THE MUSICIAN 
 
 RAY BENNETT WEAVER 
 
I'^^^WI 
 
 ^^'^ 
 
 
 I ask but this, to be a prince of song. 
 And have my kingdom in the hearts of men: 
 No service but their love; and no reward 
 But in the good that I can do; no fame 
 But in the living joy of human hearts; 
 No crown but the soft light of banished tears. 
 
 
 COPYRIGHT t9l4 
 
 RAY BENNETT WEAVER 
 
 WAUKESHA. WIS. 
 
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 TO 
 FATHER AND MOTHER 
 
THE MUSICIAN 
 
 PART ONE 
 
 The wind in unseen pulses trembling came, 
 
 As though 'twere breathed from some great breast of love; 
 
 And tenderly it moved as though it knew 
 
 The heart-deep sighs that stirred it on its way, 
 
 With wistful whispering to touch the world 
 
 To one full voiced sorrow and one moan. 
 
 From mystic plains it came, whose mighty curve 
 
 For aye had bended up to kissing skies, 
 
 A vasty waste where vestal angels choir, 
 
 And with their music sweet, melt tearful stars 
 
 All into golden harps, and string them well 
 
 ^Yith sounding silver from the moon's sad heart. 
 
 And so it came and tarried in the streets 
 
 Of the far spreading city, lost itself 
 
 Amid the heaven flaring spires and walls 
 
 That buffet with the storms too near the sun. 
 
 And found itself while weeping over crowds 
 
 That snaked their way beneath the brazen lights. 
 
 Then out beyond the walls in sick retreat. 
 
 Full heavy, as with human hearted pain 
 
 It panted, rested on the sands from whence 
 
 It crept toward the gorges that were made 
 
 When mad eruption spat the mountains up 
 
 In diabolic frenzy, at the skies. 
 
 There, sipping of the snow-chilled mountain tears, 
 
 It throbbed with refreshed life and gently rose 
 
 From out the rich, dark opal distances, 
 
 Up to the radiant and refulgent light 
 
6 THE MUSICIAN 
 
 That rolled in bending glory o'er the hills. 
 
 It's tuneful whisperings among the rocks 
 
 Grew pregnant with a sorrow, weird and wild, 
 
 And sharp, like breath forred fiereely tlirougli shut teeth. 
 
 When pain contracts and spasms twist the frame. 
 
 Yet as it louder cried and shrieked its way 
 
 Unto a valley, whose precipitous sides 
 
 Brested against the close flung shadows thrown 
 
 From each to each, it changed its piercing wail 
 
 To a sad moaning, soft, melodious. 
 
 Such as might fitly sound a requiem 
 
 Over a heart struck to its death by grief. 
 
 As thus it neared the valley's shadowed head. 
 
 Oft pausing on the broad pine branch's couch 
 
 To rest its sorrow and its weariness. 
 
 There came to it a plaint of such rare pain 
 
 As caused its soul to quiver and to throb, 
 
 And then to sicken into silences. 
 
 Par up the star-sweet valley's misting side 
 Two forms in the deep glory of the dark, 
 In softened shadows, tender, clinging shades 
 Moved close together, while the queenly nigiit 
 With fiery minions bearing up her train 
 Swept on, majestic, sovereign, glorious. 
 'Mid stunted pines that grappled with the rocks 
 As man to life, they stood, while all the earth 
 Breathed out its tender, weeping mystery. 
 Then lyric grief touched pain with holier fire: 
 He lifted lovingly his violin 
 
 And would have sung some lightsome lover's song ; 
 But, as he paused to find his fingering, 
 The gleaming bow^ arched o'er the eager strings, 
 His breast o'erheaved itself into a sigh 
 Tliat brouglit the cougli ui)ou him once again. 
 Then flashed his flaming bow like leaping light 
 And smote the sounding strings, and kissed them o'er 
 With kindly ci'oonings, w istful mother sobs. 
 Yet, heated agony within him reared 
 
THE MUSICIAN 
 
 Her monster head and shook her darting locks 
 
 Against his quivering heart, and spat with flame 
 
 Upon his soul, so that his anguish rent 
 
 Itself with tortures 'ueath the steely stars, 
 
 And bound itself again with harmony. 
 
 But still the knot of passion in his breast. 
 
 To cramping tightness drawn by heavy woe. 
 
 By all the lava tongues from music's heart 
 
 Could not be loosed, and madly played he on 
 
 Until his soul was weak from leaping so 
 
 To pierce itself against the golden tips 
 
 Of heaven's pointed stars, and softly came 
 
 Back to him like a moon-flung shadow fallen 
 
 Into the dark of some great, hollow cave. 
 
 Then rested he his aching bow and eased 
 
 The taut and quivering hairs that brightly gleamed 
 
 Against the dark and graceful, bending wood. 
 
 His sad-souled violin that lingered still, 
 
 And nestled tenderly above his heart. 
 
 He placed within the soft case lipped with plush, 
 
 Deep murmuring, "But once more, and I die I" 
 
 Sweet Esther, rested near with mellow eyes, 
 Whose quiet glory, dark and rich and true, 
 Glowed deeply through the passion of the tears 
 Unable to flow o'er the burning lid 
 That set a ring of fire about them all. 
 She spoke, and as each choked word found its way 
 Unto her lips, it robed itself with sighs, 
 And bore its meaning forth and laid it low, 
 Like some hot petal of a blasted rose. 
 Within his utmost heart. "Speak not of death 
 To one within whose breast its fearful darts 
 Have long since cut their way, have rankled there 
 With livid, biting poison. I, not marked 
 (Yea, and a soul has eyes more fine than sense) 
 The hot flush flood the hollow of thy cheek? 
 The awful look within thy wistful eye. 
 Which fixed on me cries but, 'Farewell, farewell, 
 
8 THE MUSICIAN 
 
 Farewell for ageless, loug eternity?' " 
 
 "Ah yes, farewell ! Soft stars in mellow mist 
 And moons from lofty glory melt away. 
 Brave suns, o'er brown and prayerful Western hills 
 Pour out the pity of their death-doomed breasts, 
 And kindly sleep folds earth's great eyelids down : 
 Within the dark the whisper of a wing, 
 A star sure fixed, a chorus chanting low — 
 'Peace, peace — sweet rest ! All shall be glorified !' 
 I who had thought to live, and live with thee. 
 Since I must die, will die without thee, love. 
 Far, far away I'll go and chill thee not 
 As I fade slowly to a soul again. 
 There I shall play my own short requiem. 
 Kiss some dear token of thy love, and die." 
 
 Great silence fell upon them, sorrow's soft 
 And hushing mantle fell upon their souls. 
 Yet in the night the heart's sweet fever burned, 
 And caustic grief gulped laughter's honeyed tears. 
 The canyons gave their blue ghosts to the moon, 
 With moan outbreathed and frank and fraught with woe. 
 The rugged mountains raised their scraggy arms, 
 With spasms shocked, distorted and o'ertense, 
 Held them distended, racked with fevers sharp. 
 While over them sank down the numbing snow. 
 He slightly swayed as does the tender tree 
 Beneath the powerful eagle's quest-bent wings. 
 Then turned his eyes upon her, sadder far 
 Than the high mountain lake that sobs its dirge 
 Against a dead volcano's lava lip. 
 
