(y\^:.r^-^ .,^^"> •h> %/ « o. ■^*b ,^-^ ■% c » *' = . -^o ^'/'^o 0' •\<;>' .0 o V^ .'v^ ^^ ^. V "-,/;..„;% *.-'\>*.s..,. ^*-.% '%* ,.^ 3 N (^^ ' <^r ,x>' -^^^ V_ aV >0^ '^z-. v^ .^: ,^ % .0- \o^V'"v> ^V ^*, - V '' . o. ,0 o. 0- s ' . -^^ .-^^ ^0 Oo. 9 1 A Poems of AND flbelat^d to H^loise, BY liOt^EH^O sosso, AUTHOR OF 'Solitude", ''Island of Htlantis," "Cain," and Othet* Poefns. V'^/fej ;^ 2- C^ lb sowMC? ^/le tocdn in a S ; To cZeaiie the ancient tree^ ichose root, Nurtured within the soil of wrong, Has borne a sad and bitter fruit. SAJM FnAfiCISCO: B. Griffith &. Sons, Pfintefs and Publisliet^s, 1891. COPYRIGHT 1891. BY LORENZO SOSSO. MY BOOK. A weed upon the ocean, I have thrown it: Was it mine? I care not if it was, for I disown it; Go, let it steep in brine! Perchance it yet may twine Around the brow of some sad poet perished Full twenty fathoms down. Or by a nymph be taken up and cherished, And woven for her crown. O glory! O renown! ITS SONG. A song upon the silence, so I sing it: Is it heard? I care not if it be, if Love could bring it To where one radiant bird Might tremble at each word That rises, falls, and swells, the whilst outpouring The depth of its desire. O carol for an angel! whom, adoring, To win I dare aspire. star! crown of fire! CONTENTS. POEMS OF HUMANITY. Dedicatiou Pa,c:e Cleonice 11 Ruth 26 A Sons: of Hellas 40 Nobility 4.5 Kosmos .47 Ben Ezra C-'ontinueth 48 If God be Love 5-3 Tlie Night to the Dawn .54 Looking Forward Bl V Dream of Gods 63 Btlief in God 66 Christmas .68 Catullus 70 Genesis 74 Cybele 76 Eros 79 Dreams 80 Pan 82 To E-a 82 To E-a 83 To E a 84 To E-a 86 To E-a 87 Soul-Thoughts 89 Easter-Lilies 90 Art's Dignities 91 Democracy 93 Eemembrance 97 Ultimate Thule 98 Beliefs 99 God's Prophet 100 Messages 102 Blossoms 103 Duties of Man 104 Axioms 104 The Poet 105 A Battle-Song 107 Humanity 108 In a Cemetery 110 Love's Divinities 112 Ordeals 113 Lamentings 114 De Profundis 116 Re-incarnation 117 Page Life and Love 119 A Token of Dreams 120 Questionings 122 After-Ages 123 Life anil Death 124 Song of the Shepherds 124 David 126 Christ 128 Nationalism 130 Oracles 132 A Legend 135 Mysteries 138 Palm-Shoots 139 A Prayer 148 Sonnets of Humanity 149 ABELAED TO HELOISE. Dedicatiou Prologue 167 The Dawn 170 Thy Love 172 The Sbiuing Star 173 Soul-Betrotlial 174 Benediction 176 Vesper-Bells 176 A Question 176 Life's Mission 177 The Interval.. 178 Shadows 178 Song 179 Heloise 180 Karma 181 Morning 182 Son g 1^*3 Song 184 A Day in June 184 Guerdons 186 Sons: 187 Last Month of the year 188 At the Shrine 190 What Love has taught 192 Aurora 193 Spring 194 Rose-Leaves 194 Sonnets to Heloise 202 Epilogue, 222 CLEOXICE. PART I. In phalanxes of many thousand gross, As once of ohl the Greeks at Tenedos, Their S(jiiadroned ships drawn upward on the s]i<>re Poured from those triremes with tumultuous roar: Thence to the famous fields of mighty Tro}^ Behind whose walls fair Helen and the coy Idalian shepherd in each other's arms Si^ught amorous refuge from all war's alarms; 'Till Ilion's smouldering battlements fell at lengtli: Though many years great Hector's giant strength Stemmed like a towering fosse the rushing tide Oi all the Grecion host, so in their i)ride Gf armament, their pomp of splendid dress, Helms, cuirasses, and shields of gorgeousness. Pausanias and his bloody legions come To the fair city of Byzantium: To raze her illustrious palaces to the ground. All of the neighboring fields and plains around Were thronged with warriors, chariots, and steeds. As thick as murmuring bees or rustling reeds That form a cooling covert on the banks Gf Simois. Turms, squadrons, cohorts, ranks. Raged at her portals, battlements and walls. As when a jnyriad torrent-waterfalls Loosed from their glacier-caverns by the Spring Roll, roar, and foam with hoarest uttering Through gorge and canyon to the vales below, So this besieging multitudinous foe 12 CLEONICE. Thundered without her gates, and at each post Stoutened for vantage, haled a raging host. Until with horrid clash of shields and din Of hattery, and catapult, the}^ win The fierce contested siege, the fearful fray. And place the residents 'neath Spartan sway. But here the general's unsated lust Of crime and slaughter, or his weak mistrust OF that success which conjes through force of arms. When Mars awakens unto war's alarms, Bade him give freedom to his warrior-men. Who, like a pack of wolves in shepherd's pen, Spoiled and despoiled the city of each prize That glorified her in the pilgrim's eyes. Rank from the carnage of victorious fray, Like vultures that though feeding on their prey Seem never gorged, they throng her beauteous streets, Her palaces and luxurious retreats. With standards fluttering and with trumpets blown, Proclaiming conquest, temples overthrown; The massacre of multitudes, the reign Of tyranny; the holocaust of slain. The bride torn from the bridegroom, and the child Torn from its mother. And anon, the wild Sad lamentable moan and mingled wail Of bleeding lips that shrieked their piteous tale. Sweet innocence debauched, the ravished fair. By beasts too cruel to pity or to spare. Voluptuously they blighted on the soil The prodigality of Nature's toil. And workmanship of Beauty's richest arts. As if Apollo's pestilential darts Were showering their vengeance on the head Of rich Byzantium citizens, not yet dead. Who saw their city like a panting hind. Around whose form some monstrous snake doth wind Its pythian-coil, thus tortured and deprived CLEONICE. 