WORLD Class FSzs^X- Eook .CzT Q^ CoipghtN'? COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. /a^^^'^*^**?^^j2^-^^^^ OF BOTH WORLDS POEMS HERMAN SCHEFFAUER A. M. ROBERTSON SAN FRANCISCO 1903 THE LIBRARY OK CONGRESS. Two Copies Received AUG 11 1903 % Copyright Entry CLASS ^ OL XXcNc. COPY B. Copyright, M. ROBERTSON. 1903. 75 3^31 Ji. San Francisco: C A. MuRDOCK & Co , Printers, 1903. DEDICATED TO MY GOOD FRIEND AMB'ROSE BIERCE Kind was Your Praise and True, — unto My Heart A Breeze that Spoke its Embers into Flame; Howe'er it Burns for Nature and for Art, Let Friendship's Hallowed Coals their Incense Claim. CONTENTS. PAGE the song of the slaughtered i back, back to nature 5 the republic 7 lyre of the latter days 10 disarmament 12 the sleepers i4 the unknown i5 chosen of all 16 sea change i7 de profundis i9 murad ali unto dalja 22 earthlight 26 shagalon of the pole 29 banners of shasta 33 the valley of yosemite 35 hurkalem the hunter 2>j pickett's charge 40 crucifixion 44 the night-bells of noel 46 the head and hand of murietta 50 poesy banished 53 the happy hours 55 the skippers 57 the earth-voices 61 the interim 64 yosemite 65 savior of the sequoias 66 out of charybdis 68 SEMPER 70 MARTINIQUE 7I THE DEPARTED ONE 72 PHANTASMAGORIA "J-i) TO DR. C. \V. DOYLE 74 ADIEU, ADIEU ! 75 PAGE EPILOGUE EVERLASTING 78 LOVE RESURGENT 80 LILITH OF ELD 81 MAIDEN OF MADNESS 83 COMPLAINT 85 PAST AND PRESENT 86 THE W^ORM 87 MISERERE 88 THE ANGEL IN EXILE 89 THE QUEST ETERNAL 90 IN MEMORY OF DR. C. W^. DOYLE 93 MISANTHROPOS IN EXTREMIS 95 THE WORLD-SOUL 97 THE DANCE OF THE DEAD 99 SONG FROM " FAUST " I02 GENIUS, LOVE AND HATE IO4 THE harper's SONG IO5 THE SECOND THOUGHT 106 REVELATION IO7 BELLOMANIACS IO9 RUDYARD KIPLING 1 10 THE SNOB Ill TO A SHAMELESS BARD 1 13 MADE IN AMERICA 1 14 " IL DECHIRE LES PAPERASSES " 1 16 LINES ON A DEAD DOG 117 ELECTION TIME 1 18 MANIKIN AND MAIDKIN 119 ELEGY ON THE DEATH OF " PUNCH " !2I ST. Patrick's day, 1900 124 latrona street 127 Poems in the Spirit of Poe. FOE 131 1. THE SEA OF SERENITY 133 2. INTROSPECTION 137 3. THE ISLE OF THE DEAD I40 4. PACIFIC 143 OF BOTH WORLDS THE SONG OF THE SLAUGHTERED. THE SONG OF THE SLAUGHTERED. Three were the terrible things that spoke and the three were sore in sin, One from the sea and two from its shore (and their skulls were caven in) ; And the eldest of all his voice brake over the rough world's rim — Over the world's rough rind and rim, my heart, my heart went forth to him : THE SONG OF THE SLAUGHTERED. " Once was I father of four — good man of a goodlier wife; A ball in the brain makes all in vain — hope, happiness, and life ! Now, on the hearth of Hell I hear, and the hearing is half Hell's pain ; ' He died for his country, a hero — he sleeps with the nobly slain ! ' O ! vain is that lie as a solace commanders and con- querers tell, — Hell is my country, ye patriots, and no heroes have honor in Hell. But on Earth the blood of the slaughtered the crimes of the State atones, — Lost, lost to me — as I to you — my Mary, my little ones ! " The red hands must be dead hands, the red face must be gray, Yesterday all red with life, white with death to-day. What is a soldier's life? No more than a soldier's wife ! For his red hands soon are dead hands, his red face soon is gray. THE SONG OF THE SLAUGHTERED. II. " And I was the only son of two grayheads left behind, I, whose naked ribs make a moaning in the wind. Deep sank the sword of the foeman and the cords of my heart laid bare, But my parents' wound no steel can sound — misery, woe and despair! I gat me to the battle with many — and many did die. Whiles they who scribble with pens saw no wound and heard no cry. Where the sword or the shot slays one, the pen slays ninety-and-nine — In the sight of men I was slain by the pen — father and mother mine ! " The red hands shall be dead hands, the red face shall be gray. Yesterday all red with life, white with death to-day. And you with the only son. Where is that only one ? Say his red hands now are dead hands, his red face now is gray. 4 THE SONG OF THE SLAUGHTERED. III. " Much have ye lost, ye comrades, yet I have lost more than all — The beloved whereof I was well beloved — wormwood and ashes and gall ! Ye have lost what ye once possessed, and your memory slakes your pain. But I have lost what I never possessed — O, surely 't was mine to gain ! And let her wait and let her weep — she weeps not, she waits not alone ; On the enemy's side I made many a bride who shall no bridegroom own. Ye makers of war and your masters, take the curse re-arisen in me ! Take the curse from the lips of my loved one, and the curse of the millions to be ! " The red hands must be dead hands, the red face must be gray, Yesterday all red with life, white with death to-day. You on whom sorrow doth fall. Judge three and be judges of all, For the red hands must be dead hands, the red face must be gray." 1900. BACK, BACK TO NATURE. BACK, BACK TO NATURE. Weary ! I am weary of the madness of the town, Deathly weary of all women and all wine, Back, back to Nature ! — I will go and lay me down. Bleeding lay me down before her shrine. For the mother-breast the hungry babe must call, Loudly to the shore cries the surf upon the sea ; — Hear, Nature wide and deep ! after man's mad festival How bitterly my soul cries out for thee ! Once again would I embrace ye, Titan trees. Once again these thirsting lips would kiss your sod. Wet with tears so deeply-drawn, leaping tears that freedom frees, — The sacrificial flowers heart-blooming up to God. Hidden in the grasses of the darkest vales I '11 lie. Silently the happiness of Earth my heart shall fill; Blue eyes, are ye kindred to the blue, eternal sky That looms above yon Earth-contemning hill? BACK, BACK TO NATURE. Though the child be blinded by the world-dust, he shall know His mother — well that mother knows her child! Him impulse star-compelling bids with panting breath to go To thee, great heart of Nature undefiled. In that heart that holds the stars harmonious, O Soul Go bathe — where worlcis oh Ittster-worlds in awful orbits blaze, Until the spirit's compass encompasses the Whole Of God and of God the wondrous ways. THE REPUBLIC. THE REPUBLIC. [Mene, Mene, Tekel, Upharsin.] I. Years upon years have we labored, lustily, lovingly, long; Our arms were girt, and our thighs were girt, and our arms and thighs were strong. We builded a beautiful Tower high o'er the world's dreadful plain; Its base was as deep as the roots of our faith, and those were as deep as the main. But whether the Tower be Babel made red by the set of our sun. By fire from Hell or light from Heaven — what word, O Washington? II. We shall knock at thy tomb in the darkness ; a thunder of tongues shall call Thee forth to answer or to ask — even thou who art first in all. The earthquakes lie curled under foot, and the red clouds in vengeance see 8 THE REPUBLIC. Marshalled above us and over the bell whose tongue spake " Liberty ! " Nothing but " Liberty, Liberty ! " — ere sold into Mam- mon's hands To groan the knell of Freedom to peoples of alien lands. IIL Lost in a labyrinth madness — in a wilderness lost! in vain, Our sons, led wrong by lies of the Priests of Mammon, seek light again, — And is our land great by its mileage, or great by the hearts of its sons? And is our land strong by its people's voice, or only by voice of its guns ? Well we know where pale Freedom lies bleeding and bound to an isle in the East ; Well we know where an Eagle sweeps out of the West on her poor heart to feast. IV. Years upon years have we labored, lustily, lovingly, long; But, Ruin and Chaos our work must eclipse when Right is eclipsed by Wrong. THE REPUBLIC. Where is the prophecy cried by the seer? Where is the patriot's prayer? — The iron-firm hand to stay the stones? — the voice through the night : " Beware ! " Nothing is written, nothing is wrought, to warn of, to ward off the fall, Save the hand of the Father held forth from the tomb and the terror of words on the wall ! Feb. 22, 1900. 10 LYRE OF THE LATTER DAYS. LYRE OF THE LATTER DAYS. Break forth, spirit flame of the Earth, Foredoomed to the fate of the moon ; Feed fire unto fire in poets' hearts, Lest they burn out all too soon ; Lest the boon they were given with blessings from Heaven Be more of a curse than a boon ! It is more of a boon than a curse, Their powerful labor in song, And their temples up-builded of verse Are forever-during and strong. Go build them a blaze with the hearts Of men that may serve them for coal, So the poets may brew us a virtue-broth To make Humanity whole ; So the strings of the lyre may shake forth the fire That old Prometheus stole. They shall gather men's hearts in their hands, Red-litten with wonderful flame; They shall weld them and bind them with bands Of Love made of more than a name. LYRE OF THE LATTER DAYS. So once more the music may live Of Thessalian Orpheus' muse, Safe from the hands of its juggHng priests, And their art of Art's abuse. For Beauty deflowered, their blight overpowered, And ground in the mills of mere use. When the priests shall go mad in the night Of their souls moist with mists of the Earth, And shall flee from the vengeance named Light— Her birth shall be Poesy's birth. Like a ruin the epic of Earth Lies there out of tune — out of rhyme. Where are the masters, the minstrels, the men Who wrought with the Fair and Sublime? And the Days of the Dreamer! And Beauty's Redeemer To heal the deep ills of the time ? When masters, when minstrels, when men Shall toil, will the epic be done. And to stars shall Earth be a star, — again Shall her face be worthy the sun ! DISARMAMENT. DISARMAMENT. (1898) Unto the sinful nations, (What finger points at us?) The Lord in His All-power, Wisdom and Mercy, thus : " You nations roused with wrath, My stolen bolts restore ! Go up into the Path Of Peace, and sin no more." So as I dreamt, the Tsar dreamt Of the Millennium ; The Tsar of All the Russias Dreamt Peace-no-End had come! Hard to my left and right. All in a blood-red rust. Spiked cannon crumbled merrily. Choked mouth and maw with dust. The nations' iron navies. In shore-sand sunk, and sea. Dug their graves or fathoms low Lay and lumbered drunkenly. DISARMAMENT. 13 Proofed in steel the corpse of War, Mountain-like, spread o'er the land, All we won and all we lost Writ in red within his hand, O, lost in a distant grave, (What was the war to me?) Friend of my heart, how low you lie Beneath a strange, wild tree! Yet, fair in this dream which God The wise White Tsar did send, Spain still held her hell-sprung isles, And I — I held my friend. " Give back God's stolen thunder — His battle-bolts restore! Disarm, you glowering nations. Disarm, and war no more ! " So raved the Tsar at night Of Peace and called it good. At morn the glowering nations Sought one another's blood. EPILOGUE, 1900. High noon ! and the rage of war ! Our dreams ne'er came to pass — What hold the dusk and the night For us, Tsar Nicholas ? 14 THE SLEEPERS. THE SLEEPERS. The winds lie hushed in the hill And the waves upon the seas ; The birds are mute and still, Deep in their dreaming trees ; The earth lies dumb in night, And the stars in their degrees Sleep with the suns in space, With angels, with seraphs bright, In the light of God His face. Softly lie the heads Of the sleepers in their beds ; But the sleepers in the ground — They alone sleep sweet and sound. They alone know rest profound. Fear not — soon a rest as deep Comes to thee — thou, too, shalt sleep. THE UNKNOWN. 