 "Oh, Esther, wlien these stars are clear and cold, 
 Some other night than this, some future night — 
 I can scarce speak, my soul is straining so 
 For something beyond utterance. Simple, then. 
 Let luy words be, and few — for, God I They scorch 
 My lips in passing, and like coals lie close 
 
THE MUSICIAN 
 
 Upon my tongue and eat my very flesh. 
 J[y breast a furnace is, whose heat confined 
 Doth rage against my soul. Ten thousand coals, 
 White blasted, weigh their cliukered weight upon 
 My heart, whose pain distorted arteries 
 Do pulse the hiva of my seething blood 
 Into my frenzied brain. Oh, CJod I Oh, (iod I 
 What damned fury is this shrieking so 
 'Gaiust my poor strength as if I were a man 
 Toughened to hell's most bitter, hot embrace — 
 Sweet Esther, — so I spoke, when these same stars, 
 That flaunt so gayly in the heavens tonight. 
 So careless of black horror's misery. 
 Do shine, do sparkle, then, wheu I — when I — " 
 
 "You whom with my whole heart I dearly love. 
 To whose embrace I yield myself entire, 
 Now keep this trust, this night bird, lover mine ! 
 Oh, leave me not! See, how I do implore! 
 I lay my weakness even at your feet, 
 That it may win one glance from your strong soul 
 As you pass by. And wilt thou lift it not 
 And warm it 'gainst thy tender, pitying breast, 
 And wrap its nakedness in the rich folds 
 Of purple that sleep close above thy heart? 
 Oh ! No more words have I, my all is spent ! 
 A woman's last plea have I made to you, 
 I've said my soul's deep all in, 'I am tliine!' '' 
 
 "Mine ! Mine ! For God's eternity, all mine ! 
 Oh, chide me not. great zoneless lights of heaven. 
 That I embrace this treasure once again. 
 Though I do stand among the very clods 
 Of that deep grave wherein I shall lie down. 
 And watch forever the majestic East 
 Shooting her suns up at the embattled stars. 
 Lifting her moons and planets up to light 
 The uncertain ways which lovers so oft go. 
 Mine ! Mine ! Beloved, are you truly mine? 
 
10 THE MUSICIAN 
 
 Have you no jealousy of pale-eyed death 
 
 Whose blue lips come between our kisses so? 
 
 Each glorious hair is mine! Oh, were my heart 
 
 Wrapped close in its soft strength, it could not break ! 
 
 Each tear, which tells of every joy or pain 
 
 We e"er have felt together — all are luiuel 
 
 Ah ! I shall chain them on a rosary 
 
 For my cold chapel wall, and tell them o'er 
 
 AVhenever your liglit foot dotli kiss the earth 
 
 These thousand miles away. My heart, my soul 
 
 Embalmed by your pure love, shall never cease 
 
 To drink the nectar of your womanhood. 
 
 A minute of thy life sings more of God 
 
 Than all a Calla-lily's trumpet days!" 
 
 How wept the night at this illusion sweet, 
 This holy madness which could only whet 
 The keenness of that fateful scimitar, 
 AA'hich leaps from off Necessity's sharp wing, 
 A scale-like, armored feather, cutting deep 
 Like new moons hurtling from their scabbards dark. 
 Yet shall not every heart-joy which we feel 
 Temper the coldness of the chilly grave 
 To something kinder? Shall not every rose 
 We reacli for, tliough we 1()S(> it, make more soft 
 Tliat strange and ^^(^ndro^ls eoueh where we shall lie? 
 Sweet-pillowed there on petals rich with love, 
 How fair our dreams shall be, how pleasant, kind 
 And lightsome ! Lulled by mystic music low, 
 The lyric harmonies, delightsome, rare, 
 The dulcet minors of dew-dreaming flowers, 
 How softly, slowly, gently shall we wake 
 To God's eternity of mighty bliss ! 
 Sleep! Sleep, thou glorious, legion hearts of love! 
 Sleep! Sleep and dream, and let thy dreams be bright. 
 That so thy eyes may bear the brilliance great 
 When all thy dreams are done and ye awake 
 At the fire-whitened throne — the God of kings! — 
 Awake with trembling to search out thine own 
 
THE MUSICIAN 11 
 
 Amid the countless ye will surely love 
 Even as thine own, and when ye all shall know 
 A joy most infinite, because ye've learned 
 To love beyond all measure and all bound. 
 
 But as the eveninsi: star with kind, brave eye 
 Kisses the frowning from the dark-browed night 
 And sweetens all the rugged bills to song, 
 Compassionate, harmonic, tender voiced. 
 So, surging up within his soul there came 
 A charming courage, clear and strong and brave. 
 O'er mastered by its (|uiet, kind <(piinuaiiil. 
 He spoke; and thougli each word hurt deeply his 
 Sore heart, the spirit of the word healed close 
 The sharp, fierce wound it made, and while her head 
 Bent slowly lower as though it would rest 
 Upon the pillowy breast of some small wind, 
 To find the sustenance and gracious peace 
 It was her lover's wont to give, lie said : 
 
 "My Esther, yet no longer mine I I pray 
 You give a patient hearing to my words; 
 For they shall try you as they do try me, 
 Beyond endurance to a simple faith. 
 Ah ! How with love's rich fancies we gauze o'er 
 And madly beautify tlie facts of life I 
 Our th'ck, corporeal blood, with siren songs 
 We'd charm to carry more than food for flesh. 
 An eye is but an eye, and after death 
 This all we are is but the thing we were. 
 We are the unit products of a great 
 And mighty generation, a God-force, 
 And we, like crystal valley lakes of wide 
 Expanse, do gather all the mystic streams 
 That flow from our ancestry, even that 
 High tributary which doth course from God, 
 To bring us even in our infancy 
 A consciousness of heaven and of Him. 
 But though within the mazy murmnrings 
 
12 THE MUSICIAN 
 
 Of bii"th, we share a fellow consciousness, 
 Remembrance can not breast the tidal wave 
 That brought us to this mart of mystery, 
 As feeling protoplasms into which 
 The tall flowers of our souls had fixed soft root. 
 Where stars beyond the stars in wonder white 
 Burn out the mighty splendor of their lives, 
 Thei'e is no lieaven for birth-yearning souls, 
 Nor any infinite from which we come, — 
 Lean fancy's fiction fixed and packed in clods! 
 Why ! Knows not man the fool of useless faith 
 Who, looking with his eye to grasp and know 
 The infinite, o'er strains his sense and sees. 
 In yellow fever mists of earth's low fen, 
 The golden glory of a host filled heaven? 
 Hath not the great Creator power to make 
 For each, at birth, his soul, as well as form 
 Ten million souls and keep them in supply? 
 Thy soul and mine beyond birth's heavy gate. 
 Ne'er bathed in dew or kissed o'er roses sweet. 
 Even in the work-day wonders of this life 
 We lived for years and knew each other not. 
 We met — Oh, wonderful ! We met and loved ! 
 But still, though all divinity seems sprung 
 From that one meeting, who can well deny 
 That meeting was determined by chance 
 And not divinity? I speak as one 
 Already before judgment : these are not 
 Mere shameless fakers with the food of faith. 
 Let us be frank, dear Esther, and admit 
 That though we love each other, yet we each 
 Some other may have loved from that we do." 
 
 "What purpose have your words that they do come 
 So round about at that which you would say? 
 My heart doth fear some ending full of dread 
 When you do speak such slow philosophies. 
 And weight your passion's graceful, airy wings 
 With all this cold and shivering valley-dew, 
 
THE MUSICIAN 13 
 
 Like age-old tears reborn of deep-sunk mists. 
 Dear heart, what care I for the laws of birth, 
 The source of love, the all outsprung from God, 
 The mystic chances, possibilities 
 Hy which, though we might uot have met, we did? 
 What purport has it, what importance pray, 
 Since we do love, and I would come to thee? 
 
 "That arrow pains the least which surest flies 
 Unto the heart ; so let my speech strike home : 
 You might have loved some other than myself, 
 Some other may you love when I am gone. 
 You do forget that cVi- mad IMuu'toii 
 Doth rise once more from out the purple Po, 
 To breast the lightening of Jupiter, — 
 Yes, e'er strong Phoebus" steeds do neigh but once 
 Within their bright, restraining, golden stalls. 
 We two, who met and loved, shall separate 
 Until the abyssmal sparks do upward whirl, 
 Aroused by the arch-angel's trumpet blast. 
 This parting charge I leave you, with my soul : 
 To any love that equals thine in worth. 
 Resistance do not give, in tliought of me. 
 My life goes to the grave, and I may cast 
 No reflect of it down the broadening way 
 The generations open — it is done ! 
 So much the more I yearn that those, in wliom 
 My love hath an abiding, live their lives 
 In influence both kind and natural. 
 So, when he comes, as I do pray he will. 
 To claim as great a love as you gave me, — 
 Though not the samel — Yes, when lie plants the seed 
 From which shall spring a rose bush in thy heart, 
 Root it not out, liut culture it with care. 
 And wear its every blossom on thy breast 
 For him, for him, for him, and only him !" 
 
