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| author | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-15 04:40:49 -0700 |
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| committer | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-15 04:40:49 -0700 |
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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/12841-0.txt b/12841-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6b0ebce --- /dev/null +++ b/12841-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,4012 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 12841 *** + +John Marr and Other Poems + +By Herman Melville + +_With An Introductory Note By_ +HENRY CHAPIN + +MCMXXII + + + + +CONTENTS + + INTRODUCTORY NOTE + + JOHN MARR AND OTHER SAILORS + JOHN MARR AND OTHER SAILORS + BRIDEGROOM DICK + TOM DEADLIGHT + JACK ROY + + SEA PIECES + THE HAGLETS + THE AEOLIAN HARP + TO THE MASTER OF THE _METEOR_ + FAR OFF-SHORE + THE MAN-OF-WAR HAWK + THE FIGURE-HEAD + THE GOOD CRAFT _SNOW BIRD_ + OLD COUNSEL + THE TUFT OF KELP + THE MALDIVE SHARK + TO NED + CROSSING THE TROPICS + THE BERG + THE ENVIABLE ISLES + PEBBLES + + POEMS FROM TIMOLEON + LINES TRACED UNDER AN IMAGE OF AMOR THREATENING + THE NIGHT MARCH + THE RAVAGED VILLA + THE NEW ZEALOT TO THE SUN + MONODY + LONE FOUNTS + THE BENCH OF BOORS + ART + THE ENTHUSIAST + SHELLEY’S VISION + THE MARCHIONESS OF BRINVILLIERS + THE AGE OF THE ANTONINES + HERBA SANTA + OFF CAPE COLONNA + THE APPARITION + L’ENVOI + SUPPLEMENT + + POEMS FROM BATTLE PIECES + THE PORTENT + FROM THE CONFLICT OF CONVICTIONS + THE MARCH INTO VIRGINIA + BALL’S BLUFF + THE STONE FLEET + THE TEMERAIRE + A UTILITARIAN VIEW OF THE _MONITOR’S_ FIGHT + MALVERN HILL + STONEWALL JACKSON + THE HOUSE-TOP + CHATTANOOGA + ON THE PHOTOGRAPH OF A CORPS COMMANDER + THE SWAMP ANGEL + SHERIDAN AT CEDAR CREEK + IN THE PRISON PEN + THE COLLEGE COLONEL + THE MARTYR + REBEL COLOR-BEARERS AT SHILOH + AURORA BOREALIS + THE RELEASED REBEL PRISONER + “FORMERLY A SLAVE” + ON THE SLAIN COLLEGIANS + AMERICA + INSCRIPTION + THE FORTITUDE OF THE NORTH + THE MOUND BY THE LAKE + ON THE SLAIN AT CHICKAMAUGA + AN UNINSCRIBED MONUMENT + ON THE GRAVE OF A YOUNG CAVALRY OFFICER KILLED IN THE VALLEY OF VIRGINIA + A REQUIEM + COMMEMORATIVE OF A NAVAL VICTORY + A MEDITATION + + POEMS FROM MARDI + WE FISH + INVOCATION + DIRGE + MARLENA + PIPE SONG + SONG OF YOOMY + GOLD + THE LAND OF LOVE + + POEMS FROM CLAREL + DIRGE + EPILOGUE + + + + +INTRODUCTORY NOTE + + +Melville’s verse printed for the most part privately in small editions +from middle life onward after his great prose work had been written, +taken as a whole, is of an amateurish and uneven quality. In it, +however, that loveable freshness of personality, which his +philosophical dejection never quenched, is everywhere in evidence. It +is clear that he did not set himself to master the poet’s art, yet +through the mask of conventional verse which often falls into doggerel, +the voice of a true poet is heard. In selecting the pieces for this +volume I have put in the vigorous sea verses of _John Marr_ in their +entirety and added those others from his _Battle Pieces_, _Timoleon,_ +etc., that best indicate the quality of their author’s personality. The +prose supplement to battle pieces has been included because it does so +much to explain the feeling of his war verse and further because it is +such a remarkably wise and clear commentary upon those confused and +troublous days of post-war reconstruction. H. C. + + + + +JOHN MARR AND OTHER SAILORS + + + + +JOHN MARR AND OTHER SAILORS + + +Since as in night’s deck-watch ye show, +Why, lads, so silent here to me, +Your watchmate of times long ago? +Once, for all the darkling sea, +You your voices raised how clearly, +Striking in when tempest sung; +Hoisting up the storm-sail cheerly, +_Life is storm—let storm!_ you rung. +Taking things as fated merely, +Childlike though the world ye spanned; +Nor holding unto life too dearly, +Ye who held your lives in hand— +Skimmers, who on oceans four +Petrels were, and larks ashore. + +O, not from memory lightly flung, +Forgot, like strains no more availing, +The heart to music haughtier strung; +Nay, frequent near me, never staleing, +Whose good feeling kept ye young. +Like tides that enter creek or stream, +Ye come, ye visit me, or seem +Swimming out from seas of faces, +Alien myriads memory traces, +To enfold me in a dream! + +I yearn as ye. But rafts that strain, +Parted, shall they lock again? +Twined we were, entwined, then riven, +Ever to new embracements driven, +Shifting gulf-weed of the main! +And how if one here shift no more, +Lodged by the flinging surge ashore? +Nor less, as now, in eve’s decline, +Your shadowy fellowship is mine. +Ye float around me, form and feature:— +Tattooings, ear-rings, love-locks curled; +Barbarians of man’s simpler nature, +Unworldly servers of the world. +Yea, present all, and dear to me, +Though shades, or scouring China’s sea. + +Whither, whither, merchant-sailors, +Whitherward now in roaring gales? +Competing still, ye huntsman-whalers, +In leviathan’s wake what boat prevails? +And man-of-war’s men, whereaway? +If now no dinned drum beat to quarters +On the wilds of midnight waters— +Foemen looming through the spray; +Do yet your gangway lanterns, streaming, +Vainly strive to pierce below, +When, tilted from the slant plank gleaming, +A brother you see to darkness go? + +But, gunmates lashed in shotted canvas, +If where long watch-below ye keep, +Never the shrill _“All hands up hammocks!”_ +Breaks the spell that charms your sleep, +And summoning trumps might vainly call, +And booming guns implore— +A beat, a heart-beat musters all, +One heart-beat at heart-core. +It musters. But to clasp, retain; +To see you at the halyards main— +To hear your chorus once again! + + + + +BRIDEGROOM DICK + + +1876 + + +Sunning ourselves in October on a day +Balmy as spring, though the year was in decay, +I lading my pipe, she stirring her tea, +My old woman she says to me, +“Feel ye, old man, how the season mellows?” +And why should I not, blessed heart alive, +Here mellowing myself, past sixty-five, +To think o’ the May-time o’ pennoned young fellows +This stripped old hulk here for years may survive. + +Ere yet, long ago, we were spliced, Bonny Blue, +(Silvery it gleams down the moon-glade o’ time, +Ah, sugar in the bowl and berries in the prime!) +Coxswain I o’ the Commodore’s crew,— +Under me the fellows that manned his fine gig, +Spinning him ashore, a king in full fig. +Chirrupy even when crosses rubbed me, +Bridegroom Dick lieutenants dubbed me. +Pleasant at a yarn, Bob o’ Linkum in a song, +Diligent in duty and nattily arrayed, +Favored I was, wife, and _fleeted_ right along; +And though but a tot for such a tall grade, +A high quartermaster at last I was made. + +All this, old lassie, you have heard before, +But you listen again for the sake e’en o’ me; +No babble stales o’ the good times o’ yore +To Joan, if Darby the babbler be. + +Babbler?—O’ what? Addled brains, they forget! +O—quartermaster I; yes, the signals set, +Hoisted the ensign, mended it when frayed, +Polished up the binnacle, minded the helm, +And prompt every order blithely obeyed. +To me would the officers say a word cheery— +Break through the starch o’ the quarter-deck realm; +His coxswain late, so the Commodore’s pet. +Ay, and in night-watches long and weary, +Bored nigh to death with the navy etiquette, +Yearning, too, for fun, some younker, a cadet, +Dropping for time each vain bumptious trick, +Boy-like would unbend to Bridegroom Dick. +But a limit there was—a check, d’ ye see: +Those fine young aristocrats knew their degree. + +Well, stationed aft where their lordships keep,— +Seldom _going_ forward excepting to sleep,— +I, boozing now on by-gone years, +My betters recall along with my peers. +Recall them? Wife, but I see them plain: +Alive, alert, every man stirs again. +Ay, and again on the lee-side pacing, +My spy-glass carrying, a truncheon in show, +Turning at the taffrail, my footsteps retracing, +Proud in my duty, again methinks I go. +And Dave, Dainty Dave, I mark where he stands, +Our trim sailing-master, to time the high-noon, +That thingumbob sextant perplexing eyes and hands, +Squinting at the sun, or twigging o’ the moon; +Then, touching his cap to Old Chock-a-Block +Commanding the quarter-deck,—“Sir, twelve o’clock.” + +Where sails he now, that trim sailing-master, +Slender, yes, as the ship’s sky-s’l pole? +Dimly I mind me of some sad disaster— +Dainty Dave was dropped from the navy-roll! +And ah, for old Lieutenant Chock-a-Block— +Fast, wife, chock-fast to death’s black dock! +Buffeted about the obstreperous ocean, +Fleeted his life, if lagged his promotion. +Little girl, they are all, all gone, I think, +Leaving Bridegroom Dick here with lids that wink. + +Where is Ap Catesby? The fights fought of yore +Famed him, and laced him with epaulets, and more. +But fame is a wake that after-wakes cross, +And the waters wallow all, and laugh + _Where’s the loss?_ +But John Bull’s bullet in his shoulder bearing +Ballasted Ap in his long sea-faring. +The middies they ducked to the man who had messed +With Decatur in the gun-room, or forward pressed +Fighting beside Perry, Hull, Porter, and the rest. + +Humped veteran o’ the Heart-o’-Oak war, +Moored long in haven where the old heroes are, +Never on _you_ did the iron-clads jar! +Your open deck when the boarder assailed, +The frank old heroic hand-to-hand then availed. + +But where’s Guert Gan? Still heads he the van? +As before Vera-Cruz, when he dashed splashing through +The blue rollers sunned, in his brave gold-and-blue, +And, ere his cutter in keel took the strand, +Aloft waved his sword on the hostile land! +Went up the cheering, the quick chanticleering; +All hands vying—all colors flying: +“Cock-a-doodle-doo!” and “Row, boys, row!” +“Hey, Starry Banner!” “Hi, Santa Anna!” +Old Scott’s young dash at Mexico. + +Fine forces o’ the land, fine forces o’ the sea, +Fleet, army, and flotilla—tell, heart o’ me, +Tell, if you can, whereaway now they be! + +But ah, how to speak of the hurricane unchained— +The Union’s strands parted in the hawser over-strained; +Our flag blown to shreds, anchors gone altogether— +The dashed fleet o’ States in Secession’s foul weather. + +Lost in the smother o’ that wide public stress, +In hearts, private hearts, what ties there were snapped! +Tell, Hal—vouch, Will, o’ the ward-room mess, +On you how the riving thunder-bolt clapped. +With a bead in your eye and beads in your glass, +And a grip o’ the flipper, it was part and pass: +“Hal, must it be: Well, if come indeed the shock, +To North or to South, let the victory cleave, +Vaunt it he may on his dung-hill the cock, +But _Uncle Sam’s_ eagle never crow will, believe.” + +Sentiment: ay, while suspended hung all, +Ere the guns against Sumter opened there the ball, +And partners were taken, and the red dance began, +War’s red dance o’ death!—Well, we, to a man, +We sailors o’ the North, wife, how could we lag?— +Strike with your kin, and you stick to the flag! +But to sailors o’ the South that easy way was barred. +To some, dame, believe (and I speak o’ what I know), +Wormwood the trial and the Uzzite’s black shard; +And the faithfuller the heart, the crueller the throe. +Duty? It pulled with more than one string, +This way and that, and anyhow a sting. +The flag and your kin, how be true unto both? +If either plight ye keep, then ye break the other troth. +But elect here they must, though the casuists were out; +Decide—hurry up—and throttle every doubt. + +Of all these thrills thrilled at keelson, and throes, +Little felt the shoddyites a-toasting o’ their toes; +In mart and bazar Lucre chuckled the huzza, +Coining the dollars in the bloody mint of war. + +But in men, gray knights o’ the Order o’ Scars, +And brave boys bound by vows unto Mars, +Nature grappled honor, intertwisting in the strife:— +But some cut the knot with a thoroughgoing knife. +For how when the drums beat? How in the fray +In Hampton Roads on the fine balmy day? + +There a lull, wife, befell—drop o’ silent in the din. +Let us enter that silence ere the belchings re-begin. +Through a ragged rift aslant in the cannonade’s smoke +An iron-clad reveals her repellent broadside +Bodily intact. But a frigate, all oak, +Shows honeycombed by shot, and her deck crimson-dyed. +And a trumpet from port of the iron-clad hails, +Summoning the other, whose flag never trails: +“Surrender that frigate, Will! Surrender, +Or I will sink her—_ram_, and end her!” + +’T was Hal. And Will, from the naked heart-o’-oak, +Will, the old messmate, minus trumpet, spoke, +Informally intrepid,—“Sink her, and be damned!”* [* Historic.] +Enough. Gathering way, the iron-clad _rammed_. +The frigate, heeling over, on the wave threw a dusk. +Not sharing in the slant, the clapper of her bell +The fixed metal struck—uinvoked struck the knell +Of the _Cumberland_ stillettoed by the _Merrimac’s_ tusk; +While, broken in the wound underneath the gun-deck, +Like a sword-fish’s blade in leviathan waylaid, +The tusk was left infixed in the fast-foundering wreck. +There, dungeoned in the cockpit, the wounded go down, +And the chaplain with them. But the surges uplift +The prone dead from deck, and for moment they drift +Washed with the swimmers, and the spent swimmers drown. +Nine fathom did she sink,—erect, though hid from light +Save her colors unsurrendered and spars that kept the height. + +Nay, pardon, old aunty! Wife, never let it fall, +That big started tear that hovers on the brim; +I forgot about your nephew and the _Merrimac’s_ ball; +No more then of her, since it summons up him. +But talk o’ fellows’ hearts in the wine’s genial cup:— +Trap them in the fate, jam them in the strait, +Guns speak their hearts then, and speak right up. +The troublous colic o’ intestine war +It sets the bowels o’ affection ajar. +But, lord, old dame, so spins the whizzing world, +A humming-top, ay, for the little boy-gods +Flogging it well with their smart little rods, +Tittering at time and the coil uncurled. + +Now, now, sweetheart, you sidle away, +No, never you like _that_ kind o’ _gay;_ +But sour if I get, giving truth her due, +Honey-sweet forever, wife, will Dick be to you! + +But avast with the War! ‘Why recall racking days +Since set up anew are the slip’s started stays? +Nor less, though the gale we have left behind, +Well may the heave o’ the sea remind. +It irks me now, as it troubled me then, +To think o’ the fate in the madness o’ men. +If Dick was with Farragut on the night-river, +When the boom-chain we burst in the fire-raft’s glare, +That blood-dyed the visage as red as the liver; +In the _Battle for the Bay_ too if Dick had a share, +And saw one aloft a-piloting the war— +Trumpet in the whirlwind, a Providence in place— +Our Admiral old whom the captains huzza, +Dick joys in the man nor brags about the race. + +But better, wife, I like to booze on the days +Ere the Old Order foundered in these very frays, +And tradition was lost and we learned strange ways. +Often I think on the brave cruises then; +Re-sailing them in memory, I hail the press o’ men +On the gunned promenade where rolling they go, +Ere the dog-watch expire and break up the show. +The Laced Caps I see between forward guns; +Away from the powder-room they puff the cigar; +“Three days more, hey, the donnas and the dons!” +“Your Zeres widow, will you hunt her up, Starr?” +The Laced Caps laugh, and the bright waves too; +Very jolly, very wicked, both sea and crew, +Nor heaven looks sour on either, I guess, +Nor Pecksniff he bosses the gods’ high mess. +Wistful ye peer, wife, concerned for my head, +And how best to get me betimes to my bed. + +But king o’ the club, the gayest golden spark, +Sailor o’ sailors, what sailor do I mark? +Tom Tight, Tom Tight, no fine fellow finer, +A cutwater nose, ay, a spirited soul; +But, bowsing away at the well-brewed bowl, +He never bowled back from that last voyage to China. + +Tom was lieutenant in the brig-o’-war famed +When an officer was hung for an arch-mutineer, +But a mystery cleaved, and the captain was blamed, +And a rumpus too raised, though his honor it was clear. +And Tom he would say, when the mousers would try him, +And with cup after cup o’ Burgundy ply him: +“Gentlemen, in vain with your wassail you beset, +For the more I tipple, the tighter do I get.” +No blabber, no, not even with the can— +True to himself and loyal to his clan. + +Tom blessed us starboard and d—d us larboard, +Right down from rail to the streak o’ the garboard. +Nor less, wife, we liked him.—Tom was a man +In contrast queer with Chaplain Le Fan, +Who blessed us at morn, and at night yet again, +D—ning us only in decorous strain; +Preaching ’tween the guns—each cutlass in its place— +From text that averred old Adam a hard case. +I see him—Tom—on _horse-block_ standing, +Trumpet at mouth, thrown up all amain, +An elephant’s bugle, vociferous demanding +Of topmen aloft in the hurricane of rain, +“Letting that sail there your faces flog? +Manhandle it, men, and you’ll get the good grog!” +O Tom, but he knew a blue-jacket’s ways, +And how a lieutenant may genially haze; +Only a sailor sailors heartily praise. + +Wife, where be all these chaps, I wonder? +Trumpets in the tempest, terrors in the fray, +Boomed their commands along the deck like thunder; +But silent is the sod, and thunder dies away. +But Captain Turret, _“Old Hemlock”_ tall, +(A leaning tower when his tank brimmed all,) +Manoeuvre out alive from the war did he? +Or, too old for that, drift under the lee? +Kentuckian colossal, who, touching at Madeira, +The huge puncheon shipped o’ prime _Santa-Clara;_ +Then rocked along the deck so solemnly! +No whit the less though judicious was enough +In dealing with the Finn who made the great huff; +Our three-decker’s giant, a grand boatswain’s mate, +Manliest of men in his own natural senses; +But driven stark mad by the devil’s drugged stuff, +Storming all aboard from his run-ashore late, +Challenging to battle, vouchsafing no pretenses, +A reeling King Ogg, delirious in power, +The quarter-deck carronades he seemed to make cower. +“Put him in _brig_ there!” said Lieutenant Marrot. +“Put him in _brig!_” back he mocked like a parrot; +“Try it, then!” swaying a fist like Thor’s sledge, +And making the pigmy constables hedge— +Ship’s corporals and the master-at-arms. +“In _brig_ there, I say!”—They dally no more; +Like hounds let slip on a desperate boar, +Together they pounce on the formidable Finn, +Pinion and cripple and hustle him in. +Anon, under sentry, between twin guns, +He slides off in drowse, and the long night runs. + +Morning brings a summons. Whistling it calls, +Shrilled through the pipes of the boatswain’s four aids; +Trilled down the hatchways along the dusk halls: +_Muster to the Scourge!_—Dawn of doom and its blast! +As from cemeteries raised, sailors swarm before the mast, +Tumbling up the ladders from the ship’s nether shades. + +Keeping in the background and taking small part, +Lounging at their ease, indifferent in face, +Behold the trim marines uncompromised in heart; +Their Major, buttoned up, near the staff finds room— +The staff o’ lieutenants standing grouped in their place. +All the Laced Caps o’ the ward-room come, +The Chaplain among them, disciplined and dumb. +The blue-nosed boatswain, complexioned like slag, +Like a blue Monday lours—his implements in bag. +Executioners, his aids, a couple by him stand, +At a nod there the thongs to receive from his hand. +Never venturing a caveat whatever may betide, +Though functionally here on humanity’s side, +The grave Surgeon shows, like the formal physician +Attending the rack o’ the Spanish Inquisition. + +The angel o’ the “brig” brings his prisoner up; +Then, steadied by his old _Santa-Clara_, a sup, +Heading all erect, the ranged assizes there, +Lo, Captain Turret, and under starred bunting, +(A florid full face and fine silvered hair,) +Gigantic the yet greater giant confronting. + +Now the culprit he liked, as a tall captain can +A Titan subordinate and true _sailor-man;_ +And frequent he’d shown it—no worded advance, +But flattering the Finn with a well-timed glance. +But what of that now? In the martinet-mien +Read the _Articles of War_, heed the naval routine; +While, cut to the heart a dishonor there to win, +Restored to his senses, stood the Anak Finn; +In racked self-control the squeezed tears peeping, +Scalding the eye with repressed inkeeping. +Discipline must be; the scourge is deemed due. +But ah for the sickening and strange heart- benumbing, +Compassionate abasement in shipmates that view; +Such a grand champion shamed there succumbing! +“Brown, tie him up.”—The cord he brooked: +How else?—his arms spread apart—never threaping; +No, never he flinched, never sideways he looked, +Peeled to the waistband, the marble flesh creeping, +Lashed by the sleet the officious winds urge. + +In function his fellows their fellowship merge— +The twain standing nigh—the two boatswain’s mates, +Sailors of his grade, ay, and brothers of his mess. +With sharp thongs adroop the junior one awaits +The word to uplift. + “Untie him—so! +Submission is enough, Man, you may go.” +Then, promenading aft, brushing fat Purser Smart, +“Flog? Never meant it—hadn’t any heart. +Degrade that tall fellow? “—Such, wife, was he, +Old Captain Turret, who the brave wine could stow. +Magnanimous, you think?—But what does Dick see? +Apron to your eye! Why, never fell a blow; +Cheer up, old wifie, ’t was a long time ago. + +But where’s that sore one, crabbed and-severe, +Lieutenant Lon Lumbago, an arch scrutineer? +Call the roll to-day, would he answer—_Here!_ +When the _Blixum’s_ fellows to quarters mustered +How he’d lurch along the lane of gun-crews clustered, +Testy as touchwood, to pry and to peer. +Jerking his sword underneath larboard arm, +He ground his worn grinders to keep himself calm. +Composed in his nerves, from the fidgets set free, +Tell, Sweet Wrinkles, alive now is he, +In Paradise a parlor where the even tempers be? + +Where’s Commander All-a-Tanto? +Where’s Orlop Bob singing up from below? +Where’s Rhyming Ned? has he spun his last canto? +Where’s Jewsharp Jim? Where’s Ringadoon Joe? +Ah, for the music over and done, +The band all dismissed save the droned trombone! +Where’s Glenn o’ the gun-room, who loved Hot-Scotch— +Glen, prompt and cool in a perilous watch? +Where’s flaxen-haired Phil? a gray lieutenant? +Or rubicund, flying a dignified pennant? + +But where sleeps his brother?—the cruise it was o’er, +But ah, for death’s grip that welcomed him ashore! +Where’s Sid, the cadet, so frank in his brag, +Whose toast was audacious—“_Here’s Sid, and Sid’s flag!_” +Like holiday-craft that have sunk unknown, +May a lark of a lad go lonely down? +Who takes the census under the sea? +Can others like old ensigns be, +Bunting I hoisted to flutter at the gaff— +Rags in end that once were flags +Gallant streaming from the staff? + +Such scurvy doom could the chances deal +To Top-Gallant Harry and Jack Genteel? +Lo, Genteel Jack in hurricane weather, +Shagged like a bear, like a red lion roaring; +But O, so fine in his chapeau and feather, +In port to the ladies never once _jawing;_ +All bland _politesse,_ how urbane was he— +_“Oui, mademoiselle”—“Ma chère amie!”_ + +’T was Jack got up the ball at Naples, +Gay in the old _Ohio_ glorious; +His hair was curled by the berth-deck barber, +Never you’d deemed him a cub of rude Boreas; +In tight little pumps, with the grand dames in rout, +A-flinging his shapely foot all about; +His watch-chain with love’s jeweled tokens abounding, +Curls ambrosial shaking out odors, +Waltzing along the batteries, astounding +The gunner glum and the grim-visaged loaders. + +Wife, where be all these blades, I wonder, +Pennoned fine fellows, so strong, so gay? +Never their colors with a dip dived under; +Have they hauled them down in a lack-lustre day, +Or beached their boats in the Far, Far Away? +Hither and thither, blown wide asunder, +Where’s this fleet, I wonder and wonder. +Slipt their cables, rattled their adieu, +(Whereaway pointing? to what rendezvous?) +Out of sight, out of mind, like the crack _Constitution,_ +And many a keel time never shall renew— +_Bon Homme Dick_ o’ the buff Revolution, +The _Black Cockade_ and the staunch _True-Blue._ + +Doff hats to Decatur! But where is his blazon? +Must merited fame endure time’s wrong— +Glory’s ripe grape wizen up to a raisin? +Yes! for Nature teems, and the years are strong, +And who can keep the tally o’ the names that fleet along! + +But his frigate, wife, his bride? Would blacksmiths brown +Into smithereens smite the solid old renown? +Rivetting the bolts in the iron-clad’s shell, +Hark to the hammers with _a rat-tat-tat;_ +“Handier a _derby_ than a laced cocked hat! +The _Monitor_ was ugly, but she served us right well, +Better than the _Cumberland,_ a beauty and the belle.” + +_Better than the Cumberland!_—Heart alive in me! +That battlemented hull, Tantallon o’ the sea, +Kicked in, as at Boston the taxed chests o’ tea! +Ay, spurned by the _ram,_ once a tall, shapely craft, +But lopped by the Rebs to an iron-beaked raft— +A blacksmith’s unicorn in armor _cap-a-pie_. + +Under the water-line a _ram’s_ blow is dealt: +And foul fall the knuckles that strike below the belt. +Nor brave the inventions that serve to replace +The openness of valor while dismantling the grace. + +Aloof from all this and the never-ending game, +Tantamount to teetering, plot and counterplot; +Impenetrable armor—all-perforating shot; +Aloof, bless God, ride the war-ships of old, +A grand fleet moored in the roadstead of fame; +Not submarine sneaks with _them_ are enrolled; +Their long shadows dwarf us, their flags are as flame. + +Don’t fidget so, wife; an old man’s passion +Amounts to no more than this smoke that I puff; +There, there, now, buss me in good old fashion; +A died-down candle will flicker in the snuff. + +But one last thing let your old babbler say, +What Decatur’s coxswain said who was long ago hearsed, +“Take in your flying-kites, for there comes a lubber’s day +When gallant things will go, and the three-deckers first.” + +My pipe is smoked out, and the grog runs slack; +But bowse away, wife, at your blessed Bohea; +This empty can here must needs solace me— +Nay, sweetheart, nay; I take that back; +Dick drinks from your eyes and he finds no lack! + + + + +TOM DEADLIGHT + + +During a tempest encountered homeward-bound from the Mediterranean, a +grizzled petty-officer, one of the two captains of the forecastle, +dying at night in his hammock, swung in the sick-bay under the tiered +gun-decks of the British _Dreadnaught, 98,_ wandering in his mind, +though with glimpses of sanity, and starting up at whiles, sings by +snatches his good-bye and last injunctions to two messmates, his +watchers, one of whom fans the fevered tar with the flap of his old +sou’wester. Some names and phrases, with here and there a line, or part +of one; these, in his aberration, wrested into incoherency from their +original connection and import, he voluntarily derives, as he does the +measure, from a famous old sea-ditty, whose cadences, long rife, and +now humming in the collapsing brain, attune the last flutterings of +distempered thought. + +Farewell and adieu to you noble hearties,— + Farewell and adieu to you ladies of Spain, +For I’ve received orders for to sail for the Deadman, + But hope with the grand fleet to see you again. + +I have hove my ship to, with main-top-sail aback, boys; + I have hove my ship to, for the strike soundings clear— +The black scud a’flying; but, by God’s blessing, dam’ me, + Right up the Channel for the Deadman I’ll steer. + +I have worried through the waters that are called the Doldrums, + And growled at Sargasso that clogs while ye grope— +Blast my eyes, but the light-ship is hid by the mist, lads:— + _Flying Dutchman_—odds bobbs—off the Cape of Good Hope! + +But what’s this I feel that is fanning my cheek, Matt? + The white goney’s wing?—how she rolls!— ’t is the Cape!— +Give my kit to the mess, Jock, for kin none is mine, none; + And tell _Holy Joe_ to avast with the crape. + +Dead reckoning, says _Joe_, it won’t do to go by; + But they doused all the glims, Matt, in sky t’ other night. +Dead reckoning is good for to sail for the Deadman; + And Tom Deadlight he thinks it may reckon near right. + +The signal!—it streams for the grand fleet to anchor. + The captains—the trumpets—the hullabaloo! +Stand by for blue-blazes, and mind your shank-painters, + For the Lord High Admiral, he’s squinting at you! + +But give me my _tot_, Matt, before I roll over; + Jock, let’s have your flipper, it’s good for to feel; +And don’t sew me up without _baccy_ in mouth, boys, + And don’t blubber like lubbers when I turn up my keel. + + + + +JACK ROY + + +Kept up by relays of generations young +Never dies at halyards the blithe chorus sung; +While in sands, sounds, and seas where the storm-petrels cry, +Dropped mute around the globe, these halyard singers lie. +Short-lived the clippers for racing-cups that run, +And speeds in life’s career many a lavish mother’s-son. + +But thou, manly king o’ the old _Splendid’s_ crew, +The ribbons o’ thy hat still a-fluttering, should fly— +A challenge, and forever, nor the bravery should rue. +Only in a tussle for the starry flag high, +When ’tis piety to do, and privilege to die. +Then, only then, would heaven think to lop +Such a cedar as the captain o’ the _Splendid’s_ main-top: +A belted sea-gentleman; a gallant, off-hand +Mercutio indifferent in life’s gay command. +Magnanimous in humor; when the splintering shot fell, +“Tooth-picks a-plenty, lads; thank ’em with a shell!” + +Sang Larry o’ the _Cannakin,_ smuggler o’ the wine, +At mess between guns, lad in jovial recline: +“In Limbo our Jack he would chirrup up a cheer, +The martinet there find a chaffing mutineer; +From a thousand fathoms down under hatches o’ your Hades, +He’d ascend in love-ditty, kissing fingers to your ladies!” + +Never relishing the knave, though allowing for the menial, +Nor overmuch the king, Jack, nor prodigally genial. +Ashore on liberty he flashed in escapade, +Vaulting over life in its levelness of grade, +Like the dolphin off Africa in rainbow a-sweeping— +Arch iridescent shot from seas languid sleeping. + +Larking with thy life, if a joy but a toy, +Heroic in thy levity wert thou, Jack Roy. + + + + +SEA PIECES + + + + +THE HAGLETS + + +By chapel bare, with walls sea-beat +The lichened urns in wilds are lost +About a carved memorial stone +That shows, decayed and coral-mossed, +A form recumbent, swords at feet, +Trophies at head, and kelp for a winding-sheet. + +I invoke thy ghost, neglected fane, +Washed by the waters’ long lament; +I adjure the recumbent effigy +To tell the cenotaph’s intent— +Reveal why fagotted swords are at feet, +Why trophies appear and weeds are the winding-sheet. + +By open ports the Admiral sits, +And shares repose with guns that tell +Of power that smote the arm’d Plate Fleet +Whose sinking flag-ship’s colors fell; +But over the Admiral floats in light +His squadron’s flag, the red-cross Flag of the White. + +The eddying waters whirl astern, +The prow, a seedsman, sows the spray; +With bellying sails and buckling spars +The black hull leaves a Milky Way; +Her timbers thrill, her batteries roll, +She revelling speeds exulting with pennon at pole, + +But ah, for standards captive trailed +For all their scutcheoned castles’ pride— +Castilian towers that dominate Spain, +Naples, and either Ind beside; +Those haughty towers, armorial ones, +Rue the salute from the Admiral’s dens of guns. + +Ensigns and arms in trophy brave, +Braver for many a rent and scar, +The captor’s naval hall bedeck, +Spoil that insures an earldom’s star— +Toledoes great, grand draperies, too, +Spain’s steel and silk, and splendors from Peru. + +But crippled part in splintering fight, +The vanquished flying the victor’s flags, +With prize-crews, under convoy-guns, +Heavy the fleet from Opher drags— +The Admiral crowding sail ahead, +Foremost with news who foremost in conflict sped. + +But out from cloistral gallery dim, +In early night his glance is thrown; +He marks the vague reserve of heaven, +He feels the touch of ocean lone; +Then turns, in frame part undermined, +Nor notes the shadowing wings that fan behind. + +There, peaked and gray, three haglets fly, +And follow, follow fast in wake +Where slides the cabin-lustre shy, +And sharks from man a glamour take, +Seething along the line of light +In lane that endless rules the war-ship’s flight. + +The sea-fowl here, whose hearts none know, +They followed late the flag-ship quelled, +(As now the victor one) and long +Above her gurgling grave, shrill held +With screams their wheeling rites—then sped +Direct in silence where the victor led. + +Now winds less fleet, but fairer, blow, +A ripple laps the coppered side, +While phosphor sparks make ocean gleam, +Like camps lit up in triumph wide; +With lights and tinkling cymbals meet +Acclaiming seas the advancing conqueror greet. + +But who a flattering tide may trust, +Or favoring breeze, or aught in end?— +Careening under startling blasts +The sheeted towers of sails impend; +While, gathering bale, behind is bred +A livid storm-bow, like a rainbow dead. + +At trumpet-call the topmen spring; +And, urged by after-call in stress, +Yet other tribes of tars ascend +The rigging’s howling wilderness; +But ere yard-ends alert they win, +Hell rules in heaven with hurricane-fire and din. + +The spars, athwart at spiry height, +Like quaking Lima’s crosses rock; +Like bees the clustering sailors cling +Against the shrouds, or take the shock +Flat on the swept yard-arms aslant, +Dipped like the wheeling condor’s pinions gaunt. + +A LULL! and tongues of languid flame +Lick every boom, and lambent show +Electric ’gainst each face aloft; +The herds of clouds with bellowings go: +The black ship rears—beset—harassed, +Then plunges far with luminous antlers vast. + +In trim betimes they turn from land, +Some shivered sails and spars they stow; +One watch, dismissed, they troll the can, +While loud the billow thumps the bow— +Vies with the fist that smites the board, +Obstreperous at each reveller’s jovial word. + +Of royal oak by storms confirmed, +The tested hull her lineage shows: +Vainly the plungings whelm her prow— +She rallies, rears, she sturdier grows: +Each shot-hole plugged, each storm-sail home, +With batteries housed she rams the watery dome. + +DIM seen adrift through driving scud, +The wan moon shows in plight forlorn; +Then, pinched in visage, fades and fades +Like to the faces drowned at morn, +When deeps engulfed the flag-ship’s crew, +And, shrilling round, the inscrutable haglets flew. + +And still they fly, nor now they cry, +But constant fan a second wake, +Unflagging pinions ply and ply, +Abreast their course intent they take; +Their silence marks a stable mood, +They patient keep their eager neighborhood. + +Plumed with a smoke, a confluent sea, +Heaved in a combing pyramid full, +Spent at its climax, in collapse +Down headlong thundering stuns the hull: +The trophy drops; but, reared again, +Shows Mars’ high-altar and contemns the main. + +REBUILT it stands, the brag of arms, +Transferred in site—no thought of where +The sensitive needle keeps its place, +And starts, disturbed, a quiverer there; +The helmsman rubs the clouded glass— +Peers in, but lets the trembling portent pass. + +Let pass as well his shipmates do +(Whose dream of power no tremors jar) +Fears for the fleet convoyed astern: +“Our flag they fly, they share our star; +Spain’s galleons great in hull are stout: +Manned by our men—like us they’ll ride it out.” + +Tonight’s the night that ends the week— +Ends day and week and month and year: +A fourfold imminent flickering time, +For now the midnight draws anear: +Eight bells! and passing-bells they be— +The Old year fades, the Old Year dies at sea. + +He launched them well. But shall the New +Redeem the pledge the Old Year made, +Or prove a self-asserting heir? +But healthy hearts few qualms invade: +By shot-chests grouped in bays ’tween guns +The gossips chat, the grizzled, sea-beat ones. + +And boyish dreams some graybeards blab: +“To sea, my lads, we go no more +Who share the Acapulco prize; +We’ll all night in, and bang the door; +Our ingots red shall yield us bliss: +Lads, golden years begin to-night with this!” + +Released from deck, yet waiting call, +Glazed caps and coats baptized in storm, +A watch of Laced Sleeves round the board +Draw near in heart to keep them warm: +“Sweethearts and wives!” clink, clink, they meet, +And, quaffing, dip in wine their beards of sleet. +“Ay, let the star-light stay withdrawn, +So here her hearth-light memory fling, +So in this wine-light cheer be born, +And honor’s fellowship weld our ring— +Honor! our Admiral’s aim foretold: + +_A tomb or a trophy,_ and lo, ’t is a trophy and gold!” +But he, a unit, sole in rank, +Apart needs keep his lonely state, +The sentry at his guarded door +Mute as by vault the sculptured Fate; +Belted he sits in drowsy light, +And, hatted, nods—the Admiral of the White. + +He dozes, aged with watches passed— +Years, years of pacing to and fro; +He dozes, nor attends the stir +In bullioned standards rustling low, +Nor minds the blades whose secret thrill +Perverts overhead the magnet’s Polar will:— + +LESS heeds the shadowing three that play +And follow, follow fast in wake, +Untiring wing and lidless eye— +Abreast their course intent they take; +Or sigh or sing, they hold for good +The unvarying flight and fixed inveterate mood. + +In dream at last his dozings merge, +In dream he reaps his victor’s fruit; +The Flags-o’-the-Blue, the Flags-o’-the-Red, +Dipped flags of his country’s fleets salute +His Flag-o’-the-White in harbor proud— +But why should it blench? Why turn to a painted shroud? + +The hungry seas they hound the hull, +The sharks they dog the haglets’ flight; +With one consent the winds, the waves +In hunt with fins and wings unite, +While drear the harps in cordage sound +Remindful wails for old Armadas drowned. + +Ha—yonder! are they Northern Lights? +Or signals flashed to warn or ward? +Yea, signals lanced in breakers high; +But doom on warning follows hard: +While yet they veer in hope to shun, +They strike! and thumps of hull and heart are one. + +But beating hearts a drum-beat calls +And prompt the men to quarters go; +Discipline, curbing nature, rules— +Heroic makes who duty know: +They execute the trump’s command, +Or in peremptory places wait and stand. + +Yet cast about in blind amaze— +As through their watery shroud they peer: +“We tacked from land: then how betrayed? +Have currents swerved us—snared us here?” +None heed the blades that clash in place +Under lamps dashed down that lit the magnet’s case. + +Ah, what may live, who mighty swim, +Or boat-crew reach that shore forbid, +Or cable span? Must victors drown— +Perish, even as the vanquished did? +Man keeps from man the stifled moan; +They shouldering stand, yet each in heart how lone. + +Some heaven invoke; but rings of reefs +Prayer and despair alike deride +In dance of breakers forked or peaked, +Pale maniacs of the maddened tide; +While, strenuous yet some end to earn, +The haglets spin, though now no more astern. + +Like shuttles hurrying in the looms +Aloft through rigging frayed they ply— +Cross and recross—weave and inweave, +Then lock the web with clinching cry +Over the seas on seas that clasp +The weltering wreck where gurgling ends the gasp. + +Ah, for the Plate-Fleet trophy now, +The victor’s voucher, flags and arms; +Never they’ll hang in Abbey old +And take Time’s dust with holier palms; +Nor less content, in liquid night, +Their captor sleeps—the Admiral of the White. + +Imbedded deep with shells +And drifted treasure deep, +Forever he sinks deeper in +Unfathomable sleep— +His cannon round him thrown, +His sailors at his feet, +The wizard sea enchanting them +Where never haglets beat. + +On nights when meteors play +And light the breakers dance, +The Oreads from the caves +With silvery elves advance; +And up from ocean stream, +And down from heaven far, +The rays that blend in dream +The abysm and the star. + + + + +THE AEOLIAN HARP + + +_At The Surf Inn_ + + +List the harp in window wailing + Stirred by fitful gales from sea: +Shrieking up in mad crescendo— + Dying down in plaintive key! + +Listen: less a strain ideal +Than Ariel’s rendering of the Real. + What that Real is, let hint + A picture stamped in memory’s mint. + +Braced well up, with beams aslant, +Betwixt the continents sails the _Phocion,_ +For Baltimore bound from Alicant. +Blue breezy skies white fleeces fleck +Over the chill blue white-capped ocean: +From yard-arm comes—“Wreck ho, a wreck!” + +Dismasted and adrift, +Longtime a thing forsaken; +Overwashed by every wave +Like the slumbering kraken; +Heedless if the billow roar, +Oblivious of the lull, +Leagues and leagues from shoal or shore, +It swims—a levelled hull: +Bulwarks gone—a shaven wreck, +Nameless and a grass-green deck. +A lumberman: perchance, in hold +Prostrate pines with hemlocks rolled. + +It has drifted, waterlogged, +Till by trailing weeds beclogged: + Drifted, drifted, day by day, + Pilotless on pathless way. +It has drifted till each plank +Is oozy as the oyster-bank: + Drifted, drifted, night by night, + Craft that never shows a light; +Nor ever, to prevent worse knell, +Tolls in fog the warning bell. + +From collision never shrinking, +Drive what may through darksome smother; +Saturate, but never sinking, +Fatal only to the _other!_ + Deadlier than the sunken reef +Since still the snare it shifteth, + Torpid in dumb ambuscade +Waylayingly it drifteth. + +O, the sailors—O, the sails! +O, the lost crews never heard of! +Well the harp of Ariel wails +Thought that tongue can tell no word of! + + + + +TO THE MASTER OF THE _METEOR_ + + +Lonesome on earth’s loneliest deep, +Sailor! who dost thy vigil keep— +Off the Cape of Storms dost musing sweep +Over monstrous waves that curl and comb; +Of thee we think when here from brink +We blow the mead in bubbling foam. + +Of thee we think, in a ring we link; +To the shearer of ocean’s fleece we drink, +And the _Meteor_ rolling home. + + + + +FAR OFF-SHORE + + +Look, the raft, a signal flying, + Thin—a shred; +None upon the lashed spars lying, + Quick or dead. + +Cries the sea-fowl, hovering over, + “Crew, the crew?” +And the billow, reckless, rover, + Sweeps anew! + + + + +THE MAN-OF-WAR HAWK + + +Yon black man-of-war-hawk that wheels in the light +O’er the black ship’s white sky-s’l, sunned cloud to the sight, +Have we low-flyers wings to ascend to his height? +No arrow can reach him; nor thought can attain +To the placid supreme in the sweep of his reign. + + + + +THE FIGURE-HEAD + + +The _Charles-and-Emma_ seaward sped, +(Named from the carven pair at prow,) +He so smart, and a curly head, +She tricked forth as a bride knows how: + Pretty stem for the port, I trow! + +But iron-rust and alum-spray +And chafing gear, and sun and dew +Vexed this lad and lassie gay, +Tears in their eyes, salt tears nor few; + And the hug relaxed with the failing glue. + +But came in end a dismal night, +With creaking beams and ribs that groan, +A black lee-shore and waters white: +Dropped on the reef, the pair lie prone: + O, the breakers dance, but the winds they moan! + + + + +THE GOOD CRAFT _SNOW BIRD_ + + +Strenuous need that head-wind be + From purposed voyage that drives at last +The ship, sharp-braced and dogged still, + Beating up against the blast. + +Brigs that figs for market gather, + Homeward-bound upon the stretch, +Encounter oft this uglier weather + Yet in end their port they fetch. + +Mark yon craft from sunny Smyrna + Glazed with ice in Boston Bay; +Out they toss the fig-drums cheerly, + Livelier for the frosty ray. + +What if sleet off-shore assailed her, + What though ice yet plate her yards; +In wintry port not less she renders + Summer’s gift with warm regards! + +And, look, the underwriters’ man, + Timely, when the stevedore’s done, +Puts on his _specs_ to pry and scan, +And sets her down—_A, No. 1._ + +Bravo, master! Bravo, brig! + For slanting snows out of the West +Never the _Snow-Bird_ cares one fig; + And foul winds steady her, though a pest. + + + + +OLD COUNSEL + + +_Of The Young Master of a Wrecked California Clipper_ + + +Come out of the Golden Gate, + Go round the Horn with streamers, +Carry royals early and late; +But, brother, be not over-elate— + _All hands save ship!_ has startled dreamers. + + + + +THE TUFT OF KELP + + +All dripping in tangles green, + Cast up by a lonely sea +If purer for that, O Weed, + Bitterer, too, are ye? + + + + +THE MALDIVE SHARK + + +About the Shark, phlegmatical one, +Pale sot of the Maldive sea, +The sleek little pilot-fish, azure and slim, +How alert in attendance be. +From his saw-pit of mouth, from his charnel of maw +They have nothing of harm to dread, +But liquidly glide on his ghastly flank +Or before his Gorgonian head: +Or lurk in the port of serrated teeth +In white triple tiers of glittering gates, +And there find a haven when peril’s abroad, +An asylum in jaws of the Fates! +They are friends; and friendly they guide him to prey, +Yet never partake of the treat— +Eyes and brains to the dotard lethargic and dull, +Pale ravener of horrible meat. + + + + +TO NED + + +Where is the world we roved, Ned Bunn? + Hollows thereof lay rich in shade +By voyagers old inviolate thrown + Ere Paul Pry cruised with Pelf and Trade. +To us old lads some thoughts come home +Who roamed a world young lads no more shall roam. + +Nor less the satiate year impends + When, wearying of routine-resorts, +The pleasure-hunter shall break loose, + Ned, for our Pantheistic ports:— +Marquesas and glenned isles that be +Authentic Edens in a Pagan sea. + +The charm of scenes untried shall lure, +And, Ned, a legend urge the flight— +The Typee-truants under stars +Unknown to Shakespere’s _Midsummer-Night;_ +And man, if lost to Saturn’s Age, +Yet feeling life no Syrian pilgrimage. + +But, tell, shall he, the tourist, find + Our isles the same in violet-glow +Enamoring us what years and years— + Ah, Ned, what years and years ago! +Well, Adam advances, smart in pace, +But scarce by violets that advance you trace. + +But we, in anchor-watches calm, + The Indian Psyche’s languor won, +And, musing, breathed primeval balm + From Edens ere yet overrun; +Marvelling mild if mortal twice, +Here and hereafter, touch a Paradise. + + + + +CROSSING THE TROPICS + + +_From “The Saya-y-Manto.”_ + + +While now the Pole Star sinks from sight + The Southern Cross it climbs the sky; +But losing thee, my love, my light, +O bride but for one bridal night, + The loss no rising joys supply. + +Love, love, the Trade Winds urge abaft, +And thee, from thee, they steadfast waft. + +By day the blue and silver sea + And chime of waters blandly fanned— +Nor these, nor Gama’s stars to me +May yield delight since still for thee + I long as Gama longed for land. + +I yearn, I yearn, reverting turn, +My heart it streams in wake astern +When, cut by slanting sleet, we swoop + Where raves the world’s inverted year, +If roses all your porch shall loop, +Not less your heart for me will droop + Doubling the world’s last outpost drear. + +O love, O love, these oceans vast: +Love, love, it is as death were past! + + + + +THE BERG + + +_A Dream_ + + +I saw a ship of martial build +(Her standards set, her brave apparel on) +Directed as by madness mere +Against a stolid iceberg steer, +Nor budge it, though the infatuate ship went down. +The impact made huge ice-cubes fall +Sullen, in tons that crashed the deck; +But that one avalanche was all +No other movement save the foundering wreck. + +Along the spurs of ridges pale, +Not any slenderest shaft and frail, +A prism over glass—green gorges lone, +Toppled; nor lace of traceries fine, +Nor pendant drops in grot or mine +Were jarred, when the stunned ship went down. +Nor sole the gulls in cloud that wheeled +Circling one snow-flanked peak afar, +But nearer fowl the floes that skimmed +And crystal beaches, felt no jar. +No thrill transmitted stirred the lock +Of jack-straw needle-ice at base; +Towers undermined by waves—the block +Atilt impending—kept their place. +Seals, dozing sleek on sliddery ledges +Slipt never, when by loftier edges +Through very inertia overthrown, +The impetuous ship in bafflement went down. +Hard Berg (methought), so cold, so vast, +With mortal damps self-overcast; +Exhaling still thy dankish breath— +Adrift dissolving, bound for death; +Though lumpish thou, a lumbering one— +A lumbering lubbard loitering slow, +Impingers rue thee and go down, +Sounding thy precipice below, +Nor stir the slimy slug that sprawls +Along thy dense stolidity of walls. + + + + +THE ENVIABLE ISLES + + +_From “Rammon.”_ + + +Through storms you reach them and from storms are free. + Afar descried, the foremost drear in hue, +But, nearer, green; and, on the marge, the sea + Makes thunder low and mist of rainbowed dew. + +But, inland, where the sleep that folds the hills +A dreamier sleep, the trance of God, instills— + On uplands hazed, in wandering airs aswoon, +Slow-swaying palms salute love’s cypress tree + Adown in vale where pebbly runlets croon +A song to lull all sorrow and all glee. + +Sweet-fern and moss in many a glade are here. + Where, strewn in flocks, what cheek-flushed myriads lie +Dimpling in dream—unconscious slumberers mere, + While billows endless round the beaches die. + + + + +PEBBLES + + +I + + +Though the Clerk of the Weather insist, + And lay down the weather-law, +Pintado and gannet they wist +That the winds blow whither they list + In tempest or flaw. + + +II + + +Old are the creeds, but stale the schools, + Revamped as the mode may veer, +But Orm from the schools to the beaches strays +And, finding a Conch hoar with time, he delays + And reverent lifts it to ear. +That Voice, pitched in far monotone, + Shall it swerve? shall it deviate ever? +The Seas have inspired it, and Truth— + Truth, varying from sameness never. + + +III + + +In hollows of the liquid hills + Where the long Blue Ridges run, +The flattery of no echo thrills, + For echo the seas have none; +Nor aught that gives man back man’s strain— +The hope of his heart, the dream in his brain. + + +IV + + +On ocean where the embattled fleets repair, +Man, suffering inflictor, sails on sufferance there. + + +V + + +Implacable I, the old Implacable Sea: + Implacable most when most I smile serene— +Pleased, not appeased, by myriad wrecks in me. + + +VI + + +Curled in the comb of yon billow Andean, + Is it the Dragon’s heaven-challenging crest? +Elemental mad ramping of ravening waters— + Yet Christ on the Mount, and the dove in her nest! + + +VII + + +Healed of my hurt, I laud the inhuman Sea— +Yea, bless the Angels Four that there convene; +For healed I am ever by their pitiless breath +Distilled in wholesome dew named rosmarine. + + + + +POEMS FROM TIMOLEON + + + + +LINES TRACED UNDER AN IMAGE OF AMOR THREATENING + + +Fear me, virgin whosoever +Taking pride from love exempt, + Fear me, slighted. Never, never +Brave me, nor my fury tempt: +Downy wings, but wroth they beat +Tempest even in reason’s seat. + + + + +THE NIGHT MARCH + + +With banners furled and clarions mute, + An army passes in the night; +And beaming spears and helms salute + The dark with bright. + +In silence deep the legions stream, + With open ranks, in order true; +Over boundless plains they stream and gleam— + No chief in view! + +Afar, in twinkling distance lost, + (So legends tell) he lonely wends +And back through all that shining host + His mandate sends. + + + + +THE RAVAGED VILLA + + +In shards the sylvan vases lie, + Their links of dance undone, +And brambles wither by thy brim, + Choked fountain of the sun! +The spider in the laurel spins, + The weed exiles the flower: +And, flung to kiln, Apollo’s bust + Makes lime for Mammon’s tower. + + + + +THE NEW ZEALOT TO THE SUN + + +Persian, you rise +Aflame from climes of sacrifice + Where adulators sue, +And prostrate man, with brow abased, +Adheres to rites whose tenor traced + All worship hitherto. + + Arch type of sway, +Meetly your over-ruling ray + You fling from Asia’s plain, +Whence flashed the javelins abroad +Of many a wild incursive horde + Led by some shepherd Cain. + + Mid terrors dinned +Gods too came conquerors from your Ind, + The book of Brahma throve; +They came like to the scythed car, +Westward they rolled their empire far, + Of night their purple wove. + + Chemist, you breed +In orient climes each sorcerous weed + That energizes dream— +Transmitted, spread in myths and creeds, +Houris and hells, delirious screeds + And Calvin’s last extreme. + + What though your light +In time’s first dawn compelled the flight + Of Chaos’ startled clan, +Shall never all your darted spears +Disperse worse Anarchs, frauds and fears, + Sprung from these weeds to man? + + But Science yet +An effluence ampler shall beget, + And power beyond your play— +Shall quell the shades you fail to rout, +Yea, searching every secret out + Elucidate your ray. + + + + +MONODY + + +To have known him, to have loved him + After loneness long; +And then to be estranged in life, + And neither in the wrong; +And now for death to set his seal— + Ease me, a little ease, my song! + +By wintry hills his hermit-mound + The sheeted snow-drifts drape, +And houseless there the snow-bird flits + Beneath the fir-trees’ crape: +Glazed now with ice the cloistral vine + That hid the shyest grape. + + + + +LONE FOUNTS + + +Though fast youth’s glorious fable flies, +View not the world with worldling’s eyes; +Nor turn with weather of the time. +Foreclose the coming of surprise: +Stand where Posterity shall stand; +Stand where the Ancients stood before, +And, dipping in lone founts thy hand, +Drink of the never-varying lore: +Wise once, and wise thence evermore. + + + + +THE BENCH OF BOORS + + +In bed I muse on Tenier’s boors, +Embrowned and beery losels all; + A wakeful brain + Elaborates pain: +Within low doors the slugs of boors +Laze and yawn and doze again. + +In dreams they doze, the drowsy boors, +Their hazy hovel warm and small: + Thought’s ampler bound + But chill is found: +Within low doors the basking boors +Snugly hug the ember-mound. + +Sleepless, I see the slumberous boors +Their blurred eyes blink, their eyelids fall: + Thought’s eager sight + Aches—overbright! +Within low doors the boozy boors +Cat-naps take in pipe-bowl light. + + + + +ART + + +In placid hours well-pleased we dream +Of many a brave unbodied scheme. +But form to lend, pulsed life create, +What unlike things must meet and mate: +A flame to melt—a wind to freeze; +Sad patience—joyous energies; +Humility—yet pride and scorn; +Instinct and study; love and hate; +Audacity—reverence. These must mate, +And fuse with Jacob’s mystic heart, +To wrestle with the angel—Art. + + + + +THE ENTHUSIAST + + +_“Though He slay me yet will I trust in Him.”_ + + +Shall hearts that beat no base retreat + In youth’s magnanimous years— +Ignoble hold it, if discreet + When interest tames to fears; +Shall spirits that worship light + Perfidious deem its sacred glow, + Recant, and trudge where worldlings go, +Conform and own them right? + +Shall Time with creeping influence cold + Unnerve and cow? the heart +Pine for the heartless ones enrolled + With palterers of the mart? +Shall faith abjure her skies, + Or pale probation blench her down + To shrink from Truth so still, so lone +Mid loud gregarious lies? + +Each burning boat in Caesar’s rear, + Flames—No return through me! +So put the torch to ties though dear, + If ties but tempters be. +Nor cringe if come the night: + Walk through the cloud to meet the pall, + Though light forsake thee, never fall +From fealty to light. + + + + +SHELLEY’S VISION + + +Wandering late by morning seas + When my heart with pain was low— +Hate the censor pelted me— + Deject I saw my shadow go. + +In elf-caprice of bitter tone +I too would pelt the pelted one: +At my shadow I cast a stone. + +When lo, upon that sun-lit ground + I saw the quivering phantom take +The likeness of St. Stephen crowned: + Then did self-reverence awake. + + + + +THE MARCHIONESS OF BRINVILLIERS + + +He toned the sprightly beam of morning + With twilight meek of tender eve, +Brightness interfused with softness, + Light and shade did weave: +And gave to candor equal place +With mystery starred in open skies; +And, floating all in sweetness, made + Her fathomless mild eyes. + + + + +THE AGE OF THE ANTONINES + + +While faith forecasts millennial years + Spite Europe’s embattled lines, +Back to the Past one glance be cast— + The Age of the Antonines! +O summit of fate, O zenith of time +When a pagan gentleman reigned, +And the olive was nailed to the inn of the world +Nor the peace of the just was feigned. + A halcyon Age, afar it shines, + Solstice of Man and the Antonines. + +Hymns to the nations’ friendly gods +Went up from the fellowly shrines, +No demagogue beat the pulpit-drum + In the Age of the Antonines! +The sting was not dreamed to be taken from death, +No Paradise pledged or sought, +But they reasoned of fate at the flowing feast, +Nor stifled the fluent thought, + We sham, we shuffle while faith declines— + They were frank in the Age of the Antonines. + +Orders and ranks they kept degree, +Few felt how the parvenu pines, +No law-maker took the lawless one’s fee + In the Age of the Antonines! +Under law made will the world reposed +And the ruler’s right confessed, +For the heavens elected the Emperor then, +The foremost of men the best. + Ah, might we read in America’s signs + The Age restored of the Antonines. + + + + +HERBA SANTA + + +I + + +After long wars when comes release +Not olive wands proclaiming peace + Can import dearer share +Than stems of Herba Santa hazed + In autumn’s Indian air. +Of moods they breathe that care disarm, +They pledge us lenitive and calm. + + +II + + +Shall code or creed a lure afford +To win all selves to Love’s accord? +When Love ordained a supper divine + For the wide world of man, +What bickerings o’er his gracious wine! + Then strange new feuds began. + +Effectual more in lowlier way, + Pacific Herb, thy sensuous plea +The bristling clans of Adam sway + At least to fellowship in thee! +Before thine altar tribal flags are furled, +Fain wouldst thou make one hearthstone of the world. + + +III + + +To scythe, to sceptre, pen and hod— + Yea, sodden laborers dumb; +To brains overplied, to feet that plod, +In solace of the _Truce of God_ + The Calumet has come! + + +IV + + +Ah for the world ere Raleigh’s find + Never that knew this suasive balm +That helps when Gilead’s fails to heal, + Helps by an interserted charm. + +Insinuous thou that through the nerve + Windest the soul, and so canst win +Some from repinings, some from sin, + The Church’s aim thou dost subserve. + +The ruffled fag fordone with care + And brooding, God would ease this pain: +Him soothest thou and smoothest down + Till some content return again. + +Even ruffians feel thy influence breed + Saint Martin’s summer in the mind, +They feel this last evangel plead, +As did the first, apart from creed, + Be peaceful, man—be kind! + + +V + + +Rejected once on higher plain, +O Love supreme, to come again + Can this be thine? +Again to come, and win us too + In likeness of a weed +That as a god didst vainly woo, + As man more vainly bleed? + + +VI + + +Forbear, my soul! and in thine Eastern chamber + Rehearse the dream that brings the long release: +Through jasmine sweet and talismanic amber + Inhaling Herba Santa in the passive Pipe of Peace. + + + + +OFF CAPE COLONNA + + +Aloof they crown the foreland lone, + From aloft they loftier rise— +Fair columns, in the aureole rolled + From sunned Greek seas and skies. +They wax, sublimed to fancy’s view, +A god-like group against the blue. + +Over much like gods! Serene they saw + The wolf-waves board the deck, +And headlong hull of Falconer, + And many a deadlier wreck. + + + + +THE APPARITION + + +_The Parthenon uplifted on its rock first challenging the view on the +approach to Athens._ + + +Abrupt the supernatural Cross, + Vivid in startled air, +Smote the Emperor Constantine +And turned his soul’s allegiance there. + +With other power appealing down, + Trophy of Adam’s best! +If cynic minds you scarce convert, +You try them, shake them, or molest. + +Diogenes, that honest heart, + Lived ere your date began; +Thee had he seen, he might have swerved +In mood nor barked so much at Man. + + + + +L’ENVOI + + +_The Return of the Sire de Nesle._ +A.D. 16 + + +My towers at last! These rovings end, +Their thirst is slaked in larger dearth: +The yearning infinite recoils, + For terrible is earth. + +Kaf thrusts his snouted crags through fog: +Araxes swells beyond his span, +And knowledge poured by pilgrimage + Overflows the banks of man. + +But thou, my stay, thy lasting love +One lonely good, let this but be! +Weary to view the wide world’s swarm, + But blest to fold but thee. + + + + +SUPPLEMENT + + +Were I fastidiously anxious for the symmetry of this book, it would +close with the notes. But the times are such that patriotism—not free +from solicitude—urges a claim overriding all literary scruples. + +It is more than a year since the memorable surrender, but events have +not yet rounded themselves into completion. Not justly can we complain +of this. There has been an upheaval affecting the basis of things; to +altered circumstances complicated adaptations are to be made; there are +difficulties great and novel. But is Reason still waiting for Passion +to spend itself? We have sung of the soldiers and sailors, but who +shall hymn the politicians? + +In view of the infinite desirableness of Re-establishment, and +considering that, so far as feeling is concerned, it depends not mainly +on the temper in which the South regards the North, but rather +conversely; one who never was a blind adherent feels constrained to +submit some thoughts, counting on the indulgence of his countrymen. + +And, first, it may be said that, if among the feelings and opinions +growing immediately out of a great civil convulsion, there are any +which time shall modify or do away, they are presumably those of a less +temperate and charitable cast. + +There seems no reason why patriotism and narrowness should go together, +or why intellectual impartiality should be confounded with political +trimming, or why serviceable truth should keep cloistered because not +partisan. Yet the work of Reconstruction, if admitted to be feasible at +all, demands little but common sense and Christian charity. Little but +these? These are much. + +Some of us are concerned because as yet the South shows no penitence. +But what exactly do we mean by this? Since down to the close of the war +she never confessed any for braving it, the only penitence now left her +is that which springs solely from the sense of discomfiture; and since +this evidently would be a contrition hypocritical, it would be unworthy +in us to demand it. Certain it is that penitence, in the sense of +voluntary humiliation, will never be displayed. Nor does this afford +just ground for unreserved condemnation. It is enough, for all +practical purposes, if the South have been taught by the terrors of +civil war to feel that Secession, like Slavery, is against Destiny; +that both now lie buried in one grave; that her fate is linked with +ours; and that together we comprise the Nation. + +The clouds of heroes who battled for the Union it is needless to +eulogize here. But how of the soldiers on the other side? And when of a +free community we name the soldiers, we thereby name the people. It was +in subserviency to the slave-interest that Secession was plotted; but +it was under the plea, plausibly urged, that certain inestimable rights +guaranteed by the Constitution were directly menaced, that the people +of the South were cajoled into revolution. Through the arts of the +conspirators and the perversity of fortune, the most sensitive love of +liberty was entrapped into the support of a war whose implied end was +the erecting in our advanced century of an Anglo-American empire based +upon the systematic degradation of man. + +Spite this clinging reproach, however, signal military virtues and +achievements have conferred upon the Confederate arms historic fame, +and upon certain of the commanders a renown extending beyond the sea—a +renown which we of the North could not suppress, even if we would. In +personal character, also, not a few of the military leaders of the +South enforce forbearance; the memory of others the North refrains from +disparaging; and some, with more or less of reluctance, she can +respect. Posterity, sympathizing with our convictions, but removed from +our passions, may perhaps go farther here. If George IV could, out of +the graceful instinct of a gentleman, raise an honorable monument in +the great fane of Christendom over the remains of the enemy of his +dynasty, Charles Edward, the invader of England and victor in the rout +of Preston Pans—upon whose head the king’s ancestor but one reign +removed had set a price—is it probable that the granchildren of General +Grant will pursue with rancor, or slur by sour neglect, the memory of +Stonewall Jackson? + +But the South herself is not wanting in recent histories and +biographies which record the deeds of her chieftains—writings freely +published at the North by loyal houses, widely read here, and with a +deep though saddened interest. By students of the war such works are +hailed as welcome accessories, and tending to the completeness of the +record. + +Supposing a happy issue out of present perplexities, then, in the +generation next to come, Southerners there will be yielding allegiance +to the Union, feeling all their interests bound up in it, and yet +cherishing unrebuked that kind of feeling for the memory of the +soldiers of the fallen Confederacy that Burns, Scott, and the Ettrick +Shepherd felt for the memory of the gallant clansmen ruined through +their fidelity to the Stuarts—a feeling whose passion was tempered by +the poetry imbuing it, and which in no wise affected their loyalty to +the Georges, and which, it may be added, indirectly contributed +excellent things to literature. But, setting this view aside, +dishonorable would it be in the South were she willing to abandon to +shame the memory of brave men who with signal personal +disinterestedness warred in her behalf, though from motives, as we +believe, so deplorably astray. + +Patriotism is not baseness, neither is it inhumanity. The mourners who +this summer bear flowers to the mounds of the Virginian and Georgian +dead are, in their domestic bereavement and proud affection, as sacred +in the eye of Heaven as are those who go with similar offerings of +tender grief and love into the cemeteries of our Northern martyrs. And +yet, in one aspect, how needless to point the contrast. + +Cherishing such sentiments, it will hardly occasion surprise that, in +looking over the battle-pieces in the foregoing collection, I have been +tempted to withdraw or modify some of them, fearful lest in presenting, +though but dramatically and by way of poetic record, the passions and +epithets of civil war, I might be contributing to a bitterness which +every sensible American must wish at an end. So, too, with the emotion +of victory as reproduced on some pages, and particularly toward the +close. It should not be construed into an exultation misapplied—an +exultation as ungenerous as unwise, and made to minister, however +indirectly, to that kind of censoriousness too apt to be produced in +certain natures by success after trying reverses. Zeal is not of +necessity religion, neither is it always of the same essence with +poetry or patriotism. + +There are excesses which marked the conflict, most of which are perhaps +inseparable from a civil strife so intense and prolonged, and involving +warfare in some border countries new and imperfectly civilized. +Barbarities also there were, for which the Southern people collectively +can hardly be held responsible, though perpetrated by ruffians in their +name. But surely other qualities—exalted ones—courage and fortitude +matchless, were likewise displayed, and largely; and justly may these +be held the characteristic traits, and not the former. + +In this view, what Northern writer, however patriotic, but must revolt +from acting on paper a part any way akin to that of the live dog to the +dead lion; and yet it is right to rejoice for our triumphs, so far as +it may justly imply an advance for our whole country and for humanity. + +Let it be held no reproach to any one that he pleads for reasonable +consideration for our late enemies, now stricken down and unavoidably +debarred, for the time, from speaking through authorized agencies for +themselves. Nothing has been urged here in the foolish hope of +conciliating those men—few in number, we trust—who have resolved never +to be reconciled to the Union. On such hearts everything is thrown away +except it be religious commiseration, and the sincerest. Yet let them +call to mind that unhappy Secessionist, not a military man, who with +impious alacrity fired the first shot of the Civil War at Sumter, and a +little more than four years afterward fired the last one into his heart +at Richmond. + +Noble was the gesture into which patriotic passion surprised the people +in a utilitarian time and country; yet the glory of the war falls short +of its pathos—a pathos which now at last ought to disarm all animosity. + +How many and earnest thoughts still rise, and how hard to repress them. +We feel what past years have been, and years, unretarded years, shall +come. May we all have moderation; may we all show candor. Though, +perhaps, nothing could ultimately have averted the strife, and though +to treat of human actions is to deal wholly with second causes, +nevertheless, let us not cover up or try to extenuate what, humanly +speaking, is the truth—namely, that those unfraternal denunciations, +continued through years, and which at last inflamed to deeds that ended +in bloodshed, were reciprocal; and that, had the preponderating +strength and the prospect of its unlimited increase lain on the other +side, on ours might have lain those actions which now in our late +opponents we stigmatize under the name of Rebellion. As frankly let us +own—what it would be unbecoming to parade were foreigners concerned— +that our triumph was won not more by skill and bravery than by superior +resources and crushing numbers; that it was a triumph, too, over a +people for years politically misled by designing men, and also by some +honestly-erring men, who from their position could not have been +otherwise than broadly influential; a people who, though, indeed, they +sought to perpetuate the curse of slavery, and even extend it, were not +the authors of it, but (less fortunate, not less righteous than we), +were the fated inheritors; a people who, having a like origin with +ourselves, share essentially in whatever worthy qualities we may +possess. No one can add to the lasting reproach which hopeless defeat +has now cast upon Secession by withholding the recognition of these +verities. + +Surely we ought to take it to heart that that kind of pacification, +based upon principles operating equally all over the land, which lovers +of their country yearn for, and which our arms, though signally +triumphant, did not bring about, and which lawmaking, however anxious, +or energetic, or repressive, never by itself can achieve, may yet be +largely aided by generosity of sentiment public and private. Some +revisionary legislation and adaptive is indispensable; but with this +should harmoniously work another kind of prudence, not unallied with +entire magnanimity. Benevolence and policy—Christianity and +Machiavelli—dissuade from penal severities toward the subdued. +Abstinence here is as obligatory as considerate care for our +unfortunate fellowmen late in bonds, and, if observed, would equally +prove to be wise forecast. The great qualities of the South, those +attested in the War, we can perilously alienate, or we may make them +nationally available at need. + +The blacks, in their infant pupilage to freedom, appeal to the +sympathies of every humane mind. The paternal guardianship which for +the interval government exercises over them was prompted equally by +duty and benevolence. Yet such kindliness should not be allowed to +exclude kindliness to communities who stand nearer to us in nature. For +the future of the freed slaves we may well be concerned; but the future +of the whole country, involving the future of the blacks, urges a +paramount claim upon our anxiety. Effective benignity, like the Nile, +is not narrow in its bounty, and true policy is always broad. To be +sure, it is vain to seek to glide, with moulded words, over the +difficulties of the situation. And for them who are neither partisans, +nor enthusiasts, nor theorists, nor cynics, there are some doubts not +readily to be solved. And there are fears. Why is not the cessation of +war now at length attended with the settled calm of peace? Wherefore in +a clear sky do we still turn our eyes toward the South as the +Neapolitan, months after the eruption, turns his toward Vesuvius? Do we +dread lest the repose may be deceptive? In the recent convulsion has +the crater but shifted Let us revere that sacred uncertainty which +forever impends over men and nations. Those of us who always abhorred +slavery as an atheistical iniquity, gladly we join in the exulting +chorus of humanity over its downfall. But we should remember that +emancipation was accomplished not by deliberate legislation; only +through agonized violence could so mighty a result be effected. In our +natural solicitude to confirm the benefit of liberty to the blacks, let +us forbear from measures of dubious constitutional rightfulness toward +our white countrymen—measures of a nature to provoke, among other of +the last evils, exterminating hatred of race toward race. In +imagination let us place ourselves in the unprecedented position of the +Southerners—their position as regards the millions of ignorant +manumitted slaves in their midst, for whom some of us now claim the +suffrage. Let us be Christians toward our fellow-whites, as well as +philanthropists toward the blacks, our fellow-men. In all things, and +toward all, we are enjoined to do as we would be done by. Nor should we +forget that benevolent desires, after passing a certain point, can not +undertake their own fulfillment without incurring the risk of evils +beyond those sought to be remedied. Something may well be left to the +graduated care of future legislation, and to heaven. In one point of +view the co-existence of the two races in the South, whether the negro +be bond or free, seems (even as it did to Abraham Lincoln) a grave +evil. Emancipation has ridded the country of the reproach, but not +wholly of the calamity. Especially in the present transition period for +both races in the South, more or less of trouble may not unreasonably +be anticipated; but let us not hereafter be too swift to charge the +blame exclusively in any one quarter. With certain evils men must be +more or less patient. Our institutions have a potent digestion, and may +in time convert and assimilate to good all elements thrown in, however +originally alien. + +But, so far as immediate measures looking toward permanent Re- +establishment are concerned, no consideration should tempt us to +pervert the national victory into oppression for the vanquished. Should +plausible promise of eventual good, or a deceptive or spurious sense of +duty, lead us to essay this, count we must on serious consequences, not +the least of which would be divisions among the Northern adherents of +the Union. Assuredly, if any honest Catos there be who thus far have +gone with us, no longer will they do so, but oppose us, and as +resolutely as hitherto they have supported. But this path of thought +leads toward those waters of bitterness from which one can only turn +aside and be silent. + +But supposing Re-establishment so far advanced that the Southern seats +in Congress are occupied, and by men qualified in accordance with those +cardinal principles of representative government which hitherto have +prevailed in the land—what then? Why, the Congressmen elected by the +people of the South will—represent the people of the South. This may +seem a flat conclusion; but, in view of the last five years, may there +not be latent significance in it? What will be the temper of those +Southern members? and, confronted by them, what will be the mood of our +own representatives? In private life true reconciliation seldom follows +a violent quarrel; but, if subsequent intercourse be unavoidable, nice +observances and mutual are indispensable to the prevention of a new +rupture. Amity itself can only be maintained by reciprocal respect, and +true friends are punctilious equals. On the floor of Congress North and +South are to come together after a passionate duel, in which the South, +though proving her valor, has been made to bite the dust. Upon +differences in debate shall acrimonious recriminations be exchanged? +Shall censorious superiority assumed by one section provoke defiant +self-assertion on the other? Shall Manassas and Chickamauga be retorted +for Chattanooga and Richmond? Under the supposition that the full +Congress will be composed of gentlemen, all this is impossible. Yet, if +otherwise, it needs no prophet of Israel to foretell the end. The +maintenance of Congressional decency in the future will rest mainly +with the North. Rightly will more forbearance be required from the +North than the South, for the North is victor. + +But some there are who may deem these latter thoughts inapplicable, and +for this reason: Since the test-oath operatively excludes from Congress +all who in any way participated in Secession, therefore none but +Southerners wholly in harmony with the North are eligible to seats. +This is true for the time being. But the oath is alterable; and in the +wonted fluctuations of parties not improbably it will undergo +alteration, assuming such a form, perhaps, as not to bar the admission +into the National Legislature of men who represent the populations +lately in revolt. Such a result would involve no violation of the +principles of democratic government. Not readily can one perceive how +the political existence of the millions of late Secessionists can +permanently be ignored by this Republic. The years of the war tried our +devotion to the Union; the time of peace may test the sincerity of our +faith in democracy. + +In no spirit of opposition, not by way of challenge, is anything here +thrown out. These thoughts are sincere ones; they seem natural— +inevitable. Here and there they must have suggested themselves to many +thoughtful patriots. And, if they be just thoughts, ere long they must +have that weight with the public which already they have had with +individuals. + +For that heroic band—those children of the furnace who, in regions like +Texas and Tennessee, maintained their fidelity through terrible +trials—we of the North felt for them, and profoundly we honor them. Yet +passionate sympathy, with resentments so close as to be almost domestic +in their bitterness, would hardly in the present juncture tend to +discreet legislation. Were the Unionists and Secessionists but as +Guelphs and Ghibellines? If not, then far be it from a great nation now +to act in the spirit that animated a triumphant town-faction in the +Middle Ages. But crowding thoughts must at last be checked; and, in +times like the present, one who desires to be impartially just in the +expression of his views, moves as among sword-points presented on every +side. + +Let us pray that the terrible historic tragedy of our time may not have +been enacted without instructing our whole beloved country through +terror and pity; and may fulfillment verify in the end those +expectations which kindle the bards of Progress and Humanity. + + + + +POEMS FROM BATTLE PIECES + + + + +THE PORTENT + + +1859 + + +Hanging from the beam, + Slowly swaying (such the law), +Gaunt the shadow on your green, + Shenandoah! +The cut is on the crown +(Lo, John Brown), +And the stabs shall heal no more. + +Hidden in the cap + Is the anguish none can draw; +So your future veils its face, + Shenandoah! +But the streaming beard is shown +(Weird John Brown), +The meteor of the war. + + + + +FROM THE CONFLICT OF CONVICTIONS + + +1860-1 + + +The Ancient of Days forever is young, + Forever the scheme of Nature thrives; +I know a wind in purpose strong— + It spins _against_ the way it drives. +What if the gulfs their slimed foundations bare? +So deep must the stones be hurled +Whereon the throes of ages rear +The final empire and the happier world. + + Power unanointed may come— +Dominion (unsought by the free) + And the Iron Dome, +Stronger for stress and strain, +Fling her huge shadow athwart the main; +But the Founders’ dream shall flee. +Age after age has been, +(From man’s changeless heart their way they win); +And death be busy with all who strive— +Death, with silent negative. + + _Yea and Nay—_ + _Each hath his say;_ + _But God He keeps the middle way._ + _None was by_ + _When He spread the sky;_ + _Wisdom is vain, and prophecy._ + + + + +THE MARCH INTO VIRGINIA + + +_Ending in the First Manassas_ +July, 1861 + + +Did all the lets and bars appear + To every just or larger end, +Whence should come the trust and cheer? + Youth must its ignorant impulse lend— +Age finds place in the rear. + All wars are boyish, and are fought by boys, +The champions and enthusiasts of the state: + Turbid ardors and vain joys + Not barrenly abate— + Stimulants to the power mature, + Preparatives of fate. + +Who here forecasteth the event? +What heart but spurns at precedent +And warnings of the wise, +Contemned foreclosures of surprise? +The banners play, the bugles call, +The air is blue and prodigal. + No berrying party, pleasure-wooed, +No picnic party in the May, +Ever went less loth than they + Into that leafy neighborhood. +In Bacchic glee they file toward Fate, +Moloch’s uninitiate; +Expectancy, and glad surmise +Of battle’s unknown mysteries. +All they feel is this: ’t is glory, +A rapture sharp, though transitory, +Yet lasting in belaureled story. +So they gayly go to fight, +Chatting left and laughing right. + +But some who this blithe mood present, + As on in lightsome files they fare, +Shall die experienced ere three days are spent— + Perish, enlightened by the vollied glare; +Or shame survive, and, like to adamant, + The throe of Second Manassas share. + + + + +BALL’S BLUFF + + +_A Reverie_ +October, 1861 + + +One noonday, at my window in the town, + I saw a sight—saddest that eyes can see— + Young soldiers marching lustily + Unto the wars, +With fifes, and flags in mottoed pageantry; + While all the porches, walks, and doors +Were rich with ladies cheering royally. + +They moved like Juny morning on the wave, + Their hearts were fresh as clover in its prime + (It was the breezy summer time), + Life throbbed so strong, +How should they dream that Death in a rosy clime + Would come to thin their shining throng? +Youth feels immortal, like the gods sublime. + +Weeks passed; and at my window, leaving bed, + By night I mused, of easeful sleep bereft, + On those ‘brave boys (Ah War! thy theft); + Some marching feet +Found pause at last by cliffs Potomac cleft; + Wakeful I mused, while in the street +Far footfalls died away till none were left. + + + + +THE STONE FLEET + + +_An Old Sailor’s Lament_ +December, 1861 + + +I have a feeling for those ships, + Each worn and ancient one, +With great bluff bows, and broad in the beam: + Ay, it was unkindly done. + But so they serve the Obsolete— + Even so, Stone Fleet! + +You’ll say I’m doting; do you think + I scudded round the Horn in one— +The _Tenedos,_ a glorious + Good old craft as ever run— + Sunk (how all unmeet!) + With the Old Stone Fleet. + +An India ship of fame was she, + Spices and shawls and fans she bore; +A whaler when the wrinkles came— + Turned off! till, spent and poor, + Her bones were sold (escheat)! + Ah! Stone Fleet. + +Four were erst patrician keels + (Names attest what families be), +The _Kensington,_ and _Richmond_ too, + _Leonidas,_ and _Lee_: + But now they have their seat + With the Old Stone Fleet. + +To scuttle them—a pirate deed— + Sack them, and dismast; +They sunk so slow, they died so hard, + But gurgling dropped at last. + Their ghosts in gales repeat + _Woe’s us, Stone Fleet!_ + +And all for naught. The waters pass— + Currents will have their way; +Nature is nobody’s ally; ’tis well; + The harbor is bettered—will stay. + A failure, and complete, + Was your Old Stone Fleet. + + + + +THE TEMERAIRE + + +_Supposed to have been suggested to an Englishman of the old order by +the fight of the Monitor and Merrimac_ + + +The gloomy hulls in armor grim, + Like clouds o’er moors have met, +And prove that oak, and iron, and man + Are tough in fibre yet. + +But Splendors wane. The sea-fight yields + No front of old display; +The garniture, emblazonment, + And heraldry all decay. + +Towering afar in parting light, + The fleets like Albion’s forelands shine— +The full-sailed fleets, the shrouded show + Of Ships-of-the-Line. + + The fighting _Temeraire,_ + Built of a thousand trees, + Lunging out her lightnings, + And beetling o’er the seas— + O Ship, how brave and fair, + That fought so oft and well, + +On open decks you manned the gun Armorial. +What cheerings did you share, + Impulsive in the van, +When down upon leagued France and Spain + We English ran— +The freshet at your bowsprit + Like the foam upon the can. +Bickering, your colors + Licked up the Spanish air, +You flapped with flames of battle-flags— + Your challenge, _Temeraire!_ +The rear ones of our fleet + They yearned to share your place, +Still vying with the Victory +Throughout that earnest race— +The Victory, whose Admiral, + With orders nobly won, +Shone in the globe of the battle glow— + The angel in that sun. +Parallel in story, + Lo, the stately pair, +As late in grapple ranging, + The foe between them there— +When four great hulls lay tiered, +And the fiery tempest cleared, +And your prizes twain appeared, _Temeraire!_ + +But Trafalgar is over now, + The quarter-deck undone; +The carved and castled navies fire + Their evening-gun. +O, Titan _Temeraire,_ + Your stern-lights fade away; +Your bulwarks to the years must yield, + And heart-of-oak decay. +A pigmy steam-tug tows you, + Gigantic, to the shore— +Dismantled of your guns and spars, + And sweeping wings of war. +The rivets clinch the iron clads, + Men learn a deadlier lore; +But Fame has nailed your battle-flags— + Your ghost it sails before: +O, the navies old and oaken, + O, the _Temeraire_ no more! + + + + +A UTILITARIAN VIEW OF THE _MONITOR’S_ FIGHT + + +Plain be the phrase, yet apt the verse, + More ponderous than nimble; +For since grimed War here laid aside +His Orient pomp, ’twould ill befit + Overmuch to ply + The rhyme’s barbaric cymbal. + +Hail to victory without the gaud + Of glory; zeal that needs no fans +Of banners; plain mechanic power +Plied cogently in War now placed— + Where War belongs— + Among the trades and artisans. + +Yet this was battle, and intense— + Beyond the strife of fleets heroic; +Deadlier, closer, calm ’mid storm; +No passion; all went on by crank, + Pivot, and screw, + And calculations of caloric. + +Needless to dwell; the story’s known. + The ringing of those plates on plates +Still ringeth round the world— +The clangor of that blacksmiths’ fray. + The anvil-din + Resounds this message from the Fates: + +War shall yet be, and to the end; + But war-paint shows the streaks of weather; +War yet shall be, but warriors +Are now but operatives; War’s made + Less grand than Peace, + And a singe runs through lace and feather. + + + + +MALVERN HILL + + +July, 1862 + + +Ye elms that wave on Malvern Hill + In prime of morn and May, +Recall ye how McClellan’s men + Here stood at bay? +While deep within yon forest dim + Our rigid comrades lay— +Some with the cartridge in their mouth, +Others with fixed arms lifted South— + Invoking so— +The cypress glades? Ah wilds of woe! + +The spires of Richmond, late beheld +Through rifts in musket-haze, +Were closed from view in clouds of dust + On leaf-walled ways, +Where streamed our wagons in caravan; + And the Seven Nights and Days +Of march and fast, retreat and fight, +Pinched our grimed faces to ghastly plight— + Does the elm wood +Recall the haggard beards of blood? + +The battle-smoked flag, with stars eclipsed, + We followed (it never fell!)— +In silence husbanded our strength— + Received their yell; +Till on this slope we patient turned + With cannon ordered well; +Reverse we proved was not defeat; +But ah, the sod what thousands meet!— + Does Malvern Wood +Bethink itself, and muse and brood? + _We elms of Malvern Hill_ + _Remember everything;_ + _But sap the twig will fill:_ + _Wag the world how it will,_ + _Leaves must be green in Spring._ + + + + +STONEWALL JACKSON + + +_Mortally wounded at Chancellorsville_ +May, 1863 + + +The Man who fiercest charged in fight, + Whose sword and prayer were long— + Stonewall! + Even him who stoutly stood for Wrong, +How can we praise? Yet coming days + Shall not forget him with this song. + +Dead is the Man whose Cause is dead, + Vainly he died and set his seal— + Stonewall! + Earnest in error, as we feel; +True to the thing he deemed was due, + True as John Brown or steel. + +Relentlessly he routed us; + But _we_ relent, for he is low— + Stonewall! + Justly his fame we outlaw; so +We drop a tear on the bold Virginian’s bier, + Because no wreath we owe. + + + + +THE HOUSE-TOP + + +July, 1863 +_A Night Piece_ + + +No sleep. The sultriness pervades the air +And binds the brain—a dense oppression, such +As tawny tigers feel in matted shades, +Vexing their blood and making apt for ravage. +Beneath the stars the roofy desert spreads +Vacant as Libya. All is hushed near by. +Yet fitfully from far breaks a mixed surf +Of muffled sound, the Atheist roar of riot. +Yonder, where parching Sirius set in drought, +Balefully glares red Arson—there—and there. +The Town is taken by its rats—ship-rats +And rats of the wharves. All civil charms +And priestly spells which late held hearts in awe— +Fear-bound, subjected to a better sway +Than sway of self; these like a dream dissolve, +And man rebounds whole aeons back in nature. +Hail to the low dull rumble, dull and dead, +And ponderous drag that shakes the wall. +Wise Draco comes, deep in the midnight roll +Of black artillery; he comes, though late; +In code corroborating Calvin’s creed +And cynic tyrannies of honest kings; +He comes, nor parlies; and the Town, redeemed, +Gives thanks devout; nor, being thankful, heeds +The grimy slur on the Republic’s faith implied, +Which holds that Man is naturally good, +And—more—is Nature’s Roman, never to be scourged. + + + + +CHATTANOOGA + + +November, 1863 + + +A kindling impulse seized the host + Inspired by heaven’s elastic air; +Their hearts outran their General’s plan, + Though Grant commanded there— + Grant, who without reserve can dare; +And, “Well, go on and do your will,” + He said, and measured the mountain then: +So master-riders fling the rein— + But you must know your men. + +On yester-morn in grayish mist, + Armies like ghosts on hills had fought, +And rolled from the cloud their thunders loud + The Cumberlands far had caught: + To-day the sunlit steeps are sought. +Grant stood on cliffs whence all was plain, + And smoked as one who feels no cares; +But mastered nervousness intense +Alone such calmness wears. + +The summit-cannon plunge their flame + Sheer down the primal wall, +But up and up each linking troop + In stretching festoons crawl— + Nor fire a shot. Such men appall +The foe, though brave. He, from the brink, + Looks far along the breadth of slope, +And sees two miles of dark dots creep, + And knows they mean the cope. + +He sees them creep. Yet here and there + Half hid ’mid leafless groves they go; +As men who ply through traceries high + Of turreted marbles show— + So dwindle these to eyes below. +But fronting shot and flanking shell + Sliver and rive the inwoven ways; +High tops of oaks and high hearts fall, + But never the climbing stays. + +From right to left, from left to right + They roll the rallying cheer— +Vie with each other, brother with brother, + Who shall the first appear— + What color-bearer with colors clear +In sharp relief, like sky-drawn Grant, + Whose cigar must now be near the stump— +While in solicitude his back + Heaps slowly to a hump. + +Near and more near; till now the flags + Run like a catching flame; +And one flares highest, to peril nighest— + _He_ means to make a name: + Salvos! they give him his fame. +The staff is caught, and next the rush, + And then the leap where death has led; +Flag answered flag along the crest, + And swarms of rebels fled. + +But some who gained the envied Alp, + And—eager, ardent, earnest there— +Dropped into Death’s wide-open arms, + Quelled on the wing like eagles struck in air— + Forever they slumber young and fair, +The smile upon them as they died; + Their end attained, that end a height: +Life was to these a dream fulfilled, + And death a starry night. + + + + +ON THE PHOTOGRAPH OF A CORPS COMMANDER + + +Ay, man is manly. Here you see + The warrior-carriage of the head, +And brave dilation of the frame; + And lighting all, the soul that led +In Spottsylvania’s charge to victory, + Which justifies his fame. + +A cheering picture. It is good + To look upon a Chief like this, +In whom the spirit moulds the form. + Here favoring Nature, oft remiss, +With eagle mien expressive has endued + A man to kindle strains that warm. + +Trace back his lineage, and his sires, + Yeoman or noble, you shall find +Enrolled with men of Agincourt, + Heroes who shared great Harry’s mind. +Down to us come the knightly Norman fires, + And front the Templars bore. + +Nothing can lift the heart of man + Like manhood in a fellow-man. +The thought of heaven’s great King afar +But humbles us—too weak to scan; +But manly greatness men can span, + And feel the bonds that draw. + + + + +THE SWAMP ANGEL + + +There is a coal-black Angel + With a thick Afric lip, +And he dwells (like the hunted and harried) + In a swamp where the green frogs dip. +But his face is against a City + Which is over a bay of the sea, +And he breathes with a breath that is blastment, + And dooms by a far decree. + +By night there is fear in the City, + Through the darkness a star soareth on; +There’s a scream that screams up to the zenith, + Then the poise of a meteor lone— +Lighting far the pale fright of the faces, + And downward the coming is seen; +Then the rush, and the burst, and the havoc, + And wails and shrieks between. + +It comes like the thief in the gloaming; + It comes, and none may foretell +The place of the coming—the glaring; + They live in a sleepless spell +That wizens, and withers, and whitens; + It ages the young, and the bloom +Of the maiden is ashes of roses— + The Swamp Angel broods in his gloom. + +Swift is his messengers’ going, + But slowly he saps their halls, +As if by delay deluding. + They move from their crumbling walls +Farther and farther away; + But the Angel sends after and after, +By night with the flame of his ray— + By night with the voice of his screaming— +Sends after them, stone by stone, + And farther walls fall, farther portals, +And weed follows weed through the Town. + +Is this the proud City? the scorner + Which never would yield the ground? +Which mocked at the coal-black Angel? + The cup of despair goes round. +Vainly he calls upon Michael + (The white man’s seraph was he,) +For Michael has fled from his tower + To the Angel over the sea. +Who weeps for the woeful City + Let him weep for our guilty kind; +Who joys at her wild despairing— +Christ, the Forgiver, convert his mind. + + + + +SHERIDAN AT CEDAR CREEK + + +October, 1864 + + +Shoe the steed with silver + That bore him to the fray, +When he heard the guns at dawning— + Miles away; +When he heard them calling, calling— + Mount! nor stay: + Quick, or all is lost; + They’ve surprised and stormed the post, + They push your routed host— +Gallop! retrieve the day. + +House the horse in ermine— + For the foam-flake blew +White through the red October; + He thundered into view; +They cheered him in the looming. + Horseman and horse they knew. + The turn of the tide began, + The rally of bugles ran, + He swung his hat in the van; +The electric hoof-spark flew. + +Wreathe the steed and lead him— + For the charge he led +Touched and turned the cypress + Into amaranths for the head +Of Philip, king of riders, + Who raised them from the dead. + The camp (at dawning lost), + By eve, recovered—forced, + Rang with laughter of the host +At belated Early fled. + +Shroud the horse in sable— + For the mounds they heap! +There is firing in the Valley, + And yet no strife they keep; +It is the parting volley, + It is the pathos deep. + There is glory for the brave + Who lead, and nobly save, + But no knowledge in the grave +Where the nameless followers sleep. + + + + +IN THE PRISON PEN + + +1864 + + +Listless he eyes the palisades + And sentries in the glare; +’Tis barren as a pelican-beach + But his world is ended there. + +Nothing to do; and vacant hands + Bring on the idiot-pain; +He tries to think—to recollect, + But the blur is on his brain. + +Around him swarm the plaining ghosts + Like those on Virgil’s shore— +A wilderness of faces dim, + And pale ones gashed and hoar. + +A smiting sun. No shed, no tree; + He totters to his lair— +A den that sick hands dug in earth + Ere famine wasted there, + +Or, dropping in his place, he swoons, + Walled in by throngs that press, +Till forth from the throngs they bear him dead— + Dead in his meagreness. + + + + +THE COLLEGE COLONEL + + +He rides at their head; + A crutch by his saddle just slants in view, +One slung arm is in splints, you see, + Yet he guides his strong steed—how coldly too. + +He brings his regiment home— + Not as they filed two years before, +But a remnant half-tattered, and battered, and worn, +Like castaway sailors, who—stunned + By the surf’s loud roar, + Their mates dragged back and seen no more— +Again and again breast the surge, + And at last crawl, spent, to shore. + +A still rigidity and pale— + An Indian aloofness lones his brow; +He has lived a thousand years +Compressed in battle’s pains and prayers, + Marches and watches slow. + +There are welcoming shouts, and flags; + Old men off hat to the Boy, +Wreaths from gay balconies fall at his feet, +But to _him_—there comes alloy. + +It is not that a leg is lost, + It is not that an arm is maimed, +It is not that the fever has racked— + Self he has long disclaimed. + +But all through the Seven Days’ Fight, + And deep in the Wilderness grim, +And in the field-hospital tent, + And Petersburg crater, and dim +Lean brooding in Libby, there came— + Ah heaven!—what _truth_ to him. + + + + +THE MARTYR + + +_Indicative of the passion of the people on the 15th of April, 1865_ + + +Good Friday was the day + Of the prodigy and crime, +When they killed him in his pity, + When they killed him in his prime +Of clemency and calm— + When with yearning he was filled + To redeem the evil-willed, +And, though conqueror, be kind; + But they killed him in his kindness, + In their madness and their blindness, +And they killed him from behind. + + There is sobbing of the strong, + And a pall upon the land; + But the People in their weeping + Bare the iron hand; + Beware the People weeping + When they bare the iron hand. + +He lieth in his blood— + The father in his face; +They have killed him, the Forgiver— + The Avenger takes his place, +The Avenger wisely stern, + Who in righteousness shall do + What the heavens call him to, +And the parricides remand; + For they killed him in his kindness, + In their madness and their blindness, +And his blood is on their hand. + + There is sobbing of the strong, + And a pall upon the land; + But the People in their weeping + Bare the iron hand: + Beware the People weeping + When they bare the iron hand. + + + + +REBEL COLOR-BEARERS AT SHILOH + + +_A plea against the vindictive cry raised by civilians shortly after +the surrender at Appomattox_ + + +The color-bearers facing death +White in the whirling sulphurous wreath, + Stand boldly out before the line; +Right and left their glances go, +Proud of each other, glorying in their show; +Their battle-flags about them blow, + And fold them as in flame divine: +Such living robes are only seen +Round martyrs burning on the green— +And martyrs for the Wrong have been. + +Perish their Cause! but mark the men— +Mark the planted statues, then +Draw trigger on them if you can. + +The leader of a patriot-band +Even so could view rebels who so could stand; + And this when peril pressed him sore, +Left aidless in the shivered front of war— + Skulkers behind, defiant foes before, +And fighting with a broken brand. +The challenge in that courage rare— +Courage defenseless, proudly bare— +Never could tempt him; he could dare +Strike up the leveled rifle there. + +Sunday at Shiloh, and the day +When Stonewall charged—McClellan’s crimson May, +And Chickamauga’s wave of death, +And of the Wilderness the cypress wreath— + All these have passed away. +The life in the veins of Treason lags, +Her daring color-bearers drop their flags, + And yield. _Now_ shall we fire? + Can poor spite be? + Shall nobleness in victory less aspire + Than in reverse? Spare Spleen her ire, + And think how Grant met Lee. + + + + +AURORA BOREALIS + + +_Commemorative of the Dissolution of armies at the Peace_ +May, 1865 + + +What power disbands the Northern Lights + After their steely play? +The lonely watcher feels an awe + Of Nature’s sway, + As when appearing, + He marked their flashed uprearing + In the cold gloom— + Retreatings and advancings, +(Like dallyings of doom), + Transitions and enhancings, + And bloody ray. + +The phantom-host has faded quite, + Splendor and Terror gone +Portent or promise—and gives way + To pale, meek Dawn; + The coming, going, + Alike in wonder showing— + Alike the God, + Decreeing and commanding +The million blades that glowed, + The muster and disbanding— + Midnight and Morn. + + + + +THE RELEASED REBEL PRISONER + + +June, 1865 + + +Armies he’s seen—the herds of war, + But never such swarms of men +As now in the Nineveh of the North— + How mad the Rebellion then! + +And yet but dimly he divines + The depth of that deceit, +And superstitution of vast pride + Humbled to such defeat. + +Seductive shone the Chiefs in arms— + His steel the nearest magnet drew; +Wreathed with its kind, the Gulf-weed drives— + ’Tis Nature’s wrong they rue. + +His face is hidden in his beard, + But his heart peers out at eye— +And such a heart! like a mountain-pool + Where no man passes by. + +He thinks of Hill—a brave soul gone; + And Ashby dead in pale disdain; +And Stuart with the Rupert-plume, + Whose blue eye never shall laugh again. + +He hears the drum; he sees our boys +From his wasted fields return; +Ladies feast them on strawberries, + And even to kiss them yearn. + +He marks them bronzed, in soldier-trim, + The rifle proudly borne; +They bear it for an heirloom home, + And he—disarmed—jail-worn. + +Home, home—his heart is full of it; + But home he never shall see, +Even should he stand upon the spot: + ’Tis gone!