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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..e790491 --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #65564 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/65564) diff --git a/old/65564-0.txt b/old/65564-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index b2d7e42..0000000 --- a/old/65564-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,7339 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook of Spider-webs in Verse, by Charles -William Wallace - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you -will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before -using this eBook. - -Title: Spider-webs in Verse - A Collection of Lyrics for Leisure Moments Spun at Idle Hours - -Author: Charles William Wallace - -Release Date: June 8, 2021 [eBook #65564] - -Language: English - -Produced by: Charlene Taylor, Karin Spence and the Online Distributed - Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was - produced from images generously made available by The - Internet Archive/American Libraries.) - -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SPIDER-WEBS IN VERSE *** - - - - - - - [Illustration] - - - - - SPIDER-WEBS IN VERSE - - - A COLLECTION OF - LYRICS FOR LEISURE MOMENTS - SPUN AT IDLE HOURS - - - BY - CHARLES WILLIAM WALLACE - PROFESSOR OF RHETORIC AND LITERATURE - WESTERN NORMAL COLLEGE - - - “The spider’s touch--how exquisitely fine!” - --_Pope._ - - - LINCOLN, NEB.: - STATE JOURNAL COMPANY, PRINTERS. - 1892. - - - - - COPYRIGHT 1892 - BY - C. W. WALLACE - - - - - TO - - JUDGE T. D. WALLACE - - AND - - MRS. OLIVE WALLACE. - - -MY DEAR FATHER AND MOTHER: - -No word, no act, no consecrated gift of mine, how great or slight -soever it may be, can ever repay the beneficence and love of you to -whom I owe life and whatever of prosperity has been granted me. - -As my eyes glance in retrospect along the fading perspective of years -and lose themselves in the dim days of the cradle, and thence to the -present look forwards to the distant peaks of hope that rise above -unknown mists and shadows and horizons, I hear the counseling words -of a father, and feel the ever-present touch of a mother’s hand, as -both guide me with love into the dim unknown of life. Though I pass -onwards with a father’s “God-speed,” and a mother’s lingering embrace -and loving kiss, and leave you both fondly looking after me, still your -presence in my memory is ever a guiding reality that even now directs -this good right hand of mine to inscribe these dedicatory words of -filial affection. - -If in the days agone I ever seemed unheeding of that counsel of -a father, and unmindful of that dearest love of a cherished and -cherishing mother, I can but say that both that counsel and that love -reach through those moulding and shaping years of my life and take hold -on my heart with a firmness and a gentleness that nothing else of all -the years can boast. - -It is but right and just, therefore, that in these your later days -I should likewise be your guide and your stay in so far as my hand -may let;--that I should reach out my strong young arm and steady the -tottering years that throng around you. - -Withal, if I can afford you even one slight pleasure, it is my heart’s -desire so to do. It is, therefore, with somewhat more than filial love -that I dedicate this little volume to you, my Father and my Mother, -both together my counselor and guide, still mercifully spared to your -children; and in doing so, I can but express the hope that your years -may yet be many and happy; that the iris struck by a New Sun from the -crystals of the whitened and whitening wintry years may be as full of -beauty and joy as were the early spring blossoms of love and hope that -you pressed to your bosoms in youth. - - Your Son, - CHARLES. - - - - - BY THE WAY. - - -As the presentation of these collected verses in their present printed -form has been induced largely by the request of many of my former -college students and by the importunities of my most intimate friends, -and as this volume has consequently been prepared chiefly for their -pleasure, it is hoped that those into whose hands the book may fall -are already so well acquainted with the author that the selections -themselves need no formal introduction to make them agreeable company -and engaging companions. - -In justice, I should here say that this collection contains only a -few out of the vast number of good, bad, and indifferent pieces of -verse that I have been making at odd hours of a busy life, ever since -my boyhood, for my own pastime, pleasure, and literary and linguistic -improvement, with no thought nor distant dream of ever permitting them -thus to invade the domains of the sovereign public. - -That the little book that thus modestly goes forth will attain either -a large circulation or great popularity I neither expect, nor attempt -to bring about; but that men and women with hearts that love and souls -that look above may find much quiet pleasure and satisfaction in the -following pages I do sincerely hope. - -It is neither my desire nor befitting to my work to lay claim to -any degree of excellence in the verses herein presented. Quite to -the contrary, I see and regret many defects which I can now neither -remove nor repair. But, however defective they may be in form or in -spirit, I have ever thought that little else than the interpretation -of the relations of the human soul to life, here and hereafter, and -the presentation of the good, the beautiful, and the true of the human -heart is worthy of serious effort. - -As a consequence, most of these pieces are dual in meaning--one, in -plain view, the reality; the other, less distinct, the finer ideality, -the reflection, or mirrored image of the first. - -It is this second, this finer and often, at first, obscure meaning -that, in my judgment, is the essential--the preserving salt--of any -poem. Certainly if not this meaning but the apparent one, the one on -the surface, is the basis of judgment on these poems, they will fall -far below the estimate accorded that poetry which is deemed worthy of -existence. - -I wish here to return my thanks for the hearty reception accorded the -few selections of the prospectus, and to express the hope that the -completed volume will equal whatever expectations the recipients of the -prospectus may have. - -Also, I cannot pass without noting the fact that a large share of the -first edition of this volume was engaged nearly six months before it -went to press, even before I had determined what productions I should -use, and that, too, upon the mere announcement that the publication was -contemplated for the present summer. - -I wish, therefore, thus publicly to thank those who have given this -substantial earnest of their appreciation. - -Any opinion or criticism, favorable or unfavorable, or any suggestion -or correction on thought, arrangement, typography, or other point, that -the reader may see fit to express, is not only invited and encouraged, -but will be most gratefully received and carefully considered. - -One word more. If a selection will not bear a second reading, or a -third, a fourth, or a fiftieth reading; if it does not grow better and -better at each reading; if it does not lift the soul to a higher plane, -a nobler aim, a purer life, and a grander view; if at each successive -reading something does not come out of it and enter the heart, and -then pass back into the poem again, and thus again and again, each -beautifying and ennobling the other, like a sunset halo among the -clouds and the liquid, translucent image thereof in the mirroring lake, -then it is no true poem, and should be cast aside. - -The only proof of the excellence of a poem is that it makes the heart -larger and the soul nobler for having read it, and that at each -successive reading both the poem and the reader grow better and better. - -Believing, as I do, that poetry is nothing less than the interpretation -of the Divine in the human heart (whether in the mood of tears or of -laughter), I can but hope, in entrusting these “children of the brain” -to the care of others, that in the heart of each little waif some good -may be found, some song may be heard, some beauty be revealed, some -experience be verified. - - C. W. W. - -LINCOLN, 22 June, 1892. - - - - - CONTENTS. - - - PAGE - - Barefoot After the Cows, 6 - - Beautiful May, 62 - - Borrowing Brains, 52 - - Boy Bards, 178 - - Browning, 116 - - Buzz, 141 - - - Choral of Sunset, A, 1 - - Chorus, 110 - - Close Attachment, A, 126 - - Come to the Shadows, 12 - - Common Lot, The, 17 - - - Dead Man’s Life, The, 124 - - Death--Life, 135 - - Death-Howl, The, 131 - - Deep unto Deep (Double Threnody), 65 - - Demoniac, The, 128 - - Deploration, A, 122 - - Down to the Candy-man’s Shop, 10 - - Dreamy April Evening in the Woods, A, 109 - - - Echo Song, 18 - - - “False Womankind,” 32 - - Family of the Ephemera, 36 - - Father Time, 148 - - Freedom’s Battle Song, 142 - - - Gift and Giver, 8 - - Good-Night, My Love, 71 - - Good-Night (Song), 68 - - Gravity--Life, 134 - - Greatest Thing on Earth, The,-- - - I. From Sun to Sun, 178 - - II. What the Striving? 179 - - III. The World is Too Much Ours, 180 - - IV. Hand and Heart, 181 - - V. Courting the Crowd, 182 - - VI. Immortal and God-given, 183 - - VII. Asking Hearts, 184 - - VIII. The Crowning Glory, 186 - - - Hal a-Huntin’, 144 - - Halloween, 51 - - Happy Days of Yore, 156 - - Haunted House, The, 20 - - Hot?--Well, Rather! 135 - - Human Heart, The, 28 - - Humpty Dumpty Idiotic Chap, A, 66 - - - If So, Peace Till Next New Year, 46 - - I Love You, Kate, 123 - - In the Angels’ Keep, 58 - - I’se Seen a Light in de Sky, 34 - - I Wonder, 44 - - - Just as Usual, 121 - - - Life, 52 - - Life’s Lost Skiff, 125 - - Life’s Philosophy, 120 - - Life to Love (A Triolet), 11 - - Lonely! 33 - - Lone Wayside Wild-Rose, The, 59 - - Lover’s Complaint, The, 140 - - Lurlei, The, 111 - - - Madrigal, 117 - - Memories of the Past, 156 - - Mince Pie, 14 - - Mist-Wing, 15 - - Modern Tragedy Averted, A, 25 - - ’Mong the Mountains of the Soul, 143 - - Mortal, A, 105 - - My Defeat, 46 - - - Nightmare, The, 30 - - - Old Benoni Tree, The, 2 - - On Kingsley’s “Farewell,” 150 - - On Plucking a Crocus, 133 - - Our Alma Mater, 147 - - - Part of the New England Lament, etc., 150 - - Pity the Poor, 124 - - Poet’s Prayer, The, 2 - - Press of Penury, The, 50 - - - Rex Fugit, 118 - - - Shut In, 40 - - Shut Your Eyes and Go to Sleep, 115 - - Sickle of Flowers, The, 118 - - Sleep (Sonnet), 55 - - Slumber Rhapsody, A, 5 - - Song of the Stars, 42 - - Song on the Sea, 56 - - Sonnets of Life, 23 - - Sorto’ Played-Out Ol’ Bouquet, A, 9 - - Soul of My Soul, 13 - - Sweetest of All, The, 138 - - - Tears and Laughter, 14 - - There’s a Laugh, 47 - - This Touch of an Angel’s Hand, 119 - - Thought, 58 - - Through Reverent Eyes, 71 - - Thus Life’s Tale, 149 - - To a Wild-Rose Bouquet, 55 - - To Fancy, 69 - - To Miss ----, 114 - - To Morpheus, 108 - - To Sleep, 49 - - To Thee Above, 109 - - Tough Mutton, Perhaps, 114 - - Transformation, The,--A Psychological Mystery, 151 - - Twenty, 61 - - - Ups and Downs, 2 - - Useless? 105 - - - Washington, 142 - - Weather Fiend, The, 129 - - What is Poetry? 76 - - Wheel and Shuttle, 49 - - White-Enthroned Above Me, 59 - - Whither? 147 - - Who Knows? 131 - - Woodland Lay, 57 - - Words and Thoughts, 117 - - Write from the Heart, 146 - - - Year Ago, A, 137 - - - - - SPIDER-WEBS IN VERSE. - - - - - A CHORAL OF SUNSET. - - - I’ve a notion the clouds at sunset - Sing chorals in the sky - As they let down their billowy tresses - And kiss - The sun - “Good-bye!” - - And the music comes in at the portals - That Heaven has left in the heart, - As the shine gets into the flower - Where the leaves - Have slipped - Apart. - - - - - THE POET’S PRAYER. - - - Sweet Zephyr from celestial isles - That all the earth with joy beguiles, - I would that thou wouldst blow to me, - And blow to me thy purest breathing song; - I would that thou wouldst come to me - And tell to me whate’er is right and wrong; - I would that thou wouldst lay thy hand - And rest thy hand upon my throbbing brow, - And that the words thou giv’st to me - And tak’st from me would be received as thou. - - - - - UPS AND DOWNS. - - - The world is like a coach and four, - And men as there you find ’em: - For some must ride and some must drive - And some hang on behind ’em. - - Or like the farmer’s ’tater cart,-- - The best on top to brag on: - For some must rise and some must fall - Like ’taters in the wagon. - - - - - THE OLD BENONI TREE. - - - Brother Grant, do you remember - Days and years we spent together - Thro’ the summer’s shiny weather - Till apples dropped in late September? - Nurtured where the warm suns shine in, - We were dreamers then, my brother, - As we lisped to one another, - “Ine-een tor-I fert-hi mine-een.” - - Guess you haven’t forgotten that yet, - Have you? I can shut my eyes and - See the old tree where we sat yet,-- - Hear the rhythm of that thing rise and - Fall like echoes of the distant brine in - Some fair shell; and like it clinging - To the past, my heart keeps singing, - “Ine-een tor-I fert-hi mine-een.” - - I’ll be plagued if I can tell yet - What that hitching nonsense jingle - Meant, can you? I can smell yet, - Tho’, the blossoms;--hear the lingle - Of the bells of lolling kine in - Slaughter’s grove;--see the pink of - Fruit above us when I think of - “Ine-een tor-I fert-hi mine-een.” - - I can taste those old Benoni - Apples yet--(fall apples--mellow - As the winds that kissed the bony - Branches into blossom; yellow-- - Butter-yellow--and as fine in - Taste as Flemish Beauty pears were)-- - For our burdensomest cares were, - “Ine-een tor-I fert-hi mine-een.” - - Ah, my boy, you haven’t forgotten - How with wooden men we pounded - Them when green till almost rotten - Just to get the juice out? Sounded - Mighty tempting with that wine in - There just squushing for the skin to - Burst and let us both fall into - “Ine-een tor-I fert-hi mine-een.” - - Ha! ha! ha! what little scheming - Rascals we were then, my laddie!-- - Knock off apples just half-dreaming - Ripeness, stain the stems that had a - Fresh look with some dirt--divine in - Innocence!--then run to mother, - Each one chuckling to the other, - “Ine-een tor-I fert-hi mine-een.” - - Tell her then we’d found them lying - On the ground (we had, too!) asking - If we might not have them, trying - Every childish art, nor masking - Mouths just watering to dine in - Glory on them. When we’d got our - “Yes!” all earth I’m certain, caught our - “Ine-een tor-I fert-hi mine-een.” - - Oh the days and days together - In the lazy days of childhood - Through the shade and shiny weather - Of the Long Agone’s deep wildwood - When we clad our men of pine in - Every phase of human action, - Sang to them the old “attraction,” - “Ine-een tor-I fert-hi mine-een”! - - Through my hazing, half-closed lashes - As I watch the steady blazing - Of my fangled oil-stove, plashes - Of that olden rhythm come lazing - From the lethy mists, and shine in - Irised splendors where the tilting - Timid Robin still is lilting, - “Ine-een tor-I fert-hi mine-een.” - - Oh the golden old Benonis - With a heart as rich and yellow - As the moon, no apple known is - Half so high or half so mellow, - For they’ve drunk the sun’s whole shine in - And preserved our boyhood’s story - With it’s olden, golden glory, - “Ine-een tor-I fert-hi mine-een.” - - - - - A SLUMBER RHAPSODY. - - - Sleep, sleep, sleep and rest, sleep and rest, - The wind is in the west - And night is on the deep,-- - Sleep and rest, rest and sleep, - Sleep, sleep. - - Dream, dream, dream and sleep, dream and sleep, - The stars their vigils keep - And skies with glories gleam. - Dream and sleep, sleep and dream, - Dream, dream. - - Sleep, rest, dream and rest, sleep and dream, - The morning sun will beam - And cares thy day infest,-- - Rest and sleep, sleep and rest, - Rest, rest. - - - - - BAREFOOT AFTER THE COWS. - - - I am plodding down the little lane again - With my trousers rolled above my sunburnt knees; - And I whistle with the mocking-bird and wren - As they chatter in the hedging willow-trees. - And my foot as light and nimble as the airy wings they wear - Trips along the little lane again to-day; - And my bare feet catch the tinkle thro’ the silent summer air - Of the jingle-langle-ingle far away.-- - Klangle-ling ke-langle, - Klingle-lang ke-lingle - Dingle-lingle-langle down the dell; - Jingle-langle lingle, - Langle-lingle r-r-angle, - Ringle-langle-lingle of the bell. - - From the lane across the prairie o’er the hill - Down a winding little path the cows have made, - In my thought to-night I’m going, going still,-- - For the sinking Sun is lengthening its Shade! - And I find them in the hollows--the hollows of the dell - And I find the drowsy cattle in the dell, - By the ringle-rangle-jingle,--the jangle of the bell, - By the ringle and the jangle of the bell.-- - Klang-ke-link ge-lingle, - Jangle-ling ke-langle, - Klink ke-langle-lingle down the dell; - Klangle-link ke-langle, - K-link ke-lank ke-lingle, - Lingle-link ke-langle of the bell. - - As the cows across the prairie homeward wind - O’er the hill and toward the broadened sinking sun, - Steals a silence o’er the wooded vale behind - Where their shadows, lengthened, darken into one. - And I whistle back the echoes,--the echoes left behind, - That are wand’ring in the tangles of the dell; - And in answer to the message--the message that I wind, - Call the echoes of the klangle of the bell:-- - Langle-langle lingle, - Lingle-langle lingle, - Lingle-lingle-langle down the dell; - D-r-r-ingle-langle-langle, - R-r-angle-ringle-langle, - Langle-lingle-r-r-angle of the bell. - - At the lighting of the Candles of the Night - When my tangled locks have found the pillow’s rest, - I can hear the langle-lingle, soft and light, - Like the cradle-rocking lulling of the blest. - And upon the ear of Fancy--of Fancy born of Sleep, - Comes the klangle from a distant dreamy Dell; - For the angels lull me dreaming--dreaming in their keep, - To the klingle-langle-lingle of the bell.-- - Kling-ge-lang-ge-lingle, - Klangle-lingle-langle, - Langle-lingle-lingle from the dell; - Kling-ge-ling-ge-langle, - Ling-ge-lang-ge-lingle, - Lingle-lingle-langle of the bell. - - - - - GIFT AND GIVER. - - -Not what we give, but what we share.--_Lowell._ - -Rich gifts wax poor when givers prove unkind.--_Shakespeare._ - - Not the binding of this book - Nor its leaves with marble edge; - But the poet’s heart and soul - In each thought upon the page - Makes the book of worth, - Lifts us from the earth, - From the common sod - Nearer unto God. - - Not the gold that’s in the gift - Nor the sense of doing duty; - But the giver in the gold - With a heart that’s full of beauty - Makes the gift of worth, - Lifts us from the earth, - From the common sod - Nearer unto God. - - - - - A SORTO’ PLAYED-OUT OL’ BOUQUET. - - - They’re withered--sorto’ withered now, - They’ve got a musty smell; - So I must shet the book up tight - An’ set an’ wait a spell. - - They’re withered--sorto’ withered now, - They’ve lost their red an’ green, - An’ the leaves are crushed an’ crumpled up - With crinkled buds atween. - - They’ve got a sorto’ musty smell - That almost makes me sick, - For they ’mind me o’ the days in June - We got ’m ’long the crick. - - They wan’t no style about them tho’, - Like city flowers is-- - They’s jist the good ol’-time Wil’-Rose - That God set out fer His. - - I stuck ’em in this Good Ol’ Book - Long ’fore they drooped an’ died, - An’ here each day they’ve smiled at me - When I have only cried. - - I touch ’em--an’ I touch her hand - That put ’em here in mine! - I see ’em--an’ I see her lips - More temptin’er ’an wine. - - ’T’s a sorto’ played-out ol’ bouquet, - Ol’-fashion’ roses too; - But then it’s beautif’ler to me - Than fresher ones to you. - - Jist let me look agin--’y jing! - I see her smile there yet! - Somehow it sorto’ all comes back, - An’ I see her smile there yet. - - They’re withered--sorto’ withered now, - They’ve got a musty smell; - So I must shet the book up tight - An’ set an’ wait a spell. - - - - - DOWN TO THE CANDY-MAN’S SHOP. - - - Here we go hippety-hop, - All for a stick of candy - Down to the candy-man’s shop-- - Tell you what he’s a dandy. - - All for a stick of candy - Hippety-hop we go. - Tell you what he’s a dandy - Givin’ us candy you know. - - Hippety-hop we go, - Head-over-heels in our hurry. - Givin’ us candy you know - Sets us all in a flurry. - - Head-over-heels in our hurry - Into the candy-man’s shop; - Sets us all in a flurry - Goin’ it hippety-hop. - - Into the candy-man’s shop - Everybody just tumbles, - Goin’ it hippety-hop, - ’Cause, you see, _he_ never grumbles. - - Everybody just tumbles - Makin’ the candy-man grin, - ’Cause, you see, _he_ never grumbles, - No matter how we come in. - - Makin’ the candy-man grin, - Here we are crowdin’ and pushin’; - No matter how we come in - He knows the wush we’re a-wushin’. - - * * * * * - - _Return._ - - L-l-lp! but that’s better’n ma’s jelly, - Down to the candy-man’s shop! - Hang to my hand now, Nellie,-- - Here we go hippety-hop. - - - - - LIFE TO LOVE. - - _A Triolet._ - - - It is life just to love - With a heart’s true devotion: - ’Tis the great law Above. - It is life just to love,-- - For the soul just to move - With a sweet, wild emotion. - It is life just to love - With a heart’s true devotion. - - - - - COME TO THE SHADOWS. - - _A Pantoum._ - - - Come to the shadows of eve - Falling like mantles around us; - Come where the winds ever weave - Songs in the tree-webs around us. - - Falling like mantles around us - Sweet chime the vespers of love; - Songs in the tree-webs around us - Waft from some Idean grove. - - Sweet chime the vespers of love - Borne by the zephyrs of even; - Waft from some Idean grove - Lydian measures of heaven. - - Borne by the zephyrs of even - Love in his quiver bears - Lydian measures of heaven, - Softest of musical airs. - - Love in his quiver bears - Aye when the star-flowers blossom - Softest of musical airs, - Night folding Day to his bosom. - - Aye when the star-flowers blossom - Love sings the sweetest of themes; - Night folding day to his bosom - Lies down to rapturous dreams. - - Love sings the sweetest of themes - Bidding my heart that yet never - Lies down to rapturous dreams - Fold thine own close to mine ever. - - * * * * * - - Out ’mid the dew-loved flowers - Come where the winds ever weave - Love in the web of the hours, - Come to the shadows of eve. - - - - - SOUL OF MY SOUL. - - - Out on the river that rolleth forever, - Floweth forever and moaneth for aye, - Floateth a sorrow that never shall borrow - Peace to release it from me to the sea. - - Sorrow that ever my sad heart’s quiver, - Sheathing alone this one arrow of woe, - Binds as the billow that never shall pillow - Crest on the breast of the moaning flow. - - O Stygian water, of heart-breakings fraughter, - Far more aburdened of mournful commotion - Than night is of stillness or Hell is of fellness, - Knoll thou and toll my ocean devotion! - - Dash thy dread roll ’gainst my turbulent soul, - Strike till its tones shall thy moanings control, - Bearing emotion as deep as the ocean - Unto the one who is soul of my soul!-- - - Unto the maiden whom angels of Aidenn, - Wandering over the strand of the blest, - Enviously stole from the heart of my soul, - Bore to thy shore and prest to thy breast. - - Let not thy plashing and turbulent dashing - Grate on the ear of my radiant Love; - Kiss her bright tresses with fondest caresses - Controlling thy rolling with love from above. - - Her fair form enfold on thy bosom cold, - Rowing her soft with thy Lethean oar; - Whisper, oh whisper, as winds of the wold - Unto the one whom they bore to thy shore. - - Farewell, fair Minevr! soft over the river - Unto thy rest shall the waves gently roll, - Where never forever death-rivers dissever - Heart from fond heart, or thy soul from my soul. - - - - - MINCE PIE. - - - Tell me not in great big _numbers_ - Facts can never _lie_; - For no fact in muddled slumbers - _Lies_ so heavy as mince pie. - - - - - TEARS AND LAUGHTER. - - - Tears are often liveries stolen - From the equipage of grief; - Nor in Anger’s red eyes swollen - Do they e’er disguise the thief. - - Tears are often pettish, Darling, - Like the foamy fretting run; - Like the foam they sparkle, Darling, - At the kisses of the sun. - - Tears, true tears, are sad and lonely - Like the ocean’s music bars; - Like the music, vanish only - With the cycles of the stars. - - Tears are often pent-up gladness, - Like the clouds that hold the bow; - Like the clouds they use their sadness - That their joys may better show. - - Tears may often be imploring - Like the waves that kiss the skies; - Like the waves, for’er adoring, - They reflect their loved one’s eyes. - - Tears? They are but kin to laughter, - Wedded as the night and day; - Like the day and night, each after - Each prepares the other’s way. - - - - - MIST-WING. - - - Oh my heart was light and airy - Like the mist-wing of the fairy - That I loved; - And I sang with song enchanting, - For the angel I was wanting - Dwelt above. - - And I fain had clasped the maiden - In her mist-winged robes of Aidenn - With my love; - But my eyes were blind with gleamings, - And my hands, bound fast by dreamings, - Would not move. - - Then my heart, with horror filling, - Mid-leap froze with awful chilling - Like to death; - For upon her mist-wings thrilling - Did a demon blow his chilling, - Blasting breath. - - Where my Mist-Wing fair was ferried - There my hope and heart lie buried, - Turned to stone; - There the dreams of bygones cheery - Drone a dreary, ceaseless, weary - Monotone. - - Where my fairy floats forever - O’er the ripples of the river, - Bound in sleep, - There my fondest fancies follow - And with haunting features hollow - Vigils keep. - - From a star a light is streaming - In her golden tresses gleaming - Fair as Hope; - Fade the phantoms faster, faster, - From the Morning-star, life’s vaster - Horoscope. - - She is waking, waking, waking, - And my soul and body breaking - Swift apart. - Joy! my spirit soon shall hold her - And forever more enfold her, - Heart to heart. - - - - - THE COMMON LOT. - - _Choriambic._ - - - Sweet bird, sitting so sad singing your song there on the limb - alone, - Why make all the sad world sympathize with every mournful tone? - - Ah yes! weep then, my dear, over the loss of the dear one you love: - All hearts weep with you, dear, weep for some heart lured to the - land above. - - Yet not even the deep river of tears rolls from the heart the - stone; - No, naught save the white-robed Angel of Hope born of the soul - alone. - - O dove! mourning alone, croon to the moon over the one you love; - O soul! Hope is thine own, throned in the white dome of thy home - above! - - - - - ECHO SONG. - - - Echo, be not heartless, I implore you, - Listen to my woe; - And I’ll evermore, as now, adore you - (Tho’ that augurs that I sometimes bore you) - For I fain would know - What’s to be done. - --“Be done!” - - Oh but, sir, I must beseech, entreat you - That you hear me through.-- - If a rare and radiant maid should meet you - And with smiles and wiles and pranks should greet you, - Pray, what’s one to do - When one sees her? - “Seize her!” - - But I’m not quite well enough acquainted - With her, don’t you see? - Echo, when her lily face is painted - (On my soul), and at my heart she’s _feinted_, - And I’m blind as she, - How can I seize her? - “See, sir.” - - But alas! the laws of Love prohibit - That his subjects see; - And besides, explicitly inhibit - Other sight than blindness to exhibit. - What then? I can ne - “See,” nor “seize her.” - “Cease, sir.” - - But, friend Echo (for you are most truly - Friend and counselor), - Love’s commands must all be followed duly - (Tho’ himself most blind and most unruly); - Hence I can’t “see,” sir, - “Cease,” nor “seize her.” - “Cæsar!” - - Yes, that’s what I’ve been ejaculating, - But it’s idle breath. - Now, if this consuming passionating - Doesn’t stop its wild peregrinating - It’ll be my death. - Must I let it? - “Let it!” - - Friend should answer friend more seriously - Nor play upon _grave_ words. - She’s affected quite as amorously - As who wakens you thus clamorously - With love’s scattered sherds, - Seeking surcease-- - “Sir, cease!” - - Nay, I _will not_ cease till satisfaction - Is obtained from you. - Tell me what to do in this distraction - And I’ll vary from it not a fraction.-- - Truth is, there are two-- - Ann and Mary. - “Marry!” - - Tell me, Echo, O sweet Echo, tell me, - Oh and truly tell - What sweet thralling charm should most impel me - That no other wight may quite excel me - When I choose my belle - For matrimony-- - “Money.” - - Tell me then without equivocation - If you value health, - Swear it by the hills, your habitation, - Whence you issue like an exhalation,-- - Which one has the wealth? - Truly answer-- - “Ann, sir.” - - Thanks to thee, sweet Echo, Love’s pathfinder! - We shall never part. - Forthwith I will hie me forth and find her - And the wealthiest jingling love-songs wind her - Till I win her heart - _And_ earn her _mine_.-- - “_Ann!_--dern her _mine_!” - - [This last he hears in after years.] - - - - - THE HAUNTED HOUSE. - - - Hope and Love have gone away - Closing every window-blind, - Locking every door behind, - Bearing off the key. - - Tenantless the musty house - Throws on passers-by its gloom; - Nor in any haunted room - Dares a living mouse. - - Old and mouldy there it stands - All mysterious and lone - With its mosses overgrown-- - Ruin’s myriad hands. - - Useless grow the choking weeds - While the winding eglantine - And the morning-glory vine - Scatter wild their seeds. - - Times there are when winds, hard pressed, - Gibber at the ghosts within, - Hollow-voiced with staring grin, - Uninvited guests. - - Rumor, waking night and day, - Sees strange sights through window-panes, - Hears weird sounds of clanking chains - Sounding far away. - - Rumor tells that Hope and Love - Walk the ghosts of murdered selves - When the midnight hour twelves: - Empty rooms they rove. - - But malicious town-folk say - Hope and Love are not away - But art hiding day by day: - Murderers are they! - - But alas! I would ’twere so!-- - Would that Hope and Love each might, - Might return e’en tho’ at night, - Tho’ at morn they go! - - For Despair and Hate hide there, - Quiet thro’ the daytime quite, - Ghosting sights and sounds by night, - Demons of the air. - - Counterfeiters both are they, - Coining only after night, - Minting metal ghostly white, - Holding revelry. - - Aye, ’tis haunted! Hate is wed, - Wedded to his mate Despair, - And they hold high revels there: - Hope and Love are dead! - - Good my friends, remove the pile, - Ere it fall to foul decay; - Hope and Love have gone away, - Ruin feeds the while. - - Hope and Love have gone away, - Closing door and closing blind, - Leaving Ruin lone behind, - Bearing off the key. - - - - - SONNETS OF LIFE. - - - I. - - A brilliant battle Darkness fought with Light, - A brilliant battle all the living day; - The Sun, awearied in the deadly fray, - Sank vanquished ’neath his armored foeman’s might, - But flung his arms far up the black’ning height, - From the quiver of the planets joyously - Drew forth his arrows, star-tipped, feathery, - And pierced the iron-plated breast of Night - With ten thousand starry-spangled blades of fire. - Night, wounded by the arrows of the Sun, - Poured out ten thousand streams of living blood - That dripped from every fire-tipped arrow dire - Down in the sorrowing sea; and the wounds each one - And the arrows all lay skyed in the doming flood. - - - II. - - Triumphant Darkness stretched his blackened height - Along the ground of heaven; all bleeding lay - Grim Night upon the heaving breast of Day, - Exulting with a demon’s own delight. - Reviving Sun again, with heaven-born might, - Upflung his hands, far up the eastern gray, - From the shining quiver of Divinity - Drew forth his shafts, white-hot with God’s own light, - And pierced the mail of Night, blood-rusting red, - With countless dazzling fire-tipped darts of gold. - Down into the Lethal power of Chaos dread - Sank vanquished Night with all the damned dead! - And ever over Darkness, ages old, - Triumphant ruleth Light,--the great Godhead! - - - SYMBOLS IN SONNETS OF LIFE. - -On submitting this poem to critics, I find that various ideas are -gleaned. Some take it as a literal description of night and day, or -light and darkness! Others think that it celebrates the victory of -truth over error, right over wrong, virtue over vice, or possibly the -triumph of learning over ignorance, or civilization over barbarism. -This is not so surprising; for I confess it does, indeed, admit -various interpretations. Some say that in its obscurity, though in -nothing else, it somewhat resembles the work of some great poet. -The only consolation that I can squeeze out of all these various -opinions is that obscurity and occultness synchronously attend upon -and are concomitant with both iconographic delineations and symbolical -phraseology. ’Tis _said_ ’tis so,--and so ’tis sad! - -“Sing a song o’ six-pence, pocket full of rye, four and twenty -black-birds baked in a pie,” etc., is comparatively meaningless, tho’ -pleasing, unless we know what is symbolized. The “pie” is the _day_, -the “four and twenty black-birds” are the twenty-four _hours_ of the -_day_, etc., etc. The symbols thus completed give a new beauty to that -old jingle. In fact, it was that identical jingle with its symbols that -suggested _Sonnets of Life_. - -As the title and staring Carlylean capitals throughout suggest, I -intended this poem to be a sort of _Analogue of Life_. In consequence -of all the foregoing, and for the delectation of those who care to read -the piece a second time, I have subjoined these - - - _Symbols and Notes._ - - I. - - _Darkness_,--death. - _Light_,--life (on earth). - _day_,--one’s duration of life. - _Sun_,--one’s life. - _black’ning height_,--hour of death. - _quiver of the planets_,--thoughts, desires, longings, hopes. - _arrows_,--faith in the future. - _iron-plated breast of Night_,--gloom of one’s death. - _streams of living blood_,--hope others receive from the - Christian’s death. - _dire_,--i. e., _dire_ only to Darkness. - _sorrowing sea_,--sorrowing friends. - _skyed in the doming flood_,--acts, deeds, words, hopes, etc., - of the dead, reflected in - humanity and especially in the - hearts of friends. - - - II. - - _Reviving Sun_,--soul, on morning of resurrection. - _eastern gray_,--dawning of the morning of the resurrection - day. - _mail of Night_,--sleep of death. - _Last sonnet_ closes all life on earth, triumphs over death, - and brings the resurrection day. - _Last two lines_ begin and indefinitely extend the Life - Eternal. - -This may aid somewhat. Too close an interpretation cannot be permitted -in any poem: ’twould make some of the most exquisite poetic thought of -literature ridiculous and nonsensical. The true poetic nature never -needs more in the interpretation of any poem than the title and the -naked poem itself to _suggest_ thoughts and images infinitely more -beautiful than explanation can possibly make them. - - - - - A MODERN TRAGEDY AVERTED. - - - HE (_in despondency_). - - Heartless! heartless! Oh, - I know! - Tho’ your heart forget me - And my own be turned to stone; - Tho’ no day may let me - Claim my loved one as my own, - Still my heart is true - To you, - Still is true, - Still is true! - - - SHE (_faithfully_). - - Heartless?--heartless!--So? - Ah no! - Tho’ long years divide us - With the burdened stream of care; - Tho’ the waves deride us - With a still unanswered prayer, - Still my heart is true - To you, - Still is true, - Still is true. - - - HE (_joyously_). - - Then not heartless?! No! - No, no! - If I’ve wronged you, Dearest, - ’Tis because I’m mad for love; - ’Tis that you are nearest - When my thoughts in madness move. - Still my heart is true - To you, - Still is true, - Still is true. - - - SHE (_flippantly_). - - Then not heartless? No! - Not so! - Tho’ you gave the treasure - Of your very life to me, - I thus at my pleasure - Give it back to you, you see!-- - Still my heart is true - To you, - Still is true, - Still is true. - - - HE (_bitterly and sadly_). - - Heartless! heartless! Oh - ’Tis so! - All the world is dreary: - Stars and love have ceased to shine; - Oh the weary, weary - Night that endlessly is mine!-- - Still my heart is true - To you, - Still is true, - Still is true. - - - SHE (_tauntingly_). - - Ha! I’m heartless, tho’? - No, no! - I was only funning - And I didn’t mean it once;-- - Never thought of running - Into love, you great big dunce.-- - ’Course, my heart is true - To you, - Still is true, - Still is true! - - - HE (_in despair_). - - Heartless! heartless! Flow, - My woe! - Oh this life is bitter!-- - Poison, river, rope, or gun-- - Any death is fitter - Than two hearts thus dead in one.-- - Still my heart is true - To you, - Still is true, - Still is true. - - - _She_ (_in fear, imploringly_). - - No! not heartless! No! - No, no! - I am true as ever;-- - Oh _don’t_ take your precious life - And I’ll be forever - Your own darling little wife.-- - Still my heart is true - To you, - Still is true, - Still is true. - - - - - THE HUMAN HEART. - - - _Birth._ - - Laughter is music and music is kin to laughter: - The heart has forgotten its tears; - For life is but death, and Death is the Life hereafter-- - God is revolving the years. - - - _Joy on Account of Birth._ - - With a rose-bud goblet the Morning stands glowing and burning, - Sipping the heart’s night dew; - Through dream-laded lashes the flashes of joy are returning-- - God is letting them through. - - - _Sorrow on Account of Death._ - - With a Spade all golden the Night of Sorrow is digging - Deep in the heart’s confines: - A Dream drifts out with a sable shroud and rigging-- - God is working the mines! - - - _Soul Passes Beyond._ - - In the hands of the angels the cymballine stars are clinking - A wealth of music untold: - For the Rising of Life, as the sun, must follow its sinking-- - God has coined His gold! - - - _L’Envoy._ - - Oh, laughter is music, and both are akin to sorrow,-- - The heart holds the songs of the spheres; - For life is but death, and Death is the Life to-morrow-- - God is speeding the years. - - - - - THE NIGHTMARE. - - - In the depths of my ink bottle, - With a fiery gleaming throttle - Stood a fierce and ghoulish demon all the day; - And the murky ink was lighted - With a fiendish fire that blighted - Every sprite of good that on its bosom lay. - - And my pen, from Love’s own quiver, - Wrought of gold, began to shiver - With a fearful quaking terror born of death - As I touched the hellish-lighted - Surface of the Ink that frighted - Pluto’s self and stole Persephone’s sweet breath. - - Hour after fearful hour - Stood that blasting, fiendish power - In whose grasp my golden pen was ground to dust. - Oh, the wasting, endless season - Chilling heart and killing reason - As the gloating demon glutted full his lust! - - “Golden Pen that Love had given, - Wrought of gold from my heart riven, - Thus my palsied, broken heart must bury thee - In the fiendish ink, made blacker - By the demon’s fiery lacquer - On the surface of its dark uncertainty.” - - Then a shadow came before me - And a loathing sickness o’er me - As the demon sank below and out of sight; - For I saw a stream of gold - That the demon could not hold - To the bottom of the darkness drip its light. - - Then I knew that never, never - Would Love’s gold-illumined quiver - Bind again the shaft the demon could not hold; - For I saw a radiance shining - ’Round the place, and angels twining - Strange and all-eternal Beauty of the gold! - - Darkness reigned then, deep, unlighted, - Silence sitting near, half-frighted - By the demon’s disappointed distant wail - And far-off mingled angel voices - Tuned to music that rejoices - In the glory of a love that cannot fail. - - * * * * * - - Morning?--Thank God that all our seeing - And our seeming is not being! - Dear wife, let your warm cheek still against mine lie - While your loving arms and kisses - Doubly tell what loving bliss is.-- - Warning:--Before you go to bed, don’t eat mince pie! - - - - - “FALSE WOMANKIND!” - - ON READING A SLUR THAT WAS MADE ON HER BY THE LACK-LOVE GAY, OF QUEEN - ANNE’S DAY. - - - “False womankind, false womankind!” - Thus wails and rails a many a blind - And foolish heart, too long confined - Where light and love have never shined. - E’en sweetest Shakespeare’s pen, embrined - With biting bitterness of mind, - “As false as woman’s love,” has whined. - --Unkind the cut, the heart unkind. - - “False womankind, false womankind!”-- - I hurl the lie back from my mind - To those who thus a wreath have twined - Of roseless thorns to crown and bind - A sister’s crown, or mother’s kind - And sainted brow;--or twine and wind - It, thorns and all, round heart and mind - Of sweetheart-wife in love enshrined. - - False, false the charge and false the mind - That ever says “False womankind!” - For the pæan ages wind - Unto me this truth they find - In the heart of humankind, - In the human heart enshrined:-- - “None so false and none so blind - As whose loveless pens have lined - - “What the heart has undermined, - ‘False womankind, false womankind!’ - None so true as _her_ we find: - None so pure of heart and mind, - None so sweet and so refined, - None so great and good and kind, - None so in the heart enshrined - As womankind, as womankind!” - - - - - LONELY! - - TO ---- (LONG AGO DEAD.) - - - I am lonelier, lonelier, Dear, to-day - Than ever I’ve been before: - And the restless old ocean, foam-fretted alway, - Moans only of days of yore. - - But somehow my heart is so sad in life’s whirl, - And my life is so shut in its shell, - Tho’ it heal every wound o’er with purest of pearl - Of naught but the sea will it tell. - - Oh, lonely and lorn as the bittern’s boom, - I haunt every solitude known, - Only to find from the wide world’s room - A nameless something has flown. - - I know not the reason, and fear nor I care; - I only know I am lonelier, Dear, - As over the well-wonted moorland I fare, - Than ever the death-wept tear. - - How lonely, Dear! how long the time!-- - But I’ll bear it, I’ll bear it for thee, - That at last I may join in the glad-voiced chime - Far out on the crystal sea. - - - - - I’SE SEEN A LIGHT IN DE SKY. - - (A PLANTATION MELODY.) - - - Oh I’se gittin’ ol’ an’ grizzled, - An’ I haint got long to stay; - My head hab got to noddin’ - An’ I haint right well noway. - Oh I’se gwine, gwine to leab you, - An’ doan’ you chillun cry; - Oh I know I’se gwine to leab you - Caze I’se seen a light in de sky! - - - _Chorus._ - - Oh yes! in de white clouds floatin’ high, - Oh yes! caze I’se seen a light in de sky! - Oh I,-- - Oh I’se seen-- - I’se seen a light,-- - I’se seen a light in de sky! - Oh I’se gwine away to leab you, - An’ doan’ you chillun cry! - Oh I know I’se gwine to leab you - Caze I’se seen a light in de sky! - - Oh dat light am a-gittin’ brightah, - An’ de cloud am a-comin’ nigh,-- - Oh I know hits de angels comin’ - Fer to carry me home on high. - Oh dese eyes dey’ll nebber see you,-- - Hoh my chillun doan’ you cry!-- - Twell dey wake in de happy mawnin, - Caze I’se seen a light in de sky! - - - _Chorus._ - - Oh yes! in de white clouds floatin’ high, - Oh yes! caze I’se seen a light in de sky! - Oh I,-- - Oh I’se seen-- - I’se seen a light,-- - I’se seen a light in de sky! - Oh I’se gwine away to leab you, - An’ doan’ you chillun cry! - Oh I know I’se gwine to leab you - Caze I’se seen a light in de sky! - - Oh good-bye to de ol’ plantation, - De mawnin’ am growin’ gray!-- - Oh good-bye, an’ stop yo’ weepin’,-- - De mawnin’ am breakin’ Day! - Oh yes! in de heaben dat’s comin’ - I’ll meet you by-an’-by!-- - Hoh yes! in de happy mawnin’, - Caze you’ll see de Light in de sky! - - - _Chorus._ - - Oh yes! in de white clouds floatin’ high! - Oh yes! caze you’ll see de Light in de sky! - Oh I,-- - Oh I’se seen-- - I’se seen a light,-- - I’se seen a light in de sky! - Oh I’se gwine, gwine to leab you, - But I’ll meet you by-an’-by! - Oh I know I’se gwine to meet you, - Caze I’se seen a light in de sky. - - - - - FAMILY OF THE EPHEMERA. - - (To be read in connection with the following poem, “Shut In.”) - - -Somewhere, sometime, I know not when or where, I have heard a strangely -beautiful and beautifully strange and altogether wonderful story--a -story of a pygmy people. - -In the long, long ago that has slipped into the lethal tide of the flow -of Time where even the years have forgotten the rolling chime that -they used to sing to the shore of a heavenly clime (and where poets -don’t ever, nor ever, nor ever rhyme), whence even Tradition, asleep, -forgets to climb, so long ago that I don’t know but that the time still -antedates all dates, there lived the Family of the Ephemera. - -As the sun came up in the morning, the race came into existence. -During the night, a toad-stool of wonderful dimensions had sprung up, -and beneath this over-shadowing phenomenon, built by the genii of -darkness, the first glint of the new day’s sun kissed the first born of -a new race--the Adam and Eve of the Family called Ephemera. - -As the sun arose, and ere, e’en years ere it showed its lower disk, -the family increased most startingly. The whole of their known world -was peopled. They developed the resources of their vast little land. -They cultivated the soil. They delved in the mines for gold. They -carried on commerce with their widely scattered selves. They built -homes and cities. Their cities were magnificent, their houses built of -exquisitely carved and polished stone quarried from a grain of sand. -Each window was made of the filmy iridescence of a single sunbeam, and -curtained with richly embroidered tapestries woven from threads of the -delicate shadow cast by a single ray of spectral purple. Their tables -were filled with all the rich and dainty micros of the land. Withal, -they were a happy, though barbarous people. - -The sun arose. Men of the present generation had already grown -gray-headed, while myriads of their posterity were just starting on -their paths. Generation after generation had already come and gone, -each leaving the wealth of its history, its experience, its scientific -researches, its learning to the inheritants of the next. - -Centuries to them came and went, governments grew old, decayed, and -passed into tradition, while others sprang up in their places;--for to -this strange and fast-living people, our moments were days, our seconds -were months, our minutes were years, our hours were centuries, and our -days were ages untold that lap the two ends of time into one unbroken -eternity. - -The sun was mid-forenoon. The Family of the Ephemera had grown old -and wise. They pointed with vaunting pride to their intelligence and -prosperity, to their grand achievements reaching down the long, -fretted colonnades of history and vanishing in the dim perspective of -tradition’s mystery. They looked upon all around, beneath, and above -them, and rejoiced that all was for them. Their wise philosophers -pointed to the sun and said, “All for us!” They told and taught how -that great sun had always remained in its present place; for even in -the memory of the oldest inhabitants no one had ever known the sun to -be in other place than now. Nay, even history knew it not. They said, -however, that there was a tradition, but not authenticated by history -nor by later scientific investigation, that the sun long, long æons ago -had occupied a position nearer the horizon. They showed how and why -all things were made for them; how the great toad-stool, towering an -immeasurable distance above them, had been placed on earth for them, -and them alone, and philosophized how it was impossible for another -to exist in the universe. They rejoiced that their little world was -created, and endowed with all its richest blessings, for none other -than them. They were a happy people, and prosperous. Their want of -wisdom made them more happy and more prosperous. - -Centuries came and went. The sun stood in the zenith. So stood the -race of Ephemera. Wiser philosophers than those of the mid-forenoon -of their existence still pointed toward the great red sun, and said, -“It was always _there_; it was made for _us_!” Crowns crumbled. New -nations arose as from chaos, flourished, and died. Others took their -places. Schools had always been tolerated. They were now fostered. They -pointed their telescopes toward the mighty fret-work of the toad-stool -above them, and computed the number of huge radial beams that supported -its broad outer rim. The students of the universities and colleges -delved deep into the lore of their ancestral nations. They studied -history; they read their poets; they reasoned and computed with their -mathematicians; they looked down into the earth and up into the heavens -with their philosophers, and, withdrawing to their own narrow cells, -they said, “All for us, all for us!” - -The sun passed the zenith, declining to the west. The race declined! -Still, philosophers said, pointing to the sun, “’Twas alway thus; ’twas -made for us!” - -They said Time was for them, and them alone. They could not conceive -another similar or a different people. With prophecy, they looked into -the future. They claimed that, also: for a hope and a faith, placed -in their hearts at their creation, had grown and strengthened, that -they should all meet again in another world, a brighter and a better -world, all for them, all for them. The gods, with whom they peopled all -things, watched over and guarded them, and them alone. - -The sun sank low. The lower limb touched the horizon. With the going -down of the sun, the race decayed in its old age. As the last ray of -sun passed over the land of the Ephemera, only two of this strange -Family, wandering hand in hand, old and lone, turned their eyes to the -waning light of the west, and sank to rest as the ray shot up and out -into the unfathomed sky beyond, and glinted its gold on the clinking -stars, the beautiful golden gates of the sable and iron-bound night! - -Thus passed away the Family of the Ephemera. Strange, strange story! -A race wrapped up in themselves, never dreaming that there might be -innumerable other realms like their little own; that there might be -peoples on peoples beyond their ken in worlds unknown as superior to -them as the gods of Olympus were superior to the Romans. - -A strange, strange story!--for we are looking through an inverted -microscope, the large end at the eye, and the small end turned upon -Time, Events, and the Human race! - - - - - SHUT IN. - - - I. - - Oh the narrowness man has been born to descry in, - Where the convex surface of every eye, - Even unto the night of the day we shall die in, - Still perfectly fits in the concave sky! - - - II. - - I wonder sometimes if the star-illusions - We see at first glance in the infinite sky, - Are not the suggestions, the far-intrusions, - Of systems on systems beyond the eye. - - I wonder if ever the thought may confound them - Who inhabit a silvery orb of mist, - Seeing myriads of silvery others around them, - That myriads on myriads more may exist. - - Oh say, do the sprites of each tiny frost-crystal - That burns with the pent-up fire of suns - Ever dream or imagine the same holy vestal - Is burning in myriads of similar ones? - - Do the spirits that dwell in the dust of a sun-beam, - As each in its course like a planet whirls, - Ever know they are bathed in the light of but _one_ beam - From the sun of but _one_ mighty system of worlds? - - - III. - - Oh the narrowness man has been born to descry in, - And the infinite bounds of his hopes and desires! - Even unto the night of the day he shall die in - Aspiring and falling he still aspires. - - But I know in my heart that in worlds elysian - The convex surface of every eye, - With a perfected soul and an infinite vision, - Will range o’er a perfected, infinite sky. - - - IV. - - For I dreamed a dream, in the midnight quiet, - Of a golden day in a happy time; - And my thoughts leaped up at the dream-god’s fiat - And sang in my heart this golden chime:-- - - O rise thou my soul, look beyond thy dark prison, - The warder is shifting the mortal bars; - An infinite sun in the east has arisen, - There’s an infinite system beyond the stars. - - - - - SONG OF THE STARS. - - - I dreamed one night when the golden stars, - Like an eastern maid o’er her soft kanoon, - Leaned out of their skyey bowers above - And sang in sweet measures an olden tune. - - I dreamed the sweetest of dreams that night;-- - And the portals of heaven seemed opening wide - As the music grew sweeter and nearer each note - And rose and fell like the swell of the tide. - - Ah the beautiful, beautiful stars of that night, - And the beautiful music they left in my heart - Shall brighten and brighten forever and aye - And never forever my soul shall depart. - - At the soft dream-touch of the finger-tips - On the harps of air by the heavenly throng, - The deep silence merged into soft music-waves, - And I heard in my heart this beautiful song:-- - - Dream, dream, - Youth and maiden, - Beam, beam, - Stars love-laden.-- - We are the beautiful portals of love, - Beautiful, beautiful portals above - Whence all the glories of heaven shine: - Turn your eyes, turn, turn, turn your eyes, - Turn them to the happy skies - And drink with them sweet love divine. - - Dream, dream, - Youth and maiden, - Beam, beam, - Stars love-laden.-- - Youth, in the depths of thy soul do thou pray, - Pray for thy guidance in Love’s lighted way, - Kneeling at radiant Love’s holy shrine: - Turn thine eyes, turn, turn, turn thine eyes, - Turn them to the happy skies - And drink with them sweet love divine. - - Dream, dream, - Youth and maiden, - Beam, beam, - Stars love-laden.-- - Maiden, still not the sweet throbs of thy heart,-- - Throbs _his_ caresses and words sweetly start,-- - When he is hoping and longing for thine: - Turn thine eyes, turn, turn, turn thine eyes, - Turn them to the happy skies - And drink with them sweet love divine. - - Dream, dream, - Youth and maiden, - Beam, beam, - Stars love-laden.-- - Youth, seek the heart of the one at thy side - And into thy sky shall a bright vision glide,-- - A star that shall ever for thee alone shine: - Turn thine eyes, turn, turn, turn thine eyes, - Turn them to the happy skies - And drink with them sweet love divine. - - I woke from the dream at the tide of the morn, - And beheld the sweet vision that filled my dreams.-- - That vision, My Star, thro’ a long, happy life - Is guiding my steps with its golden beams. - - No longer, no longer a vision or dream, - I clasp My Sweet Love to my heart all my own;-- - But still I can hear the sweet music that fell - From the stars that night on our hearts alone. - - - - - I WONDER. - - - I wonder sometimes if ever - The music God has sent - Will get into my heart and stay there - As I think he surely meant. - - Can the voice of Laughter enter - The form where Death has been?-- - Whence the spirit of Love has departed, - Can Music’s charms come in? - - There’s an ache in my heart that daily - Goes out in earnest quest - Of the spirit of Love that has left me - In the sadness of unrest. - - Oh, I wonder sometimes if ever - That spirit of Love will return, - And rekindle my heart’s dead ashes,-- - Inspirit the dust of the urn. - - I fear that the spirit would enter - The ashes in ghostly quest, - And set but the bones into motion, - The ghost of Love at the best. - - Are the rivers, I wonder, ever - Brought back by the clouds from the sea - To flow in the same old channels - Over the dregs and debris? - - The love of my heart has departed-- - The river has run to the sea;-- - And I wonder sometimes if its waters - Will ever come back to me. - - Lo, there in my heart’s dead channels - Lie the stagnant pools of Time; - And I see the debris at the bottom, - The dregs and the rotting slime. - - I wonder if ever the rivers, - The rivers that run to the sea, - Flow just as sweet on returning - Over the dregs and debris? - - Somehow, a thought in my spirit - Comes up from the stagnant fen - That the music of Heaven shall never - Be heard in its waters again! - - Yet I wonder each day as I wander - Along where the stream used to be - If the waters won’t sometime come back there - And dredge out the dregs and debris. - - It may be! ’Tis a long time coming,-- - Too long, I fear,--too long!-- - For Love’s River must sing its music - In hearts that have never gone wrong. - - Oh, will the Waters returning, - Borne by the Clouds from the Sea, - Run just as sweetly as ever - Over the Dregs and Debris? - - - - - IF SO, PEACE TILL NEXT NEW-YEAR. - - (A DIRGE.) - - - The New Year!--hark! the bell!--oh it - Is at last here! - A solemn hush! The world sits still - With breath abated as the poet - Of the New Year - Takes an anti-bilious pill! - - - - - MY DEFEAT. - - _Sweeter than any sung - My songs that found no tongue._ - WHITTIER: _My Triumph_. - - - In the universe swept by the eyes of my soul, - Swim a myriad luminous stars and suns; - And swift through my brains burning æther they roll - Like the infinite trains of the heavenly ones. - - In my dreams I outstretch my vain arms with delight - For the forms of the angels that sing round my bed; - But alas! for the chorus of seraphs take flight - And beckon me whither but angels may tread. - - And I muse with my heart when my mind sits a-dream - While vibrations of light from the heavenly cars - Fleet swift thro’ the arms of my soul in bright gleam, - And leave me upreaching for aye tow’rd the stars. - - - - - THERE’S A LAUGH. - - - There’s the laugh of the fiend that shrivels the heart, - That burns out the eyes from their sockets of fire, - That crackles the skin and parches the breath - And bellows and shrieks with demoniac ire. - - There’s the laugh of the hobgoblin, demon of night, - That frightens the children to silence their sobs, - That rings in their ears to the end of life, - And at night in their hearts like the death-watch throbs. - - There’s the wild, screeching laugh from the madman’s lips - When his eyes wildly start from his reechy brain, - That haunts us, tho’ try to forget as we will, - And pierces the heart with a dagger of pain. - - There’s the unearthly laugh and the sickening leer - Of the idiot--wretched Unfortunate! dead - Before born, the live sepulchre of unknown crimes, - The tomb of the lives generations have led! - - There’s the blasting, blistering, withering laugh - That blights e’en the heart wherein it is born, - That bubbles and sputters and hisses and spits - As it falls from the scorching lips of scorn. - - There’s a strange, weird laugh, even tho’ from a child, - That gurgles and sticks in the sleeper’s thick breath, - That startles the shivering silence with awe - And dies in the throat like the rattle of death. - - There’s a laugh, like the wind’s cracked whistle, that creaks - And squeaks on the worn-out pipes of old age; - And a sigh heaves up from the heart full sad, - For we know what the ominous sounds presage. - - There’s the free, wild laugh that bounds as the deer-- - As free as the leap of the hart and as wild-- - ’Tis the laugh that I love with my heart and my soul, - The sweet, wild laugh of an innocent child. - - There’s the laugh that I love, the balm of tired hearts, - That quiets the fluttering temples of care; - ’Tis the soft, soothing laugh from the sweet lips of Love, - And it falls like a blessing that answers prayer. - - There’s the sweetest of laughs full of music divine - That gladdens the heart and the throbbing brain; - I would give--oh what would I not, were it mine, - But to hear the sweet laugh of my mother again. - - - - - TO SLEEP. - - - Soft on thy breast - Where the soul in oblivious quiet may dream - While it sweeps up to heaven on a star-born beam, - There would I rest, - So peacefully rest, - Oh rest, - Rest!-- - Asleep on thy breast, - Asweep to the blest - In a dream - On the gleam - Of a star - In the cradle-rocked billows of azure afar. - - - - - WHEEL AND SHUTTLE. - - _Spin: God will send thee flax._--PROVERB. - - [Although differing slightly from his literal experience, - nevertheless to the boy, long ago grown to manhood, who used - to cling to his mother’s dress, and fretfully toddle back and - forth as she patiently sent the big wheel whirring and then - ran backwards with her lengthening thread, then forwards, and - so on, hour after hour, spinning threads for the home-loom, - this poem, with its application to life, has in it the - pleasing scent of the roses of recollection, intoxicating even - to sadness.] - - - “Spin, spin!” - The warp is in - And the shuttle never slacks: - Let thy fingers never rest, - Heed the weaver’s stern behest, - “Spin, spin!” - While the woof is weaving in, - God will send thee flax. - - “Spin, spin!” - The wheels begin, - And the distaff never lacks: - Let thy spindle’s endless thrum - Fill the shuttles as they hum - “Spin, spin!” - While the woof is weaving in, - God will send thee flax. - - “Spin, spin!”-- - Thy fingers thin - Let the carded threads relax! - Lo! the wheel is standing dumb, - For the loom has ceased its grum - “Spin, spin!”-- - Aye, the woof is woven in, - God has sent thee flax! - - - - - THE PRESS OF PENURY. - - - Out of the Press of Penury - The choicest wines have flowed - To rouse a nation’s blood - To statesmanship or poesy. - - (Nor less to hearts the poet’s cause - Than statesman’s counseling:-- - If but a people sing, - I care not who shall make the laws.) - - With every cycling sun that slips - Through all its winding turns, - Some Lincoln or some Burns - Still lifts his spirit to our lips. - - - - - HALLOWEEN. - - AN INVITATION SENT TO A LADY, OCT. 31. - - - I wad na gang alane to-night - An’ leave alane a lassie - Where pixies, elves, an’ goblins fight - An’ drink their bogie tassie. - - Sae come wi’ me an’ gang awa’ - Where oufe nor spook nor bogle - Hae ought o’ ill or guid to do - But flichter, blink, an’ ogle. - - Oh we’ll be merry like the lave - Tho’ Halloween be eerie, - An’ crack an’ jauk an’ giddy ’have - Wi’ Mrs. C---- till weary. - - - - - LIFE. - - _What is life?--’Tis a delicate shell - Thrown up by Eternity’s flow - On Time’s bank of quicksand to dwel. - And a moment its loveliness show. - Gone back to the elements grand - Is the billow that cast it ashore: - See! another is washing the strand, - And the beautiful shell is no more!_ - --_D. A._ - - - What is life?--’Tis the billow of bells - That the sea of eternity bears; - And in rapturous music it swells - As it kisses the sands of the years. - But the ripples are breaking in foam,-- - And the billow has ceased to be! - List! the billow, gone back to its home, - Is tolling down deep in the sea! - - - - - BORROWING BRAINS. - - - “Lend me your brains, lend me your brains,” - Screeched a highwayman goblin ’way down in his throat - As deep as he ever could dig up a note. - And his whole gang creaked and hoarsely screaked - Like a hinge that was rusty, and constantly shrieked - “Lend us your brains, lend us your brains,” - As they seized my mare’s head at the bit by the reins - - And a long-haired loon with a razory spoon - Clipped open my scalp just over my crown, - And the skull the same place, running crosswise and down; - And they hinged the two pieces with screechy brass bands - Where they singed off my hair by the touch of their hands: - And oh the pains, the pains, the pains, - When they flapped down the cover just back o’ my brains. - - My mother came by with a heart-rending cry, - And a wretch popped his eyes from the crown of his hat - As he squealed, “You’ll never again do that!” - And he sharpened his spoon on the sole of his shoon, - Did the long-beard lout by the liquidy moon; - And he severed her brain and her heart in twain - While the rest held me there in my helpless pain. - - And the long-beard loons with their long-eared spoons - Stood up on the top of my topless crown - And then leaped to the depths of the hollow turned down. - Oh they teetered and twinged on the part that was hinged, - And they shrieked with delight till the very air cringed - As they sang in their glee how smart they would be - When they got all my brains in their noddles, you see. - - And they reached their long spoons, the reechy old loons, - ’Way into the cavity made in my head, - And scraped, and scraped till they thought I was dead. - Oh the pains, the pains, the terrible pains - When they spooned from my skull every speck of my brains, - Then with spoons for their pries dragged both of my eyes - Through that hole in my head of such terrible size. - - Oh they thought they would be such poets, you see, - And such wonderful, marvelous scholars, you know, - When they planted my brains in their noddles to grow! - But my--oh--oh! what fools they were though! - For poets, you know, are like underdone dough-- - And oh--my--oh! what fools they were though - When they planted my brains in their noddles to grow! - - But they crammed every grain, their ill-gotten gain, - Clear down in the pokes of their pocket-like ears, - And turned over my eyes to their sages and seers. - But they soon rued they had the brains I had had - For they drove every one of them stark staring mad; - For the goblins, you see, went crazy, like me, - As mad as a March hare ever could be. - - To my greatest surprise they brought back my eyes - And put them both back as they always had been. - Since _Thought_ made them crazy, as each one had seen, - They restored me my brains with the greatest of _pains_, - And handed me back my mare’s bridle-reins; - Then away and up through the atmosphere flew - And left me as sound and as solid as new! - - And there _was_ no loon with a goblin spoon, - And there never has been and never will be. - Whether or not this happened to me, - It needn’t at all happen this way to all: - But whatever you do, or whatever befall, - _Un-less the gob-lins get your night-mare’s reins, - Don’t ev-er nor ev-er go lend-ing your brains!_ - - - - - SLEEP. - - - Dear Nurse that foldeth weary Nature to - Thy heart, and from tired eyes shutteth out the light, - E’en as a mother at the fall of night - Doth take her child upon her lap to undo - The snarls and tangles of the day, and woo - Away the sun-bred ills, and balm the sight - With visions of another world all bright, - Dear soothing healing Sleep! ’tis thee I sue. - Come, fold your arms about my Sweetheart-Wife; - Balm up her eyes that stare at staring Night; - Seal down her lids with sweet, refreshing gleams, - Or visions, rather, of the happy life - We’ve planned together; and leave her not till the light - Of morn, with me, shall kiss her from her dreams. - - - - - TO A WILD-ROSE BOUQUET. - - - Wild roses down the lane - Sweet Laeda gave in June, - To glad me - And to sad me, - Like shine and mingled rain - Atween the clouds aboon. - - - - - SONG ON THE SEA. - - - Merrily, merrily over the wave - We’ll laugh and we’ll sing as we’re bounding along, - Merrily, merrily, joyous and brave - We’ll echo the music of waves in our song:-- - Roll, roll, break, break, - Over the merrily musical waves, - Roll, roll, wake, wake - All the glad echoes that hide in their caves. - - Rocking and rolling the sea is our home - And joyous we shout from our billow-rocked boat; - Cleaving the breakers white-feathered with foam - We’ll set the sweet echoes of ocean afloat:-- - Roll, roll, break, break, - Over the merrily musical waves, - Roll, roll, wake, - All the glad echoes that hide in their caves. - - Merrily, merrily out of their caves - We’ll call the glad echoes sweet laughing along; - Merrily, merrily out on the waves - We’ll mingle the musical sea with our song:-- - Roll, roll, break, break, - Over the merrily musical waves, - Roll, roll, wake, wake - All the glad echoes that hide in their caves. - - - - - WOODLAND LAY. - - - Oh come to the woodland where joys reign supreme, - Where the zephyr’s soft kiss lightly touches the brow, - And the sun gently drops thro’ the leaves in a dream - And sleeps in the shade of the wide-spreading bough. - - Let the world plod along with its stern, solemn face, - With its brow deeply wrinkled with thought and with care; - Let the pleasures of life to-day’s business replace - While we list to the charm of its wild, joyous air. - - The murm’ring of brooks, the singing of birds, - The whisper of winds and the leaves soft reply, - The bleating of flocks and the lowing of herds, - The breathing of nature from earth to the sky-- - - All combine to make music with cadence as sweet - To the ear of the mortal, as the music of spheres, - Gentle wooed from the harp at Infinity’s feet - And as softly let fall on angelical ears. - - Like the soft flakes of snow as they fall on the deep, - The rhythmical notes adown tremblingly go - On the listening air, and as silently sleep - In the ocean of joys, where they melt as the snow. - - - - - IN THE ANGELS’ KEEP. - - - Let me not look on the dear, dead face, - I would not remember her so; - For her eyes are closed, and her hands are still, - And her lips can’t speak, you know! - - Let me remember her just as she lived, - And just as I’ll meet her above-- - With eyes that could talk and a touch that could soothe, - And a heart that was full of love. - - Let me remember her not as one dead, - But as one that has fallen asleep; - She will wake in the morning, I know, at my call, - Awake in the angels’ keep! - - - - - THOUGHT. - - _Thought alone is eternal._--YOUNG. - - - ’Tis the whisp’ring of angels, the brush of their wings; - ’Tis the flight of a soul from its fetters of clay - To the lighthouse of gold where the seraph Hope sings - And flings out its notes on life’s billowed bay. - - ’Tis the touch of Christ’s hand that upraiseth the dead; - ’Tis the breath breathed of God in the nostrils of man;-- - The stream that shall rise from its mould-made bed - And join with the clouds whence in rain-drops it ran. - - Tinged with sadness of mortals, it smells of the grave; - But the Childhood of Faith and the Mother of Hope, - It beckons to fields where the palm-groves wave - And the joy-studded gates of Jerusalem ope. - - - - - WHITE-ENTHRONED ABOVE ME. - - (ON A SMALL WHITE-ROSE BOUQUET PRESENTED BY A LADY AND PLACED - IN PALGRAVE’S “GOLDEN TREASURY,” OPPOSITE “THE SLEEPING - BEAUTY.”) - - - White roses, sweet white roses - Fair Leda smiles atween, - No soul your lily-light encloses - So pure as hers, I ween. - - Here lie and dream, sweet, pure white roses - That blessed the heart of June, - And ope the budding love that closes - Around her soul aboon. - - - - - THE LONE WAYSIDE WILD ROSE. - - - I passed along a wilding lane - Where weeds and straying flowers grew, - Where clover-blooming meadows threw - Sweet love upon the winds in vain. - - Lonely by the wayside wild - Where the earth all trodden lay, - There peeped a wild rose, one bright day, - And stretched its palms like a pleading child. - - Day after day, day after day - It drank of love from heaven and earth - And lifted itself from a timid birth - To a beautiful soul in sweet array. - - It breathed from out of its opening soul - The breath that heaven has given the rose, - The sweetest by far that mortal knows, - And drank sweet love from the night’s dew-bowl. - - The tint of the fleecy clouds of morn - Came out of the flushing tide of its heart, - And lay on its cheek with artless art-- - The fairest blush that ever was born. - - ’Twas when the rose was full in bloom - I passed along that wilding lane - When love upon the winds was vain, - The desert air its deathless tomb. - - I loved the flower and said, “Alas! - ’Tis sad to know such love must die, - Such sweetness with the mould must lie, - Such beauty into death must pass!” - - I plucked the flower from off its stem - And said, “Sweet Flower! Life were Death - Without thy beauty and thy breath-- - The heart must wither else for them.” - - I plucked the flower--blest wild rose!