POEMS BY JOHN VANCE GHENEY Class _^/^^ Rook ^e> ^ ^" !iP C4f>^ 7 COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. POEMS POEMS BY JOHN VANCE CHENEY BOSTON AND NEW YORK HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN AND COMPANY 1905 I CONGRESS. ■ Two C-OBISS i>9C6;v3:i J SEP 18 \9M .!&>m COPYRIGHT 1905 BY JOHN VANCE CHENEY ALL RIGHTS RESERVED Published September iqos t- r TO SARA LOUISE CHENEY •?> NOTE The present volume contains all the author's verse now before the public in book form. Grateful acknowledg- ment for permission to reprint is made to the editors and proprietors of the following periodicals : Ainslie's Magazine The Atlantic Monthly The Century Magazine The Cosmopolitan Country Life in America The Critic and Literary World The Delineator Harper's Monthly Magazine Harper's Bazar The Independent The Ladies' Home Journal Lippincott's Monthly Magazine McClure's Magazine Munsey's Magazine The New Age New England Magazine Out West The Outlook The Pacific Monthly St. Nicholas The Smart Set Sunset Magazine The Youth's Companion CONTENTS THE HEART OF MAN PAGB My Faith 3 The Isles of Quiet 4 By and By 5 Thanks 6 Place Enough for Me and Peace 7 This My Life lO The Happiest Heart 1 1 What Wouldst Thou More 12 The Grace of the Ground (i, ii) 13 My Choice 15 My Fame and Fortune 16 LOVE The Mystic Kinship 19 We May Love 20 The Hour Supreme 21 When Love Comes 23 The Cup of Bliss 24 The Way to Learn 25 Thou and I 26 CONTENTS I Keep Thy Memory 27 Le Sonnet D'Arvers 28 Love and Grief 29 The Lost Lamb 30 One 31 Nameless 32 How Darest Thou Wait 33 My Shepherdess 34 Somewhere 35 My Fairest Fair 36 A Thought 37 Dream and a Day 38 At Parting 39 Fate's Tablet 40 Time and the Hour 4» Bleeding Heart and Broken Wings 42 LIFE Calm 45 The Gracious Failure 46 The Poets of Old Israel 47 **Is there any Word from the Lord " 48 Great is To-Day 50 The Fallen 52 The Voice of the Sequoia 56 George Washington 62 Abraham Lincoln 64 The Man with the Hoe 66 X CONTENTS A Trilogy for this Time I. Freedom 70 II. The Gold of Havilah 7 I III. The Hyssop in the Wall 73 On a Picture of Lincoln 76 Emerson 7 7 Socrates 78 The Immortality of Might 79 The Sphinx 80 The Hand 8 1 THE VALLEY OF SHADOW At the Sign of the Spade 8 5 To Dusty Nothing 86 Tears 8 7 To Hope 88 I Need not Hear 89 The Eagle 90 To the Bitter End The Lost Soul 91 The Drawing of the Lot 92 93 The Body and the Soul 94 Poor Little Jane 96 Little Jump for Joy 97 The Past 98 My Children 99 At a Grave (i, 11) 100 xi CONTENTS In Memoriam J. V. C. I. The Shadow Came lOI II. At a Grave lOI III. By the Western Sea I02 IV. Asleep in the West I ©3 The White Blossom 104 Until the Evening 105 No Longer with the Years 106 THE HEART OF NATURE SPRING AND SUMMER MORNING AND EVENING The Informal Courtier 109 At the Hyla's Call ill The Nest in the Vine 1 1 3 The Beeches Brighten 1 14 The Old Tree 1 1 5 Fancy's Song 116 The Wise Piper 1 1 8 The Wood-Thrush 119 The Weeds 120 To a Humming-Bird 121 Summer Noon 122 August 123 The Winds 124 The Wind 126 To the Evening Star 128 xii CONTENTS Memory 1 30 Evening Rain 1 3 1 Evening 1^2 Sunset in the Redwoods 13^ Twilight 135 AUTUMN AND WINTER ANIMALIA For a Day 139 To the Fall Wind 140 The Last Dance of the Leaves 141 Snowflakes 142 Prospero of the North 144 ** Now Winter Nights Enlarge " H7 Old Friends 148 The Little Warm Owl 149 The Wolf of the Evenings 150 Coyote ^51 Poet and Crow 153 The Loon 157 Toad 159 To Tree-Crickets 160 QUATRAINS AND SONNETS My Song 163 Prose for Woes 163 The Poet (i, n, in) 164 Memory (i, 11) 165 CONTENTS Lost Joy 1 66 The Loitering Joys i66 Here and Hereafter 167 But Once 167 To rhe Dregs 168 Fate 168 The Wind Voice 169 Slain 169 The Victor 170 Now 170 The Angel Standing By 171 Wouldst Hear the Singing of the Spheres 171 The Old 172 Thus Run the Hours 172 Our Two Gifts 173 Tears 173 Trust (i, II, III) 174 Wisdom •75 Death 175 The First Dawn 176 The Death of Adam 178 The Passing of the Queen 180 My Books 181 The Voice of the Mountain 182 Grown Old With Nature 183 Two Friends 184 I Wouldn't 185 The Skilful Listener 185 CONTENTS Two Voices 1 86 My Fancies 1 86 Spring (i, ii) 187 Early Morning 188 The South Wind 188 The Hermit-Thrush 189 Twilight 189 Haunting My Dreams 190 The Passing of Autumn (i, 11, iii, iv, v) 191 The Trees 193 The Voice of the Wind 193 The Voice of the Grass (i, n) 194 EARLIER AND LIGHTER F ERSES The Way of It 197 To Youngsters 199 *' Sweet-Thing " Jane 201 What I Would 203 Come Along, Deary 204 My Castle in the Air 205 Little Love Forgetteth his Umbrella 206 Auto-Da-Fe 207 Love 's in Town 212 Song of the Country Lass 213 Love's World 215 Life and I 216 At Candle-Lighting 217 XV CONTENTS The Open Heart jig Summer Rain 219 Song of the Summer Hours 220 The Coming of the Roses 221 The Music of Nature" 222 For the Malting of Music 223 Over the Hill 224 At the Hearthside 226 The Kitchen Clock 227 The Trapper's Sweetheart 230 232 234 A Saint of Yore Gran'ther The Old Farm Barn 236 The Good Old Time 237 Collie Kelso Brother Bachelor Batrachian 239 240 Friend Ophidian 244 WHEN LOl^E WAS LORD 247 INDEX ro 'fHE FIRSr LINES 291 XVI THE HEART OF MAN CREDO MY FAITH I TRUST in what the love-mad mavis sings, In what the whiteweed says whereso it blows, And the red sorrel and the redder rose ; I trust the power that puts the bee on wings, And in the socket sets the rock, and rings The hill with mist, and gilds the brook, and sows The dusk ; is on the wind which comes and goes. The voice in thunders and leaf-murmurings ; I trust the might that makes the lichen strong. That leads the rabbit from her burrow forth, That in the shadow hides, in sunlight shines ; I trust what gives the one lone cricket song. What points the clamorous wild-goose harrow north, And sifts the white calm on the winter pines. 3 THE ISLES OF QUIET The Isles of Quiet lie beyond the years. Hoar prophets say it ; yet, for all the tears, I doubt the saying of the seers. I think that whoso seeks them here shall find ; That all with open, patient heart and mind Shall drink of peace from sun and wind ; Shall make their own the hymn of rest begun When shadows say the summer day is done. And sky and field are growing one. Idler the fancy, closer it may cling; Yet I believe the wide air's murmuring. The sweet far song the thrushes sing. BY AND BY At last, somewhere, some happy day. The bliss will round us lie ; For all a joyous way To follow by and by. 'T is taught by every star that wheels. By every flower that blows, By all a young heart feels. By all an old heart knows. THANKS Thanks to you, sun and moon and star, And you, blue level with no cloud, — Thanks to you, splendors from afar. For a high heart, a neck unbowed. Thanks to you, wind, sent to and fro. To you, light, pouring from the dawn ; Thanks for the breath and glory-flow The steadfast soul can feed upon. Thanks to you, pain and want and care. And you, joys, cunning to deceive, And you, balked phantoms of despair ; I battle on, and I believe. Thanks to you, ministers benign, In whatsoever guise you come; Under this fig-tree and this vine. Here I am master, and at home. PLACE ENOUGH FOR ME AND PEACE Upon the thousands cast Into the field of days, with troubled flow My thought went out ; I saw them ranked and massed In battle, and laid low. To live, to think and feel, It was to fat the robber of the nest; I looked, I saw the serpent at the heel. The aspic at the breast. I saw want's tightening twist. His crushing coil, around the child of care; I saw the day-god wallow through the mist To gild a harlot's hair. I saw high worth bowed down. Vanity glad as laughing summer-green ; I saw the unkingliest thing clap on a crown, Hoar honor wasting mean. 7 PLACE ENOUGH FOR ME But on itself thought turns. " Thou fool ! " mine said. " The lovely violet blows, There's fire yet in the star, the foxglove burns. Runs love-blood in the rose. " Curled in the shadow-vase, Ferns cluster ; morn shakes bright the willow leaves ; The haughty worlds are at the appointed place, The swallows at the eaves. " The grasshopper has song. The noon heat at the cricket's heart, it stings ; The bluebird still brings heaven with him along. Of it he shines and sings. " Out of the sun and cloud The silences, the wonders of the wind ; 8 PLACE ENOUGH FOR ME All trustful things with joyance cry aloud, They seek not, and they find." " Now will I once more bend," I said, " to humble service, wiser live ; With hope for my heartfellow, fate my friend. Take as the days may give. " From murmuring will I cease, And longer after folly follow not ; But, lord of place enough for me and peace. Will stand up in my lot." THIS MY LIFE I STRIVE to keep me in the sun ; I pick no quarrel with the years, Nor with the Fates, not even the one That holds the shears. I take occasion by the hand ; I 'm not too nice 'twixt weed and flower ; I do not stay to understand ; I take mine hour. The time is short enough at best. I push right onward while I may ; I open to the winds my breast. And walk the way. A kind heart greets me here and there ; I hide from it my doubts and fears. I trudge, and say the path is fair Along the years. 10 THE HAPPIEST HEART Who drives the horses of the sun Shall lord it but a day ; Better the lowly deed were done, And kept the humble way. The rust will find the sword of fame, The dust will hide the crown ; Ay, none shall nail so high his name Time will not tear it down. The happiest heart that ever beat Was in some quiet breast That found the common daylight sweet, And left to Heaven the rest. II WHAT WOULDST THOU MORE The sun and all the stars shine on thy head, The grass and blossoms all are at thy feet ; Nature's glad pageantries for thee are spread, Her winds loosed for thee, seminal and sweet ; For thee young morn binds his bright san- dals on ; Pale evening leads thee to the mother-fold ; The patient seasons serve thee : none are gone Of all the glories thronging from of old. Hoar silence sings thee her primeval lay ; Apt dream wraps round thee her enchant- ing light ; August companions walk with thee by day, They share thy bed in darkness of the night : The full years pour upon thee of their store, They gather for thy lap. What wouldst thou more ? 12 THE GRACE OF THE GROUND To-day I stretch me on the shadowed grass, And hear my heart say yet again to me, " Fly with the birds, and let the spent world be. Float, float," it says, " with lightest things that pass. Leap with the gauze-winged vaulters ; glass to glass, Drink with the bees ; go with the gentle throng Deep ever, lost, in revel sweet and long, The nearest, happiest children Nature has." And once again I quit the wanton round Of mockery, straight betake me to the ground. II Wherever a green blade looks up, A leaf lisps mystery, 13 THE GRACE OF THE GROUND Whereso a blossom holds its cup A mist rings land or sea, Wherever voice doth utter sound Or silence make her round, — There worship ; it is holy ground. H MY CHOICE I WOULD rather be In the shade of a tree, With a song and a handful of daisies, Than the darling of victory 'Mid the bray of the rabble's praises. I would rather ride On the wings inside. Whither hoofs and horns come not after, Then take to me Fame for a bride. Rouged Fame, with her leer and her laughter. IS MY FAME AND FORTUNE I SING home songs, tuning the strings To lowly music of the ground ; I sing the humble, happy things 'The seasons bring me, on their round. I fellow with the day and night, To share their fortune and their fame ; Among the names the wild flowers write Be mine, or let me have no name. i6 LOVE THE MYSTIC KINSHIP Not a thing that lives and moves But the mystic kinship proves ; In the deep, the blue above, All the mid-air ways along — Hark ! the same eternal song Singing on the lips of Love. Purl of stream and twirl of leaf — There the voice of joy and grief. Love's divine, undying art. Waving grass and swaying tree, Swinging of the star and sea — 'T is the beating of thy heart. 19 WE MAY LOVE From the withered, bitter ground Every sweet has taken leave ? Joy, there 's none of sight or sound, Naught to do but sit and grieve? Look — the blue ! bent close above, Close above ; While it hovers we may love We may love. 20 THE HOUR SUPREME On Nature's round The stillness passes into sound ; Which is most musical, Song or the interval When the silence stirs, to be A voice, a melody ? On Nature's way From out the dawning comes the day ; Which would the nice eye choose, The noon-gold or the hues When the shadow of the night Wakes, smiling into light ? Beauty is bride In midsummer or at springtide ? In June her solsticy Or when the pale mists be, When the clod feels some warm power At work, and lo, a flower ! 21 THE HOUR SUPREME Ay, when is bliss The sweetest that it ever is ? When the loved one is at rest Upon the lover's breast, Or when he first may dare To dream he feels her there ? 22 WHEN LOVE COMES Hast seen the morn, the first light in his eyes, Look loveliness along the sullen skies ? Hast marked spent day, slow journeying, backward turn, Though, one by one, the stars begin to burn ? Hast seen the dream-shapes, pale with win- ter yet, Warming wood-spaces for the violet ? Hast heard the spring-song on the wild March air, And all the world 's a lover listening there ? Hast heard the lay the bush-bird long did keep. Only, at last, to sing it in his sleep ? Hast heard the brook, where all the boughs are old. Run under them, lulling the leafy fold ? Not yet thou knowest beauty, melody ; They wait the day Love comes and speaks to thee. 23 THE CUP OF BLISS The reddest rose, the bluest violet, Take them and bray them in a golden jar, Drip in the clearest dewdrops ; nor forget The wandering odor where old shadows are. Nor the night-music when the brook is loud. Nor that far voice when all the silence grieves ; Stir these with motion of the one lone cloud, Of winds that run along the sunny leaves. The last, add glances of the moonlit stream, Pink tremblings from the edges of the dawn, A dash of rapture only youth dare dream, And the dear pang it leaves when it is gone. Pour, now, and drink. Is it the cup of bliss ? Thou canst not, then, remember love's first kiss. 24 THE WAY TO LEARN The way to learn how well I love you, Dear? Ask any of the gossip winds that blow, The thousand flowers that burn it where they glow. The happy hours that hold the summer here ; Question the sound, the silence, far and near, The brook, which sings it or must cease to flow, — Ask all the blissful things above, below. Their answer, Sweet — of that I have no fear; FoT I believe all life below, above. Is leagued with love as light is with the day. That heaven and earth aye take the lover's part. But should all other voices mock my love. You will not heed them ; you will turn away. Content to have the answer of your heart. 25 THOU AND I Love, I would have thee as the snow is, white And pure on hilltops of the winter day ; Thou shouldst have sovereign rule, the spirit sway Of beauty, wide and shining as the light. Thou shouldst be as the evening star is, bright As heaven can make it ; all thy summer way The melodies of June should sing and play In thee, the darling of the day and night. But I would have thee human first and last. One not untouched by trouble, sought of sin, Thine innocence not accident, but choice. Fit then my service : I should have no past, No future ; newly would my life begin. Obedient to the music of thy voice. 26 I KEEP THY MEMORY I KEEP thy memory as the hilltops hold The sun when light has left the valley way ; With dream of thee I lengthen out the day : Nor dark does shut thee out, nor slumber- fold. Day sinking, up the lovely stars are rolled ; The hill forgets the peerless sun in play Of feebler fires ; but thou dost with me stay : My night, my midnight, wears the morn- ing gold. I keep thy memory, and I count it truth That love, once come to men, shall never go; I keep thy memory, and the world is fair. Yea, beautiful it is with fadeless youth. Loving may be but dreaming. Even so, The heaven in my heart, I keep it there. 27 LE SONNET D'ARVERS A FLAME — an instant, secret, mystic thing — Burns in my soul, and shall forever burn. The harm is done ; in vain were murmuring ; For she that kindled it will never learn Whose hand it was. She will not even turn To me, though to her garment-hem I cling ; Nor one of all the days to be will bring Me strength to speak to her. I can but yearn. Albeit God made her tender and so sweet, Love sets for naught the music of her feet. For naught love follows her with soft com- mand ; She hears stern duty only, night and day. Reading these very verses, she will say, " Who is this woman ? " and nowise under- stand. 28 LOVE AND GRIEF WouLDST hear strange music only the dreamer knows, Breath sweeter than breathing of winds that have been with the rose ? Wouldst see strange light that deep in the shadow plays, Wouldst pluck the secret from out the heart of the days ? Then follow Love and that other who feeds on her sweet ; Yea, follow Love and Grief, and fall low at their feet. 29 THE LOST LAMB My heart, you happy wandered Along the sunny hill, All day a-singing, singing. As the happy shepherd will. The friendly blue of heaven Looked on you from above; 'Twas joyance all for the shepherd And the little lambs of love. Oh, when the shadows gathered. And the damp upon the rock, Heart, heart, poor silly shepherd. Why did you count the flock ! 