Glass J?S.:M3 Rnnk ,.I4 4 3T5 CopyiiglitN". 30b COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. TILES FROM THE PORGELAIN TOWER TILES FROM THE PORCELAIN TOWER BY EDWARD GILCHRIST Happy they ! Thrice fortunate ! who of that fragile mould. The precious porcelain of human clay, Break with the first fall : they can ne'er behold The long year link'd with heavy day on day, And all which must be borne and never told ; While life's strange principle will often lie Deepest in those who long the most to die. Don Juan, Canto IV, Stanza 11. CAMBRIDGE JJrinteU at X^t EiterfiiiHe JJcega; 1906 LIBRARY of CONGRESS Tv/o Copies Received DEC 6 1906 . Copyright Entry ,^ CLASS A XXc, I No. .S\3 TS3 .I44-3TS' COPYRIGHT 1906 BY EDWARD GILCHRIST ALL RIGHTS RESERVED CONTENTS Invocation 1 A Floral Calendar 3 A Song of the Sap 6 Bird Notes 9 En Route H Jasmine's Receipt 13 Safe Navigation 15 korolyeva 16 The Mystic Cavalier 1*7 A Life-Mask • 19 An Unspoken Epilogue 21 The Tribes of the Titan 23 Kai Yuan 25 The Pipe of Doom 30 The Forced March 32 On the Shield 34 The Tentmakers 38 A Dust Storm 42 The Mirror of Narcissus 45 The Two Taverns 47 The Dayspring 49 When the Clock struck Thirteen ... 51 A Lyre of Limbo 54 The Lady of the Mist 59 Lost Inspiration 62 The True Glory 63 vi CONTENTS Translations : Epigrams from the Greek Anthology . . 65 From the Danish The Roses of the Hulder .... 68 From the Russian The Cossack Courier 75 The Tears of the Mothers .... 77 Mortal Ironies 78 From the Chinese The White SwaUow 79 At the Grave of Hsiao Hsiao-ho ... 80 Sonnets : An Ultimatum 81 Tennyson : A Memoir 83 To Hermes Angelus 84 In a Mountain Lamasery 85 The Porcelain Tower 87 TILES FROM THE PORCELAIN TOWER TILES FROM THE PORCELAIN TOWER INVOCATION Thy beauty makes not the muezzin-call To worship that men deem divine. No lights between thy lids keep festival, A chilly mine Of gems to shine For one and all. Not thine to dazzle with insensate charm. No cavalier sighs in thy train, Nor thine the perfidy that doth disarm, A face that feigns At lovers' pains A coy alarm. But for the soul thou hast a searching ray That pierces mortal flesh to find Not perfect porcelain nor blemish'd clay; A constant mind Beneath the rind Where passions play. INVOCATION Thou art a lamp to every darken'd power That works with silentness for peace, A rainbow, in bereavement's loit'ring hour Purpling the fleece That shall release Love's richest shower! A FLORAL CALENDAR Hail and farewell, Sweet blossom nurtured in the snow That doth compel Thy shape with its star-crystals ere they go! Thou callest Spring Back from the sealed sepulchre of earth, Yet diest witnessing her strange new birth When the first robins sing O'er broken shell. Hail, mayflower! Farewell! Hail and farewell, Rich rose that greetest Summer with thy lips! Thou mayst but tell Thy passion to the gossip-bee that dips Deep in thy heart. When for the Eden where no beauties perish A mystic gardener culls thee, to cherish In that forbidden part Whence Adam fell. Hail, rosebud — and farewell! A FLORAL CALENDAR Hail and farewell. Prince-prelate of the August wilderness. That in the dell. With gorgeous scarlet for thy hat and dress, Hearest a mass Said for the soul of Summer by the birds. Too proud to bend thy head at sacred words, And signless letting pass The sacring-bell ! Hail, cardinal! Farewell! Hail and farewell. Gold-truncheon' d marshal of the red array! Thou canst not quell The rout of leaves along the autumn way. That erst wore green. Their squadrons fly before November's van; The victor shrouds them all in sombre tan In dingle and in dene. O'er field and fell. Hail, goldenrod! Farewell! Hail and farewell, All blessed saints of floral calendar! Now in the cell And catacomb of bitter days ye are; But pagan frost A FLORAL CALENDAR 5 Of persecution shall not long prevail, Winter and Death are Knights who bring the Grail That we need last and most, — Sleep's quick'ning spell. Hail, flowers! Hail and farewell! A SONG OF THE SAP O DOUBTING boy. Drink of each joy While spring is in thy heart. Pluck fruit and flower Of passing hour. Nor shun the nettle's smart! Dread not the twinge In pleasure's fringe; I know that from the thorn To be exempt Would not me tempt. And many have I worn! For badge assume No flower of gloom Devoid of scent and sting. But on thy brow The rose bind thou. And envy not the King! A SONG OF THE SAP Oh, never brood Upon the Rood Ere time hath tonsured thee; But dare fulfill Each sigh and thrill Of nature sane and free! With heart's ink write. And boldly smite The harp that's highly strung; Let Mass be said But for the dead And in an unknown tongue! A miser curst Was he that first Did pray 'gainst sudden death. Who would not spend Nor give nor lend A moment of his breath. Why hoard thy stock Of grain and flock For threescore years and ten. To pay thy nurse Or deck thy hearse Or silence clergymen ? A SONG OF THE SAP Be no man's drudge. But never grudge The joys that others find, 'T is ne'er too soon To take a boon, Too early to be kind! There's no success That's worth the stress Of vigil or of fast To him that greets Each day he meets As if it were his last. No solemn priest At Cana's feast But deems it, tho' divine. Exceeding strange That one should change Life's water into wine ! BIRD NOTES OuB forefathers attuned their minstrelsy To simpler chords than we; 'Twixt harp and throat lies no harmonic ocean. No strangeness in the tongue of an emotion Like the great orchestra's resounding surge. Or wailing winds pent in an organ dirge. What have we gain'd who supersede the lute. The zither, and the flute For brass and bellows, or the bow that stings A violin to wake the wildest things That prowl within the jungle of the soul ? We have invoked the satyr and the ghoul. What have we lost ? The native wine of song That by a feather'd throng Is vinted each new summer thro' the wold. The ancient tale of love that ne'er is told Too often, but shall be as blithely sung When Art is dead as when all arts were young. 10 BIRD NOTES Hark! 'T is that tiny troubadour of spring, The robin, carolling; Careless who criticise his style, elate K but the tones may touch his tender mate. Love ignorant of death throbs in that air, Hymns that are full of praise, but not of prayer. robin, pouring forth thine ecstasy. Thou bringest unto me A drop of cheerfulness that can assuage A moment of the thirst of pilgrimage. 1 would that at the last thy note might be My " Bon Voyage ! " into eternity ! EN ROUTE ** What is the road to a maiden's heart ? Tell me the way, Traveler gray, Whither to journey and whence to start. Answer me truly, pray!" ** Start from Life's beach, and climb the hill That crowns the bay Of childish play. Skirt the Lake of Dreams and cross the Rill Of Laughter ere you stay. Turn to the right by the trysting-stile In the meadows gay With scented hay That is made 'neath the sun of a damsel's smile Of sweet and transient ray. And tho' it rain, yet must you ne'er Let fond dismay Your quest betray, For love with moods will she ensnare. And her face is an April day." n EN ROUTE "Then will you not lead me, pilgrim old. Lest I should stray ? " "Ah, stranger, nay! My path lies in December cold, Your path is thro' the May!" JASMINE'S RECEIPT The mountain summits clear and blue As porcelain of Kintechun Peep through the feathery bamboo; Adown the slopes, bom of the dew. Bright streamlets run. Jasmine the flower fills all the air, Jasmine the girl holds all my heart, She wears her namesake in her hair (But lass with blossom to compare Were want of art). She walks with tiny, falt'ring feet That mock the gait of infancy, Yet nothing needs she to complete Her grace, and all her steps are sweet That lead to me. When in yon gay kiosk we sup At eve, she laughing bids me tell How many fingers she holds up — Ah, many is the forfeit-cup Her hands compel ! 