15 THE UNKNOWN. Across the desert of Eternity, Darkness ! I stretch to thee my helpless hands. The human soul sees not nor understands, And I, who nothing knows and nothing see, — Is Death the only Fiat Lux for me? Peace ! restless spirit, let serenity Shine ever on thy madly-questioning soul. Thou that canst see no part — wouldst see the whole ? What art thou who wouldst know what thou shalt be ? Death is the only Fiat Lux for thee. i6 CHOSEN OF ALL. CHOSEN OF ALL. Come, loved one, come, and be my wife, — And I shall lead thee unto Joy, Shall ope for thee the doors of Life, Its gold to weigh without alloy. Come place in mine thy gentle hand And follow to the Morning Land ! By Love still starred, how can we fail To reach yon Hills of Happiness By broadest way or stony trail, — Who nothing but our love possess ? Responsive light pours from thine eyes ! — An Adam and an Eve shall find their Paradise. SEA CHANGE. 17 SEA CHANGE. MAID : Their bones toss on the sea-floor stones, My sailor's and his ship's ; So the tears in my eye are never dry, So my thoughts are all one unanswered — " Why ?" As the tide to seaward slips, Bearing the souls in the ships. I sob as the sea sobs on the shore. And the voice in the shell forevermore Is the voice from his poor, cold lips, — As the tide to seaward slips. Bearing the souls in the ships. LOVER : Life's storm hath chilled thy heart-blood warm ; Thy tears drop for the dead : — With the monsters grim that about him swim, He lies in the glaze of the sea-caves dim; Life and Love sweep overhead And the dead are but the dead. Give tears to them — to the living give love; Lock not thyself from the bliss thereof i8 SEA CHANGE. Whilst the blood runs warm and red. Life and Love sweep overhead And the dead are but the dead. MERMAIDEN : The sea brought down my love to me; — Long have I sought thee, — long! By bosom bare and my long, loose hair Thy couch shall be and thy pillow fair, With my lips for kiss or song. Shall mine arms not hold thee long? To a woman's sweet name thy lips were shaped As a bubbling sigh through the water 'scaped. What Earth-woman's love is strong? With my lips for kiss or song. Shall mine arms not hold thee long? DE PROFUNDIS. 19 DE PROFUNDIS. (a phantasy.) In my grave I lie at rest, Musing on a mournful sonnet ; — Sweet is Silence — sweet is Quiet In the Earth as well as on it. Four long boards now form my chamber, Head-board, foot-board, little boards. And the wood-worm feeding on them. With his star a lamp affords. Cool the clay — no summer sun-stroke Here the maddened brain can fret; Here, oh, here no thought of anguish Dews thy brow with mortal sweat. Had I pen and ink to write All the praise of fair Fedora, — Maid of dust, to thee I 'd scribble Songs, as Petrarch once to Laura. 20 DE PROFUNDIS. By the death-watch small that ticks By my pillow, I would write thee Many a poem, many a song, Many a hymn that would delight thee. On my elbows, weary elbows, I can rise and kiss the sod. Rid of bells and smoking tapers. Thanks to Thee, Almighty God ! Prone I lie upon my back, Waiting for Thy End-all 's blowing; O'er me frowns a firmament Earthen where no star is glowing. Earth upon her axis grinds, — How the sound my hearing jars ! And I know there are great quarrels 'Mongst Thine ever-burning stars. Quarrels, quarrels, endless quarrels, Battle, rattle, noise and glare. Do not wake me, kind Archangel, From my gentle dreams and fair. DE PROFUNDIS. Tell me, Lord, — me, naked spirt, — Do not blast my heart's affection ! Comes there Hell — or comes there Chaos? Comes, oh, comes — the Resurrection! Hear my prayer, and do not wake me. Let me sleep and sleep forever. For this soul was shaped for dreaming. But for living — never, never ! Lest I cry aloud in anguish ; Lest a storm should break the calm ! O Grave, where is Oblivion? O Death, where is thy balm ? MURAD ALI UNTO DALJA. MURAD ALI UNTO DALJA. (From " De Profundis.") Thus the poet Murad Ali Wove his golden heart in rhyme Unto his beloved — the first love Of his youth — the olden time ! They were children both — the heavens Spread their bluest mantle o'er them ; Life untasted and unwasted In Time's garden lay before them. Yet the poet Murad Ali Spoke in deep, impassioned tone, Felt his might and felt Life's burthen — Felt, although he had not known : " Light of Life ! O Star of Morning ! Soul to which my soul must move ! Only poets' hearts are faithful, Only poets' souls can love. " In the kisses from their lips Life with Love unending dwells ; On the brows of earthly women They bind wreaths of immortelles. MURAD ALI UNTO DALJA. 23 " Mighty scepters are their pens, And their hearts are sacred urns, Crystal lamps where purest fire From the gods in splendor burns. " Paradise and Happiness They disclose to blinded mortals, Yet seem blind themselves ; they seldom Find their way within the portals. " Though they sing like nightingales In the vales of Ajalon, They can also roar like lions Whilst the horrid mood is on. " Matchless, terrible the weapons They alone were born to wield ; Vain are mortal arms against them. Vain the great Mahomet's shield ! " Mountain-rending rolls of thunder, Storms and avalanches dire, Flames of Hell, heart-searing pangs, Leaping lava, lightning fire, " Draughts of bitter, burning wormwood. Scorpion whips and cups of gall, And their voices vast re-echo And through coming ages call. 24 MURAD ALI UNTO DALJA. " For their curses are the curses Of the terror-mantled Lord, By their words man's name shall perish Or his memory be abhorred. " In the hell of hells Abaddon, As within the Koran written. Coils the snake whose baneful apples By the erring Eve were bitten. " In the Koran may you read it How he writhes in throes eternal, Yet the poets' hell, my darling, Blacker is and more infernal. '* Ah, I would not fright thee — fairer Thou than all the houris' race ! Earth and Heaven will I emblazon With the beauty of thy face. " When I think no more upon thee, Lips or eyes of thine forget, Rose of June, may this hand wither ! May my sun in sorrow set. " Allah, send no strife between us ! Nor the evil hour of woe. Nor — O,, thou art only woman ! Let us hope who may not know. MURAD ALI UNTO DALJA. 25 " Kisses and not curses crown thee ! Love, o'er all the world held dear — But the truest love of woman Still must bear a trace of fear. " Do not fear — for now 't is love-time, Flowers, pleasures, songs of wonder; Let us keep for graying ages All the madness and the thunder. " Lo, the twilit world below there Nevermore this heart entrances; In thine eyes my better world Hes, Filled with poems and romances. " Hear, our springtime genii young Chaunt for us our passion's choral — Come, I 'II twine thy hair with roses. Thou shalt crown my brows with laurel! Thus the poet Murad Ali Wove his golden heart in rhyme Unto his beloved — the first love Of his youth — the olden time ! 26 EARTHLIGHT. EARTHLIGHT. (From " De Profundis.") Leave me, fair one, still the fairest Of all maidens of the Mars, — Thou the fairest of Mars' maidens, Earth the fairest of the stars. Leave me to my meditations, So this exiled soul may roam Far from this to yonder planet Gleaming — my terrestrial home. By yon ocean, calm of temper, Where the sun with zephyr dances- Once, O. once uprose the city Of that holy man, Saint Francis. Vanished, aeons after seons; Time that is and Time to be, All is time that was, my city Of Saint Francis Assisi ! Dark are California's woods ! Bright are California's vales ! Though in them no chorus sounding Of bell-voiced nightingales. EARTHLIGHT. 27 Though in them no chorus sounding Of bell-voiced nightingales, Their wild music oceanic Tosses through the bosom's pales. Music that with music mingled From the fair lips framed to tell In the dim woods of her deep love — Thy love ! star-eyed Isabel. Thou whose heart bore flame from heaven, Like the purest altar-ember — I remember all thy beauty. All thy love do I remember ! In Earth's West my thoughts are lying, Mountain snow and ocean sand, Fir and orange trees I dream of. Growing in that sunny land. Would I knew that ocean olden. Breaking on the shelly shores. Still by moon-sprites maddened, foaming Through the Golden Gateway roars. Ages past by cliff and beachway Dreaming, through the air I heard Sometimes singing of a siren. Sometimes singing of a bird. 28 EARTHLIGHT. Foamed the waters, rose the sea-nymph Crying : Come, O come to me ! But I fled her waving white arms SparkHng with the dripping sea. Captive on this ruby planet, See, I stretch mine arms afar. Yearning for the loved one yearning For me from some unknown star. Vain for me the jeweled star-shine, Maids of beauty, worlds of light; Lone I muse upon the chaos And the Universe named Night. SHAGALON OF THE POLE. 29 SHAGALON OF THE POLE. The ice-bear Shagalon came over the ice to me, Huge and white as the sail of a ship comes white across the sea ; His march was Hke Death's panther-march, soft foot- fall on and on, And red the mouth and black the eyes of the ice-bear Shagalon. The berg was rent insunder — in thunder strode he forth. Lord was he and king was he of all this Uttermost North,— Lord was he and king was he, and wide 'neath his control. Uprose Earth's crowning splendor — the diadem of the Pole. " Old Father of the Floe ! White Father of the milk- cubs three ! Weary and woeful was the way, but mine eyes are blest with thee. 30 SHAGALON OF THE POLE. Homage I render thee and thy young — brave offspring fresh and fair; — Glory be thine, if thy story be mine — O Father — O King— O Bear ! " Down the imperial Shagalon sat him haunch-deep in the snow, Whilst I stood in an humble silence and the cubs played to and fro, They tousled up their sire's fur, they licked his scarlet jaws; They gently bit and gently mouthed the dread, death- bearing paws. " Thou hast seen, O Man, and hast spoken with the ice-king Shagalon, Gone beyond limit of thy race, for none thus far has gone. See! written the Law, by the Great Bear's paw in the stone-hard ice and snow — So far shall the race from the Southland come, but shall no farther go ! " Fools are the feet of the white man to stray from the eye of his sun. For fierce in the stern Northeast he meets my wind Euroclydon, SHAGALON OF THE POLE. 31 The crush and crush of floes on floes — the fiends in the freezing flood, — These — all these are his enemies and these are my guardians good! " Yet could he elude my guardians good, the paws he shall not elude Of my bears that creep and seek by light of one blue star for food, — By their haloes, as the ghost-moons mount the heavens side by side, Only the God of the man-race small shall mark how His creature died. " Glory and praise to the Bear-god ! — the God-bear in the vault, His high hand making and moving bergs and floes to wild assault ; — To us the bearded seal he sends, anhungered when we seek, The walrus and the seal he sends — their gods are small and weak! " Fair is this night and fair this day, when the square, striped sun uprears, Bar by bar, to the lowest star, halts, faints and dis- appears. 22 SHAGALON OF THE POLE. O, thou, from thy star-set throne dost glance o'er other lands than this ; But, than my fairy-fair wonderland, what land that fairer is? " Thou hast heard what I have spoken, much hast thou seen and heard. The awe of crystal-crowned peaks, the song of the lone ice-bird. Farewell, with the word I charge thee with, farewell, with a wish from me. Stroke me once, brother, on the head — now all ways are South for thee ! " BANNERS OF SHASTA. 33 BANNERS OF SHASTA. Once more, white Banners of Shasta! flung from the breast of your father Hoary and eld, o'er the land, dance me the dances whose measures Swayed with a maddening music and joy this spirit of mine. Yet not alone was my spirit ; — wrapt in the heart of the winds Dwelt Thelma, the beautiful Thelma, Thelma the radiant one ! White in thy majesty soaring, O Shasta, with cumu- lous cloud-crown And robe of the snows everlasting, everlasting even as thou, Once in the dimmest, most distant gray spaces of Time un forgotten — All un forgotten by me ! when the tongues of thy fires internal, Deep from thy bosom of passion, flew fierce from thy crater's red lips, There on thy crater's red lips often we lingered, and Thelma. 