 Strong was the protest in her attitude. 
 Yet deeply suppliant she raised her eyes 
 
14 THE MUSICIAN 
 
 All dew.y-wild with tlie great darting pain 
 That leaped within her breast like some malign 
 And fiery shuttle, that would weave a mesh 
 Of choking death about her tortured heart. 
 With trembling tenderness she placed her hand 
 Upon his arm, and waited for his look. 
 
 "Musician art thou and expression give 
 To all my humble soul, in love, has known. 
 Has ever discord in thy music come? 
 My soul has never ceased to sing its prayer 
 Witliiu tlie lovely lenii)le of thy heart. 
 And ever to the sweetly resonant walls 
 Has tuned its holy, sympathetic praise. 
 Upon the golden alter there enshrined 
 A vestal virgin have I kept the fire; 
 And shall I leave my white-robed service now. 
 To wait in purple at some other shrine?'' 
 
 "Thy altar's cracked and shattered with a flame! 
 Thy fires have burnt too deeply, and the walls 
 Too tenderly enraptured A\ith thj' song 
 Fall now in brilliant crystal o"er thy soul. 
 From out the splendor of the ruined heap 
 Still mounts the incense of thy holy trust, 
 And over all tliere weeps the unpaid care 
 Which kept it througli the glorious, gladsome years. 
 Oh, Esther, love, my heart doth strive to break, 
 To fall in tatters like fire-shredded worlds 
 Tliat rear their way iu liorror through the sky ! 
 But yet, as yonder mountain's horn doth pierce 
 The moon's pain-paled heart and hold it high 
 Before it flings it to the lower dark. 
 So am I held to suffer and to strain 
 And writhe in horrors, that I cannot die 
 At once — 'Tis gone ! 'Tis gone ! Dream-drifting on 
 In silvery shadows and sepulchral sleep, 
 So let me go. But I, I cannot go! 
 Now surge within my soul such things as roar 
 
THE MUSICIAN 15 
 
 Above all speech. A fiery tempest swirls 
 
 Its dart-sparks tliroiiiih m.v mind, and now when I 
 
 Would speak such words as gather fully in 
 
 All the rich wonders of the blessed days, 
 
 Would leave them with you for your hunger years, 
 
 I can say nothing, yet I wish for thee 
 
 A lover's blessing, such as almost breasts 
 
 The power of the Almighty God to give!" 
 
 A sob smote all his aching words away, 
 But anguish moaned their message in her ear. 
 Low crouched he as a striken angel might 
 And tossed himself upon the cruel embrace 
 Of steely stones, and clasped his eyes and clutched 
 His throat convulsed in terror of his pain. 
 Then sprang he up and, with a screaching laugh, 
 He shook his twitching fingers o'er his head. 
 And once more fell, face foreward, toward the East. 
 
THE MUSICIAN 
 
 PART TWO 
 
 An Eastern land of rioli, deep-breasted lakes 
 Gave quiet home to a lone traveler. 
 Soft, blossoming Spring, with all her laughing fays, 
 Was still at work in sky and field and wood, 
 Melting her fresli, warm rains among the clouds. 
 Pulsing her throbbing life tlirough (juivering earth. 
 Waking the timid flowers, unfurling leaves, 
 And calling up the song birds from the lush 
 Savannas of the sweet, symphonic South. 
 All life was rich and glad with lightsome joy : 
 The days ran o'er with laughter's rippling mirth, 
 And mazy murmurings of happiness 
 Filled all the nights with mellow harmony. 
 The morning brought the day with gladsome song, 
 Her fresh breath tuned to mystic melodies, 
 Dew-sweet, ecstatic, rapturous, and rare. 
 The evening clapped her golden cymbaled hands 
 As Phoebus cliarged to Letlie's plunging stream. 
 She smote the heavens full of merry sound. 
 While round the gleeful lake, whose maiden eye 
 Laughed at the rolicking stars romancing through 
 The glorious mazes of the heaven's wide court, 
 A gurgling sweet of infant, sportive waves 
 Mounted the air with tender foot of song. 
 And wrought the limpid glory of their gold 
 Into a music high among the leaves. 
 Wise shadows, manes of the bashful trees, 
 Crept to the water's edge and softly slipped 
 
18 THE MUSICIAN 
 
 Into their evening bath ; but over all 
 A falling stream rang out its dulcet bells, 
 And sniontbod their trelibles into minor strains, 
 That in the aisled and heavy arched wood 
 Like sound of human tears died into dreams. 
 
 Pale was the face the gently misting moon, 
 With all its aureole of clustering stars, 
 Found fixed toward the West, where Pheobus flew 
 Through flocks of frightened clouds which hovered on 
 Tlieir wounded way adown tlic empyreal East. 
 Pale was the face as it were blasted so 
 By utmost pain's fierce, caustic encauma ; 
 But bright the eyes tlmt burned beneath that brow, 
 WTiere sorrow placed the brand of her last woe. 
 All the great mists that writhed among the trees 
 And snaked their way in serpent chase of dreams, 
 Through places lone and chill, could not ensnare 
 The piercing splendor of that soul-lit glance. 
 
 Three weeks had worn their weary lengths away 
 Since the Musician, stricken, sad, and lone. 
 Had sought the refuge of this quiet spot. 
 Secretive, sorrowful and meek and still. 
 He shared his agony but with his God. 
 Pain lay too deeply in his suffering breast 
 To be drawn out and foundled o'er with tongues; 
 Too sacred was tlie woe that in distress 
 Flung its wild arms about his tearful soul, 
 To be but kept and patiently endured. 
 So, thoughtfully and with few words he gained 
 A cottage, fast secluded and alone. 
 And simple service of a country girl. 
 'Twas thus he hid himself away, to die; 
 To live the long days with sad memories; 
 To dream them o'er througliout the fevered nights, 
 To weep o'er violets that freshly sprung 
 Among the dull leaves of tlie past dead year. 
 As now he sat, the quiet country girl. 
 
THE MUSICIAN 19 
 
 Who, with a quaint and unskilled tenderness 
 Kept watch upon his needs, admonished him : 
 "The sunset marks the time for you to sleep, 
 And see, the high moon finds you far from rest. 
 Chill currents of cold air search through the trees 
 And heavy fogs creep there not far away 
 Above the singing waters of the stream. 
 The early insects drone their slumber song, 
 The frogs blow out their shrill breath at the stars, 
 And night -romancing fishes cut and slash 
 The soft, smooth surface of the sleeping lake ; 
 And yet you hold your wide eyes toward the West. 
 You seem to have no care for your weak health, 
 And since your coming, sudden and so strange, 
 With your cased violin, I've wondered oft 
 If truely you did come to gain in strength, 
 Or to jump faster toward your eager grave." 
 