—where his brothers be. + +The cypress-moss from tree to tree + Hangs in his Southern land; +As weird, from thought to thought of his + Run memories hand in hand. + +And so he lingers—lingers on + In the City of the Foe— +His cousins and his countrymen + Who see him listless go. + + + + +“FORMERLY A SLAVE” + + +_An idealized Portrait, by E. Vedder, in the Spring Exhibition of the +National Academy, 1865_ + + +The sufferance of her race is shown, + And retrospect of life, +Which now too late deliverance dawns upon; + Yet is she not at strife. + +Her children’s children they shall know + The good withheld from her; +And so her reverie takes prophetic cheer— + In spirit she sees the stir. + +Far down the depth of thousand years, + And marks the revel shine; +Her dusky face is lit with sober light, + Sibylline, yet benign. + + + + +ON THE SLAIN COLLEGIANS + + +Youth is the time when hearts are large, + And stirring wars +Appeal to the spirit which appeals in turn + To the blade it draws. +If woman incite, and duty show + (Though made the mask of Cain), +Or whether it be Truth’s sacred cause, + Who can aloof remain +That shares youth’s ardor, uncooled by the snow + Of wisdom or sordid gain? + +The liberal arts and nurture sweet + Which give his gentleness to man— + Train him to honor, lend him grace +Through bright examples meet— +That culture which makes never wan +With underminings deep, but holds + The surface still, its fitting place, + And so gives sunniness to the face +And bravery to the heart; what troops + Of generous boys in happiness thus bred— + Saturnians through life’s Tempe led, +Went from the North and came from the South, +With golden mottoes in the mouth, + To lie down midway on a bloody bed. + +Woe for the homes of the North, +And woe for the seats of the South: +All who felt life’s spring in prime, +And were swept by the wind of their place and time— + All lavish hearts, on whichever side, +Of birth urbane or courage high, +Armed them for the stirring wars— + Armed them—some to die. + Apollo-like in pride. +Each would slay his Python—caught +The maxims in his temple taught— + Aflame with sympathies whose blaze +Perforce enwrapped him—social laws, + Friendship and kin, and by-gone days— +Vows, kisses—every heart unmoors, +And launches into the seas of wars. +What could they else—North or South? +Each went forth with blessings given +By priests and mothers in the name of Heaven; + And honor in both was chief. +Warred one for Right, and one for Wrong? +So be it; but they both were young— +Each grape to his cluster clung, +All their elegies are sung. +The anguish of maternal hearts + Must search for balm divine; +But well the striplings bore their fated parts + (The heavens all parts assign)— +Never felt life’s care or cloy. +Each bloomed and died an unabated Boy; +Nor dreamed what death was—thought it mere +Sliding into some vernal sphere. +They knew the joy, but leaped the grief, +Like plants that flower ere comes the leaf— +Which storms lay low in kindly doom, +And kill them in their flush of bloom. + + + + +AMERICA + + +I + + +Where the wings of a sunny Dome expand +I saw a Banner in gladsome air— +Starry, like Berenice’s Hair— +Afloat in broadened bravery there; +With undulating long-drawn flow, +As tolled Brazilian billows go +Voluminously o’er the Line. +The Land reposed in peace below; + The children in their glee +Were folded to the exulting heart + Of young Maternity. + + +II + + +Later, and it streamed in fight + When tempest mingled with the fray, +And over the spear-point of the shaft + I saw the ambiguous lightning play. +Valor with Valor strove, and died: +Fierce was Despair, and cruel was Pride; +And the lorn Mother speechless stood, +Pale at the fury of her brood. + + +III + + +Yet later, and the silk did wind + Her fair cold form; +Little availed the shining shroud, + Though ruddy in hue, to cheer or warm. +A watcher looked upon her low, and said— +She sleeps, but sleeps, she is not dead. + But in that sleeps contortion showed +The terror of the vision there— + A silent vision unavowed, +Revealing earth’s foundation bare, + And Gorgon in her hidden place. +It was a thing of fear to see + So foul a dream upon so fair a face, +And the dreamer lying in that starry shroud. + + +IV + + +But from the trance she sudden broke— + The trance, or death into promoted life; +At her feet a shivered yoke, +And in her aspect turned to heaven + No trace of passion or of strife— +A clear calm look. It spake of pain, +But such as purifies from stain— +Sharp pangs that never come again— + And triumph repressed by knowledge meet, +Power dedicate, and hope grown wise, + And youth matured for age’s seat— +Law on her brow and empire in her eyes. + So she, with graver air and lifted flag; +While the shadow, chased by light, +Fled along the far-drawn height, + And left her on the crag. + + + + +INSCRIPTION + + +_For Graves at Pea Ridge, Arkansas_ + + +Let none misgive we died amiss + When here we strove in furious fight: +Furious it was; nathless was this + Better than tranquil plight, +And tame surrender of the Cause +Hallowed by hearts and by the laws. + We here who warred for Man and Right, +The choice of warring never laid with us. + There we were ruled by the traitor’s choice. + Nor long we stood to trim and poise, +But marched and fell—victorious! + + + + +THE FORTITUDE OF THE NORTH + + +_Under the Disaster of the Second Manassas_ + + +They take no shame for dark defeat + While prizing yet each victory won, +Who fight for the Right through all retreat, + Nor pause until their work is done. +The Cape-of-Storms is proof to every throe; + Vainly against that foreland beat +Wild winds aloft and wilder waves below: +The black cliffs gleam through rents in sleet +When the livid Antarctic storm-clouds glow. + + + + +THE MOUND BY THE LAKE + + +The grass shall never forget this grave. +When homeward footing it in the sun + After the weary ride by rail, +The stripling soldiers passed her door, + Wounded perchance, or wan and pale, +She left her household work undone— +Duly the wayside table spread, + With evergreens shaded, to regale +Each travel-spent and grateful one. +So warm her heart—childless—unwed, +Who like a mother comforted. + + + + +ON THE SLAIN AT CHICKAMAUGA + + +Happy are they and charmed in life + Who through long wars arrive unscarred +At peace. To such the wreath be given, +If they unfalteringly have striven— + In honor, as in limb, unmarred. +Let cheerful praise be rife, + And let them live their years at ease, +Musing on brothers who victorious died— + Loved mates whose memory shall ever please. + +And yet mischance is honorable too— + Seeming defeat in conflict justified +Whose end to closing eyes is hid from view. +The will, that never can relent— +The aim, survivor of the bafflement, + Make this memorial due. + + + + +AN UNINSCRIBED MONUMENT + + +_On one of the Battle-fields of the Wilderness_ + + +Silence and solitude may hint + (Whose home is in yon piney wood) +What I, though tableted, could never tell— +The din which here befell, + And striving of the multitude. +The iron cones and spheres of death + Set round me in their rust, + These, too, if just, +Shall speak with more than animated breath. + Thou who beholdest, if thy thought, +Not narrowed down to personal cheer, +Take in the import of the quiet here— + The after-quiet—the calm full fraught; +Thou too wilt silent stand— +Silent as I, and lonesome as the land. + + + + +ON THE GRAVE OF A YOUNG CAVALRY OFFICER KILLED IN THE VALLEY OF +VIRGINIA + + +Beauty and youth, with manners sweet, and friends— + Gold, yet a mind not unenriched had he +Whom here low violets veil from eyes. + But all these gifts transcended be: +His happier fortune in this mound you see. + + + + +A REQUIEM + + +_For Soldiers lost in Ocean Transports_ + + +When, after storms that woodlands rue, + To valleys comes atoning dawn, +The robins blithe their orchard-sports renew; + And meadow-larks, no more withdrawn +Caroling fly in the languid blue; +The while, from many a hid recess, +Alert to partake the blessedness, +The pouring mites their airy dance pursue. + So, after ocean’s ghastly gales, +When laughing light of hoyden morning breaks, + Every finny hider wakes— + From vaults profound swims up with glittering scales; + Through the delightsome sea he sails, +With shoals of shining tiny things +Frolic on every wave that flings + Against the prow its showery spray; +All creatures joying in the morn, +Save them forever from joyance torn, + Whose bark was lost where now the dolphins play; +Save them that by the fabled shore, + Down the pale stream are washed away, +Far to the reef of bones are borne; + And never revisits them the light, +Nor sight of long-sought land and pilot more; + Nor heed they now the lone bird’s flight +Round the lone spar where mid-sea surges pour. + + + + +COMMEMORATIVE OF A NAVAL VICTORY + + +Sailors there are of the gentlest breed, + Yet strong, like every goodly thing; +The discipline of arms refines, + And the wave gives tempering. + The damasked blade its beam can fling; +It lends the last grave grace: +The hawk, the hound, and sworded nobleman + In Titian’s picture for a king, +Are of hunter or warrior race. + +In social halls a favored guest + In years that follow victory won, +How sweet to feel your festal fame + In woman’s glance instinctive thrown: + Repose is yours—your deed is known, +It musks the amber wine; +It lives, and sheds a light from storied days + Rich as October sunsets brown, +Which make the barren place to shine. + +But seldom the laurel wreath is seen + Unmixed with pensive pansies dark; +There’s a light and a shadow on every man + Who at last attains his lifted mark— + Nursing through night the ethereal spark. +Elate he never can be; +He feels that spirit which glad had hailed his worth, + Sleep in oblivion.—The shark +Glides white through the phosphorus sea. + + + + +A MEDITATION + + +How often in the years that close, + When truce had stilled the sieging gun, +The soldiers, mounting on their works, + With mutual curious glance have run +From face to face along the fronting show, +And kinsman spied, or friend—even in a foe. + +What thoughts conflicting then were shared, + While sacred tenderness perforce +Welled from the heart and wet the eye; + And something of a strange remorse +Rebelled against the sanctioned sin of blood, +And Christian wars of natural brotherhood. + +Then stirred the god within the breast— + The witness that is man’s at birth; +A deep misgiving undermined + Each plea and subterfuge of earth; +They felt in that rapt pause, with warning rife, +Horror and anguish for the civil strife. + +Of North or South they reeked not then, + Warm passion cursed the cause of war: +Can Africa pay back this blood + Spilt on Potomac’s shore? +Yet doubts, as pangs, were vain the strife to stay, +And hands that fain had clasped again could slay. + +How frequent in the camp was seen + The herald from the hostile one, +A guest and frank companion there + When the proud formal talk was done; +The pipe of peace was smoked even ’mid the war, +And fields in Mexico again fought o’er. + +In Western battle long they lay + So near opposed in trench or pit, +That foeman unto foeman called + As men who screened in tavern sit: +“You bravely fight” each to the other said— +“Toss us a biscuit!” o’er the wall it sped. + +And pale on those same slopes, a boy— + A stormer, bled in noon-day glare; +No aid the Blue-coats then could bring, + He cried to them who nearest were, +And out there came ’mid howling shot and shell +A daring foe who him befriended well. + +Mark the great Captains on both sides, + The soldiers with the broad renown— +They all were messmates on the Hudson’s marge, + Beneath one roof they laid them down; +And, free from hate in many an after pass, +Strove as in school-boy rivalry of the class. + +A darker side there is; but doubt + In Nature’s charity hovers there: +If men for new agreement yearn, + Then old upbraiding best forbear: +“The South’s the sinner!” Well, so let it be; +But shall the North sin worse, and stand the Pharisee? + +O, now that brave men yield the sword, + Mine be the manful soldier-view; +By how much more they boldly warred, + By so much more is mercy due: +When Vicksburg fell, and the moody files marched out, +Silent the victors stood, scorning to raise a shout. + + + + +POEMS FROM MARDI + + + + +WE FISH + + +We fish, we fish, we merrily swim, +We care not for friend nor for foe. + Our fins are stout, + Our tails are out, +As through the seas we go. + +Fish, Fish, we are fish with red gills; + Naught disturbs us, our blood is at zero: +We are buoyant because of our bags, + Being many, each fish is a hero. +We care not what is it, this life + That we follow, this phantom unknown; +To swim, it’s exceedingly pleasant,— + So swim away, making a foam. +This strange looking thing by our side, + Not for safety, around it we flee:— +Its shadow’s so shady, that’s all,— + We only swim under its lee. +And as for the eels there above, + And as for the fowls of the air, +We care not for them nor their ways, + As we cheerily glide afar! + +We fish, we fish, we merrily swim, +We care not for friend nor for foe: + Our fins are stout, + Our tails are out, +As through the seas we go. + + + + +INVOCATION + + +Ha, ha, gods and kings; fill high, one and all; +Drink, drink! shout and drink! mad respond to the call! +Fill fast, and fill full; ’gainst the goblet ne’er sin; +Quaff there, at high tide, to the uttermost rim:— + Flood-tide, and soul-tide to the brim! + +Who with wine in him fears? who thinks of his cares? +Who sighs to be wise, when wine in him flares? +Water sinks down below, in currents full slow; +But wine mounts on high with its genial glow:— + Welling up, till the brain overflow! + +As the spheres, with a roll, some fiery of soul, +Others golden, with music, revolve round the pole; +So let our cups, radiant with many hued wines, +Round and round in groups circle, our Zodiac’s Signs:— + Round reeling, and ringing their chimes! + +Then drink, gods and kings; wine merriment brings; +It bounds through the veins; there, jubilant sings. +Let it ebb, then, and flow; wine never grows dim; +Drain down that bright tide at the foam beaded rim:— + Fill up, every cup, to the brim! + + + + +DIRGE + + +We drop our dead in the sea, + The bottomless, bottomless sea; +Each bubble a hollow sigh, + As it sinks forever and aye. + +We drop our dead in the sea,— + The dead reek not of aught; +We drop our dead in the sea,— + The sea ne’er gives it a thought. + +Sink, sink, oh corpse, still sink, + Far down in the bottomless sea, +Where the unknown forms do prowl, + Down, down in the bottomless sea. + +’Tis night above, and night all round, + And night will it be with thee; +As thou sinkest, and sinkest for aye, + Deeper down in the bottomless sea. + + + + +MARLENA + + +Far off in the sea is Marlena, +A land of shades and streams, +A land of many delights, +Dark and bold, thy shores, Marlena; +But green, and timorous, thy soft knolls, +Crouching behind the woodlands. +All shady thy hills; all gleaming thy springs, +Like eyes in the earth looking at you. +How charming thy haunts, Marlena!— +Oh, the waters that flow through Onimoo; +Oh, the leaves that rustle through Ponoo: +Oh, the roses that blossom in Tarma. +Come, and see the valley of Vina: +How sweet, how sweet, the Isles from Hina: +’Tis aye afternoon of the full, full moon, +And ever the season of fruit, +And ever the hour of flowers, +And never the time of rains and gales, +All in and about Marlena. +Soft sigh the boughs in the stilly air, +Soft lap the beach the billows there; +And in the woods or by the streams, +You needs must nod in the Land of Dreams. + + + + +PIPE SONG + + +Care is all stuff:— + Puff! Puff! +To puff is enough:— + Puff! Puff +More musky than snuff, +And warm is a puff:— + Puff! Puff +Here we sit mid our puffs, +Like old lords in their ruffs, +Snug as bears in their muffs:— + Puff! Puff +Then puff, puff, puff, +For care is all stuff, +Puffed off in a puff— + Puff! Puff! + + + + +SONG OF YOOMY + + +Departed the pride, and the glory of Mardi: +The vaunt of her isles sleeps deep in the sea, + That rolls o’er his corse with a hush, + His warriors bend over their spears, + His sisters gaze upward and mourn. + Weep, weep, for Adondo is dead! + The sun has gone down in a shower; + Buried in clouds the face of the moon; +Tears stand in the eyes of the starry skies, + And stand in the eyes of the flowers; +And streams of tears are the trickling brooks, + Coursing adown the mountains.— + Departed the pride, and the glory of Mardi: + The vaunt of her isles sleeps deep in the sea. +Fast falls the small rain on its bosom that sobs,— + Not showers of rain, but the tears of Oro. + + + + +GOLD + + + We rovers bold, + To the land of Gold, +Over the bowling billows are gliding: + Eager to toil, + For the golden spoil, +And every hardship biding. + See! See! +Before our prows’ resistless dashes +The gold-fish fly in golden flashes! + ’Neath a sun of gold, + We rovers bold, +On the golden land are gaining; + And every night, + We steer aright, +By golden stars unwaning! +All fires burn a golden glare: +No locks so bright as golden hair! + All orange groves have golden gushings; + All mornings dawn with golden flushings! +In a shower of gold, say fables old, +A maiden was won by the god of gold! + In golden goblets wine is beaming: + On golden couches kings are dreaming! + The Golden Rule dries many tears! + The Golden Number rules the spheres! +Gold, gold it is, that sways the nations: +Gold! gold! the center of all rotations! + On golden axles worlds are turning: + With phosphorescence seas are burning! + All fire-flies flame with golden gleamings! + Gold-hunters’ hearts with golden dreamings! + With golden arrows kings are slain: + With gold we’ll buy a freeman’s name! +In toilsome trades, for scanty earnings, +At home we’ve slaved, with stifled yearnings: +No light! no hope! Oh, heavy woe! +When nights fled fast, and days dragged slow. + But joyful now, with eager eye, + Fast to the Promised Land we fly: + Where in deep mines, + The treasure shines; + Or down in beds of golden streams, + The gold-flakes glance in golden gleams! + How we long to sift, + That yellow drift! + Rivers! Rivers! cease your goings! + Sand-bars! rise, and stay the tide! + ’Till we’ve gained the golden flowing; + And in the golden haven ride! + + + + +THE LAND OF LOVE + + +Hail! voyagers, hail! +Whence e’er ye come, where’er ye rove, + No calmer strand, + No sweeter land, +Will e’er ye view, than the Land of Love! + + Hail! voyagers, hail! +To these, our shores, soft gales invite: + The palm plumes wave, + The billows lave, +And hither point fix’d stars of light! + + Hail! voyagers, hail! +Think not our groves wide brood with gloom; + In this, our isle, + Bright flowers smile: +Full urns, rose-heaped, these valleys bloom. + + Hail! voyagers, hail! +Be not deceived; renounce vain things; + Ye may not find + A tranquil mind, +Though hence ye sail with swiftest wings. + + Hail! voyagers, hail! +Time flies full fast; life soon is o’er; + And ye may mourn, + That hither borne, +Ye left behind our pleasant shore. + + + + +POEMS FROM CLAREL + + + + +DIRGE + + +Stay, Death, Not mine the Christus-wand +Wherewith to charge thee and command: +I plead. Most gently hold the hand +Of her thou leadest far away; +Fear thou to let her naked feet +Tread ashes—but let mosses sweet +Her footing tempt, where’er ye stray. +Shun Orcus; win the moonlit land +Belulled—the silent meadows lone, +Where never any leaf is blown +From lily-stem in Azrael’s hand. +There, till her love rejoin her lowly +(Pensive, a shade, but all her own) +On honey feed her, wild and holy; +Or trance her with thy choicest charm. +And if, ere yet the lover’s free, +Some added dusk thy rule decree— +That shadow only let it be +Thrown in the moon-glade by the palm. + + + + +EPILOGUE + + +_If Luther’s day expand to Darwin’s year,_ +_Shall that exclude the hope—foreclose the fear?_ + + +Unmoved by all the claims our times avow, +The ancient Sphinx still keeps the porch of shade; +And comes Despair, whom not her calm may cow, +And coldly on that adamantine brow +Scrawls undeterred his bitter pasquinade. +But Faith (who from the scrawl indignant turns) +With blood warm oozing from her wounded trust, +Inscribes even on her shards of broken urns +The sign o’ the cross—_the spirit above the dust!_ + + Yea, ape and angel, strife and old debate— +The harps of heaven and dreary gongs of hell; +Science the feud can only aggravate— +No umpire she betwixt the chimes and knell: +The running battle of the star and clod +Shall run forever—if there be no God. + + Degrees we know, unknown in days before; +The light is greater, hence the shadow more; +And tantalized and apprehensive Man +Appealing—Wherefore ripen us to pain? +Seems there the spokesman of dumb Nature’s train. + + But through such strange illusions have they passed +Who in life’s pilgrimage have baffled striven— +Even death may prove unreal at the last, +And stoics be astounded into heaven. + + Then keep thy heart, though yet but ill-resigned— +Clarel, thy heart, the issues there but mind; +That like the crocus budding through the snow— +That like a swimmer rising from the deep— +That like a burning secret which doth go +Even from the bosom that would hoard and keep; +Emerge thou mayst from the last whelming sea, +And prove that death but routs life into victory. + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 12841 *** diff --git a/12841-h/12841-h.htm b/12841-h/12841-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..a6f742a --- /dev/null +++ b/12841-h/12841-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,4652 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" +"http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=UTF-8" /> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Style-Type" content="text/css" /> +<title>The Project Gutenberg eBook of John Marr and Other Poems, by Herman Melville</title> + +<style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> + +body { margin-left: 20%; + margin-right: 20%; + text-align: justify; } + +h1, h2, h3, h4, h5 {text-align: center; font-style: normal; font-weight: +normal; line-height: 1.5; margin-top: .5em; margin-bottom: .5em;} + +h1 {font-size: 300%; + margin-top: 0.6em; + margin-bottom: 0.6em; + letter-spacing: 0.12em; + word-spacing: 0.2em; + text-indent: 0em;} +h2 {font-size: 150%; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 1em;} +h3 {font-size: 130%; margin-top: 1em;} +h4 {font-size: 120%;} +h5 {font-size: 110%;} + +.no-break {page-break-before: avoid;} /* for epubs */ + +div.chapter {page-break-before: always; margin-top: 4em;} + +hr {width: 80%; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 2em;} + +p {text-indent: 1em; + margin-top: 0.25em; + margin-bottom: 0.25em; } + +p.poem {text-indent: 0%; + margin-left: 10%; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; } + +p.center {text-align: center; + text-indent: 0em; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; } + +a:link {color:blue; text-decoration:none} +a:visited {color:blue; text-decoration:none} +a:hover {color:red} + +</style> + </head> + <body> +<div>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 12841 ***</div> + +<h1>John Marr and Other Poems</h1> + +<h2 class="no-break">By Herman Melville</h2> + +<h3><i>With An Introductory Note By</i><br/> +HENRY CHAPIN</h3> + +<h3>MCMXXII</h3> + +<hr /> + +<h2>CONTENTS</h2> + +<table summary="" style=""> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap01">INTRODUCTORY NOTE</a><br /><br /></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap02"><b>JOHN MARR AND OTHER SAILORS</b></a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap03">JOHN MARR AND OTHER SAILORS</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap04">BRIDEGROOM DICK</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap05">TOM DEADLIGHT</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap06">JACK ROY</a><br /><br /></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap07"><b>SEA PIECES</b></a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap08">THE HAGLETS</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap09">THE AEOLIAN HARP</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap10">TO THE MASTER OF THE <i>METEOR</i></a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap11">FAR OFF-SHORE</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap12">THE MAN-OF-WAR HAWK</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap13">THE FIGURE-HEAD</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap14">THE GOOD CRAFT <i>SNOW BIRD</i></a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap15">OLD COUNSEL</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap16">THE TUFT OF KELP</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap17">THE MALDIVE SHARK</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap18">TO NED</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap19">CROSSING THE TROPICS</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap20">THE BERG</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap21">THE ENVIABLE ISLES</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap22">PEBBLES</a><br /><br /></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap23"><b>POEMS FROM TIMOLEON</b></a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap24">LINES TRACED UNDER AN IMAGE OF AMOR THREATENING</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap25">THE NIGHT MARCH</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap26">THE RAVAGED VILLA</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap27">THE NEW ZEALOT TO THE SUN</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap28">MONODY</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap29">LONE FOUNTS</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap30">THE BENCH OF BOORS</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap31">ART</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap32">THE ENTHUSIAST</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap33">SHELLEY’S VISION</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap34">THE MARCHIONESS OF BRINVILLIERS</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap35">THE AGE OF THE ANTONINES</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap36">HERBA SANTA</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap37">OFF CAPE COLONNA</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap38">THE APPARITION</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap39">L’ENVOI</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap40">SUPPLEMENT</a><br /><br /></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap41"><b>POEMS FROM BATTLE PIECES</b></a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap42">THE PORTENT</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap43">FROM THE CONFLICT OF CONVICTIONS</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap44">THE MARCH INTO VIRGINIA</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap45">BALL’S BLUFF</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap46">THE STONE FLEET</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap47">THE TEMERAIRE</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap48">A UTILITARIAN VIEW OF THE <i>MONITOR’S</i> FIGHT</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap49">MALVERN HILL</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap50">STONEWALL JACKSON</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap51">THE HOUSE-TOP</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap52">CHATTANOOGA</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap53">ON THE PHOTOGRAPH OF A CORPS COMMANDER</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap54">THE SWAMP ANGEL</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap55">SHERIDAN AT CEDAR CREEK</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap56">IN THE PRISON PEN</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap57">THE COLLEGE COLONEL</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap58">THE MARTYR</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap59">REBEL COLOR-BEARERS AT SHILOH</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap60">AURORA BOREALIS</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap61">THE RELEASED REBEL PRISONER</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap62">“FORMERLY A SLAVE”</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap63">ON THE SLAIN COLLEGIANS</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap64">AMERICA</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap65">INSCRIPTION</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap66">THE FORTITUDE OF THE NORTH</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap67">THE MOUND BY THE LAKE</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap68">ON THE SLAIN AT CHICKAMAUGA</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap69">AN UNINSCRIBED MONUMENT</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap70">ON THE GRAVE OF A YOUNG CAVALRY OFFICER KILLED IN THE VALLEY OF VIRGINIA</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap71">A REQUIEM</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap72">COMMEMORATIVE OF A NAVAL VICTORY</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap73">A MEDITATION</a><br /><br /></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap74"><b>POEMS FROM MARDI</b></a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap75">WE FISH</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap76">INVOCATION</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap77">DIRGE</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap78">MARLENA</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap79">PIPE SONG</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap80">SONG OF YOOMY</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap81">GOLD</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap82">THE LAND OF LOVE</a><br /><br /></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap83"><b>POEMS FROM CLAREL</b></a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap84">DIRGE</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap85">EPILOGUE</a></td> +</tr> + +</table> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap01"></a> +INTRODUCTORY NOTE</h2> + +<p> +Melville’s verse printed for the most part privately in small editions +from middle life onward after his great prose work had been written, taken as a +whole, is of an amateurish and uneven quality. In it, however, that loveable +freshness of personality, which his philosophical dejection never quenched, is +everywhere in evidence. It is clear that he did not set himself to master the +poet’s art, yet through the mask of conventional verse which often falls +into doggerel, the voice of a true poet is heard. In selecting the pieces for +this volume I have put in the vigorous sea verses of <i>John Marr</i> in their +entirety and added those others from his <i>Battle Pieces</i>, <i>Timoleon,</i> +etc., that best indicate the quality of their author’s personality. The +prose supplement to battle pieces has been included because it does so much to +explain the feeling of his war verse and further because it is such a +remarkably wise and clear commentary upon those confused and troublous days of +post-war reconstruction. H. C. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap02"></a> +JOHN MARR AND OTHER SAILORS</h2> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap03"></a> +JOHN MARR AND OTHER SAILORS</h2> + +<p class="poem"> +Since as in night’s deck-watch ye show,<br/> +Why, lads, so silent here to me,<br/> +Your watchmate of times long ago?<br/> +Once, for all the darkling sea,<br/> +You your voices raised how clearly,<br/> +Striking in when tempest sung;<br/> +Hoisting up the storm-sail cheerly,<br/> +<i>Life is storm—let storm!</i> you rung.<br/> +Taking things as fated merely,<br/> +Childlike though the world ye spanned;<br/> +Nor holding unto life too dearly,<br/> +Ye who held your lives in hand—<br/> +Skimmers, who on oceans four<br/> +Petrels were, and larks ashore.<br/> +<br/> +O, not from memory lightly flung,<br/> +Forgot, like strains no more availing,<br/> +The heart to music haughtier strung;<br/> +Nay, frequent near me, never staleing,<br/> +Whose good feeling kept ye young.<br/> +Like tides that enter creek or stream,<br/> +Ye come, ye visit me, or seem<br/> +Swimming out from seas of faces,<br/> +Alien myriads memory traces,<br/> +To enfold me in a dream!<br/> +<br/> +I yearn as ye. But rafts that strain,<br/> +Parted, shall they lock again?<br/> +Twined we were, entwined, then riven,<br/> +Ever to new embracements driven,<br/> +Shifting gulf-weed of the main!<br/> +And how if one here shift no more,<br/> +Lodged by the flinging surge ashore?<br/> +Nor less, as now, in eve’s decline,<br/> +Your shadowy fellowship is mine.<br/> +Ye float around me, form and feature:—<br/> +Tattooings, ear-rings, love-locks curled;<br/> +Barbarians of man’s simpler nature,<br/> +Unworldly servers of the world.<br/> +Yea, present all, and dear to me,<br/> +Though shades, or scouring China’s sea.<br/> +<br/> +Whither, whither, merchant-sailors,<br/> +Whitherward now in roaring gales?<br/> +Competing still, ye huntsman-whalers,<br/> +In leviathan’s wake what boat prevails?<br/> +And man-of-war’s men, whereaway?<br/> +If now no dinned drum beat to quarters<br/> +On the wilds of midnight waters—<br/> +Foemen looming through the spray;<br/> +Do yet your gangway lanterns, streaming,<br/> +Vainly strive to pierce below,<br/> +When, tilted from the slant plank gleaming,<br/> +A brother you see to darkness go?<br/> +<br/> +But, gunmates lashed in shotted canvas,<br/> +If where long watch-below ye keep,<br/> +Never the shrill <i>“All hands up hammocks!”</i><br/> +Breaks the spell that charms your sleep,<br/> +And summoning trumps might vainly call,<br/> +And booming guns implore—<br/> +A beat, a heart-beat musters all,<br/> +One heart-beat at heart-core.<br/> +It musters. But to clasp, retain;<br/> +To see you at the halyards main—<br/> +To hear your chorus once again! +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap04"></a> +BRIDEGROOM DICK</h2> + +<p class="center"> +1876 +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Sunning ourselves in October on a day<br/> +Balmy as spring, though the year was in decay,<br/> +I lading my pipe, she stirring her tea,<br/> +My old woman she says to me,<br/> +“Feel ye, old man, how the season mellows?”<br/> +And why should I not, blessed heart alive,<br/> +Here mellowing myself, past sixty-five,<br/> +To think o’ the May-time o’ pennoned young fellows<br/> +This stripped old hulk here for years may survive.<br/> +<br/> +Ere yet, long ago, we were spliced, Bonny Blue,<br/> +(Silvery it gleams down the moon-glade o’ time,<br/> +Ah, sugar in the bowl and berries in the prime!)<br/> +Coxswain I o’ the Commodore’s crew,—<br/> +Under me the fellows that manned his fine gig,<br/> +Spinning him ashore, a king in full fig.<br/> +Chirrupy even when crosses rubbed me,<br/> +Bridegroom Dick lieutenants dubbed me.<br/> +Pleasant at a yarn, Bob o’ Linkum in a song,<br/> +Diligent in duty and nattily arrayed,<br/> +Favored I was, wife, and <i>fleeted</i> right along;<br/> +And though but a tot for such a tall grade,<br/> +A high quartermaster at last I was made.<br/> +<br/> +All this, old lassie, you have heard before,<br/> +But you listen again for the sake e’en o’ me;<br/> +No babble stales o’ the good times o’ yore<br/> +To Joan, if Darby the babbler be.<br/> +<br/> +Babbler?—O’ what? Addled brains, they forget!<br/> +O—quartermaster I; yes, the signals set,<br/> +Hoisted the ensign, mended it when frayed,<br/> +Polished up the binnacle, minded the helm,<br/> +And prompt every order blithely obeyed.<br/> +To me would the officers say a word cheery—<br/> +Break through the starch o’ the quarter-deck realm;<br/> +His coxswain late, so the Commodore’s pet.<br/> +Ay, and in night-watches long and weary,<br/> +Bored nigh to death with the navy etiquette,<br/> +Yearning, too, for fun, some younker, a cadet,<br/> +Dropping for time each vain bumptious trick,<br/> +Boy-like would unbend to Bridegroom Dick.<br/> +But a limit there was—a check, d’ ye see:<br/> +Those fine young aristocrats knew their degree.<br/> +<br/> +Well, stationed aft where their lordships keep,—<br/> +Seldom <i>going</i> forward excepting to sleep,—<br/> +I, boozing now on by-gone years,<br/> +My betters recall along with my peers.<br/> +Recall them? Wife, but I see them plain:<br/> +Alive, alert, every man stirs again.<br/> +Ay, and again on the lee-side pacing,<br/> +My spy-glass carrying, a truncheon in show,<br/> +Turning at the taffrail, my footsteps retracing,<br/> +Proud in my duty, again methinks I go.<br/> +And Dave, Dainty Dave, I mark where he stands,<br/> +Our trim sailing-master, to time the high-noon,<br/> +That thingumbob sextant perplexing eyes and hands,<br/> +Squinting at the sun, or twigging o’ the moon;<br/> +Then, touching his cap to Old Chock-a-Block<br/> +Commanding the quarter-deck,—“Sir, twelve o’clock.”<br/> +<br/> +Where sails he now, that trim sailing-master,<br/> +Slender, yes, as the ship’s sky-s’l pole?<br/> +Dimly I mind me of some sad disaster—<br/> +Dainty Dave was dropped from the navy-roll!<br/> +And ah, for old Lieutenant Chock-a-Block—<br/> +Fast, wife, chock-fast to death’s black dock!<br/> +Buffeted about the obstreperous ocean,<br/> +Fleeted his life, if lagged his promotion.<br/> +Little girl, they are all, all gone, I think,<br/> +Leaving Bridegroom Dick here with lids that wink.<br/> +<br/> +Where is Ap Catesby? The fights fought of yore<br/> +Famed him, and laced him with epaulets, and more.<br/> +But fame is a wake that after-wakes cross,<br/> +And the waters wallow all, and laugh<br/> + <i>Where’s the loss?</i><br/> +But John Bull’s bullet in his shoulder bearing<br/> +Ballasted Ap in his long sea-faring.<br/> +The middies they ducked to the man who had messed<br/> +With Decatur in the gun-room, or forward pressed<br/> +Fighting beside Perry, Hull, Porter, and the rest.<br/> +<br/> +Humped veteran o’ the Heart-o’-Oak war,<br/> +Moored long in haven where the old heroes are,<br/> +Never on <i>you</i> did the iron-clads jar!<br/> +Your open deck when the boarder assailed,<br/> +The frank old heroic hand-to-hand then availed.<br/> +<br/> +But where’s Guert Gan? Still heads he the van?<br/> +As before Vera-Cruz, when he dashed splashing through<br/> +The blue rollers sunned, in his brave gold-and-blue,<br/> +And, ere his cutter in keel took the strand,<br/> +Aloft waved his sword on the hostile land!<br/> +Went up the cheering, the quick chanticleering;<br/> +All hands vying—all colors flying:<br/> +“Cock-a-doodle-doo!” and “Row, boys, row!”<br/> +“Hey, Starry Banner!” “Hi, Santa Anna!”<br/> +Old Scott’s young dash at Mexico.<br/> +<br/> +Fine forces o’ the land, fine forces o’ the sea,<br/> +Fleet, army, and flotilla—tell, heart o’ me,<br/> +Tell, if you can, whereaway now they be!<br/> +<br/> +But ah, how to speak of the hurricane unchained—<br/> +The Union’s strands parted in the hawser over-strained;<br/> +Our flag blown to shreds, anchors gone altogether—<br/> +The dashed fleet o’ States in Secession’s foul weather.<br/> +<br/> +Lost in the smother o’ that wide public stress,<br/> +In hearts, private hearts, what ties there were snapped!<br/> +Tell, Hal—vouch, Will, o’ the ward-room mess,<br/> +On you how the riving thunder-bolt clapped.<br/> +With a bead in your eye and beads in your glass,<br/> +And a grip o’ the flipper, it was part and pass:<br/> +“Hal, must it be: Well, if come indeed the shock,<br/> +To North or to South, let the victory cleave,<br/> +Vaunt it he may on his dung-hill the cock,<br/> +But <i>Uncle Sam’s</i> eagle never crow will, believe.”<br/> +<br/> +Sentiment: ay, while suspended hung all,<br/> +Ere the guns against Sumter opened there the ball,<br/> +And partners were taken, and the red dance began,<br/> +War’s red dance o’ death!—Well, we, to a man,<br/> +We sailors o’ the North, wife, how could we lag?—<br/> +Strike with your kin, and you stick to the flag!<br/> +But to sailors o’ the South that easy way was barred.<br/> +To some, dame, believe (and I speak o’ what I know),<br/> +Wormwood the trial and the Uzzite’s black shard;<br/> +And the faithfuller the heart, the crueller the throe.<br/> +Duty? It pulled with more than one string,<br/> +This way and that, and anyhow a sting.<br/> +The flag and your kin, how be true unto both?<br/> +If either plight ye keep, then ye break the other troth.<br/> +But elect here they must, though the casuists were out;<br/> +Decide—hurry up—and throttle every doubt.<br/> +<br/> +Of all these thrills thrilled at keelson, and throes,<br/> +Little felt the shoddyites a-toasting o’ their toes;<br/> +In mart and bazar Lucre chuckled the huzza,<br/> +Coining the dollars in the bloody mint of war.<br/> +<br/> +But in men, gray knights o’ the Order o’ Scars,<br/> +And brave boys bound by vows unto Mars,<br/> +Nature grappled honor, intertwisting in the strife:—<br/> +But some cut the knot with a thoroughgoing knife.<br/> +For how when the drums beat? How in the fray<br/> +In Hampton Roads on the fine balmy day?<br/> +<br/> +There a lull, wife, befell—drop o’ silent in the din.<br/> +Let us enter that silence ere the belchings re-begin.<br/> +Through a ragged rift aslant in the cannonade’s smoke<br/> +An iron-clad reveals her repellent broadside<br/> +Bodily intact. But a frigate, all oak,<br/> +Shows honeycombed by shot, and her deck crimson-dyed.<br/> +And a trumpet from port of the iron-clad hails,<br/> +Summoning the other, whose flag never trails:<br/> +“Surrender that frigate, Will! Surrender,<br/> +Or I will sink her—<i>ram</i>, and end her!”<br/> +<br/> +’T was Hal. And Will, from the naked heart-o’-oak,<br/> +Will, the old messmate, minus trumpet, spoke,<br/> +Informally intrepid,—“Sink her, and be damned!”* [* Historic.]<br/> +Enough. Gathering way, the iron-clad <i>rammed</i>.<br/> +The frigate, heeling over, on the wave threw a dusk.<br/> +Not sharing in the slant, the clapper of her bell<br/> +The fixed metal struck—uinvoked struck the knell<br/> +Of the <i>Cumberland</i> stillettoed by the <i>Merrimac’s</i> tusk;<br/> +While, broken in the wound underneath the gun-deck,<br/> +Like a sword-fish’s blade in leviathan waylaid,<br/> +The tusk was left infixed in the fast-foundering wreck.<br/> +There, dungeoned in the cockpit, the wounded go down,<br/> +And the chaplain with them. But the surges uplift<br/> +The prone dead from deck, and for moment they drift<br/> +Washed with the swimmers, and the spent swimmers drown.<br/> +Nine fathom did she sink,—erect, though hid from light<br/> +Save her colors unsurrendered and spars that kept the height.<br/> +<br/> +Nay, pardon, old aunty! Wife, never let it fall,<br/> +That big started tear that hovers on the brim;<br/> +I forgot about your nephew and the <i>Merrimac’s</i> ball;<br/> +No more then of her, since it summons up him.<br/> +But talk o’ fellows’ hearts in the wine’s genial cup:—<br/> +Trap them in the fate, jam them in the strait,<br/> +Guns speak their hearts then, and speak right up.<br/> +The troublous colic o’ intestine war<br/> +It sets the bowels o’ affection ajar.<br/> +But, lord, old dame, so spins the whizzing world,<br/> +A humming-top, ay, for the little boy-gods<br/> +Flogging it well with their smart little rods,<br/> +Tittering at time and the coil uncurled.<br/> +<br/> +Now, now, sweetheart, you sidle away,<br/> +No, never you like <i>that</i> kind o’ <i>gay;</i><br/> +But sour if I get, giving truth her due,<br/> +Honey-sweet forever, wife, will Dick be to you!<br/> +<br/> +But avast with the War! ‘Why recall racking days<br/> +Since set up anew are the slip’s started stays?<br/> +Nor less, though the gale we have left behind,<br/> +Well may the heave o’ the sea remind.<br/> +It irks me now, as it troubled me then,<br/> +To think o’ the fate in the madness o’ men.<br/> +If Dick was with Farragut on the night-river,<br/> +When the boom-chain we burst in the fire-raft’s glare,<br/> +That blood-dyed the visage as red as the liver;<br/> +In the <i>Battle for the Bay</i> too if Dick had a share,<br/> +And saw one aloft a-piloting the war—<br/> +Trumpet in the whirlwind, a Providence in place—<br/> +Our Admiral old whom the captains huzza,<br/> +Dick joys in the man nor brags about the race.<br/> +<br/> +But better, wife, I like to booze on the days<br/> +Ere the Old Order foundered in these very frays,<br/> +And tradition was lost and we learned strange ways.<br/> +Often I think on the brave cruises then;<br/> +Re-sailing them in memory, I hail the press o’ men<br/> +On the gunned promenade where rolling they go,<br/> +Ere the dog-watch expire and break up the show.<br/> +The Laced Caps I see between forward guns;<br/> +Away from the powder-room they puff the cigar;<br/> +“Three days more, hey, the donnas and the dons!”<br/> +“Your Zeres widow, will you hunt her up, Starr?”<br/> +The Laced Caps laugh, and the bright waves too;<br/> +Very jolly, very wicked, both sea and crew,<br/> +Nor heaven looks sour on either, I guess,<br/> +Nor Pecksniff he bosses the gods’ high mess.<br/> +Wistful ye peer, wife, concerned for my head,<br/> +And how best to get me betimes to my bed.<br/> +<br/> +But king o’ the club, the gayest golden spark,<br/> +Sailor o’ sailors, what sailor do I mark?<br/> +Tom Tight, Tom Tight, no fine fellow finer,<br/> +A cutwater nose, ay, a spirited soul;<br/> +But, bowsing away at the well-brewed bowl,<br/> +He never bowled back from that last voyage to China.<br/> +<br/> +Tom was lieutenant in the brig-o’-war famed<br/> +When an officer was hung for an arch-mutineer,<br/> +But a mystery cleaved, and the captain was blamed,<br/> +And a rumpus too raised, though his honor it was clear.<br/> +And Tom he would say, when the mousers would try him,<br/> +And with cup after cup o’ Burgundy ply him:<br/> +“Gentlemen, in vain with your wassail you beset,<br/> +For the more I tipple, the tighter do I get.”<br/> +No blabber, no, not even with the can—<br/> +True to himself and loyal to his clan.<br/> +<br/> +Tom blessed us starboard and d—d us larboard,<br/> +Right down from rail to the streak o’ the garboard.<br/> +Nor less, wife, we liked him.—Tom was a man<br/> +In contrast queer with Chaplain Le Fan,<br/> +Who blessed us at morn, and at night yet again,<br/> +D—ning us only in decorous strain;<br/> +Preaching ’tween the guns—each cutlass in its place—<br/> +From text that averred old Adam a hard case.<br/> +I see him—Tom—on <i>horse-block</i> standing,<br/> +Trumpet at mouth, thrown up all amain,<br/> +An elephant’s bugle, vociferous demanding<br/> +Of topmen aloft in the hurricane of rain,<br/> +“Letting that sail there your faces flog?<br/> +Manhandle it, men, and you’ll get the good grog!”<br/> +O Tom, but he knew a blue-jacket’s ways,<br/> +And how a lieutenant may genially haze;<br/> +Only a sailor sailors heartily praise.<br/> +<br/> +Wife, where be all these chaps, I wonder?<br/> +Trumpets in the tempest, terrors in the fray,<br/> +Boomed their commands along the deck like thunder;<br/> +But silent is the sod, and thunder dies away.<br/> +But Captain Turret, <i>“Old Hemlock”</i> tall,<br/> +(A leaning tower when his tank brimmed all,)<br/> +Manoeuvre out alive from the war did he?<br/> +Or, too old for that, drift under the lee?<br/> +Kentuckian colossal, who, touching at Madeira,<br/> +The huge puncheon shipped o’ prime <i>Santa-Clara;</i><br/> +Then rocked along the deck so solemnly!<br/> +No whit the less though judicious was enough<br/> +In dealing with the Finn who made the great huff;<br/> +Our three-decker’s giant, a grand boatswain’s mate,<br/> +Manliest of men in his own natural senses;<br/> +But driven stark mad by the devil’s drugged stuff,<br/> +Storming all aboard from his run-ashore late,<br/> +Challenging to battle, vouchsafing no pretenses,<br/> +A reeling King Ogg, delirious in power,<br/> +The quarter-deck carronades he seemed to make cower.<br/> +“Put him in <i>brig</i> there!” said Lieutenant Marrot.<br/> +“Put him in <i>brig!</i>” back he mocked like a parrot;<br/> +“Try it, then!” swaying a fist like Thor’s sledge,<br/> +And making the pigmy constables hedge—<br/> +Ship’s corporals and the master-at-arms.<br/> +“In <i>brig</i> there, I say!”—They dally no more;<br/> +Like hounds let slip on a desperate boar,<br/> +Together they pounce on the formidable Finn,<br/> +Pinion and cripple and hustle him in.<br/> +Anon, under sentry, between twin guns,<br/> +He slides off in drowse, and the long night runs.<br/> +<br/> +Morning brings a summons. Whistling it calls,<br/> +Shrilled through the pipes of the boatswain’s four aids;<br/> +Trilled down the hatchways along the dusk halls:<br/> +<i>Muster to the Scourge!</i>—Dawn of doom and its blast!<br/> +As from cemeteries raised, sailors swarm before the mast,<br/> +Tumbling up the ladders from the ship’s nether shades.<br/> +<br/> +Keeping in the background and taking small part,<br/> +Lounging at their ease, indifferent in face,<br/> +Behold the trim marines uncompromised in heart;<br/> +Their Major, buttoned up, near the staff finds room—<br/> +The staff o’ lieutenants standing grouped in their place.<br/> +All the Laced Caps o’ the ward-room come,<br/> +The Chaplain among them, disciplined and dumb.<br/> +The blue-nosed boatswain, complexioned like slag,<br/> +Like a blue Monday lours—his implements in bag.<br/> +Executioners, his aids, a couple by him stand,<br/> +At a nod there the thongs to receive from his hand.<br/> +Never venturing a caveat whatever may betide,<br/> +Though functionally here on humanity’s side,<br/> +The grave Surgeon shows, like the formal physician<br/> +Attending the rack o’ the Spanish Inquisition.<br/> +<br/> +The angel o’ the “brig” brings his prisoner up;<br/> +Then, steadied by his old <i>Santa-Clara</i>, a sup,<br/> +Heading all erect, the ranged assizes there,<br/> +Lo, Captain Turret, and under starred bunting,<br/> +(A florid full face and fine silvered hair,)<br/> +Gigantic the yet greater giant confronting.<br/> +<br/> +Now the culprit he liked, as a tall captain can<br/> +A Titan subordinate and true <i>sailor-man;</i><br/> +And frequent he’d shown it—no worded advance,<br/> +But flattering the Finn with a well-timed glance.<br/> +But what of that now? In the martinet-mien<br/> +Read the <i>Articles of War</i>, heed the naval routine;<br/> +While, cut to the heart a dishonor there to win,<br/> +Restored to his senses, stood the Anak Finn;<br/> +In racked self-control the squeezed tears peeping,<br/> +Scalding the eye with repressed inkeeping.<br/> +Discipline must be; the scourge is deemed due.<br/> +But ah for the sickening and strange heart- benumbing,<br/> +Compassionate abasement in shipmates that view;<br/> +Such a grand champion shamed there succumbing!<br/> +“Brown, tie him up.”—The cord he brooked:<br/> +How else?—his arms spread apart—never threaping;<br/> +No, never he flinched, never sideways he looked,<br/> +Peeled to the waistband, the marble flesh creeping,<br/> +Lashed by the sleet the officious winds urge.<br/> +<br/> +In function his fellows their fellowship merge—<br/> +The twain standing nigh—the two boatswain’s mates,<br/> +Sailors of his grade, ay, and brothers of his mess.<br/> +With sharp thongs adroop the junior one awaits<br/> +The word to uplift.<br/> + “Untie him—so!<br/> +Submission is enough, Man, you may go.”<br/> +Then, promenading aft, brushing fat Purser Smart,<br/> +“Flog? Never meant it—hadn’t any heart.<br/> +Degrade that tall fellow? “—Such, wife, was he,<br/> +Old Captain Turret, who the brave wine could stow.<br/> +Magnanimous, you think?—But what does Dick see?<br/> +Apron to your eye! Why, never fell a blow;<br/> +Cheer up, old wifie, ’t was a long time ago.<br/> +<br/> +But where’s that sore one, crabbed and-severe,<br/> +Lieutenant Lon Lumbago, an arch scrutineer?<br/> +Call the roll to-day, would he answer—<i>Here!</i><br/> +When the <i>Blixum’s</i> fellows to quarters mustered<br/> +How he’d lurch along the lane of gun-crews clustered,<br/> +Testy as touchwood, to pry and to peer.<br/> +Jerking his sword underneath larboard arm,<br/> +He ground his worn grinders to keep himself calm.<br/> +Composed in his nerves, from the fidgets set free,<br/> +Tell, Sweet Wrinkles, alive now is he,<br/> +In Paradise a parlor where the even tempers be?<br/> +<br/> +Where’s Commander All-a-Tanto?<br/> +Where’s Orlop Bob singing up from below?<br/> +Where’s Rhyming Ned? has he spun his last canto?<br/> +Where’s Jewsharp Jim? Where’s Ringadoon Joe?<br/> +Ah, for the music over and done,<br/> +The band all dismissed save the droned trombone!<br/> +Where’s Glenn o’ the gun-room, who loved Hot-Scotch—<br/> +Glen, prompt and cool in a perilous watch?<br/> +Where’s flaxen-haired Phil? a gray lieutenant?<br/> +Or rubicund, flying a dignified pennant?<br/> +<br/> +But where sleeps his brother?—the cruise it was o’er,<br/> +But ah, for death’s grip that welcomed him ashore!<br/> +Where’s Sid, the cadet, so frank in his brag,<br/> +Whose toast was audacious—“<i>Here’s Sid, and Sid’s flag!</i>”<br/> +Like holiday-craft that have sunk unknown,<br/> +May a lark of a lad go lonely down?<br/> +Who takes the census under the sea?<br/> +Can others like old ensigns be,<br/> +Bunting I hoisted to flutter at the gaff—<br/> +Rags in end that once were flags<br/> +Gallant streaming from the staff?<br/> +<br/> +Such scurvy doom could the chances deal<br/> +To Top-Gallant Harry and Jack Genteel?<br/> +Lo, Genteel Jack in hurricane weather,<br/> +Shagged like a bear, like a red lion roaring;<br/> +But O, so fine in his chapeau and feather,<br/> +In port to the ladies never once <i>jawing;</i><br/> +All bland <i>politesse,</i> how urbane was he—<br/> +<i>“Oui, mademoiselle”—“Ma chère amie!”</i><br/> +<br/> +’T was Jack got up the ball at Naples,<br/> +Gay in the old <i>Ohio</i> glorious;<br/> +His hair was curled by the berth-deck barber,<br/> +Never you’d deemed him a cub of rude Boreas;<br/> +In tight little pumps, with the grand dames in rout,<br/> +A-flinging his shapely foot all about;<br/> +His watch-chain with love’s jeweled tokens abounding,<br/> +Curls ambrosial shaking out odors,<br/> +Waltzing along the batteries, astounding<br/> +The gunner glum and the grim-visaged loaders.<br/> +<br/> +Wife, where be all these blades, I wonder,<br/> +Pennoned fine fellows, so strong, so gay?<br/> +Never their colors with a dip dived under;<br/> +Have they hauled them down in a lack-lustre day,<br/> +Or beached their boats in the Far, Far Away?<br/> +Hither and thither, blown wide asunder,<br/> +Where’s this fleet, I wonder and wonder.<br/> +Slipt their cables, rattled their adieu,<br/> +(Whereaway pointing? to what rendezvous?)<br/> +Out of sight, out of mind, like the crack <i>Constitution,</i><br/> +And many a keel time never shall renew—<br/> +<i>Bon Homme Dick</i> o’ the buff Revolution,<br/> +The <i>Black Cockade</i> and the staunch <i>True-Blue.</i><br/> +<br/> +Doff hats to Decatur! But where is his blazon?<br/> +Must merited fame endure time’s wrong—<br/> +Glory’s ripe grape wizen up to a raisin?<br/> +Yes! for Nature teems, and the years are strong,<br/> +And who can keep the tally o’ the names that fleet along!<br/> +<br/> +But his frigate, wife, his bride? Would blacksmiths brown<br/> +Into smithereens smite the solid old renown?<br/> +Rivetting the bolts in the iron-clad’s shell,<br/> +Hark to the hammers with <i>a rat-tat-tat;</i><br/> +“Handier a <i>derby</i> than a laced cocked hat!<br/> +The <i>Monitor</i> was ugly, but she served us right well,<br/> +Better than the <i>Cumberland,</i> a beauty and the belle.”<br/> +<br/> +<i>Better than the Cumberland!</i>—Heart alive in me!<br/> +That battlemented hull, Tantallon o’ the sea,<br/> +Kicked in, as at Boston the taxed chests o’ tea!<br/> +Ay, spurned by the <i>ram,</i> once a tall, shapely craft,<br/> +But lopped by the Rebs to an iron-beaked raft—<br/> +A blacksmith’s unicorn in armor <i>cap-a-pie</i>.<br/> +<br/> +Under the water-line a <i>ram’s</i> blow is dealt:<br/> +And foul fall the knuckles that strike below the belt.<br/> +Nor brave the inventions that serve to replace<br/> +The openness of valor while dismantling the grace.<br/> +<br/> +Aloof from all this and the never-ending game,<br/> +Tantamount to teetering, plot and counterplot;<br/> +Impenetrable armor—all-perforating shot;<br/> +Aloof, bless God, ride the war-ships of old,<br/> +A grand fleet moored in the roadstead of fame;<br/> +Not submarine sneaks with <i>them</i> are enrolled;<br/> +Their long shadows dwarf us, their flags are as flame.<br/> +<br/> +Don’t fidget so, wife; an old man’s passion<br/> +Amounts to no more than this smoke that I puff;<br/> +There, there, now, buss me in good old fashion;<br/> +A died-down candle will flicker in the snuff.<br/> +<br/> +But one last thing let your old babbler say,<br/> +What Decatur’s coxswain said who was long ago hearsed,<br/> +“Take in your flying-kites, for there comes a lubber’s day<br/> +When gallant things will go, and the three-deckers first.”<br/> +<br/> +My pipe is smoked out, and the grog runs slack;<br/> +But bowse away, wife, at your blessed Bohea;<br/> +This empty can here must needs solace me—<br/> +Nay, sweetheart, nay; I take that back;<br/> +Dick drinks from your eyes and he finds no lack! +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap05"></a> +TOM DEADLIGHT</h2> + +<p> +During a tempest encountered homeward-bound from the Mediterranean, a grizzled +petty-officer, one of the two captains of the forecastle, dying at night in his +hammock, swung in the sick-bay under the tiered gun-decks of the British +<i>Dreadnaught, 98,</i> wandering in his mind, though with glimpses of sanity, +and starting up at whiles, sings by snatches his good-bye and last injunctions +to two messmates, his watchers, one of whom fans the fevered tar with the flap +of his old sou’wester. Some names and phrases, with here and there a +line, or part of one; these, in his aberration, wrested into incoherency from +their original connection and import, he voluntarily derives, as he does the +measure, from a famous old sea-ditty, whose cadences, long rife, and now +humming in the collapsing brain, attune the last flutterings of distempered +thought. +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Farewell and adieu to you noble hearties,—<br/> + Farewell and adieu to you ladies of Spain,<br/> +For I’ve received orders for to sail for the Deadman,<br/> + But hope with the grand fleet to see you again.<br/> +<br/> +I have hove my ship to, with main-top-sail aback, boys;<br/> + I have hove my ship to, for the strike soundings clear—<br/> +The black scud a’flying; but, by God’s blessing, dam’ me,<br/> + Right up the Channel for the Deadman I’ll steer.<br/> +<br/> +I have worried through the waters that are called the Doldrums,<br/> + And growled at Sargasso that clogs while ye grope—<br/> +Blast my eyes, but the light-ship is hid by the mist, lads:—<br/> + <i>Flying Dutchman</i>—odds bobbs—off the Cape of Good Hope!<br/> +<br/> +But what’s this I feel that is fanning my cheek, Matt?<br/> + The white goney’s wing?—how she rolls!— ’t is the Cape!—<br/> +Give my kit to the mess, Jock, for kin none is mine, none;<br/> + And tell <i>Holy Joe</i> to avast with the crape.<br/> +<br/> +Dead reckoning, says <i>Joe</i>, it won’t do to go by;<br/> + But they doused all the glims, Matt, in sky t’ other night.<br/> +Dead reckoning is good for to sail for the Deadman;<br/> + And Tom Deadlight he thinks it may reckon near right.<br/> +<br/> +The signal!—it streams for the grand fleet to anchor.<br/> + The captains—the trumpets—the hullabaloo!<br/> +Stand by for blue-blazes, and mind your shank-painters,<br/> + For the Lord High Admiral, he’s squinting at you!<br/> +<br/> +But give me my <i>tot</i>, Matt, before I roll over;<br/> + Jock, let’s have your flipper, it’s good for to feel;<br/> +And don’t sew me up without <i>baccy</i> in mouth, boys,<br/> + And don’t blubber like lubbers when I turn up my keel. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap06"></a> +JACK ROY</h2> + +<p class="poem"> +Kept up by relays of generations young<br/> +Never dies at halyards the blithe chorus sung;<br/> +While in sands, sounds, and seas where the storm-petrels cry,<br/> +Dropped mute around the globe, these halyard singers lie.<br/> +Short-lived the clippers for racing-cups that run,<br/> +And speeds in life’s career many a lavish mother’s-son.<br/> +<br/> +But thou, manly king o’ the old <i>Splendid’s</i> crew,<br/> +The ribbons o’ thy hat still a-fluttering, should fly—<br/> +A challenge, and forever, nor the bravery should rue.<br/> +Only in a tussle for the starry flag high,<br/> +When ’tis piety to do, and privilege to die.<br/> +Then, only then, would heaven think to lop<br/> +Such a cedar as the captain o’ the <i>Splendid’s</i> main-top:<br/> +A belted sea-gentleman; a gallant, off-hand<br/> +Mercutio indifferent in life’s gay command.<br/> +Magnanimous in humor; when the splintering shot fell,<br/> +“Tooth-picks a-plenty, lads; thank ’em with a shell!”<br/> +<br/> +Sang Larry o’ the <i>Cannakin,</i> smuggler o’ the wine,<br/> +At mess between guns, lad in jovial recline:<br/> +“In Limbo our Jack he would chirrup up a cheer,<br/> +The martinet there find a chaffing mutineer;<br/> +From a thousand fathoms down under hatches o’ your Hades,<br/> +He’d ascend in love-ditty, kissing fingers to your ladies!”<br/> +<br/> +Never relishing the knave, though allowing for the menial,<br/> +Nor overmuch the king, Jack, nor prodigally genial.<br/> +Ashore on liberty he flashed in escapade,<br/> +Vaulting over life in its levelness of grade,<br/> +Like the dolphin off Africa in rainbow a-sweeping—<br/> +Arch iridescent shot from seas languid sleeping.<br/> +<br/> +Larking with thy life, if a joy but a toy,<br/> +Heroic in thy levity wert thou, Jack Roy. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap07"></a> +SEA PIECES</h2> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap08"></a> +THE HAGLETS</h2> + +<p class="poem"> +By chapel bare, with walls sea-beat<br/> +The lichened urns in wilds are lost<br/> +About a carved memorial stone<br/> +That shows, decayed and coral-mossed,<br/> +A form recumbent, swords at feet,<br/> +Trophies at head, and kelp for a winding-sheet.<br/> +<br/> +I invoke thy ghost, neglected fane,<br/> +Washed by the waters’ long lament;<br/> +I adjure the recumbent effigy<br/> +To tell the cenotaph’s intent—<br/> +Reveal why fagotted swords are at feet,<br/> +Why trophies appear and weeds are the winding-sheet.<br/> +<br/> +By open ports the Admiral sits,<br/> +And shares repose with guns that tell<br/> +Of power that smote the arm’d Plate Fleet<br/> +Whose sinking flag-ship’s colors fell;<br/> +But over the Admiral floats in light<br/> +His squadron’s flag, the red-cross Flag of the White.<br/> +<br/> +The eddying waters whirl astern,<br/> +The prow, a seedsman, sows the spray;<br/> +With bellying sails and buckling spars<br/> +The black hull leaves a Milky Way;<br/> +Her timbers thrill, her batteries roll,<br/> +She revelling speeds exulting with pennon at pole,<br/> +<br/> +But ah, for standards captive trailed<br/> +For all their scutcheoned castles’ pride—<br/> +Castilian towers that dominate Spain,<br/> +Naples, and either Ind beside;<br/> +Those haughty towers, armorial ones,<br/> +Rue the salute from the Admiral’s dens of guns.<br/> +<br/> +Ensigns and arms in trophy brave,<br/> +Braver for many a rent and scar,<br/> +The captor’s naval hall bedeck,<br/> +Spoil that insures an earldom’s star—<br/> +Toledoes great, grand draperies, too,<br/> +Spain’s steel and silk, and splendors from Peru.<br/> +<br/> +But crippled part in splintering fight,<br/> +The vanquished flying the victor’s flags,<br/> +With prize-crews, under convoy-guns,<br/> +Heavy the fleet from Opher drags—<br/> +The Admiral crowding sail ahead,<br/> +Foremost with news who foremost in conflict sped.<br/> +<br/> +But out from cloistral gallery dim,<br/> +In early night his glance is thrown;<br/> +He marks the vague reserve of heaven,<br/> +He feels the touch of ocean lone;<br/> +Then turns, in frame part undermined,<br/> +Nor notes the shadowing wings that fan behind.<br/> +<br/> +There, peaked and gray, three haglets fly,<br/> +And follow, follow fast in wake<br/> +Where slides the cabin-lustre shy,<br/> +And sharks from man a glamour take,<br/> +Seething along the line of light<br/> +In lane that endless rules the war-ship’s flight.<br/> +<br/> +The sea-fowl here, whose hearts none know,<br/> +They followed late the flag-ship quelled,<br/> +(As now the victor one) and long<br/> +Above her gurgling grave, shrill held<br/> +With screams their wheeling rites—then sped<br/> +Direct in silence where the victor led.<br/> +<br/> +Now winds less fleet, but fairer, blow,<br/> +A ripple laps the coppered side,<br/> +While phosphor sparks make ocean gleam,<br/> +Like camps lit up in triumph wide;<br/> +With lights and tinkling cymbals meet<br/> +Acclaiming seas the advancing conqueror greet.<br/> +<br/> +But who a flattering tide may trust,<br/> +Or favoring breeze, or aught in end?—<br/> +Careening under startling blasts<br/> +The sheeted towers of sails impend;<br/> +While, gathering bale, behind is bred<br/> +A livid storm-bow, like a rainbow dead.<br/> +<br/> +At trumpet-call the topmen spring;<br/> +And, urged by after-call in stress,<br/> +Yet other tribes of tars ascend<br/> +The rigging’s howling wilderness;<br/> +But ere yard-ends alert they win,<br/> +Hell rules in heaven with hurricane-fire and din.<br/> +<br/> +The spars, athwart at spiry height,<br/> +Like quaking Lima’s crosses rock;<br/> +Like bees the clustering sailors cling<br/> +Against the shrouds, or take the shock<br/> +Flat on the swept yard-arms aslant,<br/> +Dipped like the wheeling condor’s pinions gaunt.<br/> +<br/> +A LULL! and tongues of languid flame<br/> +Lick every boom, and lambent show<br/> +Electric ’gainst each face aloft;<br/> +The herds of clouds with bellowings go:<br/> +The black ship rears—beset—harassed,<br/> +Then plunges far with luminous antlers vast.<br/> +<br/> +In trim betimes they turn from land,<br/> +Some shivered sails and spars they stow;<br/> +One watch, dismissed, they troll the can,<br/> +While loud the billow thumps the bow—<br/> +Vies with the fist that smites the board,<br/> +Obstreperous at each reveller’s jovial word.<br/> +<br/> +Of royal oak by storms confirmed,<br/> +The tested hull her lineage shows:<br/> +Vainly the plungings whelm her prow—<br/> +She rallies, rears, she sturdier grows:<br/> +Each shot-hole plugged, each storm-sail home,<br/> +With batteries housed she rams the watery dome.<br/> +<br/> +DIM seen adrift through driving scud,<br/> +The wan moon shows in plight forlorn;<br/> +Then, pinched in visage, fades and fades<br/> +Like to the faces drowned at morn,<br/> +When deeps engulfed the flag-ship’s crew,<br/> +And, shrilling round, the inscrutable haglets flew.<br/> +<br/> +And still they fly, nor now they cry,<br/> +But constant fan a second wake,<br/> +Unflagging pinions ply and ply,<br/> +Abreast their course intent they take;<br/> +Their silence marks a stable mood,<br/> +They patient keep their eager neighborhood.<br/> +<br/> +Plumed with a smoke, a confluent sea,<br/> +Heaved in a combing pyramid full,<br/> +Spent at its climax, in collapse<br/> +Down headlong thundering stuns the hull:<br/> +The trophy drops; but, reared again,<br/> +Shows Mars’ high-altar and contemns the main.<br/> +<br/> +REBUILT it stands, the brag of arms,<br/> +Transferred in site—no thought of where<br/> +The sensitive needle keeps its place,<br/> +And starts, disturbed, a quiverer there;<br/> +The helmsman rubs the clouded glass—<br/> +Peers in, but lets the trembling portent pass.<br/> +<br/> +Let pass as well his shipmates do<br/> +(Whose dream of power no tremors jar)<br/> +Fears for the fleet convoyed astern:<br/> +“Our flag they fly, they share our star;<br/> +Spain’s galleons great in hull are stout:<br/> +Manned by our men—like us they’ll ride it out.”<br/> +<br/> +Tonight’s the night that ends the week—<br/> +Ends day and week and month and year:<br/> +A fourfold imminent flickering time,<br/> +For now the midnight draws anear:<br/> +Eight bells! and passing-bells they be—<br/> +The Old year fades, the Old Year dies at sea.<br/> +<br/> +He launched them well. But shall the New<br/> +Redeem the pledge the Old Year made,<br/> +Or prove a self-asserting heir?<br/> +But healthy hearts few qualms invade:<br/> +By shot-chests grouped in bays ’tween guns<br/> +The gossips chat, the grizzled, sea-beat ones.<br/> +<br/> +And boyish dreams some graybeards blab:<br/> +“To sea, my lads, we go no more<br/> +Who share the Acapulco prize;<br/> +We’ll all night in, and bang the door;<br/> +Our ingots red shall yield us bliss:<br/> +Lads, golden years begin to-night with this!”<br/> +<br/> +Released from deck, yet waiting call,<br/> +Glazed caps and coats baptized in storm,<br/> +A watch of Laced Sleeves round the board<br/> +Draw near in heart to keep them warm:<br/> +“Sweethearts and wives!” clink, clink, they meet,<br/> +And, quaffing, dip in wine their beards of sleet.<br/> +“Ay, let the star-light stay withdrawn,<br/> +So here her hearth-light memory fling,<br/> +So in this wine-light cheer be born,<br/> +And honor’s fellowship weld our ring—<br/> +Honor! our Admiral’s aim foretold:<br/> +<br/> +<i>A tomb or a trophy,</i> and lo, ’t is a trophy and gold!”<br/> +But he, a unit, sole in rank,<br/> +Apart needs keep his lonely state,<br/> +The sentry at his guarded door<br/> +Mute as by vault the sculptured Fate;<br/> +Belted he sits in drowsy light,<br/> +And, hatted, nods—the Admiral of the White.<br/> +<br/> +He dozes, aged with watches passed—<br/> +Years, years of pacing to and fro;<br/> +He dozes, nor attends the stir<br/> +In bullioned standards rustling low,<br/> +Nor minds the blades whose secret thrill<br/> +Perverts overhead the magnet’s Polar will:—<br/> +<br/> +LESS heeds the shadowing three that play<br/> +And follow, follow fast in wake,<br/> +Untiring wing and lidless eye—<br/> +Abreast their course intent they take;<br/> +Or sigh or sing, they hold for good<br/> +The unvarying flight and fixed inveterate mood.<br/> +<br/> +In dream at last his dozings merge,<br/> +In dream he reaps his victor’s fruit;<br/> +The Flags-o’-the-Blue, the Flags-o’-the-Red,<br/> +Dipped flags of his country’s fleets salute<br/> +His Flag-o’-the-White in harbor proud—<br/> +But why should it blench? Why turn to a painted shroud?<br/> +<br/> +The hungry seas they hound the hull,<br/> +The sharks they dog the haglets’ flight;<br/> +With one consent the winds, the waves<br/> +In hunt with fins and wings unite,<br/> +While drear the harps in cordage sound<br/> +Remindful wails for old Armadas drowned.<br/> +<br/> +Ha—yonder! are they Northern Lights?<br/> +Or signals flashed to warn or ward?<br/> +Yea, signals lanced in breakers high;<br/> +But doom on warning follows hard:<br/> +While yet they veer in hope to shun,<br/> +They strike! and thumps of hull and heart are one.<br/> +<br/> +But beating hearts a drum-beat calls<br/> +And prompt the men to quarters go;<br/> +Discipline, curbing nature, rules—<br/> +Heroic makes who duty know:<br/> +They execute the trump’s command,<br/> +Or in peremptory places wait and stand.<br/> +<br/> +Yet cast about in blind amaze—<br/> +As through their watery shroud they peer:<br/> +“We tacked from land: then how betrayed?<br/> +Have currents swerved us—snared us here?”<br/> +None heed the blades that clash in place<br/> +Under lamps dashed down that lit the magnet’s case.<br/> +<br/> +Ah, what may live, who mighty swim,<br/> +Or boat-crew reach that shore forbid,<br/> +Or cable span? Must victors drown—<br/> +Perish, even as the vanquished did?<br/> +Man keeps from man the stifled moan;<br/> +They shouldering stand, yet each in heart how lone.<br/> +<br/> +Some heaven invoke; but rings of reefs<br/> +Prayer and despair alike deride<br/> +In dance of breakers forked or peaked,<br/> +Pale maniacs of the maddened tide;<br/> +While, strenuous yet some end to earn,<br/> +The haglets spin, though now no more astern.<br/> +<br/> +Like shuttles hurrying in the looms<br/> +Aloft through rigging frayed they ply—<br/> +Cross and recross—weave and inweave,<br/> +Then lock the web with clinching cry<br/> +Over the seas on seas that clasp<br/> +The weltering wreck where gurgling ends the gasp.<br/> +<br/> +Ah, for the Plate-Fleet trophy now,<br/> +The victor’s voucher, flags and arms;<br/> +Never they’ll hang in Abbey old<br/> +And take Time’s dust with holier palms;<br/> +Nor less content, in liquid night,<br/> +Their captor sleeps—the Admiral of the White.<br/> +<br/> +Imbedded deep with shells<br/> +And drifted treasure deep,<br/> +Forever he sinks deeper in<br/> +Unfathomable sleep—<br/> +His cannon round him thrown,<br/> +His sailors at his feet,<br/> +The wizard sea enchanting them<br/> +Where never haglets beat.<br/> +<br/> +On nights when meteors play<br/> +And light the breakers dance,<br/> +The Oreads from the caves<br/> +With silvery elves advance;<br/> +And up from ocean stream,<br/> +And down from heaven far,<br/> +The rays that blend in dream<br/> +The abysm and the star. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap09"></a> +THE AEOLIAN HARP</h2> + +<p class="center"> +<i>At The Surf Inn</i> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +List the harp in window wailing<br/> + Stirred by fitful gales from sea:<br/> +Shrieking up in mad crescendo—<br/> + Dying down in plaintive key!<br/> +<br/> +Listen: less a strain ideal<br/> +Than Ariel’s rendering of the Real.<br/> + What that Real is, let hint<br/> + A picture stamped in memory’s mint.<br/> +<br/> +Braced well up, with beams aslant,<br/> +Betwixt the continents sails the <i>Phocion,</i><br/> +For Baltimore bound from Alicant.<br/> +Blue breezy skies white fleeces fleck<br/> +Over the chill blue white-capped ocean:<br/> +From yard-arm comes—“Wreck ho, a wreck!”<br/> +<br/> +Dismasted and adrift,<br/> +Longtime a thing forsaken;<br/> +Overwashed by every wave<br/> +Like the slumbering kraken;<br/> +Heedless if the billow roar,<br/> +Oblivious of the lull,<br/> +Leagues and leagues from shoal or shore,<br/> +It swims—a levelled hull:<br/> +Bulwarks gone—a shaven wreck,<br/> +Nameless and a grass-green deck.<br/> +A lumberman: perchance, in hold<br/> +Prostrate pines with hemlocks rolled.<br/> +<br/> +It has drifted, waterlogged,<br/> +Till by trailing weeds beclogged:<br/> + Drifted, drifted, day by day,<br/> + Pilotless on pathless way.<br/> +It has drifted till each plank<br/> +Is oozy as the oyster-bank:<br/> + Drifted, drifted, night by night,<br/> + Craft that never shows a light;<br/> +Nor ever, to prevent worse knell,<br/> +Tolls in fog the warning bell.<br/> +<br/> +From collision never shrinking,<br/> +Drive what may through darksome smother;<br/> +Saturate, but never sinking,<br/> +Fatal only to the <i>other!</i><br/> + Deadlier than the sunken reef<br/> +Since still the snare it shifteth,<br/> + Torpid in dumb ambuscade<br/> +Waylayingly it drifteth.<br/> +<br/> +O, the sailors—O, the sails!<br/> +O, the lost crews never heard of!<br/> +Well the harp of Ariel wails<br/> +Thought that tongue can tell no word of! +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap10"></a> +TO THE MASTER OF THE <i>METEOR</i></h2> + +<p class="poem"> +Lonesome on earth’s loneliest deep,<br/> +Sailor! who dost thy vigil keep—<br/> +Off the Cape of Storms dost musing sweep<br/> +Over monstrous waves that curl and comb;<br/> +Of thee we think when here from brink<br/> +We blow the mead in bubbling foam.<br/> +<br/> +Of thee we think, in a ring we link;<br/> +To the shearer of ocean’s fleece we drink,<br/> +And the <i>Meteor</i> rolling home. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap11"></a> +FAR OFF-SHORE</h2> + +<p class="poem"> +Look, the raft, a signal flying,<br/> + Thin—a shred;<br/> +None upon the lashed spars lying,<br/> + Quick or dead.<br/> +<br/> +Cries the sea-fowl, hovering over,<br/> + “Crew, the crew?”<br/> +And the billow, reckless, rover,<br/> + Sweeps anew! +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap12"></a> +THE MAN-OF-WAR HAWK</h2> + +<p class="poem"> +Yon black man-of-war-hawk that wheels in the light<br/> +O’er the black ship’s white sky-s’l, sunned cloud to the sight,<br/> +Have we low-flyers wings to ascend to his height?<br/> +No arrow can reach him; nor thought can attain<br/> +To the placid supreme in the sweep of his reign. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap13"></a> +THE FIGURE-HEAD</h2> + +<p class="poem"> +The <i>Charles-and-Emma</i> seaward sped,<br/> +(Named from the carven pair at prow,)<br/> +He so smart, and a curly head,<br/> +She tricked forth as a bride knows how:<br/> + Pretty stem for the port, I trow!<br/> +<br/> +But iron-rust and alum-spray<br/> +And chafing gear, and sun and dew<br/> +Vexed this lad and lassie gay,<br/> +Tears in their eyes, salt tears nor few;<br/> + And the hug relaxed with the failing glue.<br/> +<br/> +But came in end a dismal night,<br/> +With creaking beams and ribs that groan,<br/> +A black lee-shore and waters white:<br/> +Dropped on the reef, the pair lie prone:<br/> + O, the breakers dance, but the winds they moan! +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap14"></a> +THE GOOD CRAFT <i>SNOW BIRD</i></h2> + +<p class="poem"> +Strenuous need that head-wind be<br/> + From purposed voyage that drives at last<br/> +The ship, sharp-braced and dogged still,<br/> + Beating up against the blast.<br/> +<br/> +Brigs that figs for market gather,<br/> + Homeward-bound upon the stretch,<br/> +Encounter oft this uglier weather<br/> + Yet in end their port they fetch.<br/> +<br/> +Mark yon craft from sunny Smyrna<br/> + Glazed with ice in Boston Bay;<br/> +Out they toss the fig-drums cheerly,<br/> + Livelier for the frosty ray.<br/> +<br/> +What if sleet off-shore assailed her,<br/> + What though ice yet plate her yards;<br/> +In wintry port not less she renders<br/> + Summer’s gift with warm regards!<br/> +<br/> +And, look, the underwriters’ man,<br/> + Timely, when the stevedore’s done,<br/> +Puts on his <i>specs</i> to pry and scan,<br/> +And sets her down—<i>A, No. 1.</i><br/> +<br/> +Bravo, master! Bravo, brig!<br/> + For slanting snows out of the West<br/> +Never the <i>Snow-Bird</i> cares one fig;<br/> + And foul winds steady her, though a pest. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap15"></a> +OLD COUNSEL</h2> + +<p class="center"> +<i>Of The Young Master of a Wrecked California Clipper</i> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Come out of the Golden Gate,<br/> + Go round the Horn with streamers,<br/> +Carry royals early and late;<br/> +But, brother, be not over-elate—<br/> + <i>All hands save ship!</i> has startled dreamers. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap16"></a> +THE TUFT OF KELP</h2> + +<p class="poem"> +All dripping in tangles green,<br/> + Cast up by a lonely sea<br/> +If purer for that, O Weed,<br/> + Bitterer, too, are ye? +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap17"></a> +THE MALDIVE SHARK</h2> + +<p class="poem"> +About the Shark, phlegmatical one,<br/> +Pale sot of the Maldive sea,<br/> +The sleek little pilot-fish, azure and slim,<br/> +How alert in attendance be.<br/> +From his saw-pit of mouth, from his charnel of maw<br/> +They have nothing of harm to dread,<br/> +But liquidly glide on his ghastly flank<br/> +Or before his Gorgonian head:<br/> +Or lurk in the port of serrated teeth<br/> +In white triple tiers of glittering gates,<br/> +And there find a haven when peril’s abroad,<br/> +An asylum in jaws of the Fates!<br/> +They are friends; and friendly they guide him to prey,<br/> +Yet never partake of the treat—<br/> +Eyes and brains to the dotard lethargic and dull,<br/> +Pale ravener of horrible meat. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap18"></a> +TO NED</h2> + +<p class="poem"> +Where is the world we roved, Ned Bunn?<br/> + Hollows thereof lay rich in shade<br/> +By voyagers old inviolate thrown<br/> + Ere Paul Pry cruised with Pelf and Trade.<br/> +To us old lads some thoughts come home<br/> +Who roamed a world young lads no more shall roam.<br/> +<br/> +Nor less the satiate year impends<br/> + When, wearying of routine-resorts,<br/> +The pleasure-hunter shall break loose,<br/> + Ned, for our Pantheistic ports:—<br/> +Marquesas and glenned isles that be<br/> +Authentic Edens in a Pagan sea.<br/> +<br/> +The charm of scenes untried shall lure,<br/> +And, Ned, a legend urge the flight—<br/> +The Typee-truants under stars<br/> +Unknown to Shakespere’s <i>Midsummer-Night;</i><br/> +And man, if lost to Saturn’s Age,<br/> +Yet feeling life no Syrian pilgrimage.<br/> +<br/> +But, tell, shall he, the tourist, find<br/> + Our isles the same in violet-glow<br/> +Enamoring us what years and years—<br/> + Ah, Ned, what years and years ago!<br/> +Well, Adam advances, smart in pace,<br/> +But scarce by violets that advance you trace.<br/> +<br/> +But we, in anchor-watches calm,<br/> + The Indian Psyche’s languor won,<br/> +And, musing, breathed primeval balm<br/> + From Edens ere yet overrun;<br/> +Marvelling mild if mortal twice,<br/> +Here and hereafter, touch a Paradise. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap19"></a> +CROSSING THE TROPICS</h2> + +<p class="center"> +<i>From “The Saya-y-Manto.”</i> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +While now the Pole Star sinks from sight<br/> + The Southern Cross it climbs the sky;<br/> +But losing thee, my love, my light,<br/> +O bride but for one bridal night,<br/> + The loss no rising joys supply.<br/> +<br/> +Love, love, the Trade Winds urge abaft,<br/> +And thee, from thee, they steadfast waft.<br/> +<br/> +By day the blue and silver sea<br/> + And chime of waters blandly fanned—<br/> +Nor these, nor Gama’s stars to me<br/> +May yield delight since still for thee<br/> + I long as Gama longed for land.<br/> +<br/> +I yearn, I yearn, reverting turn,<br/> +My heart it streams in wake astern<br/> +When, cut by slanting sleet, we swoop<br/> + Where raves the world’s inverted year,<br/> +If roses all your porch shall loop,<br/> +Not less your heart for me will droop<br/> + Doubling the world’s last outpost drear.<br/> +<br/> +O love, O love, these oceans vast:<br/> +Love, love, it is as death were past! +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap20"></a> +THE BERG</h2> + +<p class="center"> +<i>A Dream</i> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +I saw a ship of martial build<br/> +(Her standards set, her brave apparel on)<br/> +Directed as by madness mere<br/> +Against a stolid iceberg steer,<br/> +Nor budge it, though the infatuate ship went down.<br/> +The impact made huge ice-cubes fall<br/> +Sullen, in tons that crashed the deck;<br/> +But that one avalanche was all<br/> +No other movement save the foundering wreck.<br/> +<br/> +Along the spurs of ridges pale,<br/> +Not any slenderest shaft and frail,<br/> +A prism over glass—green gorges lone,<br/> +Toppled; nor lace of traceries fine,<br/> +Nor pendant drops in grot or mine<br/> +Were jarred, when the stunned ship went down.<br/> +Nor sole the gulls in cloud that wheeled<br/> +Circling one snow-flanked peak afar,<br/> +But nearer fowl the floes that skimmed<br/> +And crystal beaches, felt no jar.<br/> +No thrill transmitted stirred the lock<br/> +Of jack-straw needle-ice at base;<br/> +Towers undermined by waves—the block<br/> +Atilt impending—kept their place.<br/> +Seals, dozing sleek on sliddery ledges<br/> +Slipt never, when by loftier edges<br/> +Through very inertia overthrown,<br/> +The impetuous ship in bafflement went down.<br/> +Hard Berg (methought), so cold, so vast,<br/> +With mortal damps self-overcast;<br/> +Exhaling still thy dankish breath—<br/> +Adrift dissolving, bound for death;<br/> +Though lumpish thou, a lumbering one—<br/> +A lumbering lubbard loitering slow,<br/> +Impingers rue thee and go down,<br/> +Sounding thy precipice below,<br/> +Nor stir the slimy slug that sprawls<br/> +Along thy dense stolidity of walls. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap21"></a> +THE ENVIABLE ISLES</h2> + +<p class="center"> +<i>From “Rammon.”</i> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Through storms you reach them and from storms are free.<br/> + Afar descried, the foremost drear in hue,<br/> +But, nearer, green; and, on the marge, the sea<br/> + Makes thunder low and mist of rainbowed dew.<br/> +<br/> +But, inland, where the sleep that folds the hills<br/> +A dreamier sleep, the trance of God, instills—<br/> + On uplands hazed, in wandering airs aswoon,<br/> +Slow-swaying palms salute love’s cypress tree<br/> + Adown in vale where pebbly runlets croon<br/> +A song to lull all sorrow and all glee.<br/> +<br/> +Sweet-fern and moss in many a glade are here.<br/> + Where, strewn in flocks, what cheek-flushed myriads lie<br/> +Dimpling in dream—unconscious slumberers mere,<br/> + While billows endless round the beaches die. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap22"></a> +PEBBLES</h2> + +<p class="center"> +I +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Though the Clerk of the Weather insist,<br/> + And lay down the weather-law,<br/> +Pintado and gannet they wist<br/> +That the winds blow whither they list<br/> + In tempest or flaw. +</p> + +<p class="center"> +II +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Old are the creeds, but stale the schools,<br/> + Revamped as the mode may veer,<br/> +But Orm from the schools to the beaches strays<br/> +And, finding a Conch hoar with time, he delays<br/> + And reverent lifts it to ear.<br/> +That Voice, pitched in far monotone,<br/> + Shall it swerve? shall it deviate ever?<br/> +The Seas have inspired it, and Truth—<br/> + Truth, varying from sameness never. +</p> + +<p class="center"> +III +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +In hollows of the liquid hills<br/> + Where the long Blue Ridges run,<br/> +The flattery of no echo thrills,<br/> + For echo the seas have none;<br/> +Nor aught that gives man back man’s strain—<br/> +The hope of his heart, the dream in his brain. +</p> + +<p class="center"> +IV +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +On ocean where the embattled fleets repair,<br/> +Man, suffering inflictor, sails on sufferance there. +</p> + +<p class="center"> +V +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Implacable I, the old Implacable Sea:<br/> + Implacable most when most I smile serene—<br/> +Pleased, not appeased, by myriad wrecks in me. +</p> + +<p class="center"> +VI +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Curled in the comb of yon billow Andean,<br/> + Is it the Dragon’s heaven-challenging crest?<br/> +Elemental mad ramping of ravening waters—<br/> + Yet Christ on the Mount, and the dove in her nest! +</p> + +<p class="center"> +VII +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Healed of my hurt, I laud the inhuman Sea—<br/> +Yea, bless the Angels Four that there convene;<br/> +For healed I am ever by their pitiless breath<br/> +Distilled in wholesome dew named rosmarine. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap23"></a> +POEMS FROM TIMOLEON</h2> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap24"></a> +LINES TRACED UNDER AN IMAGE OF AMOR THREATENING</h2> + +<p class="poem"> +Fear me, virgin whosoever<br/> +Taking pride from love exempt,<br/> + Fear me, slighted. Never, never<br/> +Brave me, nor my fury tempt:<br/> +Downy wings, but wroth they beat<br/> +Tempest even in reason’s seat. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap25"></a> +THE NIGHT MARCH</h2> + +<p class="poem"> +With banners furled and clarions mute,<br/> + An army passes in the night;<br/> +And beaming spears and helms salute<br/> + The dark with bright.<br/> +<br/> +In silence deep the legions stream,<br/> + With open ranks, in order true;<br/> +Over boundless plains they stream and gleam—<br/> + No chief in view!<br/> +<br/> +Afar, in twinkling distance lost,<br/> + (So legends tell) he lonely wends<br/> +And back through all that shining host<br/> + His mandate sends. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap26"></a> +THE RAVAGED VILLA</h2> + +<p class="poem"> +In shards the sylvan vases lie,<br/> + Their links of dance undone,<br/> +And brambles wither by thy brim,<br/> + Choked fountain of the sun!<br/> +The spider in the laurel spins,<br/> + The weed exiles the flower:<br/> +And, flung to kiln, Apollo’s bust<br/> + Makes lime for Mammon’s tower. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap27"></a> +THE NEW ZEALOT TO THE SUN</h2> + +<p class="poem"> +Persian, you rise<br/> +Aflame from climes of sacrifice<br/> + Where adulators sue,<br/> +And prostrate man, with brow abased,<br/> +Adheres to rites whose tenor traced<br/> + All worship hitherto.<br/> +<br/> + Arch type of sway,<br/> +Meetly your over-ruling ray<br/> + You fling from Asia’s plain,<br/> +Whence flashed the javelins abroad<br/> +Of many a wild incursive horde<br/> + Led by some shepherd Cain.<br/> +<br/> + Mid terrors dinned<br/> +Gods too came conquerors from your Ind,<br/> + The book of Brahma throve;<br/> +They came like to the scythed car,<br/> +Westward they rolled their empire far,<br/> + Of night their purple wove.<br/> +<br/> + Chemist, you breed<br/> +In orient climes each sorcerous weed<br/> + That energizes dream—<br/> +Transmitted, spread in myths and creeds,<br/> +Houris and hells, delirious screeds<br/> + And Calvin’s last extreme.<br/> +<br/> + What though your light<br/> +In time’s first dawn compelled the flight<br/> + Of Chaos’ startled clan,<br/> +Shall never all your darted spears<br/> +Disperse worse Anarchs, frauds and fears,<br/> + Sprung from these weeds to man?<br/> +<br/> + But Science yet<br/> +An effluence ampler shall beget,<br/> + And power beyond your play—<br/> +Shall quell the shades you fail to rout,<br/> +Yea, searching every secret out<br/> + Elucidate your ray. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap28"></a> +MONODY</h2> + +<p class="poem"> +To have known him, to have loved him<br/> + After loneness long;<br/> +And then to be estranged in life,<br/> + And neither in the wrong;<br/> +And now for death to set his seal—<br/> + Ease me, a little ease, my song!<br/> +<br/> +By wintry hills his hermit-mound<br/> + The sheeted snow-drifts drape,<br/> +And houseless there the snow-bird flits<br/> + Beneath the fir-trees’ crape:<br/> +Glazed now with ice the cloistral vine<br/> + That hid the shyest grape. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap29"></a> +LONE FOUNTS</h2> + +<p class="poem"> +Though fast youth’s glorious fable flies,<br/> +View not the world with worldling’s eyes;<br/> +Nor turn with weather of the time.<br/> +Foreclose the coming of surprise:<br/> +Stand where Posterity shall stand;<br/> +Stand where the Ancients stood before,<br/> +And, dipping in lone founts thy hand,<br/> +Drink of the never-varying lore:<br/> +Wise once, and wise thence evermore. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap30"></a> +THE BENCH OF BOORS</h2> + +<p class="poem"> +In bed I muse on Tenier’s boors,<br/> +Embrowned and beery losels all;<br/> + A wakeful brain<br/> + Elaborates pain:<br/> +Within low doors the slugs of boors<br/> +Laze and yawn and doze again.<br/> +<br/> +In dreams they doze, the drowsy boors,<br/> +Their hazy hovel warm and small:<br/> + Thought’s ampler bound<br/> + But chill is found:<br/> +Within low doors the basking boors<br/> +Snugly hug the ember-mound.<br/> +<br/> +Sleepless, I see the slumberous boors<br/> +Their blurred eyes blink, their eyelids fall:<br/> + Thought’s eager sight<br/> + Aches—overbright!<br/> +Within low doors the boozy boors<br/> +Cat-naps take in pipe-bowl light. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap31"></a> +ART</h2> + +<p class="poem"> +In placid hours well-pleased we dream<br/> +Of many a brave unbodied scheme.<br/> +But form to lend, pulsed life create,<br/> +What unlike things must meet and mate:<br/> +A flame to melt—a wind to freeze;<br/> +Sad patience—joyous energies;<br/> +Humility—yet pride and scorn;<br/> +Instinct and study; love and hate;<br/> +Audacity—reverence. These must mate,<br/> +And fuse with Jacob’s mystic heart,<br/> +To wrestle with the angel—Art. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap32"></a> +THE ENTHUSIAST</h2> + +<p class="center"> +<i>“Though He slay me yet will I trust in Him.”</i> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Shall hearts that beat no base retreat<br/> + In youth’s magnanimous years—<br/> +Ignoble hold it, if discreet<br/> + When interest tames to fears;<br/> +Shall spirits that worship light<br/> + Perfidious deem its sacred glow,<br/> + Recant, and trudge where worldlings go,<br/> +Conform and own them right?<br/> +<br/> +Shall Time with creeping influence cold<br/> + Unnerve and cow? the heart<br/> +Pine for the heartless ones enrolled<br/> + With palterers of the mart?<br/> +Shall faith abjure her skies,<br/> + Or pale probation blench her down<br/> + To shrink from Truth so still, so lone<br/> +Mid loud gregarious lies?<br/> +<br/> +Each burning boat in Caesar’s rear,<br/> + Flames—No return through me!<br/> +So put the torch to ties though dear,<br/> + If ties but tempters be.<br/> +Nor cringe if come the night:<br/> + Walk through the cloud to meet the pall,<br/> + Though light forsake thee, never fall<br/> +From fealty to light. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap33"></a> +SHELLEY’S VISION</h2> + +<p class="poem"> +Wandering late by morning seas<br/> + When my heart with pain was low—<br/> +Hate the censor pelted me—<br/> + Deject I saw my shadow go.<br/> +<br/> +In elf-caprice of bitter tone<br/> +I too would pelt the pelted one:<br/> +At my shadow I cast a stone.<br/> +<br/> +When lo, upon that sun-lit ground<br/> + I saw the quivering phantom take<br/> +The likeness of St. Stephen crowned:<br/> + Then did self-reverence awake. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap34"></a> +THE MARCHIONESS OF BRINVILLIERS</h2> + +<p class="poem"> +He toned the sprightly beam of morning<br/> + With twilight meek of tender eve,<br/> +Brightness interfused with softness,<br/> + Light and shade did weave:<br/> +And gave to candor equal place<br/> +With mystery starred in open skies;<br/> +And, floating all in sweetness, made<br/> + Her fathomless mild eyes. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap35"></a> +THE AGE OF THE ANTONINES</h2> + +<p class="poem"> +While faith forecasts millennial years<br/> + Spite Europe’s embattled lines,<br/> +Back to the Past one glance be cast—<br/> + The Age of the Antonines!<br/> +O summit of fate, O zenith of time<br/> +When a pagan gentleman reigned,<br/> +And the olive was nailed to the inn of the world<br/> +Nor the peace of the just was feigned.<br/> + A halcyon Age, afar it shines,<br/> + Solstice of Man and the Antonines.<br/> +<br/> +Hymns to the nations’ friendly gods<br/> +Went up from the fellowly shrines,<br/> +No demagogue beat the pulpit-drum<br/> + In the Age of the Antonines!<br/> +The sting was not dreamed to be taken from death,<br/> +No Paradise pledged or sought,<br/> +But they reasoned of fate at the flowing feast,<br/> +Nor stifled the fluent thought,<br/> + We sham, we shuffle while faith declines—<br/> + They were frank in the Age of the Antonines.<br/> +<br/> +Orders and ranks they kept degree,<br/> +Few felt how the parvenu pines,<br/> +No law-maker took the lawless one’s fee<br/> + In the Age of the Antonines!<br/> +Under law made will the world reposed<br/> +And the ruler’s right confessed,<br/> +For the heavens elected the Emperor then,<br/> +The foremost of men the best.<br/> + Ah, might we read in America’s signs<br/> + The Age restored of the Antonines. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap36"></a> +HERBA SANTA</h2> + +<p class="center"> +I +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +After long wars when comes release<br/> +Not olive wands proclaiming peace<br/> + Can import dearer share<br/> +Than stems of Herba Santa hazed<br/> + In autumn’s Indian air.<br/> +Of moods they breathe that care disarm,<br/> +They pledge us lenitive and calm. +</p> + +<p class="center"> +II +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Shall code or creed a lure afford<br/> +To win all selves to Love’s accord?<br/> +When Love ordained a supper divine<br/> + For the wide world of man,<br/> +What bickerings o’er his gracious wine!<br/> + Then strange new feuds began.<br/> +<br/> +Effectual more in lowlier way,<br/> + Pacific Herb, thy sensuous plea<br/> +The bristling clans of Adam sway<br/> + At least to fellowship in thee!<br/> +Before thine altar tribal flags are furled,<br/> +Fain wouldst thou make one hearthstone of the world. +</p> + +<p class="center"> +III +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +To scythe, to sceptre, pen and hod—<br/> + Yea, sodden laborers dumb;<br/> +To brains overplied, to feet that plod,<br/> +In solace of the <i>Truce of God</i><br/> + The Calumet has come! +</p> + +<p class="center"> +IV +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Ah for the world ere Raleigh’s find<br/> + Never that knew this suasive balm<br/> +That helps when Gilead’s fails to heal,<br/> + Helps by an interserted charm.<br/> +<br/> +Insinuous thou that through the nerve<br/> + Windest the soul, and so canst win<br/> +Some from repinings, some from sin,<br/> + The Church’s aim thou dost subserve.<br/> +<br/> +The ruffled fag fordone with care<br/> + And brooding, God would ease this pain:<br/> +Him soothest thou and smoothest down<br/> + Till some content return again.<br/> +<br/> +Even ruffians feel thy influence breed<br/> + Saint Martin’s summer in the mind,<br/> +They feel this last evangel plead,<br/> +As did the first, apart from creed,<br/> + Be peaceful, man—be kind! +</p> + +<p class="center"> +V +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Rejected once on higher plain,<br/> +O Love supreme, to come again<br/> + Can this be thine?<br/> +Again to come, and win us too<br/> + In likeness of a weed<br/> +That as a god didst vainly woo,<br/> + As man more vainly bleed? +</p> + +<p class="center"> +VI +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Forbear, my soul! and in thine Eastern chamber<br/> + Rehearse the dream that brings the long release:<br/> +Through jasmine sweet and talismanic amber<br/> + Inhaling Herba Santa in the passive Pipe of Peace. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap37"></a> +OFF CAPE COLONNA</h2> + +<p class="poem"> +Aloof they crown the foreland lone,<br/> + From aloft they loftier rise—<br/> +Fair columns, in the aureole rolled<br/> + From sunned Greek seas and skies.<br/> +They wax, sublimed to fancy’s view,<br/> +A god-like group against the blue.<br/> +<br/> +Over much like gods! Serene they saw<br/> + The wolf-waves board the deck,<br/> +And headlong hull of Falconer,<br/> + And many a deadlier wreck. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap38"></a> +THE APPARITION</h2> + +<p class="center"> +<i>The Parthenon uplifted on its rock first challenging the view on the +approach to Athens.</i> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Abrupt the supernatural Cross,<br/> + Vivid in startled air,<br/> +Smote the Emperor Constantine<br/> +And turned his soul’s allegiance there.