llllfKJ B85 E3 1893 ,4 o h-, — - - -■• ' - y *> V ^ ' * °' c^ ^0 ■> VP "P 'a% v./ /^fe'- U..^^ y'M/k. v./ --^fe'v ^51 THE ECHO AND THE POET WITH OTHER POEMS THE ECHO AND THE POET WITH OTHER POEMS BY WILLIAM GUSHING ' BAMBURGH NEWS YORK PriDatelp PrtnteU for t^e Sltttl)or 1893 r^fyy' This edition limited to Two Hundred Copies, of which this is No. Copyright, 1893, By WILLIAM GUSHING BAMBURGH. All rights reserved. The Riverside Press, Cambridge, Mass., U.S.A. Printed by H. O. Houghton & Co. TO ISABEL. Isabel, the angels named thee — Isabel, I never blamed thee That my love was given to thee . Sweetest joy it was to woo thee. MY OFFERING. Come, pick to your own choosing, reader dear, — My pearls have long been fondled, some are worn And some strung round the neck of Poesy By other hands, and yet I pray you find Some pearl to your own liking : 't is to thee I give with gen'rous heart, and 't is for thee I fain would cheer that moment of the day Wherein thy heart may droop, or some sharp pain Of thoughtless wit may cause thee to give up Some hope or long-dreamed aspiration. And I would caution thus : vouchsafe to shun me Just when thou wilt, — but I am not a dog — Remember that, — nor slave to any law but love's And all the attributes of sweet and gentle love That bears the charm of grace and kindliness. Come, pick to your own choosing, but thy mind Must find some sympathetic chord in mine Ere thou shalt find a truth to suit thine end. CONTENTS. The Echo and the Poet 3 Gui D'UiSEi 10 Identity 16 A Song in the Night 18 Hollow 19 To R. B 20 An Incident of the Musical Season .... 22 Ita Est 24 The Last who Sing 25 Song 27 By the Sea-Grass on the Headland . No Meed for the Lukewarm .... Song Kith and Kin The Poet and the Bee Sonnets. Personal " Away from clerkly cares " . " O, let me hail thee " ..... To Emerson ........ " Wings have my thoughts " . . . . Our Forefathers The River Mystic Light A Thought in a Field Life's Jewels 44 X CONTENTS. Harmonious Music 45 To Wordsworth 45 Wisdom 46 Heredity 47 A Pity 't is, 47 Daemoniac Love 48 In Memoriam 49 Gall and Honey 50 Epigrams and Quatrains 53 Adieu. In Youth 61 THE ECHO AND THE POET. THE ECHO AND THE POET. I. The Echo saith, " Again This lordliest of men Cometh hither; In him my secret song — My secret held so long 'T is naught but him doth know it, Nor would this manly poet In faith so mild, This wondrous secret dear Give o'er to child — In him my song so clear, So strange unto mine ear These two-score years, Was still as heartful fears Could wish it kept : I loved him well. He said, ' It shall not wither ' — E'er since my voice has slept. 3 THE ECHO AND THE POET II. " Know ye my tale ? I have it now to tell : — " A life there is above The life of earthly love, The life my poet led, not one of woe, The knowing God — Creator. — To him was giv'n the vision Into the soul of man — The lover — weeper — hater ; Vision of life Elysian, Few men 'neath surface scan : The poet waiteth ever For the life none else may see ; My poet ne'er could sever His love from Italy. III. " When Nero reigned The earth was stained With blood of men — some, gods were called j All life was palled Ky tumult, slaughter ; Yet one fair daughter As brown as sunny air oft turns Eve's child, Italian in her blood, Sweet, saintlike in her mood, Nor weak in being mild. THE ECHO AND THE POET. 5 Sought refuge here, no home For one who dwelt in Rome. " Here Nature, luscious, glorious, Her charms o'er all victorious, Deals not with frail woman As other human : 'T is tender care she needs, Else her weak heart long bleeds, — Her heart so weak it clings to man of hardier growth. — To him she plights her troth, Changing him for God When her feet have trod This earth of lust and sloth. IV. •' This one fair daughter Fell sick and wan through pity, Left th' Eternal City Slow passing through the slaughter ; Here rested, famished, died. " 'T was then her soul outcried, Oh, here must I remain To haunt these dells in vain ; Perchance some poet lost In rapturous fancy tossed Will find my soul his own, As murm'ring o'er his verse THE ECHO AND IHE POET. One note he may rehearse And through his soul my echo may be thrown." V. " Alas ! " the Echo saith, So oft in softest breath, When strangely man did spare A minute's mountain joy To breathe diviner air With heartleap of the boy — " Alas ! " the Echo saith, " My voice so seld hath breath To yearn seems folly, Yet melancholy Its pall o'er me has thrown." There jagged moss and stone With fig are rank o'ergrown — There vines creep heaven-called And dells with moss are walled. VI. Dear Echo yearned but thrived (For echoes are long-lived), Yet yearned in hope her poet soon would seek New bloom upon his cheek, And tune his verse In chords so