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THE 
 
 STATUES IN THE BLOCK, 
 
 AND OTHER POEMS. 
 
 BY y 
 
 JOHN BOYLE O'REILLY. 
 
 SECOND EDITION. 
 
 BOSTON: 
 
 ROBERTS BROTHERS. 
 
 1881. 
 
 (It 
 

 \« ?X 
 
 Copyright, 1881, 
 By John Boyle O'Reilly. 
 
 University Press: 
 John Wilson and Son, Cambridge. 
 
TO 
 
 THE MEMORY OF ELIZA BOYLE, 
 
 iffilg iffltotijer. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 » 
 
 PAGE 
 
 The Statues in the Block 9 
 
 The Fame of the City 22 
 
 Heart-Hunger 24 
 
 Muley Malek, the King 27 
 
 Remorse : 35 
 
 From the Earth, a Cry 37 
 
 Prometheus — Christ 45 
 
 The Temple of Friendship 53 
 
 Her Refrain .60 
 
 A Savage 62 
 
 Love's Secret 64 
 
 Love's Sacrifice 66 
 
 The Well's Secret 69 
 
 Jacqueminots 72 
 
 Living 75 
 
 The Celebes 78 
 
 Waiting 80 
 
 Wheat Grains 83 
 
 The Lure 86 
 
 The Empty Niche 87 
 
 A Song for the Soldiers 91 
 
 The Mutiny of the Chains 99 
 
POEMS. 
 
Life is a certainty, 
 
 Death is a doubt ; 
 Men may be dead 
 
 While they 're walking about. 
 Love is as needful 
 
 lb being as breath ; 
 Loving is dreaming, — 
 
 And waking is death. 
 
THE STATUES IN THE BLOCK. 
 
 " T OVE is the secret of the world," he said ; 
 
 4 "The cup we drain and still desire to drink. 
 The loadstone hungers for the steel ; the steel, 
 Inert amid a million stones, responds to this. 
 So yearn and answer hearts that truly love : 
 Once touch their life-spring, it vibrates to death ; 
 And twain athrill as one are nature-wed." 
 
 But silent stood the three who heard, nor smiled 
 
 Nor looked agreement. Strangers these who stood 
 
 Within a Roman studio — still young, 
 
 But sobered each with that which follows joy 
 
 At life's fresh forenoon, and the eye of each 
 
IO THE STATUES IN THE BLOCK. 
 
 Held deep within a restless eager light, 
 As gleams a diamond in a darkened room 
 With radiance hoarded from the vanished sun. 
 
 " The meteor-stone is dense and dark in space, 
 But bursts in flame when through the air it rushes ; 
 And our dull life is like an aerolite 
 That leaps to fire within the sphere of love." 
 Unchecked his mood ran on : " Sweet amorous hours 
 That lie in years as isles in tropic seas, 
 You spring to view as Art is born of Love, 
 And shape rich beauties in this marble block ! " 
 
 Before them rose within the shaded light 
 A tall and shapely mass of Alp-white crystal 
 Fresh from the heart of a Carrara quarry. 
 
 " Opaque to you this marble ; but to me, 
 Whose eyes the chrism of passion has anointed, 
 The stone is pregnant with a life of love. 
 Within this monolith there lives a form 
 
THE STATUES IN THE BLOCK. II 
 
 Which I can see and would reveal to you, 
 Could hand and chisel swiftly follow sight. 
 From brow to foot her lissome form stands forth — 
 The ripe lips smiling reached ; with nestling press, 
 As round the sailor frozen in the berg 
 The clear ice closes on the still dead face, 
 The marble, grown translucent, touches soft 
 Each comely feature — rippled hair, and chin, 
 And lily sweep of bust and hip and limb — 
 Ah, sweet mouth pouting for the lips that cling, 
 And white arms raised all quivering to the clasp — 
 Ah, rich throat made for burning lover's kiss, 
 And reckless bodice open to the swell, 
 And deep eyes soft with love's suffusion — Love ! 
 O Love ! still living, memory and hope, 
 Beyond all sweets thy bosom, breath, and lips — 
 My jewel and the jewel of the world ! " 
 
 They stood in silence, each one rapt and still, 
 As if the lovely form were theirs as his, 
 
12 THE STATUES IN THE BLOCK. 
 
 Till one began — harsh voice and clouded face — 
 With other presence in his eye — and said : 
 
 " Opaque to me with such a glow-worm ray 
 
 As Love's torch flings — but, mark, the dense rock 
 
 melts 
 When from my soul on fire the fiercer beam, 
 The mighty calcium-glare of hate leaps out 
 And eats the circumambient marble — See ! 
 Laid bare as corpse to keen anatomist, 
 With every sinuous muscle picked with shadow, 
 And every feature tense with livid passion, 
 And all the frame aheave with sanguine throbs — 
 The ecstasy of agonized Revenge ! 
 
 stone, reveal it — how my parting kiss 
 Was wet upon her mouth when other lips 
 Drank deep the cursed fountain ; how the coin 
 
 1 hung with rapture 'tween her glowing breasts, 
 And fondly thought if I should die and she 
 Should live till age had blanched her hair and flesh, 
 
THE STATUES IN THE BLOCK. 1 3 
 
 This golden medal's touch would still have power 
 
 To light the love-fire in the faded eyes 
 
 And swell the shrivelled breast to maiden roundness — 
 
 This thought I nursed — O Stygian abyss ! — 
 
 Away thy picture of the rippled hair ! 
 
 Her hair was rippled and her eyes were deep, 
 
 Her breasts and limbs were white and lily-curved, 
 
 But all the woman, soul and wondrous flesh, 
 
 Was poison-steeped and veined with vicious fire ; 
 
 And I, blind fool who trusted, was but one 
 
 Who swooned with love beside her — But I drank 
 
 The wine she filled, and made her eat the dregs — 
 
 I drenched her honey with my sea of gall. 
 
 I see her in the marble where she shrinks 
 
 In shuddered fear, as if my face were fire — 
 
 Her cowering shadow making whiter still 
 
 The face of him that writhes beside her feet. 
 
 I see him breathe, the last deep breath, and turn 
 
 His eyes upon me horror- filled — his hand, 
 
 Still hot with wanton dalliance, clutched hard 
 
14 THE STATUES IN THE BLOCK. 
 
 Across the burning murder in his side — 
 
 And now he sinks still glaring — And my heart 
 
 Is there between them, petrified, O God ! 
 
 And pierced by that red blow that struck their guilt. 
 
 O balm and torture ! he must hate who loves, 
 
 And bleed who strikes to see thy face, Revenge ! n 
 
 Grown deep the silence for the words that died, 
 And paler still the marble for its grief. 
 
 " Ah, myrrh and honey ! " spake a third, whose eyes 
 Were deep with sorrow for the woe ; " blind hands 
 That grope for flowers and pierce the flesh with thorns ! 
 All love of woman still may turn to hate, 
 As wine to bitterness, as noon to night. 
 But sweeter far and deeper than the love 
 Of flesh for flesh, is the strong bond of hearts 
 For suffering Motherland — to make her free ! 
 Love's joy is short, and Hate's black triumph bitter, 
 And loves and hates are selfish — save for thee, 
 
THE STATUES IN THE BLOCK. 1 5 
 
 chained and weeping at thy pillar's foot, 
 Thy white flesh eaten by accursed bands. 
 No love but thine can satisfy the heart, 
 For love of thee holds in it hate of wrong, 
 And shapes the hope that moulds humanity ! 
 Not mine your passions, yet I weigh them well — 
 Who loves a greater sinks all lesser love, 
 
 Who hates a tyrant loses lesser hate. 
 
 My Land ! I see thee in the marble, bowed 
 
 Before thy tyrant, bound at foot and wrist — 
 
 Thy garments rent — thy wounded shoulder bare — 
 
 Thy chained hand raised to ward the cruel blow — 
 
 My poor love round thee scarf-like, weak to hide 
 
 And powerless to shield thee — but a boy 
 
 1 wound it round thee, dearest, and a man 
 
 I drew it close and kissed thee — Mother, wife ! 
 For thee the past and future days ; for thee 
 The will to trample wrong and strike for slaves ; 
 For thee the hope that ere mine arm be weak 
 And ere my heart be dry may close the strife 
 
1 6 THE STATUES IN THE BLOCK. 
 
 In which thy colors shall be borne through fire, 
 And all thy griefs washed out in manly blood — 
 And I shall see thee crowned and bound with love, 
 Thy strong sons round thee guarding thee. O star 
 That lightens desolation, o'er her beam, 
 Nor let the shadow of the pillar sink 
 Too deep within her, till the dawn is red 
 Of that white noon when men shall call her Queen ! " 
 
 The deep voice quivering with affection ceased, 
 And silent each they saw within the stone 
 The captive nation and the mother's woe. 
 Yet while their hearts the fine emotion warmed, 
 Ere ebbed the deep-pulsed throb of brotherhood, 
 The last one spoke, and held the wave at full : — 
 
 " Yea, brothers, his the noblest for its grief ; 
 Your love was loss — but his was sacrifice. 
 Your light was sunlight, for the shallow sense, 
 
THE STATUES IN THE BLOCK. 1 7 
 
 That bends the eyes on earth and thinks it sees ; 
 
 His love was nightlike, when we see the stars, 
 
 Forgetting petty things around our feet. 
 