<br/> +<br/> +With other power appealing down,<br/> + Trophy of Adam’s best!<br/> +If cynic minds you scarce convert,<br/> +You try them, shake them, or molest.<br/> +<br/> +Diogenes, that honest heart,<br/> + Lived ere your date began;<br/> +Thee had he seen, he might have swerved<br/> +In mood nor barked so much at Man. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap39"></a> +L’ENVOI</h2> + +<p class="center"> +<i>The Return of the Sire de Nesle.</i><br/> +A.D. 16 +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +My towers at last! These rovings end,<br/> +Their thirst is slaked in larger dearth:<br/> +The yearning infinite recoils,<br/> + For terrible is earth.<br/> +<br/> +Kaf thrusts his snouted crags through fog:<br/> +Araxes swells beyond his span,<br/> +And knowledge poured by pilgrimage<br/> + Overflows the banks of man.<br/> +<br/> +But thou, my stay, thy lasting love<br/> +One lonely good, let this but be!<br/> +Weary to view the wide world’s swarm,<br/> + But blest to fold but thee. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap40"></a> +SUPPLEMENT</h2> + +<p> +Were I fastidiously anxious for the symmetry of this book, it would close with +the notes. But the times are such that patriotism—not free from +solicitude—urges a claim overriding all literary scruples. +</p> + +<p> +It is more than a year since the memorable surrender, but events have not yet +rounded themselves into completion. Not justly can we complain of this. There +has been an upheaval affecting the basis of things; to altered circumstances +complicated adaptations are to be made; there are difficulties great and novel. +But is Reason still waiting for Passion to spend itself? We have sung of the +soldiers and sailors, but who shall hymn the politicians? +</p> + +<p> +In view of the infinite desirableness of Re-establishment, and considering +that, so far as feeling is concerned, it depends not mainly on the temper in +which the South regards the North, but rather conversely; one who never was a +blind adherent feels constrained to submit some thoughts, counting on the +indulgence of his countrymen. +</p> + +<p> +And, first, it may be said that, if among the feelings and opinions growing +immediately out of a great civil convulsion, there are any which time shall +modify or do away, they are presumably those of a less temperate and charitable +cast. +</p> + +<p> +There seems no reason why patriotism and narrowness should go together, or why +intellectual impartiality should be confounded with political trimming, or why +serviceable truth should keep cloistered because not partisan. Yet the work of +Reconstruction, if admitted to be feasible at all, demands little but common +sense and Christian charity. Little but these? These are much. +</p> + +<p> +Some of us are concerned because as yet the South shows no penitence. But what +exactly do we mean by this? Since down to the close of the war she never +confessed any for braving it, the only penitence now left her is that which +springs solely from the sense of discomfiture; and since this evidently would +be a contrition hypocritical, it would be unworthy in us to demand it. Certain +it is that penitence, in the sense of voluntary humiliation, will never be +displayed. Nor does this afford just ground for unreserved condemnation. It is +enough, for all practical purposes, if the South have been taught by the +terrors of civil war to feel that Secession, like Slavery, is against Destiny; +that both now lie buried in one grave; that her fate is linked with ours; and +that together we comprise the Nation. +</p> + +<p> +The clouds of heroes who battled for the Union it is needless to eulogize here. +But how of the soldiers on the other side? And when of a free community we name +the soldiers, we thereby name the people. It was in subserviency to the +slave-interest that Secession was plotted; but it was under the plea, plausibly +urged, that certain inestimable rights guaranteed by the Constitution were +directly menaced, that the people of the South were cajoled into revolution. +Through the arts of the conspirators and the perversity of fortune, the most +sensitive love of liberty was entrapped into the support of a war whose implied +end was the erecting in our advanced century of an Anglo-American empire based +upon the systematic degradation of man. +</p> + +<p> +Spite this clinging reproach, however, signal military virtues and achievements +have conferred upon the Confederate arms historic fame, and upon certain of the +commanders a renown extending beyond the sea—a renown which we of the +North could not suppress, even if we would. In personal character, also, not a +few of the military leaders of the South enforce forbearance; the memory of +others the North refrains from disparaging; and some, with more or less of +reluctance, she can respect. Posterity, sympathizing with our convictions, but +removed from our passions, may perhaps go farther here. If George IV could, out +of the graceful instinct of a gentleman, raise an honorable monument in the +great fane of Christendom over the remains of the enemy of his dynasty, Charles +Edward, the invader of England and victor in the rout of Preston +Pans—upon whose head the king’s ancestor but one reign removed had +set a price—is it probable that the granchildren of General Grant will +pursue with rancor, or slur by sour neglect, the memory of Stonewall Jackson? +</p> + +<p> +But the South herself is not wanting in recent histories and biographies which +record the deeds of her chieftains—writings freely published at the North +by loyal houses, widely read here, and with a deep though saddened interest. By +students of the war such works are hailed as welcome accessories, and tending +to the completeness of the record. +</p> + +<p> +Supposing a happy issue out of present perplexities, then, in the generation +next to come, Southerners there will be yielding allegiance to the Union, +feeling all their interests bound up in it, and yet cherishing unrebuked that +kind of feeling for the memory of the soldiers of the fallen Confederacy that +Burns, Scott, and the Ettrick Shepherd felt for the memory of the gallant +clansmen ruined through their fidelity to the Stuarts—a feeling whose +passion was tempered by the poetry imbuing it, and which in no wise affected +their loyalty to the Georges, and which, it may be added, indirectly +contributed excellent things to literature. But, setting this view aside, +dishonorable would it be in the South were she willing to abandon to shame the +memory of brave men who with signal personal disinterestedness warred in her +behalf, though from motives, as we believe, so deplorably astray. +</p> + +<p> +Patriotism is not baseness, neither is it inhumanity. The mourners who this +summer bear flowers to the mounds of the Virginian and Georgian dead are, in +their domestic bereavement and proud affection, as sacred in the eye of Heaven +as are those who go with similar offerings of tender grief and love into the +cemeteries of our Northern martyrs. And yet, in one aspect, how needless to +point the contrast. +</p> + +<p> +Cherishing such sentiments, it will hardly occasion surprise that, in looking +over the battle-pieces in the foregoing collection, I have been tempted to +withdraw or modify some of them, fearful lest in presenting, though but +dramatically and by way of poetic record, the passions and epithets of civil +war, I might be contributing to a bitterness which every sensible American must +wish at an end. So, too, with the emotion of victory as reproduced on some +pages, and particularly toward the close. It should not be construed into an +exultation misapplied—an exultation as ungenerous as unwise, and made to +minister, however indirectly, to that kind of censoriousness too apt to be +produced in certain natures by success after trying reverses. Zeal is not of +necessity religion, neither is it always of the same essence with poetry or +patriotism. +</p> + +<p> +There are excesses which marked the conflict, most of which are perhaps +inseparable from a civil strife so intense and prolonged, and involving warfare +in some border countries new and imperfectly civilized. Barbarities also there +were, for which the Southern people collectively can hardly be held +responsible, though perpetrated by ruffians in their name. But surely other +qualities—exalted ones—courage and fortitude matchless, were +likewise displayed, and largely; and justly may these be held the +characteristic traits, and not the former. +</p> + +<p> +In this view, what Northern writer, however patriotic, but must revolt from +acting on paper a part any way akin to that of the live dog to the dead lion; +and yet it is right to rejoice for our triumphs, so far as it may justly imply +an advance for our whole country and for humanity. +</p> + +<p> +Let it be held no reproach to any one that he pleads for reasonable +consideration for our late enemies, now stricken down and unavoidably debarred, +for the time, from speaking through authorized agencies for themselves. Nothing +has been urged here in the foolish hope of conciliating those men—few in +number, we trust—who have resolved never to be reconciled to the Union. +On such hearts everything is thrown away except it be religious commiseration, +and the sincerest. Yet let them call to mind that unhappy Secessionist, not a +military man, who with impious alacrity fired the first shot of the Civil War +at Sumter, and a little more than four years afterward fired the last one into +his heart at Richmond. +</p> + +<p> +Noble was the gesture into which patriotic passion surprised the people in a +utilitarian time and country; yet the glory of the war falls short of its +pathos—a pathos which now at last ought to disarm all animosity. +</p> + +<p> +How many and earnest thoughts still rise, and how hard to repress them. We feel +what past years have been, and years, unretarded years, shall come. May we all +have moderation; may we all show candor. Though, perhaps, nothing could +ultimately have averted the strife, and though to treat of human actions is to +deal wholly with second causes, nevertheless, let us not cover up or try to +extenuate what, humanly speaking, is the truth—namely, that those +unfraternal denunciations, continued through years, and which at last inflamed +to deeds that ended in bloodshed, were reciprocal; and that, had the +preponderating strength and the prospect of its unlimited increase lain on the +other side, on ours might have lain those actions which now in our late +opponents we stigmatize under the name of Rebellion. As frankly let us +own—what it would be unbecoming to parade were foreigners +concerned— that our triumph was won not more by skill and bravery than by +superior resources and crushing numbers; that it was a triumph, too, over a +people for years politically misled by designing men, and also by some +honestly-erring men, who from their position could not have been otherwise than +broadly influential; a people who, though, indeed, they sought to perpetuate +the curse of slavery, and even extend it, were not the authors of it, but (less +fortunate, not less righteous than we), were the fated inheritors; a people +who, having a like origin with ourselves, share essentially in whatever worthy +qualities we may possess. No one can add to the lasting reproach which hopeless +defeat has now cast upon Secession by withholding the recognition of these +verities. +</p> + +<p> +Surely we ought to take it to heart that that kind of pacification, based upon +principles operating equally all over the land, which lovers of their country +yearn for, and which our arms, though signally triumphant, did not bring about, +and which lawmaking, however anxious, or energetic, or repressive, never by +itself can achieve, may yet be largely aided by generosity of sentiment public +and private. Some revisionary legislation and adaptive is indispensable; but +with this should harmoniously work another kind of prudence, not unallied with +entire magnanimity. Benevolence and policy—Christianity and +Machiavelli—dissuade from penal severities toward the subdued. Abstinence +here is as obligatory as considerate care for our unfortunate fellowmen late in +bonds, and, if observed, would equally prove to be wise forecast. The great +qualities of the South, those attested in the War, we can perilously alienate, +or we may make them nationally available at need. +</p> + +<p> +The blacks, in their infant pupilage to freedom, appeal to the sympathies of +every humane mind. The paternal guardianship which for the interval government +exercises over them was prompted equally by duty and benevolence. Yet such +kindliness should not be allowed to exclude kindliness to communities who stand +nearer to us in nature. For the future of the freed slaves we may well be +concerned; but the future of the whole country, involving the future of the +blacks, urges a paramount claim upon our anxiety. Effective benignity, like the +Nile, is not narrow in its bounty, and true policy is always broad. To be sure, +it is vain to seek to glide, with moulded words, over the difficulties of the +situation. And for them who are neither partisans, nor enthusiasts, nor +theorists, nor cynics, there are some doubts not readily to be solved. And +there are fears. Why is not the cessation of war now at length attended with +the settled calm of peace? Wherefore in a clear sky do we still turn our eyes +toward the South as the Neapolitan, months after the eruption, turns his toward +Vesuvius? Do we dread lest the repose may be deceptive? In the recent +convulsion has the crater but shifted Let us revere that sacred uncertainty +which forever impends over men and nations. Those of us who always abhorred +slavery as an atheistical iniquity, gladly we join in the exulting chorus of +humanity over its downfall. But we should remember that emancipation was +accomplished not by deliberate legislation; only through agonized violence +could so mighty a result be effected. In our natural solicitude to confirm the +benefit of liberty to the blacks, let us forbear from measures of dubious +constitutional rightfulness toward our white countrymen—measures of a +nature to provoke, among other of the last evils, exterminating hatred of race +toward race. In imagination let us place ourselves in the unprecedented +position of the Southerners—their position as regards the millions of +ignorant manumitted slaves in their midst, for whom some of us now claim the +suffrage. Let us be Christians toward our fellow-whites, as well as +philanthropists toward the blacks, our fellow-men. In all things, and toward +all, we are enjoined to do as we would be done by. Nor should we forget that +benevolent desires, after passing a certain point, can not undertake their own +fulfillment without incurring the risk of evils beyond those sought to be +remedied. Something may well be left to the graduated care of future +legislation, and to heaven. In one point of view the co-existence of the two +races in the South, whether the negro be bond or free, seems (even as it did to +Abraham Lincoln) a grave evil. Emancipation has ridded the country of the +reproach, but not wholly of the calamity. Especially in the present transition +period for both races in the South, more or less of trouble may not +unreasonably be anticipated; but let us not hereafter be too swift to charge +the blame exclusively in any one quarter. With certain evils men must be more +or less patient. Our institutions have a potent digestion, and may in time +convert and assimilate to good all elements thrown in, however originally +alien. +</p> + +<p> +But, so far as immediate measures looking toward permanent Re- establishment +are concerned, no consideration should tempt us to pervert the national victory +into oppression for the vanquished. Should plausible promise of eventual good, +or a deceptive or spurious sense of duty, lead us to essay this, count we must +on serious consequences, not the least of which would be divisions among the +Northern adherents of the Union. Assuredly, if any honest Catos there be who +thus far have gone with us, no longer will they do so, but oppose us, and as +resolutely as hitherto they have supported. But this path of thought leads +toward those waters of bitterness from which one can only turn aside and be +silent. +</p> + +<p> +But supposing Re-establishment so far advanced that the Southern seats in +Congress are occupied, and by men qualified in accordance with those cardinal +principles of representative government which hitherto have prevailed in the +land—what then? Why, the Congressmen elected by the people of the South +will—represent the people of the South. This may seem a flat conclusion; +but, in view of the last five years, may there not be latent significance in +it? What will be the temper of those Southern members? and, confronted by them, +what will be the mood of our own representatives? In private life true +reconciliation seldom follows a violent quarrel; but, if subsequent intercourse +be unavoidable, nice observances and mutual are indispensable to the prevention +of a new rupture. Amity itself can only be maintained by reciprocal respect, +and true friends are punctilious equals. On the floor of Congress North and +South are to come together after a passionate duel, in which the South, though +proving her valor, has been made to bite the dust. Upon differences in debate +shall acrimonious recriminations be exchanged? Shall censorious superiority +assumed by one section provoke defiant self-assertion on the other? Shall +Manassas and Chickamauga be retorted for Chattanooga and Richmond? Under the +supposition that the full Congress will be composed of gentlemen, all this is +impossible. Yet, if otherwise, it needs no prophet of Israel to foretell the +end. The maintenance of Congressional decency in the future will rest mainly +with the North. Rightly will more forbearance be required from the North than +the South, for the North is victor. +</p> + +<p> +But some there are who may deem these latter thoughts inapplicable, and for +this reason: Since the test-oath operatively excludes from Congress all who in +any way participated in Secession, therefore none but Southerners wholly in +harmony with the North are eligible to seats. This is true for the time being. +But the oath is alterable; and in the wonted fluctuations of parties not +improbably it will undergo alteration, assuming such a form, perhaps, as not to +bar the admission into the National Legislature of men who represent the +populations lately in revolt. Such a result would involve no violation of the +principles of democratic government. Not readily can one perceive how the +political existence of the millions of late Secessionists can permanently be +ignored by this Republic. The years of the war tried our devotion to the Union; +the time of peace may test the sincerity of our faith in democracy. +</p> + +<p> +In no spirit of opposition, not by way of challenge, is anything here thrown +out. These thoughts are sincere ones; they seem natural— inevitable. Here +and there they must have suggested themselves to many thoughtful patriots. And, +if they be just thoughts, ere long they must have that weight with the public +which already they have had with individuals. +</p> + +<p> +For that heroic band—those children of the furnace who, in regions like +Texas and Tennessee, maintained their fidelity through terrible trials—we +of the North felt for them, and profoundly we honor them. Yet passionate +sympathy, with resentments so close as to be almost domestic in their +bitterness, would hardly in the present juncture tend to discreet legislation. +Were the Unionists and Secessionists but as Guelphs and Ghibellines? If not, +then far be it from a great nation now to act in the spirit that animated a +triumphant town-faction in the Middle Ages. But crowding thoughts must at last +be checked; and, in times like the present, one who desires to be impartially +just in the expression of his views, moves as among sword-points presented on +every side. +</p> + +<p> +Let us pray that the terrible historic tragedy of our time may not have been +enacted without instructing our whole beloved country through terror and pity; +and may fulfillment verify in the end those expectations which kindle the bards +of Progress and Humanity. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap41"></a> +POEMS FROM BATTLE PIECES</h2> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap42"></a> +THE PORTENT</h2> + +<p class="center"> +1859 +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Hanging from the beam,<br/> + Slowly swaying (such the law),<br/> +Gaunt the shadow on your green,<br/> + Shenandoah!<br/> +The cut is on the crown<br/> +(Lo, John Brown),<br/> +And the stabs shall heal no more.<br/> +<br/> +Hidden in the cap<br/> + Is the anguish none can draw;<br/> +So your future veils its face,<br/> + Shenandoah!<br/> +But the streaming beard is shown<br/> +(Weird John Brown),<br/> +The meteor of the war. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap43"></a> +FROM THE CONFLICT OF CONVICTIONS</h2> + +<p class="center"> +1860-1 +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +The Ancient of Days forever is young,<br/> + Forever the scheme of Nature thrives;<br/> +I know a wind in purpose strong—<br/> + It spins <i>against</i> the way it drives.<br/> +What if the gulfs their slimed foundations bare?<br/> +So deep must the stones be hurled<br/> +Whereon the throes of ages rear<br/> +The final empire and the happier world.<br/> +<br/> + Power unanointed may come—<br/> +Dominion (unsought by the free)<br/> + And the Iron Dome,<br/> +Stronger for stress and strain,<br/> +Fling her huge shadow athwart the main;<br/> +But the Founders’ dream shall flee.<br/> +Age after age has been,<br/> +(From man’s changeless heart their way they win);<br/> +And death be busy with all who strive—<br/> +Death, with silent negative.<br/> +<br/> + <i>Yea and Nay—</i><br/> + <i>Each hath his say;</i><br/> + <i>But God He keeps the middle way.</i><br/> + <i>None was by</i><br/> + <i>When He spread the sky;</i><br/> + <i>Wisdom is vain, and prophecy.</i> +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap44"></a> +THE MARCH INTO VIRGINIA</h2> + +<p class="center"> +<i>Ending in the First Manassas</i><br/> +July, 1861 +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Did all the lets and bars appear<br/> + To every just or larger end,<br/> +Whence should come the trust and cheer?<br/> + Youth must its ignorant impulse lend—<br/> +Age finds place in the rear.<br/> + All wars are boyish, and are fought by boys,<br/> +The champions and enthusiasts of the state:<br/> + Turbid ardors and vain joys<br/> + Not barrenly abate—<br/> + Stimulants to the power mature,<br/> + Preparatives of fate.<br/> +<br/> +Who here forecasteth the event?<br/> +What heart but spurns at precedent<br/> +And warnings of the wise,<br/> +Contemned foreclosures of surprise?<br/> +The banners play, the bugles call,<br/> +The air is blue and prodigal.<br/> + No berrying party, pleasure-wooed,<br/> +No picnic party in the May,<br/> +Ever went less loth than they<br/> + Into that leafy neighborhood.<br/> +In Bacchic glee they file toward Fate,<br/> +Moloch’s uninitiate;<br/> +Expectancy, and glad surmise<br/> +Of battle’s unknown mysteries.<br/> +All they feel is this: ’t is glory,<br/> +A rapture sharp, though transitory,<br/> +Yet lasting in belaureled story.<br/> +So they gayly go to fight,<br/> +Chatting left and laughing right.<br/> +<br/> +But some who this blithe mood present,<br/> + As on in lightsome files they fare,<br/> +Shall die experienced ere three days are spent—<br/> + Perish, enlightened by the vollied glare;<br/> +Or shame survive, and, like to adamant,<br/> + The throe of Second Manassas share. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap45"></a> +BALL’S BLUFF</h2> + +<p class="center"> +<i>A Reverie</i><br/> +October, 1861 +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +One noonday, at my window in the town,<br/> + I saw a sight—saddest that eyes can see—<br/> + Young soldiers marching lustily<br/> + Unto the wars,<br/> +With fifes, and flags in mottoed pageantry;<br/> + While all the porches, walks, and doors<br/> +Were rich with ladies cheering royally.<br/> +<br/> +They moved like Juny morning on the wave,<br/> + Their hearts were fresh as clover in its prime<br/> + (It was the breezy summer time),<br/> + Life throbbed so strong,<br/> +How should they dream that Death in a rosy clime<br/> + Would come to thin their shining throng?<br/> +Youth feels immortal, like the gods sublime.<br/> +<br/> +Weeks passed; and at my window, leaving bed,<br/> + By night I mused, of easeful sleep bereft,<br/> + On those ‘brave boys (Ah War! thy theft);<br/> + Some marching feet<br/> +Found pause at last by cliffs Potomac cleft;<br/> + Wakeful I mused, while in the street<br/> +Far footfalls died away till none were left. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap46"></a> +THE STONE FLEET</h2> + +<p class="center"> +<i>An Old Sailor’s Lament</i><br/> +December, 1861 +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +I have a feeling for those ships,<br/> + Each worn and ancient one,<br/> +With great bluff bows, and broad in the beam:<br/> + Ay, it was unkindly done.<br/> + But so they serve the Obsolete—<br/> + Even so, Stone Fleet!<br/> +<br/> +You’ll say I’m doting; do you think<br/> + I scudded round the Horn in one—<br/> +The <i>Tenedos,</i> a glorious<br/> + Good old craft as ever run—<br/> + Sunk (how all unmeet!)<br/> + With the Old Stone Fleet.<br/> +<br/> +An India ship of fame was she,<br/> + Spices and shawls and fans she bore;<br/> +A whaler when the wrinkles came—<br/> + Turned off! till, spent and poor,<br/> + Her bones were sold (escheat)!<br/> + Ah! Stone Fleet.<br/> +<br/> +Four were erst patrician keels<br/> + (Names attest what families be),<br/> +The <i>Kensington,</i> and <i>Richmond</i> too,<br/> + <i>Leonidas,</i> and <i>Lee</i>:<br/> + But now they have their seat<br/> + With the Old Stone Fleet.<br/> +<br/> +To scuttle them—a pirate deed—<br/> + Sack them, and dismast;<br/> +They sunk so slow, they died so hard,<br/> + But gurgling dropped at last.<br/> + Their ghosts in gales repeat<br/> + <i>Woe’s us, Stone Fleet!</i><br/> +<br/> +And all for naught. The waters pass—<br/> + Currents will have their way;<br/> +Nature is nobody’s ally; ’tis well;<br/> + The harbor is bettered—will stay.<br/> + A failure, and complete,<br/> + Was your Old Stone Fleet. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap47"></a> +THE TEMERAIRE</h2> + +<p class="center"> +<i>Supposed to have been suggested to an Englishman of the old order by the +fight of the Monitor and Merrimac</i> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +The gloomy hulls in armor grim,<br/> + Like clouds o’er moors have met,<br/> +And prove that oak, and iron, and man<br/> + Are tough in fibre yet.<br/> +<br/> +But Splendors wane. The sea-fight yields<br/> + No front of old display;<br/> +The garniture, emblazonment,<br/> + And heraldry all decay.<br/> +<br/> +Towering afar in parting light,<br/> + The fleets like Albion’s forelands shine—<br/> +The full-sailed fleets, the shrouded show<br/> + Of Ships-of-the-Line.<br/> +<br/> + The fighting <i>Temeraire,</i><br/> + Built of a thousand trees,<br/> + Lunging out her lightnings,<br/> + And beetling o’er the seas—<br/> + O Ship, how brave and fair,<br/> + That fought so oft and well,<br/> +<br/> +On open decks you manned the gun Armorial.<br/> +What cheerings did you share,<br/> + Impulsive in the van,<br/> +When down upon leagued France and Spain<br/> + We English ran—<br/> +The freshet at your bowsprit<br/> + Like the foam upon the can.<br/> +Bickering, your colors<br/> + Licked up the Spanish air,<br/> +You flapped with flames of battle-flags—<br/> + Your challenge, <i>Temeraire!</i><br/> +The rear ones of our fleet<br/> + They yearned to share your place,<br/> +Still vying with the Victory<br/> +Throughout that earnest race—<br/> +The Victory, whose Admiral,<br/> + With orders nobly won,<br/> +Shone in the globe of the battle glow—<br/> + The angel in that sun.<br/> +Parallel in story,<br/> + Lo, the stately pair,<br/> +As late in grapple ranging,<br/> + The foe between them there—<br/> +When four great hulls lay tiered,<br/> +And the fiery tempest cleared,<br/> +And your prizes twain appeared, <i>Temeraire!</i><br/> +<br/> +But Trafalgar is over now,<br/> + The quarter-deck undone;<br/> +The carved and castled navies fire<br/> + Their evening-gun.<br/> +O, Titan <i>Temeraire,</i><br/> + Your stern-lights fade away;<br/> +Your bulwarks to the years must yield,<br/> + And heart-of-oak decay.<br/> +A pigmy steam-tug tows you,<br/> + Gigantic, to the shore—<br/> +Dismantled of your guns and spars,<br/> + And sweeping wings of war.<br/> +The rivets clinch the iron clads,<br/> + Men learn a deadlier lore;<br/> +But Fame has nailed your battle-flags—<br/> + Your ghost it sails before:<br/> +O, the navies old and oaken,<br/> + O, the <i>Temeraire</i> no more! +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap48"></a> +A UTILITARIAN VIEW OF THE <i>MONITOR’S</i> FIGHT</h2> + +<p class="poem"> +Plain be the phrase, yet apt the verse,<br/> + More ponderous than nimble;<br/> +For since grimed War here laid aside<br/> +His Orient pomp, ’twould ill befit<br/> + Overmuch to ply<br/> + The rhyme’s barbaric cymbal.<br/> +<br/> +Hail to victory without the gaud<br/> + Of glory; zeal that needs no fans<br/> +Of banners; plain mechanic power<br/> +Plied cogently in War now placed—<br/> + Where War belongs—<br/> + Among the trades and artisans.<br/> +<br/> +Yet this was battle, and intense—<br/> + Beyond the strife of fleets heroic;<br/> +Deadlier, closer, calm ’mid storm;<br/> +No passion; all went on by crank,<br/> + Pivot, and screw,<br/> + And calculations of caloric.<br/> +<br/> +Needless to dwell; the story’s known.<br/> + The ringing of those plates on plates<br/> +Still ringeth round the world—<br/> +The clangor of that blacksmiths’ fray.<br/> + The anvil-din<br/> + Resounds this message from the Fates:<br/> +<br/> +War shall yet be, and to the end;<br/> + But war-paint shows the streaks of weather;<br/> +War yet shall be, but warriors<br/> +Are now but operatives; War’s made<br/> + Less grand than Peace,<br/> + And a singe runs through lace and feather. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap49"></a> +MALVERN HILL</h2> + +<p class="center"> +July, 1862 +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Ye elms that wave on Malvern Hill<br/> + In prime of morn and May,<br/> +Recall ye how McClellan’s men<br/> + Here stood at bay?<br/> +While deep within yon forest dim<br/> + Our rigid comrades lay—<br/> +Some with the cartridge in their mouth,<br/> +Others with fixed arms lifted South—<br/> + Invoking so—<br/> +The cypress glades? Ah wilds of woe!<br/> +<br/> +The spires of Richmond, late beheld<br/> +Through rifts in musket-haze,<br/> +Were closed from view in clouds of dust<br/> + On leaf-walled ways,<br/> +Where streamed our wagons in caravan;<br/> + And the Seven Nights and Days<br/> +Of march and fast, retreat and fight,<br/> +Pinched our grimed faces to ghastly plight—<br/> + Does the elm wood<br/> +Recall the haggard beards of blood?<br/> +<br/> +The battle-smoked flag, with stars eclipsed,<br/> + We followed (it never fell!)—<br/> +In silence husbanded our strength—<br/> + Received their yell;<br/> +Till on this slope we patient turned<br/> + With cannon ordered well;<br/> +Reverse we proved was not defeat;<br/> +But ah, the sod what thousands meet!—<br/> + Does Malvern Wood<br/> +Bethink itself, and muse and brood?<br/> + <i>We elms of Malvern Hill</i><br/> + <i>Remember everything;</i><br/> + <i>But sap the twig will fill:</i><br/> + <i>Wag the world how it will,</i><br/> + <i>Leaves must be green in Spring.</i> +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap50"></a> +STONEWALL JACKSON</h2> + +<p class="center"> +<i>Mortally wounded at Chancellorsville</i><br/> +May, 1863 +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +The Man who fiercest charged in fight,<br/> + Whose sword and prayer were long—<br/> + Stonewall!<br/> + Even him who stoutly stood for Wrong,<br/> +How can we praise? Yet coming days<br/> + Shall not forget him with this song.<br/> +<br/> +Dead is the Man whose Cause is dead,<br/> + Vainly he died and set his seal—<br/> + Stonewall!<br/> + Earnest in error, as we feel;<br/> +True to the thing he deemed was due,<br/> + True as John Brown or steel.<br/> +<br/> +Relentlessly he routed us;<br/> + But <i>we</i> relent, for he is low—<br/> + Stonewall!<br/> + Justly his fame we outlaw; so<br/> +We drop a tear on the bold Virginian’s bier,<br/> + Because no wreath we owe. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap51"></a> +THE HOUSE-TOP</h2> + +<p class="center"> +July, 1863<br/> +<i>A Night Piece</i> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +No sleep. The sultriness pervades the air<br/> +And binds the brain—a dense oppression, such<br/> +As tawny tigers feel in matted shades,<br/> +Vexing their blood and making apt for ravage.<br/> +Beneath the stars the roofy desert spreads<br/> +Vacant as Libya. All is hushed near by.<br/> +Yet fitfully from far breaks a mixed surf<br/> +Of muffled sound, the Atheist roar of riot.<br/> +Yonder, where parching Sirius set in drought,<br/> +Balefully glares red Arson—there—and there.<br/> +The Town is taken by its rats—ship-rats<br/> +And rats of the wharves. All civil charms<br/> +And priestly spells which late held hearts in awe—<br/> +Fear-bound, subjected to a better sway<br/> +Than sway of self; these like a dream dissolve,<br/> +And man rebounds whole aeons back in nature.<br/> +Hail to the low dull rumble, dull and dead,<br/> +And ponderous drag that shakes the wall.<br/> +Wise Draco comes, deep in the midnight roll<br/> +Of black artillery; he comes, though late;<br/> +In code corroborating Calvin’s creed<br/> +And cynic tyrannies of honest kings;<br/> +He comes, nor parlies; and the Town, redeemed,<br/> +Gives thanks devout; nor, being thankful, heeds<br/> +The grimy slur on the Republic’s faith implied,<br/> +Which holds that Man is naturally good,<br/> +And—more—is Nature’s Roman, never to be scourged. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap52"></a> +CHATTANOOGA</h2> + +<p class="center"> +November, 1863 +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +A kindling impulse seized the host<br/> + Inspired by heaven’s elastic air;<br/> +Their hearts outran their General’s plan,<br/> + Though Grant commanded there—<br/> + Grant, who without reserve can dare;<br/> +And, “Well, go on and do your will,”<br/> + He said, and measured the mountain then:<br/> +So master-riders fling the rein—<br/> + But you must know your men.<br/> +<br/> +On yester-morn in grayish mist,<br/> + Armies like ghosts on hills had fought,<br/> +And rolled from the cloud their thunders loud<br/> + The Cumberlands far had caught:<br/> + To-day the sunlit steeps are sought.<br/> +Grant stood on cliffs whence all was plain,<br/> + And smoked as one who feels no cares;<br/> +But mastered nervousness intense<br/> +Alone such calmness wears.<br/> +<br/> +The summit-cannon plunge their flame<br/> + Sheer down the primal wall,<br/> +But up and up each linking troop<br/> + In stretching festoons crawl—<br/> + Nor fire a shot. Such men appall<br/> +The foe, though brave. He, from the brink,<br/> + Looks far along the breadth of slope,<br/> +And sees two miles of dark dots creep,<br/> + And knows they mean the cope.<br/> +<br/> +He sees them creep. Yet here and there<br/> + Half hid ’mid leafless groves they go;<br/> +As men who ply through traceries high<br/> + Of turreted marbles show—<br/> + So dwindle these to eyes below.<br/> +But fronting shot and flanking shell<br/> + Sliver and rive the inwoven ways;<br/> +High tops of oaks and high hearts fall,<br/> + But never the climbing stays.<br/> +<br/> +From right to left, from left to right<br/> + They roll the rallying cheer—<br/> +Vie with each other, brother with brother,<br/> + Who shall the first appear—<br/> + What color-bearer with colors clear<br/> +In sharp relief, like sky-drawn Grant,<br/> + Whose cigar must now be near the stump—<br/> +While in solicitude his back<br/> + Heaps slowly to a hump.<br/> +<br/> +Near and more near; till now the flags<br/> + Run like a catching flame;<br/> +And one flares highest, to peril nighest—<br/> + <i>He</i> means to make a name:<br/> + Salvos! they give him his fame.<br/> +The staff is caught, and next the rush,<br/> + And then the leap where death has led;<br/> +Flag answered flag along the crest,<br/> + And swarms of rebels fled.<br/> +<br/> +But some who gained the envied Alp,<br/> + And—eager, ardent, earnest there—<br/> +Dropped into Death’s wide-open arms,<br/> + Quelled on the wing like eagles struck in air—<br/> + Forever they slumber young and fair,<br/> +The smile upon them as they died;<br/> + Their end attained, that end a height:<br/> +Life was to these a dream fulfilled,<br/> + And death a starry night. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap53"></a> +ON THE PHOTOGRAPH OF A CORPS COMMANDER</h2> + +<p class="poem"> +Ay, man is manly. Here you see<br/> + The warrior-carriage of the head,<br/> +And brave dilation of the frame;<br/> + And lighting all, the soul that led<br/> +In Spottsylvania’s charge to victory,<br/> + Which justifies his fame.<br/> +<br/> +A cheering picture. It is good<br/> + To look upon a Chief like this,<br/> +In whom the spirit moulds the form.<br/> + Here favoring Nature, oft remiss,<br/> +With eagle mien expressive has endued<br/> + A man to kindle strains that warm.<br/> +<br/> +Trace back his lineage, and his sires,<br/> + Yeoman or noble, you shall find<br/> +Enrolled with men of Agincourt,<br/> + Heroes who shared great Harry’s mind.<br/> +Down to us come the knightly Norman fires,<br/> + And front the Templars bore.<br/> +<br/> +Nothing can lift the heart of man<br/> + Like manhood in a fellow-man.<br/> +The thought of heaven’s great King afar<br/> +But humbles us—too weak to scan;<br/> +But manly greatness men can span,<br/> + And feel the bonds that draw. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap54"></a> +THE SWAMP ANGEL</h2> + +<p class="poem"> +There is a coal-black Angel<br/> + With a thick Afric lip,<br/> +And he dwells (like the hunted and harried)<br/> + In a swamp where the green frogs dip.<br/> +But his face is against a City<br/> + Which is over a bay of the sea,<br/> +And he breathes with a breath that is blastment,<br/> + And dooms by a far decree.<br/> +<br/> +By night there is fear in the City,<br/> + Through the darkness a star soareth on;<br/> +There’s a scream that screams up to the zenith,<br/> + Then the poise of a meteor lone—<br/> +Lighting far the pale fright of the faces,<br/> + And downward the coming is seen;<br/> +Then the rush, and the burst, and the havoc,<br/> + And wails and shrieks between.<br/> +<br/> +It comes like the thief in the gloaming;<br/> + It comes, and none may foretell<br/> +The place of the coming—the glaring;<br/> + They live in a sleepless spell<br/> +That wizens, and withers, and whitens;<br/> + It ages the young, and the bloom<br/> +Of the maiden is ashes of roses—<br/> + The Swamp Angel broods in his gloom.<br/> +<br/> +Swift is his messengers’ going,<br/> + But slowly he saps their halls,<br/> +As if by delay deluding.<br/> + They move from their crumbling walls<br/> +Farther and farther away;<br/> + But the Angel sends after and after,<br/> +By night with the flame of his ray—<br/> + By night with the voice of his screaming—<br/> +Sends after them, stone by stone,<br/> + And farther walls fall, farther portals,<br/> +And weed follows weed through the Town.<br/> +<br/> +Is this the proud City? the scorner<br/> + Which never would yield the ground?<br/> +Which mocked at the coal-black Angel?<br/> + The cup of despair goes round.<br/> +Vainly he calls upon Michael<br/> + (The white man’s seraph was he,)<br/> +For Michael has fled from his tower<br/> + To the Angel over the sea.<br/> +Who weeps for the woeful City<br/> + Let him weep for our guilty kind;<br/> +Who joys at her wild despairing—<br/> +Christ, the Forgiver, convert his mind. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap55"></a> +SHERIDAN AT CEDAR CREEK</h2> + +<p class="center"> +October, 1864 +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Shoe the steed with silver<br/> + That bore him to the fray,<br/> +When he heard the guns at dawning—<br/> + Miles away;<br/> +When he heard them calling, calling—<br/> + Mount! nor stay:<br/> + Quick, or all is lost;<br/> + They’ve surprised and stormed the post,<br/> + They push your routed host—<br/> +Gallop! retrieve the day.<br/> +<br/> +House the horse in ermine—<br/> + For the foam-flake blew<br/> +White through the red October;<br/> + He thundered into view;<br/> +They cheered him in the looming.<br/> + Horseman and horse they knew.<br/> + The turn of the tide began,<br/> + The rally of bugles ran,<br/> + He swung his hat in the van;<br/> +The electric hoof-spark flew.<br/> +<br/> +Wreathe the steed and lead him—<br/> + For the charge he led<br/> +Touched and turned the cypress<br/> + Into amaranths for the head<br/> +Of Philip, king of riders,<br/> + Who raised them from the dead.<br/> + The camp (at dawning lost),<br/> + By eve, recovered—forced,<br/> + Rang with laughter of the host<br/> +At belated Early fled.<br/> +<br/> +Shroud the horse in sable—<br/> + For the mounds they heap!<br/> +There is firing in the Valley,<br/> + And yet no strife they keep;<br/> +It is the parting volley,<br/> + It is the pathos deep.<br/> + There is glory for the brave<br/> + Who lead, and nobly save,<br/> + But no knowledge in the grave<br/> +Where the nameless followers sleep. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap56"></a> +IN THE PRISON PEN</h2> + +<p class="center"> +1864 +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Listless he eyes the palisades<br/> + And sentries in the glare;<br/> +’Tis barren as a pelican-beach<br/> + But his world is ended there.<br/> +<br/> +Nothing to do; and vacant hands<br/> + Bring on the idiot-pain;<br/> +He tries to think—to recollect,<br/> + But the blur is on his brain.<br/> +<br/> +Around him swarm the plaining ghosts<br/> + Like those on Virgil’s shore—<br/> +A wilderness of faces dim,<br/> + And pale ones gashed and hoar.<br/> +<br/> +A smiting sun. No shed, no tree;<br/> + He totters to his lair—<br/> +A den that sick hands dug in earth<br/> + Ere famine wasted there,<br/> +<br/> +Or, dropping in his place, he swoons,<br/> + Walled in by throngs that press,<br/> +Till forth from the throngs they bear him dead—<br/> + Dead in his meagreness. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap57"></a> +THE COLLEGE COLONEL</h2> + +<p class="poem"> +He rides at their head;<br/> + A crutch by his saddle just slants in view,<br/> +One slung arm is in splints, you see,<br/> + Yet he guides his strong steed—how coldly too.<br/> +<br/> +He brings his regiment home—<br/> + Not as they filed two years before,<br/> +But a remnant half-tattered, and battered, and worn,<br/> +Like castaway sailors, who—stunned<br/> + By the surf’s loud roar,<br/> + Their mates dragged back and seen no more—<br/> +Again and again breast the surge,<br/> + And at last crawl, spent, to shore.<br/> +<br/> +A still rigidity and pale—<br/> + An Indian aloofness lones his brow;<br/> +He has lived a thousand years<br/> +Compressed in battle’s pains and prayers,<br/> + Marches and watches slow.<br/> +<br/> +There are welcoming shouts, and flags;<br/> + Old men off hat to the Boy,<br/> +Wreaths from gay balconies fall at his feet,<br/> +But to <i>him</i>—there comes alloy.<br/> +<br/> +It is not that a leg is lost,<br/> + It is not that an arm is maimed,<br/> +It is not that the fever has racked—<br/> + Self he has long disclaimed.<br/> +<br/> +But all through the Seven Days’ Fight,<br/> + And deep in the Wilderness grim,<br/> +And in the field-hospital tent,<br/> + And Petersburg crater, and dim<br/> +Lean brooding in Libby, there came—<br/> + Ah heaven!—what <i>truth</i> to him. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap58"></a> +THE MARTYR</h2> + +<p class="center"> +<i>Indicative of the passion of the people on the 15th of April, 1865</i><br/> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Good Friday was the day<br/> + Of the prodigy and crime,<br/> +When they killed him in his pity,<br/> + When they killed him in his prime<br/> +Of clemency and calm—<br/> + When with yearning he was filled<br/> + To redeem the evil-willed,<br/> +And, though conqueror, be kind;<br/> + But they killed him in his kindness,<br/> + In their madness and their blindness,<br/> +And they killed him from behind.<br/> +<br/> + There is sobbing of the strong,<br/> + And a pall upon the land;<br/> + But the People in their weeping<br/> + Bare the iron hand;<br/> + Beware the People weeping<br/> + When they bare the iron hand.<br/> +<br/> +He lieth in his blood—<br/> + The father in his face;<br/> +They have killed him, the Forgiver—<br/> + The Avenger takes his place,<br/> +The Avenger wisely stern,<br/> + Who in righteousness shall do<br/> + What the heavens call him to,<br/> +And the parricides remand;<br/> + For they killed him in his kindness,<br/> + In their madness and their blindness,<br/> +And his blood is on their hand.<br/> +<br/> + There is sobbing of the strong,<br/> + And a pall upon the land;<br/> + But the People in their weeping<br/> + Bare the iron hand:<br/> + Beware the People weeping<br/> + When they bare the iron hand. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap59"></a> +REBEL COLOR-BEARERS AT SHILOH</h2> + +<p class="center"> +<i>A plea against the vindictive cry raised by civilians shortly after the +surrender at Appomattox</i> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +The color-bearers facing death<br/> +White in the whirling sulphurous wreath,<br/> + Stand boldly out before the line;<br/> +Right and left their glances go,<br/> +Proud of each other, glorying in their show;<br/> +Their battle-flags about them blow,<br/> + And fold them as in flame divine:<br/> +Such living robes are only seen<br/> +Round martyrs burning on the green—<br/> +And martyrs for the Wrong have been.<br/> +<br/> +Perish their Cause! but mark the men—<br/> +Mark the planted statues, then<br/> +Draw trigger on them if you can.<br/> +<br/> +The leader of a patriot-band<br/> +Even so could view rebels who so could stand;<br/> + And this when peril pressed him sore,<br/> +Left aidless in the shivered front of war—<br/> + Skulkers behind, defiant foes before,<br/> +And fighting with a broken brand.<br/> +The challenge in that courage rare—<br/> +Courage defenseless, proudly bare—<br/> +Never could tempt him; he could dare<br/> +Strike up the leveled rifle there.<br/> +<br/> +Sunday at Shiloh, and the day<br/> +When Stonewall charged—McClellan’s crimson May,<br/> +And Chickamauga’s wave of death,<br/> +And of the Wilderness the cypress wreath—<br/> + All these have passed away.<br/> +The life in the veins of Treason lags,<br/> +Her daring color-bearers drop their flags,<br/> + And yield. <i>Now</i> shall we fire?<br/> + Can poor spite be?<br/> + Shall nobleness in victory less aspire<br/> + Than in reverse? Spare Spleen her ire,<br/> + And think how Grant met Lee. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap60"></a> +AURORA BOREALIS</h2> + +<p class="center"> +<i>Commemorative of the Dissolution of armies at the Peace</i><br/> +May, 1865 +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +What power disbands the Northern Lights<br/> + After their steely play?<br/> +The lonely watcher feels an awe<br/> + Of Nature’s sway,<br/> + As when appearing,<br/> + He marked their flashed uprearing<br/> + In the cold gloom—<br/> + Retreatings and advancings,<br/> +(Like dallyings of doom),<br/> + Transitions and enhancings,<br/> + And bloody ray.<br/> +<br/> +The phantom-host has faded quite,<br/> + Splendor and Terror gone<br/> +Portent or promise—and gives way<br/> + To pale, meek Dawn;<br/> + The coming, going,<br/> + Alike in wonder showing—<br/> + Alike the God,<br/> + Decreeing and commanding<br/> +The million blades that glowed,<br/> + The muster and disbanding—<br/> + Midnight and Morn. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap61"></a> +THE RELEASED REBEL PRISONER</h2> + +<p class="center"> +June, 1865 +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Armies he’s seen—the herds of war,<br/> + But never such swarms of men<br/> +As now in the Nineveh of the North—<br/> + How mad the Rebellion then!<br/> +<br/> +And yet but dimly he divines<br/> + The depth of that deceit,<br/> +And superstitution of vast pride<br/> + Humbled to such defeat.<br/> +<br/> +Seductive shone the Chiefs in arms—<br/> + His steel the nearest magnet drew;<br/> +Wreathed with its kind, the Gulf-weed drives—<br/> + ’Tis Nature’s wrong they rue.<br/> +<br/> +His face is hidden in his beard,<br/> + But his heart peers out at eye—<br/> +And such a heart! like a mountain-pool<br/> + Where no man passes by.<br/> +<br/> +He thinks of Hill—a brave soul gone;<br/> + And Ashby dead in pale disdain;<br/> +And Stuart with the Rupert-plume,<br/> + Whose blue eye never shall laugh again.<br/> +<br/> +He hears the drum; he sees our boys<br/> +From his wasted fields return;<br/> +Ladies feast them on strawberries,<br/> + And even to kiss them yearn.<br/> +<br/> +He marks them bronzed, in soldier-trim,<br/> + The rifle proudly borne;<br/> +They bear it for an heirloom home,<br/> + And he—disarmed—jail-worn.<br/> +<br/> +Home, home—his heart is full of it;<br/> + But home he never shall see,<br/> +Even should he stand upon the spot:<br/> + ’Tis gone!—where his brothers be.<br/> +<br/> +The cypress-moss from tree to tree<br/> + Hangs in his Southern land;<br/> +As weird, from thought to thought of his<br/> + Run memories hand in hand.<br/> +<br/> +And so he lingers—lingers on<br/> + In the City of the Foe—<br/> +His cousins and his countrymen<br/> + Who see him listless go. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap62"></a> +“FORMERLY A SLAVE”</h2> + +<p class="center"> +<i>An idealized Portrait, by E. Vedder, in the Spring Exhibition of the +National Academy, 1865</i> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +The sufferance of her race is shown,<br/> + And retrospect of life,<br/> +Which now too late deliverance dawns upon;<br/> + Yet is she not at strife.<br/> +<br/> +Her children’s children they shall know<br/> + The good withheld from her;<br/> +And so her reverie takes prophetic cheer—<br/> + In spirit she sees the stir.<br/> +<br/> +Far down the depth of thousand years,<br/> + And marks the revel shine;<br/> +Her dusky face is lit with sober light,<br/> + Sibylline, yet benign. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap63"></a> +ON THE SLAIN COLLEGIANS</h2> + +<p class="poem"> +Youth is the time when hearts are large,<br/> + And stirring wars<br/> +Appeal to the spirit which appeals in turn<br/> + To the blade it draws.<br/> +If woman incite, and duty show<br/> + (Though made the mask of Cain),<br/> +Or whether it be Truth’s sacred cause,<br/> + Who can aloof remain<br/> +That shares youth’s ardor, uncooled by the snow<br/> + Of wisdom or sordid gain?<br/> +<br/> +The liberal arts and nurture sweet<br/> + Which give his gentleness to man—<br/> + Train him to honor, lend him grace<br/> +Through bright examples meet—<br/> +That culture which makes never wan<br/> +With underminings deep, but holds<br/> + The surface still, its fitting place,<br/> + And so gives sunniness to the face<br/> +And bravery to the heart; what troops<br/> + Of generous boys in happiness thus bred—<br/> + Saturnians through life’s Tempe led,<br/> +Went from the North and came from the South,<br/> +With golden mottoes in the mouth,<br/> + To lie down midway on a bloody bed.<br/> +<br/> +Woe for the homes of the North,<br/> +And woe for the seats of the South:<br/> +All who felt life’s spring in prime,<br/> +And were swept by the wind of their place and time—<br/> + All lavish hearts, on whichever side,<br/> +Of birth urbane or courage high,<br/> +Armed them for the stirring wars—<br/> + Armed them—some to die.<br/> + Apollo-like in pride.<br/> +Each would slay his Python—caught<br/> +The maxims in his temple taught—<br/> + Aflame with sympathies whose blaze<br/> +Perforce enwrapped him—social laws,<br/> + Friendship and kin, and by-gone days—<br/> +Vows, kisses—every heart unmoors,<br/> +And launches into the seas of wars.<br/> +What could they else—North or South?<br/> +Each went forth with blessings given<br/> +By priests and mothers in the name of Heaven;<br/> + And honor in both was chief.<br/> +Warred one for Right, and one for Wrong?<br/> +So be it; but they both were young—<br/> +Each grape to his cluster clung,<br/> +All their elegies are sung.<br/> +The anguish of maternal hearts<br/> + Must search for balm divine;<br/> +But well the striplings bore their fated parts<br/> + (The heavens all parts assign)—<br/> +Never felt life’s care or cloy.<br/> +Each bloomed and died an unabated Boy;<br/> +Nor dreamed what death was—thought it mere<br/> +Sliding into some vernal sphere.<br/> +They knew the joy, but leaped the grief,<br/> +Like plants that flower ere comes the leaf—<br/> +Which storms lay low in kindly doom,<br/> +And kill them in their flush of bloom. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap64"></a> +AMERICA</h2> + +<p class="center"> +I +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Where the wings of a sunny Dome expand<br/> +I saw a Banner in gladsome air—<br/> +Starry, like Berenice’s Hair—<br/> +Afloat in broadened bravery there;<br/> +With undulating long-drawn flow,<br/> +As tolled Brazilian billows go<br/> +Voluminously o’er the Line.<br/> +The Land reposed in peace below;<br/> + The children in their glee<br/> +Were folded to the exulting heart<br/> + Of young Maternity. +</p> + +<p class="center"> +II +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Later, and it streamed in fight<br/> + When tempest mingled with the fray,<br/> +And over the spear-point of the shaft<br/> + I saw the ambiguous lightning play.<br/> +Valor with Valor strove, and died:<br/> +Fierce was Despair, and cruel was Pride;<br/> +And the lorn Mother speechless stood,<br/> +Pale at the fury of her brood. +</p> + +<p class="center"> +III +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Yet later, and the silk did wind<br/> + Her fair cold form;<br/> +Little availed the shining shroud,<br/> + Though ruddy in hue, to cheer or warm.<br/> +A watcher looked upon her low, and said—<br/> +She sleeps, but sleeps, she is not dead.<br/> + But in that sleeps contortion showed<br/> +The terror of the vision there—<br/> + A silent vision unavowed,<br/> +Revealing earth’s foundation bare,<br/> + And Gorgon in her hidden place.<br/> +It was a thing of fear to see<br/> + So foul a dream upon so fair a face,<br/> +And the dreamer lying in that starry shroud. +</p> + +<p class="center"> +IV +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +But from the trance she sudden broke—<br/> + The trance, or death into promoted life;<br/> +At her feet a shivered yoke,<br/> +And in her aspect turned to heaven<br/> + No trace of passion or of strife—<br/> +A clear calm look. It spake of pain,<br/> +But such as purifies from stain—<br/> +Sharp pangs that never come again—<br/> + And triumph repressed by knowledge meet,<br/> +Power dedicate, and hope grown wise,<br/> + And youth matured for age’s seat—<br/> +Law on her brow and empire in her eyes.<br/> + So she, with graver air and lifted flag;<br/> +While the shadow, chased by light,<br/> +Fled along the far-drawn height,<br/> + And left her on the crag. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap65"></a> +INSCRIPTION</h2> + +<p class="center"> +<i>For Graves at Pea Ridge, Arkansas</i> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Let none misgive we died amiss<br/> + When here we strove in furious fight:<br/> +Furious it was; nathless was this<br/> + Better than tranquil plight,<br/> +And tame surrender of the Cause<br/> +Hallowed by hearts and by the laws.<br/> + We here who warred for Man and Right,<br/> +The choice of warring never laid with us.<br/> + There we were ruled by the traitor’s choice.<br/> + Nor long we stood to trim and poise,<br/> +But marched and fell—victorious! +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap66"></a> +THE FORTITUDE OF THE NORTH</h2> + +<p class="center"> +<i>Under the Disaster of the Second Manassas</i> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +They take no shame for dark defeat<br/> + While prizing yet each victory won,<br/> +Who fight for the Right through all retreat,<br/> + Nor pause until their work is done.<br/> +The Cape-of-Storms is proof to every throe;<br/> + Vainly against that foreland beat<br/> +Wild winds aloft and wilder waves below:<br/> +The black cliffs gleam through rents in sleet<br/> +When the livid Antarctic storm-clouds glow. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap67"></a> +THE MOUND BY THE LAKE</h2> + +<p class="poem"> +The grass shall never forget this grave.<br/> +When homeward footing it in the sun<br/> + After the weary ride by rail,<br/> +The stripling soldiers passed her door,<br/> + Wounded perchance, or wan and pale,<br/> +She left her household work undone—<br/> +Duly the wayside table spread,<br/> + With evergreens shaded, to regale<br/> +Each travel-spent and grateful one.<br/> +So warm her heart—childless—unwed,<br/> +Who like a mother comforted. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap68"></a> +ON THE SLAIN AT CHICKAMAUGA</h2> + +<p class="poem"> +Happy are they and charmed in life<br/> + Who through long wars arrive unscarred<br/> +At peace. To such the wreath be given,<br/> +If they unfalteringly have striven—<br/> + In honor, as in limb, unmarred.<br/> +Let cheerful praise be rife,<br/> + And let them live their years at ease,<br/> +Musing on brothers who victorious died—<br/> + Loved mates whose memory shall ever please.<br/> +<br/> +And yet mischance is honorable too—<br/> + Seeming defeat in conflict justified<br/> +Whose end to closing eyes is hid from view.<br/> +The will, that never can relent—<br/> +The aim, survivor of the bafflement,<br/> + Make this memorial due. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap69"></a> +AN UNINSCRIBED MONUMENT</h2> + +<p class="center"> +<i>On one of the Battle-fields of the Wilderness</i> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Silence and solitude may hint<br/> + (Whose home is in yon piney wood)<br/> +What I, though tableted, could never tell—<br/> +The din which here befell,<br/> + And striving of the multitude.<br/> +The iron cones and spheres of death<br/> + Set round me in their rust,<br/> + These, too, if just,<br/> +Shall speak with more than animated breath.<br/> + Thou who beholdest, if thy thought,<br/> +Not narrowed down to personal cheer,<br/> +Take in the import of the quiet here—<br/> + The after-quiet—the calm full fraught;<br/> +Thou too wilt silent stand—<br/> +Silent as I, and lonesome as the land. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap70"></a> +ON THE GRAVE OF A YOUNG CAVALRY OFFICER KILLED IN THE VALLEY OF VIRGINIA</h2> + +<p class="poem"> +Beauty and youth, with manners sweet, and friends—<br/> + Gold, yet a mind not unenriched had he<br/> +Whom here low violets veil from eyes.<br/> + But all these gifts transcended be:<br/> +His happier fortune in this mound you see. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap71"></a> +A REQUIEM</h2> + +<p class="center"> +<i>For Soldiers lost in Ocean Transports</i> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +When, after storms that woodlands rue,<br/> + To valleys comes atoning dawn,<br/> +The robins blithe their orchard-sports renew;<br/> + And meadow-larks, no more withdrawn<br/> +Caroling fly in the languid blue;<br/> +The while, from many a hid recess,<br/> +Alert to partake the blessedness,<br/> +The pouring mites their airy dance pursue.<br/> + So, after ocean’s ghastly gales,<br/> +When laughing light of hoyden morning breaks,<br/> + Every finny hider wakes—<br/> + From vaults profound swims up with glittering scales;<br/> + Through the delightsome sea he sails,<br/> +With shoals of shining tiny things<br/> +Frolic on every wave that flings<br/> + Against the prow its showery spray;<br/> +All creatures joying in the morn,<br/> +Save them forever from joyance torn,<br/> + Whose bark was lost where now the dolphins play;<br/> +Save them that by the fabled shore,<br/> + Down the pale stream are washed away,<br/> +Far to the reef of bones are borne;<br/> + And never revisits them the light,<br/> +Nor sight of long-sought land and pilot more;<br/> + Nor heed they now the lone bird’s flight<br/> +Round the lone spar where mid-sea surges pour. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap72"></a> +COMMEMORATIVE OF A NAVAL VICTORY</h2> + +<p class="poem"> +Sailors there are of the gentlest breed,<br/> + Yet strong, like every goodly thing;<br/> +The discipline of arms refines,<br/> + And the wave gives tempering.<br/> + The damasked blade its beam can fling;<br/> +It lends the last grave grace:<br/> +The hawk, the hound, and sworded nobleman<br/> + In Titian’s picture for a king,<br/> +Are of hunter or warrior race.<br/> +<br/> +In social halls a favored guest<br/> + In years that follow victory won,<br/> +How sweet to feel your festal fame<br/> + In woman’s glance instinctive thrown:<br/> + Repose is yours—your deed is known,<br/> +It musks the amber wine;<br/> +It lives, and sheds a light from storied days<br/> + Rich as October sunsets brown,<br/> +Which make the barren place to shine.<br/> +<br/> +But seldom the laurel wreath is seen<br/> + Unmixed with pensive pansies dark;<br/> +There’s a light and a shadow on every man<br/> + Who at last attains his lifted mark—<br/> + Nursing through night the ethereal spark.<br/> +Elate he never can be;<br/> +He feels that spirit which glad had hailed his worth,<br/> + Sleep in oblivion.—The shark<br/> +Glides white through the phosphorus sea. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap73"></a> +A MEDITATION</h2> + +<p class="poem"> +How often in the years that close,<br/> + When truce had stilled the sieging gun,<br/> +The soldiers, mounting on their works,<br/> + With mutual curious glance have run<br/> +From face to face along the fronting show,<br/> +And kinsman spied, or friend—even in a foe.<br/> +<br/> +What thoughts conflicting then were shared,<br/> + While sacred tenderness perforce<br/> +Welled from the heart and wet the eye;<br/> + And something of a strange remorse<br/> +Rebelled against the sanctioned sin of blood,<br/> +And Christian wars of natural brotherhood.<br/> +<br/> +Then stirred the god within the breast—<br/> + The witness that is man’s at birth;<br/> +A deep misgiving undermined<br/> + Each plea and subterfuge of earth;<br/> +They felt in that rapt pause, with warning rife,<br/> +Horror and anguish for the civil strife.<br/> +<br/> +Of North or South they reeked not then,<br/> + Warm passion cursed the cause of war:<br/> +Can Africa pay back this blood<br/> + Spilt on Potomac’s shore?<br/> +Yet doubts, as pangs, were vain the strife to stay,<br/> +And hands that fain had clasped again could slay.<br/> +<br/> +How frequent in the camp was seen<br/> + The herald from the hostile one,<br/> +A guest and frank companion there<br/> + When the proud formal talk was done;<br/> +The pipe of peace was smoked even ’mid the war,<br/> +And fields in Mexico again fought o’er.<br/> +<br/> +In Western battle long they lay<br/> + So near opposed in trench or pit,<br/> +That foeman unto foeman called<br/> + As men who screened in tavern sit:<br/> +“You bravely fight” each to the other said—<br/> +“Toss us a biscuit!” o’er the wall it sped.<br/> +<br/> +And pale on those same slopes, a boy—<br/> + A stormer, bled in noon-day glare;<br/> +No aid the Blue-coats then could bring,<br/> + He cried to them who nearest were,<br/> +And out there came ’mid howling shot and shell<br/> +A daring foe who him befriended well.<br/> +<br/> +Mark the great Captains on both sides,<br/> + The soldiers with the broad renown—<br/> +They all were messmates on the Hudson’s marge,<br/> + Beneath one roof they laid them down;<br/> +And, free from hate in many an after pass,<br/> +Strove as in school-boy rivalry of the class.<br/> +<br/> +A darker side there is; but doubt<br/> + In Nature’s charity hovers there:<br/> +If men for new agreement yearn,<br/> + Then old upbraiding best forbear:<br/> +“The South’s the sinner!” Well, so let it be;<br/> +But shall the North sin worse, and stand the Pharisee?<br/> +<br/> +O, now that brave men yield the sword,<br/> + Mine be the manful soldier-view;<br/> +By how much more they boldly warred,<br/> + By so much more is mercy due:<br/> +When Vicksburg fell, and the moody files marched out,<br/> +Silent the victors stood, scorning to raise a shout. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap74"></a> +POEMS FROM MARDI</h2> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap75"></a> +WE FISH</h2> + +<p class="poem"> +We fish, we fish, we merrily swim,<br/> +We care not for friend nor for foe.<br/> + Our fins are stout,<br/> + Our tails are out,<br/> +As through the seas we go.<br/> +<br/> +Fish, Fish, we are fish with red gills;<br/> + Naught disturbs us, our blood is at zero:<br/> +We are buoyant because of our bags,<br/> + Being many, each fish is a hero.<br/> +We care not what is it, this life<br/> + That we follow, this phantom unknown;<br/> +To swim, it’s exceedingly pleasant,—<br/> + So swim away, making a foam.<br/> +This strange looking thing by our side,<br/> + Not for safety, around it we flee:—<br/> +Its shadow’s so shady, that’s all,—<br/> + We only swim under its lee.<br/> +And as for the eels there above,<br/> + And as for the fowls of the air,<br/> +We care not for them nor their ways,<br/> + As we cheerily glide afar!<br/> +<br/> +We fish, we fish, we merrily swim,<br/> +We care not for friend nor for foe:<br/> + Our fins are stout,<br/> + Our tails are out,<br/> +As through the seas we go. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap76"></a> +INVOCATION</h2> + +<p class="poem"> +Ha, ha, gods and kings; fill high, one and all;<br/> +Drink, drink! shout and drink! mad respond to the call!<br/> +Fill fast, and fill full; ’gainst the goblet ne’er sin;<br/> +Quaff there, at high tide, to the uttermost rim:—<br/> + Flood-tide, and soul-tide to the brim!<br/> +<br/> +Who with wine in him fears? who thinks of his cares?<br/> +Who sighs to be wise, when wine in him flares?<br/> +Water sinks down below, in currents full slow;<br/> +But wine mounts on high with its genial glow:—<br/> + Welling up, till the brain overflow!<br/> +<br/> +As the spheres, with a roll, some fiery of soul,<br/> +Others golden, with music, revolve round the pole;<br/> +So let our cups, radiant with many hued wines,<br/> +Round and round in groups circle, our Zodiac’s Signs:—<br/> + Round reeling, and ringing their chimes!<br/> +<br/> +Then drink, gods and kings; wine merriment brings;<br/> +It bounds through the veins; there, jubilant sings.<br/> +Let it ebb, then, and flow; wine never grows dim;<br/> +Drain down that bright tide at the foam beaded rim:—<br/> + Fill up, every cup, to the brim! +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap77"></a> +DIRGE</h2> + +<p class="poem"> +We drop our dead in the sea,<br/> + The bottomless, bottomless sea;<br/> +Each bubble a hollow sigh,<br/> + As it sinks forever and aye.<br/> +<br/> +We drop our dead in the sea,—<br/> + The dead reek not of aught;<br/> +We drop our dead in the sea,—<br/> + The sea ne’er gives it a thought.<br/> +<br/> +Sink, sink, oh corpse, still sink,<br/> + Far down in the bottomless sea,<br/> +Where the unknown forms do prowl,<br/> + Down, down in the bottomless sea.<br/> +<br/> +’Tis night above, and night all round,<br/> + And night will it be with thee;<br/> +As thou sinkest, and sinkest for aye,<br/> + Deeper down in the bottomless sea. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap78"></a> +MARLENA</h2> + +<p class="poem"> +Far off in the sea is Marlena,<br/> +A land of shades and streams,<br/> +A land of many delights,<br/> +Dark and bold, thy shores, Marlena;<br/> +But green, and timorous, thy soft knolls,<br/> +Crouching behind the woodlands.<br/> +All shady thy hills; all gleaming thy springs,<br/> +Like eyes in the earth looking at you.<br/> +How charming thy haunts, Marlena!—<br/> +Oh, the waters that flow through Onimoo;<br/> +Oh, the leaves that rustle through Ponoo:<br/> +Oh, the roses that blossom in Tarma.<br/> +Come, and see the valley of Vina:<br/> +How sweet, how sweet, the Isles from Hina:<br/> +’Tis aye afternoon of the full, full moon,<br/> +And ever the season of fruit,<br/> +And ever the hour of flowers,<br/> +And never the time of rains and gales,<br/> +All in and about Marlena.<br/> +Soft sigh the boughs in the stilly air,<br/> +Soft lap the beach the billows there;<br/> +And in the woods or by the streams,<br/> +You needs must nod in the Land of Dreams. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap79"></a> +PIPE SONG</h2> + +<p class="poem"> +Care is all stuff:—<br/> + Puff! Puff!<br/> +To puff is enough:—<br/> + Puff! Puff<br/> +More musky than snuff,<br/> +And warm is a puff:—<br/> + Puff! Puff<br/> +Here we sit mid our puffs,<br/> +Like old lords in their ruffs,<br/> +Snug as bears in their muffs:—<br/> + Puff! Puff<br/> +Then puff, puff, puff,<br/> +For care is all stuff,<br/> +Puffed off in a puff—<br/> + Puff! Puff! +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap80"></a> +SONG OF YOOMY</h2> + +<p class="poem"> +Departed the pride, and the glory of Mardi:<br/> +The vaunt of her isles sleeps deep in the sea,<br/> + That rolls o’er his corse with a hush,<br/> + His warriors bend over their spears,<br/> + His sisters gaze upward and mourn.<br/> + Weep, weep, for Adondo is dead!<br/> + The sun has gone down in a shower;<br/> + Buried in clouds the face of the moon;<br/> +Tears stand in the eyes of the starry skies,<br/> + And stand in the eyes of the flowers;<br/> +And streams of tears are the trickling brooks,<br/> + Coursing adown the mountains.—<br/> + Departed the pride, and the glory of Mardi:<br/> + The vaunt of her isles sleeps deep in the sea.<br/> +Fast falls the small rain on its bosom that sobs,—<br/> + Not showers of rain, but the tears of Oro. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap81"></a> +GOLD</h2> + +<p class="poem"> + We rovers bold,<br/> + To the land of Gold,<br/> +Over the bowling billows are gliding:<br/> + Eager to toil,<br/> + For the golden spoil,<br/> +And every hardship biding.<br/> + See! See!<br/> +Before our prows’ resistless dashes<br/> +The gold-fish fly in golden flashes!<br/> + ’Neath a sun of gold,<br/> + We rovers bold,<br/> +On the golden land are gaining;<br/> + And every night,<br/> + We steer aright,<br/> +By golden stars unwaning!<br/> +All fires burn a golden glare:<br/> +No locks so bright as golden hair!<br/> + All orange groves have golden gushings;<br/> + All mornings dawn with golden flushings!<br/> +In a shower of gold, say fables old,<br/> +A maiden was won by the god of gold!<br/> + In golden goblets wine is beaming:<br/> + On golden couches kings are dreaming!<br/> + The Golden Rule dries many tears!<br/> + The Golden Number rules the spheres!<br/> +Gold, gold it is, that sways the nations:<br/> +Gold! gold! the center of all rotations!<br/> + On golden axles worlds are turning:<br/> + With phosphorescence seas are burning!<br/> + All fire-flies flame with golden gleamings!<br/> + Gold-hunters’ hearts with golden dreamings!<br/> + With golden arrows kings are slain:<br/> + With gold we’ll buy a freeman’s name!<br/> +In toilsome trades, for scanty earnings,<br/> +At home we’ve slaved, with stifled yearnings:<br/> +No light! no hope! Oh, heavy woe!<br/> +When nights fled fast, and days dragged slow.<br/> + But joyful now, with eager eye,<br/> + Fast to the Promised Land we fly:<br/> + Where in deep mines,<br/> + The treasure shines;<br/> + Or down in beds of golden streams,<br/> + The gold-flakes glance in golden gleams!<br/> + How we long to sift,<br/> + That yellow drift!<br/> + Rivers! Rivers! cease your goings!<br/> + Sand-bars! rise, and stay the tide!<br/> + ’Till we’ve gained the golden flowing;<br/> + And in the golden haven ride! +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap82"></a> +THE LAND OF LOVE</h2> + +<p class="poem"> +Hail! voyagers, hail!<br/> +Whence e’er ye come, where’er ye rove,<br/> + No calmer strand,<br/> + No sweeter land,<br/> +Will e’er ye view, than the Land of Love!<br/> +<br/> + Hail! voyagers, hail!<br/> +To these, our shores, soft gales invite:<br/> + The palm plumes wave,<br/> + The billows lave,<br/> +And hither point fix’d stars of light!<br/> +<br/> + Hail! voyagers, hail!<br/> +Think not our groves wide brood with gloom;<br/> + In this, our isle,<br/> + Bright flowers smile:<br/> +Full urns, rose-heaped, these valleys bloom.<br/> +<br/> + Hail! voyagers, hail!<br/> +Be not deceived; renounce vain things;<br/> + Ye may not find<br/> + A tranquil mind,<br/> +Though hence ye sail with swiftest wings.<br/> +<br/> + Hail! voyagers, hail!<br/> +Time flies full fast; life soon is o’er;<br/> + And ye may mourn,<br/> + That hither borne,<br/> +Ye left behind our pleasant shore. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap83"></a> +POEMS FROM CLAREL</h2> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap84"></a> +DIRGE</h2> + +<p class="poem"> +Stay, Death, Not mine the Christus-wand<br/> +Wherewith to charge thee and command:<br/> +I plead. Most gently hold the hand<br/> +Of her thou leadest far away;<br/> +Fear thou to let her naked feet<br/> +Tread ashes—but let mosses sweet<br/> +Her footing tempt, where’er ye stray.<br/> +Shun Orcus; win the moonlit land<br/> +Belulled—the silent meadows lone,<br/> +Where never any leaf is blown<br/> +From lily-stem in Azrael’s hand.<br/> +There, till her love rejoin her lowly<br/> +(Pensive, a shade, but all her own)<br/> +On honey feed her, wild and holy;<br/> +Or trance her with thy choicest charm.<br/> +And if, ere yet the lover’s free,<br/> +Some added dusk thy rule decree—<br/> +That shadow only let it be<br/> +Thrown in the moon-glade by the palm. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap85"></a> +EPILOGUE</h2> + +<p class="center"> +<i>If Luther’s day expand to Darwin’s year,</i><br/> +<i>Shall that exclude the hope—foreclose the fear?</i> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Unmoved by all the claims our times avow,<br/> +The ancient Sphinx still keeps the porch of shade;<br/> +And comes Despair, whom not her calm may cow,<br/> +And coldly on that adamantine brow<br/> +Scrawls undeterred his bitter pasquinade.<br/> +But Faith (who from the scrawl indignant turns)<br/> +With blood warm oozing from her wounded trust,<br/> +Inscribes even on her shards of broken urns<br/> +The sign o’ the cross—<i>the spirit above the dust!</i><br/> +<br/> + Yea, ape and angel, strife and old debate—<br/> +The harps of heaven and dreary gongs of hell;<br/> +Science the feud can only aggravate—<br/> +No umpire she betwixt the chimes and knell:<br/> +The running battle of the star and clod<br/> +Shall run forever—if there be no God.<br/> +<br/> + Degrees we know, unknown in days before;<br/> +The light is greater, hence the shadow more;<br/> +And tantalized and apprehensive Man<br/> +Appealing—Wherefore ripen us to pain?<br/> +Seems there the spokesman of dumb Nature’s train.<br/> +<br/> + But through such strange illusions have they passed<br/> +Who in life’s pilgrimage have baffled striven—<br/> +Even death may prove unreal at the last,<br/> +And stoics be astounded into heaven.<br/> +<br/> + Then keep thy heart, though yet but ill-resigned—<br/> +Clarel, thy heart, the issues there but mind;<br/> +That like the crocus budding through the snow—<br/> +That like a swimmer rising from the deep—<br/> +That like a burning secret which doth go<br/> +Even from the bosom that would hoard and keep;<br/> +Emerge thou mayst from the last whelming sea,<br/> +And prove that death but routs life into victory. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + + <div>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 12841 ***</div> +</body> +</html> diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..570190d --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #12841 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/12841) diff --git a/old/12841-0.txt b/old/12841-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6b41f92 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/12841-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,4388 @@ +The Project Gutenberg eBook of John Marr and Other Poems, by Herman Melville + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and +most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions +whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms +of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at +www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you +will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before +using this eBook. + +Title: John Marr and Other Poems + +Author: Herman Melville + +Release Date: July 7, 2004 [eBook #12841] +[Most recently updated: June 17, 2022] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +Produced by: Geoff Palmer + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK JOHN MARR AND OTHER POEMS *** + + + + +John Marr and Other Poems + +By Herman Melville + +_With An Introductory Note By_ +HENRY CHAPIN + +MCMXXII + + + + +CONTENTS + + INTRODUCTORY NOTE + + JOHN MARR AND OTHER SAILORS + JOHN MARR AND OTHER SAILORS + BRIDEGROOM DICK + TOM DEADLIGHT + JACK ROY + + SEA PIECES + THE HAGLETS + THE AEOLIAN HARP + TO THE MASTER OF THE _METEOR_ + FAR OFF-SHORE + THE MAN-OF-WAR HAWK + THE FIGURE-HEAD + THE GOOD CRAFT _SNOW BIRD_ + OLD COUNSEL + THE TUFT OF KELP + THE MALDIVE SHARK + TO NED + CROSSING THE TROPICS + THE BERG + THE ENVIABLE ISLES + PEBBLES + + POEMS FROM TIMOLEON + LINES TRACED UNDER AN IMAGE OF AMOR THREATENING + THE NIGHT MARCH + THE RAVAGED VILLA + THE NEW ZEALOT TO THE SUN + MONODY + LONE FOUNTS + THE BENCH OF BOORS + ART + THE ENTHUSIAST + SHELLEY’S VISION + THE MARCHIONESS OF BRINVILLIERS + THE AGE OF THE ANTONINES + HERBA SANTA + OFF CAPE COLONNA + THE APPARITION + L’ENVOI + SUPPLEMENT + + POEMS FROM BATTLE PIECES + THE PORTENT + FROM THE CONFLICT OF CONVICTIONS + THE MARCH INTO VIRGINIA + BALL’S BLUFF + THE STONE FLEET + THE TEMERAIRE + A UTILITARIAN VIEW OF THE _MONITOR’S_ FIGHT + MALVERN HILL + STONEWALL JACKSON + THE HOUSE-TOP + CHATTANOOGA + ON THE PHOTOGRAPH OF A CORPS COMMANDER + THE SWAMP ANGEL + SHERIDAN AT CEDAR CREEK + IN THE PRISON PEN + THE COLLEGE COLONEL + THE MARTYR + REBEL COLOR-BEARERS AT SHILOH + AURORA BOREALIS + THE RELEASED REBEL PRISONER + “FORMERLY A SLAVE” + ON THE SLAIN COLLEGIANS + AMERICA + INSCRIPTION + THE FORTITUDE OF THE NORTH + THE MOUND BY THE LAKE + ON THE SLAIN AT CHICKAMAUGA + AN UNINSCRIBED MONUMENT + ON THE GRAVE OF A YOUNG CAVALRY OFFICER KILLED IN THE VALLEY OF VIRGINIA + A REQUIEM + COMMEMORATIVE OF A NAVAL VICTORY + A MEDITATION + + POEMS FROM MARDI + WE FISH + INVOCATION + DIRGE + MARLENA + PIPE SONG + SONG OF YOOMY + GOLD + THE LAND OF LOVE + + POEMS FROM CLAREL + DIRGE + EPILOGUE + + + + +INTRODUCTORY NOTE + + +Melville’s verse printed for the most part privately in small editions +from middle life onward after his great prose work had been written, +taken as a whole, is of an amateurish and uneven quality. In it, +however, that loveable freshness of personality, which his +philosophical dejection never quenched, is everywhere in evidence. It +is clear that he did not set himself to master the poet’s art, yet +through the mask of conventional verse which often falls into doggerel, +the voice of a true poet is heard. In selecting the pieces for this +volume I have put in the vigorous sea verses of _John Marr_ in their +entirety and added those others from his _Battle Pieces_, _Timoleon,_ +etc., that best indicate the quality of their author’s personality. The +prose supplement to battle pieces has been included because it does so +much to explain the feeling of his war verse and further because it is +such a remarkably wise and clear commentary upon those confused and +troublous days of post-war reconstruction. H. C. + + + + +JOHN MARR AND OTHER SAILORS + + + + +JOHN MARR AND OTHER SAILORS + + +Since as in night’s deck-watch ye show, +Why, lads, so silent here to me, +Your watchmate of times long ago? +Once, for all the darkling sea, +You your voices raised how clearly, +Striking in when tempest sung; +Hoisting up the storm-sail cheerly, +_Life is storm—let storm!_ you rung. +Taking things as fated merely, +Childlike though the world ye spanned; +Nor holding unto life too dearly, +Ye who held your lives in hand— +Skimmers, who on oceans four +Petrels were, and larks ashore. + +O, not from memory lightly flung, +Forgot, like strains no more availing, +The heart to music haughtier strung; +Nay, frequent near me, never staleing, +Whose good feeling kept ye young. +Like tides that enter creek or stream, +Ye come, ye visit me, or seem +Swimming out from seas of faces, +Alien myriads memory traces, +To enfold me in a dream! + +I yearn as ye. But rafts that strain, +Parted, shall they lock again? +Twined we were, entwined, then riven, +Ever to new embracements driven, +Shifting gulf-weed of the main! +And how if one here shift no more, +Lodged by the flinging surge ashore? +Nor less, as now, in eve’s decline, +Your shadowy fellowship is mine. +Ye float around me, form and feature:— +Tattooings, ear-rings, love-locks curled; +Barbarians of man’s simpler nature, +Unworldly servers of the world. +Yea, present all, and dear to me, +Though shades, or scouring China’s sea. + +Whither, whither, merchant-sailors, +Whitherward now in roaring gales? +Competing still, ye huntsman-whalers, +In leviathan’s wake what boat prevails? +And man-of-war’s men, whereaway? +If now no dinned drum beat to quarters +On the wilds of midnight waters— +Foemen looming through the spray; +Do yet your gangway lanterns, streaming, +Vainly strive to pierce below, +When, tilted from the slant plank gleaming, +A brother you see to darkness go? + +But, gunmates lashed in shotted canvas, +If where long watch-below ye keep, +Never the shrill _“All hands up hammocks!”_ +Breaks the spell that charms your sleep, +And summoning trumps might vainly call, +And booming guns implore— +A beat, a heart-beat musters all, +One heart-beat at heart-core. +It musters. But to clasp, retain; +To see you at the halyards main— +To hear your chorus once again! + + + + +BRIDEGROOM DICK + + +1876 + + +Sunning ourselves in October on a day +Balmy as spring, though the year was in decay, +I lading my pipe, she stirring her tea, +My old woman she says to me, +“Feel ye, old man, how the season mellows?” +And why should I not, blessed heart alive, +Here mellowing myself, past sixty-five, +To think o’ the May-time o’ pennoned young fellows +This stripped old hulk here for years may survive. + +Ere yet, long ago, we were spliced, Bonny Blue, +(Silvery it gleams down the moon-glade o’ time, +Ah, sugar in the bowl and berries in the prime!) +Coxswain I o’ the Commodore’s crew,— +Under me the fellows that manned his fine gig, +Spinning him ashore, a king in full fig. +Chirrupy even when crosses rubbed me, +Bridegroom Dick lieutenants dubbed me. +Pleasant at a yarn, Bob o’ Linkum in a song, +Diligent in duty and nattily arrayed, +Favored I was, wife, and _fleeted_ right along; +And though but a tot for such a tall grade, +A high quartermaster at last I was made. + +All this, old lassie, you have heard before, +But you listen again for the sake e’en o’ me; +No babble stales o’ the good times o’ yore +To Joan, if Darby the babbler be. + +Babbler?—O’ what? Addled brains, they forget! +O—quartermaster I; yes, the signals set, +Hoisted the ensign, mended it when frayed, +Polished up the binnacle, minded the helm, +And prompt every order blithely obeyed. +To me would the officers say a word cheery— +Break through the starch o’ the quarter-deck realm; +His coxswain late, so the Commodore’s pet. +Ay, and in night-watches long and weary, +Bored nigh to death with the navy etiquette, +Yearning, too, for fun, some younker, a cadet, +Dropping for time each vain bumptious trick, +Boy-like would unbend to Bridegroom Dick. +But a limit there was—a check, d’ ye see: +Those fine young aristocrats knew their degree. + +Well, stationed aft where their lordships keep,— +Seldom _going_ forward excepting to sleep,— +I, boozing now on by-gone years, +My betters recall along with my peers. +Recall them? Wife, but I see them plain: +Alive, alert, every man stirs again. +Ay, and again on the lee-side pacing, +My spy-glass carrying, a truncheon in show, +Turning at the taffrail, my footsteps retracing, +Proud in my duty, again methinks I go. +And Dave, Dainty Dave, I mark where he stands, +Our trim sailing-master, to time the high-noon, +That thingumbob sextant perplexing eyes and hands, +Squinting at the sun, or twigging o’ the moon; +Then, touching his cap to Old Chock-a-Block +Commanding the quarter-deck,—“Sir, twelve o’clock.” + +Where sails he now, that trim sailing-master, +Slender, yes, as the ship’s sky-s’l pole? +Dimly I mind me of some sad disaster— +Dainty Dave was dropped from the navy-roll! +And ah, for old Lieutenant Chock-a-Block— +Fast, wife, chock-fast to death’s black dock! +Buffeted about the obstreperous ocean, +Fleeted his life, if lagged his promotion. +Little girl, they are all, all gone, I think, +Leaving Bridegroom Dick here with lids that wink. + +Where is Ap Catesby? The fights fought of yore +Famed him, and laced him with epaulets, and more. +But fame is a wake that after-wakes cross, +And the waters wallow all, and laugh + _Where’s the loss?_ +But John Bull’s bullet in his shoulder bearing +Ballasted Ap in his long sea-faring. +The middies they ducked to the man who had messed +With Decatur in the gun-room, or forward pressed +Fighting beside Perry, Hull, Porter, and the rest. + +Humped veteran o’ the Heart-o’-Oak war, +Moored long in haven where the old heroes are, +Never on _you_ did the iron-clads jar! +Your open deck when the boarder assailed, +The frank old heroic hand-to-hand then availed. + +But where’s Guert Gan? Still heads he the van? +As before Vera-Cruz, when he dashed splashing through +The blue rollers sunned, in his brave gold-and-blue, +And, ere his cutter in keel took the strand, +Aloft waved his sword on the hostile land! +Went up the cheering, the quick chanticleering; +All hands vying—all colors flying: +“Cock-a-doodle-doo!” and “Row, boys, row!” +“Hey, Starry Banner!” “Hi, Santa Anna!” +Old Scott’s young dash at Mexico. + +Fine forces o’ the land, fine forces o’ the sea, +Fleet, army, and flotilla—tell, heart o’ me, +Tell, if you can, whereaway now they be! + +But ah, how to speak of the hurricane unchained— +The Union’s strands parted in the hawser over-strained; +Our flag blown to shreds, anchors gone altogether— +The dashed fleet o’ States in Secession’s foul weather. + +Lost in the smother o’ that wide public stress, +In hearts, private hearts, what ties there were snapped! +Tell, Hal—vouch, Will, o’ the ward-room mess, +On you how the riving thunder-bolt clapped. +With a bead in your eye and beads in your glass, +And a grip o’ the flipper, it was part and pass: +“Hal, must it be: Well, if come indeed the shock, +To North or to South, let the victory cleave, +Vaunt it he may on his dung-hill the cock, +But _Uncle Sam’s_ eagle never crow will, believe.” + +Sentiment: ay, while suspended hung all, +Ere the guns against Sumter opened there the ball, +And partners were taken, and the red dance began, +War’s red dance o’ death!—Well, we, to a man, +We sailors o’ the North, wife, how could we lag?— +Strike with your kin, and you stick to the flag! +But to sailors o’ the South that easy way was barred. +To some, dame, believe (and I speak o’ what I know), +Wormwood the trial and the Uzzite’s black shard; +And the faithfuller the heart, the crueller the throe. +Duty? It pulled with more than one string, +This way and that, and anyhow a sting. +The flag and your kin, how be true unto both? +If either plight ye keep, then ye break the other troth. +But elect here they must, though the casuists were out; +Decide—hurry up—and throttle every doubt. + +Of all these thrills thrilled at keelson, and throes, +Little felt the shoddyites a-toasting o’ their toes; +In mart and bazar Lucre chuckled the huzza, +Coining the dollars in the bloody mint of war. + +But in men, gray knights o’ the Order o’ Scars, +And brave boys bound by vows unto Mars, +Nature grappled honor, intertwisting in the strife:— +But some cut the knot with a thoroughgoing knife. +For how when the drums beat? How in the fray +In Hampton Roads on the fine balmy day? + +There a lull, wife, befell—drop o’ silent in the din. +Let us enter that silence ere the belchings re-begin. +Through a ragged rift aslant in the cannonade’s smoke +An iron-clad reveals her repellent broadside +Bodily intact. But a frigate, all oak, +Shows honeycombed by shot, and her deck crimson-dyed. +And a trumpet from port of the iron-clad hails, +Summoning the other, whose flag never trails: +“Surrender that frigate, Will! Surrender, +Or I will sink her—_ram_, and end her!” + +’T was Hal. And Will, from the naked heart-o’-oak, +Will, the old messmate, minus trumpet, spoke, +Informally intrepid,—“Sink her, and be damned!”* [* Historic.] +Enough. Gathering way, the iron-clad _rammed_. +The frigate, heeling over, on the wave threw a dusk. +Not sharing in the slant, the clapper of her bell +The fixed metal struck—uinvoked struck the knell +Of the _Cumberland_ stillettoed by the _Merrimac’s_ tusk; +While, broken in the wound underneath the gun-deck, +Like a sword-fish’s blade in leviathan waylaid, +The tusk was left infixed in the fast-foundering wreck. +There, dungeoned in the cockpit, the wounded go down, +And the chaplain with them. But the surges uplift +The prone dead from deck, and for moment they drift +Washed with the swimmers, and the spent swimmers drown. +Nine fathom did she sink,—erect, though hid from light +Save her colors unsurrendered and spars that kept the height. + +Nay, pardon, old aunty! Wife, never let it fall, +That big started tear that hovers on the brim; +I forgot about your nephew and the _Merrimac’s_ ball; +No more then of her, since it summons up him. +But talk o’ fellows’ hearts in the wine’s genial cup:— +Trap them in the fate, jam them in the strait, +Guns speak their hearts then, and speak right up. +The troublous colic o’ intestine war +It sets the bowels o’ affection ajar. +But, lord, old dame, so spins the whizzing world, +A humming-top, ay, for the little boy-gods +Flogging it well with their smart little rods, +Tittering at time and the coil uncurled. + +Now, now, sweetheart, you sidle away, +No, never you like _that_ kind o’ _gay;_ +But sour if I get, giving truth her due, +Honey-sweet forever, wife, will Dick be to you! + +But avast with the War! ‘Why recall racking days +Since set up anew are the slip’s started stays? +Nor less, though the gale we have left behind, +Well may the heave o’ the sea remind. +It irks me now, as it troubled me then, +To think o’ the fate in the madness o’ men. +If Dick was with Farragut on the night-river, +When the boom-chain we burst in the fire-raft’s glare, +That blood-dyed the visage as red as the liver; +In the _Battle for the Bay_ too if Dick had a share, +And saw one aloft a-piloting the war— +Trumpet in the whirlwind, a Providence in place— +Our Admiral old whom the captains huzza, +Dick joys in the man nor brags about the race. + +But better, wife, I like to booze on the days +Ere the Old Order foundered in these very frays, +And tradition was lost and we learned strange ways. +Often I think on the brave cruises then; +Re-sailing them in memory, I hail the press o’ men +On the gunned promenade where rolling they go, +Ere the dog-watch expire and break up the show. +The Laced Caps I see between forward guns; +Away from the powder-room they puff the cigar; +“Three days more, hey, the donnas and the dons!” +“Your Zeres widow, will you hunt her up, Starr?” +The Laced Caps laugh, and the bright waves too; +Very jolly, very wicked, both sea and crew, +Nor heaven looks sour on either, I guess, +Nor Pecksniff he bosses the gods’ high mess. +Wistful ye peer, wife, concerned for my head, +And how best to get me betimes to my bed. + +But king o’ the club, the gayest golden spark, +Sailor o’ sailors, what sailor do I mark? +Tom Tight, Tom Tight, no fine fellow finer, +A cutwater nose, ay, a spirited soul; +But, bowsing away at the well-brewed bowl, +He never bowled back from that last voyage to China. + +Tom was lieutenant in the brig-o’-war famed +When an officer was hung for an arch-mutineer, +But a mystery cleaved, and the captain was blamed, +And a rumpus too raised, though his honor it was clear. +And Tom he would say, when the mousers would try him, +And with cup after cup o’ Burgundy ply him: +“Gentlemen, in vain with your wassail you beset, +For the more I tipple, the tighter do I get.” +No blabber, no, not even with the can— +True to himself and loyal to his clan. + +Tom blessed us starboard and d—d us larboard, +Right down from rail to the streak o’ the garboard. +Nor less, wife, we liked him.—Tom was a man +In contrast queer with Chaplain Le Fan, +Who blessed us at morn, and at night yet again, +D—ning us only in decorous strain; +Preaching ’tween the guns—each cutlass in its place— +From text that averred old Adam a hard case. +I see him—Tom—on _horse-block_ standing, +Trumpet at mouth, thrown up all amain, +An elephant’s bugle, vociferous demanding +Of topmen aloft in the hurricane of rain, +“Letting that sail there your faces flog? +Manhandle it, men, and you’ll get the good grog!” +O Tom, but he knew a blue-jacket’s ways, +And how a lieutenant may genially haze; +Only a sailor sailors heartily praise. + +Wife, where be all these chaps, I wonder? +Trumpets in the tempest, terrors in the fray, +Boomed their commands along the deck like thunder; +But silent is the sod, and thunder dies away. +But Captain Turret, _“Old Hemlock”_ tall, +(A leaning tower when his tank brimmed all,) +Manoeuvre out alive from the war did he? +Or, too old for that, drift under the lee? +Kentuckian colossal, who, touching at Madeira, +The huge puncheon shipped o’ prime _Santa-Clara;_ +Then rocked along the deck so solemnly! +No whit the less though judicious was enough +In dealing with the Finn who made the great huff; +Our three-decker’s giant, a grand boatswain’s mate, +Manliest of men in his own natural senses; +But driven stark mad by the devil’s drugged stuff, +Storming all aboard from his run-ashore late, +Challenging to battle, vouchsafing no pretenses, +A reeling King Ogg, delirious in power, +The quarter-deck carronades he seemed to make cower. +“Put him in _brig_ there!” said Lieutenant Marrot. +“Put him in _brig!_” back he mocked like a parrot; +“Try it, then!” swaying a fist like Thor’s sledge, +And making the pigmy constables hedge— +Ship’s corporals and the master-at-arms. +“In _brig_ there, I say!”—They dally no more; +Like hounds let slip on a desperate boar, +Together they pounce on the formidable Finn, +Pinion and cripple and hustle him in. +Anon, under sentry, between twin guns, +He slides off in drowse, and the long night runs. + +Morning brings a summons. Whistling it calls, +Shrilled through the pipes of the boatswain’s four aids; +Trilled down the hatchways along the dusk halls: +_Muster to the Scourge!_—Dawn of doom and its blast! +As from cemeteries raised, sailors swarm before the mast, +Tumbling up the ladders from the ship’s nether shades. + +Keeping in the background and taking small part, +Lounging at their ease, indifferent in face, +Behold the trim marines uncompromised in heart; +Their Major, buttoned up, near the staff finds room— +The staff o’ lieutenants standing grouped in their place. +All the Laced Caps o’ the ward-room come, +The Chaplain among them, disciplined and dumb. +The blue-nosed boatswain, complexioned like slag, +Like a blue Monday lours—his implements in bag. +Executioners, his aids, a couple by him stand, +At a nod there the thongs to receive from his hand. +Never venturing a caveat whatever may betide, +Though functionally here on humanity’s side, +The grave Surgeon shows, like the formal physician +Attending the rack o’ the Spanish Inquisition. + +The angel o’ the “brig” brings his prisoner up; +Then, steadied by his old _Santa-Clara_, a sup, +Heading all erect, the ranged assizes there, +Lo, Captain Turret, and under starred bunting, +(A florid full face and fine silvered hair,) +Gigantic the yet greater giant confronting. + +Now the culprit he liked, as a tall captain can +A Titan subordinate and true _sailor-man;_ +And frequent he’d shown it—no worded advance, +But flattering the Finn with a well-timed glance. +But what of that now? In the martinet-mien +Read the _Articles of War_, heed the naval routine; +While, cut to the heart a dishonor there to win, +Restored to his senses, stood the Anak Finn; +In racked self-control the squeezed tears peeping, +Scalding the eye with repressed inkeeping. +Discipline must be; the scourge is deemed due. +But ah for the sickening and strange heart- benumbing, +Compassionate abasement in shipmates that view; +Such a grand champion shamed there succumbing! +“Brown, tie him up.”—The cord he brooked: +How else?—his arms spread apart—never threaping; +No, never he flinched, never sideways he looked, +Peeled to the waistband, the marble flesh creeping, +Lashed by the sleet the officious winds urge. + +In function his fellows their fellowship merge— +The twain standing nigh—the two boatswain’s mates, +Sailors of his grade, ay, and brothers of his mess. +With sharp thongs adroop the junior one awaits +The word to uplift. + “Untie him—so! +Submission is enough, Man, you may go.” +Then, promenading aft, brushing fat Purser Smart, +“Flog? Never meant it—hadn’t any heart. +Degrade that tall fellow? “—Such, wife, was he, +Old Captain Turret, who the brave wine could stow. +Magnanimous, you think?—But what does Dick see? +Apron to your eye! Why, never fell a blow; +Cheer up, old wifie, ’t was a long time ago. + +But where’s that sore one, crabbed and-severe, +Lieutenant Lon Lumbago, an arch scrutineer? +Call the roll to-day, would he answer—_Here!_ +When the _Blixum’s_ fellows to quarters mustered +How he’d lurch along the lane of gun-crews clustered, +Testy as touchwood, to pry and to peer. +Jerking his sword underneath larboard arm, +He ground his worn grinders to keep himself calm. +Composed in his nerves, from the fidgets set free, +Tell, Sweet Wrinkles, alive now is he, +In Paradise a parlor where the even tempers be? + +Where’s Commander All-a-Tanto? +Where’s Orlop Bob singing up from below? +Where’s Rhyming Ned? has he spun his last canto? +Where’s Jewsharp Jim? Where’s Ringadoon Joe? +Ah, for the music over and done, +The band all dismissed save the droned trombone! +Where’s Glenn o’ the gun-room, who loved Hot-Scotch— +Glen, prompt and cool in a perilous watch? +Where’s flaxen-haired Phil? a gray lieutenant? +Or rubicund, flying a dignified pennant? + +But where sleeps his brother?—the cruise it was o’er, +But ah, for death’s grip that welcomed him ashore! +Where’s Sid, the cadet, so frank in his brag, +Whose toast was audacious—“_Here’s Sid, and Sid’s flag!_” +Like holiday-craft that have sunk unknown, +May a lark of a lad go lonely down? +Who takes the census under the sea? +Can others like old ensigns be, +Bunting I hoisted to flutter at the gaff— +Rags in end that once were flags +Gallant streaming from the staff? + +Such scurvy doom could the chances deal +To Top-Gallant Harry and Jack Genteel? +Lo, Genteel Jack in hurricane weather, +Shagged like a bear, like a red lion roaring; +But O, so fine in his chapeau and feather, +In port to the ladies never once _jawing;_ +All bland _politesse,_ how urbane was he— +_“Oui, mademoiselle”—“Ma chère amie!”_ + +’T was Jack got up the ball at Naples, +Gay in the old _Ohio_ glorious; +His hair was curled by the berth-deck barber, +Never you’d deemed him a cub of rude Boreas; +In tight little pumps, with the grand dames in rout, +A-flinging his shapely foot all about; +His watch-chain with love’s jeweled tokens abounding, +Curls ambrosial shaking out odors, +Waltzing along the batteries, astounding +The gunner glum and the grim-visaged loaders. + +Wife, where be all these blades, I wonder, +Pennoned fine fellows, so strong, so gay? +Never their colors with a dip dived under; +Have they hauled them down in a lack-lustre day, +Or beached their boats in the Far, Far Away? +Hither and thither, blown wide asunder, +Where’s this fleet, I wonder and wonder. +Slipt their cables, rattled their adieu, +(Whereaway pointing? to what rendezvous?) +Out of sight, out of mind, like the crack _Constitution,_ +And many a keel time never shall renew— +_Bon Homme Dick_ o’ the buff Revolution, +The _Black Cockade_ and the staunch _True-Blue._ + +Doff hats to Decatur! But where is his blazon? +Must merited fame endure time’s wrong— +Glory’s ripe grape wizen up to a raisin? +Yes! for Nature teems, and the years are strong, +And who can keep the tally o’ the names that fleet along! + +But his frigate, wife, his bride? Would blacksmiths brown +Into smithereens smite the solid old renown? +Rivetting the bolts in the iron-clad’s shell, +Hark to the hammers with _a rat-tat-tat;_ +“Handier a _derby_ than a laced cocked hat! +The _Monitor_ was ugly, but she served us right well, +Better than the _Cumberland,_ a beauty and the belle.” + +_Better than the Cumberland!