 \A'ith simple, kind regard, he rested back 
 Against the breaking bark of an old tree, 
 And painfull}' protested with a, sigh, 
 That she would be more tender to his ways 
 Did she but know their prompting's awful power. 
 His wistful manner and his mystic speech, 
 Suggestive of a woe beyond all words, 
 Held potent charm over her simple heart, 
 And she stood worshipful and fixed before 
 This holy thing she could not understand: 
 For oft the human heart doth pause to pray 
 To its own ignorance too well expressed 
 In mystery. Then, as he saw her thus. 
 Her naive way re-acted on his wont, 
 And, as a silence shepherds each slight noise, 
 And pure air drinks impassioned, rare perfume, 
 So did her wonder and her quaint desire. 
 Expressed in mystic modesty and faith. 
 Lure from him softly that his turgid heart 
 Too long had kept within its strained confine: 
 
20 THE MUSICIAN 
 
 "Marked you how wounded seemed the clouds that came 
 From out the West? Aud how they wept their blood, 
 Their scalding blood, on yon horizon's breast 
 E'er they did leave it for the Eastern night 
 Where their dun mourning blackens? Say, dids't thou 
 But question ardent Phoebus why he dashed 
 So hotly, aud with colors clamoring 
 So wildly, down toward those bridal hills. 
 Those Western hills, so like a bridegroom, he? 
 Ah ! Cans't thou tell me not why each sweet flower 
 Doth bend its head toward the West iu prayer; 
 And dost thou not discern the reason, girl. 
 Why each love-lilting bird turns its full throat 
 Toward the West, its evening psalm to sing? 
 What peace comes now, as though a mother's breast 
 W^ere pillowing to sleep all careful life ! 
 It is the wind, it is the Western wind, 
 The moving spirit of the mountain land, 
 Guarded by angels o'er the Eden plains 
 Where cacti stand like crosses in the sun ! 
 It is the Western wind, the Western wind, 
 W'hich softly greets thy white and maiden brow 
 With sister kisses ! Look ! It brings more clouds 
 Breathed yesternight from some brave mountain's top, 
 Wiiere angels make tlieir chaste batlis in the snow. 
 See! What a bouquet wreath they round the moon, 
 Like memory of love's rich fantasies! 
 Ah ! All the night moves into music now 
 And spheres their solemn orchestration hold : 
 (Ireat Venus waves her baton tlirongh the skies 
 In curve majestic, flashing rose-red light; 
 And Saturn's bow, strung \\ith a comet's mane — 
 So tawny doth it gleam— flares down to boom 
 Upon his cello's breast; wliile Mars, upon 
 The drum beats hotly war's great thunder strain. 
 Bold, clarion stars with cornet, flute, and pipe 
 Blow out sweet music that drips down in gold 
 To gild Diana's harp of harmonies. 
 But 'tis the West wind plays the violin. 
 
THE MUSICIAN 21 
 
 \Yith sound as of a woman's wept farewell ; 
 
 And so doth eai'th add to the symphony 
 
 That swings each universe upon its way. 
 
 Alas! My gentle minister of gentler cures, 
 
 My raging fever flings my utterance wild. 
 
 Pray, mark it not nor seek with love to stay 
 
 The burning out of this bent-candle life, 
 
 Too deeply socketed ! Tliy tolerance lend 
 
 To what I speak, for soon in all the night 
 
 My voice shall sound its weary plaint no more." 
 
 A woman's tear burned on his out-flung hand, 
 A woman's tender pressure held it fast, 
 A woman's eyes, soul-filled with pity deep. 
 Looked up at him through all their wondering woe. 
 She spoke in mellow, soft, and passionate voice, 
 Like bells among the cedar bouglis at eve. 
 "Kind friend — for now indeed I call you friend 
 Witliout restraint or sense of being l3old, — 
 My poor heart hurts, so simple and unwise 
 It is, that — Ah! It feels beyond the crude 
 And humble sympathy that I express. 
 You'll never understand a woman's heart, 
 Which like the changing bosom of a lake 
 Is quick to mirror every passing shade; 
 To laugh and dance with every wandering wind ; 
 And yet, within its still and quiet depth, 
 To cradle power in rare security. 
 Oh, all these tears of mine and all these sighs 
 Are but the outer symbols of a grief 
 Set deep within the core of my sad breast! 
 I can not in the brilliance of a tear 
 And in the sounding of a fretted sigh. 
 Show the bright love that shines within my heart 
 And utter forth the woe that binds it there. 
 You are a man ; a strange, weak woman, I, 
 Restrained from you, another soul set off 
 In isolation absolute and chill. 
 Because I am a woman I would cure 
 
22 THE MUSICIAN 
 
 The sickness that seems busy over you ; 
 But that I am a woman, so must I 
 No unction give, but suffer with you still. 
 Yet, so I think, each heart has its own grief, 
 And grief cures grief, so over yours I'll pour 
 The thin, hot stream of mine to soothe your own. 
 Indeed, I know uot why you came, nor whence, 
 Nor what has brought you like a loue, strayed bird, 
 All wounded, to the quiet of this land. 
 You ne'er have told me and I ask you not; 
 Yet since you came these few strange days ago 
 In you I've found a trust that is complete." 
 
 " 'Tis well to trust in those who moan with death. 
 And my siige intuition whispers me 
 To trust another is nut well nor wise. 
 But thou mayst speak to me as safely, girl, 
 As thou woulds't tling thee on a grave and pour 
 Thy secret-bearing tears down through the clods." 
 
 And as she spoke, crouched lowly by his knee, 
 Her face turned out toward the laughing light 
 That marked the lake, where music-crested waves 
 Melted in melody against the shore 
 And chimed the sweet bells in their silvery foam, 
 She told a tale of simple, rustic love 
 That almost hid its pathos in the folds 
 Of its own commoness. Yet, in her heart 
 Great pain was robed in scarlet and sat throned. 
 
 "Two years he lived to grace his mother's eye 
 Before I came, like sorrow, unto mine, 
 liorn in a spot so quiet and alone, 
 Early w'e sought a childhood friendliness. 
 And nnuh tonetlier we roamed through tiie wood 
 In chase of butterflies that led us to 
 The hidden riches of the secret flowers. 
 By (juick pursuit of tlirifty honey bees 
 In rifted trees we found their treasured store. 
 
THE MUSICIAN 23 
 
 O'er lake, through wood, aud sunny field we flew, 
 
 Even from the time when morning dews were chill 
 
 Within the cups of fairies, to the time 
 
 When the shrill tree-toad blinked his eye and sang 
 
 To see the shadows creep among the leaves 
 
 And blind the winged midges droning there. 
 
 Two rose buds on the self-same branch we grew; 
 
 But only I awakened in the sun 
 
 And tried to hide my heart within my breast. 
 
 Through the loug years I waited and with prayers 
 
 r.athed o'er my heart to keep it chaste and true, 
 
 That if perchance his love should search me out 
 
 I should be worthy of his hope and care. 
 
 r>nt, Ah ! I have so often idly thought, 
 
 As I strayed lonely through the virgin wootl. 
 
 And marked the myriad flowers that blossomed there 
 
 Unseen, unknown, and ever unenjoyed, 
 
 How like to maiden hearts in love they are. 
 
 Yes, and I envy them as I go by. 
 
 So sweetly do they mix their sad perfume 
 
 In fellow sympathy and mutual woe. 
 
 I would I were a flower to grow upon 
 
 The path he treads, that so he might crush out 
 
 Sly life beneath his foot, or pluck me up 
 
 And wear me ever close upon his heart! 
 
 How brown the tokens are he brought to me 
 
 In those days of the sunshine of our youth! 
 
 So splendid they were then, the rarest blooms 
 
 That all his prowess great could gather in! 
 
 He is so good, so kind, so strong and brave, 
 
 And true he would be if he ever loved; 
 
 Yet, health has set such fire within his soul, 
 
 Such mounting vigor singing through his frame, 
 
 Snt'h lightnings in his eye to warm his cheek. 
 
 That he by love no more can be restrained 
 
 Than winds that hurl the heavy tempest up. 
 
 No man the country through can equal him 
 
 In wealth of all that makes up manliness." 
 
