PS 3545 .E5 P4 1901 Copy 1 Class _?sSar4C Book__£^/A4 ()DipghtN"_J36L COPyRIGHT DEPOSIT. An Age Hence AND OTHER POEMS BY GEORGE THEODORE WELCH, M. D, New York. PETER ECKLER, PUBLISHER, No. 35 Fulton Street. 1901. fHE LIBRARY oT 0O»*GRESS, Two CoeiES Receiveb NOV. 2T 1901 COFVRIOHT ENTRY CLASS O-'X^*^ **^ COPY a COPYRIGHTED, I90I, GEORGE THEODORE WELCH. AN AGE HENCE, CONTENTS. PAOK An Age Hence, 7 Spring, 8 Morning, * . . . 9 The Problem, 10 Love, . , .11 Psyche, 13 Azriel, 14 When thy Dust turns Flower, 15 An Epicurean Song, 16 The Dance of Death, 21 Story of the Deep, 32 Mortals and the Immortal, 33 Evil Genii, 35 The Sphinx, 37 Venus de Milo, 38 The Astronomer, 39 Sleep and Death, 40 It is a Bitter Winter's Eve, 41 The Passing Bell, 42 Love's Trysting Place, 43 Longing, 45 The Dawn within the Dawn, 47 The Secret, 48 Opuscules, 50 Whither, 51 Spoils of the Ages, 52 The Brook, 54 The Humble-Bee and the Rose, 57 Echo Loquitor, 58 Deserted, 61 A Spring Longing, 63 Fatality, 64 The Magician, 66 From the Depths 68 Denial, ,70 The Butterfly, 72 The Moment is on the Wing, . 74 Elysium, 75 Rosemary, 76 Belle Tournure, 77 (V) VI CONTENTS. . PAGE A Chance Acquaintance, 78 Twilight, 79 Enchantment, . . . • 80 Thou Com'st no More, 81 Let there be Poison in the Song, 82 While the Years Go Round and Round, .... 83 The False One, 85 The Houri, 86 The Rose, 87 The Reapers, 88 A Lover's Abstraction, 89 In a World Apart 91 To Realms Unknown Before, 94 The Hour of Pan, 96 The Lord of Life loi The Mighty Harmonies, 104 To-morrow and To-morrow, 106 Stolen by Mysteries, 107 Like a Dream, 109 Nature, no An Ancient Portrait, . . . . > . . .111 The Leman, 113 The Knight and the Fiend *• 117 Wasted Hours, .119 The Sirens, 120 Moloch, 121 Lords of Cycles, 123 The Flight from Actium, 127 The Vanquished, 140 Immolation, 141 On Reading Sully's Henry of Navarre, .... 144 The Cataract, 145 Fiends of the Midnight, 149 The Owl, 155 A Sussex Idyl, 159 A Fantasy of the Green Mountains, . . , . 173 Pleasure 176 Fate, 177 An Old Age Full of Honor, 179 Alfred Antoine Furman, 181 Farewell. 182 AN AGE HENCE. WHO has not felt in his soul the wrong Death does to his sense of art — To the statesman's scheme, the poet's song, And the lover's glowing heart. Just as the sphinx leans forth to tell Her mighty secret to the brave, Comes a spectre cold, with shroud and knell, And silence of the grave ! But marches the world in triumph on, To the music of rolling spheres, Till the heavens glow white with the blaze of dawn, And God in the midst appears. May he grant the prayer of souls asleep, And wake them one little hour. To gaze on the glory of men who reap The harvest of his power ! (7) AN AGE HENCE. SPRING. BETWEEN the midnight and the mom, Thin clouds arose, and faint winds sighing About the caverns, heard replying, From pines upon the hills forlorn, That called unto the gloomy sea : And which began uneasily To feel the crawl upon its breast Of trickling streams — the darkness stirred, Like a ghost in drear unrest. Seeing far off the morning smile — And on all sides strange sounds were heard ; And winter, prone upon his face, Ivong lying, with his bony beak And steely claws the broad zones holding. Stung through amazement with disgrace. Did feel his cruel grasp unfolding. With hollow rage, his wings, meanwhile, Bat-like he beat, as he would rise Bearing his quarry through low skies. To some dim shore forever bleak ! But e'en to save himself, too weak, The dismal dragon now lay dying : Into the air his breath was flying ! MORNING. MORNING. OUT I looked upon the morning — Gave my soul the eagle's flight — Where the haughty sun in scorning, Fused the planets into light. Not a star was seen, the glowing Depth of space was pure as flame. Where late the tides of night were flowing Thick with worlds of largest fame. Molten all to thinnest ether, But the round earth, far withdrawn, Shining in the perfect weather, A jewel at the throat of dawn ! lO AN AGE HENCE. THE PROBLEM. GIVEN, a bit of crescent shore, With dreamy heavens bending low, The hours, sweet pilgrims, loth to go, The wind like wine, the sea aglow And murmurous with the day's delight. And bring, from somewhere out of sight, Oh, time, the woman I adore ! Just as I saw her on that day. And heard her speak, and crept more near, Soul-charmed, her tender voice to hear, I/Ove-charmed to touch her blessed hand, And looked the love I could not say, But her's was quick to understand ! LOVE. II LOVE. WANTING eyes, true love can feel, Every sense is tipped with fire ; Out of woe he works his w^eal, Such the strength of his desire. Cold and grim the convent walls, Pallid is the nun who kneels ; As sweet music faints and falls, lyove into the cloister steals. To the maid in guarded tower, Slumbering in the cold moonbeams, Ivike to Danae's golden shower, lyove descends in charmed dreams. Bolts and bars have not withstood. Nor the might of armed men, When he comes in wrathful mood To possess his own again. 12 AN AGE HENCE. At his cry, the coward, death. Slinks into his cavern dark ; Whilst he blows life's tranced breath, To a re-illumined spark. He unwinds the dragon's coils War hath thrown about the earth. Winds it in his sweeter toils Till the seasons roll in mirth. War depopulates a sphere — Love can make it live again, While the hills and valleys drear Blossom into homes of men. lyife his mighty empire is. Time his servant, day and night In delirious dance are his, Bosoming his vast delight PSYCHEo 13 PSYCHE. HER heart for very gladness, On her red lips ripples o'er, As the foam of summer seas Ivightly breaks on a coral shore. Her words are like a flight of birds Across a morn of May, Which, if they stay their teasing wings, Break into roundelay. I think of fawns and fairies. When her step glides into dance, But fancy finds no symbol, For the witchery of her glance ! One rapid moment into mine She darts her soul, and flies ! Mocking the secret she has learned. In my despairing eyes. 14 AN AGE HENCE. AZRIEL. ONE came to her at the dawn, Singing sweet a roundelay, *' Rise ! '^ he said, " I must be gone ! Thou must follow on the way ! " ** Whither? whither? I am faint- Fever- wasted, see me lie ! " ** Leave thy flesh, thou darling saint ! Wings shall bear thee through the sky !*' *' But I leave a grief behind — My true lover loves me so ! " '^ What he loses he shall find— Who waits longest still must go ! *' "Gentle spirit ! take us both ! " Cried the lover on his knee — Came the answer, sad and loth, *' Never went but one with me ! '' Light and song, and ravishment Of the morning wide was blown, To their wooing forth she went A spirit in the great unknown. WHEN THY DUST TURNS FLOWER. 15 WHEN THY DUST TURNS FLOWER. TOUCH hands and kiss me with fond lips, And spare not love, for an hour draws on When death shall hold thee in eclipse, And my soul shall find no dawn. Live the life and hold me fast. Ere, adrift, on a mighty sea, I lose all hope, and the bitter blast Shall bear me far from thee. For who shall tell when thy dust turns flower, And I in the wind go driving by. If each feel each in that lonely hour. Love-drawn in the silence nigh ! But we, who have loved so dear, so long, I can not believe but fate would call. Away in one soul, like a mingled song Sung close to heaven, in the lone night-fall. l6 AN AGE HKNCE. AN EPICUREAN SONG. ON some isle green-bowered in the river, Let us sit, and weave us a song, Forgetting the day and its sorrow ; While the current both dark and strong, With a noise like the tramp of armies Sweeps onward to the sea. Whose bitter waves are hungry For the wrecks of eternity. For when has toil and trouble Saved men from the darksome grave ! And when could pain and longing, Reach hands to the brink and save ! Could the dripping sword of the hero Keep the fiend of death at bay. When gaunt and famine- wasted, He would rend the life away ? AN EPICUREAN SONG. I7 Can the cunning charm of his tongue The orator avail ? Can the Cloister shield the nun At her midnight vigils pale? Can the fervent glance of beauty? Or the poet's laurel crown? The wisdom of the sages ? Or the glory of renown ? These fall and men forget them, While another race succeeds ; And the treasured lore of ages, Is cast in other creeds : And only they are happy Who strive not with their fate. But seize the present moment, With all its vast estate. l8 AN AGE HENCE. For the past is gone forever, And the future no man knows ; But eternity is fashioned Of the day that comes and goes. And the draught to day untasted Shrinks to the dregs to-morrow,. And mirth has flown with yesterday, Leaving the dull-eyed sorrow\ There is silence behind us ; before us The fates are cold and strong ; But the present is ours, and its glory, Its light, and its warmth, and its song. Then love and gather the laurel, For the river is cold and deep, And if the dead are immortal They tell not in their sleep. THE DANCE OF DEATH THE DANCE OE DEATH. 