14 JASMINE'S RECEIPT And as the mellow liquor steams, Her plaintive voice and lute are heard, The air a bird's impromptu seems And conjures evanescent dreams Of joy deferr'd. Then oft I bid the damsel hush. And, quickly to mine ink-stone turning, I strive to form with pencil-brush Some lines that may translate the thrush For human learning. O song that breathes of summer skies. With impulse of perfection fluent, Stay, till thy secret I apprise. Nor ever from the weary wise Remain a truant! Vain task ! But Jasmine says : " I sing Thus, for I love thee with no lore. Do thou, my learned poet, bring Less of the unessential thing. Of passion more!" SAFE NAVIGATION Like silver sails that on midsummer seas Do gleam and vanish, are thy phantasies. Riding in careless grace along the wave That is a glass and yet may be a grave. O fragile bark, whose voyage was begun Under a gentle breeze and mellow sun. Tack not at every breath, nor fear each shoal Foaming before thee is thy destin'd goal. So to a haven shalt thou come at length, Rockbound, but rich in shelter and in strength! KOROLYl^VA Ev'n as a wintry star Breaketh its lance of light on frozen river. Baffled my pleadings are Tho' sparks upon thy haughty lids may quiver; A love that cometh from afar Can thaw no drop of pity for the giver. Ev'n as a rose in bloom, Thou hast no jealousy of humbler flowers. For thine 't is to assume Unchallenged royalty of summer hours; Before the nodding of thy plume Each vassal blossom in obeisance cowers. Hast thou indeed no taste For aught but adoration bending lowly? Then was the boon a waste That tinged thee with illusion warm and holy, But on a pedestal hath placed Apart from life, in marble melancholy! THE MYSTIC CAVALIER Better ne'er met than met too late ! Better ne'er met — we are not free ! I've ta'en th' inconstant wind to mate. And all thy spring of ardency Can quicken not old Winter's rime: Ah, why met we, if not in time ? Better to part ere 't is too late. Not furtively and guiltily. Nor railing 'gainst the face of Fate That veils itself in cruelty. Tho' wind and frost be now unkind. What summer may not lurk behind ? ^ Nay, then we had not met in vain. And keeping faith would be as sweet As now 't is bitter with the pain Of hearts denied their paraclete. If to our lips some year that 's hidden Should bring the chalice long forbidden. 18 THE MYSTIC CAVALIER For even in millennial June A rose upspringing from my breast Might send a bee with nuptial shoon To rose thine ashes had express'd; So, lying *mid the vanquish'd dead Thro' ages sunder'd, we should wedl A LIFE-MASK He is fit, if a fitness be proved in survival. By malevolence smoothly congeal'd in a smile. In supple alertness to ruin a rival, By gesture that deprecates guile. He is true, if fidelity be introspective, And generous — not to a fault — with his friends ; But his knowledge so accurate is of perspective That impulse with interest blends. He tacks to each gust of advance or reaction, And never has work'd for a desperate cause. But speaks most superbly in aid of the faction Coming in on the tide of applause. He has eloquent scorn for the frailties of passion He never has felt, that he never may feel; Fate gives him the cards in a prodigal fashion. Whoever may happen to deal. 20 A LIFE-MASK His youth was an autumn, his manhood a winter, In age who can hope that his nature will thaw ? He has burn'd thro' a lifetime each faggot and splinter Adjudged him by custom and law. Such as he is, let him pass or surpass us, Reach the cold eminence whither he climbs; Grudge not the facile ascent of Parnassus Made by a master of rhymes! Pity ye rather the need that abuses The trust of a comrade's o'erconfident heart. And the soul that a human identity loses In dwelling forever apart! AN UNSPOKEN EPILOGUE (for "a woman of no importance") We ring the curtain down with cheers Upon our masqued '* MoraUties," Those who have wept, to dry their tears And smiHng greet " Reahties;" Or hghtly fancy as they go The Tragedy lay in the Show. Ring down the curtain, and depart From the warped wisdom of its baize! " There is no Truth — or Truth is Art; There is no Blame — else Blame is Praise; There is no Fiction — save the Fact; No Acting — but in the Entr'acte! " Each cold and brilliant epigram, Like an envenom'd dagger's blade Twin-edged for Substance and for Sham, Wounded the cunning hand that made; — His snaky weapon's final test Is on the Armorer exprest. 22 AN UNSPOKEN EPILOGUE A horde of echoes from the " Wings " Are in the heart's vault resonant. The Furies' laughter, full of stings. Or requiem that demons chant. When bells infernal seem to toll » In mockery of the human soul. O that some Marston might arise To rede this riddle on the stage. Unveiling for our wistful eyes The mystery of this New Age; And let its first performance be Billed as "The Playwright's Tragedy!" THE TRIBES OF THE TITAN Race whose drum-beat marks the quickstep of the morning, Whose reveille attends each rising of the sun, I salute ye in your continents and islands. Not in government, but glory, ye are one ! Ever onward, ever eastward, ever westward Push your banners, with their crosses or their stars, And behind them tramp the foster-sons of free- dom From the pink of dawn to even's ruddy bars. What a heritage of power is your portion! What a destiny of wonder doth await The fruition of your struggles in the future. Giant offspring of a tiny sea-girt State! Tho'the despot and the demagogue may threaten. Flinch ye never, faint ye never by the way! 24 THE TRIBES OF THE TITAN Half the world your hive hath given law and language That shall only with the planet pass away! Law that lifts the poor and humble into man- hood, Tongue enrich'd by every climate of the earth — These have level'd pride and privilege before them, Set brotherhood beyond the claim of birth ! From the faith that made its votary a bondman, From the sordid necromancy of the priest, Ye have broken, but your love hath never fal- ter'd To the Star that rose in splendor o'er the East ! All your envies and your jealousies are kindled By the foemen that ye baffled long ago. Let them plant the tare to reap a barren harvest. The wheat of peace and concord ye must sow ! Let your ensigns aye salute and never challenge. In a covenant of equals ye must share, Let the Lion be the chieftain of the forest. And the Eagle lead the legion of the air! KAI YUAN Between the Po-yang Lake and Yang-tse rise The Hills of Lu, a titan cloisonne Of malachite and turquoise ere the day Dieth in splendor, and with western skies Sharing the amber blushes left upon Their cheeks by the last kisses