 
 Shoreless is the sea of praise, — 
 I content me with a prayer. 
 From Nisami's poet- works. 
 Highest ornament of speech. 
 Here a verse will I recite. 
 Verse as beautiful as pearls. 
 " More kingdoms wait thy diadem. 
 Than are known to thee by name ; 
 May the sovran destiny 
 Grant a victory every morn ! " 
 
 14 
 
GHASELLE. 
 
 FROM THE PERSIAN OF HAFIZ. 
 
 Of Paradise, O liermit wise, 
 Let us renounce the thought. 
 Of old therein our names of sin 
 Allah recorded not. 
 
 Who dear to God on earthly sod 
 No corn-grain plants. 
 The same is glad that life is had, 
 Thou<2:h corn he wants. 
 
 Thy mind the mosque and cool kiosk, 
 Spare fast, and orisons ; 
 Mine me allows the drink-house, 
 And sweet chase of the nuns. 
 
 O just fakeer, ^vith bro^v austere. 
 
 Forbid me not the vine ; 
 210 
 
GHASELLE. 211 
 
 On the first day, poor Hafiz clay 
 Was kneaded up with wine. 
 
 He is no dervise, Heaven slights his service, 
 Who shall refuse 
 
 There in the banquet, to pawn his blanket 
 For Schiraz's juice. 
 
 Who his friend's shirt, or hem of his shirt, 
 Shall spare to pledge. 
 To him Eden's bliss and Angel's kiss 
 Shall want their edge. 
 
 Up, Hafiz ; grace from high God's face 
 Beams on thee pure ; 
 Shy then not hell, and trust thou well, 
 Heaven is secure. 
 
XENOPHANES. 
 
 By fate, not option, frugal nature gave 
 One scent to hyson and to wallflower, 
 One sound to pine-groves and to water-falls 
 One aspect to the desert and the lake, 
 It was her stern necessity. All things 
 Are of one pattern made ; bird, beast, aiad plant, 
 Song, pictiire, form, space, thought, and charac- 
 ter. 
 Deceive us, seeming to be many things. 
 And are but one. Beheld far off, they part 
 As God and Devil ; bring them to the mind, 
 They dull its edge with their monotony. 
 To know the old element explore a new, 
 And in the second reappears the first. 
 The specious panorama of a year 
 
 But multiplies the image of a day, 
 212 
 
XENOPHANES. 213 
 
 A belt of mirrors round a taper's flame, 
 And universal nature through her vast 
 And crowded whole, an infinite paroquet, 
 Repeats one cricket note. 
 
THE DAY'S RATION. 
 
 When I was born, 
 
 From all the seas of strength Fate filled a 
 
 chalice, 
 
 Saying, This be thy portion, cliild ; this chalice, 
 
 Less than a lily's, thou shalt daily di'aw 
 
 From my great arteries ; nor less, nor more. 
 
 All substances the cunning chemist Time 
 
 Melts down into that li(|Uor of my life. 
 
 Friends, foes, joys, fortunes, beauty, and disgust, 
 
 And whether I am angry or content, 
 
 Indebted or insulted, loved or hurt. 
 
 All he distils into sidereal wine. 
 
 And brims my little cup ; heedless, alas ! 
 
 Of all he sheds how little it will hold. 
 
 How much runs over on the desert sands. 
 
 If a new muse draw me with splendid ray, 
 214 
 
THE DAY'S RATION. 215 
 
 And I uplift myself into her heaven, 
 The needs of the first sight absoi-b my blood, 
 And all the following liours of the day 
 Drag a ridiculous age. 
 
 To-day, when friends approach, and every hour 
 Brings book or starbright scroll of genius, 
 The tiny cup ^vill hold not a bead more. 
 And all the costly liipior runs to waste. 
 Nor gives the jealous time one diamond drop 
 So to be husbanded for poorer days, 
 AVhy need I volumes, if one word suffice ? 
 Why need I galleries, when a pupil's draught 
 After the master's sketch, fJls and o'erfills 
 My apprehension ? Why should I roam. 
 Who cannot circumnavigate the sea 
 Of thoughts and things at home, but still ad- 
 journ 
 The nearest matters to another moon ? 
 Why see new men 
 Who have not understood the old ? 
 
BLIGHT. 
 
