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diff --git a/23037-8.txt b/23037-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..2c77802 --- /dev/null +++ b/23037-8.txt @@ -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: 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 *** + +***** This file should be named 23037-8.txt or 23037-8.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/2/3/0/3/23037/ + +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.) + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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