b'\nClass:\xc2\xa3S_iil5_ \nBook ,1 SljV^ \n\nI q 1 \n\nGopightN"\xe2\x80\x94: \n\n\n\nCOPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. \n\n\n\n^p Cl)eotiore \xe2\x82\xac\xe2\x99\xa6 Wiilimti \n\n\n\nPOEMS OF BELIEF. With frontispiece. i2mo, \n$i.oo net. Postage extra. \n\nTHE >ENEID OF VIRGIL, translated into English \nverse. 8vo, $1.50, net. Postpaid. \n\nTHE ELEGIES OF TIBULLUS, translated into \nEnglish verse. 8vo, 90 cents, net. Postage, 8 \ncents. \n\nHOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY \nBoston and New York \n\n\n\nPOEMS OF BELIEF \n\n\n\n\nyf\xc2\xab5?\'-. \n\n\n\n\n\n\nPOEMS OF BELIEF \n\n\n\nBT \n\n\n\nTHEODORE C. WILLIAMS \n\n\n\nWITH A FRONTISPIECE \nBY ELIHU VEDDER \n\n\n\n\nBOSTON AND NEW TOUK \nHOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY \n\n1910 \n\n\n\n\n\n\nCOPYRIGHT, 1910, BY THEODORE C. WILLIAMS \nALL RIGHTS RESERVED \n\nPublished April iqio \n\n\n\nC?C!.A;^611G9 \n\n\n\nDEDICATION \n\nEre our waking loves begun, \nDreams alone to song gave wing; \nThou at last discovered, won, \nHast thy part in all I sing. \n\nThough my songs appear to rove. \nNever could they rove from thee. \nWhen the theme was less than love. \nLove beside me struck the key. \n\n\n\nCONTENTS \n\nTHE LILY AND THE PINE 1 \n\nMY SHELL 2 \n\nTHE VOYAGE OF LIFE 3 \n\nTHE TRUE PRIEST 4 \n\nA PRAYER FOR LIFE 5 \n\nTHE SINGING SOUL 6 \n\nALL IN ALL 7 \n\nTHY BROTHER 8 \n\nMY FRIEND 9 \n\nA THANATOPSIS 10 \n\nTWICE GIVEN 11 \n\nPASTOR BONUS 12 \n\nA LENTEN SECRET 13 \n\nTHE FREE SPIRIT 14 \n\nTHE WINTER VICTORY 15 \n\nSTRENGTH IN WEAKNESS 16 \n\nTHE SILENT HOUR 17 \n\nTHE ENDLESS QUEST 18 \n\nTHE AUTUMNAL HOPE 19 \n\n[ vii ] \n\n\n\nCONTENTS \n\nA SABBATH EVENING . ^ . . . 20 \n\nTHE OFFENDING 21 \n\nBENEDICTION 23 \n\nGOD IN ALL 24 \n\nTHE FELLOW LABORERS 25 \n\nTHE LIGHT OF THE WORLD . . . .26 \n\nTHY HEART IN CHAMBERS TWAIN ... 27 \n\nPOSSESSION 28 \n\nHOSPITALITY 29 \n\nDEMOCRACY 30 \n\nman\'s INFINITY 31 \n\nNOVEMBER 32 \n\nTHE THESEUS OF THE PARTHENON ... 33 \n\nMY HOST 34 \n\nTHE SOUL IN BONDAGE 35 \n\nGIBRALTAR 36 \n\nIN A TIME OF NATIONAL SCANDAL ... 37 \n\n.ENEAS 38 \n\nTO VIRGIL 39 \n\nTO DEATH 40 \n\nTHE EARTH CELESTIAL 41 \n\nTO A POET WHO FEARED THE LOSS OF YOUTH 42 \n\nBOUNDLESSNESS 43 \n\n[ viii ] \n\n\n\nCONTENTS \n\nRESURRECTIO CARNIS 45 \n\nA SOUL IN STORM 46 \n\nTHE SPHINX 47 \n\nTHE ROYAL SELF 49 \n\nSURSUM CORDA 51 \n\nIMMORTAL MIND 53 \n\nHERAKLEITOS 55 \n\nLAGO DI COMO 57 \n\nAT A TUSCAN VILLA 59 \n\nTHE DREAM-BUILDER 61 \n\nRETRO SATHANAS 63 \n\nAVE ROMA IMMORTALIS . . . . . 66 \n\nA stoic\'s creed 69 \n\nSENECA ON THE SOUL 71 \n\nTHE ROXBURY LATIN SCHOOL . . . .74 \n\nTO OUR OLD HEAD-MASTER .... 76 \n\nINDEPENDENCE DAY 78 \n\nTO JAPAN VICTORIOUS 80 \n\nTHE MAKING OF MAN 83 \n\n\n\n[ \xc2\xab ] \n\n\n\nPOEMS OF BELIEF \n\nTHE LILY AND THE PINE \n\nI FOUND a lily near my door \nWhich bloomed an hour, then bloomed no more ; \nAnd her pure-hearted perfectness \nMy heart did bless. \n\nI saw high up the mountain cold \nA pine a hundred winters old ; \nFor his strong-hearted patience there \nI breathed a prayer. \n\nO hour of sweetly breathing life! \n\ncentury of strength and strife! \n\n1 only know that in each one \n\nGod\'s will was done. \n\n\n\n[ 1 ] \n\n\n\nMY SHELL \n\nA SHELL upon the sounding sands \nFlashed in the sunshine where it lay. \n\nIts green disguise I tore; my hands \nBore the rich treasure-trove away. \n\nWithin, the chamber of the pearl \n\nBlushed like the rose, like opal glowed ; \n\nAnd o\'er its domes a cloudy swirl \n\nOf mimic waves and rainbows flowed. \n\n"Strangely," I said, "the artist-worm \nHas made his secret bower so bright! \nThis jeweller, this draftsman firm \nWas born and died in eyeless night. \n\n"Deep down in many-monstered caves \nHis miracle of beauty throve; \nFar from all light, against strong waves, \nA Castle Beautiful he wove. \n\n" Take courage, soul ! Thy labor blind \nThe lifting tides may onward bear \nTo some glad shore, where thou shalt find \nLight, and a Friend to say, \' How fair ! \' " \n[ 2 ] \n\n\n\nTHE VOYAGE OF LIFE \n\nLife is a voyage. The winds of life come strong \nFrom every point ; yet each will speed thy course along, \nE thou with steady hand when tempests blow. \nCanst keep thy course aright and never once let go. \n\nLife is a voyage. Ask not the port unknown \nWhither thy Captain guides his storm-tossed vessel on ; \nNor tremble thou lest mast should snap and reel; \nBut note his orders well, and mind, unmoved, thy wheel. \n\nLife\'s voyage is on the vast, unfathomed sea \nWhereof the tides are times, the shores, eternity; \nSeek not with plummet, when the great waves roll. \nBut by the stars in heaven mark which way sails thy \nsoul. \n\n\n\n[ 3 ] \n\n\n\nTHE TRUE PRIEST^ \n\nLord, who dost the voices bless \nCrying in the wilderness, \nAnd the lovely gifts increase \nOf the messengers of peace. \nThou, whose temple is with men, \nShow us Thy true priest again. \n\nIn the holy place may he \nThine immediate presence see; \nOr through deserts, Father, led. \nShow Thy people heavenly bread. \nWhile his lips at Thy control \nWarn, instruct, inspire, console. \n\nGive him to his priestly dress \nFaith and zeal and righteousness. \nThen, lest all Thy gifts be lost. \nBreathe Thy gift of Pentecost, \xe2\x80\x94 \nLove, whose many-languaged fire \nFinds each listening soul\'s desire. \n^ Ordination Hymn. Tune "Refuge." \n\n\n\n[ 4 ] \n\n\n\nA PRAYER FOR LIFE \n\nBe with me, Lord ! My house is growing still, \nAs one by one the guests go out the door; \n\nAnd some who helped me once to do Thy will \nBehold and bless Thee on the Heavenly Shore. \n\nUphold my strength ! My task is not yet done. \n\nNor let me at the labor cease to sing; \nBut from the rising to the setting sun, \n\nEach faithful hour, do service to my king. \n\nShow me Thy light ! Let not my wearied eyes \nMiss the fresh gladness of life\'s passing day. \n\nBut keep the light of morn, the sweet surprise \nOf each new blessing that attends my way. \n\nAnd for the crowning grace, O Lord, renew \nThe best of gifts Thy best of saints have had: \n\nWith the great joy of Christ my heart endue. \nTo share the whole world\'s tears and still be glad. \n\n\n\n[ 5 ] \n\n\n\nTHE SINGING SOUL \n\nA hundred leagues of land and sea, \n\nA boundless reach of sky. \nClosed round the singing soul of me. \n\nAnd woke this glad reply. \n\nI marvel what such vast expense \n\nOf power is nourished by. \nAnd how my microcosmic sense \n\nSuch height and depth can spy. \n\nYet where my eyes the fragments scan. \nOr view the glorious whole, \n\nI find free harmony with man, \nAnd truth that feeds his soul. \n\nNot all your powers, earth, sky, and se; \n\nMy watchful heart appall: \nThe same just laws guard you and me, \n\nOne life sustains us all. \n\n\n\n[ 6 ] \n\n\n\nALL IN ALL \n\nEvery atom gives resistance not the universe can \n\nbreak ; \nEach rose-petal holds perfection angel artists could not \n\nmake. \n\nAs each white wave feels the motion of the moon-led, \n\ntidal main, \nPlato and the seven sages shine in every human brain. \n\nEach true prayer foretastes the glory saints and pro- \nphets burn to teach; \n\nIn my brother\'s heart enfolded lies the kingdom Christ \nwould reach. \n\nUnder every power and passion stirs the element divine : \nIf I grasp the moment\'s meaning, all eternity is mine. \n\n\n\n[ 1 ] \n\n\n\nTHY BROTHER* \n\nWhen thy heart with joy o\'er-flowing \n\nSings a thankful prayer, \nIn thy joy, O let thy Brother \nWith thee share. \n\nWhen the harvest sheaves ingathered \n\nFill thy barns with store, \nTo thy God and to thy Brother \nGive the more. \n\nIf thy soul with power uplifted \n\nYearn for glorious deed, \nGive thy strength to serve thy Brother \nIn his need. \n\nHast thou borne a secret sorrow \n\nIn thy lonely breast? \nTake to thee thy sorrowing Brother \nFor a guest. \n\nShare with him thy bread of blessing, \n\nSorrow\'s burden share. \nWhen thy heart enfolds a Brother, \nGod is there. \n\n* Tune "Geneva." \n[ 8 ] \n\n\n\nMY FRIEND \n\nA FRIEND I had who, when his heart was cold. \nWarmed it, he said, with Hfe-enkindHng wine. \nMade from no mortal grape, but of a vine \n\nPlanted by Christ and never waxing old. \n\nThis wondrous man, when wearily and slow \n\nA comrade walked, would make his shoulders bare \nAnd whisper, " Brother, put thy burden there." \n\nHe walked, he said, with Christ, and rested so. \n\nThen one black day I knew my friend must die. \n\nI wept and strove. My heart was torn in twain. \n\nBut he ! \xe2\x80\x94 he smiled like heaven upon my pain \nAnd said, "Would God thou wert as blest as I." \n\n\n\n[ 9 ] \n\n\n\nA THANATOPSIS \n\nDeath is an angel with two faces: \n\nTo us he turns \n\nA face of terror, blighting all things fair; \n\nThe other burns \n\nWith glory of the stars, and love is there; \n\nAnd angels see that face in heavenly places. \n\nTwo strong, sharp swords are in the hands of Death \n\nOne smites to dust \n\nDear beauty\'s idol and the thrones of power, \n\nAnd long, sweet years in that brief, awful hour \n\nVanish because they must; \n\nHis other and his stronger sword is just: \n\nIt slays untruth, and mocks at this world\'s lust, \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nO liberating Death! \n\nStrive, O my