 Yet here, too, find his weakness, for his hope 
 
 Is still for sunlight, and your shallow sense, 
 
 And golden crowns and queendom for his love. 
 
 I, too, within the stone behold a statue, 
 
 Far less than yours, but greater, for I know 
 
 My symbol a beginning, not an end. 
 
 O, Grief, with Hope ! The marble fades — behold ! 
 
 The little hands still crossed — a child in death. 
 
 My link with love — my dying gift from her 
 
 Whose last look smiled on both, when I was left 
 
 A loveless man, save this poor gift, alone. 
 
 My heart had wound its tendrils round one life, 
 
 But, when my joy was deepest, she was stricken, 
 
 And I was powerless to save. My prayers 
 
 And piteous cries were flung against my face — 
 
 My life was blighted by the curse of Heaven ! 
 
 But from the depths her love returned to soothe : 
 
1 8 THE STATUES IN THE BLOCK. 
 
 Her dear hand reached from death and placed her 
 
 child 
 Where she had lived, within the riven tendrils, 
 And firmly these closed round their second treasure. 
 And she, my new love, in her infant hold 
 Took every heart-string as her mother's gift, 
 And touched such tender fine-strung chords, and 
 
 played 
 Such music in my heart as filled my life 
 With trembling joy and fondness for the child. 
 I feared to be so blest — her baby cheek, 
 When laid on mine, was Heaven's sweetest touch ; 
 And when she looked me in the eyes, I saw 
 Her mother look at me from deep within, 
 And bless me for the love I gave and won. 
 Yet, when I loved her most she, too, was doomed : 
 I saw it come upon her like a shadow, 
 And watched the change, appalled at first, but set 
 To ward the danger from my darling. She, 
 As day by day still failing, grew so tender 
 
THE STATUES IN THE BLOCK. 1 9 
 
 And crept so often to my heart, as if, 
 
 Though but a babe who could not speak a word, 
 
 She knew full well my life would soon be shattered. 
 
 But all my love was fruitless^ and my prayers 
 
 To leave her with me beat the gates in vain. 
 
 I thought my love must hold her, till at last 
 
 I held the tiny body like a leaf 
 
 All day and night within my arms ; and so, 
 
 Close nestled to my yearning heart, Death passed, 
 
 As merciless as God, but left that look 
 
 Of two dead loves, as if Death's self knew pity. 
 
 And I was lost heart-withered in a night 
 
 That knew no star and held no ray of hope, 
 
 And heard no word but my despairing curse 
 
 With lifted hands, at life and Him who gave it ! 
 
 My graves were all I had — the little mound 
 
 Where my hands laid her, with the sweet young 
 
 grass — 
 The tiny hill that grew until the sun 
 Was hid behind it, and I sat below 
 
20 THE STATUES IN THE BLOCK. 
 
 And gnawed my heart in grief within its shadow. 
 So one day bowed in woe beside the grave 
 The weight grew deadly, and I called aloud 
 That God should witness tc^my life in ruin. 
 And God's word reached me through the little grave 
 Where in the grass my face was buried weeping — 
 His peace came through it like a pent-up breath 
 That rolled from some great world whose gates had 
 
 oped, 
 And blew upon my wild and hardened heart, 
 And swept my woe before it like a leaf. 
 My dried heart drank the meaning of the peace : 
 True love shall trust, and selfish love must die, 
 For trust is peace, and self is full of pain ; 
 Arise, and heal thy brother's grief; his tears 
 Shall wash thy love and it will live again. 
 
 little grave, I thought 't was love had died, 
 But in thy bosom only lies my sorrow. 
 
 1 see my darling in the marble now — 
 
 My wasted leaf — her kind eyes smiling fondly, 
 
THE STATUES IN THE BLOCK. 21 
 
 And through her e^es I see the love beyond, 
 The biding light that moves not — and I know 
 That when God gives to us the clearest sight 
 Fie does not touch our eyes with Love, but Sorrow." 
 
THE FAME OF THE CITY. 
 
 A GREAT rich city of power and pride, 
 
 With streets full of traders, and ships on the tide ; 
 With rich men and workmen and judges and preachers, 
 The shops full of skill and the schools full of teachers. 
 
 The people were proud of their opulent town : 
 
 The rich men spent millions to bring it renown ; 
 
 The strong men built and the tradesmen planned ; 
 
 The shipmen sailed to every land ; 
 
 The lawyers argued, the schoolmen taught, 
 
 And a poor shy Poet his verses brought, 
 
 And cast them into the splendid store. 
 
 The tradesmen stared at his useless craft ; 
 
 The rich men sneered and the strong men laughed ; 
 
THE FAME OF THE CITY. 23 
 
 The preachers said it was worthless quite ; 
 
 The schoolmen claimed it was theirs to write ; 
 
 But the songs were spared, though they added nought 
 
 To the profit and praise the people sought, 
 
 That was wafted at last from distant climes ; 
 
 And the townsmen said : " To remotest times 
 
 We shall send our name and our greatness down I " 
 
 The boast came true ; but the famous town 
 
 Had a lesson to learn when all was told : 
 
 The nations that honored cared nought for its gold, 
 
 Its skill they exceeded an hundred-fold ; 
 
 It had only been one of a thousand more, 
 
 Had the songs of the Poet been lost to its store. 
 
 Then the rich men and tradesmen and schoolmen said 
 They had never derided, but praised instead ; 
 And they boast of the Poet their town has bred. 
 
HEART-HUNGER. 
 
 r I ^HERE is no truth in faces, save in children : 
 
 They laugh and frown and weep from nature's 
 keys ; 
 But we who meet the world give out false notes, 
 The true note dying muffled in the heart. 
 
 : O, there be woful prayers and piteous wailing, 
 I That spirits hear, from lives that starve for love ! 
 The body's food is bread ; and wretches' cries 
 Are heard and answered : but the spirit's food 
 Is love ; and hearts that starve may die in agony 
 And ho physician mark the cause of death. 
 
 You cannot read the faces ; they are masks, — 
 Like yonder woman, smiling at the lips, 
 
HEART-HUNGER. 2$ 
 
 Silk-clad, bejewelled, lapped with luxury, 
 
 And beautiful and young — ay, smiling at the lips, 
 
 But never in the eyes from inner light : 
 
 A gracious temple hung with flowers without — 
 
 Within, a naked corpse upon the stones ! 
 
 O, years and years ago the hunger came — 
 
 The desert- thirst for love — she prayed for love — 
 
 She cried out in the night-time of her soul for love ! 
 
 The cup they gave was poison whipped to froth. 
 
 For years she drank it, knowing it for death ; 
 
 . She shrieked in soul against it, but must drink : 
 
 The skies were dumb — she dared not swoon or 
 
 scream. 
 As Indian mothers see babes die for food, 
 
 She watched dry-eyed beside her starving heart, 
 
 And only sobbed in secret for its gasps, 
 
 And only raved one wild hour when it died ! 
 
 O Pain, have pity ! Numb her quivering sense ; 
 O Fame, bring guerdon ! Thrice a thousand years 
 
26 HEART-HUNGER, 
 
 Thy boy-thief with the fox beneath his cloak 
 
 Has let it gnaw his side unmoved, and held the world ; 
 
 And she, a slight woman, smiling at the lips, 
 
 With repartee and jest — a corpse-heart in her breast ! 
 
MULEY MALEK, THE KING. 
 
 r I ^HUNDER of guns, and cries — banners and 
 
 spears and blood ! 
 Troops have died where they stood holding the 
 
 vantage points — 
 They have raced like waves at a wall, and dashed 
 
 themselves to death. 
 
 Dawn the fight begin, and noon was red with its noon. 
 The armies stretch afar — and the plain of Alcazar 
 Is drenched with Moorish blood. 
 
 On one side, Muley the King — Muley Malek the 
 
 Strong. 
 He had seized the Moorish crown because it would fit 
 
 his brows. 
 Hamet the Fair was king ; but Muley pulled him 
 
 down, because he was strong. 
 
28 MULEY MALEK, THE KING. 
 
 The fierce sun glares on the clouds of dust and battle 
 
 smoke, 
 The hoarsened soldiers choke in the blinding heat. 
 Muley the King is afield, but sick to the death. 
 Borne on a litter he lies, his blood on fire, his eyes 
 Flaming with fever light. 
 
 Hamah Tabah the Captain, stands by the curtained bed, 
 Telling him news of the fight — how the waves roll and 
 
 rise, and clash and mingle and seethe. 
 And Hamah bends to the scene. He peers under 
 
 arche'd hand — 
 As an eagle he stoops to the field. One hand on the hilt 
 Is white at the knuckles, so fiercely gripped ; while 
 
 the hand 
 That had parted the curtains before now clutches the 
 
 silk and wrings. 
 
 Harness squadrons are moving in mass — their lines 
 
 are circling the plain ! 
 The thousands of Muley stand, like bison dazed by 
 
 an earthquake ; 
 
ML/LEY MALEK, THE KING. 29 
 
 They are stunned by the thud of the fight, they are 
 
 deer without a leader ; 
 Their charge has died like the impulse of missiles freed 
 
 from the sling ; 
 Their spears waver like shaken barley, — they are 
 
 dumb-struck and ready to fly ! 
 