24 THE MUSICIAN 
 
 Fixed through the soul with this plain, simple tale, 
 The sad Musician bowed his aching head 
 Upon his upturned palms to ease the rage 
 That jostled like spear-flames together flung 
 Within his brain. But yet his heart gaped wide, 
 Gasping for but a breath of this same force 
 Which burned itself in ruddy way along 
 The powerful arteries of perfect health. 
 ^Tiile he bowed low, across the gleaming lake 
 There came a meiTy and a royal lay, 
 A song above the singing of the waves, 
 Majestic music, rich with boundless joy. 
 A low canoe, like some swift meteor's wing 
 Down dropped from heaven, kissed tlie crested tops 
 Of waves embossed with splendor and with sheen, 
 And leaped, e'er yet its kisses gurgled out, 
 In rounds and whirls of silver, all their glee, 
 To taste again the amorous water's lip. 
 Alone the boatman knelt, his tawny head 
 In brave rejoicing tossed at backward slant. 
 And all his muscles plying at the task. 
 Thrilled with the mighty joy that leaps in life. 
 Like laughing light he came and flashed away 
 To the deep music of his caroling ; 
 While all along the shore the happy waves, 
 In jest, cried out that joy had smitten them. 
 
THE MUSICIAN 
 
 PART THREE 
 
 With bursting, red-veined glory Autumn came 
 And cast her wild, free iK-anty o'er the hills. 
 She caught the sunrise lights among the clouds, 
 The heavy lights that steep the night in flame. 
 Mad Bacchanal I She smote with Thyrsus red 
 Each bended bough, and leaped into the sky 
 To lash the stars to mad and brilliant dance. 
 How ran she with swift whiid and pirouette 
 Through golden bog and marshland red and brown, 
 O'er dun-dark pasture field, round scarlet hills. 
 Past vermeil woods tliat blnslied, and softly rich. 
 Glowed like a ripe rose fallen from the sky ! 
 Coquettish sister of the spring she came, 
 Fierce in her beauty and her mastery. 
 Yet not without the solace of a flower. 
 Or sacred service of a singing bird. 
 
 ^&^ 
 
 Pure maiden morning, thrilled by wondrous dreams. 
 That heralded the opening of her eyes. 
 Cast back the light grey covering from her throat 
 And so, in peax'ly beauty, waking lay. 
 Reclining on purple pillows there. 
 She drew aside the rosy, russet veil 
 That screened her couch, and gazed upon the world. 
 Up leaped the spirit of the adoring earth 
 To woo her, and with many flowers, dew-filled. 
 He bathed the night's soft kisses fi'om her eyes, 
 
26 THE MUSICIAN 
 
 And in those freshened depths saw rich reward, 
 At which the heavens burned into the day. 
 
 Bright day, the air-born child of morning, mused 
 And brooded o'er the riches of the earth. 
 Sprung from hot coursing blood, warm orient hours. 
 And pulsing with his passionate majesty. 
 He stretched his rounded, full and glowing form 
 Along the burnished couch that Autumn laid. 
 He drew smoke-purpled fire about his head, 
 And sent the tender footed nymphs of song. 
 And all the fays that feast upon the wind. 
 With long and delicate harps and flower-sweet bells, 
 To wake the quivering shades to harmonies. 
 Lulling, delicious, soft, like strains that sweep 
 The silver chords of heaven's golden strand. 
 He threw into the water's quick embrace 
 The streaming hearts of lorn and lonely loves, 
 So that forever on the shore, the waves 
 Like burdened tears piled up their weight of woe. 
 And so, in love with life, he played with death, 
 'Till evening stole upon him where he lay. 
 And from his mighty heart took gushing life, 
 Her heavy robes to re-incarnadine. 
 Then fled she from the fury of her guilt, 
 Trailing her scarlet sin across the sky 
 And fainted on the threshold of the night. 
 
 Forth came he, sovereign, stately king 
 And hurled the stars like flames into the sky. 
 He smote the weary world with heavy dreams. 
 Yet could not smite to duller consciousness 
 The sad Musician's heart, as long he sat 
 Alone, in struggle with the dread of souls. 
 Inevitable grief, which had not e'en 
 The keen, tormenting hope that piqued despair 
 To bloody howling in racked Tantalus' breast. 
 Before him died a far spent coal and in 
 Its flimsy a.sh he read the fate of life. 
 
THE MUSICIAN 27 
 
 A thing fit for the licking tongues of winds 
 
 And hollow moanings of a sooty flue. 
 
 "How coward eteiuities of heavy death 
 
 May coldly sneer at all this panting life, 
 
 This perfumed body, dimpled with delight, 
 
 Softened by luxuries and honeyed hours! 
 
 Ah! Bastard twilight! What is love but loss 
 
 In guise chimerical? What joy, but pain 
 
 Unborn? What chiliasm but a time 
 
 When tethered Satan winks at naked souls? 
 
 Grant but a gain, and it is never recked 
 
 Except it came of misery or goes 
 
 To grief. Yes, darkness ne'er had horror known. 
 
 Unless in cosmic spasms it had born 
 
 Its first hot child of light. All flowers fade 
 
 In measure of their glory ; and that soul 
 
 Which highest flies, falls farthest; all life's wine 
 
 Bears drunkenness to suit its distillation." 
 
 With savage and distorting misery, 
 Abortion's spasm, thus he reasoned on 
 And longed against the curse that held him thus. 
 Spitted upon his cruel, forked agony. 
 Held out o'er fiercely stabbing flames of woe. 
 His spirit wrestled bitterly with life 
 And would, like Icarus, have braved the sun. 
 Had not a whisper breathed within his breast: 
 "I give, I take; I measure Joy and pain 
 Nor try thee here with either past they strength. 
 Be comforted and know thy sufferings here 
 Are fast recorded where they'll yield thee bliss 
 Unspeakable, if that ye but endure." 
 So leaned he back to drink the pungent breath 
 Of burning cedar, and to watch the flames. 
 The pretty flames at frolic witli the shades. 
 The little, human things that hung like jewels 
 About his strange, wild heart, took life again 
 And once again his sorrow fell like wine. 
 Like spiced and sparkling wine, against his soul, 
 
28 THE MUSICIAN 
 
 Like music far away and whispering 
 
 Its mortal melancholy in his ear. 
 
 A sigh of weakness, pitiful content 
 
 Moved in his hosoni, faltered through his lips 
 
 As he stretched out his hand against the flame 
 
 And marked liow darkly clear the bone showed through 
 
 Its pallid casing of blue-veined flesh. 
 
 A deep-dyed mist moved close before his eyes, 
 
 And in the mist a figure slowly formed. 
 
 Tall, dark, with grace angelic, noble, rare. 
 
 Upon her breast, and nestling o'er her heart, 
 
 A gallant I'ose slept like a cupid's kiss, 
 
 While smiles like benediction arched her lips 
 
 And soulful prayers illumined her large eyes. 
 
 He started with a moan and panting fell 
 
 Among the cushions of his easy chair. 
 
 A tapping of soft kiiucklt's on tlie door 
 Aroused him not, nor did the gentle voice 
 That pleaded for admission, stir his ear. 
 A face showed ghastly 'gainst the window pane. 
 The door clicked open and about him fell 
 The strong arms of his tender, anxious nurse, 
 Who raised him and upon his pallid face. 
 Seamed deep with pain, poured down her fresh, hot tears. 
 Her plaintive (hidings sslowly freed iiim from 
 The tangling meshes of the lethargy. 
 That closely snared and netted in his sense. 
 The dismal fretting past, he tried to smile 
 To re-assure the girl, and bade her sit 
 To enjoy the comfort of the drift-wood fire. 
 
 With eyes upraised to question of his need. 
 She moved a burning brand among the coals. 
 The night wind, dreamy, dulcet, surge on surge. 
 Flowed through the dark and sweetly fluted pines, 
 Making a melody about the eves, 
 A murmuring monody and minor weird 
 Within the dark and rocky chimney's throat. 
 
THE MUSICIAN 29 
 
 'Twas such a time as melted hearts pour out 
 The oldest wine of their experience, 
 And when young confidences thrill with life, 
 With eager tremors, yet with careful doubts. 
 