soul, to see \n\nThe heavenly face and that delivering sword ! \n\nTill I shall be \n\nAll truly fashioned to th\' Incarnate Word, \n\nAnd live, not knowing death, in Thee, O Lord ! \n\n\n\n[ 10 ] \n\n\n\nTWICE GIVEN \n\nGod gave tlie world His Son ; and he was known \n\nFor God\'s own Son, because he took the throne \n\nOf perfect love that seeketh not her own, \n\nAnd giving freely, as to him was given, \n\nMade love on Earth commune with love in Heaven. \n\nA perfect gift thy Father gives to thee, \xe2\x80\x94 \nThyself, with all thy powers : yet all will be \nImperfect, weak and in captivity. \nTill thou. His child, give all thyself away \nTo God and to thy brother, day by day. \n\n\n\n[ 11 ] \n\n\n\nPASTOR BONUS \n\nA WHITE young lamb upon my breast I bore: \nMy arms are empty now; and through my tears \n\nO\'er a wide river, on a shining shore, \nAnother Shepherd with my lamb appears. \n\nEach evening safely in his fold she lies; \n\nAnd every day, through pastures green and fair. \nFollows her Shepherd under sunny skies, \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nAnd all the flock of Christ walk with her there. \n\nA flock unnumbered ! Yet each star above \n\nWith differing glory fills the heavenly frame, \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nAnd my white lamb, in those vast realms of love. \nThe Shepherd knows and calls her by her name. \n\n\n\n[ 12 ] \n\n\n\nA LENTEN SECRET \n\nI STRUGGLED With my burden, till one day \nI strove no longer: then it fell away. \n\nI nursed my wounds in vain with skilful balm ; \nNot till I nursed them not my flesh grew calm. \n\nMy heaviest cross I weeping would not bear; \nI lifted it, and lo ! \'t was light as air ! \n\nAskest thou how such troubles so could bless ? \nGod touched each one, \xe2\x80\x94 and it was nothingness. \n\n\n\n[ 13 ] \n\n\n\nTHE FREE SPIRIT \n\nThere is no fate: \n\nThy high or low estate \nComes of thy climbing or thy falling down. \n\nNo baleful star \n\nA brave man\'s bliss can bar; \nNo kingly planet keep a coward\'s crown. \n\nDost thou complain \n\nBecause God\'s frost and rain \nTo thy white cheek seem much too wet or cold ? \n\nDost thou not know \n\nGod\'s angels, rain and snow, \nSwathe earth in robes of silver, fold on fold ? \n\nCease, luckless man. \n\nTo curse thy being\'s plan ! \nFor wert thou to thine own true birthright true, \n\nThou wert set free. \n\nAs are the winds, the sea, \nOr eagles mounting in the trackless blue. \n\n\n\n[ 14 ] \n\n\n\nTHE WINTER VICTORY \n\nWe are not children of the sun. \n\nWith myrtle garlands glad and gay, \n\nWho weep when Summer\'s mirth is done \nAnd fling the pipes of Pan away. \n\nThe conquerors of a land of snow, \nWe fear not Winter\'s leafless time; \n\nSwift winds and flames, our servants, go \nTo fetch us flowers of every clime. \n\nBeneath the steadfast northern star \nOur blazing hearthstone never fails. \n\nWhere heart to heart draws closer far \nThan lovers in Arcadian vales. \n\nNot ours to meet the Winter\'s birth \nWith sighs, but with fresh tasks begun \n\nWe rule the many-seasoned earth; \nWe are not children of the sun. \n\n\n\n[ 15 ] \n\n\n\nSTRENGTH IN WEAKNESS \n\nFather, to-day \nI humbly pray \nInto no sin my hasty feet may stray. \n\nMy wilfulness, \nTill Thou shalt bless, \nCannot sustain me in true holiness. \n\nMy boasted might \nTo choose the right. \nForgetting Thee, my God, is mean and slight. \n\nMy wing of love \nNot aimed above \nGoes trailing in the mire and is not love. \n\nMy sight, my power. \nMy love\'s brief hour \nAre loss and dross, until some starry dower \n\nFrom Heaven shall shine \nOn what seems mine, \nAnd bless poor me with light and life divine. \n\n[ 16 ] \n\n\n\nTHE SILENT HOUR* \n\nAs the storm retreating \nLeaves the vales in peace, \n\nLet the world\'s vain noises \nO\'er our spirits cease. \n\nSounds of wrath and striving, \n\nMan with man at war. \nHearts with Heaven contending, - \n\nHear we now no more. \n\nNow the hours of stillness \nWondrous visions show; \n\nHeaven unfolds before us. \nAngels come and go. \n\nHoly, human faces. \n\nFrom earth\'s shadows free. \nLook with love upon us. \n\nBid us patient be. \n\nAlmost we discern them, \nAlmost read their smile. \n\nAlmost hear them saying \xe2\x80\x94 \n"Wait a little while," \n\nThus in hours of stillness \n\nFaith to Heaven shall rise. \nTill death\'s last, deep silence \nQuite unseals our eyes. Amen. \n\xc2\xbb Tune "Merrial." \n[ 17 ] \n\n\n\nTHE ENDLESS QUEST \n\nEre true love its love can tell, \nEre fond hope flies half its range, \nTrembling in the marriage-bell \nSobs an undertone of change. \n\nGlory toiled for, fought for, won, \nName and fame and conquest proud. \nEre the conqueror\'s day be done, \nMelt like mad Ixion\'s cloud. \n\nMan was born on earth to roam, \nDream-struck, dazed, and self -beguiled. \nToward his migratory home \nIn th\' unnamed, unchartered wild. \n\nCould one man the realms possess \n\nOf his visionary eye, \n\nHe would perish of excess. \n\nOr of disenchantment die. \n\n\n\n[ 18 ] \n\n\n\nTHE AUTUMNAL HOPE \n\nThough the autumn\'s dying glory \nFlames along the lordly hill, \nLove will tell no mournful story, \nFaith not feel the season\'s chill. \n\nLeaves may fall, but all their fading \nSteals no life of living tree. \nStill, through deeper cells pervading, \nThrills the life we cannot see. \n\nHush, my heart, thy fancies dreary! \nAutumn\'s sadness is a cheat. \nForests rest when they are weary, \nBut their winter sleep is sweet. \n\nBuds beneath the branches dreaming. \nRoots that slumber in the snow, \nWhisper, " Death is but a seeming. \nLife the only truth we know." \n\n\n\n[ 19 ] \n\n\n\nA SABBATH EVENING \n\nI THANK thee, Lord, that just to-day \nI have not seemed to go astray, \nAnd that to-night the setting sun \nShines only on my duty done. \n\nFather ! not thus Thy name I bless \nFrom proud or blind self-righteousness; \nNor that I thus would hope to win \nRemission of some wilful sin. \n\nBut if to-night I lift my eyes \nUnto the all-beholding skies. \nAnd seem to feel within me shine \nSome kinship with their calm divine, \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nThe silent blessing bids me pray. \nBy this one glad and blameless day. \nTo learn what all my days might be, \nIf each were holy unto Thee. \n\n\n\n[ 20 ] \n\n\n\nTHE OFFENDING \n\n(After George Herbert) \n\nPluck out my heart ! \'T is a stale piece of food \n\nshame ! \xe2\x80\x94 \nUnfit for Thee to taste. \nTake it, my God, at last. \n\nAnd frame \nA fair and good. \n\nWhy is it that my heart should not be set \nOn Thee.? \nI hasten to draw near. \nAnd ere I be aware, \n\n1 flee. \n\nO spare me yet! \n\nMy deeds which should be pageants to declare \nThy praise. \nDo mock Thy mighty love. \nMy God, when shall Thy Dove \nMy ways \nMake straight and fair ? \n\n[ 21 ] \n\n\n\nTHE OFFENDING \n\nOnce did I think my furious eagle-soul \nHad eyes \nTo stare upon the sun. \nMy God, what have I done? \nThy skies \nI have made foul. \n\nBlind eyes were better than this sight of smart. \nMy sin. \nO make me blind, sick, dumb ! \nThen lest rebellion come \nWithin, \nPluck out my heart. \n\n\n\n[ 82 ] \n\n\n\nBENEDICTION \n\nGod be with thee ! Gently o \'er thee \nMay His wings of mercy spread ; \n\nBe His way made plain before thee, \nAnd His glory round thee shed. \n\nSafely onward, \nMay thy pilgrim-feet be led. \n\nGod be with thee ! With thy spirit \nHis abiding presence be; \n\nTill thy heart that peace inherit, \nGod alone can give to thee. \n\nHis indwelling, \nHelp, and heal, and set thee free. \n\n\n\n[ 23 ] \n\n\n\nGOD IN ALL \n\nThe flowing Soul, nor low nor high. \n\nIs perfect here, is perfect there. \nEach drop in ocean orbs the sky, \n\nAnd seeing eyes make all things fair. \n\nThe evening cloud, the wayside flower \nSurpass the Andes and the rose; \n\nAnd wrapped in every hasty hour \nIs all the lengthened year bestows. \n\nTherefore erase thy false degrees. \n\nFrom stock and stone strike starry fire. \n\nLo! even in the least of these \n\nDwells the Lord Christ, the world\'s desire. \n\n\n\n[ 24] \n\n\n\nTHE FELLOW LABORERS \n\nNot a star our eyes can see \nShines alone for you and me; \nDistant worlds behold its light, \nAges hence \'t will shine as bright. \n\nNot a flower that breathes and blows \nJust for us its perfume throws; \nHosts of happy insect things \nBrush it with their quickening wings. \n\nBrooks, as from the hills they flow. \nMake green meadows as they go ; \nCataracts of wrathful sound \nTurn the mill-wheels round and round. \n\nEach strong thing some service gives \nFar and wide; and nothing lives \nFor itself or just its own : \n\'T is but death to live alone. \n\n\n\n[ 25 ] \n\n\n\nTHE LIGHT OF THE WORLD \n\nOut of a vanishing cloud \n\nAnd the wind-blown dust that flies, \nGod made a human heart, endowed \n\nWith light from the central skies. \n\n\'T was cast on a furious flood \nOf a million changeful things, \n\nAnd fever and fear consumed its blood : \xe2\x80\x94 \nBut the creature was born with wings. \n\nThe wings were a banner of flame \n\nAmong the stars unfurled ; \nAnd the Light in Man at the last became \n\nThe light of the whole round world. \n\n\n\n[ 26 ] \n\n\n\nTHY HEART IN CHAMBERS TWAIN \n\n{From the German) \n\nThy heart in