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 LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 
 
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 UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 
 
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TANCRED'S DAUGHTER 
 
 OTHER POEMS 
 
 BY 
 
 / 
 
 CHARLES G. BLANDEN 
 
 NEW YORK AND LONDON 
 
 G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS 
 1889 
 
 \' 
 
 ^^ 
 
Y^ 
 
 
 COPYRIGHT BY 
 
 CHARLES G. BLANDEN 
 
 Press of 
 
 G. P. Putnam's Sons 
 
 New York 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Tancred's Daughter 3 
 
 To Lisa 29 
 
 Pandean 29 
 
 The Race 30 
 
 An Early Dandelion 31 
 
 A Milking Song 32 
 
 Lucasta 33 
 
 In Dreams at Night 34 
 
 The Hermit 35 
 
 The Bride 36 
 
 To Austin Dobson 37 
 
 Life and Death 38 
 
 The Bees 39 
 
 The Fate of Atys 40 
 
 The Miser's Gift 42 
 
 The Stirrup Cup 42 
 
 Ballade 43 
 
 Lines on Pressing a Flower in a Book of Poems . 44 
 
 Old 45 
 
 Sonnet 45 
 
 iii 
 
IV CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Two . 46 
 
 Heigh-ho \ 47 
 
 Autumn Leaves 48 
 
 Grasses 48 
 
 Revival 50 
 
 The Source of Song . , . . . . .51 
 
 To a Cricket 52 
 
 A Glass of Wine 52 
 
 Forgotten 53 
 
 Death of the Wind 54 
 
 Pomona 55 
 
 The Pagan's Prayer 55 
 
Song is a river of music, 
 
 From the souls of hards divine^ 
 
 The btcbbles that float upon it 
 Are like these songs of mine. 
 
 The river shall flow forever, 
 These bubbles a moment gleam. 
 
 The gift of a rill of summer 
 That sinks into the stream. 
 
TAXCRED'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 TTOW very cold the human heart can grow 
 ^ A That only lives for gold and its delight ; 
 How it will shrivel up to never know 
 
 The wondrous language of a summer night ; 
 Hovr it can learn to mock the ruby glow 
 
 That rises o'er the cheek at beauty's sight ; 
 How it can ebb and ebb and sink away 
 To some bleak shore, rememberless of May. 
 
 How it will chafe upon the barren beach 
 And war against the resolute rocks of time, 
 
 Mad with itself and all within its reach, 
 
 While past do sail fair barques to sunny clime, 
 
 It foully strives to make a wreck of each ; 
 It cannot be content except the chime 
 
 Of death and wan dismay be daily heard, — 
 
 'T is then it gloats like any vulture bird. 
 
 And it must dash fond hopes to utter death 
 Ay, it must slay, an ever ruthless sea ; 
 
 It cannot lovers find but straight its breath 
 Is quick with words of vengeful calumny 
 
 3 
 
4 TANCRED'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 To cloud their sunny skies with stormy wraith, 
 
 Nor harbor give nor any sheltering lee ; 
 The barque must shatter all its timbers neat 
 Nor glad its port with any cargo sweet. 
 
 And such a heart as this old Tancred had. 
 
 In ancient days he was Salerno's king. 
 He could not bear to see a face look glad, 
 
 He could not brook a laugh's clear-cadenced ring ; 
 So peevish did he grow, morose, and sad. 
 
 He could but frown to hear a songster sing, 
 The very flow'rs appeared to him a curse, 
 And life itself was counted something worse. 
 
 So learned all raptured things to shun him quite, 
 He could not pass from out his palace gate, 
 
 But men and dogs would flee both left and right 
 At slightest creaking of the hinges great. 
 
 His look would ever stab, if so it might ; 
 
 His warmest friend e'er trembled for his fate ; 
 
 Each time his household stole unto their beds, 
 
 They sighed relief to think they had their heads. 
 
 Ah, he was selfish, lacking virtues all. 
 Full of revenge, suspicions, jealousies. 
 
 But why enlarge upon a soul so small ? 
 I will a story tell to fasten these 
 
TANCRED'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 The charges I have brought, then justly call 
 
 Upon your tongue to speak, if so you please. 
 The tale is one of love and bitter woe, 
 That beckoned to me from the long ago. 
 
 One daughter Tancred had, Costanza, good. 
 Sweet as a morn of the Sicilian spring 
 
 She was, and queen of Beauty's sisterhood. 
 E'en as the morn enhances every thing, 
 
 Costanza all the virtues loved and wooed ; 
 They called her a Madonna carolling. 
 
 For those who looked into her heavenly face 
 
 Did vow they saw the flawless light of grace. 
 
 And she was mistress of the palace fine, — 
 Her sainted mother having died the year 
 
 She gave her baby birth, in Apennine ; — 
 Or, I might say she was a goddess dear, 
 
 Her father's slaves did love as half divine, 
 That ruled by gentleness, as he by fear ; 
 
 Ah, if a thought of dark misdeed arose, — 
 
 Costanza's smile allied the fiercest foes. 
 
 To all his daughter's courtly usefulness 
 Grim Tancred had an eagle-watching eye ; 
 
 He knew her Indal worth to him, the stress 
 On his speech laid when she was standing by. 
 
6 TANCRED'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 As SO much gold he counted her to bless 
 
 His miser-pow'r, and strengthen, beautify. 
 All this she was, and more ; — but now a dream 
 Awakes the king with horrid groan and scream ; 
 
 Such vision as to Priam might have come 
 That hour his city fell, no more to rise : 
 
 What he had deemed a toy now strikes him dumb, 
 And stands an awful shape before his eyes. 
 
 A dream ? ah, no ! the truth ! and he is numb 
 With sense of fullest truth, the very skies 
 
 Themselves appear to launch upon the walls 
 
 The hated foe ! he fights, but Troja falls, 
 
 And all is o'er ; the battle stroke, the brand, 
 And then the victors, with keen joy, depart 
 
 The scene, to bless their distant native land 
 With tales of conquest and the subtle art 
 
 By them displayed. All this for Helen grand ! 
 Like vision Tancred had. He saw a heart 
 
 Possess Costanza's love ; he saw her go : 
 
 The dream he felt as if a heavy blow. 
 
 His palace large he sav/ deserted, old, 
 As if within an angry fire had swayed ; 
 
 Himself he fancied wandering, hungry, cold, 
 Along a mountain bleak and snow-arrayed ; 
 
TAXCRED'S DAUGHTER. 7 
 
 His kingdom, pow'r — these now did seem to mold 
 Their strength in smoke, in films that now were 
 made 
 To mock him with a thousand iinger-tips : 
 Thus he awoke, with terrored looks and lips. 
 
 Fast hurried in the slaves at the first sound. 
 
 The silken couch whereon, in sore affright, 
 Dazed Tancred half arose, they huddled round. 
 
 *'Away ! away 1 " he shrieks, "thou maddening 
 sight ; 
 Ye demons black, away ! I '11 not be bound ; 
 
 Ye shall not plunge me yet into the night 
 Of thick despair/* With leap, amid the throng 
 He sprang and drew his jewelled dagger long. 
 
 Far faster than they came the menials went ; 
 
 Like startled deer in forest-hunted ways, 
 Beset with sudden thoughts of wonderment. 
 
 And crowding fears, they fled the grewsome place ; 
 
 Secure in covert from portentous rent 
 
 Of cruel steel and murderous-speaking face. 
 With palsied tongues they stammer out the tale 
 Of Tancred crazed by the moonlight pale. 
 
 So went the word, and yet the morning knew 
 No outward change to warrant what was told ; 
 
8 TANCREHS DAUGHTER. 
 
 No sign but showed that he had slumbered thro' 
 And kept his pillow calmly as of old. 
 
 Yet change there was, a thing of Satan too, 
 And it was sown and nursed by viper gold ; 
 
 It rooted, flourished, blossomed in the cave 
 
 Of jealousy, whose odor is the grave. 
 