21 THE DANCE OF DEATH. WITH wild hands clasped above her eyes, Toward the setting sun, the night, Fled a stricken thing of woe : And the witch moon, down the skies Turned her awful face in flight Into depths no thought may know. Like a serpent the wind did shrink Down the valley dark and drear. And crept in his cavern, upon whose brink Echo leaned and could not hear; And not a living thing appeared In the darkness strange and weird. But the bats, on musty wings Wheeling drearily to and fro, Where the dead men sat upon their graves, Speaking unutterable things. Each to his neighbor, soft and low, Like the murmur of dying waves. To see them was a fearful thing ! One raised his frightful skeleton hand To his fleshless jaw as if he mused ; And one extended his bony arm. As if in debating, his mind refused 22 AN AGE HENCE. Some logic his neighbor had uttered. While leering at both, as he sat alone And played with a toad on a mossy stone, A fool his gibberish muttered. And the ear could hear with chill alarm, An idiot clanking his sullen bones In a broken vault ; and hollow groans From one who was slain in his sleep. And there was a widow, as one might guess. From her air of incentment, and brave distress. Who ogled a bachelor, who gallantly bowed In return, o'er the heads of the ghastly crowd, While her eyes drew him over to meet her. Creaked his knees as he rose, and at every heap, Of the sodden earth, his feet were Caught in the tangling grass that grew In rank luxuriance and wet with dew. From the sides of the smothering graves. She gave him her hand and a seat by her side ; Whispered he low, and low she replied. While the ghost of a fan she waves ; And her silken weeds about her clung — The old enchantment was on her tongue ; The nightingale was calling. A coquette on a broken stone. Sat, like a princess on her throne. While skeleton wooers were falling About her feet, as at a shrine. THE DANCE OF DEATH. 23 Ah, truly, she, Were a grievous sight for a man to see. Who living had loved her, and thought her di- vine An old crone held a child on her knee Wasted beyond our God's mercy ! Phantom children were gathered round, Sitting silent on the ground. While the nurse a fairy tale was telling Of the Iviving-Land, where men were dwelling. About a fiddler — who, on earth, A harum-scarum, jolly fellow, Could tune long winter nights to mirth, When steaming punch had made him mellow, — A round of clattering shades were seen In true witch-dances on the green. While faster his sharp elbow flew, And faster reeled the goblin crew. Through some the glare of the livid moon Shone dismally upon the ground. While they flickered like funeral flames to the tune. In joyless motion, and made no sound. One who had died in his country's wars, Stifily aloof a sentinel stood ; His front was turned to the planet Mars, And brave was the foe who dared intrude. Up in a tree was a slumbering dove, Beneath it were two who had died for love : 24 AN AGE HENCE. And the hot surprise, the rapier keen Thrust right and left in fury's hand, And the counter stroke with a dagger lean — All these were as they had not been ; So long forgotten in the land. In her lover's grave they buried her deep, And locked in each others arms they sleep While the ages roll away. Alone on a mouldering slab there lay A poet, who looked on the misty sea, And dreamed a song of eternity. The breath of the rose about him was blown, And the heaven's starry splendor Was mixed with the shadows about his throne, To a half-light pure and tender. Too young for his fame he had died at morn With his songs unsung and his dreams unblown ; In the brooding silence he slept forlorn. For his heart was dust and his name unknown. But his sorrowful face as he lay in his grave Had haunted the spirits in heaven, And the source of all mystery, back they gave. Since men with their doubts had striven. For, oh, 'tis a sorrowful sight to see The earth as she rolls 'mid her beauteous clouds Down the boundless plain of infinity ! For the dead men lie in their mouldering shrouds. With their meagre faces and hollow eyes With a look of reproach, turned up to the skies ! THK DANCE OF DKATH. 25 The brackish water from vaults has dripped In the faces of women fair ; And from some, like a robe, decay has stripped The flesh, and the bones laid bare. And some that starved on desert plains, Were food for bird and beast. And their bones were polished by winds and rains Like the ivory of the East. And some look up through whelming seas From a thousand fathoms deep, Where the gnawing fish in the oozy lees Of the ocean never sleep. And some have died and left no sign That mortal eye can trace. But have left the mould of the form divine Glassed in each silent place. For oh, the cruel years have sown Men's lives like an ashen snow, And the drifting dead on the dead are strown Till nations are lost below. And all around the globe they lie. Where the moon beholds them from on high. And the shuddering stars — a dreadful sight 1 Pallid and wan, the livelong night 26 AN AGE HENCE. They gaze into the sky Through their filmy lids, for they cannot sleep, And awful thoughts upon them creep, Then cold, like a stream flow by. They hear the grinding of the spheres As the planets roll around, And the distant fall of stars Creeps through the lucid bars, And even the slightest sound Of life above the ground. Jars on their painful ears. Oh, ye, who walk among their mounds In the pleasant light of day. Sweet be the flowers, and blithe the sounds That on the soft winds stray ; For ye may not know, how sad below, The dead men lie for aye ! But the sun, he knows it, and cannot bear Always to look on their despair. So draws himself to the South away, And stands far off in the wintry air. And the stars shrink back ; and the earth a- cold, And to hide her shame, wraps fold on fold Of ermine about her pallid clay. Then like a ghost, far ofi", she seems ; Or like a spirit seen in dreams ; Wrapping her desolate arms around The dead in her bosom lying. With head bent low, without a sound, Through dismal regions flying. THE DANCE OF DEATH. 27 Then the pitying stars stoop down at night, And the sun returns at morn, And they lure her back from her awful flight And soothe her fate forlorn. The sun sends down to her barren plains The season of mists and mellow rains ; And ever between the fitful showers, April is sowing the seeds of flowers. For the sun a mantle of flowers would spread. To hide the sorrowful eyes of the dead. But when the days grow sweet and warm. And the mocking bird sings in the tallest trees lyike a hundred birds, and the lingering breeze Like a vagrant strays from farm to farm ; When the hyacinth's delicious breath About the garden walks is blown, And the daffodil yet lingereth In the meadow all alone ; And the violet in woodside ways, And the pink arbutus on the hill, And the dandelion is all ablaze ; And merrily sounds the clack o' th* mill ; When forest leaves are all apout, And children in the green lanes shout, When cottage windows open stand. And the voice of Spring fills all the land, The dead men can not lie at ease. They hear the deep melodious seas, 28 AN AGK HENCE. The streams that carol as they fall, The coo of doves, the lambkin's call, The murmurous drone of busy bees. The whirr of swallows' wings, and then The blessed voice of living men. A desperate longing, and desire To be once more on earth, like fire Burns all their souls to agony. They can not stir — they lie supine. And see on high, the glad sunshine, And the many living forms that be : Above, the fairest flowers are blooming, Lovers in the twilight walking. Arm-embraced and lowly talking. Oh, it is horrible to lie And count their footfalls passing by, Bach one knocking at your tomb, As if the fiends that wait on gloom. Would tantalize you with your doom ! And when at last the voices are still, The whip-poor-will calls on the lonely hill, And clouds o'er the moon are sailing. And the winds to the streams are wailing, That answer in monotone : 'The dead can not sleep as they lie alone, But wary and tense, till the earliest mom, When far and faintly like a horn The cock is crowing from the eaves. And the small birds stir 'mid the velvet leaves, THE DANCE OF DEATH. 29 And twitter but half awake, they lie, Seeing the flush of the splendid sky, And hearing the mole, as he saps and mines For the earth worm's brood at the foot of the vines. And things fast locked from living ear Bach one lying alone can hear : The grass above him growing lush, And the flower roots that grope in the mold, And the beating heart of the little brown thrush, As he picks his food 'mid the dew drops cold. But now ' tis the midmost week of May, When the earth goes forth like a blessed bride, To meet the sun on his crimson way As he comes in his royal pride. The smell of the peach and the apple blooms Are in her robes, and in her hair The orange wreath, and the faint perfumes Of the half-blown rose, are everywhere About her steps, and her glorious eyes With a bashful fear search all the skies, Where the joyful birds before her sing. And the days, fair daughters of the Spring, The magnolia's dripping chalice bring Where the night distilled her dewy wine ; And lilies gathered in the dark Asleep on the lake, and the sweet woodbine — But hush ! The voice of the herald lark 30 AN AGE HENCE. Is heard in the heavens ! He spies afar The approach of the god, and the morning star Faints suddenly out ; while tremors run Sweet through her heart, as she meets the sun. One kiss ! and the dead men start in their graves ! As when the warm gulf-stream thrills with its waves, In the glittering North, the furtherest isles, And they break from their slumbers. The glad sun smiles, But the earth falls aweeping, ' ' What is it, my love?' ' '^Ah, dearest, the lost ones that lie in my plains ! They tug at my heart, and all my veins Shudder with pity ! Oh, hard is the doom To lie in obstruction when the world is in bloom ! ' ' Then they whisper together ; and he signals the moon And the oldest stars, for a powerful charm. But not till the lovely month of June When the days grow long, and the nights are warm Does the magic work. Then, mysterious signs Are seen in the skies, and the stars draw near, And a breath of sighing is heard in the pines When the winds are still and the heavens clear. The halcyon broods on the mellow waves, And the smallest flower sheds delight, Then all who lie in unquiet graves, If they list, come forth in the balmy night. THE DANCE OF DEATH. 