_—Heart alive in me! +That battlemented hull, Tantallon o’ the sea, +Kicked in, as at Boston the taxed chests o’ tea! +Ay, spurned by the _ram,_ once a tall, shapely craft, +But lopped by the Rebs to an iron-beaked raft— +A blacksmith’s unicorn in armor _cap-a-pie_. + +Under the water-line a _ram’s_ blow is dealt: +And foul fall the knuckles that strike below the belt. +Nor brave the inventions that serve to replace +The openness of valor while dismantling the grace. + +Aloof from all this and the never-ending game, +Tantamount to teetering, plot and counterplot; +Impenetrable armor—all-perforating shot; +Aloof, bless God, ride the war-ships of old, +A grand fleet moored in the roadstead of fame; +Not submarine sneaks with _them_ are enrolled; +Their long shadows dwarf us, their flags are as flame. + +Don’t fidget so, wife; an old man’s passion +Amounts to no more than this smoke that I puff; +There, there, now, buss me in good old fashion; +A died-down candle will flicker in the snuff. + +But one last thing let your old babbler say, +What Decatur’s coxswain said who was long ago hearsed, +“Take in your flying-kites, for there comes a lubber’s day +When gallant things will go, and the three-deckers first.” + +My pipe is smoked out, and the grog runs slack; +But bowse away, wife, at your blessed Bohea; +This empty can here must needs solace me— +Nay, sweetheart, nay; I take that back; +Dick drinks from your eyes and he finds no lack! + + + + +TOM DEADLIGHT + + +During a tempest encountered homeward-bound from the Mediterranean, a +grizzled petty-officer, one of the two captains of the forecastle, +dying at night in his hammock, swung in the sick-bay under the tiered +gun-decks of the British _Dreadnaught, 98,_ wandering in his mind, +though with glimpses of sanity, and starting up at whiles, sings by +snatches his good-bye and last injunctions to two messmates, his +watchers, one of whom fans the fevered tar with the flap of his old +sou’wester. Some names and phrases, with here and there a line, or part +of one; these, in his aberration, wrested into incoherency from their +original connection and import, he voluntarily derives, as he does the +measure, from a famous old sea-ditty, whose cadences, long rife, and +now humming in the collapsing brain, attune the last flutterings of +distempered thought. + +Farewell and adieu to you noble hearties,— + Farewell and adieu to you ladies of Spain, +For I’ve received orders for to sail for the Deadman, + But hope with the grand fleet to see you again. + +I have hove my ship to, with main-top-sail aback, boys; + I have hove my ship to, for the strike soundings clear— +The black scud a’flying; but, by God’s blessing, dam’ me, + Right up the Channel for the Deadman I’ll steer. + +I have worried through the waters that are called the Doldrums, + And growled at Sargasso that clogs while ye grope— +Blast my eyes, but the light-ship is hid by the mist, lads:— + _Flying Dutchman_—odds bobbs—off the Cape of Good Hope! + +But what’s this I feel that is fanning my cheek, Matt? + The white goney’s wing?—how she rolls!— ’t is the Cape!— +Give my kit to the mess, Jock, for kin none is mine, none; + And tell _Holy Joe_ to avast with the crape. + +Dead reckoning, says _Joe_, it won’t do to go by; + But they doused all the glims, Matt, in sky t’ other night. +Dead reckoning is good for to sail for the Deadman; + And Tom Deadlight he thinks it may reckon near right. + +The signal!—it streams for the grand fleet to anchor. + The captains—the trumpets—the hullabaloo! +Stand by for blue-blazes, and mind your shank-painters, + For the Lord High Admiral, he’s squinting at you! + +But give me my _tot_, Matt, before I roll over; + Jock, let’s have your flipper, it’s good for to feel; +And don’t sew me up without _baccy_ in mouth, boys, + And don’t blubber like lubbers when I turn up my keel. + + + + +JACK ROY + + +Kept up by relays of generations young +Never dies at halyards the blithe chorus sung; +While in sands, sounds, and seas where the storm-petrels cry, +Dropped mute around the globe, these halyard singers lie. +Short-lived the clippers for racing-cups that run, +And speeds in life’s career many a lavish mother’s-son. + +But thou, manly king o’ the old _Splendid’s_ crew, +The ribbons o’ thy hat still a-fluttering, should fly— +A challenge, and forever, nor the bravery should rue. +Only in a tussle for the starry flag high, +When ’tis piety to do, and privilege to die. +Then, only then, would heaven think to lop +Such a cedar as the captain o’ the _Splendid’s_ main-top: +A belted sea-gentleman; a gallant, off-hand +Mercutio indifferent in life’s gay command. +Magnanimous in humor; when the splintering shot fell, +“Tooth-picks a-plenty, lads; thank ’em with a shell!” + +Sang Larry o’ the _Cannakin,_ smuggler o’ the wine, +At mess between guns, lad in jovial recline: +“In Limbo our Jack he would chirrup up a cheer, +The martinet there find a chaffing mutineer; +From a thousand fathoms down under hatches o’ your Hades, +He’d ascend in love-ditty, kissing fingers to your ladies!” + +Never relishing the knave, though allowing for the menial, +Nor overmuch the king, Jack, nor prodigally genial. +Ashore on liberty he flashed in escapade, +Vaulting over life in its levelness of grade, +Like the dolphin off Africa in rainbow a-sweeping— +Arch iridescent shot from seas languid sleeping. + +Larking with thy life, if a joy but a toy, +Heroic in thy levity wert thou, Jack Roy. + + + + +SEA PIECES + + + + +THE HAGLETS + + +By chapel bare, with walls sea-beat +The lichened urns in wilds are lost +About a carved memorial stone +That shows, decayed and coral-mossed, +A form recumbent, swords at feet, +Trophies at head, and kelp for a winding-sheet. + +I invoke thy ghost, neglected fane, +Washed by the waters’ long lament; +I adjure the recumbent effigy +To tell the cenotaph’s intent— +Reveal why fagotted swords are at feet, +Why trophies appear and weeds are the winding-sheet. + +By open ports the Admiral sits, +And shares repose with guns that tell +Of power that smote the arm’d Plate Fleet +Whose sinking flag-ship’s colors fell; +But over the Admiral floats in light +His squadron’s flag, the red-cross Flag of the White. + +The eddying waters whirl astern, +The prow, a seedsman, sows the spray; +With bellying sails and buckling spars +The black hull leaves a Milky Way; +Her timbers thrill, her batteries roll, +She revelling speeds exulting with pennon at pole, + +But ah, for standards captive trailed +For all their scutcheoned castles’ pride— +Castilian towers that dominate Spain, +Naples, and either Ind beside; +Those haughty towers, armorial ones, +Rue the salute from the Admiral’s dens of guns. + +Ensigns and arms in trophy brave, +Braver for many a rent and scar, +The captor’s naval hall bedeck, +Spoil that insures an earldom’s star— +Toledoes great, grand draperies, too, +Spain’s steel and silk, and splendors from Peru. + +But crippled part in splintering fight, +The vanquished flying the victor’s flags, +With prize-crews, under convoy-guns, +Heavy the fleet from Opher drags— +The Admiral crowding sail ahead, +Foremost with news who foremost in conflict sped. + +But out from cloistral gallery dim, +In early night his glance is thrown; +He marks the vague reserve of heaven, +He feels the touch of ocean lone; +Then turns, in frame part undermined, +Nor notes the shadowing wings that fan behind. + +There, peaked and gray, three haglets fly, +And follow, follow fast in wake +Where slides the cabin-lustre shy, +And sharks from man a glamour take, +Seething along the line of light +In lane that endless rules the war-ship’s flight. + +The sea-fowl here, whose hearts none know, +They followed late the flag-ship quelled, +(As now the victor one) and long +Above her gurgling grave, shrill held +With screams their wheeling rites—then sped +Direct in silence where the victor led. + +Now winds less fleet, but fairer, blow, +A ripple laps the coppered side, +While phosphor sparks make ocean gleam, +Like camps lit up in triumph wide; +With lights and tinkling cymbals meet +Acclaiming seas the advancing conqueror greet. + +But who a flattering tide may trust, +Or favoring breeze, or aught in end?— +Careening under startling blasts +The sheeted towers of sails impend; +While, gathering bale, behind is bred +A livid storm-bow, like a rainbow dead. + +At trumpet-call the topmen spring; +And, urged by after-call in stress, +Yet other tribes of tars ascend +The rigging’s howling wilderness; +But ere yard-ends alert they win, +Hell rules in heaven with hurricane-fire and din. + +The spars, athwart at spiry height, +Like quaking Lima’s crosses rock; +Like bees the clustering sailors cling +Against the shrouds, or take the shock +Flat on the swept yard-arms aslant, +Dipped like the wheeling condor’s pinions gaunt. + +A LULL! and tongues of languid flame +Lick every boom, and lambent show +Electric ’gainst each face aloft; +The herds of clouds with bellowings go: +The black ship rears—beset—harassed, +Then plunges far with luminous antlers vast. + +In trim betimes they turn from land, +Some shivered sails and spars they stow; +One watch, dismissed, they troll the can, +While loud the billow thumps the bow— +Vies with the fist that smites the board, +Obstreperous at each reveller’s jovial word. + +Of royal oak by storms confirmed, +The tested hull her lineage shows: +Vainly the plungings whelm her prow— +She rallies, rears, she sturdier grows: +Each shot-hole plugged, each storm-sail home, +With batteries housed she rams the watery dome. + +DIM seen adrift through driving scud, +The wan moon shows in plight forlorn; +Then, pinched in visage, fades and fades +Like to the faces drowned at morn, +When deeps engulfed the flag-ship’s crew, +And, shrilling round, the inscrutable haglets flew. + +And still they fly, nor now they cry, +But constant fan a second wake, +Unflagging pinions ply and ply, +Abreast their course intent they take; +Their silence marks a stable mood, +They patient keep their eager neighborhood. + +Plumed with a smoke, a confluent sea, +Heaved in a combing pyramid full, +Spent at its climax, in collapse +Down headlong thundering stuns the hull: +The trophy drops; but, reared again, +Shows Mars’ high-altar and contemns the main. + +REBUILT it stands, the brag of arms, +Transferred in site—no thought of where +The sensitive needle keeps its place, +And starts, disturbed, a quiverer there; +The helmsman rubs the clouded glass— +Peers in, but lets the trembling portent pass. + +Let pass as well his shipmates do +(Whose dream of power no tremors jar) +Fears for the fleet convoyed astern: +“Our flag they fly, they share our star; +Spain’s galleons great in hull are stout: +Manned by our men—like us they’ll ride it out.” + +Tonight’s the night that ends the week— +Ends day and week and month and year: +A fourfold imminent flickering time, +For now the midnight draws anear: +Eight bells! and passing-bells they be— +The Old year fades, the Old Year dies at sea. + +He launched them well. But shall the New +Redeem the pledge the Old Year made, +Or prove a self-asserting heir? +But healthy hearts few qualms invade: +By shot-chests grouped in bays ’tween guns +The gossips chat, the grizzled, sea-beat ones. + +And boyish dreams some graybeards blab: +“To sea, my lads, we go no more +Who share the Acapulco prize; +We’ll all night in, and bang the door; +Our ingots red shall yield us bliss: +Lads, golden years begin to-night with this!” + +Released from deck, yet waiting call, +Glazed caps and coats baptized in storm, +A watch of Laced Sleeves round the board +Draw near in heart to keep them warm: +“Sweethearts and wives!” clink, clink, they meet, +And, quaffing, dip in wine their beards of sleet. +“Ay, let the star-light stay withdrawn, +So here her hearth-light memory fling, +So in this wine-light cheer be born, +And honor’s fellowship weld our ring— +Honor! our Admiral’s aim foretold: + +_A tomb or a trophy,_ and lo, ’t is a trophy and gold!” +But he, a unit, sole in rank, +Apart needs keep his lonely state, +The sentry at his guarded door +Mute as by vault the sculptured Fate; +Belted he sits in drowsy light, +And, hatted, nods—the Admiral of the White. + +He dozes, aged with watches passed— +Years, years of pacing to and fro; +He dozes, nor attends the stir +In bullioned standards rustling low, +Nor minds the blades whose secret thrill +Perverts overhead the magnet’s Polar will:— + +LESS heeds the shadowing three that play +And follow, follow fast in wake, +Untiring wing and lidless eye— +Abreast their course intent they take; +Or sigh or sing, they hold for good +The unvarying flight and fixed inveterate mood. + +In dream at last his dozings merge, +In dream he reaps his victor’s fruit; +The Flags-o’-the-Blue, the Flags-o’-the-Red, +Dipped flags of his country’s fleets salute +His Flag-o’-the-White in harbor proud— +But why should it blench? Why turn to a painted shroud? + +The hungry seas they hound the hull, +The sharks they dog the haglets’ flight; +With one consent the winds, the waves +In hunt with fins and wings unite, +While drear the harps in cordage sound +Remindful wails for old Armadas drowned. + +Ha—yonder! are they Northern Lights? +Or signals flashed to warn or ward? +Yea, signals lanced in breakers high; +But doom on warning follows hard: +While yet they veer in hope to shun, +They strike! and thumps of hull and heart are one. + +But beating hearts a drum-beat calls +And prompt the men to quarters go; +Discipline, curbing nature, rules— +Heroic makes who duty know: +They execute the trump’s command, +Or in peremptory places wait and stand. + +Yet cast about in blind amaze— +As through their watery shroud they peer: +“We tacked from land: then how betrayed? +Have currents swerved us—snared us here?” +None heed the blades that clash in place +Under lamps dashed down that lit the magnet’s case. + +Ah, what may live, who mighty swim, +Or boat-crew reach that shore forbid, +Or cable span? Must victors drown— +Perish, even as the vanquished did? +Man keeps from man the stifled moan; +They shouldering stand, yet each in heart how lone. + +Some heaven invoke; but rings of reefs +Prayer and despair alike deride +In dance of breakers forked or peaked, +Pale maniacs of the maddened tide; +While, strenuous yet some end to earn, +The haglets spin, though now no more astern. + +Like shuttles hurrying in the looms +Aloft through rigging frayed they ply— +Cross and recross—weave and inweave, +Then lock the web with clinching cry +Over the seas on seas that clasp +The weltering wreck where gurgling ends the gasp. + +Ah, for the Plate-Fleet trophy now, +The victor’s voucher, flags and arms; +Never they’ll hang in Abbey old +And take Time’s dust with holier palms; +Nor less content, in liquid night, +Their captor sleeps—the Admiral of the White. + +Imbedded deep with shells +And drifted treasure deep, +Forever he sinks deeper in +Unfathomable sleep— +His cannon round him thrown, +His sailors at his feet, +The wizard sea enchanting them +Where never haglets beat. + +On nights when meteors play +And light the breakers dance, +The Oreads from the caves +With silvery elves advance; +And up from ocean stream, +And down from heaven far, +The rays that blend in dream +The abysm and the star. + + + + +THE AEOLIAN HARP + + +_At The Surf Inn_ + + +List the harp in window wailing + Stirred by fitful gales from sea: +Shrieking up in mad crescendo— + Dying down in plaintive key! + +Listen: less a strain ideal +Than Ariel’s rendering of the Real. + What that Real is, let hint + A picture stamped in memory’s mint. + +Braced well up, with beams aslant, +Betwixt the continents sails the _Phocion,_ +For Baltimore bound from Alicant. +Blue breezy skies white fleeces fleck +Over the chill blue white-capped ocean: +From yard-arm comes—“Wreck ho, a wreck!” + +Dismasted and adrift, +Longtime a thing forsaken; +Overwashed by every wave +Like the slumbering kraken; +Heedless if the billow roar, +Oblivious of the lull, +Leagues and leagues from shoal or shore, +It swims—a levelled hull: +Bulwarks gone—a shaven wreck, +Nameless and a grass-green deck. +A lumberman: perchance, in hold +Prostrate pines with hemlocks rolled. + +It has drifted, waterlogged, +Till by trailing weeds beclogged: + Drifted, drifted, day by day, + Pilotless on pathless way. +It has drifted till each plank +Is oozy as the oyster-bank: + Drifted, drifted, night by night, + Craft that never shows a light; +Nor ever, to prevent worse knell, +Tolls in fog the warning bell. + +From collision never shrinking, +Drive what may through darksome smother; +Saturate, but never sinking, +Fatal only to the _other!_ + Deadlier than the sunken reef +Since still the snare it shifteth, + Torpid in dumb ambuscade +Waylayingly it drifteth. + +O, the sailors—O, the sails! +O, the lost crews never heard of! +Well the harp of Ariel wails +Thought that tongue can tell no word of! + + + + +TO THE MASTER OF THE _METEOR_ + + +Lonesome on earth’s loneliest deep, +Sailor! who dost thy vigil keep— +Off the Cape of Storms dost musing sweep +Over monstrous waves that curl and comb; +Of thee we think when here from brink +We blow the mead in bubbling foam. + +Of thee we think, in a ring we link; +To the shearer of ocean’s fleece we drink, +And the _Meteor_ rolling home. + + + + +FAR OFF-SHORE + + +Look, the raft, a signal flying, + Thin—a shred; +None upon the lashed spars lying, + Quick or dead. + +Cries the sea-fowl, hovering over, + “Crew, the crew?” +And the billow, reckless, rover, + Sweeps anew! + + + + +THE MAN-OF-WAR HAWK + + +Yon black man-of-war-hawk that wheels in the light +O’er the black ship’s white sky-s’l, sunned cloud to the sight, +Have we low-flyers wings to ascend to his height? +No arrow can reach him; nor thought can attain +To the placid supreme in the sweep of his reign. + + + + +THE FIGURE-HEAD + + +The _Charles-and-Emma_ seaward sped, +(Named from the carven pair at prow,) +He so smart, and a curly head, +She tricked forth as a bride knows how: + Pretty stem for the port, I trow! + +But iron-rust and alum-spray +And chafing gear, and sun and dew +Vexed this lad and lassie gay, +Tears in their eyes, salt tears nor few; + And the hug relaxed with the failing glue. + +But came in end a dismal night, +With creaking beams and ribs that groan, +A black lee-shore and waters white: +Dropped on the reef, the pair lie prone: + O, the breakers dance, but the winds they moan! + + + + +THE GOOD CRAFT _SNOW BIRD_ + + +Strenuous need that head-wind be + From purposed voyage that drives at last +The ship, sharp-braced and dogged still, + Beating up against the blast. + +Brigs that figs for market gather, + Homeward-bound upon the stretch, +Encounter oft this uglier weather + Yet in end their port they fetch. + +Mark yon craft from sunny Smyrna + Glazed with ice in Boston Bay; +Out they toss the fig-drums cheerly, + Livelier for the frosty ray. + +What if sleet off-shore assailed her, + What though ice yet plate her yards; +In wintry port not less she renders + Summer’s gift with warm regards! + +And, look, the underwriters’ man, + Timely, when the stevedore’s done, +Puts on his _specs_ to pry and scan, +And sets her down—_A, No. 1._ + +Bravo, master! Bravo, brig! + For slanting snows out of the West +Never the _Snow-Bird_ cares one fig; + And foul winds steady her, though a pest. + + + + +OLD COUNSEL + + +_Of The Young Master of a Wrecked California Clipper_ + + +Come out of the Golden Gate, + Go round the Horn with streamers, +Carry royals early and late; +But, brother, be not over-elate— + _All hands save ship!_ has startled dreamers. + + + + +THE TUFT OF KELP + + +All dripping in tangles green, + Cast up by a lonely sea +If purer for that, O Weed, + Bitterer, too, are ye? + + + + +THE MALDIVE SHARK + + +About the Shark, phlegmatical one, +Pale sot of the Maldive sea, +The sleek little pilot-fish, azure and slim, +How alert in attendance be. +From his saw-pit of mouth, from his charnel of maw +They have nothing of harm to dread, +But liquidly glide on his ghastly flank +Or before his Gorgonian head: +Or lurk in the port of serrated teeth +In white triple tiers of glittering gates, +And there find a haven when peril’s abroad, +An asylum in jaws of the Fates! +They are friends; and friendly they guide him to prey, +Yet never partake of the treat— +Eyes and brains to the dotard lethargic and dull, +Pale ravener of horrible meat. + + + + +TO NED + + +Where is the world we roved, Ned Bunn? + Hollows thereof lay rich in shade +By voyagers old inviolate thrown + Ere Paul Pry cruised with Pelf and Trade. +To us old lads some thoughts come home +Who roamed a world young lads no more shall roam. + +Nor less the satiate year impends + When, wearying of routine-resorts, +The pleasure-hunter shall break loose, + Ned, for our Pantheistic ports:— +Marquesas and glenned isles that be +Authentic Edens in a Pagan sea. + +The charm of scenes untried shall lure, +And, Ned, a legend urge the flight— +The Typee-truants under stars +Unknown to Shakespere’s _Midsummer-Night;_ +And man, if lost to Saturn’s Age, +Yet feeling life no Syrian pilgrimage. + +But, tell, shall he, the tourist, find + Our isles the same in violet-glow +Enamoring us what years and years— + Ah, Ned, what years and years ago! +Well, Adam advances, smart in pace, +But scarce by violets that advance you trace. + +But we, in anchor-watches calm, + The Indian Psyche’s languor won, +And, musing, breathed primeval balm + From Edens ere yet overrun; +Marvelling mild if mortal twice, +Here and hereafter, touch a Paradise. + + + + +CROSSING THE TROPICS + + +_From “The Saya-y-Manto.”_ + + +While now the Pole Star sinks from sight + The Southern Cross it climbs the sky; +But losing thee, my love, my light, +O bride but for one bridal night, + The loss no rising joys supply. + +Love, love, the Trade Winds urge abaft, +And thee, from thee, they steadfast waft. + +By day the blue and silver sea + And chime of waters blandly fanned— +Nor these, nor Gama’s stars to me +May yield delight since still for thee + I long as Gama longed for land. + +I yearn, I yearn, reverting turn, +My heart it streams in wake astern +When, cut by slanting sleet, we swoop + Where raves the world’s inverted year, +If roses all your porch shall loop, +Not less your heart for me will droop + Doubling the world’s last outpost drear. + +O love, O love, these oceans vast: +Love, love, it is as death were past! + + + + +THE BERG + + +_A Dream_ + + +I saw a ship of martial build +(Her standards set, her brave apparel on) +Directed as by madness mere +Against a stolid iceberg steer, +Nor budge it, though the infatuate ship went down. +The impact made huge ice-cubes fall +Sullen, in tons that crashed the deck; +But that one avalanche was all +No other movement save the foundering wreck. + +Along the spurs of ridges pale, +Not any slenderest shaft and frail, +A prism over glass—green gorges lone, +Toppled; nor lace of traceries fine, +Nor pendant drops in grot or mine +Were jarred, when the stunned ship went down. +Nor sole the gulls in cloud that wheeled +Circling one snow-flanked peak afar, +But nearer fowl the floes that skimmed +And crystal beaches, felt no jar. +No thrill transmitted stirred the lock +Of jack-straw needle-ice at base; +Towers undermined by waves—the block +Atilt impending—kept their place. +Seals, dozing sleek on sliddery ledges +Slipt never, when by loftier edges +Through very inertia overthrown, +The impetuous ship in bafflement went down. +Hard Berg (methought), so cold, so vast, +With mortal damps self-overcast; +Exhaling still thy dankish breath— +Adrift dissolving, bound for death; +Though lumpish thou, a lumbering one— +A lumbering lubbard loitering slow, +Impingers rue thee and go down, +Sounding thy precipice below, +Nor stir the slimy slug that sprawls +Along thy dense stolidity of walls. + + + + +THE ENVIABLE ISLES + + +_From “Rammon.”_ + + +Through storms you reach them and from storms are free. + Afar descried, the foremost drear in hue, +But, nearer, green; and, on the marge, the sea + Makes thunder low and mist of rainbowed dew. + +But, inland, where the sleep that folds the hills +A dreamier sleep, the trance of God, instills— + On uplands hazed, in wandering airs aswoon, +Slow-swaying palms salute love’s cypress tree + Adown in vale where pebbly runlets croon +A song to lull all sorrow and all glee. + +Sweet-fern and moss in many a glade are here. + Where, strewn in flocks, what cheek-flushed myriads lie +Dimpling in dream—unconscious slumberers mere, + While billows endless round the beaches die. + + + + +PEBBLES + + +I + + +Though the Clerk of the Weather insist, + And lay down the weather-law, +Pintado and gannet they wist +That the winds blow whither they list + In tempest or flaw. + + +II + + +Old are the creeds, but stale the schools, + Revamped as the mode may veer, +But Orm from the schools to the beaches strays +And, finding a Conch hoar with time, he delays + And reverent lifts it to ear. +That Voice, pitched in far monotone, + Shall it swerve? shall it deviate ever? +The Seas have inspired it, and Truth— + Truth, varying from sameness never. + + +III + + +In hollows of the liquid hills + Where the long Blue Ridges run, +The flattery of no echo thrills, + For echo the seas have none; +Nor aught that gives man back man’s strain— +The hope of his heart, the dream in his brain. + + +IV + + +On ocean where the embattled fleets repair, +Man, suffering inflictor, sails on sufferance there. + + +V + + +Implacable I, the old Implacable Sea: + Implacable most when most I smile serene— +Pleased, not appeased, by myriad wrecks in me. + + +VI + + +Curled in the comb of yon billow Andean, + Is it the Dragon’s heaven-challenging crest? +Elemental mad ramping of ravening waters— + Yet Christ on the Mount, and the dove in her nest! + + +VII + + +Healed of my hurt, I laud the inhuman Sea— +Yea, bless the Angels Four that there convene; +For healed I am ever by their pitiless breath +Distilled in wholesome dew named rosmarine. + + + + +POEMS FROM TIMOLEON + + + + +LINES TRACED UNDER AN IMAGE OF AMOR THREATENING + + +Fear me, virgin whosoever +Taking pride from love exempt, + Fear me, slighted. Never, never +Brave me, nor my fury tempt: +Downy wings, but wroth they beat +Tempest even in reason’s seat. + + + + +THE NIGHT MARCH + + +With banners furled and clarions mute, + An army passes in the night; +And beaming spears and helms salute + The dark with bright. + +In silence deep the legions stream, + With open ranks, in order true; +Over boundless plains they stream and gleam— + No chief in view! + +Afar, in twinkling distance lost, + (So legends tell) he lonely wends +And back through all that shining host + His mandate sends. + + + + +THE RAVAGED VILLA + + +In shards the sylvan vases lie, + Their links of dance undone, +And brambles wither by thy brim, + Choked fountain of the sun! +The spider in the laurel spins, + The weed exiles the flower: +And, flung to kiln, Apollo’s bust + Makes lime for Mammon’s tower. + + + + +THE NEW ZEALOT TO THE SUN + + +Persian, you rise +Aflame from climes of sacrifice + Where adulators sue, +And prostrate man, with brow abased, +Adheres to rites whose tenor traced + All worship hitherto. + + Arch type of sway, +Meetly your over-ruling ray + You fling from Asia’s plain, +Whence flashed the javelins abroad +Of many a wild incursive horde + Led by some shepherd Cain. + + Mid terrors dinned +Gods too came conquerors from your Ind, + The book of Brahma throve; +They came like to the scythed car, +Westward they rolled their empire far, + Of night their purple wove. + + Chemist, you breed +In orient climes each sorcerous weed + That energizes dream— +Transmitted, spread in myths and creeds, +Houris and hells, delirious screeds + And Calvin’s last extreme. + + What though your light +In time’s first dawn compelled the flight + Of Chaos’ startled clan, +Shall never all your darted spears +Disperse worse Anarchs, frauds and fears, + Sprung from these weeds to man? + + But Science yet +An effluence ampler shall beget, + And power beyond your play— +Shall quell the shades you fail to rout, +Yea, searching every secret out + Elucidate your ray. + + + + +MONODY + + +To have known him, to have loved him + After loneness long; +And then to be estranged in life, + And neither in the wrong; +And now for death to set his seal— + Ease me, a little ease, my song! + +By wintry hills his hermit-mound + The sheeted snow-drifts drape, +And houseless there the snow-bird flits + Beneath the fir-trees’ crape: +Glazed now with ice the cloistral vine + That hid the shyest grape. + + + + +LONE FOUNTS + + +Though fast youth’s glorious fable flies, +View not the world with worldling’s eyes; +Nor turn with weather of the time. +Foreclose the coming of surprise: +Stand where Posterity shall stand; +Stand where the Ancients stood before, +And, dipping in lone founts thy hand, +Drink of the never-varying lore: +Wise once, and wise thence evermore. + + + + +THE BENCH OF BOORS + + +In bed I muse on Tenier’s boors, +Embrowned and beery losels all; + A wakeful brain + Elaborates pain: +Within low doors the slugs of boors +Laze and yawn and doze again. + +In dreams they doze, the drowsy boors, +Their hazy hovel warm and small: + Thought’s ampler bound + But chill is found: +Within low doors the basking boors +Snugly hug the ember-mound. + +Sleepless, I see the slumberous boors +Their blurred eyes blink, their eyelids fall: + Thought’s eager sight + Aches—overbright! +Within low doors the boozy boors +Cat-naps take in pipe-bowl light. + + + + +ART + + +In placid hours well-pleased we dream +Of many a brave unbodied scheme. +But form to lend, pulsed life create, +What unlike things must meet and mate: +A flame to melt—a wind to freeze; +Sad patience—joyous energies; +Humility—yet pride and scorn; +Instinct and study; love and hate; +Audacity—reverence. These must mate, +And fuse with Jacob’s mystic heart, +To wrestle with the angel—Art. + + + + +THE ENTHUSIAST + + +_“Though He slay me yet will I trust in Him.”_ + + +Shall hearts that beat no base retreat + In youth’s magnanimous years— +Ignoble hold it, if discreet + When interest tames to fears; +Shall spirits that worship light + Perfidious deem its sacred glow, + Recant, and trudge where worldlings go, +Conform and own them right? + +Shall Time with creeping influence cold + Unnerve and cow? the heart +Pine for the heartless ones enrolled + With palterers of the mart? +Shall faith abjure her skies, + Or pale probation blench her down + To shrink from Truth so still, so lone +Mid loud gregarious lies? + +Each burning boat in Caesar’s rear, + Flames—No return through me! +So put the torch to ties though dear, + If ties but tempters be. +Nor cringe if come the night: + Walk through the cloud to meet the pall, + Though light forsake thee, never fall +From fealty to light. + + + + +SHELLEY’S VISION + + +Wandering late by morning seas + When my heart with pain was low— +Hate the censor pelted me— + Deject I saw my shadow go. + +In elf-caprice of bitter tone +I too would pelt the pelted one: +At my shadow I cast a stone. + +When lo, upon that sun-lit ground + I saw the quivering phantom take +The likeness of St. Stephen crowned: + Then did self-reverence awake. + + + + +THE MARCHIONESS OF BRINVILLIERS + + +He toned the sprightly beam of morning + With twilight meek of tender eve, +Brightness interfused with softness, + Light and shade did weave: +And gave to candor equal place +With mystery starred in open skies; +And, floating all in sweetness, made + Her fathomless mild eyes. + + + + +THE AGE OF THE ANTONINES + + +While faith forecasts millennial years + Spite Europe’s embattled lines, +Back to the Past one glance be cast— + The Age of the Antonines! +O summit of fate, O zenith of time +When a pagan gentleman reigned, +And the olive was nailed to the inn of the world +Nor the peace of the just was feigned. + A halcyon Age, afar it shines, + Solstice of Man and the Antonines. + +Hymns to the nations’ friendly gods +Went up from the fellowly shrines, +No demagogue beat the pulpit-drum + In the Age of the Antonines! +The sting was not dreamed to be taken from death, +No Paradise pledged or sought, +But they reasoned of fate at the flowing feast, +Nor stifled the fluent thought, + We sham, we shuffle while faith declines— + They were frank in the Age of the Antonines. + +Orders and ranks they kept degree, +Few felt how the parvenu pines, +No law-maker took the lawless one’s fee + In the Age of the Antonines! +Under law made will the world reposed +And the ruler’s right confessed, +For the heavens elected the Emperor then, +The foremost of men the best. + Ah, might we read in America’s signs + The Age restored of the Antonines. + + + + +HERBA SANTA + + +I + + +After long wars when comes release +Not olive wands proclaiming peace + Can import dearer share +Than stems of Herba Santa hazed + In autumn’s Indian air. +Of moods they breathe that care disarm, +They pledge us lenitive and calm. + + +II + + +Shall code or creed a lure afford +To win all selves to Love’s accord? +When Love ordained a supper divine + For the wide world of man, +What bickerings o’er his gracious wine! + Then strange new feuds began. + +Effectual more in lowlier way, + Pacific Herb, thy sensuous plea +The bristling clans of Adam sway + At least to fellowship in thee! +Before thine altar tribal flags are furled, +Fain wouldst thou make one hearthstone of the world. + + +III + + +To scythe, to sceptre, pen and hod— + Yea, sodden laborers dumb; +To brains overplied, to feet that plod, +In solace of the _Truce of God_ + The Calumet has come! + + +IV + + +Ah for the world ere Raleigh’s find + Never that knew this suasive balm +That helps when Gilead’s fails to heal, + Helps by an interserted charm. + +Insinuous thou that through the nerve + Windest the soul, and so canst win +Some from repinings, some from sin, + The Church’s aim thou dost subserve. + +The ruffled fag fordone with care + And brooding, God would ease this pain: +Him soothest thou and smoothest down + Till some content return again. + +Even ruffians feel thy influence breed + Saint Martin’s summer in the mind, +They feel this last evangel plead, +As did the first, apart from creed, + Be peaceful, man—be kind! + + +V + + +Rejected once on higher plain, +O Love supreme, to come again + Can this be thine? +Again to come, and win us too + In likeness of a weed +That as a god didst vainly woo, + As man more vainly bleed? + + +VI + + +Forbear, my soul! and in thine Eastern chamber + Rehearse the dream that brings the long release: +Through jasmine sweet and talismanic amber + Inhaling Herba Santa in the passive Pipe of Peace. + + + + +OFF CAPE COLONNA + + +Aloof they crown the foreland lone, + From aloft they loftier rise— +Fair columns, in the aureole rolled + From sunned Greek seas and skies. +They wax, sublimed to fancy’s view, +A god-like group against the blue. + +Over much like gods! Serene they saw + The wolf-waves board the deck, +And headlong hull of Falconer, + And many a deadlier wreck. + + + + +THE APPARITION + + +_The Parthenon uplifted on its rock first challenging the view on the +approach to Athens._ + + +Abrupt the supernatural Cross, + Vivid in startled air, +Smote the Emperor Constantine +And turned his soul’s allegiance there. + +With other power appealing down, + Trophy of Adam’s best! +If cynic minds you scarce convert, +You try them, shake them, or molest. + +Diogenes, that honest heart, + Lived ere your date began; +Thee had he seen, he might have swerved +In mood nor barked so much at Man. + + + + +L’ENVOI + + +_The Return of the Sire de Nesle._ +A.D. 16 + + +My towers at last! These rovings end, +Their thirst is slaked in larger dearth: +The yearning infinite recoils, + For terrible is earth. + +Kaf thrusts his snouted crags through fog: +Araxes swells beyond his span, +And knowledge poured by pilgrimage + Overflows the banks of man. + +But thou, my stay, thy lasting love +One lonely good, let this but be! +Weary to view the wide world’s swarm, + But blest to fold but thee. + + + + +SUPPLEMENT + + +Were I fastidiously anxious for the symmetry of this book, it would +close with the notes. But the times are such that patriotism—not free +from solicitude—urges a claim overriding all literary scruples. + +It is more than a year since the memorable surrender, but events have +not yet rounded themselves into completion. Not justly can we complain +of this. There has been an upheaval affecting the basis of things; to +altered circumstances complicated adaptations are to be made; there are +difficulties great and novel. But is Reason still waiting for Passion +to spend itself? We have sung of the soldiers and sailors, but who +shall hymn the politicians? + +In view of the infinite desirableness of Re-establishment, and +considering that, so far as feeling is concerned, it depends not mainly +on the temper in which the South regards the North, but rather +conversely; one who never was a blind adherent feels constrained to +submit some thoughts, counting on the indulgence of his countrymen. + +And, first, it may be said that, if among the feelings and opinions +growing immediately out of a great civil convulsion, there are any +which time shall modify or do away, they are presumably those of a less +temperate and charitable cast. + +There seems no reason why patriotism and narrowness should go together, +or why intellectual impartiality should be confounded with political +trimming, or why serviceable truth should keep cloistered because not +partisan. Yet the work of Reconstruction, if admitted to be feasible at +all, demands little but common sense and Christian charity. Little but +these? These are much. + +Some of us are concerned because as yet the South shows no penitence. +But what exactly do we mean by this? Since down to the close of the war +she never confessed any for braving it, the only penitence now left her +is that which springs solely from the sense of discomfiture; and since +this evidently would be a contrition hypocritical, it would be unworthy +in us to demand it. Certain it is that penitence, in the sense of +voluntary humiliation, will never be displayed. Nor does this afford +just ground for unreserved condemnation. It is enough, for all +practical purposes, if the South have been taught by the terrors of +civil war to feel that Secession, like Slavery, is against Destiny; +that both now lie buried in one grave; that her fate is linked with +ours; and that together we comprise the Nation. + +The clouds of heroes who battled for the Union it is needless to +eulogize here. But how of the soldiers on the other side? And when of a +free community we name the soldiers, we thereby name the people. It was +in subserviency to the slave-interest that Secession was plotted; but +it was under the plea, plausibly urged, that certain inestimable rights +guaranteed by the Constitution were directly menaced, that the people +of the South were cajoled into revolution. Through the arts of the +conspirators and the perversity of fortune, the most sensitive love of +liberty was entrapped into the support of a war whose implied end was +the erecting in our advanced century of an Anglo-American empire based +upon the systematic degradation of man. + +Spite this clinging reproach, however, signal military virtues and +achievements have conferred upon the Confederate arms historic fame, +and upon certain of the commanders a renown extending beyond the sea—a +renown which we of the North could not suppress, even if we would. In +personal character, also, not a few of the military leaders of the +South enforce forbearance; the memory of others the North refrains from +disparaging; and some, with more or less of reluctance, she can +respect. Posterity, sympathizing with our convictions, but removed from +our passions, may perhaps go farther here. If George IV could, out of +the graceful instinct of a gentleman, raise an honorable monument in +the great fane of Christendom over the remains of the enemy of his +dynasty, Charles Edward, the invader of England and victor in the rout +of Preston Pans—upon whose head the king’s ancestor but one reign +removed had set a price—is it probable that the granchildren of General +Grant will pursue with rancor, or slur by sour neglect, the memory of +Stonewall Jackson? + +But the South herself is not wanting in recent histories and +biographies which record the deeds of her chieftains—writings freely +published at the North by loyal houses, widely read here, and with a +deep though saddened interest. By students of the war such works are +hailed as welcome accessories, and tending to the completeness of the +record. + +Supposing a happy issue out of present perplexities, then, in the +generation next to come, Southerners there will be yielding allegiance +to the Union, feeling all their interests bound up in it, and yet +cherishing unrebuked that kind of feeling for the memory of the +soldiers of the fallen Confederacy that Burns, Scott, and the Ettrick +Shepherd felt for the memory of the gallant clansmen ruined through +their fidelity to the Stuarts—a feeling whose passion was tempered by +the poetry imbuing it, and which in no wise affected their loyalty to +the Georges, and which, it may be added, indirectly contributed +excellent things to literature. But, setting this view aside, +dishonorable would it be in the South were she willing to abandon to +shame the memory of brave men who with signal personal +disinterestedness warred in her behalf, though from motives, as we +believe, so deplorably astray. + +Patriotism is not baseness, neither is it inhumanity. The mourners who +this summer bear flowers to the mounds of the Virginian and Georgian +dead are, in their domestic bereavement and proud affection, as sacred +in the eye of Heaven as are those who go with similar offerings of +tender grief and love into the cemeteries of our Northern martyrs. And +yet, in one aspect, how needless to point the contrast. + +Cherishing such sentiments, it will hardly occasion surprise that, in +looking over the battle-pieces in the foregoing collection, I have been +tempted to withdraw or modify some of them, fearful lest in presenting, +though but dramatically and by way of poetic record, the passions and +epithets of civil war, I might be contributing to a bitterness which +every sensible American must wish at an end. So, too, with the emotion +of victory as reproduced on some pages, and particularly toward the +close. It should not be construed into an exultation misapplied—an +exultation as ungenerous as unwise, and made to minister, however +indirectly, to that kind of censoriousness too apt to be produced in +certain natures by success after trying reverses. Zeal is not of +necessity religion, neither is it always of the same essence with +poetry or patriotism. + +There are excesses which marked the conflict, most of which are perhaps +inseparable from a civil strife so intense and prolonged, and involving +warfare in some border countries new and imperfectly civilized. +Barbarities also there were, for which the Southern people collectively +can hardly be held responsible, though perpetrated by ruffians in their +name. But surely other qualities—exalted ones—courage and fortitude +matchless, were likewise displayed, and largely; and justly may these +be held the characteristic traits, and not the former. + +In this view, what Northern writer, however patriotic, but must revolt +from acting on paper a part any way akin to that of the live dog to the +dead lion; and yet it is right to rejoice for our triumphs, so far as +it may justly imply an advance for our whole country and for humanity. + +Let it be held no reproach to any one that he pleads for reasonable +consideration for our late enemies, now stricken down and unavoidably +debarred, for the time, from speaking through authorized agencies for +themselves. Nothing has been urged here in the foolish hope of +conciliating those men—few in number, we trust—who have resolved never +to be reconciled to the Union. On such hearts everything is thrown away +except it be religious commiseration, and the sincerest. Yet let them +call to mind that unhappy Secessionist, not a military man, who with +impious alacrity fired the first shot of the Civil War at Sumter, and a +little more than four years afterward fired the last one into his heart +at Richmond. + +Noble was the gesture into which patriotic passion surprised the people +in a utilitarian time and country; yet the glory of the war falls short +of its pathos—a pathos which now at last ought to disarm all animosity. + +How many and earnest thoughts still rise, and how hard to repress them. +We feel what past years have been, and years, unretarded years, shall +come. May we all have moderation; may we all show candor. Though, +perhaps, nothing could ultimately have averted the strife, and though +to treat of human actions is to deal wholly with second causes, +nevertheless, let us not cover up or try to extenuate what, humanly +speaking, is the truth—namely, that those unfraternal denunciations, +continued through years, and which at last inflamed to deeds that ended +in bloodshed, were reciprocal; and that, had the preponderating +strength and the prospect of its unlimited increase lain on the other +side, on ours might have lain those actions which now in our late +opponents we stigmatize under the name of Rebellion. As frankly let us +own—what it would be unbecoming to parade were foreigners concerned— +that our triumph was won not more by skill and bravery than by superior +resources and crushing numbers; that it was a triumph, too, over a +people for years politically misled by designing men, and also by some +honestly-erring men, who from their position could not have been +otherwise than broadly influential; a people who, though, indeed, they +sought to perpetuate the curse of slavery, and even extend it, were not +the authors of it, but (less fortunate, not less righteous than we), +were the fated inheritors; a people who, having a like origin with +ourselves, share essentially in whatever worthy qualities we may +possess. No one can add to the lasting reproach which hopeless defeat +has now cast upon Secession by withholding the recognition of these +verities. + +Surely we ought to take it to heart that that kind of pacification, +based upon principles operating equally all over the land, which lovers +of their country yearn for, and which our arms, though signally +triumphant, did not bring about, and which lawmaking, however anxious, +or energetic, or repressive, never by itself can achieve, may yet be +largely aided by generosity of sentiment public and private. Some +revisionary legislation and adaptive is indispensable; but with this +should harmoniously work another kind of prudence, not unallied with +entire magnanimity. Benevolence and policy—Christianity and +Machiavelli—dissuade from penal severities toward the subdued. +Abstinence here is as obligatory as considerate care for our +unfortunate fellowmen late in bonds, and, if observed, would equally +prove to be wise forecast. The great qualities of the South, those +attested in the War, we can perilously alienate, or we may make them +nationally available at need. + +The blacks, in their infant pupilage to freedom, appeal to the +sympathies of every humane mind. The paternal guardianship which for +the interval government exercises over them was prompted equally by +duty and benevolence. Yet such kindliness should not be allowed to +exclude kindliness to communities who stand nearer to us in nature. For +the future of the freed slaves we may well be concerned; but the future +of the whole country, involving the future of the blacks, urges a +paramount claim upon our anxiety. Effective benignity, like the Nile, +is not narrow in its bounty, and true policy is always broad. To be +sure, it is vain to seek to glide, with moulded words, over the +difficulties of the situation. And for them who are neither partisans, +nor enthusiasts, nor theorists, nor cynics, there are some doubts not +readily to be solved. And there are fears. Why is not the cessation of +war now at length attended with the settled calm of peace? Wherefore in +a clear sky do we still turn our eyes toward the South as the +Neapolitan, months after the eruption, turns his toward Vesuvius? Do we +dread lest the repose may be deceptive? In the recent convulsion has +the crater but shifted Let us revere that sacred uncertainty which +forever impends over men and nations. Those of us who always abhorred +slavery as an atheistical iniquity, gladly we join in the exulting +chorus of humanity over its downfall. But we should remember that +emancipation was accomplished not by deliberate legislation; only +through agonized violence could so mighty a result be effected. In our +natural solicitude to confirm the benefit of liberty to the blacks, let +us forbear from measures of dubious constitutional rightfulness toward +our white countrymen—measures of a nature to provoke, among other of +the last evils, exterminating hatred of race toward race. In +imagination let us place ourselves in the unprecedented position of the +Southerners—their position as regards the millions of ignorant +manumitted slaves in their midst, for whom some of us now claim the +suffrage. Let us be Christians toward our fellow-whites, as well as +philanthropists toward the blacks, our fellow-men. In all things, and +toward all, we are enjoined to do as we would be done by. Nor should we +forget that benevolent desires, after passing a certain point, can not +undertake their own fulfillment without incurring the risk of evils +beyond those sought to be remedied. Something may well be left to the +graduated care of future legislation, and to heaven. In one point of +view the co-existence of the two races in the South, whether the negro +be bond or free, seems (even as it did to Abraham Lincoln) a grave +evil. Emancipation has ridded the country of the reproach, but not +wholly of the calamity. Especially in the present transition period for +both races in the South, more or less of trouble may not unreasonably +be anticipated; but let us not hereafter be too swift to charge the +blame exclusively in any one quarter. With certain evils men must be +more or less patient. Our institutions have a potent digestion, and may +in time convert and assimilate to good all elements thrown in, however +originally alien. + +But, so far as immediate measures looking toward permanent Re- +establishment are concerned, no consideration should tempt us to +pervert the national victory into oppression for the vanquished. Should +plausible promise of eventual good, or a deceptive or spurious sense of +duty, lead us to essay this, count we must on serious consequences, not +the least of which would be divisions among the Northern adherents of +the Union. Assuredly, if any honest Catos there be who thus far have +gone with us, no longer will they do so, but oppose us, and as +resolutely as hitherto they have supported. But this path of thought +leads toward those waters of bitterness from which one can only turn +aside and be silent. + +But supposing Re-establishment so far advanced that the Southern seats +in Congress are occupied, and by men qualified in accordance with those +cardinal principles of representative government which hitherto have +prevailed in the land—what then? Why, the Congressmen elected by the +people of the South will—represent the people of the South. This may +seem a flat conclusion; but, in view of the last five years, may there +not be latent significance in it? What will be the temper of those +Southern members? and, confronted by them, what will be the mood of our +own representatives? In private life true reconciliation seldom follows +a violent quarrel; but, if subsequent intercourse be unavoidable, nice +observances and mutual are indispensable to the prevention of a new +rupture. Amity itself can only be maintained by reciprocal respect, and +true friends are punctilious equals. On the floor of Congress North and +South are to come together after a passionate duel, in which the South, +though proving her valor, has been made to bite the dust. Upon +differences in debate shall acrimonious recriminations be exchanged? +Shall censorious superiority assumed by one section provoke defiant +self-assertion on the other? Shall Manassas and Chickamauga be retorted +for Chattanooga and Richmond? Under the supposition that the full +Congress will be composed of gentlemen, all this is impossible. Yet, if +otherwise, it needs no prophet of Israel to foretell the end. The +maintenance of Congressional decency in the future will rest mainly +with the North. Rightly will more forbearance be required from the +North than the South, for the North is victor. + +But some there are who may deem these latter thoughts inapplicable, and +for this reason: Since the test-oath operatively excludes from Congress +all who in any way participated in Secession, therefore none but +Southerners wholly in harmony with the North are eligible to seats. +This is true for the time being. But the oath is alterable; and in the +wonted fluctuations of parties not improbably it will undergo +alteration, assuming such a form, perhaps, as not to bar the admission +into the National Legislature of men who represent the populations +lately in revolt. Such a result would involve no violation of the +principles of democratic government. Not readily can one perceive how +the political existence of the millions of late Secessionists can +permanently be ignored by this Republic. The years of the war tried our +devotion to the Union; the time of peace may test the sincerity of our +faith in democracy. + +In no spirit of opposition, not by way of challenge, is anything here +thrown out. These thoughts are sincere ones; they seem natural— +inevitable. Here and there they must have suggested themselves to many +thoughtful patriots. And, if they be just thoughts, ere long they must +have that weight with the public which already they have had with +individuals. + +For that heroic band—those children of the furnace who, in regions like +Texas and Tennessee, maintained their fidelity through terrible +trials—we of the North felt for them, and profoundly we honor them. Yet +passionate sympathy, with resentments so close as to be almost domestic +in their bitterness, would hardly in the present juncture tend to +discreet legislation. Were the Unionists and Secessionists but as +Guelphs and Ghibellines? If not, then far be it from a great nation now +to act in the spirit that animated a triumphant town-faction in the +Middle Ages. But crowding thoughts must at last be checked; and, in +times like the present, one who desires to be impartially just in the +expression of his views, moves as among sword-points presented on every +side. + +Let us pray that the terrible historic tragedy of our time may not have +been enacted without instructing our whole beloved country through +terror and pity; and may fulfillment verify in the end those +expectations which kindle the bards of Progress and Humanity. + + + + +POEMS FROM BATTLE PIECES + + + + +THE PORTENT + + +1859 + + +Hanging from the beam, + Slowly swaying (such the law), +Gaunt the shadow on your green, + Shenandoah! +The cut is on the crown +(Lo, John Brown), +And the stabs shall heal no more. + +Hidden in the cap + Is the anguish none can draw; +So your future veils its face, + Shenandoah! +But the streaming beard is shown +(Weird John Brown), +The meteor of the war. + + + + +FROM THE CONFLICT OF CONVICTIONS + + +1860-1 + + +The Ancient of Days forever is young, + Forever the scheme of Nature thrives; +I know a wind in purpose strong— + It spins _against_ the way it drives. +What if the gulfs their slimed foundations bare? +So deep must the stones be hurled +Whereon the throes of ages rear +The final empire and the happier world. + + Power unanointed may come— +Dominion (unsought by the free) + And the Iron Dome, +Stronger for stress and strain, +Fling her huge shadow athwart the main; +But the Founders’ dream shall flee. +Age after age has been, +(From man’s changeless heart their way they win); +And death be busy with all who strive— +Death, with silent negative. + + _Yea and Nay—_ + _Each hath his say;_ + _But God He keeps the middle way._ + _None was by_ + _When He spread the sky;_ + _Wisdom is vain, and prophecy._ + + + + +THE MARCH INTO VIRGINIA + + +_Ending in the First Manassas_ +July, 1861 + + +Did all the lets and bars appear + To every just or larger end, +Whence should come the trust and cheer? + Youth must its ignorant impulse lend— +Age finds place in the rear. + All wars are boyish, and are fought by boys, +The champions and enthusiasts of the state: + Turbid ardors and vain joys + Not barrenly abate— + Stimulants to the power mature, + Preparatives of fate. + +Who here forecasteth the event? +What heart but spurns at precedent +And warnings of the wise, +Contemned foreclosures of surprise? +The banners play, the bugles call, +The air is blue and prodigal. + No berrying party, pleasure-wooed, +No picnic party in the May, +Ever went less loth than they + Into that leafy neighborhood. +In Bacchic glee they file toward Fate, +Moloch’s uninitiate; +Expectancy, and glad surmise +Of battle’s unknown mysteries. +All they feel is this: ’t is glory, +A rapture sharp, though transitory, +Yet lasting in belaureled story. +So they gayly go to fight, +Chatting left and laughing right. + +But some who this blithe mood present, + As on in lightsome files they fare, +Shall die experienced ere three days are spent— + Perish, enlightened by the vollied glare; +Or shame survive, and, like to adamant, + The throe of Second Manassas share. + + + + +BALL’S BLUFF + + +_A Reverie_ +October, 1861 + + +One noonday, at my window in the town, + I saw a sight—saddest that eyes can see— + Young soldiers marching lustily + Unto the wars, +With fifes, and flags in mottoed pageantry; + While all the porches, walks, and doors +Were rich with ladies cheering royally. + +They moved like Juny morning on the wave, + Their hearts were fresh as clover in its prime + (It was the breezy summer time), + Life throbbed so strong, +How should they dream that Death in a rosy clime + Would come to thin their shining throng? +Youth feels immortal, like the gods sublime. + +Weeks passed; and at my window, leaving bed, + By night I mused, of easeful sleep bereft, + On those ‘brave boys (Ah War! thy theft); + Some marching feet +Found pause at last by cliffs Potomac cleft; + Wakeful I mused, while in the street +Far footfalls died away till none were left. + + + + +THE STONE FLEET + + +_An Old Sailor’s Lament_ +December, 1861 + + +I have a feeling for those ships, + Each worn and ancient one, +With great bluff bows, and broad in the beam: + Ay, it was unkindly done. + But so they serve the Obsolete— + Even so, Stone Fleet! + +You’ll say I’m doting; do you think + I scudded round the Horn in one— +The _Tenedos,_ a glorious + Good old craft as ever run— + Sunk (how all unmeet!) + With the Old Stone Fleet. + +An India ship of fame was she, + Spices and shawls and fans she bore; +A whaler when the wrinkles came— + Turned off! till, spent and poor, + Her bones were sold (escheat)! + Ah! Stone Fleet. + +Four were erst patrician keels + (Names attest what families be), +The _Kensington,_ and _Richmond_ too, + _Leonidas,_ and _Lee_: + But now they have their seat + With the Old Stone Fleet. + +To scuttle them—a pirate deed— + Sack them, and dismast; +They sunk so slow, they died so hard, + But gurgling dropped at last. + Their ghosts in gales repeat + _Woe’s us, Stone Fleet!_ + +And all for naught. The waters pass— + Currents will have their way; +Nature is nobody’s ally; ’tis well; + The harbor is bettered—will stay. + A failure, and complete, + Was your Old Stone Fleet. + + + + +THE TEMERAIRE + + +_Supposed to have been suggested to an Englishman of the old order by +the fight of the Monitor and Merrimac_ + + +The gloomy hulls in armor grim, + Like clouds o’er moors have met, +And prove that oak, and iron, and man + Are tough in fibre yet. + +But Splendors wane. The sea-fight yields + No front of old display; +The garniture, emblazonment, + And heraldry all decay. + +Towering afar in parting light, + The fleets like Albion’s forelands shine— +The full-sailed fleets, the shrouded show + Of Ships-of-the-Line. + + The fighting _Temeraire,_ + Built of a thousand trees, + Lunging out her lightnings, + And beetling o’er the seas— + O Ship, how brave and fair, + That fought so oft and well, + +On open decks you manned the gun Armorial. +What cheerings did you share, + Impulsive in the van, +When down upon leagued France and Spain + We English ran— +The freshet at your bowsprit + Like the foam upon the can. +Bickering, your colors + Licked up the Spanish air, +You flapped with flames of battle-flags— + Your challenge, _Temeraire!_ +The rear ones of our fleet + They yearned to share your place, +Still vying with the Victory +Throughout that earnest race— +The Victory, whose Admiral, + With orders nobly won, +Shone in the globe of the battle glow— + The angel in that sun. +Parallel in story, + Lo, the stately pair, +As late in grapple ranging, + The foe between them there— +When four great hulls lay tiered, +And the fiery tempest cleared, +And your prizes twain appeared, _Temeraire!_ + +But Trafalgar is over now, + The quarter-deck undone; +The carved and castled navies fire + Their evening-gun. +O, Titan _Temeraire,_ + Your stern-lights fade away; +Your bulwarks to the years must yield, + And heart-of-oak decay. +A pigmy steam-tug tows you, + Gigantic, to the shore— +Dismantled of your guns and spars, + And sweeping wings of war. +The rivets clinch the iron clads, + Men learn a deadlier lore; +But Fame has nailed your battle-flags— + Your ghost it sails before: +O, the navies old and oaken, + O, the _Temeraire_ no more! + + + + +A UTILITARIAN VIEW OF THE _MONITOR’S_ FIGHT + + +Plain be the phrase, yet apt the verse, + More ponderous than nimble; +For since grimed War here laid aside +His Orient pomp, ’twould ill befit + Overmuch to ply + The rhyme’s barbaric cymbal. + +Hail to victory without the gaud + Of glory; zeal that needs no fans +Of banners; plain mechanic power +Plied cogently in War now placed— + Where War belongs— + Among the trades and artisans. + +Yet this was battle, and intense— + Beyond the strife of fleets heroic; +Deadlier, closer, calm ’mid storm; +No passion; all went on by crank, + Pivot, and screw, + And calculations of caloric. + +Needless to dwell; the story’s known. + The ringing of those plates on plates +Still ringeth round the world— +The clangor of that blacksmiths’ fray. + The anvil-din + Resounds this message from the Fates: + +War shall yet be, and to the end; + But war-paint shows the streaks of weather; +War yet shall be, but warriors +Are now but operatives; War’s made + Less grand than Peace, + And a singe runs through lace and feather. + + + + +MALVERN HILL + + +July, 1862 + + +Ye elms that wave on Malvern Hill + In prime of morn and May, +Recall ye how McClellan’s men + Here stood at bay? +While deep within yon forest dim + Our rigid comrades lay— +Some with the cartridge in their mouth, +Others with fixed arms lifted South— + Invoking so— +The cypress glades? Ah wilds of woe! + +The spires of Richmond, late beheld +Through rifts in musket-haze, +Were closed from view in clouds of dust + On leaf-walled ways, +Where streamed our wagons in caravan; + And the Seven Nights and Days +Of march and fast, retreat and fight, +Pinched our grimed faces to ghastly plight— + Does the elm wood +Recall the haggard beards of blood? + +The battle-smoked flag, with stars eclipsed, + We followed (it never fell!)— +In silence husbanded our strength— + Received their yell; +Till on this slope we patient turned + With cannon ordered well; +Reverse we proved was not defeat; +But ah, the sod what thousands meet!— + Does Malvern Wood +Bethink itself, and muse and brood? + _We elms of Malvern Hill_ + _Remember everything;_ + _But sap the twig will fill:_ + _Wag the world how it will,_ + _Leaves must be green in Spring._ + + + + +STONEWALL JACKSON + + +_Mortally wounded at Chancellorsville_ +May, 1863 + + +The Man who fiercest charged in fight, + Whose sword and prayer were long— + Stonewall! + Even him who stoutly stood for Wrong, +How can we praise? Yet coming days + Shall not forget him with this song. + +Dead is the Man whose Cause is dead, + Vainly he died and set his seal— + Stonewall! + Earnest in error, as we feel; +True to the thing he deemed was due, + True as John Brown or steel. + +Relentlessly he routed us; + But _we_ relent, for he is low— + Stonewall! + Justly his fame we outlaw; so +We drop a tear on the bold Virginian’s bier, + Because no wreath we owe. + + + + +THE HOUSE-TOP + + +July, 1863 +_A Night Piece_ + + +No sleep. The sultriness pervades the air +And binds the brain—a dense oppression, such +As tawny tigers feel in matted shades, +Vexing their blood and making apt for ravage. +Beneath the stars the roofy desert spreads +Vacant as Libya. All is hushed near by. +Yet fitfully from far breaks a mixed surf +Of muffled sound, the Atheist roar of riot. +Yonder, where parching Sirius set in drought, +Balefully glares red Arson—there—and there. +The Town is taken by its rats—ship-rats +And rats of the wharves. All civil charms +And priestly spells which late held hearts in awe— +Fear-bound, subjected to a better sway +Than sway of self; these like a dream dissolve, +And man rebounds whole aeons back in nature. +Hail to the low dull rumble, dull and dead, +And ponderous drag that shakes the wall. +Wise Draco comes, deep in the midnight roll +Of black artillery; he comes, though late; +In code corroborating Calvin’s creed +And cynic tyrannies of honest kings; +He comes, nor parlies; and the Town, redeemed, +Gives thanks devout; nor, being thankful, heeds +The grimy slur on the Republic’s faith implied, +Which holds that Man is naturally good, +And—more—is Nature’s Roman, never to be scourged. + + + + +CHATTANOOGA + + +November, 1863 + + +A kindling impulse seized the host + Inspired by heaven’s elastic air; +Their hearts outran their General’s plan, + Though Grant commanded there— + Grant, who without reserve can dare; +And, “Well, go on and do your will,” + He said, and measured the mountain then: +So master-riders fling the rein— + But you must know your men. + +On yester-morn in grayish mist, + Armies like ghosts on hills had fought, +And rolled from the cloud their thunders loud + The Cumberlands far had caught: + To-day the sunlit steeps are sought. +Grant stood on cliffs whence all was plain, + And smoked as one who feels no cares; +But mastered nervousness intense +Alone such calmness wears. + +The summit-cannon plunge their flame + Sheer down the primal wall, +But up and up each linking troop + In stretching festoons crawl— + Nor fire a shot. Such men appall +The foe, though brave. He, from the brink, + Looks far along the breadth of slope, +And sees two miles of dark dots creep, + And knows they mean the cope. + +He sees them creep. Yet here and there + Half hid ’mid leafless groves they go; +As men who ply through traceries high + Of turreted marbles show— + So dwindle these to eyes below. +But fronting shot and flanking shell + Sliver and rive the inwoven ways; +High tops of oaks and high hearts fall, + But never the climbing stays. + +From right to left, from left to right + They roll the rallying cheer— +Vie with each other, brother with brother, + Who shall the first appear— + What color-bearer with colors clear +In sharp relief, like sky-drawn Grant, + Whose cigar must now be near the stump— +While in solicitude his back + Heaps slowly to a hump. + +Near and more near; till now the flags + Run like a catching flame; +And one flares highest, to peril nighest— + _He_ means to make a name: + Salvos! they give him his fame. +The staff is caught, and next the rush, + And then the leap where death has led; +Flag answered flag along the crest, + And swarms of rebels fled. + +But some who gained the envied Alp, + And—eager, ardent, earnest there— +Dropped into Death’s wide-open arms, + Quelled on the wing like eagles struck in air— + Forever they slumber young and fair, +The smile upon them as they died; + Their end attained, that end a height: +Life was to these a dream fulfilled, + And death a starry night. + + + + +ON THE PHOTOGRAPH OF A CORPS COMMANDER + + +Ay, man is manly. Here you see + The warrior-carriage of the head, +And brave dilation of the frame; + And lighting all, the soul that led +In Spottsylvania’s charge to victory, + Which justifies his fame. + +A cheering picture. It is good + To look upon a Chief like this, +In whom the spirit moulds the form. + Here favoring Nature, oft remiss, +With eagle mien expressive has endued + A man to kindle strains that warm. + +Trace back his lineage, and his sires, + Yeoman or noble, you shall find +Enrolled with men of Agincourt, + Heroes who shared great Harry’s mind. +Down to us come the knightly Norman fires, + And front the Templars bore. + +Nothing can lift the heart of man + Like manhood in a fellow-man. +The thought of heaven’s great King afar +But humbles us—too weak to scan; +But manly greatness men can span, + And feel the bonds that draw. + + + + +THE SWAMP ANGEL + + +There is a coal-black Angel + With a thick Afric lip, +And he dwells (like the hunted and harried) + In a swamp where the green frogs dip. +But his face is against a City + Which is over a bay of the sea, +And he breathes with a breath that is blastment, + And dooms by a far decree. + +By night there is fear in the City, + Through the darkness a star soareth on; +There’s a scream that screams up to the zenith, + Then the poise of a meteor lone— +Lighting far the pale fright of the faces, + And downward the coming is seen; +Then the rush, and the burst, and the havoc, + And wails and shrieks between. + +It comes like the thief in the gloaming; + It comes, and none may foretell +The place of the coming—the glaring; + They live in a sleepless spell +That wizens, and withers, and whitens; + It ages the young, and the bloom +Of the maiden is ashes of roses— + The Swamp Angel broods in his gloom. + +Swift is his messengers’ going, + But slowly he saps their halls, +As if by delay deluding. + They move from their crumbling walls +Farther and farther away; + But the Angel sends after and after, +By night with the flame of his ray— + By night with the voice of his screaming— +Sends after them, stone by stone, + And farther walls fall, farther portals, +And weed follows weed through the Town. + +Is this the proud City? the scorner + Which never would yield the ground? +Which mocked at the coal-black Angel? + The cup of despair goes round. +Vainly he calls upon Michael + (The white man’s seraph was he,) +For Michael has fled from his tower + To the Angel over the sea. +Who weeps for the woeful City + Let him weep for our guilty kind; +Who joys at her wild despairing— +Christ, the Forgiver, convert his mind. + + + + +SHERIDAN AT CEDAR CREEK + + +October, 1864 + + +Shoe the steed with silver + That bore him to the fray, +When he heard the guns at dawning— + Miles away; +When he heard them calling, calling— + Mount! nor stay: + Quick, or all is lost; + They’ve surprised and stormed the post, + They push your routed host— +Gallop! retrieve the day. + +House the horse in ermine— + For the foam-flake blew +White through the red October; + He thundered into view; +They cheered him in the looming. + Horseman and horse they knew. + The turn of the tide began, + The rally of bugles ran, + He swung his hat in the van; +The electric hoof-spark flew. + +Wreathe the steed and lead him— + For the charge he led +Touched and turned the cypress + Into amaranths for the head +Of Philip, king of riders, + Who raised them from the dead. + The camp (at dawning lost), + By eve, recovered—forced, + Rang with laughter of the host +At belated Early fled. + +Shroud the horse in sable— + For the mounds they heap! +There is firing in the Valley, + And yet no strife they keep; +It is the parting volley, + It is the pathos deep. + There is glory for the brave + Who lead, and nobly save, + But no knowledge in the grave +Where the nameless followers sleep. + + + + +IN THE PRISON PEN + + +1864 + + +Listless he eyes the palisades + And sentries in the glare; +’Tis barren as a pelican-beach + But his world is ended there. + +Nothing to do; and vacant hands + Bring on the idiot-pain; +He tries to think—to recollect, + But the blur is on his brain. + +Around him swarm the plaining ghosts + Like those on Virgil’s shore— +A wilderness of faces dim, + And pale ones gashed and hoar. + +A smiting sun. No shed, no tree; + He totters to his lair— +A den that sick hands dug in earth + Ere famine wasted there, + +Or, dropping in his place, he swoons, + Walled in by throngs that press, +Till forth from the throngs they bear him dead— + Dead in his meagreness. + + + + +THE COLLEGE COLONEL + + +He rides at their head; + A crutch by his saddle just slants in view, +One slung arm is in splints, you see, + Yet he guides his strong steed—how coldly too. + +He brings his regiment home— + Not as they filed two years before, +But a remnant half-tattered, and battered, and worn, +Like castaway sailors, who—stunned + By the surf’s loud roar, + Their mates dragged back and seen no more— +Again and again breast the surge, + And at last crawl, spent, to shore. + +A still rigidity and pale— + An Indian aloofness lones his brow; +He has lived a thousand years +Compressed in battle’s pains and prayers, + Marches and watches slow. + +There are welcoming shouts, and flags; + Old men off hat to the Boy, +Wreaths from gay balconies fall at his feet, +But to _him_—there comes alloy. + +It is not that a leg is lost, + It is not that an arm is maimed, +It is not that the fever has racked— + Self he has long disclaimed. + +But all through the Seven Days’ Fight, + And deep in the Wilderness grim, +And in the field-hospital tent, + And Petersburg crater, and dim +Lean brooding in Libby, there came— + Ah heaven!—what _truth_ to him. + + + + +THE MARTYR + + +_Indicative of the passion of the people on the 15th of April, 1865_ + + +Good Friday was the day + Of the prodigy and crime, +When they killed him in his pity, + When they killed him in his prime +Of clemency and calm— + When with yearning he was filled + To redeem the evil-willed, +And, though conqueror, be kind; + But they killed him in his kindness, + In their madness and their blindness, +And they killed him from behind. + + There is sobbing of the strong, + And a pall upon the land; + But the People in their weeping + Bare the iron hand; + Beware the People weeping + When they bare the iron hand. + +He lieth in his blood— + The father in his face; +They have killed him, the Forgiver— + The Avenger takes his place, +The Avenger wisely stern, + Who in righteousness shall do + What the heavens call him to, +And the parricides remand; + For they killed him in his kindness, + In their madness and their blindness, +And his blood is on their hand. + + There is sobbing of the strong, + And a pall upon the land; + But the People in their weeping + Bare the iron hand: + Beware the People weeping + When they bare the iron hand. + + + + +REBEL COLOR-BEARERS AT SHILOH + + +_A plea against the vindictive cry raised by civilians shortly after +the surrender at Appomattox_ + + +The color-bearers facing death +White in the whirling sulphurous wreath, + Stand boldly out before the line; +Right and left their glances go, +Proud of each other, glorying in their show; +Their battle-flags about them blow, + And fold them as in flame divine: +Such living robes are only seen +Round martyrs burning on the green— +And martyrs for the Wrong have been. + +Perish their Cause! but mark the men— +Mark the planted statues, then +Draw trigger on them if you can. + +The leader of a patriot-band +Even so could view rebels who so could stand; + And this when peril pressed him sore, +Left aidless in the shivered front of war— + Skulkers behind, defiant foes before, +And fighting with a broken brand. +The challenge in that courage rare— +Courage defenseless, proudly bare— +Never could tempt him; he could dare +Strike up the leveled rifle there. + +Sunday at Shiloh, and the day +When Stonewall charged—McClellan’s crimson May, +And Chickamauga’s wave of death, +And of the Wilderness the cypress wreath— + All these have passed away. +The life in the veins of Treason lags, +Her daring color-bearers drop their flags, + And yield. _Now_ shall we fire? + Can poor spite be? + Shall nobleness in victory less aspire + Than in reverse? Spare Spleen her ire, + And think how Grant met Lee. + + + + +AURORA BOREALIS + + +_Commemorative of the Dissolution of armies at the Peace_ +May, 1865 + + +What power disbands the Northern Lights + After their steely play? +The lonely watcher feels an awe + Of Nature’s sway, + As when appearing, + He marked their flashed uprearing + In the cold gloom— + Retreatings and advancings, +(Like dallyings of doom), + Transitions and enhancings, + And bloody ray. + +The phantom-host has faded quite, + Splendor and Terror gone +Portent or promise—and gives way + To pale, meek Dawn; + The coming, going, + Alike in wonder showing— + Alike the God, + Decreeing and commanding +The million blades that glowed, + The muster and disbanding— + Midnight and Morn. + + + + +THE RELEASED REBEL PRISONER + + +June, 1865 + + +Armies he’s seen—the herds of war, + But never such swarms of men +As now in the Nineveh of the North— + How mad the Rebellion then! + +And yet but dimly he divines + The depth of that deceit, +And superstitution of vast pride + Humbled to such defeat. + +Seductive shone the Chiefs in arms— + His steel the nearest magnet drew; +Wreathed with its kind, the Gulf-weed drives— + ’Tis Nature’s wrong they rue. + +His face is hidden in his beard, + But his heart peers out at eye— +And such a heart! like a mountain-pool + Where no man passes by. + +He thinks of Hill—a brave soul gone; + And Ashby dead in pale disdain; +And Stuart with the Rupert-plume, + Whose blue eye never shall laugh again. + +He hears the drum; he sees our boys +From his wasted fields return; +Ladies feast them on strawberries, + And even to kiss them yearn. + +He marks them bronzed, in soldier-trim, + The rifle proudly borne; +They bear it for an heirloom home, + And he—disarmed—jail-worn. + +Home, home—his heart is full of it; + But home he never shall see, +Even should he stand upon the spot: + ’Tis gone!—where his brothers be. + +The cypress-moss from tree to tree + Hangs in his Southern land; +As weird, from thought to thought of his + Run memories hand in hand. + +And so he lingers—lingers on + In the City of the Foe— +His cousins and his countrymen + Who see him listless go. + + + + +“FORMERLY A SLAVE” + + +_An idealized Portrait, by E. Vedder, in the Spring Exhibition of the +National Academy, 1865_ + + +The sufferance of her race is shown, + And retrospect of life, +Which now too late deliverance dawns upon; + Yet is she not at strife. + +Her children’s children they shall know + The good withheld from her; +And so her reverie takes prophetic cheer— + In spirit she sees the stir. + +Far down the depth of thousand years, + And marks the revel shine; +Her dusky face is lit with sober light, + Sibylline, yet benign. + + + + +ON THE SLAIN COLLEGIANS + + +Youth is the time when hearts are large, + And stirring wars +Appeal to the spirit which appeals in turn + To the blade it draws. +If woman incite, and duty show + (Though made the mask of Cain), +Or whether it be Truth’s sacred cause, + Who can aloof remain +That shares youth’s ardor, uncooled by the snow + Of wisdom or sordid gain? + +The liberal arts and nurture sweet + Which give his gentleness to man— + Train him to honor, lend him grace +Through bright examples meet— +That culture which makes never wan +With underminings deep, but holds + The surface still, its fitting place, + And so gives sunniness to the face +And bravery to the heart; what troops + Of generous boys in happiness thus bred— + Saturnians through life’s Tempe led, +Went from the North and came from the South, +With golden mottoes in the mouth, + To lie down midway on a bloody bed. + +Woe for the homes of the North, +And woe for the seats of the South: +All who felt life’s spring in prime, +And were swept by the wind of their place and time— + All lavish hearts, on whichever side, +Of birth urbane or courage high, +Armed them for the stirring wars— + Armed them—some to die. + Apollo-like in pride. +Each would slay his Python—caught +The maxims in his temple taught— + Aflame with sympathies whose blaze +Perforce enwrapped him—social laws, + Friendship and kin, and by-gone days— +Vows, kisses—every heart unmoors, +And launches into the seas of wars. +What could they else—North or South? +Each went forth with blessings given +By priests and mothers in the name of Heaven; + And honor in both was chief. +Warred one for Right, and one for Wrong? +So be it; but they both were young— +Each grape to his cluster clung, +All their elegies are sung. +The anguish of maternal hearts + Must search for balm divine; +But well the striplings bore their fated parts + (The heavens all parts assign)— +Never felt life’s care or cloy. +Each bloomed and died an unabated Boy; +Nor dreamed what death was—thought it mere +Sliding into some vernal sphere. +They knew the joy, but leaped the grief, +Like plants that flower ere comes the leaf— +Which storms lay low in kindly doom, +And kill them in their flush of bloom. + + + + +AMERICA + + +I + + +Where the wings of a sunny Dome expand +I saw a Banner in gladsome air— +Starry, like Berenice’s Hair— +Afloat in broadened bravery there; +With undulating long-drawn flow, +As tolled Brazilian billows go +Voluminously o’er the Line. +The Land reposed in peace below; + The children in their glee +Were folded to the exulting heart + Of young Maternity. + + +II + + +Later, and it streamed in fight + When tempest mingled with the fray, +And over the spear-point of the shaft + I saw the ambiguous lightning play. +Valor with Valor strove, and died: +Fierce was Despair, and cruel was Pride; +And the lorn Mother speechless stood, +Pale at the fury of her brood. + + +III + + +Yet later, and the silk did wind + Her fair cold form; +Little availed the shining shroud, + Though ruddy in hue, to cheer or warm. +A watcher looked upon her low, and said— +She sleeps, but sleeps, she is not dead. + But in that sleeps contortion showed +The terror of the vision there— + A silent vision unavowed, +Revealing earth’s foundation bare, + And Gorgon in her hidden place. +It was a thing of fear to see + So foul a dream upon so fair a face, +And the dreamer lying in that starry shroud. + + +IV + + +But from the trance she sudden broke— + The trance, or death into promoted life; +At her feet a shivered yoke, +And in her aspect turned to heaven + No trace of passion or of strife— +A clear calm look. It spake of pain, +But such as purifies from stain— +Sharp pangs that never come again— + And triumph repressed by knowledge meet, +Power dedicate, and hope grown wise, + And youth matured for age’s seat— +Law on her brow and empire in her eyes. + So she, with graver air and lifted flag; +While the shadow, chased by light, +Fled along the far-drawn height, + And left her on the crag. + + + + +INSCRIPTION + + +_For Graves at Pea Ridge, Arkansas_ + + +Let none misgive we died amiss + When here we strove in furious fight: +Furious it was; nathless was this + Better than tranquil plight, +And tame surrender of the Cause +Hallowed by hearts and by the laws. + We here who warred for Man and Right, +The choice of warring never laid with us. + There we were ruled by the traitor’s choice. + Nor long we stood to trim and poise, +But marched and fell—victorious! + + + + +THE FORTITUDE OF THE NORTH + + +_Under the Disaster of the Second Manassas_ + + +They take no shame for dark defeat + While prizing yet each victory won, +Who fight for the Right through all retreat, + Nor pause until their work is done. +The Cape-of-Storms is proof to every throe; + Vainly against that foreland beat +Wild winds aloft and wilder waves below: +The black cliffs gleam through rents in sleet +When the livid Antarctic storm-clouds glow. + + + + +THE MOUND BY THE LAKE + + +The grass shall never forget this grave. +When homeward footing it in the sun + After the weary ride by rail, +The stripling soldiers passed her door, + Wounded perchance, or wan and pale, +She left her household work undone— +Duly the wayside table spread, + With evergreens shaded, to regale +Each travel-spent and grateful one. +So warm her heart—childless—unwed, +Who like a mother comforted. + + + + +ON THE SLAIN AT CHICKAMAUGA + + +Happy are they and charmed in life + Who through long wars arrive unscarred +At peace. To such the wreath be given, +If they unfalteringly have striven— + In honor, as in limb, unmarred. +Let cheerful praise be rife, + And let them live their years at ease, +Musing on brothers who victorious died— + Loved mates whose memory shall ever please. + +And yet mischance is honorable too— + Seeming defeat in conflict justified +Whose end to closing eyes is hid from view. +The will, that never can relent— +The aim, survivor of the bafflement, + Make this memorial due. + + + + +AN UNINSCRIBED MONUMENT + + +_On one of the Battle-fields of the Wilderness_ + + +Silence and solitude may hint + (Whose home is in yon piney wood) +What I, though tableted, could never tell— +The din which here befell, + And striving of the multitude. +The iron cones and spheres of death + Set round me in their rust, + These, too, if just, +Shall speak with more than animated breath. + Thou who beholdest, if thy thought, +Not narrowed down to personal cheer, +Take in the import of the quiet here— + The after-quiet—the calm full fraught; +Thou too wilt silent stand— +Silent as I, and lonesome as the land. + + + + +ON THE GRAVE OF A YOUNG CAVALRY OFFICER KILLED IN THE VALLEY OF +VIRGINIA + + +Beauty and youth, with manners sweet, and friends— + Gold, yet a mind not unenriched had he +Whom here low violets veil from eyes. + But all these gifts transcended be: +His happier fortune in this mound you see. + + + + +A REQUIEM + + +_For Soldiers lost in Ocean Transports_ + + +When, after storms that woodlands rue, + To valleys comes atoning dawn, +The robins blithe their orchard-sports renew; + And meadow-larks, no more withdrawn +Caroling fly in the languid blue; +The while, from many a hid recess, +Alert to partake the blessedness, +The pouring mites their airy dance pursue. + So, after ocean’s ghastly gales, +When laughing light of hoyden morning breaks, + Every finny hider wakes— + From vaults profound swims up with glittering scales; + Through the delightsome sea he sails, +With shoals of shining tiny things +Frolic on every wave that flings + Against the prow its showery spray; +All creatures joying in the morn, +Save them forever from joyance torn, + Whose bark was lost where now the dolphins play; +Save them that by the fabled shore, + Down the pale stream are washed away, +Far to the reef of bones are borne; + And never revisits them the light, +Nor sight of long-sought land and pilot more; + Nor heed they now the lone bird’s flight +Round the lone spar where mid-sea surges pour. + + + + +COMMEMORATIVE OF A NAVAL VICTORY + + +Sailors there are of the gentlest breed, + Yet strong, like every goodly thing; +The discipline of arms refines, + And the wave gives tempering. + The damasked blade its beam can fling; +It lends the last grave grace: +The hawk, the hound, and sworded nobleman + In Titian’s picture for a king, +Are of hunter or warrior race. + +In social halls a favored guest + In years that follow victory won, +How sweet to feel your festal fame + In woman’s glance instinctive thrown: + Repose is yours—your deed is known, +It musks the amber wine; +It lives, and sheds a light from storied days + Rich as October sunsets brown, +Which make the barren place to shine. + +But seldom the laurel wreath is seen + Unmixed with pensive pansies dark; +There’s a light and a shadow on every man + Who at last attains his lifted mark— + Nursing through night the ethereal spark. +Elate he never can be; +He feels that spirit which glad had hailed his worth, + Sleep in oblivion.—The shark +Glides white through the phosphorus sea. + + + + +A MEDITATION + + +How often in the years that close, + When truce had stilled the sieging gun, +The soldiers, mounting on their works, + With mutual curious glance have run +From face to face along the fronting show, +And kinsman spied, or friend—even in a foe. + +What thoughts conflicting then were shared, + While sacred tenderness perforce +Welled from the heart and wet the eye; + And something of a strange remorse +Rebelled against the sanctioned sin of blood, +And Christian wars of natural brotherhood. + +Then stirred the god within the breast— + The witness that is man’s at birth; +A deep misgiving undermined + Each plea and subterfuge of earth; +They felt in that rapt pause, with warning rife, +Horror and anguish for the civil strife. + +Of North or South they reeked not then, + Warm passion cursed the cause of war: +Can Africa pay back this blood + Spilt on Potomac’s shore? +Yet doubts, as pangs, were vain the strife to stay, +And hands that fain had clasped again could slay. + +How frequent in the camp was seen + The herald from the hostile one, +A guest and frank companion there + When the proud formal talk was done; +The pipe of peace was smoked even ’mid the war, +And fields in Mexico again fought o’er. + +In Western battle long they lay + So near opposed in trench or pit, +That foeman unto foeman called + As men who screened in tavern sit: +“You bravely fight” each to the other said— +“Toss us a biscuit!” o’er the wall it sped. + +And pale on those same slopes, a boy— + A stormer, bled in noon-day glare; +No aid the Blue-coats then could bring, + He cried to them who nearest were, +And out there came ’mid howling shot and shell +A daring foe who him befriended well. + +Mark the great Captains on both sides, + The soldiers with the broad renown— +They all were messmates on the Hudson’s marge, + Beneath one roof they laid them down; +And, free from hate in many an after pass, +Strove as in school-boy rivalry of the class. + +A darker side there is; but doubt + In Nature’s charity hovers there: +If men for new agreement yearn, + Then old upbraiding best forbear: +“The South’s the sinner!” Well, so let it be; +But shall the North sin worse, and stand the Pharisee? + +O, now that brave men yield the sword, + Mine be the manful soldier-view; +By how much more they boldly warred, + By so much more is mercy due: +When Vicksburg fell, and the moody files marched out, +Silent the victors stood, scorning to raise a shout. + + + + +POEMS FROM MARDI + + + + +WE FISH + + +We fish, we fish, we merrily swim, +We care not for friend nor for foe. + Our fins are stout, + Our tails are out, +As through the seas we go. + +Fish, Fish, we are fish with red gills; + Naught disturbs us, our blood is at zero: +We are buoyant because of our bags, + Being many, each fish is a hero. +We care not what is it, this life + That we follow, this phantom unknown; +To swim, it’s exceedingly pleasant,— + So swim away, making a foam. +This strange looking thing by our side, + Not for safety, around it we flee:— +Its shadow’s so shady, that’s all,— + We only swim under its lee. +And as for the eels there above, + And as for the fowls of the air, +We care not for them nor their ways, + As we cheerily glide afar! + +We fish, we fish, we merrily swim, +We care not for friend nor for foe: + Our fins are stout, + Our tails are out, +As through the seas we go. + + + + +INVOCATION + + +Ha, ha, gods and kings; fill high, one and all; +Drink, drink! shout and drink! mad respond to the call! +Fill fast, and fill full; ’gainst the goblet ne’er sin; +Quaff there, at high tide, to the uttermost rim:— + Flood-tide, and soul-tide to the brim! + +Who with wine in him fears? who thinks of his cares? +Who sighs to be wise, when wine in him flares? +Water sinks down below, in currents full slow; +But wine mounts on high with its genial glow:— + Welling up, till the brain overflow! + +As the spheres, with a roll, some fiery of soul, +Others golden, with music, revolve round the pole; +So let our cups, radiant with many hued wines, +Round and round in groups circle, our Zodiac’s Signs:— + Round reeling, and ringing their chimes! + +Then drink, gods and kings; wine merriment brings; +It bounds through the veins; there, jubilant sings. +Let it ebb, then, and flow; wine never grows dim; +Drain down that bright tide at the foam beaded rim:— + Fill up, every cup, to the brim! + + + + +DIRGE + + +We drop our dead in the sea, + The bottomless, bottomless sea; +Each bubble a hollow sigh, + As it sinks forever and aye. + +We drop our dead in the sea,— + The dead reek not of aught; +We drop our dead in the sea,— + The sea ne’er gives it a thought. + +Sink, sink, oh corpse, still sink, + Far down in the bottomless sea, +Where the unknown forms do prowl, + Down, down in the bottomless sea. + +’Tis night above, and night all round, + And night will it be with thee; +As thou sinkest, and sinkest for aye, + Deeper down in the bottomless sea. + + + + +MARLENA + + +Far off in the sea is Marlena, +A land of shades and streams, +A land of many delights, +Dark and bold, thy shores, Marlena; +But green, and timorous, thy soft knolls, +Crouching behind the woodlands. +All shady thy hills; all gleaming thy springs, +Like eyes in the earth looking at you. +How charming thy haunts, Marlena!— +Oh, the waters that flow through Onimoo; +Oh, the leaves that rustle through Ponoo: +Oh, the roses that blossom in Tarma. +Come, and see the valley of Vina: +How sweet, how sweet, the Isles from Hina: +’Tis aye afternoon of the full, full moon, +And ever the season of fruit, +And ever the hour of flowers, +And never the time of rains and gales, +All in and about Marlena. +Soft sigh the boughs in the stilly air, +Soft lap the beach the billows there; +And in the woods or by the streams, +You needs must nod in the Land of Dreams. + + + + +PIPE SONG + + +Care is all stuff:— + Puff! Puff! +To puff is enough:— + Puff! Puff +More musky than snuff, +And warm is a puff:— + Puff! Puff +Here we sit mid our puffs, +Like old lords in their ruffs, +Snug as bears in their muffs:— + Puff! Puff +Then puff, puff, puff, +For care is all stuff, +Puffed off in a puff— + Puff! Puff! + + + + +SONG OF YOOMY + + +Departed the pride, and the glory of Mardi: +The vaunt of her isles sleeps deep in the sea, + That rolls o’er his corse with a hush, + His warriors bend over their spears, + His sisters gaze upward and mourn. + Weep, weep, for Adondo is dead! + The sun has gone down in a shower; + Buried in clouds the face of the moon; +Tears stand in the eyes of the starry skies, + And stand in the eyes of the flowers; +And streams of tears are the trickling brooks, + Coursing adown the mountains.— + Departed the pride, and the glory of Mardi: + The vaunt of her isles sleeps deep in the sea. +Fast falls the small rain on its bosom that sobs,— + Not showers of rain, but the tears of Oro. + + + + +GOLD + + + We rovers bold, + To the land of Gold, +Over the bowling billows are gliding: + Eager to toil, + For the golden spoil, +And every hardship biding. + See! See! +Before our prows’ resistless dashes +The gold-fish fly in golden flashes! + ’Neath a sun of gold, + We rovers bold, +On the golden land are gaining; + And every night, + We steer aright, +By golden stars unwaning! +All fires burn a golden glare: +No locks so bright as golden hair! + All orange groves have golden gushings; + All mornings dawn with golden flushings! +In a shower of gold, say fables old, +A maiden was won by the god of gold! + In golden goblets wine is beaming: + On golden couches kings are dreaming! + The Golden Rule dries many tears! + The Golden Number rules the spheres! +Gold, gold it is, that sways the nations: +Gold! gold! the center of all rotations! + On golden axles worlds are turning: + With phosphorescence seas are burning! + All fire-flies flame with golden gleamings! + Gold-hunters’ hearts with golden dreamings! + With golden arrows kings are slain: + With gold we’ll buy a freeman’s name! +In toilsome trades, for scanty earnings, +At home we’ve slaved, with stifled yearnings: +No light! no hope! Oh, heavy woe! +When nights fled fast, and days dragged slow. + But joyful now, with eager eye, + Fast to the Promised Land we fly: + Where in deep mines, + The treasure shines; + Or down in beds of golden streams, + The gold-flakes glance in golden gleams! + How we long to sift, + That yellow drift! + Rivers! Rivers! cease your goings! + Sand-bars! rise, and stay the tide! + ’Till we’ve gained the golden flowing; + And in the golden haven ride! + + + + +THE LAND OF LOVE + + +Hail! voyagers, hail! +Whence e’er ye come, where’er ye rove, + No calmer strand, + No sweeter land, +Will e’er ye view, than the Land of Love! + + Hail! voyagers, hail! +To these, our shores, soft gales invite: + The palm plumes wave, + The billows lave, +And hither point fix’d stars of light! + + Hail! voyagers, hail! +Think not our groves wide brood with gloom; + In this, our isle, + Bright flowers smile: +Full urns, rose-heaped, these valleys bloom. + + Hail! voyagers, hail! +Be not deceived; renounce vain things; + Ye may not find + A tranquil mind, +Though hence ye sail with swiftest wings. + + Hail! voyagers, hail! +Time flies full fast; life soon is o’er; + And ye may mourn, + That hither borne, +Ye left behind our pleasant shore. + + + + +POEMS FROM CLAREL + + + + +DIRGE + + +Stay, Death, Not mine the Christus-wand +Wherewith to charge thee and command: +I plead. Most gently hold the hand +Of her thou leadest far away; +Fear thou to let her naked feet +Tread ashes—but let mosses sweet +Her footing tempt, where’er ye stray. +Shun Orcus; win the moonlit land +Belulled—the silent meadows lone, +Where never any leaf is blown +From lily-stem in Azrael’s hand. +There, till her love rejoin her lowly +(Pensive, a shade, but all her own) +On honey feed her, wild and holy; +Or trance her with thy choicest charm. +And if, ere yet the lover’s free, +Some added dusk thy rule decree— +That shadow only let it be +Thrown in the moon-glade by the palm. + + + + +EPILOGUE + + +_If Luther’s day expand to Darwin’s year,_ +_Shall that exclude the hope—foreclose the fear?_ + + +Unmoved by all the claims our times avow, +The ancient Sphinx still keeps the porch of shade; +And comes Despair, whom not her calm may cow, +And coldly on that adamantine brow +Scrawls undeterred his bitter pasquinade. +But Faith (who from the scrawl indignant turns) +With blood warm oozing from her wounded trust, +Inscribes even on her shards of broken urns +The sign o’ the cross—_the spirit above the dust!_ + + Yea, ape and angel, strife and old debate— +The harps of heaven and dreary gongs of hell; +Science the feud can only aggravate— +No umpire she betwixt the chimes and knell: +The running battle of the star and clod +Shall run forever—if there be no God. + + Degrees we know, unknown in days before; +The light is greater, hence the shadow more; +And tantalized and apprehensive Man +Appealing—Wherefore ripen us to pain? +Seems there the spokesman of dumb Nature’s train. + + But through such strange illusions have they passed +Who in life’s pilgrimage have baffled striven— +Even death may prove unreal at the last, +And stoics be astounded into heaven. + + Then keep thy heart, though yet but ill-resigned— +Clarel, thy heart, the issues there but mind; +That like the crocus budding through the snow— +That like a swimmer rising from the deep— +That like a burning secret which doth go +Even from the bosom that would hoard and keep; +Emerge thou mayst from the last whelming sea, +And prove that death but routs life into victory. + + + + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK JOHN MARR AND OTHER POEMS *** + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will +be renamed. + +Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright +law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, +so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the +United States without permission and without paying copyright +royalties. 