LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 
 
 Cliap..!.**?., Copyright No.. ._ 
 
 Shelf.L.K3.G% 
 
 UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 
 
The ricup de Lb Poeb. 
 
 = 9 
 
 AN OATEN FIFE • f 
 
 PY- JAMES- P KENYON. 
 
 S^M> 
 
 '^ 
 
 NEW YORK. J. 5BLWIM TAIT 
 ANP 50IS5. NVinPDR SIXTY- 
 FIVE FIFTH AVENVE. • i • * 
 
 JAt'i 2 IS"-, 
 

 Copyright, 1895, 
 
 BV 
 
 J. SELUIN TAIT & SONS, 
 New York, 
 
And whilst his py-bald curre did sleepe, 
 
 And sheepe-hooke lay him by, 
 On hollow quilles of oten straw 
 He pyped melody. 
 
 Argentile and Curan. 
 
 And pyping still he spent the day, 
 So merry as the popingay. 
 
 Dcnusabell. 
 
The Smmner^s siirf against my feet 
 In leagues of foam-'iuhite daisies beat ; 
 A long tlie bank-side, ivhere I lay. 
 Poured down tlie golden tides of day ; 
 A vine above me ^vove its screen 
 Of leafy shadows cool and gree7i. 
 While, faintly as a fairy bell. 
 Upon the vturmurous silence fell 
 Tlie babbling of a slender stream 
 In the smeet troid>le of its dream. 
 Then as the poppied noon did steep 
 The breathing world i7i fumes of sleep, 
 I shaped with fingers dro^vsed and slow 
 An oaten pipe w/iereon to blow. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 The Reveler 3 
 
 The Racers 5 
 
 Garden Ghosts 6 
 
 Nocturne 7 
 
 Absent 8 
 
 The Bridal Morning 9 
 
 The Inn 10 
 
 The Dawn of Womanhood 11 
 
 Children of Yesterday 13 
 
 Hylas and Hercules 15 
 
 A South Wind 18 
 
 The Rover 19 
 
 A utumn 20 
 
 Chanson du Matin 21 
 
 The Lost Voyage 22 
 
 His Own Received Him Not 23 
 
 Come Slowly, Paradise 24 
 
 The Human Need 25 
 
 A Song of the Wood 26 
 
 A Book-Pressed Violet 32 
 
 The Blessed Isles 34 
 
iv Contents. 
 
 To Her Watch 36 
 
 Heaven Near 37 
 
 I Would My Song Were Like a Star 38 
 
 Cupid's Arrows 39 
 
 The Captive 41 
 
 To a Child 43 
 
 An Immortelle 44 
 
 Salome 47 
 
 Arethusa 49 
 
 The Cruise 52 
 
 Nameless Graves 53 
 
 Rosalind's Song 56 
 
 Morning by Ontario 57 
 
 An Ocean Burial 58 
 
 Sorrow-Blind 60 
 
 A Song of May 63 
 
 QUATRAINS 
 
 Moonlight 64 
 
 Nature 64 
 
 Art 65 
 
 On the Cliff 65 
 
 A Prophecy 66 
 
 A Volume of Verse 66 
 
 Carlyle 67 
 
 A Modern Joust 67 
 
 Truth 68 
 
 Carpe Diem 68 
 
 Music 69 
 
 A Challenge , 69 
 
Contents. v 
 
 The Cure-Alls 70 
 
 Rest-Time 70 
 
 Love and Beauty 71 
 
 Minstrels of Dawn 71 
 
 The Miser Year 72 
 
 A Shooting Star 72 
 
 The Bedouins of the Skies 73 
 
 An Epitaph 73 
 
 The Guest 74 
 
 Farringf ord 75 
 
 Nature's Renewing 79 
 
 Laborare est Orare 81 
 
 A Nativity 83 
 
 Song of the Vaudois Exiles 85 
 
 The Specter 86 
 
 An Hour-Glass 88 
 
 The Advent 90 
 
 Love gives its All 91 
 
 Her Violin 92 
 
 A Colonial Ambuscade 94 
 
 A Puzzle 96 
 
 Canticle 97 
 
 Hygeia 98 
 
 Forgiven 99 
 
 The Night Angel loo 
 
 His Confession T02 
 
 TiUOnoliu 103 
 
 A Vanished Face 104 
 
 A Vesper Prayer 105 
 
vi Contents. 
 
 Seaward io6 
 
 Easter Morning io8 
 
 The Milkmaid no 
 
 At Sunset in 
 
 In the Cloister 113 
 
 The Dividing of the Ways 117 
 
 Sappho 119 
 
 After a Fragment of Sappho's 121 
 
 A City Thoroughfare 122 
 
 Pereunt et Imputantur 125 
 
 On Judah's Hills.. 126 
 
 Content 127 
 
 A Protest 128 
 
 Her Coming 130 
 
 The Gypsy Queen 132 
 
 After the Feast 133 
 
" O graceful Amaryllis, — regard, I pray you, my heart-griev- 
 ing pain. I would I could become your buzzing bee, and so 
 enter into your cave, penetrating the ivy and the ferns, with 
 which you are covered in." — Theocritus, '" Idyl III." 
 
 He shrilled his fife and woke my dream ; 
 
 I heard his music clear and thin ; 
 And then I found beside the stream 
 
 The flower-bell that he reveled in. 
 
 The clouds were floating high and white; 
 
 A laggard breeze began to play ; 
 Along the bank-side poured the light 
 
 From out the lavish heart of day. 
 
 I knew that where the nectar pressed 
 Up from the blossom's perfumed cell, 
 
 There I should find the tipsy guest, 
 His pining drowned in hydromel. 
 
 3 
 
Bn ©aten Ipfpe. 
 
 O wassailer of the summer's prime ! 
 
 Gone are the goatherds from the plain ; 
 Across the fields of purple thyme 
 
 The yellow sunlight streams in vain. 
 
 Drink to thy lover's memory ; 
 
 Theocritus is in his grave 
 Beneath the far Sicilian sky, 
 
 And by the murmuring, sun-kissed wave. 
 
Bn ©aten pipe. 
 
 ©he '^Mtx^, 
 
 Time at my elbow plucks me sore ; 
 
 Yet I'll not slack my pace to hear 
 The one sad word which, o'er and o'er, 
 
 He whispers in my ear. 
 
 Upon my hair he dusts his rime ; 
 
 I shake my head full laughingly, 
 For howsoever fleet be Time, 
 
 He shall not outstrip me. 
 
2ln ©aten BMpc. 
 
 Two moon-white moths are fluttering 
 Athwart the haunted gloom ; 
 
 I watch them waver, wing to wing, 
 Past many a spectral bloom. 
 
 No footfall wakes these mossy walks ; 
 
 The mist's thin streamers trail. 
 From twisted shrubs and writhen stalks, 
 
 Round all the coppice pale. 
 
 Low winds amid the leaves complain ; 
 
 The firefly's wizard spark 
 Makes mimic lightning where yon twain 
 
 Go wandering down the dark. 
 
 And still they flutter side by side, 
 As night's chill currents flow. 
 
 To that lone tryst-place where they died 
 Long centuries ago. 
 
 6 
 
Bn Oaten ipipe. 
 
 The silver shallop of the moon 
 
 Is havened in the west ; 
 The river trolls a ceaseless tune 
 
 About her place of rest. 
 
 Warm sleep hath sealed her gentle eyes, 
 And round her, vestal white, 
 
 Sweet dreams and winge'd fantasies 
 Are hovering all the night. 
 
 A wandering air, soft as a kiss, 
 And burdened with perfume, 
 
 Steals faint with its own stress of bliss 
 Into her virgin room. 
 
 Be this my wish : bright spirits keep 
 
 The current of her dreams, 
 And ever o'er her lilied sleep 
 
 The good stars shed their beams. 
 
Bn ©aten pipe. 
 
 She comes not, though I tarry long ; 
 
 The house is not the same ; 
 And every echoing chamber speaks 
 
 Her dear famiUar name. 
 
 She is not here, but many a mute 
 
 And fond remembrancer, 
 Like subtle odors, pure and fine, 
 
 Breathe memories of her. 
 
Bn ©atcn pipe. 
 
 ^hc §ridal P(rtnin0. 
 
 O DEWY splendor of the morn, 
 
 Fall lightly on yon vine-wreathed pane ; 
 Thou honey-gatherer, wind thy horn 
 
 To tell her day has come again. 
 
 The shadows of the night are fled; 
 
 The mists are lifted from the lawn ; 
 From peak to peak a shaft is sped 
 
 Straight from the kindling heart of dawn, 
 
 O morning, on her sealed eyes 
 Print the sweet magic of thy kiss ; 
 
 Breathe softly on her where she lie^, 
 And wake her to the nearing bliss. 
 
Bn ©atcn iPipe. 
 
 ^U ftttt. 
 
 How quiet is this mossy inn 
 
 Where weary travelers lie, 
 Unheeding how the morns begin, 
 
 And how the sunsets die. 
 
 Here are no sounds of reveling, 
 
 Here is no flaring light ; 
 Here no fair maids with laughter bring 
 
 The tankards foaming bright. 
 
 The guests sleep long, the lights are out ; 
 
 No bustling landlord calls 
 His serving-men with cheery shoul 
 
 Along the echoing halls. 
 
 Who come to this still inn abide 
 Through cycles deep and sweet ; 
 
 And while the seasons o'er them glide, 
 They rest their tired feet. 
 
 lo 
 
Bn <^aten ipipe. 
 
 ®hc §^\vn of Wamauhoott. 
 
 What ! have my rosebud's petals ail 
 
 Unsealed their musky treasures? 
 My little maid, grown sweet and tall, 
 
 Now clasps a woman's pleasures ? 
 Ah, sure it was but yesterday 
 
 I heard her birdlike singing, 
 And in the fields her childish play 
 
 Set frolic echoes ringing. 
 
 Now all the glory of her hair 
 
 In golden coils is lying 
 Crown-like above her forehead fair; 
 
 Ah, how I loved it flying 
 Like amber spray about her throat, 
 
 When through the sunny shadows 
 She fairy-like did lightly float 
 
 Across the daisied meadows. 
 
Bn ®aten IPipe. 
 
 Now little loves on velvet wings, 
 
 Like bees above a blossom, 
 Hover with timid flutterings 
 
 About her virgin bosom. 
 Her frock creeps downward to her feet 
 
 Her dreams grow fondly human ; 
 Ah, one more kiss as child, my sweet, 
 
 Ere 1 confess you woman. 
 
 12 
 
Hn ©atcn ©ipc. 
 
 mWAvtn of IfSitctaaa. 
 
 For we are but of yesterday, and know nothing, because our 
 days upon earth are a shadow. — Job viii. 9. 
 
 Chide not that these poor lips of ours 
 
 Smile not with yours that are so fair; 
 When falls the frost the fading flowers 
 
 Scarce keep their dream of summer air ; 
 Our hearts are chill, our memories sad, 
 
 Our laughter is no longer gay ; 
 The songs we sing are never glad — 
 
 Alas ! we are of yesterday. 
 