terse 'T would meet her chime In fairy rhyme. THE ECHO AND THE POET. VII. So eeons passed — (A time so vast 'T is naught but Nature's echoes last) ; The years were frowning When Carlyle, Browning, Wielders of impulsive hopes, Did burst on songless days, Filled Britain with deep truths and lays That turned her to Queen Bess's days. The sage sought France And menlike Kings, The poet much diviner things, The cores of old romance That round dead souls long clings ; The fair pure sky of Italy Filling his soul with ecstasy. He sought the isles and dales Where freedom never fails ; He sought the strangest tales, And learnt how Pippa Passes \ He waded through morasses — And wandered through wild woods Where Dante in his moods Long pondered o'er his Hell, — Long pondered, — and so well ! VIII. Thus in these fitful wand'rings Pond'ring on Dante's pond'rings, THE ECHO AND THE POET. And singing in his heart the songs of youth The poet found the Echo, and forsooth, He sang in sweetness With mystic fleetness A song the world can never hear ; He sang, and all his soul With Heaven at once made whole Poured forth upon the air, Then ceased \ no longer there Was Echo heard again, Tho' oft the tread of men Disturbed the slumb'ring den. IX, Again the poet wended, — My poet grown more sage Singing in his heart sweet songs of age, — To Florence where was blended Sweet life with wife at Rome ; And still with poet's passion Unharmed by London fashion. He sought the Echo once again — His secret, his alone of men. There still the spirit entered, And in his brain was centred, The fancy which gave o'er His strange pathetic lore As ne'er in poet it had ever lived before. THE ECHO AND THE POET. 9 Deep song swelled from his heart As perfume from the rose ; With artless art He sang until clay's close ; Then said, " I must depart, And if perchance I come this way again I prithee, Echo, know your favorite of men." The Echo answered, " Thou Wilt die and I will die Here in luscious Italy, Nor e'er will man know how My secret unto thee was given, I waited for thee here ; I loved thee many a year, And true wert thou to my poor secret dear : Farewell, and yet again, farewell." The poet left the dell — At Venice lately died ; Nor has the Echo vied With song of any singer since well-born of Heaven. GUI D'UISEL: A BALLAD OF A JONGLEUR OF FRANCE. Valiant rose Lord Gui of Uisel, Lover of both song and glory — Hater of all boding terror, — Longing to be free, Sought for newer paths of valor. Valor such as from the brain comes Granting liberty. II. Gui was of Brioude the Canon ; Bred in lax religious manners, Love to him was food ; Canons were not then too pious — Seldom were they men of honor, Nor on sins did brood. III. To his cause came his two brothers, Ebles and his brother Peter, And their hungry, stricken cousin ; Willingly they sought GUI D'UISEL. II All the charms of coysome Muses In the making of their verses To be sung at court. IV. Rode they from their moated castle — Clad in all their rainbow colors On before them rode their heralds — Into distant climes, Ready each to die for maidens Who should recognize their valor ; Ready each to sing for maidens Roundelays and rhymes. V. In the sunny land of Provence Gui long importuned a lady To receive his humble homage And his humble praise ; In her honor sang sweet sonnets, Only to be soon rejected, — For he was a common scholar Singing am'rous lays. VI. Laughing at her first rejection Still he importuned the Lady, Sought her youth and peerless beauty, Sought her dauntlessly ; 12 GUI D'UISEL. Filled his dreams with gleaming visions, Visions that did make him happy ; Then her grace slow turned to hatred, — Scorned him bitterly. VII. Mortified was Gui so gallant, Tossed about by woman's folly — Woman who in love is thoughtless, Changeful and serene : True love every care doth banish, Every agitation quelling As it ne'er had been. VIII. Mortified was Gui of Uisel, And in anger and in sadness Love and song he quickly silenced Ne'er to sing again ; Silenced was his lordly passion. Filled his bosom was with anguish, — Sad was he 'mongst men. IX. Silenced was his peerless singing, Dull those eyes that flashed while singing, Low and mournful now his voice was ; Melancholy Gui GUI D'UISEL. 