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 UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 
 
Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 in 2011 with funding from 
 The Library of Congress 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/nightetchings02gazz 
 
NIGHT ETCHINGS. 
 
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 NIGHT ETCHINGS. 
 
 BY 
 
 A. R. G. 
 
 PHILADELPHIA: 
 
 IJ 
 
 J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY. ^j '\ C I'f '^'K 
 
 1893. 
 
 

 Copyright, 1892, 
 
 BY 
 
 J. B. LippiNcoTT Company. 
 
 Printed by J. B. Lippincott Company, Philadelphia. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 A BA.T AWAKES 9 
 
 A Ruin of Retrospect 17 
 
 Escape 19 
 
 Twilight 22 
 
 "When the Tide has ebbed" 23 
 
 Despair 26 
 
 Carissima 28 
 
 An Echo 30 
 
 Possibility 33 
 
 Separation 35 
 
 The Old Place 36 
 
 Conquest 38 
 
 To a Wild Lily 39 
 
 The Lost Threads 41 
 
 Suggestion 44 
 
 5 1* 
 
6 CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGB 
 
 Haunted 46 
 
 Selection 5^ 
 
 Whitman's Last Testimony 55 
 
 The Owl rests 58 
 
 A Rose Whisper 61 
 
 Fire-Flies 62 
 
 yEoLiAN Allegory 63 
 
 To Catharine Van Nest 75 
 
 In the Church of the Lilies 78 
 
 On the Caribbean 83 
 
 A Sigh of the South Wind 87 
 
 Inspiration 90 
 
 Cloister Shadows 94 
 
 Time 103 
 
 Unconquered 104 
 
 Serenade 107 
 
 Love's Oath no 
 
 Song Secret iii 
 
 To the Night 113 
 
PROEM, 
 
 Bats and owls, just birds of night are we, 
 Yet something 'tis if through the dark we see. 
 
A BAT AWAKES. 
 
 -« 
 
 BY THE AMAZON. 
 
 Under low, drooping eaves 
 Of dew-touched leaves 
 Hangs sleeper strange, with pendent head 
 His pillow floating there, 
 Soft-toned Brazilian air; 
 His hushing lullaby- 
 Broad waters lapping by; 
 Still, in their breadth and depth, 
 Great, in their constancy. 
 
 The wide, sun-glaring day 
 Has lulled him so to sleep, 
 
lO A BAT AWAKES. 
 
 Shutting away the sky; 
 
 Then through the vampire's pulse doth creep 
 
 The heavy drowse of tropic's noon ; 
 
 He wakes not for the nearer rhythm and tune 
 
 Of things terrestrial : 
 
 To sights and sounds of earth alone, 
 
 By daylight's glamour shown, 
 
 He shuts the eye. 
 
 Let the red warmth of cacti glow, 
 
 But not for him ; 
 
 His eye will slumber till this nearer world 
 
 grows dim. 
 Let the sun-angel's iridescence dart. 
 While reigns the day, 
 Before all life of color faints to gray ; 
 Dazzle and dart, while yet she has the light, 
 
A BAT A WAKES. 1 1 
 
 Coquetting- she, perchance, with some fond 
 
 suitor's heart, 
 Before she folds her wings down to the 
 
 night. 
 
 But when, beneath low, drooping eaves 
 
 Of dew-touched leaves, 
 
 Day dies away. 
 
 Melting from gray 
 
 Into the deep transparency of night, 
 
 The bat awakes to music of the spheres ; 
 
 To hint of time out-spun. 
 
 And life and love to come; — 
 
 Then darts he forth, this flitter-mouse with 
 
 wings. 
 Earth-nature his, with courage yet to 
 
 soar: 
 
12 A BAT AWAKES. 
 
 Forth comes he, and behold ! A world 
 Below, above, before, 
 
 That day sees not, nor children of the day, 
 Soft creatures ! sleeping warm, away ; 
 Sleeping, — nor dreaming of the shadowed 
 
 land 
 As rolls she with the light, night-wrecked, 
 
 upon her strand; 
 While on the Orellana, silent unwraps a 
 
 view 
 Making display alone to owls and bats. 
 As upward lifts the curtain. Southern-starred, 
 And hangs above a world sweet-steeped in 
 
 dew. 
 
 Then, from low, drooping eaves 
 Of aromatic leaves, 
 
A BAT AWAKES. 1 3 
 
 The vampire comes again upon his life, — 
 
 A Hfe with moons and midnights rife. 
 
 'Tis his, the eye to learn 
 
 How lights of Capricorn can burn, 
 
 Or how, in scented flower-urn, 
 
 There resteth low 
 
 The fire-worm's glow ; 
 
 And how broad seas of cotton blow. 
 
 Like downs of warmth-touched tropic snow. 
 
 Beneath a June-eyed moon : 
 
 A zenith moon 
 
 Whose silver noon 
 
 Teacheth to night the purity of love; 
 
 Lightening and whitening what aside were 
 
 dark; 
 Tender, yet white and high, the shades above. 
 
14 A BAT AWAKES. 
 
 And so the bat awakes, 
 
 Leaving day's world and daylight cares to 
 
 sleep. 
 The bat awakes and has his world alone. 
 Shaded from glare, he sees the better, far; 
 Can catch the beckon of some high, clear 
 
 star ; 
 Can hear, resounding near. 
 The interthrilling murmur of each sphere ; 
 His world a world of seeing far, of listening 
 
 deep, 
 While others, blind to night, lie wrapped in 
 
 sleep ; 
 Nor knowing how night-silvered waves 
 New symphonies can sing, 
 Nor how from out night-jewelled flowers 
 New sweets the airs can bring. 
 
A BAT A WAKES. 1 5 
 
 And his the ear to hear 
 
 The night-bird weird, 
 
 Or some low-curling wave, 
 
 Where Xingu waters lave 
 
 Their green-crept, lavish banks, 
 
 With sweet, insisting pranks. 
 
 To hear night-winds across the still world 
 
 roam, 
 Light-whispering on moon-touched lotos 
 
 bloom, 
 Or murmuring song divine 
 O'er some strong height of pine 
 That reaches, silver-crested, out of shadows' 
 
 gloom ; 
 Or thrilling with its kiss 
 Some palm of royal grace 
 To sweet, all-trembling bliss ; 
 
1 6 A BAT AWAKES. 
 
 Or sighing up from far Atlantic ways 
 Some softened note of world-filled Eastern 
 days. 
 
 Oh, would, from off that far Atlantic shore, 
 This constant, west-blown wind might carry 
 
 some. 
 Who, tired and fainting to their being's 
 
 core, 
 Would rest them on the nights of Amazon ; 
 Where peace drops down the silver noons, 
 And silence sings caressing monotunes. 
 
A RUIN OF RETROSPECT. 
 
 That day that's gone! 
 
 Away, way back how faint its gleam ! 
 
 How long the shadows thrown by years that 
 
 intervene ! 
 I peer back through the dust and webs of 
 
 time; 
 The light strikes only on a fragment here 
 
 and there, 
 Some slender point that reached the higher 
 
 air. 
 Leaving the picture but a broken rhyme. 
 
 Only a tower here, a gable there. 
 
 Glimmers against the rays of western sun ; 
 17 2* 
 
1 8 A RUIN OF RETROSPECT. 
 
 So dense the maze has intertwined between 
 To-day and that far day of Life Begun. 
 Only a broken line, a curve unfilled, 
 A half-lost memory standing there, 
 Like ruin of some castle in the air. 
 