 Give me trutlis, 
 For I am weary of the surfaces, 
 And die of inanition. If I knew 
 Only the herljs and simples of the wood, 
 Rue, cinquefoil, gill, vervain, and pimpernel, 
 Blue-vetch, and trillium, hawkweed, sassafras, 
 Milkweeds, and murky brakes, quaint pipes and 
 
 sundew. 
 And rare and virtuous roots, which in these 
 
 woods 
 
 Draw untold juices from the common earth, 
 
 Untold, unknown, and I could surely spell 
 
 Their fragrance, and their chemistry apply 
 
 By SAveet athnities to human flesh. 
 
 Driving the foe and stablishing the friend, — 
 
 O that ^vere much, and I could be a part 
 216 
 
BLIGHT. 217 
 
 Of the round day, related to the sun, 
 
 And planted world, and full executor 
 
 Of their imperfect functions. 
 
 But these young scholars who invade our hills, 
 
 Bold as the engineer who fells the wood, 
 
 And travelling often in the cut he makes, 
 
 Love not the flower they pluck, and know it not. 
 
 And all their botany is Latin names. 
 
 The old men studied magic in the flower. 
 
 And human fortunes in astronomy, 
 
 And an omnipotence in chemistry. 
 
 Preferring things to names, for these were men, 
 
 Were unitarians of the united world. 
 
 And wheresoever their clear eyebeams fell. 
 
 They caught the footsteps of the sa:\ie. Our 
 
 eyes 
 Are armed, but ^ve ai*e strangers to the stars. 
 And strangers to the mystic beast and bird. 
 And strangers to tlie plant and to the mine ; 
 The injured elements say, Not in us ; 
 And night and day, ocean and continent, 
 
218 BLIGHT. 
 
 Fire, plant, and mineral say, Not in us, 
 
 And haughtily return us stare for stare. 
 
 For we invade them impiously for gain, 
 
 We devastate them unreligiously. 
 
 And coldly ask their pottage, not their love. 
 
 Therefore they shove us from them, yield to us 
 
 Only what to our griping toil is due ; 
 
 But the sweet affluence of love and song, 
 
 The rich results of the divine consents 
 
 Of man and earth, of world beloved and lover 
 
 The nectar and ambrosia are withheld; 
 
 And in the midst of spoils and slaves, we thieves 
 
 And pirates of the universe, shut out 
 
 Daily to a more thin and outward rind, 
 
 Turn pale and starve. Therefore to our sick 
 
 eyes, 
 The stunted trees look sick, the summer short, 
 Clouds shade the sun, which Avill not tan Our 
 
 hay. 
 And nothing thrives to reach its natural term, 
 And life, shorn of its venerable length, 
 
BLIGHT. 219 
 
 Even at its greatest space, is a defeat, 
 And dies in anger that it was a dupe, 
 And, in its highest noon and wantonness. 
 Is early frugal like a beggar's child : 
 With most unliandsome calculation taught, 
 Even in the hot pursuit of the best aims 
 And prizes of ambition, checks its hand. 
 Like Alpine cataracts, frozen as they leaped. 
 Chilled with a miseily comparison 
 Of the toy's purchase with the length of life. 
 
MUSKETAQUID. 
 
 Because I was content with these poor fields, 
 Low open meads, slender and sluggish streams. 
 And found a home in haunts which others 
 
 scorned. 
 The partial wood-gods overpaid my love, 
 And granted me the freedom of their state, 
 And in their secret senate have prevailed 
 AYith the dear dangerous lords that rule our 
 
 life, 
 Made moon and planets parties to their bond. 
 And pitying through my solitary wont 
 Shot million rays of thought and tenderness. 
 
 For me in showers, in sweeping showers, the 
 
 spring 
 
 Visits the valley : — break away the clouds, 
 
 I bathe in the morn's soft and silvered air, 
 220 
 
MUSKETAQUID. 221 
 
 And loiter willing by yon loitering stream. 
 Sparrows far off, and, nearer, yonder bird 
 Blue-coated, ilying before, from tree to tree, 
 Courageous sing a delicate overture. 
 To lead the tardy concert of tlie year. 
 Onward, and nearer dra^\^s the sun of May, 
 And ^vide around the marriage of the plants 
 Is sweetly solemnized ; then flows amain 
 The surge of summer's beauty ; dell and crag. 
 Hollow and lake, hill-side, and pine arcade, 
 Are touched with genius. Yonder ragged cliff 
 Has thousand faces in a tliousand hours. 
 