30 ONE One whitest lily, reddest rose, None other such the summer knows; Of bird or brook one perfect tune, And sung is all the sweet of June. Once come and gone, the one dear face. Forever empty is its place; But one far voice the lover hears, Calling across the waste of years. 31 NAMELESS Shalt thou be beauty's dream, her sweetest thought ? No; thought scarce is ere it is not. And dare I make thee love's low melody ? Nay ; silence, then no more of thee. Shalt thou be morning, wonder of the light? No ; day, then shadow of the night. And art thou summer's red, unrivalled rose? Not that ; love sighs, " How soon it goes ! " 32 HOW BAREST THOU WAIT Liquid as lies the wave the hilltop lies, The rocks are mobile as the breeze that strays Past them to twirl the dust on summer ways; The stars, they have the flight of butterflies. The sun is as the ember in the grate : Once more I cry, Love me ! How darest thou wait? 33 MY SHEPHERDESS She lives, she lives up in the hills, Where mists and eagles are; Blithe shepherdess of rocks and rills, 'Twixt mortal and a star. Of acorns is her necklace made. And reddest berries found; While slender vines, in glossy braid. About her brow are bound. No fairy foots it half so light, A-dancing on the green ; Nor curls a sunny cloud so bright. The pines and sky between. My shepherdess of rocks and rills ! We dwell the world above ; She lives and loves up in the hills. And I live in her love. 34 SOMEWHERE The weasel thieves in silver suit, The rabbit runs in gray ; And Pan takes up his frosty flute To pipe the cold away. The flocks are folded, boughs are bare, The salmon take the sea ; And O my fair, would I somewhere Might house my heart with thee ! 35 MY FAIREST FAIR There is, they say, no sweetest rose. There is no fairest face ; for fancy grows Its own deceiver. But, right or wrong, what does love care ? I say, " World over, only one 's all fair," And so believe her. 36 A THOUGHT Came a little lonely thought ; Straight toward my heart 't was flying. Out I reached — 't would not be caught ; I could hear it sighing. Whither bound I cannot say — Than thought there 's nothing fleeter — But I know, lodge where it may, Only love is sweeter. 37 DREAM AND A DAY How many happy summers yet, How many times the bird, the rose, Ere 't is to sleep and to forget ? There 's never a heart that knows. How oft shall come the summer weather Along the fields, the greenwood way. And lover and loved one be together? There 's never a heart can say. And ever a heart why should it say ? What would love have of joy or sorrow ? Love, with its dream, its dream and a day, Has never a thought for the morrow. 38 AT PARTING With tears and kisses let me go. Love not too deep To kiss and weep, That love have many, many ; But one love, oh, It doth not so ! Pale lips it has and tearless eyes ; Broken, motionless it lies, A flower amid death's mysteries, A rose that dies. With tears and kisses let me go ; Such love have many, many. That other love my heart would know. Or know not any. 39 FATE'S TABLET You must have known her had you seen her face. That moment turned away, as by she passed ; It must have told you, that confiding grace, Of one could not but love you to the last. And had you heard her voice you must have known She little talked and softly all that day ; Something, perhaps, was on the June winds blown To her could not but love you aye and aye. You did not see her, and you did not hear; She saw not, heard not you as by she passed ; And it once more was written, Tear to year^ 'Two shall go^ seeking^ seeking to the last. 40 TIME AND THE HOUR One brave look, holding hers — There where the warm noontide Washed all the long walk through the firs — Fate had been defied. One low word slowly said, With Nature's own sure art. His had not been a bended head, Hers a broken heart. Stern, unreturning hours Came with that summer day. They came and went : love's path of flowers Was a desert way. 41 BLEEDING HEART AND BROKEN WINGS Few listened to the lonely singer's lay. Our life, it is a little day ; He sang, and vanished in the valley dim, Where, all in vain, praise followed him. Our life, it is a bitter day. One gave for naught a loving heart away ; They brought white lilies, but too late for her To see how like herself they were. Heaven-taught, the maiden loves, the poet sings. Dear bleeding heart, poor broken wings ! So has it ever been through all the years, — For song the sorrow, for love the tears. 42 LIFE CALM Hast thou been down into the deep of thought Until the things of time and sense are naught ; Hast sunk — sunk — in that tideless under- deep Fathoms below the little reach of sleep ? Hast visited the depth where he must go That would the secrecies of being know ? Hast been a guest where, lost to smiles and tears, The quiet eye looks on beyond the years ? Hast thou been down into the deep of thought Beloved of prophets, where their work is wrought ? Then doubt is whelmed in hope, and care in calm. The tumult melts in music of a psalm. 45 THE GRACIOUS FAILURE In the poet's world, shamed is his art Before the vibrant silence at his heart. And well it is that, spurning perfect speech. Plays the wild beauty always out of reach ; Once by some god-poet caught and bound The wavering light, the subtile pulse of sound. That ere it come is gone, — what singer, then. Would ever dare to lift his voice again ! 46 THE POETS OF OLD ISRAEL Old Israel's readers of the stars, I love them best. Musing, they read. In embers of the heavenly hearth. High truths were never learned below. They asked not of the barren sands. They questioned not that stretch of death ; But upward from the humble tent They took the stairway of the hills ; Upward they climbed, bold in their trust. To pluck the glory of the stars. Faith falters, knowledge does not know. Fast, one by one, the phantoms fade ; But that strange light, unwavering, lone, Grasped from the lowered hand of God, Abides, quenchless forevermore. 47 « IS THERE ANY WORD FROM THE LORD?" (Jeremiah xxxvii, 17) Daylong a craven cry goes up : " The people drink a bitter cup, They languish, gathering stones for bread. Brave faith is fallen, the old hope dead." The babblers will not cease : " The people have no peace." Trust is outworn, naught can be done. There is no good under the sun. The blue sky fades, the waters fail, The strong hand shakes, the warriors wail ; Daylong the craven cry, " The people faint, they die." Turn to the wall our faces, we That vanquish air and earth and sea ! The sun shines yonder ; somewhere glows The old first hope, bright as it rose, 48 IS THERE ANY WORD The hope whose accent high Shall brand this whining lie. If doubts, risen idols of the Nile, Again the hallowed land defile, Thunder yet clothes green Horeb's crown; Let Sinai speak, and smite them down. Life nests yet in the clod, Israel has still his God. You, seers and prophets, poets, may See yet the good gold in the day. Still red at heart, arise, arise ! Sing back the blue into the skies. The green into the grass. And bid the phantoms pass. Once more, blest messengers, declare That love still lives, that life is fair ; Say knowledge knows not, trust is all. And crush these wise which writhe and crawl ; Wake, wake, your strains of fire ! God 's for us — strike the lyre ! 49 GREAT IS TO-DAY Out on a world that has run to weed! The great tall corn is still strong in his seed ; Plant her breast with laughter, put song in your toil, The heart is still young in the old mother- soil : Never bluer heavens nor greener sod Since the round world rolled from the hand of God. The clouds keep their promise ; believe, and sow ! There are sweet banks yet where the south winds blow ; The sun still plunges and mounts again. The new moons fill when the old moons wane : There 's sunshine and bird-song, and red and white clover. And love lives yet, skies under and over. 50 GREAT IS TO-DAY Is wisdom dead now Solon *s no more ? Are the children done playing at the Muses' door? While your Plato, your Shakespeare, goes down to the tomb, His brother stirs in the good mother-womb ; There 's dreaming of daisies and running of brooks, Yes, life enough left to put in the books. Out on a world that has run to weed ! The lusty hours, as of old they breed. And the man child thrives. For your Jacob no tears ; Rachel is there, at the end of the years. The waving of wheat, of the tall strong corn ! His heart-blood is water who wanders for- lorn. 51 THE FALLEN (In Memoriam, May 30) Toll the slow bell, Toll the low bell, Toll, toll. Make dole For them that wrought so well. Come, come, With muffled drum And wailing lorn Of dolorous horn The solemn measure slow Toll and beat and blow ; Put out all glories that adorn The sweet, unheeding morn. Come, come; To the muffled drum And the sad horns Bring flowers for them that took the thorns. 5^ THE FALLEN Knell, knell ; Let the slow bell Be struck and the troubled drum ; Come, come. The solemn measure slow Toll and beat and blow ; Rebuke this bright, unpitying light. The solemn measure slow Toll and beat and blow For them our beauty and our might Gone on the unreturning way. For them that took the night That we might have the day. II Hark ! voices, joyous voices break From the green martyr-mounds : " Wake, wake ! The Lord our God, once more He saith, 1'his hand made all — // made not death. Let the blithe bells ring, The May air sing ; Strike the quick drum. Smite sorrow dumb ; 53 THE FALLEN Blow the glad horn, This glad May morn ; Lift the valiant measures high Of the proud earth and sky For them that tent Beyond the firmament, And on the field of light Still gather to the fight. " Blow the glad horn. This glad May morn ; Stanch, undaunted measures blow. Gathering courage as they go, — Valiant measures high, Carolled of earth and sky ; Set the bright, triumphal stave For them that fought so well, That faltered not nor fell ; For them and all whereso yon colors wave. Unto the four winds given And the proud earth and heaven. There believe and battle they Whose face is toward the day, 54 THE FALLEN The ever-living light, Where is no night, Where is no death nor shadow of the grave." 55 THE VOICE OF THE SEQUOIA 1 THOUGHT it spoke to me, The lingering spirit of the giant tree Fallen on the western shore, — The redwood Saul with fourteen centuries hoar : " In this huge husk I yet Abide — Who may the old home soon forget ? — " Abide long as I may, Dreaming my dreams until they fade away. " The morning I did push My twigs the little height of yonder bush, " Ruddy Justinian saw. Busied betwixt, the bishops and his Law ; 56 THE VOICE OF THE SEQUOIA " Mahomet knew those skies, Lithe-limbed, the fire of prophets in his eyes. " I can recall the day The Frank set forth upon his warrior's way — " He that could Caesar be And Alfred too, the flower of empery ; — *' The day great Saladin Threw open Judah's gate, and entered in, " When Christian lance and sword Dealt all that death, nor broke the alien horde. " But there were happier things And lovelier mingled in my murmurings : " The woodland wail divine Of Dante's grief — Dante, the human pine ; 57 THE VOICE OF THE SEQUOIA " Spring's earliest, sweetest note She tossed in air from English Chaucer's throat ; " News of the fateful fleet Sailing to lead all peoples to my feet ; " Tales of the Titan lone, Writing his poems in the Roman stone ; " Of him, the wonder-child. On whom Beauty and all the Muses smiled, " Whom Nature loved so well She must her dearest secret to him tell, " And wish she had yet more To give ; (she did not know her heart be- fore ; " Man knew not his ; for when Her Shakespeare sang the world grew young again;) 58 THE VOICE OF THE SEQUOIA * Of him whose symphony, Rhythmic with swingings of the star and sea. " Embroiled in blank mid-air Heaven's host and Hell's, nor did too greatly dare ; " Of Pisa's son who read The Open Book, undaunted whither led, " Charting the haughty way Newton would follow in the broader day. " Again and yet again The burdened wind. There dawned a morning when "It said thy sires cried out To the free hills ; I heard the answering shout — " Well freed thy land ; the sea Rolls all her waves 'twixt it and tyranny — 59 THE VOICE OF THE SEQUOIA " I caught a kindred cry From France the beautiful ; she hung the sky " With horrors while she thrust Oppression through and trod him in the dust. " Now 't was, the Furies ran And loosed, hawk-beaked and clawed, the Corsican. " Soon drooped that phantom wing ; But hark ! proud Life hears yet her Goethe sing, " Hears Wordsworth ; still does ease Her heart with those high, wordless melo- dies " Beyond the poet's flight, — Beethoven's measures, music's utter might. 60 THE VOICE OF THE SEQUOIA " Again and yet again The burdened wind. One of the new-time men, " Goodly and tall and fair He stood, trusting the hand that planted there ; " He took the upper wind I knew — Lincoln, the cedar of his kind. " Those sad new days ye know. They fade from me ; and it is better so." The voice fell fainter now, As when on summer eves it fails the bough ; No further did it say. But, sighing, drifted with the dreams away. 6i GEORGE WASHINGTON First of the deedful, giant few, So high in Freedom's grace he grew, To-day his voice she leans to hear Across a hundred noisy year ; The virtues meet in him to vie. As, in autumn weather. Sunset colors gather Down the western sky. Divulging, ere they pass, The dyes of which the daylight was. The lawless gods no more allot As in old Homer's tales ; According as ourselves have wrought, So hang the honest scales : Our brown-haired, blue-eyed Saul Of battle, stalwart, tall. Must climb, unstayed. The heights he made. 62 GEORGE WASHINGTON August, unfellowed to the last. From height to height he passed ; The day-star of his race. He rose, he shone into his place. Stands yet the Father as he stood. Full statured, great, sublimely good. Before God's face he wrought ; It cannot come to naught. As fate's was his right hand ; He built, and it shall stand. 63 ABRAHAM LINCOLN His people called, and forth he came As one that answers to his name ; Nor dreamed how high his charge. His privilege how large, — To set the stones back in the wall Lest the divided house should fall. The shepherd who would keep The flocks, would fold the sheep, Humbly he came, yet with the mien Presaging the immortal scene, — Some battle of His wars Who sealeth up the stars. No flaunting of the banners bold Borne by the haughty sons of old ; Their blare, their pageantries. Their goal, — they were not his. 64 ABRAHAM LINCOLN We called, he came; he came to crook The spear into the pruning-hook, To toil, untimely sleep. And leave a world to weep. 65 THE MAN WITH THE HOE (A Reply to Edwin Markham) " Let us a little permit Nature to take her own way j she better understands her own affairs than we." — Montaigne. Nature reads not our labels, " great " and « small " ; Accepts she one and all Who, striving, win and hold the vacant place : All are of royal race. Him, there, rough-cast, with rigid arm and limb. The Mother moulded him, Of his rude realm ruler and demigod. Lord of the rock and clod. With Nature is no " better " and no " worse," On this bared head no curse. 66 THE MAN WITH THE HOE Humbled it is and bowed ; so is he crowned Whose kingdom is the ground. Diverse the burdens on the one stern road Where bears each back its load ; Varied the toil, but neither high nor low. With pen or sword or hoe, He that has put out strength, lo, he is strong. Of him with spade or song Nature but questions, " This one, shall he stay ? " She answers " Yea " or " Nay," " Well, ill, he digs, he sings " ; and he bides on. Or shudders, and is gone. Strength shall he have, the toiler, strength and grace. So fitted to his place 67 THE MAN WITH THE HOE As he leaned there, an oak where sea winds blow. Our brother with the hoe. No blot, no monster, no unsightly thing. The soil's long-lineaged king ; His changeless realm, he knows it and com- mands ; Erect enough he stands. Tall as his toil. Nor does he bow unblest ; Labor he has, and rest. Need was, need is, and need will ever be For him and such as he. Cast for the gap, with gnarled arm and limb. The Mother moulded him; Long wrought, and moulded him with mother's care. Before she set him there. 