SONNETS AND LYRICS SONNETS AND LYRICS BY HELEN JACKSON (H. H.) AUTHOR OF ' VERSES," " RAMNIONA," " BITS OF TRAVEL," ETC., ETC. 0() ST E NJ ROBERTS BROTHERS i888 I I I I l 3 ,I 0. I Copyriglht, 1886, BY ROBERTS BROTHERS O nibtsitg WIreSI:. JOHN WILSON AND SON, CAMBRIDGE. U'VTO one who lies at rest '.Aeathl the snnsct, in the West, Clover-blossonms on her breast. Lover of each gracious thing Whzich makes glad the suntzzer-tide, v7-o the daisies clzhstering A4nd the violets puTrple-eyed, To those shy and hidden blooms WVhich iii forest coverts stay, Senzding uwanderizg pfieifnes Out as guides to show the way, Al41 she kzew, to all was kizd; None so humble or so small Thlat she did not seek and fiod Silenzt friendship from thent all. A.loss-cujbs, tiarella leaves, Da~pled like the adder's skin, Funfgts huts with ivory eaves Which the fairies harbor in, Regizmeits of froizonded feris, Goldein-rod and asters frail, ~very flamizig leaf thzat b urns Reed agzainst the autumn /male, Every siizk-cutped wayside rose, 4All to her were dear and khiown; Bit above them all she chose Clover-blossonzs for her own. So they laid her to her rest In the sun-warmed, bounteous West, Clover-blossomns on her breast. I CONTENTS. PAGE 7 ~ .9 ~ IO I II ~ I2 ~ I4 15 ~ i6 ..7 ~ i8 ~ 20 ~ 2I ~ 23 ~ 24 ~ 25 ~ 26 ~ 27 A DREAM......... DANGER........... FREEDOM.......... THE GODS SAID LOVE IS BLIND. THE FIR-TREE AND THE BROOK. A ROSE-LEAF........ A WOMIAN'S BATTLE...... ESTHER.......... VASHTI.......... BURNT OFFERING...... BON VOYAGE........ NEW YEAR'S MORNING.... JANUARY.......... FEBRUARY......... MARCH.......... APRIL.......... MAY........... CONTENTS. PAGE JUNE......... JULY......... AUGUST........ SEPTEIMBER...... OCTOBER....... NOVEMIBER....... DECEMIBER....... REFRAIN....... TO AN ABSENT LOVER.. CROSSED THREADS.... OUTWARD BOUND.... SEALED ORDERS...... Two......... THE GIFT OF GRAPES.. AVALANCHES...... A \TOIMAN'S DEATH-WOUND CHANCE........ SEPTEMBER....... APPEAL....... WRECK........ THE HEART OF A ROSE. ACQUAINTED WVITH GRIEF. FEALTY........ VISION........ THE POET'S FORGE... VANITY OF VANITIES... viii 28 29 30 3I 32 33 34 35 38 39 40 4I 42 44 5I 52 53 54 56 57 58 59 6I 6Z 63 65 CONvTENTS. PAGE 67 68 70 7I 72 73 75 94 95 97 98 IOO IO2 Io5 IO6 IO7 lO9 112 114 1I5 I I5 II6 II9 12' 122 MORN........ QUATRAINS...... RET,EASE....... WHERE?....... EMIGRAVIT...... MY TENANTS..... THE STORY OF BOON.. THE VICTORY OF PATIENCE GOD'S LIGHT-HOUSES. SONGS OF BATTLE.... NO MIAN'S LAND.... JUST OUT OF SIGHT... SEPTEMIBER WVOODS... TO-DAY........ OPPORTUNITY..... FLOWERS ON A GRAVE... A MEASURE OF HOURS. CHARLOTTE CUSHMAN.~ DEDICATION...... DAWN............ EVE......... DREAMIS....... THE DAY-STAR IN THE EAST.. OCTOBER'S BRIGHT BLUE WEATHER THE RIVIERA........ SEMITONES......... ix CONTENTS. PAGE I23 I24 I25 I27 129 I32 133 IN THE DARK...... MORDECAI....... IN APRIL........... Two HARVESTS..... HABEAS CORPUS....... A LAST PRAYER..... THE SONG HE NEVER WROTE x II ~ ~ A DREAM. the heavens, i~ DREAMED that I was dead and crossed Heavens after heavens with burning feet and swift, - And cried: "0 God, where art Thou? I left one On earth, whose burden I would pray Thee lift." I was so dead I wondered at no thing, Not even that the angels slowly turned Their faces, speechless, as I hurried by (Beneath my feet the golden pavements burned); Nor, at the first, that I could not find God, Because the heavens stretched endlessly like space. At last a terror seized my very soul; I seemed alone in all the crowded place. A DREAM. Then, sudden, one compassionate cried out, Though like the rest his face from me he turned, As I were one no angel might regard (Beneath my feet the golden pavements burned): " No more in heaven than earth will he find God Who does not know his loving mercy swift But waits the moment consummate and ripe, Each burden from each human soul to lift." Though I was dead, I died again for shame; Lonely, to flee from heaven again I turned; The ranks of angels looked away from me (Beneath my feet the golden pavements burned). 8 DANGER. DANGER. ..... ITE! what a childish and short-sighted sense Fear seeks for safety; reckons up the days Of danger and escape, the hours and ways Of death; it breathless flies the pestilence; It walls itself in towers of defence; By land, by sea, against the storm it lays Down barriers; then, comforted, it says: "This spot, this hour is safe." Oh, vain pretence! Man born of man knows nothing when he goes; The winds blow where they list, and will disclose To no man which brings safety, which brings risk. The mighty are brought low by many a thing Too small to name. Beneath the daisy's disk Lies hid the pebble for the fatal sling. 9 FREEDO.V. FREEDOM. Th ]HAT freeman knoweth freedom? Never he Whose father's fathers through long lives have reigned O'er kingdoms which mere heritage attained. Though from his youth to age he roam as free As winds, he dreams not freedom's ecstasy. But he whose birth was in a nation chained For centuries; where every breath was drained From breasts of slaves which knew not there could be Such thing as freedom,- he beholds the light Burst, dazzling; though the glory blind his sight He knows the joy. Fools laugh because he reels And wields confusedly his infant will; The wise man watching with a heart that feels Says: "Cure for freedom's harms is freedom still." To THE GODS SAID LOVE IS BLIND. II THE GODS SAID LOVE IS BLIND. HE gods said Love is blind. The earth was young With foolish, youthful laughter when it heard; It caught and spoke the letter of the words, And from that time till now hath said and sung, "Oh, Love is blind! The falsest face and tongue Can cheat him, once his passion's thrill is stirred: He is so blind, poor Love!" Strange none demurred At this, nor saw how hollow false it rang, Wvhen all men know that sightless men can tell Unnumbered things which vision cannot find. Powers of the air are leagued to guide them well; And things invisible weave clew and spell By which all labyrinths they safely wind. Ah, we were lost, if Love had not been blind! 12 THE FIR- TREE AD THE BROOK. THE FIR-TREE AND THE BROOK. Brook! ~~ ]H E Fir-Tree looked on stars, but loved the "0 silver-voiced! if thou wouldst wait, My love can bravely woo." All smiles forsook The Brook's white face. "Too late! Too late! I go to wed the sea. I know not if my love would curse or bless thee. I may not, dare not, tarry to caress thee, Oh, do not follow me!" The Fir-Tree moaned and moaned till spring; Then laughed in maniac joy to feel Early one day, the woodmen of the King Sign him with sign of burning steel, The first to fall. "Now flee Thy swiftest, Brook! Thy love may curse or bless me, I care not, if but once thou dost caress me, O Brook, I follow thee!" All torn and bruised with mark of axe and chain, Hurled down the dizzy slide of sand, THE FIR-TREE AAi'D THE BROO00. 13 Tossed by great waves in ecstasy of pain, And rudely thrown at last to land, The Fir-Tree heard: " Oh, see WVith what fierce love it is I must caress thee! I warned thee I might curse, and never bless thee, WVhy did'st thou follow me? " All stately set with spar and brace and rope, The Fir-Tree stood and sailed, and sailed. In wildest storm when all tile ship lost hope, The Fir-Tree never shook nor quailed, Nor ceased from saying, "Free Art thou, O Brook! But once thou hast caressed me; For life, for death, thy love has cursed or blessed me; Behold, I follow thee!" Lost in a night, and no man left to tell, Crushed in the giant icebergs' play, The ship went down without a song, a knell. Still drifts the Fir-Tree night and day; Still mnoans along the sea A voice: " 0 Fir-Tree! thus must I possess thee; Eternally, brave love, will I caress thee, Dead for the love of me! " ,4 AROSE-LEAF. A ROSE-LEAF. ROSE-LEAF on the snowy deck, The high wind whirling it astern; Nothing the wind could know or reck; Why did the King's eye thither turn? "The Queen has walked here!" hoarse he cried. The courtiers, stunned, turned red, turned white; No use if they had stammered, lied; Aghast they fled his angry sight. Kings' wives die quick, when kings go mad; To death how fair and grave she goes! What if the king knew now, she had Shut in her hand a little rose? And men die quick when kings have said; Bleeding, dishonored, flung apart In outcast field a man lies dead With rose-leaves warm upon his heart. I4 IS A WOAJAN'S BA TTLE. A WOMAN'S BATTLE. Godl EAR foe, I know thou'it win the fight. ]:~ll 2 I know thou hast the stronger bark, i[fi And thou art sailing in the light, While I am creeping in the dark. Thou dost not dream that I am crying, As I come up with colors flying. I clear away my wounded, slain, With strength like frenzy, strong and swift; I do not feel the tug and strain, Though dead are heavy, hard to lift. If I looked in their faces dying, I could not keep my colors flying. Dear foe, it will be short,- our fight, — Though lazily thou train'st thy guns; Fate steers us, - me to deeper night, And thee to brighter seas and suns; But thou'it not dream that I am dying, As I sail by with colors flying! I 5 ES TIIER. ESTHER. FACE more vivid than he dreamed who drew Thy portrait in that thrilling tale of old! Dead queen, we see thee still, thy beauty cold As beautiful; thy dauntless heart which knew No fear, -not even of a king who slew At pleasure; maiden heart which was not sold, Though all the maiden flesh the king's red gold Did buy! The loyal daughter of the Jew, No hour saw thee forget his misery; Thou wert not queen until thy race went free; Yet thoughtful hearts, that ponder slow and deep, Find doubtful reverence at last for thee; Thou heldest thy race too dear, thyself too cheap; Honor no second place for truth can keep. I6 VASHTZ. VASHTI. N all great Shushan's palaces was there Not one, O Vashti, knowing thee so well, Poor uncrowned queen, that he the world could tell How thou wert pure and loyal-souled as fair? How it was love which made thee bold to dare Refuse the shame which madmen would compel? Not one, who saw the bitter tears that fell And heard thy cry heart-rending on the air: "Ah me! My Lord could not this thing have meant! He well might loathe me ever, if I go Before these drunken princes as a show. I am his queen: I come of king's descent. I will not let him bring our crown so low; He will but bless me when he doth repent!" I7 B URNT OFFERING. BURNT OFFERING. HE fire leaped up, swift, hot, and red; Swift, hot, and red, waiting a prey; The woman came with swift, light tread, And silently knelt down to lay Armfuls of leaves upon the fire, As men lay fagots on a pyre. Armfuls of leaves which had been bright Like painter's tints six months before, All faded now, a ghastly sight, Dusty and colorless, she bore, And knelt and piled them on the fire, As men lay fagots on the pyre. Watching the crackle and the blaze, Idly I smiled and idly said: "Good-by, dead leaves, go dead leaves' ways. Next year there will be more as red." The woman turned, and from the fire Looked up as from a funeral-pyre. I8 B URNT OFFERING. I saw my idle words had been Far crueler than I could know, And made an old wound bleed again. "These are not leaves," she whispered low, "That I am burning in the fire, But days,- it is a funeral pyre." I9 B0BOAT VO YA GE. BON VOYAGE. HERE'S not an hour but from some spark Goling beach Go joyful men, in fragile ships to sail, By unknown seas to unknown lands. They hail The freshening winds with eager hope, and speech Of wondrous countries which they soon will reach. Left on the shore, we wave our hands, with pale, Wet cheeks, but hearts that are ashamed to quail, Or own the grief which selfishness would teach. O Death, the fairest lands beyond thy sea Lie waiting, and thy barks are swift and stanch And ready. Why do we reluctant launch? And when our friends their heritage have claimed Of thee, and entered on it, rich and free, Oh, why are we of sorrow not ashamed? 