3I Some, to their pleasures, long foregone, Yield up themselves a little hour. But the wise, into themselves withdrawn, Nourish the seeds of strength and power, Waiting a mightier dawn. Sometimes they look straight onward, Silent, beyond the sea, Not to the eve, nor dawnward. But far in eternity : And the crumbling nations fall Like mist below their sight. And darkness like a pall Covers the stars with night. 32 AN AGE HENCE. STORY OF THE DEEP. HIGH throned 'mid the lonely stars, the fates, Sat and wove in the olden times Webs that might snare the brave estates. Of the gods, while they sung their solemn rhymes. Hither and thither the great gods went, Bearing the threads, whose splendid dyes Pictured them in, with grave intent. While ever the noiseless shuttle flies. Till weary grown, and old, at length. Half imbecile, they guessed their shame — Knew their will was another's strength, And died of the very curse of fame. Then rose the sisters, weird and strong. High over heights, with the web, till they came To a strand where the wild stars broke in song — Billows of worlds, that rolled in flame. Said to one who met them there : '* This is the story of the deep — Of the under-gods, which forth we bear ! '* Then vanished like a dream in sleep. MORTALS AND THE IMMORTAl,. 33 MORTALS AND THE IMMORTAL. SCANT are the elements for all their variety. The secret, invisible god, over and over, Works them, untiring, in manifold forms ; Thrones, and deposes, and tires of the beauty Ten thousand years could not perfect again ; While he blasts in conception his dreams of glory, Unsatisfied, longing, and spendthrift of power. Insane grew he, surely, alone in immensity Plotting and planning, through eternities hoary. Had he not from the rock, and the rain, and the flying Winds of the hollow heavens, created Mortals, whose follies provoke him to laughter Which echoes in thunder ! Unapproachable glory and majesty, sadden The god in his star-woven silence, and gladly He feeds the dying flames of the sun With broken stars till the midnight blossoms, Whilst forth he leans from the blue empyrean, Seeing the round earth rolling under, A spark shot forth from his forge, all glowing ! Swift flash the hemispheres, swiftly they darken, With the mad theatre uplifted ever To the god scanning, admiring, and laughing. 34 AN AGE HENCE. Forthright they hasten, the mortals, unknowing, Seam with the plough, and tumble the forests, Skim the wide waters, and delve in the caverns, Marry, and bury, and slumber and waken, Harry each other with mutual slaughter. Wound with a kiss, and with false love, ruin. Till aged untimely, sick and forsaken, The fire within them sinking and failing, To earth they moulder away in sorrow. With a touch, the god rekindles their ashes ! Anew have they risen, but all is forgotten Of the manifold toils and sorrows of living. With the courage of demigods, all ways they hasten Proud and insolent, cruel, designing. Suppliant, kneeling, wailing, and dying ! The battle renewing, the tragedy playing, To hell down mining, and scaling the heavens ! While above them, the god, on his throne of silence, What to them is eterne, to him a moment. Alone in immensity leans forth admiring, Aroused from his ennui and shaken with laughter ! EVIL GENII. 35 EVIL GENII. THK long lean devils in the air ! Spirits unclean, whom no man sees, On the bat's wings, and the red lightning fare Through the wind's avenues and the storm's lees. Whom they find ripe for wickedness, him Enter they into, like bees in their hive, Curl round his heart, and make his eyes dim, Till he loathes his brethren, and all things alive. Thus into Nero the genii throng — Riotous devils, and with their black art Thrust him to crimes, and hale him along To plunge his sword in his mother's heart. Through him, they give order, and august Rome Is fired with their torches, 'mid shriek and yell, Of the flying people, while spire and dome Blazes to heaven, like a noon in hell ! 36 AN AGE HENCE. From his palace roof he looks on the sea Of rolling flames, while the fiends laugh loud Through his lips agast, and one in his glee Shouts through him, triumphant, and curses the crowd! One twines round his violin strings, and lo ! As in at a window, one darts through his eyes. Thrills down through his fingers, and seizes the bow, To torment his fellow to musical sighs. Writhing melodious, sounds the strain Like Apollo departing from ruinous Rome ; The striken people look up in pain, And cursing, lie down in the ashes of home. THE SPHINX. 37 THE SPHINX. OH, Sphinx ! how canst thou guard the secret so From frantic Life, pale ghost, scarce seen ere gone. Who calls upon thee with such piteous woe. Ere hang-man death, shall hale her from the dawn ! Is it because some god, long since unknown. Gibed at thine ear, and whispering nothing, fled Down dismal ways, which thou, thought into stone. To tease frail mortals ere their hour be sped ? Then guard the empty tomb, where no seed lies 1 'Twere little worth, though germ of all we crave — He little heeds what sun shall light the skies Who lies forgetting in forgotten grave. 38 AN AGE HENCE. VENUS DE MILO. THOU feed' St upon the rapturous profound Of harmony, that needs no wings of sound To bear it to such perfect soul as thine, For in thy form its tendrils lie enwound. Does music unto music's self need tongue To tell the deeps no mortal bard hath sung? Silence does this, and unto silence' lips, Thought, like a lichen to a rock is clung. THE ASTRONOMER. 39 THE ASTRONOMER. FROM his high tower that dips into the night, Plumb down he looks into infinity, Piercing the gloom of ancient mystery. Unmindful of this watchful eremite. The glowing stars yield to his patient sight The secret of their high philosophy ! The pallid ghosts of planets he doth see Mocking the living and their warm delight, And dying worlds, and flaming meteors, Crying farewells ! or famine ! to the earth, That blindly swings about the sun unshriven. While destiny pursues. The morning stars Leave him overawed and humble, and men*s mirth Makes him recoil, as would an oath in heaven ! 40 AN AGE HENCE. SLEEP AND DEATH. PALE death, and sleep, are brothers, and so near Their kingdoms lie, clouds that arise In death's dim land, make sleep's all drear, And sadden dreaming eyes. But sometimes gentle visions, rare and fine, Like winged seed rise in the air, Float in death's halls, and make divine And silent splendor there. Dreams, and forgetfulness, and poppied ease, Sleep oCcrs : death, the vast unseen, And deep eternal silence : these, A vail flows thin between. IT IS A BITTER WINTER^S EVE. 41 IT IS A BITTER WINTER'S EVE. GONE are the flowers, the birds are flown, It is a bitter winter's eve ; I hear the night winds moan and moan, Ivike human lips that grieve. Dear heart, come to me, ere the night, With fancies dark, and poisoning Of melancholy seize me, quite Beyond the love you bring. For I am lonely, and the past. Yawns under me, like some old sea, Rising without a sound, and vast And deep as destiny. Ah, dearest, they are false, who say. Ghosts only rise in deep midnight ! Too hungry for the haunts of day They throng the dim twilight. And I, a ghost, from out this flesh, That is my tomb when thou art far, lyong forth to thee, as from yon mesh Of clouds, the evening star. 42 AN AGE HENCE. THE PASSING BELL. WHEREFORE these tears? Oh, prithee, tell, Why the dove moans in the April wood ; Or we hear the sound of the passing bell When summer's beauty is at its flood ! Music can not fill the void So full, grief may not creep between The viol's strings, by love enjoyed, As though two players played unseen. love's trysting place. 43 LOVE'S TRYSTING PLACE. I. LOVE'S trysting place is aye in ambush set, And all about this sweet and holy ground Wait silent cares, and griefs fast shut from sound, Foreboding ills, the worry and the fret Of lonely hours, and sadness of regret. Thus is the fatal thread forever wound In human destiny, and thus abound Where lover's meet, the woes they would forget. Oh, I have mused upon the marble face Of one late dead, when the long night of pain Had flown away, and some diviner grace Than that of earth, came brooding like a dove, With most serene high peace ; and said to lyove, *' Death mocks your sorrows with immortal gain ! ' 44 AN AGK he:nce. IL And I have held within my reverent palm, The dust of a dead heart, humid and gray. That in a vestal's bosom, many a day Beat with the solemn cadence of a psalm. Love was renounced for heaven's eternal calm. With what lost prayers, and vigils, who shall say ? I only know her heart's dust silent lay Within my hand, while my tears poured like balm, On her forgotten memory. Love's kiss Her lips knew not, nor child's caress, nor light Of home was hers, nor any marriage bliss — For all my grief, I could not envy dust That had not thrilled at love, ere time could blight, Or mildew, blow, upon life's sacred trust LONGING. 