 I strain my gaze to interpenetrate 
 
 The mists that hide that which I fain would 
 
 see; 
 To catch some, now, time-faded ray 
 That fell upon my life that sunny day. 
 I strain my eyes toward the lines now lost, 
 I listen for the time-blurred intertone, 
 Just as a memory to have again my own, — 
 But they are gone. 
 
ESCAPE. 
 
 Dark drizzles down a Northern day: 
 
 I close my eyes upon the gloom, 
 
 And straightway flies, 
 
 Unerring as a carrier-pigeon to its home. 
 
 My spirit, on a swifter wing; 
 
 With dreary space outflown 
 
 It sits and suns itself 
 
 In paradise it calls its own. 
 
 In that true land 
 
 No mist can mar the plumage of its wing, 
 
 No cloud can there unbidden float, 
 
 No faint despair lies languishing; 
 19 
 
20 ESCAPE. 
 
 The seas are silver, 
 
 And the sands and waves, and woods are 
 
 sunned ; 
 While to the water's edge grand trees are 
 
 marshalled out, 
 And drip cool shades upon the banks below ; 
 On little, childish waves that play and toss. 
 And creep up tenderly 
 To coo and kiss upon the sands and moss. 
 
 Nay, nay; no need of winter days amid the 
 
 North, 
 When, freely as a bird, the spirit goeth forth 
 To sit among red pomegranate-trees. 
 And breathe soft, orange-laden breeze; 
 Or watch the swaying moss 
 Before a carmine sunset wave ; 
 
ESCAPE. 21 
 
 Or see the rose-pink curlew 
 
 Among the rushes start; 
 
 And hear such notes as, on an uncaged 
 
 wing, 
 The mocking-bird can sing. 
 Spirit, why need the north-winds cut thee so ? 
 Thou hast a South, perpetual, sunny: 
 Dream, and forget the snow. 
 
TWILIGHT. 
 
 I SEEM to see her sweet face lean, 
 Bending to me again, the clouds between, 
 Just in the rift where glows the evening light. 
 In the pale gleam I see her face 
 Tender as some memory in a dream ; 
 And then I know her presence there 
 Filters through the after-glow : 
 I know she is not far, but near; 
 I know the evening light can flow 
 As spirit-thrill, from hers to mine, 
 And she can reach me, so. 
 
"WHEN THE TIDE HAS EBBED." 
 
 (After the water-color by George W. Harvey,) 
 PRELUDE. 
 
 Poet- PAINTER he, 
 
 Who carries spirit-thought within his touch, 
 
 Who catches spirit-light upon his brush. 
 
 "When the tide has ebbed," 
 
 And rocks he bare and brown; 
 
 When gleaming waves have rippled one by- 
 one 
 
 Away; waves that laughed so in the morn- 
 ing sun, 
 
 And tossed each other in the strength of life; 
 
 2Z 
 
24 " WHEN THE TIDE HAS EBBED." 
 
 The jostling waves, with hope and purpose 
 
 rife ; 
 Or undulating soft, singing content, low runes 
 Of mated loves and scented, rose-touched 
 
 Junes ; 
 The triumph in the song of tide run high, 
 The full completion, with no yearning sigh. 
 The high-noon note of zenith-life and love, — 
 These, when the tide has ebbed that once 
 
 was there. 
 Leave echoes only on the brown rocks lone 
 
 and bare. 
 
 Yet there, the slender stream, 
 Low-ebbed to death-like rest, 
 Lies calm and white between 
 The frowning brown rocks' crest 
 
" WHEN THE TIDE HAS EBBED." 2$ 
 
 And waste of desolation. 
 
 Oh, backward, backward to the joys that 
 
 were, 
 Yearneth it now ? still stream with white 
 
 upon its brow. 
 Ay, low. But down upon its stillness so, 
 A deeper, gladder peace can flow, 
 A light can rest, of white, immortal glow. 
 
 AFTER-TONE. 
 
 But still the picture stands unreached 
 
 By failing pen before its impress rare : 
 
 Pure as though seraphs' eyes were bent above; 
 
 Glad a? when, after death, 
 
 Surprise brings love to love. 
 
DESPAIR. 
 
 Thou art cruel, O Despair ! 
 
 Ay, grim and cold, the acme of all evil, 
 
 Picture of death art thou 
 
 To him who stands with hope upon his 
 
 brow, 
 While the warm sunlight nestles on his 
 
 path, 
 His Future smiling backward to his Now. 
 
 Yet there are hearts to whom thy ministry 
 
 were fair, 
 
 Hearts that would wed with thee and die, 
 
 Despair. 
 
 26 
 
DESPAIR. 27 
 
 After long pains of flickering suspense, 
 
 When torturing delay has given to dread pre- 
 eminence, 
 
 Thy firm, cold touch would be but mercy's 
 breath, 
 
 Thy face, so cruel once, a gentle providence. 
 
 Then come, Despair, and let the old hope die; 
 
 Release its struggling pains to peace, 
 
 That so a new may spring: 
 
 Thus, to some cold despair 
 
 The heart a song may bring; 
 
 A welcome for its rest 
 
 And space to hope again. 
 
CARISSIMA. 
 
 Hush ! Let the night be still, — 
 Did I hear it my pulse athrough? 
 " Carissima !" 
 
 Was it a melody from moon-touched leaf? 
 An effluence from the dew ? 
 
 The night stoops shelteringly ; 
 
 The silence seems some rhythm to hold : 
 " Carissima !" 
 Steals on the stillness, subtly, deeply sweet,- 
 
 Is this the world of old ? 
 
 " Carissima," that far-off night, he said ; 
 28 
 
CARISSIMA. 29 
 
 His eyes soul-deep, his voice thrilled full and 
 
 low : 
 Ah, I could float me down the tides of time. 
 Drift gladly to the unknown, untried sea. 
 Could I but know some ghost of rapture 
 flown 
 Would follow me, 
 And I could hear again. 
 In the old tone, 
 Carissima. 
 
AN ECHO. 
 
 Thompson, led by Tennyson's dream,* 
 Followed down the poet's stream, 
 Fluting clear his own sweet note. 
 Along thought-lilied aisles to float. 
 
 And I, spell-bound, yet far behind. 
 
 Trace their bloom-trail on the wind, 
 
 Catch echo of their flowing notes. 
 
 As smooth as rhythms from wild-bird throats; 
 
 Or watch the shadows of rare dream 
 That haunt the borders of the stream ; 
 
 * In allusion to Tennyson's " Brook" and Maurice Thomp- 
 son's " In the Haunts of Bass and Bream." 
 30 
 
AN ECHO. 31 
 
 And, leaving care, I sun my soul 
 Where song-sunned ripples softly troll. 
 
 Dark things, like spectres, shrink away 
 Where spring brooks sing their rondelay ; 
 Their murmurs fall like soft caress 
 From lips that love, and fain would bless ; 
 
 And sweetly, softly croons the stream, 
 As mothers sing o'er infants' dream ; 
 The song a medium, showing true 
 Love's eternal presence through. 
 
 T linger where the silent brook 
 Stops to dream in sylvan nook, 
 Then purling, purling flows along, 
 With fern and woodbine in its song. 
 
32 AN ECHO. 
 
 World-tired, I wander down the stream, 
 Old echoes reach me through its dream, 
 While welleth in my heart the sigh, 
 " Loves are only born to die ;" 
 
 And, with a sorrow unconfessed, 
 I turn me to the brook for rest. 
 And follow there, to sun my soul 
 Where song-sunned waters softly troll. 
 