13 Shared the owl's love for the darkness, Gazed upon the starry heavens Heaving: oft a sisfh. Knights then grieved and royal ladies, - Valiant knights and ladies lonely Sought and begged for roundelays, — Still his song was mute. Marie Ventadour petitioned He should sing a tuneful sonnet While she played the lute. XI. Valiant rose fair Gui of Uisel, — Lover of both song and glory — Glory that did overwhelm him, Glory that did grant him genius, — His last lay to chant : ' Lady Marie, this my song is, Which to all the world is final ; This for thee I grant." THE SONG. From the tree-tops sing the angels Of the air; Ruled by love their songs are joyful — Without care. 14 GUI D'UISEL. Theirs are songs so full of meaning, Magic words Trill from throats to rune so lightsome — Happy birds ! Never song in brain reposing, — Song so true, — Magic hath not lest intending Hearts to woo. Sing I thus, and thus I murmur Low to thee, Ere I leave to be forgotten Presently. Listen now unto my wisdom : Song is great ! But without warm love it weakens, Sorry fate ! Long I gave my fond allegiance Without jest, Singing ere I in the starlight Went to rest. Birds do change their climes each season ; Songs must cease ; Ere the blight of old age palls me, Seek I peace. GUI D-UISEL. 15 Once wild lands and bowered castles Were my pride ; Back to them I soon must turn me As the tide. Farewell song ! O farewell story ! I implore Thou wilt let me murmur softly One song more : Song that in no verse finds haven ; From the heart One more song at Death I '11 murmur, Then depart. Farewell song, and farewell glory! Farewell strife ! When the awful blighting end comes, Farewell life ! " Lady Marie, this my song is Which renounces all my passions \ Death must quench my grief ; Love hath been a tyrant master. And my song doth cease with loving — Love hath proved a thief ! " IDENTITY. I SOUGHT a star In heaven's zenith ; The star shone not — For that I sorrowed. A greater light Was there in heaven ; The moon shone full : And lesser stars Were dim or shone not. The planets — ah ! And greater stars, Shone with their light eterne. Why should I sorrow ? All lesser lights grow dim. The boulder grows ; The sands are ground By wash of waves And toss of winds, To sparkling dust. i6 IDENTITY. ly The greater lights — The lamps of our vast world, The lamps called poets Which God doth fill With light of Heaven, Shine without flicker Eternally. A SONG IN THE NIGHT. Mine ear is full of love's sweet words, My heart is blithe and gay, While on the night wind slow is borne A song that seems to say : Blithe is the heart with a song in its spirit, Sweet is the song that hath love for its theme ; True is my love who still lingers to hear it. Calm is her sleep sweetly blent with a dream. Love soon may die and spread its blight O'er sun and moon, o'er day and night. Love holds the secret of darkness and daylight. Seeking the soul in the beauties of earth. Yearning forever to make thy life's way bright. Raising creation to immortal birth. Love soon may die and spread its blight O'er sun and moon, o'er day and night, — O'er night and day And thy life's way. My heart is full of woe and sorrow, I long to clasp my love, Ere comes the dawning of the morrow That he his love may prove. HOLLOW. Hollow the air where the spurt-winged swallow Flew to his nest ; Hollow the song of the sweet-voiced poet, Hunger-oppressed. Hollow the hope of the love-lorn maiden Haunted by wrongs ; Hollow the praise that seemeth not honest For my first songs. 19 TO R. B. Thou didst not find, O Master, one clear word Conveying fullest essence of the flood Of truth and love that in thy heart vi^ere stirred — What wouldst thou not have giv'n to write in blood ? Were all the hearts that in this world have throbbed Burnt on one funeral pyre, none would cry Aloud for mercy : each one th' other robbed, And from the other each would madly fly. Yet from the pyre might arise a wail For freedom from all evil : Then, O Master, Wouldst thou compress into thy poet's pale Confession from each heart's most cruel disaster. For thou hast heard the wail of erring souls And ev'ry cry hath found its chord in thee, But even as all truth our God controls So doth He curb the tongue's full liberty. 'T is well, O Poet, that our mortal speech Doth find its mart of words so ill-provided, For to thine open heart all men beseech That thou wilt hold most rare all they 've confided. TO R. B. 21 It is the poet's charm to probe the store Of secret truths that clog the wheels of time, And cut corruption from the sodden core By keenest tierce and carte of piercing rhyme ; And thou, O Master, Poet, whose soul-truth Did probe the sins of man and push thy speech To chokeful phrase, it is for thee, forsooth, We grant the wreath beyond small singers' reach. AN INCIDENT OF THE MUSICAL SEASON. 1891-1892. Sullen sat the fond musician Peering into space, Quiet now his hand lay listless, Jaded was his face. All the airs of Paganini Fled were from his brain ; Now his violin lay silent Freed from every strain. Once that face infused with passion Saw the angels come, As with airs from famous Mozart, Verdi, and sublime Rossini Evil souls fell dumb. Fallen was he, fallen slowly, Wearied in the race, — Some foresaw the new opinions Drove him from his place. Slowly, slowly, and more slowly, Stiff his fingers grew, ^ AN INCIDENT OF THE MUSICAL SEASON. 