13 Of all the splendors that had yet survived Woeful incursions from barbarian lands: From Syrian, Scythian, and from Parthian bands. Her temples, mir.arets, and sacred halls Were now profaned by Romans, Greeks, and Gauls, Who sacrilegeously purloined those things Which formed the gifts and treasures of her kings. Her massy tripods and her jars of gold; Her goddesses and gods, a thousandfold ^lore precious than these ornaments of state; Arms, purples, shields, casques, flagons, burnished plate, Jewels and signets, an enormous sum; Beside the glory of Byzantium, Each treasured mart, or lofty-pillared aisle, Carved arabesque, or stately perist\de, Or monolith, or obelisk of stone, AV^ith volutes carven and their friezes strown AVith garlands of acanthus rich in form. Lay like a forest shattered by a storm. But could the grosser rabble do such deeds Of despoilation, sprung from crimsoned seeds Of fearful warfare, and their whilom king Abstain himself from such considering? Can we absolve a general from blame Who leaves his warriors thus debauch his fame? we have read that once the angels fell. But 'twas a devil led them into hell. One heart corrupt corrupts a thousand more. Thus making crime more hellish than before. Can Innocence beguile a child of Sin? Then Truth is false; and Falsehood doth begin, To robe herself in truth's resplendent dress. Then fair is foul, and foul is loveliness. It is the canKer that defiles a rose; It is the weed that in the garden grows; It is the cloud that blights the sun's pure beams; Else life is nought, or is not what it seems. 14 CLEONICE. Just SO their own commander was far more Corrupted, base, within his own heart's core Than any slave or warrior of his host. Alas! Athene, what hadst thou to boast When men so cursed a cause could consecrate Bowing subjection to a tyrants state. Whose very lips that issued his commands Were more polluted than his sanguined hands. Whose very thoughts did breed a sensual feast, The common sty of every common beast. Whose very acts perverted virtue's deeds, Sowing the ground for lust's lascivious seeds. Fame crowns no such a conquerer at length; But shrines the warrior nobly, whose vast strength Though terrible in war, in peace resumes The olive branches for the martial plumes. Close to the glorious palace of the king, All other palaces outrivalling, Which, like an eagle stricken from its perch, Lay vvholly overthrown through the mad search For hidden treasures, and for priceless stores, To feed the rapine of these tuskless boars. There was a mansion of Ionian build: With sweetest incense and with fragrance filled. A spacious marble stairway strand ly led To two winged hippogriffs whose fearful head Guarded the columned portico, each plinth With coronal of carven hyacinth. Slim marble shafts upheld its lofty roof While pendant from all visitors aloof AVere lucid cressets teeming with their spice; Poppy or cinnamon or ambegrise. Its spacious chambers and its damasked halls Delicious odors breathed. While its walls Were rich with frescoings of gorgeous hues. Some populous cities, some distended views Of climbing mountainous regions wild and vast . CLEONICE. 15 Here trains of caravans and camels passed Beneath a torrid sun. Upon each side Followed a bearded and a turbaned guide Guarding the treasures of luxurious kings. Here were the beautiful Castallian springs, With many rosy and enchanting nymphs Peering above the fountains for a glimpse Of Baccharids and Hamadr\'ads fair: While weaving for their unbound dripping hair Chaplets of blossoms-dank. Here stood a beast, Tied to its tether, garlanded, while a priest Prepared the altar for the sacrifice. Beautiful youths and maidens near threw spice Upon the crackling leaves, or on the sod Poured wine in pure libation to their god. Here had the artist's skillful pencil traced The foaming coursers as they madly raced Toward the goal at the Olympian games. The chariot wheels revolved like whirling flames Along the ground. On either side a host Of eager faces thronged to see who most Pressed victor-like a leader in the race. Here was a forest picturing the chase Of a white fawn by many hounds. Behind Their tresses loosened tremulous in the wind, A band of Dian's nymphs. Each in her hand A bow unbent. And one who led the band, A wreathed horn of pearl, whose amber tip She cinctured by each virgin rubied lip. The sweet anemones amidst the grass Seemed turning to behold each huntress pass, And trembling at the presence of the morn, Or at the ringing melody of the horn. In every arched niche or hidden porch, A marble sybil held a marble torch Aloft. And at the entrance of e^ach room Rich alabaster vases filled with bloom 16 CLEONICE. Of every garden stood. The fairest kind That e'er the amorous Eagean wind Wove as a wreath for Maia's beauteous son. Gorgeous hangings, crimson-grained, and spun By maids Sidonian, and with Tyrian d3'e Or Meliboean. from the ceiling high In many a rustling fold descending low Screened each apartment from the burning bow And hot shafts of the sun-god, when his rays Circled the city in a golden haze. A mansion thus so beautifully graced Revealed a soul of Epicurean taste Devoted to Philosophy and Art. A shrine the Muses ever kept apart, And sanctified it for hib ardent soul And one fair child, his life's sweet aureole. This glorious mansion had Pausanius made His kingly covert. Here those hands were staid Which had not spared nor innocence nor youth. Nor let weak age decline them unto ruth; But swooped, as swoops a goshawk on its prey, On young, old, fair, and innocent to slay. The master of this residence was a man Upright as if a god Olympian. Of noble presence, dignified in port, And polished by attendance at the court Where he had honoured both the law^ and state By eloquence in action and debate. Yet with a mind however thusly schooled, Apt to be overborne and overruled By such a will as could Pausanius wield. Not always courage conquers in the field. Since craft and cunning, those two traitor-spies. Often betray the place