-- - I set it blooming in my heart, - And said, “Should my sweet rose depart - To-day--the night its dear life close, - - “The love it leaves shall ever live, - Shall ever grow, and bloom and bloom, - Shall go with me thro’ Death’s dark gloom, - And hope of glad reunion give.” - - The flower, blooming, lived and grew;-- - That sweet wild rose is blooming still; - Its beauties every corner fill - That life and love and heart e’er knew. - - And should my fond heart ever break, - That sweet wild rose would never die;-- - ’Twould spring from the mould where it might lie - And the fairest bloom immortal take! - - - - - TWENTY. - - - May the twenties yet triple, - And then add their half, - Still preserving the ripple - And ring of your laugh. - - And may every bright twinkle - That falls from your eye - Serve to smooth out each wrinkle, - The track of a sigh. - - When the twenties shall twinkle - And ten more shall run, - I hope every cute wink’ll - Still shine out with fun. - - Oh the triple of twenty - Plus none less than ten! - May you be the same dainty - Sweet girly-girl then! - - - - - BEAUTIFUL MAY. - - - Oh ’tis May, - Beautiful May, - Month of beautiful May, - Beautiful month of May. - - Wild flowers blooming, - Grasses growing, - Wild brooks flowing, - Pheasants booming-- - Oh ’tis May, - Beautiful May - Lovelier far than month of June, - Beautiful May! - And every day - Is putting the strings of life in tune. - - May-buds peep - At robins chattering - To their mates - And those asleep, - Always flattering - With nodding pates - And promises free - The farmer asnooze - That they will keep - From others the news - That cherries are in the tree. - - The playful dawn - Is after the moon, - And the moon is running away. - Oh the stars like sheep are all running away - After the moon, - Away from the dawn, - Away from the dawn of the month of May, - Away, away, away. - - With skip and play - They dance away - After the dizzy moon - That pales with the pallor of fright so soon - At the brightening sight, - Affright of the light - Of the morn of a lovelier month than June, - So soon, soon, soon. - - Oh sweet May, - Beautiful May - Thus brightens her face each day, - And lets the light of her tresses stray - Into each part - Of the earth’s dark heart - Where flashes like lashes from diamonds play - --Astray each day at play. - - The light from her eyes - In the spring’s emprise - Sinks deep in the soul of the sands; - And with glittering, flying hands - Every one - Of the sands doth run - And lift into life the clod from its bonds - That climbs to a soul like man’s. - - She breathes on the air, - And the sweet winds wear - Her blooms in their billowy hair, - And pour out their perfumes and nectars rare - Distilled in the cup - That the goddesses sup - For the beautiful dutiful May so fair, - So rare and fairy fair. - - She drinks of the stream, - And the glad waters gleam - With delight as they leap to her lips. - She creeps up the mountains and merrily sips - Of the fountains that spring - From the snows as they string - Up their bows for a shot at the lower rock-crypts - Where the sun like the dew-drop drips. - - She skims to the plain - And frightens the train - That the winter has left on guard. - She whistles her bird-notes soft and hard - And calls from retreat - The bickering feet - Of the green that the winter in prison has barred, - --Sweet, te-weet, wheat. - - - - - DEEP UNTO DEEP. - - A DOUBLE THRENODY. - - - Oh the bounding of the billows of the sea - Rolls the rhythm of their music unto me; - And a footstep that has fallen on the lea - Seems to echo from the boundless, soundless deep. - But the breaking of the billows--the billows as they leap, - Makes the silence of my sorrow with them weep; - While the echoes of the grottoes--the grottoes wildly start, - Ever throbbing to the music of my heart;-- - Throbbing to the threnode, - Rocking to the rhythm, - Moaning to the music of my heart,-- - Threnode throbbing ever, - Rhythm rocking ever, - Music moaning ever in my heart. - - Oh my Love is on the billows of the sea, - Sending messages along the waves to me; - And the ever-singing shells along the lea - With my longing heart a constant chorus keep. - But the breaking of the message--the message from the deep, - Makes the silence of my sorrow inly weep; - While the moaning shells intoning, intoning griefs impart - Ever sobbing to the silence of my heart;-- - Sobbing to the silence, - Intoning to the moaning, - Breaking to the breaking of my heart,-- - Silent sobbing ever, - Grief intoning ever, - Breaking, breaking ever in my heart. - - - - - A HUMPTY-DUMPTY IDIOTIC CHAP. - - - There was once a little humpty-dumpty idiotic chap, - Who had both a mug an’ muzzle most remarkable to see. - An’ he couldn’t do a solitary thing but grin an’ gap, - But he done that simply awful an’ he done it constantly. - His tater head was sorto’ meller like a punkin over-ripe - An’ his yaller face was puckered like a lemon with the gripe; - An’ his front teeth like stalites--or what you call ’em--always gave - To the cavity behind them the appearance of a cave,-- - Jist forever an’ forever from life’s earliest beginnin’ - Simply nachelly a-grinnin’ an’ a-grinnin an’ a-grinnin’. - - Well, you see, _he_ couldn’t help it, couldn’t help it not a bit, - ’Cause for some peculiar reason he was born jist that-a-way. - An’ if Nater marks a feller he had better jist submit, - ’Cause she wants that mark for somepm, an’ she’s goin to have it - stay. - Caint no doctor make a rose-bud of a busted-thistle mouth, - Nor he caint turn north a foot that’s got to growin’ sorto’ south. - Spect this chap inside him knowed it wa’n’t no earthly kind o’ use - To be squeezin’ on a lemon that didn’t have a bit o’ juice; - --Maybe ’lowed his ugly mug ’ould be a doin’ less of sinnin’ - If he’d leave it jist a-grinnin’ an’ a-grinnin’ an’ a-grinnin’. - - ’Course he didn’t reason on it, cause he didn’t have no sense; - But I kindo’ sorto’ reckon that he done like others do-- - Jist set down up where he’d clum on top o’ Nater’s ol worm-fence - An’ let the sun bile down onto him an’ soak him clean plum thro’ - an’ thro’ - While with busy boom an’ buzz the plunder’n’ bug an’ bumble-bee - Went a-nosin’ thro’ the clover where the rosy-posies be. - An’ with one eye squinted up an’ t’other squinted down plum shet, - Up on top the fence, I spect, twixt brute an’ human there he set, - An’ jist let the whirly-gigy world whirl off its spindle spinnin’ - While he joyed hisself a-grinnin’ an’ a-grinnin’ an’ a-grinnin’. - - _Hope_ he _did_ enjoy hisself, ’cause he didn’t have enough - Sense to know what trouble was,--he was a idiotic chap. - An’ he couldn’t tell to save him if a voice was soft or gruff - For he couldn’t _talk_, nor _hear_, nor--_nothin’_ only grin - an’ gap. - An’ his eyes that kept a winkin an’ a squintin up an’ down - Never let the glorious sunlight paint no picter in his crown. - Plum stone deef an’ dumb an’ blind--a hunch-backed idiot at that! - Oh ’t’ould ’most-a broke your heart, as mine, to see him sittin’ - flat - On the floor in sich an awful fix as he was dyin’ in an’ - Rockin back an’ forth, a-grinnin’ an’ a-grinnin’ an’ a-grinnin’. - - - - - GOOD-NIGHT. - - A SONG OF THE CLOSE OF LIFE. - - - _Infant._ - - Good-night, good-night!--the brightest day must fall, - The sweetest joys, alas! must fade the sight; - Sad Night shall weep her silent tears o’er all-- - Good-night, good-night, sweet babe, good-night. - - - _Child._ - - The day has kissed thy happy heart to sleep - And left thy lips apart in sweet delight; - But oh the Night, I know, must slowly creep-- - Good-night, good-night, my child, good-night. - - - _Youth._ - - Good-night, good-night!--thy care and day is done. - The stars thy camp, the Deity thy light, - Thy soldier hand and heart at rest sleep on,-- - Good-night, good-night, my boy, good-night! - - - _Man._ - - Or griefs or joys thy lot, the past be past!-- - The star of hope is on the mountain height, - For sun and life must sleep and rise at last,-- - Good-night, good-night, worn heart, good-night. - - - _All._ - - Good-night, Sad Heart, to Light and Darkness born! - The sun is sunk--but Stars and Hope are bright;-- - And all that sleep at night will wake at Morn!-- - Good-night, good-night, Dear Heart, good-night! - - - - - TO FANCY. - - - Light and gay - Flight away - Over the rolling sea, - Night and day - Bright my fay - Bringing sweet music to me. - - Deep in the sea - Leap with glee - Braiding the mermaiden’s hair; - Leap the sea, - Sweep to me, - Bearing her kisses rare. - - O my fay, - Row away - Out in a nautilus shell, - Glowingly, - Flowingly, - Its rhythmical story to tell. - - Greet the morn - Fleetly borne - Over the foam of the sea, - Meet the morn, - Sweet return - Bringing its beauties to me. - - Lie and dream - By the beam - Thrown from the rolling moon, - Lie and dream - Night its gleam - Asleep in some deep lagoon. - - Far enskyed - Star-like ride - Down in the doming deep, - Where the wide - Bar and tide - Croon to the moon asleep. - - - - - GOOD-NIGHT, MY LOVE. - - - Good-night, good-night! - Thy dreams to-night, - Thy dreams, thy silent dreams, - Be sweet as love, as chaste as light, - Thy dreams be sweet and deep. - - Oh dream, my Love, - And sleep, my Love, - While star-laced moon-light beams - Above so bright with love and light, - Good-night, good-night, my Love. - - - - - THROUGH REVERENT EYES. - - - To-night I saw her. Strange indeed - My faint heart should thus fail me;--strange - That after such transporting love - In me three days should work such change. - - Not more than three?--Nay, barely three; - And yet, within that raptured time - I’ve lived, it seems, a century - Of hope in Love’s own blissful clime. - - ’Tis strange, this love of mine, so strange; - So strange I fear sometimes I do - Not love, but only dream I love, - And sleep the mid-life watches through. - - How many, many is the time - I’ve looked upon some face, some form, - And felt the sudden thrill of some - Fair hand awake the passion-storm! - - But only momentary; and then - That old, old longing for the real - And soul-enlighted face of her - Whose image is my heart’s ideal. - - Ah yes! to-night as I sit and write - Sweet visions come before my eyes. - Sweet visions only! and like lights - Along the shore they fall and rise. - - Who are they? Friends of my happy days, - The friends of my childhood, boyhood, youth, - And later age. Yet none there are, - I fear, I ever loved in truth. - - I’ve often wondered what love is. - I’ve heard men speak of it,--ah yes! - I’ve heard fair women, too! but what - It is, I wonder did they guess? - - I’ve read of love; I’ve thought of love; - I’ve read and thought that in that hour - When love should truly come to one, - ’Twould come an all-possessing power; - - ’Twould smite upon the chord of self, - And break the faulty string in twain; - ’Twould touch a more melodious chord - And wake a glad, harmonious strain. - - And so I wonder what love is; - And if I ever knew before - A few short, happy days ago - How love can rise, and sing, and soar. - - Too sacred for my heart to hold, - To me a woman is divine-- - As far above me as the stars - That I adore because they shine. - - I can but stand and gaze above, - I can but worship and adore, - Nor dream that I could reach her height-- - I could but drag her down; no more. - - Yet other men have loved. Must I, - Must I alone throughout the night - Stand gazing at a star that shines - For me alone upon the mountain height? - - Ah yes! I fear me that all night - I’ll watch the silent waning star - Adoring and revering till - It sinks behind some rugged scar. - - I fear I do not love; I hold - The fairer sex too high, I fear; - And bowed with awe and humbleness, - Instead of loving I revere. - - Among the noisy human crowd, - I stand as stands the silent stone; - And like it, too, I dumbly pray - To whom I love, and inly moan. - - And thus it is my reverence brings - Me woe. As silent as the tomb, - My heart bowed down with sacred awe - Still wanders thro’ Love’s trackless dome. - - Men call me cold. Alas! could they - But feel the half, the tenth I feel, - Could they but look thro’ reverent eyes, - They might my sealed heart unseal. - - Too deep the mighty river flows; - Too deep the silent waters are; - I catch the image, not the form, - Embrace the vision, not the star. - - Can heart of man pluck down a star - And wear it on his breast? or dip - Its gleam from out the soundless sea - And press it to his loving lip? - - No more, no more indeed can I, - No more can I pluck down the love - That like an angel day and night - Still wanders through the dome above. - - Oh could I ask a woman’s love? - I could not, would not drag her down! - I could not gratify a thought - So selfish--wed her to a clown! - - No! no! my only hope must be - To rise above this selfish self; - To grow more pure in heart and hope, - To lose myself in her sweet self. - - To-night, I say, I saw her; her - Who wakes in me such thoughts as these; - I felt her hand as I sometimes feel - An angel’s hand in the dreamy breeze. - - She seemed far off--so far away! - And yet, I knew and saw her near: - I touched her hand; I heard her voice, - And oh the music thrilled my ear. - - When here alone within my room, - I feel most brave; but when before - The one I love, my heart grows faint, - I can but silently adore. - - I talk to her? Ah yes, sweet hours! - Tho’ every act and word I know - Must say my heart is full of love, - I dare not, can not tell her so. - - Some day, perhaps,--some bright, sweet day!-- - My tongue may tell her as my song - The struggle of my striving soul - To rise to her above the throng. - - Great God, lift up my failing soul, - And purify this heart of mine. - Oh lead me through the realms of love - With that unfailing hand of Thine. - - I ask nor wealth, nor fame, nor power; - I ask a pure and loving heart - That I may join that heart to hers - Forever nevermore to part. - - And oh then peace, peace, the peace of love - For that old, old longing; and the real - And soul-enlighted face of her, - The image of my heart’s ideal. - - - - - WHAT IS POETRY? - - -Proper conception and appreciation of the poetic, whether in objects -of nature or in the mirror of words reflecting the human heart, -presupposes a delicate and divinely wrought nature tuned to the touch -of the Maker’s hand. Only such a beauty-loving soul finds responsive -a chord to the soul of beauty that dwells in the bodying words of -poetry. The finer the soul, the finer the music. To possess this -light-receiving and radiant Divinity is to possess at once both the -highest attainment of human culture and aspiration and the greatest -gift of God. It is thus at the same time both a growing seed and the -seed’s growth. That is, the poetic soul is both a gift divine and -a cultivation of it consecrated to the Divine Giver. Or, in other -words, the poet is both born and made. _Poeta nascitur non fit_--the -poet is born, not made--is true in this sense and in no other; for -the feelings, the gifts of the poet, are the gifts of every human -soul in greater or less degree. Else the proverb is not true, and we -must say, _Poeta nascitur et fit_; which would, no doubt, be equally -misunderstood. But _Poeta nascitur non fit_ is true; and if, instead of -being translated literally, it is rendered in an explanatory way, it -means simply:--“The poet possesses the same faculties that others do; -but the poetic faculty in him at birth is more highly developed than -it is in others, and is consequently susceptible of a higher degree of -cultivation. If the poetic faculty is naturally slight or insignificant -at birth, no amount of cultivating and polishing can create, or make, -a poet of its possessor.” This is the ancient meaning, and the only -sensible meaning, the meaning accepted by all who understand the -subject. - -To see it from a different angle. The true poet has both genius -and talent--or rather, genius has the poet and compels the poet to -have talent. Genius is the divine gift; talent is the cultivation. -Genius--poetic genius--, the highest harmonious union of the feelings, -is the part of the poet that is born; talent, the ability to reveal -that genius, is the part that is cultivated, or made. Genius is power; -talent is skill. The man of poetic genius cannot help writing; the man -of poetic talent can help it, but won’t. That’s the main difference. - -If you can’t help writing, nine chances out of nine you are a poet, -and are unconscious of your great power from the simple fact that it -is natural to you. If you can help writing, don’t write; for you are -evidently no poet, though you may have talent, and may believe (very -likely will) from the unnaturalness of it that you are great. - -The genius which forces the poet to write is the same genius that is -ever reaching out of the poem and beckoning us upwards. Thus much for -the present as to what constitutes the poet. - -Now as to poetry. Though we cannot hope to arrive at the seat of its -mysterious fountain of inspiration and bind its hidden springs of -immortality, we shall nevertheless, in earnest search, by upward, -honest, toilsome flight, at least behold the beauty-embodying mountain -heights whence its rivers of eternal glory flow, and whither the soul -must ever soar to drink of its purest living waters;--waters that -purify mortality and reflect Divinity, and make the soul bathed in -them and drunken of them better know its own vastness, grandeur, and -divinity. - -Until the soul by this upward flight shall have beheld itself thus -divinely reflected in the immortal streams of poetry, it can never feel -and know its own vastness, its infinitude. Likewise, until it shall -have bathed in and drunk of these mighty purifying waters of goodness, -truth, and beauty, the soul can never know the divinity and immortality -of poetry. Thus, if the soul know not the one, it cannot know the -other; the two knowledges are reciprocal. - -It may be said æsthetically and as nearly scientifically as it can well -be said, that poetry is naturally rhythmical and metrical imaginative -language interpreting the Divine in the human heart. This defines at -once, as nearly as can well be defined in a single sentence, the Form -(or mechanism), the Spirit, and the Mission of poetry. - -Form we can define and anatomize, just as we can define and anatomize -the human body. The spirit of poetry we cannot define and anatomize, -just as we cannot define and anatomize the human soul. Form alone -cannot constitute a poem, just as body alone cannot constitute a man. -Spirit alone may constitute poetry (in the abstract) though not a -concrete poem, just as the soul alone may constitute life though not a -living man. Just as both body and soul are necessary to constitute a -man, so also both form and spirit are necessary to constitute any of -his visible art-creations, as a poem. - - - FORM. - -The requisites of form are rhythm and metre. The accidents of form are -rhyme (consonance), assonance, stanza, alliteration, onomatopœia, etc., -etc. - -Rhythm has to do with the kind of feet in a line, while metre has to do -with the number of feet in a line. Rhythm corresponds with the regular -rise and fall of the waves of the sea, each wave-length being counted -a poetic foot. Metre corresponds with the swell of the sea, composed -of several successive waves. Thus metre is, after all, a kind of -rhythm,--the larger ebb and flow of rhythm. - -The accidents of form, such as rhyme, stanza, alliteration, etc., -we find worthily and advantageously used in much true poetry, -as well as worthlessly used in the tawdry puppet-shows of mere -mechanicians;--those persons who, having nothing to say, yet attempting -to say something, mistake rhyme for sense, a tickling jingle for -meaning, their desire to create for the creative power. They do not -rightly read nor well heed the trite epigrammatic precept, “When you -have nothing to say, say it.” - -But these accidents of form, I say, are sometimes material aids to the -thought; indeed, always are when used not for their own sakes but for -the meaning’s sake. Notwithstanding this fact, many of our greatest -poems, such as Paradise Lost and others on the epic order, as well as -many not epic, lack these accidents either wholly or in part. - -On the other hand, rhythm and metre are found in all poetic forms, and -are the only two elements of the form of poetry that are thus found. -Hence, rhythm and metre are not only essentials but they are the only -essentials of form, and constitute the complete body in which the -spirit of poetry naturally and inevitably clothes itself. They are, -therefore, just as necessary to poetry in its concrete or visible forms -as the spirit is. - -But since rhythm and metre are thus essential to a poem, it is the -common custom to call anything poetry that has this external appearance -of the poetic. - -This is a misapplication of terms. There is so much trash masquerading -in the poetic garb that this misapplication inevitably throws ridicule -upon true poetry. - -Rhythm, when carried to excess and when used not for the meaning’s -sake, the feeling’s sake, but for the rhythm’s sake alone, becomes -simply jingle; quite invariably a rhyming jingle at that. - -Metre, in company with rhythm and rhyme, is often diverted from its -true purpose and used solely to jiggle some fact or some epigram into -the memory, as illustrated by “Thirty days,” etc., and by all other -didactic metrical arrangements, as mentioned farther on. - -But rhymes and jingles and metrical arrangements are not poetry. They -are simply members of the form, the dancing legs and arms of the -body, sometimes possessed of life with an indwelling guiding spirit, -and sometimes whittled out of wood and set in motion by an inspiring -string. These senseless puppets, or jumping-jacks, sometimes, indeed -often, tickle the mob by their lively antics; but the great final -judgment of humanity relegates them to the rubbish-heap and forgets -their ephemeral and unlovely existence. - -It is, I say, a misnomer to dignify such by the name of poetry. The -proper name is verse. Whatever is rhythmical and metrical, whether it -has any of the accidents of form or not, is verse. Hence, all poetry is -verse, but not all verse is poetry. Indeed, not one ten-thousandth part -of verse is poetry; for the requisite of verse is simply form,--the -body into which the spirit must enter ere it becomes poetry. To -illustrate,-- - - “Thirty days hath September, - April, June, and November,” etc., - -has the form of poetry without the slightest touch of the poetic -spirit; thus constituting verse, simple and pure. It requires no -penetration to perceive that it is not poetry, though I doubt not that -nine hundred ninety-nine out of every thousand have called that stanza -in the usual loose way “a verse of poetry.” - -But it is not only not poetry, but it is also not a verse, though it is -_verse_; for a verse is but one line of the poetic form, while _verse_ -is the form itself. It is not poetry because it has merely form without -spirit. As well call the dead body a man (which indeed we sometimes do -in the same loose way) as call such by the name of poetry. - -But the body of a man without the soul is a dead man; that is, not a -man at all. So also the body of one of his visible art-creations, as of -poetry, without the spirit, is dead art, a dead poem;--no poem at all. - -Is it not so? Only look at our thousands of dailies, weeklies, -monthlies, quarterlies, and whatnotlies, where millions of these -poetry-bodies lie buried, smelling too much of mortality; then turn to -the time-glorified tomes of Chaucer, Shakespeare, Burns, Milton, Homer, -Virgil, and their eternal co-endurers for a breath of heaven. Let this -be the final answer. - -Rhythm, it may be said (taking it beyond the realms of concrete -poetry), is the music of Nature. It is Nature’s natural expression, if -I may so speak. All her motions are rhythmical, have ripples and waves; -even at rest her forms lie in the rhythmic order. - -Wherever billows beat the crags, or ripples kiss the sands; wherever -winds go soughing through the pines, or zephyrs toss a curl; wherever -snows may drive to drifts, or wheat-fields billow green and gold; -wherever drifting clouds, or dreaming skies, or bordering trees are -hung dependent on the smooth lake’s waters; wherever birds may sing, -or flowers bloom, or rivers run; wherever thunders wake, or hills and -valleys sleep;--there is rhythm, there is music, there is Nature’s -perfect harmony. - -Nor is it different in man, Nature’s crown triumphant. In throes of -pain or woe’s distress; in joys that iris happy tears; in sorrow’s -mournful cadences; in laughter’s lilting melody; in peace and -bounteous plenty, or in war and woeful famine; in love or hate, or -life or death;--through all of man’s existence, there again is rhythm, -Passion’s only melody, the music of the soul. - -True, in the calms of life, although ’tis there, we little feel this -rhythm,--this adjusting process by which man inevitably seeks to put -the heart in tune while here for higher harmonies hereafter. But when -the soul’s deep feeling is aroused, then listen to its rhythmic ebb and -flow like gently wimpling waters or like the surging beat, beat, beat -upon the sands. - -Hear the lonesome cadences of sorrow crying up to heaven; listen to -the joyousness that tinkles through the melody of laughter; hark the -sharp, quick, fierce beat in the surge of righteous anger; hear the -tender, mellow music from the soothing lips of Love,--divine, immortal -Love--and dream of other worlds and better things as you listen thus -transported. - -When these passions of the soul would express themselves in words, -the words, too, fashioned by the spirit that enters them, must -inevitably move in rhythm, and, in the greater wave-lengths, fit -themselves to metre. This feeling, or passion, that enters rhythmic -words--that unswervingly seeks rhythm as the only form in which it -can express itself--is the spirit of poetry. Thus it is that poetry -comes about; thus it is that poetry is spontaneous and not the result -of long meditation; thus it is that poetry is the natural outlet of -highly-wrought or great feeling. - - - SPIRIT. - -As in man, so in all art of man, the soul within fashions the body -without. True beauty is soul-beauty; that beauty that is in the heart -and is felt by the heart, without which there can be no physical beauty. - -Whatever in the world is beautiful, is beautiful just in proportion -to the beauty of the soul that sees it. Thus if we would find beauty, -we must first have it. The white-flecked blue of the skies of June; -the wren or peewee pouring fourth its perfume-drunken melodies from -among the apple-blossoms; the stretch of plain or towering height -of mountain; the scenes of hill or valley, wood or meadow, lake or -river; the Apollo Belvedere; the great Transfiguration; Paradise -Lost;--nature’s various forms and reproductions--have no beauty to -the heart whose cavities are empty. But to the full soul, the soul of -beauty, they are perpetual springs of life, where Divinity is ever -mirrored forth; for the soul gives what it gets, and gets what it -gives, and the getting is proportioned to the giving. Give, and we get; -keep, and we lose. - -But what is it in an Apollo, a Transfiguration, a Paradise Lost that -feeds this soul-hunger; that possesses this beauty?--The marble of the -Apollo? Hard by lies the rough, unchiseled Parian marble; but it has -no beauty.--The painted canvas of the Transfiguration? Sitting before -it, there are yearly hundreds of canvases and brushes and paints and -paintings; but they lack the beauty.--The words, the rhythm, the metre, -the music of Paradise Lost? Millions of productions, from musty tomes -in the British Museum to the upper left-hand corner of the “patent -inside” of a newspaper, have all these; but no beauty. - -What then? That same indefinable something which in man we call -the soul, and in art, the spirit; that which the admiring soul -instinctively feels and recognizes. - -Had the sculptor never touched his chisel to the marble, nor the -painter his brush to the canvas, nor the poet his pen to the paper, -that same spirit, yet not bodied, would have existed within his own -soul, but never would have been beheld by others. To be seen by other -eyes, it must needs take on a visible body, a concrete form, in which -it shall dwell. - -Thus all forms of Nature and all forms of Art, whatsoever, are the -mere bodying expressions of the spirit that inhabits them. Form is -necessary, but only as a medium through which the spirit may reveal -itself visibly. - -The intuitive and unconscious recognition of this principle, that the -soul within fashions the body it inhabits,--the grandest principle of -all God’s great laws, the foundation of them all, illimitable as the -immortal Giver--is the door-way through which he who thus recognizes -must inevitably enter Nature and Art to enjoy the full communion of the -soul within, and to interpret the beauties of that soul’s divinity to -us. - -He who thus enters is possessed of genius. In other words, he has a -great soul and lives close to Nature’s heart. We of lesser genius, -or of less loving souls (for a great soul is one that loves greatly) -commune with the indwelling spirit less freely. If we approach Nature -or Art consciously and try to unlock some side-door by the key of the -intellect, we shall probably find only cast-off garments; nay, many of -us may find that the door will not open and we must content ourselves -with a peep through the key-hole. Indeed, do not the multitude behold -the elegant structures of Nature and Art wonderingly for but a moment, -without even so much as attempting the key-hole, and then plod on, -unconscious that there is an indwelling soul that has thus fashioned -its earthly home? - -This same great foundation-principle of Nature is likewise the -fundamental law of poetry and of all other art. For art, at best, is -nature wrought by man. What else can it be? It is fashioned by simply -a lesser Divinity, the soul of man, consequently less perfectly, and -follows the same law. Or better yet, art is nature wrought through the -instrumentality of man by the great Divinity that works in him. Art -is simply a name used to designate a specific manifestation or kind -of nature;--that kind that comes through man, and has, not life, but -spirit; not life, but the picture, the show, the mirrored image of -life: a sort of record of the soul, and a lamp for its future guidance. - -He who, by means of rhythmic words inspirited, can paint this picture, -represent this show, mirror this image of life, historicize this -record of the soul, light this lamp and hold it above the heads of the -trampling ages for the guidance of humanity, is the great poet. - -Just in proportion to the greatness of such a soul will be the spirit -that imbues his creations. It cannot create a new form unless it first -implants some germ from its own spiritual self. Not only must there -be the spirit as the prime essential of poetry, the soul within that -fashions the rhythmical and metrical form it inhabits, but that spirit -must partake of that divinity that is in every human heart;--that -divine flower, deep-rooted in the soil of God, sometimes blossoming to -an angel-image, sometimes painting the glories of heaven on its petals, -sometimes breathing its deepest-drawn perfumes up from its muse-beloved -blooms to the throne above. - -Would the soul create a statue, it must see “an angel in that marble” -ere it give the angel form; would it paint a picture, it must behold -within itself the transfiguration ere it live transfigured on the -canvas; would it write a poem, it must be a paradise of eternal love -and beauty ere it breathe immortal glory into words. - -It is this soul within that comes out of the maker of the statue, -the maker of the picture, the maker of the melody, the maker of the -poem, and enters his creations, that distinguishes true art from mere -mechanism of art. - -It is this same soul within that renders the artist, not a chiseler of -stone, a painter of canvas, a placer of notes, a rhymer of words, but a -maker, a creator, in his own lesser realm of nature. - -It is this same intangible soul, just within yet just beyond the touch -of our finger-tips as we reach out farther and farther into the dim -unknown, this same indefinable spirit of beauty, shining through the -form that it inhabits, permeating it inscrutably, that somehow passes -out of the poem into the heart of the admirer, then slips out of his -heart into the poem again, and so on and on, again and again, ever -lifting the admiring soul as the poem itself is lifted higher still and -ever higher. - - - MISSION. - -This practical age, “this nineteenth century with its knife and glass,” -ever botanizing and anatomizing, analyzing and scrutinizing in every -possible way, is constantly asking, “What is it good for?”; “Of what -use is it?” And whatever the knife and glass cannot explain to the -fact-loving intellect; whatever the age cannot thus analyze and convert -into ready cash or daily bread, it is wont to relegate to the Lethean -Limbo of Uselessness.--As if the mind of man were constituted of -intellect, pocket, and stomach, and whatever did not go to the filling -of these were useless. - -It is well and just and right, indeed, that any age should thus -inquire, especially as to material things, so long as it does not dwarf -other faculties by giving all sustenance to one. To ask concerning -poetry, “What is it good for?”, “Of what use is it?”, is simply to ask -in a different form, “What is the soul good for?”; “Of what use is a -God!” There is nothing in God’s universe that does not have utility. - -But to examine specifically and logically, and thus to discover -somewhat of the mission, the utility of poetry. - -In order to do this, we must naturally refer to the human mind, since -thence poetry is brought forth and there it is perceived. - -There are three great divisions of the mind; namely, Intellect, -Sensibilities, or Feelings, and Will. - -The intellect is that power of the mind by which we think and know. The -sensibilities, or feelings, constitute that power of the mind by which -we feel. The will is that power of the mind by which we resolve to do -or not to do. These explanations are sufficient for our present purpose. - -Therefore, whatever furnishes food for the intellect, the knowing-power -of the mind, must be of the nature of knowledge, didactic. Whatever -ministers to the feelings must waken emotion. Whatever gives action to -the will must rouse resolution. - -All literature is for the mind. But since there are three departments -of the mind, and since literature is produced by and for the mind, -there must naturally be three divisions of literature that each -mental power may receive sustenance. That is, there should be that -literature for the intellect in which knowledge predominates. For -the sensibilities, there should be that literature in which feeling, -emotion, is the primary and essential element. For the will, there -should be that literature that has for its chief end the rousing of -resolution. - -On examination of the literary products of the world, we find that -this philosophy is sustained. For the intellect, we have treatises (as -on the sciences, mathematics, etc.), histories, biographies, novels, -romances, essays, etc., etc. The primary object of these is to furnish -knowledge; to satisfy the intellect. They are in the highest sense -didactic, although, of course, just as the literature for each faculty -does, they incidentally furnish some food for the other powers. - -This intellective literature is the kind that is most largely -cultivated at the present. In fact, it is cultivated almost to the -exclusion of the other two. - -For the will, we have sermons, lectures, orations, speeches, addresses, -harangues, etc.; a class of literature that is small when compared with -the preceding. These two departments of the mind monopolize the whole -domain of prose. - -That other department of literature, in which feeling is the dominating -and pervading principle, must, by its very nature, act upon that same -power of the mind that produced it; namely, the sensibilities. - -Poetry is the literature of feeling, and consequently finds its -province here. It is the mission of poetry, therefore, as suggested -by the latter part of the definition, to minister to the feelings, to -interpret the Divine in the human heart. It is this that all writers on -the subject and that all poets mean when they say it is the mission of -poetry to give pleasure. - -But what shall be the limit of that word “pleasure”? Herein lies the -chief cause of great differences of opinion, especially with those who -hold that there is such a thing as didactic poetry. Or rather, what -is the true meaning of “pleasure” as thus used? The very essence of -pleasure, as opposed to pain, is that it gratify some emotion and set -it at perfect rest. - -What emotions when gratified are at perfect rest? The answer at once -forces itself upon us, only the better emotions. That poetry does -minister to and satisfy the higher and nobler feelings, and that what -does not do this is not poetry, even the meanest heart that it touches -fully knows. - -The attempted gratification of hate, or of any desire whatsoever to -give pain to any one, as illustrated in Pope’s _Dunciad_, Dryden’s -_Absalom and Achitophel_, Butler’s _Hudibras_, Byron’s _English Bards -and Scotch Reviewers_, and all such, never sets the mind of the writer -at rest, nor gives enjoyment to the reader. Indeed, who now ever reads -these, the world’s greatest illustrations of witty bitterness and -venom, couched in verse and unjustifiably designated as poetry? - -These are accounted “great works.” But who, let me ask, ever reads any -of these “great works,” or ever heard of them, except in some text on -Literature? Or, having read them, who loves them, or their authors for -having written them? None. No, not one. - -On the other hand, who has not read some of the noblest works of -Shakespeare, Burns, Milton, Tennyson, Longfellow, Bryant, Lowell, -Whittier, Holmes? And who does not feel nobler for having read, and who -does not hold these authors shrined in his heart of hearts for having -written? Is not this proof enough that it is the mission of poetry to -minister only to the higher emotions? - -After all, hate is merely the negative of love; simply the absence of -the better emotion, a void, an ache, a pain. All attempts to gratify -it only make it stronger--or rather drive the better emotion farther -away--as illustrated by the cases of Pope, Dryden, Byron, and their -fellows in revenge and bitterness wherever we find them. No one ever -felt better or nobler or happier for gratifying a hate, for doing -a bad deed, or for giving pain to a fellow-mortal’s feelings. The -ever-accusing conscience, if he but listen, will never permit him to -say in his heart that such gratification has given him pleasure. - -If, then, it is the mission of poetry to give pleasure, no matter -whether its interpretation of the Divine in the human heart be by tears -or by laughter, its ministration necessarily must be to the immortal -part of man. - -In the light of all this, therefore, without further argument, it is -clear and conclusive that all verse that is sarcastic, satiric, etc., -such as that of Swift, Butler, Pope, Gay, Prior, and their hosts, is -not poetry. - -But what of the didactic? Whatever has the primary object of teaching -delivers its treasures to the keeping of the intellect. If, therefore, -verse aims primarily to teach, but ministers to the sensibilities only -incidentally, it is not true poetry. Poetry does not teach nor preach -nor argue nor discuss. Those are the provinces of prose. Poems and -roses must not teach; they must bloom. Their breath delights us, their -suggestions, their reflections of a Divinity that is above them, lifts -us--God knows why! The cry of pain, the romping laugh of children at -play, the pathos of death, the touch of the hand or the lips of the -one we love needs no argument to fill the heart with uncontrollable -emotion. These are the sweetest of the poet’s themes, and he has but -to reveal them without argument as they are experienced in the heart. -Argument kills them. Just in proportion to the didactic character of -verse the path of poetry is departed from, and the realm of prose -invaded. You cannot find a solitary purely didactic piece of verse the -meaning of which could not be better expressed in prose. Not so with -true poetry. That cannot be expressed in any other way. - -The most illustrious types of the didactic are to be found in the -“Artificial School,” at the head of which stands Pope. When we cut out -the satiric and the sarcastic and all ill-feeling verse, as we see we -must, and then the didactic, as we are forced by reason and logic to -do, how much real poetry do we have left in this “School” so well named -“Artificial”? How much is there left that makes the heart feel larger, -nobler, better, and gives it new fountains of life? Only a rare gem -now and then in the form of a single felicitous line or happily wedded -couplet. Then, when we cut this same kind of verse out of the whole -literature of the world, and also that other kind, already spoken of at -length, in which there is merely spiritless poetic form as its chief -element, how much real poetry and how many real poets does the world -possess? Comparatively, only a few poets, the world’s great, and a few -of their works--those that have already stood the test of time and that -still stand the only true test of good literature, that it inspires the -heart with noble feelings and lofty purposes--can be placed in the list. - -But enough on the kinds of verse. - -Another question concerning pleasure arising from poetry presents -itself. “Violent delights have violent ends and in their triumph -die.” The poetic, by its very nature, is violent. Consequently, the -mind cannot long imbibe its intoxicating draughts. A little at a -time is exhilarating and invigorating; but an over-dose deadens the -sensibilities, and often creates a serious dislike for the poetic and a -consequent unconscious restlessness of longing for the satisfaction of -the higher emotions that prose can never furnish. - -The mind cannot long endure extreme exertion, just as the body cannot. -Poetry requires extreme exertion of the sensibilities, consequently -its duration should be short that its full delight and pleasure may be -enjoyed. Since this is so, every poem, by the very nature of the mind, -must be brief. Who would live in a conservatory of roses where their -sweet scent, most delightful at first breath, soon becomes sickening? -Or who would hold even one of those odorous blooms to the nose for -long? Who, on the other hand, does not delight in an occasional sip of -the scent of a bursting rose-bud? And who does not find new delight at -each successive draught, and regret that the petals that breathe this -odor for us, alas! must fade and fall? - -I believe most profoundly with Poe that, from the standpoint of the -mind that produces and the mind that perceives and enjoys it, there is -no such thing as a long poem. I shall go farther, and say, not only -that a poem must be short, but that it must be lyrical. This gets us -back to nature. Historically the first literature of every nation is -poetry, and that poetry is invariably lyrical; indeed, even inevitably -so. In every nation, we find it is many centuries before these lyrics -of the nation are gathered up and finally strung on the thread of -narrative, thus making the Epic. From the lyric, all imaginable forms -have been brought forth by ingenious poets of later day. The bard -of simple days lived, not close to nature’s intellect, but close to -nature’s heart. Burns was the best poet of modern days, because he did -the same; consequently, he is always lyrical when he is natural. - -Shall we then say that the Æneid, the Odyssey, the Iliad, the -Canterbury Tales, the Faery Queen, or Paradise Lost is each one poem? -Viewed as I have just remarked, and that (in its relation to the mind) -is the only true way to view a poem, none of these is a single poem. -Each is made up of a number of poems--gems strung on the thread of a -common subject;--roses in a common conservatory. - -Indeed, the whole of Homer is simply a collection of a great number -of short poems--lyrics, indeed, they were--sung by many authors for -centuries, and finally gathered up and pieced together to form books -and volumes. Each one of the Canterbury Tales contains many poems, -strung together to form one necklace of jewels. - -I ask any one to sit down and read any of these great and wonderful -works continuously one day, as he might prose, and comprehend what he -is reading. Not even one book of Paradise Lost can be _read_ (in the -true sense of that word) at a single sitting. There are too many poems -in it, and the consequent demands upon the mind are too great for that. -Possibly this very fact had somewhat to do with calling forth the -unjust remark from Waller concerning that great epic, “If its length be -not considered as a merit it hath no other.” - -Since a poem must be brief, naturally, and for the same cause, it -should be read judiciously and at intervals, if it is to be appreciated -and enjoyed, just as the rose must be smelled only occasionally. We -cannot read poetry as we can prose; it won’t let us. By their very -natures they demand a different manner of reading. One can read prose -continuously, hour after hour, without seriously wearying the mind, -for the simple reason that, in prose, thought is not condensed, but -is spread through a long series of sentences. Moreover, the thought -is not, as a rule, simply suggested, but is fully expressed, leaving -the mind in a comparative state of passive receptivity, with but -little active labor to perform in order to comprehend the meaning. -On the other hand, poetry always expresses thought in condensed form -and suggests many fold more than it expresses. Consequently, a single -stanza or even a single line may sometimes require as much attention -for the full comprehension of its meaning and suggestion, as a whole -page of ordinary prose. - -We must plant the poem in the heart and give it time to grow, as we -plant the flower-seeds in the soil. Finally, as the growing flower -bursts into bloom, so must the poem blossom from the heart into its -full perfection and beauty. - -Fully to appreciate that flower’s beauty, it must not be dissected and -analyzed by glass and scalpel. Did Burns go botanizing the daisy? Need -we then go botanizing these flowers and blossoms of the soul of man? He -who does it tries to force the intellect to do what the emotive nature, -the beauty-loving part of man, alone can do. There is an intellectual -delight in botanizing and in picking to pieces and analyzing the -gathered specimens, but it is not that sweet, soul-inspiring pleasure -born of the love of the beautiful that the heart alone can feel. He who -botanizes the beautiful can never know in his head the supreme pleasure -that he who loves the simple daisy too well to turn it under the sod -feels in his heart. - -Poetry is indeed immortal and divine. It is the breath of heaven in -the nostrils of man, the divinity of the human soul, the heart in full -flower and bloom. To an honest, earnest, sincere soul, it is the wonder -of the age, as it has ever been the wonder of all ages, that “men -endowed with highest gifts, the vision and the faculty divine,” being -divinely appointed as poet-priest of the Almighty, should pander to the -prurient taste of a so-called practical public;--that they should sell -the divinity within them for a strip of royal purple; for a salve to an -itching palm;--that they should barter immortality for a glitter-jingle. - -But how shall this consummate artist not fall into the corruptions -that beset him and his art divine? Here are the driveling jinglers, -verse-makers, poetasters all about him, with their rattling, -rollicking, banging tin-panery, loudly applauded by a rough-and-ready -guffawing public; a “practical” public that loudly clamors for _sense_, -_fact_,--and then drops another penny into the chapeaux of these -venders of cheap jewelry for more of their applauded cheap sentiment -and glittering platitudes, and jingling chains and necklaces, and -rings, and things, whose brightness wears off in their mental pockets -before the wife or sweetheart is gladdened by a glimpse of its -“practical” glitter! - -The great, true poet, he who alone is interpreter of the immortal in -the mortal, the invisible in the visible by means of words, never asks -how to avoid these corruptions. He does it. He despises, hates, abhors -them. He does it, too, by obeying that Divinity within him. Obedient -to that call, he walks majestically through this motley crowd;--aye, -through this sometimes maudlin, jeering crowd that throw stones at him -and mentally would crucify him!--and sets some stream of Beauty and -Glory flowing through the hearts of men, forever to wash away these -corruptions and stagnations of the human soul. Aye, truly! he asks not -how, but teaches us how. Was it not so with those old Divine Writers, -our highest type of poets, whose inspirations make the one Immortal -Book? So shall it ever be. ’Tis the Divine Law. - -Such a poet, interpreting nature and mirroring Divinity, and thus -idealizing life that the seeing, aspiring soul may attain nearer its -illimitable possibilities, we call an original poet, a genius. He is -never a “popular” poet, as that term is used, but he is quite generally -unpopular. Popular in the sense of time-enduring he is by that same -Divine Law that brings him into existence. His soul will inevitably -have some greatness in common with other great souls. These will rescue -him and commend him to an increasing posterity; and so on and on, -touching more and more souls, and thus seeming to grow ever better and -better, though in reality he remains ever unchanged, while the souls he -touches are the ones that ever strive to his greater height, and draw -up numbers with them. - -Thus does he whom an unappreciating, small-souled mob would have -crucified, become immortal through the reciprocal divinity that is -in himself and in the heart of humanity. Thus does, thus must, this -poet-genius create--call into activity--the taste that must make him -time-enduring. This is the penalty of genius and greatness--to suffer, -and then triumphantly to endure forever in the hearts of men. Who would -he were not a genius? Who would he were? In proof of all this, witness -Shakespeare, Milton, Wordsworth, not to speak of all the greatest Great. - -I love that unswerving poetic genius who, in the face of taunts and -revilings and sneers, still is obedient to that sublime divinity within -him; who, conscious of his own soul’s illimitable vastness, must -inevitably write for that soul’s satisfaction, and thus write, not for -the present generation, but for posterity; and who, when he “wraps -the drapery of his couch about him,” having obeyed the divine voice -within him even to his latest breath, finally triumphs over all sneers -and taunts and jeers, triumphs even over death, and, though dead, -triumphantly lives in immortal words that still speak to us more and -more divinely through the trumpet-soul of the more and more divine ages. - -Such a poet, I say, must create the taste that will make him -time-enduring. In other words, this true poet, this genius (else he -were no genius at all), must see some relation of soul to soul not -ordinarily seen, and never at all seen in exactly the same way, and -so express that relation in words that humanity can but recognize it -from the very fact of its commonness, its universality. Such a poet -never follows public opinion, in the narrow sense of the opinion of a -transitory present; but through great trials and suffering and much -enduring generally, he leads it, or creates it rather, and develops it -into that broader, truer public opinion,--humanity’s opinion; the only -opinion, I should say, that is equal to that of a great soul. - -The great never follow, but ever lead. They never pander to a perverted -public taste, but follow their own convictions; and thus following the -guiding power within them, they lead others in the same path. Thus -drawn onwards and upwards by that link which binds man unto God, and -thus leading humanity aright, they instinctively obey the teachings of -Him, the Master, who “came not to be ministered unto, but to minister”; -for they follow in His footsteps by upward leading and by thus greatly -and divinely serving mankind. - -In a general way, I may say of poets that there are two classes:--the -introspective, or those whose souls, ever standing in the presence of -the Divinity within them, hear the calls of other souls and the mighty -voice of God; and hearing, obey;--the extrospective, or those whose -souls, not less divine, but less conscious, perhaps, of that Divinity, -unconsciously perceive the manifold relations in external nature, and -through the universal spirit of nature none the less distinctly hear -that same Almighty Voice. We shall hardly find a poet in whom one -of these characteristics exists to the exclusion of the other; but -we shall find that in many cases one characteristic or the other is -dominant. For example, Browning is one of our best representatives -of the introspective, and Wordsworth of the extrospective; while -Shakespeare is the highest type of the perfect union of the two. Both -classes obey the same voice, and though ministering through different -sources, have the same mission to perform, the uplifting and purifying -of the human soul. - -Indeed, whatever does not have this mission is not true poetry. It is -often said that that literature is best which has stood the test of -time. Not so, if by that is meant simply that the literature shall -have lived long; for both good and bad live. The true test is that it -betters man’s estate, and ennobles his heart. If a poem inspires the -heart with nobler feelings and greater love, then it is a good poem. -This is the crucial, the only true test. - -There is no act of the human mind that is not controlled by the -feelings. When this is comprehended and when, at the same time, it -is perceived to what an extent poetry ministers to the feelings, the -utility of poetry will be better appreciated. Poetry thus ministering -to the controlling forces of life, is a guide and corrective of life; -a guide in that it is “a representation of life” (as Alfred Austin has -it), the experiences of the hearts of men; a corrective in that it is -“a criticism of life” (as Matthew Arnold says), an idealization that, -by uplifting, corrects the heart that else would droop. Austin thinks -his idea opposes Arnold’s. It does not. Each simply looks at one side; -each takes a different angle. Both are correct so far as they go. For -poetry is the heart’s history. It is also the ever present attempt, in -the light of that guiding lamp, to the making of a better history. - -This, indeed, makes it philosophy. For what else does philosophy do? -The poet is ever a philosopher. Is not poetry philosophy teaching by -experience? It does not teach by precept, it is not didactic; that -is the province of prose; but it mirrors the human heart and reveals -its experiences. Nine hundred ninety-nine people shape their lives -by experience where one shapes his by rule and thumb. One rose of -experience with its warning thorns has more of humanity and guidance -in it than all the tangle-woods of teaching. The hand must follow the -heart. If the heart be right the hand can never go wrong. - -He who would be an immortal poet must have a great and sympathizing -heart; a heart that laughs and weeps, and most of all, a heart that -loves. Were I asked the one essential of the poet, that essential -which includes all minor requisites, I should answer, Love. “A Poet -without Love,” says Carlyle, “were a physical and a metaphysical -impossibility.” It is the dominating element of all great poets. What -poet is greater, or what one has loved more deeply than Burns? - -Love often reveals itself in sorrow and in humor. Though the poet need -not be a humorist, must not be at all times, as the term is used, it -is nevertheless essential that he have a lively appreciation of the -ludicrous, lest he fall into grave errors of thought and expression. -But the humor must not be the all-pervading element of his poetry; it -should be simply a check, a guide, or sometimes a spur. A keen sense -of humor should be to him the lash that whips thought out of its -self-constituted morbid glooms, in which it appears ridiculous, into -a lively harmony with things as they really are to the hearts of men. -It were, indeed, a nice question to determine how far the grave or -the humorous should enter poetic composition to the exclusion of the -other. Certainly the most felicitous poetry is not all rain nor all -shine, but the iris of Ulloa struck out of the depths of tears by the -happy, hopeful shine of laughter. - -But if the poet laugh, he must also love; for he laughs because he -loves. This is the divine law. The man who hates never laughs; he may -mock. Well may we ponder that. Indeed, tears and laughter, sometimes -blended, are but forms of love. If laughter is music, certainly love, -that divine gift in the human heart, love of the good, the beautiful, -and the true, love of home, of country, of mankind, of God, or of -a beautiful image of God, the one who is the heart’s ideal, divine -immortal love, is perfect harmony. If the poet’s theme is of the good, -the beautiful, and the true, so must his love be. If these dwell not in -his heart, he shall search the world and the ages through and not find -them; and if love dwell not there with them, his themes shall never -touch our hearts. - -But the poet, to be appreciated, is not the only one that must possess -these qualities. It is the beauty and the love in the soul of him who -is touched by the statue, the painting, the melody, the poem, that -makes it beautiful to him. It is thus that we help the poet make the -poem. Love makes poets of us all. - -With our hearts thus tuned to the touch of the Maker’s hand, we may -often hold sweet communion with our poet-friends whose love still -reaches out to us through the mists of ages and beckons us to the -Valhalla of the happy. We may stand alone in the stern, inquisitorial -presence of self under the eye of Almighty God, and think thoughts our -tongues can never tell. - -Strolling arm in arm with good Dan Chaucer as - - “... fiery Phœbus riseth up so bright - That all the orient laugheth of the light,” - -we may meet and join company with immortal Shakespeare, where - - “... the morn, in russet mantle clad, - Walks o’er the dew of yond high eastern hill”; - -and then with them both we may pass down the slope to the sea-shore -where we clasp hands with Laureate Tennyson and, as we listen to the -_break, break, break_ upon the sands, say in our hearts with him, - - “And I would that my tongue could utter - The thoughts that arise in me.” - -With Milton we may plunge to the lowest depths and rise to the greatest -heights, and stand with him at last in a Paradise regained. With Dryden -we may shout from the golden-tipped top of the mount of lyric song to -the battling brave below, - - “If the world be worth thy winning, - Think, oh think it worth enjoying”; - -and hear the reverberant echoes along the channeled valleys of the soul -of Gray, - - “The paths of glory lead but to the grave.” - -With Whittier, longing to do and doing the greatest good of which we -are capable, we may often question, - - “What, my soul, was thy errand here?” - -Listening to the Preacher Kingsley, we may learn to - - “Do lovely things, not dream them, all day long; - And so, make life and death and that vast forever - One grand, sweet song.” - -In our sadder moods we may, with Cowper, look across the dark, -Cimmerian tide and recall the face and the kiss and the touch of a -mother gone. In our gayer hours, with Burns we may gather sweet field -flowers and garland them in love; and, whether in field or shop or -kirk, learn somewhat - - “To see oursels as others see us.” - -With Wordsworth, receiving those faint intimations of immortality from -recollections of early childhood, we may realize - - “That there has passed away a glory from the earth.” - -With Lowell we may feel that - - “Daily, with souls that cringe and plot, - We Sinais climb and know it not.” - -If in the pursuit of life we shall have been drawn onwards by that -divine link called conscience; if we shall have heeded the advice to -the Divinity within us, - - “... To thine own self be true; - And it must follow as the night the day - Thou canst not then be false to any man”; - -if within us daily we shall have said with dear old Dr. Oliver Wendell -Holmes, - - “Build thee more stately mansions, O my soul, - As the swift seasons roll! - Leave thy low-vaulted past! - Let each new temple, nobler than the last, - Shut thee from heaven with a dome more vast, - Till thou at length art free, - Leaving thine outgrown shell by life’s unresting sea”; - -if we shall have done all this, I say, and followed God: then, when at -last with white-haired Bryant each of us - - “lies down to pleasant dreams,” - -the Sun shall go down with a golden halo of glory; Beauty, eternal -Beauty, wedded to immortal Love, shall reign forever in the heart; - - “And the night shall be filled with music; - And the cares that infest the day - Shall fold their tents, like the Arabs, - And as silently steal away.” - - - - - USELESS? - - - Flowers are poetry; poetry, flowers: - Each is a clod of earth in bloom. - Useful? Aye, to the heart!--to illume - The rain-drop drip from the wing of the hours. - - Both are the love of the great dear God - Set in the sod of the new child-earth, - Set in the heart at the earth-child’s birth, - Soul of the clay, and bloom of the clod. - - Flowers and poetry--blossoms of Love - Sweetest and purest the heart can know, - Breathing their perfumes up from below, - Lifting us back to the God above. - - - - - A MORTAL. - - - Do the goddesses, I wonder, - Ever come to mortal earth, - Ever throw a wild enchantment - Round the heart of mortal birth? - - Does the goddess Venus wander - Ever from her realms above, - Liveried in the rarest raiment - Stolen from the courts of Love? - - Are _her_ eyes of witching azure, - Curtained o’er with rosy light; - And a golden sunset halo - Round a smiling brow of white? - - Oh I wonder if the roses - Ever blush upon _her_ cheeks - When the scented kiss of morning - For the rarest flower seeks. - - Ah, ye purest gems of ocean, - Set in ruby rays serene, - Does your light fall down in worship - When those pearl-dight lips are seen? - - Aye, I wonder if the heavens - And the flowers of the earth, - As they smile upon each other, - Have the hundredth of her worth? - - Do the ripples of the zephyr, - Or the waves to music wed - Have the poetry of motion - That attends her airy tread? - - Do the Orphic orbs of æther, - With a lyric hand divine, - Draw the wandering planets round them - As her words this heart of mine? - - Surely, surely not a goddess, - ’Tis a mortal I have seen; - Never goddess wore such features, - Never goddess such of mien. - - She’s the rarest of the fairest, - She’s the light of every eye; - She’s the smile of earth and ocean - And the glory of the sky. - - Hers the lid with golden lashes - Raised above the Morning’s eye; - Hers the smile of wave and flower - Caught from out the blushing sky. - - Oh her cheeks are rose of sunset, - And her eyes the stars of night; - Opening dawn, her lips half parted, - Laced with gleams of iv’ry light. - - Lydian music in her being - An enchanted spirit dwells, - Caught from out the hands of angels, - Hands that swing the hallowed bells. - - Love--the purest love of heaven-- - Had its birth upon her lips;-- - E’en the flowers toss her kisses - From their tiny finger-tips. - - Oh the winds enfold the mountains - And the seas draw down the stars; - Still they sigh and murmur ever, - “Never love so pure as hers.” - - And the notes forever rising - To the planetary seas - Echo back in spheric music, - “Never mortals loved as these.” - - * * * * * - - Heart to heart I clasped my Darling, - Drew her down from angel hands, - With my head in God’s own presence, - And my feet upon the sands.-- - - Drew her to me from the angels, - As the silent summer night - Sweetest scent of all the roses - To its loving bosom might. - - Day by day her sister angels - Sing to me her rarest worth; - For she’s drawing me toward heaven - As I drew her down to earth. - - - - - TO MORPHEUS. - - - Like the star - That afar - Throws its silver-wrought beams - As it peacefully dreams - On the cradle-swung crest - Of the billows of blue, - Oh on thy breast - So let me rest, - Oh rest, - Rest, - Till the kiss of the morning dew. - - - - - A DREAMY APRIL EVENING IN THE WOODS. - - - Oh sweet the sounds I hear, the sights I see,-- - The vocal air, the blooming clod; - But sweeter far the thoughts that rise in me, - So farther earth, so nearer God. - - - - - TO THEE ABOVE. - - - Up from the gray of earth, - Over the hills of blue, - Out in the purpling west, - I come, my love, to you. - - Oh not in the busy marts - Nor yet in the crowded throng; - No, not ’neath the parlor lights - Does my heart forget its song. - - But bound by the fetters there, - I cannot choose but stay; - Like a restive steed bound fast, - I fret the hours away. - - ’Tis only when alone - I find my soul at rest; - ’Tis then I rise to thee - Amid the purpling west. - - And sitting thus this eve - Atop my house’s tower, - I send my soul in love - To dwell with thee this hour. - - Oh ever thus I stand, - A crag ’mid noisy crowds,-- - My feet upon the sands, - My head amid the clouds. - - My heart to all is cold - Save but to thee, Sweet Heart! - For Death my requiem tolled - When thou and I didst part. - - I know nor rest nor peace, - I find nor life nor love - Save but the silent hour - I fly to thee above. - - - - - CHORUS. - - (By nymphs and naiads, sylphs and dryads.) - - - Tripping away, - Blithesome and gay, - Light as the ether above, - Breathing our words - Sweet as the birds, - Sing we the power of love. - - Love in its power - Bindeth the flower - Unto the common clod, - Lifting the low - Out of its woe - Up to the bosom of God. - - Love in its might - Bindeth the light - Unto the shadow of day, - Flushing the clouds - Whitened like shrouds - Red with the last dying ray. - - Love in its dream - Bindeth the stream - Unto the channels of earth, - Lifting the trees - Kissed by the breeze - Into a purer birth. - - Heart unto heart - Never to part - Joining the gentle and strong, - Love’s dreaming lyre - Lifts ever higher - Finding responsive a song. - - Every one, - Happy or lone, - Deep in the hills of the soul - Sometime shall find - Horn that shall wind - Echoes that endless shall roll. - - - - - THE LURLEI. - - - Only a moment! The Lurlei staid - Only a moment with me: - “Only a moment! I’ll sell,” I said, - “Only a moment to thee.” - - Bartered I then with the Lurlei gay - Only a moment of time, - Selling the flowers of the valley gray, - Buying the mountain-top’s rime. - - Only a moment! The Lurlei smiled; - “Sell me thy birth-right,” she saith. - Oh, and I sold it, innocent child, - Buying the pottage of death! - - “’Tis but a moment: thy honor, my dear.” - She layeth her hand on my head. - I cannot choose but heed as I hear; - She giveth me lust in its stead. - - “Give me, I pray thee, thy will for a time, - I shall reward thee right well.” - She beckons me whither the cloud-peaks climb, - She hath me under her spell. - - “Rosy thy cheek with the bloom of health, - Fair is thy long brown hair; - Here I give premature age for thy wealth, - Here the pure snows thou must wear.” - - “Firm is thy tread with the boldness of youth.” - She holdeth my will at command; - She bendeth my form in age without ruth, - Placeth a staff in my hand. - - “Farewell, for thy moment has lengthened to years; - I kiss thee a withering curse: - Thou hast bought with thy soul-wealth a valley of tears, - Tears of eternal remorse.” - - “Give me, I pray thee, my Lurlei lone, - Something to quiet my soul.” - Conscience doth slide from my heart like a stone, - Clouds of remorse from me roll. - - “Purity hath not a place in the heart - Reft of all conscience,” Lurlei: - Legions of Pleasures around me upstart, - Licentiousness pointing the way. - - “Prayer from the wicked availeth not, friend:” - She placeth a curse in mine eye; - “Heaven nor Hell is thy destine or end:” - She speareth my soul with the lie. - - “The sun shineth not; the moon and stars grope:” - Night, sable-robed, _doth_ upstart; - “Love ruleth not, nor Pity, nor Hope:” - Hissing-tongued Hate gnaws my heart. - - Only a moment I bartered with her, - Only a moment of time, - Selling the good, the true, and the pure, - Buying the glitter of crime! - - I sold her my soul for a moment of pleasure, - That moment _has_ lengthened to years: - I sold her my soul for bliss without measure, - I bought all Eternity’s tears! - - - _L’Envoy._ - - The Lurlei sits on the mountain’s top, - Combing her golden hair; - Her voice is sirenic, and all must stop - Who pass down the river there. - - - - - TOUGH MUTTON, PERHAPS. - - - We are having atrocious _tough wether_, - (To hear the _sheep-tenders_ tell it) - But they are responsible for it - If that is the way they spell it. - - - - - TO MISS ----. - - - Upon that radiant brow of thine - May love and truth forever shine, - Like stars that light the welkin dome - And tint the billowy ocean’s foam. - - Upon life’s desert, wild and broad, - Oh may’st thou walk that peaceful road - Which leads us on to heaven above - Where all is joy and peace and love. - - Around thy soul so pure and white - May Heaven shed celestial light, - Life’s ocean wild to guide thee o’er, - And waft thee to its golden shore. - - [Written in youth one July in a hay-field, on a piece of paper - that had contained my dinner, with an axle-grease box for my - table, while lazily reclining under the wagon in the shade of - the willows.] - - - - - SHUT YOUR EYES AND GO TO SLEEP. - - A KYRIELLE. - - - Dear, your heart is tired to-night, - And the waning watches creep; - All too soon the morn will come,-- - Shut your eyes and go to sleep. - - While the stars in heaven dream - And the angels vigils keep, - Lay your head upon my arm, - Shut your eyes and go to sleep. - - Yes, I know that fevered care - Trembles on your troubled lip; - Dreams of love will heal the heart,-- - Shut your eyes and go to sleep. - - Let your heart forget to pain, - And your eyes forget to weep; - Dream of home, and hope, and love, - Shut your eyes and go to sleep. - - Heavy drags the wounded hour - Over Sorrow’s restless deep, - Heaving up the tide of tears,-- - Shut your eyes and go to sleep. - - Oh the heaving, stifling sigh - Through the night its pain will keep - For the pillow waking prest,-- - Shut your eyes and go to sleep. - - With a touch like woman’s own, - Touch of Love’s own finger-tip, - I will smooth your throbbing brow,-- - Shut your eyes and go to sleep. - - Gently I will soothe your heart - And still your restless pulse’s leap; - Lay your head upon my arm, - Shut your eyes and go to sleep. - - - - - BROWNING. - - (BY W. A. BACK, FARMER.) - - - Browning may be a right smart of a poet, - Some thinks him so; - But if he is he’s not anxious to show it, - ’R else _I_ don’t _know_. - - Give me a singer of songs ’at sings ’em - With lots of soul; - Whose tweedle-um-twangles whenever he twings ’em - Jist fill you full. - - I caint endoor of a poet ’at dribbles - His honey in straw, - An’ hate none the less the blame ijit that scribbles - In styles all raw. - - Make your own poem an’ label it “Browning”: - The sum an’ gross; - Tho’ nothin’s in his weedy rankness,--Stop frownin’! - Take ’nother dose! - - My advice, you say?