20 NE W YEAR'S MORNI.VG. NEW YEAR'S MORNING. NLY a night from old to new! Only a night, and so much wrought! 1 The Old Year's heart all weary grew, But said: "The New Year rest has brought." The Old Year's heart its hopes laid down, As in a grave; but, trusting, said: " The blossoms of the New Year's crown Bloom from the ashes of the dead." The Old Year's heart was fill of greed; With selfishness it longed and ached, And cried: "I have not half I need. My thirst is bitter and unslaked. But to the New Year's generous hand All gifts in plenty shall return; True loving it shall understand; By all my failures it shall learn. I have been reckless; it shall be Quiet and calm and pure of life. I was a slave; it shall go free, And find sweet peace where I leave strife." 21 22 NE'W YEAR'S MORNING. Only a night from old to new! Never a night such changes brought. The Old Year had its work to do; No New Year miracles are wrought. Always a night from old to new! Night and the healing balm of sleep! Each morn is New Year's morn come true, Morn of a festival to keep. All nights are sacred nights to make Confession and resolve and prayer; All days are sacred days to wake New gladness in the sunny air. Only a night from old to new; Only a sleep from night to morn. The new is but the old come true; Each sunrise sees a new year born. 7ANUA,R Y. JANUARY. WINTER! frozen pulse and heart of fire, What loss is theirs who from thy kingdom turn Dismayed, and think thy snow a sculptured urn Of death! Far sooner in midsummer tire The streams than under ice. June could not hire Her roses to forego the strength they learn In sleeping on thy breast. No fires can burn The bridges thou dost lay where men desire In vain to build. O Heart, when Love's sun goes To northward, and the sounds of singing cease, Keep warm by inner fires, and rest in peace. Sleep on content, as sleeps the patient rose. Walk boldly on the white untrodden snows, The winter is the winter's own release. 23 2FEBR UA R Y. FEBRUARY. TILL lie the sheltering snows, undimmed and white; And reigns the winter's pregnant silence still; No sign of spring, save that the catkins fill, And willow stems grow daily red and bright. These are the days when ancients held a rite Of expiation for the old year's ill, And prayer to purify the new year's will: Fit days, ere yet the spring rains blur the sight, Ere yet the bounding blood grows hot with haste, And dreaming thoughts grow heavy with a greed The ardent summer's joy to have and taste Fit days, to give to last year's losses heed, To reckon clear the new life's sterner need; Fit days, for Feast of Expiation placed! 24 A/A R CH. MARCH. ONTH which the warring ancients strangely s tyled . The month of war, - as if in their fierce ways Were any month of peace!-in thy rough days I find no war in Nature, though the wild Winds clash and clang, and broken boughs are piled At feet of writhing trees. The violets raise Their heads without affright, without amaze, And sleep through all the din, as sleeps a child. And he who watches well may well discern Sweet expectation in each living thing. Like pregnant mother the sweet earth doth yearn; In secret joy makes ready for the spring; And hidden, sacred, in her breast doth bear Annunciation lilies for the year. 25 APRIL. APRIL. f O0 days such honored days as these! While yet t t Fair Aphrodite reigned, men seeking wide For some fair thing which should forever bide On earth, her beauteous memory to set In fitting frame that no age could forget, Her name in lovely April's name did hide, And leave it there, eternally allied To all the fairest flowers Spring did beget. And when fair Aphrodite passed from earth, Her shrines forgotten and her feasts of mirth, A holier symbol still in seal and sign, Sweet April took, of kingdom most divine, When Christ ascended, in the time of birth Of spring anemones, in Palestine. 26 A,A Y. MAY. MONTH when they who love must love and wed! WVere one to go to worlds where May is naught, And seek to tell the memories he had brought From earth of thee, what were most fitly said? I know not if the rosy showers shed From apple-boughs, or if the soft green wrought In fields, or if the robin's call be fraught The most with thy delight. Perhaps they read Thee best who in the ancient time did say Thou wert the sacred month unto the old: No blossom blooms upon thy brightest day So subtly sweet as memories which unfold In aged hearts which in thy sunshine lie, To sun themselves once more before they die. 27 7yUNE. JUNE. MONTH whose promise and fulfilment blend, And burst in one! it seems the earth can store In all her roomy house no treasure more; Of all her wealth no farthing have to spend On fruit, when once this stintless flowering end. And yet no tiniest flower shall fall before It hath made ready at its hidden core Its tithe of seed, which we may count and tend Till harvest. Joy of blossomed love, for thee Seems it no fairer thing can yet have birth? No room is left for deeper ecstasy? WVatch well if seeds grow strong, to scatter free Germs for thy future summers on the earth. A joy which is but joy soon comes to dearth. 28 7UL Y. JULY. OME flowers are withered and some joys ~~ have died; ii The garden reeks with an East Indian scent From beds where gillyflowers stand weak and spent; The white heat pales the skies from side to side; But in still lakes and rivers, cool, content, Like starry blooms on a new firmament, White lilies float and regally abide. In vain the cruel skies their hot rays shed; The lily does not feel their brazen glare. In vain the pallid clouds refuse to share Their dews; the lily feels no thirst, no dread. Unharmed she lifts her queenly face and head; She drinks of living waters and keeps fair. 29 A UG US T. AUGUST. [ ILENCE again. The glorious symphony Hath need of pause and interval of peace. [IjL Some subtle signal bids all sweet sounds cease, Save hum of insects' aimless industry. Pathetic summer seeks by blazonry Of color to conceal her swift decrease. WVeak subterfuge! Each mocking day doth fleece A blossom, and lay bare her poverty. Poor middle-aged summer! Vain this show! Whole fields of golden-rod cannot offset One meadow with a single violet; And well the singing thrush and lily know, Spite of all artifice which her regret Can deck in splendid guise, their time to go! 3O S~EPTEAIBER. SEPTEMBER. GOLDEN month! How high thy gold is heaped! The yellow birch-leaves shine like bright coins strung On wands; the chestnut's yellow pennons tongue To every wind its harvest challenge. Steeped In yellow, still lie fields where wheat was reaped; And yellow still the corn sheaves, stacked among The yellow gourds, which from the earth have wrung Her utmost gold. To highest boughs have leaped The purple grape, last thing to ripen, late By very reason of its precious cost. O Heart, remember, vintages are lost If grapes do not for freezing iight-dews wait. Think, while thou sunnest thyself in Joy's estate, Mayhap thou canst not ripen without frost! 3 I OCTOBER. OCTOBER. HE month of carnival of all the year, IWhen Nature lets the wild earth go its way, And spend whole seasons on a single day. The spring-time holds her white and purple dear; October, lavish, flaunts them far and near; The summer charily her reds doth lay Like jewels on her costliest array; October, scornful, burns them on a bier. The winter hoards his pearls of frost in sign Of kingdom: whiter pearls than winter knew, Or Empress wore, in Egypt's ancient line, October, feasting'neath her dome of blue, Drinks at a single draught, slow filtered through Sunshiny air, as in a tingling wine! 32 iVO VEAMBER. NOVEMBER. days _~~~HIS is the treacherous month when autumn With summer's voice come bearing sum mer's gifts. Beguiled, the pale down-trodden aster lifts Her head and blooms again. The soft, warm haze Makes moist once more the sere and dusty ways, And, creeping through where dead leaves lie in drifts, The violet returns. Snow noiseless sifts Ere night, an icy shroud, which morning's rays WVill idly shine upon and slowly melt, Too late to bid the violet live again. The treachery, at last, too late, is plain; Bare are the places where the sweet flowers dwelt. What joy sufficient hath November felt? What profit from the violet's day of pain? 3 33 DECEMBER. DECEMBER. HE lakes of ice gleam bluer than the lakes Of water'neath the summer sunshine gleamed: Far fairer than when placidly it streamed, The brook its frozen architecture makes, And unider bridges white its swift way takes. Snow comes and goes as messenger who dreamed Might linger on the road; or one who deemed His message hostile gently for their sakes Who listened might reveal it by degrees. We gird against the cold of winter wind Our loins now with mighty bands of sleep, In longest, darkest nights take rest and ease, And every shortening day, as shadows creep O'er the brief noontide, fresh surprises find. 34 REFR,A4 3. REFRAIN. -'F all the songs which poets sing, The ones which are most sweet, Are those which at close intervals A low refrain repeat; Somne tender word, some syllable, Over and over, ever and ever, WVhile the song lasts, Altering never, Music if sung, music if said, Subtle like some fine golden thread A shuttle casts, In and out on a fabric red, Till it glows all through WVith the golden hue.' Oh! of all the songs sung, No songs are so sweet As the songs with refrains, Which repeat and repeat. Of all the lives lived, No life is so sweet, 35 REFRAIN. As the life where one thought, In refrain dothl repeat, Over and over, ever and ever, Till the life ends, Altering never, Joy which is felt, but is not said, Subtler than any golden thread Which the shuttle sends In and out in a fabric red, Till it glows all through With a golden hue. Oh! of all the lives lived, Can be no life so sweet As the life where one thought In refrain doth repeat. "Now name me a thought To make life so sweet, A thought of such joy Its refrain to repeat." Oh! foolish to ask me. Ever, ever Who loveth believes, But telleth never. It might be a name, just a name not said, But in every thought; like a golden thread Which the shuttle weaves In and out on a fabric red, 36 'EFRA,4 Ad. Till it glows all through With a golden hue. Oh! of all sweet lives,. Who can tell how sweet Is the life which one name In refrain doth repeat? 