HIBRARY OF CONGRESS, ^1' ■ " J7/^e^ I4-. i UNITED STATES OK AMERICA, f 1^ IDEALS MADE REAL A ROMANCE GEORGE L. RAYMOND ^7 NEW YORK PUBLISHED BY KURD AND HOUGHTON BOSTON: H. 0. HOUGHTON & COMPANY CamBiitrgc: K\^t iUber^itfc \Bvt^i 1877 •14- Copyright, 1877, By GEORGE L. RAYMO>'D. RIVERSIDE, CAMBRIDGE : STEREOTYPED AND PRINTED BY H. 0. UOUGUTON AND COMPANY. CONTENTS. Page IDEALS MADE REAL 5 HAYDN 77 IDEALS MADE REAL. It seemed a rare and royal friendsliip, ours, The very sovereignty of sympathy ; Begun so early too, mere Lxds you know ; And now I never look back there again But, swept like shading from a hero's face In pictures, — those of Rembrandt, — all the school Appear in hues of dim uncertainty in relief. Nor strange was it ; too tender were my moods ; Nor oft had felt a touch save that of age My traits all moulding to its own conceits. For this, from contact kept with boys at play, Till sensitive and shrinking as a girl, A hint of sympathy could master me. Not once, while waiting for Jier wedding day, Could maiden's heart more hopeful beat than mine To school-life looking forward. Reaching it, Not often could a bride a Blue-beard find To so disturb the trust of her romance. At first, they lodged me there with such a loon ! " Our clown," so said the boys ; and clown he was ; Would tease all day, and tumble round all night; 6 IDEALS MADE HEAL. And every morning, sure as came tlie sun, Would start and rout me out, a huge wet towel Snap like a coach whip round my dancing shape, Well put to blush until I dodged away. A chum had Elbert too, much like my own, A wild boy caged, to seem more wild betimes Through beating at his bars, a hapless wretch. And when our happier love had flowered in us. Half pitying each other, half this chum, And more to pity, we stood round, well pleased, To note his own wild set inflating him With largest fancy for a freer fate ; For, by as much the better bubble he, By so much might the lesser breeze have power To blow him from us ! Then, at last, our chance : A gust of scolding struck him, and he went. In other Avords, some mission mouthed for him, — An inn-clerk's so I think, — he bowed content Like Paul to fldl, let down, one gloomy night. From out the window of his room ; Avhile we. Much gi'iolino;, flun(>- his luggage after him. My friend, thus widowed, caused that our school's head Already nodding o'er his noonday pipe. Should beck his severed dreams with one nod more. And so consent to ours. Thus room-mates made, We slammed his door and woke him ; not our- selves. Our dreamland lasted, that is with ourselves. With others — well, you know boy-friends are shy. IDEALS MADE KEAL. « A trait is it, this shielding of their hearts. That fits for life-tilts ? — Ifwas comical, With others near, our blustering, each to each. In truth, each seemed to wear his nature's coat The soft side inward, comforting himself. The coarse alone turned outward toward the world. If strangers chafed against it, self did not, Nor once its friend. His cloak of caution loosed, No mortal had convinced me in those days That Elbert's peer had lived. What seemed in him So mild, so beautiful, was more than marks Mere difference between a porcupine Provoked and peaceable. The kind was new ; Not human, so angelic. Ay, his soul, As pure as loving, and as fine as frank, I half believe to-day, as I did then, Stood strange amid his comrades of the play As dogwood, wedded to the skies of spring, White in a wilderness of wintry pines. Ah me, could all find all on earth so dear, Christ's work were common. I had died for him. In fact, that very fate to save the rogue I just escaped, a score of times or more, Bluflft, bruised, or battling for him on the green. Our love continued, long as school-days there. And longer afterwards its smouldering fires Were fed by letters, and rekindled oft By friction of a frequent intercourse Through visits in vacations ; these gone by, There still remained behind a lingering light Pervading moods of memory like the rays O IDEALS MADE REAL. Poured through a prism, -with all the commonest hues Sprayed to uncommon colors where they broke. In truth, I never see to-day a face Where flash the kindling feelings of a boy, But back of it, I seem to feel the warmth Of Elbert's heart. No school-child past me bounds But his dear presence seems to leap the years. And rush on recollection, with a force To start from depths of joy, stilled long ago, A spray as fresh as dashed from them when first They streamed in cataracts. With love like this To flood its brim, my soul so full appeared That, overflowing at each human touch, Its pleasures could not stagnate. But, you know. The prey of changing skies men are ; in drought The old springs fail ; and long we lived apart. Then Elbert, when we met, talked much of this : How, all its chairs made vacant one by one, Applause rose thinner at his bachelor-club ; How, brief as birds', are human raating-times ; How men, mere songs forgot, withdraw to nests — To homes — their worlds, where all the sky is filled With woman's sunny smiles and shadowy locks. How sweet were life thus shaded ! Ah, how rich. With earlier ardor of the season sped, Should ripen i-ound its prime love's ruddy fruit, And vie with autumn frost the vines to flush ! " We, Norman," said he, " were contented once ; We two, we only ; but we men must part ; IDEALS MADE REAL. » And I confess now, in this general glow, I feel as chill, and lone, and out of place, As one last dew-drop, prisoned in a shade Of universal noon." " The sun," said I, " Will free it, by and by. Our time will come." " Must come," replied he ; " or I go to it. Henceforth, wherever beauty beams for me. Not I shall shun it, as has been my wont ; But hold my eyes, a sun-glass for the rays ; And let them burn me." '• May they burn," I cried, *' Until love's fragrant opiate fume so strong It make your brain beclouded as a Turk's. For me, alas, though wild o'er many a maid, I ne'er was mad enough to marry her." " You poets," laughed he, " soar above so fixr, The common clouds of earth can reach you not. — Though love, my man, is not a smouldering fire, Except when slight. When strong, the flame is clear." " So clear must mine be," said T, " that it show Some mind to match a man's for sympathy. Till then, must memory, jealous of her own, Out-bid love's hope that cannot promise more." " But maidens are not men, nor loved as men. Bind beauty to their souls, then weigh the twain. Or else? weigh nothing? — where is judgment then ? We must be practical." 10 IDEALS MADK REAL. Thus Elbert spoke, While I, for whom this unfbreto'kened mien Across his soul had swept, a slightest cloud Not tokening the storm to rage anon, Smiled only, thinking how, where throbbed his heart, Some maid unnamed must surely stand and knock ; Though this I had forgotten, save for that Which happened later. You shall hear of it. It came in Dresden ; since my new designs. Perhaps, a year. It seemed a sudden turn. To change my life-work ; but the grief was deep. With parents and estate so swept away, The blows had stunned me, and I could not think. Words seemed but mockery ; I could not write. Besides — no myth was it ; I felt it all — One time, when, lonely, I had knelt to Christ, I seemed to rise not lonely ; I was his ; He mine. I vowed to live thtn but for Him ; To break away from every cord of Earth, And make my life accordant with his own. Not only would I do the good ; but yield Each grain in all my being unto good. And sow in wildest wastes, where all should germ In generations growing up to heaven. But yet, a novice still, though, like Saint Paul, To Avill was present with me, to perform I found not how ; but, on performance bent. Within the chancel chanting Avith the choir, I stood before the altar, half the day, IDKALS MADE REAL. H And half before my books, with cravings pale For high church, stole, and sermons of my own. Then was it Elbert's friendship furthered me. For finding me, and staring at my face. And books, and cassock ; when the puzzle passed, He, humbling to my humor, praised the priest And all the powers of priesthood, till delight Relaxed the rigor of my role ; and then He wedged the Avisdom of his own desire Within my dreams, and broke apart their spell, And drew aside the curtains of their couch. And spoke of dawn, and light for all the world. " First learn about this world," he urged, " and then Learn how to help it. Surely minds like mine Should teach, revise, reform, an impulse start, Full counteracting false philosophy. Here loomed an aim worth study ! And for this Why, now, not cross the sea ? — His purse was mine. And go you named a stutlent," Elbert said, " Nor clad so like a priest, for whom all earth Shall don some Sabbath day demean ; go free To find the man, hard by his work, at home." Thus pleading many days, at last he won ; And yielding to his wish, the sea I crossed. There, borne to Dresden for a leisure month, With whom, one morning, should I chance to meet But Elbert's eldest sister, grown quite staid And matronly withal, a second wife, 12 IDKALS MADE REAL. In charge of half a dozen sturdy boys ; Though these I saw not then ; but all alone, Much flushed and flurried, sweeping up the street, She stopped, and cried abruptly, " Why, my friend, Our Norman, you here ? — what ? — where fi'oni V — how long ? — Not heard of you for years ! That Elbert, drone, Will never write the news. So glad I am — The very soul we needed ! Here, move quick ! — Two friends have come there, by the morning train — Their luo-o-age lost — my laggard husband too. — The hour, so early ! — Such a mass of men ! And did you note the statues in Berlin, In all the streets ? — of warriors, every one ! And these two girls, here traveling, by them- selves. Where might makes right, and woman slighted is. Not strange that toward you men their feelings oft, In heat of indignation seething up, Should yield some slender scum of bitterness 1 " Thus led she, rattling on, my thoughts meanwhile Confused as warrior's at the morning drum. Till came a sight supreme, full rousing me : — Two bright eyes only, sparkling in the light Where flushed a face that flared then hid itself Behind a traveling hood, some flecked with dust, And fringed with venturous locks of (;areless hair. " I have them now," it cried, and straight began A tale, strained sweetly through those lips aglow IDEALS MADE REAL. 13 As sunset music. Then, when all was told, The name I heard was '' Edith." Bowing low, " Well done," essayed I, " well done as a man." " As well," laughed Elbert's sister, " as you speak ! " Then Edith, echoing after, naively dropt " I tell you — nay — I will not say it though." " Please, do ? " I ventured. " Nay ; it may offend," Replied she ; while her slender shoulders shrugged — Ah me, two doors, so sweet, about a heart That love seemed dared to open 1 " Nay," I said, " I vow you such a deal of patience now I " "I do not know," she answered; "am not sure. Your manly patience might break loose to sigh More hints about my manhood ! Just to think, Full half of all humanity, micre girls ; No force to aid themselves ; no thought, no tact." *' I beg," I said ; " not so ; but commonly " — " Ah, commonly ; and what is this," she asked, " That men-minds do so well? — discriminate? Yet even I, dull woman, I can see Brains differ in their grain. Alas for man. With so much matter in his own brain lodged, That mind he weighs like matter, in the mass ; And classes character, as one might clay. 14 IDEALS MADE REAL. This forms a man, — all wisdom, firmness, power ; And that, a woman, — foolish, fickle, frail ; And so — well, well, not wholly safe, forsooth, Except subjected, eh? to man, her lord!" " Ah but," said I, " we men, we prize you so ! To hold you ours, our pride seems infinite. So lifted up, your fault alone it is If we do seem lords." " Seem or are ? " she asked, " Or have you lords so long seemed that you think Your lording over us hath habits trained That still need lording over ? Fashion holds That men need freedom ; women, forms to bind. AVhy this ? Have both not souls ? Aspire not both ? Must one class only live as slaves to sex ? — A woman's soul, I think, as well as man's. May show some mastery over its abode." "■ But yet," I said, " you know, her frame divine — And soul, too — men confuse things — who can tell AVhich is the soul? " She answered absently, " In truth you do confuse things ! only Avise, As owls that blink at light, too blind to see What day dawns with a wife's enfranchisement ; Ambitious, but forgetful that the meek Inherit heaven; or that the oppressor dwarfs His own surroundings ; that one's pride must stoop, Or else his soul ; that earthly lords must bend, And lift their consorts to their own prized seats, As equals, queens, or else must house with slaves, And take on slavish habits of their homes." IDEALS MADE HEAL. 15 « Well said ! " I thought, " well said ! a maid of worth. Despite her protests, a right manly mood." And, as with manhood, so my thought unsheathed To wait a chance to test her further still. — And just then Elbert's sister, hurrying back With Alice, Edith's sister, whom she fetched, Cried, halfway introducing us, " My fan ! " I stooped, and picked it up. Then, bowing low, " Your humble slave," I said. " You know, some claim, Real friends, of either sex, live always slaves. Sheer want of love a master's whip would snatch And, snapping it, cry out, ' This way — serve me ! ' " " And so," said Edith, reddening at this, " I seem all loveless ! You may mourn it less That yonder carriage waits me. For to-day, All thanks for coming. We may meet once more.** What would I not have given to have her know I meant no rudeness? Elbert's sister laughed, And, walking homeward then, kept bantering me, My heart to storm with courage womanly. So sure that love of sex sways all us men. " So fortunate ! — The very chance for me ! — No escort ! — all alone ! — no rivals near I — And I must visit them this very eve." " Ah, but my plans," I said. — " Yes, ^es : your plans ; You serve ideals, like all idiots. 16 IDEALS MADE REAL. But you are more, niucli more than out your teens ; And — well, you are no hermit, any way." " Then must I find " — I laughed, yet earnest half— " The charms to tempt me ! " and my reckoning- Filled all my fingers doubly with the traits Of perfect womanhood. " She owns," she said, " All these, and more. For once, my poet, dream ; And full Elysium waits you when you wake. But mind you, Norman, minds like these complete, Tn whose one person love so womanly With intellect so manly has been wed, Need not to marry for a hand or head. There, hearts alone can win. Bear this in mind ; And fan your fancy till your words grow warm, Ay, glow to flash the white heat of the soul ! " Then, crying from her door, " Farewell till eve," True to her sex, unanswered yet assured. The woman left. And I, well I was caught ; The net so deftly drawn, I floundered first ; Then, resting, smiled. We fight the hydra, man, Who war against our nature. Every head That reason clove would rise redoubled there. Forsooth, my rudeness, it must be explained : Which done, one visit surely would suffice. If two, some good religious might result ; Much good, sighed zeal, too warm by more than half; IDEALS MADE REAL. 17 Then roused sweet echoes of faint hints, recalled From sources churchly, of one's need to wed, Like me, who else lived lone in lonely walks. Thus, like two cowards, clinging each to each, Weak wish nudged wisdom, and weak wisdom wish. AVho gets on better ? So that night we went. And, all the way, my gay guide railed at me. " Aha, my bachelor, your roving love, Aha, has had its day ! yon sunset-hues But deck the curtains hung before its night." " Alas," I cried. " if I must through them pass, Woe me who wish it ! See, this side of them. The river in the horizon underneath." *' Your Jordan, ere your promised land," she said ; " You need baptizing for your hardened heart." " Ah me ! " I sighed, yet strangely ; for there seemed, While all the way the twilight thicker sank, Sweet silence settling down o'er rival birds Until the reverent air lay hushed to heed The hallowing influence of holier stars. And, all the way, deep folding round my soul. With every nerve vibrating at its touch. Fell dim delight, through which, as through a veil, Some nearer presence breathed of holier life. Ah, wandering heart, and had I had my day ? Its closing gates as golden as yon west ? 2 18 IDEALS MADE REAL. And whither in the dark ? — who knows ? who cares ? On, through the twilight threshold, trustingly ! What hast thou, night, that weary souls should fear ? Thou home of love entranced, thou hauiit of dreams, Thy halls alone can hoard the truth of heaven ! Thy dome alone far stretch to meet the stars ! She roused me, crying out, " Look there, the porch ! " I looked, and there beheld our waiting friends. About them grouped some ruddy German maids With deeper hues but served to finely shade The subtiler beauty of these two. Ah me, They came from out that western world wherein, By fresher breezes and by brighter suns, The Saxon substance, sweetened and refined, Each year assumes a more ethereal form. Then these two, moving from the circling maids, Like petals loosened from a rose in bloom. Came forth to welcome us ; and, greetings o'er, Of Europe, Edith spoke, and Germany, And books, and music — " how the church of Greece Earth's pivot showed that all earth whirls upon Within the center of a flagstone round That paves its chapel in Jerusalem. But she, who tracked that viewless whirl by sound, And deemed all harmony to center here, A Grecian only in her love of art. Had found that pivot fixed in Germany." IDEALS MADE REAL. 19 " A Grecian truly ! " Elbert's sister cried ; " Each morning brings her fresh from shrines of art, All flushed, a priestess from an oracle, To sanctify us grosser mortals here With hints so vague ! such muttered mysteries ! Ah me, to hear her rave once ! " Edith smiled, " And blest the eyes that see now ! which sees most, Mere worsliip, or mere wonder ? Know you, sii-," — She paused and added then, — " this critic's ground : — The Sistine Babe it was, we spoke of Him : Because I find art's glass, when rightly held, Revealing through the real the truth ideal, I said, ' I seemed to see not only Him, The Babe, but back of Him, His heavenly home, And this to enter, like a handmaid there. And there commune until my soul was blest.' I said, ' My spirit thence appeared to come. My arms the throne, my breast the couch of Christ. If so,' I asked, ' what art had wrought for me ? Did any soul transmigrate after death ? I knew a power bade mine transmigrate here.' For this, you hear of raving. What the harm ? — The soul of feeling is in thought, not so ? Then one, to feel refreshed, must think she bathes In rills that reach her from the freshest springs." " You know," said Elbert's sister, soothingly, " Our soaring lark here bathes in every pool. So be not frightened off; her plumes but shake A sprinkling from the bath they felt to-day." 20 IDEALS MADE REAL. *' Some all would please," said Edith ; " I, my- self ; My soul, I mean ; and would not clip that soul To suit mere worldling's notions. Courting crowds, A soul lives crampt ; but if one speak the truth, Crowds leave good riddance ! — space is cleared for friends." " Cleared verily ! " the other cried ; " Long live These pet penates of our modern homes. These sprites to fright the stranger! — Own it now. The fear you felt. It would appease her so ! " On Edith's trembling lip, my gaze descried, The while no answer came, the slightest wave, Coursed there from far off trouble nnderneath. " Not