 The skies that o'er us bend their blue 
 
 Gleam not as did the skies of yore ; 
 The eyes and cheeks of winsome hue, 
 
 The beauty that our darlings wore. 
 We shall not see on earth again. 
 
 Our pulses faint, our heads are gray ; 
 You woo us with your joy in vain — 
 
 Alas ! we are of yesterday. 
 13 
 
Bn ©aten pipe. 
 
 The hands that once our own did clasp. 
 
 With twining fingers warm and sweet, 
 Have slipped from out our trembling grasp, 
 
 And lie where lie the quiet feet 
 That in the old bright days did run 
 
 To meet ours in love's primrose way ; 
 Now mists o'ercloud the evening sun — 
 
 Alas ! we are of yesterday. 
 
 O eyes like midnight stars that glow, 
 
 And lips that still like rosebuds ope, 
 And ye within whose breasts of snow 
 
 Still carols clear the bird of hope, 
 Your freshness, as of morning, keep ; 
 
 Gather love's harvest while ye may ; 
 But we, ah, we no longer reap — 
 
 Alas ! we are of yesterday. 
 
 14 
 
Bn ®atcn pipe. 
 
 lytaisi and 'gtvtnU^. 
 
 In sooth the boy was holding over the fountain an urn that 
 miglit contain a copious draught, hastening to plunge it; 
 when they all clung to his hand : for love for the Argive 
 boy had encircled the tender heaits of them all : and he 
 fell sheer into the black water, like as when a ruddy star 
 hath fallen from the sky sheer into the sea. . . . The 
 Nymphs indeed holding on their knees the weeping boy, 
 began to console him with gentle words ; whilst the son 
 of Amphitiyon, disturbed about the lad, went, with his 
 well-bent bow and arrows after the Scythian fashion, and 
 the club which his right hand ever used to hold. Thrice 
 indeed he shouted Hylas to the full depth of his throat, 
 and thrice, I wot, the boy heard : and a thin voice came 
 from the water ; but though very near he seetned to 
 be afar off.— Theocritus, Idyl XIII., translation of J. 
 Uanks. 
 
 Down the aisle he singing goes 
 Where the gurgling water flows, 
 Where the swaying rushes are, 
 In his arms the brazen jar. 
 Never yet was boy so fair : 
 Swallow-wort and maiden-hair, 
 Parsley-bloom and green couch-grass, 
 Iviss his white feet as they pass. 
 
 IS 
 
Bn ©aten pipe. 
 
 Now he bends above the tide 
 
 Mirror-clear from side to side, 
 
 Drops upon his glowing knees, 
 
 And his own bright image sees, 
 
 O how placid is the pool ! 
 
 O how sweet the waters cool ! 
 
 Ah, how good it were to rest 
 
 In the fountain's flowing breast, 
 
 Nevermore to rise and dip 
 
 With the wandering, brine-blanched ship. 
 
 Hark ! they call him from the strand ; 
 
 So he thrusts with eager hand, 
 
 Through the water-weeds and fern, 
 
 In the wave his bubbling urn. 
 
 Lo, before his witched eyes 
 
 Ivory bosoms flash and rise, 
 
 Faces sweeter than a dream 
 
 Smile upon him from the stream, 
 
 And soft fingers, light as mist. 
 
 Twine about his yielding wrist. 
 
 Slowly, slowly downward sink. 
 
 Lower than the spring's green brink, 
 
 To the fountain's pebbly bed, 
 
 Wondering eyes and shining head, 
 i6 
 
an ©aten pipe. 
 
 " Hylas ! Hylas ! " rings the cry 
 Through the woodland mournfully, 
 Ever startling beast and bird, 
 Though no boyish shout be heard 
 Answering him whose weary quest 
 Drives him onward without rest, 
 Upon and down this alien coast, 
 Seeking still the loved and lost. 
 Vain thy search, O hapless one, 
 Sad son of Amphitryon, 
 For the lad shall nevermore 
 Greet thee on a mortal shore. 
 
 17 
 
Bn ©aten ipipc. 
 
 A ROMPING wind blew from the south, 
 And woke the dreaming wood ; 
 
 It kissed the rose's crimson mouth ; 
 Rumpled the poppy's hood ; 
 
 It crisped the waters of the brook ; 
 
 Loosed pine-scents on the air; 
 And round her pallid temples shook 
 
 The dead girl's silken hair. 
 
an ©aten Pipe. 
 
 Over, ay over, 'tis over, 
 
 Gone with its dew and its bloom, 
 Gone with the rose and the lover, 
 
 Gone with its hght and perfume. 
 
 Over, ay, summer is over ; 
 
 Days for the wooing were brief, 
 Brief for the bird and the lover, 
 
 Brief for the sun and the leaf. 
 
 Over, ay over, 'tis over ; 
 
 Vanished its laughter and song; 
 Summer departs like a rover ; 
 
 Ah ! winter shall bide with us long 
 
 19 
 
Bn Qatcn pipe. 
 
 gtutumn. 
 
 Her's is the mellow booming of the flail, 
 The flaming bough, the sunset-crimsoned 
 rill; 
 
 O'er every field her smoky banners trail ; 
 She sets her ruby sign on every hill. 
 
 Her garments, drifting o'er the fallen leaves. 
 Are freaked with spurted purple of the 
 vats; 
 And as she glides amid the amber sheaves 
 Her locks flow down in golden cata- 
 racts. 
 
 There melts a honey-murmur on her lips ; 
 
 Her throat is tanned, her eyes are sunny- 
 clear ; 
 She moves forever in a soft eclipse, 
 
 The rustic darling of the doting year. 
 
Bn ©aten iPipc. 
 
 ©fcattieioit (Itt Patitt. 
 
 Morning, morning everywhere ! 
 Morning on the misty wood, 
 Morning on the gleaming flood, 
 ^lorning on the drowsy street, 
 Morning o'er the meadows sweet ; 
 Skies are fresh and earth is fair ; 
 Morning, morning everywhere ! 
 
 Music, music everywhere ! 
 Sad the watches of the night ; 
 Glad the coming of the light ; 
 Now a thousand voices wake, 
 Now a thousand bosoms shake ; 
 Hope dawns in the eyes of care ; 
 Music, music everywhere ! 
 
 21 
 
Bn ©aten pipe. 
 
 Out of the darkling sunset-sea, 
 
 Out of the windy sky, 
 My ship comes toiling home to me, 
 
 Climbing the billows high. 
 
 She wearily mounts the dim sea-line. 
 Treading the foam-wastes down ; 
 
 Her breast is blanched with the bitter brine ; 
 The spume is round her blown. 
 
 In alien deeps she has dipt her spars ; 
 
 She has swept from strand to strand ; 
 Her crew have ransacked strange bazaars 
 
 In many a sunburnt land. 
 
 But well I know, on this evening shore, 
 
 My ship brings not to me 
 The treasure sought, — and nevermore 
 
 Shall she put out to sea. 
 
 22 
 
Bn ®aten pipe. 
 
 iiisi (^vcn ^tttivtA pirn |lot. 
 
 No, not the cross on which He hung, 
 
 Nor blood that wet each bitter thorn, 
 Nor cruel scourgings of hate's tongue, 
 
 Nor yet the writhing thief's hot scorn — 
 Not these His cup of woe could crown ; 
 
 But that which crushed His heart with 
 pain 
 Was, that He came unto His own, 
 
 And to them came, alas ! in vain. 
 
 23 
 
Bn ©aten IMpe. 
 
 O DAWN upon me slowly, Paradise ! 
 
 Come not too suddenly, 
 Lest my just-opened, unaccustomed eyes 
 
 Smitten with blindness be. 
 
 To those who from Time's penury and woe 
 
 Rise to thy heights afar, 
 Down which the floods of glory fall and 
 flow, 
 
 Too great thy splendors are. 
 
 So grow upon me slowly ; sweetly break 
 
 Across death's silent deep. 
 Till to thy morning brightness I shall wake 
 
 As one from happy sleep. 
 
 24 
 
Bn ©atcn BMpc. 
 
 Along the snow-fed rivers of the north 
 Ne'er waves a flower, or fern, or fronded 
 palm ; 
 There every frosty stream, and frozen firth. 
 Lies locked in white, unchanging, icy 
 calm. 
 
 But where the spice-winds fan the orange 
 groves, 
 And trailing vines sway as the waters 
 sway. 
 Is heard the sound of many a voice that 
 loves, 
 Fluting its song through all the happy 
 day. 
 
 O God, if in Thy heaven, where all is pure, 
 
 Peace shall infold us like a polar sea, 
 Here in this changeful world let me endure. 
 Where still warm human love can come 
 to me. 
 
 25 
 
Hn ©aten Iplpc. 
 
 ^ <f Ott0 tff the W0o^. 
 
 O JOY of the life of the wood ! 
 O joy of the swift young blood 
 
 That throbs in the bough and the bole ! 
 Mount into my shrunken veins, 
 And brim them as brooks by rains, 
 
 Or as rivers that seaward roll. 
 Let me feel again what the Spring 
 To the heart of the wood may bring, 
 How the April sun and rain 
 Are shed on no leaf in vain, 
 And in every clod doth beat 
 An influence deep and sweet. 
 Let me stand in the vernal air, 
 And the bliss of green things share ; 
 Into the soft dark mold, 
 That wraps them, fold on fold. 
 Let the roots of my being go. 
 Now will I rise and grov;, 
 26 
 
an ©atcn UMpe. 
 
 As rapturously, hour by hour, 
 Grow grass and bud and flower. 
 No touch of the SiDring shall I miss ; 
 Me too shall the south-wind kiss, 
 Till my dwindled, pale desires 
 Shall kindle with leaping fires. 
 
 Here will I lie ; 
 Above me the domed, diaphanous sky, 
 
 Glimpsed through dark-braided boughs. 
 O delicate-pure are the palmer-like vows 
 Breathed through the glooms 
 Where cloistered blooms 
 Are screened from the fervid day. 
 Thus will I drift away, 
 On tides of fine perfumes. 
 Slow — ah, slow — 
 As the smooth waves flow. 
 Out to the dim and mysterious deep. 
 To the fathomless ocean of sleep. 
 When Summer's riotous pulses beat, 
 O wood, thou dost quaff the torrid heat, 
 As men the sun-cored wine. 
 Upward each spray of thine 
 27 
 
Bn ©atcn iplpe. 
 
 Is thrust to catch the sun, as flowers 
 Hold fragrant cups to catch the showers. 
 Blithe are thy sounds that spread 
 Through arches dark o'erhead, 
 Or 'mid grasses cool and long 
 Break into endless song. 
 Here in a sylvan dream 
 Gurgles a slender stream ; 
 Listen — ah, listen — how it sings, 
 Winding downward from its mossy 
 
 springs, 
 Tinkling like a crystal bell, 
 As its mimic billows swell. 
 O'er slant pebbles, through lush weeds. 
 Or 'mid dense and glistening bredes 
 Of vines and wood-plants trailing low. 
 Now where stiller waters flow, 
 It scarce murmurs under breath 
 What the bland wind whispereth. 
 Here furred creatures come to drink; 
 Brown birds haunt beside its brink ; 
 And where fairy bowers hide, 
 Frolic shadows wheel and glide 
 O'er the silver-ridged sands. 
 28 
 
Bn Oaten lOipe. 
 