where courage lies. Thus he though strong in honor was most weak While villainy beheld his virtue meek. Let scruple multiply its interest, CLEONICE. Yet where dishonor wishes to he blest No price will daunt it, and no danger stay The raging passions that command and sway Our will declined. Such as could once destroy The palaces of overpowered Troy. Thus whilst Pausanius dwelt within this place, His foul desires were kindled by the grace Of Cleonice, daughter of the host. Desire attends where Beauty is the most. This maiden was as beautiful as day, And pure as hawthorn buds Avith which the May Chaplets the tresses of the virgin Spring. As bright and sparkling as the dews which cling To opening blossoms, when the purpling dawn Lavishly decks with pearls each bower and lawn. Her face was like Diana's calm; and bright As Love's, when in the temple of Delight Lulled soothingly to sleep by such a hymn As virgin lips then sang in temples dim, Within the groves of Delphi or of Crete, Or where Thessalia and Latona meet. Her tresses like an aureole of gDld Above her brow in many a braided fold Shone dazzlingly with precious jewels bound. Or sometimes like a shower of gold around Her virgin shoulders fell. A chlamys stole Woven of spirits for her gentle soul, Vestured her being, as the radiant dawn Arrays in light each bower and sacred lawn. Her eyes most pure, most beautifully bright, Whose luster interluded Love's delight. Were veiled by lashes glossy as the silk. Her hands were white and slender, white as milk. This loveliness did vile Pausanius note And over it like some fond lover dote. Ever his orbs would feast upon the maid. Marking each saintly action, which repaid His glance abortive with unconscious bliss. 18 ^ CLEONICE. If looks were kisses, how each stolen kiss Had every moment blessed him through his eyes. So long he meditates in deep surmise How to obtain this maiden for his own, Unloosening her Beauty's virtuous zone. And in lascivious possession hold This precious emerald set in virgin gold. Through fearful force attending on command, The tortured parent can no more withstand: And Cruelty makes Love succumb at length. What worth hath virtue 'gainst a tyrant's strength Who can enforce though one dare disobey, And every law subjects unto his sway. AVho bids beware the anger of his frown, Since gods protect the brow that wears a crown, The hand that wields a sceptre. Since a king Should never be debarred from anything Himself demandeth to possess alone. The gods themselves deal justice from a throne. What use to plead indulgence or to crave Mercy from one still lower than a slave? What use to weep; to piteously bemoan; Where Love is tender, Lust is turned to stone? No, her fair beauty must become the spoil Of such an unctuous and voluptuous scroyle: So white a lamb must bless so black a beast, So pure a lotus crown this satyr's feast; For weak compulsion has descended low And sin must pamper virtue's overthrow. PART IT. The tumult and the carnage of the fray Have ended with the ending of the day. Hyperion's quivering courses how have passed The western arc of the horizon vast; And night's bright orb her amorous beams distills; For on this Twilight evening all the hills Of fair Ionia w^re bathed far C'LEONICE. 19 In the pure lustre of this radiant star. The setting sun had flecked to seeming foam Incarnadine, the clouds beneath its dome. Now ever and anon was heard from shore The swift but measured stroak of many an oar Cleaving the waters, as some galley swept Laden with treasures, to the quay which kept Its marble slabs pellucid in the deep Pure waters of the bay which seemed asleep. ]\Iany a barge swayed idly with the wind; Whose cool and fragrant fingers now did bind The raven tresses of the goddess night. From many a palace on the shore the bright Reflections of a thousand lamps were seen Upon the waters and the reefs between. And echo mimicked, as she sped along, The ribaldry of merriment and song. For mirth had taken Ruin for her spouse In overthrown Byzantium. The carouse, The revelries, , the orgies, and the rude. Boisterous laughter of the multitude. Came like the cry of Furies through the air. The bloody victors now within their lair Held bacchanalian feast and festival. And in the dazzling chamber of each hall The massy tables groaned beneath the load Of luxuries most lavishly bestowed. Here many slaves were hurrying to and fro To keep the wine forever at a flow. Here harlot's wanton e^-es responsive gave Glances to what rank bearded lips could crave. And dance, song, magic, jugglery, and play. Made hours of pleasure swiftly pass away. For death had hidden sadly out of sight The infamy that would have mocked delight. The god of war thus toppled from his shrine, Had given place to Bacchus, god of wine. But where Pausanius lingered as a guest 20 CLEONICE. Only fierce throbs of anguish panged each breast. For on this night Pausanius duth await The maiden in his chamber. It is late And he hath hied him to his shameful bed, The only ones that slumbered were the dead. The keen and silver sickle of the moon Cleaved half the pathless fields of heaven. Soon And all her weary labor shall be done, And men pour forth libations to the sun. And now^ the stricken father sadly goes To tell his daughter of her coming woes; And found her, like a virgin rose in bloom. That fills the air with fragrance and perfume, Within her chamber, her handmaidens round. Of which one negligently had unbound Her glossy tresses from their njeshy fold Luxuriating in that wealth of gold. • Another had undecked her by degrees (As Venus risen upward from the seas) Of all her silken vesture's clinging prease; And robed her once again within a hem Of marble whiteness graced with many a gem. He entering, bade all her maids retire. A father's kiss with lips that burned as fire He pressed upon her forehead and then spake. 