 Hamah Tabah the Captain, in words like the pouring 
 
 of pitch, has painted 
 The terrible scene for the sick King, and terrible 
 
 answer follows. 
 Up from the couch of pain, disdaining the bonds of 
 
 weakness ; 
 Flinging aside disease as a wrestler flings his tunic ; 
 Strong with the smothered fire of fever, and fiercer 
 
 far than its flaming, 
 . Rises in mail from the litter Muley Malek the King ! 
 
 Down on his plunging stallion, in the eyes of the shud- 
 dered troops, 
 His bent plume like a smoke, and his sword like a flame, 
 
30 MULEY MALEK, THE KING. 
 
 Smelting their souls with his courage, he rides before 
 
 his soldiers ! 
 They bend from his face like the sun — their eyes are 
 
 blind with shame — 
 They thrill as a stricken tiger thrills, gathering his limbs 
 
 from a blow ; 
 They raise their faces, and watch him, sworded and 
 
 mailed and strong ; 
 They watch him, and shout his name fiercely — " Mu- 
 
 ley, the King /" 
 
 Grimly they close their ranks, drinking his face like 
 
 wine ; 
 Strength to the arm and wrath to the soul, and power — 
 Fuel and fire he was — and the battle roared like a 
 
 crater ! 
 
 Back to the litter, his face turned from the lines, and 
 
 fixed 
 In a stare like the faces in granite, the King 
 
MULEY MALEK, THE KING. 3 1 
 
 Rode straight and strong, holding his sword 
 
 Soldierly, gripped on the thigh, grim as a king in iron ! 
 
 Stiff in the saddle, stark, frowning — one hand is raised, 
 The mailed finger is laid on the mouth : 
 "Silence!" the warning said to Hamah Tabah the 
 Captain. 
 
 Help from his horse they give, moving him, still un- 
 bending, 
 
 Down to the bed, and lay him within the curtains. 
 
 Mutely they answer his frown, like ridges of bronze, 
 and sternly 
 
 Again is the mailed hand raised and laid on the lips 
 in warning : 
 
 "Silence!" it said, and the meaning smote through 
 their blood like flame, 
 
 As the tremor passed through his armor and the gray- 
 ness crept o'er his features — 
 
 Muley the King was dead ! 
 
32 MULEY MALEK, THE KING. 
 
 Furious the struggle and long, the armies with* teeth 
 
 aclench 
 And dripping weapons shortened, like athletes whose 
 
 blows have killed pain. 
 The soldiers of Hamet were flushed — but the spirit of 
 
 Muley opposed them ; 
 The weak of Muley grew strong when they looked at 
 
 the curtained litter. 
 Their thought of the King was wine in the thirst of 
 
 the fight ; 
 They saw that Hamah was there, still bending over the 
 
 bed ; 
 Holding the curtains wide and taking the order that 
 
 came 
 From the burning lips of the King, and sending it 
 
 down to his soldiers; 
 They knew that Hamah the Captain was telling him 
 
 of the onset, 
 How they swept like hail on the fields, and left them 
 
 like sickled grain. 
 
MULEY MALEK, THE KING. 33 
 
 Back, as the waves in a tempest are flung from a cliff 
 
 and scattered, 
 Burst and horribly broken and driven beneath with 
 
 the impact, 
 Shivered, for once and forever, the conquered forces ; 
 
 King Hamet 
 Was slain by the sword, and the foreign monarch who 
 
 helped him, 
 And the plain was swept by the besom of death : 
 There never was grander faith in a king ! 
 
 Trophies and victors' crowns, bring them to bind his 
 
 brow ! 
 Circle his curtained bed — thousands and thousands, 
 
 come ! 
 It will cure him, and kill his pain — we must see him 
 
 to-night again : 
 One glance of his love and pride for all the hosts that 
 
 died — 
 To his bedside — come ! 
 
 3 
 
34 MULEY MALEK, THE KING. 
 
 Rigid, with frowning brow, his finger laid on his lips, 
 They saw him — saw him and knew, and read the 
 
 word that he spake, 
 Stronger than death, and they stood in their tears, 
 
 and were silent, 
 Obeying the King ! 
 
REMORSE. 
 
 T REMEMBER when I was a boy 
 
 That a grown girl wanted to kiss me ; 
 And I struggled, was angry, and shy, 
 And ran off when she tried to caress me. 
 
 And I 've thought of that_ day through the years ; 
 
 (What a moral, my friend, lies in this !) 
 Under every sweet leaf that appears 
 
 Lurks a pain for the loss of that kiss. 
 
The Infi?iite always is silent ; 
 
 It is only the Finite speaks. 
 Our words are the idle wave-caps 
 
 On the deep that never breaks. 
 We may question with wand of science, 
 
 Explain, decide, and discuss ; 
 But only in 77ieditation 
 
 The Mystery speaks to us. 
 
FROM THE EARTH, A CRY. 
 
 " The Years of Our Lord " 1870 to 1880. — The Rulers of Prussia 
 and France make War. — The Paris Commune. — War for Rome 
 between the Pope and the King of Italy. — War between Russia 
 and Turkey. — England devastates Abyssinia, Ashantee, and Zulu- 
 land. — One English Viceroy in India murdered. Another shot at. — 
 Socialists attempt to kill the Emperor of Germany. — Internationalists 
 fire at the King of Italy. — Nihilists thrice attempt to destroy the 
 Czar. — The Mines of Siberia filled with Political Prisoners. — The 
 Farmers of Ireland rebel in Despair against Rack-rents. — The Work- 
 men of England emigrating from Starvation. — The Land of England, 
 Scotland, and Ireland held by less than a Quarter of a Million of 
 Men. — The Pittsburg Riots. — The American Strikes. — The End of 
 the Decade. 
 
 ^"^AN the earth have a voice? Can the clods have 
 
 speech, 
 To murmur and rail at the demigods ? 
 Trample them ! Grind their vulgar faces in the clay ! 
 
 The earth was made for lords and the makers of law ; 
 For the conquerors and the social priests ; 
 
38 FROM THE EARTH, A CRY. 
 
 For traders who feed on and foster the complex 
 
 life; 
 For the shrewd and the selfish who plan and keep ; 
 For the heirs who squander the hoard that bears 
 The face of the king, and the blood of the serf, 
 And the curse of the darkened souls ! 
 
 O Christ ! and O Christ ! In thy name the law ! 
 
 In thy mouth the mandate ! In thy loving hand the 
 
 whip ! 
 They have taken thee down from thy cross and sent 
 
 thee to scourge the people ; 
 They have shod thy feet with spikes and jointed thy 
 
 dead knees with iron, 
 And pushed thee, hiding behind, to trample the poor 
 
 dumb faces ! 
 
 The spheres make music in space. They swing 
 Like fiery cherubim on their paths, circling their 
 suns, 
 
FROM THE EARTH, A CRY. 39 
 
 Mysterious, weaving the irrevealable, 
 
 Full of the peace of unity — sphere and its life at 
 
 one — 
 Humming their lives of love through the limitless waste 
 
 of creation. 
 
 God ! thou hast made man a test of Thyself ! 
 
 Thou hast set in him a heart that bleeds at the cry of 
 
 the helpless : 
 Through Thine infinite seas one world rolls silent, 
 Moaning at times with quivers and fissures of blood ; 
 Divided, unhappy, accursed ; the lower life good, 
 But the higher life wasted and split, like grain with a 
 
 cankered root. 
 Is there health in thy gift of life, Almighty ? 
 Is there grief or compassion anywhere for the poor? 
 If these be, there is guerdon for those who hate the 
 
 wrong 
 And leap naked on the spears, that blood may cry 
 For truth to come, and pity, and Thy peace. 
 
40 FROM THE EARTH, A CRY. 
 
 The human sea is frozen like a swamp ; and the kings 
 
 And the heirs and the owners ride on the ice and 
 laugh. 
 
 Their war-forces, orders, and laws are the crusted field 
 of a crater, 
 
 And they stamp on the fearful rind, deriding its flesh- 
 like shudder. 
 
 Lightning ! the air is split, the crater bursts, and the 
 
 breathing 
 Of those below is the fume and fire of hatred. 
 The thrones are stayed with the courage of shotted 
 
 guns. The warning dies. 
 But queens are dragged to the block, and the knife of 
 
 the guillotine sinks 
 In the garbage of pampered flesh that gluts its bed and 
 
 its hinges. 
 
 Silence again, and sunshine. The gaping lips are 
 closed on the crater. 
 
FROM THE EARTH, A CRY. 41 
 
 The dead are below, and the landless, and those who 
 
 live to labor 
 And grind forever in gloom that, the privileged few 
 
 may live. 
 
 But the silence is sullen, not restful. It heaves like a 
 
 sea, and frets, 
 And beats at the roof till it finds another vent for its 
 
 fury. 
 Again the valve is burst and the pitch-cloud rushes, — 
 
 the old seam rends anew — 
 Where the kings were killed before, their names are 
 
 hewed from the granite — 
 Paris, mad hope of the slave-shops, flames to the 
 
 petroleuse ! 
 Tiger that tasted blood — Paris that tasted freedom ! 
 Never, while steel is cheap and sharp, shall thy king- 
 lings sleep without dreaming — 
 Never, while souls have flame, shall their palaces 
 
 crush the hovels. 
 
42 FROM THE EARTH, A CRY. 
 
 Insects and vermin, ye, the starving and dangerous 
 
 myriads, 
 List to the murmur that grows and growls ! Come 
 
 from your mines and mills, 
 Pale-faced girls and women with ragged and hard-eyed 
 
 children, 
 Pour from your dens of toil and filth, out to the air of 
 
 heaven — 
 Breathe it deep, and hearken ! A Cry from the cloud 
 
 or beyond it, 
 A Cry to the toilers to rise, to be high as the highest 
 
 that rules them, 
 To own the earth in their lifetime and hand it down 
 
 to their children ! 
 