23 Unaccustomed to bewitch us Soon his fate he knew. Hunger, thirst, and gaunt starvation Changed his long-sought goal, — Once his hope was for great honors That bestir the soul. Now his soul was colder growing ; Love of dreams was gone — Charity herself he courted — He so weak and wan. Hunger, thirst, and gaunt starvation Claimed him Christmas Day, Calmly took the fond musician Gently far away. Thus it is the world's gay fashion. Ever various and so changeful, Thought has for to-day, — Thought it has not for the shunned one, Past and cast away. Fashion loves her new companions, Merit lonely dies : Fashion wins, through all that 's worldly ; Fashion wins, but glorious merit Rests in Paradise. ITA EST. I SOUGHT a dewdrop pure one April morning, And yet where'er I peered each leaf was dry — E'en all the skies Dame Nature seemed scorning, When soon a shower fell from out the sky. 'T is so I seek a tear upon the cheek Of some mild maid whose gentle, contrite heart Hath erred, and ere I know she is so weak From ready springs a flood of tears doth start. H THE LAST WHO SING. " O, CARE we who sung this or that ? 'T is we at last who sing," — The robin who in meadows calls Takes flight on crimson wing. Yet he who sings hath not his song, While he who steals apart, And sings in some far solitude, Hath music in his heart. For song is but a moment's joy That, passing, soon is lost ; 'T is but the blooming of a bud Nipped by an early frost. The song that lives for e'er and aye Must echo in thy mind. And tho' thou livest fourscore years 'Twill sing in every wind. Nor care we who sung this or that — The sweetest song 's ne'er kept Forever in the grave's deep lore By them who long have slept. 2S 26 THE LAST WHO SING. But in the living song of songs That dies not with the voice ; — We care not who sung this or that, For we in song rejoice. SONG. Sing of high courage and hope And one strong mood to-day, — Sing of the scourge and the rope Yestere'en tho' ye may. Sing of sweet freedom of mind, Sing with the voice of the breeze ; Harmonious chords we may find Where'er there are songs Ulce these. Fill thy great voice with laughter. Fill thy sweet songs with hope, Let not the drear Hereafter In sweet Elysium grope. Cast out all taint from To-morrow, Live while there 's joyfulness, now ! Madcaps can give naught but sorrow, Sorrow that furrows the brow. In grief there 's nothing but madness ; Sing now of joy and of cheer, — Hell has a meed for mad sadness, Sadness so wan and so drear. 27 28 SONG. Let thy songs echo where folly Clings to its ruin of age, — Laugh to scorn old Melancholy, Laugh in the face of stern rage. BY THE SEA-GRASS ON THE HEADLAND. A SPRAY of sea-grass on the headland, A waft of wild winds that are drear, Yet hither my sweetheart ne'er cometh, Cometh to give me cheer, 'T was here that she promised to meet me, 'T was here that my fate would be sealed ; But only the dashing and foaming Of the sea is revealed. O Thou to whom souls are the secrets, Of truths born of hope and of hate, Is this dashing and foaming the answer Determining my fate ? Then Thee, O fair God, do I conjure : Grant this to my heart that is sore, That she shall be drown'd in a shipwreck, And cast here on this shore. Nay, think not that loving and longing Make longing and love worth their cost ; For the heart and the soul of the lover Are oft in hatred lost. 30 BY THE SEA-GRASS ON THE HEADLAND. And Thou, to whom souls are the secrets Of man's little faith and great doubt, Dost know why mad love is revengeful, And, putting faith to rout, It lurks in wan shades slowly waning Ere shrouding themselves in the night ; Thou knowest that man when revengeful Lives in careless delight. Yet, she was so fair and so rosy, I would not, — nay, could not, ask Death To toss her on crests of wild billows, So stifling her last breath. But, lay her here gently, — more gently Than ever maid fell at man's feet, For by the sea-grass on the headland Fate doth decree we shall meet. NO MEED FOR THE LUKEWARM. Ah ! what hath he who ne'er renews his Hfe, Whose eye doth never burn with shifting fire, Who with eternal truth evades all strife And each day lights his own funereal pyre ? 'T is aspiration leads us to the skies, And fills our orbs with light that inward glows — Sweet gift from Him who never aught denies, Yet guards so well the light that from Him flows. 31 SONG. Love me, and my light Shines as stars in night ; Hate me, and my hate Will with thine abate. Love me, and sweet peace Bids my love increase ; Fitful, evil hate Needs a bitter fate. Joy and happy love Merit grace above ; Anger, base and hot. Boils the Devil's pot. Kiss me, — peace be thine, Love is thine and mine ; Man and bird and beast Join in God's love feast. 