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diff --git a/old/7ridl10.txt b/old/7ridl10.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..254fe89 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/7ridl10.txt @@ -0,0 +1,2141 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Ride to the Lady, by Helen Gray Cone + +Copyright laws are changing all over the world. Be sure to check the +copyright laws for your country before downloading or redistributing +this or any other Project Gutenberg eBook. + +This header should be the first thing seen when viewing this Project +Gutenberg file. Please do not remove it. Do not change or edit the +header without written permission. + +Please read the "legal small print," and other information about the +eBook and Project Gutenberg at the bottom of this file. Included is +important information about your specific rights and restrictions in +how the file may be used. 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: Ride to the Lady + +Author: Helen Gray Cone + +Release Date: December, 2005 [EBook #9559] +[This file was first posted on October 8, 2003] + +Edition: 10 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: US-ASCII + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK, RIDE TO THE LADY *** + + + + +E-text prepared by Ted Garvin, Josephine Paolucci, and Project Gutenberg +Distributed Proofreaders + + + + + + + +THE RIDE TO THE LADY + +And Other Poems + +BY + +HELEN GRAY CONE + +1891 + + + + + + + +CONTENTS + +The Ride to the Lady + +The First Guest + +Silence + +Arraignment + +The Going Out of the Tide + +King Raedwald + +Ivo of Chartres + +Madonna Pia + +Two Moods of Failure + +The Story of the "Orient" + +A Resurrection + +The Glorious Company + +The Trumpeter + +Comrades + +The House of Hate + +The Arrowmaker + +A Nest in a Lyre + +Thisbe + +The Spring Beauties + +Kinship + +Compensation + +When Willows Green + +At the Parting of the Ways + +The Fair Gray Lady + +The Encounter. + +Summer Hours + +Love Unsung + +The Wish for a Chaplet + +Sonnets: +The Torch Race +To Sleep +Sister Snow +The Contrast +A Mystery +Triumph +In Winter, with the Book we had in Spring +Sere Wisdom +Isolation +The Lost Dryad +The Gifts of the Oak +The Strayed Singer +The Immortal Word + + + + +THE RIDE TO THE LADY + + +"Now since mine even is come at last,-- +For I have been the sport of steel, +And hot life ebbeth from me fast, +And I in saddle roll and reel,-- +Come bind me, bind me on my steed! +Of fingering leech I have no need!" +The chaplain clasped his mailed knee. +"Nor need I more thy whine and thee! +No time is left my sins to tell; +But look ye bind me, bind me well!" +They bound him strong with leathern thong, +For the ride to the lady should be long. + +Day was dying; the poplars fled, +Thin as ghosts, on a sky blood-red; +Out of the sky the fierce hue fell, +And made the streams as the streams of hell. +All his thoughts as a river flowed, +Flowed aflame as fleet he rode, +Onward flowed to her abode, +Ceased at her feet, mirrored her face. +(Viewless Death apace, apace, +Rode behind him in that race.) + +"Face, mine own, mine alone, +Trembling lips my lips have known, +Birdlike stir of the dove-soft eyne +Under the kisses that make them mine! +Only of thee, of thee, my need! +Only to thee, to thee, I speed!" +The Cross flashed by at the highway's turn; +In a beam of the moon the Face shone stern. + +Far behind had the fight's din died; +The shuddering stars in the welkin wide +Crowded, crowded, to see him ride. +The beating hearts of the stars aloof +kept time to the beat of the horse's hoof, +"What is the throb that thrills so sweet? +Heart of my lady, I feel it beat!" +But his own strong pulse the fainter fell, +Like the failing tongue of a hushing bell. +The flank of the great-limbed steed was wet +Not alone with the started sweat. + +Fast, and fast, and the thick black wood +Arched its cowl like a black friar's hood; +Fast, and fast, and they plunged therein,-- +But the viewless rider rode to win, +Out of the wood to the highway's light +Galloped the great-limbed steed in fright; +The mail clashed cold, and the sad owl cried, +And the weight of the dead oppressed his side. + +Fast, and fast, by the road he knew; +And slow, and slow, the stars withdrew; +And the waiting heaven turned weirdly blue, +As a garment worn of a wizard grim. +He neighed at the gate in the morning dim. + +She heard no sound before her gate, +Though very quiet was her bower. +All was as her hand had left it late: +The needle slept on the broidered vine, +Where the hammer and spikes of the passion-flower +Her fashioning did wait. +On the couch lay something fair, +With steadfast lips and veiled eyne; + +But the lady was not there, +On the wings of shrift and prayer, +Pure as winds that winnow snow, +Her soul had risen twelve hours ago. +The burdened steed at the barred gate stood, +No whit the nearer to his goal. +Now God's great grace assoil the soul +That went out in the wood! + + + + +THE FIRST GUEST + + +When the house is finished, Death enters. +_Eastern Proverb_ + +Life's House being ready all, +Each chamber fair and dumb, +Ere life, the Lord, is come +With pomp into his hall,-- +Ere Toil has trod the floors, +Ere Love has lit the fires, +Or young great-eyed Desires +Have, timid, tried the doors; +Or from east-window leaned +One Hope, to greet the sun, +Or one gray Sorrow screened +Her sight against the west,-- +Then enters the first guest, +The House of life being done. + +He waits there in the shade. +I deem he is Life's twin, +For whom the house was made. +Whatever his true name, +Be sure, to enter in +He has both key and claim. + +The daybeams, free of fear, +Creep drowsy toward his feet; +His heart were heard to beat, +Were any there to hear; +Ah, not for ends malign, +Like wild thing crouched in lair, +Or watcher of a snare, +But with a friend's design +He lurks in shadow there! + +He goes not to the gates +To welcome any other, +Nay, not Lord Life, his brother; +But still his hour awaits +Each several guest to find +Alone, yea, quite alone; +Pacing with pensive mind +The cloister's echoing stone, +Or singing, unaware, +At the turning of the stair +Tis truth, though we forget, +In Life's House enters none +Who shall that seeker shun, +Who shall not so be met. +"Is this mine hour?" each saith. +"So be it, gentle Death!" +Each has his way to end, +Encountering this friend. +Griefs die to memories mild; +Hope turns a weaned child; +Love shines a spirit white, +With eyes of deepened light. +When many a guest has passed, +Some day 'tis Life's at last +To front the face of Death. +Then, casements closed, men say: +"Lord Life is gone away; +He went, we trust and pray, +To God, who gave him breath." +Beginning, End, He is: +Are not these sons both His? +Lo, these with Him are one! +To phrase it so were best: +God's self is that first Guest, +The House of Life being done! + + + + +SILENCE + + +Why should I sing of earth or heaven? not rather rest, +Powerless to speak of that which hath my soul possessed,-- +For full possession dumb? Yea, Silence, that were best. + +And though for what it failed to sound I brake the string, +And dashed the sweet lute down, a too much fingered thing, +And found a wild new voice,--oh, still, why should I sing? + +An earth-song could I make, strange as the breath of earth, +Filled with the great calm joy of life and death and birth? +Yet, were it less than this, the song were little worth. + +For this the fields caress; brown clods tell each to each; +Sad-colored leaves have sense whereto I cannot reach; +Spiced everlasting-flowers outstrip my range of speech. + +A heaven-song could I make, all fire that yet was peace, +And tenderness not lost, though glory did increase? +But were it less than this, 't were well the song should cease. + +For this the still west saith, with plumy flames bestrewn; +Heaven's body sapphire-clear, at stirless height of noon; +The cloud where lightnings pulse, beside the untroubled moon. + +I will not sing of earth or heaven, but rather rest, +Rapt by the face of heaven, and hold on earth's warm breast. +Hushed lips, a beating heart, yea, Silence, that were best. + + + + +ARRAIGNMENT + + +"Not ye who have stoned, not ye who have smitten us," cry +The sad, great souls, as they go out hence into dark, +"Not ye we accuse, though for you was our passion borne; +And ye we reproach not, who silently passed us by. +We forgive blind eyes and the ears that would not hark, +The careless and causeless hate and the shallow scorn. + +"But ye, who have seemed to know us, have seen and heard; +Who have set us at feasts and have crowned with the costly rose; +Who have spread us the purple of praises beneath our feet; +Yet guessed not the word that we spake was a living word, +Applauding the sound,--we account you as worse than foes! +We sobbed you our message; ye said, 'It is song, and sweet!'" + + + + +THE GOING OUT OF THE TIDE + + +The eastern heaven was all faint amethyst, +Whereon the moon hung dreaming in the mist; +To north yet drifted one long delicate plume +Of roseate cloud; like snow the ocean-spume. + +Now when the first foreboding swiftly ran +Through the loud-glorying sea that it began +To lose its late gained lordship of the land, +Uprose the billow like an angered man, +And flung its prone strength far along the sand; +Almost, almost to the old bound, the dark +And taunting triumph-mark. + +But no, no, no! and slow, and slow, and slow, +Like a heart losing hold, this wave must go,-- +Must go, must go,--dragged heavily back, back, +Beneath the next wave plunging on its track, +Charging, with thunderous and defiant shout, +To fore-determined rout. + +Again, again the unexhausted main +Renews fierce effort, drawing force unguessed +From awful deeps of its mysterious breast: +Like arms of passionate protest, tossed in vain, +The spray upflings above the billow's crest. +Again the appulse, again the backward strain-- +Till ocean must have rest. + +With one abandoned movement, swift and wild,-- +As though bowed head and outstretched arms it laid +On the earth's lap, soft sobbing,--hushed and stayed, +The great sea quiets, like a soothed child. +Ha! what sharp memory clove the calm, and drave +This last fleet furious wave? + +On, on, endures the struggle into night, +Ancient as Time, yet fresh as the fresh hour; +As oft repeated since the birth of light +As the strong agony and mortal fight +Of human souls, blind-reaching, with the Power +Aloof, unmoved, impossible to cross, +Whose law is seeming loss. + +Low-sunken from the longed-for triumph-mark; +The spent sea sighs as one that grieves in sleep. +The unveiled moon along the rippling plain +Casts many a keen, cold, shifting silvery spark, +Wild as the pulses of strange joy, that leap +Even in the quick of pain. + +And she compelling, she that stands for law,-- +As law for Will eternal,--perfect, clear, +And uncompassionate shines: to her appear +Vast sequences close-linked without a flaw. +All past despairs of ocean unforgot, +All raptures past, serene her light she gives, +The moon too high for pity, since she lives +Aware that loss is not. + + + + +KING RAEDWALD + + +Will you hear now the speech of King Raedwald,--heathen Raedwald, + the simple yet wise? +He, the ruler of North-folk and South-folk, a man open-browed + as the skies, +Held the eyes of the eager Italians with his blue, bold, + Englishman's eyes. + +In his hall, on his throne, so he sat, with the light of the fire + on him full: +Colored bright as the ring of red gold on his hand, fit to buffet + a bull, +Was the mane that grew down on his neck, was the beard he would + pondering pull. + +To the priests, to the eager Italians, thus fearless less he poured + his free speech; +"O my honey-tongued fathers, I turn not away from the faith that ye + teach! +Not the less hath a man many moods, and may ask a religion for each. + +"Grant that all things are well with the realm on a delicate day + of the spring, +Easter month, time of hopes and of swallows! + The praises, the psalms that ye sing, +As in pleasant accord they float heavenward, are good in the ears + of the king. + +"Then the heart bubbles forth with clear waters, to the time + of this wonder-word Peace, +From the chanting and preaching whereof ye who serve the + white Christ never cease; +And your curly, soft incense ascending enwraps my content + like a fleece. + +"But a churl comes adrip from the rivers, pants me out, fallen + spent on the floor, +'O King Raedwald, Northumberland marches, and to-morrow knocks + hard at thy door, +Hot for melting thy crown on the hearth!' + Then commend me to Woden and Thor! + +"Could I sit then and listen to preachments on turning the cheek + to the blow, +And saying a prayer for the smiter, and holding my seen treasure low +For the sake of a treasure unseen? By the sledge of the Thunderer, no! + +"For my thought flashes out as a sword, cleaving counsel as + clottage of cream; +And your incense and chanting are but as the smoke of burnt + towns and the scream; +And I quaff me the thick mead of triumph from enemies' skulls + in my dream! + +"And 'tis therefore this day I resolve me,--for King Raedwald + will cringe not, nor lie!