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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/7056-8.txt b/7056-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..589b6fd --- /dev/null +++ b/7056-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,2133 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Along the Shore, by Rose Hawthorne Lathrop + +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: Along the Shore + +Author: Rose Hawthorne Lathrop + +Posting Date: March 19, 2014 [EBook #7056] +Release Date: December, 2004 +First Posted: March 3, 2003 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ALONG THE SHORE *** + + + + +Produced by Michelle Shephard, Eric Eldred, Charles Franks +and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team. HTML version +by Al Haines. + + + + + + + + + + + + ALONG THE SHORE + + BY ROSE HAWTHORNE LATHROP + + + + + To + G. P. L. + + + We see the sky,--we love it day by day; + We feel the wind of Spring, from blossoms winging; + We meet with souls tender as tints in May: + For these large ecstasies what are we bringing? + + There is no price, best friend, for greatest meed. + Laid on the altar of our true affection, + Wild flowers of love for me must intercede: + And lo! I win your unexcelled protection. + + + + + CONTENTS + + + Inlet And Shore + Impersonality + A Protean Glimpse + Power Against Power + Life's Priestess + Love Now + One And One + The Violin + Gertrude + Unity In Space + The Shell And The Word + The Clock-Tower Bell + Ours To Endure + Broken Waves + Why Sad To-Day? + The Ghosts Of Revellers + Life's Burying-Ground + Beyond Utterance + The Suicide + For Others + Zest + The Unperfected + God-Made + A Song Before Grief + Pride: Fate + Francie + Lost Reality + Closing Chords + Grace + Endless Resource + The Baby + A Waltz + First Bloom Of Love + A Wooing Song + Dorothy + Morning Song + Looking Backward + Unloved + The Clock's Song + Broken-Hearted + The Cynic's Fealty + The Girls We Might Have Wed + "Neither!" + Used Up + A Youth's Suicide + Twenty Bold Mariners + In The Artillery + The Lost Battle + The Outgoing Race + Hidden History + A Ballad Of The Mist + The Dreaming Wheel + The Roads That Meet + A PASSING VOICE + + + + + ALONG THE SHORE. + + + + * * * * * + + INLET AND SHORE. + + + Here is a world of changing glow, + Where moods roll swiftly far and wide; + Waves sadder than a funeral's pride, + Or bluer than the harebell's blow! + + The sunlight makes the black hulls cast + A firefly radiance down the deep; + The inlet gleams, the long clouds sweep, + The sails flit up, the sails drop past. + + The far sea-line is hushed and still; + The nearer sea has life and voice; + Each soul may take his fondest choice,-- + The silence, or the restless thrill. + + O little children of the deep,-- + The single sails, the bright, full sails, + Gold in the sun, dark when it fails, + Now you are smiling, then you weep! + + O blue of heaven, and bluer sea, + And green of wave, and gold of sky, + And white of sand that stretches by, + Toward east and west, away from me! + + O shell-strewn shore, that silent hears + The legend of the mighty main, + And tells to none the lore again,-- + We catch one utterance only: "Years!" + + + + + IMPERSONALITY + + + I dreamed within a dream the sun was gold; + And as I walked beneath this golden sun, + The world was like a mighty play-room old, + Made for our pleasure since it was begun. + + But when I waked I found the sun was air, + The world was air, and all things only seemed, + Except the thoughts we grow by; for in prayer + We change to spirits such as God has dreamed. + + + + + A PROTEAN GLIMPSE. + + + Time and I pass to and fro, + Hardly greeting as we go,-- + Go askant, like crossing wings + Of sea-gulls where the brave sea sings. + + Time, the messenger of Fate! + Cunning master of debate, + Cunning soother of all sorrow, + Ruthless robber of to-morrow; + Tyrant to our dallying feet, + Though patron of a life complete; + Like Puck upon a rosy cloud, + He rides to distance while we woo him,-- + Like pale Remorse wrapped in a shroud, + He brings the world in sackcloth to him! + O dimly seen, and often met + As shadowings of a wild regret! + O king of us, yet feebly served; + Dispenser of the dooms reserved; + So silent at the folly done, + So deadly when our respite's gone!-- + As sea-gulls, slanting, cross at sea, + So cross our rapid flights with thee. + + + + + POWER AGAINST POWER. + [Nathaniel Hawthorne, 1864.] + + + Where spells were wrought he sat alone, + The wizard touching minds of men + Through far-swung avenues of power, + And proudly held the magic pen. + + By the dark wall a white Shape gleams, + By morning's light a Shadow falls! + Is it a servant of his brain, + Or Power that to his power calls? + + By morning's light the Shadow looms, + And watches with relentless eyes; + In night-gloom holds the glimmering lamp, + While the pen ever slower flies. + + By the dark wall it beckons still, + By evening light it darkly stays; + The wizard looks, and his great life + Thrills with the sense of finished days. + + A Shape so ghost-like by the sun, + With smiles that chill as dusks descend! + The glancing wizard, stern and pale, + Admits the presence of the End. + + Health has forsaken, death is near, + The hand moves slower, eyes grow dim; + The End approaches, and the man + Dreams of no spell for quelling Him. + + + + + LIFE'S PRIESTESS. + + + All to herself a woman never sings + A happy song. Oh no! but it is so + As when the thrush has closed down his wings + Within the wood, and hears his hidden woe + From his own bill fill aisles of leaves, and go + About the wood and come to him again. + + + + + LOVE NOW. + + + The sanctity that is about the dead + To make us love them more than late, when here, + Is not it well to find the living dear + With sanctity like this, ere they have fled? + + The tender thoughts we nurture for a loss + Of mother, friend, or child, oh! it were wise + To spend this glory on the earnest eyes, + The longing heart, that feel life's present cross. + + Give also mercy to the living here + Whose keen-strung souls will quiver at your touch; + The utmost reverence is not too much + For eyes that weep, although the lips may sneer. + + + + + ONE AND ONE. + + + The thanking heart can only silence keep; + The breaking heart can only die alone: + Our happy love above abysses deep + Of unguessed power hovers, and is gone! + + Come, take my hand, O friend I take for life! + You cannot reach my soul through touch or gaze; + Be our full lips with infinite meanings rife: + The longed-for words, which of us ever says? + + + + + THE VIOLIN. + + + Touch gently, friend, and slow, the violin, So sweet and low, + That my dreaming senses may be beckoned so + Into a rest as deep as the long past "years ago!" + So softly, then, begin; + + And ever gently touch the violin, + Until an impulse grows of a sudden, like wind + On the brow of the earth, + And the voice of your violin shows its wide-swung girth + With a crash of the strings and a medley of rage and mirth; + And my rested senses spring + Like juice from a broken rind, + And the joys that your melodies bring + I know worth a life-time to win, + As you waken to love and this hour your violin! + + + + + GERTRUDE. + [In Memory: 1877.] + + + What shall I say, my friend, my own heart healing, + When for my love you cannot answer me? + This earth would quake, alas! might I but see + You smile, death's rigorous law repealing! + Pale lips, your mystery so well concealing, + May not the eloquent, varied minstrelsy + Of my inspired ardor potent be + To touch your chords to music's uttered feeling? + Friend, here you cherished flowers: send me now + One ghostly bloom to prove that you are blessed. + No? If denial such as brands my brow + Be in your heavenly regions, too, confessed, + Oh may it prove the truth that your still eyes + Foresee the end of all futurities! + + + + + UNITY IN SPACE. + + + Take me away into a storm of snow + So white and soft, I feel no deathly chill, + But listen to the murmuring overflow + Of clouds that fall in many a frosty rill! + + Take me away into the sunset's glow, + That holds a summer in a glorious bloom; + Or take me to the shadowed woods that grow + On the sky's mountains, in the evening gloom! + + Give me an entrance to the limpid lake + When moonbeams shine across its purity! + A life there is, within the life we take + So commonly, for which 't were well to die. + + + + + THE SHELL AND THE WORLD. + + + The world was like a shell to me,-- + Its voice with distant song was low; + But now its mysteries I know: + I hear the turmoil of the sea. + + The whirling, soft, and tender sound + That meant I knew not what of lore,-- + I dream its mystery now no more: + Its reckless meaning I have found. + + O shell! I held thee to my ears + When I was young, and smiled with pride + To stand aglow at marvel's side! + O world, thy voice is wild with tears! + + + + + THE CLOCK-TOWER BELL. + + + Say not, sad bell, another hour hath come, + Bare for the record of a world of crime; + Toll, rather, friend, the end of hideous Time, + Wherein we bloom, live, die, yet have no home! + + Bell, laurels would we o'er thy pulsing twine, + And sing thee songs of triumph with glad tears, + If to the warring of our haggard years + Thy clang should herald peace along the line! + + + + + OURS TO ENDURE. + + + We speak of the world that passes away,-- + The world of men who lived years ago, + And could not feel that their hearts' quick glow + Would fade to such ashen lore to-day. + + We hear of death that is not our woe, + And see the shadow of funerals creeping + Over the sweet fresh roads by the reaping; + But do we weep till our loved ones go? + + When one is lost who is greater than we, + And loved us so well that death should reprieve + Of all hearts this one to us; when we must leave + His grave,--the past will break like the sea! + + + + + BROKEN WAVES. + + + The sun is lying on the garden-wall, + The full red rose is sweetening all the air, + The day is happier than a dream most fair; + The evening weaves afar a wide-spread pall, + And lo! sun, day, and rose, no longer there! + + I have a lover now my life is young, + I have a love to keep this many a day; + My heart will hold it when my life is gray, + My love will last although my heart be wrung. + My life, my heart, my love shall fade away! + + O lover loved, the day has only gone! + In death or life, our love can only go; + Never forgotten is the joy we know, + We follow memory when life is done: + No wave is lost in all the tides that flow. + + + + + WHY SAD TO-DAY? + + + Why is the nameless sorrowing look + So often thought a whim? + God-willed, the willow shades the brook, + The gray owl sings a hymn; + + Sadly the winds change, and the rain + Comes where the sunlight fell: + Sad is our story, told again, + Which past years told so well! + + Why not love sorrow and the glance + That ends in silent tears? + If we count up the world's mischance, + Grieving is in arrears. + + Why should I know why I could weep? + The old urns cannot read + The names they wear of kings they keep + In ashes; both are dead. + + And like an urn the heart must hold + Aims of an age gone by: + What the aims were we are not told; + We hold them, who knows why? + + + + + THE GHOSTS OF REVELLERS. + + + At purple eyes beside the grain, + Our loves on altars we had burned, + And mixed our tribute with the dew, + Our tears, when rosy dawn returned. + + Our voices we had joined with song + Of bird ecstatic, light, and free; + Our laughter rollicked with the brook + Running through darkness merrily. + + At purple eyes beside the rim + Of frozen lakes our loves we burned, + And slid away when stillness reigned: + Deep the vast woods our bodies urned. + + In starlit night along the shade + Of our dusk tombs our spirits glide; + We hear the echoing of the wind, + We breathe the sighs we living sighed. + + + + + LIFE'S BURYING-GROUND. + + + My graveyard holds no once-loved human forms, + Grown hideous and forgotten, left alone, + But every agony my heart has known,-- + The new-born trusts that died, the drift of storms. + + I visit every day the shadowy grove; + I bury there my outraged tender thought; + I bring the insult for the love I sought, + And my contempt, where I had tried to love. + + + + + BEYOND UTTERANCE. + + + There in the midst of gloom the church-spire rose, + And not a star lit any side of heaven; + In glades not far the damp reeds coldly touched + Their sides, like soldiers dead before they fall; + There in the belfry clung the sleeping bat,-- + Most abject creature, hanging like a leaf + Down from the bell-tongue, silent as the speech + The dead have lost ere they are laid in graves. + + A melancholy prelude I would sing + To song more drear, while thought soars into gloom. + Find me the harbor of the roaming storm, + Or end of souls whose doom is life itself! + So vague, yet surely sad, the song I dream + And utter not. So sends the tide its roll,-- + Unending chord of horror for a woe + We but half know, even when we die of it. + + + + + THE SUICIDE. + + + A shadowed form before the light, + A gleaming face against the night, + Clutched hands across a halo bright + Of blowing hair,--her fixed sight + Stares down where moving black, below, + The river's deathly waves in murmurous silence flow. + + The moon falls fainting on the sky, + The dark woods bow their heads in sorrow, + The earth sends up a misty sigh: + A soul defies the morrow! + + + + + FOR OTHERS. + + + Weeping for another's woe, + Tears flow then that would not flow + When our sorrow was our own, + And the deadly, stiffening blow + Was upon our own heart given + In the moments that have flown! + + Cringing at another's cry + In the hollow world of grief + Stills the anguish of our pain + For the fate that made us die + To our hopes as sweet as vain; + And our tears can flow again! + + One storm blows the night this way, + But another brings the day. + + + + + ZEST. + + + Labor not in the murky dell, + But till your harvest hill at morn; + Stoop to no words that, rank and fell, + Grow faster than the rustling corn. + + With gladdening eyes go greet the sun, + Who lifts his brow in varied light; + Bring light where'er your feet may run: + So bring a day to sorrow's night. + + + + + THE UNPERFECTED. + + + A broken mirror in a trembling hand; + Sad, trembling lips that utter broken thought: + One of a wide and wandering, aimless band; + One in the world who for the world hath naught. + + A heart that loves beyond the shallow word; + A heart well loved beyond its flowerless worth: + One who asks God to answer the prayer heard; + One from the dust returning to the earth. + + Can miracle ne'er make the mirror whole + For one who, seeing, could be nobly bold? + Who could well die, to magnify the soul,-- + Whose strength of love will shake the graveyard's mould? + + + + + GOD-MADE. + + + Somewhere, somewhere in this heart + There lies a jewel from the sea, + Or from a rock, or from the sand, + Or dropped from heaven wondrously. + + Oh, burn, my jewel, in my glance! + Oh, shimmer on my lips in prayer! + Light my love's eyes to read my soul, + Which, wrapt in ashes, yet is fair! + + When dead I lie, forgotten, deep + Within the earth and sunken past, + Still shall my jewel light my dust,-- + The worth God gives us, first and last! + + + + + A SONG BEFORE GRIEF. + + + Sorrow, my friend, + When shall you come again? + The wind is slow, and the bent willows send + Their silvery motions wearily down the plain. + The bird is dead + That sang this morning through the summer rain! + + Sorrow, my friend, + I owe my soul to you. + And if my life with any glory end + Of tenderness for others, and the words are true, + Said, honoring, when I'm dead,-- + Sorrow, to you, the mellow praise, the funeral + wreath, are due. + + And yet, my friend, + When love and joy are strong, + Your terrible visage from my sight I rend + With glances to blue heaven. Hovering along, + By mine your shadow led, + "Away!" I shriek, "nor dare to work my new-sprung mercies wrong!" + + Still, you are near: + Who can your care withstand? + When deep eternity shall look most clear, + Sending bright waves to kiss the trembling land, + My joy shall disappear,-- + A flaming torch thrown to the golden sea by your pale hand. + + + + + PRIDE: FATE. + + + Lullaby on the wing + Of my song, O my own! + Soft airs of evening + Join my song's murmuring tone. + + Lullaby, O my love! + Close your eyes, lake-like clear; + Lullaby, while above + Wake the stars, with heaven near. + + Lullaby, sweet, so still + In arms of death; I alone + Sing lullaby, like a rill, + To your form, cold as a stone. + + Lullaby, O my heart! + Sleep in peace, all alone; + Night has come, and your part + For loving is wholly done! + + + + + FRANCIE. + + + I loved a child as we should love + Each other everywhere; + I cared more for his happiness + Than I dreaded my own despair. + + An angel asked me to give him + My whole life's dearest cost; + And in adding mine to his treasures + I knew they could never be lost. + + To his heart I gave the gold, + Though little my own had known; + To his eyes what tenderness + From youth in mine had grown! + + I gave him all my buoyant + Hope for my future years; + I gave him whatever melody + My voice had steeped in tears. + + Upon the shore of darkness + His drifted body lies. + He is dead, and I stand beside him, + With his beauty in my eyes. + + I am like those withered petals + We see on a winter day, + That gladly gave their color + In the happy summer away. + + I am glad I lavished my worthiest + To fashion his greater worth; + Since he will live in heaven, + I shall lie content in the earth. + + + + + LOST REALITY. + + + O soul of life, 't is thee we long to hear, + Thine eyes we seek for, and thy touch we dream; + Lost from our days, thou art a spirit near,-- + Life needs thine eloquence, and ways supreme. + More real than we who but a semblance wear, + We see thee not, because thou wilt not seem! + + + + + CLOSING CHORDS. + + + I. + + _Death's Eloquence._ + + + When I shall go + Into the narrow home that leaves + No room for wringing of the hands and hair, + And feel the pressing of the walls which bear + The heavy sod upon my heart that grieves, + (As the weird earth rolls on), + Then I shall know + What is the power of destiny. But still, + Still while my life, however sad, be mine, + I war with memory, striving to divine + Phantom to-morrows, to outrun the past; + For yet the tears of final, absolute ill + And ruinous knowledge of my fate I shun. + Even as the frail, instinctive weed + Tries, through unending shade, to reach at last + A shining, mellowing, rapture-giving sun; + So in the deed of breathing joy's warm breath, + Fain to succeed, + I, too, in colorless longings, hope till death. + + + II. + + _Peace._ + + + An angel spoke with me, and lo, he hoarded + My falling tears to cheer a flower's face! + For, so it seems, in all the heavenly space + A wasted grief was never yet recorded. + Victorious calm those holy tones afforded + Unto my soul, whose outcry, in disgrace, + Changed to low music, leading to the place + Where, though well armed, with futile end awarded, + My past lay dead. "Wars are of earth!" he cried; + "Endurance only breathes immortal air. + Courage eternal, by a world defied, + Still wears the front of patience, smooth and fair." + Are wars so futile, and is courage peace? + Take, then, my soul, thus gently thy release! + + + + + GRACE. + + + Ill-wrought life we look at as we die! + Mistaken, selfish, meagre, and unmeet; + So graven on the hearts that cruelly + We have deprived of many an hour sweet: + O ill-wrought life we look at as we die! + + O day of God we look at as we die! + Grace, like a river flowing toward our feet; + Wide pardon blowing with the breezes by; + Love telling us bright tales of the Complete;-- + While listening, hoping, thanking, lo, we die! + + + + + ENDLESS RESOURCE. + + + New days are dear, and cannot be unloved, + Though in deep grief we mourn, and cling to death; + Who has not known, in living on, a breath + Of infinite joy that has life's rapture proved? + + If I have thought that in this rainbow world + The best we see was but a preface given + Of infinite greater tints in heaven, + And life or no, heaven yet would be unfurl'd,-- + + I did belie the soul-wide joys of earth, + And feelings deep as lights that dwell in seas. + Can heaven itself outlove such depths as these? + Live on! Life holds more than we dream of worth! + + + + + THE BABY. + + + Pray, have you heard the news? + Sturdy in lungs and thews, + There's a fine baby! + Ring bells of crystal lip, + Wave boughs with blossoming tip; + Think what he may be! + + Love cannot love enough, + Winter is never rough + All round such sweetness; + One of a million more + Sent to the glad heart's door + In their completeness! + + Such news is never old, + Though in each ear't is told, + As a first birthday. + Welcome, thou ray of light! + In golden prayers bedight, + Sail down thy mirth-way! + + + + + A Waltz. + + + Delicate gayety, + Strains of a violin; + Graceful steps begin-- + Roses at her waist! + Clouds of sparkling light, + Whispers of lovers alone + As the couples drift one by one + In the golden sheen of the ball. + Alone in the happy crowd + Each pair glides past each pair; + Delicate strains of an air; + Rainbow gayety: + Pride of the moment throbs, + Smiles, on the youthful cheek, + Fearing no ill-wind's freak, + Warm in the heart of the waltz;-- + Moving like melody, + Flowing in light and glee, + Young as the May is she, + Strong as the June I am. + + + + + FIRST BLOOM OF LOVE. + + + O girl of spring! O brown-eyed girl! + Gathering violets near the woods, + Whose coy young petals half unfurl + The mystery of their dulcet moods. + + O blushing girl! O girl of spring! + I hear no answer move the air; + Yet eyelids hovering on the wing + Reveal deep meanings curtained there. + + O girl of spring! O spring of love! + Let silent violets be the speech + From you to me, and let them prove + What maiden silence will not teach! + + + + + A WOOING SONG. + + + O love, I come; thy last glance guideth me! + Drawn, too, by webs of shadow, like thine hair; + For, Sweet, the mystery + Of thy dark hair the deepening dusk hath caught. + In early moonlight gleamings, lo, I see + Thy white hands beckon to the garden, where + Dim day and silvery darkness are inwrought + As our two lives, where, joining soul with soul, + The tints shall mingle in a fairer whole. + Oh! dost thou hear? I call, beloved, I call, + My stout heart trembling till thy words return; + Hope-lifted, I float faster with the fall + Of fear toward joy such fear alone can earn! + + + + + DOROTHY. + + Dear little Dorothy, she is no more! + I have wandered world-wide, from shore to shore, + I have seen as great beauties as ever were wed; + But none can console me for Dorothy dead. + + Dear little Dorothy! How strange it seems + That her face is less real than the faces of dreams; + That the love which kept true, and the lips which so spoke, + Are more lost than my heart, which died not when it broke! + + + + + MORNING SONG. + + + Turn thy face to me, my love, + I come from out the morning; + Give thy hand to me, my love, + I'm dewy from the dawning. + + Touch my lips with thine, my love, + I've tasted air at daybreak; + Gaze into my eyes, my love, + At the sky's waking they wake. + + + + + LOOKING BACKWARD. + + + Gray towers make me think of thee, + Thou girl of olden minstrelsy, + Young as the sunlight of to-day, + Silent as tasselled boughs in May! + + A wind-flower in a world of harm, + A harebell on a turret's arm, + A pearl upon the hilt of fame + Thou wert, fair child of some high name. + + The velvet page, the deep-eyed knight, + The heartless falcon, poised for flight, + The dainty steed and graceful hound, + In thee their keenest rapture found. + + But for old ballads, and the rhyme + And writ of genius o'er the time + When keeps had newly reared their towers, + The winning scene had not been ours. + + O Chivalry! thy age was fair, + When even knaves set out to dare + Their heads for any barbarous crime, + And hate was brave, and love sublime. + + The bugle-note I send so far + Across Time's moors to thee, sweet star, + Where stands thy castle in its mist, + Hear, if the wandering breezes list! + + + + + UNLOVED. + + + Paler than the water's white + Stood the maiden in the shade, + And more silent than the night + Were her lips together