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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Stories in Verse, by Henry Abbey
+
+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: Stories in Verse
+
+Author: Henry Abbey
+
+Release Date: October 16, 2007 [EBook #23037]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK STORIES IN VERSE ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Marilynda Fraser-Cunliffe, storm and the Online
+Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
+file was made using scans of public domain works from the
+University of Michigan Digital Libraries.)
+
+
+
+
+
+
+STORIES IN VERSE.
+
+BY
+
+HENRY ABBEY.
+
+ The sense of the world is short--
+ To love and be beloved.
+
+                              EMERSON.
+
+NEW YORK:
+A. D. F. RANDOLPH & CO., PUBLISHERS,
+
+COR. BROADWAY AND NINTH STREET.
+1869.
+
+Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1869, by
+HENRY L. ABBEY,
+in the Clerk's Office of the District Court for the Southern District of
+New York.
+
+RIVERSIDE, CAMBRIDGE:
+PRINTED BY H. O. HOUGHTON AND COMPANY.
+
+TO
+
+RICHARD GRANT WHITE,
+
+WITH GRATITUDE FOR HIS FRIENDSHIP, AND WITH ADMIRATION FOR HIS ELEGANT
+SCHOLARSHIP.
+
+
+
+CONTENTS.
+
+                         PAGE
+
+BLANCHE                     1
+
+KARAGWE, AN AFRICAN        28
+
+DEMETRIUS                  55
+
+THE STRONG SPIDER          82
+
+GRACE BERNARD              94
+
+VEERA                     112
+
+BLANCHE:
+
+AN EXHALATION FROM WITHERED VIOLETS.
+
+I.
+
+THE VENDER OF VIOLETS.
+
+ "Violets! Violets! Violets!"
+ This was the cry I heard
+ As I passed through the street of a city;
+ And quickly my heart was stirred
+ To an incomprehensible pity,
+ At the undertone of the cry;
+ For it seemed like the voice of one
+ Who was stricken, and all undone,
+ Who was only longing to die.
+
+ "Violets! Violets! Violets!"
+ The voice came nearer still.
+ "Surely," I said, "it is May,
+ And out on valley and hill,
+ The violets blooming to-day,
+ Send this invitation to me
+ To come and be with them once more;
+ I know they are dear as can be,
+ And I hate the town with its roar."
+
+ "Violets! Violets! Violets!"
+ Children of sun and of dew,
+ Flakes of the blue of the sky,
+ There is somebody calling to you
+ Who seems to be longing to die;
+ Yet violets are so sweet
+ They can scarcely have dealings with death.
+ Can it be, that the dying breath,
+ That comes from the one last beat
+ Of a true heart, turns to the flowers?
+
+ "Violets! Violets! Violets!"
+ The crier is near me at last.
+ With my eyes I am holding her fast.
+ She is a lovely seller of flowers.
+ She is one whom the town devours
+ In its jaws of bustle and strife.
+ How poverty grinds down a life;
+ For, lost in the slime of a city,
+ What is a beautiful face?
+ Few are they who have pity
+ For loveliness in disgrace.
+ Yet she that I hold with my eyes,
+ Who seems so modest and wise,
+ Has not yet fallen, I am sure.
+ She has nobly learned to endure.
+ Large, and mournful, and meek,
+ Her eyes seem to drink from my own.
+ Her curls are carelessly thrown
+ Back from white shoulder and cheek;
+ And her lips seem strawberries, lost
+ In some Arctic country of frost.
+ The slightest curve on a face,
+ May give an expression unmeet;
+ Yet hers is so perfect and sweet,
+ And shaped with such delicate grace,
+ Its loveliness is complete.
+
+ "Violets! Violets! Violets!"
+ I hear the cry once more;
+ But not as I heard it before.
+ It whispers no more of death;
+ But only of odorous breath,
+ And modest flowers, and life.
+ I purchased a cluster, so rife
+ With the touch of her tapering hand,
+ I seem to hold it in mine.
+ I would I could understand,
+ Why a touch seems so divine.
+
+II.
+
+A FLOWER FOUND IN THE STREET.
+
+ To-day in passing down the street,
+   I found a flower upon the walk,
+ A dear syringa, white and sweet,
+   Wrung idly from the missing stalk.
+
+ And something in its odor speaks
+   Of dark brown eyes, and arms of snow,
+ And rainbow smiles on sunset cheeks--
+   The maid I saw a month ago.
+
+ I waited for her many a day,
+   On the dear ground where first we met;
+ I sought her up and down the way,
+   And all in vain I seek her yet.
+
+ Syringa, naught your odor tells,
+   Or whispers so I cannot hear;
+ Speak out, and tell me where she dwells,
+   In perfume accents, loud and clear.
+
+ Shake out the music of your speech,
+   In quavers of delicious breath;
+ The conscious melody may teach
+   A lover where love wandereth.
+
+ If so you speak, with smile and look,
+   You will not wither, but endure;
+ And in my heart's still open book,
+   Keep your white petals ever pure.
+
+ If so you speak, upon her breast
+   You yet may rest, nor sigh afar;
+ But in the moonlight's silver dressed,
+   Seem 'gainst your heaven the evening star.
+
+III.
+
+ODYLE.
+
+ We know that they are often near
+   Of whom we think, of whom we talk,
+ Though we have missed them many a year,
+   And lost them from our daily walk.
+
+ Some strange clairvoyance dwells in all,
+   And webs the souls of human kind.
+ I would that I could learn its thrall,
+   And know the power of mind on mind.
+
+ I then might quickly use the sense,
+   To find where one I worship dwells,
+ If in the city, or if thence
+   Among the breeze-rung lily bells.
+
+IV.
+
+WHAT ONE FINDS IN THE COUNTRY.
+
+ I went out in the country
+   To spend an idle day--
+ To see the flowers in blossom,
+   And scent the fragrant hay.
+
+ The dawn's spears smote the mountains
+   Upon their shields of blue,
+ And space, in her black valleys,
+   Joined in the conflict too.
+
+ The clouds were jellied amber;
+   The crickets in the grass
+ Blew pipe and hammered tabor,
+   And laughed to see me pass.
+
+ The cows down in the pasture,
+   The mowers in the field,
+ The birds that sang in heaven,
+   Their happiness revealed.
+
+ My heart was light and joyful,
+   I could not answer why;
+ And I thought that it was better
+   Always to smile than sigh.
+
+ How could I hope to meet her
+   Whom most I wished to meet?
+ If always I had lost her,
+   Then life were incomplete.
+
+ The road ran o'er a brooklet;
+   Upon the bridge she stood,
+ With wild flowers in her ringlets,
+   And in her hand her hood.
+
+ The morn laid on her features
+   An envious golden kiss;
+ She might have fancied truly,
+   I longed to share its bliss.
+
+ I said, "O, lovely maiden,
+   I have sought you many a day.
+ That I love you, love you, love you,
+   Is all that I can say."
+
+ Her mournful eyes grew brighter,
+   And archly glanced, though meek.
+ A bacchanalian dimple
+   Dipt a wine-cup in her cheek.
+
+ "If you love me, love me, love me,
+   If you love me as you say,
+ You must prove it, prove it, prove it!"
+   And she lightly turned away.
+
+V.
+
+AN AUNT AND AN UNCLE.
+
+ I have but an aunt and an uncle
+   For kinsfolk on the earth,
+ And one has passed me unnoticed
+   And hated me from my birth;
+ But the first has reared me and taught me,
+   Whatever I have of worth.
+
+ This is my uncle by marriage,
+   For his wife my aunt had died,
+ And left him all her possessions,
+   With much that was mine beside--
+ 'Tis said that he hated her brother,
+   As much as he loved the bride.
+
+ That brother, my father, forgave him,
+   As his last hour ran its sand,
+ And begged in return his forgiveness,
+   As he placed in his sister's hand
+ The bonds, that when I was twenty,
+   Should be at my command.
+
+ For my mother was dead, God rest her,
+   And I would be left alone.
+ The bride to her trust was unfaithful--
+   Her heart was harder than stone.
+ And her widowed sister, left childless,
+   Adopted me as her own.
+
+ So we dwelt in opposite houses--
+   We in a dwelling low,
+ And he in a brown stone mansion.
+   I toiled and my gain was slow.
+ My uncle rode in a carriage
+   As fine as there was in the row.
+
+ Once, in a useless anger,
+   With courage not mine before,
+ I bearded the crafty lion,
+   Demanding my own, no more.
+ He said the law gave me nothing,
+   And showed me out of his door.
+
+VI.
+
+MY AUNT INVITES HER IN TO DINE.
+
+ This is the place, this is the hour,
+ And through the shine, or through the shower,
+   She promised she would come.
+ O, darling day, she is so sweet
+ I could kneel down and kiss her feet.
+   Her presence makes me dumb.
+
+ A thousand things that I would say,
+ And ponder when she is away,
+   Desert me when she's near--
+ When she is near--twice we have met!
+ Though but a month has passed as yet,
+   It seems almost a year.
+
+ O, now she comes, and here she stands,
+ And gives me hers in both my hands,
+   And blushes to her brow.
+ She eyes askance her simple gown,
+ And folds a Judas tatter down
+   She has not seen till now.
+
+ I said, "My love you made me wait,
+ I grew almost disconsolate
+   Thinking you would not come.
+ Ah, tell me what you have to do,
+ That makes your duty, sweet, for you
+   My rival in your home."
+
+ "My home!" she answered, "I have none.
+ For me, 'tis years since there was one,
+   And that was scarcely mine.
+ Father and mother both are dead;
+ I sell sweet flowers to earn my bread--
+   Their fragrance is my wine.
+
+ "Sometimes the house upon the farm,
+ Sometimes the city's friendly arm,
+   Shields me from rain and dew.
+ I did not know that it was late;
+ The minutes you have had to wait,
+   Are truly but a few."
+
+ A smile shone through her large dark eyes,
+ As sometimes, in the stormy skies,
+   The light puts through an arm,
+ Which, spreading glory far and wide,
+ Draws the broad curtain cloud aside,
+   Making the whole earth warm.
+
+ She took my arm; we walked away;
+ We saw, in parks, the fountains play;
+   My heart was all elate.
+ I scarcely noticed when I stood,
+ With my dear waif of womanhood,
+   Beside our lowly gate.
+
+ "You have no home," I gently said,
+ "But, till the day that we are wed,
+   And after if you will,
+ This home, my love, is mine and thine."
+ My aunt came out and bade us dine--
+   I see her smiling still.
+
+ My Blanche, reluctant, gave consent;
+ Then 'neath the humble roof we went,
+   And sat about the board.
+ I saw how sweet the whole surprise;
+ I saw her fond uplifted eyes,
+   Give thanks unto the Lord.
+
+VII.
+
+THE PROPHECY.
+
+ There is a prophecy of our line,
+ Told by some great grand-dame of mine
+ I once attempted to divine.
+
+ 'Tis that two children, then unborn,
+ Would know a wealthy wedding morn,
+ Or die in poverty forlorn.
+
+ These children would be of her name.
+ If to the bridal bans they came,
+ The house would gather strength and fame.
+
+ But if they came not, woe is me,
+ The line would ever cease to be,
+ The wealth would take its wings and flee.
+
+ If all the signs are coming true,
+ I am the child she pictured, who
+ The name should keep or hide from view.
+
+ In our domain of liberty,
+ Our heed is light of pedigree,
+ I care not for the prophecy.
+
+ For what to me our wealth or line?
+ I only wish to make her mine--
+ The maid my aunt asked in to dine.
+
+VIII.
+
+HOW A POOR GIRL WAS MADE RICH.
+
+ All the day my toil was easy, for I knew that in the evening,
+   I could go home from my labor, and find Blanche at the door;
+ How could I dream the sunlight in my sky was so deceiving?
+   And I ceased in my believing 'twould be cloudy ever more.
+
+ When at last the twilight deepened, I entered our low dwelling,
+   And my darling rose to meet me, with the love-light in her eyes;
+ On that day her simple story to my aunt she had been telling,
+   And I saw her words were welling, fraught with ominous surprise.
+
+ For it seems my hated uncle, once had given him a daughter,
+   Who on a saddened morning had been stolen from the door,
+ And through the panting city the criers cried and sought her,
+   But in vain; they never brought her to his threshold any more.
+
+ Blanche was she, my uncle's daughter; no unwelcome truth was plainer;
+   For a small peculiar birth-mark was apparent on her arm.
+ Had I lost her? Was it possible ever more now to regain her?
+   Would he spurn me, and restrain her with his wily golden charm?
+
+ All that night my heart was bitter with unutterable anguish,
+   And I cried out in my slumber till with my words I woke:
+ "How long, O Lord, must poverty bow down its head and languish,
+   While wrong, with wealth to garnish it, makes strong the heavy yoke?"
+
+IX.
+
+THE MISER.
+
+ 'Tis said, that when he saw his child,
+   And saw the proof that she was his,
+ The first in many a year he smiled,
+   And pressed upon her brow a kiss.
+
+ In both his hands her hand he bound,
+   And led her gayly through his place.
+ He said the dead years circled round,
+   Hers was so like her mother's face.
+
+ He scarcely moves him from her side--
+   Her every hour with joy beguiles.
+ To make the gulf between us wide,
+   He acts the miser of her smiles.
+
+ He brings her presents rich and rare--
+  Wrought gold by cunning hands impearled,
+ Round opals that with scarlet glare,
+   The lightning of each mimic world.
+
+X.
+
+SHE PASSED ME BY.
+
+ She bowed, and smiled, and passed me by,
+     She passed me by!
+ O love, O lava breath that burns,
+ 'Tis hard indeed to think she spurns
+   Such worshippers as you and I.
+ She smiled, and bowed, with stately pride;
+ The bow the frosty smile belied.
+     She passed me by.
+
+ She bowed, and smiled, and passed me by,
+     She passed me by.
+ What more could any maiden do?
+ It did not prove she was untrue.
+   My heart is tired, I know not why.
+ I only know I weep and pray.
+ Love has its night as well as day.
+     She passed me by.
+
+XI.
+
+MIND WITHOUT SOUL.
+
+ Some strange story I have read
+   Of a man without a soul.
+ Mind he had, though soul had fled;
+ Magic gave him gifts instead,
+   And the form of youth he stole.
+
+ Grows a rose-azalea white,
+   In my garden, near the way.
+ I who see it with delight,
+ Dream its soul of odor might,
+   In the past, have fled away.
+
+ Blanche (O, sweet, you are so fair,
+   So sweet, so fair, whate'er you do),
+ Twine no azalea in your hair,
+ Lest I think in my despair,
+   Heart and soul have left you too.
+
+XII.
+
+A BROKEN SWORD.
+
+ Deep in the night I saw the sea,
+   And overhead, the round moon white;
+ Its steel cold gleam lay on the lea,
+   And seemed my sword of life and light,
+ Broke in that war death waged with me.
+
+ I heard the dip of golden oars;
+   Twelve angels stranded in a boat;
+ We sailed away for other shores;
+   Though but an hour we were afloat,
+ We harbored under heavenly doors.
+
+ O, Blanche, if I had run my race,
+   And if I wore my winding sheet,
+ And mourners went about the place,
+   Would you so much as cross the street,
+ To kiss in death my white, cold face?
+
+XIII.
+
+A CHANCE FOR GAIN.
+
+ I met him in the busy mart;
+   His eyes are large, his lips are firm,
+     And on his temples, care or sin
+     Has left its claw prints hardened in;
+   His step is nervous and infirm;
+ I wondered if he had a heart.
+
+ He blandly smiled and took my hand.
+   He owed me such a debt, he thought,
+     He felt he never could repay;
+     Yet should I call on him that day,
+   He'd hand me what the papers brought,
+ For which I once had made demand.
+
+ Then added, turning grave from gay;
+   "But you must promise, if I give,
+     Your lover's office to resign,
+     And stand no more 'twixt me and mine."
+   His words were water in a sieve.
+ I turned my back and strode away.
+
+XIV.
+
+THE LIGHT-HOUSE.
+
+ At twilight, past the fountain,
+   I wandered in the park,
+ And saw a closed white lily
+   Sway on the liquid dark;
+ And a fire-fly, perched upon it,
+   Shone out its fitful spark.
+
+ I fancied it a light-house
+   Mooned on a sky-like sea,
+ To warn the fearless sailors
+   Of lurking treachery--
+ Of unseen reefs and shallows
+   That starved for wrecks to be.
+
+ O Blanche, O love that spurns me,
+   'Tis but a cheat thou art.
+ I would some friendly light-house
+   Had warned me to depart
+ From the secret reefs and shallows
+   That hide about your heart.
+
+XV.
+
+DARKNESS.
+
+ My hopes and my ambition all were down,
+   Like grass the mower turneth from its place;
+ The night's thick darkness was an angry frown,
+   And earth a tear upon the cheek of space.
+
+ The mighty fiend of storm in wild unrest,
+   By lightning stabbed, dragged slowly up the plain;
+ Great clots of light, like blood, dripped down his breast,
+   And from his open jaws fell foam in rain.
+
+XVI.
+
+IN THE CHURCH-YARD.
+
+ Where the sun shineth,
+   Through the willow trees,
+ And the church standeth,
+       'Mid the tomb-stones white,
+     Planting anemones
+       I saw my delight.
+
+ Her mother sleepeth
+   Beneath the green mound;
+ A white cross standeth
+       To show man the place.
+     Now close to the ground
+       Blanche bendeth her face.
+
+ She quickly riseth
+   As she hears my walk,
+ And sadly smileth
+       Through mists of tears;
+     We mournfully talk
+       Of departed years.
+
+ She downward droopeth
+   Her beautiful head,
+ And a blue-bell seemeth
+       That blossometh down;
+     Trembling with dread,
+       Lest the sky should frown.
+
+ She dearer seemeth
+   Than ever before.
+ She gently chideth
+       My more distant way.
+     At her heart's one door
+       I entered to-day.
+
+ No palace standeth
+   As happy as this.
+ Love ever ruleth
+       Its precincts alone--
+     His sceptre a kiss,
+       And a smile his throne.
+
+ There is one Blanche feareth--
+   She loves not deceit--
+ She only wisheth
+       To dazzle his heart.
+     We promise to meet.
+       And separate depart.
+
+XVII.
+
+COMPARISONS.
+
+ The moon is like a shepherd with a flock of starry lambkins,
+ The wind is like a whisper to the mountains from the sea,
+ The sun a gold moth browsing on a flower's pearl-dusted pollen;
+ But my words can scarcely utter what my love is like to me.
+
+ She is the sun in light's magnificence across my heart's day shining,
+ She's the moon when through the heavens of my heart flash meteor dreams;
+ Her voice is fragrant south wind a silvery sentence blowing;
+ She is sweeter than the sweetest, she is better than she seems.
+
+XVIII.
+
+AN INQUIRY OF THE SEXTON.
+
+ "Sexton, was she here to-day
+   Who has met me oft before?
+ Did she come and go away,
+   Tired of waiting any more?
+ For I fancy some mistake
+   Has occurred about the time;
+ Yet, the hour has not yet passed;
+   Hark! the bells begin to chime.
+
+ "In her hair two roses woo,
+   One a white, and one a red.
+ Azure silk her dress might be,
+   Though she oft wears white instead.
+ Here, beside this marble cross,
+   Oft she kneels in silent prayer;
+ Tell me, has she been to-day,
+   In the church-yard anywhere?"
+
+ "No, the lady that you seek
+   Has not passed the gate to-day:
+ I've been digging at a grave,
+   And if she had come this way
+ I'd have seen her from my work.
+   She may come to meet you yet.
+ I remember well her looks.
+   Names, not faces, I forget."
+
+XIX.
+
+A RIVAL.
+
+ It seems I have a rival
+   Domiciled over the way;
+ But Blanche, dear heart, dislikes him,
+   Whatever her father may say--
+ This gorgeously broadclothed fellow,
+   Good enough in his way.
+
+ To-day as I left the church-yard,
+   I met them taking a ride,
+ And my heart was pierced like a buckler
+   With a javelin of pride;
+ I only saw in my anger
+   They were sitting side by side.
+
+ To-night, in the purple twilight,
+   Blanche waited upon the walk,
+ And beckoned her white hand to me--
+   A lily swayed on its stalk.
+ Soon my jealous pride was foundered
+   In the maelstrom of talk.
+
+ 'Twas useless to go to the church-yard,
+   For some one had played the spy;
+ She fancied it was the sexton--
+   We would let it all go by;
+ We now would have bolder meetings,
+   'Neath her father's very eye.
+
+ She took my arm as we idled,
+   And talked of our love once more,
+ And how, with her basket of flowers,
+   She had passed the street before;
+ We tarried long in the moonlight,
+   And kissed good-night at her door.
+
+XX.
+
+KISSES AND A RING.
+
+ I never behold the sea
+   Rush up to the hand of the shore,
+ And with its vehement lips
+   Kiss its down-dropt whiteness o'er,
+ But I think of that magic night,
+   When my lips, like waves on a coast,
+ Broke over the moonlit hand
+   Of her that I love the most.
+
+ I never behold the surf
+   Lit by the sun into gold,
+ Curl and glitter and gleam,
+   In a ring-like billow rolled,
+ But I think of another ring,
+   A simple, delicate band,
+ That in the night of our troth
+   I placed on a darling hand.
+
+XXI.
+
+AN ENEMY MAY BE SERVED, EVEN THROUGH MISTAKE, WITH PROFIT.
+
+ I was walking down the sidewalk,
+   When up, with flying mane,
+ Two iron-black steeds came spurning
+   The ground in wild disdain;
+ I caught them in an instant,
+   And held them by the rein.
+
+ It seems the man had fainted
+   In his elegant coupé;
+ I saw his face a moment,
+   And then I turned away,
+ Wishing my steps had led me
+   Through other streets that day.
+
+ Some one who saw the rescue
+   Afterward told him my name.
+ For the first in many a season,
+   Beneath our roof he came.
+ I said I was deserving
+   Little of praise or blame.
+
+ It was my uncle's face in the carriage;
+   He made regret of the past;
+ No more of my love or wishes
+   Would he be the iconoclast;
+ On a gala night at his mansion
+   We should learn to be friends at last.
+
+XXII.
+
+HELIOTROPE.
+
+ Let my soul and thine commune,
+                       Heliotrope.
+ O'er the way I hear the swoon
+ Of the music; and the moon,
+ Like a moth above a bloom,
+ Shines upon the world below.
+ In God's hand the world we know,
+ Is but as a flower in mine.
+ Let me see thy heart divine
+                       Heliotrope.
+
+ Thy rare odor is thy soul,
+                       Heliotrope.
+ Could I save the golden bowl,
+ And yet change my soul to yours,
+ I would do so for a day,
+ Just to hear my neighbors say:
+ "Lo! the spirit he immures
+ Is as fragrant as a flower;
+ It will wither in an hour;
+ Surely he has stol'n the bliss,
+ For we know the odor is
+                       Heliotrope."
+
+ Have you love and have you fear,
+                       Heliotrope?
+ Has a dew-drop been thy tear?
+ Has the south-wind been thy sigh?
+ Let thy soul make mine reply,
+ By some sense, on brain or hand,
+ Let me know and understand,
+                       Heliotrope.
+
+ In thy native land, Peru,
+                       Heliotrope,
+ There are worshippers of light--
+ They might better worship you;
+ But they worship not as I.
+ You must tell her what I say,
+ When I take you 'cross the way,
+ For to-night your petals prove
+ The Devotion of my love,
+                       Heliotrope.
+
+ 'Tis time we go, breath o' bee,
+                       Heliotrope.
+ All the house is lit for me;
+ Here's the room where we may dwell,
+ Filled with guests delectable.
+ Hark! I hear the silver bell
+ Ever tinkling at her throat.
+ I have thought it was a boat,
+ By the Graces put afloat,
+ On the billows of her heart.
+ I have thought it was a boat
+ With a bird in it, whose part
+ Was a solitary note.
+ Now I know 'tis Heliotrope
+ That the moonlight, bursting ope,
+ Changed to silver on her throat.
+ Let us watch the dancers go;
+ _She_ is dancing in the row.
+ Sweetest flower that ever was,
+ I shall give you as I pass,
+                       Heliotrope.
+
+KARAGWE, AN AFRICAN.
+
+PART FIRST.
+
+ This is his story as I gathered it;
+ The simple story of a plain, true man.
+ I cling with Abraham Lincoln to the fact,
+ That they who make a nation truly great
+ Are plain men, scattered in each walk of life.
+ To them, my words. And if I cut, perchance.
+ Against the rind of prejudice, and disclose
+ The fruit of truth, it is for the love of truth;
+ And truth, I hold with Joubert, to consist
+ In seeing things and persons as God sees.
+
+I.
+
+ An African, thick lipped, and heavy heeled,
+ With woolly hair, large eyes, and even teeth,
+ A forehead high, and beetling at the brows
+ Enough to show a strong perceptive thought
+ Ran out beyond the eyesight in all things--
+ A negro with no claim to any right,
+ A savage with no knowledge we possess
+ Of science, art, or books, or government--
+ Slave from a slaver to the Georgia coast,
+ His life disposed of at the market rate;
+ Yet in the face of all, a plain, true man--
+ Lowly and ignorant, yet brave and good,
+ Karagwe, named for his native tribe.
+
+ His buyer was the planter, Dalton Earl,
+ Of Valley Earl, an owner of broad lands,
+ Whose wife, in some gray daybreak of the past,
+ Had tarried with the night, and passed away;
+ But left him, as the marriage ring of death
+ Was slipped upon her finger, a fair child.
+ He called this daughter Coralline. To him
+ She was a spray of whitest coral, found
+ Upon the coast where death's impatient sea
+ Hems in the narrow continent of life.
+
+II.
+
+ Each day brought health and strength to Karagwe.
+ Each day he worked upon the cotton-field,
+ And every boll he picked had thought in it.
+ He labored, but his mind was otherwhere;
+ Strange fancies, faced with ignorance and doubt,
+ Came peering in, each jostling each aside,
+ Like men, who in a crowded market-place,
+ Push 'gainst the mob, to see some pageant pass.
+
+ All things were new and wonderful to him.
+ What were the papers that his owner read?
+ The marks and characters, what could they mean?
+ If speech, what then the use of oral speech?
+ At last by digging round the spreading roots
+ Of this one thought, he found the treasure out--
+ Knowledge: this was the burden which was borne
+ By these black, busy, ant-like characters.
+
+ But how acquire the meaning of the signs?
+ He found a scrap of paper in the lane,
+ And put it by, and saved it carefully,
+ Till once, when all alone, he drew it forth,
+ And gazed at it, and strove to learn its sense.
+ But while he studied, Dalton Earl rode by,
+ And angered at the indication shown,
+ Snatched rudely at the paper in his hand,
+ And tore it up, commanding that the slave
+ Have fifty lashes for this breach of law.
+
+ Long on his sentence pondered Karagwe.
+ Against the law? Who then could make a law
+ Decreeing knowledge to a certain few,
+ To others ignorance? Surely not God;
+ For God, the white-haired negro with a text
+ Had said loved justice, and was friend to all.
+ If man, then the authority was null.
+
+ The fifty lashes scourged the slave's bare back,
+ The red blood running down at every stroke,
+ The dark skin clinging ghastly to the lash.
+ No moan escaped him at the stinging pain.
+ Tremblingly he stood, and patiently bore all;
+ His heart indignant, shaking his broad breast,
+ Strong as the heart that Hippodamia wept,
+ Which with the cold, intrusive brass thrust through,
+ Shook even the Greek spear's extremity.
+
+III.
+
+ And so the negro's energy, made strong
+ By the one vile argument of the lash,
+ Was given to learn the secret of the books.
+ He studied in the woods, and by the fall
+ Which shoots down like an arrow from the cliff,
+ Feathered with spray and barbed with hues of flint.
+ His books were bits of paper printed on,
+ Found here and there, brought thither by the wind.
+ Once standing near the bottom of the fall
+ And gazing up, he saw upon the verge
+ Of the dark cliff above him, gathering flowers,
+ His master's child, sweet Coralline; she leaned
+ Out over the blank abyss, and smiled.
+ He climbed the bank, but ere he reached the height,
+ A shriek rang out above the water's roar;
+ The babe had fallen, and a quadroon girl
+ Lay fainting near, upon the treacherous sward.
+ The babe had fallen, but with no injury yet.
+ Karagwe slipped down upon a narrow ledge,
+ And reaching out, caught hold the little frock,
+ Whose folds were tangled in a bending shrub,
+ And safely drew the child back to the cliff.
+ The slave had favors shown him after this,
+ Although he spoke not of the perilous deed,
+ Nor spoke of any merit he had done.
+
+IV.
+
+ By being always when he could alone,
+ By wandering often in the woods and fields,
+ He came at last to live in revery.
+ But little thought is there in revery,
+ But little thought, for most is useless dream;
+ And whoso dreams may never learn to act.
+ The dreamer and the thinker are not kin.
+ Sweet revery is like a little boat
+ That idly drifts along a listless stream--
+ A painted boat, afloat without an oar.
+
+ And nature brought strange meanings to the slave;
+ He loved the breeze, and when he heard it pass
+ The agitated pines, he fancied it
+ The silken court-dress of the lady Wind,
+ Bustling among the foliage, as she went
+ To waltz the whirlwind on the distant sea.
+
+ The negro preacher with the text had said
+ That when men died, the soul lived on and on;
+ If so, of what material was the soul?
+ The eye could not behold it; why not then
+ The viewless air be filled with living souls?
+ Not only these, but other shapes and forms
+ Might dwell unseen about us at all times.
+ If air was only matter rarefied,
+ Why could not things still more impalpable
+ Have real existence? Whence came our thoughts?
+ As angels came to shepherds in Chaldee;
+ They were not ours. He fancied that most thoughts
+ Were whispered to the soul, or good, or bad.
+ The bad were like a demon, a vast shape
+ With measureless black wings, that when it dared,
+ Placed its clawed foot upon the necks of men,
+ And with the very shadow of itself,
+ Made their lives darker than a starless night.
+ He did not strive to picture out the good,
+ Or give to them a figure; but he knew
+ No glory of the sunset could compare
+ With the clear splendor of one noble deed.
+
+ He proudly dreamed that to no other mind
+ Had these imaginings been uttered.
+ Alas! poor heart, how many have awoke,
+ And found their newest thoughts as old as time--
+ Their brightest fancies woven in the threads
+ Of ancient poems, history or romance,
+ And knowledge still elusive and far off.
+
+V.
+
+ The days that lengthen into years went on.
+ The quadroon girl who fainted on the cliff
+ Was Ruth; now, blooming into womanhood,
+ She looked on Karagwe, and seeing there
+ Something above the level of the slave,
+ Watched him with interest in all his ways.
+
+ At first through pity was she drawn to him.
+ While both were sitting on a rustic seat,
+ Near the tall mansion where the planter dwelt,
+ A drunken overseer came straggling past,
+ And seeing in the dusk a female form,
+ Swayed up to her, and caught her by the arm,
+ And with an insult, strove to drag her on.
+ Ruth spoke not; but the negro, with one grasp
+ Upon the white man, caused her quick release.
+ He turned, and in the face struck Karagwe.
+ The patient slave did not return the blow,
+ But the next day they tied him to a post,
+ And fifty stripes his naked shoulders flayed.
+ Stricken in mind at being deeply wronged,
+ Filled with a noble scorn, that men most learned
+ Would so degrade a brother race of men,
+ He wept at heart; no groan fled through his lips.
+
+ Yet in a few days he was forced to go
+ And work beneath the intolerable sun,
+ Picking the cotton-boll, and bearing it
+ In a rude basket, on his wounded back,
+ Up a steep hill-side to the cotton gin.
+
+VI.
+
+ Ruth, as she walked the pebbled garden lanes,
+ Or daily in her hundred household cares,
+ Thought of the dark face and noble heart
+ Of Karagwe, and truly pitied him.
+
+ He, when the labor of the day was done,
+ Moved through the dusk, among the dewy leaves,
+ And, darker than the shadows, scaled the wall,
+ And waited in the garden, crouching down
+ Among the foliage of the fragrant trees,
+ Hoping that she again might come that way.
+ He saw her through the window of the house,
+ Pass and repass, and heard her sweetly sing
+ A tender song of love and pity blent;
+ But would not call to her, nor give a sign
+ That he was there; to see her was enough.
+ Perhaps, if those about her knew he came
+ To meet her in the garden, they would place
+ Some punishment upon her, some restraint,
+ That she, though innocent, might have to bear.
+ So he passed back again to his low cot,
+ And on his poor straw pallet, dreamed of her,
+ As loyally perhaps as Chastelard,
+ Lying asleep upon his palace couch,
+ Dreamed of Queen Mary, and the love he gave.
+
+VII.
+
+ Ruth was but tinged with shade, and always seemed
+ Some luscious fruit, with but the slightest hint
+ Of something foreign to the grafted bough
+ Whereon it grew. Her eyes were black, and large,
+ And passionate, and proved the deathless soul,
+ That through their portals looked upon the world,
+ Was capable of hatred and revenge.
+ Her long black lashes hung above their depths,
+ Like lotus leaves o'er some Egyptian spring.
+ And they were dreamy, too, at intervals,
+ And glowed with tender beauty when she loved.
+ Her grace made for her such appropriate wear,
+ That, though her gown was of the coarsest cloth,
+ And though her duty was the lowest kind,
+ It seemed apparel more desirable
+ Than trailing robes of velvet or of silk.
+ Her voice was full, and sweet, and musical,
+ Soft as the low breathings of an instrument
+ Touched by the unseen fingers of the breeze.
+
+VIII.
+
+ The large plantation, next to Dalton Earl's,
+ Was owned by Richard Wain, a hated man--
+ Hated among his slaves and in the town.
+ Uncouth, revengeful, and a drunkard he.
+ Two miles up by the river ran his lands;
+ And here, within a green-roofed kirk of woods,
+ The slave found that seclusion he desired.
+ His only treasure was a Testament
+ Hid in the friendly opening of a tree.
+ Often the book was kept within his cot,
+ At times lay next his heart, nor did its beat
+ Defile the fruity knowledge on the leaves.
+ The words were sweet as wine of Eshcol grapes
+ To his parched lips. He saw the past arise.
+ Vague were the people, and the pageant moved,
+ Uncertain as the figures in the dusk;
+ Yet One there was, who stood in bold relief;
+ A lovely, noble face with sweeping beard,
+ And hair that trailed in beauty round his neck;
+ A patient man, whose deeds were always good.
+ Whose words were brave for freedom and mankind.
+
+IX.
+
+ In passing through the grounds of Richard Wain,
+ Karagwe found, upon a plat of grass,
+ Some sheets of paper fastened at the ends,
+ Blown from the house, he thought, or thrown away.
+ The sheets were closely written on and sealed.
+ Here was a long-sought opportunity
+ To learn the older letters of the pen.
+ That night the writings, wrapped about the Book,
+ Were safe within the hollow of the tree.
+
+X.
+
+ All day he dreamed, "What token shall I give.
+ That she will know my thought and understand."
+ He caught at last a velvet honey-bee,
+ Weighed down with its gold treasure in its belt,
+ And killed it; then, when morning came again,
+ Bore it to Ruth beneath the fragrant trees.
+ "I bring you, Ruth, a dead bee for a sign.
+ For if to-day you wear it in your hair,
+ When once again you come to walk the lane,
+ I then shall know that you are truly mine,
+ Willing to be my wife, and share my lot,
+ And let me toil with you like any bee;
+ But if you do not wear it, then I shall care
+ No more for anything; but waste my life,
+ A bee without a queen." Then not one word
+ Spoke Ruth; but when the sunset came, and she
+ Went from the house again to walk alone,
+ The dead bee glittered gem-like in her hair.
+ And him she met for whom the sign was meant,
+ And in his hand she laid her own, and smiled.
+
+XI.
+
+ The next day, Richard Wain, when riding past,
+ Heard Ruth's bird-voice trilling in the lane,
+ And caught a glimpse of her between the trees,
+ A picture, for an instant, in a frame.
+ He thought, "The prize I coveted is near;
+ She will be mine before the set of sun."
+ Returning soon, toward the house he went,
+ Strode to the door, calling for Dalton Earl,
+ And told him for what merchandise he came.
+ The girl was not for sale, the other said.
+ "You talk at random now," said Richard Wain,
+ "You know I hold the deed of all your lands,
+ And so, unless you let the woman go,
+ Your whole estate shall have a sheriff's sale."
+ The planter turned a coward at the threat,
+ And knowing well what blood ran in the veins
+ Of her he sold, reluctant gave consent.
+
+ Above his wine he told Ruth of her fate,
+ And to the floor she fell, and swooned away.
+ Recovering, she rose upon her knees,
+ And begged, and prayed, that she might still remain.
+ At this he told her how the lands were held,
+ And if she went not he must starve or beg.
+ "Then let the lands be sold, and sold again;
+ If his, they are not yours. What good will come
+ If I do go to him? then all is his.
+ Last night I gave my hand to Karagwe.
+ O, it will break my heart to go away."
+ Lightly his mustache twirled Dalton Earl.
+
+ At dusk, in tears to Karagwe's low roof,
+ Ruth passed, and uttered, with wild, angry words,
+ The hard conditions that had been imposed.
+ She wept; he comforted: "There yet was hope:
+ There was a Hero, in a Book he read,
+ Who said that those who suffered would be blessed."
+ Then for the last, toward the planter's house
+ They walked, and o'er them saw the spider moon
+ Weaving the storm upon its web of cloud.
+
+XII.
+
+ But Karagwe, when once he turned again,
+ Smote wildly his infuriated breast.
+ His fierce eyes flashed; he thirsted for revenge.
+ Then came a calmer mood, and far away
+ Sped the expelled thoughts like shuddering gusts of wind.
+ He wept that this injustice should be done;
+ Yet knew that in God's hand the scale was set,
+ And though His poor, down-trodden, waited long,
+ They waited surely, for His hour would come.
+
+XIII.
+
+ The night passed, and the troublous morning broke,
+ And Ruth was sold away from him she loved.
+
+ The dark day died, and when the moon arose,
+ The foremost torch in day's long funeral train,
+ Karagwe went down toward the river's brink,
+ Thinking of what had been. He turned and saw
+ His enemy walk calmly up the road.
+ Quickly behind him came another form;
+ And in a jeweled hand, half raised to strike,
+ A poniard glistened. Then the negro rose,
+ And caught the weapon from the assassin's grasp,
+ And stood before the planter, Dalton Earl!
+ "Forgive," he said, "Forgiveness is a slave;
+ She has no pride, she never does an ill;
+ For she is meekly great, and nobly good,
+ And patient, though the lash of anger smites."
+
+ Rebuked, the master stood before the slave,
+ And Richard Wain passed on, nor knew his life
+ Was saved by one that he had that day wronged.
+ Thus Dalton Earl: "I thank you for this act,
+ Thwarting a bad intent. Yet I had cause
+ To take the sullied life of Richard Wain.
+ He drugged the wine he gave me at his house,
+ And knowing that I had with me the deed
+ And title of my lands, begged me to play,
+ And while I played, stake all upon a card.
+ He won, and I have hated from that hour."
+
+XIV.
+
+ Like some great thought that finds release at last,
+ The happy Spring in buds expression found.
+
+ Coralline Earl grew rich in every grace.
+ Her eyes' blue heavens were serene with soul,
+ And goodness sunned her face from light within.
+ Her hands were soft with kindness. On her brow
+ Shone hope, more lovely than a ruby star.
+
+ As in the ancient days sat Mordecai
+ At the king's gate, and waited for the hour,
+ When, clothed with pomp, he too should take his seat
+ Among the mighty nobles of the land,
+ So at the gateway of her palace heart,
+ Love tarried, that he too might enter in,
+ And rule the kingdom of another life.
+
+ Not long the waiting; for when Stanley Thane
+ Came from his northern home with Dalton Earl,
+ And on the terrace steps met Coralline,
+ Love took the sceptre that his waiting won.
+
+ Well worthy to be loved was Stanley Thane.
+ He could not claim a titled ancestor,
+ Nor boast of any blood but Puritan.
+ His father was successful on exchange,
+ Reaped fortune by a rise in merchandise,
+ Now sent his partner son with Dalton Earl
+ Toward the claspless girdle of the South.
+ And Stanley Thane was all that makes true men;
+ High thought, high purpose, loving right the best,
+ His mind was clear and fresh as air at morn.
+
+ He kissed the rosy tips of Coralline's hand,
+ And that day galloped with her through the town,
+ And wandered with her down magnolia lanes,
+ And watched, below the spray-woofed fall, the brook,
+ That seemed a maid, who, sitting at a loom,
+ Wove misty lace to decorate the rocks.
+
+XV.
+
+ Long o'er his writings hidden in the tree
+ Pondered the slave, and found at last their worth.
+ Must he return them? To whom did they belong?
+ If he should give them back to Dalton Earl
+ Unjustly, Richard Wain might claim them still.
+ He chose to keep there folded round the Book,
+ Hid in the secret hollow of the tree.
+
+ He thought of Ruth as one who was at rest,
+ And wept for her as though she was no more,
+ And sometimes gathered flowers, and placed them where
+ He knew she soon would pass, as tenderly
+ As though he laid them down upon her grave.
+
+XVI.
+
+ Once in the twilight, as the shadows fell,
+ A skiff shot from the under-reaching shore,
+ And Stanley Thane and Coralline sailed down
+ The languid waters, 'neath the dappled moon.
+ They spoke of giant wars that yet might be
+ To drive the dragon Slavery from the land.
+ Coralline smoothed the evils it had wrought.
+ Stanley, who could not see a wrong excused,
+ Said, "God is just; he knows nor white nor black.
+ If war must come, each shackle will be forced,
+ To make, at last, the nation wholly free."
+
+ And Karagwe, who pulled a silent oar,
+ Shut the winged words in cages of his heart;
+ But Coralline was angry at the speech,
+ And rained disdain on noble Stanley's head,
+ Scorning his Northern thought and Northern blood,
+ And sighed that it had been their lot to meet.
+ "If that is true," he said, "then let us part,
+ And let us hope we shall not meet again.
+ Adieu! for I shall see you never more."
+
+ The boat was near the bank; he sprang to it,
+ And left her sitting in the gilded prow--
+ Her pride, a raging Hector of the hour,
+ Fighting a thousand tears, whose war-cry rose:
+ Thin patience brings thick damage in the end.
+
+XVII.
+
+ When Richard Wain found that the deed was lost,
+ Which he had won at play with Dalton Earl,
+ Chagrin and rage were ready at a beck,
+ Like waters in a dam, to pass the race,
+ And turn the voluble mill-wheel of his tongue.
+ He half suspected Dalton Earl the thief,
+ Yet knew, if this were true, the threat he made
+ To gain Ruth from him, would have been in vain.
+ And so, because he feared to lose his power,
+ He kept his secret that the deed was lost.
+
+PART SECOND.
+
+ Now through the mighty pulses of the land
+ Throbbed the dark blood of war; and Sumter's guns
+ Were the first heart-beats of a better day.
+ The avenging angel, with a scourging sword
+ Of fire and death, with triumph on his face,
+ Swept o'er the nation with the cry of War!
+ Ten thousand boroughs, dreaming peace, awake.
+ War in the South, with the South! War! War!
+ The shame we nourished stings us to the death.
+
+ O, fair, false wife, South! lo, thy lord, the North,
+ Loveth thee still, though thou hast gone astray.
+ In truth's great court, vain has thy trial been,
+ For no divorce could there be granted thee.
+ The child you bore was bitter curse and shame,
+ And not the child of thy husband, the North.
+ It has led thee to miry paths, and raised
+ The gall of despair to thy famished lips;
+ It were better that such a child should die.
+
+I.
+
+ The first year of the war had passed away
+ When Richard Wain, the planter, sprang to arms.
+ The day for his departure had been set;
+ To-morrow it would be, and as the night
+ Fell on the misty hills, and on the vales,
+ He sat alone in his accustomed room;
+ Thinking, he drowsed; his chin couched on his breast;
+ A dim light wrought at shadows on the walls.
+ Slowly the sash was raised behind him there.
+ Perhaps he slept; he did not heed the noise,
+ And Karagwe sprang in, and faced his foe.
+ He held a long knife up and brandished it,
+ And said, "As surely as you call or move,
+ Tour life will not be worth a blade of grass;
+ But if you do not call, and sign the words,
+ That I have written on a paper here,
+ No harm will come, and I shall go away."
+ He drew the paper forth; the planter read:
+ _I promise if the deed is ever found
+ Of Dalton Earl's estate, I in no way
+ Shall lay a claim to it to make it mine.
+ I here surrender all my right to it._
+
+ "Why, this I shall not sign, of course," he said.
+ "You might have asked me to give back your Ruth,
+ And I would not have minded; but your game
+ Lies deeper than a check upon the queen."
+
+ "Sign!" cried the negro; and at Ruth's name,
+ A sudden madness leaped along his nerves,
+ Like flame among the dry prairie grass.
+ "Sign! for unless you sign this writing now,
+ You shall not live; now promise me to sign!"
+ He caught the planter fiercely by the throat,
+ Starting his quailing eyes, "Now will you sign or not?
+ You have ten seconds more to make your choice."
+
+ "Give me the paper then, and I will sign."
+ The name was written, and the negro went;
+ But not an hour had passed, before the hounds
+ Of Richard Wain and Dalton Earl were slipped,
+ And scenting on his track through stream and field.
+
+II.
+
+ The slave first ran toward the hollow tree;
+ There left the paper signed by Richard Wain,
+ Disturbing not the deed; but took the Book,
+ And up the tireless road, tied on and on,
+ Until he gained the borders of a marsh.
+
+ The night was dark, but darker still the clouds
+ That loomed along the rim where day had gone.
+ The wind blew cold, and hastened quickly past,
+ Escaping, like a slave, the hound-like clouds
+ Whose thunder-barkings sounded in its ears.
+
+ And Karagwe had only reached the marsh,
+ When on his track he heard the savage dogs.
+ He knew the paths and windings many miles,
+ And even in the darkness found his way,
+ And gained a covert island, where a hut,
+ Built by some poor and friendless fugitive,
+ Afforded shelter and secure abode.
+ He tarried here until along the hills
+ The red-lipped whisper of the morning ran.
+ Then, when he would have ventured from the door,
+ A large black hound arose, and licked his hand.
+ The dog was Dalton Earl's; he started back.
+
+ The dream of freedom nourished many years
+ Seemed withering, and for the moment lost.
+ For long the slave had thought of liberty,
+ And worshipped her, as in that elder time
+ A tyrant's subjects worshipped, praying her
+ That she would not delay, but hasten forth,
+ And bridge the hated gulf 'twixt rich and poor,
+ By freeing all the mass from ignorance,
+ By lifting up the worthy of the earth,
+ And making knowledge paramount to wealth.
+
+III.
+
+ O strange, that in our age, and in a land
+ Where liberty was laid the corner-stone,
+ A slave, perforce, should be obliged to dream,
+ And dote on freedom, like the poor oppressed
+ Who lived and hoped two thousand years ago!