'Tt grieves me much Cleonice to break Beyond the sacred portal of thy nest; But we are harboring a fearful guest. Who not with our submission satisfied, The torch of ravishment from side to side With fearful havoc waves. And makes our homes The bounteous hives and yielding honeycombs For lustful bees, 'Till even Jove for shame Blushes at deeds committed in his name. What priest can now attend his sacred rites, Or sacrifice divinely? when the nights Are passed in revelries and orgic^s foul. And yet Minerva and her sacred owl CLEONirE. 21 Pass by unheeded and unnoticed this T^ase niockery at their shrine. Artemis, Thy dreadful vengeance let me now invoke, Whose unpolluted altar with the smoke Of grateful incence at my willing hands Has ever fumed. favor my demands! Permit it not that I be forced to give This maiden here, within who^e soul doth live Pure innocence and truths most beauteous charms, To fierce embraces of unlawful arms. daughter, daughter, let me ciasp thee close, Cling to me. Zeus must listen to our woes. Shall these pure lips be touched by lips pollute? Shall hands ensanguined gather virgin fruit; And gods not intervene? It cannot be." He ceased, and clasped his daughter passionately. The fearful meaning of each dreadful word Had made her sob and tremble as a bird When lightning flashes through the boughs that shade Its downy nest. The pure and virgin maid Fell on her knees, and clasped him by the hand; ''Oh father, far too well I understand What all thy words and looks too plainly show, It cannot be though thou hast told me so? Are we then powerless and overthrown? In all Byzantium friendless and alone? Can justice not defend, nor wealth desist, Shall hands so lewd the virgin skein untwist Of my young life? O death, then take thy child! For me, alas! no days of wedlock mild. For me no hymeneal rites, no song. Or nuptial paean sung by those along The bridal car attending, strowing flowers; And bearing torches to Love's golden bowers. No kindred feast, no beakers ivy crowned The overflowing vintage passing round. No incence fuming in each brazen urn, No chaste life gladdened as the years return; 22 rLEONICE. No happy days of motherhood and bliss, Ah, miserable me! no infant's kiss." And then her voice so full of anguish ceased. As if her soul by death had been released, A bird of song whose carol had been brief. Then answered slowly thus her sire, in grief, "Alas! sweet daughter, would but wealth suffice I were not here to barter for the price Though Purity hath million tinies the worth Of wealth, or rank nobility of birth. When first thy mother placed thee in my hands, And I poured wine to Zeus;, who my demands Had all in all so graciously fulfilled, I never knew what destiny had willed. Her ways are dark. Who knows the ways of Fate? yet one hope remains, if not too late. Pansanius will not brook to bide our time; Patience yet never wore the mask of crime. Go to him then, pretend to feed his fire With looks of acquiescence to desire. 1 will go forth and roam the streets abroad; Surely some pity from our household god Will lead my steps to kinsmen and to friends. Then will we hasten back to seek amends. And even as he dotes upon thy charms, Shall we rush in upon him with our arms, And slay the traitor in his couch of lust. O Cleonice, if the gods are just They will not intervene. Go, daughter, go, Yet kiss me once again, again, ah, so! Pamper with him for time with kisses feigned Better the lips than the pare spirit stained." This said, he rushed away without farwell. And left the pearl so precious in its shell. She lay like Niobe all tears. Her cheeks. The pallid page through which such sorrow speaks Were damp with dew of grief. Yet fleeting strength CLEONICE. Came to her like another life at length. The last few words her father spoke distilled Their cunning balm and all her bosom filled. Uprisen like a lily on its stem, She bade her maids retire dismissing them. And then prepared to robe herself anew That griefs might hide its stains in vestures too . And sorrow not belie the robes she wore, Thus cheating life with hope forevermore. As when the argent moon through the obscure Clouds of the night advances, so this pure. Beautiful maiden with a trembling hand Parted the curtains of her chamber, and Emerged upon a spacious corridor. Each fitful glimmer on its marble floor Filled all her trembling spirit with affright. Slowly she went along, a phantom white. Feeling her way with the impalpable touch Of hands that trembled, anguished how much! What though the passage were of light deprived Making sight useless. Yet her sense survived, And this beheld with even keener sight The fearful ending of this woeful night. Imagination is a wicked fiend When at the breast of fear or sorrow weaned. There is no justice, no merciful law. That keeps the soft dove from the gryphon's claw No thunderbolt to smite the coiling snake Charming some innocent bird within a brake. Since then no providential influence Over those beasts devoid of finer sense Hath exercise, how can we mortals hope That such subjects our reason's vaster scope, Or rivets down the freedom of our mind. When lust is prevalent let gods be blind! Pausanius had commanded every light To be extinguished; so that in such night 24 CLEONICE. Amidst the senseless darkness and the gloom, Some fairer guise his passion might assume. She comes the trembling virgin to his door; Wishing to cry for mercy, to implore. She listens: only silence calm and deep, That sentinels the poppy-couch of sleep, Pervaded all the terror of the place. Close by a fountain babbled in its base. She waits awhile then opes the curtains wide, A monient more and she has stepped inside. But stands upon the threshold stiff and stark, A statue of Diana in the dark. "My lord," she said, but nothing made reply. 