32 KITH AND KIN. The bee buzzed out of the lily, And sang about my head ; Then flew down into the valley, While sad, wild tears I shed. For I dreamed of winning Elsie, Who buzzed about my heart ; When just as I knew I loved her She murmured, " We must part." The bee was akin to Elsie, Who fled the mountain-side, — For she loved Phil-o'-the-valley, And soon became his bride. I then saw they were like Cupid, Who pierces with his dart, Then flies to my nearest neighbor To conquer his weak heart. O, ye whose love is so tender, Woe has no balm for love, — O, come ye down to the valley. There 's only woe above. 3 33 34 KITH AND KIN. For love that is life 's not folly, And folly has no care : True love that 's born of great sorrow Must nought of follies share. To own one's love is to forfeit The sweets of forbidden chase ; None are less sure than the lover, He e'er may keep his place. THE POET AND THE BEE. I LOITERED by the riverside, With all my cares forgot, And watched the changing of the tide, And dreamed of what was not. I plucked a rose, a rose full-thorned. When from it flew a bee, — A bee that loitered not, but scorned My poet's liberty. I sought a theme, but from it flew The sweets of its sweet blessing — So green the grass, the sky so blue : Came happiest caressing From songs of birds and zephyrs blent ; O, life so kind, supreme, If beauty reigns where souls are sent I ne'er again would dream. And slowly day drew to its close. And stiller grew the stream : The bee again hid in my rose, And I hid in my dream. 35 36 THE POET AND THE BEE. The bee then suck'd the sugar'd rose, And flew so far away, No sweets had I at quick'ning close Of that eventful day. SONNETS. SONNETS. PERSONAL. Ah ! what have I that in some future times Shall cause some heart to find pure sentiment With this weak verse of mine so humbly blent ? Will these warm thoughts — O, will these anxious rhymes — Each like a tendril as it slowly climbs — Be broken off by some rude, faithless hand ? O, what may one's prayer crave from our vast land Where men do feel the pulse of pantomimes? And yet, 't were well if o'er my grave is placed A plain hewn stone on which is rudely graved, In letters that will thwart the waste of years, " Here lieth one whose life was sweetly graced, O'er whose fond soul the flag of truce e'er waved, And sought companionship with men's best peers." "AWAY FROM CLERKLY CARES." Away from clerkly cares all life is sweet, And holy truths do find my welcome thought Outstretched to greet them as on wings they're brought, Or carried by some speedy elfins' feet ; 39 40 "O LET ME HAIL THEEr How great is life when all the pleasures meet In one kind heart with godly sunshine filled And every angry tumult calmly stilled — How charmingly the morning seems to greet Our innocence ! The dearth of want and wrong Doth spur the singing heart of man to song, And make of every soul a throne. O Maker ! We never see beyond Thy Golden Acre O'erveiled with rainbows, yet when life is past We yield our joys to Thee for dowers more vast. "O, LET ME HAIL THEE." O, LET me hail thee on some beauteous day, And tread with thee a path untrod by men, To penetrate the haunts of Jenny Wren, Or view with awe the oriole's bright display Of wings ; or pluck the Iceland mosses gray ; So with the balms which Nature freely yields In woodlands or in swaying wheaten fields Return we through wide meadows laid with hay. Wouldst thou with me interpret Nature's laws ? And feel the budding spring in every nerve ? And with old cronies know th' approach of rain ? Know then that birth with growth is primal cause From which no living thing shall ever swerve, Or all the truth of God would be in vain. " WINGS HAVE MY THOUGHTS:' 4 1 TO EMERSON. O Concord sage ! my star of early days, Who, knowing not, my life were weak indeed ; Hadst thou not sown in me the noble seed Of nobler thought, I could not bring this praise ; For unto me thou cam'st when in a maze My youth was wand'ring, tossed from weak to strong : Thou interven'dst, and led me from the wrong And sham and lies and all their shameless ways, And gave me insight into Nature's charms Which entered into no man's life as thine. For thou didst seek in her the truth divine : In Nature's gen'rous essence were no harms ; Then shall I say 'mid critic's wrangling strife, " Rare Plato once again did come to life." "WINGS HAVE MY THOUGHTS." Wings have my thoughts, and flying here and there They seek th' embrace of some unbridled breeze Or flit about as birds 'mid forest trees, Ne'er mindful of wild storms nor deathly air. What hast thou then to give me that is rare And unpolluted as a thought so pure It through all aeons shall in pride endure? Why dost thou bring ideas so lowly, bare ? 