of the sun. Full many fledgeling streams with silver treble Fly from that rugged nest o'er shale and pebble. Like truants for the mighty river make. Or hide within the bosom of the lake. One that is born amid the wild bees' hum In fastness where all larger life is dumb Biddeth the terraced foothills bloom and smile As if to mock in miniature the Nile; But murmureth to the Yang-tse, fleck'd with flowers, 'T was here Kai Yuan built his votive towers. Kai Yuan, the wise Son of Heaven, Dozing in his tent at even. Saw the rose-clouds of the west With a vast encampment drest; 26 KAI YUAN Banners proudly poled O'er imperial pavilions Ample for the countless millions By the King of Death enroU'd. The other Self, that sleepeth when we wake, Breathed from Kai Yuan an ecstatic prayer That, shod with silence, climb'd the gorgeous air, And to the bivouac of phantoms spake : " Spirits, whosoe'er ye be, Of my sacred Ancestry, What may I, that hold the Earth By the right of Heavenly Birth, Do to welcome ye ? From what island of the sky To the world's marge draw ye nigh Bringing ghostly grace to me ? " Then from among the tents that gleam'd afar A Figure stood forth on a shining car. Its wheels with studded carbuncles aglow. And upon either side a martial row Of archers gay on milk-white ponies came, Their surcoats were a cloth of woven flame. Across the hither heaven did they ride, Halted, and then a thrilling voice replied: " Kai Yuan, Son of Heaven, behold Thy kinsmen of the Age of Gold, KAI YUAN 27 Thy blessed Ancestry; This mead hereafter they will haunt In high and holy covenant To consecrate thy majesty. " So build, in trophy of thy reign. Upon this site a tower'd fane, Where centuries to be May learn the Wisdom of the Way, The secrets of the starry sway That fiUeth the infinity. Thro' nine firmaments descending Reach we now our journey's ending, And 't is our behest That the name of thy foundation ;Honor'd be throughout the nation As 'The Shrine of Heavenly Quest'!" The Son of Heaven awoke, as out of sight The gourd of day dipp'd in the well of night. Kai Yuan, with a solemn zeal impress'd, Hasten'd to satisfy his glorious Guest; So, taking counsel with the priests who ponder The lore of Lao-tse, workers of deep wonder. He gather'd swarms of cunning artisans To whom the inspiration of the plans Game also from that far prismatic shore 28 KAI YUAN Of heaven where dwells the * Pearly Emperor,' And like enchantment on the destined site Arose a temple of the Taoist Rite. The Hills of Lu gave up their fleece of firs To frame it, caverns 'neath their rocky spurs Yielded symbolic stains for each pavilion, Scarlet and White and Green and rich Vermilion. Here taper'd turrets fringed with tremulous bells, And there loom'd towers whence came the harsher knells Of brazen gong or tympan's deeper roll In many tones appealing to the soul. But in the centre of the Close A fountain from a tank arose Out of a lily nest. Where sparkling water bubbled through Pipes of the delicate bamboo From springs beneath the mountain-crest; And every stone or grain of sand That paved the pool, might deck the hand Or forehead of a queen; The orient ruby's sanguine blaze, The emerald of purest rays. And sapphire with its moonlit sheen Stored in their facets all the light Of Day-star, and gave forth at night KAI YUAN 29 A dim and frosty fire That made of every nenuphar The likeness of a fallen star Or virgin-victim on a pyre. By geomantic table, slow revolving, Stood the v^an wizards, time and tide resolving. Five iron fingers jutted from the table, Four to the compass cardinals inclining, And one the zenith of the sky defining; Upon a hollow sphere the Hand was stable, And at the augur's slightest touch it spun The fates of men and courses of the sun. Here too was mixt the youth-renewing draught, The Wine of Life that never hath been quaff'd. And here the priceless formula was told For turning baser metals into gold; But not a vestige of such mighty powers Remaineth, save the ruins of twin towers And the rust-eaten Iron Hand that wrote The oracles of vague astrology. No lilies blossom in the thirsty moat Whose gems are gone; yet one at eve may see A cloud encampment in the radiant west, And from the mythic islands of the blest Perchance the Gods may sometime come again To build anew their covenant and fane. THE PIPE OF DOOM Yes, fill the pipe again, — one measure more Shall with its spicy vapor waft me o'er The frontier of the poppy faeryland Where I have mortgaged all the fretful dream Called waking could secure me. Hollow wand! Thou hast devour'd the drama of a life; Love and ambition melted in thy steam With all desires that conjure men to strife. Wisdom, success and honor, pride and fame. Folly, disgrace and ruin, praise or blame. To me are word-shells only; at mine ear They drone a dead refrain, for I have leam'd A language and a music none may hear Save from this slender pipe. If I might sing What wizard melodies are here intern'd. Winter were rose-bound, dead leaves deck'd the Spring ! This day the Emperor will take my head For having dream'd the while my legion fled, THE PIPE OF DOOM 31 Routed by frost and famine more than foe, Because their rations I withheld, to buy Such stuff as maketh dreams. The sudden blow Of headsman dread I not, unless the spell That is upon me lift before I die. For if Death be no Waking, all is well! THE FORCED MARCH Whither we marched I cannot say, For 't was in Dreamland, where I fell ' In mutiny upon the way. Nor should I else be here to tell. But we were halted by a stream Voiceless and verdureless and deep. Whose dumb waves in their flow did seem The pulses of a Fiend asleep. Nor were we in the front or rear: From the horizon did our files Emerge, afar to disappear In dust of never-ending miles. Of regions traversed, some were bright, But more the bleak homes of despair; We seldom tarried with delight, But oft were quartered on lean care. I know not if we made advance. Or irretrievable defeat THE FORCED MARCH 33 In ancient clash of lance with lance Had turn'd our columns in retreat. Some fear'd the army was in flight From a fair kingdom we had lost. But hoped we were led on to fight For Freedom by the Holy Ghost. Some murmur'd that the whole campaign Was futile; we had best disband, Forage the cities of the plain And hibernate upon the land. They would no more be mobilised For such a mythical attack, And said no Strategist devised The plan that set us on or back. Ah, sad parade from birth to bier For which the midwife doth enlist. No substitute a name may clear, No conscript may the draft resist! The brazen music of a band Blew faint and fitful from the van In mingled measure, wild and grand. To marshal the Forced March of Man. ON THE SHIELD On a shield we raised our King; Throned him thus in time of stress Whom the talkers of the Thing Had ignored in their success. Standard, palace, crown were ta'en. Capital in foeman's hand. Wives dishonor' d, children slain, Tortured all the fatherland. Mute in council aye sat he When the flaccid phrase was loud. While to lords of fluency All the commonalty bow'd. Gods whose altars crumbled down At a crisis unforeseen; Heroes of the staff and gown, How they scrambled from the scene! Not a word had he to