Class _J^S. - 5 \^^ 
 
 Book __MAil^JJ_ 
 Goip^htN^ 11^1 
 
 COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 
 
ORPHEUS TODAY 
 
 , SAINT FRANCIS OF THE TREES 
 AND OTHER VERSE 
 
 BY 
 
 WILLIAM NORMAN GUTHRIE 
 
 THE WESTERN LITERARY PRESS 
 
 CINCINNATI 
 1907 
 
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 [uBWRYBfCONGBCss] 
 Two Oooles Recslved 
 
 J^N 17 I90r 
 
 I /.CepyrlBrtil Efltry . 
 
 I CLASS /^'xXciNo. 
 L__CO^^YB. 
 
 Copyright, 1906. 
 By William Norman Guthrie. 
 
" To the Muse 
 her own " 
 
 "And yet, the best is never seen, — or said' 
 
TABLE OF CONTENTS 
 
 OKPHEUS 
 Page 
 
 Orpheus Today 11 
 
 The Soul's Wizadries 17 
 
 Day Dreams 19 
 
 To a Latterday Prophet 21 
 
 Ode in Sapphics 25 
 
 ■ Don Juan 26 
 
 Identity 26 
 
 One Sleep 28 
 
 The Echoes: 
 
 1. The Dream Bird... 28 
 
 2. Early Spring 29 
 
 3. The Mate.. 30 
 
 4. The Death-Song 31 
 
 Dream and "Waking: 
 
 Sunset Prelude 32 
 
 1. An Old Nest 32 
 
 2. A Mocking-Bird 33 
 
 3. The Old Ideal 33 
 
 4. The Bride Asleep • . 34 
 
 5. Evocation 34 
 
 TODAY 
 
 Page 
 
 6. Apparition and Exorcism 35 
 
 7. The Bride Awake 36 
 
 The Hawk: 
 
 1. Sunrise Prelude 37 
 
 2. The Pigeon .. 37 
 
 3. The Lark 37 
 
 4. The Hawk 38 
 
 5. The Paean 38 
 
 6. The Voiceless Triumph.. 39 
 
 Higher Mathematics 39 
 
 Wishes 39 
 
 A Father's Memory 40 
 
 Selfish Grief fl 
 
 Adrift •■ 41 
 
 The Twin Poplar ■ ■ ■ 42 
 
 Parental Consent 45 
 
 The Widower 47 
 
 The Beeches of Fern Bank: 
 
 1. Fellowship 47 
 
 2. Farewell 48 
 
 THE DEWDROPS 
 (A Phantasy in Two Tableaux- and Thirteen Scenes) 
 
 Synopsis 
 
 Tableau I. The Death of the 
 Dewdrops: 
 
 1. The Enchantment 53 
 
 2. The Moon 54 
 
 3. The Fireflies..... 56 
 
 4. The Spider 57 
 
 5. The Trees 60 
 
 6. The Wind of Death 62 
 
 7. The Droplets 64 
 
 52 
 
 Tableau II. The Doom of the 
 Dew: 
 
 8. The Moon Set 66 
 
 9. The Treetoad 68 
 
 10. The Dawn 71 
 
 11. The Ruby-Throat 73 
 
 12. The Requiem 76 
 
 13. The Fairy Queen's Af- 
 
 terword 77 
 
SEWANEE LYEICS, xVND KINDRED VERSE 
 
 The Rejected Lover to the 
 
 Moon 79 
 
 "Hashish": 
 
 1. The Choice 80 
 
 2. The Trance 80 
 
 3. The Waking 82 
 
 A February Day in Tennessee 83 
 
 A Respite 84 
 
 In Vain - - 85 
 
 Cherry Bloom 86 
 
 Nox Mystica 87 
 
 The Soul's Sanctuary 88 
 
 Under the Stars 89 
 
 Love in Heaven*. 9L 
 
 Song and Gountersong: 
 
 1. Song .; 92 
 
 2. Gountersong 92 
 
 Sympathetic Music 93 
 
 Dirge 94 
 
 Galled from the Sheep-Cotes. 95 
 
 Palmstry 95 
 
 Nocturne 96 
 
 Twin Dewdrops 96 
 
 Frost-Work 97 
 
 After Tears 98 
 
 A Sewanee Idyl 99 
 
 Repartee in the Park 100 
 
 Five Songs from "Sigurd": 
 
 1. Sigurd's Pledge 101 
 
 2. Grunhild's Enchantment 
 
 of Sigurd 101 
 
 3. The Spell Song 102 
 
 4. The Baldur Dirge 103 
 
 5. Gudrmi's Blood-Wite 103 
 
 A Rime of the Wicked Birds 
 
 in June 104 
 
 Molly, May, and Dolly up the 
 
 Glen 109 
 
 High in the Colorado Rockies: 
 
 1. The Mountain Park 118 
 
 2. The Cabin 118 
 
 3. Scherzo ' 123 
 
 4. By the Brook 124 
 
 • 5. The Curtain Falls 125 
 
 6. "So LongL" 126 
 
 Impromptu 126 
 
 THE BOOK OF SYMBOLIC ODES 
 
 Foreword 127 
 
 (Ethical Apology) 
 The Lion 128 
 
 (Individuality) 
 The Old Hemlock 132 
 
 (The Self and Afterlife) 
 The Rime of the Tarn 136 
 
 (Cheer of Soul) 
 The Defiled Mountain Torrent 147 
 
 (Indignation Overcome) 
 The Mule 159 
 
 (The Social Hope) 
 
 Mt. PeleS in Eruption 161 
 
 ^Despair Divine) 
 
 Pike's Peak: 
 
 (Man and the Universe) 
 
 1. The Mountain 165 
 
 2. The Meaning 169 
 
 3. The Man 174 
 
 The Beech in Winter 179 
 
 (The Soul and God) 
 
 Afterword 185 
 
 (Esthetic Apology) 
 
LIFE AND LOVE 
 
 PART I. LOVE'S DAWN 
 
 I. Love and Friendship: 
 
 1. Love, the Self-Revelator 187 
 
 2. Divine Discontent 188 
 
 3. Love's Altruism 188 
 
 4. Love, the Friend 189 
 
 5. Sundered Friends 189 
 
 II. Love's Prelude: 
 
 1. "Wolfenbiittel 190 
 
 2. Young Icarus 190 
 
 3. As in Picturebookland. . 191 
 
 4. The First Funeral 191 
 
 5. Roadside Theophany 192 
 
 fi. Mystic Kinship 192 
 
 7. Toward Fiesole 193 
 
 8. San Giovanni 193 
 
 9. Growing Apart 194 
 
 10. Bocca d' Arno 194 
 
 11. First Manhood 195 
 
 12. Primeval Man 195 
 
 13. Parental Jealousy 196 
 
 14. The Soul's Eden 196 
 
 15. Flower-Talismans 197 
 
 16. Altenbaumburg (The 
 
 Lilies) 197 
 
 17. Altenbaumburg (The 
 
 Comforter) 198 
 
 18. Foretaste and Aftertaste 198 
 
 19. Miinster am Stein 199 
 
 20. Prophet or Poet? 199 
 
 21. A Hadley Holiday 200 
 
 22. Fever Hallucination.... 200 
 
 23. The Peak of Vision 201 
 
 24. Convalescence 201 
 
 25. Again the Trojan Boy.. 202 
 
 26. First Disillusion 202 
 
 27. Materialism 203 
 
 28. The Saving Faith 203 
 
 29. Near and Far 204 
 
 30. Far and Near 204 
 
 31. Luminous Hours 205 
 
 32. The Liveoaks in March. 205 
 
 33. Unearned Returns 206 
 
 34. The Parable of the Dew 206 
 
 35. The Judgment 207 
 
 36. Evidence of Sanity 207 
 
 37. Not Yet 208 
 
 38. Presence 208 
 
 38a. No Cross, No Crown.. 209 
 
 39. Autumn Sadness 209 
 
 40. True Youth 210 
 
 41. Sweet Maiden Constancy 210 
 
 42. Innocence Human 211 
 
 43. Innocence Divine 211 
 
 44. First Sight 212 
 
 45. Heart's Perversity 212 
 
 III. The Passing of Eros and 
 
 Aphrodite: 
 
 46. Love's Sorrow-Trance.. 213 
 
 47. Love's Awakening 213 
 
 48. Love's Soothsay of Doom 214 
 
 49. The Tidal Wave 214 
 
 50. Casting the Horoscope. 215 
 
 PART II. LOVE'S SUNRISE 
 
 The Wooing o' It: 
 
 1. Speechless Proposal.... 216 
 
 2. Love's Humility 217 
 
 3. Paradise Gained 217 
 
 4. Paradise Lost 218 
 
 5. Sudden Spring 218 
 
 6. Orchard Optimism 219 
 
 7. Love's Compass 219 
 
 8. Body's Absence 220 
 
 9. Fancy or Fact 220 
 
 10. Individual Insufficiency... 221 
 
 11. Mutual Sufficiency 221 
 
 12. Perspectives 222 
 
 13. Wild-Goose Creek 222 
 
 14. Knowledge of God 223 
 
 15. True Love 223 
 
 16. Self-Surrender 224 
 
 17. Unshed Tears 224 
 
 18. Love's Immortality 225 
 
 19. Environment 225 
 
20. Bridal Dream 226 
 
 21. The Mother 226 
 
 22. Love's Melody 227 
 
 23. Love's Harmony 227 
 
 24. Incarnation 228 
 
 25. Love's Silence 228 
 
 A VISION OF NEW HELLAS 
 
 To the Muse 229 
 
 The Foresong 230 
 
 A Song of Songs: 
 
 Demeter Appeareth 233 
 
 Dionysos Cometh 239 
 
 Hymn to Dionysos, the Ele- 
 mental 243 
 
 The Colloquy 246 
 
 Hymn to Dionysos, the Hero- 
 God 248 
 
 The Transfiguration 254 
 
 Hymn to Aphrodite 258 
 
 The Reconciliation 262 
 
 The Hymn to Apollo 265 
 
 Rival's Divine 270 
 
 Votive Gifts 273 
 
 Hymns Hymenedl 275 
 
 Interlude 279 
 
 The Banquet of the Gods. . . 280 
 
 The Aftersong 284 
 
 TKANSLATIONS FEOM LEOPARDI AND GOETHE 
 
 La Ginestra (Leopardi) 289 
 
 Odes and Didactic Verse (Goethe): 
 
 Nature and Art (Natur und Kunst) 297 
 
 Balance (from the Metamorphose der Thiere) 298 
 
 A Human Feeling (Menschengefiihl) 298 
 
 Even So (Ein Gleiches) 299 
 
 The Wayfarer (Der Wanderer) 299 
 
 Chant of the Spirits over the Waters (Gesang der Geister ueber 
 
 den Wassem) 304 
 
 Human Limitations (Die Grenzen der Menschheit) 305 
 
 The Divine (Das Gottliche) 307 
 
 My Goddess (Meine Gottin) 309 
 
 The One and the All (Eins und Alle) 311 
 
 My Legacy (Vermachtniss) 312 
 
 Orcular Words in Orphic Manner (Urworte, Orphisch) 313 
 
 ST. FRANCIS OF THE TREES 317 
 
ORPHEUS TODAY 
 
 SOME PRINT ERRORS. 
 
 Page 45, line 26, for sunder read asunder. 
 
 ■' 135) " 37> for Aoat read afloat. 
 
 " 149. " 35, for throng motley read motley throng. 
 
 •' 153. •• 8, for Thou even, read Thou, even. 
 
 •' 187, " II. for of disaccord; and Thou read of discord, 
 
 and, Thou. 
 
 " 188. " I, for For, contest read For, earnest. 
 
 " 194, " 7, for will be read will he. 
 
 " 205, " 19, omit comma. 
 
 " 2f.3. " 26, insert of before fury. 
 
 " 253- " 15' f*^r Silenos's read Silenos'. 
 
 '■ 266. ■■ 31, for Zeus' s read Zeus'. 
 
 " 313. " 19' f*^'" ^^fl"' '■6'i<^ ^'^"'- 
 
ORPHEUS TODAY 
 
 I. 
 
 O Orpheus, help! Too long, 
 
 alas, hast thou been hence. 
 Come, O come, and forthwith, 
 
 irradiant child-like myth 
 
 of the Golden Age, 
 
 with the hallow'd influence 
 
 over spirit and sense 
 
 of oracular Song! 
 Thee every generation 
 
 hath closer drawn to the needs 
 
 of tlie soul; Who canst assuage 
 
 Man's grief at the world-old ill, — 
 
 and the inhuman curse 
 
 of reasonless wont, and distrust 
 
 of self — with the gleeful lay of deeds 
 
 heroic, that comfort and thrill: 
 
 Who, with glad-eyed vaticination 
 
 of faith, the strange evils our hearts presage 
 
 canst dissipate, and disperse. 
 Return, return unto us 
 
 with Ijn-e immortal, and voice clear-ringing 
 
 of life-love and praise, 
 
 h5mining all gods of the light; and cast 
 
 the spell victorious 
 
 of thy mystical singing 
 
 at last 
 
 over these latter days. 
 
 II. 
 Hither 
 from fields Elysian 
 where droop and wither 
 
 II 
 
no blossoms of fancy or gladsome whim, 
 
 where doubt and sorrow no eyes bedim, — 
 hasten. Helper, and Freer 
 
 with the gaze of the Seer — 
 
 that deep interior vision, 
 
 wotting the heart-sure manifold 
 
 Truth of all things that be: — 
 How thick we do press and crowd 
 
 (wedged elbow in elbow, and knee against knee,) 
 
 a tangle rank, clamped, twisted, and braced, 
 
 humped, crooked, and bowed! 
 How, greedily thrust, do our tap-roots pierce 
 
 to the core of the parcht stone-waste! 
 How our branches stretch greedily fierce 
 
 in a jealous horror enlaced, — 
 
 fellow with fellow agrapple for the throttling hold 
 
 that shall snakewise each-other enfold! 
 O Orpheus, haste, for we choke at length 
 
 (galled and knotted and gnurled, 
 
 belichened, dry-rotten,) 
 
 our stature misshapen and sapped our strength — 
 Hear, hear, as we pray and plead, 
 
 (all piteous shame of our plight forgotterl,) 
 We men of a dying world, — 
 
 O Orpheus, Orpheus — hear us, and heed! 
 
 III. 
 
 For lo, thro' yon thickets dense, 
 
 impassable to the children of Zeus, 
 
 where never glad ray of the holy Sun, 
 thy Father assaileth the shadows dim, 
 
 or winds of heaven forth-drive 
 
 from fetid haunts of monstrous use, 
 
 pollution and pestilence; 
 What Beasts of the midnight foul, 
 
 only with thirst of blood alive, 
 
 stalk after their prey and prowl, — 
 
 ghostlike efface them, — roar and hoWl> 
 
 or crouch asnarl and askulk — 
 
or cower for the sudden death-spring 
 
 with claws and fangs and the down-crashing bulk! 
 O Orpheus, who hearest our cry 
 
 behold with thy sunny eye 
 
 the dens obscene where lair and whelp 
 
 these devils of lust, in the womb 
 
 of the shuddering gloom. 
 Deliverance and comfort bring, 
 
 Orpheus, O Orpheus, help. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Heard hath the Singer 
 
 as in the olden time, 
 
 yea, in the golden time, 
 
 our joyous Wisdom-bringer; 
 and fulfilled is already the earth 
 
 with subtle far echoings 
 
 of the spirit-song jocund He sings. 
 And everywhere lo, how men 
 
 go forth as gods, with hearts 
 
 of gods in their bosoms, and laughter 
 
 of gods again 
 
 in their eyes, — 
 
 sane, happy and wise! 
 For gone of whatever departs 
 
 is the baneful regret; 
 
 the sickly hope of a bliss hereafter 
 
 that crieth forever: "Not yet"; 
 
 of futile things, which cumber and irk, 
 
 the anguish vain and the fret; 
 
 free of the mire, of the mirk, 
 
 of the reek, that hinder and let; 
 Above the Olympian outlook wide — 
 
 sea, scarp, and hill and vale; 
 
 above the Caucasus icy-vast 
 
 of tortured Promethean pride. 
 For lo, 
 
 in the spirit they come and they go, 
 
 in the selfsame spirit of thy Song: — 
 
 13 
 
No nigh, no far, — no future, no past — 
 no foul, no fair — no right, no wrong- 
 for such as they! All hail! 
 
 Singer divine. 
 
 First-born of the Muse, thou knewest our sorrow, — 
 
 or whence could it poignancy borrow 
 
 that Song immortal of thine? 
 Ah, She who the meaning showed 
 
 of life beyond greed, beyond lust; 
 in whose mystical eyes the prophecy glowed, 
 
 of the holier rebirth 
 
 forever of thee and of her, to a worth 
 
 thou knewest in Her not, or thee: — 
 (the thing ye would 
 
 in the thing ye must — 
 
 in the evil, the good — 
 
 and the soul, in the dust;) 
 Who translated brutish content 
 
 to human unrest; to delight 
 
 in the fiat creative; to beauty, and heavenly right; — 
 Eurydice, Eurydice, She 
 
 Mother of the spirit in thee, and Child 
 
 likewise of thy singing — She went 
 
 (her treasures of love unspent,) 
 
 to Hades unreconciled. 
 Yea, She bade thee the last farewell 
 
 of the death-cold hand 
 
 and stark — 
 
 of dumb lips and sightless lids that tell 
 
 the uttermost word, unutterable 
 
 speech of our longing. But Thou didst withstand 
 
 undaunted the King of terrors dark. 
 And manful, and godlike, to lovely life 
 
 sangest her back from care and cark — 
 
 beloved Tylother and Child and Wife. 
 Then, haste alas, overeager as man to possess 
 
 what singer alone and seer can bless 
 
 14 
 
the earth with, and sun, — did lose thee at last 
 (one minute more thou hadst held Her fast!) 
 
 the comforting human tones, 
 and the rapture-giving touch, 
 for which the bereaved heart groans — 
 so little, yet ah, so much, so much! 
 
 Wherefore, O thou 
 
 Orpheus who knowest our woe, 
 the peace of Elysium forego. 
 
 On us have pity, even now, 
 and thy pity deign to show. 
 Son of Apollo, help! 
 
 VI. 
 
 For again is Eurydice dead, 
 
 the most dear, and fair, and good; 
 
 and our spirit to hers was wed, 
 
 the holy vows were said, 
 Yea, the child of her maidenhood 
 
 Godbegotten, she bare unborn, in her heart! 
 With what spell of prayer — Ah, what art 
 
 magical, chaunt or dance 
 
 compulsive, shall death be withstood 
 
 of Us children of chance, 
 
 bewildered and faint for despair? 
 
 Have pity, have pity! 
 Our spirit disbelieveth. O spare, 
 
 spare us the bitter self-scorn 
 
 that assaulteth us here forlorn. 
 
 Have pity, have pity! 
 To the eyes Her love did illumine, 
 
 to the heart that vainly yearneth, 
 
 the lust of the brute prehuman 
 
 returneth, returneth. 
 
 Have pity, have pity, have pity! 
 The greed of the jungle doth grip 
 
 the soil below the man 
 
 in craft and wont; and our fellowship 
 
 is: "Slay to live, who can!" 
 
 15 
 
Have pity, have pity! 
 The heart of the desert noon 
 
 is upon us, from tree-top to root; 
 our manhood doth perish; — we swoon 
 to the cringe and the leer of the brute. 
 Have pity, have pity, have pity! 
 O Orpheus, Son of Apollo, help! 
 
 VII. 
 
 Singer, gentle, the Bacchants of yore 
 
 did shout and yell and blaspheme. 
 
 They fell upon thee and rent and tore, 
 
 and, bleeding, cast thee down the fated stream. 
 But thy blood was lost not; it ran 
 
 into the veins of Man, 
 
 and thy flesh is our flesh evermore! 
 Arise, oh, arise from the dead, 
 
 and take that is thine for thine own: 
 
 our blood thy blood, who hast bled; 
 
 our flesh thy flesh alone. 
 Come and possess us, possess us; 
 
 and the youth we have lost, alack, 
 
 the hope, the love, the dream — to bless us — 
 
 sing us Eurydice back! 
 Yea, yea — 
 
 and the Forest of twofold greed 
 
 doth awake; and the boughs of us tremble 
 and sway, — 
 
 and our ancient trunks straighten them, lithe 
 
 once more and freed, — 
 
 to the wind of thy melody brave. 
 
 Footloose we move in a ring 
 
 to thy jubilant rhythm, and blithe 
 
 leap we, and bow, and wave, 
 
 and whirl us unwearying. 
 And the Beasts of the loathly night 
 
 do stand up manful, at last, full height; 
 
 and their evil glare about 
 
 of innumerous eyes, to a shine 
 
 i6 
 
superhuman blend: 
 
 the Eternal encircling the True 
 
 without a beginning or end. 
 Ha, hearken, we raise the shout: — 
 
 "We are wholly, O Orpheus, thine! 
 Thou, Thou hast sung us footloose 
 
 from vile crafts and necessities base; 
 
 talons to hands for sacred use, 
 
 and snout deformed to the Kingly face. 
 O Orpheus, gracious myth divine, 
 
 now even now 
 
 up the mountain's gradual slopes 
 
 Thou hast sung us free, and gentle, and pure; 
 
 Thou hast sung us to natural faiths and hopes; 
 
 Thou hast sung us to godly loves secure; 
 
 Thou hast done it. Thou alone, Thou! 
 Thou hast sung us back the lost ideal. 
 
 Thou hast sung Eurydice back to life. 
 
 Thou hast sung the mystical hymeneal 
 
 of maiden Mother and Child and Wife. 
 Hearken our vow, 
 
 O Orpheus, Singer 
 
 and Seer, 
 
 Cheer-bringer, 
 
 and Freer, 
 We are thine, we are thine forever now!" 
 
 THE SOUL'S WIZARDRIES 
 
 Natural magic! 
 
 Lo, ooze and slime of the marsh 
 
 sunsmit to glory? 
 So, likewise the slayer's cell 
 (in a world hopeless and harsh 
 what miracle!) 
 lifted by mystic blisses 
 of penance far above abysses 
 of lurid hell, 
 
 17 
 
a cloud-pure promontory — 
 
 the mighty hand and the outstretched arm! 
 So, the harlot's bed, and lewd love-token 
 
 (Mark how it wins — the spell, 
 
 the serene charm 
 
 faithfully spoken!) 
 
 thro' a divine devotion 
 
 hallowing death, 
 
 become — (who shall believe it?) 
 white moonrise over sleeping ocean, — 
 
 or, if thou canst conceive it: — 
 a close-veiled holy of holies, 
 
 whereat the haloed saint his orison saith 
 
 awe-humbled, under breath. 
 
 Magic, white magic! 
 
 Our brutish strife and crime 
 
 offering this gross-gorged time 
 
 soul's bread of anguish tragic, 
 
 for spirit to taste 
 
 gracious and chaste! 
 Shames now, and doltish follies; — thereafter 
 
 transmuted to a bubbling draught of laughter! 
 The craven fears 
 
 ignoble of man, 
 
 waxen, at touch of Pan, 
 
 terrific; the craft of the thrall and malice 
 
 throneth aloft sublime 
 
 a hate Satanic. 
 The hideous doth upbulk to a threat Titanic, 
 
 and the loathly dwarfeth to the grim 
 
 grotesque and odd; — 
 distilled, as fire-drop in the reeking chalice 
 
 that changeth to opaline wine the blood, 
 till the eyes of love with marvel dim, 
 
 for heavenly gladness swim! 
 
 Ha, ever the wraith 
 of the bygone faith 
 haunteth the mart 
 
 i8 
 
of the commonplace. 
 O child, then, of the highest God, 
 
 take heart, take heart 
 
 of grace. 
 Thou too wert begotten and born 
 
 Olympian. Lift thine head. 
 Nevermore weak, forlorn, 
 
 down-drooping to the dead, 
 
 earth's outcast, shalt thou pant! 
 
 For, presently Jove nods 
 
 assent to thine unbreathed petition. 
 Thine the omnipotent fiat of gods, 
 
 and all thy dross already gold, pure gold! 
 
 See, see! 
 
 (What holy gladness, — 
 wisdom, not madness!) 
 Thou too mayest be 
 high hierophant 
 divine magician! 
 
 DAY DREAMS 
 
 A forest there is. Dreams are its trees 
 
 where branches lock with leafage dense, 
 to screen in gloom trunks grey or dusk, 
 
 and a lavish floor of green intense. 
 And over the roof that shelters these 
 
 quick sunbeams foot a reckless reel, 
 stamping in golden glee, to crack 
 
 their floor if possible, and feel 
 the cool of the green gloom under (see!) 
 
 in which swim birds of curious hues 
 (as in some river fishes dart) 
 
 but entrance ever the leaves refuse. 
 A forest of dreams, all dreanned by me, 
 
 familiar, strange, and dear, most dear, 
 with v/onders old I know by heart 
 
 and wonders new too fair to fear! 
 
 19 
 
Oft do I wander through its shades 
 
 alone, or hand in hand with One 
 whose name I never sought to know, 
 
 because I fancy she hath none. 
 Look! how the forest knee-high wades 
 
 in hope's fresh sea of shrubbery! 
 She, laughing ever, as we go — 
 
 her laughter's notes mount merrily 
 their sprightly scale, till from each tree 
 
 some bird-voice whirls the laughter higher! 
 Then throbs the forest: peal on peal 
 
 of thunder muiscal. How tire 
 of such a senseless jubilee? 
 
 For every tree-top hides a nest 
 by two wed wishes built, to seal 
 
 with a new better love their best. 
 Vv^ild wishes build them nests, I say, 
 
 in boughs of my dream-trees, and burst — 
 whenever she (my nameless One) 
 
 chances to laugh, in song. Well-versed 
 in all the tricks a syren may 
 
 practice, bewildering whoso hears, 
 my Witch (whom never saw the sun, 
 
 born of the dim cool) slyly peers 
 with eyes (their color can I tell, 
 
 that dartle all?) into each thick 
 of undergrowth for certain flowers, 
 
 which, nnding, she stoops her down to pick. 
 Then falls upon her from the air 
 
 a frolic band of sunbeams sly — 
 her hair — sent by the merry sim 
 
 forbidden forest-shades to spy! 
 Why doth she pick them, do you ask? 
 
 For me, of course. All which I take 
 back with me to the world without, 
 
 when for a brief space I forsake 
 my forest of dreams; — and we, we both, 
 
 She and I, we wonder why they bloom — 
 those flowers like her own lips' sweet pout — 
 
 if to be plucked their hapless doom! 
 
O forest dear! O forest old— 
 
 my own, none other's! O dear trees 
 that are not trees, — dear songster birds 
 
 that are not birds,— O sweetest, these 
 flowers, not flowers — but joys foretold 
 
 plucked by that One who hath no name,- 
 let me be silent, lest my words 
 
 give you perchance a fatal fame; 
 lest greedy men, who hear my tale, 
 
 with brutal axe fare forth by stealth 
 and fell my forest, trunk by trunk — 
 
 timber to get them vulgar wealth! 
 Mad call they me? Dear Soul, all hail 
 
 their mocks and sneers at our romance 
 for so our treasure is safely sunk 
 
 in the river of men's ignorance! 
 
 TO A LATTERDAY PROPHET 
 
 ("WHO CAME LATE, AND WENT FORTH TOO SOON) 
 
 He came to us with soul on fire, 
 
 he came to us from the East with light: 
 
 we heard, we saw; and God drew nigher, 
 and wrong was wrong, and right was right. 
 
 He went forth from among us then. 
 
 All soon would be as ere he came; 
 for men, we murmured, are but men, 
 
 and the world's ways for aye the same! 
 
 Ah, who that clomb the heights serene 
 
 in sleep, can after quite forego 
 the vision? gainsay, that once hath seen, 
 
 its glory; and the known unknow? 
 
 For His sake life hath holier worth, 
 our faith made sure — whate'er we are — 
 
 that still our man-corrupted Earth 
 shines in God's firmament — a star! 
 
OUR MOTHER OF LIFE 
 
 What other heaven than this should heart desire 
 
 in azure nudity, or cloudy flow 
 
 defining godlike dreams invisible else? 
 
 What other star than ours, of shiny seas, 
 
 of continents in waves of green spring-clad, 
 
 with chains of diamond ice-peaks loosely decked 
 
 gathered to flashing heaps at either pole? 
 
 While here we lie. Love, under laughing trees, 
 
 can we not feel the sway of happy earth 
 
 as on she flies enhaloed of her day, 
 
 and followed by her train of soft-starred night? 
 
 O foolish perverts from the natural faith, 
 insane, awake! Ye deemed it wise to sow 
 in fields of mist, sun-golden at the dawn, 
 the seeds of hope? Ye wailed when ye beheld 
 only at sunset on the verge of night 
 wave a far crop of faiths illusively 
 which death might harvest, but no living man? 
 So in your bitterness of heart ye cried: 
 "Blessed are they that live not, for they reap 
 with death wide fields of bliss"? Arise! 
 arise, ye perverts, if ye have ears to hear. 
 Wait for no general resurrection. Throng 
 from self-dug graves of sorrow, and behold 
 The symbol: Life a crowing Babe in arms 
 of tender Mother Death, whose proud fond eyes 
 remember and foresee — whose bosom swells 
 with rich provision for the hungry mouth! 
 A little sleep, and in the Babe we crow — 
 a little sleep, and in the Mother smile; 
 and between sleep and sleep — a lover's kiss! 
 
 What other life? What other love? What truth 
 truer than this — that Spring hath bloom and song? 
 And Summer holy heat, and flutter of wings? 
 And Autumn ripe fruit — heavy, luscious, red — 
 
and flights through sky into the warm unknown? 
 And Winter white dreams of a whiter Spring? 
 
 Ah, they, that love as we, are never alone! 
 
 Even here, as smile lights smile for intimate joy 
 
 that we are denizens of this living earth, 
 
 behold, our Holy Mother immaculate 
 
 draweth near softly — smileth on us both. 
 
 Thou seest not her face? The shadow vague 
 
 of the glad trees about us — 't is the drift 
 
 of ample robes over the twinkling grass 
 
 for vital bliss ashiver — knowing her. 
 
 She walketh viewless through the shining day, 
 
 she seeketh them who seek her not — her breath 
 
 is on thy happy hair! Her large deep eyes 
 
 give thine a haze of rapture that they seem, 
 
 tho' fixed on me, to look. Love, far away 
 
 into the heart of heavenly delights! 
 
 Thou seest her now? That rapturous thrill of fear — 
 
 it is thy soul aware of her spread arms 
 
 fain to envelop us with yearning love. 
 
 We yearn not, for we have. 
 
 O Mother, soon, 
 scon shall we come to thee, who were of thee, 
 who bless thee filially, though now we strive 
 against thee, lest thou fold us to thy heart 
 ere yet we have done with play. But sweet it is 
 to know what breast shall pillow us in sleep 
 when tired at last. 
 
 See, see! Life's God is nigh, — 
 thy Son of laughter and heroic toils. 
 Him we acknowledge in thy holy stead, 
 not holier, but dearer unto us, 
 and dear to thee, thy very Son, thy self, 
 to whom thou gavest us, to be his own! 
 O thou wilt punish not who hold by him, 
 loyally his, not thine; with fervent soul 
 worshiping him, crying the jubilant cry 
 
 23 
 
before his coming, dumb at thy approach — 
 for thou art he! 
 
 Look, Love, behold him come! 
 The locust trees are dancing in vast winds 
 of joy, dropping bloomsnows from clusters pure 
 over the frolic grass about us. There, 
 the lilac bushes catch the breeze, and leap, 
 wave with green arms their spires of blossoms pale 
 like maddened bacchants full of sunny wine, 
 shaking the cruel thyrsis for the God! 
 Birds burst together into reckless song 
 till the air throbs with obstinate wild notes 
 of ecstasy; the blue of heaven pours in 
 as the trees overhead lift high their boughs 
 and meet atop applauding frantically. 
 Close, close! The whole world thrills with the 
 coming kiss. 
 
 Not peace — war, war! Only the victors live 
 and bloom and sing! 
 
 The vanquished, — where are they? 
 Ah, from the Mother's eyes they beam their love, 
 on us the Victory of their battles lost, 
 Crest of their wave, — the spray, the flare of hues ! 
 
 O kiss. Love, let us kiss and kiss again, 
 
 so shall the God of Life be visible 
 
 to eyes of rapturous faith — for he is Love. 
 
 And Mother Death that instant shall rejoice — 
 
 for she is Love, as he, her Son, is Love. 
 
 What Mother must not laugh when crows her Babe! 
 
 24 
 
ODE IN SAPPHICS 
 
 (Sung at the Fiftieth Anniversary of the Cincinnati Literary Club) 
 
 Sing the good Old Days that are gone forever, 
 rich in friendship, love; and for sturdy virtue, 
 honest purpose, faith, and heroic action, 
 sweet to remember. 
 
 Half a hundred years of success and failure: 
 earth and sky and sea are the same, and little 
 change the ways of men; the beholder only 
 ages and passes. 
 
 Wherefore mourn, sweet friends, or despond or marvel? 
 Still the New Days come — for the Maker liveth — 
 young and fresh and bold, and the cry is ever 
 upward and onward! 
 
 Past and future meet in the vital present; 
 thankfulness and trust in a pure emotion, 
 making wise the young, and the old courageous, 
 singing together: — 
 
 Sweet the good Old Days to recall and cherish; 
 sweet the good New Days to forecast and welcome; 
 sweet the tried, the known; and the fresh surprises 
 sweetly delightful! 
 
 Yea, for pain and grief to the brave and noble 
 yield a pure joy, yield a reward of virtue: 
 faith in life, death, God, and in man, our brother, 
 ever, forever! 
 
 25 
 
DON JUAN 
 
 Ten hundred lives I live, 
 why then should this life chain me? 
 When scores of hearts men take and give, 
 wherefore should this heart pain me? 
 
 A myriad snaring eyes, 
 white breasts, rare maiden graces? 
 Things to be wooed and won! With lies?- 
 Nay, She all else effaces. 
 
 One still, tho' manifold? 
 True, true. Her heart I singled? 
 Love's sun rode high in skies of gold — 
 then, waves and clouds commingled. 
 
 Grope, press thro* the soul's thick gloom 
 to reach that fiend? Entangle 
 the traitor self? Make fast his doom? 
 Clutch, crunch, and grind and strangle? 
 
 God, who hath wronged her? I? 
 Slay thou that man, the doer! 
 Shall for the dead the living die? 
 Long dead is he — her wooer! 
 
 IDENTITY 
 
 soul-mutation! When are we one thing? 
 Do you know. Love, even now, as I looked up 
 from this grim book of far-off times, you seemed 
 a stranger; and suddenly upon a stage 
 
 of half-real vision, I beheld this scene 
 enacted in the quiet of our home. 
 
 A man who bore strong likeness to myself 
 so that to me he seemed me, sat and read 
 intently; and near him leaned a lady, fair — 
 
 1 cannot tell how fair and dear she seemed — 
 
 26 
 
as you to me . . . and, verily she was you. 
 
 She came to him, saying he was estranged, 
 
 not loverHke. Angrily he looked up, . . . 
 
 bewildered rather. "And, tell me who art thou?" 
 
 he asked. "I know there has not been in me a change. 
 
 I ever was as now I am." And you seemed smit 
 
 with a fell fear of something undefined. 
 
 A keen long look, — half scorn, half plea — you sent. 
 
 Abashed at my harsh words (which yet seemed true) 
 
 to one so beautiful, I added "Nay, 
 
 I dreamed perhaps, fair lady, of a brow 
 
 with dark hair circled so; but how could I 
 
 to a dream-creature vow away the love 
 
 of the waking man, the dreamer never knew?" 
 
 And you at me looked steadily, nor winced. 
 
 Then flashed a recognition. — "Am I mad? 
 
 This, this I had forgotten! It was you? 
 
 And I? You for long years I wooed, and won, 
 
 and kissed, and wedded? God, was I gone mad? 
 
 It was a veritable thing, no dream, — 
 
 that beautiful love? Ah, how to seize the soul 
 
 and fetter it fast in manacles of faith? 
 
 For hearken. Dear, even now I thought myself 
 
 alone, purposeless, heavenless, — and with you 
 
 close at my side! I am myself again . . . 
 
 sweet friend and sweeter Love, I am myself; 
 
 I am the lover dreamed of these long years, . . . 
 
 ay, anything lest I be all alone, 
 
 and those dear eyes that are God's eyes to me, 
 
 fill with tears angrily. My Sweet, my Love, 
 
 that a moment could have sundered so 
 my spirit from thine, whose I must ever be! 
 
 A whim of fancy was it? Yet, alas 
 a parable of truth. I love thee now, 
 yet, darling, what assurance can I give? 
 
 1 cannot swear. I, uttering the words, 
 am other than the framer of their thought. 
 I am another than thy yesterday's, 
 
 must woo again another soul afresh. ... 
 
 27 
 
Yet love, Love, is the same (though we be changed) 
 the bond that binds these many into one. 
 O love — love! God, we cannot! Bind us fast, 
 Thou who alone art truly ever thou! 
 
 ONE SLEEP 
 
 Tho' now each dreams his dream alone 
 and the soul's beloved in hell may weep, 
 while the lover laughs in a heaven of his own; 
 there shall be (I have heard) at last — one sleep! 
 
 "Till death us do part?" Who never here 
 are one? Nay, rather, till death unite 
 beyond all separate hope and fear, 
 or both with dreamless torpor smite! 
 
 Twain have we been and still are twain 
 for all love's anguishful desire! 
 Ah, welcome ages of infinite pain 
 if thence we leap,— one flame of fire! 
 
 For the mystery whispereth in my heart 
 from holiest height, from lowliest deep: — 
 "Heaven is — where thou forever art; 
 one vision — awake . . . and one dream — asleep !" 
 
 THE ECHOES 
 
 I. 
 
 THE DREAM BIRD 
 
 In a dream, last night, I saw my heart 
 
 from a leafless brier as a Bird upstart 
 
 to fling him eagerly aloft, 
 
 o'er rain-wet garth and steeming croft, 
 
 o'er grim stone-fence and blackthorn hedge,- 
 
 unlured of the free horizon-edge, — 
 
 28 
 
up, up from damp and drizzle and thaw . . . 
 as a Hill-lark — methought my heart I saw. 
 And ever in fitful loops he flew, 
 or mounted in spires to the quiet blue; 
 outleaping the walls, the winds upbuild 
 of toppling radiancies sun-thrilled; 
 thro' golden dazzle, on, higher and higher 
 to where bliss upholdeth the wings of desire. 
 By the hush and solitude undeterred, 
 poised on the vast, alone, wee Bird, 
 quick atom of hope and faith and might, 
 possessing the heaven in voiceless delight, 
 what aileth thee, now? Art insecure 
 Lord of the still, the sunny, the pure? 
 Alas, as a fluttering flake of snow 
 falls from a cloud to the valley below; 
 falling, then striving to rise again, 
 dreading pollution in footprints of men; 
 falling and rising, yet surely bound 
 for some low spot of the pitiless ground; 
 so, fell my Soul — and unseen, unheard, 
 hopeless and songless had vanished my Bird. 
 
 II. 
 
 EARLY SPRING 
 
 Rain-swollen creeks invaded 
 the low glades with pool and bog. 
 Bare hickories and white oaks waded 
 in stealthy drifts of fog. 
 
 The ghostly drip and patter 
 
 of the thaw; — else never a sound, 
 
 save now and again the clatter 
 
 of a dead branch dropping to ground. 
 
 Lo, where my Dream-bird clinging 
 to yon topmost beechen spray 
 setteth the drear woods ringing 
 with a passionate dismay! 
 
 29 
 
What fellow and mate abideth 
 in the dumb and cold unknown? 
 to hear and heed when He chidetb 
 and waileth and calleth alone? 
 
 Yet if none be won of his wooing 
 with warble and gurgle and trill, 
 'tis the cry of a soul's undoing, — 
 the rapture and ache that kill. 
 
 III. 
 
 THE MATE 
 
 Why tarrieth she so late 
 
 in sun-parched clime? 
 Or would not my Dream-bird wait 
 
 for the trysting-time? 
 
 Doth She not hearken, and 'bide 
 
 in the covert, and yearn — 
 for pity, and throbbing pride, — 
 
 till the note he learn 
 
 of despair, that enraptureth 
 
 and maketh her his? . . . 
 for the life, begot in the death 
 
 of the dream that is? 
 
 Ay, She panteth in hope and fear 
 
 lest he sing too late 
 the song that slayeth to hear, 
 
 and doth, slaying, create? 
 
 Speak, speak — doth she hearken somewhere 
 
 in the cheerless cold, 
 for that shout of divine despair, 
 
 of love unconsoled? 
 
 Or, is there None at all 
 
 in the woodland drear? — 
 None, None his passionate call, 
 
 his complaint to hear? 
 
 30 
 
IV. 
 
 THE DEATH -SONG 
 
 Methought a hundred Echoes sang, 
 
 as louder the song of my Dream-bird rang. 
 
 They caught his catches, the tricksy elves — 
 
 how should it tire their soulless selves? 
 
 For the pang of his strain, not theirs to feel. 
 
 Quaver, and trill, and jubilant peel, 
 
 sob, and moan, and piteous cry — 
 
 they followed and mocked, now far, now nigh. 
 
 They seemed, as fainter his notes became 
 
 to gather might for their merciless game. 
 
 My Dream-bird paused in his song; and aghast 
 
 he heard the echoes throb far and fast. 
 
 He deemed them rivals for her he wooed, 
 
 and rallied his strength in valiant mood. 
 
 A burst of melody skyward floats — 
 
 a glorious tempest of passionate notes. 
 
 But in vain the agonizing strain — 
 
 the shout, the call, and the sob in vain. 
 
 For the Echoes singing and laughing go; 
 
 they do not feel, they cannot know! 
 
 They only follow, and mimick, and mock 
 
 from hollow and height, from tree and rock. 
 
 At last he is still. His spirit is spent. 
 
 And the echoes jeeringly lament. 
 
 But the cruel mockers die after him soon, 
 
 and the drear woods ache in a death-cold swoon. 
 
 In tears I awoke at the chill gray dawn. 
 
 My heart, the Bird and the dream — were gone. 
 
 31 
 
DREAM AND WAKING 
 
 (A Bridal -Poem in Seven Lyrics and Prelude) 
 
 SUNSET PRELUDE 
 
 Emptied of wine the bowl of blinding blaze, 
 wherewith the Day, that died as die proud days, 
 
 Eve's dusk and starlight pledg'd; 
 the daisy-suns have gather'd in their rays 
 
 snow-luminous, rosy-edg'd. 
 
 Eve held her mist-blue cup brimful of rest, 
 gray sleep, and silver dreams, and wishes blest, 
 
 to challenge His, aloft: — 
 both cups clasht — shiver'd, inundating the West, 
 
 with slumberous passion soft. 
 
 Into the sea of Night, Day's wine hath poured, 
 stain'd it a moment — then gloom-billows roar'd 
 
 and foam'd and blacken'd all. 
 O sea of Night, vague, vast and silent-shor'd, 
 
 death-torpid thy billows fall! 
 
 I. 
 
 AN OLD NEST 
 
 Frail boughs of precious sprays, 
 
 that twine and press sweet blossoms cheek to cheek, 
 why, when no wayward breath essays 
 to tangle itself in your bright maze, 
 
 so tremulous? Speak, bright branches, speak. 
 
 "A nest lies hidden here — 
 an old year's nest through winter safely kept; 
 and happy boughs are we, for we 're 
 of all the bloomy boughs most near 
 where innocent birds last summer slept! 
 
 Two wayfarers are flown 
 back to the nest of merry months gone-by; 
 
 and nestle wing to wing, unknown 
 
 of all the world save us alone, 
 and twitter in sleep, and dream they fly." 
 
 32 
 
II. 
 
 A MOCKING-BIRD 
 
 A charm 
 lies closely over all; 
 
 no harm 
 can any soul befall. 
 
 So dark, 
 so still, O lovely night . . . 
 
 But hark, 
 what heavenly-sweet affright? 
 
 Burst, rise, irrepressible song! 
 To hearken — 'tis to die, 
 to float away amid a wild-wing'd throng — 
 ecstatic notes — into the thrilling sky. 
 
 Rush waves, of impassion'd sound 
 till stars the dark abyss 
 enkindle; till ye flood us forth, and, drown'd, 
 cast us on shores remote of heaven's still bliss! 
 
 III. 
 THE OLD IDEAL 
 
 O boyish 
 
 Delight, 
 why haunt me 
 
 to-night? 
 
 Forgotten 
 
 almost, . . . 
 yea, merely 
 
 a ghost — 
 
 a misty 
 
 moongleam, 
 a fancy, 
 
 a dream, 
 
 a vision that 
 
 with dawn 
 must fade and 
 
 be gone! 
 
 33 
 
IV. 
 
 THE BRIDE ASLEEP 
 
 No power hast Thou at all 
 on Her, my Bride. 
 Thou couldst enthrall 
 the youth that long since died, 
 never the man Thou darest here to haunt,- 
 Wraith of the past. Spirit of ill, avaunt! 
 
 She dreams of me . . . She breathes 
 upon my breast . . . 
 my hand ensheathes 
 Her little hand . . . 'T were best 
 never to wake when dreams are over-dear,- 
 never to wake — ever to slumber here. 
 
 V. 
 
 EVOCATION 
 
 What weird dream have I dream'd 
 hard to recall? 
 
 Ay! so meseem'd 
 
 I stood in some vast hall 
 lonely and sad, a disillusioned youth 
 loathing the lie — fearing the face of truth. 
 
 All the life since, became 
 unreal; yes, She 
 a myth, a name. 
 I yearn'd to bow the knee, 
 reverent to some strange Deity, my own 
 Creature-of-cloud, Witch-of-my-dreams unknown. 
 
 There mov'd unheard, but felt, 
 a shining Thing, 
 whose either wing 
 cover'd me as I knelt: — 
 "Vision of perfect being, holy, sweet, 
 let me remain — perish, but kiss thy feet!" 
 
 34 
 
VI. 
 
 APPARITION AND EXORCISM 
 
 Face, white 
 'neath infinite night, 
 eyes, full of love and light, — 
 a mystic spell; 
 
 lips, rose 
 as dawn-lit snows, 
 quiver, then tightly close, 
 lest of their love too soon they tell; 
 
 soft gleams 
 of neck, dim dreams 
 of shoulders, arms, 'neath streams 
 of tumbling gloom: 
 
 Love's form 
 divine! A storm 
 of passion shakes me. Warm 
 with thy warm Self my ice-cold tomb! 
 
 Nay, Thou, 
 art even now 
 another's, for thy brow 
 my suit condemns; 
 
 and yet . . . 
 What snare is set — 
 shining and dewy- wet, 
 of grasses woven and daisy-stems? 
 
 Ensnar'd? 
 Nay, — who hath dar'd 
 to bind Night's Queen dark-hair'd 
 with mesh on mesh? 
 
 to throw 
 webs, silken, aglow 
 with dew-pearls, o'er thy snow — 
 stars gather'd in heaven's garden fresh? 
 
 35 
 
Why rend 
 from end to end 
 those Eastern curtains? Bend 
 o'er me, strange Queen! 
 
 Thy face 
 hath lost its grace? 
 Fly, Siren, fly this place — 
 Some foe destroyeth thee unseen. 
 
 The sun! 
 The morn begun! 
 The stars blown out each one! 
 Day's diadems 
 flash bright. 
 The Witch-of-night, 
 the Siren moony-white 
 hath vanish'd in a flare of gems! 
 
 VII. 
 
 THE BRIDE AWAKE 
 
 Awake are the birds, 
 awake is my heart, 
 forgotten the words 
 which made Night's magical spell but now; 
 
 and happier am I, 
 
 for near me Thou art; 
 so sweet and so shy, 
 my Bride! Truth sweeter than Dreams 
 art Thou! 
 
 36 
 
THE HAWK 
 
 (A Ballad of Dawn In Colloquy) 
 I. 
 First voice— SUNRISE PRELUDE 
 
 The Morn hath tiptoe stolen near to Night 
 and cast her upon him in love's delight! 
 
 Second voice — 
 
 Their arms enlac'd, their warm close lips have met, 
 her hair all unknotted — 'tis twilight yet! 
 
 First voice — 
 
 With her pale Self she covers him. She seems 
 to lie like a snowdrift above his dreams. 
 
 Second voice — 
 
 White shines She, naked 'mid her golden hair, 
 and smiles as He dies — for the Day is there! 
 
 II. 
 
 Third voice— THE PIGEON 
 
 A Pigeon flies. Lo, it darts! it rocks in air, 
 
 till the plumes of its wings meet behind — 
 till the Foe is lost! But who can share 
 my joy? Who sing it forth? Oh! ne'er 
 to be gifted for utterance — doom unkind! 
 
 III. 
 
 First voice— "THE LARK 
 
 Far up from the green of the field, 
 
 from the gold of the sunlit river, 
 from graves where mourners have kneel'd, 
 
 from boughs with their sparkle of beads ashiver, 
 up into the chalice of dawn — 
 
 from th' eye of night in the lily of day, 
 forth of his nest — is the Lark upgone 
 
 on his steep, clear, song-pav'd way. 
 
 37 
 
Up, into the sky is he fled, 
 
 where the blue and the calm dwell ever, 
 where sounds of struggle are dead: 
 
 he hath vanquish'd its summit with wings' endeavor. 
 Then, shake out thy shower of notes! 
 
 The veins of silence with melody pulse. 
 Sing, little Lark, from thy throat of throats! 
 
 With thy joy heaven's heart convulse! 
 
 IV. 
 
 THE HAWK 
 Second voice — 
 
 A shadow! — a Foe — a scream! 
 
 a shudder — grim claws — 
 fiend's beak — keen eyes that gleam! 
 
 a flash — a pause. 
 
 A pitiful scream to hear — 
 a rush to the sky — 
 
 the Foe beneath! — no fear- 
 a triumph-cry! 
 
 Both voices- 
 
 THE PAEAN 
 
 Shout, shout, 
 that the Fiend hath misst his prey! 
 Mad song, ring out 
 exultantly! 
 
 Thrill! Thrill! 
 In the heaven's great deep-blue eye, 
 bask thee, and still 
 sing, sing, on high! 
 
 38 
 
VI. 
 
 Third voice— "^"^ VOICELESS TRIUMPH 
 
 O Lark! my soul was rescued from its foe 
 
 but it knew not thy voicing occult 
 that can utter glee, and heavenward throw 
 the blissful soul to God! I glow 
 with the fire of thy triumph. Exult! Exult! 
 
 All voices and echoes — 
 
 Exult! 
 
 HIGHER MATHEMATICS 
 
 Two and two make five, say I! 
 This truth is as plain as day. For why? 
 The whole is more than the sum I take 
 of the parts; 
 thoughts, feelings, passions, do not make 
 human hearts; 
 sums are not wholes 
 with flowers and souls! 
 So two and two make five, say I! 
 
 WISHES 
 
 What, Love, our toddling baby 
 would be an angel bright? 
 Ha! The white-winged angel, maybe 
 would be baby, — if he might! 
 
 Would the rock — be the plashing river 
 that to the salt sea flows? 
 Or the river — the poplar aquiver 
 in the wind at even-close? 
 
 Would the rose be a moonrise lily, 
 or the lily a sunset rose? 
 Then why We so foolish silly? 
 Woe's me that no man knows. 
 39 
 
A FATHER'S MEMORY 
 
 O, ho! my baby Bacchant 
 
 (Just three-years-old!) 
 
 Hop-skipping with fresh-cut thyrsis 
 
 o'er the dewy, briery wold; 
 
 a bright crown above her ringlets 
 
 of dandelion gold; 
 
 left hand — clutching blackberries — 
 squeezes and squirts their juice; 
 white frock leopard-spotted, 
 thorn- tattered to ribbons wind-loose; 
 and mouth choke-full of laughter 
 too crimson for human use! 
 
 Blessed, blessed Apparition 
 from years long long gone by, 
 come dancing prancing hither, 
 side-glancing, with wreath awry, 
 advancing the leaf-tipped thyrsis, 
 out-shouting the Bacchic cry! 
 
 For my heart and mind hang heavy, 
 
 and my body's eye droops dull. 
 
 Wild brier-roses? Fierce briers dew-berried? 
 
 Little hands their glories to cull? . . . 
 
 Haste hither, O haste hither, my Girlie, 
 
 Time's decree with thy smile to annul! 
 
 For still I know that thou skippest 
 and hoppest for eager glee 
 down the path to the ivied cabin, 
 calling shrilly for "Mamma" to see . . . 
 And 't is I — I only am banished 
 the old world of thy wee witchery •. . . 
 
 While you, — you can scarce remember, . . . 
 puzzled, shamefast, as I speak. 
 "Oh, Father, dear, how silly!" . . , 
 
 40 
 
And yet, ah, willy-nilly, I seek 
 
 in day-dream, yea, and in night-dream 
 
 to kiss that chubby cheek; 
 
 snatch the dimpled wriggler proudly 
 in greed beyond her ken; 
 clutch, squeeze juice-oozing fingers, 
 cram full the red mouth, and then — 
 toss passionately, ay, toss her to skyward 
 again, and again and again! 
 
 SELFISH GRIEF 
 
 "Lost! Lost!" Writhing with grief on God I cried 
 
 that He would grant me once, but once, to see 
 
 my Darling's face; — when lo, I woke, heart-free, 
 
 whirled in a heavenward eddy's spiral wide, 
 
 sucked up of hsmins angelical. Blue-eyed 
 
 on river's bank, screaming for childish glee, 
 
 with happy playmates. . . . Yea, I know 'tis he! 
 
 From stone to stone he leapt to the farther side, 
 
 over his golden locks a quick look cast, 
 
 and darted into glory shut from sight. 
 
 "Son, only the torrent of selfish tears men shed, 
 
 impassable, sundereth, (swift-glistering past 
 
 thy feet) love's hope from utmost love's delight!" 
 
 "What comfort, God, if still my child be dead?" 
 
 ADRIFT 
 
 Drift! 
 Who would care to lift 
 
 the cast-off rose 
 from the stream's traitorous breast? 
 
 No one knows 
 whose it was — where it bloomed — 
 
 Only, doomed — doomed — doomed — 
 
 It is best — 
 
 drift! 
 
 41 
 
THE TWIN POPLAR 
 
 (A Summer Night's Revery) 
 
 Among the mob of clover 
 
 (their wee hoary heads nod- 
 nodding to the wavy sod — ) 
 we lie 
 
 You and I 
 
 by the placid cool lagoon. 
 Above us — the pale sky over — 
 
 fluffed flocks of gleamy cloudlets flee — 
 
 from the radiance keen 
 
 of the enhaloed moon. 
 And shrubberies, fantastically free, 
 
 exuberant tree-masses, loose and large, 
 
 (Us and the sky's earth-touch between,) 
 
 pile them along the farther marge, 
 
 and fitfully pant in the wind and swerve and sway. 
 And thro' their midst, away, away 
 
 lo, a forth-streaming wide . . . 
 
 (athwart, 
 to where the arched span of the bridge is 
 for phantom feet . . . ) 
 an animate hither-thither fair and fleet 
 
 of dazzling shimmer 
 
 in wayward sport 
 
 that dieth soon 
 
 to a ghostly glimmer 
 
 against the hazy world-end ridges 
 
 beneath the allhallowing haloed moon. 
 And somehow, Dear, 
 
 hearkening, meseems I hear 
 
 the laughter faint of ripply lips. . . . 
 And thine eyes and mine converge 
 
 (Hark, the dew from the trailing lilac drips!) 
 involuntarily upon yon tall twin Poplar grey 
 
 in the invisible spirit urge 
 
 now blessedly one, now twain again 
 
 as for rapturous lover's play. ... 
 
 42 
 
(What subtle fragrance wafted over 
 
 maketh breathing delicious pain? 
 Or is it close about us, the honey-clover 
 nod-nodding sweet-gossipwise 
 to the glistenings and grass-Hspings of the sod?) 
 Ha! How yon Poplar doth thine eyes 
 and mine fascinate — mirk-rooted, ghost-sure 
 in mystery, where the living shimmer 
 fadeth dimmer 
 and doth grope 
 to feel of the misty sward slope. . . . 
 
 (Dear God, how pitifully poor 
 whom thou givest no wealth of love so ! . . .) 
 For lo, lo! 
 into the vague, the Poplar lif teth yon cloven shadow- 
 flame, 
 then anon — still, still very, very silvery, 
 together glideth one forever and the same. 
 
 Dreamed have we the silence that requireth 
 no speech. 
 
 Such marrying of pure body and lofty soul 
 as inspireth 
 
 the play of twain — each in each — 
 ever free, ever whole; 
 
 such lifting up foregathered into the light- 
 such rooting down — deep, deep 
 by effulgent waters, watch eternally to keep 
 
 nigh the bridge whose mystic span 
 
 bindeth Eden to Eden, man to man. . . . 
 
 Love still is gracious, tenderly heart-single. . . . 
 
 (Ha! the wicked titter 
 
 of silly leaves in the gust overhead — 
 the cynical glitter 
 
 in the moon too cruelly unveiled. . . . 
 That we failed 
 
 that our high noon of youth is dead! 
 
 43 
 
The clover noddles wag and wag, 
 
 part and meet, 
 and ripples mocking wink 
 
 nag and brag 
 
 at the brink 
 
 by our feet. . . .) 
 
 Love still is gracious, tenderly heart-single 
 
 tho' from his dizzy heights perhaps 
 
 he hath suffered his proud soaring ways to lapse 
 
 to some bloom-dingle 
 
 of shy oblivious sweetness — 
 
 some glow-glad cottage ingle 
 
 where petty joys commingle 
 
 to a comforting completeness. . . . 
 But this ache, ah, this ache! 
 
 what tho' all this shamefast while 
 (Not thy smile 
 can the spell, Dear, of unearthly wonder break!) 
 We against love who unaware have sinned, 
 
 we, on the hither bank of the lagoon 
 
 prove the illusion — to be dissipated soon; 
 and yonder. We, unwittingly we, 
 
 our very Selves wave in the wind, 
 
 uplifted from the grey-green of the gloom 
 
 for the play of spirit; in quest of freer room — 
 
 yea, the still moon-silvery scope 
 
 of a mysterious 
 
 imperious 
 
 holy hope? 
 
 Who knoweth which we truliest be 
 (O glory that forth floweth! 
 O fragrant wind that bloweth!) 
 the soul in flesh we feel not, or the soul in dream we see? 
 Who knoweth tonight, who knoweth? 
 
 44 
 
PARENTAL CONSENT 
 
 "You will live to have love — love — love?" 
 