68 THE MAN WITH THE HOE And aye she gives him, mindful of her own, Peace of the plant, the stone ; Yea, since above his work he may not rise, She makes the field his skies. See ! she that bore him, and metes out the lot. He serves her. Vex him not To scorn the rock whence he was hewn, the pit And what was digged from it ; Lest he no more in native virtue stand. The earth-sword in his hand, But follow sorry phantoms to and fro. And let a kingdom go. 69 A TRILOGY FOR THIS TIME FREEDOM Freedom ! have we won it yet ? To win it did our fathers set Their strength, and build the home, the State, That, faithful, we Should have the mastery over fate. Forever free. Yon flag, no hand dare tear it down ; This proud, this high is our renown : The nations look on us, and cry, — " Stanchly they hold The heritage of liberty, The faith of old ! " The flattering nations look from far. Freemen we seem, yet slaves we are, 70 A TRILOGY FOR THIS TIME Ironed with hateful gyves of greed ; We cramp the place Of him our brother, in his need, We grind his face. On freemen's ground the gold unearned Is gold unowned ; be justice spurned, Freedom holds off from low and high : On freemen's sod Whoso oppresses poverty Reproaches God. Freedom ! won not yet, not yet. Freemen deal truly, nor forget That, now and in all days to be. Throughout the earth Only one power can make men free, — Unselfish worth. II THE GOLD OF HAVILAH If reign you will in Havilah, That land of plenty is your own ; 71 A TRILOGY FOR THIS TIME But while you gather into bags The gold, the banded onyx stone, Masters, beware The high words there, The black space writ across with fire, — The laborer is worthy of his hire. Yellow the gold in Havilah, The gold is yellow and is good ; Lo, you may build of it your house, May give of it for roof and food ; But take you care He has his share. Hungry in body and in soul. Outworn with digging for you in the hole. Mad, phantom kings ! strive you to stand As bywords and as things for mirth ? Your kingdom 's broken and plucked up ; Long since He portioned out the earth. And heaven too. What would you do ? Not all your gold can buy that trust, — He raiseth up the poor from out the dust. 72 A TRILOGY FOR THIS TIME III THE HYSSOP IN THE WALL You 'd be a taller thing, You shrubs who grow not to the goodly tree. Wherefore ? In low leaves, as in high, birds sing Their summer melody. Never since time began A stalk yet for the impartial light too low. June greens the meanest bush ; the hum- blest man, Her warm winds on him blow. Shrubs be, and there be trees. But this stands fast : shine down the sun and star On these and those. What matter, those or these. Since all God's plants they are ? 73 A TRILOGY FOR THIS TIME You that would cast more shade, Remember who it was that wrought you small ; He, and no other, He the cedar made, The hyssop in the wall. Blame not him at your side. Him with the braver root and prouder limb ; Lift your bold mouths to heaven, and call awide ; The pattern is from Him. Call, but first know that ills Are every man's, as marrow in his bone ; That the Hand from one cup the measure spills. Be it of bread or stone ; Know that all 's poured for all ; Alike for sweetest tree of field or wood And you, the bitter hyssop in the wall, — The evil and the good. 74 A TRILOGY FOR THIS TIME This learned, it may draw nigher To mortals then, the trustful prophet's morn When shall come up the myrtle from the brier, The fir-tree for the thorn. 75 ON A PICTURE OF LINCOLN I READ once more this care-worn, patient face, And learn anew that sorrow is the dower Of him that sinks himself to lift his race Into the seat of peace and power. How beautiful the homely features grow. How soft the light from out the mild, sad eyes. The gleam from deeps of grief the soul must know. To be so great, — so kind, so wise ! 76 EMERSON Plato come back to turn a Yankee phrase, Franklin recalled to lord the world of soul — So came he, so he journeyed, sane and whole. The Concord pilgrim on the upper ways. Born to her lap, his heart was ever May's. In vernal terms he read to us the scroll Of time ; he chanted from the magic roll: We knew the joy and beauty of the days. He read to us until his sight grew dim — Blinded with brightness from beyond the sun — Then followed he the glory from afar. But not until a race had learned of him The murmurs of eternity that run Through human hearts, the blossom and the star. 11 SOCRATES Broad, squat, flat-nosed, thick-lipped and onion-eyed. Such the teacher's form, his satyr's face, As forth he stood, and swept the shams aside In Athens' market-place. Great souls go not as water and as wind ; Still the world that strangest figure sees. His, — bodied right and reason, sire of mind, God's motley, Socrates. 78 THE IMMORTALITY OF MIGHT The fortress proud, the haughty wall With frowning gate — they shake, they fall; Kings, kingdoms — as a dream they pass. They are as wind-waves on the grass. Passes the last remembrancer To tell us that the mighty were ; In death's one trench shall Shakespeare lie, The common night close Caesar's eye. Believe it not. Once might has birth. It dwells forever in the earth. Does glory flame, there Shakespeare is ; Caesar strives yet — that wreath is his. 79 THE SPHINX It is now forty years ago I stretched to her mine empty hand, Pilgrim in that waste land ; "Teach me," I prayed, "make me to know, Thou silent sitter in the sand ! " From out the gray waste, there, Naught but the old unfathomed stare. To-day I went, as long ago — My hair as gray as was the sand — A gift-rose in my hand. " Speak not," I said ; " I need not know. Does this aught understand ? " Shallowed the fathomless stare ; She smiled, the red thing was so fair. 80 THE HAND Lo, it locks The hill flower in the rocks, Skeins the willow. Manes the billow. Sets the cedar straight. Paints the she-bird's mate, Hangs the apple on its tree, Steers the cloud-ship on her sea. Fires the dewdrop and, afar. The haughty rondure of the star, Gives the loosed wind his track. Brings the summer back. Binds the morning's crown, And lets the darkness down : So doth the Hand, the Power, That giveth thee thine hour. 8i THE VALLEY OF SHADOW AT THE SIGN OF THE SPADE On and on, in sun and shade, Footing over flat and grade, King and beggar, foe and friend. Come, at last, to the journey's end ; Stop man and maid At the Sign of the Spade. Sage or zany, slave or blade, Drab or lady, the role is played ; Over grass and under sun Past one hostel trudges none : Stop man and maid At the Sign of the Spade. 85 TO DUSTY NOTHING WouLDST thou the kingliest head of old renown ? The desert cubs toy with his tumbled crown. Wouldst thou the proudest fane of Greece or Rome? Sand and the wild-beast foot are on its dome. The sum and top of grandeur and of grace, Mark them, — yon blots upon the great gray face. 86 TEARS Not in the time of pleasure Hope doth set her bow ; But in the sky of sorrow. Over the vale of woe. Through gloom and shadow look we On beyond the years : The soul would have no rainbow Had the eyes no tears. 87 TO HOPE Ah, Hope, no more ! From your sweet, false art Set free my heart ; For I know that the flake will follow On the airy way of the swallow. That the drift will lie where the lily blows. And the icicle hang from the stem of the rose : O Hope — no more ! Nay, Hope, once more ! With your olden smile Once more beguile ; Though I know that the flake must follow On the airy way of the swallow. That the drift must lie where the lily blows. And the icicle hang from the stem of the rose : O Hope — once more ! 88 I NEED NOT HEAR I NEED not hear the moan they make, The winds on hill and shore ; I need not hear the hearts that break For joys that are no more. Call not, O naked, wailing Fall, O man's unhappy race ! One drifting leaf, it tells me all ; *T is all in one pale face. 89 THE EAGLE I SAW a wild bird on a rock, By sun-fire tried and tempest-shock ; Rider and tamer of the wind, A king among his kingly kind. Dim as the dim and quiet night, He sat there, folded in his might ; Still as the rock, so still and gray. He sat the solemn hours away. " Hears he," I mused, " the melody, The dream-sound, in the mountain tree ; And does remembered glory thrill That proudest spirit of the hill ? " Round his shut wings and humbled head, A voice from out the silence said, — "The eagky when the day is done, Forgets he faced the flaming sun. 90 TO THE BITTER END He shed no tears, he made no moan ; He bore his burden; mute, endured the years. Eating his bread as it were not a stone : He murmured not nor faltered, shed no tears. He toiled with neither hope nor plan ; Ambition masked in tame humility That yokes for equal draught the ox with man. None heard him speak again of what might be. Not once from him a craven cry ; Patient as are the cattle of the stall. Dumb as the tumbled clods that on him lie. So patient, dumb, he toiled, so did he fall. 91 THE DRAWING OF THE LOT One comes with kind, capacious hold, But through his fingers slips the gold; He with the talons, his the hands That rake up riches as the sands. One fats as does the ox unbroke ; Never on his red neck the yoke. The pale, stooped thing, with heart and brain. On him the weight of toil and pain. One longs, — she with the full warm breast, But no babe's head does on it rest ; On some starved slant a fool thought fair Love's boon is thrust, and suckled there. 92 THE LOST SOUL A LONE soul came to Heaven's hard gate, Low at the warder's feet she fell ; Sobbing, she said she had not knocked so late But for the many roads to Hell. Stroking her bowed, unmothered head. Up spoke the good old warder gray : " This child, too fair, high up let her be led. Past them that never lost the way." 93 THE BODY AND THE SOUL I Pure spirit, pure and strangely beautiful. What body fled'st thou ? Where in all this dull, Unlovely world was there such loveliness That thou couldst wear it for thy fleshly dress ? Before this hour thou must have looked on me; As men look on old friends I look on thee. It cannot be. Far-wandering music blown From heaven thy voice is. In what garden grown Wert thou, too lovely blossom, in what vale ? Who wert thou ere the flushing cheek went pale ? 94 THE BODY AND THE SOUL "The quick winds change, and change the fields and sky ; Look on me, look ! mayst know me by and by. II What hate dispatched thee out of Hell To mock me ? Shapeless, smoky mass, Thou hideous mist, I curse thee : pass ! I^ime was when I was welcome to thy breast ; I knew it as the wild bird knows her nest. Thou liest ! never on that fell The eyes that met not instant blight. Pass ! pass ! blot on God's light ! Ay, through the portal whence this hour I stole ; Open thy breast to me, take back thy soul. 95 POOR LITTLE JANE What shall be done with little Jane, Little Jane who has lost her lover ? With the sun and rain of Lovers' Lane Green is his grassy cover. She has no joy of the summer sun, And fearful things she sees At the gate in the lane when day is done, And there 's wail in the faded trees. She cannot laugh, she cannot weep. And alas ! that look in her eye. Poor little Jane ! 'T is but the sheep, And she says the white dead go by. 96 LITTLE JUMP FOR JOY I HAD a playmate when a boy, His name was Little Jump for Joy; When I was seven he, too, was seven. He said that he was born in Heaven. His yellow hair was very curly. We were together late and early ; I thought, at least in summer weather. We two should always be together. But on a day long, long ago. He left me — how, I hardly know; Much as the sunlight leaves the day. He shook his locks, and slipt away. 97 THE PAST Hast heard those voices low that fare, Unpiloted, along the heights of air, — Far melodies, too faint for light, Alone on upper pathways of the night ? The past calls in so sweet a tone These strive and die, nor make it once their own. 98 MY CHILDREN Dear buds of flesh and blood, So dear, so dear to me, I dread the thoughts that dwell Upon the years to be. More kind the early blight Than are the ripening suns ; To blossom is to fall, My sweet, unfolding ones. 'Only the children's hearts Go down, unhurt, to rest ! " I hear the voice, and hold You closer to my breast. 99 AT A GRAVE I (In Memoriam S. P. C.) As out of the dark the stars, Broke forth the heavenly bars Of passion strong, — The wild bird's song, Borne, wave on wave, From a branch above a grave. Mute heart, you, listening, heard The music of the bird ; 'T was in your cry, — " A song had I, But oh, I know Of the dead asleep below ! " II Oft I call, he nothing hears ; Foolish is grief as death is wise. The white peace chides me where he lies, — " None would know again the years." 100 IN MEMORIAM J. V. C. THE SHADOW CAME The Shadow came ; All the gentle, grieving quiet Trembled with her name. Dark is her door ; Calls and calls the grieving quiet, Answered nevermore. II AT A GRAVE Beckoned the Comer Dim, And she must follow him To that far field whence summer never goes. But ever on the rose-tree dreams the rose. To earth she was so dear. All pure things linger near. As if she still were here ; lOI IN MEMORIAM J. V. C. The grasses, glad With motion once she had. Stir them and wave Upon her grave. Ill BY THE WESTERN SEA The circling sea-birds to the ledge have flown. The sun is sinking in the western sea ; 'Tis not the loneliness nor yet the moan Makes this far shore so full of pain for me. I could be still the while these waves beat on, I could have comfort of this wild unrest, But for a radiant spirit, faded, gone. Like the soft color lost, now, in the west. The solitary dusk, the troubled wave, The wind, the growing sorrow of the deep, These would not hurt my heart but for the grave Here, where they left her when she fell asleep. I stand beside it, and I feel her hands Reach to me. Oh, these lone, unknow- ing sands ! 102 IN MEMORIAM J. V. C. IV ASLEEP IN THE WEST They led her East, they led her West, She followed where they led ; The way, it ran toward rest. The one untroubled bed. To her pale cheek the color came. Whether on hill or wave, — The flower with brighter flame The nearer to the grave. They led her East, they led her West, She followed meek and still ; The way, it ran toward rest — She sleeps upon the hill. Sometimes I think that Nature knows. Her native western skies. The warm wind and the rose Remember where she lies. 103 THE WHITE BLOSSOM It was in a still place of graves. I asked the wind, whose faint dream-waves Followed the mounds along, " What mean- ing has This flowret gladding all the grass. This loved-one of the light, Rooted in death-dark and long night ? " And the wind said : "Two things men lay In death's unending night away, — Their joys and sorrows. Sorrows I let sleep, But the dear joys no grave may keep ; I lure them back. They know My breath, they lean the way I blow." 104 UNTIL THE EVENING No help in all the stranger-land, O fainting heart, O failing hand ? A morning and a noon. Evening cometh soon. The way is endless, friendless ? No ; God sitteth high to see below ; A morning and a noon. Evening cometh soon. Look yonder on the purpling West ; Erelong the glory and the rest. A morning and a noon. Evening cometh soon. 105 NO LONGER WITH THE YEARS No hue of early Spring, When first the fields and trees are fair, Is beauteous as the shimmering In Autumn's yellow hair. No bird may build her nest Where Summer puts her glory on. But silence comes, a gentler guest. When leaves and song are gone. No light in loved one's eye. No eloquence on lover's tongue. Dwells tenderly as thoughts that lie Dim memories among. No dream, 'neath sun or star. No gift of laughter or of tears. Is sweet as the sleep of them that are No longer with the years. 1 06 THE HEART OF NATURE SPRING AND SUMMER MORNING AND EVENING THE INFORMAL COURTIER Courtier, in unpretending dress Of all-excelling idleness. No liegeman struts that can outshine Me, in this good old garb of mine. Young whirlwinds always ask me where They turn round dances in the air ; And I am masker on the green When firefly lanterns light the scene. The squirrel, sharp in tooth and eye. Salutes me as I saunter by ; Yes, ere the robin starts her nest She asks which bough I think the best. Oft am I hid with bats at noon, Abroad with owls at rise of moon ; With wary hare and sleeky mole I am the same congenial soul. 109 THE INFORMAL COURTIER I take the breezes by the arm, And tramp at will my neighbor's farm ; Herself I serve, without a care, Her Highness of the Open Air. no AT THE HYLA'S CALL The things the sun and the south wind do When the green o* the year is peeping through, And Joy is abroad, and the dancing hours Know only the clocks of the leaves and flowers ! When the squirrel-cups are brimming with rain. When blackbirds are come and the needly grain ; When the ribbon-snake slips from his dismal house To the nest of the bird and the nest of the mouse ; In the thick of the meadow and greenwood smells, Of the minstrelsy by the willowed wells ; By the brook, and the bridge of lichened log, With the darting trout and the vaulting frog ; III AT THE HYLA'S CALL By the upland bunches the rabbit knows Ere the great sun comes, when the great sun goes; Along warm walls where ivies bind And braid the sunshine and weave the wind, — It 's to rouse and go forth at the hyla's call, It 's to learn the sweet secrets, one and all : It 's to follow him with the locks love-curled. To wander with Joy to the end of the world. 112 THE NEST IN THE VINE Weave, bird in the green, green leaves ! Wind in with every thread The shine of the earth and sky ; Twine heaven's blue and the rose's red, And the wind-sweet singing by. Weave, bird in the green, green leaves ! The lustre from east to west. The melody line by line. Braid it, shade it, into the nest. The home in the heart of the vine. Weave, bird in the green, green leaves ! All happy color and sound. By love's own cunning curled. Wind it, bind it, round and round ; Build in the bliss of the world. 113 THE BEECHES BRIGHTEN The beeches brighten for young May, And young grass shines along her way ; Joy bares to her his sunny head. Leaned over brook and blossom-bed; The smell of Spring fills all the air. And wooing birds make music there. There 's naught of sound or sight to grieve. From quiring morn to quiet eve ; Only the shadow thought will cast, — This loveliness, it cannot last. The merry field, the ringing bough, Will silent be as voiceful now ; Chill, warning winds will hither roam, The Summer's children hasten home ; That blue solicitude of sky Bent over beauty doomed to die. Ere long will, pitying, witness here, The yielded glory of the year. 114 THE OLD TREE Yon shape, so pitiful, once stood. The Saul of his proud brotherhood ; Tempest, at last, and length of days Have mastered ; lo, the king decays. Time was when gravely to his shade, At noon, the lordlier cattle strayed ; And from his top, at morn, rang clear The bravest song of all the year. He sighs, is silent, sighs again, — " One fate we have, O sons of men ! These empty hands upheld in air. It is your own last reach of prayer." 