-- +I will bring back the altar of Woden; in the temple will have it, + hard by +The new altar of this your white Christ. As my mood may decide, + worship I!" + +So he spake in his large self-reliance,--he, a man open-browed + as the skies; +Would not measure his soul by a standard that was womanish-weak + to his eyes, +Smite his breast and go on with his sinning,--savage Raedwald, + the simple yet wise! + +And the centuries bloom o'er his barrow. But for us,--have we + mastered it quite, +The old riddle, that sweet is strong's outcome, the old marvel, + that meekness is might, +That the child is the leader of lions, that forgiveness is force + at its height? + +When we summon the shade of rude Raedwald, in his candor how + king-like he towers! +Have the centuries, over his slumber, only borne sterile falsehoods + for flowers? +Pray you, what if Christ found him the nobler, having weighed his + frank manhood with ours? + + + + +IVO OF CHARTRES + + +Now may it please my lord, Louis the king, + Lily of Christ and France! riding his quest, +I, Bishop Ivo, saw a wondrous thing. + + There was no light of sun left in the west, +And slowly did the moon's new light increase. + Heaven, without cloud, above the near hill's crest, +Lay passion purple in a breathless peace. + Stars started like still tears, in rapture shed, +Which without consciousness the lids release. + + All steadily, one little sparkle red, +Afar, drew close. A woman's form grew up + Out of the dimness, tall, with queen-like head, +And in one hand was fire; in one, a cup. + Of aspect grave she was, with eyes upraised, +As one whose thoughts perpetually did sup + At the Lord's table. + + While the cresset blazed, +Her I regarded. "Daughter, whither bent, + And wherefore?" As by speech of man amazed, +One moment her deep look to me she lent; + Then, in a voice of hymn-like, solemn fall, +Calm, as by role, she spake out her intent: + + "I in my cruse bear water, wherewithal +To quench the flames of Hell; and with my fire + I Paradise would burn: that hence no small +Fear shall impel, and no mean hope shall hire, + Men to serve God as they have served of yore; +But to his will shall set their whole desire, + For love, love, love alone, forevermore!" + +And "love, love, love," rang round her as she passed + From sight, with mystic murmurs o'er and o'er +Reverbed from hollow heaven, as from some vast, + Deep-colored, vaulted, ocean-answering shell. + +I, Ivo, had no power to ban or bless, + But was as one withholden by a spell. +Forward she fared in lofty loneliness, +Urged on by an imperious inward stress, + To waste fair Eden, and to drown fierce Hell. + + + + +MADONNA PIA + + +Ricordati di me, che son la Pia. +Siena mi fe; disfecomi Maremma; +Salsi colui, che, inanellata pria, +Disposato m'avea colla sua gemma. + +_Purgatorio_, Canto V. + + +To westward lies the unseen sea, + Blue sea the live winds wander o'er. +The many-colored sails can flee, + And leave the dead, low-lying shore. +Her longing does not seek the main, + Her face turns northward first at morn; +There, crowning all the wide champaign, + Siena stood, where she was born. + +Siena stands, and still shall stand; + She ne'er shall see or town or tower. +Warm life and beauty, hand in hand, + Steal farther from her hour by hour. +Yet forth she leans, with trembling knees, + And northward will she stare and stare +Through that thick wall of cypress-trees, + And sigh adown the stirless air: + +"Shall no remembrance in Siena linger + Of me, once fair, whom slow Maremma slays? +As well he knows, whose ring upon my finger + Hath sealed for his alone mine earthly days!" + +From wilds where shudders through the weeds + The dull, mean-headed, silent snake, +Like voiceless doubt that creeps and breeds; + From swamps where sluggish waters take, +As lives unblest a passing love, + The flag-flower's image in the spring, +Or seem, when flits the bird above, + To stir within with shadowed wing, + +A Presence mounts in pallid mist + To fold her close: she breathes its breath; +She waxes wan, by Fever kissed, + Who weds her for his master, Death, +Aside are set her dimmed hopes all, + She counts no more the uncurrent hoard; +On gray Death's neck she fain would fall, + To own him for her proper lord. + +She minds the journey here by night: + When some red sudden torch would blaze, +She saw by fits, with childish fright, + The cork-trees twist beside the ways. +Like dancing demon shapes they showed, + With malice drunk; the bat beat by, +The owlet sobbed; on, on they rode, + She knew not where, she knows not why. + +For Nello--when in piteous wise + She lifted up her look to ask, +Except the ever-burning eyes + His face was like a marble mask. +And so it always meets her now; + The tomb wherein at last he lies +Shall bear such carven lips and brow, + All save the ever-burning eyes. + +Perchance it is his form alone + Doth stroke his hound, at meat doth sit, +And, for the soul that was his own, + A fiend awhile inhabits it; +While he sinks through the fiery throng, + Down, to fill an evil bond, +Since false conceit of others' wrong + Hath wrought him to a sin beyond. + +But she--if when her years were glad + Vain fluttering thoughts were hers, that hid +Behind that gracious fame she had; + If e'er observance hard she did +That sinful men might call her saint,-- + White-handed Pia, dovelike-eyed,-- +The sick blank hours shall yet acquaint + Her heart with all her blameful pride. + +And Death shall find her kneeling low, + And lift her to the porphyry stair, +And she from ledge to ledge shall go, + Stayed by the staff of that last prayer, +Until the high, sweet-singing wood + Whence folk are rapt to heaven, she win; +Therein the unpardoned never stood, + Nor may one Sorrow nest therein. + +But through the Tuscan land shall beat + Her Sorrow, like a wounded bird; +And if her suit at Mary's feet + Avail, its moan shall yet be heard +By some just poet, who shall shed, + Whate'er the theme that leads his rhyme +Bright words like tears above her, dead, + Entreating of the after time: + +"Among you let her mournful memory linger! + Siena bare her, whom Maremma slew; +And this dark lord, who gave her maiden finger + His ancient gem, the secret only knew." + + + + +TWO MOODS OF FAILURE + +I + +THE LAST CUP OF CANARY + +Sir Harry Lovelock, 1645 + + +So, the powder's low, and the larder's clean, + And surrender drapes, with its black impending, +All the stage for a sorry and sullen scene: + Yet indulge me my whim of a madcap ending! + +Let us once more fill, ere the final chill, + Every vein with the glow of the rich canary! +Since the sweet hot liquor of life's to spill, + Of the last of the cellar what boots be chary? + +Then hear the conclusion: I'll yield my breath, + But my leal old house and my good blade never! +Better one bitter kiss on the lips of Death + Than despoiled Defeat as a wife forever! + +Let the faithful fire hold the walls in ward + Till the roof-tree crash! Be the smoke once riven +While we flash from the gate like a single sword, + True steel to the hilt, though in dull earth driven! + +Do you frown, Sir Richard, above your ruff, + In the Holbein yonder? My deed ensures you! +For the flame like a fencer shall give rebuff + To your blades that blunder, you Roundhead boors, you! + +And my ladies, a-row on the gallery wall, + Not a sing-song sergeant or corporal sainted +Shall pierce their breasts with his Puritan ball, + To annul the charms of the flesh, though painted! + +I have worn like a jewel the life they gave; + As the ring in mine ear I can lightly lose it, +If my days be done, why, my days were brave! + If the end arrive, I as master choose it! + +Then fill to the brim, and a health, I say, + To our liege King Charles, and I pray God bless him! +'T would amend worse vintage to drink dismay + To the clamorous mongrel pack that press him! + +And a health to the fair women, past recall, + That like birds astray through the heart's hall flitted; +To the lean devil Failure last of all, + And the lees in his beard for a fiend outwitted! + + +II + +THE YOUNG MAN CHARLES STUART REVIEWETH THE TROOPS ON BLACKHEATH + +(Private Constant-in-Tribulation Joyce, _May_, 1660) + + +We were still as a wood without wind; as 't were set by a spell +Stayed the gleam on the steel cap, the glint on the slant petronel. +He to left of me drew down his grim grizzled lip with his teeth,-- +I remember his look; so we grew like dumb trees on the heath. + +But the people,--the people were mad as with store of new wine; +Oh, they cheered him, they capped him, they roared as he rode + down the line: +He that fled us at Worcester, the boy, the green brier-shoot, the son +Of the Stuart on whom for his sin the great judgment was done! + +Swam before us the field of our shame, and our souls walked afar; +Saw the glory, the blaze of the sun bursting over Dunbar; +Saw the faces of friends, in the morn riding jocund to fight; +Saw the stern pallid faces again, as we saw them at night! + +"O ye blessed, who died in the Lord! would to God that we too +Had so passed, only sad that we ceased his high justice to do, +With the words of the psalm on our lips that from Israel's once came, +How the Lord is a strong man of war; yea, the Lord is his name! + +"Not for us, not for us! who have served for his kingdom seven years, +Yea, and yet other seven have we served, sweating blood, bleeding +tears, +For the kingdom of God and the saints! Rachel's beauty made bold, +Yet we bear but a Leah at last to a hearth that is cold!" + +Burned the fire while I mused, while I gloomed; in the end came a call; +Settled o'er me a calm like a cloud, spake a voice still and small: +"Take thou Leah to bride, take thou Failure to bed and to board! +Thou shalt rear up new strengths at her knees; she is given + of the Lord! + +"If with weight of his right hand, with power, he denieth to deal, +And the smoke clouds, and thunders of guns, and the lightnings + of steel, +Shall the cool silent dews of his grace, in a season of peace, +Not descend on the land, as of old, for a sign, on the fleece? + +"Hath he cleft not the rock, to the yield of a stream that is sweet? +Hath he set in the ribs of the lion no honey for meat? +Can he bring not delight to the desert, and buds to the rod? +He will shine, he will visit his vine; he hath sworn, he is God!" + +Then I thought of the gate I rode through on the roan that's + long dead,-- +I remember the dawn was but pale, and the stars overhead; +Of the babe that is grown to a maid, and of Martha, my wife, +And the spring on the wolds far away, and gave thanks for my life! + + + + +THE STORY OF THE "ORIENT" + + +'T was a pleasant Sunday morning while the spring was in its glory, +English spring of gentle glory; smoking by his cottage door, +Florid-faced, the man-o'-war's-man told his white-head boy the story, +Noble story of Aboukir, told a hundred times before. + +"Here, the _Theseus_--here, the _Vanguard_;" as he spoke + each name sonorous,-- +_Minotaur, Defence, Majestic_, stanch old comrades of the brine, +That against the ships of Brucys made their broadsides roar + in chorus,-- +Ranging daisies on his doorstone, deft he mapped the battle-line. + +Mapped the curve of tall three-deckers, deft as might + a man left-handed, +Who had given an arm to England later on at Trafalgar. +While he poured the praise of Nelson to the child with eyes expanded, +Bright athwart his honest forehead blushed the scarlet cutlass-scar. + +For he served aboard the _Vanguard_, saw the Admiral blind and bleeding +Borne below by silent sailors, borne to die as then they deemed. +Every stout heart sick but stubborn, fought the sea-dogs on unheeding, +Guns were cleared and manned and cleared, the battle thundered, + flashed, and screamed. + +Till a cry swelled loud and louder,--towered on fire the + _Orient_ stately, +Brucys' flag-ship, she that carried guns a hundred and a score; +Then came groping up the hatchway he they counted dead but lately, +Came the little one-armed Admiral to guide the fight once more. + +"'Lower the boats!' was Nelson's order."-- + But the listening boy beside him, +Who had followed all his motions with an eager wide blue eye, +Nursed upon the name of Nelson till he half had deified him, +Here, with childhood's crude consistence, broke the tale + to question "Why?" + +For by children facts go streaming in a throng that never pauses, +Noted not, till, of a sudden, thought, a sunbeam, gilds the motes, +All at once the known words quicken, and the child would deal + with causes. +Since to kill the French was righteous, why bade Nelson lower + the boats? + +Quick the man put by the question. "But the _Orient_, none + could save her; +We could see the ships, the ensigns, clear as daylight by the flare; +And a many leaped and left her; but, God rest 'em! some were braver; +Some held by her, firing steady till she blew to God knows where." + +At the shock, he said, the _Vanguard_ shook through all + her timbers oaken; +It was like the shock of Doomsday,--not a tar but shuddered hard. +All was hushed for one strange moment; then that awful calm was broken +By the heavy plash that answered the descent of mast and yard. + +So, her cannon still defying, and her colors flaming, flying, +In her pit her wounded helpless, on her deck her Admiral dead, +Soared the _Orient_ into darkness with her living and her dying: +"Yet our lads made shift to rescue three-score souls," the seaman said. + +Long the boy with knit brows wondered o'er that friending + of the foeman; +Long the man with shut lips pondered; powerless he to tell the cause +Why the brother in his bosom that desired the death of no man, +In the crash of battle wakened, snapped the bonds of hate like straws. + +While he mused, his toddling maiden drew the daisies to a posy; +Mild the bells of Sunday morning rang across the church-yard sod; +And, helped on by tender hands, with sturdy feet all bare and rosy, +Climbed his babe to mother's breast, as climbs the slow world + up to God. + + + +A RESURRECTION + + +_Neither would they be persuaded, though one rose from the dead_. + +I was quick in the flesh, was warm, and the live heart shook my breast; + In the market I bought and sold, in the temple I bowed my head. +I had swathed me in shows and forms, and was honored above the rest + For the sake of the life I lived; nor did any esteem me dead. + +But at last, when the hour was ripe--was it sudden-remembered word? + Was it sight of a bird that mounted, or sound of a strain that + stole? +I was 'ware of a spell that snapped, of an inward strength that + stirred, + Of a Presence that filled that place; and it shone, and I knew + my Soul. + +And the dream I had called my life was a garment about my feet, + For the web of the years was rent with the throe of a + yearning strong. +With a sweep as of winds in heaven, with a rush as of flames that meet, + The Flesh and the Spirit clasped; and I cried, "Was I dead so long?" + +I had glimpse of the Secret, flashed through the symbol obscure + and mean, + And I felt as a fire what erst I repeated with lips of clay; +And I knew for the things eternal the things eye hath not seen; + Yea, the heavens and the earth shall pass; but they never + shall pass away. + +And the miracle on me wrought, in the streets I would straight + make known: + "When this marvel of mine is heard, without cavil shall men receive +Any legend of haloed saint, staring up through the sealed stone!" + So I spake in the trodden ways; but behold, there would none believe! + + + + +THE GLORIOUS COMPANY + + +"Faces, faces, faces of the streaming marching surge, + Streaming on the weary road, toward the awful steep, +Whence your glow and glory, as ye set to that sharp verge, + Faces lit as sunlit stars, shining as ye sweep? + +"Whence this wondrous radiance that ye somehow catch and cast, + Faces rapt, that one discerns 'mid the dusky press +Herding in dull wonder, gathering fearful to the Vast? + Surely all is dark before, night of nothingness!" + +_Lo, the Light!