--Let Browning go pipin’ - In an ivy leaf; - Don’t hold his sack like a fool a-snipin’, - This life’s too brief. - - - - - MADRIGAL. - - - Darling, here within this lyric, - Free from other mortal sight, - Free from aught but dearest day-dreams, - Hidden in the song I write, - Sits a happy, happy lover - In a heaven of the bliss - Born, in Love’s deep-breathing silence, - Of the rapturous sweet kiss. - Silently he clasps his radiant - Blooming bride with loving arms, - Hears the sweet, bell-like alarums - (Rung by Cupid and the angels) - Of sweet Passion’s inward storms - As her arms, so soft, climb upwards - And entwine themselves enwrapt, - Round about his neck in rarest - Angel-love e’er being kept. - --Darling, if you know the dear girl - That I think thus ever on, - I can hope you’ll find this poem - Ever shrines you as my own. - - - - - WORDS AND THOUGHTS. - - - Words are vases - Shaped to thought - Culled in places - Blossom-fraught; - - Thoughts are laces - Finely wrought - From the graces - Bloom has caught:-- - - In sherds - Our words - We break as we do vases; - In shreds - The threads - Of thought we tear as laces. - - - - - REX FUGIT. - - - “_Rex fugit_,--The king flees.”--Thus read - A dignified, tall Latin student. - “Try ‘has,’” the usually prudent - Professor said. - - He rose with confidence and ease; - But the whole class roared with laughter - When he read a moment after, - “_The king has fleas_.” - - - - - THE SICKLE OF FLOWERS. - - - The last sad rites of death performed, - The sickle lies upon the grave; - The sickle made of blooming flowers - That the ruthless reaper clave. - - Withered lie the flowers gathered, - Rusts the sickle on the ground; - Dead the blossoms now decaying,-- - And the form within the mound! - - Oh the flowers of the sickle - And the blooms upon its blade - Are decaying daily, daily-- - Sweetest flowers soonest fade! - - Oh the sickle is death’s emblem - And the flowers on it, rust!-- - Emblem of the end of mortals, - Earth to earth, and dust to dust! - - [Scribbled in about five minutes on the back of an old - envelope while sitting by a new-made grave on which was a - sickle of flowers.] - - - - - THIS TOUCH OF AN ANGEL’S HAND. - - - Happiness is the realization of longings,-- - Of hope and fond desire,-- - That enter the heart like angel-throngings - Bearing celestial fire. - - Like the peace that follows a benediction - Is the painless rest it gives, - Lething forever the heart’s affliction - In the endless joy it leaves. - - ’Tis the acme of life and the end of living, - This touch of an angel’s hand, - And it falls on the heart like the holy shriving - Of the Priest of the Better Land. - - - - - LIFE’S PHILOSOPHY. - - AN ALLEGORY. - - - How builds this budding flower, my child? - “It lies all wrapped in icy snows - Until the Suns of Spring have smiled - And kissed it, blushing, to a rose.” - - * * * * * - - How doth the tree, fair youth, the tree? - “Year by year it adds a round - And reaches up by slow degree, - Keeping firm foot on the ground.” - - The vine, sweet maid, how doth the vine? - “By the tree’s support it lifts its head - And round the tree its arms doth twine; - Thus the two in love are wed.” - - The two, aged sire and dame, how they? - “The tree protects the tender vine, - The vine in turn binds firm the tree: - The two are one in shade and shine.” - - * * * * * - - What of the plant, O man, the plant? - “Adream in life’s fair sleep it lies - Until the Autumn Suns aslant - Shoot gleaming thwart the glowing skies!” - - - - - JUST AS USUAL. - - - The sun rose bright at morn, - The sun sank sad at night; - The moon’s faint golden horn - Waxed fair with mellow light. - - All night around the fold - The polar bears kept prowl; - Their shining eyes gleamed cold - And danced to the wind’s mad howl. - - Clear blew the shepherd’s horn, - Fair flushed the eastern main; - The bears slunk back: ’twas morn, - The sun arose again! - - Sweet Love rose bright at Morn, - Sad Love went down at Night; - Fair Hope’s faint golden horn - Waxed sweet with mellow light. - - All night around my mind - My jealous fears kept prowl; - Cold blew the willing wind - That chilled my very soul. - - Clear wound Dan Cupid’s horn, - As sweet as rapture’s pain; - My fears slunk back: ’twas morn, - And Love arose again! - - - - - A DEPLORATION. - - We do often think ourselves not worth.--_Anonymous._ - - - Cold is the night, and my heart is cold, - Bleak as yon peak of the rockies old; - Chill like the hill - At the mountain’s foot, - Still as the rill - That lies frozen and mute. - - White is the mountain-top, gleaming with snow, - Cov’ring the rocks and the mould below: - So seems the snow - That my heart doth enfold, - Tho’ down below - Lie the rocks and the mould. - - Deep in the hill neath the binding cold - Never yet found may be veins of gold. - And of the sand - And the quartz in my heart - Hand has not panned, - Maybe gold is a part. - - Oh ’neath the crystal and ice-bound stream - Drifts every gleam of a gold-digger’s dream; - So neath the floe - Of my heart’s frozen stream - Slowly I know - Drifts the gold of love’s dream. - - - - - I LOVE YOU, KATE. - - - Dreaming rapturously, - Dearest Kate, - Full elate - I seek your side to-night. - Long, weary hours I wait - Each day, - Each day, - To see the glorious light - Of your face,-- - To me, earth’s rarest boon, - That makes my night - A summer’s day, - The summer’s day - A bright and vernal noon, - The noon eternity. - Oh, sitting beauteously - Upon Love’s throne aboon - With sceptered sway - O’er all my way, - Still of my night - Make one eternal sun - To shine thro’ space - With life and love and light - For aye - And aye; - Nor longer bid me wait, - But say me “yes” to-night; - Because, by fate - I love you, Kate!-- - Oh will you marry me! - - [In the above, first rhymes with last, second with second from - last, and so on.] - - - - - THE DEAD MAN’S LIFE. - - (_That is, practically dead._) - - - Day after day have I secretly prayed - From the morn thro’ noon till night - That my life might discover some port in the west - Like the haven of sweet heaven’s Light. - - Eve after eve as the sun has gone down, - With my eyes still turned to the west - I have prayed to the irised Pacific profound - For even its restful unrest. - - Night after night in my bed full awake - I have dreamed myself weeping alone - In a silence as deep as the stars of the night - O’er a corse that I knew was my own. - - Morn after morn have I risen from bed - With the fear and the hope of its truth, - Only to find that the death of the Dead - Is bought at the dream-god’s booth. - - - - - PITY THE POOR. - - - I pity the poor for I myself am poor, - Though I wear starched cuffs and collars; - But the brainless poor in rags I pity far more, - For they’ve neither _sense_ nor dollars. - - I pity as much the hare-brained spendthrift wretch - With a wealth of only money; - The “sassiety” dude likewise whose droning speech - Smacks only of bumble-bee honey. - - I pity all those at whom Poverty throws her dart - As they joust thro’ the world with each other; - But I pity the most of all the bankrupt heart - With no love for a human brother. - - - - - LIFE’S LOST SKIFF. - - WRITTEN ON LAKE MICHIGAN. - - - _Prelude._ - - Green as emerald is Michigan; - And the waves, - Like ghosts from hungry graves, - Are tossing up my infant boat amain, - And kissing wild - The orphan ocean-child, - The rarest that has ever been, - The fairest that was ever seen. - - - _Morning._ - - Up drives the great red sun aslant, - The sea-gulls flap, and scream, and fly; - A score of sails the sun’s rays paint - Upon the burning western sky. - - - _Noon._ - - How silently and slow they steer! - Are the waves as wild out there the day, - And do the ships careen and veer - As she that drives so fast away? - - - _Night._ - - Dim shadows haunt the eastern steep, - The sun creeps up the glooming tower; - The sea-birds scream in winged sleep, - The ghostly billows wail the hour! - - - _Finale._ - - Green as emerald is Michigan; - And the waves, - Like ghosts in yawning graves, - Are tossing o’er my infant boat again, - Embracing wild - The orphan ocean-child, - The rarest that has ever been, - The fairest that was ever seen! - - - - - A CLOSE ATTACHMENT. - - STRANGE STORY OF AMOS QUITO. - - - I have swept the airy heavens, - I have skimmed the rivers o’er; - I have slept upon the cloud-wing, - I have entered heaven’s door. - But in my peregrinations - Thro’ this world of ups and downs, - None have loved and none have sought me, - None have offered aught but frowns. - - I have drunk the sweetest rain-drop - On its heaven-mission sent; - I have danced upon the rainbow - Where its colors fairest blent. - I have laughed and skipped and frolicked, - I have hummed my sweetest songs; - But I’ve never found the attachment - That I think to me belongs. - - Ah, the world’s appreciation - Of my endless wealth and worth - Is a desiccated desert, - Is a sterile, arid dearth! - I’m the fairest of my fellows, - And the most affectionate; - Hence the world’s indifference to me - On my mighty soul doth grate. - - I have kissed the blushing maiden, - I have lullabied to babies; - I have feasted on the features - Of a million lords and ladies. - ’Tis the lover’s same old story-- - Disappointment everywhere! - None have loved--except to hate me, - None have hated--save to spare! - - Now at length my weary pinions, - Out of reach of mortal kind, - Rest from all men’s scorns and buffets, - And their first attachment find, - And I cannot choose but stay here - Where I’ll always stay to hum, - For I’ve reached life’s golden acme,-- - I am stuck on chewing gum! - - I am sleepy now, and happy, - Let profane hands not disturb; - Let none mar my wildest dreamings, - Nor ecstatic tumblings curb. - Since ’twas not in life permitted - That his blood I s-i-p, - May mankind write: - - +--------------+ - | AMOS QUITO! | - | LET HIM EVER | - | R.-I.-P. | - +--------------+ - - - - - THE DEMONIAC. - - - Great God! and must I, must I live, - And can I never die, - I whom the press of sorrow’s hand - Hurled headlong from the sky? - - How long, O Lord, must I thus wait, - How long in blasting blight, - Each idle day imploring death, - And dreaming death each night? - - Each hour I fill some heart with woe, - And blast some heart with mine! - To me ’tis living death to know - My heart stills poisoned wine! - - Ten million, million deaths I live - Each wasting, poisoned hour; - For, whom I love my presence damns-- - I blight each blooming flower. - - Oh that the grinning skeleton - This faithless flesh doth hold - Might lay its lying mantle off - To dream on downs of mould! - - The leaf must fade, the sun must set, - The sweetest day must die; - But Death, Decay, and Woe must live,-- - And so, and so must I! - - Oh days to me are lengthened years, - The years like ages creep; - I’ve tossed ten million centuries - On life’s unfathomed deep! - - I’ve seen the crawling sea-weed rot - In slime upon that sea, - And slimy things find birth therein - To live in death, like me. - - I find no peace, I know no rest, - My very self I fly;-- - Unfit to love, unfit to live, - And far less fit to die! - - - - - THE WEATHER FIEND. - - - Of the weather - Ask us whether - We enjoy it thus and thus; - If it suits us, - What it boots us, - If it matters much to us. - - When it’s raining, - Come complaining - That “it’s muddy out today.” - It will please us - And will ease us - Of the thing we’d like to say. - - When a blizzard - Like a lizard - Wriggles up and down your spine, - Don’t be fool-like, - Just keep cool, like - All green “pickles” on the vine. - - If it’s cold out, - Don’t be sold out - When you tell somebody so - If he says he - ’S melting as he - Gently mops his frigid brow. - - If it’s snowing, - With a knowing - Wink within your “weather eye” - It is sound to - Say, “We’re bound to - Have some sleighing by and by.” - - If we _shiver_ - When your clever - Tongue remarks “_it’s hot as ’ile_,” - It’s because of - Those old _saws_ of - Weather that you always _file_. - - We can stand it-- - Yes, demand it, - That you be a weather bore, - For we never - Heard such clever - _Originality_ before. - - - - - WHO KNOWS! - - - Ah me!-- - O’er the wide - Deep I glide - Where flows - For me - Either waters ’mid the plashes - Of the lacing star-light lashes, - Or a sea ’mid lightning gashes - With their booming cannon-crashes-- - Who knows! - Ah me! - - In the wide - River’s tide - Still flows - For me - Either waters bearing bubbles - From the waves that pelt the pebbles, - Or a muddy sea of troubles - With its melancholy trebles-- - Who knows! - Ah me, - Ah me! - - - - - THE DEATH-HOWL. - - - I shall die to-night, dear mother, I have heard the long death-howl, - That long plaintive, mournful cry like the wail of some lost soul. - - And it sounded like a spirit crying through a distant storm, - Moaning that another mortal should put on the brutish form!-- - - Wailing that a brother-spirit should exchange its form for that - Of the baying hound, or worse, of the death-rhymed Irish rat. - - But my mother, darling mother! old Pythagoras was wrong, - For the death-howl dies away, and I hear the angel-song. - - --Yet, I’ve heard that death-howl, mother, and I know I’ll die - to-night-- - And the room is filling, filling with a strange, unearthly light! - - Oh that glorious sight out yonder in the vast eternity - Where the light and song are leading--come! oh come and go with me! - - Dearest mother, mother, mother! what a joyous, joyous sight! - Each glad soul as life has dreamed it clad in purest angel-white! - - The death-howl’s died away, dear mother,--and I’m dying now - to-night!-- - Good-night mother, earth’s dear angel, once more mother, sweet - good-night! - - - - - ON PLUCKING A CROCUS. - - - Sweet Crocus! harbinger of spring, - Awake, with others sleeping, - How have I wrecked thy new-born life - And set thy parent weeping! - - See! sad her weeping eyes upturning, - Adrip with love for thee, - And arms outstretched implore thy slayer - That thou’lt returnéd be. - - Alas! in vain her tears must flow, - Her palms implore the youth - Who pluckéd thee from out her heart - And set in his such ruth. - - I cannot give thee back--I would - I might! I’d send thee thither; - It grieveth me to see her weep, - To know that thou shalt wither. - - My heart ne’er tho’t when thee I plucked, - For thou not yet hadst won it, - How much I took, how little gave-- - I would I had not done it. - - Lift up thy drooping head again-- - I would the word would do it!-- - Make me not weep for plucking thee; - Thou know’st how much I rue it. - - Thy pure and purple-tinted petals, - Thy open lily-lips, - Thy olden-golden anthered stamens - Thy saffron pistil-tips!-- - - Would I could here embalm them all - And wrap in verses meet - So that thou’dst be, when years should roll, - To others just as sweet! - - - _Envoy._ - - ’Tis thus, O soul-inspired poet, - The world shall greet thy song-- - Shall pluck it from thy throbbing soul - To die amidst the throng. - - And thus, O plucker of the crocus, - Shall Death come unto thee-- - Shall pluck thee from thy mother’s heart, - Shall thy embalmer be. - - So may’st thou live and do and be - That Death, with riches rife, - Shall be thy welcome harbinger,-- - The crocus of thy life. - - - - - GRAVITY--LIFE! - - (After Browning--several miles after.) - - - Gravity--what? - Attraction we call it, - Yet mind cannot thrall it-- - Where is it not? - Life of world-stuff--truly it is! - --Life then of man?--His, and not his! - ’Tis of all matter; thus ’tis of man; - ’Tis of all space, and spans the world’s span. - Matter, man! Gravity, life! - --Each fits to each; with the other at strife. - Life? It is--what? - Who can explain it? - Mind cannot chain it-- - God! how ’tis wrought! - - - - - DEATH--LIFE. - - - Sadly o’er the moor I fare, - Lonely, lonely all the day; - Life nor leaf nor song is there; - Barren, barren all the way. - - Sun and spring and hope are bright, - Sweetly, sweetly dreaming there; - Life will wake with love and light, - Joyous, joyous everywhere. - - - - - HOT?--WELL, RATHER! - - - The sun come peekin’ crost the hills - With round, red, shinin’, smilin’ face - That broadened to a grin from ear - To ear,--a most perdigeous space! - - Then he showed his teeth an’ slapped his sides - An’ laughed an’ shook with all his might - To think how ’tarnal hot ’t’ould be - Fer us a-sittin’ still ’fore night. - - ’Twas “purty warm this mornin’” ’fore - ’Twas eight o’clock; an’ then ’twas found - “Quite warm”; then “hot”, an’ “awful hot” - Before the minute-hand’s tenth round. - - At twelve ’twas “b’ilin’ hot”, and yet - No stop; ’twas “meltin’ hot” at two; - All said, “I’m dyin’ with the heat!”-- - “The hottest day I ever knew!” - - Why, stalks of corn that mornin’ growed - Full two foot--ears pupo’tional; - An’ then, ’fore night, ’twas dry an’ ripe - Like when you shuck it in the fall. - - The steeples on the churches all - Was drawed to more’n three times their height, - An’ lightnin’-rods was stretched to wire - That melted off like wax ’fore night. - - The weather-boardin’ all warped off - An’ shingles rolled in little tubes; - Big saw-logs doubled up in bows, - An’ water crystallized in cubes. - - The hoops of barrels tumbled off - An’ wagon-tires follered suit; - The forests growed so awful fast - They all was pulled up by the root. - - Men melted in the harvest-field - An’ fried to cracklin’s light as chaff, - A-sizzlin’ in a way that made - Old Nickie chuck hisse’f an’ laugh! - - In one big city, folks all died - But Smith (Sid. Smith). This chap took off - His flesh an’ lolled ’round in his bones - (But it killed him;--caught cold, and died of a cough). - - I can’t begin to tell how hot - It was--it can’t be even guessed. - It’s still so all-infernal hot - I can’t begin to try to rest. - - - - - A YEAR AGO. - - - A year ago - I held the fondest hopes - That ever touched the fondest heart, - Nor dreamed that I should ever part - From all that fancy opes, - A year ago. - - A year ago!-- - Sweet mem’ry’s golden chime!-- - A flower bloomed beneath my sill - And by its soft, enchanting smell - I lost all count of time - A year ago. - - A year ago - I slept a bed of peace - Beneath the stars of summer skies - While dreams like dews o’erdropt my eyes - That this should never cease-- - A year ago! - - A year ago - My morning-glory vine, - Soft whispering with the wings of bees, - Foretold that whisperings like these - Should endlessly be mine-- - A year ago! - - A year ago - The sun light-kissed the moon, - Glad skies upon the sweet lake hung, - And mingled Life and Love and Song - Rode near their highest noon-- - A year ago. - - A year ago!-- - Then, then each sister vine - Upon a brother sweetly leaned: - Thus we, Dear Heart, ourselves demeaned - When Love had made you mine - A year ago. - - A year ago - ’Twas Love from sun to sun: - To-day I fold you to my heart - And know that nought but death can part - The love and life begun - A year ago. - - - - - THE SWEETEST OF ALL. - - - There are tears of pity and tears of woe, - And tears half of rapture and pain will fall; - And tears for excess of joy must flow, - But the tears of love are the sweetest of all. - - There’s the sorrow of husband, the sorrow of wife, - And the sorrow that knows no recall; - The sorrow of death and the sorrow of life, - But the sorrow of love is the sweetest of all. - - Oh the sighs of remorse and the sighs of pain - And the sighs of hope that the heart enthrall - May be sweet to the soul and balm to the brain, - But the sighs of love are the sweetest of all. - - There’s the laugh of the farm-boy, free and wild, - The laugh in the boisterous banqueting hall; - The laugh of the sage, the laugh of the child, - But the laugh of love is the sweetest of all. - - There are smiles of contentment and smiles of cheer - And smiles that gladden wherever they fall; - There are smiles that banish the thoughts of fear, - But the smiles of love are the sweetest of all. - - There’s the kiss sweet-blown from the finger tips, - The kiss of good-bye when the tear-drops fall; - There’s the kiss of a cherishing mother’s lips, - But the kiss of love is the sweetest of all. - - There are songs that sing in a minor key, - And songs that the listening heart appall; - There are songs that sing like the constant sea, - But the songs of love are the sweetest of all. - - - - - THE LOVER’S COMPLAINT. - - - Sorrows live and pleasures dee, - Willy-willy-waly weep my woe! - And I’ll wear the willow-tree, - Willow-willow weeping, sweeping low. - - For I loved a bonnie lass, - Willy-willy-waly weep my woe! - Bonnie, bonnie Love, alas! - Willow-willow, whither did she go? - - Here upon this willow-tree, - Willy-willy-waly weep my woe! - I will hang my harp, and dee, - Willow-willow, will she ever know? - - On my heart I’ll place my hand - Willy-willy-waly wailing so! - On my head a green garland, - Willow-willow weeping sleeping so! - - Then farewell, my bride and breath, - Willy-willy-waly, waly-oh! - Still I love you, tho’ my death, - Willow-willow wailing--will she know! - - [The willow-tree is emblematical of death, or forsaken - love--which, to the lover, is, of course, all the same - thing. The custom of a disappointed lover’s hanging his - harp on a willow-tree and going off to the wars in utter - desperation--hoping to get killed, perhaps, and thus be - revenged on his false sweetheart by making her _sorry_!--; - also the custom of wearing a green-willow garland about the - hat, and leaning up against the tree (they had no fences) to - die, somewhat _à la_ Job’s turkey, I presume, as they used to - do before quicker, modern, new-fangled methods of a lover’s - getting out of the world came in; and the custom of doing - many other things that were done by the young ancient lovers, - is a custom that is dead. The preceding is the wail of one of - these youthful old dolorous fellows, in the English-Ballad - style of his day.] - - - - - BUZZ. - - - “Buzz, buzz, buzz!” - In my ear the sound is drumming, - On my heart-chords ever strumming, - “Buzz, buzz, buzz!” - - Whence the sound, my soul’s confusion? - “Buzz, buzz, buzz!” - Comes the sound from days of childhood - Thronging echoes thro’ the wildwood - “Buzz, buzz, buzz!” - Youth has planted in profusion. - - Thro’ the tangles wildly growing - “Buzz, buzz, buzz!” - Crieth Hope, my lost companion, - Left behind in Wild-oats Cañon, - “Buzz, buzz, buzz!” - With the sap of manhood flowing. - - “Buzz, buzz, buzz!” - Aged now I listen gladly - To the echoes that so sadly - “Buzz, buzz, buzz!” - - - - - WASHINGTON. - - _22 Feb._ - - - Great Washington! Dear father of the land - Our glorious Lincoln died to save! thou who - Wast mightiest of men to beat the foe - In war; admired of every nation and - Of every hearth, yet more because thy hand - Was mightiest in peace; exalted thro’ - The years to more than Jove’s own heights of blue, - Still ruling us from yon far golden strand!-- - For thee this day is made the nation’s day; - For thee the red of dawn, the white of morn, - And spangled blue of night are all unfurled, - Are all the emblems of our love for thee, - To liberty and home God’s greatest boon, - O noblest, grandest, best of all the world! - - - - - FREEDOM’S BATTLE SONG. - - CANTUS FILIIS VETERANORUM. - - - We think the thoughts our fathers thought, - And sing the same old songs; - We fight the battles they have fought, - And right the same old wrongs. - - - CHORUS. - - Hurrah! hurrah! oh may its colors wave, - Hurrah! hurrah! the banner of the free, - O’er thee for aye, thou Land our fathers gave, - O Land my home, sweet Land of Liberty. - - We breath, the air our fathers breathed, - Inspiring freedom still; - Unsheathe the sword that they unsheathed, - And strike with dauntless will. - - --_Chorus._ - - Behold the same old sun above, - The same old spangled dome - Forever shining out in love - On Freedom’s happy home. - - --_Chorus._ - - We’ll guard the home our fathers won - And fight the latest foe; - We’ll stand by every loyal gun - Where Freedom’s streamers flow. - - --_Chorus._ - - Beneath the stripes of red and white - And starry spangled blue, - Protected by the God of Right - We’ll fight the battle through. - - --_Chorus._ - - We’ll bid defiance to the world - And make the welkin ring, - With Freedom’s dauntless flag unfurled - And God above, our King. - - --_Chorus._ - - - - - ’MONG THE MOUNTAINS OF THE SOUL. - - My grief lies all within.--_Shakspere, Rich. II._ - - - Tell me not that tears are sorrow, - Tell me not that grief must flow - Like sad drops of rain descending, - Or like streams in valleys low. - - Mute and sweet as Death’s own slumber, - In the heart that’s dumb with grief - There is eloquence, and mournful, - That doth shame all tear-relief. - - From the heart of silent sorrow, - Clouds of woe can never rise, - And dissolve themselves with raining - To congeal in weeping eyes. - - Oh, the heart may bleed with mourning, - And the soul may burst with grief; - Nought of weeping nor of moaning, - Nought of tears can give relief. - - Deep among the soul’s great mountains, - Silent as the night doth come, - Clouds of grief may soft be raining, - Shrouding every hill in gloom. - - Oh, along the channeled valleys, - Sad as Charon’s river’s roll, - Streams of grief may deep be flowing - ’Mong the mountains of the soul. - - - - - HAL A-HUNTIN’. - - - Onct we went a-huntin’, - Pa ’n’ me, we did, - ’N’ _I_ went ’long an’ tookt ol’ - Rover.--’N’ we did - Have ist the mostest fun!-- - ’N’ Pa, w’y he tookt a gun. - - Rove ist _skeert_ the rabbits - Outen the grass, - ’N’en Pa he shooted at ’em - When they runned pas’. - My landy! how they run! - Wushed _I’d_ a had a gun! - - Pa ist shooted at ’em, - _Hard_, but couldn’t - Kill ’em, ’cause when _he’d_ shoot, - The _gun_--_w’y_--_wouldn’t_. - ’N’en Pa said ’twan’t no fun - A-huntin’ wif _sich_ a gun. - - My! but didn’t them rabbits - Go a scootin’!-- - ’N’ Rover after’m, ist a- - Skallyhootin’! - ’N’ Pa said, “see what HE done” - (When he comed home) “_wif his gun!_” - - ’N’en the hired man ist - Laft an’ shook’n’ - When he’d skun ’em all, he - Said, a-lookin’ - Solemn-like (in fun), - “What a _dog-gone_ gun.” - - ’N’en when Ma she fried ’em - ’N’ we was a-eatin’ - Of ’em up, Ma said ’at - It was beatin’ - How that dog could run!-- - Guess he’s the goodest gun! - - ’N’en Pa’s face got red, an’ - He scowled at me - _Awful_, ’n’ said, “You little - Young rascal, see - Here! what ’d you go’n’ haft - To tell for?” ’N’en they laft! - - Wusht Pa’d take me wif him - Huntin’ again; - But he says ’at I’m too - Awful green-- - Rabbits might eat me! I - Guess not! Wonder why? - - - - - WRITE FROM THE HEART. - - - Write from the heart straight outwards - When divinely the feelings glow, - Write for the soul’s satisfaction, - And you’ll fashion the best outward show. - - Write as the June rose blossoms, - Always straight from the inside out - Slowly unfolding its petals - From the ports of its Power’s redoubt. - - Then from the sweet breathing petals, - That I swear seem almost human to me, - Perfumes rush out thro’ the portals - In the drunkenest ecstasy. - - So let your heart in your poem - Breathe its song like a living rose, - Sweet with its deepest-drawn perfumes - As from soul unto soul it goes. - - Write from the heart straight outwards, - Caring not for the glitter and show;-- - Write as the showers from heaven, - Nor forget how the sweet roses blow. - - - - - WHITHER? - - - Whither this Highway, Child? - “To the Field of Flowers,--to the Flowers wild.” - - Whither this Highway, Youth? - “Through the Fields of Love to the home of Ruth.” - - Whither this Highway, Man? - “Through the realms of Fame into Class and Clan.” - - Whither this Highway, Sire? - “To the silent Tomb with its marble spire!” - - Whither, oh whither, Tomb?-- - But voiceless it points to the azure dome. - - - - - OUR ALMA MATER. - - - Dear Alma Mater! beloved thro’ all the west! - Thou who hast taught our infant feet the way - Of light and truth! thou who hast been our stay - And prop thro’ all our weakness! thou whose zest - In strength’ning us would never let thee rest, - E’en in thy trials as in prosperity! - ’Tis ours to-day in thy adversity - - To aid thee, speed thee thro’ this fiery test. - And as thou, like the Phœnix, bird of old, - Comest from forth thy ruined home, for aye - In broader fields to live and grow, from west - To east the lengthened shout is roll’d, - “’Tis ours, by thee made strong, to strengthen thee, - To us, of all the world the dearest, best!” - - - - - FATHER TIME. - - - I am the father of the river, - Of the sea, and of the mountain; - Of the sunlight that doth quiver - In the rainbow of the fountain. - - I have raised up men and nations, - I have builded homes and cities; - I have given all their stations, - Him who scorns and him who pities. - - I have forged the tears and sorrows - Of a Russia, broken-hearted, - Into chains of sad to-morrows - That but death of kings has parted. - - I have woven joy and laughter, - Fairest of life’s flowers, - Into garlands that hereafter - Shall be worn in Eden’s bowers. - - Oh the sorrows and the pleasures - Of the world in faultless rhyme - Blend the music of their measures - With the step of Father Time. - - - - - THUS LIFE’S TALE. - - - I. - - Away out yonder on the great horizon - Sail, sail away; - Sail, my soul, with thy breaking burthen, - Sail, sail, nor stay. - - - II. - - Away in the westward where the sun is dipping - Gold, gold from the sea, - Gold of a glorious El Dorado-- - Sail, sail to-day. - - - III. - - See the straight horizon by the great sun hollowed: - Sail swift that way. - Sail! ’tis the portal the sun has opened, - Sail, sail nor stay. - - - IV. - - The sun is flashing thro’ the broad portcullis: - See, see my sail! - See the shroud thro’ the gate disappearing!-- - Thus, thus life’s tale! - - - _Finale._ - - The sea is tolling and the mer-folk weeping: - Sailed, sailed away; - Sailed the soul with its life-laded burthen, - Mourned, mourned the clay. - - - - - PART OF THE NEW ENGLAND LAMENT. - - ON THE KILLING OF SITTING BULL, 1891. - - - Sitting Bull and the other Sioux - Lived in the land where the blizzards blioux, - And they grioux, and they grioux, and they grioux!-- - Till one day they shot him thrioux - And kicked up an awful hullabalioux,-- - Bioux-hioux, bioux-hioux, bioux-hioux! - --_Terhwytt-in-the-Twinkle D’Bioux._ - - - - - ON KINGSLEY’S “FAREWELL.” - - - Let’s climb the steeps, let’s drink of Kingsley’s fountain; - Let’s stand with him above the rabbled throng - Upon the sun-tipped top of his grand mountain - Of moral song. - - Oh listen to the music of the river - Along the channeled valleys of his soul - As its threnode-throbbing echoes on us ever - Their FAREWELL roll:-- - - “Be good, sweet maid, and let who can be clever; - Do lovely things, not dream them, all day long, - And so make life, and death, and that vast forever - One grand, sweet song.” - - - - - THE TRANSFORMATION. - - A PSYCHOLOGICAL MYSTERY. - - -I am not superstitious, not in the least. But that certain things which -we cannot explain by any natural method may happen in the lives of us -all, there is no longer a shadow of a doubt in my own mind. - -I had gone to bed as usual and had been sleeping soundly one night, -with only the faint glimmer of a sweet vision now and then flitting -through my mind, when suddenly I was startled from my sleep into a -lively consciousness of a strange presence, and weird, mournful sounds, -as of a dirge, in my room. Moreover, there was a peculiar sensation in -my head, a sensation that I have never before or since felt, a kind of -pain, yet not a pain; for in some indefinable way it was mysteriously -mingled with a peculiar, almost transporting rapture that seemed to -permeate my whole being. Indeed, the pain, starting immediately between -my brows and running back to my crown, seemed born of this pleasurable -sensation, which had no local residence but was in every nerve and -fibre, both together producing that indescribable exhilarating feeling -that I imagine the truly happy in the next world possess. But, you say, -surely the angels have no pain. I hope not; but this I have learned, -that every pleasure of earth has its pain. And as I cannot say that -this sensation was altogether that of a mortal, I cannot say from -experience that there is a pleasure without a pain. - -For a moment after awaking, I could not tell where I was or what was -going on. But my senses being quickly roused to their fullest keenness, -I soon saw I was in my own room. But the matter of the presence and -the weird sound was not so easily solved. - -I lay quietly for a time, trying to persuade myself that I had been -dreaming and that my waking fancy was merely the hallucination of the -dream that had not yet passed away. Have you never done the like? -However, I soon realized that the presence and the sound, whoever or -whatever they were, were not mere fancy. Still I tried to shake off the -feeling that some one had entered my room; for, as is my custom, I had -securely barred the front door, also my bed-room door, before retiring. -Besides, no one could possibly have climbed in at my windows of the -second story without my knowing it; for when I am so nervous as I was -this night, the slightest sound will waken me. I turned over and looked -out of the window. The moon was still shining, and the trees swayed -with a soft murmur in answer to the light breeze that wantoned among -the virgin May leaves just lately from the bud. There were the houses, -the barns, the road, everything, in fact, just as it really was, and I -knew I could not possibly be asleep. - -Still, that consciousness of a presence in my room, stronger and -stronger grown until it had reached conviction, I could not rid myself -of; nor could I shut my ears to the mournful sounds that came from -somewhere--everywhere, it seemed. - -Suddenly--most wonderful to tell!--I saw the very faintest streak of -light creep up the farther wall of my room. - -All that I have related did not, perhaps, occupy more than a full -minute, though I must confess it seemed much longer. - -The thread of light, different from all lights I have ever before seen, -moved toward the ceiling rapidly, and held me in breathless attention. -What could it be!--A ray of the moon through a slit in the curtain that -was gently moved by the breeze blowing through the window? Wait! It -reached the ceiling. Then with such a delicate light that it was almost -imperceptible, it crept along the ceiling diagonally toward me. When it -got immediately above my head, it stopped. What in the world could it -be! - -I lay almost breathless, wondering. Wouldn’t you, my friend, if you -should see such a thing in your room? You may not know what you would -do in such case. Possibly you say you would investigate at once. So, -too, had I said many a time,--I would investigate whatever was strange, -doubtful, or inexplicable. But if your hands would not move, if your -feet lay motionless, and if your whole being were thrilled with a -thralling rapture and pain all at once, you would probably do just as I -did,--lie there fascinated. - -Suddenly, like a flash, something struck me on the forehead, and -instantly I sat bolt upright in bed. As I rose, whatever it was -that struck me bounded off on the bed, then down on the floor, that -mysterious filmy thread of light following it, and at the same time -clinging to my forehead. I put my hand up to brush it away. But when -I touched it (if I really did touch it, which I doubt, for my hand -seemed suddenly arrested), my whole body trembled as if shaken by some -supernatural power. It was something more than a light,--it was a film, -a thread; and at my touch upon it, that sensation of mingled pain and -rapture was almost beyond my power to survive. I let my hand drop -from it, and unable to resist doing what I did, I rose from my bed and -started to follow up that thread of light and film; for somehow it -seemed attached to my brain, and I involuntarily obeyed the will of -whoever or whatever it was that controlled it. Though fully conscious -of all I was doing, I could not resist. Great beads of sweat stood on -my body, caused partly, I suppose, by extreme nervous excitement and -partly by this influence upon me. - -I would have hastened from the room, screamed for help, or cried -“murder!” but it was impossible. Even the rapidity of my steps was -under control, and I marched slowly, deliberately, and solemnly, as to -martial music of the dead. - -I passed from my sleeping-room to my study, obedient to the slightest -inclination of the supernatural power that controlled the thread by -which I was led. - -When I reached my study-chair at my desk, I obediently sat down. Then -for the first time I beheld the object that was exerting this power -over me. I have seen many an object before and since very similar to -it, but never at any time another just like it. - -As I sat in my chair, my eyes riveted on the thread of light, suddenly -that object appeared at the other end of the thread on a pile of -blank writing paper that lay on my desk, and eyed me intently. I was -horrified, and if possible, less capable of resisting than before. What -I beheld, and what was exerting this supernatural influence over me was -nothing more nor less than a horrible, ugly spider!--a supernatural -spider, most certainly; different, I tell you, from any I have ever -before or since seen. - -As I sat watching the spider, it began moving up and down, back and -forth, and round and round on the paper in the most irregular motions -imaginable. Being rather large and clumsy-looking, his movements, so -very irregular though really not ungraceful, made the spider at first -look awkward. - -Wonder upon wonder! As the spider began moving, another one, somewhat -smaller than the first, and more dimly seen, with even a finer thread -of light (attached, too, to the first spider’s thread), made its -appearance on another pile of paper. Could it be that a whole army of -spiders had convened to work my destruction, and that these two were -only the picket-guards? Yet it did seem that this one was not present, -but only the vision of a spider, existing somewhere in reality, but -present only to my mind. This, too, I am persuaded to believe, was -really the case. But the other one, the larger one, I swear was there -moving on my paper; and I still have the paper in my possession as -proof. As this one began to move, the visionary one also began to move; -as if each, unconscious of the acts of the other, was nevertheless -controlled by the action of the other, and the influence upon each -other was mutual. As they both moved, I noticed they left their -shining, filmy thread upon the paper. But I was so intent upon every -motion that I paid no attention to the web left behind, until each -spider, having almost reached the right-hand side of the paper, cut his -thread, went to the left, and began again to go through similar motions. - -What could be the meaning of this mystic spider-dance? Such, indeed, -it now seemed to be; for my first impression of irregularity and -clumsiness had now worn away, and their motions now seemed to be in -perfect unison, and measured with the grace and harmony of rhythm. The -room was but dimly lighted by the rays of moon that slipped in under -the curtains, yet I could see the spiders and their work plainly. I -glanced at the glowing web the first spider had left, and--wonderful to -relate!--as true as the sun shines above us, there at the top of the -page in writing that, had it been in ink, I would have sworn was my -own, the glowing web had been woven in and out so as to read, _Happy -Days of Yore!_ - -Could it be possible?--was I not dreaming? I looked and read and read -and looked again and again. But there it was, plain as day, in a style -of writing, too, I say, that I would have sworn was my own had it been -in ink instead of woven in a glowing web. But why those words? Could -there be something in my life, past or present, that those words were -to taunt me about? My whole life’s history trailed before my eyes, a -galaxy of pleasant memories. No, nothing there that these words could -make regretful. Could it then portend something of a dark future? God -alone knows! - -Thus meditating, my eye caught the less distinct glow of the web of the -other spider. Heavens! what next! There, as distinct as if written by -the hand of my old chum, were the words, _Memories of the Past_. Here -was a mystery growing deeper and deeper each moment. I would willingly -have taken my oath, and will to this day, that the handwriting was that -of my boyhood chum and present dear old friend. - -_Happy Days of Yore_,--_Memories of the Past_. How was I to solve -the mystery of the weaving of these words and fathom their intended -meaning? Both suggested to my mind a similar train of thought. But why -this mysterious writing? - -As I sat thus meditating, I again became conscious of that weird -sound of which I have previously spoken, but which (my mind being so -preoccupied with what was before it) I had not again noticed until I -fell into this meditation. - -It sounded like the sweet, sad blending of mournful voices singing, -or chanting, rather, to the deep tones of a distant organ. I recalled -myself and looked at the large spider, when I discovered that--mystery -of mysteries!--the echo-like organ voice and solemn chanting music -came from the spider alone as he moved across the paper, weaving his -golden web into rhythmic words! There, as the music went on, I read in -illuminated characters of the weaving spider’s web.-- - - Oh those happy days of yore - Will come back to me no more! - Ah no more, no more for aye!-- - They have fled with time away, - And my heart is sad and lone - As I dream forevermore, - With a heaving sigh and groan, - Of those happy days of yore. - -Most wonderful!--wonderful not in the words so much, for they were -simple, plain, and as they moved to the music, graceful withal, seeming -to be words that might come from a sincere and true but untutored -poetic heart; wonderful, therefore, rather, that they should be woven -by a spider, and that, too, with a web of light. - -As in eager wonder I leaned my ear closer, the vision of the second -and more delicate spider, likewise weaving, passed before my eyes, and -I caught the distant strains of a deeper, sadder, sweeter melody, with -these words woven in the finer, more delicate thread of light.-- - - Oh how sweet those days of boyhood, - Oh how dear those happy hours - When I rambled through the forests - ’Mong the birds and trees and flowers! - Life lay smiling all before me, - No regrets, no cares behind; - All the earth seemed bright with beauty, - Life was freedom unconfined. - I rejoiced whene’er the sunlight - Scattered wide its golden beams, - Thinking not that I should ever - Miss its light or prize its gleams. - -Still more wonderful and remarkable than anything before was the -similarity of music as well as of thought: more wonderful and more -remarkable because neither spider seemed conscious of the other’s -action or presence. Indeed, as I have already said, only one -really was present; the other existing in another place, and only -_psychologically_ present to me. This latter fact, shown in all that -follows, I tell you, is the most remarkable psychological problem I -have ever met--except one!--nor have I ever yet found sage or savant -able to solve it. Many have tried it, wondered at it more and more as -they got more and more into its depths and subtle intricacies, and -finally in their weakness have given it up. Herbert Spencer, McCosh, -and other lesser philosophers cannot satisfy themselves upon it. - -My interest was now, if possible, even greater than before. Again I -turned my attention to the present spider as in melody it wove.-- - - Oh those days of sweetest thought! - Oh those days with rapture fraught! - Had I known when but a child - What great blessings round me smiled, - With a wild, exulting leap - I’d have struck on wisdom’s door; - Piled up knowledge heap on heap - In those happy days of yore. - -Both were weaving rapidly, as if their very lives were an ephemeral -inspiration, and they were thus weaving it away in illuminated letters, -that at least that inspiration might live, though the very weaving -should cost both their lives. So I hastened again to look, and to -listen to the other richer and deeper melody.-- - - Ah, those days are gone forever; - Time has wafted them away; - Happiness now seems a phantom - Of a joyous yesterday. - If I could but live them over, - All those careless, happy hours, - Start again in life’s fair morning - O’er life’s path of thorns and flowers, - Not a moment would be wasted - Chasing bubbles in the air-- - I would seek the pearls of knowledge, - And the gems of wisdom wear. - -Could it be that those two spiders were endowed with human faculties, -and that those faculties were now working in unison, inspired by the -same thought, the same feeling? I had little time to meditate this, for -both wrote (I can’t help saying they _wrote_) as rapidly as slow music -goes, or about as rapidly as I am writing this; and the first spider -had already begun the third stanza.-- - - Could I live again those days - That I spent in idle plays - And could know of learning’s worth, - I’d not waste my time in mirth;-- - I would climb the hill of fame - And on wisdom’s wings would soar - Till I caught the beacon flame - In those happy days of yore. - -I then involuntarily turned to the other; but finding that it had -completed a page, as indeed both had done, I removed the finished sheet -of the visible one and at the same instant and by the same act removed -that of the psychologically visible one; though how this latter was -accomplished even psychologists are at their wits’ end to explain. Even -to the close I continued thus to remove the finished sheets as soon as -they were completed. And now from the second I heard.-- - - Had I known of wisdom’s power - In those days with pleasure fraught, - From the mines of truth and beauty - Golden trophies I’d have brought. - All the lore of bygone ages - From my books I would have learned; - O’er the bards I would have pondered - Tho’ my lamp till morning burned; - All the broad empire of Nature - With its wealth of laws divine - Should have shown to me the beauty - Of Omnipotent design. - -While I listened to this, the first spider, apparently conscious of -my abstraction, had waited; but on again bending my eyes in that -direction, again the sad melody floated upwards and away to the -heart-felt words.-- - - Oh, my heart grows weak and faint, - And it sighs in sad complaint - As it dreams its dreams of woe - Of the silent long ago. - And a pain is at my heart, - Not alone for wisdom’s lore, - For ’twas pierced by sorrow’s dart - In those happy days of yore. - -What strange tale could this be I was listening to? I turned to the -second weaver of words to mournful melody, and caught the same spirit -in these similar words.-- - - I’d have read that revelation - Traced by our Creator’s hand - Over all our glorious planet, - In the sky and sea and land. - High and bright the lamp of knowledge - Shone for all who’d seek its light; - Ah, how oft I scorned to seek it - In the glare of pleasures bright! - Oft upon the dreary mountain - Have my weary footsteps strayed:-- - But ’tis not for wisdom only - That my vain regrets are made. - -So! what a train of unutterable sadness the last words of each called -up, suggesting some strange sorrow that must force itself into -expression of sorrowing strains of music, tuned to even sadder words. -Ah yes! to the first, listen!-- - - _She_ was like a radiant rose - That with sweetness overflows. - Her bright eyes were darkest blue - And her hair a golden hue. - She was lovely as the day, - And within her breast she bore - Heart as light and bright and gay - As those happy days of yore. - -Breathlessly I turned to the cadence of the other.-- - - In those days of idle dreaming, - Ere life’s toils I’d entered in, - Fancy framed for me an image - Of the one I’d woo and win. - It was in an idle romance - My ideal played a part; - But that image, framed in fancy, - Soon was graven on my heart, - And I said, “That maiden only - Of my ideal’s charms complete - Shall have power to lead me captive - And to bring me to her feet.” - -Ah, ’tis the old, old story that ever sings itself in the human heart, -the story of love. But can it be these spiders are human that they -should thus weave their gold-enlighted words to silver chords of -harmony? - -Once more!--To the first rhythmic weaver, a pleasing recollection.-- - - We were playmates, she and I, - In that happy time gone by: - Oft we’d walk the meadows over - Hunting for the four-leaved clover - As we’d seen the lovers do; - We the woods would oft explore - Where the fragrant flowers grew - In those happy days of yore. - -And then to the second, the same image, lifting upward and away, above -the clover-blooms and forest-flowers of sweet memory, comes like the -peace of a benediction; and the words weave to quicker though to still -sad notes.-- - - Time passed on and boyish fancies - Were by youth’s bright hopes replaced; - Gay companions were around me,-- - Every pleasure we embraced. - And among those friends and schoolmates, - There was one surpassing fair: - Light her heart and light her footstep, - Blue her eyes and gold her hair. - Then her pure and gentle spirit - Shone abroad like smiles from heaven.-- - Ah, such divine gifts of beauty - Seldom are to mortals given. - -The first one had now finished two pages; the second, three. How -much more they would weave I neither knew nor thought. I was too -much fascinated by the weirdness and reality of it all to think of -anything but the two stories that were being thus wonderfully--thus -psychologically though not supernaturally--revealed to me in beauty by -ugly spiders that wrought together; each, I knew, unconscious of the -other. This fact of each being unconscious of the words, thoughts, and -music of the other, and the fact that the web of one was woven into -characters to represent my handwriting, while that of the other was the -illuminated work of my old chum, gave the two songs an interest that no -one else can even approach. No, not even if the same situation should -present itself to him, and the spiders should be actually before him, -as their work, robbed of all these fascinating features, now is. - -Both now wove more and more rapidly, and it was only when the first -had woven the following whole page of manuscript that I turned to the -other.-- - - Oft when twilight slowly crept - Over hill and vale that slept, - We would wander side by side - In the golden eventide - By the school-house on the hill - Where so oft we’d been before, - Or beside the water-mill - In those happy days of yore. - - Oh those days,--sweet, happy days! - Ever round my mind there plays - Fitful Fancy’s dear delight, - Bringing back the time so bright - When we wandered hand in hand - To the little country store, - And the mystic future planned - In those happy days of yore. - - New years came as old ones went; - Childhood’s years at last were spent; - We from friends to lovers grew - And nor pain nor sorrow knew. - Oh how fondly did I dream - Folding close my fond Lenore - As we sailed adown life’s stream - In those happy days of yore! - -Here the sad-voiced dreamer paused a moment, then glided to the -top of the page and waited for me to remove the leaf, while I read -and half aloud chanted from the illuminated page of the other this -master-melody:-- - - When she came, ’twas like the sunbeam - Shedding gladness o’er the lea; - When she’d gone, ’twas like the ceasing - Of enchanting melody. - Oft when daily tasks were over, - She and I together strolled - From the hamlet to the seaside - Where the restless billows rolled. - Hours and hours we’d wander, gathering - Treasures from the shifting sand - As each ebbing tide receding - Left its wonders on the strand. - - Long we’d watch the stately vessels - Riding proudly o’er the foam, - Some for distant countries steering, - Some returning--bound for home. - Then we’d seek the peaceful harbor - Where our little sail-boat lay, - And while skimming o’er the waters - Laugh and sing the hours away. - Then at twilight, when all nature - Save the sea was hushed and still, - We would turn our footsteps homeward - To the hamlet on the hill. - -So pleasing was this recollection that I could not yet turn away, but -listened rather than read, as the musician continued on the next page; -for he had finished this, and the harmony continued unbroken. - - And that image framed in boyhood - Of the one I’d woo and win, - Ah, my ideal!--I had found her - In my darling Evylyn. - But the dim, uncertain future!-- - Oh that we could raise the veil - And by gazing down the valley - Know what fortune would prevail; - Whether joy or blinding sorrow, - Gladness or unending woe, - Should forever be our portion - While we linger here below. - - Two short summers I had known her, - Years that seemed like one bright day; - But at last the spell was broken, - And my gladness fled away: - Duty called me from that hamlet - Where youth’s happy days were spent - Out into the great, free, wide world, - And with brightest hopes I went. - Ah, that parting by the seaside - One bright evening in the spring - By the dear old friendly ocean-- - There I gave the engagement ring. - -Just here a sharp pain in my right forefinger interrupted the music, -and reminded me that I had not removed the completed page of the first -harmony-breathing minstrel. I immediately did so, and at once the -billows of subdued music swept through the room to the perfect time of -the weaver’s words in portentous minstrelsy.-- - - In the bright and merry spring, - Then I gave the engagement ring; - And in sweet and holy bliss - Sealed our vow with Love’s own kiss. - Heart and hope and thought were one - As we walked as heretofore - Where the brooklet used to run - In those happy days of yore. - - But the future none can tell - And, or weal or woe, ’tis well; - For, if it were otherwise, - When the mystic veil should rise - And reveal what is to come, - Happiness would be no more;-- - Hearts would call to hearts but dumb - In those happy days of yore. - - Could we gaze on life’s emprise, - Frozen tears would dim our eyes; - Rippling laughs on lips would freeze - As the future’s death-cold breeze - Chilled the life of loving hearts; - Happy days would come no more, - And we’d sigh with fitful starts - For those happy days of yore. - -Here I noticed the striking difference (the only difference throughout -the two poems) between the wishes of the two, both passionately and -beautifully put, and paused a moment to grasp the full meaning. But -only a moment, for I was too interested in this enchanting symphony -to wait longer. Already the poet in spider’s form that was the more -delicate, beautiful, and pathetic was continuing.-- - - In a distant western city - Far away from that loved spot, - I began the strife in earnest, - Not complaining of my lot; - For in two years from our parting - I’d return and claim my own. - So I worked and dreamed and waited, - Cheered by that one thought alone. - Fortune smiled on my endeavors, - And each week a message brought - From that one beside the seashore - Who was ever in my thought. - - But at last the darkness gathered,-- - Clouds as dark as Ethiop’s land. - One dark day there came a letter - Written by a stranger’s hand. - Evylyn, it said, was drooping, - Drooping, fading very fast; - Though she would admit no danger, - Her short life would soon be past. - Many months, the message stated, - She had faded day by day; - Yet to me each cherished letter - Had been cheerful, bright, and gay. - -I found myself so in sympathy with the two spiders--or poets and -musicians, rather, in spider form--that I pitied them deeply, -and--shall I say?--loved them. The first melodist continued more -mournfully, and to slower, sad, and muffled music.-- - - All the spring and summer long - Did I list the seraph-song. - But when autumn came around - With a sighing, mournful sound, - My sweet blossom faded fast; - And my radiant, fond Lenore - Yielded to the chilling blast - In those autumn days of yore! - - As the flowers fade and die - ’Neath the cold and cloudless sky, - So my Darling drooped and died! - And my dear intended bride - With a long and last farewell - Crossed the silent waters o’er - While we tolled her funeral knell - In those parting days of yore! - - In the deepest dearth of night - When the starry dome was bright, - Came the angels round her bed; - And they numbered with the dead - My angelic, radiant Love - Whom the seraphs named Lenore, - Wafting here away above,-- - Saddest, saddest days of yore! - -I am not a man who easily gives way to feeling; but the plaintiveness -of the music and the mournfulness of the simple words made me forget -the mysterious bard that was weaving this tale of pathos, and I bowed -my head in sorrow, with my heart full of pity and love for both the -afflicted and the noble-hearted sweet departed. As I did so, the -threnodic notes, as if dying away in the echoing distance of the blue -dome above, thus came from the heart of the other minne-singer.-- - - With an aching heart I started - For her home beside the sea, - Once again to see my Darling - Ere Death snatched his prize from me. - But a cruel fate hung o’er me; - Ere I reached that eastern home, - Her angelic soul was wafted - Far beyond the starlit dome. - Through the distant shining portals, - Breathing of eternal love, - Passed my Evylyn, my treasure, - To the brighter world above. - -Surely, surely, I thought, these breathers of harmony cannot be ugly -spiders. They are too human--or shall I say too divine?--for that. I -had been so absorbed in the two songs that, strange perhaps to say, -though I think not, I had scarcely noticed the spiders themselves nor -their illuminated web-woven words. I felt now that the songs were -nearly ended; and through tear-dimmed eyes, I looked once more at the -page on my desk. How strangely brighter the light seemed to be, yet so -softer! - -Could it be possible! Wasn’t this, after all, some dream?--I dashed the -tears from my eyes with my left hand.--No, I was wide awake. No doubt -about that. There, too, that light from the words was even brighter -than when it was seen through my tears. - -Surely, surely, these were not spiders; but spirits, rather, in this -disguise. As this thought flew through my brain, I removed the fifth -finished page of manuscript, when lo! I almost screamed for mercy that -no more revelations be made to me. For the spider glided to the top of -the new page, and as he did so, I saw and marveled how much smaller -he had grown, as if he had spun his whole body away in his glowing -web. But still stranger transformation: All about him, like a spirit -embodying the body, was a dim halo of light, such as a star often forms -of the mists, that doubtless had been forming from the first although -I had not noticed it, having been too absorbed in the songs themselves. - -As I looked steadily, transfixed by this new revelation, I saw that -haloing light, as true as I live, shape itself in a half human form; -and like a light-enhaloed star moving across the scroll of the Almighty -in spheric music set to angel words, this transformed being of light -trembled across the page before me and trailed these gold-enlighted -words through the solemn rhythm of the olden melody.-- - - By the babbling little brook, - In a quiet, shaded nook, - Sleeps my loved and lost one now. - Over pallid lip and brow - Grow the scented flowers wild - Bright as when I wandered o’er - This same spot when but a child - In those happy days of yore. - - Many years have come and gone - Since that face I’ve looked upon; - Many weary paths I’ve trod - Since we laid her ’neath the sod. - Still I wander, sad and lone; - Still my heart is grieved and sore, - For she sleeps beneath the stone - Since those happy days of yore. - -Thoughts of the dead always affect me beyond expression. The thought -of the death of this darling girl, glorious in her own true heart, I -can but feel, and glorified even more by the unfailing constancy and -eternal love of him who, grown old and gray, still keeps her ever in -his heart, so affected me that my own heart seemed almost broken. -I could endure no more, and turned away. But as I did so,--O sweet -angels of mercy! was there no escape?--there the other heaven-gifted -musician, spirit-embodied, halo-enshrouded like the first, met my eyes, -and I was forced against my will to listen to the most plaintive, most -pathetic melody that had yet grieved my heart.-- - - In a grave down by the seashore, - She was laid by loving hands - Where old ocean sings a requiem - Evermore upon the sands. - There the summer tide is flowing - As I stand upon the shore, - And it calls up sacred mem’ries - Of the happy times of yore. - Fragments of a wreck are drifting - On the surface of a wave-- - Emblem of my hopes and prospects, - Wrecked, and lying in her grave. - - Many weary years have vanished, - Years of wand’ring, sad and lone, - Since that pure angelic spirit - Joined the seraphs round the throne. - O’er her grave beside the ocean, - Lovingly the stars still shine, - While the tide’s wild song of gladness - Seems to bear her voice divine. - Oft in dreams I see my lost one, - Hear her voice as soft and low - As a strain of far-off music;-- - But the dawn brings back my woe. - -Bowed with unutterable grief,--grief that was so severe that it choked -back every tear into my heart,--I buried my head in my arms to shut -out both sight and sound, and wept as tearless grief alone can weep. -The angel-images of the two that had gone Home, forever to await -the happier marriage in eternal union there, I saw looking down -compassionately, while the two mourners left behind were constantly -reaching upwards toward those loved ones beyond their ken in the dim -unknown, and sometimes almost touching the finger-tips of the hands -unseen! Yes; and the music! I heard it over, and over, and over again, -sometimes near, sometimes far, always sweet and tremulous, sometimes -sounding in my ear, sometimes dying away and echoing back from the -dome of that Home above. - -When again my fevered eyes looked upon the page, I wondered if it could -be that these embodiments of both verse and music could be changing -so rapidly, or if the change had been going on constantly without my -notice. Both transformed--I know not now what to call them--had now -become so small that I could scarcely distinguish their bodies through -the spirit-like halo. And that halo every moment grew more and more -human--no, not human; but, though an embodying spirit, it grew more and -more like a disembodied human soul. Less and less visible became the -body of each, more and more like a human soul became the halo of each -as the first wove itself away into the final web.-- - - Oh, my heart is sad and lone - And it sighs with heaving groan - As it dreams its dreams of woe - Of the silent long ago. - But I’ve reached the river’s brink; - Soon I’ll dip the golden oar, - And beneath the waves will sink - All those happy days of yore. - - Soon I’ll greet my bright Lenore - Where we’ll meet to part no more; - Soon I’ll reach the golden sands - Where I’ll clasp her angel hands; - Soon I’ll kiss her seraph brow - On that bright angelic shore, - Where I’ll dream no more, as now, - Of those happy days of yore. - -The two spirits, thus transforming, were passing away, slipping, -slipping away from me back into the mysteriousness whence they came, I -felt, as both moved across the page to dirge-like yet a kind of happy -and hope-inspiring music. The music of each was so blended with that of -the other that I could scarcely distinguish the words of the two as the -second soul-dreamer mused through the melody.-- - - Lost! ah lost!--But not forever: - I have reached the golden strand; - Soon beyond the crystal ocean - We will wander hand in hand; - Soon across the deep, dark waters - I will go to claim my own - From among the shining angels, - Where she waits for me alone. - We will part no more forever - Underneath that heavenly dome; - Love and joy shall reign together - In that bright eternal home. - -But look--look!--there, there just before you. See! see it struggling -to rise away. Oh, what wonderful transformation can this be! - -As both neared the close, their bodies grew imperceptible, the -web-woven words more and more brightly illuminated, and the haloing -spirit larger, and larger, more and more distinct, yet more and more -attenuated, until--no, no! it--but yes! I must believe it, must believe -my eyes!--each took on the form of an angel! As the last word of each -was woven, simultaneously, and as the low, faint, plaintive echoes of -the music went trembling through the blue distance that still trembles -in unison with the hearts of millions, the two _meistersingers_, -perfect in angel form with a rarer beauty than I ever saw before, the -rarest beauty I ever expect to see, shone radiantly in the night for a -moment, like a glory struck out of darkness by a beam from heaven, and -vanished like that glory passing out of darkness into heaven again. -With my eyes following these disembodied embodiments of Beauty, and my -palms out-reaching toward them, thus I sat until, when their passing -glory at the same time closed the portals through which they vanished -and gave the keys to memory, my nerves relaxed, the intense mingled -pain and rapture, which had never ceased, seemed to snap my very -heart-chords, and consciousness slid like lead into the lethean flow of -the river of oblivion. - -How long I sat there, drowned in unrefreshing forgetfulness allied -to sleep, I have no recollection, and no possible means of knowing. -When again I opened my eyes, the morning was far spent. There was a -dull pain in my head, but the circumstances I have just related were -all so vivid that the whole scene instantly flashed across my mind. I -thought surely it must be a dream. Could it be? I was sitting in my -night-dress. I got up from my chair and went to my bed-room. There was -my bed, just as I had left it when I rose to follow the strange spirit -that controlled me. I went to the wall where I had seen the spider. -True enough, there was the thread, but no longer illuminated, just -where I had seen it. I put my hand to my forehead as one often does in -wondering. When I removed it, there, clinging to my forefinger, was -the web that had clung to my forehead. No, I had not been asleep and -dreamed all this; that was plain enough. I returned to my chair. There -on my desk, as I involuntarily glanced at the well-remembered spot, I -saw a still more remarkable confirmation of my having been awake; for -there lay the whole poem that I had seen woven by the first spirit, as -perfect in every way as if it had been written by human hand. But the -characters were no longer illuminated. They had burnt into the paper, -and were as black as my own ink. They were all made out, too, in my -own style of handwriting, though I declare and affirm to all the world -that never before this occurrence had I written one line of poetry. -Perhaps it would have been better for me and for you if I had stopped -with this--palmed it off as my own on account of the similarity of -handwriting; and if I had never trifled with the tricks of the muses -thereafter. - -I looked on my desk for the other poem, but alas! it could not be -found; for, as I have said before, it was only _psychologically_ -present to me, while it was _really_ present to some one else. In a -few days I had the most remarkable confirmation of this--even more -remarkable than what I have related in the preceding. - -By the very next mail (I was teaching in the country and got my mail -but once a week, on Saturday) I received a letter from my old chum, -dated May 8, 1885. As I opened it, behold! that identical poem that I -had in my mind seen wrought by the second spirit of beauty fell on my -table. In a letter of sixteen quarto pages, he told one substantially -the same experience of himself with two spirit-singers--one of them -present, the other psychologically present, each unconscious of the -other, yet each influencing the other in some indefinable way--as I -have here related. - -In speaking of the vanishing of the two spirit-forms, he wrote:-- - -“I firmly believe those two spirits were none other than the -angel-forms of the two maidens the poems celebrate; that they have -woven their spirits of beauty into these two embodiments of verse that -we mortals may be the better for it; and that, when they vanished, they -entered these two poems, where they still abide.” - -Strange, but this is the same thought that I had had, and still do -have. I most sincerely believe it is the only correct conclusion, -though I cannot solve the mysteries that are connected with it. Indeed, -it would be sacrilege to attempt it. - -I still have these original manuscripts that were thus mysteriously -wrought. They are lying here on the desk before me as I write; and as -I glance across this page at them, the whole scene of that memorable -night, more vivid, far, far more vivid than my pen has delineated it -for you, comes flashing across my brain. In this quick, bright light -of memory, reason marshals the long line of causes that produced this -psychological phenomenon; I follow the approaching lines with my -mind’s eye, until I am lost in the dim distance of their vanishing -perspective, then return, follow again, only to lose myself in the same -unfathomable mystery, and so again and again. Though I know some of -the causes that produced it, I cannot reach the hidden ones. I could -almost fancy still that I had dreamed all this did not these original -manuscripts before me constantly remind me of the reality of what I -have here set down. They are free for the inspection of all who wish -to verify the facts I have related. - -I challenge the world to produce two such similar poems, good, bad, or -indifferent, written under such remarkable circumstances. - -The events I have here recorded are the events of my boyhood, or early -manhood, rather, faithfully told. I have long hesitated to publish them -for fear that there might be a few in these days of fiction who would -doubt their reality. But what makes them a hundredfold more wonderful -to me is the truth of all their seemingly impossible facts. - -My friend, you think this a strange, strange story, I know. Indeed, -I think so too; far more strange to me than to you, for I have felt -the truth of it and you have only read it. As true as these two poems -exist, the circumstances under which they were written are far, far -more strange to me than I can possibly make the story; far, far more -strange to me than the weirdest, most wonderful story pen can write. - -I have therefore published this account of an incident of my life -that it may please some with the strange facts that they will take -for mere fancy; that it may waken some to the knowledge that in our -most rational moments we are by no means independent, our minds are -by no means our own, but are influenced by circumstances, by the -psychological action of the minds of our most intimate friends, and -by the spiritual power within us and at the same time above us; that -it may teach others that out of the most despised creatures of God’s -making and care, the Soul of Beauty may come and wed itself to Use by -weaving its life into an angel-image of Love that shall dwell in the -human heart forever. - - - - - BOY BARDS. - - TO E. L. H. - - - Together we thought, - Together we wrought; - And ever and ever - The golden days were fraught - With the light and life of Time - That dripped like dews - From the heart of our Muse - Between the buds of rhyme. - - Oh never, no never - Such rainbow colors were caught - From the dripping clouds in pain-- - So sweet distraught - With the iris wrought - Of the mingled shine and rain. - - Oh never, no never - Such scent in the summer was caught - From the morning-glory’s bloom - Where the humming-bird - Has gently stirred - The leaves by the open room. - - - - - THE GREATEST THING ON EARTH. - - - I. - - FROM SUN TO SUN. - - From sun to sun - Till life is done - We still aspire, - Still have some wish not gratified; - - With every breath-- - E’en unto death-- - We still reach higher, - Our hearts are still unsatisfied. - - - II. - - WHAT THE STRIVING? - - What means this striving, - This toil, this endless labor, - This bargaining with our neighbor, - This too fast living, - This wishing, this longing, - This constant thronging - Of thoughts of--what? - Gods! I know not!