 With sentences that oft in murmuring died, 
 And faltered to a hesitating close, 
 She spoke: "A driftwood fire is beautiful ! 
 Those coals glow like the winter apple's cheek, 
 Like the viburnum's leaf or sumac's fan. 
 How cherrily the little naked flames 
 Clothe round them dresses of the folding smoke, 
 And dance unto the music of the wind ! 
 My heart swells like a rose bud in the morn. 
 When dew and honey kiss its opening lips. 
 Strange comfort, almost pain, embraces me; 
 All suflfering, they say, is for our good. 
 See how this flame has hotly forked through that. 
 How they do bum together, how they part 
 And sink into the ashes with content. 
 Love goes not so to death. Love must possess; 
 A fire within a fire must ever bum, 
 Or it will never cease to twitch and leap 
 Like lone, wind smitten flames. Why look you down 
 With such a yearning pity in your eye? 
 The sweetest tears that ever man can shed 
 Are those of sympathetic confidence. 
 Yet always, when I shed mine near your heart 
 It drowns its greatness in their little woe. 
 Oh, pity, pity all my simple grief. 
 And if it comes, a naked, weeping child 
 Unto your heavy mantled sorrowings. 
 Do not despise the saltness of its tears!" 
 
 "A tear that's wept for love's the holiest thing 
 That earth can know, and in its sparkling round 
 Are all the lights of heaven. Those who weep 
 Are born again with God, and those baptised 
 In sorrow know the depth, the height, the breadth 
 
30 THE MUSICIAN 
 
 Of life, and all its divine purposes. 
 Come, fear not, for my soul is quick wdth grief, 
 And suifering lends its kindness to my heart. 
 'Tis only those who never felt love's pain. 
 Who murder with a glance and trample down 
 Their cutting feet upon a brother's soul." 
 
 The great log broke, a thousand heavy sparks 
 From its fire-eaten lieart, cast their deep glow 
 Within her eyes, and bathed her upturned face 
 With colors of the forest-horu wild rose. 
 She nestled closer to him, and with voice 
 More rich with love than vibrant, shrill and sharp 
 With the great primal curse of woman's soul, 
 Slie spoke: "It all is strange. Your coming here 
 Was strange. Yet, that you were a lone, sad man 
 I held it not in heavy question ; but 
 Her coming is beyond my power to explain. 
 She's lodging tliere within my lover's home; 
 She's tiill and dark and sweetly l>eautiful; 
 To her I'm but tlie daisy to the rose. 
 I know not whence she came, nor why she's here, 
 But, ah ! My woman's heart divines the why 
 And traces in my lover's cooling zeal 
 The reason of it all. I never thought 
 That man could trifle so with woman's love." 
 
 Piqued by the strangeness of the things he heard, 
 He would no doubt have reasoned toward the truth, 
 Had not his mind and heart in sympathy 
 United in a lotion and a balm 
 For her distress, and his frail energies 
 Bended themselves alone for her relief. 
 The bitter gibes that he himself had hurled 
 Against the ways of life, he hid away. 
 And spoke in soothing phrase of recompense : 
 Sweet, molifying, kind philosophies 
 Suiting her maiden innocence, wrought out 
 Of feelings, and fast woven through 
 
THE MUSICIAN 31 
 
 AVith the gold thread of all eiuhirinji,' faith ; 
 So that she ceased to sob and hold her heart, 
 Bade him good-night that she might walk awhile 
 And lift her troubles up and set them free. 
 
 In his uncertain, feverish, tiring sleep, 
 The locket that was chained about his neck 
 Fell like a crushing burden on his breast. 
 And by its scalding, torturous, and mighty weight 
 Seemed pressing out the life incased there. 
 And yet he could not die; and dark, hot flowers 
 Fell on him out of heaven, and blue lights 
 Burst in Ids brain like shells of fiery glass. 
 Oft leaped he from the canyim's fearful edge. 
 To save his sweetheart from some savage crew, 
 And helpless hung upon some jagged point. 
 Till all the horried deed before his eyes 
 In mockery had slowly been performed. 
 And oft from green-mouthed waves he climbed the sides 
 Of passing vessels, to be beaten back 
 By flashing oars and lashes tippetl with steel. 
 On freezing wastes he found the kindly kiss 
 Of death, and paid his all of misery 
 To gain her numb embrace, when life with sharp 
 And fiery hooks, siezed on his quivering form 
 And dragged him througli a thousand fearful hells. 
 Where devils set upon him in the flames, 
 And fear weighed down his feet from speedy flight, 
 As though he i*an in quagmii'es thick with glue. 
 But ever o'er his heart the locket lay. 
 With its dear content of a smiling face 
 And one dark strand of graceful, waving hair. 
 
 In the warm splendor of the afternoon 
 He made his way unto the laughing gold 
 That marked the singing water's bright confine; 
 Unto the zone of brilliant, pillowing sands. 
 Where little waves laid down their heads to sing 
 And murmur melodies within their sleep. 
 Upon a blanched and barkless water-log 
 
32 THE MUSICIAN 
 
 He weakly rested, while the refreshing sun 
 
 Environed him like strong and luscious wine. 
 
 Over the beauteous waters swept liis gaze; 
 
 Over the glorious hills his vision roamed, 
 
 And would have strained beyond their flowery marge 
 
 Had not the Indian smoke o'er hazed his eyes. 
 
 So that with lowered gaze at last he saw 
 
 The dull, soaked leaf, its color pigment gone, 
 
 Which sobbed against the red sands at his feet. 
 
 "Even so am I," he mused, "a wave washed leaf, 
 
 Untimely bit by frost and torn by wind, 
 
 Fallen with all my splendor in tiie tide 
 
 Which steals my strength and soon will cast me forth 
 
 Upon the waste and shadowy wilds of death. 
 
 How life is like a fevered, liorrid dream! 
 
 The filling of a sieve, the rolling of 
 
 A stone up one long hill whose crested top 
 
 Forever hurls it backward to the plain. 
 
 All men have Titan blood, and all earth has 
 
 Dank glooms of Tartarus. "Tis vain to live, 
 
 Yet death hath not so much as vanity." 
 
 So as he traced the burning threads of life 
 That snarl within a scheme of mystery, 
 He fell to idle query as to who 
 Had robbed his gracious nurse of her one love. 
 And e'en as thoughts that toy with idle tales 
 Discover strange and quick realities. 
 So his tlioughts flashed upon a fiery gem 
 That burned as does the fierce raw radium. 
 Who might she be who thus so strangely came; 
 Who might she be, tall, dark, and beautiful ; 
 Who might she be so soon as — Esther ! 
 A weak, wild laugh flowed fiercely from his lips 
 And hard convulsions gripped him with sharp power. 
 So that he writhed and cursed his weary brain 
 That it should conjure such an added woe 
 To damn him with more grief than he had known. 
 Upon the sand he kneeled and o'er the log 
 
THE MUSICIAN 33 
 
 He flung his quivering frame, with heavy sobs 
 
 To waste his waning strength in mighty prayer 
 
 For life, just life, and yet for life, for life ! 
 
 So raising up his face toward the sun. 
 
 That swam in swirling radiam-e througii tlie sky, 
 
 He would have given his soul to prayer's bright wings 
 
 Had not his sight betrayed unto his sense 
 
 A moving object, wandering joyously 
 
 Among the flocks of pretty, dimpling waves. 
 
 As low he crouched behind his altar's length 
 
 He saw a boat of clear, familiar curve. 
 
 Thrust througli the waters by a sweeping stroke 
 
 Such only as one hand the country tlirough 
 
 Could give ; and in its buoyant stern tliere sat 
 
 A woman, gowned in grey, who trailed her hand 
 
 In luscious idleness tlirougli emerald waves, 
 
 That crooned and laughed beneath her lightsome touch. 
 
 The febrile fancy of his transfixed gaze 
 
 Siezed each suggestive movement that she made, 
 
 And there, before him, Esther sat and smiled. 
 