_ (they answer) _O the pure, + the pulsing Light, + Beating like a heart of life, like a heart of love, +Soaring, searching, filling all the breadth and depth and height, + Welling, whelming with its peace worlds below, above!_ + +"O my soul, how art thou to that living Splendor blind, + Sick with thy desire to see even as these men see!-- +Yet to look upon them is to know that God hath shined: + Faces lit as sunlit stars, be all my light to me!" + + + + +THE TRUMPETER + + +Two ships, alone in sky and sea, + Hang clinched, with crash and roar; +There is but one--whiche'er it be-- + Will ever come to shore. + +And will it be the grim black bulk, + That towers so evil now? +Or will it be The Grace of God, + With the angel at her prow? + +The man that breathes the battle's breath + May live at last to know; +But the trumpeter lies sick to death + In the stifling dark below. + +He hears the fight above him rave; + He fears his mates must yield; +He lies as in a narrow grave + Beneath a battle-field. + +His fate will fall before the ship's, + Whate'er the ship betide; +He lifts the trumpet to his lips + As though he kissed a bride. + +"Now blow thy best, blow thy last, + My trumpet, for the Right!"-- +He has sent his soul in one strong blast, + To hearten them that fight. + + + + +COMRADES + + +"Oh, whither, whither, rider toward the west?" + "And whither, whither, rider toward the east?" +"I rode we ride upon the same high quest, + Whereon who enters may not be released; + +"To seek the Cup whose form none ever saw,-- + A nobler form than e'er was shapen yet, +Though million million cups without a flaw, + Afire with gems, on princes' boards are set; + +"To seek the Wine whereof none ever had + One draught, though many a generous wine flows free,-- +The spiritual blood that shall make glad + The hearts of mighty men that are to be." + +"But shall one find it, brother? Where I ride, + Men mock and stare, who never had the dream, +Yet hope within my breast has never died." + "Nor ever died in mine that trembling gleam." + +"Eastward, I deem: the sun and all good things + Are born to bless us of the Orient old." +"Westward, I deem: an untried ocean sings + Against that coast, 'New shores await the bold.'" + +"God speed or thee or me, so coming men + But have the Cup!" "God speed!"--Not once before +Their eyes had met, nor ever met again, + Yet were they loving comrades evermore. + + + + +THE HOUSE OF HATE + + +Mine enemy builded well, with the soft blue hills in sight; +But betwixt his house and the hills I builded a house for spite: +And the name thereof I set in the stone-work over the gate, +With a carving of bats and apes; and I called it the House of Hate. + +And the front was alive with masks of malice and of despair; +Horned demons that leered in stone, and women with serpent hair; +That whenever his glance would rest on the soft hills far and blue, +It must fall on mine evil work, and my hatred should pierce + him through. + +And I said, "I will dwell herein, for beholding my heart's desire +On my foe;" and I knelt, and fain had brightened the hearth with fire; +But the brands they would hiss and die, as with curses a strangled man, +And the hearth was cold from the day that the House of Hate began. + +And I called at the open door, "Make ye merry, all friends of mine, +In the hall of my House of Hate, where is plentiful store and wine. +We will drink unhealth together unto him I have foiled and fooled!" +And they stared and they passed me by; but I scorned to be thereby + schooled. + +And I ordered my board for feast; and I drank, in the topmost seat, +Choice grape from a curious cup; and the first it was wonder-sweet; +But the second was bitter indeed, and the third was bitter and black, +And the gloom of the grave came on me, and I cast the cup to wrack. + +Alone, I was stark alone, and the shadows were each a fear; +And thinly I laughed, but once, for the echoes were strange to hear; +And the wind in the hallways howled as a green-eyed wolf might cry, +And I heard my heart: I must look on the face of a man, or die! + +So I crept to my mirrored face, and I looked, and I saw it grown +(By the light in my shaking hand) to the like of the masks of stone; +And with horror I shrieked aloud as I flung my torch and fled, +And a fire-snake writhed where it fell; and at midnight + the sky was red. + +And at morn, when the House of Hate was a ruin, despoiled of flame, +I fell at mine enemy's feet, and besought him to slay my shame; +But he looked in mine eyes and smiled, and his eyes were + calm and great: +"You rave, or have dreamed," he said; "I saw not your House of Hate." + + + + +THE ARROWMAKER + + +Day in, day out, or sun or rain, +Or sallow leaf, or summer grain, +Beneath a wintry morning moon +Or through red smouldering afternoon, +With simple joy, with careful pride, +He plies the craft he long has plied: +To shape the stave, to set the sting, +To fit the shaft with irised wing; +And farers by may hear him sing, + For still his door is wide: + "Laugh and sigh, live and die,-- + The world swings round; I know not, I, + If north or south mine arrows fly!" + +And sometimes, while he works, he dreams, +And on his soul a vision gleams: +Some storied field fought long ago, +Where arrows fell as thick as snow. +His breath comes fast, his eyes grow bright, +To think upon that ancient fight. +Oh, leaping from the strained string +Against an armored Wrong to ring, +Brave the songs that arrows sing! + He weighs the finished flight: + "Live and die; by and by + The sun kills dark; I know not, I, + In what good fight mine arrows fly!" + +Or at the gray hour, weary grown, +When curfew o'er the wold is blown, +He sees, as in a magic glass, +Some lost and lonely mountain-pass; +And lo! a sign of deathful rout +The mocking vine has wound about,-- +An earth-fixed arrow by a spring, +All greenly mossed, a mouldered thing; +That stifled shaft no more shall sing! + He shakes his head in doubt. + "Laugh and sigh, live and die,-- + The hand is blind: I know not, I, + In what lost pass mine arrows lie! + One to east, one to west, + Another for the eagle's breast,-- + The archer and the wind know best!" + The stars are in the sky; + He lays his arrows by. + + + + +A NEST IN A LYRE + + +As sign before a playhouse serves + A giant Lyre, ornately gilded, +On whose convenient coignes and curves + The pert brown sparrows late have builded. +They flit, and flirt, and prune their wings, + Not awed at all by golden glitter, +And make among the silent strings + Their satisfied ephemeral twitter. + +Ah, somewhat so we perch and flit, + And spy some crumb and dash to win it, +And with a witty chirping twit + Our sheltering Time--there's nothing in it! +In Life's large frame, a glorious Lyre's, + We nest, content, our season flighty, +Nor guess we brush the powerful wires + Might witch the stars with music mighty. + + + + +THISBE + + +The garden within was shaded, + And guarded about from sight; +The fragrance flowed to the south wind, + The fountain leaped to the light. + +And the street without was narrow, + And dusty, and hot, and mean; +But the bush that bore white roses, + She leaned to the fence between: + +And softly she sought a crevice + In that barrier blank and tall, +And shyly she thrust out through it + Her loveliest bud of all. + +And tender to touch, and gracious, + And pure as the moon's pure shine, +The full rose paled and was perfect,-- + For whose eyes, for whose lips, but mine! + + + + +THE SPRING BEAUTIES + + +The Puritan Spring Beauties stood freshly clad for church; +A Thrush, white-breasted, o'er them sat singing on his perch. +"Happy be! for fair are ye!" the gentle singer told them, +But presently a buff-coat Bee came booming up to scold them. + "Vanity, oh, vanity! + Young maids, beware of vanity!" + Grumbled out the buff-coat Bee, + Half parson-like, half soldierly. + +The sweet-faced maidens trembled, with pretty, pinky blushes, +Convinced that it was wicked to listen to the Thrushes; +And when, that shady afternoon, I chanced that way to pass, +They hung their little bonnets down and looked into the grass, + All because the buff-coat Bee + Lectured them so solemnly:-- + "Vanity, oh, vanity! + Young maids, beware of vanity!" + + + + +KINSHIP + + +A lily grew in the tangle, + In a flame red garment dressed, +And many a ruby spangle + Besprinkled her tawny breast. + +And the silken moth sailed by her + With a swift and a snow-white sail; +Not a gilt-girt bee came nigh her, + Nor a fly in his gay green mail. + +And the bronze-brown wings and the golden, + O'er the billowing meadows blown, +Were still as by magic holden + From the lily that flamed alone; + +Till over the fragrant tangle + A wanderer winging went, +And with many a ruby spangle + Were his tawny vans besprent. +And he hovered one moment stilly + O'er the thicket, her mazy bower, +Then he sank to the heart of the lily, + And they seemed but a single flower. + + + + +COMPENSATION + + +The brook ran laughing from the shade, + And in the sunshine danced all day: +The starlight and the moonlight made + Its glimmering path a Milky Way. + +The blue sky burned, with summer fired; + For parching fields, for pining flowers, +The spirits of the air desired + The brook's bright life to shed in showers. + +It gave its all that thirst to slake; + Its dusty channel lifeless lay; +Now softest flowers, white-foaming, make + Its winding bed a Milky Way. + + + + +WHEN WILLOWS GREEN + + +When goldenly the willows green, + And, mirrored in the sunset pool, +Hang wavering, wild-rose clouds between: + When robins call in twilights cool: + What is it we await? + Who lingers and is late? +What strange unrest, what yearning stirs us all +When willows green, when robins call? + +When fields of flowering grass respire + A sweet that seems the breath of Peace, +And liquid-voiced the thrushes choir, + Oh, whence the sense of glad release? + What is it life uplifts? + Who entered, bearing gifts? +What floods from heaven the being overpower +When thrushes choir, when grasses flower? + + + + +AT THE PARTING OF THE WAYS + +(AD COMITEM JUNIOREM) + + +Comrade Youth! Sit down with me +Underneath the summer tree, +Cool green dome whose shade is sweet, +Where the sunny roadways meet, +See, the ancient finger-post, +Silver-bleached with rain and shine, +Warns us like a noon-day ghost: +That way's yours, and this way's mine! +I would hold you with delays +Here at parting of the ways. + +Hold you! I as well might look +To detain the racing brook +With regrets and grievance tender, +As my comrade swift and slender, +Shy, capricious, all of spring! +Catch the wind with blossoms laden, +Catch the wild bird on the wing, +Catch the heart of boy or maiden! + +Yet I'll hold your image fast, +As this hour I saw you last,-- +As with staff in hand you sat, +Soft curls putting forth defiant +From the tilted Mercury's hat, +Wreathen with the wilding grace +Of the fresh-leaved vine and pliant, +Stealing down to see your face. +Eyes of pleasance, lips of laughter, +I shall hoard you long hereafter; +Very dear shall be the days +Ere the parting of the ways! + +Shall you deem them dear, in truth, +Days when we, o'er hill and hollow, +Trudged together, Comrade Youth? +Ah, you dream of days to follow! +Hand in hand we jogged along; +I would fetch from out my scrip, +Crust or jest or antique song,-- +Live and lovely, on your lip, +Such poor needments as I had +Were as yours; you made me glad. +--Lo, the dial! No prayer stays +Time, at parting of the ways! + +This gold memory--rings it true? +Half for me and half for you. +Cleave and share it. Now, good sooth, +God be with you, Comrade Youth! + + + + +THE FAIR GRAY LADY + + +When the charm at last is fled + From the woodland stark and pale, +And like shades of glad hours dead + Whirl the leaves before the gale: + +When against the western fire + Darkens many an empty nest, +Like a thwarted heart's desire + That in prime was hardly guessed: + +Then the fair gray Lady leans, + Lingering, o'er the faded grass, +Still the soul of all the scenes + Once she graced, a golden lass. + +O'er the Year's discrowned sleep, + Dear as in her earlier day, +She her bending watch doth keep, + She the Goldenrod grown gray. + + + + +THE ENCOUNTER + + +There's a wood-way winding high, +Roofed far up with light-green flicker, +Save one midmost star of sky. +Underfoot 'tis all pale brown +With the dead leaves