+
+ And slavery to this slave was like a fruit--
+ A bitter and a hateful fruit to taste--
+ The fruit of error and of ignorance,
+ Made rank with superstition and with crime.
+
+ Yet though the fruit was bitter to the core,
+ Many there were who died for love of it.
+ O, many they who listen through long nights
+ To hear a footstep that will never come.
+ There is not a flower along the border blown,
+ From Lookout Mountain to the Chesapeake,
+ But has in it the blood of North and South.
+
+IV.
+
+ Karagwe went back, and on a paper wrote,--
+ "Your dog has harmed me not, and why should you,
+ That I have never wronged, plot harm to me?
+ You made me slave, you sold away my bride,
+ And now you set your hounds upon my track,
+ Because I seek the freedom that is mine.
+ Though you have wronged me, still I do you good,
+ For in an oak, the largest of the grove,
+ Upon the cotton-field of Richard Wain,
+ Hid in a hollow near the second limb,
+ Is the lost deed that holds your house and lands."
+ The paper fastened round the hound's strong neck,
+ The negro bade him go, and forth he went;
+ And Earl read what the slave had written down,
+ And that day found the deed hid in the tree,
+ And that day ceased pursuing any more.
+
+ For two long weeks the negro in the swamps
+ Wandered toward the North, living at times
+ On berries and on fruit. Above him leaned
+ The tall trees, bower-like 'neath their wrestling arms;
+ Beneath, the murky waters, black as death,
+ Stirred only to the plunge of venomed things.
+ The long, seared grasses clung to every bough
+ Whose trailing robe hung near the sluggish lymph.
+ And here and there, among the savage moss,
+ Blossomed alone some snowy gold-spired flower,
+ Like God's own church found in a heathen land.
+ The birds o'erhead, that, plumaged like the morn,
+ Caroled their sweetness, sang the holy psalms.
+
+V.
+
+ But now across his path the negro found
+ A belt of water falling with the tide.
+ Two heavy logs he lashed, and launched them out,
+ Then, with a pole for help in case of need,
+ Sprang on the float, and drifted down the stream.
+ Thus for two days he drifted, eating naught
+ Except the berries growing near the shore.
+ Then on a cool, bright morning, when the wind
+ And tide agreed, he saw again the sea.
+ Far off a buoy was tossing on the waves,
+ Much like the red heart of the joyful deep--
+ Much like a heart upon a sea of life;
+ And ships were in the offing, sailing on
+ Like the vague ships that with our hopes and fears
+ Put from their harbors to return no more.
+
+VI.
+
+ The raft went oceanward. The negro raised
+ Upon the pole the coat that he had worn,
+ Hoping for succor from the distant ships;
+ And not in vain; for ere the sun had set,
+ Half starved, he clambered up a vessel's side,
+ And found himself with friends, and on his way
+ To freedom, 'neath the steadfast northern star.
+
+VII.
+
+ Two years of war, two years of many tears,
+ And Richard Wain, a captain of renown,
+ In ranks led on by error, fought and fell.
+
+ Within the breast of Coralline, Stanley Thane
+ Possessed acknowledged empire; all her love
+ Was poured out on him, and her heart
+ Stood like an emptied vase. Then from the North
+ Came rumors of his daring, and the war
+ Gloomed like a night about her,--he its star.
+
+VIII.
+
+ The golden spirit in each lily bloom,
+ That, pollen-vestured, laughs at care all day
+ Had closed the doors and shutters of its house.
+ Forth in the dewy garden, 'neath the stars,
+ Walked Coralline and Ruth, sad and alone;
+ For Ruth was owned again by Dalton Earl.
+
+ "I grieve," said Coralline, "that Stanley Thane
+ Left me so rashly, and that he thinks
+ My hasty words were said with earnest thought.
+ Would that a bird might fly to him and sing--
+ 'She loves you still, Stanley, she loves you still.'"
+
+ Ruth followed quickly, "Your wish is heard;
+ For I will go to him who once was here,
+ And say to him the words that you have said."
+ Then fell the other on the quadroon's neck,
+ And kissed her through her tears, and promised her
+ Her freedom, if she went to Stanley Thane.
+ She did not dream what impulse urged the slave,
+ Nor that in sending her toward the North
+ Bearing a message full of trust and love,
+ She sent a message smeared with blood instead.
+
+ For Ruth hoped now for vengeance for her past.
+ Wronged by her father, she would wreak her hate
+ Full on her sister, and destroy her peace,
+ As hers had been destroyed in dark dead days.
+
+IX.
+
+ That night she stole a knife, and sharpened it,
+ And while she drew it up and down the stone,
+ Sipped from the poison nectar of revenge.
+ She thought of Stanley Thane, and pitied him
+ That he should be the victim of her hate;
+ But wished that Coralline could see him then,
+ After the violent knife had done its work,
+ Laid out and ready for his last abode.
+
+X.
+
+ So Ruth arose, and when the wine-lipped Dawn,
+ Gathering his robes about him like a god,
+ Went up to the great summits of the world
+ From the black valleys of immeasurable space,
+ She passed beyond the limit of the vale.
+
+ Those she loved best had all been torn away;
+ The last, her child, was sold she knew not where;
+ And Coralline too should taste a bitter cup,
+ Feeling the fury of a deep revenge.
+
+XI.
+
+ For many days Ruth journeyed to the North,
+ And reached at last the camp. She passed the guard,
+ And in the night discovered Stanley's tent;
+ Then gliding in, bent o'er him while he slept.
+ He dreamed of Coralline, and in his sleep
+ Said--"Coralline, 'tis better to forgive."
+ And Ruth who heard, cried, "She forgives;
+ She loves you still, Stanley--she loves you still!"
+ At this he woke, and saw the woman there,
+ And saw the weapon raised above his breast,
+ And a vague horror at the mockery of the words
+ Left him all powerless, and sealed up his speech.
+ But one swift hand passed in and grasped the arm,
+ And snatched the knife, and there before them stood
+ Karagwe, with Ruth Earl face to face.
+
+XII.
+
+ And after, at Fort Pillow, when the storm
+ Had gone against us, and the traitors slew
+ Five hundred men who had laid down their arms,
+ Karagwe was shot, and with a prayer
+ For his whole country, he fell back and died.
+
+ Some, seeking the highest type of noble men,
+ Compare their heroes with the cavaliers,
+ Boasting their ancestry through tangled lines;
+ But I, who care not for patrician blood,
+ Hold him the highest who constrains great ends,
+ Or rounds a prudent life with noble deeds.
+
+DEMETRIUS.
+
+I.
+
+THE SUCCESS OF THE BEGGAR.
+
+ In my life I have had two idols, one my country, one my wife,
+   And I know I loved them faithfully, and both with one accord;
+ But the day came, beaded falsely on my brittle leash of life,
+   When perforce I chose between them, through the wisdom of the Lord.
+
+ High upon the rocky summit of a cliff in red Algiers,
+   Raised against the sky of sunset, like a beaker filled with wine,
+ While each dome is like a bubble that above the brim appears,
+   Stands the city I was born in, my belovèd Constantine.
+
+ Nobly rise the brick-roofed houses with their heavy gray stone walls,
+   While here and there, above them all, the mosque and minaret;
+ Like the voice of some enchanter sounds the bearded muezzin's calls,
+   And the rustle of the cypress seems a murmur of regret.
+
+ Round the ancient Cintran city runs a dark wall broad and strong,
+   Like the mailed belt of a warrior, and the gate the buckle seems;
+ While a tower toward the sunset is a dagger hilted long;
+   Whose blade is bid in foldings of a circling sash of streams.
+
+ Far away the Atlas mountains rear their heads of lasting snow,
+   And seem like old men grouped around in high-backed chairs of space;
+ And they bathe their feet like children in the brooks that run below,
+   Or smoke their pipes in silence till the clouds obscure each face.
+
+ I was poor: they say they found me lying naked in the street,
+   And a beggar so befriended me and brought me to his door,
+ And cared for me and tended me, until my growing feet
+   Could patter through the market-place and there increase our store.
+
+ I never knew the tenderness of father or of mother;
+   My tatters scarcely covered me; my hunger made me thin;
+ I never knew of sympathy or kindness from another;
+   I drank the cup of bitterness that comes to want and sin.
+
+ All my early youth was squandered, when there came across my thought
+   A passionate intolerance of the course my life had run;
+ And I went out to the venders and some meagre fruitage bought,
+   Till with selling and with buying, lo, a new life was begun.
+
+ Soon I found myself the owner of vast houses, wares, and sails,
+   A very prince of traffic, with my slaves beyond the line,
+ Where they sold my costly merchandise of cloth and cotton bales,
+   Of many colored leathers, ostrich feathers, dates, and wine.
+
+II.
+
+THE MAIDEN OF THE GOLDEN KIOSK.
+
+ In the days when I, a beggar, wandered idly through the street,
+   Past the palace, through the vineyards where the scented fountains play,
+ Standing near the golden kiosk, it befell my lot to meet
+   One for whom my heart grew larger, and I could not turn away.
+
+ Long my eyes upon the banquet of her beauty freely fed;
+   How could I help but love her, whom the angels might adore!
+ But at last, tired of my staring, she turned away her head;
+   Yet I saw the large pearls tremble that about her neck she wore.
+
+ Either cheek was sea-shell tinted, and around her dewy lips
+   Played a smile that lingered lovingly, like star gleam on the sea;
+ Thus emboldened, on my knees I fell, and kissed her finger tips,
+   And begged of her, and prayed of her that I her slave might be.
+
+ I was dark and swarthy featured, comely still in form and face;
+   My long black hair hung glossily about my neck and head;
+ My large jet eyes were lustrous, and I had an easy grace
+   That almost made a kingly robe my ragged garb of red.
+
+ I chained the maiden with my arm, I would not let her go;
+   She said she was Eudocia, that Yorghi was her sire;
+ I said I was Demetrius, a beggar vile and low,
+   But 'neath my heart's one crucible love lit its fusing fire.
+
+ Her sensuous long dark lashes hung above her dreamy eyes,
+   Like twin clouds of stormy portent balanced over limpid deeps;
+ Like the wings of birds of passage seen against the hazy skies;
+   Like the petal o'er the pollen of the flow'ret when it sleeps.
+
+ All her vesture was embroidered with the finest lace of gold;
+   A diamond in her turban with its eye-like glitter shone;
+ The white dress more than half revealed a form of perfect mould,
+   And her cincture, dagger-fastened, shaped the garment to her zone.
+
+ To my eyes she gave her dark eyes, down to gaze into and dream;
+   And I seemed like one who leans above a bridge's slender rail,
+ And thinks, and gazes wistfully deep down into the stream,
+   While the twilight gathers round him, and the gleam-winged stars prevail.
+
+ After this I met her daily in the palace-garden ways,
+   And she always came to meet me, and opened wide the gate,
+ Often chiding, often smiling at my minute-long delays,
+   And bringing dainty viands in a golden cup and plate.
+
+ I, her lover, was a beggar, but she loved me all the same;
+   Had I been Haroun Alraschid she could not have loved me more;
+ While she whispered, on my lips and on my eyes she kissed my name,
+   And vined her arms about my neck; how could I but adore?
+
+ But all pleasure cloys or ceases; if the cup is stricken down,
+   All its contents are like acid, burning deep a long regret;
+ If it cloys, we calmly leave it, with perhaps a careless frown,
+   Or may be a pleasant memory that is easy to forget.
+
+ Once when in the golden kiosk, with Eudocia's hand in mine,
+   Came old Yorghi frowning darkly with the storm upon his face;
+ Would she bring disgrace upon him? Would she break his noble line?
+   He stamped his fierce invective, and he drove me from the place.
+
+ Ere I went I turned upon him, and I boldly claimed her hand,
+   And vowed that I would have her, though the city barred my way;
+ But he scoffed at me, a beggar, and repeated his command,
+   Never more to meet his daughter, for my life's sake, from that day.
+
+III.
+
+THE VISIT OF DEMETRIUS AND HIS TEN FRIENDS.
+
+ So two lives, like confluent rivers, were unkindly torn apart;
+   One to slide through fruited gardens, longing vainly for the sea,
+ One to purl 'neath ample bridges, bearing cargoes to the mart,
+   But ever dreaming fondly of a meeting yet to be.
+
+ And I labored; and my gains accrued and doubled in my hand,
+   For Fortune having given once will give us more and more;
+ I was like a stranger passing through some long neglected land,
+   Who finds beneath each stone he turns a wedge of golden ore.
+
+ And I studied, learned all secrets that the wisest books can teach;
+   Gained the Greek verb's long persistent root at last by prying hard;
+ Found a natural foreknowledge of the rules and forms of speech,
+   And drank the fountain water from the words of Scio's bard.
+
+ All my ships had favoring breezes, not one sank or went ashore;
+   The very fat of commerce oozed between their pitchy seams;
+ And a block of serried buildings did not half contain my store,
+   While my lavish, thrifty bargains would have dimmed Aladdin's dreams.
+
+ Still I changed not my apparel, still I wore my bezan robe,
+   Still I donned the self-same turban with its frayed and faded red;
+ I would have no other garb then had I owned the whirling globe;
+   Better rich to wear a tatter, than poor, wear silk, I said.
+
+ Daily from my mullioned window flew a pigeon in the air,
+   And beneath its wing lay folded lines for her I loved the best;
+ Daily from her palace window it returned and brought me there,
+   Rhymeless idyls full of heart-speech, faithful ardors of her breast.
+
+ Ah, dear love, she waited patiently with mournful, longing eyes,
+   Like the moon she waited nightly for the cloud to pass her brow;
+ Like the birds she waited daily for the coming in the skies
+   Of the other bringing succor to the hunger on the bough.
+
+ And all wealth was lost upon her, for she had to look upon
+   Art's own pictures, Spring-time raptures, Autumn clad in ballet mist;
+ And she dined on sweets and spices, coffee, bread and cinnamon,
+   While they shook perfumes about her, or her cushioned slippers kissed.
+
+ Down her back her hair, unfastened from its jeweled comb of gold,
+   Wasted fragrance, seemed a cascade plunging down a deep ravine;
+ Seemed the black wing of a raven who had ventured overbold,
+   And was perched upon her forehead that its beauty might be seen.
+
+ Every day in milk she bathed her, till at last she was as white;
+   Dyed with almond kohl her eyelids, and her nails with henna tinged;
+ Supped on amber wine and honey; but she tasted no delight.
+   She slept 'neath silken curtains with musk-scented laces fringed.
+
+ But at last the ready day came, that my hopes had longed to meet,
+   When I cast aside the tatters I had worn for many years,
+ And arrayed my perfect person from my head down to my feet,
+   With the garments that became me, with the velvet of my peers.
+
+ Then I bought me restless chargers, Ukraine steeds, five white, six black;
+   The eleventh was the noblest, yet the gentlest of all;
+ And a friend I had who loved me to bestride each horse's back--
+   Ten friends of handsome presence, smooth demeanor, strong, and tall.
+
+ Every friend I gave a cloak to, purple velvet ermine-bound;
+   Every charger was caparisoned--the harness wrought with gold.
+ At high noon we started gayly, and the palace entrance found;
+   And I sought the statesman Yorghi with a purpose to unfold.
+
+ I had come to wed his daughter; all her heart had long been mine;
+   I had won her when a beggar, but I loved her more and more
+ Now that my wealth was boundless--it but strengthened my design;
+   If he gave her I would cede him half my fortune, store on store.
+
+ In my face he laughed, me scorning, and despised me and my part--
+   Called me still a beggar wealthy, and bade me turn away;
+ Said Eudocia was his daughter--he knew nothing of her heart;
+   He had pledged her hand and fortune to my ruler, Ahmed Bey.
+
+ There are times when our resentment centres solely in a glance,
+   When our feelings burn too deeply for effectiveness in speech;
+ Such a look I gave to Yorghi as I led out in advance,
+   While my ten friends followed after with brave consolation each.
+
+IV.
+
+DEMETRIUS FOR EUDOCIA BETRAYS CONSTANTINE.
+
+ Now a war like distant thunder muttered in the darkened air;
+   In the sky a fowl of omen hovered o'er to rob our graves;
+ And men, like birds affrighted, hurried homeward in despair.
+   We heard the tramp of armies like the far-off march of waves.
+
+ War a pestilent disease is on the body of the world--
+   A disease that sometimes purges, but still leaves the victim sore;
+ And no potent drug will cure it until Liberty has furled
+   All the standards of the nations, and shall rule for evermore.
+
+ What availed my marble buildings where I bartered for my gold?
+   All my gains were vainly gotten, for Eudocia was not mine.
+ Then my goods I turned to money, all my ships and houses sold,
+   And sent the glittering product far away from Constantine.
+
+ On us like a wild hawk swooping came Damrémont with his men;
+   But we saw his wing-like banners and we closed and barred the gates;
+ All the women urged to battle; every man a hero then;
+   And the Kabyles based reliance on the friendship of the Fates.
+
+ I held that love of country was a higher love of self,
+   With generous ends, but selfish still, whatever might be said;
+ I forgot my boasted honor; I had garnered all my pelf;
+   I became a hissing traitor to the land I owed my bread.
+
+ All was plain; if I was faithful, then Eudocia was lost;
+   Recreant, and gaining victory, I could claim her as my right.
+ I scarcely weighed the balance, and I dared not count the cost;
+   I stole out from the city to the alien camp that night.
+
+ I was loyal to the purpose that within my heart was shrined;
+   Another might have coped with it, and triumphed o'er its fall.
+ So men are, they do not vary much, the level of mankind,
+   What one lacks the next possesses; there are faults enough in all.
+
+ Down the cliff I slipped in silence; and the troubled cypress leaves
+   Quivered like sweet lips in anguish, while the star eyes wept with dew;
+ And I sought the French commander, where, amid his musket sheaves,
+   He sat and planned new reaping in a field that Azrael knew.
+
+ "I have come to bring assistance, if you take my terms," I said,
+   "For I know the weakest portion of the city's scowling wall.
+ There's a maiden named Eudocia I would sell my soul to wed;
+   Give me the right to have her, and I freely tell you all."
+
+ Then he smiled across his table as he granted my desire--
+   Smile of memory begotten, some remembrance of delight--
+ And he heard my story quietly, but said he would require
+   Me to go into the city as a spy the coming night.
+
+V.
+
+THE MASKED SPY IN THE PALACE.
+
+ Years before, a secret entrance 'neath the wall I ordered made;
+   And they were dead who built it, so none knew of it but me.
+ When the darkness came I gained it, and softly in the shade,
+   Passed through lone streets of the city where the battle was to be.
+
+ A purse of gold and rubies bought the whispered countersign,
+   And with its aid I noted place and number of the troops.
+ I chalked upon a building: _Lo, the doom of Constantine!
+   There's a traitor in the city, and the populace are dupes._
+
+ In the street I met a masker hurrying onward through the night,
+   And something in his bearing told of one I called a friend.
+ "Sir," I said, and on his shoulder I had laid my finger quite,
+   "Tell me why you mask your visage, and whereto your footsteps tend."
+
+ By my voice he knew me quickly, and removed his mask to say:
+   "My footsteps seek the palace; have you heard not of the fête?
+ In three days old Yorghi's daughter is to wed with Ahmed Bey;
+   To-night the plighting party; I must hasten; it is late."
+
+ "Hold," I said, "you care but little for the pleasure that you seek;
+   Give to me your mask and vesture, and so let me take your place;
+ I shall not hold the favor lightly, but shall pay you in a week
+   With a sapphire for each moment; and they will not see my face."
+
+ Then we found his wide apartments, where we changed the robes we wore.
+   I put on the half fantastic silken garments and the mask,
+ Then sallied down the stair-way till I gained the street once more;
+   Dreaming only of Eudocia, in whose presence I should bask.
+
+ From foundation to entablature the palace shone with light,
+   And I fancied it a genii with a hundred fiery eyes;
+ His mouth the yawning door-way, and a cloud across the night
+   Seemed the hair upon his forehead, blowing in the windy skies.
+
+ Quick he gorged me, for I entered, and heard at once the swell
+   Of the music--heard the dancing girls with bells about their feet;
+ The odor of a hundred blooms upon my senses fell;
+   The magnolia seemed the husband, and the rest his consorts sweet.
+
+ To a splendid hall a eunuch led me down a damask floor,
+   And the guests were all assembled in their beauty and their pride.
+ With standards and with banners the walls were garnished o'er.
+   The Bey among the maskers led the lily by his side.
+
+ Round a fountain, in the centre of the golden burnished room,
+   Danced the dancers, played the players, to the cadence of its fall,
+ While out upon the balcony, amid the vernal gloom,
+   A nightingale was singing, and with sadness mocked us all.
+
+VI.
+
+THE MEETING IN THE GARDEN, AND THE FLIGHT OF THE SPY.
+
+ When the Bey passed by me graciously, I whispered in the ear
+   Of the one he led beside him (should I fail to win her yet!)
+ "Our day is at its dawning; I, Demetrius, am here;
+   Meet me yonder in the garden, at the place where once we met."
+
+ There she followed very quickly, and I held her to my heart,
+   And kissed with fervid kisses all her lips and throat and chin.
+ Here she longed to dwell forever so that we might never part,
+   And be fed with many kisses my enfolding arms within.
+
+ There the amorous stars out-twinkled; and anear, a sordid lake,
+   Like a miser, hugged the silver of their glitter to its breast;
+ And it stayed within the closet of the trees and tangled brake,
+   Lest some fortunate bold robber should steal from it in its rest.
+
+ Now the years had changed Eudocia from the rosebud to the rose,
+   Made more perfect every feature, added many a gentle grace,
+ And she made my heart her garden, there to dwell and find repose:
+   Neither time, nor change, nor absence, could her love for me efface.
+
+ She said she too would be a lakelet, 'neath the starlight of my eyes;
+   And when my lips bent downward she would catch their spicy dew;
+ My face, low bending over, should become her tender skies,
+   And my arms the goodly verdure that about the margin grew.
+
+ I dared not risk to tell her of the traitor she was near;
+   I said the Bey would tremble when I came to claim her hand;
+ I said that she must wait me, and despair not; but have cheer,
+   For my triumph would be public in the corners of the land.
+
+ While we spoke we heard commotion in the palace down the hill;
+   Gay lights swung in the distance, like red fire-flies in a glen;
+ Call by call was heard and answered with a herd of echoes shrill,
+   And we saw a score of torches, and the issuing forth of men.
+
+ "Love, they seek you," cried Eudocia; "you must go or you must die."
+   But sad, O, sad the sundering of two hearts who long and weep;
+ Rent the oak's tough, knitted fibre by the lightning from on high;
+   But the hearts will cling the closer that apart they strive to keep.
+
+ On her lips I kissed my tears in, on her lips and on her eyes
+   Which she opened only languidly to show her answering tears,
+ And I kissed the diamond crescent that I saw sink down and rise,
+   While it flashed upon the torches with a hundred silver spears.
+
+ Swooning, on a seat I laid her, then sped quickly through the gloom,
+   While a torchman passed so near me that I fancied I was seen;
+ But I hid me for a moment 'neath a bush of liberal bloom,
+   Then fled onward to my entrance through the streets that intervene.
+
+ Above, an imminent meteor flashed westward 'gainst the night,--
+   A full moon with a bluer glow, and trailed with ruby shine;
+ It seemed a blazing torch to me, borne onward with the flight
+   Of a spirit, that beneath it, brought defeat to Constantine.
+
+VII.
+
+THE BATTLE.
+
+ To the town outspoke the cannon, ere the dawn charged on the night,
+   Not of peace and joy and amity, but of hatred and despair,
+ And a thousand blatant bugles proved it waiting for their spite;
+   And we heard the rasp of bullets in the dark astonished air.
+
+ When the sun rose, hot and bloody, all the fight had well begun;
+   The artillery were pounding at the weak place in the wall;
+ While the smoke, from vale and city, seemed the melancholy, dun
+   Robes of spirits hovering over for the fated ones to fall.
+
+ Like a strong Numidian lion, on her rock the city lay,
+   Nothing daunted though surrounded, and with scanty store of bread;
+ Her fierce eyes, two flags of crimson, stared through battle all the day,
+   One on Babel Wad's high key-stone, and one on Babel Djed.
+
+ Round these gates they set their sworders, hoping thence to drive us back
+   When we followed up their sallies, which were baits to make us come;
+ But in vain, our works were safer, though we longed for the attack,
+   And eagerly awaited for the summons of the drum.
+
+ Stone by stone a breach was opened in the thin place in the wall,
+   Till at last we sent a truce flag to the gate of Babel Djed,
+ Saying to the town, "Surrender, Constantine must surely fall;
+   If you fail, no soul remaining shall be left to count your dead."
+
+ Like a sword-thrust was the answer, "There is plenty in the place
+   Both of food and ammunition; if 'tis these the French desire,
+ We can furnish them abundance; but surrender means disgrace,
+   And our homes shall be defended while one soldier stands to fire."
+
+ Should not this town be captured, every man must bear the fault,
+   And many a one bethought him of his own in sunny France.
+ Down our line there ran the murmur, "We must take it by assault,"
+   And we heard the bugles playing for the stormers to advance.
+
+ Like great billows never breaking were the rocks of Constantine,
+   And a cargoed ship the city with its keel in every one;
+ She was sailing for the future with the barter of the line,
+   And her mast-like towers were gaudy with the pennons of the sun.
+
+ But now a storm had struck her, and a hole was in her side,
+   And the waters rushed in wildly while she paused upon the brink.
+ All in vain each brave endeavor; for all on board her tried
+   To close the leak with fury, that the vessel might not sink.
+
+ Our men the angry waters that could not be turned nor checked,
+   And they bore all straws before them in their mad impetuous way.
+ So the town, betrayed, was captured; so the great ship had been wrecked;
+   And with the troops in triumph I rode in upon that day.
+
+VIII.
+
+THE WEDDING AND THE FALSE FRIEND.
+
+ When the night fell, in the palace all the lights were lit again.
+   In the hall of silken standards and of Persia-woven mats
+ There were women fair as houris, there were brave and handsome men;
+   And the fish leaped up to see them from the fountain's silver vats.
+
+ Never yet so fair Eudocia, and she won the wisest praise
+   From the aliens there assembled to behold our marriage rite;
+ Not alone her queenly beauty; but the grace of all her ways,
+   Drew all hearts and eyes toward her, filled like cups with pure delight.
+
+ But while yet they said the service, and ere yet I placed the ring
+   On her tapering heart finger, all the crowd was parted wide,
+ And I saw my friend the masker his unasked-for presence bring
+   To the pollen of the wedding, lady-petaled on each side.
+
+ "Thus shall die the thankless traitor, whether king or beggar he!"
+   And a dagger gleamed above us with a fierce glare at the light,
+ Then was struck upon my bosom near the place the heart might be,
+   And my false friend, through the people, hastened wildly in his flight.
+
+ But the mad bee gained no honey in his hurry to depart;
+   His sting had been well pointed, but his villainy was loss,
+ For I wore, with faith, a secret, o'er the throbbing of my heart,
+   The symbol of a higher life, a simple silver Cross.
+
+ This had turned aside the weapon and spared me many years
+   For one whose heart has been to me a holy pilgrim shrine,
+ For one for whom I gave away with bitterness and tears
+   The city of Jugurtha, my own mother Constantine.
+
+ We dwell now in a palace near the white surge of a bay;
+   But at times my good steed wanders, and in the twilight late,
+ I find me near my city, while the muezzin in the gray,
+   Shouts, "To prayer, to prayer, ye people, only God is good and great!"
+
+THE STRONG SPIDER.
+
+I.
+
+THE CHIEF'S DAUGHTER.
+
+ I was a naturalist, and had crossed the sea
+ And come to Theodosia, to find
+ A monstrous spider of which I had heard.
+ The people of the town wagged doubting heads,
+ When asked about it; but one day I met
+ A sturdy fisherman who once had seen
+ The spider, though he knew not his abode.
+ He said the spider was as long as he,
+ And that the woof whereof he wove his web,
+ Was thick as any cordage on his boat.
+ At night, belated 'mid the tumuli
+ That mound the hill-side and the vernal vale,
+ Like the raised letters of an ancient page
+ Made for the blind gropers of to-day to read,
+ He entered a dark tomb, and therein slept,
+ Until the world, like some round shield upraised,
+ Splintered the thrown spears of dawn. As he woke,
+ He found himself ensnared in some thick web,
+ Yet reached his knife, and slowly cut it through;
+ Then when he stood, a monstrous spider fled.
+
+ At this recital on the slanted shore,
+ Another joined us from the cottage near--
+ A vine-clad cottage, lit for love's abode.
+ A lily-croft, with trees, encinctured it;
+ Like Ahab in his house of ivory
+ Dining on sweets, the king bee here
+ Sipped in the snowy lily's palace hall;
+ And here were yellow lilies strewn about,
+ As though the place had been the banquet grove
+ Of Shishak, king of Egypt; for the flowers
+ Seemed like the cups of gold that Solomon
+ Wrought for the holy service of the Lord.
+
+ "This is my daughter," said the fisherman.
+ Her head and face were covered with a scarf,
+ But large dark eyes looked forth, and in their depths
+ I saw a soul all tenderness and truth.
+
+ (Often, in dreams, I thought it sweet to die,
+ And reft of this gross vision, see at last,
+ As the large soul, quit of the body can,
+ Another soul set free and purified.)
+
+ The modest maid a crimson jacket wore,
+ And to her knee the broidered skirt hung down;
+ While 'neath, the Turkish garment was confined
+ In plaits about the ankles; but her shoes
+ Revealed the naked insteps of her feet.
+ I bade her there adieu, upon the shore
+ Of the clear Bospore. As I wandered back,
+ I thought much of the spider that I sought;
+ But more of two dark eyes, that seemed two stars
+ Which shone down in my heart; while the far space
+ Behind them, pure, but unknown, was the soul.
+
+ I thought to test this maiden's charity;
+ And so, one friendly day, put on a robe
+ Tattered and soiled with use. As she went by,
+ I strode abruptly from behind a wall,
+ And faced her with a face disguised, and held
+ My hand out while I begged for some small alms.
+ She gave abundantly from her lean purse,
+ And with a look of tender pity, passed.
+ It matters little who it is that asks,
+ Or whether he deserves the alms or not;
+ That given with free heart, is given to God,
+ And not to him who takes.
+
+                           Day after day,
+ Henceforth, I strode a coastward way, to meet
+ The dark-eyed daughter of the fisherman.
+ Beneath her roof she made my welcome sweet,
+ And yielded both her hands, and drew the scarf
+ That veiled the wondrous beauty of her face.
+ If painter, or if sculptor, in some dream,
+ Could mingle Faith with Love and Charity,
+ And give them utterance in one pure face,
+ I know the face would be a face like hers.
+
+ Her eyes were diamond doors of her true soul,
+ And with their silken latches softly closed,
+ When, couched beneath his poppy parachute,
+ Inactive Sleep came by. Her glances seemed
+ Like gold-winged angels sent from heavenly doors.
+ Yet she was often sad when I was near.
+ Once, tarrying late, I told her of my life,
+ And of the monster I had come to find;
+ But now, lo! she around my heart had wound
+ The close web of her love, and held me fast
+ As any fly caught in a spider's toils.
+
+ Clothed in the sackcloth of regret, she said,
+ She long had wept the past; but for my sake
+ She now would cast it off, and live for me.
+
+ I said that few could exculpate the past
+ From stormy doing with the ships of hope.
+
+ She said it made her sad to think upon
+ Their present dwindled fortune, and the yoke
+ Her people chafed their necks in, on the hills.
+ Her father was a brave Circassian chief;
+ But here he dwelt disguised, till once again
+ He could lead on his race, and wound the heel
+ That ground them to the dust.
+
+                               Our hearts made new,
+ We kissed good-night, and parted. As I went,
+ A distant hill, all shadow, took new shape,
+ And seemed a sprawling spider, while two trees
+ That grew upon it, were his upraised arms
+ Clutching at two red fire-flies, that were stars.
+
+II.
+
+THE SPIDER.
+
+ With day-break came a knuckle at my door;
+ I rose, and opened, and upon the porch,
+ His face like strange death's, and his dark eyes wide
+ With some vague horror, stood the fisherman.
+ "Come, hasten with me," were his only words.
+ We ran our best along the barren shore,
+ And gained his silent cottage. Entering,
+ He led me to his daughter's vacant couch.
+ The room had but one window, and the sash
+ Was raised. I looked out to the ground beneath.
+ A vine crept up, and with long fingers made
+ Abode secure upon the cottage side,
+ And o'er the window threw a leafy scarf.
+ But what was this, that fastened to the ledge
+ Trailed to the ground? A glutinous rope
+ Twisted with five strands. This the fisherman
+ Saw with new horror, while between white lips
+ He gasped, "The Spider!"
+
+                          What was best to do?
+ We saw strange foot-prints on the moistened beach,
+ But these were lost soon in a wooded dell
+ Where all trace had an end. The long day through
+ We sought among the tombs, up from the dell;
+ But unrewarded, when the sun was quenched,
+ Sat down to weep. So darkness dropped,
+ And like an awful spider, o'er the earth
+ Crawled with gaunt legs of shadow. Then our homes
+ We sadly sought, to meet again at morn.
+
+ The night was warm, and with my window raised,
+ I sat and mourned, and wrung my hopeless hands.
+ No light was in the house. I half reclined--
+ My back toward the window. Something shut
+ The puny sheen of starlight from the room.
+ The Thing, a monstrous shape, was with me there,
+ And two hard arms were thrown about my waist.
+ For very terror I was hushed, nor moved
+ To cast my foe off. I was in the arms
+ Of the strong spider. As we went, I grew
+ Glad, for I thought that now I should be brought
+ To the great spider's web, and there, mayhap,
+ Learn the sad fate of her I loved so well.
+ Up a stark cliff we went, then crossed the web
+ Just as the red moon bloomed upon the hills
+ And silvered all the Panticapean vale.
+ The funnel of the web was in the mouth
+ Of a vast tomb, whose outside, hewn on rock,
+ Outlined a Gorgon's face with jaws agape--
+ Some stern Medusa, Stheno, or Euryale,
+ Changed to the stone that in the elder days
+ She changed the sons of men who looked on her.
+ We passed the funnel, entering the tomb.
+ About my arms the spider threw his cords,
+ And shackled them. I dared not move, but lay
+ Upon the smooth stone floor, inured to fear.
+ I fancied now that I was safe till dawn.
+ If I could use my hands I then might find
+ Some weapon of defense, some club, or stone,
+ And so resist with some small chance for life.
+ The thought bred strength. I slowly drew my arms
+ Upon my sides, and, with persistence, gained
+ Their freedom; though about the wrists, the flesh
+ Was bruised and harrowed, and my blood made wet
+ The spider's cord wherewith I had been bound.
+
+ The night seemed endless. As it came to dawn,
+ A faint moan woke an echo in the tomb.
+ The echo seemed a cry of pity, sent
+ For solace to the moan. As light grew strong,
+ I saw, not far from where I had been laid,
+ A maiden sitting. All her hair set free,
+ She made of it a pillow as she leaned
+ Against the painted wall. My heart threw wide
+ To her my arms, his hospitable doors;
+ The guest within, at once the doors were shut.
+
+ The sun came up, and spread a cloth of gold
+ Over the sea. We saw the vale beneath,
+ And there the town, and fancied where, among
+ The trees upon the shore, her cottage stood;
+ Then hoped 'gainst hope to enter it again.
+ Two thousand years ago, this distant sea
+ Teemed with the thrifty commerce of the world.
+ When Athens was, and when her scholars cut,
+ With thoughts of iron, their own deathless names
+ Into the stone page of fame, this vale beneath
+ Held a great city. These, its tombs, endure.
+ There is no better scoff at the parade
+ And vanity of life, than that a tomb suggests.
+
+ While we looked forth on the historic view,
+ We saw the subtle spider throw his cord
+ Over an eagle tangled in the web.
+ The eagle fought, not mildly overcome,
+ And spread his wings, and darted his sharp beak.
+ At last the spider caught him by the neck,
+ With his serrated claws that grew like horns,
+ And killed him; then plucked the vanquished plumes,
+ And sucked the warm blood from the sundered ends.
+ From this we knew the monster brought us here
+ To serve a hideous banquet, and that one
+ Must need be near, and see the other slain.
+
+ The web was like the sail of some large ship,
+ And reached forth from the Gorgon's open mouth,
+ On either side, to boughs of blighted trees.
+ Birds were caught in it, and about the place
+ Wherein the spider hid to watch for prey,
+ Their bones lay bleaching in the sun and rain.
+ Upon the web the winds laid violent hands,
+ And tugged at it, but lacked the sinewed strength
+ To tear it or divorce it from its place.
+ The rain left on it when the sun came up,
+ Dyed the vast cloth with all prismatic hues,
+ And made it glitter like the silken sail
+ Of Cleopatra's barge.
+
+                       We felt quite sure
+ The eagle's death bequeathed new lease of life.
+ We cast about at once, in hope to find
+ Some object for defense. The tomb was strange.
+ Alone the spider could have known of it.
+ A rich sarcophagus stood in the midst,
+ Of deftly inlaid woods, or carved, or bronzed.
+ Within, a skeleton, its white skull crowned
+ With gold bestarred with diamonds, chilled my blood.
+ A bronze lamp, cast to represent the beast
+ Slain by Bellerophon, the Chimæra,
+ Was on the floor; and from its lion's mouth
+ The flame had issued, like the flame of life
+ That flickered and went out with him gold-crowned.
+ A target stood near by, and on it clashed
+ Griffon and stag, adverse as right and wrong.
+ About, lay cups of onyx set in gold.
+ On conic jars were bacchanalian scenes,--
+ Nude chubby Bacchi, grotesque leering fauns,
+ All linked 'neath vines that grew important grapes;
+ And in the jars were rings and flowers of gold.
+ We found twin ear-drops cut from choicest stone,
+ Metallic mirrors, and a statuette
+ Of amorous Dido naked to the waist.
+ Life is a harp, and all its nervous strings,
+ Touched by the fingers of the fear of death,
+ Jar with pathetic music. Having found
+ No trusty implement to bar the way
+ Of threatening peril, we embraced,
+ And kissed with silent kisses mixed with tears,
+ And waited for the end.
+
+                         When no more,
+ Hope, like an eagle in the mountain air,
+ Soars in time's future, it mounts up with wings
+ Toward the unmapped city walled by death.
+ Thither the eagle of our hope took flight.
+
+ The sun was in the zenith. His back
+ Toward us, crouched the spider, at the mouth
+ Of our strange prison on the towering cliff.
+ The spider's shape was full a fathom long.
+ Two parts it had, the fore part, head and breast;
+ The hinder part, the trunk. The first was black,
+ But all the last was covered with short hair,
+ Yellow and fine. Eight sprawling legs adhered
+ To his tough breast. Eight eyes were in his head,
+ Two in the front, and three on either side;
+ They had no eyelids, and were never closed,
+ Protected by a strong transparent nail.
+ His pincers grew between his foremost eyes--
+ Were toothed like saws, were venomous, and sharp,
+ With claws on either end. Two arms stretched out
+ From his mailed shoulders, and with these he caught
+ His tangled prey, or guided what he spun.
+ Slowly the monster turned, and glared at us,
+ Working his arms, and opening his claws,
+ Then moved toward us fiercely for attack.
+ We ran to gain the limit of the tomb
+ Where darkness was; there as we crouched with dread,
+ My foot struck some hard substance. In despair
+ I grasped at it, and with great joy upheld
+ An ancient sword!--surely, a sharp, bold tooth
+ To bite the spider. I would sink it deep,
+ Up to the gum of the crossed guard. Alert,
+ I sprang upon the monster as he came,
+ And with one blow cut off his brutish head.
+ He writhed awhile with pain, but in the end,
+ Drew up the eight long legs and two thick arms,
+ And rolling over on his useless back,
+ Died with a pang.
+
+                   So we issued forth,
+ And the green earth seemed happy to be free,
+ And glad the sky cloud-frescoed 'gainst the blue.
+ We sought the sea-side cottage, where the chief
+ Clasped once again his daughter to his breast.
+ Down from the hill we fetched the spider slain,
+ And I to science gave these simple facts:
+ Spiders have no antennæ, therefore rank
+ Not with the insects. As they breathe with gills
+ Beneath the body, they possess a heart.
+ The treasure of the tomb brought wealth to us,
+ And we who loved were wed one golden day;
+ And the great Czar hearing our story told,
+ Sent presents to the bride of silk and pearls.
+
+GRACE BERNARD.
+
+  I know the drift and purpose of the years;
+ The will, which is the magnet of the soul,
+ Shall yet attain new powers, and man
+ Be something more than man. The husks fall off;
+ Old civilizations pass, the new come on.
+
+I.
+
+ There are two farms which, smiling in the sun,
+ Adjoin each other, as I trust, some day
+ Two hearts will join, who from their bounty live.
+ One farm is John Bernard's, and one is mine;
+ And she, the one pearl woman in my eyes,
+ Is his sweet daughter, gentle Grace Bernard.
+
+ Three years ago, my father followed her
+ Who gave me birth home to his narrow house.
+ I was at college when death's summons came,
+ And all the grief fell on me, crushing me;
+ And all my heart cried out in bitterness,
+ Moaning to cease with its wet language,--tears.
+ Then with my prospects of professional life
+ Thwarted and void, I came back to the farm--
+ I came back to the love of Grace Bernard.
+ She was the dove that on the flood of grief
+ Brought to my window there love's olive spray.
+ From college to the farm-house where I dwelt
+ I took my books, friends who are never cold,
+ With fragile instruments of chemistry,
+ And cabinets of mineral and rock
+ With limestone encrinites; asterias
+ Old as the mountains, or the sea's white lash
+ Wherewith he smites the shoulders of the shore;
+ Tarentula and scarabee I brought,
+ And, too, I brought my diamond microscope
+ Which magnifies a pin's head to a man's,
+ And gives me sights in water and in air
+ The naturalists have not yet touched upon.
+ Over my fields I wander frequently,
+ Breaking the past's upturned face of shelving rocks
+ For special specimens to fill my home;
+ But find my footsteps always thither tend,
+ Toward the farm-house of the other farm,
+ Where Grace Bernard is noontime and delight.
+
+ When first I took the hand of her I love,
+ And held it only as a stranger might,
+ Some unseen mentor whispered in my ear,
+ _You twain are strands which Destiny shall braid_,
+ And then a numb misgiving, not explained,
+ Settled with chilly dampness on my heart.
+ My Grace Bernard in Grace was not misnamed,
+ There was a soft Madonna look about her eyes;
+ The long thick lash, the drooping-petal lid,
+ Wrought on her face all love and tenderness.
+ Her lips were of that deep intensest red
+ The cherry, red rose, and columbine wear.
+ Her golden hair was sunshine changed to silk,
+ Which fell below her waist, and was a thing
+ Perhaps some lover, braver far than I,
+ Might dare to mesh his hands in, or to kiss.
+
+II.
+
+ The Spring has come and brought her affluent days,
+ But in the air a rumor runs of death--
+ A pestilence is half across the sea.
+ The presses blare its probable approach,
+ And poverty and wealth alike forebode.
+ The cholera it is whispered, Asia-born,
+ May leave more vacant chairs about our hearths
+ Than the red havoc of internal war.
+ There is no foot it may not overtake;
+ There is no cheek which may not blanch for it.
+ It is Filth's daughter, and where the low
+ Huddle in impure air in narrow rooms,
+ There it must come. As all forms of life,
+ Animate and inanimate, originate
+ In seeds and eggs, so all infection does.
+ The floating gases in the atmosphere
+ Acting on particles which from filth arise,
+ Mingle with foul wedlock--germinate,
+ And bear their seed like grain, or breed like flies.
+ This product, scattered on the spotless air,
+ And hurried on the currents of the wind,
+ Is breathed by human beings, near and far;
+ And planted in the system, the disease
+ Ripens and grows, until the sufferer dies.
+ Yellow fever is vegetable disease
+ Because the sharp frost kills it. Cholera
+ Is animal in origin, and survives
+ The utmost cold of long, dark winter days.
+
+ I pray that if the cholera must come,
+ It will not touch my Grace who is so dear;
+ But that we twain may at the altar stand,
+ And outlive many a trouble in the air,
+ And gather many a day of happiness and peace.
+
+III.
+
+ Down by the brook which separates the farms,
+ Is a great rock that leans above the stream,
+ And seems some monster of the Saurian day,
+ That coming to the water's edge to drink,
+ Was petrified, and so is leaning still.
+ Upon its back a week ago I sat,
+ And dreamed of Grace Bernard, and watched the brook;
+ And while I dreamed there came within the dream
+ A premonition of what yet would be.
+ The future's face, forever turned away,
+ Now seemed reverted, and its backward look
+ Was bent on me.
+
+                 They took a faulty cast
+ Of Shakespeare's features after he was dead.
+ I, seeing the future's face, make here my cast.
+
+ And this the premonition that was mine--
+ A perfect premonition full and clear--
+ And as I know the persons it concerns,
+ I cannot think it all improbable,
+ So write it down, that when the time has passed,
+ I may compare the facts with what is here.
+ And yet I scarcely should have written this,
+ Had I not seen his haunting face to-day--
+ That face which I had never seen before,
+ Except in my one dream upon the rock
+ That leans, athirst, above the brimming stream.
+
+ The soldier, when he goes to meet the foe,
+ May darkly understand that death is near,
+ Yet bravely marches on to destiny.
+ I too behold a shadow in my path;
+ I too go on, nor waver in my way.
+
+THE PREMONITION.
+
+I.
+
+ Far off, across the turbulence of waves,
+ I seem to see a wife upon her knees,
+ Her supplicating hands outstretched to one
+ Who strikes her with coarse blows on cheek and breast.
+ He is her husband, and he leaves her there,
+ And takes her jewels and her only purse,
+ And in a ship embarks for other shores.
+ His is the face that I have seen to-day--
+ A handsome face whatever be its sins:
+ A firm mouth, with large wandering black eyes,
+ A bearded under-lip, and snowy teeth;
+ Long, fine black hair, which idly falls about
+ Shoulders that stoop from labor over books;
+ Withal a high and intellectual brow,
+ Not broad enough to hold a generous soul.
+
+II.
+
+ I see the farm-house where my Grace abides;
+ The afternoon is clear, the grass is green;
+ And Grace comes forth and walks toward the brook.
+ Beside its bank, which is a slope of moss,
+ I see the face intent upon the scene.
+ Now Grace draws near, and starting back to find
+ A stranger in the dell she loves the most,
+ Is half attracted by his cultured mien,
+ And half repelled by inconsistent fears.
+ He rises, bowing low, and begs to speak:
+ He has not seen such beauty in his life;
+ He craves to touch a finger of her hand,
+ To judge if she be of the earth, or one
+ Upon some holy mission from that land
+ Whereto, with fastings and with many prayers,
+ Through God's good grace he hopes yet to attain.