 Where, with gleam and golden fleck. 
 Crooning, crooning, sings the beck 
 The sweet, old resurrection song, 
 " Love's not dead, but sleepeth long." 
 
 Crooning, " Only sleepeth, sleepeth ; 
 Love's not dead, — -just sleepeth." 
 
POSSIBILITY. 
 
 It was out of darkness to some hazy glad- 
 ness, 
 
 An Indian Summer dream ; 
 I only knew the days held less of sadness, 
 
 And I was drifting on a sunnier stream. 
 
 I only knew above the cloud of darkness 
 Your soul had risen like an Eastern sun, 
 
 Above a sea, gray-toned and colorless, 
 
 Had risen to blow fresh mornings one by 
 one 
 
 Across the waves, that lay so sullen and so 
 
 gray; 
 
 I only felt your spirit, like the sunrise, 
 33 
 
34 POSSIBILITY. 
 
 Fall on my heart one darksome day, 
 
 And bring a blossom up to bask and 
 idolize. 
 
 Where speaks your voice there may be ice 
 and snow ; 
 I know it not, — I feel the warmth of tropic 
 clime. 
 Where, through the blooms, the south winds 
 blow, 
 And carry to some joy its rhyme. 
 
 And if you close your eyes upon me now. 
 And if your voice shall cease to speak for 
 me its thrill. 
 
 That it has been, could be, I yet shall know, 
 Nor cease to feel its sun upon me still. 
 
SEPARATION. 
 
 Gone! But evermore will roll, 
 
 Through every strong and tender chord I 
 hear, 
 The touch and cadence of his soul, 
 
 Thrilling all melody with tone more deep 
 and clear. 
 
 And yet for evermore will fall, 
 
 In every strain of sweetness on my heart, 
 A low, dull cry of loss through all. 
 
 Touching that threnody where love and 
 life must part. 
 
 35 
 
THE OLD PLACE. 
 
 Yes, the old place, just the same, 
 
 The flickering shade of leafage on the grass,. 
 
 Broad, sunspread hills beyond ; 
 
 Perhaps their light a little colder grown, 
 
 Some touch of glory flown ; 
 
 And yet, though keen, fond eyes may search 
 
 with care. 
 No change substantial showeth there. 
 
 Yes, the old place, just the same. 
 
 The flickering shade of leafage on the grass, 
 
 The little purling stream ; 
 
 But now its song a murmur, only, seems, 
 
 A minor of old dreams ; 
 36 
 
THE OLD PLACE. ' 37 
 
 Sighing, to ears that long remember well, 
 A lurking echo of some old-time spell. 
 
 Yes, the old place, just the same, 
 
 The flickering shade of leafage on the grass ; 
 
 The stile we used to pass ; 
 
 Wild notes of free-winged birds all undis- 
 turbed ; 
 
 The old, old place, familiar-sweet, yet 
 strange. 
 
 I linger, linger with the sun and shades, 
 
 With the old sights and sounds that linger 
 here ; 
 
 A voice seems just to fall upon my ear, 
 
 A subtile presence in the silent air, 
 
 Pervading all, a face that once was there. 
 
CONQUEST. 
 
 Not much of love had you said, 
 
 But its sweets, in your words so rare, 
 
 I had traced, as we trace hid flowers. 
 By the perfume on the air. 
 
 And when I stooped to your face, 
 Where the aspen quivered down, 
 
 My lips in a nested kiss, 
 I felt the conqueror's crown. 
 
 I knew my valley of bliss 
 
 A seraphim-guarded glen. 
 
 And the blossoms that were mine 
 
 Were lost to all other men. 
 38 
 
TO A WILD LILY. 
 
 O LILY ! with tall and slender stem, 
 
 And scarlet, against the wood's dark hem, — 
 
 Thus bloomed you once in the years 
 agone, 
 Steeped in summer and sunshine, 
 
 As my heart was steeped in song. 
 
 Now, lily born in the wildwood. 
 
 The years have travelled their ways; 
 
 To-day you stand strange and rootless 
 In the pool of a Parian vase ; 
 
 Beside you, in chalice of silver, 
 
 Rare roses a queen might praise. 
 39 
 
40 TO A WILD LILY. 
 
 But my eyes turn back to you, lily, 
 Again and again to your face; 
 And the magnet thus to draw me, 
 
 Is it orange-scarlet and gold? 
 Or, in your urn of free-born grace, 
 
 Is it the lost day that you hold? 
 
THE LOST THREADS. 
 
 How, through our lives, the lines are woven 
 
 in and out ! 
 How, through rare fabrics, threads are 
 
 brought and lost to view ! 
 The fairest seem the briefest. 
 The gold glints only here and there upon 
 
 the best brocade, 
 And as we live our loves drop out. 
 Lost threads, they seem. 
 And memory backward turns to catch their 
 
 gleam. 
 
 But in the purple haze 
 
 41 4* 
 
42 THE LOST THREADS. 
 
 Where sets the sun, and some far future 
 
 lies, 
 Half gleaming through, the stars are in the 
 
 skies ; 
 And lying just beyond our mortal ken, 
 The old, lost lights will gleam for us again. 
 Not lost were they. 
 Only as a child, failing to find its mother, 
 
 calls her lost. 
 Yet hid, the loves, so many those who 
 
 through some change. 
 Some chance of life — or death — have fallen 
 
 away: 
 But there, beyond the sunset and the haze. 
 There shall we find them, find them every 
 
 one; 
 The old, lost threads, — 
 
THE LOST THREADS. 43 
 
 Again to weave themselves into our lives ; 
 For the lost lapse 
 
 Making the pattern but the fairer far, 
 Like sky of night, — dark space, and then a 
 jewelled star. 
 
SUGGESTION. 
 
 A BREATH of sandal spice from off her fan, 
 
 While she at distance stands ; 
 A dainty, rustling robe I dare not touch ; 
 
 Forbidden fruit, her hands. 
 
 Fair lips that smile from isolated heights ; 
 
 Half-tender words, and rare ; 
 Sometimes a half-concealed, softened flash, 
 
 Then eyelids white droop there. 
 
 Sometimes a graceful, generous thought for 
 
 me; 
 
 Graceful, but only kind ; 
 
 Sometimes a half-caught cadence of her voice 
 
 Seems holding sweets behind. 
 44 
 
SUGGESTION. 45 
 
 Ah, falsehood fair, when hope comes whis- 
 pering soft 
 
 ■ That buds like this can last: 
 
 The blossom blooms, — a moment's rapture 
 rare, 
 
 And then — the petals fade — the bliss is 
 past. 
 
HAUNTED. 
 
 Sister Celeste (the priests had called her 
 
 saint, 
 So high she dwelt above all earthly taint) 
 Sat in her convent tower above the sea, 
 Where sweeps the tide on rock-bound Nor- 
 
 mandie. 
 
 Her eyes, where dwelt a golden-hazel dream, 
 Looked off across the waters' sunset gleam ; 
 Eyes of still light, serenely calm their ray. 
 As looking to some heavenward-lying day. 
 
 Taught only of the church and churchly 
 
 lore, 
 
 This virgin saint had vowed for evermore 
 46 
 
HAUNTED. 47 
 
 To shun all worldly life, and only raise 
 The love-light of her eyes to heaven's praise. 
 