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If you +are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the +country where you are located before using this eBook. +</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: John Marr and Other Poems</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: Herman Melville</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Release Date: July 7, 2004 [eBook #12841]<br /> +[Most recently updated: June 17, 2022]</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Language: English</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Character set encoding: UTF-8</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Produced by: Geoff Palmer</div> +<div style='margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK JOHN MARR AND OTHER POEMS ***</div> + +<h1>John Marr and Other Poems</h1> + +<h2 class="no-break">By Herman Melville</h2> + +<h3><i>With An Introductory Note By</i><br/> +HENRY CHAPIN</h3> + +<h3>MCMXXII</h3> + +<hr /> + +<h2>CONTENTS</h2> + +<table summary="" style=""> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap01">INTRODUCTORY NOTE</a><br /><br /></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap02"><b>JOHN MARR AND OTHER SAILORS</b></a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap03">JOHN MARR AND OTHER SAILORS</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap04">BRIDEGROOM DICK</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap05">TOM DEADLIGHT</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap06">JACK ROY</a><br /><br /></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap07"><b>SEA PIECES</b></a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap08">THE HAGLETS</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap09">THE AEOLIAN HARP</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap10">TO THE MASTER OF THE <i>METEOR</i></a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap11">FAR OFF-SHORE</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap12">THE MAN-OF-WAR HAWK</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap13">THE FIGURE-HEAD</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap14">THE GOOD CRAFT <i>SNOW BIRD</i></a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap15">OLD COUNSEL</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap16">THE TUFT OF KELP</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap17">THE MALDIVE SHARK</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap18">TO NED</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap19">CROSSING THE TROPICS</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap20">THE BERG</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap21">THE ENVIABLE ISLES</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap22">PEBBLES</a><br /><br /></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap23"><b>POEMS FROM TIMOLEON</b></a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap24">LINES TRACED UNDER AN IMAGE OF AMOR THREATENING</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap25">THE NIGHT MARCH</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap26">THE RAVAGED VILLA</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap27">THE NEW ZEALOT TO THE SUN</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap28">MONODY</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap29">LONE FOUNTS</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap30">THE BENCH OF BOORS</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap31">ART</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap32">THE ENTHUSIAST</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap33">SHELLEY’S VISION</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap34">THE MARCHIONESS OF BRINVILLIERS</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap35">THE AGE OF THE ANTONINES</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap36">HERBA SANTA</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap37">OFF CAPE COLONNA</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap38">THE APPARITION</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap39">L’ENVOI</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap40">SUPPLEMENT</a><br /><br /></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap41"><b>POEMS FROM BATTLE PIECES</b></a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap42">THE PORTENT</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap43">FROM THE CONFLICT OF CONVICTIONS</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap44">THE MARCH INTO VIRGINIA</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap45">BALL’S BLUFF</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap46">THE STONE FLEET</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap47">THE TEMERAIRE</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap48">A UTILITARIAN VIEW OF THE <i>MONITOR’S</i> FIGHT</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap49">MALVERN HILL</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap50">STONEWALL JACKSON</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap51">THE HOUSE-TOP</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap52">CHATTANOOGA</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap53">ON THE PHOTOGRAPH OF A CORPS COMMANDER</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap54">THE SWAMP ANGEL</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap55">SHERIDAN AT CEDAR CREEK</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap56">IN THE PRISON PEN</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap57">THE COLLEGE COLONEL</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap58">THE MARTYR</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap59">REBEL COLOR-BEARERS AT SHILOH</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap60">AURORA BOREALIS</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap61">THE RELEASED REBEL PRISONER</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap62">“FORMERLY A SLAVE”</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap63">ON THE SLAIN COLLEGIANS</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap64">AMERICA</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap65">INSCRIPTION</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap66">THE FORTITUDE OF THE NORTH</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap67">THE MOUND BY THE LAKE</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap68">ON THE SLAIN AT CHICKAMAUGA</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap69">AN UNINSCRIBED MONUMENT</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap70">ON THE GRAVE OF A YOUNG CAVALRY OFFICER KILLED IN THE VALLEY OF VIRGINIA</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap71">A REQUIEM</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap72">COMMEMORATIVE OF A NAVAL VICTORY</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap73">A MEDITATION</a><br /><br /></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap74"><b>POEMS FROM MARDI</b></a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap75">WE FISH</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap76">INVOCATION</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap77">DIRGE</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap78">MARLENA</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap79">PIPE SONG</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap80">SONG OF YOOMY</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap81">GOLD</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap82">THE LAND OF LOVE</a><br /><br /></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap83"><b>POEMS FROM CLAREL</b></a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap84">DIRGE</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap85">EPILOGUE</a></td> +</tr> + +</table> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap01"></a> +INTRODUCTORY NOTE</h2> + +<p> +Melville’s verse printed for the most part privately in small editions +from middle life onward after his great prose work had been written, taken as a +whole, is of an amateurish and uneven quality. In it, however, that loveable +freshness of personality, which his philosophical dejection never quenched, is +everywhere in evidence. It is clear that he did not set himself to master the +poet’s art, yet through the mask of conventional verse which often falls +into doggerel, the voice of a true poet is heard. In selecting the pieces for +this volume I have put in the vigorous sea verses of <i>John Marr</i> in their +entirety and added those others from his <i>Battle Pieces</i>, <i>Timoleon,</i> +etc., that best indicate the quality of their author’s personality. The +prose supplement to battle pieces has been included because it does so much to +explain the feeling of his war verse and further because it is such a +remarkably wise and clear commentary upon those confused and troublous days of +post-war reconstruction. H. C. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap02"></a> +JOHN MARR AND OTHER SAILORS</h2> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap03"></a> +JOHN MARR AND OTHER SAILORS</h2> + +<p class="poem"> +Since as in night’s deck-watch ye show,<br/> +Why, lads, so silent here to me,<br/> +Your watchmate of times long ago?<br/> +Once, for all the darkling sea,<br/> +You your voices raised how clearly,<br/> +Striking in when tempest sung;<br/> +Hoisting up the storm-sail cheerly,<br/> +<i>Life is storm—let storm!</i> you rung.<br/> +Taking things as fated merely,<br/> +Childlike though the world ye spanned;<br/> +Nor holding unto life too dearly,<br/> +Ye who held your lives in hand—<br/> +Skimmers, who on oceans four<br/> +Petrels were, and larks ashore.<br/> +<br/> +O, not from memory lightly flung,<br/> +Forgot, like strains no more availing,<br/> +The heart to music haughtier strung;<br/> +Nay, frequent near me, never staleing,<br/> +Whose good feeling kept ye young.<br/> +Like tides that enter creek or stream,<br/> +Ye come, ye visit me, or seem<br/> +Swimming out from seas of faces,<br/> +Alien myriads memory traces,<br/> +To enfold me in a dream!<br/> +<br/> +I yearn as ye. But rafts that strain,<br/> +Parted, shall they lock again?<br/> +Twined we were, entwined, then riven,<br/> +Ever to new embracements driven,<br/> +Shifting gulf-weed of the main!<br/> +And how if one here shift no more,<br/> +Lodged by the flinging surge ashore?<br/> +Nor less, as now, in eve’s decline,<br/> +Your shadowy fellowship is mine.<br/> +Ye float around me, form and feature:—<br/> +Tattooings, ear-rings, love-locks curled;<br/> +Barbarians of man’s simpler nature,<br/> +Unworldly servers of the world.<br/> +Yea, present all, and dear to me,<br/> +Though shades, or scouring China’s sea.<br/> +<br/> +Whither, whither, merchant-sailors,<br/> +Whitherward now in roaring gales?<br/> +Competing still, ye huntsman-whalers,<br/> +In leviathan’s wake what boat prevails?<br/> +And man-of-war’s men, whereaway?<br/> +If now no dinned drum beat to quarters<br/> +On the wilds of midnight waters—<br/> +Foemen looming through the spray;<br/> +Do yet your gangway lanterns, streaming,<br/> +Vainly strive to pierce below,<br/> +When, tilted from the slant plank gleaming,<br/> +A brother you see to darkness go?<br/> +<br/> +But, gunmates lashed in shotted canvas,<br/> +If where long watch-below ye keep,<br/> +Never the shrill <i>“All hands up hammocks!”</i><br/> +Breaks the spell that charms your sleep,<br/> +And summoning trumps might vainly call,<br/> +And booming guns implore—<br/> +A beat, a heart-beat musters all,<br/> +One heart-beat at heart-core.<br/> +It musters. But to clasp, retain;<br/> +To see you at the halyards main—<br/> +To hear your chorus once again! +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap04"></a> +BRIDEGROOM DICK</h2> + +<p class="center"> +1876 +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Sunning ourselves in October on a day<br/> +Balmy as spring, though the year was in decay,<br/> +I lading my pipe, she stirring her tea,<br/> +My old woman she says to me,<br/> +“Feel ye, old man, how the season mellows?”<br/> +And why should I not, blessed heart alive,<br/> +Here mellowing myself, past sixty-five,<br/> +To think o’ the May-time o’ pennoned young fellows<br/> +This stripped old hulk here for years may survive.<br/> +<br/> +Ere yet, long ago, we were spliced, Bonny Blue,<br/> +(Silvery it gleams down the moon-glade o’ time,<br/> +Ah, sugar in the bowl and berries in the prime!)<br/> +Coxswain I o’ the Commodore’s crew,—<br/> +Under me the fellows that manned his fine gig,<br/> +Spinning him ashore, a king in full fig.<br/> +Chirrupy even when crosses rubbed me,<br/> +Bridegroom Dick lieutenants dubbed me.<br/> +Pleasant at a yarn, Bob o’ Linkum in a song,<br/> +Diligent in duty and nattily arrayed,<br/> +Favored I was, wife, and <i>fleeted</i> right along;<br/> +And though but a tot for such a tall grade,<br/> +A high quartermaster at last I was made.<br/> +<br/> +All this, old lassie, you have heard before,<br/> +But you listen again for the sake e’en o’ me;<br/> +No babble stales o’ the good times o’ yore<br/> +To Joan, if Darby the babbler be.<br/> +<br/> +Babbler?—O’ what? Addled brains, they forget!<br/> +O—quartermaster I; yes, the signals set,<br/> +Hoisted the ensign, mended it when frayed,<br/> +Polished up the binnacle, minded the helm,<br/> +And prompt every order blithely obeyed.<br/> +To me would the officers say a word cheery—<br/> +Break through the starch o’ the quarter-deck realm;<br/> +His coxswain late, so the Commodore’s pet.<br/> +Ay, and in night-watches long and weary,<br/> +Bored nigh to death with the navy etiquette,<br/> +Yearning, too, for fun, some younker, a cadet,<br/> +Dropping for time each vain bumptious trick,<br/> +Boy-like would unbend to Bridegroom Dick.<br/> +But a limit there was—a check, d’ ye see:<br/> +Those fine young aristocrats knew their degree.<br/> +<br/> +Well, stationed aft where their lordships keep,—<br/> +Seldom <i>going</i> forward excepting to sleep,—<br/> +I, boozing now on by-gone years,<br/> +My betters recall along with my peers.<br/> +Recall them? Wife, but I see them plain:<br/> +Alive, alert, every man stirs again.<br/> +Ay, and again on the lee-side pacing,<br/> +My spy-glass carrying, a truncheon in show,<br/> +Turning at the taffrail, my footsteps retracing,<br/> +Proud in my duty, again methinks I go.<br/> +And Dave, Dainty Dave, I mark where he stands,<br/> +Our trim sailing-master, to time the high-noon,<br/> +That thingumbob sextant perplexing eyes and hands,<br/> +Squinting at the sun, or twigging o’ the moon;<br/> +Then, touching his cap to Old Chock-a-Block<br/> +Commanding the quarter-deck,—“Sir, twelve o’clock.”<br/> +<br/> +Where sails he now, that trim sailing-master,<br/> +Slender, yes, as the ship’s sky-s’l pole?<br/> +Dimly I mind me of some sad disaster—<br/> +Dainty Dave was dropped from the navy-roll!<br/> +And ah, for old Lieutenant Chock-a-Block—<br/> +Fast, wife, chock-fast to death’s black dock!<br/> +Buffeted about the obstreperous ocean,<br/> +Fleeted his life, if lagged his promotion.<br/> +Little girl, they are all, all gone, I think,<br/> +Leaving Bridegroom Dick here with lids that wink.<br/> +<br/> +Where is Ap Catesby? The fights fought of yore<br/> +Famed him, and laced him with epaulets, and more.<br/> +But fame is a wake that after-wakes cross,<br/> +And the waters wallow all, and laugh<br/> + <i>Where’s the loss?</i><br/> +But John Bull’s bullet in his shoulder bearing<br/> +Ballasted Ap in his long sea-faring.<br/> +The middies they ducked to the man who had messed<br/> +With Decatur in the gun-room, or forward pressed<br/> +Fighting beside Perry, Hull, Porter, and the rest.<br/> +<br/> +Humped veteran o’ the Heart-o’-Oak war,<br/> +Moored long in haven where the old heroes are,<br/> +Never on <i>you</i> did the iron-clads jar!<br/> +Your open deck when the boarder assailed,<br/> +The frank old heroic hand-to-hand then availed.<br/> +<br/> +But where’s Guert Gan? Still heads he the van?<br/> +As before Vera-Cruz, when he dashed splashing through<br/> +The blue rollers sunned, in his brave gold-and-blue,<br/> +And, ere his cutter in keel took the strand,<br/> +Aloft waved his sword on the hostile land!<br/> +Went up the cheering, the quick chanticleering;<br/> +All hands vying—all colors flying:<br/> +“Cock-a-doodle-doo!” and “Row, boys, row!”<br/> +“Hey, Starry Banner!” “Hi, Santa Anna!”<br/> +Old Scott’s young dash at Mexico.<br/> +<br/> +Fine forces o’ the land, fine forces o’ the sea,<br/> +Fleet, army, and flotilla—tell, heart o’ me,<br/> +Tell, if you can, whereaway now they be!<br/> +<br/> +But ah, how to speak of the hurricane unchained—<br/> +The Union’s strands parted in the hawser over-strained;<br/> +Our flag blown to shreds, anchors gone altogether—<br/> +The dashed fleet o’ States in Secession’s foul weather.<br/> +<br/> +Lost in the smother o’ that wide public stress,<br/> +In hearts, private hearts, what ties there were snapped!<br/> +Tell, Hal—vouch, Will, o’ the ward-room mess,<br/> +On you how the riving thunder-bolt clapped.<br/> +With a bead in your eye and beads in your glass,<br/> +And a grip o’ the flipper, it was part and pass:<br/> +“Hal, must it be: Well, if come indeed the shock,<br/> +To North or to South, let the victory cleave,<br/> +Vaunt it he may on his dung-hill the cock,<br/> +But <i>Uncle Sam’s</i> eagle never crow will, believe.”<br/> +<br/> +Sentiment: ay, while suspended hung all,<br/> +Ere the guns against Sumter opened there the ball,<br/> +And partners were taken, and the red dance began,<br/> +War’s red dance o’ death!—Well, we, to a man,<br/> +We sailors o’ the North, wife, how could we lag?—<br/> +Strike with your kin, and you stick to the flag!<br/> +But to sailors o’ the South that easy way was barred.<br/> +To some, dame, believe (and I speak o’ what I know),<br/> +Wormwood the trial and the Uzzite’s black shard;<br/> +And the faithfuller the heart, the crueller the throe.<br/> +Duty? It pulled with more than one string,<br/> +This way and that, and anyhow a sting.<br/> +The flag and your kin, how be true unto both?<br/> +If either plight ye keep, then ye break the other troth.<br/> +But elect here they must, though the casuists were out;<br/> +Decide—hurry up—and throttle every doubt.<br/> +<br/> +Of all these thrills thrilled at keelson, and throes,<br/> +Little felt the shoddyites a-toasting o’ their toes;<br/> +In mart and bazar Lucre chuckled the huzza,<br/> +Coining the dollars in the bloody mint of war.<br/> +<br/> +But in men, gray knights o’ the Order o’ Scars,<br/> +And brave boys bound by vows unto Mars,<br/> +Nature grappled honor, intertwisting in the strife:—<br/> +But some cut the knot with a thoroughgoing knife.<br/> +For how when the drums beat? How in the fray<br/> +In Hampton Roads on the fine balmy day?<br/> +<br/> +There a lull, wife, befell—drop o’ silent in the din.<br/> +Let us enter that silence ere the belchings re-begin.<br/> +Through a ragged rift aslant in the cannonade’s smoke<br/> +An iron-clad reveals her repellent broadside<br/> +Bodily intact. But a frigate, all oak,<br/> +Shows honeycombed by shot, and her deck crimson-dyed.<br/> +And a trumpet from port of the iron-clad hails,<br/> +Summoning the other, whose flag never trails:<br/> +“Surrender that frigate, Will! Surrender,<br/> +Or I will sink her—<i>ram</i>, and end her!”<br/> +<br/> +’T was Hal. And Will, from the naked heart-o’-oak,<br/> +Will, the old messmate, minus trumpet, spoke,<br/> +Informally intrepid,—“Sink her, and be damned!”* [* Historic.]<br/> +Enough. Gathering way, the iron-clad <i>rammed</i>.<br/> +The frigate, heeling over, on the wave threw a dusk.<br/> +Not sharing in the slant, the clapper of her bell<br/> +The fixed metal struck—uinvoked struck the knell<br/> +Of the <i>Cumberland</i> stillettoed by the <i>Merrimac’s</i> tusk;<br/> +While, broken in the wound underneath the gun-deck,<br/> +Like a sword-fish’s blade in leviathan waylaid,<br/> +The tusk was left infixed in the fast-foundering wreck.<br/> +There, dungeoned in the cockpit, the wounded go down,<br/> +And the chaplain with them. But the surges uplift<br/> +The prone dead from deck, and for moment they drift<br/> +Washed with the swimmers, and the spent swimmers drown.<br/> +Nine fathom did she sink,—erect, though hid from light<br/> +Save her colors unsurrendered and spars that kept the height.<br/> +<br/> +Nay, pardon, old aunty! Wife, never let it fall,<br/> +That big started tear that hovers on the brim;<br/> +I forgot about your nephew and the <i>Merrimac’s</i> ball;<br/> +No more then of her, since it summons up him.<br/> +But talk o’ fellows’ hearts in the wine’s genial cup:—<br/> +Trap them in the fate, jam them in the strait,<br/> +Guns speak their hearts then, and speak right up.<br/> +The troublous colic o’ intestine war<br/> +It sets the bowels o’ affection ajar.<br/> +But, lord, old dame, so spins the whizzing world,<br/> +A humming-top, ay, for the little boy-gods<br/> +Flogging it well with their smart little rods,<br/> +Tittering at time and the coil uncurled.<br/> +<br/> +Now, now, sweetheart, you sidle away,<br/> +No, never you like <i>that</i> kind o’ <i>gay;</i><br/> +But sour if I get, giving truth her due,<br/> +Honey-sweet forever, wife, will Dick be to you!<br/> +<br/> +But avast with the War! ‘Why recall racking days<br/> +Since set up anew are the slip’s started stays?<br/> +Nor less, though the gale we have left behind,<br/> +Well may the heave o’ the sea remind.<br/> +It irks me now, as it troubled me then,<br/> +To think o’ the fate in the madness o’ men.<br/> +If Dick was with Farragut on the night-river,<br/> +When the boom-chain we burst in the fire-raft’s glare,<br/> +That blood-dyed the visage as red as the liver;<br/> +In the <i>Battle for the Bay</i> too if Dick had a share,<br/> +And saw one aloft a-piloting the war—<br/> +Trumpet in the whirlwind, a Providence in place—<br/> +Our Admiral old whom the captains huzza,<br/> +Dick joys in the man nor brags about the race.<br/> +<br/> +But better, wife, I like to booze on the days<br/> +Ere the Old Order foundered in these very frays,<br/> +And tradition was lost and we learned strange ways.<br/> +Often I think on the brave cruises then;<br/> +Re-sailing them in memory, I hail the press o’ men<br/> +On the gunned promenade where rolling they go,<br/> +Ere the dog-watch expire and break up the show.<br/> +The Laced Caps I see between forward guns;<br/> +Away from the powder-room they puff the cigar;<br/> +“Three days more, hey, the donnas and the dons!”<br/> +“Your Zeres widow, will you hunt her up, Starr?”<br/> +The Laced Caps laugh, and the bright waves too;<br/> +Very jolly, very wicked, both sea and crew,<br/> +Nor heaven looks sour on either, I guess,<br/> +Nor Pecksniff he bosses the gods’ high mess.<br/> +Wistful ye peer, wife, concerned for my head,<br/> +And how best to get me betimes to my bed.<br/> +<br/> +But king o’ the club, the gayest golden spark,<br/> +Sailor o’ sailors, what sailor do I mark?<br/> +Tom Tight, Tom Tight, no fine fellow finer,<br/> +A cutwater nose, ay, a spirited soul;<br/> +But, bowsing away at the well-brewed bowl,<br/> +He never bowled back from that last voyage to China.<br/> +<br/> +Tom was lieutenant in the brig-o’-war famed<br/> +When an officer was hung for an arch-mutineer,<br/> +But a mystery cleaved, and the captain was blamed,<br/> +And a rumpus too raised, though his honor it was clear.<br/> +And Tom he would say, when the mousers would try him,<br/> +And with cup after cup o’ Burgundy ply him:<br/> +“Gentlemen, in vain with your wassail you beset,<br/> +For the more I tipple, the tighter do I get.”<br/> +No blabber, no, not even with the can—<br/> +True to himself and loyal to his clan.<br/> +<br/> +Tom blessed us starboard and d—d us larboard,<br/> +Right down from rail to the streak o’ the garboard.<br/> +Nor less, wife, we liked him.—Tom was a man<br/> +In contrast queer with Chaplain Le Fan,<br/> +Who blessed us at morn, and at night yet again,<br/> +D—ning us only in decorous strain;<br/> +Preaching ’tween the guns—each cutlass in its place—<br/> +From text that averred old Adam a hard case.<br/> +I see him—Tom—on <i>horse-block</i> standing,<br/> +Trumpet at mouth, thrown up all amain,<br/> +An elephant’s bugle, vociferous demanding<br/> +Of topmen aloft in the hurricane of rain,<br/> +“Letting that sail there your faces flog?<br/> +Manhandle it, men, and you’ll get the good grog!”<br/> +O Tom, but he knew a blue-jacket’s ways,<br/> +And how a lieutenant may genially haze;<br/> +Only a sailor sailors heartily praise.<br/> +<br/> +Wife, where be all these chaps, I wonder?<br/> +Trumpets in the tempest, terrors in the fray,<br/> +Boomed their commands along the deck like thunder;<br/> +But silent is the sod, and thunder dies away.<br/> +But Captain Turret, <i>“Old Hemlock”</i> tall,<br/> +(A leaning tower when his tank brimmed all,)<br/> +Manoeuvre out alive from the war did he?<br/> +Or, too old for that, drift under the lee?<br/> +Kentuckian colossal, who, touching at Madeira,<br/> +The huge puncheon shipped o’ prime <i>Santa-Clara;</i><br/> +Then rocked along the deck so solemnly!<br/> +No whit the less though judicious was enough<br/> +In dealing with the Finn who made the great huff;<br/> +Our three-decker’s giant, a grand boatswain’s mate,<br/> +Manliest of men in his own natural senses;<br/> +But driven stark mad by the devil’s drugged stuff,<br/> +Storming all aboard from his run-ashore late,<br/> +Challenging to battle, vouchsafing no pretenses,<br/> +A reeling King Ogg, delirious in power,<br/> +The quarter-deck carronades he seemed to make cower.<br/> +“Put him in <i>brig</i> there!” said Lieutenant Marrot.<br/> +“Put him in <i>brig!</i>” back he mocked like a parrot;<br/> +“Try it, then!” swaying a fist like Thor’s sledge,<br/> +And making the pigmy constables hedge—<br/> +Ship’s corporals and the master-at-arms.<br/> +“In <i>brig</i> there, I say!”—They dally no more;<br/> +Like hounds let slip on a desperate boar,<br/> +Together they pounce on the formidable Finn,<br/> +Pinion and cripple and hustle him in.<br/> +Anon, under sentry, between twin guns,<br/> +He slides off in drowse, and the long night runs.<br/> +<br/> +Morning brings a summons. Whistling it calls,<br/> +Shrilled through the pipes of the boatswain’s four aids;<br/> +Trilled down the hatchways along the dusk halls:<br/> +<i>Muster to the Scourge!</i>—Dawn of doom and its blast!<br/> +As from cemeteries raised, sailors swarm before the mast,<br/> +Tumbling up the ladders from the ship’s nether shades.<br/> +<br/> +Keeping in the background and taking small part,<br/> +Lounging at their ease, indifferent in face,<br/> +Behold the trim marines uncompromised in heart;<br/> +Their Major, buttoned up, near the staff finds room—<br/> +The staff o’ lieutenants standing grouped in their place.<br/> +All the Laced Caps o’ the ward-room come,<br/> +The Chaplain among them, disciplined and dumb.<br/> +The blue-nosed boatswain, complexioned like slag,<br/> +Like a blue Monday lours—his implements in bag.<br/> +Executioners, his aids, a couple by him stand,<br/> +At a nod there the thongs to receive from his hand.<br/> +Never venturing a caveat whatever may betide,<br/> +Though functionally here on humanity’s side,<br/> +The grave Surgeon shows, like the formal physician<br/> +Attending the rack o’ the Spanish Inquisition.<br/> +<br/> +The angel o’ the “brig” brings his prisoner up;<br/> +Then, steadied by his old <i>Santa-Clara</i>, a sup,<br/> +Heading all erect, the ranged assizes there,<br/> +Lo, Captain Turret, and under starred bunting,<br/> +(A florid full face and fine silvered hair,)<br/> +Gigantic the yet greater giant confronting.<br/> +<br/> +Now the culprit he liked, as a tall captain can<br/> +A Titan subordinate and true <i>sailor-man;</i><br/> +And frequent he’d shown it—no worded advance,<br/> +But flattering the Finn with a well-timed glance.<br/> +But what of that now? In the martinet-mien<br/> +Read the <i>Articles of War</i>, heed the naval routine;<br/> +While, cut to the heart a dishonor there to win,<br/> +Restored to his senses, stood the Anak Finn;<br/> +In racked self-control the squeezed tears peeping,<br/> +Scalding the eye with repressed inkeeping.<br/> +Discipline must be; the scourge is deemed due.<br/> +But ah for the sickening and strange heart- benumbing,<br/> +Compassionate abasement in shipmates that view;<br/> +Such a grand champion shamed there succumbing!<br/> +“Brown, tie him up.”—The cord he brooked:<br/> +How else?—his arms spread apart—never threaping;<br/> +No, never he flinched, never sideways he looked,<br/> +Peeled to the waistband, the marble flesh creeping,<br/> +Lashed by the sleet the officious winds urge.<br/> +<br/> +In function his fellows their fellowship merge—<br/> +The twain standing nigh—the two boatswain’s mates,<br/> +Sailors of his grade, ay, and brothers of his mess.<br/> +With sharp thongs adroop the junior one awaits<br/> +The word to uplift.<br/> + “Untie him—so!<br/> +Submission is enough, Man, you may go.”<br/> +Then, promenading aft, brushing fat Purser Smart,<br/> +“Flog? Never meant it—hadn’t any heart.<br/> +Degrade that tall fellow? “—Such, wife, was he,<br/> +Old Captain Turret, who the brave wine could stow.<br/> +Magnanimous, you think?—But what does Dick see?<br/> +Apron to your eye! Why, never fell a blow;<br/> +Cheer up, old wifie, ’t was a long time ago.<br/> +<br/> +But where’s that sore one, crabbed and-severe,<br/> +Lieutenant Lon Lumbago, an arch scrutineer?<br/> +Call the roll to-day, would he answer—<i>Here!</i><br/> +When the <i>Blixum’s</i> fellows to quarters mustered<br/> +How he’d lurch along the lane of gun-crews clustered,<br/> +Testy as touchwood, to pry and to peer.<br/> +Jerking his sword underneath larboard arm,<br/> +He ground his worn grinders to keep himself calm.<br/> +Composed in his nerves, from the fidgets set free,<br/> +Tell, Sweet Wrinkles, alive now is he,<br/> +In Paradise a parlor where the even tempers be?<br/> +<br/> +Where’s Commander All-a-Tanto?<br/> +Where’s Orlop Bob singing up from below?<br/> +Where’s Rhyming Ned? has he spun his last canto?<br/> +Where’s Jewsharp Jim? Where’s Ringadoon Joe?<br/> +Ah, for the music over and done,<br/> +The band all dismissed save the droned trombone!<br/> +Where’s Glenn o’ the gun-room, who loved Hot-Scotch—<br/> +Glen, prompt and cool in a perilous watch?<br/> +Where’s flaxen-haired Phil? a gray lieutenant?<br/> +Or rubicund, flying a dignified pennant?<br/> +<br/> +But where sleeps his brother?—the cruise it was o’er,<br/> +But ah, for death’s grip that welcomed him ashore!<br/> +Where’s Sid, the cadet, so frank in his brag,<br/> +Whose toast was audacious—“<i>Here’s Sid, and Sid’s flag!</i>”<br/> +Like holiday-craft that have sunk unknown,<br/> +May a lark of a lad go lonely down?<br/> +Who takes the census under the sea?<br/> +Can others like old ensigns be,<br/> +Bunting I hoisted to flutter at the gaff—<br/> +Rags in end that once were flags<br/> +Gallant streaming from the staff?<br/> +<br/> +Such scurvy doom could the chances deal<br/> +To Top-Gallant Harry and Jack Genteel?<br/> +Lo, Genteel Jack in hurricane weather,<br/> +Shagged like a bear, like a red lion roaring;<br/> +But O, so fine in his chapeau and feather,<br/> +In port to the ladies never once <i>jawing;</i><br/> +All bland <i>politesse,</i> how urbane was he—<br/> +<i>“Oui, mademoiselle”—“Ma chère amie!”</i><br/> +<br/> +’T was Jack got up the ball at Naples,<br/> +Gay in the old <i>Ohio</i> glorious;<br/> +His hair was curled by the berth-deck barber,<br/> +Never you’d deemed him a cub of rude Boreas;<br/> +In tight little pumps, with the grand dames in rout,<br/> +A-flinging his shapely foot all about;<br/> +His watch-chain with love’s jeweled tokens abounding,<br/> +Curls ambrosial shaking out odors,<br/> +Waltzing along the batteries, astounding<br/> +The gunner glum and the grim-visaged loaders.<br/> +<br/> +Wife, where be all these blades, I wonder,<br/> +Pennoned fine fellows, so strong, so gay?<br/> +Never their colors with a dip dived under;<br/> +Have they hauled them down in a lack-lustre day,<br/> +Or beached their boats in the Far, Far Away?<br/> +Hither and thither, blown wide asunder,<br/> +Where’s this fleet, I wonder and wonder.<br/> +Slipt their cables, rattled their adieu,<br/> +(Whereaway pointing? to what rendezvous?)<br/> +Out of sight, out of mind, like the crack <i>Constitution,</i><br/> +And many a keel time never shall renew—<br/> +<i>Bon Homme Dick</i> o’ the buff Revolution,<br/> +The <i>Black Cockade</i> and the staunch <i>True-Blue.</i><br/> +<br/> +Doff hats to Decatur! But where is his blazon?<br/> +Must merited fame endure time’s wrong—<br/> +Glory’s ripe grape wizen up to a raisin?<br/> +Yes! for Nature teems, and the years are strong,<br/> +And who can keep the tally o’ the names that fleet along!<br/> +<br/> +But his frigate, wife, his bride? Would blacksmiths brown<br/> +Into smithereens smite the solid old renown?<br/> +Rivetting the bolts in the iron-clad’s shell,<br/> +Hark to the hammers with <i>a rat-tat-tat;</i><br/> +“Handier a <i>derby</i> than a laced cocked hat!<br/> +The <i>Monitor</i> was ugly, but she served us right well,<br/> +Better than the <i>Cumberland,</i> a beauty and the belle.”<br/> +<br/> +<i>Better than the Cumberland!</i>—Heart alive in me!<br/> +That battlemented hull, Tantallon o’ the sea,<br/> +Kicked in, as at Boston the taxed chests o’ tea!<br/> +Ay, spurned by the <i>ram,</i> once a tall, shapely craft,<br/> +But lopped by the Rebs to an iron-beaked raft—<br/> +A blacksmith’s unicorn in armor <i>cap-a-pie</i>.<br/> +<br/> +Under the water-line a <i>ram’s</i> blow is dealt:<br/> +And foul fall the knuckles that strike below the belt.<br/> +Nor brave the inventions that serve to replace<br/> +The openness of valor while dismantling the grace.<br/> +<br/> +Aloof from all this and the never-ending game,<br/> +Tantamount to teetering, plot and counterplot;<br/> +Impenetrable armor—all-perforating shot;<br/> +Aloof, bless God, ride the war-ships of old,<br/> +A grand fleet moored in the roadstead of fame;<br/> +Not submarine sneaks with <i>them</i> are enrolled;<br/> +Their long shadows dwarf us, their flags are as flame.<br/> +<br/> +Don’t fidget so, wife; an old man’s passion<br/> +Amounts to no more than this smoke that I puff;<br/> +There, there, now, buss me in good old fashion;<br/> +A died-down candle will flicker in the snuff.<br/> +<br/> +But one last thing let your old babbler say,<br/> +What Decatur’s coxswain said who was long ago hearsed,<br/> +“Take in your flying-kites, for there comes a lubber’s day<br/> +When gallant things will go, and the three-deckers first.”<br/> +<br/> +My pipe is smoked out, and the grog runs slack;<br/> +But bowse away, wife, at your blessed Bohea;<br/> +This empty can here must needs solace me—<br/> +Nay, sweetheart, nay; I take that back;<br/> +Dick drinks from your eyes and he finds no lack! +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap05"></a> +TOM DEADLIGHT</h2> + +<p> +During a tempest encountered homeward-bound from the Mediterranean, a grizzled +petty-officer, one of the two captains of the forecastle, dying at night in his +hammock, swung in the sick-bay under the tiered gun-decks of the British +<i>Dreadnaught, 98,</i> wandering in his mind, though with glimpses of sanity, +and starting up at whiles, sings by snatches his good-bye and last injunctions +to two messmates, his watchers, one of whom fans the fevered tar with the flap +of his old sou’wester. Some names and phrases, with here and there a +line, or part of one; these, in his aberration, wrested into incoherency from +their original connection and import, he voluntarily derives, as he does the +measure, from a famous old sea-ditty, whose cadences, long rife, and now +humming in the collapsing brain, attune the last flutterings of distempered +thought. +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Farewell and adieu to you noble hearties,—<br/> + Farewell and adieu to you ladies of Spain,<br/> +For I’ve received orders for to sail for the Deadman,<br/> + But hope with the grand fleet to see you again.<br/> +<br/> +I have hove my ship to, with main-top-sail aback, boys;<br/> + I have hove my ship to, for the strike soundings clear—<br/> +The black scud a’flying; but, by God’s blessing, dam’ me,<br/> + Right up the Channel for the Deadman I’ll steer.<br/> +<br/> +I have worried through the waters that are called the Doldrums,<br/> + And growled at Sargasso that clogs while ye grope—<br/> +Blast my eyes, but the light-ship is hid by the mist, lads:—<br/> + <i>Flying Dutchman</i>—odds bobbs—off the Cape of Good Hope!<br/> +<br/> +But what’s this I feel that is fanning my cheek, Matt?<br/> + The white goney’s wing?—how she rolls!— ’t is the Cape!—<br/> +Give my kit to the mess, Jock, for kin none is mine, none;<br/> + And tell <i>Holy Joe</i> to avast with the crape.<br/> +<br/> +Dead reckoning, says <i>Joe</i>, it won’t do to go by;<br/> + But they doused all the glims, Matt, in sky t’ other night.<br/> +Dead reckoning is good for to sail for the Deadman;<br/> + And Tom Deadlight he thinks it may reckon near right.<br/> +<br/> +The signal!—it streams for the grand fleet to anchor.<br/> + The captains—the trumpets—the hullabaloo!<br/> +Stand by for blue-blazes, and mind your shank-painters,<br/> + For the Lord High Admiral, he’s squinting at you!<br/> +<br/> +But give me my <i>tot</i>, Matt, before I roll over;<br/> + Jock, let’s have your flipper, it’s good for to feel;<br/> +And don’t sew me up without <i>baccy</i> in mouth, boys,<br/> + And don’t blubber like lubbers when I turn up my keel. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap06"></a> +JACK ROY</h2> + +<p class="poem"> +Kept up by relays of generations young<br/> +Never dies at halyards the blithe chorus sung;<br/> +While in sands, sounds, and seas where the storm-petrels cry,<br/> +Dropped mute around the globe, these halyard singers lie.<br/> +Short-lived the clippers for racing-cups that run,<br/> +And speeds in life’s career many a lavish mother’s-son.<br/> +<br/> +But thou, manly king o’ the old <i>Splendid’s</i> crew,<br/> +The ribbons o’ thy hat still a-fluttering, should fly—<br/> +A challenge, and forever, nor the bravery should rue.<br/> +Only in a tussle for the starry flag high,<br/> +When ’tis piety to do, and privilege to die.<br/> +Then, only then, would heaven think to lop<br/> +Such a cedar as the captain o’ the <i>Splendid’s</i> main-top:<br/> +A belted sea-gentleman; a gallant, off-hand<br/> +Mercutio indifferent in life’s gay command.<br/> +Magnanimous in humor; when the splintering shot fell,<br/> +“Tooth-picks a-plenty, lads; thank ’em with a shell!”<br/> +<br/> +Sang Larry o’ the <i>Cannakin,</i> smuggler o’ the wine,<br/> +At mess between guns, lad in jovial recline:<br/> +“In Limbo our Jack he would chirrup up a cheer,<br/> +The martinet there find a chaffing mutineer;<br/> +From a thousand fathoms down under hatches o’ your Hades,<br/> +He’d ascend in love-ditty, kissing fingers to your ladies!”<br/> +<br/> +Never relishing the knave, though allowing for the menial,<br/> +Nor overmuch the king, Jack, nor prodigally genial.<br/> +Ashore on liberty he flashed in escapade,<br/> +Vaulting over life in its levelness of grade,<br/> +Like the dolphin off Africa in rainbow a-sweeping—<br/> +Arch iridescent shot from seas languid sleeping.<br/> +<br/> +Larking with thy life, if a joy but a toy,<br/> +Heroic in thy levity wert thou, Jack Roy. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap07"></a> +SEA PIECES</h2> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap08"></a> +THE HAGLETS</h2> + +<p class="poem"> +By chapel bare, with walls sea-beat<br/> +The lichened urns in wilds are lost<br/> +About a carved memorial stone<br/> +That shows, decayed and coral-mossed,<br/> +A form recumbent, swords at feet,<br/> +Trophies at head, and kelp for a winding-sheet.<br/> +<br/> +I invoke thy ghost, neglected fane,<br/> +Washed by the waters’ long lament;<br/> +I adjure the recumbent effigy<br/> +To tell the cenotaph’s intent—<br/> +Reveal why fagotted swords are at feet,<br/> +Why trophies appear and weeds are the winding-sheet.<br/> +<br/> +By open ports the Admiral sits,<br/> +And shares repose with guns that tell<br/> +Of power that smote the arm’d Plate Fleet<br/> +Whose sinking flag-ship’s colors fell;<br/> +But over the Admiral floats in light<br/> +His squadron’s flag, the red-cross Flag of the White.<br/> +<br/> +The eddying waters whirl astern,<br/> +The prow, a seedsman, sows the spray;<br/> +With bellying sails and buckling spars<br/> +The black hull leaves a Milky Way;<br/> +Her timbers thrill, her batteries roll,<br/> +She revelling speeds exulting with pennon at pole,<br/> +<br/> +But ah, for standards captive trailed<br/> +For all their scutcheoned castles’ pride—<br/> +Castilian towers that dominate Spain,<br/> +Naples, and either Ind beside;<br/> +Those haughty towers, armorial ones,<br/> +Rue the salute from the Admiral’s dens of guns.<br/> +<br/> +Ensigns and arms in trophy brave,<br/> +Braver for many a rent and scar,<br/> +The captor’s naval hall bedeck,<br/> +Spoil that insures an earldom’s star—<br/> +Toledoes great, grand draperies, too,<br/> +Spain’s steel and silk, and splendors from Peru.<br/> +<br/> +But crippled part in splintering fight,<br/> +The vanquished flying the victor’s flags,<br/> +With prize-crews, under convoy-guns,<br/> +Heavy the fleet from Opher drags—<br/> +The Admiral crowding sail ahead,<br/> +Foremost with news who foremost in conflict sped.<br/> +<br/> +But out from cloistral gallery dim,<br/> +In early night his glance is thrown;<br/> +He marks the vague reserve of heaven,<br/> +He feels the touch of ocean lone;<br/> +Then turns, in frame part undermined,<br/> +Nor notes the shadowing wings that fan behind.<br/> +<br/> +There, peaked and gray, three haglets fly,<br/> +And follow, follow fast in wake<br/> +Where slides the cabin-lustre shy,<br/> +And sharks from man a glamour take,<br/> +Seething along the line of light<br/> +In lane that endless rules the war-ship’s flight.<br/> +<br/> +The sea-fowl here, whose hearts none know,<br/> +They followed late the flag-ship quelled,<br/> +(As now the victor one) and long<br/> +Above her gurgling grave, shrill held<br/> +With screams their wheeling rites—then sped<br/> +Direct in silence where the victor led.<br/> +<br/> +Now winds less fleet, but fairer, blow,<br/> +A ripple laps the coppered side,<br/> +While phosphor sparks make ocean gleam,<br/> +Like camps lit up in triumph wide;<br/> +With lights and tinkling cymbals meet<br/> +Acclaiming seas the advancing conqueror greet.<br/> +<br/> +But who a flattering tide may trust,<br/> +Or favoring breeze, or aught in end?—<br/> +Careening under startling blasts<br/> +The sheeted towers of sails impend;<br/> +While, gathering bale, behind is bred<br/> +A livid storm-bow, like a rainbow dead.<br/> +<br/> +At trumpet-call the topmen spring;<br/> +And, urged by after-call in stress,<br/> +Yet other tribes of tars ascend<br/> +The rigging’s howling wilderness;<br/> +But ere yard-ends alert they win,<br/> +Hell rules in heaven with hurricane-fire and din.<br/> +<br/> +The spars, athwart at spiry height,<br/> +Like quaking Lima’s crosses rock;<br/> +Like bees the clustering sailors cling<br/> +Against the shrouds, or take the shock<br/> +Flat on the swept yard-arms aslant,<br/> +Dipped like the wheeling condor’s pinions gaunt.<br/> +<br/> +A LULL! and tongues of languid flame<br/> +Lick every boom, and lambent show<br/> +Electric ’gainst each face aloft;<br/> +The herds of clouds with bellowings go:<br/> +The black ship rears—beset—harassed,<br/> +Then plunges far with luminous antlers vast.<br/> +<br/> +In trim betimes they turn from land,<br/> +Some shivered sails and spars they stow;<br/> +One watch, dismissed, they troll the can,<br/> +While loud the billow thumps the bow—<br/> +Vies with the fist that smites the board,<br/> +Obstreperous at each reveller’s jovial word.<br/> +<br/> +Of royal oak by storms confirmed,<br/> +The tested hull her lineage shows:<br/> +Vainly the plungings whelm her prow—<br/> +She rallies, rears, she sturdier grows:<br/> +Each shot-hole plugged, each storm-sail home,<br/> +With batteries housed she rams the watery dome.<br/> +<br/> +DIM seen adrift through driving scud,<br/> +The wan moon shows in plight forlorn;<br/> +Then, pinched in visage, fades and fades<br/> +Like to the faces drowned at morn,<br/> +When deeps engulfed the flag-ship’s crew,<br/> +And, shrilling round, the inscrutable haglets flew.<br/> +<br/> +And still they fly, nor now they cry,<br/> +But constant fan a second wake,<br/> +Unflagging pinions ply and ply,<br/> +Abreast their course intent they take;<br/> +Their silence marks a stable mood,<br/> +They patient keep their eager neighborhood.<br/> +<br/> +Plumed with a smoke, a confluent sea,<br/> +Heaved in a combing pyramid full,<br/> +Spent at its climax, in collapse<br/> +Down headlong thundering stuns the hull:<br/> +The trophy drops; but, reared again,<br/> +Shows Mars’ high-altar and contemns the main.<br/> +<br/> +REBUILT it stands, the brag of arms,<br/> +Transferred in site—no thought of where<br/> +The sensitive needle keeps its place,<br/> +And starts, disturbed, a quiverer there;<br/> +The helmsman rubs the clouded glass—<br/> +Peers in, but lets the trembling portent pass.<br/> +<br/> +Let pass as well his shipmates do<br/> +(Whose dream of power no tremors jar)<br/> +Fears for the fleet convoyed astern:<br/> +“Our flag they fly, they share our star;<br/> +Spain’s galleons great in hull are stout:<br/> +Manned by our men—like us they’ll ride it out.”<br/> +<br/> +Tonight’s the night that ends the week—<br/> +Ends day and week and month and year:<br/> +A fourfold imminent flickering time,<br/> +For now the midnight draws anear:<br/> +Eight bells! and passing-bells they be—<br/> +The Old year fades, the Old Year dies at sea.<br/> +<br/> +He launched them well. But shall the New<br/> +Redeem the pledge the Old Year made,<br/> +Or prove a self-asserting heir?<br/> +But healthy hearts few qualms invade:<br/> +By shot-chests grouped in bays ’tween guns<br/> +The gossips chat, the grizzled, sea-beat ones.<br/> +<br/> +And boyish dreams some graybeards blab:<br/> +“To sea, my lads, we go no more<br/> +Who share the Acapulco prize;<br/> +We’ll all night in, and bang the door;<br/> +Our ingots red shall yield us bliss:<br/> +Lads, golden years begin to-night with this!”<br/> +<br/> +Released from deck, yet waiting call,<br/> +Glazed caps and coats baptized in storm,<br/> +A watch of Laced Sleeves round the board<br/> +Draw near in heart to keep them warm:<br/> +“Sweethearts and wives!” clink, clink, they meet,<br/> +And, quaffing, dip in wine their beards of sleet.<br/> +“Ay, let the star-light stay withdrawn,<br/> +So here her hearth-light memory fling,<br/> +So in this wine-light cheer be born,<br/> +And honor’s fellowship weld our ring—<br/> +Honor! our Admiral’s aim foretold:<br/> +<br/> +<i>A tomb or a trophy,</i> and lo, ’t is a trophy and gold!”<br/> +But he, a unit, sole in rank,<br/> +Apart needs keep his lonely state,<br/> +The sentry at his guarded door<br/> +Mute as by vault the sculptured Fate;<br/> +Belted he sits in drowsy light,<br/> +And, hatted, nods—the Admiral of the White.<br/> +<br/> +He dozes, aged with watches passed—<br/> +Years, years of pacing to and fro;<br/> +He dozes, nor attends the stir<br/> +In bullioned standards rustling low,<br/> +Nor minds the blades whose secret thrill<br/> +Perverts overhead the magnet’s Polar will:—<br/> +<br/> +LESS heeds the shadowing three that play<br/> +And follow, follow fast in wake,<br/> +Untiring wing and lidless eye—<br/> +Abreast their course intent they take;<br/> +Or sigh or sing, they hold for good<br/> +The unvarying flight and fixed inveterate mood.<br/> +<br/> +In dream at last his dozings merge,<br/> +In dream he reaps his victor’s fruit;<br/> +The Flags-o’-the-Blue, the Flags-o’-the-Red,<br/> +Dipped flags of his country’s fleets salute<br/> +His Flag-o’-the-White in harbor proud—<br/> +But why should it blench? Why turn to a painted shroud?<br/> +<br/> +The hungry seas they hound the hull,<br/> +The sharks they dog the haglets’ flight;<br/> +With one consent the winds, the waves<br/> +In hunt with fins and wings unite,<br/> +While drear the harps in cordage sound<br/> +Remindful wails for old Armadas drowned.<br/> +<br/> +Ha—yonder! are they Northern Lights?<br/> +Or signals flashed to warn or ward?<br/> +Yea, signals lanced in breakers high;<br/> +But doom on warning follows hard:<br/> +While yet they veer in hope to shun,<br/> +They strike! and thumps of hull and heart are one.<br/> +<br/> +But beating hearts a drum-beat calls<br/> +And prompt the men to quarters go;<br/> +Discipline, curbing nature, rules—<br/> +Heroic makes who duty know:<br/> +They execute the trump’s command,<br/> +Or in peremptory places wait and stand.<br/> +<br/> +Yet cast about in blind amaze—<br/> +As through their watery shroud they peer:<br/> +“We tacked from land: then how betrayed?<br/> +Have currents swerved us—snared us here?”<br/> +None heed the blades that clash in place<br/> +Under lamps dashed down that lit the magnet’s case.<br/> +<br/> +Ah, what may live, who mighty swim,<br/> +Or boat-crew reach that shore forbid,<br/> +Or cable span? Must victors drown—<br/> +Perish, even as the vanquished did?<br/> +Man keeps from man the stifled moan;<br/> +They shouldering stand, yet each in heart how lone.<br/> +<br/> +Some heaven invoke; but rings of reefs<br/> +Prayer and despair alike deride<br/> +In dance of breakers forked or peaked,<br/> +Pale maniacs of the maddened tide;<br/> +While, strenuous yet some end to earn,<br/> +The haglets spin, though now no more astern.<br/> +<br/> +Like shuttles hurrying in the looms<br/> +Aloft through rigging frayed they ply—<br/> +Cross and recross—weave and inweave,<br/> +Then lock the web with clinching cry<br/> +Over the seas on seas that clasp<br/> +The weltering wreck where gurgling ends the gasp.<br/> +<br/> +Ah, for the Plate-Fleet trophy now,<br/> +The victor’s voucher, flags and arms;<br/> +Never they’ll hang in Abbey old<br/> +And take Time’s dust with holier palms;<br/> +Nor less content, in liquid night,<br/> +Their captor sleeps—the Admiral of the White.<br/> +<br/> +Imbedded deep with shells<br/> +And drifted treasure deep,<br/> +Forever he sinks deeper in<br/> +Unfathomable sleep—<br/> +His cannon round him thrown,<br/> +His sailors at his feet,<br/> +The wizard sea enchanting them<br/> +Where never haglets beat.<br/> +<br/> +On nights when meteors play<br/> +And light the breakers dance,<br/> +The Oreads from the caves<br/> +With silvery elves advance;<br/> +And up from ocean stream,<br/> +And down from heaven far,<br/> +The rays that blend in dream<br/> +The abysm and the star. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap09"></a> +THE AEOLIAN HARP</h2> + +<p class="center"> +<i>At The Surf Inn</i> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +List the harp in window wailing<br/> + Stirred by fitful gales from sea:<br/> +Shrieking up in mad crescendo—<br/> + Dying down in plaintive key!<br/> +<br/> +Listen: less a strain ideal<br/> +Than Ariel’s rendering of the Real.<br/> + What that Real is, let hint<br/> + A picture stamped in memory’s mint.<br/> +<br/> +Braced well up, with beams aslant,<br/> +Betwixt the continents sails the <i>Phocion,</i><br/> +For Baltimore bound from Alicant.<br/> +Blue breezy skies white fleeces fleck<br/> +Over the chill blue white-capped ocean:<br/> +From yard-arm comes—“Wreck ho, a wreck!”<br/> +<br/> +Dismasted and adrift,<br/> +Longtime a thing forsaken;<br/> +Overwashed by every wave<br/> +Like the slumbering kraken;<br/> +Heedless if the billow roar,<br/> +Oblivious of the lull,<br/> +Leagues and leagues from shoal or shore,<br/> +It swims—a levelled hull:<br/> +Bulwarks gone—a shaven wreck,<br/> +Nameless and a grass-green deck.<br/> +A lumberman: perchance, in hold<br/> +Prostrate pines with hemlocks rolled.<br/> +<br/> +It has drifted, waterlogged,<br/> +Till by trailing weeds beclogged:<br/> + Drifted, drifted, day by day,<br/> + Pilotless on pathless way.<br/> +It has drifted till each plank<br/> +Is oozy as the oyster-bank:<br/> + Drifted, drifted, night by night,<br/> + Craft that never shows a light;<br/> +Nor ever, to prevent worse knell,<br/> +Tolls in fog the warning bell.<br/> +<br/> +From collision never shrinking,<br/> +Drive what may through darksome smother;<br/> +Saturate, but never sinking,<br/> +Fatal only to the <i>other!</i><br/> + Deadlier than the sunken reef<br/> +Since still the snare it shifteth,<br/> + Torpid in dumb ambuscade<br/> +Waylayingly it drifteth.<br/> +<br/> +O, the sailors—O, the sails!<br/> +O, the lost crews never heard of!<br/> +Well the harp of Ariel wails<br/> +Thought that tongue can tell no word of! +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap10"></a> +TO THE MASTER OF THE <i>METEOR</i></h2> + +<p class="poem"> +Lonesome on earth’s loneliest deep,<br/> +Sailor! who dost thy vigil keep—<br/> +Off the Cape of Storms dost musing sweep<br/> +Over monstrous waves that curl and comb;<br/> +Of thee we think when here from brink<br/> +We blow the mead in bubbling foam.<br/> +<br/> +Of thee we think, in a ring we link;<br/> +To the shearer of ocean’s fleece we drink,<br/> +And the <i>Meteor</i> rolling home. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap11"></a> +FAR OFF-SHORE</h2> + +<p class="poem"> +Look, the raft, a signal flying,<br/> + Thin—a shred;<br/> +None upon the lashed spars lying,<br/> + Quick or dead.<br/> +<br/> +Cries the sea-fowl, hovering over,<br/> + “Crew, the crew?”<br/> +And the billow, reckless, rover,<br/> + Sweeps anew! +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap12"></a> +THE MAN-OF-WAR HAWK</h2> + +<p class="poem"> +Yon black man-of-war-hawk that wheels in the light<br/> +O’er the black ship’s white sky-s’l, sunned cloud to the sight,<br/> +Have we low-flyers wings to ascend to his height?<br/> +No arrow can reach him; nor thought can attain<br/> +To the placid supreme in the sweep of his reign. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap13"></a> +THE FIGURE-HEAD</h2> + +<p class="poem"> +The <i>Charles-and-Emma</i> seaward sped,<br/> +(Named from the carven pair at prow,)<br/> +He so smart, and a curly head,<br/> +She tricked forth as a bride knows how:<br/> + Pretty stem for the port, I trow!<br/> +<br/> +But iron-rust and alum-spray<br/> +And chafing gear, and sun and dew<br/> +Vexed this lad and lassie gay,<br/> +Tears in their eyes, salt tears nor few;<br/> + And the hug relaxed with the failing glue.<br/> +<br/> +But came in end a dismal night,<br/> +With creaking beams and ribs that groan,<br/> +A black lee-shore and waters white:<br/> +Dropped on the reef, the pair lie prone:<br/> + O, the breakers dance, but the winds they moan! +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap14"></a> +THE GOOD CRAFT <i>SNOW BIRD</i></h2> + +<p class="poem"> +Strenuous need that head-wind be<br/> + From purposed voyage that drives at last<br/> +The ship, sharp-braced and dogged still,<br/> + Beating up against the blast.<br/> +<br/> +Brigs that figs for market gather,<br/> + Homeward-bound upon the stretch,<br/> +Encounter oft this uglier weather<br/> + Yet in end their port they fetch.<br/> +<br/> +Mark yon craft from sunny Smyrna<br/> + Glazed with ice in Boston Bay;<br/> +Out they toss the fig-drums cheerly,<br/> + Livelier for the frosty ray.<br/> +<br/> +What if sleet off-shore assailed her,<br/> + What though ice yet plate her yards;<br/> +In wintry port not less she renders<br/> + Summer’s gift with warm regards!<br/> +<br/> +And, look, the underwriters’ man,<br/> + Timely, when the stevedore’s done,<br/> +Puts on his <i>specs</i> to pry and scan,<br/> +And sets her down—<i>A, No. 1.</i><br/> +<br/> +Bravo, master! Bravo, brig!<br/> + For slanting snows out of the West<br/> +Never the <i>Snow-Bird</i> cares one fig;<br/> + And foul winds steady her, though a pest. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap15"></a> +OLD COUNSEL</h2> + +<p class="center"> +<i>Of The Young Master of a Wrecked California Clipper</i> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Come out of the Golden Gate,<br/> + Go round the Horn with streamers,<br/> +Carry royals early and late;<br/> +But, brother, be not over-elate—<br/> + <i>All hands save ship!</i> has startled dreamers. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap16"></a> +THE TUFT OF KELP</h2> + +<p class="poem"> +All dripping in tangles green,<br/> + Cast up by a lonely sea<br/> +If purer for that, O Weed,<br/> + Bitterer, too, are ye? +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap17"></a> +THE MALDIVE SHARK</h2> + +<p class="poem"> +About the Shark, phlegmatical one,<br/> +Pale sot of the Maldive sea,<br/> +The sleek little pilot-fish, azure and slim,<br/> +How alert in attendance be.<br/> +From his saw-pit of mouth, from his charnel of maw<br/> +They have nothing of harm to dread,<br/> +But liquidly glide on his ghastly flank<br/> +Or before his Gorgonian head:<br/> +Or lurk in the port of serrated teeth<br/> +In white triple tiers of glittering gates,<br/> +And there find a haven when peril’s abroad,<br/> +An asylum in jaws of the Fates!<br/> +They are friends; and friendly they guide him to prey,<br/> +Yet never partake of the treat—<br/> +Eyes and brains to the dotard lethargic and dull,<br/> +Pale ravener of horrible meat. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap18"></a> +TO NED</h2> + +<p class="poem"> +Where is the world we roved, Ned Bunn?<br/> + Hollows thereof lay rich in shade<br/> +By voyagers old inviolate thrown<br/> + Ere Paul Pry cruised with Pelf and Trade.<br/> +To us old lads some thoughts come home<br/> +Who roamed a world young lads no more shall roam.<br/> +<br/> +Nor less the satiate year impends<br/> + When, wearying of routine-resorts,<br/> +The pleasure-hunter shall break loose,<br/> + Ned, for our Pantheistic ports:—<br/> +Marquesas and glenned isles that be<br/> +Authentic Edens in a Pagan sea.<br/> +<br/> +The charm of scenes untried shall lure,<br/> +And, Ned, a legend urge the flight—<br/> +The Typee-truants under stars<br/> +Unknown to Shakespere’s <i>Midsummer-Night;</i><br/> +And man, if lost to Saturn’s Age,<br/> +Yet feeling life no Syrian pilgrimage.<br/> +<br/> +But, tell, shall he, the tourist, find<br/> + Our isles the same in violet-glow<br/> +Enamoring us what years and years—<br/> + Ah, Ned, what years and years ago!<br/> +Well, Adam advances, smart in pace,<br/> +But scarce by violets that advance you trace.<br/> +<br/> +But we, in anchor-watches calm,<br/> + The Indian Psyche’s languor won,<br/> +And, musing, breathed primeval balm<br/> + From Edens ere yet overrun;<br/> +Marvelling mild if mortal twice,<br/> +Here and hereafter, touch a Paradise. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap19"></a> +CROSSING THE TROPICS</h2> + +<p class="center"> +<i>From “The Saya-y-Manto.”</i> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +While now the Pole Star sinks from sight<br/> + The Southern Cross it climbs the sky;<br/> +But losing thee, my love, my light,<br/> +O bride but for one bridal night,<br/> + The loss no rising joys supply.<br/> +<br/> +Love, love, the Trade Winds urge abaft,<br/> +And thee, from thee, they steadfast waft.<br/> +<br/> +By day the blue and silver sea<br/> + And chime of waters blandly fanned—<br/> +Nor these, nor Gama’s stars to me<br/> +May yield delight since still for thee<br/> + I long as Gama longed for land.<br/> +<br/> +I yearn, I yearn, reverting turn,<br/> +My heart it streams in wake astern<br/> +When, cut by slanting sleet, we swoop<br/> + Where raves the world’s inverted year,<br/> +If roses all your porch shall loop,<br/> +Not less your heart for me will droop<br/> + Doubling the world’s last outpost drear.<br/> +<br/> +O love, O love, these oceans vast:<br/> +Love, love, it is as death were past! +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap20"></a> +THE BERG</h2> + +<p class="center"> +<i>A Dream</i> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +I saw a ship of martial build<br/> +(Her standards set, her brave apparel on)<br/> +Directed as by madness mere<br/> +Against a stolid iceberg steer,<br/> +Nor budge it, though the infatuate ship went down.<br/> +The impact made huge ice-cubes fall<br/> +Sullen, in tons that crashed the deck;<br/> +But that one avalanche was all<br/> +No other movement save the foundering wreck.<br/> +<br/> +Along the spurs of ridges pale,<br/> +Not any slenderest shaft and frail,<br/> +A prism over glass—green gorges lone,<br/> +Toppled; nor lace of traceries fine,<br/> +Nor pendant drops in grot or mine<br/> +Were jarred, when the stunned ship went down.<br/> +Nor sole the gulls in cloud that wheeled<br/> +Circling one snow-flanked peak afar,<br/> +But nearer fowl the floes that skimmed<br/> +And crystal beaches, felt no jar.<br/> +No thrill transmitted stirred the lock<br/> +Of jack-straw needle-ice at base;<br/> +Towers undermined by waves—the block<br/> +Atilt impending—kept their place.<br/> +Seals, dozing sleek on sliddery ledges<br/> +Slipt never, when by loftier edges<br/> +Through very inertia overthrown,<br/> +The impetuous ship in bafflement went down.<br/> +Hard Berg (methought), so cold, so vast,<br/> +With mortal damps self-overcast;<br/> +Exhaling still thy dankish breath—<br/> +Adrift dissolving, bound for death;<br/> +Though lumpish thou, a lumbering one—<br/> +A lumbering lubbard loitering slow,<br/> +Impingers rue thee and go down,<br/> +Sounding thy precipice below,<br/> +Nor stir the slimy slug that sprawls<br/> +Along thy dense stolidity of walls. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap21"></a> +THE ENVIABLE ISLES</h2> + +<p class="center"> +<i>From “Rammon.”</i> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Through storms you reach them and from storms are free.<br/> + Afar descried, the foremost drear in hue,<br/> +But, nearer, green; and, on the marge, the sea<br/> + Makes thunder low and mist of rainbowed dew.<br/> +<br/> +But, inland, where the sleep that folds the hills<br/> +A dreamier sleep, the trance of God, instills—<br/> + On uplands hazed, in wandering airs aswoon,<br/> +Slow-swaying palms salute love’s cypress tree<br/> + Adown in vale where pebbly runlets croon<br/> +A song to lull all sorrow and all glee.<br/> +<br/> +Sweet-fern and moss in many a glade are here.<br/> + Where, strewn in flocks, what cheek-flushed myriads lie<br/> +Dimpling in dream—unconscious slumberers mere,<br/> + While billows endless round the beaches die. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap22"></a> +PEBBLES</h2> + +<p class="center"> +I +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Though the Clerk of the Weather insist,<br/> + And lay down the weather-law,<br/> +Pintado and gannet they wist<br/> +That the winds blow whither they list<br/> + In tempest or flaw. +</p> + +<p class="center"> +II +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Old are the creeds, but stale the schools,<br/> + Revamped as the mode may veer,<br/> +But Orm from the schools to the beaches strays<br/> +And, finding a Conch hoar with time, he delays<br/> + And reverent lifts it to ear.<br/> +That Voice, pitched in far monotone,<br/> + Shall it swerve? shall it deviate ever?<br/> +The Seas have inspired it, and Truth—<br/> + Truth, varying from sameness never. +</p> + +<p class="center"> +III +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +In hollows of the liquid hills<br/> + Where the long Blue Ridges run,<br/> +The flattery of no echo thrills,<br/> + For echo the seas have none;<br/> +Nor aught that gives man back man’s strain—<br/> +The hope of his heart, the dream in his brain. +</p> + +<p class="center"> +IV +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +On ocean where the embattled fleets repair,<br/> +Man, suffering inflictor, sails on sufferance there. +</p> + +<p class="center"> +V +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Implacable I, the old Implacable Sea:<br/> + Implacable most when most I smile serene—<br/> +Pleased, not appeased, by myriad wrecks in me. +</p> + +<p class="center"> +VI +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Curled in the comb of yon billow Andean,<br/> + Is it the Dragon’s heaven-challenging crest?<br/> +Elemental mad ramping of ravening waters—<br/> + Yet Christ on the Mount, and the dove in her nest! +</p> + +<p class="center"> +VII +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Healed of my hurt, I laud the inhuman Sea—<br/> +Yea, bless the Angels Four that there convene;<br/> +For healed I am ever by their pitiless breath<br/> +Distilled in wholesome dew named rosmarine. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap23"></a> +POEMS FROM TIMOLEON</h2> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap24"></a> +LINES TRACED UNDER AN IMAGE OF AMOR THREATENING</h2> + +<p class="poem"> +Fear me, virgin whosoever<br/> +Taking pride from love exempt,<br/> + Fear me, slighted. Never, never<br/> +Brave me, nor my fury tempt:<br/> +Downy wings, but wroth they beat<br/> +Tempest even in reason’s seat. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap25"></a> +THE NIGHT MARCH</h2> + +<p class="poem"> +With banners furled and clarions mute,<br/> + An army passes in the night;<br/> +And beaming spears and helms salute<br/> + The dark with bright.<br/> +<br/> +In silence deep the legions stream,<br/> + With open ranks, in order true;<br/> +Over boundless plains they stream and gleam—<br/> + No chief in view!<br/> +<br/> +Afar, in twinkling distance lost,<br/> + (So legends tell) he lonely wends<br/> +And back through all that shining host<br/> + His mandate sends. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap26"></a> +THE RAVAGED VILLA</h2> + +<p class="poem"> +In shards the sylvan vases lie,<br/> + Their links of dance undone,<br/> +And brambles wither by thy brim,<br/> + Choked fountain of the sun!<br/> +The spider in the laurel spins,<br/> + The weed exiles the flower:<br/> +And, flung to kiln, Apollo’s bust<br/> + Makes lime for Mammon’s tower. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap27"></a> +THE NEW ZEALOT TO THE SUN</h2> + +<p class="poem"> +Persian, you rise<br/> +Aflame from climes of sacrifice<br/> + Where adulators sue,<br/> +And prostrate man, with brow abased,<br/> +Adheres to rites whose tenor traced<br/> + All worship hitherto.<br/> +<br/> + Arch type of sway,<br/> +Meetly your over-ruling ray<br/> + You fling from Asia’s plain,<br/> +Whence flashed the javelins abroad<br/> +Of many a wild incursive horde<br/> + Led by some shepherd Cain.<br/> +<br/> + Mid terrors dinned<br/> +Gods too came conquerors from your Ind,<br/> + The book of Brahma throve;<br/> +They came like to the scythed car,<br/> +Westward they rolled their empire far,<br/> + Of night their purple wove.<br/> +<br/> + Chemist, you breed<br/> +In orient climes each sorcerous weed<br/> + That energizes dream—<br/> +Transmitted, spread in myths and creeds,<br/> +Houris and hells, delirious screeds<br/> + And Calvin’s last extreme.<br/> +<br/> + What though your light<br/> +In time’s first dawn compelled the flight<br/> + Of Chaos’ startled clan,<br/> +Shall never all your darted spears<br/> +Disperse worse Anarchs, frauds and fears,<br/> + Sprung from these weeds to man?<br/> +<br/> + But Science yet<br/> +An effluence ampler shall beget,<br/> + And power beyond your play—<br/> +Shall quell the shades you fail to rout,<br/> +Yea, searching every secret out<br/> + Elucidate your ray. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap28"></a> +MONODY</h2> + +<p class="poem"> +To have known him, to have loved him<br/> + After loneness long;<br/> +And then to be estranged in life,<br/> + And neither in the wrong;<br/> +And now for death to set his seal—<br/> + Ease me, a little ease, my song!<br/> +<br/> +By wintry hills his hermit-mound<br/> + The sheeted snow-drifts drape,<br/> +And houseless there the snow-bird flits<br/> + Beneath the fir-trees’ crape:<br/> +Glazed now with ice the cloistral vine<br/> + That hid the shyest grape. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap29"></a> +LONE FOUNTS</h2> + +<p class="poem"> +Though fast youth’s glorious fable flies,<br/> +View not the world with worldling’s eyes;<br/> +Nor turn with weather of the time.<br/> +Foreclose the coming of surprise:<br/> +Stand where Posterity shall stand;<br/> +Stand where the Ancients stood before,<br/> +And, dipping in lone founts thy hand,<br/> +Drink of the never-varying lore:<br/> +Wise once, and wise thence evermore. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap30"></a> +THE BENCH OF BOORS</h2> + +<p class="poem"> +In bed I muse on Tenier’s boors,<br/> +Embrowned and beery losels all;<br/> + A wakeful brain<br/> + Elaborates pain:<br/> +Within low doors the slugs of boors<br/> +Laze and yawn and doze again.<br/> +<br/> +In dreams they doze, the drowsy boors,<br/> +Their hazy hovel warm and small:<br/> + Thought’s ampler bound<br/> + But chill is found:<br/> +Within low doors the basking boors<br/> +Snugly hug the ember-mound.<br/> +<br/> +Sleepless, I see the slumberous boors<br/> +Their blurred eyes blink, their eyelids fall:<br/> + Thought’s eager sight<br/> + Aches—overbright!<br/> +Within low doors the boozy boors<br/> +Cat-naps take in pipe-bowl light. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap31"></a> +ART</h2> + +<p class="poem"> +In placid hours well-pleased we dream<br/> +Of many a brave unbodied scheme.<br/> +But form to lend, pulsed life create,<br/> +What unlike things must meet and mate:<br/> +A flame to melt—a wind to freeze;<br/> +Sad patience—joyous energies;<br/> +Humility—yet pride and scorn;<br/> +Instinct and study; love and hate;<br/> +Audacity—reverence. These must mate,<br/> +And fuse with Jacob’s mystic heart,<br/> +To wrestle with the angel—Art. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap32"></a> +THE ENTHUSIAST</h2> + +<p class="center"> +<i>“Though He slay me yet will I trust in Him.”</i> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Shall hearts that beat no base retreat<br/> + In youth’s magnanimous years—<br/> +Ignoble hold it, if discreet<br/> + When interest tames to fears;<br/> +Shall spirits that worship light<br/> + Perfidious deem its sacred glow,<br/> + Recant, and trudge where worldlings go,<br/> +Conform and own them right?<br/> +<br/> +Shall Time with creeping influence cold<br/> + Unnerve and cow? the heart<br/> +Pine for the heartless ones enrolled<br/> + With palterers of the mart?<br/> +Shall faith abjure her skies,<br/> + Or pale probation blench her down<br/> + To shrink from Truth so still, so lone<br/> +Mid loud gregarious lies?<br/> +<br/> +Each burning boat in Caesar’s rear,<br/> + Flames—No return through me!<br/> +So put the torch to ties though dear,<br/> + If ties but tempters be.<br/> +Nor cringe if come the night:<br/> + Walk through the cloud to meet the pall,<br/> + Though light forsake thee, never fall<br/> +From fealty to light. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap33"></a> +SHELLEY’S VISION</h2> + +<p class="poem"> +Wandering late by morning seas<br/> + When my heart with pain was low—<br/> +Hate the censor pelted me—<br/> + Deject I saw my shadow go.<br/> +<br/> +In elf-caprice of bitter tone<br/> +I too would pelt the pelted one:<br/> +At my shadow I cast a stone.<br/> +<br/> +When lo, upon that sun-lit ground<br/> + I saw the quivering phantom take<br/> +The likeness of St. Stephen crowned:<br/> + Then did self-reverence awake. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap34"></a> +THE MARCHIONESS OF BRINVILLIERS</h2> + +<p class="poem"> +He toned the sprightly beam of morning<br/> + With twilight meek of tender eve,<br/> +Brightness interfused with softness,<br/> + Light and shade did weave:<br/> +And gave to candor equal place<br/> +With mystery starred in open skies;<br/> +And, floating all in sweetness, made<br/> + Her fathomless mild eyes. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap35"></a> +THE AGE OF THE ANTONINES</h2> + +<p class="poem"> +While faith forecasts millennial years<br/> + Spite Europe’s embattled lines,<br/> +Back to the Past one glance be cast—<br/> + The Age of the Antonines!<br/> +O summit of fate, O zenith of time<br/> +When a pagan gentleman reigned,<br/> +And the olive was nailed to the inn of the world<br/> +Nor the peace of the just was feigned.<br/> + A halcyon Age, afar it shines,<br/> + Solstice of Man and the Antonines.<br/> +<br/> +Hymns to the nations’ friendly gods<br/> +Went up from the fellowly shrines,<br/> +No demagogue beat the pulpit-drum<br/> + In the Age of the Antonines!<br/> +The sting was not dreamed to be taken from death,<br/> +No Paradise pledged or sought,<br/> +But they reasoned of fate at the flowing feast,<br/> +Nor stifled the fluent thought,<br/> + We sham, we shuffle while faith declines—<br/> + They were frank in the Age of the Antonines.<br/> +<br/> +Orders and ranks they kept degree,<br/> +Few felt how the parvenu pines,<br/> +No law-maker took the lawless one’s fee<br/> + In the Age of the Antonines!<br/> +Under law made will the world reposed<br/> +And the ruler’s right confessed,<br/> +For the heavens elected the Emperor then,<br/> +The foremost of men the best.<br/> + Ah, might we read in America’s signs<br/> + The Age restored of the Antonines. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap36"></a> +HERBA SANTA</h2> + +<p class="center"> +I +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +After long wars when comes release<br/> +Not olive wands proclaiming peace<br/> + Can import dearer share<br/> +Than stems of Herba Santa hazed<br/> + In autumn’s Indian air.<br/> +Of moods they breathe that care disarm,<br/> +They pledge us lenitive and calm. +</p> + +<p class="center"> +II +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Shall code or creed a lure afford<br/> +To win all selves to Love’s accord?<br/> +When Love ordained a supper divine<br/> + For the wide world of man,<br/> +What bickerings o’er his gracious wine!<br/> + Then strange new feuds began.<br/> +<br/> +Effectual more in lowlier way,<br/> + Pacific Herb, thy sensuous plea<br/> +The bristling clans of Adam sway<br/> + At least to fellowship in thee!<br/> +Before thine altar tribal flags are furled,<br/> +Fain wouldst thou make one hearthstone of the world. +</p> + +<p class="center"> +III +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +To scythe, to sceptre, pen and hod—<br/> + Yea, sodden laborers dumb;<br/> +To brains overplied, to feet that plod,<br/> +In solace of the <i>Truce of God</i><br/> + The Calumet has come! +</p> + +<p class="center"> +IV +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Ah for the world ere Raleigh’s find<br/> + Never that knew this suasive balm<br/> +That helps when Gilead’s fails to heal,<br/> + Helps by an interserted charm.<br/> +<br/> +Insinuous thou that through the nerve<br/> + Windest the soul, and so canst win<br/> +Some from repinings, some from sin,<br/> + The Church’s aim thou dost subserve.<br/> +<br/> +The ruffled fag fordone with care<br/> + And brooding, God would ease this pain:<br/> +Him soothest thou and smoothest down<br/> + Till some content return again.<br/> +<br/> +Even ruffians feel thy influence breed<br/> + Saint Martin’s summer in the mind,<br/> +They feel this last evangel plead,<br/> +As did the first, apart from creed,<br/> + Be peaceful, man—be kind! +</p> + +<p class="center"> +V +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Rejected once on higher plain,<br/> +O Love supreme, to come again<br/> + Can this be thine?<br/> +Again to come, and win us too<br/> + In likeness of a weed<br/> +That as a god didst vainly woo,<br/> + As man more vainly bleed? +</p> + +<p class="center"> +VI +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Forbear, my soul! and in thine Eastern chamber<br/> + Rehearse the dream that brings the long release:<br/> +Through jasmine sweet and talismanic amber<br/> + Inhaling Herba Santa in the passive Pipe of Peace. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap37"></a> +OFF CAPE COLONNA</h2> + +<p class="poem"> +Aloof they crown the foreland lone,<br/> + From aloft they loftier rise—<br/> +Fair columns, in the aureole rolled<br/> + From sunned Greek seas and skies.<br/> +They wax, sublimed to fancy’s view,<br/> +A god-like group against the blue.<br/> +<br/> +Over much like gods! Serene they saw<br/> + The wolf-waves board the deck,<br/> +And headlong hull of Falconer,<br/> + And many a deadlier wreck. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap38"></a> +THE APPARITION</h2> + +<p class="center"> +<i>The Parthenon uplifted on its rock first challenging the view on the +approach to Athens.</i> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Abrupt the supernatural Cross,<br/> + Vivid in startled air,<br/> +Smote the Emperor Constantine<br/> +And turned his soul’s allegiance there.<br/> +<br/> +With other power appealing down,<br/> + Trophy of Adam’s best!<br/> +If cynic minds you scarce convert,<br/> +You try them, shake them, or molest.<br/> +<br/> +Diogenes, that honest heart,<br/> + Lived ere your date began;<br/> +Thee had he seen, he might have swerved<br/> +In mood nor barked so much at Man. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap39"></a> +L’ENVOI</h2> + +<p class="center"> +<i>The Return of the Sire de Nesle.</i><br/> +A.D. 16 +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +My towers at last! These rovings end,<br/> +Their thirst is slaked in larger dearth:<br/> +The yearning infinite recoils,<br/> + For terrible is earth.<br/> +<br/> +Kaf thrusts his snouted crags through fog:<br/> +Araxes swells beyond his span,<br/> +And knowledge poured by pilgrimage<br/> + Overflows the banks of man.<br/> +<br/> +But thou, my stay, thy lasting love<br/> +One lonely good, let this but be!<br/> +Weary to view the wide world’s swarm,<br/> + But blest to fold but thee. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap40"></a> +SUPPLEMENT</h2> + +<p> +Were I fastidiously anxious for the symmetry of this book, it would close with +the notes. But the times are such that patriotism—not free from +solicitude—urges a claim overriding all literary scruples. +</p> + +<p> +It is more than a year since the memorable surrender, but events have not yet +rounded themselves into completion. Not justly can we complain of this. There +has been an upheaval affecting the basis of things; to altered circumstances +complicated adaptations are to be made; there are difficulties great and novel. +But is Reason still waiting for Passion to spend itself? We have sung of the +soldiers and sailors, but who shall hymn the politicians? +</p> + +<p> +In view of the infinite desirableness of Re-establishment, and considering +that, so far as feeling is concerned, it depends not mainly on the temper in +which the South regards the North, but rather conversely; one who never was a +blind adherent feels constrained to submit some thoughts, counting on the +indulgence of his countrymen. +</p> + +<p> +And, first, it may be said that, if among the feelings and opinions growing +immediately out of a great civil convulsion, there are any which time shall +modify or do away, they are presumably those of a less temperate and charitable +cast. +</p> + +<p> +There seems no reason why patriotism and narrowness should go together, or why +intellectual impartiality should be confounded with political trimming, or why +serviceable truth should keep cloistered because not partisan. Yet the work of +Reconstruction, if admitted to be feasible at all, demands little but common +sense and Christian charity. Little but these? These are much. +</p> + +<p> +Some of us are concerned because as yet the South shows no penitence. But what +exactly do we mean by this? Since down to the close of the war she never +confessed any for braving it, the only penitence now left her is that which +springs solely from the sense of discomfiture; and since this evidently would +be a contrition hypocritical, it would be unworthy in us to demand it. Certain +it is that penitence, in the sense of voluntary humiliation, will never be +displayed. Nor does this afford just ground for unreserved condemnation. It is +enough, for all practical purposes, if the South have been taught by the +terrors of civil war to feel that Secession, like Slavery, is against Destiny; +that both now lie buried in one grave; that her fate is linked with ours; and +that together we comprise the Nation. +</p> + +<p> +The clouds of heroes who battled for the Union it is needless to eulogize here. +But how of the soldiers on the other side? And when of a free community we name +the soldiers, we thereby name the people. It was in subserviency to the +slave-interest that Secession was plotted; but it was under the plea, plausibly +urged, that certain inestimable rights guaranteed by the Constitution were +directly menaced, that the people of the South were cajoled into revolution. +Through the arts of the conspirators and the perversity of fortune, the most +sensitive love of liberty was entrapped into the support of a war whose implied +end was the erecting in our advanced century of an Anglo-American empire based +upon the systematic degradation of man. +</p> + +<p> +Spite this clinging reproach, however, signal military virtues and achievements +have conferred upon the Confederate arms historic fame, and upon certain of the +commanders a renown extending beyond the sea—a renown which we of the +North could not suppress, even if we would. In personal character, also, not a +few of the military leaders of the South enforce forbearance; the memory of +others the North refrains from disparaging; and some, with more or less of +reluctance, she can respect. Posterity, sympathizing with our convictions, but +removed from our passions, may perhaps go farther here. If George IV could, out +of the graceful instinct of a gentleman, raise an honorable monument in the +great fane of Christendom over the remains of the enemy of his dynasty, Charles +Edward, the invader of England and victor in the rout of Preston +Pans—upon whose head the king’s ancestor but one reign removed had +set a price—is it probable that the granchildren of General Grant will +pursue with rancor, or slur by sour neglect, the memory of Stonewall Jackson? +</p> + +<p> +But the South herself is not wanting in recent histories and biographies which +record the deeds of her chieftains—writings freely published at the North +by loyal houses, widely read here, and with a deep though saddened interest. By +students of the war such works are hailed as welcome accessories, and tending +to the completeness of the record. +</p> + +<p> +Supposing a happy issue out of present perplexities, then, in the generation +next to come, Southerners there will be yielding allegiance to the Union, +feeling all their interests bound up in it, and yet cherishing unrebuked that +kind of feeling for the memory of the soldiers of the fallen Confederacy that +Burns, Scott, and the Ettrick Shepherd felt for the memory of the gallant +clansmen ruined through their fidelity to the Stuarts—a feeling whose +passion was tempered by the poetry imbuing it, and which in no wise affected +their loyalty to the Georges, and which, it may be added, indirectly +contributed excellent things to literature. But, setting this view aside, +dishonorable would it be in the South were she willing to abandon to shame the +memory of brave men who with signal personal disinterestedness warred in her +behalf, though from motives, as we believe, so deplorably astray. +</p> + +<p> +Patriotism is not baseness, neither is it inhumanity. The mourners who this +summer bear flowers to the mounds of the Virginian and Georgian dead are, in +their domestic bereavement and proud affection, as sacred in the eye of Heaven +as are those who go with similar offerings of tender grief and love into the +cemeteries of our Northern martyrs. And yet, in one aspect, how needless to +point the contrast. +</p> + +<p> +Cherishing such sentiments, it will hardly occasion surprise that, in looking +over the battle-pieces in the foregoing collection, I have been tempted to +withdraw or modify some of them, fearful lest in presenting, though but +dramatically and by way of poetic record, the passions and epithets of civil +war, I might be contributing to a bitterness which every sensible American must +wish at an end. So, too, with the emotion of victory as reproduced on some +pages, and particularly toward the close. It should not be construed into an +exultation misapplied—an exultation as ungenerous as unwise, and made to +minister, however indirectly, to that kind of censoriousness too apt to be +produced in certain natures by success after trying reverses. Zeal is not of +necessity religion, neither is it always of the same essence with poetry or +patriotism. +</p> + +<p> +There are excesses which marked the conflict, most of which are perhaps +inseparable from a civil strife so intense and prolonged, and involving warfare +in some border countries new and imperfectly civilized. Barbarities also there +were, for which the Southern people collectively can hardly be held +responsible, though perpetrated by ruffians in their name. But surely other +qualities—exalted ones—courage and fortitude matchless, were +likewise displayed, and largely; and justly may these be held the +characteristic traits, and not the former. +</p> + +<p> +In this view, what Northern writer, however patriotic, but must revolt from +acting on paper a part any way akin to that of the live dog to the dead lion; +and yet it is right to rejoice for our triumphs, so far as it may justly imply +an advance for our whole country and for humanity. +</p> + +<p> +Let it be held no reproach to any one that he pleads for reasonable +consideration for our late enemies, now stricken down and unavoidably debarred, +for the time, from speaking through authorized agencies for themselves. Nothing +has been urged here in the foolish hope of conciliating those men—few in +number, we trust—who have resolved never to be reconciled to the Union. +On such hearts everything is thrown away except it be religious commiseration, +and the sincerest. Yet let them call to mind that unhappy Secessionist, not a +military man, who with impious alacrity fired the first shot of the Civil War +at Sumter, and a little more than four years afterward fired the last one into +his heart at Richmond. +</p> + +<p> +Noble was the gesture into which patriotic passion surprised the people in a +utilitarian time and country; yet the glory of the war falls short of its +pathos—a pathos which now at last ought to disarm all animosity. +</p> + +<p> +How many and earnest thoughts still rise, and how hard to repress them. We feel +what past years have been, and years, unretarded years, shall come. May we all +have moderation; may we all show candor. Though, perhaps, nothing could +ultimately have averted the strife, and though to treat of human actions is to +deal wholly with second causes, nevertheless, let us not cover up or try to +extenuate what, humanly speaking, is the truth—namely, that those +unfraternal denunciations, continued through years, and which at last inflamed +to deeds that ended in bloodshed, were reciprocal; and that, had the +preponderating strength and the prospect of its unlimited increase lain on the +other side, on ours might have lain those actions which now in our late +opponents we stigmatize under the name of Rebellion. As frankly let us +own—what it would be unbecoming to parade were foreigners +concerned— that our triumph was won not more by skill and bravery than by +superior resources and crushing numbers; that it was a triumph, too, over a +people for years politically misled by designing men, and also by some +honestly-erring men, who from their position could not have been otherwise than +broadly influential; a people who, though, indeed, they sought to perpetuate +the curse of slavery, and even extend it, were not the authors of it, but (less +fortunate, not less righteous than we), were the fated inheritors; a people +who, having a like origin with ourselves, share essentially in whatever worthy +qualities we may possess. No one can add to the lasting reproach which hopeless +defeat has now cast upon Secession by withholding the recognition of these +verities. +</p> + +<p> +Surely we ought to take it to heart that that kind of pacification, based upon +principles operating equally all over the land, which lovers of their country +yearn for, and which our arms, though signally triumphant, did not bring about, +and which lawmaking, however anxious, or energetic, or repressive, never by +itself can achieve, may yet be largely aided by generosity of sentiment public +and private. Some revisionary legislation and adaptive is indispensable; but +with this should harmoniously work another kind of prudence, not unallied with +entire magnanimity. Benevolence and policy—Christianity and +Machiavelli—dissuade from penal severities toward the subdued. Abstinence +here is as obligatory as considerate care for our unfortunate fellowmen late in +bonds, and, if observed, would equally prove to be wise forecast. The great +qualities of the South, those attested in the War, we can perilously alienate, +or we may make them nationally available at need. +</p> + +<p> +The blacks, in their infant pupilage to freedom, appeal to the sympathies of +every humane mind. The paternal guardianship which for the interval government +exercises over them was prompted equally by duty and benevolence. Yet such +kindliness should not be allowed to exclude kindliness to communities who stand +nearer to us in nature. For the future of the freed slaves we may well be +concerned; but the future of the whole country, involving the future of the +blacks, urges a paramount claim upon our anxiety. Effective benignity, like the +Nile, is not narrow in its bounty, and true policy is always broad. To be sure, +it is vain to seek to glide, with moulded words, over the difficulties of the +situation. And for them who are neither partisans, nor enthusiasts, nor +theorists, nor cynics, there are some doubts not readily to be solved. And +there are fears. Why is not the cessation of war now at length attended with +the settled calm of peace? Wherefore in a clear sky do we still turn our eyes +toward the South as the Neapolitan, months after the eruption, turns his toward +Vesuvius? Do we dread lest the repose may be deceptive? In the recent +convulsion has the crater but shifted Let us revere that sacred uncertainty +which forever impends over men and nations. Those of us who always abhorred +slavery as an atheistical iniquity, gladly we join in the exulting chorus of +humanity over its downfall. But we should remember that emancipation was +accomplished not by deliberate legislation; only through agonized violence +could so mighty a result be effected. In our natural solicitude to confirm the +benefit of liberty to the blacks, let us forbear from measures of dubious +constitutional rightfulness toward our white countrymen—measures of a +nature to provoke, among other of the last evils, exterminating hatred of race +toward race. In imagination let us place ourselves in the unprecedented +position of the Southerners—their position as regards the millions of +ignorant manumitted slaves in their midst, for whom some of us now claim the +suffrage. Let us be Christians toward our fellow-whites, as well as +philanthropists toward the blacks, our fellow-men. In all things, and toward +all, we are enjoined to do as we would be done by. Nor should we forget that +benevolent desires, after passing a certain point, can not undertake their own +fulfillment without incurring the risk of evils beyond those sought to be +remedied. Something may well be left to the graduated care of future +legislation, and to heaven. In one point of view the co-existence of the two +races in the South, whether the negro be bond or free, seems (even as it did to +Abraham Lincoln) a grave evil. Emancipation has ridded the country of the +reproach, but not wholly of the calamity. Especially in the present transition +period for both races in the South, more or less of trouble may not +unreasonably be anticipated; but let us not hereafter be too swift to charge +the blame exclusively in any one quarter. With certain evils men must be more +or less patient. Our institutions have a potent digestion, and may in time +convert and assimilate to good all elements thrown in, however originally +alien. +</p> + +<p> +But, so far as immediate measures looking toward permanent Re- establishment +are concerned, no consideration should tempt us to pervert the national victory +into oppression for the vanquished. Should plausible promise of eventual good, +or a deceptive or spurious sense of duty, lead us to essay this, count we must +on serious consequences, not the least of which would be divisions among the +Northern adherents of the Union. Assuredly, if any honest Catos there be who +thus far have gone with us, no longer will they do so, but oppose us, and as +resolutely as hitherto they have supported. But this path of thought leads +toward those waters of bitterness from which one can only turn aside and be +silent. +</p> + +<p> +But supposing Re-establishment so far advanced that the Southern seats in +Congress are occupied, and by men qualified in accordance with those cardinal +principles of representative government which hitherto have prevailed in the +land—what then? Why, the Congressmen elected by the people of the South +will—represent the people of the South. This may seem a flat conclusion; +but, in view of the last five years, may there not be latent significance in +it? What will be the temper of those Southern members? and, confronted by them, +what will be the mood of our own representatives? In private life true +reconciliation seldom follows a violent quarrel; but, if subsequent intercourse +be unavoidable, nice observances and mutual are indispensable to the prevention +of a new rupture. Amity itself can only be maintained by reciprocal respect, +and true friends are punctilious equals. On the floor of Congress North and +South are to come together after a passionate duel, in which the South, though +proving her valor, has been made to bite the dust. Upon differences in debate +shall acrimonious recriminations be exchanged? Shall censorious superiority +assumed by one section provoke defiant self-assertion on the other? Shall +Manassas and Chickamauga be retorted for Chattanooga and Richmond? Under the +supposition that the full Congress will be composed of gentlemen, all this is +impossible. Yet, if otherwise, it needs no prophet of Israel to foretell the +end. The maintenance of Congressional decency in the future will rest mainly +with the North. Rightly will more forbearance be required from the North than +the South, for the North is victor. +</p> + +<p> +But some there are who may deem these latter thoughts inapplicable, and for +this reason: Since the test-oath operatively excludes from Congress all who in +any way participated in Secession, therefore none but Southerners wholly in +harmony with the North are eligible to seats. This is true for the time being. +But the oath is alterable; and in the wonted fluctuations of parties not +improbably it will undergo alteration, assuming such a form, perhaps, as not to +bar the admission into the National Legislature of men who represent the +populations lately in revolt. Such a result would involve no violation of the +principles of democratic government. Not readily can one perceive how the +political existence of the millions of late Secessionists can permanently be +ignored by this Republic. The years of the war tried our devotion to the Union; +the time of peace may test the sincerity of our faith in democracy. +</p> + +<p> +In no spirit of opposition, not by way of challenge, is anything here thrown +out. These thoughts are sincere ones; they seem natural— inevitable. Here +and there they must have suggested themselves to many thoughtful patriots. And, +if they be just thoughts, ere long they must have that weight with the public +which already they have had with individuals. +</p> + +<p> +For that heroic band—those children of the furnace who, in regions like +Texas and Tennessee, maintained their fidelity through terrible trials—we +of the North felt for them, and profoundly we honor them. Yet passionate +sympathy, with resentments so close as to be almost domestic in their +bitterness, would hardly in the present juncture tend to discreet legislation. +Were the Unionists and Secessionists but as Guelphs and Ghibellines? If not, +then far be it from a great nation now to act in the spirit that animated a +triumphant town-faction in the Middle Ages. But crowding thoughts must at last +be checked; and, in times like the present, one who desires to be impartially +just in the expression of his views, moves as among sword-points presented on +every side. +</p> + +<p> +Let us pray that the terrible historic tragedy of our time may not have been +enacted without instructing our whole beloved country through terror and pity; +and may fulfillment verify in the end those expectations which kindle the bards +of Progress and Humanity. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap41"></a> +POEMS FROM BATTLE PIECES</h2> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap42"></a> +THE PORTENT</h2> + +<p class="center"> +1859 +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Hanging from the beam,<br/> + Slowly swaying (such the law),<br/> +Gaunt the shadow on your green,<br/> + Shenandoah!<br/> +The cut is on the crown<br/> +(Lo, John Brown),<br/> +And the stabs shall heal no more.<br/> +<br/> +Hidden in the cap<br/> + Is the anguish none can draw;<br/> +So your future veils its face,<br/> + Shenandoah!<br/> +But the streaming beard is shown<br/> +(Weird John Brown),<br/> +The meteor of the war. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap43"></a> +FROM THE CONFLICT OF CONVICTIONS</h2> + +<p class="center"> +1860-1 +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +The Ancient of Days forever is young,<br/> + Forever the scheme of Nature thrives;<br/> +I know a wind in purpose strong—<br/> + It spins <i>against</i> the way it drives.<br/> +What if the gulfs their slimed foundations bare?<br/> +So deep must the stones be hurled<br/> +Whereon the throes of ages rear<br/> +The final empire and the happier world.<br/> +<br/> + Power unanointed may come—<br/> +Dominion (unsought by the free)<br/> + And the Iron Dome,<br/> +Stronger for stress and strain,<br/> +Fling her huge shadow athwart the main;<br/> +But the Founders’ dream shall flee.<br/> +Age after age has been,<br/> +(From man’s changeless heart their way they win);<br/> +And death be busy with all who strive—<br/> +Death, with silent negative.<br/> +<br/> + <i>Yea and Nay—</i><br/> + <i>Each hath his say;</i><br/> + <i>But God He keeps the middle way.</i><br/> + <i>None was by</i><br/> + <i>When He spread the sky;</i><br/> + <i>Wisdom is vain, and prophecy.</i> +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap44"></a> +THE MARCH INTO VIRGINIA</h2> + +<p class="center"> +<i>Ending in the First Manassas</i><br/> +July, 1861 +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Did all the lets and bars appear<br/> + To every just or larger end,<br/> +Whence should come the trust and cheer?<br/> + Youth must its ignorant impulse lend—<br/> +Age finds place in the rear.<br/> + All wars are boyish, and are fought by boys,<br/> +The champions and enthusiasts of the state:<br/> + Turbid ardors and vain joys<br/> + Not barrenly abate—<br/> + Stimulants to the power mature,<br/> + Preparatives of fate.<br/> +<br/> +Who here forecasteth the event?<br/> +What heart but spurns at precedent<br/> +And warnings of the wise,<br/> +Contemned foreclosures of surprise?<br/> +The banners play, the bugles call,<br/> +The air is blue and prodigal.<br/> + No berrying party, pleasure-wooed,<br/> +No picnic party in the May,<br/> +Ever went less loth than they<br/> + Into that leafy neighborhood.<br/> +In Bacchic glee they file toward Fate,<br/> +Moloch’s uninitiate;<br/> +Expectancy, and glad surmise<br/> +Of battle’s unknown mysteries.<br/> +All they feel is this: ’t is glory,<br/> +A rapture sharp, though transitory,<br/> +Yet lasting in belaureled story.<br/> +So they gayly go to fight,<br/> +Chatting left and laughing right.<br/> +<br/> +But some who this blithe mood present,<br/> + As on in lightsome files they fare,<br/> +Shall die experienced ere three days are spent—<br/> + Perish, enlightened by the vollied glare;<br/> +Or shame survive, and, like to adamant,<br/> + The throe of Second Manassas share. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap45"></a> +BALL’S BLUFF</h2> + +<p class="center"> +<i>A Reverie</i><br/> +October, 1861 +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +One noonday, at my window in the town,<br/> + I saw a sight—saddest that eyes can see—<br/> + Young soldiers marching lustily<br/> + Unto the wars,<br/> +With fifes, and flags in mottoed pageantry;<br/> + While all the porches, walks, and doors<br/> +Were rich with ladies cheering royally.<br/> +<br/> +They moved like Juny morning on the wave,<br/> + Their hearts were fresh as clover in its prime<br/> + (It was the breezy summer time),<br/> + Life throbbed so strong,<br/> +How should they dream that Death in a rosy clime<br/> + Would come to thin their shining throng?<br/> +Youth feels immortal, like the gods sublime.