matted down +One on other, thick and thicker; +Soft, but springing to the tread. +There a youth late met a maid +Running lightly,--oh, so fleetly! +"Whence art thou?" the herd-boy said. +Either side her long hair swayed, +Half a tress and half a braid, +Colored like the soft dead leaf, +As she answered, laughing sweetly, +On she ran, as flies the swallow; +He could not choose but follow +Though it had been to his grief. + +"I have come up from the valley,-- +From the valley!" Once he caught her, +Swerving down a sidelong alley, +For a moment, by the hand. +"Tell me, tell me," he besought her, +"Sweetest, I would understand +Why so cold thy palm, that slips +From me like the shy cold minnow? +The wood is warm, and smells of fern, +And below the meadows burn. +Hard to catch and hard to win, oh! +Why are those brown finger tips +Crinkled as with lines of water?" + +Laughing while she featly footed, +With the herd-boy hasting after, +Sprang she on a trunk uprooted, +Clung she by a roping vine; +Leaped behind a birch, and told, +Still eluding, through its fine, +Mocking, slender, leafy laughter, +Why her finger tips were cold: + +"I went down to tease the brook, +With her fishes, there below; +She comes dancing, thou must know, +And the bushes arch above her; +But the seeking sunbeams look, +Dodging through the wind-blown cover, +Find and kiss her into stars. +Silvery veins entwine and crook +Where a stone her tripping bars; +There be smooth, clear sweeps, and swirls +Bubbling up crisp drops like pearls. +There I lie, along the rocks +Thick with greenest slippery moss, +And I have in hand a strip +Of gray, pliant, dappled bark; +And I comb her liquid locks +Till her tangling currents cross; +And I have delight to hark +To the chiding of her lip, +Taking on the talking stone +With each turn another tone. +Oh, to set her wavelets bickering! +Oh, to hear her laughter simple, +See her fret and flash and dimple! +Ha, ha, ha!" The woodland rang +With the rippling through the flickering. +At the birch the herd-boy sprang. + +On a sudden something wound +Vine-like round his throbbing throat; +On a sudden something smote +Sharply on his longing lips, +Stung him as the birch bough whips: +Was it kiss or was it blow? +Never after could he know; +She was gone without a sound. + +Never after could he see +In the wood or in the mead, +Or in any company +Of the rustic mortal maids, +Her with acorn-colored braids; +Never came she to his need. +Never more the lad was merry, +Strayed apart, and learned to dream, +Feeding on the tart wild berry; +Murmuring words none understood,-- +Words with music of the wood, +And with music of the stream. + + + + +SUMMER HOURS + + +Hours aimless-drifting as the milkweed's down + In seeming, still a seed of joy ye bear + That steals into the soul when unaware, +And springs up Memory in the stony town. + + + + +LOVE UNSUNG + + +Seven jewelled rays has the Sun fast bound + In his arrow of blinding sheen; +But he quickens the breast of the fruitful ground + With a subtlest ray unseen. + +And the rainbow moods of this love of ours + I may blend in the song I bring; +But the magic that makes life laugh with flowers + Is the love that I cannot sing. + + + + +THE WISH FOR A CHAPLET + + +Vineleaf and rose I would my chaplet make: +I would my word were wine for all men's sake. +Pure from the pressing of the stainless feet +Of unblamed Hours, and for an altar meet. + +Vineleaf and rose: I would, had I the art, +Distil, to lasting sweet, Joy's rosy heart, +That no sere autumn should its fragrance wrong, +Closed in the crystal glass of slender song. + + + + +SONNETS + + + + +THE TORCH-RACE + + +Brave racer, who hast sped the living light +With throat outstretched and every nerve a-strain, +Now on thy left hand labors gray-faced Pain, +And Death hangs close behind thee on the right. +Soon flag the flying feet, soon fails the sight, +With every pulse the gaunt pursuers gain; +And all thy splendor of strong life must wane +And set into the mystery of night. + +Yet fear not, though in falling, blindness hide +Whose hand shall snatch, before it scars the sod, +The light thy lessening grasp no more controls: +Truth's rescuer, Truth shall instantly provide: +This is the torch-race game, that noblest souls +Play on through time beneath the eyes of God. + + + + +TO SLEEP + + +All slumb'rous images that be, combined, +To this white couch and cool shall woo thee, Sleep! +First will I think on fields of grasses deep +In gray-green flower, o'er which the transient wind +Runs like a smile; and next will call to mind +How glistening poplar-tops, when breezes creep +Among their leaves, a tender motion keep, +Stroking the sky, like touch of lovers kind. + +Ah, having felt thy calm kiss on mine eyes, +All night inspiring thy divine pure breath, +I shall awake as into godhood born, +And with a fresh, undaunted soul arise, +Clear as the blue convolvulus at morn. +--Dear bedfellow, deals thus thy brother, Death? + + + + +SISTER SNOW + + +Praised be our Lord (to echo the sweet phrase +Of saintly Francis) for our sister Snow: +Whose soft, soft coming never man may know +By any sound; whose down-light touch allays +All fevers of worn earth. She clothes the days +In garments without spot, and hence doth go +Her noiseless shuttle swiftly to and fro, +And very pure, and pleasant, are her ways. + +But yesterday, how loveless looked the skies! +How cold the sun's last glance, and unbenign, +Across the field forsaken, russet-leaved! +Now pearly peace on all the landscape lies. +--Wast thou not sent us, Sister, for a sign +Of that vast Mercy of God, else unconceived? + + + + +RETROSPECT + + +"Backward," he said, "dear heart I like to look +To those half-spring, half-winter days, when first +We drew together, ere the leaf-buds burst. +Sunbeams were silver yet, keen gusts yet shook +The boughs. Have you remembered that kind book, +That for our sake Galeotto's part rehearsed, +(The friend of lovers,--this time blessed, not cursed!) +And that best hour, when reading we forsook?" + +She, listening, wore the smile a mother wears +At childish fancies needless to control; +Yet felt a fine, hid pain with pleasure blend. +Better it seemed to think that love of theirs, +Native as breath, eternal as the soul, +Knew no beginning, could not have an end. + + + + +THE CONTRAST + + +He loved her; having felt his love begin +With that first look,--as lover oft avers. +He made pale flowers his pleading ministers, +Impressed sweet music, drew the springtime in +To serve his suit; but when he could not win, +Forgot her face and those gray eyes of hers; +And at her name his pulse no longer stirs, +And life goes on as though she had not been. + +She never loved him; but she loved Love so, +So reverenced Love, that all her being shook +At his demand whose entrance she denied. +Her thoughts of him such tender color took +As western skies that keep the afterglow. +The words he spoke were with her till she died. + + + + +A MYSTERY + + +That sunless day no living shadow swept +Across the hills, fleet shadow chasing light, +Twin of the sailing cloud: but, mists wool white, +Slow-stealing mists, on those heaved shoulders crept, +And wrought about the strong hills while they slept +In witches' wise, and rapt their forms from sight. +Dreams were they; less than dream, the noblest height +And farthest; and the chilly woodland wept. + +A sunless day and sad: yet all the while +Within the grave green twilight of the wood, +inscrutable, immutable, apart, +Hearkening the brook, whose song she understood, +The secret birch-tree kept her silver smile, +Strange as the peace that gleams at sorrow's heart. + + + + +TRIUMPH + + +This windy sunlit morning after rain, +The wet bright laurel laughs with beckoning gleam +In the blown wood, whence breaks the wild white stream +Rushing and flashing, glorying in its gain; +Nor swerves nor parts, but with a swift disdain +O'erleaps the boulders lying in long dream, +Lapped in cold moss; and in its joy doth seem +A wood-born creature bursting from a chain. + +And "Triumph, triumph, triumph!" is its hoarse +Fierce-whispered word. O fond, and dost not know +Thy triumph on another wise must be,-- +To render all the tribute of thy force, +And lose thy little being in the flow +Of the unvaunting river toward the sea! + + + + +IN WINTER, WITH THE BOOK WE READ IN SPRING + + +The blackberry's bloom, when last we went this way, +Veiled all her bowsome rods with trembling white; +The robin's sunset breast gave forth delight +At sunset hour; the wind was warm with May. +Armored in ice the sere stems arch to-day, +Each tiny thorn encased and argent bright; +Where clung the birds that long have taken flight, +Dead songless leaves cling fluttering on the spray. + +O hand in mine, that mak'st all paths the same, +Being paths of peace, where falls nor chill nor gloom, +Made sweet with ardors of an inward spring! +I hold thee--frozen skies to rosy flame +Are turned, and snows to living snows of bloom, +And once again the gold-brown thrushes sing. + + + + +SERE WISDOM + + +I had remembrance of a summer morn, +When all the glistening field was softly stirred +And like a child's in happy sleep I heard +The low and healthful breathing of the corn. +Late when the sumach's red was dulled and worn, +And fainter grew the trite and troublous word +Of tristful cricket, that replaced the bird, +I sought the slope, and found a waste forlorn. + +Against that cold clear west, whence winter peers, +All spectral stood the bleached stalks thin-leaved, +Dry as papyrus kept a thousand years, +And hissing whispered to the wind that grieved, +_It was a dream--we have no goodly ears-- +There was no summer-time--deceived! deceived!_ + + + + +ISOLATION + + +White fog around, soft snow beneath the tread, +All sunless, windless, tranced, the morning lay; +All noiseless, trackless, new, the well-known way. +The silence weighed upon the sense; in dread, +"Alone, I am alone," I shuddering said, +"And wander in a region where no ray +Has ever shone, and as on earth's first day +Or last, my kind are not yet born or dead." + +Yet not afar, meanwhile, there faltered feet +Like mine, through that wide mystery of the snow, +Nor could the old accustomed paths divine; +And even as mine, unheard spake voices low, +And hearts were near, that as my own heart beat, +Warm hands, and faces fashioned like to mine. + + + + +THE LOST DRYAD + +(TO EDITH M. THOMAS) + + +Into what beech or silvern birch, O friend +Suspected ever of a dryad strain, +Hast crept at last, delighting to regain +Thy sylvan house? Now whither shall I wend, +Or by what winged post my greeting send, +Bird, butterfly, or bee? Shall three moons wane, +And yet not found?--Ah, surely it was pain +Of old, for mortal youth his heart to lend +To any hamadryad! In his hour +Of simple trust, wild impulse him bereaves: +She flees, she seeks her strait enmossed bower +And while he, searching, softly calls, and grieves, +Oblivious, high above she laughs in leaves, +Or patters tripping talk to the quick shower. + + + + +A MEMORY + + +Though pent in stony streets, 'tis joy to know, +'Tis joy, although we breathe a fainter air, +The spirit of those places far and fair +That we have loved, abides; and fern-scents flow +Out of the wood's heart still, and shadows grow +Long on remembered roads as warm days wear; +And still the dark wild water, in its lair, +The narrow chasm, stirs blindly to and fro. + +Delight is in the sea-gull's dancing wings, +And sunshine wakes to rose the ruddy hue +Of rocks; and from her tall wind-slanted stem +A soft bright plume the goldenrod outflings +Along the breeze, above a sea whose blue +Is like the light that kindles through a gem. + + + + +THE GIFTS OF THE OAK + +(FOR THE SEVENTIETH BIRTHDAY OF JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL) + + +'There needs no crown to mark the forest's king.' +Thus, long ago thou sang'st the sound-heart tree +Sacred to sovereign Jove, and dear to thee +Since first, a venturous youth with eyes of spring,-- +Whose pilgrim-staff each side put forth a wing,-- +Beneath the oak thou lingeredst lovingly +To crave, as largess of his majesty, +Firm-rooted strength, and grace of leaves that sing. + +He gave; we thank him! Graciousness as grave, +And power as easeful as his own he gave; +Long broodings rich with sun, and laughters kind; +And singing leaves, whose later bronze is dear +As the first amber of the budding year,-- +Whose voices answer the autumnnal wind. + + + + +THE STRAYED SINGER + +(MATTHEW ARNOLD) + + +He wandered from us long, oh, long ago, +Rare singer, with the note unsatisfied; +Into what charmed wood, what shade star-eyed +With the wind's April darlings, none may know. +We lost him. Songless, one with seed to sow, +Keen-smiling toiler, came in place, and plied +His strength in furrowed field till eventide, +And passed to slumber when the sun was low. + +But now,--as though Death spoke some mystic word +Solving a spell,--present to thought appears +The morn's estray, not him we saw but late; +And on his lips the strain that once we heard, +And in his hand, cool as with Springtime's tears, +The melancholy wood-flowers delicate. + + + + +THE IMMORTAL WORD + + +One soiled and shamed and foiled in this world's fight, +Deserter from the host of God, that here +Still darkly struggles,--waked from death in fear, +And strove to screen his forehead from the white +And blinding glory of the awful Light, +The revelation and reproach austere. +Then with strong hand outstretched a Shape drew near, +Bright-browed, majestic, armored like a knight. + +"Great Angel, servant of the Highest, why +Stoop'st thou to me?" although his lips were mute, +His eyes inquired. The Shining One replied: +"Thy Book, thy birth, life of thy life am I, +Son of thy soul, thy youth's forgotten fruit. +We two go up to judgment side by side." + + + + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK, RIDE TO THE LADY *** + +This file should be named 7ridl10.txt or 7ridl10.zip +Corrected EDITIONS of our eBooks get a new NUMBER, 7ridl11.txt +VERSIONS based on separate sources get new LETTER, 7ridl10a.txt + +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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Do not change or edit the +header without written permission. + +Please read the "legal small print," and other information about the +eBook and Project Gutenberg at the bottom of this file. Included is +important information about your specific rights and restrictions in +how the file may be used. 