42 OUR FOREFATHERS. I seek not old nor faulty, barren truths That play their parts as men without keen wits, But thoughts that may inspire warm-souled youths Who flout all show of wrong with cries of " Quits ! " Wings have my thoughts — 't is far from channels old The miner finds new harvests of fine gold. OUR FOREFATHERS. Ah ! strong in heart were they who so forsook Their native land the mighty kingdom trembled, When on their ships the Pilgrim sires assembled, And with the scorn of scorn cast back one look Wherein the hope of all they undertook Was bright ; and all the sweet delights of peace Unseen but not unsought, without surcease Were drawn in plenty from their Guardian Book. O Holy Bible, thou hast granted grace To many a Pilgrim casting off the yoke Of unreligious laws ; and yet no trace Of high achievement equals that fell stroke Which severed souls from blunt un-Christian rites That lighted pyres of pain on England's heights. THE RIVER MYSTIC. Lay thy soft hands in mine as on we tread Beside the banks where Pilgrims oft have trod, Breathing a prayer to their Almighty God That no starved, lurking Indian raise his head LIGHT. 43 Nor tauntingly molest them. Blood was shed On thy fair verdant shores ; and here so blithe Fair maids, sweet versed in foreign ways and lithe In mind and form, with youthful fancies bred, Dreading nought but that kind virtue taught them dread, Sported as were their souls ne'er filled with fear. Here mused the sturdy Winthrop ; there Paul Re- vere Crossed, — recrossed, as toward Lexington he sped ; — Now, dost thou inward flow and out in languid tide As merest fancies on thy bosom ride. LIGHT. All light on earth from God doth emanate. Shining from one great Sun with constant ray — Nor yet such sun as brings forth night and day Nor casts its gloom upon our low estate ; — Its light hath flecks that seem so often great. Yet will the number grow in measure less As we our virtue into service press To cleanse the foul instincts commensurate With worldly hope that raiseth not a soul Above weak daily life. Who will not cast Their hopes away from the grave, thankless past Must brave the waves of Time that o'er them roll. Raise up thine eyes ! absorb the azure stream, That thine own soul with holiness may gleam. 44 ^ THOUGHT IN A FIELD. A THOUGHT IN A FIELD. E'en in the fields, the murmur of the bees, The still, mysterious growth of tiny ferns, Are truths from which man daily, hourly learns : So, too, the song of birds in woodland trees And movements of the unseen perfumed breeze Are secrets. God is tireless, and oft doth steal By strangest paths into man's soul. I feel The great and wondrous power that foresees And yet doth trust the will of man to bow As mortal in obeisance to the Sov'reign mind ; The fairy, flitting flies that pass me now As through the daisy-laden field I wind, The twinkling stars of Heaven do emulate — Ah ! they know naught of God who know no fate. LIFE'S JEWELS. The sorrow of the soul is deeply set, Forgiving and forgetful ; but each tear Wears down the hardy rock beneath, — the mere Slow dripping of a sorrow seldom met With aught of kindness : without fret It sees the warmth decrease, and ev'ry frown Bestirs a sacred jewel from life's crown. Quick caught by Fate in her close-woven net. TO WORDSWORTH. 45 Great souls like these are weak in worldly eyes, — And borne adown the stream as on it flows Into the sea of hardship and unease ; But such are souls that sinking soon do rise More purely cleansed of burdens and of woes — And One doth govern blessed souls like these. HARMONIOUS MUSIC. O THOU controller of the mysteries Of passions and of woe and joy and love That waft the soul on songs so far above The hum of life, and penetrate the skies And all the forms of thought our God denies To baser men, I know not how to praise The majesty of thy sustaining lays, For in my soul a peacefulness doth rise Obscuring sin from mine aspiring birth. So marshaled by thy rhythm do I rehearse The modes of life so long described of Heaven, Where faith and love do gain their mooted worth And 'scape the awfulness of thoughtless curse : Sweet food art thou, well blest by holy leaven. TO WORDSWORTH, AFTER READING HIS XXXTH ECCLESIASTICAL SONNET. " For what contend the wise ? " Ah ! thou didst find In freedom from coarse Sense true wisdom lies : 'T is this, I ask : with what contend the wise ? For, granting thou didst ever see entwined 46 WISDOM. About the holier records of the mind The tendrils of vain seeing, hearing, taste. And nerves and smell that have so oft misplaced The aim of truth, — as oft made