 Here friendly landlords, men ineloquent, 
 Inhabit, and STibdue the spacious farms. 
 Traveller ! to thee, perchance, a tedious road. 
 Or soon forgotten picture, — to these men 
 The landscape is an armory of powers, 
 Which, one by one, they know to draw and use. 
 They harness beast, bird, insect, to their work ; 
 They prove the virtues of each bed of rock. 
 
222 MUSKETAQUID. 
 
 And, like a chemist 'mid his loaded jars, 
 Draw from each stratum its adapted use, 
 To drug their crops, or weapon their arts withal. 
 
 They turn the frost upon their chemic heap ; 
 They set the wind to winnow vetch and grain ; 
 They thank the spring-flood for its fertile slime ; 
 And, on cheap summit-levels of the snow. 
 Slide with the sledge to inaccessible woods, 
 O'er meadows bottomless. So, year by year 
 They fight the elements ^vith elements, 
 (That one would say, meadow and forest walked 
 Upright in human shape to rule their like.) 
 And by the order in the field disclose, 
 The order regnant in the yeoman's brain. 
 
 What these strong masters wrote at large in 
 
 miles, 
 I followed in small copy in my acre : 
 For there's no rood has not a star above it ; 
 The cordial quality of pear or plum 
 
MUSKETAQUID. 223 
 
 Ascends as giacUy in a single tree, 
 
 As in broad orchards resonant with bees ; 
 
 And every atom poises for itself, 
 
 And for the whole. The gentle Mother of all 
 
 Showed me the lore«of colors and of sounds ; 
 
 The innumerable tenements of beauty ; 
 
 The miracle of generative force .; 
 
 Far-reaching concords of astronomy 
 
 Felt in the plants and in the punctual birds ; 
 
 Mainly, the linked purpose of the whole ; 
 
 And, chiefest prize, found I true liberty, 
 
 The home of homes plain-dealing Nature gave. 
 
 The polite found me impolite ; the great 
 
 Would mortify me, but in vain : 
 
 I am a willow of the Avilderness, 
 
 Loving the wind that bent me. All my hurts 
 
 My garden-spade can heal. A woodland ^valk, 
 
 A wild rose, or rock-loving columbine. 
 
 Salve my worst ^vounds, and leave no cicatrice. 
 
 For thus the wood-gods murmured in my ear, 
 
224 MUSKETAQUID. 
 
 Dost love our manners ? Canst thou silent lie ? 
 
 Canst thou, thy pride forgot, like nature pass 
 
 Into the winter night's extinguished mood ? 
 
 Canst thou shine now, then darkle. 
 
 And being latent, feel thyself no less ? 
 
 As when the all-worshipped moon attracts the 
 
 eye, 
 The river, hill, stems, foliage, are obscure, 
 Yet envies none, none are unenviable. 
 
DIRGE. 
 
 Knows he who tills this lonely field 
 To reap its scanty corn, 
 What mystic fruit his acres yield 
 At midnight and at morn ? 
 
 In the long sunny afternoon, 
 
 The plain was full of ghosts, 
 
 I wandered up, I wandered down. 
 
 Beset by pensive hosts. 
 
 The winding Concord gleamed below, 
 
 Pouring as wide a flood 
 
 As when my brothers long ago, 
 
 Came with me to the Avood. 
 
 But they are gone,— the holy ones. 
 
 Who trod with me this lonely vale. 
 
 The strong, star-bright companions 
 
 Are silent, low, and pale. 
 15 ^^^ 
 
226 DIRGE. 
 
 My good, my noble, in their prime, 
 Who made this workl the feast it was, 
 Who learned with me the lore of time, 
 Who loved this d^velling-place. 
 
 They took this valley for their toy. 
 They played Avith it in every mood, 
 A cell for pra} er, a hall for joy. 
 They treated nature as they would. 
 
 They colored the horizon round. 
 Stars flamed and faded as they bade. 
 All echoes hearkened for their sound. 
 They made the woodlands glad or mad. 
 
 I touch this flower of silken leaf 
 AVhich once our childhood knew. 
 Its soft leaves wound me with a grief 
 Whose balsam never grew. 
 
 Hearken to yon pine warbler 
 Singing aloft in the tree ; 
 Hearest thou, O traveler ! 
 What he singeth to me ? 
 
DIRGE. 227 
 
 Not unless God made sharp thine ear 
 With sorrow such as mine, 
 Out of that delicate lay couldst thou 
 The heavy dirge divine. 
 
 Go, lonely man, it saith, 
 
 They loved thee from their birth, 
 
 Their hands were pure, and pure their faith, 
 
 There are no such hearts on earth. 
 