 Emperors, stand to the bar ! Chancellors, halt at the 
 
 barracks ! 
 Landlords and Lawlords and Tradelords, the spectres 
 
 you conjured have risen — 
 
FROM THE EARTH, A CRY. 43 
 
 Communists, Socialists, Nihilists, Rent-rebels, Strikers, 
 
 behold ! 
 They are fruit of the seed you have sown — God has 
 
 prospered your planting. They come 
 From the earth, like the army of death. You have 
 
 sowed the teeth of the dragon ! 
 Hark to the bay of the leader ! You shall hear the 
 
 roar of the pack 
 As sure as the stream goes seaward. The crust on 
 
 the crater beneath you 
 Shall crack and crumble and sink, with your laws and 
 
 rules 
 That breed the million to toil for the luxury of the 
 
 ten — 
 That grind the rent from the tiller's blood for drones 
 
 to spend — 
 That hold the teeming planet as a garden plot for a 
 
 thousand — 
 That draw the crowds to the cities from the healthful 
 
 fields and woods — 
 
44 FROM THE EARTH, A CRY. 
 
 That copulate with greed and beget disease and 
 
 crime — 
 That join these two and their offspring, till the world 
 
 is filled with fear, 
 And falsehood wins from truth, and the vile and cun- 
 ning succeed, 
 And manhood and love are dwarfed, and virtue and 
 
 friendship sick, 
 And the law of Christ is a cloak for the corpse that 
 
 stands for Justice ! 
 — As sure as the Spirit of God is Truth, this Truth 
 
 shall reign, 
 And the trees and lowly brutes shall cease to be higher 
 
 than men. 
 God purifies slowly by peace, but urgently by fire. 
 
L 
 
 PROMETHEUS — CHRIST. 
 
 ASHED to the planet, glaring at the sky, 
 An eagle at his heart — the Pagan Christ ! 
 
 Why is it, Mystery? O, dumb Darkness, why 
 Have always men, with loving hearts themselves, 
 Made devils of their gods ? 
 
 The whirling globe 
 Bears round man's sweating agony of blood, 
 That Might may gloat above impotent Pain ! 
 
 Man's soul is dual — he is half a fiend, 
 And from himself He typifies Almighty. 
 
46 PROMETHEUS— CHRIST. 
 
 O, poison-doubt, the answer holds no peace : 
 Man did not make himself a fiend, but God. 
 
 Between them, what? Prometheus stares 
 Through ether to the lurid eyes of Jove — 
 Between them, Darkness ! 
 
 But the gods are dead — 
 Ay, Zeus is dead, and all the gods but Doubt, 
 And Doubt is brother devil to Despair ! 
 
 What, then, for us ? Better Prometheus' fate, 
 Who dared the gods, than insect unbelief — 
 Better Doubt's fitful flame than abject nothingness ! 
 
 O, world around us, glory of the spheres ! 
 God speaks in ordered harmony — behold ! 
 Between us and the Darkness, clad in light, — 
 Between us and the curtain of the Vast, — two Forms, 
 And each is crowned eternally — and One 
 
PROMETHEUS —CHRIST, 47 
 
 Is crowned with flowers and tender leaves and grass, 
 
 And smiles benignly ; and the other One, 
 
 With sadly pitying eyes, is crowned with thorns : 
 
 O Nature, and O Christ, for men to love 
 
 And seek and live by — Thine the dual reign — 
 
 The health and hope and happiness of men ! 
 
 Behold our faith and fruit ! 
 
 What demon laughs ? 
 
 Behold our books, our schools, our states, 
 Where Christ and Nature are the daily word ; 
 Behold our dealings between man and man, 
 Our laws for home, our treaties for abroad ; 
 Behold our honor, honesty, and freedom, 
 And, last, our brotherhood ! For we are born 
 In Christian times and ruled by Christian rules ! 
 
 Bah ! God is mild, or he would strike the world 
 As men should smite a liar on the mouth. 
 
48 PRO ME THE US — CHRIST. 
 
 Shame on the falsehood ! Let us tell the truth — 
 
 f 
 
 Nor Christ nor Nature rules, but Greed and Creed 
 And Caste and Cant and Craft and Ignorance. 
 Down to the dust with every decent face, 
 And whisper there the lies we daily live. 
 O, God forgive us ! Nature never can ; 
 For one is merciful, the other just. 
 
 Let us confess : by Nations first — our lines 
 Are writ in blood and rapine and revenge ; 
 Conquest and pride have motive been and law — 
 Christ walks with us to hourly crucifixion ! 
 
 As Men? Would God the better tale were here : 
 Atom as whole, corruption, shrewdness, self. 
 Freedom ? A juggle — hundreds slave for one, — 
 That one is free, and boasts, and lo ! the shame, 
 The hundreds at the wheel go boasting too. 
 Justice ? The selfish only can succeed ; 
 Success means power — did Christ mean it so? — 
 
PROMETHEUS — CHRIST. 49 
 
 And power must be guarded by the law, 
 
 And preachers preach that law must be obeyed, 
 
 Ay, even when Right is ironed in the dock, 
 
 And Rapine sits in ermine on the bench ! 
 
 Mercy ? Behold it in the reeking slums 
 
 That grow like cancers from the palace wall ; 
 
 Go hear it from the conquered — how their blood 
 
 Is weighed in drops, and purchased, blood for gold ; 
 
 Go ask the toiling tenant why he paid 
 
 The landlord's rent and let his children starve ; 
 
 Go find the thief, whose father was a thief, 
 
 And ask what Christian leech has cured his sin ? 
 
 Honesty ? Our law of life is Gain — 
 
 V must get gold or be accounted fools ; 
 
 The lovable, the generous, must be crushed 
 
 An 1 substituted by the hard and shrewd. 
 
 What is it, Christ, this thing called Christian life, 
 Where Christ is not, where ninety slave for ten, 
 And never own a flower save when they steal it, 
 4 
 
50 PROMETHEUS — CHRIST. 
 
 And never hear a bird save when they cage it ? 
 Is this the freedom of Thy truth ? Ah, woe 
 For those who see a higher, nobler law 
 Than his, the Crucified, if this be so ! 
 
 O, man's blind hope — Prometheus, thine the gift - 
 That bids him live when reason bids him die ! 
 We cling to this, as sailors to a spar — 
 We see that this is Truth : that men are one, 
 Nor king nor slave among them save by law ; 
 We see that law is crime, save God's sweet code 
 That laps the world in freedom : trees and men 
 And every life around us, days and seasons, 
 All for their natural order on the planet, 
 To live their lives, an hour, a hundred years, . 
 Equal, content, and free — nor curse their souls 
 With trade's malign unrest, with books that breed 
 Disparity, contempt for those who cannot read ; 
 With cities full of toil and sin and sorrow, 
 Climbing the devil-builded hill called Progress ! 
 
PROMETHEUS — CHRIST. 5 I 
 
 Prometheus, we reject thy gifts for Christ's ! 
 Selfish and hard were thine ; but His are sweet — 
 " Sell what thou hast and give it to the poor ! " 
 Him we must follow to the great Commune, 
 Reading his book of Nature, growing wise 
 As planet-men, who own the earth, and pass ; 
 Him we must follow till foul Cant and Caste 
 Die like disease, and Mankind, freed at last, 
 Tramples the complex life and laws and limits 
 That stand between all living things. and Freedom ! 
 
" You gave me the key of your heart, my love; , 
 
 Then why do you make me knock ? " 
 " O, that was yesterday, Saints above ! 
 ■ And last night — / changed the lock I n 
 

 THE TEMPLE OF FRIENDSHIP. 
 
 TN the depths of the silent wood the temple of 
 
 Friendship stood, 
 Like a dream of snow-white stone, or a vestal all alone, 
 Undraped beside a stream. 
 
 » 
 
 The pious from every clime came there to rest for a 
 
 time, 
 With incense and gifts and prayer; and the stainless 
 
 marble stair 
 Was worn by fervent knees. 
 
 And everywhere the fame of the beautiful temple came, 
 With its altar white and pure, and its worship to allure 
 From gods that bring unrest. 
 
54 THE TEMPLE OF FRIENDSHIP. 
 
 The goddess was there to assuage (for this was the 
 
 Golden Age) 
 The trials of all who staid and trustingly tried and 
 prayed 
 For the perfect grace. 
 
 Soldier and clerk and dame in couples and companies 
 
 came; 
 There were few who rode alone, for none feared the 
 
 other one, 
 So placid and safe the creed. 
 
 There came from afar one day, with a suite in rich 
 
 array, 
 A lady of beauty rare, who bent to the plaintive air 
 A handsome minstrel sung. 
 
 Her face was as calm and cold as the stamp of a queen 
 
 on gold, 
 And the song the poet sung to a restful theme was 
 
 strung, 
 A tranquil air of peace. 
 
THE TEMPLE OF FRIENDSHIP. 55 
 
 But, as they happily rode to the holy and white abode, 
 They were watched from a cloud above by the mis- 
 chievous god of Love, 
 Who envied Friendship's reign. 
 