laid; + + Eyes she hid so long and still + By lids wet with unshed tears, + Hands she loosely clasped at will, + Though her heart was full of fears. + + Never, never, never more + May her soul with joy be moved; + Silent, silent, silent,--for + He was silent whom she loved. + + + + + THE CLOCK'S SONG. + + + Eileen of four, + Eileen of smiles; + Eileen of five, + Eileen of tears; + Eileen of ten, of fifteen years, + Eileen of youth + And woman's wiles; + Eileen of twenty, + In love's land, + Eileen all tender + In her bliss, + Untouched by sorrow's treacherous kiss, + And the sly weapon in life's hand,-- + Eileen aroused to share all fate, + Eileen a wife, + Pale, beautiful, + Eileen most grave + And dutiful, + Mourning her dreams in queenly state. + Eileen! Eileen!.... + + + + + BROKEN-HEARTED. + + + "Cross my hands upon my breast," + Read her last behest. + "Turn my cheek upon the pillow, + As resting from life's stormy billow + With sleep's fine zest!" + + "Cross my hands upon my breast," + Read her last behest, + "That the patient bones may lie + In form of thanks eternally, + Grimly expressed!" + + We clasped her hands upon her breast: + Oh mockery at misery's hest! + We hid in flowers her body's grief,-- + Counting by many a rose and leaf + Her days unblessed! + + + + + THE CYNIC'S FEALTY. + + + We all have hearts that shake alike + Beneath the arias of Fate's hand; + Although the cynics sneering stand, + These too the deathless powers strike. + + A trembling lover's infinite trust, + To the last drop of doating blood, + Feels not alone the ocean flood + Of desperate grief, when dreams are dust. + + The scornfullest souls, with mourning eyes, + Pant o'er again their ghostly ways;-- + Dread night-paths, where were gleaming days + When life was lovelier than the skies! + + + + + THE GIRLS WE MIGHT HAVE WED. + + + Come, brothers, let us sing a dirge,-- + A dirge for myriad chances dead; + In grief your mournful accents merge: + Sing, sing the girls we might have wed! + + Sweet lips were those we never pressed + In love that never lost the dew + In sunlight of a love confessed,-- + Kind were the girls we never knew! + + Sing low, sing low, while in the glow + Of fancy's hour those forms we trace, + Hovering around the years that go; + Those years our lives can ne'er replace! + + Sweet lips are those that never turn + A cruel word; dear eyes that lead + The heart on in a blithe concern; + White hand of her we did not wed; + + Fair hair or dark, that falls along + A form that never shrinks with time; + Bright image of a realm of song, + Standing beside our years of prime;-- + + When you shall go, then may we know + The heart is dead, the man is old. + Life can no other charm bestow + When girls we might have loved turn cold! + + + + + "NEITHER!" + + + So ancient to myself I seem, + I might have crossed grave Styx's stream + A year ago;-- + My word, 'tis so;-- + And now be wandering with my sires + In that rare world we wonder o'er, + Half disbelieve, and prize the more! + + Yet spruce I am, and still can mix + My wits with all the sparkling tricks, + A youth and girl + At twenty's whirl + Play round each other's bosom fires, + On this brisk earth I once enjoyed:-- + But now I'm otherwise employed! + + Am I a thing without a name; + A sort of dummy in the game? + "Not young, not old:" + A world is told + Of misery in that lengthened phrase; + Yet, gad, although my coat be smooth, + My forehead's wrinkled,--that's the truth! + + I hardly know which road to go. + With youth? Perhaps. With age? Oh no! + Well, then, with those + Who share my woes, + Doomed to mere fashionable ways,-- + Fair matrons, cigarettes, and tea, + Sighs, mirrors, and society? + + Is it a folly still to twirl, + And smirk and promenade and querl + About the town? + I'll put this down: + A man becomes downright _blast_ + Before he knows that he is either + That, or what I am--call it, "Neither." + + Oh, for a hint what we shall do, + We bucks whose comedy is through! + Who'd be sedate? + And yet I hate + To pose persistently to-day + As one just trying flights, you know, + When I _did_ try them long ago! + + Suppose I hurry up the tide + Of age, and bravely drift beside + Those hoary dogs + Who lie like logs + Around the clubs where life is hushed? + My blood runs cold! What? Say farewell + To this year's new bewildering belle! + + Hold, man, the secret broad and huge, + With every well-known subterfuge! + If bald and gray + And thin, still say + You're only thirty: don't be crushed; + But when your voice shakes o'er a pun, + Be off to China:--your day's done! + + + + + USED UP. + + + Hand me my light gloves, James; + I'm off for the waltzing world, + The kingdom of Strauss and that-- + Where is my old crush-hat? + _Is_ my hair properly curled? + Call in the daytime, James. + + Think of me, won't you, James, + When I am rosily twirling + The "Rose of a garden of girls," + The Pearl among circling pearls, + In a mesh of melodious whirling? + Envy me, won't you, James? + + For a heart lost along with her fan, + For a nice sense of honor flown, + For the care of an invalid soul, + And tastes far beyond my control,-- + I have for my precious own + The fame of a "waltzing man." + + If I don't come, come for me, James. + Ah, the waltz is my mastering passion! + The trip-tripping airs are as sweet + As love to my turning feet, + While I clasp the fair doll of fashion, + My _fiancée_. But come for me, James. + + The heart which I lost--it is strange-- + I've been told it will yet be my death; + And I think it quite likely I might + Waltz once too often to-night, + In spite of the music and Beth. + Death's a difficult move to arrange. + + Pray smoke by the fire, old boy, + And find yourself whiskey and books. + If I should not turn up, then, at two + Or three, you will know I need you. + If I'm dead, you must pardon my looks + As I lie in the ball-room, old boy. + + + + + A YOUTH'S SUICIDE. + + + He handed his life a poisoned draught, + With a scornful smile and a cold, cold glance, + And the merry bystanders loudly laughed + (For the rollicking world was gay!). + + He thought she knew not the juice, perchance; + But her tears fell down to her sobbing lips + While the merry-makers turned to the dance + (The world was mocking fate that day!). + + To his life he kissed his finger-tips: + "Drink deep the beaker, and so farewell!" + Then slowly the poisoned draught she sips + (How they laugh at her meek dismay!). + + He sprang to her arm, which loosely fell, + Crying: "No! not yet that dire eclipse!" + Now loud laughed the dancers, and whirled pell-mell + (While the echoes hurried away!). + + The mad world clustered, it seemed, around. + "Farewell!" she sighed, sinking; then from afar + Flowed the pealing laughter and wassail's sound + (For the dead the world will not stay!). + + + + + TWENTY BOLD MARINERS. + + + Twenty bold mariners went to the wave, + Twenty sweet breezes blew over the main; + All were so hearty, so free, and so brave,-- + But they never came back again! + + Half the wild ocean rose up to the clouds, + Half the broad sky scowled in thunder and rain; + Twenty white crests rose around them like shrouds, + And they stayed in the dancing main! + + This is easy to sing, and often to mourn, + And the breaking of dawn is no newer to-day; + But those who die young, or are left forlorn, + Think grief is no older than they! + + + + + IN THE ARTILLERY. + + + We are moving on in silence, + Save for rattling iron and steel, + And a skirmish echoing round us, + Showering faintly, peal on peal. + + Like a lion roars the North wind + As a-horse we sternly clank, + While beside the guns our men drop, + Slyly shot from either flank. + + You are musing, love, and smiling + By the hearth-fire of the Mill, + While the tangled oaks are cracking + Boughs upon the windy hill. + + I can see the moonlight shining + Over fields of frozen calm; + I can hear the chapel organ, + And the singing of the psalm. + + Fare you well, then, English village, + Which of all I loved the most, + Where my ghost alone can wander + Once again, when life is lost. + + Fare you well, then, Sally Dorset; + You will never utter wail + For the soldier dead who loved you + With these tears of no avail! + + I can see your drowsy lashes + Lifting as you hear them read + Prayers in mercy for our souls' shrift + When we come to our last need. + + I forgive you, matchless beauty, + Proudly conscious of your fame, + Loved by many a luckless youngster + Who will ne'er forget your name! + + Merry, though so cold of answer, + With a laughing glance of steel, + How your face swept like a banner, + Blushing down the village reel! + + As you dance before my vision + On this deadly foreign morn, + Death is charmed into the soothing + Of the love you chose to scorn. + + We shall die--our hours are numbered-- + As the sunlight dawns serene + Over yonder mountain ridges, + Rimming round this battle scene. + + I shall die--few will return, dear; + I shall be of those who stay: + England sent us, but a handful, + Among hordes of heathen clay. + + We will show the world how England + Has no dross to spend in war; + When she throws away her soldiers, + They are soldiers to the core. + + You will wake to hear the twitter + Of the early sparrow's note: + I shall lie beneath the heavens, + With the death-grip at my throat! + + + + + THE LOST BATTLE + + + To his heart it struck such terror + That he laughed a laugh of scorn,-- + The man in the soldier's doublet, + With the sword so bravely worn. + + It struck his heart like the frost-wind + To find his comrades fled, + While the battle-field was guarded + By the heroes who lay dead. + + He drew his sword in the sunlight, + And called with a long halloo: + "Dead men, there is one living + Shall stay it out with you!" + + He raised a ragged standard, + This lonely soul in war, + And called the foe to onset, + With shouts they heard afar. + + They galloped swiftly toward him. + The banner floated wide; + It sank; he sank beside it + Upon his sword, and died. + + + + + THE OUTGOING RACE. + + + The mothers wish for no more daughters; + There is no future before them. + They bow their heads and their pride + At the end of the many tribes' journey. + + The mothers weep over their children, + Loved and unwelcome together, + Who should have been dreamed, not born, + Since there is no road for the Indian. + + The mothers see into the future, + Beyond the end of that Chieftain + Who shall be the last of the race + Which allowed only death to a coward. + + The square, cold cheeks, lips firm-set, + The hot, straight glance, and the throat-line, + Held like a stag's on the cliff, + Shall be swept by the night-winds, and vanish! + + + + + HIDDEN HISTORY. + + + I. + + + There was a maiden in a land + Was buried with all honor fine, + For they said she had dared her pulsing life + To save a silent, holy shrine. + + The cannon rode by the church's door, + The men's wild faces flashed in the sun; + The woman had guarded with rifle poised, + While the cassocked priests had run. + + Ah, no! To save her pulsing life + The woman like a reindeer turned, + While hostile armies rolled by her in clouds, + And miles of sun and metal burned. + + But who should know? For she was dead + Before the leathern curtain's wall, + When came her wide-eyed comrades, and found + Her body and her weapon, all. + + + II. + + + There was a woman left to die + Who never told her sacrifice, + But trusted for her crown to God, + As to its value and device. + + No land was prouder for her heart, + No word has echoed long her deed, + And where she has lain, the angel flower + Looks like a common weed. + + + + + A BALLAD OF THE MIST. + + + "I love the Lady of Merle," he said. + "She is not for thee!" her suitor cried. + And in the valley the lovers fought + By the salt river's tide. + + The braver fell on the dewy sward: + The unloved lover returned once more; + In yellow satin the lady came + And met him at the door. + + "Hast thou heard, dark Edith," laughed he grim, + "Poor Hugh hath craved thee many a day? + Soon would it have been too late for him + His low-born will to say. + + "I struck a blade where lay his heart's love, + And voice for thee have I left him none, + To brag he still seeks thee over the hills + When thou and I are one!" + + Fearless across the wide country + Rode the dark Lady Edith of Merle; + She looked at the headlands soft with haze, + And the moor's mists of pearl. + + The moon it struggled to see her pass + Through its half-lit veils of driving gray; + But moonbeams were slower than the steed + That Edith rode away. + + Oh, what was her guerdon and her haste, + While cried the far screech-owl in the tree, + And to her heart crept its note so lone, + Beating tremulously? + + About her a black scarf floated thin, + And over her cheek the mist fell cold, + And shuddered the moon between its rifts + Of dark cloud's silvery fold. + + Oh, white fire of the nightly sky + When burns the moon's wonder wide and far, + And every cloud illumed with flame + Engulfs a shaken star! + + * * * * * + + Bright as comes morning from the hill, + There comes a face to her lover's eyes; + Her love she tells; and he, dying, smiles,-- + And smiles yet in the skies. + + He is dead, and closer breathe the mists; + He is dead, the owlet moans remote; + He is buried, and the moon draws near, + To gaze and hide and float. + + Fearless within the churchyard's spell + The white-browed lady doth stand and sigh; + She loves the mist, and the grave, and the moon, + And the owl's quivering cry. + + + + + THE DREAMING WHEEL. + + + Down slant the moonbeams to the floor + Through the garret's scented air, + And show a thin-spoked spinning-wheel, + Standing ten years and more + Far from the hearth-stone's woe and weal,-- + The ghost of a lost day's care! + + And over the dreaming spinning-wheel, + That has not stirred so long, + The weaving spiders spin a veil, + A silvery shroud for its human zeal + And usefulness, with their fingers pale, + The shadowy lights among. + + See! in the moonlight cold and gray + A thoughtful maiden stands; + And though she blames not overmuch + With her sweet lips the great world's way, + Yet sad and slow she stoops to touch + The still wheel with her hands. + + "Forsaken wheel! when you first came + To clothe young hearts and old, + Our ancestors were glad to wear + Your woof, nor knew the shame + Which later days have bred, to share + The homespun's simple fold! + + "My lover's gone to win for me, + With tender pride and care, + Riches to garnish all our days; + But love thrives in simplicity + As well as in the prouder ways, + If noble thought is there! + + "When our strong grandsires vowed to wed, + Stout knots of wool, and corn, + Were gathered in, and hardly more + Of what will count not when we're dead! + Life brought them to a happy shore, + Who set their sails at dawn. + + "O silent wheel! we weave a sad, + Weak fabric of our days; + The faith that moved thee long is gone; + Forgot, the couple, lass and lad, + Who loved with courage deeply drawn, + Heeding but God's delays! + + "On thy long loneliness the sun + Blazes in dread, the moon + Shines with a pitiless, threatening hue! + And while the golden sand-grains run, + Old age comes nearer; and like you + I may be standing silent--soon! + + "Then turn, my lover, turn your eyes + Back to the humble door; + Waste not the youthful years in hand. + See where the truest comfort lies, + And join the freer old-time band, + Nor crave a worldly store! + + "In Freedom's land let no one know + Even the chain of ease, + Nor bow to royal Luxury's glance. + From peasant-hands fair art can grow; + From the rough brow thought springs with lance + And helmet: God loves these!" + + She wept; then raised her head, and swung + The aged wheel with whispering whir; + And as it turned, it softly sung + (In fancy) this response to her:-- + + "I had not spun the sower's shirt, + I had not kept the children warm, + If I had found a wearing harm + In my monotonous toil alert. + + "To those who wait with eager eyes + And ready hands and tender hearts,-- + They find the giant year, that parts, + Hath forged strong links with paradise! + + "Sigh not that Time doth turn the glass + To let the golden sand-grains run, + While longer shadows of the sun + Fall o'er the spring-time, bonny lass! + + "The circumstances of a life + Are little things compared to it; + The way love's shown is ever fit; + Thank God, who gives us love, not strife! + + "And if I do not stand beside + The hearth, as fifty years ago, + No current of the years that flow + Can rob the radiance from a bride! + + "I know not why the world should change, + I know not why my day is done; + And yet this limit of my zone + Hints of the limit to all range. + + "Man's progress always alters tint, + As mountains move from rose to gray; + Yet like their shapes, love still doth stay + The same, complete,--'tis God's imprint. + + "And yet I dream Time yet may turn + Its wheel to weave the humbler thought, + As in old days. When joy is sought, + Men find it where the hearth-fires burn." + + + + + THE ROADS THAT MEET. + + + ART. + + + One is so fair, I turn to go, + As others go, its beckoning length; + Such paths can never lead to woe, + I say in eager, early strength. + What is the goal? + Visions of heaven, wake; + But the wind's whispers round me roll: + "For you, mistake!" + + + LOVE. + + + One leads beneath high oaks, and birds + Choose there their joyous revelry; + The sunbeams glint in golden herds, + The river mirrors silently. + Under these trees + My heart would bound or break; + Tell me what goal, resonant breeze? + "For you, mistake!" + + + CHARITY. + + + What is there left? The arid way, + The chilling height, whence all the world + Looks little, and each radiant day, + Like the soul's banner, flies unfurled. + May I stand here; + In this rare ether slake + My reverential lips, and fear + No last mistake? + + Some spirits wander till they die, + With shattered thoughts and trembling hands; + What jarred their natures hopelessly + No living wight yet understands. + There is no goal, + Whatever end they make; + Though prayers each trusting step control, + They win mistake. + + This is so true, we dare not learn + Its force until our hopes are old, + And, skyward, God's star-beacons burn + The brighter as our hearts grow cold. + If all we miss, + In the great plans that shake + The world, still God has need of this,-- + Even our mistake. + + + + + A PASSING VOICE. + + "Turn me a rhyme," said Fate, + "Turn me a rhyme: + A swift and deadly hate + Blows headlong towards thee in the teeth of Time. + Write! or thy words will fall too late." + + "Write me a fold," said Fate, + "Write me a fold, + Life to conciliate, + Of words red with thine heart's blood, hotly told. + Then, kings may envy thine estate!" + + "Make thee a fame," said Fate, + "Make thee a fame + To storm the heaven-hung gate, + Unbarred alone to the victorious name + Which has Art's conquerors to mate." + + "Die in thy shame," said Fate, + "Die in thy shame! + Naught here can compensate + But the proud radiance of that glorious flame, + Genius: fade, thou, unconsecrate!" + + + THE END. + + + + + + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's Along the Shore, by Rose Hawthorne Lathrop + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ALONG THE SHORE *** + +***** This file should be named 7056-8.txt or 7056-8.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/7/0/5/7056/ + +Produced by Michelle Shephard, Eric Eldred, Charles Franks +and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Along the Shore + +Author: Rose Hawthorne Lathrop + +Posting Date: March 19, 2014 [EBook #7056] +Release Date: December, 2004 +First Posted: March 3, 2003 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ALONG THE SHORE *** + + + + +Produced by Michelle Shephard, Eric Eldred, Charles Franks +and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team. HTML version +by Al Haines. + + + + + + +</pre> + + +<h1> +<br /><br /><br /> + ALONG THE SHORE<br /> +</h1> + +<p class="t2"> + BY ROSE HAWTHORNE LATHROP<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<p class="t3"> + To<br /> + G. P. L.<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /></p> + +<p class="poem"> + We see the sky,—we love it day by day;<br /> + We feel the wind of Spring, from blossoms winging;<br /> + We meet with souls tender as tints in May:<br /> + For these large ecstasies what are we bringing?<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + There is no price, best friend, for greatest meed.<br /> + Laid on the altar of our true affection,<br /> + Wild flowers of love for me must intercede:<br /> + And lo! I win your unexcelled protection.<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<p class="t3b"> + CONTENTS<br /> +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> + <a href="#inlet">Inlet And Shore</a><br /> + <a href="#impersonality">Impersonality</a><br /> + <a href="#protean">A Protean Glimpse</a><br /> + <a href="#power">Power Against Power</a><br /> + <a href="#priestess">Life's Priestess</a><br /> + <a href="#love">Love Now</a><br /> + <a href="#one">One And One</a><br /> + <a href="#violin">The Violin</a><br /> + <a href="#gertrude">Gertrude</a><br /> + <a href="#unity">Unity In Space</a><br /> + <a href="#shell">The Shell And The Word</a><br /> + <a href="#bell">The Clock-Tower Bell</a><br /> + <a href="#endure">Ours To Endure</a><br /> + <a href="#waves">Broken Waves</a><br /> + <a href="#sad">Why Sad To-Day?</a><br /> + <a href="#ghosts">The Ghosts Of Revellers</a><br /> + <a href="#burying">Life's Burying-Ground</a><br /> + <a href="#utterance">Beyond Utterance</a><br /> + <a href="#suicide">The Suicide</a><br /> + <a href="#others">For Others</a><br /> + <a href="#zest">Zest</a><br /> + <a href="#unperfected">The Unperfected</a><br /> + <a href="#godmade">God-Made</a><br /> + <a href="#grief">A Song Before Grief</a><br /> + <a href="#pride">Pride: Fate</a><br /> + <a href="#francie">Francie</a><br /> + <a href="#lost">Lost Reality</a><br /> + <a href="#closing">Closing Chords</a><br /> + <a href="#grace">Grace</a><br /> + <a href="#endless">Endless Resource</a><br /> + <a href="#baby">The Baby</a><br /> + <a href="#waltz">A Waltz</a><br /> + <a href="#bloom">First Bloom Of Love</a><br /> + <a href="#wooing">A Wooing Song</a><br /> + <a href="#dorothy">Dorothy</a><br /> + <a href="#morning">Morning Song</a><br /> + <a href="#looking">Looking Backward</a><br /> + <a href="#unloved">Unloved</a><br /> + <a href="#clock">The Clock's Song</a><br /> + <a href="#broken">Broken-Hearted</a><br /> + <a href="#fealty">The Cynic's Fealty</a><br /> + <a href="#girls">The Girls We Might Have Wed</a><br /> + <a href="#neither">"Neither!"</a><br /> + <a href="#usedup">Used Up</a><br /> + <a href="#youth">A Youth's Suicide</a><br /> + <a href="#mariners">Twenty Bold Mariners</a><br /> + <a href="#artillery">In The Artillery</a><br /> + <a href="#battle">The Lost Battle</a><br /> + <a href="#race">The Outgoing Race</a><br /> + <a href="#hidden">Hidden History</a><br /> + <a href="#ballad">A Ballad Of The Mist</a><br /> + <a href="#wheel">The Dreaming Wheel</a><br /> + <a href="#roads">The Roads That Meet</a><br /> + <a href="#voice">A PASSING VOICE</a><br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<p class="t2"> + ALONG THE SHORE.<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /></p> + +<p class="t3"> + * * * * *<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<h3> +<a id="inlet"></a> + INLET AND SHORE.<br /> +</h3> + +<p class="poem"> + Here is a world of changing glow,<br /> + Where moods roll swiftly far and wide;<br /> + Waves sadder than a funeral's pride,<br /> + Or bluer than the harebell's blow!<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + The sunlight makes the black hulls cast<br /> + A firefly radiance down the deep;<br /> + The inlet gleams, the long clouds sweep,<br /> + The sails flit up, the sails drop past.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + The far sea-line is hushed and still;<br /> + The nearer sea has life and voice;<br /> + Each soul may take his fondest choice,—<br /> + The silence, or the restless thrill.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + O little children of the deep,—<br /> + The single sails, the bright, full sails,<br /> + Gold in the sun, dark when it fails,<br /> + Now you are smiling, then you weep!