 Ye drew one mother's milk, 
 One chamber held ye all ; 
 A very tender history 
 Did in your childhood fall. 
 
 Ye cannot unlock your heart, 
 The key is gone with them ; 
 The silent organ loudest chants 
 The master's requiem. 
 
THRENODY. 
 
 The south- wind brings 
 
 Life, sunshine, and desire, 
 
 And on every mount and meadow 
 
 Breathes aromatic fire, 
 
 But over the dead he has no power. 
 
 The lost, the lost he cannot restore. 
 
 And, looking over the hills, I mourn 
 
 The darling who shall not return. 
 
 I see my empty house, 
 I see my trees repair their boughs, 
 And he, — the wondrous child, 
 Whose silver warble wild 
 Outvalued every pulsing sound 
 Within the air's cerulean round. 
 The hyaciuthine boy, for whom 
 
 Morn well might break, and April bloom, 
 
 228 
 
THRENODY. 229 
 
 The gracious boy, who did adorn 
 
 The world whereinto he was born. 
 
 And by his countenance repay 
 
 The favor of the loving Day, 
 
 Has disappeared from the Day's eye ; 
 
 Far and wide she cannot find him, 
 
 My hopes pursue, they cannot bind him. 
 
 Returned this day the south-wind searches 
 
 And finds young pines and budding birches, 
 
 But finds not the budding man ; 
 
 Nature who lost him, cannot remake him ; 
 
 Fate let him fall. Fate can't retake him ; 
 
 Nature, Fate, men, him seek in vain. 
 
 And whither now, my truant wise and sweet, 
 
 Oh, whither tend thy feet ? 
 
 I had the right, few days ago. 
 
 Thy steps to watch, thy place to know ; 
 
 How have I forfeited the right ? 
 
 Hast thou forgot me in a new delight ? 
 
 I hearken for thy household cheer. 
 
230 THRENODY. 
 
 O eloquent eliilcl ! 
 Wliose voice, an equal messenger, 
 Conveyed thy meaning mild. 
 What though the pains and joys 
 Whereof it spoke were toys 
 Fitting his age and ken ; — 
 Yet fairest dames and bearded men, 
 AVho heard the sweet request 
 So gentle, wise, and grave. 
 Bended with joy to his behest, 
 And let the world's affairs go by. 
 Awhile to share his cordial game. 
 Or mend his wicker wagon frame, 
 Still plotting how their hungry ear 
 That winsome voice again might hear, 
 For his lips could well pronounce 
 Words that were persuasions. 
 Gentlest guardians marked serene 
 His early hope, his liberal mien. 
 Took counsel from his guiding eyes 
 To make this wisdom earthly Avise. 
 
THRENODY. 231 
 
 Ah ! vainly do these eyes recall 
 The school-march, each day's festival, 
 When every morn my bosom glowed 
 To watch the convoy on the road ; — 
 The babe in willow wagon closed. 
 With rolling eyes and face composed, 
 With children forward and behind. 
 Like Cupids studiously inclined. 
 And he, the Chieftain, paced beside, 
 The centre of the troop allied. 
 With sunny face of sweet repose. 
 To o^uard the babe from fancied foes. 
 The little Captain innocent 
 Took the eye with him as he went. 
 Each village senior paused to scan 
 And speak the lovely caravan. 
 
 From the ^vindow^ I look out 
 To mark thy beautiful parade 
 Stately marching in cap and coat 
 
232 THRENODY. 
 
 To some tune l)y fairies played ; 
 A music heard by thee alone 
 To works as noble led thee on. 
 Now lo^^e and pride, alas, in vain, 
 Up and down their glances strain. . 
 The painted sled stands ^vhere it stood, 
 The kennel by the corded wood, 
 The gathered sticks to stanch the wall 
 Of the snow-tower, ^vhen snow should fall. 
 The ominous hole he dug in the sand. 
 And childhood's castles Iniilt or planned. 
 His daily haunts I well discern, 
 The poultry yard, the shed, the barn, 
 And every inch of garden ground 
 Paced by the blessed feet around. 
 From the road-side to the brook, 
 Whereinto he loved to look. 
 Step the meek birds where erst they ranged, 
 The wintry garden lies unchanged, 
 The brook into the stream runs on, 
 But the deep-eyed Boy is gone. 
 