'My Lord," she said, '*yon do not hear, tis I." But spoken, so faintly, that each word Sounded like Autunm leaves when softly stirred, Sounded like drippings of the dew on grass. He sleeps she thought. He did not sleep, alas! But waited like a hunter in a wood, Most fouly to ensnare her maidenhood. She pressed her hands against her throbbing side To stem the current of its crimson tide. Then slowly with her feet benumbed and chill. She stepped across the chamber dark and still To press against a table in her way. A lamp upon this marble table lay, Which fell upon the floor with fearful noise. Pausanius sprang from bed. All dreams of joys Dissolved like fume. Ha, then this maiden pure Had been a subtle coil, a living lure. How many foes had he now to withstand? "Traitors!" he cried. Then with a hasty hand He grasp3d his shining sword, whose steel, thus bare. Flashed like a hissing serpent through the air: Cleaving the penetrable dark, and passed Through Cleonice standing there aghast. A thrilling shriek burst from her lips of pain CLEONTCE. 25 As the cold weapon pierced her heart in twain. At such a shriek, and at such woeful din, The servants and some Spartans hurried in With lamps that flickered dreadfully o'er the scene. He, like a famished wolf that tries to screen Its bleeding prey, lay crouching on the floor; His hands and face imbathed in the gore Which flowed from her pure heart; red as the crime Which brands like Cain's man's forehead to all time. She, like a stricken doe beyond all chase, Lay there in all her beauty and her grace. Her silent lips by lover never kissed, Were paler than the palest amethyst. While in her bosom white, the poignant steel That set her spirit free, could not conceal Beneath the shining lamps on high upheld, How every fainter breathing oozed and welled The crimson current o'er its marbled brim. Above her face soft shadows pale and dim Hovered, as if reluctant to depart So fair a mark of death's eternal dart . Pausanius when he saw the maiden dead Slain by his hand, into the darkness fled. Then silently the servants bore away That beautiful and fragile form of clay. As in her hands Night bears the urn of Day. And from that night when lust had done its w^orst^ Pausanius evermore by Zeus was curst. As sad Orestes fearfully forlorn, This life denied him peace and gave him scorn. Ever the Furies followed in his path. Till Pluto freed him from their fearful wrath. '"^7^^" RUTH. Now when the Judges ruled in Israel, Before the Kings; and also it befell That woeful famine overspread the land, One Elimelech took him by the hand His wife and his two sons, and went away. And slowly journeyed on, 'till on a day He came to Moab. Here the land was fair. Rich were its fields from tillage everywhere; They glistened all with rows of corn and wheat, With rye and barley, that did smell more sweet Than sweetest fennel. Here were flocks of sheep Pastured upon each hillock's verdurous steep. Grazing upon its fragrant herbage green, Rich with the moisture of the rills between. And here deep-uddered and large-fronted cows Reclined beneath the shade of tremulous boughs, Or sought the lower plain to quaff the cool Pure Avater of the cress-surrounded pool. While many shepherd lads with scrip and crook Esconced themselves within the bowery nook Of some green valley, under some steep hill, And while the winds above their heads were still. And flocks and herds still browsed on lawn and mead. They wrought sweet niellow music from their reed. Not piping tales of rural gods or Pan, But of that mighty tribe which spread from Dan Unto Bersheeba. And which Ammon's son Brought from the land of Egypt everyone. And Pharoah, of Egypt then the king. Them with his swart-faced legions following. RUTH. In gorgeouF cliariots canopied with gold. And royal splendors wondrous to behold; Had all his army sundered in one night, And himself put to ignominous flight. While He who was the King of Kings with Hand Invisible, led them to the Promised Land. By night a pillar of fire, a cloud by day, Guided the tribe toward the land Avhich lay Bosomed between Mt. Nebo and the hills Of distant Hamath. Girded by clear rills And silver rivers, as a maid unwed Circles with a bright zone her waist instead. So Elimelech reached this clime at last After much weary toil of travel past. And saw its multitudes of sheep and kine, And all its valleys teem with fruits and vine: Strong oxen harnessed to their plows and wains, Were furrowing the fallows and the plains. While husbandmen with baskets at their side, Were gathering in vineyards far and Avide Thick bunches of the rich and ripened grapes Which they uppiled therein in luscious heaps. While comely damsels carrying on their head Pitchers and jars of clay, with tripping tread, Went merrily to a river murmuring by Like swiftly-flowing Siloam. lentil high Their vessels brimming with its crystal, they Retraced agaiii their footsteps light and gay. Damsels as fair as those of Israel. And Elimelech saw the land was well; So here he 'gat himself a little place And prospered; for the Lord did give him grace. And year by year beheld his store increase. And so he lived and so he died in peace. Being gathered for his worth into God's fold, Like Abraham and all his sons of old. 28 RUTH. - There was much woeful wailing in the house When Naomi lost her beloved spouse, And many days she sorrowed for the dead Still comfortless: and herself garmented In sackcloth and spread ashes on her head. But grief like joy hath but a fleeting life; So when each son took unto him a wife, She made her merry and did then rejoice, And blessed them both, and