34 BANNERS OF SHASTA. With a glory of grace, fell to dancing on the drift of the murky smoke columns. Then would she beckon, then would I spring to her arms and together. Wreathed with thy vapors gigantic, saw thy heart suffer, O Shasta. All that was once in the oldest days now is no longer. Thy fires, Thy turbulent fires, have perished, and the ages have gently In mercy and mildness snowed beauty upon thee and made thee The monument vast of thyself. Yet this heart's wild fires forever Must burn with the love that enkindled them, love for the air-maiden Thelma, The beautiful Thelma ! Far fluttering in wake of the whirlwinds, Up-caught from the breast of the mountain, the Ban- ners of Shasta Stream to the music resistless, whose potency heaves in my veins To keep me alive till the Last Day ; — to watch for the whirlwinds, — To watch and to wait for the whirlwinds, the whirl- winds and Thelma, To wait for the whirlwinds and Thelma, — Thelma, the air-maiden Thelma ! THE VALLEY OF YOSEMITE. 35 THE VALLEY OF YOSEMITE. Would that his voice were mine, Yosemite! Who spoke on Sinai with the hidden Lord : For only then my song were worthy thee, — Song of one humble spirit that adored, — Adored thee as the Earth adores her sun. Thou vast, thou beautiful, yet awful one! Thy loveliness is everlasting, — born Of hoary aeons when the ice-bound force Wrought thy wild crags, to such perfection torn, From height to dimmest depth of glacial course, The soul of beauty brooded o'er thy deep. And thrilling suns and stars beheld thy sleep. When first thy glory on my vision fell. The helpless sense scarce grasped the world it saw; As in some piled cathedral, 'neath the spell Of the low-rolling organ and its awe ; Then knew mine eyes the tear of ecstasy. Rich with a great and deathless joy in thee. I saw thee when the evening sun, all loth To leave the purpling splendor of thy walls, 36 THE VALLEY OF YOSEMITE. Lingered in love upon the Titan growth Of pines above thy sea-voiced waterfalls, From forth whose mist ethereal rainbows sprung, With pearls, with diamonds, with emeralds hung. Shot down the sparkling shafts of morning light Through crystal airs and paled the shades below; Up from thy placid lake the sun took flight. Gilding thy peaks tremendous with their glow. Only the sun can paint thee as is meet: How vain for man's slight brush the giant feat ! Ye cliffs and pinnacles that fliout the skies. Suffused with faery lights and gildings pale; Ye clouds that drift like souls upon the rise Of domes that drop their torrents like a veil. Dim flushes on the far-off snow-crests white. And shadows deep and full of shapes as night. O, would that more than mortal voice were mine, Or seraph's reed to write or brush to limn. So might I vaunt thy glories all divine. Until my yearning eye with death grew dim ; — Then should my spirit woo thy heavenly walls, And join the eternal anthem of thy falls ! HURKALEM THE HUNTER. n HURKALEM THE HUNTER. Hurkalem the Hunter, old and dying, sought the ground Where wan light, where green light made weird a sunken dell ; The red deer leapt before him joyously, the quail around Whirred in their ranks. The Fate had closed her for- fex — all was well. O white locks o'er the shoulders, O faint knees on the sward. That bent so lowly thrice his lips might kiss his parent earth, Might thank with blue up-lifted eyes his bending patron Lord, Who, with the forest-spirits wild, kenned all his bosom's worth. WOOD-SPRITES : Break a branch of cypress — a spray of immortelle, — Haste, ye elfins, ere he dies, Spread immortal glories 'fore his mortal eyes, — Faeries from each Hower and gray gnomes from each cell, Break a branch of cypress — a spray of immortelle. 38 HURKALEM THE HUNTER. Hurkalem the Hunter sends his praise, his thanks to Thee, Thou to whom Thy watcher calls from Nature's world of green. Whatever runs or flies or creeps Thou gavest unto me; — 1 kept the huntsman's faith, O God, in this Thy pure demesne ! Never I slew but 'twas for Thee a votive sacrifice ; A worship pure as Abraham's soared upward with the blood — Ye winds that blow my breath aloft, how turn ye chill as ice, — Now bear my soul o'er Western seas from out the Western wood! BEASTS AND BIRDS: Break a branch of cypress — a spray of immortelle, — Howl and wail your deepest notes, Throats of hair and fur and tuneful feathered throats, Mourn his death, besing his life, for he hath loved us well! Break a branch of cypress — a spray of immortelle. Hurkalem the Hunter's head bent slowly to the grass That spread its richest mantle for his pall, of as- phodel, — HURKALEM THE HUNTER. 39 Quivered the trees with plunge of wings, — thus did his spirit pass Who died without a sigh, — without a candle, book or bell. For Hurkalem the Hunter the wildwood life is o'er In the dim regions of his rule. Here God his soul accept. Pale Scytheman, Mighty Hunter, thou hast proved his conqueror : — There sprang a blood-red flower and o'er his visage wept. TREES AND FLOWERS: Break a branch of cypress — a spray of immortelle, — Rock with grief your branching heads. Tufted trees and toinfring trunks; bloom flowers from your beds; Deck, ye lost and legioned leaves, our silent sentinel! Break a branch of cypress — a spray of immortelle. 40 PICKETT'S CHARGE. PICKETT'S CHARGE. Mark ! where the grim Hill lowers, Whose dread, black muzzles throw Thousands of iron showers Sheer on the gory foe. To the red roar of the guns, Answer old Virginia's sons, — Whilst the shattered air complains To the dun and solemn sky, Breeding forth the gentle rains From on high — blest on high ! " The foe lies massed before us," (Pickett thus unto his men), " The Meteor Flag streams o'er us, — Ye know your duty then. For the last hope is not lost; Let it cost what it shall cost ! Farewell, all — a long good-bye. Victory comes or comes the grave ; — Where the heart that fears to die With the brave — by the brave ? " PICKETT'S CHARGE. 41 Now fell an awful quiet No heart might long endure ; The cannons' crashing riot Ceased its wild overture. While the voice of Slaughter cried To the souls on either side : Lo, the final test is come For your triumph or defeat, — Hark ! What says the rolling drum ? Peace is sweet ! Death is sweet ! Wide from the forest crowning Fair Seminary Ridge, Unto the crests that, frowning, The Northern batteries bridge, — For Honor's sake! — for Glory's sake! That wild path must Pickett take. There his heaving line is seen, Wall so formed of noblest clay, Wall of gray against the green, All of gray — saddest gray ! The chilling hush was ended, The guns their thunder spoke From those blue heights defended By flesh and flame and smoke. All along the forest's marg^e 42 PICKETT'S CHARGE. Flew the order : Forward, charge ! And the line that lately stood As of iron, rolls anon Forward, forward like a flood, On and on — ever on ! Balls weave the air by millions, Winged with their fiery breath ; The sulphur fumes' turbillions Become their shrouds in death. In the gray commander's eye Shines a tear that will not dry. For he knows the Cause must fail, For he mourns his noble braves, — See! the flag that they assail; Still it waves ! grandly waves ! Ye heroes ! faint and gory, Up to the dripping mouth Of cannon, wrest your glory, Brave hearts from forth the South. But of thrice five thousand men. Few, how few ! join ranks again ! O, forever glow your deed ; — Hallowed with a golden Fame By your seed to latest seed, Be your name ! noble name ! PICKETT'S CHARGE. 43 Now rusts the sabre polished. War's horrent engines rust, That icon grim, demolished. Lies lowly in the dust. White on Gettysburg's green field — Lo, the Union stands revealed ! Hidden by a common sod, There are never two, but one. And the will of one great God Shall be done ! shall be done ! 44 CRUCIFIXION. CRUCIFIXION. Darkness swallows up the living day ; The red disk of the sun is swept away ; Lo, the temple's awful veil is rent ; — The air is heavy with Terror's breath and Despair fills the firmament ! The dead spring to life in their shrouds And burst from their powerless graves, Blind fear seizes fast on the crowds, — The hills and the plains are shaken and split with ruinous earthen waves ; All Nature is torn with pain, — And the Lamb of God is slain. On the anguished hilltop from afar A gentle sheen enkindles like a star, From the vault's eclipse is born a light. And a cross is twylitten with glory and severed away from night. A sound as of praying is heard And loud lamentations are borne By winds, and the silence is stirred CRUCIFIXION. 45 By weeping of men in their woe and by wailing of women forlorn. At the foot of the cross they lie Who have seen their Savior die. Thickest may the clouds enwrap thy head, Thou Earth with bloody face, whose Lord is dead ! Loudest may ye groan, O Heavens, O Man, For by Him is the sacrifice made, by Him is fulfilled God's plan. O World he hath saved, can thy crime Be atoned by the woe of thy loss? Can Penitence, Travail or Time Restore God's Begotten to mankind or release the dead Christ from the cross? Thou that didst love man so well, God ! Master ! Emmanuel ! 46 THE NIGHT-BELLS OF NOEL. THE NIGHT-BELLS OF NOEL. L Hear the bells in all the steeples, O'er the Nations and their Peoples, Shout once more their yearly Falsehood, holpen by the Tongue and Pen! From your hearts comes no rebelling 'Gainst that Lie their throats are telling ? " Glory be to God in Heaven — Peace on Earth — Good Will to Men ! " n. Generations, sin-curst, hoary, Tell! where is your Peace, your Glory? There is neither one nor other unto either God or Man ! Years on years their surges rolling, Bring us still the false bells' tolling. Bring us still the ancient Seraph-song through Beth- lehem that ran. in. Up through Earth's fierce fever rising, Hark! the sounds of solemnizing, — THE NIGHT-BELLS OF NOEL. 47 'T is the Fore-world sends to After-world her Christ Mass burning red, — By the crosses, gilt, uplifted In the cities' murk undrifted, By the Symbols of the Temples, Monuments of Virtues dead. IV. Cease ! ye monsters, cease your clamors, Lest the voices of your hammers, By the storm of mortal curses roaring up, be far out- blown. Mark, oh, mark ! your note unheeding, Christ's deep wounds once more are bleeding, — Vain for Him your pealing pseans— vain for us your thunder-tone ! V. Ill the Sphere of our Disaster Lies, abandoned by the Master. See red Murder's hellish shadow— hear the lips that Heaven blaspheme ; — Thou, of God the Image Earthy, Art thou happy, Man unworthy? — Is it thou that cryest woe to Him from Suffering's Fire-stream ? 