understood by these," I thought ; and straight — You know no man can flinch it : woman's grief. If any manhood still be left in him. Will rouse his efforts to bespeak her peace. — I found myself her soul's expositor To clear the channel of its overflow. " And when the thought is in one, when it springs. Why, then, not let it spring ? Such thronged ideas Tlie world has not, that it can spare our own. And if we startle folks; of their deceit Jog off the guise, Ave spy them as they are. Between souls thus discovered, deems our friend. True love must flow ; while friendship gained by craft IDEALS MADE RKAL. 21 Is lost by confidence. I think her right. Why not? we all of us, in noblest moods, Crave homage for a noble soul within. Who knows this soul, save while we speak the truth ? Did not divine hands form us as we are ? Who love us as we are, love higher things Than they who love what earth would make of us." " My champion ! " Edith cried ; and drawing near. With white sleeves fluttering from her shapely sides — Ah soul, were she a winged one sent to save She scarce had in me stirred a greater joy. My mien must have revealed it. Like a lake When fogs uplift, to greet my sympathy, Anon her spirit's crystal depth appeared. And lo, reflected thence from all her moods, I seemed to flice, at every turn, my own. So new such visions then, as thrilled I felt. As feels the savage maid who first descries Her own face staring from a stranger's glass, Then spell-bound lingers, learning of herself. So wrapt, my wonder hung, all wistfully. About that spirit bright. What meant it all ? I could not then believe, I scout it yet. That mortals can afford to slight the souls Reflecting theirs, to make them mind them- selves And prize the good they own, and dread the ill. 22 IDEALS MADE REAL. You smile, friend : ah ; and often so would I. My head would oft, made jealous of my heart, Deny all reason in my impulses. And oft my heart, to bear such weight of joy. Would faint fi-om too much feeling. I would ask Could I be sane yet feel a life so sweet ? — At least I would be sure ; so like a friend Who finds a long lost friend amid a crowd. And stares, and holds him at arm's length, a time, Ere clasping him with courage to his breast That well-nigh bursts the while, I held her off, This Ions: sought soul that mine had found a friend ; And did not dare to trust her as I would. What struggles then were mine ! Too cautious there To dare in even love to risk a fall. Ah, how I braced my powers against a force That might unbalance me ! My will resolved. How mastered it my too reluctant mien ! How stiffened every smile ! Ay, ay, when love, Too strong, would conquer, how I thwarted it, — Each glance that could reveal one glimpse of it First turning toward her sister, not toward her ; Unconscious Edith ! — was it all deceit ? — I dared not otherwise. How could I else, Poor fool, that then 1 felt myself to be. Hide my infatuation ! — What ofher? — How could she know me when I masked myself V Did not her sister seem to please me most V Did not my Edith please most, pleasing her ? IDEALS MADE REAL. 23 And so for Alice only seemed her care ; Woe me, for Alice, fair and flippant naught, An empty echo only of my love. The sweetness of the family all was spent To fill the elder Edith. How I felt, Kept back from moonlight strolls for Alice there ; And jogged from tete-a-tetes to give her place ; Then with her left, inspired alone to wish To be like her a dunce ; and thus to be Like her, in some way, Edith's all-in-all. And could I hint this fact to Edith? nay. Unselfish, all ethereal in her thought, A disembodied soul held moods as few Touched through the senses. One as soon, had snared With tattered nets of tow a wind of spring ; Or with his own breath warmed the wintry air. Her love's attention, no way, could be drawn. At times, I would essay philosophy ; Her fancy argue down ; or facts rehearse. Like merest sand, flung off a nervous bird. My pleas were shaken back. She " There," would cry ; " Some everlasting every bod)' 's law Applied again to me ! Nay, nay, this world Would grind one's very soul to common dust ! " " And what else are we," once I turned to ask ; " Would God we all from laws could free ourselves. But half our lives we spend in learning them ; The other half in learninc; them to love. 24 IDEALS MADE REAL. And but in souls that learn life's laws by heart, Has wisdom, so it seems, a sway complete." " Nay, nay ; not earthly wisdom ! nay," she cried, " For earth is swayed by folly ; folly's self, But wisdom fettered ! You live you its slave. But me leave free ! " And while she moved away, — " You lawless," sighed I, " shall you always prove The water Undine of my wilderness. All maddening, with strange metamorphoses. My faint love thirsting to refresh itself ? " — Oft while I mooted this, she changed and seemed A fount of laughter now that sprang within. Rushed through her lips and rippled round her guise, The very train's hem shaking by the flow. Nay, nay, but I shall trust you yet, I thought ; To but believe you good, shall hold it true That maids, like minnows, seldom show them- selves Till, caught and drawn from out the open seas, They frisk, all safe, within some household pond ! Thus thought moved on, the old way, yet so strange ; For life a balance is of contraries : Its every pulse that proves we live must beat With deathlike stillness swift alternating. One hour my faith in her in sunlight Avalked, The next came doubt as lightless as the night. All prefaced fitly that which you shall hear. IDEALS MADE REAL. 25 I once had been recalling much of youth, Of Elbert ; how, fulfilling plans of old, He soon should join me here in Germany. " Why Edith," Alice cried, " that must be ours, Our Elbert." " Yours ? " I asked. " Ours," Edith said, " Ay, ay ; our families have been friends for years." But spite her careless tone, her eyes appeared. Slipping through lashes long, to shun my OAvn. My sharp look, did it cut through hers that flushed ? What meant the flush ? — I thought of Elbert then ; His later moods had trailed a glamour strange Of witchery somewhere — Could it be that she, — My Edith, she was his ? — And he, ray friend. Was he the one then that her love had caged, And placed it where my eff*ort reaching forth Could touch but bars of chill indifference ? — Of these two sisters daring not to ask. Of Elbert's now, I could not. In the week When first we met, had tidings called her home. But soon, like worms that would not wait for death, Fear-fretted jealousies clung round the form Of hope expiring, yet to prize her more To feel that Elbert too had prized her so. In two days after that, he on us burst, While all were met, and brought a sudden light 2G IDEALS MADK HEAL. Illuminating her, and paling me, Blanched, ash-like all, when came so hot a flush As warmed her welcome. Ah, my heart and breath In silence seemed to sink, like buzzing bees When Autumn steals the sunlight from the flow- ers. And frost seals down their sweets. I heard them talk Like one who just has walked a glacier-jjath With boistrous friends ; then, stumbling, slips away. Far sucked through freezing fathoms down to hell, Yet hears the cruel lauo;hter cracklins; still. This scarce prepared my thought for Elbert's glee. When then the sisters left. " Aha, good friend, So glad to see you ! Such a desert life ! And friendship, such an oasis ! — Your health ! First clear a dusty throat, and then, my boy. With deeper draughts we clear our dusty souls." Thus swept he, hurrying on from thought to thought, Yet found no breath to spare the sisters here. Why not ? Could not he trust so old a friend ? — Half anxious then, half curious to detect. Though wary still of love so subtle all. My lips, bold-braced yet trembling at the deed, Essayed a note to touch him, — Edith's praise. " She looks well," said he, somewhat absently. IDEALS MADE REAL. 27 " She looks well ! " cried I, half-way nettled now ; Forsooth, should Edith be abused to show What brutes are men who lose their trust ! " She looks — For what then do you take her ? for a frame Whose empty effigy of human shape Well fits some shopman's wares of vanity ? — Her soul is what I spoke of, soul I mean." "Her soul ? " he said ; " may be ; but I, may be, Have never seen it." " How ? — this too ! " I thought, " A slight is it ? — or triumph that he vaunts ? " He caught my feeling from my fevered mien, And more from words confused ; and, warming then. Made answer, " Norman, loved I you but less, I more might love, and more might spare myself. The thing my sister wrote, I deemed her whim ; Could not conceive ; and can it yet be true ? — I swear, it staggers half one's faith to find A man, devoted to the things you claim, So little circumspect." What meant he now ? Could he believe me capable of this, — To woo his Edith, knowing she was his ? — Could all my sleepless nights, my troubled heart, My prayerful deeds, my nature known of old. Be so misjudged, and yet no fault in him ? — " So little circumspect in what? " I asked. And then with words that could but anger me, " In what but choice of company ? " he said ; " No more you think of study, duty, church, 28 IDEALS MADE REAL. The whole day long you waste with one like this ! — Nay, check nie not. I understand my words, — This actress, though right artless in her way, This actress here, would play " — " With me ! *' I cried " This ' actress! ' " and I know not what I said ; But yet recall what kept him forcing in, " You err ! " — " You do me wrong ! " — " Yo' know her not ! " — Wild words, the which he ended saying then, " Not such am I as you profess to be ; But had you common sense, no piety, You might perceive a farce, if not a fault. A broad church yours were surely ! — Humph ! - Your mate. Attracting toward the stage by charms you lacker AVould draw the sinners out, while you th saints." Struck blind, I scarcely could have felt mor stunned. Was this the truth ? An actress was she then ^ Why had not Elbert's sister told me this ? — " Not told you this ? " cried Elbert ; " what ? - not told ? — Ay, ay, I see. — She hoped that love, perchance - It is a Avoman's balm for every ill — Might Edith from her present calling woo. She knows her not ! — And did not you explain She knew not you, your plans." " But Edith knew, I answered back ; and then, I checked myself Had not she blushed to hear that Elbert came ? - For fear, Avas it, lest he the truth should tell ? IDEALS MADE REAL. 29 Tell me, her friend ? tell me, deceived, her dupe ? Tell me, whose love she might have known, yet knew That all she seemed to me was not her all ? — Alas, coidd love so questioning bear the strain, Pure love ? — Those watching by the death-bed note That souls, just dying, ere above they spring, Breathe deep, then pass away. And so with minds. When comes the deadliest woe. Down deep in thought, I scarce had deemed that aught from hell could roil Such dregs of bitterness long undisturbed. The fault, sighed conscience, had been all my own : How safely might one sail this sea of life If all his reckonings fiiithful were to heaven ! Ah, siren-like, a rivaling earthly love May lure to realms whose mountain heights are cloud s. Clouds warmly hued above a cold gray shoal Whose only outlines are the breakers white, Whose only stir, the fury of the storm. And I, now finding out the truth, what now ? — Should I turn back to aims I knew were safe ? — I rose to do it ; yet, I thought, and thrilled, Could I her soul but hold, but own herself, Though wrecked and ruined, yet the gain were sweet. — Sweet, sweet, beyond my wreck ? Then why not more. This side of it ? Did I in God believe ? — IDEALS MADE HEAL. means r Did not lier life need changing ? — What were I But faithless wholly, would I try it not ? So soon, her thought to draw out, baiting mine, Some slur I dropped, suggested by a church. It joined a theatre. " Extremes," I said, " Have met." " Extremes," she said, " have met before ! I know your meaning. Elbert has disclosed — Nay, not the thing I am, but seem to be To those who will not view me as I am. You join their lists ? — I hoped for better things." *' But was it right to keep me ignorant ? " " I hoped it right," she said, " to keep you wise. What Elbert thought, I knew. With you, some hope That she who should not seem so wholly wrong Might better represent a class unknown." " AVithout design, might represent amiss," I answered. " As for you, however classed, No class, I fear, could claim you, all in all. For all rules have exceptions." " Take but rules For this time," said she. " Did you ever note That ever, when the seers their heaven descry, They view a pulpit ? — Nay, to me it seems They view a stage with galleries bright around. All thronged with wdiite robed hosts attendant there. If so, why then the stage may hint of good." IDEALS MADK KEAL. 31 " It may," I said, " but does it, as a rule ? " " Ah, as a rule," she said, " it hints of life." " But mainly life to laugh at or to fear," I urged. " Our natures need to laugh and shrink," She said, " or life would stagnate. As for art. Success must image there the life that is. And life that is, remember, is the truth. So many times my father spoke of this : ' Of truth we read who spell from nature's page, And artists best detect the meaning there, Their fancy using like a glass to find The infinite force within the finite fact. When taught by them it is earth learns at last Through every form to read of thought behind. Here moves a man, you. say. What see you ? — man ? — Nay, nay ; that guise material fashions there The image only of his manliness. And you, imagining from this imagery The mood unseen, thus only know the mood. Yon little girl that skips beside the porch, I know, I love her not, save when I pass Behind that face to reach a region rare Where dolls seem sentient babes, and brothers kings. And yonder maidens, musing in delight, I know, I love not, till, in sacrifice. My spirit seems to yield to their desires ; To wait a watchful servant unto them ; To move with motives that inspire their deeds ; To even gain through their own eyes their views, 32 idp:als made real. And thrill with rhythm when their ear-drums throb ; Then, joining .all with all, imagine thus. Their hidden inner natures that control. So too, through all of life — who more can know ? — All tilings are fitful images alone, Reflecting glory from the Absolute ; And he who can imagine from the part What marks the whole, he walks in light of heaven. Find then a life where every child becomes Earth's animated toy of manliness, Each man the ore from which to mould a god. And all earth's smouldering ore, heaven's flame anon ; You find for mind a life worth living for, A life the artist gives it : it is he Discerns a Spirit always veiled in shape, A soul in man, and reason everywhere.' " Ah Edith, so I mused, an artist thou. Thou art indeed ! but not an actress, no. Whatever may have trained thee, save to tread The stage of truth ! and Elbert's every act Against my flinty confidence struck fire, And flashed each time I met him now, anew ; The more so, that each time I met him now. In earnest, or to make me more distrust, He fluttered like her fan at Edith's side, Her silence soothed with subtlest flattery, Her vacant hours invaded Avith himself; Ah me, and all my life one scheme became To steal upon his absence, then to pluck Love's fruit that once his presence brought alone. IDEALS MADE REAL. 33 And so, henceforth, I less could welcome him. How could I do it, — with his views of her. And so impelled ? — Ah, half he made me doubt If I could not mistake her, — doubt I checked ; Flushed fiercely soon that Elbert so could act As it to hint. But when I spoke with him, He laughed me off. " Why, man, I like your friend, And she likes me ; and with the other sex The more we like, sometimes, the less we love — Or think we love. Do I deceive her then. In showing friendliness ? — Why think you so ? — Forsooth, if beauty pleases me, I smile. If gracefulness beguile, I gaze at it. If wisdom awe me, I am all respect. Good art, I laud; with fancy, grow a poet; And with emotion, an enthusiast. What then ? Am I thus proved a hypocrite ? — No sympathy is there, not personal ? All things we praise must we appropriate ? Is beauty such a flower, do you infer. Or man so beastlike, having taste for it. He needs must go and gorge it down ? — Go to! — I watch the fair thing ; of its fragrance sniff; Then leave for others. Edith knows this well. For that, trust her." But was it, as he claimed ? Were both so wise ? — Or was it all some scheme Of his acuteness, us to cut apart? This seemed most like him, and most angered me. Was I a boy that he should foil me thus ? 