gladdened in their choice. And when it cam^ unto the wedding day. She decked herself again in bright an ay, And as the joyous bridal-train Avent by With simple monotone of psaltery, Garlands of flowers, torches al 1 aglow. Her heart with happiness did overflow. Then came the virgin brides white-veiled; and least, Gifts, gratulations, and the marriage-feast. Until the holy ceremonies done. The guests departed homeward one by one. The fairest bride was Orpah; but when Ruth, In all her gentleness and all her 3^outh Came by, she seemed the lovliest of the twain . Red cheeks had she, white skin without a stain: Beautiful eyes, and dark and glossy hair Plaited above her brow with comely care. And then whenever that she deigned to speak. Her accents were so gentle and so meek That they fell softlier on the listening ear Than outburst of sweet birds at morn that cheer The flowers into bloom. Till by degrees The forests thrill witu warbled symphonies. So a few years these blessed their husband's worth. 'Till Death, alas! who is the lord of earth, Bereaved them of those husbands evermore. Beneath the summit of a mountain hoar. Covered with lofty cedars overhead. Lay their eternal city of the Dead. Rl'TH. 2V) Hero many ^loabite patriarclis unknown To after times, beneath each silent stone Reposed in everlasting peace and rest. And here as morning flushed each mountain's crest, The weeping widows and Naomi came To see deposited the earthly frame Of Mahlon and of Uhilion in their grave, The husband twain. Then Naomi who gave Her heart to sorrow wholly and to tears, Cried to them weeping thus, "O many years Have we each other dwelt in peace beside But now I will no longer here abide. For w^hy; my heart is broken in its grief? And is it here that I shall seek relief? Nay, nay, it cannot be, though we have known p]ach other well. But now I will be gone Again to Judea. I will gird my loins, Yet go as one whose going not rejoins The ones he loves. For can I longer dwell Within a place where everything will tell What I haye lost and suffered in this land? For hath not grief gone with me hand in hand And filled my cup the uttermost with woe? Yea, filled it up 'till it did overflow. But go ye to youi mother's house to live, And may the Lord unto you also give (xood grace as ye gave me and gave the dead: 80 thither turn in peace as I have said." And then she kissed them both, and sadly kept Their hands in hers. And they bowed down and wept. And said unto her, ''Surely we will go I^nto thy people with thee even so. For have we not lost also much of worth? And what have we of happiness and mirth That wail the dead?" But Naomi replied, ''Have I still other sons since these have died? Ye know that I have none for ye to wed. Turn, turn, my daughters, go thy way instead: oO RUTH. Abide with thine own grief since it is such. Death is more fatal than a leper's touch. tarry not, but go ye on your way. The Lord hath smitten heavily to-day Yet lowly must we bend unto his will. His mercy like the dew-drops He doth spill, His sorrows come upon us like the rain. Death garners us as reaper-men do grain; All for the master. Why then should we wail But that our hearts are weak and cannot hale The burden, if the burden have such weight." And then they wept again disconsolate. And Orpah kissed Naomi for the last And Ruth. But Ruth clave unto her and cast Her lot with hers. And then Naomi said, "Behold thy sister follows not instead, But hath gone to the people of thy land. Return thou also with thy sister, and Follow not me to whither I shall go." But Ruth said, "Nay, do not entreat me so. For whither thou now goest thence will I. And where thoulodgest will I lodge me nigh. Thy people mine, thy God also my own. And when thou diest will I die alone, And in thy grave with thee be buried. And the Lord smite me if we part." she said, And when Naomi saw that she spake so As her heart prompted her, she did forego Remonstrance, and returned to Bethlehem. And when they came the people said of them, "Is this Naomi?" And they were muoh moved. And she replied, "Because my life hath proved So bitter, call me Mara: since he hath Thus dealt unkindly with me in His wrath. Full went I out, but empty have returned. Why call me Naomi then, seeing he spurned My prayers, and against me testified, RUTH. And grievously afflicted me beside? And when they thus returned, it was the time Of barley-harvest, in the very prime. And reapers morn and evening in the fields AVere gathering the rich and plenteous yields And storing them away for further need. For woeful were the famines then indeed That came upon the people: since the thing Brought dearth and death to beggar and to king, Yea, woeful were the numbers day by day Of young and old, which famine swept away, II. Naomi had a kinsman in the land, A mighty man of wealth you understand, A kinsman of her husband, Boaz called. Mostly were his the fields and meadows walled Past Bethlehem, to where the ripening corn Caught the first glimpses of approaching morn: And Judea of his fame throughout was filled. Innumerable toiling reapers tilled The bounteous fields. His shepherds tended well The myriad flocks. His kine in vale and dell Increased and fattened on the moistened soil. His granaries were full. And vine and oil, And p.tlms and dates, but added to his store. (lod blesses most the one deserving more . Here one fair morning to Naomi came Fair Ruth, with blushes on her cheeks like shame. As brightly reddened as a robin's breast. And to her lowly said in simple best; "Why may I not go also to the field And glean for corn or whatso else it yield, And haply find a goodly grace in him After whom I shall glean?" This sudden whim Reluctantly did gain itself consent. 