 Three mercer-men the burgeon of this weed, 
 With hearts as earthy as the Kaaba stone ; 
 
 And they did mask unto a Judas deed 
 Of black duplicity, without atone. 
 
 As slaves, they were to mind the slightest need 
 Or wish Costanza made to them as known, 
 
 So favor gain to watch with Argus care. 
 
 And, treasuring all, to Tancred oft repair. 
 
 They followed e'er, with many ogling looks, 
 Her happy journey through the livelong day ; 
 
 With stealthy steps, unto her velvet nooks 
 Of secrecy they wove their villain way. 
 
 They frequent eyed her from behind their books. 
 Or, listening, made her speech their wolfish prey ; 
 
 They hovered round her downy couch at night 
 
 To probe her very dreams with evil sight. 
 
 And solemn whisper brought these cunning spies 
 Of how Costanza looked, or talked, or smiled, 
 
T A NCR ED'S DAUGHTER, 9 
 
 Of how, perchance, she oped her conquering eyes 
 To greet the splendor of some morning mild : 
 
 If sign of love within them hapt to rise 
 
 That told of presence dear of passion wild, 
 
 Or liking for some bird, or flow'r, or bee, — 
 
 Her deepest thoughts they e'en professed to see. 
 
 And Tancred heard with quick, attentive ear ; 
 
 \Vith winking lids, and shrunken hands and dry 
 Together rubbing, he would lean to hear 
 
 The gossip-mongers manufacture, cry 
 And jingle out their baseless coin as dear ; 
 
 Great merchants they unto his wrinkled eye ; 
 For petty fees, they laid before his heart 
 The gems unpriced in any worldly mart. 
 
 Thus, day by day, the fancied store did grow 
 To be a monstrous ware in Tancred's mind ; — 
 
 As thorns dislike that lovely roses blow 
 To temper fragrantly the June-born wind. 
 
 So did he see Costanza bloom and throw 
 The spell of beauty, and of love combined, 
 
 Not only where he vowed its pow'r should dwell 
 
 And reign, but where he dreaded it as well. 
 
 One time, near dawn, into his chamber pressed, 
 In haste, the eager spies, with ferment-speech, 
 
lO TANCRED'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 And faces flushed that made their story guessed 
 Ere they had run a breathless sentence each. 
 
 An hour before, said they, unto behest, 
 They rapid sped across the court to reach 
 
 The weighty bars and open wide the gate ; 
 
 Costanza, quite alone, could scarcely wait, 
 
 And, blushing, stood expectant, bright, and sweet, 
 As if some full-blown joy had come to fill 
 
 Her inmost soul and make her life complete. 
 To swallow up and master all her will. 
 
 As lily lone that longs the sun to greet 
 And catch his primal ray above the hill, 
 
 So watched she there the waking portal-place 
 
 For earliest smile that lit her lover's face. 
 
 " O love ! O love ! and why so very late ? *' — 
 First intimation of the day-spring clear 
 
 More tardy than her foot-falls at the gate. 
 
 Since eve, in pleasant dreams, she thought him 
 near. 
 
 His name, in sleep, she wove and passionate ; 
 She dwelt upon his face, and lived to hear. 
 
 As angel resting at some heavenly goal, 
 
 Divinest language, soothing all her soul. 
 
TANCRED'S DAUGHTER. II 
 
 Then morning's gray. From slumber, tinct with 
 bliss, 
 
 By Fancy's wand, she, dreaming still, arose, 
 And tripping forth received her virion kiss : 
 
 How real her dream with nothing of its woes ! 
 For in Silvano's arms, her cheek to his. 
 
 The purple shadows of the porticoes 
 Grow argent, as they talk, with bloomy day : 
 And now the lover tunes his harp to play. 
 
 Like odor young, a soft preluding strain 
 
 Flew, flutt'ring, o'er the magic, vibrant strings ; 
 
 This threshold crossed, the music did attain, 
 In even flight, on strong, expanding wings. 
 
 Cerulean, midmost heights in Love's domain. 
 
 Then sank it back to dim and hidden springs, — 
 
 As one may see Andean lords of flight 
 
 Descend the sky through avenues of light. 
 
 Alternate speech and song the moments swayed, 
 And frequent, low ^^ I loves" the burden sweet ; 
 
 The ambient air did breathe of love and made 
 The grass a wooing carpet for their feet. — 
 
 Here, Tancred's rage its hot vehemence paid 
 In torrent rush of words, as geyser heat 
 
 Its growling froth emits, yet feels below 
 
 The cause increase that feeds its fiery glow. 
 
12 TANCRED'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 "Audacious, mean-born youth," he cries, "to think 
 That he should brave my fury, did I know ; 
 
 Here, in my very walls to thus hoodwink 
 With music's charms the fair Costanza so. 
 
 Stand here no more, ye spies, let every chink 
 Of his escape be met with jeopard blow ; 
 
 Shut off his life with some inhuman art, 
 
 And from his daring bosom wrench the heart ! ** 
 
 Meanwhile, below, Silvano spake adieu, 
 
 With flaming cheeks and chaste impassioned vow, 
 
 Then careless, round about him lightly drew 
 His mantle's folds, took up his harp ; — and now 
 
 We see him pass the ponderous portals through 
 As some gay bird from cool umbrageous bough. 
 
 To turret high, and full of her delight, 
 
 Costanza climbs to watch him out of sight. 
 
 And so they parted in their mutual bliss, 
 
 To meet, and soon, around some isle of time, 
 
 For they were one since ever their first kiss, — 
 Each to the other like the mating rhyme, 
 
 And they must wander through long hours and miss 
 Ripe joy, till evening gild that favored clime, 
 
 Till o'er the starred Tyrhennian sea there floats. 
 
 From odorous groves, the plaining bul-bul's notes. 
 
TANCRED'S DAUGHTER. 1 3 
 
 Ah, many twilights must Selene sink 
 
 And glide beneath the western wave from sight ; 
 Ah, many journeys must the planets wink 
 
 Their fadeless orbs above the tranced night ; 
 Through many watches must the zephyrs drink 
 
 The bul-bul notes alone, in moon rays white, 
 Ere these young lovers tell their love once more, 
 Close whisper all their amorous rosary o'er ! 
 
 And now the distant tapestry of trees 
 
 Reveals the crimson scarf Silvano holds : 
 
 Like Noah's dove, unto the freshened breeze, 
 Costanza's little kerchief wings its folds 
 
 In quick response, then to that bosom flees 
 
 Which heaves at thought to pierce the darkling 
 wolds 
 
 With keen sixth sense, and mark her lover true 
 
 Sweet sing and smile, as he was wont to do. 
 
 To his small home the harper, pensive, went ; 
 
 His kine looked up and yet he saw them not. 
 All things about him prompted discontent : 
 
 He seemed adream or in some place forgot. 
 " Ah, me ! ah, me ! " he sang, ** to be low pent : 
 
 Alas ! my poverty and my birth lot ! 
 How may the rustic singer love and sing ? 
 He may not wed the daughter of the king. 
 
14 TANCRED'S DA UGHTER. 
 
 " And she will wed through reasons of the state ; 
 
 I can but look and see the cavalcade. 
 And here must pine to death my passion great, 
 
 And here, at last, my narrow grave be made. 
 Oh, why should love be rudely mocked by fate, 
 
 Nor one small fay raise up its kindly aid ? " 
 He sighed, yet vowed, with brighter hopes, at eve, 
 Again the happy woof of love to weave. 
 
 So far, my tale has come by rosy bow'r 
 
 Of peace, nor felt the tempest of fell grief ; 
 
 The threatening parallel, from hour to hour, 
 That lurked beside it like a prowling thief, 
 
 Cast in its path as yet no evil pow'r, 
 
 Nor blew iced breath, nor crumbled e'en a leaf ; — 
 
 Oh, all the rest I needs must tell to you ; 
 
 Sit closer, love, and I will hasten through. 
 
 Why opes, one morn so dark, with rumbling skies ? 
 