3 o4 IDHALS MADE REAL. Yet what to do ? — The more I searched for it, The more I saw but only one true course. Our aims — my own and Edith's — differed much. Yet felt I more than this. Our hearts were one In all the love innate, inspiring aims. Suppose our lives and thus our hearts were joined ; Could not my love and hers, together put, Outweigh such aims as should be hers alone ? Why not have faith in love, mine joined with hers ? What power was stronger in the universe ? Why not have faith to trust this only soul That ever I had met to wdiom my moods Could all unroll, assured of insight there To reml them rightly — why it seemed decreed, Her power to read my soul gave her the right To know its love, whatever might be hers. And were I but to speak the truth to her, So tell her all, wdiy fear this simple truth? For I would say I loved, but not her aims. If then she loved her aims still more than me. It would be proof that she could love me not. And if she loved me more than these, her aims, It would be proof that hers could yield to mine. So near the sunset of a summer's day, And through the park there, walking toward the lake, " I think," I breathed out cautiously, " to write A story all of love ; and I have planned The plot to open here. In after time, If interest it waken, some, perchance, Mav love to linjier here recallinjr it. IDEALS MADE REAL. 35 Look now — this lake. To gain the full effect Of palace, park, and yonder heaven unveiled. One, downward gazing, in the water's depth Should note all, washed from gross reality, And — as in art — reflected. With this view This tale of mine shall open. First of all, Here, in the sunshine nearest to our feet, — Ay, in the water ; ay, friend, here I mean, — Just underneath us, — mark you, mark you, there, The hero, and beside him, his ideal ! " And when she saw herself, " What ? how ? " she cried ; And then, all silent, stood. But I sped on, Detailing all my plans and all my hopes, How she, with soul so true and aims so high. Might meet in them the mission meant for her, — How earth's iniquity should be redeemed Through sacrifice, the deeds of such as wc. Still stood she silent. Then I spoke again, " But think not, Edith, for the plans alone I plead with you. I plead too for myself; The plans detailing that you know myself; Yet holding not I stand above you, friend. Nay, times are, I feel worthy scarce to touch Your finger's tips, or upright stand and taint The level of the air you breathe in ; nay, I would not judge your life ; would only crave, When we have so much else in sympathy, That holy state where two souls, else at one. Would both be God's. — Ah could you thus be mine ? " 36 IDEALS MADE IlEAl. Her silence then was broken. " Friend, dear friend, I might be proud, thus yours. Who could not find All, meet for manhood, in your manliness? But no, for you forgot — such different aims ! You never told me all these plans before. And, Norman, now — no, no ; for, through your church That fanned some thought obscure there smoul- dering, Some spark of doubt, to ardent heresy, My father sufl'ered ; lost his honored name, His living, all ; nor hoarded scanty means To leave his daughter ignorant of the cause. And I ? — no, no ; it courses through my blood ; My tastes you but mistake. Our paths must branch ; I, live the minister of only art." " But Edith,'' urged I, " truth may more include Than most men deem who would deem all things theirs. — Your tastes are not religious ? — Mine are not. If by religion you mean piety, — Religion's scum that bubbles to be seen. But how is it beneath the surface, friend ? Down deep Avithin ? — is not the substance there ? Ah, never did I seem religious more Than Avhen at one Avith you ? " She spoke alone To tell me all : " her father's legacy Had been her sister, Avhom she must not leave. For her sake, seeking means of livelihood, IDEALS MADE REAL. 37 She first rejected, then accepted this. And now, by truest love, was wed to it. So too her sister ; ay, for both of them Each hope, each joy, each thought at all of life Was bounded now by music, and the stage. No use was it to offer proof to her : Not logic leads the artist on, but light." She spoke in vain — I could not give her up. Next day I urged her, hoping her to swerve. My slight of music, rousing her defense. But proved how weak my love to rival it. " My father oft," she said, " would quote your Book ; Say ' music marshaled all the better life. What else could sway the soul, yet love leave free To think, and choose, and do ? ' — and strains so sweet " She added, while before us played the band, " What different moods they move in different minds ! That maid may smile and sigh midst dreams of love ; Her dark attendant dream of but her gold : Tliat matron plan some fresh self-sacrifice ; And that spare fellow, twirling, near her side, His shy mustache that shrinks behind his lips. Plan only how to hide their stingy look. And thus all listen, musing different things ; And all, with conscious freedom, musing thus ; And yet one harmony controls them all. Aroused or calmed to match its changing flow. What else but music frees the mind it rules ? ' Good will to man,' Avas spoken first in song." do IDEALS MADK REAL. " Good will/' I said, " but follows will for good." " And will for good will come," she answered back. " As in the older advent, so to-day, Would I believe in power behind sweet song To hold the universe in harmony, Expelling evil and iin})eHing good Through all the limits of created life, — A spirit's power ! — What though we mortals here. With eyes material, cannot scan its hosts ? They issue forth in forms that while they move Awake around us echoes everywhere. We start to spy them, but we find them not. But just their rustle in the trees they pass ; Or where, with dash of water o'er the rocks, They leave the sea or linger in the rill. At times, they rest a moment on the earth, With twilight languor, sighing gently then ; And lull to dreams, with tones in sympathy, The lowly insect and the lowing herd. At times, amid the winds that rise at morn, They sweep along the land and startle sleep From nervous birds that twitter through their track. And, now and then, in clouds that close the sky. They bound adown the rift the lightning cleaves Till sunlight overhead pours through agaii*. A spirit's power has music ; and must rule Unrivaled still as far as sense can heed. Or reason hark behind it. All the chords Of all things true are tuned by hands divine, IDKALS MADE REAL. 39 And thrill to feel the touch ! — But sounds arise In souls untuned, like harp-strings when they snap. Things whir like midnight nothings to the sneak, And fright like forests when the dark leaves blow About the solitary murderer. — And sweetest sounds to sweetest souls on earth May bring but foretastes vague of harmony : The school girl heeds her comrade's ringing laugh, — Scarce more than tuning ere a chord is struck ; The maiden hears the lover's mellow tones, — But only key-notes sounding for the whole ; The dame has voices sweet that cheer her home, — And they perchance prelude the theme of heaven. Ay, ay ; and blows of toil and battle guns. These too are drum-rolls of the bands that move To meet the marshaled glories sure to come. Ah me, we need but wait ; we all must hear, And all things music ! far above at last. Must hear the treble, thrilling down from heaven, And concord space throughout, and trembling hell But crashed to echo back its thundering bass." So Edith spoke ; while I, left lonely all. Beheld her, ardent for her art, a cloud. Aglow by dawn, then drawn away, away. I said, I know not what ; but far too proud, [ntoxicated though I was by love. To let her view the folly of my flill, 40 [DEALS MADE REAL. I said not all I felt ; but what I felt, Beneath the first fierce humbling of the storm, Floods over memory yet with half the woe That overwhelmed me then. Am I, I thought, So strong in love, and waiting long for it. And always true, am I to be outweighed By merest chaff of manhood, on the stage. Or in the pit ? I swore 'twas always so With all her sex. AVorth never weighed a straw. A very satyr could outwoo a sage. — Weak woman ! yet she must be weak — in brain Or body. Let her first be weak in brain : Some chance then she would serve a husband's thought ! Some chance that wisdom rule the family ! Or else, too strong of mind to serve his thought, She otherwise would slave it. Brains to wed. Commend one as a fool. And then I stopped : — Here raved I, jealous of this fool alone. This coming clown. — I blushed to think of him. — But what of her? — of Edith?— She should live, Her figure robed to fascinate — ah — crowds ! The rabble should be ravished just forsooth To clap with crazy hands the rarer air In which she moved. For them, her voice should sound. With slightest trills so swaying all their kind That thronging cheers should thunder in re- sponse ! — Her face, so sweet, should plead till foulest souls Should feel how pure the joys beyond their reach. And lono; for thino;s that never one could taint ! IDEALS MADE REAL. ' 41 My sweet, sweet love ! — But all, at Edith's side, Should I be aught ? — Alas, I could but seem — • Behind the gilded glory of the stage. Behind the loud-mouthed suitors of the show, Why, why, a dog, at some back door to wait, With signaling bark to jar the echoes sweet Of all-thc-town's applause. She mine would be But as the sun, when rests his flaming brow Against the evening sea Hushed far and near, Is thine, O trembling spray-drop, dreaming it. Since all his image glows within thy grasp ! — Fool, fool ! yet dear, dear folly ! These my thoughts ; My words — all I recall now — came at last When slowly sauntering back we reached her home. " Would God," I sighed, " the time could come for us. When, looking toward the future now so dark. We two should need no more to say good-night." " Good-bye," she said, and left me in the gloom. Then was it, as I turned about, by chance, I came on Elbert ; and my whole soul surged To dash at him its briny bitterness. Is he here, thought I, he to whom, alas, The very potion, poisoning all my hopes, Shall foam, the sparkhng nectar of success; Ay, bring good cheer, though bringing death to me ? — Then let him share it ! — Still, my wiser pride 42 IDEALS MADE REAL. The purpose cliecked, and balancing rash liate With hateful prudence, met his open smile But with a frown that closed, to greet him not. With any truth to self, so argued I, 1 could not do aught else ; nor could abide A town that held them. So I left the town. And so, at once, these foremost friends of life And I had parted ; not as friends should part, With all love's zenith fevered like the skies Where eve has rent from them a glorious sun. Then cooled anon with starlight sprinkled thick Until the sun come back. We cracked apart. Like ice-bergs drifting southward, joined no more, And sunned alone as each shall melt away. No use, it is ; I cannot now recall — I would not if I could, my suffering. From Elbert, best of friends, my nobler self. My soul of virtue and my heart of love. What cause could rightly tear me ? — Asking this, My love rose up from reason to rebel ; Indignant all to think a theory Should dare to hold an innate impulse down ; While will, caught there, between the heart and head, Each charge would bear, and yet forbear to act. And Edith, peerless Edith ! how I strove To her forget ; and, striving evermore. How fair her form, conjured by raving thought, Would rise, a Venus o'er mv sea of sighs. IDEALS MADE REAL. 43 Till I would liusli, and seem to plead anon That I who would forget, might be forgiven. Then how would judgment tear her traits apart ; The petals pluck from each dear grace that flowered ; And hope its naked stem some trace would show Too void of beauty then to still suggest The bloom and sweetness of the life I loved. Alas, but while I wrought for this alone, How would her virtues but the more unfold ! — Like God's own glory flowering in the skies, And scanned by those who would not find it there, But, when they test the stars, must deal with light. I wrought and rested ; it was all in vain. My highest consolation was the hope That hard earned sleep might hold me long in dreams, Where evermore my soul might with her dwell. Though evermore each morning dawned more lone. Awake, asleep, throned constant o'er my heart, I served this image all intangible. This photographic fantasy of truth, This fairy nothingness of vanished fact, A shape to love, minute ye! mighty still. To sense but nothing, yet to spirit all. Thus lived I, triumphed over ; as the clouds Whereon the sun sits throned, all bright are they, And bright beneath them is the sunset sea. In splendid serfdom to its love, my soul. That shone with a kindred glory, thence beheld A kindred glory shine on all about. 44 IDEALS MADK REAL. Nay, nay, no wliim was this ; it fills my creed : The touch of all true love regenerates. When born the lover, one is born anew ; And all liis family of fancies then Bear family traits : those loving and those not Live wide apart as rainbows and the rain. I might be superstitious, but to me The temple of my life's experience Had been less sacred, had it held no shrine Whereon to place the offerings sweet of love. And all things there more holy loomed around, Illumed by holy lights of memory. Nor long was it, ere all love drawing nigh. Wherever aimed, I learned to appropriate. When turned to all invoking sympathy, My wishes wrought like witches, and conjured The thing they wished for : sympathy would come. And so, my moods, thus moving on, at last Found special pleasure in a friendship formed Upon a day of tramping through the Alps. Her name was Grace, and gracious was her mien ; And graces everywhere attended her Through jars and joys of journeys afterward. By far less splendid than my Edith was. Less striking, less alluring, and less shunned ; Her brilliance would not dim a rival's eyes, Nor fiiirness shade another's face with frowns. One saw in her a modest, model maid, A woman loved by women ; and with men A presence, mellow-lighting like the moon ; IDEALS MADE KEAL. 45 Yet bright, not always. When my storms came on, As now they came on often, then it seemed Her very mildness made her moods too dull To penetrate the clouds that covered mine. " It must be lonesome, very," would she sigh ; " A stranger-land indeed, lor one like you ! What think you? day by day, could not we meet, — Church people here ? and live here, more at one ? " When hearts hold secrets, even love that comes, And comes in crowds, will bring the prying soul Intent to spring them open. How I shrank To meet in such no depth of sympathy Below the tongues and teeth and lips allied To shape one shibboleth ! But made to feel Foretokened fate like this, I felt me faint ; Scarce more a soldier falling at his post. With heart shelled out and emptied of his soul. I could but find excuses, partly real And partly feigned, the fringe of ready whims. She startled echoes out my inmost soul Through muttering of my " life-work." " Yes," I said ; "All Christ's should sympathize. AH own one lord ; All wait one shore beside ; all watch one tide. — So too do snipes and snails ! so those decreed To rule one town beyond it there, or ten. Souls differ, Grace ; and John from James, as well As both from Judas. — Judas lino;ers too." 46 IDKALS MAI>K 15KAL. " So many," sighed she, " Christ's in nnnie alone, Absorbed in change of scene, or merely art ! " Regard for Edith, was it, that in me Had roused at last a champion of art? — " However or wherever plied," I said, '' Real power for good, enough good owns to claim Some courtesy from Christian charity. If I but fling this stone in yonder pond, Small matter where it fall ; the whole is ruffed. So if one use religion here or art The whole man he may move, and move for good." " Ah, but," she breathed, with slight dogmatic stress, " A simple woman, I would move the heart ; Through love, as Christ did too ; not so ? " " Well, well," I said, " do this yoiu'self ; you own the right ; Ay, get it from your friends' self-consciousness. But yet your question, — no, I dare not, no, Not limit Him ; not if the church speak true ; If He the Truth embodied with the Life ; If He were all in all, — his holiness, His wholeness ; and his perfectness, the proof Of Godhead. — Nay, nor dare I limit those Who follow where he leads. They His may live. Not aiming here nor there, but everywhere To make the most of all God meant them for. And things there are that art can do for man To make him manlier. Not the senseless rock Is all it fashions into forms of sense; But senseless manhood, natures hard and harsh, Great classes crushed, and races forced to crawl IDEALS MADE REAL. 47 Till all theii" souls are stained with smut and soil, — These, too, more human seem when hands of art Have grasped their better traits and hold them forth. Then earth that views in part these better traits, In part the tender care that holds them forth, Sees beauty where before no beauty seemed ; Until all hearts more kindly beat to heed The lessons taught by man's Humanities. And so I think, albeit the wilderness Oftimes some John in camel's hair may need, There open too, in walks of life less wild, More ways where love may plead in guise more soft. In short, so long as choice permitted is, 'T is best to do what one can do the best." " Oh, you perplexing ! " cried she ; " not for me, For your brain. Tell, pray, where it rummaged last, To catch these cobwebs ? — I have seen them, yes ; These halls are full of them, and libraries. Old musty things ! — But, Norman, soberly, This German text is bad for eye-sight, yes ; And half I doubt — Come, tell me, tell the truth, Do you see clearly aught that you can do ? " " Why so ? " I asked ; " do you ? " " Why not," she said, All serious now, " do what shall yield life's day The most of glory at its evening hour ? — And suns set brightest after davs of storm." 48 IDEALS MADE KEAL. " What always ? " asked I, " are you sure of this ? — I know true faith that mainly aims to rid Our present life from fear of future ill. To it what need of storms, if sunshine here May best prepare one for the future calm ? That calm eternal is ; but, even so, HoAv judge we of the eternal, save by time? AVhat know we of enjoyment, ending not, Beyond our own, if only made to last ? What know of being blessed, if not this, — To find the process of becoming blest Made permanent; faith's wings that falter here Full fledged to fly by habit ? — If so, what ? — Heaven's habits form like earth's. Suppose a youth That, by and by, much wealth he may enjoy, Act miserly. What gains he by and by ? — Much wealth, perhaps ; but with it, holding still His actions miserlv, no more mere acts But grown activities, established traits, Incorporated modes of all his life ; With these he holds what most unfits his soul To use wealth, or enjoy it. So on earth If avarice, aimed for heaven, make man a monk. What gains he by and by ? — If monkish moods. These grown activities, established traits, Incorporated modes of all his life ; In holding these, his soul must with them hold What most unfits it to enjoy — not here, In any sphere at all, — a life of love." " You surely would not mean," she asked and paused. IDKALS MADE REAL. 49 " That you could now forego your hopes ? your vows ? Your life-work "? — seek enjoyment ? " " Ah," said T, " Enjoyment is the man's most genuine praise To Him that framed his being. What should I, A child of God, do here but live God's life ? — Which is not now, nor then, but evermore. My soul must thrive the best, as best I mal " Thus," answered I ; " for this the whole world waits. It waits for love, — why say not love like ours ? When souls touch souls, they touch the springs of life ; For them the veils of sense are drawn aside. All burned away in radiance divine, The while their spirit's contact starts afresh The electric flash that scores new glory here, And liohts the lines of beino; back to God. Then, while existence here seems all renewed. Far up these lines, the souls that thus commune, Discern anon that sacred home on high, Where boundless rest that borders boundless love Abides in bliss of bounty absolute. — They find that home, the source of floods of light, That, issuing forth from white mysterious heights. Flame down and flash and burst anon in sparks To star the dark through all the firmament ; — That home the centre find of cycles wide Where all the wastes of nature fuse and form, And all the things that thought can touch take shape Until the restless wheels of matter there, Whirled on through road-ways worn by speeding years, At last in fatal friction fire themselves. And light return to light from whence it sprang. Through all, where souls commune Avith central love, IDEALS MADE REAL. 75 They rest secure, awaiting birth or death ; The Spring to burst in blossoms blown to fall, Or Fall to drop the seed to spring afresh. They watch, nor fear whatever change evolve, — The splendor grand of epochs swept to waste. The ruin wild of times that tend to law, The monarch mailed whose luster dims his land's, The people's guns whose smoke would dim the throne. What though the cloud loom up and lightning rend ? True faith would not bemoan these forms that fail ; For forms if true are formulas of love That still is ardent to absorb them all. Let crowd the cannon then till crack the sky, Unroofing rage to dome content with peace. The more convulsion shake, and fire consume, The more of light 1 the more of love, set free ! The earlier comes an end to earthly days That fret our lives with flickerings vague below Of steadfiist light in endless d'?y above! So comes the doom of woe. So love comes on. So hope of glory gilds the gloom on high. While wake the good and all the ways are bright. — We too — come Edith. Christ will go with us ; And by-and-by the glory so shall flame No heavens can hold the halo ! — Edith come ; We join the plans above." But hold — I rave — I know, I know — no matter, so would you. — But find your soul's ideal, you too would find If common sense were reason, you would rave 76 IDEALS MADE REAL. Till you forgot that common sense could be — Though I forget it not. My tale is told. Wliy talk I more ? I know one household now All radiant through its mistress 1 Where she dwells Contentment sweet pervades the very air, And genial sympathy smiles on to make The whole long year one summer of delight. HAYDN. This poem was suggested b}' the tale entitled "A First Love," in the "Musical Sketches " of Elize Polko. Her authority for