•-r^-*^ -,/■■><'! ■•;,•/-•- ,V^- '-^^y-'y^'.- ■' • :^" iMi ml i iS EDITIONS OF LONGFELLOW'S WORKS. •"«-• POEMS. Illustrated Holiday Edition. 300 Illustrations and Portrait. I vol. 8vo $10.00 Do. Cambridge Edition. Portrait. 4 vols. i6mo 10.00 Do. Two-Volume Cambridge Edition. 4 Plates. 2 vols. i2rao. .. 8.00 Do. Cabinet Edition. Portrait, 2 vols. iSmo 4.00 Do. Blue and Gold Edition. Portrait. 2 vols. 32010 3.00 Do. Red-Line Edition. Portrait and Illustrations, i vol. i2mo 4.50 Do. Household Edition. 1 vol. i2mo '..... 2.00 Do. Diamond Edition, i vol. 32mo 1.50 PROSE WORKS. Cambridge Edition. Portrait. 3 vols. i6mo... 7.50 Do. do. Cabinet Edition. Portrait. 2 vols. iSmo 4.00 Do. do. Blue and Gold Edition. Portrait. 2 vols. 32mo 3.00 CHRISTUS, A Mystery. 3vols. i2mo 4.50 Do. do. I vol. i2mo 3.00 Do. do Cabinet Edition, i vol. i8mo 2.00 Do. do. Blue and Gold Edition. 1 vol. 32mo.... 1.50 Do. do. Red-Line Edition, i vol. i2mo 3.50 Do. do. Diamond Edition, i vol. 32mo 1.00 DANTE'S DIVINA COMMEDIA. 3 vols. Royal 8vo 15.00 Do. do. do. Cam. Ed. 3 vols. i6mo 6.00 Do. do. do. 1 vol. i2mo 3.00 SEPARATE WORKS. EVANGELINE, i vol. i6nio.... $1.25 THE SONG OF HIAIVATHA. I vol. i6mo 1.50 THE WAYSIDE INN. i vol. i6mo 1.50 THE NEiy ENGLAND TRAGE- DIES. 1 vol. i6mo THE DIVINE TRAGEDY. vol. i6ino THE DIVINE TRAGEDY, i vol. 8vo 3.00 HYPERION. I vol. i6mo 1.50 KAVANAGH. i vol. i6mo 1.25 OUTRE MER. i vol. i6mo 1.50 1.50 1.50 FLOIVER DE LUCE, i vol. T6mo THREE BOOKS OF SONG, i vol. i6mo AFTERMATH, i vol. i6mo.... BUILDING OF THE SHIP. Il- lustrated Red-Line Edition. Full pfilt. Small 4to THE HANGING OF THE CRANE. Holiday Edition. 8vo. Copiously Illustrated 5.00 THE HANGING OF THE CRANE. Popular Edition. i6mo. 12 Illustrations i-5o 2.50 3.00 For sale by Booksellers, Sent, post-paid, on receipt of price by the Pub- JAMES R. OSGOOD & CO., Boston. THE MASQUE OF PANDORA AND OTHER POEMS BY HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW BOSTON JAMES R. OSGOOD AND COMPANY Latb Ticknor & Fjelds, and Fields, Osgood, & Co. 1876 tOV ' Copyright, 1875. By Heney Wadswoeth LoNcrELLow. University Press : Welch, Bigelow, & Co., Cambridge. THE MASQUE OF PANDORA CONTENTS. THE MASQUE OF PANDORA. I. The Workshop of Heph^stus II. Olympus III. Tower of Prometheus on Mount IV. The Air ... . V. The House of Epimetheus , VI. In the Garden . VII. The House of Epimetheus VIII. In the Garden . THE HANGING OF THE CRANE MORITURI SALUTAMUS Caucasus Page 3 8 10 19 21 28 42 48 55 73 BIRDS OF PASSAGE. Flight the Fourth. Charles Sumner .... Travels by the Fireside Cadenabbia Monte Cassino 101 104 IV CONTENTS. Amalti 110 The Sermon of St. Francis .... 116 Belisarius . SoNGO River 119 123 A BOOK OF SONNETS. Three Friends of Mine 129 Chaucer , 134 Shakespeare .* . 135 Milton . 136 Keats 137 The Galaxy 138 The Sound of the Sea 139 A Summer Day by the Sea .... 140 The Tides . . . . . . . .141 A Shadow 142 A Nameless Grave 143 Sleep 144 The Old Bridge at Florence .... 145 II Ponte Vecchio di Fieenze . . . 146 THE MASQUE OF PANDORA. I. THE WORKSHOP OF HEPH.ESTUS. HEPH^STUS, standbiff before the statue of Pandora, Not fashioned out of gold;, like Hera^s throne. Nor forged of iron like the thunderbolts Of Zeus omnipotent^ or other works Wrought by my hands at Lemnos or Olympus, But moulded in soft clay, that unresisting Yields itself to the touch, this lovely form Before me stands perfect in every part. Not Aphrodite^s self aj)peared more fair. When first upwaft'^'"' by caressing winds S'.ie came to high Olympus, and the gods 4 THE MASQUE OF PANDORA. Paid homage to her beauty. Thus her hair Was cinctured ; thus her floating drapery Was like a cloud about her, and her face Was radiant with the sunshine and the sea. THE VOICE OF ZEUS. Is thy work done, Hephaestus? HEPHiESTUS. It is finished ! THE VOICE. Not finished till I breathe the breath of life Into her nostrils, and she moves and speaks. HEPHJiSTUS. Will she become immortal like ourselves ? THE VOICE. The form that thou hast fashioned out of clay Is of the earth and mortal; but the spirit, THE WORKSHOP OF IIEPILESTUS. 5 Tlis life, the exhalation of my breathy Is of diviner essence and immortal. The gods shall shower on her their benefactions, She shall possess all gifts : the gift of song, The gift of eloquence, the gift of beauty. The fascination and the nameless charm That shall lead all men captive. HEPH.ESTUS. Wherefore ? wherefore ? A lo'md shakes the house. I hear the rushing of a mighty wind Through all the halls and chambers of my house ! Har parted lips inhale it, and her bosom Heaves with the inspiration. As a reed Beside a river in the rij)pling current Bends to and fro, she bows or lifts her head. She gazes round about as if amazed ; She is alive ; she breathes, but yet she speaks not ! Fandora descends from the pedestal. 6 THE MASQUE OF PANDORA. CHORUS OF THE GRACES. AGLAIA. In the workshop of Hephaestus What is this I see ? Have the Gods to four increased us Who were only three ? Beautiful in form and feature,, Lovely as the day, Can there be so fair a creature Formed of common clay ? THALIA. sweet, pale face ! lovely eyes of azure. Clear as the waters of a brook that run Limpid and laughing in the summer sun ! golden hair that like a miser^s treasure Li its abimdance overflows the measure ! O graceful form, that cloudlike floatest on With the soft, undulating gait of one Who moveth as if motion were a pleasure \ THE WORKSHOP OF HEPHjESTUS. 7 By what name shall I call thee ? Nymph or Muse, Callirrhoe or Urania ? Some sweet name Whose every syllable is a caress Would best befit thee ; but I cannot choose, Nor do I care to choose ; for still the same, Nameless or named, will be thy loveliness. EUPHROSYNE. Dowered with all celestial gifts, Skilled in every art That ennobles and uplifts And delights the heart. Fair on earth shall be thy fame As thy face is fair. And Pandora be the name Thou henceforth shalt bear. THE MASQUE OF PANDORA. 11. OLYMPUS. HERMES, ■puttinrj on his sandals. Much must lie toil who serves the Immortal Gods^, And I;, Avho am their lierald, most of all. No rest have I^ nor respite. I no eooner Unclasp the winged sandals from my feet. Than I again must clasp them, and depart Upon some foolish errand. But to-dny The errand is not foolish. Never yet With greater joy did I obey the summons That sends me earthward. I will fly so swifily That my caduceus in the whistling air Shall make a sound like the Pandsean pipes. Cheating the shepherds; for to-day I go, Commissioned by h'gh-thundering Zeus, to lead OLYMPUS. A maiden to Prometheus, in his tower, And by my cunning arguments persuade him To marry her. What mischief lies concealed In this design I know not ; but I know Who thinks of marrying hath already taken O.ie step upon the road to penitence. Such embassies delight me. Forth I launch On the sustaining air, nor fear to fall Like Icarus, nor swerve aside like him Who drove amiss Hyperion^s fiery steeds. I sink, I fly ! The yielding element Folds itself round about me like an arm, And holds me as a mother holds her child. 1* 10 THE MASQUE OF PANDORA. Til. TOWER OF PROMETHEUS ON MOUNT CAUCASUS. PEOMETHEUS. I HEAE the trumpet of Alectryon Proclaim the dawn. The stars begin to fade. And all the heavens are full of prophecies And evil auguries. Blood-red last night I saw great Kronos rise ; the crescent moon Sank through the mist, as if it were the scythe His parricidal hand had flung far down The western steeps. ye Immortal Gods, "What evil are ye plotting and contriving? HERMES ajid PANDORA at the threshold. PANDORA. I cannot cross the threshold. An unseen TOWER OF PROMETHEUS ON MOUNT CAUCASUS. 11 And icy hand repels me. These blank walls Oppress me with their weiglit ! PROMETHEUS. Powerful ye are, But not omnipotent. Ye cannot fight Against Necessity. The Fates control you, As they do us, and so far we are equals ! PANDORA. Motionless, passionless, companionless, He sits there muttering in his beard. His voice Is like a river flowing underground ! HERMES. Prometheus, hail ! PROMETHEUS. Who calls me ? HERMES. It is I. Dost thou not know me ?, 12 THE MASQUE OF PANDORA. PROMETHEUS. By thy winged cap And winged heels I know thee. Thou art Hermes, Captain of thieves ! Hast thou again been stealing The heifers of Admetus in the sweet Meadows of asphodel ? or Hera^s girdle ? Or the earth-shaking trident of Poseidon ? HERMES. And thou, Prometheus ; say, hast thou again Been stealing fire from Helios^ chariot-wheels To light thy furnaces ? PROMETHEUS. Why comest thou hither So early in the dawn? HERMES. The Immortal Gods Know naught of late or early. Zeus himself The omnipotent hath sent me. TOWER OF PROMETHEUS ON MOUNT CAUCASUS. 13 PROMETHEUS. For what purpose? HERMES. To bring this maiden to thee. PROMETHEUS. I mistrust The Gods and all their gifts. If they have sent her It is for no good purpose. HERMES. Wliat disaster Could she bring on thy house^ who is a woman ? PROMETHEUS. The Gods are not my friends, nor am I theirs. Whatever comes from them, though in a shape As beautiful as this, is evil only. Who art thou ? 14 THE MASQUE OF PANDORA. PANDORA. One who,, though to thee unknown. Yet knoweth thee. PROMETHEUS. How shouldst thou know me, woman? PANDORA. Who knoweth not Prometheus the humane ? PROMETHEUS. Prometheus the unfortunate ; to whom Both Gods and men have shown themselves un- grateful. When every spark was quenched on every hearth Throughout the earth, I brought to man the fire And all its mmistrations. My reward Hath been the rock and vulture. HERMES. But the Gods At last relent and pardon. T01VER OF PROMETHEUS ON MOUNT CAUCASUS. 