37 38 TO AN ABSENT LO VER. TO AN ABSENT LOVER. IHAT so much change should come when thou dost go, Is mystery that I cannot ravel quite. The very house seems dark as when the light Of lamps goes out. Each wonted thing doth grow So altered, that I wander to and fro Bewildered by the most familiar sight, And feel like one who rouses in the night From dream of ecstasy, and cannot know At first if he be sleeping or awake. My foolish heart so foolish for thy sake Hath grown, dear one! Teach me to be more wise. I blush for all my foolishness doth lack; I fear to seem a coward in thine eyes. Teach me, dear one,- but first thou must come back! CROSSED THREAD3S. CROSSED THREADS. spun, '~ HE silken threads by viewless spinners Which float so idly on the summer air, And help to make each summer morning fair, Shining like silver in the summer sun, Are caught by wayward breezes, one by one, And blown to east and west and fastened there, Weaving on all the roads their sudden snare. No sign which road doth safest, freest run, The winged insects know, that soar so gay To meet their death upon each summer day. How dare we any human deed arraign; Attempt to reckon any moment's cost; Or any pathway trust as safe and plain Because we see not where the threads have crossed? 39 OUTWARD BOUND. OUTWARD BOUND. HE hour has come. Strong hands the anchor raise; Friends stand and weep along the fading shore, In sudden fear lest we return no more, In sudden fancy that he safer stays Who stays behind; that some new danger lays New snare in each fresh path untrod before. Ah, foolish hearts! in fate's mysterious lore Is written no such choice of plan and days: Each hour has its own peril and escape; In most familiar things' familiar shape New danger comes without or sight or sound; No sea more foreign rolls than breaks each morn Across our thresholds when the day is born: We sail, at sunrise, daily, "outward bound."' 40 SEALED ORDERS. SEALED ORDERS. -HEN ship with "orders sealed" sails out to sea, Men eager crowd the wharves, and rev erent gaze Upon their faces whose brave spirits raise No question if the unknown voyage be Of deadly peril. Benedictions free And prayers and tears are given, and the days Counted till other ships, on homeward ways, May bring back message of her destiny. Yet, all the time, Life's tossing sea is white With scudding sails which no man reefs or stays By his own will, for roughest day or night: Brave, helpless crews, with captain out of sight, Harbor unknown, voyage of long delays, They meet no other ships on homeward ways. 4I :TWO. TWO. I. APART. NE place - one roof- one name - their X,~ NEdaily bread In daily sacrament they break Together, and together take Perpetual counsel, such as use has fed The habit of, in words which make No lie. For courtesy's sweet sake And pity's, one brave heart whose joy is dead, Smiles ever, answering words which wake But weariness; hides all its ache, - Its hopeless ache, its longing and its dread; Strong as a martyr at the stake Renouncing self; striving to slake The pangs of thirst on bitter hyssop red With vinegar! O brave, strong heart! God sets all days, all hours apart, Joy cometh at his hour appointed. 42 TWO.4 II. TOGETHER. No touch - no sight - no sound - wide continents And seas clasp hands to separate Them from each other now. Too late! Triumphant Love has leagued the elements To do their will. Hath light a mate For swiftness? Can it overweight The air? Or doth the sun know accidents? The light, the air, the sun, inviolate For them, do constant keep and state Message of their ineffable contents And raptures, each in each. So great Their bliss of loving, even fate In parting them, hath found no instruments Whose bitter pain insatiate Doth kill it, or their faith abate In presence of Love's hourly sacraments. 43 THE GIFT OF GRAPES. THE GIFT OF GRAPES. A LEGEND OF THE FOURTH CENTURY. isrHE desert sun was sinking red; Hot as at noon the light was shed. Bareheaded, on the scorching sands, Macarius knelt with clasped hands, And prayed, as he had prayed for years, With smitings and with bitter tears. Good hermit, here! "-a hand outstretched, It was as if an angel fetched The purple clusters, dewy blue, "Good hermit, here! These grapes for you!" Swift swept the rider by. The grapes Lay at the hermit's feet. "Like shapes "Of magic, sent to tempt my sense," Macarius thought. "Sathanas, hence!" 44 THE GIFT OF GRAPES. He cried. "I will not touch nor taste. Yet, were it not wrong such fruit to waste?" He paused. "I'11 leave it at his door, My neighbor, who with illness sore "Is like to die. He may partake, And sin not. Ay, for Jesus' sake, "I will his dying lips beseech, Command, as if I were his leech." Thus speaking, trembling as he spoke, Such parched desire within him woke, To taste the grapes, he swiftly ran, And, kneeling by the dying man, Held up the clusters, crying, "See, 0 brother! these were given me. "I may not eat them; I am strong; But thou- it were for thee no wrong. "Thy fever they will cool, allay; Thy failing strength revive and stay." Reproachful turned the dying eyes, The whispers came like dying sighs: 45 TIlE GIFT OF GRAPES. "Brother, thou mightst do better deed Than tempt the dying in his need. "Thy words are but the devil's mesh, To snare at last my carnal flesh." Silent, Macarius went his way. Untouched the purple clusters lay Beside the dying hermit's bed. They found them there who found him dead, Two brother hermits who each morn, Water and bread to him had borne. "He drinks of living waters now," They pious said, and smoothed his brow, And prayed, and laid him in the ground, Envying the rest he had found. The purple grapes still lying there, Filled with sweet scent the desert air. "Where could these luscious clusters grow?" "He tasted not," they whispered low; "But fairer fruit glads now his eyes: He feasts to-day in paradise." 46 THE GIFT OF GRAPES. On each a longing silence fell. "Brother, they tempt our souls to hell!" Cried one. The other: "Ay, how weak Our flesh! Strange that so long we seek "In vain to dull its carnal sense. Brother, we'11 bear these clusters hence. "That aged hermit, in the cave, Perchance these grapes his life might save. "Thou knowest, but yesterday't was said He starves; eats neither pulse nor bread." Slow braiding baskets, in his door The aged hermit sat, his store Of rushes and his water-jar In reach. He heard their steps afar, And, as they nearer drew, up-raised His well-nigh sightless eyes, and gazed Bewilderedly. "Eat, father, eat! " The brothers cried, and at his feet, Rev'rent, the purple clusters laid. Trembling, but stern, the right hand made 47 4THE GIFT OF GRAPES. Swift gesture of reproof. "Away!" In feeble voice he cried, "and pray "To be forgiven! Heinous sin Is his who lets temptation in." Meek-bowed, the brothers turned to go. "Stay! " said the hermit, whispering low: "Leave them not here to tempt my sight. I may not eat. Soime other might. "As each man thinketh in his heart, So must he reckon duty's part. "Mayhap some brother, in sore strait, Even this hour doth sit and wait, "To whom God sends these clusters sweet By your pure hands. Be true! Be fleet " From cave to cave, from cell to cell, The brothers did their errand well. In Nitria's desert, hermits then By scores were dwelling, holy men, Mistaken saints, who thought to save Their souls, by making life a grave. 48 THE GIFT OF GRAPES. From cave to cave, from cell to cell, The brothers did their errand well. At every hermit's feet they laid The tempting grapes, in vain, nor stayed Till, at the desert's utmost bound, Macarius's cell they joyful found, - Macarius, oldest, holiest saint Of all the desert. \Weary, faint, They knelt before him. "Father, see These grapes! they must be meant for thee! "These many days we bear them now; And yet they do not withered grow. "No brother will so much as taste. 