115 FANCY'S SONG Hear fancy's song; The warm day long. Like her melody No other sound may be ; Not the luscious croon Of sunny noon, Not the lullaby When the day winds die. And the blossoms rest On the meadow's breast. And the stopt clouds He White asleep In the deep Of the silent sky. Hear fancy's song; The warm night long, So sweet her melody. For her dear sake The roses wake, ii6 FANCY'S SONG And the pale waves lie and glisten, And the quiet sea-shells listen, Nor sing any more of the sea. 117 THE WISE PIPER When other birds sing not, Rifting the dreary rain. Then cheerly, sparrow, you Pipe your timely strain. A hasty, wayward song, Right faulty, I dare say ; But who will find it so On a rainy day ? The critics nod, not you. Minstrel of drizzly skies ; Sparrow, you know your hour. Would we were half as wise ! ii8 THE WOOD-THRUSH When lilies by the river fill with sun, And banks with clematis are overrun ; When winds are weighed with fern-sweet from the hill, And hawks wheel in the noontide hot and still ; When thistle-tops are silvered, every one, And fly-lamps flicker ere the day is done, — Nature bethinks her how to crown these things. At twilight she decides : the wood-thrush sings. 119 THE WEEDS Men scorn them, but the wiser day Looks never from the weeds away. They honor him as best they may, And so their humble summer goes. Sometimes I think the soft winds stay With them the longest, in their play, And all the sweet things to them say They but say over to the rose. 120 TO A HUMMING-BIRD Voyager on golden air, Type of all that 's fleet and fair, Incarnate gem, Live diadem ! Stay, forget lost Paradise, Star-bird fallen from happy skies. - Vanished ! Earth is not his home. Onward, onward must he roam. Swift passion-thought. In rapture wrought ; Issue of the soul's desire. Plumed with beauty and with fire. 121 SUMMER NOON The dust, unlifted, lies as first it lay When on his dewy path came up the day ; The spider-web stirs not ; on seas of air, The thistle-ship, becalmed, rocks idly there ; The fern-leaves curl, the wild rose sweetness spends Rich as at eve the honeysuckle lends ; The creeping cattle feed far up the hill, The blithest birds have hid, the wood is still ; On daisied dials, pointing flower to flower, The shadow-hands have reached the golden hour. 122 AUGUST Mute the ferny woodland ways, Hushed the merry meadow-lays ; Stillness all and heavy haze Of the charmed August days. In the hollow, on the steep, Dwells a silence long and deep ; Not the smallest whisper, now, Of the secrets of the bough ; In his glory hid, alone, Sits the hill god on his throne. 123 THE WINDS We move across the morning lake Soon as the dawns begin, The evening lamps of gold we break When the stars are looking in. We wake with morn, and forth we go. We follow after day ; Like thoughts we wander to and fro, Like dreams we pass away. We help the brightness where it weaves The hill his glittering crown ; We come among the valley leaves. They flutter up and down. We rouse at noon the sleepy reeds. And they make melody ; We fret the meads, and set the weeds A-swinging blissfully. 124 THE WINDS We linger where the roses are When warmth and light are gone ; We take their sweet, and bear it far To her whose cheek is wan. We bring her wilding melody, Beyond the singer's art ; Sweeter than in the summer tree It trembles at her heart. The living meet us, whither led, We greet them as we blow ; We bend the grasses on the bed Of them that never know. 125 THE WIND The yellow fox Has his bed in the rocks ; The brown bird, in the tree Her nest has she ; But the wind, come forth Of south and north. Of east and west. Where shall he rest? The snake, the eft. Slips into the cleft ; The marmot sleeps sound In the under-ground; But the wind of the hill Is wandering still ; And the wind of the sea. When sleepeth he ? The clouds of the air, They slumber there ; 126 THE WIND Flowers droop the head, And the leaves lie dead ; But the wind, the wind, What rest shall he find ? When shall he roam The wild road home ? 127 TO THE EVENING STAR A SOUND as of the falling leaves While yet the summer dies. When the tired wind no longer grieves, And only the silence sighs ; A grace as of the mist that clings In tops of faded trees. Or where the gray-beard thistle swings In pastures of the bees; A scent as of the wilding rose Fond Summer's heart must keep. In dreamland of the under-snows Sweetening all her sleep ; A fair face out of memory And love's long brooding made. Too fair for rude reality, Too real for a shade ; — 128 TO THE EVENING STAR Are these thy gift, lone Winter-star, Hung 'twixt the night and day ? They come with thee, and from afar; Chance up thy golden way. 129 MEMORY Soft follower of the early star, Once more I feel you drawing near. Come ! for my evening is not come Till you are here. You make it — as yourself is made — Of loveliest, sweet, untroubled things. Fled with love's day. I feel love's night Fall from your wings. 130 EVENING RAIN Twilight down the west Wanders once again ; With a gentler guest Singing in her train. Hearkens every breast, Every heart and brain : Peace, oh, peace is best ! Runs the sweet refrain. So the world is blest, Joy is not nor pain ; Love itself learns rest Of the summer rain. 131 EVENING The birds have hid, the winds are low, The brake is awake, the grass aglow : The bat is the rover. No bee on the clover. The day is over And evening come. The heavy beetle spreads her wings, The toad has the road, the cricket sings : The bat is the rover. No bee on the clover. The day is over And evening come. II Now is Light, sweet mother, down the west, With little Song upon her breast ; She took him up, all tired with play. And fondly bore him far away. 132 EVENING While he sleeps, one wanders in his stead, A fainter glory round her head ; She follows happy waters after. Leaving behind low, rippling laughter. Ill The bird is silent overhead. The beast has laid him down ; The neighbored marbles watch the dead. The steeple guards the town. The south winds feel their doubtful course Toward sweet in thickets found ; The leaves reveal the faltering force 'Twixt silentness and sound. 133 SUNSET IN THE REDWOODS The sky is lilac, the sky is rose ; Fainter and fainter the redwood glows ; The winds would be still ; The dove is calling, The dusk is falling. On the yellow hill. Lullaby, lullaby clucks the quail ; Faster and faster the colors fail ; The winds grow still. The dove, is he calling? 'T is the soft dusk falling On the purple hill Lost is the lilac, lost the rose, In the shadow the rabbit knows ; The winds are still ; The dove is dreaming. The love-star gleaming Over the darkened hill. 134 TWILIGHT Hid ways have winds that lightly shake The silver willows, half-awake, Mysterious paths the moonbeams take Across the shadowed mountain-lake ; The soul in deeper secret goes Behind the lilac and the rose In skies of evening, far away. Beyond the flight of night and day. 135 AUTUMN AND WINTER ANIMALIA FOR A DAY Hearken Summer's song All her glad path along : Hand and heart together ^ Come while yet you may ; In the sunny weather Walk the happy way ; Let none delay y let none delay ; Love is only for a day. Hearken Autumn's song All her sad path along : Tet a little wander Down the happy way ; In the shadoWy yonder y Waits the spectre gray ; None says him nayy none says him nay ; Life is only for a day. 139 TO THE FALL WIND That I might borrow your voice, Fall Wind, To utter the sorrow of human kind ; To speak for speechless tears, For the hopes and fears Of the weariful years ! That you might lend me your voice, Fall Wind, To tell of the sorrow of human kind ; Fall Wind, your voice to grieve For the hopes that deceive And the hearts that believe ! 140 THE LAST DANCE OF THE LEAVES There 's revel in the withered close ; The wind of Autumn wakes and blows. Now it laughs, and now it grieves ; Weird the measure that it weaves For the dances of the yellow leaves. The sad grass pale and paler grows, Gray Death, from vale to hill he goes ; Still the wind, it half deceives : Weird the measure that it weaves For the dances of the dying leaves. 141 SNOWFLAKES Falling all the night-time, Falling all the day, Silent into silence. From the far-away ; Stilly host unnumbered. All the night and day Falling, falling, falling From the far-away, — Never came like glory To the fields and trees. Never summer blossoms Thick and white as these. Falling all the night-time. Falling all the day. Follow, follow, follow, Fold it soft away ; 142 SNOWFLAKES Folding, folding, folding, Fold the world away. Souls of flowers drifting Down the winter day. H3 PROSPERO OF THE NORTH Young day has flung his saffron banner out, And the first beamy spear-tips prick the world. Straightway my wee ones will I set to work. The hemlocks listen, the sullen brook runs dark. Grim joy glows in the bones of the hoar oak ; How strong he is, and shapely ! — Hither, chicks ! First, you that know the chambers of the winds, See that they all are barred ; let not a breath Come forth of them. This done, lay hold, draw up The sagging cloud that hangs behind yon mount. And stretch his leaden length from east to west. — The mild, the social, maples lean this way, 144 PROSPERO OF THE NORTH Hearing my words, and the clean beeches clap Their scattered leaves ; attentive turns the birch. High-bred and delicate, and right happy- nod The water-loving alders. — Hear me, chicks ! Soon as the first flake flutters in the calm. Caught like the thistledown in spider's web, Get you abroad, and, as the white flowers come, Consign them to the use of beauty ; guide And stay them through the grave and de- cent day. Hark ! we must have unguessed devices wrought ; Far up and down the unbroken loveliness Must run so wondrous waves and dimply curves Eleaven shall reshape her clouds, and still despair To match your magic. Mischiefs, mark me well! Hood the prim steeple so the silly bell 145 PROSPERO OF THE NORTH Shall wag without a sound ; pad soft the rock, Stuff every hollow, cushion every knoll, Ay, drape all nakedness to the utmost stretch Of antic fancy, — bush and shrub and bough And stump and stub and pole ; on fence and wall Bring to the task most exquisite caprice ; So fair confusion let wild beauty work No man will know his own. Away ! Away ! 146 "NOW WINTER NIGHTS ENLARGE " The moon is up, the stars are out, The wind is in the naked tree ; And up and down and all about Pipes the winter minstrelsy. Weird shapes whisk here and there, Betwixt the boles and bushes brown ; They skim along the ledges bare, They dance the jaggy gulches down. The moon is up, the stars are out, Pipes on the winter minstrelsy ; They wave at us, the ghostly rout, Beck my merry mates and me. Aha, and had they heart's desire ; The phantom rabble — if they knew The fling and crackle of the fire, The sibilation of the brew ! 147 OLD FRIENDS When window-panes are smeared, And the hearth is spurting blue, When the trees are black and weird, And the hill owl calls "Who?" "Who?" It's to good fellows would get up For an old-time round of song and the cup. Blow, blow, wind, blow Across the snow ; Rattle casement, curtain wave ! A friend is no friend an he stays in his grave. When iron is the rut. And the wind wolves sniff and growl, Tug the spigot from the butt. And let the lean dogs howl. Fill beUied pitchers to the snout For friends to empty, turn about; Set here and there A comrade's chair ; Wet your throat, and set the stave ! A friend is no friend an he stays in his grave. 148 THE LITTLE WARM OWL Darkness, grow and blacker fold, Rattle, hail, and blast be bold. Old trees, blow together In the cold, roaring weather; Louder you howl The jollier he, . In his nest in the breast of the hollow tree, The warm Httle owl, the little warm owl. Play up, wild pipes i' the forest bare. Gallop, goblins, down the air. Ride, hug to the back Of the scudding rack ; Fiercer it scowl The jollier he. In his nest in the breast of the hollow tree, The warm little owl, the little warm owl. 149 THE WOLF OF THE EVENINGS Hark, hark ! The thin wolves bark ; They whimp and whine For the mild moonshine ; The*y snarl at the hill-star caught in the cloud, They snap at the flapping wings of the dark. Howl, howl ! The great gray owl, His eyeballs blaze Down the windy ways ; With the sweep of the rack on your leader crowd, Rally, wolves, by the eyes of the owl ! 150 COYOTE A DIM lithe shape moves over the mesa, Roves with the night wind up and down ; The light-foot ghost, the wild dog of the shadow, Howls on the level beyond the town. Cry, cry. Coyote ! No fellow has he, with leg or wing. No mate has that spectre, in fur or feather ; In the sage bush is whelped a fuzzy thing, And mischief itself helps lick him to- gether. Up, cub Coyote ! The winds come blowing over and over. The great white moon is looking down ; In the throat of the dog is devil's laughter. Is he baying the moon or baying the town ? Howl, howl, Coyote ! 151 COYOTE The shadow-dog on the windy mesa, He sits, and he laughs in his devil's way. Look to the roost and lock up the lambkin ; A deal may happen 'twixt now and the day. Ha, ha, Coyote ! 152 POET AND CROW POET For once, old ebon buccaneer, A bit of panegyric hear. A few yet walk the earth Who know your place and worth. We dare avow it was your croak That first the mother silence broke. And beardless Time stared round, Astonished at the sound. An elemental, cosmic hymn. Close as the bark is to the limb. None of the wild might trimmed away, Native as sunlight to the day, Your song, in valley and on hill, Holds fast the hale, unchanging art Of Nature, her unbroken will, The secret of her sturdy heart. That gride — indigenous, grim — That rasp on horror's rim. In one ear rings forever true ; It thrills one bosom through and through,- 153 POET AND CROW Nature's. To her you sing, To her, to her you cling ; Your whole demeanor is devotion, — All that grave and stately motion, That scorn of them that dare be bold Against the ancient iron mould. Courage from claw to beak. You brace us, worn and weak ; 'T is marrow for the bones when forth You sally 'gainst the braggart North, Clinch with him as mixed foe with foe The elements, long, long ago. When slow toward form the crude earth curled. And chaos woke, and was a world. But you have, too, your gracious ways ; Right well you love the buddy days, The rondeaus that the robins sing. The bluebird music, sweet with Spring. Then joy it is to see You on the dreamy tree. Armored in darkness, in your throat The potence of the olden note. Great faith's own minstrelsy : 154 POET AND CROW " Let none despair, nor once forget ; Lo, there is corn in Egypt yet ! " And when 'tis summer in the land, And all the rule is love's own hand. Then in yon speary field of mine Courtly you swagger, stride, and shine, Liege lord, by immemorial right, Throughout the kingdom of God's light. CROW I 'm a prince of the air, One scarcely made to scare At the like of man or his image; I 'm Crow, old Crow, stiff up for a scrim- mage : And it *s out in the morn. When the dew is on the corn. For to fill my maw — Caw, caw, caw ! You are you, I am Crow, A thing or two I know : I sniff the trigger and the barrel. Then off I flop, I flop and I carol, — 155 POET AND CROW And it 's out in the morn, When the dew is on the corn, For to fill my maw — Caw, caw, caw ! I am Crow, you are you, I know a thing or two ; A man may be of straw. But crow is tough stuff from beak to claw ; And it 's out in the morn, When the dew is on the corn. For to fill my maw — Caw, caw, caw ! I was born on the hill. And have always had my will ; I am grit and gristle and brain. My every feather is dyed in the grain : And it's out in the morn. When the dew is on the corn, For to fill my maw — Caw, caw, caw ! 156 THE LOON Was never thing, With leg or wing, That could my ditty croon ; By mine emerald head. By mine eye-ball red, There 's devil in the egg of the loon. To myself I mutter ; The pale leaves flutter, The lake lifts not a wave ; I laugh ! — a blast Like the trump at last, When the men-things jump from the grave. Hay ha ! Hoy ho ! The black winds know ; The sun is blown to a blot. The storm winds meet. They blacken and beat ; The shore and the sky are not. 1-57 THE LOON Hay ha ! Hoy ho ! The winds play so With the Lord of the Lake alone. The raving rout, They shriek and shout ; The demon's laugh is mine own. The wild winds rake, They pile the lake ; Hay ha ! His brain is chaff. The mad-cap loon, They hatch i' the moon — Hdy ha ! I laugh and I laugh. 158 TOAD I 'm just about the color of mud, I 've a bobby mouth and a knobby back ; I bundle away, I tumble and thud, I lack the knack of walking a crack. I sit and think at the chink of my hole — Nothing like flies for a plump, buff belly — I rather reckon I have n't any soul, Though I 'm not altogether pebbles and jelly. As soon as the roses I smell the rain, I wink one eye when two would n't do ; I pad my ribs, and I don't complain. I'm toad, but no toady — How about you ? 