45 LONGING. OH, for the eagle's wings ! In yon brave high clouds to float, And their fine ethereal springs To drink down my fiery throat : While the great world rolls below In the depths of the dread abyss, And smiles in her mighty bliss, With her bosom all aglow To the sun-god's fervent kiss ! Below me the gleaming seas To the roots of the hills fast bound. By the rivers that, round and round The zone of the earth are wound, And the forests that shadow these ! Below me the kingdoms rolled — Dim spots on the map of an hour — Where the cities' hives swarm forth, Stung by the lust of power. And the ancient curse of gold. While I laugh, like a wind in the North, With a sneer as cold as its breath ! And my keen eyes mock the death 46 AN AGE HENCE. That leaps like a flame on the hills, Torch-lit from some baleful star, And bursts in the flame of war. While it withers some lonely home High-pitched, where the mountain rills Laugh white through their beards of foam. Whither, oh, whither, to rise In the vast and splendid skies. From the barren spot below ? Where honor is smirched with lies, And calumny works its woe On the beautiful and wise — Alas, that it should be so! But fair lies the earth, in the glow Of the sun, while the heavens are cold, And the firefly swarm of the stars. Breathes a mystery as of old. That pains and appals the heart ! And better seems human woe And the hope that survives the wars. Than the depths that we cannot know Look up and smile on me, love. And woo me, sweet, to your breast, So I fold up my wings like a dove, That drops to its balmy rest ! THE DAWN WITHIN THE DAWN. 47 THE DAWN WITHIN THE DAWN. BEHOLD the dawn that burns The wasting night away, Like a strong flame that yearns Out of the heart of day ! Back fly the shadowy host Of evil genii, And the pale moon like a ghost Fades from the glowing sky. Lo, how earth's lovely star, To the beckoning sun rolls on, Down the breathless steeps, and far To the dawm within the dawn ! So you lure my soul away ! It follows, a wandering fire, Through roseate realms of day That throb with my heart's desire ! 48 AN AGE HENCE. THE SECRET. WHAT spirit of all the musical throng Shall touch my soul till it break in song, Like a harp-string stirred by a bard's unrest Till it sweeten the fame of a name thrice blest. But the bard sang through the instrument, And the spirit would thrill me to its intent. While my own deep song would remain unsung Till it woke an age hence on a happier tongue. Moulder my dust and mould it again, A hundred times to that fairest of men — Were it not that the germ of my secret, dear, I have borne through ages that though mightst hear. For, ever before me. in beauty, the flame Of thy presence lured me, till I became Through spirals of change, in countless being, Man, and thou, woman, — now no more fleeing I But turn to me, love me, for time is a spark Shines for us but the moment, and all is dark ! THE SECRET. 49 Nor think strange that my secret remains unsung ! Long constrained to deep silence, it lies mute on my tongue, Like music that aches on the lyre, till the strings Thy skilled hand touches, and lo ! it hath wings. But the gods need not the lure of sound : Thought they find in its silence wound ! Look in my eyes, speeds my secret to thine : Deep into deep : thou knowest the sign ! Through the tremor of flesh thou shalt feel it and know — Holy it is, and long kept aglow Through change, as a torch o'er the heads of a throng, To the priestess above it, is handed along. Till the fire sacrificial breathes flame, and man's doom In the white flower of midday one moment shall bloom. 50 AN AGE HENCE. OPUSCULES. FLESH shrinks from the cold, but turns and blesses The fire aglow on the hearth so golden, So each on the world his worth impresses, And as thou lovest, to thee men are holden. Life is a priestess, through midnight bearing A perfumed lamp — Oh, I bid thee beware ! Lest thou jostle her hand with thy folly or daring, And the flame be lost in the chilly air ! Bach day is an island aglow in the sea — Voyager bound to the farthest deep, Make free with its treasure, ere the dim bark, sleep, Bear thee away where the shadows be ! WHITHER. 51 WHITHER. EACH spring-time, her secret, nature has striven to tell us : In streams, and verdure, and flowers, her eloquence wakens. And the birds on the paths of the winds, her couriers hasten. And old desires burn fresh from their ashes in men. Wide forth we hasten, all glowing, and eagerly question From whence we came, and whither the ages are flowing ; To what goal, the races immortal, in vigor are tending. Earnest as gods, and striving undaunted as heroes. Making death a resting, and not an end of endeavor ! For out of the ashes the genius glad life awakens, Which shakes off" the dust of its sleeping and hastens away. Impatient of slumber that kept it one hour from glory ! 52 AN AGE HENCE. SPOILS OF THE AGES. NOT to my mind came sorrow or despair, When all the tumbled hillocks of the dead Greeted mine eyes, this wild and windy morning, Roared over them the wet and bending trees, And the low hung clouds shut out the gleam of heaven. The mists in the flowers lay tangled — Sullen the waters ran — And the still-delaying swallows. Were blown, like a forest of leaves, Over the meadows, and out to the hungry sea. Neither despair, nor sorrow, though hundreds were lying. Sordid and lonely, each in his narrow cell. Deaf to the wrath of the tempest — Unheeding the struggles of men. But 1 thought how, only the marbles. And no great deed, with its tongue of fame. Nor golden memory might tell, Who lay in this lap of silence. When these were living, how many thousands of days Lay open the paths of glory ! And the soul in its tangle of flesh Struggled, and urged in vain. But from the earth their venal eyes rose never — SPOILS OF THE AGES. 53 Small ambition saw never the mighty stars, Nor valued the day in its passing, Though it bore the favor of gods. And one with crowns came after. But think you no hint came to them Of a larger fulfillment of life ? Trust me, the humblest feel it, And the earnest are armed already. But long seems the toil and the fortune of battle unknown, And men are lovers of ease. So, better the day's dull bounty Hoarded in peace, and spent in the leisure of age, Or even to creep obscurely. And starving from day to day. Than to go where the high gods call, Up from the valley and over the lofty mountains ! But, 'tis easy to look on the fallen — Scorn them for folly, and say : '* Better to have fought like heroes. Though wounded, and bleeding sorely. Borne down in the battle, and victory flown to another. Than to have lived in ease, since death was the end at last!" Oh, ye, who are living, look round you ! The same paths lie open to glory — The spoils of the ages are heaped for the hands of the hero ! 54 AN AGK HENCE. THE BROOK. LITTIvB brook, why laughest thou, Whorled in meadow grasses, When the wind blows cold from the mountain's brow O'er snow in the mountain passes? The rose that kissed thy lip last May, Blooms now in Southern bowers, And the birds that sang to thy song all day, Court her amid the flowers. Dark and drear lies the windy mere. The sun is pale to sadness. Summer is gone with all its cheer, How canst though laugh with gladness ? ** Never winter touches me, I stay not to brood or linger. Over the pebbles and out to sea I speed from his icy finger ! THE BROOK. 55 " A hundred trees swoon down my stream, A thousand wild flowers blowing Look in my eager eyes the dream, That sets my heart a-glowing. '* I hold my glass up to the sun, And while he looks in smiling To see himself made small, I run, Laughing, and still beguiling. ** Then throw it down, for a headlong leap Over some rock's vast shoulder, Into caverns blind and deep, Where the bones of giants moulder. *' Thus rush I on ! but dost thou think I am lost in the sounding ocean ? I rise, a spirit, from the brink — The prayer of the sea's devotion ! 56 AN AG^ HKNCE:. ** I am the cloud thou saw^st last June, In the glorious even, Sailing near the full-orbed moon, Like a wild swan in the heaven. *'It wa^s I that wrought eclipse Of the moon, lest she discover When thou stooped to kiss the lips Of thy earnest lover ** Now, toward the mighty mother's heart My veins run full of gladness. And were I man, as man thou art, I had no thought for sadness. "For what is lost is found again, And never ancient story But lends its far oflf gleam to men Who give the present glory.'' THE HUMBI,E-BEE AND THE ROSE. 57 THE HUMBLE-BEE AND THE ROSE. HOW canst thou, burly humble-bee, Rifle the rose's heart? Are there no common flowers for thee — Bold braggart as thou art ! The rose is nature's paragon, The loveliest of the bower, And blooms by brimming Helicon Apollo's favorite flower. She lights the way the morning flies Over the planet's rim. And is the torch for lover's eyes When twilight lanes are dim. I chide no zephyr wandering late In sweet delirious bliss, Just parted from her at the gate, And drunken with a kiss. But thou, bold plunderer, avaunt ! Go sip the laurel dew By some weird witch's caverned haunt — The rose is not for you ! 