15 PROMETHEUS. They relent not; They pardon not; they are implacable, Eevengeful^ unforgiving ! HERMES. As a pledge Of reconciliation they have sent to thee This divine beings, to be thy companion. And bring into thy melancholy house The sunshine and the fragrance of her youth. PROMETHEUS. I need them not. I have within myself All that my heart desires ; the ideal beauty Which the creative faculty of mind Fashions and follows in a thousand shapes More lovely than the real. My own thoughts Are my companions ; my designs and labors And aspirations are my only friends. 16 THE MASQUE OF PANDORA. HERMES. Decide not raslilj. The decision made Can never be recalled. The Gods implore not, Plead not, solicit not ; they only offer Choice and occasion, which once being passed Eeturn no more. Dost thou accept the gift ? PROMETHEUS. No gift of theirs, m whatsoever shape It comes to me, with whatsoever charm To fascinate my sense, will I receive. Leave me. PAX DORA. Let us go hence. I w^ll not stay. HERMES. We leave thee to thy vacant dreams, and all The silence and the solitude of thought, The endless bitterness of unbelief. The loneliness of existence without love. TOWER OF PROMETHEUS ON MOUNT CAUCASUS. 17 CHORUS OF THE FATES. CLOTIIO. How the Titan, the detiTnt, The self-centred, self-reliant, AV rapped in visions and illusions, Robs himself of lifers best gifts ! Till by all the storm-winds shaken. By the blast of fate overtaken. Hopeless, helpless, and forsaken. In the mists of his confusions To the reefs of doom he drifts ! LACHESIS. Sorely tried and sorely tempted, From no agonies exempted. In the penance of his trial. And the disciplhie of pain ; Ofien by illusions cheated, Often baffled and defeated 18 THE MASQUE OF PANDORA. In the tasks to be completed, He, by toil and self-denial, To the highest shall attain. ATROPOS. Tempt no more the noble schemer ; Bear unto some idle dreamer This new toy and fascination, This new dalliance and delight ! To the garden where reposes Epimetheus crowned with roses. To the door that never closes Upon pleasure and temptation. Bring this vision of the night I THE AIR. IV. THE AIR. HERMES, returning to Olympus. As lonely as the tower that he inhabits. As firm and cold as are the crags about him, Prometheus stands. The thunderbolts of Zeus Alone can move him ; but the tender heart Of Epimetheus, burning at white heat, Hammers and flames like all his brother^s forges ! Now as an arrow from Hyperion^s bow, •My errand done, I fly, I float, I soar Into the air returning to Olympus. joy of motion ! delight to cleave The infinite realms of space, the liquid ether. Through the warm sunshine and the cooling cloud. Myself as light as sunbeam or as cloud ! 20 THE MASQUE OF PANDORA. With one touch of my swift and winged feet^ I spurn the solid earth, and leave it rocking As rocks the bough from which a bird takes wing. THE HOUSE OF EP I MET HE US. 21 V. THE HOUSE OF EPIMETHEUS. EPIMETHEUS. Beautiful apparition ! go not hence ! Surely thou art a Goddess, for thy voice Is a celestial melody, and thy form Self-poised as if it floated on the air ! PANDORA. No Goddess am I, nor of heavenly birth, But a mere woman fashioned out of clay And mortal as the rest. EPIMETHEUS. Thy face is fair; There is a wonder in thine azure eyes That fascinates me. Thy whole presence seems 22 THE MASQUE OF PANDORA. A soft desire^, a breathing thought of love. Say^ would thy star like Merope^s grow dim If thou shouldst Aved beneath thee ? PANDORA. Ask me not; I cannot answer thee. I only know The Gods have sent me hither. EPIMETIIEUS. I believe, And thus believing am most fortunate. It was not Hermes led thee here, but Eros, And swifter than his arrows were thine eyes In wounding me. There was no moment^s space Between my seeing thee and loving thee. O, what a tell-tale face thou hast ! Again I see the wonder in thy tender eyes. PANDORA. They do but answer to the love in thine, THE HOUSE OF EPIMETIIEUS. 23 Yet secretly I wonder thou shouldst love me. Thou knowest me not. EPIMETHEUS. Perhaps I know thee better Than had I known thee longer. Yet it seems That I have always known thee^, and but now Have found thee. Ah^ I have been waitmg long. PANDORA. How beautiful is this house ! The atmosphere Breathes rest and comfort,, and the many chambers Seem full of welcomes. EPIMETHEUS. They not only seem^ But truly are. This dwelling and its master Belon"' to thee. PANDORA. Here let me stay forever ! There is a spell upon me. 24? THE MASQUE OF PANDORA. EPIMETHEUS. Thou thyself Art the enchantress^ and I feel thy power Envelop me, and wrap my soul and sense In an Elysian dream. PAJfDORA. O;, let me stay. How beautiful are all things round about me, Multiplied by the mirrors on the walls ! What treasures hast thou here ! Yon oaken chest, Carven with figures and embossed with gold. Is wonderful to look upon ! What choice And precious things dost thou keep hidden in it ? EPIMETHEUS. I know not. ^T is a mystery. PANDORA. Hast thou never Lifted the lid ? THE HOUSE OF EPIMETHEUS. 25 EPIMETIIEUS. The oracle forbids. Safely concealed there from all mortal eyes Forever sleeps the secret of the Gods. Seek not to know what they have hidden from thee_, Till they themselves reveal it. PANDORA. As thou wilt. EPDIETIIEUS. Let us go forth from this mysterious place. The garden walks are pleasant at this hour; The nightingales among the sheltering boughs Of populous and many-nested trees Shall teach me how to avoo thee, and shall tell me By what resistless charms or incantations They won their mates. PANDORA. Thou dost not need a teacher. T/ie^ go out. 26 THE MASQUE OF PANDORA. CHORUS OF THE EUMENIDES. What the Immortals Conficle to thy keepings Tell unto no man ; Waking or sleeping, Closed be thy portals To friend as to foeman. Silence conceals it; The word that is spoken Betrays and reveals it ; By breath or by token The charm may be broken. With shafts of their splendors The ^ Gods unforgiving Pursue the offenders. The dead and the living ! Fortune forsakes them. Nor earth shall abide them. THE HOUSE OF EPIMETHEUS. 27 Nor Tartarus hide them ; Swift wrath overtakes them ! With useless endeavor,, Forever^ forever^ Is Sisyphus rolling His stone up the mountain ! Immersed in the fountain^ Tantalus tastes not The water that wastes not ! Through ages increasing The pangs that afflict him. With motion unceasing The wheel of Ixion Shall torture its victim ! 28 THE MASQUE OF PANDORA. VI. IN THE GARDEN. EPIMETHEUS. Yon snow-white cloud that sails sublime in ether Is but the sovereign Zeus_, who like a swan Flies to fair-ankled Leda ! PANDOKA. Or perchance Ixion^s cloudy the shadowy shape of Hera^ That bore the Centaurs. EPIMETHEUS. The divine and human. CHORUS OF BIRDS. Gently swaying to and fro^ Becked by all the winds that blow^ IN THE GARDEN. 29 Bright witli sunshine from above Dark with shndow from below, Beak to beak and breast to breast In the cradle of tlieir nest, Lie the fledglings of our love. ECHO. Love ! love ! EPIMETITEUS. Hark ! listen ! Hear how sweetly overhead The feathered flute-players pipe their songs of love. And echo answers, love and only love. CHORUS OF BIRDS. Every flutter of the wing, Every note of song we sing, Every murmur, every tone, Is of love and love alone. ECHO. Love alone ! 30 THE MASQUE OF PANDORA. EPIMETHETJS. Who would not love_, if loving she might be Changed like Callisto to a star in heaven? PANDORA. Ah, who would love, if loving she might be Like Semele consumed and burnt to ashes? EPIMETHETJS. Whence knowest thou these stories ? PANDORA. Hermes taught me; He told me all the history of the Gods. CHORUS OF REEDS. Evermore a sound shall be In the reeds of A ready, Evermore a low lament Of unrest and discontent. 7.V THE GARDEN. 31 As the story is retold Of the nymph so coy and cold. Who with frightened feet outran The pursuing steps of Pan. EPIMETHEUS. The pipe of Pan out of these reeds is made. And when he plays upon it to the shepherds They pity him, so mournful is the sound. Be thou not coy and cold as Syrinx was. PANDORA. Nor thou as Pan be rude and mannerless. PROMETHEUS, without. Ho ! Epimetheus ! EPIMETHEUS. ''T is my brother^s voice ; A sound unwelcome and inopportune 32 THE MASQUE OF PANDORA. As was tlie braying of Silenus' ass_, Once heard in Cvbele^s garden. PANDORA. Let me go. I would not be found here. I would not see him. S/ie escapes among the trees. CHORUS OF DRYADES. Haste and hide thee. Ere too late, In these thickets intricate ; . Lest Prometheus See and chide thee, \ Lest some hurt Or harm betide thee. Haste and hide thee ! PROMETHEUS, entering. Who was it fled from here? I saw a shape Flitting among the trees. IN THE GARDEN. 33 EPIMETIIEUS. It was Pandora. PROMETHEUS. Epimetlieus ! Is it then in vain That I have warned thee ? Let me now implore. Thou harborest in thy house a dangerous guest. EPIMETIIEUS. Whom the Gods love they honor with such guests. PROMETHEUS. Whom the Gods would destroy they first make mad. EPIMETIIEUS. Shall I refuse the gifts they send to me ? PROMETHEUS. Eeject all gifts that come from higher powers. EPIMETHEUS. Such gifts as this are not to be rejected. 34 THE MASQUE OF PANDORA. PROMETHEUS. Make not thyself the slave of any woman. EPIMETHEUS. Make not thyself the judge of any man. PROMETHEIJS. I judge thee not ; for thou art more than man 3 Thou art descended from Titanic race_, And hast a Titan^s strength,, and faculties That make thee godlike ; and thou sittest here Like Heracles spinning Omphale^s flax, And beaten with her sandals. EPIMETHEUS. O my brother ! Thou drivest me to madness with thy taunts. PROMETHEUS. And me thou drivest to madness with thy follies. Come with me to my tower on Caucasus : IN THE GARDEN. 