-- - What means it all, - Philosopher, - This rise and fall, - This hope and fear, - This constant changing station - Of every man and nation, - Or rich - Or poor, - With koh-i-noor - Or bacon flitch, - Still envying some other, - Still striving ’gainst some brother - And justling - And hustling - And rushing - And pushing - - As by a mighty cyclone hurled - Headlong midway the narrow world, - And as it were - Made all too small - For half to gyrate in, - Or even half begin-- - What means it all, - Philosopher? - The rich, the poor, - The high, the low, - The good, the bad, - (And who can tell?) - Keep bickering - And dickering - And chaffering - On everything - They buy and sell - For more and more - Of earth, as though - Gone staring mad. - - Whether the cause - Be unequal laws - Of God, or man, or neither one, or both, - Activity o’ermatching tardy sloth, - Some must rise and some must fall - In the strife of all for all. - - - III. - - THE WORLD IS TOO MUCH OURS. - - That there should be unjust division - Of wealth and life and station - Needs, calm, deliberate decision - Of every man and nation. - - The world is too much ours, - And we too much of it. - The times are out of joint; - The heart is out of tune, - And needs the Master’s hand. - Like churlish curs we stand - And guard our little own, - And watch Death’s finger point - To Woes, while Pleasures sit - And glass the glossing hours. - - Like demons, too, we rave - Because our neighbors have - One jot or tittle more than we; - And curse ourselves as slaves - Dumb driven to our graves - Fast bound from light of liberty. - - The remedy lies not in force, - Nor in the frenzy of the hour - Engendered by the unreasoning mob. - ’Tis in a nobler, gentler course - Of a higher, nobler power - New-born at every true heart-throb. - - - IV. - - HAND AND HEART. - - No vain philosophy, - That flows from ailing springs of earth - Can cure the cankered ills of mortal clay. - No, naught save that eternal fountain’s spray - That gives the heart immortal birth - Can heal humanity. - - In every heart at birth - That fountain bubbles up - To purify this earth - With life and love and hope. - - But in the hearts of all, - Ere life is scarce begun, - Some clay of earth must fall - To dim the mirrored sun. - - True, all (’tis law) must labor; - But with the hand alone? - And that against a neighbor, - His heart our stepping stone? - - Nay, with the hand and heart, the rather; - For each who climbs above - Must reach the door of Him our Father - On stepping-stones of love. - - - V. - - COURTING THE CROWD. - - Our wrongs we make that make us wrong: - We court the crowd; we tickle the public ear; - The crowd laughs, and we laugh with it always; we’re - Mere puppets dandled by the throng. - - We jingle our laughter,-- - The world follows after - As if it were money; - We bow in our sorrow,-- - The world bids “good-morrow,” - Hey-nonny hey-nonny. - - We praise and we flatter,-- - The world with a clatter - Comes after the honey; - We ask when we’re needy,-- - The world is too greedy, - Hey-nonny hey-nonny. - - We’re loved while we’re living - If always we’re giving - The world something funny; - But dead, there’s erected, - A stone,--then neglected, - Hey-nonny hey-nonny. - - So, so! the world is all a cheat - And yet we worship at its feet. - Deceived by dross of gold and gloss of art, - We too much court the hand and not the heart. - - - VI. - - IMMORTAL AND GOD-GIVEN. - - Sowing and reaping, - Glutting our greed, - Getting and keeping, - What do we need? - - World ever spinning, - World never slack, - World ever winning, - What does it lack? - - --What? - What not?-- - --The greatest thing on earth, - The greatest, too, in heaven above, - The greatest good of greatest worth, - Immortal and God-given,-- - Love! - - Love that bids no stricken soul depart - With honeyed, sweet “good-morrow”; - Love that binds and balms the wounded heart - And sorrows, too, with sorrow. - - Love that loves in field or shop or kirk, - Unselfish and ungreedy; - Love that teaches toilless hands to work, - And leaves no mortal needy. - - Love that ne’er forgets a heart that sleeps, - Nor leaves its tomb neglected; - Love that laughs and weeps and ever keeps - The throne of Love erected. - - - VII. - - ASKING HEARTS. - - This pushing, - This driving, - This rushing, - This too fast living - Is an endless striving - Resulting from unsatisfied desire: - No peace, no rest, - An endless quest, - Forever reaching up for something higher,-- - For the world is good by nature, - And though debased, still looks above. - (The heathen even hopes beyond this earth.) - Stamped in every line and feature, - There is the image still of Love, - Sweet Love, fast-graven in the heart at birth. - - Our lives-long our asking hearts keep fretting: - We beat the tangles of the world’s wide wild-wood, - Remorsefully and endlessly regretting - The loss of that sweet innocence of childhood. - - The world is like us.--We are it! - Time-long the noisy nations of the earth - Have searched, and only found regret - At the loss of Love the child-world had at birth. - - And so, we strive, and strive,--we know not why. - And not attaining what the heart would have, - We set the hand to work; we sweat and slave; - Allured by lights around earth’s narrow zone - That, followed, fly, we follow on and on; - For fame and wealth and power we barter away - Our lives; we would be gods: but mortal clay - Still clings about our feet, still drags us down, - And fetters us to earth without a crown. - And so, still unattaining all through life, - We follow still the bootless, mortal strife, - And laugh, and weep, and flatter, and fret, and--die!-- - Die still unsatisfied, - Some wish not gratified! - - - VIII. - - THE CROWNING GLORY. - - Labor night and day - Howsoe’er we may - And toil - And moil - With ceaseless sweating, - Forever fretting, - Still coping - In endless strife - And hoping - An easier life, - Yet with it all - Result must fall - Far short of aspiration. - - ’Tis the great Law of laws, - Nor far to seek the cause; - For in our heart of hearts we know - The Law of Life must needs be so - That man may climb - Through changing time - Above this clod - Of mouldy mortal earth - Back unto God, - His home of love at birth, - And find in endless life - Above - The crown of all our strife - Is Love, - --The crown of all creation. - - - - -Transcriber’s Notes: - -1. 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- color: black; - font-size:smaller; - padding:0.5em; - margin-bottom:5em; - font-family:sans-serif, serif; } - </style> - </head> -<body> -<div style='text-align:center; font-size:1.2em; font-weight:bold'>The Project Gutenberg eBook of Spider-webs in Verse, by Charles William Wallace</div> -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online -at <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you -are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the -country where you are located before using this eBook. -</div> - -<div style='display:table; margin-bottom:1em;'> - <div style='display:table-row'> - <div style='display:table-cell; padding-right:0.5em'>Title:</div> - <div style='display:table-cell'>Spider-webs in Verse</div> - </div> - <div style='display:table-row;'> - <div style='display:table-cell'></div> - <div style='display:table-cell'>A Collection of Lyrics for Leisure Moments Spun at Idle Hours</div> - </div> -</div> -<div style='display:table; margin-bottom:1em;'> -<div style='display:table-row'> - <div style='display:table-cell; padding-right:0.5em'>Author:</div> - <div style='display:table-cell'>Charles William Wallace</div> -</div> -</div> -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Release Date: June 8, 2021 [eBook #65564]</div> -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Language: English</div> -<div style='display:table; margin-bottom:1em;'> - <div style='display:table-row'> - <div style='display:table-cell; padding-right:0.5em; white-space:nowrap;'>Produced by:</div> - <div style='display:table-cell'>Charlene Taylor, Karin Spence and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.)</div> - </div> -</div> -<div style='margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SPIDER-WEBS IN VERSE ***</div> - - - <div class="figcenter" id="frontis" > - <img - class="p2" - src="images/frontis.jpg" - alt="" /> - </div> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h1>SPIDER-WEBS IN VERSE</h1></div> - -<p class="center p-left xs p4">A COLLECTION OF</p> - -<p class="center p-left lg">LYRICS FOR LEISURE MOMENTS</p> - -<p class="center p-left">SPUN AT IDLE HOURS</p> - -<p class="center p-left p4 xs">BY</p> - -<p class="center p-left">CHARLES WILLIAM WALLACE</p> - -<p class="center p-left smcap xs">Professor of Rhetoric and Literature Western Normal College</p> - - <div class="poetry-container"> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div>“The spider’s touch—how exquisitely fine!”</div> - <div class="i14">—<i>Pope.</i></div> - </div> - </div> - </div> - -<p class="center p-left sm p4">LINCOLN, NEB.:</p> - -<p class="center p-left xs">STATE JOURNAL COMPANY, PRINTERS.</p> - -<p class="center p-left xs">1892.</p> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p class="smcap center p-left xs p6">Copyright 1892</p></div> - -<p class="center p-left xs">BY</p> - -<p class="center p-left xs">C. W. WALLACE</p> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_iii" id="Page_iii">[iii]</a></span></p></div> - - -<p class="center p-left xs p4">TO</p> - -<p class="center p-left sm">JUDGE T. D. WALLACE</p> - -<p class="center p-left xs">AND</p> - -<p class="center p-left sm">MRS. OLIVE WALLACE.</p> - - -<p class="smcap">My Dear Father and Mother:</p> - -<p>No word, no act, no consecrated gift of mine, how great or slight -soever it may be, can ever repay the beneficence and love of you to -whom I owe life and whatever of prosperity has been granted me.</p> - -<p>As my eyes glance in retrospect along the fading perspective of years -and lose themselves in the dim days of the cradle, and thence to the -present look forwards to the distant peaks of hope that rise above -unknown mists and shadows and horizons, I hear the counseling words -of a father, and feel the ever-present touch of a mother’s hand, as -both guide me with love into the dim unknown of life. Though I pass -onwards with a father’s “God-speed,” and a mother’s lingering embrace -and loving kiss, and leave you both fondly looking after me, still your -presence in my memory is ever a guiding reality that even now directs -this good right hand of mine to inscribe these dedicatory words of -filial affection.</p> - -<p>If in the days agone I ever seemed unheeding of that counsel of -a father, and unmindful of that dearest love of a cherished and -cherishing mother, I can but say that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_iv" id="Page_iv">[iv]</a></span> both that counsel and that love -reach through those moulding and shaping years of my life and take hold -on my heart with a firmness and a gentleness that nothing else of all -the years can boast.</p> - -<p>It is but right and just, therefore, that in these your later days -I should likewise be your guide and your stay in so far as my hand -may let;—that I should reach out my strong young arm and steady the -tottering years that throng around you.</p> - -<p>Withal, if I can afford you even one slight pleasure, it is my heart’s -desire so to do. It is, therefore, with somewhat more than filial love -that I dedicate this little volume to you, my Father and my Mother, -both together my counselor and guide, still mercifully spared to your -children; and in doing so, I can but express the hope that your years -may yet be many and happy; that the iris struck by a New Sun from the -crystals of the whitened and whitening wintry years may be as full of -beauty and joy as were the early spring blossoms of love and hope that -you pressed to your bosoms in youth.</p> - -<p class="r4">Your Son,</p> - -<p class="r1">CHARLES.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_v" id="Page_v">[v]</a></span></p></div> - - -<h2>BY THE WAY.</h2> - - -<p>As the presentation of these collected verses in their present printed -form has been induced largely by the request of many of my former -college students and by the importunities of my most intimate friends, -and as this volume has consequently been prepared chiefly for their -pleasure, it is hoped that those into whose hands the book may fall -are already so well acquainted with the author that the selections -themselves need no formal introduction to make them agreeable company -and engaging companions.</p> - -<p>In justice, I should here say that this collection contains only a -few out of the vast number of good, bad, and indifferent pieces of -verse that I have been making at odd hours of a busy life, ever since -my boyhood, for my own pastime, pleasure, and literary and linguistic -improvement, with no thought nor distant dream of ever permitting them -thus to invade the domains of the sovereign public.</p> - -<p>That the little book that thus modestly goes forth will attain either -a large circulation or great popularity I neither expect, nor attempt -to bring about; but that men and women with hearts that love and souls -that look above may find much quiet pleasure and satisfaction in the -following pages I do sincerely hope.</p> - -<p>It is neither my desire nor befitting to my work to lay claim to -any degree of excellence in the verses<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_vi" id="Page_vi">[vi]</a></span> herein presented. Quite to -the contrary, I see and regret many defects which I can now neither -remove nor repair. But, however defective they may be in form or in -spirit, I have ever thought that little else than the interpretation -of the relations of the human soul to life, here and hereafter, and -the presentation of the good, the beautiful, and the true of the human -heart is worthy of serious effort.</p> - -<p>As a consequence, most of these pieces are dual in meaning—one, in -plain view, the reality; the other, less distinct, the finer ideality, -the reflection, or mirrored image of the first.</p> - -<p>It is this second, this finer and often, at first, obscure meaning -that, in my judgment, is the essential—the preserving salt—of any -poem. Certainly if not this meaning but the apparent one, the one on -the surface, is the basis of judgment on these poems, they will fall -far below the estimate accorded that poetry which is deemed worthy of -existence.</p> - -<p>I wish here to return my thanks for the hearty reception accorded the -few selections of the prospectus, and to express the hope that the -completed volume will equal whatever expectations the recipients of the -prospectus may have.</p> - -<p>Also, I cannot pass without noting the fact that a large share of the -first edition of this volume was engaged nearly six months before it -went to press, even before I had determined what productions I should -use, and that, too, upon the mere announcement that the publication was -contemplated for the present summer.</p> - -<p>I wish, therefore, thus publicly to thank those who have given this -substantial earnest of their appreciation.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_vii" id="Page_vii">[vii]</a></span></p> - -<p>Any opinion or criticism, favorable or unfavorable, or any suggestion -or correction on thought, arrangement, typography, or other point, that -the reader may see fit to express, is not only invited and encouraged, -but will be most gratefully received and carefully considered.</p> - -<p>One word more. If a selection will not bear a second reading, or a -third, a fourth, or a fiftieth reading; if it does not grow better and -better at each reading; if it does not lift the soul to a higher plane, -a nobler aim, a purer life, and a grander view; if at each successive -reading something does not come out of it and enter the heart, and -then pass back into the poem again, and thus again and again, each -beautifying and ennobling the other, like a sunset halo among the -clouds and the liquid, translucent image thereof in the mirroring lake, -then it is no true poem, and should be cast aside.</p> - -<p>The only proof of the excellence of a poem is that it makes the heart -larger and the soul nobler for having read it, and that at each -successive reading both the poem and the reader grow better and better.</p> - -<p>Believing, as I do, that poetry is nothing less than the interpretation -of the Divine in the human heart (whether in the mood of tears or of -laughter), I can but hope, in entrusting these “children of the brain” -to the care of others, that in the heart of each little waif some good -may be found, some song may be heard, some beauty be revealed, some -experience be verified.</p> - -<p class="r1">C. W. W.</p> - -<p class="smcap">Lincoln, 22 June, 1892.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_viii" id="Page_viii">[viii]</a><a name="Page_ix" id="Page_ix">[ix]</a></span></p> - - -<h2>CONTENTS.</h2> - -<table summary="contents"> - <tr> - <th colspan="3"></th> - <th class="pag">PAGE</th> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td class="cht" colspan="3">Barefoot After the Cows,</td> - <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_6">6</a></td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td class="cht" colspan="3">Beautiful May,</td> - <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_62">62</a></td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td class="cht" colspan="3">Borrowing Brains,</td> - <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_52">52</a></td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td class="cht" colspan="3">Boy Bards,</td> - <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_178">178</a></td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td class="cht" colspan="3">Browning,</td> - <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_116">116</a></td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td class="cht" colspan="3">Buzz,</td> - <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_141">141</a></td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td class="cht1" colspan="3">Choral of Sunset, A,</td> - <td class="pag1"><a href="#Page_1">1</a></td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td class="cht" colspan="3">Chorus,</td> - <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_110">110</a></td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td class="cht" colspan="3">Close Attachment, A,</td> - <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_126">126</a></td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td class="cht" colspan="3">Come to the Shadows,</td> - <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_12">12</a></td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td class="cht" colspan="3">Common Lot, The,</td> - <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_17">17</a></td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td class="cht1" colspan="3">Dead Man’s Life, The,</td> - <td class="pag1"><a href="#Page_124">124</a></td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td class="cht" colspan="3">Death—Life,</td> - <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_135">135</a></td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td class="cht" colspan="3">Death-Howl, The,</td> - <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_131">131</a></td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td class="cht" colspan="3">Deep unto Deep (Double Threnody),</td> - <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_65">65</a></td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td class="cht" colspan="3">Demoniac, The,</td> - <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_128">128</a></td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td class="cht" colspan="3">Deploration, A,</td> - <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_122">122</a></td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td class="cht" colspan="3">Down to the Candy-man’s Shop,</td> - <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_10">10</a></td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td class="cht" colspan="3">Dreamy April Evening in the Woods, A,</td> - <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_109">109</a></td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td class="cht1" colspan="3">Echo Song,</td> - <td class="pag1"><a href="#Page_18">18</a></td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td class="cht1" colspan="3">“False Womankind,”</td> - <td class="pag1"><a href="#Page_32">32</a></td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td class="cht" colspan="3">Family of the Ephemera,</td> - <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_36">36</a></td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td class="cht" colspan="3">Father Time,</td> - <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_148">148</a></td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td class="cht" colspan="3">Freedom’s Battle Song,</td> - <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_142">142</a></td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td class="cht1" colspan="3">Gift and Giver,</td> - <td class="pag1"><a href="#Page_8">8</a></td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td class="cht" colspan="3">Good-Night, My Love,</td> - <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_71">71</a><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_x" id="Page_x">[x]</a></span></td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td class="cht" colspan="3">Good-Night (Song),</td> - <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_68">68</a></td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td class="cht" colspan="3">Gravity—Life,</td> - <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_134">134</a></td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td class="cht" colspan="3">Greatest Thing on Earth, The,—</td> - <td class="pag"></td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td class="cht"></td> - <td class="right">I.</td> - <td class="cht">From Sun to Sun,</td> - <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_178">178</a></td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td class="cht"></td> - <td class="right">II.</td> - <td class="cht">What the Striving?</td> - <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_179">179</a></td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td class="cht"></td> - <td class="right">III.</td> - <td class="cht">The World is Too Much Ours,</td> - <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_180">180</a></td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td class="cht"></td> - <td class="right">IV.</td> - <td class="cht">Hand and Heart,</td> - <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_181">181</a></td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td class="cht"></td> - <td class="right">V.</td> - <td class="cht">Courting the Crowd,</td> - <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_182">182</a></td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td class="cht"></td> - <td class="right">VI.</td> - <td class="cht">Immortal and God-given,</td> - <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_183">183</a></td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td class="cht"></td> - <td class="right">VII.</td> - <td class="cht">Asking Hearts,</td> - <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_184">184</a></td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td class="cht"></td> - <td class="right">VIII.</td> - <td class="cht">The Crowning Glory,</td> - <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_186">186</a></td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td class="cht1" colspan="3">Hal a-Huntin’,</td> - <td class="pag1"><a href="#Page_144">144</a></td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td class="cht" colspan="3">Halloween,</td> - <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_51">51</a></td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td class="cht" colspan="3">Happy Days of Yore,</td> - <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_156">156</a></td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td class="cht" colspan="3">Haunted House, The,</td> - <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_20">20</a></td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td class="cht" colspan="3">Hot?—Well, Rather!</td> - <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_135">135</a></td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td class="cht" colspan="3">Human Heart, The,</td> - <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_28">28</a></td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td class="cht" colspan="3">Humpty Dumpty Idiotic Chap, A,</td> - <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_66">66</a></td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td class="cht1" colspan="3">If So, Peace Till Next New Year,</td> - <td class="pag1"><a href="#Page_46">46</a></td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td class="cht" colspan="3">I Love You, Kate,</td> - <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_123">123</a></td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td class="cht" colspan="3">In the Angels’ Keep,</td> - <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_58">58</a></td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td class="cht" colspan="3">I’se Seen a Light in de Sky,</td> - <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_34">34</a></td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td class="cht" colspan="3">I Wonder,</td> - <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_44">44</a></td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td class="cht1" colspan="3">Just as Usual,</td> - <td class="pag1"><a href="#Page_121">121</a></td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td class="cht1" colspan="3">Life,</td> - <td class="pag1"><a href="#Page_52">52</a></td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td class="cht" colspan="3">Life’s Lost Skiff,</td> - <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_125">125</a></td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td class="cht" colspan="3">Life’s Philosophy,</td> - <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_120">120</a></td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td class="cht" colspan="3">Life to Love (A Triolet),</td> - <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_11">11</a></td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td class="cht" colspan="3">Lonely!</td> - <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_33">33</a></td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td class="cht" colspan="3">Lone Wayside Wild-Rose, The,</td> - <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_59">59</a></td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td class="cht" colspan="3">Lover’s Complaint, The,</td> - <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_140">140</a></td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td class="cht" colspan="3">Lurlei, The,</td> - <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_111">111</a></td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td class="cht1" colspan="3">Madrigal,</td> - <td class="pag1"><a href="#Page_117">117</a></td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td class="cht" colspan="3">Memories of the Past,</td> - <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_156">156</a></td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td class="cht" colspan="3">Mince Pie,</td> - <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_14">14</a></td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td class="cht" colspan="3">Mist-Wing,</td> - <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_15">15</a><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xi" id="Page_xi">[xi]</a></span></td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td class="cht" colspan="3">Modern Tragedy Averted, A,</td> - <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_25">25</a></td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td class="cht" colspan="3">’Mong the Mountains of the Soul,</td> - <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_143">143</a></td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td class="cht" colspan="3">Mortal, A,</td> - <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_105">105</a></td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td class="cht" colspan="3">My Defeat,</td> - <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_46">46</a></td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td class="cht1" colspan="3">Nightmare, The,</td> - <td class="pag1"><a href="#Page_30">30</a></td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td class="cht1" colspan="3">Old Benoni Tree, The,</td> - <td class="pag1"><a href="#Page_2">2</a></td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td class="cht" colspan="3">On Kingsley’s “Farewell,”</td> - <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_150">150</a></td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td class="cht" colspan="3">On Plucking a Crocus,</td> - <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_133">133</a></td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td class="cht" colspan="3">Our Alma Mater,</td> - <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_147">147</a></td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td class="cht1" colspan="3">Part of the New England Lament, etc.,</td> - <td class="pag1"><a href="#Page_150">150</a></td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td class="cht" colspan="3">Pity the Poor,</td> - <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_124">124</a></td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td class="cht" colspan="3">Poet’s Prayer, The,</td> - <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_2">2</a></td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td class="cht" colspan="3">Press of Penury, The,</td> - <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_50">50</a></td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td class="cht1" colspan="3">Rex Fugit,</td> - <td class="pag1"><a href="#Page_118">118</a></td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td class="cht1" colspan="3">Shut In,</td> - <td class="pag1"><a href="#Page_40">40</a></td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td class="cht" colspan="3">Shut Your Eyes and Go to Sleep,</td> - <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_115">115</a></td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td class="cht" colspan="3">Sickle of Flowers, The,</td> - <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_118">118</a></td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td class="cht" colspan="3">Sleep (Sonnet),</td> - <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_55">55</a></td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td class="cht" colspan="3">Slumber Rhapsody, A,</td> - <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_5">5</a></td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td class="cht" colspan="3">Song of the Stars,</td> - <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_42">42</a></td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td class="cht" colspan="3">Song on the Sea,</td> - <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_56">56</a></td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td class="cht" colspan="3">Sonnets of Life,</td> - <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_23">23</a></td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td class="cht" colspan="3">Sorto’ Played-Out Ol’ Bouquet, A,</td> - <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_9">9</a></td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td class="cht" colspan="3">Soul of My Soul,</td> - <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_13">13</a></td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td class="cht" colspan="3">Sweetest of All, The,</td> - <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_138">138</a></td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td class="cht1" colspan="3">Tears and Laughter,</td> - <td class="pag1"><a href="#Page_14">14</a></td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td class="cht" colspan="3">There’s a Laugh,</td> - <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_47">47</a></td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td class="cht" colspan="3">This Touch of an Angel’s Hand,</td> - <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_119">119</a></td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td class="cht" colspan="3">Thought,</td> - <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_58">58</a></td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td class="cht" colspan="3">Through Reverent Eyes,</td> - <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_71">71</a></td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td class="cht" colspan="3">Thus Life’s Tale,</td> - <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_149">149</a></td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td class="cht" colspan="3">To a Wild-Rose Bouquet,</td> - <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_55">55</a></td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td class="cht" colspan="3">To Fancy,</td> - <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_69">69</a></td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td class="cht" colspan="3">To Miss ——,</td> - <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_114">114</a><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xii" id="Page_xii">[xii]</a></span></td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td class="cht" colspan="3">To Morpheus,</td> - <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_108">108</a></td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td class="cht" colspan="3">To Sleep,</td> - <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_49">49</a></td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td class="cht" colspan="3">To Thee Above,</td> - <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_109">109</a></td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td class="cht" colspan="3">Tough Mutton, Perhaps,</td> - <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_114">114</a></td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td class="cht" colspan="3">Transformation, The,—A Psychological Mystery,</td> - <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_151">151</a></td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td class="cht" colspan="3">Twenty,</td> - <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_61">61</a></td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td class="cht1" colspan="3">Ups and Downs,</td> - <td class="pag1"><a href="#Page_2">2</a></td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td class="cht" colspan="3">Useless?</td> - <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_105">105</a></td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td class="cht1" colspan="3">Washington,</td> - <td class="pag1"><a href="#Page_142">142</a></td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td class="cht" colspan="3">Weather Fiend, The,</td> - <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_129">129</a></td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td class="cht" colspan="3">What is Poetry?</td> - <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_76">76</a></td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td class="cht" colspan="3">Wheel and Shuttle,</td> - <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_49">49</a></td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td class="cht" colspan="3">White-Enthroned Above Me,</td> - <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_59">59</a></td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td class="cht" colspan="3">Whither?</td> - <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_147">147</a></td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td class="cht" colspan="3">Who Knows?</td> - <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_131">131</a></td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td class="cht" colspan="3">Woodland Lay,</td> - <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_57">57</a></td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td class="cht" colspan="3">Words and Thoughts,</td> - <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_117">117</a></td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td class="cht" colspan="3">Write from the Heart,</td> - <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_146">146</a></td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td class="cht1" colspan="3">Year Ago, A,</td> - <td class="pag1"><a href="#Page_137">137</a></td> - </tr> -</table> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">[1]</a></span></p></div> - - -<h2>SPIDER-WEBS IN VERSE.</h2> - - <div class="poetry-container"> -<h3>A CHORAL OF SUNSET.</h3> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div>I’ve a notion the clouds at sunset</div> - <div class="i1">Sing chorals in the sky</div> - <div>As they let down their billowy tresses</div> - <div class="i8">And kiss</div> - <div class="i5">The sun</div> - <div class="i2">“Good-bye!”</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>And the music comes in at the portals</div> - <div class="i1">That Heaven has left in the heart,</div> - <div>As the shine gets into the flower</div> - <div class="i8">Where the leaves</div> - <div class="i5">Have slipped</div> - <div class="i2">Apart.</div> - </div> - </div> - </div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">[2]</a></span></p> - - <div class="poetry-container"> - <h3>THE POET’S PRAYER.</h3> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="i3">Sweet Zephyr from celestial isles</div> - <div class="i3">That all the earth with joy beguiles,</div> - <div>I would that thou wouldst blow to me,</div> - <div class="i1">And blow to me thy purest breathing song;</div> - <div>I would that thou wouldst come to me</div> - <div class="i1">And tell to me whate’er is right and wrong;</div> - <div>I would that thou wouldst lay thy hand</div> - <div class="i1">And rest thy hand upon my throbbing brow,</div> - <div>And that the words thou giv’st to me</div> - <div class="i1">And tak’st from me would be received as thou.</div> - </div> - </div> - </div> - - <div class="poetry-container"> - <h3>UPS AND DOWNS.</h3> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div>The world is like a coach and four,</div> - <div class="i1">And men as there you find ’em:</div> - <div>For some must ride and some must drive</div> - <div class="i1">And some hang on behind ’em.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Or like the farmer’s ’tater cart,—</div> - <div class="i1">The best on top to brag on:</div> - <div>For some must rise and some must fall</div> - <div class="i1">Like ’taters in the wagon.</div> - </div> - </div> - </div> - - <div class="poetry-container"> - <h3>THE OLD BENONI TREE.</h3> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Brother Grant, do you remember</div> - <div class="i1">Days and years we spent together</div> - <div>Thro’ the summer’s shiny weather</div> - <div class="i1">Till apples dropped in late September?<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[3]</a></span></div> - <div>Nurtured where the warm suns shine in,</div> - <div class="i1">We were dreamers then, my brother,</div> - <div class="i1">As we lisped to one another,</div> - <div>“Ine-een tor-I fert-hi mine-een.”</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Guess you haven’t forgotten that yet,</div> - <div class="i1">Have you? I can shut my eyes and</div> - <div>See the old tree where we sat yet,—</div> - <div class="i1">Hear the rhythm of that thing rise and</div> - <div>Fall like echoes of the distant brine in</div> - <div class="i1">Some fair shell; and like it clinging</div> - <div class="i1">To the past, my heart keeps singing,</div> - <div>“Ine-een tor-I fert-hi mine-een.”</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>I’ll be plagued if I can tell yet</div> - <div class="i1">What that hitching nonsense jingle</div> - <div>Meant, can you? I can smell yet,</div> - <div class="i1">Tho’, the blossoms;—hear the lingle</div> - <div>Of the bells of lolling kine in</div> - <div class="i1">Slaughter’s grove;—see the pink of</div> - <div class="i1">Fruit above us when I think of</div> - <div>“Ine-een tor-I fert-hi mine-een.”</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>I can taste those old Benoni</div> - <div class="i1">Apples yet—(fall apples—mellow</div> - <div>As the winds that kissed the bony</div> - <div class="i1">Branches into blossom; yellow—</div> - <div>Butter-yellow—and as fine in</div> - <div class="i1">Taste as Flemish Beauty pears were)—</div> - <div class="i1">For our burdensomest cares were,</div> - <div>“Ine-een tor-I fert-hi mine-een.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[4]</a></span></div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Ah, my boy, you haven’t forgotten</div> - <div class="i1">How with wooden men we pounded</div> - <div>Them when green till almost rotten</div> - <div class="i1">Just to get the juice out? Sounded</div> - <div>Mighty tempting with that wine in</div> - <div class="i1">There just squushing for the skin to</div> - <div class="i1">Burst and let us both fall into</div> - <div>“Ine-een tor-I fert-hi mine-een.”</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Ha! ha! ha! what little scheming</div> - <div class="i1">Rascals we were then, my laddie!—</div> - <div>Knock off apples just half-dreaming</div> - <div class="i1">Ripeness, stain the stems that had a</div> - <div>Fresh look with some dirt—divine in</div> - <div class="i1">Innocence!—then run to mother,</div> - <div class="i1">Each one chuckling to the other,</div> - <div>“Ine-een tor-I fert-hi mine-een.”</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Tell her then we’d found them lying</div> - <div class="i1">On the ground (we had, too!) asking</div> - <div>If we might not have them, trying</div> - <div class="i1">Every childish art, nor masking</div> - <div>Mouths just watering to dine in</div> - <div class="i1">Glory on them. When we’d got our</div> - <div class="i1">“Yes!” all earth I’m certain, caught our</div> - <div>“Ine-een tor-I fert-hi mine-een.”</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Oh the days and days together</div> - <div class="i1">In the lazy days of childhood</div> - <div>Through the shade and shiny weather</div> - <div class="i1">Of the Long Agone’s deep wildwood<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[5]</a></span></div> - <div>When we clad our men of pine in</div> - <div class="i1">Every phase of human action,</div> - <div class="i1">Sang to them the old “attraction,”</div> - <div>“Ine-een tor-I fert-hi mine-een”!</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Through my hazing, half-closed lashes</div> - <div class="i1">As I watch the steady blazing</div> - <div>Of my fangled oil-stove, plashes</div> - <div class="i1">Of that olden rhythm come lazing</div> - <div>From the lethy mists, and shine in</div> - <div class="i1">Irised splendors where the tilting</div> - <div class="i1">Timid Robin still is lilting,</div> - <div>“Ine-een tor-I fert-hi mine-een.”</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Oh the golden old Benonis</div> - <div class="i1">With a heart as rich and yellow</div> - <div>As the moon, no apple known is</div> - <div class="i1">Half so high or half so mellow,</div> - <div>For they’ve drunk the sun’s whole shine in</div> - <div class="i1">And preserved our boyhood’s story</div> - <div class="i1">With it’s olden, golden glory,</div> - <div>“Ine-een tor-I fert-hi mine-een.”</div> - </div> - </div> - </div> - - <div class="poetry-container"> - <h3>A SLUMBER RHAPSODY.</h3> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Sleep, sleep, sleep and rest, sleep and rest,</div> - <div class="i4">The wind is in the west</div> - <div class="i4">And night is on the deep,—</div> - <div class="i2">Sleep and rest, rest and sleep,</div> - <div class="i6">Sleep, sleep.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[6]</a></span></div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Dream, dream, dream and sleep, dream and sleep,</div> - <div class="i4">The stars their vigils keep</div> - <div class="i4">And skies with glories gleam.</div> - <div class="i2">Dream and sleep, sleep and dream,</div> - <div class="i6">Dream, dream.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Sleep, rest, dream and rest, sleep and dream,</div> - <div class="i4">The morning sun will beam</div> - <div class="i4">And cares thy day infest,—</div> - <div class="i2">Rest and sleep, sleep and rest,</div> - <div class="i6">Rest, rest.</div> - </div> - </div> - </div> - - <div class="poetry-container"> - <h3>BAREFOOT AFTER THE COWS.</h3> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="i1">I am plodding down the little lane again</div> - <div class="i2">With my trousers rolled above my sunburnt knees;</div> - <div class="i1">And I whistle with the mocking-bird and wren</div> - <div class="i2">As they chatter in the hedging willow-trees.</div> - <div class="hangingindent">And my foot as light and nimble as the airy wings they wear</div> - <div class="i1">Trips along the little lane again to-day;</div> - <div class="hangingindent">And my bare feet catch the tinkle thro’ the silent summer air</div> - <div class="i1">Of the jingle-langle-ingle far away.—</div> - <div class="i4">Klangle-ling ke-langle,</div> - <div class="i5">Klingle-lang ke-lingle</div> - <div class="i6">Dingle-lingle-langle down the dell;</div> - <div class="i4">Jingle-langle lingle,</div> - <div class="i5">Langle-lingle r-r-angle,</div> - <div class="i6">Ringle-langle-lingle of the bell.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[7]</a></span></div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="i1">From the lane across the prairie o’er the hill</div> - <div class="i2">Down a winding little path the cows have made,</div> - <div class="i1">In my thought to-night I’m going, going still,—</div> - <div class="i2">For the sinking Sun is lengthening its Shade!</div> - <div class="hangingindent">And I find them in the hollows—the hollows of the dell</div> - <div class="i1">And I find the drowsy cattle in the dell,</div> - <div class="hangingindent">By the ringle-rangle-jingle,—the jangle of the bell,</div> - <div class="i1">By the ringle and the jangle of the bell.—</div> - <div class="i4">Klang-ke-link ge-lingle,</div> - <div class="i5">Jangle-ling ke-langle,</div> - <div class="i6">Klink ke-langle-lingle down the dell;</div> - <div class="i4">Klangle-link ke-langle,</div> - <div class="i5">K-link ke-lank ke-lingle,</div> - <div class="i6">Lingle-link ke-langle of the bell.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="i1">As the cows across the prairie homeward wind</div> - <div class="i2">O’er the hill and toward the broadened sinking sun,</div> - <div class="i1">Steals a silence o’er the wooded vale behind</div> - <div class="i2">Where their shadows, lengthened, darken into one.</div> - <div class="hangingindent">And I whistle back the echoes,—the echoes left behind,</div> - <div class="i1">That are wand’ring in the tangles of the dell;</div> - <div class="hangingindent">And in answer to the message—the message that I wind,</div> - <div class="i1">Call the echoes of the klangle of the bell:—</div> - <div class="i4">Langle-langle lingle,</div> - <div class="i5">Lingle-langle lingle,</div> - <div class="i6">Lingle-lingle-langle down the dell;</div> - <div class="i4">D-r-r-ingle-langle-langle,</div> - <div class="i5">R-r-angle-ringle-langle,</div> - <div class="i6">Langle-lingle-r-r-angle of the bell.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="i1">At the lighting of the Candles of the Night</div> - <div class="i2">When my tangled locks have found the pillow’s rest,</div> - <div class="i1">I can hear the langle-lingle, soft and light,</div> - <div class="i2">Like the cradle-rocking lulling of the blest.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[8]</a></span></div> - <div class="hangingindent">And upon the ear of Fancy—of Fancy born of Sleep,</div> - <div class="i1">Comes the klangle from a distant dreamy Dell;</div> - <div class="hangingindent">For the angels lull me dreaming—dreaming in their keep,</div> - <div class="i1">To the klingle-langle-lingle of the bell.—</div> - <div class="i4">Kling-ge-lang-ge-lingle,</div> - <div class="i5">Klangle-lingle-langle,</div> - <div class="i6">Langle-lingle-lingle from the dell;</div> - <div class="i4">Kling-ge-ling-ge-langle,</div> - <div class="i5">Ling-ge-lang-ge-lingle,</div> - <div class="i6">Lingle-lingle-langle of the bell.</div> - </div> - </div> - </div> - - <div class="poetry-container"> - <h3 class="larger">GIFT AND GIVER.</h3> -<p class="sm">Not what we give, but what we share.—<i>Lowell.</i></p> -<p class="sm narrow">Rich gifts wax poor when givers prove unkind.—<i>Shakespeare.</i></p> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Not the binding of this book</div> - <div class="i1">Nor its leaves with marble edge;</div> - <div>But the poet’s heart and soul</div> - <div class="i1">In each thought upon the page</div> - <div class="i2">Makes the book of worth,</div> - <div class="i2">Lifts us from the earth,</div> - <div class="i3">From the common sod</div> - <div class="i3">Nearer unto God.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Not the gold that’s in the gift</div> - <div class="i1">Nor the sense of doing duty;</div> - <div>But the giver in the gold</div> - <div class="i1">With a heart that’s full of beauty</div> - <div class="i2">Makes the gift of worth,</div> - <div class="i2">Lifts us from the earth,</div> - <div class="i3">From the common sod</div> - <div class="i3">Nearer unto God.</div> - </div> - </div> - </div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[9]</a></span></p> - - <div class="poetry-container"> - <h3>A SORTO’ PLAYED-OUT OL’ BOUQUET.</h3> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div>They’re withered—sorto’ withered now,</div> - <div class="i1">They’ve got a musty smell;</div> - <div>So I must shet the book up tight</div> - <div class="i1">An’ set an’ wait a spell.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>They’re withered—sorto’ withered now,</div> - <div class="i1">They’ve lost their red an’ green,</div> - <div>An’ the leaves are crushed an’ crumpled up</div> - <div class="i1">With crinkled buds atween.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>They’ve got a sorto’ musty smell</div> - <div class="i1">That almost makes me sick,</div> - <div>For they ’mind me o’ the days in June</div> - <div class="i1">We got ’m ’long the crick.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>They wan’t no style about them tho’,</div> - <div class="i1">Like city flowers is—</div> - <div>They’s jist the good ol’-time Wil’-Rose</div> - <div class="i1">That God set out fer His.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>I stuck ’em in this Good Ol’ Book</div> - <div class="i1">Long ’fore they drooped an’ died,</div> - <div>An’ here each day they’ve smiled at me</div> - <div class="i1">When I have only cried.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>I touch ’em—an’ I touch her hand</div> - <div class="i1">That put ’em here in mine!</div> - <div>I see ’em—an’ I see her lips</div> - <div class="i1">More temptin’er ’an wine.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>’T’s a sorto’ played-out ol’ bouquet,</div> - <div class="i1">Ol’-fashion’ roses too;</div> - <div>But then it’s beautif’ler to me</div> - <div class="i1">Than fresher ones to you.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[10]</a></span></div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Jist let me look agin—’y jing!</div> - <div class="i1">I see her smile there yet!</div> - <div>Somehow it sorto’ all comes back,</div> - <div class="i1">An’ I see her smile there yet.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>They’re withered—sorto’ withered now,</div> - <div class="i1">They’ve got a musty smell;</div> - <div>So I must shet the book up tight</div> - <div class="i1">An’ set an’ wait a spell.</div> - </div> - </div> - </div> - - <div class="poetry-container"> - <h3>DOWN TO THE CANDY-MAN’S SHOP.</h3> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Here we go hippety-hop,</div> - <div class="i1">All for a stick of candy</div> - <div>Down to the candy-man’s shop—</div> - <div class="i1">Tell you what he’s a dandy.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>All for a stick of candy</div> - <div class="i1">Hippety-hop we go.</div> - <div>Tell you what he’s a dandy</div> - <div class="i1">Givin’ us candy you know.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Hippety-hop we go,</div> - <div class="i1">Head-over-heels in our hurry.</div> - <div>Givin’ us candy you know</div> - <div class="i1">Sets us all in a flurry.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Head-over-heels in our hurry</div> - <div class="i1">Into the candy-man’s shop;</div> - <div>Sets us all in a flurry</div> - <div class="i1">Goin’ it hippety-hop.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[11]</a></span></div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Into the candy-man’s shop</div> - <div class="i1">Everybody just tumbles,</div> - <div>Goin’ it hippety-hop,</div> - <div class="i1">’Cause, you see, <i>he</i> never grumbles.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Everybody just tumbles</div> - <div class="i1">Makin’ the candy-man grin,</div> - <div>’Cause, you see, <i>he</i> never grumbles,</div> - <div class="i1">No matter how we come in.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Makin’ the candy-man grin,</div> - <div class="i1">Here we are crowdin’ and pushin’;</div> - <div>No matter how we come in</div> - <div class="i1">He knows the wush we’re a-wushin’.</div> - </div> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<h4><i>Return.</i></h4> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>L-l-lp! but that’s better’n ma’s jelly,</div> - <div class="i1">Down to the candy-man’s shop!</div> - <div>Hang to my hand now, Nellie,—</div> - <div class="i1">Here we go hippety-hop.</div> - </div> - </div> - </div> - - <div class="poetry-container"> - <h3 class="larger">LIFE TO LOVE.<br /> -<span class="subhed"><i>A Triolet.</i></span></h3> - - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div>It is life just to love</div> - <div class="i1">With a heart’s true devotion:</div> - <div>’Tis the great law Above.</div> - <div>It is life just to love,—</div> - <div>For the soul just to move</div> - <div class="i1">With a sweet, wild emotion.</div> - <div>It is life just to love</div> - <div class="i1">With a heart’s true devotion.</div> - </div> - </div> - </div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[12]</a></span></p> - - <div class="poetry-container"> - <h3 class="larger">COME TO THE SHADOWS.<br /> -<span class="subhed"><i>A Pantoum.</i></span></h3> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Come to the shadows of eve</div> - <div class="i1">Falling like mantles around us;</div> - <div>Come where the winds ever weave</div> - <div class="i1">Songs in the tree-webs around us.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Falling like mantles around us</div> - <div class="i1">Sweet chime the vespers of love;</div> - <div>Songs in the tree-webs around us</div> - <div class="i1">Waft from some Idean grove.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Sweet chime the vespers of love</div> - <div class="i1">Borne by the zephyrs of even;</div> - <div>Waft from some Idean grove</div> - <div class="i1">Lydian measures of heaven.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Borne by the zephyrs of even</div> - <div class="i1">Love in his quiver bears</div> - <div>Lydian measures of heaven,</div> - <div class="i1">Softest of musical airs.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Love in his quiver bears</div> - <div class="i1">Aye when the star-flowers blossom</div> - <div>Softest of musical airs,</div> - <div class="i1">Night folding Day to his bosom.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Aye when the star-flowers blossom</div> - <div class="i1">Love sings the sweetest of themes;</div> - <div>Night folding day to his bosom</div> - <div class="i1">Lies down to rapturous dreams.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[13]</a></span></div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Love sings the sweetest of themes</div> - <div class="i1">Bidding my heart that yet never</div> - <div>Lies down to rapturous dreams</div> - <div class="i1">Fold thine own close to mine ever.</div> - </div> - -<hr class="tb" /> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Out ’mid the dew-loved flowers</div> - <div class="i1">Come where the winds ever weave</div> - <div>Love in the web of the hours,</div> - <div class="i1">Come to the shadows of eve.</div> - </div> - </div> - </div> - - <div class="poetry-container"> - <h3>SOUL OF MY SOUL.</h3> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Out on the river that rolleth forever,</div> - <div class="i1">Floweth forever and moaneth for aye,</div> - <div>Floateth a sorrow that never shall borrow</div> - <div class="i1">Peace to release it from me to the sea.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Sorrow that ever my sad heart’s quiver,</div> - <div class="i1">Sheathing alone this one arrow of woe,</div> - <div>Binds as the billow that never shall pillow</div> - <div class="i1">Crest on the breast of the moaning flow.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>O Stygian water, of heart-breakings fraughter,</div> - <div class="i1">Far more aburdened of mournful commotion</div> - <div>Than night is of stillness or Hell is of fellness,</div> - <div class="i1">Knoll thou and toll my ocean devotion!</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Dash thy dread roll ’gainst my turbulent soul,</div> - <div class="i1">Strike till its tones shall thy moanings control,</div> - <div>Bearing emotion as deep as the ocean</div> - <div class="i1">Unto the one who is soul of my soul!—<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[14]</a></span></div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Unto the maiden whom angels of Aidenn,</div> - <div class="i1">Wandering over the strand of the blest,</div> - <div>Enviously stole from the heart of my soul,</div> - <div class="i1">Bore to thy shore and prest to thy breast.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Let not thy plashing and turbulent dashing</div> - <div class="i1">Grate on the ear of my radiant Love;</div> - <div>Kiss her bright tresses with fondest caresses</div> - <div class="i1">Controlling thy rolling with love from above.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Her fair form enfold on thy bosom cold,</div> - <div class="i1">Rowing her soft with thy Lethean oar;</div> - <div>Whisper, oh whisper, as winds of the wold</div> - <div class="i1">Unto the one whom they bore to thy shore.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Farewell, fair Minevr! soft over the river</div> - <div class="i1">Unto thy rest shall the waves gently roll,</div> - <div>Where never forever death-rivers dissever</div> - <div class="i1">Heart from fond heart, or thy soul from my soul.</div> - </div> - </div> - </div> - - <div class="poetry-container"> - <h3>MINCE PIE.</h3> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Tell me not in great big <i>numbers</i></div> - <div class="i1">Facts can never <i>lie</i>;</div> - <div>For no fact in muddled slumbers</div> - <div class="i1"><i>Lies</i> so heavy as mince pie.</div> - </div> - </div> - </div> - - <div class="poetry-container"> - <h3>TEARS AND LAUGHTER.</h3> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Tears are often liveries stolen</div> - <div class="i1">From the equipage of grief;</div> - <div>Nor in Anger’s red eyes swollen</div> - <div class="i1">Do they e’er disguise the thief.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[15]</a></span></div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Tears are often pettish, Darling,</div> - <div class="i1">Like the foamy fretting run;</div> - <div>Like the foam they sparkle, Darling,</div> - <div class="i1">At the kisses of the sun.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Tears, true tears, are sad and lonely</div> - <div class="i1">Like the ocean’s music bars;</div> - <div>Like the music, vanish only</div> - <div class="i1">With the cycles of the stars.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Tears are often pent-up gladness,</div> - <div class="i1">Like the clouds that hold the bow;</div> - <div>Like the clouds they use their sadness</div> - <div class="i1">That their joys may better show.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Tears may often be imploring</div> - <div class="i1">Like the waves that kiss the skies;</div> - <div>Like the waves, for’er adoring,</div> - <div class="i1">They reflect their loved one’s eyes.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Tears? They are but kin to laughter,</div> - <div class="i1">Wedded as the night and day;</div> - <div>Like the day and night, each after</div> - <div class="i1">Each prepares the other’s way.</div> - </div> - </div> - </div> - - <div class="poetry-container"> - <h3>MIST-WING.</h3> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Oh my heart was light and airy</div> - <div>Like the mist-wing of the fairy</div> - <div class="i3">That I loved;</div> - <div>And I sang with song enchanting,</div> - <div>For the angel I was wanting</div> - <div class="i3">Dwelt above.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[16]</a></span></div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>And I fain had clasped the maiden</div> - <div>In her mist-winged robes of Aidenn</div> - <div class="i3">With my love;</div> - <div>But my eyes were blind with gleamings,</div> - <div>And my hands, bound fast by dreamings,</div> - <div class="i3">Would not move.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Then my heart, with horror filling,</div> - <div>Mid-leap froze with awful chilling</div> - <div class="i3">Like to death;</div> - <div>For upon her mist-wings thrilling</div> - <div>Did a demon blow his chilling,</div> - <div class="i3">Blasting breath.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Where my Mist-Wing fair was ferried</div> - <div>There my hope and heart lie buried,</div> - <div class="i3">Turned to stone;</div> - <div>There the dreams of bygones cheery</div> - <div>Drone a dreary, ceaseless, weary</div> - <div class="i3">Monotone.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Where my fairy floats forever</div> - <div>O’er the ripples of the river,</div> - <div class="i3">Bound in sleep,</div> - <div>There my fondest fancies follow</div> - <div>And with haunting features hollow</div> - <div class="i3">Vigils keep.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>From a star a light is streaming</div> - <div>In her golden tresses gleaming</div> - <div class="i3">Fair as Hope;</div> - <div>Fade the phantoms faster, faster,</div> - <div>From the Morning-star, life’s vaster</div> - <div class="i3">Horoscope.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[17]</a></span></div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>She is waking, waking, waking,</div> - <div>And my soul and body breaking</div> - <div class="i3">Swift apart.</div> - <div>Joy! my spirit soon shall hold her</div> - <div>And forever more enfold her,</div> - <div class="i3">Heart to heart.</div> - </div> - </div> - </div> - - <div class="poetry-container"> - <h3 class="larger">THE COMMON LOT.<br /> -<span class="subhed"><i>Choriambic.</i></span></h3> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="hangingindent">Sweet bird, sitting so sad singing your song there on the limb alone,</div> - <div class="hangingindent">Why make all the sad world sympathize with every mournful tone?</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="hangingindent">Ah yes! weep then, my dear, over the loss of the dear one you love:</div> - <div class="hangingindent">All hearts weep with you, dear, weep for some heart lured to the land above.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="hangingindent">Yet not even the deep river of tears rolls from the heart the stone;</div> - <div class="hangingindent">No, naught save the white-robed Angel of Hope born of the soul alone.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="hangingindent">O dove! mourning alone, croon to the moon over the one you love;</div> - <div class="hangingindent">O soul! Hope is thine own, throned in the white dome of thy home above!</div> - </div> - </div> - </div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[18]</a></span></p> - - <div class="poetry-container"> - <h3>ECHO SONG.</h3> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Echo, be not heartless, I implore you,</div> - <div class="i4">Listen to my woe;</div> - <div>And I’ll evermore, as now, adore you</div> - <div>(Tho’ that augurs that I sometimes bore you)</div> - <div class="i4">For I fain would know</div> - <div class="i6">What’s to be done.</div> - <div class="i8h">—“Be done!”</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Oh but, sir, I must beseech, entreat you</div> - <div class="i4">That you hear me through.—</div> - <div>If a rare and radiant maid should meet you</div> - <div>And with smiles and wiles and pranks should greet you,</div> - <div class="i4">Pray, what’s one to do</div> - <div class="i6">When one sees her?</div> - <div class="i8h">“Seize her!”</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>But I’m not quite well enough acquainted</div> - <div class="i4">With her, don’t you see?</div> - <div>Echo, when her lily face is painted</div> - <div>(On my soul), and at my heart she’s <i>feinted</i>,</div> - <div class="i4">And I’m blind as she,</div> - <div class="i6">How can I seize her?</div> - <div class="i8h">“See, sir.”</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>But alas! the laws of Love prohibit</div> - <div class="i4">That his subjects see;</div> - <div>And besides, explicitly inhibit</div> - <div>Other sight than blindness to exhibit.</div> - <div class="i4">What then? I can ne</div> - <div class="i6">“See,” nor “seize her.”</div> - <div class="i8h">“Cease, sir.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[19]</a></span></div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>But, friend Echo (for you are most truly</div> - <div class="i4">Friend and counselor),</div> - <div>Love’s commands must all be followed duly</div> - <div>(Tho’ himself most blind and most unruly);</div> - <div class="i4">Hence I can’t “see,” sir,</div> - <div class="i6">“Cease,” nor “seize her.”</div> - <div class="i8h">“Cæsar!”</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Yes, that’s what I’ve been ejaculating,</div> - <div class="i4">But it’s idle breath.</div> - <div>Now, if this consuming passionating</div> - <div>Doesn’t stop its wild peregrinating</div> - <div class="i4">It’ll be my death.</div> - <div class="i6">Must I let it?</div> - <div class="i8h">“Let it!”</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Friend should answer friend more seriously</div> - <div class="i4">Nor play upon <i>grave</i> words.</div> - <div>She’s affected quite as amorously</div> - <div>As who wakens you thus clamorously</div> - <div class="i4">With love’s scattered sherds,</div> - <div class="i6">Seeking surcease—</div> - <div class="i8h">“Sir, cease!”</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Nay, I <i>will not</i> cease till satisfaction</div> - <div class="i4">Is obtained from you.</div> - <div>Tell me what to do in this distraction</div> - <div>And I’ll vary from it not a fraction.—</div> - <div class="i4">Truth is, there are two—</div> - <div class="i6">Ann and Mary.</div> - <div class="i8h">“Marry!”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[20]</a></span></div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Tell me, Echo, O sweet Echo, tell me,</div> - <div class="i4">Oh and truly tell</div> - <div>What sweet thralling charm should most impel me</div> - <div>That no other wight may quite excel me</div> - <div class="i4">When I choose my belle</div> - <div class="i6">For matrimony—</div> - <div class="i8h">“Money.”</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Tell me then without equivocation</div> - <div class="i4">If you value health,</div> - <div>Swear it by the hills, your habitation,</div> - <div>Whence you issue like an exhalation,—</div> - <div class="i4">Which one has the wealth?</div> - <div class="i6">Truly answer—</div> - <div class="i8h">“Ann, sir.”</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Thanks to thee, sweet Echo, Love’s pathfinder!</div> - <div class="i4">We shall never part.</div> - <div>Forthwith I will hie me forth and find her</div> - <div>And the wealthiest jingling love-songs wind her</div> - <div class="i4">Till I win her heart</div> - <div class="i6"><i>And</i> earn her <i>mine</i>.—</div> - <div class="i8h">“<i>Ann!</i>—dern her <i>mine</i>!”</div> - </div> - -<p class="center p-left">[This last he hears in after years.</p> - - </div> - </div> - - <div class="poetry-container"> - <h3>THE HAUNTED HOUSE.</h3> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Hope and Love have gone away</div> - <div class="i1">Closing every window-blind,</div> - <div class="i1">Locking every door behind,</div> - <div>Bearing off the key.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[21]</a></span></div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Tenantless the musty house</div> - <div class="i1">Throws on passers-by its gloom;</div> - <div class="i1">Nor in any haunted room</div> - <div>Dares a living mouse.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Old and mouldy there it stands</div> - <div class="i1">All mysterious and lone</div> - <div class="i1">With its mosses overgrown—</div> - <div>Ruin’s myriad hands.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Useless grow the choking weeds</div> - <div class="i1">While the winding eglantine</div> - <div class="i1">And the morning-glory vine</div> - <div>Scatter wild their seeds.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Times there are when winds, hard pressed,</div> - <div class="i1">Gibber at the ghosts within,</div> - <div class="i1">Hollow-voiced with staring grin,</div> - <div>Uninvited guests.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Rumor, waking night and day,</div> - <div class="i1">Sees strange sights through window-panes,</div> - <div class="i1">Hears weird sounds of clanking chains</div> - <div>Sounding far away.