159 TO TREE-CRICKETS Constant mites that briskly whip One measure over and over, How like you are, a-harping there. The larger sort of lover. Scratch-scratch, scratch-scratch, all the night, You twang it, brave and cheery ; One jerky stave, the whole night long, — Deary — Deary — Deary. High the moon rides, high and clear. The filling dewdrops glisten ; Thrum, plucky lovers ! well I know Your little ladies listen. Stick to 't, wooers ! So will I, Nor ever slightest vary The one sweet word of all the world, — Mary — Mary — Mary. i6o QUATRAINS AND SONNETS MY SONG Mr song J you need be neither long nor loud. If only love and beauty's own you are ; It is the one breath curls the leaf and cloud, 'The one life lights the daisy and the star. PROSE FOR WOES Marry, sirs, here 's merry greeting ! Who hath woes, let him put *em in prose ; Song was born and bred a sweeting, On her lips a tune, at her throat a rose. 163 THE POET A PRIEST of Heaven, some gracious hour. Lowered to him chasuble and stole ; He sings a weed — it is a flower; He sings a star — it is a soul. II He knows her voice, he heeds her call. And Beauty holds him to her mother's- heart ; There lavishes — last gift of all — The secrecies of speech, eternal art. Ill The poet marvels, while he sings, At strangest bright eternal things. The accent is not all his own ; Betimes the god sings on alone. 164 MEMORY Would you Love's fairest daughter see, Look on her, yonder, — Memory, Leaning in thought-emmarbled grace. With dream-lit, half-averted face. II Stiller than where that city lies asleep. With fabled spires deep in the swinging sea. Stiller and dimmer than that windless deep The sad-flowered shadow-field of mem- ory. i6s LOST JOY Lost Joy, who now is at your side From morning until eventide ; Who has you softly by the hand. All up and down the summer land ? THE LOITERING JOYS Night strengthens star by star. And tint by tint the day ; The dearer blisses are The longest on the way. 1 66 HERE AND HEREAFTER A VOICE oft speaks, and saith, " Shall sorrow leave thee at the gate of death ? Heaven's stars illume earth's night ; Why not earth-shadows dim the Hills of Light?" BUT ONCE Two, from the Heights of Quiet, Come, one day, to men ; Two, Love and Death, come hither Once, and not again. 167 TO THE DREGS Love's lips or the betrayer's kiss. Drink, nor despair ; The fates mix neither bane nor bliss Too great to bear. FATE A SUNBEAM kissed a river-ripple, — " Aye Shall live the love 'twixt thee and me ! " In night's wide darkness passed the light away, The river mingled with the sea. i68 THE WIND VOICE " Step softly ; where your foot is was a flower. Perhaps upon June's dearest grave you tread." It follows me, haunts every autumn hour, The wind voice talking of the blossom dead. SLAIN War met him, and fell pestilence. Sore toil and want, all the dread foes of every day ; These he struck down, then went he hence. Sent by a soft cat-thing that clawed him in her play. 169 THE VICTOR Along all ways the path of triumph lies ; All places own the victor's art, — To do that greater thing than win the prize, Lose it, unhurt in hope, in heart. NOW Thine hour is now ; ay, though the Hand Have kingdoms yet in store, He that to-day is king will stand As if there were no more. 170 THE ANGEL STANDING BY Revere thy roof; life has no more To give than now is at the door. Where looks the clear, home-keeping eye, There is the angel standing by. WOULDST HEAR THE SINGING OF THE SPHERES WouLDST hear the singing of the spheres, Hark with closed ears ; Wouldst follow Beauty to her skies. Look with closed eyes. 171 THE OLD Must be God's warders hearken every sigh, Draw close and lovingly around the old ; The glories on the going summer lie, On the spent sun attend the hosts in gold. THUS RUN THE HOURS Thus run the hours : blithe calls at break of day, A sighing when the light has passed away ; The dawn, the noon, then gloom upon the gold. Music fallen mute, or moaning, youth grown old. 172 OUR TWO GIFTS Two gifts God giveth, and He saith, One shall be forfeit in the strife, The one no longer needed, — life ; No hand shall take the other, — death. TEARS The lips are pallid, parched with woes ? Weep 1 the fall of tears is not in vain ; In the grass is laughter after rain. The blush is back upon the rose. 173 TRUST Welcome the shadows ; where they blackest are Burns through the bright supernal hour ; From blindness of wide dark looks out the star, From all death's night the April flower. II For beauty and for gladness of the days Bring but the meed of trust ; The April grass looks up from barren ways, The daisy from the dust. Ill When of this flurry thou shalt have thy fill. The thing thou seekest, it will seek thee then : The heavens repeat themselves in waters still And in the faces of contented men. 174 WISDOM To wisdom grief is sweet as mirth, And toil is one with rest ; The death groan is the cry of birth, The grave the mother-breast. DEATH Fearest the shadow? Keep thy trust ; Still the star-worlds roll. Fearest death ? sayest, "Dust to dust ? " No ; say, " Soul to soul ! " 175 THE FIRST DAWN He that engenders had called forth the world ; The mist, ingathered from the vast of space. Together drawn, had fashioned a great face Of vale and mountain, tree, and river curled. Of all the leaves and flowers was none un- furled. No bird had song, no voice the giant race Of beasts ; for darkness held her ancient place. The day-god's bolt glowed in his hand, un- hurled. But eastward, now, dream-colors, faint and far. Foretold to those first lives the end of night. And from black silence all leapt up as one ; 176 THE FIRST DAWN The mother-dark, with neither moon nor star, Was thick with wild eyes looking for the light, And throats of thunder for the com- ing sun. ^n THE DEATH OF ADAM 'T WAS Adam at the gates of Paradise ; Sick with the world's first sickness, pros- trate, pale, Low lay he, in his pain. And they made wail That stood by him : " O father, dim your eyes And filmed ; they cannot see the dreadful skies. Across the heavens black cloud-wings reach and sail. And prowling shadow crouches in the vale. What burden, father, on the hurt earth lies.'' " "I hunger, wife and children, for the bough Whereof I ate. Go thou, swift-footed Seth, And pluck from that sweet tree." — With eyes mist-dim 178 THE DEATH OF ADAM He looked on it. " Nay, wife, nay, children, now Is here the one He spake of to me, — Death ; With hollow voice he bids me follow him." 179 THE PASSING OF THE QUEEN (January 22, 1901) Answer the cabin and the hunting-shed The voice of mourning in the royal halls ; The shadow crawls upon the crowned head, From out her palsied hand the sceptre falls. So. Wrap her in the banner from herwalls, And in her regal peace be comforted. Hark ! up and down the earth gray honor calls, And the long glories gather round her bed. Through all the years her people have been fed, Yea, the wild ox has fatted in her stalls ; To islands of the sea her lines have spread, Proud sons of song have sung her mad- rigals. Come, while the growing pageants past her sweep. Wrap round the banner-fold, and let her sleep. 180 MY BOOKS My books, you have made light the heavy time, Have made me whole with strong, restor- ing thought ; By you I have been heartened and been taught In noble prose, in high immortal rime. You are mine oaken staff when I would climb, Mine armor when the battle must be fought ; To you I owe the best that I have wrought. Life's jarring bells lost in the larger chime. In loneliness what faithful company ! In social hours, of comrades all the best, Champions of hope and cheer, of right and truth. Be closer yet along the way to be ; The farther that I journey toward the west The oftener tent me by the wells of youth. i8i THE VOICE OF THE MOUNTAIN Low at my feet is stretched the lordly vale ; Across my realm the high wild stars are led; My garment is the light, the darkness dread ; I wrap me round with rain and snow and hail. Round me and round the eagles nest and sail ; Between my knees the thunders make their bed ; I lap the storm-winds, and their young are bred. Their young that play, and chafe my rocky mail. Who cometh up to me, he shall have power. The prophet's power, the old law-giver's might ; Ay, he shall have the tablet in his hand. He shall not fail, but in the evil hour And good, uplifted, clothed upon with light, His neck unbowed, as I stand shall he stand. 182 GROWN OLD WITH NATURE If yonder lie another, better land, A fairer than this humble mother-shore, Hoping to meet the dear ones gone before, I fain would go. But may no angel hand Lead on so far along the shining sand. So wide within the everlasting door, All lost will be this good green world. No more Of Earth ! Let me not hear that dread command. Then must I mourn, unsoothed by harps of gold. Mourn for the boughs, the birds, which taught me song. Mourn for the nightfall on the forest fold ; Yea, must bemoan, amid the joyous throng, The early loves. The heart that has grown old With Nature cannot, happy, leave her long. 183 TWO FRIENDS I HONOR him who needs must chop the stone, Must pluck the root up, murder beast and bird, Then label with a very butcher's word The bleeding pieces. Though he build his throne On brittle stalks and hollow carcass-bone, Still by a princely purpose is he stirred ; And such his thirst for knowledge long deferred, Kind Nature counts him in among her own. But him I love the Muses make their care, Leading his feet wherever he may go. To spell the gentle magic of the air, Of olden boughs and darkest brooks that flow. He has my heart; for perfect things and fair He finds, and leaves them fairer than they grow. 184 I WOULD N'T A SPRIG of mint by the wayward brook, A nibble of birch in the wood, A summer day and love and a book, And I would n't be king if I could. THE SKILFUL LISTENER Who listens well hears Nature on her round, When least she thinks it; bird and bough and stream Not only, but her silences profound, Surprised by nicer cunning of his dream. 185 TWO VOICES The winds at play on a breezy day, Sweet, sweet to hear what they sing and say; But sweeter the murmur of winds that blow When only the heart and the high leaves know. MY FANCIES The winds are faint ; the leaves, not sure they blow, Fall slumbering as they flutter to and fro. So, drowsy fancies, out of dream you start, To fall asleep again upon my heart. i86 SPRING The pussy-willow and the hazel know, The bluebird and the robin, what rings true ; I trust to such, and let the whiners go. Bravo ! bluff March ; I swing my hat to you. II Bring, bluebird, from the blue above The song Love's heavenly own ; See ! hand in hand, come Spring and Love — Or is it Love alone ? 187 EARLY MORNING A WEBBY mead with diamonds set, Dim, drowsy boughs, dream-burdened yet, A mist-flock half-way up the steep. Curled there, rock-folded, still asleep. THE SOUTH WIND Herald of blissful summertide come I ; I wander by, Singing of sweetest things the June day knows, — Love and the rose. i88 THE HERMIT-THRUSH Holy, Holy ! — In the hush Hearken to the hermit-thrush ; All the air Is in prayer. TWILIGHT The glories falter on the mountain crown, The smooth blue heavens let their quiet down, The little wondering lights no longer leap, And, leaf on leaf, the cool trees droop in sleep. 189 HAUNTING MY DREAMS There be two things that haunt my dreams : the flower Swinging on rocky hilltops all alone. The minstrelsy of silence at the hour When the last bird has to her hiding flown. 190 THE PASSING OF AUTUMN Slow trembles from her envied crown A red leaf down ; And the smile dies Into the darkness of her eyes. II The hurt hours droop and hover, Passing the hallowed place ; The pale moon leans above her, Weeps down upon her face. Ill The swamp-tree sighs, and the thin sharp reed. The wire-grass whines, and the stiff brown weed. The lone hill-mullein stands dumb and tall. The low clouds hover, the long rains fall. 191 THE PASSING OF AUTUMN IV The brook, slow northward toward the snows, Bubbling its little trouble, goes ; Lorn branches beckon, strained in space; Death-pale the field's beseeching face. A wind, whence no man knows. Through the grating weeds it blows ; It comes, it sighs and goes. Once it rocked the summer rose. 192 THE TREES Men hope and labor and despair, Laughter they have and sorrow ; The trees their gods' composure wear To-morrow and to-morrow. THE VOICE OF THE WIND My breath is on the mountain pine, My murmur on the sea ; The burden haunts that heart of thine, Love and eternity. 193 THE VOICE OF THE GRASS I Ere roves the bee or cometh forth the flower. Ere on the tree the south wind bloweth power, The naked place I crown ; I edge the stream ; Into love's face I look, and feed her dream. II My lot with man is cast. I round him shine and wave, Nor fail him at the last : I lie upon his grave. 194 EARLIER AND LIGHTER VERSES THE WAY OF IT The wind is awake, pretty leaves, pretty leaves. Heed not what he says ; he deceives, he deceives : Over and over To the lowly clover He has lisped the same love (and forgotten it, too) He will soon be lisping and pledging to you. The boy is abroad, pretty maid, pretty maid, Beware his soft words ; I 'm afraid, I 'm afraid : He has said them before Times many a score. Ay, he died for a dozen ere his beard pricked through. And the very same death he will die for you. 197 THE WAY OF IT The way of the boy is the way of the wind, As light as the leaves is dainty maid-kind ; One to deceive, And one to believe — That is the way of it, year to year ; But I know you will learn it too late, my dear. 198 TO YOUNGSTERS Golden hair and eyes of blue, What won't they do, what won't they do ? The gaitered foot, the taper waist — Be not in haste, be not in haste ; Before your chin grows twenty spear. My word for 't, youngster, they '11 appear. Raven hair and eyes of night Undo the boys (it serves 'em right) ; The drooping curl, the downward glance, They are only waiting for the chance ; They have not failed this thousand year. Right in the nick, lad, they '11 appear. Shapely hands and arms of snow, There 's nothing like them here below ; The cheeks that blush, the lips that smile — A little while, a little while — Tease out the sprout, sir, never fear. Before you know it they '11 be here. 199 TO YOUNGSTERS Hands, and hair, and lips, and eyes, In these the tyro's danger lies ; A touch, a tress, a glance, a sigh. And then, my boy, good-by — good-by ! God help you, youngster ! keep good cheer ; Coax on your chin to twenty spear. 200 "SWEET-THING" JANE When somebody comes a-tripping down. The winds all at play with her hair and gown ; The very same winds that are just too lazy To lift a leaf or to swing a daisy, — Then hold your heart with might and main ; She is crossing the meadow, " Sweet-thing " Jane. She always chooses the cool of the day. The way down to Lovetown, that 's her way ; She knows very well (what is well worth knowing) There 's only one road — the road she is going ; And she knows she is sweet as a rose in the rain, And she knows — she will tell you, " Sweet- thing " Jane. 201 "SWEET-THING" JANE A light will burn in the blue of her eye, Like the star lit first in the evening sky ; And over her lips will bubble the laughter The brooks in the sun go running after ; You will see, you will hear, at the gate in the lane. While slowly it opens to " Sweet-thing " Jane. You will open it wide, then what will you do? Why, you will be off for Lovetown, too ; The cool of the day is your lovers' weather, And all go to Lovetown two together. You may hold your heart with might and main, She will have it at last, will " Sweet-thing " Jane. 202 WHAT I WOULD I WOULD have a poet's book, In a shady summer nook, Where I could around me look. As a lover may ; I would have a little hand In my own ; would hold it, and — Hold it, and — you understand. That would be my way. All a summer's day. I would read a fervent page. Then explain, a very sage, All about the poet's rage, As a lover may ; A modest charge were meet for this, Just the brief rubific bliss Of a not-quite-willing kiss. That would be my way. All a summer's day. 203 COME ALONG, DEARY Hill to vale, with measures gay. Singing the green upon the gray. Sweet and kind, sweet and kind. Singing and kissing goes the wind. Singing to me and singing to you ; Come along. Deary ! What others do Never mind, never mind ; Singing and kissing goes the wind. 204 MY CASTLE IN THE AIR Or in the East or in the West, Where shall I build my bird a nest ? Northward or southward, whither roam To build my little love a home ? Up yonder, in the clean, sweet air, I think that I could keep her, there. Too much an angel for the ground, For heaven somewhat too warm and round. 