 There thick ranks of osier wands, 
 Thrilled by Summer's warm desires, 
 Shoot their lithe and graceful spires 
 O'er the tide that purls between ; 
 All day long they yearn and lean. 
 Swaying in the shade or sun. 
 Till the halcyon hours are done. 
 
 Woodland noises, 
 
 Meadow voices, 
 Fife of bee and flute of bird, 
 
 Wafted hither, 
 
 Echoed thither. 
 Rarer music ne'er was heard. 
 When the filmy moonbeams sift 
 Through the leaves that toss and lift, 
 Wandering lovers sometimes stray 
 By this hushed, sequestered way, 
 While the small voice of the rill 
 Mingles with their dreaming still. 
 
 Vanished all ! 
 For now the days begin to fade and fall : 
 The birds are winging southward ; on the 
 
 plain 
 The pallid light lies cold ; as one in pain 
 29 
 
Bn ©aten IPipe. 
 
 The stream moans by, and sad the pewee's 
 
 call. 
 There where the dark wood skirts the 
 meadow-lands, 
 
 Joyless, with tarnished raiment, 
 stands 
 
 One wind-swept golden-rod. 
 Upon the cumbered sod 
 The dank leaves lie, 
 And fitfully 
 Through naked trees wail Autumn 
 gusts. 
 
 The lichen rusts 
 On each stark bole, and day by day, 
 O'er love's forsaken way, 
 Drear in its solitude. 
 The gray clouds droop and 
 brood. 
 Yet when the snow shall choke the heaped 
 
 dells. 
 
 And from the keen north swells 
 An icy breath, 
 With threat of famine and frore 
 death, 
 
 30 
 
Bn ©aten pipe. 
 
 Then like a gracious prophecy, 
 Of prosperous seasons yet to be, 
 Through storm-winds loud and rude 
 Shall breathe the benediction of the wood. 
 
 31 
 
Bn Ontcn l>ipe. 
 
 Who plucked this faded, scentless thing 
 From that moist nook wherein it grew, 
 
 Kissed by the first mild breath of Spring, 
 And fed by April sun and dew? 
 
 Perchance light fingers touched its meek 
 Blue petals, as with loving care 
 
 It pressed some sick girl's pallid cheek. 
 Or nestled in her silken hair. 
 
 Perchance in language sweet and strange 
 It spake what words had ne'er expressed- 
 
 The gentle love that should not change. 
 The hopes that budded in the breast. 
 
 Where are the hands that placed it here ? 
 
 Where are the eyes that bent above 
 This yellowing page with many a tear, 
 
 In memory of the old-time love ? 
 32 
 
Bn Ontcn Pipe. 
 
 Perchance far hence, in alien ways, 
 Her feet may walk because they must ; 
 
 Or one by one the circling days 
 May glide above her sacred dust. 
 
 And still the Spring comes as of old, 
 And still the punctual south-winds blow 
 
 In perfumed aisles the buds unfold, 
 And on the wood-banks violets grow. 
 
 And still the birds flute in the boughs. 
 Still fields are green and violets blue ; 
 
 And love repeats its world-old vows. 
 And some are false, and some are true. 
 
 33 
 
Bn ©aten ©ipe. 
 
 (Thousand Islands.) 
 
 Here beneath the violet skies 
 Dream the isles of Paradise ; 
 Where the sapphire waters run, 
 Dimpling in the summer sun, 
 Countless white-winged shallops dance 
 O'er the river's broad expanse. 
 In this lotus-realm of peace 
 Life's sad mysteries find surcease ; 
 Here the heart grows calm again, 
 After tempest, tears and pain, 
 And the soul's o'erclouded cope 
 Gleams with rainbow smiles of hope. 
 Let the frenzied world pass by. 
 Cheat and wrangle, fight and lie ; 
 Here across life's turbid tide 
 Tranquil influences glide 
 From the drowsy hush that broods 
 O'er these charmed solitudes. 
 34 
 
a»i ©aten Pipe. 
 
 Not Avilion's meadowed calm 
 Could afford such sovran balm 
 For the eye distempered, blind, 
 And the self-sick, jaundiced mind, 
 As these billowy isles where play 
 Healing breezes day by day. 
 Lov^e the shy forgets to wear 
 His accustomed fillet here, 
 And his eyes with rapture smile 
 O'er each leaf-embowered isle ; 
 He this haunt his own has made, 
 And within the dappled shade, 
 When is stilled the oar's light beat, 
 You may hear his accents sweet, 
 As again the story old 
 Into happy ears is told, 
 O my spirit, long unblest, 
 Fold thy wings, here take thy rest. 
 
 35 
 
2ln ©atcn Pipe. 
 
 g0 let ^atcfe. 
 
 Oh happy watch, to lie in her bosom so, 
 
 Counting the hours in that delicious nest. 
 Hearing her gentle pulses ebb and flow, 
 
 Rocked by the motions of her dove-white 
 breast — 
 Were I thy jewelled self a little space, 
 
 I scarce should heed how Time, the 
 winged churl, flies ; 
 And when above me bent her radiant face, 
 
 I'd smile into the heaven of her eyes. 
 
 36 
 
Bn ©aten IPtpc. 
 
 How very near my heaven lies ! 
 
 Who seeks may find the place 
 Within the azure of her eyes, 
 
 The radiance of her face. 
 
 And of my perfect happiness, 
 
 How near the charmed land ! 
 'Tis there where goes her whispering dress, 
 
 Where glimmers her white hand. 
 
 37 
 
an ©aten pipe. 
 
 i 'mom Pa ^ong %Vm ^iU » <^tav. 
 
 I WOULD my song were like a star 
 Hung in the purple depths afar, 
 To. lead her eyes, through gates of even. 
 Along the kindling paths of heaven. 
 
 I would my song were like a rose 
 
 From whose sweet heart the perfur flows ; 
 
 Then on her bosom it might lie, 
 
 And, breathing fragrant music, die 
 
 38 
 
Bn Qatcn pipe. 
 
 Phebe, wandering in a wood, 
 
 Chanced to spy Dan Cupid sleeping ; 
 Long the curious maiden stood 
 
 Tiptoe through the branches peeping. 
 For the youngster's lips she yearned, 
 
 Till, the branches parting slyly. 
 She to slake her thirst that burned 
 
 Stooped and kissed the rogue's mouth 
 shyly. 
 
 Now the boy's eyes open wide, 
 
 And upon the maid he gazes, 
 Grasps an arrow at his side, 
 
 And his silver bow upraises. 
 Swift the maiden turns to flee ; 
 
 Swift the arrow follows after, 
 Wounding in its flight a tree ; 
 
 Hark ! how rings the maid's clear laugh- 
 ter. 
 
 39 
 
Bn Oaten pipe. 
 
 Cupid, with sleep-dazzled eyes, 
 
 Stares a moment through the bushes 
 Where the laughing maid still flies, 
 
 Then adown the wood he rushes. 
 Now the shaft o'ertakes the quarry, 
 
 Now it cleaves poor Phebe's heart : 
 Maidens, ere you wake Love, tarry 
 
 First to filch his every dart. 
 
 40 
 
Sn ©atcn pipe. 
 
 ®h« (Kaptiic. 
 
 Whither fare you, Dimple-cheek, 
 
 Sad and slow ? 
 Why that pale and pensive face 
 
 As you go ? 
 In your downcast, wistful eyes 
 Half concealed a shadow lies ; — 
 Clouds are in the gusty skies, 
 
 Trailing low. 
 
 Leaves are fallen, flowers are dead ; 
 
 Now the day 
 Clean forgets the smiles it wore 
 When 'twas May ; 
 Why then should your lingering feet 
 Pass where frost and flower meet ? 
 Not a bird-song ripples. Sweet, 
 Down the way. 
 
 Ah 1 'twas here the gin was set ; 
 
 Here the dart 
 Pierced thee — here the snare was spread 
 
 By love's art. 
 41 
 
Bn Ontcn pipe. 
 
 Like a bird that cannot sing, 
 While it trails a broken wing, — 
 Bruised, fluttering, captive thing, — 
 Droops your heart. 
 
 And it throbs, and will not rest ; 
 
 Throbs in vain ; 
 And you come with aching breast. 
 
 Come again 
 Where love's honeyed words were said, 
 When the sky was blue o'erhead ; — 
 Ah, the moments that are fled ! 
 Ah, the pain ! 
 
 But, O summer's darling, wait ; 
 
 What though now 
 Birds are mute, and madcap winds 
 
 Strip each bough ? 
 Hastes this way the budding year 
 When, despite each darkling fear, 
 Hope shall place her chrism, Dear, 
 
 On your brow. 
 
 42 
 
Bn Oaten pipe. 
 
 ®0 a mm. 
 
 O LITTLE hands and little feet, 
 O little heart whose pulses beat 
 With rhythmic motions, full and sweet ! 
 
 Soon — ah, how soon ! — O tender one, 
 Shall winter frost and summer sun 
 Waste thy young life, as seasons run. 
 
 Come hither, press thy soft red lips 
 To mine, before the rude world nips 
 The blossoms from the fragile slips. 
 
 Not far away the city lies 
 
 Where all who journey pilgrim-wise 
 
 Close in the dusk their tired eyes. 
 
 Keep in thy heart the morning song ; 
 Life's longest journey is not long ; 
 Sing and fare on, be brave and strong. 
 
 43 
 
Bn ©aten pipe. 
 
 'TwAS here she lay ; amid the pillows 
 white 
 Glimmered her thin sweet face and violet 
 eyes; 
 Sometimes she watched yon moving square 
 of light, 
 Or through the window scanned the wist- 
 ful skies. 
 
 Outside the casement tiger-lilies swayed, 
 And flickering shadows wavered o'er the 
 sill. 
 As through the vines the frolic breezes 
 played. 
 Bringing faint scents of mignonette and 
 dill. 
 
 44 
 
Bn ©aten pipe. 
 
 Sometimes, flashed o'er her rose-pale lips, 
 would come 
 A sudden smile when through its circling 
 bars 
 Her happy warbler, from its wicker home, 
 Poured forth its song amid the jasmine 
 stars. 
 
 There are the plants she loved : as gracious 
 skies 
 Shed grateful drops upon the thirsty 
 flowers, 
 So these knew well her gentle ministries, 
 For day by day she brought them fresh- 
 ening showers. 
 
 Their leaves are drooping now ; the bird is 
 dumb ; 
 Outside the sill no tiger-lilies wave ; 
 The vines are sere and dead ; the snow is 
 come, 
 And round her tomb the winds of winter 
 rave. 
 
 45 
 
an 
 
 But in oar heaits perpetaal smiaer 
 bieadies; 
 Hex presence sdll like perfome fills the 
 
 Tot as flie buds slip from tJjOT vdret 
 sheathes, 
 She soAty bcigeoDed in:: cri±'.tss 
 
 UOGOL 
 
 46 
 
an ©aten pipe. 
 
 <fatomf. 
 