+
+ Then John Bernard, who has been working near,
+ Seeding the furrows for his empty barns,
+ This stranger and my Grace puts hand in hand.
+ I see her smile in answer to his smiles.
+ She makes her ears his cells for honeyed speech;
+ And yet she seems to fear him for some cause.
+ Now, as the slow sun tarries on the hills,
+ I see them parting at the farm-house door--
+ The wide half-door which now is opened half--
+ And as he passes down the bordered path,
+ His kiss still lingering upon her hand,
+ She leans out from the door, and watches him
+ Until he vanishes between the trees.
+ I seem to see her face, a trouble sweet
+ Dwelling upon it, even though the light
+ Sets it in glory, with a slender ring
+ Above the white brow and the golden hair.
+
+III.
+
+ I see them riding down the village street:
+ He on a horse as black and strong as iron,
+ She on her snowy palfrey, robed in green,
+ Slack reins in hand; the horses side by side.
+ Even as I see and write, my heart grows cold--
+ Cold as a bird that on a winter's day
+ Breasts the bleak wind, high in the biting air.
+
+IV.
+
+ I see a city with a concourse vast
+ Of gas-lit streets and buildings, and above,
+ Its dear face buried in its cloudy hands,
+ The Night bends over, weeping. In the street
+ I see the face again I saw to-day.
+
+ I see him writing in a narrow room.
+ I read the words:
+                   _To-night I end my life.
+ The river says "Embrace, I offer rest."
+ The world and I have grappled in fair fight,
+ And I am beaten. Having found defeat,
+ I long to go down to its lowest depths.
+ I only ask, that those who find these words,
+ Will send them to my people past the sea;
+ To-night I cross a wider: so, adieu._
+                                 MICHAEL GIANNI.
+
+ This is his true name,
+ And afterward he writes his wife's address.
+ He leaves the paper foldless on a stand,
+ And then goes forth; but not to end his life.
+ He dreams that now his life is but begun.
+ He sees my Grace in all his coming days;
+ He sees the large old farm-house where she dwells,
+ And therein hopes to happily pass the years,
+ Living in peace and plenty till he dies.
+
+ Most human calculations end in loss,
+ And every one who has a plan devised,
+ Is like a foolish walker on a rope,
+ First balancing on this side, then on that,
+ Hazarding much to gain a paltry end;
+ And if the rope of calculation breaks,
+ Or if the foot slip, added to mishap
+ Come the world's jeers and gibes; and so 'tis best.
+ Should half men's schemings find success at last,
+ I fear God's plans would have but narrow room.
+
+ (Michael Gianni, now I know your name,
+ This premonition gives the hint to me
+ To trip you in your studied subtleties.
+ You will not win my Grace, who loves me still;
+ You will not dare to kiss her hand again.)
+
+V.
+
+ Beneath a rustic arbor, near her house,
+ Linked with sweet converse, sit two shadowed forms.
+ The new sword moon against the violet sky
+ Is held aloft, by one white arm of cloud
+ Raised from the sombre shoulder of a hill.
+ My Grace and I are sitting in the bower,
+ And down upon my breast and girdling arm
+ Is strewn pure gold--no alloy mixes it--
+ The pure ore of her lovable gold hair.
+ The cunning weavers of Arabia,
+ Who seek to shuttle sunshine in their silk,
+ Would give its weight in diamonds for this hair,
+ Whereof to make a fabric for their king.
+
+ I see the trees that skirt the yonder vale,
+ And where the road dents down between their arms,
+ I see a figure passing to and fro.
+ Now he comes near, and striding up the path
+ Enters the arbor, and discovers us.
+ It is Gianni; to his flashing eyes
+ A fierce deep hatred leaps up from his heart,
+ As lightning, which forebodes the nearing storm,
+ Leaps luridly above the midnight hills.
+ With some excuse Gianni passes on,
+ While Grace, with sweetly growing confidence,
+ Whispers with lips which slightly touch my ear,
+ "I never loved him, I was always yours."
+
+VI.
+
+ I see the parlor that my Grace adorns
+ With flowers and with her presence, which is far
+ Above the fragrant presence of all flowers.
+ Grace sits at her piano; on her lips
+ A song of twilight and the evening star.
+ There as the shadows slowly gather round,
+ Gianni comes, and stops a moody hour;
+ She, ice to his approaches; he, despair;
+ But ere he goes, he places in her hand
+ A large ripe orange, fresh from Sicily,
+ And begs her to accept it for his sake.
+ She bows him from the room, and puts the fruit
+ Before her on her music, once again
+ Dreaming of me, and singing some wild song
+ Of Pan, who, by the river straying down,
+ Cut reeds, and blew upon them with such power,
+ He charmed the lilies and the dragon-flies.
+ Now while the song is swaying to its close,
+ I seem to come myself into the room,
+ And clasp true arms about my darling Grace;
+ She lays Gianni's orange in my hand,
+ And says that I must eat it; she would not
+ Have taken it, but that she did not wish
+ To cross him with refusal. So I say,
+ "Surely this stranger has peculiar taste
+ To bring an orange to you--only one.
+ Perhaps there is more in it than we know."
+
+VII.
+
+ I seem to have this orange in my room,
+ And in the light of morning turn it round.
+ I find no flaw in it on any side.
+ A goodly orange, ripe, with tender coat
+ Of that deep reddish yellow, like fine gold.
+ Perhaps the tree had wrapped its roots about
+ A chest of treasure, and had drawn the wealth
+ Into its heart to spend it on its fruit.
+ But while I slowly turn the orange round,
+ And look more closely, lo, the slightest cut!--
+ A deep incision made by some sharp steel.
+ I carefully cut the rind, and without once
+ Breaking the fine apartments of the fruit,
+ Or spilling thence a drop of golden juice,
+ Find that one room through which the steel has passed.
+ This I dissect, and, testing as I can,
+ Fail to discover aught that's poisonous.
+
+VIII.
+
+ I bring my microscope, and on a seed
+ Clinging with abject fear, I see a Shape
+ Whose wings are reeking with foul slime, whose eyes
+ Glare with a demon lustre born of Pain.
+ Its face has somewhat of the human shape,
+ The under-jaw too large, and bearded long;
+ The forehead full of putrefying sores.
+ Such front the Genius, Danhasch, may have worn.
+ It may be that the hideous face is like
+ The idol Krishna's, from whose feasts depart,
+ Smitten with cholera, the Hindoo devotees.
+ The body oozes with a loathsome dew.
+ Its head is red as if sucked full of blood;
+ But all the rest, its hundred legs, and tail,
+ The mailed back, and the wide-webbed prickly wings,
+ Are green, like those base eyes of jealousy
+ Which hope to see a covert murder done.
+ I find the finest needle in the house,
+ And press the point down on the slimy hide.
+ The blunt edge crushes, does not pierce the shape,
+ And brings the straggle that I gloat to see.
+ The legs stretch out, and work to get away;
+ A barbed tongue and twin fangs drool from the mouth.
+ The eyes protrude, and glare with deadly hate,
+ Until they fix at last in stony calm.
+
+ I ponder long on what this shape can be.
+ There is no doubt Gianni placed it here;
+ If so, where has he caught and caged a thing
+ The naked eye has not the power to see?
+ Its uses must be deadly. In revenge,
+ He hopes to take the life of her I love.
+ While poisons of another character
+ Might be detected, this remains unknown.
+ The Thing I have discovered--this vile Shape,
+ Must be an atom of some foul disease!
+ And now I have the secret. For some days
+ Gianni waits upon a stricken man,
+ Who dies, a victim of the cholera.
+ In some strange manner he has found this germ,
+ And placed it in the orange, hoping thus
+ To bring the dread disease to Grace Bernard.
+
+IX.
+
+ I seem to be with him I hate, once more,
+ And now accuse him of the fiendish deed
+ That I through chance averted. Now I too
+ Command him to return to his true wife,
+ And no more cross my path; should he remain,
+ He shall but wait to meet her, for my words
+ Already have been sent that he is here.
+
+X.
+
+ I know that I shall fall sick dangerously,
+ And in some way by dark Gianni's hand.
+ I seem to lie asleep upon my bed,
+ And Grace is near, and watching my calm face.
+ The village doctor makes his morning call,
+ And takes my listless hand to feel the pulse.
+ There is no pulse! His hand goes to the heart.
+ My heart has ceased to beat, and all is still.
+ The hand the doctor held drops down like lead.
+ A looking-glass receives no fading mist,
+ Laid on the icy and immovable lips.
+ My eyes are fixed; I glare upon them all.
+ Grace twines her widowed arms about my neck,
+ Kissing my sallow cheeks, with hopeless tears,
+ Calling my name, and begging me come back;
+ So, thinking me dead, they close my staring eyes,
+ And put the face-cloth over my white face,
+ And go with silent tread about the room.
+ They do not know that I am in a trance.
+ I hear each whisper uttered, and the sighs
+ That heave the desolate bosom of my Grace.
+
+XI.
+
+ All is so dark since they have shut my eyes;
+ I think it cruel in them to do that--
+ Shut out the light of day and every chance
+ That I could ever have of seeing Grace.
+ I cannot move a muscle, and I try,
+ And strive to part my lips to say some word;
+ But all in vain; the mind has lost control
+ Over the body's null machinery.
+
+ I wonder if they yet will bury me,
+ Thinking me dead? To wake up in the grave,
+ And hear a wagon rumbling overhead,
+ Or a chance footstep passing near the spot,
+ And then cry out and never get reply;
+ But hear the footstep vanish far away,
+ And know the cold mould smothers up all cries,
+ And is above, beneath, and round me,
+ Is bitter thought. To lie back then and die,
+ Suffocating slowly while I tear my hair,
+ Makes me most wild to think of.
+
+XII.
+
+                                 Hark! 'tis night.
+ The hour is borne distinctly by the wind.
+ My Grace sits near me; now comes to my side,
+ And unto Him, whose ear is everywhere,
+ She, kneeling down, puts up her hands, and prays.
+
+ "O Father of all mercies, still be merciful,
+ And raise me from the gulf of this despair.
+ I cannot think nor feel my love is dead.
+ If he yet lives, and lingers in a trance,
+ Give me some sign that I may know the truth."
+
+ I slowly raise my hand, and let it fall.
+
+ Grace springs up all delight, and draws the cloth,
+ Kissing my lips, and begging me to wake.
+ I try, but fail to raise my hand again.
+ The trance still lasts. My eyes will not unclose;
+ My lips refuse the functions of their place.
+
+XIII.
+
+ On the next day will be the funeral;
+ But Grace has this delayed for one week more;
+ Yet all in vain, I neither wake nor move.
+
+ I hear the people coming in the house,
+ And straight within my coffin long to rise.
+ I hear the pastor's prayer, and then his words,
+ Simple and good, and full of tender praise.
+ They come at last to take a parting look,
+ A file of faces that pass out the door.
+ I hear them quickly screwing down the lid;
+ And now the bearers take me from the house,
+ And push me, feet first, in the black plumed hearse.
+ Gianni is a bearer of my pall,
+ And Grace is choked with sobs, and follows on.
+ We reach the grave. They slowly lower me down.
+ Some gravel on the side is loose, and falls
+ Battling upon the narrow coffin lid.
+
+ Horror on horror! Let me see no more!
+
+AFTER BURIAL.
+
+ So stands the premonition; and to-day
+ I look back on the words here written down,
+ Comparing them with what has happened since,
+ And find there is no flaw in any scene.
+
+ Always intending to tell Grace my fear
+ That some day I might be entombed alive,
+ I always failed, until it was too late.
+ But as the sod fell on the coffin-lid,
+ My trance was broken, and I called and screamed,
+ Until they drew me up from out the grave,
+ And breaking in my prison, set me free.
+
+ Gianni fled, fearing my face at last.
+ To-day I have his letter from his home,
+ Beneath the far-off skies of Italy,
+ Craving forgiveness for his wrongs to me;
+ Saying that he repents for all his past,
+ And with Christ's help, will lead a better life.
+ He found his wife and children overjoyed
+ To have him back again to their embrace.
+
+ To-morrow Grace Bernard and I shall wed.
+ The bell that tolled my bitter funeral knell,
+ Will ring, glad of my wedding and my bride--
+ Ring merrily round and round a jubilant peal.
+
+ There comes no premonition now to show to me
+ What the long future has in store for us;
+ But from my door I watch the sunset skies,
+ And see blue mountains tower o'er golden plains,
+ Clothed with pure beauty stretching far away.
+ So seems the future. I await the morn.
+
+VEERA.
+
+I.
+
+THE KING'S SEAL.
+
+ While yet upon his couch our father lay,
+ Sick unto death, my brothers, with one mind,
+ Plotted abrupt destruction to my life.
+ I did not tell the king, because I feared
+ To lessen by one heat the throbbing of his heart.
+ Beside his couch I knelt, and bowed my head--
+ I, his first-born, whom all the people loved.
+ His hot, weak hand he laid upon my hair,
+ And blessed me with his blessing, then said on:
+ "Thou hast beheld in Spring the dark green blade
+ That stabs up through the unresisting earth;
+ At last the Summer crowns it with a flower.
+ So thou, when I am passed away, and gone to dust,
+ Shalt wear a crown, but grander than the shrubs--
+ The symbol of a kingdom, on thy brow.
+ But take thee now this lesson to thy heart,
+ And from the grass learn wisdom; wear thy crown
+ As meekly, and as void of all display,
+ As doth the shrub half hidden under leaves."
+ So he bent down with pain, and kissed my cheek,
+ As though, having issued a great law, he
+ Had set his seal upon it--the king's seal.
+
+ I cared not for the crown, save as a means
+ To give my soul a higher and a nobler life.
+ This my old tutor taught me--a strange man he,
+ With careless garb, and heavy hairy brows
+ Bridged over eyes that shone like furnace fire.
+ My will was lost in his. I grew like him.
+ I only cared to study and to dream.
+ And he it was who, standing in the night
+ Between two pillars on the palace porch,
+ Saw my two brothers pass, and overheard
+ The hateful whisper of their black design.
+
+II.
+
+THE NIGHT OF THE ESCAPE.
+
+ The night before the murder was to be,
+ I drew my long, keen dagger from its sheath,
+ And stole on down the marble stair-way, past
+ The throne-room, to the curtained arch wherein
+ My brothers lay asleep. No dream beset
+ The guilty Dead-Sea of their rest. They lay
+ Engulfed in pillows, like two ships mid waves.
+ I saw their faces, and the one was fair.
+ Long dark brown hair fell from his noble brow,
+ And on the silken billow of the couch lay curled
+ Like spray. The other face was cold and dark
+ I felt no pity in my angry breast
+ For this, the older brother of the twain.
+ Yet he it was who always praised me most.
+ Praise is a dust of diamond that, if thrown
+ Well in the eyes of even noble men,
+ Will blind them to a host of flagrant faults.
+ The moon was full, and 'twixt two silvered clouds
+ Looked forth, like any princess from between
+ The tasseled curtains of her downy bed.
+ The vagrant wind came through the opened blind,
+ And whispered of the desert; with its hand
+ Fanning the flame that in the silver urn
+ Mimicked a star. Beneath the rays I wrote:
+ _I should have slain you both for your intent
+ Of murder; but I spare, you, and I go.
+ So, take the kingdom, and ride long and well._
+ Between them there I laid the paper down,
+ Then thrust my dagger, to the golden hilt,
+ Through it, deep in the couch. So passing on,
+ I came to that high room wherein my sire,
+ The king, lay sick, and drifting near to death.
+ My tutor at his feet, and on the floor,
+ Embraced by needed sleep, lay like a dog.
+ I came to see the king's face once again,
+ Ere, like a maid who in her lover trusts,
+ I gave myself up, body and soul,
+ To the great desert and the world beyond.
+ How sweetly slept the king! His long white beard,
+ And venerable face, were undisturbed
+ By even the breezy motion of his breath.
+ Surely, I thought, the fever must have passed.
+ I bent down tenderly to kiss the cheek.
+ How cold! God help me, can the king be dead?
+ My heart gave one wild bound, driving a wave
+ Of grief, vast as a mountain, up the sands
+ Of my bleak desolation. The wave broke
+ Into a blinding mist of tears at last.
+ I longed to moan out my despair, but paused,
+ Checking my sobs to kiss the face once more;
+ Then moved from the strange room, parting with care
+ The massive silken curtains, fearful then
+ Their rustle might attract some wakeful ear.
+ I found the jewels of the crown, and these
+ With all my own I in a bag secured,
+ And hung about my neck, beneath my robe.
+ Noiseless as a ghost I passed the hall,
+ And down the stair-way wrought of sandal-wood
+ Made lightest footsteps. As I stole
+ Along the alcoves where the maidens slept,
+ A lady stood before me. She outstretched
+ Her white and naked arms, and round my neck
+ Entwined them. She was the captive, Veera,
+ Once held for ransom from some Bedouin tribe;
+ But when the coin was brought she would not go;
+ At this the king was pleased, for thus she made
+ Perpetual peace between him and her kin.
+ No maid in Mesched up and down, was found
+ To rival her for beauty. All her words
+ Were apt and good, and all her ways were sweet.
+ I, in her happy prison, ivory-barred
+ By her white arms, was restless for release.
+ She would not set me free until I told
+ The purport of my vigil, and revealed
+ The place whereat my journey would be done.
+ I did not wait to pay her back her kiss.
+ I hurried to the stables, where I found
+ My coal-black steed. He neighed and pawed the floor.
+ I bound the saddle firmly, grasped the reins,
+ And in a moment passed the city's gate,
+ And shot out on the desert, where the wind
+ Made race with us, but lagged behind at last.
+
+III.
+
+TWO PROBLEMS.
+
+ Vienna gained, I gave myself to books.
+ Here I had promised Veera I should be.
+ New paths were opened to me, and my days
+ Were lost in study. All my tutor knew
+ Seemed cramped and meagre in these wider ways
+ Of thought and science. Better far, I said,
+ To know, than be a king. There is no crown
+ That so becomes the brow as knowledge does.
+
+ To solve two problems, now engrossed my life.
+ My Bedouin tutor had spent all his days
+ Upon them, but without success. On me
+ He grafted all the purpose of his soul,
+ Determined, though he failed, that I might yet
+ Toil on when he was compassed round by death.
+ These sister problems were, _How make pure gold?_
+ And, _How endure forever on the earth?_
+
+IV.
+
+THE DOOR.
+
+ Among the books that I had bought myself,
+ I found the Bible. This to peruse
+ I soon essayed; but ere I had read far,
+ Behold! I found the door behind which lay
+ The answers to my problems. Locked and barred
+ The door was, yet I knew it was the door.
+ For here I read of Eden, and that in the midst
+ The Tree of Life stood, while through the land
+ A river ran which parted in four heads;
+ And one was Gihon, the Ethiop stream;
+ And one was Pison, the great crystal tide
+ Which floods Havilah, where fine gold is found,
+ And rare bdellium and the onyx stone.
+ So, as my tutor said, my problems were
+ A dual secret, and the one contained
+ The other. All the long night through I pored
+ Above the words, and kissed the unconscious page
+ With reverent lips. My heart was like a sponge
+ Soaked in the water of the mystic words.
+
+V.
+
+THE KEY.
+
+ As one who in the night, passing a street
+ Deserted, finds a lost key rusted and old,
+ Yet knows that it will fit some great iron door
+ Behind which countless treasures are concealed,
+ So I, when first I came to Mesmer's works,
+ Knew I had found the key to move the door
+ Of my twin problems. Then, day after day,
+ I made them all my study. Much I mourned
+ The sad disheartened life that Mesmer led.
+ He never knew that one good thing, success;
+ But yet his strong, persistent genius, to the end
+ Endured. Yet such the rule in every age.
+ The one true man appears, and gives his thought,
+ At which the whole world rail or basely sneer.
+ The next man comes and makes a thankless use
+ Of what the other knew, and wins the praise
+ The first man lost by being ripe too soon.
+
+VI.
+
+NEWS FROM MESCHED.
+
+ Down the long street, upon my iron-black steed,
+ I rode and pondered. Where shall I seek to find
+ A sweet soul pure as dawn, who to my will shall be
+ Both malleable and ductile; who can soar
+ Over the whole earth, or go back in the past?
+ While yet I mused, lo, up a garden walk,
+ A lady chased a bird. An empty cage
+ Stood in the vine-clad cottage-window near.
+ The bird was like some sweet elusive thought;
+ The maid, a Sappho, weary with pursuit.
+ She only glanced my way to see me pass,
+ Then turned and ran towards me, her large eyes
+ With gladness scintillant. It was the maid,
+ Veera. Her hand upon my shoulder, up the walk
+ We went, my steed following, while her bird,
+ Tired of his liberty, had found his cage.
+ Strange news had Veera. Here she lived in peace;
+ But through the city she had sought me long.
+ When I was gone from Mesched, and my brothers read
+ The paper I had written, their wrath rose
+ Against my tutor whom they deemed the spy.
+ He, being found asleep beside the king
+ Who lay dead, to his door they brought
+ The baseless charge of murder. Through the streets
+ They sent their criers to proclaim the deed.
+ So, clamorous for his life, the people came
+ And dragged him forth, and led him to the block
+ And slew him. On a spear they set his head,
+ And placed it high upon the tower above
+ The eastern gate. The birds pecked at the eyes,
+ And of the hair made comfortable nests.
+ The rain beat on it, and the active wind
+ Crowned it with desert dust. Always the sun
+ Made salutation to it, flushing it
+ Until it seemed more ghastly than before.
+ But after this mad crime the older brother grew
+ Jealous of him, the younger. One dark morn
+ They found the last-born lifeless in the street,
+ Stabbed by a long, sharp poniard in the back.
+ Misrule followed misrule, and justice fled.
+ Laws were abolished, and pleasure's lewdest voice
+ Hawked in the market-place, and through the streets.
+ Her story done, Veera entreated me
+ To set my face for Mesched with the dawn.
+ "Not yet," I said, "not yet." And then I made
+ Strange passes with my hands, and braced my will,
+ To sway her will; then with a questioning glance
+ She passed out to a calm Mesmeric sleep.
+ So, well I knew that I had found the soul
+ My purpose needed, and I bade her wake.
+
+VII.
+
+THE MIDNIGHT VISITOR.
+
+ I sat and pondered in my room that night
+ Until the towers and steeples, near and far,
+ Like sentries of the sky, issued the hour
+ Of midnight. Then I wrought magnetic force
+ With waving hands; and set my swerveless will
+ That Veera should approach me, and that none
+ Should harm or see her as she passed the streets.
+ At last I heard her footstep on the stair--
+ The patter of her feet as soft as rain,
+ And then she turned the hinge and entered in.
+ A long white wrapper made of satin, bound
+ With lace of gold, and fastened at the throat
+ With buttons of cut diamond, clad her form.
+ A band of opals was around her neck--
+ A hundred little worlds with central fires.
+ Her feet were naked, and her hair was down.
+ Her large eyes, wide and staring, took no heed
+ Of anything before them; thus she slept.
+ I bade her sit beside me, and I placed
+ The Bible on her knee, and laid her hand
+ Upon the verse that names the tree of life.
+ "Tell me," I said, "where may this tree be found."
+ "The way is long," she answered me at last,
+ "And I am worn and weary. I have tracked
+ The shore of one long river, many a mile.
+ The sun scorches like fire. I am athirst.
+ I cannot find the tree; my search is done."
+ "Look down the past, and find if any knew
+ Where grows this tree, or how it might be found."
+ Again her lips made answer: "One I see,
+ Long dead, who bends above a written scroll,
+ And therein makes strange characters, which hold
+ Some hidden sense pertaining to this tree.
+ In Milan, in the Ambrosian library there,
+ I see this scroll to-night; 'tis worn with age."
+
+ "Now seek thy home again," I said, "sweet soul.
+ Thou art as meek and pure as him whose hand
+ First wrote God's words." So she arose, and passed
+ Along the dark, deserted street, and I
+ Followed her closely, till I saw her cross
+ The threshold of her cottage; then I turned,
+ And found my home, and calmly slept till dawn.
+
+VIII.
+
+THE PALIMPSEST.
+
+ In Milan, in the Ambrosian library there,
+ Among Pinellian writings seared with age,
+ I found a prophet's palimpsest--a scroll
+ That Angelo Maio had brought to light.
+ And on the margin of this scroll, I found
+ Mysterious signs which baffled me at first.
+ After a full week's search I chanced to find
+ The mongrel dialect of which they were.
+ I thus translated: _Gihon is the Nile.
+ A perfect soul may find long life and gold._
+ Surely, I thought, Veera the maid is pure.
+ Her life's blue sky has not one cloud of sin.
+ If her feet press the soil where Eve first trod,
+ I can but follow and attain. So I
+ Back to Vienna came and found Veera.
+ To her I made my double purpose plain,
+ And prayed her to go with me in my search.
+ She smiled assent. To be near me, she said,
+ Had brought her to Vienna; this indeed
+ Detained her from her kinsmen. Her heart's book
+ Lay open to me, and I read her love.
+ So we were wed, and both lives ran to one.
+
+IX.
+
+GIHON.
+
+ Now for the Nile we journeyed, gaining first
+ The town of Gondokoro, where the stream
+ Of Bahr el Abiad, or White Nile, flows.
+ Thence we passed on, and with the savage kings
+ Of Karagwe, Uganda and Ungoro, stopped,
+ To rest our weary feet, or in their huts
+ Escape the sun's fierce glare. At last we found
+ The sources of the Nile; two lakes that now
+ Are called Nyanza and Nzige. If here
+ I had but paused, and had retraced my steps,
+ The whole world would have known and praised my name,
+ For I was first to find the secret out.
+ But then I cared not for it, journeying on.
+ After a week, we came upon a land
+ All void, and barren of a single leaf.
+ Veera was pale and worn, although she bore
+ Fatigue with generous patience for my sake.
+ Our feet were swollen, and with the hot sand scorched,
+ Our garments were in tatters, and we seemed
+ Like beggars, in a land where there were none to give.
+ At night we slept beside a wide, cool stream,
+ Whereat we quenched our thirst, and bathed our feet.
+ My beard was grown, and all my hair hung down
+ Neglected, on my shoulders. I was weak,
+ And thin, and feverish, and Veera, too,
+ I saw was sick, and languished hour by hour.
+
+X.
+
+GOLD!
+
+ In the sand, lo! something to the sun
+ Replied with brilliant lustre; as I brushed
+ The dust away, I saw that it was gold!--
+ A solid bar of gold--and yet so weak
+ Was I, I could not move it from its place.
+ I would have given then the bar of gold
+ To buy a crust, but could not. So we passed,
+ And came where five great rivers went their ways.
+ Which should we follow? One I knew
+ Led to the tree of life, but all the rest
+ Went back to death. Here a dead bird we found,
+ And tearing off its gaudy plumage, ate.
+ Upon occasional trees grew strange sparse fruits,
+ And these sustained us as we wandered on.
+ Along the banks for many a mile we went
+ By each of these five rivers, then returned.
+ So all my hope was dead, and long I prayed
+ That I might live to see my land again.
+
+XI.
+
+THE MESSAGE OF THE THREE MEN.
+
+ The night came on, and unto sleep we gave
+ Our spirits. When the golden day was born
+ Veera awoke, and told me all her dream;
+ "Lo, in the night three men have talked with me--
+ Three strange good men who said the kindest words,
+ And said that only those who were released
+ From sin, could find the garden of the Lord.
+ And this release was bought upon a cross
+ By One, a Nazarene, with priceless blood.
+ If He would bear our sins, then we might reach
+ The garden; but we must not touch or eat
+ The tree of life that flourished in the midst."
+ Then I abased my soul, and prayed again,
+ And cast off all the burden of my sins,
+ Tearing my strange ambition from my heart.
+ And Veera, too, embraced the Christian Faith.
+ So we arose, and went upon our way,
+ And journeying eastward, Eden found at last!
+
+XII.
+
+THE GARDEN.
+
+ The trees were housed with nests, and every one
+ Was like a city of song. The streams too
+ Were voluble; they laughed and gurgled there
+ Like men who, at a banquet, sit and drink
+ And chatter. All the grass was like a robe
+ Of velvet, and there was no need of rain.
+ In dells roofed with green leafage, nature spread
+ Couches meet for a Sybarite. Sweet food
+ The servant trees extended us to eat
+ In their long, branchy arms. Even the sun
+ Was tempered, and the sky was always blue.
+ Corpulent grapes along the crystal rocks,
+ Made consorts of the long-robed lady leaves.
+ The butterfly and bee, from morn till eve,
+ Consulted with the roses, lip to lip,
+ Which grew in rank profusion. They at times
+ Dared to invade the empire of the grass,
+ And overthrew its green-robed, spear-armed hosts.
+ The lilies too were like an army there,
+ And every night they struck their snowy tents,
+ To please their great commander, the round moon--
+ God's lily in the everlasting sky.
+
+XIII.
+
+CAST OUT.
+
+ As to the heliotrope comes fluttering down
+ The peacock-butterfly, who sips and flies,
+ So each glad day gold-winged came to the land
+ And sipped its sip of time and fled away.
+ Now in an evil hour I hungered, and I saw
+ The tree of life that grew forbidden fruit.
+ What harm, I thought, is there to always live?
+ To live is happiness; but to die is pain.
+ The rental claimed by death falls due too soon.
+ So I reached forth, and took the fruit, and ate.
+ Then all the sky grew dark, and from the land
+ Malignant terrors drove me shrieking forth;
+ And as I fled, my youth abandoned me;
+ My hair turned gray, my shoulders stooped, my blood
+ Grew colder, and my perfect form was changed.
+ A weak old man with wrinkled face, I fled,
+ To wander in the wastes. Once I looked back
+ Upon the garden; over it the sky
+ Was soft and clear; and midway in the air
+ I saw Veera between two angels, borne
+ To heaven. So I turned again and fled.
+
+XIV.
+
+"LONG LIVE THE KING."
+
+ I came at last to Mesched. It was night.
+ The moon, half-shadowed, trailed its silver robe
+ Over the tower above the eastern gate,
+ And there revealed the outlines of a skull
+ Set on a spear. The portals were unbarred.
+ I passed the arch, but in the shadow kept,
+ While on the flinty wall I edged my knife.
+ Then I crept on until I gained the porch
+ Of the great palace. There I smote the guard,
+ And entering in, sought out the sleeping king.
+ Deep in his heart I plunged my thirsty knife.
+ All the next day I sat before the gate,
+ And begged, and heard the rumors of the town;
+ Then, standing forth, I claimed to be their king,
+ And told them all my story to the end.
+ None pitied the dead ruler, for he knew
+ No pity while he lived. So I was king at last;
+ But all my life, and all my hope to me
+ Are dust and ashes, knowing that God's frown
+ Abides upon me. Would that I could die!
+
+ There is no kindlier spirit than content.
+ And there is nothing better in the world
+ Than to do good, and trust in God for all.
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Stories in Verse, by Henry Abbey
+
+*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK STORIES IN VERSE ***
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+    "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd">
+
+<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml">
+  <head>
+    <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=iso-8859-1" />
+    <title>
+      The Project Gutenberg eBook of Stories in Verse, by Henry Abbey.
+    </title>
+    <style type="text/css">
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+
+<pre>
+
+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Stories in Verse, by Henry Abbey
+
+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: Stories in Verse
+
+Author: Henry Abbey
+
+Release Date: October 16, 2007 [EBook #23037]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK STORIES IN VERSE ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Marilynda Fraser-Cunliffe, storm and the Online
+Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
+file was made using scans of public domain works from the
+University of Michigan Digital Libraries.)
+
+
+
+
+
+
+</pre>
+
+
+
+<h1>STORIES IN VERSE.<br /><br /></h1>
+
+<p class="title"><small>BY</small>
+<br />
+HENRY ABBEY.<br /><br /></p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="width">
+<span class="i0">The sense of the world is short&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To love and be beloved.<br /></span>
+<span class="i8"><span class="smcap">Emerson.</span><br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="title">
+<br /><br /><br />
+NEW YORK:<br />
+A. D. F. RANDOLPH &amp; CO., PUBLISHERS,<br />
+<br />
+<small><span class="smcap">Cor. Broadway and Ninth Street.</span><br />
+1869.</small>
+</p>
+
+
+<hr />
+
+
+<p class="center">
+Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1869, by<br />
+<span class="smcap">Henry L. Abbey</span>,<br />
+in the Clerk's Office of the District Court for the Southern District of
+New York.<br /><br /><br />
+</p>
+
+<p class="center"><small>
+RIVERSIDE, CAMBRIDGE:<br />
+PRINTED BY H. O. HOUGHTON AND COMPANY.
+</small></p>
+
+
+<hr />
+
+
+<p class="center"><small>TO</small><br />
+RICHARD GRANT WHITE,<br />
+<small>WITH GRATITUDE FOR HIS FRIENDSHIP, AND WITH ADMIRATION FOR HIS ELEGANT
+SCHOLARSHIP.</small></p>
+
+
+<hr />
+
+
+<h2>CONTENTS.</h2>
+
+<table summary="table of contents" style="width: 350px;">
+<colgroup span="2">
+<col width="300px"></col>
+<col width="50px"></col>
+</colgroup>
+<tr>
+<td></td>
+<td class="tdr"><small>PAGE</small></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td><span class="smcap">Blanche</span></td>
+<td class="tdr"><a href="#BLANCHE">1</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td><span class="smcap">Karagwe, an African</span></td>
+<td class="tdr"><a href="#KARAGWE_AN_AFRICAN">28</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td><span class="smcap">Demetrius</span></td>
+<td class="tdr"><a href="#DEMETRIUS">55</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td><span class="smcap">The Strong Spider</span></td>
+<td class="tdr"><a href="#THE_STRONG_SPIDER">82</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td><span class="smcap">Grace Bernard</span></td>
+<td class="tdr"><a href="#GRACE_BERNARD">94</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td><span class="smcap">Veera</span></td>
+<td class="tdr"><a href="#VEERA">112</a></td>
+</tr>
+</table>
+
+
+<hr />
+<h2><a name="BLANCHE" id="BLANCHE"></a>BLANCHE:<br /><br />
+
+<small>AN EXHALATION FROM WITHERED VIOLETS.</small></h2>
+
+
+<h3>I.<br /><br />
+
+THE VENDER OF VIOLETS.</h3>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"<span class="smcap">Violets!</span> Violets! Violets!"<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">This was the cry I heard<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As I passed through the street of a city;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And quickly my heart was stirred<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To an incomprehensible pity,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">At the undertone of the cry;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For it seemed like the voice of one<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Who was stricken, and all undone,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Who was only longing to die.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"Violets! Violets! Violets!"<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The voice came nearer still.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">"Surely," I said, "it is May,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And out on valley and hill,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The violets blooming to-day,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Send this invitation to me<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To come and be with them once more;<br /></span>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">[Pg 2]</a></span><span class="i0">I know they are dear as can be,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And I hate the town with its roar."<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"Violets! Violets! Violets!"<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Children of sun and of dew,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Flakes of the blue of the sky,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">There is somebody calling to you<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Who seems to be longing to die;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Yet violets are so sweet<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">They can scarcely have dealings with death.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Can it be, that the dying breath,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That comes from the one last beat<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of a true heart, turns to the flowers?<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"Violets! Violets! Violets!"<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The crier is near me at last.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With my eyes I am holding her fast.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">She is a lovely seller of flowers.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">She is one whom the town devours<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In its jaws of bustle and strife.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">How poverty grinds down a life;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For, lost in the slime of a city,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">What is a beautiful face?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Few are they who have pity<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For loveliness in disgrace.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Yet she that I hold with my eyes,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Who seems so modest and wise,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Has not yet fallen, I am sure.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">She has nobly learned to endure.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Large, and mournful, and meek,<br /></span>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[Pg 3]</a></span><span class="i0">Her eyes seem to drink from my own.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Her curls are carelessly thrown<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Back from white shoulder and cheek;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And her lips seem strawberries, lost<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In some Arctic country of frost.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The slightest curve on a face,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">May give an expression unmeet;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Yet hers is so perfect and sweet,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And shaped with such delicate grace,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Its loveliness is complete.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"Violets! Violets! Violets!"<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I hear the cry once more;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But not as I heard it before.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">It whispers no more of death;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But only of odorous breath,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And modest flowers, and life.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I purchased a cluster, so rife<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With the touch of her tapering hand,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I seem to hold it in mine.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I would I could understand,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Why a touch seems so divine.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<h3>II.<br /><br />
+
+A FLOWER FOUND IN THE STREET.</h3>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">To-day in passing down the street,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">I found a flower upon the walk,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A dear syringa, white and sweet,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Wrung idly from the missing stalk.<br /></span>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[Pg 4]</a></span></div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And something in its odor speaks<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Of dark brown eyes, and arms of snow,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And rainbow smiles on sunset cheeks&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">The maid I saw a month ago.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I waited for her many a day,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">On the dear ground where first we met;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I sought her up and down the way,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">And all in vain I seek her yet.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Syringa, naught your odor tells,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Or whispers so I cannot hear;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Speak out, and tell me where she dwells,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">In perfume accents, loud and clear.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Shake out the music of your speech,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">In quavers of delicious breath;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The conscious melody may teach<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">A lover where love wandereth.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">If so you speak, with smile and look,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">You will not wither, but endure;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And in my heart's still open book,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Keep your white petals ever pure.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">If so you speak, upon her breast<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">You yet may rest, nor sigh afar;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But in the moonlight's silver dressed,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Seem 'gainst your heaven the evening star.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<h3>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[Pg 5]</a></span>
+III.<br /><br />
+
+ODYLE.</h3>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">We know that they are often near<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Of whom we think, of whom we talk,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Though we have missed them many a year,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">And lost them from our daily walk.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Some strange clairvoyance dwells in all,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">And webs the souls of human kind.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I would that I could learn its thrall,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">And know the power of mind on mind.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I then might quickly use the sense,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">To find where one I worship dwells,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">If in the city, or if thence<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Among the breeze-rung lily bells.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<h3>IV.<br /><br />
+
+WHAT ONE FINDS IN THE COUNTRY.</h3>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I went out in the country<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">To spend an idle day&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To see the flowers in blossom,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">And scent the fragrant hay.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The dawn's spears smote the mountains<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Upon their shields of blue,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And space, in her black valleys,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Joined in the conflict too.<br /></span>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[Pg 6]</a></span></div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The clouds were jellied amber;<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">The crickets in the grass<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Blew pipe and hammered tabor,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">And laughed to see me pass.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The cows down in the pasture,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">The mowers in the field,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The birds that sang in heaven,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Their happiness revealed.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">My heart was light and joyful,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">I could not answer why;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And I thought that it was better<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Always to smile than sigh.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">How could I hope to meet her<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Whom most I wished to meet?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">If always I had lost her,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Then life were incomplete.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The road ran o'er a brooklet;<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Upon the bridge she stood,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With wild flowers in her ringlets,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">And in her hand her hood.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The morn laid on her features<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">An envious golden kiss;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">She might have fancied truly,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">I longed to share its bliss.<br /></span>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[Pg 7]</a></span></div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I said, "O, lovely maiden,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">I have sought you many a day.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That I love you, love you, love you,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Is all that I can say."<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Her mournful eyes grew brighter,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">And archly glanced, though meek.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A bacchanalian dimple<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Dipt a wine-cup in her cheek.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"If you love me, love me, love me,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">If you love me as you say,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">You must prove it, prove it, prove it!"<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">And she lightly turned away.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<h3>V.<br /><br />
+
+AN AUNT AND AN UNCLE.</h3>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I have but an aunt and an uncle<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">For kinsfolk on the earth,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And one has passed me unnoticed<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">And hated me from my birth;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But the first has reared me and taught me,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Whatever I have of worth.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">This is my uncle by marriage,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">For his wife my aunt had died,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And left him all her possessions,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">With much that was mine beside&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[Pg 8]</a></span><span class="i0">'Tis said that he hated her brother,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">As much as he loved the bride.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">That brother, my father, forgave him,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">As his last hour ran its sand,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And begged in return his forgiveness,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">As he placed in his sister's hand<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The bonds, that when I was twenty,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Should be at my command.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">For my mother was dead, God rest her,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">And I would be left alone.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The bride to her trust was unfaithful&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Her heart was harder than stone.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And her widowed sister, left childless,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Adopted me as her own.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">So we dwelt in opposite houses&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">We in a dwelling low,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And he in a brown stone mansion.<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">I toiled and my gain was slow.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">My uncle rode in a carriage<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">As fine as there was in the row.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Once, in a useless anger,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">With courage not mine before,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I bearded the crafty lion,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Demanding my own, no more.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He said the law gave me nothing,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">And showed me out of his door.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<h3>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[Pg 9]</a></span>
+VI.<br /><br />
+
+MY AUNT INVITES HER IN TO DINE.</h3>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">This is the place, this is the hour,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And through the shine, or through the shower,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">She promised she would come.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">O, darling day, she is so sweet<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I could kneel down and kiss her feet.<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Her presence makes me dumb.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">A thousand things that I would say,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And ponder when she is away,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Desert me when she's near&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When she is near&mdash;twice we have met!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Though but a month has passed as yet,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">It seems almost a year.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">O, now she comes, and here she stands,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And gives me hers in both my hands,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">And blushes to her brow.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">She eyes askance her simple gown,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And folds a Judas tatter down<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">She has not seen till now.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I said, "My love you made me wait,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I grew almost disconsolate<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Thinking you would not come.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Ah, tell me what you have to do,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That makes your duty, sweet, for you<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">My rival in your home."<br /></span>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[Pg 10]</a></span></div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"My home!" she answered, "I have none.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For me, 'tis years since there was one,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">And that was scarcely mine.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Father and mother both are dead;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I sell sweet flowers to earn my bread&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Their fragrance is my wine.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"Sometimes the house upon the farm,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Sometimes the city's friendly arm,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Shields me from rain and dew.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I did not know that it was late;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The minutes you have had to wait,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Are truly but a few."<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">A smile shone through her large dark eyes,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As sometimes, in the stormy skies,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">The light puts through an arm,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Which, spreading glory far and wide,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Draws the broad curtain cloud aside,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Making the whole earth warm.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">She took my arm; we walked away;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">We saw, in parks, the fountains play;<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">My heart was all elate.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I scarcely noticed when I stood,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With my dear waif of womanhood,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Beside our lowly gate.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"You have no home," I gently said,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">"But, till the day that we are wed,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">And after if you will,<br /></span>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[Pg 11]</a></span><span class="i0">This home, my love, is mine and thine."<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">My aunt came out and bade us dine&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">I see her smiling still.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">My Blanche, reluctant, gave consent;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Then 'neath the humble roof we went,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">And sat about the board.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I saw how sweet the whole surprise;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I saw her fond uplifted eyes,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Give thanks unto the Lord.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<h3>VII.<br /><br />
+
+THE PROPHECY.</h3>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">There is a prophecy of our line,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Told by some great grand-dame of mine<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I once attempted to divine.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">'Tis that two children, then unborn,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Would know a wealthy wedding morn,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Or die in poverty forlorn.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">These children would be of her name.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">If to the bridal bans they came,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The house would gather strength and fame.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">But if they came not, woe is me,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The line would ever cease to be,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The wealth would take its wings and flee.<br /></span>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[Pg 12]</a></span></div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">If all the signs are coming true,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I am the child she pictured, who<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The name should keep or hide from view.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">In our domain of liberty,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Our heed is light of pedigree,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I care not for the prophecy.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">For what to me our wealth or line?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I only wish to make her mine&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The maid my aunt asked in to dine.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<h3>VIII.<br /><br />
+
+HOW A POOR GIRL WAS MADE RICH.</h3>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">All the day my toil was easy, for I knew that in the evening,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">I could go home from my labor, and find Blanche at the door;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">How could I dream the sunlight in my sky was so deceiving?<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">And I ceased in my believing 'twould be cloudy ever more.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">When at last the twilight deepened, I entered our low dwelling,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">And my darling rose to meet me, with the love-light in her eyes;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">On that day her simple story to my aunt she had been telling,<br /></span>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[Pg 13]</a></span><span class="i1">And I saw her words were welling, fraught with ominous surprise.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">For it seems my hated uncle, once had given him a daughter,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Who on a saddened morning had been stolen from the door,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And through the panting city the criers cried and sought her,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">But in vain; they never brought her to his threshold any more.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Blanche was she, my uncle's daughter; no unwelcome truth was plainer;<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">For a small peculiar birth-mark was apparent on her arm.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Had I lost her? Was it possible ever more now to regain her?<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Would he spurn me, and restrain her with his wily golden charm?<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">All that night my heart was bitter with unutterable anguish,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">And I cried out in my slumber till with my words I woke:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">"How long, O Lord, must poverty bow down its head and languish,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">While wrong, with wealth to garnish it, makes strong the heavy yoke?"<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<h3>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[Pg 14]</a></span>
+IX.<br /><br />
+
+THE MISER.</h3>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">'Tis said, that when he saw his child,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">And saw the proof that she was his,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The first in many a year he smiled,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">And pressed upon her brow a kiss.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">In both his hands her hand he bound,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">And led her gayly through his place.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He said the dead years circled round,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Hers was so like her mother's face.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">He scarcely moves him from her side&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Her every hour with joy beguiles.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To make the gulf between us wide,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">He acts the miser of her smiles.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">He brings her presents rich and rare&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Wrought gold by cunning hands impearled,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Round opals that with scarlet glare,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">The lightning of each mimic world.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<h3>X.<br /><br />
+
+SHE PASSED ME BY.</h3>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">She bowed, and smiled, and passed me by,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">She passed me by!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">O love, O lava breath that burns,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">'Tis hard indeed to think she spurns<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Such worshippers as you and I.<br /></span>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[Pg 15]</a></span><span class="i0">She smiled, and bowed, with stately pride;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The bow the frosty smile belied.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">She passed me by.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">She bowed, and smiled, and passed me by,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">She passed me by.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">What more could any maiden do?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">It did not prove she was untrue.<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">My heart is tired, I know not why.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I only know I weep and pray.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Love has its night as well as day.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">She passed me by.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<h3>XI.<br /><br />
+
+MIND WITHOUT SOUL.</h3>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Some strange story I have read<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Of a man without a soul.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Mind he had, though soul had fled;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Magic gave him gifts instead,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">And the form of youth he stole.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Grows a rose-azalea white,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">In my garden, near the way.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I who see it with delight,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Dream its soul of odor might,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">In the past, have fled away.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Blanche (O, sweet, you are so fair,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">So sweet, so fair, whate'er you do),<br /></span>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[Pg 16]</a></span><span class="i0">Twine no azalea in your hair,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Lest I think in my despair,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Heart and soul have left you too.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<h3>XII.<br /><br />
+
+A BROKEN SWORD.</h3>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Deep in the night I saw the sea,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">And overhead, the round moon white;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Its steel cold gleam lay on the lea,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">And seemed my sword of life and light,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Broke in that war death waged with me.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I heard the dip of golden oars;<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Twelve angels stranded in a boat;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">We sailed away for other shores;<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Though but an hour we were afloat,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">We harbored under heavenly doors.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">O, Blanche, if I had run my race,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">And if I wore my winding sheet,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And mourners went about the place,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Would you so much as cross the street,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To kiss in death my white, cold face?<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<h3>XIII.<br /><br />
+
+A CHANCE FOR GAIN.</h3>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I met him in the busy mart;<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">His eyes are large, his lips are firm,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And on his temples, care or sin<br /></span>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[Pg 17]</a></span><span class="i2">Has left its claw prints hardened in;<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">His step is nervous and infirm;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I wondered if he had a heart.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">He blandly smiled and took my hand.<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">He owed me such a debt, he thought,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">He felt he never could repay;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Yet should I call on him that day,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">He'd hand me what the papers brought,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For which I once had made demand.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Then added, turning grave from gay;<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">"But you must promise, if I give,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Your lover's office to resign,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And stand no more 'twixt me and mine."<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">His words were water in a sieve.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I turned my back and strode away.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<h3>XIV.<br /><br />
+
+THE LIGHT-HOUSE.</h3>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">At twilight, past the fountain,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">I wandered in the park,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And saw a closed white lily<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Sway on the liquid dark;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And a fire-fly, perched upon it,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Shone out its fitful spark.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I fancied it a light-house<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Mooned on a sky-like sea,<br /></span>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[Pg 18]</a></span><span class="i0">To warn the fearless sailors<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Of lurking treachery&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of unseen reefs and shallows<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">That starved for wrecks to be.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">O Blanche, O love that spurns me,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">'Tis but a cheat thou art.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I would some friendly light-house<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Had warned me to depart<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">From the secret reefs and shallows<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">That hide about your heart.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<h3>XV.<br /><br />
+
+DARKNESS.</h3>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">My hopes and my ambition all were down,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Like grass the mower turneth from its place;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The night's thick darkness was an angry frown,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">And earth a tear upon the cheek of space.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The mighty fiend of storm in wild unrest,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">By lightning stabbed, dragged slowly up the plain;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Great clots of light, like blood, dripped down his breast,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">And from his open jaws fell foam in rain.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<h3>XVI.<br /><br />
+
+IN THE CHURCH-YARD.</h3>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Where the sun shineth,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Through the willow trees,<br /></span>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[Pg 19]</a></span><span class="i0">And the church standeth,<br /></span>
+<span class="i3">'Mid the tomb-stones white,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Planting anemones<br /></span>
+<span class="i3">I saw my delight.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Her mother sleepeth<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Beneath the green mound;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A white cross standeth<br /></span>
+<span class="i3">To show man the place.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Now close to the ground<br /></span>
+<span class="i3">Blanche bendeth her face.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">She quickly riseth<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">As she hears my walk,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And sadly smileth<br /></span>
+<span class="i3">Through mists of tears;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">We mournfully talk<br /></span>
+<span class="i3">Of departed years.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">She downward droopeth<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Her beautiful head,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And a blue-bell seemeth<br /></span>
+<span class="i3">That blossometh down;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Trembling with dread,<br /></span>
+<span class="i3">Lest the sky should frown.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">She dearer seemeth<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Than ever before.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">She gently chideth<br /></span>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[Pg 20]</a></span><span class="i3">My more distant way.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">At her heart's one door<br /></span>
+<span class="i3">I entered to-day.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">No palace standeth<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">As happy as this.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Love ever ruleth<br /></span>
+<span class="i3">Its precincts alone&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">His sceptre a kiss,<br /></span>
+<span class="i3">And a smile his throne.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">There is one Blanche feareth&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">She loves not deceit&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">She only wisheth<br /></span>
+<span class="i3">To dazzle his heart.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">We promise to meet.<br /></span>
+<span class="i3">And separate depart.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<h3>XVII.<br /><br />
+
+COMPARISONS.</h3>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The moon is like a shepherd with a flock of starry lambkins,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The wind is like a whisper to the mountains from the sea,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The sun a gold moth browsing on a flower's pearl-dusted pollen;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But my words can scarcely utter what my love is like to me.<br /></span>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[Pg 21]</a></span></div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">She is the sun in light's magnificence across my heart's day shining,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">She's the moon when through the heavens of my heart flash meteor dreams;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Her voice is fragrant south wind a silvery sentence blowing;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">She is sweeter than the sweetest, she is better than she seems.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<h3>XVIII.<br /><br />
+
+AN INQUIRY OF THE SEXTON.</h3>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"Sexton, was she here to-day<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Who has met me oft before?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Did she come and go away,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Tired of waiting any more?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For I fancy some mistake<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Has occurred about the time;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Yet, the hour has not yet passed;<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Hark! the bells begin to chime.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"In her hair two roses woo,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">One a white, and one a red.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Azure silk her dress might be,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Though she oft wears white instead.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Here, beside this marble cross,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Oft she kneels in silent prayer;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Tell me, has she been to-day,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">In the church-yard anywhere?"<br /></span>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[Pg 22]</a></span></div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"No, the lady that you seek<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Has not passed the gate to-day:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I've been digging at a grave,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">And if she had come this way<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I'd have seen her from my work.<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">She may come to meet you yet.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I remember well her looks.<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Names, not faces, I forget."<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<h3>XIX.<br /><br />
+
+A RIVAL.</h3>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">It seems I have a rival<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Domiciled over the way;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But Blanche, dear heart, dislikes him,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Whatever her father may say&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">This gorgeously broadclothed fellow,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Good enough in his way.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">To-day as I left the church-yard,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">I met them taking a ride,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And my heart was pierced like a buckler<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">With a javelin of pride;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I only saw in my anger<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">They were sitting side by side.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">To-night, in the purple twilight,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Blanche waited upon the walk,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And beckoned her white hand to me&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[Pg 23]</a></span><span class="i1">A lily swayed on its stalk.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Soon my jealous pride was foundered<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">In the maelstrom of talk.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">'Twas useless to go to the church-yard,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">For some one had played the spy;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">She fancied it was the sexton&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">We would let it all go by;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">We now would have bolder meetings,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">'Neath her father's very eye.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">She took my arm as we idled,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">And talked of our love once more,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And how, with her basket of flowers,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">She had passed the street before;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">We tarried long in the moonlight,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">And kissed good-night at her door.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<h3>XX.<br /><br />
+
+KISSES AND A RING.</h3>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I never behold the sea<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Rush up to the hand of the shore,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And with its vehement lips<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Kiss its down-dropt whiteness o'er,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But I think of that magic night,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">When my lips, like waves on a coast,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Broke over the moonlit hand<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Of her that I love the most.<br /></span>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[Pg 24]</a></span></div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I never behold the surf<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Lit by the sun into gold,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Curl and glitter and gleam,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">In a ring-like billow rolled,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But I think of another ring,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">A simple, delicate band,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That in the night of our troth<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">I placed on a darling hand.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<h3>XXI.<br /><br />
+
+AN ENEMY MAY BE SERVED, EVEN THROUGH MISTAKE, WITH PROFIT.</h3>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I was walking down the sidewalk,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">When up, with flying mane,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Two iron-black steeds came spurning<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">The ground in wild disdain;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I caught them in an instant,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">And held them by the rein.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">It seems the man had fainted<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">In his elegant coup&eacute;;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I saw his face a moment,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">And then I turned away,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Wishing my steps had led me<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Through other streets that day.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Some one who saw the rescue<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Afterward told him my name.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For the first in many a season,<br /></span>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[Pg 25]</a></span><span class="i1">Beneath our roof he came.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I said I was deserving<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Little of praise or blame.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">It was my uncle's face in the carriage;<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">He made regret of the past;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">No more of my love or wishes<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Would he be the iconoclast;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">On a gala night at his mansion<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">We should learn to be friends at last.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<h3>XXII.<br /><br />
+
+HELIOTROPE.</h3>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Let my soul and thine commune,<br /></span>
+<span class="i8">Heliotrope.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">O'er the way I hear the swoon<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of the music; and the moon,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Like a moth above a bloom,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Shines upon the world below.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In God's hand the world we know,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Is but as a flower in mine.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Let me see thy heart divine<br /></span>
+<span class="i8">Heliotrope.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Thy rare odor is thy soul,<br /></span>
+<span class="i8">Heliotrope.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Could I save the golden bowl,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And yet change my soul to yours,<br /></span>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[Pg 26]</a></span><span class="i0">I would do so for a day,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Just to hear my neighbors say:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">"Lo! the spirit he immures<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Is as fragrant as a flower;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">It will wither in an hour;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Surely he has stol'n the bliss,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For we know the odor is<br /></span>