'T was Isidore who bade us haste "To find the man to whom God sent The luscious gift. They must be meant "For thee. Thou art the last." "Ay," said The good Macarius, flushing red With holy joy, "Ay; meant for me, As token of the constancy 4 49 50 THE GIFT OF GRAPES. "Of all our brothers! Blessed day Is this, my brothers! Go your way! "Christ fill your souls with lasting peace! The time is near of my release." Then, kneeling on the scorching sands, He stretched toward heaven his clasped hands, And prayed, as he had prayed for years, With smitings and with bitter tears. Untouched, the grapes lay glowing there, Filling with scent the desert air. X4 VALANCHES. AVALANCHES. HEART that on Love's sunny height doth dwell, And joy unquestioning by day, by night, Serene in trust because the skies are bright! Listen to what all Alpine records tell Of days on which the avalanches fell. Not days of storm when men were pale with fright, And watched the hills with anxious, straining sight, And heard in every sound a note of knell; But when in heavens still, and blue, and clear, The sun rode high, - those were the hours to fear. And so the monks of San Bernard to-day, Mlay the Lord count their souls and hold them dear,When skies are cloudless, in their convent stay, And for the souls of dead and dying pray. 5I 52 A WOMANV'S DE4 TH- WOUND. A WOMAN'S DEATH-WOUND. T left upon her tender flesh no trace. The murderer is safe. As swift as light A. The weapon fell, and, in the summer night, Did scarce the silent, dewy air displace; 'T was but a word. A blow had been less base. Like dumb beast branded by an iron white With heat, she turned in blind and helpless flight, But then remembered, and with piteous face Came back. Since then, the world has nothing missed In her, in voice or smile. But she - each day She counts until her dying be complete. One moan she makes, and ever doth repeat: " O lips that I have loved and kissed and kissed, Did I deserve to die this bitterest way?" CH4ANCE. CHANCE. HESE things I wondering saw beneath the sun That never yet the race was to the swift, The fight unto the mightiest to lift, Nor favors unto men whose skill had done Great works, nor riches ever unto one WVise man of understanding. All is drift Of time and chance, and none may stay or sift Or know the end of that which is begun. Who waits until the wind shall silent keep, Will never find the ready hour to sow. Who watcheth clouds will have no time to reap. At daydawn plant thy seed, and be not slow At night. God doth not slumber take nor sleep: Which seed shall prosper thou canst never know. 53 SEPTEMBER. SEPTEMBER. If- HE golden-rod is yellow; The corn is turning brown; 1 The trees in apple orchards - With fruit are bending down. The gentian's bluest fringes Are curling in the sun; In dusty pods the'milkweed Its hidden silk has spun. The sedges flaunt their harvest, In every meadow nook; And asters by the brook-side Make asters in the brook. From dewy lanes at morning The grapes' sweet odors rise; At noon the roads all flutter With yellow butterflies. 54 SE[TEAFBER. By all these lovely tokens September days are here, WVith summer's best of weather, And autumn's best of cheer. But none of all this beauty Which floods the earth and air Is unto me the secret Which makes September fair. 'T is a thing which I remember; To name it thrills me yet: One day of one September I never can forget. 55 APPEAL. APPEAL. LOVE, whom I so love, in this sore strait Of thine, fall not! Below thy very feet I kneel, so much I reverence thee, so sweet It is to every pulse of mine to wait Thy lightest pleasure, and to bind my fate To thine by humblest service. Incomplete All heaven, Love, if there thou dost not greet Me, with perpetual need which I can sate, I and no other! So I dare to pray To thee this prayer. It is not wholly prayer. The solemn worships of the ages lay Even on God a solemn bond. I dare, Thy worshipper, thy lowly, loving mate, I dare to say, O Love, thou must be great!" 56 58 THEI' HEART OF A ROSE. THE HEART OF A ROSE. - ROSE like a hollow cup with a brim, A brim as pink as the after-glow; l bJ Deep down in its heart gold stamens swim, Tremble and swim in a sea of snow. My Love set it safe in a crystal glass, Gently as petals float down at noon. Low, in a whisper, my I,ove's voice said: "Look quick! In an hour it will be dead. I picked it because it will die so soon. Now listen, dear Heart, as the seconds pass, What the rose will say," my Love's voice said. I look and I listen. The flushed pink brim Is still as June's warmest after-glow; Silent as stars the gold stamens swim, Tremble and swim in their sea of snow. I dare not breathe on the crystal glass, Lest one sweet petal should fall too soon. False was the whisper my Love's voice said, If he had not picked it, it had been dead; But now it will live an eternal noon, And I shall hear as the seconds pass What the rose will say till I am dead. ACQUAINATED WITH GRILE. ACQUAINTED WITH GRIEF. ,:i hiOST know Grief well? Hast known her ~ ~~~long? So long, that not with gift or smile, Or gliding footstep in the throng, She can deceive thee by her guile? So long, that with unflinching eyes Thou smilest to thyself apart, To watch each flimsy, fresh disguise She plans to stab anew thy heart? So long, thou barrest up no door To stay the coming of her feet? So long, thou answerest no more, Lest in her ear thy cry be sweet? Dost know the voice in which she says, "No more henceforth our paths divide; In loneliest nights, in crowded days, I am forever by thy side "? 59 ACQUAINTED WITH GRIEF. ACQUAINTED WITH GRIEF. Pi OST know Grief well? Hast known her long? So long, that not with gift or smile, Or gliding footstep in the throng, She can deceive thee by her guile? So long, that with unflinching eyes Thou smilest to thyself apart, To watch each flimsy, fresh disguise She plans to stab anew thy heart? So long, thou barrest up no door To stay the coming of her feet? So long, thou answerest no more, Lest in her ear thy cry be sweet? Dost know the voice in which she says, "No more henceforth our paths divide; In loneliest nights, in crowded days, I am forever by thy side"? 59 60 A CQUA~NTED WITH GRIEF. Then dost thou know, perchance, the spell The gods laid on her at her birth, - The viewless gods who mingle well Strange love and hate of us on earth. Weapon and time, the hour, the place, All these are hers to take, to choose, To give us neither rest nor grace, Not one heart-throb to miss or lose. All these are hers; yet stands she, slave, Helpless before our one behest: The gods, that we be shamed not, gave, And locked the secret in our breast. She to the gazing world must bear Our crowns of triumph, if we bid; Loyal and mute, our colors wear, Sign of her own forever hid. Smile to our smile, song to our song, With songs and smiles our roses fling, Till men turn round in every throng, To note such joyous pleasuring, And ask, next morn, with eyes that lend A fervor to the words they say, "What is her name, that radiant friend Who walked beside you yesterday " FEAL TY. FEALTY. HE thing I count and hold as fealty The only fealty to give or take Doth never reckoning keep, and coldly make Bond to itself with this or that to be Content as wage; the wage unpaid, to free Its hand from service, and its love forsake, Its faith cast off, as one from dreams might wake At morn, and smiling watch the vision flee. Such fealty is treason in disguise. Who trusts it, his death-warrant sealed doth bear. Love looks at it with angry, wondering eyes; Love knows the face true fealty dothl wear, The pulse that beats unchanged by alien air, Or hurts, or crimes, until the loved one dies 6i VISIOiA. VISION. Y subtile secrets of discovered law Men well have measured the horizon's round, Kept record of the speed of light and sound, Have close defined by reasoning without flaw The utmost human vision ever saw Unaided, and have arrant sought and found Devices countless to extend its bound. Bootless their secrets all! My eyes but stray To eastward, and majestic, bright, arise Peaks of a range which three days distant lies! And of the faces, too, that light my day Most clear, one is a continent away, The other shines above the farthest skies! 62 THE POET'S FORGE. THE POET'S FORGE. E lies on his back, the idling smith, A lazy, dreaming fellow is he; The sky is blue, or the sky is gray, He lies on his back the livelong day, Not a tool in sight; say what they may, A curious sort of a smith is he. The powers of the air are in league with him; The country around believes it well; The wondering folk draw spying near; Never sight nor sound do they see or hear; No wonder they feel a little fear; When is it his work is done so well? Never sight nor sound to see or hear; The powers of the air are in league with him; High over his head his metals swing, Fine gold and silver to shame the king; WVe might distinguish their glittering, If once we could get in league with him. 63 THE POET'S FORGE. High over his head his metals swing; He hammers them idly year by year, Hammers and chuckles a low refrain: "A bench and book are a ball and chain, The adze is better tool than the plane; WVhat's the odds between now and next year?" Hammers and chuckles his low refrain, A lazy, dreaming fellow is he: When sudden, some day, his bells peal out, And men, at the sound, for gladness shout; He laughs and asks what it's all about; Oh, a curious sort of smith is he! 64 VA,NITY OF VAXI TIES. VANITY OF VANITIES. [ EE to the blossom, moth to the flame; Each to his passion; what's in a name? Red clover's sweetest, well the bee knows; No bee can suck it; lonely it blows. Deep lies its honey, out of reach, deep; WVhat use in honey hidden to keep? Robbed in the autumn, starving for bread; WVho stops to pity a honey-bee dead? Star-flames are brightest, blazing the skies; Only a hand's-breadth the moth-wing flies. Fooled with a candle, scorched with a breath; Poor little miller, a tawdry death! Life is a honey, life is a flame; Each to his passion; what's in a name? .5 65 66 VANVITY OF VAzVITIES. Swinging and circling, face to the sun, Brief little planet, how it doth run! Bee-time and moth-time, add the amount; White heat and honey, who keeps the count? Gone some fine evening, a spark out-tost! The world no darker for one star lost! Bee to the blossom, moth to the flame; Each to his passion; what's in a name? MORN. MORN. - ]N what a strange bewilderment do we ' Awake each morn from out the brief night's sleep. Our struggling consciousness doth grope and creep Its slow way back, as if it could not free Itself from bonds unseen. Then Memory, Like sudden light, outflashes fromn its deep The joy or grief which it had last to keep For us; and by the joy or grief we see The new day dawneth like the yesterday; AVe are unchanged; our life the same we knew Before. I wonder if this is the way WVe wake from death's short sleep, to struggle through A brief bewilderment, and in dismay Behold our life unto our old life true. 67 QUA TR A INS. QUATRAINS. THE MONEY-SEEKER. ~HAT has he in this glorious world's do maUnreckoned loss which he counts up for iUnreckoned loss which he counts up for gain, Unreckoned shame, of which he feels no stain, Unreckoned dead he does not know were slain. What things does he take with him when he dies? Nothing of all that he on earth did prize: Unto his grovelling feet and sordid eyes How difficult and empty seem the skies! THE LOVER. HE knows the utmost secret of the earth: The golden sunrise's and sunset's worth; The pregnancy of every blossom's birth; The hidden name of every creature's mirth. 