the narrative was the historical fact that Do- retta (Anne is the name that I find in the biographies) Keller had a sister beloved by Haydn, and who entered a convent. My own authority for the imagined connection indicated in the poem between the marriage of Haydn and the influence of the father and the priest, is derived from such passages as these, which may be found in every biography of the musician: "Forced to seek a lodging" {i. e. when a boy in Vienna), "by chance he met with a wig-maker, named Keller, who had often noticed and been delighted with the beauty of his voice at the Cathedral, and now offered him an asylum. This Haydn most gladly accepted; and Keller received him as a son His residence here had, however, a fatal influence on his after iife Keller had two daugh- ters ; his Avife and himself soon began to think of uniting the young musician to one of them ; and even ventured to name the subject to Haydn He did not forget his provnise to his old friend Keller, of marrying his daughter Anne. But he soon found that she .... had .... a mania for priests and nuns. .... He was him- self incessantly annoyed and interrupted in his studies by their clamorous conversation At length he sepa- rated from his wife, Avhom, however, he always, in pecu- niary concerns, treated Avith perfect honor." — Biot/iriph- ical Dictionary of Musicians, 2 vols., London, 1827. Such facts, taken in connection with the well-known piety of Haydn, are a sufficient warrant, as I think, for my supposing that " priests and nuns " who so annoyed him had had something to do with drawing that member of the family whom he loved into a convent. In the poem I have endeavored to bring the personality of the musi- cian before the mind of the reader by using the name Haydn, rather than his baptismal name, Joseph. HAYDN. Hark, sister ! hear we not the vesper hymn ? And is it not the hymn that Haydn wrote ? May not we Hft the window ? Rob we God, If, while the praise they send is passing by, Some air, made sweeter, tarry here with us ? There, there — it dies away. — Why say men " dies ? " — Because it lived ? — Ay, ay, my body here. Because it moves and tlirobs and tells of thought And wakens thought in others, thus you know The body lives. And music, while it sounds, Does it not move and throb and tell of thought And waken thought in others ? — Then it dies. — But ah, the music, it has never sinned, Has never known a wish save that of Heaven, And need not linger long here. Yet to eyes That scan eternity, time cannot be A measure gauging vital force ; nay, nay : Then heavenly lightning lived a weaker thing Than earthly smoke. — Ah sister, I have thought If there may rise, high up in halls of Heaven, Sweet echoes of our earthly lives, re-lived Yet not as here on earth, there too may rise Of earthly music echoes just as real. 82 IIAYDX. At least my Haydn's holds a life breathed in, — His very soul. Each sound all sentient is To make one thrill, as though a power should come And clasp, with hands below these fleshly robes, And touch, for once, as spirits do, the heart. They woo one as a god might, owning heaven. Why should I not talk so ? Go bid the flowers Keep back their perfume ; then, perchance, may souls. All sweet in bloom of love, keep back sweet words. I love him. — Shrink not, sister. Hear you must. — And say not I am weak. Should not I grow Far weaker, holding in a love so strong ? For years he lived there in my father's house, My elder brother and my lover too, My helper, and my hero ; all my youth, Was one bright dawn about that sunny face. Four years my senior was he ; yet, withal. So delicate in blunt and boyish ways, So young in all things save in being kind. He seemed more near to me. Ere it I knew. In bud of girlhood even, he had pluck'd My blushing love, to wear it on his heart ; And all my life took root where grew his soul. Once I remember now our strolling far That valley through, whose borders unannounced Upheave to a sudden hill the church-yard low. The time of year it was when nature seems In mood most motherly, with every breath Held in a mild suspense above a world 83 Of just born babyhood, when tiny leaves, Like infant hands, do stretch to drain warm dews From palpitating winds, and when small brooks Do babble much, birds chirp, lambs bleat, and then, While all around is one sweet nursery, Not strange it seems that men ape childhood too, And lisp — ah me ! — minutest syllables, Yet still too coarse for love's ethereal sense ! As was her wont, at that time with us walked Doretta fair, my sister, such an elf! My pride and Haydn's pet, with merry tones To ring, Avhen all would wax too pensive there, Like bells that homeward lure the wind-blown bees. Our flighty fancies bringing back to earth. But Haydn liked this not, would ward it off. And turn her chafing overcharge of nerve From tongue to foot, with " Here, Doretta, imp ! You cannot climb the ledge,'' or " leap the brook," Or " find the flowers ; " — then bending down to me, " T do abhor our German prudery. We two should walk alone, or else have four, Or six. When two agree they make a match. A third is but a wedge with which to split The two apart." And once he paused with me ; And while Doretta linger'd, hid from view. We two sat languidly upon the turf. *' Few feel like springing," he exclaimed, " in ;pr] sprinof ! — 84 HAYDN. And yet may be, our lives spring on like limbs That first draAv back and down, and then leap up. To feel relaxed, perhaps, prepares one best To leap the tests that hedge the coming year ; First action, then reaction — eh, not so ? — And think — The thing is law — The same with souls : They stoop, then rise ; they kneel, then know of heaven. — And say, Janett, whenever comes in view An aim sublime, to make one proud, so proud. Say, should he not do thus ? " — " Ha I " lau'jhed a voice ; And quick, Doretta's curls shook down a shade Between his face and mine. She smooth'd his brow ; And with a wreath of heart's-ease crown'd it then. " There, there, my sweet heart, be at ease," she • cried. " You take my head then for my heart," he said. "Nay, nay," she answered, "nay — Avould crown them both ; Your music with your muse ; your head, the home ; The mistress there, your heart." " With all one's heart But mistress of his head, would love gain much? " He asked. , " Why yes — immortal fame," she said ; " Not so ? '^ " And do you think," he ask'd, " that this Could set the heart at ease ? " Then, mus' 85 " Well well ; perhaps no hearts, if all at ease, Can ever hold an earnest of renown. High worth is earn'd through effort. Ease alone May weaken life, like sweetmeats served ere meats, To surfeit appetite before it acts." " But look," he added, starting suddenly ; " The sun has touched the earth. See how its disk. Red hot there, steams against the river chill ! We home must go." With this we all turned back, Walked home together ; nor a chance was given For him to say the thing he would have said. Yet, sister, I have lately often thought His lips so closed, were making ready then, When came Doretta there, to breathe to me What might have roused, like resurrection time, As righteously as blasts from Gabriel's trump, Have open'd for me here a life of love. Nay, do not bid me cease. I must confess. It is not discontentment with my lot. My heart, it suffocates. This feeling here, It stifles me. I think that one might die, Forbidden speech. Ah, friend, had you a babe, A little puny thing that needed air, And nursing too ; and now and then a kiss, A mother's kiss to quiet it ; and arms. Warm arms to wrap, and rock it so to sleep ; Would you deny it these ? And yet there lives A far more tender babe that God calls love ; 86 HAYDX. And when He sends it, why, we mortals here, — I Avould not say we grudge the kiss, the clasp, — We grudge the little heavenling even air. The tears will come. It makes me weep to think Of this poor gentle babe, this heir of heaven, So wronged because men live ashamed of it. Ah no, not strange, earth knows but little joy While all so little dare of love to speak. For once (I ask no more) you must permit That I should nurse this stranger, give it air, Ay, ay, and food, if need be ; let it grow. God's child alone, I have no fear of it. Long after that, our Haydn found no chance With me to speak ; and this, I know not why. My fiither — I could never solve it why My father aught surmised : we walked alone, Doretta, Haydn, I — my father though From this time seemed less trustful ; not that he Less loved his favorite, Haydn ; but we both Were still so young And he, poor man, who earned With all his toil not much, had formed a plan ; (As one might form a rosary, stringing beads. Then spending all his hours in counting them ; ) Where hung bright hopes, but strung on flimsy thread, — Mere lint, brushed off a worldling's flattery, That I much wealth should wed. So, like a gem For future pride, he locked me up in school. And there strange fiices drove my lonely thoughts Back into memory for companionship : And there imagination, moved anon HAYDN. 87 To fill the void love found in earth about, Invoking fancies where it failed in facts, Beheld an earth about that seemed bewitched. If Haydn present had my love called forth, Away, and thus conjured (how could I help?) He call'd forth worship. You remember, friend, Those heroes grand of Egypt seemed not gods Till all were dead, and veiled from mortal eyes. And so with Haydn, and his world it was These never filled with glory had appeared Till now, when shut from me. Each slightest hint Of home, that made me think this home was his. Made all recalled as bright as heaven itself; — Yes, yes, though heaven so very bright must be ! — Wliy, even here, the past is bright ; and there, Up there, we faith shall have, such perfect faith We cannot longer fear the future. No : As joyous shall it loom as all the past : And then with all things bright, behind, before. Where could a place for gloom be ? Even here. Could gloom be found if only men had fiiith ? A year pass'd over me. Can I forget That wondrous summer day that set me free ? At first, as though no soul at all I had, A part alone I seemed of wide, wide air. The while all things had souls. The very earth, My fellow, seemed to breathe ! its pulse to throb Through every trembling bush ! its heart to heave Where swayed, like living lungs, the wooded hills ! 00 HAYDN. And then, this great life broke in many lives, All one through sympathy. In lieu of clouds The gusty breeze caught up the twittering lark And shook the laughter out his nervous sides Till all that heard did shake, the littlest leaves Abuzz on trees about, like bees that swarm. Then reverence hush'd the whole, while, greeting me, Our dear church spire appeared to mount the hill, Our home to reach around a slow-turn'd rock, — And all stood still with Haydn ! Hot my cheek Felt then Doretta's kiss ; my father's then ; And then bewildered, as from out a dream, At last I woke. And what a dawn was that 1 As if the sun had draAvn the earth to itself, 1 dwelt in central light; and heaven, high heaven — Could feel some raj^s, perhaps, was touch'd by them, At star-points in the sky, but owned no more. Doretta had developt much : so fair, In early flush of ripen'd maidenhood, I did not wonder while I watched his eyes. My Haydn's eyes, that he could crave the fruit. And intimate they Avere. Right merrily Through all the house I heard their voices chime. But me our Haydn did not seem to know ; So quiet was he, and reserved with me. Yet all my heart Avould flutter like a bird's At his approach : my will fly up and off; And, as if poised in air and not in me, Leave words and ways so weak without control, Remaining fixed as though I prized him not. HAYDN. 89 But this he little mark'd. Doretta now Had dimm'd, perhaps, the light between us there. Then, too, within the year, still subtler charms Had cast their spells about him : work had come. He needed now no more to earn his bread By joining oft us gay wig-makers young. Us sisters busied with our father's tasks. The church that had dismiss'd him when from change It could not keep that voice who?e tones of yore Had touch'd my father so that heart and house Had both sprung open wide, a home to give The choir-boy poor, — the church had call'd him back To aid again, but in the orchestra, The fresher voices of his younger mates. With this had pupils fill'd his vacant hours ; And, far away, an organ, play'd at Mass, Seem'd all his rest on Sundays. Thus cheer'd on, His brighten'd prospects had renew'd the charms Of music rivaling all things else with him. Full often, could Ave watch him, listless, gaze, Ay, even toward Doretta's voice and form ; Then turn, like one bewilder'd by a dream Fair closing every sense to all besides. And seek his small bare attic where anon, For hours together, pausing not for aught, The ringing strings within his harpsichord Would seem to call toward form that formless force Enrapturing so his spirit. When his moods Would note Doretta not, nor waiting meals, Nor sunset hues, nor moonlight at its full, Nor solemn striking of the midnight bell. What could I think that he could care for me. 90 At last his illness came. How pale he lay ! We fear'd for him, lest life should slip its net : The fleshly cords seem'd worn to film so thin ! But how his soul would shine through them ! Its light, I would not say that it could gladden me, Yet — strange is it ? — while seated near his side, The fresh air fanning toward him, air his lungs Were all too weak to draw there for themselves, For that so gentle, babelike sufferer, I lost all fear, and true to womanhood, I loved him more for low and helpless sighs Than ever I had loved him for his strength. How oft I thank'd the Power that gave me power To think and do for him what he could not. I knelt : I gave my body to his soul : Brain, hands and all tilings would I yield to him. And were they not paid back ? — His sweet, sweet heart. Each slightest beat of it, I felt it thrill Through all my veins, twice dear since serving two. And this was love ! You know the Master's words. That they alone who lose it find their life. 'T is true. No soul can feel full consciousness Of full existence till it really love. And yield its own to serve another's life. " To serve Christ's," say you ? — Ay, and part of that. By Christ's humanity, is serving man. I speak a law of life, a truth of God : To heaven I dare as little limit it, HAYDX. 01 As here, to earth : whatever be his sphere, One knows not Hfe therein until he love. True love has life eternal, infinite. Complete within itself, and craving naught, It needs no future far, nor outlet vast. Nor aught to feel or touch in time or space. A sense witliin, itself its own reward, It waits not on return. For it, more blest To love it is, than be loved ; to be God, Than be a man. At least, my love bless'd me Much more than Haydn ; for with all it longed And all it toiled, Doretta lived the one Who seemed to best succeed in aiding him. She more had dwelt at home, knew household ways ; And I was but a bungler, knew them not. And so to me was mainly left the task, To fan him while he slept. But, when he woke, Although his lips would move with no complaint, Nor eyes would glance for other than myself, I could not do for him as sister could. For she would turn his pillow, tell him tales, Bring books and pictures, just what pleas'd him most. But ah, to me those patient lips and eyes Such holy things appeared ! My d'eeds were hush'd : I did not dare disturb the silence there. It could not all have been mere selfishness ; Yet I was all content to look at him. And ray inaptitude my sister knew. And partly since she knew what I did not, 02 HAYDN. And partly since she loved as well as I, Wlien once she heard liini waking, she would come And by him sit till fast asleep again ; And then, when little left for me to do, Then only would she leave me there alone. At times then would I lean above his couch, And grieve to think that I coidd do no more ; At times would rise in thankfulness that God Would let me do so much. A thought like this Perhaps He bent to bless. I learned to think That even though I might not have her art, Doretta's art, that I at least might have As much, perhaps, as guardian angels have, Without our hands or voices, keeping watch In spirit only. Still, when sister came, The thought would come that, if those souls unseen Could envy, sometimes they might envy men. How hard I strove against this jealousy : Would plead with Mary, and would kneel to Christ ; And seek the priestly father and confess The feeling all to him. Nor would he chide One half as much as I would chide myself. How would he shame me that I dared to love " A man vvho had not ask'd me for my love ! A man who loved my sister and not me ! " - — Then bid me count my beads for hours and hours : A week or more I slept not, counting them ; But, while my thought was fixt but on the sin, It seem'd my sin but grew. It grew in fact, HAYDN. 9o For all ! existence looms to greet the soul But like a mirror, where to him that hath Is given more anon of what he hath : One smiles at earth, it gives him back a smile ; He frowns, it gives a frown ; he looks with love, He finds love ; but with sin, and all is sin. — Alas, that men should think one secret fault Can hide itself. Their sin shall find them out. Before, behind, from every (Quarter flash Their moods reflected. Let them tell the tale. Nay, let them whisper, glance, or shrug one hint Of what they find in earth about, and lo ! In this, their tale of it, earth reads their own. I wander much. There came a change at last. Our charge was better ; and one afternoon. Ere scarce 1 knew that he awake could be. Upon my cheeks arose a burning heat, While, past a mist of tears that came, there dawn'd The light that waited in his clear, blue eye. " Janett," he murmured then, " Janett, my friend — And what? — You weep for me? I shall not die. — Nay, do not rise, nor call Doretta yet. Hist, hist ; — nor let her hear us. Wliy is this, That you stay never with me Avhen I wake ? " You think you ' cannot do for me ' ? — do what? And have I ask'd you anything to do ? — I pray you stay ; do not do anything, — 94 HAYDX. What pretty cuffs ! — Tlioi'e, there : it still shall lie, The little hand : I like to look at it. — VVho said that I Avish'd books, and prints, and tales. And bustlings all about ? — "Wlio told you this ? — Your sister ? — She, a good, kind nurse has been : And you, you too, a good, kind nurse liave been. Ah think you I have never lain awake, Nor known the long nights you have watch'd with me ? — " What say ? — have ' done but duty ' ? — Say not so. A fi'iend most pleases when, forgetting due. He seems to do his pleasure ; while a foe, — Who does not shrink to feel one near enough To freeze him with a chill though duteous touch? Mere duty forms the body part of love : Let love be present, and this body seems The fitting vestment of a finer life : Let love be absent, 't is a hideous corpse ! Janett, I crave the life, I crave the soul : Why at me rattle then a skeleton ? " I ' mean vour sister ' ? Why ? — who named her ? — I ? — Name her, did I, as being duteous ? — ' Who mean I, then ' ? — You little fluttering bird ! Suppose you were some actual little bird, How told you then whence came or whither went The wind that rufl'd your feathers ? — Do you know, haydS. 