 Peaceful had been her tower above the sea, 
 With naught to ruffle each day's rosary ; 
 But, when she turned toward her window's 
 
 height 
 To look across the waters' western light, 
 
 One figure stood against the paling skies. 
 Always a grim, dark cross, in Roman-wise. 
 " 'Tis well," she sighed, " the bride of this 
 
 to be 
 And enter heaven saintly pure and free." 
 
 Then turned she to her cell's white wall to 
 
 pray 
 Before some shrine of saint, or taper's ray. 
 
48 HAUNTED. 
 
 So passed in peace the days of Saint Celeste, 
 Haunted alone by that still cross against the 
 West. 
 
 Then, on a day, a flood of bloom-fresh 
 
 spring 
 Burst through her window on a May-breeze 
 
 wing. 
 And, leaning, on a bough beneath 
 She saw a nested bird, amid the blossoms' 
 
 wreath ; 
 
 And singing, swaying, on another spray, 
 
 Its mate, life-full, love-free, among the May. 
 
 The crucifix seemed hanging in the far-off 
 haze, — 
 
 She tried to cross herself as in the yester- 
 days. 
 
HAUNTED. 49 
 
 Off on the path below, with measured tread, 
 There paced a priest, and told his beads 
 
 with bared head. 
 How broad and firm his strength of height ! 
 What tender grace his lips' sweet light ! 
 
 The priest looked up, — and Saint Celeste 
 
 looked down, — 
 His gray eyes met the hazel dream of hers, — 
 The old, old story in one glance ! and 
 
 then, — 
 Another story, old and sad, told once again. 
 
 Out on the tree the apple blossoms fade, 
 The bird's song dies away toward the South, 
 And for a priest and nun 
 One moment of the past holds all of life. 
 
50 HAUNTED. 
 
 One moment, — 
 
 Just a flash-light of a morn in May, 
 
 A tree with birds and bloom, 
 
 A tower, 
 
 Fair eyes of golden-hazel dream, 
 
 Deep eyes of gray: — 
 
 And then a clang of convent bell. 
 
 The swift dream's knell. 
 
 Day by day a broad sea stretching to the 
 
 West, 
 Day by day its color lifeless gray. 
 And haunted always by a Roman cross, 
 And eyes that turn away. 
 
SELECTION. 
 
 O Past so sweet ! 
 
 So sure in thy retreat ! 
 
 What would I beg from thee? 
 
 What gift from out thy hoard to throw to 
 
 me? 
 Surely thou mockest me. 
 Ah, Past ! soft sailing there, 
 Like island floating fair 
 In some far, amber air; 
 
 Like bubble from a crystal space out-blown, 
 Floating with such a witching glow and 
 
 grace, 
 
 Yet the unreachable so haloing thy face 
 51 
 
52 SELECTION. 
 
 That I can scarce believe thee once my 
 
 own; 
 I pray, but as to god on throne of stone ; 
 Deaf, pagan god, who heeds not to my 
 
 moan; 
 One gift so sweet, yet small, I ask of thee : 
 Were it too much that this should granted 
 
 be? 
 
 Looking thy jewels o'er, I only ask, 
 Chosen from out the rubies of thy casque, 
 From out the days with warmth and roses 
 
 red, 
 And whispers of true passion overspread ; 
 I only ask : 
 From out thy pearls strung white on strands 
 
 of peace, 
 
SELECTION. 53 
 
 (Days where the fresh song-mornings never 
 
 cease ;) 
 From out thy sapphires with their flames of 
 
 blue, 
 (Days when thy heart beat high, thy eyes 
 
 shone true;) 
 From out thy opals with their unterrestrial 
 
 gleam, 
 (Days when to live meant only days to 
 
 dream ;) 
 From out thy beryls, daintiest jewel there, 
 (Like hint of love to come breathed on the 
 
 air;) 
 Rare days, crowned high with conquest all 
 
 unsought, 
 Wearing proud coronet with triumphs inter- 
 wrought. 
 
54 SELECTION. 
 
 I bow before thee as to liege and king, 
 And one small prayer from out my heart I 
 
 bring : 
 O Past! I only, all thy treasures gleaming 
 
 ' there, 
 Pray for that touch again upon my hair. 
 
WHITMAN'S LAST TESTIMONY. 
 
 High faith the bard had spoken, 
 Strong hope his voice had sung, 
 
 And brave as death of warrior 
 His last hfe-notes had rung. 
 
 For truth his lips had struggled, 
 And lived he to his creed; 
 
 Nor weak conservatism 
 
 Held him from higher deed. 
 
 Fearless, — his life lived truly, — 
 
 His heart and brain his own, — 
 
 Fitting, to him was given 
 
 That after-wraith, night shown. 
 55 
 
c6 WHITMAN'S LAST TESTIMONY. 
 
 He who had peered all frankly, 
 With wistful eyes so brave, 
 
 Into the deepening shadows 
 
 That reached him from the grave; 
 
 Claiming never the unknown, 
 Content alone with truth. 
 
 Yet trust and faith unsullied. 
 The grander, without proof; 
 
 Yes, fitting it was given 
 To soul like his to show 
 
 A glimpse of the immortal 
 To mortal left below. 
 
 The spirit-face of Whitman, 
 Chiselled in cloud-like white, 
 
WHITMAN'S LAST TESTIMONY., 5/ 
 
 Floating before the stranger 
 Against the shield of night; 
 
 Unknown, but after, proven, 
 A sculpture stronger stands 
 
 Than the poets old in marble 
 Dug from Carrara's strands : 
 
 For, in the thought Pantheon, 
 This face — beyond its fade — 
 
 Stands firmer than stone statues 
 Of abbeys' classic shade. 
 
THE OWL RESTS. 
 
 I WATCHED through the measures of the 
 
 night, 
 I saw the pale, weird Northern Light 
 Athwart the blackness flicker up 
 And fade and fail. 
 I saw the lights of earth 
 Glare and stare for full their worth ; 
 Long in the dark 
 Glittered their lurid spark; 
 I smiled me then, atween the sheltering 
 
 boughs : 
 " Shine on, shine on, in all thy haunting 
 
 dimness, 
 
 58 
 
THE OWL RESTS. 59 
 
 Sparks of earth, 
 
 Shine on, thy life is short, I know thy birth." 
 
 My eyes strained wide, I waited patiently 
 
 The sheer, unsullied night to see ; 
 
 The night unmarred 
 
 And silver-starred. 
 
 Hard by me, in the dell, 
 
 Swift waters kissed the silent spell. 
 
 The while the earth in its own shade 
 
 Sought shelter from the day ; 
 
 And darkness, brooding over vale and croft. 
 
 Sat timely down, with feathers soft. 
 
 Now, late, the lurid earth-lights fade away; 
 
 Through the clear dark I see the sights, 
 
 I hear the sounds, ' 
 
 Are seen not, heard not in the day. 
 
60 THE OWL RESTS. 
 
 Earth's transitories lie, dark-wrapt away; 
 And while the stars smile down, 
 The strong, clear stars. 
 Under the night's high crest 
 I find me, rest. 
 
A ROSE WHISPER. 
 
 A CHALICE of perfume 
 
 I hold to the air; 
 And blow the winds here, 
 
 Or blow the winds there, 
 Whether East or West, 
 Some one shall be blest. 
 
 6i 
 
FIRE-FLIES. 
 