 Love, did you say? 
 
 Ah, little child, do you understand 
 
 what thing you ask? 
 
 A period of happy dreams and hopes — 
 
 poetic imaginings, — 
 
 like bees thro' bloomy paradises 
 
 a-wing in the sun, 
 
 gathering the honey to store in their hive — 
 
 the soul of the beloved . . . 
 
 for the world to rob to the din of its creeds? 
 
 Say rather, you want 
 
 illusion first, and then — ah, disillusion; 
 
 patient efforts, 
 
 cruel efforts to revive the dead, 
 
 recall the forgotten. 
 
 You want delicious dependence dear 
 
 to alternate 
 
 with fierce despair of freedom; — alas! 
 
 surrender yourself you do not dare, 
 
 nor can you wholly 
 
 withhold yourself! You want, I know, 
 
 disappointments, griefs 
 
 together borne; and vexations also 
 
 that part sunder 
 
 utterly soul from soul; — woes, shames, 
 
 pitiful sorrows 
 
 for which each blames the other, tho' both 
 
 be innocent; 
 
 of which either blames himself in secret, 
 
 tho' both be guilty. 
 
 Ah, child, my own sv/eet, smiling child, 
 
 I still can see 
 
 the little babe — (You cannot, for you 
 
 have forgotten that babe) — 
 
 you want to know life now, death, the agonies, 
 
 hazards, and blisses 
 
 incommunicable? Ay, you are right, 
 
 45 
 
none will deny it: — 
 to be gloriously miserable 
 at the v/orst, is better 
 
 than the common content of day after day, 
 in which one knows not 
 
 the strength of the soul, and forgets there is heaven 
 and hell. You are right. 
 
 "To live for love only — for love and for love!" 
 It is foolish, I think? 
 Yes, and wise also, my child, very wise. 
 We, your elders, 
 
 who once were foolish as you, would not have you 
 wiser, God knows — 
 
 only more foolish, maybe, tho' our heart 
 must ache with your ache. 
 Oh, to be foolish again as you, more foolish 
 and wiser so! 
 
 Therefore we will weave you the bridal wreath, 
 we will smile 
 
 gaily, but of you unheard, in our hearts 
 (forgive us, for who 
 
 can help misgivings and bodings?) the bell 
 shall toll away, 
 
 toll to the peal of joy — the sobbing knell 
 for us of our child. . . . 
 The child whom often in dreams I see 
 by ocean beach, 
 
 .toy-pail and spade in hand, little dress 
 tucked up — bare legs, 
 chubbs' feet splash-splash 
 in the foam of the spent green surf! 
 The bell shall toll 
 
 the knell of memories, hopes fulfilled. 
 But you shall hear not — 
 only for you the happy peal, and the cries 
 "God bless you, God bless you!" 
 And — God bless you indeed, tho' cur eyes 
 fill with tears 
 
 while we tell you how happy we are 
 that you — have love! 
 
 46 
 
THE WIDOWER 
 
 A respite grant, Love, if no dear relief; 
 lest maddened by this torturing fell Woe 
 I perish not, but work thine overthrow 
 
 of whom he holdeth right and might in feof. 
 
 Love, my Lord, of caitiffs am I chief 
 
 on whom thou dost such guerdon misbestow; 
 the spirit's extreme ordeal to undergo! 
 Shall grief slay — whoso slew not thee and grief? 
 
 1 cannot hearken now her wooing voice, 
 be rapt in her embraces safe and close; — 
 
 in vain with her thou biddest me rejoice, 
 
 downtethered here 'mid sensual things and gross! 
 Disloyal to the past— or maimed, morose? 
 
 Nay, canst thou offer Love, no holier choice? 
 
 THE BEECHES OF FERN BANK 
 
 I. 
 
 FELLOWSHIP 
 
 O beeches, dear Fern Bank beeches, 
 
 I greet you in haste as I pass. 
 How vast, still, and tender your reach is 
 
 over the wavy grass! 
 Your boughs (droop they moveless, or stir they, 
 
 soft-swaying in the summery air,) 
 are inviting me — all unworthy — 
 
 your fellowship true to share. 
 
 O beeches, dear Fern Bank beeches, 
 
 men may envy your vigor and grace: 
 for, grown great in your brotherhood, each is 
 
 content with his ancient place; 
 not restive as We and ambitious, 
 
 with our fate perversely at strife. 
 What better, dear trees, can ye wish us 
 
 than with You — to live our life? 
 
 47 
 
O beeches, dear Fern Bank beeches, 
 
 a consecrate grove ye are, 
 for Dantes and chaste Beatrices 
 
 in the gUmmer of the twiUght star; 
 for memories, ecstatical fancies 
 
 alone in the mid of the night; 
 not bann'd from your shadow romance is, 
 
 or Utopian devotion to right! 
 
 O beeches, dear Fern Bank beeches, 
 
 calm warders of river and road, 
 persuasive your whispered speech is, — 
 
 with You will I make mine abode; 
 and study as You to stand quiet 
 
 upreaching to heaven in prayer 
 for this beautiful Earth, so nigh it, 
 
 while fondling its undulant hair! 
 
 II. 
 
 FAREWELL 
 
 Gleams the moon in the Fern Bank beeches! 
 How each mystic shadow reaches 
 down the softly grey-green slopes 
 
 of dew-wet grass! 
 Ah, my heart, my heart is aching — 
 hurt by dread of a long leave-taking, 
 for the ghosts of happy hopes 
 
 on the night wind pass. 
 
 Dreams the moon in the Fern Bank beeches? 
 hark, how intimate their speech is, 
 meant for none but loving ears 
 
 to comprehend: 
 wistfully they query whether 
 quite in vain we've lived together, 
 shared our longings, fancies, fears — 
 
 that all should end? 
 48 
 
Nay, old stalwarts, ancient beeches, 
 though my soul your help beseeches, 
 nought can Ye to stay the course 
 
 of human fate. 
 Blessed Ye, that here forever 
 rooted rise with no endeavor, 
 knowing no regret, remorse, 
 
 no doubt, no hate! 
 
 Ah, how gracious each to each is, 
 hallowed fellowship of beeches 
 by the gleaming river bank 
 
 at watch, and ward! 
 Would the human friend and lover 
 might your magic spell discover, 
 getting, giving holy thank 
 
 in sweet accord! 
 
 Your close bonds not death can sever, 
 faith and hope will fail you never, 
 earth beneath, and sky above, 
 
 green hills around; 
 blessed, blessed Fern Bank beeches! 
 Us — 'tis loss alone that teaches 
 how to make with wealth of love 
 
 our life abound. 
 
 49 
 
TO THE T'WO LITTLE LADIES 
 
 CLARA SYLVIA 
 
 AND 
 
 PHOEBE 
 
 FOR "WHOM THE STORY OF THE DEWDROPS WAS ORIGINALLY 
 "MADE UP" 
 
 BE THE THING NOW DONE INTO RIME 
 
 MOST LOVINGLY DEDICATED 
 
 BY THEIR PLAYFELLOW 
 
THE DEWDROPS 
 
 "WHERE MORE IS MEANT THAN MEETS THE EAR" 
 
 A PHANTASY 
 
 IN TWO TABLEAUX AND THIRTEEN SCENES 
 
 BEING AN ENTERTAINMENT FOR 
 BIG FOLKS BY LITTLE PEOPLE 
 
 GIVEN IN ALAMEDA 
 AT CHRIST CHURCH 
 FALL FESTIVAL, 1905 
 
N. B. — Trees at Right 
 and Left. The Oak, 
 Elm, and Beech are 
 grouped at back of 
 stage. Across Center 
 stage, back, a tinsel 
 web is hung on the 
 branches. The Drops 
 — Green, Blue, Red, 
 Golden, and Violet — 
 are grouped before it 
 as though hanging 
 there. The Spider is 
 above the web at 
 Right. 
 
 SYNOPSIS 
 Tableau I. The Death of the Drops 
 
 Scene I. — Tfte Fairy Queen causes the Dciv io appear by the 
 
 magic of her Pansy. 
 Scene II. — The Dewdrops, laughing in the meshes of a huge 
 
 spiderweb, beg the Moon to abide with them forever. 
 Scene III. — They are amazed at the appearance of Hying things 
 
 like stars of heaven, or themselves, the stars of earth; and 
 
 the Ghostmoth explains their nature. 
 Scene IV. — The Spider, hypocrite, ascetic, sensualist, in zvhose 
 
 Web the Dcivdrops hang, invokes the Wind to rid him of 
 
 their noxious presence. 
 
 Scene V.—The Trees discourse of the Wind's coming, and the 
 Ghostmoth bids them a last adieu. 
 
 Scene VI. — The Wind of Death blozvs to the terror of the Dew- 
 drops, but the Golden Drop and the Blue Drop are full of 
 faith, and leap dozvn from the Web of Life. 
 
 Scene VII. — The Droplets, into which the falling Dewdrops 
 broke, sing their gleeful Hymn of New Life. 
 
 N. B. — The web is re- 
 moved, and the hedge 
 appears to the rear 
 across the stage. 
 Flowers are grouped 
 to right and left, a 
 dead branch of an 
 oak comes over the 
 hedge, on which the 
 Treetoad may squat. 
 
 Tableau U. The Doom of the Dew 
 
 Scene VIII. — The Droplets rejoice, arousing the wrath of the 
 Treetoad (professional prophet of evil, iconoclast, and ma- 
 terialistic cynic), and, grozving to drops in the increasing 
 dusk, they overhear the Wisdom of the Trees. 
 
 Scene IX. — The Dezudrops, thus comforted, sing of the Unseen 
 Glory; zvhereupon the Treetoad bursts into such fierce railing 
 that all the Deiurops faint for horror. 
 
 Scene X. — Tozi'ord dazvn they recover consciousness, and are 
 startled and gladdened by the little optimist, the Wren. 
 
 Scene XL — Fearing, and hoping, the day begins; the flowers ap- 
 pear in new color; the Ruby-throat assures them the Sun is 
 a floiver, but they prefer to believe him a z'ast Dewdrop, and 
 are edified greatly by the Vision of Last Things, vouchsafed 
 to the Golden Drop. 
 
 Scene XII. — Gradually drazvn up into the zvarm air, their spirits 
 sing a heavenly rapture of Assumption. 
 
 Scene XIII. — The Fairy Queen comes forth in the front of the 
 stage as Epilogue to gladden the folk in the pit with thoughts 
 of their ozvn eternal childhood of soul, zvhile the attendant 
 fays and fairies engage in a ballet of pantomime. 
 
 52 
 
TABLEAU I. THE DEATH OF THE DEWDROPS 
 
 SCENE I. THE ENCHANTMENT 
 
 (Enter Fairy Queen, in front of Tableau Curtain. Takes C. stage, 
 
 waving wand, and speaking a spell.) 
 Fairy Queen: 
 
 O the dew, the dew, on sprig and spray! 
 
 on tendril, frond, blade, petal, plume — 
 
 Fay Chorus (invisible) : 
 
 blinking and winking to swing and sway 
 of moonrise sheen and cool perfume. 
 
 Fairy Queen: 
 
 O the dew, the dew, in hallowed hush 
 of the hovering haze and mystery born — 
 
 Fay Chorus (invisible) : 
 
 blinking and winking from leafage lush, 
 from moss-strand, silken web and thorn. 
 
 (Enter Fay Chorus, softly, on tip-toe from R. and L.) 
 
 Fairy Queen: 
 
 To the wafts of verbena and heliotrope, 
 to the whiffs of orange-bloom and musk, 
 
 Fay Chorus (dancing lightly) : 
 
 big grow the dewdrops for glee and hope, 
 in shimmer and glimmer and humid dusk. 
 
 (A moment of silence zvhile all move in a ballet of listening.) 
 
 What blithe, fine tones! (Jubilant.) The Dew! 
 (Turning to the audience.) The dew! 
 
 (Chorus of Fays divides into groups R. and L.) 
 
 Fay Chorus (R. and L. alternating) : 
 
 (R.) Poor— 
 
 (L.) folk— 
 
 (R.) that hear not— 
 
 (L.) the twinkling 
 
 (All.) Choir! 
 
 53 
 
Fairy Queen {pitifully to the audience) : 
 
 Touch eyelid and ear with the Pansy blue, 
 
 {Chorus R.) And ho! — 
 
 (L.) Lo!— 
 
 {All.) Your dream-world of Desire! 
 
 {The Chorus of Fays vanishes to R. and L. as Tableau curtain 
 rises leaving the Queen in the center. Chorus of Dewdrops 
 grouped about her to rearward. Scene as described in 
 Tableau I.) 
 
 SCENE II. THE MOON 
 
 The Dewdrop Chorus {to ballet motions, sing "The Chant of 
 the Dew") : 
 
 See— 
 
 We— 
 
 be — 
 {Bowing.) 
 
 the tiny — •* 
 
 shiny — 
 
 Dew! 
 {Moving arms gracefully.) 
 
 We dangle — 
 
 and bespangle — 
 
 the bloom-tangle — ■ 
 
 wet! 
 {Prolonging tone as for an incantation.) 
 
 blinking — 
 
 and winking — 
 
 Moon — 
 
 Moon — 
 
 at you! 
 
 And we croon — 
 
 "So soon?" 
 
 "Nay, leave us not yet!" 
 {Livelier.) 
 
 For on leaf-tip, fern-frond, wisp of grass, 
 
 we are growing, ho, growing 
 
 big and wise! 
 
 54 
 
{_With motions sweeping the zenith.') 
 
 And ho! 
 
 We know — 
 
 as slow — 
 
 you pass — 
 
 you love us well — 
 
 white — 
 
 light— 
 
 of the skies! 
 (They kneel, surrounding Queen, arms and bodies swaying. 
 Looking up rapturously.) 
 
 For winsome we dartle 
 
 in silvery shoon — 
 
 o'er 
 
 the far-away floor 
 
 of skyey sheen; 
 
 and for joy we startle 
 
 or slumber aswoon 
 
 on the swaying air of the garden green! 
 Fairy Queen (sadly, to herself; the Dewdrops looking at one 
 another as if they half heard, and wondering at the unseen 
 speaker) : 
 
 They deem the stars their kin 
 , that dwell 
 
 high in the sky! 
 
 How strong, poor dreamers dear, the spell! 
 
 For far is nigh, 
 
 and nigh, alas! 
 
 is far, so far! 
 
 Dew in the grass, 
 
 in heaven, the star! 
 (During last lines Queen, slowly waving wand, approaches L. 
 
 1st E. Exit at last line.) 
 (Dewdrops rub their eyes, shake themselves, and rise. As they 
 chant final lines, they group at R. and L. up stage, zvith arms 
 uplifted to the Moon.) 
 Chorus of Dewdrops: 
 
 Oh, the dew-folk above, 
 
 as we on earth, 
 
 55 
 
all beg you, for love, 
 
 dear Moon, 
 
 one boon! 
 
 We will rollic 
 
 ay — and frolic, 
 
 and make you mirth, 
 
 if you '11 stay with us, stay 
 
 for aye — 
 
 white Moon! 
 
 SCENE III. THE FIREFLIES 
 
 Red Drop: Look! 
 
 Blue Drop: Look! 
 Golden Drop: What was that flash — 
 
 of grass-green light? 
 Green Dropr Why, one of us! 
 Red Drop: Some rash 
 
 young Dewdrop spright! 
 {Ghostnioth enters from R. and flutters back and forth among 
 
 them.) 
 Violet Drop: Nay, fly thro' empty air? 
 
 No wings have we! 
 Blue Drop: We 'd fly if v/e could dare 
 
 to fling us free! 
 Red Drop: A fire-spark on the breeze 
 
 blown hither and yon! 
 Violet Drop: So high? 
 Green Drop: Over tops of trees? 
 Blue Drop: In the moonshine wan? 
 
 Ghostmoth (fluttering among them) : 
 
 Poor silly people of dew! 
 Dewdrop Chorus: (Right.) 
 
 Ghostmoth, you know? 
 Ghostmoth (to the Red Drop) : 
 
 They 're firefolk, 
 (to the Golden drop) 
 
 bright, like you! 
 
 that come and go, 
 
 part moth, part dewdrop, they! 
 
 56 
 
Golden Drop: Half-sisters! 
 Green Drop: Weird! 
 
 Blue Drop: The hoped-for marvel! 
 
 Violet Drop: Nay, 
 
 the mystery feared! 
 Blue Drop and Golden Drop (singing) : 
 
 Be they most-drop or most-moth: 
 
 Or half fairly and half 
 
 we be glad . . . 
 Green Drop: sad. 
 Golden Drop: good Ghostmoth! 
 
 Violet Drop: We should weep. 
 Red Drop: We would laugh! 
 
 Blue Drop: Why tremble? 
 
 Violet Drop: That a change 
 
 might come on us. 
 Red Drop: Into some being strange? 
 
 Golden Drop: Mysterious? 
 Blue Drop: Nay, that were also glee! 
 
 Green Drop: As dear as this? 
 Golden Drop: 'Oh, anyhow to be 
 Blue Drop and Golden Drop: 
 
 is bliss — is bliss! 
 (The Dezvdrops clasp their hands in ecstasy. All their move- 
 ments shotild be slow.) 
 
 SCENE IV. THE SPIDER 
 
 (The trees sway with lozv, moaning sotinds. The Dewdrops 
 shiver slightly.) 
 
 Violet Drop: Watch the tree- tops moving 
 athwart the sky. 
 Our v/isdom reproving. 
 They wave us good-by. 
 In the heaven they 're caressing 
 yon velvety room. 
 With boughs of mist blessing 
 The glimmering gloom. 
 
 Green Drop: 
 Red Drop: 
 Blue Drop: 
 
 Golden Drop: 
 
 57 
 
The Spider: (IVavcs frotit legs about. At the sound of his 
 voice the ChostmotJi flutters out R.) 
 
 O Wind, good Wind, kind Wind! 
 Hearken, hearken, and heed! 
 Violet Drop: What is the Wind, I wonder? 
 Green Drop: The Oak's and the Elm's playfellow? 
 Red Drop: 
 
 A thing that with lightning and thunder 
 will leap and roar and bellow! 
 Spider: O Wind, good Wind, kind Wind, 
 
 which much lovest the spider breed! 
 Red Drop: The truth I told. For methinks 
 the owley-eyed Ghostmoth knows 
 who gossips with double-pinks 
 and tickles the baby-rose; 
 who flirts with jessamine wreaths, 
 and kisses the columbine; 
 and in breaths-of-heaven deep breathes 
 to blow in the trumpet-vine! 
 Golden Drop: 
 
 Yet whoever, 'mong Dewdrops, heard 
 of lightning and thunder before? 
 Blue Drop: The Ghostmoth told you? 
 Golden Drop: Absurd! 
 Blue Drop: Mere fancy! 
 Golden Drop: Leap! 
 Blue Drop: Bellow? 
 
 Golden Drop: And roar? 
 
 Spider: Wind, Wind, good Wind, kind Wind! 
 Hearken, hearken thy Spider; 
 who in nothing hath sinned, 
 long fasting by law; 
 yet most thankfully grinned, 
 when he glutted his maw. 
 O Wind, good Wind, kind Wind! 
 Golden Drop: What horrors I hear 
 
 against my will! 
 Blue Drop: I shudder! 
 
 Red Drop: I fear! 
 
 Green Drop: O hush! 
 
 58 
 
Violet Drop: Be still! 
 
 Spide; : The bird and butterfly 
 
 despise thy faithful Spider. 
 
 Poor sillies, that can't tell why 
 
 they flit and flutter by. 
 
 They know thee not as I, 
 
 Thou rich provider! 
 Violet Drop: An evil spell 
 
 he droneth — alas! 
 Green Drop: Ah, who can tell 
 
 what Cometh to pass? 
 Spider: The wasp and bumble-bee 
 
 in yellow hats and hosen, 
 
 they deem them fair and free, 
 
 buzzing right busily. 
 
 Poor honey thieves! But we, 
 
 We be thy chosen! 
 Golden Drop: Think you the Wind 
 
 will hearken and come? 
 Green Drop: He's jealous. 
 Red Drop: Chagrin'd. 
 
 Violet Drop: I would he were dumb! 
 Spider: To work and wait and trust 
 
 our wont and use and duty. 
 
 Thou riddest of dew and dust 
 
 that harm us and disgust 
 
 our webs, for thou art just, 
 
 to worth and beauty! 
 Golden Drop: A loathsome thought! 
 Blue Drop: The dust like the dew! 
 Green Drop: By doubts distraught, . . . 
 Violet Drop: O, v/ould that I knew! 
 Spider: O Wind, good Wind, kind Wind, 
 
 Hearken, hearken thy Spider! 
 
 Thy thrifty down-glider, 
 
 on sticky thread, 
 
 who spins his web wider, 
 
 and squats overhead — 
 
 the steadfast abider, 
 
 thy modest self-hider, 
 
 59 
 
on gnats and flies and lady-bugs fed. 
 Come quickly, O Wind, kind Wind! 
 
 {With the closing lines the Spider descends, and scurries 
 away R.) 
 
 SCENE V. THE TREES 
 
 The Oak: Ho, the Wind is coming, brothers, 
 
 I feel it in leaf and twig! (Sv.'ays.) 
 
 The Beech (to the Elm) : 
 
 He little recks of others 
 v/ho aren't as stout and big! 
 The Oak: Ho, the Wind is coming, I feel it, 
 
 in bough and knotty limb! 
 The Elm (to the Beech) : 
 
 He is happy and can't conceal it. 
 The Beech (to the Elm) : 
 
 Ah, trouble will temper him! 
 The Oak: O brothers, the gladsome tremble, 
 in bole and trunk and root! 
 Wild goblins of air assemble 
 to whistle and hollo and hoot! 
 The Elm: I hate this bluster and v/restle 
 
 that distract from our skyv/ard look. 
 The Beech: Our sisters who cluster and nestle 
 
 will be torn in their lowliest nook. 
 The Oak: If only the warfare were truceless, 
 
 none could live but the brave and robust. 
 The Beech: Are our blossoming kinsfolk useless? 
 The Elm: Shall they fight as we? Is it just? 
 (The Ghostmoth flutters in from R. Flits about from Dewdrop 
 
 to Dezvdrop.) 
 The Ghostmoth: The fireflies, helter-skelter 
 and scurrying off to shelter. 
 And Ghostmoth, too, must hide him, 
 (snails, earwigs, and beetles beside him,) 
 in a dusty crack of the bark, 
 in a knot-hole dank and dark, 
 lest the Wind his body tear. 
 Dear Dewdrops, have a care. 
 
 60 
 
I shudder for you! Ah, why 
 can't shiny Dewdrops fly? 
 For then, we might together 
 outUve the boisterous weather. 
 Farewell, sweet friends, good-by! 
 {Aside as he Hits atvay.) 
 
 O, that beauty so soon must die! (Exit L.) 
 
 (Shic'cring among the Dezvdrops.) 
 Green Drop: He saith: 
 
 "'Tis death!" 
 Golden Drop: If all must die, 
 it should 
 be good 
 to die — 
 say I! 
 Blue Drop: At last! 
 Violet Drop: He's near! 
 Red Drop: Hold fast! 
 
 Violet Drop: He's here. {They lean toward each other.) 
 The Wind {invisible) : 
 
 1 'm the Wind who would wistfully woo you, 
 
 Woo! Woo! 
 {Trees sway and moan.) 
 The Elm: O Wind, you're a bully and coward, 
 
 not to show your face when you smite! 
 The Wind: Who '11 go round and under and thro' you, 
 
 You! You! 
 The Beech: On bushes dainty-fiowered 
 
 why wreak your savage spite? 
 The Wind: Who'll strip and uproot and undo you? 
 
 Who? Who? 
 {The Dewdrops shiver and lean toward each other.) 
 Violet Drop: Heart sore! 
 
 Green Drop: Soul-sick! 
 
 Red Drop: What roar! 
 
 Violet and Green Drops: Help! Quick! 
 Red Drop: The ache 
 
 benumbs. 
 Blue Drop: I quake! 
 
 Golden Drop: Death comes! 
 
 6i 
 
The Oak: 
 
 Tho' I the more boldly and proudly uptowered, 
 Brothers, we're shamed by your moan and groan! 
 
 The Beech: I spoke out my mind. 
 
 The Elm: I called him coward! 
 
 The Oak (sarcastically) : 
 
 And so, away, ye deem, he's flown? 
 
 SCENE VI. THE WIND OF DEATH 
 
 (The Trees sway more violently zvitli moaning sounds. One of 
 the Dewdrop Chorus at rear R. who has had no spoken part, 
 drops out of sight behind slanting approach. Two little boys 
 at L. run down stage, joined by two little girls from R. on 
 the zvay. They chant.) 
 
 Dewdrop: (R.) I drop, I run, 
 
 fall — break! 
 Two Droplets: (R.) To— make— 
 
 me — more! 
 Two Droplets: For one — and one 
 
 are — two ! 
 The Four Droplets: And two — and two 
 
 are — four! 
 iAll the Droplets Chorus, repeating the above words and business 
 as often as desired, four by four, run down and dance all 
 together in a ring.) 
 
 Wind-begotten 
 
 from on high. 
 Dew-born, 
 
 small, small — 
 but unspotten — 
 
 why, why 
 would you mourn 
 our fall? 
 (They group themselves to R. and L. of Big Drops, turning 
 tozvard them.) 
 
 still clinging 
 to the old? 
 
 62 
 
Come, leap 
 
 from the strife! 
 Drop singing 
 
 fourfold, 
 into deep 
 New Life! 
 Golden Drop and Blue Drop {more and more agitated, croon 
 this dirge) : 
 
 If first we go, 
 
 or last we stop, 
 if fast, or slow, 
 
 what matter, Dewdrop? 
 
 Violet Drop (imploringly) : 
 Hush, dears, 
 my fears 
 you excite! 
 
 Golden Drop: For lo, we know, 
 
 none long may abide 
 
 Blue Drop: In panic and woe, 
 
 in glory and pride. 
 
 Red Drop (dcHantly) : 
 
 I have fought, 
 
 this thought, 
 
 and yet fight! 
 Blue Drop and Golden Drop (alternating) : 
 
 There is none, nay none, 
 
 but must somewhile slip, 
 
 downglide to run, 
 
 close-cleave to drip. 
 
 Green Drop (in terror) : 
 O the leap 
 to the deep, 
 from the height! 
 
 Golden Drop: What matter, 
 despairer, 
 so we spatter, 
 to glitter? 
 
 63 
 
Blue Drop: So we shatter 
 
 to fairer, 
 
 so we scatter 
 
 to fitter? 
 Red Drop (angrily) : 
 
 I 'il delay 
 
 while I may, 
 
 the delight. 
 Red, Violet, and Green Drops: 
 
 We would hold 
 
 to the old, 
 
 if we might! 
 (Golden Drop and Blue Drop let go and repeat the business of 
 
 the first Drop that fell.) 
 Red Drop: What befell? 
 
 Green and Violet Drops: 
 
 Who can tell? 
 Golden and Blue Drops (running) : 
 
 Good night! 
 (Droplets run in with same words and business as above.) 
 
 SCENE VII. THE DROPLETS 
 
 (The Droplets down stage greet the incoming Droplets.) 
 The Newcomers: 
 
 We flew 
 
 to the new, 
 
 as our right. 
 The Older Droplets: 
 
 The Red, and Green, and Blue, 
 
 the Violet, and Golden dew, 
 
 held, O so tight, so tight! 
 
 But they danced, and shook and fell, 
 
 and broke, and ran pell-mell! 
 Newcomers: And lo, we alight, we alight! 
 First (Red) Droplet: 
 
 I am fire, — 
 
 my desire 
 
 fulfilled! 
 
 64 
 
Second and Third (Blue) Droplets: 
 We be sky, 
 (you and I,) 
 as we willed! 
 Fourth and Fifth {Green) Droplets: 
 Such green, 
 who hath seen? 
 Sixth (Gold) Droplet: 
 
 or such gold? 
 Grand Chorus: Of the shade, 
 
 that we prayed, 
 heart-bold! 
 Right Semi Chorus: 
 
 If fated or free, 
 if mine or his, 
 Left Semi Chorus: 
 
 the hope to be, 
 and the fear that is. 
 Grand Chorus: all's one to me, 
 
 come that, come this — 
 for the hither is glee, 
 and the yonder, bliss! 
 {Violet, Green, and Red Drops fall. The Droplet Chorus runs 
 out R. and L., singing: "I drop, I run," etc.) 
 
 CURTAIN. 
 
 65 
 
TABLEAU II. THE DOOM OF THE DEW 
 
 SCENE VIII. THE MOON SET 
 
 (The Big Drops are grouped Center stage. Droplet Chorus 
 R. and L. Treetoad on top of Oak Branch L. up stage.) 
 
 Droplet Chorus: (R.) 
 
 From wee to big, 
 they grew — and grew, 
 Chorus: (L.) on blooming sprig 
 
 and leafy twig 
 All: the merrymaking dew! 
 
 Chorus: (R.) From big to wee 
 
 we broke — 
 Chorus: (L.) but woke 
 
 again to be 
 All: the glad, the free, 
 
 the starry- twinkling folk! 
 The Treetoad (breaks in harshly) : 
 Be still, you silly, 
 simpleton rout! 
 
 (Moon begins to set behind branches.) 
 There! Willy nilly, 
 your light goes out. 
 
 (Stage slozvly darkens.) 
 'T is only reflected 
 from yon high lamp. 
 
 (Points to last edge of moon.) 
 You saucy, affected, 
 twinkles of damp! 
 (The Droplets exeunt softly, the Drops taking their room in 
 
 the front of the stage.) 
 Blue Drop: Who be you to joy in evil — 
 
 uttering ugly words and rude? 
 Red Drop: Whom do we harm, if insooth v/e believe ill? 
 
 How jar we on your solitude? 
 Treetoad: Treetoad am I — a prophet uncouth, 
 on my crooked oak-limb asquat; 
 whence boldly I rouse the world to truth, 
 decreeing what is what — and not! 
 
 66 
 
For lo, I know of wind and rain, 
 long ages ere they blow and fall! 
 
 My trill and croak be oracles plain, 
 understood and dreaded of all! 
 
 {The Elm and the Beech, softly sii>ayi)ig, sing low the follow- 
 ing dirge.) 
 
 Elm: Lower and lower, slowly down 
 
 glides the silver glory. 
 Beech: Twinkle and shimmer in darkness drown, 
 
 all, all is transitory. 
 The Three Trees Together: 
 
 But moon goes forth, and stars come in; 
 
 awed we stand, beholding 
 the olden end, and the new begin; 
 fall followed of fresh unfolding. 
 
 Red Drop: You hear the speech 
 
 of Elm and Beech? 
 Violet Drop: Ay, soft aeolian tones. 
 Golden Drop: What wisdom strange, 
 
 of chance and change! 
 Blue Drop: What sorrowful, sweet moans! 
 Golden Drop: They know so much. 
 Blue Drop: The stars they touch. 
 Golden Drop: Their tops yet see the Moon. 
 Violet Drop : Long mosses grey 
 
 hang mistily, 
 
 and their branches vast festoon. 
 Green Drop: I tremble, aghast, 
 
 to mark how fast 
 
 our light hath dwindled pale. 
 Violet Drop: The Treetoad 's queer, 
 
 and cross — but a seer. 
 Red Drop : Soothsayings of ttimes fail. 
 Blue Drop: He's over glad ** 
 
 to tell the bad . . . 
 Golden Drop: and the truly-wise, methinks 
 
 make understood 
 
 the fair and the good . . . 
 
 67 
 
Blue Drop : they glimpse thro' the cracks and the clinks ! 
 
 Golden Drop: Ah, let us learn 
 
 from such to yearn 
 
 for all things good and fair. 
 
 Blue Drop: And calmly trust 
 new gladness must 
 come forth of our cark and care. 
 
 SCENE IX. THE TREETOAD 
 
 (A gauze curtain is dropped to dim the scene.) 
 
 The Dewdrops (szcayiug together, sing) : 
 
 Our love we are wont to croon 
 to the big, round, beautiful Moon 
 
 in the high and far away. 
 But quite is the splendor gone, 
 his halo of shine withdrawn, 
 
 while We — we stay, and stay. 
 
 Be the stars — our wonder and pride 
 our kinsfolk multiplied? 
 
 'T is to tell us: "All is well!" 
 Not ours the jealous plaint, 
 tho' feeble our gleam and faint, 
 
 and we fade invisible. 
 
 For the Wind of Death fierce blew; 
 wherefrom at length we knew 
 
 that life is more and more. 
 Be the light then less and less, 
 thro' dim and dark we guess 
 
 a Glory to adore. 
 
 Treetoad: O stupid rabble, 
 
 no knowledge, no wit! 
 Alone fool's babble 
 proves infinite! 
 
 68 
 
Your hope 's immodest, 
 your faith absurd, 
 
 your reasoning the oddest 
 the world has yet heard. 
 
 For what can continue 
 above you, below? 
 
 without you, within you? 
 What Cometh must go! 
 
 None ever returneth, 
 tho' others appear. 
 
 A fool, then, who yearneth 
 for more than is here. 
 
 But Dewdrop noddle 
 with thinking might ache! 
 
 So, a lie, dears, coddle 
 for phantasy sake. 
 
 Yet for worse, for better, 
 for better, for worse, 
 
 I will hold to the letter 
 and the spirit — I curse! 
 
 Green Drop: I knew our hymn 
 
 he would deride. 
 Red Drop: He's clammy and grim 
 
 and goggle-eyed. 
 Violet Drop: The godless wretch 
 
 doth pride exalt! 
 Green Drop: He'll find you, and fetch 
 
 a flaw, a fault . . . 
 Golden Drop : in starry dews 
 Blue Drop: and dewy stars, 
 
 Red Drop : the evil he pursues, 
 Golden Drop: and the perfect he mars. 
 
 69 
 
Treetoad: Ha, ha! You will cherish 
 a flattering lie? 
 "All, all must perish 
 save you and I?" 
 
 How strangely amusing 
 
 your cool conceit! 
 And your betters abusing, 
 
 what noble heat! 
 
 From fixed star and planet, 
 
 your pedigree 's proved? 
 Why not rather from granite, 
 
 by tempest unmoved? 
 
 The' the thought be distasteful— 
 
 a wicked doubt — 
 meseems — the world's wasteful 
 
 of dewdrops devout! 
 
 You think it should stick to 
 
 such miracles rare? 
 But — "mirabile dictu" — 
 
 it doesn't much care! 
 
 And why? There be plenty 
 
 to prance in your place. 
 So— "festina lente!"— 
 
 you '11 vanish apace. 
 
 The end of the story 
 
 the dewdrop-kind — 
 "memento mori" — 
 
 should keep it in mind! 
 
 Good-by, poor sillies, 
 
 your doom is foreshown; 
 and now my good will is, 
 
 to leave you alone! 
 
 (Exit Treetoad R.) 
 
 (The Dewdrops all faint away. Form in groups across stage. 
 Pause, with soft, dreamy music.) 
 70 
 
SCENE X. THE DAWN 
 
 (.Soft music.) 
 
 Violet Drop (tvaking) : 
 
 I shiver with strange cold 
 
 in fitful whiffs of air. 
 Green Drop (aroused and dazed; sitting up) : 
 
 No dewdrop twinkles and glisters? 
 
 Where be you, O my sisters? 
 Red Drop: The earth, it waxeth old, 
 
 the happy skies outwear. 
 Green Drop: The stars are fading dimmer 
 
 in a haze of mazy glimmer. 
 Violet Drop; Gone — gone! And unconsoled 
 
 we sorrow! — Where? Oh, where? 
 Golden Drop (sta)ids, hesitatingly) : 
 
 Maybe, tho' darkness hide them, 
 
 no evil doth betide them! 
 Blue Drop (rising, taken with the new suggestion) : 
 
 Sad converse sweet they hold? 
 
 As we, their wonder share? 
 (TJic rest of the Dezvdrops sloivly rise.) 
 Golden Drop (mysteriously) : 
 
 Ah, while they dim and darken — 
 
 th' hushed whisper within they hearken 
 Violet Drop (with awe) : 
 
 as nigher the feel, and the fold 
 
 of the dream-like slow despair! 
 (The Cockwren hops out from R down stage. The Dewdrops 
 start back in afright and gather in group at back of stage. 
 Their fear is soon overcome by the cheerful tones of the 
 Wren as he hops back to the hedge top.) 
 
 Cockwren (to his mate in the nest on the hedge) : 
 From the fairyland of sleep 
 awaken, O, awaken, 
 Puff-o-down, you and I! 
 From the nest-rim a peep, 
 
 fluflfed wing-feathers shaken — 
 then hop, flit and fly! 
 
 71 
 
Out-twitter we the chill 
 
 that the dawn-world numbeth, — 
 flutter and twitter away, 
 with expectance athrill, — 
 
 for He Cometh, He cometh 
 over dingle and brae. 
 
 Violet Drop: Who, sisters, cometh think you? Death? 
 
 that the wren on the hedge-top twittereth? 
 Green Drop: The Treetoad a doom of woe foretold. 
 Blue Drop: Is wisest he, who most liketh to scold? 
 Red Drop: Mayhap that cross-patch prophet erred! 
 Golden Drop: I am fain to believe the blithesome bird. 
 Violet Drop: So restless and eager, — can any be wise? 
 
 'T is surely Death shall awake and arise. 
 Green Drop: Ay, the stars be one by one extinct, 
 
 and our fate with the fate of them is linkt. 
 Violet Drop: No feigned hope, no craven dismay, — 
 
 Await we the mystery cold and grey. 
 
 The Wren (hopping about in great excitement) : 
 With dewdrops thickly 
 
 the world is sown. 
 He cometh quickly 
 from the golden Unknown 
 
 to quicken and gladden, 
 
 to kindle and warm; 
 with passion to madden, 
 
 with love to transform. 
 
 Violet Drop: 
 
 Green. Drop: 
 The Wren:. 
 Red Drop: 
 
 What rosy hues 
 the skies suffuse! 
 A veil withdrawn. 
 The Dawn! — the Dawn! 
 The marvel grows! 
 It flashes — it glows! 
 
 All the Drops: 
 
 The gloom undone — 
 the glory hath won! 
 
 72 
 
{The light grows on the stage.) 
 
 
 The Wren: The Sun- 
 
 
 All the Drops: the Sun? 
 
 
 The Wren: The Sun! 
 
 
 Red Drop: The blaze mounts higher. 
 
 
 The hedge is on fire! 
 
 
 Blue Drop: Hark fluty notes 
 
 
 from a myriad throats! 
 
 
 Golden Drop: The heaven aflare — 
 
 
 light everywhere! 
 
 
 {Bright light. All raise their anus and look upward in 
 
 wonder.) 
 
 The Wren: The Day, Sweetheart! 
 
 
 The Dewdrops: 
 
 
 The Day? 
 
 
 The Wren: The Day! 
 
 
 SCENE XI. THE RUBY-THROAT 
 
 
 {The Dewdrops blaze out in light thrown on their tinselled 
 costumes, and bcjezvcllcd little persons.) 
 
 Dewdrops: Glad amber, soft turkis, 
 shy amethyst, 
 gay emerald, clear topaz, — 
 tho' daughters of mist; 
 
 Brave diamond, bold ruby 
 
 in radiant array, 
 we thank thee, and worship 
 
 bright Sun-lord of Day! 
 
 {Ruby-throat enters from R. He flits in and out among the 
 Dewdrops.) 
 
 Ruby-Throat: As I hum and boom 
 from bloom to bloom, 
 still poised in air for greedy bliss, 
 the wind of my wings 
 a panic flings 
 'mong the dewy-clustered clematis. 
 
 73 
 
Ho! I chuckle at heart 
 
 as the Dewdrops start; 
 
 for the humming earth, 'mid-sky, like me, 
 
 hangs poised at the brink 
 
 of the Sun to drink 
 
 his heavenly honey of glamour and glee! 
 
 Red Drop: Lo, jack-in-the-pulpit, 
 
 and lady-smock fine, 
 Green Drop: Lo, larkspur, and foxglove, 
 
 and frail columbine, 
 Violet Drop: sweet-briar, honeysuckle, 
 
 Canterbury bells — 
 All Dewdrops: 
 
 What form and what color! 
 What sweet mingled smells! 
 Blue Drop: Yet, O Sun, thou art nowise 
 
 the King of the flowers; 
 Golden Drop: An infinite Dewdrop, 
 
 we know thou art Ours! 
 All: For do we not feel thee 
 
 updraw us to Thee? 
 and couldest thou draw us 
 wert Thou not as we? 
 Ruby-Throat (protesting in friendly fashion to the Deivdrops, 
 ivho are too much concerned with each other to heed him 
 greatly) : 
 
 I am Ruby-Throat 
 
 the Happy; 
 so my knowledge, 
 it is scrappy, — 
 got here a bit, 
 there a bit, — 
 and for better 
 
 I don't care a bit; 
 as I'm positive 
 
 the Sun, dears, 
 is a sunflower — 
 
 or there's none, dears! 
 
 74 
 
For the Sunflower 
 
 't is who told me — 
 don't be vexed, then, 
 
 and scold me! 
 I 'm a kindly 
 
 good fellow, — 
 but, you see, both — 
 
 are yellow! 
 Violet Drop (zuith a sense of impending doom) : 
 We brighten, but dwindle! 
 
 Shall this be the end? 
 
 Red Drop: To long for each other, 
 yet skyward ascend? 
 
 Blue Drop: In the heaven, O, Sun-drop 
 
 disperse us, and fuse 
 Green Drop: the many in one, Drop, 
 
 in thee. Lord of Dews! 
 
 Golden Drop (with the mystic emphasis of euthanasia) : 
 A vision hath come to me, 
 
 me, dullest and lowest! 
 I cried: "Be not dumb to me. 
 
 Speak, speak, if Thou knowest! 
 What meaneth the mystery? 
 
 we brighten, we enkindle, 
 to a glory, sun-glistery — 
 
 yet minish and dwindle?" 
 
 And the Vision — It smiled on me, 
 
 so gentle and tender! 
 "Hang lovingly, my child, on me, 
 
 thy whole self surrender; 
 and lo, thou art part of me, 
 
 updrawn and upholden, 
 in the veriest heart of me, 
 
 azure and golden!" 
 
 {The Dewdrops have listened in blissful elation to the vision. 
 They slowly vanish, by the drop of the Tableau Curtain.) 
 
 75 
 
SCENE XII. THE REQUIEM 
 
 {The forepart of the stage is slozvly heaped with petals that fall 
 as a snowstorm steadily to the end of the scene.) 
 
 The Dewdrops (unseen) : 
 
 Ha, we are not! 
 
 Others be. 
 But when were we 
 ever we? 
 
 And yet are we not 
 
 at last, 
 upvanished 
 
 in the vast? 
 
 Ha, the past is 
 
 forgot! 
 The future 
 
 is not! 
 
 For the Now is, 
 
 alone! 
 The Unseen! 
 
 The Unknown! 
 
 Oh, blessed be 
 
 the Dew, 
 born ever 
 
 anew, 
 
 downfallen 
 
 to ascend: 
 no beginning, 
 
 no end! 
 
 Soul-quiet 
 
 in the strife! 
 Death-rapture — 
 
 and Life! 
 
 76 
 
SCENE XIII. THE FAIRY QUEEN'S AFTERWORD 
 
 (The Tableau Curtain rises, disclosing the Fairy Queen with 
 Fays and Fairies C. stage. Grouped about her are all the 
 Characters of the drama, tJie Dewdrops being nearest her, in 
 a circle. She comes doivn stage, slozvly turning and waving 
 her wand. All except the Dewdrops slowly pass out R. 
 and L.) 
 
 Fairy Queen: Be any offended 
 
 at aught here heard? 
 Our Phantasy's ended; — 
 yet hearken, one word! 
 (Chorus playfully hush one another, and all the characters on 
 the stage.) 
 
 Dear folk, I would win you 
 
 this truth to believe: 
 the Dewdrops are in you 
 to your spirit they cleave. 
 
 Chorus (quite drolly didactical, zvith much stress) : 
 They are in you, ay, in you, 
 to your spirit they cleave. 
 
 Fairy Queen : I can see them atwinkle 
 
 tho' you (of course) can't 
 I can hear — tinkle, tinkle! 
 their crystalline chaunt. 
 Chorus (with motions of eager listening) : 
 
 We can hear — tinkle, tinkle, — 
 their crystalline chaunt. 
 
 (The Dewdrops wave their arms in rhythmic motion.) 
 
 Fairy Queen: Ho, the Dew, how it dances, 
 in heart and in mind; 
 in smiles and in glances, 
 now unseen, now divined! 
 
 (The Fays and Fairies follow the movements of the Queen.) 
 
 Fairy Queen : I am old, very old, yet 
 I 'm also a child ; 
 for my heart is not cold yet, 
 nor my spirit defiled! 
 
 77 
 
If the world tho' have hurt you, 
 
 I '11 bestead and befriend. 
 See, this Pansy hath virtue 
 
 your playthings to mend! 
 (The Queen holds out the pansy for all to view and the Chorus 
 mimick her motions.) 
 
 And youth? youth? What is it? 
 
 but the will to receive 
 the day-dreams that visit 
 
 the soul, — and, believe! 
 
 CURTAIN. 
 
 78 
 
SEWANEE LYRICS 
 
 AND KINDRED VERSE 
 
 THE REJECTED LOVER TO THE MOON 
 
 Dear Moon, so white, so swift, 
 
 that fliest from cloud to cloud 
 athwart each starry rift, — 
 
 how haughty and virgin-browed! 
 There clings about thy form 
 
 a circle of hallowed light. 
 It glides, and hides the swarm 
 
 of stars that would share thy flight. 
 
 Dear Moon, our hearts can ache, 
 
 or quiver with ecstasy. 
 Is thine too cold to break? 
 
 Too lonely in liberty? 
 No soul thy soul hath known 
 
 that lived to enrapture it? 
 For aye alone — alone — 
 
 athirst for the infinite? 
 
 The sky with clouds is strewn, 
 
 a sea with its isles asleep. 
 Thou sailest fast, dear Moon, — 
 
 thy love is across the deep! 
 But one whose life is wrecked 
 
 would rather believe thee cold, 
 unloving, unloved, erect — 
 
 a queen with her crown of gold! 
 
 79 
 
"HASHISH" 
 
 I. 
 
 THE CHOICE 
 
 Oh, weary of the westering sun, 
 
 of deserts reaching far away, 
 of roses that sicken one by one, 
 
 of thorns that quicken day by day; 
 may others for wealth and for honors wish; — 
 I cherish the dreams of the sweet hashish! 
 
 Methought new light shone in those eyes 
 whose lovely gleams the soul entrance; 
 
 and, making richer seas and skies 
 with blisses bewitch her, glance for glance; 
 
 may others for kisses and love-looks wish; — 
 
 I cherish the dreams of the sweet hashish! 
 
 They vaunt the pleasures of the cup 
 wherein the purple wine is poured, — 
 
 the spirit riseth up and up — 
 
 God's fire in their eyes is; life hath soared 
 
 above the blue noon of hope and wish; — 
 
 I cherish more fondly the sweet hashish. 
 
 Some whisper of joys that blot all care 
 for them who love the Koran's lore; — 
 
 voluptuous houris soothe them there 
 where ecstasy sure is, evermore 
 
 in the swoon undying or will and wish — 
 
 I cherish the dreams of my sweet hashish. 
 
 II. 
 
 THE TRANCE 
 
 Meseemed, as on a silken couch I lay, 
 
 that all had melted in the far-away 
 
 where nothing but my heart and peace were found. 
 
 And there were perfumes drowsing all around 
 
 in visible waves of sweetness, and there stole 
 
 mysterious music thro' and thro' the soul, 
 
 80 
 
till all was fresh and full of strength divine, 
 yet soothed to calm — such ecstasy was mine! 
 And as I lay I listened for those notes 
 quivering with tenderness, as tho' from throats 
 of nightingales among the full-leaved trees, 
 warbling athwart still amethystine seas. 
 And then medreamed, I was a beauteous Lake 
 sparkling for glory, whose smooth ripples break 
 in lines of light among the rushes dusk. 
 
 His bosom sheen unto the sky made bare — 
 He drew her downward to him debonair, 
 to mirroring deeps from her aerial height 
 in cloudy pure and azurous delight; 
 while leaving not her heavenly home above, 
 below She made him lovely with her love. 
 
 I was that Lake and mine its joyous thrill, 
 
 when over him in amorous self-will 
 
 the breeze blew orient bubble and pearly spray 
 
 to fairy foam in shimmery disarray. 
 
 I was that Lake whereon blithe sunbeams danced 
 
 in glassy stillness mazily entranced. 
 
 I was that Lake, and yet — he was not I. 
 
 Rapturous doubt! At once to live, and die: 
 
 tho' here, yet ever vaguely otherwhere, — 
 
 voluptuously aware and unaware. 
 
 Thus was I wooed and cradled to and fro 
 
 by dream-breathed beauty in listless ebb and flow: 
 
 nebulous fancies hither drifted still, 
 
 nowhither bound; — an inexhaustible 
 
 river of conscious mystery and sheen, 
 
 silvery weird and sunnily serene, — 
 
 star-shine and lullaby and balmy bloom, 
 
 hush, zephyrous twilight, and evasive gloom. 
 
 And ever, all meseemed there was — was I. . . . 
 
 even I — without, afar, — within, and nigh. — 
 
 8i 
 
Lo, where my Lake among the rushes lay 
 lapping along his marge, softly asway 
 upon the rippling heave, methought I saw 
 a golden star in snows that never thaw, 
 yet ever in the brooding sunbeams shine: — 
 a Lily afloat — virginity divine 
 unvisited by messengers of love, 
 by honey-bee or breeze. The skies above, 
 the skies within the Lake, smile both on her. 
 My Lily openeth and her petals stir 
 as the white wings of some enamored Dove, 
 and flutter till the skies below, above, 
 tremble with gladness. As I gazed and gazed, 
 another filmy veil of dream was raised. 
 My Lily and Dove became an innocent Maid, 
 in naught but heaven-lent loveliness arrayed! 
 There unabashed she stood so childish-pure 
 and smiled, and waded deeper, insecure, 
 thrilling me with a sweet desireless joy; 
 even me, the Lake, wherewith her fingers toy 
 how delicately! — do I live or die? 
 I am her Lake, scarce knowing I am I! 
 She stoops, and lo, a Dove with rosy feet 
 is flown to settle lightly as is meet 
 upon her shoulder meek; and she replies 
 with grateful happy radiance from dark eyes, 
 caressing with flushed cheek the cooing Dove, 
 till laugh the heaven below, the heaven above! 
 
 Ill 
 
 THE WAKING 
 
 List! V/oe is me — 
 sweet apparition stay, oh, stay, 
 bathe in that lake of my dreaming soul — 
 nestle dear Dove, in her bosom; — make whole 
 Ye pure and gentle, or utterly slay 
 
 the homesick and lost — woe 's me! 
 
 Dreams! — broken dreams! 
 Where now is the golden, the living Lake? 
 
 82 
 
Fainter and farther away it gleams — 
 melody, fragrance and quickening beams 
 a mist-like slow-fading illusion, forsake 
 my broken, my broken dreams! 
 
 Why, churlish world, 
 cruelly rush on the ravished brain? 
 Hast thou no awe of the heart, close-furled, 
 bliss-swathed — whose incense-fumes upcurled 
 flung on the wind of awakening pain, 
 
 vanish, — O hard, harsh world? 
 
 Dreams! — dearest dreams! 
 Why must ye die in a dream, less pure? 
 Waking we sleep, and asleep we awake .... 
 Maiden, and Dove, and opaHne Lake? — 
 O would that your bliss could forever endure, 
 
 my dearest, my dear, dear dreams! 
 
 A FEBRUARY DAY IN TENNESSEE 
 
 I lie among the yellow grasses, 
 
 so tall and dry; 
 and, as I lie, a cloudlet passes 
 
 athwart the sky. 
 
 'T is Hope alone as yet who dallies 
 
 from dell to dell, 
 and through the leafless garden-alleys 
 
 bids the buds swell. 
 
 But, as yon cloudlet flieth further, 
 
 evading view, 
 O where if ever, tell me, were there 
 
 such depths of blue! 
 
 Idly I snatch the wither'd grasses 
 
 by handful sheaves, 
 and twist them into arching masses 
 
 with shaggy eaves, 
 
 83 
 
and lo! a gothic baptistery: 
 
 four arches keen 
 of sunny gold, and with the very 
 
 blue sky between! 
 
 And so, I fall a-dreaming sweetly 
 
 of One — God knows . . . 
 (how should I name her indiscreetly — 
 
 my dev/y rose?) 
 
 Here have we been betroth'd and married, 
 
 and fast v/e fly 
 on wings of skyey genii carried, — 
 
 glad She and I. 
 
 Whither? Who asks in such still weather 
 
 if East or West? 
 So, Darling, we but fare together, 
 
 all ways be best! 
 
 What? but a day-dream? O dear grasses,— 
 
 alone, unwed? 
 I scan each cloudlet as it passes 
 
 high overhead . . . 
 
 bound for Love's mystical far Thule, 
 
 do they not seem? 
 O might I evermore — but truly 
 
 dream this one dream! 
 
 A RESPITE 
 
 Laughing I lay on a Summer's day, 
 
 bedded in blossoming grass; 
 and little, little did I think of Her! 
 
 Love is not all of life — ^alas! 
 
 'Would that it were, 
 
 'Would that it were! 
 
Oh! that we could be but understood; 
 
 bees must their honey amass 
 when skies are blue and grasses lightly stir. 
 
 Love is not all of life — alas! 
 
 'Would that it were, 
 
 'Would that it were! 
 
 Selfish the soul that from love-dreams stole, 
 
 watching the gay breeze pass 
 o'er ferns and flowers, but Oh! all things aver; 
 
 Love is not all of life — alas! 
 
 'Would that it were, 
 
 'Would that it were! 
 
 IN VAIN 
 
 A passer-by, a passer-by, 
 
 only a passer-by! 
 And I hoped to have thee always nigh, 
 to hear thee bid me live or die 
 for thee, for thee — but what was I? 
 
 Only a passer-by. 
 
 An idle dream, an idle dream, 
 only an idle dream! 
 For we meet to part, and when we seem 
 just near enough to kiss, the stream 
 will sweep us on, from dream to dream — 
 Only an idle dream! 
 
 O bitterness of bitterness, 
 
 bitterest " bitterness ! 
 That the heart should spend its tenderness, 
 and bless a heart that cannot bless, 
 and waste away, yet love no less — 
 
 Bitterest bitterness! 
 
 85 
 
CHERRY BLOOM 
 
 See! see the cherry-blossoms, spring's bee-laden snows 
 a-dancing on the merry breeze, in radiant orchard rows. 
 
 The robin, cheery red-breast, on the topmost spray, 
 is piping to the clear blue skies the rapture of the day. 
 
 The stream is trilling, grass-bound, filled full of silver showers, 
 impatient for the crocuses and summer's fragrant hours. 
 
 What soul is there could foster thoughts of sullen gloom 
 amid such joyous loveliness, such mirth of cherry-bloom? 
 
 Woe's me! a little maiden — no toys upon her bed, 
 
 her thin hands listless lying, and weary her drowsy head. 
 
 Among her yellow curls, scarce stirring in her breath, 
 shine gathered close the blossoms white, and this each blos- 
 som saith: — 
 
 " Upon thy snowy pillow, among thy yellow hair, 
 for thee we 're waiting, Sister-soul, with thee our heaven 
 to share. 
 
 "Oh! tell us, Darling, longer, much longer need we stay? 
 an angel brought us here to thee; come fly, come fly away!" 
 
 And see! the blossoms flutter 'gainst the window-pane, 
 
 and see the blessed sunbeams fall in showers of golden rain, 
 
 and see the pale lips parted, smiling sweet in death — 
 as tho' an angel kissed her mouth and kissed away her 
 breath, 
 
 and hear the cheery robin, the streamlet's lilted lay, 
 and hear the wails and stifled sobs! — hush! hear a mother 
 pray! 
 
 The earth her lap prepareth, dreaming o'er the dead. 
 Soon periwinkles white and blue will cover a little bed. 
 
 86 
 
NOX MYSTICA 
 
 Lo, the eager oaks their arms outfling 
 
 and capture a nook -of the cool night sky 
 
 wherethro' one star, like a startled thing, 
 peeps at our world as the clouds flit by. 
 
 The mocking-bird pipes thee a ditty, O star, 
 and spring's little leaves, astart with delight, 
 
 in the breeze to thy still blue home afar 
 like silvery birds are straining for flight. 
 
 Oh, our world it is lovely, and love here sweet, 
 and a joy spirit-sating this day-dream to live; 
 
 yet at times the brain throbs, and the pulses beat 
 as tho' heaven had withholden some gift it would give. 
 
 O star in beautiful peace afloat, 
 
 happy for fulness of scintillant mirth, 
 knowest thou — Thou from our passion remote — 
 
 what magic js lacking to enhalo the earth? 
 
 Or lacketh there naught save in me who complain, 
 who have sundered my heart from the bliss of the whole, 
 
 making 'mine' jar with 'thine,' and pleasure with pain, 
 and folly with wisdom, and body with soul? 
 
 O God, in a tract of soft still gloom 
 would I might burn like that star of thine — 
 
 filling with glory the infinite room, 
 
 shine on forever, and shine, and shine! 
 
 But the heart's prayer, fraught with ache of the sense, 
 it is not the soul's, Lo and hark, I have sinned. 
 
 For a mutter of thunder man knoweth not whence, 
 and the terrified leaves fold them tight in the wind! 
 
 Ah, rather than calm — for the truth would I yearn 
 for the truer on and on, the sore warfare within; 
 
 Ah, rather than joy in life's loveliness, learn 
 The lore of bereavement, of sorrow for sin. 
 
 87 
 
up in the cool clear sky, embrowed 
 
 of the shivering boughs a-drip with the rain, — 
 no change; but a vow of the spirit is vowed, 
 
 and sad is the loss, and sadder the gain. 
 
 For the mocking-bird pipeth no more as he lists, 
 and the little spring leaves hang down with the wet, 
 
 and the star — like a tear in God's eye — thro' thin mists 
 it trembleth — down-trembleth, and forever hath set 
 
 THE SOUL'S SANCTUARY 
 
 How often from the soul 
 in silent starlit meditative moments 
 
 there wells a spring of tears, 
 
 that murmurs in our ears, 
 and brings back music, fragrance of dead years — 
 Love's radiant robberies and sweet bestov/ments, 
 while faintly far-off bells of memory toll! 
 
 Then, in the twinkling net 
 of silver starbeams, are our senses tangled; 
 
 and eyes, long-dimmed for us, 
 
 grow kindly luminous, 
 and voices, silent long, sound tremulous — 
 so very near us, that our spirits, jangled, 
 to silver harmonies of- heaven are set. 
 
 What then is wistful-worst 
 of those scarce bearable vague recollections? 
 
 The restless bitter thought 
 
 of love that came to naught? 
 of sympathy so needed, yet unsought, 
 which we withheld? of hoarded-up affections 
 that might have fed a soul and stilled its thirst? 
 
 88 
 
O sacred impulses we quenched! 
 Our world receives, alas, too little kindness; 
 
 it hath such aching need, 
 
 so few its anguish heed, 
 its eyes that crave, its lips that dare not plead — 
 while full of joyous haste and selfish blindness, 
 the rich-in-love pass by with hands tight-clenched. 
 
 Nay, bitterer things there be 
 than sharp remorse for sympathy close-hidden! 
 
 The thought that side by side 
 
 we fared, yet dared to chide 
 whom most we might have heartened, had our pride 
 been of our better spirit to sweetness chidden; 
 and gone are they, and sadly wistful we! 
 
 Our lives re-echo still 
 to mourners' footsteps and to prayers ungranted. 
 
 Their altars — dark and cold! 
 
 Light-up sweet words untold, 
 kind deeds foregone, till the very dome of gold 
 glistens with stars, and the soul that sore hath panted 
 for hymns and service holy, have her fill! 
 
 UNDER THE STARS 
 
 Tell us, tell us, we beseech you 
 
 do You love us still? 
 Earth's mad cry, — speak, can it reach you 
 
 on heaven's shining hill? 
 
 O the Stars, lights of your city 
 burning in your streets, — 
 
 tell us. Friends, for old love's pity 
 if love's heart yet beats. 
 
 89 
 
Far forever must we linger, 
 
 hopelessly alone? 
 Point our way with spirit-finger 
 
 to your Land unknown! 
 
 " Not the old familiar places 
 
 haunt we still for you; 
 Not in far-ofF starry spaces 
 
 build we mansions new, 
 
 " Now, ah, now we see and hear you, 
 
 feel your joy and pain; 
 long to comfort, yearn to cheer you, 
 
 counsel and sustain. 
 
 " You it is who will not see us, 
 
 will not hear and touch; 
 still withdraw and fear and flee us — 
 
 lest we love too much? 
 
 " Deep within you blooms the garden 
 
 guirt of rivers four; 
 Strength and Troth and Faith and Pardon, 
 
 brimming evermore. 
 
 " Lo, the Tree of Life fast-rooting 
 
 in the midst thereof, — 
 myriad-budding, myriad-fruiting, 
 
 miracles of Love. 
 
 " Pomp of wealth, and proud achievement, 
 
 fame vainglorious — 
 none hath solace for bereavement. 
 
 Come within, — to Us!" 
 
 Tho' the stars, O dear Departed, 
 
 twinkle and believe. . . . 
 We alas, — dull, heavy-hearted — 
 
 doubt, and yearn, and grieve. 
 
 go 
 
LOVE IN HEAVEN 
 
 My God, my God, what shall I say of Thee, 
 •who madest man a marvel to himself? 
 Dumb, shall he gaze forever in Thy face 
 transfixed with wonderment and love of Thee? 
 Death into life — Thy smile is life and heaven! 
 Hate into love — Thy light obliterates all 
 that grows not infinite, divine and pure! 
 My God, my God, let me be always dumb! 
 
 Yet such annihilation is not meant 
 to be the close of this poor passion-hymn. 
 Thou wilt have service of us while we live 
 as well as worship, so we dare not die. 
 Somehow Thy love will temper for us then 
 the inconceivable splendor of Thy brow, 
 and soothe us with increasing sight of Thee 
 as holier we grow, and liker Thine. 
 
 Heaven is not meant to be the grave of man; 
 
 his love, if worthy of divine recall, 
 
 shall bloom once more, when he shall find sweet truth 
 
 in all the irrecoverable dreams 
 
 oi time, but every one transfigured, raised 
 
 on higher throne, shot through and through with light. 
 
 O God, let earth for me be what Thou wilt, 
 
 more than I lose I find again in Thee! 
 
 Here thwarted, there consoled; here grieved to death, 
 
 there flooded vdth delirious holy joy; 
 
 here parted from the things we cherish most, 
 
 there welded into one with what we love; 
 
 eternal Selfhood, everlasting God! 
 
 unbounded Passion, rich unhindered Rest! 
 
 O Earth, I take thee! Heaven at length will come, 
 
 and She I lose be found more fair in God! 
 
 91 
 
SONG AND COUNTERSONG 
 
 " When Love hath patted us by" 
 
 I. 
 
 SONG 
 
 The cornflowers thro' the wheat 
 
 beam sky-blue, and the poppies burn 
 
 in crimson joy; at every step we meet 
 
 some winsome petall'd friend from whom we learn 
 
 how fresh is life, and sweet! 
 
 Wherefore — the deeper sigh, 
 
 if Love, alas! if Love have passed us by! 
 
 Our life is not in vain? 
 
 The firmament hath stars for all 
 
 that flicker on; and every soul is fain 
 
 to know his own and scan them, lest they fall? 
 
 But pain, unmeasured pain 
 
 in tears may blot the sky 
 
 for some, alas! if Love have passed them by! 
 
 No good can life bequeathe; — < 
 
 beauty abideth with the dead, 
 
 and falsehood maketh thick the air we breathe. 
 
 True hearts will not be lightly comforted! 
 
 Beneath the flowers, beneath 
 
 is rest! Who would not die 
 
 if Love, alas, if Love had passed him by? 
 
 IL 
 
 COUNTERSONG 
 
 The world is hard and heartless, 
 
 blind to the pure and good? 
 
 Its lusts unsated ever, 
 
 we drudges given for wage no thing we would? 
 
 And so for hopeless hope we sigh? . . . 
 
 93 
 
And yet, ah, yet 
 
 why should one vainly fret, 
 
 aspire to aught, or aught of ill regret, 
 
 if he no angel of light have met — 
 
 if Love have passed him by? 
 
 Youth's ardent hopes extinguished, 
 
 ideals thrust aside — 
 
 marshalled in futile battle, 
 
 our faith down-cast, laid low our noble pride,- 
 
 that we may meekly learn to die? 
 
 And yet, ah, yet 
 
 Despair may strength beget; 
 
 angelic sword in hand, our face We set 
 
 against the dragon's guile and threat — 
 
 if Love have passed us by — 
 
 if Love have passed us by! 
 
 SYMPATHETIC MUSIC 
 
 Breath-seizing, irresistible delight! 
 
 O Singer sweet and pure, 
 beneath the dartling stars thy magic might 
 
 who could for long endure? 
 
 Those tensest strings to skill'd white fingers yield 
 
 their plaintive spirit-wails, 
 till half our sorest sorrowing is healed, 
 
 wafted to Dreamland vales: 
 
 trippings of children's rosy feet, light, gay, 
 
 down silver stairs of sound; 
 sobbings of love, unanswered, far away, 
 
 of yearning heavenward bound; 
 
 dark reachings for a music still more sweet, 
 
 with aching heart astrain; , 
 delicious dyings at beloved feet — 
 
 intensest, dearest pain; 
 
 93 
 
soft, soul-seducing harmonies that make 
 
 delirious fancies come, 
 and, ere their azure-winged flight they take, 
 
 with bliss the heart benumb; — 
 
 Oh! I have listen'd till the Past hath seem'd 
 
 chang'd in all bitter things; 
 till in the bitterness of bliss I dream'd 
 
 that love no sorrow brings. 
 
 Then notes fell thick in pearly rain, like tears, 
 
 and lay like gracious dew 
 Among the thirsting flow'rs — thought dead 
 long years — 
 
 and lo! they bloom'd anew! 
 
 DIRGE 
 
 <From "Love Conqaereth") 
 
 Drift, drift away — 
 
 none knoweth v«^hither bound. 
 Thy hand upon the river lay, 
 
 sweet Love, and stay its sound. 
 The water-lilies sleep, 
 
 the meadows dream, 
 the silver willows weep 
 
 beside the stream — 
 past, past the steeple in the twilight gray — 
 
 drift, drift away! 
 
 Flow, flow along, 
 
 thou deepening River, go 
 
 in silent majesty, thy song 
 sung under breath and slow. 
 
 The shores fast widen, fade, 
 and leave Thee free; 
 
 into the night flow unafraid, 
 into the sea — 
 far, far, to where the waves are long and strong- 
 flow, flow along! 
 
 94 
 
CALLED FROM THE SHEEP-COTES 
 
 Love? I know him with his golden curls, 
 
 and his lustrous diadem of light 
 circling brows that glow, like some pure girl's, 
 
 with a purity all white. 
 
 Simple his garb, though knowing God's great choice, 
 serious ways that speak of high desires, 
 
 eyes uplifted, fervid tones of voice 
 sweeter than his quivering lyre's. 
 
 Shall I trust him when some later day, 
 sceptered, seated on his splendid throne 
 
 crowned a King — to be unchanged for aye, 
 just the same my soul hath known? 
 
 Will he then be generous and true, 
 still have eyes as mild and clear as now, 
 
 hand as gentle, firm, and open too, 
 when the crown hath bound his brow? 
 
 Ask not! Place in faith the precious crown — 
 
 place it proudly on his sacred head. 
 Having worn it, could he cast it down? 
 
 Leave his throne — through mire to tread? 
 
 PALMISTRY 
 
 Little hand, let me look at its lines — 
 I can read it, I know, to-day. 
 
 Let me hold it: too brightly it shines, 
 I must read it some other way. 
 
 Let me rivet it tightly to mine — 
 
 't is the same that last night I kissed. 
 
 Let them lie in your lap. I '11 divine 
 palm to palm, thus, and wrist to wrist. 
 
 95 
 
V/hat I learn? I can't tell you. Your eyes 
 but repeat what the pulse just said: — 
 
 I have learn'd all I want, and am wise, — 
 and none shall know what I 've read. 
 
 NOCTURNE 
 
 Evening hath come, mystery-fraught, 
 stilling the feverous pulses of thought. 
 Darling, I pray — often thou cheatest 
 
 Time of his minutes that silently fly — 
 sing me a song, sing me thy sweetest! 
 
 hearts will ache they know not why — 
 
 ache — I know not why. 
 
 Life is a void, lonely and black; 
 lasts but a moment the meteor's track; 
 all that we do, all that we suffer, 
 
 lost in the gloom of a desolate sky! 
 But for thy songs seas had been rougher — 
 
 sing then. Darling; sing, nor sigh 
 
 seeing daylight die! 
 
 Visions of strength, visions of peace, 
 visions of love when our sorrow shall cease; 
 visions of faith, visions of splendor, 
 
 all, indistinct, in the twilight flit by. 
 Give me thy hand, gentle and tender; 
 
 Darling, sing! . . ..They all draw nigh — 
 
 sing, and heaven is nigh! 
 
 TWIN DEWDROPS 
 
 Twin rose-buds, side by side, 
 
 on each a ruby drop afire. 
 Longing for love in one to glide, 
 
 poor dewdrops! Who will bring them nigher? 
 
 96 
 
Between, a chasm how deep! 
 
 The spears of grass below, how far! 
 Nay, can they risk the awful leap? 
 
 Befriend them, breeze! take star to star! 
 
 Alas, no wind v/ill blow, 
 
 no help can come, — and love is pain! 
 Forth, must they, passion-burning, throw 
 
 their shivered light of love in vain? 
 
 Too rich to prize each gem, 
 
 (His sun looks down with greedy heat — ) 
 hath God then need to pity them? 
 
 No more athwart the gap they greet. 
 
 Dear vanished drops of dew! . . . 
 
 What say ye? Have ye met, and kissed? 
 Ah! death at last united you; 
 
 God gathering botli in one v/hite mist? 
 
 FROST-WORK 
 
 'T was a chill, chill night, and my Love slept fast, 
 
 on her warm, soft couch asleep — 
 and a lovelorn glance at her bedside cast, 
 
 I did steal tiptoe to peep 
 thro' the moonlit window with woodbine hung, 
 
 which in spring blooms rich, but now 
 with its close-twin'd twigs, that their fretwork flung 
 
 on the panes, seem'd sad, somehow. 
 
 It was still. Th' tree-tops in their ice-mail shone, 
 
 and the ground crispt hard and keen, 
 and the stars got cold as the hours crept on, 
 
 and the tired moon drows'd between 
 indistinct blue hills. So I pray'd friend Frost, 
 
 as my soul breath'd warm good-bys, 
 for my own sweet Love, who in sleep lay lost, 
 
 to record Love's hallowed sighs. 
 
 97 
 
Then I stole forth sure that she soon must know 
 
 how I watcht all night anear — 
 nor disturb'd glad dreams as the moon set slow, 
 
 and the stars droopt 'reft of cheer. 
 Ere the day dawn'd fully a sunbeam sought 
 
 from her eyelids sleep to shame — 
 for the hoar panes glister'd where Frost's skill wrought 
 
 in a fern-frond wreath my name! 
 
 AFTER TEARS 
 
 When the rain-drops shiver in tree-tops high, 
 and glisten and twinkle, now crimson, now gold; 
 
 and the green grass glows as a star-strown sky, 
 whose webs are heavy with wealth untold; 
 
 with a glad quick chirp, or a sweet long cheep, 
 when birds have begun to flutter and hop; 
 
 and the bright twigs, startled from day-dreams deep, 
 in panic sudden, their treasures drop; 
 
 when at wayward intervals clear loud notes 
 go cleaving with gladness the hush of the air; 
 
 when, the rent clouds drifted away, earth floats 
 in sight of heaven — bid good-by to Care! 
 
 We will fling wide windows and doors — ask in 
 the breeze that is longing to visit us. Dear; 
 
 and the sweetheart blossoms that fain would win 
 (your honeysuckles) a welcome here! 
 
 Let us lean close, Darling! Let cheek touch cheek, 
 let hand be in hand as though never to part. 
 
 Let us breathe life's fulness — and no word speak — 
 just feel Love knitting us heart to heart! 
 
 98 
 
A SEWANEE IDYL 
 
 Warm shone the sun. Airs rare and rich 
 to drink in deep, blew free and fresh; 
 for earth and sky did June bewitch, 
 bewildering spirit and flesh. 
 
 Like dawn-flushed clouds the azaleas rose: 
 like snowdrifts banked — their blossom-mounds. 
 What hum and drone and flutter and doze 
 and flurry of elfin rounds! 
 
 And all about, on tiptoe, stood 
 (unwitting lovers to espy) 
 wee blithesome gossips of the wood — 
 peaked ear and eager eye. 
 
 Winsome, tho' unabashed and pert, 
 some wagged, some winked, some nimbly leapt 
 o'er the curtseying grass when the sunbright skirt 
 foreby them breezily swept. 
 
 The path its golden miles unwound, 
 till sudden, — the rocky mountain-edge! 
 A spring quick-pattered, valley-bound, 
 from ferny ledge to ledge. 
 
 And far to plainward long they gazed 
 on checkered greens and browns forth-spread 
 to where bloom-ridges violet-hazed, 
 but never word they said. 
 
 And lo, beneath them, fathoms down, 
 there circled dots of living light 
 atwinkle now o'er green and brown, 
 now blurring out of sight. 
 
 They watched those happy whirling folk 
 in skies below their heavenlier earth, 
 till silence in light laughter broke 
 for happy-hearted mirth. 
 
 99 
 
 L Of C. 
 
Oh, blessed long-gone summer days — 
 alone together — the quiver and hush 
 of noon — the wistful warm delays — 
 the thrill of hermit-thrush — 
 
 intimate converse, soul and soul, — 
 marvel of meanings yet unguessed, . . 
 and unawares her shy hand stole 
 in his for breathless rest! 
 
 Close mystic look, all-hallowed touch, 
 and love's transfiguring first kiss, — 
 Ah, who may tell the tale of such 
 eternities of bliss? 
 
 Again and yet again they go 
 that self-same bloomy woodland way, 
 nor ever end shall either know 
 of that high holiday. 
 
 REPARTEE IN THE PARK 
 
 " Brush the cobwebs from my brain? ' 
 No sir, thank you, no sir! 
 They would rouse far less disdain 
 dared you scan them closer. 
 
 See, the cobwebs on the grass? — 
 th' mossy cherub statue, 
 dewdrop-laden, as you pass 
 dartling starrily at you? 
 
 So the cobwebs in my brain 
 sparks of fancy spatter. — 
 What tho' wagtails waggle inane? 
 What tho' magpies chatter? 
 
 Cobwebs too be spun to snare 
 gnats that plague and pester? 
 Nay, Sir Schoolman, you we 'd spare. 
 Ho for the May-queen's jester! 
 
FIVE SONGS FROM "SIGURD" 
 
 I. 
 
 SIGURD'S PLEDGE 
 
 Up-leapeth the heart's desire 
 to westward, to seaward: 
 
 O Maid of the wavering fire, 
 to restward, to thee- ward! 
 
 To the bliss of love's infinite pain, 
 the anguish oblivion assuageth not,- 
 
 to the dregs the mystical wine 
 I drain, — 
 
 ever-living, human, divine 
 
 glorious woman that ageth not! 
 
 For of love is my heart fulfilled, 
 and to westward, to seaward, 
 
 fain would I fare forth, Brynhild, 
 to restward, to thee-ward! 
 
 II. 
 
 GRIMHILD'S ENCHANTMENT OF SIGURD 
 
 Out of the dark 
 climbeth the sun. 
 Hark, hark, 
 the night is done. 
 High leaps the lark, 
 and the heaven is won. 
 
 In the sweet-breathed mom 
 
 be flowers bedewed. 
 
 Love is reborn; 
 
 Hope is renewed, 
 
 and the soul hath foresworn 
 
 her solitude. 
 
 lOI 
 
Who draweth near 
 for passion and mirth? 
 Shamefast her cheer, 
 and winsome her worth? 
 Behold she is here — 
 mere maiden of earth. 
 
 The spell is broke. 
 
 Thy woe hath fled. 
 
 And joy I invoke 
 
 on thy hallowed head. 
 
 Awake, as awoke 
 
 the day from the dead! 
 
 III. 
 
 THE SPELL SONG BY BRYNHILD'S HOLD 
 
 Hand in hand, 
 eye in eye, 
 together we stand 
 to live and to die. 
 
 Heart in heart, 
 soul in soul, — 
 weld part to part 
 in the holier whole! 
 
 Gunnar the swart, — 
 Sigurd the golden, — 
 to further or thwart 
 close-enfolden and holden. 
 
 Far, waxeth to nigh; 
 wont, waneth to strange. 
 I am thou, thou art I 
 in the awe of the change. 
 
IV. 
 
 THE BALDUR DIRGE 
 
 Ah, the sweet young death — 
 
 tear-dewed as the rose, 
 yea, and fragrant of fame his wafted breath, 
 
 whiles the cool wind blows. 
 
 Seven days, seven nights 
 
 hath Baldur the Beautiful slept; 
 but none was found v/ho hath power, woe 's me, 
 to awake him! 
 
 Seven days, seven nights 
 
 a grievous watch we have kept. 
 Who in earth, who in heaven hath heart, — 
 so fair, — to forsake him? 
 
 Seven days, seven nights 
 
 have the Gods in Godhome wept, 
 or ere to the bale fire, with Nanda, his love, 
 they take him. 
 
 Ha, the broad, the free flare 
 
 of the dawn glov/-barred ! 
 Boughs leap to the light in the song-thrilled air. 
 
 Is Death cruel and hard? 
 
 V. 
 
 GUDRUN'S BLOOD-WITE 
 
 Hath Brynhild ravished my place 
 
 in the bale-fire's flames? 
 Yet 't is I, even I, Gudrun shall efface 
 
 in blood our shames. 
 
 Lo, and hark! A Hunnish hall — 
 
 and for help men cry; 
 the walls thereof bow them, the gables down fall, 
 
 and in anguish — ye die! 
 
 103 
 
The Niblung house, and the hoard, 
 
 our Kingfolk, and land: — 
 ashes and smoke before Sigurd my lord 
 
 for the bale-fire's brand! 
 
 Thine heart for naught didst thou pierce! 
 
 Shall He love thee the more — 
 or the storm that roareth pitiless, fierce, 
 
 with welter of gore? 
 
 RIME OF THE WICKED BIRDS IN JUNE 
 
 My heart is light 
 
 with the joy of June, 
 
 light with the hopes of the morning. 
 Bright 
 
 was the night, 
 ' and gay 
 
 the day. 
 So, comrades dear, take warning! 
 
 Slowly swells the mermaid-song, 
 
 languid movement, rich delight, — 
 
 grace and glory glide along, 
 
 rainbow-beauty, softly bright. 
 Ho! for a toss of the bacchant's locks! 
 
 arm in arm, and the dance-wave rocks: 
 soul with soul, we defy earth's sway — 
 
 a wing-beat strong 
 
 ere we float along 
 
 o'er waves that play 
 
 in golden day — 
 smile meets smile, while I (and She) 
 
 caught in a world of mermaid glee, 
 
 free on the rhythm to far realms flee, 
 
 where the spirit would stay 
 
 for aye! 
 
 104 
 
Then, the dance was over, friends, 
 
 A gurgle of laughter breathless — 
 
 the sweetest of hours too early ends, 
 
 but the joy of the soul is deathless! 
 We slipped together 
 
 out of the hall, 
 
 and no one missed us 
 
 in the chatter of all. 
 Through aisles of elms 
 
 to silvery realms 
 
 that melted in heavenly vistas, 
 
 on, on we roamed 
 
 through the gloom of the trees, 
 
 where the fountain foamed 
 
 like magical seas 
 
 in the crystalline glare of the moon; 
 the fiowers about us, fresh and sweet, 
 
 (expressly come 
 
 to be witnesses dumb 
 
 of human bliss complete) 
 
 nodded, I think, 
 
 and dared to wink. 
 Yet there we rested, 
 
 laughed and jested, 
 
 hoped that "the day would n't dawn too soon," 
 
 peered at the "queer dear face of the moon," 
 
 heard the fountain's tinkle and sputter, 
 
 heard the leaves in the full breeze flutter; 
 
 till cool, and scent, and young life's merriment 
 
 beguiled us to venture an odd experiment: 
 hand in hand, before we knew, — 
 
 lips found lips, though none had taught us. 
 
 Who was there but the moon to view 
 
 how Love in his sweet snare caught us? 
 
 A foot-step fell! 
 we rose in terror. 
 'Twas nobody. Well? 
 An evident error. 
 
 105 
 
Ashamed of what? 
 
 'T was Love's own plot. 
 
 Yet, mutely went we back, 
 
 the sky o'er-clouded, sullen and black. 
 And she left me alone 
 
 at the door of the hall; 
 
 with a cousin I hated 
 
 she flitted away, 
 
 away in the fated 
 
 crazed swirl of the fray. 
 Yes, left me alone 
 
 at the door of the hall! 
 
 not a look to atone 
 
 for desertion; 
 
 no call that was audible, 
 
 beck that was visible! 
 Motives, no doubt, if you heard her version, 
 
 maidenly motives most laudable — 
 
 but oh, my heart's plight 
 
 on that mad June night 
 
 seemed bitterly, bitterly risible! 
 
 But my moonlight queen — 
 
 was not 
 
 forgot. 
 What was it, oh, what 
 
 that had slipped between? 
 One kiss — the first 
 
 from the lips of a girl 
 
 that I got by theft not right — 
 
 was that what had curst 
 
 our poem of pearl, 
 eclipsing its silver- white light? 
 
 At length we met — 
 became good friends; 
 but no word of our night of June 
 as yet — 
 
 io6 
 
though who could believe 
 
 a soul might forget 
 
 that fountain's tinkle, that "queer dear moon"? 
 believe that love thus ends 
 
 mere "friends"? 
 
 that Love can perish so soon? 
 
 One day we strolled, a year from then 
 
 in the woods together, 
 
 dreamy again, 
 
 as still as the warm-cool weather. 
 The friars 
 
 of the wood's 
 
 imp-brotherhoods, 
 
 they stung me like briers 
 
 those gnomes of the woods; 
 till I fervently prayed 
 
 as we " gaed and gaed " 
 
 that her thoughts might be gone too far 
 
 to take note of the scoff 
 
 of the gnomes that would doff 
 
 their caps where the mad bells are; 
 how my blood danced, tingled 
 
 as their foolscaps jingled, 
 
 lest such mock-bows all might mar! 
 
 — " You will make my proud queen blush, 
 
 O gnomes! 
 
 Away, hide, hush 
 
 in your bowery homes!" 
 In vain, in vain I cried 
 
 and sighed. 
 
 — " You see?" — " You see?" — from the woods 
 it came. 
 
 — "Who?" — "Who?" — in a quavering tone replied. 
 
 — " She 's fooling you!" — " She 's fooling you!" 
 
 My hot heart burst aflame. 
 —"Too pure!"— "Too demure!" 
 
 — "Who? Will she be your . . . 
 
 " Your own, own Sweet?" 
 
 107 
 
My agony grew. 
 — " She fooling you!" 
 
 — " Who?"— " Who?" they repeat: 
 
 — " She fooling you!" 
 
 —"Too true!" 
 
 they whistled, 
 
 —"Too true!" 
 
 — " We too!" 
 A pause! ... I stole 
 
 a look at her face, 
 
 and saw her soul 
 
 with its angel grace. 
 — " Oh, will she be yours — 
 
 your own, own Sweet?" 
 
 — " Oh, will she be yours " — 
 
 that catch they repeat. 
 For my soul "too pure" — 
 
 yet who could endure 
 
 such agony longer 
 
 or stronger? 
 So I fell at her feet — 
 
 cried: — "Will . . . will you be 
 
 my own, own queen forever?" 
 — " You see?"—" You see?" 
 
 From the woodland green 
 
 how they mocked m5' cramped endeavor! 
 
 Yet the rest 
 
 were best 
 
 hushed tight 
 
 for aye; 
 since my heart is light 
 
 with the joy of June, 
 
 light with the bliss of living! 
 Bright 
 
 is the night, 
 
 and gay 
 
 the day. 
 
 io8 
 
And my heart 
 
 to the gnomes 
 
 of woodland homes 
 in part 
 
 I '11 say, 
 
 is forgiving! 
 
 MOLLY, MAY, AND DOLLY UP THE GLEN 
 
 I. 
 
 Titter, 
 
 tinkle 
 down in a dusky cleft. 
 
 Glitter, 
 
 twinkle. 
 Shiver and sprinkle 
 
 diamond spray 
 
 to right or left 
 
 on the wind away 
 careless of loan and theft; 
 on flowers that assemble 
 
 for a chance 
 
 to dance 
 
 near the edges; 
 on fern-fronds that tremble 
 
 all day 
 
 in dismay 
 
 as they peep 
 
 down deep 
 
 steep 
 slippery vertiginous ledges. 
 
 IL 
 
 Now come, 
 
 be dumb. 
 Lie still in that pool 
 clear, quiet, and cool, 
 under arches of mountain laurel; 
 
 log 
 
for each bloom is a bell 
 oddly stiff, without smell, 
 but of beautiful white or pink coral. 
 
 III. 
 
 Little Pool, 
 you 're coquettish 
 and prettily pettish, 
 
 freckled 
 with blotches of golden sun, 
 
 speckled 
 with bloomdust, foamy with fun. 
 
 Are you vain, 
 
 little Pool, 
 of your primness? 
 
 Explain, 
 
 little fool, 
 
 without playmate 
 
 how came it 
 you hid, little Pool, 
 
 in the cool, 
 
 little fool, 
 
 in the cool, 
 
 little Pool, 
 and the dimness? 
 
 For who '11, 
 
 little Pool, 
 
 say who '11, 
 
 little fool, 
 in this lonely glen 
 
 ever find you, 
 or when 
 he has found you out, mind you 
 
 and find you 
 again? 
 
 in the cool, 
 
 little Pool, 
 
in the cool, 
 little fool, 
 in the cool, 
 little Pool, 
 and the dimness? 
 
 IV. 
 
 Wrinkled 
 with worry? 
 for whom, say whom? 
 The wind, in a flurry 
 was rough, 
 in a huff, 
 and sprinkled 
 your lap full of bloom? 
 The bushes were shaken, 
 the blossoms fell, — 
 and the wind has taken 
 
 a rude farewell? 
 Yes, the wind was rough, 
 in a pet, and a huff, 
 so 
 he shook 
 down 
 the blossoms, and look! 
 
 Down, 
 away goes a fleet 
 
 of blossomy ships, 
 that circle and meet 
 as the current slips; 
 Ho! 
 that 's 
 where the gnats 
 go 
 cruising. 
 'T is Xerxes again 
 his millions of men 
 on the coasts of Attica losing! 
 
O the jolly 
 holi- 
 day! 
 Madcap Molly, 
 Dolly, 
 and May, 
 have completely forgot you 
 
 already 
 for the blossoms that dot you 
 and eddy, 
 little Pool, 
 in your waters cool. 
 I 've an inkling — 
 
 unafraid, 
 in a twinkling, 
 they '11 wade 
 and spatter 
 the spray 
 in their eyes; 
 and the fleet . 
 
 of bloom 
 will retreat, 
 and make room, — 
 nay, 
 scatter 
 pell- 
 mell 
 if wise. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Not 
 a moment to lose. 
 Dresses tucked 
 up, 
 and shoes 
 
 112 
 
on the spot 
 
 unlaced, 
 stockings stripped 
 in hot 
 haste, 
 willy- 
 nilly, 
 O me! 
 Courage plucked 
 up, 
 and dipped 
 are four sweet 
 little feet, 
 slap-dash 
 with a splash 
 in your waters clear, chilly, 
 to ankle and knee. 
 
 See . . . 
 The ships one and all 
 wheel away 
 in the spray, 
 where the fleet 
 of their foes 
 they meet 
 (who knows?) 
 or are wrecked 
 I expect, 
 at the fall. 
 
 VII. 
 
 Under the laurel 
 
 sits 
 
 Dolly— 
 stiflF, prim, 
 at the sparkling water's brink: 
 " It can't be moral, 
 
 it's 
 
 folly, 
 
 "3 
 
mad 
 whim, 
 bad 
 form to wade, I think 
 in a pool that 's freckled 
 with blotches 
 of sun, 
 speckled 
 with bloomdust and foamy with fun." 
 So, under the laurel 
 
 Dolly 
 watches and watches 
 (while blossom-rains reckless 
 make her a necklace 
 of white and pink 
 coral) 
 and Molly 
 she watches, 
 and May she watches, 
 do — things that should never be done. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 On my word! 
 There 's a bird 
 comes hop-hop to her side: — 
 " I 'm eager, dear Madam, 
 
 to win me a bride, 
 as all men since Adam 
 of spirit and pride. 
 It surely won't hurt, 
 while May 
 and Molly 
 wade 
 for us two to flirt 
 in the gay 
 laurel-shade. 
 You are pretty. 
 Miss Dolly, — 
 
 114 
 
I 'm witty 
 and pert: 
 so a marriage, I think, 
 
 might be made. 
 Water 's my drink. 
 I dare 
 to assert 
 I am sober, fair- 
 minded and staid. 
 As I live, 
 I can't give 
 you. Miss Dolly, a ring; 
 but you know 
 I 'm a beau, 
 and just hear how I sing. 
 I 'm a catch — 
 for I snatch 
 with my beautiful bill 
 a worm! 
 (See him squirm.) 
 Come, Miss Doll, say 'I will,' 
 then I '11 build you a nest 
 of the neatest and best, 
 and of worms I shall see that you have 
 your sweet fill." 
 
 She is playing. Aunt Bess, 
 so 
 I know 
 She'll say "Yes!!!" 
 I guess 
 she 
 is willing. 
 Sir 
 Robin is wooing. 
 
 (Don't stir.) 
 They are billing, — 
 
 "5 
 
see, 
 
 billing 
 and "cooing. 
 
 Ha, ha, but it *s only the dream 
 Dolly dreamed in the laurel-shade. 
 
 And she 's waked by a laughter scream 
 of Molly — poor lonely old maid! 
 
 IX. 
 " O dear 
 little Pool, 
 in the glen 
 clear, 
 cool — 
 O when 
 shall we 
 
 see 
 you again? 
 Freckled 
 with blotches of golden sun, 
 
 speckled 
 with bloomdust, foamy with fun. 
 You 've made us so jolly," 
 cry gay 
 May 
 and Molly. 
 *' We 're ever so glad that we 've met you. 
 But who '11, 
 Uttle Pool, 
 say who '11, 
 little fool, 
 v/ith blossoming laurels around you, 
 O who '11, 
 little Pool, 
 who '11, who '11, 
 Httle fool, 
 forget you 
 who once has found you?" 
 
 ii6 
 
" No, we '11 never, never forget you. 
 We are ever so happy we met you. 
 We 've had 
 
 a good time 
 and will end 
 
 this Rime ... 
 O the bad 
 wind, Miss Doll, to upset you! 
 But he did n't intend, 
 you know, to offend — 
 nor even to tease you or fret you. 
 And we both have to thank 
 you because on the bank 
 you watched our stockings and shoes. 
 But you 're crosser and stiffer 
 than Aunt, when we differ 
 from some of her "proper views." 
 So Miss Dolly Dot 
 from France, 
 we daren't coax or pet you; 
 and you 're not 
 quite 
 polite 
 to refuse 
 
 thus 
 
 to excuse 
 
 us — 
 
 seeing only by chance 
 
 'tis we've wet you! 
 
 117 
 
HIGH IN THE COLORADO ROCKIES 
 
 A PHANTASY 
 
 " Alas, the fancy cannot cheat so well, 
 As she is famed to do, deceiving Elf I" — Keats. 
 
 THE MOUNTAIN PARK 
 
 Ha! the little aspenwood 
 twinkling, merrily twinkling 
 
 in the golden sun; 
 with never a wiseacre inkling 
 
 there 's aught in the world to be done: 
 for life — 't is so blessedly good 
 to a gleeful little aspenwood 
 twinkling, twinkling. 
 
 Ha! the madcap mountain brook 
 flashing, splashing uproarious 
 
 under blue spruce and pine; — 
 Forever the sun, victorious, 
 
 changeth water to sparkling wine; 
 so he drinketh in a dewy nook 
 of his own changed self, the brook, 
 drunken-glorious. . . . 
 
 Ha! the peaks of jagged rocks 
 skirted with granite drapery 
 
 of the landslide red, 
 scaled by the agile and tapery 
 forest which knoweth no dread 
 of th' tempest's glary locks 
 that enmantle the sunsmit rocks 
 with splendors vapory! 
 
 11. 
 
 THE CABIN 
 
 And near the little aspenwood atwinkle, atwinkle 
 under the beetling crags, 
 by the brook with its hurdygurdy roars, its 
 sturdy, wordy brags, 
 
 ii8 
 
its harmonic tinkle-tinkle 
 where it boisterously lags: 
 
 What clumps of the columbine, 
 
 scores and scores, — 
 
 each a stately fairy grove; 
 
 their fivefold horns of plenty, fashioned fine, 
 
 white 
 
 and mauve; 
 
 (Bells to peal the froUc pieties 
 
 of sunbright butterflies in bridal flight 
 
 to a dizzy azure height.) 
 
 What fragrant cyclamen, in moist societies 
 
 mossy-shod, purplish-crimson, 
 
 the water, aswirl, spray-spattering over-brims on! 
 
 What hosts cerulean of the penstemon arrayed 
 
 from the ruddy roots of the defiant 
 
 giant 
 
 pine, 
 
 up the slope in sun and shade; — 
 
 like a tract of clear noonsky it is, 
 
 reflected in a cool 
 
 grass-bordered pool. 
 
 What strawberry bloom hoar-frosts the ground, 
 
 to stretch the laggard limbs on, 
 
 while the soul reposes 
 
 in the balmy heat, 
 
 day-dreaming out an aerial Shelleyan song, 
 
 a sensuous Keatsian ode. 
 What bearberry bushes blossom-snowed; — 
 and everywhere brier roses, 
 heavenly-sweet, 
 brier-roses, brier-roses! 
 
 And near the little aspenwood atwinkle, atwinkle 
 
 under the beetling crags, 
 
 by the brook with its hurdygurdy roars, its 
 
 sturdy wordy brags, 
 its harmonic tinkle-tinkle 
 where it boisterously lags: 
 
 119 
 
nestled in the coziest 
 
 of dingles, 
 
 where roses be the rosiest, 
 
 jaunty with green-stained shingles, 
 
 perks alone 
 
 the log cabin; its chimney of rude stone 
 
 since day 
 
 broke, 
 
 bannered gay 
 
 with turquoise smoke. 
 
 Yet, not alone, for the cows 
 
 with steaming muzzles, leisurely stray, 
 
 the while they browse 
 
 and look wise 
 
 as their world-old wont and use is; 
 
 and the crested mountain-jay, 
 
 a sapphire flash, screeching flies 
 
 to the twilight silver spruces; 
 
 and the rabble, 
 
 gobble-gabble 
 
 of the 'pies, 
 
 "The top of the morning" come officious 
 
 to wish us! 
 
 And the wrens, wee but bold, 
 
 on the eaves 
 
 (their sunrise song half sung, 
 
 anxious for their young) 
 
 at the chattering, 
 
 clattering 
 
 thieves 
 
 scold and scold; 
 
 till the cow that never worries 
 
 never hurries, 
 
 hooks the pasture gate wide open, 
 
 shaking loud her brazen bell, 
 
 and the speckled woodchuck pert 
 
 inquisitive, alert, 
 
 panic-stricken, hurries, scurries. 
 
his hermit cell 
 to mope in, 
 for a spell — 
 till all be well! 
 
 And near the little aspenwood atwinkle, atwinkle 
 
 under the beetling crags 
 
 by the brook with its hurdygurdy roars, its 
 
 sturdy wordy brags, 
 its harmonic tinkle-tinkle 
 where it boisterously lags: 
 
 Lo and hark, 
 free from care and cark 
 the Children (invisible child- 
 wings 
 outspread 
 for flight, 
 like forest-bred 
 bright 
 wild 
 things 
 
 f rollicking, rollicking!) 
 make-believe a gracious queen and jolly 
 
 king 
 hold revels, 
 
 whereto all airfolk be bidden 
 who fight red bogymen and green-eyed devils, 
 (in bogs, 
 like frogs, 
 in hollow logs, 
 in valley-fogs 
 hidden). 
 And the airy 
 
 reel they clasp and gasp in 
 among the aspen, 
 (fact and whimsical fancy jumbled) 
 on scary 
 nightmares is ridden: 
 
wayward drollery 
 
 gay cajolery, 
 
 laughter outcries, dafter shrieks, 
 
 dancing eyes and flushed cheeks, 
 
 amber curls in the wind tumbled; 
 
 the while, upon the porch reclined, 
 
 their Mother lounges, heart and mind 
 
 in that far-off land 
 
 ever nigh at hand, 
 
 where friendly sprites 
 
 in sunbow vesture, 
 
 warble and flute your 
 
 blessed future, 
 
 with mimic gesture 
 
 and rare delights 
 
 for spirit-eye and mystic touch. 
 
 But the children, their orgy ended — 
 
 (Ah, she loves them so proudly much!) 
 
 have flown past her, 
 
 (fast and faster 
 
 the hill ascended), 
 
 pine and blue-spruce cones to gather; 
 
 till, their useful ardor spent, 
 
 they '11 wade 
 
 in sun and shade, 
 
 and the pool's cold 
 
 crystalline surface over sand and pebble stones, 
 
 kick to yeasty sheeny lather; 
 
 and with handfuls of fool's gold — 
 
 their pretended 
 
 rage to vent — 
 
 pelt whatever rogue is 
 
 of the bogies 
 
 gruff enough to scowl and growl; — 
 
 the while their Mother dreams, dreams — 
 
 smiles and beams, 
 
 proudly, happily, blessedly content. 
 
III. 
 
 SCHERZO 
 
 Ah, my Goddess, lounge and dream 
 beautiful, endued 
 with dignity and peace supreme, 
 in thy vasty solitude, 
 
 for I am soon, so soon, so soon 
 to be with thee; — and live 
 that hundredth blessed honeymoon 
 the fates have sworn to give. 
 
 Thou art as Isis veiled to all — 
 save one, miles, miles away. 
 Canst thou not. Goddess, hear him call? 
 Wilt answer if he pray? 
 
 Black wondrous eyes, remotely ashine, 
 reach to her worshippers. 
 Hands clasped beneath her head, are mine, 
 though ever divinely hers. 
 
 Lips vaguely smile, and dare demand 
 if tired I wax of life; 
 of life with her — you understand — 
 a Goddess for a wife! 
 
 O little twinkling aspenwood, 
 
 foot me a frantic fling, 
 
 to the brook's handclapping, be so good, 
 
 a swirling emerald ring! 
 
 And you, big, rhythmic spruces, hop, 
 wave fringed sleeves in time, 
 mock-ceremonious curtsies drop, 
 and the rocks like wild goats climb! 
 
 123 
 
Hail down your cones, you bellowing pines, 
 your scraggly noddles wag, — 
 jerks, quirks, ventriloquous groans and whines, 
 in a Bacchic game of tag! 
 
 For she, our Goddess, asks — she, She 
 of the compelling eyes, — 
 if weary of life with her we be — 
 with her — and archly sighs! 
 
 Hark, the cowbell 'tis the tuning-fork; 
 and cheerily the sky splits 
 from San Francisco to New York 
 in outrageous laughter fits. 
 
 With pyrotechnical display 
 the cloud-devils kick their heels, 
 and the mountains echo monstrously 
 panic. Titanic peals! 
 
 For we be weary of life, alas, 
 
 and chiefly of life with her; 
 
 to a better world we fain would pass; — 
 
 so, there (as here) she were! 
 
 IV. 
 
 BY THE BROOK 
 
 Today in your broidery, beautiful witch, 
 take not a cunning amorous stitch. 
 
 No broken needle, no tangled thread; 
 
 no poem or novel this noon may be read. 
 
 Away with the Brownings and Merediths! 
 not Morris, even, glad maker of myths. 
 
 Whitman and Ibsen their say have said, 
 and, like naughty children, are sent off to bed. 
 
 124 
 
Down, down, to the brawly brook, methinks, 
 'twere pleasant to stroll o'er the briery links. 
 
 The sweetness of scent, the soft underfoot, 
 each flowery patch in his own place put 
 
 for the dearest joy of the passing eye — 
 Down, down to the brook and ask not why, 
 
 where the silvery blue-spruces of violet shade 
 have for You a moss-paved privacy made. 
 
 Those superfluous garments (be sure, no loss) 
 will be stealthily laid on the velvety moss. 
 
 And lo! a holier power you wield 
 
 as in womanly grace you stand revealed. 
 
 The wind, loose masses of auburn hair 
 about your bosom will playfully flare. 
 
 Apocalypse rare — beheld of none 
 
 but you — and the seer — and the hallowing sun! 
 
 V. 
 
 THE CURTAIN FALLS 
 
 Ah, you fade 
 
 faint, far, 
 
 even as I look 
 
 into the night; — 
 
 only the evening star 
 
 sullenly smoulders, 
 
 grim, half-extinct, 
 
 upon the gruesome, fell, 
 
 uncanny lake, 
 
 where the murk waves break. 
 
 Lonely, afraid — 
 where are 
 the brawly brook, 
 the aspen light, 
 
 125 
 
with many a battle-scar 
 
 the battered boulders, 
 
 the spruces close enlinked, — 
 
 and the Dian of the spell, 
 
 for whose dear sake 
 
 my senses and spirit ache? 
 
 VI. 
 
 "SO LONGl" 
 
 Hallucination? 
 
 Solitude, 
 
 ah, utter, utter . . . 
 
 Two thousand miles divide us; 
 
 and weeks, weeks, weeks 
 
 to yawn in, dawdle and foolishly yearn, 
 
 and of hope and fancy and guess 
 
 run daily the maudlin gamut. ... 
 
 Come, resignation! 
 
 Fortitude! 
 
 Why murmur? mutter? 
 
 The fates do not deride us; 
 
 for the bland Stoic speaks 
 
 of discipline, lessons to learn, 
 
 perfection . . . yet, nevertheless 
 
 in very sincerity — damn it! 
 
 IMPROMPTU 
 
 To common Seekers — nothing but a drop 
 of water, shaken on a clover's head 
 
 of purple bloom, near which the sparrows hop 
 in glee that they are feather'd well, and fed; 
 
 to Roamers, there, at loving distance — stop! — 
 a tear of heaven, a star of holy dread — 
 And yet, the best is never seen, or said. 
 
 126 
 
THE BOOK 
 
 SYMBOLIC ODES 
 
 " For whatever man doth long envisage 
 he transfigureth to human semblance, 
 hearkeneth oracles of his destiny 
 in river and wind and sea." 
 
 " Man is still in his childhood. 
 
 He has to imagine what the angels would say, so that his own 
 good impulses (which create those angels) may gain authority. 
 
 His moral life, to take shape at all, must appear to him in 
 fantastic symbols." Santyana: Life of Reason. 
 
 FOREWORD 
 
 Day by day I ask my question — 
 
 in every glance of my eyes it is; — 
 
 but never the Answer — no suggestion 
 
 of the mystery to me of mysteries. 
 You stars, you would tell me I am star? 
 
 and you trees, — that I am tree? 
 
 you clouds, — that I am all you are? 
 
 you seas, — that I am sea? 
 
 you mountain peaks, — that I am high? 
 
 you flats, — that I am low? 
 
 you sunny sky, — that such am I? 
 
 But still my soul saith " No!" 
 
 Alone at length my Self I face: 
 — " None knoweth but thou. Speak out!" 
 — " I am all that is. I am time and space, 
 thy faith I am — and thy doubt! 
 
 Tho' I am that I am; 'twere truer 
 to say that — I am not yet: 
 the wooed, the wooing, the wooer — 
 creditor, debtor and debt. 
 
 127 
 
" If still thou list to ask, 
 
 know, thine Answerer shall be dumb; 
 
 for, no word is his word, but a task — 
 
 a beauty thyself must become. 
 Yea, to know — is to be; — and alone 
 
 in being, must wisdom be sought. 
 
 What thou art — no more, may be known; 
 
 and the more? — thou shalt be, — or, is nought!" 
 
 THE LION 
 
 (An incident of the Zoological Garden of Cincinnati) 
 
 There, on the floor of thy cage 
 Thou liest, O Lion, 
 stretched out, indifferent! 
 
 Vast head, with weight of portentous mane- 
 a tangle as of autumn forests 
 where the horror of jaws 
 lurks in ambush; 
 compact muscular legs, 
 armed with death, 
 
 in which the lightning of the fatal leap, 
 the crack, the crash of the fall, 
 the rending of flesh yet alive, 
 slumber unquietly; 
 tail with suppressed lash 
 
 involuntarily vibrant; 
 through eyes half-shut 
 
 with cunning show of drowsiness 
 the yellow flash, keen, 
 like broken glitter in the moon-glare 
 of little pools of steaming blood; — 
 All, all betrays 
 
 subtly the soul of terror. 
 
 What outrage to have caged Thee! 
 Yet, in thy bars take comfort. 
 Proffers of freedom were insult — 
 scorn of the harmless, the impotent: 
 
 128 
 
Men dread Thee! 
 
 But Thou — carest not if they quake, 
 requirest no flattery of fears, 
 sure of thy formidable strength, — 
 indifferent, 
 grand. 
 
 Ah, wherefore do we stop 
 
 in front of thy cage 
 
 bound by an evil spell? 
 Why this shudder at times 
 
 not of dread — this sense 
 
 of oppression, difficult breath, 
 
 unaccountable? 
 Whence this ache 
 
 of self-pity intense as we look 
 
 at Thee, fierce Brute, 
 
 caged Fiend of the wilderness, 
 
 at Thee? 
 
 Terrible! magnificent! 
 
 That leap, shaking the iron bars — 
 as reeds once by shrunk streams 
 
 where thy tongue of fire 
 
 lapped the cool; 
 the quick snakes of thy mane 
 
 erect, rigid, 
 
 quivering with wild might, 
 
 at the eruption of a roar, — 
 
 like fire volcanic 
 
 from bottomless deeps of fury 
 
 inflaming the sky, 
 
 charring the fruitful earth. 
 
 What is it 
 
 captive monster, 
 
 late so majestic, composed, 
 
 scornfully indolent? 
 
 129 
 
A cub — set loose 
 
 for sport of children — 
 
 a cub, astonished, stares 
 
 in front of thy cage, 
 
 by neat-trimmed shrubbery — 
 
 free? 
 
 Who shall utter, O Lion, 
 thy stupor, agony, rage? 
 One of thy kind— a cub — free? 
 What? — The wilderness nigh? 
 
 This fetid cage of shame — hallucination? 
 Dens full of half-tame skulking beasts, 
 
 howls, whines, snarls of feeding time — 
 
 an obsession? 
 The day's peering merrymakers, 
 
 (cowards who inspect with prudent insolence,)- 
 
 and the prowl that ends where it began 
 
 in the close stench of the walled night — 
 
 a hideous obstinate nightmare? 
 Ah, 't is the Wilderness hath roused her to battle- 
 hath conquered civilization, 
 
 at a bound come hither 
 
 to rescue her caged King? 
 Iron bars only — between Him and — 
 
 not freedom — 
 
 but Her? 
 The hot day's sleep, the night's fierce hunt, 
 
 the fight to the death with rivals 
 
 for the lioness, sleek, awaiting the issue 
 
 with treacherous fawn, and leers 
 
 of savage pleasure? 
 Only these bars — between Him, and — 
 
 not freedom — 
 
 but life?— Life? 
 
 Magnificent Captive, 
 Disdainer of liberty, 
 do I not understand Thee? 
 
 130 
 
Am not I, too, caged? 
 
 Laws, customs, courtesies, proprieties! 
 I too — remember. 
 
 Not liberty, oh, not liberty now! 
 Why break through bars? 
 Prolonged despair hath cowed us both, 
 and the tyranny of use. 
 What? Wreck our cage? 
 
 Where then would our Wilderness be? 
 The torrid sun, 
 
 the fever? 
 Hunger for palpitant flesh, 
 
 thirst for hot blood? 
 The icy night, 
 
 the blinding moon in the clear, 
 the shadows black of rock and tree? 
 The prey terrified, 
 
 the joy of his agony? 
 The antagonist's prowl, roar, ramp? 
 
 The ache, the bliss of omnipotent fierce life? 
 
 Only a minute the spell hath lasted — 
 best, O Lion, we both were patient, 
 spiritless, sleepy — sane! 
 May be, may be — 
 
 (the thought of it starts 
 a shudder like death's 
 clotting the heart's blood). 
 May be, may be — (who knows?) 
 only the semblance is left us 
 of fire 
 as of sunsets 
 
 that flare in the heavens, 
 but singe not a stubble straw 
 of the western hills. 
 May be — were the Wilderness here indeed, 
 thou, O Lion, and I — 
 even Thou, and I 
 were wanting. 
 
 131 
 
THE OLD HEMLOCK 
 I. 
 
 Stout-hearted, great Hemlock, wast thou 
 foolhardy to plant thee on crags thus, 
 waterworn, naked — 
 
 tusks of some monstrous 
 
 jaw from the deep tarn jutting; — 
 no soil save mould of thine own shed spines, 
 amassed in the snaky folds of thy huge 
 roots, that to clamp thee steadfast 
 the splintering rock enwrap. 
 So soon as I saw, uncouth 
 
 black Giant, I loved thee; and oft 
 couched me solitary 
 dream whispers to overhear 
 of thy stalwart soul — but in vain. 
 Dragon-flies quick, emerald-glinting, 
 
 through swarms iridescent of dance-whirled gnats, 
 darted; or, sparkles of turkis fire, 
 settled gauze-winged on the moist stone a moment 
 in a fleck of sunny sheen. 
 From the dense 
 laurel-thicket the titmouse 
 furtively flitted, seeking the green 
 gloom of thy shade, perched him to pipe 
 twitter and trill tenderly soft 
 songs of thy praise, meant for no ear 
 but thine! 
 Or, perchance, as I waited 
 unseen, the fox-squirrels 
 inquisitive, mischievous, sprightly, 
 peered from their holes, cheeped, chirruped, 
 fretted, flurried, whisked-up their tails, 
 flirted from bough-end to bough-end, 
 scampering, scolding, scurrying, 
 in a dare-devil game of catch. 
 But ever, though affably tolerant, nay 
 gracious. Thou stoodest, thy spirit 
 methinks abode far 
 
 132 
 
alone, aloof, aloft, 
 rapt in the beauty stern, inexorable, everlasting, true 
 
 of the positive world; 
 thy bliss 
 
 too real, intense, 
 
 for frivolous dance, 
 
 frolic and song, or worship devout 
 
 in irreverent foolish words. 
 
 II. 
 
 Stark gnarly branches, 
 spotted with lichen hoar, and shag- 
 bearded, already thy spirelike 
 symmetry mar; 
 but old age 
 
 fondly of the past reminiscent, 
 dotingly garrulous, yet 
 for many a year 
 will not touch thy spirit; 
 then, oh, 
 
 of friendship wilt thou not 
 tell one who loveth thee, 
 whether, 
 
 when at first from a cleft 
 in thy rock (than the cool 
 mosses that slipper thy feet, scarce 
 bolder of growth) thou didst peep 
 curiously skyward; 
 and after, 
 when the froward chokeberry bushes 
 that jostled and pressed thee, 
 proudly thou couldst 
 overpeer at length and outreach; 
 Whether, dear Tree, 
 
 in the drowsy noon-sun thou never, 
 didst day-dream, foolishly day-dream 
 of stretching, a benison mute, 
 thy hundred long-sleeved arms patriarchal, solemn, 
 over the tarn as now — 
 warden august of its peace? 
 
 133 
 
For, irresistibly, hither 
 
 happy day-dreamers are drawn 
 to sit them down and muse, 
 in fancied fellowship close with thee, 
 of possible things that will not, 
 of things impossible 
 that must come, surely, to pass. 
 
 III. 
 
 Howbeit, — taciturn Sage, 
 noble, austere, — 
 
 the subtle fragrance inspiring 
 of thy forest-breath sweet; 
 Do not deep impulses stir in us 
 strangely, disrupting the arid 
 crust of our work-a-day self? 
 Resolutions spontaneously 
 well up, abundant and pure, 
 to refresh it and deck it v/ith verdure 
 of hope? 
 And trust (like thine own, 
 
 sublime) in the universe, soar 
 overhead — a vast sky? 
 Our life-love, 
 ardent, out of darkness and cold 
 burst ablaze — 
 sunlike its azure 
 ascending? 
 And our baser desires shoot 
 upward till, scintillant points, 
 they dartle on our dark 
 hours of bewilderment 
 spiritual rays 
 
 heavenly impersonal, starry remote? 
 For lo! a Symbol, a Glyph of a lore 
 Thou art, which our spirit 
 unwittingly spells: 
 how Might, 
 
 Self-lordship, Soul-greatness, 
 
 are got of a wilful stand, reckless, unshaken, 
 
 134 
 
in hard barren places; 
 Ay, are got of savage war waged — 
 
 brute man with stubborn things 
 
 and forces undying and tireless — overcome 
 
 to renew, (fierce, treacherous, 
 
 cruel,) the strife; 
 are got of uprearing sore-battered 
 
 a crest, defiant to blast 
 
 and bolt, — 
 no fate dreaded but shame of cowering, 
 
 doubt of the glory, and cavil 
 
 at the absolute right of the Order 
 
 eternal; 
 are got of outspreading magnanimous arms abroad 
 
 to shelter, benign, 
 
 all that is guileless and true, 
 
 lovely and glad; 
 are got, O venerable Tree, 
 
 of fixedly viewing as thou, (undaunted, though awed,) 
 
 yon infinite expanse (terrific to puny 
 
 folk centered in self, and vain) 
 
 which floateth ever forever 
 
 unconscious, calm, beautiful, holy, 
 
 a myriad, myriad suns! 
 Which, beholding long, thou hast meted 
 
 justly thy height — found it naught, 
 
 yet much; 
 and foreknowing thy natural doom 
 
 art complacent; 
 too honest to feign 
 
 craven and false comforts; 
 nor minded, 
 
 having taken to withhold; out of pride — 
 eager to give and forgive! 
 
 IV. 
 
 Wherefore in vision prophetic Thou viewest, 
 (storm felled, or thy grasp on the rock 
 age-loosened) fallen, — idly float — 
 
 135 
 
root-moored or wind-drifted — Thyself: — 
 fostering, feeding 
 
 with thy hardily-wrought fibre of life 
 mosses and ferns, orchids and grass, 
 parnassia with cups white and green 
 quaint-carven of five petals; 
 yea, chokeberry shrubs, 
 
 thy earliest foes; honey-flowering 
 azaleas, glossy-leaved laurels, rhododendrons 
 tortuous-wooded, pompous-blooming ; 
 impartially kind to whate'er 
 Faith sowed or wind's Whim 
 to sprout, shoot, bud, and fruit, 
 on Thee, their rich isle of the Blessed; 
 with forbearance high-hearted, abiding 
 patient the day, 
 when .... water-soaked wholly 
 in the long years, slow 
 down Thou wilt sink — 
 blissfully down — 
 to delicious oblivion 
 
 at last; 
 deep in the cool depths of the tarn, 
 which all thy life through thou didst love, 
 heroic, godlike Tree! 
 
 THE RIME OF THE TARN 
 
 Darling little Tarn, with the dark woods girt, 
 high up the steep old mount, 
 solitary, kithless; winsome, waggish, pert; 
 for thy bonny tricksy air 
 
 Where's the moralist would dare 
 give account? 
 
 Since thou never didest act 
 altruistic, 
 
 136 
 
and thy nature ne'er was rackt 
 
 with regrets, or passions mystic; 
 unworried by the woes 
 
 of the world, 
 lying cuddled up and curl'd 
 
 blithe, jocose, 
 without faith or fealty, quite 
 
 unaware of wrong and right; — 
 Nay, so frivolous and gay 
 
 as to dance all day, 
 
 yea, 
 
 and the whole night thro' 
 
 too; — 
 For, whoso will may hark, 
 
 and, envying, hear thee mark 
 
 with lapping lightsome laughters 
 
 mad-cap time; 
 ignorant of bygones, incurious of hereafters, 
 in wily happy innocence sublime! 
 
 II. 
 
 Darling little Tarn in the forested wilds, 
 assuredly thy heart is a child's, a child's — 
 irresponsible and vital, — 
 giving, when it gives, 
 without reck of requital; 
 taking, while it lives, 
 
 what it wants. 
 Yea, free as the breeze's, 
 its favors and its taunts; 
 it teases 
 
 whom it pleases, 
 whom it likes, heart-whole, 
 will caress and cajole. 
 Yet when hath it behaved 
 in thought, in word, 
 in deed 
 
 (though all theories were waived 
 of morals bad and good) 
 
 137 
 
otherwise — 
 
 than as a tarn under deep blue skies 
 midmost of a dense old wood 
 should? 
 
 III. 
 
 Is thy virtue unpretentious, 
 be thy principles less strict, 
 because thou wast not e'er licentious 
 nor by tempter's logic trickt? 
 And therefore seest no merit, eh, 
 in reasonless austerity? 
 
 But if any have good right 
 to preach and proselyte, 
 if any might convert 
 bad sinners and worse saints 
 from wicked ways they're us'd to, 
 it is Thou, little Tarn, brisk, nimble and alert, 
 who, requiring no restraints, 
 mightst commend them sans suspicion, 
 shouldst thou choose to. 
 Ah, thou dost not, wilt not heed, 
 thy "serious call" and mission, 
 nor the world's bewildering need 
 of some brand-new creed. 
 Thou art, dear Tarn, thou "art," 
 and lo, it sufficeth thee; 
 let Such as "have been" moralize, 
 or Such as are "yet to be!" 
 Then, oh, if mortals could but master 
 the mystery, little Tarn, of thy moods! 
 
 For the noblest, — courageous in achievement, 
 bereavement, 
 disaster, — 
 lose buoyance 
 of soul, 
 self-control, 
 
 at the daily-hatch'd broods 
 of annoyance; 
 
 138 
 
the fret 
 
 vexation, 
 
 irritation, 
 
 petty trifles beget! 
 And methinks, — as I see thee lie 
 rippling, 
 
 contentedly tippling 
 (as tho' a flood 
 
 sunkisst 
 
 thy supply 
 
 to renew) 
 the dew 
 
 of the morning mist 
 on leaftip condensed, 
 
 on spine, grass-spear, frond, berry and bud- 
 thy complacence 
 comes of doing none obeisance, 
 beholden 
 unto none, 
 not even the golden 
 Sun! 
 For, Thou askest no brook 
 
 to come yodling and whooping 
 
 and cheer thee, 
 
 or drooping 
 
 uprear thee; 
 no rillet in ferny nook, 
 
 (pretty lisper,) 
 
 to whisper 
 
 soft names that endear thee, 
 
 go tickling 
 
 the mosses, run trickling 
 
 to clear thee. 
 And when storm-racks rain-sagging 
 
 scowling, bullying, bragging 
 
 roar 
 
 o'er 
 
 the lowlands that flatten 
 
 on the weather god's favor to fatten; 
 
 139 
 
thou flauntest thy blossomy rich array 
 near to the mountain's top 
 with a dainty insolent witchery, 
 unwilling to beg thee a drop! 
 
 And why? In the deeps of Thee well-up 
 bubbly springs of perennial jollity; 
 whereat, on the sly, thou quaffest, 
 winkest 
 
 saucily, thinkest 
 some naughty thought, blinkest 
 and then — 
 laughest, and drinkest 
 again! 
 
 Howbeit, when in winter the summit 
 
 savage cloud-hordes envelop — 
 dost thou sing it, or hum it 
 
 thy tune of delight, 
 in defiance 
 
 of the Giants 
 
 and their ice-hearted might? 
 
 Nay! No swaggerer, churlish brawler, — 
 thou 'rt no blusterer, and bawler; 
 but seemlier far, 
 
 with the better part of valor — discretion — 
 thou meetest 
 and defeatest 
 oppression! 
 
 For so soon as ruffian winds come forth 
 of the North 
 
 wielding the sleet-lash to scar, 
 driving flurries 
 
 before them of snows — 
 (worries 
 and woes 
 to provoke thee 
 willy-nilly 
 and choke thee) 
 little Tarn, still stilly 
 a smooth shiny sheet 
 140 
 
thou dost over thee draw 
 from sweet head to sweet feet: 
 and whilst rifled 
 
 of its leaves, 
 stifled 
 
 in drifts, 
 the from forest aches, 
 heaves, 
 
 griev^es, and uplifts 
 its arms, with cruel icicles weighted, 
 to the hated 
 
 North-demons for ruth; 
 How the robins and I do wish us 
 with Thee in thine inviolate dream-Eden, 
 where the Tree-of-life grows 
 for fanqies to rest 
 and nest, 
 
 sing, feed and breed in; 
 and the Fount of youth 
 inexhaustible flows 
 in four rivers of crystalline cheer! 
 But lo! When the spring-sun breaks 
 thro' the welkin, and warm winds thaw 
 about thee the missiles malicious 
 of the storm and the gale, — 
 my wise Tarn 'wakes 
 
 in good sooth; 
 and waters Thou hast to avail 
 for the year, 
 
 got without money or price 
 from thy jolly fool's-paradise! 
 Surely thy doctrine with tact is 
 taught by thy practice: — 
 in days of dearth 
 self-supplied 
 Bride 
 
 of mirth; — 
 in days of distress, 
 hid away in the deep 
 blessed recesses of sleep! 
 
 141 
 
IV. 
 
 No marvel the oaks, stout blast-fighters, — mail-clad 
 
 trunk, limb, bough, in lichen; the stark black birches 
 
 waving delicate fresh volumes of greenery; 
 the chestnuts rough-barkt, bluff and burly 
 
 up-thrusters 
 
 in yellow-green clusters 
 
 of burs; the hemlocks, late and early 
 
 on guard o'er the gracious scenery, 
 
 grim, glum, sullen, surly, — 
 
 yet kind 
 
 to the wintering birds, who find, 
 
 in their spiny dark, safe homes; 
 the service-trees scrubby and gaunt 
 
 that dangle, 
 
 begrudged, their few pitiful pomes 
 
 under foliage bluish, wizen and scant; 
 the rhododendrons whose firm gneirly wood, 
 
 aslant 
 
 in snaky tangle, 
 
 shows how arduous (tho* they rant 
 
 not, nor wrangle 
 
 as we), 
 
 even 'mong tree-folk and shrub-folk the search is 
 
 for Light — 
 each with his bad 
 
 and his good, 
 
 his record of wrong and of right — 
 come marshall'd in deep ranks close-serried 
 
 to take solace in Thee, the Light-hearted, 
 
 the glad! 
 
 V. 
 
 No marvel the jaunty-fronded rowan, 
 bronze-berried 
 
 at first, then aflash 
 
 with sumptuous carmine, 
 
 which, prodigal, he tosses 
 
 to the winds with a fling and a dash; 
 
 142 
 
the hobble-bush lusty, astrain to display 
 his flame-color'd drupes 
 in rivalry futile; the slender 
 merry „ 
 
 wild-cherry, 
 
 his spring-radiance departed, 
 retaining yet a tender 
 subtle grace of his own; 
 
 the marrish-maple, whose mere poise, airy, 
 unwary, 
 
 there's charm in, 
 and comeliness, dancing alway, 
 impatient to don frory 
 glory; 
 
 the highland-holly, that to-waterward stoops 
 
 and a covert overbow'rs 
 
 with lucent ruby fruit 
 
 bejewel'd; the laurel, wayward, rash 
 
 that leaps from his root 
 
 whilst, in lieu of his long-shed waxen flow'rs, 
 
 every leaf of him agloss is 
 
 with sallies of sunshine; the modest azalea, 
 
 unqueen'd for the season, to the sorrow of mid- June 
 
 having cast off too soon 
 
 her orange, or white-and-rosy regalia; 
 the green-brier belated, and inquisitive to boot, 
 
 that in prickly- 
 
 tickly 
 
 festoon 
 
 o'er his fellows goes tumbling pell- 
 mell; 
 No marvel at all if they throng 
 at thy marges, 
 each pressing his suit 
 for one boon: — 
 
 a first and a last sight of Thee 
 who art free, 
 
 gay 
 
 as they: 
 
 143 
 
who grantest great largess, 
 
 yet makest no debtors 
 
 (since to all, what is thine doth belong) 
 allowing no inferiors, no betters, — 
 
 preferring not these unto those 
 
 in thy childish millennial polity; 
 because ever a jest 
 
 sets the worst and the best 
 
 at one in the throes • 
 
 of true jollity! 
 
 VI. 
 
 No marvel, dear Tarn, thou canst cause 
 the dead trees on thy surface afloat 
 
 to nourish 
 
 such wild-flowers as flourish 
 
 not elsewhere so fair or so dense — 
 (frolic mummers 
 
 in the summer's 
 
 lush pageant, to thy playful applause 
 
 enacted,) — for note: — 
 the neighborly masses 
 
 of bugle-weed shaking their knots 
 
 of silvery bloom-dots 
 
 on the least little breezy pretense; 
 and the zephyrous tassel'd swamp-grasses, 
 
 and fretted ferns in narrow room shut, 
 " whom the rank rabbit-root, (adept 
 
 in rudeness,) with his new-got black berry astrut, 
 
 tries to jostle; 
 that droll tiny fellow 
 
 (dwarf of St. John's-wort yclept) 
 
 who, to honor his namesake apostle, 
 
 starrily decks 
 
 his crown with wee specks 
 
 golden-yellow; 
 
 and greenwood orchis with dare-devil air, 
 
 and highborn parnassia of her style half aware; 
 
 144 
 
O, how in thy waggish society 
 stern 
 Death, 
 
 dear Tarn, doth learn 
 to laugh at himself under breath 
 in a cantless, new, beautiful piety, 
 even gruesome, cross, scarecrow old Death! 
 
 VII. 
 
 No wonder if the Sun from his high 
 sky- 
 mansion, sends rays of his fire 
 white-hot, to drench 
 them, and quench 
 their thirst, with thy stored 
 hoard 
 of purity, 
 cool I 
 
 No wonder the Moon should draw 
 mistily nigh 
 
 wistfully nigher, 
 when scarce-fledged lovers feel 
 
 at thought of their blissful futurity 
 
 (sweet fool with sweet fool) 
 
 on thy bosom together, strange awe 
 
 as Thou dancest thine elvish reel: 
 diamond sparkle, 
 
 quick glint, phosphorescent 
 
 quicker 
 
 flicker, 
 
 iridescent 
 
 opal shimmer, 
 quiescent, 
 
 deliquescent 
 
 dim, dimmer 
 
 gleam and glimmer — 
 
 and darkle! 
 No wonder the Stars as they peep 
 through the cirrous dome 
 
 145 
 
from the deep 
 
 of infinite space, 
 
 their home, 
 fondle thy fresh still face 
 
 without wrinkle, 
 
 and mirror in Thee their heavenly twinkle; 
 No wonder the Thunder-fiend perched on the peak 
 howling, 
 
 growling 
 
 to wreak 
 
 his pent might, 
 flings a steely white lightning to smite thee 
 
 and affright thee, 
 and roars out for boyish delight 
 
 at the blinding blaze 
 
 of thy swift indignant amaze, 
 
 his vicious ill-humor quite 
 
 gone. 
 No marvel that the Dawn 
 ere the least 
 
 first streak 
 
 in the East, 
 
 that betokens earth's yearning, 
 
 broadens, corruscates and flares — 
 (the path of the Sun-lord's returning 
 
 to strew opulently with auroral 
 
 floral 
 
 splendors,) 
 ay, no marvel that the Dawn 
 doth lavish alone on thee 
 
 her first faint most orient hues 
 to enkindle the haze 
 
 of thy grays, 
 or thy satiny blues 
 
 to suffuse, — 
 hallowing thee unawares 
 
 frivolous tho' thou be, 
 Thee, little Tarn in the mountainous wild, — 
 that dost make thee Olympian mirth 
 of men's notions of fitness 
 
 146 
 
and worth, 
 
 immortal sure Witness 
 to the truth 
 and the youth 
 of the earth; 
 thy soul unafraid, 
 
 undefiled, — 
 forever a Maid 
 
 unfading, unplight — 
 forever and aye 
 at play, 
 an innocent Child, 
 and a sprite! 
 
 THE DEFILED MOUNTAIN TORRENT 
 
 I. 
 
 Cloudily wing'd, forest-man'd, side by side 
 
 o'er the green-and-yellow checker of tillage 
 alluvial, and the hummocky fallows copse-mottled, asprawl 
 in the sun and abask, — unwieldily 
 approximating their contorted ridg'd bulk, — 
 in the shelter of their scarpt flanks 
 the Mountains 
 a seclusion inviolable create 
 for some blessed cool Glen to lurk in, 
 from the rays of torrid noons fended, 
 and the irruption of hurricanes 
 malign. 
 
 Some Rivulet, indubitably, in his infantile 
 innocence disporteth him, rollicking 
 from clear pool to clear pool; 
 and gleesomely 
 loitering in his eddies 
 he chuckles to himself at the play 
 of the silver-sheeny trout, rosy-speckled. 
 
 147 
 
And, oh, 
 
 'twixt these imminent declivities 
 
 with underbrush bristling, by the rank 
 
 lush verdure close-thatcht, 
 what abode 
 
 for the bob-white dainty-stepping, and the grouse 
 
 bronze-rufft, with fife and with drum, 
 
 to foregather and revel it in security, 
 
 life-lusty; 
 and here, too, timorous fugitive, 
 
 can the cotton-tail claim sanctUeU^y, 
 
 and the hazards forgetting of existence one instant 
 
 frisk wantonly, or nibble at ease. 
 
 For with what bountiful supply 
 doth not hospitably the Glen her visitors entertain; 
 herbs aromatic, spicy-nutrient roots, 
 and berries in succulent luscious plenty 
 divers-flavor'd, sweet and tart, to each taste! 
 
 ii. 
 
 On, on will I hasten, yet discreetly 
 
 sure-footed, and circumspect, that, by the timidest 
 denizen undetected, 
 I may penetrate into the privacies 
 sacred erstwhile 
 
 to the horn'd and hoof'd goat-thighed God Pan; 
 and, (tho' it was rumor'd 
 that from earth He be departed, 
 to reside in the Olympus snow-capt 
 of Mythology, scared by the scowl of lean-featur'd 
 Science) devoutly, his blithe choristers, 
 of manifold wild minstrelsy, 
 will, I hope, have outstayed him: — 
 first and foremost, the wee wood-sprite, shy and saucy— 
 
 thro' the bracken aflit, or dartling 
 
 some mossy-carpeted log along — 
 
 the winsome v/inter-wren. O might I but surprise him 
 
 at his hj^er-riotous up-bubble of mirth! 
 
 148 
 
Or if not him, then, eavesdropping, 
 
 the dusky-green vireo overhear, 
 
 as solitary he setteth him to rebuke 
 
 with a vivacious virile vocalism the querulously 
 
 iterant soft plaint of the peewee, 
 
 perverse shadovi^-haunter, in woodland mazes sun-proof; 
 or, (oh, supreme unanticipated delight!) 
 transfixt with a thrill of surprise — 
 stand and hearken (as if pain, age and death 
 concern'd us not ever) the hymn 
 of love's true-mated hermit — th' tiny thrush: 
 a peace superlunary, archangelical, divine, 
 into melody molten, cool, diaphanous, 
 soul-uplifting to a jubilant content. 
 
 III. 
 
 O pugnacious spiky locusts, cross brambles, 
 briers choleric and churlish, wicked virulent 
 nettles, coarse tight-tangling grasses, — 
 less obstreperously might ye I believe 
 withstand one that forward thro' your thickest 
 presseth with no malevolent intent; 
 for soonest exultingly my heart beats 
 
 when nigh me some relative of mine — queer, canny 
 
 fifth cousin, say, or sixth — unconstrain'd 
 
 in bush, brake, water, air, 
 
 I may watch at his frolicsome gambols, 
 
 or the serious avocations of his life. 
 Never fancied I 
 
 glory could be gotten in the slaughter 
 
 of a terrorized brother, outwitted, 
 
 worsted in a conflict unscrupulously unequal. 
 
 Come, come, 
 be ye civil to a friend who hath given you 
 the password, and we will let bygones be bygones, 
 my irascible stout fellows, as I slip me 
 quietly atiptoe thro' your belligerent throng motley. 
 
 149 
 
For I swear 
 
 O outposts over-zealous of the Glen, 
 
 unharmed, nay, unthreaten'd, shall they be 
 all my kindred, feathery, furry, or finn'd — 
 
 the lords hereditary of your fortified 
 
 recesses. 
 
 IV. 
 
 What? Hist! On the wind- 
 is it a cry? Nay, a brawl rather and a bellow, 
 
 a roar — a thunder-burst of waters! 
 The Glen 
 
 I foreknew (from excessive sun-ardors by hemlocks 
 
 umbrageous, and adventurous birches 
 
 leafily screen'd) ; 
 ay, the Glen meandering 
 
 scathless and free among huge 
 crags by some cataclysmical upheaval of the earth 
 asunder-cloven, wrencht, shatter'd, jamm'd 
 in ages prehuman: — 
 cliff-walls 
 whose least ledges cracks and crevices by rash ferns, 
 vertiginously aquiver, are tenanted, — 
 or by shrubbery gorgeous-blooming, 
 and by intricate viney entanglements 
 precipitately down-tumbling, that athwart 
 the chasm green arms wavy and hands 
 amicable, extended to one another in impetuous 
 felicitations, at the faintest whiff of air, 
 almost touch; 
 O, the Glen 
 
 so bewilderingly beautiful, labyrinthine, sequester'd, 
 
 (strange, strange!) is not the happy 
 
 channel, as I imagin'd it, of a brooklet splash-plashing 
 
 bubble-babble, sing-song, in excess — 
 
 aspatter and aspirtle — of delighted limpidity; 
 but instead — 
 
 a rocky-barr'd keep, subterranean 
 
 kennel, for some Leviathan terrific — 
 
 150 
 
dementedly pounding in self-annihilatory desperation, 
 up-panting a convulsive dank blast 
 demoniacal, to set the vasty scar-fastnesses 
 ashudder from the bottom to the top! 
 
 Best-lov'd, first-Begotten of the sky, 
 foster-child of the mountain, 
 what is it with impunity doth afflict thee? 
 Thee, who the very hemlocks wouldst — enormous, 
 majestical, — deracinate in a trice 
 and voluminously overwhelm them, 
 resisted they thy thoroughfaring; 
 O Thou 
 who the rugged adamantine granite grindest 
 with the pulses of thine onslaught spasmatic 
 and the unintermittent wash swift 
 of multitudinous swirling waters; 
 O Thou, 
 tho' utterly thou scornest to be commiserated — 
 speak, speak! 
 For, notwithstanding 
 thou tossest yonder downfallen giant bole 
 sore-batter'd of a sycamore, 
 frivolously, as a mere fiocculent 
 scum-raglet; and, at his antics uncouth 
 (when frantical, for some stay, clutching, he writhes, 
 lurches and lumbers down thy rapids) inebriate 
 with wrath, dost into laughter vindictive 
 break hideously; — 
 Nevertheless yet 
 there abideth in the occult deeps of man 
 a spirit that, insurgent, mightily to thee-ward 
 yearneth. 
 Then, oh, utter 
 
 I supplicate, nay adjure thee, thine innermost 
 rancor incommunicable! 
 For wrong'd, wrong'd, 
 
 yea, wrong'd art Thou if aright 
 
 151 
 
the tremulous overtone I interpret, and the mutterings- 
 
 unpremeditated, inadvertent, mysterious, 
 
 abysmical — that perturb 
 
 with a panic the hearer; 
 those wails, sobs 
 
 pitifully human, half-supprest, yet thro' the din 
 
 audible in a ghostly suspiration, 
 as Thou rumblest, 
 
 and from rock-level to rock-level 
 
 down precipice after precipice 
 
 crashest in cataracts horrisonous, suicidal, 
 
 lacerating thee to grisly froth-shreds, 
 and soul-seething. Thou hissest and up-spewest 
 
 haggard, awful, 
 
 an insensate contempt of Thyself! 
 
 VI. 
 
 Behold, for a space farther forth 
 
 the ravine wide-yawns and admitteth 
 the sun to irradiate thee with diamantine 
 splashes of living splendor. 
 Quick thither 
 
 am I wending through close-twisting masses 
 
 of blossomy laurel, over root-claspt rocks, 
 
 moist and slippery, about trunks 
 
 of hemlocks colossal, and there, 
 
 quieted for an instant, may thine ire 
 
 get articulate expression. 
 What meaneth it? 
 
 Speak! Assuredly, — an ocular illusion? in the shine 
 
 thy swollen floods effervescent whirl 
 
 golden, and regurgitate bronze-umbery, 
 
 russet-shimmering in the distance? 
 Too well 
 have I understood thee now. Thee 
 and thy dire speech — O Thou, 
 who hadst dedicated thy Self — 
 to maintain thee unpolluted the purity, of thy origin, 
 
 152 
 
and the rivers, whereunto thou shalt be tributary, 
 
 so much as in thee lieth with thy crystalline 
 
 onrush to clarify, 
 and the ocean's 
 
 brackish wallow and welter, if it were possible, 
 
 to sweeten with thy savor 
 
 of sky — 
 O Thou, Thou even. Thou also hast altogether forfeited 
 thy hyaline pellucidity, befoul'd — 
 turbid, yea, maculate! maculate! 
 And as a nightmare again 
 
 horrifies, remember'd, 
 lo, the Mill 
 
 that bestrode thee intercurrent 
 
 between slopes once thick-wooded — where before me 
 
 it squats, as when I quicken'd my pace 
 
 endeavoring not to see or hear aught: — 
 the loathsome canker-Monster omnivorously 
 
 ravening into the sacred dense evergreen gloom. 
 And mine ears, in despite of me, the shrill 
 
 shrieks of the steam-whistle affray; and the screech 
 
 and the howl of the rotatory saws terminating 
 
 in a raucous death-rattle and fierce 
 
 rasp; and the wheezy respiration of the engines 
 
 rust-pockt; and the clatter interminable 
 
 of shingles and plank. 
 What scragg'd piles 
 
 of stript tanbark beatle and totter akimbo! What mounds 
 
 funereal of sallow saw-dust, wind-fretted, thy gorge 
 
 choke-up, and throttle to strangulation! 
 Obsess'd am I by the groans of timber-loaded 
 
 wanes, lashes of the whip-thong, and the strain 
 
 intolerable of starv'd mutilated 
 
 brute flesh — blood, sweat, obscene jest 
 
 and profanity! 
 O Brother, spare me thy reproach, for too keen 
 mine abhorrence of the desecration that hath been 
 
 committed 
 by greed-craz'd human kinsfolk I disown — 
 (no fellows they of mine!) 
 
 153 
 
Yea, yea I saw them — 
 
 and still see them in memory, — those archways 
 gothic-pointed of laurel, demolisht by fiend-fires: 
 black skeletons that convulsive coil and crook them 
 in a drunken death-dance; and the soil, see, 
 charr'd, to an aching waste lye-bitten, 
 where it gapes sunward, ghastlily! 
 And within me 
 
 my spirit grcaneth, outrag'd 
 
 at the fatuous devastation of the Earth — 
 
 our long-suffering Mother — 
 
 humiliated, sacrilegiously defil'd 
 
 by the very children of her heaven-hallow'd womb! 
 
 VII. 
 
 Woe, woe is me — not unseldom, 
 
 O Torrent of savage sorrow unassuageable, 
 
 was I madden'd with thy phrenzy ere this — 
 
 fanatical, at thought of the despoilers, the defiowerers, 
 
 the devastators! Nor thou only 
 
 hadst to suffer contamination, and of miscreants 
 
 the cynical unconcern. 
 If it listeth thee, — inveigh, 
 
 and the turbulence of thy distress ease, 
 
 by imprecatory bursts of vehemence — 
 
 ineffectual, alas! 
 Ejaculate, O ejaculate, 
 
 in the paroxysms of delirium, thine anathemas; 
 
 and I will abase me, shamefast 
 
 in thy presence, to hearken: 
 
 "Man, Man," 
 
 thou criest out with voice of great grief 
 unsubduable yet chasten'd, transmuted 
 to rage prophetic: 
 
 "Man, Man, 
 whom for a;ons on aeons 
 We of the ancienter order elemental, 
 rapturously expectant, did adore; 
 
 154 
 
instantaneous his insight and unerring, 
 
 omnipotent the pressure, 
 
 unimaginable the dexterity of his miracle-working hands; 
 Man, Man, magnanimous (woe, woe!) 
 
 we had imagin'd him, lofty-tempered: 
 Mind, discerning of the Process creative 
 
 the implicate ends; supreme 
 
 Will, by glad godly indefatigable labors 
 
 fashioning into a reality of unillusory 
 
 loveliness, our vision long-worshipt 
 
 of the world; 
 Man, Man . . . 
 
 and oh, lo! — he hath appear'd — 
 
 and we have beholden him: no divinity 
 but a Demon — tempter, torturer, corrupter — 
 
 no law venerated that prohibiteth 
 
 a gratification instantaneous of his glutton 
 
 craz'd desires; — 
 Man, Man — 
 
 oppressor without scruple of the weaponless 
 
 and confiding; 
 extirpator of the formidable 
 
 frank-hearted, noble-spirited, that stoop them not 
 
 to be yokt and made vile; 
 sparing only 
 
 that thenceforward thy soul 
 
 may in orgic massacres delight itself; 
 vandal-violator 
 
 of beauty wrought solemnly thro' the centuries 
 
 and slow, for Thee, ingrate, to marvel at 
 
 and rejoice in; 
 O Man!— 
 
 forever must thy tyranny 
 
 be irresponsible to reason, right, ultimate 
 
 self-interest? 
 Wilt thou persist, 
 
 in the ruin, — maniacal ravager, — of thy heritage — 
 
 the one star of thy birthright? 
 Dost thou dread not 
 
 the degeneracy of thine imperial 
 
 155 
 
breed, and at naught settest thy destiny 
 of Godhood? 
 
 No premonitory misgivings, 
 
 ere yet it be too late, wilt thou give ear to? 
 
 And wilt then dare in after ages, 
 (Fool! Fool!) 
 
 when self-doom'd thou art perishing, 
 at the mirth-twinkling heavens to vent thee 
 in maledictions preposterous, because — 
 
 the old bosom forsooth, scarr'd, bruis'd, 
 gore-bedabbled, of thy Mother 
 will not foster more, and rear as of old, 
 thy puUulent generations — 
 
 the Mother 
 
 (loving, responsive to her offspring 
 until cold at the last, stark, dead), 
 
 of Thee, slain — blind, ruthless, false Son!" 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Sad Misanthropist sublime, 
 comfort thee, comfort thee — 
 for high 
 above thy final leap and lunge, 
 horrific, into the chasm, 
 forever vortically to engulf thee from sight 
 of thyself and the dizzy-swaying sun, — 
 Canst thou see not how a bare bough 
 intrepidly thy spray-cloud 
 overreaches, and the arching prism-splendors 
 that environ and enaureole thy hoar stormy-lockt 
 head calamitous? — 
 Behold (if but a moment 
 thou wilt allow thee to be distracted 
 from thine anguish) how a Bird 
 percheth him on the lichen-hair'd 
 
 tipmost twig — 
 (what, dost thou recognize not 
 thy well-wisher?) brown-speckled, buff-breasted, 
 rufous-green — wing and tail! 
 
 156 
 
'Tis, O Joy! 
 the Swamp-angel, the diminutive Throstle 
 of the solitude — 
 and to capture thy notice, 
 thro' the vibrating azure, 
 in quick loops aerial, he v/ingeth him, 
 and returneth undaunted again 
 his word of consolation to deliver — for see, see! — 
 he warbleth now some dithyramb unimpassionately 
 voluble — a paean of victory 'tis, spiritual, 
 for thy hearing; 
 and the strains, 
 in the boom of thine uproar inaudible, 
 my heart echoeth: — 
 
 "Hark, hark, 
 
 wert Thou still uncontaminate as erst 
 (O mountain Torrent, — hearken, hearken, 
 
 and take comfort!) — not so dazzling were 
 
 the whiteness of thy bubbly foam; 
 nor thy spray-mists, 
 
 v/ind-agitated, were fret elusively 
 
 with such palpitant sun-glories; 
 nor overspun with vivid frostwork 
 
 so lacily were thy cataracts, evermore 
 
 spirting sparkles, and outfraying into traceries 
 
 iridescent of spume; 
 nor so ferocious — 
 
 verily, verily — were 
 
 thy denunciations hurl'd at Evil, earthshaking, 
 
 hoarse-reverberant under hoUowed-out 
 
 silvery-oozing and dribbling mosst scars; 
 nor would gusts so irresistible set adance 
 
 the leafage on the tree-tops, in jubilation 
 
 that they hang beyond reach utterly 
 
 of all soilure; 
 Nor were the flaming sunflower, 
 
 and, fragrant, the raspberries with their wild-rose bloom 
 
 purple, and the constellated aster 
 
 yellow-cor'd, lavender or milky petall'd, — 
 
 157 
 
thus regally invested, transfigur'd 
 
 with such crystalline, rainbow radiant array; 
 Nor below, where forespent 
 
 thou tarriest a while gasping 
 
 for wrath-respite, and thy anarchical 
 
 yeasty turmoil out-smoothens to an ominous 
 
 glassy glare, — 
 wouldst Thou spread 
 
 so burnished a mirror as now 
 
 (of thy very swarthiness clearer) 
 
 for sun, stars, luminous clouds and the ardent 
 
 firmamental still blue!" 
 
 IX. 
 
 Comfort thee, comfort thee 
 implacable defil'd Torrent, 
 for thy Consoler 
 carolleth, still caroUeth, 
 
 the transparency thou shalt yet achieve thee 
 of thy purificatory fury 
 at pollution. 
 Thine, thine 
 
 (so he singeth faith-exuberant) 
 shall a virgin Immaculacy 
 more miraculous than erst be; 
 and brave-soul'd shalt thou bear it to the ocean — 
 the vast, bitter and foul ocean, — 
 that at least 
 
 by so little it may the sweeter, 
 the clearer be. 
 Nor for naught 
 
 shall thine agoniz'd mad curses 
 to the welkin have forth-thunder'd. 
 For there cometh, oh there cometh 
 (hear, hear him at his ultimate 
 fugue ecstatic!) 
 the Man of thy holy hope — He 
 
 the expected, the worshipt, the fulfiUer; — 
 of his advent divine, the foreordained 
 
 158 
 
times shorten'd, 
 
 with the cry 
 
 uninterrupted, savage, fearful, of thy desire, — 
 O defil'd mountain Torrent, inspir'd 
 Prophet of evil, — 
 by Thee! 
 
 THE MULE 
 
 A SUNRISE WHIMSY 
 
 Where spann'd the road lies 
 
 by the massy iron bridge 
 
 above the power-house with its perpetual 
 
 wind-fluttered steam-banner, 
 I was sauntering ere fully yet day dawned, 
 
 listless, of protracted toil weary, 
 
 and despairing of sleep. 
 The wicked steely 
 
 glints of oil'd machinery 
 
 ponderous, at work 
 
 under scrutiny persistent of electric eyes 
 
 depending spider-like from roof-rafters, 
 
 haunted my mind uncannily; 
 till homeward I turn'd, and yonder, on the far side 
 
 of the lower road-cut, the quarried hill, (gray, 
 
 perpendicular, stubborn,) confronted me, crested 
 with a dusky hunch, gruesome, that at times 
 
 seem'd to waver as to outline, and stir 
 
 in lurches erratic on the uttermost sheer edge. 
 Still-standing, long fascinated, 
 
 I gaz'd; and at length 
 
 the dawn-gleams uncertain, reveal'd 
 
 tugging irreverently the patient hill's scalp 
 
 of rank weeds wiry, — 
 a Mule! And I mused 
 
 straightway of the People, uncircumspect, 
 
 feeding ever on the verge 
 
 of a civic abyss without light, 
 
 nor feeling of any — great lack, 
 
 for the tugging and the munching of the weeds! 
 
 159 
 
Suddenly, as intent at the creature 
 
 I look'd, — that had ceas'd 
 
 in his dignity symbolic to suggest 
 
 aught vulgar, flippant, whimsical, — 
 a burst of bloody light volcanic 
 
 (from some crater, so it seem'd, 
 
 close behind him deep-yawning,) etch'd-out 
 
 lean legs, downcast head, ears protuberant, 
 
 ignominious tassel'd tail 
 
 the flush'd sky against, that enhaloed Him! 
 Wholly, however, was the Mule 
 
 at the grotesque weird silhouetting of his form 
 
 undismayed; and graz'd on — 
 
 for nowise the illumination, you conceive, 
 
 marr'd the pungency acrid 
 
 of the weeds! 
 And a laugh, bitter, unawares 
 
 startled me (tho' my own) recalling 
 
 how we prate — eloquently — about reform, 
 
 progress, enlightenment (foolish 
 
 self-deceivers!) and the sure 
 
 holy common sense of arous'd 
 
 public Opinion! 
 But lo, 
 
 from the body of the Mule, (as man's future 
 
 political and social I pondered dejectedly,) 
 swift rays to the zenith upflew, 
 
 fan-like outspread; and at once 
 
 the steam-banner, on the power-house flaunted, 
 
 caught fire; and scurrying flufft cloudlets 
 
 like a butterfly bevy, white-frock'd, 
 
 of school-girls from class discipline releas'd, 
 
 through the sky romp'd, — the fresh child's 
 
 glow, of health in their cheeks. 
 Then the sun 
 
 red-golden up-bulged from eclipse 
 
 behind the tassel-tail'd, droop-ear'd 
 
 Beast of burden, and behold! 
 at last — it was Day! 
 
 1 60 
 
O People, is it truth, sober? — or a mere 
 
 sanguine self-delusion of minds 
 
 foolishly millennial, (mad theorists!)—© People 
 
 tugging, munching the weeds unconcernedly, — 
 the faith, 
 
 that a Sun by thy ill-shap'n bulk, awkward, 
 
 ridiculous, yet mask'd is; 
 a Sun 
 
 that even now, up-struggling to shine 
 
 shortly shall the whole heavens enkindle 
 
 to such blaze 
 
 of great glory, as hitherto seer saw not 
 
 in vision apocalyptic? 
 
 Fool! Fool! 
 
 to ask questions of Thee who art wont 
 
 (not heeding star-gazers, nor prophets,) 
 
 to tug away still, 
 
 in the manner of thy hybrid folk 
 
 time out of mind, 
 
 industriously, at the scalp 
 
 wiry-weeded of the doom'd quarry-hill! 
 
 ODE TO MOUNT PELEE IN ERUPTION 
 
 (Not unmindful of Walt Whitman's "Dithyrambs") 
 I. 
 
 O awful Mount, 
 
 Long dormant, dead. 
 
 Thy vomited midnight dark. 
 
 Thy lurid locks of tangled lightning, 
 
 Those miles of explosive flame that licked up the shipping in 
 the bay as haywisps. 
 
 The incandescent rivers of rock as a network enmeshing thee. 
 
 The ocean-bed sunk, engulfing the seas, that the waters re- 
 gurgitate asteam and abubble with heat. 
 
 The blizzard of ashes, and hail of boulders, 
 
 The devastated city of careless ease afire, 
 
 i6i 
 
The crashing cathedral towers, timbers incinerated, masonry 
 
 crumbling, metals molten. 
 The great cathedral square paved with corpses so thickly 
 
 that they surge up erect in lifelike attitudes of horror. 
 Forty thousand souls, suffocated in their beds, charred in the 
 
 open, sodden in the sizzling harbor brine. 
 Governor, policeman, sailor, fishmonger, banker. 
 Father and son, mother and babe at the breast, and the 
 
 chubby little girl clutching her skirts — 
 All, all, alike; 
 The maniac murderer alone surviving to escape with a howl 
 
 on the opening of his underground dungeon, and perish 
 
 somewhere in the glare of thy demoniac eye. . . . 
 Ha! do these monstrous deeds of Thine mean nought to us, 
 Nought to us, O Mount Pelee? 
 
 II. 
 
 The reptiles — venomous vermin — had forsaken thy fissures 
 
 and crevices. 
 For they knew — 
 
 The cattle with a revivified instinct fought for freedom, 
 For they vaguely understood — 
 The populace, panic stricken, prayed to be allowed to flee 
 
 and leave their all behind in the doomed city — 
 But prudent men of science, 
 (As a committee,) 
 Decreed there was no danger, 
 So the brave governor issued orders. 
 Reassured the rabble by his presence, and by the presence of 
 
 his wife and children. 
 Wherefore they whom thou didst warn v/ere cowed, were 
 
 shamed into disobedience: 
 Then couldst thou, O awful Mount — vent of the infinite 
 
 forces of earth — restrain thee no longer. 
 And thy incredible work of destruction was wrought in a 
 
 moment, in the twinkling of an eye — 
 Earthquake, darkness, hell belched forth. 
 Chaos and desolation! 
 
 162 
 
III. 
 
 And men in far-off places all over the habitable globe, 
 
 Civilized males, munching cigars in their mouths, twirling 
 cigarettes, or fingering pipes. 
 
 On the street cars, lounging in study chairs, or astride an 
 office stool, or loafing in a taproom. 
 
 Declare: "There is no God," — 
 
 None, for God would have assuredly have hindered thee, 
 O Mount! 
 
 And some parson, supposing Augustine and Calvin in the 
 divine counsels still. 
 
 With a long countenance cries out to his smug, money-get- 
 ting, pew-rent-paying congregation: 
 
 "Behold — judgment on the unspeakable iniquities of that 
 city!" 
 
 And the Pharisee, chewing the cud in the pew, whispers to 
 his heart, "Amen," and devises all the while uncon- 
 sciously 
 
 Some new penny-in-the-slot machine! 
 
 Faugh! 
 
 IV. 
 
 O fools and heartless hypocrites, 
 
 Perverters of truth, and eloquent Job's comforters unto the 
 dead. 
 
 Hearken a word in your secret ear: 
 
 Is it not expedient once in a while that our pride should be 
 checked? 
 
 Our materialistic satisfaction with godless possessions dis- 
 quieted? 
 
 That as we pile up our Babels, sink our mile-deep mine- 
 shafts, burrow our mole-tunnel under sea, cut out our 
 sewer-canals of solid rock, and threaten the very home 
 of the free winds with invasion, 
 
 We be forced to recall how vast the energy of the Stillness, 
 
 The terror of the gentle Hush, 
 
 On which dartle the midnight stars. 
 
 On which the flood of golden sun down-poureth. 
 
 And the crystalline rains of spring? 
 
 163 
 
Is it not well that forty thousand should perish now and then 
 
 That the swarming Millions may hesitate a moment, and 
 worship or blaspheme — 
 
 Their little self-confident, jocose, speculative intellect con- 
 founded, 
 
 Their heart, sensual or rebellious, clutched for a second by 
 the dread of the Unknown? 
 
 Ah, was it not well? 
 
 "Inhuman"? you shout — "inhuman"? 
 
 Absurd nonsense, friend! 
 
 Must we not all die, sooner or later die, 
 
 Cowards and courageous, fools and philosophers. 
 
 All the sons of mighty Mother Earth? 
 
 Must not the kindest of us die, and make griefs, cares, sor- 
 rows, dismays of soul, for those we love most, and cher- 
 ish most tenderly? 
 
 Would you, friend, greatly prefer to succumb, 
 
 Properly, in your bed, to invisible hosts of bacteria? 
 
 Have you such a passionate predilection for germs? 
 
 Or would you choose rather, delicate friend, to be slowly 
 exhausted by the labor of decent digestion — by the 
 smack and non-assimilation of well-prepared victuals? 
 
 Or have you perchance a fancy for breathing out a dozen 
 centuries or so between doze and doze. 
 
 The eyelids prudently uplifted as you peep through the 
 lashes, for fear of wasted vitality? 
 
 God! are we men? women? boys? girls? 
 
 Or only worms, snails, jellyfish, sloths and alligators leth- 
 argic with a bellyful of dog? 
 
 VI. 
 
 Ah, death-dealer, terrible demon — 
 
 Monster-mouth of chaos, fire-spouter, sea-churner, uptearer 
 
 of land and sky. 
 Thou at least hast roared out an emphatic Word, 
 And forty thousand souls, brave and pusillanimous alike, 
 
 164 
 
With gasp, sigh, wail, howl, shriek, sob, choke, rattle, have 
 uttered it with thee. 
 
 In chorus of sublime frenzy, prayer, childlike faith or rage! 
 
 Oh to have perished, speaking that noble Word in unison 
 with Thee! 
 
 If unable to speak it out clearly in life. 
 
 To have whispered it dying, as one of forty thousand swal- 
 lowed up quick in hell: 
 
 "The inexhaustible universe! 
 
 The reserve of creative energy! 
 
 We — not the end of things! 
 
 The power, terror, beauty, glory, sublime majesty of God!" 
 
 VII. 
 
 Were that so cruel, dismal, vexatious an exit for a puny little 
 
 human babe of the All Father? 
 O awful Mount, roar out again thy "No!" 
 Yet, hear — in spite of Thee 
 They persist in disagreeing with Us, 
 Awful Mount! 
 
 They prefer, really prefer, living on and on and dying useless! 
 Being snuffed out some day insignificant, 
 Being buried at the expense of a weeping and bereaved 
 
 family — 
 God help them! 
 
 June 22. 1902. 
 
 ODE TO PIKE'S PEAK 
 
 THE MOUNTAIN 
 
 I.— A 
 
 Above the billowy waste of plain — 
 
 the grey-green welter of grassy glare ; — 
 with vivid miles of sunflowers splashed, 
 
 or marigolds and ox-eyed daisies, 
 with thistly-leaved white poppies, or starry mentzelias 
 
 foamflecked and dappled, 
 with velvety acres pearl-blue of the sage-brush 
 subtly hazed; 
 
 165 
 
Oh, at every season, to have explored it lovingly, 
 and feel its multitudinous life of bloom 
 in eye and nostril linger! 
 
 To hear the meadow-lark, 
 
 uphuddled on the fence-post, 
 drop cheerily into the wind 
 
 monotonous gushes of delicious melody; 
 to watch the hawk at his vigilant 
 slow wheel in the dazzling air; 
 the prairie dogs scurrying holeward 
 
 through their villages of sandy mounds, 
 or on their haunches, like sentinels, 
 
 in the vibrant sunheat posted whimsically; 
 nevertheless from here — 
 
 as up we climb the bastioned bluffs, 
 
 its numerous miracles effaced from view and hearing; 
 only now an infinite spread of sea 
 far forth to the faint horizon-line 
 dizzily aheave; . . . 
 and above it, — 
 
 never can abate 
 
 the heart's first wonder, the mind's amazement! 
 Insolent, serrated, abrupt, stupendous, 
 The Mountains; 
 
 vertically uphurled, 
 into the azure wedged, 
 buttressing their mightiest sublime One, 
 the noble high-soaring Peak, 
 loftily aloof, 
 roseate golden, 
 
 cloudy insubstantial. 
 Vast! 
 
 I.— B 
 
 O erupted fury primeval, 
 
 scragged fold of the earth's straining crust 
 jammed skyward convulsively, 
 through torrid ages on ages 
 
 scarred and splintered of the storm-bolts, 
 
 i66 
 
of the seething rain-floods scooped and carven; 
 thy ribbed acclivities 
 
 lacerated of sudden streams; 
 the gorged torrents, infuriated, — 
 wrenching, braying toppled masses, 
 tearing ravenously granitic channels — 
 grooves and ruts, troughs and gulches 
 to deep-gaping dank canons; 
 ages on ages in the arctic 
 ice-continent's boreal clutch, 
 
 of its glacier-tentacles constricted, 
 
 gouged, crunched, ripped, mangled, ground; 
 the wastage of the moraines 
 in avalanches and landslides 
 tumbled thunderously plainward; 
 ages on ages, the fierce hurricanes 
 ablare with their sand-blasts, 
 their hurled gravel-hail rough-hewing thee, 
 till jagged tusks abraded, 
 
 spires fantastical, crooked pinnacles, 
 protrude vertiginously; 
 and dragonlike rags of monstrous rock 
 corrugated, honeycombed, grotesquely gargoyled, 
 rear and ramp terrific 
 over thy precipitous slopes atilt; 
 O Mount immortal, serene, 
 
 scornest thou to wage war for thy life? 
 
 Beyond thy forested cones dishevelled, 
 and thy cupolas enormous withdrawn, 
 behind the embrasured bulwarks of thy foothills, 
 wilt thou resist not, at length aroused, 
 the perpetual onset outrageous 
 of thine enemies? 
 Canst thou forever 
 brood awful 
 
 above thine own chaotic might 
 omnipotent 
 moveless, impassive, rapt? 
 
 167 
 
I. — c 
 
 How deliberate 
 
 the approach, how many, 
 
 O Mountain, the footsteps 
 
 unto thy kingly high-seat! 
 
 Forth-thrown first to the fore 
 
 the sheer bluffs Uft their parapets; 
 then, treeless, shrubless, the undulant 
 flats unroll them, 
 
 whereover heavy freights earthshaking 
 that bellow and snort, 
 
 seem but sooty worms awriggle; 
 whereon the city overcasting 
 
 her rectangular lattice of lawn-edged poplar avenues 
 is but a frivolous wooded patch of shimmer, — 
 so broadly liberal their expanse; 
 and, where the flats then decline 
 to a creek-bed, upswelleth 
 ruddy-soiled, scant-grassed, the mesa — 
 by murk scrub-oaks leopard-spotted, 
 with clustered yucca bespiked, 
 whence behold, in the even-sun how marvelous 
 thy majesty! From thy stately head — 
 wind-tossed, magnificent 
 thy stormlocks to the zenith 
 flow free; 
 
 the effulgence sifted through them 
 thy reclucent countenance shadoweth 
 as a fulvous aureate veil; 
 each fold of craggy drapery distinct — 
 dusk-green and emerald, red-mottled — 
 about thy middle loose-girded 
 a mantle to thy firm-planted feet of adamant 
 
 down-sweepeth in imperial train; 
 thy throne despotic — proud brethren 
 less only than Thou, 
 for thy haughty pride the proudlier 
 upbearing thee; 
 
 i68 
 
and lo! 
 
 Over thy whole glory 
 what azurous bloom is shed . . . 
 fragrantly, as of an intervening 
 cerulean heaven! 
 Ah, who, who 
 
 worshipfuUy must not avow him 
 thy liege, O thou dream 
 
 resolutely real, flushed with deity, 
 lordly Mountain sun-crowned! 
 
 THE MEANING 
 
 II.— A 
 
 From far yet, in pioneer decades 
 
 six days' march hence, or seven, 
 in endless train a-creak the wanes crawling 
 between whirling smoke columns of desert dust — 
 (their garish tunnels of sultry shelter 
 
 for the wives and the little children; 
 the trail indicated to later emigrants 
 athwart the continent cynically 
 by grotesque wreckage and bleached bones;) 
 Oh, what savage shouts of drunken joy, 
 what murmurs of thanksgiving 
 suffocated by devout emotion, 
 hailed thy first dim looming 
 
 as a cloudy suspiration at earth's uttermost edge — 
 then, soon again thy ghostly uprise 
 as a sapphirine vague pyramid — 
 and at length, 
 
 thy sudden imminence of luminous mass! 
 To trudgers, all but exhausted, 
 
 hardy homeseeker, rash-spirited adventurer, 
 what visions beatific of sweet peace 
 
 by honest toil and slow thrift attained. 
 What ungodly hallucinations 
 of fabulous gain squandered 
 in insolent lust! 
 
 169 
 
How wast thou not to them, O Mountain, 
 
 a prophet's cry, a trumpet-blast of inspiration, 
 a theophany of the very grace covenanted 
 in Accad ages gone 
 to the God-expatriated patriarch of Ur? 
 
 II.— B 
 
 Ah, to interpret aright thy purpose ! 
 
 For methinks thy silent welcome 
 to a people that went by unheedful 
 of unspoken higher meanings, nowise 
 was thy final word; else wherefore also 
 again and again the unwilling eye 
 fascinate? Beckon insistently, allure, 
 and the spirit tantalize — ever Thee, 
 
 Thee, in manifold moods to contemplate? 
 
 Which were, if one might have token sure, 
 thy inmost sense inscrutable 
 and last intention? 
 
 For whatever man doth long envisage, 
 
 he transfigureth to human semblance; 
 hearkening oracles of his destiny 
 in river and wind and sea. 
 
 Therefore, speak, dost thou pierce untoward 
 into the vortex tempestuous 
 of the welkin thus, — 
 a morbid self-chastiser? 
 
 stony head and breast exposing 
 to insensate rage fanatically — 
 the livid lightning 
 at lurid play about thee? 
 
 Nay, rather, thou dost uplift thee 
 a generous-hearted preempter 
 of ills allotted at large? 
 
 the knotted whipthongs of chaos, braving, 
 that but for thee 
 would demoniacally leash the earth 
 
 170 
 
Or truth-eager, wouldst thou explore — 
 with fierce torturing mystery 
 cloaking thee, 
 the awful turmoil 
 
 but to discern there in the great hush 
 at midmost fury — 
 the still majesty of holy law 
 as Afric Sinai of yore? 
 
 II.— C 
 
 Ha! Perchance, 'tis some disgust misanthropic 
 caught of a world-ancient grief 
 that biddeth thee thus gruffly 
 shake off our leafy brethren, 
 
 fain to win thee with fond caresses 
 to a happier mind. 
 For bare utterly dost thou rise, alone — 
 and the verdant balsams aromatic, 
 the silver spruces 
 ashen-violet or beryl-bluish 
 thou hast repulsed; 
 the red-barked 
 
 cliff-clamberers also 
 with their lustrous long spines 
 in sunshine iridescent, and their haunting 
 aeolian roar, — 
 Thou wouldst none of them! 
 
 The slender, rigidly erect, sombre-suited sentinels 
 and the wind-twisted knotty cedars, 
 and, with their russet and sanguine 
 October pomp, — the hardy shrub-oaks 
 In close fellowships clustered; 
 Ay, and, emerald-sheeny, the quaking aspens 
 that flicker up a primrose yellow 
 in autumnal ecstasy; and, asprawl, 
 the juniper, pale-berried, close-clinging. 
 
 None, none wilt thou tolerate 
 rustling sociably their soul communion? 
 
 171 
 
II.— D 
 
 How otherwise may one interpret thee, 
 strange Scorner — not only 
 of tree-fellowship; — for the innocent 
 flower children, dost thou forbid 
 lest they come nigh thee! 
 
 Delicately dangling the ruby gilia; 
 the magical willowy wands awave 
 of the goldenrod; the cerulean 
 penstemon in skyey patches; 
 the companies of the columbine 
 
 white and mauve; 
 the blazing-stars, staunch and crimson; 
 the tremulously feminine 
 campanulas; — nay, nor the stalwart 
 scarlet-berried kinick-kinick 
 and all their manifold 
 
 bee-murmurous kith and kin — 
 None wilt thou invite thee, to make merry 
 
 up thy precipitous sides; 
 tho' from base to top thy fellows 
 make them joyful 
 
 year by year with their gay invasion. 
 Do their foolish hopes, foolish fears 
 to a reasonless ire provoke thee? 
 Their hand-clappings, hand-claspings, 
 infantile laughter and complaint 
 irk thee sore? 
 Wherefore rather 
 
 wouldest thou enermine thee 
 with the snows dumb and deaf, 
 feel the sharp ice cram thy gorges, 
 cap thy peak and steel-fend thee 
 against assailing sympathies heart-ang^ishful 
 with what springeth up to perish futile? 
 At heart a pessimist, O Mount, — 
 
 forbidding thyself the insolent self-praise of pity, 
 if impotent, alas, to foster 
 and arrest their doom? 
 
 172 
 
II.— E 
 
 Or perchance, 'tis a voracious ardor 
 instinctive, that upheaveth thee 
 for purer air, 
 for light 
 
 by a dense atmosphere unsifted; — 
 the dazzle intolerable of noon, 
 the quiet 
 
 of tfee starred midnight 
 unprofaned; 
 the pallid, opaline 
 dawns, and the brassy sundowns 
 extravagant; 
 the violet afterglows 
 and amethystine moonshine mystical! 
 Yea, a passion 
 
 that possesseth thee to refract the day, 
 and empurpled, glow-enaureoled 
 
 prolong it — 
 catch the first breaking gleams, 
 and steadily shine and shine 
 
 to prognosticate the larger glory 
 that shall engulf at last all gloom? 
 
 II.— F 
 
 Ah, methinks now, utterly, 
 
 utterly hast thou abjured, O Mount, 
 the Titan struggle without reason 
 against fatal forces all-fashioning, 
 which with brutal mouths agape 
 thy scarped foothills proclaim; 
 their skeleton strata 
 from their livid-pale green-speckled rent flanks 
 jutting truculently — as tawny 
 buff or rufous crags weather-battered 
 with scabrous cicatrices, and bedabbled 
 with the purplish black gore stains 
 of rebellious battle! 
 
 173 
 
Wherefore mute, 
 
 upbuilded elementally with sheer cliffs, 
 a stupendous pile 
 
 of loose-tumbled monoliths, 
 above thy fellows art thou exalted 
 thro' resignation; by thy gaze 
 at the Eternal eternalized; 
 
 an altar whereon for sacrifice 
 nought is spread 
 but heaven's own gift — 
 the radiant raiment 
 
 wherewith in winter it endueth thee 
 for thy service sacramental, 
 O Enthusiast; 
 Yea, nought else at all 
 
 save thyself hast thou to offer 
 the all-hallowing divine Blue! 
 
 THE MAN 
 
 III.— A 
 
 Ah, what fancies perverse 
 
 doing thee dishonor; 
 into moods of humanity translating 
 thy solitude superhuman! 
 
 For not surely art thou an unfeeling mass 
 
 of willess forces upfliung; 
 a chronicle of chance vicissitudes 
 
 for geologist to ponder; 
 a mindless glyph and symbol luck-sculptured 
 to minister (thro' priest and prophet) 
 unto some obsolete edification; 
 a picturesque blind disarray 
 
 to be exploited of dauber and word-monger ;- 
 an inexhaustible dull hoarder 
 
 of precious ore for the crazed prospector; 
 a boastful lurer hither 
 
 of sight-seekers from every clime! 
 
 174 
 
Ludicrous indignities done thee 
 
 of small-statured specialists! 
 For who knoweth not what thou art, 
 
 O Mount?— 
 Quick energy, for thyself existing, 
 
 incalculably potential, 
 together held livingly of the law 
 that sways suns throughout the universe; 
 but the law, nowise imposed on thee! 
 Nay, rather of thine own joyful choice 
 adopted and obeyed, 
 for thou couldest in volcanic orgasm 
 leap forth, a flame to heaven, 
 cumbering the earth with ruin 
 unimaginable; or beyond her atmosphere 
 outfly her reach 
 and stray thro' space forever, 
 stellar dust. 
 And, thou boldest thee still 
 self-contained, balanced to the greater Centre 
 in unaffected humility; nay, fast-grappling thee 
 as of desperation, 
 for very being dependent on loving contact 
 and intercourse essential with the Whole; 
 of no extraneous power uplifted, 
 
 nor on pinions idealistic 
 airily oversoaring 
 a despised abyss of peril, 
 thou didst deign not to explore! 
 By inherent bulk, massy power 
 is thy sublimation compassed, 
 maintained spiritually through all degrees, 
 
 possessed substantially; — 
 the mastered space 
 
 in thy vastitude embodied, 
 thou dost reach up from depths immeasurable 
 continuously to thine own height, 
 with alacrity self-upholden ; 
 albeit content 
 
 to indicate for others 
 
 175 
 
heights yet higher to attain 
 if it be their destiny; 
 albeit refraining thee, from futile strivings 
 self-withholden, 
 of thy proper fate enamored, 
 with the cosmic Order at peace, 
 and with thy Self. 
 
 Ill— B 
 
 Ah, hast thou ari inkling 
 that thou art thus our ideal 
 of the magnanimous god-like Man? 
 
 Nay, how shouldest thou know at all 
 
 what thou art — to us men? 
 Ah, how shouldest thou have knowledge 
 in any wise as we, creatures 
 of a day that are in part and are not, 
 poor human glowworms 
 ambitious for firefly freedom; — 
 to whom is granted knowledge — 
 that in aeons maybe and aeons 
 in some scion reincarnate 
 more worthy of our democratic ancestry, 
 we may taste — if it be possible 
 on this whirling planet 
 for such as we — 
 the bliss of actual being! 
 But thou, Mountain, already art, 
 verily art, hast thy selfhood 
 achieved, nor needest 
 inquire what thou art and art not; — 
 for thee in equipoise, no progress further, 
 nor retrogression to loathe 
 with frenzied terror; 
 ignorant, ah, totally ignorant 
 
 of the mean and petty in thy environment: — 
 
 the nauseous titillation from the bustle beneath, about 
 thee, 
 the parasitical squirm and swarm, 
 the precipitate antlike 
 
 176 
 
in-and-out, to-and-fro of man — 
 forsooth presuming 
 to discover thee, 
 Thee of the miUion ages! 
 investing thee with his uneuphonious 
 cognomen lest thou suffer 
 continuing nameless; with scrupulous accuracy 
 noting thee (a scrawly centipede) 
 on omniscient maps; 
 charitably advertising thine exact altitude 
 
 with tinted profiles of thy distinctive features! 
 Ignorant, blessedly ignorant 
 
 of the ingenious cogroad to thy summit 
 as a noose about thy neck to picket thee! 
 Of the halfbred herds haled at ease 
 above the clouds, of their bovine jests 
 and aesthetic hee-haws 
 when from thy height for the first time 
 they behold without reverent awe 
 the sun ascend the heaven; 
 and with a bored impatience 
 await critically the program's ending 
 to assure themselves they have their purchase; — 
 then turn, relieved and joyous, 
 to the sandwich and the pie! 
 Ignorant, blessedly ignorant 
 
 of the crasser fools who chisel out 
 records of their pusillanimous personalities . . . 
 for the unwinking stars 
 
 (who could doubt it?) to scan inquisitively; 
 a rebus for supposititious Marsites, 
 
 with telescopes askew; 
 a text hieroglyphic for unborn better races 
 to ponder centuries and centuries! 
 Ah, blessedly, thrice blessedly ignorant altogether — 
 a victim never therefore 
 of the horrible vertigo, the heartsick 
 angry scorn of fellowmen — 
 never slow-sinking in the swallowing quagmire — 
 suspicious of thine own blood, brawn, brain, soul! 
 
 177 
 
III.— c 
 
 Yet, notwithstanding are not We 
 
 by the very witness of the sceptic anguish 
 more than Thou, — 
 
 complacent, of doubt incapable? 
 At least, destined to nobler issue? 
 
 Behold if one instant thou deign 
 
 from thy high trance to stoop thee, 
 how we have journeyed on and on 
 from viscous flow and reflex gush 
 of cellular stuff, to cerebrations 
 that coruscate away the universe! 
 From protoplasm to vertebrate 
 
 mammal, man, 
 from amoeba to Plato, Caesar, Napoleon, Goethe! 
 
 Ah, who in the slime incipient 
 
 should have foreknown us? 
 Who then shall dare prognosticate 
 
 with calm assurance 
 what fairer, firmer types of Manhood 
 may not come forth from us in ages? 
 Some higher Being, perchance 
 
 of transilient imagination, unto ours 
 as ours unto that of wildcat, 
 crested jay, or woodchuck, 
 or of the prolific grasshopper 
 of the plains? 
 
 III.— D 
 
 Alas, how know we surely 
 
 Thou hast not, long ere we began, 
 grown aweary of the zigzag climb 
 of Evolution? 
 
 And hast learned to prefer static raptures 
 
 the perpetual reticent self -identity; 
 having left behind 
 
 the palpitant communion, 
 
 178 
 
for utter junction with the universe 
 
 of thine own election and achievement wrought 
 through denial of separate essence? 
 For Thee henceforth no former time, 
 no hereafter, 
 
 nought to wish, fear, or hope — 
 
 a life, without end to anticipate, 
 of start immemorial, — 
 All focused in the Eternal subsisting 'Now!' 
 
 Oh, Mount of God most holy? 
 Who for thee — sh^ll make reply? 
 
 THE BEECH IN WINTER 
 
 I. 
 
 How gracious to look upon 
 
 art thou 
 
 this sunny winter morn, 
 
 O Beech. Not now 
 
 the bleak flaws and sleet-swirls hiss 
 
 in rude onrush 
 
 their gusty spite at thee, 
 
 and menace. Nay, not this 
 
 sweet holy day of windless hush. 
 For, basking in the pale sun, lo, 
 
 of stark shrub and icicled weed fine-sifted, 
 
 the dry immaculate snow 
 
 doth in nook and hollow nestle, 
 
 and lieth ghost-drifted 
 
 in quiet stretches wide 
 
 like rippled sands by the beach of the moonlit sea. 
 And Thou, — unchallenged the while to wrestle 
 
 with hundred-arm'd demons of air — 
 
 dost still as thy wintery wont, abide 
 
 in the mystery dreamfast 
 
 of the ever-recurrent summertide 
 
 vaguely remembered. Wherefore, at last 
 
 179 
 
to break thy silence no more 
 
 dare 
 
 I forbear. 
 Nor surely wilt thou withhold 
 
 comfort brotherly if in sooth thou be 
 
 even as I, most gracious Tree, 
 Twain-souled. 
 
 II. 
 
 O embodied Allegory — 
 
 out of the midst of roots 
 
 which from the depths of gloom have shrunk 
 
 snakewise to writhe among lilac shoots 
 
 and clumps of grass rime-hoary, — 
 how straight doth thy mist-grey trunk 
 
 uprise for the skyward soar 
 
 of thy bole evermore! 
 
 Yet how homesick too dost thou grieve 
 
 for touch of the earth iron-frore: 
 the friendlier nether 
 
 half of thy boughs 
 
 (whereto v/hite-frosted numberless leaves together 
 
 ashudder close-cleave) 
 
 do stoop them 
 
 in gentle fellowships, 
 
 yea, and adrowse 
 
 do droop them, 
 that only their uttermost delicate tips 
 
 uplift them, as tho' they awoke at the end 
 
 ashamed so to bend 
 
 utterly down to the ground, — 
 when their brethren, full half of thee, higher 
 
 strive and aspire, 
 
 and everywhither f orth-feather — 
 (not one sole leap to some single 
 
 zenith of aspiration supreme) — 
 but the rather, with the whole heaven's round 
 
 about and above 
 
 to commingle 
 
 and lose them, they seem; 
 
 i8o 
 
yea, full fain 
 
 again to caress it and yet again 
 
 with reverent touch of manifold longing and love. 
 
 III. 
 
 Ha, the Unseen now sways, 
 O embodied Prayer — soft, soft 
 sways Thee, and me — ay, Me 
 the impalpable spirit with thee. 
 
 In vain abandoned nests aloft 
 
 would recall to our mind 
 
 blessed earth-sufficiencies: 
 
 home-love, love of kind 
 
 (builders, brooders, fledged nestlings flown; — ) 
 from thy roots to thy topmost sprays 
 
 alone ! 
 
 And methinks 'tis a phantom bird 
 
 only in memory heard 
 
 warbleth wailful the plaintive but plain 
 
 clear song of truth: — 
 That never shall we attain 
 
 strive howso we may, and pass 
 
 alas, 
 
 wingless as we and uncouth — 
 (nay, never, tho' gifted we were 
 
 as the birds of the air 
 
 with flight for desire) yon sky — 
 
 you 
 
 and I — 
 
 of pearly murk and aerial pellucid blue! 
 
 IV. 
 
 Nevertheless pray on, 
 
 albeit thou have not thy prayer. 
 
 In storm and still pray on, that so 
 
 this lonesome wintertide 
 
 Thou yet may'st win us, ere we know, 
 
 i8i 
 
(our fainting faith's Upstayer, 
 
 our wordy doubt's v/ordless Gainsayer, 
 
 and gracious Rebuker of wilful pride) 
 to prayer, to deep-souled prayer; 
 
 nowise a devotion perverse — 
 
 a false humility, our stature to curse 
 
 and station; — but aspirant at once, dear Beech, 
 
 and lowly of heart; remembering the lore 
 
 the Wisest and Purest teach: — 
 How thy downward yearning indeed doth foretoken 
 
 the Sun's ardent, ever-new advent for birth 
 
 in thee, and our kith and kin; 
 How thy upward strain 
 
 amain 
 
 hath the passion outspoken 
 
 which doth with the life begin 
 
 of all los^al children of earth — 
 to display the bond unbroken 
 
 that knitteth athwart vast space 
 
 our need to his golden outflow of grace: — 
 Quickener at once and Slayer, 
 
 who begat our wills as he willed. 
 Wherefore pray on, for praying thou art thy prayer 
 
 and ours fulfilled. 
 
 V. 
 
 Then wherefore boldest thou fast 
 
 the shrivelled pleasures and passions dead of the vanished 
 
 year? 
 Shake, shake them abroad 
 scattered to be, and amassed, 
 in the hither and thither 
 and futile nowhither 
 of things — spent and forgotten at last ! 
 
 If leafage of life thou do crave, 
 
 why endeavor 
 
 the outlived and lifeless to save? 
 Nor the new shall come to thee ever 
 
 from without! 
 
 182 
 
(When burgeoned thou hast and bloomed 
 wilt thou marvel more, or doubt?) 
 Yea, from within, from within thee, 
 
 Thee verily, even as dead, 
 
 (snow-shrouded, ice-tombed) 
 
 thy glory-to-be must thou win thee! 
 The sun, overhead, 
 
 with his ambient rays shall warm 
 
 thy wood, for the sap to mount. 
 
 The earth beneath thee, thawed, 
 
 shall nutriment yield from her frost-freed fount 
 
 of chemic energy. The tenuous atmosphere 
 
 (thou feelest now as caress, 
 
 now as buffet of storm) — 
 
 shall serve thee no less. 
 
 New fibrous strength will it grant thee 
 
 unto ampler spread, 
 
 and stouter stand in thy stead 
 here, on thy gravel hill, here 
 
 where kindly Fate did plant thee. . . . 
 (Thy gravel hill fern-thatched 
 
 in the spring, and with yellow violets sun-patched, 
 
 and with mist-flower blue overhazed. . . .) 
 But out from thee shall come, 
 
 from thy Self, very thee of Thee, 
 
 unregarded, unworshipped, unpraised — 
 and from no remote Elysium 
 
 (for me as for thee,) dear Tree, 
 
 the life, the might, the thought, the will, the form! 
 
 VI. 
 For still — 
 
 O thou most gracious Scion 
 
 of the world-old forest 
 
 primeval, — the God thou adorest 
 
 and dost livingly rely on — 
 thy God (How often with thee have I knelt 
 
 in spirit, O Prayer made visible !) — 
 thy God,— who else is He but thine own 
 
 Nigher Self, inly felt 
 
 183 
 
but unknown; 
 Whom knowing not, heart-simple, thou feignest 
 
 other than thou, 
 
 without and afar, 
 
 hereafter, not now; 
 and in hope and wistful solitude remainest, 
 
 yearning ever to sun and to star 
 
 and beyond; — and thy spirit refrainest, 
 
 in meekness amiss, 
 
 from thy present absolute bliss! 
 
 VII. 
 
 Vain our knowledge. Ah, vain; 
 nor aught of life shall we gain 
 therefrom. Nay, let us not darken 
 counsel with foolish speech 
 of a wisdom unvital. Hearken, hearken, 
 only I beseech 
 
 henceforward thy soul's behest — 
 which is best. 
 
 And never, (O sanest 
 
 Lover of the meek and the lowly. 
 Adorer likewise of the high and most holy,) 
 never refrain from thy old grateful reach 
 earthward, nor from thy manifold strain 
 heavenward, (tho' vain it seem — vain) 
 
 if so be. Thou thereby mayest 
 even as myself attain 
 (the while thou yearnest and prayest) 
 to thine own right stature and duty, 
 
 the truth 
 
 of Thee, beyond knowing and seeing, 
 
 the deathless youth 
 of thy goodliest being 
 and beauty; 
 
 O thou that art twain-souled — 
 
 yea, art my Self, from shrouding mystery freed, 
 
 for me in hallowed mood to behold 
 and understand and heed. 
 
 184 
 
AFTERWORD 
 
 Not have these Lines been lying 
 
 in Metre's Procrustean bed; 
 
 their rack-extended feet, 
 
 or truncated limbs adorn'd 
 
 with barbarous jewels of Rime. 
 Free be these Lines, 
 
 and their Rhythm: 
 only the motion — responsive to soul — 
 
 of sadness or madness or mirth 
 
 irresistible; 
 yielding the body in confidence 
 
 absolute unto the God who would speak, 
 
 through leap and whirl and pose 
 
 in breathless obedience to Him! 
 
 185 
 
LIFE AND LOVE 
 
 A SPIRITUAL BIOGRAPHY 
 IN SONNET SEQUENCES 
 
 PART I.— LOVE'S DAWN 
 
 I. THE PHILOSOPHY OF LOVE AND FRIENDSHIP 
 
 AN INTRODUCTORY EPISTLE 
 TO A FRIEND OF YOUTH 
 
 LOVE, THE SELF REVELATOR 
 
 O Love, soul-healer, heaven-inbringer, hail; 
 not for thy promises of instant good; — 
 for whilst we do not ever the thing we would 
 
 and live thus virtueless, most false the tale 
 
 folk feign of thee! Earth-bliss that may not fail? 
 Alas, a manhood, yea and a womanhood 
 hallowed and whole, vain lures and wiles withstood, 
 
 to prove thee all they praise, alone avail! 
 
 Yet hail, if thou but winnow. Love, and sift; 
 if we, thro' harmonies marred the cause discern 
 of disaccord; and Thou (allowing no escape), 
 urge on our indolent will the soul to shape; 
 whereby the sooner perfected, to learn 
 what the unspeakable sweetness in thy gift! 
 
 187 
 
II. 
 
 DIVINE DISCONTENT 
 
 For, comest thou, a luUer into ease 
 
 (false ease of mean content with things not best,) 
 of our frail hearts no heavenly angel-guest 
 
 wert thou, O Love, and thy sworn devotees, 
 
 entering thy temple in close companies, 
 
 gross worshippers of One, v/hose base behest 
 were "Slay the God within! for the brief rest 
 
 while biding here upon thy folded knees!" 
 
 But being thyself, sweet Love, dear Love, O come; 
 lay hold upon us, make our frailties all 
 mutual slayers, — purgers of the impure, 
 erecters of earth-glories to endure 
 beyond their home, — v/hen we obey the call 
 "Friend, come up higher!" tear -blind for thank, and dumb. 
 
 III. 
 LOVE'S ALTRUISM 
 
 Should there have been — (when all we guess is known, 
 and errors fall stripped bare by heartless fact 
 as rose of petals) — no part to enact 
 
 other than this strange earthlife; and alone 
 
 it be our human lot to laugh and moan 
 for trifles insufficient won or lacked; — 
 still. Love, thy office were not to compact 
 
 an altar of such nothings, or a throne! 
 
 Self were our Idol not, nor thou his priest! 
 
 Still were it well by alternate beck and scourge 
 to give us what should have undying worth; 
 that if at length — 'tis only "earth to earth," 
 what is with thee thus buried, prove at least 
 deserving of thy fullest royal dirge! 
 
 i88 
 
IV. 
 
 LOVE THE FRIEND 
 
 So, Love, I pray thee, open our sealed eyes; 
 the witchery-snared arouse from dreams o'er-sweet, 
 whence the too late awaking, were to beat 
 
 bruised breasts in self -revenge; and make thou wise 
 
 thy dear but foolish questioners, by replies 
 conclusive in austerity; and greet 
 with gentle frankness them who bode deceit 
 
 lurks in thy rainbow of our sorrow-skies! 
 
 For surely, of birth and holy growth — the pains 
 (tho' death be death) are good! Is not the rose, 
 
 in finished blossom, full reward of rains, 
 
 payment for sunshine drunken? Ought the close 
 of dissolution to dissuade who grows, 
 
 from hoarding now of growth his nobler gains? 
 
 SUNDERED FRIENDS 
 
 Fare forth, old friend of youth's tumultuous years, 
 when every day bred multitudes of deeds 
 in fancy done or cancelled; — ay, as breeds 
 
 the sea her bubbles, and the rain his tears, 
 
 woodlands their flowers unnoted, bending ears 
 of bristling grain the field, or snowflake seeds 
 the roadside milkweed. Woe to him who feeds 
 
 on hopes illusive and unmeaning fears. 
 
 Nay, note not now wherein we differ, friend, 
 but what continueth a shared faith; for so 
 shall old times balmily linger in new days — 
 ay, make them hoar with the dear dust of ways 
 trodden together. Fare then forth, but know 
 friends part to meet which ways so e'er they wend. 
 
 i8g 
 
II. LOVE'S PRELUDE 
 
 WOLFENBUTTEL 
 
 The grisly castle on arching pillars built, 
 islanded, with the shallow stream for moat, 
 th' old drawbridge — all did dreamlike overfloat 
 
 a gulf; and the Child could feel the stone walls tilt, 
 
 the rock-props bow, the whole labyrinth down-spilt 
 (floors, roofs, halls, corridors) thro' th' awful throat 
 of darkness; and a delicious horror smote 
 
 who under pillows tucked his monstrous guilt. 
 
 Ah, th' sweet protracted shudder athwart the square, 
 
 against his dazzled eye a crystal prism, 
 the bordering linden miraculously fair 
 
 with opaline bright outlines; and before 
 his feet, alway ahead, the vague abysm 
 
 he dared, yet dared not, plunge in to explore! 
 
 II. 
 
 YOUNG ICARUS 
 
 Old folk in a big house among huge trees, 
 tall rosiers guarding stiff the gravelly path, 
 small boats whittled to sail in marble bath, 
 
 and giant-man (if so his Kingship please) 
 
 to coax and wheedle, or buUyingly seize 
 
 for battle-charger and ride with royal wrath 
 in paper-heknet whirling sword of lath; — 
 
 Ha, and the poodle too — to fondle and tease! 
 
 Soon, pockets bulged by gaudy Easter eggs, 
 
 wings fast-sewed to his shoulders, homeward flew 
 
 along the road proud-hearted Icarus; 
 
 v/hom then befel (as even to all of us) 
 
 stung of ditch-nettles face and hands and legs, 
 
 bidding in tears his hopes of flight adieu! 
 
 190 
 
III. 
 
 AS IN PICTUREBOOKLAND 
 
 The barn with cluck of hens and cheep of chicks, 
 cackle of geese, and turkey's gobble-gobble, 
 pigeons' wing-winnowing, and ducks quick wabble; 
 
 red cows in meadows milked; fly-angered kicks 
 
 of stabled horses; kittens at darling tricks 
 rollicking in the rubbish; pigs asquabble 
 and squealing; th' old blind watch-hound's hobble; 
 
 enormous strawstacks, shaggy-eaved hayricks. 
 
 All these (not now in the Land of Picturebook, 
 like goblin, ogre, fairy) real and true! 
 Free, free for climb, run, leap and somersault, 
 and May-bugs mightily from saplings shook; 
 
 smeared hands and face and clothes — no shame or fault; 
 what joy, to make a town-bred child halloo! 
 
 IV. 
 THE FIRST FUNERAL 
 
 Tiptoeing gjreedily for a plump black cherry, 
 
 chasing the butterflies from field to field, 
 
 wasp-hunters crouched behind some shrubby shield 
 with bow and arrow in red-paint savagery, — 
 ah, well I know those days were long and merry; — 
 
 tho' best of all the sorrowful hour we kneeled 
 
 by a dear wee mother robin that revealed 
 her love in death, whom forth we stole to bury! 
 
 Over her young she clung when th' wicked crow 
 pecked, pecked away. And not until he slashed 
 her little throat, and tossed her out, had she 
 forsaken them, dying. And, from the apple-tree 
 on guard by the empty nest, the father dashed 
 at every chance bird-comer in fury of woe! 
 
 191 
 
V. 
 ROADSIDE THEOPHANY 
 
 Laid is the road-dust by a summery shower; 
 
 on hand and cheek outheld drop splashy jewels 
 
 from leafless plane-trees; flights and fierce pursuals, 
 in panic glee behind their trunks to cower, 
 or leap out thence the foe to overpower; 
 
 rebellions new, and desperate subduals, 
 
 reprisals, truces, boisterous renewals 
 of mimic war; when, look, yon roadside flower! 
 
 Spell-bound it held him still and calm and dumb. 
 Its beauty, ah, its beauty ... a hyacinth . . . wild , 
 each bell asparkle dewily . . . for him . . . 
 but not to pull ... to love! And overcome 
 of the choking passion, there the untaught child 
 worshipped with cherubim and seraphim. 
 
 VI. 
 MYSTIC KINSHIP 
 
 From the far land where only good folk live 
 mountains reach higher, rivers broader flow, 
 trees huger, and strange fruit and blossoms grow, 
 
 some day was She to come, — who could forgive 
 
 (tho' idle and greedy and noisy and talkative) 
 her bad wee boy. But days were many and slow, 
 and he had seen Her^-oh, so long ago! 
 
 Not love, then; a weird thrill inquisitive. 
 
 One day at dawn he 'woke, and with a cry 
 
 leaped from his cot, and snuggled close and warm, 
 and laughed, and gasped, and sobbed not knowing why. 
 Was it the spirit remembered, — or the flesh, — 
 th' old birth-woe? and thro' Eden walked afresh? 
 and felt one mystic bliss two souls inform? 
 
 192 
 
VII. 
 TOWARD FIESOLE 
 
 Citron and oleander rows; paths part and meet, 
 caper-bloom blotching terrace-walls; twin-pines 
 bless the cool house the noon-glad sun beshines; 
 
 in the laurel grove a moss'd familiar seat; 
 
 cicadas shriek without in the dancing heat; — 
 great figtrees sprawl them, and upleaping vines 
 close-chamber, and far, in slow processional lines, 
 
 gnarled hoary olives haze the glary wheat. 
 
 By th' plashy fountain, on his broken plinth. 
 Pan pipeth jessamine-melodies abroad; 
 a little white-frocked maiden in her lap 
 drops baby hands; while lost in the labyrinth 
 of olden fable, I drop (by sweet mishap) 
 flowers on her head, with wonder overawed. 
 
 VIII. 
 SAN GIOVANNI 
 
 Holy city in the fertile plain outspread, 
 thine still the secret (tho' forgot long since) 
 of Her, — estranged and lost to th' fairy prince — 
 
 until a dream the little maid was dead 
 
 brought fever-nights of sobs to a little bed, 
 and longings sore to track her faint foot-prints 
 into the mystery, — gleaning golden hints 
 
 of God, as jasmine sprays, to crown her head. 
 
 In vain he yearned upon some festal day, 
 rapt of the chant, astare at candle-shine 
 about high altars twinkling marvellously; 
 
 but, San Giovanni, when the Duomo uprose, 
 itself one altar lit in the night divine, 
 
 the stars with the Child spake — what no man knows. 
 
 193 
 
IX. 
 GROWING APART 
 
 Sweet-brier and spruce wax friendly side by side: 
 'flutterbys' fill him with a jealous ache 
 that drunken sips of her bloom-wine they take, — 
 
 greedy bees tousle her petals and overglide, 
 
 and tumble them irreverently, and deride 
 his rage: — Rogues, wait till a few seasons make 
 his treeship stout; then will be fir-cones shake 
 
 to crush rude wooers of his chosen bride! 
 
 Ah, the years — they came; nor soon the silver spruce 
 forgat, for low his branches drooped and yearned 
 to earthward; but the striving sap updrove 
 each season his blue-tipt beaut}'; and wont and use 
 of sun and storm fashioned him, till he clove 
 the sky, and ignorant roots the sweet-brier spurned! 
 
 X. 
 
 BOCCA D' ARNO 
 
 Dense forests along the river loudly aroar 
 in the wind. On, still we rode; till came 
 the deep hoarse notes of thunder that proclaim 
 
 the March Mediterranean; and sudden, inpour 
 
 on white sands — flashing seas, that were before 
 unto the boy a weird and awful name — 
 now a great madness his spirit to untame, 
 
 a horror of marvel, a glory to adore! 
 
 Long, fascinated of the dusk, he ran 
 
 pursuing still some bark of ghostly sail, 
 ere breathless on the shore he sank alone. 
 When Cometh again unto the fullgrown man 
 such word of worship on the blustering gale, 
 such rapturous certainty of the Unknown? 
 
 194 
 
XI. 
 
 FIRST MANHOOD 
 
 The pass attained, in hushed expectance stood, 
 
 intrepid fellow-farers, he and I — 
 
 yea, I — even I at length — who dared defy 
 prejudgment, novice in the brotherhood 
 of men, — that know the evil from the good 
 
 and freely choose, proud so to do or die ! 
 
 Foolhardily pinnacled? Ah, not over-high 
 for hero hearts, who will the thing they would! 
 
 Hark! a low growl — a roar — the avalanche 
 down-hurtling foamy torrents to the abyss — 
 Howbeit, we tremble not nor start nor blanch, 
 intoxicated of youth's Alpine air. Hold, hold!- 
 myriad ice-peaks afire with rose and gold. . . 
 Ah, God, the terror of beauty and extreme bliss ! 
 
 XII. 
 PRIMEVAL MAN 
 
 Methought that I surveyed the conquered earth, 
 and felt my breast swelling with pride of kind: — 
 Man, feeblest, slayer with lightning of the mind, 
 
 lord of all life, and final judge of worth! 
 
 Suddenly, the sky, roaring, gives wild birth 
 to shaggy mammoths who the forests grind, 
 huge bears, and wolfpacks fleeter than the hind, 
 
 that check my vaunting with a monstrous mirth: — 
 
 "Thinkest our fear of man — a fear of thee, 
 poor cowardly liver by thine apish wits? 
 
 Our conqueror left earth with us long ago! 
 Degenerate heir of unearned benefits, 
 wouldst thou dare front us with his spear and bow? 
 His eye couldst thou endure so long as we?" 
 
 195 
 
XIII. 
 PARENTAL JEALOUSY 
 
 And it was so — that, when against the wall 
 the King's seat set, and none in David's room 
 among the captains, out of the sullen gloom 
 
 glowered on Jonathan the fell eyes of Saul: — 
 
 "Son of perverse rebellion, wherewithal 
 
 hath Samuel 'witched thee so to choose thy doom,- 
 yea, and mock before all men thy mother's v/omb? 
 
 Next to the Bethlehemite? Thy thrall's base thrall?" 
 
 The javelin hurled, forth strode in anger and shame 
 Jonathan from the King his father's tent; 
 and, David's heart and hand to strengthen, spent 
 his wonderful love beyond belief of man. 
 Yet for thy father, amid the world's acclaim, 
 hast thou no pity, O Jonathan, Jonathan? 
 
 XIV. 
 THE SOUL'S EDEN 
 
 Strange madness of vainglory, O Greek commander, 
 weeping for other worlds to subjugate! 
 and didst not know, though splendid was thy state, 
 
 though to thy lusts unbounded realms might pander, 
 
 proffering thee costlier delicates, godlike grander 
 triumphs than deified despots dream'd; though fate 
 worship thy memory, and vaunt thee "Great," — 
 
 numberless empires knew not Alexander? 
 
 Each human soul a realm, — nay, world complete, — 
 joyous or sad, but free! Nor ever can 
 
 (save by Love's gracious leave) ambitious feet 
 tread on its sacred soil; for still the ban 
 of some strong God bids conquerors retreat: 
 a flaming sword invisible to man. 
 
 196 
 
XV. 
 FLOWER-TALISMANS 
 
 No friends in the monkish many-eyed solitude 
 but kingcup, crowfoot, wild geraniiim, 
 heartsease, and poppy, in the herbarium 
 
 mummied devoutly; and tho' their souls elude 
 
 capture, unto my spirit unsubdued 
 
 in dreams they come from th' flower Elysium 
 as dainty maidens gracious, frolicsome, — 
 
 that straightway vanish, ardently pursued. 
 
 What snout-tusked behemoth, or crocodile 
 sunning lank jaws in the foul ooze of Nile, 
 
 could sense the approach of translunary things; 
 
 and creatures immaterial, uncreate, — 
 witcheries sweet, vague marvels, hallowings 
 boyishly shy, zephyr ously delicate? 
 
 XVI. 
 ALTENBAUMBURG 
 
 THE LILIES 
 
 Of Altenbaumburg the grim tale is told, — 
 How the lord thereof of old to Holy Land 
 fared, cross on bosom. And a lewd kinsman planned 
 
 the lady's ruin. When to all wooings cold, — 
 
 of smiles he taxed her for a page high-souled. 
 And long the subtly kindled flame he fanned, 
 ere the earl, sped home, by torturing doubt unmanned, 
 
 and frenzied smote, and laid the twain in mould. 
 
 Lo, on the morrow above the outcast grave 
 
 twin lilies shone; but th' ruthless sword, which slew 
 
 lady and youth, their upright purity clave. 
 
 In vain. For, with the dawn they uprose anew 
 and bloomed God's witness she was leal and true. 
 
 Then thro' his heart fierce grief the death- thrust drave! 
 
 197 
 
XVII. 
 ALTENBAUMBURG 
 
 THE COMFORTER 
 
 Alas, and couldest thou thus smite and slay 
 whom thou didst swear for better and for worse 
 to cherish — a woman? Poor passionate heart perverse, 
 
 of wicked calumny the piteous prey, 
 
 what durst thou in the awful judgment say — 
 a judge thyself, unjust? No rays disperse 
 of moon or star the midnight of thy curse — 
 
 a living gloom in God's undying day. 
 
 But hark, another legend: For seven-score 
 blind palsied years he lived, — shunned, feared, unknown, 
 
 deemed mad, for that at morn and eve he kneeled 
 by those twin lilies to wring his hands and groan. . . 
 Till — God's own mother came and blessed and healed, 
 and he had rest, and the lilies bloomed no more. 
 
 XVIII. 
 FORETASTE AND AFTERTASTE 
 
 Prepotent wizardry of bygone joys! 
 often have I beheld thy faraway smile 
 and marvelled what thy vision — over stile 
 
 athwart field, beyond stream; — what thing might poise, 
 
 Mother, midair, — invisible to a boy's 
 penetrant sight, — that so could thee beguile, 
 grief-haunted, thee? Tho' sweeter than erstwhile, — 
 
 in memory sipped, no golden honey cloys? 
 
 Ah, thou didst awe inquiry. Unprofaned 
 the hallowed mysteries, my head 1 bowed 
 reverent, and lonely with thy loneliness. 
 Yet, neither could I to thee my hopes confess, 
 my boyish faiths, — adventures unavowed 
 to goals of fortune, never since attained! 
 
 ig8 
 
XIX. 
 
 mGnster am stein 
 
 Two castled crags buttress the mount; their feet 
 
 washed by the silver of the shallow river; 
 
 shrubs, briers and grasses whisper, waver and quiver, 
 in wanton airs with linden subtly sweet; 
 but th' brine-pumps shudder, sob and low entreat, 
 
 like spirits in torment. Ah, who may deliver 
 
 souls from self-loathing? Life-giver and for giver, 
 why now and ever thy best boons incomplete? 
 
 I leaned me over th' parapet of the bridge, 
 when sudden anear some strange soft voice spake slowly: 
 "Thither thou goest, and so" — "Not I — Lord, Lord." 
 "Yea, child, for that thou hast thyself abhorred." 
 Deep-sighing I gazed from moon-hazed ridge to ridge, 
 from star to star — and th' long lone night was holy. 
 
 XX. 
 
 PROPHET OR POET? 
 
 Through the purple portal of that heart of thine 
 where sets the sun of self in sumptuous state, 
 pass on, with earth's full beauty insatiate, 
 
 to where no range of mountainous hopes confine 
 
 thy vision clear; thou, who dost life resign, 
 its whole cloud-sky of follies dissipate, 
 pierce on — the inmost Splendor contemplate, — 
 
 float rapturously on fluctuant deeps divine! 
 
 But, oh, return not thence, thou man of God, 
 leave not thy bliss to teach us ; naught avails. 
 We yet will tread the ways our fathers trod. 
 
 Above earth's dusk-veiled peaks of purity, dumb, 
 stand beckoning! If thy starry summons fails, 
 will cries and tears and pleadings make us come? 
 
 199 
 
XXI. 
 A HADLEY HOLIDAY 
 
 Limpid blue sky-pools shifting argent edges 
 
 'twixt toppling billowy heaps of lucent cloud; 
 hyaline shower and beryl sun-bow. Unploughed 
 
 fallow and wheat-field green; green wayside hedges; 
 
 meads, golden-dotted, green to the lush, quick sedges; 
 diaphanous willows verdantly wind-bowed 
 by slipping emerald streams, that croon half-loud 
 
 where the ivied steeple's spire — light-etched — upwedges. 
 
 Bright, pure, sweet, tender, — England's blessed June: 
 green dart of dragon-fly, flash of kingfisher; 
 eglantine, honeysuckle sheeny-fresh; 
 Shakespeare's and Shelley's runes to importune 
 coy visitants that may not long demur « 
 
 when flesh is spirit, and the spirit flesh! 
 
 XXIL 
 A FEVER HALLUCINATION 
 
 In a dream-forest, o'er the moist leafmold 
 
 above her green-fret aureole, (while drip-dripped 
 the night-rain 'round) golden-eyed, rosy-tipped, 
 
 the pale anemone shivered unconsoled 
 
 of day, for one tear's burthen. A woe foretold 
 vaguely, but irremediable, my heartstrings gripped. 
 I kneeled me down, and her pure sorrow sipped 
 
 for pity. Who might well such grace withhold? 
 
 In vain. Her petals, translucent for the wet, 
 fell moth-still on her leaves, flitting to ground 
 
 ghostwise; when on my shoulder — a soft touch! 
 Our eyes, serenely in recognition met: — 
 "In this vain charity the spell is found 
 
 we sought, my son. Ah, who can love too much?" 
 
XXIII. 
 THE PEAK OF VISION 
 
 "Come," whispered he, "climb at the least the nether 
 of thy twin peaks of vision." I clomb with him 
 grief-heavy, whenso my hand he loosed; to skim 
 
 (snapping asunder earth's tense spirit-tether) 
 
 on swallow-pinions over stone and heather 
 ahold of one another. And soon, vast, dim 
 the plains outspread; and my eyes for joy o'erbrim 
 
 on the upper height — in hallowing hush together. 
 
 "Son, hereto fain was I to climb in life. 
 
 Wherefore, 'tis given me hither in death to soar 
 with thee. Nay, deem this no delusive dream! 
 Ever my spirit was let of futile strife 
 in yonder flats. So shalt not thou blaspheme 
 Love that is all in all forevermore." 
 
 XXIV. 
 CONVALESCENCE 
 
 Who eye to eye hath gazed in th' face of death — 
 
 for him old Earth her primal splendor wears; 
 
 o'er dew-sprent meadows blithesome forth he fares, 
 his heart with the lambkin gamboling; his breath 
 difficult for the cloud that shadoweth 
 
 the hoarthorn-wooded hillside unawares, 
 
 till th' sun, forth-burst, — youth's vagrant vague despairs 
 vanish, as th' ghostly shadow vanisheth. 
 
 O glens of sheer moist crags, O thunder falls 
 foam-wild and windy, fern-fronds madly adance; 
 querulous bleatings in green uplands lone; 
 twittery loops of flight and plaintive calls 
 of hill-larks; O vast river-thrid expanse; — 
 how shall he ever your spell and sway disown? 
 
XXV. 
 
 . AGAIN THE TROJAN BOY 
 
 "Blinkbonny" yonder a-perk on "Sunny-brae" — 
 at th' top of the narrow crooked cobbly street 
 whose braw wee homes upscramble, snug and sweet 
 
 with pots and shrubs in happy disarray; 
 
 laburnum, syringa, wall-flower yet waylay 
 my spirit, and compulsively entreat 
 three pure glad lassies' smiles again to meet — 
 
 each proffering her fresh-pulled strawberry. 
 
 Her of the auburn glory? Her of the raven? — 
 Eyes sapphirine? Eyes jetty? Gay, true, kind? — 
 or passionate, haughty, tense, imaginative? 
 Not theirs the name in th' shrine of youth engraven. 
 Nay, pensive, tender, of loveliness undefined, 
 
 Hers rather whose wistful grey-green eyes forgive. 
 
 XXVI. 
 FIRST DISILLUSION 
 
 Along life's sun-bright highway in lustihead 
 
 boldly the lad strode forward mile on mile, 
 
 deriding lures of bypath, shady stile, 
 green-ripply pool, walled orchard, garth or stead; 
 for a farewell word to say, — and left unsaid. 
 
 What drunken cries the evening hush defile? 
 
 A rout of reapers, women and men, lewd, vile, 
 goatlike leap past with Corybantic tread. 
 
 And in the town, starved, brutish, foul, obscene, 
 night's outcast tide forth-gorgeth to the wharfs: — 
 wizen children, blear-eyed mothers, dotard dwarfs, 
 harlots, bloat reeling brawlers. . . .God, this, this 
 the world — thy stars from heaven behold serene? 
 And angels hail Thee — holy in ignorant bliss? 
 
XXVII. 
 MATERIALISM 
 
 A vision came to me that asked no leave: — 
 With daybreak, over meadowland dewstrewn; 
 by streambank, or cool forest-edge, at noon, 
 
 with day's fire-passion pulsating; at eve 
 
 when glowed the west day's rapture to receive, 
 thro' the ripe fields, and under the gold moon 
 no Man! Iron monsters noiseless late and soon 
 
 stalk back and forth, and the sad harvest sheave! 
 
 Then to vast cities of men's building fled 
 
 my spirit. Lo! through close streets traffic-worn, 
 o'er squares, whose splendor splashing founts applaud, 
 no living Men, — but everywhere the Dead! 
 Not spectres even of creatures womanborn, — 
 but automatic tombs that swarm abroad! 
 
 XXVIII. 
 THE SAVING FAITH 
 
 Stern prophets of the law, and hermit-saints, 
 
 shall cruel mummeries chasten and atone? 
 
 By loud-mouthed creed, by coward wail and moan, 
 Man, hallowed? or by torturing constraints? 
 Woe's me, beholding you, my soul's hope faints — 
 
 wilts as a morning-glory overblown. 
 
 What? Yours — the heavenward way of old foreshown? 
 And Christ's — on all things lovely, your attaints? 
 
 Yet, tho' anhungered, shall no honeyed morsel 
 
 the birthright buy of a holy sweet young love. 
 Not Venus, thou avaunt, white Witch of Horsel! 
 In hair and bosom methinks coiled serpents hiss 
 th' doors wherethrough thy temple votaries shove 
 op'n lurid, on a sudden black abyss. 
 
 203 
 
XXIX. 
 NEAR AND FAR 
 
 Medreamed a traveller toil'd the long land thro': 
 His path rock-hemm'd, now under trees yet bare, 
 o'er sun-dried sands, or treacherous stretches where 
 
 stored rains thro' dead weeds blinked; and no wind blew 
 
 to give aught life. Sore did the traveller rue 
 
 that forth he adventured on vain quests to fare, — 
 all things unseen of the vacant sullen stare, 
 
 till the spirit a chance look backward smote and slew. 
 
 "Barren hills of birth, — and arid tracts o'er-past, — 
 most wonderful for beauty? Ah, nowise so! 
 
 Well do I mind me of all your hideousness; — 
 even as this ground! Now, verily now I know 
 those hills of beckoning repose at last, 
 
 be as this present, bleak — nor more, nor less!" 
 
 XXX. 
 FAR AND NEAR 
 
 Medreamed a wayfarer in th' drear waste lay 
 incredulous of all good but death. "Believe," 
 I longed to cry, "thou dost thy soul deceive;" 
 
 but dumb lips vainly to hearten him essay. 
 
 Then sudden, as for strength to help I pray — 
 an angel doth his home of comfort leave, 
 alighteth nigh, and whispereth: "Wherefore grieve, 
 
 Brother? Arise, and onward toil — today." 
 
 "Yea, and tomorrow?"— "Toil."— "And after?"— "On! 
 Canst thou not see how magically fair 
 
 bloometh the trodden waste? And such it is. 
 The ground thou treadest hath invisible share 
 of heavenly beauty. As shines the sun who shone, 
 so th' hills of birth and ultimate rest — are His!" 
 
 204 
 
XXXI. 
 LUMINOUS HOURS 
 
 Time hath no substance save what borrowed is 
 of the soul's vital being. Moments dart, 
 huge suns, leagues inconceivable apart, 
 
 self-hung in the void abysm of centuries, 
 
 framing the real light sphere — immensities 
 of nothing, merely marble with black art. 
 And the true seers record on their sky-chart 
 
 only the suns in stellar symmetries. 
 
 What madness then to clamor for length of years 
 whose lapse were adding naught to naught in vain? 
 
 Ask rather, that every allotted minute burn 
 with all its possible luster: splendid pain 
 or radiant joy. So shalt thou verily earn 
 Eternities secure from cynic jeers! 
 
 XXXII. 
 THE LIVEOAKS IN MARCH 
 
 Brave battlers with the phrenzied winds of fate, 
 
 who stand, though shaken, firm-footed on cliff-ledge, 
 stream-border, swamp-marge, turning the fierce edge 
 
 of vehement currents, lifting the vast weight 
 
 of their mad falls on tortuous branches, great 
 and legioned leaves; — O Trees in March, full pledge 
 that our wills, resolute, can sternly wedge 
 
 blasts of adversity, and storms of hate: 
 
 Impart your spirit, that every muscle grow 
 gnarled, knotted, self-controlled, wherewith to thrust 
 redoubled onslaughts back with stubborn might; 
 no rage, rush, rancor, chase of worsted foe — 
 Ye, who war not because ye choose but must, 
 your roots fast riveted in their native Right! 
 
 205 
 
XXXIII, 
 UNEARNED RETURNS 
 
 Nay, jealous souls, ye dare imagine naught 
 can wax fair and complete, unshapen of pain 
 knowingly borne and bitter? Ye entertain 
 
 (hard hearts!) no sacred hope that (though we wrought 
 
 through years of sullen misery, ere we caught 
 one clew to the dire labyrinth,) in th' plain 
 some Child may gaily weave a daisy-chain 
 
 to snare unwittingly the wisdom sought? 
 
 Comfort it were to deem our grief unshared; 
 our paths untrodden of many a soul, too pure 
 for cleansing sore, who gently in by-paths fared; — 
 too heart-whole for hell-remedies that cure 
 
 with pangs lonelily awful; too bright-haired 
 to need the halo, mart5rr-pains ensure! 
 
 XXXIV. 
 THE PARABLE OF THE DEW 
 
 In th' city square of grass an hour we spent. 
 What dared with obstinate glad eyes pursue 
 the heart, to search its moody deep? The dew. 
 
 But angry answer got it as we went: — 
 
 "Why Primacy? Why ever preeminent 
 (tyrants, or delegates elect) the few, — 
 when equal myriads might swing green, red, blue, 
 
 or gold in your breeze-rippled firmament?" 
 
 "True, and 'tis ye misdeem us, angle-bound. 
 
 Alike doth dance, in th' selfsame sun ablaze, 
 our emulous beauty, tho' only the sky's round 
 (all angles compassing) can all behold." 
 In vain their parable the dewdrops told: 
 still angle-bound, we award our blame and praise. 
 
 206 
 
XXXV. 
 
 THE JUDGMENT 
 
 Not as a terror of sudden thunderclap 
 
 Cometh the judgment? Nay — as sunny air, 
 distinguishing, in season, foul from fair; 
 
 causing to rise from sleep-stark roots the sap, 
 
 and swelling buds to burst; so, where ill hap 
 the dreamer slew, it leaveth him to scare 
 with skeleton boughs a-writhe at fruitless pray'r,- 
 
 in the grove's fellowship — a ghastly gap! 
 
 Ah, were it not ignoble of God's spring 
 to mock the lost? As in Bahama fields 
 
 close-bloom the lilies, unhaunted by a thought 
 of perished bulbs, all beautifully up-wrought 
 by sun and shower the blessed season yields — 
 God's saints alone shall stand up — blossoming! 
 
 XXXVI. 
 EVIDENCE OF SANITY 
 
 Crazed? Crazed! poor cringing dotard hobbling by, 
 stayed on thy staff — thy back with life's load bent. 
 Thy toothless greeting — Ha, what hath it meant — 
 .benign light gleaming in thy colorless eye? 
 
 For, faring under summer's serene sky 
 when blossoms cheer with warm voluminous scent 
 the very blind; or, when clouds pitch their tent 
 
 o'er a dull world, — he greeteth all. Mad? Why? 
 
 Strangely it smote me then, what the sole proof 
 thereof; — that in all weather foul or fair 
 ever he smiled alike in every face. 
 Ha! Have we come to this, — that equal grace 
 to all, at all times, in God's open air, 
 proves maimed the mind, from man and God aloof? 
 
 207 
 
XXXVII. 
 NOT YET 
 
 One night I woke, for at my soul's door, hark, 
 a gentle rap, heard surely once before, 
 though when, I wist not. Quick, unbar the door? 
 
 Nay, ask thou first who ventureth thro' dark 
 
 and wind and rain! Straightway I knew. No spark 
 on my hearth glimmered, no fitting robe I wore. 
 "Not now. Lord, dare I open. Knock no more. 
 
 Too vile this hovel for thee its soil to mark." 
 
 Then sudden, a deafening clangor, and the walls 
 of my poor house shot high — a glory seat — 
 a holy fane, where robed as priest I stood, 
 and crowned as King. Now welcome Him I would. 
 But the sole answer to despairing calls — 
 a slow dread shuffle of faint withdrawing feet. 
 
 XXXVIII. 
 PRESENCE 
 
 Nay, Thou art ever with us till the end. 
 
 In massy gloom like ultimate bounds of space 
 stern arches close us in. And face with face 
 
 of friend and stranger indistinctly blend 
 
 to a still radiance. The white candles spend 
 
 their virgin strength, uprearing, each in place, 
 spheres quivering of golden glow; and holy pace 
 
 keeping, the anthem's soft notes heavenward wend. 
 
 Then tears spring, and breath fails. In dumb amaze 
 the heart asks: "Who art Thou, that comest so 
 
 all-hallowed, in the loss of everything? 
 Who art Thou, speak — whom the blind feelings know? 
 
 Behold the beautiful grace of the Great King, 
 who walketh o'er the hushed seas of our praise! 
 
 208 
 
XXXVIII. 
 NO CROSS, NO CROWN 
 
 True, there be lessons hard for us to learn, 
 which we may understand, and do believe, 
 yet cannot take to heart. Still must we grieve 
 
 that we are cramped and meagre; still must burn 
 
 for freer, higher things; but ne'er discern 
 when we be nearer; for to self we cleave, 
 and, sanguine, ever again our heart deceive: 
 
 without distress some worthy bliss to earn! 
 
 And, nowise ever on pleasure's paths we meet 
 Love's angels soothing, sweetening, comforting. 
 
 To feel blithe spring is worth the snow and sleet; 
 'tis worth long rains to hear the song-birds sing; 
 
 life's bitter, if more we relish so its sweet; 
 the martyr's death, when close to love we cling. 
 
 XXXIX. 
 
 AUTUMN SADNESS 
 
 Sad deemest thou the glorious death of day, 
 when the last beams, caught by horizon-mist, 
 flare out in crimson, rose, gold, amethyst 
 
 the prismal secrets of the living ray? 
 
 And sad the carnival of colors gay 
 wherewith, at the year's set, the leaves insist 
 they too are of the sunny Colorist 
 
 light-hearted children tho' the frost gainsay? 
 
 Sad is the vast laugh of the wind-clear'd sky, 
 the waste of shine on symmetries reveal'd 
 in the stripp'd boughs? Blasphemer, why proclaim 
 with thine own mouth thy spirit's piteous shame? 
 For still the brave, and the proud who dare not yield, 
 forefeel the bliss of dying — ere they die! 
 
 2og 
 
XL. 
 
 TRUE YOUTH 
 
 Dear glorious world, thou art forever still 
 worthy the song of poets, and all men 
 would be thy worshippers, but each his den 
 
 inhabiteth of baser things; his eager fill 
 
 preferring for animal appetites, that kill 
 
 the soul of worship; free one moment, and then, 
 the next, by self-blown whirlwinds sucked again 
 
 into the vortex of the slavish will! 
 
 O never to forfeit boyhood's fresh delight 
 in sunshine on gold waters, in long hills 
 
 of leafless woodland hoar with winter's breath; 
 breathless forever with the wind's swift flight, 
 gladdened by the loud leap of flashing rills, 
 till prospects new burst on the soul with death! 
 
 XLI. 
 SWEET MAID INCONSTANCY 
 
 The sparrows in a flutter whirl and quarrel; 
 
 the maple-buds have burst in crimson sprays; 
 
 wild peach and cherry in snowy and rosy haze 
 abloom; the dogwood glows; the mountain laurel 
 flings up budclusters waxen, of delicate coral; 
 
 Spring, Spring at last, the blessed prayed-for days 
 
 of reasonless delight and still amaze, — 
 and myth new-fabled without end or moral! 
 
 Ha! thro' her garth oread or dryad goeth 
 beautiful, chaste, — and smileth to thy smile. 
 Hold! Dost thou see not the moss'd precipice? 
 How can she love one lover — thee — that knoweth 
 ages, — and ever new wooers to win and wile 
 with th' elusive azure-eyed lure of her pure kiss? 
 
XLII. 
 INNOCENCE HUMAN 
 
 "Beautiful, mother? What is beauty?" — "Ask, 
 Child, the anemone!" — "She shivereth 
 in the spring-wind!" — "Hark what the azalea saith 
 
 unto the honey-bees at their sweet task; 
 
 watch the yellow wheat-seas roll, the leafage bask 
 crimson and gold and purple, and at a breath 
 fall fluttering earthward" .... "Nay, is beauty death 
 
 to whoso dareth bid her brow unmask?" 
 
 The rock-edge snowily shag-fleeced, icicle-maned; 
 oak, beech, brier, aster, goldenrod frost-hoary, 
 transfigured to iridescent crystal glory 
 unsufTerable ; — these also, the sun slew. 
 But God Apollo — Her to his breast constrained. 
 
 then, blind for rapture of love. She blushed and knew! 
 
 XLIII. 
 
 INNOCENCE DIVINE 
 
 In red-rose bower, green-shadowed from the shine 
 of sky and sea, lay Psyche in dream aloof. 
 To twitter of bird-wooings, the leaf-roof 
 
 fluttering sun-blessed, Eros, in the bloom-twine 
 
 (for Aphrodite's envy) of aim malign, 
 stood, dire; — but, tangled straightway in passion's woof, 
 he wooed her nightly, praying, for love's behoof, 
 
 in hallowed dark to trust his troth divine. 
 
 Soon subtle whispers wrought. Harm-boding, lo! 
 
 his godhood thro' diaphanous veil espied, — 
 smit-blind, heart-heavy He vanished; She, for woe 
 
 wasted, 'till Zeus (her dying prayer denied) 
 gave Eros sight, and Her immortal glow, — 
 
 and, seeing as God, Love smiled for holy pride. 
 
XLIV. 
 FIRST SIGHT 
 
 "Make known the trysting day decreed of old. 
 
 What sign — to mark her when she passeth by? 
 
 Lovelier, — shall she woo the sensual eye 
 enriched with honor, of all the world extolled? 
 Or, — shall she, close in mystery enfold 
 
 her beauty for whoso draweth softly nigh 
 
 God-guided to her shrine? What loss if I 
 shall lose her, overtimid or overbold?" 
 
 Thro' the unbroken snow, on, on he pushes 
 obeying invisible sunny beckonings; 
 
 around him fluffy-ruffed, in ermine hoods 
 shine oaks ice-jewelled, and holly and hazel bushes. 
 Ah, met he no one in the winter-woods? 
 What low sweet laugh in memory birdlike sings? 
 
 XLV. 
 
 HEART'S PERVERSITY 
 
 Beholding beauty, men and Gods adore; 
 
 yet, as the closed lid dims the azure day, 
 
 so might a resolute scrutiny display 
 to keen leal eyes — what should no pity implore, 
 but ravish contemplation more and more. 
 
 From who hath not, ignobly take away? 
 
 Th' self-plight word: 'let there be love' unsay — 
 for that to grant full largess, fate forbore? 
 
 — "Thou — scorn to worship who doth praise command 
 
 by absolute occult prerogative? 
 Thou, — wield Life's sceptre in fool-hardy hand, 
 
 at thy fond dooming, grace withhold or give — 
 who nowise mayest Love's wisdom understand, 
 
 nor his prenatal fiat defy, and live?" 
 
III. A VISION OF THE PASSING OF EROS AND 
 APHRODITE 
 
 XLVI. 
 LOVE'S SORROW-TRANCE 
 
 Heart-lost lay Love on the wave-beaten beach. 
 Eyeing him sweetly, lucent-robed, a maid 
 at either hand leaned o'er her harp and played: 
 
 one instrument ebon, strung with moonbeams, each 
 
 captured distinctly; th* other in bending reach 
 by th' fairer harpist, — ivory, overlaid 
 with rose-flush faint for nearness chilly-afraid 
 
 to brow and bosom, of sunny musical speech. 
 
 Bare gleaming arms exquisite in blithe curves, 
 and firm of grace, bloom into hands that sweep 
 zephyrously soft the vibrating tense chords. 
 Lo, either harpist with ardent eyes observes 
 (but for their greed of seeing, fain to weep) 
 her own best-loved heart's lord-elect-of-lords ! 
 
 XLVII. 
 LOVE'S AWAKENING 
 
 "O Yearning, true, what aileth, speak, thy Lord? 
 O Joy, voluptuous-lipped, and wont to fling 
 some bird-like snatch of witchery a-wing 
 
 to warble about thee; what dire spell abhorr'd 
 
 unkings his spirit, whom ye vowed to ward 
 from influence unholy? Let upspring 
 tumultuous strains his spirit to re-king — 
 
 tho' his flower-sceptre change to barbarous sword!" 
 
 Ah, Yearning, noble-browed, thy dark eyes fill 
 with tears? And, Joy, thou sobbest too? 
 Ye dread the wrath of madness to provoke? 
 Better he slay you in fury self-will, — 
 
 or behold him piteously his death-dream woo?" 
 Whereat, as from a trance, — their Lord awoke. 
 213 
 
XLVIII. 
 LOVE'S SOOTHSAY OF DOOM 
 
 "In vain.... too late! My throne crumbleth to dust. 
 
 A blast fanatic from charr'd wilderness 
 
 shall wrap th' whole earth in fire. Nevertheless — 
 reptile and vermin overlive; yea, lust 
 unnatural, cringing greed, and gross mistrust 
 
 wear priestly vesture; and craven man doth bless 
 
 all blasphemy of life, and lewd excess 
 of fury against things lovely and august! 
 
 "Oh, Aphrodite, holy Mother of bliss, 
 
 rise in thy billowy fierceness, and with death 
 of raging sorrow-seas wash clean the earth, 
 and sweep all gods and men into the abyss 
 
 of utter naught, ere they call vileness worth, 
 and darkness light! for lo, Love perisheth!" 
 
 XLIX. 
 THE TIDAL V/AVE 
 
 As 'twixt twin luminous cliffs (their harps) inrolled 
 
 majestically tempestuous, up the strait, 
 
 the full sea of a harmony passionate. 
 And the frothy tidewave heaved, swelled, gathered hold 
 upon the vast deep of the stillness cold; 
 
 waxen each moment, with frantic might elate, 
 
 until up-heaped — one mountainous height of fate 
 to quench the sun 'mid clouds, a blaze of gold. 
 
 Suddenly crested 'twas with Aphrodite 
 effulgent, spread voluptuously bare. 
 
 Her eyes flashed drowsy bliss into the soul, 
 her arms, spray-beaded, reached in sweet entreaty. 
 And the wave brake in welter of despair, 
 then back to the sobbing bosom of silence stole. 
 
 214 
 
L. 
 
 CASTING THE HOROSCOPE 
 
 What? Love, and his fair harpist-maidens drown'd, 
 by the awful onset of mysterious might, 
 foam-crested with the Mother-of-delight — 
 
 (upheaval from harmonious deeps profound — 
 
 waters under the earth, man dare not sound,) 
 that swirled, and swallowed all in vast affright? 
 Nay, a m.ere fever-vision of the night, — 
 
 no mystic sense for Wisdom to expound? 
 
 Yearning and Joy — Lord Love — and Beauty too 
 gone? And the nightmare-terror, — the desert-blast,- 
 
 hath blown forth over the charr'd earth his fire? 
 The age of reptile and vermin overpast, 
 whence cometh, speak, — seer, poet, deity, — Who 
 life with th' old breath of God to reinspire? 
 
 2»S 
 
PART II.— LOVE'S SUNRISE 
 
 THE WOOING O' IT 
 
 A SONNET SEQUENCE 
 
 I. 
 
 SPEECHLESS PROPOSAL 
 
 No word of mine won thee, too well I know! — 
 
 Long silent at the sheer rock's edge we stood. 
 
 Where, in a world so beautiful, so good, 
 might any evil lurk? Their wilful "no" 
 on your lips hovered, but for the whisper low, 
 
 as to yourself: — "If love were love, how should.... 
 
 old earth be heaven!" At th' blush for all love could, 
 low laugh'd the wind his blessed mirth to show! 
 
 Waves of the sea, asparkle in the sun, 
 wild waves of leafage! Breeze-blown clear song-spray, 
 that gemm'd the soul! What scent-whiffs searching sweet 
 breath'd from sunk blossom-reefs, when — half in fun, 
 
 half earnest, — the rose I gave, you tossed away 
 
 which the wind-driv'n song-sea wash'd back to your feet! 
 
 216 
 
II. 
 
 LOVE'S HUMILITY 
 
 Hush, list, the audible waver of tender leaves, 
 the flutter of blossoms in the air's green-gold — 
 past which the throstle darts; and how the bold 
 
 shining array of spears, that fend from thieves 
 
 dew-treasures atwinkle in the grass-bed, heaves 
 with anger at his advent! Sweets untold 
 lure eye and heart; even the open harrowed mould, 
 
 purple-brown shadowed, gladdeneth whoso grieves. 
 
 Thro' acacia bloom snowing from green cloud-drifts 
 'twixt rose-blue lilac hedges, passeth by, — 
 
 purer than the glistering core of a dew-bead 
 in th' lily's sheen-white chalice lifted high 
 from soilure golden, — One whose innocent gifts 
 desire miraculously and prayer exceed. 
 
 III. 
 PARADISE GAINED 
 
 "O Dearest, was it thou that wentest so 
 
 in Eden unguarded, and in maiden-wise 
 
 caressed each bud that kissed thee, with dream-eyes 
 so serious-gay, from under brows aglow 
 with the candor over them? Alas! Pray, go, 
 
 go with thy smile. Love, — leave me, tho' there dies 
 
 a soul in me for every step . . . despise 
 thy adorer! — With sister lilies stand arow. 
 
 "For who could thy free look of trust endure, 
 thou queen of me? Go, with my soul's one love. 
 
 Awe seizeth me. Thee I wooed? O pride and pain! 
 in cloud of heaven withdraw thee! I here abjure 
 earth's claim to thee!" Hark! — thrush-song from above 
 cleft my dream sky! Nay, FuU-of-Grace, remain! 
 
 217 
 
IV. 
 
 PARADISE LOST 
 
 I got me an hour — my own — of the hoarded sum 
 Time doles out loth to his grave-delvers for pay. 
 I scanned my occult coin, dream-borne straightway 
 
 amidst the thrill with thee, the glimmer and hum 
 
 of bygone springtides: boughs, adventuresome, 
 flung warbled challenges from spray to spray, 
 piercing-sweet wind-whiiis censed the holiday 
 
 of squirrels and violets for th' Winter of Death o'ercome. 
 
 Paths, ferny, at random meandered and crisscrossed. 
 A loose-blown bloom-dance free in blithe mid-air! 
 When for sheer frolic wantonness: "Where," I cried, 
 "Hide th' old fall'n leaves — hopes crimson and gold- 
 that died?" 
 Looking reproach you faded. Ah, where, where?— 
 My innocent Eden of an hour was lost. 
 
 SUDDEN SPRING. 
 
 What myriad spears of grass and sabres sheen 
 weighed down with orient dew-gems glistering! 
 
 In lairs of leafage savage-fanged between — 
 see, the tawny dandelion crouch to spring! 
 
 Ten-thousand hands for the breeze with amorous zeal 
 to fondle and kiss float daintily unwithheld! 
 
 Bride-veils of buds strive, blushing, to conceal 
 ambushed blue twilights of the sun expelled. 
 
 Shoots, like some delicate child, for pity ask. 
 
 Foolhardy clumps forgat their foliage shield, 
 and, blossom-helmeted, in the hot sun bask, — 
 
 swoon, and voluptuously their honey yield. 
 
 So sudden and sweet, and various and strange 
 
 came Spring, came love — God's wonder-work of Change! 
 
 218 
 
VI. 
 ORCHARD OPTIMISM 
 
 O fragrant fleeciness of orchard snows! 
 
 My lavish apple-trees, your honeymoon 
 is at the full. The brisk air gleams and glows, 
 
 at this good hour of the sun-happy noon. 
 
 Freighted with myriad nectar-laden craft 
 
 of shiny sail, whose ports were your rich bloom, 
 
 their cargoes stolen the while the petals laughed 
 at jests and compliments of buzz and boom. 
 
 What all this beauty and glory for, dear trees? 
 
 This gorgeous unthrift? Have I understood? 
 O tell no lover, for his keen eye sees 
 
 e'en your sound hearts right thro' your ancient wood: 
 
 Ye live, ye love, and in your gladness give 
 your best to all — if they but love and live! 
 
 VII. 
 
 LOVE'S COMPASS. 
 
 Were I ten thousand miles from one dear face, 
 I were not far, meseems! For, if I sought 
 at night the depths of starry heavens, and caught 
 
 the rays that journeyed centuries through space 
 
 to reach me, leaving in the gloom no trace 
 of their swift flight; — it were a happy thought 
 how earth, our giant orb, had shrunk to naught, 
 
 a mote, unrecked-of in a luminous race — 
 
 half-star, half-starlit — circling round its sun 
 of molten gold; a bower of fragrant bloom 
 leaving its orbit sweet; with seas empearled, 
 lost for its littleness, — though dear to One 
 whose silver censer 'tis; — lo. We, for whom 
 
 He made it, kiss in our sweet, insignificant world I 
 
 2ig 
 
VIII. 
 BODY'S ABSENCE 
 
 I may be near thee only when mine eyes 
 
 can sound the depth of thine? When to a word, 
 spoken in rapturous worship, come, scarce heard, 
 
 from close warm-breathing mouth thy dear replies? 
 
 Must yet the while life's chance wills otherwise, 
 and hand can hold not hand, bliss die deferred 
 till sense discern what ne'er the heart so erred 
 
 as to mistake for thee — mere soul-disguise? 
 
 Day-dreaming, faces strange draw nigh; but thou 
 retirest vague, of whom alone I dare 
 
 no wilful image frame. O then forgive 
 if knowing thee unspeakably too fair 
 for a more intimate revelation now. 
 
 Love in thy body's presence needs must live. 
 
 IX. 
 
 FANCY OR FACT 
 
 Ay, musing, faces strange crowd close and peer 
 deep in my eyes; till, if I question them 
 
 they fade in dusk, but soon, again, draw near: 
 why to their sight will you my soul condemn? 
 
 For you retire in some dim fastness far, 
 
 impregnable to fancy's boldest host; 
 and when I think of all you truly are, 
 
 no vision comes — only a shadowy ghost. 
 
 O then, my Love, indeed you must forgive 
 if love refuse your bodily sight to miss, 
 
 sound of your voice, caress of hand, and live 
 in fullest gladness only when we kiss! 
 
 Worship the work of Phidias for divine — 
 ye eyes who never saw the God, as mine! 
 
X. 
 
 INDIVIDUAL INSUFFICIENCY 
 
 In fever of new-born thought I strode forth strong 
 to conquer all, for the shackles of brute fact 
 and rusted custom broke. Set free, I lacked 
 
 naught the soul craves, and drew^ deep breath and long 
 
 till — flesh, dissolved, — the hideousness and wrong 
 we know thro' it, undone, — the whole compact 
 mass of hostilities to man annulled, — my act 
 
 my thought seemed all there was of th' stellar throng. 
 
 "Alone! Alone!" That pitiful cry drave back 
 my spirit to the body's dungeon-keep, 
 foiled, miserable, aching, limited, 
 far from all things desired, in void and black; 
 
 gyved with traditional chains to work and weep! 
 What were it to be God, alone — and dead? 
 
 XI. 
 
 MUTUAL SUFFICIENCY 
 
 Love, mutually confirmed in hope and trust, 
 our spirit's flood — if of the world denied — 
 with jubilant swell topples its towers of pride, 
 
 and drowns in pure green deeps its fires of lust. 
 
 Yet, affable, (should it allow that dust 
 
 is naught, love all), see, swiftly home we glide 
 to our twain visible selves, — as ebbs the tide 
 
 sun-sparkling, to its antique limits just! 
 
 From non-existence back, with tolerant nod, 
 welcome the world! Through torrid rows of wheat 
 we stroll, and rest by streams, or breathe the air 
 intoxicant on dizzy peaks; — glad of this sweet 
 short day of limitation which we share, 
 till mounts the dawn of some new Morn from God. 
 
XII. 
 
 PERSPECTIVES 
 
 Life's sea of waves foam-helmeted, rank on rank 
 in truceless bitter strife with fierce hoarse roar 
 break angrily against the rock-mailed shore, 
 
 whereon, since the sun's orb of red fire sank, 
 
 hangs hopeless gloom, some stars in mockery prank; 
 and ghastly sobs half-heard, are heard no more — 
 cries suffocated, as from who foreswore 
 
 existence, leaving hold of a floating plank! 
 
 Life seemed not such to us: lucid, serene, — 
 a sun-warmed lake, the fragrant land-airs skim 
 
 as swallows, whereover flies love's happy boat, 
 (merry wishes the oars thereof) to some dear dim 
 outlet of wood-edged creek from the world remote, 
 where kiss two lovers as — seeing the Unseen. 
 
 XIIL 
 WILD-GOOSE CREEK 
 
 Yea, so it was. Lost utterly to view 
 between twain walls of glistening reeds we stole, 
 following the creek's sly windings, O my Soul, 
 
 tinder low-arching boughs; and each well knew 
 
 the other's thoughts unspoken: I and you 
 silently merging to a nobler whole! 
 birds warble our bridal, forget-me-nots unroll 
 
 legends, on either marge, of heavenly blue! 
 
 Our vows none heard save waterlilies white, — 
 stars, once of old down-slidden to feel the cool 
 of stream and rest of fragrant obscure days. 
 They long foreswore the heaven's vain rivalries. 
 Ay, who would change, dear Stars, for heaven's high rule 
 first love's shy irresponsible delight? 
 
XIV. 
 KNOWLEDGE OF GOD 
 
 Nowise yon flower at th' river's edge conceives 
 the River's course and nature; nor explains 
 his will to give, by compensating gains 
 
 imaginary: unexplained she leaves 
 
 his sparkling vesture (sun, or full-moon weaves), 
 his unintermitted laugh in summer rains; 
 thirst all she knows; and the quelling of its pains 
 
 by th' unknown Lover, whom loving, she believes! 
 
 Why may not also we, of Love unknown, 
 divine the glory by our human share? 
 As when her soul yon flower sheds on the air, 
 feels in her bliss the bliss of the great River, 
 knows in herself, the indiscriminate Giver, 
 her petals to a dance of rapture blown? 
 
 XV. 
 TRUE LOVE 
 
 Oh, Love, how false we be, shallow and slight, 
 how rash of vow, and craven of daily deed! 
 Pride, vanity, ambition, profane greed 
 
 our gloom with alien glamour to unite, 
 
 assume thy Godhood's guise. Hydras whose bite 
 maddeneth, (whose self-propagative seed 
 must perish not ever wholly in man) rear, freed 
 
 at thy feigned fiat, and the soul affright. 
 
 How kennel again life's fierce hell-hounds of lust, 
 unleashed in youth's foolhardy over-trust? 
 
 Fire-sword in hand, the roused Will can but slay. 
 Grief, bosom-sister of Love, such power hast thou 
 to exorcise, hallow, and heal? Lead, lead even now 
 
 back to the inviolate shrine thy footsore way! 
 
 223 
 
XVI. 
 SELF-SURRENDER 
 
 Myself, Love, have I given without reserve? 
 
 Who can grant more than all he hath? If poor, 
 poor be the donor's gift. Why therefore swerve 
 
 from the path of faith to love's acceptance sure? 
 
 All that was mine I gave thee, and more — my will, 
 for thy sake laying to man's whole birthright claim; 
 
 vowing adjustments fiercely versatile 
 
 to shifts of chance, defying fame and shame. 
 
 Ah, who hath self then in so certain hold 
 
 to make surrender instant and entire? 
 Let me but challenge self to fight 'high-souled — 
 
 Love's champion true, — to conquer or expire; 
 
 And, without blast of horn or shrill of fife, 
 thine the still glory of the life-long strife. 
 
 XVIL 
 
 UNSHARED FEARS 
 
 Lone night of life! Long gloom that sundereth — 
 
 when shall it pass? Wake up, Love, do not sleep. 
 
 Grim half-seen horrors thro' the blackness creep, 
 and grisly sounds rush by with th' chill of death. 
 We are not twain, with One beside? Our breath 
 
 is drawn from a vast spirit-haunted deep? 
 
 We are not ever alone in Love's safe keep? 
 Watch with me, thou whom heaven's truth halloweth! 
 
 Crazed am I? Ha! Thou seest, hearest nought? 
 Needs must I wait till light stream thro' the skies 
 for comfort? — friendless now for sleep's dear sake? 
 What? Never may our souls be nearer brought? 
 
 Starve must we for love's smile, by each personal ache 
 sundered, until superfluous at sunrise? 
 
 224 
 
XVIII. 
 LOVE'S IMMORTALITY 
 
 "Ah, loving, to be loved till life have end!" 
 So cried we, swaying in our craft of dream 
 launched on the ghost-white seas that wave and gleam, 
 
 and round black crags of jutting woodland bend; 
 
 while mocking-birds, across the moonhaze, send 
 auroral flashes lightning-like, that seem 
 fiute-greetings to Love's unset sun supreme: — 
 
 "Ah, loving, to be loved, sweet fellow and friend!" 
 
 Since, lo, what clefts of stifling gloom; — and One, 
 whom blood of the slain centuries cannot sate, 
 sin-manifest, gripes all with sway of hate, 
 
 bruising ideals, flower-children of Love's sun! 
 
 Ah, foolish Doubt! Death such, and Lord of Fate? 
 
 If love be — life, and love — in death begun? 
 
 XIX. 
 ENVIRONMENT 
 
 My dainty Tree, that flauntest gay in air 
 the hoar-frosts and froth-snows of New- Year tide 
 in challenge to the spring-sun's golden pride 
 
 of warmth; dost Thou, white solitary, share 
 
 my joy in thee: alone so frail and fair, 
 among coarse rough-bark red-oaks, that deride 
 thy alien useless beauty; — every side 
 
 their envious sombre frown, and scornful stare? 
 
 "Full well her worth she know'th," one, passing, saith: 
 "Proud so to shine unrivalled; yea, alone!" 
 But at my side, one nigher to thee akin, 
 sigheth and murmureth, awesmit, under breath: — 
 "Where beauty is scorned, and holiness unknown, 
 believe, and blossom?" Ah, heavenly heroine! 
 
 225 
 
XX. 
 BRIDAL DREAM 
 
 One huge perpendicular peak stands islanded 
 in torrid plains to the sky's smoldering verge. 
 A giant scales it, maddened by the scourge 
 
 of hate for a world stark and gross and dead. 
 
 Into the blue he lifts his blazing head 
 and shades his eyes. Below, all things should merge 
 in glare unsufferable: — a snow-soft surge 
 
 of cloud sleeps prone upon the wind instead. 
 
 Beautiful 'neath her hair's flood of rich gloom 
 her glory with tumultuous longing heaves, — 
 which, terrible, his love as lightning cleaves, 
 dissolving in a sunlit storm of bliss, 
 whereat the waste world bursts in song and bloom. . . . 
 And the Dreamer wakes a dreaming Bride to kiss. 
 
 XXI. 
 THE MOTHER 
 
 O beautiful wife, lying so still and pale 
 in the godly patience of true womanhood; 
 what wondrous smile as tho' in sooth we could 
 
 to thee be something! Thy wistful looks exhale 
 
 a fragrance heavenly, as lily of the vale 
 or dewy wildrose white. And O how good 
 to watch thee scan — while near thee hidden I stood — 
 
 our little One — vision for which words fail! 
 
 Thou being such, the worship my soul pays 
 to be called love, too pitiable it seems! 
 My glory still this ruinous debt to own, 
 and thine to be above the reach of praise; 
 
 whom, as the sun, Love's bliss rewards alone, — 
 the prodigal spending of thine own bright beams. 
 
 226 
 
XXII. 
 LOVE'S MELODY 
 
 "What age, my dearest, would I have thee seem 
 in heaven?" If God doth grant the spirit's prayer, 
 mine be it to evoke (absolute swayer 
 
 o'er divine seas of memory and dream) 
 
 thee, thee of each successive glory and gleam: 
 her that doth beggar — extravagant repayer 
 of love's poor gift; her, ravishing gainsayer 
 
 that doth, denying, grant the grace supreme. 
 
 Mine th' apple-cheeked, sloe-eyed, and cherry-lipped — 
 the Child; and mine the lithe, blythe, serious Maid; 
 and mine the Mother hallowed of strange joy; 
 the rhythm and melody of thee, — that dripped .... 
 star-dew from mystic Rose that cannot fade! — 
 So would I, all eternities employ. 
 
 xxin. 
 
 LOVE'S HARMONY 
 
 But thou dost fear that such high play should tire, 
 conjuring ever thee, thee, only thee? 
 Hope's twinkle of starshine, dance of sunny glee, 
 
 gloom of despair, white flash of noble ire, 
 
 dusk of great awe, dawn-raptures that expire 
 in glare of common day, moon-mystery 
 of twilight-longing; these should breed ennui, 
 
 often recurring, till they slew desire? 
 
 Then let there also be. Dear, counterpoint 
 of manifold resource, subtle surprise: 
 
 thee, thee, thy multitudinous selves, the notes 
 in ever new procession; and every wise — 
 Thee simultaneously from choric throats 
 to ever new joy-miracles conjoint! 
 
 227 
 
XXIV. 
 INCARNATION 
 
 Fool, who the body of honor due deprives! 
 All beauty but reveals the spirit's urge 
 and will divine, that sweet extremes shall merge 
 
 in fashioning new forms for lovelier lives. 
 
 'Tis Love in flowers breweth honey, and Love in hives 
 storeth it. Ever one old splendor's dirge 
 another's birth-song! The creative surge, 
 
 foam-crested, still with roar of joy arrives. 
 
 O body, beautiful, pure, rapturous, warm — 
 
 who would in some seventh heaven to be up-caught, 
 insult thy glory; thine, visible holy form 
 
 of noblest soul, and extreme recompense, 
 oracular to sane enamored sense 
 of marvel and mystery too high for thought? 
 
 XXV. 
 LOVE'S SILENCE 
 
 Nay fool, poor fool! Th' perfervid lover's prayer — 
 It is not sacrilegious. God to man 
 must manwise speak his mandate; else who can 
 
 on earth hear, heed? Not He the heart's bewrayer; 
 
 of love, He clothed in beauty, disarrayer! 
 But wouldst thou verily end what He began, 
 out-thrusting forth the fury under ban, 
 
 whence flesh and soul. Accuser, and World-slayer? 
 
 Not so deluded we. Thy lover asks 
 thee bride, friend, comrade, Beatrice, Aspasia, 
 immaculate, adorable, — uttermost bliss 
 of body and spirit — as heaven for all vain tasks 
 of earth-life striven-in; and as euthanasia 
 (if death be utter death) thy dying kiss. 
 
 228 
 
A VISION OF NEW HELLAS 
 
 TO THE MUSE 
 
 Great was the joy of vision — the surprise 
 
 of its first flash upon my spirit's eyes; 
 
 happy the prospect of the poet's work, 
 
 and proud the will no slightest task to shirk 
 
 imposed by One, who gave me to behold 
 
 part of His beauty — seen by men of old 
 
 in Hellas. Nor could difficulties shake 
 
 resolve — however sore the throbbing ache 
 
 of fevered brow and temples. Whence endued 
 
 was thus my soul with sacred fortitude? 
 
 From whom the patience, till the stubborn brain, 
 
 once more obedient to the spirit sane, 
 
 in ecstasy toiled? From thee, O best One, came 
 
 the best: thy praise reward sufficient, and thy blame 
 
 in hesitant look and tone, supplying will 
 
 for onset new. Thou who dost so fulfill 
 
 all prayers of mine for truth, beauty, and good, 
 
 in thine own self, thy blessed womanhood, 
 
 dream-radiant eye, and subtly smiling lip, 
 
 making earth heaven in the dear fellowship 
 
 of thee and me, — thine be the reader's thank 
 
 if never the song to ground exhausted sank, 
 
 if on it sped, still spurning baser things, — 
 
 strong pinions spread of twin imaginings," 
 
 to leap the chasms that broke athwart its course; 
 
 thine be all joy therein — mine the remorse 
 
 that with such help the song should not surpass 
 
 all songs sung hitherto. My shame, alas! — 
 
 yet as thine eye, O Dearest, I consult — 
 
 in what is thine shall not my spirit exult? 
 
 229 
 
THE FORESONG 
 
 The civilization of 
 his day, (symbo- 
 lised by his city 
 in most odious 
 ttmospheric condi- 
 tions,) fills the 
 poet with a dis- 
 gust of living. 
 Yet he climbs a 
 hill (of Hellenic 
 culture) thence, 
 to take, above the 
 smoke-pall of sor- 
 didness, his last 
 look at the heaven 
 of all encompass- 
 ing beauty. 
 
 Industry cannot 
 of itself seem 
 noble, nor justify 
 existence. 
 Its modern pro- 
 portions but be- 
 little the soul. 
 
 I. 
 
 Out of the town, 
 
 drench'd by a penetrant 
 
 wind-driven dust of rain, 
 
 fast-gluing to the walls soot-flakes 
 
 from grimy house-tops swept; 
 
 paving courts, alleys, streets 
 
 with a viscous mire; compacting 
 
 the smoke-roof, propped by towers, 
 
 spires, factory-chimneys, that threaten 
 
 under the mass enormous 
 
 to topple, and smother all life 
 
 with gloom and stifling dismay; 
 
 out of the dusk, wet, slime 
 
 of the hideous town 
 
 my soul was fain to escape — 
 
 stand on some dominant height 
 
 for a moment, — behold 
 
 once again the heav'n bare, 
 
 vibrant with sun, — 
 
 or die! 
 
 II. 
 
 For, one forge 
 
 of Hephaestos, the lame God, 
 
 seemed modern civilization. 
 
 A million anvils ring 
 
 with the blozvs of his sledge; to view 
 
 dissolving, on axles of light, 
 
 the huge wheels dizzily gyrate; 
 
 vast, — as of Titans, in Tartaros 
 
 fetter'd, — adamant knees 
 
 protrude, fold, stretch 
 
 with an agony rhythmical ; 
 
 and the force of their breath 
 
 convulsive, the electric might 
 
 of their anger, by unwearying pull and push 
 
 230 
 
scintillant beams convey 
 in the service of 
 pigmy man! 
 
 III. 
 
 For, modern civilisation 
 
 seem'd but the temple profane 
 
 whose God, — Hermes of liars and thieves! 
 
 Yards, choking ivith goods, his courts 
 
 of high praise; zuare-houses grim 
 
 his places most holy; throng'd marts, 
 
 (the booths, his altars!) shops, stores, 
 
 and their counters for sacrifice 
 
 constant — the sacred resorts 
 
 of his popular worship. The streets 
 
 his, with scurry of vehicles, 
 
 whirr, rattle, roar 
 
 of cars that transport 
 
 votaries from shrine to shrine. 
 
 On tracks, from all regions convergent, 
 
 snort, bellow, 
 
 shriek, jar with their train, 
 
 locomotives, to freight quick and dead 
 
 at phrenetical speed for His sake 
 
 alone, zvhose victims, whose slaves, 
 
 whose merchandise are all! 
 
 And trade com- 
 pletes the degrada- 
 tion which industry 
 commences, till the 
 things of the spirit 
 are held cheap be- 
 cause unfit for 
 barter and sale. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Hephaestos, artificer lame, — 
 
 Hermes, covetous, ciinning, — 
 
 Gods of our time, 
 
 what have ye made of the race 
 
 once human? No beauty, no valor, no love! 
 
 Industry? — trade? — an ignoble war, 
 
 man clutching the throat of his fellow 
 
 to compel him disgorge his gold! 
 
 Dishearten'd, dispirited, 
 
 yet with one hope unavowed in my soul. 
 
 Arraigning these 
 only Gods, these 
 effectively domi- 
 nant ideals of his 
 fellows, he did not 
 admit to himself 
 his hope of find- 
 ing a consolation 
 in philosophy. 
 
 231 
 
/ cliinb'd the steep mount of culture 
 Hellenic, for vision of better things — 
 or, a scornful fareivell to the world. 
 
 But -when above 
 the smoke-pall of 
 sordidness, he 
 found the heaven 
 shrouded by vast 
 rain-clouds of phil- 
 osophic pessimism 
 and of religion 
 falsely so called. 
 
 V. 
 
 Far roll'd soon under my sight 
 
 astonish'd, the black voluminous surge 
 
 of smoke — drear sky of who drudge 
 
 in the city bclozv. But, up-looking, my soul 
 
 cried passionate for instant release: 
 
 no rift of the heaven so achingly crav'd! 
 
 Overhead, a vague expanse — 
 
 infinite cloud, — 
 
 the general despondency thick 
 
 atheistical, ivhence — cold 
 
 wind-driven dust of rain! 
 
 Nought, nought, 
 
 for the baffled eye of the spirit 
 
 but the grey illimitable, 
 
 shredding out rags of zvilless despair 
 
 loathly loose 
 
 into the flood of crass murk 
 
 infernal, zuhose tumbling waves at my feet 
 
 fro til' d pitch! ■ 
 
 232 
 
A SONG OF SONGS 
 
 DEMETER APPEARETH 
 
 I. 
 
 Behold 
 
 (if lore of names and of powers 
 
 godly thou have, to assure 
 
 fear-fascinate eyes) 
 
 and declare, 
 
 O rebellious soul, 
 
 Who she be that walketh 
 
 the welter of reek, as glebe 
 
 blast-plough'd, gust-harrow'd, rain-sown? 
 
 Mark 
 
 (though shrouded in ample, grey 
 
 mist-robes,) how shy 
 
 moves She, and hesitant, — 
 
 wont to solitudes only of fields 
 
 for miles under noon-sun awave, 
 
 where crickets, incessant 
 
 make hysterical mirth 
 
 lest whispers, (o'erheard from lips 
 
 not of flesh in shuddering, heavy wheat-ears,) 
 
 dismay the silly folk small 
 
 who flutter, creep, bask in the weeds 
 
 or the seams of the tolerant ground. 
 
 What shine — 
 
 wistful, unearthly 
 
 not glad, — in her eyes? 
 
 (Yet so, under banks dusk-green 
 
 of heart-shap'd shields, fretted 
 
 at edges, hang not the violets 
 
 of coy delight their sweet heads? 
 
 peep they not timorous, tear-twinkling 
 
 at foot-sore passers-by?) 
 
 Yea, and not sorrowful 
 
 seemeth her mouth: 
 
 There appeareth to 
 the poet a vision ui 
 of the goddess of 
 harvest-home, who 
 seemeth comfort- 
 ed of some dole 
 by a spiritual so- 
 licitude for the 
 weal of others, 
 and self-oblivious 
 beneficence. 
 
 233 
 
kind, as of one who her best 
 
 giveth, for meed nowise 
 
 of devotion or praise, but of strenuous 
 
 necessity, — love, so great that it knoweth 
 
 itself not, simple, 
 
 serene! 
 
 The poet, atved by 
 the deity, is 
 drawn by the 
 mother in her, and 
 recognises the 
 great Dcmeter of 
 Eleusls. 
 
 II. 
 
 Who art thou, lofty of stature, 
 noble of countenance, — hands 
 extended as proffering solace? 
 Mother of peace by endurance 
 won, and of plenty wrested 
 thro' sweat and patient abiding 
 from soil else barren, I know thee! 
 Dumb with awe 
 at thy presence, shadowy 
 Goddess, (whose virginal breast 
 pillowed the turbulent 
 sea-lord, earth-shaker, Poseidon,) 
 dumb should I be, undesirously 
 reverent, save that thy mother's 
 palpitant heart, of tenderness 
 infinite for comely Persephone, 
 draweth, Eleusynian Demeter, 
 to thee! 
 
 III. 
 
 The apparition or 
 the poet's own 
 spirit {which it be 
 he cannot say) ad- 
 dresseth itself to 
 console him. 
 
 Nigher she came, 
 
 loving lips parted, and words 
 
 sorrow-wise, spake she of counsel, 
 
 of comfort holy (repose 
 
 in tone, in gracious demeanor, 
 
 in wonderful gaze benign;) 
 
 so, that who utter'd I knew not 
 
 (a voice in my soul? or the speech 
 
 of her eyes, of her mouth?) 
 
 the soundless confession of truth: — 
 
 234 
 
IV. 
 
 I 
 'JRightly, O son, thou deemest telling the nature 
 
 most ancient of woe-begone, loving Ones °f Demeter's im- 
 
 I T ii- mortal sorrow, 
 
 me! Is there gorge ,. , ^ , 
 
 ° ° whtch sprang of 
 
 of distress impassable, heath snow-bound her joy in love, 
 
 by savage winds harried, sun-scorch'd and her love of 
 
 stony waste, untrod of my feet ■'"J'. 
 
 in the day of cruel bereavement 
 
 bruis'd sore, and bleeding? Hot tears, 
 
 inconsolable, wept I not 
 
 ages long? — Hearken my tale! 
 
 The queen of plough'd lands, purple-mantled 
 
 at dawn of the year, (through the quiet 
 
 winter-nights wooed) to the storm-god of sea 
 
 a daughter I bore. From babe 
 
 in few days (or so seem'd they) 
 
 miraculously budded she, bloom'd she 
 
 to maidenhood gracious, — as sunbeams 
 
 light-footed, like wells that up-bubble 
 
 laughter-brimming. For hers, 
 
 all bursting buds; hers, all uncurling 
 
 fronds tender; all leaves, (golden-pale 
 
 ere the sky of its blue tint them green,) 
 
 hers alone: most belov'd, most lovable, 
 
 yea, and of spirits the loveliest. Yet she, 
 
 daughter of Goddess 
 
 immortal, (mighty to bless, to curse 
 
 with abundance or famine,) yet she, 
 
 daughter of God 
 
 terrific, (whose wave-steeds foamy-man'd neigh 
 
 as they run, paw, leap, fierce-rending 
 
 with bitless mouths the wrecks of stoutest-bow'd ships,) 
 
 she, she, raped of the fearful gloom, 
 
 bride of death, queen of hell? She 
 
 not undying? Bare wold, cold flood 
 
 eternal? — yet she — 
 
 the blossom sea-father'd, earth-mother'd, she, she 
 
 perisheth? 
 
 E'er under heav'n hath woman, hath man 
 
 235 
 
known pangs that I suffer'd not 
 
 direr, acuter? The evil-eyed, gloating, 
 
 my torment, insatiate, beheld. Not mine 
 
 the refuge of silence that brooks 
 
 no intrusion; to life 
 
 without end, to despair 
 
 everlasting, doom'd!" 
 
 and also how she 
 was comforted in 
 her bereavement 
 by a vision of the 
 joy at the core of 
 things, and all en- 
 folding, — a joy 
 sincere, unironical, 
 self-commit nica- 
 tive. 
 
 V. 
 
 "But out of the bed-rock of grief, stark, 
 
 gelid, — no Zeus-hurl'd bolt 
 
 could shatter, — of its own extreme 
 
 tension asunder cloven, forth-gush'd 
 
 Solace, a crystal-pure fount, that quench'd 
 
 (as I stoop'd me fever-hot lips 
 
 to cool) the death-thirst. Then I hated no more 
 
 the order unchanging of causes, the chain 
 
 link in link of events without first 
 
 without last. Then, no more 
 
 wept I, perversely, to see the sun's vigor 
 
 of youth unabated; and over the shift 
 
 and drift of low cloud, star-radiant still 
 
 the blue firmamental, 
 
 unwrinkled with thought. Then, then 
 
 I perceiv'd, the Rapture (in all that is 
 
 latent, and far outreaching beyond 
 
 the uttermost nought) implied for cark and care 
 
 human no scorn derisive: — reckless 
 
 of mind-fret and heart-ache (strange 
 
 to itself, and irrelevant) wherefore? — if not, 
 
 in moment of passion's lull, hush 
 
 of fury's exhaustion, — audibly sweet 
 
 as a peace divine to intrude 
 
 at length in the sufferer's soul?" 
 
 VI. 
 
 J ,, , "Aidoneus! Aidoneus 
 
 Learning that 
 
 death is the author Him I had curs d, bride-deflowerer,— mocker 
 of life's glory, she at sport with rent petals, dead leaves,— 
 
 236 
 
blighter, — scatterer — '^^Pf «" wor^ for 
 
 spurner underfoot of the fair— ^^^^ ^'"' P''''^^'' 
 
 whom never at heart (since hateful, sullen, 
 
 foul,) I believ'd to be God, — in his very 
 
 Self appear'd to me then, of living things 
 
 maker; deviser of form, and of increase 
 
 in might; cherisher, fosterer 
 
 silent of beauty; whose mystical touch 
 
 worketh wonders forever! Astonish'd, 
 
 yet more I marvell'd that ever 
 
 woe-misted these eyes of mine 
 
 so blind became to mis-read 
 
 the myth of the seasons recurrent. For, lo, 
 
 is it not He who clippeth of wheat, 
 
 of rye, the tresses ripe-sunny? and who 
 
 if not He with flail of affliction 
 
 from full sheaf driveth, (relaxing 
 
 the hold of kindly husks) the bare grain? 
 
 And whose if not His the harsh breath, 
 
 to shrill tunes of scorn, as flurry 
 
 of fine snow whirling aloft, under drear skies ashen, 
 
 the chaff? From my hand, tight-clench'd, 'tis He 
 
 snatcheth the choicest for seed 
 
 in darkness to waste, damp-swollen, 
 
 and rot? Yet v/ho if not He (as the corn 
 
 under sun, for nurture of men 
 
 ground, cometh in blush of maid, glow of youth, battle's might, 
 
 cometh in mother's milk, joyous cry, laugh of babe,) 
 
 who if not He in due season 
 
 biddeth arise the new year's 
 
 vaster harvests, ghost-pallid? Aidoneus, who, 
 
 if not Thou 
 
 God of death?" 
 
 VII. 
 
 "Wherefore, summer's Goddess, a rite And that mortal 
 
 faithful and holy of loyal s^'^f '"'sht have 
 
 T . 1 > iU > • 1- 1 immortal cure, 
 
 sons I exact, whensoe er thro rich loam h r d h r 
 
 by steer-drawn plough the furrow is cut:— heavenly wisdom 
 
 with solemn jubilation, therein with such as ex- 
 
 237 
 
perienced anguish newborn shall be laid an infant — the token 
 like hers. ^y^^^ jj£g ^y^^ theirs, as of wheat, as of rye) 
 
 upspringeth from th' gloom, death-begotten. For my soul, 
 
 when the sense it conn'd of the mystery 
 
 erst indiscernible, cull'd (dejected 
 
 no longer) wholesome fruit — heart's ease, 
 
 quiet cheer of well-doing — to men 
 
 grief-smit the deep lore imparting in grove 
 
 Eleusynian. And none whom I taught 
 
 fear'd darkness thereafter, nor dust, nor cold sweat 
 
 at the close. Aidoneus, of terrors 
 
 grim King, most ruthful I showed to them. Her, 
 
 (whom folk in their folly awful 
 
 fabled, the daughter of Styx stagnant river 
 
 corrupt, inexorable Queen 
 
 of Hades,) to all I revealed as none 
 
 other than pure Persephone, her lap 
 
 heap'd with red poppies — oblivion 
 
 of ache, of vexation, — yea and with white 
 
 poppies, — dream-hopes of a whiter 
 
 dawn. So the grief, 
 
 my son, thenceforth at parting 
 
 in glee of welcome is swallowed. The end 
 
 lo! no end, — but start 
 
 more exultant; the cycle of life no tedious 
 
 round, — a ring for processional dance; 
 
 and behold, even I, Mother Earth, the venerable, 
 
 wax youthful again; 
 
 and singing, singing with a myriad myriad 
 
 stars through the thrill'd heaven's vastitude whirl, 
 
 blissful; for, ever to Aidoneus content 
 
 1 surrender my children, whom Aidoneus again 
 forever restoreth 
 
 more mighty, more fair!" 
 
 238 
 
DIONYSOS COMETH 
 
 The words of Demeter 
 in my ears still tremulous, 
 persuasively sweet ; — wind-wafted 
 from the mingling of cloud-sky dun 
 and the unquiet sea of dinginess — 
 Voices as of maidens, for an alien grief 
 tear-dew'd, but at heart 
 life-glad, came gradually 
 closer and clearer: — 
 
 From the hori- 
 zon's edge conteth 
 sound of singing. 
 
 Why sigh we and cry we, as nigher we draw to her, IVhen the words 
 
 appall'd by her tallness and awful demeanor? '"'"' intelligible 
 
 _,, . , , ., r -r^ , 1 1 *"^3' prove to be 
 
 The violence and silence of Hades are law to her, ^ greeting to 
 
 yet v/ailing seem'th sweeter Demeter to thee, Demeter; 
 
 weeping than smiling, howling than laughter! 
 
 Griev'd One, bereav'd One, thy child — hast thou seen her? 
 Time now brings showers; yet unfailingly after 
 calls the gay hours to delight us, yea, dry away 
 tears from all eyes, v/hile our doubt-clouds fly away 
 
 from the bright of the sky, and are drown'd in the sea! 
 
 So fresh were the Voices 
 
 and so full, youth-cheery, 
 
 irresistible; — smiles straight followed 
 
 in the wake of the sage words sung 
 
 to a distinct rhythm of dance; 
 
 and the mother of Persephone, the gracious, 
 
 replied 
 sweet-smiling to me. 
 Once more, swell'd closer 
 the melodious chorus: — 
 
 239 
 
 but the singers, it 
 is clear, ignorant 
 of her comfort, 
 misconceive her 
 mood; 
 
p 
 
 and, wearying of 
 lament, resume the 
 praise of their 
 chosen deity, as 
 though the saluta- 
 tion to another 
 might seem dis- 
 loyal. 
 
 Ho! go you and show you a holier joy in him, 
 employ you your voices in boisterous hollos, 
 
 for know you not, know you not Semele's boy in him, 
 
 with whom you would toy once, you coy Ones, of old? 
 
 Noisily extol him, lowlily sue him! 
 Woe doth he sow and a joy-crop follows. 
 
 Lo! you owe homage and honor unto him! 
 
 Grow you, O grow you, O vines of his choosing, 
 
 flow you, O flow you, O grapes of his bruising, 
 
 to the glory alone of your God of the bold! 
 
 The sire of their 
 God, acknowledges 
 his glorious son; 
 
 Then knew I, unseen yet, 
 
 the devout blithe singers. 
 
 But suddenly, loud roar'd Zeus, 
 
 the cataclysmal. His clouds broke, cloven, 
 
 and a bolt clear'd the atmosphere. 
 
 Luminous the azure of the heavens through the rift 
 
 burst happily in; 
 
 sun-showers stream'd laughing 
 
 from the frayed storm-edges. 
 
 whereupon the 
 Maenads {female 
 devotees of Diony- 
 sos) appear, and 
 encircle Demeter, 
 
 The surge of crass murk 
 
 froth'd pitch no longer: — 
 
 bronze-red, ablaze, 
 
 hurtling to foam of gold, 
 
 spurting quick spray of fire, 
 
 tumbling in glory. 
 
 For, leaping and crying, 
 
 a rout of wild women, 
 
 with faun-skins loose-vested, 
 
 limbs gleaming, locks flying in whirl 
 
 orgyastic, surrounded the mother 
 
 majestic and calm: — 
 
 240 
 
He Cometh, he cometh, ('Tis he! 'tis he!) 
 
 young again from barbarous Thracia, 
 to Icaria, the wild; o'er the isles of the sea 
 from Phrygia, the rocky, and Asia! 
 From the gloom 
 of the tomb 
 
 he came, he came — 
 God of gush, 
 God of flow, 
 
 the same, O the same 
 God of flush 
 and of glow, 
 
 and the uproar of flame. 
 
 shtging of the ex- 
 pected advent of 
 Bacchus; 
 
 Oh! heard ye not, heard ye not told and retold 
 
 the story of his wonderful birth? 
 begott'n of the Highest, he is God of the bold; 
 of the Fairest born, God of their mirth! 
 Speak out, 
 shout, shout 
 
 his name, his name! 
 God of wine, 
 God of fire, 
 
 the same, O the sarne 
 of divine 
 mad desire 
 
 of the death-leap, and fame! 
 
 of his miraculous 
 divine begetting 
 and of his beauti- 
 ful human birth; 
 
 Blessed Semele, — ^virgin 
 
 who daredst to die 
 thy glory to merge in 
 
 that of Zeus the most high,— 
 passion-whirls that we surge in 
 
 thy feet cannot wet; 
 rejoice, O white virgin, 
 
 where suns never set! 
 
 of his virgin 
 mother, now be- 
 yond carnal stain; 
 
 241 
 
of Zeus's wooing 
 and recognition by 
 her, 
 
 The God of heav'n saw thee 
 
 and lov'd thee, and wooed; 
 lest his glory o'er-awe thee 
 
 as shepherd he sued; 
 but thou knewest him, Bride of God, 
 
 thro' the human disguise, 
 sweet Joy of God, Pride of God, 
 
 Light of his eyes! 
 
 of her rapture in 
 the God. 
 
 "O Zeus, who didst fashion it — 
 
 my body be thine, 
 so thou flash forth, God passionate, 
 
 thy glory divine." 
 In delirious surrender 
 
 of rosy-hued flesh 
 Thou didst cry: "Slay with splendor, 
 
 and create me afresh!" 
 
 The Maenads 
 see their God 
 a-far, and forget 
 his birth in him. 
 
 He Cometh, he cometh! 'Tis he, even he, 
 
 son of Semele! — Hail, Dionysos, 
 from the low, and the mean, and the base to set free,- 
 from ourself, to thy height to entice us! 
 God fearless, 
 God peerless, 
 
 O come, O come! 
 At thy glance 
 who, O God, 
 
 can be dumb? can be dumb? 
 Tread the dance, 
 that ye trod, 
 
 to flute, pipe, and drum! 
 
 242 
 
HYMN TO DIONYSOS THE ELEMENTAL 
 I. A young Maenad singeth 
 
 y A young Maenad 
 
 near us praises Dioynsos as 
 
 to cheer us, God of elemental 
 
 dire ^''^• 
 
 God 
 
 of the panting heat! 
 Pray 
 hear us, 
 hear, hear us! 
 Fire- 
 shod 
 
 be thy alighting feet, 
 that in spasm 
 volcanic 
 
 thy mount may awake; 
 rend open a chasm, 
 and with panic 
 earth shake! 
 From the crater, 
 Titan-hater, 
 
 let the lava-streams fall, 
 and char 
 near and far 
 as they luridly crawl. 
 In thick dark 
 sow the spark 
 to enkindle the pine: 
 higher, higher 
 leap thy fire 
 with a thunder divine! 
 
 243 
 
II. Semi-chorus of young Maenads 
 
 All the younger Qod of Swollen springs bursting; torrent-roar of wild force, 
 Mae,,ads laud hi,n uprooting the trees, and damming its course; — 
 
 as (joa of raging » •-' ^ 
 
 water-streams °' floods, boulder-rolling, to the plain down-hurl d; — 
 
 and of luxuriant of the landslip that crasheth on a slumbering world; — 
 plant-growth. Dionysos, thy ravage 
 
 at length hath an end: 
 
 for thy violence savage 
 
 is the wrath of a friend. 
 
 Lo! thy vast vegetation 
 
 upshooteth to cloak 
 
 the seared devastation 
 
 with pine, laurel, oak. 
 
 An older Maenad 
 prays to Dionysos 
 as God of secret 
 treasures. 
 
 III. An older Maenad singeth 
 
 O God of the mysteries hid below ground, 
 
 of the bed 
 
 of thy red 
 
 gold gloom-hoarded, 
 
 keep them ever impenetrable to light and to sound, 
 
 from the smutch 
 
 of the clutch 
 
 of the sordid. 
 
 So, the mystical treasures in deeps of man 
 
 be thine, O God, only with glad eye to scan. 
 
 Yet, at times (as thy river 
 
 Pactolus 
 
 of old 
 
 for thy faithful adorer 
 
 wash'd up nuggets of gold) 
 
 when the anguish grows sorer 
 
 than the proud soul can bear, 
 
 with glimpse of our God-self, Life-giver, 
 
 console us, 
 
 and vanquish this human despair! 
 
 244 
 
IV. Semi' chorus of older Maenads 
 
 Man from good unto better must go, 
 
 from better, e'er on to the best: 
 
 thy guest in the life that we know 
 
 is in death, that we know not, thy guest. 
 
 God, marshaller of spirits victorious 
 
 too great for earth longer to house, 
 
 lead us, lead us to a world more glorious 
 
 there to revel with thee and carouse! 
 
 Thy grape-blood burns in our veins, 
 
 and with madness our brains 
 
 are on fire! on fire! 
 
 We rise with thee, God, from the real 
 
 to explore the eternal ideal — 
 
 inspire us, inspire us, inspire! 
 
 Heaven's freedom from earth-bonds that bind us 
 
 let our spirits, O God, anticipate. 
 
 For a moment the shadows that bind us 
 
 dissipate ! dissipate ! dissipate ! 
 
 We follow thee on, we follow — 
 
 skim the air more swift than swallow! 
 
 O ye wicked, ye fools, he hath sapp'd your 
 
 foundations of carnal joy! 
 
 Your lies no more shall win you us: 
 
 ours, ours the ecstatical rapture 
 
 of the Gods (Evoi! O Evoi!) 
 
 the rapture of onrush continuous! 
 
 (Evoi! Evoi!) 
 
 All the older Mae- 
 nads extol him as 
 the God 
 of immortality and 
 
 spiritual vision. 
 
 V. All the Maenads in chorus 
 
 All hail to the God who died 
 of man's woe, in man's stead, 
 now deathless and glorified, 
 King of the blessed dead! 
 Maenads, wave, wave your 
 green-flaming thyrsus 
 
 Together all the 
 Maenads hail him 
 as the Titan-slain 
 God who secureth 
 everlasting blisses 
 for the faithful. 
 
 245 
 
as you leap for his praise in the whirl of the dance: 
 
 hail, hail him the Saviour 
 
 of incredible mercies, 
 
 Lord eternal of fate, God the master of chance! 
 
 THE COLLOQUY 
 I. 
 
 Demeter maketh 
 known unto Dio- 
 nysos her office of 
 consoler, eliciting 
 the human out of 
 the torture of 
 mankind. 
 
 Their hymn of worshipful praise 
 
 declaring the godhead 
 
 occult of their Lord, 
 
 to a close devout sung, — 
 
 The God of the heavenly dew, 
 
 a stillness ensued; and Demeter, lifting 
 
 her eyes to those of the flush'd 
 
 divine youth, became 
 
 ancient in look, all the light 
 
 of her wisdom veil'd. 
 
 — "Art thou 
 Demeter, mother of comfort from sorrow 
 for men?" 
 
 —"Yea, son," 
 answered she mild, "by cruel 
 hardship ever the good 
 from the ill are dissever'd. Persephone 
 fair, from the grave returneth whither 
 she went with all mortals 
 down; but the foul 
 wax old in their death, and each 
 (as memory in turn effaceth 
 memory, recall'd in the mind) 
 fades utterly out of the world. 
 Wherefore, my worshippers so 
 teach I pain 
 
 and bereavement to bear, that they rise 
 from brute up to man — 
 his stature, dignity, calm." 
 
 246 
 
II. 
 
 "Well," — retorted the beauteous 
 
 youth, his eyes as he spake 
 
 awful with shine 
 
 inhuman, — "Mother, 
 
 well hast thou said. To man 
 
 thou leadest; but I, 
 
 unbeheld, drive on 
 
 thy worshippers up to the god. 
 
 Aidoneus, 
 
 King of death. King of hell, 
 
 is none other than I, who greet thee, . 
 
 Dionysos, 
 
 Lord of life. Lord of earth, 
 
 leader of the blessed to the highest 
 
 heaven. The good, who survive 
 
 the law of thy Deity, they 
 
 my quarry are, mine Dionysos 
 
 Zagreus, pitiless huntsman, torturer, 
 
 flesh-feaster, blood-quaffer, the barbarous 
 
 God. 
 
 Bruis'd, crush'd, 
 
 shall the grape-berry be; whence, pouring, 
 
 the life-juice transmute I to fluid 
 
 fire! 
 
 Yea, the hero, strong, brave, 
 
 soul-fast, faithful, upright, 
 
 unto death I pursue, that in death 
 
 deified, 
 
 they I maddened with murderous 
 
 hate shall adore Him, (in death 
 
 life-glories forth-showing they dream'd not 
 
 in Him whom they slew, even me 
 
 beholding, their God; and a love 
 
 fervent for Him, shall breed of remorseful 
 
 hearts — issue divine, 
 
 heroes innumerous as stars in the heaven!" 
 
 Dionysos replieth 
 that his function 
 is ever to express 
 from the human 
 the godly. He {life 
 and death being 
 mystically one) 
 identifieth himself 
 with Aidoneus 
 {Hades, Pluto) 
 and setteth forth 
 his awful anthro- 
 pophagous rite. 
 
 of) me 
 
 247 
 
HYMN TO DIONYSOS, THE HERO-GOD 
 
 I. 
 
 Semi- chorus of older Maenads 
 
 Enthusiastic, the 
 Maenads celebrate 
 their winter orgies 
 in the mountains 
 to arouse the 
 sleeping God of 
 natural life who 
 would else let the 
 earth perish with 
 him. 
 
 What is it he said? 
 
 Hath he fled? Hath he fled? 
 
 Dionysos, the Hero-God, dead? 
 
 dead? dead? 
 
 Up, up to the barren hill-pass 
 
 swept of winter-blast chilling, barefooted, barehead, 
 
 ere manhigh the snow-drifts amass! 
 
 We will drink not nor eat, 
 
 but the hard-frozen ground 
 
 we will beat 
 
 with our feet, 
 
 and Pan-hoof shall pound 
 
 to drum and shrill fife 
 
 till the Dead come to life! 
 
 Bromios! Bromios! 
 
 hark, the timbrel's hoarse roar, 
 
 wail of wind, hoot of owl, 
 
 scream of eagle, wolf-howl, — 
 
 wilt thou lead us, boisterous God, no more? 
 
 To the rhythm of our phrenzy, ye north-blasts, shriek; 
 
 about us, ye snow-drifts, wheel 
 
 and reel; 
 
 till (the death-spell too weak 
 
 for the God whom we seek,) 
 
 He shall rise and his glory reveal. 
 
 Lo, death is dead, 
 
 and his spell is sped! 
 
 Thou hast conquered our mortal shame! 
 
 248 
 
and in their su- 
 pernatural powers; 
 
 Let the cymbals clash, 
 
 and the avalanche crash 
 
 as we summon Thee, God, by name. 
 
 Semi- choruses of Pans 
 
 We Pans, we Pans, The Pans glory in 
 
 to butt and to gore fl^"'' deformity 
 
 we have horns that are sore, 
 
 and our legs are a goat's not a man's. 
 
 Beware, beware, 
 
 with our nails 
 
 we tear, 
 
 and we lash 
 
 with our barbed tails. 
 
 Like beasts, we rend 
 
 with our teeth the rash 
 
 who Zagreus, the huntsman, offend. 
 
 We have ears as the lynx, 
 
 and a fool! who thinks 
 
 from the leer 
 
 of our eyes to escape; 
 
 for the snow-flake's fall 
 
 miles off we hear, 
 
 and a leaf-shadow's shape 
 
 we spy through the thick night's pall. 
 
 Woe! woe! to the Man — and threaten the 
 
 though thou send emissaries of their 
 
 . • God who shall 
 
 dare, obedient to 
 his hest, stand in 
 
 who cometh, great God, in thy place: 
 
 we will butt, each Pan, his room 
 
 gore and rend 
 
 him, 
 
 and tear him limb 
 
 249 
 
from limb! 
 
 devour his flesh torn, 
 
 lap and gulp his blood spill'd, 
 
 till we free 
 
 from the mask thy face, 
 
 and see 
 
 the quiet smile of high scorn, 
 
 and thy spiritual eyes fire-fiU'd! 
 
 FuU chorus of Pans 
 3 
 
 Yet they show that 
 in the tragic death 
 the God is glori- 
 fied and the hero 
 made truly his re- 
 vealer. 
 
 For blessed, thrice-blest, 
 
 the death that reveals thee; 
 
 of thy fury possess'd 
 
 the great life that feels thee: 
 
 and deep, deep 
 
 the abysses be 
 
 of terrific despair, 
 
 that steep, steep 
 
 may the blisses be 
 
 whose peaks cleave the air! 
 
 In the tragic death-strife 
 
 from the blood-drunk sod 
 
 springs the beauty of life 
 
 that showeth Thee, God. 
 
 250 
 
HYMN TO DIONYSOS, THE HERO-GOD 
 
 II. 
 
 Semi-chorus of the younger Maenads 
 
 1 
 
 O Pans, in the waste hill-gorges Enthusiastic, 
 
 not vain were our mid- winter orgies: the Maenads an- 
 
 for his earthquake answers nounce the vernal 
 
 the tramp- resurrection of the 
 
 God of natural 
 ^*^"^P life, and praise 
 
 of dancers, him. 
 
 in new-got strength 
 
 appearing at length: 
 
 Lord of fire, water, gold, 
 
 wine, song, 
 
 dance, mirth; 
 
 the great God of the bold 
 
 and the strong 
 
 of the earth! 
 
 O flute, O drum, 
 
 O tabor and cymbal, 
 
 back you'll us 
 
 bring 
 
 with loud scream, and leap nimble 
 
 to the ancient hill-top bald! 
 
 lacchos the oft-shouter, is come 
 
 whom appall'd 
 
 we call'd, 
 
 yea, come with miraculous 
 
 Spring. 
 
 He hath sent a 
 
 year of plenty 
 
 that his faithful should fast not. 
 
 The spell 
 
 of dark Hell — 
 
 251 
 
we knew well 
 
 it could last not: 
 
 lacchos hath overcome it! 
 
 (how else could the strife result?) 
 
 Up, up the sheer summit, 
 
 you Bacchic rout, 
 
 to exult, 
 
 as ye raise 
 
 the shout 
 
 of his praise, 
 
 in the heat of his mystical cult. 
 
 They describe his 
 advent to the 
 heights, athwart 
 the flats, and the 
 wild rush of his 
 'worshippers to 
 meet him with 
 shout and dance. 
 
 On a chariot swift-drawn of panthers and leopards 
 
 at dawn he appeared to the terrified shepherds, 
 
 Silenos alone for fellow! 
 
 and, behold, 
 
 the meadow he dashed thro' 
 
 grew gold, 
 
 as his god-glory flashed thro', 
 
 with narcissi sunny-yellow; 
 
 and roses wine-purple, flame-tawny, lily-white, 
 
 burst abloom in his lightning track; 
 
 the vines hung big clusters of berries, in a night, 
 
 grapes glaucous, grapes sanguine, grapes swarthy blue-black; 
 
 the trees of the orchard, the trees of the forest 
 
 became quick-quivering, high-roaring, fire-tongues of green. 
 
 'Gainst death with life's beaut5% O lacchos, thou warrest 
 
 the whole world to make lustrous, tho' thyself be unseen. 
 
 Wherefore in festal glee, brandishing torches 
 
 aflare, thy mad maidens (as pours the volcano 
 
 a lava-stream lurid that seethes and that scorches) 
 
 to the valley 
 
 forth-sally 
 
 to the plain, to the plain, O! 
 
 to meet with laughter, peals upon peals, 
 
 jubilant hollo and yell, O! 
 
 lacchos the God who our rapture feels 
 
 and Silenos, his master and fellow. 
 
 252 
 
Chorus of Satyrs 
 
 Not one of us, fierce quaffers 
 
 though we shamble, totter, stagger, 
 not one of us, coarse laughers, 
 
 in the train of the God is a lagger. 
 We are goat-thighed, like Pans, and lascivious, 
 
 obscene in our humorous jests; . 
 yet, O Maenads, of your lips why give ye us, 
 
 of your waists, no joy, and your breasts? 
 Too fleet of foot, agile, alert, you 
 
 fly on in your spirited folly. 
 Yet, O Maenads, no Satyr would hurt you, 
 
 bliss-drunken, and amorous-jolly. 
 
 The Satyrs pro- 
 nounce themselves, 
 for all their base- 
 ness, true servants 
 of the God. 
 
 Little know ye your God if ye scorn us: 
 
 your God, He also is ours; 
 for Silenos's sake love hath he borne us 
 and a function assigned to his powers. 
 Dionysos, the only God, jealous. 
 
 He hateth a rival base. 
 Then who be men's idols, tell us, 
 
 whose favor they seek, and grace? 
 Ours, ours is the God's commission 
 
 to shatter their images, 
 cleave faith from superstition, 
 
 distinguish what seems from what is! 
 Stalk forth thou bragging claimant 
 to worship! 'Tis we who shall settle 
 the debt to thee owed of the fool. 
 We must make thee enough, yea quick payment 
 in truest, most precious metal 
 of comical ridicule. 
 The people with laughter we initiate 
 
 in the mysteries of heroism divine — 
 would ye wish yet more gods to propitiate 
 having known once the supreme God of wine? 
 
 253 
 
 For, as tragedy 
 arose from the 
 anthropophagous 
 feast, so comedy 
 began with the 
 drunken revel. 
 Theirs also is a 
 high, if not the 
 highest, office. 
 
THE TRANSFIGURATION 
 I. 
 
 The effect of the 
 hymn of worship 
 showeth itself in 
 a revelation to 
 their eyes of the 
 God's glory. 
 
 Lo! while 
 
 the elder Maenads, intoxicate, chanted 
 
 the winter-praise boisterous 
 
 of Bromios; while 
 
 the Thracian huntsman (harrier remorseless 
 
 of human game, Zagreus, man-eater) 
 
 the Aegipans ferocious 
 
 loud lauded in madness of savage 
 
 rites gory; the while 
 
 maiden Maenads, grief-ignorant, 
 
 of lacchos, earth-quickener, soul-kindler, 
 
 ecstatical sang; and v/hile 
 
 the Satyrs, mock-awesome, Dionysos exalted 
 
 (foster child of Silenos, their chief,) 
 
 for the exhilarant laugh 
 
 of his mouth; — behold! 
 
 in his votaries' midst, the one 
 
 Lord of their various moods 
 
 shone transfigured — and, ringwise 
 
 environed with multiplied visions 
 
 emanative, drave 
 
 Maenads, Pans, Satyrs back, 
 
 extending their circle of worship, the more 
 
 at the center his Godhead forthflashed. 
 
 For from Dionysos 
 emanate the Dry- 
 ads, the Oreads, 
 the Naiads, the 
 three Charities, 
 and the Muses 
 three— ^various as- 
 pects of his deity 
 separately embod- 
 ied. 
 
 II. 
 
 Of bush and of tree the chaste spirits 
 into being first leapt, with leafage 
 arrayed, happy Dryads, blossom-crown'd, 
 their arms all together 
 upthrown, wildly waving green boughs 
 in his honor; the Oreads, shy, 
 the Hill-nymphs, scarce veiling 
 with misty robes their lithe shapes. 
 
 254 
 
hand-in-hand glided; and next 
 
 the Naiads of bubbling wells, 
 
 frolic brooks, shamelessly glad, 
 
 flaunted as briar-roses fragrant their bare 
 
 bodies light-dartling, dewy-wet 
 
 from the pure and cool element. Thus 
 
 ring within ring 
 
 expanded, until, to right 
 
 and to left of the deity, gleam'd 
 
 (their locks tight-loop'd lest a ray 
 
 of their naked effulgence, a line of their grace 
 
 be obscur'd,) the Charities three; 
 
 and, as holy as they, their virginal 
 
 beauty from eyes profane 
 
 close-drap'd, reflecting the fiat 
 
 creative, their sisters three smil'd — 
 
 the Muses. 
 
 III. 
 
 Gntranc d The transHgura- 
 
 the order'd, yet waywardly fleet <'"<'« " completed 
 
 interlacingS I watch'd ^^ *''^ appearance 
 
 of the complicate dance: the shimmer, ?i ':ZnT Z 
 
 the white glow of limbs; the sweep midst of all the 
 
 float, flutter of drapery; the floor glory. 
 
 of shine aquiver to the numberless 
 
 trip incessant — feet of light 
 
 diffusing quick spiritual rhythm, unheard 
 
 of the ear, as perfume strange 
 
 from tropic flower 
 
 intense, bewildering 
 
 the mind. Then I turn'd 
 
 to scan the noble serene 
 
 countenance kindly of mother 
 
 Demeter. But, sudden her eye 
 
 with bliss unwonted elate, 
 
 (as of strange recognition, immediate, 
 
 incredible,) straightway the beam 
 
 of her gaze I foUow'd 
 
 perforce. And lo! 
 
 255 
 
at the palpitant life-god's side 
 
 a tranquil apparition of girlish 
 
 loveliness, — blue vein'd temples, and hair 
 
 wheat'n-yellow, with poppies enwreath'd! None other, 
 
 assuredly none than the sweet 
 
 Persephone, so 
 
 with utter trust as a child's 
 
 the God's hand could hold, or as she 
 
 look in his dreadfully glorious face, 
 
 with bride's proud blushful regard. 
 
 Thereupon Deme- 
 ter embraceth her 
 'child, and ad- 
 dresseth words of 
 love to her. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Demeter's heart brimm'd 
 
 visibly full, and ran over 
 
 with blessedness mute. At length 
 
 her emotion mastering: "Child," she cried, 
 
 "O my child, thou of Spring's swollen buds, 
 
 of silken leaves pale, of velvety fronds 
 
 that ravel, of blossomy shoots, — speak, speak,- 
 
 is it thee, my own, I behold? 
 
 Art thou, in very truth, spouse 
 
 of the great life-giver? Aidoneus 
 
 rap'd thee not? bare thee 
 
 not hellward? in hideous gloom 
 
 secluded thee ne'er? Or, perchance 
 
 hast thou chang'd him, thou 
 
 with thy love, from cruel, obscene 
 
 King of dearth, desolation, despair, 
 
 to a God of exuberant excesses and lustrous 
 
 beatitude?" — Reverently still 
 
 the tumultuous host of the God's 
 
 adherents became, as Daughter 
 
 and Mother, long-parted, embrac'd 
 
 speechless; and Tree-nymphs, Hill-nymphs, 
 
 Water-nymphs, Charities, Muses, all 
 
 fastened with tender 
 
 delight on the Twain their eyes, and not few 
 
 the holy tears that with bliss 
 
 of reunion 
 
 starrily sparkled. 
 
 256 
 
"Daughter dear " at last Demeter now in 
 
 Demeter resum'd, "well knew I indeed ^^^ !°^, ''^'"r'" 
 
 • 1 T , 1 /■ . ^> .-. , hereth that xn her 
 
 ere sight I had of thee, Child ^^.^..^ ^,^,„, 
 
 only-beloved, all, all Aphrodite 
 
 that befell thee. But knowledge, appeared to her, 
 
 (unto mourners expounded of me """'' ""* °^ ^''''**- 
 
 ,, , , V .- 1 1 . • -r tude, she wisheth 
 
 through the ages,) faded, the instant I saw „^^ ^^ _^^^^„„ 
 
 thy face, to memories vague her into life again. 
 
 as of some wild adventure, dream-heard, 
 
 impossible. For verily. Child, 
 
 my child, oft they, who when sorrows 
 
 oppress have belief, if they meet 
 
 face to face the desire of the heart 
 
 are incredulous utterly. 
 
 Now that however I know 
 
 what I knew, and believe, 
 
 well-knowing, — all that ere this I well-knew, 
 
 believing — no phrenzy predictive 
 
 seizeth my soul; but clearly 
 
 methinks, and in absolute calm, 
 
 I foresee such coming of thine 
 
 with thy lord unto me, 
 
 not without blessing for man 
 
 shall have happen'd. My power, of thine 
 
 seconded. Daughter, availeth 
 
 from dark non-existence to call 
 
 Aphrodite once more, the beauty 
 
 of flesh to the light of the world, 
 
 that She 
 
 the broken-hearted console, and help 
 
 the life-loathing; — as once thy mother 
 
 of old She strengthen'd to bear 
 
 bereavment unspeakable, — yea, with a promise 
 
 sure of to-day's encounter. For what 
 
 signified else her smile 
 
 insistent, persuasive, unless 
 
 even this it declar'd: that never 
 
 257 
 
from earth, sky, sea, could the beautiful 
 
 wholly pass, or perish 
 
 from body and spirit of man? " 
 
 VI. 
 
 Dionysos acccpteth 
 Demeter instead 
 of his lost mother, 
 Semele, and De- 
 meter loveth him 
 as a son. 
 
 "So be it even as thou, 
 
 Mother, hast said," replied the bloom-goddess 
 
 turning in alternate joy 
 
 of heart and soul from parent 
 
 to lord, from lord 
 
 to parent, — a yearning unknown 
 
 to herself, beyond speech, in her look. 
 
 Yet each, understanding, eyed 
 
 strangely the other, one probing 
 
 instant; and first, Dionysos in her 
 
 his mother beholding, (rever'd 
 
 Semele, from infancy mourn'd,) relax'd 
 
 his scrutiny, extending a hand 
 
 adoptive; and she, Demeter (the wise 
 
 from experience of ill, the glad 
 
 in goodness perpetual,) knew then in Him 
 
 the son divine of her soul. 
 
 But aware of the triple felecity, no longer 
 
 repressible, the Naiads burst into praise: 
 
 Aphrodite, the queen, hailing, — the blessed, 
 
 the beauteous, who, unwitting, 
 
 gave to the sorrow-bowed strength 
 
 of endurance, and hope to the soul-sick 
 
 of yore. 
 
 The merry Naiads 
 sing of their ow<t 
 childish sport; 
 
 THE HYMN TO APHRODITE 
 
 1 
 
 Gay spirits we of leaping wells 
 trickled unabash'd 
 over moss'd knobs, rough fells; 
 thro' dingles, bloomy dells 
 tinkle-tinkle weplash'd; 
 
 258 
 
in hill-hollows rallied, 
 
 we rush'd with loud laughter-screams; 
 
 spray-spurting, dilly-dallied 
 
 in iridescent, foam-pallid 
 
 green pools for day-dreams; 
 
 then, 
 
 again, 
 
 wild, uproarious, 
 
 all, together, we leapt 
 
 with the waterfalls glorious, 
 
 and ocean-ward swept. 
 
 Wondrous news from sandy shore-lands 
 
 we heard of the summer-breeze; 
 
 for far never, never far 
 
 are 
 
 the heights of jutting forelands 
 
 from the spume of Hellenic seas. 
 
 Dionysos, O imperious, 
 
 bid our sisters, — Nymphs of Nereus, — 
 
 recount us the marvels as they be; 
 
 lest they tease us, worry, weary us 
 
 gay Naiads, tho' we emanate from thee! 
 
 but, hearing 
 strange gossip, 
 they implore that 
 their 
 
 father command 
 the sea-nymph $ 
 not to withhold 
 the trttth from 
 them. 
 
 O Hill-nymphs, O Tree-nymphs, 
 
 why stayed ye at home? 
 
 for we saw all the Sea-nymphs, 
 
 joj'-drunken, toss the foam. 
 
 Aphrodite 
 
 that morn, 
 
 the mighty, 
 
 was born 
 
 a girl-babe merrily 
 
 cradled of a wave: 
 
 and they caught her 
 
 (sweet daughter 
 
 They are reward- 
 ed for their fran- 
 tic race to the salt 
 sea, by a vision of 
 Aphrodite's birth. 
 
 259 
 
she, of blue sky, blue sea) 
 
 yea, and bare her off verily 
 
 to a crystalline cave 
 
 with frolic and laughter and boisterous glee! 
 
 They relate cir- 
 cumstances of Iter 
 rearing and tell of 
 the miracles 
 wrought by her 
 maidenly beauty. 
 
 Bubbles, pearls, corals and goldfish red 
 
 her pretty childish toys; 
 
 hide-and-seek, with the Nymphs, o'er the deep seabed- 
 
 a rollicking, innocent noise! 
 
 But quickly their foundling, their foster-child 
 
 her playmates outgrew and their games: 
 
 hers the girlhood mild 
 
 sweet, undefiled, 
 
 whose beauty the sea-brute tames! 
 
 To men and to Gods it is time she be shown 
 
 in her loose locks of amber array'd, 
 
 that the sea wash her feet with motherly moan 
 
 and the blue sky acknowledge the maid. 
 
 Her journey, on 
 the day of her 
 showing to sky 
 and sea, is de- 
 scribed as a tri- 
 umphal progress to 
 the sacred isle of 
 Cyprus. 
 
 In a concave billow 
 they lay her down, 
 white arm for soft pillow, 
 gushing curls for gay gov/n. 
 O'er the silk-smooth pellucid boat 
 stretch a rainbow-woof sail — 
 to hill-horned Cyprus float 
 bark fair and frail! 
 Her attendants summon clamorously 
 light Zephyros to blow. 
 Lo! he panteth, heart-amorously, 
 and flying they go! 
 The Mermaids laugh, sing, 
 and for gladness upfling 
 their beauteous arms bubble-shiny; 
 whom the Mermen escort 
 with hollo and snort, 
 260 
 
eyes on fire, cheeks swollen, beards briny. 
 
 From his ram's horn sends the Triton 
 
 lustily 
 
 skyward a musical jet; 
 
 sea-horses splash, dolphins spout: 
 
 gustily 
 
 mounts the spray, scattering, to light on 
 
 the naked Goddess, her maidens devout, — 
 
 an attire many-beaded of twinkling wet! 
 
 Sly old Proteus her wizard forerunner is 
 
 to quell the waves' turbulent riot; 
 
 behold! heaven's glory upon her is, 
 
 and before her the vast sea's quiet. 
 
 Chorus of the Charities 
 
 FINALE 
 
 Between sister and sister no disparity 
 
 of beauty age or degree; 
 we are each a gracious Charity, 
 
 one in love, but in loveliness three. 
 Yet we hail thee, Aphrodite, who art fairer 
 
 than we be in worshipping eyes: 
 who soothest with hope the despairer — 
 
 thy beauty than wisdom more wise. 
 Thy grace never waneth, ever waxeth 
 
 immortal Delight of mankind! 
 Thy hold on our hearts who relaxeth? 
 
 for thy smiles are the bonds that bind. 
 Thou makest living joys out of griefs that are dead; 
 
 as thou walkest, silver-footed, the day 
 lust-monsters writhe under thine airy tread 
 
 whom thy naked lustre doth slay. 
 The Gods, yea, men likewise, no longer fear 
 
 the glory of flesh and carnal pride 
 if Thou, O peerless, O sane, art near — 
 
 for by Thee are they purified. 
 
 The Charities 
 cheerfully ac- 
 knowledge her su- 
 periority to them- 
 selves and highly 
 extol her holy 
 virtue. 
 
 261 
 
THE RECONCILIATION 
 
 I. 
 
 Dionysos declareth 
 that indeed it is 
 now high time 
 beauty {Aphro- 
 dite) be once 
 again associated 
 ■with use. 
 
 Holy Mother, sage and good, 
 
 heard have thy ears 
 
 even now, ravish'd, my lightsome 
 
 Naiads, my Charities 
 
 spiritual, utter in cadence the praise 
 
 melodious of Her 
 
 that shall once again charm, 
 
 (thou hast said,) 
 
 as in days of their youth, 
 
 mankind. 
 
 For verily, O Mother, 
 
 long hath lasted the night 
 
 already 
 
 of toil, unhallow'd 
 
 by joy in the task; 
 
 the night — all eyes blinding 
 
 but such as glare cat-like 
 
 with criminal craft; 
 
 too long! 
 
 II. 
 
 He comments on 
 the story of beau- 
 ty's having 
 wrought relief 
 from acute sorrow, 
 whence, in due 
 season, Demeter's 
 wisdom; 
 
 When grieving well nigh 
 
 in Thee, immortal, the goddess 
 
 had slain, thou wast sav'd 
 
 by the life-joyous smile 
 
 that in sorrow's despite 
 
 a smile responsive compell'd 
 
 ajar to set 
 
 the doors of thy soul's 
 
 prison? And slid 
 
 not Hope in tiptoe, and close 
 
 at her heels, Desire of life, her lover 
 
 constant, who took 
 
 each a languid hand of thine, 
 
 leading with tender violence 
 
 262 
 
out of thy cell dark, grim, 
 
 bare, Thee, to freedom 
 
 divine once more? 
 
 Yet, as therefore Thou to the Cyprian 
 
 Goddess the debt unpaid 
 
 rememberest. Mother, so I 
 
 to the son, Delos-born, of Leto 
 
 owe a friend's undying thank. 
 
 III. 
 
 Phoibos Apollo! 
 
 shimmer quick-shifting 
 
 of streams that upwell and outflow; 
 
 shine of my gold wash'd pure; light-ray 
 
 of my fire volcanic; oracular 
 
 counsel uttered at large 
 
 from my core unconscious 
 
 of things; the vision's preternatural 
 
 clearness in them I intoxicate; truth 
 
 serene, (first dimly discern'd from height 
 
 ecstatic, whither the spirit 
 
 I lifted,) in hours of intelligent 
 
 quiet remember'd and understood; 
 
 O Pythian Phoibos Apollo 
 
 who slayest ever anew 
 
 with arrow of sanity 
 
 the monster of over-faith. 
 
 Thee of the peak Parnassian, twin 
 
 mount unto mine. Thee, Thee 
 
 will I summon from agelong sleep! 
 
 and resolveth on 
 his part to arouse 
 disinterested intel- 
 ligence (Apollo) 
 from long slum- 
 ber; 
 
 IV. 
 
 For, nowise 
 
 Demeter, O Mother 
 
 true of Persephone, thy child 
 
 I ravish'd, pain to inflict 
 
 on one who lov'd her, and whom 
 
 not knowing I therefore lov'd; but assur'd 
 
 thou couldst never my heart's passion know, nor fate's 
 
 263 
 
 recalling the serv- 
 ice it (Apollo) 
 rendered to enthu- 
 siasm (Dionysos) 
 by making the lat- 
 ter gentle and 
 sane. 
 
doom irreversible 
 
 whereby thou borest Her, and didst rear 
 
 to maidenhood only that mine 
 
 she should thenceforth be; assur'd 
 
 that v/illingly not 
 
 to any couldst Thou, 
 
 her mother, yield 
 
 one so desirable; therefore 
 
 forc'd was I, Lord of life, 
 
 in the odious guise of the Ghost-god unreal 
 
 on Her whose favor I crav'd 
 
 violent hands to lay. 
 
 But thereafter my soul's own brother, 
 
 Apollo, the fierceness extreme 
 
 of my deity ancient, sooth'd; 
 
 so that even Persephone, timid 
 
 and gentle, could forgive, 
 
 nay, her ravisher cherish as now! 
 
 Aphrodite and 
 Apollo will both 
 develop the body, 
 each one viewing 
 it as the supreme 
 means to all good 
 ends. 
 
 V. 
 
 Behold, thy labors 
 
 (O Mother of Her who is mine 
 
 and thine) shall be match'd 
 
 by labors as gladsome. For Thou 
 
 of the rude and gross, (the pressure 
 
 continuous of pain ennobling, 
 
 refining,) wilt fashion, by little 
 
 and little, the beauty of golden 
 
 Aphrodite again; while I 
 
 from the stony-hard gloom at the stroke 
 
 heroic, death-dealing, at length 
 
 shall elicit the fire and the light 
 
 of the Loxian. To grace 
 
 She shall perfect, for service 
 
 of love, the body; which He to feats 
 
 athletic will hard'n at the hest 
 
 of the manly mind. With charm of the lovely, She 
 
 and with hope, assuageth men's grief; 
 
 while the end afar off perceiving. He, 
 
 264 
 
clearsighted, by knowledge controls 
 the passion that else, rebellious, 
 would reason overthrow. 
 
 VI. 
 
 So, sweeten'd thy memories 
 
 of the old bereavement shall be, 
 
 that never again couldst thou wish, 
 
 Mother Demeter, the past 
 
 alter'd in ought, or the fatal 
 
 decree overrul'd. The rougher 
 
 the rind of life's fruit, 
 
 the sweeter the juice thereof 
 
 express'd from the seeded pulp! Nay, wouldst Thou 
 
 again to reach the broad, warm, 
 
 fertile plains of peace, not press 
 
 thro' the icy gorge of anguish — 
 
 feet bleeding and bruis'd — 
 
 once more? 
 
 Dionysos express- 
 eth the true 
 philosophy of af- 
 fliction. 
 
 THE HYMN TO APOLLO 
 
 1 
 
 Ever, from the womb 
 
 of the witless hour, 
 
 (of her beauty and power 
 
 unaware,) — 
 
 the wisest thoughts of man 
 
 are born, 
 
 most holy and most fair. 
 
 Ever, from the tomb 
 
 of a right 
 
 men 
 
 scorn, — 
 
 wingeth, 
 
 (singeth 
 
 in death's despite,) 
 
 The Oreads sing 
 (by way of prelude 
 to their hymn of 
 Apollo) the praises 
 of Leto (the hid- 
 den) his mother. 
 
 265 
 
a spirit again 
 
 of godlier might. 
 
 Ever, from the gloom 
 
 of the cloud-hid night 
 
 folding the earth in sadness,- 
 
 springeth 
 
 at morn 
 
 the Lord of the light, 
 
 and King of azure gladness. 
 
 They remember 
 the fall of Zeus's 
 clandestine wooing 
 of Leto; 
 
 By the banks of the stream 
 
 of sleep, 
 
 and the lake of dream 
 
 still, deep, 
 
 the dark Night stray'd 
 
 a starry, chaste 
 
 maid, 
 
 and dipped her feet in the water 
 
 to wade; 
 
 when the white 
 
 sky's Light 
 
 his splendor effac'd, 
 
 to glide 
 
 undescried 
 
 as a lustrous, proud swan to her bashful side. 
 
 But, alas! of his ruffled plumes unafraid, 
 
 alas! for the woe he wrought her, 
 
 poor maid. 
 
 and recount how 
 she fared at the 
 hands of wicked 
 mankind who had 
 not heard thereof. 
 
 The home she forsook of her girlhood, in shame, 
 
 and sought out a lone spot to die; 
 
 yet soon for her child's sake, unborn, she came 
 
 to abodes of mankind far and nigh, 
 
 in Zeus's name, the hospitable, food 
 
 humbly imploring, and shelter. 
 
 But, boorish, men void of pity 
 
 thought scorn of her plea; women, rude, 
 
 266 
 
insolent when they felt her 
 
 sore plight, jeer'd, foully- witty: 
 
 "What? Zeus? God Zeus was thy lover! 
 
 'twere impious to doubt of his truth; 
 
 so we dare not provide 
 
 for thy want," they cried, 
 
 "be assur'd his sky-roof guest-friendly will cover — 
 
 and the bread of his board feed — the bride of his youth!" 
 
 That, cruel, the shaft 
 
 her sick heart might pierce 
 
 when Leto totter'd and pal'd, 
 
 they gloated and laugh'd, 
 
 and in mockery fierce 
 
 her as maiden-mother they hail'd. 
 
 Little knew they that ever God claimeth 
 
 the child by man unclaim'd! — 
 
 Woe, woe! who a mother shameth, 
 
 forsaken — for he shall be sham'd! 
 
 Horror smitten, of their lowland and highland 
 
 men saw a rich vale, a steep hill 
 
 by Zeus, thundering, riven: — an island 
 
 afloat at the waves' wild will! 
 
 And swift with the current it carried 
 
 the outcast far from their sight, 
 
 while the coarse women, maids yea, and married, 
 
 lay prone on the earth with affright, 
 
 Lo! in seabound Delos, the manifest isle, bereft 
 
 of all human comfort and aid, 
 
 writhes Leto, the hid, in a rocky cleft, 
 
 of the awful end afraid. 
 
 With child of a God, sore be her throes; 
 
 loud-shrieking, is her frail flesh torn, — 
 
 then, utter hush ensues and repose. 
 
 Is it death? Nay, Apollo is born! 
 
 Zeus Cometh to her 
 aid, miraculously 
 fashioning out of 
 a promontory the 
 floating isle of 
 Delos, where her 
 travail overtaketh 
 her. 
 
 267 
 
Leto is bidden note 
 the power and the 
 love of Zeus, in 
 that he hath trans- 
 ferred to Del OS the 
 rery stream and 
 lake on whose 
 batiks he won her; 
 and the portents 
 in honor of her 
 son's birth are re- 
 hearsed. 
 
 Mother Leto, awake! 
 
 What? Mopos the stream 
 
 of life's sleep, 
 
 and the azure lake 
 
 of love's dream 
 
 still deep, 
 
 aflash with the sun's clear rise, 
 
 do thine eyes 
 
 not recognize? 
 
 Dost thou not feel the earth 
 
 immense 
 
 under thee heave and shake 
 
 with a mad, convulsive mirth? 
 
 Hark! the depth of grey Ocean vents 
 
 in waves of applause that break 
 
 on shore-sands shiny, his joy at the wonderful birth. 
 
 The winds waft fragrance ambrosial from sky-banks aflower; 
 
 victorious palms, laurels lustrously ever-green 
 
 leap from the crag, and the hillside bare, to embower 
 
 Thee, mother of daylight. Thee, Leto, unseen! 
 
 Flocks of swan-cloudlets from Asia come swimming 
 
 thro' air and encircle from East unto West 
 
 seven times, the risen Apollo hymning, 
 
 the sacred isle that offer'd thee rest. 
 
 Palm-pillars of gold, laurel-capital'd, vast, 
 
 up-shoot from truth's unplumbed ground under-sea, 
 
 the rocking cradle of myth to make fast 
 
 forever, in honor of him and of thee; 
 
 and the Cyclades all, at the blaze of his power 
 
 shall encompass it, footing a miraculous reel, 
 
 transform'd to cloud-islands, at the magical hour 
 
 when the burst of his innermost glory they feel. 
 
 In welcoming cheer, in musical hollo, 
 
 let Naiads, let Oreads, let Dryads unite: 
 
 All-hail, O Apollo! O Apollo! O Apollo! 
 
 God, newborn, of the risen sun's light. 
 
 268 
 
Litany of the Muses 
 
 FINALE 
 
 Of music, of dance and of song 
 we 
 
 Three 
 be 
 mystical Muses 
 To our Lord and sire we belong 
 
 and the Soul that for His he chooses. 
 But O best-beloved, brother 
 
 of Melpomenos, noble Apollo, 
 we pray that he bid us none other 
 
 but Thee of all deities follow. 
 For thou art oracular shower — 
 
 true fore-knower; 
 of things as they be, calm seer, — 
 
 fear-freer; 
 of the heart's revengeful ire 
 
 purifier; 
 when Thou bendest thy golden bow — 
 
 woe! woe! — 
 the white bone it will pierce with its arrow 
 
 to the marrow! 
 For, O Pythian hater of disguise, 
 
 craven lies; 
 who lovest the frank and the fair 
 
 that will dare 
 look Thee, pure God, in the eye — 
 
 yea, die 
 but not merit his own soul's scorn; — 
 
 Thou hast sworn: — 
 who cowardly hatreds cherish 
 
 shall perish; 
 to back-biters and knaves Thou wilt send 
 
 sore end; 
 but the old, — kind death shall obtain 
 
 without pain 
 of Thee, who men's piteous ills canst feel, 
 and with death, or new life thy suppliant heal! 
 
 269 
 
 The three Muses 
 petition Apollo and 
 their sire, 
 surnamed Melpom- 
 enos, that they be 
 never required to 
 follozv other deities 
 than them twain. 
 
So, we Muses of dance, of music, of song, 
 to Thee, noble Phoibos Apollo, 
 
 and Melpomenos, only, our father, belong 
 and no stranger Gods ever will follow! 
 
 RIVALS DIVINE 
 
 I. 
 
 The company di- 
 videth, one side 
 preferring Aphro- 
 dite to the left of 
 Persephone, and 
 the other side, to 
 the right of Dio- 
 nysos, particular 
 votaries of Apollo. 
 
 As their praise of the Loxian 
 
 the Muses three, ended 
 
 in joy of faith, not without awe 
 
 or wondering love, — the host 
 
 of worshippers, subdued 
 
 by the singing, divided in twain 
 
 ranging about the emanative 
 
 splendors, (seen first in ardors intense 
 
 of devotion,) a crescent to right of the God 
 
 Melpomenos: — his Muses white-clad, 
 
 his Hill-nymphs diaphanous-shrouded, 
 
 his green-garmented Dryads of trees, 
 
 and the terrible Pans, the jeering 
 
 Satsnrs, awaiting his nod 
 
 to renew their clamor. Likewise 
 
 a crescent to left of the fair 
 
 Persephone: — the Charities three 
 
 in snows of nudity 
 
 chaste, the Naiads light-footed 
 
 with eyes asparkle, the Maenads scarce 
 
 held from resuming the dance 
 
 orgyastic, (thyrsus in air 
 
 and locks loose-tumbled, dappled faun-hides 
 
 ill-cloaking shoulders wine-stain'd 
 
 and voluptuous rosy-tipp'd breasts,) 
 
 by the stilling look of the bride 
 
 of their God. From the instant's hush 
 
 unendurable, loud for sheer bliss 
 
 cried a Naiad: "Hail Aphrodite!" 
 
 and answering an Oread 
 
 270 
 
shrill'd out: "Apollo!" Then each, 
 interrupting the other's flow 
 of rapturous song, alternate 
 pursued the praise of her chosen 
 deity, with reasoning melodious 
 as rival birds 
 of the new-leav'd bush: — 
 
 II. 
 
 Love ye the Goddess of gracious full being? ^ Naiad and an 
 
 Oread sing by 
 turtis, and, effectu- 
 ally merging their 
 rival hymns, illus- 
 
 She, of the tyrannous affinity trate the fitness of 
 
 fast knitting wholes of the several parts? 
 
 Know ye the God of delighted clear seeing? 
 
 the deities for 
 spiritual union. 
 
 He, stern sundering divinity 
 
 who searcheth things to their secret hearts? 
 
 Behold, it is She refineth 
 
 to surfaces smooth all substance material 
 
 for the ray of the sun to illumine and warm — 
 
 Behold, it is He who shineth 
 and maketh alive and light and ethereal 
 things coarse, dead, heavy, with spiritual form- 
 Yea, of Her is the splendor caught 
 to the gladsome eye refracted; ' 
 beauteous form made real 
 for the human hand's persistent 
 soft, insatiate caress! 
 
 By Him, from chaos and nought 
 things order'd, shap'd, compacted, 
 mirror the soul's ideal, 
 and are nigh'r to man when distant — 
 subtiliz'd to loveliness! 
 
 271 
 
Her function to set the senses ashiver, 
 
 (when heart is sick, 
 
 and spirit is blind,) 
 
 an immediate assurance procuring 
 
 of the wealth and the worth of the world — 
 
 His office the heart from sense to deliver; 
 
 He rouseth the quick, 
 
 inquisitive mind 
 
 with a mystery ever alluring 
 
 in the inmost folds of it furl'd! 
 
 Who but She can save the mind 
 
 from idle self-beholding? 
 
 for Hers is the beauty of ebb and of flow 
 
 in the manifold tides 
 
 external: 
 
 Whose the praise if men divin'd 
 
 the world's gradual unfolding? 
 
 in changes and chances, the shine and the show, 
 
 what is sure and abides 
 
 eternal? 
 
 Aphrodite, thine alone the flower of living and breathing flesh! 
 
 O Apollo, sun-extracted, thine its perfume dewily fresh! 
 
 Through Thee feeling and loving — and art to bid death 
 defiance ! 
 
 Through Thee seeing and knowing, and man's life-mas- 
 tering science. 
 
 272 
 
VOTIVE GIFTS 
 
 I. 
 
 Then gratulant outspake, benign, Demeter fortelleth 
 
 the Mother: "Not twain *^^ marriage of 
 
 are our labors, nor match'd shall they be iTZdZtiJnc!^' 
 
 merely, as thou hast foretold, (Aphrodite and 
 
 but mated, rather; for which Apollo). 
 
 without either hath life? Well, meseems, 
 
 and wisely thy maidens have sung 
 
 their mutual need. Yet, in days 
 
 of virtue Hellenic, long-past (the former 
 
 youth of the Gods) discontent 
 
 drove them abroad over earth; for not 
 
 in Olympos found they the sweets sufficient 
 
 of fellowship utter as yours, 
 
 my children! Though whence 
 
 this foreboding gladsome, beyond 
 
 pious doubt, I know not; but hark! 
 
 at the break of the day of their earliest 
 
 meeting, the Maid, scarce aware 
 
 of her deity's dawn, with the Youth 
 
 (Him of sight. Him of mind, in Her 
 
 fully shown to himself — 
 
 Her of touch. Her of heart) 
 
 shall in wedlock be joined. And who 
 
 if not ye, their love with pledge 
 
 of progression shall cheer, with votive 
 
 gifts from lovers expert to lovers 
 
 still in the best of their joy 
 
 uninitiate, — that day of supreme expectancy, 
 
 prime of united lives?" 
 
 II. 
 
 "What boon," Persephone prom- 
 
 Persephone, blushing, "'*'' wedding 
 
 ,.,«,,, J , i i-. J Snt^ — and Dtony- 
 
 replied, shall we dole unto Gods, ^^^ -^ ^^;^^^ ^^^^ 
 
 lovers? The Charities three the prophetic fury ; 
 
 273 
 
of beautiful giving, and taking, and using, 
 
 gladly I grant to the Bride, shall she visit 
 
 Eleusis, the eve of her happy 
 
 espousals; and surely, Dionysos 
 
 Melpomenos, Lord 
 
 of rhythm and phrenzy poetic, will 
 
 on the Bridegroom, his dearly lov'd brother, bestow 
 
 the mystic Muses of dance, music, song." 
 
 The God's smile her words affirming, — behold 
 
 the gaze abstract of his eyes 
 
 took aureate lustre from worlds mist-molten, 
 
 remote, (whose life with passionate dream 
 
 prenatal, throbbeth in fire-seed;) and straightway 
 
 his lips parting, — one shudder 
 
 thrill'd, beatific, the worshipping host 
 
 entire, (by fury predictive attain'd,) that each 
 
 in his own soul only the words 
 
 of the nuptial prophecy caught. 
 
 whereupon he ut- 
 tereth a marriage 
 blessing upon the 
 twain, proclaiming 
 their joys of love 
 and triumphs of 
 their progeny. 
 
 III. 
 
 Aphrodite, 
 
 Eucharis, full of grace, full 
 
 of charm, with thy Charities three, from whose hands 
 
 are fair living, and loving; 
 
 Apollo, 
 
 Musagetes, leader frank 
 
 of the sisters three, who translate 
 
 man from earth-struggle to care-free 
 
 altitudes human; the time 
 
 of your blessed return impatient 
 
 the world expecteth for aeons of righteous 
 
 peace without end. And lo! 
 
 it prepareth for you the privacy 
 
 bridal, the couch creative of infinite 
 
 rapture divine; that fatefully, 
 
 fearfully drawn must ye be to bowers 
 
 where droop hot roses 
 
 their crimson heads close, 
 
 face by face; and about them hills 
 
 274 
 
rise, as in icy array defensive, whose tall 
 
 lilies in winds of unconscious desire, 
 
 ring out their laughter-peals 
 
 fragrant. And thither, O thither 
 
 the mystical will of the life 
 
 self-perpetuate shall tyrannous urge ye, 
 
 sweet love-maddened lovers; there, mouth 
 
 to mouth, ye shall know not self 
 
 from the lov'd one apart; and the lilies 
 
 moon-silvery erst, are sun-fulvid 
 
 with pollen-stain rich; and the roses, 
 
 burst open, storm crimson petals, — 
 
 awhirl as they fall, in sign 
 
 that the flesh, with voluptuous reluctance at last, 
 
 panting, admitteth the mind's 
 
 penetrant stern resolve. 
 
 Such shall the anguishful 
 
 gendering of Gods be, for jocund 
 
 birth instantaneous. Rejoice, rejoice, 
 
 O ye who the ancient Olympos 
 
 rul'd, that, more absolute these — more adorably 
 
 fair than of yore yourselves, — shall effortless fell 
 
 the Titans, your foes rearisen; and aloft 
 
 the summit sublime of the sacred 
 
 mount, rear homes eternal, whence 
 
 their sway shall extend all-potent forever 
 
 o'er a nobler, a larger mankind! 
 
 HYMNS HYMENEAL 
 
 I. General Chorus 
 
 All praise Dionysos, T'/ie gods of 
 
 Eleusis are praisea 
 for the sincere wel- 
 come they extend 
 
 Demeter, Persephone, to your united divinity! 
 
 Your glories suffice us — 
 
 blossom, fruit, life-seed, — great Eleusynian trinity, to more recent 
 
 We laud you forever claimants of wor- 
 
 that hospitable ye are in your gracious affinity; l'"^ by Maenads, 
 
 ... . . Satyrs, Pans, 
 
 devismg new pieties ;V3-m/./^., Charities, 
 
 that tighten, Muses. 
 
 275 
 
not sever, 
 
 th' old bonds of devotion; 
 
 (the streams of our worship not lost in the ocean 
 
 the dead-sea of a jealousy bitter and dumb, 
 
 our longings not drown'd in a lonely infinity,) 
 
 we exalt you for hailing unbegotten societies 
 
 of Gods that shall brighten 
 
 the ages to come. 
 
 II. The Muses 
 
 The Muses set 
 forth the necessity 
 of polytheism. 
 
 For the Gods are many and various: 
 the good things that men love and desire. 
 The life of the world were precarious 
 if it burn'd not with manifold fire. 
 Men's ideals, — flame-gods, aspirations, 
 rare excellences, heroisms sublime, — 
 be innumerable as races and nations, 
 as moods of man, moments of time. 
 But the heights know each other, saluting 
 athwart the vast plains of low land: 
 (the worship of each not confuting 
 the worship of all,) hand in hand 
 the glorious mountains enring us 
 old earth of the animal strife; 
 and together, one in spirit, they sing us 
 the paean of man's divine life. 
 
 III. The Charities 
 
 The Charities burst 
 into a hymn unto 
 the ancient Eros, 
 God of love, ever 
 young, ever wise, 
 ever glorious, God 
 of gods. 
 
 HYMN TO EROS 
 
 Yet who 
 
 shall renew 
 
 man's universe? 
 
 restore to it 
 
 a splendor pristine? 
 
 in the bath of cleansing fire immerse? 
 
 give more and ever more to it 
 
 of the passionate heat suns kissed in 
 
 276 
 
ere cool'd by the impious curse? 
 
 of the pride in spiritual might 
 
 ere fell on man's bloom a blight, 
 
 and the better was deem'd the worse? 
 
 O Eros, sole god-head primeval, 
 
 invisible witness thou wast 
 
 of the continents' upheaval, 
 
 from the warm love-languorous sea; 
 
 and again, the whelming urgence 
 
 of waters that boil'd and toss'd 
 
 o'er the slow voluptuous submergence 
 
 of the lands — from whom but from Thee? 
 
 Thou — atom to atom alliest, 
 
 commingling the alien and strange, 
 
 dissevering the likest and nighest, 
 
 allowing no ultimate rest; 
 
 and marshall'd from chaos dismal, 
 
 undergoing mystical change, 
 
 the molecules stellar and prismal 
 
 crystals compose at thy hest. 
 
 Thou givest flow'rs color and fragrance, 
 
 and honey, that, pollen-shower'd, 
 
 unawares the air's sunny vagrants 
 
 to perform thy sweet tasks be empower'd. 
 
 Thou givest, many-hued 
 
 iridescent 
 
 plumes to the birds; yea, throats 
 
 to trill, warble, pipe, whistle, incessant 
 
 subdued 
 
 or triumphant rich notes. 
 
 Of Thee, in thy season, all creatures 
 
 have special terror and grace; 
 
 softening man's fiercer features, 
 
 flushing maid's meekest face. 
 
 Of Thee, all friendships, heart-duties, 
 
 devotions to social good, 
 
 all ardent faiths, luminous beauties, 
 
 pure manhood, strong womanhood. 
 
 Far to near, and upper to nether, 
 
 lest they cease from being divine, 
 
 277 
 
th' very Gods thou knittest together, 
 and their glory and honor is thine. 
 O Eros, the new ages shall feel Thee 
 binding earth and heaven so close 
 that lowliest souls shall reveal Thee 
 th' High God in the common and gross! 
 
 The Nymphs laud 
 the divine issue of 
 wedded Apollo and 
 Aphrodite, predict- 
 ing the condescen- 
 sion of the god- 
 desses to human 
 lovers. 
 
 IV. The Nymphs 
 
 The God of daylight, the Goddess of form aglow 
 O ancient Eros, 'tis Thou shalt affiance: 
 and glorious the race of new Gods that shall owe 
 their being to wedded Art and Science. 
 They shall dwell not idle in sky-courts remote 
 high-wall'd on perpetual blue above cloud; 
 nor shall incense that men to their honor devote 
 make them careless, cruel, ignobly proud; 
 no heav'ns shall they promise their worshippers 
 which never the living can hope to enter; 
 nor teach scorn of Earth, and all that is hers, 
 on themselves men's devotions to center. 
 They shall live on the heights, but heights terrestrial 
 of difficult — yet possible — ascent; 
 master, not slay, in man what is bestial, 
 to subserve the divine intent. 
 Nor icily chaste, without radiant issue, 
 shall the Goddesses, wondrously beautiful, 
 in crystal houses 'neath spreads of gold-tissue, 
 dream, languorous, on couches of cloudy wool. 
 For the haughtiest hath — an Endymion, an Adonis, 
 and wotteth some trysting-spot hallowed and dear, 
 where she with him and her love alone is 
 in wood or glade, by fountain or mere. 
 Because, never ideals can wed one another 
 though chosen manly spirits they may 
 blessedly love; but twice blessed the mother 
 of a hero who extendeth o'er earth her sway; 
 and thrice blessed the hero, the half-divine 
 who in his — reflecteth his mother's face, 
 whose gentleness, purity, sweetness refine 
 and ennoble, in living and dying, his race! 
 278 
 
V. 
 
 O the Gods of masculine might, 
 
 the splendors eternally fated, 
 
 in vain with man would fight; 
 
 not so could they wrest of him 
 
 the truest, the best of him: 
 
 for their cruel perfection hated. 
 
 But, as Semele granted her beauty entire 
 
 to Zeus the wielder of heavenly fire; 
 
 as Danae yielded (when a storm-shower of gold 
 
 fell through green boughs of hope) in the passionate fold 
 
 of his arms, to his fierce desire; 
 
 as once Ariadne, the woe-begone, 
 
 tearful awoke in the blushful dawn 
 
 to wed the wine-rapturous God of the bold; 
 
 as Clymene fair of hair 
 
 bowed dim in a flare of air 
 
 radiant and hot from her sunbright Apollo; 
 
 so the maidens of earth shall in ages to come 
 
 be wooed of the gods in terrestrial disguise; 
 
 and whithersoever they flee, will follow 
 
 Love with lustrous, worshipful eyes. 
 
 Of ideals joy-begotten and born of earth-agony, 
 
 womanhood grander shall visit mankind, 
 
 courageous, strong, swift of foot, unable to flag on a 
 
 skyward ascent of spirit and mind; 
 
 beautiful, pure of soul, feminine evermore — 
 
 sisterly, motherly, wifely sweet: — 
 
 might of brain, grace of heart, time shall not sever more 
 
 married in womanhood final, complete. 
 
 The Maenads 
 shout jubilantly 
 and extol the wis- 
 dom and justice 
 shown in the mat- 
 ing of their godly 
 sons to maids of 
 earth. 
 
 INTERLUDE 
 
 Satyrs — O Pans, fierce Pans, they have prophesied 
 the death of your savage day! 
 
 Pans — O Satyrs, Satyrs, they lied, they lied — 
 t'is ye who must first give way! 
 
 Satyrs — Nay, Apollo will slay the hum.an beast, 
 and man no more on man shall feasts 
 
 Satyrs, Pans, and 
 Maenads are 
 doomed not to 
 perish, but to en- 
 dure a beneficent 
 transformation. 
 
 279 
 
Pans — Aphrodite will conquer with a smile 
 
 your drunken lusts, and your laughters vile. 
 
 Maenads — O Satyr, O Pan, why quarrel for naught? 
 
 Not perish shall Ye, but a change endure: — 
 
 Satyr to laughter joyously pure. 
 
 Pan to a terrible courage of thought. 
 
 So shall ye serve man loyally both; 
 
 while, soothing the wilder in us and the rougher, 
 
 we Bacchic maidens as surely must suffer 
 
 the ache, and the bliss of a spiritual growth. 
 
 But in all that man thinketh, and feeleth, and 
 
 willeth, 
 and in all that he doeth, shall he own our control; 
 an enthusiasm, oblivious of self, that fulfilleth, 
 with a holy confidence, body and soul. 
 
 THE BANQUET OF THE GODS 
 
 The water-nymphs 
 see Aphrodite en- 
 throned with Apol- 
 lo in New Olym- 
 pos. 
 
 I. 
 
 1. The Naiads 
 
 Aphrodite Eucharis — 
 
 'tis She, 
 
 in robe of dazzling dews 
 
 (see, see!) 
 
 throning aloft 
 
 pure, gentle, soft! 
 
 The locks — of Apollo beside her — diffuse 
 
 halo of sunny bliss, 
 
 glory of many hues! 
 
 Tree-nymphs de- 
 scribe the forest- 
 shaded road that 
 leadeth up the holy 
 mount. 
 
 2. The Dryads 
 
 Tell us! what shining street 
 
 winds up Olympos sheer? 
 
 not surely for happy human feet? 
 
 Can men and matrons, youths and maids 
 
 breathe air so pure? 
 
 280 
 
a lustre endure 
 
 that fails not, nor fades? 
 
 feel of the Gods no stifling fear? 
 
 3. The Oreads 
 
 O happier, devouter race! 
 
 yours no penance, pleadings 
 
 humiliant, 
 
 hero-sorrows vicarious, 
 
 and sore 
 
 intercedings; 
 
 but footstep resilient 
 
 and life-glad face, 
 
 as ye come with jubilant cry 
 
 in labyrinthine-various 
 
 processional dance, 
 
 each, boldly to occupy 
 
 a rightful place 
 
 in the festal hall:— 
 
 Hill-nymphs tell of 
 human processions 
 ascending with 
 ease and jubila- 
 tion. 
 
 4. Chorus of Nymphs 
 
 Ice-shiny floor, 
 cloud marble wall 
 and roofing expanse 
 of sky 
 over all! 
 
 Together the 
 Nymphs shout for 
 
 joy at the splendor 
 and vastness of the 
 divine house. 
 
 II. 
 1. The Charities 
 
 Then at the board shall guest with host, 
 Man with God sit down; 
 flowers spring forth that each loves most, 
 each crown'd with an odorous crown; 
 of pearl opalescent the massy dishes 
 are pil'd with all fruits that grow; 
 greetings of love, and pious wishes 
 set every face aglow! 
 
 Whereupon the 
 Charities praise the 
 banquet at which 
 Demeter dealeth 
 out her broken 
 bread of sorrow, 
 feeding the soul to 
 holy strength; 
 
 281 
 
Then, lo! 
 
 Thou, Demeter, 
 
 shalt solemnly, slowly, 
 
 for Gods alike and for Men, 
 
 break bread 
 
 most holy — 
 
 (than all meat sweeter — 
 
 the loaf of grief and bereavement 
 
 ground, kneaded, parch'd with fire,) 
 
 that strengthcneth to great achievement, 
 
 and maketh the fed 
 
 aspire! 
 
 2. The Muses 
 
 and the Muses add 
 thereto, that Dio- 
 nysospoureth forth 
 for all the blood 
 wine of heroic 
 self-immolation 
 that inspireth and 
 rendereth divine. 
 
 . Dionysos, then, to their broken bread. 
 Thou wilt pour 
 more and more 
 in crystalline bowls 
 iridescent, 
 the juices fire-red 
 of grape-clusters bruis'd, 
 sweet-scented 
 
 with virtuous herbs aromatic: — 
 the hero-blood that from death-wounds ooz'd 
 as the slayers too late repented. 
 O Wine by worship of grateful souls 
 fermented; 
 O Wine effervescent 
 with the final bliss of self-sacrifice 
 ecstatic ; 
 
 O intoxicant Wine 
 without price 
 
 from life's death-vat divine, — 
 beget in each drinker, 
 the lover's rapture Elysian, 
 the poet's fury, the prophet's vision, 
 the serene world-sight of the thinker! 
 
 282 
 
3. General chorus 
 
 Praise, praise everlasting 
 
 to Thee, O Demeter 
 
 to Thee, Dionysos, Thee daughter and bride 
 
 Persephone, — holy Gods of Eleusis: — 
 
 Thou who feedest the fasting 
 
 to nourish the spiritual life of the eater, 
 
 thy food sanctifying for worthiest uses; 
 
 Thou who quenchest the thirst 
 
 for the best in the worst, 
 
 till at length their desires be satisfied; 
 
 Thou who bindest with love the Twain 
 
 in One; — 
 
 As on earth so in heaven ye see it is: 
 
 all thanks be due, 
 
 and all honor is done 
 
 to them who chose pain, 
 
 not pleasure; 
 
 great-hearted service, not griping sway; 
 
 who their might superhuman to measure 
 
 build up, give life, — not demolish and slay! 
 
 Wherefore, O noble Eleusynian deities 
 
 we vow perpetual worship to you: 
 
 wherefore thro' the ages for ever and aye, 
 
 though new names ye receive 
 
 again and again, 
 
 no Gods more than You will we serve and believe, 
 
 sung of children, lov'd of women, hallow'd of men! 
 
 The Maenads, 
 Satyrs, Pans, 
 Nymphs, Charities, 
 Muses, all togeth- 
 er, exult in the 
 greatness of the 
 Eleusynian three, 
 assuring them per- 
 petuity of worship 
 and the tender re- 
 gard of men to the 
 last age of the 
 world. 
 
 283 
 
THE AFTERSONG 
 
 The final chorus 
 hath caused the 
 poet to fall into 
 an ecstasy; 
 
 From the confluent torrents of praise 
 
 delirious waxed the dithyramb' s 
 
 worshipful fury: 
 
 a vortex of rapture 
 
 symphonious, fast-swirling, 
 
 spray-bursts of clamor irrepressible, 
 
 gurgling eddies in eddies 
 
 of laughter, along on its surface 
 
 of melody; breaking 
 
 its uttermost edge to ecstatic surf 
 
 'gainst hill-shores reverberant, 
 
 its own violence engulfing 
 
 in the abysmal deep of itself. 
 
 so that he hath a 
 vision of the city, 
 erst foul and 
 dark, made pure 
 and full of light; 
 
 II. 
 
 Rapt to vertiginous pitch 
 
 above seeing and hearing, my soul 
 
 soar'd immobile in hush and void; 
 
 till again life-aware, no vision 
 
 deific disturb'd her incurious content. Below 
 
 stood flecklcss my city, ethereal, clear; 
 
 relucent with quii'ering wet 
 
 from the holy wash of the rain; 
 
 gables, chimneys, towers, pinnacles, spires, 
 
 to crystal transmuted, clove eager 
 
 the vitreous, light-vibrant air; 
 
 sparkl'd, gleam'd, flicker'd, flar'd, flash'd 
 
 in the downpour of sunshine, whence swollen 
 
 the fulgurant gold river flowed large 
 
 to vanish behind proud heights 
 
 whereon lean'd the verge of the sky. 
 
 284 
 
Then, a szvift assurance of my mind '"*<^ straightway he 
 
 took unreasoning possession. Before me comprehendeth the 
 
 II • I I /• I/-III meaning of the en- 
 
 was the foretold zvonder m symbol fulnlld: ^^y^ vision. 
 
 coarse stuff of earth, deem'd hitherto foul, 
 
 now illustrious zvith spiritual ardor; quick beams 
 
 into wastes of dark nothing hurl'd 
 
 uselessly forth, iix'd now 
 
 in substantial splendor for man. 
 
 And, as Demeter, ancient mother 
 
 of sorrow, as Dionysos with blood-spotted 
 
 garment, the bridegroom, undaunted 
 
 of death, (in mystical fellowship held 
 
 at Eleusis by love for the daughter, the bride 
 
 Persephone,) hail'd Apollo, 
 
 Aphrodite hail'd, (in the myth 
 
 of my dreaming,) their beneiicent 
 
 sway to divide o'er the fortunes of man: 
 
 So, Life 
 
 with studied iniquity 
 
 dealing her doom of anguish 
 
 selective, that the many thereby 
 
 become few or barren, while the few 
 
 mother many in their forfeited 
 
 room at ease; 
 
 So, Life 
 
 inspiring his chosen 
 
 the impossible to dare, with folly 
 
 of w-ill, that the few thus perish, and live 
 
 in the marvel of the many a multiplied 
 
 life of lives; 
 
 So, the world's 
 
 dire powers propulsive 
 
 (at one in their passion alone 
 
 for unfolding might and grace). 
 
 Evolution! — 
 
 Revolution! — 
 
 285 
 
invite 
 
 to a share in their secular 
 
 toil, makers of man than they 
 
 less cruel; for, zvith vital doctrine Science, 
 
 enamor'd, impregnateth Art, who in joy 
 
 bringeth deathless ideals to the day, 
 
 nobler, more vigorous, lords of a higher 
 
 heaven, earth-transHgurcrs, begetters brave, 
 
 yea, and beautiful bearers of men 
 
 in their likeness, 
 
 after their kind. 
 
 IV. 
 
 But his wonder Comforted gazed I, though tears 
 waxeth greater ^^ gratitude dimm'd my sight, 
 
 zvhen the city ' * , . , , , 
 
 changeth to a vast Por the City on a sudden became 
 theatre, CI sun-dazding arena 
 
 immense; and her girdle 
 
 of hills zvith their shelving 
 
 streets (huge benches, tier over tier 
 
 for intent spectators,) swept 
 
 amphitheatre-wise about; and the river 
 
 a choric procession, white-vested, 
 
 an altar large 
 
 encircl'd solemn and slow 
 
 with song; but beyond 
 
 and above them, larger, arose 
 
 the altar heroic for human 
 
 oblation of bravery, rectitude, slain 
 
 of their slayers but to triumph 
 
 in Them, 
 
 o'er the wisdom of scarring 
 
 experience, at last, 
 
 as faiths inborn, and instinctive smiles! 
 
 V. 
 
 and forthwith e.x- Bczvildcr'd, I star'd (though passionate 
 
 pandeth to his ^^^^^ continued to blind me,) far 
 
 country— as the , , , 
 
 stage for the final athzvart sky-reaches 
 
 286 
 
diaphanous, without 
 
 end; the elusive 
 
 horizon receding apace, till man's 
 
 arena of achievement 
 
 outspread to the length, in my view, 
 
 and the breadth of the land 
 
 best-beloved, by a monstrous half-ring 
 
 environ'd, of eternal 
 
 main-lands sea-welded 
 
 together (the shine of vast strands 
 
 zvith shine of zvide zvatcrs blent,) — Europe 
 
 and Africa cast, and to soutlnvard 
 
 America; Australia 
 
 with Asia in the west; — 
 
 the terrestrial amphitheatre's 
 
 round, where the nations throng 
 
 agape, young and old, 
 
 at the spectacle new, the last act 
 
 of hell, — heaven's first: 
 
 the deification of Man! 
 
 display to the 
 world of the God 
 
 VI. 
 
 Then close my eyes shut, by the portent 
 
 dismayed, lest the former despair 
 
 had bestozved no miraculous gift 
 
 of far sight prophetic, but mock'd me instead 
 
 with hallucinations: "Too good, 
 
 too beautiful," cried I aloud, 
 
 "for wildest belief I" But gently 
 
 my panic allayed to a calm 
 
 certitude strange of great joy. 
 
 Soft at my Soul's ear Hope 
 
 whisper'd: "Too good, too beautiful 
 
 not to be true, — yea, and soon 
 
 true for Thee, true for Me 
 
 somehow, somewhere, sometime!" 
 
 Though the storm of seership 
 
 still'd, I lingered serene 
 
 on the sheer height awhile of Culture 
 
 287 
 
 The poet, bewil- 
 dered and amased, 
 dareth not disbe- 
 lieve the truth of 
 the vision; where- 
 fore he declareth 
 it to his fellow- 
 men, that they may 
 decide whether it 
 shall be proven 
 trtie or false; — for 
 in present deeds 
 make they the fate 
 beautiful or hide- 
 ous of all time to 
 be. 
 
Hellenic, at peace with my bliss 
 
 and smiled; for I caught myself unawares 
 
 murmuring (some burden of a hymn 
 
 in sweet dreams heard,) 
 
 "Surely it should be, wherefore 
 
 it shall be, it must be, it is — 
 
 0^ / saw it and see it again, 
 
 and in vision have shown it to thee!" 
 
 a88 
 
TRANSLATIONS 
 
 FROM 
 
 LEOPARDI AND GOETHE 
 
 LA GINESTRA 
 
 On the arid shoulder here 
 
 of the formidable mount 
 
 Vesuvius, fierce destroyer, 
 
 which else of neither tree is cheered, nor flower, 
 
 Thou scatterest thy solitary shrubs, 
 
 sweet-smelling Broom, 
 
 content with wildernesses. Thee I saw 
 
 with thy sprays gracing also the waste lands 
 
 which girdle the city round 
 
 that once of man was queen, 
 
 and with their staid appearance taciturn 
 
 to the passerby seemed to bear witness 
 
 and make memorial of her empire lost. 
 
 Now once again, lover of sorrowful sites 
 
 forsaken, of broken fortunes, comrade true, 
 
 I view Thee on this soil. These fields 
 
 with ashes unproductive strewn, 
 
 mantled with indurate lava, 
 
 under the wanderer's footsteps resonant, 
 
 where finds the snake his nest 
 
 and writhes in the sun, and where returns 
 
 the rabbit to his wonted hollow lair, — 
 
 blithe rural homes once were, ploughed ground 
 
 golden with wheat ears, loud 
 
 with lowing of herds; 
 
 gardens and palaces 
 
 for the great a refuge pleasurable 
 
 of idle ease; there cities far-famed 
 
 once stood which the fierce mount 
 
 289 
 
with fiery torrents from his fulminant mouth 
 
 along with their indwellers whelmed. 
 
 One common desolation all enfolds 
 
 where thou, O gracious Flower, dost stand, 
 
 and sendest, as though of others' ruin piteous, 
 
 to heaven incense of most sweet fragrancy 
 
 the waste wild comforting. These scenes let him 
 
 visit whose use 't is to extol 
 
 our lot with praise; let him take note 
 
 for our race how solicitous 
 
 fond Nature is; and the vast might here 
 
 with equitable measure can he mete 
 
 of that humanity, which, with slight stir 
 
 when danger least is feared, 
 
 a heartless foster-mother in part extirpates, 
 
 and with some motion little less light 
 
 is able utterly to annihilate. 
 
 In these realms stand depicted 
 
 of our human generations 
 
 the magniEcent progressive destinies! 
 
 Look hither! here glass thyself, 
 
 arrogant, fatuous Age, 
 
 that didst the path forsake — till then 
 
 by thought reanimate beckoned on — 
 
 and tracing back thy steps 
 
 dost boast of thy retreat 
 
 proclaiming it advance! 
 
 To thy child's play all gifted souls 
 
 whose hostile fate made Thee 
 
 their parent, tribute of worship pay, 
 
 tho' at times, among themselves 
 
 they make of thee their jest. 
 
 Not I shall go down to my grave thus shamed! 
 
 A light task 'twere for me 
 
 after the rest to pattern, and, 
 
 raving in manner set, 
 
 make to thine ear my song acceptable. 
 
 But I choose rather that the full disdain 
 
 which in my heart is pent 
 
 290 
 
have utterance as open as may be. 
 
 Albeit most well I know 
 
 whoever to his own age proves 
 
 o'ermuch distasteful, soon is quenched 
 
 by dull oblivion! Of which curse 
 
 that I must share with Thee, 
 
 till now have I made merry. 
 
 Thou dreamest of freedom still 
 
 and wouldst at the self-same time 
 
 have Thought be slave again; — 
 
 to which alone 'tis due if we have risen 
 
 partly from savagery, with whose sole aid 
 
 our culture waxes, which conducts alone 
 
 our public fortunes forth 
 
 to better things. Thus did the truth 
 
 displease thee, which the bitter lot 
 
 taught, and the station low 
 
 assigned to us by Nature; for this cause 
 
 basely didst turn thy back 
 
 on the light that made it clear; 
 
 and thou — a runagate — 
 
 callest him base, who doth pursue 
 
 the light; — and only him great-souled 
 
 who, flouting himself, or others, — fool or knave,- 
 
 above the stars our mortal rank exalts! 
 
 A man that's destitute, with limbs 
 
 infirm, — but lofty soul well-born, — 
 
 nor vaunts, nor fancies himself 
 
 in gold rich, o^ robust; 
 
 to opulent living 'mong the throng 
 
 and valorous person, makes 
 
 no farcical pretense; 
 
 but lets, without false shame appear 
 
 his lack of strength and wealth; in open speech 
 
 of them makes mention, and of his state 
 
 with truth accordant shapes his estimate. 
 
 A foolish creature, — not magnanimous, — 
 
 do I deem him, who, born 
 
 to perish and in suffering reared, 
 
 291 
 
should say "for pleasure was I framed," 
 
 and with offensive arrogance 
 
 fill volumes; loftiest destinies 
 
 and novel felicities — 
 
 whereof not our planet alone 
 
 but the whole heavens know nought, — 
 
 pledging to a Race whom a wave 
 
 of storm-stirred sea, a breath 
 
 of air malignant, a subterranean shock, 
 
 so utterly destroys 
 
 that with great difficulty 
 
 their memory persists. 
 
 A noble nature hath 
 
 who dares to lift against 
 
 the common doom his mortal eye, 
 
 and with frank phrases, — nought from the truth 
 
 deducting — the ills that make our fate 
 
 acknowledges, and our low station frail; 
 
 Who shows himself great, valiant 
 
 in suffering; nor augments 
 
 with fratricidal hates and wraths 
 
 (than other ills more grievous) his distress; 
 
 Nor holds man answerable 
 
 for what he suffers, but assigns 
 
 to her the blame; who is indeed 
 
 guilty: — as to birth Mother, but 
 
 in heart. Step-mother of mankind! 
 
 Her he calls Foe; and, thinking 
 
 (as is most true) human society 
 
 originally in martial order drawn 
 
 Her to oppose, — confederate he esteems 
 
 all men, encircling them with love sincere; 
 
 offering, and looking for returns 
 
 of potent and prompt aid 
 
 in alternate perils, in the pains 
 
 of common warfare. His right hand 
 
 to arm against offending fellow-man, 
 
 to fetter his neighbor, or in his path 
 
 set hindrances, folly he deems: 
 
 as 'twould be in a camp 
 
 292 
 
besieged by hostile armies, when the assault 
 
 is at the hottest, forgetful of the foe, 
 
 to steirt a bitter feud among one's friends; 
 
 to let the sword flash bare, 
 
 flight-spreading, among one's brothers in arms! 
 
 Thoughts such as these 
 
 when they have grown (as once they were) 
 
 familiar to the masses; when the fear, 
 
 that first in social ties knit men, 
 
 by veritable science is in part 
 
 brought back; then honorable 
 
 and noble citizen-intercourse, 
 
 equity and sweet mercy, another root 
 
 will have obtained than fables insolent, 
 
 founded whereon the popular probity 
 
 is wont to stand erect as safe 
 
 as can aught that hath propped itself up on a lie. 
 
 Ofttimes o'er these ravaged tracts 
 
 which the congealed flood cloaks somberly 
 
 swelling as tho' in billows it would roll, 
 
 I sit me down at night 
 
 and watch the stars, out of the blue 
 
 of purity absolute on high, 
 
 dart on the melancholy heath their fires, 
 
 (which afar off the smooth sea mirroreth) ; 
 
 and all about, o'er the whole heaven, 
 
 the Universe with sparkles scintillate. 
 
 And when my eyes I raise 
 
 to fix those lights that to their view 
 
 show as mere dots, yet are so vast 
 
 that measured by them earth and sea 
 
 are but a dot indeed; to which 
 
 not merely man, but this world-globe 
 
 whereon Man is as naught. 
 
 Is utterly unknown; and when 
 
 I gaze upon those knots of clustering stars 
 
 beyond all measure more remote, 
 
 that unto us as mists appear, by which 
 
 not Man, nor the mere earth, but all — 
 
 293 
 
(for number infinite and for mass — 
 our golden sun included) all the stars 
 we see are unsuspected, or appear 
 to them, as they to earth: a point 
 of nebulous brilliancy; — what then 
 seemest thou to my mind, 
 
 Child of man? Remembering, in turn, 
 thy state below, well set forth by the soil 
 
 1 tread; how nevertheless 
 Thou dost believe thyself 
 
 Lord, and appointed End for all that is! 
 
 How often Thou wast pleased to feign 
 
 upon this obscure grain of sand minute 
 
 called Earth, because of thee 
 
 the Framers of the Universe descended 
 
 frequent converse pleasurable to hold 
 
 with some of thine; — and how, renewing 
 
 such fatuous dreams, insulted are the wise 
 
 even by this present Age 
 
 which seems for knowledge to outtop 
 
 and civil manners all times hitherto — 
 
 what feeling then, unhappy mortal race, 
 
 what thought of Thee at last my heart assails? 
 
 I know not if contempt, or pity 'tis, prevails? 
 
 As from a tree drops a dwarf apple down 
 
 which toward the Autumn's close 
 
 no other power but its own ripeness flings 
 
 to earth; and, in its fall, the precious homes 
 
 of some ant-people, tunneled in soft turf 
 
 at cost of infinite toil, it crushes, unpeoples; 
 
 and the labors, and the ample store 
 
 assiduously collected by that folk, 
 
 with provident strain, prolonged 
 
 throughout the summer season, in one instant 
 
 buries; — so from the thunderous womb 
 
 hurled to the heavens profound 
 
 a night and ruin — compact 
 
 of ashes, cinders, rocks, with seething streams 
 
 dilute — that fell as a leaden hail; — 
 
 294 
 
Or, a vast flood of boulders, liquefied 
 
 metals, and molten sand 
 
 hissing adown the mountain's grassy flanks, — 
 
 wasted, destroyed, and whelmed 
 
 in a few seconds, the cities which the sea 
 
 bathed on her farther shore; 
 
 and here now over them goats browse, 
 
 while cities new rise on the other side, 
 
 for which the buried make 
 
 foundations firm; and the steep mount 
 
 spurns with its trampling foot the prostrate walls. 
 
 Nature nor venerates, nor hath in care 
 
 Man more than ant; and, if more rare 
 
 be the slaughter of man than ant 
 
 unto no other cause 'tis due 
 
 but that less numerous is man's progeny! 
 
 Full eighteen centuries have sped 
 
 since, by fire's violence oppressed, 
 
 vanished those populous seats; but still 
 
 the humble peasant who his vineyard tends, 
 
 who in these fields with difficulty 
 
 by the dead and cindered soil is fed, — 
 
 lifts a suspicious eye 
 
 up to the fatal peak, which no whit tamed, 
 
 yet sits terrific, threatens yet 
 
 ruin to him, his sons 
 
 and their scant patrimony. Oftentimes 
 
 the wretch upon the roof 
 
 of his rustic cot, the whole night long will lie 
 
 sleepless in the wandering airs; 
 
 and leap up more than once 
 
 the course of the dread seething mass to explore 
 
 that pours adown the sandy back 
 
 forth from the exhaustless hollow gorge, 
 
 with whose reflected glow 
 
 gleams the sea beach of Capri, Naples' port, 
 
 and Mergellina. Should he see it 
 
 draw nigh, or in the depths 
 
 of his own well hear the water gurgle hot — 
 
 295 
 
his sons he rouses, in all heiste his wife, 
 
 and fleeing with whatever they can snatch 
 
 of their poor property, they watch from afar 
 
 their wonted dwelling, and the little field, 
 
 (their sole defense from famine,) fall a prey 
 
 to the prowling flood inexorable, 
 
 that crackles as it reaches them, and spreads 
 
 stiffening forever over all. 
 
 To the rays of heaven is restored 
 
 after agelong oblivion, dead Pompeii, 
 
 like an interred skeleton 
 
 by piety or greed exhumed; 
 
 and, from the desolate forum, 
 
 standing among the files 
 
 of columns truncated, the traveler 
 
 a long while contemplates 
 
 that Mount with its twin peaks, 
 
 the smoking crest that still 
 
 threatens the scattered ruins. 
 
 And, in the horror of night's secrecy, 
 
 over the vacant amphitheatres 
 
 and toppled temples and the houses wrecked, 
 
 where hides the bat her young, — 
 
 like to a dismal torch 
 
 that circles ominously 
 
 through empty palaces, 
 
 the dazzling glare of the funereal lava 
 
 flies, lurid in the glooms afar, 
 
 and tinges all the landscape round. 
 
 So, ignorant of Man, 
 
 of the stretch of times he ancient deems, 
 
 of the substitution regular 
 
 of child for sire, — Nature alone 
 
 stands still in youth, or moves 
 
 along a road of so great sweep 
 
 that motionless she seems. Meanwhile, 
 
 fall kingdoms, peoples pass, and tongues 
 
 whereof no notes she takes — 
 
 but MAN, dares arrogate — 
 
 the glory, for himself, of endless days! 
 
 296 
 
And Thou, slow-flowering Broom 
 
 that with thy perfumed sprays 
 
 adornest these marred lands, 
 
 Thou, too, soon must succumb 
 
 to the subterranean fires, 
 
 which visiting once again 
 
 places familiar grown, 
 
 will spread out their consuming skirts 
 
 over thy gentle shrubs: 
 
 and thou wilt bow thine innocent head, 
 
 not vainly stubborn under the load of death; 
 
 yet not ere then, shall it be bent 
 
 in futile supplication cowardly 
 
 unto thy future slayer; neither self -lifted 
 
 with insane pride, unto the stars; 
 
 nor above the waste — where not thy choice, 
 
 but fate decreed thee birth and dwelling place; 
 
 yet, wiser, yea so much less weak, than Man 
 
 in that Thou'st not believed thy feeble kind 
 
 rendered by fate, or thee imperishable! 
 
 NATURE AND ART 
 
 {Natur and Kunst) 
 EPILOGUE TO SONNETS 
 
 Nature and Art still shun each other's sight, 
 yet mate as fellows, ere one wotteth well. 
 My stubborn mood hath long since left me quite; 
 so, which most draweth me I scarce may tell. 
 
 There needs must be a strait and true endeavor; 
 but, the full dole once paid of life we owe, 
 bound mind and will as thralls of Art forever, 
 fiercely at heart as erst may Nature glow! 
 
 Like token marketh every high emprise. 
 All spirits undisciplined strove in vain to stand 
 where heights of pure perfection reach the skies. 
 Who great things would, shall hold his soul in hand. 
 
 297 
 
Only self-mastered may man master be, 
 and law fulfilled alone can speak us free! 
 
 BALANCE 
 
 ( From the Metamorphose der Thiere ) 
 
 Nevertheless within, the might of the worthier creatures 
 findeth itself inclosed in a round of living formation: 
 borders no God may enlarge, and which Nature revereth. 
 For, thus limited, only was possible ever the perfect. 
 
 May this noble conception of might and restraint, and of 
 
 self-will 
 and law, and of freedom and bounds, and of order in motion, 
 lack and advantage, — rejoice thee; for hearken, the holy 
 Muse doth teach it thee thus with gentle insistence. 
 Higher conception no ethical thinker attaineth; 
 none the man of affairs, at his craft no fashioning artist. 
 Rulers thence, worthy of rule, the pleasure draw of their 
 
 sceptre! 
 Highest Creation of Nature, rejoice that thou feelest thee able 
 thinking, her loftiest thought to o'ertake, whereto in creating 
 She herself upsoared; there plant thee, and thence let thy 
 
 glances 
 backward sweep, make proof, and compare, and take from the 
 
 Muse's 
 mouth (that thou see, nor be drunken) this full truth, certain 
 
 and gracious! 
 
 A HUMAN FEELING 
 
 ( Menschengefuhl ) 
 
 Ah, ye gods, ye mighty gods 
 in the wide heaven over us, 
 would ye grant us here on earth 
 stalwart mind and cheerful heart, 
 gladly would we leave to you, 
 O ye good, your heaven above! 
 
 298 
 
EVEN SO 
 
 ( Ein Gleiches ) 
 
 Hovereth o'er every height — 
 
 Peace visible. 
 And every tree-top — light 
 
 breathings do lull 
 of dreamless sleep. 
 Birds hush them in the brake. 
 Bide thee, thou too ere long shalt take 
 thy rest — still, deep. 
 
 THE WAYFARER 
 
 ( Der Wanderer) 
 
 Hail, and God bless thee, 
 
 young Mother, and the little One 
 
 the son at thy breast! 
 
 Let me drop at the rock-wall here 
 
 in the elm-tree's shadow 
 
 my burden down, 
 
 and rest me beside thee. 
 
 Young Mother: 
 
 What craft can drive thee 
 thro' the heat of the day thus 
 up the dusty path hither? 
 Bearest wares from the town 
 through the country-side? 
 Thou smilest, stranger, 
 at this my question? 
 
 Wayfarer : 
 
 No wares from town have I brought. 
 Cool now grows the evening. 
 Bring me to the well-spring 
 whereat thou drinkest, 
 gracious new-wed wife! 
 
 299 
 
Young Mother: 
 
 This way, up the rock-path. 
 Go before me! It leadeth 
 thro' the shrubberies thick 
 unto the well-spring 
 whereof I drink. 
 
 Wayfarer: 
 
 Tokens of ordering human hands 
 betwixt the bushes appear. 
 These stones be not of thy building, 
 Prodigal-handed Nature! 
 
 Young Mother: 
 
 Up further, and on! 
 
 Wayfarer : 
 
 Lo, covered with moss, an architrave! 
 
 I know thee fashioning Mind 
 
 again — thy seal in th' hewn rock deep-set. 
 
 Young Mother: 
 
 Press onward, stranger! 
 
 Wayfarer: 
 
 Inscriptions whereon I trample — 
 
 alas, illegible! 
 
 Away are ye flown 
 
 Deep-graven words, — 
 
 ye that to thousand generations 
 
 should your master's worship show. 
 
 Young Mother: 
 
 Starest thou, wondering 
 at this stone, stranger? 
 Farther up about my cot 
 full many stones lie. 
 
 Wayfarer: 
 
 Yonder? 
 
 Young Mother: 
 
 Close at thy left, 
 
 up thro' the thick bushes, — 
 
 here ! 
 
 300 
 
Wayfarer: 
 
 Ye muses and graces! 
 
 Young Mother: 
 
 This is my cottage. 
 
 Wayfarer : 
 
 Ruins of a temple! 
 
 Young Mother: 
 
 Down the slope this way 
 upwelleth the spring 
 whereof I drink. 
 
 Wayfarer: 
 
 Aglow, still hoverest thou 
 over thy grave-mound, 
 Genius; albeit on thee 
 hath crashed and crumbled 
 thy master-work, undying spirit! 
 
 Young Mother: 
 
 Stay, the while I fetch the cup 
 that thou m^ayest drink. 
 
 Wayfarer: 
 
 Ivy hath clothed about 
 
 thy godlike structure tall! 
 
 How ye yearn upward 
 
 out of the wreckage, 
 
 ye pillars twain, .... 
 
 and thou, too, lonesome sister, 
 
 how ye together — 
 
 mournful moss on your hallowed heads, — 
 
 in grief majestical look down 
 
 beholding the prostrate pillars 
 
 at your feet broken, — 
 
 your kith and kin! 
 
 Of the tangled bramble bushes shadowed, 
 
 rubbish and earth half hide them; 
 
 and the gaunt grass stalks over them! 
 
 301 
 
Young Mother: 
 
 How he sleeps, my baby boy! 
 Wilt rest thee, stranger, 
 in our cottage? 
 Or wouldest rather 
 here in the open tarry? 
 Cool it is. Take thou the boy 
 the while I fetch thee water. 
 Sleep, my darling, sleep! 
 
 Wayfarer : 
 
 Sweet is thy rest! 
 
 On heavenly seas of health 
 
 afloat, tranquil he breathes! 
 
 Thou, born among the remnants 
 
 of a holy, long-gone past, 
 
 may its spirit breathe on thee! 
 
 For whom it halloweth, he, 
 
 as the gods in self-knowledge, shall thrill 
 
 with a gladness of day after day. 
 
 Unfold, thou swelling bud, 
 
 loveliest gem, adorning 
 
 white-shimmery spring, 
 
 outshine thy fellows: 
 
 then may the full fruit rise 
 
 out of thy bosom 
 
 and ripen to sunward! 
 
 Young Mother: 
 
 God bless him! Still he sleepeth? 
 
 Naught have I more than homely bread 
 
 to offer thee, with the cool spring-water. 
 Wayfarer: 
 
 My heartfelt thank. 
 
 How all about doth put forth bloom and leaf! 
 
 What verdure! 
 Young Mother: 
 
 Soon from the field 
 
 my husband home 
 
 will come. O, stay friend, stay, 
 
 And share with us the evening meal. 
 
 302 
 
Wayfarer: 
 
 And here — ye dwell? 
 
 Young Mother: 
 
 Yonder among the toppled walls 
 
 my father lived to build the cottage 
 
 of tiles, and of the ruin's stones. 
 
 Here do we dwell. 
 
 To a husbandman he gave me, and breathed 
 
 his last soon in our arms .... 
 
 Hast slept thy fill, sweetheart? 
 
 How merry, see, and fond of play, 
 
 wee rogue! 
 
 Wayfarer : 
 
 Nature, forever budding, each 
 
 hast fashioned to the joy of life, 
 
 purveying, as mother true, 
 
 to every child a home for heritage. 
 
 High-buildeth the swallow 
 
 under the eaves, unwitting 
 
 what chiselled grace she bedaubs; — 
 
 above the golden bough, her brood's 
 
 winter-abode, the cankerworm 
 
 spinneth; and thou, 'mid ruins august 
 
 of the long-gone past, O man, 
 
 for thy bare needs 
 
 buildest thy patchwork cot; — 
 
 and hast over graves — thy joy! . . . 
 
 Farewell, thou happy wife! 
 
 Young Mother: 
 
 Thou wilt not tarry? 
 
 Wayfarer : 
 
 God keep you twain, 
 and bless your boy. 
 
 Young Mother: 
 
 God speed thee. 
 
 Wayfarer : 
 
 Whither o'er yonder hill 
 will the path take me? 
 
 303 
 
Young Mother: 
 
 To Cuma. 
 Wayfarer : 
 
 And how far thither? 
 Young Mother: 
 
 Three miles or more. 
 
 Wayfarer: 
 
 Farewell, 
 
 Oh, lead my steps 
 
 Nature, — the stranger's 
 
 wayfaring foot 
 
 which o'er the graves 
 
 of a hallowed long-gone age 
 
 wendeth carefree, — 
 
 to a place of safety 
 
 from northwinds sheltered, 
 
 by a poplar-copse 
 
 from the noon-sun screened. — 
 
 And, when homew^ard I turn 
 
 at eventide 
 
 to my hut in the last ray golden — 
 
 may such a wife there bid me welcome, 
 
 Our infant son in her arms! 
 
 CHANT OF THE SPIRITS OVER THE WATERS 
 
 (Geaang der Geister ueber den Wassern) 
 
 The soul of Man 
 is like unto water: 
 From heaven it falleth, 
 to heaven ariseth, 
 and thence to earthward 
 in endless round 
 again returneth! 
 
 When from sheer crag quick-gusheth 
 the flashing stream, 
 ' it breaketh in shimmer 
 
 304 
 
and glister, and flitteth 
 to the smooth sheen rocks 
 below; whence softly 
 updrawn, as a mist-veil 
 forth-fluttereth, its mysteries 
 lisping and whispering 
 adown the still deep. 
 
 If rough boulders upfling them 
 
 its onrush to stem, 
 
 lo, it frotheth and roareth 
 
 from ledge to ledge weltering 
 
 to the bottomless pit; 
 
 thro' level green valleys 
 
 it dallyeth wistfully — 
 
 and the stars do number 
 
 in wide pools unwrinkled 
 
 their twinkling array. 
 
 The wind is the lusty 
 Lover of waters, 
 who the foam-crested billows 
 upstirreth and mingleth. 
 
 O, Life of Man's soul, 
 how like unto water! 
 O, Weird of Man's life, 
 how like unto wind! 
 
 HUMAN LIMITATIONS 
 
 {Die Grenzen der Menschheit) 
 
 When far-scattereth the Ancient 
 
 of days and most holy 
 
 Allfather freehanded 
 
 from billowing cloud-rack 
 
 the seeds over earth 
 
 of beneficent lightning — 
 
 305 
 
I kiss me his vesture's 
 uttermost border, 
 the Httle child's reverent 
 fear in my heart. 
 
 For let not the mightiest 
 mete him as fellow 
 with beings divine. 
 Aloft doth man hurl him 
 with proud front to smite 
 the heavens — and lo, helpless 
 his foot findeth nowhere 
 safe stead, while the welkin 
 and wind with him play. 
 
 Or, with stout thaw astrain, 
 if he rear him up, stalwart, 
 on the fast-founded earth 
 everlasting, — behold, 
 tho' haughty of stature, 
 shall to-skyward his reach be 
 with the gnarled oak's likened, 
 or the clambering vine's? 
 
 What sundereth mankind 
 from the Gods thus forever? 
 Innumerous the waves fare 
 on and on following — 
 a flow inexhaustible 
 before them; while us — 
 one surge lifteth and swalloweth, 
 that we sink into naught. 
 
 A petty round, close 
 engirdleth our life; 
 and the frequent generations 
 outstretch link in link. 
 .the chain never-ending 
 of human existence! 
 
 306 
 
THE DIVINE 
 
 {Das GottUche) 
 
 High-hearted be Man, 
 kindly and good, 
 seeing thereby only 
 preferred is He 
 before all beings 
 to mortals known. 
 
 Hail the loftier Unknown 
 Beings whom in awe 
 we forefeel! Let man be 
 after their likeness; 
 in them his ensample, 
 teach trust and belief! 
 
 For, without feeling 
 is Nature; on wicked 
 and good forth-shineth 
 the sun; ay, the mean 
 alike and the worthiest 
 behold the still beauty 
 of moon and of stars. 
 
 Whirlwind and flood 
 thunder and hail-storm 
 roar on their way, 
 and, hurtling past them, 
 whelm in destruction 
 all in their turn. 
 
 Even so, blind-gropeth 
 Luck 'mid the many; 
 now catching the curls 
 of the guileless youngling, 
 and now the bald pate 
 of the hoary in guilt. 
 
 307 
 
Girded of la\%'s 
 everduring. adamantine, 
 vast. — all. all 
 must draw to its close 
 their round of existence. 
 
 Man only can bring 
 to pass the impossible: — 
 'tis he who discerneth. 
 who deemetli and dcometh; 
 and the vanishing moment 
 by his grace may endure. 
 
 To Man only is granted 
 boon for the worthy, 
 bane for the \vicked; 
 he healeth. he saveth; 
 the astray and wide-strown 
 he atoneth in use. 
 
 And. immortals we worship 
 as tho' human they were; 
 wrought in the vast, 
 what in the narrower room 
 the worthiest doeth. 
 or fain would do. 
 
 Be the high-hearted man. then 
 both kindly and good! 
 fashioning unwearied, 
 the Useful, the Right: 
 in truth so foreshadowing 
 3'on beings we divine! 
 
 5oS 
 
MY GODDESS 
 
 ( Meine Collin ) 
 
 To which of the deathless 
 shall the highest praise be? 
 I contend not with any, 
 yet proffer my worship 
 to the quick-varying 
 ever-young and light-hearted 
 wondrous daughter 
 of Zeus, his darling 
 child — Phantasy! 
 
 For unto her freely 
 
 made he allotment 
 
 of all moods and whimsies, 
 
 else sacredly warded 
 
 for Him alone; 
 
 and greatly he taketh 
 
 delight in the antics 
 
 of his wayward wanton: — 
 
 Whether her listeth 
 with crown of red rosebuds 
 and white lily-sceptre 
 to trip it thro' valleys 
 abloom, and queen it 
 o'er summery songbirds 
 and butterflies, sipping 
 the sweet dew, beelike, 
 from the heart of the flowers; 
 
 Or whether her listeth, 
 
 with loose locks streaming 
 
 and look melancholy, 
 
 in the winds to fling her 
 
 over beatling crags; 
 
 Or with hues myriad-glinting 
 
 As the morn and the even 
 
 with ever new aspect 
 
 as the smiles of the moon, 
 
 to reveal her to mortals. 
 
 309 
 
Wherefore, laud and thank 
 let us proffer the Ancient 
 of Days, high-exalted, 
 Father, who so lovely 
 never-fading a consort 
 hath accorded us, perishing 
 Children of men! 
 
 For unto us only 
 
 hath he lovingly plighted her 
 
 with the troth-ring of heaven,- 
 
 and straitly charged her 
 
 in good days and evil 
 
 as true-hearted helpmeet 
 
 never to forsake us. 
 
 The other poor kindreds — 
 offspring of the Earth, 
 living Mother of lives, — 
 roam, raven and feed, 
 in the gross joys sordid, 
 and the dull brutish anguish 
 of the moment's cramped 
 mindless ejristence; 
 bowed low by the yoke 
 of want and of need! 
 
 Howbeit unto us, (O 
 Joy!) — he hath granted 
 his subtlest, much-fondled 
 and daintiest daughter. 
 Come, graciously meet her 
 as best beloved; 
 entreat her to wield 
 the sway of our household. 
 
 And beware lest step-dame 
 Wisdom, unwittingly 
 ruffle her sensitive 
 tender child's spirit. 
 
 310 
 
Albeit, fellowship 
 lief, with her elder 
 soberer sister 
 long have I cherished: 
 Oh, may she not leave me 
 ere the last ray of life; 
 She, to high emprise urger, 
 soul-consoler — kind Hope ! 
 
 THE ONE AND THE ALL 
 
 (Eins and Al!e) 
 I. SELF-SURRENDER' 
 
 Ay, Self to find in the boundless Vast 
 gladly the One were lost at last, 
 
 all chafe and coil dissolved away; 
 no heat of lust, wild will grim-set, 
 irksome demand, stern duty's threat; 
 
 self — yielded up, .... what ecstasy! 
 
 II. ATONEMENT 
 
 Soul of the world, come thrill us through! 
 To wrest from the world-mind the True, 
 
 were chiefest use, then, of our strength. 
 Kind spirits beckon and proffer aid; 
 to Him v/ho maketh all, and made, — 
 
 the foremost masters lead at length. 
 
 III. CREATION 
 
 To shape again the fashioned shape — 
 lest stiff, it rear and ramp agape, — 
 
 is wrought by th' onward Thrust of life. 
 What was not, now v/ould com.e to birth 
 in clearbright sun, or motley earth, — 
 
 but never to rest from change and strife. 
 
 IV. EVOLUTION 
 
 Stir shall they, and press with fashioning strain, 
 the self -framed shape, transform.ed amain; 
 but somewhiles seem they stayed and still. 
 
 311 
 
The Abiding goeth forth in all: 
 for the All to utter Nought must fall 
 if held to being with stark self-will. 
 
 MY LEGACY 
 
 ( Vermachtnisa) 
 
 I. EXISTENCE 
 
 What is — to Nought can nowise fall. 
 The Abiding goeth forth in all. 
 
 Thy bliss in being then have and hold; 
 for Being abideth ever; and laws 
 thy living hoard shall keep, because 
 
 the All decked him therewith of old. 
 
 II. REASON 
 
 Time out of mind, the Truth was found, — 
 and the high fellowship of souls close-bound. 
 
 Hold fast the eldest Truth, and thank 
 O, child of earth, for wisdom — One 
 who bade earth wing her 'round the sun, 
 
 hosting her brethren rank on rank. 
 
 III. CONSCIENCE 
 
 Now straightway to within thee turn. 
 That midmost spot wilt thou discern 
 
 no man of worth can dare gainsay. 
 Hast lack there of no rule or 'best: 
 for love — self-gotten — of the best 
 
 is sun unto thy duty's day. 
 
 IV. UNDERSTANDING 
 
 In th' body's wits put childlike faith; 
 they cheat not ever with lie or wraith 
 
 whom the quick mind shall ward from sleep. 
 With keen glad eye go mark and learn; 
 fare safe, howso thy path may turn, 
 
 thro' a world of wealth far-strown and deep. 
 
 312 
 
V. PRUDENCE 
 
 In plenty and weal, taste — and forbear, 
 be Heed still bidden, and well aware 
 
 when life of life hath cheer and glee; 
 so shall the bygone day abide, 
 and time forefeel the unborn tide, 
 
 and the brief Now — forever be. 
 
 VI. WISDOM 
 
 And hast thou got thee skill herein 
 throughly to feel, and surely ween; 
 
 "What fruiteth well alone is true" — 
 behold thou long the common sway — 
 what dooms it deemeth on for aye — 
 
 and fellow thee unto the few, 
 
 VII. VOCATION 
 
 And, as of yore alone and still 
 
 some work love-born of their own will 
 
 the men of lore and songcraft 'gat, — 
 Thou winnest gift most fair: to fashion 
 high souls with thine own thought and passion! 
 
 What call or task shall better that? 
 
 ORACULAR WORDS IN ORPHIC MANNER 
 
 (Urworte, Orphisch) 
 
 AAIMQN: DAMON 
 (The Genius, Individuality, Innate Character) 
 
 Yea, as the sun (what day thy life was leant 
 
 the world) did stand each planet's sphere to greet - 
 
 so throv'st thou erst, obedient to thy bent, 
 by that same law which hither sped thy feet. 
 
 313 
 
Such must thou be. None yet his Self outwent. 
 
 This rede sybil and seer of old repeat; 
 for, never time nor might could break asunder 
 the shape seed-hidden, whose life unfolds its wonder. 
 
 TTXII: DAS ZUFALLIGE 
 (Luck, Environment) 
 
 Yet Somev/hat doth with gracious tread outgo 
 
 the straitest bound, and with and round us move. 
 
 Not lonely long; with fellows dost thou grow, 
 as oth'r well do, doth thee to do behoove. 
 
 Now for and now against thee falls the throw! 
 Thy life a game whose chances thou must prove. 
 
 The years, unnoted, have their ring united, 
 
 and now, the lamp doth lack the flame to light it. 
 
 EPQS : LIEBE 
 ( Passion, Love ) 
 
 Not long it tarrieth. From heaven He flings 
 whereto He soar'd out of the primal Void. 
 
 Lo, hither he hovereth, on airy wings 
 
 in springtide about brow and breast light-buoyed, 
 
 feigning to flee, with subtle home-flutterings. 
 
 Then weal is woe — panic with sv/eetness cloyed. 
 
 Some hearts waste in the many their emotion; 
 
 the noblest to one only vow'th devotion. 
 
 ANAFKH: NOTHIGUNG 
 ( Necessity, Fate ) 
 
 'Tis then once more — even as the stars deem just: 
 condition and law and the will of all — be will . . 
 
 for that alone in sooth we ought and must! 
 
 Each wilful wish before that Will hushed still; 
 
 what most we prize from the heart's core we thrust; 
 mood, will and whim the hard "thou shalt" fulfil. 
 
 So fare we, yet, in seeming freedom, yearly 
 
 more close beset than erst and hemmed more nearly. 
 
 314 
 
EAIIIS: HOFFNUNG 
 {Hope, Aspirations) 
 
 But from such metes and bounds, such walls of brass 
 the stubborn gates unbolt them and unbar, 
 
 tho' ancient as the hills their rocklike mass. 
 A Spirit light-flitteth, untrammelled; lo, we are 
 
 from cloud-rack, reek and rain upcaught, and pass 
 breathless with her, given wings of her, afar. 
 
 Ye know Her well. No realm her revel may banish. 
 
 One wing-beat — and the worlds behind us vanish! 
 
 315 
 
ST. FRANCIS OF THE TREES 
 
 >VRITTEN FOR THE ANNUAL DINNER OF THE 
 
 STEVENSON FELLOWSHIP OF SAN FRANCISCO 
 
 NOVEMBER 13, 1906 
 
 The waste of manhigh weeds — leafless and harsh — 
 
 outstretcheth dismally — a purple gloom — 
 
 into the marsh, whose inlets gleam and lure 
 
 the eye, over its ruddy reaches to the bay's 
 
 vague shimmery shine — and th' mist-bloomed farther 
 
 shore: — 
 when lo, with yellow fire at the grey core 
 enkindled, the haze, quick, hath burst aflame; 
 and golden glamour over sky and land 
 doth make what seemeth be, — what is — but seem. 
 Bronzed marshes, flooded inlets, lurid field 
 bewilder with an aspect ominous, 
 and the soul, unreasoning, hushed and awed, doth bow 
 before the enthralling mystery, and still 
 doth the heart stand a moment for a dread 
 unfeatured. 
 
 Ah, you do remember, friend, 
 that breathless panic, the misgivings strange 
 and bodings, which there rooted us awhile, 
 until the oaks were wading ere we knew 
 in fog knee-deep, to be submerged ere long — 
 floating at intervals over the twilight flood 
 the vanishing undulant outlines of their tops; 
 while here and there the blue-gums, fain to flee 
 the stealthy tide of sleep, yet rooted fast, 
 as in a dream, essay in vain to fling 
 their free forms loose! 
 
 Alas, alas, dear friend, 
 how soon — too soon, — the dire fulfillment came 
 of those premonitory fears: when rocked the earth 
 
 317 
 
as insubstantial, and the tall palms bowed 
 hither and thither to the ground; — when walls 
 tottered and crashed, and th' heart leaped in affright, 
 and th' roar smote deaf and dumb the helpless soul, 
 and only the spirit dared believe and live! 
 
 But afterward ensued three days, and nights 
 more hideous, of anguishful dismay: — 
 the city, — yea, our city — ours, even ours — 
 the proud, luxurious, extravagant, fancy-free, 
 She on her sandhills betwixt ocean and bay 
 upbuilded — She ... to us, upon the hitherside 
 safe, lay under a dense pall of reek; and high 
 to the very zenith, the ever-voluminous 
 ever-toppling, ever-steadfast cone of smoke 
 o'erflowed — and trailed a banner of horror grey 
 to southward beyond sight; whereunder, O, — 
 what wicked glints of yellow — bloodthirsty eyes 
 piercing the jungle-gloom, — whence flushes of shame 
 and anger over heaven. And for three nights 
 those awful splendors, crimson gushes, and leaps 
 and flares of riotous light, and glows auroral; 
 the while between, as in a trance, the bay 
 floated a magic mirror of loveliness 
 unreal, before the helpless throngs spellbound 
 along the waterside forever at gaze — 
 on the long fierce sunset of our city! 
 
 At last 
 with a sudden start we awoke (had it been hours 
 or aeons?) to the tense activities 
 of nerve and heart: — relief for the shelterless, 
 the hungry, the bewildered, the unclean; 
 until the heart did sicken, and the soul 
 fainted within the living body of death. 
 We hurried hither and thither, as the ant swarms; — 
 ate, slept, wrought miracles, brake foolish jests — 
 and all the while aware, the spirit, flown far, 
 had left but animate automata, — 
 nor ever again, it seemed, should we behold 
 
 318 
 
the stars in ancient wise blazon once more 
 the heavenly mind — the life with them beyond 
 things petty done and known. 
 
 But suddenly 
 befell — of sense no outer happening; 
 nay, an interior change. As from the trance 
 before, so from the nightmare now my soul 
 started; and I cried to thee: — "Enough, enough! 
 Come forth, friend, for a breath of the upper air, 
 for a calm view of land and sea. Awhile 
 let us this hateful desolation leave, 
 the enormous wreckage, th' choking dust and grime, 
 the swarming human foulness. Up together, 
 up to the mountain-top oracular 
 and neighbor to the stillness of the heaven. 
 For, lieth not the dreaming giant Bride 
 stretched on her bier eternal? and around — 
 what shrouded mourners gather them to-day? 
 And over her doth bend a dream, methinks, — 
 m.oon-silvered spaces of quiet? And at her feet, 
 moon-silvered likewise, see the ocean falleth 
 adreaming, the selfsame hallov/ed dream of peace! 
 Up, up Mount Tamalpais! Coth she not lie, 
 the wraith of our stricken city, on the bier 
 uplifted, shriven, for heaven to pity and bless? 
 Up, let us climb; slie is not dead — but sleepeth; 
 then let us, brother, v/hisper as she dreams 
 words in her ear of comfort, loyal love 
 and faith undying. Up to the mountain, friend, 
 with me." 
 
 So spake I not? But you, incredulous, 
 eyed me and marveled. You — would not, nor could; 
 for yet the pall was lifted not from you. 
 Ay, you waxed scornful: — "Go, friend. As for me 
 I cannot leave the smoking ruins, to seek 
 the m.ountain-top of vision. Rather you 
 inquire of the Lord for us! Perchance He hath 
 a word to speak who hindered not this horror; — 
 
 319 
 
maybe He is still alive — the living God. . . . 
 It wras an accident! But you have seen, 
 have suffered, — and you believe yet, — you believe! 
 Ha, go then you unto the mountain whence 
 Cometh our help — the abundant help we had! 
 And if you hear there some true word — to us 
 bring it back faithfully, — us in th' grime and lime — 
 us sons of chaos! Tell us what you saw 
 thence of the wider, saner, sager view — 
 what 'in the Mount' you heard! Farewell." 
 
 And I 
 intently looked at you! For I was 'ware 
 how, notwithstanding my denials hot, 
 your blasphemy proceeded — out of my heart. 
 So, speechless with the ache of things unsaid, 
 I turned — and fared upon my pilgrimage 
 unto the Mountain of the dreaming Bride; 
 and, knowing whither, recked not of the way, — 
 my heart with thee, — my fellow, friend, and brother,- 
 but of my spirit irresistibly borne on. 
 
 Ah, blessed night, thou veilest mercifully 
 
 marshes alike and wooded valleys warm — 
 
 and the slumber-heaving waters of the bay. 
 
 The hills behind the daughter cities stand 
 
 scarce visible against the sky; and over 
 
 the stricken Mother herself the winding-sheet, 
 
 woven of gentle dusks and argentine 
 
 twilights! How sparkling — yea, and proudly glad — 
 
 hath not forthspread our Mother's wide domain, 
 
 seen from the threefold swelling height, copse-hooded, 
 
 of Grizzly, or from the sombre summit viewed, 
 
 above the old-rose foothills mottled black 
 
 with oaks — from Kawakoom, the Mount of Doom; 
 
 or else surveyed from betwixt ocean and bay 
 
 on either peak of the twain that overtop 
 
 the many-towered city of hill and vale. 
 
 320 
 
"What site for to set up her throne foursquare, — 
 
 Pride of the Far West, — She, the shining eye 
 
 of the Republic, to the Orient turned 
 
 with restless eager quest, unworshipful, 
 
 daring and challenging th' unknown across 
 
 the sundering seas; — yea, the whole vibrating 
 
 Occident of do and dare, insolently 
 
 aflash in the defiant sweep of the glance. Ah, true, 
 
 this, this the chiefest wealth, — thy glory of site 
 
 and light, can no man take from thee! And meted 
 
 therewith, O City, of what worth be all 
 
 thy incalculable losses? Who shall thee 
 
 bereave (tho' many of thy children mourn 
 
 their dead) of thy prenatal memories? 
 
 The alien tongue, still far-off echoing 
 
 musically? the dreamful sweetness — vague 
 
 hauntings of anthem, and of incense? yea, 
 
 and more, how far more precious still thy Name? 
 
 tho' th' irony thereof do oftenest 
 
 smite thy well-wisher: — Thy sponsor, father in God, — 
 
 the little poor man of Assisi — Saint 
 
 that loved his brethren tenderly — the flowers, 
 
 the shrubs and trees, — his little brothers, too, 
 
 beasts of the field, and fishes of the brook, 
 
 birds of the bough and of the open sky! 
 
 These things thou hast, thy site, thy memories 
 
 prenatal, the ideal of thy name; 
 
 these things, maybe not cherished as they ought 
 
 of thee, O City, be thine inalienable 
 
 birthright; not lost, — yea, thine, — perchance more thine 
 
 than ever hitherto. And surely He, 
 
 the holy Francis, will not he of all, — 
 
 (though thine own children nourished at thy breast 
 
 deny thee, disbelieving,) He, not now, 
 
 whatever thy sin and shame, will thee forsake, — 
 
 the humble, simple, wistful, tender and meek, 
 
 who spake with radiant joy — as a little child — 
 
 of brotherly love, sang praise of Poverty 
 
 321 
 
wooed for the freedom's sake of the spirit of man 
 unto more fragrancy of holiness — 
 and more transfiguring beauty of soul! 
 
 "Nay, rather 
 methinks that he will visit thee, even thee, 
 courageous in affliction, resolute 
 in the hour of perished hope — O lavish still, 
 O confident of thy destiny! And perchance 
 He Cometh even now. And, humbled so, 
 thou wilt at length receive him, and ask of Him 
 that he may teach thee how in very deed 
 thou mightest be great and noble, magnificent 
 and gracious! Enter, O City, and possess 
 thy hallowed heritage, and in thy wealth 
 new-gct, thy pride of sumptuous power, as thou 
 rebuildest thee, never forget to prize 
 thy chiefer wealth of loveliness and charm . . , 
 nor thy new glow of gratitude, abashed 
 for the world's thought of thee in thy distress, 
 which draweth thee nearer to the heart of love, 
 O City of the Bride upon the Mount, 
 dressing the East beyond this golden West; — 
 O City of the gentle godly man, 
 still bidding thee most seek thy goodliest worth 
 of heart and spirit!" 
 
 Thinking thoughts like these 
 confusedly, I clomb, nor knew fatigue, 
 no sense of body weighing, of the very mood 
 of blessed meditation lifted up 
 as a wisp of mist that riseth on a breath 
 unfslt of warmer air. And lo, recalled 
 to the sight of the eye and the hearing of the ear: 
 there lay the Mother City below me spread — 
 her daughters three across the slumbering bay — 
 atwinkle, atwinkle in gladness obstinate; — 
 reaches of sky reflected magically — 
 mirage of heaven upon the mirroring land — 
 and more exceeding bright than starry space 
 
 322 
 
of the wintery moonless vault — atwinkle, atwinkle, 
 
 vivid, insistent — mirthful! And the moon 
 
 cast her bewilderment of silvery haze 
 
 over all things beside those constellations 
 
 of earthly homes instinct with radiant life. 
 
 Then, was my mood such, tho' I wist not why, 
 
 I should not shrink, nor marvel — if the Mount 
 
 were in the hallowed hush, with spirits alive 
 
 about me. Did not Blake, singer and seer, 
 
 graver and painter, with his dreams — awake 
 
 hold converse? Here assuredly might one — 
 
 yea, such as I — be visited and behold 
 
 yearnings unknown and wisdoms of mankind 
 
 forthbodied in symbolic images: 
 
 Heroes and Gods that walked the earth of old, 
 
 bulls winged, and desert lions sunny-maned, 
 
 and fiery Seraphim! Ah, s'jrely here 
 
 might one dare meet the great of heart, the good, — 
 
 Osiris — Baldur — Krishna — Socrates — 
 
 Isaish— Sakyamuni — Laotze — : 
 
 Plato and Bante, Shakespeare, Sophocles — 
 
 Chaucer — and Homer? Whom might one not meet, 
 
 and dare to walk with them, and, unabashed, 
 
 talk with them, ay — tho' face to face alone? 
 
 Then was I 'ware there stood behind me one, 
 and the mystery of the unseen did sweetly send 
 shudders all over. Yet I turned me not, 
 lest the human music to the ear of the soul 
 should faint away into the silences 
 of God. But gently on my shoulder touched, 
 the thrill went through me more deliriously. 
 And as I turned in marvel, and breathless hope 
 of rapturous surprise — my eyes met his! 
 And, no whit startled did I hear myself — 
 as not myself — speak witless words to him: — 
 "Most holy Francis, art thou here at last? 
 I knew thou couldst not tarry long — nor ever 
 forget thy city." 
 
 323 
 
— "Nay, son, — sayest thou 
 forget my city? Never; — Yet is she 
 builded not on the earth." 
 
 And wrath did choke, 
 tho* reverence speech restrained: "Thou wouldst disown 
 the lost, the humbled, the destroyed? Not well 
 doest thou, holy man!" 
 
 "Never, son, never. 
 Her would I not disown had she been mine. 
 She hath my name received; — but hath she aught 
 more than the name of me, that I might call 
 her mine in truth, thou being witness, son? 
 If I should lift my voice up in her streets, 
 her wharves, her marts, her palaces, would She 
 thence answer to my calling, 'I am thine'?" 
 
 And my wrath died straightway to shame. I cried, 
 
 "Have mercy, holy man, upon us!" And he 
 
 calmly envisaged me, unearthly-still, 
 
 deep-probing with unquivering lids — wherefore 
 
 a wrath did seize me and throttle, (of the mind — 
 
 not of the heart rebellious) : — "Thou, meseems 
 
 askest of Her what cannot be, nor should! 
 
 Shall — speak — a city of living men, a city 
 
 of women, a city of children, be as thou? 
 
 as thou? — and meditate in the wilds with thee 
 
 in starved idleness — until all hands, 
 
 all feet, all sides, as thine of old did, gape 
 
 with bleeding impress of insensate griefs — 
 
 wounds of imagination insanely rapt 
 
 in the accidents of a tragic symbol? Nay, 
 
 thou askest too much, God wot, O holy man! 
 
 And if my mind betray me not, not meek 
 
 art thou! Meek, verily? Arrogant rather 
 
 for worths impossible, preposterous hopes, 
 
 ideals inhuman, unearthly, devilish! 
 
 accusing man of evil, — yea, and God 
 
 who made him such, and judged him very good, 
 
 foreknowing the end of childish innocence, 
 
 324 
 
the lusts of the natural life, — the world's command 
 
 to strive, and cry, — to slay and eat and live! — 
 
 to prey, to ravage; voluptuously taste 
 
 the foaming cup, for passionate ecstasy, 
 
 whence the new life, the holiness of home, 
 
 the fashionings imaginative of things 
 
 to bodily use, and spiritual; — yea, the very 
 
 ardors of godliness and communings 
 
 in mystic rapture! Wherefore darest thou, 
 
 for thy tense passion of delights perverse 
 
 in anguish, bid that all men come to thee 
 
 and follow, doing likewise? If thou be 
 
 verily he that loved the natural life 
 
 (and men have fabled not a saner myth 
 
 than was in truth thy very self!) — if thou 
 
 didst love the impulsive, unconstrained free life 
 
 of bird, of beast, of fish, of flower, shrub, tree, — 
 
 why ban, — outcast — the instinctive life of man? 
 
 The flesh, anhungered? the longings, pieties 
 
 of the innocent beast in him? quest, omen, vaunt 
 
 of power, of beauty, of knowledge? Speak, O speak! 
 
 Speak, holy man of God! If just thou be, 
 
 ask not of this, the city of thy name, 
 
 things thou well knowest impossible!' 
 
 And he 
 replied with smile translunary that shamed 
 in its indulgence sweet: "Son, son, perchance 
 thou errest knowing not me. I lived as thou 
 now livest. Was not I child of my day 
 as thou of thine? To each generation, son, 
 its names of God belong, its services 
 of sense, the strengths human-divine: its faiths 
 of spirit, hopes of heart, its disciplines, 
 devotions! Wherefore, should I of this city say 
 'I know her not' — it were for cause; — that She 
 to her own holiest vision is blind, and deaf 
 to her own words of the Lord, spoken for her 
 of Him, in this her day of life, and His 
 Who ever liveth!" 
 
 325 
 
"Father, forgive that I 
 knew thee so ill," came from m.y second self 
 the humble answer, after the brain awhile 
 throbbing beat out in rhythm fantastical 
 a silence of dismay. "The word God spake 
 to thee, thou didst obey, even as thereof 
 thy understanding gave thee interpretation; and thou 
 wast faithful found. What deemest thou His v/ord 
 and fiat unto the city of thy name! 
 
 Forgive the wrong my thought hath done thee, and speak, 
 that I may go hence knowing the truth; and I 
 swear to utter it in thy name!" . . . 
 
 "And thine?" 
 "And live it — body and soul?" he seemed to ask 
 ironically; yet his lips did move not, and his eyes 
 looked far beyond all visible things. And awe 
 forbade more urgent questioning. For then 
 meseemed the mightj^ Mountain under us 
 breathed where we stood, — the pillow of the Bride, 
 wavering responsive to her heaving breast, 
 and with her dream-life pulsating. Athrill 
 with novel stirrings of the abysmal self, 
 I felt me drawn, and swallowed mj'stically, 
 into her dream, — as tho' within me dreamed, — 
 and close was I therein enfolded, when lo! 
 mists rose upbillowing, — soundless, soft, swift, — 
 and from the fluctuant mists there issued trees, 
 ghostly, yet seeming-real, that glided near, 
 and the steep circled, and, with their boughs awave, 
 sang with the voice of a wind unfelt: — 
 
 "We come, 
 O holy man, to thee. For thee we know, 
 tho' men may know thee not. V/e come to thee. 
 Thou calledst us thy brethren, and we dare 
 call thee our brother; and, we pray thee, choose 
 freely of us the better — he that truth 
 and right and beauty is alone — for her, 
 the city of thy name. Hear thou, and judge! 
 
 326 
 
Discern the evil within us, and the good; 
 and as thy choice, even so shall be our will, — 
 we whom thou callest brethren equally, 
 who love thee all alike." 
 
 And the holy man 
 smiled on them, — and his face lit up with love 
 and gentle pity and joy; as tho' the trees 
 brought solace above human fellowship, 
 and wafted skyey bloom and redolence 
 of the far Apennines, — of communings 
 solitary, — he alone, yet not alone, 
 for One was with him; and — the trees and shrubs, 
 the flowers, the beasts of the field that stealthily 
 neighbored him, all the finny folk of the brook 
 that leaped from crystalline cool to hear his word; 
 and th 'birds of the air that hovered over him 
 in warbling skyfuls of beatitude! 
 
 "Speak, Brother Leo!" And wistfully he smiled, 
 correcting him: — "My Brother Live-oak, speak!" 
 And the tree bowed him, reverent, and spoke: — 
 "Behold me, holy man, for what I am, — 
 rugged and sturdy, stalwart, valorous, — 
 my wood of grain close-fibred, knotty, hard; 
 I root down in the depth, and reach forth free 
 to North, to South, to East, to West. My trunk 
 overleans, see, and my branches, tortuous, leap 
 to grapple the elusive air. And no strong wind 
 strippeth my solemn leafage. If my shadow 
 shall sombre seem or sullen: — what I have 
 that do I hold; for mine is mine, thine, thine — 
 if thou canst hold it thus, as mine I hold! 
 So understand I the stern law of right. 
 Shall I not be the emblem chosen of thee 
 for the city of thy name?" 
 
 And the Live-oak bowed 
 before the holy man and yielded room 
 to the Cypress. "Holy man, as the oak am I, 
 
 327 
 
my brother; tho' less dark-browed frowneth he 
 
 than I. For I do hold mine own as he; 
 
 but more, do wave off with forbidding arms 
 
 the stranger. Am I not of the ancient stock 
 
 indigenous, fiercely myself? and staid and staunch 
 
 in my fierce self-hood? Wherefore not? Shall they 
 
 possess who builded not, and reap who sowed 
 
 in other furrows the seed of former hope? 
 
 Yet unto him who doth my will divine, 
 
 am not I tame and gentle, obedient 
 
 to his least wish and fantasy; — who build 
 
 a wall of dusk — about his garden of ease, 
 
 and bid the intruder avaunt? The outcast eye 
 
 can pierce no privacy I fend. The winds 
 
 blustering can pass me not. Nor may the sun 
 
 himself coerce me to surrender the shadow 
 
 of night, the cool of the morning and the dew 
 
 unwillingly! Wilt thou not then accord 
 
 to me the right to be thy city's tree?" 
 
 And when the Cypress bowed him, forward moved 
 
 the gay Acacia. "I am graceful of growth 
 
 and fragile. Yet if the March wind shall tear 
 
 my branches loose, I fling in his face new life; 
 
 yea, flaunt all over the golden blossom-balls 
 
 fragrant, bee-haunted, raining gold-dust down 
 
 in the lap of the greening earth; yea, see my bloom, 
 
 plentiful, unsuspicious of evil days, 
 
 tossed into the golden sunbeams gladsomely 
 
 of those first days after the winter rains, 
 
 when the sky is blue, the air pellucid, fresh! 
 
 Shall sunny hours be gloomy for that storms 
 
 have come and gone, — will come again and go? 
 
 Nay, glut thee radiantly with all good things 
 
 and beautiful the while the sun is lord. 
 
 Am I not, holy man, the only tree 
 
 of the happy and lavish, the city of thy name?" 
 
 And the holy man did smile: — "Gold — gold! Take all, 
 thy gold and buy thee — purer gold therewith, 
 
 328 
 
whereof thief cannot reave thee — evermore." 
 Yet from his lips no word fell — and who it was 
 spake in his stead I wot not. But straightway 
 the Pepper bowed, and plead his better right: — 
 "Thou dost behold me, holy man, with love! 
 For delicate the showers of rain about me, — 
 of fringing green; as emerald hill on hill, 
 astride and elbowing one another, thrown 
 carelessly forth out of the gnarly trunk, — 
 and for thy gaze held forth of twisting boughs. 
 Pale are my blossoms, inconspicuous — 
 in clusters sociable; but mark my pungent 
 berries, a-dangle in russet plenty. Am I 
 aught else but languorous grace, of strength begot 
 and valor? Ever fresh verdure light 
 delicately abundant, with subtle odorousness 
 that no beast croppeth me careless; — without thorn 
 defended of my savor of self, who am 'I', — 
 yea, even 'I' only ever! Wilt not thou, 
 in thy wise gentleness, award to me 
 the honor of thy choice?" 
 
 And it was so 
 ere th' Pepper bowed him, eager as a child 
 overmuch fondled, the Madrone brake forth 
 in wayward winsome speech: "Nay, Father, hear. 
 My claim thou wilt not waive — for I am he 
 that speaketh with the eldest eloquence 
 persuasive — the sweet language of the flesh, 
 which God made chaste and clean — for pure delight ;- 
 whereover his hand passed lovingly with pride 
 of fatherhood. The flesh — the delicate flesh, 
 responsive to the vibrant world of things; 
 clothing new spirit from age to age, for thought 
 and novel adventure! See my foliage shields, 
 shining as tho' sunshine abode in them 
 bodily. See the ruddy bark of me 
 in th' gloss of the noon-heat upcurled, to lisp 
 and whisper secrets of the passionate heart! 
 See, from th' rough mantle of mine ancient trunk 
 
 329 
 
escapeth — bare voluptuously breasts 
 and side — frank rosy flesh of the awakened maid, 
 the dryad of wanton illusive loveliness 
 who flitteth forth — ah, whither? Canst thou say — 
 to follow? Yet another dryad soon 
 abideth in mottled shine and green-gold shade, 
 thriddeth the self-same path thro' the greenwood on- 
 glinting — and vanished, ere thou wottest well 
 she is she, and not thyself! O innocence 
 of human flesh — O glory of glad delight! 
 God's way of life whereover the spirits pass 
 from brutal hate unto His loving-kindness! 
 Am not I of the pleasure-loving folk, 
 true Tree, — the emblem of the city's joy? 
 And shalt thou not prefer me unto Oak 
 that liveth hard to get and hold; to Cypress 
 that yieldeth kindness unto one, to irk 
 with a harsh righteousness another; — nay, 
 unto the Acacia, that is foolish-glad 
 of lucky and lightsome fates extravagant; — 
 unto the Pepper also, that doth green 
 gracefully for the sole sake of graciousness, — 
 but hath no deep unsearchable well of joy, 
 as I, — the flesh, whence every gcodliness 
 of body and soul and spirit?" 
 
 And th' holy man 
 looked long methinks upon the bold Madrone 
 with pitying eye. "Ay, she loved much," one said, 
 "because so many were her sins forgiven; 
 and what she did she knew not — therefore all 
 shall be forgiven her — whatso she hath done!" 
 And slowly he turned his head away as tho' 
 to hide a tear. And, shamed, and marvelling much, 
 the glad Madrone, no longer confident, 
 withdrew her (wonderful the mystery 
 of godliness!), and she abode in wistful fear 
 the judgment. 
 
 330 
 
Whereupon the Blue-gum spake: — 
 "Not, holy man, indigenous am I. 
 From the far Austral world of barren heat 
 hither I came, and the Southern Cross did shine 
 in the still nights of my prenatal sky. 
 But here, see, am not I as all thy folk 
 of the great city? — lawless, vagabond, 
 my leafage hung in freakish tufts, in ragged 
 delicate festoons, in dense loose-jumbled 
 masses; or I toss them forth, at will, see, see, 
 frondlike, in air, to scatter to the wind 
 as fettered birds that flutter in vain to flee, 
 brought ever to a sweet captivity home? 
 Behold my splotchy blossoms, my haphazard 
 clusters of aromatic fruit, together 
 on the same tree, — at the same season, abide — 
 each bough his leisure and mood! And my trunk, see, — 
 the bark protective torn, dishevelled and shed 
 in long loose strands; — while under, grey or green, 
 as best shall like me! But evermore around 
 one only scent, mine ov/n — wholesome? mordant? 
 So of our Kind each one unto himself 
 liveth, his precedent free and wilful law. 
 No straightening type shall hold of kith and kin: 
 himself! — himself triumphantly! Yet see, 
 how, when they list, my kindred range arow, 
 and charge in ranks unbroken the hillside steep, 
 and pierce the skyline, and unfurl aloft 
 the banner of a common victory! 
 Yet ever individual, confident, true 
 to his life only; — yet so livingly 
 alive, we dare the death, and cry aloud, 
 'Slay us who will!' For, if thou hew and fell 
 and slay, do I forthwith uprise not, yea, 
 and mock thee with quick growth from the sawn roots? 
 Am not I, holy man, for good and ill 
 the emblem tree for the city of thy name?" 
 
 And all the trees were glad of the insolent joy 
 of his own selfhood; and yet uneasily 
 
 331 
 
swayed betwixt hope the Blue-gum should be chosen, 
 
 and natural fear that any be preferred 
 
 before himself. But the last of the seven trees 
 
 was speechless till the holy man made sign 
 
 the Redwood should his cause plead. Then, he spake: 
 
 "111, holy man, beseemeth me to praise 
 myself. Yet what I am, I am; by grace 
 nowise of mine own will. And for His praise 
 who wrought me as he would, behold, I dare 
 display me, worshipfully with my worth 
 his worth extolling. From an ancient age 
 of th' earth survivor, chosen of life to live, 
 and carry down some word of the former world 
 unto the world that knoweth it not; behold, 
 I tower, vast of girth, dizzy of upright height. 
 The forests olden of oak and of madrone 
 be as wavy wild grass at my feet. Full often 
 under my branches stealeth the salt sea-fog, 
 and, over his billowy flood, converse I hold 
 unbroken, with the constellations of night 
 primeval. Yet bulk no glory were, to grasp; 
 for the woodwardias, tiger-lilies, and pale 
 campanulas, fairer than I, by the creek do nestle 
 my roots among; whereas aloft I fray 
 in lacelike traceries of fadeless green. 
 And if thou for mine age no reverence know, 
 and hew and fell me (for, flesh of my flesh, 
 bone of my bone, the city of thy name — 
 that is no more — was builded out of me, 
 dead for her sake), yet rise I from the dead; 
 but not in the selfsame room where erst I stood 
 from the grey dusks before the dawn of time; 
 nor single, solitary, shall I rise again. 
 Thou knowest for me of old was it decreed, 
 ere were the hills thus rounded of the rains, 
 that from the extreme edges of the reach 
 should from my roots upspring, a mystic round, 
 and wax to majesty the red-barked sons 
 of me that was. And lo, no more alone 
 
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we, shall draw down the hot noon-sun to dwell 
 
 in a green-golden halo, in our midst. 
 
 The gnats go looping spirally in flight 
 
 their sheeny myriads thro' the quiet, held 
 
 sacred within our circuit. Gossamer threads 
 
 wave loose there, or net over from bough to bough, 
 
 in wind-still shimmer. But if thou at night 
 
 stand, of our outer awe inwalled, alone — 
 
 then shall we be to thee, who prayest there, 
 
 a dial of eternity; the stars 
 
 looking in one by one, and for a space 
 
 abiding, to pass on. Then shalt thou rede 
 
 the blessed law of the singleness that dieth 
 
 for the more holy round of manyhood, 
 
 to thrive, and speechless say by what we be: — 
 
 Mighty in uprightness, in delicate strength 
 
 gracious; who die not ever in our death, 
 
 but sociably a temple do uprear 
 
 with free sky overdomed — a holy ring 
 
 of a new life columnar — to ensphere 
 
 symbols of the invisible, and hold 
 
 in hush the speech, and in celestial time 
 
 th' eternities of the Unknown we know." 
 
 Then smiled the holy man a loving smile, 
 
 and dwelt upon the Redwood fondly and long — 
 
 till Oak, Cypress, Acacia, Pepper, Madrone, 
 
 Blue-gum, and Redwood chaunted together: — "Choose, 
 
 oh, choose which one of us shall be the Tree 
 
 for emblem of the city of thy name; 
 
 and as thy choice even so shall be our will, 
 
 we whom thou calledst brethren equally, 
 
 who love thee all alike. Oh, choose, — oh, choose!" 
 
 And I looked then from the seven trees away 
 unto the holy man. And I beheld 
 how he did slow withdraw once more his eyes 
 from vision of things unseen; and fixed his gaze 
 that saw, yet saw not, upon each in turn 
 
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tenderly; then wide opened he his mouth 
 and spake, spreading his arms abroad: — 
 
 "My brothers, 
 together so to live in unity 
 is it not blesscder, as ye have proved, 
 better and blesseder — far blesseder 
 than to be chosen, tho' chosen of God, — alone?" 
 And lo, he faded slowly into mist, 
 the holy man; and in the fading light 
 of the westering moon, the trees did follow him, 
 their brother, and fade after him. But I, 
 startled, awoke and cried, "Ere thou dost quite 
 vanish, speak, Father, speak, — which tree!" And I 
 knew not his inmost mind, for never word 
 spake he in vanishing. Only meseems 
 his smile had longest dwelt and fondliest 
 on the generous giant tree of the ages gone; 
 on the tree that gave himself gladly for Her, 
 the city that was; on the tree that riseth again 
 for the City that yet shall be; — that she learn 
 of him — the primitive worship of the truth 
 in nature, the feminine delicacy and grace — 
 nay, lightness rather fairylike, of Him, 
 the mightiest that upright stand, and rise 
 in holy rings enshrining utter peace, 
 and golden sun and stars, — and quivering dark 
 of the unseen. 
 
 And soon, when all were passed 
 into the unbeheld, from the ocean a snow-soft 
 ghostly white fog uprose, and overpoured 
 slowly the mountain's flank, and flooded in 
 thro' the Golden Gate, and covered all the bay 
 with a relucent sea of stillness. Stars 
 did pale to points invisible one by one; 
 and a note now and then, quick, tentative, 
 in the brush chirruped. And the eastward masses, 
 voluminous, infinite, of phantom hills 
 and cloud, with hands of spirit uplift 
 
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slow — slowly high, the holy heavenly host 
 of the sun eternal, for worship of the world; 
 Golden effulgence spiritual amidst 
 the rosy flush of ever new life and love! 
 
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JAN 17 \901 
 
LIBRARY OF CONGRESS