68 QUA TRA TNS. He knows all measures of the pulse's beat; He knows all pathless paths of human feet; He knows what angels know not of the sweet Fulfilments when love's being is complete. He knows all deadly soils where poisons bloom; He knows the fated road where joy makes room For nameless terrors and eternal gloom: God help him in his sad omniscient doom! 69 RELEASE. RELEASE. ,7i F one had watched a prisoner many a year, Standing behind a barred window-pane, Fettered with heavy handcuff and with chlain, And gazing on the blue sky, far and clear; And suddenly some morning he should hear The man had in the night contrived to gain His freedom and was safe, would this bring pain? Ah! woutld it not to dullest heart appear Good tidings? Yesterday I looked on one Who lay as if asleep in perfect peace. His long imprisonment for life was done. Eternity's great freedom his release Had brought. Yet they who loved him called him dead, And wept, refusing to be comforted. 70 I WtRIE? WHERE? Y snowy eupatorium has dropped Its silver threads of petals in the night; No signal told its blossoming had stopped; seed-films flutter silent, ghostly white: No answer stirs the shining air, As I ask, "Where?" Beneath the glossy leaves of winter-green Dead lily-bells lie low, and in their place A rounded disk of pearly pink is seen, Which tells not of the lily's fragrant grace: No answer stirs the shining air, As I ask, " Where?" This morning's sunrise does not show to me Seed-film or fruit of my sweet yesterday; Like falling flowers, to realms I cannot see Its moments floated silently away: No answer stirs the shining air, As I ask, " Where?" 7I Its EMIGRA V'IT. EMIGRAVIT. ITH sails full set, the ship her anchor weighs. Strange names shine out beneath her figure head. What glad farewells with eager eyes are said What cheer for him who goes, and him who stays Fair skies, rich lands, new homes, and untried days Some go to seek; the rest but wait instead Until the next stanch ship her flag doth raise. Who knows what myriad colonies there are Of fairest fields, and rich, undreamed-of gains Thick planted in the distant shining plains Which we call sky because they lie so far? Oh, write of me, not "Died in bitter pains," But "' Emigrated to another star!" 72 I MY TENANTS. MY TENANTS. , NEVER had a title-deed To my estate. But little heed ~ il Eyes give to me, when I walk by My fields, to see who occupy. Some clumsy men who lease and hire And cut my trees to feed their fire, Own all the land that I possess, And tax my tenants to distress. And if I said I had been first, And, reaping, left for them the worst, That they were beggars at the hands Of dwellers on my royal lands, With idle laugh of passing scorn As unto words of madness born, They would reply. I do not care; They cannot crowd the charmed air; They cannot touch the bonds I hold On all that they have bought and sold. They can waylay my faithful bees, Who, lulled to sleep, with fatal ease, 73 M4 Y 7:NiVA VTS. Are robbed. Is one day's honey sweet Thus snatched? All summer round my feet In golden drifts from plumy wings, In shining drops on fragrant things, Free gift, it came to me. My corn, With burnished banners, morn by morn, Comes out to meet and honor me; The glittering ranks spread royally Far as I walk. When hasty greed Tramples it down for food and seed, I, with a certain veiled delight, Hear half the crop is lost by blight. Letter of law these may fulfil, Plant where they like, slay what they will, Count up their gains and make them great; Nevertheless, the whole estate Always belongs to me and mine. We are the only royal line. And though I have no title-deed My tenants pay me loyal heed When our sweet fields I wander by To see what strangers occupy. 74 I .THE STORY OF BOOv. THE STORY OF BOON.1 ThT haunts my thoughts morn, night, and The story of the woman, Boon, Haunts me like restless ghost, until I give lmyself to do its will; Cries voiceless, yet as voices cry, "0 singer, can this tale pass by Untold by thee? Thy heart is wrung In vain, if dies the song unsung." I am unworthy: master hands Should strike the chords, and fill the lands From sea to sea with melody All reverent, yet with harmony Majestic, jubilant, to tell How love must love, if love loves well; How once incarnate love was found On earth, dishonored, martyr-crowned, Crowned by a heathen woman's name, O blessed Boon, of peerless fame! 1 This story of Psoon is strictly true. It is told by Mis. Leonowens, the English Governess at the Siamese court. She took it down from Choy's own lips. 75 THE STORY OF BOON. In Siam's court the Buddhist King Held festival. Fair girls to sing, And dance, and play, were led between Close ranks of Amazons in green And gold. In chariot milk-white Of ivory, and glittering bright With flowers garlanded, rode Choy, The young, the beautiful; with joy And subtle pride no words could tell, Her virgin bosom rose and fell. No dream the Siam maiden knew More high or blest than that which grew In Choy's poor blinded heart,- to be The favorite of the King, and see The other wives beneath her feet. From babyhood, that this was sweet The child was taught. How should she know They told her false, and worked her woe! The song, the dance, the play, were done, Choy's fatal triumph had been won. The old king's bleared and lustful eyes Had marked her for his next new prize. Asking her name, as low she bowed Before the throne, he called aloud, "Which of my nobles springs to lead Her chariot ponies? Do I need Speak farther?" On the instant, two Young nobles robed in white sprang through 76 I THE STORY OF BOO0V. The crowd, and kneeling as to queen, With low-bent head and reverent mien, They walked the chariot beside. The bands burst forth in swelling tide Of music, and the curtain fell. One noble, smitten by the spell Of Choy's great beauty, whispered, "God, How beautiful thou art!" "My Lord, Have care," the scornful Choy exclaimed: "'T were ill for thee, if thou wert blamed By me." The other noble silent gazed, With eyes whose glance strange tumult raised Within Choy's breast. He did not speak: All spoken words had fallen weak, After his look. Yet Choy's heart burned To hear his voice. Sudden she turned, And leaning forward said, "How now, What seest thou in air that thou Art dumb?" With trembling lips he spoke, "0O Lady, till thy sweet voice broke Upon the air, J thought I saw An angel; now, with no less awe, But greater joy, I see thou art A woman." Ah, they know not heart 77 7HTHF STORY OF BOOZV. Of man or woman, who declare That love needs time to love and dare. His altars wait,- not dclay nor name, Only the touch of sacred flame. The song, the dance, the play were done. Oh, fatal triumph Choy had won! Oh, hateful life she thought was sweet She knelt before the old king's feet, A slave, a toy, a purchased thing, Which to his worn-out sense might b,,ing Pleasure again of touch, of sight. Doting, he named her " Chorm,"'' "Delight," Decked her with jewels, gave her power, And day and night, and hour by hour, With hideous caresses sought Joy in the thing which he had bought. And hour by hour, and night and day, Wasted poor Choy's young life away. One thrilling voice, one glowing face, One thought of such a love's embrace, Haunted her thoughts, and racked her breast, Robbed hler of peace, robbed her of rest, Made of her life such living lie, Such torture, she but prayed to die Month-s passed, and she knew not the name Of him she loved. At last there came 78 I THE S7YORY OF BOON. The fated day. A woman slave, New in the palace, quickly gave, Answering Choy's artful questioning, The noble's name. "Ah, go and bring Me news of him," said Choy. "He bore Himself so loftily, I more Recall him than all else that day. Seek out minutely in what way He lives; what may his harem hold. He seemed to me so silent, cold, No doubt some Houri keeps him chained," \With scornful laugh, but poorly feigned, Cried Choy. At dusk of night returned The slave, with wondrous tale, which burned Itself on Choy's glad heart. The Duke, Phaya Phi Chitt his name, forsook His harem on the day he led The Favorite's chariot ponies. Dead He seemed to all he once had loved: No fear, no joy, his spirit moved. His friends believed that he was mad, Or else some mortal illness had. A feverish joy filled all Choy's thought, She knew by what this change was wrought. Love's keenest pain, if shared like thlis, No longer seemed a pain, but bliss. 79 THE STORY OF BOzN. Again the faithful slave she sent, With message of one word, which meant But "I remember." "I love much." The Duke sent back. Ah, madness such As this was never seen. The halls Of tyrants' palaces have walls Higher than Love's and Hope's last breath, Wider than Life, deeper than Death! Embroidered with a thread of gold On silk, and hidden fold on fold, As if an amulet she wore, Her lover's name the poor Choy bore By night, by day, upon her heart. The new slave woman, with an art As tender as a sister's, sought To comfort her. Each day she brought New message from the Duke, each night Lay at her mistress' feet till light. O Buddha! pitifiil, divine, All-seeing, gav'st thou no sign To warn these faithful, loving three, Who were as faithful unto thee As to each other! Didst thou teach The cruel tyrant how to reach Their life blood, that thy arm might save Them by the surety of the grave? 80 I THE STORY OF BOON. Might give to their expiring breath The gift of life, in shape of death? Ah, Buddha! pitiful, divine, Thly gifts of death record no sign Of life beyond. Our weak hearts crave Some voice of surety for the grave. The hours grew ripe: the hour was set, The night had come. Choy slumbered yet, While faithful Boon, with footsteps light, Made all things ready for their flight. Sudden a clash of arms,- a gleam Of fire of torches! From her dream Choy waked, and on her threshold saw, Dread sight which chilled her blood with awe, Standing with panting voice and breath, Ma'i Taie, Mother of Death, Cruelest of all the Amazons, Slayer of all convicted ones Who braved the tyrant's wrath and hate. Choy called on Boon. Too late! too late! Boon fettered lay with gag and chain; Most piteous eyes, faithful in pain, Unto her mistress lifting still. With blows and jeers wreaking their will, The soldier women, fierce and strong, Dragged weeping Choy and Boon along The by-ways of the silent town, And flung them, chained and helpless, down 81 THE STORY OF BO OA. Into a dark and loathsome cell. Soon as their footsteps' echoes fell Faintly afar, Choy whispered low, "0 Boon, dear Boon! tell me hast thou Confessed?" "Dear Lady, no 1!" she cried. " No tortures tyrants ever tried Shall wring from me one word of blame Against Phaya Phi Chitt's dear name." That instant, flashing through Choy's heart Strange instinct swept. "Tell mne who art Thou, Boon," she said: "why dost thou cling To me through all this suffering? All other women I have known Had left me now to die alone. O Boon, conceal from me no more Tell me the truth in this dread hour! Then, looking newly at her face, She saw it beauty had, and grace; Saw that the feet were lithe and fine, The hands were small and smooth: each sign Of tender nurture and hilgh blood Thlis loving woman bore, who stood To her as slave. Unearthly sweet Grew Boon's pale face, as to the feet Of Choy, all crippled, chained, she crept, And, as she strove to speak, but wept 82 I THE STORY OF BOOS. And sobbed, " O Lady dear, forgive That I deceived thee! I but live For thy dear Duke. I am his wife!" Dumb wonder sealed Choy's lips. A strife Of fierce mistrust warred in her breast. At last, stern-faced, "Tell me the rest," She said. Closer, more humbly still Boon crept, and said, "Lady, I will; And, by the heart of Buddha, thou Canst but forgive when thou dost know The whole. "The day my husband came Home from the fete, he spoke thy name And told thy beauty unto me, And said that from that moment he, His thought, his heart, his blood, were thine,Thine utterly, and no more mine Again. What could I do but weep? I saw him pine. No food, no sleep, He took. I thought that he must die. What could I do? 0 Lady, I So loved him that I longed as he That fate might give him joy and thee. I vowed to him that I would win Thee for his wife. How to begin 83 THE STOR Y OF BOON. I knew not, when I found thou wert The King's last favorite. It hurt My pride to be a slave. The gold Lies in the sea for which I sold Myself to thee, rather than break My vow. But easy for his sake, I loved him so, thy service came, Soon as I found that his dear name Was dear to thee as thine to him; That, when I spoke it, it could dim Thine eyes with passion's tears, like those Which he had shed in passion's throes, For want of thee. O Lady, none Of all thy sighs and tears, not one, But I have flown and faithful told, That he might know thou wert not cold. Each word of beauty, nobleness, Which thou didst speak, I bore to bless His heart with knowledge more complete Of thee. O Lady, the deceit Was only for his precious sake And thine: no other way to take I knew. My husband is so great, So good, I was but humble mate For him. As shadow follows shape, My heart in life cannot escape From following his; nor yet in death Shall it be changed: with dying breath, 84 I THE STORY OF BOONV. From Buddha I one joy will wrest, That he find rapture in thy breast." Boon ceased, and in her slender hands, Which scarce could lift her fetter bands, Buried her face. Choy did not speak. Her reverence knew not where to seek For fitting words which she might dare To use to Boon. The midnight air Heard only sobs, as close between Her arms she drew Boon's head to lean Upon her breast. The long night waned, And still in silence sat the chained And helpless women. Strange thoughts filled The heart of Choy. Her love seemed chilled, Poor, and untrue, beside this one Great deed she never could have done. "Ah, me! his wife has loved him best," In bitterness her heart confessed, Yet jealousy for shame was dead. Her tears fell loving on Boon's head: "Dear Boon," she whispered soft and low, "To Buddha pitiful we go." Next morning when the judges dread Cross-questioned Boon, she simply said, "My Lords, what can a poor slave know?" Weary at last, the fearful blow Of lashes on her naked feet They ordered. Blood ran down the sweet 85 THE STORY OF BOON. Soft flesh: still came the answer low, "M Iy Lords, what can a poor slave know? Be pitiful! " The swift blows fell Again: no cry, no sound, to tell That it was pain, Boon gave; no sign Of faltering. They poured dowin wine To stay her strength, and then again,Oh, surely fiends they were, not men! Again, from slender nleck to waist, The cutting blows in angry haste WVith tenfold violence they laid. Each blow a line of red blood made; Yet, when they paused, the answer came Steadfast, heroic, in the same Pathetic words, more feeble, slow, ' My LIords, what can a poor slave know?" Then in the torture of the screw, Whose pain has led strong men to do Dishonor to their souls and God, They bound this woman's hands. Sweat stood In bloody drops along her brow, Yet from her lips not even now Was heard one syllable. In rage, The baffled tyrants to assuage Her sufferings tried every art WAhich could be tried by kindest heart, And snatched her back from death again, Again to tortures fresh; in vain! 86 THE STORY OF BOO M. Night came, and from her lips no word Had fallen. All night they faintly stirred, As if in sleep she dreamed and spoke. Choy watching, weeping by her, took Her hand, and said, Art thou in mortal pain?" My joy Is greater than my pain," she said, "That this poor flesh hath not betrayed My love. Thanking great Buddha now, I pray unceasing, till we go Again to torture." Then no more Boon spoke. To Choy, but little lower Than angel she appeared. Ah! true It was the wife loved best! Love knew His own. His angels comforted Her soul with joy through hours which bred But anguish in Choy's breast. Too soon Came cruel day, and brought to Boon Again the lash, the screw, again Unto the door of death in vain They tortured her: no word escaped I-Ier bloodless lips. Her face seemed shaped Of iron, so calm, so resolute A superhuman light her mute And upward gaze transfigured, till In awe the torturers stood still. 87 " Oh, tell thy Choy, THE STORY OF BOOV. Then, binding up her wounds, they laid Her on a couch to rest. New shade Of anguish now her face revealed, Waiting Choy's words. All unconcealed, No doubt, the weaker love lay bare Before her instinct. It could dare For self: now that for self remained No hope, no future to be gained, Could it for him be true, be great? Ah, this true torture was, to wait Another woman's courage! Eyes Of fire Boon fixed on Choy. To rise She helpless strove, in impulse vain, As if by touch she could sustain Choy's strength. Her gaze was like a cry. "Ohl, what is death, is suffering, by The side of truth? If thou dost love Another, thought of self can move Thee not. If thou dost love, to bear The worst is nothing. Dost thou dare Betray, thou art a coward, liar!" " Entreated, warned Boon's eyes of fire. They held Choy's eyes as by a spell. Feeble the judges' stern tones fell, Idle the threats of torture seemed, Beside the scorching look which gleamed Upon that woman's face. Thus stayed And stung, Choy bore the blows which laid 88 THE STORY OF BOO' N idle reverie, one winter's day, I watched the narrow vista of a street, Where crowds of men with noisy, hurry ing feet And eager eyes went on their restless way. Idly I noted where the boundary lay, At which the distance did my vision cheat, Past which each figure fading fast did fleet, And seem to meet and vanish in the gray. Sudden there came to me a thought, oft told, But newly shining then like flash of light,"This death, the dread of which turns us so cold, Outside of our own fears has no stronghold; 'T is but a boundary, past which, in white, Our friends are walking still, just out of sight I" II. "Just out of sight!" Ay, truly, that is all! Take comfort in the words, and be deceived All ye who can, or have not been bereaved I "Just out of sight."'T is easy to recall IOO I .7UST OUT OF SIGHT. A face, a voice. 0 foolish words, and small And bitter cheer! Men have all this believed, And yet, in agony, to death have grieved, For one "just out of sight," beneath a pall! "Just out of sight." It means the whole of woe: One sudden striclken blind who loved the light; One starved where he had feasted day and night; One who was crowned, to beggary brought low; All this death doeth, going to and fro And putting those we love "just out of sight." IOI SEPT~EAMB'R WOODS. SEPTFEMBER WOODS. GI~ RT round by meadows wearing shabby I__ weeds ____ _ For clover's early death, and sentried by The tireless locust, with his muffled click Of secret weapon, at each footfall, stand The woods. September, smiling treacherous smiles, And bearing in his hand a hollow truce Which gentle Summer trusts, can enter free. O fatal trust! Her sacred inner court Of Holies, holiest, the lovely queen Throws open to the ally of her foe. By day, with sunny look and gracious air He wins her heart and wears her colors. Night Beholds him, in his white and gleaming mail, Alert and noiseless, following the dews, Her faithful messengers, waylaying them With sudden cruel death, and, in their stead, His own foul treason bearing through the realm. Lured by his guile, the green and twining vines Array themselves in party-colored robes And loosely flaunt, unknowing't is their death. I02 SEPTEMBER WOODS. The low Bunch-Berry her nun's white lays by, And wearing claret satin, decks her breast With knots of scarlet beads. This sin, 0 sweet, In resurrection of the coming Spring, Shall be forgiven thee, and thou again Shalt rise, as white as snow. The fragrant ferns, And clinging mosses, to whom Summer kind Had been, more than to other lowly things, Are true; and not till they are trampled low By icy warriors, will they refuse Their emerald carpet to her tread, and then, In cold white grief, will die around her feet: The simpering Birch, unstable in the wind, Is first to break his faith, and cheaply bought By gold, in brazen vanity, lifts up His arms, and broadly waves the glittering price Of his dishonor: Poplars next and Elms Grow envious of the yellow show, and hold Their hands for traitor's wages; but more scant And dim the golden tokens gained by them; For now disloyalty has spread, and grown More bold of front: whole clans are cheaply won. In hostile signal fires from hill to hill, The Maples blaze; the tangling Sumach-trees Of glowing spikes build crimson ladders up The wall; ungainly Moosewood strives and creeps And shakes his purple-spotted banner out Defiantly; the sturdy Beeches throw 103 SEPTEMBER WOODS. Their harvest down, and bristle in a suit Of leathern points: all is revolt, and all Is lost for Summer! Vainly now she showers By brook and pool her white and purple stars, And lifts in all the fields her Golden-Rod; In vain thin scarlet streamers sets along The meadows, and to Gentian's pallid lips Of blue calls back the chilled and torpid bee; Sweet queen, her kingdom rocks! Her only stay And comfort now, the loving Pines who wait In solemn grief, unmoved and undismayed By guile or threats, and to their farthest kin, A haughty and untarnished race, will keep Eternally inviolate and green Their sworn allegiance to her and all Her name! Encircled by their arms she dies; And not the deadliest thrusts of wintry spears, Nor sweeping avalanche of snow and ice, Can daunt them from their silent watch around Her sepulchre, nor from their faithful hold Can wrest the babe, who, hid in sacred depths And fed on sacred food, and nurtured till The fated day, shall lift her infant hand, And slaying the usurper, take the throne Next in the royal line of summer queens. 