 Why hides the sun his face unto this day ? 
 Why lift not up the marigolds their eyes ? 
 
 Why blossoms not the ready-budded spray ? 
 And why no bird its wings or carol tries ? 
 
 Why chime a dirge the fountains, erst so gay 
 In naiad-nooks ? ah, why ? Costanza's bliss 
 Old Fear has found, and she a prisoner is. 
 
TA NCR ED'S DAUGHTER. ^ 1 5 
 
 If not for thee, O Love, what were this earth? 
 
 What Fame's successes ? all ! and that bright 
 crown 
 Of Aftermath, and promised with our birth 
 
 For noble living ? it must crumble down 
 Into the maelstrom of the years, if dearth 
 
 There be of love ; still, cloven Vices frown, 
 And freely stalk to kill the common good. 
 While Virtue, chained, can only sit and brood. 
 
 And what were value, pray, of life, if we, 
 Perchance, of hope bereft, live on a spell ? 
 
 Would you forever dream of days when free 
 And endless listen to their dismal knell ? 
 
 Ah, no ; instead such fate, hard death for me, 
 A deep, deep grave to hide me quick and well ; 
 
 I would not live the bounden slave to loss, 
 
 Pay out fine gold into the palms of Dross. 
 
 'T was thus thick walls behind, Costanza thought, 
 If now she might Silvano see no more, 
 
 Nor hear the marvellous music that he wrought. 
 If now she might not listen as before. 
 
 Snug-curled beside him with her hands light caught 
 Together round his knee, and, dreaming, pore 
 
 Into his eyes — his eyes with love aglow, — 
 
 Why then, O Death, come soon and end her woe. 
 
l6 TANCRED'S DAUGHTER, 
 
 Come soon, come soon, delaying not for fear 
 To close so pure a life in morning's prime ; 
 
 Come soon, come soon ; prepare the welcome bier, 
 Come, mournful chant the sad funereal rhyme, 
 
 For all is o'er ; the soul, the soul 's not here, 
 A realm afar doth keep its veiled time ; — 
 
 Exiled, 't is doomed to wander and to burn 
 
 An-hungered out, or to its bliss return. 
 
 Now was that hour anear when they should meet 
 All secretly. High rode the rounded moon 
 
 And shone full on the pleasant wood. Fast feet 
 The lover darts unto the tryst. Low tune 
 
 Is on his lips ; his heart, with fancies fleet, 
 Heroic measures scans, the while the rune. 
 
 The bounding rune of rapturous wishes grew 
 
 Swift music 'gainst his side, and temples too. 
 
 *^ O sweet, my love, and am I here alone, 
 
 To count long moments, till you come to me ? 
 
 The night's dusk rose is to its centre blown, 
 Our chosen star gleams o'er the tranced tree. 
 
 What tyrant seconds can withhold my own, 
 And will not let myself with its soul be ? 
 
 Here will I wait until the Morning rise 
 
 And throw his first lance up the paling skies." 
 
TANCREUS DA UGHTER, 1 7 
 
 " Thou, lofty-domed and chaste, cathedral night. 
 Where may I go to find my constant fair ? 
 
 Through some still aisle of thine direct aright 
 My footsteps lost to her." In dim wood there 
 
 Thus did he grieve, nor ceased, when from the 
 white 
 Moonbeams a whisper woke the drowsy air 
 
 To waves of hollow moan ; and soon he heard 
 
 A sobbing voice surrender up this word : 
 
 *' Dear Heart, I may not come to thee, nor feel 
 The touch of thy true lips on cheek and brow, 
 
 For I am held behind strong bars of steel, 
 
 So send this thought to somewhat solace now. 
 
 Dense walls do hedge me round and I do kneel 
 On stony floors and pray to keep my vow : 
 
 Oh, this were freedom full to what may be. 
 
 For I do fear they soon will marry me. 
 
 " Yet, 't is not for myself, Silvano mine. 
 So sorely do I weep here in my cell ; 
 
 Fierce men, I know, thirst for thy life's warm wine ; 
 In all their looks I see this murder dwell, 
 
 I hear it whispered through each crevice fine ; 
 It trembles 'bout me like some noxious spell. 
 
 Love, for life, away ! — or to my side fly, 
 
 Past prostrate foes, and save me, or I die." 
 
1 8 TANCRED'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 Thus drooped the voice, or rather down it swooned 
 To intermittent sighs of its great grief. 
 
 Silvano, pale till now, came flushed ; deep wound 
 Ate at his heart and nerved his soul ; most brief 
 
 He stood, half-dazed, then 'neath the trees, wind- 
 tuned. 
 Flame-footed urged his way, in firm belief 
 
 To clasp Costanza soon. ^^ Farewell — farewell," 
 
 Still went before, and led him down the dell. 
 
 And his light steps are now in forest dim 
 
 Of tall hemlocks, through which there might 
 no spark 
 
 Of moon or hot sun look ; surrounding him 
 Great ebon forms and still more ebon dark — 
 
 Yet that sad voice allures. Broad, drooping limb 
 Now bars his path and he doth stay to hark, 
 
 For fainter is ^^ Farewell " ; anon the gloom 
 
 Up-swallows all its breath in amorous tomb. 
 
 " Thou, phantom, dream, or both," Silvano spake, 
 " Thou voice, or sound, now buried to mine ear, 
 
 Oh, do not cease thy echoes wan to wake, 
 If but that one lone word I ever hear ! 
 
 Still call it out to me, though my heart break. 
 And, if thou must, through masked, oppressive 
 fear, 
 
TANCRED'S DAUGHTER, I9 
 
 Lead on, lead on, while I do follow fast, 
 
 To die somewhere, beside thee, love, at last," 
 
 And no sound came to greet this passion-burst, 
 A leaden silence settled o'er the trees. 
 
 And round the path of him who dreamed the worst 
 The last dread loss was harvesting its fees. 
 
 O barren field ! that promised rich at first ; 
 O stubble tract I with sleets that surely freeze, 
 
 (Nor will they warm again at budding-time), — 
 
 'T is through your desolation goes my rhyme. 
 
 Great marble slab within that wood was placed 
 Flat on its face, with dry, dead leaves on-piled, 
 
 While, round about it, vines and bushes laced 
 A careless arbor, in their manner wild. 
 
 'T was here Silvano's step cool footing traced, 
 And hollows underneath, resounding mild 
 
 To smallest stir. The stone is lifted slow : 
 
 A narrow flight leads to some depth below. 
 
 Down this, most cautious wav is felt, and still, ^ 
 Through darkness whelming dark from blinding 
 woe, 
 
 And damps that make the hot blood icy chill. 
 As when into a catacomb you go. 
 
20 TANCRED S DAUGHTER. 
 
 And soon the stair winds upward with the hill, 
 
 And soon it doth to larger opening grow ; 
 Then stops it quite ; to groping, eager hand 
 A door opposes many bolt and band. 
 
 Apt ear he lays against the iron cold, 
 
 Nor breathes the while he listens triply keen 
 
 So he may hear if that grave silence fold 
 
 Some haggard wave, his fast heart-beats between. 
 
 So quiet there the blackness it doth bold 
 
 His lips to this : ^* Ah, where thy pastures green 
 
 And calm, O Love, and where thy blossoms picked ? 
 
 These thy harsh thorns ! *' — A death-watch woke 
 and ticked, 
 
 Deep in the tunnelled oak anear his cheek, 
 Then slumbered on, as though to mark a dead 
 
 Dry-palsied hope. " And such the things that 
 speak ! 
 By acid thus and spear, companioned 
 
 The holy thirst and side of Christ ! '* — How bleak 
 And gloomed that hour wherein we plead for 
 bread — 
 
 A crust, a crumb — securing but a stone : 
 
 No solitude so leaden and so lone. 
 
TANCRED'S DAUGHTER. 21 
 
 As one who travels dry, Saharan miles, 
 Until he feels the swound of death about. 
 
 From dearth of water, food, oasian smiles 
 
 Of rest and peace, and plentitude throughout, 
 
 Then, looking up, not far, beholds long files 
 Of palm and fruitful trees, and hears the shout 
 
 Of lucid brooks, — so to the lover came 
 
 A wording slow, and nascent with his name. 
 
 '^ Silvano's mimic tones. Full woe 's out-paid ! 
 
 I listen to his spirit true, discourse 
 Warm passion from the grave," — ^^ Nay, unafraid 
 
 Be thou, my love," laved in upon the force 
 Of grief thus syllabled. *^ Believe, no shade 
 
 Am I ; — I live, if life be lived from source 
 Of its real life ; — but, quick ! and we '11 away ; 
 The dragon night is prowling for his prey." 
 
 No moment lost, the roused Costanza springs, 
 With fevered hand and swift she thrusts aside 
 
 The 'broidered fabric of the wall that clings 
 About the hidden door in foldings wide ; 
 
 An hundred horse she puts to flight, and kings 
 And knights of old crusades, by full white tide 
 
 Of her oncoming arm, — and now there be 
 
 Two lily palms to turn her prison key. 
 
22 TANCRED'S DAUGHTER, 
 
 The sullen bolts obey ; how could they less ? 
 
 E'en to the dead, dumb worms some kindness 
 show, 
 And clouds, mayhap, alleviate distress. 
 
 Nor mock with flow'rs, the dusky robe of woe. 
 The door swings back. " O Love ! one short caress 
 
 Ere we do leave where these sharp winds do 
 blov/ 
 For some seclusion far, to dream and dwell 
 Beyond the pale of crumbling hopes, and hell.'' 
 
 How wide and jagg'd the venom fangs of Hate 
 Bite down into the breast of helpless man. 
 
 That kiss — that dream delay — the mode of fate 
 The sacred calendar of love to ban. 
 
 And pall each gloried vision of its state. 
 
 Ere they might flee, rushed in the room a van 
 
 Of brutish men, with Tancred at their head ; 
 
 No word they spake, but smote Silvano dead. 
 
 Haste on, haste on, my tale, and let us leave 
 
 The scene, and pass of hours the dreadful reign ; 
 
 We may not look into those souls that grieve. 
 Nor fathom fully e'en one drop of pain. 
 
 Costanza's mind went out, in part, that eve ; 
 
 Oh, then and there the kingdom's light did wane, 
 
TANCRED'S DAUGHTER. 23 
 
 And all its glory flicker with her breath ; — 
 
 One name she called and constant longed for death. 
 
 But this, all this, was not enough to quell 
 The flame of anger in hot Tancred's breast ; 
 
 Half baffled still,^he heard the tire-maids tell 
 How filled she night and day with one request ; 
 
 How she would idly sit and stare, as dwell 
 
 The eyes of mad ones with vain hopes possessed ; 
 
 Nor eat, nor sleep, nor notice aught around, 
 
 Except a withered lily flow'r she found. 
 
 Thus much he heard ; it was enough, and more 
 Than he had cared to listen to or know. 
 
 What aid had he ? the remedy was o'er, 
 So deemed 't perversity, or called it so ; 
 
 And vowed to break so strong a will, before 
 Had ever bowed obedient, if not low : 
 
 Thought out a plan, a measure of despair, 
 
 To win his day, if not the day repair. 
 
 If there be aught which gold buys not, nor snares 
 Within its slimy meshes, foul, accurst. 
 
 We do not know, — we know no human prayers 
 Are proof against the ever-thirsting thirst 
 
 Of one who yields him to its siren airs ; — 
 No crime so dark — however pure at first 
 
24 TANCRED'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 His soul — no deed so black he *11 not commit, 
 Palm his reward, and, viewing, sanction it. 
 
 But there be acts that are more heinous far ; 
 
 They spring in minds that lay the bribe to such ; 
 And murderous thieves to these as crystals are. 
 
 And harps the knives within their Cainish clutch ; 
 Ay, they are holy Abrahams, at war 
 
 With sacrifice, and void of any smutch, 
 Compared to him who 'd rob another soul 
 Of its thron'd joy, while countless ages roll. 
 
 A word, a glance, and ruffian hazards come, — 
 A show of coin — a jingle is more yet. 
 
 *^ Go thou — take this — his heart ; and be thou 
 dumb. 
 And should they dare to question thee — forget." 
 
 Enough ! 't is done ; besides the generous sum 
 Of his young life upyielded to such fret, 
 
 Silvano, love, must give his bosom's core : 
 
 The shrewd blade found and forth unfeeling tore. 
 
 Thrice pierced it was to inmost cell, and through 
 And through twice pierced by dexterous-dealing 
 hand. 
 
 " Bring me a cup ! " 'T is brought, of gold, and new 
 From recent burnishment, at his command ; 
 
TANCRED'S DAUGHTER. 2$ 
 
 And soon, incarnadined, it lodgment knew 
 
 Of guest more fine than any drossless band 
 Composing it. " This to Costanza take ; 
 So sweet a draught must all her thirsting slake." 
 
 The slave bent low, and took to her the cup, 
 And she, with zoning fingers claspt its rim, 
 
 Raised halfway to her lips as though to sup, 
 Then gazed into the mocking chasm dim, 
 
 And saw ! — nor moved, nor wept, nor spake, 
 but up 
 She seemed to drink the pulseless heart of him 
 
 With her wild eyes, and yield it to that breast 
 
 Where starved her own, a famished bird in nest. 
 
 And you, perhaps, some luckless one have known 
 Through sorrow's storm to darkly drift about, 
 
 For years, unrecognizing and alone, 
 
 Yet when death neared to blot the ruin out. 
 
 Lucidity would claim the hour her own. 
 
 Once more arouse, one moment, all the rout — 
 
 The smile, the look, the laugh, the voice, the 
 ways — 
 
 Of sanity and bright and cloudless days, 
 
 'T was thus returned unto Costanza now, 
 
 A glimpse of happiness through her mind's pall ; 
 
26 TANCRED'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 Again she hears the nightingale, ah ! how 
 Supreme the song that floods the leafy hall. 
 
 And will it cease ? forever no ! love's vow 
 
 Blends with its notes in rapturous rise and fall, 
 
 Comes down a strain from highest paradise : 
 
 His arms, how strong ! how close ! how kind his 
 eyes ! 
 
 And earth's reality no more shall reign 
 A rude disturber of her dreaming sweet. 
 
 No more pollute her heart's most hallowed fane 
 With sacrilegious hand, unsandaled feet, 
 
 Nor mar its portal white with terror stain. 
 Nor swing its censer to rash Anger's heat. 
 
 Tight to her breast the cup she holds, and so 
 
 Doth kiss it oft, nor any anguish show. 
 
 '* O Heart," quoth she, " 't is meet thy worshipper 
 Behold thy mortal part arrayed so fine, 
 
 In this, its grave, its golden sepulcher. 
 Where it may sleep so near to loyal mine. 
 
 I thank thee, slave ; and, too, I 'd not deter 
 From thanking him who gave this boon divine. 
 
 Go, speak him now, its signal magic tell ; 
 
 Go, say, with love, Costanza resteth well." 
 
TANCRED'S DAUGHTER, 2/ 
 
 She ceased ; slow veiled the luminous breadth of 
 eye, 
 
 And forward drooped the silken-showered head ; 
 A tremor 'scaped, — Chillon-imprisoned sigh — 
 
 While o'er her face a tranquil pallor spread ; 
 Faint grew her limbs ; her faithful maidens by, 
 
 Lock round their arms and weep their mistress 
 dead, 
 Soft on her couch the chastened clay compose, 
 Nor move the cup her icy fingers close. 
 
 Now, when Salerno's populace did hear 
 The fate of her they loved so perfectly ; 
 
 When they did learn her love, and made appear 
 The monstrous deeds of hate and jealousy, 
 
 Like kings they swarmed about her early bier, 
 Indignant, wretched, such a crime should be ; 
 
 That they were slaves remembered not, nor cared ; 
 
 The time had come for freedom and they dared. 
 