 Soft twinkle they, ephemerally, 
 
 Dotting the hour 'twixt night and day, 
 
 Sprinkling the gloaming gray 
 
 With fire that burns not, nor illuminates 
 
 For any space around: 
 
 Yet brave, beneath the high, fair stars 
 
 Their own to hold, however slight it be; 
 
 Comparing neither great nor small, 
 
 But giving of what heaven gave them, all. 
 
 Perchance, amid the garden's scented gloom, 
 
 The unconscious rose and lily give them 
 
 room ; 
 
 And they, free-flitting in all-thoughtless grace, 
 
 May light some rose or lily's fading face. 
 62 
 
^OLIAN ALLEGORY. 
 
 Silver-shot stood the forest 
 With darts from Dian's bow, 
 
 While winds of the soft ^gean 
 Slumbered faint, slumbered low. 
 
 In the silver, shifting cradles 
 Of the Orient's classic sea; 
 
 Nestling soft as a bird can rest 
 In its swaying nest on the tree. 
 
 And Thetis, sandalled in silver, 
 
 Passing that way, I ween, 
 
 Touched to a gentle rock, the waves, 
 
 Though never her foot was seen. 
 63 
 
64 ^OLIAN ALLEGORY. 
 
 But the track of her tinselled shpper 
 Left the shimmering crests aglow, 
 
 While over Diana's forest 
 
 Fell the flame of her pale flambeau. 
 
 And woods and sea seemed to listen, 
 Soft-touched by the silvery white, 
 
 To lie and look upward in silence 
 And listen for songs from the night. 
 
 And Dian's forest, and Thetis' sea 
 Looked each to its goddess own, 
 
 To wake the chord of life's symphony, 
 The True, that the earth shall zone. 
 
 Then hark ! Through the leaves a whisper 
 stirs, 
 A song sweeps over the seas ; 
 
JE.OLIAN ALLEGORY. 65 
 
 Eolus, the free, has wandered that way, 
 With his all-encircling breeze. 
 
 He whispers the .^gean Sea 
 
 Some tale of Eastern spice ; 
 He hums soft rondels o'er and o'er, 
 
 Caught up in Paradise. 
 
 He finds his harp already strung 
 
 Where'er his feet may roam, 
 His instrument wide as nature, 
 
 The universe his home. 
 
 His lyre may take the shape of a leaf, 
 
 'Twill breathe him a life -tone true. 
 
 Or the surging wave may yield to his touch, 
 
 Its rhythm old, yet new, 
 
 6* 
 
66 ^OLIAN ALLEGORY. 
 
 He knows the East, he knows the West, 
 
 The varying zones are his ; 
 The poles with their snow and ice for crest; 
 
 The tropic his garden is. 
 
 He leans his ear to heart of palm, 
 
 The throb he hears is rich and warm ; 
 
 But his soul fails not to catch an accord 
 In the battle-cry of Northern storm. 
 
 Ay, true cosmopolite, he roves 
 
 With spirit strong, perception free; 
 
 He thrills alike to myrtle groves, 
 Or lights on polar sea. 
 
 Secrets of pines are his, scent-blown ; 
 
 He catches the hint in the sea-shell's tone. 
 
^OLIAN ALLEGORY. 6/ 
 
 Or sweeps the withered grass of a grave 
 And grieves with the heart that's alone. 
 
 He carries the dreams of violet beds 
 In through the curtained window there, 
 
 And wafts away some words that are said, 
 And it matters not whether the prayer 
 
 Is mingled with Mongolian tears 
 That drop upon a wasted child. 
 
 Or if some Christian mother's fears 
 Breathe out her cry, unreconciled. 
 
 And over wild Atlantic ways, 
 In the Red-man's Sunset Land, 
 
 He mingles with the pulsing life 
 His strong, free breath has fanned. 
 
6S ^OLIAN ALLEGORY. 
 
 He floats wild Alabamian songs 
 Across the cotton-snow and rice, 
 
 And hums sweet snatches o'er and o'er 
 Caught up in Paradise. 
 
 True to his catholicity, 
 
 His touch can feel the same heart-beat 
 In classic dream of Thessaly 
 
 Or cloistered monk's retreat. 
 
 Roaming through labyrinthian ways 
 
 Among ^gean isles, 
 He croons some dream to sleep again, 
 
 So soft his voice beguiles : 
 
 And whispers to the shores of Thrace 
 Of clove-bloom on the Isles of Spice ; 
 
^OLIAM ALLEGORY. 6g 
 
 Crooning soft rondels o'er and o'er, 
 Caught up in Paradise. 
 
 And on the strands of Mitylene, 
 Where Sappho sang her passion-fire, 
 
 His faint night-chords are echoing 
 On her deserted lyre ; 
 
 Or under moon of Thessaly 
 
 He breathes some sighing serenade ; 
 
 Then bugles down a leaf-stripped vale 
 His wild fanfaronade. 
 
 Or marshals from the west and north. 
 From steppe and glacier bringeth forth. 
 
 Forces of high, resistless will 
 
 That hint to man heaven's high " Be still." 
 
70 jEOLIAN ALLEGORY. 
 
 Ay, universal, touching all, 
 
 Master of Nature's varied harp, 
 
 He hears the full, rich chord of Life; 
 No string at variance or strife. 
 
 Rifling bloom from apple-boughs, 
 He scatters hope with lavish hand ; 
 
 The bloom may fall, the rose-tint fade, 
 But back of these the fruit shall stand. 
 
 For him Earth rings a symphony 
 
 In tune with key-note of the spheres ; 
 
 For her he sees the grand " To Be," 
 Though still in travail, oft with tears. 
 
 (Ay, tears ! Fine, tender harmony. 
 
 What gift so sweet the earth has found ? 
 
u^OLTAN ALLEGORY. yi 
 
 Could angel give more royally 
 Than tear upon another's wound?) 
 
 He gathers blending threads of life 
 Across the wide creation's loom ; 
 
 He sees the pattern woven true 
 
 With a life and love and worship One. 
 
 In the mingled, mystic murmurs 
 
 Of the Arathusian fount, 
 He hears the orisons of Rome 
 
 As breath of Olymp's Mount. 
 
 The great, all-rising spirit-sap, 
 
 The strong bud-burst of life, 
 Is thrilled to him from blossom's breath 
 
 Or from some wrestling strife. 
 
72 MOLIAN ALLEGORY. 
 
 He dreams, though orange blossoms for ter- 
 restrial bride, 
 
 The lily flowers for one 
 No less a bride, although the bloom 
 
 Wreathes altar called a tomb. 
 
 He breathes his thought and strikes some 
 life afire, 
 Or croons from out his heart some sweet 
 desire. 
 Some dream of his that will not die nor 
 faint, 
 Wreathed with forget-me-nots upon his 
 lyre. 
 
 He dreams, — and sighs across some Western 
 sea 
 A breath of wasted spice. 
 
MOLIAN ALLEGORY. y^ 
 
 Yet whispers still his rondel o'er, 
 Caught up in Paradise. 
 
 Or in some crypt of Italy 
 
 He chants above the patient dead 
 
 A note of resurrection-life, 
 
 An Easter song-bloom o'er them spread. 
 
 Nay, — not resurrection ; Life is one ; 
 
 We rise not, for we never fall; 
 Not one heart-beat of time is lost. 
 
 For Life is "Lord of All." 
 
 He hears no words, " Come, worship me," 
 
 But "Live toward the Light:" 
 He bends his knee to pure and free, 
 
 In all creeds finding Right. 
 
74 yEOLIAN ALLEGORY. 
 