58 AN AGE HENCE. ECHO LOQUITOR. WAS that your song made eloquent the wind That whispered at mine ear, while slumber wooed, And I lay half forgetful, thrown along With shadows, on a bank of flowers dim ? " Have the gods come back ? '* I said, "Or have I slept, And dreamed the dismal est dreams the lost can know In the blind pits that swallow them from men ? '* For, oh, it seemed a ringing afternoon Of the young world, when th' gods, like light came down Large lustrous youth, to roam this star again, And not the hateful times when all are flown But I, that once made beautiful this sphere. When the old doom of change began to work, There were strange signs in heaven, and on earth Moanings, and shapes like shadows flying past — But I, storm-stayed within the hollow keep Of a vast cavern, was by magic slain With slumber, till the golden age was flown. Beyond the farthest star the gods were gone And the bright troops of fauns and naiads, all, ECHO LOQUITOR. 59 And I left lonely in this world of men ! Like a great flight of birds about the dawn, I saw them melt into the golden sheen Of morning, thick against the glimpse I had Of the new glories they had entered on. Have they not missed me by their marvelous streams? Or does new love crowd memory away ? Ah, me ! the hours I have lain down alone In solitudes, with memory at my knee Crooning old tales, till I have wept anew ! And flowers wept dew, and birds were hushed from song. And the stilled rivulet, like a. dying pulse. Slid down the grass, and silence crept more near. I know not if the gods steal back sometimes. Smitten with longing for the olden days — But would that I might teach my lore to thee And make thee one, or more than mortal man ! This way into the woods! The air is balm ; The old moon shines above the pool, and here A stream from out the cavern trickles down And dims the forest leaves with blood. There in the cavern lies the wounded night, Shot to the death by morn, and all her width Of dragon wings lie limp along the floor ! That cold wind was her soul that rushes forth ! When the sun sinks she will come back again, Creep through her wounds, wake life, and fly away ! 6o AN AGK HENCE. Hear how all sounds come amorously to me : The cool wave crushed to foam on far-off shores Sends a low moan to mind me of the sea ; Bells in the air, and voices of the kine, Murmur of floods, and slow and sullen sounds From villages of men, the panther's cry, The riot of the wind among the leaves Making a flowing sound, as though there ran A river in the air, sweet minstrelsy Of birds gone mad to be alive, the joy Delicious of the flowers, (thou canst not hear !) Tune wistfully about my ears, all hours. To steal the burden of my sorrow forth. Until I send them back, down rock and thorn, To dreamful ease, in valleys far away. Scarcely the flowers bend beneath my feet, But after thine they rise up wounded sore. Bleeding a purple dew — this proves thee man. No matter ! there is something in thee, still, Not wholly mortal. Follow me — oh, on, and on ! Would you had wings ! How slow are mortal feet ! DESERTED. 6l DESERTED. EVEN joyful memories , Bring something sad, at twilight's hour, Some shadow from the silent seas, Some cypress from the bower. Oh, friends, I shall not see again. My lost youth wanders far away. With yours, beyond the haunts of men, In some bright yesterday ! And calls to me, **Come back, dear friend ! " And waves its rosy hands in vain — The bitter current will not bend Back to the golden bowers again. 62 AN AGE HENCE. High hopes and fames, the genius brings, To hribe our manhood, as we fly Far from the youth, who laughs and sings, Where pleasure stands applauding by. But send us now and then, dear youth, From out thine islands green and gay, Some happy memory, though in truth A tender sadness find the way. And yet, who knows, but on a day When the blue sea mellows round your capes, **God den ! '^ we greet you, fresh as May, While the old life into the dark escapes ! 4 i A SPRING I.ONGING. 63 A SPRING LONGING. WHEN the black-bird sings on the withered spray, Tossed by the wind on the warm March day, Spring o'er the low hills comes this way. Every wind blows thick with birds, Gambol the lambs, and the lowing herds Long for the fields where the vapors rise Wind-winged toward the summer through sunny skies. I pause by the river, and listen long To the joyous rapture of his song : The affairs of men unheeded wait — I am free an hour from care and fate ! I have grown attuned to the voice that swells By the roaring sea, and wakes the dells With the wild brook's laughter; with the harp of the wind Played in the forest, and with all merry kind The green earth round, that hold them near To the heart of nature, and love her dear. I am thrilled with longing ; all sweet desires Through my being glide, like golden fires ; All I have been, and all I shall be, In the past, and the long eternity. Waken within me — I climb once more Through the olden types, as once before, Till I wake in man, and away am gone. With mv cecret, through the gates of dawn. 64 AN AGK HENCE. FATALITY. AN hour, in a lonely place, I sat down face to face With the spirit no thought can bind. Odorous was the wind, Mellow the sound of the sea. And the birds sang over me In the tall trees, and far Shone a single sail, like a star, In the blue deep of the main. In heaven there was no stain. And the flowers sweetened the ground With color, like sound Of music to blind men's ears. My eyes were filled with tears. For happiness oppresses The heart it too much blesses. We are so linked to pain ! But my soul was one with the strain Of singing birds, and the sea : And I thought, on eternity. With odor, and color, and sound, To drift, were joy profound. Though changing many times The semblance of life and its rhymes. FATALITY. 65 For 'tis custom that binds us so ; And thought that works us woe, Ever life's problem turning, Pained with immortal yearning Over things not understood. And the dead, like a Gorgon's brood. Will not lie in their graves, but rise, Spectral, and cold, and wise. To threaten with ancient laws Every quick and generous cause, Till we yield, and stand aghast. At the power of the terrible past 1 66 AN AGE HENCE. THE MAGICIAN. I CLOSE my eyes and look within Where thought in silence dwells— Secretest of hermits, he ! He shuns world's folly, and its din. Bats pulse, and from the coldest wells Drinks and broods eternally. Hints of old remembrances, lyike flower scents are to him blown ; And to-morrow, he hath seen, Ringed with mighty destinies. Slumbering on his cloudy throne Built the dark and dawn between. Sometimes through my eyes he looks With a steadfast gaze and long, While the world in silence waits ! For he turns the Sibyl's books, Gathers in the seeds of song, Or hears the whisperings of fates. THE MAGICIAN. 67 From my slumbers I awoke In the deep and lonesome night : Thought was at his alchemy — Spirits, did his wand invoke From the bowers of their delight, Where the gods and graces be. And the dreams did come and go — Fairy magic, mocking time With his blind hours sweeping by ! But methought impending woe Fed upon each perfect rhyme, And thought did turn his face and sigh ! 68 AN AGE HENCE. FROM THE DEPTHS. WHEN the beauteous maid had found Age was stealing unaware, Softer than the hush of sound Or shadow on the stair — lyike a marble statue, long. Stood she in a sad surmise. If she might the hidden wrong Search from out its deep disguise. In her mirror leaned and gazed As in some unfathomed stream, Where the eyes that lovers praised, Met her in a serious dream. But a weary face and wan, 'Neath her own she might espy, Faintly as a star at dawn In an early evening sky. FROM THE DEPTHS. 69 From the starved lips there came Ivow whisperings, like the mood In which nature hints our shame, Voiced in some deep solitude : "O'er the beauty nature gave, You invoked the tricks of art, Till she holds you as her slave Even to your secret heart. "And wears you with her chains, and brings Idle triumphs as the fee, To bribe the god within, who sings Of a higher destiny. When god made me, in that hour He gave the flesh you too much prize, As the palace of my power, Not to hide my miseries. "But a prisoner I pine. In the dungeon you make fair ; Your marvelous beauty is my sign And symbol of despair. I, the keeper, am locked in, I, the genius, am the slave ; Small wonder that the hours begin To dance upon my grave !'* 70 AN AGE HENCE. DENIAL. DESIRE is, like the breath of flowers, Death-sweet, and evanescent, And perishes ere happier hours Tread lightly on the present. IvOve^s longing yields to apathy — That mildew of long waiting ! And hearts have lost their harmony, That heaven meant for mating. And vain is immortality That haunts the soul in dying. With charm of specious flattery, From out a heart of lying. For who to future times may trust. That meets to-day, denial ? Can glory *s root strike through the dust, To men long dead of trial ? DENIAL Pray tell me where the rose-bud blooms That from some tender bower, You pluck with all its vague perfumes? And tell me where the flower, Full blown, shall into seed mature, That on the breast of beauty One moment shall your eyes allure, Then perish with its duty ? And where the promises of life Shall grow to grander uses. When manhood falters in the strife And turns them to abuses ? And where long waiting and heart pain Shall find reward of pleasure, When wrinkled age has proved them vain And death lurks in the measure? L/ife's sacred flame but holds aloof Death's darkness, not its sorrow, For the strongest nature is not proof Against the unknown to-morrow. Too imminent the time, to lose, In dalliance, dream, or story. But long enough, oh, sovereign Muse, For triumph, love, and glory. 