^■■■M.;^!';': ;^^i;;:.pii!]:^■:::.^:;^!(V;^•?;i,■■."^;■ " mm, >'^!;;;.-;^:!^:■^•:;;;;i,^ mmm Mmm Siiiii w^,^' • loC^^ '3'- 'Ci1^*'jc^ ' '^'^ ■SL BERRIES OF THE BRIER. Berries of the Brier. ARLO BATES. BOSTON: ROBERTS BROTHERS. 1886. ^^Vi OF COVTtI^ Copyright, 1886, - By Roberts Brothers. SSmbcrsftg ^«iS3: John Wilson and Son, Cambridge. Ed tje ilHemorg of CONTENTS. Memories of Cuba,— page Una Senorita ii A Song of Revery 12 On the Road to Chorrera . 13 The Danza 14 A Woman's Rejection 16 Between 17 Initiation 18 The Brown Lichen 19 A Woodland Tragedy 21 Cupid's Lineage 22 A Shadow Boat 23 A Fantasy 24 Metempsychosis 25 A Lover's Messengers ; . . 26 Failure 28 Vlll CONTENTS. A Sketch-Book by the Sea, — page On the Beach 29 A Windy Day 29 The Starboard Tack 29 On the Ledge 30 An Old Garden 30 A Night Sketch 31 A Lover's Canticles, — Aubado 32 Song 33 Memnon . . . . " 33 The Rose Guerdon 34 The Ring 35 Serenade 35 Devotion 36 Self-Reproach 38 Constancy 38 A Reversing Mirror 40 Lisa's Gate 41 Unchosen 42 A Last Word 43 A Lament 44 CONTENTS. IX PAGE To THE Phcebe-Bird 45 One 47 Might Love be Bought 48 Solitude 49 A Spring Fancy * . . . 50 A Fear 51 A Casuistry 52 Content 53 Present Joy 54 A Love Song 55 The Lost Dream 56 HiLAD TO Margery 57 A Winter Twilight 60 Heredity 61 Tekel 62 In thy Clear Eyes 63 A Night Ride 64 The Second-Sight 65 A Rose 66 His Fate 68 A Coryphee 69 Life 71 Truth 72 X CONTENTS. PAGE To A Ghost 73 An Indian Air 74 From THE Grave 76 Recognition 77 " Felicissima Notte " 78 Consolation 79 H. R. P. , 80 The Ballad of the Spinner 81 Aqua della Toffana 91 BERRIES OF THE BRIER. MEMORIES OF CUBA. I. UNA SENORITA. /^NE found a reason, when she came, ^^ Why the Paseo glowed with light. And why the music swelled and thrilled As if upon a festal night. The band was playing Le Desir, — Why that old strain I cannot tell, — And all her carriage, all her grace, Accorded with the music well. High overhead the southern moon Shone as no other moon can shine ; Perhaps I fixed her liquid glance. Perhaps 't was but a fancy mine ; MEMORIES OF CUBA. And yet in northern climes and far. The scene before me rises dear ; Her gracious shape I seem to see Whene'er the band plays Le Desir I II. A SONG OF REVERY. "DENEATH the heavy northern skies, That hang so low, some subtle sense Is well aware how placid lies A blue lagoon, in calm intense, Glassing the heaven high and far. Ah, love, how keen thy memories are ! How soft the bamboo shadows fall, And palm-trees wave with rhythmic beat, While lizards up the sunny wall Dart in swift joyance of the heat, As burning shines the mid-world sun. Ah, love, how soon thy joys are done I How well my dream her lattice knows, Which from the blinding tropic day MEMORIES OF CUBA. 13 Shuts in sweet dusk and scents of rose And more delights than words might say, Which I shall never know again. How bitter love's regrets and vain / III. ON THE ROAD TO CHORRERA. [1790.] 'T^HREE horsemen galloped the dusty way ^ While sun and moon were both in the sky ; An old crone crouched in the cactus' shade, And craved an alms as they rode by. A friendless hag she seemed to be, But the queen of a bandit crew was she. One horseman tossed her a scanty dole, A scoffing couplet the second trolled. But the third, from his blue eyes frank and free, No glance vouchsafed the beldam old ; As toward the sunset and the sea, No evil fearing, rode the three. 14 MEMORIES OF CUBA. A curse she gave for the pittance small, A gibe for the couplet's ribald word ; But that which once had been her heart At sight of the silent horseman stirred : And safe through the ambushed band they speed For the sake of the rider who would not heed ! IV. THE DANZA, TF you never have danced the danza, •^ With its wondrous rhythmic swirl, While close to your bosom panted Some dark-eyed Creole girl, Of dancing you know naught ! By Inez I was taught. *T is a dance with strangest pauses. It moves as the breezes blow : Her lips were like pomegranate blossoms, While her teeth were white as snow. Of beauty I knew naught ; By Inez I was taught. MEMORIES OF CUBA. 15 The fountain splashed in the garden Where the palm-trees hid the moon ; Who well had danced the danza^ A kiss might crave as boon. Of loving I knew naught ; By Inez I was taught ! 1 6 A WOMAN'S REJECTION. A WOMAN'S REJECTION. nPHERE was one moment, sir, -^ My soul unveiled her face, And met your eyes with hers, Unflinching in her place. Why did your glance avoid ? Why did your eyehds fall? There was the chance to prove Your manhood once for all ! But since you failed of that, Go ; be blest or forlorn ; To me you count no more Than you had ne'er been bom. BETWEEN. 17 BETWEEN. T TOW fare the hosts of the dead, -^ Or of those that are still to be, While holding the hands of these unseen, Shivering between, stand we ? Wailing from deeps of the dark We come, and wailing go To deeps of the outer dark again, In endless column slow. The listless hands of the dead We clasp with frantic strain, — Do the unborn kiss with tears our hands, Seeking response in vain ? 1 8 INITIATION. INITIATION. /^UT of the Unknown came I, ^^ Pure-hearted, free from guile j A mystic maiden met me And bewitched me with her smile. She taught me deadly secrets It breaks the heart to know : Ah, Life ! how had I wronged thee That thou should'st harm me so ? THE BROWN LICHEN. 