 He plays upon each string that's strung, 
 
 His touch with each in tune; 
 Life the one theme, on ice-chilled stream 
 
 Or perfumed bud of June. 
 
 Then sing me thy song of Life, O Wind ! 
 
 Of a deathless essence strong 
 And free and wide as all living things ; 
 
 I keep with thy note along. 
 
 The paean rises, " Life — Life ! 
 
 There is no death — no long despair; 
 Life — Love — Growth — Light, — 
 
 These, quiver all the air." 
 
 ;K * * * * * 
 
 Diana may reign in her forest; 
 
 Thetis may sovereign her sea; 
 But I, to the God that embraces all 
 
 Do I bow and bend my knee. 
 
TO CATHARINE VAN NEST. 
 
 Are you out beyond the starlight, 
 Sweet Catharine Van Nest? 
 
 Lies it in space so far remote, 
 That region of the blest ? 
 
 Do you find there earth-born flowers, 
 Oh, saint of blooms below ? 
 
 Do blossom spirits breathe on thee 
 From fields of long ago ? 
 
 'Tis not upon the walks of gold 
 
 I see thy lingering feet, 
 75 
 
'j6 TO CATHARINE VAN NEST. 
 
 But straying out some flowery way 
 Beyond the beaten street. 
 
 There, where the birds are singing thee 
 
 Some old-time note of June, 
 And bees among the hanging buds 
 
 Hum a familiar rune : 
 
 There, among by-ways strewn with grace, 
 
 By-ways so like thine own. 
 Perchance thou listenest, through the space, 
 
 To catch some lost earth-tone. 
 
 'Tis not amid the gold-crowned throng 
 
 I look to see thy face. 
 But up some violet-odored path 
 
 My heart thy steps will trace; 
 
TO CATHARINE VAN NEST. yj 
 
 And Memory, following by old ways, 
 
 Ways that she knoweth best, 
 Will meet thee there among the flowers. 
 
 Sweet Catharine Van Nest. 
 
IN THE CHURCH OF THE LILIES. 
 Stands it as mirage in the air, 
 But spirit forms its structure there; 
 
 And real this, perchance, as stone, 
 If rock or thought must stand alone. 
 
 Its colors gleam in green and white, 
 Symbols of growth, of blooms of light. 
 
 Above the door faint lilies twine. 
 And drop soft bells like columbine. 
 
 Tall, slender spires reach toward the sky. 
 
 Like shoots of life by light drawn high ; 
 78 
 
IN THE CHURCH OF THE LILIES. 79 
 
 And ivy clings about the place 
 
 As loving thought to some lost face. 
 
 By day, within, the sun flows through 
 Long windows of deep, mellow hue. 
 
 And a soft glory of white light 
 
 Falls from the ceiling's vaulted height, 
 
 Drops down within the chancel rail 
 On carven lilies tall and pale: 
 
 Lilies that round a chalice stand 
 Of chiselled onyx, deftly planned, 
 
 Holding within the silence there 
 
 The high, white light from heaven's air. 
 
80 IN THE CHURCH OF THE LILIES. 
 
 On nights when stars are well outshone, 
 And peerless reigns the moon alone, 
 
 And drops a ray divinely white 
 Into the chancel's lone, still night. 
 
 One worshipper steals there to kneel, 
 Strong doors, and barred, to her unreal; 
 
 Nor make they e'en resistance slight 
 To the strong power of her love's might. 
 
 Before the moon-touched lilies' grace 
 She kneels, with rapture in her face ; 
 
 For in the dim night-chancel there. 
 Above the lilies pure and rare, 
 
IN THE CHURCH OF THE LILIES. I 
 
 By sweet affinity seems drawn 
 A presence fair as early dawn; 
 
 A child's lost face, so saintly fair, 
 Shows through the consecrated air. 
 
 And when the strange world knoweth not. 
 The earth-soul oft will enter there. 
 
 Through the doors so barred and strong; 
 She worships not amid the throng. 
 
 And if she carry a lost love 
 
 Within her heart while kneeling where 
 
 That lost face seems to touch her own; 
 And if against her cheek seems blown, 
 
82 IN THE CHURCH OF THE LILIES. 
 
 All in the stillness of the place, 
 A ringlet from that angel face, 
 
 The touch so light, the gleam so gold. 
 As in those long-gone days of old, 
 
 Till she, forgetting all else there, 
 Kneels only to that vision fair; 
 
 Yet he who spake on Orient's breeze 
 The music, " If ye love not these," 
 
 Will bend above, and gather there 
 Her love, even as heaven-sent prayer. 
 
ON THE CARIBBEAN. 
 O Caribbean ! rich in sun and shells ! 
 Full soft and warm thy waters kiss thy 
 
 strands ; 
 And billowed o'er with bloom and palm, thy 
 
 sunny lands; 
 Thy days thrilled through with song-dreams; 
 Thy nights afloat in zephyrs silver-blown; 
 Thy passion-speech borne out on perfumed 
 
 breeze ; 
 And flower-breath, and spice, thy only sighs, 
 Beneath thy tender, bending, love-enraptured 
 
 skies. 
 
 And in thy soft and scent-fanned tropic night 
 
 Thy Lorelei comes out and sings bewitching 
 
 strains, 
 
 83 
 
84 ON THE CARIBBEAN. 
 
 That charm not down to realms beneath, 
 
 But only up, from darkness and from pains. 
 
 Her gold hair floating on the waves' white 
 wreath, 
 
 Sings she some song all soft, 
 
 And rich with warmth and color Carib- 
 bean, 
 
 Yet clear, and true and pure 
 
 As caught from out the empyrean. 
 
 Fine flutes the note 
 
 From out her charmed throat, 
 
 And on that silver, southern sea 
 
 I see, again, a boat 
 
 Glide darkly out upon the silver sheen. 
 
 And old love-bells, 
 
 That memory tells. 
 
 Float out again across the Caribbean. 
 
ON THE CARIBBEAN. 85 
 
 Caribbean ! warm thy waters wave, 
 
 And throw soft kisses while thy stars bend 
 
 down; 
 Bend leal and true above, 
 And light up as can light strong eyes of 
 
 love. 
 And there, between the silver sky and sea, 
 Where I can hear, still drifted down to 
 
 me 
 The echo of an old love-note; 
 There, on the glistening night. 
 My boat afloat, 
 
 1 still can lie in dreams ; 
 
 Nor yet alone my spirit seems ; 
 
 We two float there, in silver dream, 
 
 Upon the moon-white waves 
 
 Infiltered by the soft Gulf-stream. 
 8 
 
86 ON THE CARIBBEAN. 
 
 Caribbean ! on your soft, warm waves 
 You rock old memories that will not sleep; 
 Year after year you rock your cradle, 
 Sing your rhyme; 
 
 But memory will wake, 
 
 To dream or weep. 
 
 Though the dead sleep. 
 
 Here, cradled on this soft, enraptured night, 
 
 With years behind to hush an anguish down, 
 
 1 float; and nearer seems the forward than 
 
 the backward shore : 
 So can I drift and dream, — 
 Such memory behind. 
 And, gleaming like a haven true across a 
 
 phantom night. 
 Such hope before. 
 
A SIGH OF THE SOUTH WIND. 
 
 Because I had no crystal snow, 
 
 No flower such as ice-winds blow, 
 
 No cool, crisp airs that fan away the sun. 
 
 No tonic like a philter of strong life 
 
 That fills the veins with hope and purpose 
 
 rife, 
 They carried her away, the sweet, frail thing. 
 And down my orange vale I sob, — I cannot 
 
 sing. 
 