 They dreamt not of danger near, and their hearts felt 
 
 no shade of fear, 
 As they laid their rich offerings of flowers and precious 
 
 things 
 At Friendship's lovely feet. 
 
 They lingered long near the shrine, in the air of its 
 
 peace divine ; 
 By the shadowed stream they strayed, where often the 
 
 heavenly maid 
 Would smile upon their rest. 
 
 One day, with her white robe flown, she passed like a 
 
 dream alone, 
 Where they sat in a converse sweet, with the silver 
 
 stream at their feet 
 As still and as wise as they. 
 
56 THE TEMPLE OF FRIENDSHIP. 
 
 To the innermost temple's room, to the couch, and the 
 
 sacred loom 
 Where she weaves her placid will, the goddess came, 
 smiling still, 
 Unrobing for blissful rest. 
 
 [old, 
 O lily of perfect mould, the world had grown young, not 
 
 Had it bowed at thy milk-white feet with a love not 
 of fire, but heat, — 
 Sweet lotus of soft repose ! 
 
 Like the moon her body glows, like the sun-flushed 
 
 Alpine snows ; 
 Her arms 'neath her radiant head, she sleeps, and lo ! 
 
 o'er her bed 
 The wicked Cupid leans. 
 
 Even he cannot fly the feast which nor vestal nor 
 
 hoary priest 
 Had ever enjoyed before. But, stealing her robe from 
 
 the floor, 
 He dons it and is gone. 
 
THE TEMPLE OF FRIENDSHIP. 57 
 
 By the stream, in the silent shade, he walks where 
 
 the two have made 
 Their resting-place for the noon : " Tis Friendship ! " 
 
 they cry \ and soon 
 Love's guile on their hearts is laid. 
 
 " O, the goddess is good ! " she said, as she bent her 
 
 golden head 
 And looked in the minstrel's face. "She stands by 
 
 our resting-place 
 And blesses our peaceful love ! " 
 
 As she spoke, a flame shot through her breast, and her" 
 
 eyes of blue 
 Grew moist with a subtle bliss. "Sweet friend ! " she 
 
 cried, and her kiss 
 Clung soft on the poet's lips. 
 
 " Ah, me ! " he sighed, " if they knew, those feverish 
 lovers who woo 
 
58 THE TEMPLE OF FRIENDSHIP. 
 
 For the passion of tears and blood, how soothing and 
 pure and good 
 Is a friendly kiss — like this ! " 
 
 "O, list!" she cried, "'tis a dove; he calls for his 
 
 absent love ; 
 They will sit all day and coo calm friendship, like 
 
 mine for you, — 
 Dear friend, like mine for you ! " 
 
 Their hands were joined, and a thrill of desire and 
 
 passionate will 
 Brought his eyes her eyes above in a marvellous look 
 
 of love, 
 And Cupid smiled and drew near. 
 
 " O sweetest ! " she whispered softly. " See ! the god- 
 dess is leaning over me, 
 
 And smiling with eyes like yours ! O Goddess ! thy 
 presence cures 
 The restful unrest of friends ! " 
 
THE TEMPLE OF FRIENDSHIP, 59 
 
 And Cupid laughed in her eyes as he threw off the 
 
 white disguise 
 And bent down to kiss her himself — but cuff! cuff! 
 
 on the ears of the elf 
 From the goddess who sought her robe. 
 
 And the river flowed on through the wood, and the 
 
 temple of Friendship stood 
 Like a dream of snow-white stone. But the minstrel 
 
 returned alone 
 From his pilgrimage. 
 
HER REFRAIN. 
 
 " T~\° y° u love rne?" she said, when the skies were 
 blue, 
 And we walked where the stream through the 
 branches glistened; 
 And I told and retold her my love was true, 
 
 While she listened and smiled, and smiled and 
 listened. 
 
 "Do you love me?" she whispered, when days were 
 drear, 
 
 And her eyes searched mine with a patient yearning ; 
 And I kissed her, renewing the words so dear, 
 
 While she listened and smiled, as if slowly learning. 
 
HER REFRAIN. 6 1 
 
 " Do you love me?" she asked, when we sat at rest 
 By the stream enshadowed with autumn glory ; 
 
 Her cheek had been laid as in peace on my breast, 
 But she raised it to ask for the sweet old story. 
 
 And I said : " I will tell her the tale again — 
 
 I will swear by the earth and the stars above me!" 
 And I told her that uttermost time should prove 
 The fervor and faith of my perfect love ; 
 And I vowed it and pledged it that nought should 
 
 move ; 
 While she listened and smiled in my face, and then 
 She whispered once more, "Do you truly love 
 me?" 
 
A SAVAGE. 
 
 T^IXON, a Choctaw, twenty years of age, 
 
 Had killed a miner in a Leadville brawl ; 
 Tried and condemned, the rough-beards curb their 
 rage, 
 And watch him stride in freedom from the hall. 
 
 " Return on Friday, to be shot to death /" 
 So ran the sentence — it was Monday night. 
 
 The dead man's comrades drew a well-pleased breath ; 
 Then all night long the gambling dens were bright. 
 
 The days sped slowly \ but the Friday came, 
 And flocked the miners to the shooting-ground \ 
 
 They chose six riflemen of deadly aim, 
 
 And with low voices sat and lounged around. 
 
A SAVAGE, 6$ 
 
 " He will not come." " He 's not a fool." " The men 
 Who set the savage free must face the blame." 
 
 A Choctaw brave smiled bitterly, and then 
 
 Smiled proudly, with raised head, as Dixon came. 
 
 Silent and stern — a woman at his heels ; 
 
 He motions to the brave, who stays her tread. 
 Next minute — flame the guns : the woman reels 
 
 And drops without a moan — Dixon is dead. 
 
LOVE'S SECRET. 
 
 T OVE found them sitting in a woodland place. 
 His amorous hand amid her golden tresses ; 
 And Love looked smiling on her glowing face 
 And moistened eyes upturned to his caresses. 
 
 " O sweet," she murmured, " life is utter bliss ! " 
 
 " Dear heart," he said, " our golden cup runs over ! " 
 
 " Drink, love," she cried, " and thank the gods for this ! " 
 He drained the precious lips of cup and lover. 
 
 Love blessed the kiss ; but, ere he wandered thence, 
 The mated bosoms heard this benediction : 
 
 " Love lies within the brimming bowl of sense :. 
 
 Who keeps this full has joy — who drains, affliction" 
 
LOVE'S SECRET. 65 
 
 They heard the rustle as he smiling fled : 
 
 She reached her hand to pull the roses blowing. 
 
 He stretched to take the purple grapes o'erhead ; 
 Love whispered back, " Nay, keep their beauties grow- 
 ing:' 
 
 They paused, and understood : one flower alone 
 They took and kept, and Love flew smiling over. 
 
 Their roses bloomed, their cup went brimming on — 
 She looked for Love within, and found her lover. 
 
 5 
 
LOVE'S SACRIFICE. 
 
 T OVE'S Herald flew o'er all the fields of Greece, 
 
 Crying : " Love's altar waits for sacrifice ! " 
 And all folk answered, like a wave of peace, 
 With treasured offerings and gifts of price. 
 
 Toward high Olympus every white road filled 
 With pilgrims streaming to the blest abode ; 
 
 Each bore rich tribute, some for joys fulfilled, 
 And some for blisses lingering on the road. 
 
 The pious peasant drives his laden car ; 
 
 The fisher youth bears treasure from the sea ; 
 A wife brings honey for the sweets that are ; 
 
 A maid brings roses for the sweets to be. 
 
 Here strides the soldier with his wreathed sword, 
 No more to glitter in his country's wars ; 
 
LOVES SACRIFICE. 67 
 
 There walks the poet with his mystic word, 
 And smiles at Eros' mild recruit from Mars. 
 
 But midst these bearers of propitious gifts, 
 
 Behold where two, a youth and maiden, stand : 
 
 She bears no boon ; his arm no burden lifts, 
 Save her dear fingers pressed within his hand. 
 
 Their touch ignites the soft delicious fire, 
 Whose rays the very altar-flames eclipse ; 
 
 Their eyes are on each other — sweet desire 
 And yearning passion tremble on their lips. 
 
 So fair — so strong ! Ah, Love ! what errant wiles 
 Have brought these two so poor and so unblest? 
 
 But see ! Instead of anger, Cupid smiles ; 
 And lo ! he crowns their sacrifice as best ! 
 
 Their hands are empty, but their hearts are filled ; 
 
 Their gifts so rare for all the host suffice : 
 Before the altar is their life- wine spilled — 
 
 The love they long for is their sacrifice. 
 
A man will trust another man, and show 
 His secret thought and act, as if he must; 
 
 A woman — does she tell her sins ? Ah, no ! 
 She never knew a woman she could trust. 
 
THE WELL'S SECRET. 
 
 KNEW it all my boyhood : in a lonesome valley 
 meadow, 
 Like a dryad's mirror hidden by the wood's dim 
 arches near ; 
 Its eye flashed back the sunshine, and grew dark and 
 sad with shadow ; 
 And I loved its truthful depths where every pebble 
 lay so clear. 
 
 I scooped my hand and drank it, and watched the 
 sensate quiver 
 Of the rippling rings of silver as the beads of crystal 
 fell; 
 I pressed the richer grasses from its little trickling river, 
 Till at last I knew, as friends know, every secret of 
 the well. 
 