35 See there my forges in the roaring caverns^ Beneficent to man^ and taste the joy That s^jrings from labor. E/ead with me the stars, And learn the virtues that lie hidden in j^hints, And all things that are usefid. EPIMETHEUS. my brother ! I am not as thou art. Thou dost inherit Our father^s strength, and I our mother^s weakness : The softness of the Oceanides, The yielding nature that cannot resist. PROMETHEUS. Because thou wilt not. EPIMETHEUS. Nay; because I cannot. PROMETHEUS. Assert thyself; rise up to thy full height; Shake from thy soul these dreams effeminate, 36 TEE MASQUE OF PANDORA. These passions born of indolence and ease. Resolve, and thou art free. But breathe the air Of mountains, and their unapproachable summits Will lift thee to the level of themselves. EPIMETIIEUS. The roar of forests and of waterfalls, The rushing of a mighty wind, with loud And undistiuguishable voices calling. Are in my ear ! PROMETHEUS. O, listen and obey. EPIMETHEUS. Thou leadest me as a child. I follow thee. They go out. CHORUS OF OREADES. Centuries old are the mountains ; Their foreheads wrinkled and rifted IN THE GARDEN. 37 Helios crowns by day, Pallid Selene by night; Erom their bosoms nptossed The snows are driven and drifted, Like Tithonus^ beard Streaming dishevelled and white. Thunder and tempest of wind Their trumpets blow in the vastness; Phantoms of mist and rain, Cloud and the shadow of cloud, Pass and repass by the gates Of their inaccessible fastness ; Ever unmoved they stand. Solemn, eternal, and proud. VOICES OF THE WATERS. Flooded by rain and snow In their inexhaustible sources. Swollen by affluent streams 38 THE MASQUE OF PANDORA. Hurrying onward and liiirled Headlong over the crags_, The impetuous water-courses^ Eush and roar and plunge Down to the nethermost world. Say, have the solid rocks Into streams of silver been melted, Flowing over the plains, Spreading to lakes in the fields ? Or have the mountains, the giants, The ice-helmed, the forest-belted, Scattered their arms abroad; Pluns: in the meadows their shields ? VOICES OF THE WINDS. High on their turreted cliffs That bolts of thunder have shattered. Storm-winds muster and blow Trumpets of terrible breath; IN THE garden: 39 Then from the gateways rush, And before them routed and scattered Sullen the cloud-rack flies, Pale with the pallor of death. Onward the hurricane rides, And flee for shelter the shepherds; "White are the frightened leaves, Harvests with terror are white; Panic seizes the herds. And even the lions and leopards, Prowling no longer for prey. Crouch in their caverns with fright. VOICES OF THE EOREST. Guarding the mountains around Majestic the forests are standing, Bright are their crested helms, Dark is their armor of leaves ; Pillsd with the breath of freedom 40 THE MASQUE OF PANDORA. Each bosom subsiding, expanding, Now like the ocean sinks. Now like the ocean upheaves. Planted firm on the rock, With foreheads stern and defiant, Loud they shout to the winds. Loud to the tempest they call ; Naught but Olympian thunders, That blasted Titan and Giant, Them can uproot and overthrow. Shaking the earth with their fall. CHORUS OF OREADES. These are the Yoices Three Of winds and forests and fountains, Yoices of earth and of air. Murmur and rushing of streams. Making together one sound. The mysterious voice of the mountains. IN THE GARDEN. 41 Waking the sluggard that sleeps. Waking the dreamer of dreams. These are the Voices Three, That speak of endless endeavor. Speak of endurance and strength. Triumph and fulness of fame. Sounding about the world. An inspiration forever. Stirring the hearts of men. Shaping their end and tlieir aim. 42 THE MASQUE OF PANDORA. YII. THE HOUSE OF EPIMETHEUS. Left to mj^self I wander as I will, And as my fancy leads me_, through this house. Nor could I ask a dwelling more complete Were I indeed the Goddess that he deems me. No mansion of Olympns, framed to be The habitation of the Immortal Gods, Can be more beautiful. And this is mine And more than this, the love wherewith he crowns me. As if impelled by powers invisible And irresistible, my steps return Unto this spacious hall. All corridors And passages lead hither, and all doors THE HOUSE OF EPIMETHEUS. 43 But open into it. Yon mysterious cliest Attracts and fascinates me. Would I knew "What there lies hidden ! But the oracle Forbids. Ah me ! Tiie secret then is safe. So would it be if it were in my keeping. A crowd of shadowy faces from the mirrors That line these walls are watching me. I dare not Lift up the lid. A hundred times the act Would be repeated, and the secret seen By twice a hundred incorporeal eyes. S/ie walks to the other side of the hall. My feet are weary, wandering to and fro, My eyes with seeing and my heart with waiting. I will lie here and rest till he returns, Who is my dawn, my day, my Helios. throws herself npoti a couch, and falls asleep. ZEPHYRUS. Come from thy caverns dark and deep, O son of Erebus and Night; 44 THE MASQUE OF PANDORA. All sense of hearing and of sight Enfold in the serene delight And quietude of sleep ! Set all thy silent sentinels To bar and guard the Ivory Gate, And keep the e\al dreams of fate And falsehood and infernal hate Imprisoned in their cells. But open wide the Gate of Horn, Whence, beautiful as planets, rise The dreams of truth, with starry eyes. And all the wondrous pro|)hecies And visions ■ of the morn. CnORUS OF DREAMS FROM THE IVORY GATE. Ye sentinels of sleep. It is in vain ye keep Your drowsy watch before the Ivory Gate; THE HOUSE OF EPIMETHEUS. 45 Though closed the portal seems, The airy feet of dreams Ye cannot thus in walls incarcerate. We phantoms are and dreams Born by Tartarean streams, As ministers of the infernal powers ; O son of Erebus And Night, behold ! we thus Elude your watchful warders on the towers ! From gloomy Tartarus The Fates have summoned us To whisper in her ear, who lies asleep, A tale to fan the tire Of her insane desire To know a secret that the Gods would keep. This passion, in their ire. The Gods themselves inspire, 46 THE MASQUE OF PANDORA. To vex mankind with evils manifold, So that disease and pain O^er the whole earth maj reign. And nevermore return the Acs-e of Gold, o PANDORA, waking. A voice said in my sleep : " Do not delay : Do not delay ; the golden moments fly ! The oracle hath forbidden ; yet not thee Doth it forbid, but Epimetlieus only ! " I am alone. These faces in the mirrors Are but tlie shadows and j^hantoms of myself; They cannot help nor hinder. No one sees me, Save the all-seeing Gods, Avho, knowing good And knoAving evil, have created me Such as I am, and filled me with desire Of knowing good and evil like themselves. She approaches the chest. I liesitate no longer. Weal or woe, Or life or death, the moment shall decide. THE HOUSE OF EPIMETHEUS. 47 S/ie lifts the lid. A dense mist rises from the chest, and fills the room. Pandora falls senseless on the floor. ' Storm without. CHORUS OF DREAMS FROM THE GATE OF HOllN. Yes, the moment shall decide ! It already hath decided; And the secret once confided To the keeping of the Titan Now is flying far and wide, Whispered, told on every side^ To disquiet and to frighten. Fever of the heart and brain. Sorrow, pestilence, and pain. Moans of anguish, maniac laughter. All the evils that hereafter Shall afflict and vex mankind. All into the air have risen From the chambers of their prison ; Only Hope remains behind. 48 THE MASQUE OF PANDORA. VIII. IN THE GARDEN. EPIMETHEUS. The storm is past, but it hatli left behind it Euin and desolation. All the walks Are strewn with shattered boughs; the birds are silent ; The flowers,, downtrodden bj the wind, lie dead ; The swollen rivulet sobs with secret pain; The melancholy reeds whisper together As if some dreadful deed had been committed They dare not name, and all the air is heavy With an unspoken sorrow ! Premonitions, Foreshadowings of some terrible disaster Oppress my heart. Ye Gods, avert the omen ! IN THE GARDEN. 49 PANDOHA, coming/ from the house. O Epimetheus, I no longer dare To lift mine eyes to tliine^ nor hear tliy voice, Being no longer worthy of thy love. EPIMETHEUS. What hast thou done ? PANDORA. Forgive me not, but kill me. EPIMETHEUS. "What hast thou done ? PANDORA. I pray for death, not pardon. EPIMETHEUS. What hast thou done? PANDORA. I dare not speak of it. 50 THE MASQUE OF PANDORA. EPIMETIIETJS. Thy pallor and thy silence terrify me ! PANDORA. I have brouglit wrath and ruin on thy house ! My heart hath braved the oracle that guarded The fatal secret from us^ and my hand Lifted the lid of the mysterious chest ! EPIMETHEUS. Then all is lost ! I am indeed undone. PANDORA. I pray for punishment^ and not for pardon. EPIMETHEUS. Mine is the faulty not thine. On me shall fall The vengeance of the Gods^ for I betrayed Their secret when^ in evil hour^ I said It was a secret; when^ in evil hour^ I left tliee here alone to this temptation. Why did I leave thee? IN THE GARDEN. 51 PANDORA. Why didst thou return ? Eternal absence would have been to me The greatest punishment. To be left alone And face to face with my own crime^ had been Just retribution. Upon me^ ye Gods, Let all your vengeance fall ! EPIMETHEUS. On thee and me. I do not love thee less for what is done,, And cannot be undone. Thy very weakness Hath brought thee nearer to me, and henceforth My love will have a sense of pity in it, Making it less a worship than before. PANDORA. Pity me not; pity is degradation. Love me and kill me. EPIMETHEUS. Beautiful Pandora I Thou art a Goddess still ! 