spare For the cackle of the court. ON THE SHIELD 35 For the shriekings of despair, For the cynic's cheap retort. "Something I may do," he said At the nadir of our woe. When the dynasty had fled And the nation's pulse was low. "Give me Kingship for an hour. Let me sow and ye shall reap. All the circumstance of power. Gems and ermine, ye may keep." On his shield we lifted him. Shoulders shrugging 'neath the weight, Mocking eyes above the rim Challenged him to save the state. Out of chaos into light, Out of torpor into strength, Into honor from despite Came our country's cause at length. Not thro' wizardry or wile. Not in parley or debate, Nor by fortune's April smile Was he number'd with the great. ON THE SHIELD When the forts were ours again, When the harried coasts were clear. And the race that used to reign Finding there was naught to fear From their exile on the trail Of his triumph came in haste. Quoting statute and entail, Fretting that they were displaced. All their foreign royal kin Who had been so calm before. Barely bidding them come in As they shiver'd at the door. Cried : " Behold your ancient Kings, Render them what is their own!" And old harpies with clipp'd wings Fluttered round the empty throne. Then a Princeling, outland bred, Tender'd titles to our Chief, Heralds' livery instead Of the rule that brought relief. Gazing on the puny boy 'Neath an eyelid full of dream: ON THE SHIELD 37 " If thou be not tool or toy, Learn to swim against the stream! "Something I have done," said he ; "Shall the doing cost thee nought Save an obsolete degree ? Not for parchments have I fought! "I am weary: try to wield What thy fathers could not keep." So he stepped down from the shield Back to silence, soon to Sleep. Now the chroniclers in pay Of hereditary rights Almost have explain'd away How he won his hundred fights! We that raised him on the shield. Passing with him to the bourn, To the Glory unreveal'd Add the glory he has worn. THE TENTMAKERS (a ghostly dialogue) It chanced that in the Fourth Dimension met Two minds unburden'd somewhat of their clay, Unshadow'd 'neath a sun that never set. Beyond the terms of distance and delay. Both ghosts were Tentmakers while in the flesh, And each had pitch'd a canvas meant to shield Mortality against the storms that thresh The reason toiling in its earthly field. I know not in what sense they could produce Expression's soul, the heart of intercourse, But thought was purified of word's abuse And robes of art tripp'd not the feet of force. The elder, in the parlance of this world, Address'd the later to our planet born: " O Fellow-craftsman, one by one are furl'd The tents I raised, or emptied and forlorn. THE TENTMAKERS 39 "Yet thine are crowded with the refugees Of ev'ry noble race from Adam sprung: I gave the wine of faith, thou but the lees Of doubt canst offer unto old and young. " What havoc, Omar, in my happy flock Thy melancholy quatrains now have made! Plead not thou prayest when thou seem'st to mock. Nor dub thy blasphemy a trick of trade." The senior, in the measure of the spheres. Responded to his junior in the skies: " O Saul, thou bold Apprentice, there appears Need of new Vision to unseal thine eyes. "Who preach'd this doctrine to the multitude: * If He be risen not, eat, drink, and die " ? Thus taught the Man of Tarsus, for the lewd It might turn devil's scripture by and by. "And what hath sung the Man of Naisha- poor ? 'To good and bad alike the grape He gave. The Host invites, why pass we then His door Whether or not He rose once from a grave ? ' 40 THE TENTMAKERS " More stars from furrows have I scann'd, but yet I have not known the Sower e'er to take Dead seed for quick' ning, nor doth He upset The laws of being that He erst did make." " Died we not daily, Omar, when we knew No more of death than now we know of God? Rose we not mightily to dare and do From every failure as from burial clod ? "And are we not transfigured from the dust Of Tellus to a plane we ne'er conceived ? Nay, Thomas of Khorassan, own thou must That before seeing thou hast not believed." Rejoin'd the Persian, smiling, to the Jew: " We talk'd of tents ; such truly are our trade. Come back again to pole and peg, for few Are wise who from their calling far have stray'd. "Thy tabernacles roofd the dreams of man Until their pictured cloth was thin with age, Their ropes have parted, and their narrow span The riper consciousness may not engage. THE TENTMAKERS 41 " More sombre is my weft, more brief its turn Perhaps than thine has been, still 'neath its fold Men tarry on their devious way to learn The greater secrets that the Heav'ns with- hold." A DUST STORM The witches have mounted the wind and away in the welkin are prancing, They have woven their habits of dust and swift to the sabbat they fare. What orgy or blasphemous rite, what tryst of carousal and dancing Seek they to-day with their lord, the Prince of the Power of the Air ? Dust of unhistoried Eld, the silting of summers forgotten, The rag and the rose-leaf are join'd in the mad gray measure of death; Things that were comely and ripe and creatures to life misbegotten Meet without favor and fear to revel o'er up- land and heath. In the flesh did I see thee, O Love, or was it a dream of the morning, A spirit incarnate and bold that walked through the garden of Earth ? A DUST STORM 43 Do I see thee again in the dusk, an atom 'neath pity or scorning, Made one with the silence and void, thy wealth metamorphosed to dearth ? Did I bow down before thee, O Fame, in the resonant noon of thy splendor ? Yea, Envy and I, hand in hand, made humble obeisance to thee! A refuge thou era vest with me ? Begone ! Was a dupe ever tender When the mote from his vision was cast and he saw thee ev'n as I see ? Love is the sand of the steppe and glory a savor- less powder, Wisdom is here but an ash and folly a flake in the blast; Dust of the foot and the brain — can ye say which is finer or prouder ? Gray are all colors; alike the dove and the raven at last! Hark to the grains as they whirl : " Let us live, let us Uve ! " they are sighing, "We have thought, we have suffer'd and toil'd; we hunger for life bitter-sweet! 44 A DUST STORM In the phantom procession of Ills naught is true but the evil of dying. At least give us Lethe or Life, O Name that no lips may repeat!" Then I hear, as it were from within: "O Dust that alive asked a potion To cool the fierce fever of being, to deaden the heart and the nerve, Ye shall learn like the fork in the flame, with the salt in the spray of the ocean, That nothing may shirk or dissolve, but each in its season must serve. "Ye are flung from the pitiless heels of the heav- enly wheeling battalion Of inferior planet and moon, reviewed by an adjutant sun. And Man in the infinite field, like an open- mouthed tatterdemalion Striveth to guess from a drill how the wars of the Godhead are won!'* THE MIRROR OF NARCISSUS " Most ignorant of what he 's most assur'd. His glassy essence." Measure for Measure, Act ii, Scene 2. Thou art but a Secretion : get thee hence, Nor with the errant gas of thy gray bog Mislead me further! Thou by every sense Art driven hither, thither, thro' the fog Of feeling and emotion, as thy type Danceth at midnight to the zephyr's pipe. Thou art a carnal symptom and a snare. Thy vigor but the fullness of a gland, Thy languor its depletion ! Joy, Despair — Names for the diagnosis of a sand, A halt or healthy atom ! Get thee hence ! Vex me no more with thine inconsequence! Vaunt not thy travels over Space and Time! Thou hast not left thy shell — nor e'er shalt leave ! 