<br/> +<br/> +Weeks passed; and at my window, leaving bed,<br/> + By night I mused, of easeful sleep bereft,<br/> + On those ‘brave boys (Ah War! thy theft);<br/> + Some marching feet<br/> +Found pause at last by cliffs Potomac cleft;<br/> + Wakeful I mused, while in the street<br/> +Far footfalls died away till none were left. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap46"></a> +THE STONE FLEET</h2> + +<p class="center"> +<i>An Old Sailor’s Lament</i><br/> +December, 1861 +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +I have a feeling for those ships,<br/> + Each worn and ancient one,<br/> +With great bluff bows, and broad in the beam:<br/> + Ay, it was unkindly done.<br/> + But so they serve the Obsolete—<br/> + Even so, Stone Fleet!<br/> +<br/> +You’ll say I’m doting; do you think<br/> + I scudded round the Horn in one—<br/> +The <i>Tenedos,</i> a glorious<br/> + Good old craft as ever run—<br/> + Sunk (how all unmeet!)<br/> + With the Old Stone Fleet.<br/> +<br/> +An India ship of fame was she,<br/> + Spices and shawls and fans she bore;<br/> +A whaler when the wrinkles came—<br/> + Turned off! till, spent and poor,<br/> + Her bones were sold (escheat)!<br/> + Ah! Stone Fleet.<br/> +<br/> +Four were erst patrician keels<br/> + (Names attest what families be),<br/> +The <i>Kensington,</i> and <i>Richmond</i> too,<br/> + <i>Leonidas,</i> and <i>Lee</i>:<br/> + But now they have their seat<br/> + With the Old Stone Fleet.<br/> +<br/> +To scuttle them—a pirate deed—<br/> + Sack them, and dismast;<br/> +They sunk so slow, they died so hard,<br/> + But gurgling dropped at last.<br/> + Their ghosts in gales repeat<br/> + <i>Woe’s us, Stone Fleet!</i><br/> +<br/> +And all for naught. The waters pass—<br/> + Currents will have their way;<br/> +Nature is nobody’s ally; ’tis well;<br/> + The harbor is bettered—will stay.<br/> + A failure, and complete,<br/> + Was your Old Stone Fleet. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap47"></a> +THE TEMERAIRE</h2> + +<p class="center"> +<i>Supposed to have been suggested to an Englishman of the old order by the +fight of the Monitor and Merrimac</i> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +The gloomy hulls in armor grim,<br/> + Like clouds o’er moors have met,<br/> +And prove that oak, and iron, and man<br/> + Are tough in fibre yet.<br/> +<br/> +But Splendors wane. The sea-fight yields<br/> + No front of old display;<br/> +The garniture, emblazonment,<br/> + And heraldry all decay.<br/> +<br/> +Towering afar in parting light,<br/> + The fleets like Albion’s forelands shine—<br/> +The full-sailed fleets, the shrouded show<br/> + Of Ships-of-the-Line.<br/> +<br/> + The fighting <i>Temeraire,</i><br/> + Built of a thousand trees,<br/> + Lunging out her lightnings,<br/> + And beetling o’er the seas—<br/> + O Ship, how brave and fair,<br/> + That fought so oft and well,<br/> +<br/> +On open decks you manned the gun Armorial.<br/> +What cheerings did you share,<br/> + Impulsive in the van,<br/> +When down upon leagued France and Spain<br/> + We English ran—<br/> +The freshet at your bowsprit<br/> + Like the foam upon the can.<br/> +Bickering, your colors<br/> + Licked up the Spanish air,<br/> +You flapped with flames of battle-flags—<br/> + Your challenge, <i>Temeraire!</i><br/> +The rear ones of our fleet<br/> + They yearned to share your place,<br/> +Still vying with the Victory<br/> +Throughout that earnest race—<br/> +The Victory, whose Admiral,<br/> + With orders nobly won,<br/> +Shone in the globe of the battle glow—<br/> + The angel in that sun.<br/> +Parallel in story,<br/> + Lo, the stately pair,<br/> +As late in grapple ranging,<br/> + The foe between them there—<br/> +When four great hulls lay tiered,<br/> +And the fiery tempest cleared,<br/> +And your prizes twain appeared, <i>Temeraire!</i><br/> +<br/> +But Trafalgar is over now,<br/> + The quarter-deck undone;<br/> +The carved and castled navies fire<br/> + Their evening-gun.<br/> +O, Titan <i>Temeraire,</i><br/> + Your stern-lights fade away;<br/> +Your bulwarks to the years must yield,<br/> + And heart-of-oak decay.<br/> +A pigmy steam-tug tows you,<br/> + Gigantic, to the shore—<br/> +Dismantled of your guns and spars,<br/> + And sweeping wings of war.<br/> +The rivets clinch the iron clads,<br/> + Men learn a deadlier lore;<br/> +But Fame has nailed your battle-flags—<br/> + Your ghost it sails before:<br/> +O, the navies old and oaken,<br/> + O, the <i>Temeraire</i> no more! +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap48"></a> +A UTILITARIAN VIEW OF THE <i>MONITOR’S</i> FIGHT</h2> + +<p class="poem"> +Plain be the phrase, yet apt the verse,<br/> + More ponderous than nimble;<br/> +For since grimed War here laid aside<br/> +His Orient pomp, ’twould ill befit<br/> + Overmuch to ply<br/> + The rhyme’s barbaric cymbal.<br/> +<br/> +Hail to victory without the gaud<br/> + Of glory; zeal that needs no fans<br/> +Of banners; plain mechanic power<br/> +Plied cogently in War now placed—<br/> + Where War belongs—<br/> + Among the trades and artisans.<br/> +<br/> +Yet this was battle, and intense—<br/> + Beyond the strife of fleets heroic;<br/> +Deadlier, closer, calm ’mid storm;<br/> +No passion; all went on by crank,<br/> + Pivot, and screw,<br/> + And calculations of caloric.<br/> +<br/> +Needless to dwell; the story’s known.<br/> + The ringing of those plates on plates<br/> +Still ringeth round the world—<br/> +The clangor of that blacksmiths’ fray.<br/> + The anvil-din<br/> + Resounds this message from the Fates:<br/> +<br/> +War shall yet be, and to the end;<br/> + But war-paint shows the streaks of weather;<br/> +War yet shall be, but warriors<br/> +Are now but operatives; War’s made<br/> + Less grand than Peace,<br/> + And a singe runs through lace and feather. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap49"></a> +MALVERN HILL</h2> + +<p class="center"> +July, 1862 +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Ye elms that wave on Malvern Hill<br/> + In prime of morn and May,<br/> +Recall ye how McClellan’s men<br/> + Here stood at bay?<br/> +While deep within yon forest dim<br/> + Our rigid comrades lay—<br/> +Some with the cartridge in their mouth,<br/> +Others with fixed arms lifted South—<br/> + Invoking so—<br/> +The cypress glades? Ah wilds of woe!<br/> +<br/> +The spires of Richmond, late beheld<br/> +Through rifts in musket-haze,<br/> +Were closed from view in clouds of dust<br/> + On leaf-walled ways,<br/> +Where streamed our wagons in caravan;<br/> + And the Seven Nights and Days<br/> +Of march and fast, retreat and fight,<br/> +Pinched our grimed faces to ghastly plight—<br/> + Does the elm wood<br/> +Recall the haggard beards of blood?<br/> +<br/> +The battle-smoked flag, with stars eclipsed,<br/> + We followed (it never fell!)—<br/> +In silence husbanded our strength—<br/> + Received their yell;<br/> +Till on this slope we patient turned<br/> + With cannon ordered well;<br/> +Reverse we proved was not defeat;<br/> +But ah, the sod what thousands meet!—<br/> + Does Malvern Wood<br/> +Bethink itself, and muse and brood?<br/> + <i>We elms of Malvern Hill</i><br/> + <i>Remember everything;</i><br/> + <i>But sap the twig will fill:</i><br/> + <i>Wag the world how it will,</i><br/> + <i>Leaves must be green in Spring.</i> +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap50"></a> +STONEWALL JACKSON</h2> + +<p class="center"> +<i>Mortally wounded at Chancellorsville</i><br/> +May, 1863 +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +The Man who fiercest charged in fight,<br/> + Whose sword and prayer were long—<br/> + Stonewall!<br/> + Even him who stoutly stood for Wrong,<br/> +How can we praise? Yet coming days<br/> + Shall not forget him with this song.<br/> +<br/> +Dead is the Man whose Cause is dead,<br/> + Vainly he died and set his seal—<br/> + Stonewall!<br/> + Earnest in error, as we feel;<br/> +True to the thing he deemed was due,<br/> + True as John Brown or steel.<br/> +<br/> +Relentlessly he routed us;<br/> + But <i>we</i> relent, for he is low—<br/> + Stonewall!<br/> + Justly his fame we outlaw; so<br/> +We drop a tear on the bold Virginian’s bier,<br/> + Because no wreath we owe. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap51"></a> +THE HOUSE-TOP</h2> + +<p class="center"> +July, 1863<br/> +<i>A Night Piece</i> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +No sleep. The sultriness pervades the air<br/> +And binds the brain—a dense oppression, such<br/> +As tawny tigers feel in matted shades,<br/> +Vexing their blood and making apt for ravage.<br/> +Beneath the stars the roofy desert spreads<br/> +Vacant as Libya. All is hushed near by.<br/> +Yet fitfully from far breaks a mixed surf<br/> +Of muffled sound, the Atheist roar of riot.<br/> +Yonder, where parching Sirius set in drought,<br/> +Balefully glares red Arson—there—and there.<br/> +The Town is taken by its rats—ship-rats<br/> +And rats of the wharves. All civil charms<br/> +And priestly spells which late held hearts in awe—<br/> +Fear-bound, subjected to a better sway<br/> +Than sway of self; these like a dream dissolve,<br/> +And man rebounds whole aeons back in nature.<br/> +Hail to the low dull rumble, dull and dead,<br/> +And ponderous drag that shakes the wall.<br/> +Wise Draco comes, deep in the midnight roll<br/> +Of black artillery; he comes, though late;<br/> +In code corroborating Calvin’s creed<br/> +And cynic tyrannies of honest kings;<br/> +He comes, nor parlies; and the Town, redeemed,<br/> +Gives thanks devout; nor, being thankful, heeds<br/> +The grimy slur on the Republic’s faith implied,<br/> +Which holds that Man is naturally good,<br/> +And—more—is Nature’s Roman, never to be scourged. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap52"></a> +CHATTANOOGA</h2> + +<p class="center"> +November, 1863 +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +A kindling impulse seized the host<br/> + Inspired by heaven’s elastic air;<br/> +Their hearts outran their General’s plan,<br/> + Though Grant commanded there—<br/> + Grant, who without reserve can dare;<br/> +And, “Well, go on and do your will,”<br/> + He said, and measured the mountain then:<br/> +So master-riders fling the rein—<br/> + But you must know your men.<br/> +<br/> +On yester-morn in grayish mist,<br/> + Armies like ghosts on hills had fought,<br/> +And rolled from the cloud their thunders loud<br/> + The Cumberlands far had caught:<br/> + To-day the sunlit steeps are sought.<br/> +Grant stood on cliffs whence all was plain,<br/> + And smoked as one who feels no cares;<br/> +But mastered nervousness intense<br/> +Alone such calmness wears.<br/> +<br/> +The summit-cannon plunge their flame<br/> + Sheer down the primal wall,<br/> +But up and up each linking troop<br/> + In stretching festoons crawl—<br/> + Nor fire a shot. Such men appall<br/> +The foe, though brave. He, from the brink,<br/> + Looks far along the breadth of slope,<br/> +And sees two miles of dark dots creep,<br/> + And knows they mean the cope.<br/> +<br/> +He sees them creep. Yet here and there<br/> + Half hid ’mid leafless groves they go;<br/> +As men who ply through traceries high<br/> + Of turreted marbles show—<br/> + So dwindle these to eyes below.<br/> +But fronting shot and flanking shell<br/> + Sliver and rive the inwoven ways;<br/> +High tops of oaks and high hearts fall,<br/> + But never the climbing stays.<br/> +<br/> +From right to left, from left to right<br/> + They roll the rallying cheer—<br/> +Vie with each other, brother with brother,<br/> + Who shall the first appear—<br/> + What color-bearer with colors clear<br/> +In sharp relief, like sky-drawn Grant,<br/> + Whose cigar must now be near the stump—<br/> +While in solicitude his back<br/> + Heaps slowly to a hump.<br/> +<br/> +Near and more near; till now the flags<br/> + Run like a catching flame;<br/> +And one flares highest, to peril nighest—<br/> + <i>He</i> means to make a name:<br/> + Salvos! they give him his fame.<br/> +The staff is caught, and next the rush,<br/> + And then the leap where death has led;<br/> +Flag answered flag along the crest,<br/> + And swarms of rebels fled.<br/> +<br/> +But some who gained the envied Alp,<br/> + And—eager, ardent, earnest there—<br/> +Dropped into Death’s wide-open arms,<br/> + Quelled on the wing like eagles struck in air—<br/> + Forever they slumber young and fair,<br/> +The smile upon them as they died;<br/> + Their end attained, that end a height:<br/> +Life was to these a dream fulfilled,<br/> + And death a starry night. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap53"></a> +ON THE PHOTOGRAPH OF A CORPS COMMANDER</h2> + +<p class="poem"> +Ay, man is manly. Here you see<br/> + The warrior-carriage of the head,<br/> +And brave dilation of the frame;<br/> + And lighting all, the soul that led<br/> +In Spottsylvania’s charge to victory,<br/> + Which justifies his fame.<br/> +<br/> +A cheering picture. It is good<br/> + To look upon a Chief like this,<br/> +In whom the spirit moulds the form.<br/> + Here favoring Nature, oft remiss,<br/> +With eagle mien expressive has endued<br/> + A man to kindle strains that warm.<br/> +<br/> +Trace back his lineage, and his sires,<br/> + Yeoman or noble, you shall find<br/> +Enrolled with men of Agincourt,<br/> + Heroes who shared great Harry’s mind.<br/> +Down to us come the knightly Norman fires,<br/> + And front the Templars bore.<br/> +<br/> +Nothing can lift the heart of man<br/> + Like manhood in a fellow-man.<br/> +The thought of heaven’s great King afar<br/> +But humbles us—too weak to scan;<br/> +But manly greatness men can span,<br/> + And feel the bonds that draw. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap54"></a> +THE SWAMP ANGEL</h2> + +<p class="poem"> +There is a coal-black Angel<br/> + With a thick Afric lip,<br/> +And he dwells (like the hunted and harried)<br/> + In a swamp where the green frogs dip.<br/> +But his face is against a City<br/> + Which is over a bay of the sea,<br/> +And he breathes with a breath that is blastment,<br/> + And dooms by a far decree.<br/> +<br/> +By night there is fear in the City,<br/> + Through the darkness a star soareth on;<br/> +There’s a scream that screams up to the zenith,<br/> + Then the poise of a meteor lone—<br/> +Lighting far the pale fright of the faces,<br/> + And downward the coming is seen;<br/> +Then the rush, and the burst, and the havoc,<br/> + And wails and shrieks between.<br/> +<br/> +It comes like the thief in the gloaming;<br/> + It comes, and none may foretell<br/> +The place of the coming—the glaring;<br/> + They live in a sleepless spell<br/> +That wizens, and withers, and whitens;<br/> + It ages the young, and the bloom<br/> +Of the maiden is ashes of roses—<br/> + The Swamp Angel broods in his gloom.<br/> +<br/> +Swift is his messengers’ going,<br/> + But slowly he saps their halls,<br/> +As if by delay deluding.<br/> + They move from their crumbling walls<br/> +Farther and farther away;<br/> + But the Angel sends after and after,<br/> +By night with the flame of his ray—<br/> + By night with the voice of his screaming—<br/> +Sends after them, stone by stone,<br/> + And farther walls fall, farther portals,<br/> +And weed follows weed through the Town.<br/> +<br/> +Is this the proud City? the scorner<br/> + Which never would yield the ground?<br/> +Which mocked at the coal-black Angel?<br/> + The cup of despair goes round.<br/> +Vainly he calls upon Michael<br/> + (The white man’s seraph was he,)<br/> +For Michael has fled from his tower<br/> + To the Angel over the sea.<br/> +Who weeps for the woeful City<br/> + Let him weep for our guilty kind;<br/> +Who joys at her wild despairing—<br/> +Christ, the Forgiver, convert his mind. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap55"></a> +SHERIDAN AT CEDAR CREEK</h2> + +<p class="center"> +October, 1864 +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Shoe the steed with silver<br/> + That bore him to the fray,<br/> +When he heard the guns at dawning—<br/> + Miles away;<br/> +When he heard them calling, calling—<br/> + Mount! nor stay:<br/> + Quick, or all is lost;<br/> + They’ve surprised and stormed the post,<br/> + They push your routed host—<br/> +Gallop! retrieve the day.<br/> +<br/> +House the horse in ermine—<br/> + For the foam-flake blew<br/> +White through the red October;<br/> + He thundered into view;<br/> +They cheered him in the looming.<br/> + Horseman and horse they knew.<br/> + The turn of the tide began,<br/> + The rally of bugles ran,<br/> + He swung his hat in the van;<br/> +The electric hoof-spark flew.<br/> +<br/> +Wreathe the steed and lead him—<br/> + For the charge he led<br/> +Touched and turned the cypress<br/> + Into amaranths for the head<br/> +Of Philip, king of riders,<br/> + Who raised them from the dead.<br/> + The camp (at dawning lost),<br/> + By eve, recovered—forced,<br/> + Rang with laughter of the host<br/> +At belated Early fled.<br/> +<br/> +Shroud the horse in sable—<br/> + For the mounds they heap!<br/> +There is firing in the Valley,<br/> + And yet no strife they keep;<br/> +It is the parting volley,<br/> + It is the pathos deep.<br/> + There is glory for the brave<br/> + Who lead, and nobly save,<br/> + But no knowledge in the grave<br/> +Where the nameless followers sleep. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap56"></a> +IN THE PRISON PEN</h2> + +<p class="center"> +1864 +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Listless he eyes the palisades<br/> + And sentries in the glare;<br/> +’Tis barren as a pelican-beach<br/> + But his world is ended there.<br/> +<br/> +Nothing to do; and vacant hands<br/> + Bring on the idiot-pain;<br/> +He tries to think—to recollect,<br/> + But the blur is on his brain.<br/> +<br/> +Around him swarm the plaining ghosts<br/> + Like those on Virgil’s shore—<br/> +A wilderness of faces dim,<br/> + And pale ones gashed and hoar.<br/> +<br/> +A smiting sun. No shed, no tree;<br/> + He totters to his lair—<br/> +A den that sick hands dug in earth<br/> + Ere famine wasted there,<br/> +<br/> +Or, dropping in his place, he swoons,<br/> + Walled in by throngs that press,<br/> +Till forth from the throngs they bear him dead—<br/> + Dead in his meagreness. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap57"></a> +THE COLLEGE COLONEL</h2> + +<p class="poem"> +He rides at their head;<br/> + A crutch by his saddle just slants in view,<br/> +One slung arm is in splints, you see,<br/> + Yet he guides his strong steed—how coldly too.<br/> +<br/> +He brings his regiment home—<br/> + Not as they filed two years before,<br/> +But a remnant half-tattered, and battered, and worn,<br/> +Like castaway sailors, who—stunned<br/> + By the surf’s loud roar,<br/> + Their mates dragged back and seen no more—<br/> +Again and again breast the surge,<br/> + And at last crawl, spent, to shore.<br/> +<br/> +A still rigidity and pale—<br/> + An Indian aloofness lones his brow;<br/> +He has lived a thousand years<br/> +Compressed in battle’s pains and prayers,<br/> + Marches and watches slow.<br/> +<br/> +There are welcoming shouts, and flags;<br/> + Old men off hat to the Boy,<br/> +Wreaths from gay balconies fall at his feet,<br/> +But to <i>him</i>—there comes alloy.<br/> +<br/> +It is not that a leg is lost,<br/> + It is not that an arm is maimed,<br/> +It is not that the fever has racked—<br/> + Self he has long disclaimed.<br/> +<br/> +But all through the Seven Days’ Fight,<br/> + And deep in the Wilderness grim,<br/> +And in the field-hospital tent,<br/> + And Petersburg crater, and dim<br/> +Lean brooding in Libby, there came—<br/> + Ah heaven!—what <i>truth</i> to him. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap58"></a> +THE MARTYR</h2> + +<p class="center"> +<i>Indicative of the passion of the people on the 15th of April, 1865</i><br/> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Good Friday was the day<br/> + Of the prodigy and crime,<br/> +When they killed him in his pity,<br/> + When they killed him in his prime<br/> +Of clemency and calm—<br/> + When with yearning he was filled<br/> + To redeem the evil-willed,<br/> +And, though conqueror, be kind;<br/> + But they killed him in his kindness,<br/> + In their madness and their blindness,<br/> +And they killed him from behind.<br/> +<br/> + There is sobbing of the strong,<br/> + And a pall upon the land;<br/> + But the People in their weeping<br/> + Bare the iron hand;<br/> + Beware the People weeping<br/> + When they bare the iron hand.<br/> +<br/> +He lieth in his blood—<br/> + The father in his face;<br/> +They have killed him, the Forgiver—<br/> + The Avenger takes his place,<br/> +The Avenger wisely stern,<br/> + Who in righteousness shall do<br/> + What the heavens call him to,<br/> +And the parricides remand;<br/> + For they killed him in his kindness,<br/> + In their madness and their blindness,<br/> +And his blood is on their hand.<br/> +<br/> + There is sobbing of the strong,<br/> + And a pall upon the land;<br/> + But the People in their weeping<br/> + Bare the iron hand:<br/> + Beware the People weeping<br/> + When they bare the iron hand. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap59"></a> +REBEL COLOR-BEARERS AT SHILOH</h2> + +<p class="center"> +<i>A plea against the vindictive cry raised by civilians shortly after the +surrender at Appomattox</i> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +The color-bearers facing death<br/> +White in the whirling sulphurous wreath,<br/> + Stand boldly out before the line;<br/> +Right and left their glances go,<br/> +Proud of each other, glorying in their show;<br/> +Their battle-flags about them blow,<br/> + And fold them as in flame divine:<br/> +Such living robes are only seen<br/> +Round martyrs burning on the green—<br/> +And martyrs for the Wrong have been.<br/> +<br/> +Perish their Cause! but mark the men—<br/> +Mark the planted statues, then<br/> +Draw trigger on them if you can.<br/> +<br/> +The leader of a patriot-band<br/> +Even so could view rebels who so could stand;<br/> + And this when peril pressed him sore,<br/> +Left aidless in the shivered front of war—<br/> + Skulkers behind, defiant foes before,<br/> +And fighting with a broken brand.<br/> +The challenge in that courage rare—<br/> +Courage defenseless, proudly bare—<br/> +Never could tempt him; he could dare<br/> +Strike up the leveled rifle there.<br/> +<br/> +Sunday at Shiloh, and the day<br/> +When Stonewall charged—McClellan’s crimson May,<br/> +And Chickamauga’s wave of death,<br/> +And of the Wilderness the cypress wreath—<br/> + All these have passed away.<br/> +The life in the veins of Treason lags,<br/> +Her daring color-bearers drop their flags,<br/> + And yield. <i>Now</i> shall we fire?<br/> + Can poor spite be?<br/> + Shall nobleness in victory less aspire<br/> + Than in reverse? Spare Spleen her ire,<br/> + And think how Grant met Lee. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap60"></a> +AURORA BOREALIS</h2> + +<p class="center"> +<i>Commemorative of the Dissolution of armies at the Peace</i><br/> +May, 1865 +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +What power disbands the Northern Lights<br/> + After their steely play?<br/> +The lonely watcher feels an awe<br/> + Of Nature’s sway,<br/> + As when appearing,<br/> + He marked their flashed uprearing<br/> + In the cold gloom—<br/> + Retreatings and advancings,<br/> +(Like dallyings of doom),<br/> + Transitions and enhancings,<br/> + And bloody ray.<br/> +<br/> +The phantom-host has faded quite,<br/> + Splendor and Terror gone<br/> +Portent or promise—and gives way<br/> + To pale, meek Dawn;<br/> + The coming, going,<br/> + Alike in wonder showing—<br/> + Alike the God,<br/> + Decreeing and commanding<br/> +The million blades that glowed,<br/> + The muster and disbanding—<br/> + Midnight and Morn. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap61"></a> +THE RELEASED REBEL PRISONER</h2> + +<p class="center"> +June, 1865 +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Armies he’s seen—the herds of war,<br/> + But never such swarms of men<br/> +As now in the Nineveh of the North—<br/> + How mad the Rebellion then!<br/> +<br/> +And yet but dimly he divines<br/> + The depth of that deceit,<br/> +And superstitution of vast pride<br/> + Humbled to such defeat.<br/> +<br/> +Seductive shone the Chiefs in arms—<br/> + His steel the nearest magnet drew;<br/> +Wreathed with its kind, the Gulf-weed drives—<br/> + ’Tis Nature’s wrong they rue.<br/> +<br/> +His face is hidden in his beard,<br/> + But his heart peers out at eye—<br/> +And such a heart! like a mountain-pool<br/> + Where no man passes by.<br/> +<br/> +He thinks of Hill—a brave soul gone;<br/> + And Ashby dead in pale disdain;<br/> +And Stuart with the Rupert-plume,<br/> + Whose blue eye never shall laugh again.<br/> +<br/> +He hears the drum; he sees our boys<br/> +From his wasted fields return;<br/> +Ladies feast them on strawberries,<br/> + And even to kiss them yearn.<br/> +<br/> +He marks them bronzed, in soldier-trim,<br/> + The rifle proudly borne;<br/> +They bear it for an heirloom home,<br/> + And he—disarmed—jail-worn.<br/> +<br/> +Home, home—his heart is full of it;<br/> + But home he never shall see,<br/> +Even should he stand upon the spot:<br/> + ’Tis gone!—where his brothers be.<br/> +<br/> +The cypress-moss from tree to tree<br/> + Hangs in his Southern land;<br/> +As weird, from thought to thought of his<br/> + Run memories hand in hand.<br/> +<br/> +And so he lingers—lingers on<br/> + In the City of the Foe—<br/> +His cousins and his countrymen<br/> + Who see him listless go. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap62"></a> +“FORMERLY A SLAVE”</h2> + +<p class="center"> +<i>An idealized Portrait, by E. Vedder, in the Spring Exhibition of the +National Academy, 1865</i> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +The sufferance of her race is shown,<br/> + And retrospect of life,<br/> +Which now too late deliverance dawns upon;<br/> + Yet is she not at strife.<br/> +<br/> +Her children’s children they shall know<br/> + The good withheld from her;<br/> +And so her reverie takes prophetic cheer—<br/> + In spirit she sees the stir.<br/> +<br/> +Far down the depth of thousand years,<br/> + And marks the revel shine;<br/> +Her dusky face is lit with sober light,<br/> + Sibylline, yet benign. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap63"></a> +ON THE SLAIN COLLEGIANS</h2> + +<p class="poem"> +Youth is the time when hearts are large,<br/> + And stirring wars<br/> +Appeal to the spirit which appeals in turn<br/> + To the blade it draws.<br/> +If woman incite, and duty show<br/> + (Though made the mask of Cain),<br/> +Or whether it be Truth’s sacred cause,<br/> + Who can aloof remain<br/> +That shares youth’s ardor, uncooled by the snow<br/> + Of wisdom or sordid gain?<br/> +<br/> +The liberal arts and nurture sweet<br/> + Which give his gentleness to man—<br/> + Train him to honor, lend him grace<br/> +Through bright examples meet—<br/> +That culture which makes never wan<br/> +With underminings deep, but holds<br/> + The surface still, its fitting place,<br/> + And so gives sunniness to the face<br/> +And bravery to the heart; what troops<br/> + Of generous boys in happiness thus bred—<br/> + Saturnians through life’s Tempe led,<br/> +Went from the North and came from the South,<br/> +With golden mottoes in the mouth,<br/> + To lie down midway on a bloody bed.<br/> +<br/> +Woe for the homes of the North,<br/> +And woe for the seats of the South:<br/> +All who felt life’s spring in prime,<br/> +And were swept by the wind of their place and time—<br/> + All lavish hearts, on whichever side,<br/> +Of birth urbane or courage high,<br/> +Armed them for the stirring wars—<br/> + Armed them—some to die.<br/> + Apollo-like in pride.<br/> +Each would slay his Python—caught<br/> +The maxims in his temple taught—<br/> + Aflame with sympathies whose blaze<br/> +Perforce enwrapped him—social laws,<br/> + Friendship and kin, and by-gone days—<br/> +Vows, kisses—every heart unmoors,<br/> +And launches into the seas of wars.<br/> +What could they else—North or South?<br/> +Each went forth with blessings given<br/> +By priests and mothers in the name of Heaven;<br/> + And honor in both was chief.<br/> +Warred one for Right, and one for Wrong?<br/> +So be it; but they both were young—<br/> +Each grape to his cluster clung,<br/> +All their elegies are sung.<br/> +The anguish of maternal hearts<br/> + Must search for balm divine;<br/> +But well the striplings bore their fated parts<br/> + (The heavens all parts assign)—<br/> +Never felt life’s care or cloy.<br/> +Each bloomed and died an unabated Boy;<br/> +Nor dreamed what death was—thought it mere<br/> +Sliding into some vernal sphere.<br/> +They knew the joy, but leaped the grief,<br/> +Like plants that flower ere comes the leaf—<br/> +Which storms lay low in kindly doom,<br/> +And kill them in their flush of bloom. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap64"></a> +AMERICA</h2> + +<p class="center"> +I +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Where the wings of a sunny Dome expand<br/> +I saw a Banner in gladsome air—<br/> +Starry, like Berenice’s Hair—<br/> +Afloat in broadened bravery there;<br/> +With undulating long-drawn flow,<br/> +As tolled Brazilian billows go<br/> +Voluminously o’er the Line.<br/> +The Land reposed in peace below;<br/> + The children in their glee<br/> +Were folded to the exulting heart<br/> + Of young Maternity. +</p> + +<p class="center"> +II +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Later, and it streamed in fight<br/> + When tempest mingled with the fray,<br/> +And over the spear-point of the shaft<br/> + I saw the ambiguous lightning play.<br/> +Valor with Valor strove, and died:<br/> +Fierce was Despair, and cruel was Pride;<br/> +And the lorn Mother speechless stood,<br/> +Pale at the fury of her brood. +</p> + +<p class="center"> +III +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Yet later, and the silk did wind<br/> + Her fair cold form;<br/> +Little availed the shining shroud,<br/> + Though ruddy in hue, to cheer or warm.<br/> +A watcher looked upon her low, and said—<br/> +She sleeps, but sleeps, she is not dead.<br/> + But in that sleeps contortion showed<br/> +The terror of the vision there—<br/> + A silent vision unavowed,<br/> +Revealing earth’s foundation bare,<br/> + And Gorgon in her hidden place.<br/> +It was a thing of fear to see<br/> + So foul a dream upon so fair a face,<br/> +And the dreamer lying in that starry shroud. +</p> + +<p class="center"> +IV +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +But from the trance she sudden broke—<br/> + The trance, or death into promoted life;<br/> +At her feet a shivered yoke,<br/> +And in her aspect turned to heaven<br/> + No trace of passion or of strife—<br/> +A clear calm look. It spake of pain,<br/> +But such as purifies from stain—<br/> +Sharp pangs that never come again—<br/> + And triumph repressed by knowledge meet,<br/> +Power dedicate, and hope grown wise,<br/> + And youth matured for age’s seat—<br/> +Law on her brow and empire in her eyes.<br/> + So she, with graver air and lifted flag;<br/> +While the shadow, chased by light,<br/> +Fled along the far-drawn height,<br/> + And left her on the crag. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap65"></a> +INSCRIPTION</h2> + +<p class="center"> +<i>For Graves at Pea Ridge, Arkansas</i> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Let none misgive we died amiss<br/> + When here we strove in furious fight:<br/> +Furious it was; nathless was this<br/> + Better than tranquil plight,<br/> +And tame surrender of the Cause<br/> +Hallowed by hearts and by the laws.<br/> + We here who warred for Man and Right,<br/> +The choice of warring never laid with us.<br/> + There we were ruled by the traitor’s choice.<br/> + Nor long we stood to trim and poise,<br/> +But marched and fell—victorious! +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap66"></a> +THE FORTITUDE OF THE NORTH</h2> + +<p class="center"> +<i>Under the Disaster of the Second Manassas</i> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +They take no shame for dark defeat<br/> + While prizing yet each victory won,<br/> +Who fight for the Right through all retreat,<br/> + Nor pause until their work is done.<br/> +The Cape-of-Storms is proof to every throe;<br/> + Vainly against that foreland beat<br/> +Wild winds aloft and wilder waves below:<br/> +The black cliffs gleam through rents in sleet<br/> +When the livid Antarctic storm-clouds glow. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap67"></a> +THE MOUND BY THE LAKE</h2> + +<p class="poem"> +The grass shall never forget this grave.<br/> +When homeward footing it in the sun<br/> + After the weary ride by rail,<br/> +The stripling soldiers passed her door,<br/> + Wounded perchance, or wan and pale,<br/> +She left her household work undone—<br/> +Duly the wayside table spread,<br/> + With evergreens shaded, to regale<br/> +Each travel-spent and grateful one.<br/> +So warm her heart—childless—unwed,<br/> +Who like a mother comforted. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap68"></a> +ON THE SLAIN AT CHICKAMAUGA</h2> + +<p class="poem"> +Happy are they and charmed in life<br/> + Who through long wars arrive unscarred<br/> +At peace. To such the wreath be given,<br/> +If they unfalteringly have striven—<br/> + In honor, as in limb, unmarred.<br/> +Let cheerful praise be rife,<br/> + And let them live their years at ease,<br/> +Musing on brothers who victorious died—<br/> + Loved mates whose memory shall ever please.<br/> +<br/> +And yet mischance is honorable too—<br/> + Seeming defeat in conflict justified<br/> +Whose end to closing eyes is hid from view.<br/> +The will, that never can relent—<br/> +The aim, survivor of the bafflement,<br/> + Make this memorial due. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap69"></a> +AN UNINSCRIBED MONUMENT</h2> + +<p class="center"> +<i>On one of the Battle-fields of the Wilderness</i> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Silence and solitude may hint<br/> + (Whose home is in yon piney wood)<br/> +What I, though tableted, could never tell—<br/> +The din which here befell,<br/> + And striving of the multitude.<br/> +The iron cones and spheres of death<br/> + Set round me in their rust,<br/> + These, too, if just,<br/> +Shall speak with more than animated breath.<br/> + Thou who beholdest, if thy thought,<br/> +Not narrowed down to personal cheer,<br/> +Take in the import of the quiet here—<br/> + The after-quiet—the calm full fraught;<br/> +Thou too wilt silent stand—<br/> +Silent as I, and lonesome as the land. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap70"></a> +ON THE GRAVE OF A YOUNG CAVALRY OFFICER KILLED IN THE VALLEY OF VIRGINIA</h2> + +<p class="poem"> +Beauty and youth, with manners sweet, and friends—<br/> + Gold, yet a mind not unenriched had he<br/> +Whom here low violets veil from eyes.<br/> + But all these gifts transcended be:<br/> +His happier fortune in this mound you see. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap71"></a> +A REQUIEM</h2> + +<p class="center"> +<i>For Soldiers lost in Ocean Transports</i> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +When, after storms that woodlands rue,<br/> + To valleys comes atoning dawn,<br/> +The robins blithe their orchard-sports renew;<br/> + And meadow-larks, no more withdrawn<br/> +Caroling fly in the languid blue;<br/> +The while, from many a hid recess,<br/> +Alert to partake the blessedness,<br/> +The pouring mites their airy dance pursue.<br/> + So, after ocean’s ghastly gales,<br/> +When laughing light of hoyden morning breaks,<br/> + Every finny hider wakes—<br/> + From vaults profound swims up with glittering scales;<br/> + Through the delightsome sea he sails,<br/> +With shoals of shining tiny things<br/> +Frolic on every wave that flings<br/> + Against the prow its showery spray;<br/> +All creatures joying in the morn,<br/> +Save them forever from joyance torn,<br/> + Whose bark was lost where now the dolphins play;<br/> +Save them that by the fabled shore,<br/> + Down the pale stream are washed away,<br/> +Far to the reef of bones are borne;<br/> + And never revisits them the light,<br/> +Nor sight of long-sought land and pilot more;<br/> + Nor heed they now the lone bird’s flight<br/> +Round the lone spar where mid-sea surges pour. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap72"></a> +COMMEMORATIVE OF A NAVAL VICTORY</h2> + +<p class="poem"> +Sailors there are of the gentlest breed,<br/> + Yet strong, like every goodly thing;<br/> +The discipline of arms refines,<br/> + And the wave gives tempering.<br/> + The damasked blade its beam can fling;<br/> +It lends the last grave grace:<br/> +The hawk, the hound, and sworded nobleman<br/> + In Titian’s picture for a king,<br/> +Are of hunter or warrior race.<br/> +<br/> +In social halls a favored guest<br/> + In years that follow victory won,<br/> +How sweet to feel your festal fame<br/> + In woman’s glance instinctive thrown:<br/> + Repose is yours—your deed is known,<br/> +It musks the amber wine;<br/> +It lives, and sheds a light from storied days<br/> + Rich as October sunsets brown,<br/> +Which make the barren place to shine.<br/> +<br/> +But seldom the laurel wreath is seen<br/> + Unmixed with pensive pansies dark;<br/> +There’s a light and a shadow on every man<br/> + Who at last attains his lifted mark—<br/> + Nursing through night the ethereal spark.<br/> +Elate he never can be;<br/> +He feels that spirit which glad had hailed his worth,<br/> + Sleep in oblivion.—The shark<br/> +Glides white through the phosphorus sea. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap73"></a> +A MEDITATION</h2> + +<p class="poem"> +How often in the years that close,<br/> + When truce had stilled the sieging gun,<br/> +The soldiers, mounting on their works,<br/> + With mutual curious glance have run<br/> +From face to face along the fronting show,<br/> +And kinsman spied, or friend—even in a foe.<br/> +<br/> +What thoughts conflicting then were shared,<br/> + While sacred tenderness perforce<br/> +Welled from the heart and wet the eye;<br/> + And something of a strange remorse<br/> +Rebelled against the sanctioned sin of blood,<br/> +And Christian wars of natural brotherhood.<br/> +<br/> +Then stirred the god within the breast—<br/> + The witness that is man’s at birth;<br/> +A deep misgiving undermined<br/> + Each plea and subterfuge of earth;<br/> +They felt in that rapt pause, with warning rife,<br/> +Horror and anguish for the civil strife.<br/> +<br/> +Of North or South they reeked not then,<br/> + Warm passion cursed the cause of war:<br/> +Can Africa pay back this blood<br/> + Spilt on Potomac’s shore?<br/> +Yet doubts, as pangs, were vain the strife to stay,<br/> +And hands that fain had clasped again could slay.<br/> +<br/> +How frequent in the camp was seen<br/> + The herald from the hostile one,<br/> +A guest and frank companion there<br/> + When the proud formal talk was done;<br/> +The pipe of peace was smoked even ’mid the war,<br/> +And fields in Mexico again fought o’er.<br/> +<br/> +In Western battle long they lay<br/> + So near opposed in trench or pit,<br/> +That foeman unto foeman called<br/> + As men who screened in tavern sit:<br/> +“You bravely fight” each to the other said—<br/> +“Toss us a biscuit!” o’er the wall it sped.<br/> +<br/> +And pale on those same slopes, a boy—<br/> + A stormer, bled in noon-day glare;<br/> +No aid the Blue-coats then could bring,<br/> + He cried to them who nearest were,<br/> +And out there came ’mid howling shot and shell<br/> +A daring foe who him befriended well.<br/> +<br/> +Mark the great Captains on both sides,<br/> + The soldiers with the broad renown—<br/> +They all were messmates on the Hudson’s marge,<br/> + Beneath one roof they laid them down;<br/> +And, free from hate in many an after pass,<br/> +Strove as in school-boy rivalry of the class.<br/> +<br/> +A darker side there is; but doubt<br/> + In Nature’s charity hovers there:<br/> +If men for new agreement yearn,<br/> + Then old upbraiding best forbear:<br/> +“The South’s the sinner!” Well, so let it be;<br/> +But shall the North sin worse, and stand the Pharisee?<br/> +<br/> +O, now that brave men yield the sword,<br/> + Mine be the manful soldier-view;<br/> +By how much more they boldly warred,<br/> + By so much more is mercy due:<br/> +When Vicksburg fell, and the moody files marched out,<br/> +Silent the victors stood, scorning to raise a shout. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap74"></a> +POEMS FROM MARDI</h2> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap75"></a> +WE FISH</h2> + +<p class="poem"> +We fish, we fish, we merrily swim,<br/> +We care not for friend nor for foe.<br/> + Our fins are stout,<br/> + Our tails are out,<br/> +As through the seas we go.<br/> +<br/> +Fish, Fish, we are fish with red gills;<br/> + Naught disturbs us, our blood is at zero:<br/> +We are buoyant because of our bags,<br/> + Being many, each fish is a hero.<br/> +We care not what is it, this life<br/> + That we follow, this phantom unknown;<br/> +To swim, it’s exceedingly pleasant,—<br/> + So swim away, making a foam.<br/> +This strange looking thing by our side,<br/> + Not for safety, around it we flee:—<br/> +Its shadow’s so shady, that’s all,—<br/> + We only swim under its lee.<br/> +And as for the eels there above,<br/> + And as for the fowls of the air,<br/> +We care not for them nor their ways,<br/> + As we cheerily glide afar!<br/> +<br/> +We fish, we fish, we merrily swim,<br/> +We care not for friend nor for foe:<br/> + Our fins are stout,<br/> + Our tails are out,<br/> +As through the seas we go. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap76"></a> +INVOCATION</h2> + +<p class="poem"> +Ha, ha, gods and kings; fill high, one and all;<br/> +Drink, drink! shout and drink! mad respond to the call!<br/> +Fill fast, and fill full; ’gainst the goblet ne’er sin;<br/> +Quaff there, at high tide, to the uttermost rim:—<br/> + Flood-tide, and soul-tide to the brim!<br/> +<br/> +Who with wine in him fears? who thinks of his cares?<br/> +Who sighs to be wise, when wine in him flares?<br/> +Water sinks down below, in currents full slow;<br/> +But wine mounts on high with its genial glow:—<br/> + Welling up, till the brain overflow!<br/> +<br/> +As the spheres, with a roll, some fiery of soul,<br/> +Others golden, with music, revolve round the pole;<br/> +So let our cups, radiant with many hued wines,<br/> +Round and round in groups circle, our Zodiac’s Signs:—<br/> + Round reeling, and ringing their chimes!<br/> +<br/> +Then drink, gods and kings; wine merriment brings;<br/> +It bounds through the veins; there, jubilant sings.<br/> +Let it ebb, then, and flow; wine never grows dim;<br/> +Drain down that bright tide at the foam beaded rim:—<br/> + Fill up, every cup, to the brim! +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap77"></a> +DIRGE</h2> + +<p class="poem"> +We drop our dead in the sea,<br/> + The bottomless, bottomless sea;<br/> +Each bubble a hollow sigh,<br/> + As it sinks forever and aye.<br/> +<br/> +We drop our dead in the sea,—<br/> + The dead reek not of aught;<br/> +We drop our dead in the sea,—<br/> + The sea ne’er gives it a thought.<br/> +<br/> +Sink, sink, oh corpse, still sink,<br/> + Far down in the bottomless sea,<br/> +Where the unknown forms do prowl,<br/> + Down, down in the bottomless sea.<br/> +<br/> +’Tis night above, and night all round,<br/> + And night will it be with thee;<br/> +As thou sinkest, and sinkest for aye,<br/> + Deeper down in the bottomless sea. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap78"></a> +MARLENA</h2> + +<p class="poem"> +Far off in the sea is Marlena,<br/> +A land of shades and streams,<br/> +A land of many delights,<br/> +Dark and bold, thy shores, Marlena;<br/> +But green, and timorous, thy soft knolls,<br/> +Crouching behind the woodlands.<br/> +All shady thy hills; all gleaming thy springs,<br/> +Like eyes in the earth looking at you.<br/> +How charming thy haunts, Marlena!—<br/> +Oh, the waters that flow through Onimoo;<br/> +Oh, the leaves that rustle through Ponoo:<br/> +Oh, the roses that blossom in Tarma.<br/> +Come, and see the valley of Vina:<br/> +How sweet, how sweet, the Isles from Hina:<br/> +’Tis aye afternoon of the full, full moon,<br/> +And ever the season of fruit,<br/> +And ever the hour of flowers,<br/> +And never the time of rains and gales,<br/> +All in and about Marlena.<br/> +Soft sigh the boughs in the stilly air,<br/> +Soft lap the beach the billows there;<br/> +And in the woods or by the streams,<br/> +You needs must nod in the Land of Dreams. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap79"></a> +PIPE SONG</h2> + +<p class="poem"> +Care is all stuff:—<br/> + Puff! Puff!<br/> +To puff is enough:—<br/> + Puff! Puff<br/> +More musky than snuff,<br/> +And warm is a puff:—<br/> + Puff! Puff<br/> +Here we sit mid our puffs,<br/> +Like old lords in their ruffs,<br/> +Snug as bears in their muffs:—<br/> + Puff! Puff<br/> +Then puff, puff, puff,<br/> +For care is all stuff,<br/> +Puffed off in a puff—<br/> + Puff! Puff! +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap80"></a> +SONG OF YOOMY</h2> + +<p class="poem"> +Departed the pride, and the glory of Mardi:<br/> +The vaunt of her isles sleeps deep in the sea,<br/> + That rolls o’er his corse with a hush,<br/> + His warriors bend over their spears,<br/> + His sisters gaze upward and mourn.<br/> + Weep, weep, for Adondo is dead!<br/> + The sun has gone down in a shower;<br/> + Buried in clouds the face of the moon;<br/> +Tears stand in the eyes of the starry skies,<br/> + And stand in the eyes of the flowers;<br/> +And streams of tears are the trickling brooks,<br/> + Coursing adown the mountains.—<br/> + Departed the pride, and the glory of Mardi:<br/> + The vaunt of her isles sleeps deep in the sea.<br/> +Fast falls the small rain on its bosom that sobs,—<br/> + Not showers of rain, but the tears of Oro. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap81"></a> +GOLD</h2> + +<p class="poem"> + We rovers bold,<br/> + To the land of Gold,<br/> +Over the bowling billows are gliding:<br/> + Eager to toil,<br/> + For the golden spoil,<br/> +And every hardship biding.<br/> + See! See!<br/> +Before our prows’ resistless dashes<br/> +The gold-fish fly in golden flashes!<br/> + ’Neath a sun of gold,<br/> + We rovers bold,<br/> +On the golden land are gaining;<br/> + And every night,<br/> + We steer aright,<br/> +By golden stars unwaning!<br/> +All fires burn a golden glare:<br/> +No locks so bright as golden hair!<br/> + All orange groves have golden gushings;<br/> + All mornings dawn with golden flushings!<br/> +In a shower of gold, say fables old,<br/> +A maiden was won by the god of gold!<br/> + In golden goblets wine is beaming:<br/> + On golden couches kings are dreaming!<br/> + The Golden Rule dries many tears!<br/> + The Golden Number rules the spheres!<br/> +Gold, gold it is, that sways the nations:<br/> +Gold! gold! the center of all rotations!<br/> + On golden axles worlds are turning:<br/> + With phosphorescence seas are burning!<br/> + All fire-flies flame with golden gleamings!<br/> + Gold-hunters’ hearts with golden dreamings!<br/> + With golden arrows kings are slain:<br/> + With gold we’ll buy a freeman’s name!<br/> +In toilsome trades, for scanty earnings,<br/> +At home we’ve slaved, with stifled yearnings:<br/> +No light! no hope! Oh, heavy woe!<br/> +When nights fled fast, and days dragged slow.<br/> + But joyful now, with eager eye,<br/> + Fast to the Promised Land we fly:<br/> + Where in deep mines,<br/> + The treasure shines;<br/> + Or down in beds of golden streams,<br/> + The gold-flakes glance in golden gleams!<br/> + How we long to sift,<br/> + That yellow drift!<br/> + Rivers! Rivers! cease your goings!<br/> + Sand-bars! rise, and stay the tide!<br/> + ’Till we’ve gained the golden flowing;<br/> + And in the golden haven ride! +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap82"></a> +THE LAND OF LOVE</h2> + +<p class="poem"> +Hail! voyagers, hail!<br/> +Whence e’er ye come, where’er ye rove,<br/> + No calmer strand,<br/> + No sweeter land,<br/> +Will e’er ye view, than the Land of Love!<br/> +<br/> + Hail! voyagers, hail!<br/> +To these, our shores, soft gales invite:<br/> + The palm plumes wave,<br/> + The billows lave,<br/> +And hither point fix’d stars of light!<br/> +<br/> + Hail! voyagers, hail!<br/> +Think not our groves wide brood with gloom;<br/> + In this, our isle,<br/> + Bright flowers smile:<br/> +Full urns, rose-heaped, these valleys bloom.<br/> +<br/> + Hail! voyagers, hail!<br/> +Be not deceived; renounce vain things;<br/> + Ye may not find<br/> + A tranquil mind,<br/> +Though hence ye sail with swiftest wings.<br/> +<br/> + Hail! voyagers, hail!<br/> +Time flies full fast; life soon is o’er;<br/> + And ye may mourn,<br/> + That hither borne,<br/> +Ye left behind our pleasant shore. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap83"></a> +POEMS FROM CLAREL</h2> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap84"></a> +DIRGE</h2> + +<p class="poem"> +Stay, Death, Not mine the Christus-wand<br/> +Wherewith to charge thee and command:<br/> +I plead. Most gently hold the hand<br/> +Of her thou leadest far away;<br/> +Fear thou to let her naked feet<br/> +Tread ashes—but let mosses sweet<br/> +Her footing tempt, where’er ye stray.<br/> +Shun Orcus; win the moonlit land<br/> +Belulled—the silent meadows lone,<br/> +Where never any leaf is blown<br/> +From lily-stem in Azrael’s hand.<br/> +There, till her love rejoin her lowly<br/> +(Pensive, a shade, but all her own)<br/> +On honey feed her, wild and holy;<br/> +Or trance her with thy choicest charm.<br/> +And if, ere yet the lover’s free,<br/> +Some added dusk thy rule decree—<br/> +That shadow only let it be<br/> +Thrown in the moon-glade by the palm. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap85"></a> +EPILOGUE</h2> + +<p class="center"> +<i>If Luther’s day expand to Darwin’s year,</i><br/> +<i>Shall that exclude the hope—foreclose the fear?</i> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Unmoved by all the claims our times avow,<br/> +The ancient Sphinx still keeps the porch of shade;<br/> +And comes Despair, whom not her calm may cow,<br/> +And coldly on that adamantine brow<br/> +Scrawls undeterred his bitter pasquinade.<br/> +But Faith (who from the scrawl indignant turns)<br/> +With blood warm oozing from her wounded trust,<br/> +Inscribes even on her shards of broken urns<br/> +The sign o’ the cross—<i>the spirit above the dust!</i><br/> +<br/> + Yea, ape and angel, strife and old debate—<br/> +The harps of heaven and dreary gongs of hell;<br/> +Science the feud can only aggravate—<br/> +No umpire she betwixt the chimes and knell:<br/> +The running battle of the star and clod<br/> +Shall run forever—if there be no God.<br/> +<br/> + Degrees we know, unknown in days before;<br/> +The light is greater, hence the shadow more;<br/> +And tantalized and apprehensive Man<br/> +Appealing—Wherefore ripen us to pain?<br/> +Seems there the spokesman of dumb Nature’s train.<br/> +<br/> + But through such strange illusions have they passed<br/> +Who in life’s pilgrimage have baffled striven—<br/> +Even death may prove unreal at the last,<br/> +And stoics be astounded into heaven.<br/> +<br/> + Then keep thy heart, though yet but ill-resigned—<br/> +Clarel, thy heart, the issues there but mind;<br/> +That like the crocus budding through the snow—<br/> +That like a swimmer rising from the deep—<br/> +That like a burning secret which doth go<br/> +Even from the bosom that would hoard and keep;<br/> +Emerge thou mayst from the last whelming sea,<br/> +And prove that death but routs life into victory. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div style='display:block; margin-top:4em'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK JOHN MARR AND OTHER POEMS ***</div> +<div style='text-align:left'> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will +be renamed. +</div> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright +law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, +so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United +States without permission and without paying copyright +royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: John Marr and Other Poems + +Author: Herman Melville + +Release Date: July 7, 2004 [EBook #12841] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK JOHN MARR AND OTHER POEMS *** + + + + +Produced by Geoff Palmer + + + + +JOHN MARR AND OTHER POEMS + +By + +HERMAN MELVILLE + +_With An Introductory Note By_ +HENRY CHAPIN + + +MCMXXII + + + +Introductory Note + +Melville's verse printed for the most part privately in small +editions from middle life onward after his great prose work had +been written, taken as a whole, is of an amateurish and uneven +quality. In it, however, that loveable freshness of personality, +which his philosophical dejection never quenched, is everywhere in +evidence. It is clear that he did not set himself to master the +poet's art, yet through the mask of conventional verse which often +falls into doggerel, the voice of a true poet is heard. In +selecting the pieces for this volume I have put in the vigorous +sea verses of _John Marr_ in their entirety and added those others +from his _Battle Pieces_, _Timoleon,_ etc., that best indicate the +quality of their author's personality. The prose supplement to +battle pieces has been included because it does so much to explain +the feeling of his war verse and further because it is such a +remarkably wise and clear commentary upon those confused and +troublous days of post-war reconstruction. H. C. + + +CONTENTS + +Introductory Note + +John Marr And Other Poems + JOHN MARR AND OTHER SAILORS + BRIDEGROOM DICK + TOM DEADLIGHT + JACK ROY + +Sea Pieces + THE HAGLETS + THE AEOLIAN HARP + TO THE MASTER OF THE "METEOR" + FAR OFF SHORE + THE MAN-OF-WAR HAWK + THE FIGURE-HEAD + THE GOOD CRAFT "SNOW BIRD" + OLD COUNSEL + THE TUFT OF KELP + THE MALDIVE SHARK + TO NED + CROSSING THE TROPICS + THE BERG + THE ENVIABLE ISLES + PEBBLES + +Poems From Timoleon + LINES TRACED UNDER AN IMAGE OF AMOR THREATENING + THE NIGHT MARCH + THE RAVAGED VILLA + THE NEW ZEALOT TO THE SUN + MONODY + LONE FOUNTS + THE BENCH OF BOORS + ART + THE ENTHUSIAST + SHELLEY'S VISION + THE MARCHIONESS OF BRINVILLIERS + THE AGE OF THE ANTONINES + HERBA SANTA + OFF CAPE COLONNA + THE APPARITION + L' ENVOI + +Supplement + +Poems From Battle Pieces + THE PORTENT + FROM THE CONFLICT OF CONVICTIONS + THE MARCH INTO VIRGINIA + BALL'S BLUFF + THE STONE FLEET + THE "TEMERAIRE" + A UTILITARIAN VIEW OF THE "MONITOR'S" FIGHT + MALVERN HILL + STONEWALL JACKSON + THE HOUSE-TOP + CHATTANOOGA + ON THE PHOTOGRAPH OF A CORPS COMMANDER + THE SWAMP ANGEL + SHERIDAN AT CEDAR CREEK + IN THE PRISON PEN + THE COLLEGE COLONEL + THE MARTYR + REBEL COLOR-BEARERS AT SHILOH + AURORA BOREALIS + THE RELEASED REBEL PRISONER + "FORMERLY A SLAVE" + ON THE SLAIN COLLEGIANS + AMERICA + INSCRIPTION + THE FORTITUDE OF THE NORTH + THE MOUND BY THE LAKE + ON THE SLAIN AT CHICKAMAUGA + AN UNINSCRIBED MONUMENT + ON THE GRAVE OF A YOUNG CAVALRY OFFICER + KILLED IN THE VALLEY OF VIRGINIA + A REQUIEM + COMMEMORATIVE OF A NAVAL VICTORY + A MEDITATION + +Poems From Mardi + WE FISH + INVOCATION + DIRGE + MARLENA + PIPE SONG + SONG OF YOOMY GOLD + THE LAND OF LOVE + +Poems From Clarel + DIRGE + EPILOGUE + + + + +JOHN MARR AND OTHER SAILORS + + + + +JOHN MARR AND OTHER SAILORS + +Since as in night's deck-watch ye show, +Why, lads, so silent here to me, +Your watchmate of times long ago? +Once, for all the darkling sea, +You your voices raised how clearly, +Striking in when tempest sung; +Hoisting up the storm-sail cheerly, +_Life is storm--let storm!_ you rung. +Taking things as fated merely, +Childlike though the world ye spanned; +Nor holding unto life too dearly, +Ye who held your lives in hand-- +Skimmers, who on oceans four +Petrels were, and larks ashore. + +O, not from memory lightly flung, +Forgot, like strains no more availing, +The heart to music haughtier strung; +Nay, frequent near me, never staleing, +Whose good feeling kept ye young. +Like tides that enter creek or stream, +Ye come, ye visit me, or seem +Swimming out from seas of faces, +Alien myriads memory traces, +To enfold me in a dream! + +I yearn as ye. But rafts that strain, +Parted, shall they lock again? +Twined we were, entwined, then riven, +Ever to new embracements driven, +Shifting gulf-weed of the main! +And how if one here shift no more, +Lodged by the flinging surge ashore? +Nor less, as now, in eve's decline, +Your shadowy fellowship is mine. +Ye float around me, form and feature:-- +Tattooings, ear-rings, love-locks curled; +Barbarians of man's simpler nature, +Unworldly servers of the world. +Yea, present all, and dear to me, +Though shades, or scouring China's sea. + +Whither, whither, merchant-sailors, +Whitherward now in roaring gales? +Competing still, ye huntsman-whalers, +In leviathan's wake what boat prevails? +And man-of-war's men, whereaway? +If now no dinned drum beat to quarters +On the wilds of midnight waters-- +Foemen looming through the spray; +Do yet your gangway lanterns, streaming, +Vainly strive to pierce below, +When, tilted from the slant plank gleaming, +A brother you see to darkness go? + +But, gunmates lashed in shotted canvas, +If where long watch-below ye keep, +Never the shrill _"All hands up hammocks!"_ +Breaks the spell that charms your sleep, +And summoning trumps might vainly call, +And booming guns implore-- +A beat, a heart-beat musters all, +One heart-beat at heart-core. +It musters. But to clasp, retain; +To see you at the halyards main-- +To hear your chorus once again! + + + + +BRIDEGROOM DICK +1876 + +Sunning ourselves in October on a day +Balmy as spring, though the year was in decay, +I lading my pipe, she stirring her tea, +My old woman she says to me, +"Feel ye, old man, how the season mellows?" +And why should I not, blessed heart alive, +Here mellowing myself, past sixty-five, +To think o' the May-time o' pennoned young + fellows +This stripped old hulk here for years may + survive. + +Ere yet, long ago, we were spliced, Bonny Blue, +(Silvery it gleams down the moon-glade o' time, +Ah, sugar in the bowl and berries in the prime!) +Coxswain I o' the Commodore's crew,-- +Under me the fellows that manned his fine gig, +Spinning him ashore, a king in full fig. +Chirrupy even when crosses rubbed me, +Bridegroom Dick lieutenants dubbed me. +Pleasant at a yarn, Bob o' Linkum in a song, +Diligent in duty and nattily arrayed, +Favored I was, wife, and _fleeted_ right along; +And though but a tot for such a tall grade, +A high quartermaster at last I was made. + +All this, old lassie, you have heard before, +But you listen again for the sake e'en o' me; +No babble stales o' the good times o' yore +To Joan, if Darby the babbler be. + +Babbler?--O' what? Addled brains, they + forget! +O--quartermaster I; yes, the signals set, +Hoisted the ensign, mended it when frayed, +Polished up the binnacle, minded the helm, +And prompt every order blithely obeyed. +To me would the officers say a word cheery-- +Break through the starch o' the quarter-deck + realm; +His coxswain late, so the Commodore's pet. +Ay, and in night-watches long and weary, +Bored nigh to death with the navy etiquette, +Yearning, too, for fun, some younker, a cadet, +Dropping for time each vain bumptious trick, +Boy-like would unbend to Bridegroom Dick. +But a limit there was--a check, d' ye see: +Those fine young aristocrats knew their degree. + +Well, stationed aft where their lordships + keep,-- +Seldom _going_ forward excepting to sleep,-- +I, boozing now on by-gone years, +My betters recall along with my peers. +Recall them? Wife, but I see them plain: +Alive, alert, every man stirs again. +Ay, and again on the lee-side pacing, +My spy-glass carrying, a truncheon in show, +Turning at the taffrail, my footsteps retracing, +Proud in my duty, again methinks I go. +And Dave, Dainty Dave, I mark where he + stands, +Our trim sailing-master, to time the high-noon, +That thingumbob sextant perplexing eyes and + hands, +Squinting at the sun, or twigging o' the moon; +Then, touching his cap to Old Chock-a-Block +Commanding the quarter-deck,--"Sir, twelve + o'clock." + +Where sails he now, that trim sailing-master, +Slender, yes, as the ship's sky-s'l pole? +Dimly I mind me of some sad disaster-- +Dainty Dave was dropped from the navy-roll! +And ah, for old Lieutenant Chock-a-Block-- +Fast, wife, chock-fast to death's black dock! +Buffeted about the obstreperous ocean, +Fleeted his life, if lagged his promotion. +Little girl, they are all, all gone, I think, +Leaving Bridegroom Dick here with lids that + wink. + +Where is Ap Catesby? The fights fought of + yore +Famed him, and laced him with epaulets, and + more. +But fame is a wake that after-wakes cross, +And the waters wallow all, and laugh + _Where's the loss?_ +But John Bull's bullet in his shoulder bearing +Ballasted Ap in his long sea-faring. +The middies they ducked to the man who had + messed +With Decatur in the gun-room, or forward + pressed +Fighting beside Perry, Hull, Porter, and the + rest. + +Humped veteran o' the Heart-o'-Oak war, +Moored long in haven where the old heroes are, +Never on _you_ did the iron-clads jar! +Your open deck when the boarder assailed, +The frank old heroic hand-to-hand then availed. + +But where's Guert Gan? Still heads he the van? +As before Vera-Cruz, when he dashed splashing + through +The blue rollers sunned, in his brave gold-and- + blue, +And, ere his cutter in keel took the strand, +Aloft waved his sword on the hostile land! +Went up the cheering, the quick chanticleering; +All hands vying--all colors flying: +"Cock-a-doodle-doo!" and "Row, boys, row!" +"Hey, Starry Banner!" "Hi, Santa Anna!" +Old Scott's young dash at Mexico. + +Fine forces o' the land, fine forces o' the sea, +Fleet, army, and flotilla--tell, heart o' me, +Tell, if you can, whereaway now they be! + +But ah, how to speak of the hurricane + unchained-- +The Union's strands parted in the hawser + over-strained; +Our flag blown to shreds, anchors gone + altogether-- +The dashed fleet o' States in Secession's foul + weather. + +Lost in the smother o' that wide public stress, +In hearts, private hearts, what ties there were + snapped! +Tell, Hal--vouch, Will, o' the ward-room mess, +On you how the riving thunder-bolt clapped. +With a bead in your eye and beads in your glass, +And a grip o' the flipper, it was part and pass: +"Hal, must it be: Well, if come indeed the + shock, +To North or to South, let the victory cleave, +Vaunt it he may on his dung-hill the cock, +But _Uncle Sam's_ eagle never crow will, + believe." + +Sentiment: ay, while suspended hung all, +Ere the guns against Sumter opened there + the ball, +And partners were taken, and the red dance + began, +War's red dance o' death!--Well, we, to a man, +We sailors o' the North, wife, how could we + lag?-- +Strike with your kin, and you stick to the flag! +But to sailors o' the South that easy way was + barred. +To some, dame, believe (and I speak o' what I + know), +Wormwood the trial and the Uzzite's black + shard; +And the faithfuller the heart, the crueller the + throe. +Duty? It pulled with more than one string, +This way and that, and anyhow a sting. +The flag and your kin, how be true unto both? +If either plight ye keep, then ye break the other + troth. +But elect here they must, though the casuists + were out; +Decide--hurry up--and throttle every doubt. + +Of all these thrills thrilled at keelson, and + throes, +Little felt the shoddyites a-toasting o' their + toes; +In mart and bazar Lucre chuckled the huzza, +Coining the dollars in the bloody mint of war. + +But in men, gray knights o' the Order o' Scars, +And brave boys bound by vows unto Mars, +Nature grappled honor, intertwisting in the + strife:-- +But some cut the knot with a thoroughgoing + knife. +For how when the drums beat? How in the fray +In Hampton Roads on the fine balmy day? + +There a lull, wife, befell--drop o' silent in the + din. +Let us enter that silence ere the belchings + re-begin. +Through a ragged rift aslant in the cannonade's + smoke +An iron-clad reveals her repellent broadside +Bodily intact. But a frigate, all oak, +Shows honeycombed by shot, and her deck + crimson-dyed. +And a trumpet from port of the iron-clad hails, +Summoning the other, whose flag never trails: +"Surrender that frigate, Will! Surrender, +Or I will sink her--_ram_, and end her!" + +'T was Hal. And Will, from the naked heart-o'-oak, +Will, the old messmate, minus trumpet, spoke, +Informally intrepid,--"Sink her, and be + damned!"* [* Historic.] +Enough. Gathering way, the iron-clad _rammed_. +The frigate, heeling over, on the wave threw a + dusk. +Not sharing in the slant, the clapper of her bell +The fixed metal struck--uinvoked struck the + knell +Of the _Cumberland_ stillettoed by the + _Merrimac's_ tusk; +While, broken in the wound underneath the + gun-deck, +Like a sword-fish's blade in leviathan waylaid, +The tusk was left infixed in the fast-foundering + wreck. +There, dungeoned in the cockpit, the wounded + go down, +And the chaplain with them. But the surges + uplift +The prone dead from deck, and for moment + they drift +Washed with the swimmers, and the spent + swimmers drown. +Nine fathom did she sink,--erect, though hid + from light +Save her colors unsurrendered and spars that + kept the height. + +Nay, pardon, old aunty! Wife, never let it fall, +That big started tear that hovers on the brim; +I forgot about your nephew and the _Merrimac's_ + ball; +No more then of her, since it summons up him. +But talk o' fellows' hearts in the wine's genial + cup:-- +Trap them in the fate, jam them in the strait, +Guns speak their hearts then, and speak + right up. +The troublous colic o' intestine war +It sets the bowels o' affection ajar. +But, lord, old dame, so spins the whizzing world, +A humming-top, ay, for the little boy-gods +Flogging it well with their smart little rods, +Tittering at time and the coil uncurled. + +Now, now, sweetheart, you sidle away, +No, never you like _that_ kind o' _gay;_ +But sour if I get, giving truth her due, +Honey-sweet forever, wife, will Dick be to you! + +But avast with the War! 'Why recall racking + days +Since set up anew are the slip's started stays? +Nor less, though the gale we have left behind, +Well may the heave o' the sea remind. +It irks me now, as it troubled me then, +To think o' the fate in the madness o' men. +If Dick was with Farragut on the night-river, +When the boom-chain we burst in the fire-raft's + glare, +That blood-dyed the visage as red as the liver; +In the _Battle for the Bay_ too if Dick had a + share, +And saw one aloft a-piloting the war-- +Trumpet in the whirlwind, a Providence in + place-- +Our Admiral old whom the captains huzza, +Dick joys in the man nor brags about the race. + +But better, wife, I like to booze on the days +Ere the Old Order foundered in these very + frays, +And tradition was lost and we learned strange + ways. +Often I think on the brave cruises then; +Re-sailing them in memory, I hail the press o' + men +On the gunned promenade where rolling they + go, +Ere the dog-watch expire and break up the + show. +The Laced Caps I see between forward guns; +Away from the powder-room they puff the + cigar; +"Three days more, hey, the donnas and the + dons!" +"Your Zeres widow, will you hunt her up, + Starr?" +The Laced Caps laugh, and the bright waves + too; +Very jolly, very wicked, both sea and crew, +Nor heaven looks sour on either, I guess, +Nor Pecksniff he bosses the gods' high mess. +Wistful ye peer, wife, concerned for my head, +And how best to get me betimes to my bed. + +But king o' the club, the gayest golden spark, +Sailor o' sailors, what sailor do I mark? +Tom Tight, Tom Tight, no fine fellow finer, +A cutwater nose, ay, a spirited soul; +But, bowsing away at the well-brewed bowl, +He never bowled back from that last voyage to + China. + +Tom was lieutenant in the brig-o'-war famed +When an officer was hung for an arch-mutineer, +But a mystery cleaved, and the captain was + blamed, +And a rumpus too raised, though his honor + it was clear. +And Tom he would say, when the mousers + would try him, +And with cup after cup o' Burgundy ply him: +"Gentlemen, in vain with your wassail you + beset, +For the more I tipple, the tighter do I get." +No blabber, no, not even with the can-- +True to himself and loyal to his clan. + +Tom blessed us starboard and d--d us larboard, +Right down from rail to the streak o' the + garboard. +Nor less, wife, we liked him.--Tom was a man +In contrast queer with Chaplain Le Fan, +Who blessed us at morn, and at night yet again, +D--ning us only in decorous strain; +Preaching 'tween the guns--each cutlass in its + place-- +From text that averred old Adam a hard case. +I see him--Tom--on _horse-block_ standing, +Trumpet at mouth, thrown up all amain, +An elephant's bugle, vociferous demanding +Of topmen aloft in the hurricane of rain, +"Letting that sail there your faces flog? +Manhandle it, men, and you'll get the good + grog!" +O Tom, but he knew a blue-jacket's ways, +And how a lieutenant may genially haze; +Only a sailor sailors heartily praise. + +Wife, where be all these chaps, I wonder? +Trumpets in the tempest, terrors in the fray, +Boomed their commands along the deck like + thunder; +But silent is the sod, and thunder dies away. +But Captain Turret, _"Old Hemlock"_ tall, +(A leaning tower when his tank brimmed all,) +Manoeuvre out alive from the war did he? +Or, too old for that, drift under the lee? +Kentuckian colossal, who, touching at Madeira, +The huge puncheon shipped o' prime + _Santa-Clara;_ +Then rocked along the deck so solemnly! +No whit the less though judicious was enough +In dealing with the Finn who made the great + huff; +Our three-decker's giant, a grand boatswain's + mate, +Manliest of men in his own natural senses; +But driven stark mad by the devil's drugged + stuff, +Storming all aboard from his run-ashore late, +Challenging to battle, vouchsafing no pretenses, +A reeling King Ogg, delirious in power, +The quarter-deck carronades he seemed to + make cower. +"Put him in _brig_ there!" said Lieutenant + Marrot. +"Put him in _brig!_" back he mocked like a + parrot; +"Try it, then!" swaying a fist like Thor's + sledge, +And making the pigmy constables hedge-- +Ship's corporals and the master-at-arms. +"In _brig_ there, I say!"--They dally no more; +Like hounds let slip on a desperate boar, +Together they pounce on the formidable Finn, +Pinion and cripple and hustle him in. +Anon, under sentry, between twin guns, +He slides off in drowse, and the long night runs. + +Morning brings a summons. Whistling it calls, +Shrilled through the pipes of the boatswain's + four aids; +Trilled down the hatchways along the dusk + halls: +_Muster to the Scourge!_--Dawn of doom and + its blast! +As from cemeteries raised, sailors swarm before + the mast, +Tumbling up the ladders from the ship's nether + shades. + +Keeping in the background and taking small + part, +Lounging at their ease, indifferent in face, +Behold the trim marines uncompromised in + heart; +Their Major, buttoned up, near the staff finds + room-- +The staff o' lieutenants standing grouped in + their place. +All the Laced Caps o' the ward-room come, +The Chaplain among them, disciplined and + dumb. +The blue-nosed boatswain, complexioned like + slag, +Like a blue Monday lours--his implements in + bag. +Executioners, his aids, a couple by him stand, +At a nod there the thongs to receive from his hand. +Never venturing a caveat whatever may betide, +Though functionally here on humanity's side, +The grave Surgeon shows, like the formal + physician +Attending the rack o' the Spanish Inquisition. + +The angel o' the "brig" brings his prisoner up; +Then, steadied by his old _Santa-Clara_, a sup, +Heading all erect, the ranged assizes there, +Lo, Captain Turret, and under starred + bunting, +(A florid full face and fine silvered hair,) +Gigantic the yet greater giant confronting. + +Now the culprit he liked, as a tall captain can +A Titan subordinate and true _sailor-man;_ +And frequent he'd shown it--no worded + advance, +But flattering the Finn with a well-timed glance. +But what of that now? In the martinet-mien +Read the _Articles of War_, heed the naval + routine; +While, cut to the heart a dishonor there to win, +Restored to his senses, stood the Anak Finn; +In racked self-control the squeezed tears + peeping, +Scalding the eye with repressed inkeeping. +Discipline must be; the scourge is deemed due. +But ah for the sickening and strange heart- + benumbing, +Compassionate abasement in shipmates that view; +Such a grand champion shamed there succumbing! +"Brown, tie him up."--The cord he brooked: +How else?--his arms spread apart--never + threaping; +No, never he flinched, never sideways he looked, +Peeled to the waistband, the marble flesh + creeping, +Lashed by the sleet the officious winds urge. + +In function his fellows their fellowship merge-- +The twain standing nigh--the two boatswain's + mates, +Sailors of his grade, ay, and brothers of his + mess. +With sharp thongs adroop the junior one + awaits +The word to uplift. + "Untie him--so! +Submission is enough, Man, you may go." +Then, promenading aft, brushing fat Purser + Smart, +"Flog? Never meant it--hadn't any heart. +Degrade that tall fellow? "--Such, wife, was he, +Old Captain Turret, who the brave wine could + stow. +Magnanimous, you think?--But what does + Dick see? +Apron to your eye! Why, never fell a blow; +Cheer up, old wifie, 't was a long time ago. + +But where's that sore one, crabbed and-severe, +Lieutenant Lon Lumbago, an arch scrutineer? +Call the roll to-day, would he answer--_Here!_ +When the _Blixum's_ fellows to quarters + mustered +How he'd lurch along the lane of gun-crews + clustered, +Testy as touchwood, to pry and to peer. +Jerking his sword underneath larboard arm, +He ground his worn grinders to keep himself + calm. +Composed in his nerves, from the fidgets set + free, +Tell, Sweet Wrinkles, alive now is he, +In Paradise a parlor where the even + tempers be? + +Where's Commander All-a-Tanto? +Where's Orlop Bob singing up from below? +Where's Rhyming Ned? has he spun his last + canto? +Where's Jewsharp Jim? Where's Ringadoon + Joe? +Ah, for the music over and done, +The band all dismissed save the droned + trombone! +Where's Glenn o' the gun-room, who loved + Hot-Scotch-- +Glen, prompt and cool in a perilous watch? +Where's flaxen-haired Phil? a gray lieutenant? +Or rubicund, flying a dignified pennant? + +But where sleeps his brother?--the cruise it was + o'er, +But ah, for death's grip that welcomed him + ashore! +Where's Sid, the cadet, so frank in his brag, +Whose toast was audacious--"_Here's Sid, and + Sid's flag!_" +Like holiday-craft that have sunk unknown, +May a lark of a lad go lonely down? +Who takes the census under the sea? +Can others like old ensigns be, +Bunting I hoisted to flutter at the gaff-- +Rags in end that once were flags +Gallant streaming from the staff? + +Such scurvy doom could the chances deal +To Top-Gallant Harry and Jack Genteel? +Lo, Genteel Jack in hurricane weather, +Shagged like a bear, like a red lion roaring; +But O, so fine in his chapeau and feather, +In port to the ladies never once _jawing;_ +All bland _politesse,_ how urbane was he-- +_"Oui, mademoiselle"--"Ma chre amie!"_ + +'T was Jack got up the ball at Naples, +Gay in the old _Ohio_ glorious; +His hair was curled by the berth-deck barber, +Never you'd deemed him a cub of rude Boreas; +In tight little pumps, with the grand dames in + rout, +A-flinging his shapely foot all about; +His watch-chain with love's jeweled tokens + abounding, +Curls ambrosial shaking out odors, +Waltzing along the batteries, astounding +The gunner glum and the grim-visaged loaders. + +Wife, where be all these blades, I wonder, +Pennoned fine fellows, so strong, so gay? +Never their colors with a dip dived under; +Have they hauled them down in a lack-lustre + day, +Or beached their boats in the Far, Far Away? +Hither and thither, blown wide asunder, +Where's this fleet, I wonder and wonder. +Slipt their cables, rattled their adieu, +(Whereaway pointing? to what rendezvous?) +Out of sight, out of mind, like the crack + _Constitution,_ +And many a keel time never shall renew-- +_Bon Homme Dick_ o' the buff Revolution, +The _Black Cockade_ and the staunch _True-Blue._ + +Doff hats to Decatur! But where is his blazon? +Must merited fame endure time's wrong-- +Glory's ripe grape wizen up to a raisin? +Yes! for Nature teems, and the years are + strong, +And who can keep the tally o' the names that + fleet along! + +But his frigate, wife, his bride? Would + blacksmiths brown +Into smithereens smite the solid old renown? +Rivetting the bolts in the iron-clad's shell, +Hark to the hammers with _a rat-tat-tat;_ +"Handier a _derby_ than a laced cocked hat! +The _Monitor_ was ugly, but she served us right + well, +Better than the _Cumberland,_ a beauty and the + belle." + +_Better than the Cumberland!_--Heart alive + in me! +That battlemented hull, Tantallon o' the sea, +Kicked in, as at Boston the taxed chests o' tea! +Ay, spurned by the _ram,_ once a tall, shapely + craft, +But lopped by the Rebs to an iron-beaked + raft-- +A blacksmith's unicorn in armor _cap-a-pie_. + +Under the water-line a _ram's_ blow is dealt: +And foul fall the knuckles that strike below the + belt. +Nor brave the inventions that serve to replace +The openness of valor while dismantling the + grace. + +Aloof from all this and the never-ending game, +Tantamount to teetering, plot and counterplot; +Impenetrable armor--all-perforating shot; +Aloof, bless God, ride the war-ships of old, +A grand fleet moored in the roadstead of fame; +Not submarine sneaks with _them_ are enrolled; +Their long shadows dwarf us, their flags are as + flame. + +Don't fidget so, wife; an old man's passion +Amounts to no more than this smoke that I + puff; +There, there, now, buss me in good old fashion; +A died-down candle will flicker in the snuff. + +But one last thing let your old babbler say, +What Decatur's coxswain said who was long + ago hearsed, +"Take in your flying-kites, for there comes a + lubber's day +When gallant things will go, and the three- + deckers first." + +My pipe is smoked out, and the grog runs + slack; +But bowse away, wife, at your blessed Bohea; +This empty can here must needs solace me-- +Nay, sweetheart, nay; I take that back; +Dick drinks from your eyes and he finds no + lack! + + + + +TOM DEADLIGHT + + During a tempest encountered homeward-bound from the + Mediterranean, a grizzled petty-officer, one of the two captains + of the forecastle, dying at night in his hammock, swung in the + sick-bay under the tiered gun-decks of the British _Dreadnaught, + 98,_ wandering in his mind, though with glimpses of sanity, and + starting up at whiles, sings by snatches his good-bye and last + injunctions to two messmates, his watchers, one of whom fans the + fevered tar with the flap of his old sou'wester. Some names and + phrases, with here and there a line, or part of one; these, in + his aberration, wrested into incoherency from their original + connection and import, he voluntarily derives, as he does the + measure, from a famous old sea-ditty, whose cadences, long rife, + and now humming in the collapsing brain, attune the last + flutterings of distempered thought. + +Farewell and adieu to you noble hearties,-- + Farewell and adieu to you ladies of Spain, +For I've received orders for to sail for the + Deadman, + But hope with the grand fleet to see you + again. + +I have hove my ship to, with main-top-sail + aback, boys; + I have hove my ship to, for the strike + soundings clear-- +The black scud a'flying; but, by God's blessing, + dam' me, + Right up the Channel for the Deadman I'll + steer. + +I have worried through the waters that are + called the Doldrums, + And growled at Sargasso that clogs while ye + grope-- +Blast my eyes, but the light-ship is hid by the + mist, lads:-- + _Flying Dutchman_--odds bobbs--off the + Cape of Good Hope! + +But what's this I feel that is fanning my cheek, + Matt? + The white goney's wing?--how she rolls!-- + 't is the Cape!-- +Give my kit to the mess, Jock, for kin none is + mine, none; + And tell _Holy Joe_ to avast with the crape. + +Dead reckoning, says _Joe_, it won't do to go by; + But they doused all the glims, Matt, in sky + t' other night. +Dead reckoning is good for to sail for the + Deadman; + And Tom Deadlight he thinks it may reckon + near right. + +The signal!--it streams for the grand fleet to + anchor. + The captains--the trumpets--the hullabaloo! +Stand by for blue-blazes, and mind your + shank-painters, + For the Lord High Admiral, he's squinting + at you! + +But give me my _tot_, Matt, before I roll over; + Jock, let's have your flipper, it's good for to + feel; +And don't sew me up without _baccy_ in mouth, + boys, + And don't blubber like lubbers when I turn + up my keel. + + + + +JACK ROY + +Kept up by relays of generations young +Never dies at halyards the blithe chorus sung; +While in sands, sounds, and seas where the + storm-petrels cry, +Dropped mute around the globe, these halyard + singers lie. +Short-lived the clippers for racing-cups that + run, +And speeds in life's career many a lavish + mother's-son. + +But thou, manly king o' the old _Splendid's_ + crew, +The ribbons o' thy hat still a-fluttering, should + fly-- +A challenge, and forever, nor the bravery + should rue. +Only in a tussle for the starry flag high, +When 'tis piety to do, and privilege to die. +Then, only then, would heaven think to lop +Such a cedar as the captain o' the _Splendid's_ + main-top: +A belted sea-gentleman; a gallant, off-hand +Mercutio indifferent in life's gay command. +Magnanimous in humor; when the splintering + shot fell, +"Tooth-picks a-plenty, lads; thank 'em with a + shell!" + +Sang Larry o' the _Cannakin,_ smuggler o' the + wine, +At mess between guns, lad in jovial recline: +"In Limbo our Jack he would chirrup up a + cheer, +The martinet there find a chaffing mutineer; +From a thousand fathoms down under hatches + o' your Hades, +He'd ascend in love-ditty, kissing fingers to + your ladies!" + +Never relishing the knave, though allowing + for the menial, +Nor overmuch the king, Jack, nor prodigally + genial. +Ashore on liberty he flashed in escapade, +Vaulting over life in its levelness of grade, +Like the dolphin off Africa in rainbow + a-sweeping-- +Arch iridescent shot from seas languid + sleeping. + +Larking with thy life, if a joy but a toy, +Heroic in thy levity wert thou, Jack Roy. + + + + + +Sea Pieces + + + + +THE HAGLETS + +By chapel bare, with walls sea-beat +The lichened urns in wilds are lost +About a carved memorial stone +That shows, decayed and coral-mossed, +A form recumbent, swords at feet, +Trophies at head, and kelp for a + winding-sheet. + +I invoke thy ghost, neglected fane, +Washed by the waters' long lament; +I adjure the recumbent effigy +To tell the cenotaph's intent-- +Reveal why fagotted swords are at feet, +Why trophies appear and weeds are the + winding-sheet. + +By open ports the Admiral sits, +And shares repose with guns that tell +Of power that smote the arm'd Plate Fleet +Whose sinking flag-ship's colors fell; +But over the Admiral floats in light +His squadron's flag, the red-cross Flag + of the White. + + The eddying waters whirl astern, +The prow, a seedsman, sows the spray; +With bellying sails and buckling spars +The black hull leaves a Milky Way; +Her timbers thrill, her batteries roll, +She revelling speeds exulting with pennon + at pole, + + But ah, for standards captive trailed +For all their scutcheoned castles' pride-- +Castilian towers that dominate Spain, +Naples, and either Ind beside; +Those haughty towers, armorial ones, +Rue the salute from the Admiral's dens + of guns. + +Ensigns and arms in trophy brave, +Braver for many a rent and scar, +The captor's naval hall bedeck, +Spoil that insures an earldom's star-- +Toledoes great, grand draperies, too, +Spain's steel and silk, and splendors from + Peru. + + But crippled part in splintering fight, +The vanquished flying the victor's flags, +With prize-crews, under convoy-guns, +Heavy the fleet from Opher drags-- +The Admiral crowding sail ahead, +Foremost with news who foremost in conflict + sped. + + But out from cloistral gallery dim, +In early night his glance is thrown; +He marks the vague reserve of heaven, +He feels the touch of ocean lone; +Then turns, in frame part undermined, +Nor notes the shadowing wings that fan + behind. + +There, peaked and gray, three haglets fly, +And follow, follow fast in wake +Where slides the cabin-lustre shy, +And sharks from man a glamour take, +Seething along the line of light +In lane that endless rules the war-ship's flight. + + The sea-fowl here, whose hearts none know, +They followed late the flag-ship quelled, +(As now the victor one) and long +Above her gurgling grave, shrill held +With screams their wheeling rites--then sped +Direct in silence where the victor led. + + Now winds less fleet, but fairer, blow, +A ripple laps the coppered side, +While phosphor sparks make ocean gleam, +Like camps lit up in triumph wide; +With lights and tinkling cymbals meet +Acclaiming seas the advancing conqueror + greet. + +But who a flattering tide may trust, +Or favoring breeze, or aught in end?-- +Careening under startling blasts +The sheeted towers of sails impend; +While, gathering bale, behind is bred +A livid storm-bow, like a rainbow dead. + + At trumpet-call the topmen spring; +And, urged by after-call in stress, +Yet other tribes of tars ascend +The rigging's howling wilderness; +But ere yard-ends alert they win, +Hell rules in heaven with hurricane-fire + and din. + + The spars, athwart at spiry height, +Like quaking Lima's crosses rock; +Like bees the clustering sailors cling +Against the shrouds, or take the shock +Flat on the swept yard-arms aslant, +Dipped like the wheeling condor's pinions + gaunt. + +A LULL! and tongues of languid flame +Lick every boom, and lambent show +Electric 'gainst each face aloft; +The herds of clouds with bellowings go: +The black ship rears--beset--harassed, +Then plunges far with luminous antlers vast. + + In trim betimes they turn from land, +Some shivered sails and spars they stow; +One watch, dismissed, they troll the can, +While loud the billow thumps the bow-- +Vies with the fist that smites the board, +Obstreperous at each reveller's jovial word. + + Of royal oak by storms confirmed, +The tested hull her lineage shows: +Vainly the plungings whelm her prow-- +She rallies, rears, she sturdier grows: +Each shot-hole plugged, each storm-sail home, +With batteries housed she rams the watery + dome. + +DIM seen adrift through driving scud, +The wan moon shows in plight forlorn; +Then, pinched in visage, fades and fades +Like to the faces drowned at morn, +When deeps engulfed the flag-ship's crew, +And, shrilling round, the inscrutable haglets + flew. + +And still they fly, nor now they cry, +But constant fan a second wake, +Unflagging pinions ply and ply, +Abreast their course intent they take; +Their silence marks a stable mood, +They patient keep their eager neighborhood. + + Plumed with a smoke, a confluent sea, +Heaved in a combing pyramid full, +Spent at its climax, in collapse +Down headlong thundering stuns the hull: +The trophy drops; but, reared again, +Shows Mars' high-altar and contemns the + main. + +REBUILT it stands, the brag of arms, +Transferred in site--no thought of where +The sensitive needle keeps its place, +And starts, disturbed, a quiverer there; +The helmsman rubs the clouded glass-- +Peers in, but lets the trembling portent pass. + + Let pass as well his shipmates do +(Whose dream of power no tremors jar) +Fears for the fleet convoyed astern: +"Our flag they fly, they share our star; +Spain's galleons great in hull are stout: +Manned by our men--like us they'll ride it + out." + + Tonight's the night that ends the week-- +Ends day and week and month and year: +A fourfold imminent flickering time, +For now the midnight draws anear: +Eight bells! and passing-bells they be-- +The Old year fades, the Old Year dies at sea. + +He launched them well. But shall the New +Redeem the pledge the Old Year made, +Or prove a self-asserting heir? +But healthy hearts few qualms invade: +By shot-chests grouped in bays 'tween guns +The gossips chat, the grizzled, sea-beat ones. + + And boyish dreams some graybeards blab: +"To sea, my lads, we go no more +Who share the Acapulco prize; +We'll all night in, and bang the door; +Our ingots red shall yield us bliss: +Lads, golden years begin to-night with this!" + + Released from deck, yet waiting call, +Glazed caps and coats baptized in storm, +A watch of Laced Sleeves round the board +Draw near in heart to keep them warm: +"Sweethearts and wives!" clink, clink, they + meet, +And, quaffing, dip in wine their beards of + sleet. +"Ay, let the star-light stay withdrawn, +So here her hearth-light memory fling, +So in this wine-light cheer be born, +And honor's fellowship weld our ring-- +Honor! our Admiral's aim foretold: + +_A tomb or a trophy,_ and lo, 't is a trophy and + gold!" + But he, a unit, sole in rank, +Apart needs keep his lonely state, +The sentry at his guarded door +Mute as by vault the sculptured Fate; +Belted he sits in drowsy light, +And, hatted, nods--the Admiral of the White. + + He dozes, aged with watches passed-- +Years, years of pacing to and fro; +He dozes, nor attends the stir +In bullioned standards rustling low, +Nor minds the blades whose secret thrill +Perverts overhead the magnet's Polar will:-- + +LESS heeds the shadowing three that play +And follow, follow fast in wake, +Untiring wing and lidless eye-- +Abreast their course intent they take; +Or sigh or sing, they hold for good +The unvarying flight and fixed inveterate + mood. + + In dream at last his dozings merge, +In dream he reaps his victor's fruit; +The Flags-o'-the-Blue, the Flags-o'-the-Red, +Dipped flags of his country's fleets salute +His Flag-o'-the-White in harbor proud-- +But why should it blench? Why turn to a + painted shroud? + + The hungry seas they hound the hull, +The sharks they dog the haglets' flight; +With one consent the winds, the waves +In hunt with fins and wings unite, +While drear the harps in cordage sound +Remindful wails for old Armadas drowned. + +Ha--yonder! are they Northern Lights? +Or signals flashed to warn or ward? +Yea, signals lanced in breakers high; +But doom on warning follows hard: +While yet they veer in hope to shun, +They strike! and thumps of hull and heart are + one. + + But beating hearts a drum-beat calls +And prompt the men to quarters go; +Discipline, curbing nature, rules-- +Heroic makes who duty know: +They execute the trump's command, +Or in peremptory places wait and stand. + + Yet cast about in blind amaze-- +As through their watery shroud they peer: +"We tacked from land: then how betrayed? +Have currents swerved us--snared us here?" +None heed the blades that clash in place +Under lamps dashed down that lit the + magnet's case. + +Ah, what may live, who mighty swim, +Or boat-crew reach that shore forbid, +Or cable span? Must victors drown-- +Perish, even as the vanquished did? +Man keeps from man the stifled moan; +They shouldering stand, yet each in heart + how lone. + + Some heaven invoke; but rings of reefs +Prayer and despair alike deride +In dance of breakers forked or peaked, +Pale maniacs of the maddened tide; +While, strenuous yet some end to earn, +The haglets spin, though now no more astern. + +Like shuttles hurrying in the looms +Aloft through rigging frayed they ply-- +Cross and recross--weave and inweave, +Then lock the web with clinching cry +Over the seas on seas that clasp +The weltering wreck where gurgling ends the + gasp. + +Ah, for the Plate-Fleet trophy now, +The victor's voucher, flags and arms; +Never they'll hang in Abbey old +And take Time's dust with holier palms; +Nor less content, in liquid night, +Their captor sleeps--the Admiral of the + White. + + Imbedded deep with shells + And drifted treasure deep, + Forever he sinks deeper in + Unfathomable sleep-- + His cannon round him thrown, + His sailors at his feet, + The wizard sea enchanting them + Where never haglets beat. + + On nights when meteors play + And light the breakers dance, + The Oreads from the caves + With silvery elves advance; + And up from ocean stream, + And down from heaven far, + The rays that blend in dream + The abysm and the star. + + + + +THE AEOLIAN HARP +_At The Surf Inn_ + +List the harp in window wailing + Stirred by fitful gales from sea: +Shrieking up in mad crescendo-- + Dying down in plaintive key! + +Listen: less a strain ideal +Than Ariel's rendering of the Real. + What that Real is, let hint + A picture stamped in memory's mint. + +Braced well up, with beams aslant, +Betwixt the continents sails the _Phocion,_ +For Baltimore bound from Alicant. +Blue breezy skies white fleeces fleck +Over the chill blue white-capped ocean: +From yard-arm comes--"Wreck ho, a + wreck!" + +Dismasted and adrift, +Longtime a thing forsaken; +Overwashed by every wave +Like the slumbering kraken; +Heedless if the billow roar, +Oblivious of the lull, +Leagues and leagues from shoal or shore, +It swims--a levelled hull: +Bulwarks gone--a shaven wreck, +Nameless and a grass-green deck. +A lumberman: perchance, in hold +Prostrate pines with hemlocks rolled. + +It has drifted, waterlogged, +Till by trailing weeds beclogged: + Drifted, drifted, day by day, + Pilotless on pathless way. +It has drifted till each plank +Is oozy as the oyster-bank: + Drifted, drifted, night by night, + Craft that never shows a light; +Nor ever, to prevent worse knell, +Tolls in fog the warning bell. + +From collision never shrinking, +Drive what may through darksome smother; +Saturate, but never sinking, +Fatal only to the _other!_ + Deadlier than the sunken reef +Since still the snare it shifteth, + Torpid in dumb ambuscade +Waylayingly it drifteth. + +O, the sailors--O, the sails! +O, the lost crews never heard of! +Well the harp of Ariel wails +Thought that tongue can tell no word of! + + + + +TO THE MASTER OF THE _METEOR_ + +Lonesome on earth's loneliest deep, +Sailor! who dost thy vigil keep-- +Off the Cape of Storms dost musing sweep +Over monstrous waves that curl and comb; +Of thee we think when here from brink +We blow the mead in bubbling foam. + +Of thee we think, in a ring we link; +To the shearer of ocean's fleece we drink, +And the _Meteor_ rolling home. + + + + +FAR OFF-SHORE + +Look, the raft, a signal flying, + Thin--a shred; +None upon the lashed spars lying, + Quick or dead. + +Cries the sea-fowl, hovering over, + "Crew, the crew?" +And the billow, reckless, rover, + Sweeps anew! + + + + +THE MAN-OF-WAR HAWK + +Yon black man-of-war-hawk that wheels in + the light +O'er the black ship's white sky-s'l, sunned + cloud to the sight, +Have we low-flyers wings to ascend to his + height? +No arrow can reach him; nor thought can + attain +To the placid supreme in the sweep of his + reign. + + + + +THE FIGURE-HEAD + +The _Charles-and-Emma_ seaward sped, +(Named from the carven pair at prow,) +He so smart, and a curly head, +She tricked forth as a bride knows how: +Pretty stem for the port, I trow! + +But iron-rust and alum-spray +And chafing gear, and sun and dew +Vexed this lad and lassie gay, +Tears in their eyes, salt tears nor few; + And the hug relaxed with the failing glue. + +But came in end a dismal night, +With creaking beams and ribs that groan, +A black lee-shore and waters white: +Dropped on the reef, the pair lie prone: + O, the breakers dance, but the winds they + moan! + + + + +THE GOOD CRAFT _SNOW BIRD_ + +Strenuous need that head-wind be + From purposed voyage that drives at last +The ship, sharp-braced and dogged still, + Beating up against the blast. + +Brigs that figs for market gather, + Homeward-bound upon the stretch, +Encounter oft this uglier weather + Yet in end their port they fetch. + +Mark yon craft from sunny Smyrna + Glazed with ice in Boston Bay; +Out they toss the fig-drums cheerly, + Livelier for the frosty ray. + +What if sleet off-shore assailed her, + What though ice yet plate her yards; +In wintry port not less she renders + Summer's gift with warm regards! + +And, look, the underwriters' man, + Timely, when the stevedore's done, +Puts on his _specs_ to pry and scan, +And sets her down--_A, No. 1._ + +Bravo, master! Bravo, brig! + For slanting snows out of the West +Never the _Snow-Bird_ cares one fig; + And foul winds steady her, though a pest. + + + + +OLD COUNSEL +_Of The Young Master of a Wrecked California Clipper_ + +Come out of the Golden Gate, + Go round the Horn with streamers, +Carry royals early and late; +But, brother, be not over-elate-- +_All hands save ship!_ has startled dreamers. + + + + +THE TUFT OF KELP + +All dripping in tangles green, + Cast up by a lonely sea +If purer for that, O Weed, + Bitterer, too, are ye? + + + + +THE MALDIVE SHARK + +About the Shark, phlegmatical one, +Pale sot of the Maldive sea, +The sleek little pilot-fish, azure and slim, +How alert in attendance be. +From his saw-pit of mouth, from his charnel + of maw +They have nothing of harm to dread, +But liquidly glide on his ghastly flank +Or before his Gorgonian head: +Or lurk in the port of serrated teeth +In white triple tiers of glittering gates, +And there find a haven when peril's abroad, +An asylum in jaws of the Fates! +They are friends; and friendly they guide him + to prey, +Yet never partake of the treat-- +Eyes and brains to the dotard lethargic and + dull, +Pale ravener of horrible meat. + + + + +TO NED + +Where is the world we roved, Ned Bunn? + Hollows thereof lay rich in shade +By voyagers old inviolate thrown + Ere Paul Pry cruised with Pelf and Trade. +To us old lads some thoughts come home +Who roamed a world young lads no more shall + roam. + +Nor less the satiate year impends + When, wearying of routine-resorts, +The pleasure-hunter shall break loose, + Ned, for our Pantheistic ports:-- +Marquesas and glenned isles that be +Authentic Edens in a Pagan sea. + +The charm of scenes untried shall lure, +And, Ned, a legend urge the flight-- +The Typee-truants under stars +Unknown to Shakespere's _Midsummer- + Night;_ +And man, if lost to Saturn's Age, +Yet feeling life no Syrian pilgrimage. + +But, tell, shall he, the tourist, find + Our isles the same in violet-glow +Enamoring us what years and years-- + Ah, Ned, what years and years ago! +Well, Adam advances, smart in pace, +But scarce by violets that advance you trace. + +But we, in anchor-watches calm, + The Indian Psyche's languor won, +And, musing, breathed primeval balm + From Edens ere yet overrun; +Marvelling mild if mortal twice, +Here and hereafter, touch a Paradise. + + + + +CROSSING THE TROPICS +_From "The Saya-y-Manto."_ + +While now the Pole Star sinks from sight + The Southern Cross it climbs the sky; +But losing thee, my love, my light, +O bride but for one bridal night, + The loss no rising joys supply. + +Love, love, the Trade Winds urge abaft, +And thee, from thee, they steadfast waft. + +By day the blue and silver sea + And chime of waters blandly fanned-- +Nor these, nor Gama's stars to me +May yield delight since still for thee + I long as Gama longed for land. + +I yearn, I yearn, reverting turn, +My heart it streams in wake astern +When, cut by slanting sleet, we swoop + Where raves the world's inverted year, +If roses all your porch shall loop, +Not less your heart for me will droop + Doubling the world's last outpost drear. + +O love, O love, these oceans vast: +Love, love, it is as death were past! + + + + +THE BERG +_A Dream_ + +I SAW a ship of martial build +(Her standards set, her brave apparel on) +Directed as by madness mere +Against a stolid iceberg steer, +Nor budge it, though the infatuate ship went + down. +The impact made huge ice-cubes fall +Sullen, in tons that crashed the deck; +But that one avalanche was all +No other movement save the foundering + wreck. + +Along the spurs of ridges pale, +Not any slenderest shaft and frail, +A prism over glass--green gorges lone, +Toppled; nor lace of traceries fine, +Nor pendant drops in grot or mine +Were jarred, when the stunned ship went + down. +Nor sole the gulls in cloud that wheeled +Circling one snow-flanked peak afar, +But nearer fowl the floes that skimmed +And crystal beaches, felt no jar. +No thrill transmitted stirred the lock +Of jack-straw needle-ice at base; +Towers undermined by waves--the block +Atilt impending--kept their place. +Seals, dozing sleek on sliddery ledges +Slipt never, when by loftier edges +Through very inertia overthrown, +The impetuous ship in bafflement went down. +Hard Berg (methought), so cold, so vast, +With mortal damps self-overcast; +Exhaling still thy dankish breath-- +Adrift dissolving, bound for death; +Though lumpish thou, a lumbering one-- +A lumbering lubbard loitering slow, +Impingers rue thee and go down, +Sounding thy precipice below, +Nor stir the slimy slug that sprawls +Along thy dense stolidity of walls. + + + + +THE ENVIABLE ISLES +_From "Rammon."