52 THE MASQUE OF PANDORA. PANDORA. I am a woman; And the insurgent demon in my nature. That made me brave the oracle, revolts At pity and compassion. Let me die; What else remains for me ? EPIMETHEUS. Youth, hope, and love : To build a new life on a ruined life. To make the future fairer than the past. And make the past appear a troubled dream. Even now in passing through the garden walks Upon the ground I saw a fallen nest Euined and full of rain; and over me Beheld the uncomplaining birds already Busy in building a new habitation. PANDORA. • Auspicious omen I JN THE GARDEN. 53 EPIMETHEUS- May the Eumenides Put out their torches and behold us not, And fling aAvay their whips of scorpions And touch us not. Me let them punish. Only through punishment of our evil deeds. Only through suffering, are we reconciled To the immortal Gods and to ourselves, CHORUS OF THE EUMENIDES. Never shall souls like these Escape the Eumenides, The daughters dark of Acheron and Night! Unquenched our torches glare, Our scourges in the air Send forth prophetic sounds before they smite. 54 THE MASQUE OF PANDORA. Never by lapse of time The soul defaced by crime Into its former self returns again; Por every guilty deed Holds in itself the seed Of retribution and undying 2iain. Never shall be the loss Eestored^ till Helios Hath purified them with his heavenly fires; Then what was lost is won_, And the new life begun,, Kindled with nobler passions and desires. THE HANGING OF THE CRANE, THE HANGING OF THE CEANE, The lights are out;, and gone are all the guests That thronging came with merriment and jests To celebrate the Hanging of the Crane In the new house, — into the night are gone; But still the fire upon the hearth burns on. And I alone remain. fortunate, happy day, When a new household finds its place Among the myriad homes of earth, Like a new star just sprung to birth. And rolled on its harmonious way Into the boundless realms of space ! 3* 58 THE HANGING OF THE CRANE. So said the guests in speech and song. As in the chimney, burning bright, We hung the iron crane to-night. And merry was the feast and long. THE HANGING OF THE CRANE. 59 II. And now I sit and muse on what may be_, And in my vision see_, or seem to see^ Tlirougli floating vapors interfused with light, Shapes indeterminate, that gleam and fade. As shadows passing into deeper shade Sink and elude the sight. Eor two alone, there in the hall. Is spread the table round and small; Upon the polished silver shine The evening lamps, but, more divine. The light of love shines over all; Of love, that says not mine and thine. But ours, for ours is thine and mine. 60 THE HANGING OF THE CRANE. They want no guests, to come between Their tender glances like a screen. And tell tliem tales of land and sea. And whatsoever may betide The great, forgotten world outside; They want no guests; they needs must be Each other^s own best company. THE HANGING OF THE CBANE. 61 III. The picture fades; as at a village fair A showman^s views^ dissolving into air, Again appear transfigured on the screen. So in my fancy this; and now once more. In part transfigured, through the open door Appears the selfsame scene. Seated, I see the two again. But not alone; they entertain A little angel unaware. With face as ro^md as is the moon; A royal guest with flaxen hair; Who, throned upon his lofty chair. Drums on the table with his spoon. THE HANGING OF THE CRANE. Then drops it careless on the floor. To grasp at tilings unseen before. Are these celestial manners? these The ways that Avin_, the arts that please? Ah yes; consider well the guest, And whatsoever he does seems best; He ruleth by the right divine Of helplessness, so lately born In purj^le chambers of the morn. As sovereign over thee and thine. He speaketh not; and yet there lies A conversation in his eyes; The golden silence of the Greek, The gravest wisdom of the wise. Not sjooken in language, but in looks More legible than printed books. As if he could but would not speak. And now, monarch absolute. Thy power is put to proof ; for, lo ! THE HANGING OF THE CRANE. 63 Eesistless, fathomless^ and slow, The nurse comes rustling like the sea. And pushes back thy chair and thee. And so good night to King Canute. 64 THE HANGING OF THE CRANE, IV. As one avIio walking in a forest sees A lovely landscape through the parted trees, Then sees it not_, for boughs that intervene; Or as we see the moon sometimes revealed Through drifting clouds, and then again concealed. So I behold the scene. There are two guests at table now; The king, deposed and older grown. No longer occupies the throne, — The cro^^Ti is on his sister^s brow; A Princess from the Fairy Isles, Tlie very pattern girl of girls. All covered and embowered in curls. THE HANGING OF THE CRANE. C5 Eose -tinted from the Isle of Flowers, And sailing with soft, silken sails Prom far-off Dreamland into onrs. Above their bowls with rims of blue Eour azure eyes of deeper hue Are looking, dreamy with delight; Limpid as planets that emerge Above the ocean^s rounded verge. Soft-shining through the summer night. Steadfast they gaze, yet nothing see Beyond the horizon of their bowls; Nor care they for the world that rolls With all its freight of troubled souls Into the days that are to be. QQ THE HANGING OF THE CRANE. Again the tossing boughs shut out the scene, Again the drifting vapors intervene, And the moon's pallid disk is hidden quite; And now I see the table wider groAvn, As round a pebble into water thrown Dilates a ring of light. I see the table wider grown, I see it garlanded with guests. As if fair Ariadne's Crown Out of the sky had fallen down; Maidens within whose tender breasts A thousand restless hopes and fears, Forth reaching to the coming years, THE HANGING OF THE CRANE. QJ Flutter awhile, then quiet lie, Like timid birds that fain would flj, But do not dare to leave their nests ; — ■ And youths, who in their strength elate Challenge the van and front of fate. Eager as champions to be In the divine knight-errantry Of youth, that travels sea and land Seeking adventures, or pursues. Through cities, and through solitudes Frequented by the lyric Muse, The phantom with the beckoning hand. That still allures and still eludes. O sweet illusions of the brain ! sudden thrills of fire and frost! The world is bright while ye remain, And dark and dead when ye are lost ! 68 THE HANGING OF THE CRANE. VI. The meadow-brook, that seemeth to stand still, Quickens its current as it nears the mill ; And so tlie stream of Time that lingereth In level places, and so dull appears, E,uns with a swifter current as it nears The gloomy mills of Death. And now, like the magician^s scroll. That in the owner^s keeping shrinks AYith every wish he speaks or thinks, Till the last wish consumes the whole, The table dwindles, and again I see the two alone remain. The crown of stars is broken in parts; THE HANGING OF THE CRANE. 69 Its jewels, brigliter than the day, Have one by one been stolen away To shine in other homes and hearts. One is a wanderer now afar In Ceylon or in Zanzibar, Or sunny regions of Cathay; And one is in the boisterous camp Mid clink of arms and horses^ tramp. And battlers terrible array. I see the patient mother read, "With aching heart, of wrecks that float Disabled on those seas remote. Or of some great heroic deed On battle-fields, where thousands bleed To lift one hero into fame. Anxious she bends her graceful head Above these chronicles of pain. And trembles with a secret dread Lest there among the drowned or slain She find the one beloved name. 70 THE HANGI^^G OF THE CEA^^E. VII. Aftee a day of cloud and Avind and rain Sometimes the setting sun breaks out again, And^ touching all the darksome woods Avith light, Smiles on the fields, until they laugh and sing. Then like a ruby from the horizon's ring Drops doAvii into the night. \Vhat see I now? The night is fair. The storm of grief, the clouds of care. The wind, the rain, have passed away ; The lamps are lit, the fires burn bright. The house is full of life and light: It is the Golden Wedding day. The guests come thronging in once more. THE HANGING OF THE CRAXE. 