chambers twain \n\nDoth shelter \nTwo neighbors, Joy and Pain. \n\nIf Joy be wide awake, \n\nHer neighbor \nA longed-for rest will take. \n\nO Joy, if thou be wise. \n\nStep lightly, \nLest Pain from sleep arise. \n\n\n\n[ 27 ] \n\n\n\nPOSSESSION \n\nLet not my own my owner be. \nPossessions, if they serve not me. \nAre golden-chained captivity. \n\n\n\n[ 28 ] \n\n\n\nHOSPITALITY \n\nIn vain my host at banquet free \nGives far-fetched fruit and wine: \nIf soul to soul he meets not me. \nOn beggar\'s crust I dine. \n\n\n\n[ 29 ] \n\n\n\nDEMOCRACY \n\nThe kings are drones, the angered people cried. \nThe strong have gagged us, robbed us, and their eyes \nAre blinded. Let the people\'s wit be tried! \nMuch work and little bread have made us wise. \n\n\n\n[ 30 ] \n\n\n\nMAN\'S INFINITY \n\nTo mete and sway a bounded sphere \nWith patient heart and free, \nAnd harvest all his Now and Here, \nIs Man\'s infinity. \n\n\n\n[ 81 ] \n\n\n\nNOVEMBER \n\nThe bare November, like a stern divine, \nFrowned on my soul, discoursing of decay, \nOf time, flesh, dust, and pleasure\'s hasty day. \n\nReiterating weary line on line \n\nDeath\'s threadbare homily. " O Nature mine," \nI cried in wrath, " thou who didst breathe last May \nThe spirit of gladness in young lambs at play. \n\nShow thyself potent yet, by one sure sign." \n\nThen the moon rose. I saw her, full and calm. \nMove through the large clouds, as a mother might \nFrom room to room where sleeping children lie, \n" My son, " she said to me, " since yesternight \nI made my blissful round through Italy, \n\nFrom far Cathay and silvered isles of palm." \n\n\n\n[ 32 ] \n\n\n\nTHE THESEUS OF THE PARTHENON \n\n\'T IS the scarred ruin of a god-like face. \nLost, lost forever, the proud light it wore! \nThe lirabs, the robe are lovely as of yore; \nThe lordly neck still keeps an awful grace; \nThe clear brows front us still without a trace \nOf earth\'s imperf ectness : while we deplore \nThat men of our frail mould may blend no more \nMan\'s self-poised strength with god-like charm and \n\npeace. \nYet even the ruin speaks. That beauteous mien \nOf Theseus, hero of a vanished prime, \n\nWould look on Athens only while she bred \nMen valorous and youth high-souled and clean; \nHe blessed all Hellas through her golden time, \nThen veiled those eyes from Greeks enslaved and \ndead. \n\n\n\n[ 33 ] \n\n\n\nMY HOST \n\nA GUEST was I. My Host lived rich and free ; \nFeasts, gardens, music, guests of noble name, \nSweet sleep, good talk, gay youth and lovely dame, \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nAll made my pleasures. Said my Host to me: \n\n"The house is yours. I bid its servants be \nQuick to obey you. Make increasing claim \nOf all your heart can wish. It is my aim \n\nThese guests of mine shall use whatever they see." \n\nThen some one said : " Since here we have such powers, \nAll is our own ; and better place it were \nCould we forget this potent Master nigh. \nAnd feast unwatched of his all-seeing eye.\'* \n\nThrough all the guests great trouble then did stir: \nAnd voices cried, "This house is God\'s, not ours." \n\n\n\n[ 34 ] \n\n\n\nTHE SOUL IN BONDAGE \n\n{See Frontispiece) \n\nI SAW a heaven-born soul, whose earthly frame \nWas strength and beauty. But about her twined \nLoose-woven bonds; and slave-like she resigned \n\nHer limbs to hopeless sleep, which seemed the same \n\nAs coming death; nor felt she any shame \n\nOf bonds and nakedness, but locked her mind \nIn her unopening eyes, and, wilful blind. \n\nSaw not behind her the sun\'s orb of flame. \n\nFor groping at her bonds, she said, "They hold \nThe skies from which I fell." Yet her own hand \nHeld immortality. I could but see \nHer bonds were gossamer; and I was told \n\nThat she must feel her strength some day, and stand \nUnbound, awake, her heavenly wings set free. \n\n\n\n[ 35 ] \n\n\n\nGIBRALTAR \n\nDost thou, great England, guard thy greatness here \nBy thy bold Lion Rock\'s imperial pride, \nOnly that thy swift merchant ships may ride. \n\nEncircling the rich globe, without a fear \n\nOf any wrath but heaven\'s ? Dost thou uprear \nThese bastions in mere greed ? Hast thou defied \nNavies of many kings and multiplied \n\nThy strongholds in all seas, that year by year \n\nOnly thine English greatness might increase? \nNot so, Gibraltar ! Let thy fortress stand \nTo keep the oceans free, and hold each land \n\nIn righteous brotherhood with all, till Peace, \nAt last uplifting her resistless hand. \n\nShall bid the nations from their discord cease. \n\n\n\n[ 36 ] \n\n\n\nIN A TIME OF NATIONAL SCANDAL \n\nHer own sons shamed my country with much gold : \nThe lavish gifts her own full bounty gave \nImperilled what our sires brought o\'er the wave \nOf freedom and of faith in God. Men told \nIn lands where lords, priests, slaves and monarchs hold \nThe soul in chains, that freedom could not save \nOur new-world men from sinking in that grave \nWhere over Babylon or Rome have rolled \nThe oblivious centuries. We knew and blushed. \nYet the great people\'s heart was in the way \nOf wisdom ever. Fortune\'s pampered son \nMay wander or go mad. But in the hushed \nMost holy temple where men love, toil, pray. \nIn common manhood, freedom\'s cause is won. \n\n\n\n[ 37 ] \n\n\n\n^NEAS \n\nIf after kingdoms lost, dark griefs and shames, \nStorms and sad exile, some stern power pursues \nThe sacred hero still ; yet may the Muse \n\nIn his prophetic heart evoke the names \n\nOf mightier, more benignant gods: she claims \nConsolatory office, to infuse \nFaith in the future and high heart to use \n\nThe present task, though base, for kingly aims. \n\nNor is it least of her good gifts to show \nThe exile among alien shores and seas. \n\nHow human hearts are touched by human tears \nEven in unknown eyes. For strangers know \n\nIf men have toiled and wept, and make with these \nConcord of song the Muse approving hears. \n\n\n\n[ 38 ] \n\n\n\nTO VIRGIL \n\nThy Rome died many deaths. Her native power \nBy slow diseases, such as nations know \nWhen liberty is lost, became a show \n\nAnd pageantry for slaves ; then came the hour \n\nOf outward death, as when a withered flower \nFalls in a tempest; o\'er her lying low \nThe barbarous legions in resistless flow \n\nRained seas of death on temple, street and tower. \n\nBut thou, imperial Virgil, couldst not die. \n\nStill through strange seas thy storm-tossed Trojans \nfare; \nThy visions live; thy voice is singing still. \nWe wanderers to a vaster West descry \n\nNew worlds, new sorrows : but true hearts that bear \nThe sacred past, seek Heaven\'s prophetic will. \n\n\n\n[ 39 ] \n\n\n\nTO DEATH \n\nWhy art thou blind, O Death ? Why dost thou choose \nAt random whither thy keen shaft is flung ? \nGray-bearded crime and virtue dying young \n\nLook all alike to thee. Thou dost confuse \n\nTh\' oppressor with his prey ; fond love may lose \nIts loveliest; or justest hate be stung \nBy its long-lingering object. With what tongue \n\nCanst thou, fool Death ! thy frenzied strokes excuse ? \n\nBut haply thy dark wisdom would make scorn \nOf mortal judgments, and would loudly say: \n" Nothing is sure ; nor beauty, wit, nor worth \nHave long to stay. Oh, therefore, sons of Earth, \nDraw close, clasp hands, give life\'s best gifts away, \nAnd ere love passes, prove why love was born." \n\n\n\nt 40 ] \n\n\n\nTHE EARTH CELESTIAL \n\nRoll, little Earth, along thy star-lit round ! \n\nLight at the sun thine own quenched lamp of power ! \n\nThy slow-evolving age and swiftest hour \nAre measured by the light that knows no bound. \nWhat if thou borrow all ? No stir, nor sound. \n\nNor life, nor spark of thought, but is the dower \n\nOf thy celestial birth; thy least field-flower \nIs fed by stars across the gulf profound. \n\nThy beauty never of itself was bred ; \n\nBy their star-clock thy seasons punctual be. \n\nLet fading centuries pass ! Old Earth in thee \nLet land and ocean hide their millions dead J \n\nOn with the stars, swift globe ! Thy warm dust rolls \n\nThrough the same sky that breathed thee full of \nsouls. \n\n\n\n[ \xc2\xab ] \n\n\n\nTO A POET WHO FEARED THE LOSS OF \nYOUTH \n\nDost thou forebode the passing of the morn \nWhile yet thy rose of youth is wet with dew ? \nDoth thy fresh laurel twine itself with yew, \n\nAnd when thou shouldst be glad, art thou forlorn ? \n\nOr is there on thy lip some curve of scorn. \nSeeing how meanly men grow old, how few \nBut feel the world\'s false kiss has worked them rue, \n\nLike Samson by Delilah mocked and shorn ? \n\nFollow the Muses, brother! They endow \n\nWith youth immortal; and give equal praise \n\nTo gray Mseonides of sightless eyes, \n\nOr flushed youth singing life\'s first wild surprise. \n\nHonor each Muse ! But mark Urania\'s brow \n\nLifting unruffled o\'er our lapse of days ! \n\n\n\n[ 42 ] \n\n\n\nBOUNDLESSNESS \n\n(" La Nature est prodigue, non parce-qu\'elle est folic, mais parce \nqu\'elle est riche.") \n\nSo many seeds that will not grow ! \nSo many planets black and bare! \nSo many creatures writhing slow \nThrough lives which seem dumb chaos, where \nWild, empty dreams drift on in aimless flow ! \n\nUnnumbered life-engendering beams \nSpeed forth from every potent star; \nBut most are lost, \xe2\x80\x94 mere pin-point gleams \nWhose light is quenched