 I weep away my blossoms to the earth. 
 
 And draw dark veils between me and the 
 
 moon; 
 
 I cannot see its silver noon 
 87 
 
88 A SIGH OF THE SOUTH WIND. 
 
 So glad and fair all things upon 
 
 When she is gone. 
 
 I rove among the citron-trees 
 
 Like some faint ghost of other breeze, 
 
 Nor dally over sweetest bloom, 
 
 Nor trifle with the tasselled broom. 
 
 But sigh and sigh along my southern sea 
 
 Because all dead life seems to me. 
 
 I linger where the cypress shade 
 
 Haunts some deserted everglade; 
 
 I waste my bard-sung perfume on the air 
 
 With all the profligacy of despair. 
 
 Then rise I, in some southern night, 
 
 My sweets all freshened by the silent 
 
 dew, 
 And blow and blow, against all hope. 
 
A SIGH OF THE SOUTH WIND. 89 
 
 Toward the cold stars of the North. 
 
 Love ! but catch a scented breath across 
 
 the snow 
 And know 
 
 1 blow caress to you. 
 
 8* 
 
INSPIRATION. 
 
 If I were in that other world, — 
 
 Love of mine so lost and yet not dead ! — 
 
 1 might be nearer to thee, so; 
 
 Thou from whom my higher, truer life is fed. 
 
 Perhaps my phosphorescent form might be, 
 
 Through thy still mortal veil, invisible to thee ; 
 
 Perhaps my ether voice 
 
 So faint would vibrate on this heavier air 
 
 That thou wouldst yet unconscious be, 
 
 Nor dream that thou wert where 
 
 One, now long forgot, wert calling thee. 
 
 Yet now, though far, 
 
 I can but follow thee, 
 90 
 
INS FIR A TION. 9 1 
 
 As sun compels a star; 
 
 And when my purest thought within me rise, 
 
 I trace it to remembered glory of thy eyes ; 
 
 And I would take the spirit-form, 
 
 And follow where 
 
 Thy presence thrills and consecrates the air. 
 
 'Tis not that, spirit-blown, 
 
 Some effluence might flow from me to thee; 
 
 'Tis not that I might better so thy spirit fill ; 
 
 But I, in spite of pain, 
 
 Would stand anear and learn thee still. 
 
 From off thy heights would blow 
 Again the bracing purity of Alpine snow. 
 Where yet such grace as thine 
 Can wreathe and twine. 
 
92 INSPIRA TION. 
 
 And blossom from the crests of highest 
 
 moods, 
 As Edelweiss can fringe its altitudes ; 
 And not all cold because so high : 
 The sun falls on the Alpine snow 
 With rarer glow 
 Than colors baser things within the vale 
 
 below : 
 The red warmth of the sand shows murk and 
 
 weak 
 Against such rays as touch the snow-crowned 
 
 peak. 
 
 far-off Love ! who knoweth naught of love 
 
 of mine, 
 
 1 drink thy spirit's strength 
 
 As those who, faint, drink wine. 
 
INS PI R A TION. 93 
 
 And if some fragrance blows 
 
 Where bleak and bare the path lies toward 
 
 the sea, 
 And brings me back the breath of a lost 
 
 Araby, 
 It blows from off some dead, pressed flower 
 
 of memory ; 
 From out some spiced silence, 
 Where I can dream of thee. 
 
CLOISTER SHADOWS. 
 
 (a moonlight monochrome.) 
 
 On nights when the moon came out 
 
 And hung, a full, round disk. 
 
 Above the cloister tower, 
 
 And turned to phantom silver-gray 
 
 The ether sea above, 
 
 And seemed to draw men's souls 
 
 Beyond the sphere of self 
 
 To some high plane of love ; 
 
 Seeming to touch, with soft, strange thrill. 
 
 The mortal with the immortal near: 
 
 On nights like this, 
 
 The air all hushed to still ; 
 94 
 
CLOISTER SHADOWS. 95 
 
 The leaves their breath withheld 
 Under the moon's white kiss ; 
 'Twas said a form came out 
 And paced the cloister-shadowed walk. 
 
 And none could tell 
 
 Whether the form were flesh or spirit, 
 
 Human or divine. 
 
 So firm its tread, 
 
 Such manly shape and mien, 
 
 Some scarce could think, I ween. 
 
 But this were mortal man. 
 
 Pondering, it walked across the moonlight 
 
 silhouettes 
 Of tower and spire and rigid cross of Rome ; 
 Paced ponderingly, as bent on spirit-truth to 
 
 scan: 
 
96 CLOISTER SHADOWS. 
 
 Something, perchance, 
 Which only half elusive seemed to him, 
 Though hid beyond all glimpse from day- 
 light's daily man. 
 
 Then something from out the shadows deep 
 
 Would creep ; 
 
 Another form ; though fainter it would seem, 
 
 As fragile as some wreck of hope 
 
 Or wraith of perished dream. 
 
 None doubted this a phantom. 
 Whether of living or of dead. 
 Perchance 'twas but a thought in form 
 That walked behind him 
 
 Through the patterns fair of moon and 
 shade ; 
 
CLOISTER SHADOWS. 97 
 
 That turned when he turned, 
 
 And faithfully followed. 
 
 A thought in form, perchance; 
 
 The astral of some flesh-housed soul. 
 
 Her eyes held homage for the figure pacing 
 
 there 
 With firm and stately tread before, 
 Unconscious but of moon and shadows fair, 
 Nor dreaming he of steps by his steps led. 
 Of soul on worship fed, 
 That turned not to some far, fair star, 
 But found in him its avatar. 
 
 And month by month, when the moon was 
 
 full 
 And sky swept clear of cloud 
 In all the interspace between the silver island 
 
98 CLOISTER SHADOWS. 
 
 And the low, shadowing cloister tower; 
 
 Month by month, when the moon was full, 
 
 The legend tells. 
 
 The figures glided up and down 
 
 Beneath the dim, old cloister wall; 
 
 The one, unnoticed, following like a prayer ; 
 
 The other, pacing there, 
 
 Held by some charm 
 
 That only on a spirit-height may fall. 
 
 Stately and slow, in the weird, bewitching night, 
 
 The figures passed 
 
 Along the rough-edged shadow of the 
 
 parapet ; 
 Gleamed lustrous fair and white 
 In the patches of pale light ; 
 Then, through the shade-thrown profile of a 
 
 tower or spire, 
 
CLOISTER SHADOWS. 99 
 
 Up to the broad-paved steps ; 
 He, turning at the shadow of the cross, 
 Sometimes his eyes a moment on the silver- 
 poplar there ; — 
 Strong eyes, and clear, that rested tenderly 
 Upon the quivering leaves 
 Twice silvered on such nights as these ; 
 Twice happy leaves, to hold affinity 
 For eyes like his. 
 Bride of his soul, it seemed, 
 Might be such night. 
 So silver-white. 
 
 And she who, still and mist-like, walked 
 
 behind, 
 (As pure as lily breath blown on the wind 
 Seemed all her soul. 
 
lOO CLOISTER SHADOWS. 
 