71 Quick footsteps sound along the floor. The trooping children crowd the stair_, And in and out and everywhere Flashes along the corridor The sunshine of their golden hair. On the round table in the hall Another Ariadne^s Crown Out of the sky hath fallen down; More than one Monarch of the Moon Is drumming with his silver spoon; The light of love shines over all. fortunate, happy day ! The people sing, the people say. The ancient bridegroom and the bride. Smiling contented and serene Upon the blithe, bewildering scene. Behold, well-pleased, on every side Their forms and features multiplied. THE HANGING OF THE CRANE. As tlie reflection of a lidit Between two burnished mirrors gleams^ Or lamps upon a bridge at night Stretch on and on before the sight. Till the long vista endless seems. MORITURI SALUTAMUS. POEM FOR THE FIFTIETH ANNIVERSARY OF THE CLASS OF 1825 IN BOWDOIN COLLEGE. Teniponi labuntiir, tacitisqne senescimus annis, Et fugiuiit freuo non rcmorautc dies. Ovid, Fastonun Lib. vi. MORITURI SALUTAMUS. " CiESAR^ we who are about to die Salute you ! " was the gladiators^ cry In the arena, standing face to face With death and with the Eoman populace. O ye familiar scenes, — ye groves of pine, That once were mine and are no longer mine, — Thou river, widening through the meadows green To the vast sea, so near and yet unseen, — • Ye halls, in Avhose seclusion and repose Phantoms of fame, like exhalations, rose And vanished, — we who are about to die Salute you ; earth and air and sea and sky, 76 MORITURI SALUTAMUS. And the Imperial Sun that scatters clown His sovereign splendors upon grove and town. Ye do not answer us ! ye do not hear ! We are forgotten; and in your austere And calm indifference^ ye little care Whether we come or go, or whence or where. What passing generations fill these halls. What passing voices echo from these walls. Ye heed not ; we are only as the blast, A moment heard, and then forever past. Not so the teachers wdio in earlier days Led our bewildered feet through learning's maze ; They answer us — alas ! what have I said ? What greetings come there from the voiceless dead ? What salutation, w^elcome, or reply ? What pressure from the hands that lifeless lie ? They are no longer here ; they all are gone Into the land of shadows, — all save one. MORITURI SALUTAMUS. 77 Honor and reverence, and the good repute That follows faithful service as its fruit, Be imto him, whom living we salute. The great Italian poet, when he made His dreadful journey to the realms of shade. Met there the old instructor of his youth, And cried in tones of pity and of ruth : ''O, never from the memory of my heart Your dear, paternal image shall depart. Who while on earth, ere yet by death surprised. Taught me how mortals are immortalized; How grateful am I for that patient care All my life long my language shall declare." To-day we make the poet's words our own. And utter them in plaintive undertone; Nor to the living only be they said> But to the other living called the dead, Whose dear, paternal images appear 78 MORITURI SALUTAMUS. Not wrapped in gloom_, but robed in sunshine here ; Whose simple lives,, complete and without flaw^ Were part and parcel of great Nature^s law; Who said not to their Lord^ as if afraid^ " Here is thj talent in a napkin laid/'' But labored in their sphere^ as men who live In the delight that work alone can give. Peace be to them ; eternal peace and rest^ And the fulfilment of the great behest : ^' Ye have been faithful over a few tilings^ Over ten cities shall ye reign as khigs/^ And ye who fill the places we once filled, And follow in the furrows that we tilled, Young men, whose generous hearts are beating higli, We who are old, and are about to die, Salute you; hail you; take your hands in ours, And crown vou with our welcome as with flowers ! MORITURI SALUTAMUS. 79 How beautiful is youth ! liow bright it gleams With its illusions, aspirations, dreams ! Book of Beginnings, Story without End, Each maid a heroine, and each man a friend ! Aladdin^s Lamp, and Fortunatus^ Parse, That holds the treasures of the universe ! All possibilities are in its hands. No danger daunts it, and no foe withstands; In its sublime audacity of faith, " Be thou removed ! '' it to the mountain saith, And with ambitious feet, secure and proud. Ascends the ladder leaning on the cloud ! As ancient Priam at the Scsean gate Sat on the walls of Troy in regal state With the old men, too old and weak to fight. Chirping like grasshoppers in their delight To see the embattled hosts, with spear and shield, Of Trojans and Achaians in the field ; So from the snowy summits of our years 80 MORITURI SALUTAMUS. We see jou in the plain_, as each appears, And question of you ; asking, " AYho is he That towers above the others ? Which may be Atreides, Menelaus, Odysseus, Ajax the great, or bold Idomeneus ? '' Let him not boast who puts his armor on As he who puts it off, the battle done. Study yourselves ; and most of all note well Wherein kind Nature meant you to excel. Not every blossom ripens into fruit ; Minerva, the inventress of the flute, riung it aside, when she her face surveyed Distorted in a fountain as she played ; The unlucky Marsyas found it, and his fate Was one to make the bravest hesitate. Write on your doors the saying wise and old, " Be bold ! be bold ! '' and everywhere — " Be bold ; Be not too bold ! '^ Yet better the excess MORITUIU SALUTAMUS. 81 Than the defect ; better the more than bss ; Better like Hector in the field to die, Than like a perfumed Paris turn and flj. And now_, my classmates ; ye remaining few That number not the half of those we knew, Ye, against whose familiar names not yet The fatal asterisk of death is set. Ye I salute ! The horologe of Time Strikes the half-century with a solemn chime. And summons us together once again. The joy of meeting not unmixed with pain. Where are the others ? Yoices from the deep Caverns of darkness answer me : " They sleep ! '' I name no names; instinctively I feel Each at some well-remembered grave will kneel, And from the inscription wipe the weeds and moss. For every heart best knoweth its own loss. 4* F 82 MORITURI SALUTAMUS. I see their scattered gravestones gleaming white Tlirough the pale dusk of the impending night; O^'er all alike the impartial sunset throws Its golden lilies mingled Avith the rose ; We give to each a tender thought^ and pass Out of the graveyards Avith their tangled grass^ Unto these scenes frequented by our feet When we were young, and life was fresh and sAveet. What shall I say to you? What can I say Better than silence is ? When I survey This throng of faces turned to meet my own, Friendly and fair, and yet to me unknown. Transformed the very landscape seenis to be ; It is the same, yet not the same to me. So many memories croAvd upon my brain. So many ghosts are in the wooded j)lain, I fain Avould steal aAvay, Avith noiseless tread. As from a house where some one lieth dead. MORITURI SALUTAMUS. 83 I cannot go ; — I pause ; — I hesitate ; My feet reluctant linger at the gate; As one who struggles in a troubled dream To speak and cannot, to myself I seem. Yanish the dream ! Vanish tlie idle fears ! Yanish the rolling mists of fifty years ! Whatever time or space may intervene, I will not be a stranger in this scene. Here every doubt, all indecision ends; Hail, my companions, comrades, classmates, friends ! Ah me ! the fifty years since last we met Seem to me fifty folios bound and set By Time, the great transcriber, on his shelves, Wherein are written the histories of ourselves. What tragedies, what comedies, are there ; What joy and grief, what rapture and despair ! What chronicles of triumph and defeat. Of struggle, and temptation, and retreat ! '84 MORITURI SALUTAMUS. What records of regrets^ and doubts,, and fears ! What pages blotted^ blistered by our tears ! What lovely landscapes on the margin shine. What sweet, angelic faces, what divme And holy images of love and trust, Undimmed by age, unsoiled by damp or dust ! Whose hand shall dare to open and explore These volumes, closed and clasped forevermore ? Not mine. With reverential feet I pass ; I hear a voice that cries, " Alas ! alas ! Whatever hath been written shall remain, Nor be erased nor written o^er again ; The unwritten only still belongs to thee : Take heed, and ponder w^ell what that shall be/^ As children frightened by a thunder-cloud Are reassured if some one reads aloud A tale of wonder, with enchantment fraught. Or wild adventure, that diverts their thouc^ht. • ' MORITURI SALUTAMUS. 85 Let me endeavor with a tale to chase The gathering shadows of the time and place. And banish what we all too deeply feel Wholly to say, or wholly to conceal. In mediseval Eome, I know not where, There stood an image with its arm in air. And on its lifted finger, shining clear, A golden ring with the device, " Strike here ! '' Greatly the people wondered, though none guessed The meaning that these words but half expressed. Until a learned clerk, who at noonday With downcast eyes was passing on his w\ay. Paused, and observed the spot, and marked it well, Whereon the shadow of the finger fell; And, coming back at midnight, delved, and found A secret stairway leading under ground. Down this he passed into a spacious hall. Lit by a flaming jew^el on the wall; 86 MORITURI SALUTAMUS. And opposite in threatening attitude With bow and shaft a brazen statue stood. Upon its forehead^ like a coronet,, Were these mysterious words of menace set : " That which I am^ I am ; my fatal aim None can escape, not even yon luminous flame ! " Midway the hall was a fair table placed, With cloth of gold, and golden cups enchased With rubies, and the plates and knives were gold. And gold the bread and viands manifold. Around it, silent, motionless, and sad. Were seated gallant knights in armor clad. And ladies beautiful with plume and zone. But they were stone, their hearts within were stone; And the vast hall was filled in every part With silent crowds, stony in face and heart. Long at the scene, bewildered and amazed The trembling clerk in speechless wonder gazed; MOniTURI S AWT AMU S. 87 Then from tlie table,, by bis greed m.ade bold. He seized a goblet and a knife of gold. And suddenly from their seats the guests up- sprang, The vaulted ceiling with loud clamors rang. The archer sped his arrow, at their call, Shattering the lambent jewel on the wall. And all was dark around and overhead ; — Stark on the floor the luckless clerk lay dead ! The writer of this legend then records Its ghostly application m these words : The image is the Adversary old, Wliose beckoning finger points to realms of gold ; Our lusts and passions are the downward stair That leads the soul from a diviner air; The archer. Death ; the flaming jewel. Life ; Terrestrial goods, the goblet and the knife ; The knights and ladies, all whose flesh and bone By avarice have been hardened into stone; 8o MORITVRI SALUTAMUS. The clerk;, the scholar whom the love of pelf Tempts from his books and from his nobler self. The scholar and the world ! The endless strife, The discord in the harmonies of life ! The love of learning, the sequestered nooks, And all the sweet serenity of books ; The market-place, the eager love of gain. Whose aim is vanity, and whose end is pain ! But why, you ask me, should this tale be told To men grown old, or who are growing old? It is too late ! Ah, nothing is too late Till the tired heart shall cease to palpitate. Cato learned Greek at eighty; Sophocles "Wrote his grand (Edipus, and Simonides Bore off the prize of verse from his compeers. When each had numbered more than fourscore years. MORITURI SALUTAMUS. 