<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + O blue of heaven, and bluer sea,<br /> + And green of wave, and gold of sky,<br /> + And white of sand that stretches by,<br /> + Toward east and west, away from me!<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + O shell-strewn shore, that silent hears<br /> + The legend of the mighty main,<br /> + And tells to none the lore again,—<br /> + We catch one utterance only: "Years!"<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<h3> +<a id="impersonality"></a> + IMPERSONALITY<br /> +</h3> + +<p class="poem"> + I dreamed within a dream the sun was gold;<br /> + And as I walked beneath this golden sun,<br /> + The world was like a mighty play-room old,<br /> + Made for our pleasure since it was begun.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + But when I waked I found the sun was air,<br /> + The world was air, and all things only seemed,<br /> + Except the thoughts we grow by; for in prayer<br /> + We change to spirits such as God has dreamed.<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<h3> +<a id="protean"></a> + A PROTEAN GLIMPSE.<br /> +</h3> + +<p class="poem"> + Time and I pass to and fro,<br /> + Hardly greeting as we go,—<br /> + Go askant, like crossing wings<br /> + Of sea-gulls where the brave sea sings.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Time, the messenger of Fate!<br /> + Cunning master of debate,<br /> + Cunning soother of all sorrow,<br /> + Ruthless robber of to-morrow;<br /> + Tyrant to our dallying feet,<br /> + Though patron of a life complete;<br /> + Like Puck upon a rosy cloud,<br /> + He rides to distance while we woo him,—<br /> + Like pale Remorse wrapped in a shroud,<br /> + He brings the world in sackcloth to him!<br /> + O dimly seen, and often met<br /> + As shadowings of a wild regret!<br /> + O king of us, yet feebly served;<br /> + Dispenser of the dooms reserved;<br /> + So silent at the folly done,<br /> + So deadly when our respite's gone!—<br /> + As sea-gulls, slanting, cross at sea,<br /> + So cross our rapid flights with thee.<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<h3> +<a id="power"></a> + POWER AGAINST POWER.<br /> + [Nathaniel Hawthorne, 1864.]<br /> +</h3> + +<p class="poem"> + Where spells were wrought he sat alone,<br /> + The wizard touching minds of men<br /> + Through far-swung avenues of power,<br /> + And proudly held the magic pen.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + By the dark wall a white Shape gleams,<br /> + By morning's light a Shadow falls!<br /> + Is it a servant of his brain,<br /> + Or Power that to his power calls?<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + By morning's light the Shadow looms,<br /> + And watches with relentless eyes;<br /> + In night-gloom holds the glimmering lamp,<br /> + While the pen ever slower flies.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + By the dark wall it beckons still,<br /> + By evening light it darkly stays;<br /> + The wizard looks, and his great life<br /> + Thrills with the sense of finished days.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + A Shape so ghost-like by the sun,<br /> + With smiles that chill as dusks descend!<br /> + The glancing wizard, stern and pale,<br /> + Admits the presence of the End.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Health has forsaken, death is near,<br /> + The hand moves slower, eyes grow dim;<br /> + The End approaches, and the man<br /> + Dreams of no spell for quelling Him.<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<h3> +<a id="priestess"></a> + LIFE'S PRIESTESS.<br /> +</h3> + +<p class="poem"> + All to herself a woman never sings<br /> + A happy song. Oh no! but it is so<br /> + As when the thrush has closed down his wings<br /> + Within the wood, and hears his hidden woe<br /> + From his own bill fill aisles of leaves, and go<br /> + About the wood and come to him again.<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<h3> +<a id="love"></a> + LOVE NOW.<br /> +</h3> + +<p class="poem"> + The sanctity that is about the dead<br /> + To make us love them more than late, when here,<br /> + Is not it well to find the living dear<br /> + With sanctity like this, ere they have fled?<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + The tender thoughts we nurture for a loss<br /> + Of mother, friend, or child, oh! it were wise<br /> + To spend this glory on the earnest eyes,<br /> + The longing heart, that feel life's present cross.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Give also mercy to the living here<br /> + Whose keen-strung souls will quiver at your touch;<br /> + The utmost reverence is not too much<br /> + For eyes that weep, although the lips may sneer.<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<h3> +<a id="one"></a> + ONE AND ONE.<br /> +</h3> + +<p class="poem"> + The thanking heart can only silence keep;<br /> + The breaking heart can only die alone:<br /> + Our happy love above abysses deep<br /> + Of unguessed power hovers, and is gone!<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Come, take my hand, O friend I take for life!<br /> + You cannot reach my soul through touch or gaze;<br /> + Be our full lips with infinite meanings rife:<br /> + The longed-for words, which of us ever says?<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<h3> +<a id="violin"></a> + THE VIOLIN.<br /> +</h3> + +<p class="poem"> + Touch gently, friend, and slow, the violin, So sweet and low,<br /> + That my dreaming senses may be beckoned so<br /> + Into a rest as deep as the long past "years ago!"<br /> + So softly, then, begin;<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + And ever gently touch the violin,<br /> + Until an impulse grows of a sudden, like wind<br /> + On the brow of the earth,<br /> + And the voice of your violin shows its wide-swung girth<br /> + With a crash of the strings and a medley of rage and mirth;<br /> + And my rested senses spring<br /> + Like juice from a broken rind,<br /> + And the joys that your melodies bring<br /> + I know worth a life-time to win,<br /> + As you waken to love and this hour your violin!<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<h3> +<a id="gertrude"></a> + GERTRUDE.<br /> + [In Memory: 1877.]<br /> +</h3> + +<p class="poem"> + What shall I say, my friend, my own heart healing,<br /> + When for my love you cannot answer me?<br /> + This earth would quake, alas! might I but see<br /> + You smile, death's rigorous law repealing!<br /> + Pale lips, your mystery so well concealing,<br /> + May not the eloquent, varied minstrelsy<br /> + Of my inspired ardor potent be<br /> + To touch your chords to music's uttered feeling?<br /> + Friend, here you cherished flowers: send me now<br /> + One ghostly bloom to prove that you are blessed.<br /> + No? If denial such as brands my brow<br /> + Be in your heavenly regions, too, confessed,<br /> + Oh may it prove the truth that your still eyes<br /> + Foresee the end of all futurities!<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<h3> +<a id="unity"></a> + UNITY IN SPACE.<br /> +</h3> + +<p class="poem"> + Take me away into a storm of snow<br /> + So white and soft, I feel no deathly chill,<br /> + But listen to the murmuring overflow<br /> + Of clouds that fall in many a frosty rill!<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Take me away into the sunset's glow,<br /> + That holds a summer in a glorious bloom;<br /> + Or take me to the shadowed woods that grow<br /> + On the sky's mountains, in the evening gloom!<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Give me an entrance to the limpid lake<br /> + When moonbeams shine across its purity!<br /> + A life there is, within the life we take<br /> + So commonly, for which 't were well to die.<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<h3> +<a id="shell"></a> + THE SHELL AND THE WORLD.<br /> +</h3> + +<p class="poem"> + The world was like a shell to me,—<br /> + Its voice with distant song was low;<br /> + But now its mysteries I know:<br /> + I hear the turmoil of the sea.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + The whirling, soft, and tender sound<br /> + That meant I knew not what of lore,—<br /> + I dream its mystery now no more:<br /> + Its reckless meaning I have found.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + O shell! I held thee to my ears<br /> + When I was young, and smiled with pride<br /> + To stand aglow at marvel's side!<br /> + O world, thy voice is wild with tears!<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<h3> +<a id="bell"></a> + THE CLOCK-TOWER BELL.<br /> +</h3> + +<p class="poem"> + Say not, sad bell, another hour hath come,<br /> + Bare for the record of a world of crime;<br /> + Toll, rather, friend, the end of hideous Time,<br /> + Wherein we bloom, live, die, yet have no home!<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Bell, laurels would we o'er thy pulsing twine,<br /> + And sing thee songs of triumph with glad tears,<br /> + If to the warring of our haggard years<br /> + Thy clang should herald peace along the line!<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<h3> +<a id="endure"></a> + OURS TO ENDURE.<br /> +</h3> + +<p class="poem"> + We speak of the world that passes away,—<br /> + The world of men who lived years ago,<br /> + And could not feel that their hearts' quick glow<br /> + Would fade to such ashen lore to-day.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + We hear of death that is not our woe,<br /> + And see the shadow of funerals creeping<br /> + Over the sweet fresh roads by the reaping;<br /> + But do we weep till our loved ones go?<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + When one is lost who is greater than we,<br /> + And loved us so well that death should reprieve<br /> + Of all hearts this one to us; when we must leave<br /> + His grave,—the past will break like the sea!<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<h3> +<a id="waves"></a> + BROKEN WAVES.<br /> +</h3> + +<p class="poem"> + The sun is lying on the garden-wall,<br /> + The full red rose is sweetening all the air,<br /> + The day is happier than a dream most fair;<br /> + The evening weaves afar a wide-spread pall,<br /> + And lo! sun, day, and rose, no longer there!<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + I have a lover now my life is young,<br /> + I have a love to keep this many a day;<br /> + My heart will hold it when my life is gray,<br /> + My love will last although my heart be wrung.<br /> + My life, my heart, my love shall fade away!<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + O lover loved, the day has only gone!<br /> + In death or life, our love can only go;<br /> + Never forgotten is the joy we know,<br /> + We follow memory when life is done:<br /> + No wave is lost in all the tides that flow.<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<h3> +<a id="sad"></a> + WHY SAD TO-DAY?<br /> +</h3> + +<p class="poem"> + Why is the nameless sorrowing look<br /> + So often thought a whim?<br /> + God-willed, the willow shades the brook,<br /> + The gray owl sings a hymn;<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Sadly the winds change, and the rain<br /> + Comes where the sunlight fell:<br /> + Sad is our story, told again,<br /> + Which past years told so well!<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Why not love sorrow and the glance<br /> + That ends in silent tears?<br /> + If we count up the world's mischance,<br /> + Grieving is in arrears.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Why should I know why I could weep?<br /> + The old urns cannot read<br /> + The names they wear of kings they keep<br /> + In ashes; both are dead.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + And like an urn the heart must hold<br /> + Aims of an age gone by:<br /> + What the aims were we are not told;<br /> + We hold them, who knows why?<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<h3> +<a id="ghosts"></a> + THE GHOSTS OF REVELLERS.<br /> +</h3> + +<p class="poem"> + At purple eyes beside the grain,<br /> + Our loves on altars we had burned,<br /> + And mixed our tribute with the dew,<br /> + Our tears, when rosy dawn returned.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Our voices we had joined with song<br /> + Of bird ecstatic, light, and free;<br /> + Our laughter rollicked with the brook<br /> + Running through darkness merrily.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + At purple eyes beside the rim<br /> + Of frozen lakes our loves we burned,<br /> + And slid away when stillness reigned:<br /> + Deep the vast woods our bodies urned.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + In starlit night along the shade<br /> + Of our dusk tombs our spirits glide;<br /> + We hear the echoing of the wind,<br /> + We breathe the sighs we living sighed.<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<h3> +<a id="burying"></a> + LIFE'S BURYING-GROUND.<br /> +</h3> + +<p class="poem"> + My graveyard holds no once-loved human forms,<br /> + Grown hideous and forgotten, left alone,<br /> + But every agony my heart has known,—<br /> + The new-born trusts that died, the drift of storms.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + I visit every day the shadowy grove;<br /> + I bury there my outraged tender thought;<br /> + I bring the insult for the love I sought,<br /> + And my contempt, where I had tried to love.<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<h3> +<a id="utterance"></a> + BEYOND UTTERANCE.<br /> +</h3> + +<p class="poem"> + There in the midst of gloom the church-spire rose,<br /> + And not a star lit any side of heaven;<br /> + In glades not far the damp reeds coldly touched<br /> + Their sides, like soldiers dead before they fall;<br /> + There in the belfry clung the sleeping bat,—<br /> + Most abject creature, hanging like a leaf<br /> + Down from the bell-tongue, silent as the speech<br /> + The dead have lost ere they are laid in graves.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + A melancholy prelude I would sing<br /> + To song more drear, while thought soars into gloom.<br /> + Find me the harbor of the roaming storm,<br /> + Or end of souls whose doom is life itself!<br /> + So vague, yet surely sad, the song I dream<br /> + And utter not. So sends the tide its roll,—<br /> + Unending chord of horror for a woe<br /> + We but half know, even when we die of it.<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<h3> +<a id="suicide"></a> + THE SUICIDE.<br /> +</h3> + +<p class="poem"> + A shadowed form before the light,<br /> + A gleaming face against the night,<br /> + Clutched hands across a halo bright<br /> + Of blowing hair,—her fixed sight<br /> + Stares down where moving black, below,<br /> + The river's deathly waves in murmurous silence flow.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + The moon falls fainting on the sky,<br /> + The dark woods bow their heads in sorrow,<br /> + The earth sends up a misty sigh:<br /> + A soul defies the morrow!<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<h3> +<a id="others"></a> + FOR OTHERS.<br /> +</h3> + +<p class="poem"> + Weeping for another's woe,<br /> + Tears flow then that would not flow<br /> + When our sorrow was our own,<br /> + And the deadly, stiffening blow<br /> + Was upon our own heart given<br /> + In the moments that have flown!<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Cringing at another's cry<br /> + In the hollow world of grief<br /> + Stills the anguish of our pain<br /> + For the fate that made us die<br /> + To our hopes as sweet as vain;<br /> + And our tears can flow again!<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + One storm blows the night this way,<br /> + But another brings the day.<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<h3> +<a id="zest"></a> + ZEST.<br /> +</h3> + +<p class="poem"> + Labor not in the murky dell,<br /> + But till your harvest hill at morn;<br /> + Stoop to no words that, rank and fell,<br /> + Grow faster than the rustling corn.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + With gladdening eyes go greet the sun,<br /> + Who lifts his brow in varied light;<br /> + Bring light where'er your feet may run:<br /> + So bring a day to sorrow's night.<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<h3> +<a id="unperfected"></a> + THE UNPERFECTED.<br /> +</h3> + +<p class="poem"> + A broken mirror in a trembling hand;<br /> + Sad, trembling lips that utter broken thought:<br /> + One of a wide and wandering, aimless band;<br /> + One in the world who for the world hath naught.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + A heart that loves beyond the shallow word;<br /> + A heart well loved beyond its flowerless worth:<br /> + One who asks God to answer the prayer heard;<br /> + One from the dust returning to the earth.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Can miracle ne'er make the mirror whole<br /> + For one who, seeing, could be nobly bold?<br /> + Who could well die, to magnify the soul,—<br /> + Whose strength of love will shake the graveyard's mould?<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<h3> +<a id="godmade"></a> + GOD-MADE.<br /> +</h3> + +<p class="poem"> + Somewhere, somewhere in this heart<br /> + There lies a jewel from the sea,<br /> + Or from a rock, or from the sand,<br /> + Or dropped from heaven wondrously.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Oh, burn, my jewel, in my glance!<br /> + Oh, shimmer on my lips in prayer!<br /> + Light my love's eyes to read my soul,<br /> + Which, wrapt in ashes, yet is fair!<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + When dead I lie, forgotten, deep<br /> + Within the earth and sunken past,<br /> + Still shall my jewel light my dust,—<br /> + The worth God gives us, first and last!<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<h3> +<a id="grief"></a> + A SONG BEFORE GRIEF.<br /> +</h3> + +<p class="poem"> + Sorrow, my friend,<br /> + When shall you come again?<br /> + The wind is slow, and the bent willows send<br /> + Their silvery motions wearily down the plain.<br /> + The bird is dead<br /> + That sang this morning through the summer rain!<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Sorrow, my friend,<br /> + I owe my soul to you.<br /> + And if my life with any glory end<br /> + Of tenderness for others, and the words are true,<br /> + Said, honoring, when I'm dead,—<br /> + Sorrow, to you, the mellow praise, the funeral<br /> + wreath, are due.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + And yet, my friend,<br /> + When love and joy are strong,<br /> + Your terrible visage from my sight I rend<br /> + With glances to blue heaven. Hovering along,<br /> + By mine your shadow led,<br /> + "Away!" I shriek, "nor dare to work my new-sprung mercies wrong!"<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Still, you are near:<br /> + Who can your care withstand?<br /> + When deep eternity shall look most clear,<br /> + Sending bright waves to kiss the trembling land,<br /> + My joy shall disappear,—<br /> + A flaming torch thrown to the golden sea by your pale hand.<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<h3> +<a id="pride"></a> + PRIDE: FATE.<br /> +</h3> + +<p class="poem"> + Lullaby on the wing<br /> + Of my song, O my own!<br /> + Soft airs of evening<br /> + Join my song's murmuring tone.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Lullaby, O my love!<br /> + Close your eyes, lake-like clear;<br /> + Lullaby, while above<br /> + Wake the stars, with heaven near.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Lullaby, sweet, so still<br /> + In arms of death; I alone<br /> + Sing lullaby, like a rill,<br /> + To your form, cold as a stone.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Lullaby, O my heart!<br /> + Sleep in peace, all alone;<br /> + Night has come, and your part<br /> + For loving is wholly done!<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<h3> +<a id="francie"></a> + FRANCIE.<br /> +</h3> + +<p class="poem"> + I loved a child as we should love<br /> + Each other everywhere;<br /> + I cared more for his happiness<br /> + Than I dreaded my own despair.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + An angel asked me to give him<br /> + My whole life's dearest cost;<br /> + And in adding mine to his treasures<br /> + I knew they could never be lost.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + To his heart I gave the gold,<br /> + Though little my own had known;<br /> + To his eyes what tenderness<br /> + From youth in mine had grown!<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + I gave him all my buoyant<br /> + Hope for my future years;<br /> + I gave him whatever melody<br /> + My voice had steeped in tears.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Upon the shore of darkness<br /> + His drifted body lies.<br /> + He is dead, and I stand beside him,<br /> + With his beauty in my eyes.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + I am like those withered petals<br /> + We see on a winter day,<br /> + That gladly gave their color<br /> + In the happy summer away.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + I am glad I lavished my worthiest<br /> + To fashion his greater worth;<br /> + Since he will live in heaven,<br /> + I shall lie content in the earth.<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<h3> +<a id="lost"></a> + LOST REALITY.<br /> +</h3> + +<p class="poem"> + O soul of life, 't is thee we long to hear,<br /> + Thine eyes we seek for, and thy touch we dream;<br /> + Lost from our days, thou art a spirit near,—<br /> + Life needs thine eloquence, and ways supreme.<br /> + More real than we who but a semblance wear,<br /> + We see thee not, because thou wilt not seem!<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<h3> +<a id="closing"></a> + CLOSING CHORDS.<br /> +</h3> + +<p><br /></p> + +<p class="poem"> + I.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + <i>Death's Eloquence.</i><br /> +</p> + +<p><br /></p> + +<p class="poem"> + When I shall go<br /> + Into the narrow home that leaves<br /> + No room for wringing of the hands and hair,<br /> + And feel the pressing of the walls which bear<br /> + The heavy sod upon my heart that grieves,<br /> + (As the weird earth rolls on),<br /> + Then I shall know<br /> + What is the power of destiny. But still,<br /> + Still while my life, however sad, be mine,<br /> + I war with memory, striving to divine<br /> + Phantom to-morrows, to outrun the past;<br /> + For yet the tears of final, absolute ill<br /> + And ruinous knowledge of my fate I shun.<br /> + Even as the frail, instinctive weed<br /> + Tries, through unending shade, to reach at last<br /> + A shining, mellowing, rapture-giving sun;<br /> + So in the deed of breathing joy's warm breath,<br /> + Fain to succeed,<br /> + I, too, in colorless longings, hope till death.<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /></p> + +<p class="poem"> + II.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + <i>Peace.</i><br /> +</p> + +<p><br /></p> + +<p class="poem"> + An angel spoke with me, and lo, he hoarded<br /> + My falling tears to cheer a flower's face!<br /> + For, so it seems, in all the heavenly space<br /> + A wasted grief was never yet recorded.<br /> + Victorious calm those holy tones afforded<br /> + Unto my soul, whose outcry, in disgrace,<br /> + Changed to low music, leading to the place<br /> + Where, though well armed, with futile end awarded,<br /> + My past lay dead. "Wars are of earth!" he cried;<br /> + "Endurance only breathes immortal air.<br /> + Courage eternal, by a world defied,<br /> + Still wears the front of patience, smooth and fair."<br /> + Are wars so futile, and is courage peace?<br /> + Take, then, my soul, thus gently thy release!<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<h3> +<a id="grace"></a> + GRACE.<br /> +</h3> + +<p class="poem"> + Ill-wrought life we look at as we die!<br /> + Mistaken, selfish, meagre, and unmeet;<br /> + So graven on the hearts that cruelly<br /> + We have deprived of many an hour sweet:<br /> + O ill-wrought life we look at as we die!<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + O day of God we look at as we die!<br /> + Grace, like a river flowing toward our feet;<br /> + Wide pardon blowing with the breezes by;<br /> + Love telling us bright tales of the Complete;—<br /> + While listening, hoping, thanking, lo, we die!<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<h3> +<a id="endless"></a> + ENDLESS RESOURCE.<br /> +</h3> + +<p class="poem"> + New days are dear, and cannot be unloved,<br /> + Though in deep grief we mourn, and cling to death;<br /> + Who has not known, in living on, a breath<br /> + Of infinite joy that has life's rapture proved?<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + If I have thought that in this rainbow world<br /> + The best we see was but a preface given<br /> + Of infinite greater tints in heaven,<br /> + And life or no, heaven yet would be unfurl'd,—<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + I did belie the soul-wide joys of earth,<br /> + And feelings deep as lights that dwell in seas.<br /> + Can heaven itself outlove such depths as these?<br /> + Live on! Life holds more than we dream of worth!<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<h3> +<a id="baby"></a> + THE BABY.<br /> +</h3> + +<p class="poem"> + Pray, have you heard the news?<br /> + Sturdy in lungs and thews,<br /> + There's a fine baby!<br /> + Ring bells of crystal lip,<br /> + Wave boughs with blossoming tip;<br /> + Think what he may be!<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Love cannot love enough,<br /> + Winter is never rough<br /> + All round such sweetness;<br /> + One of a million more<br /> + Sent to the glad heart's door<br /> + In their completeness!<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Such news is never old,<br /> + Though in each ear't is told,<br /> + As a first birthday.<br /> + Welcome, thou ray of light!<br /> + In golden prayers bedight,<br /> + Sail down thy mirth-way!<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<h3> +<a id="waltz"></a> + A Waltz.<br /> +</h3> + +<p class="poem"> + Delicate gayety,<br /> + Strains of a violin;<br /> + Graceful steps begin—<br /> + Roses at her waist!<br /> + Clouds of sparkling light,<br /> + Whispers of lovers alone<br /> + As the couples drift one by one<br /> + In the golden sheen of the ball.<br /> + Alone in the happy crowd<br /> + Each pair glides past each pair;<br /> + Delicate strains of an air;<br /> + Rainbow gayety:<br /> + Pride of the moment throbs,<br /> + Smiles, on the youthful cheek,<br /> + Fearing no ill-wind's freak,<br /> + Warm in the heart of the waltz;—<br /> + Moving like melody,<br /> + Flowing in light and glee,<br /> + Young as the May is she,<br /> + Strong as the June I am.<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<h3> +<a id="bloom"></a> + FIRST BLOOM OF LOVE.<br /> +</h3> + +<p class="poem"> + O girl of spring! O brown-eyed girl!<br /> + Gathering violets near the woods,<br /> + Whose coy young petals half unfurl<br /> + The mystery of their dulcet moods.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + O blushing girl! O girl of spring!<br /> + I hear no answer move the air;<br /> + Yet eyelids hovering on the wing<br /> + Reveal deep meanings curtained there.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + O girl of spring! O spring of love!<br /> + Let silent violets be the speech<br /> + From you to me, and let them prove<br /> + What maiden silence will not teach!<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<h3> +<a id="wooing"></a> + A WOOING SONG.<br /> +</h3> + +<p class="poem"> + O love, I come; thy last glance guideth me!<br /> + Drawn, too, by webs of shadow, like thine hair;<br /> + For, Sweet, the mystery<br /> + Of thy dark hair the deepening dusk hath caught.<br /> + In early moonlight gleamings, lo, I see<br /> + Thy white hands beckon to the garden, where<br /> + Dim day and silvery darkness are inwrought<br /> + As our two lives, where, joining soul with soul,<br /> + The tints shall mingle in a fairer whole.<br /> + Oh! dost thou hear? I call, beloved, I call,<br /> + My stout heart trembling till thy words return;<br /> + Hope-lifted, I float faster with the fall<br /> + Of fear toward joy such fear alone can earn!<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<h3> +<a id="dorothy"></a> + DOROTHY.<br /> +</h3> + +<p class="poem"> + Dear little Dorothy, she is no more!<br /> + I have wandered world-wide, from shore to shore,<br /> + I have seen as great beauties as ever were wed;<br /> + But none can console me for Dorothy dead.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Dear little Dorothy! How strange it seems<br /> + That her face is less real than the faces of dreams;<br /> + That the love which kept true, and the lips which so spoke,<br /> + Are more lost than my heart, which died not when it broke!<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<h3> +<a id="morning"></a> + MORNING SONG.<br /> +</h3> + +<p class="poem"> + Turn thy face to me, my love,<br /> + I come from out the morning;<br /> + Give thy hand to me, my love,<br /> + I'm dewy from the dawning.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Touch my lips with thine, my love,<br /> + I've tasted air at daybreak;<br /> + Gaze into my eyes, my love,<br /> + At the sky's waking they wake.<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<h3> +<a id="looking"></a> + LOOKING BACKWARD.<br /> +</h3> + +<p class="poem"> + Gray towers make me think of thee,<br /> + Thou girl of olden minstrelsy,<br /> + Young as the sunlight of to-day,<br /> + Silent as tasselled boughs in May!<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + A wind-flower in a world of harm,<br /> + A harebell on a turret's arm,<br /> + A pearl upon the hilt of fame<br /> + Thou wert, fair child of some high name.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + The velvet page, the deep-eyed knight,<br /> + The heartless falcon, poised for flight,<br /> + The dainty steed and graceful hound,<br /> + In thee their keenest rapture found.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + But for old ballads, and the rhyme<br /> + And writ of genius o'er the time<br /> + When keeps had newly reared their towers,<br /> + The winning scene had not been ours.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + O Chivalry! thy age was fair,<br /> + When even knaves set out to dare<br /> + Their heads for any barbarous crime,<br /> + And hate was brave, and love sublime.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + The bugle-note I send so far<br /> + Across Time's moors to thee, sweet star,<br /> + Where stands thy castle in its mist,<br /> + Hear, if the wandering breezes list!<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<h3> +<a id="unloved"></a> + UNLOVED.<br /> +</h3> + +<p class="poem"> + Paler than the water's white<br /> + Stood the maiden in the shade,<br /> + And more silent than the night<br /> + Were her lips together laid;<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Eyes she hid so long and still<br /> + By lids wet with unshed tears,<br /> + Hands she loosely clasped at will,<br /> + Though her heart was full of fears.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Never, never, never more<br /> + May her soul with joy be moved;<br /> + Silent, silent, silent,—for<br /> + He was silent whom she loved.<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<h3> +<a id="clock"></a> + THE CLOCK'S SONG.<br /> +</h3> + +<p class="poem"> + Eileen of four,<br /> + Eileen of smiles;<br /> + Eileen of five,<br /> + Eileen of tears;<br /> + Eileen of ten, of fifteen years,<br /> + Eileen of youth<br /> + And woman's wiles;<br /> + Eileen of twenty,<br /> + In love's land,<br /> + Eileen all tender<br /> + In her bliss,<br /> + Untouched by sorrow's treacherous kiss,<br /> + And the sly weapon in life's hand,—<br /> + Eileen aroused to share all fate,<br /> + Eileen a wife,<br /> + Pale, beautiful,<br /> + Eileen most grave<br /> + And dutiful,<br /> + Mourning her dreams in queenly state.<br /> + Eileen! Eileen!....<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<h3> +<a id="broken"></a> + BROKEN-HEARTED.<br /> +</h3> + +<p class="poem"> + "Cross my hands upon my breast,"<br /> + Read her last behest.<br /> + "Turn my cheek upon the pillow,<br /> + As resting from life's stormy billow<br /> + With sleep's fine zest!"<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "Cross my hands upon my breast,"<br /> + Read her last behest,<br /> + "That the patient bones may lie<br /> + In form of thanks eternally,<br /> + Grimly expressed!"<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + We clasped her hands upon her breast:<br /> + Oh mockery at misery's hest!<br /> + We hid in flowers her body's grief,—<br /> + Counting by many a rose and leaf<br /> + Her days unblessed!<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<h3> +<a id="fealty"></a> + THE CYNIC'S FEALTY.<br /> +</h3> + +<p class="poem"> + We all have hearts that shake alike<br /> + Beneath the arias of Fate's hand;<br /> + Although the cynics sneering stand,<br /> + These too the deathless powers strike.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + A trembling lover's infinite trust,<br /> + To the last drop of doating blood,<br /> + Feels not alone the ocean flood<br /> + Of desperate grief, when dreams are dust.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + The scornfullest souls, with mourning eyes,<br /> + Pant o'er again their ghostly ways;—<br /> + Dread night-paths, where were gleaming days<br /> + When life was lovelier than the skies!<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<h3> +<a id="girls"></a> + THE GIRLS WE MIGHT HAVE WED.<br /> +</h3> + +<p class="poem"> + Come, brothers, let us sing a dirge,—<br /> + A dirge for myriad chances dead;<br /> + In grief your mournful accents merge:<br /> + Sing, sing the girls we might have wed!<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Sweet lips were those we never pressed<br /> + In love that never lost the dew<br /> + In sunlight of a love confessed,—<br /> + Kind were the girls we never knew!<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Sing low, sing low, while in the glow<br /> + Of fancy's hour those forms we trace,<br /> + Hovering around the years that go;<br /> + Those years our lives can ne'er replace!<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Sweet lips are those that never turn<br /> + A cruel word; dear eyes that lead<br /> + The heart on in a blithe concern;<br /> + White hand of her we did not wed;<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Fair hair or dark, that falls along<br /> + A form that never shrinks with time;<br /> + Bright image of a realm of song,<br /> + Standing beside our years of prime;—<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + When you shall go, then may we know<br /> + The heart is dead, the man is old.<br /> + Life can no other charm bestow<br /> + When girls we might have loved turn cold!<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<h3> +<a id="neither"></a> + "NEITHER!"<br /> +</h3> + +<p class="poem"> + So ancient to myself I seem,<br /> + I might have crossed grave Styx's stream<br /> + A year ago;—<br /> + My word, 'tis so;—<br /> + And now be wandering with my sires<br /> + In that rare world we wonder o'er,<br /> + Half disbelieve, and prize the more!<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Yet spruce I am, and still can mix<br /> + My wits with all the sparkling tricks,<br /> + A youth and girl<br /> + At twenty's whirl<br /> + Play round each other's bosom fires,<br /> + On this brisk earth I once enjoyed:—<br /> + But now I'm otherwise employed!<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Am I a thing without a name;<br /> + A sort of dummy in the game?<br /> + "Not young, not old:"<br /> + A world is told<br /> + Of misery in that lengthened phrase;<br /> + Yet, gad, although my coat be smooth,<br /> + My forehead's wrinkled,—that's the truth!<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + I hardly know which road to go.<br /> + With youth? Perhaps. With age? Oh no!<br /> + Well, then, with those<br /> + Who share my woes,<br /> + Doomed to mere fashionable ways,—<br /> + Fair matrons, cigarettes, and tea,<br /> + Sighs, mirrors, and society?<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Is it a folly still to twirl,<br /> + And smirk and promenade and querl<br /> + About the town?<br /> + I'll put this down:<br /> + A man becomes downright <i>blast</i><br /> + Before he knows that he is either<br /> + That, or what I am—call it, "Neither."<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Oh, for a hint what we shall do,<br /> + We bucks whose comedy is through!<br /> + Who'd be sedate?<br /> + And yet I hate<br /> + To pose persistently to-day<br /> + As one just trying flights, you know,<br /> + When I <i>did</i> try them long ago!<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Suppose I hurry up the tide<br /> + Of age, and bravely drift beside<br /> + Those hoary dogs<br /> + Who lie like logs<br /> + Around the clubs where life is hushed?<br /> + My blood runs cold! What? Say farewell<br /> + To this year's new bewildering belle!<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Hold, man, the secret broad and huge,<br /> + With every well-known subterfuge!<br /> + If bald and gray<br /> + And thin, still say<br /> + You're only thirty: don't be crushed;<br /> + But when your voice shakes o'er a pun,<br /> + Be off to China:—your day's done!<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<h3> +<a id="usedup"></a> + USED UP.<br /> +</h3> + +<p class="poem"> + Hand me my light gloves, James;<br /> + I'm off for the waltzing world,<br /> + The kingdom of Strauss and that—<br /> + Where is my old crush-hat?<br /> + <i>Is</i> my hair properly curled?<br /> + Call in the daytime, James.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Think of me, won't you, James,<br /> + When I am rosily twirling<br /> + The "Rose of a garden of girls,"<br /> + The Pearl among circling pearls,<br /> + In a mesh of melodious whirling?<br /> + Envy me, won't you, James?<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + For a heart lost along with her fan,<br /> + For a nice sense of honor flown,<br /> + For the care of an invalid soul,<br /> + And tastes far beyond my control,—<br /> + I have for my precious own<br /> + The fame of a "waltzing man."<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + If I don't come, come for me, James.<br /> + Ah, the waltz is my mastering passion!<br /> + The trip-tripping airs are as sweet<br /> + As love to my turning feet,<br /> + While I clasp the fair doll of fashion,<br /> + My <i>fiancée</i>. But come for me, James.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + The heart which I lost—it is strange—<br /> + I've been told it will yet be my death;<br /> + And I think it quite likely I might<br /> + Waltz once too often to-night,<br /> + In spite of the music and Beth.<br /> + Death's a difficult move to arrange.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Pray smoke by the fire, old boy,<br /> + And find yourself whiskey and books.<br /> + If I should not turn up, then, at two<br /> + Or three, you will know I need you.<br /> + If I'm dead, you must pardon my looks<br /> + As I lie in the ball-room, old boy.<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<h3> +<a id="youth"></a> + A YOUTH'S SUICIDE.<br /> +</h3> + +<p class="poem"> + He handed his life a poisoned draught,<br /> + With a scornful smile and a cold, cold glance,<br /> + And the merry bystanders loudly laughed<br /> + (For the rollicking world was gay!).<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + He thought she knew not the juice, perchance;<br /> + But her tears fell down to her sobbing lips<br /> + While the merry-makers turned to the dance<br /> + (The world was mocking fate that day!).<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + To his life he kissed his finger-tips:<br /> + "Drink deep the beaker, and so farewell!"<br /> + Then slowly the poisoned draught she sips<br /> + (How they laugh at her meek dismay!).<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + He sprang to her arm, which loosely fell,<br /> + Crying: "No! not yet that dire eclipse!"<br /> + Now loud laughed the dancers, and whirled pell-mell<br /> + (While the echoes hurried away!).<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + The mad world clustered, it seemed, around.<br /> + "Farewell!" she sighed, sinking; then from afar<br /> + Flowed the pealing laughter and wassail's sound<br /> + (For the dead the world will not stay!).<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<h3> +<a id="mariners"></a> + TWENTY BOLD MARINERS.<br /> +</h3> + +<p class="poem"> + Twenty bold mariners went to the wave,<br /> + Twenty sweet breezes blew over the main;<br /> + All were so hearty, so free, and so brave,—<br /> + But they never came back again!<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Half the wild ocean rose up to the clouds,<br /> + Half the broad sky scowled in thunder and rain;<br /> + Twenty white crests rose around them like shrouds,<br /> + And they stayed in the dancing main!<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + This is easy to sing, and often to mourn,<br /> + And the breaking of dawn is no newer to-day;<br /> + But those who die young, or are left forlorn,<br /> + Think grief is no older than they!<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<h3> +<a id="artillery"></a> + IN THE ARTILLERY.<br /> +</h3> + +<p class="poem"> + We are moving on in silence,<br /> + Save for rattling iron and steel,<br /> + And a skirmish echoing round us,<br /> + Showering faintly, peal on peal.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Like a lion roars the North wind<br /> + As a-horse we sternly clank,<br /> + While beside the guns our men drop,<br /> + Slyly shot from either flank.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + You are musing, love, and smiling<br /> + By the hearth-fire of the Mill,<br /> + While the tangled oaks are cracking<br /> + Boughs upon the windy hill.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + I can see the moonlight shining<br /> + Over fields of frozen calm;<br /> + I can hear the chapel organ,<br /> + And the singing of the psalm.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Fare you well, then, English village,<br /> + Which of all I loved the most,<br /> + Where my ghost alone can wander<br /> + Once again, when life is lost.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Fare you well, then, Sally Dorset;<br /> + You will never utter wail<br /> + For the soldier dead who loved you<br /> + With these tears of no avail!<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + I can see your drowsy lashes<br /> + Lifting as you hear them read<br /> + Prayers in mercy for our souls' shrift<br /> + When we come to our last need.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + I forgive you, matchless beauty,<br /> + Proudly conscious of your fame,<br /> + Loved by many a luckless youngster<br /> + Who will ne'er forget your name!<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Merry, though so cold of answer,<br /> + With a laughing glance of steel,<br /> + How your face swept like a banner,<br /> + Blushing down the village reel!<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + As you dance before my vision<br /> + On this deadly foreign morn,<br /> + Death is charmed into the soothing<br /> + Of the love you chose to scorn.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + We shall die—our hours are numbered—<br /> + As the sunlight dawns serene<br /> + Over yonder mountain ridges,<br /> + Rimming round this battle scene.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + I shall die—few will return, dear;<br /> + I shall be of those who stay:<br /> + England sent us, but a handful,<br /> + Among hordes of heathen clay.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + We will show the world how England<br /> + Has no dross to spend in war;<br /> + When she throws away her soldiers,<br /> + They are soldiers to the core.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + You will wake to hear the twitter<br /> + Of the early sparrow's note:<br /> + I shall lie beneath the heavens,<br /> + With the death-grip at my throat!<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<h3> +<a id="battle"></a> + THE LOST BATTLE<br /> +</h3> + +<p class="poem"> + To his heart it struck such terror<br /> + That he laughed a laugh of scorn,—<br /> + The man in the soldier's doublet,<br /> + With the sword so bravely worn.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + It struck his heart like the frost-wind<br /> + To find his comrades fled,<br /> + While the battle-field was guarded<br /> + By the heroes who lay dead.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + He drew his sword in the sunlight,<br /> + And called with a long halloo:<br /> + "Dead men, there is one living<br /> + Shall stay it out with you!"<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + He raised a ragged standard,<br /> + This lonely soul in war,<br /> + And called the foe to onset,<br /> + With shouts they heard afar.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + They galloped swiftly toward him.<br /> + The banner floated wide;<br /> + It sank; he sank beside it<br /> + Upon his sword, and died.<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<h3> +<a id="race"></a> + THE OUTGOING RACE.<br /> +</h3> + +<p class="poem"> + The mothers wish for no more daughters;<br /> + There is no future before them.<br /> + They bow their heads and their pride<br /> + At the end of the many tribes' journey.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + The mothers weep over their children,<br /> + Loved and unwelcome together,<br /> + Who should have been dreamed, not born,<br /> + Since there is no road for the Indian.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + The mothers see into the future,<br /> + Beyond the end of that Chieftain<br /> + Who shall be the last of the race<br /> + Which allowed only death to a coward.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + The square, cold cheeks, lips firm-set,<br /> + The hot, straight glance, and the throat-line,<br /> + Held like a stag's on the cliff,<br /> + Shall be swept by the night-winds, and vanish!<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<h3> +<a id="hidden"></a> + HIDDEN HISTORY.<br /> +</h3> + +<p><br /></p> + +<p class="poem"> + I.<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /></p> + +<p class="poem"> + There was a maiden in a land<br /> + Was buried with all honor fine,<br /> + For they said she had dared her pulsing life<br /> + To save a silent, holy shrine.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + The cannon rode by the church's door,<br /> + The men's wild faces flashed in the sun;<br /> + The woman had guarded with rifle poised,<br /> + While the cassocked priests had run.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Ah, no! To save her pulsing life<br /> + The woman like a reindeer turned,<br /> + While hostile armies rolled by her in clouds,<br /> + And miles of sun and metal burned.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + But who should know? For she was dead<br /> + Before the leathern curtain's wall,<br /> + When came her wide-eyed comrades, and found<br /> + Her body and her weapon, all.<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /></p> + +<p class="poem"> + II.<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /></p> + +<p class="poem"> + There was a woman left to die<br /> + Who never told her sacrifice,<br /> + But trusted for her crown to God,<br /> + As to its value and device.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + No land was prouder for her heart,<br /> + No word has echoed long her deed,<br /> + And where she has lain, the angel flower<br /> + Looks like a common weed.<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<h3> +<a id="ballad"></a> + A BALLAD OF THE MIST.<br /> +</h3> + +<p class="poem"> + "I love the Lady of Merle," he said.<br /> + "She is not for thee!" her suitor cried.<br /> + And in the valley the lovers fought<br /> + By the salt river's tide.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + The braver fell on the dewy sward:<br /> + The unloved lover returned once more;<br /> + In yellow satin the lady came<br /> + And met him at the door.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "Hast thou heard, dark Edith," laughed he grim,<br /> + "Poor Hugh hath craved thee many a day?<br /> + Soon would it have been too late for him<br /> + His low-born will to say.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "I struck a blade where lay his heart's love,<br /> + And voice for thee have I left him none,<br /> + To brag he still seeks thee over the hills<br /> + When thou and I are one!"<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Fearless across the wide country<br /> + Rode the dark Lady Edith of Merle;<br /> + She looked at the headlands soft with haze,<br /> + And the moor's mists of pearl.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + The moon it struggled to see her pass<br /> + Through its half-lit veils of driving gray;<br /> + But moonbeams were slower than the steed<br /> + That Edith rode away.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Oh, what was her guerdon and her haste,<br /> + While cried the far screech-owl in the tree,<br /> + And to her heart crept its note so lone,<br /> + Beating tremulously?<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + About her a black scarf floated thin,<br /> + And over her cheek the mist fell cold,<br /> + And shuddered the moon between its rifts<br /> + Of dark cloud's silvery fold.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Oh, white fire of the nightly sky<br /> + When burns the moon's wonder wide and far,<br /> + And every cloud illumed with flame<br /> + Engulfs a shaken star!<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + * * * * *<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Bright as comes morning from the hill,<br /> + There comes a face to her lover's eyes;<br /> + Her love she tells; and he, dying, smiles,—<br /> + And smiles yet in the skies.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + He is dead, and closer breathe the mists;<br /> + He is dead, the owlet moans remote;<br /> + He is buried, and the moon draws near,<br /> + To gaze and hide and float.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Fearless within the churchyard's spell<br /> + The white-browed lady doth stand and sigh;<br /> + She loves the mist, and the grave, and the moon,<br /> + And the owl's quivering cry.<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<h3> +<a id="wheel"></a> + THE DREAMING WHEEL.<br /> +</h3> + +<p class="poem"> + Down slant the moonbeams to the floor<br /> + Through the garret's scented air,<br /> + And show a thin-spoked spinning-wheel,<br /> + Standing ten years and more<br /> + Far from the hearth-stone's woe and weal,—<br /> + The ghost of a lost day's care!<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + And over the dreaming spinning-wheel,<br /> + That has not stirred so long,<br /> + The weaving spiders spin a veil,<br /> + A silvery shroud for its human zeal<br /> + And usefulness, with their fingers pale,<br /> + The shadowy lights among.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + See! in the moonlight cold and gray<br /> + A thoughtful maiden stands;<br /> + And though she blames not overmuch<br /> + With her sweet lips the great world's way,<br /> + Yet sad and slow she stoops to touch<br /> + The still wheel with her hands.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "Forsaken wheel! when you first came<br /> + To clothe young hearts and old,<br /> + Our ancestors were glad to wear<br /> + Your woof, nor knew the shame<br /> + Which later days have bred, to share<br /> + The homespun's simple fold!<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "My lover's gone to win for me,<br /> + With tender pride and care,<br /> + Riches to garnish all our days;<br /> + But love thrives in simplicity<br /> + As well as in the prouder ways,<br /> + If noble thought is there!<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "When our strong grandsires vowed to wed,<br /> + Stout knots of wool, and corn,<br /> + Were gathered in, and hardly more<br /> + Of what will count not when we're dead!<br /> + Life brought them to a happy shore,<br /> + Who set their sails at dawn.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "O silent wheel! we weave a sad,<br /> + Weak fabric of our days;<br /> + The faith that moved thee long is gone;<br /> + Forgot, the couple, lass and lad,<br /> + Who loved with courage deeply drawn,<br /> + Heeding but God's delays!<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "On thy long loneliness the sun<br /> + Blazes in dread, the moon<br /> + Shines with a pitiless, threatening hue!<br /> + And while the golden sand-grains run,<br /> + Old age comes nearer; and like you<br /> + I may be standing silent—soon!<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "Then turn, my lover, turn your eyes<br /> + Back to the humble door;<br /> + Waste not the youthful years in hand.<br /> + See where the truest comfort lies,<br /> + And join the freer old-time band,<br /> + Nor crave a worldly store!<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "In Freedom's land let no one know<br /> + Even the chain of ease,<br /> + Nor bow to royal Luxury's glance.<br /> + From peasant-hands fair art can grow;<br /> + From the rough brow thought springs with lance<br /> + And helmet: God loves these!"<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + She wept; then raised her head, and swung<br /> + The aged wheel with whispering whir;<br /> + And as it turned, it softly sung<br /> + (In fancy) this response to her:—<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "I had not spun the sower's shirt,<br /> + I had not kept the children warm,<br /> + If I had found a wearing harm<br /> + In my monotonous toil alert.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "To those who wait with eager eyes<br /> + And ready hands and tender hearts,—<br /> + They find the giant year, that parts,<br /> + Hath forged strong links with paradise!<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "Sigh not that Time doth turn the glass<br /> + To let the golden sand-grains run,<br /> + While longer shadows of the sun<br /> + Fall o'er the spring-time, bonny lass!<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "The circumstances of a life<br /> + Are little things compared to it;<br /> + The way love's shown is ever fit;<br /> + Thank God, who gives us love, not strife!<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "And if I do not stand beside<br /> + The hearth, as fifty years ago,<br /> + No current of the years that flow<br /> + Can rob the radiance from a bride!<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "I know not why the world should change,<br /> + I know not why my day is done;<br /> + And yet this limit of my zone<br /> + Hints of the limit to all range.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "Man's progress always alters tint,<br /> + As mountains move from rose to gray;<br /> + Yet like their shapes, love still doth stay<br /> + The same, complete,—'tis God's imprint.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "And yet I dream Time yet may turn<br /> + Its wheel to weave the humbler thought,<br /> + As in old days. When joy is sought,<br /> + Men find it where the hearth-fires burn."<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<h3> +<a id="roads"></a> + THE ROADS THAT MEET.<br /> +</h3> + +<p><br /></p> + +<p class="poem"> + ART.<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /></p> +<p class="poem"> + One is so fair, I turn to go,<br /> + As others go, its beckoning length;<br /> + Such paths can never lead to woe,<br /> + I say in eager, early strength.<br /> + What is the goal?<br /> + Visions of heaven, wake;<br /> + But the wind's whispers round me roll:<br /> + "For you, mistake!"<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /></p> + +<p class="poem"> + LOVE.<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /></p> + +<p class="poem"> + One leads beneath high oaks, and birds<br /> + Choose there their joyous revelry;<br /> + The sunbeams glint in golden herds,<br /> + The river mirrors silently.<br /> + Under these trees<br /> + My heart would bound or break;<br /> + Tell me what goal, resonant breeze?<br /> + "For you, mistake!"<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /></p> + +<p class="poem"> + CHARITY.<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /></p> + +<p class="poem"> + What is there left? The arid way,<br /> + The chilling height, whence all the world<br /> + Looks little, and each radiant day,<br /> + Like the soul's banner, flies unfurled.<br /> + May I stand here;<br /> + In this rare ether slake<br /> + My reverential lips, and fear<br /> + No last mistake?<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Some spirits wander till they die,<br /> + With shattered thoughts and trembling hands;<br /> + What jarred their natures hopelessly<br /> + No living wight yet understands.<br /> + There is no goal,<br /> + Whatever end they make;<br /> + Though prayers each trusting step control,<br /> + They win mistake.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + This is so true, we dare not learn<br /> + Its force until our hopes are old,<br /> + And, skyward, God's star-beacons burn<br /> + The brighter as our hearts grow cold.<br /> + If all we miss,<br /> + In the great plans that shake<br /> + The world, still God has need of this,—<br /> + Even our mistake.<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<h3> +<a id="voice"></a> + A PASSING VOICE.<br /> +</h3> + +<p class="poem"> + "Turn me a rhyme," said Fate,<br /> + "Turn me a rhyme:<br /> + A swift and deadly hate<br /> + Blows headlong towards thee in the teeth of Time.<br /> + Write! or thy words will fall too late."<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "Write me a fold," said Fate,<br /> + "Write me a fold,<br /> + Life to conciliate,<br /> + Of words red with thine heart's blood, hotly told.<br /> + Then, kings may envy thine estate!"<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "Make thee a fame," said Fate,<br /> + "Make thee a fame<br /> + To storm the heaven-hung gate,<br /> + Unbarred alone to the victorious name<br /> + Which has Art's conquerors to mate."<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "Die in thy shame," said Fate,<br /> + "Die in thy shame!<br /> + Naught here can compensate<br /> + But the proud radiance of that glorious flame,<br /> + Genius: fade, thou, unconsecrate!"<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<p class="finis"> + THE END.<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /><br /></p> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's Along the Shore, by Rose Hawthorne Lathrop + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ALONG THE SHORE *** + +***** This file should be named 7056-h.htm or 7056-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/7/0/5/7056/ + +Produced by Michelle Shephard, Eric Eldred, Charles Franks +and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Along the Shore + +Author: Rose Hawthorne Lathrop + +Posting Date: March 19, 2014 [EBook #7056] +Release Date: December, 2004 +First Posted: March 3, 2003 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ALONG THE SHORE *** + + + + +Produced by Michelle Shephard, Eric Eldred, Charles Franks +and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team. HTML version +by Al Haines. + + + + + + + + + + + + ALONG THE SHORE + + BY ROSE HAWTHORNE LATHROP + + + + + To + G. P. L. + + + We see the sky,--we love it day by day; + We feel the wind of Spring, from blossoms winging; + We meet with souls tender as tints in May: + For these large ecstasies what are we bringing? + + There is no price, best friend, for greatest meed. + Laid on the altar of our true affection, + Wild flowers of love for me must intercede: + And lo! I win your unexcelled protection. + + + + + CONTENTS + + + Inlet And Shore + Impersonality + A Protean Glimpse + Power Against Power + Life's Priestess + Love Now + One And One + The Violin + Gertrude + Unity In Space + The Shell And The Word + The Clock-Tower Bell + Ours To Endure + Broken Waves + Why Sad To-Day? + The Ghosts Of Revellers + Life's Burying-Ground + Beyond Utterance + The Suicide + For Others + Zest + The Unperfected + God-Made + A Song Before Grief + Pride: Fate + Francie + Lost Reality + Closing Chords + Grace + Endless Resource + The Baby + A Waltz + First Bloom Of Love + A Wooing Song + Dorothy + Morning Song + Looking Backward + Unloved + The Clock's Song + Broken-Hearted + The Cynic's Fealty + The Girls We Might Have Wed + "Neither!" + Used Up + A Youth's Suicide + Twenty Bold Mariners + In The Artillery + The Lost Battle + The Outgoing Race + Hidden History + A Ballad Of The Mist + The Dreaming Wheel + The Roads That Meet + A PASSING VOICE + + + + + ALONG THE SHORE. + + + + * * * * * + + INLET AND SHORE. + + + Here is a world of changing glow, + Where moods roll swiftly far and wide; + Waves sadder than a funeral's pride, + Or bluer than the harebell's blow! + + The sunlight makes the black hulls cast + A firefly radiance down the deep; + The inlet gleams, the long clouds sweep, + The sails flit up, the sails drop past. + + The far sea-line is hushed and still; + The nearer sea has life and voice; + Each soul may take his fondest choice,-- + The silence, or the restless thrill. + + O little children of the deep,-- + The single sails, the bright, full sails, + Gold in the sun, dark when it fails, + Now you are smiling, then you weep! + + O blue of heaven, and bluer sea, + And green of wave, and gold of sky, + And white of sand that stretches by, + Toward east and west, away from me! + + O shell-strewn shore, that silent hears + The legend of the mighty main, + And tells to none the lore again,-- + We catch one utterance only: "Years!" + + + + + IMPERSONALITY + + + I dreamed within a dream the sun was gold; + And as I walked beneath this golden sun, + The world was like a mighty play-room old, + Made for our pleasure since it was begun. + + But when I waked I found the sun was air, + The world was air, and all things only seemed, + Except the thoughts we grow by; for in prayer + We change to spirits such as God has dreamed. + + + + + A PROTEAN GLIMPSE. + + + Time and I pass to and fro, + Hardly greeting as we go,-- + Go askant, like crossing wings + Of sea-gulls where the brave sea sings. + + Time, the messenger of Fate! + Cunning master of debate, + Cunning soother of all sorrow, + Ruthless robber of to-morrow; + Tyrant to our dallying feet, + Though patron of a life complete; + Like Puck upon a rosy cloud, + He rides to distance while we woo him,-- + Like pale Remorse wrapped in a shroud, + He brings the world in sackcloth to him! + O dimly seen, and often met + As shadowings of a wild regret! + O king of us, yet feebly served; + Dispenser of the dooms reserved; + So silent at the folly done, + So deadly when our respite's gone!-- + As sea-gulls, slanting, cross at sea, + So cross our rapid flights with thee. + + + + + POWER AGAINST POWER. + [Nathaniel Hawthorne, 1864.] + + + Where spells were wrought he sat alone, + The wizard touching minds of men + Through far-swung avenues of power, + And proudly held the magic pen. + + By the dark wall a white Shape gleams, + By morning's light a Shadow falls! + Is it a servant of his brain, + Or Power that to his power calls? + + By morning's light the Shadow looms, + And watches with relentless eyes; + In night-gloom holds the glimmering lamp, + While the pen ever slower flies. + + By the dark wall it beckons still, + By evening light it darkly stays; + The wizard looks, and his great life + Thrills with the sense of finished days. + + A Shape so ghost-like by the sun, + With smiles that chill as dusks descend! + The glancing wizard, stern and pale, + Admits the presence of the End. + + Health has forsaken, death is near, + The hand moves slower, eyes grow dim; + The End approaches, and the man + Dreams of no spell for quelling Him. + + + + + LIFE'S PRIESTESS. + + + All to herself a woman never sings + A happy song. Oh no! but it is so + As when the thrush has closed down his wings + Within the wood, and hears his hidden woe + From his own bill fill aisles of leaves, and go + About the wood and come to him again. + + + + + LOVE NOW. + + + The sanctity that is about the dead + To make us love them more than late, when here, + Is not it well to find the living dear + With sanctity like this, ere they have fled? + + The tender thoughts we nurture for a loss + Of mother, friend, or child, oh! it were wise + To spend this glory on the earnest eyes, + The longing heart, that feel life's present cross. + + Give also mercy to the living here + Whose keen-strung souls will quiver at your touch; + The utmost reverence is not too much + For eyes that weep, although the lips may sneer. + + + + + ONE AND ONE. + + + The thanking heart can only silence keep; + The breaking heart can only die alone: + Our happy love above abysses deep + Of unguessed power hovers, and is gone! + + Come, take my hand, O friend I take for life! + You cannot reach my soul through touch or gaze; + Be our full lips with infinite meanings rife: + The longed-for words, which of us ever says? + + + + + THE VIOLIN. + + + Touch gently, friend, and slow, the violin, So sweet and low, + That my dreaming senses may be beckoned so + Into a rest as deep as the long past "years ago!" + So softly, then, begin; + + And ever gently touch the violin, + Until an impulse grows of a sudden, like wind + On the brow of the earth, + And the voice of your violin shows its wide-swung girth + With a crash of the strings and a medley of rage and mirth; + And my rested senses spring + Like juice from a broken rind, + And the joys that your melodies bring + I know worth a life-time to win, + As you waken to love and this hour your violin! + + + + + GERTRUDE. + [In Memory: 1877.] + + + What shall I say, my friend, my own heart healing, + When for my love you cannot answer me? + This earth would quake, alas! might I but see + You smile, death's rigorous law repealing! + Pale lips, your mystery so well concealing, + May not the eloquent, varied minstrelsy + Of my inspired ardor potent be + To touch your chords to music's uttered feeling? + Friend, here you cherished flowers: send me now + One ghostly bloom to prove that you are blessed. + No? If denial such as brands my brow + Be in your heavenly regions, too, confessed, + Oh may it prove the truth that your still eyes + Foresee the end of all futurities! + + + + + UNITY IN SPACE. + + + Take me away into a storm of snow + So white and soft, I feel no deathly chill, + But listen to the murmuring overflow + Of clouds that fall in many a frosty rill! + + Take me away into the sunset's glow, + That holds a summer in a glorious bloom; + Or take me to the shadowed woods that grow + On the sky's mountains, in the evening gloom! + + Give me an entrance to the limpid lake + When moonbeams shine across its purity! + A life there is, within the life we take + So commonly, for which 't were well to die. + + + + + THE SHELL AND THE WORLD. + + + The world was like a shell to me,-- + Its voice with distant song was low; + But now its mysteries I know: + I hear the turmoil of the sea. + + The whirling, soft, and tender sound + That meant I knew not what of lore,-- + I dream its mystery now no more: + Its reckless meaning I have found. + + O shell! I held thee to my ears + When I was young, and smiled with pride + To stand aglow at marvel's side! + O world, thy voice is wild with tears! + + + + + THE CLOCK-TOWER BELL. + + + Say not, sad bell, another hour hath come, + Bare for the record of a world of crime; + Toll, rather, friend, the end of hideous Time, + Wherein we bloom, live, die, yet have no home! + + Bell, laurels would we o'er thy pulsing twine, + And sing thee songs of triumph with glad tears, + If to the warring of our haggard years + Thy clang should herald peace along the line! + + + + + OURS TO ENDURE. + + + We speak of the world that passes away,-- + The world of men who lived years ago, + And could not feel that their hearts' quick glow + Would fade to such ashen lore to-day. + + We hear of death that is not our woe, + And see the shadow of funerals creeping + Over the sweet fresh roads by the reaping; + But do we weep till our loved ones go? + + When one is lost who is greater than we, + And loved us so well that death should reprieve + Of all hearts this one to us; when we must leave + His grave,--the past will break like the sea! + + + + + BROKEN WAVES. + + + The sun is lying on the garden-wall, + The full red rose is sweetening all the air, + The day is happier than a dream most fair; + The evening weaves afar a wide-spread pall, + And lo! sun, day, and rose, no longer there! + + I have a lover now my life is young, + I have a love to keep this many a day; + My heart will hold it when my life is gray, + My love will last although my heart be wrung. + My life, my heart, my love shall fade away! + + O lover loved, the day has only gone! + In death or life, our love can only go; + Never forgotten is the joy we know, + We follow memory when life is done: + No wave is lost in all the tides that flow. + + + + + WHY SAD TO-DAY? + + + Why is the nameless sorrowing look + So often thought a whim? + God-willed, the willow shades the brook, + The gray owl sings a hymn; + + Sadly the winds change, and the rain + Comes where the sunlight fell: + Sad is our story, told again, + Which past years told so well! + + Why not love sorrow and the glance + That ends in silent tears? + If we count up the world's mischance, + Grieving is in arrears. + + Why should I know why I could weep? + The old urns cannot read + The names they wear of kings they keep + In ashes; both are dead. + + And like an urn the heart must hold + Aims of an age gone by: + What the aims were we are not told; + We hold them, who knows why? + + + + + THE GHOSTS OF REVELLERS. + + + At purple eyes beside the grain, + Our loves on altars we had burned, + And mixed our tribute with the dew, + Our tears, when rosy dawn returned. + + Our voices we had joined with song + Of bird ecstatic, light, and free; + Our laughter rollicked with the brook + Running through darkness merrily. + + At purple eyes beside the rim + Of frozen lakes our loves we burned, + And slid away when stillness reigned: + Deep the vast woods our bodies urned. + + In starlit night along the shade + Of our dusk tombs our spirits glide; + We hear the echoing of the wind, + We breathe the sighs we living sighed. + + + + + LIFE'S BURYING-GROUND. + + + My graveyard holds no once-loved human forms, + Grown hideous and forgotten, left alone, + But every agony my heart has known,-- + The new-born trusts that died, the drift of storms. + + I visit every day the shadowy grove; + I bury there my outraged tender thought; + I bring the insult for the love I sought, + And my contempt, where I had tried to love. + + + + + BEYOND UTTERANCE. + + + There in the midst of gloom the church-spire rose, + And not a star lit any side of heaven; + In glades not far the damp reeds coldly touched + Their sides, like soldiers dead before they fall; + There in the belfry clung the sleeping bat,-- + Most abject creature, hanging like a leaf + Down from the bell-tongue, silent as the speech + The dead have lost ere they are laid in graves. + + A melancholy prelude I would sing + To song more drear, while thought soars into gloom. + Find me the harbor of the roaming storm, + Or end of souls whose doom is life itself! + So vague, yet surely sad, the song I dream + And utter not. So sends the tide its roll,-- + Unending chord of horror for a woe + We but half know, even when we die of it. + + + + + THE SUICIDE. + + + A shadowed form before the light, + A gleaming face against the night, + Clutched hands across a halo bright + Of blowing hair,--her fixed sight + Stares down where moving black, below, + The river's deathly waves in murmurous silence flow. + + The moon falls fainting on the sky, + The dark woods bow their heads in sorrow, + The earth sends up a misty sigh: + A soul defies the morrow! + + + + + FOR OTHERS. + + + Weeping for another's woe, + Tears flow then that would not flow + When our sorrow was our own, + And the deadly, stiffening blow + Was upon our own heart given + In the moments that have flown! + + Cringing at another's cry + In the hollow world of grief + Stills the anguish of our pain + For the fate that made us die + To our hopes as sweet as vain; + And our tears can flow again! + + One storm blows the night this way, + But another brings the day. + + + + + ZEST. + + + Labor not in the murky dell, + But till your harvest hill at morn; + Stoop to no words that, rank and fell, + Grow faster than the rustling corn. + + With gladdening eyes go greet the sun, + Who lifts his brow in varied light; + Bring light where'er your feet may run: + So bring a day to sorrow's night. + + + + + THE UNPERFECTED. + + + A broken mirror in a trembling hand; + Sad, trembling lips that utter broken thought: + One of a wide and wandering, aimless band; + One in the world who for the world hath naught. + + A heart that loves beyond the shallow word; + A heart well loved beyond its flowerless worth: + One who asks God to answer the prayer heard; + One from the dust returning to the earth. + + Can miracle ne'er make the mirror whole + For one who, seeing, could be nobly bold? + Who could well die, to magnify the soul,-- + Whose strength of love will shake the graveyard's mould? + + + + + GOD-MADE. + + + Somewhere, somewhere in this heart + There lies a jewel from the sea, + Or from a rock, or from the sand, + Or dropped from heaven wondrously. + + Oh, burn, my jewel, in my glance! + Oh, shimmer on my lips in prayer! + Light my love's eyes to read my soul, + Which, wrapt in ashes, yet is fair! + + When dead I lie, forgotten, deep + Within the earth and sunken past, + Still shall my jewel light my dust,-- + The worth God gives us, first and last! + + + + + A SONG BEFORE GRIEF. + + + Sorrow, my friend, + When shall you come again? + The wind is slow, and the bent willows send + Their silvery motions wearily down the plain. + The bird is dead + That sang this morning through the summer rain! + + Sorrow, my friend, + I owe my soul to you. + And if my life with any glory end + Of tenderness for others, and the words are true, + Said, honoring, when I'm dead,-- + Sorrow, to you, the mellow praise, the funeral + wreath, are due. + + And yet, my friend, + When love and joy are strong, + Your terrible visage from my sight I rend + With glances to blue heaven. Hovering along, + By mine your shadow led, + "Away!" I shriek, "nor dare to work my new-sprung mercies wrong!" + + Still, you are near: + Who can your care withstand? + When deep eternity shall look most clear, + Sending bright waves to kiss the trembling land, + My joy shall disappear,-- + A flaming torch thrown to the golden sea by your pale hand. + + + + + PRIDE: FATE. + + + Lullaby on the wing + Of my song, O my own! + Soft airs of evening + Join my song's murmuring tone. + + Lullaby, O my love! + Close your eyes, lake-like clear; + Lullaby, while above + Wake the stars, with heaven near. + + Lullaby, sweet, so still + In arms of death; I alone + Sing lullaby, like a rill, + To your form, cold as a stone. + + Lullaby, O my heart! + Sleep in peace, all alone; + Night has come, and your part + For loving is wholly done! + + + + + FRANCIE. + + + I loved a child as we should love + Each other everywhere; + I cared more for his happiness + Than I dreaded my own despair. + + An angel asked me to give him + My whole life's dearest cost; + And in adding mine to his treasures + I knew they could never be lost. + + To his heart I gave the gold, + Though little my own had known; + To his eyes what tenderness + From youth in mine had grown! + + I gave him all my buoyant + Hope for my future years; + I gave him whatever melody + My voice had steeped in tears. + + Upon the shore of darkness + His drifted body lies. + He is dead, and I stand beside him, + With his beauty in my eyes. + + I am like those withered petals + We see on a winter day, + That gladly gave their color + In the happy summer away. + + I am glad I lavished my worthiest + To fashion his greater worth; + Since he will live in heaven, + I shall lie content in the earth. + + + + + LOST REALITY. + + + O soul of life, 't is thee we long to hear, + Thine eyes we seek for, and thy touch we dream; + Lost from our days, thou art a spirit near,-- + Life needs thine eloquence, and ways supreme. + More real than we who but a semblance wear, + We see thee not, because thou wilt not seem! + + + + + CLOSING CHORDS. + + + I. + + _Death's Eloquence._ + + + When I shall go + Into the narrow home that leaves + No room for wringing of the hands and hair, + And feel the pressing of the walls which bear + The heavy sod upon my heart that grieves, + (As the weird earth rolls on), + Then I shall know + What is the power of destiny. But still, + Still while my life, however sad, be mine, + I war with memory, striving to divine + Phantom to-morrows, to outrun the past; + For yet the tears of final, absolute ill + And ruinous knowledge of my fate I shun. + Even as the frail, instinctive weed + Tries, through unending shade, to reach at last + A shining, mellowing, rapture-giving sun; + So in the deed of breathing joy's warm breath, + Fain to succeed, + I, too, in colorless longings, hope till death. + + + II. + + _Peace._ + + + An angel spoke with me, and lo, he hoarded + My falling tears to cheer a flower's face! + For, so it seems, in all the heavenly space + A wasted grief was never yet recorded. + Victorious calm those holy tones afforded + Unto my soul, whose outcry, in disgrace, + Changed to low music, leading to the place + Where, though well armed, with futile end awarded, + My past lay dead. "Wars are of earth!" he cried; + "Endurance only breathes immortal air. + Courage eternal, by a world defied, + Still wears the front of patience, smooth and fair." + Are wars so futile, and is courage peace? + Take, then, my soul, thus gently thy release! + + + + + GRACE. + + + Ill-wrought life we look at as we die! + Mistaken, selfish, meagre, and unmeet; + So graven on the hearts that cruelly + We have deprived of many an hour sweet: + O ill-wrought life we look at as we die! + + O day of God we look at as we die! + Grace, like a river flowing toward our feet; + Wide pardon blowing with the breezes by; + Love telling us bright tales of the Complete;-- + While listening, hoping, thanking, lo, we die! + + + + + ENDLESS RESOURCE. + + + New days are dear, and cannot be unloved, + Though in deep grief we mourn, and cling to death; + Who has not known, in living on, a breath + Of infinite joy that has life's rapture proved? + + If I have thought that in this rainbow world + The best we see was but a preface given + Of infinite greater tints in heaven, + And life or no, heaven yet would be unfurl'd,-- + + I did belie the soul-wide joys of earth, + And feelings deep as lights that dwell in seas. + Can heaven itself outlove such depths as these? + Live on! Life holds more than we dream of worth! + + + + + THE BABY. + + + Pray, have you heard the news? + Sturdy in lungs and thews, + There's a fine baby! + Ring bells of crystal lip, + Wave boughs with blossoming tip; + Think what he may be! + + Love cannot love enough, + Winter is never rough + All round such sweetness; + One of a million more + Sent to the glad heart's door + In their completeness! + + Such news is never old, + Though in each ear't is told, + As a first birthday. + Welcome, thou ray of light! + In golden prayers bedight, + Sail down thy mirth-way! + + + + + A Waltz. + + + Delicate gayety, + Strains of a violin; + Graceful steps begin-- + Roses at her waist! + Clouds of sparkling light, + Whispers of lovers alone + As the couples drift one by one + In the golden sheen of the ball. + Alone in the happy crowd + Each pair glides past each pair; + Delicate strains of an air; + Rainbow gayety: + Pride of the moment throbs, + Smiles, on the youthful cheek, + Fearing no ill-wind's freak, + Warm in the heart of the waltz;-- + Moving like melody, + Flowing in light and glee, + Young as the May is she, + Strong as the June I am. + + + + + FIRST BLOOM OF LOVE. + + + O girl of spring! O brown-eyed girl! + Gathering violets near the woods, + Whose coy young petals half unfurl + The mystery of their dulcet moods. + + O blushing girl! O girl of spring! + I hear no answer move the air; + Yet eyelids hovering on the wing + Reveal deep meanings curtained there. + + O girl of spring! O spring of love! + Let silent violets be the speech + From you to me, and let them prove + What maiden silence will not teach! + + + + + A WOOING SONG. + + + O love, I come; thy last glance guideth me! + Drawn, too, by webs of shadow, like thine hair; + For, Sweet, the mystery + Of thy dark hair the deepening dusk hath caught. + In early moonlight gleamings, lo, I see + Thy white hands beckon to the garden, where + Dim day and silvery darkness are inwrought + As our two lives, where, joining soul with soul, + The tints shall mingle in a fairer whole. + Oh! dost thou hear? I call, beloved, I call, + My stout heart trembling till thy words return; + Hope-lifted, I float faster with the fall + Of fear toward joy such fear alone can earn! + + + + + DOROTHY. + + Dear little Dorothy, she is no more! + I have wandered world-wide, from shore to shore, + I have seen as great beauties as ever were wed; + But none can console me for Dorothy dead. + + Dear little Dorothy! How strange it seems + That her face is less real than the faces of dreams; + That the love which kept true, and the lips which so spoke, + Are more lost than my heart, which died not when it broke! + + + + + MORNING SONG. + + + Turn thy face to me, my love, + I come from out the morning; + Give thy hand to me, my love, + I'm dewy from the dawning. + + Touch my lips with thine, my love, + I've tasted air at daybreak; + Gaze into my eyes, my love, + At the sky's waking they wake. + + + + + LOOKING BACKWARD. + + + Gray towers make me think of thee, + Thou girl of olden minstrelsy, + Young as the sunlight of to-day, + Silent as tasselled boughs in May! + + A wind-flower in a world of harm, + A harebell on a turret's arm, + A pearl upon the hilt of fame + Thou wert, fair child of some high name. + + The velvet page, the deep-eyed knight, + The heartless falcon, poised for flight, + The dainty steed and graceful hound, + In thee their keenest rapture found. + + But for old ballads, and the rhyme + And writ of genius o'er the time + When keeps had newly reared their towers, + The winning scene had not been ours. + + O Chivalry! thy age was fair, + When even knaves set out to dare + Their heads for any barbarous crime, + And hate was brave, and love sublime. + + The bugle-note I send so far + Across Time's moors to thee, sweet star, + Where stands thy castle in its mist, + Hear, if the wandering breezes list! + + + + + UNLOVED. + + + Paler than the water's white + Stood the maiden in the shade, + And more silent than the night + Were her lips together laid; + + Eyes she hid so long and still + By lids wet with unshed tears, + Hands she loosely clasped at will, + Though her heart was full of fears. + + Never, never, never more + May her soul with joy be moved; + Silent, silent, silent,--for + He was silent whom she loved. + + + + + THE CLOCK'S SONG. + + + Eileen of four, + Eileen of smiles; + Eileen of five, + Eileen of tears; + Eileen of ten, of fifteen years, + Eileen of youth + And woman's wiles; + Eileen of twenty, + In love's land, + Eileen all tender + In her bliss, + Untouched by sorrow's treacherous kiss, + And the sly weapon in life's hand,-- + Eileen aroused to share all fate, + Eileen a wife, + Pale, beautiful, + Eileen most grave + And dutiful, + Mourning her dreams in queenly state. + Eileen! Eileen!.... + + + + + BROKEN-HEARTED. + + + "Cross my hands upon my breast," + Read her last behest. + "Turn my cheek upon the pillow, + As resting from life's stormy billow + With sleep's fine zest!" + + "Cross my hands upon my breast," + Read her last behest, + "That the patient bones may lie + In form of thanks eternally, + Grimly expressed!" + + We clasped her hands upon her breast: + Oh mockery at misery's hest! + We hid in flowers her body's grief,-- + Counting by many a rose and leaf + Her days unblessed! + + + + + THE CYNIC'S FEALTY. + + + We all have hearts that shake alike + Beneath the arias of Fate's hand; + Although the cynics sneering stand, + These too the deathless powers strike. + + A trembling lover's infinite trust, + To the last drop of doating blood, + Feels not alone the ocean flood + Of desperate grief, when dreams are dust. + + The scornfullest souls, with mourning eyes, + Pant o'er again their ghostly ways;-- + Dread night-paths, where were gleaming days + When life was lovelier than the skies! + + + + + THE GIRLS WE MIGHT HAVE WED. + + + Come, brothers, let us sing a dirge,-- + A dirge for myriad chances dead; + In grief your mournful accents merge: + Sing, sing the girls we might have wed! + + Sweet lips were those we never pressed + In love that never lost the dew + In sunlight of a love confessed,-- + Kind were the girls we never knew! + + Sing low, sing low, while in the glow + Of fancy's hour those forms we trace, + Hovering around the years that go; + Those years our lives can ne'er replace! + + Sweet lips are those that never turn + A cruel word; dear eyes that lead + The heart on in a blithe concern; + White hand of her we did not wed; + + Fair hair or dark, that falls along + A form that never shrinks with time; + Bright image of a realm of song, + Standing beside our years of prime;-- + + When you shall go, then may we know + The heart is dead, the man is old. + Life can no other charm bestow + When girls we might have loved turn cold! + + + + + "NEITHER!" + + + So ancient to myself I seem, + I might have crossed grave Styx's stream + A year ago;-- + My word, 'tis so;-- + And now be wandering with my sires + In that rare world we wonder o'er, + Half disbelieve, and prize the more! + + Yet spruce I am, and still can mix + My wits with all the sparkling tricks, + A youth and girl + At twenty's whirl + Play round each other's bosom fires, + On this brisk earth I once enjoyed:-- + But now I'm otherwise employed! + + Am I a thing without a name; + A sort of dummy in the game? + "Not young, not old:" + A world is told + Of misery in that lengthened phrase; + Yet, gad, although my coat be smooth, + My forehead's wrinkled,--that's the truth! + + I hardly know which road to go. + With youth? Perhaps. With age? Oh no! + Well, then, with those + Who share my woes, + Doomed to mere fashionable ways,-- + Fair matrons, cigarettes, and tea, + Sighs, mirrors, and society? + + Is it a folly still to twirl, + And smirk and promenade and querl + About the town? + I'll put this down: + A man becomes downright _blast_ + Before he knows that he is either + That, or what I am--call it, "Neither." + + Oh, for a hint what we shall do, + We bucks whose comedy is through! + Who'd be sedate? + And yet I hate + To pose persistently to-day + As one just trying flights, you know, + When I _did_ try them long ago! + + Suppose I hurry up the tide + Of age, and bravely drift beside + Those hoary dogs + Who lie like logs + Around the clubs where life is hushed? + My blood runs cold! What? Say farewell + To this year's new bewildering belle! + + Hold, man, the secret broad and huge, + With every well-known subterfuge! + If bald and gray + And thin, still say + You're only thirty: don't be crushed; + But when your voice shakes o'er a pun, + Be off to China:--your day's done! + + + + + USED UP. + + + Hand me my light gloves, James; + I'm off for the waltzing world, + The kingdom of Strauss and that-- + Where is my old crush-hat? + _Is_ my hair properly curled? + Call in the daytime, James. + + Think of me, won't you, James, + When I am rosily twirling + The "Rose of a garden of girls," + The Pearl among circling pearls, + In a mesh of melodious whirling? + Envy me, won't you, James? + + For a heart lost along with her fan, + For a nice sense of honor flown, + For the care of an invalid soul, + And tastes far beyond my control,-- + I have for my precious own + The fame of a "waltzing man." + + If I don't come, come for me, James. + Ah, the waltz is my mastering passion! + The trip-tripping airs are as sweet + As love to my turning feet, + While I clasp the fair doll of fashion, + My _fiancee_. But come for me, James. + + The heart which I lost--it is strange-- + I've been told it will yet be my death; + And I think it quite likely I might + Waltz once too often to-night, + In spite of the music and Beth. + Death's a difficult move to arrange. + + Pray smoke by the fire, old boy, + And find yourself whiskey and books. + If I should not turn up, then, at two + Or three, you will know I need you. + If I'm dead, you must pardon my looks + As I lie in the ball-room, old boy. + + + + + A YOUTH'S SUICIDE. + + + He handed his life a poisoned draught, + With a scornful smile and a cold, cold glance, + And the merry bystanders loudly laughed + (For the rollicking world was gay!). + + He thought she knew not the juice, perchance; + But her tears fell down to her sobbing lips + While the merry-makers turned to the dance + (The world was mocking fate that day!). + + To his life he kissed his finger-tips: + "Drink deep the beaker, and so farewell!" + Then slowly the poisoned draught she sips + (How they laugh at her meek dismay!). + + He sprang to her arm, which loosely fell, + Crying: "No! not yet that dire eclipse!" + Now loud laughed the dancers, and whirled pell-mell + (While the echoes hurried away!). + + The mad world clustered, it seemed, around. + "Farewell!" she sighed, sinking; then from afar + Flowed the pealing laughter and wassail's sound + (For the dead the world will not stay!). + + + + + TWENTY BOLD MARINERS. + + + Twenty bold mariners went to the wave, + Twenty sweet breezes blew over the main; + All were so hearty, so free, and so brave,-- + But they never came back again! + + Half the wild ocean rose up to the clouds, + Half the broad sky scowled in thunder and rain; + Twenty white crests rose around them like shrouds, + And they stayed in the dancing main! + + This is easy to sing, and often to mourn, + And the breaking of dawn is no newer to-day; + But those who die young, or are left forlorn, + Think grief is no older than they! + + + + + IN THE ARTILLERY. + + + We are moving on in silence, + Save for rattling iron and steel, + And a skirmish echoing round us, + Showering faintly, peal on peal. + + Like a lion roars the North wind + As a-horse we sternly clank, + While beside the guns our men drop, + Slyly shot from either flank. + + You are musing, love, and smiling + By the hearth-fire of the Mill, + While the tangled oaks are cracking + Boughs upon the windy hill. + + I can see the moonlight shining + Over fields of frozen calm; + I can hear the chapel organ, + And the singing of the psalm. + + Fare you well, then, English village, + Which of all I loved the most, + Where my ghost alone can wander + Once again, when life is lost. + + Fare you well, then, Sally Dorset; + You will never utter wail + For the soldier dead who loved you + With these tears of no avail! + + I can see your drowsy lashes + Lifting as you hear them read + Prayers in mercy for our souls' shrift + When we come to our last need. + + I forgive you, matchless beauty, + Proudly conscious of your fame, + Loved by many a luckless youngster + Who will ne'er forget your name! + + Merry, though so cold of answer, + With a laughing glance of steel, + How your face swept like a banner, + Blushing down the village reel! + + As you dance before my vision + On this deadly foreign morn, + Death is charmed into the soothing + Of the love you chose to scorn. + + We shall die--our hours are numbered-- + As the sunlight dawns serene + Over yonder mountain ridges, + Rimming round this battle scene. + + I shall die--few will return, dear; + I shall be of those who stay: + England sent us, but a handful, + Among hordes of heathen clay. + + We will show the world how England + Has no dross to spend in war; + When she throws away her soldiers, + They are soldiers to the core. + + You will wake to hear the twitter + Of the early sparrow's note: + I shall lie beneath the heavens, + With the death-grip at my throat! + + + + + THE LOST BATTLE + + + To his heart it struck such terror + That he laughed a laugh of scorn,-- + The man in the soldier's doublet, + With the sword so bravely worn. + + It struck his heart like the frost-wind + To find his comrades fled, + While the battle-field was guarded + By the heroes who lay dead. + + He drew his sword in the sunlight, + And called with a long halloo: + "Dead men, there is one living + Shall stay it out with you!" + + He raised a ragged standard, + This lonely soul in war, + And called the foe to onset, + With shouts they heard afar. + + They galloped swiftly toward him. + The banner floated wide; + It sank; he sank beside it + Upon his sword, and died. + + + + + THE OUTGOING RACE. + + + The mothers wish for no more daughters; + There is no future before them. + They bow their heads and their pride + At the end of the many tribes' journey. + + The mothers weep over their children, + Loved and unwelcome together, + Who should have been dreamed, not born, + Since there is no road for the Indian. + + The mothers see into the future, + Beyond the end of that Chieftain + Who shall be the last of the race + Which allowed only death to a coward. + + The square, cold cheeks, lips firm-set, + The hot, straight glance, and the throat-line, + Held like a stag's on the cliff, + Shall be swept by the night-winds, and vanish! + + + + + HIDDEN HISTORY. + + + I. + + + There was a maiden in a land + Was buried with all honor fine, + For they said she had dared her pulsing life + To save a silent, holy shrine. + + The cannon rode by the church's door, + The men's wild faces flashed in the sun; + The woman had guarded with rifle poised, + While the cassocked priests had run. + + Ah, no! To save her pulsing life + The woman like a reindeer turned, + While hostile armies rolled by her in clouds, + And miles of sun and metal burned. + + But who should know? For she was dead + Before the leathern curtain's wall, + When came her wide-eyed comrades, and found + Her body and her weapon, all. + + + II. + + + There was a woman left to die + Who never told her sacrifice, + But trusted for her crown to God, + As to its value and device. + + No land was prouder for her heart, + No word has echoed long her deed, + And where she has lain, the angel flower + Looks like a common weed. + + + + + A BALLAD OF THE MIST. + + + "I love the Lady of Merle," he said. + "She is not for thee!" her suitor cried. + And in the valley the lovers fought + By the salt river's tide. + + The braver fell on the dewy sward: + The unloved lover returned once more; + In yellow satin the lady came + And met him at the door. + + "Hast thou heard, dark Edith," laughed he grim, + "Poor Hugh hath craved thee many a day? + Soon would it have been too late for him + His low-born will to say. + + "I struck a blade where lay his heart's love, + And voice for thee have I left him none, + To brag he still seeks thee over the hills + When thou and I are one!" + + Fearless across the wide country + Rode the dark Lady Edith of Merle; + She looked at the headlands soft with haze, + And the moor's mists of pearl. + + The moon it struggled to see her pass + Through its half-lit veils of driving gray; + But moonbeams were slower than the steed + That Edith rode away. + + Oh, what was her guerdon and her haste, + While cried the far screech-owl in the tree, + And to her heart crept its note so lone, + Beating tremulously? + + About her a black scarf floated thin, + And over her cheek the mist fell cold, + And shuddered the moon between its rifts + Of dark cloud's silvery fold. + + Oh, white fire of the nightly sky + When burns the moon's wonder wide and far, + And every cloud illumed with flame + Engulfs a shaken star! + + * * * * * + + Bright as comes morning from the hill, + There comes a face to her lover's eyes; + Her love she tells; and he, dying, smiles,-- + And smiles yet in the skies. + + He is dead, and closer breathe the mists; + He is dead, the owlet moans remote; + He is buried, and the moon draws near, + To gaze and hide and float. + + Fearless within the churchyard's spell + The white-browed lady doth stand and sigh; + She loves the mist, and the grave, and the moon, + And the owl's quivering cry. + + + + + THE DREAMING WHEEL. + + + Down slant the moonbeams to the floor + Through the garret's scented air, + And show a thin-spoked spinning-wheel, + Standing ten years and more + Far from the hearth-stone's woe and weal,-- + The ghost of a lost day's care! + + And over the dreaming spinning-wheel, + That has not stirred so long, + The weaving spiders spin a veil, + A silvery shroud for its human zeal + And usefulness, with their fingers pale, + The shadowy lights among. + + See! in the moonlight cold and gray + A thoughtful maiden stands; + And though she blames not overmuch + With her sweet lips the great world's way, + Yet sad and slow she stoops to touch + The still wheel with her hands. + + "Forsaken wheel! when you first came + To clothe young hearts and old, + Our ancestors were glad to wear + Your woof, nor knew the shame + Which later days have bred, to share + The homespun's simple fold! + + "My lover's gone to win for me, + With tender pride and care, + Riches to garnish all our days; + But love thrives in simplicity + As well as in the prouder ways, + If noble thought is there! + + "When our strong grandsires vowed to wed, + Stout knots of wool, and corn, + Were gathered in, and hardly more + Of what will count not when we're dead! + Life brought them to a happy shore, + Who set their sails at dawn. + + "O silent wheel! we weave a sad, + Weak fabric of our days; + The faith that moved thee long is gone; + Forgot, the couple, lass and lad, + Who loved with courage deeply drawn, + Heeding but God's delays! + + "On thy long loneliness the sun + Blazes in dread, the moon + Shines with a pitiless, threatening hue! + And while the golden sand-grains run, + Old age comes nearer; and like you + I may be standing silent--soon! + + "Then turn, my lover, turn your eyes + Back to the humble door; + Waste not the youthful years in hand. + See where the truest comfort lies, + And join the freer old-time band, + Nor crave a worldly store! + + "In Freedom's land let no one know + Even the chain of ease, + Nor bow to royal Luxury's glance. + From peasant-hands fair art can grow; + From the rough brow thought springs with lance + And helmet: God loves these!" + + She wept; then raised her head, and swung + The aged wheel with whispering whir; + And as it turned, it softly sung + (In fancy) this response to her:-- + + "I had not spun the sower's shirt, + I had not kept the children warm, + If I had found a wearing harm + In my monotonous toil alert. + + "To those who wait with eager eyes + And ready hands and tender hearts,-- + They find the giant year, that parts, + Hath forged strong links with paradise! + + "Sigh not that Time doth turn the glass + To let the golden sand-grains run, + While longer shadows of the sun + Fall o'er the spring-time, bonny lass! + + "The circumstances of a life + Are little things compared to it; + The way love's shown is ever fit; + Thank God, who gives us love, not strife! + + "And if I do not stand beside + The hearth, as fifty years ago, + No current of the years that flow + Can rob the radiance from a bride! + + "I know not why the world should change, + I know not why my day is done; + And yet this limit of my zone + Hints of the limit to all range. + + "Man's progress always alters tint, + As mountains move from rose to gray; + Yet like their shapes, love still doth stay + The same, complete,--'tis God's imprint. + + "And yet I dream Time yet may turn + Its wheel to weave the humbler thought, + As in old days. When joy is sought, + Men find it where the hearth-fires burn." + + + + + THE ROADS THAT MEET. + + + ART. + + + One is so fair, I turn to go, + As others go, its beckoning length; + Such paths can never lead to woe, + I say in eager, early strength. + What is the goal? + Visions of heaven, wake; + But the wind's whispers round me roll: + "For you, mistake!" + + + LOVE. + + + One leads beneath high oaks, and birds + Choose there their joyous revelry; + The sunbeams glint in golden herds, + The river mirrors silently. + Under these trees + My heart would bound or break; + Tell me what goal, resonant breeze? + "For you, mistake!" + + + CHARITY. + + + What is there left? The arid way, + The chilling height, whence all the world + Looks little, and each radiant day, + Like the soul's banner, flies unfurled. + May I stand here; + In this rare ether slake + My reverential lips, and fear + No last mistake? + + Some spirits wander till they die, + With shattered thoughts and trembling hands; + What jarred their natures hopelessly + No living wight yet understands. + There is no goal, + Whatever end they make; + Though prayers each trusting step control, + They win mistake. + + This is so true, we dare not learn + Its force until our hopes are old, + And, skyward, God's star-beacons burn + The brighter as our hearts grow cold. + If all we miss, + In the great plans that shake + The world, still God has need of this,-- + Even our mistake. + + + + + A PASSING VOICE. + + "Turn me a rhyme," said Fate, + "Turn me a rhyme: + A swift and deadly hate + Blows headlong towards thee in the teeth of Time. + Write! or thy words will fall too late." + + "Write me a fold," said Fate, + "Write me a fold, + Life to conciliate, + Of words red with thine heart's blood, hotly told. + Then, kings may envy thine estate!" + + "Make thee a fame," said Fate, + "Make thee a fame + To storm the heaven-hung gate, + Unbarred alone to the victorious name + Which has Art's conquerors to mate." + + "Die in thy shame," said Fate, + "Die in thy shame! + Naught here can compensate + But the proud radiance of that glorious flame, + Genius: fade, thou, unconsecrate!" + + + THE END. + + + + + + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's Along the Shore, by Rose Hawthorne Lathrop + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ALONG THE SHORE *** + +***** This file should be named 7056.txt or 7056.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/7/0/5/7056/ + +Produced by Michelle Shephard, Eric Eldred, Charles Franks +and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team. 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You can also find out about how to make a +donation to Project Gutenberg, and how to get involved. + + +**Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts** + +**eBooks Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971** + +*****These eBooks Were Prepared By Thousands of Volunteers!***** + + +Title: Along the Shore + +Author: Rose Hawthorne Lathrop + +Release Date: December, 2004 [EBook #7056] +[Yes, we are more than one year ahead of schedule] +[This file was first posted on March 3, 2003] + +Edition: 10 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: Latin-1 + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ALONG THE SHORE *** + + + + +This eBook was produced by Michelle Shephard, Eric Eldred, +Charles Franks and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team + + + + + +ALONG THE SHORE + +BY ROSE HAWTHORNE LATHROP + + + + +To +G. P. L. + + +We see the sky,--we love it day by day; + We feel the wind of Spring, from blossoms winging; +We meet with souls tender as tints in May: +For these large ecstasies what are we bringing? + +There is no price, best friend, for greatest meed. + Laid on the altar of our true affection, +Wild flowers of love for me must intercede: + And lo! I win your unexcelled protection. + + + + +CONTENTS + + +Inlet And Shore +Impersonality +A Protean Glimpse +Power Against Power +Life's Priestess +Love Now +One And One +The Violin +Gertrude +Unity In Space +The Shell And The Word +The Clock-Tower Bell +Ours To Endure +Broken Waves +Why Sad To-Day? +The Ghosts Of Revellers +Life's Burying-Ground +Beyond Utterance +The Suicide +For Others +Zest +The Unperfected +God-Made +A Song Before Grief +Pride: Fate +Francie +Lost Reality +Closing Chords +Grace +Endless Resource +The Baby +A Waltz +First Bloom Of Love +A Wooing Song +Dorothy +Morning Song +Looking Backward +Unloved +The Clock's Song +Broken-Hearted +The Cynic's Fealty +The Girls We Might Have Wed +"Neither!" +Used Up +A Youth's Suicide +Twenty Bold Mariners +In The Artillery +The Lost Battle +The Outgoing Race +Hidden History +A Ballad Of The Mist +The Dreaming Wheel +The Roads That Meet +A PASSING VOICE + + + + +ALONG THE SHORE. + + + + * * * * * + +INLET AND SHORE. + + +Here is a world of changing glow, + Where moods roll swiftly far and wide; + Waves sadder than a funeral's pride, +Or bluer than the harebell's blow! + +The sunlight makes the black hulls cast + A firefly radiance down the deep; + The inlet gleams, the long clouds sweep, +The sails flit up, the sails drop past. + +The far sea-line is hushed and still; + The nearer sea has life and voice; + Each soul may take his fondest choice,-- +The silence, or the restless thrill. + +O little children of the deep,-- + The single sails, the bright, full sails, + Gold in the sun, dark when it fails, +Now you are smiling, then you weep! + +O blue of heaven, and bluer sea, + And green of wave, and gold of sky, + And white of sand that stretches by, +Toward east and west, away from me! + +O shell-strewn shore, that silent hears + The legend of the mighty main, + And tells to none the lore again,-- +We catch one utterance only: "Years!" + + + + +IMPERSONALITY + + +I dreamed within a dream the sun was gold; + And as I walked beneath this golden sun, +The world was like a mighty play-room old, + Made for our pleasure since it was begun. + +But when I waked I found the sun was air, + The world was air, and all things only seemed, +Except the thoughts we grow by; for in prayer + We change to spirits such as God has dreamed. + + + + +A PROTEAN GLIMPSE. + + +Time and I pass to and fro, +Hardly greeting as we go,-- +Go askant, like crossing wings +Of sea-gulls where the brave sea sings. + +Time, the messenger of Fate! +Cunning master of debate, +Cunning soother of all sorrow, +Ruthless robber of to-morrow; +Tyrant to our dallying feet, +Though patron of a life complete; +Like Puck upon a rosy cloud, +He rides to distance while we woo him,-- +Like pale Remorse wrapped in a shroud, +He brings the world in sackcloth to him! +O dimly seen, and often met +As shadowings of a wild regret! +O king of us, yet feebly served; +Dispenser of the dooms reserved; +So silent at the folly done, +So deadly when our respite's gone!-- +As sea-gulls, slanting, cross at sea, +So cross our rapid flights with thee. + + + + +POWER AGAINST POWER. +[Nathaniel Hawthorne, 1864.] + + +Where spells were wrought he sat alone, +The wizard touching minds of men +Through far-swung avenues of power, +And proudly held the magic pen. + +By the dark wall a white Shape gleams, +By morning's light a Shadow falls! +Is it a servant of his brain, +Or Power that to his power calls? + +By morning's light the Shadow looms, +And watches with relentless eyes; +In night-gloom holds the glimmering lamp, +While the pen ever slower flies. + +By the dark wall it beckons still, +By evening light it darkly stays; +The wizard looks, and his great life +Thrills with the sense of finished days. + +A Shape so ghost-like by the sun, +With smiles that chill as dusks descend! +The glancing wizard, stern and pale, +Admits the presence of the End. + +Health has forsaken, death is near, +The hand moves slower, eyes grow dim; +The End approaches, and the man +Dreams of no spell for quelling Him. + + + + +LIFE'S PRIESTESS. + + +All to herself a woman never sings +A happy song. Oh no! but it is so +As when the thrush has closed down his wings +Within the wood, and hears his hidden woe +From his own bill fill aisles of leaves, and go +About the wood and come to him again. + + + + +LOVE NOW. + + +The sanctity that is about the dead + To make us love them more than late, when here, + Is not it well to find the living dear +With sanctity like this, ere they have fled? + +The tender thoughts we nurture for a loss + Of mother, friend, or child, oh! it were wise + To spend this glory on the earnest eyes, +The longing heart, that feel life's present cross. + +Give also mercy to the living here + Whose keen-strung souls will quiver at your touch; + The utmost reverence is not too much +For eyes that weep, although the lips may sneer. + + + + +ONE AND ONE. + + +The thanking heart can only silence keep; + The breaking heart can only die alone: +Our happy love above abysses deep + Of unguessed power hovers, and is gone! + +Come, take my hand, O friend I take for life! + You cannot reach my soul through touch or gaze; +Be our full lips with infinite meanings rife: + The longed-for words, which of us ever says? + + + + +THE VIOLIN. + + +Touch gently, friend, and slow, the violin, So sweet and low, +That my dreaming senses may be beckoned so +Into a rest as deep as the long past "years ago!" +So softly, then, begin; + +And ever gently touch the violin, +Until an impulse grows of a sudden, like wind +On the brow of the earth, +And the voice of your violin shows its wide-swung girth +With a crash of the strings and a medley of rage and mirth; +And my rested senses spring +Like juice from a broken rind, +And the joys that your melodies bring +I know worth a life-time to win, +As you waken to love and this hour your violin! + + + + +GERTRUDE. +[In Memory: 1877.] + + +What shall I say, my friend, my own heart healing, +When for my love you cannot answer me? +This earth would quake, alas! might I but see +You smile, death's rigorous law repealing! +Pale lips, your mystery so well concealing, +May not the eloquent, varied minstrelsy +Of my inspired ardor potent be +To touch your chords to music's uttered feeling? +Friend, here you cherished flowers: send me now +One ghostly bloom to prove that you are blessed. +No? If denial such as brands my brow +Be in your heavenly regions, too, confessed, +Oh may it prove the truth that your still eyes +Foresee the end of all futurities! + + + + +UNITY IN SPACE. + + +Take me away into a storm of snow + So white and soft, I feel no deathly chill, +But listen to the murmuring overflow + Of clouds that fall in many a frosty rill! + +Take me away into the sunset's glow, + That holds a summer in a glorious bloom; +Or take me to the shadowed woods that grow + On the sky's mountains, in the evening gloom! + +Give me an entrance to the limpid lake + When moonbeams shine across its purity! +A life there is, within the life we take + So commonly, for which 't were well to die. + + + + +THE SHELL AND THE WORLD. + + +The world was like a shell to me,-- +Its voice with distant song was low; +But now its mysteries I know: +I hear the turmoil of the sea. + +The whirling, soft, and tender sound +That meant I knew not what of lore,-- +I dream its mystery now no more: +Its reckless meaning I have found. + +O shell! I held thee to my ears +When I was young, and smiled with pride +To stand aglow at marvel's side! +O world, thy voice is wild with tears! + + + + +THE CLOCK-TOWER BELL. + + +Say not, sad bell, another hour hath come, + Bare for the record of a world of crime; + Toll, rather, friend, the end of hideous Time, +Wherein we bloom, live, die, yet have no home! + +Bell, laurels would we o'er thy pulsing twine, + And sing thee songs of triumph with glad tears, + If to the warring of our haggard years +Thy clang should herald peace along the line! + + + + +OURS TO ENDURE. + + +We speak of the world that passes away,-- + The world of men who lived years ago, + And could not feel that their hearts' quick glow +Would fade to such ashen lore to-day. + +We hear of death that is not our woe, + And see the shadow of funerals creeping + Over the sweet fresh roads by the reaping; +But do we weep till our loved ones go? + +When one is lost who is greater than we, + And loved us so well that death should reprieve + Of all hearts this one to us; when we must leave +His grave,--the past will break like the sea! + + + + +BROKEN WAVES. + + +The sun is lying on the garden-wall, + The full red rose is sweetening all the air, + The day is happier than a dream most fair; +The evening weaves afar a wide-spread pall, + And lo! sun, day, and rose, no longer there! + +I have a lover now my life is young, + I have a love to keep this many a day; + My heart will hold it when my life is gray, +My love will last although my heart be wrung. + My life, my heart, my love shall fade away! + +O lover loved, the day has only gone! + In death or life, our love can only go; + Never forgotten is the joy we know, +We follow memory when life is done: + No wave is lost in all the tides that flow. + + + + +WHY SAD TO-DAY? + + +Why is the nameless sorrowing look + So often thought a whim? +God-willed, the willow shades the brook, + The gray owl sings a hymn; + +Sadly the winds change, and the rain + Comes where the sunlight fell: +Sad is our story, told again, + Which past years told so well! + +Why not love sorrow and the glance + That ends in silent tears? +If we count up the world's mischance, + Grieving is in arrears. + +Why should I know why I could weep? + The old urns cannot read +The names they wear of kings they keep + In ashes; both are dead. + +And like an urn the heart must hold + Aims of an age gone by: +What the aims were we are not told; + We hold them, who knows why? + + + + +THE GHOSTS OF REVELLERS. + + +At purple eyes beside the grain, + Our loves on altars we had burned, +And mixed our tribute with the dew, + Our tears, when rosy dawn returned. + +Our voices we had joined with song + Of bird ecstatic, light, and free; +Our laughter rollicked with the brook + Running through darkness merrily. + +At purple eyes beside the rim + Of frozen lakes our loves we burned, +And slid away when stillness reigned: + Deep the vast woods our bodies urned. + +In starlit night along the shade + Of our dusk tombs our spirits glide; +We hear the echoing of the wind, + We breathe the sighs we living sighed. + + + + +LIFE'S BURYING-GROUND. + + +My graveyard holds no once-loved human forms, + Grown hideous and forgotten, left alone, + But every agony my heart has known,-- +The new-born trusts that died, the drift of storms. + +I visit every day the shadowy grove; + I bury there my outraged tender thought; + I bring the insult for the love I sought, +And my contempt, where I had tried to love. + + + + +BEYOND UTTERANCE. + + +There in the midst of gloom the church-spire rose, +And not a star lit any side of heaven; +In glades not far the damp reeds coldly touched +Their sides, like soldiers dead before they fall; +There in the belfry clung the sleeping bat,-- +Most abject creature, hanging like a leaf +Down from the bell-tongue, silent as the speech +The dead have lost ere they are laid in graves. + +A melancholy prelude I would sing +To song more drear, while thought soars into gloom. +Find me the harbor of the roaming storm, +Or end of souls whose doom is life itself! +So vague, yet surely sad, the song I dream +And utter not. So sends the tide its roll,-- +Unending chord of horror for a woe +We but half know, even when we die of it. + + + + +THE SUICIDE. + + +A shadowed form before the light, +A gleaming face against the night, +Clutched hands across a halo bright +Of blowing hair,--her fixed sight +Stares down where moving black, below, +The river's deathly waves in murmurous silence flow. + +The moon falls fainting on the sky, +The dark woods bow their heads in sorrow, +The earth sends up a misty sigh: +A soul defies the morrow! + + + + +FOR OTHERS. + + +Weeping for another's woe, +Tears flow then that would not flow +When our sorrow was our own, +And the deadly, stiffening blow +Was upon our own heart given +In the moments that have flown! + +Cringing at another's cry +In the hollow world of grief +Stills the anguish of our pain +For the fate that made us die +To our hopes as sweet as vain; +And our tears can flow again! + +One storm blows the night this way, +But another brings the day. + + + + +ZEST. + + +Labor not in the murky dell, +But till your harvest hill at morn; +Stoop to no words that, rank and fell, +Grow faster than the rustling corn. + +With gladdening eyes go greet the sun, +Who lifts his brow in varied light; +Bring light where'er your feet may run: +So bring a day to sorrow's night. + + + + +THE UNPERFECTED. + + +A broken mirror in a trembling hand; + Sad, trembling lips that utter broken thought: +One of a wide and wandering, aimless band; + One in the world who for the world hath naught. + +A heart that loves beyond the shallow word; + A heart well loved beyond its flowerless worth: +One who asks God to answer the prayer heard; + One from the dust returning to the earth. + +Can miracle ne'er make the mirror whole + For one who, seeing, could be nobly bold? +Who could well die, to magnify the soul,-- + Whose strength of love will shake the graveyard's mould? + + + + +GOD-MADE. + + +Somewhere, somewhere in this heart + There lies a jewel from the sea, +Or from a rock, or from the sand, + Or dropped from heaven wondrously. + +Oh, burn, my jewel, in my glance! + Oh, shimmer on my lips in prayer! +Light my love's eyes to read my soul, + Which, wrapt in ashes, yet is fair! + +When dead I lie, forgotten, deep + Within the earth and sunken past, +Still shall my jewel light my dust,-- + The worth God gives us, first and last! + + + + +A SONG BEFORE GRIEF. + + +Sorrow, my friend, +When shall you come again? +The wind is slow, and the bent willows send +Their silvery motions wearily down the plain. +The bird is dead +That sang this morning through the summer rain! + +Sorrow, my friend, +I owe my soul to you. +And if my life with any glory end +Of tenderness for others, and the words are true, +Said, honoring, when I'm dead,-- +Sorrow, to you, the mellow praise, the funeral +wreath, are due. + +And yet, my friend, +When love and joy are strong, +Your terrible visage from my sight I rend +With glances to blue heaven. Hovering along, +By mine your shadow led, +"Away!" I shriek, "nor dare to work my new-sprung mercies wrong!" + +Still, you are near: +Who can your care withstand? +When deep eternity shall look most clear, +Sending bright waves to kiss the trembling land, +My joy shall disappear,-- +A flaming torch thrown to the golden sea by your pale hand. + + + + +PRIDE: FATE. + + +Lullaby on the wing + Of my song, O my own! +Soft airs of evening + Join my song's murmuring tone. + +Lullaby, O my love! + Close your eyes, lake-like clear; +Lullaby, while above + Wake the stars, with heaven near. + +Lullaby, sweet, so still + In arms of death; I alone +Sing lullaby, like a rill, + To your form, cold as a stone. + +Lullaby, O my heart! + Sleep in peace, all alone; +Night has come, and your part + For loving is wholly done! + + + + +FRANCIE. + + +I loved a child as we should love + Each other everywhere; +I cared more for his happiness + Than I dreaded my own despair. + +An angel asked me to give him + My whole life's dearest cost; +And in adding mine to his treasures + I knew they could never be lost. + +To his heart I gave the gold, + Though little my own had known; +To his eyes what tenderness + From youth in mine had grown! + +I gave him all my buoyant + Hope for my future years; +I gave him whatever melody + My voice had steeped in tears. + +Upon the shore of darkness + His drifted body lies. +He is dead, and I stand beside him, + With his beauty in my eyes. + +I am like those withered petals + We see on a winter day, +That gladly gave their color + In the happy summer away. + +I am glad I lavished my worthiest + To fashion his greater worth; +Since he will live in heaven, + I shall lie content in the earth. + + + + +LOST REALITY. + + +O soul of life, 't is thee we long to hear, + Thine eyes we seek for, and thy touch we dream; +Lost from our days, thou art a spirit near,-- + Life needs thine eloquence, and ways supreme. +More real than we who but a semblance wear, + We see thee not, because thou wilt not seem! + + + + +CLOSING CHORDS. + + +I. + +_Death's Eloquence._ + + +When I shall go +Into the narrow home that leaves +No room for wringing of the hands and hair, +And feel the pressing of the walls which bear +The heavy sod upon my heart that grieves, +(As the weird earth rolls on), +Then I shall know +What is the power of destiny. But still, +Still while my life, however sad, be mine, +I war with memory, striving to divine +Phantom to-morrows, to outrun the past; +For yet the tears of final, absolute ill +And ruinous knowledge of my fate I shun. +Even as the frail, instinctive weed +Tries, through unending shade, to reach at last +A shining, mellowing, rapture-giving sun; +So in the deed of breathing joy's warm breath, +Fain to succeed, +I, too, in colorless longings, hope till death. + + +II. + +_Peace._ + + +An angel spoke with me, and lo, he hoarded +My falling tears to cheer a flower's face! +For, so it seems, in all the heavenly space +A wasted grief was never yet recorded. +Victorious calm those holy tones afforded +Unto my soul, whose outcry, in disgrace, +Changed to low music, leading to the place +Where, though well armed, with futile end awarded, +My past lay dead. "Wars are of earth!" he cried; +"Endurance only breathes immortal air. +Courage eternal, by a world