 Self-lost in thought of him,) — 
 
 She also saw the quivering moonlit leaves, 
 
 But scarce remembered she had loved them 
 
 long before, 
 Loving them now athrough his love ; 
 Seeing them through his sight, his eyes ; 
 Through soul of his feeling the pathos of 
 
 their v/hispered sighs. 
 Once, they were sweet to her; 
 But sacred, now, as some high thing above, 
 For he had looked on them with eyes of 
 
 love. 
 And he so loved this cloister-shadowed place, 
 When silver-clear above spread the broad, 
 
 moonlit space. 
 She all forgot how she had cared to trace, 
 In days of earliest past, 
 
CLOISTER SHADOWS. lOI 
 
 Shadows moon-chiselled on the stone or 
 
 grass ; 
 For now a deeper, purer meaning stole, 
 (Through him,) 
 From light and shadow, on her soul. 
 
 And wraith-like, pale, and still, 
 
 She could but follow where 
 
 His steps so loved to linger; there, 
 
 Where some far spirit-height 
 
 Seemed all the air to enthrill. 
 
 Unseen, unknown, she yet must follow there, 
 
 And clasp all brave and still 
 
 Her grim but white despair; 
 
 So, leaving all, through lights and shadows 
 
 dim, 
 If only as a wraith, to follow him : 
 
102 CLOISTER SHADOWS. 
 
 To look upon the white light on his brow; 
 To catch the glow, strong, soul-touched, of 
 
 his eye. 
 Such as dwells not in eyes of other men ; 
 And feel the fetter. 
 Mystic, yet divinely sweet as silver-linked 
 
 moonbeam, 
 Still bind her to him, even through despair ; 
 Touching her shadowed life with just a 
 
 dream. 
 
TIME. 
 
 How few the hours that wear the deep car- 
 mine, 
 
 Or hold the rich bouquet of rose-red wine ! 
 
 Yet through the dull, pale gray of every- 
 day 
 
 Some thread of purpose strong and true 
 must twine. 
 
 103 
 
UNCONQUERED. 
 
 The conqueror rode along the line 
 
 Drawn up from the conquered ranks, 
 
 And each knee knelt on the blood-stained 
 
 floor, 
 
 As the monarch rode before; 
 
 Till he stopped in surprise at a slender maid, 
 
 Who stood with proudly raised head. 
 
 "Thou wilt bow to me?" he half gallantly- 
 said. 
 
 " I bow not down to power," said she. 
 
 That little maid of Thessaly, 
 
 " I kneel alone to Love ; 
 
 And love is but love when just and true ; 
 104 
 
UNCONQ UERED. 1 05 
 
 As to all, the skies are free and blue." 
 
 " Strike her down !" cried the guard behind, 
 
 Dashing forward with his lance. 
 
 But the maid drew her head in queenly 
 
 pride, 
 And turned an unfaltering glance 
 Upon the wrath-wrought warrior's face, 
 Till his own eyes fell with a softened grace. 
 " Strike me," she said, " I am not afraid." 
 " Carest thou not for thy young life, maid ?" 
 " But life, to me, would be no dower 
 Apart from love, and crushed by power." 
 " Forsooth, I like thy heart of steel. 
 But when thou prayest, thou must kneel. 
 There is a power, by your dark eye 
 I swear ! to make you kneel before you 
 
 die." 
 
I06 UNCONQUERED. 
 
 A light like warmth of sunshine filled her 
 
 face : 
 " God were not God, were his heart less than 
 
 grace. 
 Not to power of earth, or power above, 
 Could I kneel me down, except to Love. 
 A God asks not surrender to his might ; 
 Should such a power slay, a higher 
 Would lift me from the ashes to Love's 
 
 height." 
 The knight forgot his ire, 
 And rode away, 
 As he had caught a glimpse 
 Of some sun-breaking day. 
 
SERENADE. 
 
 Drop deeper, night! 
 Draw closer thy dusky veil around; 
 
 Shut out the light ! 
 And silence all daylight's restless sound : 
 So better I can whisper soft wooings to my 
 
 love, 
 Thy darkling deeps encircling, thy silver stars 
 above. 
 
 The silent stars 
 
 Are burning fair tapers to the night, 
 
 And gallant Mars, 
 
 Full valiant, comes out in armor bright; 
 107 
 
I08 SERENADE. 
 
 Hear scented sighs of pine-trees yield low 
 
 notes to the breeze, 
 Like echo from some Lorelei, far out on 
 
 silver seas. 
 
 The whippoorwill, 
 Soft calling down in the deepening grove, 
 
 With tender thrill 
 His symphony will croon to answering love. 
 Or if thy heart, all shyly, hold answer from 
 
 thy tongue, 
 Thy moonlit eyes will whisper what words 
 could ne'er have sung. 
 
 Come closer, heart ! 
 Come closer, rest on this heart of mine; 
 Come, ne'er to part ! 
 
SERENADE. IO9 
 
 Thy presence will bring me life divine. 
 Come to me in the night-time, come to me 
 
 in the day; 
 My sun and moon, my star, my love, — the 
 
 LIGHT to me alway. 
 
LOVE'S OATH. 
 
 Love thee? Thus I swear it, — 
 
 Though the stars should crumble down, 
 My love would bud and blossom, 
 
 And wreathe thee with its crown. 
 Though winds should drop their music. 
 
 Death, waves of absence roll, 
 A strand of memory twined with thee 
 
 Would blossom on my soul. 
 
SONG SECRET. 
 
 I'll whisper to thee 
 
 A secret from me, 
 O beautiful, silent moon ! 
 
 On the ocean afloat 
 
 Soft saileth a boat — 
 My heart beateth true in tune; 
 
 Sweet moon, 
 My heart beateth true in tune. 
 
 Oh, silver the sea, 
 Oh, light him to me, 
 Shine faithful, but still, sweet moon ; 
 My heart's tender stress 
 No other must guess; 
 
112 SONG SECRET. 
 
 We'll whisper in mystic rune, 
 
 Sweet moon, 
 We'll whisper in mystic rune. 
 
 When I whisper, " 'Tis he. 
 Fast sailing to me," 
 
 The story is there, sweet moon ; 
 For names you don't care. 
 And need the world share 
 
 In secrets of ours, still moon. 
 Sweet moon ? 
 
 In secrets of ours, sweet moon? 
 
TO THE NIGHT. 
 
 Burn me a jewel, 
 
 Flash me a gem, 
 Light me a torch 
 
 On thy high diadem. 
 
 Days have grown dreary. 
 
 Life but a sigh; 
 Love lies awounded, 
 
 Praying to die. 
 
 Earth's joys are paling, 
 
 So fade the day! 
 Night, let my soul 
 
 On thy wings soar away. 
 
 113 lO"!* 
 
114 TO THE NIGHT. 
 
 Light me with starlight, 
 
 Lead me afar, 
 Let my soul touch the peace 
 
 Of some still, silver star. 
 
 So let my astral 
 Wander with thee; 
 
 So let my heart 
 
 From the old life be free. 
 
 So may nepenthe 
 Dull the old pain ; 
 
 So may some new hope 
 Flame up again. 
 
 Cool blows thy breathing, 
 " Death to all wrong ;" 
 
 This is the note, Night, 
 I hear in thy song. 
 
TO THE NIGHT. 
 
 Brave are the reaches 
 Where thy fires burn; 
 
 " Life-essence eternal" 
 The h'ght that I learn. 
 
 My brain is aweary, 
 My fainting heart sore, 
 
 Hope, prostrate, lies wailing 
 Some sad nevermore: 
 
 Night, burn me a jewel, 
 
 Flash me a gem. 
 Light me some torch 
 
 On the day's fading hem. 
 
 THE END. 
 
 115 
 
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