48 THE NIGHT-BELLS OF NOEL. VI. Since that Vigil, held by stranger Kings and Stars above the Manger, All His Birth-night's joy has vanished like the Man- child sent of God. Thieves and traffickers deflower His pure fanes in Mammon's hour. And a People stained wih Rapine and huge Greed awaits the Rod. VII. Pluto's Princes, sateless giants. Glower from the thrones of tyrants, At whose bases lie the Millions, breathing Life's thick Battle-dust. Over Law itself ye raised them ; Over God ye worshiped, praised them ; — Meet it is ye bow to icons squatting in their golden lust! VIII. Hurled into your jaws sonorous, Tossing engines, take your Chorus ! Your false tidings take, unfitting, till our Souls be chastened all ; THE NIGHT-BELLS OF NOEL. 49 Till our Hearts, by Mercy watered, Bloom, and Self by Self be slaughtered ; Till the frowning desert-heavens show their Orbs and drop their Pall. IX. Then, anew your mouths may bellow Words from fellow-bell to fellow, — Words whose might shall thrill the Earth-globe belted with each golden zone; Nation shall sing unto Nation ; Man to Man shall bring Salvation, And from yon bright world God's Glory and His Peace shall light our own ! so THE HEAD AND HAND OF MURIETTA. THE HEAD AND HAND OF MURIETTA. Livid head and blackened hand, Severed from a bandit chief — Hand that wrought what head had planned For assassin and for thief. Face of fiend, illumed by Hell, Through whose Gorgon eyeballs shine Hate and craft no death can quell, As they glitter into mine ! Safely prisoned in the glass. Dream of bloody orgies still ; Through that head what thoughts must pass ! How that hand must lust to kill ! Fleshly orbs and mirrors black, — Still the scenes where men did die, Still the blood that marked thy track. Redden in each demon eye. Lo, the hacienda's flame Tells the ruin of thy raid. And a place that knows no name, Knows the wailing of a maid ! THE HEAD AND HAND OF MURIETTA. 51 Oft his gold the gamester stored Warm by his triumphant hand — Oft thine own received his hoard With a short and sharp command. At the gay fiesta's ball Maiden laughed with cavalier, Till a shudder shot through all : " Murietta ! he is here." Seemed betimes thy courage lost, Faint with mountain-weight of crime — It was but a ride at most Where the Mission bells held chime. But a swift ride by the moon Where the pale adobes shone, Craving from the Christ a boon — And the Virgin carved of stone. Sunk on knees abased to pray, Thou and all thy robber horde Did kiss the rudest cross where lay The mangled body of the Lord. It is said that thou didst give Ravished riches to the poor, So to thee when fugitive, Opened each his sheltering door. 52 THE HEAD AND HAND OF MURIETTA. Some do say thy soul was crazed By a grief too great to bear — By a happy homestead razed And a slaughtered wife and heir. If these things be true, O may Prayers of priests and poor men's tears Count for thee on Judgment Day 'Gainst the sum of thy arrears. But nor prayers nor tears could stay Heavenly vengeance when it fell, When thy mates were swept away. When thy soul was flung to Hell. Murietta, bandit chief Of the dim days long ago, Robber, murderer and thief, Wolf of lawless Mexico ! It was long, oh, long ere fell Thy fierce head beneath the Law, — San Benito's hills may tell What that day the vultures saw. Safely prisoned in the glass, Dream of bloody orgies still ; Through that head what thoughts must pass ! How that hand must lust to kill ! POESY BANISHED. 53 POESY BANISHED. Mine eyes reversed to inner light — (For such the spirit may assoil) Above the tempest and the toil, A vision passed me in the night. Its face I saw not, nor its sex Could know, but it seemed fair and strong; It trailed a golden robe along O'er the terrestrial convex. Fierce on its front a meteor blazed. Its crown of massy gold. Three stars Shot giant lustre forth the bars. Whelming the mortal eye that gazed ! Two semi-moons its wings, — a storm Of wind whirled through the upper air. Charged with a perfume faint and fair, Then closed upon that vanished form. Down from the rayless zenith came Twin corruscating globes that turned To liquid brilliance as they burned With threshing and wild-darting flame ! 54 POESY BANISHED. Then something like a sigh was heard, Vast as the heave of earthly seas, Deep as the planetary breeze That once the primal chaos stirred. The hissing orbs swirled down and down, Then wedded close the Earth in air, Flashing with fiery splendor there, — Lost jewels from her ruddy crown. These were the tears that Poetry Had wept upon its Godward flight, This was the shape that cleft the night Within the void's unfathomed sea ! Up from the nether world was cast The pulsing roar of engines' beat, The clink of coin, the rush of feet. The smoke, the glare of cities vast. THE HAPPY HOURS. 55 THE HAPPY HOURS. I walked with thee in the sunshine, In the starshine And the rain; — And dark night and cloudiest weather Saw us twain, Hand in hand, walking together — Shall we ne'er walk so again ? Only the trees in the forest, Or the dumb walls Saw us kiss, Saw what a rapture then thrilled us With its bliss. Saw our hearts' vintage that filled us Ambrosial goblets from this ! Or whether through woods or the city- Crowded with shapes. Love was guide. And we both felt his presence immortal At our side ; His torch threw us light and the portal Of joy in our lives opened wide. S6 THE HAPPY HOURS. That was the Past, — and this Present, Love, swiftly flies And is Past ; When Youth and its Passion shall perish, Love shall last, — We know it! We nurse it! We cherish The heart's great covenant fast. I walked with thee in the sunshine. In the starshine And the rain ; — Age's night and its wild, winter weather Shall see twain, Hand in hand, walking together — Through Life to the end of its lane. THE SKIPPERS. 57 THE SKIPPERS. " How the darkening days flow by ! Daily we grow old and older, Daily our warm blood runs colder, Daily, breath by breath, we die." Thus the gray-beard spoke — four score Years his ancient poll had whitened, — And his faded orbs once brightened. Then grew dimmer than before, " Soon must come the anchor's fall, — The all-hailed and blest conclusion; — Let not terror nor confusion Seize thy soul at Azrael's call." All to me the Sage addressed Wisest words, — his eye, dim-seeing, Scarce beheld the radiant being That against my side had pressed. " Skipper in Life's fever-ship, When the World-sea winds shall smite thee. When men's serpent teeth shall bite thee. Curses vast shall crowd thy lip. 58 THE SKIPPERS. " Many seas I voyaged o'er, Youngling, ere I brought to harbor — Now from out this green-grown arbor, In yon skies behold my shore! " Fire and fast and storm my part ; Deep and dread the Past's dark ocean Rolls o'er wrecks of mad emotion Bound by cordage of the heart. " On the reefs of Passion He Faiths I held ere Woman faltered. All thy fair world shall be altered When thy Love's illusions die. " Through and through the sea-paths lone Shone no Northwest Passage later, Ere I sailed from Youth's Equator Unto Age's Arctic Zone. " Bound in ice my joy-dreams wild. Even as thine shall be, young brother, — Soon our kind and earthen Mother Claims her Life-a-weary child ! " Close beneath thy manly bloom, I behold a spectre grinning, Culling from thy brows the thinning Locks that sorrow must consume. THE SKIPPERS. 59 " Close beneath that visage fresh Of yon maid thy presence gracing, I behold a worm defacing All her beauty of the flesh." " Speak no more ! " I cried, " too much Hast thou spoken in thy madness, — Wouldst thou mar her May-time gladness, Whom no chilling breath must touch? " Tell him, treasured one, the Truth ! Tell of Love the seas outlasting ; Tell of hearts no woe is blasting ; Tell of flowers blown from youth." On his beard a kiss she pressed, — Then the young time blessed the olden, Then his silvern paled her golden Hair that showered o'er his breast. In his ear she breathed a word. Magic word of might beguiling, Soon his iron face to smiling Melted and his heart was stirred. All his creed of Woe and Fear, At the voice of Beauty's daughter, Vanished like the snow to water And was cancelled with a tear. 6o THE SKIPPERS. Like ripe harvest grain to wind, On his breast his head sank lower, Harvest grain that waits the mower, The mute mower, stem, yet kind. Thus we left him, she and I, Still and lonely like a mountain Crowned with peace, from which a fountain Calls the Spring-time flowering by. THE EARTH-VOICES. 6i THE EARTH-VOICES. A sweet bird sat a-singing, a-singing, a-singing, Hidden in its lofty house of leaves above my head, — Blithely through the air its rich melody came ringing And struck into my heart of heart that had so often bled. But the burthen of its song — Or high or low, but ye can know Who suffer and who long ! It sang : " I sing because I die ; I sing for all yet know not why. And Death alone shall still my tone. Or whether on the greenest bough or in the bluest sky. Though all things shall be changed to dust, Though the trees may die and the leaves they must." The sweet bird sat a-singing its thrice unhappy song. A fair maid sat a-singing, a-singing, a-singing; Her listening lover stood apart and joy was in his face ; — He laughed, he ran, he kissed her, his arms about her flinging : 62 THE EARTH-VOICES. My memory leaped, a burning thing, — I left the blessed place. But the burthen of her song — Or high or low, but ye can know Who suffer and who long! She sang: " I sing because I love; I sing like yonder bird above, And love is theme of every dream That fancy weaves me day by day, or through my heart may rove. Small care though all be doomed to dust — But that love should die ! — as the lovers must." The fair maid sat a-singing her sweet, her tristful song. A mother sat a-singing, a-singing, a-singing, Slowly swayed the cradle that held all her happiness. And ever as she rocked she bent above the cradle swinging. And ever as she bent, her words fell like a soft caress. But the burthen of her song — Or high or low, but ye can know Who suffer and who long ! She sang : " I sing because I give My life, my love, so he may live. The babe I bore — to me far more Than is the man I hold as dead, whose love was fugitive. THE EARTH-VOICES. 63 O woe, my child, that thou art dust ! That the young may die as the old they must !" A mother sat a-singing this unending human song. A poet sat a-singing, a-singing, a-singing Vast melodies from forth his heart that pealed like Memnon's stone, Or whether wild with joy the notes or sore with sorrow ringing — They were but chorus to your souls, re-echoed from his own. For the burthen of his song — Or high or low, but ye can know Who suffer and who long ! He sang : " I sing because I feel What I can nevermore reveal. No song hath might to rend the night Wherein the gods in mercy all the after-worlds conceal. Yet peace ! ye spirits robed in dust — For the young may know and the old they must ! " The poet sat a-singing this eternal, tragic song. 64 THE INTERIM. THE INTERIM. Veiled with thy hair, thy features draw My gaze — and Love is dumb with awe. Still, still the voiceless void of Nought, Sends forth unconquered one dread thought ; 'T is a sharp flame my heart to sear — Listen, my love, and do not fear. O, when that day of dread is due. When part we must, we hapless two; Remember! all the time that flies When drowned with earth this body lies, Is but a briefer day than this, Far briefer than our briefest kiss. ^ons on aeons waste away ; And what to us? — a second's stay, An interlude that angels play. The Soul may live by Will and Strife, Since Life is but the way to Life. What hope holds the unknowable, Save hope that I with thee may dwell ? Heaven with thee, without thee Hell. Awakened by strange morning light, Fair in our faces after night, We shall arise new life to greet Like travelers from distant lands. With lips to lips and hands in hands, When Death makes Life complete. YOSEMITE. 6s YOSEMITE. Thou hast Earth's utmost beauty, mighty gem Of ice-wrought granite from the hand of God ! And never man thy purple deeps hath trod, But he hath felt the awe that mantles them. Thou art the loveliest poem of Nature; thou Art Music, Mystery and Magnitude ! What eye e'er thy majestic glory viewed, But wept and led the shaken soul to bow ! 