defied, +Still wears the front of patience, smooth and fair." +Are wars so futile, and is courage peace? +Take, then, my soul, thus gently thy release! + + + + +GRACE. + + +Ill-wrought life we look at as we die! + Mistaken, selfish, meagre, and unmeet; +So graven on the hearts that cruelly + We have deprived of many an hour sweet: +O ill-wrought life we look at as we die! + +O day of God we look at as we die! + Grace, like a river flowing toward our feet; +Wide pardon blowing with the breezes by; + Love telling us bright tales of the Complete;-- +While listening, hoping, thanking, lo, we die! + + + + +ENDLESS RESOURCE. + + +New days are dear, and cannot be unloved, + Though in deep grief we mourn, and cling to death; + Who has not known, in living on, a breath +Of infinite joy that has life's rapture proved? + +If I have thought that in this rainbow world + The best we see was but a preface given + Of infinite greater tints in heaven, +And life or no, heaven yet would be unfurl'd,-- + +I did belie the soul-wide joys of earth, + And feelings deep as lights that dwell in seas. + Can heaven itself outlove such depths as these? +Live on! Life holds more than we dream of worth! + + + + +THE BABY. + + +Pray, have you heard the news? +Sturdy in lungs and thews, + There's a fine baby! +Ring bells of crystal lip, +Wave boughs with blossoming tip; + Think what he may be! + +Love cannot love enough, +Winter is never rough + All round such sweetness; +One of a million more +Sent to the glad heart's door + In their completeness! + +Such news is never old, +Though in each ear't is told, + As a first birthday. +Welcome, thou ray of light! +In golden prayers bedight, + Sail down thy mirth-way! + + + + +A Waltz. + + +Delicate gayety, +Strains of a violin; +Graceful steps begin-- +Roses at her waist! +Clouds of sparkling light, +Whispers of lovers alone +As the couples drift one by one +In the golden sheen of the ball. +Alone in the happy crowd +Each pair glides past each pair; +Delicate strains of an air; +Rainbow gayety: +Pride of the moment throbs, +Smiles, on the youthful cheek, +Fearing no ill-wind's freak, +Warm in the heart of the waltz;-- +Moving like melody, +Flowing in light and glee, +Young as the May is she, +Strong as the June I am. + + + + +FIRST BLOOM OF LOVE. + + +O girl of spring! O brown-eyed girl! + Gathering violets near the woods, +Whose coy young petals half unfurl + The mystery of their dulcet moods. + +O blushing girl! O girl of spring! + I hear no answer move the air; +Yet eyelids hovering on the wing + Reveal deep meanings curtained there. + +O girl of spring! O spring of love! + Let silent violets be the speech +From you to me, and let them prove + What maiden silence will not teach! + + + + +A WOOING SONG. + + +O love, I come; thy last glance guideth me! + Drawn, too, by webs of shadow, like thine hair; +For, Sweet, the mystery + Of thy dark hair the deepening dusk hath caught. +In early moonlight gleamings, lo, I see + Thy white hands beckon to the garden, where +Dim day and silvery darkness are inwrought + As our two lives, where, joining soul with soul, +The tints shall mingle in a fairer whole. + Oh! dost thou hear? I call, beloved, I call, +My stout heart trembling till thy words return; + Hope-lifted, I float faster with the fall +Of fear toward joy such fear alone can earn! + + + + +DOROTHY. + +Dear little Dorothy, she is no more! +I have wandered world-wide, from shore to shore, +I have seen as great beauties as ever were wed; +But none can console me for Dorothy dead. + +Dear little Dorothy! How strange it seems +That her face is less real than the faces of dreams; +That the love which kept true, and the lips which so spoke, +Are more lost than my heart, which died not when it broke! + + + + +MORNING SONG. + + +Turn thy face to me, my love, +I come from out the morning; +Give thy hand to me, my love, +I'm dewy from the dawning. + +Touch my lips with thine, my love, +I've tasted air at daybreak; +Gaze into my eyes, my love, +At the sky's waking they wake. + + + + +LOOKING BACKWARD. + + +Gray towers make me think of thee, +Thou girl of olden minstrelsy, +Young as the sunlight of to-day, +Silent as tasselled boughs in May! + +A wind-flower in a world of harm, +A harebell on a turret's arm, +A pearl upon the hilt of fame +Thou wert, fair child of some high name. + +The velvet page, the deep-eyed knight, +The heartless falcon, poised for flight, +The dainty steed and graceful hound, +In thee their keenest rapture found. + +But for old ballads, and the rhyme +And writ of genius o'er the time +When keeps had newly reared their towers, +The winning scene had not been ours. + +O Chivalry! thy age was fair, +When even knaves set out to dare +Their heads for any barbarous crime, +And hate was brave, and love sublime. + +The bugle-note I send so far +Across Time's moors to thee, sweet star, +Where stands thy castle in its mist, +Hear, if the wandering breezes list! + + + + +UNLOVED. + + +Paler than the water's white + Stood the maiden in the shade, +And more silent than the night + Were her lips together laid; + +Eyes she hid so long and still + By lids wet with unshed tears, +Hands she loosely clasped at will, + Though her heart was full of fears. + +Never, never, never more + May her soul with joy be moved; +Silent, silent, silent,--for + He was silent whom she loved. + + + + +THE CLOCK'S SONG. + + +Eileen of four, +Eileen of smiles; +Eileen of five, +Eileen of tears; +Eileen of ten, of fifteen years, +Eileen of youth +And woman's wiles; +Eileen of twenty, +In love's land, +Eileen all tender +In her bliss, +Untouched by sorrow's treacherous kiss, +And the sly weapon in life's hand,-- +Eileen aroused to share all fate, +Eileen a wife, +Pale, beautiful, +Eileen most grave +And dutiful, +Mourning her dreams in queenly state. +Eileen! Eileen!.... + + + + +BROKEN-HEARTED. + + +"Cross my hands upon my breast," +Read her last behest. +"Turn my cheek upon the pillow, +As resting from life's stormy billow + With sleep's fine zest!" + +"Cross my hands upon my breast," +Read her last behest, +"That the patient bones may lie +In form of thanks eternally, + Grimly expressed!" + +We clasped her hands upon her breast: +Oh mockery at misery's hest! +We hid in flowers her body's grief,-- +Counting by many a rose and leaf + Her days unblessed! + + + + +THE CYNIC'S FEALTY. + + +We all have hearts that shake alike + Beneath the arias of Fate's hand; + Although the cynics sneering stand, +These too the deathless powers strike. + +A trembling lover's infinite trust, + To the last drop of doating blood, + Feels not alone the ocean flood +Of desperate grief, when dreams are dust. + +The scornfullest souls, with mourning eyes, + Pant o'er again their ghostly ways;-- + Dread night-paths, where were gleaming days +When life was lovelier than the skies! + + + + +THE GIRLS WE MIGHT HAVE WED. + + +Come, brothers, let us sing a dirge,-- +A dirge for myriad chances dead; +In grief your mournful accents merge: +Sing, sing the girls we might have wed! + +Sweet lips were those we never pressed +In love that never lost the dew +In sunlight of a love confessed,-- +Kind were the girls we never knew! + +Sing low, sing low, while in the glow +Of fancy's hour those forms we trace, +Hovering around the years that go; +Those years our lives can ne'er replace! + +Sweet lips are those that never turn +A cruel word; dear eyes that lead +The heart on in a blithe concern; +White hand of her we did not wed; + +Fair hair or dark, that falls along +A form that never shrinks with time; +Bright image of a realm of song, +Standing beside our years of prime;-- + +When you shall go, then may we know +The heart is dead, the man is old. +Life can no other charm bestow +When girls we might have loved turn cold! + + + + +"NEITHER!" + + +So ancient to myself I seem, +I might have crossed grave Styx's stream + A year ago;-- + My word, 'tis so;-- + And now be wandering with my sires +In that rare world we wonder o'er, +Half disbelieve, and prize the more! + +Yet spruce I am, and still can mix +My wits with all the sparkling tricks, + A youth and girl + At twenty's whirl + Play round each other's bosom fires, +On this brisk earth I once enjoyed:-- +But now I'm otherwise employed! + +Am I a thing without a name; +A sort of dummy in the game? + "Not young, not old:" + A world is told + Of misery in that lengthened phrase; +Yet, gad, although my coat be smooth, +My forehead's wrinkled,--that's the truth! + +I hardly know which road to go. +With youth? Perhaps. With age? Oh no! + Well, then, with those + Who share my woes, + Doomed to mere fashionable ways,-- +Fair matrons, cigarettes, and tea, +Sighs, mirrors, and society? + +Is it a folly still to twirl, +And smirk and promenade and querl + About the town? + I'll put this down: + A man becomes downright _blast_ +Before he knows that he is either +That, or what I am--call it, "Neither." + +Oh, for a hint what we shall do, +We bucks whose comedy is through! + Who'd be sedate? + And yet I hate + To pose persistently to-day +As one just trying flights, you know, +When I _did_ try them long ago! + +Suppose I hurry up the tide +Of age, and bravely drift beside + Those hoary dogs + Who lie like logs + Around the clubs where life is hushed? +My blood runs cold! What? Say farewell +To this year's new bewildering belle! + +Hold, man, the secret broad and huge, +With every well-known subterfuge! + If bald and gray + And thin, still say + You're only thirty: don't be crushed; +But when your voice shakes o'er a pun, +Be off to China:--your day's done! + + + + +USED UP. + + +Hand me my light gloves, James; + I'm off for the waltzing world, +The kingdom of Strauss and that-- +Where is my old crush-hat? + _Is_ my hair properly curled? +Call in the daytime, James. + +Think of me, won't you, James, + When I am rosily twirling +The "Rose of a garden of girls," +The Pearl among circling pearls, + In a mesh of melodious whirling? +Envy me, won't you, James? + +For a heart lost along with her fan, + For a nice sense of honor flown, +For the care of an invalid soul, +And tastes far beyond my control,-- + I have for my precious own +The fame of a "waltzing man." + +If I don't come, come for me, James. + Ah, the waltz is my mastering passion! +The trip-tripping airs are as sweet +As love to my turning feet, + While I clasp the fair doll of fashion, +My _fiancée_. But come for me, James. + +The heart which I lost--it is strange-- + I've been told it will yet be my death; +And I think it quite likely I might +Waltz once too often to-night, + In spite of the music and Beth. +Death's a difficult move to arrange. + +Pray smoke by the fire, old boy, + And find yourself whiskey and books. +If I should not turn up, then, at two +Or three, you will know I need you. + If I'm dead, you must pardon my looks +As I lie in the ball-room, old boy. + + + + +A YOUTH'S SUICIDE. + + +He handed his life a poisoned draught, +With a scornful smile and a cold, cold glance, +And the merry bystanders loudly laughed +(For the rollicking world was gay!). + +He thought she knew not the juice, perchance; +But her tears fell down to her sobbing lips +While the merry-makers turned to the dance +(The world was mocking fate that day!). + +To his life he kissed his finger-tips: +"Drink deep the beaker, and so farewell!" +Then slowly the poisoned draught she sips +(How they laugh at her meek dismay!). + +He sprang to her arm, which loosely fell, +Crying: "No! not yet that dire eclipse!" +Now loud laughed the dancers, and whirled pell-mell +(While the echoes hurried away!). + +The mad world clustered, it seemed, around. +"Farewell!" she sighed, sinking; then from afar +Flowed the pealing laughter and wassail's sound +(For the dead the world will not stay!). + + + + +TWENTY BOLD MARINERS. + + +Twenty bold mariners went to the wave, + Twenty sweet breezes blew over the main; +All were so hearty, so free, and so brave,-- + But they never came back again! + +Half the wild ocean rose up to the clouds, + Half the broad sky scowled in thunder and rain; +Twenty white crests rose around them like shrouds, + And they stayed in the dancing main! + +This is easy to sing, and often to mourn, + And the breaking of dawn is no newer to-day; +But those who die young, or are left forlorn, + Think grief is no older than they! + + + + +IN THE ARTILLERY. + + +We are moving on in silence, +Save for rattling iron and steel, +And a skirmish echoing round us, +Showering faintly, peal on peal. + +Like a lion roars the North wind +As a-horse we sternly clank, +While beside the guns our men drop, +Slyly shot from either flank. + +You are musing, love, and smiling +By the hearth-fire of the Mill, +While the tangled oaks are cracking +Boughs upon the windy hill. + +I can see the moonlight shining +Over fields of frozen calm; +I can hear the chapel organ, +And the singing of the psalm. + +Fare you well, then, English village, +Which of all I loved the most, +Where my ghost alone can wander +Once again, when life is lost. + +Fare you well, then, Sally Dorset; +You will never utter wail +For the soldier dead who loved you +With these tears of no avail! + +I can see your drowsy lashes +Lifting as you hear them read +Prayers in mercy for our souls' shrift +When we come to our last need. + +I forgive you, matchless beauty, +Proudly conscious of your fame, +Loved by many a luckless youngster +Who will ne'er forget your name! + +Merry, though so cold of answer, +With a laughing glance of steel, +How your face swept like a banner, +Blushing down the village reel! + +As you dance before my vision +On this deadly foreign morn, +Death is charmed into the soothing +Of the love you chose to scorn. + +We shall die--our hours are numbered-- +As the sunlight dawns serene +Over yonder mountain ridges, +Rimming round this battle scene. + +I shall die--few will return, dear; +I shall be of those who stay: +England sent us, but a handful, +Among hordes of heathen clay. + +We will show the world how England +Has no dross to spend in war; +When she throws away her soldiers, +They are soldiers to the core. + +You will wake to hear the twitter +Of the early sparrow's note: +I shall lie beneath the heavens, +With the death-grip at my throat! + + + + +THE LOST BATTLE + + +To his heart it struck such terror + That he laughed a laugh of scorn,-- +The man in the soldier's doublet, + With the sword so bravely worn. + +It struck his heart like the frost-wind + To find his comrades fled, +While the battle-field was guarded + By the heroes who lay dead. + +He drew his sword in the sunlight, + And called with a long halloo: +"Dead men, there is one living + Shall stay it out with you!" + +He raised a ragged standard, + This lonely soul in war, +And called the foe to onset, + With shouts they heard afar. + +They galloped swiftly toward him. + The banner floated wide; +It sank; he sank beside it + Upon his sword, and died. + + + + +THE OUTGOING RACE. + + +The mothers wish for no more daughters; +There is no future before them. +They bow their heads and their pride +At the end of the many tribes' journey. + +The mothers weep over their children, +Loved and unwelcome together, +Who should have been dreamed, not born, +Since there is no road for the Indian. + +The mothers see into the future, +Beyond the end of that Chieftain +Who shall be the last of the race +Which allowed only death to a coward. + +The square, cold cheeks, lips firm-set, +The hot, straight glance, and the throat-line, +Held like a stag's on the cliff, +Shall be swept by the night-winds, and vanish! + + + + +HIDDEN HISTORY. + + +I. + + +There was a maiden in a land + Was buried with all honor fine, +For they said she had dared her pulsing life + To save a silent, holy shrine. + +The cannon rode by the church's door, + The men's wild faces flashed in the sun; +The woman had guarded with rifle poised, + While the cassocked priests had run. + +Ah, no! To save her pulsing life + The woman like a reindeer turned, +While hostile armies rolled by her in clouds, + And miles of sun and metal burned. + +But who should know? For she was dead + Before the leathern curtain's wall, +When came her wide-eyed comrades, and found + Her body and her weapon, all. + + +II. + + +There was a woman left to die + Who never told her sacrifice, +But trusted for her crown to God, + As to its value and device. + +No land was prouder for her heart, + No word has echoed long her deed, +And where she has lain, the angel flower + Looks like a common weed. + + + + +A BALLAD OF THE MIST. + + +"I love the Lady of Merle," he said. +"She is not for thee!" her suitor cried. +And in the valley the lovers fought + By the salt river's tide. + +The braver fell on the dewy sward: +The unloved lover returned once more; +In yellow satin the lady came + And met him at the door. + +"Hast thou heard, dark Edith," laughed he grim, +"Poor Hugh hath craved thee many a day? +Soon would it have been too late for him + His low-born will to say. + +"I struck a blade where lay his heart's love, +And voice for thee have I left him none, +To brag he still seeks thee over the hills + When thou and I are one!" + +Fearless across the wide country +Rode the dark Lady Edith of Merle; +She looked at the headlands soft with haze, + And the moor's mists of pearl. + +The moon it struggled to see her pass +Through its half-lit veils of driving gray; +But moonbeams were slower than the steed + That Edith rode away. + +Oh, what was her guerdon and her haste, +While cried the far screech-owl in the tree, +And to her heart crept its note so lone, + Beating tremulously? + +About her a black scarf floated thin, +And over her cheek the mist fell cold, +And shuddered the moon between its rifts + Of dark cloud's silvery fold. + +Oh, white fire of the nightly sky +When burns the moon's wonder wide and far, +And every cloud illumed with flame + Engulfs a shaken star! + + * * * * * + +Bright as comes morning from the hill, +There comes a face to her lover's eyes; +Her love she tells; and he, dying, smiles,-- + And smiles yet in the skies. + +He is dead, and closer breathe the mists; +He is dead, the owlet moans remote; +He is buried, and the moon draws near, + To gaze and hide and float. + +Fearless within the churchyard's spell +The white-browed lady doth stand and sigh; +She loves the mist, and the grave, and the moon, + And the owl's quivering cry. + + + + +THE DREAMING WHEEL. + + +Down slant the moonbeams to the floor + Through the garret's scented air, +And show a thin-spoked spinning-wheel, +Standing ten years and more +Far from the hearth-stone's woe and weal,-- + The ghost of a lost day's care! + +And over the dreaming spinning-wheel, + That has not stirred so long, +The weaving spiders spin a veil, +A silvery shroud for its human zeal +And usefulness, with their fingers pale, + The shadowy lights among. + +See! in the moonlight cold and gray + A thoughtful maiden stands; +And though she blames not overmuch +With her sweet lips the great world's way, +Yet sad and slow she stoops to touch + The still wheel with her hands. + +"Forsaken wheel! when you first came + To clothe young hearts and old, +Our ancestors were glad to wear +Your woof, nor knew the shame +Which later days have bred, to share + The homespun's simple fold! + +"My lover's gone to win for me, + With tender pride and care, +Riches to garnish all our days; +But love thrives in simplicity +As well as in the prouder ways, + If noble thought is there! + +"When our strong grandsires vowed to wed, + Stout knots of wool, and corn, +Were gathered in, and hardly more +Of what will count not when we're dead! +Life brought them to a happy shore, + Who set their sails at dawn. + +"O silent wheel! we weave a sad, + Weak fabric of our days; +The faith that moved thee long is gone; +Forgot, the couple, lass and lad, +Who loved with courage deeply drawn, + Heeding but God's delays! + +"On thy long loneliness the sun + Blazes in dread, the moon +Shines with a pitiless, threatening hue! +And while the golden sand-grains run, +Old age comes nearer; and like you + I may be standing silent--soon! + +"Then turn, my lover, turn your eyes + Back to the humble door; +Waste not the youthful years in hand. +See where the truest comfort lies, +And join the freer old-time band, + Nor crave a worldly store! + +"In Freedom's land let no one know + Even the chain of ease, +Nor bow to royal Luxury's glance. +From peasant-hands fair art can grow; +From the rough brow thought springs with lance + And helmet: God loves these!" + +She wept; then raised her head, and swung + The aged wheel with whispering whir; +And as it turned, it softly sung + (In fancy) this response to her:-- + +"I had not spun the sower's shirt, + I had not kept the children warm, + If I had found a wearing harm +In my monotonous toil alert. + +"To those who wait with eager eyes + And ready hands and tender hearts,-- + They find the giant year, that parts, +Hath forged strong links with paradise! + +"Sigh not that Time doth turn the glass + To let the golden sand-grains run, + While longer shadows of the sun +Fall o'er the spring-time, bonny lass! + +"The circumstances of a life + Are little things compared to it; + The way love's shown is ever fit; +Thank God, who gives us love, not strife! + +"And if I do not stand beside + The hearth, as fifty years ago, + No current of the years that flow +Can rob the radiance from a bride! + +"I know not why the world should change, + I know not why my day is done; + And yet this limit of my zone +Hints of the limit to all range. + +"Man's progress always alters tint, + As mountains move from rose to gray; + Yet like their shapes, love still doth stay +The same, complete,--'tis God's imprint. + +"And yet I dream Time yet may turn + Its wheel to weave the humbler thought, + As in old days. When joy is sought, +Men find it where the hearth-fires burn." + + + + +THE ROADS THAT MEET. + + +ART. + + +One is so fair, I turn to go, + As others go, its beckoning length; +Such paths can never lead to woe, + I say in eager, early strength. + What is the goal? + Visions of heaven, wake; + But the wind's whispers round me roll: + "For you, mistake!" + + +LOVE. + + +One leads beneath high oaks, and birds + Choose there their joyous revelry; +The sunbeams glint in golden herds, + The river mirrors silently. + Under these trees + My heart would bound or break; + Tell me what goal, resonant breeze? + "For you, mistake!" + + +CHARITY. + + +What is there left? The arid way, + The chilling height, whence all the world +Looks little, and each radiant day, + Like the soul's banner, flies unfurled. + May I stand here; + In this rare ether slake + My reverential lips, and fear + No last mistake? + +Some spirits wander till they die, + With shattered thoughts and trembling hands; +What jarred their natures hopelessly + No living wight yet understands. + There is no goal, + Whatever end they make; + Though prayers each trusting step control, + They win mistake. + +This is so true, we dare not learn + Its force until our hopes are old, +And, skyward, God's star-beacons burn + The brighter as our hearts grow cold. + If all we miss, + In the great plans that shake + The world, still God has need of this,-- + Even our mistake. + + + + +A PASSING VOICE. + +"Turn me a rhyme," said Fate, + "Turn me a rhyme: +A swift and deadly hate + Blows headlong towards thee in the teeth of Time. +Write! or thy words will fall too late." + +"Write me a fold," said Fate, + "Write me a fold, +Life to conciliate, + Of words red with thine heart's blood, hotly told. +Then, kings may envy thine estate!" + + "Make thee a fame," said Fate, + "Make thee a fame + To storm the heaven-hung gate, + Unbarred alone to the victorious name + Which has Art's conquerors to mate." + + "Die in thy shame," said Fate, + "Die in thy shame! + Naught here can compensate + But the proud radiance of that glorious flame, + Genius: fade, thou, unconsecrate!" + + +THE END. + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's Along the Shore, by Rose Hawthorne Lathrop + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ALONG THE SHORE *** + +This file should be named atshr10.txt or atshr10.zip +Corrected EDITIONS of our eBooks get a new NUMBER, atshr11.txt +VERSIONS based on separate sources get new LETTER, atshr10a.txt + +This eBook was produced by Michelle Shephard, Eric Eldred, +Charles Franks and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team + +Project Gutenberg eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the US +unless a copyright notice is included. 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