95 You women always will match thoughts to things ? You chat as birds chirp, when their mates grow bright : You love when comes a look that smiles on you. We men are more creative. We love love, Our own ideal long before aught real : Our halo of young fancy circles naught Save empty sky far off. — And yet those rays Fit like a crown, at last, about the face That fortune drives between our goal and us ! " Still, all may fail of truth ; none fail like those Most prone to deem themselves infallible ; None more than men who, fallible in proof, Yet flout, when fails anon, a woman's guess. — And your guess ? — it went right. I thought of her, Your sister. We both honor her, and much. And yet I fear her, lest her will so strong Should overmatch by aught your strength of will. For God has given you your own moods, friend ; And are you not responsible for them ? And if you yield them up too readily, Not meaning wrong, yet may you not mistake ? Our lives, remember, are not sounding-boards. Not sense.less things, resounding for a world That nothing new can note in what we o-ive. If one but echo back some other's wish. Think you God's message through his own ful- filled ? Yet, — Nay, I would not chide ; I caution you. Wit heeds a hint ; 't is folly questions it. 9() HAYDX. *' And so you thought I wished my pillow turned, And books, and tales, and bustlings all about ? Does not the world, then, worry life enough, — That one should crave that more should worry him ? You must have thought that exercise I lacked. Some nervous mothers — bless them ! — shake their babes. I never deemed it wise ; oh no — am sure The friction frets the temper of the child. — Not natural, you see : God never shakes The ground with earthquakes when He wishes spring. Life from its germs is driven not, but drawn By still, bright warmth. Janett but look at me. Too weak am I now to be driven to life ; Nay, nay, but must be drawn. — And ah ! could tell AVhere orbs there are as bright as suns could be — Nay, do not blush nor turn that face away. You dream, aha, that I wish sunset ? — what ? — The colors come right pretty, but — there, there — " What say ? — I dare not fiice you now ? — Those eyes. Too bright, are they ? or loving ? Love, like God, So brightly dear is it, that lives like ours. Poor vapory lives, mere dews before the dawn, Dare not to face it lest we melt away ? — • Then be it so. Then look, Janett, I dare ! Am I not yours ? Should you not use your own ? — Ay, darling, draw me all within yourself." • HAYDN. 97 Then, while he spoke with hands there clasping mine, And eyes that mine had tired with so much light Their lids, all weak, were vext to feeble tears, Doretta came. But startled, seeing us. She only smiled ; said, " Haydn, what ! awake ? — And you, Janett? — You good have been, so good ; Nor called me ; no. How very kind in you ! Why, after all, some little training thus Might make you hke, perhaps, to be a nurse, — Or housekeeper. — To-day, how wrecked it looked, Your room ! Our father just now came from there ; So vexed, you know." I flushed, and thought, at least. That she had not been kind to speak of it. And could have told her so, but checked the words. And went my way ; and sought my father first. And told him what the cause had been ; and then I sought my room, and prayed that I might know If it Avere best to tell my father too Of Haydn's love ; or Haydn tell of mine ; And if he loved me still, since sister's words. If only he could know my soul in truth, I felt that I could suffer all things then ; Could die, if so the veils about my heart Withdrawn could be, and show him Iioav I loved. Alas, I did not know then, had not learn'd. That love may more endure than even death. The sunset brought Doretta to my room ; And she began, and chided me, and said, 98 HAYDN. " How dared you talk ! and what did Haydn say ? — He lies so ill, with fever high, so high. He could but rave. How dared you lead him on ? He worse may grow, — Who knows, Janet t ? — may die ; And all the cause of all your nursing be ! — When will you learn to learn what you know not?" And then she told me such a long, sad tale. Of how much store she placed upon his life ; And how they two had thought the self-same things : She knew the closest chamber in his soul, And what key could unlock it. Last, she named First one and then another of our friends. Whom surely she could not love so ; — no, no. Then sighed she, " Ah Janett, had you explored The world about, its lonely, barren wastes, And found one little nook ; and had you work'd And till'd it well, and form'd a garden there ; And had you watch'd the })lantlets grow until All dainty bowers bent over you with shade, All sweet with fairest buds and fondest birds. What could you think of one who came and strlpt Your life of this, the thing that so you prized ? — Alas, and think of me, if any power Should wrest from me my Haydn, sAveetest soil Where spring all hopes that shelter lonely hours, And make it dear for life to see and hear, — What could J think of it ? Though you, Janett, HAYDN. 99 You have not known and tired of many men. You have not search'd, as I have, through the world " — " Nay, sister," said I, " I have not." Then she — " Quite right : and cannot yet know love, true love. You close at school were kept : and hard it was, And harder still that you to-day must wait, As I have done, — at your age too. But yet Right love is ripe love. Life must be exposed To sun and storm, and frost and bruising too : The fruit grows mellow by and by alone.'* " Why, dear," said I, " I think that I can love ! You know what Haydn sings, — that maids, like flowers. Are sweetest, pluck'd when in the bud ? " " There now, You always will be quoting him ! " she cried, — " Because a man, ah yes, your first man-friend ! Yet, not compared by you Avith other men. How know you hi in, what sort of man he is ? — Girls unsophisticated are like bees : They buzz for all, and yet sip all their sweets From the first flowery lips that open to them." " Nay," answer'd T, " I like him not for that, — Because a man ! " " What ? — not for that ? " she said : " Aha, have shrewder plans ? — I know, I know It would be well if you, or I, could feel That it were fixt, about our wedded life ; 100 HAYDN. So many ifs and ifs, it vexes one ; It would be well if we were done with them. Such trusting natures have we, we poor girls ; Weak parasites, at best, each tall stout man Seems just the thing we ought to cling upon. But, dear, I think that half these trunks give way : — The wonder is we dare to cling at all ! " " But Haydn," said I, " Haydn " — " As for him," She sigh'd, " well, he may be not trustless all ; Yet if he be or be not, how know you Who know not human nature, nor have learn'd To study it and thus find out the truth. The world grows grain and chaff". Sift out the first And cultivate, perchance some gain may come, — So too with worldly friendship." " But," said I, " If you should change yourself who change your friend, Or change but his relations to yourself. Or, by mistake, some ill trait cultivate ; Or, some way, make a new, strange man of him ? " — " Why I should till," she said, " what pleases me ; And with what pleases me preserve my love." " And I," replied I, " not for future gain, For what he may become, would prize my friend ; But love the thing he is ; nor wish him changed. 1 would not dare disturb for aught besides IIAYDN. 1 01 The poise of traits composing sympathy That, as it is, so balances desire. Ah, did I chiefly prize the possible. Or profitable, where were present joy ? — Nay, nay, that love I which I find possess'd." " Pray, how much can you find possess'd ? " she ask'd. " Enough to love," I said. '• What holds enough For that ? " she ask'd again. I answer'd her, — " Enough to make his presence seem a boon ; Enough to make his purpose a behest ; Enough to feel an impulse seeking him, And, finding him, a consciousness of all." " ' A consciousness of all,' is vague," she said. " I ask for reasons and you rave alone. This very vagueness while you answer me, It proves how immature in love you are." " Ah dear," replied I, "higher love there is, — A love of God, a love all worshipful ; And that love should you ask me to define, I mio;lit an answer vaguer still give back. The finite only can be well defined." " The finite ! " she repeated ; then exclaim'd : " Oh, worship, wish you ? — well, we then must find An idol ! — there, that golden one, — there now. — Foroive the simile. — You know his choice : 102 besides The baron too could fall and worship you ; So father says. Two idols could you have, — Your home a very temple ; only, dear, Be not so backward. Give but me your chance — These men, they all present their best to you. You get the diamonds as if you were noon : And I, I get the coals. — But let me touch, They either burn or else they blacken me." She said, then left abruptly. — Strange it was. With what abhorrence strange I shrank from her While si)eaking thus. Not selfish seemed she all, But so insensible ; and these, our tastes. These dainty despots of desire, our tastes, The worst of tyrants are ; nor brook offense. I well-nigh hated her. Yet minded thus, While musing o'er her nature, all so hard — Have not you noticed at the arsenal, At times, when moved to mark grim helmets there, All suddenly, upon the polish'd brasS A wondrous brightness ? then, in purest depths, Your own face hideous render'd ? So with me : Amid her harsher traits that there appeared, Shone soon the brighter metal : out of it, Lecr'd back to greet my gaze my hideous self ! — I, I it seemed, I stood the selfish one. — Had I regarded her, my father's wish. The baron's choice ? — I could but answer, no ; None saving Haydn. Then I ask'd again. Could this be true, the thing my sister said, -^ HAYDN. 103 Could aught so sweet as Haydn's love exude From moods, , all mushroom'd by disease? I thought How marvelously thronged with strangest shapes Loomed up deep halls of fancy, lighted through By fires of fever ; how, with trust complete, Would weakness lean on all beside itself. And soon I blamed my heart for daring there To lure his poor, weak, crazed confession on ; And then I flush'd, and broke in passionate sobs. To think Doretta dared to hint such things. Three days my woes alternated, and then I went to my confessor for relief. " Well, child," he said, " love troubles you again ? The rest of us poor mortals here, we fret Because we have too little of it, you Because too much. Of course all girls are prone, Young girls, to deem their own love great and grand ; But you, my child, find yours an elephant : It taxes all your powers to get it food ; Yet nothing does except to tramp on you. Now tell me, think you God it is, or man, Who makes our earthly love so troublesome ? " " Why man," I said, '' of course." " Of course," he said ; " Then think you not it might be wise to get Some less of man in you, and more of God ? — How fares it with your prayers ? " " But yet," I urged, " It scarcely seems my fault, this woe of mine." 1 04 HAYDN. " Well, let us know," lie answered, "weigh the sides : , Here, three wills ; there, but one ; now, which should yield ? " " Not so," I said ; " There two, — my own and Haydn's ; Besides, the other three have no such love." ''No love?" he said. "Is that a Christian mood ? A modest, humble mood? — ' Have no such love ! * How test we love, my child ? It seems to me That love, like light, is tested by its rays. Christ's crown of royalty the halo is. Self-sacrifice marks heaven's true heraldry. Wlierever God's, the strong must serve the weak ; The mother yields her powers to bless the babe ; The man his own, for her ; and Christ, for all. Ah, child, if you were strong ! had love like theirs ! " I sighed, "How can one sure be whom to serve?" "Well, put it thus: — ■ your own wish ? or your sire's ? — How reads the decalogue ? " " But," answer'd I, " It seems as though some higher power there were That one should first obey, some power like God." " Yes, child," he said, " there is, of course, the Church : IIAYDN. 105 Of course, of course." " Who is the Church ? " I ask'd. And then he hiugh'd : " Who ? — What a ques- tion, child ! — Why, read your prayer-book. Why, the Church, of course, Speaks through its ministers." '' If you speak then," Inquired I, trenibhng, — " give advice to us, Is that the last resort ? — must one obey ? " " Well, that depends," he said ; — " but, dear me, child, You must not think us bears ! We growl at times In sermons, eh ? — But then, dear me, dear me. We would not eat our flock up, little lamb ! — Come," added he, " come, now ; enough of this ; How fares it with your prayers ? " Soon after that, One day, while troubled much, I chanced to meet My Haydn, half restored, outside his room. For once, he sat alone ; and, seeing me, — " Why friend, what accident is this ? " he said : " And tears, too, tears ? — Tell now, what sullen storm Has left such heavy drops ? Did not it know That these, so tender eyes, might droop ? if droop, What rare views they might close to some one here ? — What can have happen'd ? " Why not speak to me ? — You seem the very statue of yourself. — 106 HAYDN. Why, what has chill'd you so ? — Not I ? — Not I? — Janett, I know, if I were cold to you, A certain rosy face with opening lips Could come with power to bring me summer air, Dispelling sweetly my most wintry wish, Despite myself! — Why will you trust me not?" And then I spoke to him. I hinted first • My moods were odd ; not moods for him to mind. " Odd," answer'd he, '' I knew a fiimily Wliere all the children grew so very odd, — Like fruit when hard to touch and sour to taste, Not ripe nor mellow. Too much spring had they. And not enough of summer in their home. — I know that you are not so very odd That you would keep apart from one you love. And I, can I not hope that I am one V " At these words then (how could I help myself?) My heart-gates sprang wide open ; emptied all. The whole the priest had told me of my sin ; And how we should not talk together more. How wild it made him ! Never had I seen One shaken so. His anger frighten'd me. " This crafty priest," he said, " you ask'd of God: He answer'd you about the Church, 'of course,' And of the Church about the priests, ' of course,* And of the priests about himself, ' of course.* I tell you this is cursed selfishness ; I tell you it is downright sacrilege ! — HAYDN. 107 To strain the thunders of the Infinite Down through that sieve, his windpipe, dribbling out, ' I deal the voice of God, I, I, the priest ! ' " " How dare you, Haydn," cried I, " Haydn, how " — " How dare ? " he cried out, '' dare ? Am I a dog, A dog or woman cringing to a man, Because of kicks or curses ? " " Nay," I sobb'd, " I kneel before his office, not to him." " Poor girl," he said, " forgive me — stop — I beg — What ? can you think that I would make you weep ? Not, darling, not of you, I meant to speak, But of the system." " System," I replied ; " Why, Haydn, are you not a Christian, then ? " " And wherefore not ? " he asked. '• Because," I said, " You reverence not the Church." " But not of that," He answer'd, " of the priests ; of them I spoke." " And yet," I said, " the priests have been or- dain 'd — No reverence, you, for ministers of God ? " " Of God," he muttered, — " yes, when that they are. 108 HAYDN. I reverence the princeship ; not the prince His regal robes forsaking, and his throne, To lower his aims and slave it with his serfs." " What mean you now ? " I asked. " I mean that priests Are not ordain'd to work in eveiy sphere. A prince dispenses, does not mine his gold. A priest administers the truth reveal'd. What sanctions him to mine unfathom'd depths Of God's infinity ; and bring to light Laws not reveal'd, and govern men through them ? Your priest who tampers so with social life, What warrant holds he, human or divine ? Whatever move him, serving thus your sire, Or deeming gifts like those he fancies mine. Might worthier prove, devoted to the Church, Is he in this our final arbiter? — Have I no judgment? — Are not you of age ? Janett, but heed me ; let no power, I beg. Avail to sunder us. Heaven hears my words. I fear a plot to make your will so crushed, (God save you if you yield) a merest truck To bear some weight of meanness on to ill." " But I," I said, I craved the priest's advice." *' He handled the occasion," answer'd he. " I would not dare to mould another thus. Nay, though I knew that I could model thence The best shaped manhood of my mind's ideal. AVho knows? — My own ideal, my wisest aim, May tempt astray ; may others tempt astray. If I be made one soul to answer for, HAYDN. 109 And make myself responsible for two, I may be doubly damn'd. 'T is sacrilege, — Self-will, so moved to manage other wills ; As though we men Avere puppets of a show, Not spirits, restless and irresolute, Poised on a point between the right and wrong From which a breath may launch for heaven or hell. — You dare submit to this impiety ? " " But," ask'd I, " ought not one to heed advice ? '* "Advice?" he answer'd. "What? — is this the ground On which these base authority ? — Nay, nay. Base where they may, their ground is willfulness. Years since invested ; not disrobed, because Age awes revolt. Should your will yield to theirs ? — Think you God gives to strength of will the right To say what is right? Willfulness is sin. If one obey it, how can he be sure . That he obeys not rin ? " " They may have will," I said, " but you forget ; the priests are wise." " About what life ? " he cried. " In other men Experience signs the warrant for advice. But in. the priest — what knows he real of life ? — Naught, naught ; and if he give you his advice He gives you naught, or else he gives you whims ; — A bachelor teaching mothers of their babes ! Or matrons how to guide their grown-up girls ! 110 HAYDN. Alas, their counsels ignorant, partial, false, Repel towai'd infidelity the wise ; And half of those they tempt to follow them Make hypocrites or hypochondriacs." " Nay," said I firmly, '• I must hear no more." " Then have they really separated us ? " He ask'd. And I, " What mean 3 ou ? " " Are you then My friend or not ? " he went on, mournfully. " What is a friend ? " I ask'd. " What else," he said, " But, in the world, where all misjudge one so, A soul to whom one dares to speak the truth ? " " Ah, Haydn," ask'd I, " must we speak all truth ? "Why not?" he said, *'is sin less sin when hid ? — Is not the penitent a sinner frank. The hypocrite a sinner not so frank ? " — " But yet," protested I, " the truth may harm." " How so?" he asked. " If one show naked sin, — AVho knows ? — it then may shame men from the sin. And could the naked good accomplish more ? Must not we Christians here confess our fixults ? Why should Ave not ? Has wrong such lovely smiles, HAYDN. Ill Such loving tones, that men should long for it ? The harm is in the lie that masks the sin." " And yet," I urged, " the young ? the preju- diced " — " For their sake," said he. " wisdom may be wise In what it screens from folly. — Yet you know The crime of Socrates, — ' corrupting youth ' ? The talc is old: this lying world hates truth. Heed not the world. Ere that speak out and die. Our God is great. I deem Him great enough His truth to save without subverting ours. The Truth is sovereign. Think it not a sham That holds high rank because we courteous men, Coufiiderate men, allow it seeming rank ! — Who lies to save the truth distrusts the truth, Dishonors self, and disesteems his God. Who strives to save a soul thus, loses it, In evil trusting and the evil one, — Salvation through the devil, not through Christ ! " Then while he sat there, sat with flushing cheeks Himself defending thus, — I, charm'd the while, — The door flew open, and behind it stood My father and the priest. If they had said But one harsh word, it had not been so sad. But they were kind, too kind. Ah, sister dear, Have not you felt how much more pain it gives. This pain from kindness ? Love is like the sun : It brightens life, but yet may parch it too. 112 IIAYDX. And wind may blow, and man may screen liim- self; And rain may fall, and lie may shelter find; And frost may chill, and he may clothing wear; But what can ward off sun-stroke? — Love, Its first degree may bring fertility ; Its second barrenness. It lights ; it blights. The flames of heaven, flash'd far and spent, turn smoke To glut the gloom of hell. And words so kind, (Harsh means we could have braced ourselves against) They wrought like spells to open each approach That caution should have guarded. " We knew not Our own minds, poor young pair," they said. " At least. Our love could wait : meantime, whose love could claim Our trust, like theirs whose treasure lay in us? " And then to me alone they spoke of Ilaydn : — '* He passionate had been : — how knew I now His passion might not turn against myself? And he had sinn'd, so sorely, sorely sinn'd : — How could one thus profane the Church and priest ? And did my love for him suggest such Avoids, Or should my love hereafter sanction them, Might not his sin prove mine ? — If I should yield, Be won by his unbridled tongue, might not My act confirm his trust in thought uncheck'd ? And thought uncheck'd, why, like a steed un- check'd, HAYDN. 