THRENODY. 233 
 
 On that shaded day, 
 Dark with more clouds than tempests are, 
 When thou didst yield thy innocent breath 
 In bird-like heavings unto death, 
 Night came, and Nature had not thee, — 
 I said, we are mates in misery. 
 The morrow dawned with needless glow. 
 Each snow-bird chirped, each fowl must crow, 
 Each tramper started, — but the feet 
 Of the most beautiful and sweet 
 Of human youth had left the hill 
 And garden, — they were bound and still, 
 There's not a sparrow or a wren. 
 There's not a blade of autumn grain. 
 Which the four seasons do not tend. 
 And tides of life and increase lend 
 And every chick of every bird. 
 And weed and rock-moss is preferred. 
 O ostriches' forgetfulness ! 
 O loss of larger in the less ! 
 Was there no star that could be sent, 
 
234 THRENODY. 
 
 No watcher in the firmament, 
 
 No angel from the countless host, 
 
 That loiters round the crystal coast, 
 
 Could stoop to heal that only child. 
 
 Nature's sweet marvel undefiled, 
 
 And keep the blossom of the earth, 
 
 Which all her harvests were not worth ? 
 
 Not mine, I never called thee mine, 
 
 But nature's heir, — if I repine. 
 
 And, seeing rashly torn and moved. 
 
 Not Avhat I made, but what I loved. 
 
 Grow early old with grief that then 
 
 Must to the wastes of nature go, — 
 
 'Tis because a general hope 
 
 Was quenched, and all must doubt and grope 
 
 For flattering planets seemed to say. 
 
 This child should ills of ages stay, — 
 
 By wondrous tongue and guided pen 
 
 Bring the flown muses back to men. — 
 
 Perchance, not he, but nature ailed. 
 
 The world, and not the infant failed, 
 
THRENODY. 235 
 
 It was not ripe yet, to sustain 
 A genius of so line a strain, 
 Wlio gazed upon tlie sun and moon 
 As if he came unto his own, 
 And pregnant with his grander thought, 
 Brought the old order into doubt. 
 Awhile his beauty their beauty tried, 
 They could not feed him, and he died, 
 And wandered backward as in scorn 
 To wait an ^on to be born. 
 Ill day which made this beauty waste ; 
 Plight broken, tliis high face defaced ! 
 Some went and came about the dead. 
 And some in books of solace read, 
 Some to their friends the tidings say. 
 Some went to write, some went to pray, 
 One tarried here, there hurried one. 
 But their heart abode with none. 
 Covetous death bereaved us all 
 To aggrandize one funeral. 
 The eager Fate which carried thee 
 
236 THRENODY. 
 
 Took the largest part of me. 
 For this losing is true dying, 
 This is lordly man's down-lying, 
 This is slow but sure reclining, 
 Star by star his world I'esigning. 
 
 O child of Paradise ! 
 Boy who made dear his father's home, 
 In whose deep eyes 
 
 Men read the welfare of the times to come ; 
 I am too much bereft ; 
 The world dishonored thou hast left ; 
 O truths and natures costly lie ; 
 O trusted, broken prophecy ! 
 O richest fortune sourly crossed ; 
 Born for the future, to the future lost ! 
 
 The deep Heart answered, AVeepest thou ? 
 
 Worthier cause for passion wild. 
 
 If I had not taken the child. 
 
 And deemest thou as those Avho pore 
 
 With aged eyes short way before ? 
 
THRENODY. 237 
 
 Think'st Beauty vanislied from the coast 
 Of matter, and tliy darling lost ? 
 Taught he not thee, — the man of eld. 
 Whose eyes within his eyes beheld 
 Heaven's numerous hierarchy span 
 The mystic gulf from God to man ? 
 To be alone wilt thou begin. 
 When worlds of lovers hem thee in ? 
 To-morrow, Avhen the masks shall fall 
 That dizen nature's carnival. 
 The pure shall see, by their own will,' 
 Which overflowing love shall fill, — 
 'Tis not within the force of Fate 
 The fate-conjoined to separate. 
 But thou, my votary, ^veepest thou ? 
 I gave thee sight, where is it now ? 
 I taught thy heart beyond the reach 
 Of ritual, Bible, or of speech ; 
 Wrote in thy mind's transparent table 
 As far as the inconununicable ; 
 Taught thee each private sign to raise 
 
238 THRENODY. 
 
 Lit by the supersolar blaze. 
 
 Past utterance and past belief, 
 
 And past tlie blasphemy of grief, 
 
 The mysteries of nature's heart, — 
 
 And though no muse can these impart, 
 
 Throb thine with nature's throbbing breast. 
 