+<span class="i8">Heliotrope."<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Have you love and have you fear,<br /></span>
+<span class="i8">Heliotrope?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Has a dew-drop been thy tear?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Has the south-wind been thy sigh?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Let thy soul make mine reply,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">By some sense, on brain or hand,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Let me know and understand,<br /></span>
+<span class="i8">Heliotrope.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">In thy native land, Peru,<br /></span>
+<span class="i8">Heliotrope,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">There are worshippers of light&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">They might better worship you;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But they worship not as I.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">You must tell her what I say,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When I take you 'cross the way,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For to-night your petals prove<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The Devotion of my love,<br /></span>
+<span class="i8">Heliotrope.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">'Tis time we go, breath o' bee,<br /></span>
+<span class="i8">Heliotrope.<br /></span>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[Pg 27]</a></span><span class="i0">All the house is lit for me;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Here's the room where we may dwell,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Filled with guests delectable.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Hark! I hear the silver bell<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Ever tinkling at her throat.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I have thought it was a boat,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">By the Graces put afloat,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">On the billows of her heart.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I have thought it was a boat<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With a bird in it, whose part<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Was a solitary note.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Now I know 'tis Heliotrope<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That the moonlight, bursting ope,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Changed to silver on her throat.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Let us watch the dancers go;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0"><em>She</em> is dancing in the row.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Sweetest flower that ever was,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I shall give you as I pass,<br /></span>
+<span class="i8">Heliotrope.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr />
+<h2>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[Pg 28]</a></span>
+<a name="KARAGWE_AN_AFRICAN" id="KARAGWE_AN_AFRICAN"></a>KARAGWE, AN AFRICAN.</h2>
+
+
+<h3>PART FIRST.</h3>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">This</span> is his story as I gathered it;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The simple story of a plain, true man.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I cling with Abraham Lincoln to the fact,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That they who make a nation truly great<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Are plain men, scattered in each walk of life.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To them, my words. And if I cut, perchance.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Against the rind of prejudice, and disclose<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The fruit of truth, it is for the love of truth;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And truth, I hold with Joubert, to consist<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In seeing things and persons as God sees.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<h4>I.</h4>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">An African, thick lipped, and heavy heeled,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With woolly hair, large eyes, and even teeth,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A forehead high, and beetling at the brows<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Enough to show a strong perceptive thought<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Ran out beyond the eyesight in all things&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A negro with no claim to any right,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A savage with no knowledge we possess<br /></span>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[Pg 29]</a></span><span class="i0">Of science, art, or books, or government&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Slave from a slaver to the Georgia coast,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">His life disposed of at the market rate;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Yet in the face of all, a plain, true man&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Lowly and ignorant, yet brave and good,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Karagwe, named for his native tribe.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">His buyer was the planter, Dalton Earl,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of Valley Earl, an owner of broad lands,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Whose wife, in some gray daybreak of the past,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Had tarried with the night, and passed away;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But left him, as the marriage ring of death<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Was slipped upon her finger, a fair child.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He called this daughter Coralline. To him<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">She was a spray of whitest coral, found<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Upon the coast where death's impatient sea<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Hems in the narrow continent of life.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<h4>II.</h4>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Each day brought health and strength to Karagwe.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Each day he worked upon the cotton-field,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And every boll he picked had thought in it.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He labored, but his mind was otherwhere;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Strange fancies, faced with ignorance and doubt,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Came peering in, each jostling each aside,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Like men, who in a crowded market-place,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Push 'gainst the mob, to see some pageant pass.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">All things were new and wonderful to him.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">What were the papers that his owner read?<br /></span>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[Pg 30]</a></span><span class="i0">The marks and characters, what could they mean?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">If speech, what then the use of oral speech?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">At last by digging round the spreading roots<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of this one thought, he found the treasure out&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Knowledge: this was the burden which was borne<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">By these black, busy, ant-like characters.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">But how acquire the meaning of the signs?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He found a scrap of paper in the lane,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And put it by, and saved it carefully,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Till once, when all alone, he drew it forth,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And gazed at it, and strove to learn its sense.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But while he studied, Dalton Earl rode by,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And angered at the indication shown,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Snatched rudely at the paper in his hand,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And tore it up, commanding that the slave<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Have fifty lashes for this breach of law.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Long on his sentence pondered Karagwe.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Against the law? Who then could make a law<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Decreeing knowledge to a certain few,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To others ignorance? Surely not God;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For God, the white-haired negro with a text<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Had said loved justice, and was friend to all.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">If man, then the authority was null.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The fifty lashes scourged the slave's bare back,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The red blood running down at every stroke,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The dark skin clinging ghastly to the lash.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">No moan escaped him at the stinging pain.<br /></span>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[Pg 31]</a></span><span class="i0">Tremblingly he stood, and patiently bore all;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">His heart indignant, shaking his broad breast,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Strong as the heart that Hippodamia wept,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Which with the cold, intrusive brass thrust through,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Shook even the Greek spear's extremity.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<h4>III.</h4>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And so the negro's energy, made strong<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">By the one vile argument of the lash,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Was given to learn the secret of the books.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He studied in the woods, and by the fall<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Which shoots down like an arrow from the cliff,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Feathered with spray and barbed with hues of flint.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">His books were bits of paper printed on,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Found here and there, brought thither by the wind.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Once standing near the bottom of the fall<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And gazing up, he saw upon the verge<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of the dark cliff above him, gathering flowers,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">His master's child, sweet Coralline; she leaned<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Out over the blank abyss, and smiled.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He climbed the bank, but ere he reached the height,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A shriek rang out above the water's roar;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The babe had fallen, and a quadroon girl<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Lay fainting near, upon the treacherous sward.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The babe had fallen, but with no injury yet.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Karagwe slipped down upon a narrow ledge,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And reaching out, caught hold the little frock,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Whose folds were tangled in a bending shrub,<br /></span>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[Pg 32]</a></span><span class="i0">And safely drew the child back to the cliff.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The slave had favors shown him after this,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Although he spoke not of the perilous deed,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Nor spoke of any merit he had done.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<h4>IV.</h4>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">By being always when he could alone,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">By wandering often in the woods and fields,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He came at last to live in revery.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But little thought is there in revery,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But little thought, for most is useless dream;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And whoso dreams may never learn to act.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The dreamer and the thinker are not kin.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Sweet revery is like a little boat<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That idly drifts along a listless stream&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A painted boat, afloat without an oar.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And nature brought strange meanings to the slave;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He loved the breeze, and when he heard it pass<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The agitated pines, he fancied it<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The silken court-dress of the lady Wind,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Bustling among the foliage, as she went<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To waltz the whirlwind on the distant sea.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The negro preacher with the text had said<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That when men died, the soul lived on and on;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">If so, of what material was the soul?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The eye could not behold it; why not then<br /></span>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[Pg 33]</a></span><span class="i0">The viewless air be filled with living souls?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Not only these, but other shapes and forms<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Might dwell unseen about us at all times.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">If air was only matter rarefied,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Why could not things still more impalpable<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Have real existence? Whence came our thoughts?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As angels came to shepherds in Chaldee;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">They were not ours. He fancied that most thoughts<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Were whispered to the soul, or good, or bad.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The bad were like a demon, a vast shape<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With measureless black wings, that when it dared,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Placed its clawed foot upon the necks of men,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And with the very shadow of itself,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Made their lives darker than a starless night.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He did not strive to picture out the good,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Or give to them a figure; but he knew<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">No glory of the sunset could compare<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With the clear splendor of one noble deed.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">He proudly dreamed that to no other mind<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Had these imaginings been uttered.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Alas! poor heart, how many have awoke,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And found their newest thoughts as old as time&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Their brightest fancies woven in the threads<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of ancient poems, history or romance,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And knowledge still elusive and far off.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<h4>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[Pg 34]</a></span>
+V.</h4>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The days that lengthen into years went on.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The quadroon girl who fainted on the cliff<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Was Ruth; now, blooming into womanhood,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">She looked on Karagwe, and seeing there<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Something above the level of the slave,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Watched him with interest in all his ways.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">At first through pity was she drawn to him.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">While both were sitting on a rustic seat,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Near the tall mansion where the planter dwelt,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A drunken overseer came straggling past,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And seeing in the dusk a female form,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Swayed up to her, and caught her by the arm,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And with an insult, strove to drag her on.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Ruth spoke not; but the negro, with one grasp<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Upon the white man, caused her quick release.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He turned, and in the face struck Karagwe.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The patient slave did not return the blow,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But the next day they tied him to a post,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And fifty stripes his naked shoulders flayed.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Stricken in mind at being deeply wronged,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Filled with a noble scorn, that men most learned<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Would so degrade a brother race of men,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He wept at heart; no groan fled through his lips.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Yet in a few days he was forced to go<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And work beneath the intolerable sun,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Picking the cotton-boll, and bearing it<br /></span>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[Pg 35]</a></span><span class="i0">In a rude basket, on his wounded back,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Up a steep hill-side to the cotton gin.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<h4>VI.</h4>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Ruth, as she walked the pebbled garden lanes,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Or daily in her hundred household cares,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thought of the dark face and noble heart<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of Karagwe, and truly pitied him.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">He, when the labor of the day was done,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Moved through the dusk, among the dewy leaves,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And, darker than the shadows, scaled the wall,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And waited in the garden, crouching down<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Among the foliage of the fragrant trees,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Hoping that she again might come that way.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He saw her through the window of the house,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Pass and repass, and heard her sweetly sing<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A tender song of love and pity blent;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But would not call to her, nor give a sign<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That he was there; to see her was enough.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Perhaps, if those about her knew he came<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To meet her in the garden, they would place<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Some punishment upon her, some restraint,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That she, though innocent, might have to bear.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">So he passed back again to his low cot,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And on his poor straw pallet, dreamed of her,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As loyally perhaps as Chastelard,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Lying asleep upon his palace couch,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Dreamed of Queen Mary, and the love he gave.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<h4>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[Pg 36]</a></span>
+VII.</h4>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Ruth was but tinged with shade, and always seemed<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Some luscious fruit, with but the slightest hint<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of something foreign to the grafted bough<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Whereon it grew. Her eyes were black, and large,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And passionate, and proved the deathless soul,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That through their portals looked upon the world,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Was capable of hatred and revenge.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Her long black lashes hung above their depths,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Like lotus leaves o'er some Egyptian spring.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And they were dreamy, too, at intervals,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And glowed with tender beauty when she loved.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Her grace made for her such appropriate wear,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That, though her gown was of the coarsest cloth,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And though her duty was the lowest kind,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">It seemed apparel more desirable<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Than trailing robes of velvet or of silk.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Her voice was full, and sweet, and musical,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Soft as the low breathings of an instrument<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Touched by the unseen fingers of the breeze.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<h4>VIII.</h4>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The large plantation, next to Dalton Earl's,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Was owned by Richard Wain, a hated man&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Hated among his slaves and in the town.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Uncouth, revengeful, and a drunkard he.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Two miles up by the river ran his lands;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And here, within a green-roofed kirk of woods,<br /></span>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[Pg 37]</a></span><span class="i0">The slave found that seclusion he desired.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">His only treasure was a Testament<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Hid in the friendly opening of a tree.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Often the book was kept within his cot,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">At times lay next his heart, nor did its beat<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Defile the fruity knowledge on the leaves.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The words were sweet as wine of Eshcol grapes<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To his parched lips. He saw the past arise.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Vague were the people, and the pageant moved,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Uncertain as the figures in the dusk;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Yet One there was, who stood in bold relief;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A lovely, noble face with sweeping beard,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And hair that trailed in beauty round his neck;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A patient man, whose deeds were always good.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Whose words were brave for freedom and mankind.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<h4>IX.</h4>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">In passing through the grounds of Richard Wain,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Karagwe found, upon a plat of grass,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Some sheets of paper fastened at the ends,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Blown from the house, he thought, or thrown away.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The sheets were closely written on and sealed.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Here was a long-sought opportunity<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To learn the older letters of the pen.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That night the writings, wrapped about the Book,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Were safe within the hollow of the tree.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<h4>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[Pg 38]</a></span>
+X.</h4>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">All day he dreamed, "What token shall I give.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That she will know my thought and understand."<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He caught at last a velvet honey-bee,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Weighed down with its gold treasure in its belt,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And killed it; then, when morning came again,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Bore it to Ruth beneath the fragrant trees.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">"I bring you, Ruth, a dead bee for a sign.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For if to-day you wear it in your hair,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When once again you come to walk the lane,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I then shall know that you are truly mine,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Willing to be my wife, and share my lot,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And let me toil with you like any bee;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But if you do not wear it, then I shall care<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">No more for anything; but waste my life,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A bee without a queen." Then not one word<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Spoke Ruth; but when the sunset came, and she<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Went from the house again to walk alone,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The dead bee glittered gem-like in her hair.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And him she met for whom the sign was meant,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And in his hand she laid her own, and smiled.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<h4>XI.</h4>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The next day, Richard Wain, when riding past,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Heard Ruth's bird-voice trilling in the lane,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And caught a glimpse of her between the trees,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A picture, for an instant, in a frame.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He thought, "The prize I coveted is near;<br /></span>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[Pg 39]</a></span><span class="i0">She will be mine before the set of sun."<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Returning soon, toward the house he went,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Strode to the door, calling for Dalton Earl,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And told him for what merchandise he came.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The girl was not for sale, the other said.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">"You talk at random now," said Richard Wain,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">"You know I hold the deed of all your lands,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And so, unless you let the woman go,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Your whole estate shall have a sheriff's sale."<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The planter turned a coward at the threat,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And knowing well what blood ran in the veins<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of her he sold, reluctant gave consent.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Above his wine he told Ruth of her fate,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And to the floor she fell, and swooned away.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Recovering, she rose upon her knees,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And begged, and prayed, that she might still remain.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">At this he told her how the lands were held,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And if she went not he must starve or beg.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">"Then let the lands be sold, and sold again;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">If his, they are not yours. What good will come<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">If I do go to him? then all is his.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Last night I gave my hand to Karagwe.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">O, it will break my heart to go away."<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Lightly his mustache twirled Dalton Earl.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">At dusk, in tears to Karagwe's low roof,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Ruth passed, and uttered, with wild, angry words,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The hard conditions that had been imposed.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">She wept; he comforted: "There yet was hope:<br /></span>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[Pg 40]</a></span><span class="i0">There was a Hero, in a Book he read,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Who said that those who suffered would be blessed."<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Then for the last, toward the planter's house<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">They walked, and o'er them saw the spider moon<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Weaving the storm upon its web of cloud.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<h4>XII.</h4>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">But Karagwe, when once he turned again,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Smote wildly his infuriated breast.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">His fierce eyes flashed; he thirsted for revenge.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Then came a calmer mood, and far away<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Sped the expelled thoughts like shuddering gusts of wind.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He wept that this injustice should be done;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Yet knew that in God's hand the scale was set,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And though His poor, down-trodden, waited long,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">They waited surely, for His hour would come.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<h4>XIII.</h4>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The night passed, and the troublous morning broke,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And Ruth was sold away from him she loved.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The dark day died, and when the moon arose,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The foremost torch in day's long funeral train,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Karagwe went down toward the river's brink,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thinking of what had been. He turned and saw<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">His enemy walk calmly up the road.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Quickly behind him came another form;<br /></span>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[Pg 41]</a></span><span class="i0">And in a jeweled hand, half raised to strike,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A poniard glistened. Then the negro rose,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And caught the weapon from the assassin's grasp,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And stood before the planter, Dalton Earl!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">"Forgive," he said, "Forgiveness is a slave;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">She has no pride, she never does an ill;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For she is meekly great, and nobly good,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And patient, though the lash of anger smites."<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Rebuked, the master stood before the slave,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And Richard Wain passed on, nor knew his life<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Was saved by one that he had that day wronged.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thus Dalton Earl: "I thank you for this act,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thwarting a bad intent. Yet I had cause<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To take the sullied life of Richard Wain.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He drugged the wine he gave me at his house,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And knowing that I had with me the deed<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And title of my lands, begged me to play,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And while I played, stake all upon a card.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He won, and I have hated from that hour."<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<h4>XIV.</h4>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Like some great thought that finds release at last,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The happy Spring in buds expression found.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Coralline Earl grew rich in every grace.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Her eyes' blue heavens were serene with soul,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And goodness sunned her face from light within.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Her hands were soft with kindness. On her brow<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Shone hope, more lovely than a ruby star.<br /></span>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[Pg 42]</a></span></div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">As in the ancient days sat Mordecai<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">At the king's gate, and waited for the hour,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When, clothed with pomp, he too should take his seat<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Among the mighty nobles of the land,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">So at the gateway of her palace heart,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Love tarried, that he too might enter in,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And rule the kingdom of another life.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Not long the waiting; for when Stanley Thane<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Came from his northern home with Dalton Earl,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And on the terrace steps met Coralline,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Love took the sceptre that his waiting won.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Well worthy to be loved was Stanley Thane.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He could not claim a titled ancestor,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Nor boast of any blood but Puritan.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">His father was successful on exchange,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Reaped fortune by a rise in merchandise,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Now sent his partner son with Dalton Earl<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Toward the claspless girdle of the South.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And Stanley Thane was all that makes true men;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">High thought, high purpose, loving right the best,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">His mind was clear and fresh as air at morn.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">He kissed the rosy tips of Coralline's hand,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And that day galloped with her through the town,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And wandered with her down magnolia lanes,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And watched, below the spray-woofed fall, the brook,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That seemed a maid, who, sitting at a loom,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Wove misty lace to decorate the rocks.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<h4>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[Pg 43]</a></span>
+XV.</h4>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Long o'er his writings hidden in the tree<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Pondered the slave, and found at last their worth.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Must he return them? To whom did they belong?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">If he should give them back to Dalton Earl<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Unjustly, Richard Wain might claim them still.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He chose to keep there folded round the Book,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Hid in the secret hollow of the tree.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">He thought of Ruth as one who was at rest,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And wept for her as though she was no more,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And sometimes gathered flowers, and placed them where<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He knew she soon would pass, as tenderly<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As though he laid them down upon her grave.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<h4>XVI.</h4>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Once in the twilight, as the shadows fell,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A skiff shot from the under-reaching shore,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And Stanley Thane and Coralline sailed down<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The languid waters, 'neath the dappled moon.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">They spoke of giant wars that yet might be<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To drive the dragon Slavery from the land.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Coralline smoothed the evils it had wrought.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Stanley, who could not see a wrong excused,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Said, "God is just; he knows nor white nor black.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">If war must come, each shackle will be forced,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To make, at last, the nation wholly free."<br /></span>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[Pg 44]</a></span></div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And Karagwe, who pulled a silent oar,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Shut the winged words in cages of his heart;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But Coralline was angry at the speech,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And rained disdain on noble Stanley's head,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Scorning his Northern thought and Northern blood,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And sighed that it had been their lot to meet.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">"If that is true," he said, "then let us part,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And let us hope we shall not meet again.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Adieu! for I shall see you never more."<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The boat was near the bank; he sprang to it,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And left her sitting in the gilded prow&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Her pride, a raging Hector of the hour,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Fighting a thousand tears, whose war-cry rose:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thin patience brings thick damage in the end.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<h4>XVII.</h4>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">When Richard Wain found that the deed was lost,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Which he had won at play with Dalton Earl,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Chagrin and rage were ready at a beck,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Like waters in a dam, to pass the race,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And turn the voluble mill-wheel of his tongue.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He half suspected Dalton Earl the thief,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Yet knew, if this were true, the threat he made<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To gain Ruth from him, would have been in vain.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And so, because he feared to lose his power,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He kept his secret that the deed was lost.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<h3>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[Pg 45]</a></span>
+PART SECOND.</h3>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Now through the mighty pulses of the land<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Throbbed the dark blood of war; and Sumter's guns<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Were the first heart-beats of a better day.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The avenging angel, with a scourging sword<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of fire and death, with triumph on his face,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Swept o'er the nation with the cry of War!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Ten thousand boroughs, dreaming peace, awake.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">War in the South, with the South! War! War!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The shame we nourished stings us to the death.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">O, fair, false wife, South! lo, thy lord, the North,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Loveth thee still, though thou hast gone astray.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In truth's great court, vain has thy trial been,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For no divorce could there be granted thee.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The child you bore was bitter curse and shame,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And not the child of thy husband, the North.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">It has led thee to miry paths, and raised<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The gall of despair to thy famished lips;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">It were better that such a child should die.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<h4>I.</h4>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The first year of the war had passed away<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When Richard Wain, the planter, sprang to arms.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The day for his departure had been set;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To-morrow it would be, and as the night<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Fell on the misty hills, and on the vales,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He sat alone in his accustomed room;<br /></span>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[Pg 46]</a></span><span class="i0">Thinking, he drowsed; his chin couched on his breast;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A dim light wrought at shadows on the walls.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Slowly the sash was raised behind him there.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Perhaps he slept; he did not heed the noise,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And Karagwe sprang in, and faced his foe.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He held a long knife up and brandished it,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And said, "As surely as you call or move,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Tour life will not be worth a blade of grass;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But if you do not call, and sign the words,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That I have written on a paper here,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">No harm will come, and I shall go away."<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He drew the paper forth; the planter read:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0"><span class="italic">I promise if the deed is ever found</span><br /></span>
+<span class="i0"><span class="italic">Of Dalton Earl's estate, I in no way</span><br /></span>
+<span class="i0"><span class="italic">Shall lay a claim to it to make it mine.</span><br /></span>
+<span class="i0"><span class="italic">I here surrender all my right to it.</span><br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"Why, this I shall not sign, of course," he said.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">"You might have asked me to give back your Ruth,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And I would not have minded; but your game<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Lies deeper than a check upon the queen."<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"Sign!" cried the negro; and at Ruth's name,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A sudden madness leaped along his nerves,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Like flame among the dry prairie grass.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">"Sign! for unless you sign this writing now,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">You shall not live; now promise me to sign!"<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He caught the planter fiercely by the throat,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Starting his quailing eyes, "Now will you sign or not?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">You have ten seconds more to make your choice."<br /></span>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[Pg 47]</a></span></div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"Give me the paper then, and I will sign."<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The name was written, and the negro went;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But not an hour had passed, before the hounds<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of Richard Wain and Dalton Earl were slipped,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And scenting on his track through stream and field.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<h4>II.</h4>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The slave first ran toward the hollow tree;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">There left the paper signed by Richard Wain,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Disturbing not the deed; but took the Book,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And up the tireless road, tied on and on,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Until he gained the borders of a marsh.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The night was dark, but darker still the clouds<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That loomed along the rim where day had gone.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The wind blew cold, and hastened quickly past,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Escaping, like a slave, the hound-like clouds<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Whose thunder-barkings sounded in its ears.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And Karagwe had only reached the marsh,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When on his track he heard the savage dogs.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He knew the paths and windings many miles,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And even in the darkness found his way,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And gained a covert island, where a hut,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Built by some poor and friendless fugitive,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Afforded shelter and secure abode.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He tarried here until along the hills<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The red-lipped whisper of the morning ran.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Then, when he would have ventured from the door,<br /></span>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[Pg 48]</a></span><span class="i0">A large black hound arose, and licked his hand.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The dog was Dalton Earl's; he started back.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The dream of freedom nourished many years<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Seemed withering, and for the moment lost.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For long the slave had thought of liberty,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And worshipped her, as in that elder time<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A tyrant's subjects worshipped, praying her<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That she would not delay, but hasten forth,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And bridge the hated gulf 'twixt rich and poor,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">By freeing all the mass from ignorance,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">By lifting up the worthy of the earth,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And making knowledge paramount to wealth.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<h4>III.</h4>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">O strange, that in our age, and in a land<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Where liberty was laid the corner-stone,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A slave, perforce, should be obliged to dream,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And dote on freedom, like the poor oppressed<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Who lived and hoped two thousand years ago!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And slavery to this slave was like a fruit&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A bitter and a hateful fruit to taste&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The fruit of error and of ignorance,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Made rank with superstition and with crime.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Yet though the fruit was bitter to the core,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Many there were who died for love of it.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">O, many they who listen through long nights<br /></span>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[Pg 49]</a></span><span class="i0">To hear a footstep that will never come.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">There is not a flower along the border blown,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">From Lookout Mountain to the Chesapeake,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But has in it the blood of North and South.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<h4>IV.</h4>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Karagwe went back, and on a paper wrote,&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">"Your dog has harmed me not, and why should you,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That I have never wronged, plot harm to me?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">You made me slave, you sold away my bride,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And now you set your hounds upon my track,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Because I seek the freedom that is mine.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Though you have wronged me, still I do you good,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For in an oak, the largest of the grove,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Upon the cotton-field of Richard Wain,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Hid in a hollow near the second limb,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Is the lost deed that holds your house and lands."<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The paper fastened round the hound's strong neck,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The negro bade him go, and forth he went;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And Earl read what the slave had written down,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And that day found the deed hid in the tree,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And that day ceased pursuing any more.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">For two long weeks the negro in the swamps<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Wandered toward the North, living at times<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">On berries and on fruit. Above him leaned<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The tall trees, bower-like 'neath their wrestling arms;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Beneath, the murky waters, black as death,<br /></span>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[Pg 50]</a></span><span class="i0">Stirred only to the plunge of venomed things.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The long, seared grasses clung to every bough<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Whose trailing robe hung near the sluggish lymph.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And here and there, among the savage moss,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Blossomed alone some snowy gold-spired flower,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Like God's own church found in a heathen land.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The birds o'erhead, that, plumaged like the morn,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Caroled their sweetness, sang the holy psalms.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<h4>V.</h4>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">But now across his path the negro found<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A belt of water falling with the tide.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Two heavy logs he lashed, and launched them out,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Then, with a pole for help in case of need,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Sprang on the float, and drifted down the stream.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thus for two days he drifted, eating naught<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Except the berries growing near the shore.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Then on a cool, bright morning, when the wind<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And tide agreed, he saw again the sea.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Far off a buoy was tossing on the waves,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Much like the red heart of the joyful deep&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Much like a heart upon a sea of life;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And ships were in the offing, sailing on<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Like the vague ships that with our hopes and fears<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Put from their harbors to return no more.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<h4>VI.</h4>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The raft went oceanward. The negro raised<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Upon the pole the coat that he had worn,<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[Pg 51]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">Hoping for succor from the distant ships;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And not in vain; for ere the sun had set,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Half starved, he clambered up a vessel's side,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And found himself with friends, and on his way<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To freedom, 'neath the steadfast northern star.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<h4>VII.</h4>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Two years of war, two years of many tears,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And Richard Wain, a captain of renown,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In ranks led on by error, fought and fell.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Within the breast of Coralline, Stanley Thane<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Possessed acknowledged empire; all her love<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Was poured out on him, and her heart<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Stood like an emptied vase. Then from the North<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Came rumors of his daring, and the war<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Gloomed like a night about her,&mdash;he its star.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<h4>VIII.</h4>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The golden spirit in each lily bloom,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That, pollen-vestured, laughs at care all day<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Had closed the doors and shutters of its house.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Forth in the dewy garden, 'neath the stars,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Walked Coralline and Ruth, sad and alone;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For Ruth was owned again by Dalton Earl.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"I grieve," said Coralline, "that Stanley Thane<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Left me so rashly, and that he thinks<br /></span>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[Pg 52]</a></span><span class="i0">My hasty words were said with earnest thought.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Would that a bird might fly to him and sing&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">'She loves you still, Stanley, she loves you still.'"<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Ruth followed quickly, "Your wish is heard;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For I will go to him who once was here,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And say to him the words that you have said."<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Then fell the other on the quadroon's neck,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And kissed her through her tears, and promised her<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Her freedom, if she went to Stanley Thane.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">She did not dream what impulse urged the slave,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Nor that in sending her toward the North<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Bearing a message full of trust and love,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">She sent a message smeared with blood instead.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">For Ruth hoped now for vengeance for her past.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Wronged by her father, she would wreak her hate<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Full on her sister, and destroy her peace,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As hers had been destroyed in dark dead days.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<h4>IX.</h4>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">That night she stole a knife, and sharpened it,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And while she drew it up and down the stone,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Sipped from the poison nectar of revenge.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">She thought of Stanley Thane, and pitied him<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That he should be the victim of her hate;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But wished that Coralline could see him then,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">After the violent knife had done its work,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Laid out and ready for his last abode.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<h4>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[Pg 53]</a></span>
+X.</h4>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">So Ruth arose, and when the wine-lipped Dawn,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Gathering his robes about him like a god,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Went up to the great summits of the world<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">From the black valleys of immeasurable space,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">She passed beyond the limit of the vale.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Those she loved best had all been torn away;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The last, her child, was sold she knew not where;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And Coralline too should taste a bitter cup,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Feeling the fury of a deep revenge.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<h4>XI.</h4>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">For many days Ruth journeyed to the North,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And reached at last the camp. She passed the guard,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And in the night discovered Stanley's tent;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Then gliding in, bent o'er him while he slept.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He dreamed of Coralline, and in his sleep<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Said&mdash;"Coralline, 'tis better to forgive."<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And Ruth who heard, cried, "She forgives;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">She loves you still, Stanley&mdash;she loves you still!"<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">At this he woke, and saw the woman there,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And saw the weapon raised above his breast,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And a vague horror at the mockery of the words<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Left him all powerless, and sealed up his speech.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But one swift hand passed in and grasped the arm,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And snatched the knife, and there before them stood<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Karagwe, with Ruth Earl face to face.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<h3>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[Pg 54]</a></span>
+XII.</h3>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And after, at Fort Pillow, when the storm<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Had gone against us, and the traitors slew<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Five hundred men who had laid down their arms,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Karagwe was shot, and with a prayer<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For his whole country, he fell back and died.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Some, seeking the highest type of noble men,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Compare their heroes with the cavaliers,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Boasting their ancestry through tangled lines;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But I, who care not for patrician blood,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Hold him the highest who constrains great ends,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Or rounds a prudent life with noble deeds.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr />
+<h2>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[Pg 55]</a></span>
+<a name="DEMETRIUS" id="DEMETRIUS"></a>DEMETRIUS.</h2>
+
+
+<h3>I.<br /><br />
+
+THE SUCCESS OF THE BEGGAR.</h3>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">In</span> my life I have had two idols, one my country, one my wife,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">And I know I loved them faithfully, and both with one accord;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But the day came, beaded falsely on my brittle leash of life,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">When perforce I chose between them, through the wisdom of the Lord.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">High upon the rocky summit of a cliff in red Algiers,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Raised against the sky of sunset, like a beaker filled with wine,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">While each dome is like a bubble that above the brim appears,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Stands the city I was born in, my belov&egrave;d Constantine.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Nobly rise the brick-roofed houses with their heavy gray stone walls,<br /></span>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[Pg 56]</a></span><span class="i1">While here and there, above them all, the mosque and minaret;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Like the voice of some enchanter sounds the bearded muezzin's calls,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">And the rustle of the cypress seems a murmur of regret.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Round the ancient Cintran city runs a dark wall broad and strong,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Like the mailed belt of a warrior, and the gate the buckle seems;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">While a tower toward the sunset is a dagger hilted long;<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Whose blade is bid in foldings of a circling sash of streams.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Far away the Atlas mountains rear their heads of lasting snow,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">And seem like old men grouped around in high-backed chairs of space;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And they bathe their feet like children in the brooks that run below,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Or smoke their pipes in silence till the clouds obscure each face.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I was poor: they say they found me lying naked in the street,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">And a beggar so befriended me and brought me to his door,<br /></span>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[Pg 57]</a></span><span class="i0">And cared for me and tended me, until my growing feet<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Could patter through the market-place and there increase our store.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I never knew the tenderness of father or of mother;<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">My tatters scarcely covered me; my hunger made me thin;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I never knew of sympathy or kindness from another;<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">I drank the cup of bitterness that comes to want and sin.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">All my early youth was squandered, when there came across my thought<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">A passionate intolerance of the course my life had run;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And I went out to the venders and some meagre fruitage bought,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Till with selling and with buying, lo, a new life was begun.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Soon I found myself the owner of vast houses, wares, and sails,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">A very prince of traffic, with my slaves beyond the line,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Where they sold my costly merchandise of cloth and cotton bales,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Of many colored leathers, ostrich feathers, dates, and wine.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<h3>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[Pg 58]</a></span>
+II.<br /><br />
+
+THE MAIDEN OF THE GOLDEN KIOSK.</h3>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">In the days when I, a beggar, wandered idly through the street,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Past the palace, through the vineyards where the scented fountains play,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Standing near the golden kiosk, it befell my lot to meet<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">One for whom my heart grew larger, and I could not turn away.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Long my eyes upon the banquet of her beauty freely fed;<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">How could I help but love her, whom the angels might adore!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But at last, tired of my staring, she turned away her head;<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Yet I saw the large pearls tremble that about her neck she wore.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Either cheek was sea-shell tinted, and around her dewy lips<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Played a smile that lingered lovingly, like star gleam on the sea;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thus emboldened, on my knees I fell, and kissed her finger tips,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">And begged of her, and prayed of her that I her slave might be.<br /></span>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[Pg 59]</a></span></div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I was dark and swarthy featured, comely still in form and face;<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">My long black hair hung glossily about my neck and head;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">My large jet eyes were lustrous, and I had an easy grace<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">That almost made a kingly robe my ragged garb of red.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I chained the maiden with my arm, I would not let her go;<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">She said she was Eudocia, that Yorghi was her sire;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I said I was Demetrius, a beggar vile and low,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">But 'neath my heart's one crucible love lit its fusing fire.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Her sensuous long dark lashes hung above her dreamy eyes,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Like twin clouds of stormy portent balanced over limpid deeps;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Like the wings of birds of passage seen against the hazy skies;<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Like the petal o'er the pollen of the flow'ret when it sleeps.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">All her vesture was embroidered with the finest lace of gold;<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">A diamond in her turban with its eye-like glitter shone;<br /></span>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[Pg 60]</a></span><span class="i0">The white dress more than half revealed a form of perfect mould,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">And her cincture, dagger-fastened, shaped the garment to her zone.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">To my eyes she gave her dark eyes, down to gaze into and dream;<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">And I seemed like one who leans above a bridge's slender rail,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And thinks, and gazes wistfully deep down into the stream,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">While the twilight gathers round him, and the gleam-winged stars prevail.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">After this I met her daily in the palace-garden ways,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">And she always came to meet me, and opened wide the gate,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Often chiding, often smiling at my minute-long delays,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">And bringing dainty viands in a golden cup and plate.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I, her lover, was a beggar, but she loved me all the same;<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Had I been Haroun Alraschid she could not have loved me more;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">While she whispered, on my lips and on my eyes she kissed my name,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">And vined her arms about my neck; how could I but adore?<br /></span>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[Pg 61]</a></span></div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">But all pleasure cloys or ceases; if the cup is stricken down,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">All its contents are like acid, burning deep a long regret;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">If it cloys, we calmly leave it, with perhaps a careless frown,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Or may be a pleasant memory that is easy to forget.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Once when in the golden kiosk, with Eudocia's hand in mine,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Came old Yorghi frowning darkly with the storm upon his face;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Would she bring disgrace upon him? Would she break his noble line?<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">He stamped his fierce invective, and he drove me from the place.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Ere I went I turned upon him, and I boldly claimed her hand,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">And vowed that I would have her, though the city barred my way;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But he scoffed at me, a beggar, and repeated his command,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Never more to meet his daughter, for my life's sake, from that day.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<h3>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[Pg 62]</a></span>
+III.<br /><br />
+
+THE VISIT OF DEMETRIUS AND HIS TEN FRIENDS.</h3>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">So two lives, like confluent rivers, were unkindly torn apart;<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">One to slide through fruited gardens, longing vainly for the sea,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">One to purl 'neath ample bridges, bearing cargoes to the mart,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">But ever dreaming fondly of a meeting yet to be.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And I labored; and my gains accrued and doubled in my hand,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">For Fortune having given once will give us more and more;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I was like a stranger passing through some long neglected land,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Who finds beneath each stone he turns a wedge of golden ore.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And I studied, learned all secrets that the wisest books can teach;<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Gained the Greek verb's long persistent root at last by prying hard;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Found a natural foreknowledge of the rules and forms of speech,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">And drank the fountain water from the words of Scio's bard.<br /></span>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[Pg 63]</a></span></div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">All my ships had favoring breezes, not one sank or went ashore;<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">The very fat of commerce oozed between their pitchy seams;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And a block of serried buildings did not half contain my store,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">While my lavish, thrifty bargains would have dimmed Aladdin's dreams.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Still I changed not my apparel, still I wore my bezan robe,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Still I donned the self-same turban with its frayed and faded red;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I would have no other garb then had I owned the whirling globe;<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Better rich to wear a tatter, than poor, wear silk, I said.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Daily from my mullioned window flew a pigeon in the air,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">And beneath its wing lay folded lines for her I loved the best;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Daily from her palace window it returned and brought me there,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Rhymeless idyls full of heart-speech, faithful ardors of her breast.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Ah, dear love, she waited patiently with mournful, longing eyes,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Like the moon she waited nightly for the cloud to pass her brow;<br /></span>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[Pg 64]</a></span><span class="i0">Like the birds she waited daily for the coming in the skies<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Of the other bringing succor to the hunger on the bough.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And all wealth was lost upon her, for she had to look upon<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Art's own pictures, Spring-time raptures, Autumn clad in ballet mist;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And she dined on sweets and spices, coffee, bread and cinnamon,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">While they shook perfumes about her, or her cushioned slippers kissed.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Down her back her hair, unfastened from its jeweled comb of gold,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Wasted fragrance, seemed a cascade plunging down a deep ravine;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Seemed the black wing of a raven who had ventured overbold,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">And was perched upon her forehead that its beauty might be seen.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Every day in milk she bathed her, till at last she was as white;<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Dyed with almond kohl her eyelids, and her nails with henna tinged;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Supped on amber wine and honey; but she tasted no delight.<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">She slept 'neath silken curtains with musk-scented laces fringed.<br /></span>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[Pg 65]</a></span></div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">But at last the ready day came, that my hopes had longed to meet,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">When I cast aside the tatters I had worn for many years,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And arrayed my perfect person from my head down to my feet,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">With the garments that became me, with the velvet of my peers.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Then I bought me restless chargers, Ukraine steeds, five white, six black;<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">The eleventh was the noblest, yet the gentlest of all;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And a friend I had who loved me to bestride each horse's back&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Ten friends of handsome presence, smooth demeanor, strong, and tall.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Every friend I gave a cloak to, purple velvet ermine-bound;<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Every charger was caparisoned&mdash;the harness wrought with gold.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">At high noon we started gayly, and the palace entrance found;<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">And I sought the statesman Yorghi with a purpose to unfold.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I had come to wed his daughter; all her heart had long been mine;<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">I had won her when a beggar, but I loved her more and more<br /></span>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[Pg 66]</a></span><span class="i0">Now that my wealth was boundless&mdash;it but strengthened my design;<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">If he gave her I would cede him half my fortune, store on store.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">In my face he laughed, me scorning, and despised me and my part&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Called me still a beggar wealthy, and bade me turn away;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Said Eudocia was his daughter&mdash;he knew nothing of her heart;<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">He had pledged her hand and fortune to my ruler, Ahmed Bey.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">There are times when our resentment centres solely in a glance,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">When our feelings burn too deeply for effectiveness in speech;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Such a look I gave to Yorghi as I led out in advance,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">While my ten friends followed after with brave consolation each.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<h3>IV.<br /><br />