205 LITTLE LOVE FORGETTETH HIS UMBRELLA (Anacreon) Love came, one night, his wings all wet. And put his face against the pane. And shook his ringlets in the rain ; When soon I heard the sweetest noise. Made 'twixt the wind, his wings and voice; I heard it, and I hear it yet. What could I do but ope the door. And take him softly from the storm. And rub his rosy body warm, And hang to dry the slackened bow And silver arrows, dripping so. And make him happy as before ? I wist not what he was about : He took an arrow dry and clean. And said, " 'T will fly right well, I ween." Now, here it is, the very dart. The barbs well fastened in my heart. Only the feathers sticking out. 206 AUTO-DA-FE (To C. W. F.) Heigh-ho, a drowsy, drippy day Suits well your single gentlemen Whose locks begin to show the gray. The grizzly drizzle round my " den," 'T is sent on purpose, I dare say. For bachelor's auto-da-fe. I have the ribboned missives here. The hearth flames flicker low, but clear. The spell is on, — the savage spell To do the burning quickly, well ; ^ So, to it. Heavens ! how old am I ? It seems a hundred year since she That inked this paper said to me, " You will be older by and by, I was a beardless rover then. The Callow Knight of the Daring Pen, A-tilting in the lists of air For every damsel counted fair. 207 AUTO-DA-FE Constance, your knight is older, now ; And you ? The dusk will dull the bough Was brightest with the morning gold. As time's own hand let mine be bold, — Spring up, brave little tongues of fire ; Here I begin the precious pyre. These ? These from merry Margaret. I never loved her, never ; yet There was a something us between That keeps a spear of memory green, — A plucky, strong, unbrothered blade. Still smihng in its depth of shade. Well-turned the hand that down this page Drew line to line, each letter clear And firm from "Jolly John, my dear," Far as the awkward word " engage." " Engage," " engage " ! Did I propose ? Here 't is again, right at the close. Plump Margaret, if this be true. In those young days what did n't I do ? For shame ! — Up, up, good flames ! To you I toss this costly treasure, too. 208 AUTO-DA-FE There 's nothing like a rainy day When one would put old loves away. Ha, this trig bundle, what an air Of pride about it ! And the care To make a fellow bite the dust : " Down on your knee, you must, you must ! " And probably I did go down, (General prostration seized the town,) In fact, I know I did; but then. Somehow I found my feet again. A girl 's a girl, a boy 's a fool, And life, it proves a sorry school. — Proud queen, cloud-born, serene and high, To bow low down is not to die ; Long I survive all injury To aching heart or quaking knee. But mark ! a chance word, here and there. Says yet you could a little " care." Imperial Lois, 'tis too late. — These from Her Highness, gentle grate. And, now, to Helen. Taste of wine Is on my lips, the sting of spices ; 209 AUTO-DA-FE This dark-eyed marvel was divine, Even in mundanity's devices. She traced these pages sharp and fast As hailstones drive on the winter blast ; Tame passion Helen never knew ; A very hurricane she blew, Or sat in midst of awful calm. No other ever sang a psalm As she could sing it, on occasion ; And hers alone the eyes could play Such antics after the operation. Charmer half-wild in heart and mind, Angel with a dash of the tiger kind. Love's leopard, — Helen, off and on. We loved it madly, years agone. When you were married — Blaze, bright pyre ! I add these also, fire to fire. And still the rain, the gray, gray rain ! Old Rover's nose is at the pane. — Rover, you wag your tail in vain ; Not any roving on the day — The day we put old loves away. — 210 AUTO-DA-FE 'T is almost done ; one ofFering more. What says the clock ? Quarter of four. — Here 's for you, fellow ; foul or fair, Rover, 't is time we took the air. — These last, these little yellow scraps. Good fire, ere long, perhaps — perhaps. 21 I LOVE'S IN TOWN Color in the lilacs, And singing in the air ; Sweet is for the having, Plenty and to spare. Fuzzy are the bushes, The fields are all a-smile ; Phyllis has a feeling Life is well worth while ; Dian tests her dimples, Griselda fetches sighs ; Amaryllis loosens The lightnings in her eyes ; Roxy knots her ribbons, Belinda binds her zone ; — Pluck your heart up, Colin ! Philander, hold your own ! Tell it up and down. Love 's in town ! 212 SONG OF THE COUNTRY LASS A LASS am I, and I wait my day ; To some 't will be nay, but to one 't will be yea ; When the time comes, I shall know what to say. The winter goes, and the warm wind blows, And who shall keep the color from the red, red rose ? The blossom blue and the blossom pink. The bee may love both, but I know what I think : One he loves best, and there will he drink. There is bloom for the bee, there is dew for the grass. And the cup is not empty for a country lass. A lass am I, neither high nor low ; My heart is mine now, but I 'd have the world know. When the wind 's right, away it will go. 213 SONG OF THE COUNTRY LASS The brook sings below, and the bird sings above, And sweeter in between sings the lover to his love. 214 LOVE'S WORLD If the year be at her Spring I neither know nor care ; I have the bird-song of your speech, The warm rain of your hair. I question not if thrushes sing, If roses load the air ; Beyond my heart I need not reach When all is summer there. I go not by the blue above, By grasses green or sere ; Your silences, your sigh, your smile, They mark my time o' year. Its own brave wonder- world has love; So fair it is, I fear Sometimes 't will fade and go the while I look upon you, dear. 215 LIFE AND I As the shadows glide Over the wheat on the ripe hillside, So we journey, Life and I : O sweet youth-time, go not by ! Where the warm winds meet, To the wreathed pipe we time our feet ; There we linger. Life and I : O sweet youth-time, go not by ! Where the grasses play. Ever we wander away and away. Singing, laughing. Life and I : O sweet youth-time, go not by ! 216 AT CANDLE-LIGHTING I THINK it better to believe, And be even as the children, they The children of the early day, Who let the kindly dream deceive, And joyed in all the mind may weave Of dear conceit — better, I say. To let wild fancy have her way. To trust her than to know and grieve. A poet of old Colophon A notion held I think was right, No matter how or whence he gat it "The stars are snuffed out every dawn^ And newly lighted every night, I hope to catch the angels at it. 217 THE OPEN HEART Would you understand The language with no word. The speech of brook and bird. Of waves along the sand ? Would you make your own The meaning of the leaves, The song the silence weaves Where little winds made moan ? Would you know how sweet The falling of the rill, The calling on the hill, — All tunes the days repeat ? Neither alms nor art. No toil, can help you hear ; The secret of the ear Is in the open heart. 218 SUMMER RAIN Drops of summer rain Tapping at the pane, Welcome, little hearts of air, Beating, beating, beating there. Haply I know why Raindrops quit the sky : Every lily, every rose Well that gentle knocking knows. Rose and lily-cup Fill it, fill it up ; Only lovers from the sky On the breasts of blossoms lie. 219 SONG OF THE SUMMER HOURS We happy hearts for nothing are If not for ringing praises ; A song for Summer, near and far, From hilltop down to daisies ! We wind her hair with leaves and flowers, In places green and shady ; We are the happy summer hours. And Summer is our Lady. Come, sing with us ! the while we run Is Summer going, going. Some say she loves the roving sun ; There is no knowing, knowing. 220 THE COMING OF THE ROSES On the south winds a flurry ; The slow clouds hurry, The blue looks knowing. There is coming and going Of voices and wings and feet ; There is bringing and mixing of sweet, Of tenderest hues The deft hours use ; There is peering of happy faces From secret, shadowy places. The fluters of June Blow a blissful tune ; On the leaves but the gleam And the tremble of dream ; The gate of the sun-god closes. But, all alone, will Love toil on. Labor she will till the dark be gone ; And to-morrow there *11 be roses. 221 THE MUSIC OF NATURE The song of Nature is forever. Her joyous voices falter never; On hill and valley, near and far. Attendant her musicians are. From waterbrook or forest tree For aye comes gentle melody ; The very air is music blent, A universal instrument. When hushed are bird and brook and wind. Then silence will some measure find. Still sweeter; as a memory Is sweeter than the things that be. 222 FOR THE MAKING OF MUSIC Take of the maiden's, of the mother's sigh, Of childhood's dream, the hope and peace that bless Old age ; take of the lover's kiss, caress, Of light it kindles in the loved-one's eye ; Of June's long shadows. Autumn's evening sky. Of roses, of the south wind's tenderness. Of stars that burn through pine-tops, sprays that tress The willow-banks where brooks run stillest by; Take of the blissful lisping of young Spring, Take of the last faint, pleading grief of Fall, Of joy and woe that sleep and waking bring, — The costliest offerings of the great, the small; Now, f)our into the empty soul each thing, And let the Finger touch that moveth all. 223 OVER THE HILL Where wild flowers were and rippling grass, I chanced upon a country lass ; " Was never lovelier home," I said. She hung her head, blushed very red. Then raised her eyes, as maidens will, — " My heart, my heart lives over the hill." So fair she was, and so afraid, I could not quiz the little maid ; So over hilltop must I ride To see what could be on the other side. Her words went, too, as sweet words will, — " My heart, my heart lives over the hill." I crossed the hill, looked everywhere. And asked if a little red heart lived there. I was sure it did, so I rode along Till I heard the burden of a song ; Sang the lad o' the mill, as lads they will, — " My heart, my heart lives over the hill." 224 OVER THE HILL The little lass and the miller boy, The meed of the years, the grief, the joy. They told it all, that summer day ; However run the hours away. Bring fortune good or bring it ill, Heart and hope live over the hill. 225 AT THE HEARTHSIDE The children tucked away, His hearthside bright and still, The farmer's frowns are all that say The" day has brought him ill. The wife — her work is done — Moves cheerly here and there ; The comforts gather, one by one, Around the easy chair. Now, as a sunny brook Will woo the moody shore. She nears the gloomy chimney nook ; She hardly ventures more. If he but lift his face — The hearth-flames quicken, spring ; A yielding smile, his old embrace. And wife and kettle sing. 226 THE KITCHEN CLOCK Knitting is the maid o' the kitchen, Milly, Doing nothing, sits the chore-boy, Billy : " Seconds reckoned. Seconds reckoned. Every minute. Sixty in it ; Milly, Billy, Billy, Milly, Tick-tock, tock-tick, Nick-knock, knock-nick, Knockety-nick, nickety-knock," — Goes the kitchen clock. Closer to the fire is rosy Milly, Every whit as close and cozy, Billy : " Time is flying, Worth your trying ; Pretty Milly, Kiss her, Billy ! Milly, Billy, Billy, Milly, 227 THE KITCHEN CLOCK Tick-tock, tock-tick, Now — now, quick — quick ! Knockety-nick, nickety-knock," — Goes the kitchen clock. Something 's happened, very red is Milly, Billy boy is looking very silly : " Pretty misses, Plenty kisses ; Make it twenty, Take a plenty ; Billy, Milly, Milly, Billy, Right-left, left-right. That 's right, all right, Knockety-nick, nickety-knock," — Goes the kitchen clock. Weeks gone, still they are sitting, Milly, Billy; O, the winter winds are wondrous chilly ! "Winter weather. Close together ; Would n't tarry. Better marry ; 228 THE KITCHEN CLOCK Milly, Billy, Billy, Milly, Two, one — one, two. Don't wait, 't won't do, Knockety-nick, nickety-knock," — Goes the kitchen clock. Winters two have gone, and where is Milly? Spring has come again, and where is Billy ? " Give me credit. For I did it ; Treat me kindly, Mind you wind me ; Mister Billy, Mistress Milly, My — O, O — my, By-by, by-by, Nickety-knock, cradle rock," — Goes the kitchen clock. 229 THE TRAPPER'S SWEETHEART Wide awake, now, mind your eye, She will think on 't by and by ; She will see — perhaps — she may, 'Gin to-morrer, not to-day. " Be true to me, Furgit," says she. Jest as it may hit her fancy : That 's it zackly, that is Nancy. Take a squirrel up a tree. Jest so frisky, sir, is she : Now on this side, now on that. You must watch her like a cat. It 's " No," it 's " Yes, I rather guess," — Jest as it may tech her fancy : That 's it zackly, that is Nancy. You 've seen creeturs sudding lame. Git too near 'em, an' — they 're game ! 230 THE TRAPPER'S SWEETHEART Her right over : an inch too near. Up and off is Nancy dear. " Yes, Jake," says she, " Laws sake ! " says she. Jest accordin' to her fancy : That's it zackly, that is Nancy. Whew ! a gal 's a cunnin' thing ; You must take 'em on the wing. — I '11 be goin' ; fur, ye see, Nancy, she's expectin' me. I '11 hit or miss her. It 's quit or kiss her ; I 'm fur facts, while she 's fur fancy : That 's us zackly — me and Nancy. 231 A SAINT OF YORE (In Memoriam E. V.) Who brings it, now, her sweet accord To every precept of her Lord ? In quaintly fashioned bonnet With simplest ribbons on it. The older folk remember well How prompt she was at Sabbath bell. I see her yet ; her decent shawl, Her sober gown, silk mitts, and all. The deacons courtly meet her. The pastor turns to greet her. And maid and matron quit their place To find her fan or smooth her lace. I see her yet, with saintly smile. Pass slowly up the quiet aisle ; Her mien, her every motion. Is melody, devotion ; 232 A SAINT OF YORE Contagious grace spreads round her way, The prayer that words can never pray. Old Groveland Church ! the good folk fill It yet, up on the windy hill ; The grass is round it growing For nearest neighbors' mowing ; The weathered, battered sheds, behind. Still rattle, rattle, with the wind. All is the same ; but in yon ground Have thickened fast the slab and mound. Hark ! Shall I join the praises ? Rather, among the daisies. Let me, in peaceful thought, once more Be silent with the saint of yore. 233 GRAN'THER "Who's killed, to-day?" He asks, in his ancient way ; " And what have they stolen, this time, my lad? Bad business, my boy, right bad, right bad ! " The pipe — mark it slide To the other side — How he puffs it, and whews. Keeping up with the news ! A character ! When he opens, — "I tell ye, sir. There 's nothing like knowing cheese from chalk," Make ready for none of your modern talk ; Run the text as it may. He has something to say. Be you never so clever, Will squelch you forever. 234 GRAN'THER A grand old man. Built after the olden plan ! " Nonsense," he says ; " no trouble so tough But good backbone is doctor enough ; " He 's the heart of the farm. Still its strong right arm. How he smiles, how he smokes, 'Twixt the sermons and jokes ! 235 THE OLD FARM BARN The maples look down with bright eyes in their leaves, The clear drops drip from the swallow-built eaves, The pond is all dimples from shore to shore. And the miller smiles back from his place in the door. Slow mist from the mountain comes drifting down, The houses show fainter afar in the town. The gust sweeps up, dies away again. Then loud and fast the rap-tap of the rain. Old Nancy looks soberly out from her stall, The drowsy cows — do they chew at all ? The old farm barn is so dusk and still The spiders sleep on the window-sill. 236 THE GOOD OLD TIME A GRAY old orchard, scarred as by battle, A row of poplars gaunt and hoar. Dandelions, lilacs, and no-name roses, And the pewee over the door ; Stanch weeds, stiff grasses that challenge the winter. Wild cherries, red ripe on the wall, The song of the birds in the hush of the morning. At evening, the low cattle-call ; Savage paths a-bristle with burdock and thistle. Strong sun, and shadow as strong. Quick brooks that learn the song of the upland. And sing it the still night long ; The clover, the laughter, the chat in the shadow. The noon horn's lusty alarm, 237 THE GOOD OLD TIME The halting mower, with a stroke at the sweat-bee. Slowly dropping his brown bare arm ; — Come back to me ever, you long-faded glories. Bringing the bygone day ; Weave in my dream the seasons together In your own dear wayward way. The march is forward, the past is in ashes. On the wreck of the old is risen the new ; But the boy in my heart with a shout still follows Where the mowers swing out in the dew. 238 COLLIE KELSO (An Epitaph) The rhythmic beating of his tail, As though two hearts took turn about. One thump inside, and then one out, — Like all things earthly, it must fail. Pacific gesture, made to span The gap 'twixt animal and man. Death stopt it. One last waggle ; so Went Kelso where the good dogs go. 239 BROTHER BACHELOR BATRA- CHIAN " Wears yet a precious jewel in his head " Ho, hermit of the cellar wall, If you are coming out at all. Come now ; in thirty minutes more The rain will trickle down your door. Come, come ; hurrah, there, bachelor lump ! Betwixt a waddle and a jump. Judge-like ascend your own toad-stool. Worked out last night by wizard's tool. Ha, there you are, sedate as ever ; Prodigious plain, but passing clever. The years are twenty to a day Since you and I first sat this way ; How many more think you to squat, Contented, on our pleasant spot ? Be frank with me, you wily monk. Impervious, solemn, clumsy chunk ! What mischief are you plotting, now. Squaring about sou'west by sou' ? 