 His simple friend, albeit full of care 
 And mothering instincts gentle toward his wants, 
 Found him at eventide, in chilly pace 
 And heavy hopelessness, and wandering state, 
 Among the sharp-cut hills tliat jostling rose 
 Toward the East of where his cottage lay. 
 Exposed to their cold-streaming valley's air 
 He stumbled on, and beat his open breast 
 As he would render it insensible 
 To its own moans and woe too deep for moan. 
 Wild flared his eyes from out the matted hair 
 That tumbled o'er his brows; and whitely glared 
 His close fixed teeth between his lips that curled 
 To ease the spasm that had set within 
 His face; and all his manner seemed to speak 
 The last revolt of human misery. 
 Yet at her voice his clenched hands loosely fell. 
 His frame relaxed, and melting sobs shook all 
 
34 THE MUSICIAN 
 
 The hard rebellion from him, leaving him 
 A weak and weary child who longed for rest. 
 
 So happened on the aureate Autumn days, 
 Bright periods within a lurid dream, 
 And as the sinking sun more fierce doth glow. 
 Doth rend the red heart of the very heavens 
 In his fate-fixed decline, so now that she 
 Was near, the sad Musician's love 
 In the sweet fire of hope sank slowly down 
 While life cried, "Pity I" 'gainst the steely face 
 Of an inevitable, mocking doom. 
 More strongly now tlie human impulse came. 
 As sickness weakened his high set resolve. 
 To make his presence known to her who went 
 So oft and gladly midst the singing waves, 
 "Till all the lake sang but a song of her. 
 But something of liis former purposes, 
 Inspired by noble and unselfish love. 
 Still ruled his mind. He sealed his secret close 
 A^'ithin his nurse's heart, and througli her fixed 
 The eager lips of those who called her child; 
 While he himself, iu wondering, wide-eyed pain. 
 Leaned back to watch the action slowly move 
 From scene to scene, on to its curtained close. 
 
 Each day, with more than feeble step. 
 With many restings, slowly, haltingly. 
 And yet with eagerness and careful stealth, 
 He made his way among the high-domed trees. 
 To a sure hiding place upon the point. 
 Which like a harp lay bended in the lake. 
 From this lone vantage 'till the sun were low 
 He'd watch for her upon the water's breast. 
 And oft her boat of dainty, .shallop grace. 
 Tracing its favorite course to a green isle, 
 Flew past him lliere, or lightly drifted on 
 Within the calling of his husky voice; 
 And ever in the stem she sat and trailed 
 
THE MUSICIAN 35 
 
 Her lil3' fingers through the emerald waves. 
 
 But now, the rower, not as at the first, 
 
 Full many times leaned on his flashing blades, 
 
 That dripped their wateiy dews, and sang some low 
 
 Yet lusty melody, or spoke soft words 
 
 Whose gentle whisperings swooned upon the breeze. 
 
 And now, as not before, her look would raise 
 
 To seek the mystery that fairer grew 
 
 Within the blue depths that before her glowed. 
 
 Too oft reflecting such contagious light 
 
 At last her own eyes shone with more than grief. 
 
 Strong in the course of nature seems it set 
 That human hearts shall not be kept from love : 
 And Esther, deeply cursed and highly blessed, 
 AVith an exquisite perfectness of form 
 And spirit, was for love and loving made. 
 Deprived against her quick protesting will 
 Of all the sad Musician's passionate care, 
 She fed her soul to sickness on tlie bread 
 That memory gives, like manna, honey sweet, 
 But too long kept, becoming rank and sour. 
 Along the paths they had together trod 
 She roamed, and in tlie many nooks 
 Where they together had retold their trust. 
 She sobbed her heart out to the heedless stones, 
 Until at last those same high-rearing hills. 
 Those hollow canyons voiced with plunging streams, 
 Those matchless heavens blossoming o'er with stars. 
 Drove her to desperate flight and wandering. 
 No choice she had, even as he fled from her 
 And left her reeling in her wild despair, 
 So fled she from her native, harboring hills; 
 And as he roamed to seek sequestered death, 
 So roamed she ever, ever seeking him. 
 But hope wore low along the fruitless ways, 
 And life, long choked by love, asked leave to breathe. 
 Toward the East he'd pointed when with laugh 
 Demoniac and frenzied, he had fallen 
 
36 THE MUSICIAN 
 
 Before her feet, and for weird fellowship 
 Within the East she sought a resting place. 
 
 In sorrow and in sacred trust she came, 
 And ever in her heart against her will 
 His parting admonition sounded on. 
 If she did battle to maintain her love 
 For him, she fought against his last request, 
 So that, perplexed by very zeal for him. 
 Her tortured soul was forced beyond its bent. 
 And she, to keep her trust, o'erlooked her love. 
 By chance, left with a man so sturdy-strong. 
 Of such a healthy, rich nobility, 
 Of rustic worth and natural force and power. 
 From the high fountain of his manliness 
 Her thirsting soul a new refreshment drew. 
 And felt strange vigor it had never known, 
 Wlien from his viril heart at last there leaped 
 Tlie mighty streams of all-compelling love. 
 
 As, day by day, with wilder aching breast 
 And suffering that ever keener grew, 
 From his lone watch upon the bended point 
 The sad Musician marked her pass him by, 
 It seemed he could no longer mew his soul 
 From that one cry would bring her back to him. 
 So near his hiding place she'd lightly float 
 That she must hear the beating of his heart. 
 And yet, forever like a phantom thing 
 She'd draw away, even while her voice would sound 
 Its low, familiar sweetness in his ear. 
 At last, one day on which the south wind blew 
 The sun's rays warmly through the glowing trees. 
 With many a rustling whisper and sweet sound. 
 The sad Musician sought his secret haunt. 
 With breast more fearful-heavy than the night. 
 For as he struggled on his eyes would lose 
 Their guiding office, and would turn within 
 A glaring light that made his brain to seethe. 
 
THE MUSICIAN 37 
 
 From tree to tree he groped bis dizzy way, 
 
 And beat his maddened temples on the bark 
 
 To keep his consciousness alive, though fire 
 
 Seemed set in every nerve along his frame. 
 
 But yet the fury of his weakness cast 
 
 No mastery upon his grim set will, 
 
 Until he reached his goal and stumbling fell 
 
 Among the burning bushes near the log 
 
 On which he kept his pensive, patient watch. 
 
 The waves surged on against the rocky point, 
 
 The mother trees sang lost-leaf lullabys, 
 
 While overhead with throaty cough and caw 
 
 A squirrel and robber raven held their quarrel. 
 
 But all the stir and flash of vivid life 
 
 Fell with a numbing beauty, chilly glare 
 
 Upon this human heart, fate-cursed, alone. 
 
 Outstretched he lay among the fresh, dry leaves 
 
 And weakly breathed for life to raise his head 
 
 That he might look once more across the lake 
 
 And lose no precious glimpse of her loved form, 
 
 If but perchance she sailed the waves that day. 
 
 As thus he lay, with stiffening shock of pain 
 
 There came to him the thought that nevermore 
 
 Could he seek out this place to which e'en now 
 
 His utmost strength had scarcely carried him; 
 
 For with each sun his strength departed so 
 
 That even on the morrow he could crawl 
 
 But to the oak that marked the three-fourths way. 
 
 In heavy judgment so he reasoned 
 
 And then approved his reason with a smile 
 
 As he stretched forth his lean hand in the sun. 
 
 And nevermore he'd see sweet Esther's face — 
 
 He struggled toward the log, and panting sat 
 
 With burning eyes scanning the wind-curved waves. 
 
 As in a dream or a delerium 
 
 He saw the boat, and on it came and on. 
 
 So lightly on, as though 'twere winged with joy. 
 
 Great tears of gladness cooled his red, flushed cheek. 
 
 And like a lark within him rose his heart. 
 
38 THE MUSICIAN 
 
 He'd call to her, he'd call to her, he'd sing, 
 
 He only dreamed that he was ill, he'd rise, 
 
 He'd run to meet her on the sounding shore. 
 