70 THE WELLS SECRET. 
 
 But one day I stood beside it on a sudden, unexpected, 
 When the sun had crossed the valley and a shadow- 
 hid the place ; 
 And I looked in the dark water — saw my pallid cheek 
 reflected — 
 And beside it, looking upward, met an evil reptile 
 face : 
 
 Looking upward, furtive, startled at the silent, swift 
 intrusion ; 
 Then it darted toward the grasses, and I saw not 
 where it fled ; 
 But I knew its eyes were on me, and the old-time 
 sweet illusion 
 Of the pure and perfect symbol I had cherished 
 there was dead. 
 
 ( O, the pain to know the perjury of seeming truth that 
 blesses ! 
 My soul was seared like sin to see the falsehood of 
 the place ; 
 
THE WELLS SECRET. 7 1 
 
 And the innocence that mocked me, while in dim un- 
 seen recesses 
 There were lurking fouler secrets than the furtive 
 reptile face. 
 
 And since then, — O, why the burden? — when the 
 joyous faces greet me, 
 With their eyes of limpid innocence, and words 
 devoid of art, 
 I cannot trust their seeming, but must ask what eyes 
 would meet me 
 Could I look in sudden silence at the secrets of 
 the heart ! 
 
JACQUEMINOTS. 
 
 MAY not speak in words, dear, but let my words 
 
 be flowers, 
 
 To tell their crimson secret in leaves of fragrant fire ; 
 They plead for smiles and kisses as summer fields for 
 showers, 
 And every purple veinlet thrills with exquisite desire. 
 
 O, let me see the glance, dear, the gleam of soft con- 
 fession 
 You give my amorous roses for the tender hope they 
 prove ; 
 And press their heart-leaves back, love, to drink their 
 deeper passion, 
 For their sweetest, wildest perfume is the whisper of 
 my love ! 
 
JACQUEMINOTS. 73 
 
 My roses, tell her, pleading, all the fondness and the 
 sighing, 
 All the longing of a heart that reaches thirsting for 
 its bliss ; 
 And tell her, tell her, roses, that my lips and eyes are 
 dying 
 For the melting of her love-look and the rapture of 
 her kiss. 
 
Hunger goes sleepless ly 
 
 Thinking of food; 
 Evil lies pai?ifully 
 
 Yearning for good. 
 Life is a confluence: 
 
 Nature must move, 
 Like the heart of a poet, 
 
 Toward beauty and love. 
 
LIVING. 
 
 / TT*0 toil all day and lie worn-out at night ; 
 
 To rise for all the years to slave and sleep, 
 And breed new broods to do no other thing 
 In toiling, bearing, breeding — life is this 
 To myriad men, too base for man or brute. 
 
 To serve for common duty, while the brain 
 Is hot with high desire to be distinct ; 
 To fill the sand-grain place among the stones 
 That build the social wall in million sameness, 
 Is life by leave, and death by insignificance. 
 
 To live the morbid years, with dripping blood 
 Of sacrificial labor for a Thought ; 
 To take the dearest hope and lay it down 
 Beneath the crushing wheels -for love of Freedom • 
 
76 LIVING. 
 
 To bear the sordid jeers of cant and trade, 
 And go on hewing for a far ideal, — 
 This were a life worth giving to a cause, 
 If cause be found so worth a martyr life. 
 
 But highest life of man, nor work nor sacrifice, 
 But utter seeing of the things that be ! 
 To pass amid the hurrying crowds, and watch 
 The hungry race for things of vulgar use ; 
 To mark the growth of baser lines in men ; 
 To note the bending to a servile rule ; 
 To know the natural discord called disease 
 That rots like rust the blood and souls of men ; 
 To test the wisdoms and philosophies by touch 
 Of that which is immutable, being clear, 
 The beam God opens to the poet's brain ; 
 To see with eyes of pity laboring souls 
 Strive upward to the Freedom and the Truth, 
 And still be backward dragged by fear and igno- 
 rance : 
 
LIVING. 77 
 
 To see the beauty of the world, and hear 
 
 The rising harmony of growth, whose shade 
 
 Of undertone is harmonized decay ; 
 
 To know that love is life — that blood is one 
 
 And rushes to the union — that the heart 
 
 Is like a cup athirst for wine of love ; 
 
 Who sees and feels this meaning utterly, 
 
 The wrong of law, the right of man, the natural truth, 
 
 Partaking not of selfish aims, withholding not 
 
 The word that strengthens and the hand that helps \ 
 
 Who waits and sympathizes with the pettiest life, 
 
 And loves all things, and reaches up to God 
 
 With thanks and blessing — he alone is living. 
 
THE CELEBES. 
 
 " The sons of God came upon the earth and took wives of the 
 daughters of men." — Legends of the Talmud. 
 
 T~\EAR islands of the Orient, 
 
 Where Nature's first of love was spent ; 
 Sweet hill-tops of the summered land 
 Where gods and men went hand in hand 
 In golden days of sinless earth ! 
 Woe rack the womb of time, that bore 
 The primal evil to its birth ! 
 It came ; the gods were seen no more : 
 The fields made sacred by their feet, 
 The flowers they loved, grown all too sweet, 
 The streams their bright forms mirrored, 
 The fragrant banks that made their bed, 
 
THE CELEBES. 79 
 
 The human hearts round which they wove 
 Their threads of superhuman love — 
 These were too dear and desolate 
 To sink to fallen man's estate ; 
 The gods who loved them loosed the seas, 
 Struck free the barriers of the deep, 
 That rolled in one careering sweep 
 And filled the land, as 't were a grave, 
 And left no beauteous remnant, save 
 Those hill-tops called the Celebes. 
 
WAITING. 
 
 T T E is coming ! he is coming ! in my throbbing 
 
 breast I feel it ; 
 
 There is music in my blood, and it whispers all day long, 
 
 That my love unknown comes toward me ! Ah, my heart, 
 
 he need not steal it, 
 
 For I cannot hide the secret that it murmurs in its song ! 
 
 O the sweet bursting flowers ! how they open, never 
 blushing, 
 Laying bare their fragrant bosoms to the kisses of the 
 sun ! 
 And the birds — I thought 't was poets only read their 
 tender gushing, 
 But I hear their pleading stories, and I know them every 
 one. 
 
WAITING. 8 1 
 
 " He is coming ! " says my heart ; I may raise my eyes 
 and greet him ; 
 I may meet him any moment — shall I know him 
 when I see ? 
 And my heart laughs back the answer — I can tell 
 him when I meet him, 
 For our eyes will kiss and mingle ere he speaks a 
 word to me. 
 
 O, I 'm longing for his coming — in the dark my arms 
 outreaching ; 
 To hasten you, my love, see, I lay my bosom bare ! 
 Ah, the night-wind ! I shudder, and my hands are 
 raised beseeching — 
 It wailed so light a death-sigh that passed me in 
 the air ! 
 
 6 
 
0, the rare spring flowers ! take them as they come : 
 Do not wait for summer buds — they may never bloom. 
 Every sweet to-day sends we are wise to save ; 
 Roses bloom for pulling : the path is to the grave. 
 
A : 
 
 WHEAT GRAINS. 
 
 S grains from chaff, I sift these worldly rules, 
 Kernels of wisdom, from the husks of schools : 
 
 1. 
 Benevolence befits the wisest mind ; 
 
 But he who has not studied to be kind, 
 
 Who grants for asking, gives without a rule, 
 
 Hurts whom he helps, and proves himself a fool. 
 
 ii. 
 The wise man is sincere : but he who tries 
 To be sincere, hap-hazard, is not wise. 
 
 m. 
 Knowledge is gold to him who can discern 
 That he who loves to know, must love to learn. 
 
84 WHEAT GRAINS. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Straightforward speech is very certain good ; 
 But he who has not learned its rule is rude. 
 
 v. 
 
 Boldness and firmness, these are virtues each, 
 Noble in action, excellent in speech. 
 But who is bold, without considerate skill, 
 Rashly rebels, and has no law but will ; 
 While he called firm, illiterate and crass, 
 With mulish stubbornness obstructs the pass. 
 
 VI. 
 
 The mean of soul are sure their faults to gloss, 
 And find a secret gain in others' loss. 
 
 VII. 
 
 Applause the bold man wins, respect the grave ; 
 Some, only being not modest, think they 're brave. 
 
WHEAT GRAINS. 85 
 
 vni. 
 
 The petty wrong-doer may escape unseen ; 
 
 But what from sight the moon eclipsed shall screen ? 
 
 Superior minds must err in sight of men, 
 
 Their eclipse o'er, they rule the world again. 
 
 IX. 
 
 Temptation waits for all, and ills will come ; 
 But some go out and ask the devil home. 
 
 x. 
 
 u I love God," said the saint. God spake above : 
 " Who loveth me must love those whom I love." 
 " I scourge myself," the hermit cried. God spake : 
 " Kindness is prayer ; but not a self-made ache." 
 
THE LURE. 
 
 " \ li 7HAT bait do you use," said a Saint to the 
 
 * * Devil, 
 
 " When you fish where the souls of men abound ? " 
 "Well, for special tastes," said the King of Evil, 
 
 " Gold and Fame are the best I Ve found." 
 " But for general use? " asked the Saint. " Ah, then," 
 Said the Demon, " I angle for Man, not men, 
 And a thing I hate 
 Is to change my bait, 
 So I fish with a woman the whole year round." 
 
THE EMPTY NICHE. 
 