 Upon a salver in her rosy palms 
 
 She bears the slaughtered prophet's gory 
 
 head ; 
 Proudly, with placid face and queen-like 
 tread — 
 Untroubled by a moment's rising qualms 
 To vex her maiden bosom's happy calms — 
 She goes where azure wreathes of per- 
 fume spread 
 From smoking censers, and soft lights are 
 shed 
 Round halls that throb with tabrets and 
 
 with shalms. 
 Now, smiling, at her guilty mother's feet 
 She lays her gift. . . . Ay, those stern 
 lips are mute 
 
 47 
 
Bn ®aten fl>ipe. 
 
 That erstwhile, all unawed before the seat 
 Of kings, did dare proclaim sin's loath- 
 some fruit ; 
 Yet, hapless woman ! o'er thee doom-clouds 
 meet, 
 And fateful lightnings of God's anger 
 shoot. 
 
 48 
 
Bn i^aten Pipe. 
 
 Ah, now I lay my parched lips to thine, 
 That I may quench my blood's consum- 
 ing fire ; 
 Swiftly I kneel where fainting winds sus- 
 pire, 
 And odors o'er the earth are spilt like wine, 
 That I may touch thy cool soft cheek with 
 mine. 
 And heal the poignant hurts of my desire. 
 
 How have I sought thee, though the weary 
 waste 
 Reeled round me, and the dizzy light did 
 
 glare 
 Athwart my darkling sight, and thorns 
 did tear 
 My naked feet that stumbled in their haste ; 
 With what importunate thirst I longed to 
 taste 
 Thy fragrant breath, thy kisses sweet and 
 rare ! 
 
 49 
 
Bn ®aten pipe. 
 
 O murmur to me ! Of thy voice I dreamed 
 When through my dwindled veins the 
 
 maddening drouth 
 
 Did surge like fire, and from the pitiless 
 
 south 
 
 A furnace-blast around me ever streamed ; 
 
 Still did 1 hear thy voice, and still meseemed 
 
 To feel the liquid touches of thy mouth. 
 
 Upon thy bosom happy shadows fall, 
 And tender grasses lightly lean to thee ; 
 Beside thee ever pipes the sylvan bee. 
 And the hushed flowers hear thy faery call 
 The conscious reeds weave round thy 
 margin all 
 Their slender leaves in emerald broidery. 
 
 And now I find thee, and I kneel and lay 
 My brow to thine, and bathe my anguished 
 
 eyes 
 In the pure depths where infinite sooth- 
 ing lies 
 For thy seared lover whom the heat would 
 slay ; 
 
 50 
 
Bn (S>aten pipe. 
 
 To thee I come and hide me from the day 
 That hurls its blazing barbs from brazen 
 skies. 
 
 O tresses flowing over crystal sands 
 
 That rise and stir, I plunge my face in 
 
 thee, 
 And feel thee ripple down my shoulders 
 free, 
 And in thee wind and wind my glowing 
 
 hands ; 
 While from my forehead slip the iron bands 
 That, ever tightening, wrought new pangs 
 for me. 
 
 Here will I lie, nor ever wander more ; 
 For me through endless hours thy billowy 
 
 breast 
 Shall lightly heave ; to thine shall still be 
 pressed 
 My eager lips for slaking o'er and o'er ; 
 Here will I lie, upon this easeful shore. 
 While thou with song dost lull me into 
 rest. 
 
 SI 
 
Bn ®aten pipe. 
 
 The great ship's sails are all unfurled, 
 Her prow divides the ancient sea ; 
 
 Along her cloudy track the world 
 Sweeps through immensity. 
 
 She bears her freight of tears and graves, 
 Of trampled dust and bloody wreck, 
 
 While seamen chant their jolly staves 
 Upon her rock-ribbed deck. 
 
 Day after day a throng of mimes 
 
 Leap smiling from her swarming womb, 
 
 To play their little part betimes 
 Ere falls the lampless gloom. 
 
 Her weary voyage is never done ; 
 
 The winds about her never sleep ; 
 Forever with the flying sun 
 
 She cleaves the shoreless deep. 
 52 
 
an ©aten ipfpe. 
 
 O GRATEFUL heart of the nation, keep 
 
 Their memory green forever — 
 Our laureled dead who softly sleep 
 
 By many a winding river, 
 Where whispering pines and sunny palms, 
 
 Above each grass-grown grave. 
 Recount through bright and prosperous 
 calms 
 
 The great deeds of the brave. 
 
 Shall we for whom they freely shed 
 
 Their blood, like rain on flowers, 
 Shall we for whom they nobly bled 
 
 Forget these knights of ours ? — 
 Who fought and fell where shot and shell 
 
 Ploughed through the lists of death, 
 And as it were the mouth of hell 
 
 Upsent its withering breath ! 
 53 
 
Bn (S>aten Ipipe. 
 
 How by the treacherous morass, 
 
 Through deadly mists and damps ; 
 How by each wild and savage pass, 
 
 O'er glooming fens and swamps ; 
 How ever towards the shifting foe 
 
 They pressed with brave endeavor — 
 While free winds blow and waters flow. 
 
 The world shall know forever. 
 O how they fell ! No tongue shall tell 
 
 Death's red and plenteous reaping ; 
 On sandy slope, in woody dell, 
 
 The countless dead are sleeping, 
 'Mid silent camps where ne'er again 
 
 The trumpet's sudden braying 
 Shall wake them to war's leaden rain 
 
 And battle's iron slaying. 
 O'er each lone tomb shall summer bloom, 
 
 And grasses sway and bend. 
 And lightly through the fragrant gloom 
 
 The evening dews descend : 
 'Tis well I for there they crept to hide 
 
 Their bodies pierced and maimed. 
 And there, unseen, they bled and died, 
 
 Alone, but not ashamed. 
 54 
 
Bn (Paten pipe. 
 
 And there, by night, look down the stars 
 
 On many a nameless grave, 
 Where shadows cast their silver bars, 
 
 And misty streamers wave : 
 Back to her heart doth nature fold 
 
 Her own, to keep and bless. 
 While o'er them tides of sleep are rolled 
 
 And sweet forgetfulness. 
 
 S% 
 
Bn ©aten pipe. 
 
 In the Forest of Arden. 
 
 LET the sweet winds blow, 
 And let the clear sun shine, 
 
 For all the world shall know 
 That he is mine. 
 
 It is not shame to see 
 The leaf upon the vine ; 
 
 Why should it shameful be 
 To own him mine ? 
 
 The light that loves the flower, 
 I take it for a sign ; — 
 
 Love is a maiden's dower. 
 And he is mine. 
 
 Sweet wind, true leaf, fair light, 
 And joy that shall not tine, 
 
 1 know love's sovran might, 
 
 For he is mine. 
 56 
 
Bn ®aten pipe. 
 
 Through night's barred gates a venturous 
 light doth break ; 
 The shadows vanish, and where far peaks 
 
 rise 
 A splendor burns along the opulent skies ; 
 The birds are stirring, and the winds awake. 
 Now burst the meadows into many a flake 
 Of shifting fire, and still the old surprise 
 Of morning kindles where a glory lies 
 Upon the wrinkled bosom of the lake. 
 As yon proud vessel parts with shining 
 prow 
 A backward-curling waste of molten gold, 
 Down treading the smooth waves, so out- 
 ward now 
 A spirit-craft fares 'mid the strange lights 
 rolled 
 From other suns, while on my Love's dead 
 brow 
 The new day prints its kisses sweet and 
 cold. 
 
 57 
 
Bn ®aten pipe. 
 
 gut (^ttm §utial. 
 
 My love lies where the wild waves beat 
 
 Above her shell-strewn bed ; 
 The sands are wrapt about her feet, 
 
 The weeds about her head. 
 
 The calm stars, wheeling through their 
 zones, 
 
 Are doubled o'er her breast ; 
 The moving waste forever moans 
 
 Round her uncoffined rest. 
 
 Slow through the gloom, with dreadful eyes, 
 Strange monsters o'er her glide ; 
 
 On gentle currents fall and rise 
 The tresses at her side. 
 
 She recks not how the loud winds call, 
 Nor hears the sea-birds scream ; 
 
 Sea-shadows round her ever fall, 
 Sea-lights about her gleam. 
 58 
 
Bn ®aten pipe. 
 
 Naught e'er disturbs her sweet repose ; 
 
 No fears her breast alarm ; 
 The silent waters round her close, 
 
 And fold her safe from harm. 
 
 5^ 
 
Bn ©aten pipe. 
 
 The world is lovely ; but our eyes are dim 
 With selfish tears, and through the blind- 
 ing mist 
 We cannot see the glorious mountains, 
 kissed 
 By the last rays of sur«et, nor the slim 
 And nascent moon above the night's faint 
 rim, 
 Nor the young stars that keep their early 
 tryst. 
 
 The world is lovely ; but our pulses beat 
 To the slow measure of a hopeless pain, 
 And the dull throbbing of our heart and 
 brain 
 Shuts out the vision of the fair and sweet ; 
 Yea, even the beauty shining at our feet 
 Shineth for us, the sorrow-blind, in vain. 
 6w 
 
an ©aten pipe. 
 
 For the ways of thy life are sunny, 
 
 Nor dimmed by thy crystalline showers, 
 
 And thy footsteps, 'mid perfume and honey, 
 Are jewelled with radiant flowers. 
 
 Not so was the troublous morning 
 That dawned on thee first, O sweet, 
 
 For thy birth-star rose lurid with warning. 
 And thy birth-song was singing of sleet. 
 
 But terrors of storm could not fright thee, 
 Thou child of the tearful Spring, 
 
 Nor frost in its cruelty blight thee. 
 For thou heardest the orioles sing. 
 
 And now the drear days of thy sadness 
 Are vanished as phantoms afar, 
 
 While forth in thy beauty and gladness 
 Hope beckons thee, chaste as a star. 
 
 And thy feet press the odorous grasses 
 That spring on the uplands and leas. 
 And before thee the wind, as it passes. 
 Scatters downward the blooms from the 
 trees. 
 
 6i 
 
2ln Qnten pipe. 
 
 The world is lovely ; oh, when night comes 
 on, 
 And long and lonely vigils vex our eyes, 
 God grant that over all the darkened 
 skies 
 The stars of promise may be thickly sown ; 
 And though we wait, and watch, and weep 
 alone, 
 Yet wait as one who knows the dawn 
 shall rise. 
 
 62 
 
Bn ®aten pipe. 
 
 ^ <f 0tt0 of |«ajj- 
 
 In the orchard close I see thee, 
 And along thy luminous way 
 
 The shadows arise and flee thee, 
 O delicate, blossoming May. 
 
 The dews on thy sandals glisten, 
 As, hard by yon shaggy bole, 
 
 Thou pausest a moment to listen 
 To the song of an oriole. 
 
 The pink apple-blossoms above thee 
 
 Tremble to touch thy hair, 
 And the sweet south winds that love thee 
 
 Are faint with the passion they bear. 
 
 O fair is thy face, and tender 
 The light of thy laughing eyes. 
 
 From the deeps of whose azure splendor 
 Wells ever a glad surprise ; 
 63 
 
Bn (^aten ipipe. 
 
