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diff --git a/7056.txt b/7056.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..65b440e --- /dev/null +++ b/7056.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: 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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