66 SAVIOR OF THE SEQUOIAS. SAVIOR OF THE SEQUOIAS. (To Josephine Clifford McCrackin.) The Titans of the forest, to the west winds sprung forth from the sea, Give them, O worthy 'mongst women, their thanks and their greetings for thee ! When, under their ancient, o'er-arching arms, your feet shall bestir the grass. Bright dews from their boughs shall be shaken on the snows of your head as you pass. From their roots, clutching deep in the earth, to each patriarch's head in the skies, The race of these giants had vanished, as the race of mortals dies; Coeval with Earth and defying Time, they had perished by the blade. If never your pitying heart and hand the hand of the vandal had stayed. Therefore, in the forest silences, in the tongue of the noblest trees, A name is whispered with love to the winds in their twilight symphonies. They that are older than Egypt or Ind and shall outhve the Ultimate Man — SAVIOR OF THE SEQUOIAS. 67 The deathless sequoias immortal shall hold that name like the spirit of Pan. 'T is for this that the bearded Titans to the west winds sprung forth from the sea, Give them, O worthy 'mongst women, their thanks and their greetings for thee ! 68 OUT OF CHARYBDIS. OUT OF CHARYBDIS. The drone of the sea Lulled me to sleep and I dreamt of thee ; — The light of thy mightiest love enwound thee And lay like the mantle of Mary around thee! Love enwound thee And lay like the virtue of Mary around thee. The winds through the sails with low choruses rang And bore to me songs that thy lips once sang. Their choruses rang Sweet with the songs that thy lips once sang. And he, the good daemon that guarded my breast, Caught up the strain, and my fancy the rest. The heart in my breast Thrilled with the strain — Fancy brought me the rest ; I felt every throb of thy blest heart repeating: Our love is eternal, — the world it is fleeting ! OUT OF CHARYBDIS. 69 Thy wild heart repeating : Our love is eternal, — though all things be fleeting ! I felt this — I felt all thy kisses as warm As when my swift arms had encinctured thy form. Thy kisses were warm As when thy soft arms had encircled my form — Thou wast mine ! — O, all changed to embraces as cold As those the sea hath for her lovers untold ! Embraces how cold ! When she clips to her bosom her lovers untold. Down to the floor of the floods sank the ship And I with the sound of thy name on my lip. Down, down with the ship, — My prayer was the sound of thy name ' from my lip! Now God's Heaven is Heaven the more at thy side: This is the tale how I loved thee and died ! 70 SEMPER. SEMPER. So oft thy hand was laid in mine, So oft our lips have met, So oft thy heart's great pulse divine Throbbed here — who can forget? Never seemed day fair day, save we Saw day within our eyes. Whilst night a treble night would be That barred our Paradise. Few words we spoke, each speaking heart Held parle more wild and fast ; We swore that we should never part ; We swore our love should last ! Swift roll the brief and briefer years Bearing our lives away ; We loved ! We love ! — the very spheres Shall crumble to decay — Shall crumble to decay and rust, Ere that our love should end, — In God's Jehosaphat our dust Shall from one tomb ascend ! MARTINIQUE. 71 MARTINIQUE. A suspiration quivers from the ground — Death's weary sigh, through town and valley fair; A dreadful chill, as at the Gorgon's stare. Streams from some hidden terror all unbound. Mark, how the crater's fiery head is crowned With clouds and frenzied winds that lash the air. Woe ! Woe ! ye pleasant places smiling there — Such doom have Sodom and Pompeii found ! Open the infernal cauldron roaring flies In vapor, thunder-bursts and flaming rain ; Seas leap the clouds and Hell all Heaven defies — Of man and all his toil what marks remain? A shaft that soars to chaos on the plain — An arm to God upstretched 'neath ashen skies. 72 THE DEPARTED ONE. THE DEPARTED ONE. Thy soul above all souls must I adore And worship its great Presence in thine eyes, Lights dowered with a ray from Paradise, Whose light is Love, as Love is Heaven's core. So much I hoped not and dare hope no more Than but to watch thee in those utmost skies, For me the loveliest of all stars that rise Joyous unto the night with all their lore. Did I not know thee once, not long ago, Ere ever gathered in this life's small shell? Can doubt make ebb the heart's flood, — w^hen the soul Cries out beyond the world it loves thee well? Yet the Lethean river parts us — O, What mists from up its silent waters roll ! PHANTASMAGORIA. 73 PHANTASMAGORIA. Lost on this shadowland's phantasmal shore, By the bleak moor I stand, whose utmost bound Glooms to the realms of kings huge sorrows crowned With iron crowns and Woe that dies no more, No more while Memory lives. Clouds roll, winds roar Wild through the spectral heavens where spirits drowned With pain, float on the gray air-deeps ; — no sound Save sighing o'er those scenes well-loved of yore. Unhappy, wandering shapes ! with torment dire In this cloud-purgatory pent, in view Of coolest skies and waters meek and blue As Jesus' eye, you feel once more the fire Of old Earth passionate ere you expire In mists, where weakly this sad sun shines through. 74 TO DR. C. W. DOYLE. TO DR. C. W. DOYLE. Dear Doyle, mine elder brother in the art That fires the world to beauty and whose powers, Though the gods' gift to us are not all ours, Nor ours alone the rapture of the heart, Since men from us may claim their rightful part; — Those days bloom in my memory's richest bowers, Days on that foaming shore beside the flowers, O'er many a tale to make the brave blood start! Tales reaped from out that mystic morning land, Thine India, rich with love or hate or crime. Where man breathes undebased by the hand Of Progress that that aged us ere our time. There, sure, the soul of Nature dwells unbanned Where ring such mighty echoes of her Prime! ADIEU, ADIEU! 75 ADIEU, ADIEU! All the doubt, the delusion is over, Yet forever shall linger the pain, And the sorrow my breast must uncover To thee, O beloved in vain! On the radiant dreams of the dawning Of a love far too happy for me, Night has set, still my dream of the morning Was but this : to be loved by thee. Oh, for thee I once builded a palace Of the starriest gems, in my soul, And sipped joy from the rim of the chalice Of Life — of which thou wast the Whole, That palace is ruin, and sorrow With phantoms my bosom has filled. Sighing far through To-day and To-morrow " Our voices shall never be stilled." Love, thou wast to me what in Heaven, The Lord to the angels must be. And the love they give Him could not even Exceed the vast love I gfave thee! 76 ADIEU, ADIEU! my sun, O pure star ever-shining, When blackness my world over-cast. When to thee in thy goodness my pining, Sad soul clung so fondly, so fast. There was nought, there is nought that could sever My soul and my soul's love from thine. We have met ; we have parted forever ; All the tears, all the longing be mine ! 1 have strength to bear all that has lost me My all, — strength to bear all its pain, And strength still to love, but 't would cost me Too much to behold thee again ! Ah, could I but forget vanished blisses, From that Heaven of our own happiness, Could I lose multitudinous kisses. Nor recall each so-ardent caress ! It were light as the flight of a feather To count thee with transient things. Had our hearts ne'er been welded together By Passion and the heat of his wings. O God ! at the last hour's tolling I knew that I loved her alone ; O'er my heart Thy sad angels were rolling In my blood, a cold burial-stone, ADIEU, ADIEU! ^^ Then I knew that we loved far too blindly, My darling, my heart, not to fall, Yet those lips kissed so oft answered kindly : " Love excepts not who holds us in thrall." Alas, for the Good doomed to perish. And the Beautiful nothing can save ! Alas, that on Earth all we cherish Sinks into Despair or the Grave ! Blindly in dreams we have faltered. In hopes and in visions and dreams ; — Are the Good and the Beautiful altered To the world and the waste that it seems? All the doubt, the delusion is over. Yet forever shall linger the pain, And the sorrow my breast must uncover To thee, O beloved in vain ! On the radiant dreams of the dawning Of a love far too happy for me, Night has set, still my dream of the morning Was but this : to be loved by thee. 78 EPILOGUE EVERLASTING. EPILOGUE EVERLASTING. The roses are withered ; their petals have flown ; Their Ufe and their perfume are past. The roses were many, but now there is none. The last rose has perished — the last ! The laboring tides sweep the sea ; in their might They bear the brave ship with its mast. The black waters league with the whirlwinds at night — The ship is up-swallowed at last. The broken heart and the heart that it broke, And Passion's soul-withering blast, And Sorrow and Joy have evanished like smoke, And both hearts lie quiet at last. Perished their love lies and perished their hate; Pain, misery, rapture all past ! When joy far too great brings us sorrow too great — It seems but the sorrow can last. EPILOGUE EVERLASTING. 79 All the hopes of Life and the hopes of Love Must the shadow of Death overcast? O, must the shade follow the shine from above? Must all things be nothing at last? All things are nothing at last. All is one With the roses whose perfume is past. Ah, the roses were many, the roses are gone. The last rose has perished — the last! 8o LOVE RESURGENT. LOVE RESURGENT Forth from the ashes of Hope, Girded with strength Uke the hair Of the Samson, arisen to cope With chimeras of Death and Despair, — Mount, Love — like a mihtant star, Burn with pale flare through thy night ! The clouds that enshrouded thee are As shadows dissolved by thy light. Winged by the Soul and the Mind, Spurred by the stroke of the Heart, Where shalt thou seek or where find Thy mate — thy counterpart? Thou art a fragment from Heaven; Thou art a spark from its flame ; Thou art all Life and its leaven — And God is thy holiest name! LILITH OF ELD. 8i LILITH OF ELD. They tasted the sweet despair That flowed from her mortal kiss, And they hung by one silken hair Above a black abyss ! For many had gone to wreck On the gleam of her coral lips, By her shining finger's beck That boded no eclipse. Then her smile had buried them As the waves the broken bark, For what could bide or stem That magic dread and dark? Deep down from her starry eyes The path led straight to hell, And never the soul could rise That to their bottom fell. She trod on the hearts of men, As they were pavement stones; She danced, a light o' the fen. Across their chamel bones. 82 LILITH OF ELD. And the thoughts ! the thoughts that rushed Like eagles from her eye — And the smile — the smile that crushed The slaves it lured to die. But a curse fell out of the night; It singled forth her head ; She vanished out of our sight And the world cried: She is dead! She lived ! she loved ! she mourned ! For a love she ne'er could own ; Her heart was racked and scorned With the vengeance she had sown. And he, to whom this tale She told, lives doomed to write The terror, tears and bale Of her — through night and night. MAIDEN OF MADNESS. 83 MAIDEN OF MADNESS. The longing and inveighing Are gone — the doubt, the pain; The nights my soul dismaying, Not once my head down-laying, Whilst thoughts of thee kept preying Upon my heart and brain. And whilst a voice kept saying That all would be in vain — All love would be in vain ! That voice hath truly spoken, — Might I have heard before ! Ere my sad heart was broken For thy triumphant token, Before Love's great tree oaken Fell blasted to the core; — Ye angels mild, invoken By sorrow, sigh no more. Ye angels weep no more! The world to mist has faded. One waste and moaning sea 84 MAIDEN OF MADNESS. By maddened ghosts invaded, Whose midnight shapes have shaded Those once fair fields that traded Their joy so full and free; — Through Hell's dire stream I 've waded, And Life is dust to me — Ashes and dust to me. COMPLAINT. 