113 Once yielded rein — allow'd but once free way, One false association of ideas, Ideas would still associate with the false: There could no bridling after that be ; no." I said, " He loves much." They, " Did not I know How often love that lost all earthly friends, Came back from all things outward toward itself; And finding self, found heaven's design within ? Did not I know that loss and gain were both Designed to add to worth of inner traits That grow in souls as things in soil without ? — Each 2^assing season circling round a tree Leaves, clasping it, a ring : the ring remains. So seasons past remain about one's soul : And men can trace its former life far less By tales the tongue may tell, than by the range. The reach of light that circumscribes the mood, Including or excludinoj right or wrong." And then they added : " Might it not be found That loss of my love was the very means Design'd by Providence for Haydn's good ? " To this I could but say th^t " Love, his love, Itself seem'd Providence, a holy thing." They only frown'd, and said, " The prince of ill Came often robed like angels of the light ; — Why not like love ? — The only holy thing, Such proved to be, was Christ. And what of Him When moved by love ? How great His sacri- fice ! — 114 HAYDN. And did I really prize this Haydn so, Would love prompt naught in nie ? " And thus they talk'd, Till, welcoming doubt, my faith succumbed to it. And all the love, once making life so proud, — The growth that I had deemed so sweet and fiir, It stung, a very thistle in my soul ; Each breath of theirs would blow its prickles sharp, And sow its pestering seedlets far and wide O'er every pleasing portion of my life. And I recall now calling out in prayer, How long, how toilfully, how fruitlessly ! At last, despair had made me leave my beads, And, moved as though to cool a feverish faith, Pass out, the night air seeking. There I saw The moon. It always soothed me with strange spells, The moon. But now, as though all things had join'd My peace to thwart, anon I saw this moon Caught up behind an angry horde of clouds, All chased by hot breath of a coming storm That clang'd his thunder-bugle through the west. When once the rude gust struck the moon, she tipt. Or seemed to tip, and with a deafening peal To spill one blinding flash. Then, where it lit, Just in the path before me gleamed a knife ! Held o'er a form of white ! The thing to see, I scream'd aloud. It seem'd a ghost ! INIy scream Awoke no echo save Doretta's voice : — " Janett ? — and were you frighten'd ? " HAYDX. 115 Then to this, In part because the shock had stunn'd me much, In part because I felt me much provoked, But mainly since my mood was deaf to sport, I answer'd naught. Whereat, as now I think, Though then in that unnatural, nervous state, My mind surmised more horrid inference. She, stirr'd to still more mischievous caprice, Went on to vex me more. " AVhat ? — Fear you me ! And have you done so much against me, then ? And if you have, why fear you here a knife ? — You think the blade might draw some little blood ; — Would that much signify ? — the body pain'd ? Suppose that one should wield some subtler blade And draw some tears, mere watery tears, weak things ; — Would they much signify ? — a soul in pain ? And did you never now do that ? — draw tei#s ? — And think, is not the soul much worse to harm Than is the body ? — Fy ! why fear a knife ? If I supposed that through a life-time long My soul should bleed its dear strength out in tears. Say, would it not be mercy then to me For one to check the longer, stronger Avoe By shedding here some drops of weaker blood, Now, once for all ? " " dear Doretta mine," I cried, and still more frighten'd, " do you mean " — " This," answeii'd she, " I mean that I would cut My body's life in two parts sooner than My soul's life." IK) UAYDX. " Sister," I could only gasp, " Cease — do ; — put by that knife " — " Why ? " answered she ; — " For Avhat ? — Your wish ? Do you so often yield AVhen I wish aught ? — Say now what would you give ? " " Give ? — Anything ! " I answer'd. " Be not rash," She said. "It scarcely seems your way ; besides, The light is dim. — How know you? may not ears Be near us now to overhear? Beware ! — But pshaw I " she added, " I must go my way. And you go yours. — Who cares what either do? " " Doretta. nay ; but stop," I cried again, " Put by the knife ! — and if you will, then I — I will%ot care for Haydn " — '' You ? " she laugh'd ; " Who thought, then, who ? that you would care for him ? Aha ! if I had wished your thought to vent, Could I have chosen, eh? a shrewder thrust ? — Ha ! ha ! — to murder me, or you, or him ! It starts all madness just to tap your moods. But go in, simpleton. The rain may wet, — And trust the knife to me. It meant no harm Except to this beheaded cabbage here." And, shaking this aloft, she flitted off. While I walk'd vaguely back, to find my room Still sadder than before. I could not think HAYDN. 117 That my surmise was just ; yet could not think That all her strange demean was meaningless ; To this day yet, I pause and puzzle oft That scene to ponder ; then, to moods confused, It seem'd the final blow, unsettling all. What comes as direful as the direful night Our spirits spend in trouble ? — fiU'd with fears That sleep may bring distressful nightmares now ; And now, that morn may come before we sleep ; Until, betwixt the two, distracted quite, Awake one dreams, and dreaming seems awake, And evermore does weep at what he dreams, And then does weep that he should dream no more. — In darkest fancies all that night I lay, A murderess, guilty of Doretta's death. Alas ! and after those so woeful hours, More woe awaited when the morning came. — Our Haydn's shattered frame so frail before, All rent by throes of passion yesterday, Once more lay prostrate in the arms of death: So thought we all ; I, ere the fact I heard, Its shadow cold felt creeping over me. The shutters closed, the silence everywhere, The very coffin of our lively home, The saddened looks, tlie voices all suppressed, The kind physician met without a smile, — I did not need to ask the cause of all. I sought and saw my Haydn. How his face Stared forth, a ghost's, against my sense of guilt 1 For I, perhaps, had made his last thought sin : And I, perhaps, had help'd to doom his soul. 118 IIAYDX. I tlioiiglit then of my fatlicr, of the priest, What tliey of love had said, of genuine love, Such love as Christ had had. 1 ask'd myself If there was aught that I could sacrifice ? Ah friend, do you recall that afternoon When first we met ? How sad yet sweet it seem'd ! So many kindly sisters with me spoke. And for me prayed; and then, at twilight dim, When hardly any eye but God's could see. We knelt before the altar : and I rose, Content if like that candle on the shrine Within my heart one Hght alone could burn ; Though all the earth beside might loom as dark As those chill, shadowy chapels down the aisle. I felt another life when walking home. Such conflicts come but seldom ; storms of spring, Uprooting much, and wracking much the soil. They find it frost-bound, and they leave it green. — Alas ! if grain or chatf grow then, depends U[)on the germs their rains have wrought upon. And yet, whatever come, it seems to me Earth's happiness is hope : and changes all To hope will cater, bubbles though they be. With pencils tinting all their hues, but rays That rift them into nothing. — Yet heaven's sun Thus tendering hints of beauty past our grasp, May with them tender actual blessings too ; Hope's transient gleams on earth reveal the light To be, when changing clouds of time are pass'd, The constant brightness of eternity. HAYDN. 1 1 9 When Haydn better grew, could talk once more, And all our prayers for liini had answered been, The kind j)hysician urged that he and I Be kept not all apart. My father then, At first, demurred to this. I went to him. " My fiither," said I, " do not fear for me. If God will give our poor friend health once more Then have I vowed that never will I take A veil, save one that weds me to the church." "My daughter, — what? " he cried, " you never take — Ay, what is this you say ? — you wed the church ? — In God's name, girl, explain yourself.'' " A vow," I said, " I vowed before the virgin's shrine." " What strange, what thoughtless deed is this ? " he cried. " You take a vow, one not to be recalled. That you will thwart our hopes, our plans for you? — And shut away, away from all of us. This face, this form so cherished all these years ? — True ? — Is it true ? — I would not frighten you : Poor girl, God knows that you will have enough To shudder for. — Yet, it bewilders me : How did you, you who had been wont to be Confiding and considerate and calm, How could you do a thing so rash, so mad, So — must I say it ? — disobedient, 120 IIAYDN. Nor once consult me ? — Tell me this, my girl : — What false inducement could have tempted you ? " " Woe me ! " I sobb'd, " I marvel'd when you said I could do so, the time I told you here That I would rather be a nun than be The baron's wife." " You dear, poor girl," he sigh'd, " Those w^ords Avere but a wdiiff, whiff light as breath You blow at flies that come to trouble you. And can it be that they V — I half believe (My words have cursed deeds evoked before) The very atoms of the air, like dust, Are spawn'd with vermin-eggs ! If one but speak, But break the silence ; if his breath but bear One faintest puff from passionate heat within, Lo, breaking open some accursed shell. It hatches forth foul broods of venomous life That come, blown backward by the changing wind, To haunt him who provok'd their devilish birth ! By day they sting our eyes, and make us weep ; Bv night steal through unguarded gates of sense And sting our souls in dreams ! — My heart ! and you ? — How could you deem those thoughtless words of mine The voice of such deforra'd design as this ? " " But father," said I, "he, the priest, your friend, — At least, it seem'd — so thought." HAYDN. 121 " The priest ! " he cried, " Has he been meddling with your malady ? — My friend ? — My friend is he no more." "N.y, I," I said, " I sought his counsel ; even then He said but little." " Little ! " he rejoin'd ; *' That little, all too much ! Nay, never more — Yet hold " — And here he paused. — " The priest has power — Yes, now I think of it, it need not all Be darkness ; no. — The priest — one clew there is May clear this labyrinth. — The priest, he may, — He shall an absolution get ; yes, yes. An absolution, that shall make us right." And then my father, in his sanguine way, Recover'd somewhat. And he fondled me. " I see, my girl, you love this Haydn, yes. Why, here you stand a woman when I thought You only were my pet, my little child. — But do not cry : no, no ; I honor you. My little woman ! — There, forgive me now ; Forgive my words. And when it comes, my girl, The absolution, then, we then shall see. See whether father can be kind or not." With this he kiss'd me there. And what could I? — How could I tell him all his hopes were vain ? How could I think myself they all were vain ? From this time onward no one checked me more, Attending Haydn. All the household heard 1*22 HAYDN. My sire " could trust his girl to be discreet ; " And something had Doretta even learned To make her caution more than half appeased. Then days and weeks and months pass'd quickly , by In which, when Haydn's prison'd love would start, E'en while I heard the trembling of its bars, I learn'd to check him, saying, gently, then, " But not now, Haydn ; nay, but we will wait." And thus a habit grew that our two lives Dwelt there like friends, made separate by war, Who out from hostile camps, wave now a hand, And now a kerchief, but who never speak. And yet I cannot say love never spoke. — We did not mean it ; but I think that love. May truth speak out, unconscious of the fact. Who conscious is of God's touch moving him ? — But littlest deeds they were ; yet spirits read From signs too fine for measurements of space ; Love heeds no measurements. But hints they were ; And yet what Avords of love yield more than these ? They hit the sense of love, but fail of sense Where nothing loving waits the hint to take. This learned our souls at last ; I wot not how. And kitten-like, at play beside the hearth, We told our secrets, and none knew of it. How swiftly sped the hours in happy nights When, after work, he rested there at home 1 HAYDX. 123 Such winning Avays he had to hire my trust I Such sweet pet names would call, to make me feel A thing so small, he well might be its lord ! Would tease me so, anon to comfort me ! Or rouse my temper that he mild might seem; Or tell such tales, that deep in dreams I laughed At wit reflecting, though distorting his ; Or better still, would play for me, — such strains! The very thought of them would seem like sleep, While half the night I lingered still awake, Half-conscions of the call of early birds And sparkling spray of light dash'd o'er the dews. At last, one night, when no one else was by, Some new impatience seized him ; and he spoke. " Janett, my friend, allow me only once ; — And say not, now, say not we still can wait : Have not I waited long ? Janett, my own, What forms the substance of this mystery Whose shadow rests between us ? Surely, friend, The slightest will on your part would have power To bid it off." " Not so," I answered him ; (I felt that now, at last, I must explain), — " Not if the shadow, separating, fell From something you and I could not remove." " That cannot be," he cried. " How can it be ? Of old your father thwarted much our love ; • But lately much has done to forward it." " And know you then," I ask'd, " what wrought his chanjxe ? " 124 HAYDN. " His wiser judgment ; " answered he, " not so ? " " Are not there courses," asked I, " here, in life, Where conscientiousness and love may cross ? " " Still, " he exclaim'd, " the same old plea again ! — Your weakness is your wickedness. Why, friend. Does not our conscience spring from conscious- ness? And when now are we conscious ? When unwell : Hot, swollen blood frets limbs that feel inflamed : A sound man lives unconscious of its flow. And so a morbid train of foul ideas Will vex a mind diseased. But if in health. Its aims all true to God and self, — what call For conscience, spirits Ave ar but as the curb Whereby God checks the thought that love holds not ? — If right I be, then nothing needs to cross Pure love. It may have freedom. — " At the best. Our conscience forms but one small element Of character. Enough holds all in poise ; Too much but keeps in ferment moods that work Like brewings, sent to froth and sediment ; The froth foam'd toward the consciousness of others. The rest sunk down in self, embittering One's own experience." " And yet," I said, " Our conscience, in religion " — " There," he cried, " This too much conscience, overbalancing HAYDN. 125 All wiser judgment, havoc worse has wrought ; Made men crave heaven and fear for hell, so much That,' in the gap betwixt the two, was left No charity willi which to do good here While on the earth." " I hope that mine," I said', " Would prompt some little good in present life. What would you say, some day, were I a nun ? " " ' Say ? ' " answered he, — and scorn was in the tone, — " 'Were you a nun? ' — Well, if those blooming looks Hide wormy fruit like that, I ne'er will trust Sound health again ! " Janett, I tell you this : The conscience of a nun is consciousness Of mere unrest, — no more. In natures framed Of body and of soul, the troubling cause May be some sin that clogs the spirit's springs ; But, just as likely, thought that puzzles one ; Yes, yes, or indigestion, nerves diseased — No trace of sin whatever ; — moods cured best By sunshine, clean clothes, larders full, good cheer." I told him how " irreverent, unjust " — " I might be both of these," he said, " in case I blamed the poor souls for the life they lead. But did I blame? — Not so; for in this world. Between youth's immature credulity, That can but trust in what some guardian thinks, 126 IIAYDX. And manhood's faith mature that (liliiks for itself, A rcahii there is where will is trained to act Through doubt and danger ; Avhere the character, First wean'd from oversight, is taught to choose. Then, like a tottering child, it yearns to cling To one Avhose greater power can for it act. Its mood determines that to which it clings. Some girls are giddy : — they eml)race their beans. And some are gloomy : — they beset the priest. He like the beans may ply his own designs. May take advantage of this weaker state, And capture them for veils, if not for vice." " But marriage is a capture, too," I said. " If so," he said, " at least, a natural state. Made statelier through authority of law% That, otherwise, ndght authorize the wrong ; — A state to which, as not to convent life. All social instincts prompt ; may promi)t the more The more one's years. Who then can it fore- swear? — Think you a maid, with half her moods nnform'd At twenty, can conceive what thoughts may come To tnrn or torture her at thirty-five ? — *' But what, Janett, Janett, — you turning pale ! — In earnest, were you ? — Had you really thought ? — In God's name, darling, this could never be ! — Think only — Wherefore now ? " " Because," I said, " 1 hoped some good to do." " And do you deem," HAYDN. 