104 TO-DA Y. TO-DAY. SADDEST prisoner, to death condemned, [i5 Going blindfold, with slow, reluctant feet, Hands fettered and mute lips, thy doom to meet, By flaming swords before, behind thee, hemnmed, Led by two Fates, -— To-morrow, with her gemmed Arms that flash mocking tokens of the sweet Things thou hadst hoped; and Yesterday with cheat Of withered roses which thou hast contemned, Decking her icy brow and heavy pall; While we, mute, helpless, with prophetic black Have wrapped ourselves, and in thy narrow track Come, hand in hand, blindfolded, fettered all, Waiting the hour when, in thy death's last thrall Bidding us follow thee, thou shalt look back. I05 OPPOR TUNJTY. OPPORTUNITY. 7 DO not know if, climbing some steep hill, t Through fragrant wooded pass, this glimpse I bought, Or whether in some mid-day I was caught To upper air, where visions of God's will In pictures to our quickened sense fulfil His word. But this I saw. A path I sought Through wall of rock. No human fingers wrought The golden gates which opened sudden, still, And wide. My fear was hushed by my delight. Surpassing fair the lands; my path lay plain; Alas, so spell-bound, feasting on the sight, I paused, that I but reached the threshold bright, When, swinging swift, the golden gates again WVere rocky wall, by which I wept in vain. Io6 FLO WERS 0X A GRAVE. FLOWERS ON A GRAVE. I. [(,/~'IHAT sweeter thing to hear, through tears, than this, Of one who dies, that, looking on him dead, All men with tender reverence gazed and said: "W\hat courtesy and gentleness were his! Our ruder lives, for years to come, will miss His sweet serenity, which daily shed A grace we scarcely felt, so deep inbred Of nature was it. Loyalty which is So loyal as his loyalty to friends Is rare; such purity is rarer still." Yes, there is yet one sweeter thing. It ends The broken speech with sobs that choke and fill Our throats. Alas! lost friend, we knew not how Our hearts were won to love thee, until now. II. SOMIE lives are bright like torches, and their flame Casts flickering lights around, and changeful heats; Some lives blaze like the meteor which fleets Across the sky; and some of lofty aim I07 FLO WfERS 0v A GRAVE. Stand out like beacon-lights. But never came, Or can, a light so satisfying sweet, As steady daylight, unperturbed, complete, And noiseless. Human lives we see the same As this; their equilibrium so just, Their movement so serene, so still, small heed The world pays to their presence till in need It sudden finds itself. The darkness near, The precious life returning dust for dust, It recollects how noon and life were clear. III. How poor is all that fame can be or bring! Although a generation feed the pyre, How soon dies out the lifeless, loveless fire! The king is dead. Hurrah! Long live the king! The poet breathes his last. Who next will sing? The great man falls. Who comes to mount still higher? Oh, bitter emptiness of such desire Earth holds but one true good, but one true thing, And this is it -to walk in honest ways And patient, and with all one's heart belong In love utinto one's own! No death so strong That life like this he ever conquers, slays; The centuries do to it no hurt, no wrong: They are eternal resurrection days. I08 A ifVEASURE OF HOURS. A MEASURE OF HOURS. |:{ NTO those two I called who hold In hands omnipotent all lives Of men, and deal, like gods, such doled Alms as they list, to him who strives And him who waits alike: "Oh! show Me but how measure ye one hour Of time, that I at least may know If I lift up this cross what power I need; and what I win of bliss If I may dare to pay the cost - Whole cost, without which I must miss This joy, and feel my life lost." Then Joy spoke first, all breathless: " Drink! An hour seems like eternity. My moments hold whole ages. Think No price too great which buys for thee This boundless bliss. Such hours as mine Io9 A MEASURE OF HOURS. Mock reckonings. The sands stand still. Drink quickly! I will give the sign When it is over. Drink thy fill!" I had scarce tasted when, with face All changed and voice grown sharp, Joy cried: "Thine hour is past. Give place! Give place New hearts impatiently abide Thy going. Every man fills up His own swift measure. Thou hadst thine. Who weakly drains the empty cup Drinks only bitter dregs of wine." Then Sorrow whispered gently: "Take This burden up. Be not afraid. An hour is short. Thou scarce wilt wake To consciousness that I have laid My hand upon thee, when the hour Shall all have passed, and, gladder then For the brief pain's uplifting power, Thou shalt but pity griefless men." I grew by minutes changed and old, As men change not in many years Of happiness. Lifetimes untold Seemed dragging lifeless by. My tears Ran slow for utter weariness Of weeping; and, when token came IIO A MEASURE Ofi' HOURS. The hour was done, I felt far less Of joy than woe; as one whose name Is called, when prison doors have swung Open too late, reluctantly Goes forth to find himself among Strange faces, desolate, though free. "0 cruel brethren, Joy and Grief," I cried, "with equal mockery Your promises meet our belief. One blossom and one fruit will be Your harvest! But full well I know They are not harvest; only seed Sown in our tears, from which shall grow In other soil harvest indeed, "Harvest in God's great gardens white, Where cool and living waters run, And where the spotless Lamnb is light, Instead of pallid moon and sun; Where constant through the golden air The tree of life sheds mystic leaf, Which angels to the nations bear, Healing alike their joy and grief." I I I CHARLO TTE CUSHiVAAN. CHARLOTTE CUSHMAN. I. UT yesterday it was. Long years ago It seems. The world so altered looks to-day That, journeying idly with my thoughts astray, I gazed where rose one lofty peak of snow Above grand tiers on tiers of peaks below. One moment brief it shone, then sank away, As swift we reached a point where foot-hills lay So near they seemed like mountains huge to grow, And touch the sky. That instant, idly still, My eye fell on a printed line, and read Incredulous, with sudden anguished thrill, The name of this great queen among the dead. I raised my eyes. The dusty foot-hills near Had gone. Again the snowy peak shone clear. II. OH! thou beloved woman, soul and heart And life, thou standest unapproached and grand, As still that glorious snowy peak doth stand. The dusty barrier our clumsy art II2 I CHAR LOTTF CUSIHIAA. Ini terror hath called death holds thee apart From us.'T is but the low foot-hill of sand Which bars our vision in a mountain-land. One moment further on, and we shall start With speechless joy to find that we have passed The dusky mound which shuts us from the light Of thy great love, still quick and warm and fast, Of thy great strengths, heroically cast, Of thy great soul, still glowing pure and white, Of thy great life, still pauseless, full, and bright! 8 II3 D~DICA ION. DEDICATION. SAW men kneeling where their hands had brought .By_,__ And fashioned curiously a pile of stone. To God they said they gave it, for his own, And that their psalms and prayers had wrought Its consecration. When, perplexed, I sought Their meaning, they but answered with a groan, And called my question blasphemy. Alone, In silence of the wilderness, I thought Again. Swift answer came from rock, tree, sod: "These puny prayers superfluous rise, and late These psalms. When first the world swung out in space, Amid the shoutings of the sons of God, Then was its every atom dedicate, Forever holy by God's gift and grace." I114 DAWNV. -E VE. DAWN. 1ITH a ring of silver, And a ring of gold, i: - And a red, red rose Which illumines her face, t'he sun, like a lover Who glows and is bold, Wooes the lovely earth To his strong embrace. EVE. Nmillions of pieces The beautiful rings And the scattered petals Of the rose so red, The sun, like a lover Who is weary, flings On the lonely earth When the day is dead. II5 DRE~AA1S. DREAMS. and pain, :~YSTERIOUS shapes, with wands of joy W hich seize us unaware in helpless sleep, And lead us to the houses where we keep Our secrets hid, well barred by every chain That we can forge and bind: the crime whose stain Is slowly fading'neath the tears we weep; Dead bliss which, dead, can make our pulses leap Oh, cruelty! To make these live again! They say that death is sleep, and heaven's rest Ends earth's short day, as, on the last faint gleam Of sun, our nights shut down, and we are blest. Let this, then, be of heaven's joy the test, The proof if heaven be, or only seem, That we forever choose what we will dream! ii6 THE DAY-STAR IN THE E4S7. I 17 THE DAY-STAR IN THE EAST. I. ' ACH morning, in the eastern sky, I see The star that morning dares to call its own. Night's myriads it has outwatched and outshone; Full radiant dawn pales not its majesty; Peer of the sun, his herald fit and free. Sudden from earth, dark, heavy mists are blown; The city's grimy smoke, to pillars grown, Climbs up the sky, and hides the star from me. Strange, that a film of smoke can blot a star! On comes, with blinding glare, the breathless day: The star is gone. The moon doth surer lay Than midnight gloom, athwart its light, a bar. But steadfast as God's angels planets are. To-morrow's dawn will show its changeless ray. II. THE centuries are God's days; within his hand, Held in the hollow, as a balance swings, Less than its dust, are all our temporal things. Long are his nights, when darkness steeps the land; I i8 THE DA,4 Y-S T,4 R Jl THE EAS. Thousands of years fill one slow dawn's demand; The human calendar its measure brings, Feeble and vain, to lift the soul that clings To hope for light, and seeks to understand. The centuries are God's days; the greatest least In his esteem. We have no glass to sweep His universe. A hand's-breadth distant dies, To our poor ears, the strain whose echoes keep All heaven glad. We do but grope and creep. There always is a day-star in the skies! OCTOBER'S BRIGHT BLUE WEA THER. I I 9 OCTOBER'S BRIGHT BLUE WEATHER. SUNS and skies and