 QUATRAINS. 
 
 Through night's dim gulfs a silver radiance 
 falls ; 
 On dreaming wood and city square it lies ; 
 It streams along yon attic's naked walls, 
 To kiss a child's starved face and sight- 
 less eyes. 
 
 She clothes herself in meek simplicity, 
 And o'er her lover spreads her hands to 
 bless. 
 
 When lo ! her garments, rustling to her knee. 
 Flash on his eyes her dazzling loveliness. 
 
 64 
 
Bn ©aten iplpc. 
 
 No cruel mistress she, with icy brows, 
 And cold eyes veiled in haughty half- 
 eclipse, 
 But a warm maid who hears her lover's 
 vows, 
 With gracious smiles upon her tender lips. 
 
 m m Cliff. 
 
 A BIRD on yonder crag which fronts the 
 deep 
 
 Trilled a full hour his wild love-lay to me ; 
 So Sappho sang upon the wind-swept steep, 
 
 Ere plunging hopeless in the gulfing sea. 
 
 6S 
 
Bn Ontcn pipe. 
 
 No seer am I, and yet I know full well, 
 When o'er my book thine eyes pore, 
 misty-dim, 
 To thine own heart this secret thou shalt 
 
 tell: 
 " This friend loved me, and I — I, too, loved 
 him." 
 
 ik 
 
 ^ Wohmt oi WsvM, 
 
 This is a plant whose slender growth, 
 Through years of sun and gloom, 
 
 Hath yet scarce burst the bud's green 
 sheath 
 To show a timid bloom. 
 
 66 
 
Bn ©aten pipe. 
 
 A WANDERING cloud upon his haggard face 
 A shadow cast — he thought it doom's 
 black pall ; 
 He saw a transient star shoot from its 
 place, 
 And deemed the reeling heavens about to 
 fall. 
 
 The trumpets of the morning-glories sound 
 A loud alarum to the brave knights round ; 
 The joust begins, and proudly on the breeze 
 With lance in rest come riding down the 
 bees. 
 
 67 
 
Hn ©atcn pipe. 
 
 From level brows her eyes look straight 
 before ; 
 She falters not to seek what lies beyond ; 
 Her vesture, travel-stained, is freaked with 
 gore; 
 From her free wrist down coils a broken 
 bond. 
 
 top? §«m. 
 
 Thb beasts that roam the fields when Spring 
 is green 
 Know not the morrow, mourn not yester- 
 day ; 
 Their joy is now ; we pine for what hath 
 been, 
 Blind to our bliss till it hath slipped away. 
 
 68 
 
Bn Oaten l^ipe. 
 
 A SHADE of thought lay on His ageless face^ 
 Till suddenly God said, " Let there be 
 light," 
 When lo ! His smile like sunshine streamed 
 through space. 
 And music thrilled adown the gulfs of 
 night. 
 
 Arise, O soul, and gird thee up anew, 
 Though the black camel Death kneel at 
 thy gate ; 
 No beggar thou that thou for alms shouldst 
 sue ; 
 Be the proud captain still of thine own 
 fate! 
 
 69 
 
Bn ©aten ipipe. 
 
 Le temps ou la mort sont nos remedes. — Rousseau. 
 
 For love that blights, for pain that slowly 
 wastes, 
 For fears that haunt, for hopes that ever 
 flee. 
 For sorrow that abides, for joy that hastes — 
 Or time or death hath sovran remedy. 
 
 Not they are blest who greet the morning's 
 
 sun, 
 
 Nor they on whom the sultry noontide 
 
 glows, 
 
 But blest are they, life's labors being done, 
 
 Whom evening calls unto its dusk repose. 
 
 4 
 70 
 
Bn ©aten pipe. 
 
 ^ovt and §eautjj. 
 
 I FOLLOW Love, and Beauty twin to Love, 
 Beauty so beautiful and Love so sweet ; 
 They smile and beckon to me where they 
 move, 
 Yet e'er elude my clogged and stum- 
 bling feet. 
 
 ®n the Revival of the ^lisabethaniei. 
 
 New voices twittering in the ear of Time 
 Hush the full-throated songs we knew of 
 yore ; 
 But morn returns again, as in its prime. 
 To wake the old sweet minstrelsy once 
 more. 
 
 71 
 
Bn ©aten BMpe. 
 
 ®he ^im leav. 
 
 The miser year, amid his songless bowers, 
 With senile eyes gloats o'er his gathered 
 gold, 
 And laughs and mumbles while, in rippling 
 showers, 
 It sifts between his fingers thin and old. 
 
 A HOMESICK angel, with sad eyes, 
 Upon some distant sphere, 
 
 Adown the dark abysmal skies 
 Let fall one golden tear. 
 
 72 
 
Hn ©aten pipe. 
 
 ^Ut '^tAonin^ ot the ^feicis. 
 
 Yon clouds that roam the deserts of the 
 air, 
 On wind-swift barbs, o'er many an azure 
 plain, 
 Scarce pause to lift to Allah one small 
 prayer. 
 Ere Ishmael's spirit drives them forth 
 again. 
 
 « 
 
 ^n Epitaph. 
 
 Here lies a heart, once love's own shrine, 
 whence rolled 
 The smoke and flame of unconsumed 
 desire ; 
 The flames are perished now, the altar cold, 
 Yet ev'n its ashes hide a smouldering 
 fire. 
 
 « 
 73 
 
Bn ©aten pipe. 
 
 O PAIN, and art thou come to be my guest ? 
 
 Then will I not deny thee ; lo, I greet 
 
 With smiles thy coming ; thy wan face 
 
 is sweet, 
 
 And to mine own let thy parched lips be 
 
 pressed 
 With fond beguilement ; on mine aching 
 breast 
 Pillow thine head ; and while the hours on 
 
 feet 
 Of flame run by or haltingly or fleet, 
 Here shalt thou find thine own compan- 
 ioned rest. 
 Nay, now I know that who accepteth thee, 
 Howe'er his hands may falter, hath thy 
 leave 
 To loose thy mask and see thee as 
 thou art, — 
 How that thy forehead shines angelically. 
 And thy deep eyes mysteriously weave 
 A spell at length to hush the 
 anguished heart. 
 74 
 
Bn Oaten pipe. 
 
 (Isle of Wight— October, 1892.) 
 
 He sleeps the sleep that knows no earthly 
 
 waking ; 
 But now for him above eternal hills, 
 The cloudless dawn of deathless day is 
 
 breaking, 
 And splendor fills 
 The orbit of his vision glorified. 
 Not yet the glad surprise 
 Hath faded from his eyes 
 Of that first raptured gazing on the slopes 
 
 of Paradise. 
 New is the song he sings ; 
 His valiant voice outrings 
 Through all the spaces wide. 
 Roofed with the lights celestial which o'er- 
 
 dome 
 That bourne where radiant spirits seek their 
 
 home. 
 
 75 
 
2ln ©atcn pipe. 
 
 Him doth the vast deep mourn, 
 
 And round this isle that knew his wandering 
 
 feet 
 On restless winds is borne 
 A sigh of lamentation vague and fleet. 
 The silent ships go by, 
 To find their haven 'neath an autumn sky, 
 As conscious that no more 
 Shall he behold them who of yore 
 Chanted their conquest over wind and wave. 
 Ay, he is in his grave, 
 Where the huge minster's shadowy arches 
 
 soar. 
 And where the mighty city's hollow roar 
 Rolls down the endless streets. 
 Him the blithe day greets 
 No longer in the garden that he knew. 
 Where bright for him the larkspur grew, 
 And roses shed their sweets — 
 Where sounds of morn and even did uprise 
 In infinite harmonies. 
 O, yet we do but err 
 To deem that beauty's worshiper 
 Forsakes its shrine 
 
 76 
 
Bn ($aten pipe. 
 
 At summons of the Voice divine ; 
 
 For he hath passed into that inner place 
 
 Where now he seeth, face to face, 
 
 Eternal Beauty as it is. 
 
 Him shall the dews not miss, 
 
 Nor the brave grass, nor flowers that bud 
 
 and blow, 
 Nor the cool brooks that flow 
 By wood and fell-side to the wooing sea : 
 Henceforth he is a part of them, for he 
 Shall be resolved into that essence pure 
 Which ever shall endure 
 As loveliness in stream, and hill, and tree. 
 His voice men still shall hear 
 In whispering leaves, and in the noonday 
 
 choir 
 Of summer insects, and the dawn-song clear 
 Where morn plants on the downs her feet 
 
 of fire. 
 He still shall sing within the rhythmic tides 
 That ocean rolls above its caverns hoar, 
 And in the unheard music that e'er slides 
 Through gulfs of night from many a star- 
 
 sprent shore. 
 
 77 
 
Bn ©aten iplpc. 
 
 His song from countless joyous feathered 
 
 throats 
 Shall bubble at daybreak and at evenfall, 
 And those far elf-land notes 
 He loved shall echo in the iterant call 
 Of black-stoled crickets on the winter 
 
 hearth. 
 By many a norland firth 
 Where the shrewd blasts whine round the 
 
 icy peaks, 
 By many a desert strand 
 Where the Pacific ever idly breaks 
 A tumbled billow round the lonely land, 
 Where'er is sound or song, there shall be 
 
 heard, 
 Sweet as the memory of love's dying word, 
 The master's tone in nature's symphony, 
 Till Time shall furl his wings and cease to 
 
 be. 
 
 78 
 
Bn ©aten ipipc. 
 
 Beneath the drifted snow she keeps 
 
 Her children safe from harm ; 
 Each folded germ securely sleeps 
 
 In silence sweet and warm. 
 
 And when the laughing wind shall break 
 
 The bonds of Winter's night, 
 Then from their slee^ ^he flowers shall wake 
 
 To seek the pleasant light. 
 
 The Spring-time ever comes. O soul ! 
 
 Though loosed the silver cord, 
 And shattered is the golden bowl, 
 
 And on the trampled sward 
 
 The pitcher at the fountain lies 
 
 Beside the broken wheel, 
 O'er thee shall bend the kindly skies, 
 
 And balmy breaths unseal 
 79 
 
Bn ©aten IPlpc. 
 
 Death's frosty silence with a kiss 
 
 Light as an angel's wing, 
 And thou shalt wake 'mid tides of bliss 
 
 To hear God's minstrels sing. 
 
 80 
 
an ©aten BMpc. 
 
 Yea, " work is workship," said that hoary 
 man, 
 Who o'er the wintry sea, from his frore 
 
 height 
 Of four-score years and six, with ageless 
 sight 
 Watched still the bodeful struggle in the 
 
 van 
 Of the world's progress ; for he did not 
 scan 
 The fray as one who had not tried the 
 
 fight, 
 But as one who had battled for the right, 
 And freed his own soul from the coward's 
 
 ban. 
 Yea, work is workship, work that's one with 
 pain; 
 Work born of consecration and of trust ; 
 
an Oaten Iplpc. 
 
 Work wrought with bruisdd hand and weary 
 brain, 
 Consenting to the meager cup and crust : 
 Such work is worship ; 'tis not counted 
 vain ; 
 God marks His toilers by their sweat and 
 dust. 
 
 82 
 
Bn Oaten ipipe. 
 
 gt Itattfiti). 
 
 He came when the petals of the rose were 
 blown 
 Down the long aisles of windy woodlands, 
 
 where 
 The leaves fell thick as raindrops through 
 the air, 
 And half-choked runnels made incessant 
 
 moan. 
 He came, from Paradise but lately flown, 
 Upon his brow the halo angels wear, 
 And in his eyes the memory of the fair 
 Far scenes of blessedness that they had 
 know'n, 
 
 O miracle of life, continued still. 
 
 Though earth's frail generations wend 
 from sight, 
 
 83 
 
Bn ®aten pipe. 
 
 And nameless shadows of the darkness fill 
 The orbs that turn toward the coming 
 night, 
 Thine is the pledge that morn again shall 
 thrill 
 Our wakened souls with music of the light. 
 
 84 
 
an ©aten pipe. 
 
 O VALLEY as fair as a vision, 
 O river as bright as a dream, 
 
 fields sweet as meadows Elysian, 
 
 valley, O meadows, O stream, 
 
 1 leave thee to-day and forever. 
 Yea, I pass as a tale that is told, 
 
 But this flesh from my spirit shall sever 
 Ere my love for thee fails or grows cold. 
 
 O heights that are clothed with the sunlight, 
 
 As the hills of our God shine afar, 
 Henceforth thou shalt stand in but one 
 light 
 Shed abroad from a shadowless star ; 
 For lo ! the clear orb of remembrance 
 
 Through sorrow and time shall not wane, 
 And though tears should obscure thee and 
 distance, 
 
 1 shall see thee in memory again, 
 
 8S 
 
Bn ©atcn ipipc. 
 
 " Be sure your sin will find you out." — Num. j2 : 2j. 
 
 The night is long, the moon is cold, 
 
 The stars faint in the icy sky, 
 My pulses wane, my heart is old, 
 
 And yet I should not dare to die. 
 Before me ever stands my sin, 
 
 A wraith that will not disappear ; 
 Its outstretched hands are pale and thin. 
 
 And through them sifts the moonlight 
 clear. 
 
 Once from this ghost I sought to hide 
 
 Where music clashed and lights did 
 flare, 
 I turned my eyes, lo ! at my side, 
 
 Chill, mist-like, silent, it was there. 
 Then to the wilderness I fled, 
 
 In sackcloth wrapped my bitter shame. 
 Poured ashes on my stricken head — 
 
 O God ! it o'er me stood the same. 
 86 
 
an ©aten pipe. 
 
 Then an unquiet bed in hell 
 
 At length in sheer despair I made, 
 But while the shadows round me fell, 
 
 Beside me rose a blacker shade ; 
 Till suddenly the foul eclipse 
 
 Refused to clothe my spirit stark, 
 And while I shrieked with stiffened lips, 
 
 From oil me rolled the frightened dark. 
 
 And now I drift about the world ; 
 
 My eyes are emptied of their tears ; 
 My hopes like chaff are round me whirled; 
 
 And all my soul is scourged with fears. 
 The moon sinks low, the night is long ; 
 
 Beneath a cold and prayerless sky 
 I stand, watched by my spectral wrong, 
 
 Afraid to live, afraid to die. 
 
 87 
 
an ©aten pipe. 
 
 The tawny sands slip downward in the 
 glass 
 Noiseless and smooth, a pulse whose 
 
 even flow 
 No boisterous winds can vex howe'er 
 they blow, 
 A tide across whose breast no shadows 
 
 pass. 
 Lo ! yellow bees that drone in summer 
 grass, 
 A mill whose mossy wheel has ceased to 
 
 go. 
 A hawk above a woodland sailing slow, 
 
 A sunny field reaped by a brown-armed 
 
 lass — 
 
 All these like visions rise upon my soul, 
 
 Till, wholly meshed in Fancy's sorceries, 
 
 88 
 
Tin ©aten iplpc. 
 
 While still the grains sift from the crystal 
 bowl, 
 I feel against my brow a phantom 
 breeze, 
 And see o'er gleaming sands the long 
 waves roll, 
 And hear the washings of the orient 
 seas. 
 
 * 
 
 89 
 
an ©aten pipe. 
 
 Her footsteps gleam upon the eastern 
 
 slope, 
 And beds of primrose blush beneath her 
 
 tread ; 
 Her virgin eyes are luminous with hope, 
 Her dewy locks down ripple from her 
 
 head ; 
 Her feet are bare, her garments smell of 
 
 myrrh. 
 And all the little flowers lean to her. 
 
 To greet her coming, lo ! the woods awake 
 
 With jubilation, and the pasture-lands. 
 Where rove the herds, are strewn with 
 many a flake 
 Of lambent fire, as by invisible hands ; 
 Deep, unto deep sends forth its jocund 
 
 call, 
 The earth is glad, and God is over all. 
 
 90 
 
Bn ®aten pipe. 
 
 Love gives itS all nor counts the price, 
 Happy that thus it still may show 
 
 In an unmeasured sacrifice 
 Its precious overflow. 
 
 Where eyes are dimmed with lonely tears, 
 Where hearts are bowed with grief and 
 care, 
 Where weakness walks 'mid gloom and 
 fears — 
 Love sheds its healing there. 
 
 Love's hands are strong to lift and save ; 
 
 Down pain's dark ways Love goes afar ; 
 Love's beacon shines athwart the grave, 
 
 And kindles like a star. 
 
 Love scales the height and probes the 
 deep. 
 And when death's shadow o'er us lies, 
 Love's mighty pinions upward sweep 
 To bear us to the skies. 
 91 
 
3Bn ©aten Pipe. 
 
 lev wmtt, 
 
 I WOULD I were her violin, 
 To rest beneath her dimpled chin, 
 To softly kiss her swan-white throat, 
 And breathe my love through every note. 
 When o'er my strings her fingers fair 
 Should lightly wander here and there, 
 The while her flashing bow did press 
 My bosom with its swift caress, 
 Then would I waken into song 
 The rapture that had slumbered long. 
 Mine ear against her swelling breast 
 Should hearken to its sweet unrest. 
 And — happy spy ! — then should I know 
 How, deep beneath that drifted snow, 
 A blissful tumult in her heart 
 Made all her fluttering pulses start. 
 Then that high calm, that maiden grace, 
 That meekly proud and peerless face, 
 92 
 
Bn ©aten pipe. 
 
 That aureole of sun-bright hair, 
 That brow such as the seraphs wear,- 
 No longer these should baffle quite 
 The anxious lover's dazzled sight. 
 Ah, would I were her violin, 
 That thus her secret I might win. 
 
 93 
 
Bn iS^aten ipipe. 
 
 As townward mistress Betty goes 
 
 With tossing head and haughty lips, 
 And dainty, outward-pointing toes 
 
 That spurn the path o'er which she trips, 
 She recks not how yon sleek young blades 
 
 Begin to ogle, smirk and purr. 
 Nor yet how all the kerchiefed maids 
 
 Are whispering after her. 
 
 As Betty goes she walks alone. 
 
 Her gathered kirtle in her hand ; 
 She curtsies not to any one. 
 
 She sees no smiles, however bland ; 
 Her bosom, veiled by silken braids. 
 
 Is sweet as hills that drop with myrrh, 
 While still the sly and tittering maids 
 
 Stand gazing after her. 
 94 
 
Bn Oaten pipe. 
 
 Ah, Betty goes to meet her fate ! 
 
 Bold Roger lurks by yonder stile ; 
 She spies him, but alas ! too late ; 
 
 With him avails no scornful wile. 
 Now all her helpless pride he raids, 
 
 And traitor longings in her stir, 
 While o'er their shoulders men and maids 
 
 Make merry after her. 
 
 95 
 
Hn ©aten iplpe. 
 
 % f ussle. 
 
 Alas ! I am a gray-beard ; 
 
 My years are fifty-three ; 
 I'm old and grave, but Bessie ne'er 
 
 Will sit upon my knee. 
 
 Yet once this dimpled maiden, 
 With bird-like sounds of glee 
 
 And sweet proprietary airs, 
 Would perch upon my knee. 
 
 And oft we've romped together, 
 When summer winds blew free. 
 
 But evening stars and sleepy eyes 
 Brought Bessie to my knee. 
 
 But now I cannot coax her ; 
 
 What can the difference be .'' 
 Her gowns are long, she romps no more, 
 
 Nor sits upon my knee. 
 06 
 
Bn Oaten pipe. 
 
 Soft as the dew that falls by night 
 Beneath the moon's entranced light 
 Upon my thirsty heart love fell ; 
 Love slakes my drouth, and all is well. 
 
 No claustral lily lifteth up 
 
 More eagerly her virgin cup, 
 
 To quaff the balm-draught from above, 
 
 Than I my heart to drink of love. 
 
 Now all my days are dream-enwreathed 
 And perfume on my dark is breathed ; 
 Joy's buds within my bosom swell ; 
 Sing, O my heart, for all is well. 
 
 97 
 
Bn Qntcn pipe. 
 
 O DARKENED cycs abovc the grass, 
 O have you seen the maiden pass? 
 Her smile is Hke the morn, they say; 
 Her forehead fairer than the day. 
 
 With some who know it not she walks ; 
 By cottage gates she stands and talks ; 
 She flees the palace and the hall. 
 Nor heeds the golden tongues that call. 
 
 She lives with dawn upon the hills ; 
 She loiters by the sliding rills ; 
 Where berries grow, her lips she stains ; 
 Her cheeks are tanned by v.'inds and rains. 
 
 From those who seek her, fast she flies, 
 
 But not to alien suns or skies ; 
 
 Oft when afar her lovers roam, 
 
 She bides beneath the vines at home. 
 
 Few prize the maid, when face to face 
 They see her lusty, full-blown grace ; 
 O fools and blind, alas ! alas ! 
 Say, have you seen the maiden pass ? 
 98 
 
an ©atcn pipe. 
 
 " Qui sine peccato est vestrum, primus in illam lapidetn 
 mittat." 
 
 " Hath no one cast a stone at thee ? '' 
 " Nay, Lord," she humbly said, 
 And from the pavement tearfully 
 She raised her fallen head. 
 
 With anxious hands her burning face 
 She sought to hide ; her hair, 
 
 A midnight stream, with careless grace 
 Flowed round her shoulders bare. 
 
 " Go thou and sin no more." His eyes 
 Like heaven above her bent, 
 And tremulous with awed surprise 
 She from Him slowly went. 
 
 99 
 
Bn ©aten fMpc. 
 
 For a Picture. 
 
 O ANGEL of the dark — through vistas dim, 
 O'erhung with purple shadows of the night, 
 Where swarming stars like multitudinous 
 
 bees 
 Hum round the vast and hollow arch of 
 
 heaven — 
 On tireless pinions thou dost ever sweep, 
 Secure from change. Me time shall surely 
 
 bear 
 To failing limbs, scant breath, and eyes 
 
 that peer 
 Through mists that gather in the evening 
 
 fields — 
 But thou shalt ever spread thy flowing robes. 
 Spangled with constellations never 
 
 quenched, 
 About thy fresh young form, and evermore 
 Thine arms outstretched shall sift from 
 
 rosy palms 
 
Bn ©atcn fftfpe. 
 
 The dews that slake a million thirsty 
 
 blooms. 
 When earth to her warm bosom shall 
 
 receive 
 The mold that once hath wrapt this vital 
 
 spark — 
 As embers hid in ashes on the hearth — 
 When reels my forehead dustward, thou 
 
 shalt be 
 Fair as that hour when first thy gemmy brow 
 Took the cool kisses of the twilight breeze, 
 And all the naked world did welcome thee. 
 Let me grow old and die — it shall be well ; 
 Though I forget love's steadfast eyes that 
 
 burn 
 Like planets in their spheres, and love's 
 
 sweet lips 
 Whose music jangling voices cannot vex, 
 I shall remember in the scented gloom. 
 Where flowers braid their roots, that thou 
 
 dost keep 
 Thy flight along the highways of the dusk 
 Forever lovely, and I shall be glad. 
 
Hn ©atcn pipe. 
 
 What boots it to give me your hand ? 
 
 No thrill do I feel ; 
 True, once it was otherwise — see, o'er the 
 land 
 
 The long shadows steal. 
 
 Ay, once a soft pair of dark eyes 
 
 Could trouble my rest ; 
 Could wake song or sorrow — behold, the 
 light dies 
 
 From out the dim west. 
 
 I loved you ; I own it was so ; 
 
 But all that io dead ; 
 So come, we are lingering late, let us go — 
 
 The twilight has fled. 
 
an ©aten pipe. 
 
 Zu}onoiiu). 
 
 O HEART, lift up a brave song. 
 
 For it is good to be ; 
 We will not sing a grave-song, — 
 
 Avaunt, mortality ! 
 
 Far from us be the wormy mold 
 Where Sorrow's footsteps fall ; 
 
 Far from us be the phantoms cold 
 That through the darkness call. 
 
 Now let us lift a morning lay ; 
 
 The sun is in the sky ; 
 The winds of God about us play ; 
 
 An angel rustles by. 
 
 And there is dew upon the sward, 
 And fiowers are in the grass, 
 
 And lo ! the glory of the Lord 
 Gleams where his garments pass. 
 
 « 
 103 
 
an ©aten ipipc. 
 
 Still as of old the morning breaks ; 
 
 The brook delays its mimic flood, 
 And in its soft embrace it takes 
 
 The ivy-mantled wood. 
 
 Within the elm the robin sings; 
 
 The lilac blooms beside the bars ; 
 And through the shadows evening brings 
 
 Look down the early stars. 
 
 And day by day the cheerful sounds 
 Arise of those who sow or reap, 
 
 Who wake to tread life's common rounds, 
 And turn again to sleep. 
 
 The seasons come and go apace. 
 
 And naught is changed mine eyes can 
 see ; 
 
 But in its grave lies one dear face 
 That was the world to me. 
 
 104 
 
Bn ©aten iptpe. 
 
 From all its little bells the brook 
 
 Shakes out a silver peal, 
 And faintly from the forest nook 
 
 Their elfin echoes steal. 
 The shadows lengthen on the sward ; 
 
 The light dies in the west ; 
 Now through the dewy twilight, Lord, 
 
 Send down the balm of rest. 
 
 The glimmering kine upon the grass 
 
 Lie couched in dumb content. 
 And wandering breaths of blossoms pass, 
 
 In one rich perfume blent ; 
 The braided gnats in sweet accord 
 
 Wail where the willows weep ; 
 Now through the solemn night, dear Lord, 
 
 Send down the gift of sleep. 
 
 i°S 
 
Bn ®atcn pipe. 
 
 Love, our brows are toward the open 
 
 sea; 
 Our eyes look onward to the nearing 
 
 strand ; 
 The salt winds on our cheeks blow fresh- 
 
 eningly, 
 And strange sea-voices haunt the reedy 
 
 land. 
 
 1 know not where thy footsteps fall, nor yet 
 What skies o'erarch thee, but I know full 
 
 well 
 That thy face, like my own, is seaward set, 
 Drawn thither by the same resistless 
 spell. 
 
 We shall not fail to stand beside the deep. 
 And though our feet may falter as we go. 
 Still one unerring course we ever keep 
 Toward that long level where the sea- 
 tides flow. 
 
 1 06 
 
Bn ®aten pipe. 
 
 The evening shades are gathering cool and 
 
 sweet ; 
 
 The moving waste awaits us ; O my bride 
 
 That never wast, set sail ; our hands shall 
 
 meet 
 
 When we make harbor on the other side. 
 
 107 
 
Bn ©aten pipe. 
 
 Three days the harrowed earth had swept 
 
 Across the star-sown gulfs of space, 
 Since she beside that grave had wept 
 
 Which hid her first-born's sinless face ; 
 Her heart was dark, her lamp was quenched, 
 
 Her fluttering hope untimely dead, 
 And night by night her sorrow drenched 
 
 The fevered pillow at her head. 
 
 Then as the dark began to wane. 
 
 And Easter morn within the skies 
 Its rose of promise set again, 
 
 Sleep fell upon her weary eyes ; 
 And as she slept a vision came ; 
 
 It smiled, and lightly clasped her hand, 
 And swiftly moved, on feet of flame, 
 
 Past many a strange and tropic land. 
 
 Far eastward through the gates of dawn, 
 By paths of pearl, 'mid golden mists. 
 
 Where strewn o'er many a dewy lawn 
 Burn diamonds and amethysts, 
 ro8 
 
Bn Onten pipe. 
 
 Straight on into the rising day 
 
 She followed still her flying dream, 
 
 To where with festal sounds alway 
 
 The springs of glory downward stream ; 
 
 Where throb the songs that never cease, 
 
 Where dip the laurel and the palm, 
 Where lilies of eternal peace 
 
 Breathe airs that blow from hills of balm ; 
 Where garmented in praise One stands 
 
 Than light more radiantly fair, 
 And, joy of joys 1 Whose pierced hands 
 
 Lie on her darling's shining hair. 
 
 O mother-love ! O pure delight ! 
 
 O eyes that brim with blissful tears ! 
 Behind her dies the barren night. 
 
 Behind her sink the widowed years ; 
 She listened, and a dear Voice spake : 
 
 " Be comforted, thou stricken one, 
 The bruisdd reed I ne'er will break " — 
 
 She woke, and saw the Easter sun. 
 
 109 
 
an ©aten pjpe. 
 
 EU Pillt-tnaid 
 
 Her ankles brush the dew-wet grass ; 
 
 The birds are blithe to see her pass ; 
 
 Along the daisies, golden-bright, 
 
 Run little shivers of delight. 
 
 Her shining pail swings on her arm ; 
 
 Within her hair the sun lies warm ; 
 
 No cloud is in the morning skies ; 
 
 No shadow veils her April eyes; 
 
 Songs gurgle from her heart and lips, 
 
 As o'er the field she lightly trips, 
 
 To where beside the smooth- worn gate 
 
 Her swoUen-uddered cattle wait. 
 
 Yet ere her task she shall essay, 
 
 She will not start and turn away 
 
 If suddenly her cheek be pressed 
 
 To happy Colin's lusty breast, 
 
 The while upon her tender mouth 
 
 He slakes love's oft-recurring drouth. 
 
 Ah, who would not gray wisdom miss, 
 
 To feel again the velvet kiss 
 
 That thrilled the lyric heart of yore ? 
 
 Who — who would not be young once more ? 
 
Bn ®aten pipe. 
 
 Not now, not now, not of this veiled sun 
 Nor tenuous shade, our tremulous love 
 
 was born. 
 But when the sheer night feathered to- 
 ward the morn, 
 And the faint stars, like tapers, one by one 
 Died in the dawn, and the chill night was 
 done. 
 'Twas when the light wind o'er the breath- 
 ing corn 
 Winnowed his vans, and from each gossa- 
 mered thorn 
 Billowed the dew-pearled gonfalons day 
 
 had won. 
 Then had our love its birth — a fluttering 
 thing, 
 That scarce knew if the fire-fledged morn 
 had come, 
 
 III 
 
Bn (^aten pipe. 
 
 Or if to swell its moon-white throat and 
 sing, 
 Or bid, 'mid twilight leaves, its voice be 
 dumb. 
 But now day wanes — Dear, doth desire take 
 wing ? 
 Doth the grasshopper e'en grow burden- 
 some ? 
 
Bn Oaten fi>ipe. 
 
 i« the atm^ut. 
 
 How wearily the day goes by ! 
 
 The hateful shadows on the wall 
 Hour after hour unmoving lie ; 
 
 Outside, I hear the sparrows call. 
 
 The garden walks, white in the glare, 
 Throb like a pulse beneath the heat ; 
 
 I see the sun-dial blindly stare ; 
 I count the fountain's steady beat. 
 
 Along their beds the flowers droop ; 
 
 All wilted is the trellised vine ; 
 The branches of the ash-tree stoop 
 
 With dusty berries red as wine. 
 
 The fly sings in the leaded panes ; 
 
 And from the echoing chapel steal 
 The livelong day the distant strains 
 
 Of hymn and chant and organ-peal. 
 113 
 
Bn ®aten ipipe. 
 
 I'm tired of the rustling swish 
 
 Of trailing robes o'er chilly stones ; 
 
 I wish — what is it that I wish ? 
 
 I know a crypt where mouldy bones 
 
 Are piled against the vaulted roof ; 
 
 There a low taper ever smokes ; 
 The jangling bell sounds far aloof, 
 
 And muffles its unceasing strokes. 
 
 There — there are silence, gloom and rest ; 
 
 No measured step, no solemn air, 
 No meek cross o'er a rebel breast, 
 
 No downcast eyes, no muttered prayer. 
 
 Outside, the blinking waters lie ; 
 
 Beyond, the great world swings and roars, 
 Where many an infant's tender cry 
 
 Leaps forth from happy human doors. 
 
 O flesh, vex not my faltering soul, 
 Nor let my fancy, wandering wide 
 
 From crucifix and saintly stole, 
 
 Defile the Bridegroom's virgin bride. 
 114 
 
an ©aten ipfpe. 
 
 Bride ? — ah, I hate this loathsome cell I 
 I hate yon altar where I kneel, 
 
 While still with mumbling lips I tell 
 The prayers my heart can never feel. 
 
 Bride ? — still I think on perfumed aisles. 
 On arching boughs, on grass that springs 
 
 By streams that keep their morning smiles, 
 Where swallows dip their glancing wings ; 
 
 Where whispers stir the scented dark 
 Of screening leaves, and where the place 
 
 Grows sweet with violet eyes that mark 
 The truth and beauty in his face. 
 
 His face — whose face ? My hair is wet 
 With fevered drops ; my hands are weak ; 
 
 I know the signal that is set 
 
 In crimson on my hollow cheek. 
 
 And Sister Agnes, with the eyes 
 
 Like doves' eyes, comes to softly weep ; 
 
 Upon my brow her cool hand lies ; 
 I close my lids and feign to sleep. 
 IIS 
 
Bn ©aten BMpc. 
 
 For I would be alone to dream ; 
 
 I love my dreams ; thus I escape 
 These maddening walls that ever gleam, 
 
 Those sickened blooms, that yellowing 
 grape. 
 
 The sluggard moments come and pass ; 
 
 The flickering light fades from the sill ; 
 I hear the sounds of evening mass, 
 
 Of closing doors, and all is still. 
 
 And o'er the ash-tree hangs a star 
 
 That trembles through the twilight gray; 
 
 'Tis night ; a watch-dog bays afar ; 
 Dear God, send not another day 1 
 
 ii6 
 
an ©aten iPipe. 
 
 (The finding oi the %\^^p. 
 
 O ANGUISH of parting ! — here sv.'erve the 
 ways, 
 This path to the right, and that to the 
 left; 
 We are come at length to our clay of days, 
 To our moment of moments, and are be- 
 reft. 
 Even so — I will hold your hand for a space, 
 Look once again in your truth-clear e)'es, 
 Read over the lines of your patient face, 
 That my soul may yet hold you picture- 
 wise. 
 
 Shall we say it is best that it should be so ? 
 
 Were P'ate not loth, and had we met 
 While the hills were washed with the 
 morning-glow. 
 And all the valleys with balm were wet, 
 We had found our life, then, you and I, 
 Laid hands on the full warm pulse of the 
 years, 
 
 117 
 
Bn ©aten iptpc. 
 
 Had drained the chalice of blessings dry, 
 Nor e'er set lip to this cruse of tears. 
 
 Still, who shall deny that this bitter hour, 
 
 As a blind seed sown in the womb of 
 Time, 
 May bear not yet its consummate flower 
 
 In another sphere and another clime ? 
 Who knows that our loss is not rarer gain ? 
 
 That ever like fools we choose the less ? 
 That the core of joy is swathed in pain. 
 
 And peace in uttermost weariness ? 
 
 The sun drops low, and the twilight falls ; 
 The mist hangs over the moaning burn 
 Like a frosty breath ; a late bird calls. 
 And above the wood the young stars 
 yearn. 
 Must it be farewell ? — yea, it must be so, 
 And we shall fare well, despite grief's 
 threat. 
 For still, wherever our feet may go, 
 
 Our brows towards the self-same goal are 
 set. 
 
 ii8 
 
Bn ©aten pipe. 
 
 Where is that bay-crowned head supreme 
 in song ? 
 The tides that darkle round the Leuca- 
 
 dian steep 
 Lap her forever into deeper sleep ; 
 About her heart of fire the cool waves long 
 Like cerements have been wound, and 
 voices strong 
 Of winds and waters o'er her pillow keep 
 Their boisterous lullaby. That frenzied 
 leap 
 From the hoar height, when sense of sharp- 
 est wrong 
 Ran in her blood like flame — the fears that 
 strove 
 Within her stormy soul — the lyric tongue 
 .-9 
 
Bn ®aten ipipe. 
 
 Whose last high music rang through realms 
 of love, 
 Till hushed by that sea-weird which o'er 
 her flung 
 Its sudden doom, — ah, all the dole thereof 
 No equal tears have wept, no lips have 
 sung. 
 
 ISO 
 
an ©ate 11 ipipe. 
 
 Softly, passer, softly tread, 
 Here lies Timas who is dead ; 
 Ere her bridal robe was made. 
 For the tomb she was arrayed. 
 When she died, with tender care 
 All the virgins dressed their hair, 
 Reaping from each lovely head 
 Curls for strewments o'er her bed. 
 
 121 
 
Bn ®atcn pipe. 
 
 The flags are hot beneath my feet, 
 
 And up and down the roaring street, 
 
 'Twixt blazing fronts of brick and stone, 
 
 No gracious breath of air is blown. 
 
 I hear a wheezy violin 
 
 Above the vast unceasing din, 
 
 Where at the corner, with bare head, 
 
 A beggar sits blind as the dead. 
 
 There creeps misshapen, pale and lean, 
 
 A cripple, in whose hands is seen 
 
 A banner whoso runs may read. 
 
 That " Levy never fails to lead 
 
 In clothing and in shoes." Now loud 
 
 Above the turmoil of the crowd, 
 
 Straight through the city's throbbing heart, 
 
 'Mid knots of vans that swiftly part. 
 
 Its harsh gong pealiRg warningly. 
 
 An ambulance goes dashing by. 
 
Bn <S>aten pipe. 
 
 A newsboy shrieks and flaunts his wares ; 
 A truckman on the car-track swears 
 And turns aside his ponderous dray, 
 As the bell clangs to clear the way. 
 There Beauty sweeps by Squalor's side ; 
 There Vice and Fashion proudly ride ; 
 There still within his gilded gates 
 Sits Dives, while gaunt Lazarus waits 
 Outside, with dull and weary eye, 
 For some kind soul to come and buy 
 His shoestrings or his pins. 
 
 And yet, 
 I know a bank where ferns are wet 
 With morning balm, where mosses grow. 
 And 'mid lush sedges softly flow 
 The netted currents of a stream 
 Snared in its own melodious dream. 
 There glance brave wings ; there many a 
 
 sound 
 Of silver bugles lightly wound 
 Steals sweetly through the haunted shade 
 Of grassy isle and bosky glade. 
 And there lives faith in all things good ; 
 There whispers stir the solitude 
 123 
 
Bn ®aten pipe. 
 
 Like prayers ; and there again grow bright 
 The spirits that were clogged with night. 
 There Care her haggard mask lays by 
 To let young Hope smile in her eye, 
 While every breeze from perfumed fields 
 To Grief a sure nepenthe yields. 
 There let me haste, there let me bide. 
 Drenched with the opulent summer-tide. 
 
 124 
 
an ©aten pipe. 
 
 ^ixtmit ft IfmiJutantuv. 
 
 From sun to sun, on silence-sandled feet 
 The Hours go by, and on each nunlike 
 face 
 Who will may catch a smile than dawn 
 more sweet. 
 Or, leaden-eyed, may miss its fleeting 
 grace. 
 
 Within her hands each bears a goodly gift, 
 And while she neither proffers nor with- 
 holds, 
 She tarries not to urge upon unthrift 
 The precious things she yields to earnest 
 souls. 
 
 Not one returns ; no backward look is cast ; 
 Once gone, nor call nor prayer can reach 
 them more, 
 Clasped round with shadows of the vanished 
 past. 
 Housed in the dim, cloud-mantled gates 
 of yore. 
 
 125 
 
an ©aten pipe. 
 
 On Judah's hills the shadows lie ; 
 
 Heaven's frosty diadem 
 Of clustered stars is burning high 
 
 O'er sleeping Bethlehem. 
 
 Lo, countless wings flash on the night, 
 
 And hark ! celestial strains 
 Pour down the glory-circled height, 
 
 O'er all the slumbering plains. 
 
 Sing, sing, ye white-robed heralds, sing ! 
 
 In yonder narrow shed, 
 Straw-pillowed lies your Lord and King 
 
 Upon his lowly bed. 
 
 Moriah, lift thy radiant crest ; 
 
 O Judah, be not dumb ! 
 Messiah nestles on thy breast. 
 
 The Prince of Peace hath come. 
 
 126 
 
Bn ©atcn pipe. 
 
 A BREATH of flowers, a flawless sky, 
 
 And tipsy bees carousing nigh ; 
 
 A vine o'erhead that weaves its screen 
 
 Of flickering shadows cool and green ; 
 
 A muffled, silver-tinkling bell 
 
 Where nibbling sheep climb yonder dell ; 
 
 A sinuous stream that laughs and bubbles 
 
 And sings amid its foamy troubles ; 
 
 A hush of hours that softly steep 
 
 The conscious world in fumes of sleep — 
 
 Ah, these no anxious thoughts shall give; 
 
 To-day it is enough to li^'e. 
 
 127 
 
Bn ©aten flMpe. 
 
 What ! — old ? Not so ! Who says we're 
 
 old? 
 Our life still keeps its morning gold; 
 The dew still shines upon the grass 
 Where'er our eager footsteps pass. 
 Young Hope before us waves his wings, 
 Lifts up his voice and bravely sings, 
 While ambushed Joys, with twinkling eyes, 
 Betray us into sweet surprise. 
 No, we're not old ; the lying years 
 Have whispered falsehoods in our ears ; 
 We still are young, and still we keep 
 Our youth's fine wisdom, calm and deep — 
 That wisdom which still holds in fee 
 Faith in our own humanity, 
 And faith in God who veils His face. 
 But whose large language still we trace 
 128 
 
Bn ©atcn pipe. 
 
 In blooms below and stars above, 
 Whose burden was and still is — love. 
 Old ? Fie ! Go to ! Let Gaffer Time 
 On other's temples sow his rime, 
 But howe'er wags his churlish tongue, 
 Our own hearts tell us we are young. 
 
 129 
 
Bn ©aten iplpe. 
 
 The Dawn. 
 Now moves the night before me, and the 
 
 mist 
 Slips from the valley, by the south-wind 
 
 kissed. 
 
 The Meadow. 
 Soon will her light feet o'er my bosom pass, 
 And daisies star her foot-prints in the 
 grass. 
 
 The Brook. 
 And I shall see her smile, as her sweet face 
 Lingers above me for a little space. 
 
 The Bird. 
 My blithest notes I'll flute into her ear. 
 And her dear spirit shall lean out to hear. 
 130 
 
Bn ©aten lp(pc. 
 
 The Rose. 
 My petals she shall touch with her soft lips, 
 While maiden joy thrills to her finger-tips. 
 
 The Lover. 
 O Love, I wait and watch the new day 
 
 break ; 
 The dews are drying, and the winds awake ; 
 Thou art my morning ; let thy sovran light 
 Strike on my soul and scatter all my night. 
 
 131 
 
Hn ©aten ipipc. 
 
 I know her where she goes in crimson hood, 
 
 And motley robe that sets the leaves 
 
 astir ; 
 
 Her truant hair, strayed from its silken 
 
 snood, 
 
 The frost has lightly tipped with minever. 
 
 The gypsy blood glows in her sun-browned 
 cheek ; 
 Her rounded arms with liberal fruits are 
 heaped ; 
 Her wine-dark eyes, athwart the shifting 
 reek 
 Of burning weeds, behold the fields new- 
 reaped. 
 
 Too brief the days of her mild empery, 
 Yet such the ample largess of her grace 
 
 That in the wintry heart of memory 
 
 Shall still abide the sunshine of her face. 
 
 132 
 
an ©atcn pipe. 
 
 The music dies, and one by one the guests 
 Rise and depart; the merriment is done; 
 Hushed are the mingled voices, songs and 
 jests ; 
 From the spent glass the noiseless sands 
 are run. 
 Into the dark the feasters turn and go. 
 Some with brave smiles, and some with 
 heavy eyes ; 
 The drooping flowers are pale, the lights 
 burn low, 
 And silence on the empty chambers lies. 
 The last " good-night " is said ; closed is the 
 door; 
 Then slowly, down the blossom-littered 
 floor, 
 The weary master casts a wistful eye. 
 Peopling the gloom with ghostly company. 
 
 ^33