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: Ride to the Lady + +Author: Helen Gray Cone + +Release Date: December, 2005 [EBook #9559] +[This file was first posted on October 8, 2003] + +Edition: 10 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK, RIDE TO THE LADY *** + + + + +E-text prepared by Ted Garvin, Josephine Paolucci, and Project Gutenberg +Distributed Proofreaders + + + + + + + +THE RIDE TO THE LADY + +And Other Poems + +BY + +HELEN GRAY CONE + +1891 + + + + + + + +CONTENTS + +The Ride to the Lady + +The First Guest + +Silence + +Arraignment + +The Going Out of the Tide + +King Raedwald + +Ivo of Chartres + +Madonna Pia + +Two Moods of Failure + +The Story of the "Orient" + +A Resurrection + +The Glorious Company + +The Trumpeter + +Comrades + +The House of Hate + +The Arrowmaker + +A Nest in a Lyre + +Thisbe + +The Spring Beauties + +Kinship + +Compensation + +When Willows Green + +At the Parting of the Ways + +The Fair Gray Lady + +The Encounter. + +Summer Hours + +Love Unsung + +The Wish for a Chaplet + +Sonnets: +The Torch Race +To Sleep +Sister Snow +The Contrast +A Mystery +Triumph +In Winter, with the Book we had in Spring +Sere Wisdom +Isolation +The Lost Dryad +The Gifts of the Oak +The Strayed Singer +The Immortal Word + + + + +THE RIDE TO THE LADY + + +"Now since mine even is come at last,-- +For I have been the sport of steel, +And hot life ebbeth from me fast, +And I in saddle roll and reel,-- +Come bind me, bind me on my steed! +Of fingering leech I have no need!" +The chaplain clasped his mailed knee. +"Nor need I more thy whine and thee! +No time is left my sins to tell; +But look ye bind me, bind me well!" +They bound him strong with leathern thong, +For the ride to the lady should be long. + +Day was dying; the poplars fled, +Thin as ghosts, on a sky blood-red; +Out of the sky the fierce hue fell, +And made the streams as the streams of hell. +All his thoughts as a river flowed, +Flowed aflame as fleet he rode, +Onward flowed to her abode, +Ceased at her feet, mirrored her face. +(Viewless Death apace, apace, +Rode behind him in that race.) + +"Face, mine own, mine alone, +Trembling lips my lips have known, +Birdlike stir of the dove-soft eyne +Under the kisses that make them mine! +Only of thee, of thee, my need! +Only to thee, to thee, I speed!" +The Cross flashed by at the highway's turn; +In a beam of the moon the Face shone stern. + +Far behind had the fight's din died; +The shuddering stars in the welkin wide +Crowded, crowded, to see him ride. +The beating hearts of the stars aloof +kept time to the beat of the horse's hoof, +"What is the throb that thrills so sweet? +Heart of my lady, I feel it beat!" +But his own strong pulse the fainter fell, +Like the failing tongue of a hushing bell. +The flank of the great-limbed steed was wet +Not alone with the started sweat. + +Fast, and fast, and the thick black wood +Arched its cowl like a black friar's hood; +Fast, and fast, and they plunged therein,-- +But the viewless rider rode to win, +Out of the wood to the highway's light +Galloped the great-limbed steed in fright; +The mail clashed cold, and the sad owl cried, +And the weight of the dead oppressed his side. + +Fast, and fast, by the road he knew; +And slow, and slow, the stars withdrew; +And the waiting heaven turned weirdly blue, +As a garment worn of a wizard grim. +He neighed at the gate in the morning dim. + +She heard no sound before her gate, +Though very quiet was her bower. +All was as her hand had left it late: +The needle slept on the broidered vine, +Where the hammer and spikes of the passion-flower +Her fashioning did wait. +On the couch lay something fair, +With steadfast lips and veiled eyne; + +But the lady was not there, +On the wings of shrift and prayer, +Pure as winds that winnow snow, +Her soul had risen twelve hours ago. +The burdened steed at the barred gate stood, +No whit the nearer to his goal. +Now God's great grace assoil the soul +That went out in the wood! + + + + +THE FIRST GUEST + + +When the house is finished, Death enters. +_Eastern Proverb_ + +Life's House being ready all, +Each chamber fair and dumb, +Ere life, the Lord, is come +With pomp into his hall,-- +Ere Toil has trod the floors, +Ere Love has lit the fires, +Or young great-eyed Desires +Have, timid, tried the doors; +Or from east-window leaned +One Hope, to greet the sun, +Or one gray Sorrow screened +Her sight against the west,-- +Then enters the first guest, +The House of life being done. + +He waits there in the shade. +I deem he is Life's twin, +For whom the house was made. +Whatever his true name, +Be sure, to enter in +He has both key and claim. + +The daybeams, free of fear, +Creep drowsy toward his feet; +His heart were heard to beat, +Were any there to hear; +Ah, not for ends malign, +Like wild thing crouched in lair, +Or watcher of a snare, +But with a friend's design +He lurks in shadow there! + +He goes not to the gates +To welcome any other, +Nay, not Lord Life, his brother; +But still his hour awaits +Each several guest to find +Alone, yea, quite alone; +Pacing with pensive mind +The cloister's echoing stone, +Or singing, unaware, +At the turning of the stair +Tis truth, though we forget, +In Life's House enters none +Who shall that seeker shun, +Who shall not so be met. +"Is this mine hour?" each saith. +"So be it, gentle Death!" +Each has his way to end, +Encountering this friend. +Griefs die to memories mild; +Hope turns a weanèd child; +Love shines a spirit white, +With eyes of deepened light. +When many a guest has passed, +Some day 'tis Life's at last +To front the face of Death. +Then, casements closed, men say: +"Lord Life is gone away; +He went, we trust and pray, +To God, who gave him breath." +Beginning, End, He is: +Are not these sons both His? +Lo, these with Him are one! +To phrase it so were best: +God's self is that first Guest, +The House of Life being done! + + + + +SILENCE + + +Why should I sing of earth or heaven? not rather rest, +Powerless to speak of that which hath my soul possessed,-- +For full possession dumb? Yea, Silence, that were best. + +And though for what it failed to sound I brake the string, +And dashed the sweet lute down, a too much fingered thing, +And found a wild new voice,--oh, still, why should I sing? + +An earth-song could I make, strange as the breath of earth, +Filled with the great calm joy of life and death and birth? +Yet, were it less than this, the song were little worth. + +For this the fields caress; brown clods tell each to each; +Sad-colored leaves have sense whereto I cannot reach; +Spiced everlasting-flowers outstrip my range of speech. + +A heaven-song could I make, all fire that yet was peace, +And tenderness not lost, though glory did increase? +But were it less than this, 't were well the song should cease. + +For this the still west saith, with plumy flames bestrewn; +Heaven's body sapphire-clear, at stirless height of noon; +The cloud where lightnings pulse, beside the untroubled moon. + +I will not sing of earth or heaven, but rather rest, +Rapt by the face of heaven, and hold on earth's warm breast. +Hushed lips, a beating heart, yea, Silence, that were best. + + + + +ARRAIGNMENT + + +"Not ye who have stoned, not ye who have smitten us," cry +The sad, great souls, as they go out hence into dark, +"Not ye we accuse, though for you was our passion borne; +And ye we reproach not, who silently passed us by. +We forgive blind eyes and the ears that would not hark, +The careless and causeless hate and the shallow scorn. + +"But ye, who have seemed to know us, have seen and heard; +Who have set us at feasts and have crowned with the costly rose; +Who have spread us the purple of praises beneath our feet; +Yet guessed not the word that we spake was a living word, +Applauding the sound,--we account you as worse than foes! +We sobbed you our message; ye said, 'It is song, and sweet!'" + + + + +THE GOING OUT OF THE TIDE + + +The eastern heaven was all faint amethyst, +Whereon the moon hung dreaming in the mist; +To north yet drifted one long delicate plume +Of roseate cloud; like snow the ocean-spume. + +Now when the first foreboding swiftly ran +Through the loud-glorying sea that it began +To lose its late gained lordship of the land, +Uprose the billow like an angered man, +And flung its prone strength far along the sand; +Almost, almost to the old bound, the dark +And taunting triumph-mark. + +But no, no, no! and slow, and slow, and slow, +Like a heart losing hold, this wave must go,-- +Must go, must go,--dragged heavily back, back, +Beneath the next wave plunging on its track, +Charging, with thunderous and defiant shout, +To fore-determined rout. + +Again, again the unexhausted main +Renews fierce effort, drawing force unguessed +From awful deeps of its mysterious breast: +Like arms of passionate protest, tossed in vain, +The spray upflings above the billow's crest. +Again the appulse, again the backward strain-- +Till ocean must have rest. + +With one abandoned movement, swift and wild,-- +As though bowed head and outstretched arms it laid +On the earth's lap, soft sobbing,--hushed and stayed, +The great sea quiets, like a soothed child. +Ha! what sharp memory clove the calm, and drave +This last fleet furious wave? + +On, on, endures the struggle into night, +Ancient as Time, yet fresh as the fresh hour; +As oft repeated since the birth of light +As the strong agony and mortal fight +Of human souls, blind-reaching, with the Power +Aloof, unmoved, impossible to cross, +Whose law is seeming loss. + +Low-sunken from the longed-for triumph-mark; +The spent sea sighs as one that grieves in sleep. +The unveiled moon along the rippling plain +Casts many a keen, cold, shifting silvery spark, +Wild as the pulses of strange joy, that leap +Even in the quick of pain. + +And she compelling, she that stands for law,-- +As law for Will eternal,--perfect, clear, +And uncompassionate shines: to her appear +Vast sequences close-linked without a flaw. +All past despairs of ocean unforgot, +All raptures past, serene her light she gives, +The moon too high for pity, since she lives +Aware that loss is not. + + + + +KING RAEDWALD + + +Will you hear now the speech of King Raedwald,--heathen Raedwald, + the simple yet wise? +He, the ruler of North-folk and South-folk, a man open-browed + as the skies, +Held the eyes of the eager Italians with his blue, bold, + Englishman's eyes. + +In his hall, on his throne, so he sat, with the light of the fire + on him full: +Colored bright as the ring of red gold on his hand, fit to buffet + a bull, +Was the mane that grew down on his neck, was the beard he would + pondering pull. + +To the priests, to the eager Italians, thus fearless less he poured + his free speech; +"O my honey-tongued fathers, I turn not away from the faith that ye + teach! +Not the less hath a man many moods, and may ask a religion for each. + +"Grant that all things are well with the realm on a delicate day + of the spring, +Easter month, time of hopes and of swallows! + The praises, the psalms that ye sing, +As in pleasant accord they float heavenward, are good in the ears + of the king. + +"Then the heart bubbles forth with clear waters, to the time + of this wonder-word Peace, +From the chanting and preaching whereof ye who serve the + white Christ never cease; +And your curly, soft incense ascending enwraps my content + like a fleece. + +"But a churl comes adrip from the rivers, pants me out, fallen + spent on the floor, +'O King Raedwald, Northumberland marches, and to-morrow knocks + hard at thy door, +Hot for melting thy crown on the hearth!' + Then commend me to Woden and Thor! + +"Could I sit then and listen to preachments on turning the cheek + to the blow, +And saying a prayer for the smiter, and holding my seen treasure low +For the sake of a treasure unseen? By the sledge of the Thunderer, no! + +"For my thought flashes out as a sword, cleaving counsel as + clottage of cream; +And your incense and chanting are but as the smoke of burnt + towns and the scream; +And I quaff me the thick mead of triumph from enemies' skulls + in my dream! + +"And 'tis therefore this day I resolve me,--for King Raedwald + will cringe not, nor lie!