+
+DEMETRIUS FOR EUDOCIA BETRAYS CONSTANTINE.</h3>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Now a war like distant thunder muttered in the darkened air;<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">In the sky a fowl of omen hovered o'er to rob our graves;<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[Pg 67]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">And men, like birds affrighted, hurried homeward in despair.<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">We heard the tramp of armies like the far-off march of waves.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">War a pestilent disease is on the body of the world&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">A disease that sometimes purges, but still leaves the victim sore;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And no potent drug will cure it until Liberty has furled<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">All the standards of the nations, and shall rule for evermore.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">What availed my marble buildings where I bartered for my gold?<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">All my gains were vainly gotten, for Eudocia was not mine.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Then my goods I turned to money, all my ships and houses sold,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">And sent the glittering product far away from Constantine.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">On us like a wild hawk swooping came Damr&eacute;mont with his men;<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">But we saw his wing-like banners and we closed and barred the gates;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">All the women urged to battle; every man a hero then;<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">And the Kabyles based reliance on the friendship of the Fates.<br /></span>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[Pg 68]</a></span></div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I held that love of country was a higher love of self,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">With generous ends, but selfish still, whatever might be said;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I forgot my boasted honor; I had garnered all my pelf;<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">I became a hissing traitor to the land I owed my bread.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">All was plain; if I was faithful, then Eudocia was lost;<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Recreant, and gaining victory, I could claim her as my right.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I scarcely weighed the balance, and I dared not count the cost;<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">I stole out from the city to the alien camp that night.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I was loyal to the purpose that within my heart was shrined;<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Another might have coped with it, and triumphed o'er its fall.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">So men are, they do not vary much, the level of mankind,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">What one lacks the next possesses; there are faults enough in all.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Down the cliff I slipped in silence; and the troubled cypress leaves<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Quivered like sweet lips in anguish, while the star eyes wept with dew;<br /></span>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[Pg 69]</a></span><span class="i0">And I sought the French commander, where, amid his musket sheaves,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">He sat and planned new reaping in a field that Azrael knew.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"I have come to bring assistance, if you take my terms," I said,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">"For I know the weakest portion of the city's scowling wall.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">There's a maiden named Eudocia I would sell my soul to wed;<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Give me the right to have her, and I freely tell you all."<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Then he smiled across his table as he granted my desire&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Smile of memory begotten, some remembrance of delight&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And he heard my story quietly, but said he would require<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Me to go into the city as a spy the coming night.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<h3>V.<br /><br />
+
+THE MASKED SPY IN THE PALACE.</h3>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Years before, a secret entrance 'neath the wall I ordered made;<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">And they were dead who built it, so none knew of it but me.<br /></span>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[Pg 70]</a></span><span class="i0">When the darkness came I gained it, and softly in the shade,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Passed through lone streets of the city where the battle was to be.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">A purse of gold and rubies bought the whispered countersign,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">And with its aid I noted place and number of the troops.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I chalked upon a building: <span class="italic">Lo, the doom of Constantine!</span><br /></span>
+<span class="i1"><span class="italic">There's a traitor in the city, and the populace are dupes.</span><br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">In the street I met a masker hurrying onward through the night,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">And something in his bearing told of one I called a friend.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">"Sir," I said, and on his shoulder I had laid my finger quite,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">"Tell me why you mask your visage, and whereto your footsteps tend."<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">By my voice he knew me quickly, and removed his mask to say:<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">"My footsteps seek the palace; have you heard not of the f&ecirc;te?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In three days old Yorghi's daughter is to wed with Ahmed Bey;<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">To-night the plighting party; I must hasten; it is late."<br /></span>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[Pg 71]</a></span></div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"Hold," I said, "you care but little for the pleasure that you seek;<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Give to me your mask and vesture, and so let me take your place;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I shall not hold the favor lightly, but shall pay you in a week<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">With a sapphire for each moment; and they will not see my face."<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Then we found his wide apartments, where we changed the robes we wore.<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">I put on the half fantastic silken garments and the mask,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Then sallied down the stair-way till I gained the street once more;<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Dreaming only of Eudocia, in whose presence I should bask.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">From foundation to entablature the palace shone with light,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">And I fancied it a genii with a hundred fiery eyes;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">His mouth the yawning door-way, and a cloud across the night<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Seemed the hair upon his forehead, blowing in the windy skies.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Quick he gorged me, for I entered, and heard at once the swell<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Of the music&mdash;heard the dancing girls with bells about their feet;<br /></span>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[Pg 72]</a></span><span class="i0">The odor of a hundred blooms upon my senses fell;<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">The magnolia seemed the husband, and the rest his consorts sweet.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">To a splendid hall a eunuch led me down a damask floor,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">And the guests were all assembled in their beauty and their pride.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With standards and with banners the walls were garnished o'er.<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">The Bey among the maskers led the lily by his side.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Round a fountain, in the centre of the golden burnished room,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Danced the dancers, played the players, to the cadence of its fall,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">While out upon the balcony, amid the vernal gloom,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">A nightingale was singing, and with sadness mocked us all.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<h3>VI.<br /><br />
+
+THE MEETING IN THE GARDEN, AND THE FLIGHT OF THE SPY.</h3>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">When the Bey passed by me graciously, I whispered in the ear<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Of the one he led beside him (should I fail to win her yet!)<br /></span>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[Pg 73]</a></span><span class="i0">"Our day is at its dawning; I, Demetrius, am here;<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Meet me yonder in the garden, at the place where once we met."<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">There she followed very quickly, and I held her to my heart,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">And kissed with fervid kisses all her lips and throat and chin.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Here she longed to dwell forever so that we might never part,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">And be fed with many kisses my enfolding arms within.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">There the amorous stars out-twinkled; and anear, a sordid lake,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Like a miser, hugged the silver of their glitter to its breast;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And it stayed within the closet of the trees and tangled brake,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Lest some fortunate bold robber should steal from it in its rest.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Now the years had changed Eudocia from the rosebud to the rose,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Made more perfect every feature, added many a gentle grace,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And she made my heart her garden, there to dwell and find repose:<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Neither time, nor change, nor absence, could her love for me efface.<br /></span>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[Pg 74]</a></span></div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">She said she too would be a lakelet, 'neath the starlight of my eyes;<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">And when my lips bent downward she would catch their spicy dew;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">My face, low bending over, should become her tender skies,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">And my arms the goodly verdure that about the margin grew.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I dared not risk to tell her of the traitor she was near;<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">I said the Bey would tremble when I came to claim her hand;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I said that she must wait me, and despair not; but have cheer,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">For my triumph would be public in the corners of the land.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">While we spoke we heard commotion in the palace down the hill;<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Gay lights swung in the distance, like red fire-flies in a glen;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Call by call was heard and answered with a herd of echoes shrill,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">And we saw a score of torches, and the issuing forth of men.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"Love, they seek you," cried Eudocia; "you must go or you must die."<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">But sad, O, sad the sundering of two hearts who long and weep;<br /></span>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[Pg 75]</a></span><span class="i0">Rent the oak's tough, knitted fibre by the lightning from on high;<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">But the hearts will cling the closer that apart they strive to keep.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">On her lips I kissed my tears in, on her lips and on her eyes<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Which she opened only languidly to show her answering tears,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And I kissed the diamond crescent that I saw sink down and rise,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">While it flashed upon the torches with a hundred silver spears.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Swooning, on a seat I laid her, then sped quickly through the gloom,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">While a torchman passed so near me that I fancied I was seen;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But I hid me for a moment 'neath a bush of liberal bloom,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Then fled onward to my entrance through the streets that intervene.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Above, an imminent meteor flashed westward 'gainst the night,&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">A full moon with a bluer glow, and trailed with ruby shine;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">It seemed a blazing torch to me, borne onward with the flight<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Of a spirit, that beneath it, brought defeat to Constantine.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<h3>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[Pg 76]</a></span>
+VII.<br /><br />
+
+THE BATTLE.</h3>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">To the town outspoke the cannon, ere the dawn charged on the night,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Not of peace and joy and amity, but of hatred and despair,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And a thousand blatant bugles proved it waiting for their spite;<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">And we heard the rasp of bullets in the dark astonished air.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">When the sun rose, hot and bloody, all the fight had well begun;<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">The artillery were pounding at the weak place in the wall;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">While the smoke, from vale and city, seemed the melancholy, dun<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Robes of spirits hovering over for the fated ones to fall.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Like a strong Numidian lion, on her rock the city lay,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Nothing daunted though surrounded, and with scanty store of bread;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Her fierce eyes, two flags of crimson, stared through battle all the day,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">One on Babel Wad's high key-stone, and one on Babel Djed.<br /></span>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[Pg 77]</a></span></div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Round these gates they set their sworders, hoping thence to drive us back<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">When we followed up their sallies, which were baits to make us come;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But in vain, our works were safer, though we longed for the attack,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">And eagerly awaited for the summons of the drum.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Stone by stone a breach was opened in the thin place in the wall,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Till at last we sent a truce flag to the gate of Babel Djed,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Saying to the town, "Surrender, Constantine must surely fall;<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">If you fail, no soul remaining shall be left to count your dead."<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Like a sword-thrust was the answer, "There is plenty in the place<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Both of food and ammunition; if 'tis these the French desire,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">We can furnish them abundance; but surrender means disgrace,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">And our homes shall be defended while one soldier stands to fire."<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Should not this town be captured, every man must bear the fault,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">And many a one bethought him of his own in sunny France.<br /></span>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[Pg 78]</a></span><span class="i0">Down our line there ran the murmur, "We must take it by assault,"<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">And we heard the bugles playing for the stormers to advance.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Like great billows never breaking were the rocks of Constantine,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">And a cargoed ship the city with its keel in every one;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">She was sailing for the future with the barter of the line,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">And her mast-like towers were gaudy with the pennons of the sun.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">But now a storm had struck her, and a hole was in her side,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">And the waters rushed in wildly while she paused upon the brink.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">All in vain each brave endeavor; for all on board her tried<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">To close the leak with fury, that the vessel might not sink.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Our men the angry waters that could not be turned nor checked,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">And they bore all straws before them in their mad impetuous way.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">So the town, betrayed, was captured; so the great ship had been wrecked;<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">And with the troops in triumph I rode in upon that day.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<h3>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[Pg 79]</a></span>
+VIII.<br /><br />
+
+THE WEDDING AND THE FALSE FRIEND.</h3>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">When the night fell, in the palace all the lights were lit again.<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">In the hall of silken standards and of Persia-woven mats<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">There were women fair as houris, there were brave and handsome men;<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">And the fish leaped up to see them from the fountain's silver vats.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Never yet so fair Eudocia, and she won the wisest praise<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">From the aliens there assembled to behold our marriage rite;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Not alone her queenly beauty; but the grace of all her ways,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Drew all hearts and eyes toward her, filled like cups with pure delight.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">But while yet they said the service, and ere yet I placed the ring<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">On her tapering heart finger, all the crowd was parted wide,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And I saw my friend the masker his unasked-for presence bring<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">To the pollen of the wedding, lady-petaled on each side.<br /></span>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[Pg 80]</a></span></div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"Thus shall die the thankless traitor, whether king or beggar he!"<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">And a dagger gleamed above us with a fierce glare at the light,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Then was struck upon my bosom near the place the heart might be,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">And my false friend, through the people, hastened wildly in his flight.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">But the mad bee gained no honey in his hurry to depart;<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">His sting had been well pointed, but his villainy was loss,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For I wore, with faith, a secret, o'er the throbbing of my heart,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">The symbol of a higher life, a simple silver Cross.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">This had turned aside the weapon and spared me many years<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">For one whose heart has been to me a holy pilgrim shrine,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For one for whom I gave away with bitterness and tears<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">The city of Jugurtha, my own mother Constantine.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">We dwell now in a palace near the white surge of a bay;<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">But at times my good steed wanders, and in the twilight late,<br /></span>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[Pg 81]</a></span><span class="i0">I find me near my city, while the muezzin in the gray,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Shouts, "To prayer, to prayer, ye people, only God is good and great!"<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr />
+<h2>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[Pg 82]</a></span>
+<a name="THE_STRONG_SPIDER" id="THE_STRONG_SPIDER"></a>THE STRONG SPIDER.</h2>
+
+
+<h3>I.<br /><br />
+
+THE CHIEF'S DAUGHTER.</h3>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">I was</span> a naturalist, and had crossed the sea<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And come to Theodosia, to find<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A monstrous spider of which I had heard.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The people of the town wagged doubting heads,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When asked about it; but one day I met<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A sturdy fisherman who once had seen<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The spider, though he knew not his abode.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He said the spider was as long as he,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And that the woof whereof he wove his web,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Was thick as any cordage on his boat.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">At night, belated 'mid the tumuli<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That mound the hill-side and the vernal vale,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Like the raised letters of an ancient page<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Made for the blind gropers of to-day to read,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He entered a dark tomb, and therein slept,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Until the world, like some round shield upraised,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Splintered the thrown spears of dawn. As he woke,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He found himself ensnared in some thick web,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Yet reached his knife, and slowly cut it through;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Then when he stood, a monstrous spider fled.<br /></span>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[Pg 83]</a></span></div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">At this recital on the slanted shore,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Another joined us from the cottage near&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A vine-clad cottage, lit for love's abode.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A lily-croft, with trees, encinctured it;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Like Ahab in his house of ivory<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Dining on sweets, the king bee here<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Sipped in the snowy lily's palace hall;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And here were yellow lilies strewn about,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As though the place had been the banquet grove<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of Shishak, king of Egypt; for the flowers<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Seemed like the cups of gold that Solomon<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Wrought for the holy service of the Lord.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"This is my daughter," said the fisherman.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Her head and face were covered with a scarf,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But large dark eyes looked forth, and in their depths<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I saw a soul all tenderness and truth.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">(Often, in dreams, I thought it sweet to die,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And reft of this gross vision, see at last,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As the large soul, quit of the body can,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Another soul set free and purified.)<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The modest maid a crimson jacket wore,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And to her knee the broidered skirt hung down;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">While 'neath, the Turkish garment was confined<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In plaits about the ankles; but her shoes<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Revealed the naked insteps of her feet.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I bade her there adieu, upon the shore<br /></span>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[Pg 84]</a></span><span class="i0">Of the clear Bospore. As I wandered back,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I thought much of the spider that I sought;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But more of two dark eyes, that seemed two stars<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Which shone down in my heart; while the far space<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Behind them, pure, but unknown, was the soul.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I thought to test this maiden's charity;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And so, one friendly day, put on a robe<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Tattered and soiled with use. As she went by,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I strode abruptly from behind a wall,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And faced her with a face disguised, and held<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">My hand out while I begged for some small alms.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">She gave abundantly from her lean purse,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And with a look of tender pity, passed.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">It matters little who it is that asks,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Or whether he deserves the alms or not;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That given with free heart, is given to God,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And not to him who takes.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i12">Day after day,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Henceforth, I strode a coastward way, to meet<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The dark-eyed daughter of the fisherman.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Beneath her roof she made my welcome sweet,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And yielded both her hands, and drew the scarf<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That veiled the wondrous beauty of her face.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">If painter, or if sculptor, in some dream,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Could mingle Faith with Love and Charity,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And give them utterance in one pure face,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I know the face would be a face like hers.<br /></span>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[Pg 85]</a></span></div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Her eyes were diamond doors of her true soul,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And with their silken latches softly closed,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When, couched beneath his poppy parachute,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Inactive Sleep came by. Her glances seemed<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Like gold-winged angels sent from heavenly doors.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Yet she was often sad when I was near.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Once, tarrying late, I told her of my life,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And of the monster I had come to find;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But now, lo! she around my heart had wound<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The close web of her love, and held me fast<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As any fly caught in a spider's toils.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Clothed in the sackcloth of regret, she said,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">She long had wept the past; but for my sake<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">She now would cast it off, and live for me.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I said that few could exculpate the past<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">From stormy doing with the ships of hope.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">She said it made her sad to think upon<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Their present dwindled fortune, and the yoke<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Her people chafed their necks in, on the hills.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Her father was a brave Circassian chief;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But here he dwelt disguised, till once again<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He could lead on his race, and wound the heel<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That ground them to the dust.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i12">Our hearts made new,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">We kissed good-night, and parted. As I went,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A distant hill, all shadow, took new shape,<br /></span>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[Pg 86]</a></span><span class="i0">And seemed a sprawling spider, while two trees<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That grew upon it, were his upraised arms<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Clutching at two red fire-flies, that were stars.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<h3>II.<br /><br />
+
+THE SPIDER.</h3>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">With day-break came a knuckle at my door;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I rose, and opened, and upon the porch,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">His face like strange death's, and his dark eyes wide<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With some vague horror, stood the fisherman.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">"Come, hasten with me," were his only words.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">We ran our best along the barren shore,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And gained his silent cottage. Entering,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He led me to his daughter's vacant couch.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The room had but one window, and the sash<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Was raised. I looked out to the ground beneath.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A vine crept up, and with long fingers made<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Abode secure upon the cottage side,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And o'er the window threw a leafy scarf.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But what was this, that fastened to the ledge<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Trailed to the ground? A glutinous rope<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Twisted with five strands. This the fisherman<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Saw with new horror, while between white lips<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He gasped, "The Spider!"<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i10">What was best to do?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">We saw strange foot-prints on the moistened beach,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But these were lost soon in a wooded dell<br /></span>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[Pg 87]</a></span><span class="i0">Where all trace had an end. The long day through<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">We sought among the tombs, up from the dell;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But unrewarded, when the sun was quenched,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Sat down to weep. So darkness dropped,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And like an awful spider, o'er the earth<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Crawled with gaunt legs of shadow. Then our homes<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">We sadly sought, to meet again at morn.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The night was warm, and with my window raised,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I sat and mourned, and wrung my hopeless hands.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">No light was in the house. I half reclined&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">My back toward the window. Something shut<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The puny sheen of starlight from the room.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The Thing, a monstrous shape, was with me there,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And two hard arms were thrown about my waist.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For very terror I was hushed, nor moved<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To cast my foe off. I was in the arms<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of the strong spider. As we went, I grew<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Glad, for I thought that now I should be brought<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To the great spider's web, and there, mayhap,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Learn the sad fate of her I loved so well.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Up a stark cliff we went, then crossed the web<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Just as the red moon bloomed upon the hills<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And silvered all the Panticapean vale.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The funnel of the web was in the mouth<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of a vast tomb, whose outside, hewn on rock,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Outlined a Gorgon's face with jaws agape&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Some stern Medusa, Stheno, or Euryale,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Changed to the stone that in the elder days<br /></span>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[Pg 88]</a></span><span class="i0">She changed the sons of men who looked on her.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">We passed the funnel, entering the tomb.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">About my arms the spider threw his cords,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And shackled them. I dared not move, but lay<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Upon the smooth stone floor, inured to fear.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I fancied now that I was safe till dawn.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">If I could use my hands I then might find<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Some weapon of defense, some club, or stone,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And so resist with some small chance for life.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The thought bred strength. I slowly drew my arms<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Upon my sides, and, with persistence, gained<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Their freedom; though about the wrists, the flesh<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Was bruised and harrowed, and my blood made wet<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The spider's cord wherewith I had been bound.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The night seemed endless. As it came to dawn,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A faint moan woke an echo in the tomb.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The echo seemed a cry of pity, sent<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For solace to the moan. As light grew strong,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I saw, not far from where I had been laid,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A maiden sitting. All her hair set free,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">She made of it a pillow as she leaned<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Against the painted wall. My heart threw wide<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To her my arms, his hospitable doors;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The guest within, at once the doors were shut.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The sun came up, and spread a cloth of gold<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Over the sea. We saw the vale beneath,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And there the town, and fancied where, among<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The trees upon the shore, her cottage stood;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Then hoped 'gainst hope to enter it again.<br /></span>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[Pg 89]</a></span><span class="i0">Two thousand years ago, this distant sea<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Teemed with the thrifty commerce of the world.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When Athens was, and when her scholars cut,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With thoughts of iron, their own deathless names<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Into the stone page of fame, this vale beneath<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Held a great city. These, its tombs, endure.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">There is no better scoff at the parade<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And vanity of life, than that a tomb suggests.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">While we looked forth on the historic view,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">We saw the subtle spider throw his cord<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Over an eagle tangled in the web.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The eagle fought, not mildly overcome,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And spread his wings, and darted his sharp beak.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">At last the spider caught him by the neck,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With his serrated claws that grew like horns,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And killed him; then plucked the vanquished plumes,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And sucked the warm blood from the sundered ends.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">From this we knew the monster brought us here<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To serve a hideous banquet, and that one<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Must need be near, and see the other slain.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The web was like the sail of some large ship,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And reached forth from the Gorgon's open mouth,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">On either side, to boughs of blighted trees.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Birds were caught in it, and about the place<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Wherein the spider hid to watch for prey,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Their bones lay bleaching in the sun and rain.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Upon the web the winds laid violent hands,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And tugged at it, but lacked the sinewed strength<br /></span>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[Pg 90]</a></span><span class="i0">To tear it or divorce it from its place.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The rain left on it when the sun came up,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Dyed the vast cloth with all prismatic hues,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And made it glitter like the silken sail<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of Cleopatra's barge.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i10">We felt quite sure<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The eagle's death bequeathed new lease of life.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">We cast about at once, in hope to find<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Some object for defense. The tomb was strange.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Alone the spider could have known of it.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A rich sarcophagus stood in the midst,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of deftly inlaid woods, or carved, or bronzed.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Within, a skeleton, its white skull crowned<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With gold bestarred with diamonds, chilled my blood.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A bronze lamp, cast to represent the beast<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Slain by Bellerophon, the Chim&aelig;ra,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Was on the floor; and from its lion's mouth<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The flame had issued, like the flame of life<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That flickered and went out with him gold-crowned.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A target stood near by, and on it clashed<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Griffon and stag, adverse as right and wrong.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">About, lay cups of onyx set in gold.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">On conic jars were bacchanalian scenes,&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Nude chubby Bacchi, grotesque leering fauns,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">All linked 'neath vines that grew important grapes;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And in the jars were rings and flowers of gold.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">We found twin ear-drops cut from choicest stone,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Metallic mirrors, and a statuette<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of amorous Dido naked to the waist.<br /></span>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[Pg 91]</a></span><span class="i0">Life is a harp, and all its nervous strings,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Touched by the fingers of the fear of death,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Jar with pathetic music. Having found<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">No trusty implement to bar the way<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of threatening peril, we embraced,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And kissed with silent kisses mixed with tears,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And waited for the end.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i10">When no more,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Hope, like an eagle in the mountain air,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Soars in time's future, it mounts up with wings<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Toward the unmapped city walled by death.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thither the eagle of our hope took flight.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The sun was in the zenith. His back<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Toward us, crouched the spider, at the mouth<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of our strange prison on the towering cliff.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The spider's shape was full a fathom long.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Two parts it had, the fore part, head and breast;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The hinder part, the trunk. The first was black,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But all the last was covered with short hair,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Yellow and fine. Eight sprawling legs adhered<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To his tough breast. Eight eyes were in his head,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Two in the front, and three on either side;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">They had no eyelids, and were never closed,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Protected by a strong transparent nail.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">His pincers grew between his foremost eyes&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Were toothed like saws, were venomous, and sharp,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With claws on either end. Two arms stretched out<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">From his mailed shoulders, and with these he caught<br /></span>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[Pg 92]</a></span><span class="i0">His tangled prey, or guided what he spun.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Slowly the monster turned, and glared at us,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Working his arms, and opening his claws,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Then moved toward us fiercely for attack.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">We ran to gain the limit of the tomb<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Where darkness was; there as we crouched with dread,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">My foot struck some hard substance. In despair<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I grasped at it, and with great joy upheld<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">An ancient sword!&mdash;surely, a sharp, bold tooth<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To bite the spider. I would sink it deep,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Up to the gum of the crossed guard. Alert,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I sprang upon the monster as he came,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And with one blow cut off his brutish head.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He writhed awhile with pain, but in the end,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Drew up the eight long legs and two thick arms,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And rolling over on his useless back,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Died with a pang.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i8">So we issued forth,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And the green earth seemed happy to be free,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And glad the sky cloud-frescoed 'gainst the blue.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">We sought the sea-side cottage, where the chief<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Clasped once again his daughter to his breast.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Down from the hill we fetched the spider slain,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And I to science gave these simple facts:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Spiders have no antenn&aelig;, therefore rank<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Not with the insects. As they breathe with gills<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Beneath the body, they possess a heart.<br /></span>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[Pg 93]</a></span><span class="i0">The treasure of the tomb brought wealth to us,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And we who loved were wed one golden day;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And the great Czar hearing our story told,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Sent presents to the bride of silk and pearls.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr />
+<h2>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[Pg 94]</a></span>
+<a name="GRACE_BERNARD" id="GRACE_BERNARD"></a>GRACE BERNARD.</h2>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">I know</span> the drift and purpose of the years;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The will, which is the magnet of the soul,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Shall yet attain new powers, and man<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Be something more than man. The husks fall off;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Old civilizations pass, the new come on.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<h3>I.</h3>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">There are two farms which, smiling in the sun,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Adjoin each other, as I trust, some day<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Two hearts will join, who from their bounty live.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">One farm is John Bernard's, and one is mine;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And she, the one pearl woman in my eyes,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Is his sweet daughter, gentle Grace Bernard.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Three years ago, my father followed her<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Who gave me birth home to his narrow house.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I was at college when death's summons came,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And all the grief fell on me, crushing me;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And all my heart cried out in bitterness,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Moaning to cease with its wet language,&mdash;tears.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Then with my prospects of professional life<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thwarted and void, I came back to the farm&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[Pg 95]</a></span><span class="i0">I came back to the love of Grace Bernard.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">She was the dove that on the flood of grief<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Brought to my window there love's olive spray.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">From college to the farm-house where I dwelt<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I took my books, friends who are never cold,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With fragile instruments of chemistry,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And cabinets of mineral and rock<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With limestone encrinites; asterias<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Old as the mountains, or the sea's white lash<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Wherewith he smites the shoulders of the shore;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Tarentula and scarabee I brought,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And, too, I brought my diamond microscope<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Which magnifies a pin's head to a man's,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And gives me sights in water and in air<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The naturalists have not yet touched upon.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Over my fields I wander frequently,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Breaking the past's upturned face of shelving rocks<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For special specimens to fill my home;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But find my footsteps always thither tend,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Toward the farm-house of the other farm,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Where Grace Bernard is noontime and delight.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">When first I took the hand of her I love,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And held it only as a stranger might,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Some unseen mentor whispered in my ear,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0"><span class="italic">You twain are strands which Destiny shall braid,</span><br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And then a numb misgiving, not explained,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Settled with chilly dampness on my heart.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">My Grace Bernard in Grace was not misnamed,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">There was a soft Madonna look about her eyes;<br /></span>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[Pg 96]</a></span><span class="i0">The long thick lash, the drooping-petal lid,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Wrought on her face all love and tenderness.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Her lips were of that deep intensest red<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The cherry, red rose, and columbine wear.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Her golden hair was sunshine changed to silk,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Which fell below her waist, and was a thing<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Perhaps some lover, braver far than I,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Might dare to mesh his hands in, or to kiss.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<h3>II.</h3>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The Spring has come and brought her affluent days,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But in the air a rumor runs of death&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A pestilence is half across the sea.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The presses blare its probable approach,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And poverty and wealth alike forebode.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The cholera it is whispered, Asia-born,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">May leave more vacant chairs about our hearths<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Than the red havoc of internal war.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">There is no foot it may not overtake;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">There is no cheek which may not blanch for it.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">It is Filth's daughter, and where the low<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Huddle in impure air in narrow rooms,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">There it must come. As all forms of life,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Animate and inanimate, originate<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In seeds and eggs, so all infection does.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The floating gases in the atmosphere<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Acting on particles which from filth arise,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Mingle with foul wedlock&mdash;germinate,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And bear their seed like grain, or breed like flies.<br /></span>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[Pg 97]</a></span><span class="i0">This product, scattered on the spotless air,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And hurried on the currents of the wind,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Is breathed by human beings, near and far;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And planted in the system, the disease<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Ripens and grows, until the sufferer dies.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Yellow fever is vegetable disease<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Because the sharp frost kills it. Cholera<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Is animal in origin, and survives<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The utmost cold of long, dark winter days.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I pray that if the cholera must come,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">It will not touch my Grace who is so dear;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But that we twain may at the altar stand,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And outlive many a trouble in the air,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And gather many a day of happiness and peace.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<h3>III.</h3>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Down by the brook which separates the farms,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Is a great rock that leans above the stream,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And seems some monster of the Saurian day,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That coming to the water's edge to drink,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Was petrified, and so is leaning still.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Upon its back a week ago I sat,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And dreamed of Grace Bernard, and watched the brook;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And while I dreamed there came within the dream<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A premonition of what yet would be.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The future's face, forever turned away,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Now seemed reverted, and its backward look<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Was bent on me.<br /></span>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[Pg 98]</a></span></div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i8">They took a faulty cast<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of Shakespeare's features after he was dead.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I, seeing the future's face, make here my cast.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And this the premonition that was mine&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A perfect premonition full and clear&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And as I know the persons it concerns,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I cannot think it all improbable,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">So write it down, that when the time has passed,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I may compare the facts with what is here.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And yet I scarcely should have written this,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Had I not seen his haunting face to-day&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That face which I had never seen before,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Except in my one dream upon the rock<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That leans, athirst, above the brimming stream.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The soldier, when he goes to meet the foe,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">May darkly understand that death is near,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Yet bravely marches on to destiny.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I too behold a shadow in my path;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I too go on, nor waver in my way.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<h3>THE PREMONITION.</h3>
+
+<h4>I.</h4>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Far off, across the turbulence of waves,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I seem to see a wife upon her knees,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Her supplicating hands outstretched to one<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Who strikes her with coarse blows on cheek and breast.<br /></span>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[Pg 99]</a></span><span class="i0">He is her husband, and he leaves her there,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And takes her jewels and her only purse,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And in a ship embarks for other shores.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">His is the face that I have seen to-day&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A handsome face whatever be its sins:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A firm mouth, with large wandering black eyes,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A bearded under-lip, and snowy teeth;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Long, fine black hair, which idly falls about<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Shoulders that stoop from labor over books;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Withal a high and intellectual brow,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Not broad enough to hold a generous soul.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<h4>II.</h4>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I see the farm-house where my Grace abides;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The afternoon is clear, the grass is green;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And Grace comes forth and walks toward the brook.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Beside its bank, which is a slope of moss,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I see the face intent upon the scene.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Now Grace draws near, and starting back to find<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A stranger in the dell she loves the most,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Is half attracted by his cultured mien,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And half repelled by inconsistent fears.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He rises, bowing low, and begs to speak:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He has not seen such beauty in his life;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He craves to touch a finger of her hand,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To judge if she be of the earth, or one<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Upon some holy mission from that land<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Whereto, with fastings and with many prayers,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Through God's good grace he hopes yet to attain.<br /></span>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[Pg 100]</a></span></div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Then John Bernard, who has been working near,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Seeding the furrows for his empty barns,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">This stranger and my Grace puts hand in hand.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I see her smile in answer to his smiles.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">She makes her ears his cells for honeyed speech;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And yet she seems to fear him for some cause.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Now, as the slow sun tarries on the hills,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I see them parting at the farm-house door&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The wide half-door which now is opened half&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And as he passes down the bordered path,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">His kiss still lingering upon her hand,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">She leans out from the door, and watches him<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Until he vanishes between the trees.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I seem to see her face, a trouble sweet<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Dwelling upon it, even though the light<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Sets it in glory, with a slender ring<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Above the white brow and the golden hair.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<h4>III.</h4>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I see them riding down the village street:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He on a horse as black and strong as iron,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">She on her snowy palfrey, robed in green,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Slack reins in hand; the horses side by side.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Even as I see and write, my heart grows cold&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Cold as a bird that on a winter's day<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Breasts the bleak wind, high in the biting air.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<h4>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[Pg 101]</a></span>
+IV.</h4>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I see a city with a concourse vast<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of gas-lit streets and buildings, and above,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Its dear face buried in its cloudy hands,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The Night bends over, weeping. In the street<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I see the face again I saw to-day.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I see him writing in a narrow room.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I read the words:<br /></span>
+<span class="i8"><span class="italic">To-night I end my life.</span><br /></span>
+<span class="i0"><span class="italic">The river says "Embrace, I offer rest."</span><br /></span>
+<span class="i0"><span class="italic">The world and I have grappled in fair fight,</span><br /></span>
+<span class="i0"><span class="italic">And I am beaten. Having found defeat,</span><br /></span>
+<span class="i0"><span class="italic">I long to go down to its lowest depths.</span><br /></span>
+<span class="i0"><span class="italic">I only ask, that those who find these words,</span><br /></span>
+<span class="i0"><span class="italic">Will send them to my people past the sea;</span><br /></span>
+<span class="i0"><span class="italic">To-night I cross a wider: so, adieu.</span><br /></span>
+<span class="i10"><span class="smcap">Michael Gianni.</span><br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">This is his true name,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And afterward he writes his wife's address.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He leaves the paper foldless on a stand,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And then goes forth; but not to end his life.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He dreams that now his life is but begun.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He sees my Grace in all his coming days;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He sees the large old farm-house where she dwells,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And therein hopes to happily pass the years,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Living in peace and plenty till he dies.<br /></span>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[Pg 102]</a></span></div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Most human calculations end in loss,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And every one who has a plan devised,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Is like a foolish walker on a rope,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">First balancing on this side, then on that,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Hazarding much to gain a paltry end;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And if the rope of calculation breaks,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Or if the foot slip, added to mishap<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Come the world's jeers and gibes; and so 'tis best.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Should half men's schemings find success at last,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I fear God's plans would have but narrow room.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">(Michael Gianni, now I know your name,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">This premonition gives the hint to me<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To trip you in your studied subtleties.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">You will not win my Grace, who loves me still;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">You will not dare to kiss her hand again.)<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<h4>V.</h4>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Beneath a rustic arbor, near her house,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Linked with sweet converse, sit two shadowed forms.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The new sword moon against the violet sky<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Is held aloft, by one white arm of cloud<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Raised from the sombre shoulder of a hill.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">My Grace and I are sitting in the bower,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And down upon my breast and girdling arm<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Is strewn pure gold&mdash;no alloy mixes it&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The pure ore of her lovable gold hair.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The cunning weavers of Arabia,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Who seek to shuttle sunshine in their silk,<br /></span>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[Pg 103]</a></span><span class="i0">Would give its weight in diamonds for this hair,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Whereof to make a fabric for their king.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I see the trees that skirt the yonder vale,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And where the road dents down between their arms,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I see a figure passing to and fro.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Now he comes near, and striding up the path<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Enters the arbor, and discovers us.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">It is Gianni; to his flashing eyes<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A fierce deep hatred leaps up from his heart,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As lightning, which forebodes the nearing storm,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Leaps luridly above the midnight hills.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With some excuse Gianni passes on,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">While Grace, with sweetly growing confidence,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Whispers with lips which slightly touch my ear,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">"I never loved him, I was always yours."<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<h4>VI.</h4>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I see the parlor that my Grace adorns<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With flowers and with her presence, which is far<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Above the fragrant presence of all flowers.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Grace sits at her piano; on her lips<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A song of twilight and the evening star.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">There as the shadows slowly gather round,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Gianni comes, and stops a moody hour;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">She, ice to his approaches; he, despair;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But ere he goes, he places in her hand<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A large ripe orange, fresh from Sicily,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And begs her to accept it for his sake.<br /></span>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[Pg 104]</a></span><span class="i0">She bows him from the room, and puts the fruit<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Before her on her music, once again<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Dreaming of me, and singing some wild song<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of Pan, who, by the river straying down,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Cut reeds, and blew upon them with such power,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He charmed the lilies and the dragon-flies.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Now while the song is swaying to its close,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I seem to come myself into the room,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And clasp true arms about my darling Grace;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">She lays Gianni's orange in my hand,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And says that I must eat it; she would not<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Have taken it, but that she did not wish<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To cross him with refusal. So I say,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">"Surely this stranger has peculiar taste<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To bring an orange to you&mdash;only one.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Perhaps there is more in it than we know."<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<h4>VII.</h4>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I seem to have this orange in my room,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And in the light of morning turn it round.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I find no flaw in it on any side.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A goodly orange, ripe, with tender coat<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of that deep reddish yellow, like fine gold.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Perhaps the tree had wrapped its roots about<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A chest of treasure, and had drawn the wealth<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Into its heart to spend it on its fruit.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But while I slowly turn the orange round,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And look more closely, lo, the slightest cut!&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A deep incision made by some sharp steel.<br /></span>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[Pg 105]</a></span><span class="i0">I carefully cut the rind, and without once<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Breaking the fine apartments of the fruit,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Or spilling thence a drop of golden juice,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Find that one room through which the steel has passed.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">This I dissect, and, testing as I can,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Fail to discover aught that's poisonous.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<h4>VIII.</h4>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I bring my microscope, and on a seed<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Clinging with abject fear, I see a Shape<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Whose wings are reeking with foul slime, whose eyes<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Glare with a demon lustre born of Pain.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Its face has somewhat of the human shape,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The under-jaw too large, and bearded long;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The forehead full of putrefying sores.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Such front the Genius, Danhasch, may have worn.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">It may be that the hideous face is like<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The idol Krishna's, from whose feasts depart,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Smitten with cholera, the Hindoo devotees.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The body oozes with a loathsome dew.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Its head is red as if sucked full of blood;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But all the rest, its hundred legs, and tail,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The mailed back, and the wide-webbed prickly wings,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Are green, like those base eyes of jealousy<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Which hope to see a covert murder done.<br /></span>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[Pg 106]</a></span><span class="i0">I find the finest needle in the house,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And press the point down on the slimy hide.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The blunt edge crushes, does not pierce the shape,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And brings the straggle that I gloat to see.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The legs stretch out, and work to get away;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A barbed tongue and twin fangs drool from the mouth.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The eyes protrude, and glare with deadly hate,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Until they fix at last in stony calm.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I ponder long on what this shape can be.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">There is no doubt Gianni placed it here;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">If so, where has he caught and caged a thing<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The naked eye has not the power to see?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Its uses must be deadly. In revenge,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He hopes to take the life of her I love.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">While poisons of another character<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Might be detected, this remains unknown.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The Thing I have discovered&mdash;this vile Shape,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Must be an atom of some foul disease!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And now I have the secret. For some days<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Gianni waits upon a stricken man,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Who dies, a victim of the cholera.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In some strange manner he has found this germ,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And placed it in the orange, hoping thus<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To bring the dread disease to Grace Bernard.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<h4>IX.</h4>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I seem to be with him I hate, once more,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And now accuse him of the fiendish deed<br /></span>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[Pg 107]</a></span><span class="i0">That I through chance averted. Now I too<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Command him to return to his true wife,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And no more cross my path; should he remain,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He shall but wait to meet her, for my words<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Already have been sent that he is here.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<h4>X.</h4>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I know that I shall fall sick dangerously,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And in some way by dark Gianni's hand.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I seem to lie asleep upon my bed,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And Grace is near, and watching my calm face.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The village doctor makes his morning call,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And takes my listless hand to feel the pulse.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">There is no pulse! His hand goes to the heart.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">My heart has ceased to beat, and all is still.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The hand the doctor held drops down like lead.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A looking-glass receives no fading mist,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Laid on the icy and immovable lips.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">My eyes are fixed; I glare upon them all.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Grace twines her widowed arms about my neck,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Kissing my sallow cheeks, with hopeless tears,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Calling my name, and begging me come back;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">So, thinking me dead, they close my staring eyes,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And put the face-cloth over my white face,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And go with silent tread about the room.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">They do not know that I am in a trance.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I hear each whisper uttered, and the sighs<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That heave the desolate bosom of my Grace.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<h4>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[Pg 108]</a></span>