46 THE MIRROR OF NARCISSUS An oyster, bedded in the ocean slime Hath journey'd further, or may so believe, Than huge Leviathan. 'T is ebb and flow Of circumstance that stir thee, Bivalve, so! Thou art no mere Secretion, thou art more A Secret, dwelling deeper than the knife, A Sunbeam whereon Death may shut the door, But while thy motes play in the House of Life No hand may grasp them and no curb confine, Nor any schoolman name them as they shine. Narcissus-like thou gazest on thyself And to embrace thy phantom thou art fain, But the Soul flieth like the mirror-elf, Clasp and caress are equally in vain. Away! The nymphs are pining for thy love! No search of Self hath led to treasure-trove. THE TWO TAVERNS €rOOD is the cheer at the Sign of the Rose, Gay are the guests who this tavern frequent; Never from dusk to the dawning they close At the Sign of the Rose where Youth's treasure is spent. Scant is the fare at the Sign of the Yew, Dull the sojourners who step from the stage ; Late they arrive, but they wake with the dew At the Sign of the Yew, at the rest-house of Age. At the Sign of the Rose there are rooms for the million. No one remembers who came and who goes; Compell'd by the horn of a ruthless Postilion Each traveler starts from the Sign of the Rose. The Chambers are few at the Sign of the Yew And let in advance by the garrulous Host, Who tells drowsy tales of the guests that went through The lych-gate that sags from its weather-worn post. 48 THE TWO TAVERNS At the Sign of the Rose there is deed, not depres- sion, And revel, not reverie, orders the day; Life's wine never fails, thoughts are never in session At the Sign of the Rose, at the hostel of Play. At the Sign of the Yew, out of ware that is earthen They feed, and their talk is in quavering prose; Of each reminiscence this line is the burthen: " I supp'd out of gold at the Sign of the Rose ! " THE DAYSPRING To them who sat in darkness and the shade Of death there came of old a beck'ning Hght That on their prison wall its summons made And vanished out of sight. Upon the haunted stairway of the years We watch for a recurrence of the gleam With parched eyeballs or with blinding tears, With hearts that doubt or dream. Upward it led us from the carnal gate That dungeon'd once the restless soul of man. The path was winding and the time seems late Since our ascent began. We are the Ancients, and the world is young; Our course was but a span : look not beliind ! The preludes only of the songs are sung Of heart, or soul, or mind! Like Newton on the margin of the sea We gather pebbles still; the surf that mounts 50 THE DAYSPRING And falters 'neath the moon must breasted be To find the ocean-founts. What tho' they be not for us to explore ? Do we not fly whereo'er our fathers crept? And tho' our din of destiny be more, Have they not soundly slept ? Was it the Dayspring that from Heaven came Or but the flicker of a human lamp, A fire immortal or a fever-flame From marshes foul and damp ? Will it be seen again and show the way Clear for our feet and far before our eyes? Forward! I feel the freshness of new day. And thither Freedom lies! WHEN THE CLOCK STRUCK THIRTEEN Where I wander'd, who may tell ? By what witchery or spell Held in glamour ? 'Neath my feet Flew a lonely, night-bound street. While the echoes of my tread Far and ominously peal'd As of phantom host that fled From an ancient battlefield. As a stranger did I roam Thro' the city of my home To a church I ne'er had seen Where the bell tolled out — thirteen! Ne'er before and ne'er again Did I see that dreary plain IJke a desert where were set Stagnant pools of gleaming jet, Ne'er again and ne'er before Saw that melancholy shore Where the wind-stirr'd grasses bent With a desperate merriment, 52 WHEN THE CLOCK Like a bedlamite who laughs O'er the poison that he quaffs. Nor that belfry of strange mien Where the church-bell struck thirteen. Black against the sparkhng sky Rose the steeple thin and high. Blade of the Church Militant, And its shadow lay aslant On the spectral road beneath In the semblance of a sheath. Gasping, dizzy, blind and lame To the gloomy church I came. On its step at length to fall, When, against the buttressed wall As I wearily did lean, Rang the first bell of thirteen. Just a whirring, as of wings Of unseen, unearthly things, Then a note as full and deep As the singing of the sea, Or a dark abyss where leap White cascades in revelry, Ere in rivers they align Marching to the distant brine; And within my throbbing brain Died the fever and the pain, STRUCK THIRTEEN 53 While a rapture clear and keen Grew with first stroke of thirteen. In that cadence sweet and mild All the voices as a child Dear to me, again awoke. As of yore to me they spoke With their wonted tender word; Kindly questionings I heard If the world with me went well. Ah, thou sad and solemn bell. Since these queries I did hear From the quick 't is many a year! Many more 't will be, I ween. Ere the clock shall strike thirteen. From that mellow metal tongue I heard all the songs unsung, All the yet unbreathed sighs. All the still unvoiced cries. Heard the threats as yet unmutter'd To defiance still unutter'd. All the anthems that shall be Chanted in futurity. Hearts rejected, faith abused. Loves triumphant were diffused Thro' that night of silver sheen When the church-bell struck thirteen. A LYRE OF LIMBO It was in Limbo, the Forgotten Land, A sunless tract amid gray mountains set Where the high winds of Hfe have never fann'd, Nor love-lorn Echo mock'd her own regret. A region strewn with ruins void of name Where many arts and fashions were con- fused. Trophies and storied tombs unknown to fame. And mighty talents hidden or abused. I know not what soul portal oped to me The squander'd treasures of that dreary clime, Nor had I pass-word to the mystery But seem'd a mere intruder out of Time. Methought that every shadow of a life Was absent, till mine eyes absorb'd the light Of that dim atmosphere and found it rife With pictured forms that had but width and height. A LYRE OF LIMBO 5$ They could not moan and gibber like the ghosts Of memory immortal; some possess'd Only a marble profile, like the hosts That treat with coldness an unwelcome guest. I moved among them as a fleecy cloud Cleaves a fair rainbow but dispels it not, I hail'd them, and my voice was harsh and loud Like mountain thunder in a shepherd's cot. Reaching at last an arbor matted o'er With wilted roses full of musty scent. Whose petals should have crumbled long be- fore, I paused in wonder what the bower meant. And as I peer'd among the leafage dry, I saw a Lyre that from the lintel hung By a fray'd woollen sash of Tyrian dye; A ribbon held the plectrum's golden tongue. Then something moved me, who had pass'd the wealth Of buried cities quite without desire. To take into the world again by stealth And save from Limbo that forgotten lyre. 56 A LYRE OF LIMBO So, stretching forth my hand, I touch'd a string That should, in such a silence, have been mute; But somehow came a feeble murmuring As when the spring sap bubbles in the root. 