85 COMPLAINT. She was fond of tragedies — Loved to read of death and woe. " I shall write thee one," said I — " One that shall be comme il faut.' Then I wrote in strains romantic, In a solemn, joyless tone — All the sorrows of another, When I might have writ my own. Yes, my love, believe me, truly; If thine eyes my heart might see, They might read a tragic story That was written there by thee. 86 PAST AND PRESENT. PAST AND PRESENT Once again I see those houses — Wander in those streets once more, Where, eleven years before, I was happy, O Estrella. Me the moon nigh drew to weeping Tears of salt, which I abhor; Yet, eleven years before, We were happy both, Estrella. Now a feeling, through me stealing, Saddens all my bosom's core — As eleven years before, You are happy still, Estrella. THE WORM. 87 THE WORM. Vanished is his misery, Almost vanished is his pain. Nay, by Jove, if this continue Soon he '11 eat and sleep again ! Yet, 't is true his food is tasteless And his slumber brings no rest. 'T is that dismal guest called Sorrow Sleeps and eats within his breast. 88 MISERERE. MISERERE. The last few prayers are done, The pall and shroud are spread ; Seven tapers at thy feet And seven at thy head. Thy hands are crossed upon Thy bosom white where now Thy heart is stilled. O Death, How beautiful art thou! THE ANGEL IN EXILE. 89 THE ANGEL IN EXILE. Many — many — many Were the tears she shed, Tears, tears as fair as any Fair roses white or red, Or HHes in their bed, — Pale lilies, rare as any That now bloom o'er her head. At last the heart was broken ; Like a golden shell It spilt its life — the token Proclaiming all was well With her where seraphs dwell. Where only Love is spoken, — A tongue we cannot spell. With love brought down from Heaven Her evil hap began. That love to God once given. Was cast away on man. Yet a milk-white lustre ran In flame through skies at even. When the Lord removed his ban. 90 THE QUEST ETERNAL. THE QUEST ETERNAL. Still shall I hew thee out of dreams, Still limn thee day by day, — O thou, whose face too saintly seems In mists to pass away ! Who comest at the pause of night From out the spirit realm, — Celestial exhalation ! light That dost my soul o'erwhelm. Would I might seize thee as thou art. And keep thee till the day. Then shouldst thou nevermore depart Upon the pale dawn's ray. What art thou? — vision, sprite or muse; Speak ! so my tongue may well The glory of thy brow transfuse Throughout this earthen shell. Helen or Eve or Ashtaroth ! — Or, fairer far than these, Mary, who treads the tops of both The heavens and the seas, THE QUEST ETERNAL. 91 Descend no more my soul to tear When, waked from slumber's bliss, I taste terrestrial despair From thy remembered kiss ! Or veil thee, as the statue veiled, In Sais, stood of old; — The terrors of thy beauty, mailed. Shall leave my senses cold. Speak then to me the mystic word That spells thine awful name, And Earth unto her center stirred Shall shudder at its flame. Then shall the maddening fever die That haunts me and that hounds. The heart's fire and the head's and my Sore weight of human wounds. Or vain shall be thy grace to save. And curst my deathless soul, — This globe of glory but a cave, Sullen and bleak with dole. I know thou wilt not speak, I know Thy name rests unrevealed; — Over the broad, high world I go To seek the long-concealed. 92 THE QUEST ETERNAL. Until Ahasuerus' road Eternal grows mine own; I take my staff, I take my load, I seek thee, Truth, alone! IN MEMORY OF DR. C. W. DOYLE. 93 IN MEMORY OF DR. C. W. DOYLE. Peace, peace be thine, thou gentle soul, and rest; The night is fallen and thy journey don?. Long ran the bitter way — within this West Thy fervent heart sinks quenched like the sun. 'T was meet Death claimed thee as a prize too fair To leave to Life so long — ^but, O, too soon Passed the stern, silent angel and left bare A garden in our breasts at central noon. Departed thou ! departed joy in thee ! Rifled again the heart's close chambers throb. Yet there shall glow to thy dear memory Shrines hallowed that no earthly grief can rob. Goodness thy greatness was — nor this alone For the white muses bent and kissed thy brow; They loved the tongue they taught — for all their own They claim thy labors, life and laurels now. Blest in the shining conclaves of the great. Full sure thy adoring spirit moves at last, — Humble thy living reverence for their state Was ever — nor that love lies in the past. 94 IN MEMORY OF DR. C. W. DOYLE. Go seek the immortal masters, seek and find — Whose kingly company on Earth was still Thy solace and devotion, mind of mind Asks or is answered : What is human ill ? On thee no more Fate's wounding winds shall blow ; Thy burthen hast thou borne, nor didst rebel. Friend, gentle, loving friend and true — for O, Loving and true wast thou to all, — farewell ! Farewell ! wake here no more. Shall we accuse The releasing summons that for thee has come? Nay, nor shall grief pent-up in flesh refuse Love's tribute tear — a line — and sorrow dumb. MISANTHROPOS IN EXTREMIS. 95 MISANTHROPOS IN EXTREMIS. In this huge antique chair I sit — Many a ghost hath haunted it; With my body coarsely drest In a sackcloth coat and vest. On this world-worn head I throw Cold ashes of the long ago, Upon the locks that women fair Oft kissed ! — no matter when nor where. This morn — it is the festal mom Of the blest day that I was bom. No more, no more let it be said That I no due observance paid. Deaden all my house's ears ; When the noisy noon-day nears — How I the garish day despise! — Fasten close my house's eyes. Good ! 't is night within the room ; The living may enjoy their tomb, For Earth is blackened with a bHght; A million wasteful suns cannot dispel the night. 96 MISANTHROPOS IN EXTREMIS. Tapers two upon the table Light, and if thine arms be able, Lift me yon huge Bible — quick! Read me prayers for the dead and sick. Read low, I say — for Jesus' sake! Thy voice the envied dead would wake. Give here — for I, myself, the holy Verse of Job will now chant slowly. Birthdays come, with them revealing. Job, for thee, a brother-feeling. Blackest Birthdays! Why with mirth Does man celebrate his birth? Properly, O Job, we mourn That night the man-child was conceived And that day that He was born. Job! Job! intercede for me With the Lord — He loveth thee. Now the lights are quelled! I hear Gibbering, laughing demons near! Old Earth shakes within a storm. Rushing down comes an angel's form, Down from black skies rent in sunder! Now I sit with Night and wonder. Lost ! both worlds to me and gone ! — O God, too true, at last, at last. At last I am alone ! THE WORLD-SOUL. 97 THE WORLD-SOUL. (From the German of Goethe.) Disperse ye through all regions far and lonely Of these celestial rounds ; Enraptured rush through dimmest zones where only Is space, and know its bounds. Now, floating in the distances unmeasured, Ye dream the god-head's dream. And shine, the fellows of each fair star treasured In yon vast, light-sown Scheme. Rush on, rush on, O comets scarce commanded, Deep through the endless Deep. This labyrinth, with suns and planets banded. Go pierce and know no sleep. Ye clasp and mould the Earths that it was bidden For Progress to create. So that they live and give to births still hidden Their paths commensurate. And circling through the living, pregnant spaces Your wandering veil ye lead. And the set form of stones in deepest places Is by your might decreed. THE WORLD-SOUL. Thus everything itself fain overpasses — Where heavenly impulse strives ; The barren water mantles with green masses ; The atom still survives. Thus all destroys through love which lifts and rises, That night whence vapors well; Then glow the splendid fields where Paradise is Ever ineffable. Thence soars aloft, a sacred light beholding, A pinioned legion fair. And ye are mute before that vast unfolding — As once the primal pair. Yet soon is lost your limitless resistance, When the heavenly glances fall — Receive ye thus, with thanks, a blest existence From the All back to the All. THE DANCE OF THE DEAD. 99 THE DANCE OF THE DEAD. (Translated from the German of Goethe.) The sexton peers down at the dead of the night On the many round graves all a-row. Lo, the moon hath thrown everything into the light And the burial-ground is a-glow ! There a grave 'gins to rock, and another one here ; Here the women step forth, there the men re-appear In the whitest and longest of garments. Now all start to squirm with a terrible itch And the bones join in merry-go-round, The poor and the young and the old and the rich, Though their shrouds hinder many a bound. Since Modesty here is no longer of use. They rattle themselves and the linen flies loose And is scattered o'er many a hillock. The femurs are lifted, the feet caper spry And the movements are made with a dash. There 's a rattle and clatter arising on high, As if sticks had been struck with a crash. All this the poor sexton has stricken with fear. And the devil, the clown, whispers into his ear: "Go, steal away one of the cerements." LofC. THE DANCE OF THE DEAD. It was said ! It was done ! and he hurries his flight Behind the thrice-sanctified door; The moon whitens still with mysterious Hght All the hideous dance as before. At last, one by one, they slip softly away, Enwrapped in their shrouds, and are under the clay And under the grass in a moment. Yet one, the last one, trips and stumbles around, And snatches and claws at the graves. But never a fellow his shroud-cloth has found ; — For he scents it aloft where it waves. He rattles the church-door ; it hurles him a-back, 'T is guarded and blest — or else, sexton alack ! — It glints with its bright metal crosses. Yet the shroud must he have, and the time is so short ! He must have it or nevermore rest. So the knave grasps a carved Gothic cap for support And clambers from cresting to crest. Alas ! for thee, sexton ! what hope of escape ? From crocket to crocket the horrible shape Climbs on like a long-legged spider. The sexton is pale and stands mute and aghast And would gladly give back what he took ! THE DANCE OF THE DEAD. Lo, the cloth catches now — he has breathed his last !— By its end on an old iron hook! Then the moon 'gins to fade and her lustre is done ; Below as the terrible bell thunders : "One ! " The skeleton shatters to pieces ! 102 SONG FROM "FAUST; SONG FROM "FAUST." (Translated from the German.) There was a King of Thule, To whom, when near her grave, The maid he loved so truly A golden beaker gave. This did he ever treasure ; When he at board would sit, His tears would fill its measure When e'er he drank from it. When Life his frame was leaving, His all he rendered up To heirs and knew no grieving, Yet kept his golden cup. Then groaned the royal tables, — Begirt by knights was he, High in those halls that fables Still tell of by the sea. SONG FROM " FAUST." 103 There stood the old king, weaker And drank his life's last wine, Then tossed the sacred beaker Far down into the brine. He watched it fall, and filling, It sank into the main ; His eyes with death were thrilling; His lips ne'er drank again. 104 GENIUS, LOVE AND HATE. GENIUS, LOVE AND HATE. " Great Wit is sure to Madness near allied. And thin partitions do their bounds divide," — But, O, how thin a wall doth separate The realms of endless Love and endless Hate ! THE HARPER'S SONG. 105 THE HARPER'S SONG. (Translated from Goethe.) Who ne'er with tears did eat his bread, Who ne'er through sorrowful night hours, Sat weeping on his lonely bed, He knows ye not, ye heavenly powers ! Ye lead us into Life amain, Ye leave the poor soul guilt to borrow. And then ye give it o'er to pain ; For guilt to-day finds pain to-morrow. io6 THE SECOND THOUGHT. THE SECOND THOUGHT. " I die to-night/' I wrote you, To make the sum complete. In a fortnight how you started To see me in the street ! Yet, pistols make a cruel mess. And daggers I despise, And I am poison-proof, for I Drank poison from your eyes. So am I forced this life to live. Nor for its end make moan, For, since you cannot see my death, I yet may see your own, 'T wixt Life, and Death for you, methinks. Life is the lesser evil ; The being dead were very well, But the dying is the devil. REVELATION. 