justice blind, — I know that thou didst know strong friction harms Sweet aspiration. How many sins retard The course of beauty and the thousand charms That keep the wand'ring spirits of the bard In bondage mild, while many purer themes Do ripple through his brain like mountain streams ! WISDOM. Through wisdom and through knowledge men behold What sweet content have they in whom the truth Is all in all, nor scorn the arts of youth, Who in the cradle 'gins to be a scold, And yearns to cleanse the evils which enfold The charms of life that aged men despise And call such monstrous, e'en disastrous lies Wrought into being by the false and bold. But Wisdom, charming Folly's loving mate. Possessed of tranquil, ever-certain skill. Proves unto man how God on earth is great, As well as Heaven, where His so holy will Doth more increase the power of Wisdom's power Which unto man is given by Death as dower. A PITY 'TIS. 47 HEREDITY. In birth is fate : thy father knows thine end Nor tells it thee : his soul is sealed, too, — His secret ne'er will pass from him to you. Ah ! great indeed is he who, born a friend To every noble truth, all truths shall mend Whose semblance of the truth have passed their prime — Their visages now scarred by active Time. In birth is fate ; obscurely do they send Thy mind and hope the spirit of true power Whose lives were fashioned in an earlier age Than thine, and blent their faith and will With men whose graves engulf them : 't is thy dower To read thy father's name on history's page, And feel within thee his great spirit still. A PITY 'TIS. A PITY 't is — and yet 't is not a pity Men come of clay, and to loose clay return. For some do seek immortal life and yearn For Heaven's meed. To some, life is a ditty Sung through each ghostly day in some vast city, And they would sing for aye their revels gay. Nor grant to Death the toll each one must pay. Immortal is the soul, — so scorn the pretty, 48 DMMONIAC LOVE. Fantastic ways of life : thy place is 'mong the great, Whose peaceful souls and joys do overflow And bless all people with their sunlit cheer ; — No crumbling flesh disturbs immortal fate : The golden radiance from their lives doth flow And make of death a peerless, vaster sphere. DtEmoniac love. O, DEEP Daemoniac power ! thou bidst me sing To them who list, my songs of lowly worth. That I may crave some homage ; yet its dearth Could never bid me shun thee, nor could sting With poisoned dart the graceful fleeting wing Of lightsome fancy which my mind doth love — Wilt thou then ever bring me from above The leave to drink the liquor of thy spring ? I pray thee grant me meed that virtue hath : Its own reward for all I truly do As on I tread the lonely, shrouded path, — That I may gaze on Heaven's faultless blue — For thee my love will with itself condole, And quaff with joy the nectar of thy soul. IN MEMORIAM, 49 IN MEMORIAM. Sweet April bade me greeting at my birth, But his made fair one red October morn Which lovers of warm June do feebly scorn, And crave the fragrance sweet of Springtime's worth. As those who seem inspired by treacherous mirth I can nor say nor dream of anything Lest this most treacherous month of budding Spring, Wherein the mortal Shakespeare left our earth, With oscillating spirit hovers o'er, And fills me with some calm or holy rage That reason's judgment cannot seem t' assuage. It probes my heart until my heart is sore : — In him whom Autumn claimed as her own child No passion rose, — in him all life was mild. II. How oft, when friends are lost, and new ones take Their place, and, looking back upon the past, I see my flight outrun the lost and last, There rises once again the swirling wake Through billows I ignored for his fond sake ; And wonder whence my flight shall take its way To live in heart of friend thro' ev'ry day Still given to me. How hearts so fond do quake ! 4 50 GALL AND HONEY. I know not whence the evil spirit came — I know not how it reft the trust and faith — My only mem'ry is a shallow wraith That unto me my loss doth oft proclaim. I shudder, stunned I know not whence nor why — For life turns vague through love's own falsity. GALL AND HONEY. O, WHY should I with tears in my young eyes — Not tears of woe, but tears of pain and blight That sorely blind me in my hope for light — O, why should I be brought to face the lies And shames of men, when holy liberties And joys of sacred truth and meditation Would lead me from the throes of consternation That drowns us in its vast perplexities ? O, why, O God, are we in kinship brought With all the base and bitter wrongs of life, When, separated from the sodden strife, Our lives would purer be, and purer, too, our thought? Yet o'er this strife Thou reignest still supreme, And