by travelling far. \nWhat goal or gain the boundless waste redeems ? \n\nHath Nature, who with sparing hand \nWeighs out each morsel to the worm, \nLike madmen building towers of sand. \nBound fast her parts in form and term. \nBut for the whole mere dull confusion planned ? \n\nWhy hold I in my sanest mind \nSuch faith in Nature\'s wise excess ? \nWhy does my soul, so small, so blind. \nGlory so much in boundlessness? \nWhy ask I not that heaven have one star less ? \n[ 43 ] \n\n\n\nBOUNDLESSNESS \n\nOh, what if this exuberant whole, \nO\'er-leaping measure, mark and bound. \nBe subject to unseen control ? \nWhat if all lost notes gathered up shall sound \nGod\'s endless music to Man\'s deathless soul ? \n\n\n\n[ 44 ] \n\n\n\nRESURRECTIO CARNIS \n\nO LIVING flesh I call my own, \nMy portion brief of earth and air, \n\nMen bring thee bread from every zone \nAnd fetch from far thy substance rare. \n\nThe dew of morning fills thy veins. \nThe cool, salt sea within thee flows. \n\nThe sunbeam\'s throb thy heart sustains, \nThy blush is fellow to the rose. \n\nThou hast no commerce with decay. \nThine elements are star-fed fires. \n\nEach frail breath of thy mortal day \nFrom boundless life its life respires. \n\nO living flesh, what wilt thou be \nWhen my brief tenancy is done ? \n\nStill shalt thou not in earth or sea \nTake golden tribute of the sun ? \n\nSo kindred to what will not die, \n\nDear flesh, I scorn thy doubts and fears. \n\nThy mortal portents pass me by \nAnd melt in God\'s eternal years. \n[ 45 ] \n\n\n\nA SOUL IN STORM \n\nContinually stirred man\'s soul must be \n\nBy agonies, by whirlwinds of desire, \n\nLest it should stagnate, lest the living flow \n\nOf elemental power should be cut off \n\nBoth from its fount and goal. Oh, what is death? \n\n\'T is the last tempest in life\'s little pool \n\nTo rouse it to the depth, until it burst \n\nIts inland bound and flow forth upon tides \n\nThat sweep unmeasured to the utmost shore \n\nOf God\'s last star, so finding rest at last. \n\nRest ? Who can tell if rest indeed be gain ? \n\nWho fears great storms, fears what shall surely blow \n\nIf oceans he would cross : and if my soul \n\nFrom star to star would travel, if I be \n\nNot land-locked ever in earth\'s transient haven, \n\nMust I not pray God, not for peace and calm, \n\nBut to sail storm-proof o\'er His vaster seas? \n\n\n\n[ 46 ] \n\n\n\nTHE SPHINX \n\nOut of the changeful fury of the tide-rifts stream- \ning by \n\nWilt build thee, O World, a place of peace, and show \nGod by and by? \n\nOr all the riot of roses and the loves that escape \ncontrol. \nAre they rainbows shed on a melting cloud from the \ncentral sun of my soul ? \n\n\n\nO musical storms and stars, do ye strike wild chords \n\nunplanned ? \nOr is there a master-musician, who leads with \n\nuplifted hand ? \nIf a god\'s will shape the heavens, is he perfect, \n\nboundless, free ? \nOr feels he the bondage of violent dust? Does he \n\nsuffer and strive like me ? \n\n\n\nI know that I never shall answer the riddles that \n\nhaunt the mind. \nI see but a spark of the infinite flame, \xe2\x80\x94 to all the \n\nrest born blind. \n\n[ 47 ] \n\n\n\nTHE SPHINX \n\nYet envy I not the gazers who boast of their clearer \nsight; \nFor safer I walk if I know I am blind, than calling the \ndarkness light. \n\nFor all my riddle unanswered, for all my blindness \n\nknown, \nI would rather keep asking the secret than to make it \n\nall my own. \nI believe that the stir of the questions is the spirit\'s \n\nultimate breath. \nAll life is a passionate question. Wilt thou not answer \n\nit. Death? \n\n\n\nt 48 ] \n\n\n\nTHE ROYAL SELF \n\nIf to this earth from some superior star \nMy spirit fell, and if, as Plato dreamed. \nMy task is to recover from afar \nThe vigor lost, from servitude redeemed. \n\nIt were not hard to bear the darkened day. \n\nOr not impossible to find once more. \n\nThough blind, though bleeding, the returning way. \n\nAnd hope for home upon this alien shore. \n\nOr if I be the heir of victor-beast, \nAnd, born of victory, may hopeful strive, \nBecause ascent is life: so at the least, \nI think I could sustain my soul alive. \n\nBut I refuse to drift. I will not be \n\nA bubble on a stream of stars, to dance. \n\nTo eddy round and shine like something free. \n\nThen burst my film of being at a chance. \n\nYes, I refuse. The powers beyond my ken \nMay laugh as tyrants do upon a slave. \nMy will may be delusion, and we men \nMay at the last snatch nothing from the grave. \n[ 49 ] \n\n\n\nTHE ROYAL SELF \n\nYet in this moment that I call my own, \nThis flash-light life of mine shall be a thing \nColored by my soul\'s act. If this brief throne \nMust fall, \xe2\x80\x94 at least I\'ll use it like a king. \n\n\n\n[ 50 ] \n\n\n\nSURSUM CORDA \n\nNot a star a moment stays; \n\nEvery beam it gives replaces \n\nStarry beams of vanished days \n\nInto endless darkness sped. \n\nThe lifted Alp\'s perpetual head \n\nCrumbles away, and every storm defaces \n\nSome fragment of its fiery prime; \n\nThe mountain granite yields to time \n\nSurely as blown roses fail, \n\nOr the cheek of youth turns pale, \n\nOr o\'er the poet\'s would-be deathless rhyme \n\nOblivious years prevail. \n\nWhy, then, O my frivolous soul ! \n\nSue or execrate the skies, \n\nIf visibly before thy wrathful eyes \n\nSome mansion melt which once thou couldst \n\ncontrol ? \nShall the fading rainbow grieve thee ? \nOr if lovely music leave thee. \nWilt thou curse it as it goes ? \nWilt thou in scorn \nKeep the thorn. \n\nAnd trample fiercely on a faded rose ? \n[ 51 ] \n\n\n\nSURSUM CORDA \n\nRather thou shalt be aware. \n\nAs Hfe\'s apparition flows, \n\nOf earth and sky whence thou didst pluck thy \n\nrose; \nOf a boundless wealth and free \nThat can a million-fold repair \nThe broken beauty that now grieveth thee. \n\nBattle lost, or battle won, \n\nGlorious the conflict done. \n\nGo, rainbows ! I have found the sun. \n\n\n\n[ 52 ] \n\n\n\nIMMORTAL MIND \n\nWhat are centuries or seons, but as flowers that bloom \n\nand die? \nWhat is earth ? One planet-blossom in the garden of \n\nthe sky. \nWhat is Man? OTime! O Planet! Shall he ripen by \n\nand by? \n\n\n\nThrough the formless deep, they tell us, ere the spheres \nin order ran. \n\nStirred a beam, a breath of godhead, dawned a demi- \nurgic plan. \n\nWhile the throbbing star-dust atoms danced in pro- \nphecy of Man. \n\n\n\nWho beheld the myriad epochs vanished since the earth \nwas born. \n\nWho beheld from pole to centre the fresh globe con- \nvulsed and torn. \n\nWho beheld her isles and oceans shifting like the clouds \nof morn ? \n\n[ 53 ] \n\n\n\nIMMORTAL MIND \n\nIf the angels watched the wonder, \'t was as mortal eyes \n\nbehold \nSurf that breaks, or flames outleaping, or the rainbow\'s \n\ntransient gold; \nNone but God saw why or whither the tumultuous ages \n\nrolled. \n\nSay not yon unfathomed heavens yield to Man their \n\ndeep decree; \nSay not all-adventuring Science knows what is or what \n\nshall be. \nWhere are alpha and omega ? Who has written, who \n\ncan see? \n\nShall the limpet on the sea-cliff pathway o\'er the ocean \n\nfind? \nKnows the insect in the sunbeam what far orbs our \n\nplanet bind? \nOh! if dust to dust returneth, Man, no less, dies, \n\ncosmos-blind. \n\nIs God\'s glorious work forever witnessed by Himself \n\nalone ? \nShall there be no deathless creature standing near th\' \n\nEternal Throne ? \nIf one soul be God\'s companion, \xe2\x80\x94 Child of Man, \n\nwhy not thine own ? \n\n[ 54 ] \n\n\n\nHERAKLEITOS \n\nThrough the universe I see \nMovement, rhythm and degree. \nNothing is but was before \nSomething less or something more. \nWave on wave the starry light \nStrikes our fluctuating sight. \nThrough the glory of the sun \nFields of ebbing darkness run. \n\nLife from life forever breeding. \nLife on life forever feeding, \nTh\' invulnerable parasite \nFinds a glory and delight \nAlways in some vaster whole: \nAs stars of stars receive control, \nAnd oceans into oceans roll. \n\nNothing lives of its own labor, \nEach must borrow of a neighbor. \nKings by beggars\' pence are fed, \nAnd the serf has daily bread \nOnly if the wise and great \nFructify his mean estate. \n\nNature\'s rapine and decay \nTakes a smooth, melodious way. \n[ 55 ] \n\n\n\nHERAKLEITOS \n\nSee the serpent on \'the bough \n\nCoiling surely, fixing now \n\nOn the dove his jewelled eye, \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nBids her his new pleasures try. \n\nShe in wonder at such wooing, \n\nRatifies her own undoing. \n\nYields her in a dreamful trance \n\nTo his life-consuming glance. \n\nTill in her breast with scarce a pang \n\nThrusts the worm his glittering fang. \n\nSoon the eagle with the snake \n\nHis delicious sport will take : \n\nAnd through boundless upper air \n\nThe unresisting coiler bear, \n\nIn a rapture of confusion. \n\nIn ecstatical delusion; \n\nAnd when on the eagle\'s eyrie \n\nFalls the serpent stunned and weary. \n\nHe resigns without a strife \n\nHis short heritage of life. \n\nThus by soothing drugs of death \nNature healeth, fresheneth \nAll her tribes, and by such giving \nMaketh short life well worth living; \nWhile round her ancient, wreckful shore \nFull tides of youth forever pour. \n\n[ 56 ] \n\n\n\nLAGO DI COMO \n\nOut of the fight I fled ; yet not \n\nAs cowards fly, but striking at my foe \n\nWith every backward step, and not one jot \n\nAbating truth and honor, nor with show \n\nOf courtesy to knaves nor truce with folly. \n\nBut not the less did bitter melancholy \n\nGo with me ever, and my solitude \n\nWas haunted by a brood \n\nOf disillusions, doubts and scornful smiles: \n\nSeeing how men are ruled by shallow wiles, \n\nAnd in the world\'s high places \n\nFalse hearts and hideous faces \n\nClaim flattery and crowns, \n\nAnd over gaping clowns \n\nHave empire which no power but time effaces ; \n\nSo strong the power of brainless, soulless gold \n\nBy palsied hands controlled ! \n\nUnto the hills I fled. There at the feet \nOf snowy-mantled summits, the swift tides \nOf joy and pain seemed breaking evermore \nLike foaming ripples beautiful and fleet \nOn some impregnable shore \n[ 57 ] \n\n\n\nLAGO DI COMO \n\nWhere land and ocean me(ft, \n\nAnd where in ceaseless conflict peace abides. \n\nThe terraced vineyards and the towered town \n\nAlong the mountain marges sloping down, \n\nFlooded with purples by Italian eve, \n\nThe castle on the peak, for which the night \n\nPrepared a holy crown \n\nOf stars, the sun-smit village gleaming bright, \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nAll seemed like cloudy creatures winged for flight, \n\nPoising a moment to receive \n\nThe gift of air and ecstasy of light. \n\nThe works of man dissolved : or were one beam \n\nIn the supreme effulgence, proud to be \n\nTransfigured, and to give their passing gleam \n\nOf beauty to th\' eternal joy they see. \n\nMy heart stood still and had no power for tears; \n\nI felt the lost and lamentable years \n\nFall from me like a dream. \n\nA little mountain maiden with large eyes \n\nOffered me cyclamens ; with smiles she stood. \n\nThe spirit of the springtime and the hills. \n\nSo I smiled with her; and the scornful mood \n\nVanished in sunset, as a discord dies \n\nIn vaster music; my remembered ills \n\nWere but the harmless noise of yonder vale. \n\n[ 58 ] \n\n\n\nAT A TUSCAN VILLA \n\nBeneath your villa\'s ample vines \n\nI drank your fragrant native wines; \n\nI heard your cattle low, and saw \n\nYour faithful servants heed your law. \n\nIt seemed a temperate retreat \n\nFrom winter winds and summer\'s heat. \n\nWhere under smiling Tuscan skies \n\nIt were a pleasure to be wise. \n\nSuch was the house beside the sea \n\nOf Virgil at Parthenope; \n\nSuch the felicity and charm \n\nFor Horace of his Sabine farm; \n\nAnd nobler souls than these have found \n\nIn some sequestered plot of ground \n\nRoom for immortal thoughts, and friends \n\nTo serve imperishable ends. \n\nYon uplands of the Apennine \nHave beckoned to a life divine; \nAnd many a hermit breathing there \nAn unperturbed and cloistral air. \nHas found, remote from friends and foes. \nFulfilment, triumph and repose. \nNot less, old friend, though you and I \n[ 59 ] \n\n\n\nAT A TUSCAN VILLA \n\nClimb no steep pathway to the sky, \nMankind compels us to confess \nThat cities are a loneliness. \nAnd bids us oft prefer to these \nFestivity with birds and trees. \nIt is because our hearts refuse \nTo live unloved, that thus we choose \nTo seek among plain folk and rude \nWhat the spoiled world calls solitude. \n\n\n\n[ 60 ] \n\n\n\nTHE DREAM-BUILDER \n\nA POTENT wizard of forgotten name, \nWhose hut was on a range of sand-blown hills \nBetween two towns of ancient Tartary, \nBy secret incantation and strong charm \nCould draw men\'s dreams out from their sleeping brains \nAnd give them visible shape. Some reached the stars \nAnd filled the sky\'s deep dome with golden wings; \nSome earthward clung; while others to and fro \nWould wander in the formless air, like clouds \nWhich flock in mountain vales, or on the Sea \nSpread the gray mantle of the mist, that hides \nAll else from sight yet shows no shape itself. \n\nThese dreams forthwith, such virtue had the spell, \nTook their own places in the earth and sky, \nNot less than if the finger of the Lord \nOutreaching from the darkness round His throne, \nHad shaped their being when the world was new. \n\nSo from the sand-blown range of treeless hills \nSprang new-born galaxies, dream after dream. \n\nYet all was magic. Uninvited eyes \nSaw nothing. Travellers from their path astray \n[ 61 ] \n\n\n\nTHE DREAM-BUILDER \n\nIn that magician\'s dwelling ft)und a man \n\nSunk deep in thought, \xe2\x80\x94 no more. Some fancied him \n\nA penitent in loveless hermitage, \n\nSelf -tortured by his own soul\'s fixed decree; \n\nOr madman long forgot, concealing there \n\nThe ruins of his mind, as wounded birds \n\nHide dying in dark caves and are not seen. \n\nFew heard his incantation; few believed \n\nHis magic could call substance from the void ; \n\nStill fewer through his dream-built worlds could move. \n\nYet no man wandering through Tartary \n\nPassed o\'er the sand-blown hills, but felt his soul \n\nUplifted into freedom and reborn; \n\nAnd in the wilderness for many a day \n\nEach found smooth ways, cool wells and balmy shade. \n\nAnd heard the dear speech of his native land. \n\n\n\n[ 62 ] \n\n\n\nRETRO SATHANAS \n\nI WOKE one night all trembling; a dim beam \nOf moonlight slanted down my chamber-wall; \nBut blackness swam about me, and I saw \nClose at my side a shape with human brows. \nWhich looked with odious eyes deep, deep in mine \nWith pale and beckoning hands, it seemed to say ; \nI am a spirit from the waning moon ; \nA thousand days I crouch with half-shut eyes \nOn that cold shore where the dull silver fades \nFrom the mid-crescent into the abyss \nOf shadow stretched between the icy horns. \nDarkness and death are ever where I dwell. \nI am thine own bad angel. I am he \nWho, with what skill the moon-god trained me to. \nDo torture that soft thing within thy breast. \nI vex thy mind with doubts insoluble. \nI lead in mockery beside the edge \nOf soundless gulfs of being, \xe2\x80\x94 where below \nThy human pathway roars the deep of deeps. \nOr where, more terrible than noise of storm, \nThe silence seems to make thine own light steps \nStartle the dead abyss with evil sound. \nBefore thy mother looked upon thy face, \nI nestled at thy side. I prompted thee \n[ 63 ] \n\n\n\nRETRO SATHANAS \n\nThrough all thy childish sins; and when in age \nThy desperate tears flow fast, thy withered face \nWill show among time\'s honest wrinkles there \nThe lines my finger drew. All men who read \nMy writing in thy face will shrink from thee : \xe2\x80\x94 \nBut I will carve it on thee day by day." \n\nSo ceased the phantom. But my angered soul \nShuddered no whit. I rose; I faced him square. \nAnd gave him gaze for gaze, with words like these: \n" Good brother demon ! \'t was unmannerly \nTo break my sleep thus, \xe2\x80\x94 though the thing may pass \nIf thou art such an old acquaintance here. \nWhy is my young soul worth such long-laid plot \nTo ruin ? Is thy moon-god in the cold \nSo much at loss for ways to spend his power. \nThat he must teach thee this industrious trick \nOf netting minnows ? Do I seem so pure. \nOr was I ever so angelical. \nThat thy malicious hands befouling me. \nAccomplish some bold insult against God ? \nBe not deceived. Old Snake ! For wert thou he \nWho coiled in Eden to sting simple Eve, \xe2\x80\x94 \nI tell thee plainly \'t is my simple creed \nThat souls enslaved by thee were self -betrayed. \nI do defy thy poison-plague to touch \nThe clean, sound part of me. O enemy \nOf sickly souls ! I mock thee, when I see \n[ 64 ] \n\n\n\nRETRO SATHANAS \n\nHow good men are, how good is my true self, \n\nIn spite of this perpetual devil\'s art \n\nWith which thou pliest us. See, spider, see \n\nThe one fly in thy webs, \xe2\x80\x94 and through the air \n\nA million wings flash rainbows in the sun ! \n\nSuch luck is Satan\'s setting traps for men. \n\nI call thee thy right name now \xe2\x80\x94 do I so ? \n\nGo, Goat-foot! drop thy large, pretentious style! \n\nPrince of the Air, art thou, whose royal garb \n\nSo savors of the dung-heap and the ditch ? \n\nIf thou art devil, hear me! I am man. \n\nI do defy, deride, exorcise thee. \n\nI know thou dwellest not in any star, \n\nNor in the moon, nor nether deep dost hide. \n\nThou art the shadow of my own false fears; \n\nThou hast not even the names men call thee by; \n\nFor thou art nothingness and vacancy." \n\nThen, waking with these words as one from swoon, \n\nI saw the day-star at my casement shine; \n\nA silver zone spread round the dawning East, \n\nAnd singing through my chamber came a voice: \n\n" My child, resist the devil, he will flee \n\nFrom thee." And all that day was quietness. \n\n\n\n[ 65 ] \n\n\n\nAVE ROMA IMMORTALIS \n\nEternal Rome ! They change thy robes of pride \nAnd rend thy beauty from thee, as of old \nThy women in their mourning tore away \nThe vesture from the breast, and let loose hair \nFlow tangled to the wind. Yet of thy soul \nNo Vandal, nor thine own unheeding sons, \nCan spoil thee; and the soul of thee survives \nAll change and spoliation, \xe2\x80\x94 though it be \nThe envy of slow time, or sudden hand \nOf unconsidered slaughter that consigns \nThy body to its doom of endless change. \n\nRuin in thee is perfect. Scars of shame, \n\nDark prodigies of chastisement and sin. \n\nHave made themselves thy beauty; and men gaze \n\nEntranced with fear and wonder that become \n\nA passionate love of thee. \n\nYet all thy shows \nOf visible wreck and glory overthrown \nAre passing ripples in the soundless deep \nOf thy forgotten grief. To mourn for thee, \nThee and thy fallen kingdoms numberless. \nIs more than tears can do. For loss like thine \n[ 66 ] \n\n\n\nAVE ROMA IMMORTALIS \n\nSilence alone is fit. Nor needest thou \n\nThe melancholy moon or midnight stars \n\nTo clothe thee in sad thoughts. The brightest noon \n\nShows best thy desolation, when the beams \n\nOf the great, scornful sun shine pitiless \n\nOn the vast profanation of thy graves. \n\nIn youth I pondered with a heavy heart \n\nOn Rome so fallen. With shut eyes I sate \n\nIn silent places, meditating long \n\nOn death, fate, ruin, and all words of woe \n\nYoung hearts still dare to speak. But now I hear \n\nA song of triumph in the ruins. Now \n\nFor Rome I weep no more; because her soul \n\nLives on, and they who love her learn at last \n\nThat if she seem dead, prostrate, overthrown, \n\n\'T is but fantastic vision and untrue. \n\nI sing an Ave Roma! Soul of Rome, \nThou art invincible and glad. The streams \nOf thine unnumbered fountains do not flow \nMore clear and vital from their mountain caves, \nThan out of shadow speeds thy river of joy \nIn haste to feel the sun. Thy children sing \nRight blithely o\'er thy vacant sepulchres. \nOr take dry bones for toys. The royal rose \nThrives well all winter long, amid the mould \nor Caesar\'s palaces. Th\' Unconquered Sun, \n\n[ 67 ] \n\n\n\nAVE ROMA IMMORTALIS \n\nThat Sol InvictuSy once a god of thine, \nHas quit us never; and the heart of man \nRenews itself forever in the Hght \nOf unexhausted heaven. Let the gods \nDie and be buried ! Let their altars fall ! \nO soul of Rome ! O soul of me and mine ! \nWe carve the satyr\'s revel on the stone \nThat hides the ashes of the dead \xe2\x80\x94 because \nLife is invincible. Rome cannot die. \nHer ruins bloom ; her gray, old marble dust \nIs youthful as her violets. \'T is here \nThe vestal j&res burn forever bright \nUpon the holy hearthstone of mankind. \n\nAve Roma Immortalis! We, \n\nThe sons of lamentable chance and change, \n\nTouching thy wonder-relics, here receive \n\nHealing and consolation, gifts of power, \n\nAnd from thy world-worn heart perpetual song. \n\nHear, Rome, our nameless pilgrim prayers, and bless ! \n\nThe pilgrims of to-morrow like ourselves \n\nWill find great peace in thee when we are gone. \n\n\n\nA STOIC\'S CREED \n\nA TRUE man shrinks not from his due of sweat. \nHis hard-won virtue is of lofty strain, \nEven and all-subduing: it must grow \nBy patient knowledge and discerning art \nTo judge, clear-eyed, things human and divine. \nSuch is life\'s end and goal. If thou attain, \nThe fellow, not the suppliant, shalt thou be \nOf blessed gods. How reach this pinnacle? \nNot when thou toilest o\'er the Apennine, \nOr through Candavian wilds ; no wreckful coast, \nNor Scylla nor Charybdis, needst thou see; \nNor buy safe-conduct of marauders bold. \nThe way is safe and plain. \'T is Nature\'s track, \nFrom which not wandering thou shalt grow divine. \nDivine ! Can gold array thee like a god ? \nOr purple toga? Lo! the gods are naked. \nFame hast thou and applause ? Remember, then, \nHow God abides unseen, and men blaspheme \nUnpunished. Art thou great and worshipful \nWhen on thy litter through the staring street \nThy slaves convey thee ? Yet the highest God \nBears all things up, unaided and self-moved. \nSeek thou for that which cannot change nor fail ! \nWhere ? In thy soul ! Be just, benignant, free ! \n[ 69 ] \n\n\n\nA STOIC\'S CREED \n\nSo in thy body a great god shall dwell. \nIn slave or freedman or in Roman born \nThe soul alone is great. Our names of rank \nSprang from ambition or injurious deeds. \nThy only honor, worth and high degree \nIs if a god inhabiteth in thee. \n\n\n\n[ 70 ] \n\n\n\nSENECA ON THE SOUL \n\nI PRAY thee note how natural it seems \n\nTo send our thoughts out toward the infinite. \n\nThe mind of man loves things of large emprise, \n\nAccepting for its own no humbler bounds \n\nThan gods themselves receive. The mind abjures \n\nA mean and local home. Though thou shouldst \n\ndwell \nIn Alexandria or Ephesus, \nOr some more central city, yet thy mind \nClaims for a fatherland the total sphere, \nYon round horizon clasping lands and seas. \nYon middle air and realm of sacred sky \nDividing and uniting gods and men, \nWhere rolls the host of stars which watch our actions. \n\nNor will thy mind accept the fatal bounds \nOf fleeting time. For all the past is thine; \nEach epoch gone stands legible and clear. \nTranslucent to the peering lamp of reason. \nWhen comes the day \xe2\x80\x94 that day the foolish fear \xe2\x80\x94 \nWhich separates the god and man within thee. \nLeaving thy body in the dust it sprang from. \nThou journeyest to the gods, who even now \n[ 71 ] \n\n\n\nSENECA ON THE SOUL \n\nIn this hard earthly prison, Bless and cheer. \nThrough this short life\'s delays thou schoolest thee \nTo meet the longer, nobler life to come. \n\nOh, then what hidden things thy soul shall see! \n\nThis fog-bank scatters, and from every side \n\nLight breaks upon thee. Thou shalt contemplate \n\nThat glory of so many mingling stars. \n\nStreaming together in the tranquil deep \n\nOf heaven, where no cloud or stain can be. \n\nBoth east and west in heaven look equal bright. \n\nFor light and dark are little changes known \n\nOnly in earthly air. Shalt thou not say, \n\nWhen on thy nature the true light shall shine. \n\nThat all thy life was shadow hitherto ? \n\nNow dost thou but far off and dimly see. \n\nWith eyes of flesh, so feeble and so small; \n\nBut when at last upon thy total self \n\nThe total light shall smite thee through and through, \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nO light of God ! what glory shall it be ! \n\nThink on these things ! From what is harsh and vile \nThey do absolve and purge. Thy life below \nThe gods are witness of ; and if thou strive \nTo make thee worthy their eternal presence, \nNo sound of war nor fearful trumpet\'s blare \nCan shake thee with one fear. To such as thee \nDeath is a promise. In thy mortal hour \n[ 72 ] \n\n\n\nSENECA ON THE SOUL \n\nThou shalt but break thy chain, and range abroad \n\nTo be forevermore an influence, \n\nA memory, a goal, a high example, \n\nA thought of honor in some noble heart. \n\nPart of thy country\'s treasure and renown, \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nAnd all that hear thy voice shall call thee friend. \n\n\n\nr 73 ] \n\n\n\nTHE ROXBURY LATIN SCHOOL \n\nLong may the light our fathers set \nRemain, our glory and our debt. \nAnd this small field bear harvest yet \n\n\'Neath many a changing star! \nLong may we guard the sacred flame. \nAnd honor each heroic name. \nAnd praise the men unknown to fame. \n\nWho made us what we are! \n\nHere Socrates shall smile and die. \nHere Caesar\'s chariot thunder by. \nHere laurelled Virgil sing and sigh. \n\nFor listeners yet unborn. \nYet each new age new light shall shed \nUpon the past and all its dead, \nAnd wisdom with uplifted head \n\nFace to the rising morn. \n\nHere youth with eye severely true \nShall all the paths of glory view, \nAnd learn what shadows men pursue, \nThen choose its own proud way. \nFor something that will ne\'er be taught \nIn every youthful soul is wrought, \n[ 74 ] \n\n\n\nTHE ROXBURY LATIN SCHOOL \n\nSome free and self-enkindled thought, \xe2\x80\x94 \nThe best of life\'s brief day. \n\nThen dear and hallowed be the house \nWhere, with the sunlight on his brows, \nYoung Galahad assumes his vows \n\nAnd takes the knightly part ! \nNo need of priestly tapers pale. \nNor crimson robe nor silvered mail; \nEnough, if to the Holy Grail \n\nHe brings a stainless heart. \n\n\n\n[ 75 ] \n\n\n\nTO OUR OLD HEAD-MASTER \n\n(William Coe Collar) \n\nHail, Guide and Friend ! Our fellow pilgrim now \nChoragus still, despite the silvered head ! \n\nPause now, from climbing the hoar mountain\'s brow. \nAnd bless the long procession thou hast led ! \n\nDid Mentor with his wisdom thee invest ? \n\nOr Chiron lend thee his persuasive lyre? \nOr Socrates, of pedagogues the best, \n\nTeach thee the harp-strings of a youth\'s desire ? \n\nOr at Eleusis didst thou enter in \n\nTo witness what solemnities austere \nAbsolve the mystic soul from taint of sin, \n\nAnd render to the bright immortals dear? \n\nOr rather did the legends vast and fair \nOf sage or hero dead, bid thee no less \n\nTime\'s new occasions grasp, and so prepare \nThy followers the age unborn to bless ? \n\nNot thine the blood-bought glory and applause \nThe martial trumpets of their heroes tell, \n\nWho one brief day upheld their country\'s cause. \nOr one wild hour withstood her foemen well. \n[ 76 ] \n\n\n\nTO OUR OLD HEAD-MASTER \n\nNot thine the laurels mixed with mortal yew \nOf melancholy genius, which would drive \n\nSome vast thought to excess, till all but few \nLose in the vacuous height the wings to strive. \n\nAll thy long life was service. Thy free sword \nStruck like ^Eneas at a phantom brood \n\nOf falsehoods, fevered thoughts, and shapes abhorred \nWhich war against the spirit\'s lasting good. \n\nLike fond Prometheus thou didst chiefly love \nTo mould firm shapes of men, and set them free \n\nWith touch of heavenly fire; yet jealous Jove \nFrowned not, I deem, but lent high help to thee. \n\nlo triumphe! Let thy triumph find \n\nSomething more sweet than praise to crown the strife ! \nSee, second sire ! these children of thy mind ! \n\nFame is a ghost, a shadow. Love is life. \n\nIf aught in monument our age survive, \nNot only of the strugglers in the glare \n\nOf the gross world, who for fierce conquest strive, \nBut of those habitants of upland air \n\nWho feed the springs of life, whereof mankind \nMust ever drink, \xe2\x80\x94 if this be lasting fame, \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nThen, friend, for whom our grateful hands have twined \nThis garland of a night \xe2\x80\x94 long lives thy name. \n[ 77 ] \n\n\n\nINDEPENDENCE DAY \n\nBlood of the blond sea-rovers and fierce, black moun- \ntain-men. \nMixed with a home-bred lowland race that fished in \n\nriver and fen, \xe2\x80\x94 \nSuch wild, red blood had England\'s youth, and it has \n\nnot cooled since then. \n\n\n\nRovers ever the race has bred, as all the world may \n\nknow. \nBut never a hearth like England\'s hearth so faithfully \n\ndoth glow. \nAnd every clime where men can breathe has English \n\nhomes to show. \n\n\n\nOut of the sea the New World rose ; and many a brave \n\nship flew \nTo plant old England\'s freedom there and bid it bloom \n\nanew. \nTill fruit for every race it bore, and great and greater \n\ngrew. \n\n[ 78 ] \n\n\n\nINDEPENDENCE DAY \n\nRovers out of the whole wide world poured in the land \n\nto fill; \nThey yoked a continent with steel, broke monsters to \n\ntheir will, \nAnd wrought new things beneath the sun, with sinewy, \n\nscornful skill. \n\nBlithe was the new-born race of men. The lords of \n\nmemory \nThey met with mocking, or forgot; and under the \n\nvaster sky \nDid what they would or what they could, letting old \n\nfalsehoods die. \n\nMany a race learned English speech, and under the \n\nflag of stars \nAll free-born blood was mingled new and offered in \n\nholy wars \nTo win for Man his manhood true, whatever the cost \n\nof scars. \n\n\'T was well for England\'s freedom and well for the \n\nhopes of Man, \nThat the New World race from the mother race drew \n\noff an ocean-span. \nYet are we all one brotherhood, according to God\'s \n\nplan. \n\n[ 79 ] \n\n\n\nTO JAPAN VICTORIOUS \n\nLand of flowers, land of fire. \n\nOf lava mountains and of azure seas ! \n\nWeaving webs of delicate desire, \n\nImperial lady on a throne \n\nOf golden lotos, thou didst sit alone \n\nWatching the centuries, \n\nAs one whose life was but a dream or song. \n\nWhile oft thy giant foes feared not to do thee wrong. \n\nBut all thy beauty clothed a soul of flame; \n\nThy cold and calm were like the glittering snows \n\nOn Fuji\'s smouldering crest; \n\nFor treasured in thy breast \n\nWas energy that never knew repose ; \n\nThy princes went and came, \n\nEach with two swords, and terribly possessed \n\nThe art to die for honor, freedom, fame. \n\nLight-hearted Europe \xe2\x80\x94 a barbaric boy \xe2\x80\x94 \nBought of thee many a toy; \nAnd for the knick-knacks taught thee to employ \nMore horrible and swifter ways to slay ; \nHarnessed thee lightnings and the seas subdued; \n\n[ 80 ] \n\n\n\nTO JAPAN VICTORIOUS \n\nBade thee go cast thy gods of calm away, \nAnd joining Europe\'s unforgetful feud. \nFight off thy foes with fire, like thy brood \nOf air-born dragons in Earth\'s primal day. \n\nNow are the dragon\'s teeth upon thee sown. \n\nAround thy fields of blood our plaudits roar. \n\nThou art become as one of us ! We own \n\nDeath, earth\'s old arbiter, our friend once more. \n\nFor lo ! when thou didst launch, with well-poised hand. \n\nThy new forged thunderbolt upon that land \n\nWhere throne and people were alike in thrall, \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nBehold the mockery crumbled ! At thy call \n\nFrom their blind -eyed repose \n\nThe tortured bondmen rose; \n\nAnd like a blood-red banner bright, \n\nA vast volcanic light \n\nStreams out of chaos round the thrones of wrong; \n\nWhile with fraternal song \n\nThe free-born lands acclaim thy victory won : \n\n"Hail to our Sister of the Rising Sun!\'* \n\nO bleeding, but invincible, arise! \n\nPour forth more fire across the morning skies \n\nTo quicken, to consume. \n\nFruitful of doom. \n\nKindling with death the glory \n\nOf new immortal story! \n\n[ 81 ] \n\n\n\nTO JAPAN VICTORIOUS \n\nSet the slave free ! \n\nBurn off from land and sea \n\nAll that is fed on blood or bloody gold ! \n\nSave thee, our Sister ! Save thy lands and ours \n\nFrom ogres crowned with flowers, \n\nFrom clamorous vulture-powers. \n\nBy whom our wailing world is half controlled, \n\nWhile snares of steel and fire their naked victims hold. \n\nThen, Sister, take once more \n\nUpon thy blossoming shore \n\nThy throne of beauty on the Lotos pure; \n\nAnd with heroic heart. \n\nAchieve with us the art \n\nOf truth that shall endure, \n\nOf balm all plagues to cure, \n\nOf popular will subdued \n\nTo sovereign peace and good. \n\nTill for late harvest our terrestrial ball \n\nBear brotherhood for all. \n\n\n\n[ 82 ] \n\n\n\nTHE MAKING OF MAN \n\n(Delivered before the ^ B K at Harvard, June, 1894) \n\nLong is the story of a ripening star; \n\nAnd if her sages guess their riddle true, \n\nOur green Earth tarries in the tender bud, \n\nInvolving precious issues unforeseen \n\nSave this \xe2\x80\x94 her fruit is Man. For him, the storm \n\nScarred the lone peak, and lashed the barren sea; \n\nFor him the planet, in her cloudy prime. \n\nEndured the slow plasticity of life. \n\nMere mindless gemmules, gross fecundity, \n\nFierce joys of motion, shock of foe with foe. \n\nAnd ecstasies of stimulated sense; \n\nFor him great Nature through all creatures poured \n\nBacchantic drops of madness and desire. \n\nWhich unto canticles of passion strange \n\nSurged on and on, until the rhapsody \n\nBurst the dim dreams of sense; then stirred the Soul \n\nIts wings in happy air; then wisdom woke. \n\nAnd love found words ; then looked the heavens on Man, \n\nEmerging from his chrysalis the brute, \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nChild of the Dust and Master of the World ! \n\nThese miracles, like music whose full close \nThe patient prelude justifies, prepared \n[ 83 ] \n\n\n\nTHE MAKING OF MAN \n\nMore signs and wonders. For then seemed to cease \nNew fashions of the fleshly instrument. \nAnd Soul, henceforth contented to possess \nMan\'s body as the utmost flesh can do. \nPut forth intrinsic gifts. \n\nThe art of words, \nFirst sign and vehicle of brotherhood, \nSupplanted the old, helpless monotones. \nAnd on remembered syllables of power \nSaved each man\'s truth for all. The truth-taught hand \nShaped the hard flint, the mammoth brute subdued, \nOr seizing flame, \xe2\x80\x94 a half-celestial sword, \xe2\x80\x94 \nConquered all climes, and on the kindly hearth. \nFound for the Sun a new vicegerent god, \nMore exorable. So Man\'s kingdom grew \nAlong vast rivers, and o\'er islands green. \nTill in the chronicle of times forgot. \nHis angel-tribe o\'erran the finished globe; \nFor after him the seas broke bound no more. \nAnd mountains moved not o\'er the nether fire. \n\nThen rose a man-made world. The willing stone \nSoared into forms of worshipped loveliness; \nSweet music borrowed from the choral stream \nOf Nature\'s unrestrained iEolian airs \nWhat best could flow in tempered melody. \nIn dear, consenting numbers, oft renewed. \nThe Poets then began : their mighty dreams \n[ 84 ] \n\n\n\nTHE MAKING OF MAN \n\nRepeopled land and sea with shapes of gods, \n\nThe eldest progeny of soul from soul. \n\nFor Man\'s first god was his first dream of good. \n\nThe disembodied glory of his mind \n\nIn far-off clouds confining. By such prayers \n\nThe soul was taught to feel its noblest powers \n\nNot self-begotten, not of mortal name. \n\nBut from the central orb of wonder born, \n\nAnd all -creative Love, that cannot die. \n\nSo Man\'s long childhood passed. The wonder was \nHow rainbow fancies guided truth so well. \nAnd false Hesperides, or Fleece of Gold, \nTo genuine treasures lured. Slowly, at last. \nOut of a chaos of dim dreams arose \nThe sphere of Knowledge, \xe2\x80\x94 separable, firm, \xe2\x80\x94 \nKnowledge in demonstrable light displayed, \nMan\'s one sure standing-ground above the chasm \nAnd fathomless abyss beside his way. \n\nEach mighty people some new province won \nFrom dreams and darkness to the realms of light. \nThe labyrinthine secrets multiplied \nAnd passed in heritage from race to race: \nBeneath the snow-topped Himalayan wall, \nIn far Cathay, or on the Phrygian hills. \nOr \'mid the Babylonian multitude. \nOr shadowed shrines of immemorial Nile, \n[ 85 ] \n\n\n\nTHE MAKING OF MAN \n\nThe sons of light in nameless wisdom toiled, \nTill Athens laughed at Asia\'s priestly awe, \nTurned her firm forehead to the gods of dawn. \nAchieved for Europe\'s infancy the dower \nOf liberated reason, \xe2\x80\x94 then bequeathed \nTo new-born nations her immortal name. \n\nMighty the host of men who lived and died \n\nTo conquer truth; but father of them all \n\nPrometheus was, whose dole of stolen fire \n\nSo shook the skies, and touched Man\'s drowsy clay \n\nWith such celestial spark, that since his hour \n\nHeaven keeps no secret long. \n\nAge after age \nSuch wanderers widen our small world for us. \nDim stars, but true, resistless draw them on \nTo find that glory just outside the dark. \nThe half- won truth men guessed but dared not know ; \nAnd God\'s best gift to Liberty it is, \nTo be a fruitful mother of such sons. \n\nSo rises an eternal House of Truth, \nFor Man to live in and make beautiful; \nStrong arch on arch is built, and founded deep \nBelow the shifting sands of childish guess. \nIts solid towers outwatch the annual stars. \n\nOh, strange, imperial fate ! Not from the stars \nFalls now the charter of Man\'s destinies. \n[ 86 ] \n\n\n\nTHE MAKING OF MAN \n\nHis glorious horoscope himself he draws, \nWhere\'er his mind is on its throne, set free \nFrom sluggish customs of the troglodyte. \n\nNow hath our busy race that labored so \n\nIts mere first foothold on this star to prove. \n\nTo higher tasks arrived. For sovereign sway \n\nProfits but little, till the Conqueror \n\nSurround his throne with chivalry and song; \n\nAnd Man, earth\'s Lord and King, must keep his \n\ncrown \nBy beauty, virtue, and fair courtesies, \nAnd o\'er his brows white, royal jewels wear \nOf stainless truth, clear faith and steadfast will, \nWith love\'s great ruby flaming over all. \n\n\n\nThrough the doleful past no more \nPeer with fond and fearful look ! \nEarth hath sealed that record- book \nOf the guests she housed before; \nHer hospitable board is spread \nFor the living, not the dead. \nO that the golden Muse of Song \nMight her old, old runes forget. \nAnd find a race of singers strong \nTo break her Libyan reed, her Doric shell, \nAnd in more potent numbers tell \nA music never vocal yet! \n\' ... [ 87 ] \n\n\n\nTHE MAKING OF MAN \n\nOh, that her heaven-gkincing eye \nLooked no more on Memory ! \n\n\n\nSay not earth was born too soon. \nLike her pale, sequacious moon ! \nNot racked with age is this old earth, \nAll her throes are throes of birth, \nAll the secrets that she knows \nShe lavished on her last-blown rose. \n\nToo long we blamed the barren field. \n\nToo long the winds accused, \n\nThe world we live in stands revealed \n\nExhaustless, but unused ! \n\nYet he who curbs the lightning\'s force \n\nSweats drudging at his wheel; \n\nHis art foretells the comet\'s course. \n\nWhose own the Fates conceal. \n\nBut say not Man, the ages\' heir. \nOf his primal force can fail, \xe2\x80\x94 \nOr receiveth an entail \nOf decrepitude, despair! \nOft the reengendered race \nWill improve th\' ancestral place. \nRenovate the mansion old. \nAnd statelier revels hold. \n[ 88 ] \n\n\n\nTHE MAKING OF MAN \n\nFreshly from the burning sun \n\nSpeeds the free ethereal jBre, \n\nIn each new-born life to run, \n\nFlaming high in son as sire; \n\nMan\'s blest blood and quality \n\nWas not of his fathers bred; \n\nSon of the round-world is he, \n\nAnd his good health is nourished \nBy confluence of every wind and sea, \nBy stars no eye hath seen, \nBy all the Past hath been. \nAnd by the powers not yet begun to be. \n\nAlready dawns the gifted, golden time \nTo heaven-instructed seer and sibyl known, \nWhen conquering quite the monsters of the prime \nMan shall be man indeed, \nAnd serving human need \nHold an unshaken throne \nO\'er all false gods and tyrants of an hour. \nO\'er plague and famine, wrath and crime. \nOmnipotent in peaceful power. \n\nThe waves by exiles crossed, \nThough loudly still the ocean-thunders roll. \n\nTheir ancient power have lost \nTo stop the speech of yearning soul with soul; \nNo island in the tropic seas \nLooks at the sun in solitude; \n\n[ 89 ] \n\n\n\nTHE MAKING OF MAN \n\nThey signal on the conscious breeze \nThe island-brotherhood. \n\nSome future wizard will control \nThat cold aurora of the sunless pole; \nO\'er the Alps his station take, \nOf the earth his magnet make, \nTouch a key, and master so \nThe universal dynamo \nTo turn a wheel, or tell a story, \nFlood the midnight sea with glory. \nOr flash across a thousand miles \nThe sunlight in a lover\'s smiles. \nThen where\'er an exile roam. \nLove will always be at home. \n\nBut outcasts with a heavy heart \nWill cross strange lands as lost stars drop through \nspace, \nWhere every eye may trace \nThe pathway of their fall. \n\nA vast Arachne, the electric art \n\nWill fold in glittering web this planetary ball.^ \n\nThen shall no nation wear \nA glory none may share; \nBut each shall publish to the world its best, \n1 Written before Marconi\'s invention. \n[ 90 ] \n\n\n\nTHE MAKING OF MAN \n\nEach ask of all the rest \n\nGlad interchange of treasures or delight; \nAnd all will have more might \nIf one grows strong; for strength will then incite, \nNot envy or pretence, \nNot hedge-hog self-defence. \nBut emulation in true excellence; \nAnd no man then will try a hostile blow \nOn aught but circumstance, his oft-revanquished foe. \n\n\n\nEach land another\'s grief shall feel ! ^ \n\nAs ever in thy woe or weal, \nFrance ! unto thee all free-born hearts are kin ; \nBut chiefly ours, who caught the sacred flame \nOf liberty from thy prophetic song, \nAnd watched with thee when freedom\'s morn came in. \n" O Liberty, what crimes are in thy name ! " \nWhat prodigies of wrong ! \n\nLike Dion, fallen in a festal hour, \nWith palm and laurel o\'er his bosom crossed. \nLies that pure chieftain, to his people lost. \nBut not to glory, or his country\'s fame. \n\nOft had he put to shame \nThe sensual traffickers in power; \nNo tinselled soldier he. \nOf braggart chivalry! \n* The body of President Carnot then lay in state. \n[ 91 ] \n\n\n\nTHE MAKING OF MAN \n\nNo borrower of mighty names outworn ! \n\nA patriot\'s duty such as he fulfil \n\nBy fruitful industry at eve and morn. \n\nBy resolute and ever loyal will, \n\nAnd reconcile, by many-counselled light, \n\nThe public good with clamorous private right. \n\nWe praise thee, France, that such a noble son \nFell not by rival, nor his own rash mind. \nNor by compatriot-stroke undone. \nBut by a frenzied foe of all mankind. \n\nWe, who twice, since our wild grief of war. \nHave heard a nation\'s dirges toll. \nTwice arrayed the sable-trophied car \xe2\x80\x94 \nThy sister-sorrow strikes us to the soul ! \nToo well we know, not yet appears the day \nWhen Liberty may cast her shield away. \n\n\n\nMan against his brothers striving, \nSang triumphal songs in vain. \nNobler contests are arriving. \nBattles without hate or pain. \n\nLet the captains of to-day \nLead their men to bloodless fray! \nInspire the rank and file with generous faith! \nNot liveried for the tasks of death, \nBut ever o\'er a calmer world \n\n[ 92 ] \n\n\n\nTHE MAKING OF MAN \n\nTheir federating flag unfurled. \nLead on the legions of the free. \nNot to shield the crimes of thrones. \nNot to lacquey royal drones. \nBut to fulfil the dear behest \nOf light-uplifting Liberty \xe2\x80\x94 \nStar-crowned Colossus of the West! \n\nAlready from the Future\'s purple cloud \n\nA vast, dim shape looms clear, \nIt is Cosmopolisy a city proud, \nNot bounded by what limit man may draw. \nBut only by the round earth\'s atmosphere. \nTo either pole, her sacred speech and law \n\nShall give decree. \nHer suburbs are the islands of the sea, \nHer hanging gardens from the Andes crown \nTo equatorial valleys sloping down. \nTo solace her cold Northern citizens \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nWho haply, on their ships of air. \n\nIn sultry June will idly fare \nThrough clouds, above the green Siberian fens. \n\nWe know not how Man\'s life shall look \nIn that World-City; scarce our dreams may brook \nThe beauty and delight of times unborn. \nAnd far from ours as Europe\'s glacial morn, \nGod who protecteth man \n\n[ 93 ] \n\n\n\nTHE MAKING OF MAN \n\nFrom dizzying view of things too vast and far. \n\nDiminishes the future\'s star \nTo one white beam of hope within the sky. \nWhich we may travel by ! \n\nBut one clear truth we know : \nHowever huge Man\'s world may grow. \nThe mother in her babe will see \nA universe of mystery. \nLove, in love\'s replying eyes. \nMeet perennial surprise. \nAnd the circumference of the starry whole \nFind centre in each human soul. \n\nFor God made not His world for naught, \nNor to a creature did resign \nCo-regency with star-enkindling thought, \nThat one more soulless orb among His hosts should \nshine. \n\nMan did not get his planet for a toy. \nBy spendthrift folly to despoil \nThe fabric of iEonian toil, \xe2\x80\x94 \nBut that the choral seas and skies \nWith his own heart should harmonize \nIn antiphones of praise and joy! \nMan\'s terrestrial primacy \nIs a symbol eloquent, \n\n[ 94 ] \n\n\n\nTHE MAKING OF MAN \n\nThat omnipotence can be \n\nNot in powers we touch and see. \n\nOur earth-born dust of Deity partakes, \nOnly when th\' interior spirit breaks \n\nThe sleep of dust\'s captivity, \n\nAnd with illuminating love. \nRules the sphere, as God his spheres above \n\nIn self-forgetful sovereignty. \n\n\n\nt 95 ] \n\n\n\nCAMBRIDGE . MASSACHUSETTS \nU . S . A \n\n\n\nAPE 141910 \n\n\n\nOne copy del. to Cat. Div. \n\n\n\n'