-- +I will bring back the altar of Woden; in the temple will have it, + hard by +The new altar of this your white Christ. As my mood may decide, + worship I!" + +So he spake in his large self-reliance,--he, a man open-browed + as the skies; +Would not measure his soul by a standard that was womanish-weak + to his eyes, +Smite his breast and go on with his sinning,--savage Raedwald, + the simple yet wise! + +And the centuries bloom o'er his barrow. But for us,--have we + mastered it quite, +The old riddle, that sweet is strong's outcome, the old marvel, + that meekness is might, +That the child is the leader of lions, that forgiveness is force + at its height? + +When we summon the shade of rude Raedwald, in his candor how + king-like he towers! +Have the centuries, over his slumber, only borne sterile falsehoods + for flowers? +Pray you, what if Christ found him the nobler, having weighed his + frank manhood with ours? + + + + +IVO OF CHARTRES + + +Now may it please my lord, Louis the king, + Lily of Christ and France! riding his quest, +I, Bishop Ivo, saw a wondrous thing. + + There was no light of sun left in the west, +And slowly did the moon's new light increase. + Heaven, without cloud, above the near hill's crest, +Lay passion purple in a breathless peace. + Stars started like still tears, in rapture shed, +Which without consciousness the lids release. + + All steadily, one little sparkle red, +Afar, drew close. A woman's form grew up + Out of the dimness, tall, with queen-like head, +And in one hand was fire; in one, a cup. + Of aspect grave she was, with eyes upraised, +As one whose thoughts perpetually did sup + At the Lord's table. + + While the cresset blazed, +Her I regarded. "Daughter, whither bent, + And wherefore?" As by speech of man amazed, +One moment her deep look to me she lent; + Then, in a voice of hymn-like, solemn fall, +Calm, as by role, she spake out her intent: + + "I in my cruse bear water, wherewithal +To quench the flames of Hell; and with my fire + I Paradise would burn: that hence no small +Fear shall impel, and no mean hope shall hire, + Men to serve God as they have served of yore; +But to his will shall set their whole desire, + For love, love, love alone, forevermore!" + +And "love, love, love," rang round her as she passed + From sight, with mystic murmurs o'er and o'er +Reverbed from hollow heaven, as from some vast, + Deep-colored, vaulted, ocean-answering shell. + +I, Ivo, had no power to ban or bless, + But was as one withholden by a spell. +Forward she fared in lofty loneliness, +Urged on by an imperious inward stress, + To waste fair Eden, and to drown fierce Hell. + + + + +MADONNA PIA + + +Ricordati di me, che son la Pia. +Siena mi fe; disfecomi Maremma; +Salsi colui, che, inanellata pria, +Disposato m'avea colla sua gemma. + +_Purgatorio_, Canto V. + + +To westward lies the unseen sea, + Blue sea the live winds wander o'er. +The many-colored sails can flee, + And leave the dead, low-lying shore. +Her longing does not seek the main, + Her face turns northward first at morn; +There, crowning all the wide champaign, + Siena stood, where she was born. + +Siena stands, and still shall stand; + She ne'er shall see or town or tower. +Warm life and beauty, hand in hand, + Steal farther from her hour by hour. +Yet forth she leans, with trembling knees, + And northward will she stare and stare +Through that thick wall of cypress-trees, + And sigh adown the stirless air: + +"Shall no remembrance in Siena linger + Of me, once fair, whom slow Maremma slays? +As well he knows, whose ring upon my finger + Hath sealed for his alone mine earthly days!" + +From wilds where shudders through the weeds + The dull, mean-headed, silent snake, +Like voiceless doubt that creeps and breeds; + From swamps where sluggish waters take, +As lives unblest a passing love, + The flag-flower's image in the spring, +Or seem, when flits the bird above, + To stir within with shadowed wing, + +A Presence mounts in pallid mist + To fold her close: she breathes its breath; +She waxes wan, by Fever kissed, + Who weds her for his master, Death, +Aside are set her dimmed hopes all, + She counts no more the uncurrent hoard; +On gray Death's neck she fain would fall, + To own him for her proper lord. + +She minds the journey here by night: + When some red sudden torch would blaze, +She saw by fits, with childish fright, + The cork-trees twist beside the ways. +Like dancing demon shapes they showed, + With malice drunk; the bat beat by, +The owlet sobbed; on, on they rode, + She knew not where, she knows not why. + +For Nello--when in piteous wise + She lifted up her look to ask, +Except the ever-burning eyes + His face was like a marble mask. +And so it always meets her now; + The tomb wherein at last he lies +Shall bear such carven lips and brow, + All save the ever-burning eyes. + +Perchance it is his form alone + Doth stroke his hound, at meat doth sit, +And, for the soul that was his own, + A fiend awhile inhabits it; +While he sinks through the fiery throng, + Down, to fill an evil bond, +Since false conceit of others' wrong + Hath wrought him to a sin beyond. + +But she--if when her years were glad + Vain fluttering thoughts were hers, that hid +Behind that gracious fame she had; + If e'er observance hard she did +That sinful men might call her saint,-- + White-handed Pia, dovelike-eyed,-- +The sick blank hours shall yet acquaint + Her heart with all her blameful pride. + +And Death shall find her kneeling low, + And lift her to the porphyry stair, +And she from ledge to ledge shall go, + Stayed by the staff of that last prayer, +Until the high, sweet-singing wood + Whence folk are rapt to heaven, she win; +Therein the unpardoned never stood, + Nor may one Sorrow nest therein. + +But through the Tuscan land shall beat + Her Sorrow, like a wounded bird; +And if her suit at Mary's feet + Avail, its moan shall yet be heard +By some just poet, who shall shed, + Whate'er the theme that leads his rhyme +Bright words like tears above her, dead, + Entreating of the after time: + +"Among you let her mournful memory linger! + Siena bare her, whom Maremma slew; +And this dark lord, who gave her maiden finger + His ancient gem, the secret only knew." + + + + +TWO MOODS OF FAILURE + +I + +THE LAST CUP OF CANARY + +Sir Harry Lovelock, 1645 + + +So, the powder's low, and the larder's clean, + And surrender drapes, with its black impending, +All the stage for a sorry and sullen scene: + Yet indulge me my whim of a madcap ending! + +Let us once more fill, ere the final chill, + Every vein with the glow of the rich canary! +Since the sweet hot liquor of life's to spill, + Of the last of the cellar what boots be chary? + +Then hear the conclusion: I'll yield my breath, + But my leal old house and my good blade never! +Better one bitter kiss on the lips of Death + Than despoiled Defeat as a wife forever! + +Let the faithful fire hold the walls in ward + Till the roof-tree crash! Be the smoke once riven +While we flash from the gate like a single sword, + True steel to the hilt, though in dull earth driven! + +Do you frown, Sir Richard, above your ruff, + In the Holbein yonder? My deed ensures you! +For the flame like a fencer shall give rebuff + To your blades that blunder, you Roundhead boors, you! + +And my ladies, a-row on the gallery wall, + Not a sing-song sergeant or corporal sainted +Shall pierce their breasts with his Puritan ball, + To annul the charms of the flesh, though painted! + +I have worn like a jewel the life they gave; + As the ring in mine ear I can lightly lose it, +If my days be done, why, my days were brave! + If the end arrive, I as master choose it! + +Then fill to the brim, and a health, I say, + To our liege King Charles, and I pray God bless him! +'T would amend worse vintage to drink dismay + To the clamorous mongrel pack that press him! + +And a health to the fair women, past recall, + That like birds astray through the heart's hall flitted; +To the lean devil Failure last of all, + And the lees in his beard for a fiend outwitted! + + +II + +THE YOUNG MAN CHARLES STUART REVIEWETH THE TROOPS ON BLACKHEATH + +(Private Constant-in-Tribulation Joyce, _May_, 1660) + + +We were still as a wood without wind; as 't were set by a spell +Stayed the gleam on the steel cap, the glint on the slant petronel. +He to left of me drew down his grim grizzled lip with his teeth,-- +I remember his look; so we grew like dumb trees on the heath. + +But the people,--the people were mad as with store of new wine; +Oh, they cheered him, they capped him, they roared as he rode + down the line: +He that fled us at Worcester, the boy, the green brier-shoot, the son +Of the Stuart on whom for his sin the great judgment was done! + +Swam before us the field of our shame, and our souls walked afar; +Saw the glory, the blaze of the sun bursting over Dunbar; +Saw the faces of friends, in the morn riding jocund to fight; +Saw the stern pallid faces again, as we saw them at night! + +"O ye blessed, who died in the Lord! would to God that we too +Had so passed, only sad that we ceased his high justice to do, +With the words of the psalm on our lips that from Israel's once came, +How the Lord is a strong man of war; yea, the Lord is his name! + +"Not for us, not for us! who have served for his kingdom seven years, +Yea, and yet other seven have we served, sweating blood, bleeding +tears, +For the kingdom of God and the saints! Rachel's beauty made bold, +Yet we bear but a Leah at last to a hearth that is cold!" + +Burned the fire while I mused, while I gloomed; in the end came a call; +Settled o'er me a calm like a cloud, spake a voice still and small: +"Take thou Leah to bride, take thou Failure to bed and to board! +Thou shalt rear up new strengths at her knees; she is given + of the Lord! + +"If with weight of his right hand, with power, he denieth to deal, +And the smoke clouds, and thunders of guns, and the lightnings + of steel, +Shall the cool silent dews of his grace, in a season of peace, +Not descend on the land, as of old, for a sign, on the fleece? + +"Hath he cleft not the rock, to the yield of a stream that is sweet? +Hath he set in the ribs of the lion no honey for meat? +Can he bring not delight to the desert, and buds to the rod? +He will shine, he will visit his vine; he hath sworn, he is God!" + +Then I thought of the gate I rode through on the roan that's + long dead,-- +I remember the dawn was but pale, and the stars overhead; +Of the babe that is grown to a maid, and of Martha, my wife, +And the spring on the wolds far away, and gave thanks for my life! + + + + +THE STORY OF THE "ORIENT" + + +'T was a pleasant Sunday morning while the spring was in its glory, +English spring of gentle glory; smoking by his cottage door, +Florid-faced, the man-o'-war's-man told his white-head boy the story, +Noble story of Aboukir, told a hundred times before. + +"Here, the _Theseus_--here, the _Vanguard_;" as he spoke + each name sonorous,-- +_Minotaur, Defence, Majestic_, stanch old comrades of the brine, +That against the ships of Brucys made their broadsides roar + in chorus,-- +Ranging daisies on his doorstone, deft he mapped the battle-line. + +Mapped the curve of tall three-deckers, deft as might + a man left-handed, +Who had given an arm to England later on at Trafalgar. +While he poured the praise of Nelson to the child with eyes expanded, +Bright athwart his honest forehead blushed the scarlet cutlass-scar. + +For he served aboard the _Vanguard_, saw the Admiral blind and bleeding +Borne below by silent sailors, borne to die as then they deemed. +Every stout heart sick but stubborn, fought the sea-dogs on unheeding, +Guns were cleared and manned and cleared, the battle thundered, + flashed, and screamed. + +Till a cry swelled loud and louder,--towered on fire the + _Orient_ stately, +Brucys' flag-ship, she that carried guns a hundred and a score; +Then came groping up the hatchway he they counted dead but lately, +Came the little one-armed Admiral to guide the fight once more. + +"'Lower the boats!' was Nelson's order."-- + But the listening boy beside him, +Who had followed all his motions with an eager wide blue eye, +Nursed upon the name of Nelson till he half had deified him, +Here, with childhood's crude consistence, broke the tale + to question "Why?" + +For by children facts go streaming in a throng that never pauses, +Noted not, till, of a sudden, thought, a sunbeam, gilds the motes, +All at once the known words quicken, and the child would deal + with causes. +Since to kill the French was righteous, why bade Nelson lower + the boats? + +Quick the man put by the question. "But the _Orient_, none + could save her; +We could see the ships, the ensigns, clear as daylight by the flare; +And a many leaped and left her; but, God rest 'em! some were braver; +Some held by her, firing steady till she blew to God knows where." + +At the shock, he said, the _Vanguard_ shook through all + her timbers oaken; +It was like the shock of Doomsday,--not a tar but shuddered hard. +All was hushed for one strange moment; then that awful calm was broken +By the heavy plash that answered the descent of mast and yard. + +So, her cannon still defying, and her colors flaming, flying, +In her pit her wounded helpless, on her deck her Admiral dead, +Soared the _Orient_ into darkness with her living and her dying: +"Yet our lads made shift to rescue three-score souls," the seaman said. + +Long the boy with knit brows wondered o'er that friending + of the foeman; +Long the man with shut lips pondered; powerless he to tell the cause +Why the brother in his bosom that desired the death of no man, +In the crash of battle wakened, snapped the bonds of hate like straws. + +While he mused, his toddling maiden drew the daisies to a posy; +Mild the bells of Sunday morning rang across the church-yard sod; +And, helped on by tender hands, with sturdy feet all bare and rosy, +Climbed his babe to mother's breast, as climbs the slow world + up to God. + + + +A RESURRECTION + + +_Neither would they be persuaded, though one rose from the dead_. + +I was quick in the flesh, was warm, and the live heart shook my breast; + In the market I bought and sold, in the temple I bowed my head. +I had swathed me in shows and forms, and was honored above the rest + For the sake of the life I lived; nor did any esteem me dead. + +But at last, when the hour was ripe--was it sudden-remembered word? + Was it sight of a bird that mounted, or sound of a strain that + stole? +I was 'ware of a spell that snapped, of an inward strength that + stirred, + Of a Presence that filled that place; and it shone, and I knew + my Soul. + +And the dream I had called my life was a garment about my feet, + For the web of the years was rent with the throe of a + yearning strong. +With a sweep as of winds in heaven, with a rush as of flames that meet, + The Flesh and the Spirit clasped; and I cried, "Was I dead so long?" + +I had glimpse of the Secret, flashed through the symbol obscure + and mean, + And I felt as a fire what erst I repeated with lips of clay; +And I knew for the things eternal the things eye hath not seen; + Yea, the heavens and the earth shall pass; but they never + shall pass away. + +And the miracle on me wrought, in the streets I would straight + make known: + "When this marvel of mine is heard, without cavil shall men receive +Any legend of haloed saint, staring up through the sealèd stone!" + So I spake in the trodden ways; but behold, there would none believe! + + + + +THE GLORIOUS COMPANY + + +"Faces, faces, faces of the streaming marching surge, + Streaming on the weary road, toward the awful steep, +Whence your glow and glory, as ye set to that sharp verge, + Faces lit as sunlit stars, shining as ye sweep? + +"Whence this wondrous radiance that ye somehow catch and cast, + Faces rapt, that one discerns 'mid the dusky press +Herding in dull wonder, gathering fearful to the Vast? + Surely all is dark before, night of nothingness!" + +_Lo, the Light!