_ + +Through storms you reach them and from + storms are free. + Afar descried, the foremost drear in hue, +But, nearer, green; and, on the marge, the sea + Makes thunder low and mist of rainbowed + dew. + +But, inland, where the sleep that folds the hills +A dreamier sleep, the trance of God, instills-- + On uplands hazed, in wandering airs + aswoon, +Slow-swaying palms salute love's cypress tree + Adown in vale where pebbly runlets croon +A song to lull all sorrow and all glee. + +Sweet-fern and moss in many a glade are here. + Where, strewn in flocks, what cheek-flushed + myriads lie +Dimpling in dream--unconscious slumberers + mere, + While billows endless round the beaches die. + + + + +PEBBLES + +I +Though the Clerk of the Weather insist, + And lay down the weather-law, +Pintado and gannet they wist +That the winds blow whither they list + In tempest or flaw. + +II +Old are the creeds, but stale the schools, + Revamped as the mode may veer, +But Orm from the schools to the beaches + strays +And, finding a Conch hoar with time, he + delays + And reverent lifts it to ear. +That Voice, pitched in far monotone, + Shall it swerve? shall it deviate ever? +The Seas have inspired it, and Truth-- + Truth, varying from sameness never. + +III +In hollows of the liquid hills + Where the long Blue Ridges run, +The flattery of no echo thrills, + For echo the seas have none; +Nor aught that gives man back man's strain-- +The hope of his heart, the dream in his brain. + +IV +On ocean where the embattled fleets repair, +Man, suffering inflictor, sails on sufferance + there. + +V +Implacable I, the old Implacable Sea: + Implacable most when most I smile serene-- +Pleased, not appeased, by myriad wrecks in + me. + +VI +Curled in the comb of yon billow Andean, + Is it the Dragon's heaven-challenging crest? +Elemental mad ramping of ravening waters-- + Yet Christ on the Mount, and the dove in + her nest! + +VII +Healed of my hurt, I laud the inhuman Sea-- +Yea, bless the Angels Four that there convene; +For healed I am ever by their pitiless breath +Distilled in wholesome dew named rosmarine. + + + + + +Poems From Timoleon + + + + + +LINES TRACED UNDER AN IMAGE OF AMOR THREATENING + +Fear me, virgin whosoever +Taking pride from love exempt, + Fear me, slighted. Never, never +Brave me, nor my fury tempt: +Downy wings, but wroth they beat +Tempest even in reason's seat. + + + + +THE NIGHT MARCH + +With banners furled and clarions mute, + An army passes in the night; +And beaming spears and helms salute + The dark with bright. + +In silence deep the legions stream, + With open ranks, in order true; +Over boundless plains they stream and + gleam-- + No chief in view! + +Afar, in twinkling distance lost, + (So legends tell) he lonely wends +And back through all that shining host + His mandate sends. + + + + +THE RAVAGED VILLA + +In shards the sylvan vases lie, + Their links of dance undone, +And brambles wither by thy brim, + Choked fountain of the sun! +The spider in the laurel spins, + The weed exiles the flower: +And, flung to kiln, Apollo's bust + Makes lime for Mammon's tower. + + + + +THE NEW ZEALOT TO THE SUN + +Persian, you rise +Aflame from climes of sacrifice + Where adulators sue, +And prostrate man, with brow abased, +Adheres to rites whose tenor traced + All worship hitherto. + + Arch type of sway, +Meetly your over-ruling ray + You fling from Asia's plain, +Whence flashed the javelins abroad +Of many a wild incursive horde + Led by some shepherd Cain. + + Mid terrors dinned +Gods too came conquerors from your Ind, + The book of Brahma throve; +They came like to the scythed car, +Westward they rolled their empire far, + Of night their purple wove. + + Chemist, you breed +In orient climes each sorcerous weed + That energizes dream-- +Transmitted, spread in myths and creeds, +Houris and hells, delirious screeds + And Calvin's last extreme. + + What though your light +In time's first dawn compelled the flight + Of Chaos' startled clan, +Shall never all your darted spears +Disperse worse Anarchs, frauds and fears, + Sprung from these weeds to man? + + But Science yet +An effluence ampler shall beget, + And power beyond your play-- +Shall quell the shades you fail to rout, +Yea, searching every secret out + Elucidate your ray. + + + + +MONODY + +To have known him, to have loved him + After loneness long; +And then to be estranged in life, + And neither in the wrong; +And now for death to set his seal-- + Ease me, a little ease, my song! + +By wintry hills his hermit-mound + The sheeted snow-drifts drape, +And houseless there the snow-bird flits + Beneath the fir-trees' crape: +Glazed now with ice the cloistral vine + That hid the shyest grape. + + + + +LONE FOUNTS + +Though fast youth's glorious fable flies, +View not the world with worldling's eyes; +Nor turn with weather of the time. +Foreclose the coming of surprise: +Stand where Posterity shall stand; +Stand where the Ancients stood before, +And, dipping in lone founts thy hand, +Drink of the never-varying lore: +Wise once, and wise thence evermore. + + + + +THE BENCH OF BOORS + +In bed I muse on Tenier's boors, +Embrowned and beery losels all; + A wakeful brain + Elaborates pain: +Within low doors the slugs of boors +Laze and yawn and doze again. + +In dreams they doze, the drowsy boors, +Their hazy hovel warm and small: + Thought's ampler bound + But chill is found: +Within low doors the basking boors +Snugly hug the ember-mound. + +Sleepless, I see the slumberous boors +Their blurred eyes blink, their eyelids fall: + Thought's eager sight + Aches--overbright! +Within low doors the boozy boors +Cat-naps take in pipe-bowl light. + + + + +ART + +In placid hours well-pleased we dream +Of many a brave unbodied scheme. +But form to lend, pulsed life create, +What unlike things must meet and mate: +A flame to melt--a wind to freeze; +Sad patience--joyous energies; +Humility--yet pride and scorn; +Instinct and study; love and hate; +Audacity--reverence. These must mate, +And fuse with Jacob's mystic heart, +To wrestle with the angel--Art. + + + + +THE ENTHUSIAST +_"Though He slay me yet will I trust in Him."_ + +Shall hearts that beat no base retreat + In youth's magnanimous years-- +Ignoble hold it, if discreet + When interest tames to fears; +Shall spirits that worship light + Perfidious deem its sacred glow, + Recant, and trudge where worldlings go, +Conform and own them right? + +Shall Time with creeping influence cold + Unnerve and cow? the heart +Pine for the heartless ones enrolled + With palterers of the mart? +Shall faith abjure her skies, + Or pale probation blench her down + To shrink from Truth so still, so lone +Mid loud gregarious lies? + +Each burning boat in Caesar's rear, + Flames--No return through me! +So put the torch to ties though dear, + If ties but tempters be. +Nor cringe if come the night: + Walk through the cloud to meet the pall, + Though light forsake thee, never fall +From fealty to light. + + + + +SHELLEY'S VISION + +Wandering late by morning seas + When my heart with pain was low-- +Hate the censor pelted me-- + Deject I saw my shadow go. + +In elf-caprice of bitter tone +I too would pelt the pelted one: +At my shadow I cast a stone. + +When lo, upon that sun-lit ground + I saw the quivering phantom take +The likeness of St. Stephen crowned: + Then did self-reverence awake. + + + + +THE MARCHIONESS OF BRINVILLIERS + +He toned the sprightly beam of morning + With twilight meek of tender eve, +Brightness interfused with softness, + Light and shade did weave: +And gave to candor equal place +With mystery starred in open skies; +And, floating all in sweetness, made + Her fathomless mild eyes. + + + + +THE AGE OF THE ANTONINES + +While faith forecasts millennial years + Spite Europe's embattled lines, +Back to the Past one glance be cast-- + The Age of the Antonines! +O summit of fate, O zenith of time +When a pagan gentleman reigned, +And the olive was nailed to the inn of the + world +Nor the peace of the just was feigned. + A halcyon Age, afar it shines, + Solstice of Man and the Antonines. + +Hymns to the nations' friendly gods +Went up from the fellowly shrines, +No demagogue beat the pulpit-drum + In the Age of the Antonines! +The sting was not dreamed to be taken from + death, +No Paradise pledged or sought, +But they reasoned of fate at the flowing feast, +Nor stifled the fluent thought, + We sham, we shuffle while faith declines-- + They were frank in the Age of the Antonines. + +Orders and ranks they kept degree, +Few felt how the parvenu pines, +No law-maker took the lawless one's fee + In the Age of the Antonines! +Under law made will the world reposed +And the ruler's right confessed, +For the heavens elected the Emperor then, +The foremost of men the best. + Ah, might we read in America's signs + The Age restored of the Antonines. + + + + +HERBA SANTA + +I +After long wars when comes release +Not olive wands proclaiming peace + Can import dearer share +Than stems of Herba Santa hazed + In autumn's Indian air. +Of moods they breathe that care disarm, +They pledge us lenitive and calm. + +II +Shall code or creed a lure afford +To win all selves to Love's accord? +When Love ordained a supper divine + For the wide world of man, +What bickerings o'er his gracious wine! + Then strange new feuds began. + +Effectual more in lowlier way, + Pacific Herb, thy sensuous plea +The bristling clans of Adam sway + At least to fellowship in thee! +Before thine altar tribal flags are furled, +Fain wouldst thou make one hearthstone of + the world. + +III +To scythe, to sceptre, pen and hod-- + Yea, sodden laborers dumb; +To brains overplied, to feet that plod, +In solace of the _Truce of God_ + The Calumet has come! + +IV +Ah for the world ere Raleigh's find + Never that knew this suasive balm +That helps when Gilead's fails to heal, + Helps by an interserted charm. + +Insinuous thou that through the nerve + Windest the soul, and so canst win +Some from repinings, some from sin, + The Church's aim thou dost subserve. + +The ruffled fag fordone with care + And brooding, God would ease this pain: +Him soothest thou and smoothest down + Till some content return again. + +Even ruffians feel thy influence breed + Saint Martin's summer in the mind, +They feel this last evangel plead, +As did the first, apart from creed, + Be peaceful, man--be kind! + +V +Rejected once on higher plain, +O Love supreme, to come again + Can this be thine? +Again to come, and win us too + In likeness of a weed +That as a god didst vainly woo, + As man more vainly bleed? + +VI +Forbear, my soul! and in thine Eastern + chamber + Rehearse the dream that brings the long + release: +Through jasmine sweet and talismanic amber + Inhaling Herba Santa in the passive Pipe + of Peace. + + + + +OFF CAPE COLONNA + +Aloof they crown the foreland lone, + From aloft they loftier rise-- +Fair columns, in the aureole rolled + From sunned Greek seas and skies. +They wax, sublimed to fancy's view, +A god-like group against the blue. + +Over much like gods! Serene they saw + The wolf-waves board the deck, +And headlong hull of Falconer, + And many a deadlier wreck. + + + + +THE APPARITION +_The Parthenon uplifted on its rock first +challenging the view on the approach to Athens._ + +Abrupt the supernatural Cross, + Vivid in startled air, +Smote the Emperor Constantine +And turned his soul's allegiance there. + +With other power appealing down, + Trophy of Adam's best! +If cynic minds you scarce convert, +You try them, shake them, or molest. + +Diogenes, that honest heart, + Lived ere your date began; +Thee had he seen, he might have swerved +In mood nor barked so much at Man. + + + + +L'ENVOI +_The Return of the Sire de Nesle._ +A.D. 16 + +My towers at last! These rovings end, +Their thirst is slaked in larger dearth: +The yearning infinite recoils, + For terrible is earth. + +Kaf thrusts his snouted crags through fog: +Araxes swells beyond his span, +And knowledge poured by pilgrimage + Overflows the banks of man. + +But thou, my stay, thy lasting love +One lonely good, let this but be! +Weary to view the wide world's swarm, + But blest to fold but thee. + + + + + +SUPPLEMENT + +Were I fastidiously anxious for the symmetry of this book, it would +close with the notes. But the times are such that patriotism--not free +from solicitude--urges a claim overriding all literary scruples. + +It is more than a year since the memorable surrender, but events have +not yet rounded themselves into completion. Not justly can we complain +of this. There has been an upheaval affecting the basis of things; to +altered circumstances complicated adaptations are to be made; there are +difficulties great and novel. But is Reason still waiting for Passion +to spend itself? We have sung of the soldiers and sailors, but who +shall hymn the politicians? + +In view of the infinite desirableness of Re-establishment, and +considering that, so far as feeling is concerned, it depends not mainly +on the temper in which the South regards the North, but rather +conversely; one who never was a blind adherent feels constrained to +submit some thoughts, counting on the indulgence of his countrymen. + +And, first, it may be said that, if among the feelings and opinions +growing immediately out of a great civil convulsion, there are any +which time shall modify or do away, they are presumably those of a less +temperate and charitable cast. + +There seems no reason why patriotism and narrowness should go together, +or why intellectual impartiality should be confounded with political +trimming, or why serviceable truth should keep cloistered because not +partisan. Yet the work of Reconstruction, if admitted to be feasible at +all, demands little but common sense and Christian charity. Little but +these? These are much. + +Some of us are concerned because as yet the South shows no penitence. +But what exactly do we mean by this? Since down to the close of the war +she never confessed any for braving it, the only penitence now left her +is that which springs solely from the sense of discomfiture; and since +this evidently would be a contrition hypocritical, it would be unworthy +in us to demand it. Certain it is that penitence, in the sense of +voluntary humiliation, will never be displayed. Nor does this afford +just ground for unreserved condemnation. It is enough, for all +practical purposes, if the South have been taught by the terrors of +civil war to feel that Secession, like Slavery, is against Destiny; +that both now lie buried in one grave; that her fate is linked with +ours; and that together we comprise the Nation. + +The clouds of heroes who battled for the Union it is needless to +eulogize here. But how of the soldiers on the other side? And when of a +free community we name the soldiers, we thereby name the people. It was +in subserviency to the slave-interest that Secession was plotted; but +it was under the plea, plausibly urged, that certain inestimable rights +guaranteed by the Constitution were directly menaced, that the people +of the South were cajoled into revolution. Through the arts of the +conspirators and the perversity of fortune, the most sensitive love of +liberty was entrapped into the support of a war whose implied end was +the erecting in our advanced century of an Anglo-American empire based +upon the systematic degradation of man. + +Spite this clinging reproach, however, signal military virtues and +achievements have conferred upon the Confederate arms historic fame, +and upon certain of the commanders a renown extending beyond the +sea--a renown which we of the North could not suppress, even if we +would. In personal character, also, not a few of the military leaders +of the South enforce forbearance; the memory of others the North +refrains from disparaging; and some, with more or less of reluctance, +she can respect. Posterity, sympathizing with our convictions, but +removed from our passions, may perhaps go farther here. If George IV +could, out of the graceful instinct of a gentleman, raise an honorable +monument in the great fane of Christendom over the remains of the enemy +of his dynasty, Charles Edward, the invader of England and victor in +the rout of Preston Pans--upon whose head the king's ancestor but one +reign removed had set a price--is it probable that the granchildren of +General Grant will pursue with rancor, or slur by sour neglect, the +memory of Stonewall Jackson? + +But the South herself is not wanting in recent histories and +biographies which record the deeds of her chieftains--writings freely +published at the North by loyal houses, widely read here, and with a +deep though saddened interest. By students of the war such works are +hailed as welcome accessories, and tending to the completeness of the +record. + +Supposing a happy issue out of present perplexities, then, in the +generation next to come, Southerners there will be yielding allegiance +to the Union, feeling all their interests bound up in it, and yet +cherishing unrebuked that kind of feeling for the memory of the +soldiers of the fallen Confederacy that Burns, Scott, and the Ettrick +Shepherd felt for the memory of the gallant clansmen ruined through +their fidelity to the Stuarts--a feeling whose passion was tempered by +the poetry imbuing it, and which in no wise affected their loyalty to +the Georges, and which, it may be added, indirectly contributed +excellent things to literature. But, setting this view aside, +dishonorable would it be in the South were she willing to abandon to +shame the memory of brave men who with signal personal +disinterestedness warred in her behalf, though from motives, as we +believe, so deplorably astray. + +Patriotism is not baseness, neither is it inhumanity. The mourners who +this summer bear flowers to the mounds of the Virginian and Georgian +dead are, in their domestic bereavement and proud affection, as sacred +in the eye of Heaven as are those who go with similar offerings of +tender grief and love into the cemeteries of our Northern martyrs. And +yet, in one aspect, how needless to point the contrast. + +Cherishing such sentiments, it will hardly occasion surprise that, in +looking over the battle-pieces in the foregoing collection, I have been +tempted to withdraw or modify some of them, fearful lest in presenting, +though but dramatically and by way of poetic record, the passions and +epithets of civil war, I might be contributing to a bitterness which +every sensible American must wish at an end. So, too, with the emotion +of victory as reproduced on some pages, and particularly toward the +close. It should not be construed into an exultation misapplied--an +exultation as ungenerous as unwise, and made to minister, however +indirectly, to that kind of censoriousness too apt to be produced in +certain natures by success after trying reverses. Zeal is not of +necessity religion, neither is it always of the same essence with +poetry or patriotism. + +There are excesses which marked the conflict, most of which are perhaps +inseparable from a civil strife so intense and prolonged, and involving +warfare in some border countries new and imperfectly civilized. +Barbarities also there were, for which the Southern people collectively +can hardly be held responsible, though perpetrated by ruffians in their +name. But surely other qualities--exalted ones--courage and fortitude +matchless, were likewise displayed, and largely; and justly may these +be held the characteristic traits, and not the former. + +In this view, what Northern writer, however patriotic, but must revolt +from acting on paper a part any way akin to that of the live dog to the +dead lion; and yet it is right to rejoice for our triumphs, so far as +it may justly imply an advance for our whole country and for humanity. + +Let it be held no reproach to any one that he pleads for reasonable +consideration for our late enemies, now stricken down and unavoidably +debarred, for the time, from speaking through authorized agencies for +themselves. Nothing has been urged here in the foolish hope of +conciliating those men--few in number, we trust--who have resolved +never to be reconciled to the Union. On such hearts everything is +thrown away except it be religious commiseration, and the sincerest. +Yet let them call to mind that unhappy Secessionist, not a military +man, who with impious alacrity fired the first shot of the Civil War at +Sumter, and a little more than four years afterward fired the last one +into his heart at Richmond. + +Noble was the gesture into which patriotic passion surprised the people +in a utilitarian time and country; yet the glory of the war falls short +of its pathos--a pathos which now at last ought to disarm all +animosity. + +How many and earnest thoughts still rise, and how hard to repress them. +We feel what past years have been, and years, unretarded years, shall +come. May we all have moderation; may we all show candor. Though, +perhaps, nothing could ultimately have averted the strife, and though +to treat of human actions is to deal wholly with second causes, +nevertheless, let us not cover up or try to extenuate what, humanly +speaking, is the truth--namely, that those unfraternal denunciations, +continued through years, and which at last inflamed to deeds that ended +in bloodshed, were reciprocal; and that, had the preponderating +strength and the prospect of its unlimited increase lain on the other +side, on ours might have lain those actions which now in our late +opponents we stigmatize under the name of Rebellion. As frankly let us +own--what it would be unbecoming to parade were foreigners concerned-- +that our triumph was won not more by skill and bravery than by superior +resources and crushing numbers; that it was a triumph, too, over a +people for years politically misled by designing men, and also by some +honestly-erring men, who from their position could not have been +otherwise than broadly influential; a people who, though, indeed, they +sought to perpetuate the curse of slavery, and even extend it, were not +the authors of it, but (less fortunate, not less righteous than we), +were the fated inheritors; a people who, having a like origin with +ourselves, share essentially in whatever worthy qualities we may +possess. No one can add to the lasting reproach which hopeless defeat +has now cast upon Secession by withholding the recognition of these +verities. + +Surely we ought to take it to heart that that kind of pacification, +based upon principles operating equally all over the land, which lovers +of their country yearn for, and which our arms, though signally +triumphant, did not bring about, and which lawmaking, however anxious, +or energetic, or repressive, never by itself can achieve, may yet be +largely aided by generosity of sentiment public and private. Some +revisionary legislation and adaptive is indispensable; but with this +should harmoniously work another kind of prudence, not unallied with +entire magnanimity. Benevolence and policy--Christianity and +Machiavelli--dissuade from penal severities toward the subdued. +Abstinence here is as obligatory as considerate care for our +unfortunate fellowmen late in bonds, and, if observed, would equally +prove to be wise forecast. The great qualities of the South, those +attested in the War, we can perilously alienate, or we may make them +nationally available at need. + +The blacks, in their infant pupilage to freedom, appeal to the +sympathies of every humane mind. The paternal guardianship which for +the interval government exercises over them was prompted equally by +duty and benevolence. Yet such kindliness should not be allowed to +exclude kindliness to communities who stand nearer to us in nature. For +the future of the freed slaves we may well be concerned; but the future +of the whole country, involving the future of the blacks, urges a +paramount claim upon our anxiety. Effective benignity, like the Nile, +is not narrow in its bounty, and true policy is always broad. To be +sure, it is vain to seek to glide, with moulded words, over the +difficulties of the situation. And for them who are neither partisans, +nor enthusiasts, nor theorists, nor cynics, there are some doubts not +readily to be solved. And there are fears. Why is not the cessation of +war now at length attended with the settled calm of peace? Wherefore in +a clear sky do we still turn our eyes toward the South as the +Neapolitan, months after the eruption, turns his toward Vesuvius? Do we +dread lest the repose may be deceptive? In the recent convulsion has +the crater but shifted Let us revere that sacred uncertainty which +forever impends over men and nations. Those of us who always abhorred +slavery as an atheistical iniquity, gladly we join in the exulting +chorus of humanity over its downfall. But we should remember that +emancipation was accomplished not by deliberate legislation; only +through agonized violence could so mighty a result be effected. In our +natural solicitude to confirm the benefit of liberty to the blacks, let +us forbear from measures of dubious constitutional rightfulness toward +our white countrymen--measures of a nature to provoke, among other of +the last evils, exterminating hatred of race toward race. In +imagination let us place ourselves in the unprecedented position of the +Southerners--their position as regards the millions of ignorant +manumitted slaves in their midst, for whom some of us now claim the +suffrage. Let us be Christians toward our fellow-whites, as well as +philanthropists toward the blacks, our fellow-men. In all things, and +toward all, we are enjoined to do as we would be done by. Nor should we +forget that benevolent desires, after passing a certain point, can not +undertake their own fulfillment without incurring the risk of evils +beyond those sought to be remedied. Something may well be left to the +graduated care of future legislation, and to heaven. In one point of +view the co-existence of the two races in the South, whether the negro +be bond or free, seems (even as it did to Abraham Lincoln) a grave +evil. Emancipation has ridded the country of the reproach, but not +wholly of the calamity. Especially in the present transition period for +both races in the South, more or less of trouble may not unreasonably +be anticipated; but let us not hereafter be too swift to charge the +blame exclusively in any one quarter. With certain evils men must be +more or less patient. Our institutions have a potent digestion, and may +in time convert and assimilate to good all elements thrown in, however +originally alien. + +But, so far as immediate measures looking toward permanent Re- +establishment are concerned, no consideration should tempt us to +pervert the national victory into oppression for the vanquished. Should +plausible promise of eventual good, or a deceptive or spurious sense of +duty, lead us to essay this, count we must on serious consequences, not +the least of which would be divisions among the Northern adherents of +the Union. Assuredly, if any honest Catos there be who thus far have +gone with us, no longer will they do so, but oppose us, and as +resolutely as hitherto they have supported. But this path of thought +leads toward those waters of bitterness from which one can only turn +aside and be silent. + +But supposing Re-establishment so far advanced that the Southern seats +in Congress are occupied, and by men qualified in accordance with those +cardinal principles of representative government which hitherto have +prevailed in the land--what then? Why, the Congressmen elected by the +people of the South will--represent the people of the South. This may +seem a flat conclusion; but, in view of the last five years, may there +not be latent significance in it? What will be the temper of those +Southern members? and, confronted by them, what will be the mood of our +own representatives? In private life true reconciliation seldom follows +a violent quarrel; but, if subsequent intercourse be unavoidable, nice +observances and mutual are indispensable to the prevention of a new +rupture. Amity itself can only be maintained by reciprocal respect, and +true friends are punctilious equals. On the floor of Congress North and +South are to come together after a passionate duel, in which the South, +though proving her valor, has been made to bite the dust. Upon +differences in debate shall acrimonious recriminations be exchanged? +Shall censorious superiority assumed by one section provoke defiant +self-assertion on the other? Shall Manassas and Chickamauga be retorted +for Chattanooga and Richmond? Under the supposition that the full +Congress will be composed of gentlemen, all this is impossible. Yet, if +otherwise, it needs no prophet of Israel to foretell the end. The +maintenance of Congressional decency in the future will rest mainly +with the North. Rightly will more forbearance be required from the +North than the South, for the North is victor. + +But some there are who may deem these latter thoughts inapplicable, and +for this reason: Since the test-oath operatively excludes from Congress +all who in any way participated in Secession, therefore none but +Southerners wholly in harmony with the North are eligible to seats. +This is true for the time being. But the oath is alterable; and in the +wonted fluctuations of parties not improbably it will undergo +alteration, assuming such a form, perhaps, as not to bar the admission +into the National Legislature of men who represent the populations +lately in revolt. Such a result would involve no violation of the +principles of democratic government. Not readily can one perceive how +the political existence of the millions of late Secessionists can +permanently be ignored by this Republic. The years of the war tried our +devotion to the Union; the time of peace may test the sincerity of our +faith in democracy. + +In no spirit of opposition, not by way of challenge, is anything here +thrown out. These thoughts are sincere ones; they seem natural-- +inevitable. Here and there they must have suggested themselves to many +thoughtful patriots. And, if they be just thoughts, ere long they must +have that weight with the public which already they have had with +individuals. + +For that heroic band--those children of the furnace who, in regions +like Texas and Tennessee, maintained their fidelity through terrible +trials--we of the North felt for them, and profoundly we honor them. +Yet passionate sympathy, with resentments so close as to be almost +domestic in their bitterness, would hardly in the present juncture tend +to discreet legislation. Were the Unionists and Secessionists but as +Guelphs and Ghibellines? If not, then far be it from a great nation now +to act in the spirit that animated a triumphant town-faction in the +Middle Ages. But crowding thoughts must at last be checked; and, in +times like the present, one who desires to be impartially just in the +expression of his views, moves as among sword-points presented on every +side. + +Let us pray that the terrible historic tragedy of our time may not have +been enacted without instructing our whole beloved country through +terror and pity; and may fulfillment verify in the end those +expectations which kindle the bards of Progress and Humanity. + + + + + +Poems From Battle Pieces + + + + + +THE PORTENT +1859 + +Hanging from the beam, + Slowly swaying (such the law), +Gaunt the shadow on your green, + Shenandoah! +The cut is on the crown +(Lo, John Brown), +And the stabs shall heal no more. + +Hidden in the cap + Is the anguish none can draw; +So your future veils its face, + Shenandoah! +But the streaming beard is shown +(Weird John Brown), +The meteor of the war. + + + + +FROM THE CONFLICT OF CONVICTIONS +1860-1 + +The Ancient of Days forever is young, + Forever the scheme of Nature thrives; +I know a wind in purpose strong-- + It spins _against_ the way it drives. +What if the gulfs their slimed foundations + bare? +So deep must the stones be hurled +Whereon the throes of ages rear +The final empire and the happier world. + + Power unanointed may come-- +Dominion (unsought by the free) + And the Iron Dome, +Stronger for stress and strain, +Fling her huge shadow athwart the main; +But the Founders' dream shall flee. +Age after age has been, +(From man's changeless heart their way they + win); +And death be busy with all who strive-- +Death, with silent negative. + + _Yea and Nay--_ + _Each hath his say;_ + _But God He keeps the middle way._ + _None was by_ + _When He spread the sky;_ + _Wisdom is vain, and prophecy._ + + + + +THE MARCH INTO VIRGINIA +_Ending in the First Manassas_ +July, 1861 + +Did all the lets and bars appear + To every just or larger end, +Whence should come the trust and cheer? + Youth must its ignorant impulse lend-- +Age finds place in the rear. + All wars are boyish, and are fought by boys, +The champions and enthusiasts of the state: + Turbid ardors and vain joys + Not barrenly abate-- + Stimulants to the power mature, + Preparatives of fate. + +Who here forecasteth the event? +What heart but spurns at precedent +And warnings of the wise, +Contemned foreclosures of surprise? +The banners play, the bugles call, +The air is blue and prodigal. + No berrying party, pleasure-wooed, +No picnic party in the May, +Ever went less loth than they + Into that leafy neighborhood. +In Bacchic glee they file toward Fate, +Moloch's uninitiate; +Expectancy, and glad surmise +Of battle's unknown mysteries. +All they feel is this: 't is glory, +A rapture sharp, though transitory, +Yet lasting in belaureled story. +So they gayly go to fight, +Chatting left and laughing right. + +But some who this blithe mood present, + As on in lightsome files they fare, +Shall die experienced ere three days are + spent-- + Perish, enlightened by the vollied glare; +Or shame survive, and, like to adamant, + The throe of Second Manassas share. + + + + +BALL'S BLUFF +_A Reverie_ +October, 1861 + +One noonday, at my window in the town, + I saw a sight--saddest that eyes can see-- + Young soldiers marching lustily + Unto the wars, +With fifes, and flags in mottoed pageantry; + While all the porches, walks, and doors +Were rich with ladies cheering royally. + +They moved like Juny morning on the wave, + Their hearts were fresh as clover in its prime + (It was the breezy summer time), + Life throbbed so strong, +How should they dream that Death in a rosy + clime + Would come to thin their shining throng? +Youth feels immortal, like the gods sublime. + +Weeks passed; and at my window, leaving + bed, + By night I mused, of easeful sleep bereft, + On those 'brave boys (Ah War! thy theft); + Some marching feet +Found pause at last by cliffs Potomac cleft; + Wakeful I mused, while in the street +Far footfalls died away till none were left. + + + + +THE STONE FLEET +_An Old Sailor's Lament_ +December, 1861 + +I have a feeling for those ships, + Each worn and ancient one, +With great bluff bows, and broad in the beam: + Ay, it was unkindly done. + But so they serve the Obsolete-- + Even so, Stone Fleet! + +You'll say I'm doting; do you think + I scudded round the Horn in one-- +The _Tenedos,_ a glorious + Good old craft as ever run-- + Sunk (how all unmeet!) + With the Old Stone Fleet. + +An India ship of fame was she, + Spices and shawls and fans she bore; +A whaler when the wrinkles came-- + Turned off! till, spent and poor, + Her bones were sold (escheat)! + Ah! Stone Fleet. + +Four were erst patrician keels + (Names attest what families be), +The _Kensington,_ and _Richmond_ too, + _Leonidas,_ and _Lee_: + But now they have their seat + With the Old Stone Fleet. + +To scuttle them--a pirate deed-- + Sack them, and dismast; +They sunk so slow, they died so hard, + But gurgling dropped at last. + Their ghosts in gales repeat + _Woe's us, Stone Fleet!_ + +And all for naught. The waters pass-- + Currents will have their way; +Nature is nobody's ally; 'tis well; + The harbor is bettered--will stay. + A failure, and complete, + Was your Old Stone Fleet. + + + + +THE TEMERAIRE + +_Supposed to have been suggested to an Englishman of +the old order by the fight of the Monitor and Merrimac_ + +The gloomy hulls in armor grim, + Like clouds o'er moors have met, +And prove that oak, and iron, and man + Are tough in fibre yet. + +But Splendors wane. The sea-fight yields + No front of old display; +The garniture, emblazonment, + And heraldry all decay. + +Towering afar in parting light, + The fleets like Albion's forelands shine-- +The full-sailed fleets, the shrouded show + Of Ships-of-the-Line. + + The fighting _Temeraire,_ + Built of a thousand trees, + Lunging out her lightnings, + And beetling o'er the seas-- + O Ship, how brave and fair, + That fought so oft and well, + +On open decks you manned the gun + Armorial. +What cheerings did you share, + Impulsive in the van, +When down upon leagued France and + Spain + We English ran-- +The freshet at your bowsprit + Like the foam upon the can. +Bickering, your colors + Licked up the Spanish air, +You flapped with flames of battle-flags-- + Your challenge, _Temeraire!_ +The rear ones of our fleet + They yearned to share your place, +Still vying with the Victory +Throughout that earnest race-- +The Victory, whose Admiral, + With orders nobly won, +Shone in the globe of the battle glow-- + The angel in that sun. +Parallel in story, + Lo, the stately pair, +As late in grapple ranging, + The foe between them there-- +When four great hulls lay tiered, +And the fiery tempest cleared, +And your prizes twain appeared, + _Temeraire!_ + +But Trafalgar is over now, + The quarter-deck undone; +The carved and castled navies fire + Their evening-gun. +O, Titan _Temeraire,_ + Your stern-lights fade away; +Your bulwarks to the years must yield, + And heart-of-oak decay. +A pigmy steam-tug tows you, + Gigantic, to the shore-- +Dismantled of your guns and spars, + And sweeping wings of war. +The rivets clinch the iron clads, + Men learn a deadlier lore; +But Fame has nailed your battle-flags-- + Your ghost it sails before: +O, the navies old and oaken, + O, the _Temeraire_ no more! + + + + +A UTILITARIAN VIEW OF THE _MONITOR'S_ FIGHT + +Plain be the phrase, yet apt the verse, + More ponderous than nimble; +For since grimed War here laid aside +His Orient pomp, 'twould ill befit + Overmuch to ply + The rhyme's barbaric cymbal. + +Hail to victory without the gaud + Of glory; zeal that needs no fans +Of banners; plain mechanic power +Plied cogently in War now placed-- + Where War belongs-- + Among the trades and artisans. + +Yet this was battle, and intense-- + Beyond the strife of fleets heroic; +Deadlier, closer, calm 'mid storm; +No passion; all went on by crank, + Pivot, and screw, + And calculations of caloric. + +Needless to dwell; the story's known. + The ringing of those plates on plates +Still ringeth round the world-- +The clangor of that blacksmiths' fray. + The anvil-din + Resounds this message from the Fates: + +War shall yet be, and to the end; + But war-paint shows the streaks of weather; +War yet shall be, but warriors +Are now but operatives; War's made + Less grand than Peace, + And a singe runs through lace and feather. + + + + +MALVERN HILL +July, 1862 + +Ye elms that wave on Malvern Hill + In prime of morn and May, +Recall ye how McClellan's men + Here stood at bay? +While deep within yon forest dim + Our rigid comrades lay-- +Some with the cartridge in their mouth, +Others with fixed arms lifted South-- + Invoking so-- +The cypress glades? Ah wilds of woe! + +The spires of Richmond, late beheld +Through rifts in musket-haze, +Were closed from view in clouds of dust + On leaf-walled ways, +Where streamed our wagons in caravan; + And the Seven Nights and Days +Of march and fast, retreat and fight, +Pinched our grimed faces to ghastly plight-- + Does the elm wood +Recall the haggard beards of blood? + +The battle-smoked flag, with stars eclipsed, + We followed (it never fell!)-- +In silence husbanded our strength-- + Received their yell; +Till on this slope we patient turned + With cannon ordered well; +Reverse we proved was not defeat; +But ah, the sod what thousands meet!-- + Does Malvern Wood +Bethink itself, and muse and brood? + _We elms of Malvern Hill_ + _Remember everything;_ + _But sap the twig will fill:_ + _Wag the world how it will,_ + _Leaves must be green in Spring._ + + + + +STONEWALL JACKSON +_Mortally wounded at Chancellorsville_ +May, 1863 + +THE Man who fiercest charged in fight, + Whose sword and prayer were long-- + Stonewall! + Even him who stoutly stood for Wrong, +How can we praise? Yet coming days + Shall not forget him with this song. + +Dead is the Man whose Cause is dead, + Vainly he died and set his seal-- + Stonewall! + Earnest in error, as we feel; +True to the thing he deemed was due, + True as John Brown or steel. + +Relentlessly he routed us; + But _we_ relent, for he is low-- + Stonewall! + Justly his fame we outlaw; so +We drop a tear on the bold Virginian's bier, + Because no wreath we owe. + + + + +THE HOUSE-TOP +July, 1863 +_A Night Piece_ + +No sleep. The sultriness pervades the air +And binds the brain--a dense oppression, such +As tawny tigers feel in matted shades, +Vexing their blood and making apt for ravage. +Beneath the stars the roofy desert spreads +Vacant as Libya. All is hushed near by. +Yet fitfully from far breaks a mixed surf +Of muffled sound, the Atheist roar of riot. +Yonder, where parching Sirius set in drought, +Balefully glares red Arson--there--and + there. +The Town is taken by its rats--ship-rats +And rats of the wharves. All civil charms +And priestly spells which late held hearts in + awe-- +Fear-bound, subjected to a better sway +Than sway of self; these like a dream dissolve, +And man rebounds whole aeons back in + nature. +Hail to the low dull rumble, dull and dead, +And ponderous drag that shakes the wall. +Wise Draco comes, deep in the midnight roll +Of black artillery; he comes, though late; +In code corroborating Calvin's creed +And cynic tyrannies of honest kings; +He comes, nor parlies; and the Town, + redeemed, +Gives thanks devout; nor, being thankful, + heeds +The grimy slur on the Republic's faith + implied, +Which holds that Man is naturally good, +And--more--is Nature's Roman, never to be + scourged. + + + + +CHATTANOOGA +November, 1863 + +A kindling impulse seized the host + Inspired by heaven's elastic air; +Their hearts outran their General's plan, + Though Grant commanded there-- + Grant, who without reserve can dare; +And, "Well, go on and do your will," + He said, and measured the mountain then: +So master-riders fling the rein-- + But you must know your men. + +On yester-morn in grayish mist, + Armies like ghosts on hills had fought, +And rolled from the cloud their thunders loud + The Cumberlands far had caught: + To-day the sunlit steeps are sought. +Grant stood on cliffs whence all was plain, + And smoked as one who feels no cares; +But mastered nervousness intense +Alone such calmness wears. + +The summit-cannon plunge their flame + Sheer down the primal wall, +But up and up each linking troop + In stretching festoons crawl-- + Nor fire a shot. Such men appall +The foe, though brave. He, from the brink, + Looks far along the breadth of slope, +And sees two miles of dark dots creep, + And knows they mean the cope. + +He sees them creep. Yet here and there + Half hid 'mid leafless groves they go; +As men who ply through traceries high + Of turreted marbles show-- + So dwindle these to eyes below. +But fronting shot and flanking shell + Sliver and rive the inwoven ways; +High tops of oaks and high hearts fall, + But never the climbing stays. + +From right to left, from left to right + They roll the rallying cheer-- +Vie with each other, brother with brother, + Who shall the first appear-- + What color-bearer with colors clear +In sharp relief, like sky-drawn Grant, + Whose cigar must now be near the stump-- +While in solicitude his back + Heaps slowly to a hump. + +Near and more near; till now the flags + Run like a catching flame; +And one flares highest, to peril nighest-- + _He_ means to make a name: + Salvos! they give him his fame. +The staff is caught, and next the rush, + And then the leap where death has led; +Flag answered flag along the crest, + And swarms of rebels fled. + +But some who gained the envied Alp, + And--eager, ardent, earnest there-- +Dropped into Death's wide-open arms, + Quelled on the wing like eagles struck in + air-- + Forever they slumber young and fair, +The smile upon them as they died; + Their end attained, that end a height: +Life was to these a dream fulfilled, + And death a starry night. + + + + +ON THE PHOTOGRAPH OF A CORPS COMMANDER + +Ay, man is manly. Here you see + The warrior-carriage of the head, +And brave dilation of the frame; + And lighting all, the soul that led +In Spottsylvania's charge to victory, + Which justifies his fame. + +A cheering picture. It is good + To look upon a Chief like this, +In whom the spirit moulds the form. + Here favoring Nature, oft remiss, +With eagle mien expressive has endued + A man to kindle strains that warm. + +Trace back his lineage, and his sires, + Yeoman or noble, you shall find +Enrolled with men of Agincourt, + Heroes who shared great Harry's mind. +Down to us come the knightly Norman fires, + And front the Templars bore. + +Nothing can lift the heart of man + Like manhood in a fellow-man. +The thought of heaven's great King afar +But humbles us--too weak to scan; +But manly greatness men can span, + And feel the bonds that draw. + + + + +THE SWAMP ANGEL + +There is a coal-black Angel + With a thick Afric lip, +And he dwells (like the hunted and harried) + In a swamp where the green frogs dip. +But his face is against a City + Which is over a bay of the sea, +And he breathes with a breath that is + blastment, + And dooms by a far decree. + +By night there is fear in the City, + Through the darkness a star soareth on; +There's a scream that screams up to the zenith, + Then the poise of a meteor lone-- +Lighting far the pale fright of the faces, + And downward the coming is seen; +Then the rush, and the burst, and the havoc, + And wails and shrieks between. + +It comes like the thief in the gloaming; + It comes, and none may foretell +The place of the coming--the glaring; + They live in a sleepless spell +That wizens, and withers, and whitens; + It ages the young, and the bloom +Of the maiden is ashes of roses-- + The Swamp Angel broods in his gloom. + +Swift is his messengers' going, + But slowly he saps their halls, +As if by delay deluding. + They move from their crumbling walls +Farther and farther away; + But the Angel sends after and after, +By night with the flame of his ray-- + By night with the voice of his screaming-- +Sends after them, stone by stone, + And farther walls fall, farther portals, +And weed follows weed through the Town. + +Is this the proud City? the scorner + Which never would yield the ground? +Which mocked at the coal-black Angel? + The cup of despair goes round. +Vainly he calls upon Michael + (The white man's seraph was he,) +For Michael has fled from his tower + To the Angel over the sea. +Who weeps for the woeful City + Let him weep for our guilty kind; +Who joys at her wild despairing-- +Christ, the Forgiver, convert his mind. + + + + +SHERIDAN AT CEDAR CREEK +October, 1864 + +Shoe the steed with silver + That bore him to the fray, +When he heard the guns at dawning-- + Miles away; +When he heard them calling, calling-- + Mount! nor stay: + Quick, or all is lost; + They've surprised and stormed the post, + They push your routed host-- +Gallop! retrieve the day. + +House the horse in ermine-- + For the foam-flake blew +White through the red October; + He thundered into view; +They cheered him in the looming. + Horseman and horse they knew. + The turn of the tide began, + The rally of bugles ran, + He swung his hat in the van; +The electric hoof-spark flew. + +Wreathe the steed and lead him-- + For the charge he led +Touched and turned the cypress + Into amaranths for the head +Of Philip, king of riders, + Who raised them from the dead. + The camp (at dawning lost), + By eve, recovered--forced, + Rang with laughter of the host +At belated Early fled. + +Shroud the horse in sable-- + For the mounds they heap! +There is firing in the Valley, + And yet no strife they keep; +It is the parting volley, + It is the pathos deep. + There is glory for the brave + Who lead, and nobly save, + But no knowledge in the grave +Where the nameless followers sleep. + + + + +IN THE PRISON PEN +1864 + +Listless he eyes the palisades + And sentries in the glare; +'Tis barren as a pelican-beach + But his world is ended there. + +Nothing to do; and vacant hands + Bring on the idiot-pain; +He tries to think--to recollect, + But the blur is on his brain. + +Around him swarm the plaining ghosts + Like those on Virgil's shore-- +A wilderness of faces dim, + And pale ones gashed and hoar. + +A smiting sun. No shed, no tree; + He totters to his lair-- +A den that sick hands dug in earth + Ere famine wasted there, + +Or, dropping in his place, he swoons, + Walled in by throngs that press, +Till forth from the throngs they bear + him dead-- + Dead in his meagreness. + + + + +THE COLLEGE COLONEL + +He rides at their head; + A crutch by his saddle just slants in view, +One slung arm is in splints, you see, + Yet he guides his strong steed--how + coldly too. + +He brings his regiment home-- + Not as they filed two years before, +But a remnant half-tattered, and battered, + and worn, +Like castaway sailors, who--stunned + By the surf's loud roar, + Their mates dragged back and seen no + more-- +Again and again breast the surge, + And at last crawl, spent, to shore. + +A still rigidity and pale-- + An Indian aloofness lones his brow; +He has lived a thousand years +Compressed in battle's pains and prayers, + Marches and watches slow. + +There are welcoming shouts, and flags; + Old men off hat to the Boy, +Wreaths from gay balconies fall at his feet, +But to _him_--there comes alloy. + +It is not that a leg is lost, + It is not that an arm is maimed, +It is not that the fever has racked-- + Self he has long disclaimed. + +But all through the Seven Days' Fight, + And deep in the Wilderness grim, +And in the field-hospital tent, + And Petersburg crater, and dim +Lean brooding in Libby, there came-- + Ah heaven!--what _truth_ to him. + + + + +THE MARTYR +_Indicative of the passion of the people on the +15th of April, 1865_ + +Goon Friday was the day + Of the prodigy and crime, +When they killed him in his pity, + When they killed him in his prime +Of clemency and calm-- + When with yearning he was filled + To redeem the evil-willed, +And, though conqueror, be kind; + But they killed him in his kindness, + In their madness and their blindness, +And they killed him from behind. + + There is sobbing of the strong, + And a pall upon the land; + But the People in their weeping + Bare the iron hand; + Beware the People weeping + When they bare the iron hand. + +He lieth in his blood-- + The father in his face; +They have killed him, the Forgiver-- + The Avenger takes his place, +The Avenger wisely stern, + Who in righteousness shall do + What the heavens call him to, +And the parricides remand; + For they killed him in his kindness, + In their madness and their blindness, +And his blood is on their hand. + + There is sobbing of the strong, + And a pall upon the land; + But the People in their weeping + Bare the iron hand: + Beware the People weeping + When they bare the iron hand. + + + + +REBEL COLOR-BEARERS AT SHILOH +_A plea against the vindictive cry raised by civilians +shortly after the surrender at Appomattox_ + +The color-bearers facing death +White in the whirling sulphurous wreath, + Stand boldly out before the line; +Right and left their glances go, +Proud of each other, glorying in their show; +Their battle-flags about them blow, + And fold them as in flame divine: +Such living robes are only seen +Round martyrs burning on the green-- +And martyrs for the Wrong have been. + +Perish their Cause! but mark the men-- +Mark the planted statues, then +Draw trigger on them if you can. + +The leader of a patriot-band +Even so could view rebels who so could stand; + And this when peril pressed him sore, +Left aidless in the shivered front of war-- + Skulkers behind, defiant foes before, +And fighting with a broken brand. +The challenge in that courage rare-- +Courage defenseless, proudly bare-- +Never could tempt him; he could dare +Strike up the leveled rifle there. + +Sunday at Shiloh, and the day +When Stonewall charged--McClellan's + crimson May, +And Chickamauga's wave of death, +And of the Wilderness the cypress wreath-- + All these have passed away. +The life in the veins of Treason lags, +Her daring color-bearers drop their flags, + And yield. _Now_ shall we fire? + Can poor spite be? + Shall nobleness in victory less aspire + Than in reverse? Spare Spleen her ire, + And think how Grant met Lee. + + + + +AURORA BOREALIS +_Commemorative of the Dissolution of armies at the Peace_ +May, 1865 + +What power disbands the Northern Lights + After their steely play? +The lonely watcher feels an awe + Of Nature's sway, + As when appearing, + He marked their flashed uprearing + In the cold gloom-- + Retreatings and advancings, +(Like dallyings of doom), + Transitions and enhancings, + And bloody ray. + +The phantom-host has faded quite, + Splendor and Terror gone +Portent or promise--and gives way + To pale, meek Dawn; + The coming, going, + Alike in wonder showing-- + Alike the God, + Decreeing and commanding +The million blades that glowed, + The muster and disbanding-- + Midnight and Morn. + + + + +THE RELEASED REBEL PRISONER +June, 1865 + +Armies he's seen--the herds of war, + But never such swarms of men +As now in the Nineveh of the North-- + How mad the Rebellion then! + +And yet but dimly he divines + The depth of that deceit, +And superstitution of vast pride + Humbled to such defeat. + +Seductive shone the Chiefs in arms-- + His steel the nearest magnet drew; +Wreathed with its kind, the Gulf-weed drives-- + 'Tis Nature's wrong they rue. + +His face is hidden in his beard, + But his heart peers out at eye-- +And such a heart! like a mountain-pool + Where no man passes by. + +He thinks of Hill--a brave soul gone; + And Ashby dead in pale disdain; +And Stuart with the Rupert-plume, + Whose blue eye never shall laugh again. + +He hears the drum; he sees our boys +From his wasted fields return; +Ladies feast them on strawberries, + And even to kiss them yearn. + +He marks them bronzed, in soldier-trim, + The rifle proudly borne; +They bear it for an heirloom home, + And he--disarmed--jail-worn. + +Home, home--his heart is full of it; + But home he never shall see, +Even should he stand upon the spot: + 'Tis gone!--where his brothers be. + +The cypress-moss from tree to tree + Hangs in his Southern land; +As weird, from thought to thought of his + Run memories hand in hand. + +And so he lingers--lingers on + In the City of the Foe-- +His cousins and his countrymen + Who see him listless go. + + + + +"FORMERLY A SLAVE" +_An idealized Portrait, by E. Vedder, in the Spring +Exhibition of the National Academy, 1865_ + +The sufferance of her race is shown, + And retrospect of life, +Which now too late deliverance dawns upon; + Yet is she not at strife. + +Her children's children they shall know + The good withheld from her; +And so her reverie takes prophetic cheer-- + In spirit she sees the stir. + +Far down the depth of thousand years, + And marks the revel shine; +Her dusky face is lit with sober light, + Sibylline, yet benign. + + + + +ON THE SLAIN COLLEGIANS + +Youth is the time when hearts are large, + And stirring wars +Appeal to the spirit which appeals in turn + To the blade it draws. +If woman incite, and duty show + (Though made the mask of Cain), +Or whether it be Truth's sacred cause, + Who can aloof remain +That shares youth's ardor, uncooled by the + snow + Of wisdom or sordid gain? + +The liberal arts and nurture sweet + Which give his gentleness to man-- + Train him to honor, lend him grace +Through bright examples meet-- +That culture which makes never wan +With underminings deep, but holds + The surface still, its fitting place, + And so gives sunniness to the face +And bravery to the heart; what troops + Of generous boys in happiness thus bred-- + Saturnians through life's Tempe led, +Went from the North and came from the + South, +With golden mottoes in the mouth, + To lie down midway on a bloody bed. + +Woe for the homes of the North, +And woe for the seats of the South: +All who felt life's spring in prime, +And were swept by the wind of their place and + time-- + All lavish hearts, on whichever side, +Of birth urbane or courage high, +Armed them for the stirring wars-- + Armed them--some to die. + Apollo-like in pride. +Each would slay his Python--caught +The maxims in his temple taught-- + Aflame with sympathies whose blaze +Perforce enwrapped him--social laws, + Friendship and kin, and by-gone days-- +Vows, kisses--every heart unmoors, +And launches into the seas of wars. +What could they else--North or South? +Each went forth with blessings given +By priests and mothers in the name of Heaven; + And honor in both was chief. +Warred one for Right, and one for Wrong? +So be it; but they both were young-- +Each grape to his cluster clung, +All their elegies are sung. +The anguish of maternal hearts + Must search for balm divine; +But well the striplings bore their fated parts + (The heavens all parts assign)-- +Never felt life's care or cloy. +Each bloomed and died an unabated Boy; +Nor dreamed what death was--thought it mere +Sliding into some vernal sphere. +They knew the joy, but leaped the grief, +Like plants that flower ere comes the leaf-- +Which storms lay low in kindly doom, +And kill them in their flush of bloom. + + + + +AMERICA + +I +Where the wings of a sunny Dome expand +I saw a Banner in gladsome air-- +Starry, like Berenice's Hair-- +Afloat in broadened bravery there; +With undulating long-drawn flow, +As tolled Brazilian billows go +Voluminously o'er the Line. +The Land reposed in peace below; + The children in their glee +Were folded to the exulting heart + Of young Maternity. + +II +Later, and it streamed in fight + When tempest mingled with the fray, +And over the spear-point of the shaft + I saw the ambiguous lightning play. +Valor with Valor strove, and died: +Fierce was Despair, and cruel was Pride; +And the lorn Mother speechless stood, +Pale at the fury of her brood. + +III +Yet later, and the silk did wind + Her fair cold form; +Little availed the shining shroud, + Though ruddy in hue, to cheer or warm. +A watcher looked upon her low, and said-- +She sleeps, but sleeps, she is not dead. + But in that sleeps contortion showed +The terror of the vision there-- + A silent vision unavowed, +Revealing earth's foundation bare, + And Gorgon in her hidden place. +It was a thing of fear to see + So foul a dream upon so fair a face, +And the dreamer lying in that starry shroud. + +IV +But from the trance she sudden broke-- + The trance, or death into promoted life; +At her feet a shivered yoke, +And in her aspect turned to heaven + No trace of passion or of strife-- +A clear calm look. It spake of pain, +But such as purifies from stain-- +Sharp pangs that never come again-- + And triumph repressed by knowledge meet, +Power dedicate, and hope grown wise, + And youth matured for age's seat-- +Law on her brow and empire in her eyes. + So she, with graver air and lifted flag; +While the shadow, chased by light, +Fled along the far-drawn height, + And left her on the crag. + + + + +INSCRIPTION +_For Graves at Pea Ridge, Arkansas_ + +Let none misgive we died amiss + When here we strove in furious fight: +Furious it was; nathless was this + Better than tranquil plight, +And tame surrender of the Cause +Hallowed by hearts and by the laws. + We here who warred for Man and Right, +The choice of warring never laid with us. + There we were ruled by the traitor's choice. + Nor long we stood to trim and poise, +But marched and fell--victorious! + + + + +THE FORTITUDE OF THE NORTH +_Under the Disaster of the Second Manassas_ + +They take no shame for dark defeat + While prizing yet each victory won, +Who fight for the Right through all retreat, + Nor pause until their work is done. +The Cape-of-Storms is proof to every throe; + Vainly against that foreland beat +Wild winds aloft and wilder waves below: +The black cliffs gleam through rents in sleet +When the livid Antarctic storm-clouds glow. + + + + +THE MOUND BY THE LAKE + +The grass shall never forget this grave. +When homeward footing it in the sun + After the weary ride by rail, +The stripling soldiers passed her door, + Wounded perchance, or wan and pale, +She left her household work undone-- +Duly the wayside table spread, + With evergreens shaded, to regale +Each travel-spent and grateful one. +So warm her heart--childless--unwed, +Who like a mother comforted. + + + + +ON THE SLAIN AT CHICKAMAUGA + +Happy are they and charmed in life + Who through long wars arrive unscarred +At peace. To such the wreath be given, +If they unfalteringly have striven-- + In honor, as in limb, unmarred. +Let cheerful praise be rife, + And let them live their years at ease, +Musing on brothers who victorious died-- + Loved mates whose memory shall ever please. + +And yet mischance is honorable too-- + Seeming defeat in conflict justified +Whose end to closing eyes is hid from view. +The will, that never can relent-- +The aim, survivor of the bafflement, + Make this memorial due. + + + + +AN UNINSCRIBED MONUMENT +_On one of the Battle-fields of the Wilderness_ + +Silence and solitude may hint + (Whose home is in yon piney wood) +What I, though tableted, could never tell-- +The din which here befell, + And striving of the multitude. +The iron cones and spheres of death + Set round me in their rust, + These, too, if just, +Shall speak with more than animated breath. + Thou who beholdest, if thy thought, +Not narrowed down to personal cheer, +Take in the import of the quiet here-- + The after-quiet--the calm full fraught; +Thou too wilt silent stand-- +Silent as I, and lonesome as the land. + + + + +ON THE GRAVE OF A YOUNG CAVALRY OFFICER +KILLED IN THE VALLEY OF VIRGINIA + +Beauty and youth, with manners sweet, and + friends-- + Gold, yet a mind not unenriched had he +Whom here low violets veil from eyes. + But all these gifts transcended be: +His happier fortune in this mound you see. + + + + +A REQUIEM +_For Soldiers lost in Ocean Transports_ + +When, after storms that woodlands rue, + To valleys comes atoning dawn, +The robins blithe their orchard-sports renew; + And meadow-larks, no more withdrawn +Caroling fly in the languid blue; +The while, from many a hid recess, +Alert to partake the blessedness, +The pouring mites their airy dance pursue. + So, after ocean's ghastly gales, +When laughing light of hoyden morning + breaks, + Every finny hider wakes-- + From vaults profound swims up with + glittering scales; + Through the delightsome sea he sails, +With shoals of shining tiny things +Frolic on every wave that flings + Against the prow its showery spray; +All creatures joying in the morn, +Save them forever from joyance torn, + Whose bark was lost where now the + dolphins play; +Save them that by the fabled shore, + Down the pale stream are washed away, +Far to the reef of bones are borne; + And never revisits them the light, +Nor sight of long-sought land and pilot more; + Nor heed they now the lone bird's flight +Round the lone spar where mid-sea surges + pour. + + + + +COMMEMORATIVE OF A NAVAL VICTORY + +Sailors there are of the gentlest breed, + Yet strong, like every goodly thing; +The discipline of arms refines, + And the wave gives tempering. + The damasked blade its beam can fling; +It lends the last grave grace: +The hawk, the hound, and sworded nobleman + In Titian's picture for a king, +Are of hunter or warrior race. + +In social halls a favored guest + In years that follow victory won, +How sweet to feel your festal fame + In woman's glance instinctive thrown: + Repose is yours--your deed is known, +It musks the amber wine; +It lives, and sheds a light from storied days + Rich as October sunsets brown, +Which make the barren place to shine. + +But seldom the laurel wreath is seen + Unmixed with pensive pansies dark; +There's a light and a shadow on every man + Who at last attains his lifted mark-- + Nursing through night the ethereal spark. +Elate he never can be; +He feels that spirit which glad had hailed his + worth, + Sleep in oblivion.--The shark +Glides white through the phosphorus sea. + + + + +A MEDITATION + +How often in the years that close, + When truce had stilled the sieging gun, +The soldiers, mounting on their works, + With mutual curious glance have run +From face to face along the fronting show, +And kinsman spied, or friend--even in a foe. + +What thoughts conflicting then were shared, + While sacred tenderness perforce +Welled from the heart and wet the eye; + And something of a strange remorse +Rebelled against the sanctioned sin of blood, +And Christian wars of natural brotherhood. + +Then stirred the god within the breast-- + The witness that is man's at birth; +A deep misgiving undermined + Each plea and subterfuge of earth; +They felt in that rapt pause, with warning rife, +Horror and anguish for the civil strife. + +Of North or South they reeked not then, + Warm passion cursed the cause of war: +Can Africa pay back this blood + Spilt on Potomac's shore? +Yet doubts, as pangs, were vain the strife + to stay, +And hands that fain had clasped again + could slay. + +How frequent in the camp was seen + The herald from the hostile one, +A guest and frank companion there + When the proud formal talk was done; +The pipe of peace was smoked even 'mid the + war, +And fields in Mexico again fought o'er. + +In Western battle long they lay + So near opposed in trench or pit, +That foeman unto foeman called + As men who screened in tavern sit: +"You bravely fight" each to the other said-- +"Toss us a biscuit!" o'er the wall it sped. + +And pale on those same slopes, a boy-- + A stormer, bled in noon-day glare; +No aid the Blue-coats then could bring, + He cried to them who nearest were, +And out there came 'mid howling shot and shell +A daring foe who him befriended well. + +Mark the great Captains on both sides, + The soldiers with the broad renown-- +They all were messmates on the Hudson's + marge, + Beneath one roof they laid them down; +And, free from hate in many an after pass, +Strove as in school-boy rivalry of the class. + +A darker side there is; but doubt + In Nature's charity hovers there: +If men for new agreement yearn, + Then old upbraiding best forbear: +"The South's the sinner!" Well, so let it be; +But shall the North sin worse, and stand the + Pharisee? + +O, now that brave men yield the sword, + Mine be the manful soldier-view; +By how much more they boldly warred, + By so much more is mercy due: +When Vicksburg fell, and the moody files + marched out, +Silent the victors stood, scorning to raise a + shout. + + + + + +Poems From Mardi + + + + +WE FISH + +We fish, we fish, we merrily swim, +We care not for friend nor for foe. + Our fins are stout, + Our tails are out, +As through the seas we go. + +Fish, Fish, we are fish with red gills; + Naught disturbs us, our blood is at zero: +We are buoyant because of our bags, + Being many, each fish is a hero. +We care not what is it, this life + That we follow, this phantom unknown; +To swim, it's exceedingly pleasant,-- + So swim away, making a foam. +This strange looking thing by our side, + Not for safety, around it we flee:-- +Its shadow's so shady, that's all,-- + We only swim under its lee. +And as for the eels there above, + And as for the fowls of the air, +We care not for them nor their ways, + As we cheerily glide afar! + +We fish, we fish, we merrily swim, +We care not for friend nor for foe: + Our fins are stout, + Our tails are out, +As through the seas we go. + + + + +INVOCATION + +Ha, ha, gods and kings; fill high, one and all; +Drink, drink! shout and drink! mad respond to + the call! +Fill fast, and fill full; 'gainst the goblet ne'er + sin; +Quaff there, at high tide, to the uttermost + rim:-- + Flood-tide, and soul-tide to the brim! + +Who with wine in him fears? who thinks of his + cares? +Who sighs to be wise, when wine in him flares? +Water sinks down below, in currents full slow; +But wine mounts on high with its genial glow:-- + Welling up, till the brain overflow! + +As the spheres, with a roll, some fiery of soul, +Others golden, with music, revolve round the + pole; +So let our cups, radiant with many hued wines, +Round and round in groups circle, our Zodiac's + Signs:-- + Round reeling, and ringing their chimes! + +Then drink, gods and kings; wine merriment + brings; +It bounds through the veins; there, jubilant + sings. +Let it ebb, then, and flow; wine never grows + dim; +Drain down that bright tide at the foam beaded + rim:-- + Fill up, every cup, to the brim! + + + + +DIRGE + +We drop our dead in the sea, + The bottomless, bottomless sea; +Each bubble a hollow sigh, + As it sinks forever and aye. + +We drop our dead in the sea,-- + The dead reek not of aught; +We drop our dead in the sea,-- + The sea ne'er gives it a thought. + +Sink, sink, oh corpse, still sink, + Far down in the bottomless sea, +Where the unknown forms do prowl, + Down, down in the bottomless sea. + +'Tis night above, and night all round, + And night will it be with thee; +As thou sinkest, and sinkest for aye, + Deeper down in the bottomless sea. + + + + +MARLENA + +Far off in the sea is Marlena, +A land of shades and streams, +A land of many delights, +Dark and bold, thy shores, Marlena; +But green, and timorous, thy soft knolls, +Crouching behind the woodlands. +All shady thy hills; all gleaming thy springs, +Like eyes in the earth looking at you. +How charming thy haunts, Marlena!-- +Oh, the waters that flow through Onimoo; +Oh, the leaves that rustle through Ponoo: +Oh, the roses that blossom in Tarma. +Come, and see the valley of Vina: +How sweet, how sweet, the Isles from Hina: +'Tis aye afternoon of the full, full moon, +And ever the season of fruit, +And ever the hour of flowers, +And never the time of rains and gales, +All in and about Marlena. +Soft sigh the boughs in the stilly air, +Soft lap the beach the billows there; +And in the woods or by the streams, +You needs must nod in the Land of Dreams. + + + + +PIPE SONG + +Care is all stuff:-- + Puff! Puff! +To puff is enough:-- + Puff! Puff +More musky than snuff, +And warm is a puff:-- + Puff! Puff +Here we sit mid our puffs, +Like old lords in their ruffs, +Snug as bears in their muffs:-- + Puff! Puff +Then puff, puff, puff, +For care is all stuff, +Puffed off in a puff-- + Puff! Puff! + + + + +SONG OF YOOMY + +Departed the pride, and the glory of Mardi: +The vaunt of her isles sleeps deep in the sea, + That rolls o'er his corse with a hush, + His warriors bend over their spears, + His sisters gaze upward and mourn. + Weep, weep, for Adondo is dead! + The sun has gone down in a shower; + Buried in clouds the face of the moon; +Tears stand in the eyes of the starry skies, + And stand in the eyes of the flowers; +And streams of tears are the trickling brooks, + Coursing adown the mountains.-- + Departed the pride, and the glory of Mardi: + The vaunt of her isles sleeps deep in the sea. +Fast falls the small rain on its bosom that + sobs,-- + Not showers of rain, but the tears of Oro. + + + + +GOLD + +We rovers bold, + To the land of Gold, +Over the bowling billows are gliding: + Eager to toil, + For the golden spoil, +And every hardship biding. + See! See! +Before our prows' resistless dashes +The gold-fish fly in golden flashes! + 'Neath a sun of gold, + We rovers bold, +On the golden land are gaining; + And every night, + We steer aright, +By golden stars unwaning! +All fires burn a golden glare: +No locks so bright as golden hair! + All orange groves have golden gushings; + All mornings dawn with golden flushings! +In a shower of gold, say fables old, +A maiden was won by the god of gold! + In golden goblets wine is beaming: + On golden couches kings are dreaming! + The Golden Rule dries many tears! + The Golden Number rules the spheres! +Gold, gold it is, that sways the nations: +Gold! gold! the center of all rotations! + On golden axles worlds are turning: + With phosphorescence seas are burning! + All fire-flies flame with golden gleamings! + Gold-hunters' hearts with golden dreamings! + With golden arrows kings are slain: + With gold we'll buy a freeman's name! +In toilsome trades, for scanty earnings, +At home we've slaved, with stifled yearnings: +No light! no hope! Oh, heavy woe! +When nights fled fast, and days dragged slow. + But joyful now, with eager eye, + Fast to the Promised Land we fly: + Where in deep mines, + The treasure shines; + Or down in beds of golden streams, + The gold-flakes glance in golden gleams! + How we long to sift, + That yellow drift! + Rivers! Rivers! cease your goings! + Sand-bars! rise, and stay the tide! + 'Till we've gained the golden flowing; + And in the golden haven ride! + + + + +THE LAND OF LOVE + +Hail! voyagers, hail! +Whence e'er ye come, where'er ye rove, + No calmer strand, + No sweeter land, +Will e'er ye view, than the Land of Love! + + Hail! voyagers, hail! +To these, our shores, soft gales invite: + The palm plumes wave, + The billows lave, +And hither point fix'd stars of light! + + Hail! voyagers, hail! +Think not our groves wide brood with gloom; + In this, our isle, + Bright flowers smile: +Full urns, rose-heaped, these valleys bloom. + + Hail! voyagers, hail! +Be not deceived; renounce vain things; + Ye may not find + A tranquil mind, +Though hence ye sail with swiftest wings. + + Hail! voyagers, hail! +Time flies full fast; life soon is o'er; + And ye may mourn, + That hither borne, +Ye left behind our pleasant shore. + + + + + +Poems From Clarel + + + + + +DIRGE + +Stay, Death, Not mine the Christus-wand +Wherewith to charge thee and command: +I plead. Most gently hold the hand +Of her thou leadest far away; +Fear thou to let her naked feet +Tread ashes--but let mosses sweet +Her footing tempt, where'er ye stray. +Shun Orcus; win the moonlit land +Belulled--the silent meadows lone, +Where never any leaf is blown +From lily-stem in Azrael's hand. +There, till her love rejoin her lowly +(Pensive, a shade, but all her own) +On honey feed her, wild and holy; +Or trance her with thy choicest charm. +And if, ere yet the lover's free, +Some added dusk thy rule decree-- +That shadow only let it be +Thrown in the moon-glade by the palm. + + + + +EPILOGUE +_If Luther's day expand to Darwin's year,_ +_Shall that exclude the hope--foreclose the fear?_ + +Unmoved by all the claims our times avow, +The ancient Sphinx still keeps the porch of + shade; +And comes Despair, whom not her calm may + cow, +And coldly on that adamantine brow +Scrawls undeterred his bitter pasquinade. +But Faith (who from the scrawl indignant + turns) +With blood warm oozing from her wounded + trust, +Inscribes even on her shards of broken urns +The sign o' the cross--_the spirit above the dust!_ + + Yea, ape and angel, strife and old debate-- +The harps of heaven and dreary gongs of hell; +Science the feud can only aggravate-- +No umpire she betwixt the chimes and knell: +The running battle of the star and clod +Shall run forever--if there be no God. + + Degrees we know, unknown in days before; +The light is greater, hence the shadow more; +And tantalized and apprehensive Man +Appealing--Wherefore ripen us to pain? +Seems there the spokesman of dumb Nature's + train. + + But through such strange illusions have they + passed +Who in life's pilgrimage have baffled striven-- +Even death may prove unreal at the last, +And stoics be astounded into heaven. + + Then keep thy heart, though yet but + ill-resigned-- +Clarel, thy heart, the issues there but mind; +That like the crocus budding through the + snow-- +That like a swimmer rising from the deep-- +That like a burning secret which doth go +Even from the bosom that would hoard and + keep; +Emerge thou mayst from the last whelming + sea, +And prove that death but routs life into victory. + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's John Marr and Other Poems, by Herman Melville + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK JOHN MARR AND OTHER POEMS *** + +***** This file should be named 12841-8.txt or 12841-8.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/1/2/8/4/12841/ + +Produced by Geoff Palmer + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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Thus, we do not necessarily +keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. + + +Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: + + https://www.gutenberg.org + +This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, +including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to +subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. diff --git a/old/old/12841-8.zip b/old/old/12841-8.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..4ef591b --- /dev/null +++ b/old/old/12841-8.zip diff --git a/old/old/12841.txt b/old/old/12841.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..f8f7839 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/old/12841.txt @@ -0,0 +1,4528 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of John Marr and Other Poems, by Herman Melville + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: John Marr and Other Poems + +Author: Herman Melville + +Release Date: July 7, 2004 [EBook #12841] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK JOHN MARR AND OTHER POEMS *** + + + + +Produced by Geoff Palmer + + + + +JOHN MARR AND OTHER POEMS + +By + +HERMAN MELVILLE + +_With An Introductory Note By_ +HENRY CHAPIN + + +MCMXXII + + + +Introductory Note + +Melville's verse printed for the most part privately in small +editions from middle life onward after his great prose work had +been written, taken as a whole, is of an amateurish and uneven +quality. In it, however, that loveable freshness of personality, +which his philosophical dejection never quenched, is everywhere in +evidence. It is clear that he did not set himself to master the +poet's art, yet through the mask of conventional verse which often +falls into doggerel, the voice of a true poet is heard. In +selecting the pieces for this volume I have put in the vigorous +sea verses of _John Marr_ in their entirety and added those others +from his _Battle Pieces_, _Timoleon,_ etc., that best indicate the +quality of their author's personality. The prose supplement to +battle pieces has been included because it does so much to explain +the feeling of his war verse and further because it is such a +remarkably wise and clear commentary upon those confused and +troublous days of post-war reconstruction. H. C. + + +CONTENTS + +Introductory Note + +John Marr And Other Poems + JOHN MARR AND OTHER SAILORS + BRIDEGROOM DICK + TOM DEADLIGHT + JACK ROY + +Sea Pieces + THE HAGLETS + THE AEOLIAN HARP + TO THE MASTER OF THE "METEOR" + FAR OFF SHORE + THE MAN-OF-WAR HAWK + THE FIGURE-HEAD + THE GOOD CRAFT "SNOW BIRD" + OLD COUNSEL + THE TUFT OF KELP + THE MALDIVE SHARK + TO NED + CROSSING THE TROPICS + THE BERG + THE ENVIABLE ISLES + PEBBLES + +Poems From Timoleon + LINES TRACED UNDER AN IMAGE OF AMOR THREATENING + THE NIGHT MARCH + THE RAVAGED VILLA + THE NEW ZEALOT TO THE SUN + MONODY + LONE FOUNTS + THE BENCH OF BOORS + ART + THE ENTHUSIAST + SHELLEY'S VISION + THE MARCHIONESS OF BRINVILLIERS + THE AGE OF THE ANTONINES + HERBA SANTA + OFF CAPE COLONNA + THE APPARITION + L' ENVOI + +Supplement + +Poems From Battle Pieces + THE PORTENT + FROM THE CONFLICT OF CONVICTIONS + THE MARCH INTO VIRGINIA + BALL'S BLUFF + THE STONE FLEET + THE "TEMERAIRE" + A UTILITARIAN VIEW OF THE "MONITOR'S" FIGHT + MALVERN HILL + STONEWALL JACKSON + THE HOUSE-TOP + CHATTANOOGA + ON THE PHOTOGRAPH OF A CORPS COMMANDER + THE SWAMP ANGEL + SHERIDAN AT CEDAR CREEK + IN THE PRISON PEN + THE COLLEGE COLONEL + THE MARTYR + REBEL COLOR-BEARERS AT SHILOH + AURORA BOREALIS + THE RELEASED REBEL PRISONER + "FORMERLY A SLAVE" + ON THE SLAIN COLLEGIANS + AMERICA + INSCRIPTION + THE FORTITUDE OF THE NORTH + THE MOUND BY THE LAKE + ON THE SLAIN AT CHICKAMAUGA + AN UNINSCRIBED MONUMENT + ON THE GRAVE OF A YOUNG CAVALRY OFFICER + KILLED IN THE VALLEY OF VIRGINIA + A REQUIEM + COMMEMORATIVE OF A NAVAL VICTORY + A MEDITATION + +Poems From Mardi + WE FISH + INVOCATION + DIRGE + MARLENA + PIPE SONG + SONG OF YOOMY GOLD + THE LAND OF LOVE + +Poems From Clarel + DIRGE + EPILOGUE + + + + +JOHN MARR AND OTHER SAILORS + + + + +JOHN MARR AND OTHER SAILORS + +Since as in night's deck-watch ye show, +Why, lads, so silent here to me, +Your watchmate of times long ago? +Once, for all the darkling sea, +You your voices raised how clearly, +Striking in when tempest sung; +Hoisting up the storm-sail cheerly, +_Life is storm--let storm!_ you rung. +Taking things as fated merely, +Childlike though the world ye spanned; +Nor holding unto life too dearly, +Ye who held your lives in hand-- +Skimmers, who on oceans four +Petrels were, and larks ashore. + +O, not from memory lightly flung, +Forgot, like strains no more availing, +The heart to music haughtier strung; +Nay, frequent near me, never staleing, +Whose good feeling kept ye young. +Like tides that enter creek or stream, +Ye come, ye visit me, or seem +Swimming out from seas of faces, +Alien myriads memory traces, +To enfold me in a dream! + +I yearn as ye. But rafts that strain, +Parted, shall they lock again? +Twined we were, entwined, then riven, +Ever to new embracements driven, +Shifting gulf-weed of the main! +And how if one here shift no more, +Lodged by the flinging surge ashore? +Nor less, as now, in eve's decline, +Your shadowy fellowship is mine. +Ye float around me, form and feature:-- +Tattooings, ear-rings, love-locks curled; +Barbarians of man's simpler nature, +Unworldly servers of the world. +Yea, present all, and dear to me, +Though shades, or scouring China's sea. + +Whither, whither, merchant-sailors, +Whitherward now in roaring gales? +Competing still, ye huntsman-whalers, +In leviathan's wake what boat prevails? +And man-of-war's men, whereaway? +If now no dinned drum beat to quarters +On the wilds of midnight waters-- +Foemen looming through the spray; +Do yet your gangway lanterns, streaming, +Vainly strive to pierce below, +When, tilted from the slant plank gleaming, +A brother you see to darkness go? + +But, gunmates lashed in shotted canvas, +If where long watch-below ye keep, +Never the shrill _"All hands up hammocks!"_ +Breaks the spell that charms your sleep, +And summoning trumps might vainly call, +And booming guns implore-- +A beat, a heart-beat musters all, +One heart-beat at heart-core. +It musters. But to clasp, retain; +To see you at the halyards main-- +To hear your chorus once again! + + + + +BRIDEGROOM DICK +1876 + +Sunning ourselves in October on a day +Balmy as spring, though the year was in decay, +I lading my pipe, she stirring her tea, +My old woman she says to me, +"Feel ye, old man, how the season mellows?" +And why should I not, blessed heart alive, +Here mellowing myself, past sixty-five, +To think o' the May-time o' pennoned young + fellows +This stripped old hulk here for years may + survive. + +Ere yet, long ago, we were spliced, Bonny Blue, +(Silvery it gleams down the moon-glade o' time, +Ah, sugar in the bowl and berries in the prime!) +Coxswain I o' the Commodore's crew,-- +Under me the fellows that manned his fine gig, +Spinning him ashore, a king in full fig. +Chirrupy even when crosses rubbed me, +Bridegroom Dick lieutenants dubbed me. +Pleasant at a yarn, Bob o' Linkum in a song, +Diligent in duty and nattily arrayed, +Favored I was, wife, and _fleeted_ right along; +And though but a tot for such a tall grade, +A high quartermaster at last I was made. + +All this, old lassie, you have heard before, +But you listen again for the sake e'en o' me; +No babble stales o' the good times o' yore +To Joan, if Darby the babbler be. + +Babbler?--O' what? Addled brains, they + forget! +O--quartermaster I; yes, the signals set, +Hoisted the ensign, mended it when frayed, +Polished up the binnacle, minded the helm, +And prompt every order blithely obeyed. +To me would the officers say a word cheery-- +Break through the starch o' the quarter-deck + realm; +His coxswain late, so the Commodore's pet. +Ay, and in night-watches long and weary, +Bored nigh to death with the navy etiquette, +Yearning, too, for fun, some younker, a cadet, +Dropping for time each vain bumptious trick, +Boy-like would unbend to Bridegroom Dick. +But a limit there was--a check, d' ye see: +Those fine young aristocrats knew their degree. + +Well, stationed aft where their lordships + keep,-- +Seldom _going_ forward excepting to sleep,-- +I, boozing now on by-gone years, +My betters recall along with my peers. +Recall them? Wife, but I see them plain: +Alive, alert, every man stirs again. +Ay, and again on the lee-side pacing, +My spy-glass carrying, a truncheon in show, +Turning at the taffrail, my footsteps retracing, +Proud in my duty, again methinks I go. +And Dave, Dainty Dave, I mark where he + stands, +Our trim sailing-master, to time the high-noon, +That thingumbob sextant perplexing eyes and + hands, +Squinting at the sun, or twigging o' the moon; +Then, touching his cap to Old Chock-a-Block +Commanding the quarter-deck,--"Sir, twelve + o'clock." + +Where sails he now, that trim sailing-master, +Slender, yes, as the ship's sky-s'l pole? +Dimly I mind me of some sad disaster-- +Dainty Dave was dropped from the navy-roll! +And ah, for old Lieutenant Chock-a-Block-- +Fast, wife, chock-fast to death's black dock! +Buffeted about the obstreperous ocean, +Fleeted his life, if lagged his promotion. +Little girl, they are all, all gone, I think, +Leaving Bridegroom Dick here with lids that + wink. + +Where is Ap Catesby? The fights fought of + yore +Famed him, and laced him with epaulets, and + more. +But fame is a wake that after-wakes cross, +And the waters wallow all, and laugh + _Where's the loss?_ +But John Bull's bullet in his shoulder bearing +Ballasted Ap in his long sea-faring. +The middies they ducked to the man who had + messed +With Decatur in the gun-room, or forward + pressed +Fighting beside Perry, Hull, Porter, and the + rest. + +Humped veteran o' the Heart-o'-Oak war, +Moored long in haven where the old heroes are, +Never on _you_ did the iron-clads jar! +Your open deck when the boarder assailed, +The frank old heroic hand-to-hand then availed. + +But where's Guert Gan? Still heads he the van? +As before Vera-Cruz, when he dashed splashing + through +The blue rollers sunned, in his brave gold-and- + blue, +And, ere his cutter in keel took the strand, +Aloft waved his sword on the hostile land! +Went up the cheering, the quick chanticleering; +All hands vying--all colors flying: +"Cock-a-doodle-doo!" and "Row, boys, row!" +"Hey, Starry Banner!" "Hi, Santa Anna!" +Old Scott's young dash at Mexico. + +Fine forces o' the land, fine forces o' the sea, +Fleet, army, and flotilla--tell, heart o' me, +Tell, if you can, whereaway now they be! + +But ah, how to speak of the hurricane + unchained-- +The Union's strands parted in the hawser + over-strained; +Our flag blown to shreds, anchors gone + altogether-- +The dashed fleet o' States in Secession's foul + weather. + +Lost in the smother o' that wide public stress, +In hearts, private hearts, what ties there were + snapped! +Tell, Hal--vouch, Will, o' the ward-room mess, +On you how the riving thunder-bolt clapped. +With a bead in your eye and beads in your glass, +And a grip o' the flipper, it was part and pass: +"Hal, must it be: Well, if come indeed the + shock, +To North or to South, let the victory cleave, +Vaunt it he may on his dung-hill the cock, +But _Uncle Sam's_ eagle never crow will, + believe." + +Sentiment: ay, while suspended hung all, +Ere the guns against Sumter opened there + the ball, +And partners were taken, and the red dance + began, +War's red dance o' death!--Well, we, to a man, +We sailors o' the North, wife, how could we + lag?-- +Strike with your kin, and you stick to the flag! +But to sailors o' the South that easy way was + barred. +To some, dame, believe (and I speak o' what I + know), +Wormwood the trial and the Uzzite's black + shard; +And the faithfuller the heart, the crueller the + throe. +Duty? It pulled with more than one string, +This way and that, and anyhow a sting. +The flag and your kin, how be true unto both? +If either plight ye keep, then ye break the other + troth. +But elect here they must, though the casuists + were out; +Decide--hurry up--and throttle every doubt. + +Of all these thrills thrilled at keelson, and + throes, +Little felt the shoddyites a-toasting o' their + toes; +In mart and bazar Lucre chuckled the huzza, +Coining the dollars in the bloody mint of war. + +But in men, gray knights o' the Order o' Scars, +And brave boys bound by vows unto Mars, +Nature grappled honor, intertwisting in the + strife:-- +But some cut the knot with a thoroughgoing + knife. +For how when the drums beat? How in the fray +In Hampton Roads on the fine balmy day? + +There a lull, wife, befell--drop o' silent in the + din. +Let us enter that silence ere the belchings + re-begin. +Through a ragged rift aslant in the cannonade's + smoke +An iron-clad reveals her repellent broadside +Bodily intact. But a frigate, all oak, +Shows honeycombed by shot, and her deck + crimson-dyed. +And a trumpet from port of the iron-clad hails, +Summoning the other, whose flag never trails: +"Surrender that frigate, Will! Surrender, +Or I will sink her--_ram_, and end her!" + +'T was Hal. And Will, from the naked heart-o'-oak, +Will, the old messmate, minus trumpet, spoke, +Informally intrepid,--"Sink her, and be + damned!"* [* Historic.] +Enough. Gathering way, the iron-clad _rammed_. +The frigate, heeling over, on the wave threw a + dusk. +Not sharing in the slant, the clapper of her bell +The fixed metal struck--uinvoked struck the + knell +Of the _Cumberland_ stillettoed by the + _Merrimac's_ tusk; +While, broken in the wound underneath the + gun-deck, +Like a sword-fish's blade in leviathan waylaid, +The tusk was left infixed in the fast-foundering + wreck. +There, dungeoned in the cockpit, the wounded + go down, +And the chaplain with them. But the surges + uplift +The prone dead from deck, and for moment + they drift +Washed with the swimmers, and the spent + swimmers drown. +Nine fathom did she sink,--erect, though hid + from light +Save her colors unsurrendered and spars that + kept the height. + +Nay, pardon, old aunty! Wife, never let it fall, +That big started tear that hovers on the brim; +I forgot about your nephew and the _Merrimac's_ + ball; +No more then of her, since it summons up him. +But talk o' fellows' hearts in the wine's genial + cup:-- +Trap them in the fate, jam them in the strait, +Guns speak their hearts then, and speak + right up. +The troublous colic o' intestine war +It sets the bowels o' affection ajar. +But, lord, old dame, so spins the whizzing world, +A humming-top, ay, for the little boy-gods +Flogging it well with their smart little rods, +Tittering at time and the coil uncurled. + +Now, now, sweetheart, you sidle away, +No, never you like _that_ kind o' _gay;_ +But sour if I get, giving truth her due, +Honey-sweet forever, wife, will Dick be to you! + +But avast with the War! 'Why recall racking + days +Since set up anew are the slip's started stays? +Nor less, though the gale we have left behind, +Well may the heave o' the sea remind. +It irks me now, as it troubled me then, +To think o' the fate in the madness o' men. +If Dick was with Farragut on the night-river, +When the boom-chain we burst in the fire-raft's + glare, +That blood-dyed the visage as red as the liver; +In the _Battle for the Bay_ too if Dick had a + share, +And saw one aloft a-piloting the war-- +Trumpet in the whirlwind, a Providence in + place-- +Our Admiral old whom the captains huzza, +Dick joys in the man nor brags about the race. + +But better, wife, I like to booze on the days +Ere the Old Order foundered in these very + frays, +And tradition was lost and we learned strange + ways. +Often I think on the brave cruises then; +Re-sailing them in memory, I hail the press o' + men +On the gunned promenade where rolling they + go, +Ere the dog-watch expire and break up the + show. +The Laced Caps I see between forward guns; +Away from the powder-room they puff the + cigar; +"Three days more, hey, the donnas and the + dons!" +"Your Zeres widow, will you hunt her up, + Starr?" +The Laced Caps laugh, and the bright waves + too; +Very jolly, very wicked, both sea and crew, +Nor heaven looks sour on either, I guess, +Nor Pecksniff he bosses the gods' high mess. +Wistful ye peer, wife, concerned for my head, +And how best to get me betimes to my bed. + +But king o' the club, the gayest golden spark, +Sailor o' sailors, what sailor do I mark? +Tom Tight, Tom Tight, no fine fellow finer, +A cutwater nose, ay, a spirited soul; +But, bowsing away at the well-brewed bowl, +He never bowled back from that last voyage to + China. + +Tom was lieutenant in the brig-o'-war famed +When an officer was hung for an arch-mutineer, +But a mystery cleaved, and the captain was + blamed, +And a rumpus too raised, though his honor + it was clear. +And Tom he would say, when the mousers + would try him, +And with cup after cup o' Burgundy ply him: +"Gentlemen, in vain with your wassail you + beset, +For the more I tipple, the tighter do I get." +No blabber, no, not even with the can-- +True to himself and loyal to his clan. + +Tom blessed us starboard and d--d us larboard, +Right down from rail to the streak o' the + garboard. +Nor less, wife, we liked him.--Tom was a man +In contrast queer with Chaplain Le Fan, +Who blessed us at morn, and at night yet again, +D--ning us only in decorous strain; +Preaching 'tween the guns--each cutlass in its + place-- +From text that averred old Adam a hard case. +I see him--Tom--on _horse-block_ standing, +Trumpet at mouth, thrown up all amain, +An elephant's bugle, vociferous demanding +Of topmen aloft in the hurricane of rain, +"Letting that sail there your faces flog? +Manhandle it, men, and you'll get the good + grog!" +O Tom, but he knew a blue-jacket's ways, +And how a lieutenant may genially haze; +Only a sailor sailors heartily praise. + +Wife, where be all these chaps, I wonder? +Trumpets in the tempest, terrors in the fray, +Boomed their commands along the deck like + thunder; +But silent is the sod, and thunder dies away. +But Captain Turret, _"Old Hemlock"_ tall, +(A leaning tower when his tank brimmed all,) +Manoeuvre out alive from the war did he? +Or, too old for that, drift under the lee? +Kentuckian colossal, who, touching at Madeira, +The huge puncheon shipped o' prime + _Santa-Clara;_ +Then rocked along the deck so solemnly! +No whit the less though judicious was enough +In dealing with the Finn who made the great + huff; +Our three-decker's giant, a grand boatswain's + mate, +Manliest of men in his own natural senses; +But driven stark mad by the devil's drugged + stuff, +Storming all aboard from his run-ashore late, +Challenging to battle, vouchsafing no pretenses, +A reeling King Ogg, delirious in power, +The quarter-deck carronades he seemed to + make cower. +"Put him in _brig_ there!" said Lieutenant + Marrot. +"Put him in _brig!_" back he mocked like a + parrot; +"Try it, then!" swaying a fist like Thor's + sledge, +And making the pigmy constables hedge-- +Ship's corporals and the master-at-arms. +"In _brig_ there, I say!"--They dally no more; +Like hounds let slip on a desperate boar, +Together they pounce on the formidable Finn, +Pinion and cripple and hustle him in. +Anon, under sentry, between twin guns, +He slides off in drowse, and the long night runs. + +Morning brings a summons. Whistling it calls, +Shrilled through the pipes of the boatswain's + four aids; +Trilled down the hatchways along the dusk + halls: +_Muster to the Scourge!_--Dawn of doom and + its blast! +As from cemeteries raised, sailors swarm before + the mast, +Tumbling up the ladders from the ship's nether + shades. + +Keeping in the background and taking small + part, +Lounging at their ease, indifferent in face, +Behold the trim marines uncompromised in + heart; +Their Major, buttoned up, near the staff finds + room-- +The staff o' lieutenants standing grouped in + their place. +All the Laced Caps o' the ward-room come, +The Chaplain among them, disciplined and + dumb. +The blue-nosed boatswain, complexioned like + slag, +Like a blue Monday lours--his implements in + bag. +Executioners, his aids, a couple by him stand, +At a nod there the thongs to receive from his hand. +Never venturing a caveat whatever may betide, +Though functionally here on humanity's side, +The grave Surgeon shows, like the formal + physician +Attending the rack o' the Spanish Inquisition. + +The angel o' the "brig" brings his prisoner up; +Then, steadied by his old _Santa-Clara_, a sup, +Heading all erect, the ranged assizes there, +Lo, Captain Turret, and under starred + bunting, +(A florid full face and fine silvered hair,) +Gigantic the yet greater giant confronting. + +Now the culprit he liked, as a tall captain can +A Titan subordinate and true _sailor-man;_ +And frequent he'd shown it--no worded + advance, +But flattering the Finn with a well-timed glance. +But what of that now? In the martinet-mien +Read the _Articles of War_, heed the naval + routine; +While, cut to the heart a dishonor there to win, +Restored to his senses, stood the Anak Finn; +In racked self-control the squeezed tears + peeping, +Scalding the eye with repressed inkeeping. +Discipline must be; the scourge is deemed due. +But ah for the sickening and strange heart- + benumbing, +Compassionate abasement in shipmates that view; +Such a grand champion shamed there succumbing! +"Brown, tie him up."--The cord he brooked: +How else?--his arms spread apart--never + threaping; +No, never he flinched, never sideways he looked, +Peeled to the waistband, the marble flesh + creeping, +Lashed by the sleet the officious winds urge. + +In function his fellows their fellowship merge-- +The twain standing nigh--the two boatswain's + mates, +Sailors of his grade, ay, and brothers of his + mess. +With sharp thongs adroop the junior one + awaits +The word to uplift. + "Untie him--so! +Submission is enough, Man, you may go." +Then, promenading aft, brushing fat Purser + Smart, +"Flog? Never meant it--hadn't any heart. +Degrade that tall fellow? "--Such, wife, was he, +Old Captain Turret, who the brave wine could + stow. +Magnanimous, you think?--But what does + Dick see? +Apron to your eye! Why, never fell a blow; +Cheer up, old wifie, 't was a long time ago. + +But where's that sore one, crabbed and-severe, +Lieutenant Lon Lumbago, an arch scrutineer? +Call the roll to-day, would he answer--_Here!_ +When the _Blixum's_ fellows to quarters + mustered +How he'd lurch along the lane of gun-crews + clustered, +Testy as touchwood, to pry and to peer. +Jerking his sword underneath larboard arm, +He ground his worn grinders to keep himself + calm. +Composed in his nerves, from the fidgets set + free, +Tell, Sweet Wrinkles, alive now is he, +In Paradise a parlor where the even + tempers be? + +Where's Commander All-a-Tanto? +Where's Orlop Bob singing up from below? +Where's Rhyming Ned? has he spun his last + canto? +Where's Jewsharp Jim? Where's Ringadoon + Joe? +Ah, for the music over and done, +The band all dismissed save the droned + trombone! +Where's Glenn o' the gun-room, who loved + Hot-Scotch-- +Glen, prompt and cool in a perilous watch? +Where's flaxen-haired Phil? a gray lieutenant? +Or rubicund, flying a dignified pennant? + +But where sleeps his brother?--the cruise it was + o'er, +But ah, for death's grip that welcomed him + ashore! +Where's Sid, the cadet, so frank in his brag, +Whose toast was audacious--"_Here's Sid, and + Sid's flag!_" +Like holiday-craft that have sunk unknown, +May a lark of a lad go lonely down? +Who takes the census under the sea? +Can others like old ensigns be, +Bunting I hoisted to flutter at the gaff-- +Rags in end that once were flags +Gallant streaming from the staff? + +Such scurvy doom could the chances deal +To Top-Gallant Harry and Jack Genteel? +Lo, Genteel Jack in hurricane weather, +Shagged like a bear, like a red lion roaring; +But O, so fine in his chapeau and feather, +In port to the ladies never once _jawing;_ +All bland _politesse,_ how urbane was he-- +_"Oui, mademoiselle"--"Ma chere amie!"_ + +'T was Jack got up the ball at Naples, +Gay in the old _Ohio_ glorious; +His hair was curled by the berth-deck barber, +Never you'd deemed him a cub of rude Boreas; +In tight little pumps, with the grand dames in + rout, +A-flinging his shapely foot all about; +His watch-chain with love's jeweled tokens + abounding, +Curls ambrosial shaking out odors, +Waltzing along the batteries, astounding +The gunner glum and the grim-visaged loaders. + +Wife, where be all these blades, I wonder, +Pennoned fine fellows, so strong, so gay? +Never their colors with a dip dived under; +Have they hauled them down in a lack-lustre + day, +Or beached their boats in the Far, Far Away? +Hither and thither, blown wide asunder, +Where's this fleet, I wonder and wonder. +Slipt their cables, rattled their adieu, +(Whereaway pointing? to what rendezvous?) +Out of sight, out of mind, like the crack + _Constitution,_ +And many a keel time never shall renew-- +_Bon Homme Dick_ o' the buff Revolution, +The _Black Cockade_ and the staunch _True-Blue._ + +Doff hats to Decatur! But where is his blazon? +Must merited fame endure time's wrong-- +Glory's ripe grape wizen up to a raisin? +Yes! for Nature teems, and the years are + strong, +And who can keep the tally o' the names that + fleet along! + +But his frigate, wife, his bride? Would + blacksmiths brown +Into smithereens smite the solid old renown? +Rivetting the bolts in the iron-clad's shell, +Hark to the hammers with _a rat-tat-tat;_ +"Handier a _derby_ than a laced cocked hat! +The _Monitor_ was ugly, but she served us right + well, +Better than the _Cumberland,_ a beauty and the + belle." + +_Better than the Cumberland!