 Read at the farewell reception given to Rev. Robert Fulton, S. J., 
 at Boston College Hall, Feb. 5, 1880. 
 
 A KING once made a gallery of art, 
 
 With portraits of dead friends and living graced ; 
 And at the end, 'neath curtains drawn apart, 
 An empty marble pedestal was placed. 
 
 Here, every day, the king would come, and pace 
 With eyes well-pleased along the statued hall ; 
 
 But, ere he left, he turned with saddened face, 
 And mused before the curtained pedestal. 
 
 And once a courtier asked him why he kept 
 The shadowed niche to fill his heart with dole ; 
 
 " For absent friends," the monarch said, and wept ; 
 "There still must be one absent to the soul." 
 
88 THE EMPTY NICHE. 
 
 And this is true of all the hearts that beat ; 
 
 Though days be soft and summer pathways fair, 
 Be sure, while joyous glances round us meet, 
 
 The curtained crypt and vacant plinth are there. 
 
 To-day we stand before our draped recess : 
 There is none absent — all we love are here ; 
 
 To-morrow's hands the opening curtains press, 
 And lo, the pallid pediment is bare ! 
 
 ( The cold affection that plain duty breeds 
 May see its union severed, and approve ; 
 But when our bond is touched, it throbs and bleeds 
 We pay no meed of duty, but of love. 
 
 As creeping tendrils shudder from the stone, 
 The vines of love avoid the frigid heart ; 
 
 The work men do is not their test alone, 
 The love they win is far the better chart. 
 
THE EMPTY NICHE. 89 
 
 They say the citron-tree will never thrive 
 
 Transplanted from the soil where it matured ; 
 
 Ah, would \ were so that men could only live 
 
 Through working on where they had love secured ! 
 
 " The People of the Book/' men called the Jews — 
 Our priests are truly " People of the Word ; " 
 
 And he who serves the Master must not choose — 
 He renders feudal service to the Lord. 
 
 But we who love and lose will, like the king, 
 
 Still keep the alcove empty in the hall, 
 And hope, firm-hearted, that some day will bring 
 
 Our absent one to fill his pedestal. 
 
Soldier, why do you shrink from the hiss of the hungry 
 lead 2 
 The bullet that whizzed is past : the approaching ball 
 
 is dumb. 
 Stand straight ! you cannot shrink from Fate : let it 
 come ! 
 A comrade in fro)it may hear it whiz — when you are 
 dead. 
 
A SONG FOR THE SOLDIERS. 
 
 TT7 HAT song is best for the soldiers ? 
 
 Take no heed of the words, nor choose you 
 the style of the story \ 
 Let it burst out from the heart like a spring from the 
 
 womb of a mountain, 
 Natural, clear, resistless, leaping its way to the levels ; 
 Whether of love or hate or war or the pathos and pain 
 
 of affliction ; 
 Whether of manly pluck in the perilous hour, or that 
 
 which is higher, 
 And highest of all, the slowly bleeding sacrifice, 
 The giving of life and its joys for the sake of men 
 
 and freedom ; — 
 
92 A SONG FOR THE SOLDIERS. 
 
 Any song for the soldier that will harmonize with the 
 
 life-throbs ; 
 For he has laved in the mystical sea by which men are 
 
 one ; 
 His pulse has thrilled into blinding tune with the vaster 
 
 anthems 
 Which God plays on the battle-fields when He sweeps 
 
 the strings of nations, 
 And the song of the earth-planet bursts on the silent 
 
 spheres, 
 Shot through like the cloud of Etna with flames of 
 
 heroic devotion, 
 And shaded with quivering lines from the mourning of 
 
 women and children ! 
 
 Here is a song for the soldiers — a song of the Chey- 
 enne Indians, 
 
 Of men with soldierly hearts who walked with Death 
 as a comrade. 
 
A SONG FOR THE SOLDIERS. 93 
 
 Hush ! Let the present fade ; let the distance die ; let 
 
 the last year stand : 
 We are far to the West, in Montana, on the desolate 
 
 plains of Montana ; 
 We ride with the cavalry troopers on the bloody trail 
 
 of the Cheyennes, 
 Forty braves of the tribe who have leaped from the 
 
 reservation 
 Down on the mining camps in their desecrated 
 
 valleys, 
 Down to their fathers' graves and the hunting-ground 
 
 of their people. 
 
 Chilled with the doom of Death they gaze on the 
 
 white men's changes : 
 Ruthless the brutal force that has crushed their homes 
 
 and their manhood, 
 And ruthless the hearts of the Cheyenne braves as 
 
 they swoop on the camps of the miners ! 
 
94 A SONG FOR THE SOLDIERS. 
 
 Back to the hills they dash, with reeking trophies 
 around them : 
 
 But swift on their trail the cavalry ride, and their 
 trumpets 
 
 Break on the ears of the braves with a threat of on- 
 coming vengeance. 
 
 At last they are bayed and barred — corralled in a 
 
 straight-walled valley, — 
 The Indians back to the cliffs with the shattered rocks 
 
 as a breastwork, 
 The soldiers in lined stockades across the mouth of 
 
 the valley. 
 
 Hungrily hiss the bullets, not wasted in random firing, 
 But every shot for a mark, — thrice their number of 
 
 soldiers 
 Raking the Cheyenne rocks with a pitiless rain of 
 
 missiles, 
 
A SONG FOR THE SOLDIERS. 95 
 
 One to three in the firing, but every Cheyenne bullet 
 Tumbled a reckless trooper behind his fence in the 
 stockade. 
 
 u God ! they are brave ! " cried the captain. " Seven 
 
 hours we Ve held them, 
 Three, ay, five to one, if you count their dead and 
 
 their wounded : 
 Damn them ! why don't they yield for the sake of 
 
 their lives and their wounded ?" 
 
 But never a sign but flame and the hiss of the leaden 
 
 defiance 
 Comes from the Cheyenne braves, though their firing 
 
 slackens in vigor 
 To grow in fatal precision — grim as the cliff above 
 
 them 
 They fight their fight, and the valley is lined with death 
 
 from their rifles. 
 
96 A SONG FOR THE SOLDIERS. 
 
 Cried the captain, " Men, we must charge ! " and he 
 grieves for his boys and their foemen ; 
 
 "But show them a sign of quarter;" and he swings 
 them a flag to tell them 
 
 That his side is willing to parley : the Indians riddle 
 the ensign, 
 
 And the captain groans in his heart as he gives the 
 order for charging. 
 
 Terrible getting ready of men who prepare for a death- 
 fight:— 
 
 Scabbards are thrown aside and belts unstrapped for 
 the striking, 
 
 Ominous outward signs of the deadlier inner pre- 
 paring 
 
 When the soul flings danger aside and the human heart 
 its mercy. 
 
 Out from the fatal earthworks, their eyes like fire in a 
 cavern, 
 
A SONG FOR THE SOLDIERS. 97 
 
 With naked blades the troopers, and nerves wire-strung 
 
 for the onset, 
 When suddenly, up from the rocks, a sign at last from . 
 
 the Cheyennes ! 
 
 Two tall braves on the rocks — " Re-form ! " brays the 
 
 cavalry trumpet, 
 And grimly the soldiers return, reluctantly leaving the 
 
 conflict. 
 Still on the rocks two forms of bronze, as if prepared 
 
 for the stormers, 
 Then down to the field, and behold, they dash toward 
 
 the wondering troopers ! 
 The soldiers stare at the charge, but no man laughs 
 
 at the foemen, 
 Instead of a sneer a tremor at many a mouth in sorrow. 
 On they come to their death, and, standing at fifty 
 
 paces, 
 They fire in the face of the squadron, and dash with 
 
 their knives to the death-grip ! 
 7 
 
98 A SONG FOR THE SOLDIERS. 
 
 Fifty rifles give flame, and the breasts of the heroes 
 
 are shattered ; 
 But falling, they plunge toward the fight, and their 
 
 knives sink deep in the meadow ! 
 
 " On to the rocks ! " and the soldiers have done with 
 
 their feelings of mercy — 
 But never a foe to meet them nor a shot from the 
 
 deadly barrier. 
 First on the rocks the captain, with a cheer that died 
 
 as he gave it, — 
 A cheer that was half a groan and a cry of admiration. 
 Awed stood the troopers who followed, and lowered 
 
 their swords with their leader, 
 Homage of brave to the brave, saluting with souls and 
 
 weapons ; 
 There at their feet lay the foemen — every man dead 
 
 on his rifle — 
 The two who had charged the troops were the last 
 
 alive of the Cheyennes ! 
 
T 
 
 THE MUTINY OF THE CHAINS. 
 (Penal Colony of Western Australia, 1857.) 
 HE sun rose o'er dark Fremantle, 
 
 And the Sentry stood on the wall ; 
 Above him, with white lines swinging, 
 The flag-staff, bare and tall : 
 The flag at its foot — the Mutiny Flag — 
 Was always fast to the line, — 
 For its sanguine field was a cry of fear, 
 And the Colony counted an hour a year 
 In the need of the blood-red sign. 
 
 The staff and the line, with its ruddy flash, 
 Like a threat or an evil-bode, 
 Were a monstrous whip with a crimson lash, 
 Fit sign for the penal code. 
 
100 THE MUTINY OF THE CHAINS. 
 
 The Sentry leant on his rifle, and stood 
 By the mast, with a deep-drawn breath ; 
 A stern-browed man, but there heaved a sigh 
 For the sight that greeted his downward eye 
 In the prison-square beneath. 
 