71 72 AN AGE HENCE. THE BUTTERFLY. DREARIIvY on the grass I lay, The red rose wondering by ! Nor thought the gladsome month of May Might feel offended at my sigh — When lo ! she sent the butterfly, To show her sweet disdaining ; A dream, a flower, it floated by. And mocked my dull complaining. **I feed on dainty sweets,*' said he, "And all the balmy air Brings me the song of bird and bee, And not a note of care. The world about is very fair, I feel the warm sun shining. The universal love I share That never knows repining. ' ' THB BUTTERFI.Y. 73 ^* Yes, " quoth I, but my finer sense Perceives the gloom instead, Nor can you keep your gay pretense When hovering o'er the dead.'' ** I only see the flowers," he said, ''And these breathe not of sorrow, While the blue heavens, o'er my head, Bespeak a bright to-morrow.'* ** But even wings of gossamer Must fail at last ! " I cried ; ** Then let me use them now, good sir ! " The winged sprite replied : *' For life is like the time and tide, And beauty has its season, Adown the changing stream they glide, And wait not for your reason." 74 AN AGE HENCE. THE MOMENT IS ON THE WING. INTO the life within the life Who sees deepest ? who can tell ? For it hides itself in a show of strife, And blinds the eyes with beauty's spell. Hides in a marvelous tangle of flesh That a lover's lips might melt withal, But can not draw through the willing mesh The mistress it holds in thrall. But life has given to each an hour Wherein no shadow death may fling, And love is its glory, love its flower — And the moment is on the wing ! It flies, and the fire of longing flies — Vain regrets and sorrows stay. Youth is cheated and age unwise Withers and withers away. ELYSIUM. 75 ELYSIUM. NEVER thought I, in the old days gone, Love was a flower of the summer time, To flush in June depths, till it be withdrawn Like a flame blown out in its festal prime. But to me like a purer life it seemed ; Two hearts but a mingled soul — maybe The end shall bring peace, or I have dreamed Raptures no human eye shall see ! For I want no heaven love may not bring — One touch of his lips is better than all The dreams of prophets, of saints that sing. Or hero's that feast in Odin's hall. Out of the dark we came, who knows Into what light we go? this hour. We float like motes where the sunlight glows- The next, oh Love, is beyond our power ! "J^i AN AGK HENCE. ROSEMARY. HOW can a fond heart love with old desire, When seas roll in, and mountains rise between, And the long years run desolate, and unseen At fancy's root, wastes memory, like the fire Of morn's white star, whose waning beams inspire The torch of Phoebus? Phoebus dies, I ween, Some numbing morn when winter's breath blows keen. And the scant beams of Hesperus expire ! So lyove, made pensioner of memory. From pallor unto pallor fades away To a wan soul, that fleets eternally ! Have pity, thou, and bid the poor ghost stay ! Morn gives her stars ! yield up your eyes to me, Your lips, your heart, and make my winter. May ! BEI^IvK TOURNURE. 77 BELLE TOURNURE. MY poor heart stammers like my lips When I would look on thee, And swimming tears bring dim eclipse To eyes that fain would see. My passion through me winds and yearns, Now like a sudden flame, Now down my pallid cheeks it burns, With shudderings like shame ! I am not I, I am become I^ove's lute-string jarred to song, By touches of some god gone dumb, Who looked on thee too long ! 78 AN AGE HENCE. A CHANCE ACQUAINTANCE. WHAT was there in the fair girl's eye — Girl I never saw before, That should make my heart tremble and sigh For one I shall see no more ! Back came my wandering youth, Sunny gleams and flowers aglow, And the face of one I loved, in truth, Long, long ago. Sweet and sad are the days long flown, Down some sudden vista seen — Pure and perfect they lie alone. Immortal and serene. Who stands midway on the height. And looks not back with tears, Where the stream, and the rose, and the morn's delight. In the valley below him appears? That moment the sun shines dim, The peaks are cold above ; Glory and fame are naught to him Bmparadised with love. TWILIGHT. 79 TWILIGHT. SOMETHING is lost to the morning-— Though the wide world glows, Out of dark, like a rose, That bursts from the bud into glory ! Something is lost — yea is wanting — That would make the morn pure, And give charm and lure That would draw the sweet saints out of heaven J I, at the outermost margin Of day-dawn, and thou. Asleep with the night, now. What good genius shall bring us together ! 8p AN AGE HENCE. ENCHANTMENT. WHERE you lie dreaming, darling, The night is cold and still. The wind lies asleep on the hill. The moon has gone out of sight, And the stars are alone in the night. Anon comes a tremulous sound Of water plunging and falling — An owl in the forest calling — The watch dogs, ominous, cry — For a shadow comes stealing by. And in at your window has gone Ivike the first faint rose of dawn. 'Tis the genius of sleep, my darling, He hath borne by forest and stream My soul away, like a dream ! For the strength of my longing grew Like the pain of death, and I knew No golden joy for the lover Your true arms might not cover I THOU com' ST NO MORE. 8 1 THOU COM'ST NO MORE. ONK quiet afternoon in June Beside this winding water's way, We heard aloft the merry tune Of birds among the leaves at play. Knee-deep the dappled cattle stood In shallow runlets cool with shade, And wanton zephyrs kissed and wooed The flowers all down the lonely glade. So kissed I thee, oh, lovely maid ! Returns the season to the dale. And flowers crowd gaily to the stream, The black-bird, sweetens all the gale. But thou com' St only in my dream. A shadow lies upon the hill. The rose is not so sweet 's of yore. The shallow stream limps weak and chill From stone to stone — the clouds bend o'er— Soul of my soul, thou com'st no more ! 82 AN AGE HENCE. LET THERE BE POISON IN THE SONG. READ me some sad, melodious verse, thought-low, In the dim silence murmuring like a stream That drowses in its channel, to and fro. Among the flowers that yearn into its dream. Let there be poison in the song, distilled From weary woe, or love long passioning. With power to numb the soul it first hath thrilled, Till sense on heart, warm folded under wing, A slumberous swan I float upon the rime Far from the day and lost to envious time. For I am weary, ere the noon of day, And my lorn thought, from the long journey's end Where I had sent it to explore the way. Comes back like sorrow to its stricken friend, With whisperings of the mad world's mystery, And vain pursuits that in a beaten round End like the symbols of eternity. And still delude, and cheat with airy sound Youth and old age, with promise high and brave, Till one by one they totter to the grave. 1 WHII.E THE YEARS GO ROUND AND ROUND. 83 WHILE THE YEARS GO ROUND AND ROUND. OH, to lie down below In a long silence, sad and deep, Where winds forget to blow. And clouds to weep. To hear no more the lapse of running streams On summer days, or carol of wild birds — To sleep too sound for thought or dreams, Or aught the mind can tell in words — While the years go round and round, Till naught remains of me That is not like the ground Whereon you see The red rose spring. And the thistle drop its seed. Time's fullness then may bring The peace I so much need. It can not be the passion and the gloom Of a lost life, can then remain. To brood and nurse pale fires within the tomb To burst into the world again. 84 AN AGK HENCE. For all strange roots shall pierce my mold, And passions shall arise in these, To waste themselves on many a breeze, While I lie here so wan and cold. Heart's love into the rose shall bloom On some delightful summer day, And breath by breath shall die away Bnamored of its own perfume. And in the gloomy pine shall rise. Sailing low, my melancholy : And my folly In some flower with winged seed. Which light winds about the skies Shall scatter with its losel breed. THE FALSE ONE. 85 THE FALSE ONE. WHEN at last the false one dies, Out of memory, and her eyes, Haunt no longer, and her face, Vanishes with all its grace : When the subtleties she wrought, Come no more into the thought, And thou look'st on her unmoved, As though thou hadst never loved — Thou hast conquered — live once more. Shipwrecked, on life's fatal shore. 