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Rumor tells that Hope and Love</div> - <div class="i1">Walk the ghosts of murdered selves</div> - <div class="i1">When the midnight hour twelves:</div> - <div>Empty rooms they rove.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>But malicious town-folk say</div> - <div class="i1">Hope and Love are not away</div> - <div class="i1">But art hiding day by day:</div> - <div>Murderers are they!<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[22]</a></span></div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>But alas! I would ’twere so!—</div> - <div class="i1">Would that Hope and Love each might,</div> - <div class="i1">Might return e’en tho’ at night,</div> - <div>Tho’ at morn they go!</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>For Despair and Hate hide there,</div> - <div class="i1">Quiet thro’ the daytime quite,</div> - <div class="i1">Ghosting sights and sounds by night,</div> - <div>Demons of the air.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Counterfeiters both are they,</div> - <div class="i1">Coining only after night,</div> - <div class="i1">Minting metal ghostly white,</div> - <div>Holding revelry.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Aye, ’tis haunted! Hate is wed,</div> - <div class="i1">Wedded to his mate Despair,</div> - <div class="i1">And they hold high revels there:</div> - <div>Hope and Love are dead!</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Good my friends, remove the pile,</div> - <div class="i1">Ere it fall to foul decay;</div> - <div class="i1">Hope and Love have gone away,</div> - <div>Ruin feeds the while.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Hope and Love have gone away,</div> - <div class="i1">Closing door and closing blind,</div> - <div class="i1">Leaving Ruin lone behind,</div> - <div>Bearing off the key.</div> - </div> - </div> - </div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[23]</a></span></p> - - <div class="poetry-container"> - <h3 class="larger">SONNETS OF LIFE.<br /></h3> -<span class="subhed">I.</span> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div>A brilliant battle Darkness fought with Light,</div> - <div class="i1">A brilliant battle all the living day;</div> - <div class="i1">The Sun, awearied in the deadly fray,</div> - <div>Sank vanquished ’neath his armored foeman’s might,</div> - <div>But flung his arms far up the black’ning height,</div> - <div class="i1">From the quiver of the planets joyously</div> - <div class="i1">Drew forth his arrows, star-tipped, feathery,</div> - <div>And pierced the iron-plated breast of Night</div> - <div>With ten thousand starry-spangled blades of fire.</div> - <div class="i1">Night, wounded by the arrows of the Sun,</div> - <div class="i2">Poured out ten thousand streams of living blood</div> - <div>That dripped from every fire-tipped arrow dire</div> - <div class="i1">Down in the sorrowing sea; and the wounds each one</div> - <div class="i2">And the arrows all lay skyed in the doming flood.</div> - </div> - - <h3 class="subhed">II.</h3> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Triumphant Darkness stretched his blackened height</div> - <div class="i1">Along the ground of heaven; all bleeding lay</div> - <div class="i1">Grim Night upon the heaving breast of Day,</div> - <div>Exulting with a demon’s own delight.</div> - <div>Reviving Sun again, with heaven-born might,</div> - <div class="i1">Upflung his hands, far up the eastern gray,</div> - <div class="i1">From the shining quiver of Divinity</div> - <div>Drew forth his shafts, white-hot with God’s own light,</div> - <div>And pierced the mail of Night, blood-rusting red,</div> - <div class="i1">With countless dazzling fire-tipped darts of gold.</div> - <div class="i2">Down into the Lethal power of Chaos dread</div> - <div>Sank vanquished Night with all the damned dead!</div> - <div class="i1">And ever over Darkness, ages old,</div> - <div class="i2">Triumphant ruleth Light,—the great Godhead!</div> - </div> - </div> - </div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[24]</a></span></p> - -<h4>SYMBOLS IN SONNETS OF LIFE.</h4> - -<p class="sm">On submitting this poem to critics, I find that various ideas are -gleaned. Some take it as a literal description of night and day, or -light and darkness! Others think that it celebrates the victory of -truth over error, right over wrong, virtue over vice, or possibly the -triumph of learning over ignorance, or civilization over barbarism. -This is not so surprising; for I confess it does, indeed, admit -various interpretations. Some say that in its obscurity, though in -nothing else, it somewhat resembles the work of some great poet. -The only consolation that I can squeeze out of all these various -opinions is that obscurity and occultness synchronously attend upon -and are concomitant with both iconographic delineations and symbolical -phraseology. ’Tis <i>said</i> ’tis so,—and so ’tis sad!</p> - -<p class="sm">“Sing a song o’ six-pence, pocket full of rye, four and twenty -black-birds baked in a pie,” etc., is comparatively meaningless, tho’ -pleasing, unless we know what is symbolized. The “pie” is the <i>day</i>, -the “four and twenty black-birds” are the twenty-four <i>hours</i> of the -<i>day</i>, etc., etc. The symbols thus completed give a new beauty to that -old jingle. In fact, it was that identical jingle with its symbols that -suggested <i>Sonnets of Life</i>.</p> - -<p class="sm">As the title and staring Carlylean capitals throughout suggest, I -intended this poem to be a sort of <i>Analogue of Life</i>. In consequence -of all the foregoing, and for the delectation of those who care to read -the piece a second time, I have subjoined these</p> - -<h5><i>Symbols and Notes.</i></h5> - -<p class="center p-left sm">I.</p> - -<ul class="sm"> - <li><i>Darkness</i>,—death.</li> - <li><i>Light</i>,—life (on earth).</li> - <li><i>day</i>,—one’s duration of life.</li> - <li><i>Sun</i>,—one’s life.</li> - <li><i>black’ning height</i>,—hour of death.</li> - <li><i>quiver of the planets</i>,—thoughts, desires, longings, hopes.</li> - <li><i>arrows</i>,—faith in the future.</li> - <li><i>iron-plated breast of Night</i>,—gloom of one’s death.</li> - <li class="hangingindent1"><i>streams of living blood</i>,—hope others receive from the Christian’s death.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[25]</a></span></li> - <li><i>dire</i>,—i. e., <i>dire</i> only to Darkness.</li> - <li><i>sorrowing sea</i>,—sorrowing friends.</li> - <li class="hangingindent2"><i>skyed in the doming flood</i>,—acts, deeds, words, hopes, etc., -of the dead, reflected in humanity and especially in the hearts of friends.</li> -</ul> - -<p class="center p-left sm">II.</p> - -<ul class="sm"> - <li><i>Reviving Sun</i>,—soul, on morning of resurrection.</li> - <li><i>eastern gray</i>,—dawning of the morning of the resurrection day.</li> - <li><i>mail of Night</i>,—sleep of death.</li> - <li class="hangingindent3"><i>Last sonnet</i> closes all life on earth, triumphs over death, and brings the resurrection day.</li> - <li><i>Last two lines</i> begin and indefinitely extend the Life Eternal.</li> -</ul> - -<blockquote> -<p class="sm">This may aid somewhat. Too close an interpretation cannot be permitted -in any poem: ’twould make some of the most exquisite poetic thought of -literature ridiculous and nonsensical. The true poetic nature never -needs more in the interpretation of any poem than the title and the -naked poem itself to <i>suggest</i> thoughts and images infinitely more -beautiful than explanation can possibly make them.</p></blockquote> - - <div class="poetry-container"> - <h3>A MODERN TRAGEDY AVERTED.<br /> -<span class="subhed"><span class="smcap">He</span> (<i>in despondency</i>).</span></h3> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Heartless! heartless! Oh,</div> - <div class="i2">I know!</div> - <div>Tho’ your heart forget me</div> - <div class="i1">And my own be turned to stone;</div> - <div>Tho’ no day may let me</div> - <div class="i1">Claim my loved one as my own,</div> - <div class="i3">Still my heart is true</div> - <div class="i5">To you,</div> - <div class="i3">Still is true,</div> - <div class="i5">Still is true!<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[26]</a></span></div> - </div> - - <h4><span class="smcap">She</span> (<i>faithfully</i>).</h4> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Heartless?—heartless!—So?</div> - <div class="i2">Ah no!</div> - <div>Tho’ long years divide us</div> - <div class="i1">With the burdened stream of care;</div> - <div>Tho’ the waves deride us</div> - <div class="i1">With a still unanswered prayer,</div> - <div class="i3">Still my heart is true</div> - <div class="i5">To you,</div> - <div class="i3">Still is true,</div> - <div class="i5">Still is true.</div> - </div> - - <h4><span class="smcap">He</span> (<i>joyously</i>).</h4> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Then not heartless?! No!</div> - <div class="i2">No, no!</div> - <div>If I’ve wronged you, Dearest,</div> - <div class="i1">’Tis because I’m mad for love;</div> - <div>’Tis that you are nearest</div> - <div class="i1">When my thoughts in madness move.</div> - <div class="i3">Still my heart is true</div> - <div class="i5">To you,</div> - <div class="i3">Still is true,</div> - <div class="i5">Still is true.</div> - </div> - - <h4><span class="smcap">She</span> (<i>flippantly</i>).</h4> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Then not heartless? No!</div> - <div class="i2">Not so!</div> - <div>Tho’ you gave the treasure</div> - <div class="i1">Of your very life to me,</div> - <div>I thus at my pleasure</div> - <div class="i1">Give it back to you, you see!—<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[27]</a></span></div> - <div class="i3">Still my heart is true</div> - <div class="i5">To you,</div> - <div class="i3">Still is true,</div> - <div class="i5">Still is true.</div> - </div> - - <h4><span class="smcap">He</span> (<i>bitterly and sadly</i>).</h4> - -<p class="center p-left smaller"></p> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Heartless! heartless! Oh</div> - <div class="i2">’Tis so!</div> - <div>All the world is dreary:</div> - <div class="i1">Stars and love have ceased to shine;</div> - <div>Oh the weary, weary</div> - <div class="i1">Night that endlessly is mine!—</div> - <div class="i3">Still my heart is true</div> - <div class="i5">To you,</div> - <div class="i3">Still is true,</div> - <div class="i5">Still is true.</div> - </div> - - <h4><span class="smcap">She</span> (<i>tauntingly</i>).</h4> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Ha! I’m heartless, tho’?</div> - <div class="i2">No, no!</div> - <div>I was only funning</div> - <div class="i1">And I didn’t mean it once;—</div> - <div>Never thought of running</div> - <div class="i1">Into love, you great big dunce.—</div> - <div class="i3">’Course, my heart is true</div> - <div class="i5">To you,</div> - <div class="i3">Still is true,</div> - <div class="i5">Still is true!</div> - </div> - - <h4><span class="smcap">He</span> (<i>in despair</i>).</h4> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Heartless! heartless! Flow,</div> - <div class="i2">My woe!<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[28]</a></span></div> - <div>Oh this life is bitter!—</div> - <div class="i1">Poison, river, rope, or gun—</div> - <div>Any death is fitter</div> - <div class="i1">Than two hearts thus dead in one.—</div> - <div class="i3">Still my heart is true</div> - <div class="i5">To you,</div> - <div class="i3">Still is true,</div> - <div class="i5">Still is true.</div> - </div> - - <h4><span class="smcap">She</span> (<i>in fear, imploringly</i>).</h4> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>No! not heartless! No!</div> - <div class="i2">No, no!</div> - <div>I am true as ever;—</div> - <div class="i1">Oh <i>don’t</i> take your precious life</div> - <div>And I’ll be forever</div> - <div class="i1">Your own darling little wife.—</div> - <div class="i3">Still my heart is true</div> - <div class="i5">To you,</div> - <div class="i3">Still is true,</div> - <div class="i5">Still is true.</div> - </div> - </div> - </div> - - <div class="poetry-container"> - <h3 class="larger">THE HUMAN HEART.<br /> -<span class="subhed"><i>Birth.</i></span></h3> - <div class="poetry"> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Laughter is music and music is kin to laughter:</div> - <div class="i1">The heart has forgotten its tears;</div> - <div>For life is but death, and Death is the Life hereafter—</div> - <div class="i1">God is revolving the years.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[29]</a></span></div> - </div> - - <h4><i>Joy on Account of Birth.</i></h4> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="hangingindent">With a rose-bud goblet the Morning stands glowing and burning,</div> - <div class="i1">Sipping the heart’s night dew;</div> - <div class="hangingindent">Through dream-laded lashes the flashes of joy are returning—</div> - <div class="i1">God is letting them through.</div> - </div> - - <h4><i>Sorrow on Account of Death.</i></h4> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>With a Spade all golden the Night of Sorrow is digging</div> - <div class="i1">Deep in the heart’s confines:</div> - <div>A Dream drifts out with a sable shroud and rigging—</div> - <div class="i1">God is working the mines!</div> - </div> - - <h4><i>Soul Passes Beyond.</i></h4> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="hangingindent">In the hands of the angels the cymballine stars are clinking</div> - <div class="i1">A wealth of music untold:</div> - <div class="hangingindent">For the Rising of Life, as the sun, must follow its sinking—</div> - <div class="i1">God has coined His gold!</div> - </div> - - <h4><i>L’Envoy.</i></h4> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Oh, laughter is music, and both are akin to sorrow,—</div> - <div class="i1">The heart holds the songs of the spheres;</div> - <div>For life is but death, and Death is the Life to-morrow—</div> - <div class="i1">God is speeding the years.</div> - </div> - </div> - </div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[30]</a></span></p> - - <div class="poetry-container"> - <h3>THE NIGHTMARE.</h3> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div>In the depths of my ink bottle,</div> - <div>With a fiery gleaming throttle</div> - <div class="i1">Stood a fierce and ghoulish demon all the day;</div> - <div>And the murky ink was lighted</div> - <div>With a fiendish fire that blighted</div> - <div class="i1">Every sprite of good that on its bosom lay.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>And my pen, from Love’s own quiver,</div> - <div>Wrought of gold, began to shiver</div> - <div class="i1">With a fearful quaking terror born of death</div> - <div>As I touched the hellish-lighted</div> - <div>Surface of the Ink that frighted</div> - <div class="i1">Pluto’s self and stole Persephone’s sweet breath.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Hour after fearful hour</div> - <div>Stood that blasting, fiendish power</div> - <div class="i1">In whose grasp my golden pen was ground to dust.</div> - <div>Oh, the wasting, endless season</div> - <div>Chilling heart and killing reason</div> - <div class="i1">As the gloating demon glutted full his lust!</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="ileft">“Golden Pen that Love had given,</div> - <div>Wrought of gold from my heart riven,</div> - <div class="i1">Thus my palsied, broken heart must bury thee</div> - <div>In the fiendish ink, made blacker</div> - <div>By the demon’s fiery lacquer</div> - <div class="i1">On the surface of its dark uncertainty.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[31]</a></span></div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Then a shadow came before me</div> - <div>And a loathing sickness o’er me</div> - <div class="i1">As the demon sank below and out of sight;</div> - <div>For I saw a stream of gold</div> - <div>That the demon could not hold</div> - <div class="i1">To the bottom of the darkness drip its light.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Then I knew that never, never</div> - <div>Would Love’s gold-illumined quiver</div> - <div class="i1">Bind again the shaft the demon could not hold;</div> - <div>For I saw a radiance shining</div> - <div>’Round the place, and angels twining</div> - <div class="i1">Strange and all-eternal Beauty of the gold!</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Darkness reigned then, deep, unlighted,</div> - <div>Silence sitting near, half-frighted</div> - <div class="i1">By the demon’s disappointed distant wail</div> - <div>And far-off mingled angel voices</div> - <div>Tuned to music that rejoices</div> - <div class="i1">In the glory of a love that cannot fail.</div> - </div> - -<hr class="tb" /> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Morning?—Thank God that all our seeing</div> - <div>And our seeming is not being!</div> - <div class="i1">Dear wife, let your warm cheek still against mine lie</div> - <div>While your loving arms and kisses</div> - <div>Doubly tell what loving bliss is.—</div> - <div class="i1">Warning:—Before you go to bed, don’t eat mince pie!</div> - </div> - </div> - </div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[32]</a></span></p> - - <div class="poetry-container"> - <h3 class="larger">“FALSE WOMANKIND!”<br /> -<span class="subhed1">ON READING A SLUR THAT WAS MADE ON HER BY THE LACK-LOVE GAY, OF QUEEN -ANNE’S DAY.</span></h3> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div>“False womankind, false womankind!”</div> - <div>Thus wails and rails a many a blind</div> - <div>And foolish heart, too long confined</div> - <div>Where light and love have never shined.</div> - <div>E’en sweetest Shakespeare’s pen, embrined</div> - <div>With biting bitterness of mind,</div> - <div>“As false as woman’s love,” has whined.</div> - <div>—Unkind the cut, the heart unkind.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>“False womankind, false womankind!”—</div> - <div>I hurl the lie back from my mind</div> - <div>To those who thus a wreath have twined</div> - <div>Of roseless thorns to crown and bind</div> - <div>A sister’s crown, or mother’s kind</div> - <div>And sainted brow;—or twine and wind</div> - <div>It, thorns and all, round heart and mind</div> - <div>Of sweetheart-wife in love enshrined.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>False, false the charge and false the mind</div> - <div>That ever says “False womankind!”</div> - <div>For the pæan ages wind</div> - <div>Unto me this truth they find</div> - <div>In the heart of humankind,</div> - <div>In the human heart enshrined:—</div> - <div>“None so false and none so blind</div> - <div>As whose loveless pens have lined<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[33]</a></span></div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>“What the heart has undermined,</div> - <div>‘False womankind, false womankind!’</div> - <div>None so true as <i>her</i> we find:</div> - <div>None so pure of heart and mind,</div> - <div>None so sweet and so refined,</div> - <div>None so great and good and kind,</div> - <div>None so in the heart enshrined</div> - <div>As womankind, as womankind!”</div> - </div> - </div> - </div> - - <div class="poetry-container"> - <h3 class="larger">LONELY!<br /> -<span class="subhed1">TO —— (LONG AGO DEAD.)</span></h3> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div>I am lonelier, lonelier, Dear, to-day</div> - <div class="i1">Than ever I’ve been before:</div> - <div>And the restless old ocean, foam-fretted alway,</div> - <div class="i1">Moans only of days of yore.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>But somehow my heart is so sad in life’s whirl,</div> - <div class="i1">And my life is so shut in its shell,</div> - <div>Tho’ it heal every wound o’er with purest of pearl</div> - <div class="i1">Of naught but the sea will it tell.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Oh, lonely and lorn as the bittern’s boom,</div> - <div class="i1">I haunt every solitude known,</div> - <div>Only to find from the wide world’s room</div> - <div class="i1">A nameless something has flown.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>I know not the reason, and fear nor I care;</div> - <div class="i1">I only know I am lonelier, Dear,</div> - <div>As over the well-wonted moorland I fare,</div> - <div class="i1">Than ever the death-wept tear.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[34]</a></span></div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>How lonely, Dear! how long the time!—</div> - <div class="i1">But I’ll bear it, I’ll bear it for thee,</div> - <div>That at last I may join in the glad-voiced chime</div> - <div class="i1">Far out on the crystal sea.</div> - </div> - </div> - </div> - - <div class="poetry-container"> - <h3 class="larger">I’SE SEEN A LIGHT IN DE SKY.<br /> -<span class="subhed1">(A PLANTATION MELODY.)</span></h3> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Oh I’se gittin’ ol’ an’ grizzled,</div> - <div class="i1">An’ I haint got long to stay;</div> - <div>My head hab got to noddin’</div> - <div class="i1">An’ I haint right well noway.</div> - <div class="i3">Oh I’se gwine, gwine to leab you,</div> - <div class="i4">An’ doan’ you chillun cry;</div> - <div class="i3">Oh I know I’se gwine to leab you</div> - <div class="i4">Caze I’se seen a light in de sky!</div> - </div> - - <h4><i>Chorus.</i></h4> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Oh yes! in de white clouds floatin’ high,</div> - <div>Oh yes! caze I’se seen a light in de sky!</div> - <div class="i1">Oh I,—</div> - <div class="i2">Oh I’se seen—</div> - <div class="i3">I’se seen a light,—</div> - <div class="i8">I’se seen a light in de sky!</div> - <div class="i3">Oh I’se gwine away to leab you,</div> - <div class="i4">An’ doan’ you chillun cry!</div> - <div class="i3">Oh I know I’se gwine to leab you</div> - <div class="i4">Caze I’se seen a light in de sky!<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[35]</a></span></div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Oh dat light am a-gittin’ brightah,</div> - <div class="i1">An’ de cloud am a-comin’ nigh,—</div> - <div>Oh I know hits de angels comin’</div> - <div class="i1">Fer to carry me home on high.</div> - <div class="i3">Oh dese eyes dey’ll nebber see you,—</div> - <div class="i4">Hoh my chillun doan’ you cry!—</div> - <div class="i3">Twell dey wake in de happy mawnin,</div> - <div class="i4">Caze I’se seen a light in de sky!</div> - </div> - - <h4><i>Chorus.</i></h4> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Oh yes! in de white clouds floatin’ high,</div> - <div>Oh yes! caze I’se seen a light in de sky!</div> - <div class="i1">Oh I,—</div> - <div class="i2">Oh I’se seen—</div> - <div class="i3">I’se seen a light,—</div> - <div class="i8">I’se seen a light in de sky!</div> - <div class="i3">Oh I’se gwine away to leab you,</div> - <div class="i4">An’ doan’ you chillun cry!</div> - <div class="i3">Oh I know I’se gwine to leab you</div> - <div class="i4">Caze I’se seen a light in de sky!</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Oh good-bye to de ol’ plantation,</div> - <div class="i1">De mawnin’ am growin’ gray!—</div> - <div>Oh good-bye, an’ stop yo’ weepin’,—</div> - <div class="i1">De mawnin’ am breakin’ Day!</div> - <div class="i3">Oh yes! in de heaben dat’s comin’</div> - <div class="i4">I’ll meet you by-an’-by!—</div> - <div class="i3">Hoh yes! in de happy mawnin’,</div> - <div class="i4">Caze you’ll see de Light in de sky!</div> - </div> - - <h4><i>Chorus.</i></h4> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Oh yes! in de white clouds floatin’ high!</div> - <div>Oh yes! caze you’ll see de Light in de sky!<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[36]</a></span></div> - <div class="i1">Oh I,—</div> - <div class="i2">Oh I’se seen—</div> - <div class="i3">I’se seen a light,—</div> - <div class="i8">I’se seen a light in de sky!</div> - <div class="i3">Oh I’se gwine, gwine to leab you,</div> - <div class="i4">But I’ll meet you by-an’-by!</div> - <div class="i3">Oh I know I’se gwine to meet you,</div> - <div class="i4">Caze I’se seen a light in de sky.</div> - </div> - </div> - </div> - -<h3 class="larger">FAMILY OF THE EPHEMERA.</h3> - -<p class="center p-left smaller">(To be read in connection with the following poem, “Shut In.”)</p> - -<p>Somewhere, sometime, I know not when or where, I have heard a strangely -beautiful and beautifully strange and altogether wonderful story—a -story of a pygmy people.</p> - -<p>In the long, long ago that has slipped into the lethal tide of the flow -of Time where even the years have forgotten the rolling chime that -they used to sing to the shore of a heavenly clime (and where poets -don’t ever, nor ever, nor ever rhyme), whence even Tradition, asleep, -forgets to climb, so long ago that I don’t know but that the time still -antedates all dates, there lived the Family of the Ephemera.</p> - -<p>As the sun came up in the morning, the race came into existence. -During the night, a toad-stool of wonderful dimensions had sprung up, -and beneath this over-shadowing phenomenon, built by the genii of -darkness, the first glint of the new day’s sun kissed the first born of -a new race—the Adam and Eve of the Family called Ephemera.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[37]</a></span></p> - -<p>As the sun arose, and ere, e’en years ere it showed its lower disk, -the family increased most startingly. The whole of their known world -was peopled. They developed the resources of their vast little land. -They cultivated the soil. They delved in the mines for gold. They -carried on commerce with their widely scattered selves. They built -homes and cities. Their cities were magnificent, their houses built of -exquisitely carved and polished stone quarried from a grain of sand. -Each window was made of the filmy iridescence of a single sunbeam, and -curtained with richly embroidered tapestries woven from threads of the -delicate shadow cast by a single ray of spectral purple. Their tables -were filled with all the rich and dainty micros of the land. Withal, -they were a happy, though barbarous people.</p> - -<p>The sun arose. Men of the present generation had already grown -gray-headed, while myriads of their posterity were just starting on -their paths. Generation after generation had already come and gone, -each leaving the wealth of its history, its experience, its scientific -researches, its learning to the inheritants of the next.</p> - -<p>Centuries to them came and went, governments grew old, decayed, and -passed into tradition, while others sprang up in their places;—for to -this strange and fast-living people, our moments were days, our seconds -were months, our minutes were years, our hours were centuries, and our -days were ages untold that lap the two ends of time into one unbroken -eternity.</p> - -<p>The sun was mid-forenoon. The Family of the Ephemera had grown old -and wise. They pointed with vaunting pride to their intelligence and -prosperity, to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[38]</a></span> their grand achievements reaching down the long, -fretted colonnades of history and vanishing in the dim perspective of -tradition’s mystery. They looked upon all around, beneath, and above -them, and rejoiced that all was for them. Their wise philosophers -pointed to the sun and said, “All for us!” They told and taught how -that great sun had always remained in its present place; for even in -the memory of the oldest inhabitants no one had ever known the sun to -be in other place than now. Nay, even history knew it not. They said, -however, that there was a tradition, but not authenticated by history -nor by later scientific investigation, that the sun long, long æons ago -had occupied a position nearer the horizon. They showed how and why -all things were made for them; how the great toad-stool, towering an -immeasurable distance above them, had been placed on earth for them, -and them alone, and philosophized how it was impossible for another -to exist in the universe. They rejoiced that their little world was -created, and endowed with all its richest blessings, for none other -than them. They were a happy people, and prosperous. Their want of -wisdom made them more happy and more prosperous.</p> - -<p>Centuries came and went. The sun stood in the zenith. So stood the -race of Ephemera. Wiser philosophers than those of the mid-forenoon -of their existence still pointed toward the great red sun, and said, -“It was always <i>there</i>; it was made for <i>us</i>!” Crowns crumbled. New -nations arose as from chaos, flourished, and died. Others took their -places. Schools had always been tolerated. They were now fostered. They -pointed their telescopes toward the mighty fret-work of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[39]</a></span> the toad-stool -above them, and computed the number of huge radial beams that supported -its broad outer rim. The students of the universities and colleges -delved deep into the lore of their ancestral nations. They studied -history; they read their poets; they reasoned and computed with their -mathematicians; they looked down into the earth and up into the heavens -with their philosophers, and, withdrawing to their own narrow cells, -they said, “All for us, all for us!”</p> - -<p>The sun passed the zenith, declining to the west. The race declined! -Still, philosophers said, pointing to the sun, “’Twas alway thus; ’twas -made for us!”</p> - -<p>They said Time was for them, and them alone. They could not conceive -another similar or a different people. With prophecy, they looked into -the future. They claimed that, also: for a hope and a faith, placed -in their hearts at their creation, had grown and strengthened, that -they should all meet again in another world, a brighter and a better -world, all for them, all for them. The gods, with whom they peopled all -things, watched over and guarded them, and them alone.</p> - -<p>The sun sank low. The lower limb touched the horizon. With the going -down of the sun, the race decayed in its old age. As the last ray of -sun passed over the land of the Ephemera, only two of this strange -Family, wandering hand in hand, old and lone, turned their eyes to the -waning light of the west, and sank to rest as the ray shot up and out -into the unfathomed sky beyond, and glinted its gold on the clinking -stars, the beautiful golden gates of the sable and iron-bound night!</p> - -<p>Thus passed away the Family of the Ephemera. Strange, strange story! -A race wrapped up in them<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[40]</a></span>selves, never dreaming that there might be -innumerable other realms like their little own; that there might be -peoples on peoples beyond their ken in worlds unknown as superior to -them as the gods of Olympus were superior to the Romans.</p> - -<p>A strange, strange story!—for we are looking through an inverted -microscope, the large end at the eye, and the small end turned upon -Time, Events, and the Human race!</p> - - <div class="poetry-container"> - <h3 class="larger p4">SHUT IN.<br /> -<span class="subhed">I.</span></h3> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Oh the narrowness man has been born to descry in,</div> - <div class="i1">Where the convex surface of every eye,</div> - <div>Even unto the night of the day we shall die in,</div> - <div class="i1">Still perfectly fits in the concave sky!</div> - </div> - - <h4>II.</h4> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>I wonder sometimes if the star-illusions</div> - <div class="i1">We see at first glance in the infinite sky,</div> - <div>Are not the suggestions, the far-intrusions,</div> - <div class="i1">Of systems on systems beyond the eye.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>I wonder if ever the thought may confound them</div> - <div class="i1">Who inhabit a silvery orb of mist,</div> - <div>Seeing myriads of silvery others around them,</div> - <div class="i1">That myriads on myriads more may exist.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[41]</a></span></div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Oh say, do the sprites of each tiny frost-crystal</div> - <div class="i1">That burns with the pent-up fire of suns</div> - <div>Ever dream or imagine the same holy vestal</div> - <div class="i1">Is burning in myriads of similar ones?</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Do the spirits that dwell in the dust of a sun-beam,</div> - <div class="i1">As each in its course like a planet whirls,</div> - <div>Ever know they are bathed in the light of but <i>one</i> beam</div> - <div class="i1">From the sun of but <i>one</i> mighty system of worlds?</div> - </div> - - <h4>III.</h4> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Oh the narrowness man has been born to descry in,</div> - <div class="i1">And the infinite bounds of his hopes and desires!</div> - <div>Even unto the night of the day he shall die in</div> - <div class="i1">Aspiring and falling he still aspires.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>But I know in my heart that in worlds elysian</div> - <div class="i1">The convex surface of every eye,</div> - <div>With a perfected soul and an infinite vision,</div> - <div class="i1">Will range o’er a perfected, infinite sky.</div> - </div> - - <h4>IV.</h4> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>For I dreamed a dream, in the midnight quiet,</div> - <div class="i1">Of a golden day in a happy time;</div> - <div>And my thoughts leaped up at the dream-god’s fiat</div> - <div class="i1">And sang in my heart this golden chime:—</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>O rise thou my soul, look beyond thy dark prison,</div> - <div class="i1">The warder is shifting the mortal bars;</div> - <div>An infinite sun in the east has arisen,</div> - <div class="i1">There’s an infinite system beyond the stars.</div> - </div> - </div> - </div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[42]</a></span></p> - - <div class="poetry-container"> - <h3>SONG OF THE STARS.</h3> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div>I dreamed one night when the golden stars,</div> - <div class="i1">Like an eastern maid o’er her soft kanoon,</div> - <div>Leaned out of their skyey bowers above</div> - <div class="i1">And sang in sweet measures an olden tune.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>I dreamed the sweetest of dreams that night;—</div> - <div class="i1">And the portals of heaven seemed opening wide</div> - <div>As the music grew sweeter and nearer each note</div> - <div class="i1">And rose and fell like the swell of the tide.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Ah the beautiful, beautiful stars of that night,</div> - <div class="i1">And the beautiful music they left in my heart</div> - <div>Shall brighten and brighten forever and aye</div> - <div class="i1">And never forever my soul shall depart.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>At the soft dream-touch of the finger-tips</div> - <div class="i1">On the harps of air by the heavenly throng,</div> - <div>The deep silence merged into soft music-waves,</div> - <div class="i1">And I heard in my heart this beautiful song:—</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="i6">Dream, dream,</div> - <div class="i7">Youth and maiden,</div> - <div class="i6">Beam, beam,</div> - <div class="i7">Stars love-laden.—</div> - <div class="i1">We are the beautiful portals of love,</div> - <div class="i1">Beautiful, beautiful portals above</div> - <div class="i2">Whence all the glories of heaven shine:</div> - <div class="i1">Turn your eyes, turn, turn, turn your eyes,</div> - <div class="i1">Turn them to the happy skies</div> - <div class="i2">And drink with them sweet love divine.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[43]</a></span></div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="i6">Dream, dream,</div> - <div class="i7">Youth and maiden,</div> - <div class="i6">Beam, beam,</div> - <div class="i7">Stars love-laden.—</div> - <div class="i1">Youth, in the depths of thy soul do thou pray,</div> - <div class="i1">Pray for thy guidance in Love’s lighted way,</div> - <div class="i2">Kneeling at radiant Love’s holy shrine:</div> - <div class="i1">Turn thine eyes, turn, turn, turn thine eyes,</div> - <div class="i1">Turn them to the happy skies</div> - <div class="i2">And drink with them sweet love divine.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="i6">Dream, dream,</div> - <div class="i7">Youth and maiden,</div> - <div class="i6">Beam, beam,</div> - <div class="i7">Stars love-laden.—</div> - <div class="i1">Maiden, still not the sweet throbs of thy heart,—</div> - <div class="i1">Throbs <i>his</i> caresses and words sweetly start,—</div> - <div class="i2">When he is hoping and longing for thine:</div> - <div class="i1">Turn thine eyes, turn, turn, turn thine eyes,</div> - <div class="i1">Turn them to the happy skies</div> - <div class="i2">And drink with them sweet love divine.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="i6">Dream, dream,</div> - <div class="i7">Youth and maiden,</div> - <div class="i6">Beam, beam,</div> - <div class="i7">Stars love-laden.—</div> - <div class="i1">Youth, seek the heart of the one at thy side</div> - <div class="i1">And into thy sky shall a bright vision glide,—</div> - <div class="i2">A star that shall ever for thee alone shine:</div> - <div class="i1">Turn thine eyes, turn, turn, turn thine eyes,</div> - <div class="i1">Turn them to the happy skies</div> - <div class="i2">And drink with them sweet love divine.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[44]</a></span></div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>I woke from the dream at the tide of the morn,</div> - <div class="i1">And beheld the sweet vision that filled my dreams.—</div> - <div>That vision, My Star, thro’ a long, happy life</div> - <div class="i1">Is guiding my steps with its golden beams.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>No longer, no longer a vision or dream,</div> - <div class="i1">I clasp My Sweet Love to my heart all my own;—</div> - <div>But still I can hear the sweet music that fell</div> - <div class="i1">From the stars that night on our hearts alone.</div> - </div> - </div> - </div> - - <div class="poetry-container"> - <h3>I WONDER.</h3> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div>I wonder sometimes if ever</div> - <div class="i1">The music God has sent</div> - <div>Will get into my heart and stay there</div> - <div class="i1">As I think he surely meant.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Can the voice of Laughter enter</div> - <div class="i1">The form where Death has been?—</div> - <div>Whence the spirit of Love has departed,</div> - <div class="i1">Can Music’s charms come in?</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>There’s an ache in my heart that daily</div> - <div class="i1">Goes out in earnest quest</div> - <div>Of the spirit of Love that has left me</div> - <div class="i1">In the sadness of unrest.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Oh, I wonder sometimes if ever</div> - <div class="i1">That spirit of Love will return,</div> - <div>And rekindle my heart’s dead ashes,—</div> - <div class="i1">Inspirit the dust of the urn.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[45]</a></span></div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>I fear that the spirit would enter</div> - <div class="i1">The ashes in ghostly quest,</div> - <div>And set but the bones into motion,</div> - <div class="i1">The ghost of Love at the best.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Are the rivers, I wonder, ever</div> - <div class="i1">Brought back by the clouds from the sea</div> - <div>To flow in the same old channels</div> - <div class="i1">Over the dregs and debris?</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>The love of my heart has departed—</div> - <div class="i1">The river has run to the sea;—</div> - <div>And I wonder sometimes if its waters</div> - <div class="i1">Will ever come back to me.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Lo, there in my heart’s dead channels</div> - <div class="i1">Lie the stagnant pools of Time;</div> - <div>And I see the debris at the bottom,</div> - <div class="i1">The dregs and the rotting slime.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>I wonder if ever the rivers,</div> - <div class="i1">The rivers that run to the sea,</div> - <div>Flow just as sweet on returning</div> - <div class="i1">Over the dregs and debris?</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Somehow, a thought in my spirit</div> - <div class="i1">Comes up from the stagnant fen</div> - <div>That the music of Heaven shall never</div> - <div class="i1">Be heard in its waters again!</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Yet I wonder each day as I wander</div> - <div class="i1">Along where the stream used to be</div> - <div>If the waters won’t sometime come back there</div> - <div class="i1"> And dredge out the dregs and debris.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[46]</a></span></div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>It may be! ’Tis a long time coming,—</div> - <div class="i1">Too long, I fear,—too long!—</div> - <div>For Love’s River must sing its music</div> - <div class="i1">In hearts that have never gone wrong.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Oh, will the Waters returning,</div> - <div class="i1">Borne by the Clouds from the Sea,</div> - <div>Run just as sweetly as ever</div> - <div class="i1">Over the Dregs and Debris?</div> - </div> - </div> - </div> - - <div class="poetry-container"> - <h3 class="larger">IF SO, PEACE TILL NEXT NEW-YEAR.<br /> -<span class="subhed1">(A DIRGE.)</span></h3> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div>The New Year!—hark! the bell!—oh it</div> - <div class="i2">Is at last here!</div> - <div class="i1">A solemn hush! The world sits still</div> - <div>With breath abated as the poet</div> - <div class="i2">Of the New Year</div> - <div class="i1">Takes an anti-bilious pill!</div> - </div> - </div> - </div> - - <div class="poetry-container"> - <h3>MY DEFEAT.</h3> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div><i>Sweeter than any sung</i></div> - <div><i>My songs that found no tongue.</i></div> - <div class="i8"><span class="smcap">Whittier</span>: <i>My Triumph</i>.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>In the universe swept by the eyes of my soul,</div> - <div class="i1">Swim a myriad luminous stars and suns;</div> - <div>And swift through my brains burning æther they roll</div> - <div class="i1">Like the infinite trains of the heavenly ones.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[47]</a></span></div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>In my dreams I outstretch my vain arms with delight</div> - <div class="i1">For the forms of the angels that sing round my bed;</div> - <div>But alas! for the chorus of seraphs take flight</div> - <div class="i1">And beckon me whither but angels may tread.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>And I muse with my heart when my mind sits a-dream</div> - <div class="i1">While vibrations of light from the heavenly cars</div> - <div>Fleet swift thro’ the arms of my soul in bright gleam,</div> - <div class="i1">And leave me upreaching for aye tow’rd the stars.</div> - </div> - </div> - </div> - - <div class="poetry-container"> - <h3>THERE’S A LAUGH.</h3> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div>There’s the laugh of the fiend that shrivels the heart,</div> - <div class="i1">That burns out the eyes from their sockets of fire,</div> - <div>That crackles the skin and parches the breath</div> - <div class="i1">And bellows and shrieks with demoniac ire.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>There’s the laugh of the hobgoblin, demon of night,</div> - <div class="i1">That frightens the children to silence their sobs,</div> - <div>That rings in their ears to the end of life,</div> - <div class="i1">And at night in their hearts like the death-watch throbs.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="hangingindent">There’s the wild, screeching laugh from the madman’s lips</div> - <div class="i1">When his eyes wildly start from his reechy brain,</div> - <div>That haunts us, tho’ try to forget as we will,</div> - <div class="i1">And pierces the heart with a dagger of pain.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>There’s the unearthly laugh and the sickening leer</div> - <div class="i1">Of the idiot—wretched Unfortunate! dead</div> - <div>Before born, the live sepulchre of unknown crimes,</div> - <div class="i1">The tomb of the lives generations have led!<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[48]</a></span></div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>There’s the blasting, blistering, withering laugh</div> - <div class="i1">That blights e’en the heart wherein it is born,</div> - <div>That bubbles and sputters and hisses and spits</div> - <div class="i1">As it falls from the scorching lips of scorn.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>There’s a strange, weird laugh, even tho’ from a child,</div> - <div class="i1">That gurgles and sticks in the sleeper’s thick breath,</div> - <div>That startles the shivering silence with awe</div> - <div class="i1">And dies in the throat like the rattle of death.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="hangingindent">There’s a laugh, like the wind’s cracked whistle, that creaks</div> - <div class="i1">And squeaks on the worn-out pipes of old age;</div> - <div>And a sigh heaves up from the heart full sad,</div> - <div class="i1">For we know what the ominous sounds presage.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>There’s the free, wild laugh that bounds as the deer—</div> - <div class="i1">As free as the leap of the hart and as wild—</div> - <div>’Tis the laugh that I love with my heart and my soul,</div> - <div class="i1">The sweet, wild laugh of an innocent child.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>There’s the laugh that I love, the balm of tired hearts,</div> - <div class="i1">That quiets the fluttering temples of care;</div> - <div>’Tis the soft, soothing laugh from the sweet lips of Love,</div> - <div class="i1">And it falls like a blessing that answers prayer.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>There’s the sweetest of laughs full of music divine</div> - <div class="i1">That gladdens the heart and the throbbing brain;</div> - <div>I would give—oh what would I not, were it mine,</div> - <div class="i1">But to hear the sweet laugh of my mother again.</div> - </div> - </div> - </div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[49]</a></span></p> - - <div class="poetry-container"> - <h3>TO SLEEP.</h3> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="i6">Soft on thy breast</div> - <div>Where the soul in oblivious quiet may dream</div> - <div>While it sweeps up to heaven on a star-born beam,</div> - <div class="i6">There would I rest,</div> - <div class="i6">So peacefully rest,</div> - <div class="i7">Oh rest,</div> - <div class="i8">Rest!—</div> - <div class="i6">Asleep on thy breast,</div> - <div class="i6">Asweep to the blest</div> - <div class="i7">In a dream</div> - <div class="i7">On the gleam</div> - <div class="i8">Of a star</div> - <div>In the cradle-rocked billows of azure afar.</div> - </div> - </div> - </div> - - <div class="poetry-container"> - <h3 class="larger">WHEEL AND SHUTTLE.</h3> - <div class="poetry"> - -<p class="center p-left sm"><i>Spin: God will send thee flax.</i>—<span class="smcap">Proverb.</span></p> - -<p>[Although differing slightly from his literal experience, -nevertheless to the boy, long ago grown to manhood, who used -to cling to his mother’s dress, and fretfully toddle back and -forth as she patiently sent the big wheel whirring and then -ran backwards with her lengthening thread, then forwards, and -so on, hour after hour, spinning threads for the home-loom, -this poem, with its application to life, has in it the -pleasing scent of the roses of recollection, intoxicating even -to sadness.]</p> - </div> - </div> - - <div class="poetry-container"> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="i2h">“Spin, spin!”</div> - <div class="i3">The warp is in</div> - <div class="i2">And the shuttle never slacks:<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[50]</a></span></div> - <div>Let thy fingers never rest,</div> - <div>Heed the weaver’s stern behest,</div> - <div class="i2h">“Spin, spin!”</div> - <div class="i3">While the woof is weaving in,</div> - <div class="i2">God will send thee flax.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="i2h">“Spin, spin!”</div> - <div class="i3">The wheels begin,</div> - <div class="i2">And the distaff never lacks:</div> - <div>Let thy spindle’s endless thrum</div> - <div>Fill the shuttles as they hum</div> - <div class="i2h">“Spin, spin!”</div> - <div class="i3">While the woof is weaving in,</div> - <div class="i2">God will send thee flax.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="i2h">“Spin, spin!”—</div> - <div class="i3">Thy fingers thin</div> - <div class="i2">Let the carded threads relax!</div> - <div>Lo! the wheel is standing dumb,</div> - <div>For the loom has ceased its grum</div> - <div class="i2h">“Spin, spin!”—</div> - <div class="i3">Aye, the woof is woven in,</div> - <div class="i2">God has sent thee flax!</div> - </div> - </div> - </div> - - <div class="poetry-container"> - <h3>THE PRESS OF PENURY.</h3> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Out of the Press of Penury</div> - <div class="i2">The choicest wines have flowed</div> - <div class="i2">To rouse a nation’s blood</div> - <div>To statesmanship or poesy.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[51]</a></span></div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>(Nor less to hearts the poet’s cause</div> - <div class="i2">Than statesman’s counseling:—</div> - <div class="i2">If but a people sing,</div> - <div>I care not who shall make the laws.)</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>With every cycling sun that slips</div> - <div class="i2">Through all its winding turns,</div> - <div class="i2">Some Lincoln or some Burns</div> - <div>Still lifts his spirit to our lips.</div> - </div> - </div> - </div> - - <div class="poetry-container"> - <h3 class="larger">HALLOWEEN.<br /> -<span class="subhed1">AN INVITATION SENT TO A LADY, OCT. 31.</span></h3> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div>I wad na gang alane to-night</div> - <div class="i1">An’ leave alane a lassie</div> - <div>Where pixies, elves, an’ goblins fight</div> - <div class="i1">An’ drink their bogie tassie.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Sae come wi’ me an’ gang awa’</div> - <div class="i1">Where oufe nor spook nor bogle</div> - <div>Hae ought o’ ill or guid to do</div> - <div class="i1">But flichter, blink, an’ ogle.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Oh we’ll be merry like the lave</div> - <div class="i1">Tho’ Halloween be eerie,</div> - <div>An’ crack an’ jauk an’ giddy ’have</div> - <div class="i1">Wi’ Mrs. C—— till weary.</div> - </div> - </div> - </div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[52]</a></span></p> - - <div class="poetry-container"> - <h3>LIFE.</h3> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div><i>What is life?—’Tis a delicate shell</i></div> - <div class="i1"><i>Thrown up by Eternity’s flow</i></div> - <div><i>On Time’s bank of quicksand to dwel.</i></div> - <div class="i1"><i>And a moment its loveliness show.</i></div> - <div><i>Gone back to the elements grand</i></div> - <div class="i1"><i>Is the billow that cast it ashore:</i></div> - <div><i>See! another is washing the strand,</i></div> - <div class="i1"><i>And the beautiful shell is no more!</i></div> - <div class="i14">—<i>D. A.</i></div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>What is life?—’Tis the billow of bells</div> - <div class="i1">That the sea of eternity bears;</div> - <div>And in rapturous music it swells</div> - <div class="i1">As it kisses the sands of the years.</div> - <div>But the ripples are breaking in foam,—</div> - <div class="i1">And the billow has ceased to be!</div> - <div>List! the billow, gone back to its home,</div> - <div class="i1">Is tolling down deep in the sea!</div> - </div> - </div> - </div> - - <div class="poetry-container"> - <h3>BORROWING BRAINS.</h3> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="i1">“Lend me your brains, lend me your brains,”</div> - <div>Screeched a highwayman goblin ’way down in his throat</div> - <div>As deep as he ever could dig up a note.</div> - <div class="i1">And his whole gang creaked and hoarsely screaked</div> - <div class="i1">Like a hinge that was rusty, and constantly shrieked</div> - <div class="i2">“Lend us your brains, lend us your brains,”</div> - <div class="i2">As they seized my mare’s head at the bit by the reins<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[53]</a></span></div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="i1">And a long-haired loon with a razory spoon</div> - <div>Clipped open my scalp just over my crown,</div> - <div>And the skull the same place, running crosswise and down;</div> - <div class="i1">And they hinged the two pieces with screechy brass bands</div> - <div class="i1">Where they singed off my hair by the touch of their hands:</div> - <div class="i2">And oh the pains, the pains, the pains,</div> - <div class="i2 hangingindent">When they flapped down the cover just back o’ my brains.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="i1">My mother came by with a heart-rending cry,</div> - <div>And a wretch popped his eyes from the crown of his hat</div> - <div>As he squealed, “You’ll never again do that!”</div> - <div class="i1">And he sharpened his spoon on the sole of his shoon,</div> - <div class="i1">Did the long-beard lout by the liquidy moon;</div> - <div class="i2">And he severed her brain and her heart in twain</div> - <div class="i2">While the rest held me there in my helpless pain.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="i1">And the long-beard loons with their long-eared spoons</div> - <div>Stood up on the top of my topless crown</div> - <div>And then leaped to the depths of the hollow turned down.</div> - <div class="i1">Oh they teetered and twinged on the part that was hinged,</div> - <div class="i1">And they shrieked with delight till the very air cringed</div> - <div class="i2">As they sang in their glee how smart they would be</div> - <div class="i2">When they got all my brains in their noddles, you see.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="i1">And they reached their long spoons, the reechy old loons,</div> - <div>’Way into the cavity made in my head,</div> - <div>And scraped, and scraped till they thought I was dead.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[54]</a></span></div> - <div class="i1">Oh the pains, the pains, the terrible pains</div> - <div class="i1 hangingindent">When they spooned from my skull every speck of my brains,</div> - <div class="i2 hangingindent">Then with spoons for their pries dragged both of my eyes</div> - <div class="i2">Through that hole in my head of such terrible size.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="i1">Oh they thought they would be such poets, you see,</div> - <div>And such wonderful, marvelous scholars, you know,</div> - <div>When they planted my brains in their noddles to grow!</div> - <div class="i1">But my—oh—oh! what fools they were though!</div> - <div class="i1">For poets, you know, are like underdone dough—</div> - <div class="i2">And oh—my—oh! what fools they were though</div> - <div class="i2">When they planted my brains in their noddles to grow!</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="i1">But they crammed every grain, their ill-gotten gain,</div> - <div>Clear down in the pokes of their pocket-like ears,</div> - <div>And turned over my eyes to their sages and seers.</div> - <div class="i1">But they soon rued they had the brains I had had</div> - <div class="i1">For they drove every one of them stark staring mad;</div> - <div class="i2">For the goblins, you see, went crazy, like me,</div> - <div class="i2">As mad as a March hare ever could be.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="i1">To my greatest surprise they brought back my eyes</div> - <div>And put them both back as they always had been.</div> - <div>Since <i>Thought</i> made them crazy, as each one had seen,</div> - <div class="i1">They restored me my brains with the greatest of <i>pains</i>,</div> - <div class="i1">And handed me back my mare’s bridle-reins;</div> - <div class="i2">Then away and up through the atmosphere flew</div> - <div class="i2">And left me as sound and as solid as new!</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="i1">And there <i>was</i> no loon with a goblin spoon,</div> - <div>And there never has been and never will be.</div> - <div>Whether or not this happened to me,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[55]</a></span></div> - <div class="i1">It needn’t at all happen this way to all:</div> - <div class="i1">But whatever you do, or whatever befall,</div> - <div class="i2"><i>Un-less the gob-lins get your night-mare’s reins,</i></div> - <div class="i2"><i>Don’t ev-er nor ev-er go lend-ing your brains!</i></div> - </div> - </div> - </div> - - <div class="poetry-container"> - <h3>SLEEP.</h3> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Dear Nurse that foldeth weary Nature to</div> - <div class="i1">Thy heart, and from tired eyes shutteth out the light,</div> - <div class="i1">E’en as a mother at the fall of night</div> - <div>Doth take her child upon her lap to undo</div> - <div>The snarls and tangles of the day, and woo</div> - <div class="i1">Away the sun-bred ills, and balm the sight</div> - <div class="i1">With visions of another world all bright,</div> - <div>Dear soothing healing Sleep! ’tis thee I sue.</div> - <div>Come, fold your arms about my Sweetheart-Wife;</div> - <div class="i1">Balm up her eyes that stare at staring Night;</div> - <div class="i2">Seal down her lids with sweet, refreshing gleams,</div> - <div>Or visions, rather, of the happy life</div> - <div class="i1">We’ve planned together; and leave her not till the light</div> - <div class="i2">Of morn, with me, shall kiss her from her dreams.</div> - </div> - </div> - </div> - - <div class="poetry-container"> - <h3>TO A WILD-ROSE BOUQUET.</h3> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Wild roses down the lane</div> - <div class="i2">Sweet Laeda gave in June,</div> - <div class="i4">To glad me</div> - <div class="i4">And to sad me,</div> - <div>Like shine and mingled rain</div> - <div class="i2">Atween the clouds aboon.</div> - </div> - </div> - </div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[56]</a></span></p> - - <div class="poetry-container"> - <h3>SONG ON THE SEA.</h3> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="i2">Merrily, merrily over the wave</div> - <div>We’ll laugh and we’ll sing as we’re bounding along,</div> - <div class="i2">Merrily, merrily, joyous and brave</div> - <div>We’ll echo the music of waves in our song:—</div> - <div class="i4">Roll, roll, break, break,</div> - <div class="i2">Over the merrily musical waves,</div> - <div class="i4">Roll, roll, wake, wake</div> - <div class="i2">All the glad echoes that hide in their caves.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="i2">Rocking and rolling the sea is our home</div> - <div>And joyous we shout from our billow-rocked boat;</div> - <div class="i2">Cleaving the breakers white-feathered with foam</div> - <div>We’ll set the sweet echoes of ocean afloat:—</div> - <div class="i4">Roll, roll, break, break,</div> - <div class="i2">Over the merrily musical waves,</div> - <div class="i4">Roll, roll, wake,</div> - <div class="i2">All the glad echoes that hide in their caves.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="i2">Merrily, merrily out of their caves</div> - <div>We’ll call the glad echoes sweet laughing along;</div> - <div class="i2">Merrily, merrily out on the waves</div> - <div>We’ll mingle the musical sea with our song:—</div> - <div class="i4">Roll, roll, break, break,</div> - <div class="i2">Over the merrily musical waves,</div> - <div class="i4">Roll, roll, wake, wake</div> - <div class="i2">All the glad echoes that hide in their caves.</div> - </div> - </div> - </div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[57]</a></span></p> - - <div class="poetry-container"> - <h3>WOODLAND LAY.</h3> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Oh come to the woodland where joys reign supreme,</div> - <div class="i1">Where the zephyr’s soft kiss lightly touches the brow,</div> - <div>And the sun gently drops thro’ the leaves in a dream</div> - <div class="i1">And sleeps in the shade of the wide-spreading bough.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Let the world plod along with its stern, solemn face,</div> - <div class="i1">With its brow deeply wrinkled with thought and with care;</div> - <div>Let the pleasures of life to-day’s business replace</div> - <div class="i1">While we list to the charm of its wild, joyous air.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>The murm’ring of brooks, the singing of birds,</div> - <div class="i1">The whisper of winds and the leaves soft reply,</div> - <div>The bleating of flocks and the lowing of herds,</div> - <div class="i1">The breathing of nature from earth to the sky—</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>All combine to make music with cadence as sweet</div> - <div class="i1">To the ear of the mortal, as the music of spheres,</div> - <div>Gentle wooed from the harp at Infinity’s feet</div> - <div class="i1">And as softly let fall on angelical ears.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Like the soft flakes of snow as they fall on the deep,</div> - <div class="i1">The rhythmical notes adown tremblingly go</div> - <div>On the listening air, and as silently sleep</div> - <div class="i1">In the ocean of joys, where they melt as the snow.</div> - </div> - </div> - </div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[58]</a></span></p> - - <div class="poetry-container"> - <h3>IN THE ANGELS’ KEEP.</h3> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Let me not look on the dear, dead face,</div> - <div class="i1">I would not remember her so;</div> - <div>For her eyes are closed, and her hands are still,</div> - <div class="i1">And her lips can’t speak, you know!</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Let me remember her just as she lived,</div> - <div class="i1">And just as I’ll meet her above—</div> - <div>With eyes that could talk and a touch that could soothe,</div> - <div class="i1">And a heart that was full of love.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Let me remember her not as one dead,</div> - <div class="i1">But as one that has fallen asleep;</div> - <div>She will wake in the morning, I know, at my call,</div> - <div class="i1">Awake in the angels’ keep!</div> - </div> - </div> - </div> - - <div class="poetry-container"> - <h3 class="larger">THOUGHT.</h3> - <div class="poetry"> - -<p class="center p-left"><i>Thought alone is eternal.</i>—<span class="smcap">Young.</span></p> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>’Tis the whisp’ring of angels, the brush of their wings;</div> - <div class="i1">’Tis the flight of a soul from its fetters of clay</div> - <div>To the lighthouse of gold where the seraph Hope sings</div> - <div class="i1">And flings out its notes on life’s billowed bay.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>’Tis the touch of Christ’s hand that upraiseth the dead;</div> - <div class="i1">’Tis the breath breathed of God in the nostrils of man;—</div> - <div>The stream that shall rise from its mould-made bed</div> - <div class="i1">And join with the clouds whence in rain-drops it ran.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[59]</a></span></div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Tinged with sadness of mortals, it smells of the grave;</div> - <div class="i1">But the Childhood of Faith and the Mother of Hope,</div> - <div>It beckons to fields where the palm-groves wave</div> - <div class="i1">And the joy-studded gates of Jerusalem ope.</div> - </div> - </div> - </div> - - <h3 class="larger">WHITE-ENTHRONED ABOVE ME.<br /> -<span class="subhed1">(ON A SMALL WHITE-ROSE BOUQUET PRESENTED BY A LADY AND PLACED -IN PALGRAVE’S “GOLDEN TREASURY,” OPPOSITE “THE SLEEPING BEAUTY.”)</span></h3> - - <div class="poetry-container"> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div>White roses, sweet white roses</div> - <div class="i1">Fair Leda smiles atween,</div> - <div>No soul your lily-light encloses</div> - <div class="i1">So pure as hers, I ween.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Here lie and dream, sweet, pure white roses</div> - <div class="i1">That blessed the heart of June,</div> - <div>And ope the budding love that closes</div> - <div class="i1">Around her soul aboon.</div> - </div> - </div> - </div> - - <div class="poetry-container"> - <h3>THE LONE WAYSIDE WILD ROSE.</h3> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div>I passed along a wilding lane</div> - <div class="i1">Where weeds and straying flowers grew,</div> - <div class="i1">Where clover-blooming meadows threw</div> - <div>Sweet love upon the winds in vain.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Lonely by the wayside wild</div> - <div class="i1">Where the earth all trodden lay,</div> - <div class="i1">There peeped a wild rose, one bright day,</div> - <div>And stretched its palms like a pleading child.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[60]</a></span></div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Day after day, day after day</div> - <div class="i1">It drank of love from heaven and earth</div> - <div class="i1">And lifted itself from a timid birth</div> - <div>To a beautiful soul in sweet array.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>It breathed from out of its opening soul</div> - <div class="i1">The breath that heaven has given the rose,</div> - <div class="i1">The sweetest by far that mortal knows,</div> - <div>And drank sweet love from the night’s dew-bowl.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>The tint of the fleecy clouds of morn</div> - <div class="i1">Came out of the flushing tide of its heart,</div> - <div class="i1">And lay on its cheek with artless art—</div> - <div>The fairest blush that ever was born.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>’Twas when the rose was full in bloom</div> - <div class="i1">I passed along that wilding lane</div> - <div class="i1">When love upon the winds was vain,</div> - <div>The desert air its deathless tomb.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>I loved the flower and said, “Alas!</div> - <div class="i1">’Tis sad to know such love must die,</div> - <div class="i1">Such sweetness with the mould must lie,</div> - <div>Such beauty into death must pass!”</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>I plucked the flower from off its stem</div> - <div class="i1">And said, “Sweet Flower! Life were Death</div> - <div class="i1">Without thy beauty and thy breath—</div> - <div>The heart must wither else for them.”</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>I plucked the flower—blest wild rose!—</div> - <div class="i1">I set it blooming in my heart,</div> - <div class="i1">And said, “Should my sweet rose depart</div> - <div>To-day—the night its dear life close,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[61]</a></span></div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>“The love it leaves shall ever live,</div> - <div class="i1">Shall ever grow, and bloom and bloom,</div> - <div class="i1">Shall go with me thro’ Death’s dark gloom,</div> - <div>And hope of glad reunion give.”</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>The flower, blooming, lived and grew;—</div> - <div class="i1">That sweet wild rose is blooming still;</div> - <div class="i1">Its beauties every corner fill</div> - <div>That life and love and heart e’er knew.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>And should my fond heart ever break,</div> - <div class="i1">That sweet wild rose would never die;—</div> - <div class="i1">’Twould spring from the mould where it might lie</div> - <div>And the fairest bloom immortal take!</div> - </div> - </div> - </div> - - <div class="poetry-container"> - <h3>TWENTY.</h3> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div>May the twenties yet triple,</div> - <div class="i1">And then add their half,</div> - <div>Still preserving the ripple</div> - <div class="i1">And ring of your laugh.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>And may every bright twinkle</div> - <div class="i1">That falls from your eye</div> - <div>Serve to smooth out each wrinkle,</div> - <div class="i1">The track of a sigh.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>When the twenties shall twinkle</div> - <div class="i1">And ten more shall run,</div> - <div>I hope every cute wink’ll</div> - <div class="i1">Still shine out with fun.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[62]</a></span></div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Oh the triple of twenty</div> - <div class="i1">Plus none less than ten!</div> - <div>May you be the same dainty</div> - <div class="i1">Sweet girly-girl then!</div> - </div> - </div> - </div> - - <div class="poetry-container"> - <h3>BEAUTIFUL MAY.</h3> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="i3">Oh ’tis May,</div> - <div class="i3">Beautiful May,</div> - <div class="i3">Month of beautiful May,</div> - <div class="i3">Beautiful month of May.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="i3">Wild flowers blooming,</div> - <div class="i4h">Grasses growing,</div> - <div class="i4h">Wild brooks flowing,</div> - <div class="i3">Pheasants booming—</div> - <div class="i3">Oh ’tis May,</div> - <div class="i3">Beautiful May</div> - <div>Lovelier far than month of June,</div> - <div class="i3">Beautiful May!</div> - <div class="i3">And every day</div> - <div>Is putting the strings of life in tune.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>May-buds peep</div> - <div class="i2">At robins chattering</div> - <div class="i4">To their mates</div> - <div>And those asleep,</div> - <div class="i2">Always flattering</div> - <div class="i4">With nodding pates</div> - <div class="i6">And promises free<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[63]</a></span></div> - <div class="i8">The farmer asnooze</div> - <div class="i2">That they will keep</div> - <div class="i8">From others the news</div> - <div class="i6">That cherries are in the tree.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="i4">The playful dawn</div> - <div class="i4">Is after the moon,</div> - <div class="i2">And the moon is running away.</div> - <div>Oh the stars like sheep are all running away</div> - <div class="i4">After the moon,</div> - <div class="i4">Away from the dawn,</div> - <div class="i2">Away from the dawn of the month of May,</div> - <div class="i6">Away, away, away.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="i4">With skip and play</div> - <div class="i4">They dance away</div> - <div class="i2">After the dizzy moon</div> - <div>That pales with the pallor of fright so soon</div> - <div class="i4">At the brightening sight,</div> - <div class="i4">Affright of the light</div> - <div>Of the morn of a lovelier month than June,</div> - <div class="i6">So soon, soon, soon.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="i4">Oh sweet May,</div> - <div class="i4">Beautiful May</div> - <div class="i2">Thus brightens her face each day,</div> - <div>And lets the light of her tresses stray</div> - <div class="i4">Into each part</div> - <div class="i4">Of the earth’s dark heart</div> - <div>Where flashes like lashes from diamonds play</div> - <div class="i6">—Astray each day at play.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[64]</a></span></div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="i4">The light from her eyes</div> - <div class="i4">In the spring’s emprise</div> - <div class="i2">Sinks deep in the soul of the sands;</div> - <div>And with glittering, flying hands</div> - <div class="i4">Every one</div> - <div class="i4">Of the sands doth run</div> - <div>And lift into life the clod from its bonds</div> - <div class="i6">That climbs to a soul like man’s.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="i4">She breathes on the air,</div> - <div class="i4">And the sweet winds wear</div> - <div class="i2">Her blooms in their billowy hair,</div> - <div>And pour out their perfumes and nectars rare</div> - <div class="i4">Distilled in the cup</div> - <div class="i4">That the goddesses sup</div> - <div>For the beautiful dutiful May so fair,</div> - <div class="i6">So rare and fairy fair.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="i4">She drinks of the stream,</div> - <div class="i4">And the glad waters gleam</div> - <div class="i2">With delight as they leap to her lips.</div> - <div>She creeps up the mountains and merrily sips</div> - <div class="i4">Of the fountains that spring</div> - <div class="i4">From the snows as they string</div> - <div>Up their bows for a shot at the lower rock-crypts</div> - <div class="i6">Where the sun like the dew-drop drips.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="i4">She skims to the plain</div> - <div class="i4">And frightens the train</div> - <div class="i2">That the winter has left on guard.</div> - <div>She whistles her bird-notes soft and hard</div> - <div class="i4">And calls from retreat</div> - <div class="i4">The bickering feet</div> - <div>Of the green that the winter in prison has barred,</div> - <div class="i6">—Sweet, te-weet, wheat.</div> - </div> - </div> - </div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[65]</a></span></p> - - <div class="poetry-container"> - <h3 class="larger">DEEP UNTO DEEP.<br /> -<span class="subhed1">A DOUBLE THRENODY.</span></h3> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Oh the bounding of the billows of the sea</div> - <div class="i2">Rolls the rhythm of their music unto me;</div> - <div class="i4">And a footstep that has fallen on the lea</div> - <div>Seems to echo from the boundless, soundless deep.</div> - <div class="i2 hangingindent">But the breaking of the billows—the billows as they leap,</div> - <div class="i4">Makes the silence of my sorrow with them weep;</div> - <div>While the echoes of the grottoes—the grottoes wildly start,</div> - <div>Ever throbbing to the music of my heart;—</div> - <div class="i2">Throbbing to the threnode,</div> - <div class="i4">Rocking to the rhythm,</div> - <div class="i6">Moaning to the music of my heart,—</div> - <div class="i2">Threnode throbbing ever,</div> - <div class="i4">Rhythm rocking ever,</div> - <div class="i6">Music moaning ever in my heart.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Oh my Love is on the billows of the sea,</div> - <div class="i2">Sending messages along the waves to me;</div> - <div class="i4">And the ever-singing shells along the lea</div> - <div>With my longing heart a constant chorus keep.</div> - <div class="i2 hangingindent">But the breaking of the message—the message from the deep,</div> - <div class="i4">Makes the silence of my sorrow inly weep;</div> - <div>While the moaning shells intoning, intoning griefs impart</div> - <div>Ever sobbing to the silence of my heart;—<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[66]</a></span></div> - <div class="i2">Sobbing to the silence,</div> - <div class="i4">Intoning to the moaning,</div> - <div class="i6">Breaking to the breaking of my heart,—</div> - <div class="i2">Silent sobbing ever,</div> - <div class="i4">Grief intoning ever,</div> - <div class="i6">Breaking, breaking ever in my heart.</div> - </div> - </div> - </div> - - <div class="poetry-container"> - <h3>A HUMPTY-DUMPTY IDIOTIC CHAP.</h3> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div>There was once a little humpty-dumpty idiotic chap,</div> - <div class="i1">Who had both a mug an’ muzzle most remarkable to see.</div> - <div>An’ he couldn’t do a solitary thing but grin an’ gap,</div> - <div class="i1">But he done that simply awful an’ he done it constantly.</div> - <div>His tater head was sorto’ meller like a punkin over-ripe</div> - <div>An’ his yaller face was puckered like a lemon with the gripe;</div> - <div class="hangingindent">An’ his front teeth like stalites—or what you call ’em—always gave</div> - <div>To the cavity behind them the appearance of a cave,—</div> - <div class="i1">Jist forever an’ forever from life’s earliest beginnin’</div> - <div class="i1">Simply nachelly a-grinnin’ an’ a-grinnin an’ a-grinnin’.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Well, you see, <i>he</i> couldn’t help it, couldn’t help it not a bit,</div> - <div class="i1 hangingindent">’Cause for some peculiar reason he was born jist that-a-way.</div> - <div>An’ if Nater marks a feller he had better jist submit,</div> - <div class="i1 hangingindent">’Cause she wants that mark for somepm, an’ she’s goin to have it stay.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[67]</a></span></div> - <div>Caint no doctor make a rose-bud of a busted-thistle mouth,</div> - <div class="hangingindent">Nor he caint turn north a foot that’s got to growin’ sorto’ south.</div> - <div class="hangingindent">Spect this chap inside him knowed it wa’n’t no earthly kind o’ use</div> - <div>To be squeezin’ on a lemon that didn’t have a bit o’ juice;</div> - <div class="i1 hangingindent">—Maybe ’lowed his ugly mug ’ould be a doin’ less of sinnin’</div> - <div class="i1">If he’d leave it jist a-grinnin’ an’ a-grinnin’ an’ a-grinnin’.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>’Course he didn’t reason on it, cause he didn’t have no sense;</div> - <div class="i1">But I kindo’ sorto’ reckon that he done like others do—</div> - <div class="hangingindent">Jist set down up where he’d clum on top o’ Nater’s ol worm-fence</div> - <div class="i1 hangingindent">An’ let the sun bile down onto him an’ soak him clean plum thro’ an’ thro’</div> - <div class="hangingindent">While with busy boom an’ buzz the plunder’n’ bug an’ bumble-bee</div> - <div>Went a-nosin’ thro’ the clover where the rosy-posies be.</div> - <div class="hangingindent">An’ with one eye squinted up an’ t’other squinted down plum shet,</div> - <div class="hangingindent">Up on top the fence, I spect, twixt brute an’ human there he set,</div> - <div class="i1 hangingindent">An’ jist let the whirly-gigy world whirl off its spindle spinnin’</div> - <div class="i1 hangingindent">While he joyed hisself a-grinnin’ an’ a-grinnin’ an’ a-grinnin’.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[68]</a></span></div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div><i>Hope</i> he <i>did</i> enjoy hisself, ’cause he didn’t have enough</div> - <div class="i1">Sense to know what trouble was,—he was a idiotic chap.</div> - <div>An’ he couldn’t tell to save him if a voice was soft or gruff</div> - <div class="i1 hangingindent">For he couldn’t <i>talk</i>, nor <i>hear</i>, nor—<i>nothin’</i> only grin an’ gap.</div> - <div>An’ his eyes that kept a winkin an’ a squintin up an’ down</div> - <div>Never let the glorious sunlight paint no picter in his crown.</div> - <div class="i1 hangingindent">Plum stone deef an’ dumb an’ blind—a hunch-backed idiot at that!</div> - <div class="i1 hangingindent">Oh ’t’ould ’most-a broke your heart, as mine, to see him sittin’ flat</div> - <div class="i1">On the floor in sich an awful fix as he was dyin’ in an’</div> - <div class="i1 hangingindent">Rockin back an’ forth, a-grinnin’ an’ a-grinnin’ an’ a-grinnin’.</div> - </div> - </div> - </div> - - <div class="poetry-container"> - <h3 class="larger">GOOD-NIGHT.<br /> -<span class="subhed1">A SONG OF THE CLOSE OF LIFE.</span></h3> - <div class="poetry"> - - <h4><i>Infant.</i></h4> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Good-night, good-night!—the brightest day must fall,</div> - <div class="i1">The sweetest joys, alas! must fade the sight;</div> - <div>Sad Night shall weep her silent tears o’er all—</div> - <div class="i1">Good-night, good-night, sweet babe, good-night.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[69]</a></span></div> - </div> - - <h4><i>Child.</i></h4> - - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>The day has kissed thy happy heart to sleep</div> - <div class="i1">And left thy lips apart in sweet delight;</div> - <div>But oh the Night, I know, must slowly creep—</div> - <div class="i1">Good-night, good-night, my child, good-night.</div> - </div> - - <h4><i>Youth.</i></h4> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Good-night, good-night!—thy care and day is done.</div> - <div class="i1">The stars thy camp, the Deity thy light,</div> - <div>Thy soldier hand and heart at rest sleep on,—</div> - <div class="i1">Good-night, good-night, my boy, good-night!</div> - </div> - - <h4><i>Man.</i></h4> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Or griefs or joys thy lot, the past be past!—</div> - <div class="i1">The star of hope is on the mountain height,</div> - <div>For sun and life must sleep and rise at last,—</div> - <div class="i1">Good-night, good-night, worn heart, good-night.</div> - </div> - - <h4><i>All.</i></h4> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Good-night, Sad Heart, to Light and Darkness born!</div> - <div class="i1">The sun is sunk—but Stars and Hope are bright;—</div> - <div>And all that sleep at night will wake at Morn!—</div> - <div class="i1">Good-night, good-night, Dear Heart, good-night!</div> - </div> - </div> - </div> - - <div class="poetry-container"> - <h3>TO FANCY.</h3> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="i2">Light and gay</div> - <div class="i2">Flight away</div> - <div>Over the rolling sea,</div> - <div class="i2">Night and day</div> - <div class="i2">Bright my fay</div> - <div>Bringing sweet music to me.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[70]</a></span></div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="i2">Deep in the sea</div> - <div class="i2">Leap with glee</div> - <div>Braiding the mermaiden’s hair;</div> - <div class="i2">Leap the sea,</div> - <div class="i2">Sweep to me,</div> - <div>Bearing her kisses rare.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="i2">O my fay,</div> - <div class="i2">Row away</div> - <div>Out in a nautilus shell,</div> - <div class="i2">Glowingly,</div> - <div class="i2">Flowingly,</div> - <div>Its rhythmical story to tell.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="i2">Greet the morn</div> - <div class="i2">Fleetly borne</div> - <div>Over the foam of the sea,</div> - <div class="i2">Meet the morn,</div> - <div class="i2">Sweet return</div> - <div>Bringing its beauties to me.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="i2">Lie and dream</div> - <div class="i2">By the beam</div> - <div>Thrown from the rolling moon,</div> - <div class="i2">Lie and dream</div> - <div class="i2">Night its gleam</div> - <div>Asleep in some deep lagoon.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="i2">Far enskyed</div> - <div class="i2">Star-like ride</div> - <div>Down in the doming deep,</div> - <div class="i2">Where the wide</div> - <div class="i2">Bar and tide</div> - <div>Croon to the moon asleep.</div> - </div> - </div> - </div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[71]</a></span></p> - - <div class="poetry-container"> - <h3>GOOD-NIGHT, MY LOVE.</h3> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Good-night, good-night!</div> - <div>Thy dreams to-night,</div> - <div class="i1">Thy dreams, thy silent dreams,</div> - <div>Be sweet as love, as chaste as light,</div> - <div>Thy dreams be sweet and deep.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Oh dream, my Love,</div> - <div>And sleep, my Love,</div> - <div class="i1">While star-laced moon-light beams</div> - <div>Above so bright with love and light,</div> - <div>Good-night, good-night, my Love.</div> - </div> - </div> - </div> - - <div class="poetry-container"> - <h3>THROUGH REVERENT EYES.</h3> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div>To-night I saw her. Strange indeed</div> - <div class="i1">My faint heart should thus fail me;—strange</div> - <div>That after such transporting love</div> - <div class="i1">In me three days should work such change.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Not more than three?—Nay, barely three;</div> - <div class="i1">And yet, within that raptured time</div> - <div>I’ve lived, it seems, a century</div> - <div class="i1">Of hope in Love’s own blissful clime.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>’Tis strange, this love of mine, so strange;</div> - <div class="i1">So strange I fear sometimes I do</div> - <div>Not love, but only dream I love,</div> - <div class="i1">And sleep the mid-life watches through.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[72]</a></span></div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>How many, many is the time</div> - <div class="i1">I’ve looked upon some face, some form,</div> - <div>And felt the sudden thrill of some</div> - <div class="i1">Fair hand awake the passion-storm!</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>But only momentary; and then</div> - <div class="i1">That old, old longing for the real</div> - <div>And soul-enlighted face of her</div> - <div class="i1">Whose image is my heart’s ideal.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Ah yes! to-night as I sit and write</div> - <div class="i1">Sweet visions come before my eyes.</div> - <div>Sweet visions only! and like lights</div> - <div class="i1">Along the shore they fall and rise.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Who are they? Friends of my happy days,</div> - <div class="i1">The friends of my childhood, boyhood, youth,</div> - <div>And later age. Yet none there are,</div> - <div class="i1">I fear, I ever loved in truth.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>I’ve often wondered what love is.</div> - <div class="i1">I’ve heard men speak of it,—ah yes!</div> - <div>I’ve heard fair women, too! but what</div> - <div class="i1">It is, I wonder did they guess?</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>I’ve read of love; I’ve thought of love;</div> - <div class="i1">I’ve read and thought that in that hour</div> - <div>When love should truly come to one,</div> - <div class="i1">’Twould come an all-possessing power;</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>’Twould smite upon the chord of self,</div> - <div class="i1">And break the faulty string in twain;</div> - <div>’Twould touch a more melodious chord</div> - <div class="i1">And wake a glad, harmonious strain.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[73]</a></span></div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>And so I wonder what love is;</div> - <div class="i1">And if I ever knew before</div> - <div>A few short, happy days ago</div> - <div class="i1">How love can rise, and sing, and soar.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Too sacred for my heart to hold,</div> - <div class="i1">To me a woman is divine—</div> - <div>As far above me as the stars</div> - <div class="i1">That I adore because they shine.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>I can but stand and gaze above,</div> - <div class="i1">I can but worship and adore,</div> - <div>Nor dream that I could reach her height—</div> - <div class="i1">I could but drag her down; no more.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Yet other men have loved. Must I,</div> - <div class="i1">Must I alone throughout the night</div> - <div>Stand gazing at a star that shines</div> - <div class="i1">For me alone upon the mountain height?</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Ah yes! I fear me that all night</div> - <div class="i1">I’ll watch the silent waning star</div> - <div>Adoring and revering till</div> - <div class="i1">It sinks behind some rugged scar.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>I fear I do not love; I hold</div> - <div class="i1">The fairer sex too high, I fear;</div> - <div>And bowed with awe and humbleness,</div> - <div class="i1">Instead of loving I revere.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Among the noisy human crowd,</div> - <div class="i1">I stand as stands the silent stone;</div> - <div>And like it, too, I dumbly pray</div> - <div class="i1">To whom I love, and inly moan.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[74]</a></span></div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>And thus it is my reverence brings</div> - <div class="i1">Me woe. As silent as the tomb,</div> - <div>My heart bowed down with sacred awe</div> - <div class="i1">Still wanders thro’ Love’s trackless dome.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Men call me cold. Alas! could they</div> - <div class="i1">But feel the half, the tenth I feel,</div> - <div>Could they but look thro’ reverent eyes,</div> - <div class="i1">They might my sealed heart unseal.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Too deep the mighty river flows;</div> - <div class="i1">Too deep the silent waters are;</div> - <div>I catch the image, not the form,</div> - <div class="i1">Embrace the vision, not the star.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Can heart of man pluck down a star</div> - <div class="i1">And wear it on his breast? or dip</div> - <div>Its gleam from out the soundless sea</div> - <div class="i1">And press it to his loving lip?</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>No more, no more indeed can I,</div> - <div class="i1">No more can I pluck down the love</div> - <div>That like an angel day and night</div> - <div class="i1">Still wanders through the dome above.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Oh could I ask a woman’s love?</div> - <div class="i1">I could not, would not drag her down!</div> - <div>I could not gratify a thought</div> - <div class="i1">So selfish—wed her to a clown!</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>No! no! my only hope must be</div> - <div class="i1">To rise above this selfish self;</div> - <div>To grow more pure in heart and hope,</div> - <div class="i1">To lose myself in her sweet self.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[75]</a></span></div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>To-night, I say, I saw her; her</div> - <div class="i1">Who wakes in me such thoughts as these;</div> - <div>I felt her hand as I sometimes feel</div> - <div class="i1">An angel’s hand in the dreamy breeze.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>She seemed far off—so far away!</div> - <div class="i1">And yet, I knew and saw her near:</div> - <div>I touched her hand; I heard her voice,</div> - <div class="i1">And oh the music thrilled my ear.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>When here alone within my room,</div> - <div class="i1">I feel most brave; but when before</div> - <div>The one I love, my heart grows faint,</div> - <div class="i1">I can but silently adore.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>I talk to her? Ah yes, sweet hours!</div> - <div class="i1">Tho’ every act and word I know</div> - <div>Must say my heart is full of love,</div> - <div class="i1">I dare not, can not tell her so.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Some day, perhaps,—some bright, sweet day!—</div> - <div class="i1">My tongue may tell her as my song</div> - <div>The struggle of my striving soul</div> - <div class="i1">To rise to her above the throng.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Great God, lift up my failing soul,</div> - <div class="i1">And purify this heart of mine.</div> - <div>Oh lead me through the realms of love</div> - <div class="i1">With that unfailing hand of Thine.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>I ask nor wealth, nor fame, nor power;</div> - <div class="i1">I ask a pure and loving heart</div> - <div>That I may join that heart to hers</div> - <div class="i1">Forever nevermore to part.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[76]</a></span></div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>And oh then peace, peace, the peace of love</div> - <div class="i1">For that old, old longing; and the real</div> - <div>And soul-enlighted face of her,</div> - <div class="i1">The image of my heart’s ideal.</div> - </div> - </div> - </div> - - -<h3>WHAT IS POETRY?</h3> - - -<p>Proper conception and appreciation of the poetic, whether in objects -of nature or in the mirror of words reflecting the human heart, -presupposes a delicate and divinely wrought nature tuned to the touch -of the Maker’s hand. Only such a beauty-loving soul finds responsive -a chord to the soul of beauty that dwells in the bodying words of -poetry. The finer the soul, the finer the music. To possess this -light-receiving and radiant Divinity is to possess at once both the -highest attainment of human culture and aspiration and the greatest -gift of God. It is thus at the same time both a growing seed and the -seed’s growth. That is, the poetic soul is both a gift divine and -a cultivation of it consecrated to the Divine Giver. Or, in other -words, the poet is both born and made. <i>Poeta nascitur non fit</i>—the -poet is born, not made—is true in this sense and in no other; for -the feelings, the gifts of the poet, are the gifts of every human -soul in greater or less degree. Else the proverb is not true, and we -must say, <i>Poeta nascitur et fit</i>; which would, no doubt, be equally -misunderstood. But <i>Poeta nascitur non fit</i> is true; and if, instead of -being translated literally, it is rendered in an explanatory way, it -means simply:—“The poet possesses the same faculties that others do; -but the poetic faculty in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[77]</a></span> him at birth is more highly developed than -it is in others, and is consequently susceptible of a higher degree of -cultivation. If the poetic faculty is naturally slight or insignificant -at birth, no amount of cultivating and polishing can create, or make, -a poet of its possessor.” This is the ancient meaning, and the only -sensible meaning, the meaning accepted by all who understand the -subject.</p> - -<p>To see it from a different angle. The true poet has both genius -and talent—or rather, genius has the poet and compels the poet to -have talent. Genius is the divine gift; talent is the cultivation. -Genius—poetic genius—, the highest harmonious union of the feelings, -is the part of the poet that is born; talent, the ability to reveal -that genius, is the part that is cultivated, or made. Genius is power; -talent is skill. The man of poetic genius cannot help writing; the man -of poetic talent can help it, but won’t. That’s the main difference.</p> - -<p>If you can’t help writing, nine chances out of nine you are a poet, -and are unconscious of your great power from the simple fact that it -is natural to you. If you can help writing, don’t write; for you are -evidently no poet, though you may have talent, and may believe (very -likely will) from the unnaturalness of it that you are great.</p> - -<p>The genius which forces the poet to write is the same genius that is -ever reaching out of the poem and beckoning us upwards. Thus much for -the present as to what constitutes the poet.</p> - -<p>Now as to poetry. Though we cannot hope to arrive at the seat of its -mysterious fountain of inspiration and bind its hidden springs of -immortality, we shall nevertheless, in earnest search, by upward, -honest, toilsome<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[78]</a></span> flight, at least behold the beauty-embodying mountain -heights whence its rivers of eternal glory flow, and whither the soul -must ever soar to drink of its purest living waters;—waters that -purify mortality and reflect Divinity, and make the soul bathed in -them and drunken of them better know its own vastness, grandeur, and -divinity.</p> - -<p>Until the soul by this upward flight shall have beheld itself thus -divinely reflected in the immortal streams of poetry, it can never feel -and know its own vastness, its infinitude. Likewise, until it shall -have bathed in and drunk of these mighty purifying waters of goodness, -truth, and beauty, the soul can never know the divinity and immortality -of poetry. Thus, if the soul know not the one, it cannot know the -other; the two knowledges are reciprocal.</p> - -<p>It may be said æsthetically and as nearly scientifically as it can well -be said, that poetry is naturally rhythmical and metrical imaginative -language interpreting the Divine in the human heart. This defines at -once, as nearly as can well be defined in a single sentence, the Form -(or mechanism), the Spirit, and the Mission of poetry.</p> - -<p>Form we can define and anatomize, just as we can define and anatomize -the human body. The spirit of poetry we cannot define and anatomize, -just as we cannot define and anatomize the human soul. Form alone -cannot constitute a poem, just as body alone cannot constitute a man. -Spirit alone may constitute poetry (in the abstract) though not a -concrete poem, just as the soul alone may constitute life though not a -living man. Just as both body and soul are necessary to constitute a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[79]</a></span> -man, so also both form and spirit are necessary to constitute any of -his visible art-creations, as a poem.</p> - - -<h4 class="smaller">FORM.</h4> - -<p>The requisites of form are rhythm and metre. The accidents of form are -rhyme (consonance), assonance, stanza, alliteration, onomatopœia, etc., -etc.</p> - -<p>Rhythm has to do with the kind of feet in a line, while metre has to do -with the number of feet in a line. Rhythm corresponds with the regular -rise and fall of the waves of the sea, each wave-length being counted -a poetic foot. Metre corresponds with the swell of the sea, composed -of several successive waves. Thus metre is, after all, a kind of -rhythm,—the larger ebb and flow of rhythm.</p> - -<p>The accidents of form, such as rhyme, stanza, alliteration, etc., -we find worthily and advantageously used in much true poetry, -as well as worthlessly used in the tawdry puppet-shows of mere -mechanicians;—those persons who, having nothing to say, yet attempting -to say something, mistake rhyme for sense, a tickling jingle for -meaning, their desire to create for the creative power. They do not -rightly read nor well heed the trite epigrammatic precept, “When you -have nothing to say, say it.”</p> - -<p>But these accidents of form, I say, are sometimes material aids to the -thought; indeed, always are when used not for their own sakes but for -the meaning’s sake. Notwithstanding this fact, many of our greatest -poems, such as Paradise Lost and others on the epic order, as well as -many not epic, lack these accidents either wholly or in part.</p> - -<p>On the other hand, rhythm and metre are found in all<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[80]</a></span> poetic forms, and -are the only two elements of the form of poetry that are thus found. -Hence, rhythm and metre are not only essentials but they are the only -essentials of form, and constitute the complete body in which the -spirit of poetry naturally and inevitably clothes itself. They are, -therefore, just as necessary to poetry in its concrete or visible forms -as the spirit is.</p> - -<p>But since rhythm and metre are thus essential to a poem, it is the -common custom to call anything poetry that has this external appearance -of the poetic.</p> - -<p>This is a misapplication of terms. There is so much trash masquerading -in the poetic garb that this misapplication inevitably throws ridicule -upon true poetry.</p> - -<p>Rhythm, when carried to excess and when used not for the meaning’s -sake, the feeling’s sake, but for the rhythm’s sake alone, becomes -simply jingle; quite invariably a rhyming jingle at that.</p> - -<p>Metre, in company with rhythm and rhyme, is often diverted from its -true purpose and used solely to jiggle some fact or some epigram into -the memory, as illustrated by “Thirty days,” etc., and by all other -didactic metrical arrangements, as mentioned farther on.</p> - -<p>But rhymes and jingles and metrical arrangements are not poetry. They -are simply members of the form, the dancing legs and arms of the -body, sometimes possessed of life with an indwelling guiding spirit, -and sometimes whittled out of wood and set in motion by an inspiring -string. These senseless puppets, or jumping-jacks, sometimes, indeed -often, tickle the mob by their lively antics; but the great final -judgment of humanity relegates them to the rubbish-heap and forgets -their ephemeral and unlovely existence.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[81]</a></span></p> - -<p>It is, I say, a misnomer to dignify such by the name of poetry. The -proper name is verse. Whatever is rhythmical and metrical, whether it -has any of the accidents of form or not, is verse. Hence, all poetry is -verse, but not all verse is poetry. Indeed, not one ten-thousandth part -of verse is poetry; for the requisite of verse is simply form,—the -body into which the spirit must enter ere it becomes poetry. To -illustrate,—</p> - - <div class="poetry-container"> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="ileft">“Thirty days hath September,</div> - <div>April, June, and November,” etc.,</div> - </div> - </div> - </div> - -<p>has the form of poetry without the slightest touch of the poetic -spirit; thus constituting verse, simple and pure. It requires no -penetration to perceive that it is not poetry, though I doubt not that -nine hundred ninety-nine out of every thousand have called that stanza -in the usual loose way “a verse of poetry.”</p> - -<p>But it is not only not poetry, but it is also not a verse, though it is -<i>verse</i>; for a verse is but one line of the poetic form, while <i>verse</i> -is the form itself. It is not poetry because it has merely form without -spirit. As well call the dead body a man (which indeed we sometimes do -in the same loose way) as call such by the name of poetry.</p> - -<p>But the body of a man without the soul is a dead man; that is, not a -man at all. So also the body of one of his visible art-creations, as of -poetry, without the spirit, is dead art, a dead poem;—no poem at all.</p> - -<p>Is it not so? Only look at our thousands of dailies, weeklies, -monthlies, quarterlies, and whatnotlies, where millions of these -poetry-bodies lie buried, smelling too much of mortality; then turn to -the time-glorified tomes of Chaucer, Shakespeare, Burns, Milton, Homer, -Virgil,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[82]</a></span> and their eternal co-endurers for a breath of heaven. Let this -be the final answer.</p> - -<p>Rhythm, it may be said (taking it beyond the realms of concrete -poetry), is the music of Nature. It is Nature’s natural expression, if -I may so speak. All her motions are rhythmical, have ripples and waves; -even at rest her forms lie in the rhythmic order.</p> - -<p>Wherever billows beat the crags, or ripples kiss the sands; wherever -winds go soughing through the pines, or zephyrs toss a curl; wherever -snows may drive to drifts, or wheat-fields billow green and gold; -wherever drifting clouds, or dreaming skies, or bordering trees are -hung dependent on the smooth lake’s waters; wherever birds may sing, -or flowers bloom, or rivers run; wherever thunders wake, or hills and -valleys sleep;—there is rhythm, there is music, there is Nature’s -perfect harmony.</p> - -<p>Nor is it different in man, Nature’s crown triumphant. In throes of -pain or woe’s distress; in joys that iris happy tears; in sorrow’s -mournful cadences; in laughter’s lilting melody; in peace and -bounteous plenty, or in war and woeful famine; in love or hate, or -life or death;—through all of man’s existence, there again is rhythm, -Passion’s only melody, the music of the soul.</p> - -<p>True, in the calms of life, although ’tis there, we little feel this -rhythm,—this adjusting process by which man inevitably seeks to put -the heart in tune while here for higher harmonies hereafter. But when -the soul’s deep feeling is aroused, then listen to its rhythmic ebb and -flow like gently wimpling waters or like the surging beat, beat, beat -upon the sands.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[83]</a></span></p> - -<p>Hear the lonesome cadences of sorrow crying up to heaven; listen to -the joyousness that tinkles through the melody of laughter; hark the -sharp, quick, fierce beat in the surge of righteous anger; hear the -tender, mellow music from the soothing lips of Love,—divine, immortal -Love—and dream of other worlds and better things as you listen thus -transported.</p> - -<p>When these passions of the soul would express themselves in words, -the words, too, fashioned by the spirit that enters them, must -inevitably move in rhythm, and, in the greater wave-lengths, fit -themselves to metre. This feeling, or passion, that enters rhythmic -words—that unswervingly seeks rhythm as the only form in which it -can express itself—is the spirit of poetry. Thus it is that poetry -comes about; thus it is that poetry is spontaneous and not the result -of long meditation; thus it is that poetry is the natural outlet of -highly-wrought or great feeling.</p> - - -<h4 class="smaller">SPIRIT.</h4> - -<p>As in man, so in all art of man, the soul within fashions the body -without. True beauty is soul-beauty; that beauty that is in the heart -and is felt by the heart, without which there can be no physical beauty.</p> - -<p>Whatever in the world is beautiful, is beautiful just in proportion -to the beauty of the soul that sees it. Thus if we would find beauty, -we must first have it. The white-flecked blue of the skies of June; -the wren or peewee pouring fourth its perfume-drunken melodies from -among the apple-blossoms; the stretch of plain or towering height -of mountain; the scenes of hill or valley, wood or meadow, lake or -river; the Apollo Belvedere; the great Transfiguration; Paradise -Lost;—na<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[84]</a></span>ture’s various forms and reproductions—have no beauty to -the heart whose cavities are empty. But to the full soul, the soul of -beauty, they are perpetual springs of life, where Divinity is ever -mirrored forth; for the soul gives what it gets, and gets what it -gives, and the getting is proportioned to the giving. Give, and we get; -keep, and we lose.</p> - -<p>But what is it in an Apollo, a Transfiguration, a Paradise Lost that -feeds this soul-hunger; that possesses this beauty?—The marble of the -Apollo? Hard by lies the rough, unchiseled Parian marble; but it has -no beauty.—The painted canvas of the Transfiguration? Sitting before -it, there are yearly hundreds of canvases and brushes and paints and -paintings; but they lack the beauty.—The words, the rhythm, the metre, -the music of Paradise Lost? Millions of productions, from musty tomes -in the British Museum to the upper left-hand corner of the “patent -inside” of a newspaper, have all these; but no beauty.</p> - -<p>What then? That same indefinable something which in man we call -the soul, and in art, the spirit; that which the admiring soul -instinctively feels and recognizes.</p> - -<p>Had the sculptor never touched his chisel to the marble, nor the -painter his brush to the canvas, nor the poet his pen to the paper, -that same spirit, yet not bodied, would have existed within his own -soul, but never would have been beheld by others. To be seen by other -eyes, it must needs take on a visible body, a concrete form, in which -it shall dwell.</p> - -<p>Thus all forms of Nature and all forms of Art, whatsoever, are the -mere bodying expressions of the spirit that inhabits them. Form is -necessary, but only as a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[85]</a></span> medium through which the spirit may reveal -itself visibly.</p> - -<p>The intuitive and unconscious recognition of this principle, that the -soul within fashions the body it inhabits,—the grandest principle of -all God’s great laws, the foundation of them all, illimitable as the -immortal Giver—is the door-way through which he who thus recognizes -must inevitably enter Nature and Art to enjoy the full communion of the -soul within, and to interpret the beauties of that soul’s divinity to -us.</p> - -<p>He who thus enters is possessed of genius. In other words, he has a -great soul and lives close to Nature’s heart. We of lesser genius, -or of less loving souls (for a great soul is one that loves greatly) -commune with the indwelling spirit less freely. If we approach Nature -or Art consciously and try to unlock some side-door by the key of the -intellect, we shall probably find only cast-off garments; nay, many of -us may find that the door will not open and we must content ourselves -with a peep through the key-hole. Indeed, do not the multitude behold -the elegant structures of Nature and Art wonderingly for but a moment, -without even so much as attempting the key-hole, and then plod on, -unconscious that there is an indwelling soul that has thus fashioned -its earthly home?</p> - -<p>This same great foundation-principle of Nature is likewise the -fundamental law of poetry and of all other art. For art, at best, is -nature wrought by man. What else can it be? It is fashioned by simply -a lesser Divinity, the soul of man, consequently less perfectly, and -follows the same law. Or better yet, art is nature wrought through the -instrumentality of man by the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[86]</a></span> great Divinity that works in him. Art -is simply a name used to designate a specific manifestation or kind -of nature;—that kind that comes through man, and has, not life, but -spirit; not life, but the picture, the show, the mirrored image of -life: a sort of record of the soul, and a lamp for its future guidance.</p> - -<p>He who, by means of rhythmic words inspirited, can paint this picture, -represent this show, mirror this image of life, historicize this -record of the soul, light this lamp and hold it above the heads of the -trampling ages for the guidance of humanity, is the great poet.</p> - -<p>Just in proportion to the greatness of such a soul will be the spirit -that imbues his creations. It cannot create a new form unless it first -implants some germ from its own spiritual self. Not only must there -be the spirit as the prime essential of poetry, the soul within that -fashions the rhythmical and metrical form it inhabits, but that spirit -must partake of that divinity that is in every human heart;—that -divine flower, deep-rooted in the soil of God, sometimes blossoming to -an angel-image, sometimes painting the glories of heaven on its petals, -sometimes breathing its deepest-drawn perfumes up from its muse-beloved -blooms to the throne above.</p> - -<p>Would the soul create a statue, it must see “an angel in that marble” -ere it give the angel form; would it paint a picture, it must behold -within itself the transfiguration ere it live transfigured on the -canvas; would it write a poem, it must be a paradise of eternal love -and beauty ere it breathe immortal glory into words.</p> - -<p>It is this soul within that comes out of the maker of the statue, -the maker of the picture, the maker of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[87]</a></span> melody, the maker of the -poem, and enters his creations, that distinguishes true art from mere -mechanism of art.</p> - -<p>It is this same soul within that renders the artist, not a chiseler of -stone, a painter of canvas, a placer of notes, a rhymer of words, but a -maker, a creator, in his own lesser realm of nature.</p> - -<p>It is this same intangible soul, just within yet just beyond the touch -of our finger-tips as we reach out farther and farther into the dim -unknown, this same indefinable spirit of beauty, shining through the -form that it inhabits, permeating it inscrutably, that somehow passes -out of the poem into the heart of the admirer, then slips out of his -heart into the poem again, and so on and on, again and again, ever -lifting the admiring soul as the poem itself is lifted higher still and -ever higher.</p> - - -<h4 class="smaller">MISSION.</h4> - -<p>This practical age, “this nineteenth century with its knife and glass,” -ever botanizing and anatomizing, analyzing and scrutinizing in every -possible way, is constantly asking, “What is it good for?”; “Of what -use is it?” And whatever the knife and glass cannot explain to the -fact-loving intellect; whatever the age cannot thus analyze and convert -into ready cash or daily bread, it is wont to relegate to the Lethean -Limbo of Uselessness.—As if the mind of man were constituted of -intellect, pocket, and stomach, and whatever did not go to the filling -of these were useless.</p> - -<p>It is well and just and right, indeed, that any age should thus -inquire, especially as to material things, so long as it does not dwarf -other faculties by giving all sustenance to one. To ask concerning -poetry, “What is it good for?”, “Of what use is it?”, is simply to ask<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[88]</a></span> -in a different form, “What is the soul good for?”; “Of what use is a -God!” There is nothing in God’s universe that does not have utility.</p> - -<p>But to examine specifically and logically, and thus to discover -somewhat of the mission, the utility of poetry.</p> - -<p>In order to do this, we must naturally refer to the human mind, since -thence poetry is brought forth and there it is perceived.</p> - -<p>There are three great divisions of the mind; namely, Intellect, -Sensibilities, or Feelings, and Will.</p> - -<p>The intellect is that power of the mind by which we think and know. The -sensibilities, or feelings, constitute that power of the mind by which -we feel. The will is that power of the mind by which we resolve to do -or not to do. These explanations are sufficient for our present purpose.</p> - -<p>Therefore, whatever furnishes food for the intellect, the knowing-power -of the mind, must be of the nature of knowledge, didactic. Whatever -ministers to the feelings must waken emotion. Whatever gives action to -the will must rouse resolution.</p> - -<p>All literature is for the mind. But since there are three departments -of the mind, and since literature is produced by and for the mind, -there must naturally be three divisions of literature that each -mental power may receive sustenance. That is, there should be that -literature for the intellect in which knowledge predominates. For -the sensibilities, there should be that literature in which feeling, -emotion, is the primary and essential element. For the will, there -should be that literature that has for its chief end the rousing of -resolution.</p> - -<p>On examination of the literary products of the world,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[89]</a></span> we find that -this philosophy is sustained. For the intellect, we have treatises (as -on the sciences, mathematics, etc.), histories, biographies, novels, -romances, essays, etc., etc. The primary object of these is to furnish -knowledge; to satisfy the intellect. They are in the highest sense -didactic, although, of course, just as the literature for each faculty -does, they incidentally furnish some food for the other powers.</p> - -<p>This intellective literature is the kind that is most largely -cultivated at the present. In fact, it is cultivated almost to the -exclusion of the other two.</p> - -<p>For the will, we have sermons, lectures, orations, speeches, addresses, -harangues, etc.; a class of literature that is small when compared with -the preceding. These two departments of the mind monopolize the whole -domain of prose.</p> - -<p>That other department of literature, in which feeling is the dominating -and pervading principle, must, by its very nature, act upon that same -power of the mind that produced it; namely, the sensibilities.</p> - -<p>Poetry is the literature of feeling, and consequently finds its -province here. It is the mission of poetry, therefore, as suggested -by the latter part of the definition, to minister to the feelings, to -interpret the Divine in the human heart. It is this that all writers on -the subject and that all poets mean when they say it is the mission of -poetry to give pleasure.</p> - -<p>But what shall be the limit of that word “pleasure”? Herein lies the -chief cause of great differences of opinion, especially with those who -hold that there is such a thing as didactic poetry. Or rather, what -is the true meaning of “pleasure” as thus used? The very essence<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[90]</a></span> of -pleasure, as opposed to pain, is that it gratify some emotion and set -it at perfect rest.</p> - -<p>What emotions when gratified are at perfect rest? The answer at once -forces itself upon us, only the better emotions. That poetry does -minister to and satisfy the higher and nobler feelings, and that what -does not do this is not poetry, even the meanest heart that it touches -fully knows.</p> - -<p>The attempted gratification of hate, or of any desire whatsoever to -give pain to any one, as illustrated in Pope’s <i>Dunciad</i>, Dryden’s -<i>Absalom and Achitophel</i>, Butler’s <i>Hudibras</i>, Byron’s <i>English Bards -and Scotch Reviewers</i>, and all such, never sets the mind of the writer -at rest, nor gives enjoyment to the reader. Indeed, who now ever reads -these, the world’s greatest illustrations of witty bitterness and -venom, couched in verse and unjustifiably designated as poetry?</p> - -<p>These are accounted “great works.” But who, let me ask, ever reads any -of these “great works,” or ever heard of them, except in some text on -Literature? Or, having read them, who loves them, or their authors for -having written them? None. No, not one.</p> - -<p>On the other hand, who has not read some of the noblest works of -Shakespeare, Burns, Milton, Tennyson, Longfellow, Bryant, Lowell, -Whittier, Holmes? And who does not feel nobler for having read, and who -does not hold these authors shrined in his heart of hearts for having -written? Is not this proof enough that it is the mission of poetry to -minister only to the higher emotions?</p> - -<p>After all, hate is merely the negative of love; simply the absence of -the better emotion, a void, an ache, a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[91]</a></span> pain. All attempts to gratify -it only make it stronger—or rather drive the better emotion farther -away—as illustrated by the cases of Pope, Dryden, Byron, and their -fellows in revenge and bitterness wherever we find them. No one ever -felt better or nobler or happier for gratifying a hate, for doing -a bad deed, or for giving pain to a fellow-mortal’s feelings. The -ever-accusing conscience, if he but listen, will never permit him to -say in his heart that such gratification has given him pleasure.</p> - -<p>If, then, it is the mission of poetry to give pleasure, no matter -whether its interpretation of the Divine in the human heart be by tears -or by laughter, its ministration necessarily must be to the immortal -part of man.</p> - -<p>In the light of all this, therefore, without further argument, it is -clear and conclusive that all verse that is sarcastic, satiric, etc., -such as that of Swift, Butler, Pope, Gay, Prior, and their hosts, is -not poetry.</p> - -<p>But what of the didactic? Whatever has the primary object of teaching -delivers its treasures to the keeping of the intellect. If, therefore, -verse aims primarily to teach, but ministers to the sensibilities only -incidentally, it is not true poetry. Poetry does not teach nor preach -nor argue nor discuss. Those are the provinces of prose. Poems and -roses must not teach; they must bloom. Their breath delights us, their -suggestions, their reflections of a Divinity that is above them, lifts -us—God knows why! The cry of pain, the romping laugh of children at -play, the pathos of death, the touch of the hand or the lips of the -one we love needs no argument to fill the heart with uncontrollable -emotion.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[92]</a></span> These are the sweetest of the poet’s themes, and he has but -to reveal them without argument as they are experienced in the heart. -Argument kills them. Just in proportion to the didactic character of -verse the path of poetry is departed from, and the realm of prose -invaded. You cannot find a solitary purely didactic piece of verse the -meaning of which could not be better expressed in prose. Not so with -true poetry. That cannot be expressed in any other way.</p> - -<p>The most illustrious types of the didactic are to be found in the -“Artificial School,” at the head of which stands Pope. When we cut out -the satiric and the sarcastic and all ill-feeling verse, as we see we -must, and then the didactic, as we are forced by reason and logic to -do, how much real poetry do we have left in this “School” so well named -“Artificial”? How much is there left that makes the heart feel larger, -nobler, better, and gives it new fountains of life? Only a rare gem -now and then in the form of a single felicitous line or happily wedded -couplet. Then, when we cut this same kind of verse out of the whole -literature of the world, and also that other kind, already spoken of at -length, in which there is merely spiritless poetic form as its chief -element, how much real poetry and how many real poets does the world -possess? Comparatively, only a few poets, the world’s great, and a few -of their works—those that have already stood the test of time and that -still stand the only true test of good literature, that it inspires the -heart with noble feelings and lofty purposes—can be placed in the list.</p> - -<p>But enough on the kinds of verse.</p> - -<p>Another question concerning pleasure arising from<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[93]</a></span> poetry presents -itself. “Violent delights have violent ends and in their triumph -die.” The poetic, by its very nature, is violent. Consequently, the -mind cannot long imbibe its intoxicating draughts. A little at a -time is exhilarating and invigorating; but an over-dose deadens the -sensibilities, and often creates a serious dislike for the poetic and a -consequent unconscious restlessness of longing for the satisfaction of -the higher emotions that prose can never furnish.</p> - -<p>The mind cannot long endure extreme exertion, just as the body cannot. -Poetry requires extreme exertion of the sensibilities, consequently -its duration should be short that its full delight and pleasure may be -enjoyed. Since this is so, every poem, by the very nature of the mind, -must be brief. Who would live in a conservatory of roses where their -sweet scent, most delightful at first breath, soon becomes sickening? -Or who would hold even one of those odorous blooms to the nose for -long? Who, on the other hand, does not delight in an occasional sip of -the scent of a bursting rose-bud? And who does not find new delight at -each successive draught, and regret that the petals that breathe this -odor for us, alas! must fade and fall?</p> - -<p>I believe most profoundly with Poe that, from the standpoint of the -mind that produces and the mind that perceives and enjoys it, there is -no such thing as a long poem. I shall go farther, and say, not only -that a poem must be short, but that it must be lyrical. This gets us -back to nature. Historically the first literature of every nation is -poetry, and that poetry is invariably lyrical; indeed, even inevitably -so. In every nation, we find it is many centuries before these lyrics -of the nation are<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[94]</a></span> gathered up and finally strung on the thread of -narrative, thus making the Epic. From the lyric, all imaginable forms -have been brought forth by ingenious poets of later day. The bard -of simple days lived, not close to nature’s intellect, but close to -nature’s heart. Burns was the best poet of modern days, because he did -the same; consequently, he is always lyrical when he is natural.</p> - -<p>Shall we then say that the Æneid, the Odyssey, the Iliad, the -Canterbury Tales, the Faery Queen, or Paradise Lost is each one poem? -Viewed as I have just remarked, and that (in its relation to the mind) -is the only true way to view a poem, none of these is a single poem. -Each is made up of a number of poems—gems strung on the thread of a -common subject;—roses in a common conservatory.</p> - -<p>Indeed, the whole of Homer is simply a collection of a great number -of short poems—lyrics, indeed, they were—sung by many authors for -centuries, and finally gathered up and pieced together to form books -and volumes. Each one of the Canterbury Tales contains many poems, -strung together to form one necklace of jewels.</p> - -<p>I ask any one to sit down and read any of these great and wonderful -works continuously one day, as he might prose, and comprehend what he -is reading. Not even one book of Paradise Lost can be <i>read</i> (in the -true sense of that word) at a single sitting. There are too many poems -in it, and the consequent demands upon the mind are too great for that. -Possibly this very fact had somewhat to do with calling forth the -unjust remark from Waller concerning that great epic, “If its length be -not considered as a merit it hath no other.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[95]</a></span></p> - -<p>Since a poem must be brief, naturally, and for the same cause, it -should be read judiciously and at intervals, if it is to be appreciated -and enjoyed, just as the rose must be smelled only occasionally. We -cannot read poetry as we can prose; it won’t let us. By their very -natures they demand a different manner of reading. One can read prose -continuously, hour after hour, without seriously wearying the mind, -for the simple reason that, in prose, thought is not condensed, but -is spread through a long series of sentences. Moreover, the thought -is not, as a rule, simply suggested, but is fully expressed, leaving -the mind in a comparative state of passive receptivity, with but -little active labor to perform in order to comprehend the meaning. -On the other hand, poetry always expresses thought in condensed form -and suggests many fold more than it expresses. Consequently, a single -stanza or even a single line may sometimes require as much attention -for the full comprehension of its meaning and suggestion, as a whole -page of ordinary prose.</p> - -<p>We must plant the poem in the heart and give it time to grow, as we -plant the flower-seeds in the soil. Finally, as the growing flower -bursts into bloom, so must the poem blossom from the heart into its -full perfection and beauty.</p> - -<p>Fully to appreciate that flower’s beauty, it must not be dissected and -analyzed by glass and scalpel. Did Burns go botanizing the daisy? Need -we then go botanizing these flowers and blossoms of the soul of man? He -who does it tries to force the intellect to do what the emotive nature, -the beauty-loving part of man, alone can do. There is an intellectual -delight in botanizing<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[96]</a></span> and in picking to pieces and analyzing the -gathered specimens, but it is not that sweet, soul-inspiring pleasure -born of the love of the beautiful that the heart alone can feel. He who -botanizes the beautiful can never know in his head the supreme pleasure -that he who loves the simple daisy too well to turn it under the sod -feels in his heart.</p> - -<p>Poetry is indeed immortal and divine. It is the breath of heaven in -the nostrils of man, the divinity of the human soul, the heart in full -flower and bloom. To an honest, earnest, sincere soul, it is the wonder -of the age, as it has ever been the wonder of all ages, that “men -endowed with highest gifts, the vision and the faculty divine,” being -divinely appointed as poet-priest of the Almighty, should pander to the -prurient taste of a so-called practical public;—that they should sell -the divinity within them for a strip of royal purple; for a salve to an -itching palm;—that they should barter immortality for a glitter-jingle.</p> - -<p>But how shall this consummate artist not fall into the corruptions -that beset him and his art divine? Here are the driveling jinglers, -verse-makers, poetasters all about him, with their rattling, -rollicking, banging tin-panery, loudly applauded by a rough-and-ready -guffawing public; a “practical” public that loudly clamors for <i>sense</i>, -<i>fact</i>,—and then drops another penny into the chapeaux of these -venders of cheap jewelry for more of their applauded cheap sentiment -and glittering platitudes, and jingling chains and necklaces, and -rings, and things, whose brightness wears off in their mental pockets -before the wife or sweetheart is gladdened by a glimpse of its -“practical” glitter!</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[97]</a></span></p> - -<p>The great, true poet, he who alone is interpreter of the immortal in -the mortal, the invisible in the visible by means of words, never asks -how to avoid these corruptions. He does it. He despises, hates, abhors -them. He does it, too, by obeying that Divinity within him. Obedient -to that call, he walks majestically through this motley crowd;—aye, -through this sometimes maudlin, jeering crowd that throw stones at him -and mentally would crucify him!—and sets some stream of Beauty and -Glory flowing through the hearts of men, forever to wash away these -corruptions and stagnations of the human soul. Aye, truly! he asks not -how, but teaches us how. Was it not so with those old Divine Writers, -our highest type of poets, whose inspirations make the one Immortal -Book? So shall it ever be. ’Tis the Divine Law.</p> - -<p>Such a poet, interpreting nature and mirroring Divinity, and thus -idealizing life that the seeing, aspiring soul may attain nearer its -illimitable possibilities, we call an original poet, a genius. He is -never a “popular” poet, as that term is used, but he is quite generally -unpopular. Popular in the sense of time-enduring he is by that same -Divine Law that brings him into existence. His soul will inevitably -have some greatness in common with other great souls. These will rescue -him and commend him to an increasing posterity; and so on and on, -touching more and more souls, and thus seeming to grow ever better and -better, though in reality he remains ever unchanged, while the souls he -touches are the ones that ever strive to his greater height, and draw -up numbers with them.</p> - -<p>Thus does he whom an unappreciating, small-souled<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[98]</a></span> mob would have -crucified, become immortal through the reciprocal divinity that is -in himself and in the heart of humanity. Thus does, thus must, this -poet-genius create—call into activity—the taste that must make him -time-enduring. This is the penalty of genius and greatness—to suffer, -and then triumphantly to endure forever in the hearts of men. Who would -he were not a genius? Who would he were? In proof of all this, witness -Shakespeare, Milton, Wordsworth, not to speak of all the greatest Great.</p> - -<p>I love that unswerving poetic genius who, in the face of taunts and -revilings and sneers, still is obedient to that sublime divinity within -him; who, conscious of his own soul’s illimitable vastness, must -inevitably write for that soul’s satisfaction, and thus write, not for -the present generation, but for posterity; and who, when he “wraps -the drapery of his couch about him,” having obeyed the divine voice -within him even to his latest breath, finally triumphs over all sneers -and taunts and jeers, triumphs even over death, and, though dead, -triumphantly lives in immortal words that still speak to us more and -more divinely through the trumpet-soul of the more and more divine ages.</p> - -<p>Such a poet, I say, must create the taste that will make him -time-enduring. In other words, this true poet, this genius (else he -were no genius at all), must see some relation of soul to soul not -ordinarily seen, and never at all seen in exactly the same way, and -so express that relation in words that humanity can but recognize it -from the very fact of its commonness, its universality. Such a poet -never follows public opinion, in the narrow sense of the opinion of a -transitory present; but through<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[99]</a></span> great trials and suffering and much -enduring generally, he leads it, or creates it rather, and develops it -into that broader, truer public opinion,—humanity’s opinion; the only -opinion, I should say, that is equal to that of a great soul.</p> - -<p>The great never follow, but ever lead. They never pander to a perverted -public taste, but follow their own convictions; and thus following the -guiding power within them, they lead others in the same path. Thus -drawn onwards and upwards by that link which binds man unto God, and -thus leading humanity aright, they instinctively obey the teachings of -Him, the Master, who “came not to be ministered unto, but to minister”; -for they follow in His footsteps by upward leading and by thus greatly -and divinely serving mankind.</p> - -<p>In a general way, I may say of poets that there are two classes:—the -introspective, or those whose souls, ever standing in the presence of -the Divinity within them, hear the calls of other souls and the mighty -voice of God; and hearing, obey;—the extrospective, or those whose -souls, not less divine, but less conscious, perhaps, of that Divinity, -unconsciously perceive the manifold relations in external nature, and -through the universal spirit of nature none the less distinctly hear -that same Almighty Voice. We shall hardly find a poet in whom one -of these characteristics exists to the exclusion of the other; but -we shall find that in many cases one characteristic or the other is -dominant. For example, Browning is one of our best representatives -of the introspective, and Wordsworth of the extrospective; while -Shakespeare is the highest type of the perfect union of the two. Both -classes obey the same voice, and though<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[100]</a></span> ministering through different -sources, have the same mission to perform, the uplifting and purifying -of the human soul.</p> - -<p>Indeed, whatever does not have this mission is not true poetry. It is -often said that that literature is best which has stood the test of -time. Not so, if by that is meant simply that the literature shall -have lived long; for both good and bad live. The true test is that it -betters man’s estate, and ennobles his heart. If a poem inspires the -heart with nobler feelings and greater love, then it is a good poem. -This is the crucial, the only true test.</p> - -<p>There is no act of the human mind that is not controlled by the -feelings. When this is comprehended and when, at the same time, it -is perceived to what an extent poetry ministers to the feelings, the -utility of poetry will be better appreciated. Poetry thus ministering -to the controlling forces of life, is a guide and corrective of life; -a guide in that it is “a representation of life” (as Alfred Austin has -it), the experiences of the hearts of men; a corrective in that it is -“a criticism of life” (as Matthew Arnold says), an idealization that, -by uplifting, corrects the heart that else would droop. Austin thinks -his idea opposes Arnold’s. It does not. Each simply looks at one side; -each takes a different angle. Both are correct so far as they go. For -poetry is the heart’s history. It is also the ever present attempt, in -the light of that guiding lamp, to the making of a better history.</p> - -<p>This, indeed, makes it philosophy. For what else does philosophy do? -The poet is ever a philosopher. Is not poetry philosophy teaching by -experience? It<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[101]</a></span> does not teach by precept, it is not didactic; that -is the province of prose; but it mirrors the human heart and reveals -its experiences. Nine hundred ninety-nine people shape their lives -by experience where one shapes his by rule and thumb. One rose of -experience with its warning thorns has more of humanity and guidance -in it than all the tangle-woods of teaching. The hand must follow the -heart. If the heart be right the hand can never go wrong.</p> - -<p>He who would be an immortal poet must have a great and sympathizing -heart; a heart that laughs and weeps, and most of all, a heart that -loves. Were I asked the one essential of the poet, that essential -which includes all minor requisites, I should answer, Love. “A Poet -without Love,” says Carlyle, “were a physical and a metaphysical -impossibility.” It is the dominating element of all great poets. What -poet is greater, or what one has loved more deeply than Burns?</p> - -<p>Love often reveals itself in sorrow and in humor. Though the poet need -not be a humorist, must not be at all times, as the term is used, it -is nevertheless essential that he have a lively appreciation of the -ludicrous, lest he fall into grave errors of thought and expression. -But the humor must not be the all-pervading element of his poetry; it -should be simply a check, a guide, or sometimes a spur. A keen sense -of humor should be to him the lash that whips thought out of its -self-constituted morbid glooms, in which it appears ridiculous, into -a lively harmony with things as they really are to the hearts of men. -It were, indeed, a nice question to determine how far the grave or -the humorous should enter poetic composition to the exclusion of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[102]</a></span> the -other. Certainly the most felicitous poetry is not all rain nor all -shine, but the iris of Ulloa struck out of the depths of tears by the -happy, hopeful shine of laughter.</p> - -<p>But if the poet laugh, he must also love; for he laughs because he -loves. This is the divine law. The man who hates never laughs; he may -mock. Well may we ponder that. Indeed, tears and laughter, sometimes -blended, are but forms of love. If laughter is music, certainly love, -that divine gift in the human heart, love of the good, the beautiful, -and the true, love of home, of country, of mankind, of God, or of -a beautiful image of God, the one who is the heart’s ideal, divine -immortal love, is perfect harmony. If the poet’s theme is of the good, -the beautiful, and the true, so must his love be. If these dwell not in -his heart, he shall search the world and the ages through and not find -them; and if love dwell not there with them, his themes shall never -touch our hearts.</p> - -<p>But the poet, to be appreciated, is not the only one that must possess -these qualities. It is the beauty and the love in the soul of him who -is touched by the statue, the painting, the melody, the poem, that -makes it beautiful to him. It is thus that we help the poet make the -poem. Love makes poets of us all.</p> - -<p>With our hearts thus tuned to the touch of the Maker’s hand, we may -often hold sweet communion with our poet-friends whose love still -reaches out to us through the mists of ages and beckons us to the -Valhalla of the happy. We may stand alone in the stern, inquisitorial -presence of self under the eye of Almighty God, and think thoughts our -tongues can never tell.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[103]</a></span></p> - -<p>Strolling arm in arm with good Dan Chaucer as</p> - - <div class="poetry-container"> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="ileft">“... fiery Phœbus riseth up so bright</div> - <div>That all the orient laugheth of the light,”</div> - </div> - </div> - </div> - -<p class="p-left">we may meet and join company with immortal Shakespeare, where</p> - - <div class="poetry-container"> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="ileft">“... the morn, in russet mantle clad,</div> - <div>Walks o’er the dew of yond high eastern hill”;</div> - </div> - </div> - </div> - -<p class="p-left">and then with them both we may pass down the slope to the sea-shore -where we clasp hands with Laureate Tennyson and, as we listen to the -<i>break, break, break</i> upon the sands, say in our hearts with him,</p> - - <div class="poetry-container"> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="ileft">“And I would that my tongue could utter</div> - <div>The thoughts that arise in me.”</div> - </div> - </div> - </div> - -<p>With Milton we may plunge to the lowest depths and rise to the greatest -heights, and stand with him at last in a Paradise regained. With Dryden -we may shout from the golden-tipped top of the mount of lyric song to -the battling brave below,</p> - - <div class="poetry-container"> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="ileft">“If the world be worth thy winning,</div> - <div>Think, oh think it worth enjoying”;</div> - </div> - </div> - </div> - -<p class="p-left">and hear the reverberant echoes along the channeled valleys of the soul -of Gray,</p> - - <div class="poetry-container"> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div>“The paths of glory lead but to the grave.”</div> - </div> - </div> - </div> - -<p>With Whittier, longing to do and doing the greatest good of which we -are capable, we may often question,</p> - - <div class="poetry-container"> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div>“What, my soul, was thy errand here?”</div> - </div> - </div> - </div> - -<p>Listening to the Preacher Kingsley, we may learn to</p> - - <div class="poetry-container"> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="ih">“Do lovely things, not dream them, all day long;</div> - <div>And so, make life and death and that vast forever</div> - <div class="i1">One grand, sweet song.”</div> - </div> - </div> - </div> - -<p>In our sadder moods we may, with Cowper, look<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[104]</a></span> across the dark, -Cimmerian tide and recall the face and the kiss and the touch of a -mother gone. In our gayer hours, with Burns we may gather sweet field -flowers and garland them in love; and, whether in field or shop or -kirk, learn somewhat</p> - - <div class="poetry-container"> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div>“To see oursels as others see us.”</div> - </div> - </div> - </div> - -<p>With Wordsworth, receiving those faint intimations of immortality from -recollections of early childhood, we may realize</p> - - <div class="poetry-container"> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div>“That there has passed away a glory from the earth.”</div> - </div> - </div> - </div> - -<p>With Lowell we may feel that</p> - - <div class="poetry-container"> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="ileft">“Daily, with souls that cringe and plot,</div> - <div>We Sinais climb and know it not.”</div> - </div> - </div> - </div> - -<p>If in the pursuit of life we shall have been drawn onwards by that -divine link called conscience; if we shall have heeded the advice to -the Divinity within us,</p> - - <div class="poetry-container"> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="ileft">“... To thine own self be true;</div> - <div>And it must follow as the night the day</div> - <div>Thou canst not then be false to any man”;</div> - </div> - </div> - </div> - -<p class="p-left">if within us daily we shall have said with dear old Dr. Oliver Wendell -Holmes,</p> - - <div class="poetry-container"> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="ileft">“Build thee more stately mansions, O my soul,</div> - <div class="i2">As the swift seasons roll!</div> - <div class="i2">Leave thy low-vaulted past!</div> - <div>Let each new temple, nobler than the last,</div> - <div>Shut thee from heaven with a dome more vast,</div> - <div class="i2">Till thou at length art free,</div> - <div>Leaving thine outgrown shell by life’s unresting sea”;</div> - </div> - </div> - </div> - -<p class="p-left">if we shall have done all this, I say, and followed God: then, when at -last with white-haired Bryant each of us</p> - - <div class="poetry-container"> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div>“lies down to pleasant dreams,”</div> - </div> - </div> - </div> - -<p class="p-left">the Sun shall go down with a golden halo of glory;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[105]</a></span> Beauty, eternal -Beauty, wedded to immortal Love, shall reign forever in the heart;</p> - - <div class="poetry-container"> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="ileft">“And the night shall be filled with music;</div> - <div class="i1">And the cares that infest the day</div> - <div>Shall fold their tents, like the Arabs,</div> - <div class="i1">And as silently steal away.”</div> - </div> - </div> - </div> - - <div class="poetry-container"> - <h3>USELESS?</h3> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Flowers are poetry; poetry, flowers:</div> - <div class="i1">Each is a clod of earth in bloom.</div> - <div class="i1">Useful? Aye, to the heart!—to illume</div> - <div>The rain-drop drip from the wing of the hours.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Both are the love of the great dear God</div> - <div class="i1">Set in the sod of the new child-earth,</div> - <div class="i1">Set in the heart at the earth-child’s birth,</div> - <div>Soul of the clay, and bloom of the clod.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Flowers and poetry—blossoms of Love</div> - <div class="i1">Sweetest and purest the heart can know,</div> - <div class="i1">Breathing their perfumes up from below,</div> - <div>Lifting us back to the God above.</div> - </div> - </div> - </div> - - <div class="poetry-container"> - <h3>A MORTAL.</h3> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Do the goddesses, I wonder,</div> - <div class="i1">Ever come to mortal earth,</div> - <div>Ever throw a wild enchantment</div> - <div class="i1">Round the heart of mortal birth?</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Does the goddess Venus wander</div> - <div class="i1">Ever from her realms above,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[106]</a></span></div> - <div>Liveried in the rarest raiment</div> - <div class="i1">Stolen from the courts of Love?</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Are <i>her</i> eyes of witching azure,</div> - <div class="i1">Curtained o’er with rosy light;</div> - <div>And a golden sunset halo</div> - <div class="i1">Round a smiling brow of white?</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Oh I wonder if the roses</div> - <div class="i1">Ever blush upon <i>her</i> cheeks</div> - <div>When the scented kiss of morning</div> - <div class="i1">For the rarest flower seeks.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Ah, ye purest gems of ocean,</div> - <div class="i1">Set in ruby rays serene,</div> - <div>Does your light fall down in worship</div> - <div class="i1">When those pearl-dight lips are seen?</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Aye, I wonder if the heavens</div> - <div class="i1">And the flowers of the earth,</div> - <div>As they smile upon each other,</div> - <div class="i1">Have the hundredth of her worth?</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Do the ripples of the zephyr,</div> - <div class="i1">Or the waves to music wed</div> - <div>Have the poetry of motion</div> - <div class="i1">That attends her airy tread?</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Do the Orphic orbs of æther,</div> - <div class="i1">With a lyric hand divine,</div> - <div>Draw the wandering planets round them</div> - <div class="i1">As her words this heart of mine?</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Surely, surely not a goddess,</div> - <div class="i1">’Tis a mortal I have seen;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[107]</a></span></div> - <div>Never goddess wore such features,</div> - <div class="i1">Never goddess such of mien.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>She’s the rarest of the fairest,</div> - <div class="i1">She’s the light of every eye;</div> - <div>She’s the smile of earth and ocean</div> - <div class="i1">And the glory of the sky.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Hers the lid with golden lashes</div> - <div class="i1">Raised above the Morning’s eye;</div> - <div>Hers the smile of wave and flower</div> - <div class="i1">Caught from out the blushing sky.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Oh her cheeks are rose of sunset,</div> - <div class="i1">And her eyes the stars of night;</div> - <div>Opening dawn, her lips half parted,</div> - <div class="i1">Laced with gleams of iv’ry light.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Lydian music in her being</div> - <div class="i1">An enchanted spirit dwells,</div> - <div>Caught from out the hands of angels,</div> - <div class="i1">Hands that swing the hallowed bells.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Love—the purest love of heaven—</div> - <div class="i1">Had its birth upon her lips;—</div> - <div>E’en the flowers toss her kisses</div> - <div class="i1">From their tiny finger-tips.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Oh the winds enfold the mountains</div> - <div class="i1">And the seas draw down the stars;</div> - <div>Still they sigh and murmur ever,</div> - <div class="i1">“Never love so pure as hers.”</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>And the notes forever rising</div> - <div class="i1">To the planetary seas<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[108]</a></span></div> - <div>Echo back in spheric music,</div> - <div class="i1">“Never mortals loved as these.”</div> - </div> - -<hr class="tb" /> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Heart to heart I clasped my Darling,</div> - <div class="i1">Drew her down from angel hands,</div> - <div>With my head in God’s own presence,</div> - <div class="i1">And my feet upon the sands.—</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Drew her to me from the angels,</div> - <div class="i1">As the silent summer night</div> - <div>Sweetest scent of all the roses</div> - <div class="i1">To its loving bosom might.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Day by day her sister angels</div> - <div class="i1">Sing to me her rarest worth;</div> - <div>For she’s drawing me toward heaven</div> - <div class="i1">As I drew her down to earth.</div> - </div> - </div> - </div> - - <div class="poetry-container"> - <h3>TO MORPHEUS.</h3> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="i4">Like the star</div> - <div class="i4">That afar</div> - <div class="i1">Throws its silver-wrought beams</div> - <div class="i1">As it peacefully dreams</div> - <div class="i1">On the cradle-swung crest</div> - <div>Of the billows of blue,</div> - <div class="i3">Oh on thy breast</div> - <div class="i3">So let me rest,</div> - <div class="i4">Oh rest,</div> - <div class="i5">Rest,</div> - <div>Till the kiss of the morning dew.</div> - </div> - </div> - </div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[109]</a></span></p> - - <div class="poetry-container"> - <h3>A DREAMY APRIL EVENING IN THE WOODS.</h3> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Oh sweet the sounds I hear, the sights I see,—</div> - <div class="i1">The vocal air, the blooming clod;</div> - <div>But sweeter far the thoughts that rise in me,</div> - <div class="i1">So farther earth, so nearer God.</div> - </div> - </div> - </div> - - <div class="poetry-container"> - <h3>TO THEE ABOVE.</h3> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Up from the gray of earth,</div> - <div class="i1">Over the hills of blue,</div> - <div>Out in the purpling west,</div> - <div class="i1">I come, my love, to you.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Oh not in the busy marts</div> - <div class="i1">Nor yet in the crowded throng;</div> - <div>No, not ’neath the parlor lights</div> - <div class="i1">Does my heart forget its song.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>But bound by the fetters there,</div> - <div class="i1">I cannot choose but stay;</div> - <div>Like a restive steed bound fast,</div> - <div class="i1">I fret the hours away.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>’Tis only when alone</div> - <div class="i1">I find my soul at rest;</div> - <div>’Tis then I rise to thee</div> - <div class="i1">Amid the purpling west.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>And sitting thus this eve</div> - <div class="i1">Atop my house’s tower,</div> - <div>I send my soul in love</div> - <div class="i1">To dwell with thee this hour.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[110]</a></span></div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Oh ever thus I stand,</div> - <div class="i1">A crag ’mid noisy crowds,—</div> - <div>My feet upon the sands,</div> - <div class="i1">My head amid the clouds.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>My heart to all is cold</div> - <div class="i1">Save but to thee, Sweet Heart!</div> - <div>For Death my requiem tolled</div> - <div class="i1">When thou and I didst part.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>I know nor rest nor peace,</div> - <div class="i1">I find nor life nor love</div> - <div>Save but the silent hour</div> - <div class="i1">I fly to thee above.</div> - </div> - </div> - </div> - - <div class="poetry-container"> - <h3 class="larger">CHORUS.</h3> - <div class="poetry"> - -<p class="center p-left sm">(By nymphs and naiads, sylphs and dryads.)</p> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Tripping away,</div> - <div>Blithesome and gay,</div> - <div class="i1">Light as the ether above,</div> - <div>Breathing our words</div> - <div>Sweet as the birds,</div> - <div class="i1">Sing we the power of love.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Love in its power</div> - <div>Bindeth the flower</div> - <div class="i1">Unto the common clod,</div> - <div>Lifting the low</div> - <div>Out of its woe</div> - <div class="i1">Up to the bosom of God.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[111]</a></span></div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Love in its might</div> - <div>Bindeth the light</div> - <div class="i1">Unto the shadow of day,</div> - <div>Flushing the clouds</div> - <div>Whitened like shrouds</div> - <div class="i1">Red with the last dying ray.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Love in its dream</div> - <div>Bindeth the stream</div> - <div class="i1">Unto the channels of earth,</div> - <div>Lifting the trees</div> - <div>Kissed by the breeze</div> - <div class="i1">Into a purer birth.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Heart unto heart</div> - <div>Never to part</div> - <div class="i1">Joining the gentle and strong,</div> - <div>Love’s dreaming lyre</div> - <div>Lifts ever higher</div> - <div class="i1">Finding responsive a song.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Every one,</div> - <div>Happy or lone,</div> - <div class="i1">Deep in the hills of the soul</div> - <div>Sometime shall find</div> - <div>Horn that shall wind</div> - <div class="i1">Echoes that endless shall roll.</div> - </div> - </div> - </div> - - <div class="poetry-container"> - <h3>THE LURLEI.</h3> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Only a moment! The Lurlei staid</div> - <div class="i1">Only a moment with me:</div> - <div>“Only a moment! I’ll sell,” I said,</div> - <div class="i1">“Only a moment to thee.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[112]</a></span></div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Bartered I then with the Lurlei gay</div> - <div class="i1">Only a moment of time,</div> - <div>Selling the flowers of the valley gray,</div> - <div class="i1">Buying the mountain-top’s rime.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Only a moment! The Lurlei smiled;</div> - <div class="i1">“Sell me thy birth-right,” she saith.</div> - <div>Oh, and I sold it, innocent child,</div> - <div class="i1">Buying the pottage of death!</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>“’Tis but a moment: thy honor, my dear.”</div> - <div class="i1">She layeth her hand on my head.</div> - <div>I cannot choose but heed as I hear;</div> - <div class="i1">She giveth me lust in its stead.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>“Give me, I pray thee, thy will for a time,</div> - <div class="i1">I shall reward thee right well.”</div> - <div>She beckons me whither the cloud-peaks climb,</div> - <div class="i1">She hath me under her spell.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>“Rosy thy cheek with the bloom of health,</div> - <div class="i1">Fair is thy long brown hair;</div> - <div>Here I give premature age for thy wealth,</div> - <div class="i1">Here the pure snows thou must wear.”</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>“Firm is thy tread with the boldness of youth.”</div> - <div class="i1">She holdeth my will at command;</div> - <div>She bendeth my form in age without ruth,</div> - <div class="i1">Placeth a staff in my hand.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>“Farewell, for thy moment has lengthened to years;</div> - <div class="i1">I kiss thee a withering curse:</div> - <div>Thou hast bought with thy soul-wealth a valley of tears,</div> - <div class="i1">Tears of eternal remorse.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[113]</a></span></div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>“Give me, I pray thee, my Lurlei lone,</div> - <div class="i1">Something to quiet my soul.”</div> - <div>Conscience doth slide from my heart like a stone,</div> - <div class="i1">Clouds of remorse from me roll.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>“Purity hath not a place in the heart</div> - <div class="i1">Reft of all conscience,” Lurlei:</div> - <div>Legions of Pleasures around me upstart,</div> - <div class="i1">Licentiousness pointing the way.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>“Prayer from the wicked availeth not, friend:”</div> - <div class="i1">She placeth a curse in mine eye;</div> - <div>“Heaven nor Hell is thy destine or end:”</div> - <div class="i1">She speareth my soul with the lie.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>“The sun shineth not; the moon and stars grope:”</div> - <div class="i1">Night, sable-robed, <i>doth</i> upstart;</div> - <div>“Love ruleth not, nor Pity, nor Hope:”</div> - <div class="i1">Hissing-tongued Hate gnaws my heart.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Only a moment I bartered with her,</div> - <div class="i1">Only a moment of time,</div> - <div>Selling the good, the true, and the pure,</div> - <div class="i1">Buying the glitter of crime!</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>I sold her my soul for a moment of pleasure,</div> - <div class="i1">That moment <i>has</i> lengthened to years:</div> - <div>I sold her my soul for bliss without measure,</div> - <div class="i1">I bought all Eternity’s tears!</div> - </div> - - <h4><i>L’Envoy.</i></h4> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>The Lurlei sits on the mountain’s top,</div> - <div class="i1">Combing her golden hair;</div> - <div>Her voice is sirenic, and all must stop</div> - <div class="i1">Who pass down the river there.</div> - </div> - </div> - </div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[114]</a></span></p> - - <div class="poetry-container"> - <h3>TOUGH MUTTON, PERHAPS.</h3> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div>We are having atrocious <i>tough wether</i>,</div> - <div class="i1">(To hear the <i>sheep-tenders</i> tell it)</div> - <div>But they are responsible for it</div> - <div class="i1">If that is the way they spell it.</div> - </div> - </div> - </div> - - <div class="poetry-container"> - <h3>TO MISS ——.</h3> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Upon that radiant brow of thine</div> - <div>May love and truth forever shine,</div> - <div>Like stars that light the welkin dome</div> - <div>And tint the billowy ocean’s foam.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Upon life’s desert, wild and broad,</div> - <div>Oh may’st thou walk that peaceful road</div> - <div>Which leads us on to heaven above</div> - <div>Where all is joy and peace and love.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Around thy soul so pure and white</div> - <div>May Heaven shed celestial light,</div> - <div>Life’s ocean wild to guide thee o’er,</div> - <div>And waft thee to its golden shore.</div> - </div> - </div> - </div> - -<blockquote> - -<p class="sm">[Written in youth one July in a hay-field, on a piece of paper -that had contained my dinner, with an axle-grease box for my -table, while lazily reclining under the wagon in the shade of -the willows.]</p></blockquote> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[115]</a></span></p> - - <div class="poetry-container"> - <h3 class="larger">SHUT YOUR EYES AND GO TO SLEEP.<br /> -<span class="subhed1">A KYRIELLE.</span></h3> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Dear, your heart is tired to-night,</div> - <div class="i1">And the waning watches creep;</div> - <div>All too soon the morn will come,—</div> - <div class="i1">Shut your eyes and go to sleep.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>While the stars in heaven dream</div> - <div class="i1">And the angels vigils keep,</div> - <div>Lay your head upon my arm,</div> - <div class="i1">Shut your eyes and go to sleep.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Yes, I know that fevered care</div> - <div class="i1">Trembles on your troubled lip;</div> - <div>Dreams of love will heal the heart,—</div> - <div class="i1">Shut your eyes and go to sleep.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Let your heart forget to pain,</div> - <div class="i1">And your eyes forget to weep;</div> - <div>Dream of home, and hope, and love,</div> - <div class="i1">Shut your eyes and go to sleep.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Heavy drags the wounded hour</div> - <div class="i1">Over Sorrow’s restless deep,</div> - <div>Heaving up the tide of tears,—</div> - <div class="i1">Shut your eyes and go to sleep.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Oh the heaving, stifling sigh</div> - <div class="i1">Through the night its pain will keep</div> - <div>For the pillow waking prest,—</div> - <div class="i1">Shut your eyes and go to sleep.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>With a touch like woman’s own,</div> - <div class="i1">Touch of Love’s own finger-tip,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[116]</a></span></div> - <div>I will smooth your throbbing brow,—</div> - <div class="i1">Shut your eyes and go to sleep.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Gently I will soothe your heart</div> - <div class="i1">And still your restless pulse’s leap;</div> - <div>Lay your head upon my arm,</div> - <div class="i1">Shut your eyes and go to sleep.</div> - </div> - </div> - </div> - - <div class="poetry-container"> - <h3 class="larger">BROWNING.<br /> -<span class="subhed1">(BY W. A. BACK, FARMER.)</span></h3> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Browning may be a right smart of a poet,</div> - <div class="i3">Some thinks him so;</div> - <div>But if he is he’s not anxious to show it,</div> - <div class="i3">’R else <i>I</i> don’t <i>know</i>.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Give me a singer of songs ’at sings ’em</div> - <div class="i3">With lots of soul;</div> - <div>Whose tweedle-um-twangles whenever he twings ’em</div> - <div class="i3">Jist fill you full.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>I caint endoor of a poet ’at dribbles</div> - <div class="i3">His honey in straw,</div> - <div>An’ hate none the less the blame ijit that scribbles</div> - <div class="i3">In styles all raw.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Make your own poem an’ label it “Browning”:</div> - <div class="i3">The sum an’ gross;</div> - <div>Tho’ nothin’s in his weedy rankness,—Stop frownin’!</div> - <div class="i3">Take ’nother dose!</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>My advice, you say?—Let Browning go pipin’</div> - <div class="i3">In an ivy leaf;</div> - <div>Don’t hold his sack like a fool a-snipin’,</div> - <div class="i3">This life’s too brief.</div> - </div> - </div> - </div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[117]</a></span></p> - - <div class="poetry-container"> - <h3>MADRIGAL.</h3> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Darling, here within this lyric,</div> - <div class="i1">Free from other mortal sight,</div> - <div>Free from aught but dearest day-dreams,</div> - <div class="i1">Hidden in the song I write,</div> - <div>Sits a happy, happy lover</div> - <div class="i1">In a heaven of the bliss</div> - <div>Born, in Love’s deep-breathing silence,</div> - <div class="i1">Of the rapturous sweet kiss.</div> - <div>Silently he clasps his radiant</div> - <div class="i1">Blooming bride with loving arms,</div> - <div class="i2">Hears the sweet, bell-like alarums</div> - <div>(Rung by Cupid and the angels)</div> - <div class="i1">Of sweet Passion’s inward storms</div> - <div>As her arms, so soft, climb upwards</div> - <div class="i1">And entwine themselves enwrapt,</div> - <div>Round about his neck in rarest</div> - <div class="i1">Angel-love e’er being kept.</div> - <div>—Darling, if you know the dear girl</div> - <div class="i1">That I think thus ever on,</div> - <div>I can hope you’ll find this poem</div> - <div class="i1">Ever shrines you as my own.</div> - </div> - </div> - </div> - - <div class="poetry-container"> - <h3>WORDS AND THOUGHTS.</h3> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="i2">Words are vases</div> - <div class="i3">Shaped to thought</div> - <div class="i2">Culled in places</div> - <div class="i3">Blossom-fraught;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[118]</a></span></div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="i2">Thoughts are laces</div> - <div class="i3">Finely wrought</div> - <div class="i2">From the graces</div> - <div class="i3">Bloom has caught:—</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="i3">In sherds</div> - <div class="i3">Our words</div> - <div>We break as we do vases;</div> - <div class="i3">In shreds</div> - <div class="i3">The threads</div> - <div>Of thought we tear as laces.</div> - </div> - </div> - </div> - - <div class="poetry-container"> - <h3>REX FUGIT.</h3> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="ileft">“<i>Rex fugit</i>,—The king flees.”—Thus read</div> - <div class="i1">A dignified, tall Latin student.</div> - <div class="i1">“Try ‘has,’” the usually prudent</div> - <div class="i4">Professor said.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>He rose with confidence and ease;</div> - <div class="i1">But the whole class roared with laughter</div> - <div class="i1">When he read a moment after,</div> - <div class="i4">“<i>The king has fleas</i>.”</div> - </div> - </div> - </div> - - <div class="poetry-container"> - <h3>THE SICKLE OF FLOWERS.</h3> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div>The last sad rites of death performed,</div> - <div class="i1">The sickle lies upon the grave;</div> - <div>The sickle made of blooming flowers</div> - <div class="i1">That the ruthless reaper clave.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Withered lie the flowers gathered,</div> - <div class="i1">Rusts the sickle on the ground;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[119]</a></span></div> - <div>Dead the blossoms now decaying,—</div> - <div class="i1">And the form within the mound!</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Oh the flowers of the sickle</div> - <div class="i1">And the blooms upon its blade</div> - <div>Are decaying daily, daily—</div> - <div class="i1">Sweetest flowers soonest fade!</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Oh the sickle is death’s emblem</div> - <div class="i1">And the flowers on it, rust!—</div> - <div>Emblem of the end of mortals,</div> - <div class="i1">Earth to earth, and dust to dust!</div> - </div> - </div> - </div> - -<blockquote> - -<p>[Scribbled in about five minutes on the back of an old -envelope while sitting by a new-made grave on which was a -sickle of flowers.]</p></blockquote> - - <div class="poetry-container"> - <h3>THIS TOUCH OF AN ANGEL’S HAND.</h3> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Happiness is the realization of longings,—</div> - <div class="i1">Of hope and fond desire,—</div> - <div>That enter the heart like angel-throngings</div> - <div class="i1">Bearing celestial fire.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Like the peace that follows a benediction</div> - <div class="i1">Is the painless rest it gives,</div> - <div>Lething forever the heart’s affliction</div> - <div class="i1">In the endless joy it leaves.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>’Tis the acme of life and the end of living,</div> - <div class="i1">This touch of an angel’s hand,</div> - <div>And it falls on the heart like the holy shriving</div> - <div class="i1">Of the Priest of the Better Land.</div> - </div> - </div> - </div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[120]</a></span></p> - - <div class="poetry-container"> - <h3>LIFE’S PHILOSOPHY.<br /> -<span class="subhed1">AN ALLEGORY.</span></h3> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div>How builds this budding flower, my child?</div> - <div class="i1">“It lies all wrapped in icy snows</div> - <div>Until the Suns of Spring have smiled</div> - <div class="i1">And kissed it, blushing, to a rose.”</div> - </div> - -<hr class="tb" /> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="i2">How doth the tree, fair youth, the tree?</div> - <div class="i3">“Year by year it adds a round</div> - <div class="i2">And reaches up by slow degree,</div> - <div class="i3">Keeping firm foot on the ground.”</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="i2">The vine, sweet maid, how doth the vine?</div> - <div class="i3">“By the tree’s support it lifts its head</div> - <div class="i2">And round the tree its arms doth twine;</div> - <div class="i3">Thus the two in love are wed.”</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="i2">The two, aged sire and dame, how they?</div> - <div class="i3">“The tree protects the tender vine,</div> - <div class="i2">The vine in turn binds firm the tree:</div> - <div class="i3">The two are one in shade and shine.”</div> - </div> - -<hr class="tb" /> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>What of the plant, O man, the plant?</div> - <div class="i1">“Adream in life’s fair sleep it lies</div> - <div>Until the Autumn Suns aslant</div> - <div class="i1">Shoot gleaming thwart the glowing skies!”</div> - </div> - </div> - </div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[121]</a></span></p> - - <div class="poetry-container"> - <h3>JUST AS USUAL.</h3> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div>The sun rose bright at morn,</div> - <div class="i1">The sun sank sad at night;</div> - <div>The moon’s faint golden horn</div> - <div class="i1">Waxed fair with mellow light.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>All night around the fold</div> - <div class="i1">The polar bears kept prowl;</div> - <div>Their shining eyes gleamed cold</div> - <div class="i1">And danced to the wind’s mad howl.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Clear blew the shepherd’s horn,</div> - <div class="i1">Fair flushed the eastern main;</div> - <div>The bears slunk back: ’twas morn,</div> - <div class="i1">The sun arose again!</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Sweet Love rose bright at Morn,</div> - <div class="i1">Sad Love went down at Night;</div> - <div>Fair Hope’s faint golden horn</div> - <div class="i1">Waxed sweet with mellow light.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>All night around my mind</div> - <div class="i1">My jealous fears kept prowl;</div> - <div>Cold blew the willing wind</div> - <div class="i1">That chilled my very soul.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Clear wound Dan Cupid’s horn,</div> - <div class="i1">As sweet as rapture’s pain;</div> - <div>My fears slunk back: ’twas morn,</div> - <div class="i1">And Love arose again!</div> - </div> - </div> - </div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[122]</a></span></p> - - <div class="poetry-container"> - <h3>A DEPLORATION.</h3> - <div class="poetry"> - -<p class="center p-left sm">We do often think ourselves not worth.—<i>Anonymous.</i></p> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Cold is the night, and my heart is cold,</div> - <div>Bleak as yon peak of the rockies old;</div> - <div class="i3">Chill like the hill</div> - <div class="i4">At the mountain’s foot,</div> - <div class="i3">Still as the rill</div> - <div class="i4">That lies frozen and mute.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>White is the mountain-top, gleaming with snow,</div> - <div>Cov’ring the rocks and the mould below:</div> - <div class="i3">So seems the snow</div> - <div class="i4">That my heart doth enfold,</div> - <div class="i3">Tho’ down below</div> - <div class="i4">Lie the rocks and the mould.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Deep in the hill neath the binding cold</div> - <div>Never yet found may be veins of gold.</div> - <div class="i3">And of the sand</div> - <div class="i4">And the quartz in my heart</div> - <div class="i3">Hand has not panned,</div> - <div class="i4">Maybe gold is a part.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Oh ’neath the crystal and ice-bound stream</div> - <div>Drifts every gleam of a gold-digger’s dream;</div> - <div class="i3">So neath the floe</div> - <div class="i4">Of my heart’s frozen stream</div> - <div class="i3">Slowly I know</div> - <div class="i4">Drifts the gold of love’s dream.</div> - </div> - </div> - </div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[123]</a></span></p> - - <div class="poetry-container"> - <h3>I LOVE YOU, KATE.</h3> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Dreaming rapturously,</div> - <div class="i2">Dearest Kate,</div> - <div class="i2">Full elate</div> - <div>I seek your side to-night.</div> - <div>Long, weary hours I wait</div> - <div class="i2">Each day,</div> - <div class="i2">Each day,</div> - <div>To see the glorious light</div> - <div class="i2">Of your face,—</div> - <div>To me, earth’s rarest boon,</div> - <div class="i2">That makes my night</div> - <div class="i2">A summer’s day,</div> - <div class="i2">The summer’s day</div> - <div>A bright and vernal noon,</div> - <div>The noon eternity.</div> - <div>Oh, sitting beauteously</div> - <div>Upon Love’s throne aboon</div> - <div class="i2">With sceptered sway</div> - <div class="i2">O’er all my way,</div> - <div class="i2">Still of my night</div> - <div>Make one eternal sun</div> - <div class="i2">To shine thro’ space</div> - <div>With life and love and light</div> - <div class="i2">For aye</div> - <div class="i2">And aye;</div> - <div>Nor longer bid me wait,</div> - <div>But say me “yes” to-night;</div> - <div class="i2">Because, by fate</div> - <div class="i2">I love you, Kate!—</div> - <div>Oh will you marry me!</div> - </div> - </div> - </div> - -<blockquote> - -<p>[In the above, first rhymes with last, second with second from -last, and so on.]</p></blockquote> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[124]</a></span></p> - - <div class="poetry-container"> - <h3 class="larger">THE DEAD MAN’S LIFE.<br /> -<span class="subhed">(<i>That is, practically dead.</i>)</span></h3> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Day after day have I secretly prayed</div> - <div class="i1">From the morn thro’ noon till night</div> - <div>That my life might discover some port in the west</div> - <div class="i1">Like the haven of sweet heaven’s Light.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Eve after eve as the sun has gone down,</div> - <div class="i1">With my eyes still turned to the west</div> - <div>I have prayed to the irised Pacific profound</div> - <div class="i1">For even its restful unrest.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Night after night in my bed full awake</div> - <div class="i1">I have dreamed myself weeping alone</div> - <div>In a silence as deep as the stars of the night</div> - <div class="i1">O’er a corse that I knew was my own.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Morn after morn have I risen from bed</div> - <div class="i1">With the fear and the hope of its truth,</div> - <div>Only to find that the death of the Dead</div> - <div class="i1">Is bought at the dream-god’s booth.</div> - </div> - </div> - </div> - - <div class="poetry-container"> - <h3>PITY THE POOR.</h3> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div>I pity the poor for I myself am poor,</div> - <div class="i1">Though I wear starched cuffs and collars;</div> - <div>But the brainless poor in rags I pity far more,</div> - <div class="i1">For they’ve neither <i>sense</i> nor dollars.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>I pity as much the hare-brained spendthrift wretch</div> - <div class="i1">With a wealth of only money;</div> - <div>The “sassiety” dude likewise whose droning speech</div> - <div class="i1">Smacks only of bumble-bee honey.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[125]</a></span></div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>I pity all those at whom Poverty throws her dart</div> - <div class="i1">As they joust thro’ the world with each other;</div> - <div>But I pity the most of all the bankrupt heart</div> - <div class="i1">With no love for a human brother.</div> - </div> - </div> - </div> - - <div class="poetry-container"> - <h3>LIFE’S LOST SKIFF.<br /> -<span class="subhed1">WRITTEN ON LAKE MICHIGAN.</span></h3> - <div class="poetry"> - - <h4><i>Prelude.</i></h4> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="i2">Green as emerald is Michigan;</div> - <div class="i5">And the waves,</div> - <div class="i2">Like ghosts from hungry graves,</div> - <div>Are tossing up my infant boat amain,</div> - <div class="i5">And kissing wild</div> - <div class="i2">The orphan ocean-child,</div> - <div class="i5">The rarest that has ever been,</div> - <div class="i5">The fairest that was ever seen.</div> - </div> - - <h4><i>Morning.</i></h4> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Up drives the great red sun aslant,</div> - <div class="i1">The sea-gulls flap, and scream, and fly;</div> - <div>A score of sails the sun’s rays paint</div> - <div class="i1">Upon the burning western sky.</div> - </div> - - <h4><i>Noon.</i></h4> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>How silently and slow they steer!</div> - <div class="i1">Are the waves as wild out there the day,</div> - <div>And do the ships careen and veer</div> - <div class="i1">As she that drives so fast away?</div> - </div> - - <h4><i>Night.</i></h4> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Dim shadows haunt the eastern steep,</div> - <div class="i1">The sun creeps up the glooming tower;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[126]</a></span></div> - <div>The sea-birds scream in winged sleep,</div> - <div class="i1">The ghostly billows wail the hour!</div> - </div> - - <h4><i>Finale.</i></h4> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="i2">Green as emerald is Michigan;</div> - <div class="i5">And the waves,</div> - <div class="i2">Like ghosts in yawning graves,</div> - <div>Are tossing o’er my infant boat again,</div> - <div class="i5">Embracing wild</div> - <div class="i2">The orphan ocean-child,</div> - <div class="i5">The rarest that has ever been,</div> - <div class="i5">The fairest that was ever seen!</div> - </div> - </div> - </div> - - <div class="poetry-container"> - <h3>A CLOSE ATTACHMENT.<br /> -<span class="subhed1">STRANGE STORY OF AMOS QUITO.</span></h3> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div>I have swept the airy heavens,</div> - <div class="i1">I have skimmed the rivers o’er;</div> - <div>I have slept upon the cloud-wing,</div> - <div class="i1">I have entered heaven’s door.</div> - <div>But in my peregrinations</div> - <div class="i1">Thro’ this world of ups and downs,</div> - <div>None have loved and none have sought me,</div> - <div class="i1">None have offered aught but frowns.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>I have drunk the sweetest rain-drop</div> - <div class="i1">On its heaven-mission sent;</div> - <div>I have danced upon the rainbow</div> - <div class="i1">Where its colors fairest blent.</div> - <div>I have laughed and skipped and frolicked,</div> - <div class="i1">I have hummed my sweetest songs;</div> - <div>But I’ve never found the attachment</div> - <div class="i1">That I think to me belongs.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[127]</a></span></div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Ah, the world’s appreciation</div> - <div class="i1">Of my endless wealth and worth</div> - <div>Is a desiccated desert,</div> - <div class="i1">Is a sterile, arid dearth!</div> - <div>I’m the fairest of my fellows,</div> - <div class="i1">And the most affectionate;</div> - <div>Hence the world’s indifference to me</div> - <div class="i1">On my mighty soul doth grate.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>I have kissed the blushing maiden,</div> - <div class="i1">I have lullabied to babies;</div> - <div>I have feasted on the features</div> - <div class="i1">Of a million lords and ladies.</div> - <div>’Tis the lover’s same old story—</div> - <div class="i1">Disappointment everywhere!</div> - <div>None have loved—except to hate me,</div> - <div class="i1">None have hated—save to spare!</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Now at length my weary pinions,</div> - <div class="i1">Out of reach of mortal kind,</div> - <div>Rest from all men’s scorns and buffets,</div> - <div class="i1">And their first attachment find,</div> - <div>And I cannot choose but stay here</div> - <div class="i1">Where I’ll always stay to hum,</div> - <div>For I’ve reached life’s golden acme,—</div> - <div class="i1">I am stuck on chewing gum!</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>I am sleepy now, and happy,</div> - <div class="i1">Let profane hands not disturb;</div> - <div>Let none mar my wildest dreamings,</div> - <div class="i1">Nor ecstatic tumblings curb.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[128]</a></span></div> - <div>Since ’twas not in life permitted</div> - <div class="i1">That his blood I s-i-p,</div> - <div>May mankind write:</div> - </div> - </div> - </div> - -<div class="boxed"> - -<p class="center p-left">AMOS QUITO!<br /> - LET HIM EVER<br /> - R.-I.-P.</p> -</div> - - <div class="poetry-container"> - <h3>THE DEMONIAC.</h3> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Great God! and must I, must I live,</div> - <div class="i1">And can I never die,</div> - <div>I whom the press of sorrow’s hand</div> - <div class="i1">Hurled headlong from the sky?</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>How long, O Lord, must I thus wait,</div> - <div class="i1">How long in blasting blight,</div> - <div>Each idle day imploring death,</div> - <div class="i1">And dreaming death each night?</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Each hour I fill some heart with woe,</div> - <div class="i1">And blast some heart with mine!</div> - <div>To me ’tis living death to know</div> - <div class="i1">My heart stills poisoned wine!</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Ten million, million deaths I live</div> - <div class="i1">Each wasting, poisoned hour;</div> - <div>For, whom I love my presence damns—</div> - <div class="i1">I blight each blooming flower.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Oh that the grinning skeleton</div> - <div class="i1">This faithless flesh doth hold</div> - <div>Might lay its lying mantle off</div> - <div class="i1">To dream on downs of mould!<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[129]</a></span></div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>The leaf must fade, the sun must set,</div> - <div class="i1">The sweetest day must die;</div> - <div>But Death, Decay, and Woe must live,—</div> - <div class="i1">And so, and so must I!</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Oh days to me are lengthened years,</div> - <div class="i1">The years like ages creep;</div> - <div>I’ve tossed ten million centuries</div> - <div class="i1">On life’s unfathomed deep!</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>I’ve seen the crawling sea-weed rot</div> - <div class="i1">In slime upon that sea,</div> - <div>And slimy things find birth therein</div> - <div class="i1">To live in death, like me.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>I find no peace, I know no rest,</div> - <div class="i1">My very self I fly;—</div> - <div>Unfit to love, unfit to live,</div> - <div class="i1">And far less fit to die!</div> - </div> - </div> - </div> - - <div class="poetry-container"> - <h3>THE WEATHER FIEND.</h3> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="i3">Of the weather</div> - <div class="i3">Ask us whether</div> - <div>We enjoy it thus and thus;</div> - <div class="i3">If it suits us,</div> - <div class="i3">What it boots us,</div> - <div>If it matters much to us.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="i3">When it’s raining,</div> - <div class="i3">Come complaining</div> - <div>That “it’s muddy out today.”</div> - <div class="i3">It will please us</div> - <div class="i3">And will ease us</div> - <div>Of the thing we’d like to say.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[130]</a></span></div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="i3">When a blizzard</div> - <div class="i3">Like a lizard</div> - <div>Wriggles up and down your spine,</div> - <div class="i3">Don’t be fool-like,</div> - <div class="i3">Just keep cool, like</div> - <div>All green “pickles” on the vine.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="i3">If it’s cold out,</div> - <div class="i3">Don’t be sold out</div> - <div>When you tell somebody so</div> - <div class="i3">If he says he</div> - <div class="i3">’S melting as he</div> - <div>Gently mops his frigid brow.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="i3">If it’s snowing,</div> - <div class="i3">With a knowing</div> - <div>Wink within your “weather eye”</div> - <div class="i3">It is sound to</div> - <div class="i3">Say, “We’re bound to</div> - <div>Have some sleighing by and by.”</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="i3">If we <i>shiver</i></div> - <div class="i3">When your clever</div> - <div>Tongue remarks “<i>it’s hot as ’ile</i>,”</div> - <div class="i3">It’s because of</div> - <div class="i3">Those old <i>saws</i> of</div> - <div>Weather that you always <i>file</i>.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="i3">We can stand it—</div> - <div class="i3">Yes, demand it,</div> - <div>That you be a weather bore,</div> - <div class="i3">For we never</div> - <div class="i3">Heard such clever</div> - <div><i>Originality</i> before.</div> - </div> - </div> - </div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[131]</a></span></p> - - <div class="poetry-container"> - <h3>WHO KNOWS!</h3> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="i6">Ah me!—</div> - <div class="i3">O’er the wide</div> - <div class="i3">Deep I glide</div> - <div class="i5">Where flows</div> - <div class="i7">For me</div> - <div>Either waters ’mid the plashes</div> - <div class="i1">Of the lacing star-light lashes,</div> - <div>Or a sea ’mid lightning gashes</div> - <div class="i1">With their booming cannon-crashes—</div> - <div class="i5">Who knows!</div> - <div class="i7">Ah me!</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="i3">In the wide</div> - <div class="i3">River’s tide</div> - <div class="i5">Still flows</div> - <div class="i7">For me</div> - <div>Either waters bearing bubbles</div> - <div class="i1">From the waves that pelt the pebbles,</div> - <div>Or a muddy sea of troubles</div> - <div class="i1">With its melancholy trebles—</div> - <div class="i5">Who knows!</div> - <div class="i7">Ah me,</div> - <div class="i9">Ah me!</div> - </div> - </div> - </div> - - <div class="poetry-container"> - <h3>THE DEATH-HOWL.</h3> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="hangingindent">I shall die to-night, dear mother, I have heard the long death-howl,</div> - <div class="hangingindent">That long plaintive, mournful cry like the wail of some lost soul.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[132]</a></span></div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="hangingindent">And it sounded like a spirit crying through a distant storm,</div> - <div class="hangingindent">Moaning that another mortal should put on the brutish form!—</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="hangingindent">Wailing that a brother-spirit should exchange its form for that</div> - <div class="hangingindent">Of the baying hound, or worse, of the death-rhymed Irish rat.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="hangingindent">But my mother, darling mother! old Pythagoras was wrong,</div> - <div class="hangingindent">For the death-howl dies away, and I hear the angel-song.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="hangingindent">—Yet, I’ve heard that death-howl, mother, and I know I’ll die to-night—</div> - <div class="hangingindent">And the room is filling, filling with a strange, unearthly light!</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="hangingindent">Oh that glorious sight out yonder in the vast eternity</div> - <div class="hangingindent">Where the light and song are leading—come! oh come and go with me!</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="hangingindent">Dearest mother, mother, mother! what a joyous, joyous sight!</div> - <div class="hangingindent">Each glad soul as life has dreamed it clad in purest angel-white!</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="hangingindent">The death-howl’s died away, dear mother,—and I’m dying now to-night!—</div> - <div class="hangingindent">Good-night mother, earth’s dear angel, once more mother, sweet good-night!</div> - </div> - </div> - </div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[133]</a></span></p> - - <div class="poetry-container"> - <h3>ON PLUCKING A CROCUS.</h3> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Sweet Crocus! harbinger of spring,</div> - <div class="i1">Awake, with others sleeping,</div> - <div>How have I wrecked thy new-born life</div> - <div class="i1">And set thy parent weeping!</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>See! sad her weeping eyes upturning,</div> - <div class="i1">Adrip with love for thee,</div> - <div>And arms outstretched implore thy slayer</div> - <div class="i1">That thou’lt returnéd be.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Alas! in vain her tears must flow,</div> - <div class="i1">Her palms implore the youth</div> - <div>Who pluckéd thee from out her heart</div> - <div class="i1">And set in his such ruth.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>I cannot give thee back—I would</div> - <div class="i1">I might! I’d send thee thither;</div> - <div>It grieveth me to see her weep,</div> - <div class="i1">To know that thou shalt wither.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>My heart ne’er tho’t when thee I plucked,</div> - <div class="i1">For thou not yet hadst won it,</div> - <div>How much I took, how little gave—</div> - <div class="i1">I would I had not done it.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Lift up thy drooping head again—</div> - <div class="i1">I would the word would do it!—</div> - <div>Make me not weep for plucking thee;</div> - <div class="i1">Thou know’st how much I rue it.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Thy pure and purple-tinted petals,</div> - <div class="i1">Thy open lily-lips,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[134]</a></span></div> - <div>Thy olden-golden anthered stamens</div> - <div class="i1">Thy saffron pistil-tips!—</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Would I could here embalm them all</div> - <div class="i1">And wrap in verses meet</div> - <div>So that thou’dst be, when years should roll,</div> - <div class="i1">To others just as sweet!</div> - </div> - - <h4><i>Envoy.</i></h4> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>’Tis thus, O soul-inspired poet,</div> - <div class="i1">The world shall greet thy song—</div> - <div>Shall pluck it from thy throbbing soul</div> - <div class="i1">To die amidst the throng.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>And thus, O plucker of the crocus,</div> - <div class="i1">Shall Death come unto thee—</div> - <div>Shall pluck thee from thy mother’s heart,</div> - <div class="i1">Shall thy embalmer be.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>So may’st thou live and do and be</div> - <div class="i1">That Death, with riches rife,</div> - <div>Shall be thy welcome harbinger,—</div> - <div class="i1">The crocus of thy life.</div> - </div> - </div> - </div> - - <div class="poetry-container"> - <h3>GRAVITY—LIFE!<br /> -<span class="subhed sm">(After Browning—several miles after.)</span></h3> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="i4">Gravity—what?</div> - <div class="i5">Attraction we call it,</div> - <div class="i5">Yet mind cannot thrall it—</div> - <div class="i4">Where is it not?</div> - <div>Life of world-stuff—truly it is!</div> - <div>—Life then of man?—His, and not his!<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[135]</a></span></div> - <div>’Tis of all matter; thus ’tis of man;</div> - <div>’Tis of all space, and spans the world’s span.</div> - <div>Matter, man! Gravity, life!</div> - <div>—Each fits to each; with the other at strife.</div> - <div class="i3">Life? It is—what?</div> - <div class="i4">Who can explain it?</div> - <div class="i4">Mind cannot chain it—</div> - <div class="i3">God! how ’tis wrought!</div> - </div> - </div> - </div> - - <div class="poetry-container"> - <h3>DEATH—LIFE.</h3> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Sadly o’er the moor I fare,</div> - <div class="i1">Lonely, lonely all the day;</div> - <div>Life nor leaf nor song is there;</div> - <div class="i1">Barren, barren all the way.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Sun and spring and hope are bright,</div> - <div class="i1">Sweetly, sweetly dreaming there;</div> - <div>Life will wake with love and light,</div> - <div class="i1">Joyous, joyous everywhere.</div> - </div> - </div> - </div> - - <div class="poetry-container"> - <h3>HOT?—WELL, RATHER!</h3> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div>The sun come peekin’ crost the hills</div> - <div class="i1">With round, red, shinin’, smilin’ face</div> - <div>That broadened to a grin from ear</div> - <div class="i1">To ear,—a most perdigeous space!</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Then he showed his teeth an’ slapped his sides</div> - <div class="i1">An’ laughed an’ shook with all his might</div> - <div>To think how ’tarnal hot ’t’ould be</div> - <div class="i1">Fer us a-sittin’ still ’fore night.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[136]</a></span></div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>’Twas “purty warm this mornin’” ’fore</div> - <div class="i1">’Twas eight o’clock; an’ then ’twas found</div> - <div>“Quite warm”; then “hot”, an’ “awful hot”</div> - <div class="i1">Before the minute-hand’s tenth round.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>At twelve ’twas “b’ilin’ hot”, and yet</div> - <div class="i1">No stop; ’twas “meltin’ hot” at two;</div> - <div>All said, “I’m dyin’ with the heat!”—</div> - <div class="i1">“The hottest day I ever knew!”</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Why, stalks of corn that mornin’ growed</div> - <div class="i1">Full two foot—ears pupo’tional;</div> - <div>An’ then, ’fore night, ’twas dry an’ ripe</div> - <div class="i1">Like when you shuck it in the fall.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>The steeples on the churches all</div> - <div class="i1">Was drawed to more’n three times their height,</div> - <div>An’ lightnin’-rods was stretched to wire</div> - <div class="i1">That melted off like wax ’fore night.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>The weather-boardin’ all warped off</div> - <div class="i1">An’ shingles rolled in little tubes;</div> - <div>Big saw-logs doubled up in bows,</div> - <div class="i1">An’ water crystallized in cubes.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>The hoops of barrels tumbled off</div> - <div class="i1">An’ wagon-tires follered suit;</div> - <div>The forests growed so awful fast</div> - <div class="i1">They all was pulled up by the root.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Men melted in the harvest-field</div> - <div class="i1">An’ fried to cracklin’s light as chaff,</div> - <div>A-sizzlin’ in a way that made</div> - <div class="i1">Old Nickie chuck hisse’f an’ laugh!<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[137]</a></span></div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>In one big city, folks all died</div> - <div class="i1">But Smith (Sid. Smith). This chap took off</div> - <div>His flesh an’ lolled ’round in his bones</div> - <div class="i1">(But it killed him;—caught cold, and died of a cough).</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>I can’t begin to tell how hot</div> - <div class="i1">It was—it can’t be even guessed.</div> - <div>It’s still so all-infernal hot</div> - <div class="i1">I can’t begin to try to rest.</div> - </div> - </div> - </div> - - <div class="poetry-container"> - <h3>A YEAR AGO.</h3> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="i7">A year ago</div> - <div>I held the fondest hopes</div> - <div class="i1">That ever touched the fondest heart,</div> - <div class="i1">Nor dreamed that I should ever part</div> - <div>From all that fancy opes,</div> - <div class="i7">A year ago.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="i7">A year ago!—</div> - <div>Sweet mem’ry’s golden chime!—</div> - <div class="i1">A flower bloomed beneath my sill</div> - <div class="i1">And by its soft, enchanting smell</div> - <div>I lost all count of time</div> - <div class="i7">A year ago.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="i7">A year ago</div> - <div>I slept a bed of peace</div> - <div class="i1">Beneath the stars of summer skies</div> - <div class="i1">While dreams like dews o’erdropt my eyes</div> - <div>That this should never cease—</div> - <div class="i7">A year ago!<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[138]</a></span></div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="i7">A year ago</div> - <div>My morning-glory vine,</div> - <div class="i1">Soft whispering with the wings of bees,</div> - <div class="i1">Foretold that whisperings like these</div> - <div>Should endlessly be mine—</div> - <div class="i7">A year ago!</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="i7">A year ago</div> - <div>The sun light-kissed the moon,</div> - <div class="i1">Glad skies upon the sweet lake hung,</div> - <div class="i1">And mingled Life and Love and Song</div> - <div>Rode near their highest noon—</div> - <div class="i7">A year ago.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="i7">A year ago!—</div> - <div>Then, then each sister vine</div> - <div class="i1">Upon a brother sweetly leaned:</div> - <div class="i1">Thus we, Dear Heart, ourselves demeaned</div> - <div>When Love had made you mine</div> - <div class="i7">A year ago.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="i7">A year ago</div> - <div>’Twas Love from sun to sun:</div> - <div class="i1">To-day I fold you to my heart</div> - <div class="i1">And know that nought but death can part</div> - <div>The love and life begun</div> - <div class="i7">A year ago.</div> - </div> - </div> - </div> - - <div class="poetry-container"> - <h3>THE SWEETEST OF ALL.</h3> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div>There are tears of pity and tears of woe,</div> - <div class="i1">And tears half of rapture and pain will fall;</div> - <div>And tears for excess of joy must flow,</div> - <div class="i1">But the tears of love are the sweetest of all.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[139]</a></span></div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>There’s the sorrow of husband, the sorrow of wife,</div> - <div class="i1">And the sorrow that knows no recall;</div> - <div>The sorrow of death and the sorrow of life,</div> - <div class="i1">But the sorrow of love is the sweetest of all.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Oh the sighs of remorse and the sighs of pain</div> - <div class="i1">And the sighs of hope that the heart enthrall</div> - <div>May be sweet to the soul and balm to the brain,</div> - <div class="i1">But the sighs of love are the sweetest of all.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>There’s the laugh of the farm-boy, free and wild,</div> - <div class="i1">The laugh in the boisterous banqueting hall;</div> - <div>The laugh of the sage, the laugh of the child,</div> - <div class="i1">But the laugh of love is the sweetest of all.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>There are smiles of contentment and smiles of cheer</div> - <div class="i1">And smiles that gladden wherever they fall;</div> - <div>There are smiles that banish the thoughts of fear,</div> - <div class="i1">But the smiles of love are the sweetest of all.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>There’s the kiss sweet-blown from the finger tips,</div> - <div class="i1">The kiss of good-bye when the tear-drops fall;</div> - <div>There’s the kiss of a cherishing mother’s lips,</div> - <div class="i1">But the kiss of love is the sweetest of all.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>There are songs that sing in a minor key,</div> - <div class="i1">And songs that the listening heart appall;</div> - <div>There are songs that sing like the constant sea,</div> - <div class="i1">But the songs of love are the sweetest of all.</div> - </div> - </div> - </div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[140]</a></span></p> - - <div class="poetry-container"> - <h3>THE LOVER’S COMPLAINT.</h3> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Sorrows live and pleasures dee,</div> - <div class="i1">Willy-willy-waly weep my woe!</div> - <div>And I’ll wear the willow-tree,</div> - <div class="i1">Willow-willow weeping, sweeping low.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>For I loved a bonnie lass,</div> - <div class="i1">Willy-willy-waly weep my woe!</div> - <div>Bonnie, bonnie Love, alas!</div> - <div class="i1">Willow-willow, whither did she go?</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Here upon this willow-tree,</div> - <div class="i1">Willy-willy-waly weep my woe!</div> - <div>I will hang my harp, and dee,</div> - <div class="i1">Willow-willow, will she ever know?</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>On my heart I’ll place my hand</div> - <div class="i1">Willy-willy-waly wailing so!</div> - <div>On my head a green garland,</div> - <div class="i1">Willow-willow weeping sleeping so!</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Then farewell, my bride and breath,</div> - <div class="i1">Willy-willy-waly, waly-oh!</div> - <div>Still I love you, tho’ my death,</div> - <div class="i1">Willow-willow wailing—will she know!</div> - </div> - - </div> - </div> - -<blockquote> - -<p>[The willow-tree is emblematical of death, or forsaken -love—which, to the lover, is, of course, all the same -thing. The custom of a disappointed lover’s hanging his -harp on a willow-tree and going off to the wars in utter -desperation—hoping to get killed, perhaps, and thus be -revenged on his false sweetheart by making her <i>sorry</i>!—; -also the custom of wearing a green-willow garland about the -hat, and leaning up against the tree (they had no fences) to -die, somewhat <i>à la</i> Job’s turkey, I presume, as they used to -do before quicker, modern, new-fangled methods of a lover’s -getting<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[141]</a></span> out of the world came in; and the custom of doing -many other things that were done by the young ancient lovers, -is a custom that is dead. The preceding is the wail of one of -these youthful old dolorous fellows, in the English-Ballad -style of his day.]</p></blockquote> - - <div class="poetry-container"> - <h3>BUZZ.</h3> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="i5">“Buzz, buzz, buzz!”</div> - <div class="i1">In my ear the sound is drumming,</div> - <div class="i1">On my heart-chords ever strumming,</div> - <div class="i5">“Buzz, buzz, buzz!”</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Whence the sound, my soul’s confusion?</div> - <div class="i5">“Buzz, buzz, buzz!”</div> - <div class="i1">Comes the sound from days of childhood</div> - <div class="i1">Thronging echoes thro’ the wildwood</div> - <div class="i5">“Buzz, buzz, buzz!”</div> - <div>Youth has planted in profusion.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Thro’ the tangles wildly growing</div> - <div class="i5">“Buzz, buzz, buzz!”</div> - <div class="i1">Crieth Hope, my lost companion,</div> - <div class="i1">Left behind in Wild-oats Cañon,</div> - <div class="i5">“Buzz, buzz, buzz!”</div> - <div>With the sap of manhood flowing.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="i5">“Buzz, buzz, buzz!”</div> - <div class="i1">Aged now I listen gladly</div> - <div class="i1">To the echoes that so sadly</div> - <div class="i5">“Buzz, buzz, buzz!”</div> - </div> - </div> - </div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[142]</a></span></p> - - <div class="poetry-container"> - <h3>WASHINGTON.<br /> -<span class="subhed"><i>22 Feb.</i></span></h3> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Great Washington! Dear father of the land</div> - <div class="i1">Our glorious Lincoln died to save! thou who</div> - <div class="i1">Wast mightiest of men to beat the foe</div> - <div>In war; admired of every nation and</div> - <div>Of every hearth, yet more because thy hand</div> - <div class="i1">Was mightiest in peace; exalted thro’</div> - <div class="i1">The years to more than Jove’s own heights of blue,</div> - <div>Still ruling us from yon far golden strand!—</div> - <div>For thee this day is made the nation’s day;</div> - <div class="i1">For thee the red of dawn, the white of morn,</div> - <div class="i2">And spangled blue of night are all unfurled,</div> - <div>Are all the emblems of our love for thee,</div> - <div class="i1">To liberty and home God’s greatest boon,</div> - <div class="i2">O noblest, grandest, best of all the world!</div> - </div> - </div> - </div> - - <div class="poetry-container"> - <h3>FREEDOM’S BATTLE SONG.<br /> -<span class="subhed1">CANTUS FILIIS VETERANORUM.</span></h3> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div>We think the thoughts our fathers thought,</div> - <div class="i1">And sing the same old songs;</div> - <div>We fight the battles they have fought,</div> - <div class="i1">And right the same old wrongs.</div> - </div> - - <h4 class="smaller1">CHORUS.</h4> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Hurrah! hurrah! oh may its colors wave,</div> - <div class="i1">Hurrah! hurrah! the banner of the free,</div> - <div>O’er thee for aye, thou Land our fathers gave,</div> - <div class="i1">O Land my home, sweet Land of Liberty.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[143]</a></span></div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>We breath, the air our fathers breathed,</div> - <div class="i1">Inspiring freedom still;</div> - <div>Unsheathe the sword that they unsheathed,</div> - <div class="i1">And strike with dauntless will.</div> - <div class="i14a">—<i>Chorus.</i></div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Behold the same old sun above,</div> - <div class="i1">The same old spangled dome</div> - <div>Forever shining out in love</div> - <div class="i1">On Freedom’s happy home.</div> - <div class="i14a">—<i>Chorus.</i></div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>We’ll guard the home our fathers won</div> - <div class="i1">And fight the latest foe;</div> - <div>We’ll stand by every loyal gun</div> - <div class="i1">Where Freedom’s streamers flow.</div> - <div class="i14a">—<i>Chorus.</i></div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Beneath the stripes of red and white</div> - <div class="i1">And starry spangled blue,</div> - <div>Protected by the God of Right</div> - <div class="i1">We’ll fight the battle through.</div> - <div class="i14a">—<i>Chorus.</i></div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>We’ll bid defiance to the world</div> - <div class="i1">And make the welkin ring,</div> - <div>With Freedom’s dauntless flag unfurled</div> - <div class="i1">And God above, our King.</div> - <div class="i14a">—<i>Chorus.</i></div> - </div> - </div> - </div> - - <div class="poetry-container"> - <h3>’MONG THE MOUNTAINS OF THE SOUL.</h3> - <div class="poetry"> - -<p class="center p-left p1 sm">My grief lies all within.—<i>Shakspere, Rich. II.</i></p> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Tell me not that tears are sorrow,</div> - <div class="i1">Tell me not that grief must flow</div> - <div>Like sad drops of rain descending,</div> - <div class="i1">Or like streams in valleys low.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[144]</a></span></div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Mute and sweet as Death’s own slumber,</div> - <div class="i1">In the heart that’s dumb with grief</div> - <div>There is eloquence, and mournful,</div> - <div class="i1">That doth shame all tear-relief.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>From the heart of silent sorrow,</div> - <div class="i1">Clouds of woe can never rise,</div> - <div>And dissolve themselves with raining</div> - <div class="i1">To congeal in weeping eyes.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Oh, the heart may bleed with mourning,</div> - <div class="i1">And the soul may burst with grief;</div> - <div>Nought of weeping nor of moaning,</div> - <div class="i1">Nought of tears can give relief.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Deep among the soul’s great mountains,</div> - <div class="i1">Silent as the night doth come,</div> - <div>Clouds of grief may soft be raining,</div> - <div class="i1">Shrouding every hill in gloom.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Oh, along the channeled valleys,</div> - <div class="i1">Sad as Charon’s river’s roll,</div> - <div>Streams of grief may deep be flowing</div> - <div class="i1">’Mong the mountains of the soul.</div> - </div> - </div> - </div> - - <div class="poetry-container"> - <h3>HAL A-HUNTIN’.</h3> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Onct we went a-huntin’,</div> - <div class="i1">Pa ’n’ me, we did,</div> - <div>’N’ <i>I</i> went ’long an’ tookt ol’</div> - <div class="i1">Rover.—’N’ we did</div> - <div>Have ist the mostest fun!—</div> - <div>’N’ Pa, w’y he tookt a gun.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[145]</a></span></div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Rove ist <i>skeert</i> the rabbits</div> - <div class="i1">Outen the grass,</div> - <div>’N’en Pa he shooted at ’em</div> - <div class="i1">When they runned pas’.</div> - <div>My landy! how they run!</div> - <div>Wushed <i>I’d</i> a had a gun!</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Pa ist shooted at ’em,</div> - <div class="i1"><i>Hard</i>, but couldn’t</div> - <div>Kill ’em, ’cause when <i>he’d</i> shoot,</div> - <div class="i1">The <i>gun</i>—<i>w’y</i>—<i>wouldn’t</i>.</div> - <div>’N’en Pa said ’twan’t no fun</div> - <div>A-huntin’ wif <i>sich</i> a gun.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>My! but didn’t them rabbits</div> - <div class="i1">Go a scootin’!—</div> - <div>’N’ Rover after’m, ist a-</div> - <div class="i1">Skallyhootin’!</div> - <div>’N’ Pa said, “see what <span class="smcap">HE</span> done”</div> - <div>(When he comed home) “<i>wif his gun!</i>”</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>’N’en the hired man ist</div> - <div class="i1">Laft an’ shook’n’</div> - <div>When he’d skun ’em all, he</div> - <div class="i1">Said, a-lookin’</div> - <div>Solemn-like (in fun),</div> - <div>“What a <i>dog-gone</i> gun.”</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>’N’en when Ma she fried ’em</div> - <div class="i1">’N’ we was a-eatin’</div> - <div>Of ’em up, Ma said ’at</div> - <div class="i1">It was beatin’</div> - <div>How that dog could run!—</div> - <div>Guess he’s the goodest gun!<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[146]</a></span></div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>’N’en Pa’s face got red, an’</div> - <div class="i1">He scowled at me</div> - <div><i>Awful</i>, ’n’ said, “You little</div> - <div class="i1">Young rascal, see</div> - <div>Here! what ’d you go’n’ haft</div> - <div>To tell for?” ’N’en they laft!</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Wusht Pa’d take me wif him</div> - <div class="i1">Huntin’ again;</div> - <div>But he says ’at I’m too</div> - <div class="i1">Awful green—</div> - <div>Rabbits might eat me! I</div> - <div>Guess not! Wonder why?</div> - </div> - </div> - </div> - - <div class="poetry-container"> - <h3>WRITE FROM THE HEART.</h3> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Write from the heart straight outwards</div> - <div class="i1">When divinely the feelings glow,</div> - <div>Write for the soul’s satisfaction,</div> - <div class="i1">And you’ll fashion the best outward show.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Write as the June rose blossoms,</div> - <div class="i1">Always straight from the inside out</div> - <div>Slowly unfolding its petals</div> - <div class="i1">From the ports of its Power’s redoubt.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Then from the sweet breathing petals,</div> - <div class="i1">That I swear seem almost human to me,</div> - <div>Perfumes rush out thro’ the portals</div> - <div class="i1">In the drunkenest ecstasy.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>So let your heart in your poem</div> - <div class="i1">Breathe its song like a living rose,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[147]</a></span></div> - <div>Sweet with its deepest-drawn perfumes</div> - <div class="i1">As from soul unto soul it goes.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Write from the heart straight outwards,</div> - <div class="i1">Caring not for the glitter and show;—</div> - <div>Write as the showers from heaven,</div> - <div class="i1">Nor forget how the sweet roses blow.