clouds of June, And flowers of June together, Ye cannot rival for one hour October's bright blue weather, When loud the bumble-bee makes haste, Belated, thriftless vagrant, And golden-rod is dying fast, And lanes with grapes are fragrant; When gentians roll their fringes tight To save them for the morning, And chestnuts fall from satin burrs Without a sound of warning; When on the ground red apples lie In piles like jewels shining, And redder still on old stone walls Are leaves of woodbine twining; 1 20 OCTOBER'S BRIGHT BLUE WEATHER. When all the lovely wayside things Their white-winged seeds are sowing, And in the fields, still green and fair, Late aftermaths are growing; When springs run low, and on the brooks, In idle golden freighting, Bright leaves sink noiseless in the hush Of woods, for winter waiting; When comrades seek sweet country haunts, By twos and twos together, And count like misers hour by hour, October's bright blue weather. O suns and skies and flowers of June, Count all your boasts together, Love loveth best of all the year October's bright blue weather. THE RIVIERA. THE RIVIERA. PEERLESS shore of peerless sea, Ere mortal eye had gazed on thee, What god was lover first of thine, Drank deep of thy unvintaged wine, And lying on thy shining breast Knew all thy passion and thy rest; And when thy love he must resign, O generous god, first love of thine, Left such a dower of wealth to thee, Thou peerless shore of peerless sea! Thy balmy air, thy stintless sun, Thy orange-flowering never done, Thy myrtle, olive, palm, and pine, Thy golden figs, thy ruddy wine, Thy subtle and resistless spell Which all men feel and none can tell? O peerless shore of peerless sea! From all the world we turn to thee; No wonder deem we thee divine! Some god was lover first of thine. I2I SEMITOiES. SEMITONES. H me, the subtle boundary between W hat pleases and what pains! The dif ference Between the word that thrills our every sense \With joy and one which hurts, although it mean No hurt! It is the things that are unseen, Invisible, not things of violence, For which the mightiest are without defence. On kine most fair to see one may grow lean With hunger. Many a snowy bread is doled Which is far harder than the hardest stones. 'T is but a narrow line divides the zones Where suns are warm from those where suns are cold. 'Twixt harmonies divine as chords can hold And torturing discords, lie but semitones! I22 IN THE DARK. IN THE DARK. ,S one who journeys on a stormy night Through mountain passes which he does not know Shields like his life from savage gusts that blow The swaying flame of his frail torch's light, So each of us through life's long groping fight Clings fast to one dear faith, one love, whose glow Makes darkness noonday to our trusting sight, And joys of perils into which we go. God help us, when this precious shining miark The raging storms of deep distrust assail WAith icy, poisoned breath and deadly aim, Till we, with hearts that shrink and cower and quail In terror which no measure has nor name, Stand trembling, helpless, palsied, in the dark. 123 MORDE,CAL. MORDECAI. .AKE friends with him! He is of royal line, Although he sits in rags. Not all of thine Array of splendor, pomp of high estate, Can buy him from his place within the gate, The King's Gate of thy happiness, where he, Yes, even he, the Jew, remaineth free, Never obeisance making, never scorn Betraying of thy silver and new-born Delight. Make friends with him, for unawares The charmed secret of thy joys he bears; Be glad, so long as his black sackcloth, late And early, thwarts thy sun; for if in hate And haste thou plottest for his blood, thy own death-cry, Not his, comes from the gallows fifty cubits high. I24 IN APRIL. IN APRIL. HAT did the sparrow do yesterday? :i~ 1 Nobody knew but the sparrows; He were too bold who should try to say; They have forgotten it all to-day. WThy does it haunt my thoughts this way, WVith a joy that piques and harrows, As the birds fly past, And the chimes ring fast, And the long spring shadows sweet shadow cast? There's a maple-bud redder to-day; It will almost flower to-morrow; I could swear't was only yesterday In a sheath of snow and ice it lay, With fierce winds blowing it every way; Whose surety had it to borrow, Till birds should fly past, And chimes ring fast, And the long spring shadows sweet shadow cast? I25 z INAPRIL. " VWas there ever a day like to-day, So clear, so shining, so tender?" The old cry out; and the children say, With a laugh, aside: "That's always the way With the old, in spring; as long as they stay, They find in it greater splendor, When the birds fly past, And the chimes ring fast, And the long spring shadows sweet shadow cast!" Then that may be why my thoughts all day I see I am old, by the token - Are so haunted by sounds, now sad, now gay, Of the words I hear the sparrows say, And the maple-bud's mysterious way By which from its sheath it has broken, \While the birds fly past, And the chimes ring fast, And the long spring shadows sweet shadow cast! I26 TWO HARVESTS. TWO HARVESTS. I. ILOSSOM and fruit no man could count or hoard; ,. Seasons their laws forgot, in riot haste Lavishing yield on yield in madman's waste; No tropic with its centuries' heat outpoured In centuries of summers, ever stored Such harvest. Had the earth her sole pearl placed In wine of sun to melt, - one blissful taste To drain and die,- it had not fully dowered This harvest! She who smiling goes, a queen, Reaping with alabaster arms and hands The fruits and flowers of these magic lands, With idle, satiate intervals between,Oh, what to her do laws of harvest mean? Joy passes by her, where she laden stands! I27 TWO HA4R VES7TS. II. A PARCHED and arid land, all colorless, Than desert drearier, than rock more stern; Spring could not find, nor any summer learn The secret to redeem this wilderness. Harsh winds sweep through with icy storm and stress: Fierce lurid suns shine but to blight and burn; And streams rise, pallid, but to flee and turn: WVho soweth here waits miracle to bless The harvest! She who smiling goes, a queen, Seeking with hidden tears and tireless hands To win a fruitage from these barren lands, She knowveth what the laws of harvest mean! Blades spring, flowers bloom, by all but her unseen; Joy's halo crowns her, where she patient stands! I28 HrABEAS CORPUS. HABEAS CORPUS. .Y body, eh? Friend Death, how now? I~tq\;A Why all this tedious pomp of writ? Thou hast reclaimed it sure and slow For half a century, bit by bit. In faith thou knowest more to-day Than I do, where it can be found! This shrivelled lump of suffering clay, To which I now am chained and bound, Has not of kith or kin a trace To the good body once I bore; Look at this shrunken, ghastly face: Didst ever see that face before? Al, well, friend Death, good firiend thou art; Thy only fault thy lagging gait, Mistaken pity in thy heart For timorous ones that bid thee wait. I29 H,4ABEAS CORPUS. Do quickly all thou hast to do, Nor I nor mine will hindrance make; I shall be free when thou art through; I grudge thee nought that thou must take! Stay! I have lied; I grudge thee one, Yes, two I grudge thee at this last,Two members which have faithful done My will and bidding in the past. I grudge thee this right hand of mine; I grudge thee this quick-beating heart; They never gave me coward sign, Nor played me once a traitor's part. I see now why in olden days Men in barbaric love or hate Nailed enemies' hands at wild crossways, Shrined leaders' hearts in costly state: The symbol, sign, and instrument Of each soul's purpose, passion, strife, Of fires in which are poured and spent Their all of love, their all of life. O feeble, mighty human hand! O fragile, dauntless human heart! The universe holds nothing planned With such sublime, transcendent art! I30 HABEAS CORPUS. Yes, Death, I own I grudge thee mine Poor little hand, so feeble now; Its wrinkled palm, its altered line, Its veins so pallid and so slow - ~.. (Unfinished here.) Ah, well, friend Death, good friend thou art; I shall be free when thou art through. Take all there is-take hand and heart; There must be somewhere work to do. I3I 4A LAST PRA YER. A LAST PRAYER. \>ewTh ATHER, I scarcely dare to pray, So clear I see, now it is done, That I have wasted half my day, And left my work but just begun; So clear I see that things I thought Were right or harmless were a sin; So clear I see that I have sought, Unconscious, selfish aims to win; So clear I see that I have hurt The souls I might have helped to save; That I have slothful been, inert, Deaf to the calls thy leaders gave. In outskirts of thy kingdoms vast, Father, the humblest spot give me; Set me the lowliest task thou least; Let me repentant work for thee! I32 THE SONG HE NEVER WR07E. THE SONG HE NEVER WROTE. IS thoughts were song, his life was singing; MAen's hearts like harps he held and smote, But in his heart went ever ringing, Ringing, the song he never wrote. Hovering, pausing, luring, fleeting, A farther blue, a brighter mote, The vanished sound of swift winds meeting, The opal swept beneath the boat. A gleam of wings forever flaming, Never folded in nest or cote; Secrets of joy, past name or naming; Measures of bliss past dole or rote; Echoes of music, always flying, Always echo, never the note; Pulses of life, past life, past dying, All these in the song he never wrote. I33 134 THE SONG IIE N2EVER WROTE. Dead at last, and the people, weeping, Turned from his grave with wringing hands, - "What shall we do, now he lies sleeping, His sweet song silent in our lands? "Just as his voice grew clearer, stronger," This was the thought that keenest smote, "0 Death! couldst thou not spare him longer? Alas for the songs he never wrote! " Free at last, and his soul up-soaring, Planets and skies beneath his feet, Wonder and rapture all out-pouring, Eternity how simple, sweet! Sorrow slain, and every regretting, Love and Love's labors left the same, Weariness over, suns without setting, Motion like thought on wings of flame: Higher the singer rose and higher, Heavens, in spaces, sank like bars; Great joy within him glowed like fire, He tossed his arms among the stars, THE SOzSG HE AEVER WROTE. I35 "This is the life, past life, past dying; I am I, and I live the life: Shame on the thought of mortal crying! Shame on its petty toil and strife! "\Nhy did I halt, and weakly tremble?" Even in heaven the memory smote, - "Fool to be dulmlb, and to dissemble! Alas for the song 1 never wrote!" 1.