86 AN AGE HENCE. THE HOURI. TAKE her, I care not, Though once she was mine, When youth was sacred And love divine. But now that she wanders, No more she seems Than the houri that flits In an Arab's dreams. I've drunk of the fountain, And should I deny The last draught, to my enemy. Famishing by? Drink, fool, then pillow Thy head on the breast That too oft hath known mine In happier rest I run ROSE. $7 THE ROSE. ALL summer long, The rose implored me for a song — Languished before me, drew me with the lure Of a hundred charms to pour my soul into her : Outsmiled the morning, made the twilight glow, Bade the wind hush, the stream forget to flow, And hid in perfume, as I slumbered, stole Betwixt the wings of dreams into my secret soul. What song of mine, oh, lovely rose. Could sweeten silence, like the wind that blows With nightly amorous kisses on thy cheek ! Soft in that wind blow Persian songs and Greek — Sung long ago. By lovers in their tender morning glow : And all we dream, and all we say. Is tinctured by that far oflf day. 88 AN AGE HENCE. THE REAPERS. ON th' yellow slope of a great cavern's eaves, That down the valley dripped perpetual streams, Which rose in vapory clouds, like giant's dreams, All the long day they bound the harvest sheaves, 'Mid songs of birds, and whisperings of the leaves. And oft they saw the far half phantom gleams Of slumberous waters, through the glimmering beams Of heat that down the fence-rows winds and weaves. The mower's scythe clanged sweetly through the grain, That with a rustling sound o'er-swathed the flowers. Till bending toil relieved their odorous pain. And harvest songs made dance the jocund hours. While Pan from th' cavern heard, and sweet refrain Piped mellowly along the golden plain. A lover's abstraction. 89 A LOVER'S ABSTRACTION. WHEN this poor heart is dust, and I no more Shall see thee, hear thee, thrill at thy caress, Or whisper that I love, what sore distress Shall seize my soul with pangs unknown before ! Still to love on, and on, still to adore When life has shrunk into a thought ; when less. And less, hope's anchor holds me to the shore. Drifting into infinity — possess The lingering desire, the passionate I/onging — I, who shall never more of thee Be known ! Oh, 'tis too horrible a fate ! Come let me clutch at straws, ere such a sea Drowns o'er my head and leaves me desolate — Kiss me, ere I have lost thee utterly ! 90 AN AGE HENCE. 11. Why, *twas a dream ! some night-mare of the mind, By fate conjured to mock a lover's bliss ; The moody shape dissolved at thy warm kiss, As clouds before a summer-breathing wind. Thy heart beats on my own ; tender and kind Thine eyes drink in my soul ; all fears I miss In the sweet circle of thine arms — in this Fate can not come, and death is left behind. Why, if my soul could ever leave thee here, Widowed and lorn, it could not further go Than thy breast warms the air, and lingering near. Would melt into thine own, as the late snow In Spring melts on some flower — or in that tear Thou would' St, thyself, dissolve, and with me go ! IN A WORLD APART. qi IN A WORLD APART. I. ^'/^H, Love ! what land is this?" my fair one cried, V^ As changeful colors, like the heraldry Of silent angels, flashing suddenly, Made rainbow flutterings on our eyes, and died Low on the streams and flowery meadows wide. And little sparrows sang a sudden glee, While in the air we felt, but could not see, The passion of some goddess glorified ; Whose chariot down the slanting wind was borne, Throwing a dust of rose-leaves as it sped. O'er the curved vales and up the hills unshorn : From which a voice unto my lady said, " 'Tis free for you to wander as you list. Or make your own if your sweet fancy wist ! ' * 92 AN AGE HENCE. II. Whence are these shadows, wavering in my room, And whence this breezy sound within my ears Of wild-wood minstrelsy ? and whence these tears Of pleasing sorrow, making misty gloom About my eyes ? I ask, I know not whom — Some flying Merlin, who looks back and hears, Laughing, and sinks among the hills and meres Of my lost heaven — while I shake the bloom Of fresh remembered dreams upon my heart, That lies below them like a buried thing. For this is waking back to loneliness When I had dreamed of paradise, and spring Perpetual, in a dainty world apart With my true love to worship and to bless. IN A WORLD APART. 93 III. We were upon a little star, it seemed, No larger round than looks the harvest moon ; Half lost in flowers ; for every breath of June Went wandering round this little orb. I dreamed It was her butterfly, so fair it gleamed, Floating in azure to a merry tune Of winds, and waters falling. And aboon. Its splendid clouds into the heavens streamed lyike wings, that bore us far and far away. From pleasure unto pleasure — sweet, oh, sweet ! Transported in a glance we need not say How much we loved — we did not need repeat Mouth-phrases, as your common lovers do— We looked into each other's souls, and knew ! 94 AN AGE HENCE. TO REALMS UNKNOWN BEFORE. WHO has the heart to deny, If I dream we shall rise again, 'Neath some happier morning sky, In some gentler race of men ! And beyond all tenderness Of tongue to tell, shall meet. After this long distress. With a love divine and sweet. And into each other's eyes Looking, with tears, shall say, ^ Under what distant skies Had we met ere this golden day?** And shall laugh, and shall weep, for bliss, And tremble with harmony : And lips shall melt in a kiss. Now pallid with misery. And living and loving so. Not unkindly, at last, shall death Take us from age, or woe. Like a flame blown out by the breath. TO REALMS UNKNOWN BEFORE. 95 Like a flame new-lighted again, Shall we burn in some distant age, Ever with fairer men, On a grander and holier stage. And ever with wiser brains. And richer and truer hearts, Heirs of the lofty gains That time has given the arts. Till the secret is ours, one day. And brave in the mighty lore, With death we vanish away To realms unknown before ! 96 AN AGE HENCE. THE HOUR OF PAN. IN the sweet hour of Pan, through ether came An evil genius, wandering at his will, In the glad summer-time, and all unheeding — Till *mong the flowers that staid a ravished stream. He spied a maiden slumbering at high-noon, With all the flowers about her crowding close, lyike lovely courtiers, lest the least annoy Might steal across the dreaming zephyr's wings. Silence above her leaned in amorous maze ; • And like a tender flame her beauty grew Upon the genius, till it seized him sore : x\nd sometimes like a tongue made eloquent With sweet persuasions, would it call him near. Who came right willingly, but could no where Weave arms about her, being impalpable. Nor soil her virgin lips with sinful kiss. And so, perforce, for joyance, would he breathe Himself into a serpent, lying near. And thus the maid encompass to his will. Hushed in his coils the slumbrous serpent lay Dreaming of Lilith, or the Thracian fair. When suddenly his small. eyes opened wide In the noon glare, and lean his head upreared, THE HOUR OF PAN. 97 While burnished coil slid over burnished coil With thrilling undulations, and he trailed His sinuous body near the sleeping maid, In a wild ecstasy, till at a sound Of human steps, he vanished like a gleam Of lightning down a craggy cloudland seen. But to the youth who came between old trees lyike morning through wan stars, the genius fled. And nestling round his heart, blew warm the flame Of sudden love, and bade his roving eye. Take in the loneliness of her, who slept By wild trees canopied, and couched in flowers. Desire^s strong wine flew mantling to his brain, And hints and sweets of old remembrances. From times long past — the blood^s inheritance, — Of beauty's conquest in some other life lyived joyously long since, began to urge : And sore the demon plied him with his arts ! But when he thought he'd conquered, chose the youth From all the flowers, a lily, which he laid Heart-troubled on her breast, and stole away. THE LORD OF LIFE, Lore. THE LORD OF LIFE. lOI THE LORD OF LIFE. IN a forest old, and tragic, With dark glooms and sullen magic, Was a fount, wherein the light, And shadow, played at day and night, . And sound and silence, rimmed, by turn. The margin of its grassy urn. Out of yawning aisles, in haste. Came one who would the waters taste, But stood looking long within. As if he would their secret win. Saw his meagre face and wan. Far into the depths withdrawn. And ghostly steed that by him stood : And then, dissolving in a flood. That down a chasm poured full fast. Saw the nations sweeping past. Frantic, moaning, and abhorrent Of the black resistless torrent, That to chaos, pours again. The kingdoms and the homes of men. Stooped, and drank the bitter wave, And left it flavor of the grave. I02 AN AGE HENCE. Kre he rode, with laughter grim, Down the forest hushed and dim. But the sun broke from the cloud, And the thrushes sang aloud A merry din in the quiet place. Till it smiled in flowers with a wondrous grace, And a thousand happy things Ran on the sward, or glanced on wings, Trll Echo, holding back her tresses, Listens, and calls, and inly blesses The tumult sweet, her heart longs after. And babbles back the fountain's laughter. Whilst deep, melodious, and strong. The wind poured forth his soul in song. Full of the secret of forest and sea. And the guarded lore of eternity. Heralded thus, came a shining youth. Fair to look upon as truth. And in the fountain stooped to look. Where it opened deep like the SibyPs book. He saw the mighty torrent sweep Into the vague and awful deep, Turgid with planetary woe — But smiled, for far in the gulf below. The sun shone through the wavering stream, And he saw as in a