 In yellow garb, in soldier lines, 
 
 One hundred men in chains ; 
 
 While the watchful warders, sword in hand, 
 
 With eyes suspicious keenly scanned 
 
 The links of the living lanes. 
 
 There, wary eyes met stony eyes, 
 
 And stony face met stone. 
 
 There was never a gleam of trust or truce ; 
 
 In the covert thought of an iron loose, 
 
 Grim warder and ward were one. 
 
 Why was it so, that there they stood, — 
 Stern driver and branded slave ? 
 
THE MUTINY OF THE CHAINS. IOI 
 
 Why rusted the gyve in the bondman's blood, 
 No hope for him but the grave ? 
 Out of thousands there why was it so 
 That one hundred hearts must feel 
 The bitterest pang of the penal woe, 
 And the grind of a nation's heel ? 
 
 Why, but for choice — the bondman's choice ? 
 
 They balanced the gains and pains \ 
 
 They took their chance of the chains. 
 
 There spake in their hearts a hidden voice 
 
 Of the blinding joy of a freeman's burst 
 
 Through the great dim woods. Then the toil accurst ; 
 
 The scorching days and the nights in tears ■ 
 
 The riveted rings for years and years ; 
 
 They weighed them all — they looked before 
 
 At the one and other, and spoke them o'er, 
 
 And they saw what the heart of man must see, 
 
 That the uttermost blessing is Liberty ! 
 
102 THE MUTINY OF THE CHAINS. 
 
 Ah, pity them, God ! they must always choose, 
 For the life to gain and the death to lose. 
 They dream of the woods and the mountain spring, 
 And they grasp the flower, to clutch the sting. 
 
 Even so : they are better than those who bend 
 
 Like beasts to the lash, and go on to the end 
 
 As a beast will go, with to-day for a life, 
 
 And to-morrow a blank. Offer peace and strife 
 
 To a man enslaved — let him vote for ease 
 
 And coward labor, and be content ; 
 
 Or let him go out in the front, as these, 
 
 With their eyes on the doom and the danger, went. 
 
 And take your choice — the man who remains 
 
 A self-willed serf, or the one who stains 
 
 His sudden hand with a drive for light 
 
 Through a bristling rank and a gloomy night. 
 
 This man for me — for his heart he '11 share 
 
 With a friend : with a foe, he '11 fight him fair. 
 
THE MUTINY OF THE CHAINS. 103 
 
 And such as he are in every rank 
 
 Of the column that moves with a dismal clank 
 
 And a dead-march step toward the rock-bound place 
 
 Where the chain-gangs toil — o'er the beetling face 
 
 Of the cliff that roots in the Swan's deep tide : 
 
 Steep walls of granite on either side, 
 
 At the precipice' foot the river wide ; 
 
 Behind them in ranks the warders fall ; 
 
 And above them, the Sentry paces the wall. 
 
 Year in, year out, has the Sentry stood 
 
 On the wall at the foot of the mast. 
 
 He has turned from the toilers to watch the flood 
 
 Like his own slow life go past. 
 
 He has noted the Chains grow fat and lean ; 
 
 He has sighed for their empty spaces, 
 
 And thought of the cells where their end had been, 
 
 Where they lay with their poor dead faces, 
 
 With never a kiss, or prayer, or knell — 
 
 They were better at rest in the river ; 
 
104 THE MUTINY OF THE CHAINS. 
 
 He thinks of the shadow that o 'er them fell 
 From the mast with its whip-like quiver ; 
 He has seen it tipped with its crimson lash 
 When the mutiny-flood had risen 
 And swept like a sea with an awful swash 
 Through the squares and the vaulted prison. 
 His thoughts are afar with the woful day, 
 With the ranged dead men and the dying, 
 And slowly he treads till they pass away 
 
 Then a pause, and a start, and a scuffling sound, 
 
 And a glance beneath, at a battle-ground, 
 
 Where the lines are drawn, and the Chains are found 
 
 Their armed guards defying ! 
 
 A hush of death — and the Sentry stands 
 
 By the mast, with the halyards tight in his hands, 
 
 And the Mutiny Flag is flying ! 
 
 Woe to the weak, to the mutineers ! 
 The bolt of their death is driven ; 
 
THE MUTINY OF THE CHAINS. 105 
 
 A mercy waits on all other tears, 
 
 But the Chains are never forgiven. 
 
 Woe to the rebels ! — their hands are bare, 
 
 Their manacled bodies helpless there ; 
 
 Their faces lit with a strange wild light, 
 
 As if they had fought and had won the fight ! 
 
 No cry is uttered — upraised no hand ; 
 
 All stilled to a muscle's quiver ; 
 
 One line on the brink of the cliff they stand, 
 
 Their shadows flung down on the river. 
 
 The quarry wall is on either side, 
 
 The blood-red flag high o'er them ; 
 
 But the lurid light in their eyes defied 
 
 The gathering guards before them. 
 
 No parley is held when the Chains revolt : 
 
 Grimly silent they stand secure 
 
 On the outward lip of the embrasure ; 
 
 Waiting fierce-eyed for the fatal bolt. 
 
 A voice from the guard, in a monotone ; 
 
106 THE MUTINY OF THE CHAINS. 
 
 A voice that was cold and hard as stone : — 
 
 " Make ready ! Fire ! " 
 
 Christ, the cry 
 
 From the manacled men ! not fear to die, 
 
 Or whine for mercy ; rebelled they stood, 
 
 Well knowing the price of revolt was blood ; 
 
 Well knowing — but each one knew that he 
 
 Would sell his blood for his liberty ! 
 
 Unwarned by a word, uncalled, unshrivett, 
 They dare by a look — and the doom is given. 
 They raise their brows in the wild revolt, 
 And God's wrath flames in the fierce death-bolt ; 
 God's wrath ? — nay, man's ; God never smote 
 A rebel dead whose swelling throat 
 Was full with protest. Hear, then smite ; 
 God's justice weighs not shrieks the right. 
 
 "Make ready ! Fire ! " 
 
 Again outburst 
 
 The horror and shame for the deed accurst ! 
 
THE MUTINY OF THE CHAINS. 107 
 
 O, cry of the weak, as the hot blood calls 
 From the burning wound, and the stricken falls 
 With his face in the dust ; and the strong one stands, 
 With scornful lips and ensanguined hands ; 
 O, blood of the weak, unbought, unpriced, 
 Thy smoke is a piteous prayer to Christ ! 
 
 They stand on the brink of the cliff — they bend 
 To the dead in their chains ; then rise, and send 
 To the murdering muzzles defiant eyes. 
 
 " Make ready ! Fire ! " 
 
 The smoke-clouds rise : 
 They are still on the face of the cliff — they bend 
 Once more to the dead — they whisper a word 
 To the hearts in the dust — then, undeterred, 
 They raise their faces, so grimly set, 
 Till the eyes of slayer and doomed have met. 
 O merciful God, let thy pity rain 
 Ere the hideous lightning leaps again ! 
 
108 THE MUTINY OF THE CHAINS. 
 
 They have sinned — they have erred — let the living 
 
 stand — 
 They have dared and rued — let thy loving hand 
 Be laid on those brows that bravely face 
 The death that shall wash them of all disgrace ! 
 Be swift with pity — O, late, too late ! 
 The tubes are levelled — the marksmen wait 
 For the word of doom — the spring is pressed 
 By the nervous finger — the sight is straight — 
 "Make ready I" — 
 
 Why falters the dread command ? 
 Why stare as affrighted the armed band ? 
 Why lower the rifles from shoulder to hip, 
 Why dies the word on the leader's lip, 
 While the voice that was hard grows husky deep, 
 And the face is a-tremble as if to weep ? 
 
 The Chains on the brink of the cliff are lined ; 
 The living are bowed o 'er the dead — they rise 
 And they face the rifles with burning eyes ; 
 
THE MUTINY OF THE CHAINS. 109 
 
 Then they bend again, and with one set mind 
 
 They raise the dead and the wounded raise 
 
 In their loving arms with words of praise 
 
 And tender grief for the torturing wounds. 
 
 One backward step with a burdened tread — 
 
 They bear toward the precipice wounded and dead — 
 
 Then they turned on the cliff to front the guard 
 
 With faces like men that have died in fight ; 
 
 Their brows were raised as if proud reward 
 
 Were theirs, and their eyes had a victors light. 
 
 They spoke not a word, but stood sublime 
 
 In their sombre strength, and the watchers saw 
 
 That they smiled as they looked, and their words were 
 
 heard 
 As they spoke to the dying a loving word. 
 
 They were Men at last — they knew naught of crime ; 
 They were masters and makers of life and law. 
 They turned from the guard that quailed and shrank 
 
IIO THE MUTINY OF THE CHAINS. 
 
 From the gleaming eyes of the burdened rank ; 
 They turned on the cliff, and a sob was heard 
 As they looked far down on the darkened river ; 
 They raised their eyes to the sky — they grasped 
 The dead to their breasts, while the wounded clasped 
 The necks of the brothers who bore their weight — 
 Then they sprang from the cliff, as a horse will spring 
 For his life from a precipice — sprang to death 
 In silence and sternness — one deep breath, 
 As they plunged, of liberty, thrilled their souls, 
 And then — the Chains were at rest forever ! 
 
 University Press : John Wilson & Son, Cambridge. 
 
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