+XI.</h4>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">All is so dark since they have shut my eyes;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I think it cruel in them to do that&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Shut out the light of day and every chance<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That I could ever have of seeing Grace.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I cannot move a muscle, and I try,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And strive to part my lips to say some word;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But all in vain; the mind has lost control<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Over the body's null machinery.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I wonder if they yet will bury me,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thinking me dead? To wake up in the grave,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And hear a wagon rumbling overhead,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Or a chance footstep passing near the spot,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And then cry out and never get reply;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But hear the footstep vanish far away,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And know the cold mould smothers up all cries,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And is above, beneath, and round me,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Is bitter thought. To lie back then and die,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Suffocating slowly while I tear my hair,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Makes me most wild to think of.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<h4>XII.</h4>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i14">Hark! 'tis night.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The hour is borne distinctly by the wind.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">My Grace sits near me; now comes to my side,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And unto Him, whose ear is everywhere,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">She, kneeling down, puts up her hands, and prays.<br /></span>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[Pg 109]</a></span></div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"O Father of all mercies, still be merciful,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And raise me from the gulf of this despair.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I cannot think nor feel my love is dead.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">If he yet lives, and lingers in a trance,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Give me some sign that I may know the truth."<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I slowly raise my hand, and let it fall.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Grace springs up all delight, and draws the cloth,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Kissing my lips, and begging me to wake.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I try, but fail to raise my hand again.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The trance still lasts. My eyes will not unclose;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">My lips refuse the functions of their place.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<h4>XIII.</h4>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">On the next day will be the funeral;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But Grace has this delayed for one week more;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Yet all in vain, I neither wake nor move.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I hear the people coming in the house,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And straight within my coffin long to rise.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I hear the pastor's prayer, and then his words,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Simple and good, and full of tender praise.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">They come at last to take a parting look,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A file of faces that pass out the door.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I hear them quickly screwing down the lid;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And now the bearers take me from the house,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And push me, feet first, in the black plumed hearse.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Gianni is a bearer of my pall,<br /></span>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[Pg 110]</a></span><span class="i0">And Grace is choked with sobs, and follows on.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">We reach the grave. They slowly lower me down.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Some gravel on the side is loose, and falls<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Battling upon the narrow coffin lid.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Horror on horror! Let me see no more!<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<h3>AFTER BURIAL.</h3>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">So stands the premonition; and to-day<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I look back on the words here written down,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Comparing them with what has happened since,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And find there is no flaw in any scene.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Always intending to tell Grace my fear<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That some day I might be entombed alive,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I always failed, until it was too late.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But as the sod fell on the coffin-lid,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">My trance was broken, and I called and screamed,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Until they drew me up from out the grave,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And breaking in my prison, set me free.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Gianni fled, fearing my face at last.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To-day I have his letter from his home,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Beneath the far-off skies of Italy,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Craving forgiveness for his wrongs to me;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Saying that he repents for all his past,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And with Christ's help, will lead a better life.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He found his wife and children overjoyed<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To have him back again to their embrace.<br /></span>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[Pg 111]</a></span></div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">To-morrow Grace Bernard and I shall wed.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The bell that tolled my bitter funeral knell,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Will ring, glad of my wedding and my bride&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Ring merrily round and round a jubilant peal.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">There comes no premonition now to show to me<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">What the long future has in store for us;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But from my door I watch the sunset skies,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And see blue mountains tower o'er golden plains,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Clothed with pure beauty stretching far away.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">So seems the future. I await the morn.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr />
+<h2>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[Pg 112]</a></span>
+<a name="VEERA" id="VEERA"></a>VEERA.</h2>
+
+
+<h3>I.<br /><br />
+
+THE KING'S SEAL.</h3>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">While</span> yet upon his couch our father lay,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Sick unto death, my brothers, with one mind,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Plotted abrupt destruction to my life.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I did not tell the king, because I feared<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To lessen by one heat the throbbing of his heart.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Beside his couch I knelt, and bowed my head&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I, his first-born, whom all the people loved.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">His hot, weak hand he laid upon my hair,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And blessed me with his blessing, then said on:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">"Thou hast beheld in Spring the dark green blade<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That stabs up through the unresisting earth;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">At last the Summer crowns it with a flower.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">So thou, when I am passed away, and gone to dust,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Shalt wear a crown, but grander than the shrubs&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The symbol of a kingdom, on thy brow.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But take thee now this lesson to thy heart,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And from the grass learn wisdom; wear thy crown<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As meekly, and as void of all display,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As doth the shrub half hidden under leaves."<br /></span>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[Pg 113]</a></span><span class="i0">So he bent down with pain, and kissed my cheek,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As though, having issued a great law, he<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Had set his seal upon it&mdash;the king's seal.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I cared not for the crown, save as a means<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To give my soul a higher and a nobler life.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">This my old tutor taught me&mdash;a strange man he,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With careless garb, and heavy hairy brows<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Bridged over eyes that shone like furnace fire.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">My will was lost in his. I grew like him.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I only cared to study and to dream.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And he it was who, standing in the night<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Between two pillars on the palace porch,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Saw my two brothers pass, and overheard<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The hateful whisper of their black design.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<h3>II.<br /><br />
+
+THE NIGHT OF THE ESCAPE.</h3>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The night before the murder was to be,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I drew my long, keen dagger from its sheath,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And stole on down the marble stair-way, past<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The throne-room, to the curtained arch wherein<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">My brothers lay asleep. No dream beset<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The guilty Dead-Sea of their rest. They lay<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Engulfed in pillows, like two ships mid waves.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I saw their faces, and the one was fair.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Long dark brown hair fell from his noble brow,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And on the silken billow of the couch lay curled<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Like spray. The other face was cold and dark<br /></span>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[Pg 114]</a></span><span class="i0">I felt no pity in my angry breast<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For this, the older brother of the twain.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Yet he it was who always praised me most.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Praise is a dust of diamond that, if thrown<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Well in the eyes of even noble men,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Will blind them to a host of flagrant faults.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The moon was full, and 'twixt two silvered clouds<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Looked forth, like any princess from between<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The tasseled curtains of her downy bed.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The vagrant wind came through the opened blind,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And whispered of the desert; with its hand<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Fanning the flame that in the silver urn<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Mimicked a star. Beneath the rays I wrote:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0"><span class="italic">I should have slain you both for your intent</span><br /></span>
+<span class="i0"><span class="italic">Of murder; but I spare, you, and I go.</span><br /></span>
+<span class="i0"><span class="italic">So, take the kingdom, and ride long and well.</span><br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Between them there I laid the paper down,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Then thrust my dagger, to the golden hilt,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Through it, deep in the couch. So passing on,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I came to that high room wherein my sire,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The king, lay sick, and drifting near to death.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">My tutor at his feet, and on the floor,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Embraced by needed sleep, lay like a dog.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I came to see the king's face once again,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Ere, like a maid who in her lover trusts,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I gave myself up, body and soul,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To the great desert and the world beyond.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">How sweetly slept the king! His long white beard,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And venerable face, were undisturbed<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">By even the breezy motion of his breath.<br /></span>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[Pg 115]</a></span><span class="i0">Surely, I thought, the fever must have passed.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I bent down tenderly to kiss the cheek.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">How cold! God help me, can the king be dead?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">My heart gave one wild bound, driving a wave<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of grief, vast as a mountain, up the sands<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of my bleak desolation. The wave broke<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Into a blinding mist of tears at last.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I longed to moan out my despair, but paused,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Checking my sobs to kiss the face once more;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Then moved from the strange room, parting with care<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The massive silken curtains, fearful then<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Their rustle might attract some wakeful ear.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I found the jewels of the crown, and these<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With all my own I in a bag secured,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And hung about my neck, beneath my robe.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Noiseless as a ghost I passed the hall,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And down the stair-way wrought of sandal-wood<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Made lightest footsteps. As I stole<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Along the alcoves where the maidens slept,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A lady stood before me. She outstretched<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Her white and naked arms, and round my neck<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Entwined them. She was the captive, Veera,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Once held for ransom from some Bedouin tribe;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But when the coin was brought she would not go;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">At this the king was pleased, for thus she made<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Perpetual peace between him and her kin.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">No maid in Mesched up and down, was found<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To rival her for beauty. All her words<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Were apt and good, and all her ways were sweet.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I, in her happy prison, ivory-barred<br /></span>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[Pg 116]</a></span><span class="i0">By her white arms, was restless for release.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">She would not set me free until I told<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The purport of my vigil, and revealed<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The place whereat my journey would be done.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I did not wait to pay her back her kiss.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I hurried to the stables, where I found<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">My coal-black steed. He neighed and pawed the floor.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I bound the saddle firmly, grasped the reins,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And in a moment passed the city's gate,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And shot out on the desert, where the wind<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Made race with us, but lagged behind at last.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<h3>III.<br /><br />
+
+TWO PROBLEMS.</h3>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Vienna gained, I gave myself to books.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Here I had promised Veera I should be.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">New paths were opened to me, and my days<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Were lost in study. All my tutor knew<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Seemed cramped and meagre in these wider ways<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of thought and science. Better far, I said,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To know, than be a king. There is no crown<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That so becomes the brow as knowledge does.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">To solve two problems, now engrossed my life.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">My Bedouin tutor had spent all his days<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Upon them, but without success. On me<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He grafted all the purpose of his soul,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Determined, though he failed, that I might yet<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Toil on when he was compassed round by death.<br /></span>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[Pg 117]</a></span><span class="i0">These sister problems were, <span class="italic">How make pure gold?</span><br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And, <span class="italic">How endure forever on the earth?</span><br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<h3>IV.<br /><br />
+
+THE DOOR.</h3>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Among the books that I had bought myself,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I found the Bible. This to peruse<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I soon essayed; but ere I had read far,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Behold! I found the door behind which lay<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The answers to my problems. Locked and barred<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The door was, yet I knew it was the door.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For here I read of Eden, and that in the midst<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The Tree of Life stood, while through the land<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A river ran which parted in four heads;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And one was Gihon, the Ethiop stream;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And one was Pison, the great crystal tide<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Which floods Havilah, where fine gold is found,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And rare bdellium and the onyx stone.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">So, as my tutor said, my problems were<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A dual secret, and the one contained<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The other. All the long night through I pored<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Above the words, and kissed the unconscious page<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With reverent lips. My heart was like a sponge<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Soaked in the water of the mystic words.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<h3>V.<br /><br />
+
+THE KEY.</h3>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">As one who in the night, passing a street<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Deserted, finds a lost key rusted and old,<br /></span>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[Pg 118]</a></span><span class="i0">Yet knows that it will fit some great iron door<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Behind which countless treasures are concealed,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">So I, when first I came to Mesmer's works,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Knew I had found the key to move the door<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of my twin problems. Then, day after day,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I made them all my study. Much I mourned<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The sad disheartened life that Mesmer led.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He never knew that one good thing, success;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But yet his strong, persistent genius, to the end<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Endured. Yet such the rule in every age.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The one true man appears, and gives his thought,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">At which the whole world rail or basely sneer.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The next man comes and makes a thankless use<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of what the other knew, and wins the praise<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The first man lost by being ripe too soon.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<h3>VI.<br /><br />
+
+NEWS FROM MESCHED.</h3>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Down the long street, upon my iron-black steed,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I rode and pondered. Where shall I seek to find<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A sweet soul pure as dawn, who to my will shall be<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Both malleable and ductile; who can soar<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Over the whole earth, or go back in the past?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">While yet I mused, lo, up a garden walk,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A lady chased a bird. An empty cage<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Stood in the vine-clad cottage-window near.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The bird was like some sweet elusive thought;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The maid, a Sappho, weary with pursuit.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">She only glanced my way to see me pass,<br /></span>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[Pg 119]</a></span><span class="i0">Then turned and ran towards me, her large eyes<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With gladness scintillant. It was the maid,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Veera. Her hand upon my shoulder, up the walk<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">We went, my steed following, while her bird,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Tired of his liberty, had found his cage.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Strange news had Veera. Here she lived in peace;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But through the city she had sought me long.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When I was gone from Mesched, and my brothers read<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The paper I had written, their wrath rose<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Against my tutor whom they deemed the spy.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He, being found asleep beside the king<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Who lay dead, to his door they brought<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The baseless charge of murder. Through the streets<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">They sent their criers to proclaim the deed.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">So, clamorous for his life, the people came<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And dragged him forth, and led him to the block<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And slew him. On a spear they set his head,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And placed it high upon the tower above<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The eastern gate. The birds pecked at the eyes,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And of the hair made comfortable nests.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The rain beat on it, and the active wind<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Crowned it with desert dust. Always the sun<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Made salutation to it, flushing it<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Until it seemed more ghastly than before.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But after this mad crime the older brother grew<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Jealous of him, the younger. One dark morn<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">They found the last-born lifeless in the street,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Stabbed by a long, sharp poniard in the back.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Misrule followed misrule, and justice fled.<br /></span>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[Pg 120]</a></span><span class="i0">Laws were abolished, and pleasure's lewdest voice<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Hawked in the market-place, and through the streets.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Her story done, Veera entreated me<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To set my face for Mesched with the dawn.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">"Not yet," I said, "not yet." And then I made<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Strange passes with my hands, and braced my will,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To sway her will; then with a questioning glance<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">She passed out to a calm Mesmeric sleep.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">So, well I knew that I had found the soul<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">My purpose needed, and I bade her wake.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<h3>VII.<br /><br />
+
+THE MIDNIGHT VISITOR.</h3>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I sat and pondered in my room that night<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Until the towers and steeples, near and far,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Like sentries of the sky, issued the hour<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of midnight. Then I wrought magnetic force<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With waving hands; and set my swerveless will<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That Veera should approach me, and that none<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Should harm or see her as she passed the streets.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">At last I heard her footstep on the stair&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The patter of her feet as soft as rain,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And then she turned the hinge and entered in.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A long white wrapper made of satin, bound<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With lace of gold, and fastened at the throat<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With buttons of cut diamond, clad her form.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A band of opals was around her neck&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A hundred little worlds with central fires.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Her feet were naked, and her hair was down.<br /></span>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[Pg 121]</a></span><span class="i0">Her large eyes, wide and staring, took no heed<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of anything before them; thus she slept.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I bade her sit beside me, and I placed<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The Bible on her knee, and laid her hand<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Upon the verse that names the tree of life.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">"Tell me," I said, "where may this tree be found."<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">"The way is long," she answered me at last,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">"And I am worn and weary. I have tracked<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The shore of one long river, many a mile.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The sun scorches like fire. I am athirst.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I cannot find the tree; my search is done."<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">"Look down the past, and find if any knew<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Where grows this tree, or how it might be found."<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Again her lips made answer: "One I see,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Long dead, who bends above a written scroll,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And therein makes strange characters, which hold<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Some hidden sense pertaining to this tree.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In Milan, in the Ambrosian library there,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I see this scroll to-night; 'tis worn with age."<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"Now seek thy home again," I said, "sweet soul.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thou art as meek and pure as him whose hand<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">First wrote God's words." So she arose, and passed<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Along the dark, deserted street, and I<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Followed her closely, till I saw her cross<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The threshold of her cottage; then I turned,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And found my home, and calmly slept till dawn.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<h3>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[Pg 122]</a></span>
+VIII.<br /><br />
+
+THE PALIMPSEST.</h3>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">In Milan, in the Ambrosian library there,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Among Pinellian writings seared with age,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I found a prophet's palimpsest&mdash;a scroll<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That Angelo Maio had brought to light.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And on the margin of this scroll, I found<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Mysterious signs which baffled me at first.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">After a full week's search I chanced to find<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The mongrel dialect of which they were.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I thus translated: <span class="italic">Gihon is the Nile.</span><br /></span>
+<span class="i0"><span class="italic">A perfect soul may find long life and gold.</span><br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Surely, I thought, Veera the maid is pure.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Her life's blue sky has not one cloud of sin.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">If her feet press the soil where Eve first trod,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I can but follow and attain. So I<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Back to Vienna came and found Veera.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To her I made my double purpose plain,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And prayed her to go with me in my search.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">She smiled assent. To be near me, she said,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Had brought her to Vienna; this indeed<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Detained her from her kinsmen. Her heart's book<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Lay open to me, and I read her love.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">So we were wed, and both lives ran to one.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<h3>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[Pg 123]</a></span>
+IX.<br /><br />
+
+GIHON.</h3>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Now for the Nile we journeyed, gaining first<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The town of Gondokoro, where the stream<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of Bahr el Abiad, or White Nile, flows.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thence we passed on, and with the savage kings<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of Karagwe, Uganda and Ungoro, stopped,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To rest our weary feet, or in their huts<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Escape the sun's fierce glare. At last we found<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The sources of the Nile; two lakes that now<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Are called Nyanza and Nzige. If here<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I had but paused, and had retraced my steps,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The whole world would have known and praised my name,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For I was first to find the secret out.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But then I cared not for it, journeying on.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">After a week, we came upon a land<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">All void, and barren of a single leaf.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Veera was pale and worn, although she bore<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Fatigue with generous patience for my sake.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Our feet were swollen, and with the hot sand scorched,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Our garments were in tatters, and we seemed<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Like beggars, in a land where there were none to give.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">At night we slept beside a wide, cool stream,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Whereat we quenched our thirst, and bathed our feet.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">My beard was grown, and all my hair hung down<br /></span>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[Pg 124]</a></span><span class="i0">Neglected, on my shoulders. I was weak,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And thin, and feverish, and Veera, too,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I saw was sick, and languished hour by hour.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<h3>X.<br /><br />
+
+GOLD!</h3>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">In the sand, lo! something to the sun<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Replied with brilliant lustre; as I brushed<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The dust away, I saw that it was gold!&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A solid bar of gold&mdash;and yet so weak<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Was I, I could not move it from its place.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I would have given then the bar of gold<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To buy a crust, but could not. So we passed,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And came where five great rivers went their ways.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Which should we follow? One I knew<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Led to the tree of life, but all the rest<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Went back to death. Here a dead bird we found,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And tearing off its gaudy plumage, ate.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Upon occasional trees grew strange sparse fruits,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And these sustained us as we wandered on.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Along the banks for many a mile we went<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">By each of these five rivers, then returned.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">So all my hope was dead, and long I prayed<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That I might live to see my land again.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<h3>XI.<br /><br />
+
+THE MESSAGE OF THE THREE MEN.</h3>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The night came on, and unto sleep we gave<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Our spirits. When the golden day was born<br /></span>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[Pg 125]</a></span><span class="i0">Veera awoke, and told me all her dream;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">"Lo, in the night three men have talked with me&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Three strange good men who said the kindest words,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And said that only those who were released<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">From sin, could find the garden of the Lord.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And this release was bought upon a cross<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">By One, a Nazarene, with priceless blood.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">If He would bear our sins, then we might reach<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The garden; but we must not touch or eat<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The tree of life that flourished in the midst."<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Then I abased my soul, and prayed again,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And cast off all the burden of my sins,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Tearing my strange ambition from my heart.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And Veera, too, embraced the Christian Faith.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">So we arose, and went upon our way,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And journeying eastward, Eden found at last!<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<h3>XII.<br /><br />
+
+THE GARDEN.</h3>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The trees were housed with nests, and every one<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Was like a city of song. The streams too<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Were voluble; they laughed and gurgled there<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Like men who, at a banquet, sit and drink<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And chatter. All the grass was like a robe<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of velvet, and there was no need of rain.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In dells roofed with green leafage, nature spread<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Couches meet for a Sybarite. Sweet food<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The servant trees extended us to eat<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In their long, branchy arms. Even the sun<br /></span>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[Pg 126]</a></span><span class="i0">Was tempered, and the sky was always blue.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Corpulent grapes along the crystal rocks,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Made consorts of the long-robed lady leaves.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The butterfly and bee, from morn till eve,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Consulted with the roses, lip to lip,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Which grew in rank profusion. They at times<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Dared to invade the empire of the grass,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And overthrew its green-robed, spear-armed hosts.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The lilies too were like an army there,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And every night they struck their snowy tents,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To please their great commander, the round moon&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">God's lily in the everlasting sky.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<h3>XIII.<br /><br />
+
+CAST OUT.</h3>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">As to the heliotrope comes fluttering down<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The peacock-butterfly, who sips and flies,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">So each glad day gold-winged came to the land<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And sipped its sip of time and fled away.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Now in an evil hour I hungered, and I saw<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The tree of life that grew forbidden fruit.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">What harm, I thought, is there to always live?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To live is happiness; but to die is pain.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The rental claimed by death falls due too soon.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">So I reached forth, and took the fruit, and ate.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Then all the sky grew dark, and from the land<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Malignant terrors drove me shrieking forth;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And as I fled, my youth abandoned me;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">My hair turned gray, my shoulders stooped, my blood<br /></span>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[Pg 127]</a></span><span class="i0">Grew colder, and my perfect form was changed.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A weak old man with wrinkled face, I fled,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To wander in the wastes. Once I looked back<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Upon the garden; over it the sky<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Was soft and clear; and midway in the air<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I saw Veera between two angels, borne<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To heaven. So I turned again and fled.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<h3>XIV.<br /><br />
+
+"LONG LIVE THE KING."</h3>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I came at last to Mesched. It was night.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The moon, half-shadowed, trailed its silver robe<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Over the tower above the eastern gate,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And there revealed the outlines of a skull<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Set on a spear. The portals were unbarred.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I passed the arch, but in the shadow kept,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">While on the flinty wall I edged my knife.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Then I crept on until I gained the porch<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of the great palace. There I smote the guard,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And entering in, sought out the sleeping king.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Deep in his heart I plunged my thirsty knife.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">All the next day I sat before the gate,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And begged, and heard the rumors of the town;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Then, standing forth, I claimed to be their king,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And told them all my story to the end.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">None pitied the dead ruler, for he knew<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">No pity while he lived. So I was king at last;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But all my life, and all my hope to me<br /></span>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[Pg 128]</a></span><span class="i0">Are dust and ashes, knowing that God's frown<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Abides upon me. Would that I could die!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">There is no kindlier spirit than content.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And there is nothing better in the world<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Than to do good, and trust in God for all.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+<pre>
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Stories in Verse, by Henry Abbey
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+</body>
+</html>
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@@ -0,0 +1,3824 @@
+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Stories in Verse, by Henry Abbey
+
+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: Stories in Verse
+
+Author: Henry Abbey
+
+Release Date: October 16, 2007 [EBook #23037]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ASCII
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK STORIES IN VERSE ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Marilynda Fraser-Cunliffe, storm and the Online
+Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
+file was made using scans of public domain works from the
+University of Michigan Digital Libraries.)
+
+
+
+
+
+
+STORIES IN VERSE.
+
+BY
+
+HENRY ABBEY.
+
+ The sense of the world is short--
+ To love and be beloved.
+
+                              EMERSON.
+
+NEW YORK:
+A. D. F. RANDOLPH & CO., PUBLISHERS,
+
+COR. BROADWAY AND NINTH STREET.
+1869.
+
+Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1869, by
+HENRY L. ABBEY,
+in the Clerk's Office of the District Court for the Southern District of
+New York.
+
+RIVERSIDE, CAMBRIDGE:
+PRINTED BY H. O. HOUGHTON AND COMPANY.
+
+TO
+
+RICHARD GRANT WHITE,
+
+WITH GRATITUDE FOR HIS FRIENDSHIP, AND WITH ADMIRATION FOR HIS ELEGANT
+SCHOLARSHIP.
+
+
+
+CONTENTS.
+
+                         PAGE
+
+BLANCHE                     1
+
+KARAGWE, AN AFRICAN        28
+
+DEMETRIUS                  55
+
+THE STRONG SPIDER          82
+
+GRACE BERNARD              94
+
+VEERA                     112
+
+BLANCHE:
+
+AN EXHALATION FROM WITHERED VIOLETS.
+
+I.
+
+THE VENDER OF VIOLETS.
+
+ "Violets! Violets! Violets!"
+ This was the cry I heard
+ As I passed through the street of a city;
+ And quickly my heart was stirred
+ To an incomprehensible pity,
+ At the undertone of the cry;
+ For it seemed like the voice of one
+ Who was stricken, and all undone,
+ Who was only longing to die.
+
+ "Violets! Violets! Violets!"
+ The voice came nearer still.
+ "Surely," I said, "it is May,
+ And out on valley and hill,
+ The violets blooming to-day,
+ Send this invitation to me
+ To come and be with them once more;
+ I know they are dear as can be,
+ And I hate the town with its roar."
+
+ "Violets! Violets! Violets!"
+ Children of sun and of dew,
+ Flakes of the blue of the sky,
+ There is somebody calling to you
+ Who seems to be longing to die;
+ Yet violets are so sweet
+ They can scarcely have dealings with death.
+ Can it be, that the dying breath,
+ That comes from the one last beat
+ Of a true heart, turns to the flowers?
+
+ "Violets! Violets! Violets!"
+ The crier is near me at last.
+ With my eyes I am holding her fast.
+ She is a lovely seller of flowers.
+ She is one whom the town devours
+ In its jaws of bustle and strife.
+ How poverty grinds down a life;
+ For, lost in the slime of a city,
+ What is a beautiful face?
+ Few are they who have pity
+ For loveliness in disgrace.
+ Yet she that I hold with my eyes,
+ Who seems so modest and wise,
+ Has not yet fallen, I am sure.
+ She has nobly learned to endure.
+ Large, and mournful, and meek,
+ Her eyes seem to drink from my own.
+ Her curls are carelessly thrown
+ Back from white shoulder and cheek;
+ And her lips seem strawberries, lost
+ In some Arctic country of frost.
+ The slightest curve on a face,
+ May give an expression unmeet;
+ Yet hers is so perfect and sweet,
+ And shaped with such delicate grace,
+ Its loveliness is complete.
+
+ "Violets! Violets! Violets!"
+ I hear the cry once more;
+ But not as I heard it before.
+ It whispers no more of death;
+ But only of odorous breath,
+ And modest flowers, and life.
+ I purchased a cluster, so rife
+ With the touch of her tapering hand,
+ I seem to hold it in mine.
+ I would I could understand,
+ Why a touch seems so divine.
+
+II.
+
+A FLOWER FOUND IN THE STREET.
+
+ To-day in passing down the street,
+   I found a flower upon the walk,
+ A dear syringa, white and sweet,
+   Wrung idly from the missing stalk.
+
+ And something in its odor speaks
+   Of dark brown eyes, and arms of snow,
+ And rainbow smiles on sunset cheeks--
+   The maid I saw a month ago.
+
+ I waited for her many a day,
+   On the dear ground where first we met;
+ I sought her up and down the way,
+   And all in vain I seek her yet.
+
+ Syringa, naught your odor tells,
+   Or whispers so I cannot hear;
+ Speak out, and tell me where she dwells,
+   In perfume accents, loud and clear.
+
+ Shake out the music of your speech,
+   In quavers of delicious breath;
+ The conscious melody may teach
+   A lover where love wandereth.
+
+ If so you speak, with smile and look,
+   You will not wither, but endure;
+ And in my heart's still open book,
+   Keep your white petals ever pure.
+
+ If so you speak, upon her breast
+   You yet may rest, nor sigh afar;
+ But in the moonlight's silver dressed,
+   Seem 'gainst your heaven the evening star.
+
+III.
+
+ODYLE.
+
+ We know that they are often near
+   Of whom we think, of whom we talk,
+ Though we have missed them many a year,
+   And lost them from our daily walk.
+
+ Some strange clairvoyance dwells in all,
+   And webs the souls of human kind.
+ I would that I could learn its thrall,
+   And know the power of mind on mind.
+
+ I then might quickly use the sense,
+   To find where one I worship dwells,
+ If in the city, or if thence
+   Among the breeze-rung lily bells.
+
+IV.
+
+WHAT ONE FINDS IN THE COUNTRY.
+
+ I went out in the country
+   To spend an idle day--
+ To see the flowers in blossom,
+   And scent the fragrant hay.
+
+ The dawn's spears smote the mountains
+   Upon their shields of blue,
+ And space, in her black valleys,
+   Joined in the conflict too.
+
+ The clouds were jellied amber;
+   The crickets in the grass
+ Blew pipe and hammered tabor,
+   And laughed to see me pass.
+
+ The cows down in the pasture,
+   The mowers in the field,
+ The birds that sang in heaven,
+   Their happiness revealed.
+
+ My heart was light and joyful,
+   I could not answer why;
+ And I thought that it was better
+   Always to smile than sigh.
+
+ How could I hope to meet her
+   Whom most I wished to meet?
+ If always I had lost her,
+   Then life were incomplete.
+
+ The road ran o'er a brooklet;
+   Upon the bridge she stood,
+ With wild flowers in her ringlets,
+   And in her hand her hood.
+
+ The morn laid on her features
+   An envious golden kiss;
+ She might have fancied truly,
+   I longed to share its bliss.
+
+ I said, "O, lovely maiden,
+   I have sought you many a day.
+ That I love you, love you, love you,
+   Is all that I can say."
+
+ Her mournful eyes grew brighter,
+   And archly glanced, though meek.
+ A bacchanalian dimple
+   Dipt a wine-cup in her cheek.
+
+ "If you love me, love me, love me,
+   If you love me as you say,
+ You must prove it, prove it, prove it!"
+   And she lightly turned away.
+
+V.
+
+AN AUNT AND AN UNCLE.
+
+ I have but an aunt and an uncle
+   For kinsfolk on the earth,
+ And one has passed me unnoticed
+   And hated me from my birth;
+ But the first has reared me and taught me,
+   Whatever I have of worth.
+
+ This is my uncle by marriage,
+   For his wife my aunt had died,
+ And left him all her possessions,
+   With much that was mine beside--
+ 'Tis said that he hated her brother,
+   As much as he loved the bride.
+
+ That brother, my father, forgave him,
+   As his last hour ran its sand,
+ And begged in return his forgiveness,
+   As he placed in his sister's hand
+ The bonds, that when I was twenty,
+   Should be at my command.
+
+ For my mother was dead, God rest her,
+   And I would be left alone.
+ The bride to her trust was unfaithful--
+   Her heart was harder than stone.
+ And her widowed sister, left childless,
+   Adopted me as her own.
+
+ So we dwelt in opposite houses--
+   We in a dwelling low,
+ And he in a brown stone mansion.
+   I toiled and my gain was slow.
+ My uncle rode in a carriage
+   As fine as there was in the row.
+
+ Once, in a useless anger,
+   With courage not mine before,
+ I bearded the crafty lion,
+   Demanding my own, no more.
+ He said the law gave me nothing,
+   And showed me out of his door.
+
+VI.
+
+MY AUNT INVITES HER IN TO DINE.
+
+ This is the place, this is the hour,
+ And through the shine, or through the shower,
+   She promised she would come.
+ O, darling day, she is so sweet
+ I could kneel down and kiss her feet.
+   Her presence makes me dumb.
+
+ A thousand things that I would say,
+ And ponder when she is away,
+   Desert me when she's near--
+ When she is near--twice we have met!
+ Though but a month has passed as yet,
+   It seems almost a year.
+
+ O, now she comes, and here she stands,
+ And gives me hers in both my hands,
+   And blushes to her brow.
+ She eyes askance her simple gown,
+ And folds a Judas tatter down
+   She has not seen till now.
+
+ I said, "My love you made me wait,
+ I grew almost disconsolate
+   Thinking you would not come.
+ Ah, tell me what you have to do,
+ That makes your duty, sweet, for you
+   My rival in your home."
+
+ "My home!" she answered, "I have none.
+ For me, 'tis years since there was one,
+   And that was scarcely mine.
+ Father and mother both are dead;
+ I sell sweet flowers to earn my bread--
+   Their fragrance is my wine.
+
+ "Sometimes the house upon the farm,
+ Sometimes the city's friendly arm,
+   Shields me from rain and dew.
+ I did not know that it was late;
+ The minutes you have had to wait,
+   Are truly but a few."
+
+ A smile shone through her large dark eyes,
+ As sometimes, in the stormy skies,
+   The light puts through an arm,
+ Which, spreading glory far and wide,
+ Draws the broad curtain cloud aside,
+   Making the whole earth warm.
+
+ She took my arm; we walked away;
+ We saw, in parks, the fountains play;
+   My heart was all elate.
+ I scarcely noticed when I stood,
+ With my dear waif of womanhood,
+   Beside our lowly gate.
+
+ "You have no home," I gently said,
+ "But, till the day that we are wed,
+   And after if you will,
+ This home, my love, is mine and thine."
+ My aunt came out and bade us dine--
+   I see her smiling still.
+
+ My Blanche, reluctant, gave consent;
+ Then 'neath the humble roof we went,
+   And sat about the board.
+ I saw how sweet the whole surprise;
+ I saw her fond uplifted eyes,
+   Give thanks unto the Lord.
+
+VII.
+
+THE PROPHECY.
+
+ There is a prophecy of our line,
+ Told by some great grand-dame of mine
+ I once attempted to divine.
+
+ 'Tis that two children, then unborn,
+ Would know a wealthy wedding morn,
+ Or die in poverty forlorn.
+
+ These children would be of her name.
+ If to the bridal bans they came,
+ The house would gather strength and fame.
+
+ But if they came not, woe is me,
+ The line would ever cease to be,
+ The wealth would take its wings and flee.
+
+ If all the signs are coming true,
+ I am the child she pictured, who
+ The name should keep or hide from view.
+
+ In our domain of liberty,
+ Our heed is light of pedigree,
+ I care not for the prophecy.
+
+ For what to me our wealth or line?
+ I only wish to make her mine--
+ The maid my aunt asked in to dine.
+
+VIII.
+
+HOW A POOR GIRL WAS MADE RICH.
+
+ All the day my toil was easy, for I knew that in the evening,
+   I could go home from my labor, and find Blanche at the door;
+ How could I dream the sunlight in my sky was so deceiving?
+   And I ceased in my believing 'twould be cloudy ever more.
+
+ When at last the twilight deepened, I entered our low dwelling,
+   And my darling rose to meet me, with the love-light in her eyes;
+ On that day her simple story to my aunt she had been telling,
+   And I saw her words were welling, fraught with ominous surprise.
+
+ For it seems my hated uncle, once had given him a daughter,
+   Who on a saddened morning had been stolen from the door,
+ And through the panting city the criers cried and sought her,
+   But in vain; they never brought her to his threshold any more.
+
+ Blanche was she, my uncle's daughter; no unwelcome truth was plainer;
+   For a small peculiar birth-mark was apparent on her arm.
+ Had I lost her? Was it possible ever more now to regain her?
+   Would he spurn me, and restrain her with his wily golden charm?
+
+ All that night my heart was bitter with unutterable anguish,
+   And I cried out in my slumber till with my words I woke:
+ "How long, O Lord, must poverty bow down its head and languish,
+   While wrong, with wealth to garnish it, makes strong the heavy yoke?"
+
+IX.
+
+THE MISER.
+
+ 'Tis said, that when he saw his child,
+   And saw the proof that she was his,
+ The first in many a year he smiled,
+   And pressed upon her brow a kiss.
+
+ In both his hands her hand he bound,
+   And led her gayly through his place.
+ He said the dead years circled round,
+   Hers was so like her mother's face.
+
+ He scarcely moves him from her side--
+   Her every hour with joy beguiles.
+ To make the gulf between us wide,
+   He acts the miser of her smiles.
+
+ He brings her presents rich and rare--
+  Wrought gold by cunning hands impearled,
+ Round opals that with scarlet glare,
+   The lightning of each mimic world.
+
+X.
+
+SHE PASSED ME BY.
+
+ She bowed, and smiled, and passed me by,
+     She passed me by!
+ O love, O lava breath that burns,
+ 'Tis hard indeed to think she spurns
+   Such worshippers as you and I.
+ She smiled, and bowed, with stately pride;
+ The bow the frosty smile belied.
+     She passed me by.
+
+ She bowed, and smiled, and passed me by,
+     She passed me by.
+ What more could any maiden do?
+ It did not prove she was untrue.
+   My heart is tired, I know not why.
+ I only know I weep and pray.
+ Love has its night as well as day.
+     She passed me by.
+
+XI.
+
+MIND WITHOUT SOUL.
+
+ Some strange story I have read
+   Of a man without a soul.
+ Mind he had, though soul had fled;
+ Magic gave him gifts instead,
+   And the form of youth he stole.
+
+ Grows a rose-azalea white,
+   In my garden, near the way.
+ I who see it with delight,
+ Dream its soul of odor might,
+   In the past, have fled away.
+
+ Blanche (O, sweet, you are so fair,
+   So sweet, so fair, whate'er you do),
+ Twine no azalea in your hair,
+ Lest I think in my despair,
+   Heart and soul have left you too.
+
+XII.
+
+A BROKEN SWORD.
+
+ Deep in the night I saw the sea,
+   And overhead, the round moon white;
+ Its steel cold gleam lay on the lea,
+   And seemed my sword of life and light,
+ Broke in that war death waged with me.
+
+ I heard the dip of golden oars;
+   Twelve angels stranded in a boat;
+ We sailed away for other shores;
+   Though but an hour we were afloat,
+ We harbored under heavenly doors.
+
+ O, Blanche, if I had run my race,
+   And if I wore my winding sheet,
+ And mourners went about the place,
+   Would you so much as cross the street,
+ To kiss in death my white, cold face?
+
+XIII.
+
+A CHANCE FOR GAIN.
+
+ I met him in the busy mart;
+   His eyes are large, his lips are firm,
+     And on his temples, care or sin
+     Has left its claw prints hardened in;
+   His step is nervous and infirm;
+ I wondered if he had a heart.
+
+ He blandly smiled and took my hand.
+   He owed me such a debt, he thought,
+     He felt he never could repay;
+     Yet should I call on him that day,
+   He'd hand me what the papers brought,
+ For which I once had made demand.
+
+ Then added, turning grave from gay;
+   "But you must promise, if I give,
+     Your lover's office to resign,
+     And stand no more 'twixt me and mine."
+   His words were water in a sieve.
+ I turned my back and strode away.
+
+XIV.
+
+THE LIGHT-HOUSE.
+
+ At twilight, past the fountain,
+   I wandered in the park,
+ And saw a closed white lily
+   Sway on the liquid dark;
+ And a fire-fly, perched upon it,
+   Shone out its fitful spark.
+
+ I fancied it a light-house
+   Mooned on a sky-like sea,
+ To warn the fearless sailors
+   Of lurking treachery--
+ Of unseen reefs and shallows
+   That starved for wrecks to be.
+
+ O Blanche, O love that spurns me,
+   'Tis but a cheat thou art.
+ I would some friendly light-house
+   Had warned me to depart
+ From the secret reefs and shallows
+   That hide about your heart.
+
+XV.
+
+DARKNESS.
+
+ My hopes and my ambition all were down,
+   Like grass the mower turneth from its place;
+ The night's thick darkness was an angry frown,
+   And earth a tear upon the cheek of space.
+
+ The mighty fiend of storm in wild unrest,
+   By lightning stabbed, dragged slowly up the plain;
+ Great clots of light, like blood, dripped down his breast,
+   And from his open jaws fell foam in rain.
+
+XVI.
+
+IN THE CHURCH-YARD.
+
+ Where the sun shineth,
+   Through the willow trees,
+ And the church standeth,
+       'Mid the tomb-stones white,
+     Planting anemones
+       I saw my delight.
+
+ Her mother sleepeth
+   Beneath the green mound;
+ A white cross standeth
+       To show man the place.
+     Now close to the ground
+       Blanche bendeth her face.
+
+ She quickly riseth
+   As she hears my walk,
+ And sadly smileth
+       Through mists of tears;
+     We mournfully talk
+       Of departed years.
+
+ She downward droopeth
+   Her beautiful head,
+ And a blue-bell seemeth
+       That blossometh down;
+     Trembling with dread,
+       Lest the sky should frown.
+
+ She dearer seemeth
+   Than ever before.
+ She gently chideth
+       My more distant way.
+     At her heart's one door
+       I entered to-day.
+
+ No palace standeth
+   As happy as this.
+ Love ever ruleth
+       Its precincts alone--
+     His sceptre a kiss,
+       And a smile his throne.
+
+ There is one Blanche feareth--
+   She loves not deceit--
+ She only wisheth
+       To dazzle his heart.
+     We promise to meet.
+       And separate depart.
+
+XVII.
+
+COMPARISONS.
+
+ The moon is like a shepherd with a flock of starry lambkins,
+ The wind is like a whisper to the mountains from the sea,
+ The sun a gold moth browsing on a flower's pearl-dusted pollen;
+ But my words can scarcely utter what my love is like to me.
+
+ She is the sun in light's magnificence across my heart's day shining,
+ She's the moon when through the heavens of my heart flash meteor dreams;
+ Her voice is fragrant south wind a silvery sentence blowing;
+ She is sweeter than the sweetest, she is better than she seems.
+
+XVIII.
+
+AN INQUIRY OF THE SEXTON.
+
+ "Sexton, was she here to-day
+   Who has met me oft before?
+ Did she come and go away,
+   Tired of waiting any more?
+ For I fancy some mistake
+   Has occurred about the time;
+ Yet, the hour has not yet passed;
+   Hark! the bells begin to chime.
+
+ "In her hair two roses woo,
+   One a white, and one a red.
+ Azure silk her dress might be,
+   Though she oft wears white instead.
+ Here, beside this marble cross,
+   Oft she kneels in silent prayer;
+ Tell me, has she been to-day,
+   In the church-yard anywhere?"
+
+ "No, the lady that you seek
+   Has not passed the gate to-day:
+ I've been digging at a grave,
+   And if she had come this way
+ I'd have seen her from my work.
+   She may come to meet you yet.
+ I remember well her looks.
+   Names, not faces, I forget."
+
+XIX.
+
+A RIVAL.
+
+ It seems I have a rival
+   Domiciled over the way;
+ But Blanche, dear heart, dislikes him,
+   Whatever her father may say--
+ This gorgeously broadclothed fellow,
+   Good enough in his way.
+
+ To-day as I left the church-yard,
+   I met them taking a ride,
+ And my heart was pierced like a buckler
+   With a javelin of pride;
+ I only saw in my anger
+   They were sitting side by side.
+
+ To-night, in the purple twilight,
+   Blanche waited upon the walk,
+ And beckoned her white hand to me--
+   A lily swayed on its stalk.
+ Soon my jealous pride was foundered
+   In the maelstrom of talk.
+
+ 'Twas useless to go to the church-yard,
+   For some one had played the spy;
+ She fancied it was the sexton--
+   We would let it all go by;
+ We now would have bolder meetings,
+   'Neath her father's very eye.
+
+ She took my arm as we idled,
+   And talked of our love once more,
+ And how, with her basket of flowers,
+   She had passed the street before;
+ We tarried long in the moonlight,
+   And kissed good-night at her door.
+
+XX.
+
+KISSES AND A RING.
+
+ I never behold the sea
+   Rush up to the hand of the shore,
+ And with its vehement lips
+   Kiss its down-dropt whiteness o'er,
+ But I think of that magic night,
+   When my lips, like waves on a coast,
+ Broke over the moonlit hand
+   Of her that I love the most.
+
+ I never behold the surf
+   Lit by the sun into gold,
+ Curl and glitter and gleam,
+   In a ring-like billow rolled,
+ But I think of another ring,
+   A simple, delicate band,
+ That in the night of our troth
+   I placed on a darling hand.
+
+XXI.
+
+AN ENEMY MAY BE SERVED, EVEN THROUGH MISTAKE, WITH PROFIT.
+
+ I was walking down the sidewalk,
+   When up, with flying mane,
+ Two iron-black steeds came spurning
+   The ground in wild disdain;
+ I caught them in an instant,
+   And held them by the rein.
+
+ It seems the man had fainted
+   In his elegant coupe;
+ I saw his face a moment,
+   And then I turned away,
+ Wishing my steps had led me
+   Through other streets that day.
+
+ Some one who saw the rescue
+   Afterward told him my name.
+ For the first in many a season,
+   Beneath our roof he came.
+ I said I was deserving
+   Little of praise or blame.
+
+ It was my uncle's face in the carriage;
+   He made regret of the past;
+ No more of my love or wishes
+   Would he be the iconoclast;
+ On a gala night at his mansion
+   We should learn to be friends at last.
+
+XXII.
+
+HELIOTROPE.
+
+ Let my soul and thine commune,
+                       Heliotrope.
+ O'er the way I hear the swoon
+ Of the music; and the moon,
+ Like a moth above a bloom,
+ Shines upon the world below.
+ In God's hand the world we know,
+ Is but as a flower in mine.
+ Let me see thy heart divine
+                       Heliotrope.
+
+ Thy rare odor is thy soul,
+                       Heliotrope.
+ Could I save the golden bowl,
+ And yet change my soul to yours,
+ I would do so for a day,
+ Just to hear my neighbors say:
+ "Lo! the spirit he immures
+ Is as fragrant as a flower;
+ It will wither in an hour;
+ Surely he has stol'n the bliss,
+ For we know the odor is
+                       Heliotrope."
+
+ Have you love and have you fear,
+                       Heliotrope?
+ Has a dew-drop been thy tear?
+ Has the south-wind been thy sigh?
+ Let thy soul make mine reply,
+ By some sense, on brain or hand,
+ Let me know and understand,
+                       Heliotrope.
+
+ In thy native land, Peru,
+                       Heliotrope,
+ There are worshippers of light--
+ They might better worship you;
+ But they worship not as I.
+ You must tell her what I say,
+ When I take you 'cross the way,
+ For to-night your petals prove
+ The Devotion of my love,
+                       Heliotrope.
+
+ 'Tis time we go, breath o' bee,
+                       Heliotrope.
+ All the house is lit for me;
+ Here's the room where we may dwell,
+ Filled with guests delectable.
+ Hark! I hear the silver bell
+ Ever tinkling at her throat.
+ I have thought it was a boat,
+ By the Graces put afloat,
+ On the billows of her heart.
+ I have thought it was a boat
+ With a bird in it, whose part
+ Was a solitary note.
+ Now I know 'tis Heliotrope
+ That the moonlight, bursting ope,
+ Changed to silver on her throat.
+ Let us watch the dancers go;
+ _She_ is dancing in the row.
+ Sweetest flower that ever was,
+ I shall give you as I pass,
+                       Heliotrope.
+
+KARAGWE, AN AFRICAN.
+
+PART FIRST.
+
+ This is his story as I gathered it;
+ The simple story of a plain, true man.
+ I cling with Abraham Lincoln to the fact,
+ That they who make a nation truly great
+ Are plain men, scattered in each walk of life.
+ To them, my words. And if I cut, perchance.
+ Against the rind of prejudice, and disclose
+ The fruit of truth, it is for the love of truth;
+ And truth, I hold with Joubert, to consist
+ In seeing things and persons as God sees.
+
+I.
+
+ An African, thick lipped, and heavy heeled,
+ With woolly hair, large eyes, and even teeth,
+ A forehead high, and beetling at the brows
+ Enough to show a strong perceptive thought
+ Ran out beyond the eyesight in all things--
+ A negro with no claim to any right,
+ A savage with no knowledge we possess
+ Of science, art, or books, or government--
+ Slave from a slaver to the Georgia coast,
+ His life disposed of at the market rate;
+ Yet in the face of all, a plain, true man--
+ Lowly and ignorant, yet brave and good,
+ Karagwe, named for his native tribe.
+
+ His buyer was the planter, Dalton Earl,
+ Of Valley Earl, an owner of broad lands,
+ Whose wife, in some gray daybreak of the past,
+ Had tarried with the night, and passed away;
+ But left him, as the marriage ring of death
+ Was slipped upon her finger, a fair child.
+ He called this daughter Coralline. To him
+ She was a spray of whitest coral, found
+ Upon the coast where death's impatient sea
+ Hems in the narrow continent of life.
+
+II.
+
+ Each day brought health and strength to Karagwe.
+ Each day he worked upon the cotton-field,
+ And every boll he picked had thought in it.
+ He labored, but his mind was otherwhere;
+ Strange fancies, faced with ignorance and doubt,
+ Came peering in, each jostling each aside,
+ Like men, who in a crowded market-place,
+ Push 'gainst the mob, to see some pageant pass.
+
+ All things were new and wonderful to him.
+ What were the papers that his owner read?
+ The marks and characters, what could they mean?
+ If speech, what then the use of oral speech?
+ At last by digging round the spreading roots
+ Of this one thought, he found the treasure out--
+ Knowledge: this was the burden which was borne
+ By these black, busy, ant-like characters.
+
+ But how acquire the meaning of the signs?
+ He found a scrap of paper in the lane,
+ And put it by, and saved it carefully,
+ Till once, when all alone, he drew it forth,
+ And gazed at it, and strove to learn its sense.
+ But while he studied, Dalton Earl rode by,
+ And angered at the indication shown,
+ Snatched rudely at the paper in his hand,
+ And tore it up, commanding that the slave
+ Have fifty lashes for this breach of law.
+
+ Long on his sentence pondered Karagwe.
+ Against the law? Who then could make a law
+ Decreeing knowledge to a certain few,
+ To others ignorance? Surely not God;
+ For God, the white-haired negro with a text
+ Had said loved justice, and was friend to all.
+ If man, then the authority was null.
+
+ The fifty lashes scourged the slave's bare back,
+ The red blood running down at every stroke,
+ The dark skin clinging ghastly to the lash.
+ No moan escaped him at the stinging pain.
+ Tremblingly he stood, and patiently bore all;
+ His heart indignant, shaking his broad breast,
+ Strong as the heart that Hippodamia wept,
+ Which with the cold, intrusive brass thrust through,
+ Shook even the Greek spear's extremity.
+
+III.
+
+ And so the negro's energy, made strong
+ By the one vile argument of the lash,
+ Was given to learn the secret of the books.
+ He studied in the woods, and by the fall
+ Which shoots down like an arrow from the cliff,
+ Feathered with spray and barbed with hues of flint.
+ His books were bits of paper printed on,
+ Found here and there, brought thither by the wind.
+ Once standing near the bottom of the fall
+ And gazing up, he saw upon the verge
+ Of the dark cliff above him, gathering flowers,
+ His master's child, sweet Coralline; she leaned
+ Out over the blank abyss, and smiled.
+ He climbed the bank, but ere he reached the height,
+ A shriek rang out above the water's roar;
+ The babe had fallen, and a quadroon girl
+ Lay fainting near, upon the treacherous sward.
+ The babe had fallen, but with no injury yet.
+ Karagwe slipped down upon a narrow ledge,
+ And reaching out, caught hold the little frock,
+ Whose folds were tangled in a bending shrub,
+ And safely drew the child back to the cliff.
+ The slave had favors shown him after this,
+ Although he spoke not of the perilous deed,
+ Nor spoke of any merit he had done.
+
+IV.
+
+ By being always when he could alone,
+ By wandering often in the woods and fields,
+ He came at last to live in revery.
+ But little thought is there in revery,
+ But little thought, for most is useless dream;
+ And whoso dreams may never learn to act.
+ The dreamer and the thinker are not kin.
+ Sweet revery is like a little boat
+ That idly drifts along a listless stream--
+ A painted boat, afloat without an oar.
+
+ And nature brought strange meanings to the slave;
+ He loved the breeze, and when he heard it pass
+ The agitated pines, he fancied it
+ The silken court-dress of the lady Wind,
+ Bustling among the foliage, as she went
+ To waltz the whirlwind on the distant sea.
+
+ The negro preacher with the text had said
+ That when men died, the soul lived on and on;
+ If so, of what material was the soul?
+ The eye could not behold it; why not then
+ The viewless air be filled with living souls?
+ Not only these, but other shapes and forms
+ Might dwell unseen about us at all times.
+ If air was only matter rarefied,
+ Why could not things still more impalpable
+ Have real existence? Whence came our thoughts?
+ As angels came to shepherds in Chaldee;
+ They were not ours. He fancied that most thoughts
+ Were whispered to the soul, or good, or bad.
+ The bad were like a demon, a vast shape
+ With measureless black wings, that when it dared,
+ Placed its clawed foot upon the necks of men,
+ And with the very shadow of itself,
+ Made their lives darker than a starless night.
+ He did not strive to picture out the good,
+ Or give to them a figure; but he knew
+ No glory of the sunset could compare
+ With the clear splendor of one noble deed.
+
+ He proudly dreamed that to no other mind
+ Had these imaginings been uttered.
+ Alas! poor heart, how many have awoke,
+ And found their newest thoughts as old as time--
+ Their brightest fancies woven in the threads
+ Of ancient poems, history or romance,
+ And knowledge still elusive and far off.
+
+V.
+
+ The days that lengthen into years went on.
+ The quadroon girl who fainted on the cliff
+ Was Ruth; now, blooming into womanhood,
+ She looked on Karagwe, and seeing there
+ Something above the level of the slave,
+ Watched him with interest in all his ways.
+
+ At first through pity was she drawn to him.
+ While both were sitting on a rustic seat,
+ Near the tall mansion where the planter dwelt,
+ A drunken overseer came straggling past,
+ And seeing in the dusk a female form,
+ Swayed up to her, and caught her by the arm,
+ And with an insult, strove to drag her on.