prophet's dream. The dead worlds glow to stars again. And sparkle into living men. THE LORD OF LIFE. IO3 For death is but life's pioneer : Servant, not master ; hope, not fear ; And rides unknowing, far and late, At life's behest disguised in fate. And when he deems, with dreary scorn, He leaves behind him night forlorn, And grief and desolation brings. But sows the seeds of happier things. And might the remorseless demon turn, Rising from the funeral urn A golden vapor he might see. Which rhymes itself continuously With lush grasses, flowers, and trees. And yearning upward and on from these Through bird and beast, in air and fen, It wakes into perfect man again ! But the lyord of Life, still young and glowing, Looks deeper than the fountain's flowing. Piercing deep to the hidden springs Of action that underlie all things. And finds accordance where the ear, Of another, could only discord hear. Of olden enemies makes friends. Persuading to his mighty ends ; Sends them as envoys, with glacier, and fire, To widen the bounds of his vast empire. Whence east, and west, and south, and north. With his fair bride. Love, he looks far forth O'er realms and creatures in order moving. Thrilled with the rapture of living and loving. I04 AN AGE HENCE. THE MIGHTY HARMONIES. FORTH from the heavens lean The mighty Harmonies, And try men's hearts, unseen, With sovereign melodies : Deeps of sound, and echoes of the deep, Sweeter than lips may story ! That thrill the sense and make the strong heart leap lyike a warrior forth to glory. But some they find o'er bold, And some are dull and cold. And some inconstant to the muses' strain — These, on their pinions fleet. They leave with soft disdain. But never the fates cut short the life, Whose heaven-appointed work remains undone : Rather they ripen it, like the generous sun. And keep it free from taint of mortal strife. Thus to great age, was Goethe's muse inspired. To finish what his eagle youth had planned ; And Milton, through the clouds of civil war. Glowed, like the heart of morning's golden star. THE MIGHTY HARMONIES. IO5 With the vast dream that all his being fired : And in the evening were the embers fanned Into a bright and sunny flame, To light the heraldry of Chaucer's fame ! Young bards have died in flower of morning's prime : The song, half sung, has frozen on their lips. And many a bard has mourned the sad eclipse ; But who might prophecy their nobler rhyme ? The blasted tree brings forth the early fruit ; Song ripens soon when death gnaws at the root. And some by accident were wed To the long silence of the dead. What time they reached far down the moody night, At variance with the world's great heart. And struck strange chords, beyond the sight, To music out of tune with art. Io6 AN AGE HENCE. TO-MORROW AND TO-MORROW. WHY should I bend to times antique, Nor dare to trust this soul of mine, When through my tongue the ancients speak, Their glories in my actions shine ! A thousand marches further on, I greet the suns they longed to see, Pained with their yearnings yet, for dawn, And splendors which shall never be. Coined have I been so oft before, . I feel bold memories in my blood, And know the voices calling sore. From phantom lips beyond the flood. STOLEN BY MYSTERIES. 107 STOLEN BY MYSTERIES. LINKED unto his glorious dream, The artist sits by the charmed stream, And moulds his visions in the clouds ; He sleeps, and they wrap him round like shrouds. By him the days run swift and sure, And the gods have given them many a lure Of bounty and blessing he never sees, For his eyes are stolen by mysteries. And his soul is thridden by songs, that flow, From stars to stars in deeps below. Ever to-morrow he will begin, To picture the glorious vision in, To the eye of the world, for the long acclaim That follows the earnest child of fame. But ever the morrow is up and away ! For swift are the feet of the flying day : And mocking youth hath flown by her side — The golden bridegroom and his bride ! The old man's hand no cunning knows : His smile fades out like a withered rose, Faded and wan grow his dreams, and drear. Is the silence that falls on the dead man's bier. I08 AN AGE HENCE. Who was that, with the days went by, And marked him with averted eye, By the silver shining stream, In idle dalliance with his dream? Gathering his robe of silence round. He stepped from the throng without a sound. His smile was satire, and cold, I ween, Were the hands that plied the chisel keen. The dreamer he carves to an image of death, And the dreams fade out at his icy breath. Slowly he worked, for the art was long, But deaf grew the ears to lips of song ; The hand grew palsied, the eyes grew dim ; And the angels grieved, who looked on him. For gaunt and wasted, a ghost he seemed, And not the glorious youth who dreamed. Not a line remained of folly. But remorseful melancholy. LIKE A DREAM. IO9 LIKE A DREAM. THIS world, a pageant, greets my eyes, It triumphs and is gone. My senses, weary of surprise. Gaze at it half withdrawn. I only steadfast am, it goes, Dissolving like a dream ; The dust of yesterdays, time blows, Thick, where its banners gleam. no AN AGE HENCE. NATURE. AI^ONE, through the vast eternities, In silence my glowing dreams I wrought In flowers of form, and destinies, Still nearing my ancient thought. Touching, escaping, the intricate deep, Whence life, distorted, may issue through, Madness and horror I charmed in their sleep, Unmoulded, and formed anew. Dreadful, the change, to my creatures then — Death ! they called it, nor knew in the hour. At my touch, they flamed into mightier men, With the aeons for their dower ! The crawling races, the globe around, Strained the coil that drew along, The car of the gods, with a heavy sound Time sweetened into song. Lo, they delved i' th' dark, like elves, and laid The deep foundations of these times, In the granite of customs and laws, I made. Like the measures of perfect rhymes. AN ANCIENT PORTRAIT. Ill AN ANCIENT PORTRAIT. WRINKIyED, and bald, and wan, and palsey-shaken, Out of his bleared eyes looks the sad old man, Nor sees to-day, but rapt and fancy taken, lyives in the past as only dreamers can. And smiles, and feels no pain, though restless finger Of the grim artist, time, deep etchings trace : The acid can not eat where fondly linger The old-time loves and days of vanished grace. Or, is this some dim face that out of story, Peers with old eyes into the heart of time. And eats its mystery, and scorns the glory The mob approved, and poets told in rhyme ? Some old, despairing face, the pitiless ocean Sucks from its cave, and bears aloft the while. To drown again, with thunderous commotion, About the roots of some defiant isle ! 112 AN AGE HENCE. Some thought the gods let fall, in weary brooding Upon the fate that wastes them like the stars ! The last bare husk, the shriveled soul including, That once seemed master, not the sport of wars ! Alas, how poor ! and weak, and melancholy ! Where is thy youth, thy passions, and the fire That burned through these, and left the ash of folly White strewn, above the embers of desire ? Youth, like a losel maiden, caught the glowing Of some fresh face, and loosed her arms and fled, But robbed thee, ere she went, whilst thou, unknowing. Smiled in thy dreams, and hugged dull care, instead : And from her lips sipped poisons cold and bitter, That nursed thy wit, but wasted flesh and bone. Till to thy heart the thin blood turned, scarce fitter, Than the dank stream that crawls about a stone. THE LEMAN. II3 THE LEMAN. WHOSO in the field is singing, This drear and lonesome night ? His voice through my soul goes ringing, With love and its past delight. Father and mother are sleeping. My lover lies under the ground, Why should I sit here weeping? I will rise and follow the sound. Oh, mother, I am aweary, I weep till the dawn of day : Forget me as something erie, That stole to the far away. And father, you sigh as you slumber, You chide me for grieving so sore ; How oft have I felt that I cumber The threshold of heaven's door ! I kiss you, forgive me, remember No more, who gave you such pain, In memory flash no ember, To light me home again. 114 AN AGE HENCE. Shall I robe me in silken vesture, In garments all agleam, With jewels, that flash and gesture, Like sunlight on a stream? I will go in my garment simple, L/ike a lily, all in white, And the winds that waver and rimple. Shall herald me to-night. Oh, lyove, how your wings upbear me, How the world sinks down below ! On thy heart like a jewel wear me, Wherever thou shalt go. THE KNIGHT AND THE FIEND. THE KNIGHT AND THE FIEND. II7 THE KNIGHT AND THE FIEND. WHO rides in silence, with the knight, Along the lonely forest way, Perusing with a fiend's delight, The thoughts that on his visage play ? And deeper drinks the wine of thought, And enters in, and stirs the deep. Till visions rise with glories fraught, That make the stout heart in him leap I The heathen hosts he overcomes. In foreign lands, and hears the acclaim, Of crowds, come mixed with rolling drums, And trumpet's blast, and hurrying fame. Of lineage old, long dispossessed Of regal power, he claims his own, With armies gathering east and west. To shake the tyrant from his throne I The fiend remits — his eyes look out. To find him drawing nearer home : He hears aloft the March winds shout, I