89 And Theoplirastus^ at fourscore and ten, Had but begun his Characters of Men. Chaucer_, at Woodstock with the nightingales. At sixty wrote the Canterbury Tales ; Goethe at Weimar, toiling to the last, Completed Faust when eighty years were past. These are indeed exceptions; but they show How far the gulf-stream of our youth may flow Into the arctic regions of our lives, Where little else than life itself survives. As the barometer foretells the storm While still the skies are clear, the weather warm. So something in us, as old age draws near. Betrays the pressure of the atmosphere. The nimble mercury, ere we are aware. Descends the elastic ladder of the air; The telltale blood in artery and vein Sinks from its higher levels in the brain; Whatever poet, orator, or sage 90 MORITURI SALUTAMUS. May say of it^ old age is still old age. It is the wailing, not tlie crescent moon, The dusk of evening, not the blaze of noon : It is not strength, but weakness ; not desire. But its surcease; not the fierce heat of fire, The burning and consuming element, But that of ashes and of embers spent. In which some living sparks we still discern, Enongli to warm, but not enough to burn. What then ? Shall we sit idly doAvn and say The night hath come ; it is no longer day ? The night hath not yet come; we are not quite Cut off from labor by the failing light ; Something remains for us to do or dare ; Even the oldest tree some fruit may bear; Not (Edipus Coloneus, or Greek Ode, Or tales of j^ilgrims that one morning rode Out of the gateway of the Tabard Inn, But otlier something, would we but begin; MORITURI SALUTAMUS. 91 For age is opportunity no less Than youth itself, though in another dress, And as the evening twilight fades away The sky is filled with stars, invisible by day. BIRDS OF PASSAGE FIIGHT THE FOURTH. CHAELES SUMNEE. Garlands upon his grave^ And flowers npon his hearse, And to the tender heart and brave The tribute of this verse. His was the troubled life. The conflict and the pain, The grief, the bitterness of strife, The honor without stain. Like Winkelried, he took Into his manly breast The sheaf of hostile spears, and broke A path for the .oppressed. 96 BIRDS OF PASSAGE. Then from the fatal field Upon a nation^ s heart Eorne like a warrior on his shield ! So should the brave depart. Death takes us by surprise, And stays our hurrying feet; The great design unfinished lies, Our lives are incomplete. But in the dark unknown Perfect their circles seem, Even as a bridge^s arch of stone Is rounded in the stream. Alike are life and death. When life in death survives. And the uninterrupted breath Inspires a thousand lives. CHARLES SUMNER. 97 Were a star quenched on high, Por ages would its light. Still travelling downward from the skj, Shine on our mortal sight. So when a great man dies, Por years beyond our ken. The light he leaves behind him lies Upon the paths of men. TRAVELS EY THE FIEESIDE. The ceaseless rain is falling fast. And yonder gilded vane, Immovable for three days past. Points to the misty main. It drives me in upon myself And to the fireside gleams. To pleasant books that crowd my shelf. And still more pleasant dreams. I read whatever bards have sung Of lands beyond the sea. And the bright days when I was young Come thronging back to me. TRAVELS BY THE FIRESIDE. 99 In fancy I can hear again The Alpine torrent's roar. The mule-bells on the hills of Spain, The sea at Elsinore. I see the convent's gleaming wall Eise from its groves of pine. And towers of old cathedrals tall. And castles by the Rhine. I journey on by park and spire. Beneath centennial trees. Through fields with poppies all on fire. And gleams of distant seas-. I fear no more the dust and heat, No more I feel fatigue, AYhile journeying with another's feet O'er many a lengthening league. 100 , BIRDS OF PASSAGE. Let others traverse sea and land. And toil through various clime?, I turn the world round with mj hand Eeading these poets^ rhymes. From them I learn whatever lies Beneath each changing zone. And see, when looking with their eyes. Better than with mine own. CADENABBIA LAKE OF COMO. No sound of wheels or hoof-beat breaks The silence of the summer day, As by the loveliest of all lakes I wliile the idle hours away. I pace the leafy colonnade Where level branches of the plane Above me weave a roof of shade Impervious to the smi and rain. At tunes a sudden rush of air Flutters the lazy leaves o^'erhead, And gleams of sunshine toss and flare Like torches down the path I tread. 102 BIRDS OF PASSAGE. By Somariva^s garden gate I make the marble stairs my seat_, And hear the water^ as I wait_, Lapping the steps beneath my feet. The undulation sinks and swells Along the stony parapets. And far away the floating bells Tinkle upon the fisher's nets. Silent and slow, by tower and town The freighted barges come and go, Their pendent shadows gliding down By town and tower submerged below. The hills sweep upward from the shore, With villas scattered one by one Upon their wooded spurs, and lower Bellaggio blazing in the sun. CADENABBIA. 103 And dimly seen, a tangled mass Of walls and woods, of light and sliade, Stands beckoning up the Stelvio Pass Varenna with its white cascade. I ask myself, Is this a dream? Will it all vanish into air? Is there a land of such supreme And perfect beauty anywhere ? Sweet vision ! Do not fade away ; Linger until my heart shall take Into itself the summer day. And all the beauty of the lake. Linger until upon my brain Is stamped an image of the scene, Then fade into the air again, And be as if thou hadst not been. MONTE CASSINO TEllRA Dl LAYORO. Beautiful valley ! tlirough whose verdant meads Unheard the Garigliano glides along ; — The Liris, nurse of rushes and of reeds,, The river taciturn of classic song. The Land of Labor and the Land of Eest, Where mediseval towns are wliite on all The hillsides, and where every mountain's crest Is an Etrurian or a Eoman wall. There is Alagna, where Pope Boniface Was dragged witli contumely froni his throne; Sciarra Colonna, was that day's disgrace The Pontiff's only, or in part thine own ? MONTE CASSINO. 105 There is Ceprano^ where a renegade "Was each Apulian, as great Dante saith, When Manfred by his men-at-arms betrayed Spurred on to Benevento and to death. There is Aquinum^ the old Yolscian town, Where Juvenal was born, whose lurid light Still hovers o^er his birthplace like the crown Of splendor seen o^er cities in the night. Doubled the splendor is, that in its streets The Angelic Doctor as a school-boy played, And dreamed perhaps the dreams, that he repeats In ponderous folios for scholastics made. And there, uphfted, like a passing cloud That pauses on a mountain summit high, Monte Cassino^s convent rears its proud And venerable walls against the sky. 3* 106 BIEDS OF PASSAGE. Well I remember how on foot I climbed The stony pathway leading to its gate; Above^ the convent bells for vespers chimed^ Below, the darkening town grew desolate. Well I remember the low arch and dark. The courtyard with its well; the terrace wide. Prom which far down the valley, like a park Yeiled in the evenmg mists, was dim descried. The day was dying, and with feeble hands Caressed the mountain tops ; the vales between Darkened; the river in the meadow-lands Sheathed itself as a sword, and was not seen. The silence of the place was like a sleep. So full of rest it seemed; each passing tread AVas a reverberation from the deep Recesses of the ages that are dead. MONTE CASSIXO. 107 For^ more than thirteen centuries ago, Benedict fleeing from the gates of Eome, A youth disgusted mth its vice and woe. Sought in these mountain solitudes a home. He founded here his Convent and his Eule Of praj^er and work, and counted Avork as prayer ; The pen became a clarion, and his school Flamed like a beacon in the midnight air. What though Boccaccio, in his reckless way, Mocking the lazy brotherhood, deplores The illuminated manuscripts, that lay Torn and neglected on the dusty floors ? Boccaccio was a novelist, a child Of fancy and of fiction at the best ! This the urbane librarian said, and smiled Incredulous, as at some idle jest. 108 BIRDS OF PASSAGE. Upon sucli themes as tliese^ with one young friar I sat conversing late into the nighty Till in its cavernous chimney the wood-fire Had burnt its heart out like an anchorite. And then translated, in my convent cell. Myself yet not myself, in dreams I lay ; And, as a monk who hears the matin bell, Started from sleep ; already it was day. Erom the high window I beheld the scene On which Saint Benedict so oft had gazed, — ■ The mountains and the valley in the sheen Of the bright sun, — and stood as one amazed. Gray mists were rolling, rising, vanishing ; The woodlands glistened with their jewelled crowns ; Far off the mellow bells began to ring For matins in the half-awakened towns. MONTE CASSINO. 