'T was scarcely a vibration of the air. Or of a pitch too high for human ears, Yet in some way I felt the word " Beware ! " Whisper'd across the gulf of countless years. Quoth I : " Come what come may — thy notes shall ring, O faery lyre, as in the days of old When thy uncanny master used to sing, And his wild passion to the roses told!" Around me then the purple band I flung. And with the golden plectrum swept the chords Debarr'd to man since poesy was young, And never laurell'd with the world's rewards. Oh, what a melody was that I heard In grievous Limbo, the Forgotten Land! An ancient madness in my blood was stirr'd. But never came such music from my hand. A LYRE OF LIMBO 57 '*I am a Lyre of Limbo, strike not me! O poet, waken not the frenzied strain That floated down Pactolus to the sea, From hill-girt Sardis to th' Ionic plain! " The Daughters Nine of great Mnemosyne Have cursed me with oblivion and blight, For not among their votaries was he, My Lydian who sang of strange delight. "To lonely Limbo, the Forgotten Land, My sweet and sterile harmonies belong; Outlawed of Gods and men the reckless hand That takes them for the partners in his song. " Tho' seem they pure as is the desert's breath. Their ardors vying with the holy flame, The worlds that hark to them are sown with death. Their minstrels shall be garlanded with shame!" Reluctantly the haunted lyre I placed Upon the threshold of the wither'd bower, And thro' that dale of doom my path re- traced O'er the gray summits to the living hour. 58 A LYRE OF LIMBO In dismal Limbo, the Forgotten Land, Stray not, O friend, or straying yet forbear To wake the music that the Gods have bann'd As fatal to mankind, tho' passing fair! THE LADY OF THE MIST It was a night of mystery and grace. Just at the ebbing of the summer-tide, The moon upon the meadow turn'd her face As tender as a bride. There was no lake within that valley's rim. No reach of river sparkled 'neath the height, But o'er the unshorn clover rose a dim Mirage of waters white. So wan it was, so like a magic mere Set in some mythic Welsh or Breton dell By whose vague margin floated shapes of fear Under an ancient spell! The branches of the thicket 'gainst the sky Did weave a goblin scarf of Spanish lace. Few stars near the horizon blink'd an eye. For moonlight swathed the space. There was no sigh of wind among the trees. Nor any of life's rumor save the shrill 60 THE LADY OF THE MIST Chant of the cricket, and the distant leas Were luminous and still. Ah, the o'erflowing basin of the mist That laved with light each olive-tinted shore. And lured beyond the power to resist My spirit to explore! To quit the realm of fact and leave behind The prose of noon-day for a land of dream, A gateway of the faery world to find Within the meadow's gleam. That elfin postern unto me was shown. For by himself the way no mortal wist. There came with me, her arm upon my own, ALady of the Mist! No gaudy hue had she of morning bloom, But the night's glory 'round her softly play'd. Her beauty was like silver in the gloom, As hlies in the shade. Moist was the turfy road beneath our feet. And glisten'd emerald dews on every blade. But faint were they beside the splendor sweet From eyelids of the maid! THE LADY OF THE MIST 61 Our words were few, my thoughts a winged brood. As ankle-deep in mist we slowly stroll'd, But white was all the magic of the mood That did my heart enfold. That moon hath waned, the meadow-grass is mown, And vanish'd is the lake of witchery, The dark-eyed Damsel of the Mist hath flown. Save from my reverie! LOST INSPIRATION It came as 't were a breath Prom sunlit snows upon the peaks of Death And lifted me Above the waste and weariness of life, Where bloom the tares that blunt the Reaper's knife With grim monotony. Into a region where the weeks seem hours And this world's weeds are changelings for bright flowers Of fragrant ecstasy. It went as it had come, But with redoubled sorrows left me dumb. On ev'ry side I saw the smoke of sacrifice ascend From blameless blood for flesh that did offend, While ever far and wide The voices of the earth did wail and wrangle, And human fates were once again a tangle That may not be untied! THE TRUE GLORY Where were the honor of the youth Heading a hope forlorn, If Error's rampart fell when Truth First summon'd with her horn ? And where their worth Who read the earth Or stars in times benighted, If frugal toil And midnight oil Were with the spoil Requited ? Where were the merit of an alms To each neap-tide of yearning, If wheaten loaf into thy palms Next springtide were returning ? Then give as tho' The tides that flow Had never been bad debtors; Sweet Charity Her rarity Of parity Ne'er fetters! 64 THE TRUE GLORY Where were the glory of a life Lit by such revelation That virtue as a dower'd wife Might keep thee from temptation ? Where were the meed Of hearts that bleed In friction with all sorrow, If ye could say Each tearful day " 'T will smile alway To-morrow ? " TRANSLATIONS EPIGRAMS FROM THE GREEK AN- THOLOGY. King Priam at his altar lying slain, Medea's rage or Niobe's last pain. The swallows chirping under bridal eaves Or mournful nightingales among the leaves Let none seek in my book, for all these lays Have unto former bards secured their bays. But love by laughing Graces mixt with wine; Too light is this for verse of stately line. II Was it waking or dream, in the vanishing light. That Moeris had kiss'd me when saying good- night ? In my mind all that happen'd beside is secure. What she asked, what she said, but I cannot be sure If her Idss was a phantom or truly was given: Should I wander on earth if uplifted to heaven ? 66 FROM THE GREEK ANTHOLOGY III Who may know his sweetheart fading While he with her stay ? Grace that yester was pervading, Shall it pass to-day ? If to-day it satisfy thee, Trust to-morrow's sun Selfsame joy will not deny thee In beloved one. (Strato of Sardis.) IV I WOULD say to thee: "Farewell!" But I linger on the brink. As from night of Acheron From our severance I shrink. Thou art like the light of day. Saving only, that is dumb, While the murmur of thy speech Makes with hope my pulses hum. And the music to them bringing Sweeter is than Sirens' singing. (Paul the Silentiary.) V " Constance " — ah, no ! When first I heard Thy name it was a lovely word, FROM THE GREEK ANTHOLOGY 67 But afterward its sound became Than death more bitter, as thy name ! Thou fliest him that wooeth thee, And him that seeketh not, dost woo; So, if his heart shall captured be. Thou may'st then fly, and he pursue! (Macedonius.) VI O THAT I were a rose of tend'rest pink Bound in thy bosom*s snows, their grace to drink ! (Anonymous.) VII "O TOMB, beneath thee doth Charidas sleep?" " Arimmas* son, once of Cyrene ? Yea, He lieth here beneath me." "What canst say Of netherworld, Charidas ? " " Darkness deep ! " " Of hell ? " " A myth ! " " Of resurrection then ? " " A falsehood; we that die rise not again. True this ; if Samian tale thou deem more wise, Believe me a great ox in Paradise!" (Calhmachus.) VIII Not death is