I, in patience, practice o'er my dream. EPIGRAMS AND QUATRAINS. EPIGRAMS AND QUATRAINS. Shed all thy light about, forego all shame, — Would'st thou let grope in darksome, treach'rous ways Those poor to whom one truth would light their frame, And win for thee a rayless man's sweet praise ? " Teach me the way to live ! " he cried, For all his lines were drawn in crooked ways ; "Teach me thy way, O God ! " and died, — To Him who granted truth be all the praise. GAIN AND LOSS. No Brahmin but hath in him one great shrine Where sin and woe and shallow truths are purged From out the Self doth soulful Beauty shine, — Within the Self false Beauty is submerged. S3 54 EPIGRAMS AND QUATRAINS. CONFUCIUS AND OTHERS. Great Pagans cherish truths, nor yet condemn The works of Christ, for good are they in heart, And truth to them is life, a holy gem Well set and kept, nor sold in any mart. WESLEY AND OTHERS. Great Christians look without and breathe a prayer For all grim-stained and sin-enveloped lives. For having love they give it and declare Sweet peace on God's great holiness e'er thrives. HEINE. So much was given by thee thou wast bereft Of sweetest peace and joy devoid of pain ; And like the rose when naught but form is left Endured thy wan death o'er and o'er again. II. To fields so green and waving trees bedecked Thine arms were far outstretched as surly Death Didst shake thy life-worn carcass evil-wrecked : What bliss 'mongst them to breathe thy final breath ! EPIGRAMS AND QUATRAINS. 55 EMERSON. Interpreter of mighty truths to souls That open were to thee, thine own delight Was blent with faith that in all brains controls The magic that doth grant the blind their sight. NO UNION. True love and peace together '11 ne'er be tied, For love stirs up in wine the bitter dregs, — Which peace must drink, or drink will be denied j Still, peace bows down to Love, and humbly begs. CHANGE. On my fair maiden's breast I lay my head, But found it there a most intemp'rate bed, — For while she breathed, her love it seemed to cease Therewith did end my seeming endless peace. True manhood's noonday shadows hold The dews of boyhood's morning : In age those gentle shades become Night's ever faithful warning. $6 EPIGRAMS AND QUATRAINS. O HAPPY maid who parts not love from laughter, Give o'er thy soul to joy ; 't is but a space Ere thou shalt know sweet peace doth follow after False Love hath dropped from out his wayward race. How blithe a maiden's spirit when all 's fair : Deep woe is gloom, nor blithesome can it be When all is woe endowed by weighty care : Fond maidens to be glad must through woe see. I KNOW not whence, nor whither, nor why The meteors flash in the midnight sky, Yet God hath in His manifold ways Bade me his wondrous powers to praise. Above this life God is not, but within And all around it ; reigning from above, He guides with never-ceasing, helpful love. Dispersing truth from falsehood, good from sin. Beside the paths of life old Time lies waiting Upon each mortal passing by debating, And conning o'er and o'er the span of years Ere night shall fall when twilight disappears. EPIGRAMS AND QUATRAINS. 57 O LIGHT of thought ! O life of books ! O dreams of land and sea ! Whence come ye with thy joyful looks ? Whence go ye ? Ask Eternity. True grief alone hath power to 'suage its loss, And throw its heavy pall into the Past, Whereto all wo and pallor should be cast, Nor held to mar the beauty of the Cross. ADIEU. IN YOUTH. A singer's early rhymes are ne'er in time With strange pulse-beats of men ; To all the world he seems a pantomime Danced wildly o'er again. 'T is strange ; aye, wondrous strange ! Bold, trenchant truths Do bubble from deep wells Wherein the depth is not perceived of youths — There Song so shyly dwells. In youth is caught but the murmur Of the sparkling, gurgling spring : Until the ear is familiar No youth great songs may sing. 'T is long after youth man seeth How vain is all he hath heard : 'T is only a gentle zephyr That hath his feelings stirred. 6i 62 IN YOUTH. Ah ! when the deep cup of passion Long quaffed is cast away, And thought in its holy suff'ring Hath lived from day to day, Then song shall find its true mission To wash my dreams from stain. And gladly to song I '11 turn me To sing to thee again. V ^ 70 86 w / ^-, ''• 4 O^ ■^^ Deaciditied using the Bookkeeper process. *P Neutralizing Agent: Magnesium Oxide ' "^ Treatment Date: ^rn'^ JBR, JAN 1533 tBBKKEEPER ESERVATION TECHNOLOGIES. LP. Thnm<^nn Park Dnu^ ^'>, H <\J ^^ ' V , ^ ' A> PRESERVATION TECHNOLOGIES. LP. OV « • o ""^ ■» * 1 1 1 Thomson Park Drive -_, ».*<3?>'» 't* Cranberry Township, PA 16066 ) o ♦>* -V^ ^ .feamillllllE::^' _ ^ .-, T> <. *'..5'> ,0 ^^' ^''%. •r . % ^^^^ 'bV" ,<^''\*^^'".X A-^^^^.^^^X'/V .