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diff --git a/6815-h/6815-h.htm b/6815-h/6815-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6c85b75 --- /dev/null +++ b/6815-h/6815-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,9744 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.1//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml11/DTD/xhtml11.dtd"> + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en"> + +<head> + +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=ISO-8859-1" /> + +<title> +The Project Gutenberg E-text of Old Spookses' Pass, by Isabella Valancy Crawford +</title> + +<style type="text/css"> +body { color: black; + background: white; + margin-right: 10%; + margin-left: 10%; + font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; + text-align: justify } + +p {text-indent: 4% } + +p.noindent {text-indent: 0% } + +p.t1 {text-indent: 0% ; + font-size: 200%; + text-align: center } + +p.t2 {text-indent: 0% ; + font-size: 150%; + text-align: center } + +p.t3 {text-indent: 0% ; + font-size: 100%; + text-align: center } + +p.t3b {text-indent: 0% ; + font-size: 100%; + font-weight: bold; + text-align: center } + +p.t4 {text-indent: 0% ; + font-size: 80%; + text-align: center } + +p.t4b {text-indent: 0% ; + font-size: 80%; + font-weight: bold; + text-align: center } + +p.t5 {text-indent: 0% ; + font-size: 60%; + text-align: center } + +h1 { text-align: center } +h2 { text-align: center } +h3 { text-align: center } +h4 { text-align: center } +h5 { text-align: center } + +p.poem {text-indent: 0%; + margin-left: 10%; } + +p.contents {text-indent: -3%; + margin-left: 5% } + +p.thought {text-indent: 0% ; + letter-spacing: 4em ; + text-align: center } + +p.letter {text-indent: 0%; + margin-left: 10% ; + margin-right: 10% } + +p.footnote {text-indent: 0% ; + font-size: 80%; + margin-left: 10% ; + margin-right: 10% } + +p.transnote {text-indent: 0% ; + margin-left: 0% ; + margin-right: 0% } + +p.intro {font-size: 90% ; + text-indent: -5% ; + margin-left: 5% ; + margin-right: 0% } + +p.quote {text-indent: 4% ; + margin-left: 0% ; + margin-right: 0% } + +p.finis { font-size: larger ; + text-align: center ; + text-indent: 0% ; + margin-left: 0% ; + margin-right: 0% } + +</style> + +</head> + +<body> + + +<pre> + +Project Gutenberg's Old Spookses' Pass, by Isabella Valancy Crawford + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Old Spookses' Pass + +Author: Isabella Valancy Crawford + +Posting Date: March 13, 2014 [EBook #6815] +Release Date: November, 2004 +First Posted: January 27, 2003 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK OLD SPOOKSES' PASS *** + + + + +Produced by Vital Debroey, Juliet Sutherland, Charles +Franks and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team. This +file was produced from images generously made available +by the Canadian Institute for Historical Microreproductions. +HTML version by Al Haines. + + + + + + +</pre> + + +<h1> +<br /><br /><br /> + OLD SPOOKSES' PASS<br /> + MALCOLM'S KATIE, AND OTHER POEMS,<br /> +</h1> + +<p class="t3"> + BY<br /> +</p> + +<p class="t2"> + ISABELLA VALANCY CRAWFORD.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="t4"> + AUTHOR OF<br /> + A LITTLE BACCHANTE, OR SOME BLACK SHEEP, ETC., ETC., ETC.<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /></p> + +<p class="t3"> + TO JOHN IRWIN CRAWFORD, ESQ., M. D., R. N.<br /> + THIS VOLUME IS AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATED<br /> + BY HIS NIECE ISABELLA VALANCY CRAWFORD.<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<h3> + OLD SPOOKSES' PASS.<br /> +</h3> + +<p class="poem"> + I.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + We'd camp'd that night on Yaller Bull Flat—<br /> + Thar was Possum Billy, an' Tom, an' me.<br /> + Right smart at throwin' a lariat<br /> + Was them two fellers, as ever I see;<br /> + An' for ridin' a broncho, or argyin' squar<br /> + With the devil roll'd up in the hide of a mule,<br /> + Them two fellers that camp'd with me thar<br /> + Would hev made an' or'nary feller a fool.<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /></p> + +<p class="poem"> + II.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Fur argyfyin' in any way,<br /> + Thet hed to be argy'd with sinew an' bone,<br /> + I never see'd fellers could argy like them;<br /> + But just right har I will hev to own<br /> + Thet whar brains come in in the game of life,<br /> + They held the poorest keerds in the lot;<br /> + An' when hands was shown, some other chap<br /> + Rak'd in the hull of the blam'd old pot!<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /></p> + +<p class="poem"> + III.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + We was short of hands, the herd was large,<br /> + An' watch an' watch we divided the night;<br /> + We could hear the coyotes howl an' whine,<br /> + But the darn'd critters kept out of sight<br /> + Of the camp-fire blazin'; an' now an' then<br /> + Thar come a rustle an' sort of rush,<br /> + A rattle a-sneakin' away from the blaze,<br /> + Thro' the rattlin', cracklin' grey sage bush.<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /></p> + +<p class="poem"> + IV.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + We'd chanc'd that night on a pootyish lot,<br /> + With a tol'ble show of tall, sweet grass—<br /> + We was takin' Speredo's drove across<br /> + The Rockies, by way of "Old Spookses' Pass"—<br /> + An' a mite of a creek went crinklin' down,<br /> + Like a "pocket" bust in the rocks overhead,<br /> + Consid'able shrunk, by the summer drought,<br /> + To a silver streak in its gravelly bed.<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /></p> + +<p class="poem"> + V.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + 'Twas a fairish spot fur to camp a' night;<br /> + An' chipper I felt, tho' sort of skeer'd<br /> + That them two cowboys with only me,<br /> + Couldn't boss three thousand head of a herd.<br /> + I took the fust of the watch myself;<br /> + An' as the red sun down the mountains sprang,<br /> + I roll'd a fresh quid, an' got on the back<br /> + Of my peart leetle chunk of a tough mustang.<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /></p> + +<p class="poem"> + VI.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + An' Possum Billy was sleepin' sound,<br /> + Es only a cowboy knows how to sleep;<br /> + An' Tommy's snores would hev made a old<br /> + Buffalo bull feel kind o' cheap.<br /> + Wal, pard, I reckin' thar's no sech time<br /> + For dwind'lin' a chap in his own conceit,<br /> + Es when them mountains an' awful stars,<br /> + Jest hark to the tramp of his mustang's feet.<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /></p> + +<p class="poem"> + VII.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + It 'pears to me that them solemn hills<br /> + Beckin' them stars so big an' calm,<br /> + An' whisper, "Make tracks this way, my friends,<br /> + We've ring'd in here a specimen man;<br /> + He's here alone, so we'll take a look<br /> + Thro' his ganzy an' vest, an' his blood an' bone,<br /> + An post ourselves as to whether his heart<br /> + Is <i>flesh</i>, or a rotten, made-up stone!"<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /></p> + +<p class="poem"> + VIII.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + An' it's often seemed, on a midnight watch,<br /> + When the mountains blacken'd the dry, brown sod,<br /> + That a chap, if he shut his eyes, might grip<br /> + The great kind hand of his Father-God.<br /> + I rode round the herd at a sort of walk—<br /> + The shadders come stealin' thick an' black;<br /> + I'd jest got to leave tew that thar chunk<br /> + Of a mustang tew keep in the proper track.<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /></p> + +<p class="poem"> + IX.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Ever see'd a herd ring'd in at night?<br /> + Wal, it's sort of cur'us,—the watchin' sky,<br /> + The howl of coyotes—a great black mass,<br /> + With thar an' thar the gleam of a eye<br /> + An' the white of a horn—an', now an' then,<br /> + An' old bull liftin' his shaggy head,<br /> + With a beller like a broke-up thunder growl—<br /> + An' the summer lightnin', quick an' red,<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /></p> + +<p class="poem"> + X.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Twistin' an' turnin' amid the stars,<br /> + Silent as snakes at play in the grass,<br /> + An' plungin' thar fangs in the bare old skulls<br /> + Of the mountains, frownin' above the Pass.<br /> + An' all so still, that the leetle creek,<br /> + Twinklin' an crinklin' from stone to stone,<br /> + Grows louder an' louder, an' fills the air<br /> + With a cur'us sort of a singin' tone.<br /> + It ain't no matter wharever ye be,<br /> + (I'll 'low it's a cur'us sort of case)<br /> + Whar thar's runnin' water, it's sure to speak<br /> + Of folks tew home an' the old home place;<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /></p> + +<p class="poem"> + XI.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + An' yer bound tew listen an' hear it talk,<br /> + Es yer mustang crunches the dry, bald sod;<br /> + Fur I reckin' the hills, an' stars, an' creek<br /> + Are all of 'em preachers sent by God.<br /> + An' them mountains talk tew a chap this way:<br /> + "Climb, if ye can, ye degenerate cuss!"<br /> + An' the stars smile down on a man, an say,<br /> + "Come higher, poor critter, come up tew us!"<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /></p> + +<p class="poem"> + XII.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + An' I reckin', pard, thar is One above<br /> + The highest old star that a chap can see,<br /> + An' He says, in a solid, etarnal way,<br /> + "Ye never can stop till ye get to ME!"<br /> + Good fur Him, tew! fur I calculate<br /> + HE ain't the One to dodge an' tew shirk,<br /> + Or waste a mite of the things He's made,<br /> + Or knock off till He's finished His great Day's work!<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /></p> + +<p class="poem"> + XIII.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + We've got to labor an' strain an' snort<br /> + Along thet road thet He's planned an' made;<br /> + Don't matter a mite He's cut His line<br /> + Tew run over a 'tarnal, tough up-grade;<br /> + An' if some poor sinner ain't built tew hold<br /> + Es big a head of steam es the next,<br /> + An' keeps slippin' an' slidin' 'way down hill,<br /> + Why, He don't make out that He's awful vex'd.<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /></p> + +<p class="poem"> + XIV.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Fur He knows He made Him in that thar way,<br /> + Somewhars tew fit In His own great plan,<br /> + An' He ain't the Bein' tew pour His wrath<br /> + On the head of thet slimpsy an' slippery man,<br /> + An' He says tew the feller, "Look here, my son,<br /> + You're the worst hard case that ever I see,<br /> + But be thet it takes ye a million y'ars,<br /> + Ye never can stop till ye git tew ME!"<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /></p> + +<p class="poem"> + XV.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Them's my idees es I pann'd them out;<br /> + Don't take no stock in them creeds that say,<br /> + Thar's a chap with horns thet's took control<br /> + Of the rollin' stock on thet up-grade way,<br /> + Thet's free to tote up es ugly a log<br /> + Es grows in his big bush grim an' black,<br /> + An' slyly put it across the rails,<br /> + Tew hist a poor critter clar off the track.<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /></p> + +<p class="poem"> + XVI.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + An' when he's pooty well busted an' smash'd,<br /> + The devil comes smilin' an' bowin' round,<br /> + Says tew the Maker, "Guess ye don't keer<br /> + Tew trouble with stock thet ain't parfactly sound;<br /> + Lemme tote him away—best ye can do—<br /> + Neglected, I guess, tew build him with care;<br /> + I'll hide him in hell—better thet folks<br /> + Shouldn't see him laid up on the track for repair!"<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /></p> + +<p class="poem"> + XVII.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Don't take no stock in them creeds at all;<br /> + Ain't one of them cur'us sort of moles<br /> + Thet think the Maker is bound to let<br /> + The devil git up a "corner" in souls.<br /> + Ye think I've put up a biggish stake?<br /> + Wal, I'll bet fur all I'm wuth, d'ye see?<br /> + He ain't wuth shucks thet won't dar tew lay<br /> + All his pile on his own idee!<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /></p> + +<p class="poem"> + XVIII.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Ye bet yer boots I am safe tew win,<br /> + Es the chap thet's able tew smilin' smack<br /> + The ace he's been hidin' up his sleeve<br /> + Kerslap on top of a feller's jack!<br /> + Es I wus sayin', the night wus dark,<br /> + The lightnin' skippin' from star to star;<br /> + Thar wa'n't no clouds but a thread of mist,<br /> + No sound but the coyotes yell afar,<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /></p> + +<p class="poem"> + XIX.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + An' the noise of the creek as it called tew me,<br /> + "Pard, don't ye mind the mossy, green spot<br /> + Whar a creek stood still fur a drowzin' spell<br /> + Right in the midst of the old home lot?<br /> + Whar, right at sundown on Sabba'day,<br /> + Ye skinn'd yerself of yer meetin' clothes,<br /> + An dove, like a duck, whar the water clar<br /> + Shone up like glass through the lily-blows?<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /></p> + +<p class="poem"> + XX.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "Yer soul wus white es yer skin them days,<br /> + Yer eyes es clar es the creek at rest;<br /> + The wust idee in yer head thet time<br /> + Wus robbin' a bluebird's swingin' nest.<br /> + Now ain't ye changed? declar fur it, pard;<br /> + Thet creek would question, it 'pears tew me,<br /> + Ef ye looked in its waters agin tew night,<br /> + 'Who may this old cuss of a sinner be?'"<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /></p> + +<p class="poem"> + XXI.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Thet wus the style thet thet thar creek<br /> + In "Old Spookses' Pass," in the Rockies, talked;<br /> + Drowzily list'nin' I rode round the herd.<br /> + When all of a sudden the mustang balked,<br /> + An' shied with a snort; I never know'd<br /> + Thet tough leetle critter tew show a scare<br /> + In storm or dark; but he jest scrouch'd down,<br /> + With his nostrils snuffin' the damp, cool air,<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /></p> + +<p class="poem"> + XXII.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + An' his flanks a-quiver. Shook up? Wal, yes<br /> + Guess'd we hev heaps of tarnation fun;<br /> + I calculated quicker'n light<br /> + That the herd would be off on a healthy run.<br /> + But thar warn't a stir tew horn or hoof;<br /> + The herd, like a great black mist, lay spread,<br /> + While har an' thar a grazin' bull<br /> + Loom'd up, like a mighty "thunder head."<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /></p> + +<p class="poem"> + XXIII.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + I riz in my saddle an' star'd around—<br /> + On the mustang's neck I felt the sweat;<br /> + Thar wus nuthin' tew see—sort of felt the har<br /> + Commencin' tew crawl on my scalp, ye bet!<br /> + Felt kind of cur'us—own up I did;<br /> + Felt sort of dry in my mouth an' throat.<br /> + Sez I, "Ye ain't goin' tew scare, old hoss,<br /> + At a prowlin' coss of a blamed coyote?"<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /></p> + +<p class="poem"> + XXIV.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + But 'twan't no coyote nor prowlin' beast.<br /> + Nor rattle a-wrigglin' through the grass,<br /> + Nor a lurkin' red-skin—'twan't my way<br /> + In a game like that to sing out, "I pass!"<br /> + But I know'd when I glimps'd the rollin' whites,<br /> + The sparks from the black of the mustang's eye,<br /> + Thar wus <i>somethin'</i> waltzin' up thet way<br /> + Thet would send them critters off on the fly!<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /></p> + +<p class="poem"> + XXV.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + In the night-air's tremblin', shakin' hands<br /> + Felt it beatin' kerslap onto me,<br /> + Like them waves thet chas'd thet President chap<br /> + Thet went on the war-trail in old Judee.<br /> + The air wus bustin'—but silent es death;<br /> + An' lookin' up, in a second I seed<br /> + The sort of sky thet allers looks down<br /> + On the rush an' the roar of a night stampede.<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /></p> + +<p class="poem"> + XXVI.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Tearin' along the indigo sky<br /> + Wus a drove of clouds, snarl'd an' black;<br /> + Scuddin' along to'ards the risin' moon,<br /> + Like the sweep of a darn'd hungry pack<br /> + Of preairie wolves to'ard a bufferler,<br /> + The heft of the herd, left out of sight;<br /> + I dror'd my breath right hard, fur I know'd<br /> + We wus in fur a'tarnal run thet night.<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /></p> + +<p class="poem"> + XXVII.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Quiet? Ye bet! The mustang scrounch'd,<br /> + His neck stretch'd out an' his nostrils wide,<br /> + The moonshine swept, a white river down,<br /> + The black of the mighty mountain's side,<br /> + Lappin' over an' over the stuns an' brush<br /> + In whirls an' swirls of leapin' light,<br /> + Makin' straight fur the herd, whar black an' still,<br /> + It stretch'd away to the left an' right<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /></p> + +<p class="poem"> + XXVIII.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + On the level lot;—I tell ye, pard,<br /> + I know'd when it touch'd the first black hide,<br /> + Me an' the mustang would hev a show<br /> + Fur a breezy bit of an' evenin' ride!<br /> + One! it flow'd over a homely pine<br /> + Thet riz from a cranny, lean an' lank,<br /> + A cleft of the mountain;—reckinin' two,<br /> + It slapp'd onto an' old steer's heavin' flank,<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /></p> + +<p class="poem"> + XXIX.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Es sound he slept on the skirt of the herd,<br /> + Dreamin' his dreams of the sweet blue grass<br /> + On the plains below; an' afore it touched<br /> + The other wall of "Old Spookses' Pass"<br /> + The herd wus up!—not one at a time,<br /> + <i>Thet</i> ain't the style in a midnight run,—<br /> + They wus up an' off like es all thair minds<br /> + Wus roll'd in the hide of only one!<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /></p> + +<p class="poem"> + XXX.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + I've fit in a battle, an' heerd the guns<br /> + Blasphemin' God with their devils' yell;<br /> + Heerd the stuns of a fort like thunder crash<br /> + In front of the scream of a red-hot shell;<br /> + But thet thar poundin' of iron hoofs,<br /> + The clatter of horns, the peltin' sweep<br /> + Of three thousand head of a runnin' herd,<br /> + Made all of them noises kind of cheap.<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /></p> + +<p class="poem"> + XXXI.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + The Pass jest open'd its giant throat<br /> + An' its lips of granite, an' let a roar<br /> + Of answerin' echoes; the mustang buck'd,<br /> + Then answer'd the bridle; an', pard, afore<br /> + The twink of a fire-bug, lifted his legs<br /> + Over stuns an' brush, like a lopin' deer—<br /> + A smart leetle critter! An' thar wus I<br /> + 'Longside of the plungin' leadin' steer!<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /></p> + +<p class="poem"> + XXXII.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + A low-set critter, not much account<br /> + For heft or looks, but one of them sort<br /> + Thet kin fetch a herd at his darn'd heels<br /> + With a toss of his horns or a mite of a snort,<br /> + Fur a fight or a run; an' thar wus I,<br /> + Pressin' clus to the steel of his heavin' flank,<br /> + An' cussin' an' shoutin'—while overhead<br /> + The moon in the black clouds tremblin' sank,<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /></p> + +<p class="poem"> + XXXIII.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Like a bufferler overtook by the wolves,<br /> + An' pull'd tew the ground by the scuddin' pack.<br /> + The herd rush'd oh with a din an' crash,<br /> + Dim es a shadder, vast an' black;<br /> + Couldn't tell ef a hide wus black or white,<br /> + But from the dim surges a-roarin' by<br /> + Bust long red flashes—the flamin' light<br /> + From some old steer's furious an' scareful eye.<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /></p> + +<p class="poem"> + XXXIV.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Thet pass in the Rockies fairly roar'd;<br /> + An sudden' es winkin' came the bang<br /> + An rattle of thunder. Tew see the grit<br /> + Of thet peart little chunk of a tough mustang!<br /> + Not a buck nor a shy!—he gev a snort<br /> + Thet shook the foam on his steamin' hide,<br /> + An' leap'd along—Wal, pard, ye bet<br /> + I'd a healthy show fur a lively ride.<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /></p> + +<p class="poem"> + XXXV.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + An' them cowboys slept in the leetle camp,<br /> + Calm es three kids in a truckle bed;<br /> + Declar the crash wus enough tew put<br /> + Life in the dust of the sleepin' dead!<br /> + The thunder kept droppin' its awful shells,<br /> + One at a minute, on mountain an' rock:<br /> + The pass with its stone lips thunder'd back;<br /> + An' the rush an' roar an' whirlin' shock<br /> + Of the runnin' herd wus fit tew bust<br /> + A tenderfoot's heart hed he chanc'd along;<br /> + But I jest let out of my lungs an' throat<br /> + A rippin' old verse of a herdsman's song,<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /></p> + +<p class="poem"> + XXXVI.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + An' sidl'd the mustang closer up,<br /> + 'Longside of the leader, an' hit him flat<br /> + On his steamin' flank with a lightsome stroke<br /> + Of the end of my limber lariat;<br /> + He never swerv'd, an' we thunder'd on,<br /> + Black in the blackness, red in the red<br /> + Of the lightnin' blazin' with ev'ry clap<br /> + That bust from the black guns overhead!<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /></p> + +<p class="poem"> + XXXVII.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + The mustang wus shod, an' the lightnin' bit<br /> + At his iron shoes each step he run,<br /> + Then plung'd in the yearth—we rode in flame,<br /> + Fur the flashes roll'd inter only one,<br /> + Same es the bellers made one big roar;<br /> + Yet thro' the whirl of din an' flame<br /> + I sung an' shouted, an' call'd the steer<br /> + I sidl'd agin by his own front name,<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /></p> + +<p class="poem"> + XXXVIII.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + An' struck his side with my fist an' foot—<br /> + 'Twas jest like hittin' a rushin' stone,<br /> + An' he thunder'd ahead—I couldn't boss<br /> + The critter a mossel, I'm free tew own.<br /> + The sweat come a-pourin' down my beard;<br /> + Ef ye wonder wharfor, jest ye spread<br /> + Yerself far a ride with a runnin' herd,<br /> + A yawnin' gulch half a mile ahead.<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /></p> + +<p class="poem"> + XXXIX.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Three hundred foot from its grinnin' lips<br /> + Tew the roarin' stream on its stones below.<br /> + Once more I hurl'd the mustang up<br /> + Agin the side of the cuss call'd Joe;<br /> + Twan't a mite of use—he riz his heels<br /> + Up in the air, like a scuddin' colt;<br /> + The herd mass'd closer, an' hurl'd down<br /> + The roarin' Pass, like a thunderbolt.<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /></p> + +<p class="poem"> + XL.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + I couldn't rein off—seem'd swept along<br /> + In the rush an' roar an' thunderin' crash;<br /> + The lightnin' struck at the runnin' herd<br /> + With a crack like the stroke of a cowboy's lash.<br /> + Thar! I could see it; I tell ye, pard,<br /> + Things seem'd whittl'd down sort of fine—<br /> + We wasn't five hundred feet from the gulch,<br /> + With its mean little fringe of scrubby pine.<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /></p> + +<p class="poem"> + XLI.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + What could stop us? I grit my teeth;<br /> + Think I pray'd—ain't sartin of thet;<br /> + When, whizzin' an' singin', thar came the rush<br /> + Right past my face of a lariat!<br /> + "Bully fur you, old pard!" I roar'd,<br /> + Es it whizz'd roun' the leader's steamin' chest,<br /> + An' I wheel'd the mustang fur all he was wuth<br /> + Kerslap on the side of the old steer's breast.<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /></p> + +<p class="poem"> + XLII.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + He gev a snort, an' I see him swerve—<br /> + I foller'd his shoulder clus an' tight;<br /> + Another swerve, an' the herd begun<br /> + To swing around.—Shouts I, "All right<br /> + "Ye've fetch'd 'em now!" The mustang gave<br /> + A small, leettle whinney. I felt him flinch.<br /> + Sez I, "Ye ain't goin' tew weaken now,<br /> + Old feller, an' me in this darn'd pinch?"<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /></p> + +<p class="poem"> + XLIII.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "No," sez he, with his small, prickin' ears,<br /> + Plain es a human could speak; an' me—<br /> + I turn'd my head tew glimpse ef I could,<br /> + Who might the chap with the lariat be.<br /> + Wal, Pard, I weaken'd—ye bet yer life!<br /> + Thar wasn't a human in sight around,<br /> + But right in front of me come the beat<br /> + Of a hoss's hoofs on the tremblin' ground—<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /></p> + +<p class="poem"> + XLIV.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Steddy an' heavy—a slingin' lope;<br /> + A hefty critter with biggish bones<br /> + Might make jest sich—could hear the hoofs<br /> + Es they struck on the rattlin', rollin' stones—<br /> + The jingle of bit—an' clar an' shrill<br /> + A whistle es ever left cowboy's lip,<br /> + An' cuttin' the air, the long, fine hiss<br /> + Of the whirlin' lash of a cowboy's whip.<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /></p> + +<p class="poem"> + XLV.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + I crowded the mustang back, ontil<br /> + He riz on his haunches—an' I sed,<br /> + "In the Maker's name, who may ye be?"<br /> + Sez a vice, "Old feller, jest ride ahead!"<br /> + "All right!" sez I, an' I shook the rein.<br /> + "Ye've turn'd the herd in a hansum style—<br /> + Whoever ye be, I'll not back down!"<br /> + An' I didn't, neither,—ye bet yer pile!<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /></p> + +<p class="poem"> + XLVI.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Clus on the heels of that unseen hoss,<br /> + I rode on the side of the turnin' herd,<br /> + An' once in a while I answer'd back<br /> + A shout or a whistle or cheerin' word—<br /> + From lips no lightnin' was strong tew show.<br /> + 'Twas sort of scareful, that midnight ride;<br /> + But we'd got our backs tew the gulch—fur that<br /> + I'd hev foller'd a curiouser sort of guide!<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /></p> + +<p class="poem"> + XLVII.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + 'Twas kind of scareful tew watch the herd,<br /> + Es the plungin' leaders squirm'd an' shrank—<br /> + Es I heerd the flick of the unseen lash<br /> + Hiss on the side of a steamin' flank.<br /> + Guess the feller was smart at the work!<br /> + We work'd them leaders round, ontil<br /> + They overtook the tail of the herd,<br /> + An' the hull of the crowd begun tew "mill."<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /></p> + +<p class="poem"> + XLVIII.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Round spun the herd in a great black wheel,<br /> + Slower an' slower—ye've seen beneath<br /> + A biggish torrent a whirlpool spin,<br /> + Its waters black es the face of Death?<br /> + 'Pear'd sort of like that the "millin'" herd<br /> + We kept by the leaders—HIM and me,<br /> + Neck by neck, an' he sung a tune,<br /> + About a young gal, nam'd Betsey Lee!<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /></p> + +<p class="poem"> + XLIX.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Jine in the chorus? Wal, yas, I did.<br /> + He sung like a regilar mockin' bird.<br /> + An' us cowboys allus sing out ef tew calm<br /> + The scare, ef we can, of a runnin' herd.<br /> + Slower an' slower wheel'd round the "mill";<br /> + The maddest old steer of a leader slow'd;<br /> + Slower an' slower sounded the hoofs<br /> + Of the hoss that HIM in front of me rode.<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /></p> + +<p class="poem"> + L.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Fainter an' fainter grow'd that thar song<br /> + Of Betsey Lee an' her har of gold;<br /> + Fainter an' fainter grew the sound<br /> + Of the unseen hoofs on the tore-up mold.<br /> + The leadin' steer, that cuss of a Joe<br /> + Stopp'd an' shook off the foam an' the sweat,<br /> + With a stamp and a beller—the run was done,<br /> + Wus glad of it, tew, yer free tew bet!<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /></p> + +<p class="poem"> + LI.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + The herd slow'd up;—an' stood in a mass<br /> + Of blackness, lit by the lightnin's eye:<br /> + An' the mustang cower'd es <i>something</i> swept<br /> + Clus to his wet flank in passin' by.<br /> + "Good night tew ye, Pard!" "Good night," sez I,<br /> + Strainin' my sight on the empty air;<br /> + The har riz rustlin' up on my head,<br /> + Now that I hed time tew scare.<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /></p> + +<p class="poem"> + LII.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + The mustang flinch'd till his saddle girth<br /> + Scrap'd on the dust of the tremblin' ground—<br /> + There cum a laugh—the crack of a whip,<br /> + A whine like the cry of a well pleas'd hound,<br /> + The noise of a hoss thet rear'd an' sprang<br /> + At the touch of a spur—then all was still;<br /> + But the sound of the thunder dyin' down<br /> + On the stony breast of the highest hill!<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /></p> + +<p class="poem"> + LIII.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + The herd went back to its rest an' feed,<br /> + Es quiet a crowd es ever wore hide;<br /> + An' them boys in camp never heerd a lisp<br /> + Of the thunder an' crash of that run an' ride.<br /> + An' I'll never forget, while a wild cat claws,<br /> + Or a cow loves a nibble of sweet blue grass,<br /> + The cur'us pardner that rode with me<br /> + In the night stampede in "Old Spookses Pass!"<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<h3> + THE HELOT.<br /> +</h3> + +<p class="poem"> + I.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Low the sun beat on the land,<br /> + Red on vine and plain and wood;<br /> + With the wine-cup in his hand,<br /> + Vast the Helot herdsman stood.<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /></p> + +<p class="poem"> + II.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Quench'd the fierce Achean gaze,<br /> + Dorian foemen paus'd before,<br /> + Where cold Sparta snatch'd her bays<br /> + At Achaea's stubborn door.<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /></p> + +<p class="poem"> + III.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Still with thews of iron bound,<br /> + Vastly the Achean rose,<br /> + Godward from the brazen ground,<br /> + High before his Spartan foes.<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /></p> + +<p class="poem"> + IV.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Still the strength his fathers knew<br /> + (Dauntless when the foe they fac'd)<br /> + Vein and muscle bounded through,<br /> + Tense his Helot sinews brac'd.<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /></p> + +<p class="poem"> + V.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Still the constant womb of Earth,<br /> + Blindly moulded all her part;<br /> + As, when to a lordly birth,<br /> + Achean freemen left her heart.<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /></p> + +<p class="poem"> + VI.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Still, insensate mother, bore<br /> + Goodly sons for Helot graves;<br /> + Iron necks that meekly wore<br /> + Sparta's yoke as Sparta's slaves.<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /></p> + +<p class="poem"> + VII.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Still, O God mock'd mother! she<br /> + Smil'd upon her sons of clay:<br /> + Nurs'd them on her breast and knee,<br /> + Shameless in the shameful day.<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /></p> + +<p class="poem"> + VIII.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Knew not old Achea's fires<br /> + Burnt no more in souls or veins—<br /> + Godlike hosts of high desires<br /> + Died to clank of Spartan chains.<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /></p> + +<p class="poem"> + IX.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Low the sun beat on the land,<br /> + Purple slope and olive wood;<br /> + With the wine cup in his hand,<br /> + Vast the Helot herdsman stood.<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /></p> + +<p class="poem"> + X.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + As long, gnarl'd roots enclasp<br /> + Some red boulder, fierce entwine<br /> + His strong fingers, in their grasp<br /> + Bowl of bright Caecuban wine.<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /></p> + +<p class="poem"> + XI.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + From far Marsh of Amyclae,<br /> + Sentried by lank poplars tall—<br /> + Thro' the red slant of the day,<br /> + Shrill pipes did lament and call.<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /></p> + +<p class="poem"> + XII.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Pierc'd the swaying air sharp pines,<br /> + Thyrsi-like, the gilded ground<br /> + Clasp'd black shadows of brown vines,<br /> + Swallows beat their mystic round.<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /></p> + +<p class="poem"> + XIII.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Day was at her high unrest;<br /> + Fever'd with the wine of light,<br /> + Loosing all her golden vest,<br /> + Reel'd she towards the coming night.<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /></p> + +<p class="poem"> + XIV.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Fierce and full her pulses beat;<br /> + Bacchic throbs the dry earth shook;<br /> + Stirr'd the hot air wild and sweet;<br /> + Madden'd ev'ry vine-dark brook.<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /></p> + +<p class="poem"> + XV.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Had a red grape never burst,<br /> + All its heart of fire out;<br /> + To the red vat all a thirst,<br /> + To the treader's song and shout:<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /></p> + +<p class="poem"> + XVI.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Had the red grape died a grape;<br /> + Nor, sleek daughter of the vine,<br /> + Found her unknown soul take shape<br /> + In the wild flow of the wine:<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /></p> + +<p class="poem"> + XVII.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Still had reel'd the yellow haze:<br /> + Still had puls'd the sun pierc'd sod<br /> + Still had throbb'd the vine clad days:<br /> + To the pulses of their God.<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /></p> + +<p class="poem"> + XVIII.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Fierce the dry lips of the earth<br /> + Quaff'd the subtle Bacchic soul:<br /> + Felt its rage and felt its mirth,<br /> + Wreath'd as for the banquet bowl.<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /></p> + +<p class="poem"> + XIX.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Sapphire-breasted Bacchic priest<br /> + Stood the sky above the lands;<br /> + Sun and Moon at East and West,<br /> + Brazen cymbals in his hands.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + XX.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Temples, altars, smote no more,<br /> + Sharply white as brows of Gods:<br /> + From the long, sleek, yellow shore,<br /> + Oliv'd hill or dusky sod,<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /></p> + +<p class="poem"> + XXI.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Gaz'd the anger'd Gods, while he,<br /> + Bacchus, made their temples his;<br /> + Flushed their marble silently<br /> + With the red light of his kiss.<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /></p> + +<p class="poem"> + XXII.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Red the arches of his feet<br /> + Spann'd grape-gleaming vales; the earth<br /> + Reel'd from grove to marble street,<br /> + Mad with echoes of his mirth.<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /></p> + +<p class="poem"> + XXIII.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Nostrils widen'd to the air,<br /> + As above the wine brimm'd bowl:<br /> + Men and women everywhere<br /> + Breath'd the fierce, sweet Bacchic soul.<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /></p> + +<p class="poem"> + XXIV.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Flow'd the vat and roar'd the beam,<br /> + Laugh'd the must; while far and shrill,<br /> + Sweet as notes in Pan-born dream,<br /> + Loud pipes sang by vale and hill.<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /></p> + +<p class="poem"> + XXV.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Earth was full of mad unrest,<br /> + While red Bacchus held his state;<br /> + And her brown vine-girdl'd breast<br /> + Shook to his wild joy and hate.<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /></p> + +<p class="poem"> + XXVI.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Strife crouch'd red ey'd in the vine<br /> + In its tendrils Eros strayed;<br /> + Anger rode upon the wine;<br /> + Laughter on the cup-lip play'd.<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /></p> + +<p class="poem"> + XXVII.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Day was at her chief unrest—<br /> + Red the light on plain and wood<br /> + Slavish ey'd and still of breast,<br /> + Vast the Helot herdsman stood:<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /></p> + +<p class="poem"> + XXVIII.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Wide his hairy nostrils blew,<br /> + Maddning incense breathing up;<br /> + Oak to iron sinews grew,<br /> + Round the rich Caecuban cup.<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /></p> + +<p class="poem"> + XXIX.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "Drink, dull slave!" the Spartan said,<br /> + "Drink, until the Helot clod<br /> + "Feel within him subtly bred<br /> + "Kinship to the drunken God!<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /></p> + +<p class="poem"> + XXX.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "Drink, until the leaden blood<br /> + "Stirs and beats about thy brain:<br /> + "Till the hot Caecuban flood<br /> + "Drown the iron of thy chain.<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /></p> + +<p class="poem"> + XXXI.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "Drink, till even madness flies<br /> + "At the nimble wine's pursuit;<br /> + "Till the God within thee lies<br /> + "Trampled by the earth-born brute.<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /></p> + +<p class="poem"> + XXXII.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "Helot drink—nor spare the wine;<br /> + "Drain the deep, the madd'ning bowl,<br /> + "Flesh and sinews, slave, are mine,<br /> + "Now I claim thy Helot soul.<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /></p> + +<p class="poem"> + XXXIII.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "Gods! ye love our Sparta; ye<br /> + "Gave with vine that leaps and runs<br /> + "O'er her slopes, these slaves to be<br /> + "Mocks and warnings to her sons!<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /></p> + +<p class="poem"> + XXXIV.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "Thou, my Hermos, turn thy eyes,<br /> + "(God-touch'd still their frank, bold blue)<br /> + "On the Helot—mark the rise<br /> + "Of the Bacchic riot through<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /></p> + +<p class="poem"> + XXXV.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "Knotted vein, and surging breast:<br /> + "Mark the wild, insensate, mirth:<br /> + "God-ward boast—the driv'ling jest,<br /> + "Till he grovel to the earth.<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /></p> + +<p class="poem"> + XXXVI.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "Drink, dull slave," the Spartan cried:<br /> + Meek the Helot touch'd the brim;<br /> + Scented all the purple tide:<br /> + Drew the Bacchic soul to him.<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /></p> + +<p class="poem"> + XXXVII.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Cold the thin lipp'd Spartan smiled:<br /> + Couch'd beneath the weighted vine,<br /> + Large-ey'd, gaz'd the Spartan child,<br /> + On the Helot and the wine.<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /></p> + +<p class="poem"> + XXXVIII.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Rose pale Doric shafts behind,<br /> + Stern and strong, and thro' and thro',<br /> + Weaving with the grape-breath'd wind,<br /> + Restless swallows call'd and flew.<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /></p> + +<p class="poem"> + XXXIX.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Dropp'd the rose-flush'd doves and hung,<br /> + On the fountains murmuring brims;<br /> + To the bronz'd vine Hermos clung—<br /> + Silver-like his naked limbs<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /></p> + +<p class="poem"> + XL.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Flash'd and flush'd: rich copper'd leaves,<br /> + Whiten'd by his ruddy hair;<br /> + Pallid as the marble eaves,<br /> + Aw'd he met the Helot's stare.<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /></p> + +<p class="poem"> + XLI.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Clang'd the brazen goblet down;<br /> + Marble-bred loud echoes stirr'd:<br /> + With fix'd fingers, knotted, brown,<br /> + Dumb, the Helot grasp'd his beard.<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /></p> + +<p class="poem"> + XLII.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Heard the far pipes mad and sweet.<br /> + All the ruddy hazes thrill:<br /> + Heard the loud beam crash and beat,<br /> + In the red vat on the hill.<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /></p> + +<p class="poem"> + XLIII.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Wide his nostrils as a stag's<br /> + Drew the hot wind's fiery bliss;<br /> + Red his lips as river flags,<br /> + From the strong, Caecuban kiss.<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /></p> + +<p class="poem"> + XLIV.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + On his swarthy temples grew,<br /> + Purple veins like cluster'd grapes;<br /> + Past his rolling pupils blew,<br /> + Wine-born, fierce, lascivious shapes.<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /></p> + +<p class="poem"> + XLV.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Cold the haughty Spartan smiled—<br /> + His the power to knit that day,<br /> + Bacchic fires, insensate, wild,<br /> + To the grand Achean clay.<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /></p> + +<p class="poem"> + XLVI.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + His the might—hence his the right!<br /> + Who should bid him pause? nor Fate<br /> + Warning pass'd before his sight,<br /> + Dark-robed and articulate.<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /></p> + +<p class="poem"> + XLVII.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + No black omens on his eyes,<br /> + Sinistre—God-sent, darkly broke;<br /> + Nor from ruddy earth nor skies,<br /> + Portends to him mutely spoke.<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /></p> + +<p class="poem"> + XLVIII.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "Lo," he said, "he maddens now!<br /> + "Flames divine do scathe the clod;<br /> + "Round his reeling Helot brow<br /> + "Stings the garland of the God."<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /></p> + +<p class="poem"> + XLIX.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "Mark, my Hermos—turn to steel<br /> + The soft tendons of thy soul!<br /> + Watch the God beneath the heel<br /> + Of the strong brute swooning roll!<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /></p> + +<p class="poem"> + L.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "Shame, my Hermos! honey-dew<br /> + Breeds not on the Spartan spear;<br /> + Steel thy mother-eyes of blue,<br /> + Blush to death that weakling tear.<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /></p> + +<p class="poem"> + LI.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "Nay, behold! breed Spartan scorn<br /> + Of the red lust of the wine;<br /> + Watch the God himself down-borne<br /> + By the brutish rush of swine!<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /></p> + +<p class="poem"> + LII.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "Lo, the magic of the drink!<br /> + At the nimble wine's pursuit,<br /> + See the man-half'd satyr sink<br /> + All the human in the brute!<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /></p> + +<p class="poem"> + LIII.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "Lo, the magic of the cup!<br /> + Watch the frothing Helot rave!<br /> + As great buildings labour up<br /> + From the corpse of slaughter'd slave,<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /></p> + +<p class="poem"> + LIV.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "Build the Spartan virtue high<br /> + From the Helot's wine-dead soul;<br /> + Scorn the wild, hot flames that fly<br /> + From the purple-hearted bowl!<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /></p> + +<p class="poem"> + LV.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "Helot clay! Gods! what its worth,<br /> + Balanc'd with proud Sparta's rock?<br /> + Ours—its force to till the earth;<br /> + Ours—its soul to gyve and mock!<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /></p> + +<p class="poem"> + LVI.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "Ours, its sullen might. Ye Gods!<br /> + Vastly build the Achean clay;<br /> + Iron-breast our slavish clods—<br /> + <i>Ours</i> their Helot souls to slay!<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /></p> + +<p class="poem"> + LVII.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "Knit great thews—smite sinews vast<br /> + Into steel—build Helot bones<br /> + Iron-marrowed:—such will last<br /> + Ground by ruthless Sparta's stones.<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /></p> + +<p class="poem"> + LVIII.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "Crown the strong brute satyr wise!<br /> + Narrow-wall his Helot brain;<br /> + Dash the soul from breast and eyes,<br /> + Lash him toward the earth again.<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /></p> + +<p class="poem"> + LIX.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "Make a giant for our need,<br /> + Weak to feel and strong to toil;<br /> + Dully-wise to dig or bleed<br /> + On proud Sparta's alien soil!<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /></p> + +<p class="poem"> + LX.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "Gods! recall thy spark at birth,<br /> + Lit his soul with high desire;<br /> + Blend him, grind him with the earth,<br /> + Tread out old Achea's fire!<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /></p> + +<p class="poem"> + LXI.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "Lo, my Hermos! laugh and mark,<br /> + See the swift mock of the wine;<br /> + Faints the primal, God-born spark,<br /> + Trodden by the rush of swine!<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /></p> + +<p class="poem"> + LXII.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "Gods! ye love our Sparta—ye<br /> + Gave with vine that leaps and runs<br /> + O'er her slopes, these slaves to be<br /> + Mocks and warnings to her sons!"<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /></p> + +<p class="poem"> + LXIII.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Cold the haughty Spartan smil'd.<br /> + Madd'ning from the purple hills<br /> + Sang the far pipes, sweet and wild.<br /> + Red as sun-pierc'd daffodils<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /></p> + +<p class="poem"> + LXIV.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Neck-curv'd, serpent, silent, scaled<br /> + With lock'd rainbows, stole the sea;<br /> + On the sleek, long beaches; wail'd<br /> + Doves from column and from tree.<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /></p> + +<p class="poem"> + LXV.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Reel'd the mote swarm'd haze, and thick<br /> + Beat the hot pulse of the air;<br /> + In the Helot, fierce and quick,<br /> + All his soul sprang from its lair.<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /></p> + +<p class="poem"> + LXVI.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + As the drowzing tiger, deep<br /> + In the dim cell, hears the shout<br /> + From the arena—from his sleep<br /> + Launches to its thunders out—<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /></p> + +<p class="poem"> + LXVII.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + So to fierce calls of the wine<br /> + (Strong the red Caecuban bowl!)<br /> + From its slumber, deep, supine,<br /> + Panted up the Helot soul.<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /></p> + +<p class="poem"> + LXVIII.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + At his blood-flush'd eye-balls rear'd,<br /> + (Mad and sweet came pipes and songs),<br /> + Rous'd at last the wild soul glar'd,<br /> + Spear-thrust with a million wrongs.<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /></p> + +<p class="poem"> + LXIX.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Past—the primal, senseless bliss;<br /> + Past—red laughter of the grapes;<br /> + Past—the wine's first honey'd kiss;<br /> + Past—the wine-born, wanton shapes!<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /></p> + +<p class="poem"> + LXX.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Still the Helot stands—his feet<br /> + Set like oak roots: in his gaze<br /> + Black clouds roll and lightnings meet—<br /> + Flames from old Achean days.<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /></p> + +<p class="poem"> + LXXI.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Who may quench the God-born fire,<br /> + Pulsing at the soul's deep root?<br /> + Tyrants! grind it in the mire,<br /> + Lo, it vivifies the brute!<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /></p> + +<p class="poem"> + LXXII.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Stings the chain-embruted clay,<br /> + Senseless to his yoke-bound shame;<br /> + Goads him on to rend and slay,<br /> + Knowing not the spurring flame.<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /></p> + +<p class="poem"> + LXXIII.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Tyrants, changeless stand the Gods!<br /> + Nor their calm might yielded ye!<br /> + Not beneath thy chains and rods<br /> + Dies man's God-gift, Liberty!<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /></p> + +<p class="poem"> + LXXIV.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Bruteward lash thy Helots—hold<br /> + Brain and soul and clay in gyves;<br /> + Coin their blood and sweat in gold,<br /> + Build thy cities on their lives.<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /></p> + +<p class="poem"> + LXXV.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Comes a day the spark divine<br /> + Answers to the Gods who gave;<br /> + Fierce the hot flames pant and shine<br /> + In the bruis'd breast of the slave!<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /></p> + +<p class="poem"> + LXXVI.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Changeless stand the Gods!—nor he<br /> + Knows he answers their behest;<br /> + Feels the might of their decree<br /> + In the blind rage of his breast.<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /></p> + +<p class="poem"> + LXXVII.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Tyrants! tremble when ye tread<br /> + Down the servile Helot clods;<br /> + Under despot heel is bred<br /> + The white anger of the Gods!<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /></p> + +<p class="poem"> + LXXVIII.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Thro' the shackle-canker'd dust,<br /> + Thro' the gyv'd soul, foul and dark<br /> + Force they, changeless Gods and just!<br /> + Up the bright eternal spark.<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /></p> + +<p class="poem"> + LXXIX.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Till, like lightnings vast and fierce,<br /> + On the land its terror smites;<br /> + Till its flames the tyrants pierce,<br /> + Till the dust the despot bites!<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /></p> + +<p class="poem"> + LXXX.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Day was at its chief unrest,<br /> + Stone from stone the Helot rose;<br /> + Fix'd his eyes—his naked breast<br /> + Iron-wall'd his inner throes.<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /></p> + +<p class="poem"> + LXXXI.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Rose-white in the dusky leaves,<br /> + Shone the frank-ey'd Spartan child;<br /> + Low the pale doves on the eaves,<br /> + Made their soft moan, sweet and wild.<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /></p> + +<p class="poem"> + LXXXII.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Wand'ring winds, fire-throated, stole,<br /> + Sybils whisp'ring from their books;<br /> + With the rush of wine from bowl,<br /> + Leap'd the tendril-darken'd brooks.<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /></p> + +<p class="poem"> + LXXXIII.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + As the leathern cestus binds<br /> + Tense the boxer's knotted hands;<br /> + So the strong wine round him winds,<br /> + Binds his thews to iron bands.<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /></p> + +<p class="poem"> + LXXXIV.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Changeless are the Gods—and bred<br /> + All their wrath divine in him!<br /> + Bull-like fell his furious head,<br /> + Swell'd vast cords on breast and limb.<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /></p> + +<p class="poem"> + LXXXV.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + As loud-flaming stones are hurl'd<br /> + From foul craters—thus the gods<br /> + Cast their just wrath on the world,<br /> + From the mire of Helot clods.<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /></p> + +<p class="poem"> + LXXXVI.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Still the furious Helot stood,<br /> + Staring thro' the shafted space;<br /> + Dry-lipp'd for the Spartan blood,<br /> + He of scourg'd Achea's race.<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /></p> + +<p class="poem"> + LXXXVII.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Sprang the Helot—roar'd the vine,<br /> + Rent from grey, long-wedded stones—<br /> + From pale shaft and dusky pine,<br /> + Beat the fury of his groans.<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /></p> + +<p class="poem"> + LXXXVIII.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Thunders inarticulate:<br /> + Wordless curses, deep and wild;<br /> + Reach'd the long pois'd sword of Fate,<br /> + To the Spartan thro' his child.<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /></p> + +<p class="poem"> + LXXXIX.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + On his knotted hands, upflung<br /> + O'er his low'r'd front—all white,<br /> + Fair young Hermos quiv'ring hung;<br /> + As the discus flashes bright<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /></p> + +<p class="poem"> + XC.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + In the player's hand—the boy,<br /> + Naked—blossom-pallid lay;<br /> + Rous'd to lust of bloody joy,<br /> + Throbb'd the slave's embruted clay.<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /></p> + +<p class="poem"> + XCI.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Loud he laugh'd—the father sprang<br /> + From the Spartan's iron mail!<br /> + Late—the bubbling death-cry rang<br /> + On the hot pulse of the gale!<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /></p> + +<p class="poem"> + XCII.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + As the shining discus flies,<br /> + From the thrower's strong hand whirl'd;<br /> + Hermos cleft the air—his cries<br /> + Lance-like to the Spartan hurl'd.<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /></p> + +<p class="poem"> + XCIII.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + As the discus smites the ground,<br /> + Smote his golden head the stone;<br /> + Of a tall shaft—burst a sound<br /> + And but one—his dying groan!<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /></p> + +<p class="poem"> + XCIV.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Lo! the tyrant's iron might!<br /> + Lo! the Helot's yokes and chains!<br /> + Slave-slain in the throbbing light<br /> + Lay the sole child of his veins.<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /></p> + +<p class="poem"> + XCV.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Laugh'd the Helot loud and full,<br /> + Gazing at his tyrant's face;<br /> + Low'r'd his front like captive bull,<br /> + Bellowing from the fields of Thrace.<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /></p> + +<p class="poem"> + XCVI.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Rose the pale shaft redly flush'd,<br /> + Red with Bacchic light and blood;<br /> + On its stone the Helot rush'd—<br /> + Stone the tyrant Spartan stood.<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /></p> + +<p class="poem"> + XCVII.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Lo! the magic of the wine<br /> + From far marsh of Amyclae!<br /> + Bier'd upon the ruddy vine,<br /> + Spartan dust and Helot lay!<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /></p> + +<p class="poem"> + XCVIII.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Spouse of Bacchus reel'd the day,<br /> + Red track'd on the throbbing sods;<br /> + Dead—but free—the Helot lay,<br /> + Just and changeless stand the Gods!<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<h3> + MALCOLM'S KATIE: A LOVE STORY<br /> +</h3> + +<p class="poem"> + PART I.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Max plac'd a ring on little Katie's hand,<br /> + A silver ring that he had beaten out<br /> + From that same sacred coin—first well-priz'd wage<br /> + For boyish labour, kept thro' many years.<br /> + "See, Kate," he said, "I had no skill to shape<br /> + Two hearts fast bound together, so I grav'd<br /> + Just K. and M., for Katie and for Max."<br /> + "But, look; you've run the lines in such a way,<br /> + That M. is part of K., and K. of M.,"<br /> + Said Katie, smiling. "Did you mean it thus?<br /> + I like it better than the double hearts."<br /> + "Well, well," he said, "but womankind is wise!<br /> + Yet tell me, dear, will such a prophecy<br /> + Not hurt you sometimes, when I am away?<br /> + Will you not seek, keen ey'd, for some small break<br /> + In those deep lines, to part the K. and M.<br /> + For you? Nay, Kate, look down amid the globes<br /> + Of those large lilies that our light canoe<br /> + Divides, and see within the polish'd pool<br /> + That small, rose face of yours,—so dear, so fair,—<br /> + A seed of love to cleave into a rock,<br /> + And bourgeon thence until the granite splits<br /> + Before its subtle strength. I being gone—<br /> + Poor soldier of the axe—to bloodless fields,<br /> + (Inglorious battles, whether lost or won).<br /> + That sixteen summer'd heart of yours may say:<br /> + "'I but was budding, and I did not know<br /> + My core was crimson and my perfume sweet;<br /> + I did not know how choice a thing I am;<br /> + I had not seen the sun, and blind I sway'd<br /> + To a strong wind, and thought because I sway'd,<br /> + 'Twas to the wooer of the perfect rose—<br /> + That strong, wild wind has swept beyond my ken—<br /> + The breeze I love sighs thro' my ruddy leaves."<br /> + "O, words!" said Katie, blushing, "only words!<br /> + You build them up that I may push them down;<br /> + If hearts are flow'rs, I know that flow'rs can root—<br /> + "Bud, blossom, die—all in the same lov'd soil;<br /> + They do so in my garden. I have made<br /> + Your heart my garden. If I am a bud<br /> + And only feel unfoldment—feebly stir<br /> + Within my leaves: wait patiently; some June,<br /> + I'll blush a full-blown rose, and queen it, dear,<br /> + In your lov'd garden. Tho' I be a bud,<br /> + My roots strike deep, and torn from that dear soil<br /> + Would shriek like mandrakes—those witch things I read<br /> + Of in your quaint old books. Are you content?"<br /> + "Yes—crescent-wise—but not to round, full moon.<br /> + Look at yon hill that rounds so gently up<br /> + From the wide lake; a lover king it looks,<br /> + In cloth of gold, gone from his bride and queen;<br /> + And yet delayed, because her silver locks<br /> + Catch in his gilded fringes; his shoulders sweep<br /> + Into blue distance, and his gracious crest,<br /> + Not held too high, is plum'd with maple groves;—<br /> + One of your father's farms. A mighty man,<br /> + Self-hewn from rock, remaining rock through all."<br /> + "He loves me, Max," said Katie: "Yes, I know—<br /> + A rock is cup to many a crystal spring.<br /> + Well, he is rich; those misty, peak-roof'd barns—<br /> + Leviathans rising from red seas of grain—<br /> + Are full of ingots, shaped like grains of wheat.<br /> + His flocks have golden fleeces, and his herds<br /> + Have monarchs worshipful, as was the calf<br /> + Aaron call'd from the furnace; and his ploughs,<br /> + Like Genii chained, snort o'er his mighty fields.<br /> + He has a voice in Council and in Church—"<br /> + "He work'd for all," said Katie, somewhat pain'd.<br /> + "Aye, so, dear love, he did; I heard him tell<br /> + How the first field upon his farm was ploughed.<br /> + He and his brother Reuben, stalwart lads,<br /> + Yok'd themselves, side by side, to the new plough;<br /> + Their weaker father, in the grey of life<br /> + (But rather the wan age of poverty<br /> + Than many winters), in large, gnarl'd hands<br /> + The plunging handles held; with mighty strains<br /> + They drew the ripping beak through knotted sod,<br /> + Thro' tortuous lanes of blacken'd, smoking stumps;<br /> + And past great flaming brush heaps, sending out<br /> + Fierce summers, beating on their swollen brows.<br /> + O, such a battle! had we heard of serfs<br /> + Driven to like hot conflict with the soil,<br /> + Armies had march'd and navies swiftly sail'd<br /> + To burst their gyves. But here's the little point—<br /> + The polish'd di'mond pivot on which spins<br /> + The wheel of Difference—they OWN'D the rugged soil,<br /> + And fought for love—dear love of wealth and pow'r,<br /> + And honest ease and fair esteem of men;<br /> + One's blood heats at it!" "Yet you said such fields<br /> + Were all inglorious," Katie, wondering, said.<br /> + "Inglorious? yes; they make no promises<br /> + Of Star or Garter, or the thundering guns<br /> + That tell the earth her warriors are dead.<br /> + Inglorious! aye, the battle done and won<br /> + Means not—a throne propp'd up with bleaching bones;<br /> + A country sav'd with smoking seas of blood;<br /> + A flag torn from the foe with wounds and death;<br /> + Or Commerce, with her housewife foot upon<br /> + Colossal bridge of slaughter'd savages,<br /> + The Cross laid on her brawny shoulder, and<br /> + In one sly, mighty hand her reeking sword;<br /> + And in the other all the woven cheats<br /> + From her dishonest looms. Nay, none of these.<br /> + It means—four walls, perhaps a lowly roof;<br /> + Kine in a peaceful posture; modest fields;<br /> + A man and woman standing hand in hand<br /> + In hale old age, who, looking o'er the land,<br /> + Say: 'Thank the Lord, it all is mine and thine!'<br /> + It means, to such thew'd warriors of the Axe<br /> + As your own father;—well, it means, sweet Kate,<br /> + Outspreading circles of increasing gold,<br /> + A name of weight; one little daughter heir.<br /> + Who must not wed the owner of an axe,<br /> + Who owns naught else but some dim, dusky woods<br /> + In a far land; two arms indifferent strong—"<br /> + "And Katie's heart," said Katie, with a smile;<br /> + For yet she stood on that smooth, violet plain,<br /> + Where nothing shades the sun; nor quite believed<br /> + Those blue peaks closing in were aught but mist<br /> + Which the gay sun could scatter with a glance.<br /> + For Max, he late had touch'd their stones, but yet<br /> + He saw them seam'd with gold and precious ores,<br /> + Rich with hill flow'rs and musical with rills.<br /> + "Or that same bud that will be Katie's heart,<br /> + Against the time your deep, dim woods are clear'd,<br /> + And I have wrought my father to relent."<br /> + "How will you move him, sweet? why, he will rage<br /> + And fume and anger, striding o'er his fields,<br /> + Until the last bought king of herds lets down<br /> + His lordly front, and rumbling thunder from<br /> + His polish'd chest, returns his chiding tones.<br /> + How will you move him, Katie, tell me how?"<br /> + "I'll kiss him and keep still—that way is sure,"<br /> + Said Katie, smiling. "I have often tried."<br /> + "God speed the kiss," said Max, and Katie sigh'd,<br /> + With pray'rful palms close seal'd, "God speed the axe!"<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + * * * * *<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + O, light canoe, where dost thou glide?<br /> + Below thee gleams no silver'd tide,<br /> + But concave heaven's chiefest pride.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + * * * * *<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Above thee burns Eve's rosy bar;<br /> + Below thee throbs her darling star;<br /> + Deep 'neath thy keel her round worlds are!<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + * * * * *<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Above, below, O sweet surprise,<br /> + To gladden happy lover's eyes;<br /> + No earth, no wave—all jewell'd sides!<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + * * * * *<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /></p> + +<p class="poem"> + PART II.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + The South Wind laid his moccasins aside,<br /> + Broke his gay calumet of flow'rs, and cast<br /> + His useless wampun, beaded with cool dews,<br /> + Far from him, northward; his long, ruddy spear<br /> + Flung sunward, whence it came, and his soft locks<br /> + Of warm, fine haze grew silver as the birch.<br /> + His wigwam of green leaves began to shake;<br /> + The crackling rice-beds scolded harsh like squaws:<br /> + The small ponds pouted up their silver lips;<br /> + The great lakes ey'd the mountains, whisper'd "Ugh!"<br /> + "Are ye so tall, O chiefs? Not taller than<br /> + Our plumes can reach." And rose a little way,<br /> + As panthers stretch to try their velvet limbs,<br /> + And then retreat to purr and bide their time.<br /> + At morn the sharp breath of the night arose<br /> + From the wide prairies, in deep struggling seas,<br /> + In rolling breakers, bursting to the sky;<br /> + In tumbling surfs, all yellow'd faintly thro'<br /> + With the low sun—in mad, conflicting crests,<br /> + Voic'd with low thunder from the hairy throats<br /> + Of the mist-buried herds; and for a man<br /> + To stand amid the cloudy roll and moil,<br /> + The phantom waters breaking overhead,<br /> + Shades of vex'd billows bursting on his breast,<br /> + Torn caves of mist wall'd with a sudden gold,<br /> + Reseal'd as swift as seen—broad, shaggy fronts,<br /> + Fire-ey'd and tossing on impatient horns<br /> + The wave impalpable—was but to think<br /> + A dream of phantoms held him as he stood.<br /> + The late, last thunders of the summer crash'd,<br /> + Where shrieked great eagles, lords of naked cliffs.<br /> + The pulseless forest, lock'd and interlock'd<br /> + So closely, bough with bough, and leaf with leaf,<br /> + So serf'd by its own wealth, that while from high<br /> + The moons of summer kiss'd its green-gloss'd locks;<br /> + And round its knees the merry West Wind danc'd;<br /> + And round its ring, compacted emerald;<br /> + The south wind crept on moccasins of flame;<br /> + And the fed fingers of th' impatient sun<br /> + Pluck'd at its outmost fringes—its dim veins<br /> + Beat with no life—its deep and dusky heart,<br /> + In a deep trance of shadow, felt no throb<br /> + To such soft wooing answer: thro' its dream<br /> + Brown rivers of deep waters sunless stole;<br /> + Small creeks sprang from its mosses, and amaz'd,<br /> + Like children in a wigwam curtain'd close<br /> + Above the great, dead, heart of some red chief,<br /> + Slipp'd on soft feet, swift stealing through the gloom,<br /> + Eager for light and for the frolic winds.<br /> + In this shrill moon the scouts of winter ran<br /> + From the ice-belted north, and whistling shafts<br /> + Struck maple and struck sumach—and a blaze<br /> + Ran swift from leaf to leaf, from bough to bough;<br /> + Till round the forest flash'd a belt of flame.<br /> + And inward lick'd its tongues of red and gold<br /> + To the deep, tranied inmost heart of all.<br /> + Rous'd the still heart—but all too late, too late.<br /> + Too late, the branches welded fast with leaves,<br /> + Toss'd, loosen'd, to the winds—too late the sun<br /> + Pour'd his last vigor to the deep, dark cells<br /> + Of the dim wood. The keen, two-bladed Moon<br /> + Of Falling Leaves roll'd up on crested mists<br /> + And where the lush, rank boughs had foiled the sun<br /> + In his red prime, her pale, sharp fingers crept<br /> + After the wind and felt about the moss,<br /> + And seem'd to pluck from shrinking twig and stem<br /> + The burning leaves—while groan'd the shudd'ring wood.<br /> + Who journey'd where the prairies made a pause,<br /> + Saw burnish'd ramparts flaming in the sun,<br /> + With beacon fires, tall on their rustling walls.<br /> + And when the vast, horn'd herds at sunset drew<br /> + Their sullen masses into one black cloud,<br /> + Rolling thund'rous o'er the quick pulsating plain,<br /> + They seem'd to sweep between two fierce red suns<br /> + Which, hunter-wise, shot at their glaring balls<br /> + Keen shafts, with scarlet feathers and gold barbs,<br /> + By round, small lakes with thinner, forests fring'd,<br /> + More jocund woods that sung about the feet<br /> + And crept along the shoulders of great cliffs;<br /> + The warrior stags, with does and tripping fawns,<br /> + Like shadows black upon the throbbing mist<br /> + Of Evening's rose, flash'd thro' the singing woods—<br /> + Nor tim'rous, sniff'd the spicy, cone-breath'd air;<br /> + For never had the patriarch of the herd<br /> + Seen limn'd against the farthest rim of light<br /> + Of the low-dipping sky, the plume or bow<br /> + Of the red hunter; nor when stoop'd to drink,<br /> + Had from the rustling rice-beds heard the shaft<br /> + Of the still hunter hidden in its spears;<br /> + His bark canoe close-knotted in its bronze,<br /> + His form as stirless as the brooding air,<br /> + His dusky eyes too, fix'd, unwinking, fires;<br /> + His bow-string tighten'd till it subtly sang<br /> + To the long throbs, and leaping pulse that roll'd<br /> + And beat within his knotted, naked breast.<br /> + There came a morn. The Moon of Falling Leaves,<br /> + With her twin silver blades had only hung<br /> + Above the low set cedars of the swamp<br /> + For one brief quarter, when the sun arose<br /> + Lusty with light and full of summer heat,<br /> + And pointing with his arrows at the blue,<br /> + Clos'd wigwam curtains of the sleeping moon,<br /> + Laugh'd with the noise of arching cataracts,<br /> + And with the dove-like cooing of the woods,<br /> + And with the shrill cry of the diving loon<br /> + And with the wash of saltless, rounded seas,<br /> + And mock'd the white moon of the Falling Leaves.<br /> + "Esa! esa! shame upon you, Pale Face!<br /> + "Shame upon you, moon of evil witches!<br /> + "Have you kill'd the happy, laughing Summer?<br /> + "Have you slain the mother of the Flowers<br /> + "With your icy spells of might and magic?<br /> + "Have you laid her dead within my arms?<br /> + "Wrapp'd her, mocking, in a rainbow blanket.<br /> + "Drown'd her in the frost mist of your anger?<br /> + "She is gone a little way before me;<br /> + "Gone an arrow's flight beyond my vision;<br /> + "She will turn again and come to meet me,<br /> + "With the ghosts of all the slain flowers,<br /> + "In a blue mist round her shining tresses;<br /> + "In a blue smoke in her naked forests—<br /> + "She will linger, kissing all the branches,<br /> + "She will linger, touching all the places,<br /> + "Bare and naked, with her golden fingers,<br /> + "Saying, 'Sleep, and dream of me, my children<br /> + "'Dream of me, the mystic Indian Summer;<br /> + "'I, who, slain by the cold Moon of Terror,<br /> + "'Can return across the path of Spirits,<br /> + "'Bearing still my heart of love and fire;<br /> + "'Looking with my eyes of warmth and splendour;<br /> + "'Whisp'ring lowly thro' your sleep of sunshine?<br /> + "'I, the laughing Summer, am not turn'd<br /> + "'Into dry dust, whirling on the prairies,—<br /> + "'Into red clay, crush'd beneath the snowdrifts.<br /> + "'I am still the mother of sweet flowers<br /> + "'Growing but an arrow's flight beyond you—<br /> + "'In the Happy Hunting Ground—the quiver<br /> + "'Of great Manitou, where all the arrows<br /> + "'He has shot from his great bow of Pow'r,<br /> + "'With its clear, bright, singing cord of Wisdom,<br /> + "'Are re-gather'd, plum'd again and brighten'd,<br /> + "'And shot out, re-barb'd with Love and Wisdom;<br /> + "'Always shot, and evermore returning.<br /> + "'Sleep, my children, smiling in your heart-seeds<br /> + "'At the spirit words of Indian Summer!'"<br /> + "Thus, O Moon of Falling Leaves, I mock you!<br /> + "Have you slain my gold-ey'd squaw, the Summer?"<br /> + The mighty morn strode laughing up the land,<br /> + And Max, the labourer and the lover, stood<br /> + Within the forest's edge, beside a tree;<br /> + The mossy king of all the woody tribes,<br /> + Whose clatt'ring branches rattl'd, shuddering,<br /> + As the bright axe cleav'd moon-like thro' the air,<br /> + Waking strange thunders, rousing echoes link'd<br /> + From the full, lion-throated roar, to sighs<br /> + Stealing on dove-wings thro' the distant aisles.<br /> + Swift fell the axe, swift follow'd roar on roar,<br /> + Till the bare woodland bellow'd in its rage,<br /> + As the first-slain slow toppl'd to his fall.<br /> + "O King of Desolation, art thou dead?"<br /> + Thought Max, and laughing, heart and lips, leap'd on<br /> + The vast, prone trunk. "And have I slain a King?<br /> + "Above his ashes will I build my house—<br /> + No slave beneath its pillars, but—a King!"<br /> + Max wrought alone, but for a half-breed lad,<br /> + With tough, lithe sinews and deep Indian eyes,<br /> + Lit with a Gallic sparkle. Max, the lover, found<br /> + The labourer's arms grow mightier day by day—<br /> + More iron-welded as he slew the trees;<br /> + And with the constant yearning of his heart<br /> + Towards little Kate, part of a world away,<br /> + His young soul grew and shew'd a virile front,<br /> + Full-muscl'd and large statur'd, like his flesh.<br /> + Soon the great heaps of brush were builded high,<br /> + And like a victor, Max made pause to clear<br /> + His battle-field, high strewn with tangl'd dead.<br /> + Then roar'd the crackling mountains, and their fires<br /> + Met in high heaven, clasping flame with flame.<br /> + The thin winds swept a cosmos of red sparks<br /> + Across the bleak, midnight sky; and the sun<br /> + Walk'd pale behind the resinous, black smoke.<br /> + And Max car'd little for the blotted sun,<br /> + And nothing for the startl'd, outshone stars;<br /> + For Love, once set within a lover's breast,<br /> + Has its own Sun—it's own peculiar sky,<br /> + All one great daffodil—on which do lie<br /> + The sun, the moon, the stars—all seen at once,<br /> + And never setting; but all shining straight<br /> + Into the faces of the trinity,—<br /> + The one belov'd, the lover, and sweet Love!<br /> + It was not all his own, the axe-stirr'd waste.<br /> + In these new days men spread about the earth,<br /> + With wings at heel—and now the settler hears,<br /> + While yet his axe rings on the primal woods,<br /> + The shrieks of engines rushing o'er the wastes;<br /> + Nor parts his kind to hew his fortunes out.<br /> + And as one drop glides down the unknown rock<br /> + And the bright-threaded stream leaps after it,<br /> + With welded billions, so the settler finds<br /> + His solitary footsteps beaten out,<br /> + With the quick rush of panting, human waves<br /> + Upheav'd by throbs of angry poverty;<br /> + And driven by keen blasts of hunger, from<br /> + Their native strands—so stern, so dark, so dear!<br /> + O, then, to see the troubl'd, groaning waves,<br /> + Throb down to peace in kindly, valley beds;<br /> + Their turbid bosoms clearing in the calm<br /> + Of sun-ey'd Plenty—till the stars and moon,<br /> + The blessed sun himself, has leave to shine<br /> + And laugh in their dark hearts! So shanties grew<br /> + Other than his amid the blacken'd stumps;<br /> + And children ran, with little twigs and leaves<br /> + And flung them, shouting, on the forest pyres,<br /> + Where burn'd the forest kings—and in the glow<br /> + Paus'd men and women when the day was done.<br /> + There the lean weaver ground anew his axe,<br /> + Nor backward look'd upon the vanish'd loom,<br /> + But forward to the ploughing of his fields;<br /> + And to the rose of Plenty in the cheeks.<br /> + Of wife and children—nor heeded much the pangs<br /> + Of the rous'd muscles tuning to new work.<br /> + The pallid clerk look'd on his blister'd palms<br /> + And sigh'd and smil'd, but girded up his loins<br /> + And found new vigour as he felt new hope.<br /> + The lab'rer with train'd muscles, grim and grave,<br /> + Look'd at the ground and wonder'd in his soul,<br /> + What joyous anguish stirr'd his darken'd heart,<br /> + At the mere look of the familiar soil,<br /> + And found his answer in the words—"<i>Mine own!</i>"<br /> + Then came smooth-coated men, with eager eyes,<br /> + And talk'd of steamers on the cliff-bound lakes;<br /> + And iron tracks across the prairie lands;<br /> + And mills to crush the quartz of wealthy hills;<br /> + And mills to saw the great, wide-arm'd trees;<br /> + And mills to grind the singing stream of grain;<br /> + And with such busy clamour mingled still<br /> + The throbbing music of the bold, bright Axe—<br /> + The steel tongue of the Present, and the wail<br /> + Of falling forests—voices of the Past.<br /> + Max, social-soul'd, and with his practised thews,<br /> + Was happy, boy-like, thinking much of Kate,<br /> + And speaking of her to the women-folk;<br /> + Who, mostly, happy in new honeymoons<br /> + Of hope themselves, were ready still to hear<br /> + The thrice told tale of Katie's sunny eyes<br /> + And Katie's yellow hair, and household ways:<br /> + And heard so often, "There shall stand our home—<br /> + "On yonder slope, with vines about the door!"<br /> + That the good wives were almost made to see<br /> + The snowy walls, deep porches, and the gleam<br /> + Of Katie's garments flitting through the rooms;<br /> + And the black slope all bristling with burn'd stumps<br /> + Was known amongst them all as "Max's House."<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + * * * * *<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + O, Love builds on the azure sea,<br /> + And Love builds on the golden sand;<br /> + And Love builds on the rose-wing'd cloud,<br /> + And sometimes Love builds on the land.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + * * * * *<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + O, if Love build on sparkling sea—<br /> + And if Love build on golden strand—<br /> + And if Love build on rosy cloud—<br /> + To Love these are the solid land.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + * * * * *<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + O, Love will build his lily walls,<br /> + And Love his pearly roof, will rear,—<br /> + On cloud or land, or mist or sea—<br /> + Love's solid land is everywhere!<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + * * * * *<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /></p> + +<p class="poem"> + PART III.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + The great farm house of Malcolm Graem stood<br /> + Square shoulder'd and peak roof'd upon a hill,<br /> + With many windows looking everywhere;<br /> + So that no distant meadow might lie hid,<br /> + Nor corn-field hide its gold—nor lowing herd<br /> + Browse in far pastures, out of Malcolm's ken.<br /> + He lov'd to sit, grim, grey, and somewhat stern,<br /> + And thro' the smoke-clouds from his short clay pipe<br /> + Look out upon his riches; while his thoughts<br /> + Swung back and forth between the bleak, stern past,<br /> + And the near future, for his life had come<br /> + To that close balance, when, a pendulum,<br /> + The memory swings between me "Then" and "Now";<br /> + His seldom speech ran thus two diff'rent ways:<br /> + "When I was but a laddie, this I did";<br /> + Or, "Katie, in the Fall I'll see to build<br /> + "Such fences or such sheds about the place;<br /> + "And next year, please the Lord, another barn."<br /> + Katie's gay garden foam'd about the walls,<br /> + 'Leagur'd the prim-cut modern sills, and rush'd<br /> + Up the stone walls—and broke on the peak'd roof.<br /> + And Katie's lawn was like a Poet's sward,<br /> + Velvet and sheer and di'monded with dew;<br /> + For such as win their wealth most aptly take<br /> + Smooth, urban ways and blend them with their own;<br /> + And Katie's dainty raiment was as fine<br /> + As the smooth, silken petals of the rose;<br /> + And her light feet, her nimble mind and voice,<br /> + In city schools had learn'd the city's ways,<br /> + And grafts upon the healthy, lonely vine<br /> + They shone, eternal blossoms 'mid the fruit.<br /> + For Katie had her sceptre in her hand<br /> + And wielded it right queenly there and here,<br /> + In dairy, store-room, kitchen—ev'ry spot<br /> + Where women's ways were needed on the place.<br /> + And Malcolm took her through his mighty fields,<br /> + And taught her lore about the change of crops;<br /> + And how to see a handsome furrow plough'd;<br /> + And how to choose the cattle for the mart;<br /> + And how to know a fair day's work when done;<br /> + And where to plant young orchards; for he said,<br /> + "God sent a lassie, but I need a son—<br /> + "Bethankit for His mercies all the same."<br /> + And Katie, when he said it, thought of Max—<br /> + Who had been gone two winters and two springs,<br /> + And sigh'd, and thought, "Would he not be your son?"<br /> + But all in silence, for she had too much<br /> + Of the firm will of Malcolm in her soul<br /> + To think of shaking that deep-rooted rock;<br /> + But hop'd the crystal current of his love<br /> + For his one child, increasing day by day,<br /> + Might fret with silver lip, until it wore<br /> + Such channels thro' the rock, that some slight stroke<br /> + Of circumstance might crumble down the stone.<br /> + The wooer, too, had come, Max prophesied;<br /> + Reputed wealthy; with the azure eyes<br /> + And Saxon-gilded locks—the fair, clear face,<br /> + And stalwart form that most women love.<br /> + And with the jewels of some virtues set<br /> + On his broad brow. With fires within his soul<br /> + He had the wizard skill to fetter down<br /> + To that mere pink, poetic, nameless glow,<br /> + That need not fright a flake of snow away—<br /> + But if unloos'd, could melt an adverse rock<br /> + Marrow'd with iron, frowning in his way.<br /> + And Malcolm balanc'd him by day and night;<br /> + And with his grey-ey'd shrewdness partly saw<br /> + He was not one for Kate; but let him come,<br /> + And in chance moments thought: "Well, let it be—<br /> + "They make a bonnie pair—he knows the ways<br /> + "Of men and things: can hold the gear I give,<br /> + "And, if the lassie wills it, let it be."<br /> + And then, upstarting from his midnight sleep,<br /> + With hair erect and sweat upon his brow,<br /> + Such as no labor e'er had beaded there;<br /> + Would cry aloud, wide-staring thro' the dark—<br /> + "Nay, nay; she shall not wed him—rest in peace."<br /> + Then fully waking, grimly laugh and say:<br /> + "Why did I speak and answer when none spake?"<br /> + But still lie staring, wakeful, through the shades;<br /> + List'ning to the silence, and beating still<br /> + The ball of Alfred's merits to and fro—<br /> + Saying, between the silent arguments:<br /> + "But would the mother like it, could she know?<br /> + "I would there was a way to ring a lad<br /> + "Like silver coin, and so find out the true;<br /> + "But Kate shall say him 'Nay' or say him 'Yea'<br /> + "At her own will." And Katie said him "Nay,"<br /> + In all the maiden, speechless, gentle ways<br /> + A woman has. But Alfred only laugh'd<br /> + To his own soul, and said in his wall'd mind:<br /> + "O, Kate, were I a lover, I might feel<br /> + "Despair flap o'er my hopes with raven wings;<br /> + "Because thy love is giv'n to other love.<br /> + "And did I love—unless I gain'd thy love,<br /> + "I would disdain the golden hair, sweet lips,<br /> + "Air-blown form and true violet eyes;<br /> + "Nor crave the beauteous lamp without the flame;<br /> + "Which in itself would light a charnel house.<br /> + "Unlov'd and loving, I would find the cure<br /> + "Of Love's despair in nursing Love's disdain—<br /> + "Disdain of lesser treasure than the whole.<br /> + "One cares not much to place against the wheel<br /> + "A diamond lacking flame—nor loves to pluck<br /> + "A rose with all its perfume cast abroad<br /> + "To the bosom of the gale. Not I, in truth!<br /> + "If all man's days are three score years and ten,<br /> + "He needs must waste them not, but nimbly seize<br /> + "The bright consummate blossom that his will<br /> + "Calls for most loudly. Gone, long gone the days<br /> + "When Love within my soul for ever stretch'd<br /> + "Fierce hands of flame, and here and there I found<br /> + "A blossom fitted for him—all up-fill'd<br /> + "With love as with clear dew—they had their hour<br /> + "And burn'd to ashes with him, as he droop'd<br /> + "In his own ruby fires. No Phoenix he,<br /> + "To rise again because of Katie's eyes,<br /> + "On dewy wings, from ashes such as his!<br /> + "But now, another Passion bids me forth.<br /> + "To crown him with the fairest I can find,<br /> + "And makes me lover—not of Katie's face,<br /> + "But of her father's riches! O, high fool,<br /> + "Who feels the faintest pulsing of a wish<br /> + "And fails to feed it into lordly life!<br /> + "So that, when stumbling back to Mother Earth,<br /> + "His freezing lip may curl in cold disdain<br /> + "Of those poor, blighted fools who starward stare<br /> + "For that fruition, nipp'd and scanted here.<br /> + "And, while the clay, o'ermasters all his blood—<br /> + "And he can feel the dust knit with his flesh—<br /> + "He yet can say to them, 'Be ye content;<br /> + "'I tasted perfect fruitage thro' my life,<br /> + "'Lighted all lamps of passion, till the oil<br /> + "'Fail'd from their wicks; and now, O now, I know<br /> + "'There is no Immortality could give<br /> + "'Such boon as this—to simply cease to be!<br /> + "'<i>There</i> lies your Heaven, O ye dreaming slaves,<br /> + "'If ye would only live to make it so;<br /> + "'Nor paint upon the blue skies lying shades<br /> + "'Of—<i>what is not</i>. Wise, wise and strong the man<br /> + "'who poisons that fond haunter of the mind,<br /> + "'Craving for a hereafter with deep draughts<br /> + "'Of wild delights—so fiery, fierce, and strong,<br /> + "'That when their dregs are deeply, deeply drain'd,<br /> + "'What once was blindly crav'd of purblind Chance,<br /> + "'Life, life eternal—throbbing thro' all space<br /> + "'Is strongly loath'd—and with his face in dust,<br /> + "'Man loves his only Heav'n—six feet of Earth!'<br /> + "So, Katie, tho' your blue eyes say me 'Nay,'<br /> + "My pangs of love for gold must needs be fed,<br /> + "And shall be, Katie, if I know my mind."<br /> + Events were winds close nest'ling in the sails<br /> + Of Alfred's bark, all blowing him direct<br /> + To his wish'd harbour. On a certain day,<br /> + All set about with roses and with fire;<br /> + One of three days of heat which frequent slip,<br /> + Like triple rubies, in between the sweet,<br /> + Mild, emerald days of summer, Katie went,<br /> + Drawn by a yearning for the ice-pale blooms,<br /> + Natant and shining—firing all the bay<br /> + With angel fires built up of snow and gold.<br /> + She found the bay close pack'd with groaning logs,<br /> + Prison'd between great arms of close hing'd wood.<br /> + All cut from Malcolm's forests in the west,<br /> + And floated hither to his noisy mills;<br /> + And all stamp'd with the potent "G." and "M.,"<br /> + Which much he lov'd to see upon his goods,<br /> + The silent courtiers owning him their king.<br /> + Out clear beyond the rustling ricebeds sang,<br /> + And the cool lilies starr'd the shadow'd wave.<br /> + "This is a day for lily-love," said Kate,<br /> + While she made bare the lilies of her feet;<br /> + And sang a lily song that Max had made,<br /> + That spoke of lilies—always meaning Kate.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + * * * * *<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "While Lady of the silver'd lakes,<br /> + Chaste Goddess of the sweet, still shrines.<br /> + The jocund river fitful makes,<br /> + By sudden, deep gloom'd brakes,<br /> + Close shelter'd by close weft and woof of vine,<br /> + Spilling a shadow gloomy-rich as wine,<br /> + Into the silver throne where thou dost sit,<br /> + Thy silken leaves all dusky round thee knit!<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + * * * * *<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "Mild soul of the unsalted wave!<br /> + White bosom holding golden fire<br /> + Deep as some ocean-hidden cave<br /> + Are fix'd the roots of thy desire,<br /> + Thro' limpid currents stealing up,<br /> + And rounding to the pearly cup<br /> + Thou dost desire,<br /> + With all thy trembling heart of sinless fire,<br /> + But to be fill'd<br /> + With dew distill'd<br /> + From clear, fond skies, that in their gloom<br /> + Hold, floating high, thy sister moon,<br /> + Pale chalice of a sweet perfume,<br /> + Whiter-breasted than a dove—<br /> + To thee the dew is—love!"<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + * * * * *<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Kate bared her little feet, and pois'd herself<br /> + On the first log close grating on the shore;<br /> + And with bright eyes of laughter, and wild hair—<br /> + A flying wind of gold—from log to log<br /> + Sped, laughing as they wallow'd in her track,<br /> + Like brown-scal'd monsters rolling, as her foot<br /> + Spurn'd each in turn with its rose-white sole.<br /> + A little island, out in middlewave,<br /> + With its green shoulder held the great drive brac'd<br /> + Between it and the mainland; here it was<br /> + The silver lilies drew her with white smiles;<br /> + And as she touch'd the last great log of all,<br /> + It reel'd, upstarting, like a column brac'd,<br /> + A second on the wave—and when it plung'd<br /> + Rolling upon the froth and sudden foam,<br /> + Katie had vanish'd, and with angry grind<br /> + The vast logs roll'd together,—nor a lock<br /> + Of drifting yellow hair—an upflung hand,<br /> + Told where the rich man's chiefest treasure sank<br /> + Under his wooden wealth. But Alfred, laid<br /> + With pipe and book upon the shady marge,<br /> + Of the cool isle, saw all, and seeing hurl'd<br /> + Himself, and hardly knew it, on the logs;<br /> + By happy chance a shallow lapp'd the isle<br /> + On this green bank; and when his iron arms<br /> + Dash'd the bark'd monsters, as frail stems of rice,<br /> + A little space apart, the soft, slow tide<br /> + But reach'd his chest, and in a flash he saw<br /> + Kate's yellow hair, and by it drew her up,<br /> + And lifting her aloft, cried out, "O, Kate!"<br /> + And once again said, "Katie! is she dead?"<br /> + For like the lilies broken by the rough<br /> + And sudden riot of the armor'd logs,<br /> + Kate lay upon his hands; and now the logs<br /> + Clos'd in upon him, nipping his great chest,<br /> + Nor could he move to push them off again<br /> + For Katie in his arms. "And now," he said,<br /> + "If none should come, and any wind arise<br /> + "To weld these woody monsters 'gainst the isle,<br /> + "I shall be crack'd like any broken twig;<br /> + "And as it is, I know not if I die,<br /> + "For I am hurt—aye, sorely, sorely hurt!"<br /> + Then look'd on Katie's lily face, and said,<br /> + "Dead, dead or living? Why, an even chance.<br /> + "O lovely bubble on a troubl'd sea,<br /> + "I would not thou shoulds't lose thyself again<br /> + "In the black ocean whence thy life emerg'd,<br /> + "But skyward steal on gales as soft as love,<br /> + "And hang in some bright rainbow overhead,<br /> + "If only such bright rainbow spann'd the earth."<br /> + Then shouted loudly, till the silent air<br /> + Rous'd like a frighten'd bird, and on its wings<br /> + Caught up his cry and bore it to the farm.<br /> + There Malcolm, leaping from his noontide sleep,<br /> + Upstarted as at midnight, crying out,<br /> + "She shall not wed him—rest you, wife, in peace!'<br /> + They found him, Alfred, haggard-ey'd and faint,<br /> + But holding Katie ever towards the sun,<br /> + Unhurt, and waking in the fervent heat.<br /> + And now it came that Alfred being sick<br /> + Of his sharp hurts and tended by them both,<br /> + With what was like to love, being born of thanks,<br /> + Had choice of hours most politic to woo,<br /> + And used his deed as one might use the sun,<br /> + To ripen unmellow'd fruit; and from the core<br /> + Of Katie's gratitude hop'd yet to nurse<br /> + A flow'r all to his liking—Katie's love.<br /> + But Katie's mind was like the plain, broad shield<br /> + Of a table di'mond, nor had a score of sides;<br /> + And in its shield, so precious and so plain,<br /> + Was cut, thro' all its clear depths—Max's name!<br /> + And so she said him "Nay" at last, in words<br /> + Of such true sounding silver, that he knew<br /> + He might not win her at the present hour,<br /> + But smil'd and thought—"I go, and come again!<br /> + "Then shall we see. Our three-score years and ten<br /> + "Are mines of treasure, if we hew them deep,<br /> + "Nor stop too long in choosing out our tools!"<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + * * * * *<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /></p> + +<p class="poem"> + PART IV.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + From his far wigwam sprang the strong North Wind<br /> + And rush'd with war-cry down the steep ravines,<br /> + And wrestl'd with the giants of the woods;<br /> + And with his ice-club beat the swelling crests.<br /> + Of the deep watercourses into death,<br /> + And with his chill foot froze the whirling leaves<br /> + Of dun and gold and fire in icy banks;<br /> + And smote the tall reeds to the harden'd earth;<br /> + And sent his whistling arrows o'er the plains,<br /> + Scatt'ring the ling'ring herds—and sudden paus'd<br /> + When he had frozen all the running streams,<br /> + And hunted with his war-cry all the things<br /> + That breath'd about the woods, or roam'd the bleak<br /> + Bare prairies swelling to the mournful sky.<br /> + "White squaw," he shouted, troubl'd in his soul,<br /> + "I slew the dead, wrestl'd with naked chiefs<br /> + "Unplum'd before, scalped of their leafy plumes;<br /> + "I bound sick rivers in cold thongs of death,<br /> + "And shot my arrows over swooning plains,<br /> + "Bright with the Paint of death—and lean and bare.<br /> + "And all the braves of my loud tribe will mock<br /> + "And point at me—when our great chief, the Sun,<br /> + "Relights his Council fire in the moon<br /> + "Of Budding Leaves." "Ugh, ugh! he is a brave!<br /> + "He fights with squaws and takes the scalps of babes!<br /> + "And the least wind will blow his calumet—<br /> + "Fill'd with the breath of smallest flow'rs—across<br /> + "The warpaint on my face, and pointing with<br /> + "His small, bright pipe, that never moved a spear<br /> + "Of bearded rice, cry, 'Ugh! he slays the dead!'<br /> + "O, my white squaw, come from thy wigwam grey,<br /> + "Spread thy white blanket on the twice-slain dead;<br /> + "And hide them, ere the waking of the Sun!"<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + * * * * *<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + High grew the snow beneath the low-hung sky,<br /> + And all was silent in the Wilderness;<br /> + In trance of stillness Nature heard her God<br /> + Rebuilding her spent fires, and veil'd her face<br /> + While the Great Worker brooded o'er His work.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + * * * * *<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "Bite deep and wide, O Axe, the tree,<br /> + What doth thy bold voice promise me?"<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + * * * * *<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "I promise thee all joyous things,<br /> + That furnish forth the lives of kings!<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + * * * * *<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "For ev'ry silver ringing blow,<br /> + Cities and palaces shall grow!"<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + * * * * *<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "Bite deep and wide, O Axe, the tree,<br /> + Tell wider prophecies to me."<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + * * * * *<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "When rust hath gnaw'd me deep and red;<br /> + A nation strong shall lift his head!<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + * * * * *<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "His crown the very Heav'ns shall smite,<br /> + Aeons shall build him in his might!"<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + * * * * *<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "Bite deep and wide, O Axe, the tree;<br /> + Bright Seer, help on thy prophecy!"<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + * * * * *<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Max smote the snow-weigh'd tree and lightly laugh'd.<br /> + "See, friend," he cried to one that look'd and smil'd,<br /> + "My axe and I—we do immortal tasks—<br /> + We build up nations—this my axe and I!"<br /> + "O," said the other with a cold, short smile,<br /> + "Nations are not immortal! is there now<br /> + "One nation thron'd upon the sphere of earth,<br /> + "That walk'd with the first Gods, and saw<br /> + "The budding world unfold its slow-leav'd flow'r?<br /> + "Nay; it is hardly theirs to leave behind<br /> + "Ruins so eloquent, that the hoary sage<br /> + "Can lay his hand upon their stones, and say:<br /> + "'These once were thrones!' The lean, lank lion peals<br /> + "His midnight thunders over lone, red plains,<br /> + "Long-ridg'd and crested on their dusty waves,<br /> + "With fires from moons red-hearted as the sun;<br /> + "And deep re-thunders all the earth to him.<br /> + "For, far beneath the flame-fleck'd, shifting sands,<br /> + "Below the roots of palms, and under stones<br /> + "Of younger ruins, thrones, tow'rs and cities<br /> + "Honeycomb the earth. The high, solemn walls<br /> + "Of hoary ruins—their foundings all unknown<br /> + "(But to the round-ey'd worlds that walk<br /> + "In the blank paths of Space and blanker Chance).<br /> + "At whose stones young mountains wonder, and the seas'<br /> + "New-silv'ring, deep-set valleys pause and gaze;<br /> + "Are rear'd upon old shrines, whose very Gods<br /> + "Were dreams to the shrine-builders, of a time<br /> + "They caught in far-off flashes—as the child<br /> + "Half thinks he can remember how one came<br /> + "And took him in her hand and shew'd him that<br /> + "He thinks, she call'd the sun. Proud ships rear high<br /> + "On ancient billows that have torn the roots<br /> + "Of cliffs, and bitten at the golden lips<br /> + "Of firm, sleek beaches, till they conquer'd all,<br /> + "And sow'd the reeling earth with salted waves.<br /> + "Wrecks plunge, prow foremost, down still, solemn slopes,<br /> + "And bring their dead crews to as dead a quay;<br /> + "Some city built before that ocean grew,<br /> + "By silver drops from many a floating cloud,<br /> + "By icebergs bellowing in their throes of death,<br /> + "By lesser seas toss'd from their rocking cups,<br /> + "And leaping each to each; by dew-drops flung<br /> + "From painted sprays, whose weird leaves and flow'rs<br /> + "Are moulded for new dwellers on the earth,<br /> + "Printed in hearts of mountains and of mines.<br /> + "Nations immortal? where the well-trimm'd lamps<br /> + "Of long-past ages, when Time seem'd to pause<br /> + "On smooth, dust-blotted graves that, like the tombs<br /> + "Of monarchs, held dead bones and sparkling gems?<br /> + "She saw no glimmer on the hideous ring<br /> + "Of the black clouds; no stream of sharp, clear light<br /> + "From those great torches, pass'd into the black<br /> + "Of deep oblivion. She seem'd to watch, but she<br /> + "Forgot her long-dead nations. When she stirr'd<br /> + "Her vast limbs in the dawn that forc'd its fire<br /> + "Up the black East, and saw the imperious red<br /> + "Burst over virgin dews and budding flow'rs,<br /> + "She still forgot her molder'd thrones and kings,<br /> + "Her sages and their torches, and their Gods,<br /> + "And said, 'This is my birth—my primal day!'<br /> + "She dream'd new Gods, and rear'd them other shrines,<br /> + "Planted young nations, smote a feeble flame<br /> + "From sunless flint, re-lit the torch of mind;<br /> + "Again she hung her cities on the hills,<br /> + "Built her rich towers, crown'd her kings again,<br /> + "And with the sunlight on her awful wings<br /> + "Swept round the flow'ry cestus of the earth,<br /> + "And said, 'I build for Immortality!'<br /> + "Her vast hand rear'd her tow'rs, her shrines, her thrones;<br /> + "The ceaseless sweep of her tremendous wings<br /> + "Still beat them down and swept their dust abroad;<br /> + "Her iron finger wrote on mountain sides<br /> + "Her deeds and prowess—and her own soft plume<br /> + "Wore down the hills! Again drew darkly on<br /> + "A night of deep forgetfulness; once more<br /> + "Time seem'd to pause upon forgotten graves—<br /> + "Once more a young dawn stole into her eyes—<br /> + "Again her broad wings stirr'd, and fresh clear airs,<br /> + "Blew the great clouds apart;—again Time said,<br /> + "'This is my birth—my deeds and handiwork<br /> + "'Shall be immortal.' Thus and so dream on<br /> + "Fool'd nations, and thus dream their dullard sons.<br /> + "Naught is immortal save immortal—Death!"<br /> + Max paus'd and smil'd: "O, preach such gospel, friend,<br /> + "To all but lovers who most truly love;<br /> + "For <i>them</i>, their gold-wrought scripture glibly reads<br /> + "All else is mortal but immortal—Love!"<br /> + "Fools! fools!" his friend said, "most immortal fools!—<br /> + "But pardon, pardon, for, perchance, you love?"<br /> + "Yes," said Max, proudly smiling, "thus do I<br /> + "Possess the world and feel eternity!"<br /> + Dark laughter blacken'd in the other's eyes:<br /> + "Eternity! why, did such Iris arch<br /> + "Ent'ring our worm-bored planet, never liv'd<br /> + "One woman true enough such tryst to keep!"<br /> + "I'd swear by Kate," said Max; "and then, I had<br /> + "A mother, and my father swore by her."<br /> + "By Kate? Ah, that were lusty oath, indeed!<br /> + "Some other man will look into her eyes,<br /> + "And swear me roundly, 'By true Catherine!'<br /> + "And Troilus swore by Cressed—so they say."<br /> + "You never knew my Kate," said Max, and pois'd<br /> + His axe again on high, "But let it pass—<br /> + "You are too subtle for me; argument<br /> + "Have I none to oppose yours with—but this,<br /> + "Get you a Kate, and let her sunny eyes<br /> + "Dispel the doubting darkness in your soul."<br /> + "And have not I a Kate? pause, friend, and see.<br /> + "She gave me this faint shadow of herself<br /> + "The day I slipp'd the watch-star of our loves—<br /> + "A ring—upon her hand—she loves me, too;<br /> + "Yet tho' her eyes be suns, no Gods are they<br /> + "To give me worlds, or make me feel a tide<br /> + "Of strong Eternity set towards my soul;<br /> + "And tho' she loves me, yet am I content<br /> + "To know she loves me by the hour—the year—<br /> + "Perchance the second—as all women love."<br /> + The bright axe falter'd in the air, and ripp'd<br /> + Down the rough bark, and bit the drifted snow,<br /> + For Max's arm fell, wither'd in its strength,<br /> + 'Long by his side. "Your Kate," he said; "your Kate!"<br /> + "Yes, mine, while holds her mind that way, my Kate;<br /> + "I sav'd her life, and had her love for thanks;<br /> + "Her father is Malcolm Graem—Max, my friend,<br /> + "You pale! what sickness seizes on your soul?"<br /> + Max laugh'd, and swung his bright axe high again:<br /> + "Stand back a pace—a too far reaching blow<br /> + "Might level your false head with yon prone trunk—<br /> + "Stand back and listen while I say, "You lie!<br /> + "That is my Katie's face upon your breast,<br /> + "But 'tis my Katie's love lives in my breast—<br /> + "Stand back, I say! my axe is heavy, and<br /> + "Might chance to cleave a liar's brittle skull.<br /> + "Your Kate! your Kate! your Kate!—hark, how the woods<br /> + "Mock at your lie with all their woody tongues,<br /> + "O, silence, ye false echoes! not his Kate<br /> + "But mine—I'm certain I will have your life!"<br /> + All the blue heav'n was dead in Max's eyes;<br /> + Doubt-wounded lay Kate's image in his heart,<br /> + And could not rise to pluck the sharp spear out.<br /> + "Well, strike, mad fool," said Alfred, somewhat pale;<br /> + "I have no weapon but these naked hands."<br /> + "Aye, but," said Max, "you smote my naked heart!<br /> + "O shall I slay him?—Satan, answer me—<br /> + "I cannot call on God for answer here.<br /> + "O Kate—!"<br /> + A voice from God came thro' the silent woods<br /> + And answer'd him—for suddenly a wind<br /> + Caught the great tree-tops, coned with high-pil'd snow,<br /> + And smote them to and fro, while all the air<br /> + Was sudden fill'd with busy drifts, and high<br /> + White pillars whirl'd amid the naked trunks,<br /> + And harsh, loud groans, and smiting, sapless boughs<br /> + Made hellish clamour in the quiet place.<br /> + With a shrill shriek of tearing fibres, rock'd<br /> + The half-hewn tree above his fated head;<br /> + And, tott'ring, asked the sudden blast, "Which way?"<br /> + And, answ'ring its windy arms, crash'd and broke<br /> + Thro' other lacing boughs, with one loud roar<br /> + Of woody thunder; all its pointed boughs<br /> + Pierc'd the deep snow—its round and mighty corpse,<br /> + Bark-flay'd and shudd'ring, quiver'd into death.<br /> + And Max—as some frail, wither'd reed, the sharp<br /> + And piercing branches caught at him,<br /> + As hands in a death-throe, and beat him to the earth—<br /> + And the dead tree upon its slayer lay.<br /> + "Yet hear we much of Gods;—if such there be,<br /> + "They play at games of chance with thunderbolts,"<br /> + Said Alfred, "else on me this doom had come.<br /> + "This seals my faith in deep and dark unfaith!<br /> + "Now Katie, are you mine, for Max is dead—<br /> + "Or will be soon, imprison'd by those boughs,<br /> + "Wounded and torn, sooth'd by the deadly palms<br /> + "Of the white, trait'rous frost; and buried then<br /> + "Under the snows that fill those vast, grey clouds,<br /> + "Low-sweeping on the fretted forest roof.<br /> + "And Katie shall believe you false—not dead;<br /> + "False, false!—And I? O, she shall find me true—<br /> + "True as a fabl'd devil to the soul<br /> + "He longs for with the heat of all hell's fires.<br /> + "These myths serve well for simile, I see.<br /> + "And yet—Down, Pity! knock not at my breast,<br /> + "Nor grope about for that dull stone my heart;<br /> + "I'll stone thee with it, Pity! Get thee hence,<br /> + "Pity, I'll strangle thee with naked hands;<br /> + "For thou dost bear upon thy downy breast<br /> + "Remorse, shap'd like a serpent, and her fangs<br /> + "Might dart at me and pierce my marrow thro'.<br /> + "Hence, beggar, hence—and keep with fools, I say!<br /> + "He bleeds and groans! Well, Max, thy God or mine<br /> + "Blind Chance, here play'd the butcher—'twas not I.<br /> + "Down, hands! ye shall not lift his fall'n head;<br /> + "What cords tug at ye? What? Ye'd pluck him up<br /> + "And staunch his wounds? There rises in my breast<br /> + "A strange, strong giant, throwing wide his arms<br /> + "And bursting all the granite of my heart!<br /> + "How like to quiv'ring flesh a stone may feel!<br /> + "Why, it has pangs! I'll none of them. I know<br /> + "Life is too short for anguish and for hearts—<br /> + "So I wrestle with thee, giant! and my will<br /> + "Turns the thumb, and thou shalt take the knife.<br /> + "Well done! I'll turn thee on the arena dust,<br /> + "And look on thee—What? thou wert Pity's self,<br /> + "Stol'n in my breast; and I have slaughter'd thee—<br /> + "But hist—where hast thou hidden thy fell snake,<br /> + "Fire-fang'd Remorse? Not in my breast, I know,<br /> + "For all again is chill and empty there,<br /> + "And hard and cold—the granite knitted up.<br /> + "So lie there, Max—poor fond and simple Max,<br /> + "'Tis well thou diest: earth's children should not call<br /> + "Such as thee father—let them ever be<br /> + "Father'd by rogues and villains, fit to cope<br /> + "With the foul dragon Chance, and the black knaves<br /> + "Who swarm'd in loathsome masses in the dust.<br /> + "True Max, lie there, and slumber into death."<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + * * * * *<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /></p> + +<p class="poem"> + PART V.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Said the high hill, in the morning: "Look on me—<br /> + "Behold, sweet earth, sweet sister sky, behold<br /> + "The red flames on my peaks, and how my pines<br /> + "Are cressets of pure gold; my quarried scars<br /> + "Of black crevase and shadow-fill'd canon,<br /> + "Are trac'd in silver mist. How on my breast<br /> + "Hang the soft purple fringes of the night;<br /> + "Close to my shoulder droops the weary moon,<br /> + "Dove-pale, into the crimson surf the sun<br /> + "Drives up before his prow; and blackly stands<br /> + "On my slim, loftiest peak, an eagle, with<br /> + "His angry eyes set sunward, while his cry<br /> + "Falls fiercely back from all my ruddy heights;<br /> + "And his bald eaglets, in their bare, broad nest,<br /> + "Shrill pipe their angry echoes: "'Sun, arise,<br /> + "'And show me that pale dove, beside her nest,<br /> + "'Which I shall strike with piercing beak and tear<br /> + "'With iron talons for my hungry young.'"<br /> + And that mild dove, secure for yet a space,<br /> + Half waken'd, turns her ring'd and glossy neck<br /> + To watch dawn's ruby pulsing on her breast,<br /> + And see the first bright golden motes slip down<br /> + The gnarl'd trunks about her leaf-deep nest,<br /> + Nor sees nor fears the eagle on the peak.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + * * * * *<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "Aye, lassie, sing—I'll smoke my pipe the while,<br /> + "And let it be a simple, bonnie song,<br /> + "Such as an old, plain man can gather in<br /> + "His dulling ear, and feel it slipping thro'<br /> + "The cold, dark, stony places of his heart."<br /> + "Yes, sing, sweet Kate," said Alfred in her ear;<br /> + "I often heard you singing in my dreams<br /> + "When I was far away the winter past."<br /> + So Katie on the moonlit window lean'd,<br /> + And in the airy silver of her voice<br /> + Sang of the tender, blue "Forget-me-not."<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Could every blossom find a voice,<br /> + And sing a strain to me;<br /> + I know where I would place my choice,<br /> + Which my delight should be.<br /> + I would not choose the lily tall,<br /> + The rose from musky grot;<br /> + But I would still my minstrel call<br /> + The blue "Forget-me-not!"<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + And I on mossy bank would lie<br /> + Of brooklet, ripp'ling clear;<br /> + And she of the sweet azure eye,<br /> + Close at my list'ning ear,<br /> + Should sing into my soul a strain<br /> + Might never be forgot—<br /> + So rich with joy, so rich with pain<br /> + The blue "Forget-me-not!"<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Ah, ev'ry blossom hath a tale<br /> + With silent grace to tell,<br /> + From rose that reddens to the gale<br /> + To modest heather bell;<br /> + But O, the flow'r in ev'ry heart<br /> + That finds a sacred spot<br /> + To bloom, with azure leaves apart,<br /> + Is the "Forget-me-not!"<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Love plucks it from the mosses green<br /> + When parting hours are nigh,<br /> + And places it loves palms between,<br /> + With many an ardent sigh;<br /> + And bluely up from grassy graves<br /> + In some lov'd churchyard spot,<br /> + It glances tenderly and waves,<br /> + The dear "Forget-me-not!"<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + And with the faint last cadence, stole a glance<br /> + At Malcolm's soften'd face—a bird-soft touch<br /> + Let flutter on the rugged silver snarls<br /> + Of his thick locks, and laid her tender lips<br /> + A second on the iron of his hand.<br /> + "And did you ever meet," he sudden ask'd,<br /> + Of Alfred, sitting pallid in the shade,<br /> + "Out by yon unco place, a lad,—a lad<br /> + "Nam'd Maxwell Gordon; tall, and straight, and strong;<br /> + "About my size, I take it, when a lad?"<br /> + And Katie at the sound of Max's name,<br /> + First spoken for such space by Malcolm's lips,<br /> + Trembl'd and started, and let down her brow,<br /> + Hiding its sudden rose on Malcolm's arm.<br /> + "Max Gordon? Yes. Was he a friend of yours?"<br /> + "No friend of mine, but of the lassie's here—<br /> + "How comes he on? I wager he's a drone,<br /> + "And never will put honey in the hive."<br /> + "No drone," said Alfred, laughing; "when I left<br /> + "He and his axe were quarr'ling with the woods<br /> + "And making forests reel—love steels a lover's arm."<br /> + O, blush that stole from Katie's swelling heart,<br /> + And with its hot rose brought the happy dew<br /> + Into her hidden eyes. "Aye, aye! is that the way?"<br /> + Said Malcolm smiling. "Who may be his love?"<br /> + "In that he is a somewhat simple soul,<br /> + "Why, I suppose he loves—" he paused, and Kate<br /> + Look'd up with two "forget-me-nots" for eyes,<br /> + With eager jewels in their centres set<br /> + Of happy, happy tears, and Alfred's heart<br /> + Became a closer marble than before.<br /> + "—Why I suppose he loves—his lawful wife."<br /> + "His wife! his wife!" said Malcolm, in a maze,<br /> + And laid his heavy hand on Katie's head;<br /> + "Did you play me false, my little lass?<br /> + "Speak and I'll pardon! Katie, lassie, what?"<br /> + "He has a wife," said Alfred, "lithe and bronz'd,<br /> + "An Indian woman, comelier than her kind;<br /> + "And on her knee a child with yellow locks,<br /> + "And lake-like eyes of mystic Indian brown.<br /> + "And so you knew him? He is doing well."<br /> + "False, false!" said Katie, lifting up her head.<br /> + "O, you know not the Max my father means!"<br /> + "He came from yonder farm-house on the slope."<br /> + "Some other Max—we speak not of the same."<br /> + "He has a red mark on his temple set."<br /> + "It matters not—'tis not the Max we know."<br /> + "He wears a turquoise ring slung round his neck."<br /> + "And many wear them—they are common stones."<br /> + "His mother's ring—her name was Helen Wynde."<br /> + "And there be many Helens who have sons."<br /> + "O Katie, credit me—it is the man."<br /> + "O not the man! Why, you have never told<br /> + "Us of the true soul that the true Max has;<br /> + "The Max we know has such a soul, I know."<br /> + "How know you that, my foolish little lass?"<br /> + Said Malcolm, a storm of anger bound<br /> + Within his heart, like Samson with green withs—<br /> + "Belike it is the false young cur we know!"<br /> + "No, no," said Katie, simply, and low-voic'd;<br /> + "If he were traitor I must needs be false,<br /> + "For long ago love melted our two hearts.<br /> + "And time has moulded those two hearts in one,<br /> + "And he is true since I am faithful still."<br /> + She rose and parted, trembling as she went,<br /> + Feeling the following steel of Alfred's eyes,<br /> + And with the icy hand of scorn'd mistrust<br /> + Searching about the pulses of her heart—<br /> + Feeling for Max's image in her breast.<br /> + "To-night she conquers Doubt; to-morrow's noon<br /> + "His following soldiers sap the golden wall,<br /> + "And I shall enter and possess the fort,"<br /> + Said Alfred, in his mind. "O Katie, child,<br /> + "Wilt thou be Nemesis, with yellow hair,<br /> + "To rend my breast? for I do feel a pulse<br /> + "Stir when I look into thy pure-barb'd eyes—<br /> + "O, am I breeding that false thing, a heart?<br /> + "Making my breast all tender for the fangs<br /> + "Of sharp Remorse to plunge their hot fire in.<br /> + "I am a certain dullard! Let me feel<br /> + "But one faint goad, fine as a needle's point,<br /> + "And it shall be the spur in my soul's side<br /> + "To urge the madd'ning thing across the jags<br /> + "And cliffs of life, into the soft embrace<br /> + "Of that cold mistress, who is constant too,<br /> + "And never flings her lovers from her arms—<br /> + "Not Death, for she is still a fruitful wife,<br /> + "Her spouse the Dead, and their cold marriage yields<br /> + "A million children, born of mould'ring flesh—<br /> + "So Death and Flesh live on—immortal they!<br /> + "I mean the blank-ey'd queen whose wassail bowl<br /> + "Is brimm'd from Lethe, and whose porch is red<br /> + "With poppies, as it waits the panting soul—<br /> + "She, she alone is great! No scepter'd slave<br /> + "Bowing to blind creative giants, she;<br /> + "No forces seize her in their strong, mad hands,<br /> + "Nor say, "'Do this—be that!'" Were there a God,<br /> + "His only mocker, she, great Nothingness!<br /> + "And to her, close of kin, yet lover too,<br /> + "Flies this large nothing that we call the soul."<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + * * * * *<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "Doth true Love lonely grow?<br /> + Ah, no! ah, no!<br /> + Ah, were it only so—<br /> + That it alone might show<br /> + Its ruddy rose upon its sapful tree,<br /> + Then, then in dewy morn,<br /> + Joy might his brow adorn<br /> + With Love's young rose as fair and glad as he."<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + * * * * *<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + But with Love's rose doth blow<br /> + Ah, woe! ah, woe!<br /> + Truth with its leaves of snow,<br /> + And Pain and Pity grow<br /> + With Love's sweet roses on its sapful tree!<br /> + Love's rose buds not alone,<br /> + But still, but still doth own<br /> + A thousand blossoms cypress-hued to see!<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + * * * * *<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /></p> + +<p class="poem"> + PART VI.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "Who curseth Sorrow knows her not at all.<br /> + Dark matrix she, from which the human soul<br /> + Has its last birth; whence, with its misty thews,<br /> + Close-knitted in her blackness, issues out;<br /> + Strong for immortal toil up such great heights,<br /> + As crown o'er crown rise through Eternity,<br /> + Without the loud, deep clamour of her wail,<br /> + The iron of her hands; the biting brine<br /> + Of her black tears; the Soul but lightly built<br /> + of indeterminate spirit, like a mist<br /> + Would lapse to Chaos in soft, gilded dreams,<br /> + As mists fade in the gazing of the sun.<br /> + Sorrow, dark mother of the soul, arise!<br /> + Be crown'd with spheres where thy bless'd children dwell,<br /> + Who, but for thee, were not. No lesser seat<br /> + Be thine, thou Helper of the Universe,<br /> + Than planet on planet pil'd!—thou instrument,<br /> + Close-clasp'd within the great Creative Hand!"<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + * * * * *<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + The Land had put his ruddy gauntlet on,<br /> + Of Harvest gold, to dash in Famine's face.<br /> + And like a vintage wain, deep dy'd with juice,<br /> + The great moon falter'd up the ripe, blue sky,<br /> + Drawn by silver stars—like oxen white<br /> + And horn'd with rays of light—Down the rich land<br /> + Malcolm's small valleys, fill'd with grain, lip-high,<br /> + Lay round a lonely hill that fac'd the moon,<br /> + And caught the wine-kiss of its ruddy light.<br /> + A cusp'd, dark wood caught in its black embrace<br /> + The valleys and the hill, and from its wilds,<br /> + Spic'd with dark cedars, cried the Whip-poor-will.<br /> + A crane, belated, sail'd across the moon;<br /> + On the bright, small, close link'd lakes green islets lay,<br /> + Dusk knots of tangl'd vines, or maple boughs,<br /> + Or tuft'd cedars, boss'd upon the waves.<br /> + The gay, enamell'd children of the swamp<br /> + Roll'd a low bass to treble, tinkling notes<br /> + Of little streamlets leaping from the woods.<br /> + Close to old Malcolm's mills, two wooden jaws<br /> + Bit up the water on a sloping floor;<br /> + And here, in season, rush'd the great logs down,<br /> + To seek the river winding on its way.<br /> + In a green sheen, smooth as a Naiad's locks,<br /> + The water roll'd between the shudd'ring jaws—<br /> + Then on the river level roar'd and reel'd—<br /> + In ivory-arm'd conflict with itself.<br /> + "Look down," said Alfred, "Katie, look and see<br /> + "How that but pictures my mad heart to you.<br /> + "It tears itself in fighting that mad love<br /> + "You swear is hopeless—hopeless—is it so?"<br /> + "Ah, yes!" said Katie, "ask me not again."<br /> + "But Katie, Max is false; no word has come,<br /> + "Nor any sign from him for many months,<br /> + "And—he is happy with his Indian wife."<br /> + She lifted eyes fair as the fresh grey dawn<br /> + with all its dews and promises of sun.<br /> + "O, Alfred!—saver of my little life—<br /> + "Look in my eyes and read them honestly."<br /> + He laugh'd till all the isles and forests laugh'd.<br /> + "O simple child! what may the forest flames<br /> + "See in the woodland ponds but their own fires?<br /> + "And have you, Katie, neither fears nor doubts?"<br /> + She, with the flow'r soft pinkness of her palm<br /> + Cover'd her sudden tears, then quickly said:<br /> + "Fears—never doubts, for true love never doubts."<br /> + Then Alfred paus'd a space, as one who holds<br /> + A white doe by the throat and searches for<br /> + The blade to slay her. "This your answer still—<br /> + "You doubt not—doubt not this far love of yours,<br /> + "Tho' sworn a false young recreant, Kate, by me?"<br /> + "He is as true as I am," Katie said;<br /> + "And did I seek for stronger simile,<br /> + "I could not find such in the universe!"<br /> + "And were he dead? what, Katie, were he dead—<br /> + "A handful of brown dust, a flame blown out—<br /> + "What then would love be strongly, true to—Naught?"<br /> + "Still, true to love my love would be," she said,<br /> + And faintly smiling, pointed to the stars.<br /> + "O fool!" said Alfred, stirr'd—as craters rock<br /> + "To their own throes—and over his pale lips<br /> + Roll'd flaming stone, his molten heart. "Then, fool—<br /> + "Be true to what thou wilt—for he is dead.<br /> + "And there have grown this gilded summer past<br /> + "Grasses and buds from his unburied flesh.<br /> + "I saw him dead. I heard his last, loud cry:<br /> + "'O Kate!' ring thro' the woods; in truth I did."<br /> + She half-raised up a piteous, pleading hand,<br /> + Then fell along the mosses at his feet.<br /> + "Now will I show I love you, Kate," he said,<br /> + "And give you gift of love; you shall not wake<br /> + "To feel the arrow, feather-deep, within<br /> + "Your constant heart. For me, I never meant<br /> + "To crawl an hour beyond what time I felt<br /> + "The strange, fang'd monster that they call Remorse<br /> + "Fold found my waken'd heart. The hour has come;<br /> + "And as Love grew, the welded folds of steel<br /> + "Slipp'd round in horrid zones. In Love's flaming eyes<br /> + "Stared its fell eyeballs, and with Hydra head<br /> + "It sank hot fangs in breast, and brow and thigh.<br /> + "Come, Kate! O Anguish is a simple knave<br /> + "Whom hucksters could outwit with small trade lies,<br /> + "When thus so easily his smarting thralls,<br /> + "May flee his knout! Come, come, my little Kate;<br /> + "The black porch with its fringe of poppies waits—<br /> + "A propylaleum hospitably wide.<br /> + "No lictors with their fasces at its jaws,<br /> + "Its floor as kindly to my fire-vein'd feet<br /> + "As to thy silver, lilied, sinless ones.<br /> + "O you shall slumber soundly, tho' the white,<br /> + "Wild waters pluck the crocus of your hair;<br /> + "And scaly spies stare with round, lightless eyes<br /> + "At your small face laid on my stony breast.<br /> + "Come, Kate! I must not have you wake, dear heart,<br /> + "To hear you cry, perchance, on your dead Max."<br /> + He turn'd her still, face close upon his breast,<br /> + And with his lips upon her soft, ring'd hair,<br /> + Leap'd from the bank, low shelving o'er the knot<br /> + Of frantic waters at the long slide's foot.<br /> + And as the sever'd waters crash'd and smote<br /> + Together once again,—within the wave<br /> + Stunn'd chamber of his ear there peal'd a cry:<br /> + "O Kate! stay, madman; traitor, stay! O Kate!"<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + * * * * *<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Max, gaunt as prairie wolves in famine time,<br /> + With long drawn sickness, reel'd upon the bank—<br /> + Katie, new-rescu'd, waking in his arms.<br /> + On the white riot of the waters gleam'd,<br /> + The face of Alfred, calm, with close-seal'd eyes,<br /> + And blood red on his temple where it smote<br /> + The mossy timbers of the groaning slide.<br /> + "O God!" said Max, as Katie's opening eyes<br /> + Looked up to his, slow budding to a smile<br /> + Of wonder and of bliss, "My Kate, my Kate!"<br /> + She saw within his eyes a larger soul<br /> + Than that light spirit that before she knew,<br /> + And read the meaning of his glance and words.<br /> + "Do as you will, my Max. I would not keep<br /> + "You back with one light-falling finger-tip!"<br /> + And cast herself from his large arms upon<br /> + The mosses at his feet, and hid her face<br /> + That she might not behold what he would do;<br /> + Or lest the terror in her shining eyes<br /> + Might bind him to her, and prevent his soul<br /> + Work out its greatness; and her long, wet hair<br /> + Drew, mass'd, about her ears, to shut the sound<br /> + Of the vex'd waters from her anguish'd brain.<br /> + Max look'd upon her, turning as he look'd.<br /> + A moment came a voice in Katie's soul:<br /> + "Arise, be not dismay'd; arise and look;<br /> + "If he should perish, 'twill be as a God,<br /> + "For he would die to save his enemy."<br /> + But answer'd her torn heart: "I cannot look—<br /> + "I cannot look and see him sob and die;<br /> + "In those pale, angry arms. O, let me rest<br /> + "Blind, blind and deaf until the swift pac'd end.<br /> + "My Max! O God—was that his Katie's name?"<br /> + Like a pale dove, hawk-hunted, Katie ran,<br /> + Her fear's beak in her shoulder; and below,<br /> + Where the coil'd waters straighten'd to a stream,<br /> + Found Max all bruis'd and bleeding on they bank,<br /> + But smiling with man's triumph in his eyes,<br /> + When he has on fierce Danger's lion neck<br /> + Plac'd his right hand and pluck'd the prey away.<br /> + And at his feet lay Alfred, still and while,<br /> + A willow's shadow tremb'ling on his face,<br /> + "There lies the false, fair devil, O my Kate,<br /> + "Who would have parted us, but could not, Kate!"<br /> + "But could not, Max," said Katie. "Is he dead?"<br /> + But, swift perusing Max's strange, dear face,<br /> + Close clasp'd against his breast—forgot him straight<br /> + And ev'ry other evil thing upon<br /> + The broad green earth.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + * * * * *<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /></p> + +<p class="poem"> + PART VII<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Again rang out the music of the axe,<br /> + And on the slope, as in his happy dreams,<br /> + The home of Max with wealth of drooping vines<br /> + On the rude walls, and in the trellis'd porch<br /> + Sat Katie, smiling o'er the rich, fresh fields;<br /> + And by her side sat Malcolm, hale and strong;<br /> + Upon his knee a little, smiling child,<br /> + Nam'd—Alfred, as the seal of pardon set<br /> + Upon the heart of one who sinn'd and woke<br /> + to sorrow for his sins—and whom they lov'd<br /> + With gracious joyousness—nor kept the dusk<br /> + Of his past deeds between their hearts and his.<br /> + Malcolm had follow'd with his flocks and herds<br /> + When Max and Katie, hand in hand, went out<br /> + From his old home; and now, with slow, grave smile<br /> + He said to Max, who twisted Katie's hair<br /> + About his naked arm, bare from his toil:<br /> + "It minds me of old times, this house of yours;<br /> + "It stirs my heart to hearken to the axe,<br /> + "And hear the windy crash of falling trees;<br /> + "Aye, these fresh forests make an old man young."<br /> + "Oh, yes!" said Max, with laughter in his eyes;<br /> + "And I do truly think that Eden bloom'd<br /> + "Deep in the heart of tall, green maple groves,<br /> + "With sudden scents of pine from mountain sides<br /> + "And prairies with their breasts against the skies.<br /> + "And Eve was only little Katie's height."<br /> + "Hoot, lad! you speak as ev'ry Adam speaks<br /> + "About his bonnie Eve; but what says Kate?"<br /> + "O Adam had not Max's soul,' she said;<br /> + "And these wild woods and plains are fairer far<br /> + "Than Eden's self. O bounteous mothers they!<br /> + "Beck'ning pale starvelings with their fresh, green hands,<br /> + "And with their ashes mellowing the earth,<br /> + "That she may yield her increase willingly.<br /> + "I would not change these wild and rocking woods,<br /> + "Dotted by little homes of unbark'd trees,<br /> + "Where dwell the fleers from the waves of want,—<br /> + "For the smooth sward of selfish Eden bowers,<br /> + "Nor—Max for Adam, if I knew my mind!"<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /></p> + +<p><br /></p> + +<p><br /></p> + +<p class="poem"> + OLD SPENSE.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + You've seen his place, I reckon, friend?<br /> + 'Twas rather kind ov tryin'.<br /> + The way he made the dollars fly,<br /> + Such gimcrack things a-buyin'—<br /> + He spent a big share ov a fortin'<br /> + On pesky things that went a snortin'<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + And hollerin' over all the fields,<br /> + And ploughin' ev'ry furrow;<br /> + We sort ov felt discouraged, for<br /> + Spense wusn't one to borrow;<br /> + An' wus—the old chap wouldn't lend<br /> + A cent's wuth to his dearest friend!<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Good land! the neighbours seed to wunst<br /> + Them snortin', screamin' notions<br /> + Wus jest enough tew drown the yearth<br /> + In wrath, like roarin' oceans,<br /> + "An' guess'd the Lord would give old Spense<br /> + Blue fits for fightin' Pruvidence!"<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Spense wus thet harden'd; when the yearth<br /> + Wus like a bak'd pertater;<br /> + Instead ov prayin' hard fur rain,<br /> + He fetched an irrigator.<br /> + "The wicked flourish like green bays!"<br /> + Sed folks for comfort in them days.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + I will allow his place was grand<br /> + With not a stump upon it,<br /> + The loam wus jest as rich an' black<br /> + Es school ma'am's velvet bunnit;<br /> + But tho' he flourish'd, folks all know'd<br /> + What spiritooal ear-marks he show'd.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Spense had a notion in his mind,<br /> + Ef some poor human grapples<br /> + With pesky worms thet eat his vines,<br /> + An' spile his summer apples,<br /> + It don't seem enny kind ov sense<br /> + Tew call that "cheekin' Pruvidence!"<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + An' ef a chap on Sabbath sees<br /> + A thunder cloud a-strayin'<br /> + Above his fresh cut clover an'<br /> + Gets down tew steddy prayin',<br /> + An' tries tew shew the Lord's mistake,<br /> + Instead ov tacklin' tew his rake,<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + He ain't got enny kind ov show<br /> + Tew talk ov chast'ning trials;<br /> + When thet thar thunder cloud lets down<br /> + It's sixty billion vials;<br /> + No! when it looks tew rain on hay,<br /> + First take yer rake an' then yer pray!<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Old Spense was one 'ov them thar chaps<br /> + Thet in this life of tussle<br /> + An' rough-an'-tumble, sort ov set<br /> + A mighty store on muscle;<br /> + B'liev'd in hustlin' in the crop,<br /> + An' prayin' on the last load top!<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + An' yet he hed his p'ints—his heart<br /> + Wus builded sort ov spacious;<br /> + An' solid—ev'ry beam an' plank,<br /> + An', Stranger, now, veracious.<br /> + A wore-out hoss he never shot,<br /> + But turn'd him in the clover lot!<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + I've seed up tew the meetin' house;<br /> + The winkin' an' the nudgin',<br /> + When preacher sed, "No doubt that Dives<br /> + Been drefful mean an' grudgin';<br /> + Tew church work seal'd his awful fate<br /> + Whar thar ain't no foolin' with the gate!"<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + I mind the preacher met old Spense,<br /> + Beneath the maples laggin',<br /> + The day was hot, an' he'd a pile<br /> + Ov 'cetrees in his waggin';<br /> + A sack of flour, a hansum hog,<br /> + Sum butter and his terrier dog.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Preacher, he halted up his hoss,<br /> + Ask'd for Miss Spense an' Deely,<br /> + Tew limber up his tongue a mite,<br /> + And sez right slick an' mealy:<br /> + "Brother, I really want tew know<br /> + Hev you got religion? Samson, whoa!"<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Old Spense, he bit a noble chaw,<br /> + An' sort ov meditated;<br /> + Samson he nibbl'd at the grass,<br /> + An' preacher smil'd and waited;<br /> + Ye'd see it writ upon his face—<br /> + "I've got Spense in a tightsome place!"<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + The old man curl'd his whip-lash round<br /> + An alto-vic'd muskitter,<br /> + Preacher, sort ov triumphant, strok'd<br /> + His ornary old critter.<br /> + Spense p'ints tew flour, an' hog, an' jar,<br /> + Sez he, "I've got religion thar!<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "Them's goin' down tew Spinkses place,<br /> + Whar old man Spinks is stayin';<br /> + The bank he dealt at bust last month,<br /> + An' folks is mostly sayin':<br /> + Him bein' ag'd, an' poor, an' sick,<br /> + They'll put him in the poor-house slick!<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "But no, they don't! Not while I own<br /> + The name ov Jedediah;<br /> + Yer movin'? How's yer gran'ma Green,<br /> + An' yer cousin, Ann Maria?<br /> + Boss, air they? Yas, sirree, I dar<br /> + Tew say, I've got religion thar!"<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Preacher, he in his stirrups riz,<br /> + His visage kind ov cheerin';<br /> + An' keerful look'd along the road,<br /> + Over sugarbush an' clearin';<br /> + Thar wa'n't a deacon within sight;<br /> + Sez he, "My brother, guess you're right."<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "You keep your waggon Zionward,<br /> + With that religion on it;<br /> + I calculate we'll meet"—jest here<br /> + A caliker sun bonnet,<br /> + On a sister's head, cum round the Jog,<br /> + An' preacher dispars'd like mornin' fog!<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + One day a kind ov judgment come,<br /> + The lightnin'-rod conductor<br /> + Got broke—the fluid struck his aunt,<br /> + An' in the root-house chuck'd her.<br /> + It laid her up for quite a while,<br /> + An' the judgment made the neighbors smile.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Old Spense he swore a mighty swar,<br /> + He didn't mince nor chew it;<br /> + For when he spoke, 'most usual,<br /> + It had a backbone tew it.<br /> + He sed he'd find a healthy plan<br /> + Tew square things with the agent man,<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Who'd sold him thet thar useless rod<br /> + To put upon his roofin';<br /> + An' ef he found him round the place,<br /> + He'd send the scamp a-hoofin'.<br /> + "You sort ov understand my sense?"<br /> + "Yes, pa,"—said pooty Deely Spense.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "Yes, pa," sez she, es mild es milk<br /> + Tew thet thar strong oration,<br /> + An' when a woman acts like <i>that</i>—<br /> + It's bin my observation—<br /> + (An' reckin that you'll find it sound)<br /> + She means tew turn creation round,<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + An' fix the univarse the way<br /> + She sort ov feels the notion.<br /> + So Deely let the old man rave,<br /> + Nor kick'd up no commotion;<br /> + Tho' thet cute agent man an' she<br /> + Were know'd es steady company.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + He'd chance around when Spense was out,<br /> + A feller sort o' airy;<br /> + An' poke around free's the wind,<br /> + With Deely in the dairy.<br /> + (Old Spense hed got a patent churn,<br /> + Thet gev the Church a drefful turn).<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + I am a married man myself,<br /> + More sot on steddy plowin',<br /> + An' cuttin' rails, than praisin' gals,<br /> + Yet honestly allowin'—<br /> + A man must be main hard tew please<br /> + Thet didn't freeze tew Deely's cheese.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + I reckon tho' old Spense hed sign'd<br /> + With Satan queer law papers,<br /> + He'd fill'd that dairy up chock full<br /> + Of them thar patent capers.<br /> + Preacher once took fur sermon text—<br /> + "Rebellious patent vats.—What next?"<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + I've kind of stray'd from thet thar scare<br /> + That cum on Spense—tho', reely,<br /> + I'll allus hold it was a shine<br /> + Of thet thar pooty Deely:<br /> + Thar's them es holds thro' thin an' thick,<br /> + 'Twas a friendly visit from Old Nick.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Es time went on, old Spense he seem'd<br /> + More sot on patent capers;<br /> + So he went right off tew fetch a thing<br /> + He'd read ov in the papers.<br /> + 'Twas a moony night in airly June,<br /> + The Whip-poor-wills wus all in tune;<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + The Katydids wus callin' clar,<br /> + The fire bugs was glowin',<br /> + The smell ov clover fill'd the air.<br /> + Thet day old Spense'd bin mowin'—<br /> + With a mower yellin' drefful screams,<br /> + Like them skreeks we hear in nightmare dreams.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Miss Spense wus in the keepin'-room,<br /> + O'erlookin' last yar's cherries;<br /> + The Help wus settin' on the bench,<br /> + A-hullin' airly berries;<br /> + The hir'd man sot on the step,<br /> + An' chaw'd, an' watch'd the crickets lep.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Not one ov them thar folks thet thought<br /> + Ov Deely in the dairy:<br /> + The Help thought on the hir'd man,<br /> + An' he ov Martin's Mary;<br /> + Miss Spense she ponder'd thet she'd found<br /> + Crush'd sugar'd riz a cent a pound.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + I guess hed you an' I bin thar,<br /> + A peepin' thro' the shutter<br /> + Ov thet thar dairy, we'd a swore<br /> + Old Spense's cheese an' butter<br /> + Wus gilded, from the manner thet<br /> + Deely she smil'd on pan an' vat.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + The Agent he had chanc'd around,<br /> + In evenin's peaceful shadder;<br /> + He'd glimps'd Spense an' his tarrier go<br /> + Across the new-mown medder—<br /> + To'ard Crampville—so he shew'd his sense,<br /> + By slidin' o'er the garden fence,<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + An' kind of unassumin' glode,<br /> + Beneath the bendin' branches,<br /> + Tew the dairy door whar Deely watch'd—<br /> + A-twitterin' an' anxious.<br /> + It didn't suit Miss Deely's plan<br /> + Her pa should catch that Agent man.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + I kind ov mind them days I went<br /> + With Betsy Ann a-sparking'.<br /> + Time hed a'drefful sneakin way<br /> + Ov passin' without markin'<br /> + A single blaze upon a post,<br /> + An' walkin' noiseless es a ghost!<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + I guess thet Adam found it thus,<br /> + Afore he hed to grapple<br /> + With thet conundrum Satan rais'd<br /> + About the blam'd old apple;<br /> + He found Time sort ov smart tew pass<br /> + Afore Eve took tew apple sass.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Thar ain't no changes cum about<br /> + Sence them old days in Eden,<br /> + Except thet lovers take a spell<br /> + Of mighty hearty feedin'.<br /> + Now Adam makes his Eve rejice<br /> + By orderin' up a lemon ice.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + He ain't got enny kind ov show<br /> + To hear the merry pealins'<br /> + Of them thar weddin' bells, unless<br /> + He kind ov stirs her feelins'—<br /> + By treatin' her tew ginger pop,<br /> + An' pilin' peanuts in a-top.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Thet Agent man know'd how to run<br /> + The business real handy;<br /> + An' him an' Deely sot an' laugh'd,<br /> + An' scrunch'd a pile o' candy;<br /> + An' talk'd about the singin' skule—<br /> + An' stars—an' Spense's kickin' mule—<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + An' other elevatin' facts<br /> + In Skyence an' in Natur.<br /> + An' Time, es I wus sayin', glode<br /> + Past, like a champion skater,—<br /> + When—Thunder! round the orchard fence.<br /> + Come thet thar tarrier dog an' Spense,<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + An' made straight for the dairy door.<br /> + Thar's times in most experrence,<br /> + We feel how trooly wise 'twould be<br /> + To make a rapid clearance;<br /> + Nor wait tew practice them thar rules<br /> + We larn tew city dancin' skules.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + The Agent es a gen'ral plan<br /> + Wus polish'd es the handles<br /> + Ov my old plough; an' slick an' smooth<br /> + Es Betsey's tallow candles.<br /> + But when he see'd old Spense—wal, neow,<br /> + He acted homely es a ceow!<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + His manners wusn't in the grain,<br /> + His wool wus sorter shoddy;<br /> + His courage wus a poorish sort,<br /> + It hadn't got no body.<br /> + An' when he see'd old Spense, he shook<br /> + Es ef he'd see'd his gran'ma's spook.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Deely she wrung her pooty hands,<br /> + She felt her heart a-turnin'<br /> + Es poor es milk when all the cream<br /> + Is taken off fur churnin'.<br /> + When all to once her eyes fell pat<br /> + Upon old Spense's patent vat!<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + The Agent took no sort ov stock<br /> + Thet time in etiquettin;<br /> + It would hev made a punkin laugh<br /> + Tew see his style of gettin'!<br /> + In thet thar empty vat he slid,<br /> + An' Deely shet the hefty lid.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Old Spense wus smilin' jest es clar<br /> + Es stars in the big "Dipper";<br /> + An' Deely made believe tew hum<br /> + "Old Hundred" gay an' chipper,<br /> + But thinkin' what a tightsome squeeze<br /> + The vat wus fur the Agent's knees.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Old Spense he sed, "I guess, my gal,<br /> + "Ye've been a sort ov dreamin';<br /> + "I see ye haven't set the pans,<br /> + "Nor turn'd the mornin's cream in;<br /> + "Now ain't ye spry? Now, darn my hat<br /> + "Ef the milk's run inter thet thar vat."<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Thar's times one's feelin's swell like bread<br /> + In summer-time a-risin',<br /> + An' Deely's heart swole in a way<br /> + Wus mightily surprising<br /> + When Spense gripp'd one ov them thar pans<br /> + Ov yaller cream in his big han's!<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + The moon glode underneath a cloud,<br /> + The breeze sigh'd loud an' airy;<br /> + The pans they faintlike glimmer'd on<br /> + The white walls ov the dairy.<br /> + Deely she trembl'd like an ash,<br /> + An' lean'd agin the old churn dash.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "Tarnation darksome," growl'd old Spense,<br /> + Arf liftin' up the cover—<br /> + He turn'd the pan ov cream quite spry<br /> + On Deely's Agent lover.<br /> + Good sakes alive! a curdlin' skreek<br /> + From thet thar Agent man did break!<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + All drippin' white he ros'd tew view.<br /> + His curly locks a-flowin'<br /> + With clotted cream, an' in the dusk,<br /> + His eyes with terror glowin'.<br /> + He made one spring—'tis certain, reely,<br /> + He never sed "Good night" tew Deely.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Old Spense he riz up from the ground,<br /> + An' with a kind ov wonder,<br /> + He look'd inter thet patent vat,<br /> + An' simply sed, "By thunder"!<br /> + Then look'd at Deely hard, and sed,<br /> + "The milk will sop clar thro' his hed"!<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Folks look'd right solemn when they heard<br /> + The hull ov thet thar story,<br /> + An' sed, "It might be plainly seen<br /> + Twas clar agin the glory<br /> + Of Pruvidence to use a vat<br /> + Thet Satan in had boldly sat"!<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + They shook their heads when Spense declar'd<br /> + 'Twas Deely's beau in hidin';<br /> + They guess'd they know'd a thing or two,<br /> + An' wasn't so confidin':—<br /> + 'Twas the "Devourin' Lion" cum<br /> + Tew ask old Spense testep down hum!<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Old Spense he kinder spil'd the thing<br /> + Fur thet thar congregation,<br /> + By holdin' on tew life in spite<br /> + Ov Satan's invitation;<br /> + An' hurts thar feelin's ev'ry Spring,<br /> + Buyin' some pesky patent thing.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + The Agent man slid out next day,<br /> + To peddle round young Hyson;<br /> + And Deely fur a fortnight thought<br /> + Ov drinkin' sum rat pison;<br /> + Didn't put no papers in her har;<br /> + An' din'd out ov the pickle jar.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Then at Aunt Hesby's sewin' bee<br /> + She met a slick young feller,<br /> + With a city partin' tew his har<br /> + An' a city umbereller.<br /> + He see'd her hum thet night, an' he<br /> + Is now her steddy company!<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<h3> + THE ROMAN ROSE-SELLER<br /> +</h3> + +<p class="poem"> + Not from Paestum come my roses; Patrons, see<br /> + My flowers are Roman-blown; their nectaries<br /> + Drop honey amber, and their petals throw<br /> + Rich crimsons on the lucent marble of the shrine<br /> + Where snowy Dian lifts her pallid brow,<br /> + As crimson lips of Love may seek to warm<br /> + A sister glow in hearts as pulseless hewn.<br /> + Caesar from Afric wars returns to-day;<br /> + Patricians, buy my royal roses; strew<br /> + His way knee-deep, as though old Tiber roll'd<br /> + A tide of musky roses from his bed to do<br /> + A wonder, wond'rous homage. Marcus Lucius, thou<br /> + To-day dost wed; buy roses, roses, roses,<br /> + To mingle with the nuptial myrtle; look,<br /> + I strip the polish'd thorns from the stems,<br /> + The nuptial rose should be a stingless flower;<br /> + Lucania, pass not by my roses. Virginia,<br /> + Here is a rose that has a canker in't, and yet<br /> + It is most glorious-dyed and sweeter smells<br /> + Than those death hath not touched. To-day they bear<br /> + The shield of Claudius with his spear upon it,<br /> + Close upon Caesar's chariot—heap, heap it up<br /> + With roses such as these; 'tis true he's dead<br /> + And there's the canker! but, Romans, he<br /> + Died glorious, there's the perfume! and his virtues<br /> + Are these bright petals; so buy my roses, Widow.<br /> + No Greek-born roses mine. Priestess, priestess!<br /> + Thy ivory chariot stay; here's a rose and not<br /> + A white one, though thy chaste hands attend<br /> + On Vesta's flame. Love's of a colour—be it that<br /> + Which ladders Heaven and lives amongst the Gods;<br /> + Or like the Daffodil blows all about the earth;<br /> + Or, Hesperus like, is one sole star upon<br /> + The solemn sky which bridges same sad life,<br /> + So here's a crimson rose: Be, thou as pure<br /> + As Dian's tears iced on her silver cheek,<br /> + And know no quality of love, thou art<br /> + A sorrow to the Gods! Oh mighty Love!<br /> + I would my roses could but chorus Thee.<br /> + No roses of Persepolis are mine. Helot, here—<br /> + I give thee this last blossom: A bee as red<br /> + As Hybla's golden toilers sucked its sweets;<br /> + A butterfly, wing'd like to Eros nipp'd<br /> + Its new-pinked leaves; the sun, bright despot, stole<br /> + The dew night gives to all. Poor slave, methinks<br /> + A bough of cypress were as gay a gift, and yet<br /> + It hath some beauty left! a little scarlet—for<br /> + The Gods love all; a little perfume, for there is no life,<br /> + Poor slave, but hath its sweetness. Thus I make<br /> + My roses Oracles. O hark! the cymbals beat<br /> + In god-like silver bursts of sound; I go<br /> + To see great Caesar leading Glory home,<br /> + From Campus Martius to the Capitol!<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<h3> + THE WOOING OF GHEEZIS.<br /> +</h3> + +<p class="poem"> + The red chief Gheezis, chief of the golden wampum, lay<br /> + And watched the west-wind blow adrift the clouds,<br /> + With breath all flowery, that from his calumet<br /> + Curl'd like to smoke about the mountain tops.<br /> + Gheezis look'd from his wigwam, blue as little pools<br /> + Drained from the restless mother-wave, that lay<br /> + Dreaming in golden hollows of her sands;<br /> + And deck'd his yellow locks with feath'ry clouds,<br /> + And took his pointed arrows and so stoop'd<br /> + And leaning with his red hands on the hills,<br /> + Look'd with long glances all along the earth.<br /> + "Mudjekeewis, West-Wind, in amongst the forest,<br /> + "I see a maid, gold-hued as maize full ripe; her eyes<br /> + "Laugh under the dusk boughs like watercourses;<br /> + "Her moccasins are wrought with threads of light: her hands<br /> + "Are full of blue eggs of the robin, and of buds<br /> + "Of lilies, and green spears of rice: O Mudjekeewis,<br /> + "Who is the maid, gold-hued as maize full-ripen'd?"<br /> + "O sun, O Gheezis, that is Spring, is Segwun—woo her!"<br /> + "I cannot, for she hides behind the behmagut—<br /> + "The thick leav'd grape-vine, and there laughs upon me."<br /> + "O Gheezis," cried Segwun from behind the grape-vine.<br /> + "Thy arms are long but all too short to reach me,<br /> + "Thou art in heaven and I upon the earth!"<br /> + Gheezis, with long, golden fingers tore the grape-vine,<br /> + But Segwun laughed upon him from behind<br /> + A maple, shaking little leaves of gold fresh-budded.<br /> + "Gheezis, where are thy feet, O sun, O chief?"<br /> + "Follow," sigh'd Mudjekeewis, "Gheezis must wed<br /> + "With Spring, with Segwun, or all nature die."<br /> + The red chief Gheezis swift ran down the hills,<br /> + And as he ran the pools and watercourses<br /> + Snatch'd at his yellow hair; the thickets caught<br /> + Its tendrils on their brambles; and the buds<br /> + That Segwun dropp'd, opened as they touched.<br /> + His moccasins were flame, his wampum gold;<br /> + His plumes were clouds white as the snow, and red<br /> + As Sumach in the moon of falling leaves.<br /> + He slipp'd beside the maple, Segwun laugh'd.<br /> + "O Gheezis, I am hid amid the lily-pads,<br /> + "And thou hast no canoe to seek me there; farewell!"<br /> + "I see thine eyes, O Segwun, laugh behind the buds;<br /> + "The Manitou is love, and gives me love, and love<br /> + "Gives all of power." His moccasins wide laid<br /> + Red tracks upon the waves: When Segwun leap'd<br /> + Gold-red and laughing from the lily-pads,<br /> + To flit before him like a fire-fly, she found<br /> + The golden arms of Gheezis round her cast, the buds<br /> + Burst into flower in her hands, and all the earth<br /> + Laughing where Gheezis look'd; and Mudjekeewis,<br /> + Heart friend of Gheezis, laugh'd, "Now life is come<br /> + "Since Segwun and red Gheezis wed and reign!"<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<h3> + BABY'S DREAMS.<br /> +</h3> + +<p class="poem"> + What doth the moon so lily white,<br /> + Busily weave this Summer night?<br /> + Silver ropes and diamond strands<br /> + For Baby's pink and dimpl'd hands;<br /> + Cords for her rosy palms to hold,<br /> + While she floats, she flies,<br /> + To Dream Land set with its shores of gold,<br /> + And its buds like stars shaken out of the skies;<br /> + Where the trees have tongues and the flowers have lips<br /> + To coax, to kiss,<br /> + The velvet cheek of the Babe who slips<br /> + Thro' the Dream gate up to a land like this.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + What is the mild sea whisp'ring clear<br /> + In the rosy shell of Baby's ear?<br /> + See! she laughs in her dimpl'd sleep—<br /> + What does she hear from the shining deep?<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + * * * * *<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "Thy father comes a-sailing, a-sailing, a-sailing,<br /> + Safely comes a-sailing from islands fair and far.<br /> + O Baby, bid thy mother cease her tears and bitter wailing<br /> + The sailor's wife's his only port, his babe his beacon star!"<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Softly the Wind doth blow,<br /> + What say its murmurs low?<br /> + What doth it bring<br /> + On the wide soft plume of its dewy wing?<br /> + "Only scented blisses<br /> + Of innocent, sweet kisses,<br /> + For such cheeks as this is<br /> + Of Baby in her nest.<br /> + From all the dreaming flowers,<br /> + A nodding in their bowers;<br /> + Or bright on leafy towers,<br /> + Where the fairy monarchs rest."<br /> + "But chiefly I bring,<br /> + On my fresh sweet mouth,<br /> + Her father's kiss,<br /> + As he sails out of the south.<br /> + He hitherward blew it at break of day,<br /> + I lay it, Babe, on thy tender lip;<br /> + I'll steal another and hie away,<br /> + And kiss it to him on his wave-rock'd ship."<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + I saw a fairy twine<br /> + Of star-white Jessamine;<br /> + A dainty seat shaped like an airy swing;<br /> + With two round yellow stars,<br /> + Against the misty bars<br /> + Of Night; she nailed it high<br /> + In the pansy-purple sky,<br /> + With four taps of her little rainbow wing.<br /> + To and fro<br /> + That swing I'll blow.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + The baby moon in the amethyst sky<br /> + Will laugh at us as we float and fly,<br /> + And stretch her silver arms and try<br /> + To catch the earth-babe swinging by.<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<h3> + MARY'S TRYST.<br /> +</h3> + +<p class="poem"> + Young Mary stole along the vale,<br /> + To keep her tryst with Ulnor's lord;<br /> + A warrior clad in coat of mail<br /> + Stood darkling by the brawling ford.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "O let me pass; O let me pass,<br /> + Dark falls the night on hill and lea;<br /> + Flies, flies the bright day swift and fast,<br /> + From lordly bower and greenwood tree.<br /> + The small birds twitter as they fly<br /> + To dewy bough and leaf-hid nest;<br /> + Dark fold the black clouds on the sky,<br /> + And maiden terrors throng my breast!"<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "And thou shalt pass, thou bonnie maid,<br /> + If thou wilt only tell to me—<br /> + Why hiest thou forth in lonesome shade;<br /> + Where may thy wish'd-for bourne be?"<br /> + "O let me by, O let me by,<br /> + My granddam dwells by Ulnor's shore;<br /> + She strains for me her failing eye—<br /> + Beside her lowly ivied door."<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "I rode by Ulnor's shore at dawn,<br /> + I saw no ancient dame and cot;<br /> + I saw but startl'd doe and fawn—<br /> + Thy bourne thou yet hast told me not."<br /> + "O let me pass—my father lies<br /> + Long-stretch'd in coffin and in shroud,—<br /> + Where Ulnor's turrets climb the skies,<br /> + Where Ulnor's battlements are proud!"<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "I rode by Ulnor's walls at noon;<br /> + I heard no bell for passing sprite;<br /> + And saw no henchman straik'd for tomb;<br /> + Thou hast not told thy bourne aright."<br /> + "O let me pass—a monk doth dwell<br /> + In lowly hut by Ulnor's shrine;<br /> + I seek the holy friar's cell,<br /> + That he may shrive this soul of mine."<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "I rode by Ulnor's shrine this day,<br /> + I saw no hut—no friar's cowl;<br /> + I heard no holy hermit pray—<br /> + I heard but hooting of the owl!"<br /> + "O let me pass—time flies apace—<br /> + And since thou wilt not let me be;<br /> + I tryst with chief of Ulnor's race,<br /> + Beneath the spreading hawthorn tree!"<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "I rode beside the bonnie thorn,<br /> + When this day's sun was sinking low;<br /> + I saw a damsel like the morn,<br /> + I saw a knight with hound and bow;<br /> + The chief was chief of Ulnor's name,<br /> + The maid was of a high degree;<br /> + I saw him kiss the lovely dame,<br /> + I saw him bend the suitor's knee!<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "I saw the fond glance of his eye<br /> + To her red cheek red roses bring;<br /> + Between them, as my steed flew by,<br /> + I saw them break a golden ring."<br /> + "O wouldst thou know, thou curious knight,<br /> + Where Mary's bourne to-night will be?<br /> + Since thou has seen such traitor sight,<br /> + Beneath the blooming hawthorn tree."<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Fair shone the yellow of her locks,<br /> + Her cheek and bosom's drifted snow;<br /> + She leap'd adown the sharp grey rocks,<br /> + She sought the sullen pool below.<br /> + The knight his iron vizard rais'd,<br /> + He caught young Mary to his heart;<br /> + She lifted up her head and gaz'd—<br /> + She drew her yellow locks apart.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + * * * * *<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + The roses touch'd her lovely face;<br /> + The lilies white did faint and flee;<br /> + The knight was chief of Ulnor's race,—<br /> + His only true love still was she!<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /></p> + +<p><br /></p> + +<p><br /></p> + +<p class="poem"> + "IN EXCHANGE FOR HIS SOUL!"<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /></p> + +<p class="poem"> + Long time one whisper'd in his ear—<br /> + "Give me my strong, pure soul; behold<br /> + 'Tis mine to give what men hold dear—<br /> + The treasure of red gold."<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "I bribe thee not with crown and throne,<br /> + Pale spectres they of kingly pow'r!<br /> + I give thee gold—red gold alone<br /> + Can crown a king each hour!"<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + He frown'd, perchance he felt a throe,<br /> + Gold-hunger gnawing at his heart—<br /> + A passing pang—for, stern and low,<br /> + He bade the fiend depart!<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Again there came the voice and said:<br /> + "Gold for that soul of thine were shame;<br /> + Thine be that thing for which have bled<br /> + Both Gods and men,—high Fame.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "And in long ages yet to sweep<br /> + Their gloom and glory on the day;<br /> + When mould'ring kings, forgot, shall sleep<br /> + In ashes, dust, and clay:<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "Thy name shall, starlike, pulse and burn<br /> + On heights most Godlike; and divine,<br /> + Immortal bays thy funereal urn<br /> + Shall lastingly entwine!"<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + He sigh'd; perchance he felt the thrill,<br /> + The answ'ring pulse to Fame's high call;<br /> + But answer made his steadfast will—<br /> + "I will not be thy thrall!"<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Again there came the voice and cried:<br /> + "Dost thou my kingly bribes disdain?<br /> + Yet shalt thou barter soul and pride<br /> + For things ignobly vain!<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "Two shameless eyes—two false, sweet eyes—<br /> + A sinful brow of sinless white,<br /> + Shall hurl, thy soul from high clear skies<br /> + To ME, and Stygian night.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "Beneath the spell of gilded hair,<br /> + Thy palms, like sickly weeds, shall die!<br /> + God-strong Resolves, a sensuous air<br /> + Shall mock and crucify.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "Go to! my thrall at last thou art!<br /> + Ere bud to rounded blossom change;<br /> + Thou wilt for wanton lips and heart<br /> + Most false, thy soul exchange!"<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<h3> + THE LAND OF KISSES<br /> +</h3> + +<p class="poem"> + Where is the Land of Kisses,<br /> + Can you tell, tell, tell?<br /> + Ah, yes; I know its blisses<br /> + Very well!<br /> + 'Tis not beneath the swinging<br /> + Of the Jessamine,<br /> + Where gossip-birds sit singing<br /> + In the vine!<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Where is the Land of Kisses,<br /> + Do you know, know, know?<br /> + Is it such a land as this is?<br /> + No, truly no!<br /> + Nor is it 'neath the Myrtle,<br /> + Where each butterfly<br /> + Can brush your lady's kirtle,<br /> + Flitting by!<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Where is the Land of Kisses,<br /> + Can you say, say, say?<br /> + Yes; there a red lip presses<br /> + Mine ev'ry day!<br /> + But 'tis not where the Pansies<br /> + Open purple eyes,<br /> + And gossip all their fancies<br /> + To the skies!<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + I know the Land of Kisses<br /> + Passing well, well, well;<br /> + Who seeks it often misses—<br /> + Let me tell.<br /> + Fly, lover, like a swallow,<br /> + Where your lady goes;<br /> + You'll find it if you follow,<br /> + 'Neath the Rose.<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<h3> + SAID THE THISTLE-DOWN.<br /> +</h3> + +<p class="poem"> + "If thou wilt hold my silver hair,<br /> + O Lady sweet and bright;<br /> + I'll bring thee, maiden darling, where<br /> + Thy lover is to-night.<br /> + Lay down thy robe of cloth of gold—<br /> + Gold, weigheth heavily,<br /> + Thy necklace wound in jewell'd fold,<br /> + And hie thee forth with me."<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "O Thistle-down, dear Thistle-down,<br /> + I've laid my robe aside;<br /> + My necklace and my jewell'd crown,<br /> + And yet I cannot glide<br /> + Along the silver crests of night<br /> + With thee, light thing, with thee.<br /> + Rain would I try the airy flight,<br /> + What sayest thou to me?"<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "If thou wilt hold my silver hair,<br /> + O maiden fair and proud;<br /> + We'll float upon the purple air<br /> + High as yon lilied cloud.<br /> + There is a jewel weighs thy heart;<br /> + If thou with me wouldst glide<br /> + That cold, cold jewel place apart—<br /> + The jewel of thy pride!"<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "O Thistle-down, dear Thistle-down<br /> + That jewel part I've set;<br /> + With golden robe and shining crown<br /> + And cannot follow yet!<br /> + Fain would I clasp thy silver tress<br /> + And float on high with thee;<br /> + Yet somewhat me to earth doth press—<br /> + What sayest thou to me?<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "If thou wilt hold my silver hair<br /> + O lady, sweet and chaste;<br /> + We'll dance upon the sparkling air<br /> + And to thy lover haste.<br /> + A lily lies upon thy breast<br /> + Snow-white as it can be—<br /> + It holds thee strong—sweet, with the rest<br /> + Yield lilied chastity."<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "O Thistle-down, false Thistle-down<br /> + I've parted Pride and Gold;<br /> + Laid past my jewels and my crown—<br /> + My golden robings' fold.<br /> + I will not lay my lily past—<br /> + Love's light as vanity<br /> + When to the mocking wind is cast<br /> + The lily, Chastity."<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<h3> + BOUCHE-MIGNONNE.<br /> +</h3> + +<p><br /></p> + +<p class="poem"> + Bouche-Mignonne liv'd in the mill;<br /> + Past the vineyards shady;<br /> + Where the sun shone on a rill<br /> + Jewell'd like a lady.<br /> + Proud the stream with lily-bud,<br /> + Gay with glancing swallow;<br /> + Swift its trillion-footed flood,<br /> + Winding ways to follow.<br /> + Coy and still when flying wheel<br /> + Rested from its labour;<br /> + Singing when it ground the meal<br /> + Gay as lute or tabor.<br /> + "Bouche-Mignonne" it called, when, red<br /> + In the dawn were glowing,<br /> + Eaves and mill-wheel, "leave thy bed,<br /> + "Hark to me a-flowing!"<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Bouche-Mignonne awoke and quick<br /> + Glossy tresses braided;<br /> + Curious sunbeams cluster'd thick<br /> + Vines her casement shaded.<br /> + Deep with leaves and blossoms white<br /> + Of the morning glory,<br /> + Shaking all their banners bright<br /> + From the mill, eaves hoary.<br /> + Swallows turn'd glossy throats,<br /> + Timorous, uncertain,<br /> + When to hear their matin notes,<br /> + Peep'd she thro' her curtain,<br /> + Shook the mill-stream sweet and clear,<br /> + With its silver laughter—<br /> + Shook the mill from flooring sere<br /> + Up to oaken ratter.<br /> + "Bouche-Mignonne" it cried "come down!<br /> + "Other flowers are stirring;<br /> + "Pierre with fingers strong and brown<br /> + "Sets the wheel a-birring."<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Bouche-Mignonne her distaff plies<br /> + Where the willows shiver,<br /> + Round the mossy mill-wheel flies;<br /> + Dragon-flies a-quiver—<br /> + Flash a-thwart the lily-beds,<br /> + Pierce the dry reed's thicket:<br /> + Where the yellow sunlight treads<br /> + Chants the friendly cricket.<br /> + Butterflies about her skim<br /> + (Pouf! their simple fancies!)<br /> + In the willow shadows dim<br /> + Take her eyes for pansies!<br /> + Buzzing comes a velvet bee<br /> + Sagely it supposes<br /> + Those red lips beneath the tree<br /> + Are two crimson roses!<br /> + Laughs the mill-stream wise and bright<br /> + It is not so simple<br /> + Knew it, since she first saw light<br /> + Ev'ry blush and dimple!<br /> + "Bouche-Mignonne" it laughing cries<br /> + "Pierre as the bee is silly<br /> + "Thinks two morning stars thine eyes—<br /> + "And thy neck a lily!"<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Bouche-Mignonne when shadows crept<br /> + From the vine-dark hollows;<br /> + When the mossy mill-wheel slept<br /> + Curv'd the airy swallows.<br /> + When the lilies clos'd white lids<br /> + Over golden fancies—<br /> + Homeward drove her goats and kids<br /> + Bright the gay moon dances.<br /> + With her light and silver feet,<br /> + On the mill-stream flowing,<br /> + Come a thousand perfumes sweet,<br /> + Dewy buds are blowing.<br /> + Comes an owl and grely flits<br /> + Jewell'd ey'd and hooting—<br /> + Past the green tree where she sits<br /> + Nightingales are fluting<br /> + Soft the wind as rust'ling silk<br /> + On a courtly lady,<br /> + Tinkles down the flowing milk<br /> + Huge and still and shady—<br /> + Stands the mill-wheel resting still.<br /> + From its loving labor,<br /> + Dances on the tireless rill<br /> + Gay as lute or tabor!<br /> + "Bouche-Mignonne" it laughing cries<br /> + "Do not blush and tremble;<br /> + "If the night has ears and eyes<br /> + "I'll for thee disemble!<br /> + "Loud and clear and sweet I'll sing<br /> + "Oh my far way straying,<br /> + "I will hide the whisper'd thing<br /> + "Pierre to thee is saying.<br /> + "Bouche-Mignonne, good night, good night!<br /> + "Ev'ry silver hour<br /> + "I will toss my lilies white<br /> + "'Gainst thy maiden bower!"<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<h3> + BESIDE THE SEA.<br /> +</h3> + +<p><br /></p> + +<p class="poem"> + One time he dream'd beside a sea,<br /> + That laid a mane of mimic stars;<br /> + In fondling quiet on the knee,<br /> + Of one tall, pearl'd, cliff—the bars;<br /> + Of golden beaches upward swept,<br /> + Pine-scented shadows seaward crept.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + The full moon swung her ripen'd sphere<br /> + As from a vine; and clouds as small<br /> + As vine leaves in the opening year<br /> + Kissed the large circle of her ball.<br /> + The stars gleamed thro' them as one sees<br /> + Thro' vine leaves drift the golden bees.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + He dream'd beside this purple sea,<br /> + Low sang its tranced voice, and he—<br /> + He knew not if the wordless strain<br /> + Made prophecy of joy or pain;<br /> + He only knew far stretch'd that sea,<br /> + He knew its name—Eternity!<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + A shallop with a rainbow sail,<br /> + On the bright pulses of the tide,<br /> + Throbb'd airily; a fluting gale<br /> + Kiss'd the rich gilding of its side;<br /> + By chain of rose and myrtle fast,<br /> + A light sail touch'd the slender mast.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "A flower-bright rainbow thing," he said<br /> + To one beside him, "far too frail<br /> + "To brave dark storms that lurk ahead,<br /> + "To dare sharp talons of the gale.<br /> + "Belov'd, thou woulds't not forth with me<br /> + "In such a bark on such a sea?"<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "First tell me of its name?" she bent<br /> + Her eyes divine and innocent<br /> + On his. He raised his hand above<br /> + Its prow, and answ'ring swore, "'Tis Love!"<br /> + "Now tell," she ask'd, "how is it built,<br /> + Of gold or worthless timber gilt?"<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "Of gold," he said. "Whence named?" asked she,<br /> + The roses of her lips apart,<br /> + She paus'd—a lily by the sea—<br /> + Came his swift answer, "From my heart!"<br /> + She laid her light palm in his hand.<br /> + "Let loose the shallop from the strand!"<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<h3> + THE HIDDEN ROOM.<br /> +</h3> + +<p><br /></p> + +<p class="poem"> + I marvel if my heart,<br /> + Hath any room apart,<br /> + Built secretly its mystic walls within;<br /> + With subtly warded key.<br /> + Ne'er yielded unto me—<br /> + Where even I have surely never been.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Ah, surely I know all<br /> + The bright and cheerful hall<br /> + With the fire ever red upon its hearth;<br /> + My friends dwell with me there,<br /> + Nor comes the step of Care<br /> + To sadden down its music and its mirth.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Full well I know as mine,<br /> + The little cloister'd shrine<br /> + No foot but mine alone hath ever trod;<br /> + There come the shining wings—<br /> + The face of one who brings<br /> + The pray'rs of men before the throne of God.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + And many know full well,<br /> + The busy, busy cell,<br /> + Where I toil at the work I have to do,<br /> + Nor is the portal fast,<br /> + Where stand phantoms of the past,<br /> + Or grow the bitter plants of darksome rue.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + I know the dainty spot<br /> + (Ah, who doth know it not?)<br /> + Where pure young Love his lily-cradle made;<br /> + And nestled some sweet springs<br /> + With lily-spangled wings—<br /> + Forget-me-nots upon his bier I laid.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Yet marvel I, my soul,<br /> + Know I thy very whole,<br /> + Or dost thou hide a chamber still from me?<br /> + Is it built upon the wall?<br /> + Is it spacious? is it small?<br /> + Is it God, or man, or I who holds the key?<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<h3> + FARMER DOWNS CHANGES HIS OPINION OF NATURE.<br /> +</h3> + +<p class="poem"> + "No," said old Farmer Downs to me,<br /> + "I ain't the facts denyin',<br /> + That all young folks in love must be,<br /> + As birds must be a-flyin'.<br /> + Don't go agin sech facts, because<br /> + I'm one as re-specks Natur's laws.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "No, sir! Old Natur knows a thing<br /> + Or two, I'm calculatin',<br /> + She don't make cat-fish dance and sing,<br /> + Or sparrow-hawks go skatin';<br /> + She knows her business ev'ry time,<br /> + You bet your last an' lonely dime!<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "I guess, I'm posted pooty fair<br /> + On that old gal's capers;<br /> + She allers acts upon the square<br /> + Spite o' skyentific papers.<br /> + (I borrows one most ev'ry week<br /> + From Jonses down to "Pincher's Creek.")<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "It sorter freshens up a man<br /> + To read the newest notions,<br /> + Tho' I don't freeze much tew that thar plan,<br /> + About the crops ratotions;<br /> + You jest leave Natur do her work,<br /> + She'll do it! she ain't one tew shirk!<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "I'm all fur lettin Natur go<br /> + The way she's sot on choosin'.<br /> + Ain't that the figger of a beau<br /> + That's talkin' thar tew Susan?<br /> + Down by the orchard snake-fence? Yes.<br /> + All right, it's Squire Sims, I guess.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "He's jest the one I want tew see<br /> + Come sparkin'; guess they're lyin',<br /> + That say that of old age he be<br /> + Most sartinly a-dyin'—<br /> + He's no sech thing! Good sakes alive,<br /> + The man is only seventy-five!<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "An' she's sixteen. I'm not the man<br /> + Tew act sort of inhuman,<br /> + An' meanly spile old Natur's plan<br /> + To jine a man and woman<br /> + In wedlock's bonds. Sirree, she makes,<br /> + This grand old Natur, no mistakes.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "They're standin' pooty clus; the leaves<br /> + Is round 'em like a bower,<br /> + The Squire's like the yaller sheaves<br /> + An' she's the Corn Flower,<br /> + Natur's the binder, allus true,<br /> + Tew make one heart of them thar two.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "Yas—as I was a-sayin', friend,<br /> + I'm all for Natur's teachins;<br /> + <i>She</i> ain't one in the bitter end<br /> + Tew practice over-reachins.<br /> + You trust her, and she'll treat you well,<br /> + Don't doubt her by the leastest spell.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "I'm not quite clar but subsoil looks<br /> + Jest kinder not quite pious;<br /> + I sorter think them farmin' books,<br /> + Will in the long run sky us,<br /> + Right in the mud; the way they balk<br /> + Old Natur with thar darn fool talk!<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "When Susie marries Squire Sims,<br /> + I'll lease his upland farm;<br /> + I'll get it cheap enough from him—<br /> + Jest see his long right arm<br /> + About her waist—looks orful big!<br /> + Why, gosh! he's bought a new brown wig!<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "Wal, that's the way old Natur acts<br /> + When bald folks go a-sparkin';<br /> + The skyentists can't alter facts<br /> + With all their hard work larkin',<br /> + A sparkin man <i>will</i> look his best—<br /> + That's Natur—tain't no silly jest!<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "Old Natur, you and me is twins;<br /> + I never will git snarly<br /> + With you, old gal. Why, darn my shins!<br /> + That's only Jonses Charlie.<br /> + She's cuddlin' right agin his vest!<br /> + Eh? What? "Old Natur knows what's best!"<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "Oh, does she? Wal, p'raps 'tis so;<br /> + Jest see the rascal's arm<br /> + About her waist! You've got tew go<br /> + Young man, right off this farm;<br /> + Old Natur knows a pile, no doubt,<br /> + But you an' her hed best get out!<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "You, Susie, git right hum. I'm mad<br /> + Es enny bilin' crater!<br /> + In futur, sick or well or sad<br /> + I'll take no stock in Natur.<br /> + I'm that disgusted with her capers<br /> + I'll run the farm by skyence papers."<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<h3> + THE BURGOMEISTER'S WELL.<br /> +</h3> + +<p class="poem"> + A peaceful spot, a little street,<br /> + So still between the double roar<br /> + Of sea and city that it seemed<br /> + A rest in music, set before<br /> + Some clashing chords—vibrating yet<br /> + With hurried measures fast and sweet;<br /> + For so the harsh chords of the town,<br /> + And so the ocean's rythmic beat.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + A little street with linden trees<br /> + So thickly set, the belfry's face<br /> + Was leaf-veiled, while above them pierced,<br /> + Four slender spires flamboyant grace.<br /> + Old porches carven when the trees,<br /> + Were seedlings yellow in the sun<br /> + Five hundred years ago that bright<br /> + Upon the quaint old city shone.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + A fountain prim, and richly cut<br /> + In ruddy granite, carved to tell<br /> + How a good burgomeister rear'd<br /> + The stone above the people's well.<br /> + A sea-horse from his nostrils blew<br /> + Two silver threads; a dragon's lip<br /> + Dropp'd di'monds, and a giant hand<br /> + Held high an urn on finger tip.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + 'Twas there I met my little maid,<br /> + There saw her flaxen tresses first;<br /> + She filled the cup for one who lean'd<br /> + (A soldier, crippl'd and athirst)<br /> + Against the basin's carven rim;<br /> + Her dear small hand's white loveliness<br /> + Was pinkly flush'd, the gay bright drops<br /> + Plash'd on her brow and silken dress.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + I took the flagon from her hand,<br /> + Too small, dear hand, for such a weight.<br /> + From cobweb weft and woof is spun<br /> + The tapestry of Life and Fate!<br /> + The linden trees had gilded buds,<br /> + The dove wheeled high on joyous wing,<br /> + When on that darling hand of hers<br /> + I slipped the glimmer of a ring.<br /> + Ah, golden heart, and golden locks<br /> + Ye wove so sweet, so sure a spell!<br /> + That quiet day I saw her first<br /> + Beside the Burgomeister's Well!<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<h3> + SAID THE WIND.<br /> +</h3> + +<p><br /></p> + +<p class="poem"> + "Come with me," said the Wind<br /> + To the ship within the dock<br /> + "Or dost thou fear the shock<br /> + Of the ocean-hidden rock,<br /> + When tempests strike thee full and leave thee blind;<br /> + And low the inky clouds,<br /> + Blackly tangle in thy shrouds;<br /> + And ev'ry strained cord<br /> + Finds a voice and shrills a word,<br /> + That word of doom so thunderously upflung<br /> + From the tongue<br /> + Of every forked wave,<br /> + Lamenting o'er a grave<br /> + Deep hidden at its base,<br /> + Where the dead whom it has slain<br /> + Lie in the strict embrace<br /> + Of secret weird tendrils; but the pain<br /> + Of the ocean's strong remorse<br /> + Doth fiercely force<br /> + The tale of murder from its bosom out<br /> + In a mighty tempest clangour, and its shout<br /> + In the threat'ning and lamenting of its swell<br /> + Is as the voice of Hell,<br /> + Yet all the word it saith<br /> + Is 'Death.'"<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "Come with me," sang the Wind,<br /> + "Why art thou, love, unkind?<br /> + Thou are too fair, O ship,<br /> + To kiss the slimy lip<br /> + Of the cold and dismal shore; and, prithee, mark,<br /> + How chill and dark<br /> + Shew the vast and rusty linkings of the chain,<br /> + Hoarse grating as with pain,<br /> + Which moors thee<br /> + And secures thee<br /> + From the transports of the soft wind and the main.<br /> + Aye! strain thou and pull,<br /> + Thy sails are dull<br /> + And dim from long close furling on thy spars,<br /> + But come thou forth with me,<br /> + And full and free,<br /> + I'll kiss them, kiss them, kiss them, till they be<br /> + White as the Arctic stars,<br /> + Or as the salt-white pinions of the gulf!"<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "Come with me," sang the Wind,<br /> + "O ship belov'd, and find<br /> + How golden-gloss'd and blue<br /> + Is the sea.<br /> + How thrush-sweet is my voice; how dearly true<br /> + I'll keep my nuptial promises to thee.<br /> + O mine to guide thy sails<br /> + By the kisses of my mouth;<br /> + Soft as blow the gales,<br /> + On the roses in the south.<br /> + O mine to guide thee far<br /> + From ruddy coral bar,<br /> + From horizon to horizon thou shalt glimmer like a star;<br /> + Thou shalt lean upon my breast,<br /> + And I shall rest,<br /> + And murmur in thy sails,<br /> + Such fond tales,<br /> + That thy finest cords<br /> + Will, syren-like, chant back my mellow words<br /> + With such renew'd enchantment unto me<br /> + That I shall be,<br /> + By my own singing, closer bound to thee!"<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "Come with me," sang the Wind,<br /> + "Thou knowest, love, my mind,<br /> + No more I'll try to woo thee,<br /> + Persuade thee or pursue thee,<br /> + For thou art mine;<br /> + Since first thy mast, a tall and stately pine<br /> + Beneath Norwegian skies,<br /> + Sang to my sighs.<br /> + Thou, thou wert built for me,<br /> + Strong lily of the sea!<br /> + Thou cans't not choose,<br /> + The calling of my low voice to refuse;<br /> + And if Death<br /> + Were the sole, sad, wailing burthen of my breath,<br /> + Thy timbers at my call,<br /> + Would shudder in their thrall,<br /> + Thy sails outburst to touch my stormy lip;<br /> + Like a giant quick in a grave,<br /> + Thy anchor heave,<br /> + And close upon my thunder-pulsing breast, O ship,<br /> + Thou would'st tremble, nor repine,<br /> + That being mine,<br /> + Thy spars,<br /> + Like long pale lights of falling stars,<br /> + Plunged in the Stygian blackness of the sea,<br /> + And to billowy ruin cast<br /> + Thy tall and taper mast,<br /> + Rushed shrieking headlong down to an abyss.<br /> + O ship! O love! if Death<br /> + Were such sure portion, thou could'st not refuse<br /> + But thou would'st choose<br /> + As mine to die, and call such choosing bliss;<br /> + For thou for me<br /> + Wert plann'd from all eternity!"<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<h3> + THE GHOSTS OF THE TREES.<br /> +</h3> + +<p class="poem"> + The silver fangs of the mighty axe,<br /> + Bit to the blood of our giant boles;<br /> + It smote our breasts and smote our backs,<br /> + Thunder'd the front-cleared leaves—<br /> + As sped in fire,<br /> + The whirl and flame of scarlet leaves<br /> + With strong desire<br /> + Leaped to the air our captive souls.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + While down our corpses thunder'd,<br /> + The air at our strong souls gazed and wondered<br /> + And cried to us, "Ye<br /> + Are full of all mystery to me!<br /> + I saw but thy plumes of leaves,<br /> + Thy strong, brown greaves;<br /> + The sinewy roots and lusty branches,<br /> + And fond and anxious,<br /> + I laid my ear and my restless breast<br /> + By each pride-high crest;<br /> + And softly stole<br /> + And listen'd by limb and listen'd by bole,<br /> + Nor ever the stir of a soul,<br /> + Heard I in ye—<br /> + Great is the mystery!"<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + The strong, brown eagle plung'd from his peak,<br /> + From the hollow iron of his beak;<br /> + The wood pigeon fell; its breast of blue<br /> + Cold with sharp death all thro' and thro',<br /> + To our ghosts he cried.<br /> + "With talons of steel,<br /> + I hold the storm;<br /> + Where the high peaks reel,<br /> + My young lie warm.<br /> + In the wind-rock'd spaces of air I bide;<br /> + My wings too wide—<br /> + Too angry-strong for the emerald gyves,<br /> + Of woodland cell where the meek dove thrives.<br /> + And when at the bar,<br /> + Of morn I smote with my breast its star,<br /> + And under—<br /> + My wings grew purple, the jealous thunder,<br /> + With the flame of the skies<br /> + Hot in my breast, and red in my eyes;<br /> + From peak to peak of sunrise pil'd<br /> + That set space glowing,<br /> + With flames from air-based crater's blowing—<br /> + I downward swept, beguiled<br /> + By the close-set forest gilded and spread<br /> + A sea for the lordly tread,<br /> + Of a God's wardship—<br /> + I broke its leafy turf with my breast;<br /> + My iron lip<br /> + I dipp'd in the cool of each whispering crest;<br /> + From thy leafy steeps,<br /> + I saw in my deeps,<br /> + Red coral the flame necked oriole—<br /> + But never the stir of a soul<br /> + Heard I in ye—<br /> + Great is the mystery!"<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /></p> + +<p class="poem"> + From its ferny coasts,<br /> + The river gazed at our strong, free ghosts,<br /> + And with rocky fingers shed<br /> + Apart the silver curls of its head;<br /> + Laid its murmuring hands,<br /> + On the reedy bands;<br /> + And at gaze<br /> + Stood in the half-moon's of brown, still bays;<br /> + Like gloss'd eyes of stags<br /> + Its round pools gaz'd from the rusty flags,<br /> + At our ghostly crests<br /> + At the bark-shields strong on our phantom breasts;<br /> + And its tide<br /> + Took lip and tongue and cried.<br /> + "I have push'd apart<br /> + The mountain's heart;<br /> + I have trod the valley down;<br /> + With strong hands curled,<br /> + Have caught and hurled,<br /> + To the earth the high hill's crown!<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + My brow I thrust,<br /> + Through sultry dust,<br /> + That the lean wolf howl'd upon;<br /> + I drove my tides,<br /> + Between the sides,<br /> + Of the bellowing canon.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + From chrystal shoulders,<br /> + I hurled my boulders,<br /> + On the bridge's iron span.<br /> + When I rear'd my head<br /> + From its old time bed,<br /> + Shook the pale cities of man!<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + I have run a course<br /> + With the swift, wild horse;<br /> + I have thunder'd pace for pace,<br /> + With the rushing herds—<br /> + I have caught the beards<br /> + Of the swift stars in the race!<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Neither moon nor sun<br /> + Could me out-run;<br /> + Deep cag'd in my silver bars,<br /> + I hurried with me,<br /> + To the shouting sea,<br /> + Their light and the light of the stars!<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + The reeling earth<br /> + In furious mirth<br /> + With sledges of ice I smote.<br /> + I whirled my sword<br /> + Where the pale berg roar'd,<br /> + I took the ship by the throat!<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + With stagnant breath<br /> + I called chill Death<br /> + My guest to the hot bayou.<br /> + I built men's graves,<br /> + With strong thew'd waves<br /> + That thing that my strength might do.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + I did right well—<br /> + Men cried "From Hell<br /> + The might of Thy hand is given!"<br /> + By loose rocks stoned<br /> + The stout quays groaned,<br /> + Sleek sands by my spear were riven.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + O'er shining slides,<br /> + On my gloss'd tides,<br /> + The brown cribs close woven roll'd;<br /> + The stout logs sprung,<br /> + Their height among<br /> + My loud whirls of white and gold!<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + The great raft prest,<br /> + My calm, broad breast—<br /> + A dream thro' my shady trance,<br /> + The light canoe—<br /> + A spirit flew—<br /> + The pulse of my blue expanse.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Wing'd swift the ships.<br /> + My foaming lips<br /> + Made rich with dewy kisses,<br /> + All night and morn,<br /> + Field's red with corn,<br /> + And where the mill-wheel hisses.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + And shivers and sobs,<br /> + With lab'ring throbs,<br /> + With its whirls my strong palms play'd.<br /> + I parted my flags,<br /> + For thirsty stags,<br /> + On the necks of arches laid.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + To the dry-vined town<br /> + My tide roll'd down—<br /> + Dry lips and throats a-quiver,<br /> + Rent sky and sod<br /> + With shouts "From God<br /> + The strength of the mighty river!"<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + I, list'ning, heard<br /> + The soft-song'd bird;<br /> + The beetle about thy boles.<br /> + The calling breeze,<br /> + In thy crests, O Trees—<br /> + Never the voices of souls!"<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + * * * * *<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + We, freed souls, of the Trees look'd down<br /> + On the river's shining eyes of brown;<br /> + And upward smiled<br /> + At the tender air and its warrior child,<br /> + The iron eagle strong and wild.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + * * * * *<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "No will of ours,<br /> + The captive souls of our barky tow'rs;<br /> + "His the deed<br /> + Who laid in the secret earth the seed;<br /> + And with strong hand<br /> + Knitted each woody fetter and band.<br /> + Never, ye<br /> + Ask of the tree,<br /> + The "Wherefore" or "Why" the tall trees stand,<br /> + Built in their places on the land<br /> + Their souls unknit;<br /> + With any wisdom or any wit,<br /> + The subtle "Why,"<br /> + Ask ye not of earth or sky—<br /> + But one command it.<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<h3> + GISLI: THE CHIEFTAIN.<br /> +</h3> + +<p class="poem"> + To the Goddess Lada prayed<br /> + Gisli, holding high his spear<br /> + Bound with buds of spring, and laughed<br /> + All his heart to Lada's ear.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Damp his yellow beard with mead,<br /> + Loud the harps clang'd thro the day;<br /> + With bruised breasts triumphant rode<br /> + Gisli's galleys in the bay.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Bards sang in the banquet hall,<br /> + Set in loud verse Gisli's fame,<br /> + On their lips the war gods laid<br /> + Fire to chaunt their warrior's name.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + To the Love-queen Gisli pray'd,<br /> + Buds upon his tall spear's tip;<br /> + Laughter in his broad blue eyes,<br /> + Laughter on his bearded lip.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + To the Spring-queen Gisli pray'd,<br /> + She, with mystic distaff slim,<br /> + Spun her hours of love and leaves,<br /> + Made the stony headlands dim—<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Dim and green with tender grass,<br /> + Blew on ice-fields with red mouth;<br /> + Blew on lovers hearts; and lured<br /> + White swans from the blue-arched south.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + To the Love-queen Gisli pray'd,<br /> + Groan'd far icebergs tall and blue<br /> + As to Lada's distaff slim,<br /> + All their ice-locked fires flew.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + To the Love-queen Gisli prayed,<br /> + She, with red hands, caught and spun.<br /> + Yellow flames from crater lips,<br /> + flames from the waking sun.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + To the Love-queen Gisli prayed,<br /> + She with loom and beam and spell,<br /> + All the subtle fires of earth<br /> + Wove, and wove them strong and well.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + To the Spring-queen Gisli prayed,<br /> + Low the sun the pale sky trod;<br /> + Mute her ruddy hand she raised<br /> + Beckon'd back the parting God.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + To the Love-queen Gisli prayed—<br /> + Weft and woof of flame she wove—<br /> + Lada, Goddess of the Spring!<br /> + Lada, Goddess strong of Love!<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Sire of the strong chieftain's prayer,<br /> + Victory with his pulse of flame;<br /> + Mead its mother—loud he laughed,<br /> + Calling on great Lada's name.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "Goddess Lada—Queen of Love!<br /> + "Here stand I and quaff to thee—<br /> + "Deck for thee with buds my spear—<br /> + "Give a comely wife to me!<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "Blow not to my arms a flake<br /> + "Of crisp snow in maiden guise;<br /> + "Mists of pallid hair and tips<br /> + "Of long ice-spears in her eyes!<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "When my death-sail skims the foam—<br /> + "Strain my oars on Death's black sea—<br /> + "When my foot the "Glass-Hill" seeks—<br /> + "Such a maid may do for me!<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "Now, O Lada, mate the flesh!<br /> + "Mate the fire and flame of life,<br /> + "Tho' the soul go still unwed,<br /> + "Give the flesh its fitting wife!<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "As the galley runs between,<br /> + "Skies with billows closely spun:<br /> + "Feeling but the wave that leaps<br /> + "Closest to it in the sun."<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "Throbs but to the present kiss<br /> + "Of the wild lips of the sea;<br /> + "Thus a man joys in his life—<br /> + "Nought of the Beyond knows he!<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "Goddess! here I cast bright buds,<br /> + "Spicy pine boughs at thy feet;<br /> + "Give the flesh its fitting mate<br /> + "Life is strong and life is sweet!"<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + To the Love-queen Gisli pray'd—<br /> + Weft and woof of flame she wove:<br /> + Lada, Goddess of the Spring—<br /> + Lada, Goddess strong of Love!<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + * * * * *<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /></p> + +<p class="poem"> + PART II.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + From harpings and sagas and mirth of the town,<br /> + Great Gisli, the chieftain strode merrily down.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + His ruddy beard stretch'd in the loom of the wind,<br /> + His shade like a dusky God striding behind.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Gylfag, his true hound, to his heel glided near,<br /> + Sharp-fang'd, lank and red as a blood-rusted spear.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + As crests of the green bergs flame white in the sky,<br /> + The town on its sharp hill shone brightly and high.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + In fjords roared the ice below the dumb stroke<br /> + Of the Sun's red hammer rose blue mist like smoke.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + It clung to the black pines, and clung to the bay—<br /> + The galleys of Gisli grew ghosts of the day.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + It followed the sharp wings of swans, as they rose—<br /> + It fell to the wide jaws of swift riven floes.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + It tam'd the wild shriek of the eagle—grew dull<br /> + The cries, in its foldings, of osprey and gull.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "Arouse thee, bold wind," shouted Gisli "and drive<br /> + "Floe and Berg out to sea as bees from a hive.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "Chase this woman-lipped haze at top of thy speed,<br /> + "It cloys to the soul as the tongue cloys with mead!<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "Come, buckle thy sharp spear again to thy breast!<br /> + "Thy galley hurl forth from the seas of the West.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "With thy long, hissing oars, beat loud the north sea.<br /> + "The sharp gaze of day give the eagles and me.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "No cunning mists shrouding the sea and the sky,<br /> + "Or the brows of the great Gods, bold wind, love I!<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "As Gylfag, my hound, lays his fangs in the flank<br /> + "Of a grey wolf, shadowy, leather-thew'd, lank.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "Bold wind, chase the blue mist, thy prow in its hair,<br /> + "Sun, speed thy keen shafts thro' the breast of the air!<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + * * * * *<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /></p> + +<p class="poem"> + PART III.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + The shouting of Gisli, the chieftain,<br /> + Rock'd the blue hazes, and cloven<br /> + In twain by sharp prow of the west wind,<br /> + To north and to south fled the thick mist.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + As in burnish'd walls of Valhalla,<br /> + In cleft of the mist stood the chieftain,<br /> + And up to the blue shield of Heaven,<br /> + Flung the load shaft of his laughter.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Smote the mist, with shrill spear the swift wind.<br /> + Grey shapes fled like ghosts on the Hell way;<br /> + Bay'd after their long locks hoarse Gylfag,<br /> + Stared at them, triumphant, the eagles.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + To mate and to eaglets, the eagle<br /> + Shriek'd, "Gone is my foe of the deep mist,<br /> + "Rent by the vast hands of the kind Gods,<br /> + "Who knows the knife-pangs of our hunger!"<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Shrill whistled the winds as his dun wings<br /> + Strove with it feather by feather;<br /> + Loud grated the rock as his talons<br /> + Its breast spurned slowly his red eyes.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Like fires seemed to flame in the swift wind,<br /> + At his sides the darts of his hunger—<br /> + At his ears the shriek of his eaglets—<br /> + In his breast the love of the quarry.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Unfurl'd to the northward and southward<br /> + His wings broke the air, and to eastward<br /> + His breast gave its iron; and God-ward<br /> + Pierc'd the shrill voice of his hunger.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Bared were his great sides as he laboured<br /> + Up the first steep blue of the broad sky;<br /> + His gaze on the fields of his freedom,<br /> + To the God's spoke the prayers of his gyres.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Bared were his vast sides as he glided<br /> + Black in the sharp blue of the north sky:<br /> + Black over the white of the tall cliffs,<br /> + Black over the arrow of Gisli.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + * * * * *<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /></p> + +<p class="poem"> + THE SONG OF THE ARROW.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + What know I,<br /> + As I bite the blue veins of the throbbing sky;<br /> + To the quarry's breast<br /> + Hot from the sides of the sleek smooth nest?<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + What know I<br /> + Of the will of the tense bow from which I fly?<br /> + What the need or jest,<br /> + That feathers my flight to its bloody rest.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + What know I<br /> + Of the will of the bow that speeds me on high?<br /> + What doth the shrill bow<br /> + Of the hand on its singing soul-string know?<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Flame-swift speed I—<br /> + And the dove and the eagle shriek out and die;<br /> + Whence comes my sharp zest<br /> + For the heart of the quarry? the Gods know best.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Deep pierc'd the red gaze of the eagle—<br /> + The breast of a cygnet below him;<br /> + Beneath his dun wing from the eastward<br /> + Shrill-chaunted the long shaft of Gisli!<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Beneath his dun wing from the westward<br /> + Shook a shaft that laugh'd in its biting—<br /> + Met in the fierce breast of the eagle<br /> + The arrows of Gisli and Brynhild!<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + * * * * *<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /></p> + +<p class="poem"> + PART IV:<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + A ghost along the Hell-way sped,<br /> + The Hell-shoes shod his misty tread;<br /> + A phantom hound beside him sped.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Beneath the spandrils of the Way,<br /> + World's roll'd to-night—from night to day;<br /> + In space's ocean Suns were spray.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Group'd world's, eternal eagles, flew;<br /> + Swift comets fell like noiseless dew,<br /> + Young earths slow budded in the blue.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + The waves of space inscrutable,<br /> + With awful pulses rose and fell—<br /> + Silent and godly—terrible.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Electric souls of strong Suns laid,<br /> + Strong hands along the awful shade<br /> + That God about His God-work made.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Ever from all ripe worlds did break,<br /> + Men's voices, as when children speak,<br /> + Eager and querulous and weak.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + And pierc'd to the All-worker thro'<br /> + His will that veil'd Him from the view<br /> + "What hast thou done? What dost thou do?"<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + And ever from His heart did flow<br /> + Majestical, the answer low—<br /> + The benison "Ye shall not know!"<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + The wan ghost on the Hell-way sped,<br /> + Nor yet Valhalla's lights were shed<br /> + Upon the white brow of the Dead.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Nor sang within his ears the roll<br /> + Of trumpets calling to his soul;<br /> + Nor shone wide portals of the goal.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + His spear grew heavy on his breast,<br /> + Dropp'd, like a star his golden crest;<br /> + Far, far the vast Halls of the Blest!<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + His heart grown faint, his feet grown weak,<br /> + He scal'd the knit mists of a peak,<br /> + That ever parted grey and bleak.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + And, as by unseen talons nipp'd,<br /> + To deep Abysses slowly slipp'd;<br /> + Then, swift as thick smoke strongly ripp'd.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + By whirling winds from ashy ring,<br /> + Of dank weeds blackly smoldering,<br /> + The peak sprang upward a quivering<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + And perdurable, set its face<br /> + Against the pulsing breast of space<br /> + But for a moment to its base.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Refluent roll'd the crest new sprung,<br /> + In clouds with ghastly lightnings stung,—<br /> + Faint thunders to their black feet clung.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + His faithful hound ran at his heel—<br /> + His thighs and breast were bright with steel—<br /> + He saw the awful Hellway reel.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + But far along its bleak peaks rang<br /> + A distant trump—its airy clang<br /> + Like light through deathly shadows sprang.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + He knew the blast—the voice of love!<br /> + Cleft lay the throbbing peak above<br /> + Sail'd light, wing'd like a silver dove.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + On strove the toiling ghost, his soul<br /> + Stirr'd like strong mead in wassail bowl,<br /> + That quivers to the shout of "Skoal!"<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Strode from the mist close-curv'd and cold<br /> + As is a writhing dragon's fold;<br /> + A warrior with shield of gold.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + A sharp blade glitter'd at his hip,<br /> + Flamed like a star his lance's tip;<br /> + His bugle sang at bearded lip.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Beneath his golden sandels flew<br /> + Stars from the mist as grass flings dew;<br /> + Or red fruit falls from the dark yew.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + As under shelt'ring wreaths of snow<br /> + The dark blue north flowers richly blow—<br /> + Beneath long locks of silver glow.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Clear eyes, that burning on a host<br /> + Would win a field at sunset lost,<br /> + Ere stars from Odin's hand were toss'd.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + He stretch'd his hand, he bowed his head:<br /> + The wan ghost to his bosom sped—<br /> + Dead kiss'd the bearded lips of Dead!<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "What dost thou here, my youngest born?<br /> + "Thou—scarce yet fronted with life's storm—<br /> + "Why art thou from the dark earth torn?<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "When high Valhalla puls'd and rang<br /> + "With harps that shook as grey bards sang—<br /> + "'Mid the loud joy I heard the clang.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "Of Death's dark doors—to me alone<br /> + "Smote in thy awful dying groan—<br /> + "My soul recall'd its blood and bone.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "Viewless the cord which draws from far<br /> + "To the round sun some mighty star;<br /> + "Viewless the strong-knit soul-cords are!<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "I felt thy dying gasp—thy soul<br /> + "Towards mine a kindred wave in roll,<br /> + "I left the harps—I left the bowl.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "I sought the Hellway—I—the blest;<br /> + "That thou, new death-born son should rest<br /> + "Upon the strong rock of my breast.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "What dost thou here, young, fair and bold?<br /> + "Sleek with youth's gloss thy locks of gold;<br /> + "Thy years by flow'rs might yet be told!<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "What dost thou at the ghostly goal,<br /> + "While yet thy years were to thy soul,<br /> + "As mead yet shallow in the bowl?"<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + His arm about the pale ghost cast,<br /> + The warrior blew a clear, loud blast;<br /> + Like frighten'd wolves the mists fled past.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Grew firm the way; worlds flame to light<br /> + The awful peak that thrusts its height,<br /> + With swift throbs upward, like a flight.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Of arrows from a host close set<br /> + Long meteors pierc'd its breast of jet—<br /> + Again the trump his strong lips met—<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + And at its blast blew all the day,<br /> + In broad winds on the awful Way;<br /> + Sun smote at Sun across the grey;<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + As reindeer smite the high-pil'd snow<br /> + To find the green moss far below—<br /> + They struck the mists thro' which did glow<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Bright vales—and on a sea afar,<br /> + Lay at a sunlit harbour bar,<br /> + A galley gold-sail'd like a star!<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Spake the pale ghost as onward sped<br /> + Heart-press'd to heart the valiant dead;<br /> + Soft the green paths beneath their tread.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "I lov'd, this is my tale, and died—<br /> + The fierce chief hunger'd for my bride—<br /> + The spear of Gisli pierc'd my side!<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "And she—her love fill'd all my need—<br /> + Her vows were sweet and strong as mead;<br /> + Look, father—doth my heart still bleed?<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "I built her round with shaft and spear,<br /> + I kept her mine for one brief year—<br /> + She laugh'd above my blood stain'd bier!<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "Upon a far and ice-peak'd coast<br /> + My galleys by long winds were toss'd—<br /> + There Gisli feasted with his host.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "Of warriors triumphant—he<br /> + Strode out from harps and revelry;<br /> + And sped his shaft above the sea!<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "Look, father, doth my heart bleed yet?<br /> + His arrow Brynhild's arrow met—<br /> + My gallies anchor'd in their rest.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "Again their arrows meet—swift lies<br /> + That pierc'd me from their smiling eyes;<br /> + How fiercely hard a man's heart dies!<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "She false—he false! There came a day<br /> + Pierc'd by the fierce chief's spear I lay—<br /> + My ghost rose shrieking from its clay.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "I saw on Brynhild's golden vest<br /> + The shining locks of Gisli rest;<br /> + I sought the Hell-way to the Blest.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "Father, put forth thy hand and tear<br /> + Their twin shafts from my heart, all bare<br /> + To thee—they rankle death—like there!<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + * * * * *<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Said the voice of Evil to the ear of Good,<br /> + "Clasp thou my strong, right hand,<br /> + "Nor shall our clasp be known or understood<br /> + "By any in the land."<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "I, the dark giant, rule strongly on the earth,<br /> + "Yet thou, bright one, and I<br /> + "Sprang from the one great mystery—at one birth<br /> + "We looked upon the sky!<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "I labour at my bleak, my stern toil accurs'd<br /> + Of all mankind—nor stay,<br /> + To rest, to murmur "I hunger" or "I thirst!"<br /> + Nor for my joy delay.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "My strength pleads strongly with thee; doth any beat<br /> + With hammer and with stone<br /> + Past tools to use them to his deep defeat—<br /> + To turn them on his throne?<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "Then I of God the mystery—toil thou with me<br /> + Brother; but in the sight<br /> + Of men who know not, I, the stern son shall be<br /> + Of Darkness—Thou of Light!"<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<h3> + THE SHELL.<br /> +</h3> + +<p class="poem"> + O little, whisp'ring, murm'ring shell, say cans't thou tell to me<br /> + Good news of any stately ship that sails upon the sea?<br /> + I press my ear, O little shell, against thy rosy lips;<br /> + Cans't tell me tales of those who go down to the sea in ships?<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + What, not a word? Ah hearken, shell, I've shut the cottage door;<br /> + There's scarce a sound to drown thy voice, so silent is the moor,<br /> + A bell may tinkle far away upon its purple rise;<br /> + A bee may buz among the heath—a lavrock cleave the skies.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + But if you only breathe the name I name upon my knees,<br /> + Ah, surely I should catch the word above such sounds as these.<br /> + And Grannie's needles click no more, the ball of yarn is done,<br /> + And she's asleep outside the door where shines the merry sun.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + One night while Grannie slept, I dreamed he came across the moor,<br /> + And stood, so handsome, brown and tall, beside the open door:<br /> + I thought I turned to pick a rose that by the sill had blown,<br /> + (He liked a rose) and when I looked, O shell, I was alone!<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Across the moor there dwells a wife; she spaed my fortune true,<br /> + And said I'd plight my troth with one who ware a jacket blue;<br /> + That morn before my Grannie woke, just when the lapwing stirred,<br /> + I sped across the misty rise and sought the old wife's word.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + With her it was the milking time, and while she milk'd the goat,<br /> + I ask'd her then to spae my dream, my heart was in my throat—<br /> + But that was just because the way had been so steep and long,<br /> + And not because I had the fear that anything was wrong.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "Ye'll meet, ye'll meet," was all she said; "Ye'll meet when it is mirk."<br /> + I gave her tippence that I meant for Sabbath-day and kirk;<br /> + And then I hastened back again; it seemed that never sure<br /> + The happy sun delay'd so long to gild the purple moor.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + That's six months back, and every night I sit beside the door,<br /> + And while I knit I keep my gaze upon the mirky moor;<br /> + I keep old Collie by my side—he's sure to spring and bark,<br /> + When Ronald comes across the moor to meet me in the dark.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + I <i>know</i> the old wife spaed me true, for did she not fore-tell<br /> + I'd break a ring with Ronald Grey beside the Hidden Well?<br /> + It came to pass at shearing-time, before he went to sea<br /> + (We're nighbours' bairns) how <i>could</i> she know that Ronald cared<br /> + for me.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + So night by night I watch for him—by day I sing and work,<br /> + And try to never mind the latch—he's coming in the dark;<br /> + Yet as the days and weeks and months go slipping slowly thro',<br /> + I wonder if the wise old wife has spaed my fortune true!<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Ah, not a word about his ship? Well, well, I'll lay thee by.<br /> + I see a heron from the marsh go sailing in the sky,<br /> + The purple moor is like a dream, a star is twinkling clear—<br /> + Perhaps the meeting that she spaed is drawing very near!<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<h3> + TWO SONGS OF SPAIN.<br /> +</h3> + +<p class="poem"> + Fountain, cans't thou sing the song<br /> + My Juan sang to me<br /> + The moonlit orange groves among?<br /> + Then list the words from me,<br /> + And mark thee, by the morning's light,<br /> + Or by the moon's soft beam,<br /> + Or when my eyes with smiles are bright,<br /> + Or when I wake or dream.<br /> + O, Fountain, thou must sing the song<br /> + My Juan sang to me;<br /> + Yet stay—the only words I know<br /> + Are "Inez, Love and Thee!"<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Fountain, on my light guitar<br /> + I'll play the strain to thee,<br /> + And while I watch yon laughing star,<br /> + The words will come to me.<br /> + And mark thee, when my heart is sad,<br /> + And full of sweet regrets,<br /> + Or when it throbs to laughter glad,<br /> + Like feet to castanets.<br /> + O, Fountain, thou must sing the song<br /> + My Juan sang to me;<br /> + Yet stay—the only words I know<br /> + Are "Inez, Love, and Thee!"<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Fountain, clap thy twinkling hands<br /> + Beneath yon floating moon,<br /> + And twinkle to the starry bands<br /> + That dance upon the gloom,<br /> + For I am glad, for who could crave,<br /> + The joyous night to fill,<br /> + A richer treasure than I have<br /> + In Juan's seguedille?<br /> + So, Fountain, mark, no other song<br /> + Dare ever sing, to me,<br /> + Tho' only four short words I know,<br /> + Just, "Inez, Love and Thee!"<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + * * * * *<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Morello strikes on his guitar,<br /> + When over the olives the star<br /> + Of eve, like a rose touch'd with gold,<br /> + Doth slowly its sweet rays unfold.<br /> + Perchance 'tis in some city square,<br /> + And the people all follow us there.<br /> + Don, donna, slim chulo, padrone,<br /> + The very dog runs with his bone;<br /> + One half of the square is in the shade,<br /> + On the other the red sunset fades;<br /> + The fount, as it flings up its jets,<br /> + Responds to my brisk castanets;<br /> + I wear a red rose at my ear;<br /> + And many a whisper I hear:<br /> + "If she were a lady, behold,<br /> + None other should share my red gold!"<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "St. Anthony save us, what eyes!<br /> + How gem-like her little foot flies!"<br /> + "These dancers should all be forbid<br /> + To dance in the streets of Madrid."<br /> + "If I were a monarch I'd own<br /> + No other to sit on my throne!"<br /> + Two scarlet streamers tie my hair;<br /> + They burn like red stars on the air;<br /> + My dark eyes flash, my clear cheek burns,<br /> + My kirtle eddies in swift turns,<br /> + My golden necklet tinkles sweet;<br /> + Yes, yes, I love the crowded street!<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<h3> + THE CITY TREE.<br /> +</h3> + +<p class="poem"> + I stand within the stony, arid town,<br /> + I gaze for ever on the narrow street;<br /> + I hear for ever passing up and down,<br /> + The ceaseless tramp of feet.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + I know no brotherhood with far-lock'd woods,<br /> + Where branches bourgeon from a kindred sap;<br /> + Where o'er moss'd roots, in cool, green solitudes,<br /> + Small silver brooklets lap.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + No em'rald vines creep wistfully to me,<br /> + And lay their tender fingers on my bark;<br /> + High may I toss my boughs, yet never see<br /> + Dawn's first most glorious spark.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + When to and fro my branches wave and sway,<br /> + Answ'ring the feeble wind that faintly calls,<br /> + They kiss no kindred boughs but touch alway<br /> + The stones of climbing walls.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + My heart is never pierc'd with song of bird;<br /> + My leaves know nothing of that glad unrest,<br /> + Which makes a flutter in the still woods heard,<br /> + When wild birds build a nest.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + There never glance the eyes of violets up,<br /> + Blue into the deep splendour of my green:<br /> + Nor falls the sunlight to the primrose cup,<br /> + My quivering leaves between.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Not mine, not mine to turn from soft delight<br /> + Of wood-bine breathings, honey sweet, and warm;<br /> + With kin embattl'd rear my glorious height<br /> + To greet the coming storm!<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Not mine to watch across the free, broad plains<br /> + The whirl of stormy cohorts sweeping fast;<br /> + The level, silver lances of great rains,<br /> + Blown onward by the blast.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Not mine the clamouring tempest to defy,<br /> + Tossing the proud crest of my dusky leaves:<br /> + Defender of small flowers that trembling lie<br /> + Against my barky greaves.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Not mine to watch the wild swan drift above,<br /> + Balanced on wings that could not choose between<br /> + The wooing sky, blue as the eye of love,<br /> + And my own tender green.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + And yet my branches spread, a kingly sight,<br /> + In the close prison of the drooping air:<br /> + When sun-vex'd noons are at their fiery height,<br /> + My shade is broad, and there<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Come city toilers, who their hour of ease<br /> + Weave out to precious seconds as they lie<br /> + Pillow'd on horny hands, to hear the breeze<br /> + Through my great branches die.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + I see no flowers, but as the children race<br /> + With noise and clamour through the dusty street,<br /> + I see the bud of many an angel face—<br /> + I hear their merry feet.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + No violets look up, but shy and grave,<br /> + The children pause and lift their chrystal eyes<br /> + To where my emerald branches call and wave—<br /> + As to the mystic skies.<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<h3> + LATE LOVED—WELL LOVED.<br /> +</h3> + +<p class="poem"> + He stood beside her in the dawn<br /> + (And she his Dawn and she his Spring),<br /> + From her bright palm she fed her fawn,<br /> + Her swift eyes chased the swallow's wing:<br /> + Her restless lips, smile-haunted, cast<br /> + Shrill silver calls to hound and dove:<br /> + Her young locks wove them with the blast.<br /> + To the flush'd, azure shrine above,<br /> + The light boughs o'er her golden head<br /> + Toss'd em'rald arm and blossom palm.<br /> + The perfume of their prayer was spread<br /> + On the sweet wind in breath of balm.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "Dawn of my heart," he said, "O child,<br /> + Knit thy pure eyes a space with mine:<br /> + O chrystal, child eyes, undefiled,<br /> + Let fair love leap from mine to thine!"<br /> + "The Dawn is young," she smiled and said,<br /> + "Too young for Love's dear joy and woe;<br /> + Too young to crown her careless head<br /> + With his ripe roses. Let me go—<br /> + Unquestion'd for a longer space,<br /> + Perchance, when day is at the flood,<br /> + In thy true palm I'll gladly place<br /> + Love's flower in its rounding bud.<br /> + But now the day is all too young,<br /> + The Dawn and I are playmates still."<br /> + She slipped the blossomed boughs among,<br /> + He strode beyond the violet hill.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Again they stand (Imperial noon<br /> + Lays her red sceptre on the earth),<br /> + Where golden hangings make a gloom,<br /> + And far off lutes sing dreamy mirth.<br /> + The peacocks cry to lily cloud,<br /> + From the white gloss of balustrade:<br /> + Tall urns of gold the gloom make proud,<br /> + Tall statues whitely strike the shade,<br /> + And pulse in the dim quivering light<br /> + Until, most Galatea-wise—<br /> + Each looks from base of malachite<br /> + With mystic life in limbs and eyes.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Her robe, (a golden wave that rose,<br /> + And burst, and clung as water clings<br /> + To her long curves) about her flows.<br /> + Each jewel on her white breast sings<br /> + Its silent song of sun and fire.<br /> + No wheeling swallows smite the skies<br /> + And upward draw the faint desire,<br /> + Weaving its myst'ry in her eyes.<br /> + In the white kisses of the tips<br /> + Of her long fingers lies a rose,<br /> + Snow-pale beside her curving lips,<br /> + Red by her snowy breast it glows.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "Noon of my soul," he says, "behold!<br /> + The day is ripe, the rose full blown,<br /> + Love stands in panoply of gold,<br /> + To Jovian height and strength now grown,<br /> + No infant he, a king he stands,<br /> + And pleads with thee for love again."<br /> + "Ah, yes!" she says, "in known lands,<br /> + He kings it—lord of subtlest pain;<br /> + The moon is full, the rose is fair—<br /> + Too fair! 'tis neither white nor red:<br /> + "I know the rose that love should wear,<br /> + Must redden as the heart had bled!<br /> + The moon is mellow bright, and I<br /> + Am happy in its perfect glow.<br /> + The slanting sun the rose may dye—<br /> + But for the sweet noon—let me go."<br /> + She parted—shimm'ring thro' the shade,<br /> + Bent the fair splendour of her head:<br /> + "Would the rich noon were past," he said,<br /> + Would the pale rose were flush'd to red!"<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Again. The noon is past and night<br /> + Binds on his brow the blood red Mars—<br /> + Down dusky vineyards dies the fight,<br /> + And blazing hamlets slay the stars.<br /> + Shriek the shrill shells: the heated throats<br /> + Of thunderous cannon burst—and high<br /> + Scales the fierce joy of bugle notes:<br /> + The flame-dimm'd splendours of the sky.<br /> + He, dying, lies beside his blade:<br /> + Clear smiling as a warrior blest<br /> + With victory smiles, thro' sinister shade<br /> + Gleams the White Cross upon her breast.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "Soul of my soul, or is it night<br /> + Or is it dawn or is it day?<br /> + I see no more nor dark nor light,<br /> + I hear no more the distant fray."<br /> + "'Tis Dawn," she whispers: "Dawn at last!<br /> + Bright flush'd with love's immortal glow<br /> + For me as thee, all earth is past!<br /> + Late loved—well loved, now let us go!"<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<h3> + LA BOUQUETIERE.<br /> +</h3> + +<p class="poem"> + Buy my roses, citizens,—<br /> + Here are roses golden white,<br /> + Like the stars that lovers watch<br /> + On a purple summer night.<br /> + Here are roses ruddy red,<br /> + Here are roses Cupid's pink;<br /> + Here are roses like his cheeks—<br /> + Deeper—like his lips, I think.<br /> + Vogue la galere! what if they die,<br /> + Roses will bloom again—so, buy!<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Here is one—it should be white;<br /> + As tho' in a playful mind,<br /> + Flora stole the winter snow<br /> + From the sleeping north'rn wind<br /> + And lest he should wake and rage,<br /> + Breath'd a spell of ardent pow'r<br /> + On the flake, and flung it down<br /> + To the earth, a snow-white flow'r.<br /> + Vogue la galere! 'tis stain'd with red?<br /> + That only means—a woman's dead!<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Buy my flowers, citizens,—<br /> + Here's a Parma violet;<br /> + Ah! why is my white rose red?<br /> + 'Tis the blood of a grisette;<br /> + She sold her flowers by the quay;<br /> + Brown her eyes and fair her hair;<br /> + Sixteen summers old, I think—<br /> + With a quaint, Provincial air.<br /> + Vogue la galere! she's gone the way<br /> + That flesh as well as flow'rs must stray.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + She had a father old and lame;<br /> + He wove his baskets by her side;<br /> + Well, well! 'twas fair enough to see<br /> + Her look of love, his glance of pride;<br /> + He wore a beard of shaggy grey,<br /> + And clumsy patches on his blouse;<br /> + She wore about her neck a cross,<br /> + And on her feet great wooden shoes.<br /> + Vogue la galere! we have no cross,<br /> + Th' Republic says it's gold is dross!<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + They had a dog, old, lame, and lean;<br /> + He once had been a noble hound;<br /> + And day by day he lay and starv'd,<br /> + Or gnaw'd some bone that he had found.<br /> + They shar'd with him the scanty crust,<br /> + That barely foil'd starvation's pain;<br /> + He'd wag his feeble tail and turn<br /> + To gnaw that polish'd bone again.<br /> + Vogue la galere! why don't ye greet<br /> + My tale with laughter, prompt and meet?<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + No fear! ye'll chorus me with laughs<br /> + When draws my long jest to its close—<br /> + And have for life a merry joke,<br /> + "The spot of blood upon the rose."<br /> + She sold her flow'rs—but what of that?<br /> + The child was either good or dense;<br /> + She starv'd—for one she would not sell,<br /> + Patriots, 'twas her innocence!<br /> + Vogue la galere! poor little clod!<br /> + Like us, she could not laugh at God.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + A week ago I saw a crowd<br /> + Of red-caps; and a Tricoteuse<br /> + Call'd as I hurried swiftly past—<br /> + "They've taken little Wooden Shoes!"<br /> + Well, so they had. Come, laugh, I say;<br /> + Your laugh with mine should come in pat!<br /> + For she, the little sad-fac'd child,<br /> + Was an accurs'd aristocrat!<br /> + Vogue la galere! the Republic's said<br /> + Saints, angels, nobles, all are dead.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "The old man, too!" shriek'd out the crowd;<br /> + She turn'd her small white face about;<br /> + And ye'd have laugh'd to see the air<br /> + With which she fac'd that rabble rout!<br /> + I laugh'd, I know—some laughter breeds<br /> + A merry moisture in the eye:<br /> + My cheeks were wet, to see her hand<br /> + Try to push those brawny patriots by.<br /> + Vogue la galere! we'll laugh nor weep<br /> + When Death, not God, calls <i>us</i> to sleep.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "Not Jean!" she said, "'tis only I<br /> + That noble am—take only me;<br /> + I only am his foster-child,—<br /> + He nurs'd me on his knee!<br /> + See! he is guiltless of the crime<br /> + Of noble birth—and lov'd me not,<br /> + Because I claim an old descent,<br /> + But that he nurs'd me in his cot!"<br /> + Vogue la galere! 'tis well no God<br /> + Exists, to look upon this sod!<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "Believe her not!" he shriek'd; "O, no!<br /> + I am the father of her life!"<br /> + "Poor Jean!" she said; "believe him not,<br /> + His mind with dreams is rife.<br /> + Farewell, dear Jean!" she said. I laugh'd,<br /> + Her air was so sedately grand.<br /> + "Thou'st been a faithful servant, so<br /> + Thou well may'st kiss my hand."<br /> + Vogue la galere! the sun is red—<br /> + And will be, Patriots, when we're dead.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "Child! my dear child!" he shriek'd; she turn'd<br /> + And let the patriots close her round;<br /> + He was so lame, he fell behind—<br /> + He and the starving hound.<br /> + "Let him go free!" yell'd out the mob;<br /> + "Accurs'd be these nobles all!<br /> + The, poor old wretch is craz'd it seems;<br /> + Blood, Citizens, <i>will</i> pall.<br /> + Vogue la galere! We can't buy wine,<br /> + So let blood flow—be't thine or mine."<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + I ply my trade about the Place;<br /> + Where proudly reigns La Guillotine;<br /> + I pile my basket up with bloom,<br /> + With mosses soft and green.<br /> + This morning, not an hour ago,<br /> + I stood beside a Tricoteuse;<br /> + And saw the little fair head fall<br /> + Off the little Wooden Shoes.<br /> + Vogue la galere! By Sanson's told,<br /> + Into his basket, dross and gold.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + She died alone. A woman drew<br /> + As close beside her as she might;<br /> + And in that woman's basket lay<br /> + A rose all snowy white.<br /> + But sixteen summers old—a child<br /> + As one might say—to die alone;<br /> + Ah, well—it is the only way<br /> + These nobles can atone!<br /> + Vogue la galere! here is my jest—<br /> + My white rose redden'd from her breast!<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Buy my roses, Citizens!<br /> + Here's a vi'let—here's a pink—<br /> + Deeper tint than Cupid's cheek;<br /> + Deeper than his lips, I think.<br /> + Flora's nymphs on rosy feet<br /> + Ne'er o'er brighter blossoms sprang!<br /> + Ne'er a songster sweeter blooms,<br /> + In his sweetest rhyming sang!<br /> + Vogue la galere! Roses must die—<br /> + Roses will grow again—so, buy!<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<h3> + CURTIUS.<br /> +</h3> + +<p><br /></p> + +<p class="poem"> + How spake the Oracle, my Curtius, how?<br /> + Methought, while on the shadow'd terraces<br /> + I walked and looked towards Rome, an echo came,<br /> + Of legion wails, blent into one deep cry.<br /> + "O, Jove!" I thought, "the Oracles have said;<br /> + And saying, touched some swiftly answering chord,<br /> + Gen'ral to ev'ry soul." And then my heart<br /> + (I being here alone) beat strangely loud;<br /> + Responsive to the cry—and my still soul,<br /> + Inform'd me thus: "Not such a harmony<br /> + Could spring from aught within the souls of men,<br /> + But that which is most common to all souls.<br /> + Lo! that is sorrow!" "Nay, Curtius, I could smile,<br /> + To tell thee as I listen'd to the cry,<br /> + How on the silver flax which blew about<br /> + The ivory distaff in my languid hand,<br /> + I found large tears; such big and rounded drops<br /> + As gather thro' dark nights on cypress boughs,<br /> + And I was sudden anger'd, for I thought:<br /> + "Why should a gen'ral wail come home to me<br /> + With such vibration in my trembling heart,<br /> + That such great tears should rise and overflow?"<br /> + Then shook them on the marble where I pac'd;<br /> + Where instantly they vanished in the sun,<br /> + As di'monds fade in flames, 'twas foolish, Curtius!<br /> + And then methought how strange and lone it seem'd,<br /> + For till thou cam'st I seem'd to be alone,<br /> + On the vin'd terrace, prison'd in the gold<br /> + Of that still noontide hour. No widows stole<br /> + Up the snow-glimmering marble of the steps<br /> + To take my alms and bless the Gods and me;<br /> + No orphans touched the fringes of my robe<br /> + With innocent babe-fingers, nor dropped the gold<br /> + I laid in their soft palms, to laugh, and stroke<br /> + The jewels on my neck, or touch the rose<br /> + Thou sayest, Curtius, lives upon my cheek.<br /> + Perchance all lingered in the Roman streets<br /> + To catch first tidings from the Oracles.<br /> + The very peacocks drows'd in distant shades,<br /> + Nor sought my hand for honey'd cake; and high<br /> + A hawk sailed blackly in the clear blue sky,<br /> + And kept my doves from cooing at my feet.<br /> + My lute lay there, bound with the small white buds,<br /> + Which, laughing this bright morn, thou brought and wreath'd<br /> + Around it as I sang—but with that wail<br /> + Dying across the vines and purple slopes,<br /> + And breaking on its strings, I did not care<br /> + To waken music, nor in truth could force<br /> + My voice or fingers to it, so I stray'd<br /> + Where hangs thy best loved armour on the wall,<br /> + And pleased myself by filling it with thee!<br /> + 'Tis yet the goodliest armour in proud Rome,<br /> + Say all the armourers; all Rome and I<br /> + Know <i>thee</i>, the lordliest bearer of a sword.<br /> + Yet, Curtius, stay, there is a rivet lost<br /> + From out the helmet, and a ruby gone<br /> + From the short sword hilt—trifles both which can<br /> + Be righted by to-morrow's noon—"to-morrow's noon!"<br /> + Was there a change, my Curtius, in my voice<br /> + When spake I those three words: "to-morrow's noon?"<br /> + O, I am full of dreams—methought there was.<br /> + "Why, love, how darkly gaze thine eyes in mine!<br /> + If lov'd I dismal thoughts I well could deem<br /> + Thou saw'st not the blue of my fond eyes,<br /> + But looked between the lips of that dread pit—<br /> + O, Jove! to name it seems to curse the air<br /> + With chills of death—we'll not speak of it, Curtius.<br /> + When I had dimm'd thy shield with kissing it,<br /> + I went between the olives to the stalls;<br /> + White Audax neigh'd out to me as I came,<br /> + As I had been Hippona to his eyes;<br /> + New dazzling from the one, small, mystic cloud<br /> + That like a silver chariot floated low<br /> + In the ripe blue of noon, and seem'd to pause,<br /> + Stay'd by the hilly round of yon aged tree.<br /> + He stretch'd the ivory arch of his vast neck,<br /> + Smiting sharp thunders from the marble floor<br /> + With hoofs impatient of a peaceful earth;<br /> + Shook the long silver of his burnish'd mane,<br /> + Until the sunbeams smote it into light,<br /> + Such as a comet trails across the sky.<br /> + I love him, Curtius! Such magnanimous fires<br /> + Leap from his eyes. I do truly think<br /> + That with thee seated on him, thy strong knees<br /> + Against his sides—the bridle in his jaws<br /> + In thy lov'd hand, to pleasure thee he'd spring<br /> + Sheer from the verge of Earth into the breast<br /> + Of Death and Chaos—of Death and Chaos!—<br /> + What omens seem to strike my soul to-day?<br /> + What is there in this blossom hour should knit<br /> + An omen in with ev'ry simple word?<br /> + Should make yon willows with their hanging locks<br /> + Dusk sybils, mutt'ring sorrows to the air?<br /> + The roses clamb'ring round yon marble Pan,<br /> + Wave like red banners floating o'er the dead?<br /> + The dead—there 'tis again. My Curtius, come<br /> + And thou shalt tell me of the Oracles<br /> + And what sent hither that long cry of woe.<br /> + Yet wait, yet wait, I care not much to hear.<br /> + While on thy charger's throbbing neck I lean'd,<br /> + Romeward there pass'd across the violet slopes,<br /> + Five sacrificial bulls, with silver hides,<br /> + And horns as cusp'd and white as Dian's bow,<br /> + And lordly breasts which laid the honey'd thyme<br /> + Into long swarths, whence smoke of yellow bees<br /> + Rose up in puffs, dispersing as it rose,<br /> + For the great temple they; and as they pass'd<br /> + With quiet gait, I heard their drivers say:<br /> + The bulls were for the Altars, when should come<br /> + Word from the Oracles, as to the Pit,<br /> + O, Curtius, Curtius, in my soul I see<br /> + How black and fearful is its glutton throat;<br /> + I will not look!<br /> + O, Soul, be blind and see not! Then the men<br /> + Wav'd their long goads, still juicy from the vine,<br /> + And plum'd with bronzy leaves, and each to each,<br /> + Showed the sleek beauty of the rounded sides,<br /> + The mighty curving of the lordly breasts,<br /> + The level lines of backs, the small, fine heads,<br /> + And laugh'd and said, "The Gods will have it thus,<br /> + The choicest of the earth for sacrifice;<br /> + Let it be man, or maid, or lowing bull!"<br /> + Where lay the witchcraft in their clownish words,<br /> + To shake my heart? I know not; but it thrill'd,<br /> + As Daphne's leaves, thrill to a wind so soft,<br /> + One might not feel it on the open palm;<br /> + I cannot choose but laugh—for what have I<br /> + To do with altars and with sacrifice?<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<h3> + THE FARMER'S DAUGHTER CHERRY.<br /> +</h3> + +<p><br /></p> + +<p class="poem"> + The Farmer quit what he was at,<br /> + The bee-hive he was smokin':<br /> + He tilted back his old straw hat—<br /> + Says he, "Young man, you're jokin'!<br /> + O Lordy! (Lord, forgive the swar,)<br /> + Ain't ye a cheeky sinner?<br /> + Come, if I give my gal thar,<br /> + Where would <i>you</i> find her dinner?<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "Now look at <i>me</i>; I settl'd down<br /> + When I was one and twenty,<br /> + Me, and my axe and Mrs. Brown,<br /> + And stony land a plenty.<br /> + Look up thar! ain't that homestead fine,<br /> + And look at them thar cattle:<br /> + I tell ye since that early time<br /> + I've fit a tidy battle.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "It kinder wrestles down a man<br /> + To fight the stuns and mire:<br /> + But I sort of clutch'd to thet thar plan<br /> + Of David and Goliar.<br /> + Want was the mean old Philistine<br /> + That strutted round the clearin',<br /> + Of pebbles I'd a hansum line,<br /> + And flung 'em nothin' fearin'.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "They hit him square, right whar they ought,<br /> + Them times I <i>had</i> an arm!<br /> + I lick'd the giant and I bought<br /> + A hundred acre farm.<br /> + My gal was born about them days,<br /> + I was mowin' in the medder;<br /> + When some one comes along and says—<br /> + "The wife's gone thro' the shadder!"<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "Times thought it was God's will she went—<br /> + Times thought she work'd too slavin'—<br /> + And for the young one that was sent,<br /> + I took to steady savin'.<br /> + Jest cast your eye on that thar hill<br /> + The sugar bush just tetches,<br /> + And round by Miller Jackson's mill,<br /> + All round the farm stretches.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "'Ain't got a mind to give that land<br /> + To any snip-snap feller<br /> + That don't know loam from mud or sand,<br /> + Or if corn's blue or yaller.<br /> + I've got a mind to keep her yet—<br /> + Last Fall her cheese and butter<br /> + Took prizes; sakes! I can't forget<br /> + Her pretty pride and flutter.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "Why, you be off! her little face<br /> + For me's the only summer;<br /> + Her gone, 'twould be a queer, old place,<br /> + The Lord smile down upon her!<br /> + All goes with her, the house and lot—<br /> + You'd like to get 'em, very!<br /> + I'll give 'em when this maple bears<br /> + A bouncin' ripe-red cherry!"<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + The Farmer fixed his hat and specks<br /> + And pursed his lips together,<br /> + The maple wav'd above his head,<br /> + Each gold and scarlet feather:<br /> + The Teacher's Honest heart sank down:<br /> + How could his soul be merry?<br /> + He knew—though teaching in a town,<br /> + No maple bears a cherry.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Soft blew the wind; the great old tree,<br /> + Like Saul to David's singing,<br /> + Nodded its jewelled crown, as he<br /> + Swayed to the harp-strings' ringing;<br /> + A something rosy—not a leaf<br /> + Stirs up amid the branches;<br /> + A miracle <i>may</i> send relief<br /> + To lovers fond and anxious!<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + O rosy is the velvet cheek<br /> + Of one 'mid red leaves sitting!<br /> + The sunbeams played at hide-and-seek<br /> + With the needles in her knitting.<br /> + "O Pa!" The Farmer prick'd his ears,<br /> + Whence came that voice so merry?<br /> + (The Teacher's thoughtful visage clears)<br /> + "The maple bears a cherry!"<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + The Farmer tilted back his hat:<br /> + "Well, gal—as I'm a human,<br /> + I'll always hold as doctrine that<br /> + Thar's nothin' beats a woman!<br /> + When crown'd that maple is with snow,<br /> + And Christmas bells are merry,<br /> + I'll let you have her, Jack—that's so!<br /> + Be sure you're good to Cherry!"<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<h3> + SOME OF FARMER STEBBIN'S OPINIONS.<br /> +</h3> + +<p class="poem"> + No, Parson, 'tain't been in my style,<br /> + (Nor none ov my relations)<br /> + Tew dig about the gnarly roots<br /> + Ov prophetic spekkleations,<br /> + Tew see what Malachai meant;<br /> + Or Solomon was hintin';<br /> + Or reound what jog o' Futur's road<br /> + Isaiah was a-squintin'.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + I've lost my rest a-keepin' out<br /> + The hogs from our cowcumbers;<br /> + But never lost a wink, you bet,<br /> + By wrastlin' over Numbers.<br /> + I never took no comfort when<br /> + The year was bald with losses,<br /> + A-spekkleatin' on them chaps<br /> + That rode them varus hosses.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + It never gave my soul a boost<br /> + When grief an' it was matin',<br /> + Tew figger out that that thar Pope<br /> + Wus reely twins with Satan.<br /> + I took no stock in countin' up<br /> + How menny hed ov cattle<br /> + From Egypt's ranches Moses drove;<br /> + I never fit a battle<br /> + On p'ints that frequently gave rise<br /> + Tew pious spat an' grumble,<br /> + An' makes the brethren clinch an' yell<br /> + In spiritooal rough-an'-tumble.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + I never bet on Paul agin<br /> + The argyments ov Peter,<br /> + I never made the good old Book<br /> + A kind ov moral teeter;<br /> + Tew pass a choreless hour away,<br /> + An' get the evenin' over;<br /> + I swallered it jest as it stood,<br /> + From cover clar tew cover.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Hain't had no time tew disputate,<br /> + Except with axe an' arm,<br /> + With stump an' rampike and with stuns,<br /> + Upon my half clar'd farm.<br /> + An' when sech argyments as them—<br /> + Fill six days out ov seven;<br /> + A man on Sabbath wants tew crawl<br /> + By quiet ways tew heaven.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Again he gets the waggon out,<br /> + An' hitches up the sorrels,<br /> + An' rides ten miles tew meetin', he<br /> + Ain't braced for pious quarrels:<br /> + No, sir, he ain't! that waggon rolls<br /> + From corduroy to puddle,<br /> + An' that thar farmer gets his brains<br /> + Inter an easy muddle.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + His back is stiff from six days' toil—<br /> + So God takes hold an' preaches,<br /> + In boughs ov rustlin' maple an'<br /> + In whisperin' leaves ov beeches:<br /> + Sez He tew that thar farmin' chap<br /> + (Likewise tew the old woman),<br /> + "I guess I'm built tew comprehend<br /> + That you an' her be's human!"<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "So jest take hold on this har day,<br /> + Recowperate yer muscle;<br /> + Let up a mite this day on toil,<br /> + 'Taint made for holy bustle.<br /> + Let them old sorrels jog along,<br /> + With mighty slack-like traces;<br /> + Half dreamin', es my sunbeams fleck<br /> + Their venerable faces.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "I guess they did their share, ov work,<br /> + Since Monday's dew was hoary;<br /> + Don't try tew lick 'em tew a trot<br /> + Upon the road tew Glory!<br /> + Jest let 'em laze a spell whar thick<br /> + My lily-buds air blowin':<br /> + An' whar My trees cast shadders on<br /> + My silver creeklet flowin'.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "An' while their red, rough tongues push back<br /> + The stems ov reed an' lily,<br /> + Jest let 'em dream ov them thar days<br /> + When they was colt an' filly,<br /> + An' spekkleate, es fetlock deep<br /> + They eye my cool creek flowin',<br /> + On whar I loosed it from My hand,<br /> + Where be its crisp waves goin'.<br /> + An' how in snow-white lily cup<br /> + I built them yaller fires,<br /> + An' bronz'd them reeds that rustle up<br /> + Agin the waggon tires.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "An' throw a forrard eye along<br /> + Where that bush roadway passes,<br /> + A-spekkleating on the chance—<br /> + Ov nibbling road-side grasses.<br /> + Jest let them lines rest on thar necks—<br /> + Restrain yer moral twitters—<br /> + An' paste this note inside yer hat—<br /> + I talk tew all My critters!<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "Be they on four legs or on two,<br /> + In broadcloth, scales or feathers,<br /> + No matter what may be the length<br /> + Ov all their mental tethers:<br /> + In ways mayn't suit the minds ov them<br /> + That thinks themselves thar betters.<br /> + I talk tew them in simple style,<br /> + In words ov just three letters,—<br /> + Spell'd out in lily-blow an' reed,<br /> + In soft winds on them blowin',<br /> + In juicy grass by wayside streams,<br /> + In coolin' waters flowin'.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "An' so jest let them sorrels laze<br /> + My ripplin' silver creek in;<br /> + They're listenin' in thar own dumb way,<br /> + An' I—Myself—am speakin';<br /> + Friend Stebbens, don't you feel your soul<br /> + In no sort ov dejection;<br /> + You'll get tew meetin' quick enough,<br /> + In time for the—collection."<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<h3> + THE DEACON AND HIS DAUGHTER.<br /> +</h3> + +<p class="poem"> + He saved his soul and saved his pork,<br /> + With old time preservation;<br /> + He did not hold with creosote,<br /> + Or new plans of salvation;<br /> + He said that "Works would show the man,"<br /> + "The smoke-house tell upon the ham!"<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + He didn't, when he sunk a well,<br /> + Inspect the stuns and gravel;<br /> + To prove that Moses was a dunce,<br /> + Unfit for furrin travel;<br /> + He marvell'd at them works of God—<br /> + An' broke 'em up to mend the road!<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + And when the Circus come around,<br /> + He hitch'd his sleek old horses;<br /> + And in his rattling wagon took<br /> + His dimpl'd household forces—<br /> + The boys to wonder at the Clown,<br /> + And think his fate Life's highest crown.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + He wondered at the zebras wild,<br /> + Nor knew 'em painted donkeys;<br /> + An' when he gave the boys a dime<br /> + For cakes to feed the monkeys,<br /> + He never thought, in any shape,<br /> + He had descended from an ape!<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + And when he saw some shallow-pate,<br /> + With smallest brain possession,<br /> + He uttered no filosofy<br /> + On Nature's retrogression.<br /> + To ancient types, by Darwin's rule,<br /> + He simply said, "Wal, darn a fool."<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + He never had an enemy,<br /> + But once a year to meetin',<br /> + When he and Deacon Maybee fought<br /> + On questions of free seatin';<br /> + Or which should be the one t' rebuke<br /> + Pastor for kissin' sister Luke.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + His farm was well enough, but stones<br /> + Kind of stern, ruthless facts is;<br /> + An' he jest made out to save a mite,<br /> + An' pay his righteous taxes,<br /> + An' mebbe tote some flour an' pork<br /> + To poor old critters past their work.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + But on the neatest thing he hed<br /> + Around the place or dwellin',<br /> + I guess he never paid a red<br /> + Of taxes. No mush melon<br /> + Was rounder, sweeter, pinker than<br /> + The old Man's daughter, Minta Ann.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + I've been at Philadelfy's show<br /> + An' other similar fusses,<br /> + An' seen a mighty sight of stone,<br /> + Minarveys and Venusses;<br /> + An' Sikeys clad in flowers an' wings,<br /> + But not much show of factory things.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + I've seen the hull entire crowd<br /> + Of Jove's female relations,<br /> + An' I feel to make a solemn swear<br /> + On them thar "Lamentations,"<br /> + That as a sort of general plan<br /> + I'd rather spark with Minta Ann!<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + You'd ought to see her dimpled chin,<br /> + With one red freckle on it,<br /> + Her brown eyes glancing underneath<br /> + Her tilted shaker bonnet.<br /> + I vow, I often did desire,<br /> + They'd set the plaguey thing a-fire!<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + You'd ought to hear that gal sing<br /> + On Sabbath, up to meetin',<br /> + You'd kind of feel high lifted up,<br /> + Your soul for Heaven fleetin'.<br /> + And then—came supper, down she'd tie<br /> + You to this earth with pumpkin pie!<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + I tell you, stranger, 'twas a sight<br /> + For poetry and speeches,<br /> + To see her sittin' on the stoop,<br /> + A-peelin' scarlet peaches,<br /> + Inter the kettle at her feet,—<br /> + I tell you, 'twas a show complete!<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Drip, droppin' thro' the rustlin' vine,<br /> + The sunbeams came a flittin';<br /> + An' sort of danced upon the floor,<br /> + Chas'd by the tabby kitten;<br /> + Losh! to see the critter's big surprise,<br /> + When them beams slipped into Minta's eyes!<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + An' down her brow her pretty hair<br /> + Cum curlin', crinklin', creepin',<br /> + In leetle, yaller mites of rings,<br /> + Inter them bright eyes, peepin',<br /> + Es run the tendrils of the vine,<br /> + To whar the merry sunbeams shine.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + But losh! her smile was dreadful shy,<br /> + An' kept her white lids under;<br /> + Jest as when darkens up the sky<br /> + An' growls away the thunder;<br /> + Them skeery speckled trout will hide<br /> + Beneath them white pond lilies' pride!<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + An' then her heart, 'twas made clar through<br /> + Of Californy metal,<br /> + Chock full of things es sugar sweet<br /> + Es a presarvin' kettle.<br /> + The beaux went crazed fur menny a mile<br /> + When I got thet kettle on the bile.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + The good old deacon's gone to whar<br /> + Thar ain't no wild contentions<br /> + On Buildin' Funds' Committees and<br /> + No taxes nor exemptions.<br /> + Yet still I sort of feel he preaches,<br /> + And Minta Ann preserves my peaches.<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<h3> + SAID THE SKYLARK.<br /> +</h3> + +<p class="poem"> + "O soft, small cloud, the dim, sweet dawn adorning,<br /> + Swan-like a-sailing on its tender grey;<br /> + Why dost thou, dost thou float,<br /> + So high, the wing'd, wild note<br /> + Of silver lamentation from my dark and pulsing throat<br /> + May never reach thee,<br /> + Tho' every note beseech thee<br /> + To bend thy white wings downward thro' the smiling of the morning,<br /> + And by the black wires of my prison lightly stray?<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "O dear, small cloud, when all blue morn is ringing<br /> + With sweet notes piped from other throats than mine;<br /> + If those glad singers please<br /> + The tall and nodding trees—<br /> + If to them dance the pennants of the swaying columbine,<br /> + If to their songs are set<br /> + The dance of daffodil and trembling violet—<br /> + Will they pursue thee<br /> + With tireless wings as free and bold as thine?<br /> + Will they woo thee<br /> + With love throbs in the music of their singing?<br /> + Ah, nay! fair Cloud, ah, nay!<br /> + Their hearts and wings will stay<br /> + With yellow bud of primrose and soft blush of the May;<br /> + Their songs will thrill and die,<br /> + Tranc'd in the perfume of the rose's breast.<br /> + While I must see thee fly<br /> + With white, broad, lonely pinions down the sky.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "O fair, small cloud, unheeding o'er me straying,<br /> + Jewell'd with topaz light of fading stars;<br /> + Thy downy edges red<br /> + As the great eagle of the Dawn sails high<br /> + And sets his fire-bright head<br /> + And wind-blown pinions towards thy snowy breast;<br /> + And thou canst blush while I<br /> + Must pierce myself with song and die<br /> + On the bald sod behind my prison bars;<br /> + Nor feel upon my crest<br /> + Thy soft, sunn'd touches delicately playing!<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "O fair, small cloud, grown small as lily flow'r!<br /> + Even while I smite the bars to see thee fade;<br /> + The wind shall bring thee<br /> + The strain I sing thee—<br /> + I, in wired prison stay'd,<br /> + Worse than the breathless primrose glade.<br /> + That in my morn,<br /> + I shrilly sang to scorn;<br /> + I'll burst my heart up to thee in this hour!<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "O fair, small cloud, float nearer yet and hear me!<br /> + A prison'd lark once lov'd a snowy cloud,<br /> + Nor did the Day<br /> + With sapphire lips, and kiss<br /> + Of summery bliss,<br /> + Draw all her soul away;<br /> + Vainly the fervent East<br /> + Deck'd her with roses for their bridal feast;<br /> + She would not rest<br /> + In his red arms, but slipp'd adown the air<br /> + And wan and fair,<br /> + Her light foot touch'd a purple mountain crest,<br /> + And touching, turn'd<br /> + Into swift rain, that like to jewels burn'd;<br /> + In the great, wondering azure of the sky;<br /> + And while a rainbow spread<br /> + Its mighty arms above, she, singing, fled<br /> + To the lone-feather'd slave,<br /> + In his sad weird grave,<br /> + Whose heart upon his silver song had sped<br /> + To her in days of old,<br /> + In dawns of gold,<br /> + And murmuring to him, said:<br /> + "O love, I come! O love, I come to cheer thee—<br /> + Love, to be near thee!""<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<h3> + WAR.<br /> +</h3> + +<p class="poem"> + Shake, shake the earth with giant tread,<br /> + Thou red-maned Titian bold;<br /> + For every step a man lies dead,<br /> + A cottage hearth is cold.<br /> + Take up the babes with mailed hands,<br /> + Transfix them with thy spears,<br /> + Spare not the chaste young virgin-bands,<br /> + Tho' blood may be their tears.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Beat down the corn, tear up the vine,<br /> + The waters turn to blood;<br /> + And if the wretch for bread doth whine,<br /> + Give him his kin for food.<br /> + Aye, strew the dead to saddle girth,<br /> + They make so rich a mould,<br /> + Thoul't thus enrich the wasted earth—<br /> + They'll turn to yellow gold.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + On with thy thunders, shot and shell,<br /> + Send screaming, featly hurl'd;<br /> + Science has made them in her cell,<br /> + To <i>civilize</i> the world.<br /> + Not, not alone where Christian men<br /> + Pant in the well-arm'd strife;<br /> + But seek the jungle-throttled glen—<br /> + The savage has a life.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + He has a soul—so priests will say—<br /> + Go! save it with thy sword;<br /> + Thro' his rank forests force thy way,<br /> + Thy war cry, "For the Lord!"<br /> + Rip up his mines, and from his strands<br /> + Wash out the gold with blood—<br /> + Religion raises blessing hands,<br /> + "War's evil worketh good!"<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + When striding o'er the conquer'd land,<br /> + Silence thy rolling drum,<br /> + And led by white-robed choiring bands<br /> + With loud <i>"Te Deum"</i> come.<br /> + Seek the grim chancel, on its wall<br /> + Thy blood-stiff banner hang;<br /> + They lie who say thy blood is gall.<br /> + Thy tooth the serpent's fang.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + See! the white Christ is lifted high,<br /> + Thy conqu'ring sword to bless;<br /> + Smiles the pure monarch of the sky—<br /> + <i>Thy</i> king can do no less.<br /> + Drink deep with him the festal wine,<br /> + Drink with him drop for drop;<br /> + If, like the sun, his throne doth shine,<br /> + <i>Thou</i> art that throne's prop.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + If spectres wait upon the bowl,<br /> + Thou needs not be afraid,<br /> + Grin hell-hounds for thy bold black soul,<br /> + His purple be thy shade.<br /> + Go! feast with Commerce, be her spouse;<br /> + She loves thee, thou art hers—<br /> + For thee she decks her board and house.<br /> + Then how may others curse<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + If she, mild-seeming matron, leans<br /> + Upon thine iron neck,<br /> + And leaves with thee her household scenes<br /> + To follow at thy beck—<br /> + Bastard in brotherhood of kings,<br /> + Their blood runs in thy veins,<br /> + For them the crowns, the sword that swings,<br /> + For thee to hew their chains.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + For thee the rending of the prey—<br /> + They, jackals to the lion,<br /> + Tread after in the gory way<br /> + Trod by the mightier scion.<br /> + O slave! that slayest other slaves,<br /> + O'er vassals crowned, a king!<br /> + War, build high thy throne with graves,<br /> + High as the vulture's wing!<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<h3> + THE SWORD.<br /> +</h3> + +<p class="poem"> + THE FORGING OF THE SWORD.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + At the forging of the Sword—<br /> + The mountain roots were stirr'd,<br /> + Like the heart-beats of a bird;<br /> + Like flax the tall trees wav'd,<br /> + So fiercely struck the Forgers of the Sword.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + At the forging of the Sword—<br /> + So loud the hammers fell,<br /> + The thrice seal'd gates of Hell,<br /> + Burst wide their glowing jaws;<br /> + Deep roaring, at the forging of the Sword.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + At the forging of the Sword—<br /> + Kind mother Earth was rent,<br /> + Like an Arab's dusky tent,<br /> + And monster-like she fed—<br /> + On her children; at the forging of the Sword.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + At the forging of the Sword—<br /> + So loud the blows they gave,<br /> + Up sprang the panting wave;<br /> + And blind and furious slew,<br /> + Shrill-shouting to the Forgers of the Sword.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + At the forging of the Sword—<br /> + The startled air swift whirl'd<br /> + The red flames round the world,<br /> + From the Anvil where was smitten,<br /> + The steel, the Forgers wrought into the Sword.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + At the forging of the Sword—<br /> + The Maid and Matron fled,<br /> + And hid them with the dead;<br /> + Fierce prophets sang their doom,<br /> + More deadly, than the wounding of the Sword.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + At the forging of the Sword—<br /> + Swift leap'd the quiet hearts,<br /> + In the meadows and the marts;<br /> + The tides of men were drawn,<br /> + By the gleaming sickle-planet of the Sword!<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + * * * * *<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Thus wert thou forged, O lissome sword;<br /> + On such dusk anvil wert thou wrought;<br /> + In such red flames thy metal fused!<br /> + From such deep hells that metal brought;<br /> + O sword, dread lord, thou speak'st no word,<br /> + But dumbly rul'st, king and lord!<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Less than the Gods by some small span,<br /> + Slim sword, how great thy lieges be!<br /> + Glint but in <i>one</i> wild camp-fire's light,<br /> + Thy God-like vassals rush to thee.<br /> + O sword, dread lord, thou speak'st no word,<br /> + But dumbly rul'st, king and lord!<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Sharp, God, how vast thy altars be!<br /> + Green vallies, sacrificial cups,<br /> + Flow with the purple lees of blood;<br /> + Its smoke is round the mountain tops.<br /> + O sword, dread lord, thou speak'st no word,<br /> + But dumbly rul'st, king and lord!<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + O amorous God, fierce lover thou!<br /> + Bright sultan of a million brides,<br /> + Thou know'st no rival to <i>thy</i> kiss,<br /> + Thy loves are <i>thine</i> whate're betides,<br /> + O sword, dread lord, thou speak'st no word,<br /> + But dumbly rul'st, king and lord.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Unflesh thee, sword! No more, no more,<br /> + Thy steel no more shall sting and shine,<br /> + Pass thro' the fusing fires again;<br /> + And learn to prune the laughing vine.<br /> + Fall sword, dread lord, with one accord,<br /> + The plough and hook we'll own as lord!<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<h3> + ROSES IN MADRID.<br /> +</h3> + +<p class="poem"> + Roses, Senors, roses!<br /> + Love is subtly hid<br /> + In the fragrant roses,<br /> + Blown in gay Madrid.<br /> + Roses, Senors, roses!<br /> + Look, look, look, and see<br /> + Love hanging in the roses,<br /> + Like a golden bee!<br /> + Ha! ha! shake the roses—<br /> + Hold a palm below;<br /> + Shake him from the roses,<br /> + Catch the vagrant so!<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + High I toss the roses<br /> + From my brown palm up;<br /> + Like the wine that bubbles<br /> + From a golden cup.<br /> + Catch the roses, Senors,<br /> + Light on finger tips;<br /> + He who buys red roses,<br /> + Dreams of crimson lips!<br /> + Tinkle! my fresh roses,<br /> + With the rare dews wet;<br /> + Clink! my crisp, red roses,<br /> + Like a castanet!<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Roses, Senors, roses,<br /> + Come, Hidalgo, buy!<br /> + Proudly wait my roses<br /> + For thy rose's eye<br /> + Be thy rose as stately<br /> + As a pacing deer;<br /> + Worthy are my roses<br /> + To burn behind her ear.<br /> + Ha I ha! I can see thee,<br /> + Where the fountains foam,<br /> + Twining my red roses<br /> + In her golden comb!<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Roses, Donnas, roses,<br /> + None so fresh as mine,<br /> + Pluck'd at rose of morning<br /> + By our Lady's shrine.<br /> + Those that first I gather'd<br /> + Laid I at her feet,<br /> + That is why my roses<br /> + Still are fresh and sweet.<br /> + Roses, Donnas, roses!<br /> + Roses waxen fair!<br /> + Acolytes my roses,<br /> + Censing ladies' pray'r!<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Roses, roses, roses!<br /> + Hear the tawny bull<br /> + Thund'ring in the circus—<br /> + Buy your arms full.<br /> + Roses by the dozen!<br /> + Roses by the score!<br /> + Pelt the victor with them—<br /> + Bull or Toreador!<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<h3> + BETWEEN THE WIND AND RAIN.<br /> +</h3> + +<p class="poem"> + "The storm is in the air," she said, and held<br /> + Her soft palm to the breeze; and looking up,<br /> + Swift sunbeams brush'd the crystal of her eyes,<br /> + As swallows leave the skies to skim the brown,<br /> + Bright woodland lakes. "The rain is in the air.<br /> + "O Prophet Wind, what hast thou told the rose,<br /> + "That suddenly she loosens her red heart,<br /> + "And sends long, perfum'd sighs about the place?<br /> + "O Prophet Wind, what hast thou told the Swift,<br /> + "That from the airy eave, she, shadow-grey,<br /> + "Smites the blue pond, and speeds her glancing wing<br /> + "Close to the daffodils? What hast thou told small bells,<br /> + "And tender buds, that—all unlike the rose—<br /> + "They draw green leaves close, close about their breasts<br /> + "And shrink to sudden slumber? The sycamores<br /> + "In ev'ry leaf are eloquent with thee;<br /> + "The poplars busy all their silver tongues<br /> + "With answ'ring thee, and the round chestnut stirs<br /> + "Vastly but softly, at thy prophecies.<br /> + "The vines grow dusky with a deeper green—<br /> + "And with their tendrils snatch thy passing harp,<br /> + "And keep it by brief seconds in their leaves.<br /> + "O Prophet Wind, thou tellest of the rain,<br /> + "While, jacinth blue, the broad sky folds calm palms,<br /> + "Unwitting of all storm, high o'er the land!<br /> + "The little grasses and the ruddy heath<br /> + "Know of the coming rain; but towards the sun<br /> + "The eagle lifts his eyes, and with his wings<br /> + "Beats on a sunlight that is never marr'd<br /> + "By cloud or mist, shrieks his fierce joy to air<br /> + "Ne'er stir'd by stormy pulse."<br /> + "The eagle mine," I said: "O I would ride<br /> + "His wings like Ganymede, nor ever care<br /> + "To drop upon the stormy earth again,—<br /> + "But circle star-ward, narrowing my gyres,<br /> + "To some great planet of eternal peace.".<br /> + "Nay," said my wise, young love, "the eagle falls<br /> + "Back to his cliff, swift as a thunder-bolt;<br /> + "For there his mate and naked eaglets dwell,<br /> + "And there he rends the dove, and joys in all<br /> + "The fierce delights of his tempestuous home.<br /> + "And tho' the stormy Earth throbs thro' her poles—<br /> + "With tempests rocks upon her circling path—<br /> + "And bleak, black clouds snatch at her purple hills—<br /> + "While mate and eaglets shriek upon the rock—<br /> + "The eagle leaves the hylas to its calm,<br /> + "Beats the wild storm apart that rings the earth,<br /> + "And seeks his eyrie on the wind-dash'd cliff.<br /> + "O Prophet Wind! close, close the storm and rain!"<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Long sway'd the grasses like a rolling wave<br /> + Above an undertow—the mastiff cried;<br /> + Low swept the poplars, groaning in their hearts;<br /> + And iron-footed stood the gnarl'd oaks,<br /> + And brac'd their woody thews against the storm.<br /> + Lash'd from the pond, the iv'ry cygnets sought<br /> + The carven steps that plung'd into the pool;<br /> + The peacocks scream'd and dragg'd forgotten plumes.<br /> + On the sheer turf—all shadows subtly died,<br /> + In one large shadow sweeping o'er the land;<br /> + Bright windows in the ivy blush'd no more;<br /> + The ripe, red walls grew pale—the tall vane dim;<br /> + Like a swift off'ring to an angry God,<br /> + O'erweighted vines shook plum and apricot,<br /> + From trembling trellis, and the rose trees pour'd<br /> + A red libation of sweet, ripen'd leaves,<br /> + On the trim walks. To the high dove-cote set<br /> + A stream of silver wings and violet breasts,<br /> + The hawk-like storm swooping on their track.<br /> + "Go," said my love, "the storm would whirl me off<br /> + "As thistle-down. I'll shelter here—but you—<br /> + "You love no storms!" "Where thou art," I said,<br /> + "Is all the calm I know—wert thou enthron'd<br /> + "On the pivot of the winds—or in the maelstrom,<br /> + "Thou holdest in thy hand my palm of peace;<br /> + "And, like the eagle, I would break the belts<br /> + "Of shouting tempests to return to thee,<br /> + "Were I above the storm on broad wings.<br /> + "Yet no she-eagle thou! a small, white, lily girl<br /> + "I clasp and lift and carry from the rain,<br /> + "Across the windy lawn."<br /> + With this I wove<br /> + Her floating lace about her floating hair,<br /> + And crush'd her snowy raiment to my breast,<br /> + And while she thought of frowns, but smil'd instead,<br /> + And wrote her heart in crimson on her cheeks,<br /> + I bounded with her up the breezy slopes,<br /> + The storm about us with such airy din,<br /> + As of a thousand bugles, that my heart<br /> + Took courage in the clamor, and I laid<br /> + My lips upon the flow'r of her pink ear,<br /> + And said: "I love thee; give me love again!"<br /> + And here she pal'd, love has its dread, and then<br /> + She clasp'd its joy and redden'd in its light,<br /> + Till all the daffodils I trod were pale<br /> + Beside the small flow'r red upon my breast.<br /> + And ere the dial on the slope was pass'd,<br /> + Between the last loud bugle of the Wind<br /> + And the first silver coinage of the Rain,<br /> + Upon my flying hair, there came her kiss,<br /> + Gentle and pure upon my face—and thus<br /> + Were we betroth'd between the Wind and Rain.<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<h3> + JOY'S CITY.<br /> +</h3> + +<p class="poem"> + Joy's City hath high battlements of gold;<br /> + Joy's City hath her streets of gem-wrought flow'rs;<br /> + She hath her palaces high reared and bold,<br /> + And tender shades of perfumed lily bowers;<br /> + But ever day by day, and ever night by night,<br /> + An Angel measures still our City of Delight.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + He hath a rule of gold, and never stays,<br /> + But ceaseless round the burnish'd ramparts glides;<br /> + He measures minutes of her joyous days,<br /> + Her walls, her trees, the music of her tides;<br /> + The roundness of her buds—Joy's own fair city lies,<br /> + Known to its heart-core by his stern and thoughtful eyes.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Above the sounds of timbrel and of song,<br /> + Of greeting friends, of lovers 'mid the flowers,<br /> + The Angel's voice arises clear and strong:<br /> + "O City, by so many leagues thy bow'rs<br /> + Stretch o'er the plains, and in the fair high-lifted blue<br /> + So many cubits rise thy tow'rs beyond the view."<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Why dost thou, Angel, measure Joy's fair walls?<br /> + Unceasing gliding by their burnish'd stones;<br /> + Go, rather measure Sorrow's gloomy halls;<br /> + Her cypress bow'rs, her charnel-house of bones;<br /> + Her groans, her tears, the rue in her jet chalices;<br /> + But leave unmeasured more, Joy's fairy palaces.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + The Angel spake: "Joy hath her limits set,<br /> + But Sorrow hath no bounds—Joy is a guest<br /> + Perchance may enter; but no heart puls'd yet,<br /> + Where Sorrow did not lay her down to rest;<br /> + She hath no city by so many leagues confin'd,<br /> + I cannot measure bounds where there are none to find."<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<h3> + THE CANOE.<br /> +</h3> + +<p class="poem"> + My masters twain made me a bed<br /> + Of pine-boughs resinous, and cedar;<br /> + Of moss, a soft and gentle breeder<br /> + Of dreams of rest; and me they spread<br /> + With furry skins, and laughing said,<br /> + "Now she shall lay her polish'd sides,<br /> + As queens do rest, or dainty brides,<br /> + Our slender lady of the tides!"<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + My masters twain their camp-soul lit,<br /> + Streamed incense from the hissing cones,<br /> + Large, crimson flashes grew and whirl'd<br /> + Thin, golden nerves of sly light curl'd<br /> + Round the dun camp, and rose faint zones,<br /> + Half way about each grim bole knit,<br /> + Like a shy child that would bedeck<br /> + With its soft clasp a Brave's red neck;<br /> + Yet sees the rough shield on his breast,<br /> + The awful plumes shake on his crest,<br /> + And fearful drops his timid face,<br /> + Nor dares complete the sweet embrace.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Into the hollow hearts of brakes,<br /> + Yet warm from sides of does and stags,<br /> + Pass'd to the crisp dark river flags;<br /> + Sinuous, red as copper snakes,<br /> + Sharp-headed serpents, made of light,<br /> + Glided and hid themselves in night.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + My masters twain, the slaughtered deer<br /> + Hung on fork'd boughs—with thongs of leather.<br /> + Bound were his stiff, slim feet together—<br /> + His eyes like dead stars cold and drear;<br /> + The wand'ring firelight drew near<br /> + And laid its wide palm, red and anxious,<br /> + On the sharp splendor of his branches;<br /> + On the white foam grown hard and sere<br /> + On flank and shoulder.<br /> + Death—hard as breast of granite boulder,<br /> + And under his lashes<br /> + Peer'd thro' his eyes at his life's grey ashes.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + My masters twain sang songs that wove<br /> + (As they burnish'd hunting blade and rifle)<br /> + A golden thread with a cobweb trifle—<br /> + Loud of the chase, and low of love.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "O Love, art thou a silver fish?<br /> + Shy of the line and shy of gaffing,<br /> + Which we do follow, fierce, yet laughing,<br /> + Casting at thee the light-wing'd wish,<br /> + And at the last shall we bring thee up<br /> + From the crystal darkness under the cup<br /> + Of lily folden,<br /> + On broad leaves golden?<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "O Love! art thou a silver deer,<br /> + Swift thy starr'd feet as wing of swallow,<br /> + While we with rushing arrows follow;<br /> + And at the last shall we draw near,<br /> + And over thy velvet neck cast thongs—<br /> + Woven of roses, of stars, of songs?<br /> + New chains all moulden<br /> + Of rare gems olden!"<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + They hung the slaughter'd fish like swords<br /> + On saplings slender—like scimitars<br /> + Bright, and ruddied from new-dead wars,<br /> + Blaz'd in the light—the scaly hordes.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + They piled up boughs beneath the trees,<br /> + Of cedar-web and green fir tassel;<br /> + Low did the pointed pine tops rustle,<br /> + The camp fire blush'd to the tender breeze.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + The hounds laid dew-laps on the ground,<br /> + With needles of pine sweet, soft and rusty—<br /> + Dream'd of the dead stag stout and lusty;<br /> + A bat by the red flames wove its round.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + The darkness built its wigwam walls<br /> + Close round the camp, and at its curtain<br /> + Press'd shapes, thin woven and uncertain,<br /> + As white locks of tall waterfalls.<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<h3> + "MY AIN BONNIE LASS O' THE GLEN."<br /> +</h3> + +<p class="poem"> + Ae blink o' the bonnie new mune,<br /> + Ay tinted as sune as she's seen,<br /> + Wad licht me to Meg frae the toun,<br /> + Tho' mony the brae-side between:<br /> + Ae fuff o' the saftest o' win's,<br /> + As wilyart it kisses the thorn,<br /> + Wad blaw me o'er knaggies an' linns—<br /> + To Meg by the side o' the burn!<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + My daddie's a laird wi' a ha';<br /> + My mither had kin at the court;<br /> + I maunna gang wooin' ava'—<br /> + Or any sic frolicsome sport.<br /> + Gin I'd wed—there's a winnock kept bye;<br /> + Wi' bodies an' gear i' her loof—<br /> + Gin ony tak her an' her kye,<br /> + Hell glunsh at himsel' for a coof!<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + My daddie's na doylt, tho' he's auld,<br /> + The winnock is pawkie an' gleg;<br /> + When the lammies are pit i' the fauld,<br /> + They're fear'd that I'm aff to my Meg.<br /> + My mither sits spinnin'—ae blink<br /> + O' a smile in her kind, bonnie 'ee;<br /> + She's minded o' mony a link<br /> + She, stowlins, took o'er the lea<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + To meet wi' my daddie himsel'<br /> + Tentie jinkin' by lea an' by shaw;<br /> + She fu's up his pipe then hersel',<br /> + So I may steal cannie awa'.<br /> + O leeze me o' gowany swaird,<br /> + An' the blink o' the bonnie new mune!<br /> + An' the cowt stown out o' the yaird<br /> + That trots like a burnie in June!<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + My Meg she is waitin' abeigh—<br /> + Ilk spunkie that flits through the fen<br /> + Wad jealously lead me astray<br /> + Frae my ain bonnie lass o' the glen!<br /> + My forbears may groan i' the mools,<br /> + My daddie look dour an' din;<br /> + Wee Love is the callant wha rules,<br /> + An' my Meg is the wifie I'll win!<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<h3> + THE WHITE BULL.<br /> +</h3> + +<p class="poem"> + Ev'ry dusk eye in Madrid,<br /> + Flash'd blue 'neath its lid;<br /> + As the cry and the clamour ran round,<br /> + "The king has been crown'd!<br /> + And the brow of his bride has been bound<br /> + With the crown of a queen!"<br /> + And between<br /> + Te Deum and salvo, the roar<br /> + Of the crowd in the square,<br /> + Shook tower and bastion and door,<br /> + And the marble of altar and floor;<br /> + And high in the air,<br /> + The wreaths of the incense were driven<br /> + To and fro, as are riven<br /> + The leaves of a lily, and cast<br /> + By the jubilant shout of the blast<br /> + To and fro, to and fro,<br /> + And they fell in the chancel and nave,<br /> + As the lily falls back on the wave,<br /> + And trembl'd and faded and died,<br /> + As the white petals tremble and shiver,<br /> + And fade in the tide<br /> + Of the jewel dark breast of the river.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "Ho, gossips, the wonderful news!<br /> + I have worn two holes in my shoes,<br /> + With the race I have run;<br /> + And, like an old grape in the sun,<br /> + I am shrivell'd with drought, for I ran<br /> + Like an antelope rather than man.<br /> + Our King is a king of Spaniards indeed,<br /> + And he loves to see the bold bull bleed;<br /> + And the Queen is a queen, by the saints right fit,<br /> + In half of the Spanish throne to sit;<br /> + Tho' blue her eyes and wanly fair,<br /> + Her cheek, and her neck, and her flaxen hair;<br /> + For free and full—<br /> + She can laugh as she watches the staggering bull;<br /> + And tap on the jewels of her fan,<br /> + While horse and man,<br /> + Reel on in a ruby rain of gore;<br /> + And pout her lip at the Toreador;<br /> + And fling a jest<br /> + If he leave the fight with unsullied vest,<br /> + No crack on his skin,<br /> + Where the bull's sharp horn has entered in.<br /> + Caramba, gossips, I would not be king,<br /> + And rule and reign<br /> + Over wine-shop, and palace, and all broad Spain,<br /> + If under my wing—<br /> + I had not a mate who could joy to the full,<br /> + In the gallant death of a man or a bull!"<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "What is the news<br /> + That has worn two holes in my Saints'-day shoes,<br /> + And parch'd me so with heat and speed,<br /> + That a skin of wine down my throat must bleed?<br /> + Why this, there's a handsome Hidalgo at Court,<br /> + And half in sport,<br /> + He scour'd the country far and wide,<br /> + For a gift to pleasure the royal bride;<br /> + And on the broad plains of the Guadalquiver<br /> + He gave a pull—<br /> + To the jewell'd bridle and silken rein,<br /> + That made his stout horse rear and shiver;<br /> + For in the dusk reeds of the silver river—<br /> + Like the angry stars that redly fly<br /> + From the dark blue peaks of the midnight sky,<br /> + And smouldering lie,<br /> + Blood-red till they die<br /> + In the blistering ground—the eyes he saw<br /> + Of a bull without blemish, or speck, or flaw,<br /> + And a hide as white as a dead saint's soul—<br /> + With many a clinking of red pistole;<br /> + And draughts of sour wine from the herdsman's bowl,<br /> + He paid the full<br /> + Price in bright gold of the brave white bull.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "Comrades we all<br /> + From the pulpit tall<br /> + Have heard the fat friars say God has decreed<br /> + That the peasant shall sweat and the soldier shall bleed,<br /> + And Hidalgo and King<br /> + May righteously wring<br /> + Sweat and blood from us all, weak, strong, young and old,<br /> + And turn the tax into Treasury gold.<br /> + Well, the friar knows best,<br /> + Or why wear a cowl?<br /> + And a cord round his breast?<br /> + So why should we scowl?<br /> + The friar is learned and knows the mind,<br /> + From core to rind,<br /> + Of God, and the Virgin, and ev'ry saint<br /> + That a tongue can name or a brush can paint;<br /> + And I've heard him declare—<br /> + With a shout that shook all the birds in the air,<br /> + That two kinds of clay<br /> + Are used in God's Pottery every day.<br /> + The finest and best he puts in a mould<br /> + Of purest gold,<br /> + Stamped with the mark of His signet ring,<br /> + And He turns them out,<br /> + (While the angels shout)<br /> + The Pope and the priest, the Hidalgo and King!<br /> + And He gives them dominion full and just<br /> + O'er the creatures He kneads from the common dust,<br /> + And the clay, stamped with His proper sign,<br /> + Has right divine<br /> + To the sweat, and the blood and the bended knee<br /> + Of such, my gossips, as ye and me.<br /> + Who cares? Not I<br /> + Only let King and Hidalgo buy,<br /> + With the red pistoles<br /> + They wring from our sweltering bodies and souls,<br /> + Treasures as full<br /> + Of the worth of gold as the bold white bull!<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "The Hidalgo rode back to the Court:<br /> + And to finish the sport,<br /> + When the King had been crowned,<br /> + And the flaxen hair of the bride had been bound,<br /> + With the crown of the Queen;<br /> + He took a huge necklace of plates of gold,<br /> + With rubies between;<br /> + And wound it threefold<br /> + Round the brute's broad neck, and with ruby ring<br /> + In its fire-puffed nostrils had it led<br /> + To the feet of the Queen as she sat by the King,<br /> + With the red crown set on her lily head;<br /> + And she said—<br /> + 'Let the bull be led<br /> + To the floor<br /> + Of the arena: Proclaim,<br /> + In my name,<br /> + That the valliant and bold Toreador,<br /> + Who slays him shall pull<br /> + The rubies and gold from the gore<br /> + Of the bold white bull!'<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "That is the news which I bear;<br /> + I heard it below in the square—<br /> + And to and fro,<br /> + I heard the voice blow<br /> + Of Pedro, the brawny young Toreador,<br /> + As he swore<br /> + By the tremulous light of the golden star<br /> + That quivers beneath the soft lid<br /> + Of Pilar,<br /> + Who sells tall lilies through fair Madrid;<br /> + He would wind six-fold<br /> + Round her neck, long, slender, round and full,<br /> + The rubies and gold<br /> + That three times rolled<br /> + Round the mighty breast of the bold white bull.<br /> + And loudly he sang,<br /> + While the wine cups rang,<br /> + 'If I'm the bravest Toreador<br /> + In gallant, gay Madrid,<br /> + If thou hast got the brightest eye<br /> + That dances 'neath a lid;<br /> + If e'er of Andalusian wine<br /> + I drank a bottle full,<br /> + The gold, the rubies shall be thine<br /> + That deck the bold white bull.'<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "Already a chorus rings out in the city,<br /> + A jubilant ditty,<br /> + And every guitar<br /> + Vibrates to the names of Pedro and Pilar;<br /> + And the strings and voices are soulless and dull<br /> + That sound not the name of the bold white bull!"<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<h3> + MARCH.<br /> +</h3> + +<p class="poem"> + Shall Thor with his hammer<br /> + Beat on the mountain,<br /> + As on an anvil,<br /> + A shackle and fetter?<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Shall the lame Vulcan<br /> + Shout as he swingeth<br /> + God-like his hammer,<br /> + And forge thee a fetter?<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Shall Jove, the Thunderer,<br /> + Twine his swift lightnings<br /> + With his loud thunders,<br /> + And forge thee a shackle?<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "No," shouts the Titan,<br /> + The young lion-throated;<br /> + "Thor, Vulcan, nor Jove<br /> + Cannot shackle and bind me."<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Tell what will bind thee,<br /> + Thou young world-shaker,<br /> + Up vault our oceans,<br /> + Down fall our forests.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Ship-masts and pillars<br /> + Stagger and tremble,<br /> + Like reeds by the margins<br /> + Of swift running waters.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Men's hearts at thy roaring<br /> + Quiver like harebells<br /> + Smitten by hailstones,<br /> + Smitten and shaken.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "O sages and wise men!<br /> + O bird-hearted tremblers!<br /> + Come, I will show ye<br /> + A shackle to bind me.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + I, the lion-throated,<br /> + The shaker of mountains!<br /> + I, the invincible,<br /> + Lasher of oceans!<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "Past the horizon,<br /> + Its ring of pale azure<br /> + Past the horizon,<br /> + Where scurry the white clouds,<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + There are buds and small flowers—<br /> + Flowers like snow-flakes,<br /> + Blossoms like rain-drops,<br /> + So small and tremulous.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Therein a fetter<br /> + Shall shackle and bind me,<br /> + Shall weigh down my shouting<br /> + With their delicate perfume!"<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + But who this frail fetter<br /> + Shall forge on an anvil,<br /> + With hammer of feather<br /> + And anvil of velvet?<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Past the horizon,<br /> + In the palm of a valley,<br /> + Her feet in the grasses,<br /> + There is a maiden.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + She smiles on the flowers,<br /> + They widen and redden,<br /> + She weeps on the flowers,<br /> + They grow up and kiss her.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + She breathes in their bosoms,<br /> + They breathe back in odours;<br /> + Inarticulate homage,<br /> + Dumb adoration.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + She shall wreathe them in shackles,<br /> + Shall weave them in fetters;<br /> + In chains shall she braid them,<br /> + And me shall she fetter.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + I, the invincible;<br /> + March, the earth-shaker;<br /> + March, the sea-lifter;<br /> + March, the sky-render;<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + March, the lion-throated.<br /> + April the weaver<br /> + Of delicate blossoms,<br /> + And moulder of red buds—<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Shall, at the horizon,<br /> + Its ring of pale azure,<br /> + Its scurry of white clouds,<br /> + Meet in the sunlight.<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<h3> + "THE EARTH WAXETH OLD."<br /> +</h3> + +<p class="poem"> + When yellow-lock'd and crystal ey'd<br /> + I dream'd green woods among;<br /> + Where tall trees wav'd from side to side,<br /> + And in their green breasts deep and wide,<br /> + I saw the building blue jay hide,<br /> + O, then the earth was young!<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + The winds were fresh and brave and bold,<br /> + The red sun round and strong;<br /> + No prophet voice chill, loud and cold,<br /> + Across my woodland dreamings roll'd,<br /> + "The green earth waxeth sere and old,<br /> + That once was fair and young!"<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + I saw in scarr'd and knotty bole,<br /> + The fresh'ning of the sap;<br /> + When timid spring gave first small dole,<br /> + Of sunbeams thro' bare boughs that stole,<br /> + I saw the bright'ning blossoms roll,<br /> + From summer's high pil'd lap.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + And where an ancient oak tree lay<br /> + The forest stream across,<br /> + I mus'd above the sweet shrill spray,<br /> + I watch'd the speckl'd trout at play,<br /> + I saw the shadows dance and sway<br /> + On ripple and on moss.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + I pull'd the chestnut branches low,<br /> + As o'er the stream they hung,<br /> + To see their bursting buds of snow—<br /> + I heard the sweet spring waters flow—<br /> + My heart and I we did not know<br /> + But that the earth was young!<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + I joy'd in solemn woods to see,<br /> + Where sudden sunbeams clung,<br /> + On open space of mossy lea,<br /> + The violet and anemone,<br /> + Wave their frail heads and beckon me—<br /> + Sure then the earth was young!<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + I heard the fresh wild breezes birr,<br /> + New budded boughs among,<br /> + I saw the deeper tinting stir<br /> + In the green tassels of the fir,<br /> + I heard the pheasant rise and whirr,<br /> + Above her callow young.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + I saw the tall fresh ferns prest,<br /> + By scudding doe and fawn;<br /> + I say the grey dove's swelling breast,<br /> + Above the margin of her nest;<br /> + When north and south and east and west<br /> + Roll'd all the red of dawn.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + At eventide at length I lay,<br /> + On grassy pillow flung;<br /> + I saw the parting bark of day,<br /> + With crimson sails and shrouds all gay,<br /> + With golden fires drift away,<br /> + The billowy clouds among.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + I saw the stately planets sail<br /> + On that blue ocean wide;<br /> + I saw blown by some mystic gale,<br /> + Like silver ship in elfin tale,<br /> + That bore some damsel rare and pale,<br /> + The moon's slim crescent glide.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + And ev'ry throb of spring<br /> + The rust'ling boughs among,<br /> + That filled the silver vein of brook,<br /> + That lit with bloom the mossy nook,<br /> + Cried to my boyish bosom: "Look!<br /> + How fresh the earth and young!"<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + The winds were fresh, the days as clear<br /> + As crystals set in gold.<br /> + No shape, with prophet-mantle drear,<br /> + Thro' those old woods came drifting near,<br /> + To whisper in my wond'ring ear,<br /> + "The green earth waxeth old."<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<h3> + "THE WISHING STAR."<br /> +</h3> + +<p class="poem"> + Day floated down the sky; a perfect day,<br /> + Leaving a footprint of pale primrose gold<br /> + Along the west, that when her lover, Night,<br /> + Fled with his starry lances in pursuit,<br /> + Across the sky, the way she went might shew.<br /> + From the faint ting'd ridges of the sea, the Moon<br /> + Sprang up like Aphrodite from the wave,<br /> + Which as she climb'd the sky still held<br /> + Her golden tresses to its swelling breast,<br /> + Where wide dispread their quiv'ring glories lay,<br /> + (Or as the shield of night, full disk'd and red,<br /> + As flowers that look forever towards the Sun),<br /> + A terrace with a fountain and an oak<br /> + Look'd out upon the sea: The fountain danced<br /> + Beside the huge old tree as some slim nymph,<br /> + Rob'd in light silver might her frolics shew<br /> + Before some hoary king, while high above,<br /> + He shook his wild, long locks upon the breeze—<br /> + And sigh'd deep sighs of "All is vanity!"<br /> + Behind, a wall of Norman William's time<br /> + Rose mellow, hung with ivy, here and there<br /> + Torn wide apart to let a casement peer<br /> + Upon the terrace. On a carv'd sill I leant<br /> + (A fleur-de-lis bound with an English rose)<br /> + And look'd above me into two such eyes<br /> + As would have dazzl'd from that ancient page<br /> + That new old cry that hearts so often write<br /> + In their own ashes, "All is vanity!"<br /> + "Know'st thou—" she said, with tender eyes far-fix'd,<br /> + On the wide arch that domes our little earth,<br /> + "That when a star hurls on with shining wings,<br /> + "On some swift message from his throne of light,<br /> + "The ready heart may wish, and the ripe fruit—<br /> + "Fulfilment—drop into the eager palm?"<br /> + "Then let us watch for such a star," quoth I.<br /> + "Nay, love," she said, "'Tis but an idle tale."<br /> + But some swift feeling smote upon her brow<br /> + A rosy shadow. I turn'd and watch'd the sky—<br /> + Calmly the cohorts of the night swept on,<br /> + Led by the wide-wing'd vesper; and against the moon<br /> + Where low her globe trembl'd upon the edge<br /> + Of the wide amethyst that clearly paved<br /> + The dreamy sapphire of the night, there lay<br /> + The jetty spars of some tall ship, that look'd<br /> + The night's device upon his ripe-red shield.<br /> + And suddenly down towards the moon there ran—<br /> + From some high space deep-veil'd in solemn blue,<br /> + A little star, a point of trembling gold,<br /> + Gone swift as seen. "My wishing-star," quoth I,<br /> + "Shall tell my wish? Did'st note that little star?<br /> + "Its brightness died not, it but disappeared,<br /> + "To whirl undim'd thro' space. I wish'd our love<br /> + "Might blot the 'All is vanity' from this brief life,<br /> + "Burning brightly as that star and winging on<br /> + "Thro' unseen space of veil'd Eternity,<br /> + "Brightened by Immortality—not lost."<br /> + "Awful and sweet the wish!" she said, and so—<br /> + We rested in the silence of content.<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<h3> + HOW DEACON FRY BOUGHT A "DUCHESS."<br /> +</h3> + +<p class="poem"> + It sorter skeer'd the neighbours round,<br /> + For of all the 'tarnal set thet clutches<br /> + Their dollars firm, he wus the boss;<br /> + An' yet he went and byed a "Duchess."<br /> + I never will forget the day<br /> + He druv her from the city market;<br /> + I guess thar warn't more'n two<br /> + Thet stayed to hum thet day in Clarket.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + And one of them wus Gran'pa Finch,<br /> + Who's bed-rid up to Spense's attic:<br /> + The other Aunt Mehitabel,<br /> + Whose jints and temper is rheumatic.<br /> + She said she "guessed that Deacon Fry<br /> + Would some day see he'd done more fitter<br /> + To send his dollars savin' souls<br /> + Than waste 'em on a horn'd critter!"<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + We all turn'd out at Pewse's store,<br /> + The last one jest inside the village;<br /> + The Jedge he even chanc'd along,<br /> + And so did good old Elder Millage.<br /> + We sot around on kegs and planks,<br /> + And on the fence we loung'd precarious;<br /> + The Elder felt to speak a word,<br /> + And sed his thoughts wus very various.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + He sed the Deacon call'd to mind<br /> + The blessed patriarchs and their cattle;<br /> + "To whose herds cum a great increase<br /> + When they in furrin parts did settle."<br /> + We nodded all our skulls at this,<br /> + But Argue Bill he rapped his crutches;<br /> + Sed he, "I guess they never paid<br /> + Five hundred dollars for a 'Duchess.'"<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Bill and the Elder allers froze<br /> + To subjects sorter disputatious,<br /> + So on the 'lasses keg they sot,<br /> + And had an argue fair and spacious.<br /> + Good land! when Solon cum in sight,<br /> + By lawyer Smithett's row o' beeches;<br /> + His black span seemed to crawl along<br /> + Ez slow ez Dr. Jones's leeches.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Sez Sister Fry, who was along,<br /> + "I sorter think my specs is muggy;<br /> + "But Solon started out from hum<br /> + "This mornin' in the new top buggy.<br /> + "Jeddiah rid old chestnut Jim,<br /> + "An' Sammy rid the roan filly;<br /> + "I told 'em when they started off<br /> + "It looked redikless, soft and silly,<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "To see three able-bodied men<br /> + "An' four stout horses drive one critter;<br /> + "O land o' song! will some one look?<br /> + "From hed to foot I'm in a twitter."<br /> + Wal, up we swarm'd on Pewse's fence,<br /> + And Bill he histed on his crutches;<br /> + We all was curus to behold<br /> + The Deac's five hundred dollar "Duchess."<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + I've heerd filosofurs declar,<br /> + This life be's kind o' snarly jinted;<br /> + And every human standin' thar<br /> + Felt sorter gin'ral disappointed.<br /> + What sort o' crazy animile<br /> + Hed got the Deacon in its clutches?<br /> + They cum along in spankin' style—<br /> + Old Solon and his sons and "Duchess."<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Her heels wus up, her hed wus down,<br /> + An or'nary cross-gritted critter<br /> + As ever browsed around the town,<br /> + And kept the women folks a-twitter,<br /> + A-boostin' up the garding rails,<br /> + And browsin' on the factory bleachin',<br /> + And kickin' up the milkin' pails:<br /> + Bill he riz up, ez true ez preachin'.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Sez he, excited like, "I'll 'low,<br /> + To swaller both these here old crutches-<br /> + Ef thet ain't Farmer Slyby's cow,<br /> + Old Bossie turn'd inter a "Duchess!"<br /> + Wal,'twus k'rect! The Deacon swore<br /> + Some hefty swars and sot the clutches<br /> + Of law to work; but seed no more<br /> + The chap thet sold him thet thar "Duchess."<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<h3> + MY IRISH LOVE.<br /> +</h3> + +<p class="poem"> + Beside the saffron of a curtain, lit<br /> + With broidered flowers, below a golden fringe<br /> + That on her silver shoulder made a glow,<br /> + Like the sun kissing lilies in the dawn;<br /> + She sat—my Irish love—slim, light and tall.<br /> + Between his mighty paws her stag-hound held,<br /> + (Love-jealous he) the foam of her pale robes,<br /> + Rare laces of her land, and his red eyes,<br /> + Half lov'd me, grown familiar at her side,<br /> + Half pierc'd me, doubting my soul's right to stand<br /> + His lady's wooer in the courts of Love.<br /> + Above her, knitted silver, fell a web<br /> + Of light from waxen tapers slipping down,<br /> + First to the wide-winged star of em'ralds set<br /> + On the black crown with its blue burnish'd points<br /> + Of raven light; thence, fonder, to the cheek<br /> + O'er which flew drifts of rose-leaves wild and rich,<br /> + With lilied pauses in the wine-red flight;<br /> + For when I whispered, like a wind in June,<br /> + My whisper toss'd the roses to and fro<br /> + In her dear face, and when I paus'd they lay<br /> + Still in her heart. Then lower fell the light.<br /> + A silver chisel cutting the round arm<br /> + Clear from the gloom; and dropped like dew<br /> + On the crisp lily, di'mond clasp'd, that lay<br /> + In happy kinship on her pure, proud breast,<br /> + And thence it sprang like Cupid, nimble-wing'd,<br /> + To the quaint love-ring on her finger bound<br /> + And set it blazing like a watch-fire, lit<br /> + To guard a treasure. Then up sprang the flame<br /> + Mad for her eyes, but those grey worlds were deep<br /> + In seas of native light: and when I spoke<br /> + They wander'd shining to the shining moon<br /> + That gaz'd at us between the parted folds<br /> + Of yellow, rich with gold and daffodils,<br /> + Dropping her silver cloak on Innisfail.<br /> + O worlds, those eyes! there Laughter lightly toss'd<br /> + His gleaming cymbals; Large and most divine<br /> + Pity stood in their crystal doors with hands<br /> + All generous outspread; in their pure depths<br /> + Mov'd Modesty, chaste goddess, snow-white of brow,<br /> + And shining, vestal limbs; rose-fronted stood<br /> + Blushing, yet strong; young Courage, knightly in<br /> + His virgin arms, and simple, russet Truth<br /> + Play'd like a child amongst her tender thoughts—<br /> + Thoughts white as daisies snow'd upon the lawn.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Unheeded, Dante on the cushion lay,<br /> + His golden clasps yet lock'd—no poet tells<br /> + The tale of Love with such a wizard tongue<br /> + That lovers slight dear Love himself to list.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Our wedding eve, and I had brought to her<br /> + The jewels of my house new set for her<br /> + (As I did set the immemorial pearl<br /> + Of our old honour in the virgin gold<br /> + Of her high soul) with grave and well pleased eyes,<br /> + And critic lips, and kissing finger tips,<br /> + She prais'd the bright tiara and its train<br /> + Of lesser splendours—nor blush'd nor smil'd:<br /> + They were but fitting pages to her state,<br /> + And had no tongues to speak between our souls.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + But I would have her smile ripe for me then,<br /> + Swift treasure of a moment—so I laid<br /> + Between her palms a little simple thing,<br /> + A golden heart, grav'd with my name alone,<br /> + And round it, twining close, small shamrocks link'd<br /> + Of gold, mere gold: no jewels made it rich,<br /> + Until twin di'monds shatter'd from her eyes<br /> + And made the red gold rare. "True Knight," she said,<br /> + "Your English heart with Irish shamrocks bound!"<br /> + "A golden prophet of eternal truth,"<br /> + I said, and kissed the roses of her palms,<br /> + And then the shy, bright roses of her lips,<br /> + And all the jealous jewels shone forgot<br /> + In necklace and tiara, as I clasp'd<br /> + The gold heart and its shamrocks round her neck.<br /> + My fair, pure soul! My noble Irish love!<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<h3> + A HUNGRY DAY.<br /> +</h3> + +<p class="poem"> + I mind him well, he was a quare ould chap,<br /> + Come like meself from swate ould Erin's sod,<br /> + He hired me wanst to help his harvest in;<br /> + The crops was fine that summer, prais'd be God!<br /> + He found us, Rosie, Mickie, an' meself,<br /> + Just landed in the emigration shed,<br /> + Meself was tyin' on there bits of clothes,<br /> + Their mother (rest her tender sowl!) was dead.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + It's not meself can say of what she died;<br /> + But t'was the year the praties felt the rain,<br /> + And rotted in the soil; an' just to dhraw<br /> + The breath of life was one long hungry pain.<br /> + If we were haythens in a furrin' land,<br /> + Not in a country grand in Christian pride,<br /> + Faith, then a man might have the face to say<br /> + 'Twas of stharvation my poor Shylie died.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + But whin the parish docthor come at last,<br /> + Whin death was like a sun-burst in her eyes,<br /> + (They looked straight into heaven) an her ears<br /> + Wor deaf to the poor childer's hungry cries;<br /> + He touched the bones stretched on the mouldy sthraw;<br /> + "She's gone!" he says, and drew a solemn frown;<br /> + "I fear, my man, she's dead." "Of what?" says I.<br /> + He coughed, and says, "She's let her system down!"<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "An' that's God's truth!" says I, an' felt about<br /> + To touch her dawney hand, for all looked dark,<br /> + An' in my hunger-bleached, shmall-beatin' heart,<br /> + I felt the kindlin' of a burning spark.<br /> + "O, by me sowl, that is the holy truth!<br /> + There's Rosie's cheek has kept a dimple still,<br /> + An' Mickie's eyes are bright—the craythur there<br /> + Died that the weeny ones might eat there fill."<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + An' whin they spread the daisies thick and white,<br /> + Above her head that wanst lay on my breast,<br /> + I had no tears, but took the childhers' hands,<br /> + An' says, "We'll lave the mother to her rest,"<br /> + An' och! the sod was green that summers day;<br /> + An' rainbows crossed the low hills, blue an' fair;<br /> + But black an' foul the blighted furrows stretched,<br /> + An' sent their cruel poison through the air.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + An' all was quiet—on the sunny sides<br /> + Of hedge an' ditch the stharvin' craythurs lay,<br /> + An' thim as lack'd the rint from empty walls<br /> + Of little cabins, wapin' turned away.<br /> + God's curse lay heavy on the poor ould sod,<br /> + An' whin upon her increase His right hand<br /> + Fell with'ringly, there samed no bit of blue<br /> + For Hope to shine through on the sthricken land.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + No facthory chimblys shmoked agin the sky,<br /> + No mines yawn'd on the hills so full an' rich;<br /> + A man whose praties failed had nought to do,<br /> + But fold his hands an' die down in a ditch!<br /> + A flame rose up widin me feeble heart,<br /> + Whin passin' through me cabin's hingeless dure,<br /> + I saw the mark of Shylie's coffin in<br /> + The grey dust on the empty earthen flure.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + I lifted Rosie's face betwixt me hands;<br /> + Says I, 'Me girleen, you an' Mick an' me,<br /> + Must lave the green ould sod, an' look for food<br /> + In thim strange countries far beyant the sea.'<br /> + An' so it chanced, when landed on the streets,<br /> + Ould Dolan, rowlin' a quare ould shay,<br /> + Came there to hire a roan to save his whate,<br /> + An' hired meself and Mickie by the day.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "An' bring the girleen, Pat," he says, an' looked<br /> + At Rosie lanin' up agin me knee;<br /> + "The wife will be right plaised to see the child,<br /> + The weeney shamrock from beyant the sea.<br /> + We've got a tidy place, the saints be praised!<br /> + As nice a farm as ever brogan trod,<br /> + A hundred acres—us as never owned<br /> + Land big enough to make a lark a sod!"<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "Bedad," sez I, "I heerd them over there<br /> + Tell how the goold was lyin' in the sthreet,<br /> + An' guineas in the very mud that sthuck<br /> + To the ould brogans on a poor man's feet!"<br /> + "Begorra, Pat," says Dolan, "may ould Nick<br /> + Fly off wid thim rapscallions, schaming rogues,<br /> + An' sind thim thrampin' purgatory's flure,<br /> + Wid red hot guineas in their polished brogues!"<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "Och, thin," says I, "meself agrees to that!"<br /> + Ould Dolan smiled wid eyes so bright an' grey;<br /> + Says he. "Kape up yer heart—I never knew<br /> + Since I come out a single hungry day!"<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "But thin I left the crowded city sthreets,<br /> + There men galore to toil in thim an' die,<br /> + Meself wint wid me axe to cut a home<br /> + In the green woods beneath the clear, swate sky.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "I did that same: an' God be prais'd this day!<br /> + Plenty sits smilin' by me own dear dure:<br /> + An' in them years I never wanst have seen<br /> + A famished child creep tremblin' on me flure!"<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + I listened to ould Dolan's honest words,<br /> + That's twenty years ago this very spring,<br /> + An' Mick is married—an' me Rosie wears<br /> + A swateheart's little, shinin' goulden ring.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + 'Twould make yer heart lape just to take a look<br /> + At the green fields upon me own big farm;<br /> + An' God be prais'd! all men may have the same<br /> + That owns an axe! an' has a strong right arm!<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /><br /></p> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's Old Spookses' Pass, by Isabella Valancy Crawford + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK OLD SPOOKSES' PASS *** + +***** This file should be named 6815-h.htm or 6815-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/6/8/1/6815/ + +Produced by Vital Debroey, Juliet Sutherland, Charles +Franks and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team. 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