80 one fair morninor to the fields she went o2 RUTH. k Amidst the reapers singing at their task. The fragrant fields most joyously did bask Beneath tlie glorious sunshine. And the Avheat, All ripe for reaping, rustled 'round her feet; While gleaming sickles mowed the bearded grain, Which then in golden sheaves adorned the plain. Now by good hap Ruth chose herself a spot Where fortune seemed to smile upon her lot. For Boaz coming up from Bethlehem, And going 'midst the reapers said to them, "The Lord be with you in His Holiness." And they replied to him, "The Lord thee bless." Then Boaz saith to one whose only toil Was but to watch the reapers of the soil At harvest time, "What damsel fair is this?" And him the servant answered, "Now. I ^vis, Tlie damsel that came hither journeying With Naomi from Mt)ab. This morning She came and said, "I pray you let me glean And gather with the reapers here between." And she hath been here ever since the morn. Except to rest herself in yonder bourne A little space." Then Boaz said to Ruth, "Hearest thou not my daughter? In good sooth. Go not to glean another field, but stay Fast by my maidens as I list you may. And let thine eyes be on the fields they reap. Have I not charged my young men that they keep Apart from thee? And when thou art athirst Quaff from yon vessel they have drawn thee first Brimful of purest water from the well." And then Ruth lowly on her fair face fell. And bowed herself to ground, and also spake, "Why findst thou grace in me, that thou shouldst take Knowledge of me, seeing me stranger here?" And Boaz thusly answered, coming near, "It hath been shown me that which thou hast done Unto Naomi, since her loving son RUTH. 83 Thy husband, hath been dead. And how thou hast Left father, mother, countrj^ and hast cast Thy lot with people known not heretofore. Yea, for these people all thy race forbore. And the Lord recompense thee for this well, Even the Lord High God of Israel, Under whose wings thou art now come to trust." ''Let me find fiivor with thee, who art just." Then said fair Kuth: "And hath me comforfed, And spoken friendly unto thy handsmaid. Albeit not like to these thine handsmaidens." And Boaz said, "At mealtime come thou hence And eat thee of the bread, and dip also Thy morsel in the vinegar." Then she sat low Among the reapers. While he took parched corn And gave to her as to one nobly born, In bounty and in grace. Which she did eat Until sufficed, and left as was most meet. And when that she had risen up to glean, Boaz couimanded thus his reaping-men: "Let her glean even among the sheaves as well, Nor thou reproach her aught. And as I tell Let fall some handsfall also purposely Which she may glean without rebuke from thee." So Ruth gleaned in the fields 'till evening came. And bearing out what she had gleaned, the same Was near an ephah of good barley. Then This taking up, she homeward went again. And when Xaomi saw what she had brought She wondered how so goodly she had wrought. And said to Ruth, "Where hast thou gleaned to-day? Where wroughtest thou? Now blessed be, I say. The one that did take knowledge of thee thus." And Ruth replied, "The man's name was Boaz. For as I stood among the reaper-men, He also came among them there, and when He saw me, spoke in a most kindly wise, 34 UlTH. That I for shame could scarcely lift mine eyes To look on him. And all his words were kind, And soft and low as is the Summer wind." "Now blessed be he of the Lord," then said Naomi nnto Ruth, "Who for the dead And living hath still kindness in his breast. The man is near of kin to us the best." And Ruth whose heart was glad enough to weep, Said, "Also did he bid me go and reap Fast by his men until the harvest end." "But it is good thou also do not wend Away from his handmaidens," said to Ruth Naomi then discreetly. "For in sooth. Best wert thou e'en with these that reap, that they Meet thee not in another field astray." And so until the end of harvest she (lleaned in the fields of Boaz faithfully: Dwelling with her own mother-in-laAv nigh. And thus the busy harvest-days went by, And found her grace increasing in the sight Of Him, to whom all virtue is delight . III. Brown are the fields of Autumn, grey the skies; And crimson, yellow, gold, the leaves that rise A host before the winds invisible, That scatter them in forest, vale and dell. And seldom then is heard the song of birds; And on the hills the flocks of sheep and herds Reap scanty fair upon the grass that grows. Yet through the fields the happy Autumn goes Scattering her bounties as the gifts of spring. And to her granaries the reapers bring The treasures of her store to keep, and bless The Lord, High God, whose grace is never less. But ere the bounteous season passed away Came Naomi to Ruth, and thus did sav, "My daughter, shall I not for thee seek rest. RUTH. 35 That it may yet be well with thee, be best? Now is not Boaz of our kinsmen one? Behold, to-night when other work is done, He winnoweth barley in the threshing floor. Anoint thyself and cleanse thyself therefore, And put fair raiment upon thee, and get Then also to his place. But wait as yet To make thyself boknown to him at all Till he have drunk and eaten in his hall; And heard sweet music and have seen fair things, And in his bosom all his heart upsprings: And on his face be neither care nor frown . And it shall be that when he lieth down, That thou wilt mark the place where he shall lie And thou shall then go in and lay thee nigh. And thou his feet shall then uncover too. And he shall tell thee that which thou shall do." And Ruth said unto her, "What thou dost say, That will I do, and that will I obey." And she went down into the floor and did According unto all Naomi bid. And when Boaz had drunk and eaten well, And all his heart was merry as a bell. He went to lie clown near the heap of corn. And Ruth came softly there, as fair as morn, And did his feet uncover and lay near. And then it came to pass the man felt fear, For midnight was. And turning himself, lo! Behold! a woman at his feet lay so. Then Boaz wondered, seeing under him The white deliciousness of foot and limb; And all the beauy of the sweet sad face, That seemed to brighten even such a place. And he said, '"Who art thou?" And she replied. 'Nay, I am Ruth, thy handsmaid at thy side. Spread therefore thy skirt over thine handsmaid, For thou art near of kin, Naomi said," 36 RUTH. And he said, "Blessed be thou now of God, My daughter, in whose path thy feet have trod.- And hast more kindness and more goodness shown Than at beginning when thou wert alone: And followest not young men nor rich nor poor. Fear not my daughter for I will secure And do all thou requirest of me so. For all the people of my city know That thou art virtuous, and wise, and good; And all have knowledge of thy womanhood. And it is true that kin to thee am I, Albeit there is a kinsman still more nigh. Tarry this night, and it shall be at morn, That if he do his part as kinsman born Well then with thee and thine the thing shall be. But if no kinsman's part he will do thee, Then will I do the kinsman's part in fall As the Lord liveth, who doth life annul. Lie down until the morning at my feet." And she lay down, until the njorning sweet Brightened the distant hills. And then she rose Before one knew the other, as Love knows. And he said, ''Let it still remain unkown That came a woman to this place alone." Also he said, "Bring thou the veil thou hast And hold it." And she held it; and he cast Six measures of good barley in its fold. And laid it on her, all that it could hold. And she returned unto the city- way. For darkness now was giving place to day. And when she came to where Naomi sate, Who knew her not at first, she did relate All that the man had done to her in free. And said, "These measures six of barley gave he me, That empty I should not to thee return." And Naomi replied: "Sit still and learn My daughter, how this matter will befall. For until he have finished this thing all RUTH. The man will nevermore have peace to pray. Till he hath finished all this thing to-day, The man will never rest in quiet more, For carious is the heart from Love forbore." IV. Then Boaz went up to the city- gate And sate him down. And while he there did wait. And multitudes of people passed along. As even now we see them there that throng, Each following upon each other's wake, Behold, the kinsman of whom Boaz spake Came by. To whom he said, "Ho, such a one. Turn thou aside: sit down as I have done." And he did turn aside and sate him down. Then Boaz took ten elders of the town And bade them likewise to sit down near by: That they might listen all and testify. And then he slowly to his kinsman said, "Naomi who still witnesses for the dead That are in Moab, sells her parcel, and This was our brother Elimelech's land. I thought it bet^t then thee to advertise. Since thou art kinsman first, in such a wuse. If thou wilt I'sten unto what T say. Buy it before the people here to-day, Buy it before the elders that are here. Or if thou wilt redeem it, answer clear, Redeem it. But if not, then let it be That I may know. For none come after thee That may redeem the land therewith but I." "I Avill redeem it then," he made reply. Then Boaz said, "What day the field is bought. Know^ that this thing cannot be fully wrought Till thou hast also bought from Ruth the land-, The Moabitess; and hast known her, and ^lade of the dead again a life and name That shall alibis inheritance reclaim." 88 iirTii. And then replied the kinsman, '^I shall mar My own inheritance the more by far. Redeem thou therefore all this land for me, For I cannot redeem it as you see. Lest I lose even that which I possess. Redeem my rights to it, or thine, I guess, ■ While to these men my words can witness truth, 80 I surrender thee the land and Ruth." Now this the manner was in Israel, Then when a thing like this to men befell Concerning the redeeming of some land. For to confirm all things you understand, A man plucked off his shoe, and then would give The same unto his neighbor. This would live In testimony evermore from then . In Israel this was the way with men. Therefore when Boaz' kinsman saw and knew He could not buy it, he drew off his shoe. And said to Boaz, "Do tl^iou buy it then." And Boaz unto all the elder men. And all the people that were 'i-ound did say, "Ye all are witnesses of this to-day That I have bought this land for ndn9; which same Was Elimelech's, Mahlon's, Chilion's claim. From Naomi. .Moreover, gentle Ruth, The Moabitess, even in her youth, Have I too purchased for my wife, to raise The name up of the dead: that all its praise From all its brethren here be not cast off To be a thing of laughter and of scoff. And ye are witness unto what I state." And all the peoi)le that were in the gate. And all the elders that were with them, said, "We witness for the living and the dead. Tbe Lord, our God, whose bounty is divine, The woman make, which enters house of thine, Like Leah and like Rachel of the well; IMTII. 39 Which two did build the house of Israel. Do thou like Ephratah grow up in worth. In Bethlehem be famous for thy birth. And let thy house be Phazes' house indeed Whom Tamar bore to Judah. of the seed The Lord hath given thee in this damsel fair!" And Ruth was wife to Boaz and did bare. Yea, when he done as other men have done The Lord blessed her conception with a son. And Ruth said to Naomi, "Blessed be The Lord, for all this day; who left not thee Without a kinsman that shall be known well, And famous in his name through Israel. It shall be a rest