19 THE BROWN LICHEN. ■\ 1 riTH dusky fingers clinging to the stone, Through summer's languid days and lovely nights, Through autumn's chillness and the spring's delights. The lichen lives in grimmest state, alone. The spicy summer breezes o'er it go, But from its nun-like breast win no perfume ; Brown bees, gold-dusted, seek some flower's bloom. Nor pause above it, flitting to and fro. The snail glides over it with solemn pace \ The cunning spider in it spins her snare ; But, be its tenants either foul or fair. The lichen naught is troubled in her place. 20 THE BROWN LICHEN. The fays full oft in splendid state go by, ' And elfin laughter thrills through all the air, " What cheer, Dame Lichen, grave and debonair ? " To them vouchsafes the Uchen no reply. We pluck among the crannies of the stone The wild flowers, purple, golden, or sweet blue ; But both in nature and in friendship too, We leave the grim brown lichen quite alone. A WOODLAND TRAGEDY. 21 A WOODLAND TRAGEDY. A ROSE leaned over a woodland pool, -^^- With its own imaged beauty thrilling ; So self-entranced, it had no eye , For daffodilly or lily cool. Or bending grasses or dragon-fly On wings of opal flitting by. Or clouds the heaven filling. There strayed a maiden the woodland through, Her image in that mirror flinging. The rose's blissful dreams swift fled ; Its beauty far outshone it knew ; Shivered in all its petals red And on the pool their richness shed. — The maiden passed on singing. CUPID'S LINEAGE. CUPID'S LINEAGE. "X^l riTH Cupid as once I chatted, * Fair Aphrodite's son ' By chance I called the naughty rogue j When retorted the volatile one : " 'T is time to unlearn those fancies, Those myths are false and vain : , , Sir Idlesse was my father named, And my mother was Lady Disdain." A SHADOW BOAT. 23 A SHADOW BOAT. T TNDER my keel another boat ^^ Sails as I sail, floats as I float ; Silent and dim and mystic still, It steals through that weird nether-world, Mocking my power, though at my will The foam before its prow is curled, Or calm it lies, with canvas furled. Vainly I peer, and fain would see What phantom in that boat may be ; Yet half I dread, lest I with ruth Some ghost of my dead past divine, Some gracious shape of my lost youth, Whose deathless eyes once fixed on mine Would draw me downward through the brine ! 24 A FANTASY. A FANTASY. I F there were a thousand years Between my life and me, And as in an age-dim tome I might its story see, — How mystic and sweet and strange. Like some old tale, would be The anguish that now I know, In my hopeless love for thee ! ME TEMPS YC HOSTS. 2 5 METEMPSYCHOSIS. ' 1\ /TID the sea-silt and the sea-sand, Sinuous and sinister, fold on fold, Sliding and winding tortuously, Slips the sea-snake, weird and old ; Longing, with gleams of slumbrous fire In her dull eyes, and fierce desire In her slow brain, for that far time When, rising lotus-like from ooze and slime. Her sinuate litheness changed to supple grace. Her sibilance melted to witching speech. She shall the heights of glorious being reach, And lure her prey with woman's form and face. 26 A LOVER'S MESSENGERS. A LOVER'S MESSENGERS. nPHE earliest flowers of spring To thee, beloved, I bring : Anemone and graceful adder's-tongue, With golden cowslips, yellow as the sun And fresh as brooks by which they sprung ; Sweet violets that we love ; and, one by one. The blossoms that come after, — cherry-bloom And snow of shad-bush, wilful columbine In pale red raiment, and the milky stars Of chickweed-wintergreen ; the trilliums fine That make the robins sing ; sHm walnut-buds In satin sheen, and furry curling ferns, Like owlets half awake ; with floods Of alder tassels that drop dust of gold On the dark pools where, 'twixt the bars Of piercing sunbeams, speckled troutlings dart. A LOVER'S MESSENGERS. 27 And thus until the jocund year is old And frosts spin cerements, white and chill, O'er all the woodlands, fold on fold, I tell the days with flowers, to mind thee still Who, kind to blossoms, to me cruel art. How swift is time, how constant is my heart. 28 FAILURE. FAILURE. /^OUNT not the trampled dead spared any strain ^^ Because another won where he was slam. Are hearts ignoble proved whose cause is lost ? Vain is the standard if success hide cost. Loss is not failure ; not success is gain ; Idle as measures are both bhss and pain. Who falters, fails, although he clutch the prize ; Who proves his utmost, wins, though dead he lies. A SKETCH-BOOK BY THE SEA. 29 A SKETCH-BOOK BY THE SEA. ON THE BEACH. A LEVEL sea to the edge of the world, '^^ Purple and green and gray as steel ; A fisher-boat with its white sails furled, And a far black ledge where flock the seal. A WINDY DAY. As silver 'neath the smith's quick beat Gleam the reflections on the bay. Pale, trampled fires that have no heat. By the wind crushed from gold to gray. THE STARBOARD TACK. The breeze is stiff as the schooner tacks. And quick each dusky, hollow sail Crinkles like satin in the sun, Gleaming like beaten silver mail. 30 A SKETCH-BOOK BY THE SEA, ON THE LEDGE. In ineffable floods of beryl The wave pours over the ledge ; Chrysoprase, pearl, and nacre It heaps on the rock's black edge. AN OLD GARDEN. A dim old garden, where is primly set Row after row of box and lupine pale, With quaint old flowers that modern times forget Where honeysuckles from the trellis trail, And stiff and tall along the shoreward rocks Lombardy poplars woful sentry stand. And each with shadow on the greensward mocks The spectral pointing of the dial's hand, — The dial that on carved post of red Marks all the wasting of each sunny hour. But when the sea and sky are gray as lead, Has neither hope nor comfort in its power. A SKETCH-BOOK BY THE SEA. 31 A NIGHT SKETCH. Upon the sea the pictured moon Floats like a golden shell ; On the dark sky their mystic rune The constellations spell. Afar a single silver sail Has through the mist-wreaths broke, Like some lost spirit, wan and pale, That strives toward heaven without avail, To climb on incense smoke. Campobello, September, 1885. 32 A LOVER'S CANTICLES. A LOVER'S CANTICLES. L AUBADO. TN the hush of the morn, before the sun, I waken to think of thee ; And all the sweet day thus begun As hallowed seems to be. In the holy repose the morning star With trembling awaits the sun, And thus my heart, if near or far, Awaits thee, sweetest one. In a golden ecstasy of bliss The fair morning-star will die ; But I, immortal by thy kiss, Live but when thou art nigh. A LOVER'S CANTICLES. 2>3 II. SONG. T 1 rERE I a prince Egyptian, countless years Swathed in fine linen, cased in cedarn pride, With spicery and balsams all en wrapt, Adorned with gold and with vermilion dyed, — Yet should thy lightest footfall stir the air Of that dim chamber where I lay at rest, Through all my being would love tremors thrill, And hot my longing heart leap in my breast. III. MEMNON. OPEECHLESS through all the cheerless night ^^ Stood Memnon's statue ; but at morn The stone lips hailed the Day-god bright With sounds of love and rapture born. 3 34 A LOVER'S CANTICLES. Lo ! here an image of my heart, That has no voice bereft of thee ; But into songs of joy must start If thy sweet presence shine on me. IV. THE ROSE GUERDON. T KISS the rosebud which you wore, ■*- Yet know not why I love it so ; 'T was but a simple flower before It blushed against thy breast of snow. But since, to such a worth 't is grown, It is a guerdon most divine ; Because the touch which it has known. The breast which it has pressed, were thine. A LOVER'S CANTICLES. 35 V. THE RING. n^HIS ring I send thee thrice a thousand years ^ Lay buried 'mid the dust of Lybian kings. If it might speak, unto our eager ears, What strange tales would it tell of bygone things, — " Wild, shifting scenes " of mystery and pride. The pomp of monarchs long forgotten now ; But all its tales must seem as naught beside The one it brings thee, — Love's eternal vow ! VL SERENADE. "\ 7[ ^HILE Stars above thee glow, And the red moon sinks low Into the dusky sea ; Night visions come and go : Dearest, in dreaming so Dream'st thou who loveth thee ? 36 A LOVER'S CANTICLES. Weirdly the night-bird sings, Sailing on silent wings Over the dewy lea ; Her note a rapture brings : Sweetest, with heavenly things Dream 'st thou who loveth thee ? Deep longing fills his breast ; Knows he nor sleep nor rest, Severed as now from thee : Fairest one, loved the best, Were the sweet truth confessed, Dream'st thou who loveth thee ? VII. DEVOTION. I. AJO lotus on Ganges floating ^ ^ With thy beauty may compare ; The moon over Eden gloating Saw nothing half so fair. A LOVER'S CANTICLES. 37 More bright than stars that glimmer, Lingering o'er some snowy peak Morn-crimsoned, thine eyes shimmer Above thy faint flushed cheek. As blindness yearns for seeing, As Ganges longs for the sea, As the poet's dream for being, So longs my heart for thee ! No lotus on Ganges floating, Trembling in dewy sleep, Above the sacred waters That ever seaward sweep, Is purer than thy pureness, Is whiter than thy thought. Is sweeter than thy presence, Or more with blessing fraught. As worships the Hindoo the river Where the snowy lilies be, So with all pure devotion My spirit worships thee ! 38 A LOVER'S CANTICLES. VIII. SELF-REPROACH. 1 1 rHEN first death's great delight I met, * * There might, beloved, one instant be I should forget — no, not forget. But not have conscious thought of thee. And all eternity, contrite, I should be striving to atone For that oblivion, till aright My heart remembered thee alone I IX. CONSTANCY. 'T^HE weakest heart, whate'er its changes, Howe'er the varying life may run, Howe'er the hght affection ranges. Is constant in its depths to one. A LOVER'S CANTICLES. 39 Through sweetest lands the stranger wanders, Yet none of all like home he sees ; On many a maid his fancy squanders, But gives his heart to none of these. By night and day a constant yearning Burns in his soul for one afar ; To her his thoughts still backward turning, As the fond needle seeks its star. The lightest heart, whate'er its changes. Until this fitful life be done, How^'er the fickle fancy ranges, Is constant in its love to one. 40 A REVERSING MIRROR. A REVERSING MIRROR. "\ /f Y love, if we sat at the play, ^ ^ And our story were acted true. Would the hero win only the scorn Which now you mete out as my due ? I fancy you then would relent, Or even your censure rue ; And, indeed, I cannot be sure But I, too, might exonerate you ! LISA'S GATE. 41 LISA'S GATE. 'T^WO lovers meet at Lisa's gate : -*- " Comrade, comrade, who art thou ? The night is dark, the hour is late, No welcomes here thy coming wait ; Comrade, comrade, speed thee now ! " Two broadswords clash in sudden fight : " Comrade, comrade, who art thou ? Thy sword-thrusts fall with bitter might, Nor thou nor I shall see the light. Comrade, comrade, speed thee now ! " Fair Lisa hears their dying cry : " Comrade, comrade, who art thou ? " As idle breath it passes by ; To one afar she wafts a sigh : " Comrade, comrade, speed thee now ! " 42 UNCHOSEN. UNCHOSEN. OTILL stings one bitter moment ^^ When — in that mystic land Where, waiting Fate's dread summons, The unborn spirits stand — Genius walked grand among us, Her own to signify ; And while I thrilled with yearning, Smiled on me, but passed by ! A LAST WORD. 43 A LAST WORD. TF I forgive you, forego you, forget you, Is that the whole ? Do you therefore go free ? My sorrow is all my life to regret you : Have you no pang in remembering me ? 'T is not for love the memory should pain you. You will not think if my wounded heart bleed ; But for yourself, that dishonor should stain you, — Surely that thought might be worthy your heed. Though I forgive you, I may not absolve you. Only repentance your guilt can remove. I plead by dead love ; in self-pity revolve you How yet remorse your atonement may prove ! 44 A LAMENT. A LAMENT. T ET gleeful muses sing their roundelays ! ^~-^ So might my muse have sung ; But in the jocund days When she was young, She chanced upon a grave New-made, and since, there strays A mournful cadence through her lightest stave. Her mask, however gay. Still covers cheeks tear- wet ; She cannot, in her singing, smile Until she can forget. TO THE PHCEBE BIRD. 45 TO THE PHGEBE BIRD. TIj^ACH blessed morning, Much to my scorning, You 're up and wailing for Phoebe dear ; And still your calling. When day is faUing, Doleful as ever salutes the ear. We all admire The constant fire Supposed to burn in lover's breast ; Yet glints of reason May do no treason To faith and love and all the rest. This endless sighing. These threats of dying. Only provoke the maiden's scorn ; 46 TO THE PHCEBE BIRD. 'T is arrant folly Not to be jolly Despite of any maid that 's born ! Your mournful wailing Is unavailing ; You 'd more effect if you should swear ! This heartless Phoebe — Whoever she be — For all your sighs will nothing care. Why don't you flout her, And vow you doubt her, And rate her for an arrant jade ? You 'd soon subdue her If so you 'd woo her : She '11 never love till she 's afraid. You, silly songster, Protest, " Thou wrong'st her ! " But I 've been longer born than you ; I know the sex, sir. Their tricks to vex, sir : Flame when you scorn, ice when you sue ! ONE, 47 ONE. nPHE world is naught till one is come -^ Who is the world ; then beauty wakes And voices sing that have been dumb. The world is naught when one is gone Who was the world ; then the heart breaks That this is lost which once was won. Dear love, this hfe, so passion fraught, From you its bliss or sorrow takes ; With you is all ; without you naught. 48 MIGHT LOVE BE BOUGHT. MIGHT LOVE BE BOUGHT. IWTIGHT love be bought, I were full fain ^^ ^ My all to give thy love to gain. Yet would such getting profit naught ; Possession with keen fears were fraught Would make even love's blisses vain. For who could tell what god might deign His golden treasures round thee rain, Till ruin to my hopes were brought, Might love be bought. Better a pensioner remain On thy dear grace, since to attain To worthiness m vain I sought. Thy kindness hath assurance wrought Could never be between us twain, Might love be bought. SOLITUDE. 49 SOLITUDE. ■pvANGEROUS is solitude : so easily -*-^ We mingle dreams with deeds, and what we would Set down as what we do ; our hardihood Untried, call courage ; and to seem, to be. Self must with men its value measured see, Its deeds with deeds the ages mark as good. Must flee self-pity ; oft " misunderstood " Means mere misunderstanding. Equity Though hard yet sure, life brings. Whate'er excuse Self plead with self, to fail is still to fail ; And so the world scores, though the fond recluse Dream high intents no less than acts prevail. Life 's energy or naught ; let it have use, Consume in deeds, not in mere prayers exhale ! 4 50 A SPRING FANCY. A SPRING FANCY. HTHE first spring bird sang blithely -*- In a meadow scarcely green, Where the soft leaves covered fondly A violet not yet seen. The bird flew high in ether, But the song was not lost in air ; 'T was out-breathed in sweetest odors By the violet springing there. A FEAR. 51 A FEAR. TV /TUTE, walking grief-stricken with wringing hands, ^ ^ Among the living, countless spirits go, And jostle in the crowds the friends they seek, While neither may the other's presence know. Lovers, death- severed, wander side by side Unknowing, rent with keenest throes of pain ; And side by side walk friends who, each for each. Waste life lamenting with sighs long as vain. For spirit sense can naught but spirits ken, While we, clay-bound, see only fellow clay ; Yet time our grief assuages, we forget, While faithful to a deathless memory they ! 52 A CASUISTRY, A CASUISTRY. "X 1 rE promised each to each that day Not what we said, but what we were ; If time has seen our love decay, We both are blameless, I aver. Its rich bloom gives the rose of June Until it fades : it can no more ; Its linked sweetness breathes the tune And dies as waves waste on the shore. Is rose or song or love untrue That it immortal cannot be ? Some law of being running through They all obey ; no less must we. We were unwise, that may be said ; But now absolved, each goes his "way : As easy wake the rose that 's dead As now keep vows were made that day ! CONTENT. 53 CONTENT. /^ONTENTED lie the noontime resting herd ; ^^ Content are dotards, nodding heads of snow ; Content are prattling babes, too young to know The hopes by which the mother's heart is stirred. But strong men, fired with zeal unswerving, gird Their loins with patience and to battle go ; Their souls with yearning filled, little they know Of lotus-fed content ! The soaring bird Sees still new deeps above, and longing sends Her song aspiring toward those loftier skies She may not reach ; and heroes, unto ends Beyond attaining, strive with eager eyes, In godlike effort that as far transcends Poor dull content as heaven an earthly prize ! 54 PRESENT JOY. PRESENT JOY. /'^OULD I taste the joy of to-morrow, ^^ Of to-morrow and yesterday, — The bliss shall assuage coming sorrow. And the bliss that has passed away, — From these at last might I borrow True sense of joy to-day. A LOVE-SONG. 55 A LOVE-SONG. T OVE 'S like the eglantine, which bears ^-^ The sweetest rose, Whose witching perfume flows On summer airs. Ardent youth longs with eager hand To pluck the flower, And many a wistful hour Will sighing stand. Yet if his fortune bring him nigh To grasp the rose. Only its thorn he knows, — The bloom gone by ! 56 THE LOST DREAM. THE LOST DREAM. T WOKE in the pulseless night, "^ And a sweet dream stole away So near that its wings in flight Shed perfume where I lay. And ne'er in this life of mine Can that loss amended be, Since now I can only divine How sweet was that dream of thee. HILAD TO MARGERY. 57 HILAD TO MARGERY. T SAW to-day a merry, smooth-faced maid ^ Laughing, and basking brown cheeks in the sun ; And memory at the token, one by one, Repeated all your words, and thereby laid New meaning on them. "Why," you said, " invade My girlhood's garden ? Till the spring is done I list the birds, and will be wooed of none. You fright my finches, and you cast a shade Upon my violets. Than your love their bloom Is fairer. Leave me, then." And I in shame And grief made way, and gave the finches room. And when to-day I saw this maid, there came A wonder o'er me how I dared presume Break up your peace to press my passion's claim. S3 HILAD TO MARGERY. 11. I wronged thee that I let my shadow fall Across thy sunshine, that I weakly let Around thee steal the chill of my regret ; Not unto thee should I have raised the pall Which covered my dead hopes. And still in all 'T was love, that, missing love's fruition, yet Must claim the seal of recognition set As being love, pure love, nor mean nor small. It asked but if thou feltest its shy touch Upon thy garment's hem, thou count it not Pollution, and it surely asked not much. Since mankind's weakest, howso low his lot, May love his God, who counts that love as such It gives His glory lustre, not a spot. III. No boon, no restitution did I claim For all the love I lavished upon thee ; Since as the sun must shine, e'en so with me "To live " includes "to love," being the same. HILAD TO MARGERY. 59 By inner sweetness, spite of outward blame, Love works its own completeness if it be In king or churl. Oft coarse and ill to see Has been the vase from which with odors came The richest balsam ; rough the new-hewn tomb, In that Judaean garden, where they laid The body of the Lord in doubt and gloom ; Yet as that corse, with nails and spear-thrust frayed, Made holy all the place that gave it room, So hallows love the heart its home is made. 6o A WINTER TWILIGHT. A WINTER TWILIGHT. T3ALE beryl sky, with clouds ^ Hued like dove's wing, O'ershadowing The dying day, And whose edge half enshrouds The first fair evening star, Most crystalline by far Of all the stars that night enring. Half human in its ray : What blessed, soothing sense of calm Comes with this twilight, — sovereign balm That takes at last the bitter sting Of day's keen pain away. HEREDITY. 6i HEREDITY. 'T^HOUGH half his suit she favored, ^ Yet did she turn away. What weakness in him lay To fail her will to stay ? Alas ! his grandsire wavered When his sweetheart said him nay. 62 TEKEL. TEKEL. TF he had stabbed me where I stood, •*- So dear he was, I could have died Without a doubt that, somehow, good He must have meant, though space denied To show what ill would else betide. But when at my worst need his glance, That should have held me up, star-clear. Turned but the faintest thought askance, No more he was my friend, nor dear Could be, were loneness ne'er so drear. IN THY CLEAR EYES. (iZ IN THY CLEAR EYES. TN thy clear eyes, fairest, I see Sometimes of love a transient glow ; But ere my heart assured may be, With cold disdain thou mockest me : Hope fades as songs to silence flow. Ah ! most bewitching, mocking she, Fairer than poet's dream may show, The glance of scorn how can I dree In thy clear eyes ? Life is so brief, and to and fro Like thistledown above the lea Fly our poor days ; then why so slow To bend from pride ? Let us bliss know Ere age the light dims ruthlessly In thy clear eyes. 64 A NIGHT RIDE. A NIGHT RIDE. TTIS swart cheek tingled with the rain, ■^ -*- So swift he rode that night ; But all his speed no boon might gain Save to kiss, in a rapture of love and pain, Dead lips at morning light. Had he but known, what touched his cheek, Riding that midnight wild, Was her soul's kiss that might not speak. And the wail in his ear, so woeful and weak, The cry of his unborn child ! THE SECOND-SIGHT. 65 THE SECOND-SIGHT. ^^ I have the second-sight, Goethe'^ — Bettina. 'T^WICE in his life has man the second-sight. First does young love give prescience divine, As when the tender springtide moon benign Pours o'er the wanderer floods of golden light, Revealing gracious forms that troop by night From haunt of elf and fay. Next, when decline The stars of love, and in the western brine Plunge darkling, then, with wonder and affright, The heart strays, like a seer with purpose dread Who walks in storm-rent night along the plain Of some old battle, and while round his head Wild shrieks the wind, calls up the awful train That know alike the fate of quick and dead ; For woe, love's vision lost, gives second- sight again. 66 A ROSE. A ROSE. [triolets.] "T^ WAS a Jacqueminot rose -*" That she gave me at parting ; Sweetest flower that blows 'T was, a Jacqueminot rose. In the lone garden close, With the swift blushes starting, 'T was a Jacqueminot rose That she gave me at parting. If she kissed it, who knows — Since I will not discover, And lone is that close — If she kissed it, who knows? Or if not the red rose. Perhaps then the lover ! If she kissed it, who knows, Since I will not discover ? A ROSE. • 67 Yet at least with the rose Went a kiss that I 'm wearing ! More I will not disclose ; Yet at least with the rose Went whose kiss no one knows, Since I 'm only declaring That at least with the rose Went a kiss that I 'm wearing ! 6S HIS FATE, HIS FATE. "\ X riTH keenest mother-pain and mother-joy, ^ ^ With all that love could give or gold could buy, Came into happy life a blue- eyed boy Under the azure of a Northern sky. And who might know that in a wayside shed, Beneath the splendors of a Southern sun, That self-same hour, upon a beggar's bed, His fate and ruin, her life too begun. A CORYPHEE. 69 A CORYPHEE. TT was chalk and rouge, I knew, And the costumer's petty art ; And yet as the ballet you floated through I felt a thrill at my heart, — A caprice of vague delight And a promise all sweet and vain ; Unless the frail bond of your dance to-night Shall bring us together again. You have touched a chord in my breast, — Or a something that might be you, — And I wonder if thus shall unbalanced rest The reckoning between us two ; 70 A CORYPHEE. Or if somewhere, face to face, Or dead or alive as may chance, At last I shall pay all the debt of grace I owe for the joy of that dance. Let it be whene'er it will. And the place be whate'er it may. Be sure that my service to utmost shall be All yours in the deeds of that day. LIFE. 71 LIFE. T IFE is a ray of light ■^ Piercing dim air, Whose motes, an instant bright. Tell that the beam is there. A moment, and the golden gleam is gone ; Yet who knows why, or whither fleeting on ? 72 TRUTH. TRUTH. A MAN knelt through the livelong night ^ -^ And prayed with tears that morn might rise The first beam of the waited light With cureless blindness smote his eyes. A soul in darkness cried for truth, And dreamed the truth its bliss should be. Ah ! sad mistake, provoking ruth ! The truth brought endless misery. TO A GHOST. "11 TO A GHOST. /^F old, if thy robe but brushed me, ^-^ How did I start and thrill ! The simple, dimmest memory Has power to pain me still ! Yet now as I stand and see thee, Those fervors all have fled ; I burned in thy living presence. But thou canst not move me, dead. And yet those eyes still sparkle, Still glows that hair of gold. Still breathes the Indian perfume From thy robe's silken fold ; Thy voice has the old-time music. So sweet that it moved my dread, — No, thou art still of the living ; It is I who am of the dead ! 74 AN INDIAN AIR. AN INDIAN AIR. /^ARELESS upon a time-stained lute ^^ I played a subtile Indian air That all the world forgets, but I, For love of one so sweetly fair, Who sang it once, remember. The tune to plaintive moods did suit, Cadence to cadence melting slow ; Longings that not for time would die The music waked to softest glow, As brightens some dim ember. The ghostly moon from midnight sky Peered shivering my dim lattice through ; A hound howled, and his cry told well Some spirit sought that spot anew Where its heart-love yet lingered. AN INDIAN AIR. 7$ A soft wind seemed to pass me by, Strange bliss a moment soothed my pain. Why my tears sprang I might not tell ; But when I wiped those salt drops vain, The lute played oil unfingered! 76 FROM THE GRAVE. FROM THE GRAVE. TN the castle garden a rose ''" Had a hidden grave in its keeping : With pallid babe on her breast, A mother bent over it weeping. Never kiss of a father's lip Had brought to the babe its blessing Till the mother that red rose laid Against its cheek, caressing. RECOGNITION. 77 RECOGNITION. T OVER and mistress, sleeping side by side, -"^-^ Death smote at once ; and in the outer air, Amaze dly confronted, each to each. Their spirits stood, of all disguises bare. With sudden loathing stung, one spirit fled, Crying : " Love turns to hate if this be thou ! " " Ah, stay ! " the other wailed, in swift pursuit ; " Thee I have never truly loved till now ! " 78 '' FELICISSIMA NOTTE." "FELICISSIMA NOTTE." T TNDER the soft Italian moon ^ We wished each other " happiest night/ And went our ways ; and both alike Were helpless in Fate's hand of might. " The happiest night ; " for well we knew Italian nights have more than dreams, And too had learned that, truly seen, All is not bliss that fairest seems ! For him the swift stiletto stab : The warmth of clinging arms for me ; Yet who might say whether had won The happiest night, or I or he ? CONSOLATION-. 79 CONSOLATION. TN days of anguish and of desolation •*• Say not : " Time shall assuage the smart ! " Give to our grief at least the consecration Of standing unmatched and apart. " Ye shall forget." Oh, bitter consolation, More cruel than the woe it comes to heal. That makes a mockery of lamentation, And but the actor's cue each pang we feel \ Rent with the awful wrench of separation,, Leave us at least the dignity of pain ; Though it be false beyond all reparation. Let us believe we cannot love again ! isej. So H. R. P. H. R. P. " Gone into the world of light." Henry Vaughan. A RT thou called higher to a world of light ■^^^ Alone, while we in outer dark remain ? We catch vague gleams of glory through our pain, As of the stars half seen in some drear night, And with a love would supplement our sight, Strive to see clearer. Do we hear a strain Of sweetest sound, like welcoming refrain ? Ah ! if it be that when in sore affright We thought the place that held thee was a tomb, It was that bright world's portal, we can wait Until we too from out this doubtful gloom Are bidden thither. Ever first calls fate The worthiest. Oh, favored guest, some room, Some memory keep for us, though we be late ! THE BALLAD OF THE SPLNNER. 8 1 THE BALLAD OF THE SPINNER. I. I. T^HE Spinner sought the highest room, Of the ^ As downward sank the sun ; Spinner. She took her wheel amid the gloom, And swift and deft she spun. " He is false ! " she said upon the stair ; "Ah, false !" as grew the thread. She startled the chill silence there With murmured words of dread. She drew the flax out fine and long ; To a wild, wistful lay, She twisted into troubled song A spell strange powers obey. 8-2 THE BALLAD OF THE SPINNER. Of the Nothing of ill the Sailor dreamed, Watching the sun go down ; To see his sweet new love, he seemed, Sewing her wedding-gown. How slow for him his boat did go. How dragged the hours along. Till he again her voice should know. Singing some well-loved song. Out on the sea, pauseless as doom. The sure tides flood and run ; There in the tower's highest room The Spinner sang and spun. THE BALLAD OF THE SPLNNER. ^2i II. When at the sunset, on the land,. Of the The Spinner climbed the stair, ^^'^^• Over the sea on either hand, The sky of cloud was bare. But as she drew the fatal thread, Low, moaning winds were blown ; And as she chanted words of dread. Pale, fitful lightnings shone. II. The Sailor's golden love-dreams fled ; ^^^^ t^^^ Within his troubled mind wrought Remembered he, with sudden dread, ti/>on the The Spinner left behind. Sea. 84 THE BALLAD OF THE SPLNNER. With sudden darkness fell the night Like fate upon the sea ; The winds rushed on with gathering might ; In deadly fear sailed he. Swift, fervid flashes from the sky Burned out amid the dark ; Strange, fiery sparkles from the sea His vessel's course did mark. Blue, lurid lights along the shrouds Like charnel bale-fires glowed ; Most direful moanings filled the air, The coming wreck to bode. The opal stone in the Spinner's ring, Upon the Sailor's hand Gleamed through the night with sinister light, And shone like an altar brand. Then straight the Spinner far away He saw in vision clear ; Above the storm her droning wheel Buzzed dizzy in his ear. THE BALLAD OF THE SPINNER. 85 Out on the sea, pauseless as doom, The sure tides flood and run ; While in the tower's highest room The Spinner sang and spun. III. An instant, as the day declined, The spinner The Spinner left her wheel ; Turtught. An instant lulled the bitter wind And hushed the thunder's peal. She placed before the lattice dim A taper's lighted star, That through the wild night shone to him Resistless from afar. It called his bark along the sea In spite of helm and oar. Until he heard upon the lee The breakers' hungry roar. B6> THE BALLAD OF THE SPINNER. II. Of the What sights the lightning showed around, As on toward death he drave ! aroused. Shapes the Spell He shrieks as one who breaks his swound, Borne living to his grave. For countless hungry, slimy shapes That writhe in the wild sea Swarmed through the foam of surf-lashed capes, And he their prey should be ! Out on the sea, pauseless as doom. The sure tides flood and run ; While in the tower's highest room The Spinner sang and spun. THE BALLAD OF THE SPINNER. 87 IV. The Spinner heard the Sailor's cry, ^-^^^ spinner A 'J 1 r ,. ^ almost Amid her fatal song ; rdenteth. And knew thereby his bark drew nigh, Drawn by her spells along. She shuddereth, as who in death Sees some most loved one laid; But still she saith, with panting breath ; "Ah, false one ! Ah, betrayed ! " II. Yet once again the Sailor cried, -S"/^^ rehnteth And called the Spinner's name : £^^^^' On her white hps the wild song died ; — She quenched the taper's flame ; THE BALLAD OF THE SPINNER. His voice once dear called from afar, And love, though turned to hate, Grasps still the soul it once did hold With clasp as strong as fate. She pressed her heart in bitter pain, Her heart that would relent ; She strove in vain to chant again The spell of fell intent. • And with such moan as they may make The pains of hell who feel, The magic thread too late she brake, And stopped the fatal wheel. Out on the sea, pauseless as doom. Did sure tides flood and run ; While in the tower's highest room The Spinner sang and spun. THE BALLAD OF THE SPINNER. 89 The sun rose red in the morning mists Of what And tinged the flying scud, *Stm shone And flecked the floating sea-gull's breast ^tJ>on. With spots that shone like blood. Its light decked all the broken wreck With mellow radiance fair, And turned to pearl each flake of foam On the drowned Sailor's hair. And in that chamber like a dream. Snared in her broken thread. Its dusky beam touched with its gleam The Spinner, lying dead. The Fate of the Spinner. 90 THE BALLAD OF THE SPINNER. Out on the sea, pauseless as doom, Still slow tides flood and run ; But in the tower's highest room Nevermore maiden spun. AQC/A DELLA TOFFANA. 91 AQUA DELLA TOFFANA. [italy; a.d. 16 — .] n^HE night is close and dark ; the rain -*■ Beats on the rose. Lit by my casement's glow, Burns on the rose's beauty like a spark Amid the gloom, although the nightingale Shelters himself, and will not come to woo. Is love then but a mood ? Merely a bliss Of calms, that, like the stars, flees from the gloom Of storms ? Or does the rose the long night through Feel, though so far, the nightingale's hot breast Throbbing with passion? Ah, it must be so ! I feel my lover's heart, through night and rain, Beating afar with pulses that make way Into my very soul ! 92 AQC/A DELLA TOFFANA. He sends me here A tiny vial. " Love, I give you this," His words, " as giving you at once yourself And me. If in his lordship's wine — perchance Such things have been — a drop should hap to fall, He sleeps the sooner ; and to you and me What cause for grief if he forget to wake ? " What does it matter, O my rose ? Men die As leaves fall, when we most would have them stay ; If sometimes from the bough where it will cling We pluck a lingering leaf, long dry and sere. What harm ? The bough is fairer, and the leaf Was ready for the worm. Is it for me. Meek-eyed, to play the slave ? Though, like the queen Aurelian led in chains, I feel my hands In manacles, my soul is free as air ! Not one would ask upon my bridal mom Whether my heart was his who came To claim my shrinking hand as lawful wage Of prowess in the battles of our house ! AQU'A BELLA TOFF AN A. 93 Could they not, kinder, send me to the grave Rather than to that loathsome bridal bed ? Mother of God ! how did I let him live To wake from nuptial sleep ? I cannot breathe ! How close the night is ! Ah ! sweet rose, in rain And darkness waiting all this lone night through, Is love its own solution? Does the heart That wakes love prove itself worthy of love ? Thus prove itself from essence holy, high. By destiny divine create for love ? You love your nightingale, and question not For proof of worth ; and I, because I love, Love on, and love and love ! A litde thing It were in my lord's wine — no Venice glass Is his — to mix a drop of death, which Time Already pours, but with how slow a hand ! 'T is not the doing ! You, my blood-red rose. Would gladly cast those vivid petals, wet With tears of waiting, 'twixt your winged one's breast And tlireatening thorns ; but by that very deed 94 AQUA DELL A TOFF AN A. Would spoil the rose he loves. If love be true, To sacrifice all self for love, defeats Love's best fruition. On those endless years Of burning pain that the monks prate, slow scorn Well could I smile to give my prince a joy One short, keen moment long I But to abase Myself from what I am, would be to spoil. The rose he worships. Yet might I be free ! Might I but walk without the creeping dread Of hearing on the path the slow, cool step Of well-assured possession ! I have been Upon the very brink of bitter death. Because that step's assumption could not there Come following me ; and but the poignant thought That there another step would miss me too. Has held me back. Great God ! were I but free ! If on the morrow when his wine shall set His lordship dozing, he sleep on and on. My widow's tears would lack the angry salt That galled the bride's cheek on my wedding-day ! Yet thus I were not free ! 'T were but exchange Of certainty for doubt. Suppose my prince AQUA BELLA TOFF AN A, 95 Some fearful midnight — dark, perchance, as this — Should start from dreaming that it was his wine I tampered with ! No more this vial holds My hope, but my most deadly dread ! O sweet ! It is for love's sake that I here resign The key to love's dominion. As I break This vase, it is not hope, but fear, I spill ; P^or hope lives on because I love you still ! University Press : John Wilson & Son, Cambridge. %^^m^. ^■m^S^^'j-