127 He ask'd, " The Virgin Mary did no good, When nursing her sweet babe ? Was she no saint ? And what of Christ, who ate and drank with all, Call'd ghitton and a bibber, yes, of wine ? — Was He no saint ? — And think what mortals need — To learn of life, that never can be theirs ? Nay, nay, to learn of life, inspired by love, That all can live, and all can better make. If you a saint would be then, do not seek For truth so sunder'd from the common thought, For love that knows no common sympathies." " Are some," I urged, " not called especially To care about the aged, sick, and poor ? " " Are some not call'd," he ask'd, " especially To care about the men they love the best ? — Or if the aged need them, need they most The young that old have grown before their time ? — Need sick men nurses pale ? — or poor men, those Whose souls have never stored experience rich Mined from a world the world's lords should ex- plore ? — Nay, nay, these classes all were better served By fresher, ruddier, wealthier helpers here. — Who gains aught where they have them not? — The nun ? — Ah, think you veils too hastily assumed May never change the hues and views of life, Perverting them ? — or curtain in young love, That might have grown with truth, to die with lies ? — 128 HAYDN. Alone, when those who know what they would leave Turn calmly from the world to convent walls, AVould I restrain them not. Let such find homes, Large, sunny, healthful halls ; and dwell therein : From thence deal forth those gentle charities So potent dealt from out a woman's hand. Not strange it were if sickness, tended thus, Allured by their so loving smiles, should flush Or blush to perfect health ! if wickedness, Beneath incrusted woes of Avorldly years, Should feel the earlier faith of childhood waked By woman's voice, and thus be born again ! — Find life within the soul renewed, as well As in the body. Leave all good its place. I would not thrust the woman out from this. But rid it of its circumscribing vows." " Of all its vows ? " I asked. " Why not ? " he said. '• A vow but wrong augments, and with it woe. One time when young I stood before a tree, I vowed that, till an hour had passed away. My eyes should view it not. What came of it ? — The vow in misery kept me through the hour. And had it been a man and not a tree, The vow had more of misery caused, not so ? And yet God never made it wrong to view A tree or man : — the vow, it made the wrong. And once I can remember, aiding one, A foe, that thus I might fulfill a task A master forced upon me. Had I served Free choice or choice persuaded, then my will Had ruled what outward force made slavish toil. HAYDN. 129 And had a oonvent this same task enjoined, My toil had been as slavish, — not my own, Its source or kind or object. Worth, if pure, Must be, I think, the child of liberty." " But Haydn," said I, " this strange convent, fill'd With age and vowless maids — you banish thence Christ's life, self-sacrifice." " Why sacrifice," He said, " unless to yield to higher good ? — Christ's life here glorified humanity. I must believe that souls not severed all From earth, but in the world, yet not of it, And in the body acting bodily, The lives transfiguring our common lives And common cares, the most resemble His. — Alas, the nun who seeks to glorify, In feigning burial to human cares. Humiliates rather her humanity. What else," when hinting truest womanhood Is maidenhood ? — By Eve and Mary, no ! The mother lives the model of her sex And not the maid. — Yet see — the wife's life slurred ^ The matron's rank made lower to lift her own ; — Self-sacrifice ? — Why not self-glory, pray ? " "But God she serves;" I said, "and others men." " How serves she God in doing this ? " he asked. " God made our nature. Who makes way with it. Makes way with manhood : this is suicide. God made the world where works His Providence 9 130 HAYDN. To train our life. Who leaves the world, leaves God: And adds damnation to the suicide." " But if men leave the world," I said, " for this, — To enter thus the Church, how leave they God ? — They rather go to Him." " What is the Church ? " He asked. " The kingdom of the Lord," I said. " Yes, yes," he cried ; " and add the Master's words, — ' The kingdom is within you.' — Ah, if so, I own some right to heed the voice within ; And none the right to bid my spirit bend, A passive slave to laws outside of me ? " " O Haydn," begg'd T, " say not this. Here speaks The same rebellion I was wont to feel. We must not judge for self, but reverence The words of men ordain'd to teach the world ; The words of men so learned in the truth ; The words of councils fdl'd with just such men. — No reverence have you for authority ? " "Most common courtesy would teach me that," He said. " And how could common piety, If awed before the Power above the sky, Deny a kindred awe to power on earth. The Church has power — and truth. I reverence both. The Church truth's storehouse is, and iiuardian. HAYDN. 131 But ah, some truths have never yet been stored ! Infinity is broad, and broad enough For truth to grow within me and without, In self as well as in the Church and world. And I believe that all things God makes grow, Unfold in ways that work in harmony. And, when I love a soul as you I love. Did all the priests on earth assemble here, In front of them the pope, in front of him A shining form put forth by them as Christ, And tell me this pure love could lie to me, I would not " — " Haydn stop ! — dare not ! " I cried ; — • " And I have pray'd to God so much, so much, To make you more submissive." " I submit To God," he said ; " but with my love to God. How can I yield the godliest thing I own ? " And there he sat, so firm and yet so kind, I could not help, — I sighed, " You make me doubt." " Would God," he said, " I could do that for you. Then might you have true fiiitli. Where springs from will One wise effect that does not follow doubt ? One choice that does not weigh alternatives ? Doubt comes with wavering of the balances Before the heavier motive settles down. Let those who live so sure their views are right. Dissolve my doubt : — I dare to doubt of them If most they walk by knowledge or by faith. I read that Jesus answered him who })rayed, 132 IIAYDN. ' Lord, I believe, help thou mine unbelief; ' That on the crucifix his soul could cry ' My God, O why hast thou forsaken me ? ' And so T deem our own doubts may not doom : Nay, rather rise like minor preludes here. Ere that triumphant cadence, ' It is finish'd.' " But come, Janett," he added then Avith warmth, " And promise me that you will yield them up, These sad, sad thoughts. Why, it would make of me A very infidel ! The Church destroy Our love ! What good then might it not destroy ? " A wonder is it, that to moods like this I could not say the thing I would ? Months sped. My time drew nigh. ]\Iy vows must be fulfill'd. I told my father of it, and he wept. Poor man, he spent his hours alternately. At times he urged ; at times he chided me ; At times he kiss'd my cheek and look'd at me ; At times he took me by the hand, and said, " My daughter, dear, we must defer the deed ; " At times he moan'd, " My daughter must do right." Quite slowly dawn'd on Haydn's mind the fact, Though not, as yet, the reason of my vow. And all the household grew so mild with me ; And all the neighbors gazed so piteously : If they had clothed my body in a shroud, And I had loiter'd round it there, a ghost. Life scarce had seemed more lonely or more chill. 133 But yet more sad than all it seem'd for me To shun poor Haydn. To his attic driven, Who knew his grief? — Alas, who knew it not ? Did ever harpsichord so crave a voice To utter forth a cry of full despair ? Did ever aught that human hands could touch So tremble to reveal such agony As shook the frame of him whose fingers sought, Along the sympathetic key-board there, The counterpoint still pointing out his woe ? Through all those days, how heeded I each sound, Ay, ay, or stillness in that room above ! Would hold my breath between the notes to feel His own suspense before the impending strain When fell, anon, his spirit's overflow. I never so had trembled at the peals Of thunder as beneath the chords he struck ; Nor felt my cheeks so moist by rains as there By tears that flow'd as flow'd his melodies ; While all the air about appear'd surcharged With dangerous force electric, touch'd alone To flash keen suffering down from him to me. And yet, each day, his music sweeter swell'd. Ere then, it may have lack'd in undertone. The pleading pathos of half-utter'd grief: When now that music moves me, ah, it seems As though heaven's self had been bereaved of love, And pour'd its sad complaint on earth beneath ; And I who listen to the sweetness sent Can never tell if I should smile or weep To think that it has come so far below. Or feel that it has left so much above. 134 IIAYDX. One night I found my father still more sad Than wont Avith him. I knelt before him then, And '' O, my father, why is this ? " I ask'd. But nothing said he. Then I question'd him : I found the cause out. Haydn was the cause. My father loved him so, as men love sons ; And long had hoped he might a son become. But they had talk'd together, and had talk'd About Doretta. " Ah," my father sighed ; " My plans for all of vou are vain ! — " Why this ? " Continued he, — " why this, that now in age, Too old to aught renew, are lost to me My aims, my home, my hope, my happiness ? — And who has brought it on ? has done such wrong His deeds deserve it ? — Here am 1, myself, — I loved you, loved you both, but planned your good : The priest loved (so he says) the Church and you : Doretta loved, sought only love's full fruit : And Haydn loved, was but importunate : And you loved, girl, was but obedient : We all of us were loving, were we not ? Yet working outward, wisely, so we deem'd. We all have done the thing to doom us all. Alas Avhat power has wrought to thwart us so ? I do believe, though long I doubted it. There lives a devil ! Hell-scorch'd hands alone Could weave such death-black shrouds from threads so bright, Drawn out sleek skeins of love. That spider foul. Our sweet plans feeding on, emits this web, HAYDN. 135 To trip and trap us in like flies ! — Ah me, It may be well that one should suffer here Until a wish bereaved shriek prayers for death ; But through what fearful pangs earth peels away This withering flesh from off the worthier soul. The scales about my own grow thin, how thin ! Janett and Haydn gone, and home, and hope, — What further shred invests the love so stript ! — Is this, then, being freed from earth ? — Yet look — Where signs of heaven ? — My God, I see them not." " O,' father, rave not thus," I cried. " O if — If Haydn, — if some power I had with him." — " Nay, daughter, nay," he said. Yet o'er his face Flush'd hope like hues at dawn. I kiss'd his brow : " Yes, father, I will try," and went my way. And Haydn then, when found, appeared so sad. " Ah," sigh'd he, " we two souls seem'd fitted so To match each other. Here, where jars the world, ^ And all goes contrary, i^iere every sun That ripes this, withers that ; and every storm That brings refreshment here, sends deluge there, We two, exceptions to the general rule. Like living miracles (is love fulfiU'd A miracle indeed ?) seem'd form'd to draw The self-same tale of weal or woe from each. I saw but last night, darling, in my dreams, 136 HAYDX. Our spirits journeying through this under gloom ; And hand in hand they walk'd ; and over them, As over lininer'd sernphs, did there hang A halo, love reflected. By its glow The gloom about grew bright ; while far away In clearest lines, the path pass'd up and on. — Janett, but heed me, once again, I pray, [If ever once I prayed to God above] Blot not this light from all my future life." " Ah Haydn," said I, " would you have me change ? What soul shall dwell on God's most holy hill But he ' that SAveareth to his own hurt,' yes, * And changeth not ? ' " " But yet, " he said, " but yet If you were wrong to swear ? How can it be That any purpose so unnatural Is right ? Each instinct of my soul revolts." " YeL nature," said I, " may be all corrupt. What is this instinct, that it should not lie ? If one should feel the instinct of the lamb While skipping to welcome the butcher's knife That waits to slaughter it, would he be wise To follow such ? " " And why not ? " answer'd he ; " The lamb was made that it might die for man: It follows instinct and dies easily. The soul was made that it might live for God : It follows instinct and lives happily. The cases differ thus. May not there be Some depth, bejond the reach of mortal sight, Within whose subtle grooves our spirits glide HAYDN. 13^ Unconscious of the balancings of will ? God's Spirit lives too holy to be seen. May not it stir, beneath all conscious powers, A spontaneity that moves the soul As instinct moves the body ? — Ah, to me, Love seems an instinct that impels them both." " How so ? " I ask'd, in hope to guide his thought Toward sacrifice. " You wish me then," he said, " To turn philosopher for you ? — I will. This love, in morals sprung from faith in man, And in religion from our faith in God, Seems, in its essence, an experience Not wholly feeling yet not wholly thought, — Not all of body yet not all of soul, Of what we are or what we are to be, — But more akin to marriage, within self, Of our two separate natures, sense and soul. God meant them to be join'd : when wedded thus. One rests content, the other waits in hope." " To rest, to wait," I said to this ; " and if Such ends displaced were, would there not remain The work that forms our earthly heritage ? " " And may not God," rt^oin'd he, " grant us more Than that which we inherit ? " I replied, — "He rest may grant. Yet rest, the Paradise Of work, is still the Purgatory, too, Of indolence." " The soul's true Paradise 138 HAYDX. Is nothing earn'd," he said. " It is a gift. With Eden lost, insolvent for his sin, Work, so I view it, is a loan from Hope With which man pays the debt of Memory. But if I reckon right, a pauper still. He scarce can earn enough to pay them both. So true love, as I view it, is a gift. Our action crowning, yet not won by it ; Which, as we live not conscious how 't is earn'd, We live not conscious how it may be lost. Things out of consciousness are out of care. We rest not as in death that furthers naught : We rest as in a dream, in sleep, — a state Wherein God watches while the soul regales. We rest not from the healthful stir of work, But from the slavery proportioning Our pleasure to our pain, — a law for serfs. But not for sons. Such rest is peaceful, hush'd, The very church of choice, as different From other joy as prayer may be from sport." " And choice, does it not oft feel moved," I ask'd, " To spurn a lesser for a greater good ? For greater good, too, may not Love on high Displace some idol of our ignorance ? " — W^ith this, I ])ictured for him brightest life ; And, like a blot on every scene, myself; Maintained my character was not the one Form'd most to succor his ; show'd how my sire, The priest, Doretta, all agreed in this. And then, in contrast with myself, I sketch'd A nature all deem'd fitted for his moods. I may have sinn'd in it ; but, grim as fate, HAYDN. 139 My father's features seem'd to urge me on : I noted all Doretta's nobler traits ; And when I thought he now must all surmise, And Avhile he held his gaze a2:ainst the floor, As though he gave assent, at last I spoke Doretta's name. And if the solid earth Had quaked, he had not started more. O God, Why could I not accept his instinct then ! He look'd at me, first pale, then flush'd, then firm ; And then with tremulous, painful breath, he said, — " And this device from you ? from you, so pure ? So free from guile V You should have spared me this. That Jesuit has train'd you well ! Ah, now, I know how Adam felt that Eve could fall ; How Eve herself, when round her soul first crept The serpent's cautious coils of smooth deceit, To smother inch by inch. I read it now, That tale : it stands an allegory, ay ; — That serpent means the world. The world steals round, Encircling childhood, trammeling it from heaven. Not long are souls allow'd ideal life. Not long unfetter'd sense or hearts unbound : Our smiles grow stiffer, till, some fatal day, The last one clutch'd, is held, a hideous grin. Then, when the body stirs not with the soul, The last nerve wrested from the Spirit's rule. Naught in us left to love, the world unwinds ; 140 HAYDN. Our capturer, it dissolves in mist or dust : — For its embraces Ave have lost our God ! " His mood alarm'd me, yet could I protest, — " Nay, Haydn, nay ; I do not love the world : — I long to leave it, yes, all thought of it." " How much less worldliness is found," he asked, " AVithin the Church than in the world so called ? — The prince of this world is not nice in choice Of equipages ; where he cannot check He mounts the car of truth and grasps the rein ; And when the devil drives, he drives for home. ' The world,' what means this, but the world alone, — The mass, devoid of mind, truth, s[)irit, love ? — And what, pray, has the Church ? — A mass ? — ay, ay. Devoid of mind? — Why not? — But show the place It crowds not reason out to edge in faith. — But ' faith,' say you, ' is reasonable ' ? — Ay, When there is reason in it ; when the thing In which it trusts is truth. But how the Church ? — Ah, prick the fi.rms, and there, behind, you find — What ? — truth ? — nay, nay, a priest — a man, forsooth, Who differs from the rest of us in clothes ; Who wears the ftither's habits that the need And progress of the times have cast aside. — ' Why cast aside ' ? — Because all moods whose rano;e IIAYDX. 1 41 Is girt by customs past, that could alone Prejudge thought's present range, fit prejudice, — And this is that behind your Church's forms. — " ' Nay, nay ; ' you say ? — ' The Spirit formed the forms To fit the life ? ' — Ay, fit the life that was ; And life if life will grow ; and that of love Has not yet filled the scope above, about. Of heavens that for it wait. What formed the forms Can still be forming them. — Nay, more: find one Wlierein no Spirit works, no present life, — The thing is hollow ; and a hollow form Is just the devil's own! He leaps inside, But half disguised within those robes of white, Loud chanting out that ceremonious cant To temj)t toward his hypocrisy an age That knows too much of Christian thought, at last, For heathen thought to tempt it. " Judge by fruits : — Here you — God gave you beauty — to be seen I And grace to bless this dear, dear home. What power Would snatch you from us ? make a very hell Of what might else be heaven ? — Love, think you, love ? — Not so : a power that hates love ; plays the part — Nay, not of Christ who yielded up his life. But — of the Avorld that made him yield it up, — A power that trusts in force, and force that lies. And now that it can hold you with a vow That but deceit could claim God drew from you, It seizes you to plunge you down, down, down, 142 IIAYDN. To feel the full dainiuition of belief Conceiving this, the voice within the soul, A lying guide ; nor love to be lived out Without foul consciousness of sin within ; To plunge you down, and hold till all the cells Of that pure, guileless heart, are stained and steeped. And drip but dregs of stagnant viciousness ! " " You terrify me, Haydn ! " I exclaim'd. " And yon far more have done to me ! " he cried. " You were — Ah me, what were you not ? — so pure, Transparent as the mid-day atmosphere. Should some red thunderbolt from sunlight burst And burn all torturing blindness through my eyes. Night came less unforetokened ! I, who dream'd That here I worshipped truth, here bent these knees To kneel on very battlements of heaven, I, tript thus from my dear proud confidence, Sent reeling down to sate this foul deceit, — A wonder is it if scared sense be jarr'd To slip all order, — if I rave, if curse ! — You, who my heart had known ; and, after that, And after I had warn'd against the thing, And simulating all the while such love, — You, vowing to abjure me ! more than this, To-day with such cold-blooded, souless tact, You, stealing here through doorways left ajar, And entering inmost chambers of my heart, To snare, — as though the victim of a cat That could be played with, tricked with, kill'd, cast off, — HAYDN. 