109 Tlie conflict of the Present and the Past, The ideal and the actual in our life, As on a field of battle held me fast, "While this world and the next world were at strife. Por, as the valley from its sleep awoke, I saw the iron horses of the steam Toss to the morning air their plumes of smoke. And woke, as one awaketh from a dream. AMALFI. Sweet the memory is to me Of a land beyond the sea. Where the waves and mountains meet, Where, amid her mulberry-trees Sits Amalfi in the heat. Bathing ever her white feet In the tideless summer seas. In the middle of the town, From its fountains in the hills. Tumbling through the narrow gorge, The Canneto rushes down. Turns the great wheels of the mills. Lifts the hammers of the forge. AMALFI. Ill ■'TIS a stairway, not a street, That ascends the deep ravine, Where the torrent leaps between Eockj walls that almost meet. Toiling np from stair to stair Peasant girls their burdens bear ; Sunburnt daughters of the soil, Stately figures tall and straight, Wliat inexorable fate Dooms them to this life of toil ? Lord of vineyards and of lands, Ear above the convent stands. On its terraced walk aloof Leans a monk with folded hands, Placid, satisfied, serene. Looking down upon the scene Over wall and red-tiled roof; Wondering unto what good end All this toil and traffic tend. 112 BIRDS OF PASSAGE. And why all men cannot be Free from care and free from pain. And the sordid love of giin,, And as indolent as he. Where are now the freighted barks From the marts of east and west? Where the knights in iron sarks Journeying to the Holy Land, Glove of steel upon the hand. Cross of crimson on the breast ? Where the pomp of camp and court ? Where the pilgrims with their prayers ? Where the merchants with their wares, And their gallant brigantines Sailing safely into port Chased by corsair Algerines ? Vanished like a fleet of cloud. Like a passing trumpet-blast. Are those splendors of the past^ AMALFL 113 And the commerce and the crowd ! Fathoms deep beneath the seas Lie the ancient wharves and quays, Swallowed by the engulfing waves ; Silent streets and vacant halls_, Ruined roofs and towers and walls; Hidden from all mortal eyes Deep the sunken city lies : Even cities have their graves ! This is an enchanted land ! Eound the headlands far away Sweeps the blue Salernian bay With its sickle of white sand : Further still and furthermost On the dim discovered coast Psestum with its ruins lies. And its roses all in bloom Seem to tinge the fatal skies Of that lonely land of doom. 114 BIRDS OF PASSAGE. On liis terrace, high in air, Nothing doth the good monk care For snch worldly themes as these. From the garden just below Little puiFs of perfume blow, And a sound is in his ears Of the murmur of the bees In the shining chestnut-trees; Nothing else he heeds or hears. All the landscape seems to swoon In the happy afternoon ; Slowly o'er his senses creep The encroaching waves of sleep, And he sinks as sank the town. Unresisting, fathoms down. Into caverns cool and deep ! Walled about with drifts of snow. Hearing the fierce north-wind blow, Seeing all the landscape white. AMJLFI. 115 And the river cased in ice, Comes this memory of delight, Comes this vision unto me Of a long-lost Paradise In the land beyond the sea. THE SERMON OE ST. EEANCIS. Up soared the lark into the air, A shaft of song, a winged prayer, As if a soul, released from pain. Were fl}ing back to heaven again. St. Francis heard ; it was to him An emblem of the Seraphim ; The upward motion of the fire. The light, the heat, the hearths desire. Around Assisi^s convent gate The birds, God^s poor who cannot wait. From moor and mere and darksome wood Came flocking for their dole of food. THE SERMON OF ST. FRANCIS. 117 "O brother birds/' St. Francis said, " Ye come to me and ask for bread, But not with bread alone to-day Shall ye be fed and sent away. "Ye shall be fed, ye happy birds, With manna of celestial words ; Not mine, though mine they seem to be. Not mine, though they be spoken through me. '^ 0, doubly are ye bound to praise The great Creator in your lays; He giveth you your plumes of down, Y^our crimson hoods, your cloaks of brown. " He giveth you your wings to fly And breathe a purer air on high. And careth for you everywhere, Who for yourselves so little care ! '' 118 BIRDS OF PASSAGE. With flutter of swift wings and songs Together rose the feathered throngs, And singing scattered far apart; Deep peace was in St. Prancis^ heart. He knew not if the brotherhood His homily had understood; He only knew that to one ear The meaning of his words was clear. BELISAEIUS. I AM poor and old and blind ; The sun burns me^, and the wind Blows through the city gate And covers me with dust Trom the wheels of the august Justinian the Great. It was for him I chased The Persians o^er wild and waste, As General of the East ; Night after night I lay In their camps of yesterday; Their forage was my feast. 120 BIRDS OF PASSAGE. Por him^ with sails of red. And torches at mast-head. Piloting the great fleet, I swept the Afric coasts And scattered the Yandal hosts. Like dust in a windy street. For him I won again The Ausonian realm and reign, Eome and Parthenope; And all the land was mine Erom the summits of Apennine To the shores of either sea. Tor him, in my feehle age, I dared the battlers rage. To save Byzantium^s state. When the tents of Zabergan, Like snow-drifts overran The road to the Golden Gate. BELISARIUS. 121 And for this, for this, behold ! Infirm and blind and old. With gray, uncovered head, Beneath the very arch Of my triumphal march, I stand and beg my bread ! Methinks I still can hear. Sounding distinct and near. The Vandal monarches cry. As, captive and disgraced. With majestic step he paced, — • '' All, all is Vanity ! '' Ah! vainest of all things Is the gratitude of kings; The plaudits of the crowd Are but the clatter of feet At midnight in the street. Hollow and restless and loud. 122 BIRDS OF PASSAGE. But the bitterest disgrace Is to see forever the face Of the Monk of Ephesus ! The unconquerable mil This^ too, can bear ; — I still Am Belisarius ! SONGO EIVEE. Nowhere such a devious stream. Save in fancy or in dream. Winding slow through bush and brake Links together lake and lake. "Walled with woods or sandy shelf, Ever doubling on itself Flows the stream, so still and slow That it hardly seems to flow. Never errant knight of old. Lost in woodland or on wold. Such a landing path pursued Through the sylvan solitude. 124 BIRDS OF PASSAGE. Never school-boy in his quest After hazel-nut or nest, Throuo'h the forest in and out o Wandered loitering thus about. In the mirror of its tide Tangled thickets on each side Hang inverted, and between Floating cloud or sky serene. Swift or swallow on tlie wing Seems the only living thing, Or the loon, that laughs and flies Down to those reflected skies. Silent stream ! tliy Indian name Unfamiliar is to fame; For thou hidest here alone, Well content to be unknown. SONGO RIVER. 1^5 Eut thy tranquil waters teach Wisdom deep as human speech, Moving without haste or noise In unbroken equipoise. Though thou turnest no busy mill, And art ever calm and still, Even thy silence seems to say To the traveller on his way : — " Traveller, hurrying from the heat Of the city, stay thy feet ! Rest awhile, nor longer waste Life with inconsiderate haste ! '^Be not like a stream that brawls Loud with shallow waterfalls. But in quiet self-control Link together soul and soul/' A BOOK OF SONNETS THREE FRIENDS OP MINE. When I remember them, those friends of mine, AVho are no longer here, the noble three, Who half my life were more than friends to me. And whose discourse was like a generous wine, I most of all remember the divine Something, that shone in them, and made us see The archetypal man, and what might be The amplitude of Nature's first design. In vain I stretch my hands to clasp their hands ; I cannot find them. Nothing now is left But a majestic memory. They meanwhile Wander together in Elysian lands. Perchance remembering me, who am bereft Of their dear presence, and, remembering, smile. 6* I 130 ^ ^OOK OF SONNETS. II. In Attica thy birthplace should have been_, Or the Ionian Isles_, or where the seas Encircle in their arms the Cyclades, So wholly Greek wast thou in thy serene And childlike joy of life^ Philhelene ! Around thee would have swarmed the Attic bees ; Homer had been thy friend,, or Socrates, And Plato welcomed thee to his demesne. For thee old legends breathed historic breath; Thou sawest Poseidon in the pur2)le sea, And in the sunset Jason^s fleece of gold ! 