_--Heart alive + in me! +That battlemented hull, Tantallon o' the sea, +Kicked in, as at Boston the taxed chests o' tea! +Ay, spurned by the _ram,_ once a tall, shapely + craft, +But lopped by the Rebs to an iron-beaked + raft-- +A blacksmith's unicorn in armor _cap-a-pie_. + +Under the water-line a _ram's_ blow is dealt: +And foul fall the knuckles that strike below the + belt. +Nor brave the inventions that serve to replace +The openness of valor while dismantling the + grace. + +Aloof from all this and the never-ending game, +Tantamount to teetering, plot and counterplot; +Impenetrable armor--all-perforating shot; +Aloof, bless God, ride the war-ships of old, +A grand fleet moored in the roadstead of fame; +Not submarine sneaks with _them_ are enrolled; +Their long shadows dwarf us, their flags are as + flame. + +Don't fidget so, wife; an old man's passion +Amounts to no more than this smoke that I + puff; +There, there, now, buss me in good old fashion; +A died-down candle will flicker in the snuff. + +But one last thing let your old babbler say, +What Decatur's coxswain said who was long + ago hearsed, +"Take in your flying-kites, for there comes a + lubber's day +When gallant things will go, and the three- + deckers first." + +My pipe is smoked out, and the grog runs + slack; +But bowse away, wife, at your blessed Bohea; +This empty can here must needs solace me-- +Nay, sweetheart, nay; I take that back; +Dick drinks from your eyes and he finds no + lack! + + + + +TOM DEADLIGHT + + During a tempest encountered homeward-bound from the + Mediterranean, a grizzled petty-officer, one of the two captains + of the forecastle, dying at night in his hammock, swung in the + sick-bay under the tiered gun-decks of the British _Dreadnaught, + 98,_ wandering in his mind, though with glimpses of sanity, and + starting up at whiles, sings by snatches his good-bye and last + injunctions to two messmates, his watchers, one of whom fans the + fevered tar with the flap of his old sou'wester. Some names and + phrases, with here and there a line, or part of one; these, in + his aberration, wrested into incoherency from their original + connection and import, he voluntarily derives, as he does the + measure, from a famous old sea-ditty, whose cadences, long rife, + and now humming in the collapsing brain, attune the last + flutterings of distempered thought. + +Farewell and adieu to you noble hearties,-- + Farewell and adieu to you ladies of Spain, +For I've received orders for to sail for the + Deadman, + But hope with the grand fleet to see you + again. + +I have hove my ship to, with main-top-sail + aback, boys; + I have hove my ship to, for the strike + soundings clear-- +The black scud a'flying; but, by God's blessing, + dam' me, + Right up the Channel for the Deadman I'll + steer. + +I have worried through the waters that are + called the Doldrums, + And growled at Sargasso that clogs while ye + grope-- +Blast my eyes, but the light-ship is hid by the + mist, lads:-- + _Flying Dutchman_--odds bobbs--off the + Cape of Good Hope! + +But what's this I feel that is fanning my cheek, + Matt? + The white goney's wing?--how she rolls!-- + 't is the Cape!-- +Give my kit to the mess, Jock, for kin none is + mine, none; + And tell _Holy Joe_ to avast with the crape. + +Dead reckoning, says _Joe_, it won't do to go by; + But they doused all the glims, Matt, in sky + t' other night. +Dead reckoning is good for to sail for the + Deadman; + And Tom Deadlight he thinks it may reckon + near right. + +The signal!--it streams for the grand fleet to + anchor. + The captains--the trumpets--the hullabaloo! +Stand by for blue-blazes, and mind your + shank-painters, + For the Lord High Admiral, he's squinting + at you! + +But give me my _tot_, Matt, before I roll over; + Jock, let's have your flipper, it's good for to + feel; +And don't sew me up without _baccy_ in mouth, + boys, + And don't blubber like lubbers when I turn + up my keel. + + + + +JACK ROY + +Kept up by relays of generations young +Never dies at halyards the blithe chorus sung; +While in sands, sounds, and seas where the + storm-petrels cry, +Dropped mute around the globe, these halyard + singers lie. +Short-lived the clippers for racing-cups that + run, +And speeds in life's career many a lavish + mother's-son. + +But thou, manly king o' the old _Splendid's_ + crew, +The ribbons o' thy hat still a-fluttering, should + fly-- +A challenge, and forever, nor the bravery + should rue. +Only in a tussle for the starry flag high, +When 'tis piety to do, and privilege to die. +Then, only then, would heaven think to lop +Such a cedar as the captain o' the _Splendid's_ + main-top: +A belted sea-gentleman; a gallant, off-hand +Mercutio indifferent in life's gay command. +Magnanimous in humor; when the splintering + shot fell, +"Tooth-picks a-plenty, lads; thank 'em with a + shell!" + +Sang Larry o' the _Cannakin,_ smuggler o' the + wine, +At mess between guns, lad in jovial recline: +"In Limbo our Jack he would chirrup up a + cheer, +The martinet there find a chaffing mutineer; +From a thousand fathoms down under hatches + o' your Hades, +He'd ascend in love-ditty, kissing fingers to + your ladies!" + +Never relishing the knave, though allowing + for the menial, +Nor overmuch the king, Jack, nor prodigally + genial. +Ashore on liberty he flashed in escapade, +Vaulting over life in its levelness of grade, +Like the dolphin off Africa in rainbow + a-sweeping-- +Arch iridescent shot from seas languid + sleeping. + +Larking with thy life, if a joy but a toy, +Heroic in thy levity wert thou, Jack Roy. + + + + + +Sea Pieces + + + + +THE HAGLETS + +By chapel bare, with walls sea-beat +The lichened urns in wilds are lost +About a carved memorial stone +That shows, decayed and coral-mossed, +A form recumbent, swords at feet, +Trophies at head, and kelp for a + winding-sheet. + +I invoke thy ghost, neglected fane, +Washed by the waters' long lament; +I adjure the recumbent effigy +To tell the cenotaph's intent-- +Reveal why fagotted swords are at feet, +Why trophies appear and weeds are the + winding-sheet. + +By open ports the Admiral sits, +And shares repose with guns that tell +Of power that smote the arm'd Plate Fleet +Whose sinking flag-ship's colors fell; +But over the Admiral floats in light +His squadron's flag, the red-cross Flag + of the White. + + The eddying waters whirl astern, +The prow, a seedsman, sows the spray; +With bellying sails and buckling spars +The black hull leaves a Milky Way; +Her timbers thrill, her batteries roll, +She revelling speeds exulting with pennon + at pole, + + But ah, for standards captive trailed +For all their scutcheoned castles' pride-- +Castilian towers that dominate Spain, +Naples, and either Ind beside; +Those haughty towers, armorial ones, +Rue the salute from the Admiral's dens + of guns. + +Ensigns and arms in trophy brave, +Braver for many a rent and scar, +The captor's naval hall bedeck, +Spoil that insures an earldom's star-- +Toledoes great, grand draperies, too, +Spain's steel and silk, and splendors from + Peru. + + But crippled part in splintering fight, +The vanquished flying the victor's flags, +With prize-crews, under convoy-guns, +Heavy the fleet from Opher drags-- +The Admiral crowding sail ahead, +Foremost with news who foremost in conflict + sped. + + But out from cloistral gallery dim, +In early night his glance is thrown; +He marks the vague reserve of heaven, +He feels the touch of ocean lone; +Then turns, in frame part undermined, +Nor notes the shadowing wings that fan + behind. + +There, peaked and gray, three haglets fly, +And follow, follow fast in wake +Where slides the cabin-lustre shy, +And sharks from man a glamour take, +Seething along the line of light +In lane that endless rules the war-ship's flight. + + The sea-fowl here, whose hearts none know, +They followed late the flag-ship quelled, +(As now the victor one) and long +Above her gurgling grave, shrill held +With screams their wheeling rites--then sped +Direct in silence where the victor led. + + Now winds less fleet, but fairer, blow, +A ripple laps the coppered side, +While phosphor sparks make ocean gleam, +Like camps lit up in triumph wide; +With lights and tinkling cymbals meet +Acclaiming seas the advancing conqueror + greet. + +But who a flattering tide may trust, +Or favoring breeze, or aught in end?-- +Careening under startling blasts +The sheeted towers of sails impend; +While, gathering bale, behind is bred +A livid storm-bow, like a rainbow dead. + + At trumpet-call the topmen spring; +And, urged by after-call in stress, +Yet other tribes of tars ascend +The rigging's howling wilderness; +But ere yard-ends alert they win, +Hell rules in heaven with hurricane-fire + and din. + + The spars, athwart at spiry height, +Like quaking Lima's crosses rock; +Like bees the clustering sailors cling +Against the shrouds, or take the shock +Flat on the swept yard-arms aslant, +Dipped like the wheeling condor's pinions + gaunt. + +A LULL! and tongues of languid flame +Lick every boom, and lambent show +Electric 'gainst each face aloft; +The herds of clouds with bellowings go: +The black ship rears--beset--harassed, +Then plunges far with luminous antlers vast. + + In trim betimes they turn from land, +Some shivered sails and spars they stow; +One watch, dismissed, they troll the can, +While loud the billow thumps the bow-- +Vies with the fist that smites the board, +Obstreperous at each reveller's jovial word. + + Of royal oak by storms confirmed, +The tested hull her lineage shows: +Vainly the plungings whelm her prow-- +She rallies, rears, she sturdier grows: +Each shot-hole plugged, each storm-sail home, +With batteries housed she rams the watery + dome. + +DIM seen adrift through driving scud, +The wan moon shows in plight forlorn; +Then, pinched in visage, fades and fades +Like to the faces drowned at morn, +When deeps engulfed the flag-ship's crew, +And, shrilling round, the inscrutable haglets + flew. + +And still they fly, nor now they cry, +But constant fan a second wake, +Unflagging pinions ply and ply, +Abreast their course intent they take; +Their silence marks a stable mood, +They patient keep their eager neighborhood. + + Plumed with a smoke, a confluent sea, +Heaved in a combing pyramid full, +Spent at its climax, in collapse +Down headlong thundering stuns the hull: +The trophy drops; but, reared again, +Shows Mars' high-altar and contemns the + main. + +REBUILT it stands, the brag of arms, +Transferred in site--no thought of where +The sensitive needle keeps its place, +And starts, disturbed, a quiverer there; +The helmsman rubs the clouded glass-- +Peers in, but lets the trembling portent pass. + + Let pass as well his shipmates do +(Whose dream of power no tremors jar) +Fears for the fleet convoyed astern: +"Our flag they fly, they share our star; +Spain's galleons great in hull are stout: +Manned by our men--like us they'll ride it + out." + + Tonight's the night that ends the week-- +Ends day and week and month and year: +A fourfold imminent flickering time, +For now the midnight draws anear: +Eight bells! and passing-bells they be-- +The Old year fades, the Old Year dies at sea. + +He launched them well. But shall the New +Redeem the pledge the Old Year made, +Or prove a self-asserting heir? +But healthy hearts few qualms invade: +By shot-chests grouped in bays 'tween guns +The gossips chat, the grizzled, sea-beat ones. + + And boyish dreams some graybeards blab: +"To sea, my lads, we go no more +Who share the Acapulco prize; +We'll all night in, and bang the door; +Our ingots red shall yield us bliss: +Lads, golden years begin to-night with this!" + + Released from deck, yet waiting call, +Glazed caps and coats baptized in storm, +A watch of Laced Sleeves round the board +Draw near in heart to keep them warm: +"Sweethearts and wives!" clink, clink, they + meet, +And, quaffing, dip in wine their beards of + sleet. +"Ay, let the star-light stay withdrawn, +So here her hearth-light memory fling, +So in this wine-light cheer be born, +And honor's fellowship weld our ring-- +Honor! our Admiral's aim foretold: + +_A tomb or a trophy,_ and lo, 't is a trophy and + gold!" + But he, a unit, sole in rank, +Apart needs keep his lonely state, +The sentry at his guarded door +Mute as by vault the sculptured Fate; +Belted he sits in drowsy light, +And, hatted, nods--the Admiral of the White. + + He dozes, aged with watches passed-- +Years, years of pacing to and fro; +He dozes, nor attends the stir +In bullioned standards rustling low, +Nor minds the blades whose secret thrill +Perverts overhead the magnet's Polar will:-- + +LESS heeds the shadowing three that play +And follow, follow fast in wake, +Untiring wing and lidless eye-- +Abreast their course intent they take; +Or sigh or sing, they hold for good +The unvarying flight and fixed inveterate + mood. + + In dream at last his dozings merge, +In dream he reaps his victor's fruit; +The Flags-o'-the-Blue, the Flags-o'-the-Red, +Dipped flags of his country's fleets salute +His Flag-o'-the-White in harbor proud-- +But why should it blench? Why turn to a + painted shroud? + + The hungry seas they hound the hull, +The sharks they dog the haglets' flight; +With one consent the winds, the waves +In hunt with fins and wings unite, +While drear the harps in cordage sound +Remindful wails for old Armadas drowned. + +Ha--yonder! are they Northern Lights? +Or signals flashed to warn or ward? +Yea, signals lanced in breakers high; +But doom on warning follows hard: +While yet they veer in hope to shun, +They strike! and thumps of hull and heart are + one. + + But beating hearts a drum-beat calls +And prompt the men to quarters go; +Discipline, curbing nature, rules-- +Heroic makes who duty know: +They execute the trump's command, +Or in peremptory places wait and stand. + + Yet cast about in blind amaze-- +As through their watery shroud they peer: +"We tacked from land: then how betrayed? +Have currents swerved us--snared us here?" +None heed the blades that clash in place +Under lamps dashed down that lit the + magnet's case. + +Ah, what may live, who mighty swim, +Or boat-crew reach that shore forbid, +Or cable span? Must victors drown-- +Perish, even as the vanquished did? +Man keeps from man the stifled moan; +They shouldering stand, yet each in heart + how lone. + + Some heaven invoke; but rings of reefs +Prayer and despair alike deride +In dance of breakers forked or peaked, +Pale maniacs of the maddened tide; +While, strenuous yet some end to earn, +The haglets spin, though now no more astern. + +Like shuttles hurrying in the looms +Aloft through rigging frayed they ply-- +Cross and recross--weave and inweave, +Then lock the web with clinching cry +Over the seas on seas that clasp +The weltering wreck where gurgling ends the + gasp. + +Ah, for the Plate-Fleet trophy now, +The victor's voucher, flags and arms; +Never they'll hang in Abbey old +And take Time's dust with holier palms; +Nor less content, in liquid night, +Their captor sleeps--the Admiral of the + White. + + Imbedded deep with shells + And drifted treasure deep, + Forever he sinks deeper in + Unfathomable sleep-- + His cannon round him thrown, + His sailors at his feet, + The wizard sea enchanting them + Where never haglets beat. + + On nights when meteors play + And light the breakers dance, + The Oreads from the caves + With silvery elves advance; + And up from ocean stream, + And down from heaven far, + The rays that blend in dream + The abysm and the star. + + + + +THE AEOLIAN HARP +_At The Surf Inn_ + +List the harp in window wailing + Stirred by fitful gales from sea: +Shrieking up in mad crescendo-- + Dying down in plaintive key! + +Listen: less a strain ideal +Than Ariel's rendering of the Real. + What that Real is, let hint + A picture stamped in memory's mint. + +Braced well up, with beams aslant, +Betwixt the continents sails the _Phocion,_ +For Baltimore bound from Alicant. +Blue breezy skies white fleeces fleck +Over the chill blue white-capped ocean: +From yard-arm comes--"Wreck ho, a + wreck!" + +Dismasted and adrift, +Longtime a thing forsaken; +Overwashed by every wave +Like the slumbering kraken; +Heedless if the billow roar, +Oblivious of the lull, +Leagues and leagues from shoal or shore, +It swims--a levelled hull: +Bulwarks gone--a shaven wreck, +Nameless and a grass-green deck. +A lumberman: perchance, in hold +Prostrate pines with hemlocks rolled. + +It has drifted, waterlogged, +Till by trailing weeds beclogged: + Drifted, drifted, day by day, + Pilotless on pathless way. +It has drifted till each plank +Is oozy as the oyster-bank: + Drifted, drifted, night by night, + Craft that never shows a light; +Nor ever, to prevent worse knell, +Tolls in fog the warning bell. + +From collision never shrinking, +Drive what may through darksome smother; +Saturate, but never sinking, +Fatal only to the _other!_ + Deadlier than the sunken reef +Since still the snare it shifteth, + Torpid in dumb ambuscade +Waylayingly it drifteth. + +O, the sailors--O, the sails! +O, the lost crews never heard of! +Well the harp of Ariel wails +Thought that tongue can tell no word of! + + + + +TO THE MASTER OF THE _METEOR_ + +Lonesome on earth's loneliest deep, +Sailor! who dost thy vigil keep-- +Off the Cape of Storms dost musing sweep +Over monstrous waves that curl and comb; +Of thee we think when here from brink +We blow the mead in bubbling foam. + +Of thee we think, in a ring we link; +To the shearer of ocean's fleece we drink, +And the _Meteor_ rolling home. + + + + +FAR OFF-SHORE + +Look, the raft, a signal flying, + Thin--a shred; +None upon the lashed spars lying, + Quick or dead. + +Cries the sea-fowl, hovering over, + "Crew, the crew?" +And the billow, reckless, rover, + Sweeps anew! + + + + +THE MAN-OF-WAR HAWK + +Yon black man-of-war-hawk that wheels in + the light +O'er the black ship's white sky-s'l, sunned + cloud to the sight, +Have we low-flyers wings to ascend to his + height? +No arrow can reach him; nor thought can + attain +To the placid supreme in the sweep of his + reign. + + + + +THE FIGURE-HEAD + +The _Charles-and-Emma_ seaward sped, +(Named from the carven pair at prow,) +He so smart, and a curly head, +She tricked forth as a bride knows how: +Pretty stem for the port, I trow! + +But iron-rust and alum-spray +And chafing gear, and sun and dew +Vexed this lad and lassie gay, +Tears in their eyes, salt tears nor few; + And the hug relaxed with the failing glue. + +But came in end a dismal night, +With creaking beams and ribs that groan, +A black lee-shore and waters white: +Dropped on the reef, the pair lie prone: + O, the breakers dance, but the winds they + moan! + + + + +THE GOOD CRAFT _SNOW BIRD_ + +Strenuous need that head-wind be + From purposed voyage that drives at last +The ship, sharp-braced and dogged still, + Beating up against the blast. + +Brigs that figs for market gather, + Homeward-bound upon the stretch, +Encounter oft this uglier weather + Yet in end their port they fetch. + +Mark yon craft from sunny Smyrna + Glazed with ice in Boston Bay; +Out they toss the fig-drums cheerly, + Livelier for the frosty ray. + +What if sleet off-shore assailed her, + What though ice yet plate her yards; +In wintry port not less she renders + Summer's gift with warm regards! + +And, look, the underwriters' man, + Timely, when the stevedore's done, +Puts on his _specs_ to pry and scan, +And sets her down--_A, No. 1._ + +Bravo, master! Bravo, brig! + For slanting snows out of the West +Never the _Snow-Bird_ cares one fig; + And foul winds steady her, though a pest. + + + + +OLD COUNSEL +_Of The Young Master of a Wrecked California Clipper_ + +Come out of the Golden Gate, + Go round the Horn with streamers, +Carry royals early and late; +But, brother, be not over-elate-- +_All hands save ship!_ has startled dreamers. + + + + +THE TUFT OF KELP + +All dripping in tangles green, + Cast up by a lonely sea +If purer for that, O Weed, + Bitterer, too, are ye? + + + + +THE MALDIVE SHARK + +About the Shark, phlegmatical one, +Pale sot of the Maldive sea, +The sleek little pilot-fish, azure and slim, +How alert in attendance be. +From his saw-pit of mouth, from his charnel + of maw +They have nothing of harm to dread, +But liquidly glide on his ghastly flank +Or before his Gorgonian head: +Or lurk in the port of serrated teeth +In white triple tiers of glittering gates, +And there find a haven when peril's abroad, +An asylum in jaws of the Fates! +They are friends; and friendly they guide him + to prey, +Yet never partake of the treat-- +Eyes and brains to the dotard lethargic and + dull, +Pale ravener of horrible meat. + + + + +TO NED + +Where is the world we roved, Ned Bunn? + Hollows thereof lay rich in shade +By voyagers old inviolate thrown + Ere Paul Pry cruised with Pelf and Trade. +To us old lads some thoughts come home +Who roamed a world young lads no more shall + roam. + +Nor less the satiate year impends + When, wearying of routine-resorts, +The pleasure-hunter shall break loose, + Ned, for our Pantheistic ports:-- +Marquesas and glenned isles that be +Authentic Edens in a Pagan sea. + +The charm of scenes untried shall lure, +And, Ned, a legend urge the flight-- +The Typee-truants under stars +Unknown to Shakespere's _Midsummer- + Night;_ +And man, if lost to Saturn's Age, +Yet feeling life no Syrian pilgrimage. + +But, tell, shall he, the tourist, find + Our isles the same in violet-glow +Enamoring us what years and years-- + Ah, Ned, what years and years ago! +Well, Adam advances, smart in pace, +But scarce by violets that advance you trace. + +But we, in anchor-watches calm, + The Indian Psyche's languor won, +And, musing, breathed primeval balm + From Edens ere yet overrun; +Marvelling mild if mortal twice, +Here and hereafter, touch a Paradise. + + + + +CROSSING THE TROPICS +_From "The Saya-y-Manto."_ + +While now the Pole Star sinks from sight + The Southern Cross it climbs the sky; +But losing thee, my love, my light, +O bride but for one bridal night, + The loss no rising joys supply. + +Love, love, the Trade Winds urge abaft, +And thee, from thee, they steadfast waft. + +By day the blue and silver sea + And chime of waters blandly fanned-- +Nor these, nor Gama's stars to me +May yield delight since still for thee + I long as Gama longed for land. + +I yearn, I yearn, reverting turn, +My heart it streams in wake astern +When, cut by slanting sleet, we swoop + Where raves the world's inverted year, +If roses all your porch shall loop, +Not less your heart for me will droop + Doubling the world's last outpost drear. + +O love, O love, these oceans vast: +Love, love, it is as death were past! + + + + +THE BERG +_A Dream_ + +I SAW a ship of martial build +(Her standards set, her brave apparel on) +Directed as by madness mere +Against a stolid iceberg steer, +Nor budge it, though the infatuate ship went + down. +The impact made huge ice-cubes fall +Sullen, in tons that crashed the deck; +But that one avalanche was all +No other movement save the foundering + wreck. + +Along the spurs of ridges pale, +Not any slenderest shaft and frail, +A prism over glass--green gorges lone, +Toppled; nor lace of traceries fine, +Nor pendant drops in grot or mine +Were jarred, when the stunned ship went + down. +Nor sole the gulls in cloud that wheeled +Circling one snow-flanked peak afar, +But nearer fowl the floes that skimmed +And crystal beaches, felt no jar. +No thrill transmitted stirred the lock +Of jack-straw needle-ice at base; +Towers undermined by waves--the block +Atilt impending--kept their place. +Seals, dozing sleek on sliddery ledges +Slipt never, when by loftier edges +Through very inertia overthrown, +The impetuous ship in bafflement went down. +Hard Berg (methought), so cold, so vast, +With mortal damps self-overcast; +Exhaling still thy dankish breath-- +Adrift dissolving, bound for death; +Though lumpish thou, a lumbering one-- +A lumbering lubbard loitering slow, +Impingers rue thee and go down, +Sounding thy precipice below, +Nor stir the slimy slug that sprawls +Along thy dense stolidity of walls. + + + + +THE ENVIABLE ISLES +_From "Rammon."_ + +Through storms you reach them and from + storms are free. + Afar descried, the foremost drear in hue, +But, nearer, green; and, on the marge, the sea + Makes thunder low and mist of rainbowed + dew. + +But, inland, where the sleep that folds the hills +A dreamier sleep, the trance of God, instills-- + On uplands hazed, in wandering airs + aswoon, +Slow-swaying palms salute love's cypress tree + Adown in vale where pebbly runlets croon +A song to lull all sorrow and all glee. + +Sweet-fern and moss in many a glade are here. + Where, strewn in flocks, what cheek-flushed + myriads lie +Dimpling in dream--unconscious slumberers + mere, + While billows endless round the beaches die. + + + + +PEBBLES + +I +Though the Clerk of the Weather insist, + And lay down the weather-law, +Pintado and gannet they wist +That the winds blow whither they list + In tempest or flaw. + +II +Old are the creeds, but stale the schools, + Revamped as the mode may veer, +But Orm from the schools to the beaches + strays +And, finding a Conch hoar with time, he + delays + And reverent lifts it to ear. +That Voice, pitched in far monotone, + Shall it swerve? shall it deviate ever? +The Seas have inspired it, and Truth-- + Truth, varying from sameness never. + +III +In hollows of the liquid hills + Where the long Blue Ridges run, +The flattery of no echo thrills, + For echo the seas have none; +Nor aught that gives man back man's strain-- +The hope of his heart, the dream in his brain. + +IV +On ocean where the embattled fleets repair, +Man, suffering inflictor, sails on sufferance + there. + +V +Implacable I, the old Implacable Sea: + Implacable most when most I smile serene-- +Pleased, not appeased, by myriad wrecks in + me. + +VI +Curled in the comb of yon billow Andean, + Is it the Dragon's heaven-challenging crest? +Elemental mad ramping of ravening waters-- + Yet Christ on the Mount, and the dove in + her nest! + +VII +Healed of my hurt, I laud the inhuman Sea-- +Yea, bless the Angels Four that there convene; +For healed I am ever by their pitiless breath +Distilled in wholesome dew named rosmarine. + + + + + +Poems From Timoleon + + + + + +LINES TRACED UNDER AN IMAGE OF AMOR THREATENING + +Fear me, virgin whosoever +Taking pride from love exempt, + Fear me, slighted. Never, never +Brave me, nor my fury tempt: +Downy wings, but wroth they beat +Tempest even in reason's seat. + + + + +THE NIGHT MARCH + +With banners furled and clarions mute, + An army passes in the night; +And beaming spears and helms salute + The dark with bright. + +In silence deep the legions stream, + With open ranks, in order true; +Over boundless plains they stream and + gleam-- + No chief in view! + +Afar, in twinkling distance lost, + (So legends tell) he lonely wends +And back through all that shining host + His mandate sends. + + + + +THE RAVAGED VILLA + +In shards the sylvan vases lie, + Their links of dance undone, +And brambles wither by thy brim, + Choked fountain of the sun! +The spider in the laurel spins, + The weed exiles the flower: +And, flung to kiln, Apollo's bust + Makes lime for Mammon's tower. + + + + +THE NEW ZEALOT TO THE SUN + +Persian, you rise +Aflame from climes of sacrifice + Where adulators sue, +And prostrate man, with brow abased, +Adheres to rites whose tenor traced + All worship hitherto. + + Arch type of sway, +Meetly your over-ruling ray + You fling from Asia's plain, +Whence flashed the javelins abroad +Of many a wild incursive horde + Led by some shepherd Cain. + + Mid terrors dinned +Gods too came conquerors from your Ind, + The book of Brahma throve; +They came like to the scythed car, +Westward they rolled their empire far, + Of night their purple wove. + + Chemist, you breed +In orient climes each sorcerous weed + That energizes dream-- +Transmitted, spread in myths and creeds, +Houris and hells, delirious screeds + And Calvin's last extreme. + + What though your light +In time's first dawn compelled the flight + Of Chaos' startled clan, +Shall never all your darted spears +Disperse worse Anarchs, frauds and fears, + Sprung from these weeds to man? + + But Science yet +An effluence ampler shall beget, + And power beyond your play-- +Shall quell the shades you fail to rout, +Yea, searching every secret out + Elucidate your ray. + + + + +MONODY + +To have known him, to have loved him + After loneness long; +And then to be estranged in life, + And neither in the wrong; +And now for death to set his seal-- + Ease me, a little ease, my song! + +By wintry hills his hermit-mound + The sheeted snow-drifts drape, +And houseless there the snow-bird flits + Beneath the fir-trees' crape: +Glazed now with ice the cloistral vine + That hid the shyest grape. + + + + +LONE FOUNTS + +Though fast youth's glorious fable flies, +View not the world with worldling's eyes; +Nor turn with weather of the time. +Foreclose the coming of surprise: +Stand where Posterity shall stand; +Stand where the Ancients stood before, +And, dipping in lone founts thy hand, +Drink of the never-varying lore: +Wise once, and wise thence evermore. + + + + +THE BENCH OF BOORS + +In bed I muse on Tenier's boors, +Embrowned and beery losels all; + A wakeful brain + Elaborates pain: +Within low doors the slugs of boors +Laze and yawn and doze again. + +In dreams they doze, the drowsy boors, +Their hazy hovel warm and small: + Thought's ampler bound + But chill is found: +Within low doors the basking boors +Snugly hug the ember-mound. + +Sleepless, I see the slumberous boors +Their blurred eyes blink, their eyelids fall: + Thought's eager sight + Aches--overbright! +Within low doors the boozy boors +Cat-naps take in pipe-bowl light. + + + + +ART + +In placid hours well-pleased we dream +Of many a brave unbodied scheme. +But form to lend, pulsed life create, +What unlike things must meet and mate: +A flame to melt--a wind to freeze; +Sad patience--joyous energies; +Humility--yet pride and scorn; +Instinct and study; love and hate; +Audacity--reverence. These must mate, +And fuse with Jacob's mystic heart, +To wrestle with the angel--Art. + + + + +THE ENTHUSIAST +_"Though He slay me yet will I trust in Him."_ + +Shall hearts that beat no base retreat + In youth's magnanimous years-- +Ignoble hold it, if discreet + When interest tames to fears; +Shall spirits that worship light + Perfidious deem its sacred glow, + Recant, and trudge where worldlings go, +Conform and own them right? + +Shall Time with creeping influence cold + Unnerve and cow? the heart +Pine for the heartless ones enrolled + With palterers of the mart? +Shall faith abjure her skies, + Or pale probation blench her down + To shrink from Truth so still, so lone +Mid loud gregarious lies? + +Each burning boat in Caesar's rear, + Flames--No return through me! +So put the torch to ties though dear, + If ties but tempters be. +Nor cringe if come the night: + Walk through the cloud to meet the pall, + Though light forsake thee, never fall +From fealty to light. + + + + +SHELLEY'S VISION + +Wandering late by morning seas + When my heart with pain was low-- +Hate the censor pelted me-- + Deject I saw my shadow go. + +In elf-caprice of bitter tone +I too would pelt the pelted one: +At my shadow I cast a stone. + +When lo, upon that sun-lit ground + I saw the quivering phantom take +The likeness of St. Stephen crowned: + Then did self-reverence awake. + + + + +THE MARCHIONESS OF BRINVILLIERS + +He toned the sprightly beam of morning + With twilight meek of tender eve, +Brightness interfused with softness, + Light and shade did weave: +And gave to candor equal place +With mystery starred in open skies; +And, floating all in sweetness, made + Her fathomless mild eyes. + + + + +THE AGE OF THE ANTONINES + +While faith forecasts millennial years + Spite Europe's embattled lines, +Back to the Past one glance be cast-- + The Age of the Antonines! +O summit of fate, O zenith of time +When a pagan gentleman reigned, +And the olive was nailed to the inn of the + world +Nor the peace of the just was feigned. + A halcyon Age, afar it shines, + Solstice of Man and the Antonines. + +Hymns to the nations' friendly gods +Went up from the fellowly shrines, +No demagogue beat the pulpit-drum + In the Age of the Antonines! +The sting was not dreamed to be taken from + death, +No Paradise pledged or sought, +But they reasoned of fate at the flowing feast, +Nor stifled the fluent thought, + We sham, we shuffle while faith declines-- + They were frank in the Age of the Antonines. + +Orders and ranks they kept degree, +Few felt how the parvenu pines, +No law-maker took the lawless one's fee + In the Age of the Antonines! +Under law made will the world reposed +And the ruler's right confessed, +For the heavens elected the Emperor then, +The foremost of men the best. + Ah, might we read in America's signs + The Age restored of the Antonines. + + + + +HERBA SANTA + +I +After long wars when comes release +Not olive wands proclaiming peace + Can import dearer share +Than stems of Herba Santa hazed + In autumn's Indian air. +Of moods they breathe that care disarm, +They pledge us lenitive and calm. + +II +Shall code or creed a lure afford +To win all selves to Love's accord? +When Love ordained a supper divine + For the wide world of man, +What bickerings o'er his gracious wine! + Then strange new feuds began. + +Effectual more in lowlier way, + Pacific Herb, thy sensuous plea +The bristling clans of Adam sway + At least to fellowship in thee! +Before thine altar tribal flags are furled, +Fain wouldst thou make one hearthstone of + the world. + +III +To scythe, to sceptre, pen and hod-- + Yea, sodden laborers dumb; +To brains overplied, to feet that plod, +In solace of the _Truce of God_ + The Calumet has come! + +IV +Ah for the world ere Raleigh's find + Never that knew this suasive balm +That helps when Gilead's fails to heal, + Helps by an interserted charm. + +Insinuous thou that through the nerve + Windest the soul, and so canst win +Some from repinings, some from sin, + The Church's aim thou dost subserve. + +The ruffled fag fordone with care + And brooding, God would ease this pain: +Him soothest thou and smoothest down + Till some content return again. + +Even ruffians feel thy influence breed + Saint Martin's summer in the mind, +They feel this last evangel plead, +As did the first, apart from creed, + Be peaceful, man--be kind! + +V +Rejected once on higher plain, +O Love supreme, to come again + Can this be thine? +Again to come, and win us too + In likeness of a weed +That as a god didst vainly woo, + As man more vainly bleed? + +VI +Forbear, my soul! and in thine Eastern + chamber + Rehearse the dream that brings the long + release: +Through jasmine sweet and talismanic amber + Inhaling Herba Santa in the passive Pipe + of Peace. + + + + +OFF CAPE COLONNA + +Aloof they crown the foreland lone, + From aloft they loftier rise-- +Fair columns, in the aureole rolled + From sunned Greek seas and skies. +They wax, sublimed to fancy's view, +A god-like group against the blue. + +Over much like gods! Serene they saw + The wolf-waves board the deck, +And headlong hull of Falconer, + And many a deadlier wreck. + + + + +THE APPARITION +_The Parthenon uplifted on its rock first +challenging the view on the approach to Athens._ + +Abrupt the supernatural Cross, + Vivid in startled air, +Smote the Emperor Constantine +And turned his soul's allegiance there. + +With other power appealing down, + Trophy of Adam's best! +If cynic minds you scarce convert, +You try them, shake them, or molest. + +Diogenes, that honest heart, + Lived ere your date began; +Thee had he seen, he might have swerved +In mood nor barked so much at Man. + + + + +L'ENVOI +_The Return of the Sire de Nesle._ +A.D. 16 + +My towers at last! These rovings end, +Their thirst is slaked in larger dearth: +The yearning infinite recoils, + For terrible is earth. + +Kaf thrusts his snouted crags through fog: +Araxes swells beyond his span, +And knowledge poured by pilgrimage + Overflows the banks of man. + +But thou, my stay, thy lasting love +One lonely good, let this but be! +Weary to view the wide world's swarm, + But blest to fold but thee. + + + + + +SUPPLEMENT + +Were I fastidiously anxious for the symmetry of this book, it would +close with the notes. But the times are such that patriotism--not free +from solicitude--urges a claim overriding all literary scruples. + +It is more than a year since the memorable surrender, but events have +not yet rounded themselves into completion. Not justly can we complain +of this. There has been an upheaval affecting the basis of things; to +altered circumstances complicated adaptations are to be made; there are +difficulties great and novel. But is Reason still waiting for Passion +to spend itself? We have sung of the soldiers and sailors, but who +shall hymn the politicians? + +In view of the infinite desirableness of Re-establishment, and +considering that, so far as feeling is concerned, it depends not mainly +on the temper in which the South regards the North, but rather +conversely; one who never was a blind adherent feels constrained to +submit some thoughts, counting on the indulgence of his countrymen. + +And, first, it may be said that, if among the feelings and opinions +growing immediately out of a great civil convulsion, there are any +which time shall modify or do away, they are presumably those of a less +temperate and charitable cast. + +There seems no reason why patriotism and narrowness should go together, +or why intellectual impartiality should be confounded with political +trimming, or why serviceable truth should keep cloistered because not +partisan. Yet the work of Reconstruction, if admitted to be feasible at +all, demands little but common sense and Christian charity. Little but +these? These are much. + +Some of us are concerned because as yet the South shows no penitence. +But what exactly do we mean by this? Since down to the close of the war +she never confessed any for braving it, the only penitence now left her +is that which springs solely from the sense of discomfiture; and since +this evidently would be a contrition hypocritical, it would be unworthy +in us to demand it. Certain it is that penitence, in the sense of +voluntary humiliation, will never be displayed. Nor does this afford +just ground for unreserved condemnation. It is enough, for all +practical purposes, if the South have been taught by the terrors of +civil war to feel that Secession, like Slavery, is against Destiny; +that both now lie buried in one grave; that her fate is linked with +ours; and that together we comprise the Nation. + +The clouds of heroes who battled for the Union it is needless to +eulogize here. But how of the soldiers on the other side? And when of a +free community we name the soldiers, we thereby name the people. It was +in subserviency to the slave-interest that Secession was plotted; but +it was under the plea, plausibly urged, that certain inestimable rights +guaranteed by the Constitution were directly menaced, that the people +of the South were cajoled into revolution. Through the arts of the +conspirators and the perversity of fortune, the most sensitive love of +liberty was entrapped into the support of a war whose implied end was +the erecting in our advanced century of an Anglo-American empire based +upon the systematic degradation of man. + +Spite this clinging reproach, however, signal military virtues and +achievements have conferred upon the Confederate arms historic fame, +and upon certain of the commanders a renown extending beyond the +sea--a renown which we of the North could not suppress, even if we +would. In personal character, also, not a few of the military leaders +of the South enforce forbearance; the memory of others the North +refrains from disparaging; and some, with more or less of reluctance, +she can respect. Posterity, sympathizing with our convictions, but +removed from our passions, may perhaps go farther here. If George IV +could, out of the graceful instinct of a gentleman, raise an honorable +monument in the great fane of Christendom over the remains of the enemy +of his dynasty, Charles Edward, the invader of England and victor in +the rout of Preston Pans--upon whose head the king's ancestor but one +reign removed had set a price--is it probable that the granchildren of +General Grant will pursue with rancor, or slur by sour neglect, the +memory of Stonewall Jackson? + +But the South herself is not wanting in recent histories and +biographies which record the deeds of her chieftains--writings freely +published at the North by loyal houses, widely read here, and with a +deep though saddened interest. By students of the war such works are +hailed as welcome accessories, and tending to the completeness of the +record. + +Supposing a happy issue out of present perplexities, then, in the +generation next to come, Southerners there will be yielding allegiance +to the Union, feeling all their interests bound up in it, and yet +cherishing unrebuked that kind of feeling for the memory of the +soldiers of the fallen Confederacy that Burns, Scott, and the Ettrick +Shepherd felt for the memory of the gallant clansmen ruined through +their fidelity to the Stuarts--a feeling whose passion was tempered by +the poetry imbuing it, and which in no wise affected their loyalty to +the Georges, and which, it may be added, indirectly contributed +excellent things to literature. But, setting this view aside, +dishonorable would it be in the South were she willing to abandon to +shame the memory of brave men who with signal personal +disinterestedness warred in her behalf, though from motives, as we +believe, so deplorably astray. + +Patriotism is not baseness, neither is it inhumanity. The mourners who +this summer bear flowers to the mounds of the Virginian and Georgian +dead are, in their domestic bereavement and proud affection, as sacred +in the eye of Heaven as are those who go with similar offerings of +tender grief and love into the cemeteries of our Northern martyrs. And +yet, in one aspect, how needless to point the contrast. + +Cherishing such sentiments, it will hardly occasion surprise that, in +looking over the battle-pieces in the foregoing collection, I have been +tempted to withdraw or modify some of them, fearful lest in presenting, +though but dramatically and by way of poetic record, the passions and +epithets of civil war, I might be contributing to a bitterness which +every sensible American must wish at an end. So, too, with the emotion +of victory as reproduced on some pages, and particularly toward the +close. It should not be construed into an exultation misapplied--an +exultation as ungenerous as unwise, and made to minister, however +indirectly, to that kind of censoriousness too apt to be produced in +certain natures by success after trying reverses. Zeal is not of +necessity religion, neither is it always of the same essence with +poetry or patriotism. + +There are excesses which marked the conflict, most of which are perhaps +inseparable from a civil strife so intense and prolonged, and involving +warfare in some border countries new and imperfectly civilized. +Barbarities also there were, for which the Southern people collectively +can hardly be held responsible, though perpetrated by ruffians in their +name. But surely other qualities--exalted ones--courage and fortitude +matchless, were likewise displayed, and largely; and justly may these +be held the characteristic traits, and not the former. + +In this view, what Northern writer, however patriotic, but must revolt +from acting on paper a part any way akin to that of the live dog to the +dead lion; and yet it is right to rejoice for our triumphs, so far as +it may justly imply an advance for our whole country and for humanity. + +Let it be held no reproach to any one that he pleads for reasonable +consideration for our late enemies, now stricken down and unavoidably +debarred, for the time, from speaking through authorized agencies for +themselves. Nothing has been urged here in the foolish hope of +conciliating those men--few in number, we trust--who have resolved +never to be reconciled to the Union. On such hearts everything is +thrown away except it be religious commiseration, and the sincerest. +Yet let them call to mind that unhappy Secessionist, not a military +man, who with impious alacrity fired the first shot of the Civil War at +Sumter, and a little more than four years afterward fired the last one +into his heart at Richmond. + +Noble was the gesture into which patriotic passion surprised the people +in a utilitarian time and country; yet the glory of the war falls short +of its pathos--a pathos which now at last ought to disarm all +animosity. + +How many and earnest thoughts still rise, and how hard to repress them. +We feel what past years have been, and years, unretarded years, shall +come. May we all have moderation; may we all show candor. Though, +perhaps, nothing could ultimately have averted the strife, and though +to treat of human actions is to deal wholly with second causes, +nevertheless, let us not cover up or try to extenuate what, humanly +speaking, is the truth--namely, that those unfraternal denunciations, +continued through years, and which at last inflamed to deeds that ended +in bloodshed, were reciprocal; and that, had the preponderating +strength and the prospect of its unlimited increase lain on the other +side, on ours might have lain those actions which now in our late +opponents we stigmatize under the name of Rebellion. As frankly let us +own--what it would be unbecoming to parade were foreigners concerned-- +that our triumph was won not more by skill and bravery than by superior +resources and crushing numbers; that it was a triumph, too, over a +people for years politically misled by designing men, and also by some +honestly-erring men, who from their position could not have been +otherwise than broadly influential; a people who, though, indeed, they +sought to perpetuate the curse of slavery, and even extend it, were not +the authors of it, but (less fortunate, not less righteous than we), +were the fated inheritors; a people who, having a like origin with +ourselves, share essentially in whatever worthy qualities we may +possess. No one can add to the lasting reproach which hopeless defeat +has now cast upon Secession by withholding the recognition of these +verities. + +Surely we ought to take it to heart that that kind of pacification, +based upon principles operating equally all over the land, which lovers +of their country yearn for, and which our arms, though signally +triumphant, did not bring about, and which lawmaking, however anxious, +or energetic, or repressive, never by itself can achieve, may yet be +largely aided by generosity of sentiment public and private. Some +revisionary legislation and adaptive is indispensable; but with this +should harmoniously work another kind of prudence, not unallied with +entire magnanimity. Benevolence and policy--Christianity and +Machiavelli--dissuade from penal severities toward the subdued. +Abstinence here is as obligatory as considerate care for our +unfortunate fellowmen late in bonds, and, if observed, would equally +prove to be wise forecast. The great qualities of the South, those +attested in the War, we can perilously alienate, or we may make them +nationally available at need. + +The blacks, in their infant pupilage to freedom, appeal to the +sympathies of every humane mind. The paternal guardianship which for +the interval government exercises over them was prompted equally by +duty and benevolence. Yet such kindliness should not be allowed to +exclude kindliness to communities who stand nearer to us in nature. For +the future of the freed slaves we may well be concerned; but the future +of the whole country, involving the future of the blacks, urges a +paramount claim upon our anxiety. Effective benignity, like the Nile, +is not narrow in its bounty, and true policy is always broad. To be +sure, it is vain to seek to glide, with moulded words, over the +difficulties of the situation. And for them who are neither partisans, +nor enthusiasts, nor theorists, nor cynics, there are some doubts not +readily to be solved. And there are fears. Why is not the cessation of +war now at length attended with the settled calm of peace? Wherefore in +a clear sky do we still turn our eyes toward the South as the +Neapolitan, months after the eruption, turns his toward Vesuvius? Do we +dread lest the repose may be deceptive? In the recent convulsion has +the crater but shifted Let us revere that sacred uncertainty which +forever impends over men and nations. Those of us who always abhorred +slavery as an atheistical iniquity, gladly we join in the exulting +chorus of humanity over its downfall. But we should remember that +emancipation was accomplished not by deliberate legislation; only +through agonized violence could so mighty a result be effected. In our +natural solicitude to confirm the benefit of liberty to the blacks, let +us forbear from measures of dubious constitutional rightfulness toward +our white countrymen--measures of a nature to provoke, among other of +the last evils, exterminating hatred of race toward race. In +imagination let us place ourselves in the unprecedented position of the +Southerners--their position as regards the millions of ignorant +manumitted slaves in their midst, for whom some of us now claim the +suffrage. Let us be Christians toward our fellow-whites, as well as +philanthropists toward the blacks, our fellow-men. In all things, and +toward all, we are enjoined to do as we would be done by. Nor should we +forget that benevolent desires, after passing a certain point, can not +undertake their own fulfillment without incurring the risk of evils +beyond those sought to be remedied. Something may well be left to the +graduated care of future legislation, and to heaven. In one point of +view the co-existence of the two races in the South, whether the negro +be bond or free, seems (even as it did to Abraham Lincoln) a grave +evil. Emancipation has ridded the country of the reproach, but not +wholly of the calamity. Especially in the present transition period for +both races in the South, more or less of trouble may not unreasonably +be anticipated; but let us not hereafter be too swift to charge the +blame exclusively in any one quarter. With certain evils men must be +more or less patient. Our institutions have a potent digestion, and may +in time convert and assimilate to good all elements thrown in, however +originally alien. + +But, so far as immediate measures looking toward permanent Re- +establishment are concerned, no consideration should tempt us to +pervert the national victory into oppression for the vanquished. Should +plausible promise of eventual good, or a deceptive or spurious sense of +duty, lead us to essay this, count we must on serious consequences, not +the least of which would be divisions among the Northern adherents of +the Union. Assuredly, if any honest Catos there be who thus far have +gone with us, no longer will they do so, but oppose us, and as +resolutely as hitherto they have supported. But this path of thought +leads toward those waters of bitterness from which one can only turn +aside and be silent. + +But supposing Re-establishment so far advanced that the Southern seats +in Congress are occupied, and by men qualified in accordance with those +cardinal principles of representative government which hitherto have +prevailed in the land--what then? Why, the Congressmen elected by the +people of the South will--represent the people of the South. This may +seem a flat conclusion; but, in view of the last five years, may there +not be latent significance in it? What will be the temper of those +Southern members? and, confronted by them, what will be the mood of our +own representatives? In private life true reconciliation seldom follows +a violent quarrel; but, if subsequent intercourse be unavoidable, nice +observances and mutual are indispensable to the prevention of a new +rupture. Amity itself can only be maintained by reciprocal respect, and +true friends are punctilious equals. On the floor of Congress North and +South are to come together after a passionate duel, in which the South, +though proving her valor, has been made to bite the dust. Upon +differences in debate shall acrimonious recriminations be exchanged? +Shall censorious superiority assumed by one section provoke defiant +self-assertion on the other? Shall Manassas and Chickamauga be retorted +for Chattanooga and Richmond? Under the supposition that the full +Congress will be composed of gentlemen, all this is impossible. Yet, if +otherwise, it needs no prophet of Israel to foretell the end. The +maintenance of Congressional decency in the future will rest mainly +with the North. Rightly will more forbearance be required from the +North than the South, for the North is victor. + +But some there are who may deem these latter thoughts inapplicable, and +for this reason: Since the test-oath operatively excludes from Congress +all who in any way participated in Secession, therefore none but +Southerners wholly in harmony with the North are eligible to seats. +This is true for the time being. But the oath is alterable; and in the +wonted fluctuations of parties not improbably it will undergo +alteration, assuming such a form, perhaps, as not to bar the admission +into the National Legislature of men who represent the populations +lately in revolt. Such a result would involve no violation of the +principles of democratic government. Not readily can one perceive how +the political existence of the millions of late Secessionists can +permanently be ignored by this Republic. The years of the war tried our +devotion to the Union; the time of peace may test the sincerity of our +faith in democracy. + +In no spirit of opposition, not by way of challenge, is anything here +thrown out. These thoughts are sincere ones; they seem natural-- +inevitable. Here and there they must have suggested themselves to many +thoughtful patriots. And, if they be just thoughts, ere long they must +have that weight with the public which already they have had with +individuals. + +For that heroic band--those children of the furnace who, in regions +like Texas and Tennessee, maintained their fidelity through terrible +trials--we of the North felt for them, and profoundly we honor them. +Yet passionate sympathy, with resentments so close as to be almost +domestic in their bitterness, would hardly in the present juncture tend +to discreet legislation. Were the Unionists and Secessionists but as +Guelphs and Ghibellines? If not, then far be it from a great nation now +to act in the spirit that animated a triumphant town-faction in the +Middle Ages. But crowding thoughts must at last be checked; and, in +times like the present, one who desires to be impartially just in the +expression of his views, moves as among sword-points presented on every +side. + +Let us pray that the terrible historic tragedy of our time may not have +been enacted without instructing our whole beloved country through +terror and pity; and may fulfillment verify in the end those +expectations which kindle the bards of Progress and Humanity. + + + + + +Poems From Battle Pieces + + + + + +THE PORTENT +1859 + +Hanging from the beam, + Slowly swaying (such the law), +Gaunt the shadow on your green, + Shenandoah! +The cut is on the crown +(Lo, John Brown), +And the stabs shall heal no more. + +Hidden in the cap + Is the anguish none can draw; +So your future veils its face, + Shenandoah! +But the streaming beard is shown +(Weird John Brown), +The meteor of the war. + + + + +FROM THE CONFLICT OF CONVICTIONS +1860-1 + +The Ancient of Days forever is young, + Forever the scheme of Nature thrives; +I know a wind in purpose strong-- + It spins _against_ the way it drives. +What if the gulfs their slimed foundations + bare? +So deep must the stones be hurled +Whereon the throes of ages rear +The final empire and the happier world. + + Power unanointed may come-- +Dominion (unsought by the free) + And the Iron Dome, +Stronger for stress and strain, +Fling her huge shadow athwart the main; +But the Founders' dream shall flee. +Age after age has been, +(From man's changeless heart their way they + win); +And death be busy with all who strive-- +Death, with silent negative. + + _Yea and Nay--_ + _Each hath his say;_ + _But God He keeps the middle way._ + _None was by_ + _When He spread the sky;_ + _Wisdom is vain, and prophecy._ + + + + +THE MARCH INTO VIRGINIA +_Ending in the First Manassas_ +July, 1861 + +Did all the lets and bars appear + To every just or larger end, +Whence should come the trust and cheer? + Youth must its ignorant impulse lend-- +Age finds place in the rear. + All wars are boyish, and are fought by boys, +The champions and enthusiasts of the state: + Turbid ardors and vain joys + Not barrenly abate-- + Stimulants to the power mature, + Preparatives of fate. + +Who here forecasteth the event? +What heart but spurns at precedent +And warnings of the wise, +Contemned foreclosures of surprise? +The banners play, the bugles call, +The air is blue and prodigal. + No berrying party, pleasure-wooed, +No picnic party in the May, +Ever went less loth than they + Into that leafy neighborhood. +In Bacchic glee they file toward Fate, +Moloch's uninitiate; +Expectancy, and glad surmise +Of battle's unknown mysteries. +All they feel is this: 't is glory, +A rapture sharp, though transitory, +Yet lasting in belaureled story. +So they gayly go to fight, +Chatting left and laughing right. + +But some who this blithe mood present, + As on in lightsome files they fare, +Shall die experienced ere three days are + spent-- + Perish, enlightened by the vollied glare; +Or shame survive, and, like to adamant, + The throe of Second Manassas share. + + + + +BALL'S BLUFF +_A Reverie_ +October, 1861 + +One noonday, at my window in the town, + I saw a sight--saddest that eyes can see-- + Young soldiers marching lustily + Unto the wars, +With fifes, and flags in mottoed pageantry; + While all the porches, walks, and doors +Were rich with ladies cheering royally. + +They moved like Juny morning on the wave, + Their hearts were fresh as clover in its prime + (It was the breezy summer time), + Life throbbed so strong, +How should they dream that Death in a rosy + clime + Would come to thin their shining throng? +Youth feels immortal, like the gods sublime. + +Weeks passed; and at my window, leaving + bed, + By night I mused, of easeful sleep bereft, + On those 'brave boys (Ah War! thy theft); + Some marching feet +Found pause at last by cliffs Potomac cleft; + Wakeful I mused, while in the street +Far footfalls died away till none were left. + + + + +THE STONE FLEET +_An Old Sailor's Lament_ +December, 1861 + +I have a feeling for those ships, + Each worn and ancient one, +With great bluff bows, and broad in the beam: + Ay, it was unkindly done. + But so they serve the Obsolete-- + Even so, Stone Fleet! + +You'll say I'm doting; do you think + I scudded round the Horn in one-- +The _Tenedos,_ a glorious + Good old craft as ever run-- + Sunk (how all unmeet!) + With the Old Stone Fleet. + +An India ship of fame was she, + Spices and shawls and fans she bore; +A whaler when the wrinkles came-- + Turned off! till, spent and poor, + Her bones were sold (escheat)! + Ah! Stone Fleet. + +Four were erst patrician keels + (Names attest what families be), +The _Kensington,_ and _Richmond_ too, + _Leonidas,_ and _Lee_: + But now they have their seat + With the Old Stone Fleet. + +To scuttle them--a pirate deed-- + Sack them, and dismast; +They sunk so slow, they died so hard, + But gurgling dropped at last. + Their ghosts in gales repeat + _Woe's us, Stone Fleet!_ + +And all for naught. The waters pass-- + Currents will have their way; +Nature is nobody's ally; 'tis well; + The harbor is bettered--will stay. + A failure, and complete, + Was your Old Stone Fleet. + + + + +THE TEMERAIRE + +_Supposed to have been suggested to an Englishman of +the old order by the fight of the Monitor and Merrimac_ + +The gloomy hulls in armor grim, + Like clouds o'er moors have met, +And prove that oak, and iron, and man + Are tough in fibre yet. + +But Splendors wane. The sea-fight yields + No front of old display; +The garniture, emblazonment, + And heraldry all decay. + +Towering afar in parting light, + The fleets like Albion's forelands shine-- +The full-sailed fleets, the shrouded show + Of Ships-of-the-Line. + + The fighting _Temeraire,_ + Built of a thousand trees, + Lunging out her lightnings, + And beetling o'er the seas-- + O Ship, how brave and fair, + That fought so oft and well, + +On open decks you manned the gun + Armorial. +What cheerings did you share, + Impulsive in the van, +When down upon leagued France and + Spain + We English ran-- +The freshet at your bowsprit + Like the foam upon the can. +Bickering, your colors + Licked up the Spanish air, +You flapped with flames of battle-flags-- + Your challenge, _Temeraire!_ +The rear ones of our fleet + They yearned to share your place, +Still vying with the Victory +Throughout that earnest race-- +The Victory, whose Admiral, + With orders nobly won, +Shone in the globe of the battle glow-- + The angel in that sun. +Parallel in story, + Lo, the stately pair, +As late in grapple ranging, + The foe between them there-- +When four great hulls lay tiered, +And the fiery tempest cleared, +And your prizes twain appeared, + _Temeraire!_ + +But Trafalgar is over now, + The quarter-deck undone; +The carved and castled navies fire + Their evening-gun. +O, Titan _Temeraire,_ + Your stern-lights fade away; +Your bulwarks to the years must yield, + And heart-of-oak decay. +A pigmy steam-tug tows you, + Gigantic, to the shore-- +Dismantled of your guns and spars, + And sweeping wings of war. +The rivets clinch the iron clads, + Men learn a deadlier lore; +But Fame has nailed your battle-flags-- + Your ghost it sails before: +O, the navies old and oaken, + O, the _Temeraire_ no more! + + + + +A UTILITARIAN VIEW OF THE _MONITOR'S_ FIGHT + +Plain be the phrase, yet apt the verse, + More ponderous than nimble; +For since grimed War here laid aside +His Orient pomp, 'twould ill befit + Overmuch to ply + The rhyme's barbaric cymbal. + +Hail to victory without the gaud + Of glory; zeal that needs no fans +Of banners; plain mechanic power +Plied cogently in War now placed-- + Where War belongs-- + Among the trades and artisans. + +Yet this was battle, and intense-- + Beyond the strife of fleets heroic; +Deadlier, closer, calm 'mid storm; +No passion; all went on by crank, + Pivot, and screw, + And calculations of caloric. + +Needless to dwell; the story's known. + The ringing of those plates on plates +Still ringeth round the world-- +The clangor of that blacksmiths' fray. + The anvil-din + Resounds this message from the Fates: + +War shall yet be, and to the end; + But war-paint shows the streaks of weather; +War yet shall be, but warriors +Are now but operatives; War's made + Less grand than Peace, + And a singe runs through lace and feather. + + + + +MALVERN HILL +July, 1862 + +Ye elms that wave on Malvern Hill + In prime of morn and May, +Recall ye how McClellan's men + Here stood at bay? +While deep within yon forest dim + Our rigid comrades lay-- +Some with the cartridge in their mouth, +Others with fixed arms lifted South-- + Invoking so-- +The cypress glades? Ah wilds of woe! + +The spires of Richmond, late beheld +Through rifts in musket-haze, +Were closed from view in clouds of dust + On leaf-walled ways, +Where streamed our wagons in caravan; + And the Seven Nights and Days +Of march and fast, retreat and fight, +Pinched our grimed faces to ghastly plight-- + Does the elm wood +Recall the haggard beards of blood? + +The battle-smoked flag, with stars eclipsed, + We followed (it never fell!)-- +In silence husbanded our strength-- + Received their yell; +Till on this slope we patient turned + With cannon ordered well; +Reverse we proved was not defeat; +But ah, the sod what thousands meet!-- + Does Malvern Wood +Bethink itself, and muse and brood? + _We elms of Malvern Hill_ + _Remember everything;_ + _But sap the twig will fill:_ + _Wag the world how it will,_ + _Leaves must be green in Spring._ + + + + +STONEWALL JACKSON +_Mortally wounded at Chancellorsville_ +May, 1863 + +THE Man who fiercest charged in fight, + Whose sword and prayer were long-- + Stonewall! + Even him who stoutly stood for Wrong, +How can we praise? Yet coming days + Shall not forget him with this song. + +Dead is the Man whose Cause is dead, + Vainly he died and set his seal-- + Stonewall! + Earnest in error, as we feel; +True to the thing he deemed was due, + True as John Brown or steel. + +Relentlessly he routed us; + But _we_ relent, for he is low-- + Stonewall! + Justly his fame we outlaw; so +We drop a tear on the bold Virginian's bier, + Because no wreath we owe. + + + + +THE HOUSE-TOP +July, 1863 +_A Night Piece_ + +No sleep. The sultriness pervades the air +And binds the brain--a dense oppression, such +As tawny tigers feel in matted shades, +Vexing their blood and making apt for ravage. +Beneath the stars the roofy desert spreads +Vacant as Libya. All is hushed near by. +Yet fitfully from far breaks a mixed surf +Of muffled sound, the Atheist roar of riot. +Yonder, where parching Sirius set in drought, +Balefully glares red Arson--there--and + there. +The Town is taken by its rats--ship-rats +And rats of the wharves. All civil charms +And priestly spells which late held hearts in + awe-- +Fear-bound, subjected to a better sway +Than sway of self; these like a dream dissolve, +And man rebounds whole aeons back in + nature. +Hail to the low dull rumble, dull and dead, +And ponderous drag that shakes the wall. +Wise Draco comes, deep in the midnight roll +Of black artillery; he comes, though late; +In code corroborating Calvin's creed +And cynic tyrannies of honest kings; +He comes, nor parlies; and the Town, + redeemed, +Gives thanks devout; nor, being thankful, + heeds +The grimy slur on the Republic's faith + implied, +Which holds that Man is naturally good, +And--more--is Nature's Roman, never to be + scourged. + + + + +CHATTANOOGA +November, 1863 + +A kindling impulse seized the host + Inspired by heaven's elastic air; +Their hearts outran their General's plan, + Though Grant commanded there-- + Grant, who without reserve can dare; +And, "Well, go on and do your will," + He said, and measured the mountain then: +So master-riders fling the rein-- + But you must know your men. + +On yester-morn in grayish mist, + Armies like ghosts on hills had fought, +And rolled from the cloud their thunders loud + The Cumberlands far had caught: + To-day the sunlit steeps are sought. +Grant stood on cliffs whence all was plain, + And smoked as one who feels no cares; +But mastered nervousness intense +Alone such calmness wears. + +The summit-cannon plunge their flame + Sheer down the primal wall, +But up and up each linking troop + In stretching festoons crawl-- + Nor fire a shot. Such men appall +The foe, though brave. He, from the brink, + Looks far along the breadth of slope, +And sees two miles of dark dots creep, + And knows they mean the cope. + +He sees them creep. Yet here and there + Half hid 'mid leafless groves they go; +As men who ply through traceries high + Of turreted marbles show-- + So dwindle these to eyes below. +But fronting shot and flanking shell + Sliver and rive the inwoven ways; +High tops of oaks and high hearts fall, + But never the climbing stays. + +From right to left, from left to right + They roll the rallying cheer-- +Vie with each other, brother with brother, + Who shall the first appear-- + What color-bearer with colors clear +In sharp relief, like sky-drawn Grant, + Whose cigar must now be near the stump-- +While in solicitude his back + Heaps slowly to a hump. + +Near and more near; till now the flags + Run like a catching flame; +And one flares highest, to peril nighest-- + _He_ means to make a name: + Salvos! they give him his fame. +The staff is caught, and next the rush, + And then the leap where death has led; +Flag answered flag along the crest, + And swarms of rebels fled. + +But some who gained the envied Alp, + And--eager, ardent, earnest there-- +Dropped into Death's wide-open arms, + Quelled on the wing like eagles struck in + air-- + Forever they slumber young and fair, +The smile upon them as they died; + Their end attained, that end a height: +Life was to these a dream fulfilled, + And death a starry night. + + + + +ON THE PHOTOGRAPH OF A CORPS COMMANDER + +Ay, man is manly. Here you see + The warrior-carriage of the head, +And brave dilation of the frame; + And lighting all, the soul that led +In Spottsylvania's charge to victory, + Which justifies his fame. + +A cheering picture. It is good + To look upon a Chief like this, +In whom the spirit moulds the form. + Here favoring Nature, oft remiss, +With eagle mien expressive has endued + A man to kindle strains that warm. + +Trace back his lineage, and his sires, + Yeoman or noble, you shall find +Enrolled with men of Agincourt, + Heroes who shared great Harry's mind. +Down to us come the knightly Norman fires, + And front the Templars bore. + +Nothing can lift the heart of man + Like manhood in a fellow-man. +The thought of heaven's great King afar +But humbles us--too weak to scan; +But manly greatness men can span, + And feel the bonds that draw. + + + + +THE SWAMP ANGEL + +There is a coal-black Angel + With a thick Afric lip, +And he dwells (like the hunted and harried) + In a swamp where the green frogs dip. +But his face is against a City + Which is over a bay of the sea, +And he breathes with a breath that is + blastment, + And dooms by a far decree. + +By night there is fear in the City, + Through the darkness a star soareth on; +There's a scream that screams up to the zenith, + Then the poise of a meteor lone-- +Lighting far the pale fright of the faces, + And downward the coming is seen; +Then the rush, and the burst, and the havoc, + And wails and shrieks between. + +It comes like the thief in the gloaming; + It comes, and none may foretell +The place of the coming--the glaring; + They live in a sleepless spell +That wizens, and withers, and whitens; + It ages the young, and the bloom +Of the maiden is ashes of roses-- + The Swamp Angel broods in his gloom. + +Swift is his messengers' going, + But slowly he saps their halls, +As if by delay deluding. + They move from their crumbling walls +Farther and farther away; + But the Angel sends after and after, +By night with the flame of his ray-- + By night with the voice of his screaming-- +Sends after them, stone by stone, + And farther walls fall, farther portals, +And weed follows weed through the Town. + +Is this the proud City? the scorner + Which never would yield the ground? +Which mocked at the coal-black Angel? + The cup of despair goes round. +Vainly he calls upon Michael + (The white man's seraph was he,) +For Michael has fled from his tower + To the Angel over the sea. +Who weeps for the woeful City + Let him weep for our guilty kind; +Who joys at her wild despairing-- +Christ, the Forgiver, convert his mind. + + + + +SHERIDAN AT CEDAR CREEK +October, 1864 + +Shoe the steed with silver + That bore him to the fray, +When he heard the guns at dawning-- + Miles away; +When he heard them calling, calling-- + Mount! nor stay: + Quick, or all is lost; + They've surprised and stormed the post, + They push your routed host-- +Gallop! retrieve the day. + +House the horse in ermine-- + For the foam-flake blew +White through the red October; + He thundered into view; +They cheered him in the looming. + Horseman and horse they knew. + The turn of the tide began, + The rally of bugles ran, + He swung his hat in the van; +The electric hoof-spark flew. + +Wreathe the steed and lead him-- + For the charge he led +Touched and turned the cypress + Into amaranths for the head +Of Philip, king of riders, + Who raised them from the dead. + The camp (at dawning lost), + By eve, recovered--forced, + Rang with laughter of the host +At belated Early fled. + +Shroud the horse in sable-- + For the mounds they heap! +There is firing in the Valley, + And yet no strife they keep; +It is the parting volley, + It is the pathos deep. + There is glory for the brave + Who lead, and nobly save, + But no knowledge in the grave +Where the nameless followers sleep. + + + + +IN THE PRISON PEN +1864 + +Listless he eyes the palisades + And sentries in the glare; +'Tis barren as a pelican-beach + But his world is ended there. + +Nothing to do; and vacant hands + Bring on the idiot-pain; +He tries to think--to recollect, + But the blur is on his brain. + +Around him swarm the plaining ghosts + Like those on Virgil's shore-- +A wilderness of faces dim, + And pale ones gashed and hoar. + +A smiting sun. No shed, no tree; + He totters to his lair-- +A den that sick hands dug in earth + Ere famine wasted there, + +Or, dropping in his place, he swoons, + Walled in by throngs that press, +Till forth from the throngs they bear + him dead-- + Dead in his meagreness. + + + + +THE COLLEGE COLONEL + +He rides at their head; + A crutch by his saddle just slants in view, +One slung arm is in splints, you see, + Yet he guides his strong steed--how + coldly too. + +He brings his regiment home-- + Not as they filed two years before, +But a remnant half-tattered, and battered, + and worn, +Like castaway sailors, who--stunned + By the surf's loud roar, + Their mates dragged back and seen no + more-- +Again and again breast the surge, + And at last crawl, spent, to shore. + +A still rigidity and pale-- + An Indian aloofness lones his brow; +He has lived a thousand years +Compressed in battle's pains and prayers, + Marches and watches slow. + +There are welcoming shouts, and flags; + Old men off hat to the Boy, +Wreaths from gay balconies fall at his feet, +But to _him_--there comes alloy. + +It is not that a leg is lost, + It is not that an arm is maimed, +It is not that the fever has racked-- + Self he has long disclaimed. + +But all through the Seven Days' Fight, + And deep in the Wilderness grim, +And in the field-hospital tent, + And Petersburg crater, and dim +Lean brooding in Libby, there came-- + Ah heaven!--what _truth_ to him. + + + + +THE MARTYR +_Indicative of the passion of the people on the +15th of April, 1865_ + +Goon Friday was the day + Of the prodigy and crime, +When they killed him in his pity, + When they killed him in his prime +Of clemency and calm-- + When with yearning he was filled + To redeem the evil-willed, +And, though conqueror, be kind; + But they killed him in his kindness, + In their madness and their blindness, +And they killed him from behind. + + There is sobbing of the strong, + And a pall upon the land; + But the People in their weeping + Bare the iron hand; + Beware the People weeping + When they bare the iron hand. + +He lieth in his blood-- + The father in his face; +They have killed him, the Forgiver-- + The Avenger takes his place, +The Avenger wisely stern, + Who in righteousness shall do + What the heavens call him to, +And the parricides remand; + For they killed him in his kindness, + In their madness and their blindness, +And his blood is on their hand. + + There is sobbing of the strong, + And a pall upon the land; + But the People in their weeping + Bare the iron hand: + Beware the People weeping + When they bare the iron hand. + + + + +REBEL COLOR-BEARERS AT SHILOH +_A plea against the vindictive cry raised by civilians +shortly after the surrender at Appomattox_ + +The color-bearers facing death +White in the whirling sulphurous wreath, + Stand boldly out before the line; +Right and left their glances go, +Proud of each other, glorying in their show; +Their battle-flags about them blow, + And fold them as in flame divine: +Such living robes are only seen +Round martyrs burning on the green-- +And martyrs for the Wrong have been. + +Perish their Cause! but mark the men-- +Mark the planted statues, then +Draw trigger on them if you can. + +The leader of a patriot-band +Even so could view rebels who so could stand; + And this when peril pressed him sore, +Left aidless in the shivered front of war-- + Skulkers behind, defiant foes before, +And fighting with a broken brand. +The challenge in that courage rare-- +Courage defenseless, proudly bare-- +Never could tempt him; he could dare +Strike up the leveled rifle there. + +Sunday at Shiloh, and the day +When Stonewall charged--McClellan's + crimson May, +And Chickamauga's wave of death, +And of the Wilderness the cypress wreath-- + All these have passed away. +The life in the veins of Treason lags, +Her daring color-bearers drop their flags, + And yield. _Now_ shall we fire? + Can poor spite be? + Shall nobleness in victory less aspire + Than in reverse? Spare Spleen her ire, + And think how Grant met Lee. + + + + +AURORA BOREALIS +_Commemorative of the Dissolution of armies at the Peace_ +May, 1865 + +What power disbands the Northern Lights + After their steely play? +The lonely watcher feels an awe + Of Nature's sway, + As when appearing, + He marked their flashed uprearing + In the cold gloom-- + Retreatings and advancings, +(Like dallyings of doom), + Transitions and enhancings, + And bloody ray. + +The phantom-host has faded quite, + Splendor and Terror gone +Portent or promise--and gives way + To pale, meek Dawn; + The coming, going, + Alike in wonder showing-- + Alike the God, + Decreeing and commanding +The million blades that glowed, + The muster and disbanding-- + Midnight and Morn. + + + + +THE RELEASED REBEL PRISONER +June, 1865 + +Armies he's seen--the herds of war, + But never such swarms of men +As now in the Nineveh of the North-- + How mad the Rebellion then! + +And yet but dimly he divines + The depth of that deceit, +And superstitution of vast pride + Humbled to such defeat. + +Seductive shone the Chiefs in arms-- + His steel the nearest magnet drew; +Wreathed with its kind, the Gulf-weed drives-- + 'Tis Nature's wrong they rue. + +His face is hidden in his beard, + But his heart peers out at eye-- +And such a heart! like a mountain-pool + Where no man passes by. + +He thinks of Hill--a brave soul gone; + And Ashby dead in pale disdain; +And Stuart with the Rupert-plume, + Whose blue eye never shall laugh again. + +He hears the drum; he sees our boys +From his wasted fields return; +Ladies feast them on strawberries, + And even to kiss them yearn. + +He marks them bronzed, in soldier-trim, + The rifle proudly borne; +They bear it for an heirloom home, + And he--disarmed--jail-worn. + +Home, home--his heart is full of it; + But home he never shall see, +Even should he stand upon the spot: + 'Tis gone!--where his brothers be. + +The cypress-moss from tree to tree + Hangs in his Southern land; +As weird, from thought to thought of his + Run memories hand in hand. + +And so he lingers--lingers on + In the City of the Foe-- +His cousins and his countrymen + Who see him listless go. + + + + +"FORMERLY A SLAVE" +_An idealized Portrait, by E. Vedder, in the Spring +Exhibition of the National Academy, 1865_ + +The sufferance of her race is shown, + And retrospect of life, +Which now too late deliverance dawns upon; + Yet is she not at strife. + +Her children's children they shall know + The good withheld from her; +And so her reverie takes prophetic cheer-- + In spirit she sees the stir. + +Far down the depth of thousand years, + And marks the revel shine; +Her dusky face is lit with sober light, + Sibylline, yet benign. + + + + +ON THE SLAIN COLLEGIANS + +Youth is the time when hearts are large, + And stirring wars +Appeal to the spirit which appeals in turn + To the blade it draws. +If woman incite, and duty show + (Though made the mask of Cain), +Or whether it be Truth's sacred cause, + Who can aloof remain +That shares youth's ardor, uncooled by the + snow + Of wisdom or sordid gain? + +The liberal arts and nurture sweet + Which give his gentleness to man-- + Train him to honor, lend him grace +Through bright examples meet-- +That culture which makes never wan +With underminings deep, but holds + The surface still, its fitting place, + And so gives sunniness to the face +And bravery to the heart; what troops + Of generous boys in happiness thus bred-- + Saturnians through life's Tempe led, +Went from the North and came from the + South, +With golden mottoes in the mouth, + To lie down midway on a bloody bed. + +Woe for the homes of the North, +And woe for the seats of the South: +All who felt life's spring in prime, +And were swept by the wind of their place and + time-- + All lavish hearts, on whichever side, +Of birth urbane or courage high, +Armed them for the stirring wars-- + Armed them--some to die. + Apollo-like in pride. +Each would slay his Python--caught +The maxims in his temple taught-- + Aflame with sympathies whose blaze +Perforce enwrapped him--social laws, + Friendship and kin, and by-gone days-- +Vows, kisses--every heart unmoors, +And launches into the seas of wars. +What could they else--North or South? +Each went forth with blessings given +By priests and mothers in the name of Heaven; + And honor in both was chief. +Warred one for Right, and one for Wrong? +So be it; but they both were young-- +Each grape to his cluster clung, +All their elegies are sung. +The anguish of maternal hearts + Must search for balm divine; +But well the striplings bore their fated parts + (The heavens all parts assign)-- +Never felt life's care or cloy. +Each bloomed and died an unabated Boy; +Nor dreamed what death was--thought it mere +Sliding into some vernal sphere. +They knew the joy, but leaped the grief, +Like plants that flower ere comes the leaf-- +Which storms lay low in kindly doom, +And kill them in their flush of bloom. + + + + +AMERICA + +I +Where the wings of a sunny Dome expand +I saw a Banner in gladsome air-- +Starry, like Berenice's Hair-- +Afloat in broadened bravery there; +With undulating long-drawn flow, +As tolled Brazilian billows go +Voluminously o'er the Line. +The Land reposed in peace below; + The children in their glee +Were folded to the exulting heart + Of young Maternity. + +II +Later, and it streamed in fight + When tempest mingled with the fray, +And over the spear-point of the shaft + I saw the ambiguous lightning play. +Valor with Valor strove, and died: +Fierce was Despair, and cruel was Pride; +And the lorn Mother speechless stood, +Pale at the fury of her brood. + +III +Yet later, and the silk did wind + Her fair cold form; +Little availed the shining shroud, + Though ruddy in hue, to cheer or warm. +A watcher looked upon her low, and said-- +She sleeps, but sleeps, she is not dead. + But in that sleeps contortion showed +The terror of the vision there-- + A silent vision unavowed, +Revealing earth's foundation bare, + And Gorgon in her hidden place. +It was a thing of fear to see + So foul a dream upon so fair a face, +And the dreamer lying in that starry shroud. + +IV +But from the trance she sudden broke-- + The trance, or death into promoted life; +At her feet a shivered yoke, +And in her aspect turned to heaven + No trace of passion or of strife-- +A clear calm look. It spake of pain, +But such as purifies from stain-- +Sharp pangs that never come again-- + And triumph repressed by knowledge meet, +Power dedicate, and hope grown wise, + And youth matured for age's seat-- +Law on her brow and empire in her eyes. + So she, with graver air and lifted flag; +While the shadow, chased by light, +Fled along the far-drawn height, + And left her on the crag. + + + + +INSCRIPTION +_For Graves at Pea Ridge, Arkansas_ + +Let none misgive we died amiss + When here we strove in furious fight: +Furious it was; nathless was this + Better than tranquil plight, +And tame surrender of the Cause +Hallowed by hearts and by the laws. + We here who warred for Man and Right, +The choice of warring never laid with us. + There we were ruled by the traitor's choice. + Nor long we stood to trim and poise, +But marched and fell--victorious! + + + + +THE FORTITUDE OF THE NORTH +_Under the Disaster of the Second Manassas_ + +They take no shame for dark defeat + While prizing yet each victory won, +Who fight for the Right through all retreat, + Nor pause until their work is done. +The Cape-of-Storms is proof to every throe; + Vainly against that foreland beat +Wild winds aloft and wilder waves below: +The black cliffs gleam through rents in sleet +When the livid Antarctic storm-clouds glow. + + + + +THE MOUND BY THE LAKE + +The grass shall never forget this grave. +When homeward footing it in the sun + After the weary ride by rail, +The stripling soldiers passed her door, + Wounded perchance, or wan and pale, +She left her household work undone-- +Duly the wayside table spread, + With evergreens shaded, to regale +Each travel-spent and grateful one. +So warm her heart--childless--unwed, +Who like a mother comforted. + + + + +ON THE SLAIN AT CHICKAMAUGA + +Happy are they and charmed in life + Who through long wars arrive unscarred +At peace. To such the wreath be given, +If they unfalteringly have striven-- + In honor, as in limb, unmarred. +Let cheerful praise be rife, + And let them live their years at ease, +Musing on brothers who victorious died-- + Loved mates whose memory shall ever please. + +And yet mischance is honorable too-- + Seeming defeat in conflict justified +Whose end to closing eyes is hid from view. +The will, that never can relent-- +The aim, survivor of the bafflement, + Make this memorial due. + + + + +AN UNINSCRIBED MONUMENT +_On one of the Battle-fields of the Wilderness_ + +Silence and solitude may hint + (Whose home is in yon piney wood) +What I, though tableted, could never tell-- +The din which here befell, + And striving of the multitude. +The iron cones and spheres of death + Set round me in their rust, + These, too, if just, +Shall speak with more than animated breath. + Thou who beholdest, if thy thought, +Not narrowed down to personal cheer, +Take in the import of the quiet here-- + The after-quiet--the calm full fraught; +Thou too wilt silent stand-- +Silent as I, and lonesome as the land. + + + + +ON THE GRAVE OF A YOUNG CAVALRY OFFICER +KILLED IN THE VALLEY OF VIRGINIA + +Beauty and youth, with manners sweet, and + friends-- + Gold, yet a mind not unenriched had he +Whom here low violets veil from eyes. + But all these gifts transcended be: +His happier fortune in this mound you see. + + + + +A REQUIEM +_For Soldiers lost in Ocean Transports_ + +When, after storms that woodlands rue, + To valleys comes atoning dawn, +The robins blithe their orchard-sports renew; + And meadow-larks, no more withdrawn +Caroling fly in the languid blue; +The while, from many a hid recess, +Alert to partake the blessedness, +The pouring mites their airy dance pursue. + So, after ocean's ghastly gales, +When laughing light of hoyden morning + breaks, + Every finny hider wakes-- + From vaults profound swims up with + glittering scales; + Through the delightsome sea he sails, +With shoals of shining tiny things +Frolic on every wave that flings + Against the prow its showery spray; +All creatures joying in the morn, +Save them forever from joyance torn, + Whose bark was lost where now the + dolphins play; +Save them that by the fabled shore, + Down the pale stream are washed away, +Far to the reef of bones are borne; + And never revisits them the light, +Nor sight of long-sought land and pilot more; + Nor heed they now the lone bird's flight +Round the lone spar where mid-sea surges + pour. + + + + +COMMEMORATIVE OF A NAVAL VICTORY + +Sailors there are of the gentlest breed, + Yet strong, like every goodly thing; +The discipline of arms refines, + And the wave gives tempering. + The damasked blade its beam can fling; +It lends the last grave grace: +The hawk, the hound, and sworded nobleman + In Titian's picture for a king, +Are of hunter or warrior race. + +In social halls a favored guest + In years that follow victory won, +How sweet to feel your festal fame + In woman's glance instinctive thrown: + Repose is yours--your deed is known, +It musks the amber wine; +It lives, and sheds a light from storied days + Rich as October sunsets brown, +Which make the barren place to shine. + +But seldom the laurel wreath is seen + Unmixed with pensive pansies dark; +There's a light and a shadow on every man + Who at last attains his lifted mark-- + Nursing through night the ethereal spark. +Elate he never can be; +He feels that spirit which glad had hailed his + worth, + Sleep in oblivion.--The shark +Glides white through the phosphorus sea. + + + + +A MEDITATION + +How often in the years that close, + When truce had stilled the sieging gun, +The soldiers, mounting on their works, + With mutual curious glance have run +From face to face along the fronting show, +And kinsman spied, or friend--even in a foe. + +What thoughts conflicting then were shared, + While sacred tenderness perforce +Welled from the heart and wet the eye; + And something of a strange remorse +Rebelled against the sanctioned sin of blood, +And Christian wars of natural brotherhood. + +Then stirred the god within the breast-- + The witness that is man's at birth; +A deep misgiving undermined + Each plea and subterfuge of earth; +They felt in that rapt pause, with warning rife, +Horror and anguish for the civil strife. + +Of North or South they reeked not then, + Warm passion cursed the cause of war: +Can Africa pay back this blood + Spilt on Potomac's shore? +Yet doubts, as pangs, were vain the strife + to stay, +And hands that fain had clasped again + could slay. + +How frequent in the camp was seen + The herald from the hostile one, +A guest and frank companion there + When the proud formal talk was done; +The pipe of peace was smoked even 'mid the + war, +And fields in Mexico again fought o'er. + +In Western battle long they lay + So near opposed in trench or pit, +That foeman unto foeman called + As men who screened in tavern sit: +"You bravely fight" each to the other said-- +"Toss us a biscuit!" o'er the wall it sped. + +And pale on those same slopes, a boy-- + A stormer, bled in noon-day glare; +No aid the Blue-coats then could bring, + He cried to them who nearest were, +And out there came 'mid howling shot and shell +A daring foe who him befriended well. + +Mark the great Captains on both sides, + The soldiers with the broad renown-- +They all were messmates on the Hudson's + marge, + Beneath one roof they laid them down; +And, free from hate in many an after pass, +Strove as in school-boy rivalry of the class. + +A darker side there is; but doubt + In Nature's charity hovers there: +If men for new agreement yearn, + Then old upbraiding best forbear: +"The South's the sinner!" Well, so let it be; +But shall the North sin worse, and stand the + Pharisee? + +O, now that brave men yield the sword, + Mine be the manful soldier-view; +By how much more they boldly warred, + By so much more is mercy due: +When Vicksburg fell, and the moody files + marched out, +Silent the victors stood, scorning to raise a + shout. + + + + + +Poems From Mardi + + + + +WE FISH + +We fish, we fish, we merrily swim, +We care not for friend nor for foe. + Our fins are stout, + Our tails are out, +As through the seas we go. + +Fish, Fish, we are fish with red gills; + Naught disturbs us, our blood is at zero: +We are buoyant because of our bags, + Being many, each fish is a hero. +We care not what is it, this life + That we follow, this phantom unknown; +To swim, it's exceedingly pleasant,-- + So swim away, making a foam. +This strange looking thing by our side, + Not for safety, around it we flee:-- +Its shadow's so shady, that's all,-- + We only swim under its lee. +And as for the eels there above, + And as for the fowls of the air, +We care not for them nor their ways, + As we cheerily glide afar! + +We fish, we fish, we merrily swim, +We care not for friend nor for foe: + Our fins are stout, + Our tails are out, +As through the seas we go. + + + + +INVOCATION + +Ha, ha, gods and kings; fill high, one and all; +Drink, drink! shout and drink! mad respond to + the call! +Fill fast, and fill full; 'gainst the goblet ne'er + sin; +Quaff there, at high tide, to the uttermost + rim:-- + Flood-tide, and soul-tide to the brim! + +Who with wine in him fears? who thinks of his + cares? +Who sighs to be wise, when wine in him flares? +Water sinks down below, in currents full slow; +But wine mounts on high with its genial glow:-- + Welling up, till the brain overflow! + +As the spheres, with a roll, some fiery of soul, +Others golden, with music, revolve round the + pole; +So let our cups, radiant with many hued wines, +Round and round in groups circle, our Zodiac's + Signs:-- + Round reeling, and ringing their chimes! + +Then drink, gods and kings; wine merriment + brings; +It bounds through the veins; there, jubilant + sings. +Let it ebb, then, and flow; wine never grows + dim; +Drain down that bright tide at the foam beaded + rim:-- + Fill up, every cup, to the brim! + + + + +DIRGE + +We drop our dead in the sea, + The bottomless, bottomless sea; +Each bubble a hollow sigh, + As it sinks forever and aye. + +We drop our dead in the sea,-- + The dead reek not of aught; +We drop our dead in the sea,-- + The sea ne'er gives it a thought. + +Sink, sink, oh corpse, still sink, + Far down in the bottomless sea, +Where the unknown forms do prowl, + Down, down in the bottomless sea. + +'Tis night above, and night all round, + And night will it be with thee; +As thou sinkest, and sinkest for aye, + Deeper down in the bottomless sea. + + + + +MARLENA + +Far off in the sea is Marlena, +A land of shades and streams, +A land of many delights, +Dark and bold, thy shores, Marlena; +But green, and timorous, thy soft knolls, +Crouching behind the woodlands. +All shady thy hills; all gleaming thy springs, +Like eyes in the earth looking at you. +How charming thy haunts, Marlena!-- +Oh, the waters that flow through Onimoo; +Oh, the leaves that rustle through Ponoo: +Oh, the roses that blossom in Tarma. +Come, and see the valley of Vina: +How sweet, how sweet, the Isles from Hina: +'Tis aye afternoon of the full, full moon, +And ever the season of fruit, +And ever the hour of flowers, +And never the time of rains and gales, +All in and about Marlena. +Soft sigh the boughs in the stilly air, +Soft lap the beach the billows there; +And in the woods or by the streams, +You needs must nod in the Land of Dreams. + + + + +PIPE SONG + +Care is all stuff:-- + Puff! Puff! +To puff is enough:-- + Puff! Puff +More musky than snuff, +And warm is a puff:-- + Puff! Puff +Here we sit mid our puffs, +Like old lords in their ruffs, +Snug as bears in their muffs:-- + Puff! Puff +Then puff, puff, puff, +For care is all stuff, +Puffed off in a puff-- + Puff! Puff! + + + + +SONG OF YOOMY + +Departed the pride, and the glory of Mardi: +The vaunt of her isles sleeps deep in the sea, + That rolls o'er his corse with a hush, + His warriors bend over their spears, + His sisters gaze upward and mourn. + Weep, weep, for Adondo is dead! + The sun has gone down in a shower; + Buried in clouds the face of the moon; +Tears stand in the eyes of the starry skies, + And stand in the eyes of the flowers; +And streams of tears are the trickling brooks, + Coursing adown the mountains.-- + Departed the pride, and the glory of Mardi: + The vaunt of her isles sleeps deep in the sea. +Fast falls the small rain on its bosom that + sobs,-- + Not showers of rain, but the tears of Oro. + + + + +GOLD + +We rovers bold, + To the land of Gold, +Over the bowling billows are gliding: + Eager to toil, + For the golden spoil, +And every hardship biding. + See! See! +Before our prows' resistless dashes +The gold-fish fly in golden flashes! + 'Neath a sun of gold, + We rovers bold, +On the golden land are gaining; + And every night, + We steer aright, +By golden stars unwaning! +All fires burn a golden glare: +No locks so bright as golden hair! + All orange groves have golden gushings; + All mornings dawn with golden flushings! +In a shower of gold, say fables old, +A maiden was won by the god of gold! + In golden goblets wine is beaming: + On golden couches kings are dreaming! + The Golden Rule dries many tears! + The Golden Number rules the spheres! +Gold, gold it is, that sways the nations: +Gold! gold! the center of all rotations! + On golden axles worlds are turning: + With phosphorescence seas are burning! + All fire-flies flame with golden gleamings! + Gold-hunters' hearts with golden dreamings! + With golden arrows kings are slain: + With gold we'll buy a freeman's name! +In toilsome trades, for scanty earnings, +At home we've slaved, with stifled yearnings: +No light! no hope! Oh, heavy woe! +When nights fled fast, and days dragged slow. + But joyful now, with eager eye, + Fast to the Promised Land we fly: + Where in deep mines, + The treasure shines; + Or down in beds of golden streams, + The gold-flakes glance in golden gleams! + How we long to sift, + That yellow drift! + Rivers! Rivers! cease your goings! + Sand-bars! rise, and stay the tide! + 'Till we've gained the golden flowing; + And in the golden haven ride! + + + + +THE LAND OF LOVE + +Hail! voyagers, hail! +Whence e'er ye come, where'er ye rove, + No calmer strand, + No sweeter land, +Will e'er ye view, than the Land of Love! + + Hail! voyagers, hail! +To these, our shores, soft gales invite: + The palm plumes wave, + The billows lave, +And hither point fix'd stars of light! + + Hail! voyagers, hail! +Think not our groves wide brood with gloom; + In this, our isle, + Bright flowers smile: +Full urns, rose-heaped, these valleys bloom. + + Hail! voyagers, hail! +Be not deceived; renounce vain things; + Ye may not find + A tranquil mind, +Though hence ye sail with swiftest wings. + + Hail! voyagers, hail! +Time flies full fast; life soon is o'er; + And ye may mourn, + That hither borne, +Ye left behind our pleasant shore. + + + + + +Poems From Clarel + + + + + +DIRGE + +Stay, Death, Not mine the Christus-wand +Wherewith to charge thee and command: +I plead. Most gently hold the hand +Of her thou leadest far away; +Fear thou to let her naked feet +Tread ashes--but let mosses sweet +Her footing tempt, where'er ye stray. +Shun Orcus; win the moonlit land +Belulled--the silent meadows lone, +Where never any leaf is blown +From lily-stem in Azrael's hand. +There, till her love rejoin her lowly +(Pensive, a shade, but all her own) +On honey feed her, wild and holy; +Or trance her with thy choicest charm. +And if, ere yet the lover's free, +Some added dusk thy rule decree-- +That shadow only let it be +Thrown in the moon-glade by the palm. + + + + +EPILOGUE +_If Luther's day expand to Darwin's year,_ +_Shall that exclude the hope--foreclose the fear?_ + +Unmoved by all the claims our times avow, +The ancient Sphinx still keeps the porch of + shade; +And comes Despair, whom not her calm may + cow, +And coldly on that adamantine brow +Scrawls undeterred his bitter pasquinade. +But Faith (who from the scrawl indignant + turns) +With blood warm oozing from her wounded + trust, +Inscribes even on her shards of broken urns +The sign o' the cross--_the spirit above the dust!_ + + Yea, ape and angel, strife and old debate-- +The harps of heaven and dreary gongs of hell; +Science the feud can only aggravate-- +No umpire she betwixt the chimes and knell: +The running battle of the star and clod +Shall run forever--if there be no God. + + Degrees we know, unknown in days before; +The light is greater, hence the shadow more; +And tantalized and apprehensive Man +Appealing--Wherefore ripen us to pain? +Seems there the spokesman of dumb Nature's + train. + + But through such strange illusions have they + passed +Who in life's pilgrimage have baffled striven-- +Even death may prove unreal at the last, +And stoics be astounded into heaven. + + Then keep thy heart, though yet but + ill-resigned-- +Clarel, thy heart, the issues there but mind; +That like the crocus budding through the + snow-- +That like a swimmer rising from the deep-- +That like a burning secret which doth go +Even from the bosom that would hoard and + keep; +Emerge thou mayst from the last whelming + sea, +And prove that death but routs life into victory. + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's John Marr and Other Poems, by Herman Melville + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK JOHN MARR AND OTHER POEMS *** + +***** This file should be named 12841.txt or 12841.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/1/2/8/4/12841/ + +Produced by Geoff Palmer + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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