240 BROTHER BATRACHIAN A weather-cock, with half the pains, Can nose precise a dozen rains. Be seated. Crony, it is cold Way down there in your stony hold. Those dungeon vapors — don't you think They make the spirit sort of sink, Partic'larly when stingy fate Too long withholds the cheery mate ? Let go in peace that fiftieth fly ; Another morsel, and you die ! With your last testament unsigned. How dare you gorge yourself stone-blind ? A risky situation that When toads are twenty-odd and fat. Feel nervous, fellow ? Pshaw ! lean back. And from your buff aldermanic sack Puff out the truth for once and all : Your mind 's made up to wed, this fall. Your hand ! one lone toad in the wall. Is a wart heap, no toad at all. There ! don't repeat that deaconish wink ; I know exactly what you think. Somebody (not far off) has had His little frolics, good and bad, 241 BROTHER BATRACHIAN His salad antics ; dare he vow He is well over 'em ? How's that — how? Warm evenings, just outside the walk, Those cooings by the cabbage stalk ! Droll chap, I grant you are old and fat, And may have nieces and all that ; But when with her you claim relation, Blood ties remotest in creation — Monstrous ! Old chap, it would n't go down Though backed by every toad in town. Sit still, no offence ; I can't help joking. The moment I see that stub-nose poking Into the light. You take a mate — Prepost'rous ! Certainly ; too late. At your age, better a hangman's halter Than the kind one is led with to the altar. Heaven spare the storm that we can't weather. We two old jovies, here together. Heigh-ho, the gentle, misty rain Is coming down the hill again. Did you perceive just what was meant 'Bout that last will and testament ? 242 BROTHER BATRACHIAN Grave Bachelor Batrachian, pray, What sense in sidling off that way ? Ridiculous old rogue ! Turn round ; You will soon enough be underground. No other eyes see well as mine How bright your inner riches shine ; Long may they live when you are dead Leave me the jewel in your head. 243 FRIEND OPHIDIAN (To John Muir, Discoverer of the " Bashful Rattlesnake ") Cylindrical thing Without leg, without wing, Glazed membrane stuffed with motion, Give ear to a heretic's notion. The fact that you crawl Is no reason at all For sitfast accusing And head-pan bruising ; A walk or a glide, A stride or a slide, A trip or a slip, A skate or a skip, — Any one of the eight, all the same to me, Sly, india-rubber iniquity ! I can't get rid of an early suspicion That we harp overhard on the point of position. I think, moreover, in your shabbiest deed. You can give no points to Adam's seed. 244 FRIEND OPHIDIAN We all have our lapses, among them as serious As those at your threshold, twister myste- rious. To travel way back to the start of the world, When in grasses of Eden your ancestor curled, Suppose in snakeskin a wretch did deceive Dear, lily-lovely, much-visible Eve ; In their own skins, to-day, that's just what men do. Then put the whole blame (and the bludg- eon) on you. Your forefathers, likely, were up to their tricks. But the fault, after all, was plainly Old Nick's ; And if only your paths are sinlessly slid. We can well let slide what your grand- daddy did. Poor animate string with the glittering eye. At peace on the sunny hillock lie. 245 FRIEND OPHIDIAN As for me and my house, we will never inveigh 'Gainst a ribbon that harmlessly garters our way, Nor with cudgel from cactus or Calvin hewed. Fall thwacking its limber longitude. Forgive us, friend Ophidian ; Bask on in peace meridian. 246 WHEN LOVE WAS LORD " 'T is the gods ; . . . the secret justice of the gods Is mingled with it." — Philaster PERSONS Menelaus, King of Sparta Helen, his ^een Paris, Prince of llion iETHRA, Serving- IV Oman to the ^ueen Courtiers of Sparta Courtiers of llion Scene : Sparta. Palace of Menelaus The King and ^een look from a Window Helen More hunters, come to boast and chase the boar With Mepelaus, Sparta's hunter-king. Menelaus And Spartan Helen's husband. Helen Fame does not trump my lord as Helen's husband ; Yon comers honor Sparta's hunter-king. Menelaus Came they because I wear upon my breast The pearl of ail the seas — Nay, why so pale? Helen The frown is gone ; with it my silly fright. 251 WHEN LOVE WAS LORD Menelaus The leader is no Greek. Greeks walk the ground, While he my prince, there, trips it on the wind. Helen (to herself) No Greek indeed ; and whose the flaming wings ? Is it the wand of Hermes? Do I sleep? Palace Hall Menelaus and Courtiers. Paris and Courtiers Paris King Menelaus, we are of Ilion all, Turned from our errand. Not with men it lies. But with the gods, to reach the wished-for shore ; Our baffled sails were set for Salamis. To harbor us is kindness done to Thrace ; 252 WHEN LOVE WAS LORD The where, Poseidon and Apollo helping, My grandsire builded, old Laomedon. Menelaus It is good Priam's son. There 's none but knows your white-haired father well. Knows Hector, too. Queen Hecabe's first- born ; And fortune now adds Paris. One and all. Most welcome ! So. Upon the morrow, friends. We face the boar together. Paris Gladly we bide the wheeling of a sun ; Longer we may not stay our urgent jour- ney. When Heracles laid low Laomedon, He took for spoil his child, Hesione, And gave her to his friend, Prince Telamon Of Salamis. Prince Telamon now dead. We, here, are sent to say to Salamis, " Priam would have Hesione at home." 253 WHEN LOVE WAS LORD Menelaus 'T is well. We feast to-night, friends, hunt to-morrow. Thereafter, at your pleasure, sail away, Commissioned of two thrones : " Ilion and Sparta Demand of Salamis King Priam's sister." Banquet Hall Menelaus leads in Helen Menelaus It were no banquet not set off with Helen. Our ways are freer, Prince, than they may be At Ilion. — Ere we fall to baser joys. My Queen, welcome with me old Priam's joy, Prince Paris ; fated, on the hour he goes. To take with him the captive heart of Sparta. Mthra (to herself) If my old eyes can see, it will be so ; If my old hands can help, it shall be so. 254 WHEN LOVE WAS LORD Paris Most gracious lady, light of Lacedaemon, In honest Sparta none may hide his thought. Mthra (to herself) Tush, Paris ! Aphrodite's thought, not yours. Paris To tell my thought I first must tell the tale The thought was born of. 'T is about a lad, A shepherd lad who watched my father's flocks, Feeding upon a slope of piny Ida. To him Olympus sent, one summer day. Three goddesses. Heaven had, 'twould seem, no god Dare say which was the fairest of the three. And it must ask the silly shepherd lad. The Fair Ones found him by Scamander's bank — Scamander, yellow as his own wild locks. Stained with the sunshine — where he sat, and played 255 WHEN LOVE WAS LORD As blithe a pipe as ever lifted foot Of fawn or forest nymph dancing to Pan. The first to speak was she that sits by Zeus, The Bride of Heaven : " Shepherd, we hear that you. Taught of the lovely things you live among. Wise Nature's gentle confidant, can tell Of beauteous things which is most beautiful. Take you this apple, boy, and give it her You find the fairest here." " Take it " — 't was now The virgin against whose ivory side the lance Of love is shattered — " take it, boy, and give It to the fairest. We stand upon the choice." The pastor lad stood gazing ; dazed, but bent To do his best ; when th^ other — she that comes. And it is summer there — speechless, drew nigh. He looked on her, nor knew he any more Until he saw the apple in her hand. Mthra (to herself) Who had done otherwise, let him step forth. 256 WHEN LOVE WAS LORD Helen It is a pretty tale; but, Prince, your thought? Paris Poor silly, silly lad ! Helen I think his elders had not hit it better. Paris He stopt not with the deed, but would stout hold. When ripe his years were grown, that he had looked Upon the fairest shape of Earth or Heaven. So late he learns the cheat. Menelaus Though Zeus himself were for it, not an hour I 'd let him loose among the listening girls. — Dread Prince, see that you bide within my walls. 257 WHEN LOVE WAS LORD jEthra (to herself) Would I were sure of fortune as of that ! Group of Courtiers in another part of the room First Spartan Come, now, have Ilion's meadows all the bees. And has your prince drained every hive ? First T'rojan That's Paris. Second Trojan But sweets are his that from his cradle mates With Cebren nymphs, and, counting up the days And nights, so tells the number of his loves. First Spartan Yearning as Helen's look was not her own That out of Heaven leaned, and straight was lost To it in shadows of the Latmian bower. 258 WHEN LOVE WAS LORD Another Spartan Nor he that drew her down knew sweeter dream Than folds, now, languid Paris. Second 'Trojan Paris to-night Is not the Paris of to-morrow. Then, The hunt up, you will see another man. Enough. The queen retires, led lingering off In loveliness which, after all, goes not. But, like to summer day, disputes the dark. A Spartan Now to our cups and pleasures meet for men. Then sleep, if time be left ; and when first snort The horses of the morning, for the hills ! 259 WHEN LOVE WAS LORD Paris alone on his couch, after the banquet. JEthra approaches him Mthra No nymph, love-led from lorn Scamander's bank, Seeks, now, the couch of Paris. Nymph nor maid I am ; only a woman, iEthra old. Paris The hour invites both youth and age to sleep. Mthra Youth sleep — sleep now ! Youth, youth was mine, too, once. Under a cliff, once, was I secret bathing, When from his palace, choking all the deep Off rocky Imbros, drave Poseidon forth His horses golden-hoofed and brazen-maned. Dashing toward wonted pleasure - haunts ashore. His fierce glance pierced to me ; he reached, and off 260 WHEN LOVE WAS LORD His chariot whirled us. Ay, Poseidon 't was. Marry, what had he for his amorous pains ? Something, I wot. Yet did he pluck a weed ; The water-god did pluck a weed, I say, Held up beside the flower in reach of Paris. Paris Woman, I am the guest of Menelaus. Mthra Has love become so poor ! When I was young love lorded all the world. There was no king but love, no queen but beauty, In days when virgins closed with kings and gods, And babes came of it worth the weight and pain. Paris Woman, I am his guest. {Aphrodite appears and vanishes) It was the look, the very look she had, Smiling, on piny Ida. 261 WHEN LOVE WAS LORD Mthra How came he by her ? The prize that felled all Greece At Sparta's feet, how was it won, at last ? How came the wooers up who, side by side With Menelaus, chafed the very walls That shut us in, to-night, shouldering to- w'ard Helen ? You picture gentle gardeners, none so rude Would pluck, ere it should flower, love's loveliest bud. I tell you, I who faced them, man by man. They were so many bulls. Which locked their horns together, pawed the ground As they would plow away Eurotas' bank, Bellow strong Sparta down, till one of all Should lure the heavenly heifer from her hills. I I thaws the winter in my veins to think on 't ; And your young blood, young summer blood, instead Of throbbing hot to valor's fiery top. Does clot and scum in the dull ooze of sleep. 262 WHEN LOVE WAS LORD Paris (mutters, his mind returning to the vision) Hot as my thought plunges no bolt of Jove, Driven, hissing, down the hollow of the night. JEthra They were not bulls ? Well, make them hunter-kings. And what did they, the gallant hunter- kings ? They ran her, like a wild thing, to the hole. He won her, has her yet — and has her not. Paris (rousing) Her heart shall answer that : she loves the king. ^thra With but a glance young Paris can see more Than iEthra with her years, and all her days And nights of mother's ward. Paris She loves the king. 263 WHEN LOVE WAS LORD Mthra Ay, since who has her heart, the same is king. Paris She loves her lord. Mthra Ay, since who has her love Is so her lord. — Didst ever know a nurse So hurried she came off without her story ? You and your train had just come in the hall, And Menelaus gone to greet you, when. As wont, I went to bind the darling's hair. Upon her couch I found her. And asleep ? Asleep she was, that soon ; yet would she smile, Ay, speak, at times. Certes it was a sleep ; For when she woke she yet half-stayed in it, With murmurs as of bird-tones far away, Afloat upon the gloaming. So I found Her when you had come in. Well, while I robed The child, to-night, she plied me, — "iEthra, how 264 WHEN LOVE WAS LORD May mortals tell when truly 't is a god ; Whether it be a dream, or they in truth Look on a very god ? " I answered her, It was a thing to learn of one's own self. Not to be taught. " I think, I think," she said — Remember she was not yet well awake — " I think the prince is — followed by a god- dess I " Paris Go ! Rather dreams that rack the souls in Hell. Send them ; but speak no further. Mthra (to herself) 'T is enough. \_Exit Mthra Paris O terrible goddess ! Thou hast kept thy word. 265 WHEN LOVE WAS LORD Helen at her loom, weaving and singing Helen Softly, shepherd, watch your flock. They must let the baby rock, — By-a-by, by-a-by ; Keep the dreams back, every one, Till the journey is begun. By-a-baby, by-a-by. Not till baby floats away. Pretty shepherd, let them stray, — By-a-baby, by-a-by ; Then around him let them play ; Hark you, shepherd, what I say. By-a-baby, by-a-by. Careless shepherd, keep them back, One is coming, white and black, — By-a-baby, by-a-by ; Never, never let him go Who has spot upon his snow ; By-a-baby, by-a-by. 266 WHEN LOVE WAS LORD Softly, shepherd, soft, I say. Not till baby floats away, — By-a-baby, by-a-by. Ah, the dreamkins, well they know ! Loose them, shepherd, let them go. All alone are you and 1. (Enter Menelaus^ returned from the hunt) My lord safe home again! (She throws a cloth over the loom) Menelaus Home, Dearest, home. (He steps toward the loom) Helen (holding him back) Not yet ; the charm 's at work. Menelaus Ay. Tell me, then, What song you sang. Helen A magic air it was, A sleep-song .^Ethra taught me long ago, 267 WHEN LOVE WAS LORD A lullaby the mother sings at Athens ; I sing it, and I am a child again. But 't is an ugly gash upon your arm ! I hope you pricked the monster with such pain He set the hills a-howl. Menelaus The tusk that dealt me this was grown in Thrace, — Paris' taper hand. Helen The prince ! I 'd risk my naked arm 'gainst his. Menelaus Nay, boast it not! the courage is too com- mon. Helen Dreamy, unbearded Paris ! Menelaus Ay, Troy's Apollo, with the woman's wrist And ringlets. Never more misleading man 268 WHEN LOVE WAS LORD Did ramp Taygetus' lairs. To see him lilt Along the hills, swinging this way and that As though a zephyr stirred him, then the stand ! The boar stood but a wink at bay. He charged. Mine, surely mine ! What happened? In the nick A spear came crying from behind, grazed here. Along its victor way, and Troy's the glory. Beware of beardless princes ! Helen Let him weigh anchor ; Sparta is not safe. Menelaus To-morrow I set out, but Paris stays. Helen I hoped you would deny Idomeneus, And let the restless Cretans chase alone. One day the king will hunt one day too many. 269 WHEN LOVE WAS LORD (Enter Mthra) Menelaus ' Tis one of iEthra's croakings. See, she comes. One has his friends, and has one friend of all; I never can refuse Idomeneus. Host with full hand and free our Thracian friends. Mthra (to herself) An she fail there, Olympus is untopt And all the lofty gods are jostled down. Helen at the loom, Mthra by her side Mthra Manless once more. Hey day ! it 's hunt again. And Sparta wantons in her widow's weeds. What said his Hunter Highness to the weaving ? 270 WHEN LOVE WAS LORD Helen 'T is but begun ; I could not show it so. The posture is a god's ; and that above His head may grow into a goddess' wing. A jump, and lo, your skill is at the pitch ; A wondrous sudden mount. But one power, lass, Can push so fast. Helen It may not be the prince. jEthra A hunter-king with plumy helmet on ! Helen A little kindness for the kindly king. 'T is true he holds you here ; but why you know. The gain is mine, not his. 271 WHEN LOVE WAS LORD Mthra 1 will repay him ; crown shall answer crown. Remember I too had, one time, a kingdom. But ^thra — let her pass. It 's Helen now ; The gods (and I) are busy now with Helen. How came she here ? Is she the king's or love's ? Let these walls speak, what would the an- swer be ? In at that window swept the panting swan 'To Leda s lap. Zeus had his hour of love, That love might be again ; and Helen was. Is she the king's or love's ? Love's ; and he comes ! (Enter Paris) Paris Fluttering 'twixt basket, harpstrings and the web. Fancy, and dare she build in rigorous Sparta? Helen (hurriedly covering the loom) Perchance ; but he whose arm had might against 272 WHEN LOVE WAS LORD My lord's would fright the younglings from the nest. Mthra (to herself) That will he, and thence lure the mother-bird. [Exit Mthra Paris Who is the woman with Queen Helen so much, This moment gone ? Helen Born to a prophet-king, i^thra, a slave at Sparta, was a queen At home. The chance of battle lodged her here, And here she bides. Myself would set her free ; But since the king's will runs the other way. She stays to serve me. Paris Can you wholly trust her ? 