 In crashed the castle gates, the doors fell in I 
 In surged the bold, the unresisted throng ! 
 
 What strength to stay such very righteous din 
 Had Tancred's cause that troublous hour and 
 long ? 
 
28 TANCRED'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 What heart had he to face his open sin ? 
 
 What urging conscience he to make him strong ? 
 Tyrant ! coward ! the ill-presaging sky- 
 Scarce left his nerveless limbs the pow'r to fly. 
 
 Yet this, somehow, he did, and fled with speed, 
 But where, unto this day, no one can tell ; 
 
 And no man mourned, and no dog pined, — no heed 
 One paid, to one far choicer morsels fell. 
 
 While both no more were servile tools to greed ; 
 One grew in stature, one in flesh, and well 
 
 Each liked the change ; — but, oh ! the common 
 heart 
 
 Of man, and beast, and bird, knew bitter smart. 
 
 And, it is said, Salerno never knew 
 
 Such splendor, pomp, and lavishment as paid 
 
 Unto the funeral of our lovers two ; 
 
 With arms entwined, in single tomb they laid ; 
 
 And whitest marble sprang to kiss the blue, 
 With their sad lot cut in to never fade, 
 
 And how the people loved them both, withal, — 
 
 How freedom gained through Tancred's crime and 
 fall 
 
 Nor is their grave forgot by lovers true 
 Of that fair region in most queenly clime ; 
 
TO LISA, 29 
 
 There, through the lavish year, rich flow'rs they 
 strew, 
 And whisper vows, and rear sweet-smelHng 
 thyme ; 
 There harpers go to fire their souls anew, 
 
 And bards to find enchantment for their rhyme, 
 There loiter much, and much their verse prolong, 
 As I to-night with this too joyless song. 
 
 TO LISA. 
 
 ITER heart, her mind, her voice, her looks ! 
 ^ ^ Her hundred virtues sweet as nard ! 
 Could I but set them down in books. 
 
 The world would need no other bard, 
 And I, secure with fadeless bays, 
 Be hailed immortal through her praise. 
 
 PANDEAN. 
 
 TT AVE you seen Pan ? I heard him pipe. 
 ^ * In yonder wood I strayed. 
 When strains divine were wafted through 
 The beechen shade. 
 
30 THE RACE. 
 
 Have you seen Pan ? I heard him pipe ; 
 
 I followed up the sound, 
 I peeped me 'neath the sheltering boughs 
 
 But no god found. 
 
 Have you seen Pan ? I heard him pipe. 
 
 And down the forest wide 
 I hastened on in swift pursuit ; 
 
 Him ne*er I spied. 
 
 Have you seen Pan ? I heard him pipe. 
 And found this reed, this wreath ; 
 
 Pan dropt them both — and both are warm 
 With his late breath. 
 
 Have you seen Pan ? (I heard him pipe.) 
 
 Ah, Poet, tell me true, 
 Or I shall think that wreath and reed 
 
 Belong to you. 
 
 THE RACE. 
 
 " \1 7E '11 run a race,'' quoth Thought to Heart, 
 ^^ To find a just decree, 
 If 't is with you Love makes his home, 
 Or, Kardia, dear, with me. 
 
AN EARLY DANDELION. 3 1 
 
 " The goal, my sweet, shall be the mouth, 
 The eyes the signal give ; 
 Sir Tongue shall then proclaim the seat 
 Where Love does really live." 
 
 That moment passed Diana, fair ; 
 
 Thought leapt the journey o'er. 
 Too late, too late ; the throbbing Heart 
 
 Was at the goal before. 
 
 AN EARLY DANDELION. 
 
 UP springing from the chilly mold, 
 Dear dandelion, opening gold, 
 What makes you, pray, so bravely bold ? 
 
 Art not in fear, again the snow 
 Will come and lay thy beauty low. 
 And count as nought thy blooming so ? 
 
 Brave must you be, with ample faith 
 In \vhat the Spring-god promiseth, 
 E*en doubting not one word he saith, 
 
 Concerning early warmth and rain. 
 Oh, bless you, flow*r, and once again — 
 May your good faith be not in vain. 
 
32 A MILKING SONG. 
 
 And may you live for many a day, 
 Until your head is old and gray, 
 Faith's symbol to the lonely way. 
 
 A MILKING SONG. 
 
 WHEN from the sea, at morn. 
 Breezes are blowing, 
 And through the tasseled corn 
 
 Lightly are going ; 
 When in the meads the dew 
 
 Brightly is showing ; 
 When at the bars no few 
 
 Cattle are lowing, 
 Then from the house a maid, 
 
 Gayly a-singing, 
 Cometh out to the shade 
 
 Of high trees, swinging 
 Shining pails on each arm. 
 
 For the in-bringing 
 Of the creamy tides warm. 
 
 Frothy foam flinging. 
 
 Then, in my heart, anew, 
 Cupid arouses. 
 
LUCASTA, 33 
 
 " Haste " says the wight, ^^ and woo 
 
 AVhile the herd browses. 
 See ! see ! there is a bird 
 
 That now espouses 
 His cause with ready word, 
 
 As he allows his 
 Song to thrill the cool air. 
 
 Never despairing, 
 Pluck thou this wild rose fair, 
 
 Meet for the wearing ; 
 Swain as thou art, alone, 
 
 Needs wifely caring, 
 And a heart like her own. 
 
 Husbandly sharing." 
 
 LUCASTA. 
 
 TO HER LOVER, OX HIS GOIXG TO THE WARS. 
 
 V/'EA, haste thee, haste thee to the wars, 
 -■■ Unto the call of honor. 
 And through its maintenance and scars, 
 
 Be then the path that won her ! 
 
 Away, away ! I will not weep ; — 
 *T is but a woman's pallor ; 
 
34 IN DREAMS A T NIGHT. 
 
 To-morrow I shall blush as deep 
 To hear thy deeds of valor. 
 
 And if, perchance, death set at naught 
 
 And end thy life unduly, 
 Think, as it ebbs, hadst thou not fought 
 
 I had not loved thee fully. 
 
 IN DREAMS AT NIGHT. 
 
 IN dreams at night, I often see 
 Great proofs of immortality ; — 
 The way I tread is grander far 
 Than any waking journeys are 
 To wealth, to fame, or learning's tree. 
 
 My soul leaps up, as blissful, free, 
 As ever I could wish to be, 
 
 And wings its flight from star to star, 
 In dreams at night. 
 
 Oh, long and far, I, happy, flee. 
 
 Yet still my thoughts turn not from thee ; 
 
 Thy love — the proof I do unbar ; 
 
 Thine eyes — the stars, dark Corivar, 
 That gleam and glow to beacon me, 
 In dreams at night. 
 
THE HERMIT. 35 
 
 THE HERMIT. 
 
 r^WELL not too long with Solitude, 
 ^-^ Nor to the adoration of his eye, 
 Serene and calm, submit too much, the food 
 
 Of his seclusion eat but sparingly. 
 A traveller thou, and passing sometime near 
 
 His lonely door within the forest deep, 
 Do thou but tarry for refreshment, rest, 
 But when he urgeth thee to further cheer 
 
 Of his sad cell, no longer his roof keep, 
 And tear the half his magic from thy breast. 
 
 And if, perchance, the tempest thee assail. 
 
 Stem its wild rage, nor shrink nor turn aside ; 
 To follow more the hermit's twinkle pale 
 
 Thenceforth would leave thee in the forest 
 wide, 
 The world soon darken, and thy fellow-kind 
 
 Become the language of thy scorn and hate. 
 Too much of solitude doth poison us, 
 Too much publicity disjoints the mind, — 
 
 The golden mean courts not the grave's estate, 
 Nor to the soul becomes calamitous. 
 
36 THE BRIDE 
 
 'T is but a form of pride and vanity 
 
 That seeks the desert for its dwelling-place, 
 
 For, when it chanceth on Humanity- 
 Its question is : ^' How fares the human race ? " 
 
 The knowledge that the world is close at hand 
 Soothes, flatters, and sustains the eremite : 
 
 To think that it doth call him goodly seer ! 
 
 Should, haply, he some morning understand 
 The race, save him, had perished in a night, 
 
 The setting sun might mock a frenzied Lear. 
 
 THE BRIDE. 
 
 T^HE bride hath on her veil,- 
 ^ 'T is gossamer ; 
 The bride hath on her gem, — 
 
 A drop of dew, 
 While morning's Beauties all 
 Attend on her. 
 
 I saw the groom. Sir Rose, 
 
 Go nodding through 
 His host of friends, the leaves ; 
 
 His air was bold — 
 None doubt but he is brave, 
 
 Of Damask line. 
 
TO A USTIN DOB SON. 37 
 
 Ah, then, how blushed the bride ! 
 
 I saw him fold 
 Her close within his arms 
 
 And whisper, *^ Mine." 
 
 TO AUSTIN DOBSON. 
 
 FULL-THROATED bird, with sunny lays 
 That cheer our hearts and light our ways, 
 At morn, at noon, at quiet eve. 
 Or when the raven winds do grieve, 
 To thee full thanks and length of days. 
 
 To thee that joy thy songs upraise ; 
 To thee bright skies and meed of praise — 
 The Lydian airs thy carols weave, 
 Full-throated bird. 
 
 When winter comes, and springtime pays 
 
 The debt of life-investing Mays, 
 
 And thy sweet voice no more doth heave 
 This underworld, we '11 then believe 
 
 Thou still dost pipe, win grander bays ! 
 Full-throated bird. 
 
38 LIFE AND DEATH. 
 
 LIFE AND DEATH. 
 
 TIT" HAT time within the shadowy realm of sleep 
 ^^ I was, two angels came unto my side ; 
 And one was robed in black, and one a bride 
 Appeared in face and vesture's graceful sweep, 
 With eyes as clear as eyes that never weep, — 
 She spake : " My name is Life," and opened wide 
 Her curved pinions, bade me forth. As glide 
 Great eagles in the sky, she flew to keep 
 Me company. " But our lone friend \ " I said, 
 ^^ She of the sombre mien who notes our flight 
 With large and hollow orbs." " Queen of the Dead 
 Is she," was Life's reply. In half affright, 
 'Neath iofty-sailing wings I laid my head. 
 And urged the upward journey through the night. 
 
 II. 
 
 Too long, too far, dear Life, through envious space, 
 Has been our course. Awearied, sick for rest, 
 I long to stop. To yon dim peak's fair breast 
 Let us direct our flight, — a pleasant place 
 It is to slumber for a time, or trace 
 
7HE BEES. 39 
 
 The crowding legions of the Dawn invest 
 The battlements of Gloom, at Day's behest. 
 I spake, and stood within a moment's grace 
 Upon the hallowed height. But Life had flown ; 
 Faint in the distance waved her ample wings, 
 Nor looked she back, and soon no more she shone 
 Than little summer cloud the zephyr brings. 
 I cried not out, nor made I grievous moan, 
 For Death was near with priceless ministerings ! 
 
 THE BEES. 
 
 TTHOU roving bee ! whose life is one 
 -■• O'erhauling posies in the sun, — 
 Whose every thought is but to store 
 The waxy cell with more and more, 
 
 Say, hast thou never sickened once 
 With flow'rs and sweets, and felt a dunce 
 When tired out in limbs and wings. 
 At playing miser with such things ? 
 
 I can but guess. — The bee is flown ! 
 Not all the hearts do flowers own. 
 Not all the sweets ; and Love, the bee, 
 Is never sick of robbing me. 
 
40 7'HE FATE OF ATYS. 
 
 THE FATE OF ATYS. 
 
 A S Atys, fair, one lovely day, 
 ^^ Within a grove did chance to stray, 
 He met a maid so very sweet, 
 He fell on knee there at her feet. 
 Then did he sigh, all passionate, 
 And to her burning ear relate, 
 With all his warm and wordy art. 
 How full of love, for her, had grown his heart. 
 
 The maiden read within his eyes 
 His passion with a sad surprise, 
 For Cybele, she knew, well loved 
 The youth and he would be reproved, 
 And well she knew, moreover, too. 
 To cross a goddess ne'er would do. 
 " Good youth," she said, " I pray, arise ; 
 I love thee well, — but ^t is unwise 
 The gods' commands to disobey. 
 Oh, leave me now — I cannot stay. 
 Since 't is ordained thou 'It never wed ; 
 Away ! — and praise the gods instead." 
 In anger then upflared the youth. 
 And swore unto the gods forsooth, 
 
THE FATE OF A TVS, 4I 
 
 Nought cared he for all their laws 
 When perfect love did plead his cause. 
 And so, within the solitude, 
 The maid was won as thus he wooed. 
 
 Heard Cybele, and knit her brows 
 That Atys thus should break his vows. 
 Straightway, in wrath, did she decree 
 A roving madman he should be ; 
 So, up and down the land he went, 
 In mumbling, long bewilderment. 
 Nor any drop of comfort found 
 In all his wide and weary round. 
 
 'T is said, at last the goddess' heart 
 
 Grew soft and angerless, in part ; 
 
 Thereat she changed poor Atys old 
 
 Into a pine-tree of the wold ; 
 
 And just that he should keep her mem'ry green. 
 
 The leaves perennial now are seen ; 
 
 And for her lot and for his own. 
 
 The winds do all the branches move to moan 
 
 In deathless monotone. 
 
THE STIRRUP CUP. 
 
 THE MISER^S GIFT. 
 
 AS maids, in tears, give o'er the glass 
 To Venus, when their beauties pass, 
 So yield I all my gold to thee, 
 For death has laid its hand on me. 
 
 THE STIRRUP CUP. 
 
 UPON the champing steed of youth 
 There sprang a Soul to dare the truth ; 
 Beside him stood 
 The angel Good, 
 And, anxious, asked the wine he would 
 To cheer him on his way. 
 To nerve him for the fray. 
 
 The foaming wine of power, I hold, 
 The sparkling wine of wisdom old, 
 The wine of bliss. 
 The wine of this — 
 The nectar of the lover's kiss. 
 
 The wine of wealth and fame, 
 The wine of noble name. 
 
BALLADE. 43 
 
 An hundred wines the angel named, 
 And held the restless steed, untamed. 
 " O Good, combine 
 A draught divine,'' 
 The Soul replied, " And be it mine." 
 The Angel poured, and long. 
 The wondrous wine of Song ! 
 
 BALLADE. 
 
 "TJAINT I can hear the river flowing 
 
 -■• Through morning's misty realm of gray ; 
 
 Too, lightly, playful winds are blowing, 
 
 All in the jubilant month of May. 
 Pied flowers wake to grace the day, 
 
 Bright birds from branches green are singing. 
 The cricket chirps his roundelay. 
 
 And merry marriage bells are ringing. 
 
 Across the meadow, coming, going. 
 
 There winds a wedding train its way 
 To little church, in foliage showing, 
 
 All in the jubilant month of May. 
 All but my heart appeareth gay ; — 
 
 I can but think of Love's forth-bringing 
 Dear visions once, to ever stray. 
 
 And fancy marriage bells a-ringing. 
 
44 LINES. 
 
 Oh, that yon maiden fair, bestowing 
 
 Her heart and hand to one for aye, 
 Had listened, 't would not now be snowing 
 
 All in the merry month of May, 
 Nor gloom be housed in every spray, 
 
 Nor this poor heart be vainly clinging 
 To hollow hopes, without a ray. 
 
 Now jubilant marriage bells are ringing. 
 
 ENVOY. 
 
 All in the merry month of May, 
 Pied flowers wake to grace the day ; 
 All hearts, save mine, with joy are singing, 
 And jubilant marriage bells are ringing. 
 
 LINES. 
 
 ON PRESSING A FLOWER IN A BOOK OF POEMS. 
 
 A 17 HAT fitter place than this, I pray, 
 ^^ A dew-bespangled flow'r to lay ? 
 The Poet's soul, a flow*r divine. 
 Here breathes and blooms in every line ; 
 The lordly thought here, opening, glows 
 With all the splendor of the rose, — 
 Exhales its fragrance to the years. 
 In warmth and beauty, laughter, tears. 
 
SONNET, 45 
 
 OLD. 
 
 NOW bleak days rule, with hints of snow, 
 And roses fall and chill winds blow. 
 The wooded paths are strewn with leaves, 
 The corn is huddled up in sheaves, 
 And all the birds do southward go. 
 
 Beside my fire, I watch the glow 
 That flits on walls and floor below ; 
 
 It seems to haunt these lengthened eves, 
 Now bleak days rule. 
 
 Dear faces rise I used to know, 
 
 With eyes that laugh, undimmed by woe : — 
 
 O Time, forbear, thou worst of thieves ; 
 
 They 're gone ! I 'm old, and winter grieves 
 Departed springs and summers low. 
 Now bleak days rule. 
 
 SONNET. 
 
 SINCE I the balance of my days must go 
 Unlighted by the sun of thy sweet life. 
 Since I in brooding shade must meet the strife 
 And sink m^y prime in wilderness of woe, 
 
46 TWO. 
 
 How may my highest aspirations grow, 
 Or my full heart, behind such prison gate. 
 Meet all the strange vicissitudes of fate ? 
 For souls in darkness seldom bud and blow. 
 
 There are some flow'rs unto effulgent Day 
 Owe their brief lives ; if he but hide in clouds 
 A little space, the blossoms fade away. 
 While all the fairies take to making shrouds 
 To swathe their bodies in. E'en such am I ; 
 If that the sun be gone I can but die. 
 
 TWO. 
 
 HIS song but savored of despair ; 
 Her song's refrain was hope, 
 And ever in the darkest cloud 
 She saw some glory ope. 
 
 His heart was harbor to regret ; 
 
 Her heart was calm and bright, 
 And ever, o'er the troubled wave, 
 
 Saw wing its ship aright. 
 
 His soul was one to sorrow bowed ; 
 
 Her soul, beset with grief. 
 From countless straws he trampled on, 
 
 Bound up a golden sheaf. 
 
HEIGH-HO ! 47 
 
 HEIGH-HO ! 
 
 \\ 
 
 7 HEN he bends his golden bow. 
 Feathers well the silvern string, 
 may not Love's arrow go. 
 Swifter than the swiftest wing ? 
 
 Over seas, and far away. 
 
 Greatest mountain ranges through. 
 Piercing night and piercing day. 
 
 As electric currents do ; 
 
 Cities walled or cities free, 
 Battle-field or court or mart. 
 
 Prison bars or mystery, — 
 
 Heart will find its counterpart. 
 
 Then sing, dance, ye maidens all, 
 
 Sing and dance and laugh, heigh-ho ! 
 
 Love enjoys a madrigal 
 When he bends his golden bow. 
 
48 A UTUMN LEA VES, 
 
 AUTUMN LEAVES. 
 
 r^ORSAKEN leaves, sad, rustling at my feet, 
 *• It grieves me sore to find you in this plight, 
 With blood-red stains and spots as dark as night 
 Enclad, as move I down the forest street. 
 Oh, I do well remember when the sweet 
 Spring was most kind to thee, and zephyrs light 
 Thy welfare wooed with ardent, loving might. 
 Then summer won thee for her full conceit. 
 But spring and summer died, and autumn, chill, 
 Let come the frost with all his legions dread. 
 That quickly smote in valley and on hill. 
 And left thee wounded, to the blast instead, 
 To drive about as this my idle rhyme. 
 Blown through the heedless corridors of time. 
 
 GRASSES. 
 
 OYE grasses, tall, in meadows, 
 Or encamping in the shadows 
 Of the hedges, 
 Or on hill tops, or on mountains. 
 In deep dells, or by cool fountains, 
 Or in sedges ; — 
 
GRASSES. 49 
 
 Scarce a place ye do not gladden, 
 All new graves ye do unsadden, 
 
 With your beauty ; 
 Very few the spots so barren, 
 That ye do not seek and fare on, 
 
 And do duty. 
 
 And ye creep about the portals 
 Of old palaces of mortals, 
 
 And grey manors. 
 Rich and poor alike are dowered ; 
 For us all your wealth is showered, 
 
 Flaunt your banners. 
 
 Ay, an army all ungory 
 
 Are the grasses in their glory. 
 
 Waiting orders, — 
 Waiting, watching by the legion. 
 Patiently, in every region, 
 
 On all borders. 
 
 But the only summons given. 
 Seems at last to come from heaven, 
 
 When each yeoman 
 Lays him down beside his brother ; 
 Just one battle and no other, — 
 
 Death the foeman. 
 
50 REVIVAL. 
 
 For, the way of all that liveth 
 Walks he in, and over giveth 
 
 To Earth's keeping. 
 Whether humans or just grasses, 
 We are one, when wan Death passes, 
 
 In our sleeping. 
 
 REVIVAL. 
 
 11 f HAT glib ambassadors unto the cause 
 ^^ Of Love are these rejuvenate thoughts of 
 
 spring, 
 That burst through doubts, with super-subtle laws. 
 
 To bloom, like lily-buds, when birds do sing. 
 Last winter-time, I would have duly sworn 
 
 The root and branch of thine own heart were 
 dead, 
 And that therefrom, thenceforth, could not be born 
 
 One little germ of love, were winter fled ; 
 But now, I find me evidence which proves 
 
 That I may hope where I had counted loss. 
 Too, that thy heart, deemed cold, awakes and loves. 
 
 And doth with fair attire its dreams emboss. 
 Through gain of that sweet quality which shows 
 That barren fields may blossom as the rose. 
 
THE SOURCE OE SOXG. 5 1 
 
 THE SOURCE OF SOXG. 
 
 TVTYMPH Syrinx ned across the meads, 
 ^ ^ While smirren Pan did follow, 
 And Daphne flew before the steeds 
 Of flashing, bright Apollo. 
 
 Full swift and far each breathless chase 
 Was pushed with keen endeavor ; 
 
 The Beauties sank in kindly place, 
 Protected by the River. 
 
 And they are gone. For SjTinx fair, 
 Pan taught the reed to carol ; 
 
 In honor of his Daphne rare, 
 Apollo reared the laurel. 
 
 'T is thus, with evanescent dream, 
 The poet's thought is feathered ; 
 
 He seeks to clasp the subtle gleam — 
 And so sweet songs are gathered. 
 
52 A GLASS OF WINE. 
 
 TO A CRICKET. 
 
 /^ BLITHE mirth-maker ! harvest-reveller ! keen 
 ^-^ Awaker of soft sounds, these latter eves ! 
 Thy magic, mirthful rondo gently weaves 
 Its chorus round my heart and seals serene. 
 "Cheer up, cheer up ! '' What glory hast thou seen 
 To grow so confident ? The flow'rs and leaves 
 Are Pluto's own ; yet thou from heavy sheaves 
 Of final wain, send'st up no short, no mean 
 Emolument of song — no scanty praise. 
 "Cheer up ! '' while round the gurgling flagons go, 
 And Ceres, Bacchus, rule the feastful days. 
 "Cheer up, cheer up ! " Thy happy orders flow 
 Through all arrangements, light each thought and 
 
 face, 
 Thou elfin knight, thou challenger of Woe ! 
 
 A GLASS OF WINE. 
 
 O OSY, rosy is the wine ! 
 -■• ^ Youth is like this cup, 
 Where we see bright beauties shine 
 Ere they 're swallowed up. 
 
FORGOTTEN. 53 
 
 Empty, empty is the bowl ! 
 
 Age is here most plain ; 
 Where there once were hope and soul, 
 
 Only dregs remain. 
 
 FORGOTTEN. 
 
 T SAW a fallen oaken leaf 
 ^ Whirled by the blast along ; 
 It seemed to say, Where is my home ? 
 And where the summer's song ? 
 
 Away, away, in dark dismay. 
 It hurried through the wold. 
 
 Yet found no place to hide its face 
 Against the bitter cold. 
 
 It came unto a giant tree. 
 And recognized the bough 
 
 It grew upon, nor dreamed that time 
 Could cruel be as now. 
 
 Forlorn, alone, it made sad moan. 
 And spake in hollow tone : 
 
 '* Oh, parent tree, look down to me. 
 And give me back mine own." 
 
54 DEA TH OF THE WIND. 
 
 The low complaint was lost in air, 
 The leaf was scourged aside 
 
 By heartless winds, to lie and die, 
 Adown the forest wide. 
 
 And as it hid its shrunken face 
 Upon the sodden ground, 
 
 I could but think its sorry fate 
 Bespoke a deeper wound : 
 
 For sure there be a-many hearts 
 Which mourn at fortune's loss. 
 
 That when unloved and cast aside 
 Take up a greater cross. 
 
 DEATH OF THE WIND. 
 
 T SAW the ancient Wind go by. 
 
 '■' His beard was white, and dim his eye ; 
 His step infirm, but feebly swayed 
 The tufted stalk or slender blade ; 
 
 His voice was mellowed to a sigh. 
 
 " Oh, moan with me,*' I heard him cry, 
 " A mighty power once was I, 
 And awful, vast, and unafraid — 
 The ancient Wind ! 
 
POMONA. 55 
 
 " Men cursed me then, and here I He, 
 
 At last, a breath — no more — to die ; 
 
 A conquered chief, unmanned, unmade." 
 He spake, and sank upon the glade, — 
 
 So perished to the earth and sky, 
 The ancient Wind. 
 
 POMONA. 
 
 ^\17 ARM-HEARTED maid ! whose love the Sun 
 ^ ^ Hath ripened to the core. 
 Away, away ! what he hath won 
 He will pursue the more. 
 
 Should you be caught, no kiss refuse, 
 
 He might forget to shine ; 
 Forever flee ! While he pursues. 
 
 Immortal youth is thine. 
 
 THE PAGAN'S PRAYER. 
 
 OTHOU who dweirst where Lethe's waters roll, 
 Great Somnus ! soother of the troubled soul, 
 Unto a mortal's plea, this lonely night, 
 Give heed, I pray, and haste thy earthward flight, 
 
56 THE PAGAN'S PRAYER. 
 
 To strow broadcast, from thy most lavish hand, 
 Nepenthe's charm throughout the weary land ; 
 For Nature, e'en, is tired and longs for rest. 
 Within the ample covert of thy breast. 
 There, respite let her find divinely sweet, 
 That when the smiling dawn doth kissing greet 
 And wake her, rosy, she may hie away, 
 And nimbly, to bright pastures of the day. 
 Beloved god ! remembering that vast throng 
 Of saddened mortals, I would raise this song 
 In common weal to thee ; our stifling woes 
 Are universal : hear the prayer that goes 
 From this one soul, then canst thou clearly see 
 To judge the tide of earth's humanity ; 
 For we in needs are similar, we feel 
 Alike the might of peace or sorrow's heel. 
 Come, soothe me with thy magic lotos art. 
 One moment let me rest this aching heart ; 
 Bathe thou this brow of fast-increasing care. 
 And lull the throbbing brain enthroned there. 
 Those vain ambitions banish, day by day. 
 Are pilfering all my joy and life away. 
 Take fame ! take wealth ! — delusive phantoms they 
 That, tiger-like, ensnare their panting prey, 
 O'erwhelm, destroy, nor leave a single trace 
 Of shattered hopes, — O proud, disastrous race ! 
 
THE PAGAN'S PRAYER, 5/ 
 
 Away the scene ! sleep and forgetfulness — 
 These, these the only cordials for distress ; 
 And balm'd relief they never fail to bring 
 That sucks the venom from each poisoned sting. 
 Kind Sornnus ! 't is not lofty name I crave, 
 But happiness — a draught of Lethe's wave. 
 Oh, let me pass but one transcendent hour 
 Within the calm elysium of thy bow'r, 
 On thornless bed of roses couched supine, 
 And thou to pour the rich Nirvana wine ; 
 Stand too, beside, thy Argus vigil keep. 
 And, world-forgetful, let me, happy, sleep. 
 
 Thou, mighty god and myriad blest ! even now 
 I feel thy spell steal slowly o*er my brow. 
 And to mine ear a zephyr whispers, cool, 
 As lately coy-escaped some mountain pool. 
 My head sinks lightly to the welcome arm. 
 And oh ! with what a boundless, soundless charm, 
 Through droop-enlidded eyes inscribe I this, 
 Warm-dated from the borderland of bliss ! 
 The siren threshold of that raptured shore 
 That never care and sorrow venture o'er, 
 To those enchanted fields, and joy-illumed. 
 With hope environed and with peace perfumed ; 
 The where the busy Dreams their ruby kisses. 
 
58 THE PAGAN'S PRAYER. 
 
 Deep tinct in love and studious in blisses, 
 Full fondly press to mortal's pallid lips, 
 And dimple cheeks with lily finger-tips, — 
 
 soul-entrancing in their presence sweet, 
 With retinue of fancies, fairy, fleet ! 
 
 Oblivion-laden Sleep ! thou art to me 
 The spirit-essence of eternity ; — 
 
 1 know a nearness to thy pearly gates ; 
 
 They swing ajar ! my soul thy mandate waits \ 
 Lo ! wake the harps a noble major chord. 
 And speaks the Lethean King one holy word, — 
 'T is Peace ! Once more the eager strings resound, 
 Then tremble to a silence deep, profound 
 And pulseless quite as adamantine stone. 
 Prophetic of the wide and near unknown. 
 All earthly scenes quick-vanish from my sight. 
 While I behold a radiant realm of light, — 
 Cloud-piercing, pillared fanes, the twinkling dream 
 Of garnet minarets that heaven-lost seem ; 
 Domes, emerald, and opalescent spires, 
 A-tip with pink and phosphorescent fires. 
 That quenchless flash with beauty all supernal. 
 By vestals fed, both tireless and eternal ; — 
 Broad-bosomed courts, arcades and altars high. 
 Constant white incense wreathing to the sky ; 
 
THE PAGAN'S PRAYER. 59 
 
 And league-long castles of blush amethyst, 
 
 All jasper-roofd and violet-banner kiss'd ; — 
 
 Terraces, gardens, fountains, fruitage rare : 
 
 Wrapt round and odorous in a turquoise air, — 
 
 All by a sea of unimagined rest. 
 
 With stirless sails upon its mirror breast. 
 
 A city of the Happy Isles — behold, 
 
 Behold ! it gleams as though the stars unroll'd ! 
 
 While I, its denizen, its lord, its king, 
 
 Am ushered in with glorious welcoming ! 
 
 A cloud enfolds me in its golden lining ! 
 
 And fay-like arms about my neck are twining ! 
 
 Now musters the legion of loving Dreams, 
 
 Now tow'rd me tends adown the ether streams ; 
 
 The rustle faint, I hear, of silken wings, 
 
 The jubilant air a velvet whisper brings 
 
 Of brimmest joy. Adieu ! I float away 
 
 To regions far beyond terrestrial day. 
 
 As on some winged steed, I seem to soar 
 
 Spaceward, blissward, to see the world no more. 
 
 I 'm royally attended ; greets my ears 
 
 The soft, circean music of the spheres. 
 
 And beauties, splendors, grandeurs, only born 
 
 Of some majestic, empyrean morn. 
 
 Surround me. O faith, hope, and happiness ! 
 
60 THE PAGAN'S PRAYER, 
 
 What rapture keen and godlike in caress 
 Enfloods my every nerve and artery ! 
 Sweep I, O Sleep, into the charge of thee ! 
 Thy spirit walks the chambers of my will 
 With angel-sandal'd feet, and I am still. 
 
 THE END. 
 

 
 
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