</div> - </div> - </div> - </div> - - <div class="poetry-container"> - <h3>WHITHER?</h3> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Whither this Highway, Child?</div> - <div>“To the Field of Flowers,—to the Flowers wild.”</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Whither this Highway, Youth?</div> - <div>“Through the Fields of Love to the home of Ruth.”</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Whither this Highway, Man?</div> - <div>“Through the realms of Fame into Class and Clan.”</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Whither this Highway, Sire?</div> - <div>“To the silent Tomb with its marble spire!”</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Whither, oh whither, Tomb?—</div> - <div>But voiceless it points to the azure dome.</div> - </div> - </div> - </div> - - <div class="poetry-container"> - <h3>OUR ALMA MATER.</h3> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Dear Alma Mater! beloved thro’ all the west!</div> - <div class="i1">Thou who hast taught our infant feet the way</div> - <div class="i1">Of light and truth! thou who hast been our stay</div> - <div>And prop thro’ all our weakness! thou whose zest</div> - <div>In strength’ning us would never let thee rest,</div> - <div class="i1">E’en in thy trials as in prosperity!</div> - <div class="i1">’Tis ours to-day in thy adversity<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[148]</a></span></div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>To aid thee, speed thee thro’ this fiery test.</div> - <div>And as thou, like the Phœnix, bird of old,</div> - <div class="i1">Comest from forth thy ruined home, for aye</div> - <div class="i2">In broader fields to live and grow, from west</div> - <div>To east the lengthened shout is roll’d,</div> - <div class="ih">“’Tis ours, by thee made strong, to strengthen thee,</div> - <div class="i2">To us, of all the world the dearest, best!”</div> - </div> - </div> - </div> - - <div class="poetry-container"> - <h3>FATHER TIME.</h3> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div>I am the father of the river,</div> - <div class="i1">Of the sea, and of the mountain;</div> - <div>Of the sunlight that doth quiver</div> - <div class="i1">In the rainbow of the fountain.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>I have raised up men and nations,</div> - <div class="i1">I have builded homes and cities;</div> - <div>I have given all their stations,</div> - <div class="i1">Him who scorns and him who pities.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>I have forged the tears and sorrows</div> - <div class="i1">Of a Russia, broken-hearted,</div> - <div>Into chains of sad to-morrows</div> - <div class="i1">That but death of kings has parted.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>I have woven joy and laughter,</div> - <div class="i1">Fairest of life’s flowers,</div> - <div>Into garlands that hereafter</div> - <div class="i1">Shall be worn in Eden’s bowers.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Oh the sorrows and the pleasures</div> - <div class="i1">Of the world in faultless rhyme</div> - <div>Blend the music of their measures</div> - <div class="i1">With the step of Father Time.</div> - </div> - </div> - </div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[149]</a></span></p> - - <div class="poetry-container"> - <h3>THUS LIFE’S TALE.</h3> - <div class="poetry"> - - <h4>I.</h4> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Away out yonder on the great horizon</div> - <div class="i5">Sail, sail away;</div> - <div>Sail, my soul, with thy breaking burthen,</div> - <div class="i5">Sail, sail, nor stay.</div> - </div> - - <h4>II.</h4> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Away in the westward where the sun is dipping</div> - <div class="i5">Gold, gold from the sea,</div> - <div>Gold of a glorious El Dorado—</div> - <div class="i5">Sail, sail to-day.</div> - </div> - - <h4>III.</h4> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>See the straight horizon by the great sun hollowed:</div> - <div class="i5">Sail swift that way.</div> - <div>Sail! ’tis the portal the sun has opened,</div> - <div class="i5">Sail, sail nor stay.</div> - </div> - - <h4>IV.</h4> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>The sun is flashing thro’ the broad portcullis:</div> - <div class="i5">See, see my sail!</div> - <div>See the shroud thro’ the gate disappearing!—</div> - <div class="i5">Thus, thus life’s tale!</div> - </div> - - <h4><i>Finale.</i></h4> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>The sea is tolling and the mer-folk weeping:</div> - <div class="i5">Sailed, sailed away;</div> - <div>Sailed the soul with its life-laded burthen,</div> - <div class="i5">Mourned, mourned the clay.</div> - </div> - </div> - </div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[150]</a></span></p> - - <div class="poetry-container"> - <h3>PART OF THE NEW ENGLAND LAMENT.<br /> -<span class="subhed1">ON THE KILLING OF SITTING BULL, 1891.</span></h3> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Sitting Bull and the other Sioux</div> - <div>Lived in the land where the blizzards blioux,</div> - <div class="i1">And they grioux, and they grioux, and they grioux!—</div> - <div>Till one day they shot him thrioux</div> - <div>And kicked up an awful hullabalioux,—</div> - <div class="i1">Bioux-hioux, bioux-hioux, bioux-hioux!</div> - <div class="i8">—<i>Terhwytt-in-the-Twinkle D’Bioux.</i></div> - </div> - </div> - </div> - - <div class="poetry-container"> - <h3>ON KINGSLEY’S “FAREWELL.”</h3> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Let’s climb the steeps, let’s drink of Kingsley’s fountain;</div> - <div class="i1">Let’s stand with him above the rabbled throng</div> - <div>Upon the sun-tipped top of his grand mountain</div> - <div class="i8">Of moral song.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Oh listen to the music of the river</div> - <div class="i1">Along the channeled valleys of his soul</div> - <div>As its threnode-throbbing echoes on us ever</div> - <div class="i8">Their <span class="smcap">Farewell</span> roll:—</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>“Be good, sweet maid, and let who can be clever;</div> - <div class="i1">Do lovely things, not dream them, all day long,</div> - <div>And so make life, and death, and that vast forever</div> - <div class="i8">One grand, sweet song.”</div> - </div> - </div> - </div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[151]</a></span></p> - - -<h3>THE TRANSFORMATION.<br /> -<span class="subhed2">A PSYCHOLOGICAL MYSTERY.</span></h3> - -<p class="p1">I am not superstitious, not in the least. But that certain things which -we cannot explain by any natural method may happen in the lives of us -all, there is no longer a shadow of a doubt in my own mind.</p> - -<p>I had gone to bed as usual and had been sleeping soundly one night, -with only the faint glimmer of a sweet vision now and then flitting -through my mind, when suddenly I was startled from my sleep into a -lively consciousness of a strange presence, and weird, mournful sounds, -as of a dirge, in my room. Moreover, there was a peculiar sensation in -my head, a sensation that I have never before or since felt, a kind of -pain, yet not a pain; for in some indefinable way it was mysteriously -mingled with a peculiar, almost transporting rapture that seemed to -permeate my whole being. Indeed, the pain, starting immediately between -my brows and running back to my crown, seemed born of this pleasurable -sensation, which had no local residence but was in every nerve and -fibre, both together producing that indescribable exhilarating feeling -that I imagine the truly happy in the next world possess. But, you say, -surely the angels have no pain. I hope not; but this I have learned, -that every pleasure of earth has its pain. And as I cannot say that -this sensation was altogether that of a mortal, I cannot say from -experience that there is a pleasure without a pain.</p> - -<p>For a moment after awaking, I could not tell where I was or what was -going on. But my senses being quickly roused to their fullest keenness, -I soon saw I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[152]</a></span> was in my own room. But the matter of the presence and -the weird sound was not so easily solved.</p> - -<p>I lay quietly for a time, trying to persuade myself that I had been -dreaming and that my waking fancy was merely the hallucination of the -dream that had not yet passed away. Have you never done the like? -However, I soon realized that the presence and the sound, whoever or -whatever they were, were not mere fancy. Still I tried to shake off the -feeling that some one had entered my room; for, as is my custom, I had -securely barred the front door, also my bed-room door, before retiring. -Besides, no one could possibly have climbed in at my windows of the -second story without my knowing it; for when I am so nervous as I was -this night, the slightest sound will waken me. I turned over and looked -out of the window. The moon was still shining, and the trees swayed -with a soft murmur in answer to the light breeze that wantoned among -the virgin May leaves just lately from the bud. There were the houses, -the barns, the road, everything, in fact, just as it really was, and I -knew I could not possibly be asleep.</p> - -<p>Still, that consciousness of a presence in my room, stronger and -stronger grown until it had reached conviction, I could not rid myself -of; nor could I shut my ears to the mournful sounds that came from -somewhere—everywhere, it seemed.</p> - -<p>Suddenly—most wonderful to tell!—I saw the very faintest streak of -light creep up the farther wall of my room.</p> - -<p>All that I have related did not, perhaps, occupy more than a full -minute, though I must confess it seemed much longer.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[153]</a></span></p> - -<p>The thread of light, different from all lights I have ever before seen, -moved toward the ceiling rapidly, and held me in breathless attention. -What could it be!—A ray of the moon through a slit in the curtain that -was gently moved by the breeze blowing through the window? Wait! It -reached the ceiling. Then with such a delicate light that it was almost -imperceptible, it crept along the ceiling diagonally toward me. When it -got immediately above my head, it stopped. What in the world could it -be!</p> - -<p>I lay almost breathless, wondering. Wouldn’t you, my friend, if you -should see such a thing in your room? You may not know what you would -do in such case. Possibly you say you would investigate at once. So, -too, had I said many a time,—I would investigate whatever was strange, -doubtful, or inexplicable. But if your hands would not move, if your -feet lay motionless, and if your whole being were thrilled with a -thralling rapture and pain all at once, you would probably do just as I -did,—lie there fascinated.</p> - -<p>Suddenly, like a flash, something struck me on the forehead, and -instantly I sat bolt upright in bed. As I rose, whatever it was -that struck me bounded off on the bed, then down on the floor, that -mysterious filmy thread of light following it, and at the same time -clinging to my forehead. I put my hand up to brush it away. But when -I touched it (if I really did touch it, which I doubt, for my hand -seemed suddenly arrested), my whole body trembled as if shaken by some -supernatural power. It was something more than a light,—it was a film, -a thread; and at my touch upon it, that sensation of mingled pain and -rapture was almost be<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[154]</a></span>yond my power to survive. I let my hand drop -from it, and unable to resist doing what I did, I rose from my bed and -started to follow up that thread of light and film; for somehow it -seemed attached to my brain, and I involuntarily obeyed the will of -whoever or whatever it was that controlled it. Though fully conscious -of all I was doing, I could not resist. Great beads of sweat stood on -my body, caused partly, I suppose, by extreme nervous excitement and -partly by this influence upon me.</p> - -<p>I would have hastened from the room, screamed for help, or cried -“murder!” but it was impossible. Even the rapidity of my steps was -under control, and I marched slowly, deliberately, and solemnly, as to -martial music of the dead.</p> - -<p>I passed from my sleeping-room to my study, obedient to the slightest -inclination of the supernatural power that controlled the thread by -which I was led.</p> - -<p>When I reached my study-chair at my desk, I obediently sat down. Then -for the first time I beheld the object that was exerting this power -over me. I have seen many an object before and since very similar to -it, but never at any time another just like it.</p> - -<p>As I sat in my chair, my eyes riveted on the thread of light, suddenly -that object appeared at the other end of the thread on a pile of -blank writing paper that lay on my desk, and eyed me intently. I was -horrified, and if possible, less capable of resisting than before. What -I beheld, and what was exerting this supernatural influence over me was -nothing more nor less than a horrible, ugly spider!—a supernatural -spider, most certainly; different, I tell you, from any I have ever -before or since seen.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[155]</a></span></p> - -<p>As I sat watching the spider, it began moving up and down, back and -forth, and round and round on the paper in the most irregular motions -imaginable. Being rather large and clumsy-looking, his movements, so -very irregular though really not ungraceful, made the spider at first -look awkward.</p> - -<p>Wonder upon wonder! As the spider began moving, another one, somewhat -smaller than the first, and more dimly seen, with even a finer thread -of light (attached, too, to the first spider’s thread), made its -appearance on another pile of paper. Could it be that a whole army of -spiders had convened to work my destruction, and that these two were -only the picket-guards? Yet it did seem that this one was not present, -but only the vision of a spider, existing somewhere in reality, but -present only to my mind. This, too, I am persuaded to believe, was -really the case. But the other one, the larger one, I swear was there -moving on my paper; and I still have the paper in my possession as -proof. As this one began to move, the visionary one also began to move; -as if each, unconscious of the acts of the other, was nevertheless -controlled by the action of the other, and the influence upon each -other was mutual. As they both moved, I noticed they left their -shining, filmy thread upon the paper. But I was so intent upon every -motion that I paid no attention to the web left behind, until each -spider, having almost reached the right-hand side of the paper, cut his -thread, went to the left, and began again to go through similar motions.</p> - -<p>What could be the meaning of this mystic spider-dance? Such, indeed, -it now seemed to be; for my first impression of irregularity and -clumsiness had now<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[156]</a></span> worn away, and their motions now seemed to be in -perfect unison, and measured with the grace and harmony of rhythm. The -room was but dimly lighted by the rays of moon that slipped in under -the curtains, yet I could see the spiders and their work plainly. I -glanced at the glowing web the first spider had left, and—wonderful to -relate!—as true as the sun shines above us, there at the top of the -page in writing that, had it been in ink, I would have sworn was my -own, the glowing web had been woven in and out so as to read, <i>Happy -Days of Yore!</i></p> - -<p>Could it be possible?—was I not dreaming? I looked and read and read -and looked again and again. But there it was, plain as day, in a style -of writing, too, I say, that I would have sworn was my own had it been -in ink instead of woven in a glowing web. But why those words? Could -there be something in my life, past or present, that those words were -to taunt me about? My whole life’s history trailed before my eyes, a -galaxy of pleasant memories. No, nothing there that these words could -make regretful. Could it then portend something of a dark future? God -alone knows!</p> - -<p>Thus meditating, my eye caught the less distinct glow of the web of the -other spider. Heavens! what next! There, as distinct as if written by -the hand of my old chum, were the words, <i>Memories of the Past</i>. Here -was a mystery growing deeper and deeper each moment. I would willingly -have taken my oath, and will to this day, that the handwriting was that -of my boyhood chum and present dear old friend.</p> - -<p><i>Happy Days of Yore</i>,—<i>Memories of the Past</i>. How was I to solve -the mystery of the weaving of these<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[157]</a></span> words and fathom their intended -meaning? Both suggested to my mind a similar train of thought. But why -this mysterious writing?</p> - -<p>As I sat thus meditating, I again became conscious of that weird -sound of which I have previously spoken, but which (my mind being so -preoccupied with what was before it) I had not again noticed until I -fell into this meditation.</p> - -<p>It sounded like the sweet, sad blending of mournful voices singing, -or chanting, rather, to the deep tones of a distant organ. I recalled -myself and looked at the large spider, when I discovered that—mystery -of mysteries!—the echo-like organ voice and solemn chanting music -came from the spider alone as he moved across the paper, weaving his -golden web into rhythmic words! There, as the music went on, I read in -illuminated characters of the weaving spider’s web.—</p> - - <div class="poetry-container"> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Oh those happy days of yore</div> - <div>Will come back to me no more!</div> - <div>Ah no more, no more for aye!—</div> - <div>They have fled with time away,</div> - <div class="i1">And my heart is sad and lone</div> - <div>As I dream forevermore,</div> - <div class="i1">With a heaving sigh and groan,</div> - <div>Of those happy days of yore.</div> - </div> - </div> - </div> - -<p>Most wonderful!—wonderful not in the words so much, for they were -simple, plain, and as they moved to the music, graceful withal, seeming -to be words that might come from a sincere and true but untutored -poetic heart; wonderful, therefore, rather, that they should be woven -by a spider, and that, too, with a web of light.</p> - -<p>As in eager wonder I leaned my ear closer, the vision<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[158]</a></span> of the second -and more delicate spider, likewise weaving, passed before my eyes, and -I caught the distant strains of a deeper, sadder, sweeter melody, with -these words woven in the finer, more delicate thread of light.—</p> - - <div class="poetry-container"> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Oh how sweet those days of boyhood,</div> - <div class="i1">Oh how dear those happy hours</div> - <div>When I rambled through the forests</div> - <div class="i1">’Mong the birds and trees and flowers!</div> - <div>Life lay smiling all before me,</div> - <div class="i1">No regrets, no cares behind;</div> - <div>All the earth seemed bright with beauty,</div> - <div class="i1">Life was freedom unconfined.</div> - <div>I rejoiced whene’er the sunlight</div> - <div class="i1">Scattered wide its golden beams,</div> - <div>Thinking not that I should ever</div> - <div class="i1">Miss its light or prize its gleams.</div> - </div> - </div> - </div> - -<p>Still more wonderful and remarkable than anything before was the -similarity of music as well as of thought: more wonderful and more -remarkable because neither spider seemed conscious of the other’s -action or presence. Indeed, as I have already said, only one -really was present; the other existing in another place, and only -<i>psychologically</i> present to me. This latter fact, shown in all that -follows, I tell you, is the most remarkable psychological problem I -have ever met—except one!—nor have I ever yet found sage or savant -able to solve it. Many have tried it, wondered at it more and more as -they got more and more into its depths and subtle intricacies, and -finally in their weakness have given it up. Herbert Spencer, McCosh, -and other lesser philosophers cannot satisfy themselves upon it.</p> - -<p>My interest was now, if possible, even greater than before. Again I -turned my attention to the present spider as in melody it wove.—</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[159]</a></span></p> - - <div class="poetry-container"> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Oh those days of sweetest thought!</div> - <div>Oh those days with rapture fraught!</div> - <div>Had I known when but a child</div> - <div>What great blessings round me smiled,</div> - <div class="i1">With a wild, exulting leap</div> - <div>I’d have struck on wisdom’s door;</div> - <div class="i1">Piled up knowledge heap on heap</div> - <div>In those happy days of yore.</div> - </div> - </div> - </div> - -<p>Both were weaving rapidly, as if their very lives were an ephemeral -inspiration, and they were thus weaving it away in illuminated letters, -that at least that inspiration might live, though the very weaving -should cost both their lives. So I hastened again to look, and to -listen to the other richer and deeper melody.—</p> - - <div class="poetry-container"> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Ah, those days are gone forever;</div> - <div class="i1">Time has wafted them away;</div> - <div>Happiness now seems a phantom</div> - <div class="i1">Of a joyous yesterday.</div> - <div>If I could but live them over,</div> - <div class="i1">All those careless, happy hours,</div> - <div>Start again in life’s fair morning</div> - <div class="i1">O’er life’s path of thorns and flowers,</div> - <div>Not a moment would be wasted</div> - <div class="i1">Chasing bubbles in the air—</div> - <div>I would seek the pearls of knowledge,</div> - <div class="i1">And the gems of wisdom wear.</div> - </div> - </div> - </div> - -<p>Could it be that those two spiders were endowed with human faculties, -and that those faculties were now working in unison, inspired by the -same thought, the same feeling? I had little time to meditate this, for -both wrote (I can’t help saying they <i>wrote</i>) as rapidly as slow music -goes, or about as rapidly as I am writing this; and the first spider -had already begun the third stanza.—</p> - - <div class="poetry-container"> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Could I live again those days</div> - <div>That I spent in idle plays<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[160]</a></span></div> - <div>And could know of learning’s worth,</div> - <div>I’d not waste my time in mirth;—</div> - <div class="i1">I would climb the hill of fame</div> - <div>And on wisdom’s wings would soar</div> - <div class="i1">Till I caught the beacon flame</div> - <div>In those happy days of yore.</div> - </div> - </div> - </div> - -<p>I then involuntarily turned to the other; but finding that it had -completed a page, as indeed both had done, I removed the finished sheet -of the visible one and at the same instant and by the same act removed -that of the psychologically visible one; though how this latter was -accomplished even psychologists are at their wits’ end to explain. Even -to the close I continued thus to remove the finished sheets as soon as -they were completed. And now from the second I heard.—</p> - - <div class="poetry-container"> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Had I known of wisdom’s power</div> - <div class="i1">In those days with pleasure fraught,</div> - <div>From the mines of truth and beauty</div> - <div class="i1">Golden trophies I’d have brought.</div> - <div>All the lore of bygone ages</div> - <div class="i1">From my books I would have learned;</div> - <div>O’er the bards I would have pondered</div> - <div class="i1">Tho’ my lamp till morning burned;</div> - <div>All the broad empire of Nature</div> - <div class="i1">With its wealth of laws divine</div> - <div>Should have shown to me the beauty</div> - <div class="i1">Of Omnipotent design.</div> - </div> - </div> - </div> - -<p>While I listened to this, the first spider, apparently conscious of -my abstraction, had waited; but on again bending my eyes in that -direction, again the sad melody floated upwards and away to the -heart-felt words.—</p> - - <div class="poetry-container"> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Oh, my heart grows weak and faint,</div> - <div>And it sighs in sad complaint</div> - <div>As it dreams its dreams of woe</div> - <div>Of the silent long ago.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[161]</a></span></div> - <div class="i1">And a pain is at my heart,</div> - <div>Not alone for wisdom’s lore,</div> - <div class="i1">For ’twas pierced by sorrow’s dart</div> - <div>In those happy days of yore.</div> - </div> - </div> - </div> - -<p>What strange tale could this be I was listening to? I turned to the -second weaver of words to mournful melody, and caught the same spirit -in these similar words.—</p> - - <div class="poetry-container"> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div>I’d have read that revelation</div> - <div class="i1">Traced by our Creator’s hand</div> - <div>Over all our glorious planet,</div> - <div class="i1">In the sky and sea and land.</div> - <div>High and bright the lamp of knowledge</div> - <div class="i1">Shone for all who’d seek its light;</div> - <div>Ah, how oft I scorned to seek it</div> - <div class="i1">In the glare of pleasures bright!</div> - <div>Oft upon the dreary mountain</div> - <div class="i1">Have my weary footsteps strayed:—</div> - <div>But ’tis not for wisdom only</div> - <div class="i1">That my vain regrets are made.</div> - </div> - </div> - </div> - -<p>So! what a train of unutterable sadness the last words of each called -up, suggesting some strange sorrow that must force itself into -expression of sorrowing strains of music, tuned to even sadder words. -Ah yes! to the first, listen!—</p> - - <div class="poetry-container"> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div><i>She</i> was like a radiant rose</div> - <div>That with sweetness overflows.</div> - <div>Her bright eyes were darkest blue</div> - <div>And her hair a golden hue.</div> - <div class="i1">She was lovely as the day,</div> - <div>And within her breast she bore</div> - <div class="i1">Heart as light and bright and gay</div> - <div>As those happy days of yore.</div> - </div> - </div> - </div> - -<p>Breathlessly I turned to the cadence of the other.—</p> - - <div class="poetry-container"> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div>In those days of idle dreaming,</div> - <div class="i1">Ere life’s toils I’d entered in,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[162]</a></span></div> - <div>Fancy framed for me an image</div> - <div class="i1">Of the one I’d woo and win.</div> - <div>It was in an idle romance</div> - <div class="i1">My ideal played a part;</div> - <div>But that image, framed in fancy,</div> - <div class="i1">Soon was graven on my heart,</div> - <div>And I said, “That maiden only</div> - <div class="i1">Of my ideal’s charms complete</div> - <div>Shall have power to lead me captive</div> - <div class="i1">And to bring me to her feet.”</div> - </div> - </div> - </div> - -<p>Ah, ’tis the old, old story that ever sings itself in the human heart, -the story of love. But can it be these spiders are human that they -should thus weave their gold-enlighted words to silver chords of -harmony?</p> - -<p>Once more!—To the first rhythmic weaver, a pleasing recollection.—</p> - - <div class="poetry-container"> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div>We were playmates, she and I,</div> - <div>In that happy time gone by:</div> - <div>Oft we’d walk the meadows over</div> - <div>Hunting for the four-leaved clover</div> - <div class="i1">As we’d seen the lovers do;</div> - <div>We the woods would oft explore</div> - <div class="i1">Where the fragrant flowers grew</div> - <div>In those happy days of yore.</div> - </div> - </div> - </div> - -<p>And then to the second, the same image, lifting upward and away, above -the clover-blooms and forest-flowers of sweet memory, comes like the -peace of a benediction; and the words weave to quicker though to still -sad notes.—</p> - - <div class="poetry-container"> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Time passed on and boyish fancies</div> - <div class="i1">Were by youth’s bright hopes replaced;</div> - <div>Gay companions were around me,—</div> - <div class="i1">Every pleasure we embraced.</div> - <div>And among those friends and schoolmates,</div> - <div class="i1">There was one surpassing fair:<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[163]</a></span></div> - <div>Light her heart and light her footstep,</div> - <div class="i1">Blue her eyes and gold her hair.</div> - <div>Then her pure and gentle spirit</div> - <div class="i1">Shone abroad like smiles from heaven.—</div> - <div>Ah, such divine gifts of beauty</div> - <div class="i1">Seldom are to mortals given.</div> - </div> - </div> - </div> - -<p>The first one had now finished two pages; the second, three. How -much more they would weave I neither knew nor thought. I was too -much fascinated by the weirdness and reality of it all to think of -anything but the two stories that were being thus wonderfully—thus -psychologically though not supernaturally—revealed to me in beauty by -ugly spiders that wrought together; each, I knew, unconscious of the -other. This fact of each being unconscious of the words, thoughts, and -music of the other, and the fact that the web of one was woven into -characters to represent my handwriting, while that of the other was the -illuminated work of my old chum, gave the two songs an interest that no -one else can even approach. No, not even if the same situation should -present itself to him, and the spiders should be actually before him, -as their work, robbed of all these fascinating features, now is.</p> - -<p>Both now wove more and more rapidly, and it was only when the first -had woven the following whole page of manuscript that I turned to the -other.—</p> - - <div class="poetry-container"> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Oft when twilight slowly crept</div> - <div>Over hill and vale that slept,</div> - <div>We would wander side by side</div> - <div>In the golden eventide</div> - <div class="i1">By the school-house on the hill</div> - <div>Where so oft we’d been before,</div> - <div class="i1">Or beside the water-mill</div> - <div>In those happy days of yore.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[164]</a></span></div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Oh those days,—sweet, happy days!</div> - <div>Ever round my mind there plays</div> - <div>Fitful Fancy’s dear delight,</div> - <div>Bringing back the time so bright</div> - <div class="i1">When we wandered hand in hand</div> - <div>To the little country store,</div> - <div class="i1">And the mystic future planned</div> - <div>In those happy days of yore.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>New years came as old ones went;</div> - <div>Childhood’s years at last were spent;</div> - <div>We from friends to lovers grew</div> - <div>And nor pain nor sorrow knew.</div> - <div class="i1">Oh how fondly did I dream</div> - <div>Folding close my fond Lenore</div> - <div class="i1">As we sailed adown life’s stream</div> - <div>In those happy days of yore!</div> - </div> - </div> - </div> - -<p>Here the sad-voiced dreamer paused a moment, then glided to the -top of the page and waited for me to remove the leaf, while I read -and half aloud chanted from the illuminated page of the other this -master-melody:—</p> - - <div class="poetry-container"> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div>When she came, ’twas like the sunbeam</div> - <div class="i1">Shedding gladness o’er the lea;</div> - <div>When she’d gone, ’twas like the ceasing</div> - <div class="i1">Of enchanting melody.</div> - <div>Oft when daily tasks were over,</div> - <div class="i1">She and I together strolled</div> - <div>From the hamlet to the seaside</div> - <div class="i1">Where the restless billows rolled.</div> - <div>Hours and hours we’d wander, gathering</div> - <div class="i1">Treasures from the shifting sand</div> - <div>As each ebbing tide receding</div> - <div class="i1">Left its wonders on the strand.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Long we’d watch the stately vessels</div> - <div class="i1">Riding proudly o’er the foam,</div> - <div>Some for distant countries steering,</div> - <div class="i1">Some returning—bound for home.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[165]</a></span></div> - <div>Then we’d seek the peaceful harbor</div> - <div class="i1">Where our little sail-boat lay,</div> - <div>And while skimming o’er the waters</div> - <div class="i1">Laugh and sing the hours away.</div> - <div>Then at twilight, when all nature</div> - <div class="i1">Save the sea was hushed and still,</div> - <div>We would turn our footsteps homeward</div> - <div class="i1">To the hamlet on the hill.</div> - </div> - </div> - </div> - -<p>So pleasing was this recollection that I could not yet turn away, but -listened rather than read, as the musician continued on the next page; -for he had finished this, and the harmony continued unbroken.</p> - - <div class="poetry-container"> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div>And that image framed in boyhood</div> - <div class="i1">Of the one I’d woo and win,</div> - <div>Ah, my ideal!—I had found her</div> - <div class="i1">In my darling Evylyn.</div> - <div>But the dim, uncertain future!—</div> - <div class="i1">Oh that we could raise the veil</div> - <div>And by gazing down the valley</div> - <div class="i1">Know what fortune would prevail;</div> - <div>Whether joy or blinding sorrow,</div> - <div class="i1">Gladness or unending woe,</div> - <div>Should forever be our portion</div> - <div class="i1">While we linger here below.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Two short summers I had known her,</div> - <div class="i1">Years that seemed like one bright day;</div> - <div>But at last the spell was broken,</div> - <div class="i1">And my gladness fled away:</div> - <div>Duty called me from that hamlet</div> - <div class="i1">Where youth’s happy days were spent</div> - <div>Out into the great, free, wide world,</div> - <div class="i1">And with brightest hopes I went.</div> - <div>Ah, that parting by the seaside</div> - <div class="i1">One bright evening in the spring</div> - <div>By the dear old friendly ocean—</div> - <div class="i1">There I gave the engagement ring.</div> - </div> - </div> - </div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[166]</a></span></p> - -<p>Just here a sharp pain in my right forefinger interrupted the music, -and reminded me that I had not removed the completed page of the first -harmony-breathing minstrel. I immediately did so, and at once the -billows of subdued music swept through the room to the perfect time of -the weaver’s words in portentous minstrelsy.—</p> - - <div class="poetry-container"> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div>In the bright and merry spring,</div> - <div>Then I gave the engagement ring;</div> - <div>And in sweet and holy bliss</div> - <div>Sealed our vow with Love’s own kiss.</div> - <div class="i1">Heart and hope and thought were one</div> - <div>As we walked as heretofore</div> - <div class="i1">Where the brooklet used to run</div> - <div>In those happy days of yore.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>But the future none can tell</div> - <div>And, or weal or woe, ’tis well;</div> - <div>For, if it were otherwise,</div> - <div>When the mystic veil should rise</div> - <div class="i1">And reveal what is to come,</div> - <div>Happiness would be no more;—</div> - <div class="i1">Hearts would call to hearts but dumb</div> - <div>In those happy days of yore.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Could we gaze on life’s emprise,</div> - <div>Frozen tears would dim our eyes;</div> - <div>Rippling laughs on lips would freeze</div> - <div>As the future’s death-cold breeze</div> - <div class="i1">Chilled the life of loving hearts;</div> - <div>Happy days would come no more,</div> - <div class="i1">And we’d sigh with fitful starts</div> - <div>For those happy days of yore.</div> - </div> - </div> - </div> - -<p>Here I noticed the striking difference (the only difference throughout -the two poems) between the wishes of the two, both passionately and -beautifully put, and paused a moment to grasp the full meaning. But -only<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[167]</a></span> a moment, for I was too interested in this enchanting symphony -to wait longer. Already the poet in spider’s form that was the more -delicate, beautiful, and pathetic was continuing.—</p> - - <div class="poetry-container"> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div>In a distant western city</div> - <div class="i1">Far away from that loved spot,</div> - <div>I began the strife in earnest,</div> - <div class="i1">Not complaining of my lot;</div> - <div>For in two years from our parting</div> - <div class="i1">I’d return and claim my own.</div> - <div>So I worked and dreamed and waited,</div> - <div class="i1">Cheered by that one thought alone.</div> - <div>Fortune smiled on my endeavors,</div> - <div class="i1">And each week a message brought</div> - <div>From that one beside the seashore</div> - <div class="i1">Who was ever in my thought.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>But at last the darkness gathered,—</div> - <div class="i1">Clouds as dark as Ethiop’s land.</div> - <div>One dark day there came a letter</div> - <div class="i1">Written by a stranger’s hand.</div> - <div>Evylyn, it said, was drooping,</div> - <div class="i1">Drooping, fading very fast;</div> - <div>Though she would admit no danger,</div> - <div class="i1">Her short life would soon be past.</div> - <div>Many months, the message stated,</div> - <div class="i1">She had faded day by day;</div> - <div>Yet to me each cherished letter</div> - <div class="i1">Had been cheerful, bright, and gay.</div> - </div> - </div> - </div> - -<p>I found myself so in sympathy with the two spiders—or poets and -musicians, rather, in spider form—that I pitied them deeply, -and—shall I say?—loved them. The first melodist continued more -mournfully, and to slower, sad, and muffled music.—</p> - - <div class="poetry-container"> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div>All the spring and summer long</div> - <div>Did I list the seraph-song.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[168]</a></span></div> - <div>But when autumn came around</div> - <div>With a sighing, mournful sound,</div> - <div class="i1">My sweet blossom faded fast;</div> - <div>And my radiant, fond Lenore</div> - <div class="i1">Yielded to the chilling blast</div> - <div>In those autumn days of yore!</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>As the flowers fade and die</div> - <div>’Neath the cold and cloudless sky,</div> - <div>So my Darling drooped and died!</div> - <div>And my dear intended bride</div> - <div class="i1">With a long and last farewell</div> - <div>Crossed the silent waters o’er</div> - <div class="i1">While we tolled her funeral knell</div> - <div>In those parting days of yore!</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>In the deepest dearth of night</div> - <div>When the starry dome was bright,</div> - <div>Came the angels round her bed;</div> - <div>And they numbered with the dead</div> - <div class="i1">My angelic, radiant Love</div> - <div>Whom the seraphs named Lenore,</div> - <div class="i1">Wafting here away above,—</div> - <div>Saddest, saddest days of yore!</div> - </div> - </div> - </div> - -<p>I am not a man who easily gives way to feeling; but the plaintiveness -of the music and the mournfulness of the simple words made me forget -the mysterious bard that was weaving this tale of pathos, and I bowed -my head in sorrow, with my heart full of pity and love for both the -afflicted and the noble-hearted sweet departed. As I did so, the -threnodic notes, as if dying away in the echoing distance of the blue -dome above, thus came from the heart of the other minne-singer.—</p> - - <div class="poetry-container"> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div>With an aching heart I started</div> - <div class="i1">For her home beside the sea,</div> - <div>Once again to see my Darling</div> - <div class="i1">Ere Death snatched his prize from me.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[169]</a></span></div> - <div>But a cruel fate hung o’er me;</div> - <div class="i1">Ere I reached that eastern home,</div> - <div>Her angelic soul was wafted</div> - <div class="i1">Far beyond the starlit dome.</div> - <div>Through the distant shining portals,</div> - <div class="i1">Breathing of eternal love,</div> - <div>Passed my Evylyn, my treasure,</div> - <div class="i1">To the brighter world above.</div> - </div> - </div> - </div> - -<p>Surely, surely, I thought, these breathers of harmony cannot be ugly -spiders. They are too human—or shall I say too divine?—for that. I -had been so absorbed in the two songs that, strange perhaps to say, -though I think not, I had scarcely noticed the spiders themselves nor -their illuminated web-woven words. I felt now that the songs were -nearly ended; and through tear-dimmed eyes, I looked once more at the -page on my desk. How strangely brighter the light seemed to be, yet so -softer!</p> - -<p>Could it be possible! Wasn’t this, after all, some dream?—I dashed the -tears from my eyes with my left hand.—No, I was wide awake. No doubt -about that. There, too, that light from the words was even brighter -than when it was seen through my tears.</p> - -<p>Surely, surely, these were not spiders; but spirits, rather, in this -disguise. As this thought flew through my brain, I removed the fifth -finished page of manuscript, when lo! I almost screamed for mercy that -no more revelations be made to me. For the spider glided to the top of -the new page, and as he did so, I saw and marveled how much smaller -he had grown, as if he had spun his whole body away in his glowing -web. But still stranger transformation: All about him, like a spirit -embodying the body, was a dim halo of light, such as a star often forms -of the mists, that doubtless had<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[170]</a></span> been forming from the first although -I had not noticed it, having been too absorbed in the songs themselves.</p> - -<p>As I looked steadily, transfixed by this new revelation, I saw that -haloing light, as true as I live, shape itself in a half human form; -and like a light-enhaloed star moving across the scroll of the Almighty -in spheric music set to angel words, this transformed being of light -trembled across the page before me and trailed these gold-enlighted -words through the solemn rhythm of the olden melody.—</p> - - <div class="poetry-container"> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div>By the babbling little brook,</div> - <div>In a quiet, shaded nook,</div> - <div>Sleeps my loved and lost one now.</div> - <div>Over pallid lip and brow</div> - <div class="i1">Grow the scented flowers wild</div> - <div>Bright as when I wandered o’er</div> - <div class="i1">This same spot when but a child</div> - <div>In those happy days of yore.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Many years have come and gone</div> - <div>Since that face I’ve looked upon;</div> - <div>Many weary paths I’ve trod</div> - <div>Since we laid her ’neath the sod.</div> - <div class="i1">Still I wander, sad and lone;</div> - <div>Still my heart is grieved and sore,</div> - <div class="i1">For she sleeps beneath the stone</div> - <div>Since those happy days of yore.</div> - </div> - </div> - </div> - -<p>Thoughts of the dead always affect me beyond expression. The thought -of the death of this darling girl, glorious in her own true heart, I -can but feel, and glorified even more by the unfailing constancy and -eternal love of him who, grown old and gray, still keeps her ever in -his heart, so affected me that my own heart seemed almost broken. -I could endure no more, and turned away. But as I did so,—O sweet -angels of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[171]</a></span> mercy! was there no escape?—there the other heaven-gifted -musician, spirit-embodied, halo-enshrouded like the first, met my eyes, -and I was forced against my will to listen to the most plaintive, most -pathetic melody that had yet grieved my heart.—</p> - - <div class="poetry-container"> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div>In a grave down by the seashore,</div> - <div class="i1">She was laid by loving hands</div> - <div>Where old ocean sings a requiem</div> - <div class="i1">Evermore upon the sands.</div> - <div>There the summer tide is flowing</div> - <div class="i1">As I stand upon the shore,</div> - <div>And it calls up sacred mem’ries</div> - <div class="i1">Of the happy times of yore.</div> - <div>Fragments of a wreck are drifting</div> - <div class="i1">On the surface of a wave—</div> - <div>Emblem of my hopes and prospects,</div> - <div class="i1">Wrecked, and lying in her grave.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Many weary years have vanished,</div> - <div class="i1">Years of wand’ring, sad and lone,</div> - <div>Since that pure angelic spirit</div> - <div class="i1">Joined the seraphs round the throne.</div> - <div>O’er her grave beside the ocean,</div> - <div class="i1">Lovingly the stars still shine,</div> - <div>While the tide’s wild song of gladness</div> - <div class="i1">Seems to bear her voice divine.</div> - <div>Oft in dreams I see my lost one,</div> - <div class="i1">Hear her voice as soft and low</div> - <div>As a strain of far-off music;—</div> - <div class="i1">But the dawn brings back my woe.</div> - </div> - </div> - </div> - -<p>Bowed with unutterable grief,—grief that was so severe that it choked -back every tear into my heart,—I buried my head in my arms to shut -out both sight and sound, and wept as tearless grief alone can weep. -The angel-images of the two that had gone Home, forever to await -the happier marriage in eternal union there, I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[172]</a></span> saw looking down -compassionately, while the two mourners left behind were constantly -reaching upwards toward those loved ones beyond their ken in the dim -unknown, and sometimes almost touching the finger-tips of the hands -unseen! Yes; and the music! I heard it over, and over, and over again, -sometimes near, sometimes far, always sweet and tremulous, sometimes -sounding in my ear, sometimes dying away and echoing back from the -dome of that Home above.</p> - -<p>When again my fevered eyes looked upon the page, I wondered if it could -be that these embodiments of both verse and music could be changing -so rapidly, or if the change had been going on constantly without my -notice. Both transformed—I know not now what to call them—had now -become so small that I could scarcely distinguish their bodies through -the spirit-like halo. And that halo every moment grew more and more -human—no, not human; but, though an embodying spirit, it grew more and -more like a disembodied human soul. Less and less visible became the -body of each, more and more like a human soul became the halo of each -as the first wove itself away into the final web.—</p> - - <div class="poetry-container"> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Oh, my heart is sad and lone</div> - <div>And it sighs with heaving groan</div> - <div>As it dreams its dreams of woe</div> - <div>Of the silent long ago.</div> - <div class="i1">But I’ve reached the river’s brink;</div> - <div>Soon I’ll dip the golden oar,</div> - <div class="i1">And beneath the waves will sink</div> - <div>All those happy days of yore.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Soon I’ll greet my bright Lenore</div> - <div>Where we’ll meet to part no more;</div> - <div>Soon I’ll reach the golden sands</div> - <div>Where I’ll clasp her angel hands;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[173]</a></span></div> - <div class="i1">Soon I’ll kiss her seraph brow</div> - <div>On that bright angelic shore,</div> - <div class="i1">Where I’ll dream no more, as now,</div> - <div>Of those happy days of yore.</div> - </div> - - </div> - </div> - -<p>The two spirits, thus transforming, were passing away, slipping, -slipping away from me back into the mysteriousness whence they came, I -felt, as both moved across the page to dirge-like yet a kind of happy -and hope-inspiring music. The music of each was so blended with that of -the other that I could scarcely distinguish the words of the two as the -second soul-dreamer mused through the melody.—</p> - - <div class="poetry-container"> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Lost! ah lost!—But not forever:</div> - <div class="i1">I have reached the golden strand;</div> - <div>Soon beyond the crystal ocean</div> - <div class="i1">We will wander hand in hand;</div> - <div>Soon across the deep, dark waters</div> - <div class="i1">I will go to claim my own</div> - <div>From among the shining angels,</div> - <div class="i1">Where she waits for me alone.</div> - <div>We will part no more forever</div> - <div class="i1">Underneath that heavenly dome;</div> - <div>Love and joy shall reign together</div> - <div class="i1">In that bright eternal home.</div> - </div> - </div> - </div> - -<p>But look—look!—there, there just before you. See! see it struggling -to rise away. Oh, what wonderful transformation can this be!</p> - -<p>As both neared the close, their bodies grew imperceptible, the -web-woven words more and more brightly illuminated, and the haloing -spirit larger, and larger, more and more distinct, yet more and more -attenuated, until—no, no! it—but yes! I must believe it, must believe -my eyes!—each took on the form of an angel! As the last word of each -was woven, simultaneously, and as the low, faint, plaintive echoes of -the music went<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[174]</a></span> trembling through the blue distance that still trembles -in unison with the hearts of millions, the two <i>meistersingers</i>, -perfect in angel form with a rarer beauty than I ever saw before, the -rarest beauty I ever expect to see, shone radiantly in the night for a -moment, like a glory struck out of darkness by a beam from heaven, and -vanished like that glory passing out of darkness into heaven again. -With my eyes following these disembodied embodiments of Beauty, and my -palms out-reaching toward them, thus I sat until, when their passing -glory at the same time closed the portals through which they vanished -and gave the keys to memory, my nerves relaxed, the intense mingled -pain and rapture, which had never ceased, seemed to snap my very -heart-chords, and consciousness slid like lead into the lethean flow of -the river of oblivion.</p> - -<p>How long I sat there, drowned in unrefreshing forgetfulness allied -to sleep, I have no recollection, and no possible means of knowing. -When again I opened my eyes, the morning was far spent. There was a -dull pain in my head, but the circumstances I have just related were -all so vivid that the whole scene instantly flashed across my mind. I -thought surely it must be a dream. Could it be? I was sitting in my -night-dress. I got up from my chair and went to my bed-room. There was -my bed, just as I had left it when I rose to follow the strange spirit -that controlled me. I went to the wall where I had seen the spider. -True enough, there was the thread, but no longer illuminated, just -where I had seen it. I put my hand to my forehead as one often does in -wondering. When I removed it, there, clinging to my forefinger, was -the web that had clung to my<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[175]</a></span> forehead. No, I had not been asleep and -dreamed all this; that was plain enough. I returned to my chair. There -on my desk, as I involuntarily glanced at the well-remembered spot, I -saw a still more remarkable confirmation of my having been awake; for -there lay the whole poem that I had seen woven by the first spirit, as -perfect in every way as if it had been written by human hand. But the -characters were no longer illuminated. They had burnt into the paper, -and were as black as my own ink. They were all made out, too, in my -own style of handwriting, though I declare and affirm to all the world -that never before this occurrence had I written one line of poetry. -Perhaps it would have been better for me and for you if I had stopped -with this—palmed it off as my own on account of the similarity of -handwriting; and if I had never trifled with the tricks of the muses -thereafter.</p> - -<p>I looked on my desk for the other poem, but alas! it could not be -found; for, as I have said before, it was only <i>psychologically</i> -present to me, while it was <i>really</i> present to some one else. In a -few days I had the most remarkable confirmation of this—even more -remarkable than what I have related in the preceding.</p> - -<p>By the very next mail (I was teaching in the country and got my mail -but once a week, on Saturday) I received a letter from my old chum, -dated May 8, 1885. As I opened it, behold! that identical poem that I -had in my mind seen wrought by the second spirit of beauty fell on my -table. In a letter of sixteen quarto pages, he told one substantially -the same experience of himself with two spirit-singers—one of them -present, the other psychologically present, each unconscious of the -other,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[176]</a></span> yet each influencing the other in some indefinable way—as I -have here related.</p> - -<p>In speaking of the vanishing of the two spirit-forms, he wrote:—</p> - -<p>“I firmly believe those two spirits were none other than the -angel-forms of the two maidens the poems celebrate; that they have -woven their spirits of beauty into these two embodiments of verse that -we mortals may be the better for it; and that, when they vanished, they -entered these two poems, where they still abide.”</p> - -<p>Strange, but this is the same thought that I had had, and still do -have. I most sincerely believe it is the only correct conclusion, -though I cannot solve the mysteries that are connected with it. Indeed, -it would be sacrilege to attempt it.</p> - -<p>I still have these original manuscripts that were thus mysteriously -wrought. They are lying here on the desk before me as I write; and as -I glance across this page at them, the whole scene of that memorable -night, more vivid, far, far more vivid than my pen has delineated it -for you, comes flashing across my brain. In this quick, bright light -of memory, reason marshals the long line of causes that produced this -psychological phenomenon; I follow the approaching lines with my -mind’s eye, until I am lost in the dim distance of their vanishing -perspective, then return, follow again, only to lose myself in the same -unfathomable mystery, and so again and again. Though I know some of -the causes that produced it, I cannot reach the hidden ones. I could -almost fancy still that I had dreamed all this did not these original -manuscripts before me constantly remind me of the reality of what I -have here set down. They<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[177]</a></span> are free for the inspection of all who wish -to verify the facts I have related.</p> - -<p>I challenge the world to produce two such similar poems, good, bad, or -indifferent, written under such remarkable circumstances.</p> - -<p>The events I have here recorded are the events of my boyhood, or early -manhood, rather, faithfully told. I have long hesitated to publish them -for fear that there might be a few in these days of fiction who would -doubt their reality. But what makes them a hundredfold more wonderful -to me is the truth of all their seemingly impossible facts.</p> - -<p>My friend, you think this a strange, strange story, I know. Indeed, -I think so too; far more strange to me than to you, for I have felt -the truth of it and you have only read it. As true as these two poems -exist, the circumstances under which they were written are far, far -more strange to me than I can possibly make the story; far, far more -strange to me than the weirdest, most wonderful story pen can write.</p> - -<p>I have therefore published this account of an incident of my life -that it may please some with the strange facts that they will take -for mere fancy; that it may waken some to the knowledge that in our -most rational moments we are by no means independent, our minds are -by no means our own, but are influenced by circumstances, by the -psychological action of the minds of our most intimate friends, and -by the spiritual power within us and at the same time above us; that -it may teach others that out of the most despised creatures of God’s -making and care, the Soul of Beauty may come and wed itself to Use by -weaving its life into an angel-image of Love that shall dwell in the -human heart forever.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[178]</a></span></p> - - <div class="poetry-container"> - <h3>BOY BARDS.<br /> -<span class="subhed1">TO E. L. H.</span></h3> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="i3">Together we thought,</div> - <div class="i3">Together we wrought;</div> - <div class="i3">And ever and ever</div> - <div>The golden days were fraught</div> - <div>With the light and life of Time</div> - <div class="i3">That dripped like dews</div> - <div class="i3">From the heart of our Muse</div> - <div>Between the buds of rhyme.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="i3">Oh never, no never</div> - <div>Such rainbow colors were caught</div> - <div>From the dripping clouds in pain—</div> - <div class="i3">So sweet distraught</div> - <div class="i3">With the iris wrought</div> - <div>Of the mingled shine and rain.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="i3">Oh never, no never</div> - <div>Such scent in the summer was caught</div> - <div>From the morning-glory’s bloom</div> - <div class="i3">Where the humming-bird</div> - <div class="i3">Has gently stirred</div> - <div>The leaves by the open room.</div> - </div> - </div> - </div> - - <div class="poetry-container"> - <h3>THE GREATEST THING ON EARTH.</h3> - <div class="poetry"> - - <h4>I.<br /> -<span class="subhed1">FROM SUN TO SUN.</span></h4> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>From sun to sun</div> - <div>Till life is done</div> - <div class="i1">We still aspire,</div> - <div class="i2">Still have some wish not gratified;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[179]</a></span></div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>With every breath—</div> - <div>E’en unto death—</div> - <div class="i1">We still reach higher,</div> - <div class="i2">Our hearts are still unsatisfied.</div> - </div> - - <h4>II.<br /> -<span class="subhed1">WHAT THE STRIVING?</span></h4> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>What means this striving,</div> - <div class="i1">This toil, this endless labor,</div> - <div class="i1">This bargaining with our neighbor,</div> - <div>This too fast living,</div> - <div class="i1">This wishing, this longing,</div> - <div class="i1">This constant thronging</div> - <div class="i1">Of thoughts of—what?</div> - <div class="i1">Gods! I know not!—</div> - <div class="i1">What means it all,</div> - <div class="i2">Philosopher,</div> - <div class="i1">This rise and fall,</div> - <div class="i2">This hope and fear,</div> - <div>This constant changing station</div> - <div>Of every man and nation,</div> - <div class="i3">Or rich</div> - <div class="i3">Or poor,</div> - <div class="i2">With koh-i-noor</div> - <div class="i2">Or bacon flitch,</div> - <div>Still envying some other,</div> - <div>Still striving ’gainst some brother</div> - <div class="i4">And justling</div> - <div class="i4">And hustling</div> - <div class="i4">And rushing</div> - <div class="i4">And pushing<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[180]</a></span></div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>As by a mighty cyclone hurled</div> - <div>Headlong midway the narrow world,</div> - <div class="i1">And as it were</div> - <div class="i2">Made all too small</div> - <div class="i3">For half to gyrate in,</div> - <div class="i3">Or even half begin—</div> - <div class="i2">What means it all,</div> - <div class="i1">Philosopher?</div> - <div class="i2">The rich, the poor,</div> - <div class="i3">The high, the low,</div> - <div class="i4">The good, the bad,</div> - <div class="i4">(And who can tell?)</div> - <div class="i5">Keep bickering</div> - <div class="i5">And dickering</div> - <div class="i5">And chaffering</div> - <div class="i5">On everything</div> - <div class="i4">They buy and sell</div> - <div class="i2">For more and more</div> - <div class="i3">Of earth, as though</div> - <div class="i4">Gone staring mad.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="i5">Whether the cause</div> - <div class="i5">Be unequal laws</div> - <div>Of God, or man, or neither one, or both,</div> - <div>Activity o’ermatching tardy sloth,</div> - <div class="i1">Some must rise and some must fall</div> - <div class="i1">In the strife of all for all.</div> - </div> - - <h4>III.<br /> -<span class="subhed1">THE WORLD IS TOO MUCH OURS.</span></h4> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>That there should be unjust division</div> - <div class="i1">Of wealth and life and station<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[181]</a></span></div> - <div>Needs, calm, deliberate decision</div> - <div class="i1">Of every man and nation.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>The world is too much ours,</div> - <div class="i1">And we too much of it.</div> - <div class="i2">The times are out of joint;</div> - <div class="i3">The heart is out of tune,</div> - <div class="i4">And needs the Master’s hand.</div> - <div class="i4">Like churlish curs we stand</div> - <div class="i3">And guard our little own,</div> - <div class="i2">And watch Death’s finger point</div> - <div class="i1">To Woes, while Pleasures sit</div> - <div>And glass the glossing hours.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Like demons, too, we rave</div> - <div>Because our neighbors have</div> - <div class="i1">One jot or tittle more than we;</div> - <div>And curse ourselves as slaves</div> - <div>Dumb driven to our graves</div> - <div class="i1">Fast bound from light of liberty.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>The remedy lies not in force,</div> - <div class="i1">Nor in the frenzy of the hour</div> - <div class="i2">Engendered by the unreasoning mob.</div> - <div>’Tis in a nobler, gentler course</div> - <div class="i1">Of a higher, nobler power</div> - <div class="i2">New-born at every true heart-throb.</div> - </div> - - <h4>IV.<br /> -<span class="subhed1">HAND AND HEART.</span></h4> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="i1">No vain philosophy,</div> - <div>That flows from ailing springs of earth<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[182]</a></span></div> - <div>Can cure the cankered ills of mortal clay.</div> - <div>No, naught save that eternal fountain’s spray</div> - <div class="i1">That gives the heart immortal birth</div> - <div class="i2">Can heal humanity.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>In every heart at birth</div> - <div class="i1">That fountain bubbles up</div> - <div>To purify this earth</div> - <div class="i1">With life and love and hope.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>But in the hearts of all,</div> - <div class="i1">Ere life is scarce begun,</div> - <div>Some clay of earth must fall</div> - <div class="i1">To dim the mirrored sun.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>True, all (’tis law) must labor;</div> - <div class="i1">But with the hand alone?</div> - <div>And that against a neighbor,</div> - <div class="i1">His heart our stepping stone?</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Nay, with the hand and heart, the rather;</div> - <div class="i1">For each who climbs above</div> - <div>Must reach the door of Him our Father</div> - <div class="i1">On stepping-stones of love.</div> - </div> - - <h4>V.<br /> -<span class="subhed1">COURTING THE CROWD.</span></h4> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="i1">Our wrongs we make that make us wrong:</div> - <div>We court the crowd; we tickle the public ear;</div> - <div>The crowd laughs, and we laugh with it always; we’re</div> - <div class="i1">Mere puppets dandled by the throng.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="i4">We jingle our laughter,—</div> - <div class="i4">The world follows after<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[183]</a></span></div> - <div class="i5">As if it were money;</div> - <div class="i4">We bow in our sorrow,—</div> - <div class="i4">The world bids “good-morrow,”</div> - <div class="i5">Hey-nonny hey-nonny.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="i4">We praise and we flatter,—</div> - <div class="i4">The world with a clatter</div> - <div class="i5">Comes after the honey;</div> - <div class="i4">We ask when we’re needy,—</div> - <div class="i4">The world is too greedy,</div> - <div class="i5">Hey-nonny hey-nonny.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="i4">We’re loved while we’re living</div> - <div class="i4">If always we’re giving</div> - <div class="i5">The world something funny;</div> - <div class="i4">But dead, there’s erected,</div> - <div class="i4">A stone,—then neglected,</div> - <div class="i5">Hey-nonny hey-nonny.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="i1">So, so! the world is all a cheat</div> - <div class="i1">And yet we worship at its feet.</div> - <div>Deceived by dross of gold and gloss of art,</div> - <div>We too much court the hand and not the heart.</div> - </div> - - <h4>VI.<br /> -<span class="subhed1">IMMORTAL AND GOD-GIVEN.</span></h4> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Sowing and reaping,</div> - <div>Glutting our greed,</div> - <div>Getting and keeping,</div> - <div class="i1">What do we need?</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>World ever spinning,</div> - <div class="i1">World never slack,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[184]</a></span></div> - <div class="i6">World ever winning,</div> - <div class="i6">What does it lack?</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="i5">—What?</div> - <div class="i5">What not?—</div> - <div>—The greatest thing on earth,</div> - <div class="i1">The greatest, too, in heaven above,</div> - <div>The greatest good of greatest worth,</div> - <div class="i1">Immortal and God-given,—</div> - <div class="i12">Love!</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Love that bids no stricken soul depart</div> - <div class="i1">With honeyed, sweet “good-morrow”;</div> - <div>Love that binds and balms the wounded heart</div> - <div class="i1">And sorrows, too, with sorrow.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Love that loves in field or shop or kirk,</div> - <div class="i1">Unselfish and ungreedy;</div> - <div>Love that teaches toilless hands to work,</div> - <div class="i1">And leaves no mortal needy.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Love that ne’er forgets a heart that sleeps,</div> - <div class="i1">Nor leaves its tomb neglected;</div> - <div>Love that laughs and weeps and ever keeps</div> - <div class="i1">The throne of Love erected.</div> - </div> - - <h4>VII.<br /> -<span class="subhed1">ASKING HEARTS.</span></h4> - - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>This pushing,</div> - <div class="i1">This driving,</div> - <div>This rushing,</div> - <div class="i1">This too fast living</div> - <div class="i1">Is an endless striving<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[185]</a></span></div> - <div>Resulting from unsatisfied desire:</div> - <div class="i6">No peace, no rest,</div> - <div class="i6">An endless quest,</div> - <div>Forever reaching up for something higher,—</div> - <div class="i2">For the world is good by nature,</div> - <div class="i1">And though debased, still looks above.</div> - <div>(The heathen even hopes beyond this earth.)</div> - <div class="i2">Stamped in every line and feature,</div> - <div class="i1">There is the image still of Love,</div> - <div>Sweet Love, fast-graven in the heart at birth.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>Our lives-long our asking hearts keep fretting:</div> - <div class="i1">We beat the tangles of the world’s wide wild-wood,</div> - <div>Remorsefully and endlessly regretting</div> - <div class="i1">The loss of that sweet innocence of childhood.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>The world is like us.—We are it!</div> - <div class="i1">Time-long the noisy nations of the earth</div> - <div>Have searched, and only found regret</div> - <div class="i1">At the loss of Love the child-world had at birth.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div>And so, we strive, and strive,—we know not why.</div> - <div class="i1">And not attaining what the heart would have,</div> - <div class="i1">We set the hand to work; we sweat and slave;</div> - <div class="i1">Allured by lights around earth’s narrow zone</div> - <div class="i1">That, followed, fly, we follow on and on;</div> - <div class="i1">For fame and wealth and power we barter away</div> - <div class="i1">Our lives; we would be gods: but mortal clay</div> - <div class="i1">Still clings about our feet, still drags us down,</div> - <div class="i1">And fetters us to earth without a crown.</div> - <div class="i1">And so, still unattaining all through life,</div> - <div class="i1">We follow still the bootless, mortal strife,</div> - <div>And laugh, and weep, and flatter, and fret, and—die!—</div> - <div class="i6">Die still unsatisfied,</div> - <div class="i6">Some wish not gratified!<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[186]</a></span></div> - </div> - - <h4>VIII.<br /> -<span class="subhed1">THE CROWNING GLORY.</span></h4> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="i2">Labor night and day</div> - <div class="i2">Howsoe’er we may</div> - <div class="i3">And toil</div> - <div class="i3">And moil</div> - <div class="i2">With ceaseless sweating,</div> - <div class="i2">Forever fretting,</div> - <div class="i3">Still coping</div> - <div class="i4">In endless strife</div> - <div class="i3">And hoping</div> - <div class="i4">An easier life,</div> - <div class="i2">Yet with it all</div> - <div class="i2">Result must fall</div> - <div class="i3">Far short of aspiration.</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="i1">’Tis the great Law of laws,</div> - <div class="i1">Nor far to seek the cause;</div> - <div class="i1">For in our heart of hearts we know</div> - <div class="i1">The Law of Life must needs be so</div> - <div class="i2">That man may climb</div> - <div class="i2">Through changing time</div> - <div class="i1">Above this clod</div> - <div class="i2">Of mouldy mortal earth</div> - <div class="i1">Back unto God,</div> - <div class="i2">His home of love at birth,</div> - <div>And find in endless life</div> - <div class="i4">Above</div> - <div>The crown of all our strife</div> - <div class="i4">Is Love,</div> - <div>—The crown of all creation.</div> - </div> - </div> - </div> - - -<p class="transnote">Transcriber’s Notes:<br /> - -1. 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