bitter, for all men come here, But death before the ripeness of the year. Parents bereaved, the bridal bed unknown, Much loved, more to be loved, lies 'neath this stone. (Anonymous.) THE ROSES OF THE HULDER (from the DANISH OF WILHELM BERGSOE) Where, deepest in the wildwood From scorching day aloof, The sunbeams vain are breaking Upon the beechy roof, Beneath the trunks so lofty, The forest's smiling eye. Wrapt in the garb of summer. All hiddenly doth lie. Upon the brink is bending. The glassy depths above. The quiv'ring birch, and gazing As if spell-bound with love. At the light zephyr's whisper Swayeth the supple reed. The soft cheek it caresseth Of floating water-weed. THE ROSES OF THE HULDER 69 Their plumed hats a-nodding The bulrushes adorn, That on the lowly duck-weed Look down with haughty scorn. But on the lake's still surface A green-clad islet lies; The Roses of the Hulder Out of the waters rise. The place I well remember. Oft seen in childish hours, When in the meadow, gayly, I made my bed of flowers. And oft, with secret longing I wished that they were near; E'en then were Hulder's Roses To my young fancy dear. 'T was on a warm St. John's Day, Drawing to even-tide. The redd'ning rays of sunset Over the mere did glide. The heat above the beeches Breathless and still did glower; 70 THE ROSES OF THE HULDER Up from the low horizon There crept a distant shower. The surface of the water In mirror'd quiet lay, Behind its brows of rushes Did bUnking lightnings play. Methought that in their flashing The clustered flowers appear'd Waving in mystic motion, A dance so wild and weird. Lightly as playful Hulders, More yet, and more did break Forth from the dark recesses Deep hidden in the lake. And tones in song were shaping That wondrous music gave; And through the welkin ringing, Well'd from the gloomy wave. " Come to our quiet bower. Fair Son of Earth, and we. All that thy heart hath longed for. Give in return to thee! THE ROSES OF THE HULDER 71 "We will appease thy yearning, Hushing the voice of care. Peace and content will give thee. Love's bliss beyond compare. " Calm as a child shalt slumber, Nor, while our arms entwine Thee in their soft embraces. For the world's loss shalt pine. " Come where the waves are rolling. Fair Son of Earth, and we All that thy heart hath longed for Give in return to thee!" While I, in half-enchantment, Gazed on the wondrous charm, Hungry and mad the passions Into my heart did swarm. Thoughts that I erst had stifled Now in my breast awoke. And from its inmost chambers Like a sun-burst they broke. Reckless of rising shower. Reckless of sinking day. 72 THE ROSES OF THE HULDER 'Mid the pool's ruffling waters Clove I my lusty way. Bubbled and splash'd the billows. Surging o'er lips and cheek, Strange liquid words of warning Seem'd to my soul to speak: "Robb'st thou the Hulder's Roses, She will take thine in pay; O hapless youth, return thou! Hie to the shore away! "Hasten! Beware! for evil Dwelleth herein alone; Robb'st thou the Hulder's Roses, Peace shalt thou never own!" But on the wave's arm hfted Swam I till, sudden press'd. Felt I my bosom lying Close to a throbbing breast. Then 'neath a might resistless Into the depths, Hke stone, Sank I as two lips, glowing. Were laid upon my own. THE ROSES OF THE HULDER 73 Two clinging arms around me Folded, and then I knew All of Life's sweetest longing, While deathly cold I grew. Then did my limp hand slacken, Darkness came o'er my sight. As I sank, faint and swooning, Into the blackest night. When I again awaken'd. Courage of youth had fled; Blooming, the Hulder's Roses All at my feet lay spread. Many a year hath vanish'd Since, at that twihght hour, Deep in the glassy waters Sought I the Hulder's bower. Ne'er have I found contentment. Ne'er did my peace regain. Though for a haven ever Sought I and strove in vain. Never a wife I wedded. Never a home might build. 74 THE ROSES OF THE HULDER Ne'er on my knees might cradle. Soothing to rest, a child. For to the Hulder gave I My innocence and peace; Nevermore may I win them. Never, till life shall cease! THE COSSACK COURIER (from the RUSSIAN OF PUSHKIN) Who rides 'neath moon and stars so late The horse with such a tireless gait. That flies unhinder'd by the rein O'er the immeasurable plain ? The Cossack northward keeps his way, The Cossack will not halt nor stay In open field nor gloomy wood Nor parlous passage of the flood. A glassy gleaming blade he bears, A purse upon his breast is ringing. The steed surefooted lightly fares With flowing mane and crest upspringing. Of ducats hath the courier need. The youth rejoiceth in his sword. And tho' he valueth his steed. His cap is still the dearest hoard. 76 THE COSSACK COURIER To keep the cap he 'd yield the blade. The ducats and the thoroughbred; But if the cap a prize be made, With it must come that restless head. And how so precious should he hold The cap ? A note sewn in its fold To the Tsar Peter doth convey A traitor's doom from Kochubey. THE TEARS OF THE MOTHERS (from the RUSSIAN OF NEKRASOV) When brooding o'er the woes of war At each new victim of the strife, No fallen hero I deplore And pity neither friend nor wife. Alas! The wife will find relief And best of friends forget his friend, But somewhere is a soul whose grief Only within the grave shall end. 'Mid our impostures and the round Of prosy triviality Once only in the world I Ve found Tears sacred with reality. The mothers' tears forever mounting For children in the carnage torn; That memory hath no discounting, Those hearts like willow boughs are borne ! LOFC. MORTAL IRONIES (from the RUSSIAN OF DOBROLIUBOV) My soul of Death's sure coming hath no dread Save lest he play some prank upon me dead, Lest scalding tears be spill'd upon my clay Or blossoms squander'd in my narrow bed. Lest any but the hireling mourners pace Behind me to the final dwelling-place. Or Fame, relenting at my hapless lot, In mocking marble my new merit trace. Lest the dear dream for which I vainly yearn'd Incarnate be when I to air am turn'd. And leaning o'er the urn wherein they lie. Smile at the ashes that such frenzy burn'd ! THE WHITE SWALLOW (from the CHINESE OF SHAN TAl) Few are the hearts that the lusts of the day Leave white at the set of the sun; To the blossoming pear-tree I hie me away, Nor care, be the world lost or won. Pale are my plumes as I skim thro' the air, — I would scorn to be tinged like the crow, — And my outline, if fuller when homeward I fare, Must be moulded of nothing but snow. My shadow gleams white on the darkness of night; Tho', plunged in the bloom of the peach. All the purple of spring-time I've worn in my flight. My mantle I never need bleach. Ah, many are winging of radiant doves To flutter in evil apart, Thro' the tempest of jealousies, sunshine of loves, I alone bring an innocent heart! AT THE GRAVE OF HSIAO HSIAO-HO (from the Chinese) Here by the lake and hill lies hid away Beauty as rich as honey-blooms and clear As moonlight, one whose image fitly may Be cast in gold. The swift streams disappear In silence and the peach forever fades. O nevermore that perfume from afar Mayst thou inhale, nor meet that precious car With burthen coyly screen'd by lacquer'd shades ! The legend of Six Dynasties doth still