0, what hadst thou to do with cruel Death, Who wast so full of life, or Death with thee. That thou shouldst die before thou hadst grown old ! THREE FRIENDS OF MINE. J^J III. I STAND again on the familiar shore. And hear the waves of the distracted sea Piteously calHng and Limenting thee. And waiting restless at thy cottage door. The rocks, the sea-weed on the ocean floor, Tlie willows in the meadow, and the free Wild winds of the Atlantic welcome me ; Then why shouldst thou be dead, and come no more ? All, why shouldst thou be dead, when common men Are busy with their trivial afl'airs. Having and holding? Why, when thou hadst read Nature's mysterious manuscript, and then Wast ready to reveal the truth it bears. Why art thou silent ? Why shouldst thou be dead? 132 ^ BOOK OF SONNETS. IV. EiVEii_, that stealest with such silent pace Around the City of the Dead;, where lies A friend who bore thy name, and whom these eyes Shall see no more in his accustomed place, Linger and fold him in thy soft embrace And say good niglit_, for now the western skies Are red with sunset, and gray mists arise Like damps that gather on a dead man^s face. Good night ! good night ! as we so oft have said Beneath this roof at midnight, in the days That are no more, and shall no more return. Thou hast but taken thy lamp and gone to bed; I stay a little longer, as one stays To cover up the embers that still burn. THREE FRIENDS OF MINE. 133 The doors are all wide open ; at the gate The blossomed lilacs counterfeit a blaze, And seem to warm the air; a dreamy haze Hangs o^er the Brighton meadows like a fate. And on their margin, with sea-tide^ elate, The flooded Charles, as in the happier days. Writes the last letter of his name, and stays His restless steps, as if compelled to wait. I also wait; but they will come no more. Those friends of mine, whose presence satisfied The thirst and hunger of my heart. Ah me ! They have forgotten the pathway to my door ! Something is gone from nature since they died. And summer is not summer, nor can be. 134 A BOOK OF SONNETS. CHAUCEE. An old man in a lodge within a park; The chamber walls depicted all around With portraitures of huntsman, hawk, and hound, And the hurt deer. He listeneth to the lark. Whose song comes with the sunshine through the dark Of painted glass in leaden lattice bound; He listeneth and he laugheth at the sound. Then writeth in a book like any clerk. He is the poet of the dawn, who wrote The Canterbury Tales, and his old age Made beautiful with song; and as I read I hear the crowing cock, I hear the note Of lark and linnet, and from every page Kise odors of ploughed field or flowery mead. SHAKESPEARE. SHAKESPEAEE. 135 A VISION as of crowded city streets, With human life in endless overflow; Thunder of thoroughfares; trumpets that blow To battle; clamor, in obscure retreats, Of sailors landed from their anchored fleets ; Tolling of bells in turrets, and below Yoices of children, and bright flowers that throw O'er garden-walls their intermingled sweets ! This vision comes to me when I unfold The volume of the Poet paramount. Whom all the Muses loved, not one alone; — Into his hands they put the lyre of gold, And, crowned with sacred laurel at their fount. Placed him as Musagetes on their throne. 136 ^ l^OOK OF SOXXETS. MILTON. I PACE tlie sounding sea-beach and behold How the voluminous billows roll and run, Upheaving and subsiding, while the sun Shines through their sheeted emerald far un- rolled. And the ninth wave, slow gathering fold by fold All its loose-flowing garments into one, Plunges upon the shore, and floods the dun Pale reach of sands, and changes them to gold. So in majestic cadence rise and fall The mighty undulations of thy song, sightless bard, England^s Mseonides ! And ever and anon, high over all Uplifted, a ninth wave superb and strong, Floods all the soul with its melodious seas. KEATS. 137 KEATS. The young Endymion sleeps Endymion^s sleep ; The sheplierd-boy whose tale was left half told ! The solemn grove uplifts its shield of gold To the red rising moon, and loud and deep The nightingale is singing from the steep; It is midsummer, but the air is cold; Can it be death ? Alas, beside the fold A shepherd's pipe lies shattered near his sheep. Lo ! in the moonlight gleams a marble white. On which I read : '' Here lieth one whose name Was writ in water/' And was this the meed Of his sweet singing ? Eather let me write : ^^The smoking flax before it burst to flame Was quenched by death, and broken the bruised reed/' 138 ^ ^OOK OF SONNETS. THE GALAXY. Torrent of light and river of the air, Along whose bed the glimmering stars are seen Like gold and silver sands in some ravine Where mountain streams have left their chan- nels bare ! The Spaniard sees in thee the pathway, where His patron saint descended in the sheen Of his celestial armor, on serene And quiet nights, when all the heavens were fair. Not this I see, nor yet the ancient fable Of Phaeton^s wild course, that scorched the skies Wherever the hoofs of his hot coursers trod; But the white drift of worlds o^er chasms of sable, The star-dust, that is whirled aloft and flies Prom the invisible chariot-wheels of God. THE SOUND OF THE SEA. 139 THE SOUND OF THE SEA. The sea awoke at midnight from its sleep, And round the pebbly beaches far and wide I heard the first wave of the rising tide Eush onward with uninterrupted sweep; A voice out of the silence of the deep, A sound mysteriously multiplied As of a cataract from the mountain's side, Or roar of winds upon a wooded steep. So comes to us at times, from the unknown And inaccessible solitudes of being. The rushing of the sea-tides of the soul; And inspirations, that we deem our own. Are some divine foreshadowing and foreseeing Of things beyond our reason or control. 14Q A nOOK' OF SONNETS. A SUMMEK DAY BY THE SEA. The sun is set ; and in his latest beams •Yon little cloud of ashen gray and gold^ Slowly upon the amber air unrolled, The falling mantle of the Prophet seems. Prom the dim headlands many a lighthouse gleams, - The street-lamps of the ocean ; and behold, Overhead the banners of the night unfold; The day hath passed into the land of dreams. summer day beside the joyous sea ! O summer day so wonderful and white, So full of gladness and so full of pain ! Porever and forever shalt thou be ^ To some the gravestone of a dead delight. To some the. landmark, of a new domain. THE TIDES. . 141 . THE TIDES. I SAW tlie long line of the vacant shore^ The sea-weed and the shells upon the sand. And the brown rocks left bare on every hand, As if the ebbing tide would flow no more. Then heard I, more distinctly than before. The ocean breathe and its great breast expand. And hurrying came on the defenceless land The insurgent waters with tumultuous roar. All thought and feeling and desire, I said, Love, laughter, and the exultant joy of song Have ebbed from me forever ! Suddenly p^er me They swept again froin their deep ocean bed. And in a tumult of delight, and strong As youth, and beautiful as youth, upbore me. 142 ^ ^OOK OF SONNETS. A SHADOW. I SAID unto myself^ if I were dead, What would befall these children ? What would be Their fate, who now are looking up to me Eor help and furtherance? Their lives, I said. Would be a volume wherein I have read But the first chapters, and no longer see To read the rest of their dear history. So full of beauty and so full of dread. Be comforted ; the world is very old. And generations pass, a§ they have passed, A troop of shadows moving with the sun; Thousands of times has the old tale been told ; The world belongs to those who come the last. They will find hope and strength as we have done. A NAMELESS GRAV]^. 143 A NAMELESS GRAVE. '' A SOLDIER of the Union mustered out/' Is the inscription on an unknown grave At Newport News, beside the salt-sea wave. Nameless and dateless; sentinel or scout Shot down in skirmish, or disastrous rout Of battle, when the loud artillery drave Its iron wedges through the ranks of brave And doomed battalions, storming the redoubt. Thou unknown hero sleeping by the sea In thy forgotten grave ! with secret shame I feel my pulses beat, my forehead burn. When I remember thou hast given for me All that thou hadst, thy life, thy very name, And I can give thee nothing in return. 14.4 ^ ^OOK OF SONNETS. SLEEP. Lull me to sleep^ ye winds,, whose fitful sound Seems from some faint ^Eolian harpstring caught; Seal up the hundred wateful eyes of thouglit As Hermes witli his lyre in sleej) profound The hundred Avakeful eyes of Argus bound ; For I am weary, and am overAvrought With too much toil^»with too much care dis- traught, And with tlie iron crown of anguish crowned. Lay thy soft hand upon my brow and cheek, peaceful Sleejj ! until from pain released 1 breathe again uninterrupted breath ! Ah, with what subtile meaning did the Greek Call thee the lesser mystery at the feast Whereof the greater mystery is death ! THE OLD BRIDGE AT FLOREXCE. 145 THE OLD BRIDGE AT FLORENCE. Taddeo Gaddi built me. I am old, Five centuries old. I plant my foot of stone Upon the Arno, as St. MicliaeFs OAvn Was planted on the dragon. Fold by fold Beneath me as it struggles, I behold Its glistening scales. Twice hath it overthrown My kindred and companions. Me alone It moveth not, but is by me controlled. I can remember wdien the Medici Were driven from Florence; longer still ago The final wars of Ghibelline and Guelf. Florence adorns me with her jewelry; And when I think that Michael Angelo Hath leaned on me, I glory in myself. 146 IL PONTE VECCHIO Dl FIRENZE. IL PONTE VECCHIO DI EIEENZE. Gaddi mi fece; il Ponte Yeccliio sono; Cinquecent^ anni giti sulF- Arno pianto II piede, come il suo Michele Santo Pianto sul draco. Mentre cli^ io ragiono Lo vedo torcere con fiebil suono Le rilucenti scaglie. Ha questi affranto Due volte i miei maggior. Me solo intanto Neppure mnove, ed io non V abbandono. Io mi rammento quando fur cacciati I Medici; pur quando Ghibellino E Guelfo fecer pace mi rammento. Fiorenza i suoi giojelli m^ ha prestati; E quando penso ch' Agnolo il divino Su me posava^ insuperbir mi sento. m-^m-i t:m:'iS'-v. ^''/ f^S^' ::^''Im