_ (they answer) _O the pure, + the pulsing Light, + Beating like a heart of life, like a heart of love, +Soaring, searching, filling all the breadth and depth and height, + Welling, whelming with its peace worlds below, above!_ + +"O my soul, how art thou to that living Splendor blind, + Sick with thy desire to see even as these men see!-- +Yet to look upon them is to know that God hath shined: + Faces lit as sunlit stars, be all my light to me!" + + + + +THE TRUMPETER + + +Two ships, alone in sky and sea, + Hang clinched, with crash and roar; +There is but one--whiche'er it be-- + Will ever come to shore. + +And will it be the grim black bulk, + That towers so evil now? +Or will it be The Grace of God, + With the angel at her prow? + +The man that breathes the battle's breath + May live at last to know; +But the trumpeter lies sick to death + In the stifling dark below. + +He hears the fight above him rave; + He fears his mates must yield; +He lies as in a narrow grave + Beneath a battle-field. + +His fate will fall before the ship's, + Whate'er the ship betide; +He lifts the trumpet to his lips + As though he kissed a bride. + +"Now blow thy best, blow thy last, + My trumpet, for the Right!"-- +He has sent his soul in one strong blast, + To hearten them that fight. + + + + +COMRADES + + +"Oh, whither, whither, rider toward the west?" + "And whither, whither, rider toward the east?" +"I rode we ride upon the same high quest, + Whereon who enters may not be released; + +"To seek the Cup whose form none ever saw,-- + A nobler form than e'er was shapen yet, +Though million million cups without a flaw, + Afire with gems, on princes' boards are set; + +"To seek the Wine whereof none ever had + One draught, though many a generous wine flows free,-- +The spiritual blood that shall make glad + The hearts of mighty men that are to be." + +"But shall one find it, brother? Where I ride, + Men mock and stare, who never had the dream, +Yet hope within my breast has never died." + "Nor ever died in mine that trembling gleam." + +"Eastward, I deem: the sun and all good things + Are born to bless us of the Orient old." +"Westward, I deem: an untried ocean sings + Against that coast, 'New shores await the bold.'" + +"God speed or thee or me, so coming men + But have the Cup!" "God speed!"--Not once before +Their eyes had met, nor ever met again, + Yet were they loving comrades evermore. + + + + +THE HOUSE OF HATE + + +Mine enemy builded well, with the soft blue hills in sight; +But betwixt his house and the hills I builded a house for spite: +And the name thereof I set in the stone-work over the gate, +With a carving of bats and apes; and I called it the House of Hate. + +And the front was alive with masks of malice and of despair; +Horned demons that leered in stone, and women with serpent hair; +That whenever his glance would rest on the soft hills far and blue, +It must fall on mine evil work, and my hatred should pierce + him through. + +And I said, "I will dwell herein, for beholding my heart's desire +On my foe;" and I knelt, and fain had brightened the hearth with fire; +But the brands they would hiss and die, as with curses a strangled man, +And the hearth was cold from the day that the House of Hate began. + +And I called at the open door, "Make ye merry, all friends of mine, +In the hall of my House of Hate, where is plentiful store and wine. +We will drink unhealth together unto him I have foiled and fooled!" +And they stared and they passed me by; but I scorned to be thereby + schooled. + +And I ordered my board for feast; and I drank, in the topmost seat, +Choice grape from a curious cup; and the first it was wonder-sweet; +But the second was bitter indeed, and the third was bitter and black, +And the gloom of the grave came on me, and I cast the cup to wrack. + +Alone, I was stark alone, and the shadows were each a fear; +And thinly I laughed, but once, for the echoes were strange to hear; +And the wind in the hallways howled as a green-eyed wolf might cry, +And I heard my heart: I must look on the face of a man, or die! + +So I crept to my mirrored face, and I looked, and I saw it grown +(By the light in my shaking hand) to the like of the masks of stone; +And with horror I shrieked aloud as I flung my torch and fled, +And a fire-snake writhed where it fell; and at midnight + the sky was red. + +And at morn, when the House of Hate was a ruin, despoiled of flame, +I fell at mine enemy's feet, and besought him to slay my shame; +But he looked in mine eyes and smiled, and his eyes were + calm and great: +"You rave, or have dreamed," he said; "I saw not your House of Hate." + + + + +THE ARROWMAKER + + +Day in, day out, or sun or rain, +Or sallow leaf, or summer grain, +Beneath a wintry morning moon +Or through red smouldering afternoon, +With simple joy, with careful pride, +He plies the craft he long has plied: +To shape the stave, to set the sting, +To fit the shaft with irised wing; +And farers by may hear him sing, + For still his door is wide: + "Laugh and sigh, live and die,-- + The world swings round; I know not, I, + If north or south mine arrows fly!" + +And sometimes, while he works, he dreams, +And on his soul a vision gleams: +Some storied field fought long ago, +Where arrows fell as thick as snow. +His breath comes fast, his eyes grow bright, +To think upon that ancient fight. +Oh, leaping from the strained string +Against an armored Wrong to ring, +Brave the songs that arrows sing! + He weighs the finished flight: + "Live and die; by and by + The sun kills dark; I know not, I, + In what good fight mine arrows fly!" + +Or at the gray hour, weary grown, +When curfew o'er the wold is blown, +He sees, as in a magic glass, +Some lost and lonely mountain-pass; +And lo! a sign of deathful rout +The mocking vine has wound about,-- +An earth-fixed arrow by a spring, +All greenly mossed, a mouldered thing; +That stifled shaft no more shall sing! + He shakes his head in doubt. + "Laugh and sigh, live and die,-- + The hand is blind: I know not, I, + In what lost pass mine arrows lie! + One to east, one to west, + Another for the eagle's breast,-- + The archer and the wind know best!" + The stars are in the sky; + He lays his arrows by. + + + + +A NEST IN A LYRE + + +As sign before a playhouse serves + A giant Lyre, ornately gilded, +On whose convenient coignes and curves + The pert brown sparrows late have builded. +They flit, and flirt, and prune their wings, + Not awed at all by golden glitter, +And make among the silent strings + Their satisfied ephemeral twitter. + +Ah, somewhat so we perch and flit, + And spy some crumb and dash to win it, +And with a witty chirping twit + Our sheltering Time--there's nothing in it! +In Life's large frame, a glorious Lyre's, + We nest, content, our season flighty, +Nor guess we brush the powerful wires + Might witch the stars with music mighty. + + + + +THISBE + + +The garden within was shaded, + And guarded about from sight; +The fragrance flowed to the south wind, + The fountain leaped to the light. + +And the street without was narrow, + And dusty, and hot, and mean; +But the bush that bore white roses, + She leaned to the fence between: + +And softly she sought a crevice + In that barrier blank and tall, +And shyly she thrust out through it + Her loveliest bud of all. + +And tender to touch, and gracious, + And pure as the moon's pure shine, +The full rose paled and was perfect,-- + For whose eyes, for whose lips, but mine! + + + + +THE SPRING BEAUTIES + + +The Puritan Spring Beauties stood freshly clad for church; +A Thrush, white-breasted, o'er them sat singing on his perch. +"Happy be! for fair are ye!" the gentle singer told them, +But presently a buff-coat Bee came booming up to scold them. + "Vanity, oh, vanity! + Young maids, beware of vanity!" + Grumbled out the buff-coat Bee, + Half parson-like, half soldierly. + +The sweet-faced maidens trembled, with pretty, pinky blushes, +Convinced that it was wicked to listen to the Thrushes; +And when, that shady afternoon, I chanced that way to pass, +They hung their little bonnets down and looked into the grass, + All because the buff-coat Bee + Lectured them so solemnly:-- + "Vanity, oh, vanity! + Young maids, beware of vanity!" + + + + +KINSHIP + + +A lily grew in the tangle, + In a flame red garment dressed, +And many a ruby spangle + Besprinkled her tawny breast. + +And the silken moth sailed by her + With a swift and a snow-white sail; +Not a gilt-girt bee came nigh her, + Nor a fly in his gay green mail. + +And the bronze-brown wings and the golden, + O'er the billowing meadows blown, +Were still as by magic holden + From the lily that flamed alone; + +Till over the fragrant tangle + A wanderer winging went, +And with many a ruby spangle + Were his tawny vans besprent. +And he hovered one moment stilly + O'er the thicket, her mazy bower, +Then he sank to the heart of the lily, + And they seemed but a single flower. + + + + +COMPENSATION + + +The brook ran laughing from the shade, + And in the sunshine danced all day: +The starlight and the moonlight made + Its glimmering path a Milky Way. + +The blue sky burned, with summer fired; + For parching fields, for pining flowers, +The spirits of the air desired + The brook's bright life to shed in showers. + +It gave its all that thirst to slake; + Its dusty channel lifeless lay; +Now softest flowers, white-foaming, make + Its winding bed a Milky Way. + + + + +WHEN WILLOWS GREEN + + +When goldenly the willows green, + And, mirrored in the sunset pool, +Hang wavering, wild-rose clouds between: + When robins call in twilights cool: + What is it we await? + Who lingers and is late? +What strange unrest, what yearning stirs us all +When willows green, when robins call? + +When fields of flowering grass respire + A sweet that seems the breath of Peace, +And liquid-voiced the thrushes choir, + Oh, whence the sense of glad release? + What is it life uplifts? + Who entered, bearing gifts? +What floods from heaven the being overpower +When thrushes choir, when grasses flower? + + + + +AT THE PARTING OF THE WAYS + +(AD COMITEM JUNIOREM) + + +Comrade Youth! Sit down with me +Underneath the summer tree, +Cool green dome whose shade is sweet, +Where the sunny roadways meet, +See, the ancient finger-post, +Silver-bleached with rain and shine, +Warns us like a noon-day ghost: +That way's yours, and this way's mine! +I would hold you with delays +Here at parting of the ways. + +Hold you! I as well might look +To detain the racing brook +With regrets and grievance tender, +As my comrade swift and slender, +Shy, capricious, all of spring! +Catch the wind with blossoms laden, +Catch the wild bird on the wing, +Catch the heart of boy or maiden! + +Yet I'll hold your image fast, +As this hour I saw you last,-- +As with staff in hand you sat, +Soft curls putting forth defiant +From the tilted Mercury's hat, +Wreathen with the wilding grace +Of the fresh-leaved vine and pliant, +Stealing down to see your face. +Eyes of pleasance, lips of laughter, +I shall hoard you long hereafter; +Very dear shall be the days +Ere the parting of the ways! + +Shall you deem them dear, in truth, +Days when we, o'er hill and hollow, +Trudged together, Comrade Youth? +Ah, you dream of days to follow! +Hand in hand we jogged along; +I would fetch from out my scrip, +Crust or jest or antique song,-- +Live and lovely, on your lip, +Such poor needments as I had +Were as yours; you made me glad. +--Lo, the dial! No prayer stays +Time, at parting of the ways! + +This gold memory--rings it true? +Half for me and half for you. +Cleave and share it. Now, good sooth, +God be with you, Comrade Youth! + + + + +THE FAIR GRAY LADY + + +When the charm at last is fled + From the woodland stark and pale, +And like shades of glad hours dead + Whirl the leaves before the gale: + +When against the western fire + Darkens many an empty nest, +Like a thwarted heart's desire + That in prime was hardly guessed: + +Then the fair gray Lady leans, + Lingering, o'er the faded grass, +Still the soul of all the scenes + Once she graced, a golden lass. + +O'er the Year's discrownèd sleep, + Dear as in her earlier day, +She her bending watch doth keep, + She the Goldenrod grown gray. + + + + +THE ENCOUNTER + + +There's a wood-way winding high, +Roofed far up with light-green flicker, +Save one midmost star of sky. +Underfoot 'tis all pale brown +With the dead leaves matted down +One on other, thick and thicker; +Soft, but springing to the tread. +There a youth late met a maid +Running lightly,--oh, so fleetly! +"Whence art thou?" the herd-boy said. +Either side her long hair swayed, +Half a tress and half a braid, +Colored like the soft dead leaf, +As she answered, laughing sweetly, +On she ran, as flies the