 All the long past would be but laughter's food. 
 
 Yes, laughter would grow fat upon it all ! 
 
 Joy! Joy! Free, bursting, laughing joy ! 
 
 Her heart 'gainst his, his violin to sing — 
 
 Ah, roses! Roses! Heavens rich with joy ! 
 
 He started, then sank limply back again ; 
 
 The boat had turned its course toward the land ! 
 
 Her heart had told her he was waiting there, 
 
 And she was coming, flying nearer — life! 
 
 Life! Life! Love! Nevermore pain, woe, and death. 
 
 Why searched she not the bushes where he lay? 
 
 Why did she gaze so earnestly into 
 
 The eyes of him who rowed with quickened stroke? 
 
 'Twas but her play, and she would wait and then — 
 
 The boat struck hard, the oarsman leaped to land. 
 
 And she sprang forth beside him, holding still 
 
 The hand he gave her. Would she never come? 
 
 Why tarried she so closely by his side. 
 
 Her face upraised toward his so radiantly? 
 
 The watcher lower crouched, more hotly gazed. 
 
 He could not move his sight, nor voice a sound 
 
 Of all the screaming agony within 
 
 His soul. His ear that formed her greeting glad 
 
 Heard but dread silence, then a plighted troth 
 
 That in his hollow doom more harshly roared 
 
 Than all the cannon of a maddened sea ; 
 
 And as their lips met in a sacred seal, 
 
 All gracious darkness fell upon his mind. 
 
 Once more the night, majestical, sublime, 
 Full of the terror of a million years. 
 Awful and worshipful, human, God-filled : 
 A time for murder and a time for birth ; 
 Great hours of paradox, when lonely men 
 Tremble along the dread ways of the dark. 
 Yet in the circle of a camp fire's glow 
 
THE MUSICIAN 39 
 
 Lie down in dreamy, soft security. 
 
 A time of rare abortions for the sense: 
 
 When whispers mount the winged winds to heaven 
 
 Like strident choruses of shouted sound ; 
 
 When objects small, inanimate, and still 
 
 Move through the vision in a monsti'ous form; 
 
 When water, undiscovered by the eye, 
 
 To the deceived palate smacks like wine; 
 
 When perfumes, redolent with mixing dews. 
 
 Distill themselves with marvelous pungency. 
 
 But to the inner senses of the soul, 
 
 How goes the night in its suggestive power? 
 
 So that a tear let fall within a sigh 
 
 Becomes an ocean and a howling wind. 
 
 Refulgent with a glory deep and true, 
 
 The scintilating stars stood in array, 
 
 Sending their long-haired couriers of flame 
 
 In burning haste to announce the queen of night. 
 
 With serene beauty, heralded by all 
 
 The glorious virgins of her chastity, 
 
 She paused upon her threshold's burnished marge, 
 
 Then slowly, under cloth of shimmering fire. 
 
 Passed on unto her high-set, regal throne. 
 
 All earth broke forth with royal, deep acclaim 
 
 Of startling sweetness. Each soft trembling tree 
 
 Became a fountain through which music gushed 
 
 And fell upon the air in liquid tone. 
 
 Like some piped organ breathing forth its heart. 
 
 Low swelling, surging, sweetly billowing waves 
 
 Of music, moved the forest with their sound. 
 
 As though the tears of God's great singing choirs 
 
 Had burst the strong set battlements of heaven 
 
 And fallen with all their burden on the earth. 
 
 Lo! Now the deep-mouthed water harp was strung 
 
 With silvery strings, reverberant, Iiouey-toned, 
 
 Which music spirits from the bright clouds touched 
 
 Into a quavering threnody of tears. 
 
 Unknowing of how he had gained its walls 
 
40 THE MUSICIAN 
 
 Within his cottage the Musician sat, 
 
 And still he sat and dimly wondered how 
 
 His heart could hold so much of hellish pain. 
 
 The dull shades of the evening melted in 
 
 The glory of the night, and on the wall, 
 
 Dark showed the seal case of the violin. 
 
 Struggling for strength the pale Musician rose 
 
 And tottered toward the mantle where it hung. 
 
 Against the wall he leaned with uptlung arms, 
 
 Then slowly sank upon the knotted floor, 
 
 Coughing a prayer for mercy through his sobs. 
 
 Yet once again he rose and crawling up 
 
 The cold wall's rasping side, he clutched the case 
 
 And, reeling, drew it down upon the chair. 
 
 Too hot for sobs his burning bosom heaved 
 
 As he uncased the violin and grasped 
 
 The graceful, arching bow and shook it free. 
 
 O'erwhelmed by memories his smothered heart 
 
 Sought peace with heaven while his deft hand tuned 
 
 The sweet, sad strings to mortal harmony. 
 
 Then forth he stepped within the great, deep night; 
 
 And as he were approaching God's high throne, 
 
 He made his way to the dirge-weighted shore. 
 
 Unmarked by his death-misted eye there came 
 A golden boat into the silver bay, 
 A spray-born, lightly moving, joyous thing, 
 A wave that sailed the waves and wooed them all. 
 Bright, open casket of heaven's rarest jewel, 
 Rich, human love, it mounted on its way 
 Into the glory that around it fell. 
 And yet, when earthly joy has reached its bound, 
 It enters in the dark flowered fields of heaven 
 And finds at last one flower surpassing rare 
 And sweet and holy, sorrow's black-blown rose. 
 So Esther found within her heart's deep breast 
 A memory that mounted to her lips : 
 
 "My dear, on this day's night when first our souls 
 
THE MUSICIAN 41 
 
 Have plighted deep the sacred pledge of faith, 
 
 My heart is yet more heavy than it was 
 
 When first it found yours glowing in the sun. 
 
 You laughed when I spoke of my former love 
 
 And told you it was more than I could feel 
 
 For you. In it there was a something fine, 
 
 Exalting, delicate, and pure ; a trust 
 
 Like to the sunrise, ours like to the noon. 
 
 He never touched a base or low-born thing, 
 
 But lived with spirits of clear purity 
 
 Such as could soothe the fearful .souls in hell 
 
 With a celestial, sympathetic song. 
 
 Oh, he was passionate and tuned with fire ! 
 
 Spirit of music, gallant, bold, and brave, 
 
 Majestic in his sure simplicity. 
 
 One who could view the mighty vasts of heaven 
 
 Through a small opening in a summer's cloud." 
 
 Even as she spoke from out the sweetened air 
 There fell upon her ear with infinite 
 And solemn woe, his last great threnody, 
 The music on whose sad and passionate breast 
 His soul was mounting up and up to heaven. 
 The opal dews fell fast among the flowers; 
 The stars wept gently, each to each it,s woe; 
 And all the earth grew hushed and softly still 
 As all the years of all his life had brought 
 He gave in that sweet moment back to God. 
 Then in the heavens glowed a charging star. 
 The herald for the choruses to sing. 
 And earth took up the wonderous refrain 
 That first had sung his love to Esther's heart. 
 Clear rose the music, charged with heavy love, 
 And sought out Esther where she breathless sat 
 And called to her eternal, di-ead farewell. 
 With voice sharp set, with blanched face toward the land 
 She whispered "Row!" and fixed her o'erbright eyes 
 Upon the shore, where tall and shadowy stood 
 A form that swayed and swayed, and fell ! 
 
42 THE MUSICIAN 
 
 The music died, a sharp scream cut the heavens 
 And struck the earth with fear ; a woman's soul 
 Had rent itself, and echoes called it far. 
 Upon the wet, cold sand slie sank and crooned 
 In his deaf ears, her holiest words of love. 
 And poured her woman's life out, drop by drop, 
 To waken but one smile upon his face. 
 Tint yet he moved not and in stilly death 
 He seemed to weep and evermore to weep ; 
 The violin was shattered 'neath his heart, 
 And broken was the bow within Ills hand! 
 
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