 And all is clear from east to west. 
 
 I came to thee as to a friend, 
 Dearest, to thee I did not send 
 Tutors, but a joyful eye. 
 Innocence that matched the sky, 
 Lovely locks a form of wonder. 
 Laughter rich as woodland thunder ; 
 That thou might'st entertain apart 
 The richest flowering of all art ; 
 And, as the great all-loving Day 
 Through smallest chambers takes its way. 
 That thou might'st break thy daily bread 
 With Prophet, Saviour, and head ; 
 That thou might'st cherish for thine own 
 
THRENODY. S39 
 
 The riches of sweet Mary's Son, 
 
 Boy-Rabbi, Israel's Paragon : 
 
 And thoughtest thou such guest 
 
 Would in thy hall take up his rest? 
 
 Would rushing life forget its laws, 
 
 Fate's glowing revolution pause ? 
 
 High omens ask diviner guess, 
 
 Not to be conned to tediousness. 
 
 And know, my higher gifts unbind 
 
 The zone that girds the incarnate mind. 
 
 When the scanty shores are full 
 
 With Thought's perilous whirling pool. 
 
 When frail Nature can no more, — 
 
 Then the spirit strikes the hour. 
 
 My servant Death with solving rite 
 
 Pours finite into infinite. 
 
 Wilt thou freeze love's tidal flow. 
 
 Whose streams through nature circling go ? 
 
 Nail tho star struggling to its track 
 
 On the half -climbed Zodiack ? 
 
 Light is light which radiates, 
 
240 THRENODY. 
 
 Blood is blood wliicli circulates, 
 Life is life which generates, 
 And many-seeming life is one, — 
 Wilt thou transfix and make it none. 
 Its onward stream too starkly pent 
 In figure, bone, and lineament ? 
 
 Wilt thou uncalled interrogate 
 Talker ! the unreplying fate ? 
 Nor see the Genius of the whole 
 Ascendant in the private soul. 
 Beckon it when to go and come. 
 Self-announced its hour of doom. 
 Fair the soul's recess and shrine. 
 Magic-built, to last a season. 
 Masterpiece of love benign ! 
 Fairer than expansive reason 
 Whose omen 'tis, and sign. 
 Wilt thou not ope this heart to know 
 What rainbows teach and sunsets show. 
 Verdict Avhich accumulates 
 
THRENODY. 241 
 
 From lengthened scroll of human fates, 
 Voice of earth to earth returned, 
 Prayers of heart that inly burned ; 
 Saying, what is excellent^ 
 As God lives^ is permanent^ 
 Hearts are dust^ hearts' loves remain^ 
 Hearth love tvill meet thee again. 
 Eevere the Maker ; fetch thine eye 
 Up to His style, and manners of the sky. 
 Not of adamant and gold 
 Built He heaven stark and cold. 
 No, but a nest of bending reeds, 
 Flowering grass and scented weeds. 
 Or like a traveller's fleeting tent. 
 Or bow above the tempest pent. 
 Built of tears and sacred flames. 
 And virtue reaching to its aims ; 
 Built of furtherance and pursuing. 
 Not of spent deeds, but of doing. 
 Silent rushes the swift Lord 
 Through ruined systems still restored, 
 
242 THRENODY. 
 
 Broad-sowing, bleak and void to bless, 
 Plants with worlds the wilderness, 
 Waters with tears of ancient sorrow 
 Apples of Eden ripe to-morrow ; 
 House and tenant go to ground, 
 Lost in God, in Godhead found. 
 
HYM]^. 
 
 SUNG AT THE COMPLETION OF CONCORD MONUMENT, 
 
 APRIL 19, 1836 
 
 By tlie rude bridge that arched the flood, 
 Their flag to April's breeze unfurled, 
 Here once the embattled farmers stood, 
 And fired the shot heard round the world, 
 
 The foe long since in silence slept, 
 Alike the Conqueror silent sleeps. 
 And Time the ruined bridge has swept 
 Down the dark stream which seaward creeps. 
 
 On this green bank, by this soft stream, 
 
 We set to-day a votive stone. 
 
 That memory may their deed redeem. 
 
 When like our sires our sons are gone. 
 
 243 
 
244 HYMN. 
 
 Spirit ! who made those freemen dare 
 To die, or leave their children free, 
 Bid time and nature gently spare 
 The shaft we raise to them and Thee. 
 
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