273 WHEN LOVE WAS LORD Helen If one may trust the love that serves too well. Paris Now first I learn that love may love too well. Queen Helen, fate's hour has struck, and 1 must speak. As gods and all men know, none sees your face And loves you not. I, Paris, made for love, The last of men could look into this heaven. Look once, and be thereafter what I was. {^Aphrodite appears and vanishes) Helen (to Aphrodite) Nay, goddess ; I have yielded oft, not know- ing. Nay ; I am stronger now. Paris 'T is not the time Or place for more, but one thing must I know : 274 WHEN LOVE WAS LORD Part we to meet again, or meet no more ? To-night my canvas fills for Salamis. Helen (to herself) I hear low music, sweeter than the brook, Sweeter than evening in the summer leaves. To Salamis — What was it that he said ? (to Paris) The king's words were, " I go, but Paris stays." Paris My men are in the boats. Helen The nights are many, many ; why to-night ? Paris My men are in the boats ; and I must know If now they drag me hence, drooped as the pine That, blasted, hangs upon the windy cliff. Nor lifts his pithless arms ; or if I go In my love's might, soon to return, and speak, — 275 WHEN LOVE WAS LORD Name, here, the terms of love, And make it good at point of Trojan swords. (Enter Mthrd) Helen You said to-night, and something after that. Mthra (to herself) Out on the goddess ! she has flown again Before my darling, blinding her sweet eyes. (She hurries past the loom, pulling off the curtain) Poor little Queen ! Helen I am over it, good ^thra. (Exit jEthra^ while Helen rouses to find Paris gazing at the figure in the loom) I meant, believe me, none should ever know. Paris Down, down, my heart ! be ironed, dun- geoned deep, 276 WHEN LOVE WAS LORD Lest you should, breaking through my breast, leap forth To hers, and, summing that wild liberty, Dash to it, and both, in love 's unbroken shock. Be struck to nothing. If love's word you speak. Let her not hear your thunder in my veins ; But softly speak as if the shadow spoke She here has wrought, the lover in the loom. Helen T pray you, woo me not, but teach me, Paris ! Tell, tell me what I do, and why I do it ! A child am I ; as much a child as on The day they seized me, braided up my hair, My long bright hair, the plaything of the winds Which loved to chase me on the sunny hills,— Bound me, and, there among the valley flowers. On thickest bed of all the sweet wild lives, 277 WHEN LOVE WAS LORD Would spill my blood into their piteous faces, And so lift off the plague upon our land ; As much a child as when mad Theseus haled Me from the Temple, castanet in hand, A-dancing with the children — dragged me thence To weep, a captive, in his Attica, i^thra can tell you all. A child am I ; alas ! have ever been A child, a cast leaf on the uncaring wind. Paris Queen Helen — soon must I speak the dearer name — Against the sovereign will clutched on us, now. We both are children. Nothing may I teach. Helen Teach me, my Master, Lover-Lord, my King. 278 WHEN LOVE WAS LORD Paris I may not teach ; but what love told may tell Again : not in my own sole might I come. Helen The Queen of Love came with you when you came. Her now I feel, her breath upon my face. Paris Ay, she that promised me. — Whisper me. Mother; give me fitting words ! — The tale I strove to tell you when we met — My words killed by your beauty, slaying speech And soul at once — wanted the happy end. The wondrous promise of the Queen of Love. You know it, now. Oh, sweeter than her breath. Flower-burdened, were her words ! " Dearer to me 279 WHEN LOVE WAS LORD She is than dearest child to mortal mother. She waits ; her loveliness, her love is yours." Helen (to Aphrodite) Forgive one all unworthy of thy care ; Goddess, forgive ! Thou knowest what has been. Paris Turn to the past, my Love, my peerless Love ; Bring back the time gone by, the while I set Against that dark this dawn and the day to be. Helen The past is far away, now ; and so near But yesterday ! Time and the world, all changed. And I ? The driven leaf is a moment lodged ; Not still, but touched with rest, trembling toward quiet. Paris You, Oreades, who hi^sh the troubled hills. And lay the unbroken charm on Dian's groves ; 280 WHEN LOVE WAS LORD You, Nereides, who gleam in the green sea. And watch and count the stars from Thetis' towers ; You whose pure hands unlatch the skyey windows, And loose the sun and rain, and wake the world From her white sleep, calling the blossoms up, — Come hither, sweetest Hours and sweetest Airs, And serve her, sweeter, fairer than you all. Helen Say on, my Lover-Lord, nor let me wake. Upon a blissful stop, a venomed voice Crawled in ; but gashed itself with its own fangs. And writhing, slowly died. Paris Wake not ; sleep on. This kiss, though you slept sound 281 WHEN LOVE WAS LORD As any sleep in graves, this must you feel; Must feel, and know it mine — Helen iEthra ! Paris ! Oh ! Oh! Where have I been, And am come back to this ! Paris Swift horror blenches yet this whitest brow! Helen A file of ghosts — 'T is passing, gliding by ! Dim shapes of men yet dwelling in bright Hellas — I know them ; once before they came, no phantoms, Oath-bound, each one, to take me home, his bride. Paris There 's danger ? At a sign from me my men Will quit the boats, dash hither from the strand. And straightway will we tame the haughty ghosts. 282 WHEN LOVE WAS LORD Helen Spotty their corslets, their helmets all ablaze ! Paris Dye yet their reddest blood with red of Hell, And I will wade it. Helen Late I wore that thing, The girdle in his great unkingdomed hand. Paris (clasping Helen) Heaven's hand or Hell's, this will I snatch from it ; So trophied, point the proud ship-beaks to- ward Ilion. (Enter Mthra) Mthra Hush, silly children ! You have slept and waked, A way all children have ; it is but nature. I am a mother, children, Theseus' mother ; 283 WHEN LOVE WAS LORD Two golden heads make not this old white head. Hush, pretty babes ! my hand will lead you home. Helen (A sudden light envelops her head) My peace returns. No more I fear the ghosts ; But you, fierce, terrible Paris, make me tremble. Hear me ; let not the dear peace go again. Hear, Paris, hear ; love has no further toil. If I be not most honorably won. Then love 's a liar, and there is no truth ; But if true love speak truth, know I am won Most fairly. And if my wish have any weight, And you would sometime take me, take me now. Mad boy, begone ! Stay not to face the king. 284 WHEN LOVE WAS LORD Paris This head, this golden head a mark for scorn ! Gods, gods, the while I speak how bright it grows ! Helen If scorn do point at me, 't will point because Of what has been before this honest hour. Go I or stay, 1 am not his, but yours ; The grim ghosts know I never was the king's. The shame, the scorn, is hers who falsely stays, Not hers who goes, bold to be false no longer. Mthra No other logic, Paris, straight as love's. My own boy Theseus fell upon her, once. And plucked her from the Temple. That was robbery ; The high gods bred and held her for another. Love's day is come ; and if you take her not, 285 WHEN LOVE WAS LORD This night, from damned Sparta, I say now, To your pale face, I will myself set out With her, alone, and go and stand with her Before old Priam ; nor tell him half the story Ere he shall shake you off, ay, brand his darling The very basest of his Thracian slaves. Night. Paris and Helen are engaged in a finger- game, which Helen invented to play with Paris, ^thra watches them, herself unob- served. Helen Could I but learn how dull you are at learn- ing, I should not try to teach you. You have lost A twenty kisses in as many minutes. Paris Is this the finger ? 286 WHEN LOVE WAS LORD Helen That 's the very one You lost on last. Paris Then will I play it — so. Helen You kissed before you played. Paris Well, now I have played. Helen And kissed, too, out of turn. Paris This takes it back. Helen You cannot take it back. Paris No ? Then here 't is. 287 WHEN LOVE WAS LORD Helen I say again, it is a finger-game. Not played with lips — Was that the sentry's signal ? Paris I will look, for one more kiss. Helen I will look myself. [Helen leaves the room, Paris following Paris 'Tis a kind service; I will kiss you for it. j^thra (following at a distance) Where now 's the king, and where is Salamis, Where aught my pretty ones so hung on once .f* All clean forgot ; the goddess has her way. But' it is worth my woes, worth all my bonds. To look on that ! Antic as nimblest fawns, WHEN LOVE WAS LORD They frisk it to the chariot. — Sweetest joys Of Aphrodite, she will tend you well. Soon as you mount, the waiting mist will fold. And shut her darlings from the peeping Spartans. — Feast, ^Ethra, your old eyes ; 't is a brave charm ! No dog may howl, no night thing stir abroad ; The stallions, wont to neigh and prance as though They rolled their wild eyes on Aurora's mares, Now barely move their shining sides for breath. And every hoof sucks to the stubborn ground. The king's fool-slaves have I drugged well with wine ; They will not wake till we be far at sea. Boy Paris bade me go, and have my free- dom ; I will not take it till I see my bird 289 WHEN LOVE WAS LORD In her white cage, all safe in strong-walled Ilion. Dark are the ways of men ; most brief are joys. And of brief joys is love, alas ! the briefest. Love's hour is brief, but O that hour, that hour ! My dears, who dream so deep, must wake again ; Tempest shall drive, the shock of vengeful war Shake down dream-builded bliss. So let it be. When next a-hunting goes the hunter-king, The din shall run the circuit of the seas. Heaven wills it ; let it be. Farewell, fare- well ! Farewell to Lacedasmon ! — Remember, gods. That 1, old /Ethra, stood with ye in this. 290 INDEX TO THE FIRST LINES INDEX TO THE FIRST LINES A DIM lithe shape moves over the mesa, 151. A flame — an instant, secret, mys- tic thing, 28. A gray old orchard, scarred as by battle, 237. A lass am I, and I wait my day, 213. A lone soul came to Heaven's hard gate, 93. A priest of Heaven, some gracious hour, 164. A sound as of the falling leaves, 128. A sprig of mint by the wayward brook, 185. A sunbeam kissed a river-ripple, — "Aye, 168. A voice oft speaks, and saith, 167. A webby mead with diamonds set, 188. A wind, whence no man knows, 192. Ah, Hope, no more, 88. Along all ways the path of triumph lies, 170. Answer the cabin and the hunting- shed, 180. As out of the dark the stars, 100. As the shadows glide, 216. At last, somewhere, some happy day, 5. Broad, squat, flat-nosed, thick- lipped and onion-eyed, 78. Came a little lonely thought, 37. Color in the lilacs, 212. Constant mites that briskly whip, 160. Courtier, in unpretending dress, 109. Cylindrical thing, 244. Darkness, grow and blacker fold, 149. Daylong a craven cry goes up, 48. Dear buds of flesh and blood, 99. Drops of summer rain, 219. Ere roves the bee or cometh forth the flower, 194. Falling all the night-time, 142. Fearest the shadow ? Keep thy trust, 175. Few listened to the lonely singer's lay, 42. First of the deedful, giant few, 62. For beauty and for gladness of the days, 174. For once, old ebon buccaneer, 153. Freedom! have we won it yet, 70 From the withered, bitter ground, 20. Beckoned the Comer Dim, loi. Bring, bluebird, from the blue above, 187. Golden hair and eyes of blue, 199. Hark, hark! 150. INDEX TO THE FIRST LINES Hast heard those voices low that fare, 98. Hast seen the morn, the first light in his eyes, 23. Hast thou been down into the deep of thought, 45. He knows her voice, he heeds her call, 164. He shed no tears, he made no moan, 91. He that engenders had called forth the world, 176. Hear fancy's song, 116. Hearken Summer's song, 139. Heigh-ho, a drowsy, drippy day, 207. Herald of blissful summertide come I, 188. Hid ways have winds that lightly shake, 135. Hill to vale, with measures gay, 204. His people called, and forth he came, 64. Ho, hermit of the cellar wall, 240. Holy, Holy ! — In the hush, 189. How many happy summers yet, 38. I had a playmate when a boy, 97. I honor him who needs must chop the stone, 184. I keep thy memory as the hilltops hold, 27. I 'm just about the color of mud, 159. I need not hear the moan they make, 89. I read once more this care-worn, patient face, 76. I saw a wild bird on a rock, 90. I sing home songs, tuning the strings, 16. I strive to keep me in the sun, 10. I think it better to believe, 217. I thought it spoke to me, 56. I trust in what the love-mad mavis sings, 3. I would have a poet's book, 203. I would rather be, 15. If reign you will in Havilah, 71. If the year be at her Spring, 215. If yonder lie another, better land, In the poet's world, shamed is his art, 46. It is now forty years ago, 80. It was in a still place of graves, 104. Knitting is the maid o' the kitchen, Milly, 227. Liquid as lies the wave the hilltop lies, 33. Lo, it locks, 81. Lost Joy, who now is at your side, 166. Love came, one night, his wings all wet, 206. Love, I would have thee as the snow is, white, 26. Love's lips or the betrayer's kiss, 168. Low at my feet is stretched the lordly vale, 182. Marry, sirs, here's merry greeting, 163. Men hope and labor and despair, 193. Men scorn them, but the wiser day, 120. Must be God's warders hearken every sigh, 172. 294 INDEX TO THE FIRST LINES Mute the ferny woodland ways, 123. My books, you have made Hght the heavy time, 181. My breath is on the mountain pine, 193. My heart, you happy wandered, My lot with man is cast, 194. My song, you need be neither long nor loud, 163. Nature reads not our labels, "great" and "small," 66. Night strengthens star by star, 166. No help in all the stranger-land, 105. No hue of early Spring, 106. Not a thing that lives and moves, 19. Not in the time of pleasure, 87. Now is Light, sweet mother, down the west, 132. Oft I call, he nothing hears, 100. Old Israel's readers of the stars, 47- On and on, in sun and shade, 85. On Nature's round, 21. On the south winds a flurry, 221. One brave look, holding hers, 41. One comes with kind, capacious hold, 92. One whitest lily, reddest rose, 31. Or in the East or in the West, 205. Out on a world that has run to weed, 50. Plato come back to turn a Yankee phrase, 77. Pure spirit, pure and strangely beautiful, 94. 2 Revere thy roof; life has no more, 171. Shalt thou be beauty's dream, her sweetest thought, 32. She lives, she lives up in the hills, 34- Slow trembles from her envied crown, 191. Soft follower of the early star, 130. "Step softly; where your foot is was a flower, 169. Stiller than where that city lies asleep, 165. Take of the maiden's, of the mo- ther's sigh, 223. Thanks to you, sun and moon and star, 6. That I might borrow your voice. Fall Wind, 140. The beeches brighten for young May, 114. The bird is silent overhead, 133. The birds have hid, the winds are low, 132. The brook, slow northward to- ward the snows, 192. The children tucked away, 226. The circling sea-birds to the ledge have flown, 102. The dust, unlifted, lies as first it lay, 122. The fortress proud, the haughty wall, 79. The glories falter on the mountain crown, 189. The hurt hours droop and hover, 191. The Isles of Quiet lie beyond the years, 4. The lips are pallid, parched with woes, 173. 95 INDEX TO THE FIRST LINES The maples look down with bright eyes in their leaves, 236. The moon is up, the stars are out, 147. The poet marvels, while he sings, 164. The pussy-willow and the hazel know, 187. The reddest rose, the bluest violet, 24. The rhythmic beating of his tail, 239- The Shadow came, loi. The sky is lilac, the sky is rose, 134. The song of Nature is forever, 222. The sun and all the stars shine on thy head, 12. The swamp-tree sighs, and the thin sharp reed, 191. The things the sun and the south wind do, 11 1. The way to learn how well I love you. Dear, 25. The weasel thieves in silver suit, The wind is awake, pretty leaves, pretty leaves, 197. The winds are faint; the leaves, not sure they blow, 186. The winds at play on a breezy day, 186. The yellow fox, 126. There be two things that haunt my dreams: the flower, 190. There is, they say, no sweetest rose, 36. There's revel in the withered close, 14T. They led her East, they led her West, 103. Thine hour is now; ay, though the Hand, 170. Thus run the hours: blithe calls at break of day, 172. To-day I stretch me on the shad- owed grass, 13. To wisdom grief is sweet as mirth, J75- Toll the slow bell, 52. 'T was Adam at the gates of Para- dise, 178. Twilight down the west, 131. Two, from the Heights of Quiet, 167. Two gifts God giveth, and He saith, 173. Upon the thousands cast, 7. Voyager on golden air, 121. War met him, and fell pestilence, 169. Was never thing, 157. We happy hearts for nothing are, 220. We move across the morning lake, 124. Weave, bird in the green, green leaves, 113. Welcome the shadows; where they blackest are, 174. What shall be done with little Jane, 96. When lilies by the river fill with sun, 119. When of this flurry thou shall have thy fill, 174. When other birds sing not, 118. When somebody comes a-tripping down, 201. 296 INDEX TO THE FIRST LINES When window-panes are smeared, 148. Where wild flowers were and rij)- pling grass, 224. Wherever a green blade looks up, 13- Who brings it, now, her sweet ac- cord, 232. Who drives the horses of the sun, II. Who listens well hears Nature on her round, 185. " Who's killed, to-day," 234. Wide awake, now, mind your eye, 230. With tears and kisses let me go, 39- Would you Love's fairest daugh- ter see, 165. Would you understand, 218. Wouldst hear strange music only the dreamer knows, 29. Wouldst hear the singing of the spheres, 171. Wouldst thou the kingliest head of old renown, 86. Yon shape, so pitiful, once stood, 115. You'd be a taller thing, 73. You must have known her had you seen her face, 40. Young day has flung his saffron banner out, 144. 297 (2tbe ditocrj^iDe pxts0 Electrotyped and printed by H. O. Houghton &" Co. Cambridge, Mass., U. S. A. 15 i: