LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 
 
 TSJ/0^ — 
 
 ^ ShelfVi 
 
 UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 
 
POEMS 
 
 James Vila Blake 
 
 CHICAGO 
 
 CHARLES H. KERR & COMPANY 
 
 BOSTON: GEO. H. ELLIS 
 
 1887 
 
COPYRIGHT BT 
 
 JA^rES VILA BLAKE 
 iSS6 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Dedication vii 
 
 Proeni ix 
 
 Wild Rice— 5^. 7F. . ii 
 
 Nay, Adonais 22 
 
 Sharing 25 
 
 Amori Supplex 26 
 
 Song 29 
 
 Quintrains 30 
 
 Hospitality 32 
 
 On the Road 32 
 
 Rain 33 
 
 A Conversation 3/j. 
 
 In Him 44 
 
 Everlasting — A. M. H. G 45 
 
 Dead Grief 46 
 
 Sursum Corda ........ 49 
 
 One Love ^2 
 
 Returned— J5. S. B 53 
 
 One Score— i^. C, W. 55 
 
 Immortal ry 
 
 Flowers Left by Night on Mj Door-step— ilf. A. C. 58 
 
 Cheer 59 
 
 N^lmporte 60 
 
 Quintrains 61 
 
 Estranged 63 
 
 Voyage 64 
 
 Song y2 
 
iv Contents 
 
 Translations — vkgb 
 
 Westphalian Folk-song 73 
 
 Carol 74 
 
 Of Thee . . 76 
 
 Nature's Mother- voice 77 
 
 Abschied . . 78 
 
 Three Riders 79 
 
 Slumber Song 80 
 
 Early Summer ....... 81 
 
 Spring Song 83 
 
 An Old Noel 84 
 
 Good Sense 85 
 
 Morning Song 86 
 
 Pythagoras to his Disciples 86 
 
 Morning Star 87 
 
 Sir Winter 88 
 
 Summer Song 89 
 
 May Song 90 
 
 Peace 91 
 
 Evening Song 92 
 
 Earth's Beauty 93 
 
 Alpine Song ........ 94 
 
 Song 95 
 
 Spring 96 
 
 Going to the Great City ..... 96 
 
 Separation ......... 97 
 
 Voiceless ......... 99 
 
 Actum Est ......... ICO 
 
 Difficulties ......... loi 
 
 Stuffing .......... 102 
 
 Diogenes to the Persian ...... 102 
 
 Patience 103 
 
 Sang ulnar ia . . . . . . . .103 
 
 Recovery 105 
 
 Love and Law 106 
 
Contents v 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Love Ill 
 
 Easter 112 
 
 Wait on the Lord 113 
 
 Hymn of Spring 115 
 
 Together 116 
 
 Three Rabbins 117 
 
 The Bishop's Eyes 128 
 
 The Scholar 131 
 
 Parted 133 
 
 Longfellow . . . . . . . .134 
 
 Amoris Avaritia . . „ 135 
 
 Where? : . . 138 
 
 Comrade — L. L. W, 140 
 
 Sjchar — M. G 141 
 
 Presence — M. A. C. 146 
 
 L 147 
 
 Seers of Love 148 
 
 Rest 153 
 
 Visions — Beside Her 154 
 
 Wedded 155 
 
 The Snow 156 
 
 Year bj Year — L. L. W. 157 
 
 The Prescription 158 
 
 Jesus 160 
 
 Jean Armour ...... ... 162 
 
 The Old Answer to the Old Question . . . 163 
 
 Hymn 164 
 
 Pleroyna . 165 
 
 Judging 167 
 
 Prophets 168 
 
 Csedmon ......... 170 
 
 Morning 172 
 
 John Atheling 173 
 
 Epodos i88 
 
DEDICATION 
 
 FREDERICK D. BLAKE 
 
 Brother, I have double cause 
 Thee to think of, and the laws 
 Of my mind-sight lead me so 
 That to thee I ceaseless go. 
 When my soul hath thee in view, 
 Then come virtues trooping, too, 
 And I cannot think of thee 
 But in goodness wrapped I be. 
 
 When I see, on other hand, 
 Noble efforts nobly planned, 
 Then their ken my thoughts obey, 
 That I think of thee straightway. 
 
 Thus of thee first, then of these, 
 Or of these and then of thee, 
 Howsoe'er it chance or please, 
 It is double bliss for me, 
 Who by double cause am pressed 
 That my soul upon thee rest. 
 
 So with double love, my brother, 
 Take this gift, I have no other ; 
 Take this work my soul hath done, 
 Since by thee my soul hath known 
 Love of good and kin in one. 
 
PROEM 
 
 world^ if thou must ask 
 Sweet melodies of sound^ 
 
 1 am not given the holy task 
 To sing for thee. But round 
 
 Thou turnest silently 
 To m,ake the nights and days^ 
 Inlaid with starry f raise. 
 And round thou goest silently 
 To roll along 
 The seas 071s'' song. 
 What lfm.y verse as silently 
 
 Its way 7nay go^ 
 Commingling with thy meaning.^ blent 
 With nights and days and seasons ! O, 
 So thus my song and earth agree^ — 
 I a7n content. 
 
I' 
 
 
 V 
 
 . / 
 
4 
 
 i,. 
 
 WILD RICE 
 
 
 7. w: 
 
 Rooted under the water deep, -^^ 
 
 Where only silence and shadows creep, 
 
 But springing high above, • 
 Like thoughts of love 
 Rooted in a hi^cfen heart. 
 
 Wild rice takes its leafy start; 
 
 Lifting up its tufts, like lances. 
 Swayed with two currents, water and air. 
 
 When the sunny zephyi\ dances 
 
 With wavelets *soft and debonair. 
 
 Twice a child's height it grows 
 Under the netted ripples, aqjdi alcove, "them throws 
 To twice the same height its parterre 
 Of panicles, with slender pendaiitSi hung 
 
 Of kernels crystalling. H 
 
 Once, swung^ 
 
 »' 
 
 Down by the breeze, a nodding head, « 
 While my light pinnace past it sped, ^ 
 
 Was seized by a gentle hand^ * 
 
 A hand of beauty and love's command, 
 Which deftly from the husk picked out 
 A ripened grain, and gave it me. :..' . 
 'Twas sweet as product of the bee - '. t^; 
 Which wanders clover heads about; ' -ri 
 
12 U^zld Rice 
 
 And full of nourishment, 
 As for man's food 'twere meant. 
 
 Why till we not this beautiful food-plant, 
 Which cleaves the waters with a graceful 
 
 slant, 
 As breeze and current sway it? Then 
 Might we fence wide watery acres in 
 And reap the fluent furrows of the waves, 
 Whose undulations would but shake the 
 
 staves 
 Of fruitful rice to sweeter taste. 
 Think of a garden made of watery waste, 
 Fish darting round the roots 
 Of the food-bearing shoots, 
 And lilies gleaming through the stalks 
 Like petaled foam, from whose white ring 
 Another Cytheraea might spring — 
 A very Venice of farms, with watery lanes for 
 
 walks! 
 
 Ah! crafty, shrewd wild rice! 
 
 It hath a deep, sage trick 
 
 To parry in a trice 
 Covetous mortals, fain to pick 
 Its envied fruit and stack it for their gain. 
 
 It will not ripen all at once its grain; 
 
 But slowly up the tufted head maturity 
 
 climbs, [spike, — 
 
 And grain by grain its kernels ripen on the 
 
Wild Rice 13 
 
 As songs grow not full-born, but rhymes 
 
 by rhymes 
 And thoughts by thoughts try what they 
 
 will be like. 
 There is no season when to reap 
 Its trembling, pendent bounties, or make 
 weep 
 Its juices from the sickle's wounds, which would 
 not spare 
 To mow its beauties down, if men could 
 tear 
 It from its w^atery loves to fill 
 Their cribs. They cannot. It defieth them. 
 
 Men's wealth 
 It will not stoop to be, nor e'en their bodies' health. 
 No; in wild freedom it will spill 
 Munificence, which with unchary haste 
 
 It scatters into seeming: waste. 
 Ah, ha! The learned figure the rich gain 
 That men might get 
 If but they could restrain 
 Its wild course, seize its streaming manes, and cap- 
 ture it. 
 
 But is it waste? This is my song. 
 
 I love the wildling. Its defiance doth 
 
 belong 
 To Nature's freedom, to swift things that 
 
 fly, 
 
 To the untutored waves, unmeasured sky. 
 
14 IVi/d J? ice 
 
 If it were tilled to pack men's barns 
 With reedy fruitage of the sparkling tarns, 
 It would no more be free for any boat 
 Around and through its wilderness to shoot, 
 Valiant to struggle through its close stock- 
 ade. 
 Or through theyraises when wind or prior 
 
 boat 
 Hath bent it down. Now, in the shade 
 Of its own slender lanes. 
 Any warm heart, 
 Love-led of Nature, wide apart 
 
 May bend its crowding canes, 
 And its defenses take. 
 Its every tuft is ripe with liberty, and all 
 Scatter their kernels for its sake. 
 Feeding the fishes ^vhere their bounties fall ;- 
 Freedom for all to enter, sail, enjoy, 
 For maid and wife and man and boy 
 To hie them to their sports without allov. 
 Wild, wild it is, and it doth seize 
 Vast lakes at its wild will. 
 And there disport it as doth please 
 The merry, tender breeze 
 To woo its beauties to sweet measures, till they fill 
 With the rustle of their gayety the replicating 
 shore. 
 
 And now in numbers, and with beauties more, 
 Come the bronzed -head birds on v/ing, 
 
Wild Rice 15 
 
 And all their freedom bring, 
 Equal in water or in air, 
 To fill the affluent lanes with rare. 
 
 Rich rainbow hues in motion, — 
 To float and graze, and give 
 More life to waters that already seem to live. 
 
 From Labrador and the great North straits 
 That open into bays where melt the freights 
 Of the ice-shallops of the Arctic Ocean, 
 Where birds have summer parks and pleas- 
 ures, 
 Down in the winter, with the airy measures 
 Of unspent wings, to the stern neck of land 
 
 Which twixt two continents lies spanned. 
 Where Atlantic and Pacific seas 
 Mingle their sighs in one soft breeze. 
 Longing to kiss through the Caribbean gate — 
 In such vast course, nor early nor too late. 
 They fly, and linger 'mid our thickets of wild rice ; 
 Floating out in blue. 
 Bright opens, to our view ; 
 Rocking like fairy boats with proud bows steep, — 
 Rocking as if the waves slept rocking. 
 And they slept too, moored by sleep; 
 Then on their breasts the wavelets, knock- 
 ing, 
 Eager with the quickened breeze. 
 Seem to rouse them from their floating ease. 
 Palaced in their feathers, azure, bronze and gold. 
 Two spirits, wedded, hold 
 
i6 Wild Rice 
 
 Their court — the souls of fire and ice — 
 Under lamps opaline, 
 Whence tropic flames through Arctic crj'^stal shine. 
 
 If men could reap thee, dear wild rice, 
 
 Could glean for trade 
 The sweetness of thine everglade, 
 And every pond were a priced crowd 
 Of stems fenced jealously, not proud 
 
 As now, but watched as slaves are watched, were 
 opens left 
 
 Where thine aerial visitors their plays 
 
 Could celebrate amid thy shady bays. 
 
 To float, swim, bury their heads in water cleft 
 
 With bold skill, till prismatic skies 
 
 Burnished their backs with bright ten thousand 
 dyes? 
 Alas! gone were those strong blue wings, 
 Those floating breasts, those yellow feet. 
 The bright, beautiful, blissful things 
 
 That in the radiance of their own plumes meet, 
 Kindling the reedy fens of Tolleston, — 
 
 The living fairy barges that from thickets run 
 
 To pound upon the waves of Koshkonong, 
 Like a soft drum-beat in the songf 
 
 That doth to wind, to wave, to wood, to sky belong . 
 No more would they on waters roam 
 
 Where men had made farm-furrows of their home. 
 
 Should we behold the Mallard's faithful love? 
 
 Or ever find the nest where brooding- bird. 
 
Wild Rice 17 
 
 High in a leafy tree above, 
 Had plucked her breast to stow the eggs in down ? 
 Or should we ever know, as yet unknown, 
 How, from their perch on inland tree, 
 The tender fledgelings in good time are stirred, 
 Softly set upon the ground 
 And led unto the water — dangerous road 
 
 For the soft callow brood — 
 Till the heaving heart of the mere is found ? 
 
 To the same labyrinth of leaves the blackbirds 
 come 
 In flocks, making a summer season's home. 
 Their wings with ruby splashed, to feed 
 On the sweet kernels at their need, [speed. 
 Or dash between the spires with harmless 
 Floating on the opens in my boat 
 I have beheld them on the grassy spikes. 
 Seeming, as these were waves, to be afloat; 
 Or, pushing through the lanes of pikes, 
 I have driven them to their wings 
 More curious than startled; or belike 
 
 Suddenly I felt a shadow 
 On the sun-penetrated water strike. 
 As when down to a wavy meadow 
 A crested cloud its message flings; 
 And a dense flock has flown above me. 
 So low, the air rush seemed to shove me 
 Aside, whirling my boat; so near, 
 Their whirring wings sung in my ear. 
 
1 8 Wild Rice 
 
 There I have seen the crane, soft pearl and gray, 
 
 Poised on the rice, 'twixt water and the day. 
 
 From blazing Africa to Lapland snows 
 
 It travels; halting, stately king, as still as 
 
 rows 
 Of shadows cast by motionless fire, 
 
 Like sculptured action that could never tire ; 
 Then soaring high, 
 And cirrus-like stretched on the sky, 
 A slender arrow with huge wing 
 Moved on each side without machinery. 
 So lissom is the line-like thing, 
 So swift, so ray-like and so free. 
 
 In opens which the rice hath fringed with green. 
 The lotus growing I have seen, — 
 Gardens of gold blooming behind 
 Dense ramparts, so that none might find 
 
 The glorious creature, but with reverent pains; 
 But when we pierced the guarding lanes. 
 
 There bloomed the treasure, covering heaving beds 
 Of water, like undulating meads, 
 
 With its faint yellow flowers — cups of wine 
 Of golden glints that pour and shine 
 From them, when with the wind they tip 
 
 As offered to a naiad lip. 
 Above the water rising a full span, 
 
 Yea, two spans, doth it bloom; and the unplicate 
 fan 
 Of its leaf up-pierces from beneath, 
 
Wild Rice 19 
 
 A double rolled and pointed sheath, 
 Unfolding on the surface to great rounds 
 That break dry from the water, which cannot 
 
 doom 
 To the least moisture their encircling bounds, 
 But shrinks to trembling dew on their inviolate 
 
 bloom. 
 Then from these amber goblets that assuage the 
 eye, 
 Another beauty floats into the sky, 
 A new deliciousness for a new sense to take. 
 The atmosphere is laden like an upper lake 
 
 With waves of odor for a sense 
 More spiritual even than eyes' or ears' pretense. 
 
 Therefore, Wild Rice, I will not wish thee tilled, 
 Nor ripened at one harvest all thy seed. 
 
 That thou hadst fed the body's need. 
 Or man's more greedy garners filled. 
 Would then the poor be better fed, 
 The wide world's welfare better sped, 
 And never children feel dread hunger's 
 
 pains? [gains! 
 
 O, soul is the soil that grows the body's 
 Nay, if the freedom of the brow 
 That shines in thine inviolate wildness now. 
 Can fill the spirits of the safe, the glad, the 
 
 fair, 
 With new, deep life, pure thoughts and 
 
 happy songs. 
 
20 Wild Rice 
 
 Till they their glad abundance better share 
 
 With the poor, toiling throngs, 
 Thou wilt mature the richest harvest yet 
 Was ever seen in richest valley set. 
 
 And thou, my boyhood's friend, whose hospitable 
 home — 
 A low-eaved cot, filled with fine life. 
 
 Nestling under spreading trees, 
 Where birds contend with music for their 
 
 strife. 
 Or, banded, vie with the -^olian breeze — 
 Keeps open door when thither comrades 
 
 roam. 
 Where a lone island leans at rest 
 On Nippersink's rice-osiered breast. 
 Where green Pistaqua, and sister-bosoms three, 
 Harbor the tall spires. 
 Till, kindling under sunset fires. 
 They crimson the reflected copse and tree; 
 And the Volpean currents bind 
 The meres as in one mind 
 To know their own dear beauty, and to find 
 Joy in the river's waves that through them 
 wind 
 As one self stream of thoughts through kindred 
 
 spirits may, — 
 Where were thy cot, O friend, thy sports, thy day 
 Of country-freedom, where were they ? 
 Thy genial greeting, and thy kind abode 
 
Wild Rice 2i 
 
 That ever to thy friend its welcome showed; 
 Thy tireless and ingenious work of hand, 
 Boats for the wave and archery for the land ; 
 
 Thy children's echoing call, 
 And the bright sunshine vocal in them all, — 
 Where these, if farmers knew to spoil 
 
 With the keen sickle's toil 
 The camping freshets of their plumes of 
 
 fruit? 
 Come, sing with me, and gladly, that we 
 
 find 
 This sweet, delicious kernel will not suit 
 Man's avarice to stack and bind ; 
 But waves its lovely message for the mind, 
 And drops its nourishment in lingering 
 
 hours 
 To feed the fishes, birds and flowers. 
 And souls of Nature's lovers in her bowers. 
 
NAY, ADONAIS 
 
 Thus saith Adonais's verse, 
 Praise of fancy to rehearse: 
 "O, sweet Fancy, let her loose; 
 Everything is spoiled by use, 
 Where's the cheek that doth not fade 
 Too much gazed at? Where's the maid 
 Whose lip mature is ever new ? 
 Where's the eye, however blue. 
 Doth not weary? Where's the face 
 One would meet in every place ? 
 Where's the voice, however soft, 
 One would hear so very oft?" 
 
 Smooth and warm thy numbers, Keats, 
 Redolent as summer heats. 
 Where the lotus grows, or pine 
 Pours its balsam: and thv flight 
 Bears thee where the breezes shine, — 
 Shine, and shed from pinions bright 
 Pearls and starrv dews of nig-ht. 
 Dropping from the azure height, 
 Or from Cirrus opaline. 
 Like a hurrying bird of strife 
 Swept'st thou by, as if thy life 
 Of some long migration were 
 But a lightning-flitting v/hin*, 
 
Nay^ Adonais 23 
 
 Keeping an unfailing height, 
 Wings unstooping to alight. 
 Nathless, this thy roundelay 
 With its swift bewildering play 
 Of enticing melody, 
 Rings not truth-like in the ear. 
 Set at naught by heart sincere. 
 This I dare avow, and will 
 Evermore stand to it still — 
 Only truth real song can be! 
 I will never sing with thee, 
 Such a wrong to her^ to me, 
 Wrong to all who lovers be. 
 If thy verses but describe 
 Vagrants of the human tribe, 
 Say so plainly, and that ill 
 Is such vagrancy; then will 
 Thy swift verse describe it well 
 With a necromantic spell. 
 But thou nam'st it Human Soul, 
 And thy numbers then do roll, 
 I will say it, false and vain. 
 Leaving on the heart a stain. 
 
 I will tell thee of a heart 
 
 Where such motions have no part. 
 
 Where no cheek once loved doth fade 
 
 Too much gazed at; where a maid 
 
 Hath a lip mature, but new 
 
 Ever, and an eye whose blue 
 
24 -^^) Adonais 
 
 Never wearies ; a sweet face 
 I would meet in every place, 
 And a voice whose truth so soft, 
 I can never hear too oft. 
 For I love her in that kind 
 That her cheeks illumined bind 
 Sacred scripture of the mind ; 
 From her kiss I drink of soul, 
 On her brow a spirit find ; 
 In her eye, 'tis heaven's blue 
 On my consciousness doth roll. 
 And from heaven doth tell me true 
 What religion is. Her face, 
 Which is sweet in every place, 
 I do love because 'tis truth 
 Gathering " the dew of youth." 
 In her voice I hear the sound 
 Which of nature is the voice, 
 That it makes my heart to bound 
 And my soul in me rejoice. 
 This I cry true love to be: 
 Only this is worth the name. 
 Only this no breath of shame 
 Ever whispers her or me : 
 And it never fades nor spoils 
 By the force of use or toils. 
 As a candle in the dark. 
 In vast gloom but one small spark. 
 Makes us think what we should see. 
 What a splendor it would be. 
 
w 
 
 Sharing 25 
 
 If the dark were all made light, — 
 
 So this true love on the sight 
 
 Rises like a finite flame 
 
 In the dim abyss to shine, 
 
 Till all earth and heaven are fraught 
 
 With the noonday of the thought 
 
 Of the infinite divine. 
 
 SHARING 
 
 If music that comes to me 
 
 I could sing, 
 If all the joys that woo me 
 
 I could bring 
 So others might them see 
 In all their sweet beauty, — 
 
 I were as happy singer 
 
 In my flight 
 As yon swift soaring winger 
 
 Lost in light, 
 Whose lonely note is heard 
 Where flies no other bird. 
 
 Yet happier far my case is. 
 
 That I see 
 Same light in other faces 
 
 That fills me. 
 And raptures in all eyes 
 Of the same mysteries. 
 
1 
 
 AMORI SUP FLEX 
 
 Am I worthy of the eye-light 
 
 Wherein her holy love, 
 
 Her sky-like, holy love. 
 
 Like the dawning or the setting twilight, 
 
 Promises such noon — strong noon of day, 
 
 Or holy noon of night? 
 
 Oh no ! not worthy ! But from sight 
 
 I stow and hide away 
 
 My sins, my nothingness. 
 
 And let her bless me and unto me press. 
 
 I led her far away 
 
 With rueful art; 
 
 Down many steps and steep, 
 
 I made her home, deep 
 
 In the dungeons of my heart. 
 
 There no light of day 
 
 Might ever reach. 
 
 Sadly to teach 
 
 What love she took. 
 
 And followed, and did never backward look. 
 
 No day-light — but she knows it not. 
 Nor ever wot 
 
Amori Su^plex 2'J 
 
 The steps how steep, 
 
 The depth how deep, 
 
 Under the ground she dwells; 
 
 For while descending 
 
 The steps unending 
 
 To my heart's lone cells, 
 
 We went hand in hand, 
 
 O Love, hand in hand. 
 
 Her eyes on me. 
 
 Her thoughts of me, 
 
 Her heart on love intent ; 
 
 She never saw the way we went, — 
 
 Saw only me ! 
 
 There she set a lamp whose beams 
 
 Pour pulsing streams, 
 
 Celestial-pure, 
 
 Through dark recesses; 
 
 Nor aught but its light confesses, 
 
 Nor soot-spots dure. 
 
 With undistinguishing, unassizing graces 
 
 It rains on sin-hurt places. 
 
 Melting to dew of tears what was a bitter 
 
 rime, — 
 Like in some old manse the fire-light 
 Rouging hoar seams of time; 
 Like in broken groves the sun-light 
 Seeding the whirlwind's traces, 
 When the brown nurse. Night, 
 Hath wept the storm-wracked spaces, 
 
28 Amori Supplex 
 
 Now grows my heart all peopled with her 
 
 face, 
 Which sheds looks that are spirits; and where 
 
 they bloom, 
 There do they live, they love, they stay, 
 Unfearful of the cavern's gloom. 
 Choosing seared and barren place 
 To linger in, and play. 
 They rise on glowing wing. 
 With tender thought to fling 
 A wider look; or mercifully seek 
 The ruined and the weak, 
 Half -fallen stones between; 
 Or spring with silence back, love-meek 
 From things unsaid, unseen. 
 Grown over with dank lichen-screen; 
 They bend pitting o'er 
 Broken tiles oft floor; 
 Then through the door 
 Despatch some precious light, 
 Smiling into the night! 
 
 Help me, Spirits of love, 
 Ye shapes that haunt pure love ! 
 When I o'erstrain, 
 Oft failing, and in vain, 
 To clear and build again 
 Better than before, — 
 When, falling, I can no more. 
 Then still, oh ! still. 
 
Song 29 
 
 Life, go thou on without my will! 
 For love hath taken hold, and works repairs 
 More beautiful than aught my cares 
 Can do, or tears or prayers. 
 
 SONG 
 
 Awake, my boy! 
 
 Thy cheek hath kissed 
 
 Its twin rose. Dawn! 
 
 Awake for joy! 
 
 A day is born, 
 
 And earth is blest ! 
 For under tufts of grass lies the lark's nest. 
 And sparkle beads of dew on the earth's breast. 
 Far overhead the white clouds are sailing. 
 And on the hills soft shadows are trailing. 
 
 Now sleep, boy bright! 
 Sweet, go to sleep! 
 With eider-down 
 Of dreams, brown Night 
 Shall weight thee down. 
 And fold thee deep. 
 
 The water-gate is shut and the mill stops; 
 
 The evening star climbs over the hill tops; 
 
 White fleece, like wool, descends on the meadow. 
 
 And on the owl's nest deepens the shadow^ 
 
QUINTRAINS 
 
 Simply to see things as they are, this, this 
 Is poetry : for beauty, power and Hiss 
 Cannot consist in what is not. Thus he 
 Who sees the truth, Hveth with poetry. 
 And singeth when he tells what he doth see. 
 
 When thou hast climbed a tree, then pluck the 
 
 cherry 
 A bird hath pecked : they know a rich, ripe berry. 
 So in the climb of life, follow the merry 
 Blythe singers of the earth, buoyed above strife : 
 They know the best and sweetest things of life. 
 
 * 
 
 Thinic of thy lot in life as one great whole; 
 Then wouldst thou ^change it? Nay, not for thy 
 
 soul: f 
 
 Some one sweet thing thou hast, some sacred bliss, 
 Some friend, child, love, thought, hope, too sweet 
 
 to miss! 
 The secret of contentment, this. 
 
^uintrains 31 
 
 The earth not only round the sun doth fall, 
 
 But the sun too doth roam 
 Through space, they say, drawing his planets all. 
 Well, whirl along ! ye cannot leap the wall 
 
 Around my soul's own home. 
 
 When the bright sun shines, 
 
 Then let thy heart be gay : 
 
 But when the day declines. 
 
 Let thy heart yield the cheerful ray 
 
 Which it hath stored the live-long day. 
 
 * 
 
 If no beauty thou dost spy. 
 
 Blame not the earth or sky : 
 
 But say thine orb is blind. 
 
 Or say a monkish mind 
 
 Sits sourly looking from a cell's dim eye. 
 
 * 
 
 In all the throngs of men I scan, 
 
 I see one only man : 
 
 Each hath been born, hath grown, hath loved and 
 
 hated, 
 Hath toiled, slept, laughed and wept, hath wooed 
 
 and mated, — 
 One tragedy, one comedy since time began. 
 
HOSPITALITY 
 
 If love fill full the breast, 
 
 'Tis sure to overflow 
 
 And musically go 
 
 The widest house throughout, 
 
 And run the rooms about 
 
 With rhythmical welcoming 
 
 Of friend or stranger-guest 
 
 To peace and rest — 
 
 Like a brook's song in the vale below. 
 
 Mindful of the highland spring 
 
 Where it learned to sing. 
 
 ON THE ROAD 
 
 How falls the rain. 
 The rain, 
 
 On the road to Carmel ? 
 Like a mother's kiss. 
 Like lover's bliss. 
 Like broken light 
 From fading skies. 
 Like tender night. 
 Like closing eyes, 
 Like swallow's wing 
 Still-poised aloft, 
 Like deepening shade, 
 
Rain 33 
 
 Like anything 
 
 Was ever made 
 
 Most still, most soft, — 
 
 So falls the rain, 
 
 The rain, 
 
 On the road to Carmel. 
 Like secret giving, rich and rare 
 Thou comest — like a spirit's birth 
 Quick from the bosom of the air, 
 The breast maternal to the earth. 
 
 RAIN 
 
 The rain falls softly, and on either hand, 
 Whether I look upon the earth or sky, 
 It seems to utter, with a soft command, 
 A gentle speech to tell how small am I. 
 How wide it falls ! how quiet and how strong ! 
 From stormy clouds it gathers a sweet song : 
 It brings the lightning down to paint the grape, 
 And juice to swell the berry to its shape ! 
 My plans, well laid, it scatters and derides, 
 And with sweet laughter my impatience chides. 
 Well, let them go; I am not sad or pained 
 To be so small in world so great contained. 
 I am so small thou mak'st my purpose vain, 
 And yet so great that I can love thee, rain. 
 But lo! it stops; I go my way again: 
 The sweet rain drips no longer from my pen. 
 
yf- 
 
 n 
 
 A CONVERSATION 
 
 Amid a throng of merry people 
 An aged dame sat quietly, 
 Alone, looking, not looked upon, 
 Glad in their festival, and drinking 
 Her sober glass spiced with their glee. 
 I, seeing not the royalty 
 
 Which God hath crowned when he leads age 
 Into the court of company. 
 Passed by that gentle majesty. 
 To youth and beauty. But soon chided, 
 I saw her eye whose eye I sought, 
 And heard her voice whose voice I loved, 
 Turn toward the dame with reverence. 
 " Go there! Pay court where it is due," 
 She said, "and not to me. There sits 
 Station august ; go talk to her." 
 
 Gently admonished, I drew near 
 That meek sublimity, and spoke: — 
 " Lady," said I, " by right divine 
 Queen of this noisy throng, may I 
 Pay homage due from youth, and hear 
 Thy wisdom ? " " Nay," she said, " the body 
 Of stiffening age shall drink with thanks 
 
A Conversation 3^ 
 
 The new wine of thy youth." " Nay, nay," 
 
 I answered, " thou wilt give to me 
 
 Stored wealth." " No," said she, " I will draw 
 
 From thee life to enjoy my wealth." 
 
 " Why, then," I said, " I will stay here 
 
 Not as a suitor, for himself 
 
 Seeking advantage, paying homage 
 
 To a mere ruler; but at home 
 
 In thy mild realm, giving free service." 
 
 Then, knowing her lone life, I asked, 
 " Where is thy charge and whilom playmate, 
 That winsome child whom I have seen 
 Alternate following thee and followed? 
 I have not met his smile of late. 
 Often I saw him at the school 
 Where thou wast waiting, serving him 
 With holy deference of knowledge 
 To tender ignorance; and often 
 I saw thee guiding him to church, 
 As if in his sweet company 
 To draw near heaven — 'tis made of such. 
 By thee, within the holy walls. 
 He sat, or on thy lap slept childlike ; 
 For preachers yet preach not to children. 
 And at thy house his games have filled 
 My ears with innocence; I marked him 
 Float in swift curves well-nigh the ceiling 
 In his light swing, and laugh, not fearing ; 
 Thy daughter's child. Where is he now ? " 
 
■1 
 
 36 A Conversation 
 
 Smiling, she answered me, the heart 
 Meanwhile, still young, so strongly sending 
 Through stiffening cords its tide, they trembled, 
 And the voice shook : 
 
 " Thou wilt remember, 
 Hardly t"svelve months ago the child's 
 Dear mother-flesh, cast by the spirit, 
 Was borne from church to mingle with 
 The earth that fed it. And the father 
 Was twice bereaved, since I the child kept 
 In whom they, being tv/o, grew one. 
 But soon the father took the child. 
 To keep in sight that rare alloy 
 Wherein he and the mother mingled 
 Defy the analysis of death." 
 
 "And so," I said, " he took the boy — 
 'Twas natural — and left thee lone. 
 Dost find the day too sad, too long. 
 Now that no child's small troubles call thee 
 To help or heal? Belike time w^eighs 
 Upon thy heart too heavily." 
 
 " Not so," she said, " for I find duties 
 To make day busy and night sleepy; 
 And time I wneld like a gold sceptre 
 By which I keep my realm in order. 
 I have a son, a manly lad, 
 Who early goes to work each morn. 
 
A Conversation gy 
 
 He comes not home the live-long day, 
 
 But night brings him again, a star 
 
 That rises on me in all weathers. 
 
 Right early, and, in winter months, 
 
 Long before light, I must rise up 
 
 To set his breakfast, — pleasant work ! 
 
 'Tis sweet to see him eat my food 
 
 With the keen zest of health and toil! 
 
 Soon he is gone, the table cleared. 
 
 The stove left comely, shining ranks 
 
 Of glass and metal on the shelf 
 
 Disposed, utensils bright and useful. 
 
 Then leisure comes, filled with new pleasures. 
 
 Another lad, a traveler, 
 
 I have, who visits all the climes 
 
 Of this vast land, from sea to sea. 
 
 And with his own eyes looks on nature. 
 
 Not taking tales from other men. 
 
 Up towering mountain peaks he goes. 
 
 And down in dark mines, over plains. 
 
 On inland seas. He treads wild forests. 
 
 Sleeps on the moss and drinks from brooks. 
 
 In his canoe, mid fertile fields. 
 
 He goes up rivers to their springs. 
 
 Or floats in canyons where a torrent 
 
 Hurled from a height has hewn a course 
 
 From flinty rock, for ages cutting. 
 
 Till the cleft stone precipitous 
 
 Towers up a mile above the bed. 
 
 He sees strange creatures, men more strange. 
 
38 A Conversation 
 
 Cities magnificent he visits, 
 
 Where laws are made and streams of trade 
 
 Together rush, a roaring maelstrom. 
 
 And from his journeys I have letters. 
 
 And boxes of strange things he sends me. 
 
 And books of notes and strange adventure, 
 
 Thick tomes in which I read untiring. 
 
 He says the monstrous sea-board city, 
 
 Begirt with floods both salt and fresh, 
 
 The ocean and the watery hills 
 
 Embracing it like rival lovers. 
 
 Is a great continent itself. 
 
 Where all the peoples of the earth 
 
 Are gathered and all tongues are spoken. 
 
 Then comes my hour of exercise. 
 Tracking in thought my traveler's feet 
 Beguiles me not of my own walk 
 Which health requires, of mind and body. 
 And I wot well that I go forth 
 In paths familiar girt with wonders 
 As great as those my traveler sees. 
 Under the sky I walk with awe ; 
 Sunbeams broidered with shadows deck me ; 
 The birds and far halloos of children. 
 Voices of men and tread of feet. 
 The cries of beasts, and watery hush 
 Of dew-tipped leaves, I hear, rejoicing; 
 And my heart sings and offers thanks 
 In summer's leafy tabernacles 
 
A Conversation 39 
 
 Or gothic frames of trees in winter. 
 Kind greetings meet me — privilege 
 Of age long living in one place. 
 I visit marts of garden products, 
 For rosy fruit to deck the meal 
 At evening of my dear good lad ; 
 For he from work comes hungry home. 
 I purchase webs of snowy cloth 
 To make him clothes or deck his bed. 
 Belike I buy some silk or linen 
 Against the Sunday, when afresh 
 And sprucely he shall dress, and rest. 
 These errands done of love or pleasure, 
 Homeward I turn ; but pause, reluctant, 
 Lingering to breathe again my joy 
 For all the sweet day's blessedness. 
 
 Then do I eat, with thanks, at mid-day, 
 Frugal and lone, my slight repast. 
 Then up and down my house I go, 
 Setting it all in comely order, 
 Renewing the night-ravaged rooms. 
 The well aired beds are made, and downy 
 Pillows up-piled, like drifts of snow. 
 Fresh water sparkles in the ewers, 
 Fresh towels drape the rack, and air 
 Is fresh and crisp in every cranny. 
 The broom, a tool invincible, 
 Renews the floor. A pure aroma 
 Of cleanliness pervades the place. 
 
'»?»' 
 
 40 A Conversation 
 
 This odor of fresh garniture, 
 Also a sweet fatigue, awhile 
 Lull me to sleep. And so my days pass." 
 
 The dame ceased, but I answered not. 
 Thinking how simple was this life, 
 How fresh and sweet, how tranquil, simple : 
 Like to the house that held it, daily 
 Renewed. I thought how well they do, 
 What gentle ministers are they, 
 Who, knowing naught of Nature's secret 
 Save to adore it, naught of learning. 
 Yet fill our days with wholesomeness. 
 Our nights with uninfected sleep, 
 And purify our lives and dwellings. 
 Washed, weeded, winnowed, ventilated. 
 O homely arts of unstained thrift, 
 Instincts of souls immaculate 
 Which, from their own unsullied stream, 
 Our bodies' dwelling clarifj-, 
 Let none despise you, lowly sources 
 Of sweetness, privacy and health ! 
 And ye that practice these, unfailing, 
 In lowliness of place or duty. 
 Naught knowing but your simple lot. 
 Or suffering pangs of higher dreams, — 
 Ye shall be blest, in heaven rewarded, 
 Where spotless usefulness is crowned. 
 
 Then, with new reverence: " Surely," said I, 
 
A Conversation 41 
 
 *' Thy life is lonely since the child 
 Went to his father; art not lonely? " 
 
 " Lonely ? " she said; " Can one be lonely 
 In the audience-room of life ? I open 
 My window \vide and life engulfs me, 
 Befriends me with companionship 
 And consolation. But lest this 
 Seem too remote to satisfy 
 The heart that languishes alone, 
 Know that I cherish in my house 
 Two kinds of living things. My plants 
 I tend with love. I wash their leaves, 
 And prune them to grow not ungainly; 
 And with the soil mix food and drink, 
 That they get not athirst nor languish. 
 I know their names and characters. 
 Their constancy is beautiful, — 
 Always the sam.e to those that guard them. 
 Blooming, their colors seem rays broken 
 From aether, sunsets, clouds and stars. 
 Their scent is air from Paradise, 
 Sealed in the bud, freed when it opens. 
 Also I have my birds, now five. 
 But lately six ; for yesterday 
 I sold one, grieve, and wish I had not. 
 They pick the shell within the cage. 
 And blithe they are, content and happy. 
 Knowing no other life ; ay, sooth. 
 Favored ; for birds toil hard to live, 
 
42 A Conversation 
 
 Hunting their food ; and many a robin 
 
 In sight of a canary's cage 
 
 Has starved to death, hearing his song. 
 
 At early morn I give them food 
 
 And drink, the while I talk to them. 
 
 Then I provide them brimming bowls 
 
 In which they bathe them merrily, 
 
 And smooth their plumage with pink bills. 
 
 Nodding their saucy heads with pleasure. 
 
 I hang their cages, cleansed, in sunbeams. 
 
 Shaded if fervent. Then their songs 
 
 They pour, throats full and beaks upraised. 
 
 In answering strains, or all together — 
 
 Sweet music of a tropic isle 
 
 Caught from the clang of shells and pebbles 
 
 On coasts where breaking waves roll back; 
 
 But known to me; I know their notes. 
 
 And hail them like familiar words. 
 
 These are my company before 
 
 My lad comes home. I am not lonely." 
 
 " But is not work," I asked, '' unaided, 
 A burden ? " 
 
 " Surely not," she answered. 
 " But one thing at a time I do. 
 And all things slowly. No, I tire not. 
 I have full strength. My heart is songful, 
 Although my withered voice sings not. 
 My share of sorrow I have had^ 
 
A Conversation 43 
 
 Loss, pain, and unrequited toil; 
 
 But all is past, and where the flame burned 
 
 Spring up our Lord's new shoots of goodness." 
 
 A duty called. I made my reverence. 
 The venerable lady answered, 
 "Thanks, sir, for sitting down beside me; 
 You have conferred a pleasure on me." 
 Amazed, humbled, I turned away. 
 Glad to hide shame, shame sore yet welcome. 
 Could this be royal ? this mien lowly, 
 The royal sovereignty of age? 
 Ay ! throned ! The last shall be the first, 
 And giddy throngs of those now first 
 Must be the last, with gentleness, 
 Before they shall be crowned. 
 
 Thanked?— 
 For what I had not grace myself 
 To purpose, blinded to God's glory ? 
 O let me not walk in his splendors, 
 Splendors of innocence in babes, 
 Of joy, woe, pathos, in mid-life. 
 And of the majesty of age — 
 Blind, senseless, like a clod or stone, 
 Or with my eyes prone earthward, brute-like. 
 Peering for prey to feed ambition. 
 But let me know the things God makes. 
 And worship what he sets on high. 
 O let me feel the pang, the woe. 
 
44 -^^ Him 
 
 The shame, that any other knows; 
 And know the praise, the honor, glory, 
 Of lowly hearts living beside me. 
 
 Blest be thou, venerable dame! 
 Thy house is heaven's ante-chamber, 
 With voices filled from inner halls. 
 Sweet converse to invite thy heart; 
 Till thou lay down thy simple life. 
 And give thy soul to God with peace. 
 
 IN HIM 
 
 Though the bee 
 
 Miss the clover. 
 Fly it by and know it not ; 
 
 Though the sea 
 
 Wash not over 
 On the sands a wounded spot; 
 
 Heart, O heart! 
 
 Thou wilt part 
 From the All-hold on thee, and lose thy way, 
 
 Never, never; 
 
 Nor wilt sever 
 Thy sweet life from the life of night and day. 
 
 Thou in Him 
 
 Liest as dim 
 As yellow wings in golden atmosphere. 
 Or in the sea each watery spiritual sphere. 
 
EVERLASTING 
 
 A. M. H. G. 
 
 A DREAM, a dream, came o'er my quiet breast, 
 Suffusing with the day my midnight rest. 
 I dreamed a thousand years had deftly spun 
 Their web above my head since day was done: 
 With prescient sight, more daring than a seer's, 
 My soaring spirit leaped ten hundred years. 
 
 And over me, who stand in deep amaze. 
 Flock tiny forms of light, o'er-draped with haze. 
 They swarm and cluster round me, as to seek 
 Some recognition from me: yes, they speak, — 
 " What ! Dost not know us ? Dost not recognize 
 Thoughts, Feelings, Memories, Hopes, that in thee 
 rise ? " 
 
 1 shook my head, and turned away with shame. 
 How sorrowful and weak our mortal aim ! 
 Alas! how sad, how terrible and strange. 
 Hurled by the flying years, the doom of change! 
 A thousand years in His sight are a day ; 
 But, oh! they steal my soul, myself, away. 
 
 Then, while I mourned, a tiny voice drew near, 
 A timid whisper, dying in my ear: 
 "I think quite all the throng thou didst not see: 
 Oh, turn again! look! dost thou not know me?" 
 I looked: 'twas Love! I clasped him, raining tears. 
 I knew myself: Love lasts a thousand years. 
 
DEAD GRIEF 
 
 The sorest partinq' is the blessed est. 
 
 * * * 
 
 The happiest only reaches the blest tuoe 
 Of being the unhappiest. 
 
 « « * 
 
 His sorrows — they are only his past bliss 
 Still living. — Schefer. 
 
 To lose! What is It to lose? 
 
 If Fortune choose 
 
 We keep not gold or what gold buys, 
 
 What then ? The prize 
 
 Our weak hand drops 
 
 Falls to some other hand, 
 
 Nor fails nor stops, 
 
 But ranges through the land, 
 
 Full-missioned still. Even in bitterer loss. 
 
 If child or lover lay 
 
 Her dear life down, our painful cross 
 
 But only lifts 
 
 The precious one into the far blue rifts. 
 
 To bless new paths straightway, 
 
 And other hearts somewhere, who gain 
 
 By our dear pain. 
 
 But when love's path, 
 
 Entered with pure belief, down rolls 
 
 Into foul pits, where seems a devil's wrath 
 
 To float and gloat in mire that sucks down souls. 
 
Dead Grief 4*^ 
 
 Oh ! this is woe, is woe — 
 
 When heart hath bled 
 
 For Love's love fled, 
 
 For Faith's pure blessedness, by slow 
 
 Wounds mangled, then by one stab killed! 
 
 This woe her spirit filled 
 
 When she looked on his face. 
 
 Where e'en the ennobling change 
 
 And holy, mystical grace 
 
 Of death had failed its strange, 
 
 Sweet majesty to write, 
 
 Or fill the features with its sculptured light. 
 
 The amen is said, 
 
 The service read; 
 
 The bearers, with strong hands. 
 
 Gather around the dead ; 
 
 But cold as clay she stands: — 
 
 Oh! could she e'er recall, could she recall 
 
 But one white stole of love over his crimes to fall ! 
 
 And he is dead: 
 
 Without a moan or cry 
 
 She sees him dead. 
 
 But horror in her eye 
 
 Lies coiled. Her burning lids supply 
 
 No tears, but writhing woes appall. 
 
 As in dry cisterns nesting reptiles crawl. 
 
 With gentle sympathy, heart-sore, 
 Neighbors besought her, awed, still more 
 Wondering. " For what," they said, " hath she 
 
1 
 
 48 Dead Grief 
 
 To mourn? She is now loosed and free 
 
 From all yon cruel flesh of infamy." 
 
 Then answered she: "For your good sympathy, 
 
 Take thanks. Your words are true, that I am free. 
 
 But woe! when death gives welcome liberty! 
 
 " If death, clad in white memories, with surcease 
 
 Baptize the babe or child, 
 
 Or with enforced peace 
 
 Still love's heart wild, 
 
 Or take the aged good, — 'tis not unblest! 
 
 Feeling still thrills the place 
 
 Where lay and pressed 
 
 The baby mouth and face; 
 
 Dear filial duties live 
 
 In holy memory ; 
 
 Love's precious secrets give 
 
 Hope's immortality, 
 
 And parting age bequeaths benignity. 
 
 Such loss makes kindly grief; 
 
 Kind face beyond belief 
 
 Grief hath, and its own light, 
 
 Which is an essence bright. 
 
 " But my grief, hopeless, sad, 
 Is this : I have no grief, — 
 A woe unnatural, bad. 
 Unholy, and past kind relief. 
 Go, friends, the rite is done; 
 And it is nothing. See — 
 
Sursum Corda 49 
 
 I laugh, could play, could run. 
 
 For my new liberty ! 
 
 But wait I one rite more: 
 
 A funeral drear, 
 
 Where I alone before 
 
 A blacker bier 
 
 Fall down — death's unawaking bed. 
 
 Whereon the body of my grief lies dead." 
 
 The neighbors, one by one. 
 
 Stole awed away; 
 
 The bearers soon had gone 
 
 With the dead to the open day. 
 
 She followed not; but more 
 
 Stood fixed, there seeing, in the dread. 
 
 Dire spot wherein before 
 
 Death's narrow couch was spread. 
 
 Another bier where Grief lay dead. 
 
 SURSUM CORDA 
 
 Hast ever seen a lover die, 
 
 And witnessed then the sky 
 
 Beam on his closing eye 
 
 Its utmost immortality ? 
 
 I have — in dreams — and thus he died : 
 
 He took her hand, and said, 
 
 " Heart's-dear, heart's-joy, heart's-pride. 
 
 Soon I shall be what men call dead; 
 
 And thou, sweet bosom-friend, wilt stand beside. 
 
1 
 
 50 Sursum Corda 
 
 And see me grow all white, 
 
 And a strange, wondrous light 
 
 Issue and hover; yea, and me, 
 
 Whom thou didst never grand or glorious see. 
 
 Thou wilt behold filled with the majesty 
 
 Which death works in the face. 
 
 Come close down, close, into thy place. 
 
 Darling, upon my breast, 
 
 While I do speak to thee, my true, my blest. 
 
 And now I tell thee, dear, 
 
 I do not nor I cannot fear; 
 
 For in God's world can be no change 
 
 That will be foreign, alien, strange 
 
 To the humblest of his creatures; 
 
 But everything will come with features 
 
 Familiar, half -known before, half -seen; 
 
 And to me, dying, death will be 
 
 What to me, living, life hath been — 
 
 All natural and sweet and good, 
 
 Like any simple habitude. 
 
 Even if I die to live no more, 
 
 'Twill be as waves break on the shore, 
 
 That knew not their full voice before, 
 
 And, while they think how blithe they roar. 
 
 Sink back with music in the sea. 
 
 And yet, this more I say to thee, — 
 
 My soul desires to live. 
 
 For I count it deepest faith 
 
 Strongly to hold and wish to keep. 
 
 Above all death. 
 
Sursum Cor da 51 
 
 Above all sleep, 
 
 The rich life God doth give. 
 
 Is it life that loves not living ? 
 
 So far as life's glories thrill 
 
 In my reason, in my will. 
 
 So far as my soul is health 
 
 To feel the greatness and the wealth 
 
 Of life's rapture, having, giving, — 
 
 So far doth a holy fire 
 
 Flame up in me with desire, 
 
 And seize on everlastingness. 
 
 I cannot reckon any less 
 
 God's living gift of blessedness. 
 
 And this more I say; if me 
 
 All life's other wealth could give 
 
 No high desire, still I would wish to live 
 
 For the greatness of loving thee. 
 
 Bend close, dear, close, and on the tide 
 
 Thou wilt, a little way, go by my side." 
 
 Thus — in my dream — a lover died. 
 
ONE LOVE 
 
 A, F. B. 
 
 I SAID unto my heart one day, 
 
 " O heart, I will thee fill 
 
 With loves and hopes and tender fears. 
 
 And tears more precious still. 
 
 I will thee fill with everything 
 That is both sweet and rare: 
 Good heart, O heart, unlock thy cells. 
 Disclose thy cloister stair." 
 
 Then first I poured in one great love: 
 Then other joys, a prayer. 
 Some eager hopes, I seized to throw, — 
 But found no room to spare. 
 
 Alack! this one love fills my heart. 
 No corner is left bare; 
 I will not speak her name aloud, 
 Nor breathe it to the air. 
 
 But I will say that not by day 
 Alone, but in the night. 
 This love is by me, and I see 
 My babes play in its light. 
 
RETURNED 
 
 E. S. B. 
 
 Friend, thy love and mine 
 Reaches back to early joys, 
 Times when we were downy boys 
 In life's morn divine. 
 
 Like to streams that ran 
 Broad and deep past towered town, 
 But from moss hills trickled down — 
 So our love began. 
 
 Dost recall the brule 
 When we met in wintry weather, 
 Ears aflame, and breath like heather, 
 On our way to school ? 
 
 Oh, how wise we were! 
 
 With what subjects did we wrestle. 
 
 In what confidences nestle, 
 
 On what dreams confer! 
 
 Then we parted. Why? 
 Neither knew; nor said " good-bye," 
 Nor, if held a tear each eye, 
 Told it, you or I. 
 
n 
 
 54 Returned 
 
 But love stayed, nor stirred; 
 For to us was love like song 
 That, once heard, doth e'er belong 
 In the ear that heard. 
 
 Came and went the years! 
 Time, that gives and takes and saves, 
 Brought us wives, and babes, and graves, 
 Joys, and woes, and fears. 
 
 Hath the pain, the tie. 
 All these years grown secretly. 
 Till, at last, their fervency 
 Breaks into the sky ? 
 
 If against thy heart 
 Did my last-writ leaflet lie 
 Till the heart-beats wore it, I 
 Too have kept my part. 
 
 Life's morn flies with wings, — 
 Whirring, gone as soon as heard ; 
 Oh, but sometimes, like a bird. 
 It returns and sings. 
 
 Now its wing I feel 
 Brush me, — in thine eyes and words, 
 Skies of light and songs of birds 
 On my spirit steal. 
 
ONE SCORE 
 
 F. C. W. 
 
 ** Time is before me like a parchment roll, 
 Full of old chronicles, and with these too 
 
 It brings in view 
 
 Whatever is new, 
 Writ in plain letters, and the whole 
 Illuminated here and there 
 With colors rich and rare. 
 Initial letters, crimson, gold and blue. 
 
 parchment time, I take thy sheet 
 Of all life's stories, sad and sweet. 
 And out of thee a hollow roll I make 
 Like to a spy glass or a telescope. 
 Through which a distant view I take 
 And mid past epochs grope. 
 
 Now thus I put it to my eye : 
 And what is this that I espy ? 
 
 1 see, far, far away. 
 
 Full twenty years, to a day, 
 
 A youth and maid, 
 
 Tall, handsome, staid, 
 Full of life's onward dream. 
 Like ships on inland stream. 
 With bows set ocean-ward. The youth 
 Turns to the maid and speaks; in sooth, 
 I see he speaketh well 
 And saith right gently what he hath to tell. 
 
56 One Score 
 
 The distance is too great for me to hear 
 What 'tis he says; but it is clear 
 'Tis pleasant news. Then in a minute 
 He puts out his hand — she puts hers in it. 
 He does not spare it any more, 
 But holds it fast. 
 
 And so they walk along together, 
 
 Caring nothing what goes past, 
 
 Nothing for the weather, 
 
 Or what skies are bending o'er. 
 
 Whether it rain or shine, is warm or cold — 
 
 All for the sweetness of that story told. 
 
 But what! thou varying clime! 
 
 Through the rolled scroll of time 
 
 What scene now meets my eyes, — 
 
 A multiplied surprise? 
 
 It cannot be ! But, yes, it is ! — 
 
 A little altered in the phiz, 
 
 A little changed about the hair. 
 
 But still quite debonair. 
 
 Both strong, one fair. 
 
 The same good couple I behold ! 
 
 The same ? O yes, the same 
 
 In heart, in wit, in name, 
 
 But with a slight suspicion, 
 
 A whisper in the air. 
 
 Of life's passing mission. 
 
 And that by and by they will be growing old. 
 
Immortal 57 
 
 Well, then, grow old, the while the earth 
 Grows young around you in your children's 
 
 mirth ; 
 Wherein a lordlier grace is yours, in sooth — 
 Earth gives you age, you dower it with youth! 
 
 IMMORTAL 
 
 If awful throes should shake the world 
 
 Level, and on me Alps were hurled, 
 
 I should not be crushed : 
 
 If heaven crumbled and stars fell like rain, 
 
 Making seas mist and melting the rocky plain, 
 
 My voice would not be hushed : 
 
 If the inner firmament, which makes the dome 
 
 Of the human head an infinite sky, Reason's high 
 
 home. 
 Should grow opaque with nimbus-clouds and 
 
 horrid storms 
 Of wild, discordant thoughts and insane forms. 
 Still in the jarring mind some light would linger, 
 
 by His ways, 
 Who in babes' mouths wakes praise : 
 But if my love were gone, if I felt not the pang 
 Of tenderness, nor ever in me rang 
 The peals of human sorrow, — I were dead where 
 
 life doth start. 
 Come, Friend, I'll hold thee closer to my heart! 
 My love of thee 
 Is life in me. 
 
FLOWERS LEFT BY NIGHT ON MY 
 DOOR-STEP 
 
 M. A. C. 
 
 A GRANITE sill, well cut and square, lies at my 
 door, — 
 'Tis a wonderful stone ! 
 For many years people have trodden it o'er and 
 
 o'er. 
 Old men and women and children and little babes, 
 o'er and o'er. 
 It looks as dead as a bone 
 Of the mammoth or megalosaurus of yore, 
 This wonderful stone! 
 
 But like the Prophet's rod, it buds and blossoms 
 
 with flowers 
 In miraculous way: 
 But this sweet propagation it hides in brown hours 
 Of mystical night, — it is for shame it chooseth 
 
 these hours, 
 
 'Tis so old and so gray. 
 I am wonder-struck, old stone! What Arabian 
 
 Powers 
 
 Fill thee in this way ? 
 
m 
 
 Cheer 59 
 
 Nay, I see that thou art not content, hoary stone, 
 
 With this progeny rare ; 
 Thou must needs bring them forth in a way of 
 
 thine own. 
 Not as plants bear them hanging on stems, but in 
 way of thine own, 
 In a basket, with care. 
 Why the basket, O gray tressed sill, not alone 
 The blooms rich and rare? 
 
 I bethink me now I know the Arabian spell 
 
 And the magical hand. 
 There is nothing in heaven or earth works won- 
 ders so well, 
 O, nothing but good love in heaven or earth works 
 wonders so well, 
 On the sea or the land ; 
 I reverence thy silence, old sill ; no name I tell ; 
 But blest be the hand ! 
 
 CHEER 
 
 " The faithful are few," 
 A young man said, 
 With drooping head ; 
 "And men are many, 
 And hard for any 
 
 It is the right to do." 
 
6o N"* Importe 
 
 " Turn the words about," 
 An old man said, 
 And lifted up his head, 
 And from his eyes shone out 
 A holy light and true: 
 
 " The faithful are few 
 
 Say not; but rather, a few 
 Are faithful; and so be you! 
 For men are many, 
 And strength for any 
 
 There is the right to do." 
 
 N' IMPORTE 
 
 'TwAS a winter day, and white with new snow; 
 I saw a little maid past the window go, 
 With a bright, bright hood, and a face fair to see, — 
 But what was it to me? 
 
 For I was a boy that looked through the glass, 
 And nodded to see the little maid pass. 
 With the scarlet hood and fringe of white fur, — 
 And what was it to her? 
 
 'Tis winter; the white snow is new again; 
 I stand with a woman and look through the pane; 
 Mayhap like the sweet hooded maid is she, — 
 But what is it to thee? 
 

 ti 
 
 
 QUINTRAINS 
 
 Because I love thee, all themes turn to love. 
 
 Whatever thought, sight, feeling, incident, 
 
 I meet, instant I wish to impart it thee ; 
 
 Thus each thing hath its poem ; when I do aught, 
 
 Straight must I sing its warm desire toward thee. 
 
 O Love, 'tis beautiful to be thy wife ! 
 For nothing hath befallen in our life. 
 Pain, pleasure, toil, or cares we bore, 
 But seemed to make thy heart give more 
 Of love already running o'er! 
 
 'Tis beautiful to be thy husband, sweet! 
 For naught thou art, from faithful serving feet 
 To intellectual head, smiles brave and gay, 
 Nay, frowns, deserved, the which I kiss away, 
 But makes me dream I love thee more alway ! 
 
 What is life's greatest joy ? It is to love. 
 And what the greatest joy of love ? To make 
 The loved one glad. But love is the greatest 
 
 gladness ; 
 Love's boon, then, is to make the loving love, — 
 Like light, which gives all things, itself when 
 
 giving. 
 
62 ^uintrains 
 
 How many things must be done over every day, — 
 To vv^ork, to rest, to rise, to sit, to sleep, to w^alk. 
 To eat and drink, to weep or smile, to read, to talk. 
 In all of these unto thy love kind service pay ; 
 Then they, though absent thou, tell her of thee 
 alway. 
 
 Good things throng my eye, my ear. 
 And crowd all senses with good cheer. 
 Some have that charm, some this; 
 But all agree in one self bliss, — 
 That I can share them with thee, dear. 
 
 * 
 
 She doth deserve my all: 
 For naught I have so great 
 But she with it can mate; 
 And naught in me so small 
 Outside her love to fall. 
 
 Half love is sad, oh ! very sad : 
 
 It may be gay, it never can be glad ; 
 
 To long, remorseful, memory-gnawed, for very 
 
 pity kind, 
 Hiding in gentle acts a lonely mind, — 
 This is a sadder hermitage than desert pilgrims 
 
 find! 
 
Estranged 63 
 
 To have one thought, which I do never miss, 
 And as I breathe the air, so my soul this; 
 To feel it bid " good morning," like a kiss. 
 And whisper me " good night," like a sweet 
 
 dream, — 
 This 'tis to love, this doth true hearts beseem. 
 
 ESTRANGED 
 
 My dears my dear, I could part 
 
 From thee, were it need. 
 With a solemn joy at my heart 
 To think that, indeed, 
 I had held thee so close that parting must be 
 decreed. 
 
 To part with thy presence, thy face. 
 
 The touch of thy hand. 
 Were not hard; for e'en infinite space 
 Could never expand 
 Really to part us, since love is both person and 
 place. 
 
 But to part with thee so that it kills 
 
 Recollection's bliss. 
 To feel trust die, till heart fills 
 
 With unbelief, — this 
 Is loss that is death ; it is Life's life that spills. 
 
VOYAGE 
 
 Where think I of thee, dear? 
 When think I of thee, dear ? 
 Ah ! I think thou playest. 
 Nay? An answer prayest? 
 Then come with me duly 
 And I'll tell thee truly 
 Where I think of thee, dear, 
 When I think of thee, dear. 
 But thou must go with me 
 Long and hapsome journey, 
 Ere I can bestow thee 
 This sweet knowledge, show thee 
 Where I think of thee, dear, 
 When I think of thee, dear. 
 Put thy hand in mine; so; 
 Let thy head incline so 
 On my breast, and cling we 
 Close in one; now spring we 
 From the earth, and wing we, 
 Swifter than birds' shadows. 
 Over hills and meadows. 
 Where through spaces airy 
 Oberon the fairy 
 Puck sends, riding sunbeams. 
 
Voyag-e 65 
 
 Weaving mats of moonbeams 
 For his pranks and fancies. 
 Higher than his dances 
 Now are we; below thee 
 See the earth He; lo! the 
 Hollow bowl, and in it 
 Men swarm, like the minute 
 In the ceon, like rhymes 
 In all bird-notes, like chimes 
 Where the tips of willows 
 Finger the strung billows. 
 Overhead far, see the 
 Moon, as it would be the 
 Well-prowed tender sailing 
 In the Sun's flood, veiling 
 In the spray, and paling; 
 Frosty now, and olden; 
 Young by night and golden. 
 
 Note the silence bounding 
 Us, with pulses boundless, 
 As a string resounding 
 Vibrates still when soundless. 
 Here, the earth's commingled 
 Voices, none out-singled. 
 Weave a quiet, mingled 
 Like the two-tint-woven 
 Purple, like lights cloven 
 From all hues, combining 
 In the crystal-shining 
 
66 Voyage 
 
 Sun-white, or like crossing 
 Rays which darkness fuses. 
 So sometimes affection, 
 On stray passions tossing, 
 Terror, recollection. 
 Selfishness, ambition. 
 In a sad transition 
 Perishes or loses. 
 But not so with me, dear. 
 Nor my love for thee, dear. 
 Look ! a carpet spreading 
 'Neath us for our treading. 
 'Tis the warp, all sombre. 
 Of a storm-cloud, laced with 
 Threads of lightning, faced with 
 Fleece of tawny umber. 
 So; 'tis past; and now we 
 Light soon, soft as hushes 
 In love's talk. Below thee 
 Lol the region where will 
 I, beloved one, show thee 
 When I think of thee, dear, 
 Where I think of thee, dear. 
 
 See that glinting beryl. 
 Windowed with a setting 
 Of a silver netting. 
 'Tis Pistaqua's rushes 
 Grained with watery passes. 
 Nippersink now over 
 
Voyage 67 
 
 We as quickly hover, 
 Where the gold-white lily 
 Of the water-meadows 
 Stars the rice-aisle shadows. 
 Breathe, and we are over 
 The broad Lake of Grasses, 
 Whose ingenuous faces 
 Of bare water spaces 
 Twilight's love sets burning. 
 Light as birds down turning 
 With a flash of motion, 
 Perching moonbeam-stilly 
 On becalmed ocean. 
 Light as silver thistles 
 Which the fond wind whistles 
 From their flowery dwelling, 
 To go roaming, sailing 
 In the air, then rolling 
 By the wayside, bowling 
 On their gossamer bristles. 
 Drop we on this island 
 Clump, — a little highland 
 Rising from the valleys 
 Of the lanes and alleys 
 In the mingled masses 
 Of the waves and grasses. 
 Look! see round thee growing 
 Fabled Lotus, blowing, 
 Pediceled like olden 
 Vases, bronze and golden. 
 
^ 
 
 68 Voyage 
 
 From the water rising 
 As to float despising. 
 Like full vessels spilling, 
 They distil their precious 
 Essence, which, the spacious 
 Atmosphere o'erfilling, 
 Pours to brim the shadows 
 Of cups on the meadows, — 
 Floats into the heavens, 
 Filling cloudy caverns 
 Whence the fiery sunbeam 
 Drinks of it delighted. 
 Eke the innocent moonbeam, 
 When the stars are lighted 
 In her azure palace, 
 Do^vn steals, and, half -frighted. 
 Drains the amber chalice. 
 
 Take deep breath, inhaling 
 The sweet vapor veiling 
 Flowers like brides, and shaping 
 Almost visibly, paling 
 'Gainst the air, 3'et draping 
 It, unseen yet golden. 
 Bright, though not beholden, — 
 As some sounds make think of 
 Light in darkness. Brink of 
 Watery scoops of wavelets 
 It with finer wavelets 
 Filling, infiltrating, 
 
Voyage 69 
 
 Bathes and over-plashes, 
 Cleansing, renovating 
 That which all else washes. 
 
 Now still dost thou press me. 
 Roguishly confess me. 
 When and where I think of 
 Thee ? Then if thou drink of 
 This rare balm, compel the 
 Blossoms that they tell thee 
 When this precious essence 
 Cometh into presence. 
 If these throats of amber. 
 In their mystic chamber 
 Of sweet breath, made voices. 
 And each wave of wreathing 
 Perfume broke to breathing 
 Words, as husky Ocean 
 In the breaking motion 
 Where the coast lines quell the 
 Ground-swell, speaks, rejoices, 
 Could they tell thee, seeing, 
 Would they know to tell thee. 
 Where the emanation 
 Of their soul out-poureth, 
 When the exhalation 
 Of their spirit soareth, 
 When or where, — or whither 
 Goeth, or whence hither 
 Comes athwart their being? 
 
-m 
 
 70 V^oya£-e 
 
 Neither can I say, dear, 
 
 When I think of thee, dear; 
 
 Neither can I tell thee 
 
 Where thy love-wrought spell me 
 
 Round and round enweaveth. 
 
 For to me it cleaveth 
 
 Like the golden power 
 
 Of the perfumed flower 
 
 To its chalice. 'Tis my 
 
 Life, Self, Being, Bliss; my 
 
 Very Self and Being; 
 
 'Tis my sense elysian 
 
 That I live, as vision 
 
 Knows itself in seeing 
 
 And the ear in hearing: 
 
 Comes to life. When cleareth 
 
 Most my mind and feareth 
 
 Nothing, then, appearing. 
 
 Shows thy spirit ever 
 
 That it leaves me never, 
 
 Is forever round me. 
 
 Doth forever bound me 
 
 With a pulsing ocean 
 
 Of the waves in motion 
 
 Of my life-deeps deepest. 
 
 What! sweet friend, thou sleepest? 
 Hath this balmed florescence 
 DroAvsed thee to quiescence ? 
 O ! but how thou keepest, 
 
Voyage ^i 
 
 Breathing in thy slumber, 
 Time with every number 
 Of my heart-beat! How thy 
 Look, to me who know thy 
 Wiles, doth sleeping show thy 
 Sportiveness. Demurely, 
 Blithely tired but surely, 
 Thy sweet lid shuts over, 
 Like a silken cover 
 For a pyx, with russet 
 Bound along the gusset 
 By thy brown eyelashes. 
 Shutting in the flashes 
 Of the iris-jewel 
 And the jet pit darkling 
 In it, in which sparkling 
 Burns the chemic fuel 
 Of the eye. 
 
 I spare thee 
 To thy sleep, — part bear thee 
 On my arm, part lay thee 
 On the golden pillow 
 Of the rocking billow 
 Of the breath of Lotus, 
 While the air-waves float us 
 Homeward; and I may thee 
 Hold, thee close hold, when we 
 Ride the cloud-crestSo Rising, 
 Into space up-spring we 
 
72 Song 
 
 And, though wingless, wing we 
 By love's thoughts, surprising 
 The swift light with envy. 
 When thou wak'st, the seeming 
 Of this flight through beaming 
 Sky to Lotus meadow, 
 Will be like a dreaming 
 Followed by a shadow 
 Sweet but baffling ever. 
 Yet, again thou never 
 Me wilt ask, forever. 
 When I think of thee, dear, 
 Where I think of thee, dear. 
 
 SONG 
 
 I WAKE to hear the blissful trill 
 
 Of birds on dewy spray, 
 Quick, eager chirps that seemed to cry. 
 
 Sing we while sing we may. 
 
 For soon the thirsty noon comes by, 
 And drains the dewy springs 
 
 At which we taste morn's ruby wine, 
 And plume our rosy wings. 
 
 " Sing on," I cried, " dear little birds. 
 
 It will not take me long; 
 Sing on, till for mine own true love 
 
 I have writ down your song." 
 
WESTPHALIAN FOLK-SONG 
 
 Ye cares begone! leave me in peace; 
 
 God careth for my sorrow ; 
 What he to-day denieth me 
 
 'Tis like he gives to-morrow. 
 And if to-morrow still denied, 
 
 He other days bestoweth: 
 He heareth when I cry to him, 
 
 And what I need he knoweth. 
 
 Who knows where springs the little rill 
 
 That shall my thirst be slaking? 
 Perhaps, if thou, my God, so will. 
 
 From foreign soil 'tis breaking. 
 For thou dost go with us, our feet 
 
 Through foreign streets to carry. 
 And wonderfully leadest far 
 
 From where we loved to tarry. 
 
 Who knows what man by wondrous ways 
 
 For my health care bestoweth ? 
 And who for modest gain to me 
 
 Hard labor undergoeth? 
 Who knows who plants for me my field 
 
 In which my wheat is blowing ? 
 And where the little corn-seed shoots 
 
 That for my food is growing ? 
 
74 Carol 
 
 Who knows who spreads for me the board 
 
 At which my body f eedeth ? 
 Or where God wakes a kindly heart 
 
 To clothe me as it needeth? 
 Who knows where now a lambkin leaps, 
 
 His wool for me that beareth ? 
 And where the soft bed ready stands 
 
 Which God for me prepareth ? 
 
 Who knows the little place and room 
 
 Which maketh ready for me? 
 Who knows the garden-trees that wait 
 
 To shed their comfort o'er me? 
 O loving Father, thou dost know. 
 
 And nothing from thee hideth: 
 My cares begone! leave me in peace; 
 
 'Tis God for me provideth. 
 
 — German, 
 
 CAROL 
 
 We bless thee, O thou holy, 
 
 Thou dear Christ-child, afar. 
 That we so glad in spirit 
 
 This holy evening are. 
 O hadst thou not descended 
 
 Upon that holy night. 
 How much from us were taken 
 
 That now brings joy and light. 
 
Carol 75 
 
 Then no wax-light were burning 
 
 Clear in the night without; 
 Then were it in our bosoms 
 All dark and waste about. 
 Then no trees, clad in verdure, 
 
 With sweetest fruits were crowned ; 
 And all our childhood dreaming 
 Were vain illusion found. 
 
 How deathly cold, how frozen 
 
 Were all about us here. 
 How sorrowfully lonely. 
 
 If there no Christmas were; 
 But now the sun with splendor 
 
 Sets wintry days a-glow. 
 And heaven shines with rapture, 
 
 While tempest whirls the snow. 
 
 We worship and we carol; 
 
 And thou, ah ! thou art near. 
 Hear ye the bell a-ringing ? 
 
 The holy Christ is there! 
 Wide swings the door, — a glimmer 
 
 O'er all the household flows; 
 With holy light, the chamber. 
 
 On holy evening, glows. 
 
 How fragrant is the dwelling. 
 
 All wonderful and sweet! 
 How all the trees do twinkle, 
 
 The sun-clear ray to ^reet, 
 
76 Of Thee 
 
 And all things live and flutter, 
 And all things bloom and glow; 
 
 And heaven-high rise the praises 
 Of old and young below. 
 
 —Dr. H. K. Hagenbach. 
 
 OF THEE 
 
 I THINK of thee 
 When copse and tree 
 The nightingale's 
 Sweet music fills; 
 When thinkest thou of me ? 
 
 I think of thee 
 At evening, thee, 
 By shadowed stream, 
 In twilight beam ; 
 Where thinkest thou of me ? 
 
 I think of thee, — 
 Sweet pain to me 
 It is, and fears, 
 And anxious tears; 
 How thinkest thou of me? 
 
 I think of thee 
 Till joined we be 
 'Neath kinder star; 
 And still afar 
 I think alone of thee. 
 
 — Matthisson. 
 
NATURE'S MOTHER-VOICE 
 
 When little child sweet rest of sleep 
 
 Not in his cradle findeth, 
 
 His mother fondly speaks to him 
 
 And, soothing, overcometh 
 
 With the soft night the cry of pain : 
 
 He slumbers when she speaks — 
 
 "My darling little child, weep not; 
 
 Be still, be still! 
 
 Sleep on, sleep on!" 
 
 The heart is childish now and then, 
 And asks of Life, all eager, 
 What life cannot bestow on it. 
 Then Reason stands beside it, 
 And must the tender mother be 
 Who unto passion says — 
 " O, of fulfilment dream thou not; 
 
 Be still, be still ! 
 
 Sleep on, sleep on !" 
 
 We go upon a thorn-set road. 
 
 Little with roses blooming; 
 
 But up to heaven the pathway leads, 
 
 Whither divine love calls us. 
 
 Until love streams from radiant skies 
 
 And the tired wanderer hails — 
 
 " Thou hast the end reached, — nay, fear not: 
 
 Be still, be still! 
 
 Sleep on, sleep on!" 
 
 — German. 
 
ABSCHIED 
 
 What shouting and singing along the wayside ? 
 Ye maidens open your windows wide: 
 A youth from his home is starting; 
 They give him a kindly parting. 
 
 High swing the gay bonnets, loud cheereth the 
 
 crowd, 
 Bedecked with blossoms and ribbons proud. 
 The youth, he no pleasure showeth, 
 But silent and pale he goeth. 
 
 Well peal the full goblets, well foameth the wine; 
 " Drink deep, and drink again, brother mine!" 
 " O yes, the bright wine of parting 
 Allayeth the heart's keen smarting." 
 
 And when to the last, last house they came, 
 A maiden peeped from the lattice frame, 
 Hiding her tears with the posies 
 Of yellow 'pansies and roses. 
 
 And when he the last, last house passed by. 
 The youth uplifted a longing eye; 
 And then looked down with sighing — 
 His hand on his sad heart lying. 
 
T'hree Riders *j^ 
 
 *' O brother, thou hast in thy hand no flower, 
 They wave and nod in yon blooming bower; 
 
 sweetest of girls, toss hither 
 Some posies entwined together!" 
 
 *' My brothers, O what is the posy to me ? 
 There is no maiden my love will be. 
 The sun would wither the posies. 
 The wild wind scatter the roses." 
 
 And farther and farther the shout and song: 
 And the maiden lingers and listens long ; 
 " O woe ! he departed lonely ; 
 And ever I loved him only! 
 
 Here stay I, alas, with my love and my woe, 
 Where yellow violets and roses grow. 
 
 1 would give him all so gladly; 
 But he goeth far and sadly." 
 
 — Uhland. 
 
 THREE RIDERS 
 
 Three riders came wandering over the Rhine 
 And with a good hostess tarried to dine. 
 
 " Dame Hostess, hast thou good wine and beer, 
 And why is thy sweet little girl not here ?" 
 
 " My malt and wine are fresh and clear; 
 My little daughter lies in her bier." 
 
8o Slumber Song 
 
 And when they stepped within the room, 
 There lay she in the silent gloom. 
 
 The first drew back the veil a space 
 And looked on her with mournful face. 
 
 " Ah, wert thou but living, lovely maid. 
 Thee would I love forever," he said. 
 
 The second covered her face once more 
 And turned away and wept full sore. 
 
 " Alas, thou liest on thy bier! 
 Thee I have loved so many a year." 
 
 The third one softly lifted the veil 
 
 And kissed the maid on her mouth so pale. 
 
 " I loved thee ever, I still love thee, 
 And thee I will love to eternity." 
 
 — Uhland. 
 
 SLUMBER SONG 
 
 Darling, let me kiss thee, 
 Little love, good-night: 
 Long hast thou been wakeful, — 
 Sleep till morning light. 
 Now, close thy little eyes, 
 To sleep, my child, to sleep. 
 
Early Summer 
 
 Dreams and visions fearful, 
 From my darling flee. 
 God's own angel watches, 
 Baby, over thee. 
 Now, close thy little eye. 
 To sleep, my child, to sleep. 
 
 Thy sweet dimples ever 
 Laugh, are laughing yet. 
 Sleep, O sleep, my child ; 'tis 
 Time to sleep, my pet. 
 O close, ye little eyes ! 
 Sleep, darling, sleep, O sleep ! 
 
 81 
 
 — Germajt. 
 
 EARLY SUMMER 
 
 Bright zephyr, thy beautiful 
 
 Tokens of mirth 
 Come enriching and garnishing 
 
 All the glad earth. 
 The meadows are flourishing 
 
 Green at thy will. 
 And thy verdure is covering 
 
 Valley and hill. 
 Without thee, bright element. 
 Winter malevolent 
 Now would be whitening 
 
 Mountain and vale; 
 Languishing, perishing, 
 But for thy cherishing. 
 
82 Early Summer 
 
 All the bright woodlands that 
 
 Welcome thy gale. 
 The herbage is blossoming, 
 
 Rising from death, 
 A\vaiting the life-giving 
 
 Waft of thy breath ; 
 The bee-hive is murmuring, 
 
 Waking from rest, 
 And the rose shows her beautiful 
 
 Odorous breast. 
 
 The freshet all turbulent 
 
 Thou dost command, 
 And the blossoms their colorings 
 
 Take from thy hand. 
 Thou givest to happiness 
 
 All thy bright hours. 
 And friendship affectionate 
 
 Crownest wath flowers. 
 Aurora shall, dutiful. 
 Radiant, beautiful. 
 Give up to maidenly 
 
 Flora her charms; 
 And forests imperious 
 Yield their mysterious 
 Secrets and recesses 
 
 Safe from alarms. 
 The song: of melodious 
 
 Bird in the tree. 
 Where it sits shedding harmony 
 
spring Song 83 
 
 Blissful and free, 
 Disperses the sorrowful 
 
 Burden of care, 
 And the sad owlet's murmuring 
 
 Drives from the air. 
 
 — French. 
 
 SPRING SOXG 
 
 The gray old winter must go out; 
 He fearful runs the house about; 
 His breast is filled with sad alarms, 
 He piles his baggage in his arms. 
 
 Without the door the Spring he hears. 
 Who soon will have him by the ears. 
 And pluck his beard so long and white, — 
 In which these roguish boys delight. 
 
 The Spring is rapping loud and long; 
 Hark! hark! it is his lively song; 
 He knocks and raps howe'er he can. 
 With all his blossom-garments on. 
 
 The herald breeze comes blithe and ^vild, 
 A chubby, rosy, roguish child. 
 And blows a blast till all things ring 
 And till our doors wide open swing. 
 
$4 An Old No'et 
 
 Sir Knight, the Sunshine, rises too; 
 He breaks with golden lances through ; 
 And clover-breath, soft, flattering, 
 Through smallest cranny stealeth in. 
 
 The nightingale pipes loud aloft, 
 And hark ! and hark ! an echo soft, 
 An echo through my heart doth ring : 
 Come in, come in, thou lovely Spring! 
 
 — Muller. 
 
 AN OLD NOEL* 
 
 As formerly the animals conversed, and eke 
 Better in Latin than in French could speak. 
 The cock, spying from afar the advent blest, 
 Crowed boldly, Christus natus est. 
 The ox demanded with astonished air, 
 Ubi Ubi^ where, where, where ? 
 The goat, his nose first wiping clean. 
 Bleated his answer, Bethlehem. 
 Then master donkey, curiosus 
 To go and see, brayed out Eamus ^ 
 And, quick upon his feet the calf, 1 trow, 
 Twice bellowed loudly, V^olo^ Volo. 
 
 — French. 
 
 * In reciting- this noel it was usual to utter the Latin expressions in a 
 manner intended to imitate the voices of the animals whose conversation 
 they report. The speaker managed to crow like a cock in the utterance 
 of Christus natus est ; and so with the lowing, bleating, braying, and 
 bellowing of the others. 
 
GOOD SENSE 
 
 'Tis good sense, and no mistake, 
 What the Volume wise doth speak ; 
 Man should never trust to any woman, 
 Building fortune on a sandbank human. 
 'Tis good sense, as you will find, 
 None to trust of woman kind. 
 
 Adam, my first father dear. 
 
 Was like all his sons, 'tis clear; 
 
 For sly Eve misled him so despitef ully 
 
 That in his fall we sinned all most frightfully. 
 
 'Tis good sense, as you will find, 
 
 None to trust of woman kind. 
 
 Women mock us with their smiles. 
 As Sarah did, with cunning wiles ; 
 They are skillful all at disputation. 
 And monopolize the conversation. 
 'Tis good sense, as you will find. 
 None to trust of woman kind. 
 
 Holof ernes, only see ! 
 
 Who's cut you up so dreadfully? 
 
 Judith, wicked wench, — I not supposing 
 
 She'd cut off my head when I v^as snoozing. 
 
 'Tis good sense, as you will find. 
 
 None to trust of woman kind. 
 
 — German. 
 
MORXING SONG 
 
 Ws hanfl J see the sunbeam jet. 
 Nor yet the moming bells are set 
 In the dark valley linging. 
 
 How stm the Tnrood's wide chambers seem! 
 The birds but twitter in a dream. 
 No song as yet up-springing. 
 
 In meado\i^ I have long delayed. 
 And now tins little song imve made 
 And it aload am singing. 
 
 —VUmmd. 
 
 PYTHAGORAS TO HIS DISCIPLES 
 
 Oh! race, with fear of frigid death distrest. 
 Why Styx, ^rhy shades, w^hy empty names so 
 
 dieadfnl — 
 A singer's tales, a w^icked worid's religion ? 
 If flaming pile or wasting age unknit 
 Thy body's frame, bethink thee of thyself. 
 Who ait exonpt from all such outward chance. 
 S : u^ ^ " : uch not death; and leaving former seats, 
 A ; ne^'^ bcxnes they find, and welcomed lire. 
 
 I -- ir.. ember yet the Trojan war, 
 ^^< -at time I ^ras Panthcndes Kuphorbos, 
 V 7 . in my breast the y«mg Atreides fixed 
 H e spear. My shield I call to mind, 
 
 TI.c c'uiucii of my strong left arm before. 
 
Morning Star 
 
 87 
 
 At Juno's shrine in Argos of King Abas. 
 
 While all things change, no force the soul inters, 
 
 Which hither wanders thence, and thither hence. 
 
 And occupies such body as it will: 
 
 With equal ease, from beasts to human frame 
 
 And then to beasts again it takes its way. 
 
 It has no time to die ; and as the wax 
 
 Is new inscribed \vith figures fresh and frail, 
 
 Nor lasts the same, nor keeps familiar shapes, 
 
 Yet still endures, e'en so the living soul 
 
 Is still the same, transient in many forms. 
 
 —Ovid. 
 
 MORXIXG STAR 
 
 Thou fresh and beaming morning Star, 
 Where goest thou, unveiled and new. 
 
 With all thy gleaming golden hair. 
 And, sweeter still, thine eye of blue ? 
 
 Thou art not here a lonely ray; 
 
 Aurora calls us to the field, 
 Where peace and pleasure all the day 
 
 The labors of the reapers yield. 
 
 Already birds in shady wood 
 
 Pour out their gay and artless song 
 In praise of the Eternal Good, 
 
 To whom, O may my psalm belong! 
 
 — French, 
 
SIR WINTER 
 
 A Song- for the Fireside 
 
 Sir Winter is a sturdy man, 
 Long-lived is he, unbending ; 
 His flesh of iron stoutly can 
 Bear weal or woe unending. 
 
 If e'er a man were well, 'tis he; 
 
 He ails or sickens never; 
 
 Naught of night-cold or damp knows he, 
 
 And he sleeps in a cold room ever. 
 
 He dons his shirt in the cold, out-doors. 
 Nor ever stops to w^arm it; 
 He jeers at tooth-ache, nor e'er deplores 
 ^A pain in his stomach to harm it. 
 
 Of summer flower or singing bird, 
 Naught knows he and naught maketh; 
 He hates warm drink, and warm sounds heard, 
 And all warm things he hateth. 
 
 But when the foxes bark v^ith pain, 
 And flames in chimney quiver, 
 And round the hearth the lord and man 
 Rub hard their bands and shiver; 
 
Summer Song 89 
 
 When stone and bone by frost are caught, 
 And pool and lake are cracking, 
 That sounds him well, that hates he not; 
 Almost he dies of laughing. 
 
 His castle of ice lies far without, 
 By the north pole, on the strand; 
 And eke he has a summer-house 
 In lovely Switzerland. 
 
 So is he then now here, now there. 
 And rules his legions roundly; 
 When he goes by we stand and stare, 
 A.nd shake and shiver soundly. 
 
 — Matthias Claudius. 
 
 SUMMER SONG 
 
 How jubilant the summer sky. 
 When turtle-doves and cuckoos cry, 
 And when in wild and leafy wood. 
 The song- of nighting-ale is heard. 
 
 We wander in the shady grove. 
 And where red berries are we rove; 
 The ousel pipes his music low 
 And finches drum upon the bough, 
 
90 May Song 
 
 Beside the blackcap vine we stay, 
 On tender moss where shadows play. 
 And, flitting by, the cuckoo's brood 
 Go babbling through the leafy wood. 
 
 — German. 
 
 MAY SONG 
 
 Sweet May is upon us, the trees blooming fair. 
 Let him keep who likes it the house with his care: 
 As the clouds wander over the heavens unfurled, 
 So roams my heart over the great wide, wide World. 
 
 My father, my mother, may God watch o'er ye ! 
 Who knows where my fortune waits distant for 
 
 me ? [side, 
 
 There are so many wide ways I ne'er walked be- 
 There is such sparkling wine that I ne'er yet have 
 
 tried. 
 
 Forth, then, brave and cheerful, in light of the sun 
 Brave over the mountain, in valley a-down; 
 The fountains are singing, the trees rustle near. 
 My heart is the glad lark, its voice loud with cheer. 
 
 O Roaming, free Roaming, of free souls the part. 
 When God's breath blows mighty and fresh thro' 
 
 my heart. 
 When singing exulting, under the sky 
 How fair thou appearest, thou world wide and 
 
 high. —GeibeL 
 
PEACE 
 
 Friend, I am contented. 
 Be things as they will. 
 In my modest cottage 
 Live I glad and still; 
 Many a fool has all things 
 That his heart can hold ; 
 Mine is sweet contentment, 
 Richer far than gold. 
 
 Candles none delight me 
 At my evening meal ; 
 No wine glimmers softly, 
 And no goblets peal ; 
 Still enough have I, each 
 Moment for its need, 
 And my labor sweeter 
 Makes my daily bread. 
 
 Palace high and lofty 
 Gives nor pain nor care; 
 Also in my cottage 
 Flows the sunlit air. 
 Where contentment dwelleth 
 Sleep is soft and free, 
 Be it down or husking 
 That the bed may be. 
 
 — German. 
 
EVENING SONG 
 
 I STOOD on the mountain-side, 
 
 While the sun was setting ; 
 Thrown o'er all the woods I saw 
 
 Evening's golden netting. 
 Clouds of heaven above the field 
 
 Dewy hung, and weeping; 
 Lulled by evening-tolling bells 
 
 Gentle earth lay sleeping. 
 
 Said I, " O my heart, be still, 
 
 Still with silent nature. 
 And prepare thyself to rest 
 
 With each earth-born creature." 
 All the little blossoms then 
 
 Closed their eyes in slumber, 
 And the still brook sang to sleep 
 
 Wavelets without number. 
 
 Then the coy Sylph, under leaves 
 
 Hid, where no one passes; 
 And the dragon-fly, bedewed, 
 
 Slumbered on the grasses. 
 Roseleaf, to a cradle turned, 
 
 Rocked the golden chafer; 
 Shepherds led away their flocks 
 
 To enfold them safer. 
 
EartJi's Beauty 9^ 
 
 Dewy larks sought joyfully 
 
 Low nests in the clover, 
 And in glens the stag and doe 
 
 Slept, for day was over. 
 Blessed he who owns his roof! 
 
 There sweet sleep comes o'er him; 
 And if far from home he roam. 
 
 Kindly dreams restore him. 
 
 —RiJLckert. 
 
 EARTH'S BEAUTY 
 
 What makes the earth so fair, so fair ? 
 Who knows? The birds, they do. 
 On their feathers light they spring, 
 And joyful songs they sing 
 Far up in the heavens blue. 
 
 What makes the earth so fair, so fair ? 
 The lake and the waters know. 
 In mirror clear they will 
 Paint garden, town and hill. 
 And the clouds that over go. 
 
 And the singer and painter know; 
 Other folk too, in goodly part. 
 And who paints it not, he sings it; 
 And who sings it not, loud rings it 
 For very joy in his heart. 
 
 — German, 
 
ALPINE SONG 
 
 O SHEPHERD boy, O shepherd boy ! 
 
 Thou sing'st so fresh and free, 
 Upon thy verdant mountain side, 
 
 Thy cheerful melody. 
 O joyful is thy mountain-love, 
 
 And sweet thy song to me! 
 O were I now a shepherd lad. 
 
 Thou happy boy, like thee! 
 
 Then would I sing till echoes wild 
 
 From rock to valley rang, 
 Till to my voice in all the world 
 
 Each heart rejoicing sprang. 
 The Alpine rose its sweetness sheds 
 
 Down from the hills along; 
 O Mountain-love, so fresh and free. 
 
 Bear swiftly on my song. 
 
 -German, 
 
 SONG 
 
 O WHEN shall my love come to me. 
 When shall she come to me, sweet, my love, 
 Under the shade of the weeping tree 
 That stands in the beechen grove? 
 
 Come in the morn, in the morn, love mine. 
 And I'll pluck thee a dew-wet columbine. 
 
Song 95 
 
 O when shall my love come to me, 
 When shall she come to me, sweet, my love, 
 Under the rick of the new-mown hay, — 
 A fragrant thatch above ? 
 
 Come in the noon, in the noon, my dear; 
 The reapers rest and the field is clear. 
 
 O when shall my love come to me. 
 When shall she come to me, sweet, my love, 
 At the rocky bend where the echoes be, 
 And the river coos like a dove? 
 
 At evening come, at twilight, sweet. 
 When the day and night, like lovers, meet. 
 
 Come in the morn, in the morn, love mine. 
 And I'll pluck thee a dew-wet columbine, 
 In the sweet gray morn when lilies v^eep. 
 And eyes are bright with the dew of sleep. 
 
 Come in the noon, in the noon, my dear, 
 The reapers rest and the field is clear, 
 'Tis left for the sun, the sun and me. 
 To wake and wait at the trysting tree. 
 
 At evening come, at twilight, sweet. 
 When the day and night, like lovers, meet; 
 We silent sit by the shining stream. 
 Till the late moon rise; then part to dream. 
 
SPRING 
 
 Lovely Spring, O come thou hither, 
 Spring beloved, O come again ; 
 
 Bring us blossoms, leaves and singing. 
 Deck again the field and plain. 
 
 To the mountain would I wander. 
 Revel in the valleys green, 
 
 On the sweet grass and the blossoms 
 Lie, and drink the sunlit scene. 
 
 I would hear the shepherd piping, 
 I would hear the sheep-bell ring, 
 
 And rejoicing on the meadow, 
 I would hear the birdies sins: 
 
 -German. 
 
 GOING TO THE GREAT CITY 
 
 My little child, my poor Marie, 
 You long the great, great town to see; 
 Thy mother and this country-place 
 To leave, and turn thy little face 
 To the great city. 
 
 At least until to-morrow's light, 
 My little girl, put off thy flight, 
 And, once more in my arms the while, 
 Sleep on my breast, and on me smile 
 For very pity. 
 
Separation 97 
 
 Believe me, O my poor Marie, ^ 
 And stay here in thy home with me. 
 This country-place, where blessed peace 
 Will soothe thee till thy longings cease 
 For the great city. 
 
 They tell me in that distant spot 
 That God in heaven is soon forgot. 
 And soon thy mother. Ah ! thou may 
 Thy God and mother throw away 
 In the great city. 
 
 —-French, 
 
 SEPARATION 
 
 I. 
 
 I SAID, dear Friend, that I would write 
 To thee no more, but let the night 
 Of silence fall upon my verse, 
 Which erst did thy dear praise rehearse. 
 But how, alas, can night prolong 
 Its shades at sunrise ? How can song 
 In night's brown silence lie asleep, 
 When love and morning from the deep 
 Of heaven come as one? So I, 
 Finding thy love each morn rise high, 
 Must set in tune my heart's glad cries 
 To see that light come up the skies; 
 
 For when love shines, no dark can be; 
 
 And pen must write when heart can see. 
 
98 Separation 
 
 II. 
 
 I said, dear Friend, that I no more 
 Would write to thee; and I forbore 
 With ease, when 'twas but to control 
 Love's pain, knowing thine own true soul. 
 The night of silence darker fell. 
 When at its sundown tolled the knell 
 Of buried fellowship of mind 
 And sweet communion in that kind. 
 And O, when noble thoughts I read 
 That thrill me through, thee, whom I need. 
 Crying for vainly, then the dart 
 Of pure despair impales my heart. 
 
 Speak, Soul ! O why must thou be taught 
 This grief, to be bereaved in thought ? 
 
 III. 
 I said, dear Friend, that I to thee 
 Would write no more. But let it be 
 A needless vow; for who disclaims 
 The impossible, but reason shames. 
 How can I sing, or how can write. 
 Lacking not only voice, but sight? 
 For since I was bereft of thee. 
 It is so dark I cannot see. 
 Motions of darksome matter weave 
 No light unless the mind receive 
 Their threads; and, though light-making, mind. 
 Unshaken by these waves, is blind. 
 
 Thine was the force my heart did shake; 
 
 Thou gone, itself no light can make. 
 
VOICELESS 
 
 Now, now I can sing ! 
 
 Rise, Sun! Shine forth, O Moon! 
 
 Now I, even I, can bring 
 
 Ecstasies to match thy noon 
 
 Of shadow or of Hght. 
 
 For not the arctic night 
 
 Has half so much of rest, 
 
 And not the cardinal light 
 
 Of dawn, with Como's vapors drest. 
 
 Is half so warm and bright, 
 
 Nor madrigals of love where rove 
 
 The singers of Amazonian grove, 
 
 Half so melodiously swarm, 
 
 As my heart sings, restful, bright and warm. 
 
 O! friend, my friend, why doth my song 
 So choke my voice? I strive to wrest 
 And pluck it forth to plant it in thy breast; 
 It will not, for my utmost, move. 
 Its roots strike down too deep and strong. 
 And hold like penetrating love. 
 What can I? Nurse it till it bloom; 
 Then nurse the flowers to ripened seeds ; 
 Then plant these in thy heart's sweet room, 
 While mine, to serve no better, bleeds. 
 And if they shoot in thee, 
 
lOO 
 
 Actum Est 
 
 Till to my unsung song they grow, 
 
 Wilt thou not in thy soul know me, 
 
 And say, " He singeth so? " 
 
 O now inter me thus in bliss 
 
 To raise me unto blessedness! 
 
 Die thus, my thoughts, and be at rest. 
 
 To live in the " heaven of her breast ! " 
 
 ACTUM EST 
 
 Bleeding and bruised, upon the ground. 
 
 Under the lash a slave lay bound. 
 
 But lifting in his shame his eyes 
 
 To the whip which levied his tax of pain, — 
 
 The lash was silk, glowing with dyes. 
 
 In whose bright braids his blood-red stain 
 
 Was sunk like scarlet in gold skies. 
 
 The handle that swung the lash was ebon, 
 
 Inlaid with pearl like a milky ribbon. 
 
 The tip was gold, whence amber streams 
 
 Of light fell, as a topaz gleams. 
 
 Rude pain was pleased ; torture beguiled ; 
 
 The suffering eyes first gleamed, then smiled. 
 
 Fair Friend, thou holdst me so: thou by. 
 
 Fastened on thee, my heart and eye 
 
 Forget thy loveless blows; thou gone, 
 
 I feel the smart and shame alone. 
 
 Woe's truth, such wounds the heart may feel 
 
 As heaven, thyself, may hide, not heal. . 
 
DIFFICULTIES 
 
 I WALKED one morn and met a brier, 
 Sharper than blades of fire: 
 The morning sky flushed roses. 
 Fie, Fie, thou thorny provocation! 
 I'll set thy angry habitation 
 Blooming with posies. 
 
 But figs of thistles can men gather. 
 Or grapes of thorns ? Yea, rather 
 That so thyself, O master, 
 Thou didst, thou didst, and by example 
 Hast taught to wring a harvest ample 
 From sharp disaster. 
 
 And shall I vex me of a brier 
 Though sharper it be than fire 
 To bite my will, mind, sight? 
 Bah ! thorny thin^? beshre w thy scratching ! 
 I'll show thee will for overmatching 
 Thy unkind spite. 
 
 Against thy barbed and bristling fence 
 I hurl my heart, till thence 
 Bleed miracles of power; 
 Then on thy prickles, will ye, nill ye. 
 With wonder or with shame to fill ye, 
 I'll grow a flower, 
 
STUFFING 
 
 A TURKEY we stuff With bread, 
 
 With onions a goose, 
 
 With mince of its kind a pig's head, 
 
 With biscuit again, but more loose, 
 
 A fillet of veal; — 
 
 Each makes an honest meal ! 
 
 But take me a man or a woman, — 
 
 Small odds, so the meat shall be human,- 
 
 With literature stuff it, 
 
 Cayenned with ambition. 
 
 And just a suspicion 
 
 Of iron and galls 
 
 To spice it and puff it — • 
 
 Ah! then you have messed it, 
 
 A dish that too rich is, — 
 
 A turbulent ration 
 
 That stomach appalls. 
 
 I tell you enough it 
 
 Would hazard an ostrich's 
 
 Maw to digest it 
 
 Without aggravation. 
 
 DIOGENES TO THE PERSIAN 
 
 I WARN thee that thou think not, foolish king — 
 Or king of fools, since not first of thyself 
 Thou canst enslave the Athenian people, more 
 
Sanguinaria loj 
 
 Than thou canst make the fishes slaves. " Cannot 
 [ catch fish," say'st thou! Yea; but what of that? 
 Instantly they escape as fishes do; 
 For if you catch a fish, it dies. Catch thou 
 These men, the Athenian State, — shall they not die ? 
 What hast then for thy pains, thou king of fools ? 
 
 PATIENCE 
 
 All are weak and all are strong, 
 Patience righteth every wrong. 
 All good things the will must task, 
 All achievement patience ask. 
 Chiefly with each other's weakness 
 Need we patience, love and meekness. 
 Who takes ill another's ill 
 Beareth two loads up the hill. 
 
 SANGUINARIA 
 
 Once on a time, in early spring, 
 When birds came back on eager wing. 
 And every plant and creeping thing 
 Moved cheerily; 
 
 When buds and blossoms lifted heads. 
 Wet with fresh dew, from mossy beds, 
 And tangled sunbeams, torn to shreds. 
 Hung every tree; 
 
104 Sanguinaria 
 
 A little bloodroot felt the heat, 
 Came quickly from her dark retreat, 
 And brought her leaves and buds to meet 
 The genial sun. 
 
 Ah! ha! she said, I will be fine! 
 What golden tips my leaves confine, 
 With what white snow my petals shine, 
 Shall now be shown. 
 
 I'll spread my calyx, so to be 
 Wide open for all eyes to see 
 The snowy star inclosed in me, 
 With heart of gold. 
 
 Done quicker than the time to tell, 
 Her calyx doors she opened well; 
 Alas ! the slender sepals fell 
 Which did enfold 
 
 Her secret beauty. Opened quite. 
 No more a half-concealed delight, 
 She lay exposed to common sight. 
 Her sweet charm flown ; 
 
 And learned too late the testament 
 With simple state to be content. 
 Nor spoil the tender graces sent 
 To be half known. 
 
RECOVERY 
 
 Left is mv bed, 
 
 Sickness is fled, 
 
 My strength returning. 
 
 The window by, 
 
 Or desk, am I, 
 
 Old joys new learning. 
 
 In how soft air. 
 In light how rare 
 On earth reposing, 
 I sit again 
 And hold my pen, 
 A song composing! 
 
 Now all blest be 
 These things I see 
 So bright, — sun, weather, 
 White feet of noon, 
 Night's jeweled shoon. 
 Dawn waking th' heather, 
 
 And blest be He 
 
 Who lovingly 
 
 My care dispersing, 
 
 Frees me from pain. 
 
 That I again 
 
 " Relish my versing." 
 
LOVE AND LAW 
 
 **^He kealetk the broken in heart and bindeth up tfteir -wounds. He 
 Ulletk the number of the stars : he calleth them, all by their names" 
 
 Psalm 147 : 3-4, 
 
 Hebrew, who taught thee how to set these brave 
 Thoughts side by side? For by these words of 
 
 thine, 
 If standing on the earth we watch the sky, 
 We see thee toss this heavy ^vorld into 
 A constellation; but if we look down 
 About our feet, then heaven falls to the earth. 
 And such bright mercies throng the way, in 
 
 numbers 
 Like sea-shore sands, that we wade deep in skies. 
 One Lord the same Lord is who healeth me 
 And tells the number of the stars I Bethink thee, — 
 This vast of peopled space of burning suns! 
 If on the pinions of terrific wind, 
 Potent to rend strong oaks, to tear down towers, 
 Tossing their guns like playthings in the air. 
 And twisting huge wrought-iron beams to curls. 
 If on this wind, I say, thou shouldst be borne. 
 Past moon, past sun, to catch a star, how long 
 Would be thy dizzy journey? A hundred years? 
 Yea, and a hundred hundred, and that by 
 A thousand, and that doubled still — yea, more — 
 Riding on the back of a hurricane, 
 
Love and Law toy 
 
 To reach the nearest of the gleaming globes 
 
 That kindle watch-fires in the arch of space, 
 
 Like beacons set in a cathedral dome. 
 
 And from that star a great new firmament 
 
 Of stars thou wouldst behold, worlds on worlds, 
 
 rolling 
 Upon thy vision, here invisible, 
 Strange constellations of shining creatures 
 Sketching their mythic pictures on new skies; 
 Red orbs and fiery nebulae, weird planets 
 Stranger than Saturn, and fierce, hairy comets. 
 And if upon that star thou shouldst out-single 
 The faintest gleam of light, and leap to it, 
 Another firmament would rise before thee, 
 With worlds piled to the zenith. And so fol- 
 Forever and forever and forever, [lowing. 
 
 And still forever multiplied forever. 
 
 No orb stands by itself, or sails or sings 
 Alone; but each one hath a lovely tune 
 Which it goes singing for itself, itself. 
 While all the melodies, agreeing, sound 
 Together, none marred, but woven to one splendor 
 Of harmony. These great round lights a thread 
 Runs through, which strings them, like to burning 
 
 gems. 
 Into a chain of eveningf-lio^htingf stones 
 Hung round the neck of Righteousness. One 
 
 thought, 
 One form, one Lord, one infinite creation, 
 
loS 
 
 Love and Laiv 
 
 Down to this little earth, where lovers' lamps 
 Are naught but little burning suns on tables, 
 And a tear, spilled, falls in a little sphere 
 Through space, in conic curve, like rolling planet. 
 
 There is no great, no small, nor aught appraise 
 Can w^e, saying, this is the more important, 
 Or, this is but a mean and trifling part: 
 For all is great in the Eternal Purpose 
 That holds it all, and even the whole is small 
 Beside the Eternal Life. What is this earth. 
 Where men wage wars and build themselves high 
 
 towers ? 
 What are the planets moving in concentric 
 Curves with the earth, and what is the stupendous 
 Sun which ties to itself these whirling worlds? 
 Truly, compared with the infinitude 
 Which hath no end on either hand, or up, 
 Or down, this system of huge worlds, their moons, 
 And monstrous sun binding them all together, 
 Are but as fine dust, cast by a man's hand 
 Into the sky. The mollusk and the polyp. 
 The diatoms, whose thin silicious skins 
 Deposit deep beds of white, shining sand. 
 And hosts of strange and living little creatures 
 lr\. water, earth, or air, — these are the dust's dust: 
 Yea, and on this imperious rolling ball. 
 What is man's body but a grain or mote? 
 And yet how spins the earth unhazarded, 
 And singing on its way serenely roves 
 
Love and Law 109 
 
 Around the sun; how prompt the seasons are, 
 How full of luscious juices and sweet waters ! 
 How lordly planets make their grave obeisance. 
 Unto the central king, revolving round him 
 And glowing in his light so vividly 
 That they may be descried by day, not hidden 
 Even by the sun's prodigious beam! How softly 
 And faithfully the moons attend their worlds. 
 Reflecting the sun's smile over the shoulder 
 Of night when that brown nurse bids day begone 
 And frowns upon the too indulgent light ! 
 How man's body thrives, and the little insects, 
 And zoophytes rooted like plants — how all 
 Flourish and swarm, momentous to the Power 
 That throws a comet, sets a sun aflame. 
 And squeezes nebulae till worlds ooze out. 
 Before Almightiness, the whole is naught, 
 But to AU-lovingness the polyp's hunger 
 Cries, and the beast's pangs in his barren den. 
 
 If human minds look out into the darkness 
 And gather rays of truth, 'tis His sight sees; 
 If human hearts do love, 'tis His love loves; 
 'Tis His joy joys, when human hearts rejoice; 
 He is eye's eye, heart's heart and being's being. 
 
 It cannot be but grief and pain will come : 
 We know not how to strive and never fail ; 
 We know not how to have and not to lose; 
 There is no way to love and not to fear; 
 
no 
 
 Love and Law 
 
 There is no way to love and not to feel 
 
 The pangs of parting when seas roll between, 
 
 Or when we search in vain for faithless friendship, 
 
 Or when — less loss — the sky-pits yawn, and friends 
 
 Fall out of sight into their blue abyss. 
 
 Then the One Lord takes up our weary woes 
 
 As he takes up the isles, or steers a star. 
 
 So wonderful his laws that he hath ways 
 
 To cope with our great pain. 
 
 God hath two temples — 
 
 The infinity of starry heavens, one, 
 
 Where shining ranks of servants throng and move 
 
 In unimaginable multitudes 
 
 At his command : the lowly human soul 
 
 The other, where he hath made his mercy-seat. 
 
 One Life and Love he is through all that vast 
 
 Distance, from star to heart. Swifter than light 
 
 Or thought he comes from some great sun con- 
 vulsed, 
 
 To hold a heart that it break not too far. 
 
 He weighs it in his hand against a world; 
 
 It is as heavy to the Lord as all 
 
 His suns if it the more hath need of healing. 
 
 Praise! Praise! Thanksgiving, Trust and Praise! 
 Amen! 
 
LOVE 
 
 Three berries on one stem 
 
 Ripened may be; 
 
 All sweet, but one of them 
 
 Sweetest of three. 
 
 Ah, so must love be, friend, with thee and me! 
 
 Are lilies, gold and white, 
 
 Petaled in threes? 
 
 And clover where alight 
 
 The prowling bees 
 
 Hath triple leaves ? So love, as lover sees. 
 
 Of lily's cloud-leaf crown 
 
 One leaf shines best; 
 
 And one, where bee sinks down 
 
 On clover crest. 
 
 So love, that hath three kinds, hath one most blest. 
 
 A shaft poised at mid-part 
 
 In perfect rest 
 
 Love may be, by one heart 
 
 In double breast 
 
 Reciprocal. This kind is love most blest. 
 
112 
 
 Easter 
 
 But think it rare as mountains 
 
 Or rational dreams, 
 
 When two hearts are the fountains 
 
 Of equal streams, 
 
 Each filling each, as lamps exchange their beams. 
 
 Two other kinds hath love: 
 
 Either to give 
 
 A measure far above 
 
 That we receive, 
 
 Or to receive a greater than we give. 
 
 Alas! in one self lot 
 These billows break, 
 And on one sea-worn spot 
 Double wreck make; 
 
 Worst wreck — the heart which less doth give than 
 take. 
 
 EASTER 
 
 Standing on the shore at morning, 
 
 I beheld the shining sea. 
 Saw the wreathing vapors mounting 
 
 Into heaven silently. 
 
 Standing on the hill at evening. 
 Clouds stooped gently over me, 
 
 Softly from the west ascending. 
 And the rain fell silently, 
 
Wait on the Lord 113 
 
 So, I cried, my spirit's incense 
 
 Sure returneth unto me; 
 Upward breathing, falls in blessing 
 
 From our Father, silently. 
 
 So my life up-striving, soaring, 
 
 Where nor eye nor thought can see, 
 
 Comes again descending on me. 
 Filled with immortality. 
 
 And the bliss of hope awakens ; 
 
 Earth and sky I clearer see; 
 And I carol, in my gladness, 
 
 Easter hymn and melody. 
 
 WAIT ON THE LORD 
 
 " Wait on the Lord! Be of good courage and he shall strengthen 
 Mty heart. Wait, I say, on the Lord ^ Psalm 27: 14, 
 
 On Psalmist's word 
 A Rabbin's voice is heard 
 Commenting, saying 
 To souls praying, 
 
 Et iterum ora; 
 Veniet hoi'a 
 ^ua tibi dabitur^'' 
 
 I hear a Master's speech 
 The same faith teach — 
 
114 
 
 Wait on the Lord 
 
 A Master dear to heart. 
 
 Standing far apart, 
 
 So great, so high above, 
 
 And yet with lowly men 
 
 Living, in toil and pain, 
 
 In meekness and in love. 
 
 He saith, "Ask, it shall be given ; 
 
 Seek, ye shall find in heaven; 
 
 Knock, it shall opened be." 
 
 But not so s'weet to know 
 
 The Master's lips have spoken so. 
 
 As my soul leaps to see 
 
 He speaketh like to all the holy men : 
 
 And softly comes again. 
 
 Like an echo in my ear, 
 
 The song of Hebrew seer, 
 
 Et iteru7?i oraj 
 Ve?i{et hora 
 ^ua tibi dahitur?"* 
 
 O when the soul is faint, 
 
 When visions die, 
 
 When life is wrecked upon complaint. 
 
 And scattered lie 
 
 Hope's arrows — years long. 
 
 With purpose strong, 
 
 Kept bound within one sheaf — 
 
 When pain and loss and grief 
 
 Prey on us, 
 
Hymn of Spring 
 
 When thought and doubt and love 
 
 Weigh on us, 
 
 Then hear, all sounds above, 
 
 JBt iterum or a; 
 Veniet hora 
 ^ua tibi dabiturP 
 
 "5 
 
 HYMN OF SPRING 
 
 The softened mould is brown and warm. 
 
 The early blossoms break, 
 And loosened streams along their banks 
 
 A mossy verdure make. 
 
 A dewy light broods o'er the earth, 
 
 A sweetness new and rare; 
 The voices of brook, bird and breeze 
 
 With music wake the air. 
 
 Awake, O Heart, awake and learn 
 
 The secret of the Spring ! 
 From winter-sleep it comes like light. 
 
 Or as a bird on wing. 
 
 And if I shall be winter-locked, 
 
 As sometime I may be ; 
 If bitter storms and freezing snows 
 
 Come whirling down on me — 
 
Ii6 Together 
 
 Let me lie patient, like the earth, 
 And say, " This shall be rest;" 
 
 And then, O Lord, at thy dear call, 
 Arise renewed and blest. 
 
 TOGETHER 
 
 O FRIEND, my heart is so 
 
 'Tis blessedness to know 
 
 Thou art but on this earth 
 
 Of tearful mirth. 
 
 Even though I see thee not. 
 
 The wide world is a garden spot 
 
 Where thou dost walk; 
 
 The lilies drink thy sweet, wise talk, 
 
 Until they, being filled. 
 
 Have overflowed and spilled 
 
 The silver rain upon the air. 
 
 It runs and ripples everywhere. 
 
 Filling the springs with music more than the 
 
 brooks can bear; 
 Whereby thy voice I hear 
 Pouring a freshet's murmur in my ear, 
 Mingling with " breath of morn" and hush of even. 
 For if thou live. 
 Life's full of thee; 
 And if thou give 
 But aught to me, 
 Thou givest me not less than earth and heaven. 
 
THREE RABBINS 
 
 Under a green-gold sky 
 
 Of eve, in Italy, 
 
 Assembled Rabbins three. 
 
 From neighboring towns, whence they 
 
 Each week met on a hill 
 
 Sequestered, with near hills 
 
 Begirt, high but not steep. 
 
 With wide horizon crowned. 
 
 Great trees, sparse sown, poured shades 
 
 Which lengthened, with slant sun, 
 
 Down the green slope, and spread 
 
 Their quiet on the lake 
 
 Beneath. There mirrored, stars 
 
 Made double heavens. Far 
 
 The country stretched away, 
 
 A gleaming golden plain, 
 
 Towns, vineyards, villages 
 
 Of gardens, to the sea's 
 
 Silvery sand foam-laced. 
 
 And undulating blue. 
 
 Of high things they communed — 
 Their faith, their holy law; 
 The sorrows of their race, 
 
ii8 
 
 Three Rabbins 
 
 Their hopes, deferred, not dead^ 
 The glory yet to come, 
 The great Expected One; 
 Immortal life; and love 
 Of the One Father, great 
 As truth, to triumph yet 
 In Israel's covenant. 
 
 Akiba oldest was, 
 
 An aged man, but strong; 
 
 His hair and reverend beard 
 
 Were w^hite like snow; his eyes 
 
 Quiet and deep and dark. 
 
 Yet flashing oft with fire. 
 
 As when cloud-fissures sail 
 
 Before the burning sun, 
 
 And his beams break, bright, fierce. 
 
 The next, a younger man, 
 
 Jose ben David ; yet 
 
 Dowered with years, and filled 
 
 With the awed look of thought; 
 
 But with a simpleness 
 
 Of patience in his face. 
 
 A young man was the third, 
 
 Abi bar Chija: called 
 
 Howe'er to high renown, 
 
 A scribe in Israel. 
 
 Dusky his orient skin, 
 
 But his dark hair shot gold 
 
 In the sun, and his eye was calm. 
 
Three Rabbins 119 
 
 Silent the three, the while 
 
 The day upon her breast 
 
 Lodged fondly the young moon, 
 
 Then laid it in the arms 
 
 Of night, dark nurse, who crooned 
 
 A slumber-song. It lay, 
 
 A silver crescent, close 
 
 To a lone star, which caught 
 
 The dark limb's shining edge, 
 
 Reflected in the lake 
 
 Where failing ripples waved 
 
 Once more a scarf of light 
 
 To the charmed shore, and died. 
 
 Awed they gazed, till the hush, 
 
 Holy, Akiba broke : — 
 
 Lo! behold! look! see the godlike glory! 
 Gone the sun : the last train of his garments 
 Sweeps the sea, and after him night closes 
 Fast the portal of the west, enwrapping 
 Man and beast in precious, tender shadows. 
 When the darkness comes, a scythe-armed chariot, 
 Mowing earth's tall spires, the stars discover; 
 And the buried sunbeam casts the moonbeam, 
 As dead fathers smile from children's faces. 
 Often have I wondered what becometh 
 Of the sunlight in my eyes extinguished. 
 And have thought mayhap my very wonder 
 Fused with it, or thoughts of that same wonder, 
 Streaming to the moon back, past it streaming 
 
t20 
 
 Three Rabbins 
 
 To the light-source of the moon, the sun, thence 
 
 Past the sun to orbit-rolling planets, 
 
 Past them to fixed stars that gleam as softly 
 
 As blue eyes from dusky brows; and, widening 
 
 As it pours, like fluent fire, envelops. 
 
 Fervent, lucent, all the glowing heavens. 
 
 Wherefore, the great sunlight, or the moonlight, 
 
 Fixed stars, or the orbit-rolling planets, 
 
 Ranging unimaginable spaces. 
 
 And thought's fluctuant fire leaping from darkness, 
 
 Turning back the beams and hurrying with them 
 
 To involve the heavens — do these differ? 
 
 What avouch the hymns, more ancient even 
 
 Than our holy law, than Amram older. 
 
 Whose great son brought down the law unshriv- 
 
 eled 
 From the flames of Sinai; canticles sacred 
 And of age-lost lineage where the Indus 
 Like a mother draws Chenab and Jhelum, 
 Sutlej and Ravi, crowding in her bosom 
 From the plain five-watered where they gambol — 
 What report these hymns but, unsecretive, 
 This same thought ? Once, say they. Soul, Soul 
 
 only. 
 Was this Universe, One, Eternal. Then it 
 Fire created ; then the air, flame's pinions ; 
 Space was launched ; the sun, the moon sent whirl- 
 ing; 
 Herbs were fashioned, waiting to be planted. 
 Came these essences then. Space, Air and Herbage, 
 
Three Rabbins 121 
 
 Sun and Moon and Fire, and asked for body. 
 " Grant us a form," they said, " wherein to settle 
 And eat food." Then Soul, the Vedic hymn says. 
 Offered them a cow ; which they refusing, 
 Next a horse; this too refused, a human 
 Form. "Ah! wonderful!" they cried. Soul bid 
 
 them 
 Enter and possess, each to his kingdom. 
 Fire became speech — at the mouth it entered. 
 Air was breath, and rushed into the nostrils. 
 Sun was made sight, in the eye's orb burning, 
 Darting on all things. Resolved to hearing 
 Was the azure, lodging in the chambers 
 Of the ear. The herbage turned to tresses. 
 Clothing the skin with tissues of vibrations. 
 Last the moon, strange image, but unfit not. 
 Turned mind, hiding in the breasto Plain meaning : 
 Heart and heavens unsegregate, life single; 
 Body and the warmth of body unseparate 
 From the gelid spaces where the starry 
 Arks float, with their freight of minds flesh- 
 
 ermined ; 
 Speech the beams of suns and flames of planets 
 Dowered with throats and joined with the ear of 
 
 ^ther; 
 All in one, love uttering and love hearing; 
 Seeing love too, by sight in light, one substance. 
 Same in me and in the sun's corona. 
 Light, sight, thought, love, one, from deeps eternal, 
 From a darkness which is light but deepening. 
 
122 
 
 Three Rabbins 
 
 'Tis the Lord's own doing ! Saith an elder, 
 " Flame from flame man kindles, cannot kindle 
 Light from shade; God kindles light from dark- 
 ness;" 
 As saith Scripture, " Night shall be light about us : 
 Both alike to Him are light and darkness." 
 Lo! the moon, breaking from space with circling 
 Pomps of stars! God-like it swims His heavens. 
 
 So old Akiba spoke. 
 
 Meanwhile sweet shades came down 
 
 As if dark night smiled, pleased, 
 
 Upon his light-like words. 
 
 The twilight green became 
 
 A tenderer darkling glow. 
 
 Half dark the brown-gold plain 
 
 Of country stretched away, 
 
 And darkening gardens lay 
 
 Flecking with soft earth-brown 
 
 Towns, vineyards, villages. 
 
 The line of silver sand 
 
 Now with a deepening gray 
 
 Faced the sky-darkened sea. 
 
 A hush on hush was laid. 
 
 As if the darkness breathed. 
 
 Then Jose spoke and said : 
 
 Say not that the moon resplendent ranges, 
 God-like the heavens; it is God in his heavens! 
 Saith our law, " The Lord's face shine upon thee!" 
 
Three Rabbins 123 
 
 Which — have not our elders written ? — meaneth 
 That his countenance upon us breaketh, 
 Yea, upon our eyes, when light ariseth. 
 Wherefore, is he not what is the glory 
 Of his countenance, unveiled and living ? 
 Seen his face ! It is God in his heavens ! 
 
 Then answered him and spoke 
 Abi bar Chija, thus: 
 
 Fathers, many are your years, and many 
 
 More than mine, and your rich wisdom greater; 
 
 But my soul says, God his heavens is also. 
 
 Weigh I oft that saying of the elders, 
 
 " Why doth David ^ith his soul the Lord praise ? 
 
 Answer, As the soul doth fill the body, 
 
 So God fills the universe. The prophet 
 
 Jeremiah saith, ' Do I not fill the 
 
 Earth and heavens?' Come, soul that fill'st the 
 
 body. 
 Praise the Lord the universe who fiUetho" 
 Glories of the heavens, showering earthward. 
 Glories of the earth rolled through the heavens. 
 Forces, fires Titanic, riding the whirlwind, 
 Nay, and all the small and tender blossoms. 
 Nay, even human triumphs, monarch's splendors, 
 Armies' prowess, senates' wisdom, nations. 
 Arts and engines coping with strong matter, 
 Lives and deaths of saints and songs of poets, 
 Toil of laborers, and love of women 
 
124 Three Rabbins 
 
 Brooding on their children — all is only 
 His one body, close before our vision, 
 Whereby, like a friend, we know him always. 
 
 While yet they spoke, the moon 
 Dipped in the beckoning sea 
 And vanished. Rising then, 
 The old Akiba said : 
 
 Come, sons, let us go. God is his heavens. 
 Hath not now the young moon gently fallen 
 Off the west into love-eager ocean ? 
 Yet is here divinity diminished. 
 Or is God extinguished? In the heavens 
 Float we midway, held up in their spaces, 
 Moving, living, loving in their cycles; 
 And he fills the soul who fills the heavens. 
 
 Then answered Abi thus : 
 
 Who by thinking can divide his spirit 
 From God, yea, or utter how he lieth 
 In the bosom of one life eternal ! 
 
 To whom Jose replied : 
 
 Thought can never pierce its own arising 
 Or divide itself from its beginning. 
 This is love's own oflnice, to me showing 
 That I am a needful child, up-looking. 
 
Three Rabbins 
 
 125 
 
 Trusting, lone, dependent, saying Father. 
 Where thought ceases, quelled, love flieth, daring, 
 Resting poised where thought is wings unbuoyant. 
 Love is knowledge, and in one ingathers 
 All the bounds and many kinds of knowledge, 
 Showing how this weaves with that, and fash- 
 ioning 
 Glories of intelligence all-holding, 
 Penetrating, to which the heavens are mirrors, 
 Stars the lamps that throw therein earth's image. 
 But lone thinking, cold, unflamed with loving. 
 Is betraying, confident, perfidious. 
 What doth mean the gentile fable? — Pallas, 
 Springing from Zeus, plotted to dethrone him; 
 Then Briareus, born of cold sky. Wisdom, 
 And of tender-flowering earth. Love, climbing 
 The aether, sat by Zeus, and by the terrible 
 Fire of his great looks broke down the plotters. 
 The great Syracusan, though sidereal 
 Station for an axis furnished, could not 
 Loose and lift the earth as a child's grieved bosom 
 Heaving under it with hurt love, or quicken 
 Its whirl like the heart-throb of the eloquent 
 Roman who the geometer's grave discovered, 
 Erst lost, by the triple wall, with brambles 
 And neglected thorns o'ergrown. If man's heart, 
 Whelmed with its own torrent, struggle, stars 
 
 shake. 
 Paling aghast, or brightening, as his passion 
 Wof ul or joyful is, — no matter, so it be 
 
126 
 
 Three Rabbins 
 
 Love, pure, living love. Of love the proof is 
 That it overmasters other passions — 
 Prides and pleasures, prejudices, terrors. 
 Indolence and selfishness, revenges. 
 Envies, vapors of rank self-ambitions. 
 Each alone or all together, bursting 
 Over black flames like a witch's cauldron. 
 Love, love is all-masterful to vanquish. 
 First with meek heart love loves every being. 
 Gathering all; then on one fastens, mighty: 
 For that one then loves the whole the better. 
 With new light and reverence of loving ; 
 Which at last fills space as full as heaven 
 With a new religion, overflowing 
 With supreme interminable knowledge. 
 
 He ceased; and all three stood 
 
 Clothed by dun evening mild; 
 
 By all-relating night 
 
 To likeness brought. The dew 
 
 Had changed from diamonds clear 
 
 To yellow gems, then black. 
 
 But gleaming still, jet light. 
 
 Gloom soft as down was spread 
 
 On earth w-armly asleep. 
 
 All lineaments faded. Woods 
 
 No longer separate stood, 
 
 But to one ebony turned, 
 
 And prone, imperforate, 
 
 Naught but a gibbous gloom 
 
Three Rabbins 
 
 127" 
 
 Inclining from the plain. 
 Shapes fled, save that some spots 
 Of denser gloom on gloom 
 Seemed like night-swallows' nests 
 Made in a bank of night. 
 The country stretched away, — 
 Cimmerian seas becalmed. 
 Towns, vineyards, villages 
 By murmurous tides o'erflown 
 Of rolling glooms. The sea 
 Unwrapped a crape of mist 
 To clothe the gloom. And night — 
 As when — God's delegate power — 
 As when at her child's bed 
 A mother puts out the light, 
 But stays by, in the room. 
 And fills it with a glow 
 The child's shut eyes can see, 
 His fraught heart feel — so night. 
 The dear, dear nurse, us sent 
 By the great Physician, saw 
 And smiled, and smiling made 
 The gloom precious with love. 
 
 The three friends down the hill 
 
 Walked slowly. Soon one turned 
 
 A corner of the dark 
 
 And was engulfed; then soon 
 
 The other; and alone 
 
 The old Akiba paused 
 
128 The Bishop'^s JSyes 
 
 In the living, loving gloom — 
 
 Then lifted up his voice 
 
 And cried, that the skies rang, 
 
 ^^Sc/i^fna Tisrael^ Adonai Elohainu^ 
 
 Adonai echad! " Hills shook. 
 
 Echoing the holy name. 
 
 Then instant on his voice 
 
 Twain voices broke, rolled through 
 
 The detonating dark, 
 
 As the whole air were voice, — 
 
 "Hallelujah! Amen!" 
 
 THE BISHOP'S EYES 
 
 A Latin Bishop, so the story runs. 
 
 Under the beaming suns 
 
 Of Italy, where tender skies 
 
 Cover man's head with dyes 
 
 Of soft, indulgent hue. 
 
 But leave as much to do 
 
 As in a stormy clime. 
 
 With patience and with time 
 
 To strive against the earth. 
 
 Blind stuff and blinder self to overcome, 
 
 To stock the land with mirth 
 
 Of sweet children in sweet home. 
 
 With holy fervors of mid-age, 
 
 With wisdom of the sage 
 
 And victory's humility that crowns the old,- 
 
The Bis hop'' s Eyes 129 
 
 This Bishop, say I, always did uphold 
 
 A countenance so bright, 
 
 An eye so undisturbed, serene, 
 
 And such a radiant peace, 
 
 Which not alone was seen 
 
 In the benignant face. 
 
 But seemed to clothe the body with its grace, 
 
 That men did wonder at it, as at light 
 
 From no source visible, which yet did never cease. 
 
 And one thus spoke : " How is it, sir, that shine 
 
 Of heaven seems always thine ? 
 
 For thou hast had great griefs, and not alone 
 
 Dost bear thine own. 
 
 But with the sympathy of thy great office, share 
 
 The woes of many and their sinful care. 
 
 I see thee haunt the doors 
 
 Of the Lazaretto, and its plague-swept floors. 
 
 Thou art familiar where 
 
 The pain-racked and the dying. 
 
 The starving and the crying. 
 
 The sinful and defying 
 
 Rend the air. 
 
 Yet over-taxed with labors hard to bear. 
 
 Thou hast been menaced often, often hated. 
 
 Even for thy deeds most worthy. Whence, so 
 
 fated. 
 Hast thou that cheer, invincible and sweet. 
 Which always in thy countenance we meet?" 
 The Bishop, with a twinkle and a smile, 
 Made answer, and the while 
 
130 
 
 The Bishop''s Eyes 
 
 With the twinkle out did run 
 
 From his eyes a pious fun. 
 
 As from a well when one draws up 
 
 Sweet, serious water, and dips in a cup, 
 
 Silvery drops with starry twinkle. 
 
 Like elfin laugh and wink, o'ersprinkle 
 
 The bucket's wholesome rim, 
 
 So did the Bishop brim 
 
 With ripples of shrewd playfulness, and said — 
 
 "Ah ! trouble not thy head ; 
 
 'Tis plain as the wide skies, 
 
 I gain it by deft usage of mine eyes." 
 
 " Thine eyes ! " the man cried, and looked round 
 
 As if to spy what could be found 
 
 That, looked on, made the looks so bright. 
 
 Then said the Bishop, while another light 
 
 Shone in his face: "Ay! my eyes I turn 
 
 In three directions, and thus learn. 
 
 First, I look up, and say. 
 
 There lies the way 
 
 That in this earthly life must be my aim. 
 
 Then I look down, and think how small 
 
 The bed of earth at last that I can claim. 
 
 Then round I look, and think of all 
 
 Earth's millions, fellows in toil, oft steeped in grief 
 
 Greater than mine. Thus by my eyes I find 
 
 These simples for the mind — 
 
 My body's end, my soul's high call. 
 
 And sympathy, the heart's relief." 
 
THE SCHOLAR 
 
 My days among the Dead are past; 
 
 Around me I behold, 
 
 Where'er these casual eyes ai'e cast, 
 
 The mighty minds of old : 
 
 My never failing friends are they, 
 
 With whom I converse day by day. 
 
 With them I take delight in weal 
 
 And seek relief in woe; 
 
 And while I understand and feel 
 
 How much to them I owe, 
 
 My cheek has often been bedew'd 
 
 With tears of thoughtful gratitude. 
 
 My thoughts are with the Dead ; with them 
 
 I live in long past years, 
 
 Their virtues love, their faults condemn, 
 
 Partake their hopes and fears. 
 
 And from their lessons seek and find 
 
 Instruction with an humble mind. 
 
 My hopes are with the Dead ; anon 
 My place with them will be, 
 And I with them shall travel on 
 Through all Futurity ; 
 Yet leaving here a name, I trust, 
 That will not perish in the dust. 
 
 — Robert Southey. 
 
 SouTHEY, thy tender lines with heart 
 
 I read, but not inclined 
 
 To join their dirge, though sweet. Thou art 
 
 Enfolded in my mind 
 
 With those same mighty friends, I said; 
 
 But thou and they are quick, not dead. 
 
13^ 
 
 The Scholar 
 
 My days among the living I 
 
 Pass joyfully, and see, 
 
 When round my books I cast my eye, 
 
 How great the great may be. 
 
 My never failing friends, like thine; 
 
 But whose such friends are dead? Not mine. 
 
 I share with them their gayest weal, 
 
 Suffer their saddest woe; 
 
 And well I understand and feel 
 
 How much to them I owe. 
 
 But deepest debt I feel when I 
 
 Think they died not — can never die. 
 
 My thoughts are with them. Not that they 
 Once thought and spoke and passed ; 
 But that they still are thinking, they 
 Still breathing songs to last; 
 Or Reason's lordly truthfulness, 
 Or pure Religion's blessedness. 
 
 My hopes are with them. But not they 
 
 Ambition wake in me 
 
 To soar with them. Like them I pray 
 
 Rich with my lot to be : 
 
 Nor more to leave a name care I, 
 
 If in some hearts I do not die. 
 
PARTED 
 
 For partin^^s sake alone was death devised i 
 On lifers accoutit it needed not have been^ 
 But parting is the silver-glance of love. 
 
 — SCHEFKR. 
 
 Too much is never given 
 
 To human lot; 
 
 And if we write of heaven, 
 
 We spill an inky blot 
 
 Of merciless hell. 
 
 But still, 'tis well, 'tis well : 
 
 And so, sweet friend, I lose thee, 
 
 Because 'twere too much joy 
 
 The precious moments to employ 
 
 Both with the love-bliss of my heart 
 
 Wherein I choose thee. 
 
 And with the dear delight thy presence doth impart. 
 
 The sadness is lone, 
 
 The loneliness sad; 
 
 But to love and have thee too, I own, 
 
 Were joy too great and glad. 
 
 Well then, to love is my election : 
 
 I would not lose one grain of my affection, 
 
 Of the deep, dear love I bear thee. 
 
 And my sweet-singing pride. 
 
 Even to hold thee at my side; 
 
 Or, even if, to keep it all, I must out tear thee 
 
 From my life, and from thee live apart, afar 
 
 Upon this earth or tossed to another star. 
 
LONGFELLOW 
 
 I. 
 
 Poet of simple folk, thou art so wise, 
 And from such wisdom-deeps hast drawn thy song, 
 Thy page is magical to children's eyes, 
 And still to thee the old and learned throng. 
 Not thine the writhing verse of riotous thought 
 That tosses frothing words into the skies. 
 Or from black bottoms in a whirlpool caught 
 Stirs up a gleaming slime of passion-dyes. 
 These are hot shallows : where the sea is deep» 
 The mightiest storm leaves the cool waters clean. 
 So doth thy verse blow gales, but never sweep 
 Up baneful lees from thy heart-deeps serene. 
 Where in sweet visions child and man unite- 
 Appear the heights and depths of human sight. 
 
 II. 
 Reading awhile, I said — This poet's verse, 
 Whereunto shall I liken it? A brook 
 That in the valley doth the songs rehearse 
 Of mountain-tops, that is this poet's book ; 
 And children wade in it from side to side. 
 And toss its sparkling drops from face to face. 
 Reading again, I said- — 'Tis a river wide, 
 A stately stream that flows by towns apace, 
 And gathers in its breast toil-songs of men. 
 Reading once more, I cried — I sail a sea, 
 
Amoris Avaritia 135 
 
 A deep where storms and calms of joy and pain 
 Mingle in harmony with heaven and me. 
 
 I ceased ; yet not opprest with thoughts in strife 
 How this could be. I had been reading Life. 
 
 AMORIS AVARITIA 
 
 I HEARD a voice moan in the dark, 
 A smothered voice, as if a heart 
 Articulated from the ark 
 
 Of a lone breast. 
 Then carefully I drew apart. 
 And listened, when I had come near, 
 To catch the words, if I might hear 
 
 What so distressed. 
 
 And soon anon the weary moan 
 
 My sense translated to a tone, 
 
 So that the sounds took shape and made 
 
 Words to my ear. 
 And thus they said: "So slight my need. 
 So very little I do need 
 To make me glad, how strange, how sad 
 
 It is not here ! " 
 
 With pity spake T : " Nay, sad heart. 
 Sad moaning voice, if 'tis so small 
 A thing will make thee glad for all. 
 Now tell it me, 
 
; V* 
 
 136 Atnoris Avaritia 
 
 I have some power, perhaps an art 
 To compass this small thing that will 
 Endue with joy and blissful fill 
 Thy path for thee." 
 
 Answered the mournful voice and said, 
 
 " Oh, give it me, this one small shred 
 
 Of wealth of earth, seas, heaven above — 
 
 'Tis only this: 
 A great whole love, a tender love. 
 Thought, care and love to compass me 
 And live around me. This would be 
 
 My all for bliss." 
 
 "All, all ! " I cried. " I thought that just 
 Thou didst bemoan thee for some dust, 
 Some little scattering of the wind 
 
 To make thy ease! 
 Ask this, beg ' wealth of Orm and Ind,' 
 Beseech the treasures over-decked 
 In all the vessels ever wrecked 
 
 In all the seas; 
 
 "Ask me rocs' eggs to wheel thy car. 
 Or eagle's beak to bring a star. 
 Or griffin-guarded books that wake 
 
 Arabian wiles; 
 Ask Hecla's fire or Kashmir snow, 
 To make thee ear-drops that shall glow 
 
Amoris Avaritia 137 
 
 With flame around clear pearls, and shake 
 Upon thy smiles; 
 
 "A mountain, ocean, iceberg ask. 
 And all the furs that swim or bask ; 
 Call mammoths from their fossil pales 
 
 For ivory bone; 
 Ask birds of paradise, and scrolled 
 Orchids that fly like birds, and gold, 
 Bronze, ruby, green ophidian scales 
 
 From Amazon! 
 
 " Why these are dust, not hard to give, 
 Little to ask. If thou wilt live 
 But long enough, around thy feet 
 
 I'll heap these things. 
 But love! a heart! a true heart's heat! 
 Love living round thee, and love's lone 
 Thoughts ever trembling on thine own 
 
 Like sound on strings, — 
 
 " Like sound on strings, where each to each 
 
 Belongs, nor e'er dissever may 
 
 When either wakes ! — 'tis heaven ! Dost know 
 
 Thou askest heaven? 
 Oh, fall upon thy knees; beseech 
 Forgiveness for thine avarice. Pray 
 To offer up thy pain, an^ go 
 
 Confessed and shriven," 
 
WHERE? 
 
 Where ? Everywhere. Think not she dwells apart 
 
 Whose home is in my heart: 
 
 Where'er I go, she is 'with me; 
 
 In what I see soever, her I see; 
 
 We have together so much toiled, thought, felt, 
 
 That all things to her image melt. 
 
 There is no hour of day or night 
 
 But she has made it bright. 
 
 'Tis she that rises with the moon, 
 'Tis she that shines on me at noon; 
 And when I look at some lone star, 
 I think to journey there with her. 
 I hear her where the blossoms stir, 
 I feel her where the shadows are; 
 All hands are hers, all eyes are bright 
 With the clear sweetness of her sight; 
 And in all steps I count her feet, 
 Whome'er I meet. 
 
 In the high nobleness of books. 
 In lofty purpose, and in looks 
 Of eyes too high for petty things, 
 I meet her; and wherever springs 
 The bounty of the generous earth, 
 I see the likeness of her worth. 
 
Where P 139 
 
 In usef ifl and translucent brooks, 
 In rivers and in fields of grain, 
 In sweet and milk-white breasts of rain, 
 And in the circumambient air, 
 In veins of stone, in aisles of wood, 
 In churches, and where'er have stood 
 My feet, my head with reverence bare, 
 I meet, I know, I feel her there, 
 Where aught is good. 
 
 On mountains looking, her I see; 
 She is the wind, she is the lee ; 
 I hear her by the sounding sea, 
 And if I rock upon the crest, 
 I feel the breathing of her breast. 
 The while I stand on some lone height. 
 She is the wide joy of my sight. 
 I take her on a stormy walk, 
 I see her where snow-spectres stalk. 
 I know her presence in the dark, 
 And in all silence her I hark. 
 In holy mysteries that feed 
 Soul's double sense of strength and need. 
 And in strange thrills of power that steal. 
 Rousing my spirit, her I feel, — 
 Love, life, which me incorporate 
 With what is great. 
 
 Break, break, break into words, 
 
 O heart, and let thy gladness with thy words 
 
140 Comrade 
 
 Mingling, be like the voice of birds 
 
 Tuning on bright sea-shore 
 
 With the waves' significant roar. 
 
 Even of her goodness and good greatness 
 
 My song is worthy. Not because I bring 
 
 Bright waters from Pierian spring 
 
 To which I cannot climb, nor the glorious lateness 
 
 Of mighty bards whose numbers are unknown 
 
 Till long time they have ceased and flown: 
 
 Not worthy thus ; but for that each word sung 
 
 From love's pure well has sprung. 
 
 COMRADE 
 
 L. L. W. 
 
 As possible to put love in one word 
 
 As in ten thousand words. 
 In dearest syllable so little is transferred, 
 
 That all the living herds 
 Of syllables together, in glossaries that rove, 
 Range but a hillside of earth's upland love 
 And lie but in the fringes of its grove. 
 
 And shall I speak thee one word, dearest friend ? 
 
 O, yea! Well, now 'tis said. 
 Here in my book thou 'rt by me to the end; 
 
 And it when thou hast read. 
 Whisper thyself again one true, dear word, — 
 Which, spoken, barkened, was ne'er half said, half 
 
 heard 
 In all these years, since thee my soul preferred. 
 
SYCHAR 
 
 M. G. 
 
 " When at the end of our tether, 
 And blank the despair is before us, 
 Then cometh relief with a mystery; 
 Help from a word, from a thought, 
 
 " Strength from a book, from a friendship, 
 Or subtlety living about us; 
 We gather up, catch at the viewless, 
 Wheel and march, armed to the teeth." 
 
 Thus I had read in a letter. 
 Which just had come in at my portal ; 
 The words giving proof of their meaning 
 Instantly unto my soul. 
 
 I was down-hearted and sorry; 
 Perhaps had one asked me the reason, 
 I had none; yet strangely an aching 
 Played like a child at my heart. 
 
 Then at the end of my tether 
 Had fluttered the mystic epistle 
 Down into my hand ; I up started, 
 Helmeted, armed to the teeth. 
 
1^2 Sychar 
 
 Wonder of wonders befell me; 
 And wonders come lone, they say, never, 
 The letter enough was for wonder; — 
 Now my friend entered the door. 
 
 By the white track of her letter 
 So quickly she hastened thereafter, 
 That, while her hand-written lay on me, 
 Now my friend entered the door — 
 
 Sooth, her hand really she gave me, 
 A kiss, and another, bestowing. 
 And smiled on me quaintly to see the 
 Wonder that opened my eyes. 
 
 Tenderly then and not quaintly 
 She smiled ag^ain, seeino^ the feelinof 
 Which closed the gates opened with wonder. 
 Filling the moat full of tears. 
 
 Simple is wisdom, the wiser 
 The simpler it is, and the plainer; 
 She greeted me simply and said that 
 Close she had followed the post. 
 
 I in her hand laid for answer 
 Her written hand, still in mine folded 
 And said, "At the end of my tether, 
 Buckling my belt with thy words, 
 
Sychar 143 
 
 "Armed to the teeth with thy valor, 
 Thy spiritual armor and power, 
 Arisen I was, and in order 
 Worthy to greet thee, my friend. 
 
 " Shame will not shame me, nor terror 
 Affright me, in sooth, from confessing 
 To thee, I was down; but am risen. 
 Worthy to meet thee, my friend." 
 
 Answered she, "Why came I hither? 
 I know not, but followed a beckoning 
 Of spirit, a wandering, a going 
 Forth, that I could not control. 
 
 " What if I put in my letter 
 So much of my heart, I must follow ? " 
 " Sooth, add thereto," said I, " thy office; 
 Prophecy joineth with love. 
 
 " Here is the fountain of Sychar, 
 And springeth the well that of Jacob 
 Was made for his children and cattle; 
 Thirsting I come, — and find thee. 
 
 " Beautiful rises the story 
 Invading my mind as I see thee, — 
 The Nazarene, lofty and lowly, 
 Sitting alone by the well : 
 
144 Sych 
 
 ar 
 
 " Forthwith the woman comes nigh him, 
 
 Not dreaming of aught but the water, 
 
 Yet soon asks, ' When comes He ? ' He answers, 
 
 'I that speak to thee am he,' — 
 
 " He that is always a-coming. 
 That was to come far in the offing. 
 The offing that always is nearing, 
 Always is closing us round. 
 
 " Often it haps in my hurry. 
 
 My struggle, my failure, my sorrow, 
 
 I pass a familiar environ; 
 
 Lo ! and a stranger is there ! 
 
 " Many times o'er I have seen him. 
 But now he a wonderful stranger 
 Sits there. It is Sychar, at noontide; 
 Noontide — the fulness of time. 
 
 " He that is always a-coming. 
 That was to come far in the offing. 
 The offing that always is nearing, 
 Holily closing around — 
 
 "Ah, does he know it, the stranger. 
 That God at that moment has sent him. 
 Has sent the expected, the promised. 
 Who unto me was to come ? 
 
Sychar 145 
 
 "Lo! all the roadway to Sychar, 
 Along all the way from the village, 
 I see that the people are walking. 
 Each with his vessel in hand. 
 
 " Over the wayside the branches 
 Of trees interlace with the heavens. 
 Where fleeces of silver are rolling 
 High in the beautiful blue. 
 
 " Birds in the limbs interlacing 
 Sing joy to the beauty of flowers. 
 As thinking the earth were a plumaged 
 Mother of musical tribes. 
 
 " Children at play on the borders. 
 Hallooing and running all over, 
 Are mingled with clouds, with the flowers. 
 Branches, and birds in their joy. 
 
 " But the deep eyes, and the faces ? 
 But what's in the travelers' faces? 
 What question, expression, entreaty. 
 Yearning from eye unto eye? 
 
 " 'Tis but one question forever, 
 
 ' When cometh the prophet, the promised ? ' 
 
 And each unto each maketh answer, 
 
 ' I that speak to thee am he.' " 
 
146 Presence 
 
 I to my friend turned, thus speaking, — 
 For, speaking and thinking, my eyelids 
 Had drooped, and turned inward my vision; 
 So now, uplifting my head, 
 
 I to my friend turned, thus speaking, 
 And looked : she was gone ! I bethought me 
 A thousand of miles lay her village 
 Distant from Sychar, the well. 
 
 PRESENCE 
 
 M. A. C. 
 
 If I, like the gossamer spider. 
 
 Could spin out song from my heart, 
 
 As the insect spins its silver thread. 
 
 With a strange and mystical art, 
 
 I would spin thee a rhyme, dear friend, 
 
 A lowly and loving song. 
 
 That should have no end like the spider's web 
 
 But float out all day long ; — 
 
 All day long and forever: 
 
 For when I had ceased to sing, 
 
 The simple song and true 
 
 In thine ears should always ring. 
 
 But this strange and mystical art 
 
 Hath not been given to me. 
 
 And what there is in my heart, 
 
 I must keep it there for thee. ^ 
 
 I can not give a sight 
 
Presence — L . 147 
 
 Of that inner and sacred shrine 
 
 Where the tapers of love forever burn, 
 
 And one of those tapers thine. 
 
 But I tell thee the shrine exists, 
 
 And it is my holy place, 
 
 Where all my loves combine 
 
 In one seraphic face 
 
 Which goes with me every day 
 
 And follows me everywhere. 
 
 It hath the depth of the heavens. 
 
 The sweetness of the air; 
 
 And in the features, beauties shine 
 
 Familiar to my heart in thine. 
 
 L. 
 
 I LOOKED well up, I looked well down, 
 
 I looked me all around; 
 But all in vain I sought a spot 
 
 Where love could not be found. 
 
 At last I cried, " I know a place," 
 And looked into my heart; 
 
 And there indeed I found a realm 
 In which love had no part. 
 
 But then I met with you, and now 
 
 I look below, above. 
 In heart and out, and find no space 
 
 But is filled full of love. 
 
SEERS OF LOVE 
 
 Poets, I thank ye! And ye other throng 
 Who chant unversed the creeds of song, 
 Ye story tellers, whose vision flies 
 
 Through astral spaces, 
 Twixt planetary laughing faces 
 And the far watery twinklers, tear-lit eyes,- 
 I thank ye from my heart! 
 Yea, that heart's self its blessing gives; 
 For 'tis by you it lives. 
 
 'Tis not that your magic art 
 Me unlocks earth's mysteries, 
 I see rainbows with mine eyes 
 E'en as you, and sink as far 
 In the glory of a star. 
 Sitting on the velvet side 
 Of a green-napped, light-shot hill, 
 Under brown moss-mantled trees, 
 I can feel my heartstrings thrill 
 To the quiet meadow wide. 
 Hear the curfew of the breeze 
 Ringing hare-bells; and if birds 
 Mated fly, I hear their words, 
 And the clashing of the grasses 
 
Seers of Love 149 
 
 Where the four- winged shadow passes. 
 
 As twin ghosts of birds alighted, 
 
 And the green blades shook affrighted, 
 
 I can chant a part in tune 
 
 With the wild brook's wayward rune; 
 
 Rock young thoughts in crescent moon; 
 
 Lay my head upon a cloud; 
 
 Stretch my hands and cry aloud 
 
 To the kindred break and roar 
 
 Of the sea upon the shore. 
 
 All these miracles I do, 
 
 Blessed bards, as well as you ! 
 
 But oh! when human faith runs dry — 
 When love, true love, goes by, — 
 Or rather, seeming true; for if true truth, 
 'Tis so forever, the same tender sooth! 
 
 Hark! hast e'er seen an eye. 
 
 Dear loved, change till it thrust 
 
 Through thee the blade distrust? 
 
 Was love's last mystic tenderness 
 
 Thee given and taken solemnly, 
 
 Till thou awoke to see 
 
 'Twas tossed thee, as a tress 
 
 Of girl's hair greets the wind, 
 
 Shredded of aims, 
 
 Of brooding care or claims? 
 
 Hast e'er known that? Didst find 
 
 Thyself, heart-wrung, thus praying an ear 
 
150 Seers of Love 
 
 Ambition-clogged, unquick to hear 
 
 Pain shake thy words? Didst bind 
 
 Thee round some love on earth 
 
 Like strong cords round a wheaten sheaf, 
 
 And hold it, reverent of its golden worth, — 
 
 Worth worth to thee thy costilier belief ; 
 
 At morn, noon, night, one thought in thee. 
 
 Flying in labor's intervals to see 
 
 With eyes devout, in the cloister of thy heart, 
 
 One vestal form; daily planning thy part, 
 
 A boon of service, watch of care, 
 
 A few words writ, a tear, a prayer. 
 
 Thankful to worship — hast loved like this? — 
 
 And took she and partook thy bliss 
 
 With pride, with wish to show 
 
 Thy deeds devout so all might know 
 
 Her sweet proud meed — took all. 
 
 And drained it to the last; then suddenly 
 
 Turned on thee loftily, 
 
 Reproaching thee in fine phrase virtuously 
 
 With thy excess consumed, but sweet 
 
 She said while eating, said 'twas meat 
 
 For life's hard work : — Hast known ? It cracks 
 
 The heart — faith spills; then fall 
 
 Its drops unstaunched, till nothing lacks 
 
 Love's soul of Death's more bitter death 
 
 Than they feel who yield up their mortal breath. 
 
 What name? Is't love, love, love? Or is it — 
 
 What? 
 When Thammuz wept, was't tears, because so hot? 
 
Seers of Love ' 15 1 
 
 What make I then? Shall I choose more unblest 
 
 To be, by faithlessness that any rest 
 
 More blest than I, or by a surly thought 
 
 That hearts are ingrate, love is naught ? 
 
 [ will be less unblest by knowing this 
 
 (Nay, nay, but blest and with pure bliss), — 
 
 That others more are blest, and that there is 
 
 In the wide world a precious faithfulness. 
 
 What if, for that some discord had been hurled 
 
 Athwart a soul, music seemed fled the world 
 
 And praise of sweet accordant sounds ? 
 
 Such would be cured if in the bounds 
 
 He set his foot of woodlands, where are twirled 
 
 The tuned strings of the breeze 
 
 By the fingers of the trees; 
 
 Or came in the fore-gray of the dawn 
 
 To tread dew on a tree-framed lawn 
 
 And hear the madrigals poured by the birds 
 
 From emerald seats, 
 
 Till skies flushed promise of noon heats. 
 
 Glad with the songs, half wings, half words. 
 
 So come, wake soul, and get thee 
 
 To the blithe troubadours 
 
 Who songs of trust do set thee — 
 
 Sweet singers of heart's truth, this world of ours 
 
 With hymns of faith who bless, 
 
 Till all the arches of the wilderness 
 
 Take shape above, 
 
 Gothic with trust and love ! 
 
152 Seers of Love 
 
 These give to drink, sweet Imogen, 
 
 Of that brave troth of thine, 
 
 Till in the rosy innocence of that warm wine 
 
 I flush again with faith. Evangeline, 
 
 The Saint of love, the same if wife; 
 
 Eke Enid, wifehood's saint, the same 
 
 If maid, ten hundred years whose name 
 
 Hath lived, and shall, — love is such life; 
 
 Burd Helen, Amelia, Beatrice, whose wit 
 
 Shone, for her hid love melted it; 
 
 The Spanish Lady " of high degree " 
 
 Who "well in truth endured extremity; " 
 
 Cordelia's sooth-say heart, Andromache, 
 
 Portia's mid-heaven of love, creation's height. 
 
 And Juliet's dawn devout, the azure youth 
 
 That for noon's canopy builds frames of light; 
 
 Bertha, of the Honey Broth, who bade 
 
 The grave unbar for love; the Moab Ruth; 
 
 Lucrece; eke humble names; and unnamed beams 
 
 Wherewith the Hebrew canticle upstreams; — 
 
 These come, and more, saying in sooth, 
 
 " Truth is, love is, and love's that truth ! " 
 
 How beautiful, when love arrays 
 The earth, whatever be the days, — 
 Never but blest, whether more dark or fair! 
 What gladness. Bards, ye empty on the air 
 From crystal flagons, like a river shore 
 Of agate, jasper, chalcedony, and rare 
 Bright silices, that ope and pour 
 
Rest 
 
 153 
 
 From shining mouths warm currents, and disperse 
 
 Heart-tropic streams in the atmosphere, 
 
 That by their heat unmingled flow 
 
 In banks of vapors, till the snow 
 
 They melt on Kuh Dinar's white drear, 
 
 That it runs warm into the verse 
 
 Whose beats to Araby rehearse 
 
 Mejnoun and Leilah. 
 
 Thanks, poets, and ye throng 
 Who sing unversed the creeds of song, 
 Ye story tellers, whose vision flies 
 
 Through astral spaces, 
 Twixt planetary laughing faces 
 And the far watery twinklers, tear-lit eyes! 
 It is my creed ye have an eye to see, 
 Of life, of love, what is too dear for me; 
 My creed, — ye say it — there is such love, so high; 
 There is — ye say it — dear troth under the sky,* 
 There is — ye say it — love that's humility ! 
 
 This, this my gladness Is, that ye 
 (And what great gladness!) lift up me 
 Over my ken, with you to see. 
 
 REST 
 
 Noon rest, soft west, the evening-tolling bell. 
 Star light, dense night, the murmurous witching 
 
 spell — 
 How dear when we are weary, who can tell ? 
 
VISIONS— BESIDE HER 
 
 Tw^AS a monntam gathering up its shado\7^ 
 Which then it wrapped around a meadow, 
 Round a blooming meadow^>maiden. 
 And round her neck o'erladen 
 With her tresses, pearly 
 
 Of dews o'er-early, — 
 
 O'er-early made 
 
 By mountain shade. 
 
 *Tw^as the ancient, glorious, golden ocean 
 Wooing with -wedding song and potion 
 Gentle breasts of curving beaches. 
 That showed the reverent reaches 
 Of his tide of wooing. 
 
 The shy bay strewing 
 
 With delicate dyes 
 
 By his warm eyes. 
 
 *Twas the sky, intoning, pealing, burning. 
 Where mouths of light were calling, turning 
 Every w^hither, from shadowy faces 
 Across reverberant spaces! 
 Hymns of gravitation. 
 
 Sung from each station. 
 
 In finer sense 
 
 Woke evidence. 
 
Wedded 155 
 
 'Twas the planet, sea and shore together 
 And choruses of every \veather 
 Sunward, starward singing, — sending 
 Up orisons orient-bending. 
 Chanting night-light, day-light, — 
 
 One loving way-light 
 
 Whereby earth rolls 
 
 Her freight of souls. 
 
 'Twas a dome religious, more than mountains, 
 And love- wells, more than ocean's fountains, 
 Truth-look, than the star-hymn holier, 
 Meekness than shore-line lowlier. 
 Face, — Ah! Sacred! — to thee, 
 
 Love-awed to view thee, 
 
 I draw, — I go 
 
 Anear, but slow. 
 
 WEDDED 
 
 He took in both hands her lovely head, 
 And looked in her eyes serene, 
 
 Many years married, but still as fond 
 As the foolish boy had been. 
 
 And " O my dear," said he, " and my love, 
 My dear sweet love and my wife. 
 
 If every kiss w^ere a golden coin 
 You would be rich for life. 
 
1^6 
 
 The Snouo 
 
 *' Nay, if of every kiss I have given, 
 
 Each were but a single penny, 
 You would be rich with riches to spare — 
 
 Sweet wife, think how many, how many! " 
 
 " Yea, truly," she said, " yet I'd not barter one 
 While I bind up my sheaves of caresses; 
 
 But there's many, O many a poor rich wife 
 
 Who would give all her gold for the kisses! " 
 
 THE SNOW 
 
 Snow, snow. 
 Thou art, I trow, 
 The coverlet white, 
 Soft and light. 
 Of the old giant's bed in the sky! 
 
 No! 
 
 Saith the snow: 
 
 O foolish man 
 
 To think you can 
 Tell whence I come or whither go. 
 I am a dew-drop in my birth. 
 And, like the angels, start from earth 
 
 To go up high; 
 
 And then again. 
 
 Return to men. 
 In vestment white and new. 
 To hide the earth and leave the sky in view. 
 
YEAR BY YEAR 
 
 L. L. W. 
 
 I SAID, " It is my natal day; 
 Now write unto my friend, 
 And let me count the years long past 
 Since did our spirits blend ! " 
 
 Then spake my hands and spake my head, 
 And eke my feet said, " No, 
 We are too busy now to do 
 As when you loved her so." 
 
 Then up and spake my heart, and said, 
 " I am more busy still 
 Than hands or head or feet; for she 
 My ever}^ beat doth fill. 
 
 " Say thus unto thy gentle friend. 
 And tell her eke that I 
 Too busy am with present love 
 To count the days gone by. 
 
 " Say thus unto thy gentle friend, 
 And tell her she shall stay 
 To be the business of thy heart 
 Forever and a day," 
 
158 The Prescription 
 
 Now head, be still; and hand, be quick 
 And leave thy cares apart, 
 Till thou have writ unto my friend 
 The message of my heart. 
 
 THE PRESCRIPTION 
 
 I HEAR, — long waiting — hear at length, 
 
 That thou art broken, faint. 
 
 Thy face presaging better than thy strength, 
 
 And weak, Jieart-sinking — dear complaint 
 
 That moves my heart to make me sad ; 
 
 Yet too, makes glad; 
 
 For I am sad 
 
 For all thy pain, 
 
 Yet 'tis a gain 
 
 Of joy to feel love rise to sadness 
 
 And tenderness; — this is the gladness. 
 
 Dear Nature, I will seek thy store 
 Of sweet medicaments to heal 
 My dear friend's hurt, or else to steal 
 Soft melioration o'er her, if no more. 
 Rise, help me, all my love-profound 
 Study of precious simples, to compound 
 A medicine with knowledge sound, 
 To give her heart's-ease kind. 
 
 Now thus my balm shall be combined: 
 First take I the sky's blue 
 
The Prescription 159 
 
 Which heals the dim eye till it see; 
 
 Then quiverings of the breeze that knew 
 
 The dear cheek yesterday, 
 
 And now on mine doth play ; 
 
 For from both mine and thine 
 
 A virtue will combine 
 
 To help heart's-ease to thee 
 
 Whose heart is also mine. 
 
 Then sunshine; then the sparkling 
 
 Of free waters ; and then the darkling 
 
 Of pure cool shadows under trees, 
 
 Which the sun woos by messenger — the breeze, 
 
 A cloud's florescence, white, recessed, 
 
 I take — its tincture lulls to rest. 
 
 Then from the moon's peaked horn I drip 
 
 Some golden glintings; and I dip 
 
 The myosotis-shadows from a nook 
 
 Illumined by a fern-enberyled brook. 
 
 Some sounds I need, and take 
 
 The music where the rain-drops break 
 
 On forest leaves ; and the adjacent bird — 
 
 I take his song, at morning heard 
 
 When Dawn welcomes the Day, 
 
 Yet weeps dear Night that goes away. 
 
 So. The draught is good, yet needs 
 One more ingredient, one, 
 A strong elixir, costlier than aught 
 In tropic essences was ever sought; 
 So precious that was none 
 
i6o 
 
 jfesus 
 
 Distilled like it by magic deeds 
 
 Or spells in dearest tale 
 
 That ever to Time's wind spread sail. 
 
 Come, then, I pour you in, my soul, 
 
 My love, my hope, my w^hole 
 
 Of faithful hope and thought. 
 
 My own whole life. Thus fraught, 
 
 The medicine is finished. Go, 
 
 Pure simples, here put up; and O! 
 
 Medicinable be unto her mind. 
 
 And through its channels filter slow 
 
 Till thou her heart shall find 
 
 And give it ease; that she shall think 
 
 This is, though drawn by me, a sky-brewed drink. 
 
 JESUS 
 
 • Alone 
 
 Far have I come, and here pause, mountain 
 stopped. 
 A peak, cloud-girt, sunlighted by first beams 
 And last, with lavish hair of cedars topped, 
 Uptowers, feeding the plains with many streams. 
 
 sacred Master, thou art such a height. 
 
 1 climb, yet still thy head escapes, sky-lost. 
 Like to an island mountain is thy might, 
 Upreared alone. Itself the wide sea's coast: 
 The simple records of thy life, a chart 
 
 To lead to thee, make but a small survey. 
 
jfesus 1 61 
 
 No links can gird thee, nor hath any art 
 Of numbers to compute thee found a way. 
 
 But if, thus sailing, we come where on thee, 
 Though far, we look, how grand thy majesty ! 
 
 With Others 
 
 Sailing away, I slept, but heard a cry : 
 "Awake ! What, saw you but one mountain, then ? 
 Oh, that were monstrous in the earth or sky; 
 For solitude is monstrous! Look again!" 
 I looked, obeyed, and saw, — O glorious sight! — 
 Hills rise, peak after peak, a mighty chain ! 
 The Persian prophet reared his head of might, 
 And Israel's hero-sage uptowered amain; 
 And India's seer was one colossal peak. 
 And China's moralist in sad, lone state; 
 And one was the brave, wise, and gentle Greek, 
 Who reasoned in the streets with small or great. 
 Master and Christ, how vaster far thou art 
 When in such vastness thou dost take thy part! 
 
 With All 
 
 I have but looked away a moment; lo! 
 What! have the high peaks sunk, or risen the plain, 
 That now they seem but undulations slow 
 Along the margin of a mighty main? 
 Transported to the sky, this earthly sphere 
 Loses its features, forest, meadow, sea, 
 And in the firmament it rises clear 
 A star among its fellow stars to be, 
 
1 62 yean Armour 
 
 So, seen with all, the mighty sons of men 
 
 Sink in humanity, their features lost; 
 
 And all, with heroes still obscure, are then 
 
 Into one sky in one star-sprinkle tossed. 
 
 O Master, now how great art thou, on high 
 So to be lost, light merged in lighted sky! 
 
 In One 
 
 What these innumerable stars that gleam. 
 All fellow, in one sky ? More worlds of men ? 
 Or suns of worlds! And from the farthest beam 
 New firmaments; beyond these, new again. 
 In this infinity, no one is aught; 
 Yet faintest spark is safe, and ixv it fall 
 All joys and woes, and songs are sung, love sought; 
 And all are found and lost in God, — yea, all. 
 Great Master, Son of Man, alone thou wast. 
 Great, lone, and sad ; then with All Saints abroad 
 Dost walk, still greater: these with thee are lost 
 In one mankind ; and men, the world, the heavens, 
 in God. 
 
 Now thou art Infinite, thus hidden away ! 
 
 In search to know thee, we live, love, and pray. 
 
 JEAN ARMOUR 
 
 " What ! hast set at naught my heart ? 
 Well, 'tis true I gave but part : 
 Now I give all, all to thee." 
 Then not him but his loved she. 
 
THE OLD ANSWER TO THE OLD 
 QUESTION 
 
 THE OLD QUESTION 
 
 What sign of dumb entreaty lies within 
 Those pale hands crossed in death ; 
 
 What answer would those cold pale lips let fall 
 If given sudden breath? 
 
 What light of wondrous meaning breaks upon 
 
 That closely-lidded eye; 
 What great and untold mystery hides behind 
 
 The simple phrase, To die ? 
 
 —Celia P. Woolley, 
 
 No sign of dumb entreaty will be seen 
 
 When my hands cross in death; 
 Nor with new breath could I an answer give 
 
 More wondrous than this breath. 
 
 No light of meaning then will break upon 
 
 My closely-lidded eye, 
 Nor mystery hide behind, more wonderful 
 
 Than now before I die. 
 
 Friend, I tell thee in thine and every face 
 
 Are heavens so endless- vast. 
 When once to take them in the eye opes wide, 
 
 It sweeps before and past. 
 
164 Hymn 
 
 What things come but are hidden in what go ? 
 
 What go, but draw what come? 
 Food is the rock's heart, light darkles, song is whist, 
 
 And very speech sounds dumb. 
 
 HYMN 
 
 Father in heaven, thy dwelHng-place 
 Naught but a heaven can be; 
 
 come, inhabit thou my soul. 
 And make thy heaven in me. 
 
 1 know, O God, that where thou art 
 Either I cannot be 
 
 Or must, though but in little part 
 Share in thy heaven with thee. 
 
 If I but make the smallest part 
 In thy wide heaven's extent. 
 
 Or shine but as the farthest star 
 In thy great firmament, — 
 
 If thou who art to me the whole 
 Dost make me part to thee, 
 
 It is enough unto my soul; 
 It is my heaven to me. 
 
 If I have happiness beside, 
 
 It is ingulfed in this; 
 Or if I suffer, 'tis a wave 
 
 On a deep sea of bliss. 
 
PLEROMA 
 
 The sun shines bright 
 
 This sweet May-day : 
 
 Its splendid beam of white 
 
 And all-revealing light 
 
 Searches all things to find 
 
 The rich, the beautiful and rare ; 
 
 To pave for busy life a way ; 
 
 To show the useful still combined 
 
 With what most lovely is and fair; 
 
 To wake on hills the breeze, 
 
 And bid it chronicle the day 
 
 With rustling of fresh leaves. 
 
 And nodding whitecaps on the sea. 
 
 And having filled the world, it has to spare 
 
 For my heart, and filleth me. 
 
 On this day how the birds sing ! 
 
 They like the rich, cool air; 
 
 It woos their merriest notes; they bring 
 
 Their music wild and rare, 
 
 And the wonderful beauty of their airy forms. 
 
 That scarce will bend a twig, but ride on storms, 
 
 To deck and glorify the waving woods. 
 
 These are the rich and costly goods 
 
 That come from distant tropic marts 
 
1 66 Pteroma 
 
 Of Natufe's commerce, that ply their arts — 
 
 For this is living merchandise, with hearts 
 
 That feel and bodies of vital parts, — 
 
 To fill the fields with music, and the tree 
 
 With progeny melodious and fair; 
 
 And having filled all these, they have to spare 
 
 For my heart, and do fill me. 
 
 Beneath both sun and birds the flowers blow; 
 
 In these bright days they come and go 
 
 According to their seasons, and are glad 
 
 To go or come, so they may show 
 
 For their own space their beauties, and give back 
 
 To earth and sky the favors they have had. 
 
 In field and lane and ^vood there is no lack 
 
 Of these sweet monitors. How fresh they are! 
 
 How bright their colors, and how far 
 
 Their frasrrance sends its messag^e on the air I 
 
 I love them well and like to speak their names, — 
 
 A plain politeness that each blossom claims 
 
 Whene'er the herald season, well arrayed 
 
 In golden livery, has duly made 
 
 Announcement of arriv^als new. 
 
 They fill the grass with tender eyes 
 
 Full of soft color, and every overarching hue 
 
 They can reflect, of morning, noon, or evening 
 
 skies; 
 They fill the woods with sweetness, and the brooks 
 With cool images of margined nooks; 
 The insect appetite they satisfy and bear 
 
yudging 167 
 
 No malice to the honey-seeking bee. 
 
 And having filled all these, they have to spare 
 
 For my heart, and do fill me. 
 
 In this place heart and mind are open, and all 
 Blissful; sun, bird, and plant do fill me; but withal, 
 I am just full to happiness, not opprest 
 By struggles to contain, as with the good things 
 
 that infest 
 The toiling places of my daily strife. 
 The rush of thoughts, experience, arts, and crafts 
 
 that crowd 
 Even the pleasure-paths of common life, 
 And urges each his claim aloud. 
 Nature is not indolent, nor do I praise 
 Her with hill-side listlessness in idle days; 
 And common cares are good, and every rill 
 Of life that joins the freshet of the will. 
 If so they leave a season to be still. 
 
 JUDGING 
 
 Now. We are on the sea-shore. Scoop thou up 
 
 The water in thy hand till thy palm's cup 
 
 Be full. Canst thou perceive the drop that came 
 
 From Amazon, or the prismatic flame 
 
 That shot from heaven in equatorial rain? 
 
 Within thy shallow palm canst thou descry 
 
 The mid-sea blue, or filter with thine eye 
 
1 68 Prophets 
 
 From that clear meagre basin, the dark stain 
 
 Of ships and cities ? Then wilt thou dare take 
 
 A dip of me, and in that shallow scoop 
 
 Me read, — what earth-fed rills and rivers troop 
 
 To my soul's sea, what sky-born torrents break ? 
 
 Me lov'st not? Yet, be awed. Thou canst 
 not sound 
 
 My ill or good, which the infinite Main hath 
 
 drowned. 
 
 PROPHETS 
 
 The voice of man, 
 The voice of God, 
 Come with the divining rod 
 And part them if you can. 
 As the light 
 Upon the flower, 
 As the might 
 Of God, the power 
 That doth fill 
 And overflow. 
 With present will. 
 Above, below. 
 All that lives, — 
 The heart that gives. 
 The singing bird. 
 The spoken word. 
 The garden cress. 
 
Prophets 169 
 
 The soft caress, 
 
 Women that weep, 
 
 Insects that creep, 
 
 The fruitful land, 
 
 The yellow corn, 
 
 The stern command, 
 
 The battle horn, 
 
 The vale, the hill. 
 
 The mountain crest. 
 
 The forge, the mill. 
 
 The East, the West,— 
 
 So, o'er my soul. 
 
 In memories sweet. 
 
 The good, the great 
 
 Their inspiration roll! 
 
 Jesus and Paul, 
 
 Huss, and therri all, 
 
 The martyr throng 
 
 Through ages long, 
 
 I love and own. 
 
 And call my own 
 
 Through love alone. 
 
 Not as Master, 
 
 Not as Lord 
 Comes the pure prophetic word ; 
 With meaning vaster. 
 Coming faster 
 Than my spirit can record. 
 It makes me one with all the race; 
 The saint, the seer I find in me ; 
 
170 
 
 Ccedmon 
 
 And while I see 
 How I am the buried good, 
 I stand within the flood 
 Of the eternal grace, 
 Trembling to know I am God's dwelling place. 
 
 C^DMON 
 
 'TwAS thus we learned to sing. 
 The Soul first, who taught me: 
 Loud did the rafters ring 
 With sounds of revelry. 
 Where the Earl sat at feast 
 With churls from high to least. 
 The lusty men had made 
 Their meal; the wine was red 
 And bubbling like swift streams. 
 Then passed the harp around 
 And woke its homefelt sound 
 To songs of love and war, 
 Of wine when mirth is bright, 
 Of love when heart is light. 
 Of valor in the fight, 
 And mighty deeds of war. 
 But we — we could not sing; 
 We knew no touch of string. 
 The Soul loved not such themes; 
 Not songs of love, such like. 
 Nor wine, nor arms that strike; 
 And had my hands no might 
 
Ccedmon 171 
 
 To press the harp's coy sprite 
 
 To sing. So we went out, 
 
 The Soul and I, about 
 
 The barns where beasts were pent. 
 
 Sweet grain-breathed creatures stood 
 
 Waiting their drink and food. 
 
 The Soul was well content, 
 
 Nor thought the time ill spent 
 
 In lowly offices 
 
 To do beasts good, like these. 
 
 Then we a-weary fell, 
 
 And laid us down a spell 
 
 To rest, only to rest; 
 
 But I asleep fell fast; 
 
 The Soul slept not, awake 
 
 With thoughts for his high sake. 
 
 The stable-born. Then spake 
 
 A voice, and said, " Sing, sing." 
 
 The Soul tlirilled; but a thing 
 
 Of dreams it seemed, — and led 
 
 Me whither away ? I said : 
 
 " Who art thou, Lord ? " Again 
 
 Came louder the same word, 
 
 Bidding me sing; and when 
 
 I still woke not, the third 
 
 Time the great voice I heard : 
 
 *' Sing, sing." The Soul with me 
 
 Then answered: "That will we; 
 
 But, Lord, what shall it be ? " 
 
 Then spake the voice once more; 
 
1 ^2 Morning 
 
 " Sing the beginning o'er 
 Of all the creatures." Then, 
 As waves on dry shells roll, 
 Awoke I, and the Soul 
 I found awake. And we 
 Were filled with song like day. 
 And straightway sang aloud, 
 As when the billows crowd 
 Against a sounding shore, — 
 Of creatures, how they sprang 
 From the Lord's love on high, 
 And in him live alway. 
 And evermore we sang, 
 'Mid the pure revelry 
 Of Nature's hostelry; 
 And with the music rang 
 -The rafters of the sky. 
 T'was thus to sing learned T^^e: 
 The Soul first, and taught me. 
 
 MORNING 
 
 Quick! to the marriage feast! 
 The earth and I are wedded to-day : 
 The clouds and the waters in splendid array 
 Attend, with the sun in the east, — 
 And troops of warblers lay 
 Garlands of song in my way. 
 O life is too blissful ! Yet if I die not, 
 'Tis because death is blissfuler still, I wot, 
 
JOHN ATHELING 
 
 I. 
 
 John Athkling — I wager thou know'st him not, 
 With all thy knowledge: little more know I. 
 'Twas singing in the street that he was found, 
 Like the great Wittenbergian, singing, wandering, 
 Picking up pittances thrown him from the win- 
 dows 
 Of folk who oped them wide to hear, delighted, 
 The marvellous voice. Yet so the pittance fed him 
 And gave him strength to sing, 'twas all his care : 
 The song his life was ; the scant food it purchased 
 Was but the fuel of force to sing again. 
 Older he than the German lad, no child — 
 Though young, a man ; and a man's great baritone 
 His voice was, noble, grand, glorious, humane, — 
 That not alone the idlers in the houses, 
 Or the easy and sheltered busy, threw up shutter 
 And sash to catch the tones, but in the streets' 
 Throngs stopped, of busy men and laborers. 
 Of all the grades of labor, from the scholar. 
 From busy merchant, to the carrier of the hod. 
 Yea, to the rag-picker, and round him close 
 All gathered, tarrying, forgetting, forgotten, fused 
 In human nature reduced from many ores 
 And molten to one ingot by that voice. 
 
1 74 yohn Atheling 
 
 And so he sang, and sang to live, they said ; 
 But 'twas not so ; he sang, but Hved to sing. 
 
 It chanced one day he passed a master's door, 
 Passed singing, and the master sat inside, 
 In the grand state of art rapt with dehght 
 In harmonies that from his mind to fingers, 
 And through the fingers to the strings, and then 
 Through trembhng strings, escaped to the atmos- 
 phere. 
 Till, in the air fallen and folded, they swept 
 Again into another brain entranced, 
 Like his from whom they sprang, with holy pleas- 
 ure. 
 
 Athwart this harmony burst the young man's song, 
 And through the pure delight a keener joy 
 Pierced like a blade of light the master's heart. 
 And through the rich sweet sounds the richer 
 
 sound 
 Ran mingling, yet unmingled. As a stream 
 Of fragrances from the wild turf may rise 
 And float, still individual, through the air. 
 Then kiss the utmost leaves, and in them merge. 
 In living veins, — so swelled, so rose the sound. 
 The master started from his instrument 
 At tones from heaven's own instrument more rich 
 Than aught of human make, though these be rich 
 With heaven's descended powers, and straightway 
 
 ran 
 
yohn Atheling lyS 
 
 No leap of the sound to lose, eager for all ; 
 
 Then quickly, as joy moves, or, quicker, wonder. 
 
 Flew to the door and hailed the lad, and called 
 
 And bade him come, and quicker still in-drew him 
 
 From marveling crowds and listening wanderers. 
 
 And asked from him again the wondrous sound 
 
 Of that deep voice, which in its depth was light 
 
 And in its highest reach majestic depth. 
 
 From the which hour they never parted, the twain, 
 
 But lived together, master and pupil : the one 
 
 A king of power, of masterful lore of art, 
 
 And full of fervent love ; the other, a prince. 
 
 The king's own son by spiritual getting. 
 
 Who for the king-father's love a filial gave 
 
 And took his lessons with a rich affection. 
 
 And so within the mind as well as heart. 
 
 And so in skillful body eke as well. 
 
 The lessons nursed a still more glorious music. 
 
 Began he now to sing as he had never 
 
 Of singing dreamed, or learned that any throat 
 
 Could utter such divinity of sound. 
 
 But all in tone — by arduous exercises. 
 
 Rich rising grades. No daisied meads of tunes 
 
 Did he, the severe moraler in music, 
 
 Permit his precious charge to tread in dalliance : 
 
 Nay, nay, but stern gymnastic day by day 
 
 And many hours each day. And murmured not 
 
 John Atheling, but toiled and wrought his best 
 
 For double love, — love of his master's art 
 
 And of his master: nay, a triple love, — 
 
176 yohn Atheling 
 
 For precious to him were his glorious tones 
 Out-pouring, daily more engendered, strong 
 From breast strong growing, and from tuneful 
 
 throat 
 Unfeigned first, then refining, like fine gold 
 Refined, till what seemed perfect grew perfection. 
 And so, I say, they lived, master and lad 
 Growing together, and in daily happiness, 
 The master growing in pride and joyfulness, 
 The pupil in his art, and both in love. 
 
 II. 
 
 So five bright years together. Then one day 
 The lad came running (for, though man full 
 
 grown. 
 Simple he was at heart, and boyish too, 
 As pure and holy music keeps its votaries), — 
 Came running, as I said, with glee uncommon, 
 And cried, " Dear master, pray thee, let me sing 
 What now is ravishing my heart. For early 
 This morn, full early, yea, in the very dawn, 
 I heard sweet sounds, and I could sleep no more: 
 Sweet sounds, I say, as in imagination 
 Woke me my voice as thou would'st have it be ; 
 And I could almost see the tones, they thrilled 
 So in the air, as thou wouldst have them be. 
 So I arose, voice-waked, voice-led, and thus 
 By thee led, master, for thou hast led the voice. 
 And forth into the park (thou knowest the place) 
 I hastened, following the sounds, nay, running 
 
John Atheling 17^ 
 
 To come up with the voice which seemed thy soul, 
 Thy tutoring spirit, heart and mind together. 
 Drawing me on, as I a stranger were 
 To both, yet knowing both and owning them. 
 And there I heard, O master, other sounds 
 That were diviner than my voice, thy dreams. 
 Our mingled dreams and toils ; for all the trees, 
 The tips of trees, the tender nodding reeds 
 Above the waters, yea, the breasts of flowers, 
 And all the weaving of the ecstasies 
 Of soft green branches tossing in the morning. 
 Were vocal with bird-songs. O how they sang ! 
 And how their pinions whirred and quivered, 
 
 clipped 
 By the sharp light — harmlessly, for still they flew ! 
 What multitudes ! as there they came, not gath- 
 ered 
 In any ranks, but sprinkled like the dew 
 Wherever a green place could hold a foot 
 Of a sweet singer, all pouring forth in one 
 Their glorious matins to the rising sun. 
 And, as I thought, to One above the sun. 
 Then as I listened, I could catch, my master, — 
 Not in one strain, not in one songster's notes, 
 But in them all, and laying each by each. 
 As down they fluttered, perching in my sense 
 From different heights, yea, up from coverts low, 
 Till the whole air a habitation seemed 
 Whence carols — gentle guests — crowded my ear, — 
 A melody, voice pieced by note and note 
 
1^8 yohri Atheling 
 
 From out their marvelous throats, with tones so 
 
 high 
 They pierced the ether, and so heavy-sweet 
 They sank Hke weight into my soul; — I pieced 
 A melody, which brought m.e then to thee, 
 As every path to the horizon leads; 
 For thou art always in my skies. And sky-like 
 This music is ; dear master, let me sing it." 
 But said the master, as one might chide a child 
 For some brave fault, a fault, yet still most precious, 
 " Nay, nay, my boy, I tell thee nay ; 'tis naught. 
 Thou hast been ravished by the birds' shrill throats. 
 'Tis ^vell ; they are pretty singers, I love them 
 
 vv^ell. 
 Yea, and myself do hear them with delight, — 
 Howbeit, old to suck the dawn's dank humors 
 And let its nipping shrewdness to this arm 
 That hath rheumatic murmurs in the elbow, 
 To hear the birds complain of dew's excess 
 Unto the princely sun. But speak not thou 
 Of melodies to sing ; come, tame thy heart ; 
 This is the hour of task ; take thou thy stand ; 
 Here is thy exercise ; so, now begin." 
 
 III. 
 
 'Twas not long after this when came the youth 
 One golden noon, and with noon in his cheeks, 
 There so was harvested meridian joy. 
 " Master," he said, " O wonderful, and then 
 More wonderful, and still most heavenly strange ! 
 
yohn Aiheling 179 
 
 How can I tell thee what hath happened to me ? 
 
 I have such splendor for thee in my soul, 
 
 To leap like fairies' dances — nay, not so. 
 
 But like religious chant — into thine ear. 
 
 'Twas but an hour ago, that at high noon 
 
 I stood upon the bridge that clasps the river. 
 
 Round which, thou knowest, the great factories 
 
 gather 
 That pour their mingling black and white, like 
 
 vestures 
 Of spiritual nuns, through the adjacent isles 
 Of the silent grove. And it was noon, just noon. 
 When from the labors of the morn the workers 
 Had stopped for rest and bodily food. First sprang 
 The vocal breath from one great whistle; answered 
 Another then, and then a third ; then others. 
 Each following each, and hastening, clustering, 
 So that the slow first tones seemed weaving 
 
 rhythms 
 For figures after, as on thy instrument 
 Oft thou hast shown me ; and therewith sweet 
 
 tune 
 Flowed forth, note following note, symmetrical. 
 Till voice and glorious melody I heard, 
 Made of the whistles' tones; first solemn, slow, 
 Then graduall}^, as one ran on another. 
 Adding to the mighty melody new figures 
 Of rapid notes and curving runs of notes, 
 Till what began so serious and grand 
 Took flight for very joy into the heavens, — 
 
I So yohn Atheling 
 
 But not less grand nor serious for the joy, 
 
 The quivering throngs of notes lifting it up 
 
 Like wings. Master, it seized me I Bid me, I 
 
 pray thee, 
 I pray thee bid me, for I can sing it thee." 
 This time the master frow'ned, and answered 
 
 shortly, 
 "Dost see the hour ? Chatter no more, but come. 
 Take thou thy'lesson ; sing this minor scale. 
 And see thou blur not these clipped inter^-als 
 Where I have marked them in, strangers to thee. 
 
 IV. 
 
 So 'twas, that erst at mom when Atheling's soul 
 Was ravished with the bird-songs, and at noon, 
 W^hen the strange shrieks of steam pipes in his 
 
 heart 
 To music grew^, first did the master speak 
 To him as to a child from a wrong caressed ; 
 Then frown on him and bid him to his task. 
 But all the same (for \vhat's in soul ^vill out) 
 He came one evening, later by a month. 
 Looking like one in whom experience 
 Had bloomed into a fervor, and thus spake : 
 " A strange thing, master, a moving, mighty thing! 
 KnoAV that this evening I had wandered early. 
 Till I had found me at a crossing street 
 Where throngs of men were sweeping by me, 
 
 busy 
 Returning from more business ; and women too, 
 
yohn Atheling 18 1 
 
 Yea, even girls and boys, all tired, all glad 
 
 To be let out into the air from labor. 
 
 Voices, released, rang loud on every side ; 
 
 On pavements the crowds rattled, and thronging 
 
 teams 
 Jostled each other to the driver's call 
 And crack of whip, — sometimes a wrathful scream. 
 Though soon engulfed in the great roar that rose, 
 Like wind and w^ave commingled on the coast, 
 Around me. And the sharp, shrill tread of feet 
 On pavement, multitudinous, came up 
 To top the roar, shot with sheen gleams of voices, 
 I heard a distant bell, clanging before. 
 Now rolling with the rest, so that all seemed 
 An instant as if all were bells, different, 
 But ringing with one thought in many parts. 
 Ah, master, it was grand, this symphony, 
 Of hurrying men and rustling dress of women, 
 The boy's hallo, the laugh of girls (what wed- 
 dings !), 
 And prattle of toddling babes, led by their hands, 
 The rattling crowds, the teamster's shout, dogs 
 
 barking. 
 The clangor of great doors opening and shutting, 
 All mingled in one vast reverberation 
 Which to my sense was wondrous harmony. 
 I lost myself, I was at home with thee ; 
 I heard thee playing, I beheld thy hands 
 Calling these peals tumultuous of sound 
 From out a vast sublimity of pipes 
 
1 82 John Atheling 
 
 Towering in an organ with ten thousand pedals 
 Of base that roared like flame, and piped with 
 
 notes 
 Of reeds and flutes that shot aloft like sparks. 
 I tell thee I could play that harmony ; 
 It hath lived in me while I have run to thee 
 And floating a-top of it a melody 
 Which played the flutes and reeds unto the base. 
 O let me play ; for though my fingers skill not 
 To gather all these ecstasies, like thine. 
 Yet I can beacon thine imagination, 
 Till thou canst play the whole, and I can sing thee 
 The splendid melody that ran above. 
 Can sing it perfectly : — dear master, bid me." 
 Now rose the man in wrath, assuaged no longer. 
 And from his eye shot menace ; his voice trembled; 
 " Silence ! " he cried, « What shall I call thee ? 
 
 In grate ? 
 Apostate ? Disobedient ? Or only foolish ? 
 What art thou, what ? A boy, a silly boy ! 
 Ignorant thou art, ay, nothing ; thou art nothing. 
 Wouldst thou teach me, or rather I teach thee } 
 Wilt thou come to me with thy silly tunes, 
 Begging to sing what I have set thee not, 
 And will not set, for I know well thy need. 
 And the right tasks to bring thee to the end ! 
 Be done, I say ; thou shalt not sing one tune, 
 Nor dream of one to put it into sound. 
 Until I bid thee. Get thee to thy task. 
 In all thy silly dreams upon the streets, 
 
yohn Atheling 183 
 
 Standing a-gawk, I doubt not, on a corner, 
 Amid the hurrying throngs that stared at thee 
 To see the silly flush burn in thy face, 
 I warrant me thou thought'st not of thy lesson 
 And of the exercise awaiting thee. 
 Stand to it now, and do thy task, I say." 
 Then, the while Atheling obeyed and sang 
 With sweet implicitness of faith obediently. 
 And the voice august that grander grew each day, 
 And more a mountain like, rooted past depth 
 In the central earth and towering to the skies, 
 Clad in all colors, in all lights and shadows. 
 From snowy white through glints of green and 
 
 brown 
 Down to the mountain's foot that stood on night, 
 So deep the valley of its rest, — swelled like a tide 
 That would o'erflow the horizon, ran the master 
 Away, and by himself fell on his knees. 
 And wept with joy, and prayed thanksgivingly. 
 Even for the very things that he had chided. 
 And gave God thanks for his great pupil's gifts. 
 
 V. 
 
 At last 'twas ended; thus the master spoke : 
 
 " My lad, my son, my more than son, go now, 
 
 I bid thee, for I have done all I can. 
 
 Thou hast done well, toiled manfully, and now 
 
 I send thee hence, though 'tis as if my heart 
 
 I took from out my breast and sent away. 
 
 But listen : since first I took thee from the street 
 
1 84 
 
 yohn Atheling 
 
 No tune hast sung, not one, but only tasks, 
 To work like grim smiths at the splendid metal 
 Of thy grand voice, and hammer it to shape. 
 Now thou shalt go to foreign land, my son. 
 The home of song itself, where thou shalt bathe 
 In melodies, as the East bathes in the Ocean 
 When in the West the far beholder sees 
 Dawn lift his head from the horizon's pillow. 
 Yes, thou shalt feed on music, for thou has wrought 
 
 it; 
 
 And great heaven-cleaving songs shall lift thee, 
 
 teaching 
 Thy voice to fly as wings on either side 
 To bear thee to God's grace. And thou shalt find 
 There masters to thy mind, who shall reveal thee 
 These songs magnificent, and pour around thee 
 Such streams, yea, rivers, oceans, yea, of tune 
 As never birds had done, nor noon-tide pipes 
 Nor all. the city's jar had stirred in thee. 
 This shall thy masters do ; and now I give thee 
 To them for love of thee, and of thy voice. 
 Which is heaven's gift to thee, and the world 
 
 through thee. 
 But when by them thou art to glory led, 
 I charge thee, forget not me, but bend thy love 
 In memory over me, a richer crown 
 Even than these gray hairs. Farev/ell, my son." 
 So went John Atheling, mournfully, yet glad, 
 Though very glad, yet mournfully, to leave 
 His masterful, kind-stern and stern-kind teacher 
 
John Atheling 185 
 
 Who him had taken for love and taught for love, 
 And bound for love to stern tasks day by day, 
 For love of him, of music, and of God, — 
 All one to him, for God lives in his gifts. 
 So went the youth, and on the high sea soon 
 Beneath his bounding heart the ship was bound- 
 ing 
 On crests of waves that to him singing seemed 
 And saying severally, " Speed on, speed on ! 
 We are the figures of the melodies 
 Which thou art hastening to, and thou shalt meet 
 Us there agam, and in the rising tones, 
 The rising, tossing tones of jubilant tunes. 
 Or the great roll of solemn hymns of praise. 
 Thou shalt again float on us on a sea." 
 So sped the days, with ecstasies of sound. 
 With dreams of songs, with the sweet plashes 
 
 breaking 
 Upon his ear of melodies far off. 
 As when a tide just setting toward the flood 
 First ripples gently on the farthest reef. 
 So sped the days ; until the clouds grew black. 
 And the wind roared, and then drew breath, drew 
 
 breath 
 And louder roared, with dreadful clamor, tearing 
 Down through mute striving clouds. The waters 
 
 rose 
 To meet the roar of the wind, and joined in fury 
 And larum of ungovernable tempest. 
 What wind and waters lacked the thunders forged, 
 
i86 
 
 yohn Atheling 
 
 And where the clouds were rent, the Hghtnings 
 
 laced them 
 In deeper seams of blackness. Under the vessel 
 Raged one storm and above another whirled ; 
 Between them rolling it lay, crushed and ground, 
 Out-bruising the aroma of hearts, cries, prayers, 
 Like maize between the mill stones. It was 
 
 doomed. 
 It could not float, — wrecked, torn, rent, oroken, 
 
 gaping ; 
 Waters poured in and gained on laboring men 
 Till they forsook the work, foreswore it, crouch- 
 ing 
 To die. But this the singer saw not, heard not; 
 Or if he saw, he thought not life was going 
 But song was come. The elements in storm 
 Sang to him harmonies, and over them 
 Forth from his memory leaped melodies 
 Fitting the scene terrific, the awful moment. 
 So there upon the prow he stood, and sang. 
 While the wrecked vessel settled inch by inch 
 At the broken stern from which the rudder, twisted. 
 Was hurled by the curling wave into the sea. 
 He stood and sang; and rose the great grand 
 
 voice 
 Heaven-high above the roar of elements, — 
 So high and full, it seemed as though they quailed. 
 And stopped to listen to the greater sound 
 Than they knew how to lift to heaven's ear. 
 IJe sang great requiems, and passion-music, 
 
yohn Atheling iSj 
 
 And a world's hope-music, which, Messiah-filled, 
 Broke o'er the earth as now the sea the vessel. 
 Now, now he could sing! Now melodies could 
 
 mount 
 From memory's heart to voice, from voice to 
 
 heaven ; 
 And as he sang, thinking of naught but singing 
 And joyf ulness that he was free to sing 
 With none f orbiding, neither his master's frown 
 Nor conscience stern therewith, the people trem- 
 bled; 
 They heard, they looked, they looked and heard, 
 
 and then 
 Fell low on their knees, bent, crawled, crept, 
 
 pressed around him. 
 Together clinging close and pressing closer. 
 All on their knees, with hands clasped and uplifted. 
 And with their uplifted hands their faces lifted 
 Toward him and toward the sky, the singer, and 
 
 heaven 
 Whither flew the song. He sang, and hearts were 
 
 stilled 
 Wilder than waters, lifted above the storm 
 As the ship sank below it: and at the highest. 
 When highest rose the song, down from the pin- 
 nacle 
 Of music rushed the vessel into the waters 
 That beat about its feet, and so was gone. 
 
EPODOS 
 
 Azvaiting a birthy 
 
 For the light athirst^ 
 The seed in its shell 
 
 Is Sirwn in the earth 
 With the Jire of the dezv^ 
 Till it stir, till it s^>ell. 
 Till it break^ till it hurst 
 Into mew. 
 
 And song is pent 
 In verse, till blent 
 With the heat, "with the tears. 
 With thejires and the fairs. 
 With thejf^', ivith the pain 
 Of a heart, and lain 
 In that sacred earth 
 Till it stir, till it spring. 
 Till it break, till it 'wing 
 Into birth. 
 
 The song — it 'will stay. 
 Though seed-coat of verse 
 Dissotve and disperse^ — 
 It ivill bide, it Tvill stay. 
 It zv ill grow aliDay, 
 Where first it did start, — 
 In a heart. 
 
1