Linger by Lake Hsi-ling and still the scent, Faint but familiar, of her name doth fill This place, altho' a thousand years be spent. The bearded petals wag in wantonness. And willows toss their curls with petulance Upon the breeze — ah, surely they express The soul of her above whose dust they dance ! SONNETS AN ULTIMATUM Shall it be peace or war betwixt us twain ? It hath been formal peace, yet thou dost raid My frontier, and its fortresses are ta'en By sheer surprise, or slight defense have made 'Gainst night attacks. Shall it be peace or war ? If peace, thou shouldst recall the subtle spies That search my kingdom to its very core; Those scouts whose rendezvous is in thine eyes. Shall it be peace or war ? If peace, return The Captive thou hast led away to pine. Or yield a Hostage ! All my borders burn With ravage by thy horsemen of the line. Thy Red and White Hussars whose sudden charge Of smiles works panic in my realm at large! Shall it be war or peace betwixt us twain ? If this be peace, then would I welcome strife, 82 AN ULTIMATUM Would raise my standard that so long hath lain Shamefully furl'd, and battle for my life, My land and crown ! Shall it be war or peace ? If war, then will I rally my reserve, Summon my faithful lieges, and increase Mine arsenals, nor further will I swerve When challenged, but will meet thee at each point, Casqued and cuirass'd and cuissed and greaved with steel. Nor shall there lurk one weakly armor-joint Thro' which thy thrusts or arrows I might feel. Shall it be war or peace ? In peace I find No calm; war may bring freedom to my mind. TENNYSON: A MEMOIR Like a deep symphony on many strings The music of this Life : now sweet and low With pity for all life's dishonor'd things. Now like the clarion that defies a foe And calls a friend to action. Nothing here Was out of tune with larger hope and aim. And nothing mask'd that needed to be clear In its high message. Tho' the poet's fame Lack'd no apology to keep it bright. His nature was less open to mankind. The veil withdrawn lets fall a flood of light Upon the truth we knew not but divined; Faith, Hope, and Charity are seen and heard In voice and deed, as in the written word. TO HERMES ANGELUS (a sonnet for china's entrance into the POSTAL union) O plume-heel'd Patron of the Post, whose wand Is twined with snakes of Secrecy and Speed, Smite hard the sorcery that holds this land In its long swoon, and if some pore may bleed, 'T will of congestion clear the wak'ning brain ! Thou didst betroth the dayspring to the dusk. Thou too hast harnessed the champing main; The venom drieth in the Dragon's tusk. And thou must gather his discordant sons With all the nations at one hearth of hope And human interest. Thy girdle runs 'Round the wide orb at last; what pathways ope In peace from folk to folk! No East nor West; One kith and kin upon the fair Earth's breast! IN A MOUNTAIN LAMASERY (a sonnet sequence) Gilt Buddha, with the heavy-Kdden eyes, Whose glances seem hypnotically jail'd By walls of an unconscious paradise. Tell me, how many moons have glow'd and paled Since in thy Mongol face at length was lost All trace of Prince Siddartha's lineaments ? How long, O placid mystic, since thou wast Carved in thy convert's image, and the scents Of Ind upon thine altar were replaced With sandal-powder, mill'd beside the brooks That else adown the Lu Shan rush to waste ? Thou wilt not answer, but the ancient rooks That nest upon the cedar at thy gate Are cursing me as unregenerate ! Alas, I fear thy bent and wheezy bonze Is not a ritualist; he offered me For copper coin the candlesticks of bronze And curtain from thy shrine of filagree. 86 IN A MOUNTAIN LAMASERY Nay, dare I whisper it ? — but thou shouldst know — He hinted that he might replace thyself For thirty silver shoes! Quoth I, "Not so; They who have bartered Gods for petty pelf Did never prosper!" Then he smote the gong That hung beside us and so summon'd thee To hear his orisons and even-song. The sacred birds still scolded from their tree, As through the quaint and lonely temple's gloom Ebb'd into silence that deep, brazen boom. drowsy deity in lacquer'd shrine. Thou art a symbol of the lassitude That over all things human and divine In this embalmed antiquity doth brood! 1 see afar the Yangtse's saffron sash And hear the grinder-locust chiselling; Gay orioles among the thickets flash. Throughout the dark and mossy glen there ring Mute melodies in perfume from the bells Of golden ylang-ylang, in whose vent Linger old Wonderland's illusive spells And that vague glamour of the Orient Which fadeth like dream-roses from our ken. As we approach the sordid hives of men. THE PORCELAIN TOWER The tower is fallen: only brick and shard Of rubble-heap show where it used to rise; The earth with many a painted tile is starr'd That flash'd of yore the hue of sunset skies. No more the bells make music from the eaves That gently upward from each story curFd; No more the careless traveler believes This was among the wonders of the world. The thickets push above it and the weeds Hide with rank blossoms the encaustic flowers Of porcelain; the woolly tufted reeds Nod drowsily thro' the long summer hours. The tower is fallen: shattered is the clay That was the pride and symbol of Cathay. INDEX OF FIRST LINES Better ne'er met than met too late! 17 Between the Po-yang Lake and Yang-tse rise ... 25 " Constance," — ah, no! When first I heard .... 66 Ev'n as a wintry star 16 Few are the hearts that the lusts of the day .... 79 Gilt Buddha, with the heavy-lidden eyes 85 Good is the cheer at the Sign of the Rose 47 Hail and farewell 3 He is fit, if a fitness be proved in survival 19 Here by the lake and hill lies hid away 80 I would say to thee : "Farewell!" 66 It came as 't were a breath 62 It chanced that in the Fourth Dimension met ... 38 It was a night of mystery and grace 59 It was in Limbo, the Forgotten Land 54 King Priam at his altar lying slain 65 Like a deep symphony on many strings 87 Like silver sails that on midsummer seas 15 My soul of Death's sure coming hath no dread ... 78 Not death is bitter, for all men come here 67 O doubting boy 6 O plume-heel'd Patron of the Post, whose wand ... 84 O that I were a rose of tend' rest pink 67 "O tomb, beneath thee doth Charidas sleep?" ... 67 On a shield we raised our King 34 Our forefathers attuned their minstrelsy 9 90 INDEX OF FIRST LINES Race whose drum-beat marks the quickstep of the morning 23 Shall it be peace or war betwixt us twain ? .... 81 The mountain summits clear and blue 13 The tower is fallen : only brick and shard 87 The witches have mounted the wind and away in the welkin are prancing 42 Thou art but a Secretion: get thee hence 45 Thy beauty makes not the muezzin-call 1 To them who sat in darkness and the shade .... 49 Was it waking or dream, in the vanishing light ... 65 We ring the curtain down with cheers 21 "What is the road to a maiden's heart?" 11 When brooding o'er the woes of war, 77 Where, deepest in the wildwood 68 Where I wander'd, who may tell ? 51 Where were the honor of the youth 63 Whither we marched I cannot say, 32 Who may know his sweetheart fading 66 Who rides 'neath moon and stars so late 75 Yes, fill the pipe again, — one measure more .... 30 BEC 6 «9«