107 REVELATION. (The Man with the Hoe.) The bard stood prophesying From out the social night. Both hemispheres were lying Projected in his sight. Mankind lay sick, lay dying For Brother-love, for Right. Came this rapt word-magician, His rhythmic rites began ; The fevered world's physician For all the ills of man ; His poems one petition Dim, wild, Utopian: " The lamb would with the lion Soon share a mutual rest. And man would live and die on His brother mortal's breast, Millennium and Zion Would be unto the blest. io8 REVELATION. " The sun would soon be shining Abroad the promised mom " My heart of hearts, divining, With sudden doubt was torn ; A weeping, waihng, whining Across the world was borne. A strange faint sound in wonder From earth to ether rose ; It cleft the air insunder! That sharpening of the hoes ! Yea, stones on stones with thunder Shook the empurpled foes. Black loomed the hills supernal, While rosy grew the sky — " Behold, Love's dawn eternal ! " The prophet made outcry. The heavens flamed infernal, The red clouds burned on high. A silence iron-handed Held Earth's cowed millions dumb. Up clomb an orb commanded By Hell — whence it had come. A skull ! With one word branded Its brow—" MILLENNIUM." BELLOMANIACS. 109 BELLOMANIACS. War ! War ! the foam-flecked mongrels of the press Yell at the waving of a foreign plume. They know, the dogs, with glory they may dress Their lazar shapes upon their country's doom — For War, though won, is doom ! O, see where caught. The gore-splashed, lying journal-jackal thrives! — Feeding the rolling presses' Juggernaut Widows' and mothers' hearts and brave men's lives. RUDYARD KIPLING. RUDYARD KIPLING. False to the poet's purpose high, in vain Craves he admittance to their golden fane, — Juggler and jongleur, whose vulgarian muse Roars from her narrow heart her rank abuse ! Who never Beauty knew and never Wit, Who beats the drums for Truth — while beating it. Renown shall with a sponge erase his name Where on her walls he chalked it — to their shame. 1903. THE SNOB. HI THE SNOB. Our land 's foul slander, you ! whose helot eyes Worship the shallow shows we most despise, Things that true Yankee-men were born to hate, But most your simian lust for English state ; Thing of a breed unknown, but less than man, You dare to call yourself American ! Whether your now degenerate stock was sown, Far from its parent shore, on Plymouth's own, Or from some needy wanderer's sturdy blood. Stagnated to its present state of mud. Or shipped in convict cargoes o'er the sea. To till Virginia's fields, — 't is one to me, — Your beggar's or your felon's blood dare claim Alas, our country's earth and all its name! At later alien bands you sneer and flout, And, being in yourself, cry : Keep them out ! You, who a free American professed, Blazon on vulgar walls a senseless crest, Bought of escutcheon-mongers with your gold, — (To deck such asses' ears such things are sold) ; Gold, which the Fates and a rich father gave, — The first to turn the second in his grave, — Gold, that has made your worthless life more light. THE SNOB. Curse of the Commonwealth, leech, parasite ! Whose back none other labor knows than that Of rubbing smooth the chairs whereon you sat. The leopard shall not lose his spots — his load Of hump the camel — nor his warts the toad, — Nor grows the snob and flunky unexempt From physic marks of feature, — and contempt Of honorable men. The smirked grimace, The high falsetto titter and the face With in-drawn lip, the up-screwed eyes and nose, The parrot stock of speech, — the strut, the pose, — Such are the signs that Nature sets to mock The rank decadence of her basest stock. So, done at last ! the scornful muse refrains Further to flay the nude thing that remains, Washes her hands defiled in water clear, And wipes her sandal-soles upon your rear. Away ! since even snobs must have their due. She plants a kick upon your greater you. TO A SHAMELESS BARD. 113 TO A SHAMELESS BARD. You have debased the poet's sacred art, And sown with lying hate your darkest shame ; Your name shall be a jeer-word in the mart Where you for dole of dollars sold your fame ! 114 MADE IN AMERICA. MADE IN AMERICA. Come, let us make a dozen score of heroes ; Each yearning niche of Fame yells out aloud, — Our pedestals unstatued — are we zeros To stand behind that European crowd ? We, who have gold to buy the beggars wholly, Shall we not have our heroes and great men? We, who monopolize all good things solely, Shall yield the palm to others ? Never ! Then Come, let us have our heroes, have them quickly ; Make them of paper, sawdust, tin or rag; — Here, all you slavering journals, coat them thickly With smart veneer of Hail Columbia brag! Heroes civilian, heroes military That shall out-tale the Vallambrosan leaves. Heroes of sans-culottcs like Tom and Jerry, Heroes of politicians, chap-men, thieves. Heroes of mighty mouths like boaster Dewey, Who, with enormous waste of powder sunk Defenseless Spanish hulks — how loudly blew he His braggart note o'er every foundered junk! Nor must our haughty-stepping dames be slighted, — Let us have female heroes, so the breed Of our heroic hearts be expedited. Rearing a race of Jasons from our seed. MADE IN AMERICA. 115 They say we have few great men — scarcely any, Who are the greatest people and the best; — We have not many great, but a great many Poets and statesmen, soldiers and the rest. They say we have no heroes, — let us make some! They say we have no great men, — let us " fake " some ! ii6 "IL DECHIRE LES PAPERASSES. IL DECHIRE LES PAPERASSES." Pape'rasses, happy word ! Though in English never heard, Word that from thy parent French, I into our tongue would wrench. Aptest word ! thoii shouldst describe Blockheads of a certain tribe, And with but the prefix " news," Scourge and brand a foul abuse. Though the Gauls may need thee too, — Here 's Herculean work to do ! Hark ! what squalling notes of fear Strike on the expectant ear! — Paperasses! do not blench, For the word is safely French. LINES ON A DEAD DOG. 117 LINES ON A DEAD DOG. (Lying on the City Hall Steps, Anno 1894.) Poor Cerberus ! thy death befell Here 'gainst the sullen gates of Hell. None pities thee nor heaves a sigh ; Each holds his nose and hurries by. Rulers and rogues politely greet, Yet scorn the brother at their feet. O, would that thou wert hung where oft The spangled banner flaps aloft; High in the eagle's thrilling home, Above the Hall, above the Dome ! A happy symbol, thou, to show The nature of the things below, — Thy body, bursting from its sheath, — The body politic beneath. Whose rank corruption like thine own, Through all its length and breadth is sown Both feed their swarms of worthless flies And both are stinking to the skies. ii8 ELECTION TIME. ELECTION TIME. Now hand to hand and face to face, The parties strive to win ; These to turn rascals out of place, And these to turn them in. Those who entered lean as kine Issue now as fat as swine ; Whom we put aperch as chicks, As glutted vultures quit the sticks. But through the streets all yell — for yell they must ; "A public office is a public trust ! " MANIKIN AND MAIDKIN. 119 MANIKIN AND MAIDKIN. A manikin met a maidkin fair; — She lured him with her eyes. The manikin followed here and there — O manikin be wise! Beware, thou manikin, of sin ; — Those eyes are gins and pits, The devil lurks and waits within : — Beware thy fragile wits ! " O maidkin fair, I love thee well," The manikin did say, " I love thee more than tongue can tell ! " The maidkin laughed away. She led him here, she led him there, She led him by the nose, And, haltered with a single hair, He follows where she goes. Came by another manikin, The maidkin was undone. She spread her nets his heart to win And let the first one run. 120 MANIKIN AND MAIDKIN. And he with sulphur, nitre, lead Blew all his skull to bits ! 'T was lead to lead — within that head Was room — but none for wits. Manikin, manikin, manikin small, O, sad thy history ! 'T was ever thus with one and all, With old and young and great and small, Was, is, and still shall be! ELEGY ON THE DEATH OF " PUNCH." 121 ELEGY ON THE DEATH OF " PUNCH." Weep, ye whose tears must unavailing flow, Struck with the ruthless fate of all below, A fate so common, unannounced and sure Which all who breathe or bark at last endure. Weep, and unpen the channels of your eyes O' er yon beloved shape that lowly lies, O'er him that unavailing love hath lost. Love kneeling by those paws so gently crossed. Ye mighty hills and forests filled with sound, Ye ocean-combing floods with whiteness crowned. Swift dryads glistening through the redwood trees, And fauns and feathered things that sail the breeze. Weep, like yon tristful one whose woe-worn head Now pillows on a cold and widowed bed. Weep ! O, what freshet tears your eyes must pour. For Punch, poor, ancient Punch, is now no more ! Gone ! gone ! — for that too peerless canine weep. Gone to profoundest, everlasting sleep ! Too soon, ah, far too soon Atropos sheared His thinning thread of Life — and Death appeared, Nor could that feeble bark affright the grim. Implacable, dread shape that conquered him. 122 ELEGY ON THE DEATH OF "PUNCH." Yet, like a being of celestial birth, He first endured his martyrdom on Earth, Until his mistress' hand, when all was vain, Gave him swift coup de grace to end his pain. Then sped his spirit to the thrones of light But left within her heart eternal night. Alas, each swelling sob my utterance chokes. How the sad drench of tears my own provokes ! Hence, vengeful furies with red eyes of coal, Never of this dear dog be yours the soul ! Though Pluto thunder from his realm profound — Or furious Ate make the world resound — Or grim and mighty Rhadamanthus throw His trident on Hell's fuming floor below — Or foaming Cerberus with horrent hair, Dread brother ! sally barking from his lair — Or Charon, venerable and gloomy man. Wait for that well-beloved black-and-tan Whose spirit, curled beside the Olympian throne, Hath found a milder world than this our own. O, ne'er again across Bohemia's floor Shall Punch obey the finger of our Thor, Never again the outstretched hand shall bite Wherewith the Laureate this dirge must write — Whiles widowed Judy whimpers in the grove, Robbed of the chaste delights of canine love. ELEGY ON THE DEATH OF " PUNCH." 123 But, long as stars and planets gem the sky, Long as yon flaming orb is rolled on high, Long as endures the Earth within her frame Shall live, shall flourish Punch's glorious name, Safe from the tooth of Time, his bright, perennial fame. 124 ST. PATRICK'S DAY, 1900. ST. PATRICK'S DAY, 1900. If I were the good Saint Patrick, And not a poor devil in sin, This were the day — this were the way My labors would begin. For I would look across the land From sea to a sister sea, And then would grasp in either hand A pen that flamed like Michael's brand, Far, fierce and terribly. One foot would rest within the West ; The other in the East. I 'd cry to God : " Thou knowest best, Call kites and vultures — Thy behest Mine office — theirs the feast." Then might ye cry to see the map Of our country turn a-green With serpents wriggling from her lap, Pell-mell beneath the thunder-clap. Beneath the lightning-sheen. ST. PATRICK'S DAY, 1900. 