swallow; +He could not choose but follow +Though it had been to his grief. + +"I have come up from the valley,-- +From the valley!" Once he caught her, +Swerving down a sidelong alley, +For a moment, by the hand. +"Tell me, tell me," he besought her, +"Sweetest, I would understand +Why so cold thy palm, that slips +From me like the shy cold minnow? +The wood is warm, and smells of fern, +And below the meadows burn. +Hard to catch and hard to win, oh! +Why are those brown finger tips +Crinkled as with lines of water?" + +Laughing while she featly footed, +With the herd-boy hasting after, +Sprang she on a trunk uprooted, +Clung she by a roping vine; +Leaped behind a birch, and told, +Still eluding, through its fine, +Mocking, slender, leafy laughter, +Why her finger tips were cold: + +"I went down to tease the brook, +With her fishes, there below; +She comes dancing, thou must know, +And the bushes arch above her; +But the seeking sunbeams look, +Dodging through the wind-blown cover, +Find and kiss her into stars. +Silvery veins entwine and crook +Where a stone her tripping bars; +There be smooth, clear sweeps, and swirls +Bubbling up crisp drops like pearls. +There I lie, along the rocks +Thick with greenest slippery moss, +And I have in hand a strip +Of gray, pliant, dappled bark; +And I comb her liquid locks +Till her tangling currents cross; +And I have delight to hark +To the chiding of her lip, +Taking on the talking stone +With each turn another tone. +Oh, to set her wavelets bickering! +Oh, to hear her laughter simple, +See her fret and flash and dimple! +Ha, ha, ha!" The woodland rang +With the rippling through the flickering. +At the birch the herd-boy sprang. + +On a sudden something wound +Vine-like round his throbbing throat; +On a sudden something smote +Sharply on his longing lips, +Stung him as the birch bough whips: +Was it kiss or was it blow? +Never after could he know; +She was gone without a sound. + +Never after could he see +In the wood or in the mead, +Or in any company +Of the rustic mortal maids, +Her with acorn-colored braids; +Never came she to his need. +Never more the lad was merry, +Strayed apart, and learned to dream, +Feeding on the tart wild berry; +Murmuring words none understood,-- +Words with music of the wood, +And with music of the stream. + + + + +SUMMER HOURS + + +Hours aimless-drifting as the milkweed's down + In seeming, still a seed of joy ye bear + That steals into the soul when unaware, +And springs up Memory in the stony town. + + + + +LOVE UNSUNG + + +Seven jewelled rays has the Sun fast bound + In his arrow of blinding sheen; +But he quickens the breast of the fruitful ground + With a subtlest ray unseen. + +And the rainbow moods of this love of ours + I may blend in the song I bring; +But the magic that makes life laugh with flowers + Is the love that I cannot sing. + + + + +THE WISH FOR A CHAPLET + + +Vineleaf and rose I would my chaplet make: +I would my word were wine for all men's sake. +Pure from the pressing of the stainless feet +Of unblamed Hours, and for an altar meet. + +Vineleaf and rose: I would, had I the art, +Distil, to lasting sweet, Joy's rosy heart, +That no sere autumn should its fragrance wrong, +Closed in the crystal glass of slender song. + + + + +SONNETS + + + + +THE TORCH-RACE + + +Brave racer, who hast sped the living light +With throat outstretched and every nerve a-strain, +Now on thy left hand labors gray-faced Pain, +And Death hangs close behind thee on the right. +Soon flag the flying feet, soon fails the sight, +With every pulse the gaunt pursuers gain; +And all thy splendor of strong life must wane +And set into the mystery of night. + +Yet fear not, though in falling, blindness hide +Whose hand shall snatch, before it scars the sod, +The light thy lessening grasp no more controls: +Truth's rescuer, Truth shall instantly provide: +This is the torch-race game, that noblest souls +Play on through time beneath the eyes of God. + + + + +TO SLEEP + + +All slumb'rous images that be, combined, +To this white couch and cool shall woo thee, Sleep! +First will I think on fields of grasses deep +In gray-green flower, o'er which the transient wind +Runs like a smile; and next will call to mind +How glistening poplar-tops, when breezes creep +Among their leaves, a tender motion keep, +Stroking the sky, like touch of lovers kind. + +Ah, having felt thy calm kiss on mine eyes, +All night inspiring thy divine pure breath, +I shall awake as into godhood born, +And with a fresh, undaunted soul arise, +Clear as the blue convolvulus at morn. +--Dear bedfellow, deals thus thy brother, Death? + + + + +SISTER SNOW + + +Praised be our Lord (to echo the sweet phrase +Of saintly Francis) for our sister Snow: +Whose soft, soft coming never man may know +By any sound; whose down-light touch allays +All fevers of worn earth. She clothes the days +In garments without spot, and hence doth go +Her noiseless shuttle swiftly to and fro, +And very pure, and pleasant, are her ways. + +But yesterday, how loveless looked the skies! +How cold the sun's last glance, and unbenign, +Across the field forsaken, russet-leaved! +Now pearly peace on all the landscape lies. +--Wast thou not sent us, Sister, for a sign +Of that vast Mercy of God, else unconceived? + + + + +RETROSPECT + + +"Backward," he said, "dear heart I like to look +To those half-spring, half-winter days, when first +We drew together, ere the leaf-buds burst. +Sunbeams were silver yet, keen gusts yet shook +The boughs. Have you remembered that kind book, +That for our sake Galeotto's part rehearsed, +(The friend of lovers,--this time blessed, not cursed!) +And that best hour, when reading we forsook?" + +She, listening, wore the smile a mother wears +At childish fancies needless to control; +Yet felt a fine, hid pain with pleasure blend. +Better it seemed to think that love of theirs, +Native as breath, eternal as the soul, +Knew no beginning, could not have an end. + + + + +THE CONTRAST + + +He loved her; having felt his love begin +With that first look,--as lover oft avers. +He made pale flowers his pleading ministers, +Impressed sweet music, drew the springtime in +To serve his suit; but when he could not win, +Forgot her face and those gray eyes of hers; +And at her name his pulse no longer stirs, +And life goes on as though she had not been. + +She never loved him; but she loved Love so, +So reverenced Love, that all her being shook +At his demand whose entrance she denied. +Her thoughts of him such tender color took +As western skies that keep the afterglow. +The words he spoke were with her till she died. + + + + +A MYSTERY + + +That sunless day no living shadow swept +Across the hills, fleet shadow chasing light, +Twin of the sailing cloud: but, mists wool white, +Slow-stealing mists, on those heaved shoulders crept, +And wrought about the strong hills while they slept +In witches' wise, and rapt their forms from sight. +Dreams were they; less than dream, the noblest height +And farthest; and the chilly woodland wept. + +A sunless day and sad: yet all the while +Within the grave green twilight of the wood, +inscrutable, immutable, apart, +Hearkening the brook, whose song she understood, +The secret birch-tree kept her silver smile, +Strange as the peace that gleams at sorrow's heart. + + + + +TRIUMPH + + +This windy sunlit morning after rain, +The wet bright laurel laughs with beckoning gleam +In the blown wood, whence breaks the wild white stream +Rushing and flashing, glorying in its gain; +Nor swerves nor parts, but with a swift disdain +O'erleaps the boulders lying in long dream, +Lapped in cold moss; and in its joy doth seem +A wood-born creature bursting from a chain. + +And "Triumph, triumph, triumph!" is its hoarse +Fierce-whispered word. O fond, and dost not know +Thy triumph on another wise must be,-- +To render all the tribute of thy force, +And lose thy little being in the flow +Of the unvaunting river toward the sea! + + + + +IN WINTER, WITH THE BOOK WE READ IN SPRING + + +The blackberry's bloom, when last we went this way, +Veiled all her bowsome rods with trembling white; +The robin's sunset breast gave forth delight +At sunset hour; the wind was warm with May. +Armored in ice the sere stems arch to-day, +Each tiny thorn encased and argent bright; +Where clung the birds that long have taken flight, +Dead songless leaves cling fluttering on the spray. + +O hand in mine, that mak'st all paths the same, +Being paths of peace, where falls nor chill nor gloom, +Made sweet with ardors of an inward spring! +I hold thee--frozen skies to rosy flame +Are turned, and snows to living snows of bloom, +And once again the gold-brown thrushes sing. + + + + +SERE WISDOM + + +I had remembrance of a summer morn, +When all the glistening field was softly stirred +And like a child's in happy sleep I heard +The low and healthful breathing of the corn. +Late when the sumach's red was dulled and worn, +And fainter grew the trite and troublous word +Of tristful cricket, that replaced the bird, +I sought the slope, and found a waste forlorn. + +Against that cold clear west, whence winter peers, +All spectral stood the bleached stalks thin-leaved, +Dry as papyrus kept a thousand years, +And hissing whispered to the wind that grieved, +_It was a dream--we have no goodly ears-- +There was no summer-time--deceived! deceived!_ + + + + +ISOLATION + + +White fog around, soft snow beneath the tread, +All sunless, windless, tranced, the morning lay; +All noiseless, trackless, new, the well-known way. +The silence weighed upon the sense; in dread, +"Alone, I am alone," I shuddering said, +"And wander in a region where no ray +Has ever shone, and as on earth's first day +Or last, my kind are not yet born or dead." + +Yet not afar, meanwhile, there faltered feet +Like mine, through that wide mystery of the snow, +Nor could the old accustomed paths divine; +And even as mine, unheard spake voices low, +And hearts were near, that as my own heart beat, +Warm hands, and faces fashioned like to mine. + + + + +THE LOST DRYAD + +(TO EDITH M. THOMAS) + + +Into what beech or silvern birch, O friend +Suspected ever of a dryad strain, +Hast crept at last, delighting to regain +Thy sylvan house? Now whither shall I wend, +Or by what wingèd post my greeting send, +Bird, butterfly, or bee? Shall three moons wane, +And yet not found?--Ah, surely it was pain +Of old, for mortal youth his heart to lend +To any hamadryad! In his hour +Of simple trust, wild impulse him bereaves: +She flees, she seeks her strait enmossèd bower +And while he, searching, softly calls, and grieves, +Oblivious, high above she laughs in leaves, +Or patters tripping talk to the quick shower. + + + + +A MEMORY + + +Though pent in stony streets, 'tis joy to know, +'Tis joy, although we breathe a fainter air, +The spirit of those places far and fair +That we have loved, abides; and fern-scents flow +Out of the wood's heart still, and shadows grow +Long on remembered roads as warm days wear; +And still the dark wild water, in its lair, +The narrow chasm, stirs blindly to and fro. + +Delight is in the sea-gull's dancing wings, +And sunshine wakes to rose the ruddy hue +Of rocks; and from her tall wind-slanted stem +A soft bright plume the goldenrod outflings +Along the breeze, above a sea whose blue +Is like the light that kindles through a gem. + + + + +THE GIFTS OF THE OAK + +(FOR THE SEVENTIETH BIRTHDAY OF JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL) + + +'There needs no crown to mark the forest's king.' +Thus, long ago thou sang'st the sound-heart tree +Sacred to sovereign Jove, and dear to thee +Since first, a venturous youth with eyes of spring,-- +Whose pilgrim-staff each side put forth a wing,-- +Beneath the oak thou lingeredst lovingly +To crave, as largess of his majesty, +Firm-rooted strength, and grace of leaves that sing. + +He gave; we thank him! Graciousness as grave, +And power as easeful as his own he gave; +Long broodings rich with sun, and laughters kind; +And singing leaves, whose later bronze is dear +As the first amber of the budding year,-- +Whose voices answer the autumnnal wind. + + + + +THE STRAYED SINGER + +(MATTHEW ARNOLD) + + +He wandered from us long, oh, long ago, +Rare singer, with the note unsatisfied; +Into what charmèd wood, what shade star-eyed +With the wind's April darlings, none may know. +We lost him. Songless, one with seed to sow, +Keen-smiling toiler, came in place, and plied +His strength in furrowed field till eventide, +And passed to slumber when the sun was low. + +But now,--as though Death spoke some mystic word +Solving a spell,--present to thought appears +The morn's estray, not him we saw but late; +And on his lips the strain that once we heard, +And in his hand, cool as with Springtime's tears, +The melancholy wood-flowers delicate. + + + + +THE IMMORTAL WORD + + +One soiled and shamed and foiled in this world's fight, +Deserter from the host of God, that here +Still darkly struggles,--waked from death in fear, +And strove to screen his forehead from the white +And blinding glory of the awful Light, +The revelation and reproach austere. +Then with strong hand outstretched a Shape drew near, +Bright-browed, majestic, armored like a knight. + +"Great Angel, servant of the Highest, why +Stoop'st thou to me?" although his lips were mute, +His eyes inquired. The Shining One replied: +"Thy Book, thy birth, life of thy life am I, +Son of thy soul, thy youth's forgotten fruit. +We two go up to judgment side by side." + + + + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK, RIDE TO THE LADY *** + +This file should be named 8ridl10.txt or 8ridl10.zip +Corrected EDITIONS of our eBooks get a new NUMBER, 8ridl11.txt +VERSIONS based on separate sources get new LETTER, 8ridl10a.txt + +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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