+ Ruth spoke not; but the negro, with one grasp
+ Upon the white man, caused her quick release.
+ He turned, and in the face struck Karagwe.
+ The patient slave did not return the blow,
+ But the next day they tied him to a post,
+ And fifty stripes his naked shoulders flayed.
+ Stricken in mind at being deeply wronged,
+ Filled with a noble scorn, that men most learned
+ Would so degrade a brother race of men,
+ He wept at heart; no groan fled through his lips.
+
+ Yet in a few days he was forced to go
+ And work beneath the intolerable sun,
+ Picking the cotton-boll, and bearing it
+ In a rude basket, on his wounded back,
+ Up a steep hill-side to the cotton gin.
+
+VI.
+
+ Ruth, as she walked the pebbled garden lanes,
+ Or daily in her hundred household cares,
+ Thought of the dark face and noble heart
+ Of Karagwe, and truly pitied him.
+
+ He, when the labor of the day was done,
+ Moved through the dusk, among the dewy leaves,
+ And, darker than the shadows, scaled the wall,
+ And waited in the garden, crouching down
+ Among the foliage of the fragrant trees,
+ Hoping that she again might come that way.
+ He saw her through the window of the house,
+ Pass and repass, and heard her sweetly sing
+ A tender song of love and pity blent;
+ But would not call to her, nor give a sign
+ That he was there; to see her was enough.
+ Perhaps, if those about her knew he came
+ To meet her in the garden, they would place
+ Some punishment upon her, some restraint,
+ That she, though innocent, might have to bear.
+ So he passed back again to his low cot,
+ And on his poor straw pallet, dreamed of her,
+ As loyally perhaps as Chastelard,
+ Lying asleep upon his palace couch,
+ Dreamed of Queen Mary, and the love he gave.
+
+VII.
+
+ Ruth was but tinged with shade, and always seemed
+ Some luscious fruit, with but the slightest hint
+ Of something foreign to the grafted bough
+ Whereon it grew. Her eyes were black, and large,
+ And passionate, and proved the deathless soul,
+ That through their portals looked upon the world,
+ Was capable of hatred and revenge.
+ Her long black lashes hung above their depths,
+ Like lotus leaves o'er some Egyptian spring.
+ And they were dreamy, too, at intervals,
+ And glowed with tender beauty when she loved.
+ Her grace made for her such appropriate wear,
+ That, though her gown was of the coarsest cloth,
+ And though her duty was the lowest kind,
+ It seemed apparel more desirable
+ Than trailing robes of velvet or of silk.
+ Her voice was full, and sweet, and musical,
+ Soft as the low breathings of an instrument
+ Touched by the unseen fingers of the breeze.
+
+VIII.
+
+ The large plantation, next to Dalton Earl's,
+ Was owned by Richard Wain, a hated man--
+ Hated among his slaves and in the town.
+ Uncouth, revengeful, and a drunkard he.
+ Two miles up by the river ran his lands;
+ And here, within a green-roofed kirk of woods,
+ The slave found that seclusion he desired.
+ His only treasure was a Testament
+ Hid in the friendly opening of a tree.
+ Often the book was kept within his cot,
+ At times lay next his heart, nor did its beat
+ Defile the fruity knowledge on the leaves.
+ The words were sweet as wine of Eshcol grapes
+ To his parched lips. He saw the past arise.
+ Vague were the people, and the pageant moved,
+ Uncertain as the figures in the dusk;
+ Yet One there was, who stood in bold relief;
+ A lovely, noble face with sweeping beard,
+ And hair that trailed in beauty round his neck;
+ A patient man, whose deeds were always good.
+ Whose words were brave for freedom and mankind.
+
+IX.
+
+ In passing through the grounds of Richard Wain,
+ Karagwe found, upon a plat of grass,
+ Some sheets of paper fastened at the ends,
+ Blown from the house, he thought, or thrown away.
+ The sheets were closely written on and sealed.
+ Here was a long-sought opportunity
+ To learn the older letters of the pen.
+ That night the writings, wrapped about the Book,
+ Were safe within the hollow of the tree.
+
+X.
+
+ All day he dreamed, "What token shall I give.
+ That she will know my thought and understand."
+ He caught at last a velvet honey-bee,
+ Weighed down with its gold treasure in its belt,
+ And killed it; then, when morning came again,
+ Bore it to Ruth beneath the fragrant trees.
+ "I bring you, Ruth, a dead bee for a sign.
+ For if to-day you wear it in your hair,
+ When once again you come to walk the lane,
+ I then shall know that you are truly mine,
+ Willing to be my wife, and share my lot,
+ And let me toil with you like any bee;
+ But if you do not wear it, then I shall care
+ No more for anything; but waste my life,
+ A bee without a queen." Then not one word
+ Spoke Ruth; but when the sunset came, and she
+ Went from the house again to walk alone,
+ The dead bee glittered gem-like in her hair.
+ And him she met for whom the sign was meant,
+ And in his hand she laid her own, and smiled.
+
+XI.
+
+ The next day, Richard Wain, when riding past,
+ Heard Ruth's bird-voice trilling in the lane,
+ And caught a glimpse of her between the trees,
+ A picture, for an instant, in a frame.
+ He thought, "The prize I coveted is near;
+ She will be mine before the set of sun."
+ Returning soon, toward the house he went,
+ Strode to the door, calling for Dalton Earl,
+ And told him for what merchandise he came.
+ The girl was not for sale, the other said.
+ "You talk at random now," said Richard Wain,
+ "You know I hold the deed of all your lands,
+ And so, unless you let the woman go,
+ Your whole estate shall have a sheriff's sale."
+ The planter turned a coward at the threat,
+ And knowing well what blood ran in the veins
+ Of her he sold, reluctant gave consent.
+
+ Above his wine he told Ruth of her fate,
+ And to the floor she fell, and swooned away.
+ Recovering, she rose upon her knees,
+ And begged, and prayed, that she might still remain.
+ At this he told her how the lands were held,
+ And if she went not he must starve or beg.
+ "Then let the lands be sold, and sold again;
+ If his, they are not yours. What good will come
+ If I do go to him? then all is his.
+ Last night I gave my hand to Karagwe.
+ O, it will break my heart to go away."
+ Lightly his mustache twirled Dalton Earl.
+
+ At dusk, in tears to Karagwe's low roof,
+ Ruth passed, and uttered, with wild, angry words,
+ The hard conditions that had been imposed.
+ She wept; he comforted: "There yet was hope:
+ There was a Hero, in a Book he read,
+ Who said that those who suffered would be blessed."
+ Then for the last, toward the planter's house
+ They walked, and o'er them saw the spider moon
+ Weaving the storm upon its web of cloud.
+
+XII.
+
+ But Karagwe, when once he turned again,
+ Smote wildly his infuriated breast.
+ His fierce eyes flashed; he thirsted for revenge.
+ Then came a calmer mood, and far away
+ Sped the expelled thoughts like shuddering gusts of wind.
+ He wept that this injustice should be done;
+ Yet knew that in God's hand the scale was set,
+ And though His poor, down-trodden, waited long,
+ They waited surely, for His hour would come.
+
+XIII.
+
+ The night passed, and the troublous morning broke,
+ And Ruth was sold away from him she loved.
+
+ The dark day died, and when the moon arose,
+ The foremost torch in day's long funeral train,
+ Karagwe went down toward the river's brink,
+ Thinking of what had been. He turned and saw
+ His enemy walk calmly up the road.
+ Quickly behind him came another form;
+ And in a jeweled hand, half raised to strike,
+ A poniard glistened. Then the negro rose,
+ And caught the weapon from the assassin's grasp,
+ And stood before the planter, Dalton Earl!
+ "Forgive," he said, "Forgiveness is a slave;
+ She has no pride, she never does an ill;
+ For she is meekly great, and nobly good,
+ And patient, though the lash of anger smites."
+
+ Rebuked, the master stood before the slave,
+ And Richard Wain passed on, nor knew his life
+ Was saved by one that he had that day wronged.
+ Thus Dalton Earl: "I thank you for this act,
+ Thwarting a bad intent. Yet I had cause
+ To take the sullied life of Richard Wain.
+ He drugged the wine he gave me at his house,
+ And knowing that I had with me the deed
+ And title of my lands, begged me to play,
+ And while I played, stake all upon a card.
+ He won, and I have hated from that hour."
+
+XIV.
+
+ Like some great thought that finds release at last,
+ The happy Spring in buds expression found.
+
+ Coralline Earl grew rich in every grace.
+ Her eyes' blue heavens were serene with soul,
+ And goodness sunned her face from light within.
+ Her hands were soft with kindness. On her brow
+ Shone hope, more lovely than a ruby star.
+
+ As in the ancient days sat Mordecai
+ At the king's gate, and waited for the hour,
+ When, clothed with pomp, he too should take his seat
+ Among the mighty nobles of the land,
+ So at the gateway of her palace heart,
+ Love tarried, that he too might enter in,
+ And rule the kingdom of another life.
+
+ Not long the waiting; for when Stanley Thane
+ Came from his northern home with Dalton Earl,
+ And on the terrace steps met Coralline,
+ Love took the sceptre that his waiting won.
+
+ Well worthy to be loved was Stanley Thane.
+ He could not claim a titled ancestor,
+ Nor boast of any blood but Puritan.
+ His father was successful on exchange,
+ Reaped fortune by a rise in merchandise,
+ Now sent his partner son with Dalton Earl
+ Toward the claspless girdle of the South.
+ And Stanley Thane was all that makes true men;
+ High thought, high purpose, loving right the best,
+ His mind was clear and fresh as air at morn.
+
+ He kissed the rosy tips of Coralline's hand,
+ And that day galloped with her through the town,
+ And wandered with her down magnolia lanes,
+ And watched, below the spray-woofed fall, the brook,
+ That seemed a maid, who, sitting at a loom,
+ Wove misty lace to decorate the rocks.
+
+XV.
+
+ Long o'er his writings hidden in the tree
+ Pondered the slave, and found at last their worth.
+ Must he return them? To whom did they belong?
+ If he should give them back to Dalton Earl
+ Unjustly, Richard Wain might claim them still.
+ He chose to keep there folded round the Book,
+ Hid in the secret hollow of the tree.
+
+ He thought of Ruth as one who was at rest,
+ And wept for her as though she was no more,
+ And sometimes gathered flowers, and placed them where
+ He knew she soon would pass, as tenderly
+ As though he laid them down upon her grave.
+
+XVI.
+
+ Once in the twilight, as the shadows fell,
+ A skiff shot from the under-reaching shore,
+ And Stanley Thane and Coralline sailed down
+ The languid waters, 'neath the dappled moon.
+ They spoke of giant wars that yet might be
+ To drive the dragon Slavery from the land.
+ Coralline smoothed the evils it had wrought.
+ Stanley, who could not see a wrong excused,
+ Said, "God is just; he knows nor white nor black.
+ If war must come, each shackle will be forced,
+ To make, at last, the nation wholly free."
+
+ And Karagwe, who pulled a silent oar,
+ Shut the winged words in cages of his heart;
+ But Coralline was angry at the speech,
+ And rained disdain on noble Stanley's head,
+ Scorning his Northern thought and Northern blood,
+ And sighed that it had been their lot to meet.
+ "If that is true," he said, "then let us part,
+ And let us hope we shall not meet again.
+ Adieu! for I shall see you never more."
+
+ The boat was near the bank; he sprang to it,
+ And left her sitting in the gilded prow--
+ Her pride, a raging Hector of the hour,
+ Fighting a thousand tears, whose war-cry rose:
+ Thin patience brings thick damage in the end.
+
+XVII.
+
+ When Richard Wain found that the deed was lost,
+ Which he had won at play with Dalton Earl,
+ Chagrin and rage were ready at a beck,
+ Like waters in a dam, to pass the race,
+ And turn the voluble mill-wheel of his tongue.
+ He half suspected Dalton Earl the thief,
+ Yet knew, if this were true, the threat he made
+ To gain Ruth from him, would have been in vain.
+ And so, because he feared to lose his power,
+ He kept his secret that the deed was lost.
+
+PART SECOND.
+
+ Now through the mighty pulses of the land
+ Throbbed the dark blood of war; and Sumter's guns
+ Were the first heart-beats of a better day.
+ The avenging angel, with a scourging sword
+ Of fire and death, with triumph on his face,
+ Swept o'er the nation with the cry of War!
+ Ten thousand boroughs, dreaming peace, awake.
+ War in the South, with the South! War! War!
+ The shame we nourished stings us to the death.
+
+ O, fair, false wife, South! lo, thy lord, the North,
+ Loveth thee still, though thou hast gone astray.
+ In truth's great court, vain has thy trial been,
+ For no divorce could there be granted thee.
+ The child you bore was bitter curse and shame,
+ And not the child of thy husband, the North.
+ It has led thee to miry paths, and raised
+ The gall of despair to thy famished lips;
+ It were better that such a child should die.
+
+I.
+
+ The first year of the war had passed away
+ When Richard Wain, the planter, sprang to arms.
+ The day for his departure had been set;
+ To-morrow it would be, and as the night
+ Fell on the misty hills, and on the vales,
+ He sat alone in his accustomed room;
+ Thinking, he drowsed; his chin couched on his breast;
+ A dim light wrought at shadows on the walls.
+ Slowly the sash was raised behind him there.
+ Perhaps he slept; he did not heed the noise,
+ And Karagwe sprang in, and faced his foe.
+ He held a long knife up and brandished it,
+ And said, "As surely as you call or move,
+ Tour life will not be worth a blade of grass;
+ But if you do not call, and sign the words,
+ That I have written on a paper here,
+ No harm will come, and I shall go away."
+ He drew the paper forth; the planter read:
+ _I promise if the deed is ever found
+ Of Dalton Earl's estate, I in no way
+ Shall lay a claim to it to make it mine.
+ I here surrender all my right to it._
+
+ "Why, this I shall not sign, of course," he said.
+ "You might have asked me to give back your Ruth,
+ And I would not have minded; but your game
+ Lies deeper than a check upon the queen."
+
+ "Sign!" cried the negro; and at Ruth's name,
+ A sudden madness leaped along his nerves,
+ Like flame among the dry prairie grass.
+ "Sign! for unless you sign this writing now,
+ You shall not live; now promise me to sign!"
+ He caught the planter fiercely by the throat,
+ Starting his quailing eyes, "Now will you sign or not?
+ You have ten seconds more to make your choice."
+
+ "Give me the paper then, and I will sign."
+ The name was written, and the negro went;
+ But not an hour had passed, before the hounds
+ Of Richard Wain and Dalton Earl were slipped,
+ And scenting on his track through stream and field.
+
+II.
+
+ The slave first ran toward the hollow tree;
+ There left the paper signed by Richard Wain,
+ Disturbing not the deed; but took the Book,
+ And up the tireless road, tied on and on,
+ Until he gained the borders of a marsh.
+
+ The night was dark, but darker still the clouds
+ That loomed along the rim where day had gone.
+ The wind blew cold, and hastened quickly past,
+ Escaping, like a slave, the hound-like clouds
+ Whose thunder-barkings sounded in its ears.
+
+ And Karagwe had only reached the marsh,
+ When on his track he heard the savage dogs.
+ He knew the paths and windings many miles,
+ And even in the darkness found his way,
+ And gained a covert island, where a hut,
+ Built by some poor and friendless fugitive,
+ Afforded shelter and secure abode.
+ He tarried here until along the hills
+ The red-lipped whisper of the morning ran.
+ Then, when he would have ventured from the door,
+ A large black hound arose, and licked his hand.
+ The dog was Dalton Earl's; he started back.
+
+ The dream of freedom nourished many years
+ Seemed withering, and for the moment lost.
+ For long the slave had thought of liberty,
+ And worshipped her, as in that elder time
+ A tyrant's subjects worshipped, praying her
+ That she would not delay, but hasten forth,
+ And bridge the hated gulf 'twixt rich and poor,
+ By freeing all the mass from ignorance,
+ By lifting up the worthy of the earth,
+ And making knowledge paramount to wealth.
+
+III.
+
+ O strange, that in our age, and in a land
+ Where liberty was laid the corner-stone,
+ A slave, perforce, should be obliged to dream,
+ And dote on freedom, like the poor oppressed
+ Who lived and hoped two thousand years ago!
+
+ And slavery to this slave was like a fruit--
+ A bitter and a hateful fruit to taste--
+ The fruit of error and of ignorance,
+ Made rank with superstition and with crime.
+
+ Yet though the fruit was bitter to the core,
+ Many there were who died for love of it.
+ O, many they who listen through long nights
+ To hear a footstep that will never come.
+ There is not a flower along the border blown,
+ From Lookout Mountain to the Chesapeake,
+ But has in it the blood of North and South.
+
+IV.
+
+ Karagwe went back, and on a paper wrote,--
+ "Your dog has harmed me not, and why should you,
+ That I have never wronged, plot harm to me?
+ You made me slave, you sold away my bride,
+ And now you set your hounds upon my track,
+ Because I seek the freedom that is mine.
+ Though you have wronged me, still I do you good,
+ For in an oak, the largest of the grove,
+ Upon the cotton-field of Richard Wain,
+ Hid in a hollow near the second limb,
+ Is the lost deed that holds your house and lands."
+ The paper fastened round the hound's strong neck,
+ The negro bade him go, and forth he went;
+ And Earl read what the slave had written down,
+ And that day found the deed hid in the tree,
+ And that day ceased pursuing any more.
+
+ For two long weeks the negro in the swamps
+ Wandered toward the North, living at times
+ On berries and on fruit. Above him leaned
+ The tall trees, bower-like 'neath their wrestling arms;
+ Beneath, the murky waters, black as death,
+ Stirred only to the plunge of venomed things.
+ The long, seared grasses clung to every bough
+ Whose trailing robe hung near the sluggish lymph.
+ And here and there, among the savage moss,
+ Blossomed alone some snowy gold-spired flower,
+ Like God's own church found in a heathen land.
+ The birds o'erhead, that, plumaged like the morn,
+ Caroled their sweetness, sang the holy psalms.
+
+V.
+
+ But now across his path the negro found
+ A belt of water falling with the tide.
+ Two heavy logs he lashed, and launched them out,
+ Then, with a pole for help in case of need,
+ Sprang on the float, and drifted down the stream.
+ Thus for two days he drifted, eating naught
+ Except the berries growing near the shore.
+ Then on a cool, bright morning, when the wind
+ And tide agreed, he saw again the sea.
+ Far off a buoy was tossing on the waves,
+ Much like the red heart of the joyful deep--
+ Much like a heart upon a sea of life;
+ And ships were in the offing, sailing on
+ Like the vague ships that with our hopes and fears
+ Put from their harbors to return no more.
+
+VI.
+
+ The raft went oceanward. The negro raised
+ Upon the pole the coat that he had worn,
+ Hoping for succor from the distant ships;
+ And not in vain; for ere the sun had set,
+ Half starved, he clambered up a vessel's side,
+ And found himself with friends, and on his way
+ To freedom, 'neath the steadfast northern star.
+
+VII.
+
+ Two years of war, two years of many tears,
+ And Richard Wain, a captain of renown,
+ In ranks led on by error, fought and fell.
+
+ Within the breast of Coralline, Stanley Thane
+ Possessed acknowledged empire; all her love
+ Was poured out on him, and her heart
+ Stood like an emptied vase. Then from the North
+ Came rumors of his daring, and the war
+ Gloomed like a night about her,--he its star.
+
+VIII.
+
+ The golden spirit in each lily bloom,
+ That, pollen-vestured, laughs at care all day
+ Had closed the doors and shutters of its house.
+ Forth in the dewy garden, 'neath the stars,
+ Walked Coralline and Ruth, sad and alone;
+ For Ruth was owned again by Dalton Earl.
+
+ "I grieve," said Coralline, "that Stanley Thane
+ Left me so rashly, and that he thinks
+ My hasty words were said with earnest thought.
+ Would that a bird might fly to him and sing--
+ 'She loves you still, Stanley, she loves you still.'"
+
+ Ruth followed quickly, "Your wish is heard;
+ For I will go to him who once was here,
+ And say to him the words that you have said."
+ Then fell the other on the quadroon's neck,
+ And kissed her through her tears, and promised her
+ Her freedom, if she went to Stanley Thane.
+ She did not dream what impulse urged the slave,
+ Nor that in sending her toward the North
+ Bearing a message full of trust and love,
+ She sent a message smeared with blood instead.
+
+ For Ruth hoped now for vengeance for her past.
+ Wronged by her father, she would wreak her hate
+ Full on her sister, and destroy her peace,
+ As hers had been destroyed in dark dead days.
+
+IX.
+
+ That night she stole a knife, and sharpened it,
+ And while she drew it up and down the stone,
+ Sipped from the poison nectar of revenge.
+ She thought of Stanley Thane, and pitied him
+ That he should be the victim of her hate;
+ But wished that Coralline could see him then,
+ After the violent knife had done its work,
+ Laid out and ready for his last abode.
+
+X.
+
+ So Ruth arose, and when the wine-lipped Dawn,
+ Gathering his robes about him like a god,
+ Went up to the great summits of the world
+ From the black valleys of immeasurable space,
+ She passed beyond the limit of the vale.
+
+ Those she loved best had all been torn away;
+ The last, her child, was sold she knew not where;
+ And Coralline too should taste a bitter cup,
+ Feeling the fury of a deep revenge.
+
+XI.
+
+ For many days Ruth journeyed to the North,
+ And reached at last the camp. She passed the guard,
+ And in the night discovered Stanley's tent;
+ Then gliding in, bent o'er him while he slept.
+ He dreamed of Coralline, and in his sleep
+ Said--"Coralline, 'tis better to forgive."
+ And Ruth who heard, cried, "She forgives;
+ She loves you still, Stanley--she loves you still!"
+ At this he woke, and saw the woman there,
+ And saw the weapon raised above his breast,
+ And a vague horror at the mockery of the words
+ Left him all powerless, and sealed up his speech.
+ But one swift hand passed in and grasped the arm,
+ And snatched the knife, and there before them stood
+ Karagwe, with Ruth Earl face to face.
+
+XII.
+
+ And after, at Fort Pillow, when the storm
+ Had gone against us, and the traitors slew
+ Five hundred men who had laid down their arms,
+ Karagwe was shot, and with a prayer
+ For his whole country, he fell back and died.
+
+ Some, seeking the highest type of noble men,
+ Compare their heroes with the cavaliers,
+ Boasting their ancestry through tangled lines;
+ But I, who care not for patrician blood,
+ Hold him the highest who constrains great ends,
+ Or rounds a prudent life with noble deeds.
+
+DEMETRIUS.
+
+I.
+
+THE SUCCESS OF THE BEGGAR.
+
+ In my life I have had two idols, one my country, one my wife,
+   And I know I loved them faithfully, and both with one accord;
+ But the day came, beaded falsely on my brittle leash of life,
+   When perforce I chose between them, through the wisdom of the Lord.
+
+ High upon the rocky summit of a cliff in red Algiers,
+   Raised against the sky of sunset, like a beaker filled with wine,
+ While each dome is like a bubble that above the brim appears,
+   Stands the city I was born in, my beloved Constantine.
+
+ Nobly rise the brick-roofed houses with their heavy gray stone walls,
+   While here and there, above them all, the mosque and minaret;
+ Like the voice of some enchanter sounds the bearded muezzin's calls,
+   And the rustle of the cypress seems a murmur of regret.
+
+ Round the ancient Cintran city runs a dark wall broad and strong,
+   Like the mailed belt of a warrior, and the gate the buckle seems;
+ While a tower toward the sunset is a dagger hilted long;
+   Whose blade is bid in foldings of a circling sash of streams.
+
+ Far away the Atlas mountains rear their heads of lasting snow,
+   And seem like old men grouped around in high-backed chairs of space;
+ And they bathe their feet like children in the brooks that run below,
+   Or smoke their pipes in silence till the clouds obscure each face.
+
+ I was poor: they say they found me lying naked in the street,
+   And a beggar so befriended me and brought me to his door,
+ And cared for me and tended me, until my growing feet
+   Could patter through the market-place and there increase our store.
+
+ I never knew the tenderness of father or of mother;
+   My tatters scarcely covered me; my hunger made me thin;
+ I never knew of sympathy or kindness from another;
+   I drank the cup of bitterness that comes to want and sin.
+
+ All my early youth was squandered, when there came across my thought
+   A passionate intolerance of the course my life had run;
+ And I went out to the venders and some meagre fruitage bought,
+   Till with selling and with buying, lo, a new life was begun.
+
+ Soon I found myself the owner of vast houses, wares, and sails,
+   A very prince of traffic, with my slaves beyond the line,
+ Where they sold my costly merchandise of cloth and cotton bales,
+   Of many colored leathers, ostrich feathers, dates, and wine.
+
+II.
+
+THE MAIDEN OF THE GOLDEN KIOSK.
+
+ In the days when I, a beggar, wandered idly through the street,
+   Past the palace, through the vineyards where the scented fountains play,
+ Standing near the golden kiosk, it befell my lot to meet
+   One for whom my heart grew larger, and I could not turn away.
+
+ Long my eyes upon the banquet of her beauty freely fed;
+   How could I help but love her, whom the angels might adore!
+ But at last, tired of my staring, she turned away her head;
+   Yet I saw the large pearls tremble that about her neck she wore.
+
+ Either cheek was sea-shell tinted, and around her dewy lips
+   Played a smile that lingered lovingly, like star gleam on the sea;
+ Thus emboldened, on my knees I fell, and kissed her finger tips,
+   And begged of her, and prayed of her that I her slave might be.
+
+ I was dark and swarthy featured, comely still in form and face;
+   My long black hair hung glossily about my neck and head;
+ My large jet eyes were lustrous, and I had an easy grace
+   That almost made a kingly robe my ragged garb of red.
+
+ I chained the maiden with my arm, I would not let her go;
+   She said she was Eudocia, that Yorghi was her sire;
+ I said I was Demetrius, a beggar vile and low,
+   But 'neath my heart's one crucible love lit its fusing fire.
+
+ Her sensuous long dark lashes hung above her dreamy eyes,
+   Like twin clouds of stormy portent balanced over limpid deeps;
+ Like the wings of birds of passage seen against the hazy skies;
+   Like the petal o'er the pollen of the flow'ret when it sleeps.
+
+ All her vesture was embroidered with the finest lace of gold;
+   A diamond in her turban with its eye-like glitter shone;
+ The white dress more than half revealed a form of perfect mould,
+   And her cincture, dagger-fastened, shaped the garment to her zone.
+
+ To my eyes she gave her dark eyes, down to gaze into and dream;
+   And I seemed like one who leans above a bridge's slender rail,
+ And thinks, and gazes wistfully deep down into the stream,
+   While the twilight gathers round him, and the gleam-winged stars prevail.
+
+ After this I met her daily in the palace-garden ways,
+   And she always came to meet me, and opened wide the gate,
+ Often chiding, often smiling at my minute-long delays,
+   And bringing dainty viands in a golden cup and plate.
+
+ I, her lover, was a beggar, but she loved me all the same;
+   Had I been Haroun Alraschid she could not have loved me more;
+ While she whispered, on my lips and on my eyes she kissed my name,
+   And vined her arms about my neck; how could I but adore?
+
+ But all pleasure cloys or ceases; if the cup is stricken down,
+   All its contents are like acid, burning deep a long regret;
+ If it cloys, we calmly leave it, with perhaps a careless frown,
+   Or may be a pleasant memory that is easy to forget.
+
+ Once when in the golden kiosk, with Eudocia's hand in mine,
+   Came old Yorghi frowning darkly with the storm upon his face;
+ Would she bring disgrace upon him? Would she break his noble line?
+   He stamped his fierce invective, and he drove me from the place.
+
+ Ere I went I turned upon him, and I boldly claimed her hand,
+   And vowed that I would have her, though the city barred my way;
+ But he scoffed at me, a beggar, and repeated his command,
+   Never more to meet his daughter, for my life's sake, from that day.
+
+III.
+
+THE VISIT OF DEMETRIUS AND HIS TEN FRIENDS.
+
+ So two lives, like confluent rivers, were unkindly torn apart;
+   One to slide through fruited gardens, longing vainly for the sea,
+ One to purl 'neath ample bridges, bearing cargoes to the mart,
+   But ever dreaming fondly of a meeting yet to be.
+
+ And I labored; and my gains accrued and doubled in my hand,
+   For Fortune having given once will give us more and more;
+ I was like a stranger passing through some long neglected land,
+   Who finds beneath each stone he turns a wedge of golden ore.
+
+ And I studied, learned all secrets that the wisest books can teach;
+   Gained the Greek verb's long persistent root at last by prying hard;
+ Found a natural foreknowledge of the rules and forms of speech,
+   And drank the fountain water from the words of Scio's bard.
+
+ All my ships had favoring breezes, not one sank or went ashore;
+   The very fat of commerce oozed between their pitchy seams;
+ And a block of serried buildings did not half contain my store,
+   While my lavish, thrifty bargains would have dimmed Aladdin's dreams.
+
+ Still I changed not my apparel, still I wore my bezan robe,
+   Still I donned the self-same turban with its frayed and faded red;
+ I would have no other garb then had I owned the whirling globe;
+   Better rich to wear a tatter, than poor, wear silk, I said.
+
+ Daily from my mullioned window flew a pigeon in the air,
+   And beneath its wing lay folded lines for her I loved the best;
+ Daily from her palace window it returned and brought me there,
+   Rhymeless idyls full of heart-speech, faithful ardors of her breast.
+
+ Ah, dear love, she waited patiently with mournful, longing eyes,
+   Like the moon she waited nightly for the cloud to pass her brow;
+ Like the birds she waited daily for the coming in the skies
+   Of the other bringing succor to the hunger on the bough.
+
+ And all wealth was lost upon her, for she had to look upon
+   Art's own pictures, Spring-time raptures, Autumn clad in ballet mist;
+ And she dined on sweets and spices, coffee, bread and cinnamon,
+   While they shook perfumes about her, or her cushioned slippers kissed.
+
+ Down her back her hair, unfastened from its jeweled comb of gold,
+   Wasted fragrance, seemed a cascade plunging down a deep ravine;
+ Seemed the black wing of a raven who had ventured overbold,
+   And was perched upon her forehead that its beauty might be seen.
+
+ Every day in milk she bathed her, till at last she was as white;
+   Dyed with almond kohl her eyelids, and her nails with henna tinged;
+ Supped on amber wine and honey; but she tasted no delight.
+   She slept 'neath silken curtains with musk-scented laces fringed.
+
+ But at last the ready day came, that my hopes had longed to meet,
+   When I cast aside the tatters I had worn for many years,
+ And arrayed my perfect person from my head down to my feet,
+   With the garments that became me, with the velvet of my peers.
+
+ Then I bought me restless chargers, Ukraine steeds, five white, six black;
+   The eleventh was the noblest, yet the gentlest of all;
+ And a friend I had who loved me to bestride each horse's back--
+   Ten friends of handsome presence, smooth demeanor, strong, and tall.
+
+ Every friend I gave a cloak to, purple velvet ermine-bound;
+   Every charger was caparisoned--the harness wrought with gold.
+ At high noon we started gayly, and the palace entrance found;
+   And I sought the statesman Yorghi with a purpose to unfold.
+
+ I had come to wed his daughter; all her heart had long been mine;
+   I had won her when a beggar, but I loved her more and more
+ Now that my wealth was boundless--it but strengthened my design;
+   If he gave her I would cede him half my fortune, store on store.
+
+ In my face he laughed, me scorning, and despised me and my part--
+   Called me still a beggar wealthy, and bade me turn away;
+ Said Eudocia was his daughter--he knew nothing of her heart;
+   He had pledged her hand and fortune to my ruler, Ahmed Bey.
+
+ There are times when our resentment centres solely in a glance,
+   When our feelings burn too deeply for effectiveness in speech;
+ Such a look I gave to Yorghi as I led out in advance,
+   While my ten friends followed after with brave consolation each.
+
+IV.
+
+DEMETRIUS FOR EUDOCIA BETRAYS CONSTANTINE.
+
+ Now a war like distant thunder muttered in the darkened air;
+   In the sky a fowl of omen hovered o'er to rob our graves;
+ And men, like birds affrighted, hurried homeward in despair.
+   We heard the tramp of armies like the far-off march of waves.
+
+ War a pestilent disease is on the body of the world--
+   A disease that sometimes purges, but still leaves the victim sore;
+ And no potent drug will cure it until Liberty has furled
+   All the standards of the nations, and shall rule for evermore.
+
+ What availed my marble buildings where I bartered for my gold?
+   All my gains were vainly gotten, for Eudocia was not mine.
+ Then my goods I turned to money, all my ships and houses sold,
+   And sent the glittering product far away from Constantine.
+
+ On us like a wild hawk swooping came Damremont with his men;
+   But we saw his wing-like banners and we closed and barred the gates;
+ All the women urged to battle; every man a hero then;
+   And the Kabyles based reliance on the friendship of the Fates.
+
+ I held that love of country was a higher love of self,
+   With generous ends, but selfish still, whatever might be said;
+ I forgot my boasted honor; I had garnered all my pelf;
+   I became a hissing traitor to the land I owed my bread.
+
+ All was plain; if I was faithful, then Eudocia was lost;
+   Recreant, and gaining victory, I could claim her as my right.
+ I scarcely weighed the balance, and I dared not count the cost;
+   I stole out from the city to the alien camp that night.
+
+ I was loyal to the purpose that within my heart was shrined;
+   Another might have coped with it, and triumphed o'er its fall.
+ So men are, they do not vary much, the level of mankind,
+   What one lacks the next possesses; there are faults enough in all.
+
+ Down the cliff I slipped in silence; and the troubled cypress leaves
+   Quivered like sweet lips in anguish, while the star eyes wept with dew;
+ And I sought the French commander, where, amid his musket sheaves,
+   He sat and planned new reaping in a field that Azrael knew.
+
+ "I have come to bring assistance, if you take my terms," I said,
+   "For I know the weakest portion of the city's scowling wall.
+ There's a maiden named Eudocia I would sell my soul to wed;
+   Give me the right to have her, and I freely tell you all."
+
+ Then he smiled across his table as he granted my desire--
+   Smile of memory begotten, some remembrance of delight--
+ And he heard my story quietly, but said he would require
+   Me to go into the city as a spy the coming night.
+
+V.
+
+THE MASKED SPY IN THE PALACE.
+
+ Years before, a secret entrance 'neath the wall I ordered made;
+   And they were dead who built it, so none knew of it but me.
+ When the darkness came I gained it, and softly in the shade,
+   Passed through lone streets of the city where the battle was to be.
+
+ A purse of gold and rubies bought the whispered countersign,
+   And with its aid I noted place and number of the troops.
+ I chalked upon a building: _Lo, the doom of Constantine!
+   There's a traitor in the city, and the populace are dupes._
+
+ In the street I met a masker hurrying onward through the night,
+   And something in his bearing told of one I called a friend.
+ "Sir," I said, and on his shoulder I had laid my finger quite,
+   "Tell me why you mask your visage, and whereto your footsteps tend."
+
+ By my voice he knew me quickly, and removed his mask to say:
+   "My footsteps seek the palace; have you heard not of the fete?
+ In three days old Yorghi's daughter is to wed with Ahmed Bey;
+   To-night the plighting party; I must hasten; it is late."
+
+ "Hold," I said, "you care but little for the pleasure that you seek;
+   Give to me your mask and vesture, and so let me take your place;
+ I shall not hold the favor lightly, but shall pay you in a week
+   With a sapphire for each moment; and they will not see my face."
+
+ Then we found his wide apartments, where we changed the robes we wore.
+   I put on the half fantastic silken garments and the mask,
+ Then sallied down the stair-way till I gained the street once more;
+   Dreaming only of Eudocia, in whose presence I should bask.
+
+ From foundation to entablature the palace shone with light,
+   And I fancied it a genii with a hundred fiery eyes;
+ His mouth the yawning door-way, and a cloud across the night
+   Seemed the hair upon his forehead, blowing in the windy skies.
+
+ Quick he gorged me, for I entered, and heard at once the swell
+   Of the music--heard the dancing girls with bells about their feet;
+ The odor of a hundred blooms upon my senses fell;
+   The magnolia seemed the husband, and the rest his consorts sweet.
+
+ To a splendid hall a eunuch led me down a damask floor,
+   And the guests were all assembled in their beauty and their pride.
+ With standards and with banners the walls were garnished o'er.
+   The Bey among the maskers led the lily by his side.
+
+ Round a fountain, in the centre of the golden burnished room,
+   Danced the dancers, played the players, to the cadence of its fall,
+ While out upon the balcony, amid the vernal gloom,
+   A nightingale was singing, and with sadness mocked us all.
+
+VI.
+
+THE MEETING IN THE GARDEN, AND THE FLIGHT OF THE SPY.
+
+ When the Bey passed by me graciously, I whispered in the ear
+   Of the one he led beside him (should I fail to win her yet!)
+ "Our day is at its dawning; I, Demetrius, am here;
+   Meet me yonder in the garden, at the place where once we met."
+
+ There she followed very quickly, and I held her to my heart,
+   And kissed with fervid kisses all her lips and throat and chin.
+ Here she longed to dwell forever so that we might never part,
+   And be fed with many kisses my enfolding arms within.
+
+ There the amorous stars out-twinkled; and anear, a sordid lake,
+   Like a miser, hugged the silver of their glitter to its breast;
+ And it stayed within the closet of the trees and tangled brake,
+   Lest some fortunate bold robber should steal from it in its rest.
+
+ Now the years had changed Eudocia from the rosebud to the rose,
+   Made more perfect every feature, added many a gentle grace,
+ And she made my heart her garden, there to dwell and find repose:
+   Neither time, nor change, nor absence, could her love for me efface.
+
+ She said she too would be a lakelet, 'neath the starlight of my eyes;
+   And when my lips bent downward she would catch their spicy dew;
+ My face, low bending over, should become her tender skies,
+   And my arms the goodly verdure that about the margin grew.
+
+ I dared not risk to tell her of the traitor she was near;
+   I said the Bey would tremble when I came to claim her hand;
+ I said that she must wait me, and despair not; but have cheer,
+   For my triumph would be public in the corners of the land.
+
+ While we spoke we heard commotion in the palace down the hill;
+   Gay lights swung in the distance, like red fire-flies in a glen;
+ Call by call was heard and answered with a herd of echoes shrill,
+   And we saw a score of torches, and the issuing forth of men.
+
+ "Love, they seek you," cried Eudocia; "you must go or you must die."
+   But sad, O, sad the sundering of two hearts who long and weep;
+ Rent the oak's tough, knitted fibre by the lightning from on high;
+   But the hearts will cling the closer that apart they strive to keep.
+
+ On her lips I kissed my tears in, on her lips and on her eyes
+   Which she opened only languidly to show her answering tears,
+ And I kissed the diamond crescent that I saw sink down and rise,
+   While it flashed upon the torches with a hundred silver spears.
+
+ Swooning, on a seat I laid her, then sped quickly through the gloom,
+   While a torchman passed so near me that I fancied I was seen;
+ But I hid me for a moment 'neath a bush of liberal bloom,
+   Then fled onward to my entrance through the streets that intervene.
+
+ Above, an imminent meteor flashed westward 'gainst the night,--
+   A full moon with a bluer glow, and trailed with ruby shine;
+ It seemed a blazing torch to me, borne onward with the flight
+   Of a spirit, that beneath it, brought defeat to Constantine.
+
+VII.
+
+THE BATTLE.
+
+ To the town outspoke the cannon, ere the dawn charged on the night,
+   Not of peace and joy and amity, but of hatred and despair,
+ And a thousand blatant bugles proved it waiting for their spite;
+   And we heard the rasp of bullets in the dark astonished air.
+
+ When the sun rose, hot and bloody, all the fight had well begun;
+   The artillery were pounding at the weak place in the wall;
+ While the smoke, from vale and city, seemed the melancholy, dun
+   Robes of spirits hovering over for the fated ones to fall.
+
+ Like a strong Numidian lion, on her rock the city lay,
+   Nothing daunted though surrounded, and with scanty store of bread;
+ Her fierce eyes, two flags of crimson, stared through battle all the day,
+   One on Babel Wad's high key-stone, and one on Babel Djed.
+
+ Round these gates they set their sworders, hoping thence to drive us back
+   When we followed up their sallies, which were baits to make us come;
+ But in vain, our works were safer, though we longed for the attack,
+   And eagerly awaited for the summons of the drum.
+
+ Stone by stone a breach was opened in the thin place in the wall,
+   Till at last we sent a truce flag to the gate of Babel Djed,
+ Saying to the town, "Surrender, Constantine must surely fall;
+   If you fail, no soul remaining shall be left to count your dead."
+
+ Like a sword-thrust was the answer, "There is plenty in the place
+   Both of food and ammunition; if 'tis these the French desire,
+ We can furnish them abundance; but surrender means disgrace,
+   And our homes shall be defended while one soldier stands to fire."
+
+ Should not this town be captured, every man must bear the fault,
+   And many a one bethought him of his own in sunny France.
+ Down our line there ran the murmur, "We must take it by assault,"
+   And we heard the bugles playing for the stormers to advance.
+
+ Like great billows never breaking were the rocks of Constantine,
+   And a cargoed ship the city with its keel in every one;
+ She was sailing for the future with the barter of the line,
+   And her mast-like towers were gaudy with the pennons of the sun.
+
+ But now a storm had struck her, and a hole was in her side,
+   And the waters rushed in wildly while she paused upon the brink.
+ All in vain each brave endeavor; for all on board her tried
+   To close the leak with fury, that the vessel might not sink.
+
+ Our men the angry waters that could not be turned nor checked,
+   And they bore all straws before them in their mad impetuous way.
+ So the town, betrayed, was captured; so the great ship had been wrecked;
+   And with the troops in triumph I rode in upon that day.
+
+VIII.
+
+THE WEDDING AND THE FALSE FRIEND.
+
+ When the night fell, in the palace all the lights were lit again.
+   In the hall of silken standards and of Persia-woven mats
+ There were women fair as houris, there were brave and handsome men;
+   And the fish leaped up to see them from the fountain's silver vats.
+
+ Never yet so fair Eudocia, and she won the wisest praise
+   From the aliens there assembled to behold our marriage rite;
+ Not alone her queenly beauty; but the grace of all her ways,
+   Drew all hearts and eyes toward her, filled like cups with pure delight.
+
+ But while yet they said the service, and ere yet I placed the ring
+   On her tapering heart finger, all the crowd was parted wide,
+ And I saw my friend the masker his unasked-for presence bring
+   To the pollen of the wedding, lady-petaled on each side.
+
+ "Thus shall die the thankless traitor, whether king or beggar he!"
+   And a dagger gleamed above us with a fierce glare at the light,
+ Then was struck upon my bosom near the place the heart might be,
+   And my false friend, through the people, hastened wildly in his flight.
+
+ But the mad bee gained no honey in his hurry to depart;
+   His sting had been well pointed, but his villainy was loss,
+ For I wore, with faith, a secret, o'er the throbbing of my heart,
+   The symbol of a higher life, a simple silver Cross.
+
+ This had turned aside the weapon and spared me many years
+   For one whose heart has been to me a holy pilgrim shrine,
+ For one for whom I gave away with bitterness and tears
+   The city of Jugurtha, my own mother Constantine.
+
+ We dwell now in a palace near the white surge of a bay;
+   But at times my good steed wanders, and in the twilight late,
+ I find me near my city, while the muezzin in the gray,
+   Shouts, "To prayer, to prayer, ye people, only God is good and great!"
+
+THE STRONG SPIDER.
+
+I.
+
+THE CHIEF'S DAUGHTER.
+
+ I was a naturalist, and had crossed the sea
+ And come to Theodosia, to find
+ A monstrous spider of which I had heard.
+ The people of the town wagged doubting heads,
+ When asked about it; but one day I met
+ A sturdy fisherman who once had seen
+ The spider, though he knew not his abode.
+ He said the spider was as long as he,
+ And that the woof whereof he wove his web,
+ Was thick as any cordage on his boat.
+ At night, belated 'mid the tumuli
+ That mound the hill-side and the vernal vale,
+ Like the raised letters of an ancient page
+ Made for the blind gropers of to-day to read,
+ He entered a dark tomb, and therein slept,
+ Until the world, like some round shield upraised,
+ Splintered the thrown spears of dawn. As he woke,
+ He found himself ensnared in some thick web,
+ Yet reached his knife, and slowly cut it through;
+ Then when he stood, a monstrous spider fled.
+
+ At this recital on the slanted shore,
+ Another joined us from the cottage near--
+ A vine-clad cottage, lit for love's abode.
+ A lily-croft, with trees, encinctured it;
+ Like Ahab in his house of ivory
+ Dining on sweets, the king bee here
+ Sipped in the snowy lily's palace hall;
+ And here were yellow lilies strewn about,
+ As though the place had been the banquet grove
+ Of Shishak, king of Egypt; for the flowers
+ Seemed like the cups of gold that Solomon
+ Wrought for the holy service of the Lord.
+
+ "This is my daughter," said the fisherman.
+ Her head and face were covered with a scarf,
+ But large dark eyes looked forth, and in their depths
+ I saw a soul all tenderness and truth.
+
+ (Often, in dreams, I thought it sweet to die,
+ And reft of this gross vision, see at last,
+ As the large soul, quit of the body can,
+ Another soul set free and purified.)
+
+ The modest maid a crimson jacket wore,
+ And to her knee the broidered skirt hung down;
+ While 'neath, the Turkish garment was confined
+ In plaits about the ankles; but her shoes
+ Revealed the naked insteps of her feet.
+ I bade her there adieu, upon the shore
+ Of the clear Bospore. As I wandered back,
+ I thought much of the spider that I sought;
+ But more of two dark eyes, that seemed two stars
+ Which shone down in my heart; while the far space
+ Behind them, pure, but unknown, was the soul.
+
+ I thought to test this maiden's charity;
+ And so, one friendly day, put on a robe
+ Tattered and soiled with use. As she went by,
+ I strode abruptly from behind a wall,
+ And faced her with a face disguised, and held
+ My hand out while I begged for some small alms.
+ She gave abundantly from her lean purse,
+ And with a look of tender pity, passed.
+ It matters little who it is that asks,
+ Or whether he deserves the alms or not;
+ That given with free heart, is given to God,
+ And not to him who takes.
+
+                           Day after day,
+ Henceforth, I strode a coastward way, to meet
+ The dark-eyed daughter of the fisherman.
+ Beneath her roof she made my welcome sweet,
+ And yielded both her hands, and drew the scarf
+ That veiled the wondrous beauty of her face.
+ If painter, or if sculptor, in some dream,
+ Could mingle Faith with Love and Charity,
+ And give them utterance in one pure face,
+ I know the face would be a face like hers.
+
+ Her eyes were diamond doors of her true soul,
+ And with their silken latches softly closed,
+ When, couched beneath his poppy parachute,
+ Inactive Sleep came by. Her glances seemed
+ Like gold-winged angels sent from heavenly doors.