125 Out from the halls of the Capitol steep — Defiled with shame and slime, The reptile race I 'd drive — I 'd sweep The place of all the things that creep, For once and for all time. Out from the offices, out from the press. Out from many a steeple. Out from the courts and the schools ; no less Millions of snakes from the vast excess Alive in the hearts of the people ! Out from the cities, serpent-stuffed. Out from their teeming fens, Rattlers and vipers and adders puffed. Hypocrites blue with the skins they sloughed, By thousands and by tens. Each road should form a giant snake Of snakes — a frenzied flood ! To every sea, to every lake A-hiss the maddened mob would take Its poisoned path of mud. No wriggler would be left alive Once more its race to start ; Nay, not a serpent should survive Save beautiful little snakes that thrive In the Eden of woman's heart. 126 ST. PATRICK'S DAY, 1900. Then would I stand athwart the land, Bowed o'er my iron pen ; Turned to stone where I took my stand Yet with open eye and ready hand, Lest those serpents breed again. So, if I were the good Saint Patrick, And not a poor devil in sin, This were the day — this were the way My labors would begin ! LATRONA STREET. 127 LATRONA STREET. Where holes and dens in countless numbers lie, And dismal nooks and corners pain the eye, Where scarce is room to move my cautious feet, Surely, I walk along Latrona street ! Each wind that through the impested region blows, Conveys infection to my helpless nose. Fried fish and steaks their fragrances combine. While laundered flannels steaming on the line, And stables miUtant the reek refine. The sluttish housewives with disordered hair, Exploit the passing stranger with a stare. Or else in groups about the steps are strung. And scandal's venom drips from every tongue. The walks, like styes, with slops are littered round. With easy search a dog deceased is found. There scraps of meat refresh a thousand flies. And here its trade a rotten herring plies. Half-naked brats roll screaming in the dirt. And twenty mothers fly when one brat 's hurt. The hoodlum swain, in trousers tight arrayed, Woos with a speech unclean the hoodlum maid. Ten ragged, freckled wenches — squalid crowd ! — Are singing South Side ditties shrill and loud; 128 LATRONA STREET. And where Disease asserts her household reign, A yellow face is pressed against each pane. Through broken doors 't is shown beyond a doubt, The inside is as filthy as the out. I turn me now, with solemn step and slow, And from this scene of dreadful squalor go. Farewell, foul street, and all that reeks of thee — Thy crimes, thy sorrows and thy poverty! 1893. POEMS IN THE SPIRIT OF POE POE. 131 POE. Unto the swing and silence of great stars, Deep-chambered in the realms mysterious Of the dusk fays that dream, thy breath was born, — Thou, who with calm brow and marmoreal pale, Musest, forever throned supreme ! Supreme, — 'Midst the all-kingliest stars, a rushing orb. Eternal, vast, undimmed, out-traversing Heaven With fiercer lustre-splendor and with song Far wilder whirling than thy brother suns That gem Fame's zodiac — who counts not thee? Songs that the wide-winged seraphs spake from out Thy lips, — to marble have they grown, as wan, As whitely-pale as pearl, as rich, as rare, Those hewn, melodious, immortalities — So few, hoarded, yet few ! Thy sojourn dark On Earth was martyrdom that held no ray In the dim, desolate air of her low plains, Sunless for thee, save where thy spirit burst The nether night unlifted and thy brow Gave again to the o'er-taught world the great Reflex of Beauty's face. Thee Loveliness Loved ; gave thee her blossoms and blown flowers Which decked thy altars fair, as his were decked 132 POE. In Delphos' oracle old, Phoebus, prophetic priest Of Beauty, as wast thou, whom shall no death E'er darken or invade. No more enchain Thy music's spells these regions reft of thee, Who, through abysmal, undivulging nought, Speakest from shadowy shores with all the great, One hollow word's sad rolling, " Nevermore." Nevermore ! to the infant muse that stirred My youngest veins attuned, more dead of hope That sound than terrible Death ! I gave it not Surrender, but many a night laborious After laborious day, all humbly through Thy towering and thy star-wrought golden fanes Of frozen or of fiery dreams searched ever For what had made thy thought a light of lights, For what was secret of thy music vast And weird, for what was root of all thy lore. Search that could scarce succeed, in vain ! in vain ! — Ever the echoes whisper : " Nevermore " Through past, through present and through future years ! Here have I bound a lowly chaplet up Of flowers few and slightest, grown from soil Once nourishing noblest trees — for me to lay Even this on thy thrice-hallowed tomb, enough Of honor, and my labor's meed too large. THE SEA OF SERENITY. 133 THE SEA OF SERENITY. I. From the Mountains of the Moon, O'er her silent, silver valleys, Lit by Earth-light soft in June, And Aurora Borealis, I and Isabel the saintly, Mute upon the mountain's top, Listened to the sweet dews faintly Into nether caverns drop. II. And we spoke not and we moved not In our musing melancholy; Deep we loved, but, ah ! we loved not As they love in worlds unholy. There the Earth hung full and golden O'er our planet's pallid plain. And all memories of the olden Days of Earth swam back again. III. With a soft, a sad insistence. Flowed a stream of melody 134 THE SEA OF SERENITY. Through the ether, through the distance, Flowed for Isabel and me. Through the zenith whirled the white, Green and purple, opalescent. Blue and crimson suns whose light Bathed the nadir, iridescent. IV. Many million triple suns, Violet and lilac, burning Where the crystal zodiac runs. On its golden axis turning. Brighter than the flames of Endor Glowed the ruby sphere terrestrial, With a nimbus crowned of splendor All seraphic and celestial, V. O'er her scintillating face Rushed a mad and radiant river ; O'er the poles it poured its race Where tormented torches quiver. Oh ! their spiral tongues unending Like the mines of Ophir burned. To a liquid lustre blending As their jeweled globe was turned. THE SEA OF SERENITY. 135 VI. Then I glanced at her beside me With the glory in her eye, Deep I sighed, for words denied me— Deep we sighed, yet knew not why. Spoke the Sibyl of the Utter Silence, with her waving wings. With her shadow wings that flutter Over all Unfathomed Things : VII. " Yonder star whose lustre lonely, Tinted like the Triton's horn, Seems a sun — its flames are only Flames of human passions born. Love and Life— the Thoughts that ever Burn within the mortal breast, Flames which shall not die, oh, never Shall they die and never rest ! VIII. " Till yon globe shall bum to ashes — Like this icy orb decrease Cold and dark — with love she flashes — Love till all that is shall cease." 136 THE SEA OF SERENITY. Thus the Sibyl — swift our planet Rushed into a vast eclipse, And a shadow overran it, And the Night lay on our lips. But our lips re-echoed slowly, In that Universal Peace, Lowly, slowly, softly, holy — " Love till all that is shall cease." 1893- INTROSPECTION. 137 INTROSPECTION. In the palpable dead night, In the still, the stellar light, When the hours, like pilgrims slow, creep into the Long Ago— From the Valley of the Shadow, many a vision black or white Comes to haunt me, Comes to daunt me. Garbed in shapes I knew or know. Would they sought a season fitter — O, the dreary, dreary, bitter Years and tears, tears and years. Years of burning, bitter tears That have bowed down Earth with woe, that with woe have bowed her low ! And our misery and pain Is to think that ne'er again Shall the heart of Earth cease grieving, leaving all that grieves it so. 138 INTROSPECTION. When the symphony of spheres — (He shall bless them — he who hears) Organ-like of cosmic woes, sing — I listen unto those Strains at midnight that enrapture each exalted soul that hears Unregretting, Earth forgetting, Though like sister stars she glows ; Though she glows with wildest, parti-colored flames like fair Astarte, With the brilliant passion-fire Of a burning world's desire, With the lambent flame that blows blazing fiercely from the throes Of brave hearts in passion tost. Of the weak, the helpless lost In the world's rash race contending, ending when to wreck it goes. INTROSPECTION. 139 Under the translucent horn Of the mirrored moon I mourn In the deep night, till the day, takes her gentle ray away, On the Past so dimly distant. And the future's Stygian bourn Now appals me, Now enthralls me With its terrors vast and gray. For in sadness still and sorrow, comes repeatedly to-morrow With thoughts that cannot die, With sighs that ask us : Why ? O'er lost joys of yesterday — ah, how fair, how blest were they ! And within these eyes of mine They shall flow and they shall shine With a glory all undying, flying as it seems to-day. 1893. 140 THE ISLE OF THE DEAD. THE ISLE OF THE DEAD. In the desert floods horrific, Where no star shines beatific, Lies an island that uprises gray from out the murmur- ing tides. There it Hes, close by that region where the weary, weary Ocean, Like some cataract that floweth o'er some precipice's sides, Flows forever and forever down the hoar Antarctic pole, To Earth's heart by moaning, dead winds led along in swiftest motion. Flowing, falling as dark fancies fall and flow o'er thee, my soul. There the sun lies dead forever, Wrapt in clouds no sun could sever, Never part the bleak, funereal, o'erhanging vapor palls. And the Spirit of All-Silence, breathing deep beneath the waters. Lifts and sinks the sable surges as they lap the granite walls. THE ISLE OF THE DEAD. 141 There dwell phantoms vast whose faces watch in dun- gray mists the while, And two guardian ghosts — two sisters, Peace and Death — the only daughters Of that Universal Silence brooding o'er that haunted Isle. And that island forms a crescent, Stilly cove where the incessant, Shifting surges lie in melancholy contemplation still, 'Neath the spell and scent of cypress sentinels and mandragora, Its smooth face reflecting whitely marble walls built in the hill, Ancient walls of milky marble, mossy tombs hewn in the stone. From the cliffs Lethean lilies breathe a dull, lethargic aura, — Ah, these eyes wept as those lilies weep — these eyes wept not alone! Like the heart-beat of my saintly Loved one, now an oar beats faintly. 'T is a black-draped barge comes gliding, sliding o'er the unsailed sea, With a muffled, masked rower and the form of Grief, who, weeping, Standeth o'er a velvet casket as she prayeth ceaselessly. 142 THE ISLE OF THE DEAD. Tell, what prayers need there be said, woman, o'er that blessed head? Slowly, slowly she comes creeping to the tomb where I was sleeping Seven centuries and cycles in the Island of the Dead. 1894. PACIFIC. 143 PACIFIC. Often we walked by the water Of that weird, wonderful sea, I and the skipper's fair daughter — Fair as a flower was she ! Doubting how sorrow could be, I and the skipper's pale daughter Strolled to the sound of the sea. Clouds in the heavens seemed mountains, And mountains smiled over the land; By Ocean of many-mouthed fountains We loved and we dreamed and we planned All the life we could not understand — And the vari-hued mountains and fountains Were ours in that magical land. 144 PACIFIC. O, child of the skipper ! if only The mountains and fountains no more Drew me back where that ocean so lonely Still mourns on its desolate shore ! But my heart bears the sorrow it bor3 When we laid thee, beloved, all lonely Where thou hearest the sea-voice no more. 1895. AUG 11 iyuc5