143 This love of mine that — all you might have known Stirred not, but just to serve you ! — Well, once more, You gain your end ! Once more, your wish is mine. How can I love ? — God help me ! — Go you free." HoAv fiercely then did Haydn's music storm ! And soon he would have left our home in haste : My father spoke to stay him. Long they si)oke ; And sometimes stormy were the words they used. But then, at last, my father told him all, — Why I had vow'd, that I his life might save, And he broke down before it. Never more May God permit me to behold again A broken man ! Alas, how pleaded he ! He begg'd, he pray'd forgiveness o'er and o'er, Till I Avell-nigh believ'd he heard me not ; And in the end sigh'd out " It might be so. My plan be wisest ; — nay, he would not yield His stronger judgment, to fulfill my wish, To make me happy, or my sire or me : — Doretta surely was a housewife wise : It seemed the older custom, thus to wed : He young had been, had whims. — God bless us all." Oft, after that, I urged him not to wed Unless his heart could love. The answer came, " This heart of mine, a heart that once loved you, How could it love again with love like this ? — Yet what, if not ? My soul was immature. 144 HAYDN. Romance weaned late. It must be manly now. A man has breadth. I take it manly love Is love that yields most blessing to the most. And mine shall bless yourself, your father, her." — And so he calmed my doubt and cheered me much. And oft I spoke with him about the Church. " Can I forget its holding you ? " he asked. " Ah Haydn," said T, " I remember once When young you were, when music scarce had lured Your soul, so thrill'd ! to test its energies : Then Gluck your master was ; you follow'd him So far beyond your own, as then you deem'd, Flowed forth the full perfection of his strains. And now you Gluck have passed. Yet, even now, Still far beyond you sound those strains com- plete. Ah, friend, Gluck only happened in the path, That opened then before you. But those strains ? — Those can you reach not, Haydn, till you reach The choirs of heaven ! *' And thus, at times, I think That I may too have happened in your path ; And this, your love, now looking toward myself, May gaze, when I am gone, for holier things, Ideafall." " When you — alas," he sigh'd, " When you are gone, then life shall all become — I fear it much — one lonely wail for you." HAYDN. 145 " And yet a lonely Avail, breathed forth," I said, '' From one with spirit sweetened, sweet may seem To earth that hears it." " Ah, I take the thought. You mean my music," answer'd he. " O God, Must love be sacrificed that art be saved ? — Redeem'd at that price, it were all too dear ! " One thing he promis'd me. I urged it much. " In secret convent-prayers," I said to him, " My soul must know if it should praise or plead. A year from now, we two must meet once more. We cannot talk together, must commune While gazing, silent, through the cloister-bars. And then, if wedded Hfe afford you joy — I doubt it not — bring with you flowers pluckt fresh : If not, then bring alone the wilted leaves Of these I give you now." Then soon had pass'd The last vague hours that saw me part from all. I stood before the shrine. I feel it yet : — The organ moaning sweetly far away ; The people whispering low amid the aisles; My heart so loud, nor hush'd in sermon-time ; The multitude with eyes so fix'd on me ; My fiither sad ; Doretta near his side ; And Haydn's face upon his pale, pale hands. And two months after that I saw them wed. And, sister, I havesjoray'd for him long days. And longer nights ; and I have had rare hopes My soul so faint, new strength from God had gained. lb 11'"' IIAVI>.\. But now my Ijody poor, so white, so thin, With SL'urcc substantiality of jjuise A ghost to be ; — ah, what if, like a ghost, It soon should vanish ? So I thought, to-night, If I eould tell you here, eoufess the lault ; My heart unload of all its sweet, sad love. That God might give me rest. I did not, nay, I did not mean it, to exeite myself. They told me that it death might bring ; but O, Have not I borne enough to merit life ? How had I eounted time, these weeks and days. To reach the hour we two should meet again. And I should fnid how all my prayers were heard, And heaven had made my Haydn blest. — He came. Last week : and, sister, what, what can it mean V — He brouglit the wilted leaves — I do not know. I only know that I can earn no rest : All, all our household so much else have earned ! And now, how can — I nothing more can try ; But all my path block'd up has been, block'd up. They say such words are infidelity, — O Christ ! — and yet I can no more. Hark ! hark ! — Is that not Haydn's hymn we hear again V — IIow faint it sounds! — or I, I faint may be. The window — move me. There — look out — those clouds — The sunset? — Ah, what come on earth so bright So beautiful as clouds ? — and yet no clouds Where one eould see, and alwavs see,*tlie heaven. HAYDX. 147 The music, hear it — hear how sweet ! — Say, say, Did I sing then? — Not so? — and onl}- dreamed? — I thought that music mine, and then myself; And Haydn's heart, it beat here, beat in me, — Ah me, so tired. — Yes : let me rest on you. God, for but one hour to live ! — For what? Have I not loved then ? — Sister, tell him so. Tell Haydn; thank him. — God, praise Him for it. 1 did not know — yet life, it sweet has been. — Hark ! music ! — Does it not come from above ? By the Author of Ideals made Real. COLONY BALLADS. " Each of the poems contains the essential elements of a lyric : briskness, brightness, passion, and sustained interest. These poems are seven in number. ' Our First Break with the Brit- ish ; • ' The Last Cruise of the Gaspee,' a stirring tale ; ' The Lebanon Boys in Boston ; ' ' The Crown-s Figlit against the Town's Right,' a companion in some degree to ' Paul Revere's Hide ; ' ' The Rally of the Farmers ; ' ' Ethan Allen,' and ' How Barton took the General.' The Yei-sification is remarkably good, easy, flowing, natural, and spirited, and while there is little attempt at sentiment, the pictures are strong in outline and vigorous." — Boston Traveller. "Mr. Raymond is to be congratulated upon having caught and embodied with musical force, the true ballad spirit. In writing a ballad the secrets of success are definiteness of aim, directness of execution, and singleness of idea. The language must be simple but so vigorous that every word tells ; the metre must also be simple, but the versification demands a musical swing, a rush of rhyme, the talent for wliich is rare. To smell of the lamp is fatal to the ballad ; it should have all the spon- taneity of an impromptu. The author must forget himself, for ballad poetry is essentially objective, and a touch of subjectiv- ity spoils it. Each incident must be related as though the writer had taken part in it, and sciiiti:: with his mind's eye, he must paint as vividly as thou-li that ilcscribed were before him in very truth. It is not an easy tliini;- to write a ballad in these days, when the drift of poetic thought is quite in the opposite direction, and Mr. Riymond deserves all the more credit for what he has done. His ' Colony Ballads ' are full of life and fire, and their rhyme singularly flowing and effective. They deserve popularity." — Philadelphia hujuirer. " Seven spii-ited songs of the Revolution of 1776, written in pure, stout English, with a good dash of Saxon in it, and much brave common sense. Professor Ilaynifnnl has been for many years recognized as a sweet singer by his college classmates and other persons who know him well. His works show that he has been a faithful stvident of ancient and contemporaneous philos- ophy ; that he has keenness of insight and the power of expres- sion; that his tastes have been nourished by reading and by travel ; that he sympathizes with nature, and can converse with her; and, above all, that he understands the subtle distinction between poetry and prose." — Ne^o York Evening Post. "A valuable contribution to the Centeimial year The author has made a decided hit." — Providence Press. " A modest, but eminently successful attempt Songs, .... all of which deserve a place in the library of an Ameri- can citizen." — New Haven Register. " Besides the thread of history upon which they are strung, the color of popular sentiment, and the rich shades, so to call them, of the patriotic impulse of the times, are indelibly fixed in these ballads. Mr. Raymond haa done th€ country a service." — Lvthrrnn Ohsirver. " Tlic ballad, as a form of folk-history, is probably pai«t ita period. Poets continue to miko the article, but the people no lonjrer sing them by the fireside, in the olden fashion. They mi)^ht do so, for they have some very sin^.tbh^ ones, like the present collection from the pen of Professor Georjjfc L. Ray- mond. A still stronfjer reason for popular acceptjince is the patriotic purpose of these b.illads." — IIdhu- Jnuriial. " The ballads are well written, evinciuf^ poetic talent of a high order. Their patriotic sentiments and musical rhythm will com- mend them to a wide number of readers. — Albany Press. " There is a patriotic flavor about these ballads that many lovers of poetic fire will richly relish." — Pittsburg Commercial. " Spirited reproductions of well-known historical events, and are welcome additions to the poetical literature of this year. .... Looked at from an artistic point of view, .... -jliywing that the author has made a conscientious studv of the art of poetical composition, and that he is not deficient in natural in.spiration." — Boston Courier. " The book is quite an interesting one in many respects."' — New Haien Journal and Courier. " Mr. Jlaymond .... has chosen his subjects judiciously, and has given to them a prosaically i)icturesque treatment. His muse comes to us dressed in homespun instead of that airy attire which we are wont to .ascribe to the goddc'ss. We admire Mr. Riymond"s patriotism and that gracious public spiritedness which led him to put in jtoetic form the traditions that came to his hand. If he will not r.iiik high jus a poet, he will at least win the esteem of all who like to see the stories of our country's struggles honored." — AVi« York Et-enins: l^ele^ram. " Full of d;vsh and fire, and the stories well told." — Boston Post. " Full of robust vigor, and will help to perpetuate the mem- ory of patriotic words and deeds."' — Xationat Baptist. " >'^even of the most romantic and thrilling episodes of the Revolution. The author is a master of rhythm and rhyme."" — Trofi Wlii^. " They are very well written, and reproduce .... the spirit of the time to which they relate."" — Worrtster Spy. "The ballads are, many of them, beautifully written." — Cincinnati .Journal anil M-'ssens^er. "The ballads are of even quality. . . . The author on the whole .seems to have succecled very well in the execution of his purpose, and the themes he has chosen are such as to pre- sent some of the most salient fe^itures of the great struggle for freedom."' — Boston Journal. Sejit by the Publishers, Hl'RD & IIouGHTON, postage prepaid, on receipt of the price, 75 cts. HAYDN AND OTHER POEMS. " These poems are preceded b}' an es.say on the Ars Poetica. It is steady with thought. Its perusal has intensely inter- e.sted us."' — Cincinnati Journal and Messeni^er. " The contents of this volume are evidently the work of a poet of no mean order. The author has chosen to remain anonymous, but there is no need for any shrinking from criti- cism. The long poem which occupies the chief portion of the Dook is full of thought, and will well repay the second and third perusals. There is, too. a smoothness of versification about the whole that renders everything here pleasant reading while at the same time it tells of careful and continued effort on the part of the writer." — London (Eng.) City Press. " The versification is pleasant and the thought high and poet- ical, some of the minor poems being especially charming. Boston Post. , . „ " Introduced by a remarkably acute and clever analysis of the requirements of poetic art, and a few general reflections on the general rationale of poetic analogy. From one whose prose runs so admirably clear and strong we should expect nobility of thought and correctness of verse; in his attached poems, both are found. ' Haydn ' is a poem of remarkable vigor, in- stinct with genuine poetic ideality and imagery, all nobleness and beauty. The verse is smooth and graceful, and the fancies real articulations of the brightest thought. Some touches or arguments, and occasionally pictures, remind the reader of that wonderfulStiantasmagoria, " Festus,^' ' yet gentler, less sub- tle, humaner, more in the spirit of mankind. - Rochester '''^ nlvdn,' which occupies about two thirds of the volume, is fine, thoughtful, elevated, pathetic. We ^^^f^^^'^'f^l'^^n recommend it as well worth reading. '- -Bo5oetry, the offspring of a cultured genius. .... It is dillicult to s.iy precisely in wiiat his charm consists. On almost every p:ige we arc brought face to face with the tniccs of a severe realism, a sprightly and agile humar, a fancy graceful in every careering, a heart warm with love an 1 sym- pithy fortne brotheraooj We follow him, and the laby- rinthine windings and inner recesses through whii-h ho lea is us arc those of our own hearts. There is no ostentation in his philanthropy, and neither latitudinarianism nor bigorry in his religion. His dcscripiioni are as varied a.s an October land- scap'.', and sometimes as beautiful. Graceful allusions, historic incidents, minute analyses, delicate touches, vivid picturings, metaphors bold and occasionally almost startling in their nov- elty and brilliancy, are scattered in profusion, but we look in vain for the slightest token of a disposition wantonly to play with language, or to shock the reader into attention by the use of mongrel compounds or strange concateniitions. He is a thorough master of English verse, because, as the introduction to his volume shows, he has been a laborious and conscientious student. This introduction it.-ermitted to give. A priest, through whose influence principally the girl becomes a nun, figures very conspicuously, and is one of the participants in an interesting debate in which the author, with great skill and power, shows the superiority of Protestantism, while ho gracefully concedes all that is true in Catholicism, and fairly states the argument it has to offer in vindication of itseii. .... The ' other Poems ' are twenty in number, and will compare favorably with most in contemporaneous litera- ture. The last one, entitled ' Whatever the Mission of Life may be,' is strong in masculine thought, tersely expressed, and is a better pi-esentation of tho same subject than Tennyson's famous sonnet 'To J. M. K.' '■ — American Presbyterian Re- view. " The author writes vigorously, and manifests a thorough ac- quaintance with poetical composition. His works abound with many beautiful thoughts and conceptions, which are peculiarly rem irkable for the elegant and picturesque language in which they are clothed. It is rarely that we meet with a writer who couiV)ines in so natural an 1 at the same time so artistic a man- ner the graces of the jjoet with the subtleties of the philosopher. The morality of his writiui^s is arf unquestionable as their ex cellcnce and' literary worth will make them worth remember- ing." — Jeivisk Mrxseir^er. '' The author of this volumo has .... proved himself tho possessor of the genuine gift of song. He is thoughtful, care- ful, never allowing his poetic fervor to cheat his judgment of its rights, nor svispend the exercise of his critical and subtle in- tellect, and yet his verse has both vigor and sweetness, and not a little of his fine imagery will long cling to the reader's mind and yield a true a3sthetic enjoyment.'* — Dover Morning Star. " For a non-poetic age there is a surprising quantity of good poetry, not only written, but published and read ; and the truth seems to be, not that poets are scarce, but that they are too plentiful to excite the admiration which was paid them when the supply was less. The volume before us contains much better poetry than sufficed in years gone by to make a man the fashion while he lived, if it did not give him a pass port to posterity ; and strange to say it is yet produced on a theory which is rather elaborately set out and justified in i ' dedication and introduction.' The common run of readerf will ' skip ' all this without lessening their enjoyment of wha' follows. The principal poem, ' Ilaydn,' .... deals with thr loves and the lovers of the great composer There is noS only the rivalry in love of two sisters as a base of interest to the poem, but there is the influence, evil as it is represented, of a priest in addition Very seldom can we meet with dialogue in blank verse so well expressed as in this work. The characters are distinctly and sharply drawn, and in their say- ings are numerous gems of thought The minor poems are quite equal in their way to the more ambitious one This {' Caged ') alone would be sufficient to prove the author's right to the name of poet, and to justify him in publishing the little volume under notice." — Peterborough (Eng.) Advertiser and South Midland Times. " Among our young poets now making their first appearance before the public, by far the most promising lie is not the freest from faults ; . . . . but even his faults evince a self- discipline and earnest labor and appreciation of his art, which united to his indubitable native genius, give us great expecta- tions of his future The principal poem is a monologue inclosing a dramatic tale of great beauty and tenderness A pure, elevated Christian enthusiasm, imbues every produc- tion that w^e have seen of this young poet ;- not the mere senti- ment of Christianity, but also its force and dignity. We feel assured that if his career continues as it has begun, the name which is now unknown will yet be garlanded with renown." — Princetonian. " In the treatment of his subject the author of ' Haydn ' has made the best use of his materials. The different characters sustain their respective parts well, and the emotions of the human heart are brought out in a very natural manner The versification is excellent, and proves that the poet is no novice in his art. Nor is sense anywhere sacrificed to sound. A depth of thought pervades the whole, and a sympathetic feel- ing with humanity. We highly commend the book to our read- ers in the conviction that its perusal will be both agreeable and instructive." — Guernsey ( Chaimel Islands) Mail and Tele- graph. " Poems published lately which attracted notice as quite be- yond the ordinary Terse of the day in picturesque speech, har- monious and well balanced versification, and the limning of subtle experiences of life. ' Ilaydn • .... is narrative and dramatic with passages of great beauty and power."" — Boston Congregatiotialist and Recorder. " They possess the highest merits which scholarship, thought- fulness, and refined taste can give.'" — Cincinnati Gazette. " The vigor of expression and the high purpose of these poems? make them an agreeable study. The author certainly has great ability." — N. T. Observer. " The volume closes wath didactic poems, some of which are as fine as any in the language." — Rutland Herald. " The author is a man of promise, of deep thought and deep feeling, possibly a little too tragic in tendency. He writes with vigor, and as one in earnest to impress otheirs." — The Advance. " While as a whole its poetry is above the average in merit, it would be easy to cull from it many passages of beauty and power." — Christian Intelligencer. HUED AND HOUGHTON, Publishers. 13 ASTOR PLACE, New York. 016 165 705