+ Yet she was often sad when I was near.
+ Once, tarrying late, I told her of my life,
+ And of the monster I had come to find;
+ But now, lo! she around my heart had wound
+ The close web of her love, and held me fast
+ As any fly caught in a spider's toils.
+
+ Clothed in the sackcloth of regret, she said,
+ She long had wept the past; but for my sake
+ She now would cast it off, and live for me.
+
+ I said that few could exculpate the past
+ From stormy doing with the ships of hope.
+
+ She said it made her sad to think upon
+ Their present dwindled fortune, and the yoke
+ Her people chafed their necks in, on the hills.
+ Her father was a brave Circassian chief;
+ But here he dwelt disguised, till once again
+ He could lead on his race, and wound the heel
+ That ground them to the dust.
+
+                               Our hearts made new,
+ We kissed good-night, and parted. As I went,
+ A distant hill, all shadow, took new shape,
+ And seemed a sprawling spider, while two trees
+ That grew upon it, were his upraised arms
+ Clutching at two red fire-flies, that were stars.
+
+II.
+
+THE SPIDER.
+
+ With day-break came a knuckle at my door;
+ I rose, and opened, and upon the porch,
+ His face like strange death's, and his dark eyes wide
+ With some vague horror, stood the fisherman.
+ "Come, hasten with me," were his only words.
+ We ran our best along the barren shore,
+ And gained his silent cottage. Entering,
+ He led me to his daughter's vacant couch.
+ The room had but one window, and the sash
+ Was raised. I looked out to the ground beneath.
+ A vine crept up, and with long fingers made
+ Abode secure upon the cottage side,
+ And o'er the window threw a leafy scarf.
+ But what was this, that fastened to the ledge
+ Trailed to the ground? A glutinous rope
+ Twisted with five strands. This the fisherman
+ Saw with new horror, while between white lips
+ He gasped, "The Spider!"
+
+                          What was best to do?
+ We saw strange foot-prints on the moistened beach,
+ But these were lost soon in a wooded dell
+ Where all trace had an end. The long day through
+ We sought among the tombs, up from the dell;
+ But unrewarded, when the sun was quenched,
+ Sat down to weep. So darkness dropped,
+ And like an awful spider, o'er the earth
+ Crawled with gaunt legs of shadow. Then our homes
+ We sadly sought, to meet again at morn.
+
+ The night was warm, and with my window raised,
+ I sat and mourned, and wrung my hopeless hands.
+ No light was in the house. I half reclined--
+ My back toward the window. Something shut
+ The puny sheen of starlight from the room.
+ The Thing, a monstrous shape, was with me there,
+ And two hard arms were thrown about my waist.
+ For very terror I was hushed, nor moved
+ To cast my foe off. I was in the arms
+ Of the strong spider. As we went, I grew
+ Glad, for I thought that now I should be brought
+ To the great spider's web, and there, mayhap,
+ Learn the sad fate of her I loved so well.
+ Up a stark cliff we went, then crossed the web
+ Just as the red moon bloomed upon the hills
+ And silvered all the Panticapean vale.
+ The funnel of the web was in the mouth
+ Of a vast tomb, whose outside, hewn on rock,
+ Outlined a Gorgon's face with jaws agape--
+ Some stern Medusa, Stheno, or Euryale,
+ Changed to the stone that in the elder days
+ She changed the sons of men who looked on her.
+ We passed the funnel, entering the tomb.
+ About my arms the spider threw his cords,
+ And shackled them. I dared not move, but lay
+ Upon the smooth stone floor, inured to fear.
+ I fancied now that I was safe till dawn.
+ If I could use my hands I then might find
+ Some weapon of defense, some club, or stone,
+ And so resist with some small chance for life.
+ The thought bred strength. I slowly drew my arms
+ Upon my sides, and, with persistence, gained
+ Their freedom; though about the wrists, the flesh
+ Was bruised and harrowed, and my blood made wet
+ The spider's cord wherewith I had been bound.
+
+ The night seemed endless. As it came to dawn,
+ A faint moan woke an echo in the tomb.
+ The echo seemed a cry of pity, sent
+ For solace to the moan. As light grew strong,
+ I saw, not far from where I had been laid,
+ A maiden sitting. All her hair set free,
+ She made of it a pillow as she leaned
+ Against the painted wall. My heart threw wide
+ To her my arms, his hospitable doors;
+ The guest within, at once the doors were shut.
+
+ The sun came up, and spread a cloth of gold
+ Over the sea. We saw the vale beneath,
+ And there the town, and fancied where, among
+ The trees upon the shore, her cottage stood;
+ Then hoped 'gainst hope to enter it again.
+ Two thousand years ago, this distant sea
+ Teemed with the thrifty commerce of the world.
+ When Athens was, and when her scholars cut,
+ With thoughts of iron, their own deathless names
+ Into the stone page of fame, this vale beneath
+ Held a great city. These, its tombs, endure.
+ There is no better scoff at the parade
+ And vanity of life, than that a tomb suggests.
+
+ While we looked forth on the historic view,
+ We saw the subtle spider throw his cord
+ Over an eagle tangled in the web.
+ The eagle fought, not mildly overcome,
+ And spread his wings, and darted his sharp beak.
+ At last the spider caught him by the neck,
+ With his serrated claws that grew like horns,
+ And killed him; then plucked the vanquished plumes,
+ And sucked the warm blood from the sundered ends.
+ From this we knew the monster brought us here
+ To serve a hideous banquet, and that one
+ Must need be near, and see the other slain.
+
+ The web was like the sail of some large ship,
+ And reached forth from the Gorgon's open mouth,
+ On either side, to boughs of blighted trees.
+ Birds were caught in it, and about the place
+ Wherein the spider hid to watch for prey,
+ Their bones lay bleaching in the sun and rain.
+ Upon the web the winds laid violent hands,
+ And tugged at it, but lacked the sinewed strength
+ To tear it or divorce it from its place.
+ The rain left on it when the sun came up,
+ Dyed the vast cloth with all prismatic hues,
+ And made it glitter like the silken sail
+ Of Cleopatra's barge.
+
+                       We felt quite sure
+ The eagle's death bequeathed new lease of life.
+ We cast about at once, in hope to find
+ Some object for defense. The tomb was strange.
+ Alone the spider could have known of it.
+ A rich sarcophagus stood in the midst,
+ Of deftly inlaid woods, or carved, or bronzed.
+ Within, a skeleton, its white skull crowned
+ With gold bestarred with diamonds, chilled my blood.
+ A bronze lamp, cast to represent the beast
+ Slain by Bellerophon, the Chimaera,
+ Was on the floor; and from its lion's mouth
+ The flame had issued, like the flame of life
+ That flickered and went out with him gold-crowned.
+ A target stood near by, and on it clashed
+ Griffon and stag, adverse as right and wrong.
+ About, lay cups of onyx set in gold.
+ On conic jars were bacchanalian scenes,--
+ Nude chubby Bacchi, grotesque leering fauns,
+ All linked 'neath vines that grew important grapes;
+ And in the jars were rings and flowers of gold.
+ We found twin ear-drops cut from choicest stone,
+ Metallic mirrors, and a statuette
+ Of amorous Dido naked to the waist.
+ Life is a harp, and all its nervous strings,
+ Touched by the fingers of the fear of death,
+ Jar with pathetic music. Having found
+ No trusty implement to bar the way
+ Of threatening peril, we embraced,
+ And kissed with silent kisses mixed with tears,
+ And waited for the end.
+
+                         When no more,
+ Hope, like an eagle in the mountain air,
+ Soars in time's future, it mounts up with wings
+ Toward the unmapped city walled by death.
+ Thither the eagle of our hope took flight.
+
+ The sun was in the zenith. His back
+ Toward us, crouched the spider, at the mouth
+ Of our strange prison on the towering cliff.
+ The spider's shape was full a fathom long.
+ Two parts it had, the fore part, head and breast;
+ The hinder part, the trunk. The first was black,
+ But all the last was covered with short hair,
+ Yellow and fine. Eight sprawling legs adhered
+ To his tough breast. Eight eyes were in his head,
+ Two in the front, and three on either side;
+ They had no eyelids, and were never closed,
+ Protected by a strong transparent nail.
+ His pincers grew between his foremost eyes--
+ Were toothed like saws, were venomous, and sharp,
+ With claws on either end. Two arms stretched out
+ From his mailed shoulders, and with these he caught
+ His tangled prey, or guided what he spun.
+ Slowly the monster turned, and glared at us,
+ Working his arms, and opening his claws,
+ Then moved toward us fiercely for attack.
+ We ran to gain the limit of the tomb
+ Where darkness was; there as we crouched with dread,
+ My foot struck some hard substance. In despair
+ I grasped at it, and with great joy upheld
+ An ancient sword!--surely, a sharp, bold tooth
+ To bite the spider. I would sink it deep,
+ Up to the gum of the crossed guard. Alert,
+ I sprang upon the monster as he came,
+ And with one blow cut off his brutish head.
+ He writhed awhile with pain, but in the end,
+ Drew up the eight long legs and two thick arms,
+ And rolling over on his useless back,
+ Died with a pang.
+
+                   So we issued forth,
+ And the green earth seemed happy to be free,
+ And glad the sky cloud-frescoed 'gainst the blue.
+ We sought the sea-side cottage, where the chief
+ Clasped once again his daughter to his breast.
+ Down from the hill we fetched the spider slain,
+ And I to science gave these simple facts:
+ Spiders have no antennae, therefore rank
+ Not with the insects. As they breathe with gills
+ Beneath the body, they possess a heart.
+ The treasure of the tomb brought wealth to us,
+ And we who loved were wed one golden day;
+ And the great Czar hearing our story told,
+ Sent presents to the bride of silk and pearls.
+
+GRACE BERNARD.
+
+  I know the drift and purpose of the years;
+ The will, which is the magnet of the soul,
+ Shall yet attain new powers, and man
+ Be something more than man. The husks fall off;
+ Old civilizations pass, the new come on.
+
+I.
+
+ There are two farms which, smiling in the sun,
+ Adjoin each other, as I trust, some day
+ Two hearts will join, who from their bounty live.
+ One farm is John Bernard's, and one is mine;
+ And she, the one pearl woman in my eyes,
+ Is his sweet daughter, gentle Grace Bernard.
+
+ Three years ago, my father followed her
+ Who gave me birth home to his narrow house.
+ I was at college when death's summons came,
+ And all the grief fell on me, crushing me;
+ And all my heart cried out in bitterness,
+ Moaning to cease with its wet language,--tears.
+ Then with my prospects of professional life
+ Thwarted and void, I came back to the farm--
+ I came back to the love of Grace Bernard.
+ She was the dove that on the flood of grief
+ Brought to my window there love's olive spray.
+ From college to the farm-house where I dwelt
+ I took my books, friends who are never cold,
+ With fragile instruments of chemistry,
+ And cabinets of mineral and rock
+ With limestone encrinites; asterias
+ Old as the mountains, or the sea's white lash
+ Wherewith he smites the shoulders of the shore;
+ Tarentula and scarabee I brought,
+ And, too, I brought my diamond microscope
+ Which magnifies a pin's head to a man's,
+ And gives me sights in water and in air
+ The naturalists have not yet touched upon.
+ Over my fields I wander frequently,
+ Breaking the past's upturned face of shelving rocks
+ For special specimens to fill my home;
+ But find my footsteps always thither tend,
+ Toward the farm-house of the other farm,
+ Where Grace Bernard is noontime and delight.
+
+ When first I took the hand of her I love,
+ And held it only as a stranger might,
+ Some unseen mentor whispered in my ear,
+ _You twain are strands which Destiny shall braid_,
+ And then a numb misgiving, not explained,
+ Settled with chilly dampness on my heart.
+ My Grace Bernard in Grace was not misnamed,
+ There was a soft Madonna look about her eyes;
+ The long thick lash, the drooping-petal lid,
+ Wrought on her face all love and tenderness.
+ Her lips were of that deep intensest red
+ The cherry, red rose, and columbine wear.
+ Her golden hair was sunshine changed to silk,
+ Which fell below her waist, and was a thing
+ Perhaps some lover, braver far than I,
+ Might dare to mesh his hands in, or to kiss.
+
+II.
+
+ The Spring has come and brought her affluent days,
+ But in the air a rumor runs of death--
+ A pestilence is half across the sea.
+ The presses blare its probable approach,
+ And poverty and wealth alike forebode.
+ The cholera it is whispered, Asia-born,
+ May leave more vacant chairs about our hearths
+ Than the red havoc of internal war.
+ There is no foot it may not overtake;
+ There is no cheek which may not blanch for it.
+ It is Filth's daughter, and where the low
+ Huddle in impure air in narrow rooms,
+ There it must come. As all forms of life,
+ Animate and inanimate, originate
+ In seeds and eggs, so all infection does.
+ The floating gases in the atmosphere
+ Acting on particles which from filth arise,
+ Mingle with foul wedlock--germinate,
+ And bear their seed like grain, or breed like flies.
+ This product, scattered on the spotless air,
+ And hurried on the currents of the wind,
+ Is breathed by human beings, near and far;
+ And planted in the system, the disease
+ Ripens and grows, until the sufferer dies.
+ Yellow fever is vegetable disease
+ Because the sharp frost kills it. Cholera
+ Is animal in origin, and survives
+ The utmost cold of long, dark winter days.
+
+ I pray that if the cholera must come,
+ It will not touch my Grace who is so dear;
+ But that we twain may at the altar stand,
+ And outlive many a trouble in the air,
+ And gather many a day of happiness and peace.
+
+III.
+
+ Down by the brook which separates the farms,
+ Is a great rock that leans above the stream,
+ And seems some monster of the Saurian day,
+ That coming to the water's edge to drink,
+ Was petrified, and so is leaning still.
+ Upon its back a week ago I sat,
+ And dreamed of Grace Bernard, and watched the brook;
+ And while I dreamed there came within the dream
+ A premonition of what yet would be.
+ The future's face, forever turned away,
+ Now seemed reverted, and its backward look
+ Was bent on me.
+
+                 They took a faulty cast
+ Of Shakespeare's features after he was dead.
+ I, seeing the future's face, make here my cast.
+
+ And this the premonition that was mine--
+ A perfect premonition full and clear--
+ And as I know the persons it concerns,
+ I cannot think it all improbable,
+ So write it down, that when the time has passed,
+ I may compare the facts with what is here.
+ And yet I scarcely should have written this,
+ Had I not seen his haunting face to-day--
+ That face which I had never seen before,
+ Except in my one dream upon the rock
+ That leans, athirst, above the brimming stream.
+
+ The soldier, when he goes to meet the foe,
+ May darkly understand that death is near,
+ Yet bravely marches on to destiny.
+ I too behold a shadow in my path;
+ I too go on, nor waver in my way.
+
+THE PREMONITION.
+
+I.
+
+ Far off, across the turbulence of waves,
+ I seem to see a wife upon her knees,
+ Her supplicating hands outstretched to one
+ Who strikes her with coarse blows on cheek and breast.
+ He is her husband, and he leaves her there,
+ And takes her jewels and her only purse,
+ And in a ship embarks for other shores.
+ His is the face that I have seen to-day--
+ A handsome face whatever be its sins:
+ A firm mouth, with large wandering black eyes,
+ A bearded under-lip, and snowy teeth;
+ Long, fine black hair, which idly falls about
+ Shoulders that stoop from labor over books;
+ Withal a high and intellectual brow,
+ Not broad enough to hold a generous soul.
+
+II.
+
+ I see the farm-house where my Grace abides;
+ The afternoon is clear, the grass is green;
+ And Grace comes forth and walks toward the brook.
+ Beside its bank, which is a slope of moss,
+ I see the face intent upon the scene.
+ Now Grace draws near, and starting back to find
+ A stranger in the dell she loves the most,
+ Is half attracted by his cultured mien,
+ And half repelled by inconsistent fears.
+ He rises, bowing low, and begs to speak:
+ He has not seen such beauty in his life;
+ He craves to touch a finger of her hand,
+ To judge if she be of the earth, or one
+ Upon some holy mission from that land
+ Whereto, with fastings and with many prayers,
+ Through God's good grace he hopes yet to attain.
+
+ Then John Bernard, who has been working near,
+ Seeding the furrows for his empty barns,
+ This stranger and my Grace puts hand in hand.
+ I see her smile in answer to his smiles.
+ She makes her ears his cells for honeyed speech;
+ And yet she seems to fear him for some cause.
+ Now, as the slow sun tarries on the hills,
+ I see them parting at the farm-house door--
+ The wide half-door which now is opened half--
+ And as he passes down the bordered path,
+ His kiss still lingering upon her hand,
+ She leans out from the door, and watches him
+ Until he vanishes between the trees.
+ I seem to see her face, a trouble sweet
+ Dwelling upon it, even though the light
+ Sets it in glory, with a slender ring
+ Above the white brow and the golden hair.
+
+III.
+
+ I see them riding down the village street:
+ He on a horse as black and strong as iron,
+ She on her snowy palfrey, robed in green,
+ Slack reins in hand; the horses side by side.
+ Even as I see and write, my heart grows cold--
+ Cold as a bird that on a winter's day
+ Breasts the bleak wind, high in the biting air.
+
+IV.
+
+ I see a city with a concourse vast
+ Of gas-lit streets and buildings, and above,
+ Its dear face buried in its cloudy hands,
+ The Night bends over, weeping. In the street
+ I see the face again I saw to-day.
+
+ I see him writing in a narrow room.
+ I read the words:
+                   _To-night I end my life.
+ The river says "Embrace, I offer rest."
+ The world and I have grappled in fair fight,
+ And I am beaten. Having found defeat,
+ I long to go down to its lowest depths.
+ I only ask, that those who find these words,
+ Will send them to my people past the sea;
+ To-night I cross a wider: so, adieu._
+                                 MICHAEL GIANNI.
+
+ This is his true name,
+ And afterward he writes his wife's address.
+ He leaves the paper foldless on a stand,
+ And then goes forth; but not to end his life.
+ He dreams that now his life is but begun.
+ He sees my Grace in all his coming days;
+ He sees the large old farm-house where she dwells,
+ And therein hopes to happily pass the years,
+ Living in peace and plenty till he dies.
+
+ Most human calculations end in loss,
+ And every one who has a plan devised,
+ Is like a foolish walker on a rope,
+ First balancing on this side, then on that,
+ Hazarding much to gain a paltry end;
+ And if the rope of calculation breaks,
+ Or if the foot slip, added to mishap
+ Come the world's jeers and gibes; and so 'tis best.
+ Should half men's schemings find success at last,
+ I fear God's plans would have but narrow room.
+
+ (Michael Gianni, now I know your name,
+ This premonition gives the hint to me
+ To trip you in your studied subtleties.
+ You will not win my Grace, who loves me still;
+ You will not dare to kiss her hand again.)
+
+V.
+
+ Beneath a rustic arbor, near her house,
+ Linked with sweet converse, sit two shadowed forms.
+ The new sword moon against the violet sky
+ Is held aloft, by one white arm of cloud
+ Raised from the sombre shoulder of a hill.
+ My Grace and I are sitting in the bower,
+ And down upon my breast and girdling arm
+ Is strewn pure gold--no alloy mixes it--
+ The pure ore of her lovable gold hair.
+ The cunning weavers of Arabia,
+ Who seek to shuttle sunshine in their silk,
+ Would give its weight in diamonds for this hair,
+ Whereof to make a fabric for their king.
+
+ I see the trees that skirt the yonder vale,
+ And where the road dents down between their arms,
+ I see a figure passing to and fro.
+ Now he comes near, and striding up the path
+ Enters the arbor, and discovers us.
+ It is Gianni; to his flashing eyes
+ A fierce deep hatred leaps up from his heart,
+ As lightning, which forebodes the nearing storm,
+ Leaps luridly above the midnight hills.
+ With some excuse Gianni passes on,
+ While Grace, with sweetly growing confidence,
+ Whispers with lips which slightly touch my ear,
+ "I never loved him, I was always yours."
+
+VI.
+
+ I see the parlor that my Grace adorns
+ With flowers and with her presence, which is far
+ Above the fragrant presence of all flowers.
+ Grace sits at her piano; on her lips
+ A song of twilight and the evening star.
+ There as the shadows slowly gather round,
+ Gianni comes, and stops a moody hour;
+ She, ice to his approaches; he, despair;
+ But ere he goes, he places in her hand
+ A large ripe orange, fresh from Sicily,
+ And begs her to accept it for his sake.
+ She bows him from the room, and puts the fruit
+ Before her on her music, once again
+ Dreaming of me, and singing some wild song
+ Of Pan, who, by the river straying down,
+ Cut reeds, and blew upon them with such power,
+ He charmed the lilies and the dragon-flies.
+ Now while the song is swaying to its close,
+ I seem to come myself into the room,
+ And clasp true arms about my darling Grace;
+ She lays Gianni's orange in my hand,
+ And says that I must eat it; she would not
+ Have taken it, but that she did not wish
+ To cross him with refusal. So I say,
+ "Surely this stranger has peculiar taste
+ To bring an orange to you--only one.
+ Perhaps there is more in it than we know."
+
+VII.
+
+ I seem to have this orange in my room,
+ And in the light of morning turn it round.
+ I find no flaw in it on any side.
+ A goodly orange, ripe, with tender coat
+ Of that deep reddish yellow, like fine gold.
+ Perhaps the tree had wrapped its roots about
+ A chest of treasure, and had drawn the wealth
+ Into its heart to spend it on its fruit.
+ But while I slowly turn the orange round,
+ And look more closely, lo, the slightest cut!--
+ A deep incision made by some sharp steel.
+ I carefully cut the rind, and without once
+ Breaking the fine apartments of the fruit,
+ Or spilling thence a drop of golden juice,
+ Find that one room through which the steel has passed.
+ This I dissect, and, testing as I can,
+ Fail to discover aught that's poisonous.
+
+VIII.
+
+ I bring my microscope, and on a seed
+ Clinging with abject fear, I see a Shape
+ Whose wings are reeking with foul slime, whose eyes
+ Glare with a demon lustre born of Pain.
+ Its face has somewhat of the human shape,
+ The under-jaw too large, and bearded long;
+ The forehead full of putrefying sores.
+ Such front the Genius, Danhasch, may have worn.
+ It may be that the hideous face is like
+ The idol Krishna's, from whose feasts depart,
+ Smitten with cholera, the Hindoo devotees.
+ The body oozes with a loathsome dew.
+ Its head is red as if sucked full of blood;
+ But all the rest, its hundred legs, and tail,
+ The mailed back, and the wide-webbed prickly wings,
+ Are green, like those base eyes of jealousy
+ Which hope to see a covert murder done.
+ I find the finest needle in the house,
+ And press the point down on the slimy hide.
+ The blunt edge crushes, does not pierce the shape,
+ And brings the straggle that I gloat to see.
+ The legs stretch out, and work to get away;
+ A barbed tongue and twin fangs drool from the mouth.
+ The eyes protrude, and glare with deadly hate,
+ Until they fix at last in stony calm.
+
+ I ponder long on what this shape can be.
+ There is no doubt Gianni placed it here;
+ If so, where has he caught and caged a thing
+ The naked eye has not the power to see?
+ Its uses must be deadly. In revenge,
+ He hopes to take the life of her I love.
+ While poisons of another character
+ Might be detected, this remains unknown.
+ The Thing I have discovered--this vile Shape,
+ Must be an atom of some foul disease!
+ And now I have the secret. For some days
+ Gianni waits upon a stricken man,
+ Who dies, a victim of the cholera.
+ In some strange manner he has found this germ,
+ And placed it in the orange, hoping thus
+ To bring the dread disease to Grace Bernard.
+
+IX.
+
+ I seem to be with him I hate, once more,
+ And now accuse him of the fiendish deed
+ That I through chance averted. Now I too
+ Command him to return to his true wife,
+ And no more cross my path; should he remain,
+ He shall but wait to meet her, for my words
+ Already have been sent that he is here.
+
+X.
+
+ I know that I shall fall sick dangerously,
+ And in some way by dark Gianni's hand.
+ I seem to lie asleep upon my bed,
+ And Grace is near, and watching my calm face.
+ The village doctor makes his morning call,
+ And takes my listless hand to feel the pulse.
+ There is no pulse! His hand goes to the heart.
+ My heart has ceased to beat, and all is still.
+ The hand the doctor held drops down like lead.
+ A looking-glass receives no fading mist,
+ Laid on the icy and immovable lips.
+ My eyes are fixed; I glare upon them all.
+ Grace twines her widowed arms about my neck,
+ Kissing my sallow cheeks, with hopeless tears,
+ Calling my name, and begging me come back;
+ So, thinking me dead, they close my staring eyes,
+ And put the face-cloth over my white face,
+ And go with silent tread about the room.
+ They do not know that I am in a trance.
+ I hear each whisper uttered, and the sighs
+ That heave the desolate bosom of my Grace.
+
+XI.
+
+ All is so dark since they have shut my eyes;
+ I think it cruel in them to do that--
+ Shut out the light of day and every chance
+ That I could ever have of seeing Grace.
+ I cannot move a muscle, and I try,
+ And strive to part my lips to say some word;
+ But all in vain; the mind has lost control
+ Over the body's null machinery.
+
+ I wonder if they yet will bury me,
+ Thinking me dead? To wake up in the grave,
+ And hear a wagon rumbling overhead,
+ Or a chance footstep passing near the spot,
+ And then cry out and never get reply;
+ But hear the footstep vanish far away,
+ And know the cold mould smothers up all cries,
+ And is above, beneath, and round me,
+ Is bitter thought. To lie back then and die,
+ Suffocating slowly while I tear my hair,
+ Makes me most wild to think of.
+
+XII.
+
+                                 Hark! 'tis night.
+ The hour is borne distinctly by the wind.
+ My Grace sits near me; now comes to my side,
+ And unto Him, whose ear is everywhere,
+ She, kneeling down, puts up her hands, and prays.
+
+ "O Father of all mercies, still be merciful,
+ And raise me from the gulf of this despair.
+ I cannot think nor feel my love is dead.
+ If he yet lives, and lingers in a trance,
+ Give me some sign that I may know the truth."
+
+ I slowly raise my hand, and let it fall.
+
+ Grace springs up all delight, and draws the cloth,
+ Kissing my lips, and begging me to wake.
+ I try, but fail to raise my hand again.
+ The trance still lasts. My eyes will not unclose;
+ My lips refuse the functions of their place.
+
+XIII.
+
+ On the next day will be the funeral;
+ But Grace has this delayed for one week more;
+ Yet all in vain, I neither wake nor move.
+
+ I hear the people coming in the house,
+ And straight within my coffin long to rise.
+ I hear the pastor's prayer, and then his words,
+ Simple and good, and full of tender praise.
+ They come at last to take a parting look,
+ A file of faces that pass out the door.
+ I hear them quickly screwing down the lid;
+ And now the bearers take me from the house,
+ And push me, feet first, in the black plumed hearse.
+ Gianni is a bearer of my pall,
+ And Grace is choked with sobs, and follows on.
+ We reach the grave. They slowly lower me down.
+ Some gravel on the side is loose, and falls
+ Battling upon the narrow coffin lid.
+
+ Horror on horror! Let me see no more!
+
+AFTER BURIAL.
+
+ So stands the premonition; and to-day
+ I look back on the words here written down,
+ Comparing them with what has happened since,
+ And find there is no flaw in any scene.
+
+ Always intending to tell Grace my fear
+ That some day I might be entombed alive,
+ I always failed, until it was too late.
+ But as the sod fell on the coffin-lid,
+ My trance was broken, and I called and screamed,
+ Until they drew me up from out the grave,
+ And breaking in my prison, set me free.
+
+ Gianni fled, fearing my face at last.
+ To-day I have his letter from his home,
+ Beneath the far-off skies of Italy,
+ Craving forgiveness for his wrongs to me;
+ Saying that he repents for all his past,
+ And with Christ's help, will lead a better life.
+ He found his wife and children overjoyed
+ To have him back again to their embrace.
+
+ To-morrow Grace Bernard and I shall wed.
+ The bell that tolled my bitter funeral knell,
+ Will ring, glad of my wedding and my bride--
+ Ring merrily round and round a jubilant peal.
+
+ There comes no premonition now to show to me
+ What the long future has in store for us;
+ But from my door I watch the sunset skies,
+ And see blue mountains tower o'er golden plains,
+ Clothed with pure beauty stretching far away.
+ So seems the future. I await the morn.
+
+VEERA.
+
+I.
+
+THE KING'S SEAL.
+
+ While yet upon his couch our father lay,
+ Sick unto death, my brothers, with one mind,
+ Plotted abrupt destruction to my life.
+ I did not tell the king, because I feared
+ To lessen by one heat the throbbing of his heart.
+ Beside his couch I knelt, and bowed my head--
+ I, his first-born, whom all the people loved.
+ His hot, weak hand he laid upon my hair,
+ And blessed me with his blessing, then said on:
+ "Thou hast beheld in Spring the dark green blade
+ That stabs up through the unresisting earth;
+ At last the Summer crowns it with a flower.
+ So thou, when I am passed away, and gone to dust,
+ Shalt wear a crown, but grander than the shrubs--
+ The symbol of a kingdom, on thy brow.
+ But take thee now this lesson to thy heart,
+ And from the grass learn wisdom; wear thy crown
+ As meekly, and as void of all display,
+ As doth the shrub half hidden under leaves."
+ So he bent down with pain, and kissed my cheek,
+ As though, having issued a great law, he
+ Had set his seal upon it--the king's seal.
+
+ I cared not for the crown, save as a means
+ To give my soul a higher and a nobler life.
+ This my old tutor taught me--a strange man he,
+ With careless garb, and heavy hairy brows
+ Bridged over eyes that shone like furnace fire.
+ My will was lost in his. I grew like him.
+ I only cared to study and to dream.
+ And he it was who, standing in the night
+ Between two pillars on the palace porch,
+ Saw my two brothers pass, and overheard
+ The hateful whisper of their black design.
+
+II.
+
+THE NIGHT OF THE ESCAPE.
+
+ The night before the murder was to be,
+ I drew my long, keen dagger from its sheath,
+ And stole on down the marble stair-way, past
+ The throne-room, to the curtained arch wherein
+ My brothers lay asleep. No dream beset
+ The guilty Dead-Sea of their rest. They lay
+ Engulfed in pillows, like two ships mid waves.
+ I saw their faces, and the one was fair.
+ Long dark brown hair fell from his noble brow,
+ And on the silken billow of the couch lay curled
+ Like spray. The other face was cold and dark
+ I felt no pity in my angry breast
+ For this, the older brother of the twain.
+ Yet he it was who always praised me most.
+ Praise is a dust of diamond that, if thrown
+ Well in the eyes of even noble men,
+ Will blind them to a host of flagrant faults.
+ The moon was full, and 'twixt two silvered clouds
+ Looked forth, like any princess from between
+ The tasseled curtains of her downy bed.
+ The vagrant wind came through the opened blind,
+ And whispered of the desert; with its hand
+ Fanning the flame that in the silver urn
+ Mimicked a star. Beneath the rays I wrote:
+ _I should have slain you both for your intent
+ Of murder; but I spare, you, and I go.
+ So, take the kingdom, and ride long and well._
+ Between them there I laid the paper down,
+ Then thrust my dagger, to the golden hilt,
+ Through it, deep in the couch. So passing on,
+ I came to that high room wherein my sire,
+ The king, lay sick, and drifting near to death.
+ My tutor at his feet, and on the floor,
+ Embraced by needed sleep, lay like a dog.
+ I came to see the king's face once again,
+ Ere, like a maid who in her lover trusts,
+ I gave myself up, body and soul,
+ To the great desert and the world beyond.
+ How sweetly slept the king! His long white beard,
+ And venerable face, were undisturbed
+ By even the breezy motion of his breath.
+ Surely, I thought, the fever must have passed.
+ I bent down tenderly to kiss the cheek.
+ How cold! God help me, can the king be dead?
+ My heart gave one wild bound, driving a wave
+ Of grief, vast as a mountain, up the sands
+ Of my bleak desolation. The wave broke
+ Into a blinding mist of tears at last.
+ I longed to moan out my despair, but paused,
+ Checking my sobs to kiss the face once more;
+ Then moved from the strange room, parting with care
+ The massive silken curtains, fearful then
+ Their rustle might attract some wakeful ear.
+ I found the jewels of the crown, and these
+ With all my own I in a bag secured,
+ And hung about my neck, beneath my robe.
+ Noiseless as a ghost I passed the hall,
+ And down the stair-way wrought of sandal-wood
+ Made lightest footsteps. As I stole
+ Along the alcoves where the maidens slept,
+ A lady stood before me. She outstretched
+ Her white and naked arms, and round my neck
+ Entwined them. She was the captive, Veera,
+ Once held for ransom from some Bedouin tribe;
+ But when the coin was brought she would not go;
+ At this the king was pleased, for thus she made
+ Perpetual peace between him and her kin.
+ No maid in Mesched up and down, was found
+ To rival her for beauty. All her words
+ Were apt and good, and all her ways were sweet.
+ I, in her happy prison, ivory-barred
+ By her white arms, was restless for release.
+ She would not set me free until I told
+ The purport of my vigil, and revealed
+ The place whereat my journey would be done.
+ I did not wait to pay her back her kiss.
+ I hurried to the stables, where I found
+ My coal-black steed. He neighed and pawed the floor.
+ I bound the saddle firmly, grasped the reins,
+ And in a moment passed the city's gate,
+ And shot out on the desert, where the wind
+ Made race with us, but lagged behind at last.
+
+III.
+
+TWO PROBLEMS.
+
+ Vienna gained, I gave myself to books.
+ Here I had promised Veera I should be.
+ New paths were opened to me, and my days
+ Were lost in study. All my tutor knew
+ Seemed cramped and meagre in these wider ways
+ Of thought and science. Better far, I said,
+ To know, than be a king. There is no crown
+ That so becomes the brow as knowledge does.
+
+ To solve two problems, now engrossed my life.
+ My Bedouin tutor had spent all his days
+ Upon them, but without success. On me
+ He grafted all the purpose of his soul,
+ Determined, though he failed, that I might yet
+ Toil on when he was compassed round by death.
+ These sister problems were, _How make pure gold?_
+ And, _How endure forever on the earth?_
+
+IV.
+
+THE DOOR.
+
+ Among the books that I had bought myself,
+ I found the Bible. This to peruse
+ I soon essayed; but ere I had read far,
+ Behold! I found the door behind which lay
+ The answers to my problems. Locked and barred
+ The door was, yet I knew it was the door.
+ For here I read of Eden, and that in the midst
+ The Tree of Life stood, while through the land
+ A river ran which parted in four heads;
+ And one was Gihon, the Ethiop stream;
+ And one was Pison, the great crystal tide
+ Which floods Havilah, where fine gold is found,
+ And rare bdellium and the onyx stone.
+ So, as my tutor said, my problems were
+ A dual secret, and the one contained
+ The other. All the long night through I pored
+ Above the words, and kissed the unconscious page
+ With reverent lips. My heart was like a sponge
+ Soaked in the water of the mystic words.
+
+V.
+
+THE KEY.
+
+ As one who in the night, passing a street
+ Deserted, finds a lost key rusted and old,
+ Yet knows that it will fit some great iron door
+ Behind which countless treasures are concealed,
+ So I, when first I came to Mesmer's works,
+ Knew I had found the key to move the door
+ Of my twin problems. Then, day after day,
+ I made them all my study. Much I mourned
+ The sad disheartened life that Mesmer led.
+ He never knew that one good thing, success;
+ But yet his strong, persistent genius, to the end
+ Endured. Yet such the rule in every age.
+ The one true man appears, and gives his thought,
+ At which the whole world rail or basely sneer.
+ The next man comes and makes a thankless use
+ Of what the other knew, and wins the praise
+ The first man lost by being ripe too soon.
+
+VI.
+
+NEWS FROM MESCHED.
+
+ Down the long street, upon my iron-black steed,
+ I rode and pondered. Where shall I seek to find
+ A sweet soul pure as dawn, who to my will shall be
+ Both malleable and ductile; who can soar
+ Over the whole earth, or go back in the past?
+ While yet I mused, lo, up a garden walk,
+ A lady chased a bird. An empty cage
+ Stood in the vine-clad cottage-window near.
+ The bird was like some sweet elusive thought;
+ The maid, a Sappho, weary with pursuit.
+ She only glanced my way to see me pass,
+ Then turned and ran towards me, her large eyes
+ With gladness scintillant. It was the maid,
+ Veera. Her hand upon my shoulder, up the walk
+ We went, my steed following, while her bird,
+ Tired of his liberty, had found his cage.
+ Strange news had Veera. Here she lived in peace;
+ But through the city she had sought me long.
+ When I was gone from Mesched, and my brothers read
+ The paper I had written, their wrath rose
+ Against my tutor whom they deemed the spy.
+ He, being found asleep beside the king
+ Who lay dead, to his door they brought
+ The baseless charge of murder. Through the streets
+ They sent their criers to proclaim the deed.
+ So, clamorous for his life, the people came
+ And dragged him forth, and led him to the block
+ And slew him. On a spear they set his head,
+ And placed it high upon the tower above
+ The eastern gate. The birds pecked at the eyes,
+ And of the hair made comfortable nests.
+ The rain beat on it, and the active wind
+ Crowned it with desert dust. Always the sun
+ Made salutation to it, flushing it
+ Until it seemed more ghastly than before.
+ But after this mad crime the older brother grew
+ Jealous of him, the younger. One dark morn
+ They found the last-born lifeless in the street,
+ Stabbed by a long, sharp poniard in the back.
+ Misrule followed misrule, and justice fled.
+ Laws were abolished, and pleasure's lewdest voice
+ Hawked in the market-place, and through the streets.
+ Her story done, Veera entreated me
+ To set my face for Mesched with the dawn.
+ "Not yet," I said, "not yet." And then I made
+ Strange passes with my hands, and braced my will,
+ To sway her will; then with a questioning glance
+ She passed out to a calm Mesmeric sleep.
+ So, well I knew that I had found the soul
+ My purpose needed, and I bade her wake.
+
+VII.
+
+THE MIDNIGHT VISITOR.
+
+ I sat and pondered in my room that night
+ Until the towers and steeples, near and far,
+ Like sentries of the sky, issued the hour
+ Of midnight. Then I wrought magnetic force
+ With waving hands; and set my swerveless will
+ That Veera should approach me, and that none
+ Should harm or see her as she passed the streets.
+ At last I heard her footstep on the stair--
+ The patter of her feet as soft as rain,
+ And then she turned the hinge and entered in.
+ A long white wrapper made of satin, bound
+ With lace of gold, and fastened at the throat
+ With buttons of cut diamond, clad her form.
+ A band of opals was around her neck--
+ A hundred little worlds with central fires.
+ Her feet were naked, and her hair was down.
+ Her large eyes, wide and staring, took no heed
+ Of anything before them; thus she slept.
+ I bade her sit beside me, and I placed
+ The Bible on her knee, and laid her hand
+ Upon the verse that names the tree of life.
+ "Tell me," I said, "where may this tree be found."
+ "The way is long," she answered me at last,
+ "And I am worn and weary. I have tracked
+ The shore of one long river, many a mile.
+ The sun scorches like fire. I am athirst.
+ I cannot find the tree; my search is done."
+ "Look down the past, and find if any knew
+ Where grows this tree, or how it might be found."
+ Again her lips made answer: "One I see,
+ Long dead, who bends above a written scroll,
+ And therein makes strange characters, which hold
+ Some hidden sense pertaining to this tree.
+ In Milan, in the Ambrosian library there,
+ I see this scroll to-night; 'tis worn with age."
+
+ "Now seek thy home again," I said, "sweet soul.
+ Thou art as meek and pure as him whose hand
+ First wrote God's words." So she arose, and passed
+ Along the dark, deserted street, and I
+ Followed her closely, till I saw her cross
+ The threshold of her cottage; then I turned,
+ And found my home, and calmly slept till dawn.
+
+VIII.
+
+THE PALIMPSEST.
+
+ In Milan, in the Ambrosian library there,
+ Among Pinellian writings seared with age,
+ I found a prophet's palimpsest--a scroll
+ That Angelo Maio had brought to light.
+ And on the margin of this scroll, I found
+ Mysterious signs which baffled me at first.
+ After a full week's search I chanced to find
+ The mongrel dialect of which they were.
+ I thus translated: _Gihon is the Nile.
+ A perfect soul may find long life and gold._
+ Surely, I thought, Veera the maid is pure.
+ Her life's blue sky has not one cloud of sin.
+ If her feet press the soil where Eve first trod,
+ I can but follow and attain. So I
+ Back to Vienna came and found Veera.
+ To her I made my double purpose plain,
+ And prayed her to go with me in my search.
+ She smiled assent. To be near me, she said,
+ Had brought her to Vienna; this indeed
+ Detained her from her kinsmen. Her heart's book
+ Lay open to me, and I read her love.
+ So we were wed, and both lives ran to one.
+
+IX.
+
+GIHON.
+
+ Now for the Nile we journeyed, gaining first
+ The town of Gondokoro, where the stream
+ Of Bahr el Abiad, or White Nile, flows.
+ Thence we passed on, and with the savage kings
+ Of Karagwe, Uganda and Ungoro, stopped,
+ To rest our weary feet, or in their huts
+ Escape the sun's fierce glare. At last we found
+ The sources of the Nile; two lakes that now
+ Are called Nyanza and Nzige. If here
+ I had but paused, and had retraced my steps,
+ The whole world would have known and praised my name,
+ For I was first to find the secret out.
+ But then I cared not for it, journeying on.
+ After a week, we came upon a land
+ All void, and barren of a single leaf.
+ Veera was pale and worn, although she bore
+ Fatigue with generous patience for my sake.
+ Our feet were swollen, and with the hot sand scorched,
+ Our garments were in tatters, and we seemed
+ Like beggars, in a land where there were none to give.
+ At night we slept beside a wide, cool stream,
+ Whereat we quenched our thirst, and bathed our feet.
+ My beard was grown, and all my hair hung down
+ Neglected, on my shoulders. I was weak,
+ And thin, and feverish, and Veera, too,
+ I saw was sick, and languished hour by hour.
+
+X.
+
+GOLD!
+
+ In the sand, lo! something to the sun
+ Replied with brilliant lustre; as I brushed
+ The dust away, I saw that it was gold!--
+ A solid bar of gold--and yet so weak
+ Was I, I could not move it from its place.
+ I would have given then the bar of gold
+ To buy a crust, but could not. So we passed,
+ And came where five great rivers went their ways.
+ Which should we follow? One I knew
+ Led to the tree of life, but all the rest
+ Went back to death. Here a dead bird we found,
+ And tearing off its gaudy plumage, ate.
+ Upon occasional trees grew strange sparse fruits,
+ And these sustained us as we wandered on.
+ Along the banks for many a mile we went
+ By each of these five rivers, then returned.
+ So all my hope was dead, and long I prayed
+ That I might live to see my land again.
+
+XI.
+
+THE MESSAGE OF THE THREE MEN.
+
+ The night came on, and unto sleep we gave
+ Our spirits. When the golden day was born
+ Veera awoke, and told me all her dream;
+ "Lo, in the night three men have talked with me--
+ Three strange good men who said the kindest words,
+ And said that only those who were released
+ From sin, could find the garden of the Lord.
+ And this release was bought upon a cross
+ By One, a Nazarene, with priceless blood.
+ If He would bear our sins, then we might reach
+ The garden; but we must not touch or eat
+ The tree of life that flourished in the midst."
+ Then I abased my soul, and prayed again,
+ And cast off all the burden of my sins,
+ Tearing my strange ambition from my heart.
+ And Veera, too, embraced the Christian Faith.
+ So we arose, and went upon our way,
+ And journeying eastward, Eden found at last!
+
+XII.
+
+THE GARDEN.
+
+ The trees were housed with nests, and every one
+ Was like a city of song. The streams too
+ Were voluble; they laughed and gurgled there
+ Like men who, at a banquet, sit and drink
+ And chatter. All the grass was like a robe
+ Of velvet, and there was no need of rain.
+ In dells roofed with green leafage, nature spread
+ Couches meet for a Sybarite. Sweet food
+ The servant trees extended us to eat
+ In their long, branchy arms. Even the sun
+ Was tempered, and the sky was always blue.
+ Corpulent grapes along the crystal rocks,
+ Made consorts of the long-robed lady leaves.
+ The butterfly and bee, from morn till eve,
+ Consulted with the roses, lip to lip,
+ Which grew in rank profusion. They at times
+ Dared to invade the empire of the grass,
+ And overthrew its green-robed, spear-armed hosts.
+ The lilies too were like an army there,
+ And every night they struck their snowy tents,
+ To please their great commander, the round moon--
+ God's lily in the everlasting sky.
+
+XIII.
+
+CAST OUT.
+
+ As to the heliotrope comes fluttering down
+ The peacock-butterfly, who sips and flies,
+ So each glad day gold-winged came to the land
+ And sipped its sip of time and fled away.
+ Now in an evil hour I hungered, and I saw
+ The tree of life that grew forbidden fruit.
+ What harm, I thought, is there to always live?
+ To live is happiness; but to die is pain.
+ The rental claimed by death falls due too soon.
+ So I reached forth, and took the fruit, and ate.
+ Then all the sky grew dark, and from the land
+ Malignant terrors drove me shrieking forth;
+ And as I fled, my youth abandoned me;
+ My hair turned gray, my shoulders stooped, my blood
+ Grew colder, and my perfect form was changed.
+ A weak old man with wrinkled face, I fled,
+ To wander in the wastes. Once I looked back
+ Upon the garden; over it the sky
+ Was soft and clear; and midway in the air
+ I saw Veera between two angels, borne
+ To heaven. So I turned again and fled.
+
+XIV.
+
+"LONG LIVE THE KING."
+
+ I came at last to Mesched. It was night.
+ The moon, half-shadowed, trailed its silver robe
+ Over the tower above the eastern gate,
+ And there revealed the outlines of a skull
+ Set on a spear. The portals were unbarred.
+ I passed the arch, but in the shadow kept,
+ While on the flinty wall I edged my knife.
+ Then I crept on until I gained the porch
+ Of the great palace. There I smote the guard,
+ And entering in, sought out the sleeping king.
+ Deep in his heart I plunged my thirsty knife.
+ All the next day I sat before the gate,
+ And begged, and heard the rumors of the town;
+ Then, standing forth, I claimed to be their king,
+ And told them all my story to the end.
+ None pitied the dead ruler, for he knew
+ No pity while he lived. So I was king at last;
+ But all my life, and all my hope to me
+ Are dust and ashes, knowing that God's frown
+ Abides upon me. Would that I could die!
+
+ There is no kindlier spirit than content.
+ And there is nothing better in the world
+ Than to do good, and trust in God for all.
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Stories in Verse, by Henry Abbey
+
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