X ' %. '-■■■ x° ■ \ a) "^ -^ * - "*A *- ' ^, * y* '" ^\ -7* - ' . " C ^ ^ it -5 - aN ASHES AND INCENSE ^^ POEMS BY«=^ WAITMAN BARBE y of coA/e c OP*RIC3*7- »*; DEC IS 1oS1 ., PHILADELPHIA J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY MDCCCXCII Y^ x ° u* V* Copyright, 1 891, by J. B. Lippincott Company. Printed by J. B. Lippincott Company, Philadelphia. TO THE HON. WILLIAM L. WILSON. J THR O W upon the outward sea, With trembling heart and hands, These flowers, plucked in wood and lea, And grass from the marsh and sands. Far out they drift on the ruthless tide, Bound up with threads of rhyme ; What fate awaits on the sea so wide, In wild or welcome clime ? Will aught of bud, or grass, or flower, Come back again, and win The shore once more, in that far hour When the burdened tide comes in ? CONTENTS PAGE At the Morning Gate 9 A Watch in the Night 14 The North Hill-side in December 27 Thy Name 29 The Old Etcher 32 The Marsh and the Mocking-Bird 34 Ashes and Incense 37 An Old Love-Song 39 A Word with thee 40 The Charity of Night 42 Art and Love and Life 43 The Heart of the Earth 44 After the Hunt 46 Wreath and Veil 48 Song of the Monongahela 50 Voices of the Night Wind 53 I'd not have served thee so 54 In the White Garden 57 " There's Snow in the Air" 59 A Phantasy of Life 61 5 6 CONTENTS. PAGE Earth's Equation 63 Her Own receive her not 65 A Rose Idyl 66 Eternal Silences 68 A Humble Tragedy 69 Back to the Orient 71 N The Robin's Creed 72 A Lyric of the Street 73 In April Wood 75 The Narrow Land 'twixt Life and Death .... 77 A Poem Unwritten 79 The Comrade Hills . 80 Love's Pathway 85 Nature's Triumph 86 Quatrains and Fancies ^ Pan 88 October 88 Under the Maples 88 The Lover and the Book 89 The Judean and the Prince 89 Sympathy 89 The City and the Fields 89 The Critic 90 The Lost Echo 91 A Little Corner of Life 93 The Nymph Egeria 94 CONTENTS. 7 PAGE Amid the Mountain Pines . . , 95 The Patient Earth 96 From the Gallery (A Rhyme of New Orleans) .... 97 Stanzas (From " Song of a Century") 99 The Maid of the Meadows 105 A Winter Mood 107 The God Love 108 Dreaming of the May 109 An Artist to his Model • . . . in The Winds 113 The Lost Inheritance (The Cry of the Pessimist) ... 114 Sidney Lanier , 117 A Life Lesson 118 Among the Gold Hills 119 A Dirge 121 The Skipper's Bride 123 Compensation 126 Where Summer Bides 128 Verses at an Alumni Dinner 130 To a Rare Old Book 134 A Nocturne 135 The Old Threshing-Floor 136 Wild-Flowers in the City ...... 138 The Debutante 141 Messages in Cipher 142 The Lady and the Book 145 8 CONTENTS. PAGE The Crusader's Return 146 The Scholar's Bride 148 The Poet's Magic Power (To Robert Burns Wilson) . . 151 The Polar Zone 153 A Landscape Impression 155 To my Father 157 Finis 158 ASHES AND INCENSE AT THE MORNING GATE. T the morning gate, With heart aflame and naked brow, I wait. Back home from night of wildest revelries The drowsy breezes steal among the trees, And bearing with them secret lore profound Of haunts where witches dance their merry- round. One sabre-stroke of that old warrior, Sun, Has cleft the mist in twain, — day has begun. The roses drink his health in wine so old Its vintage-year has long been left untold, And like a maiden waked with loving word, The lily blushes for her coming lord. 2 9 IO ASHES AND INCENSE. At the morning gate I, trembling, bide the word of the keeper, Fate ; My only sesame the goal to gain Some roses from Parnassus' lowest plain. And naught of grace, alas ! have they at all, When seen beside their sisters, fair and tall. Can they swing back the portals of the field Wherein life's rarest plants their harvests yield? Therein the choicest spirits dwell, and still Are heard the ancient gods upon the hill; And Ceres oft, at breaking of the morn, Walks down the fields of welcome-nodding corn. But sad and lonely vales are there as well, And depths of gloom where Pain and Sorrow dwell ; And peaks where Desolation sits and hears The moans of death that reach no other ears. At the morning gate I throw my rhymes and roses down, and wait. Like beads of flame strung on a golden thread, The notes of Shelley's lark float o'er my head, AT THE MORNING GATE. II And still is heard, O Keats, thy nightingale When darkness falls across yon wooded dale ; While Hebrew harp and Attic lyre prolong The melody of their full-throated song. A bird upon a bough in Arcady Than tzar, or king, or khan, I'd rather be ! At the morning gate I sight the far-off hosts in regal state, — There Sappho and the bard of yesterday Walk hand in hand, and Music leads the way; There Concord sage and old Judean seer Upon serene and starlit heights appear; The cries of Otway for a crust of bread Now break in shouts of triumph round his head. The sun that rose by Avon stream of old Spreads over all the lands a cloth of gold, And by its light my feet have come from far, Fain all to leave if but the gate's ajar. At the morning gate I hear the shouts of some who, long and late, 12 ASHES AND INCENSE. With faithful purpose wrought and hoped, and won At last the right to thrones of song; and none Can doubt their claim divine, or say them nay Because they climbed through darkness up the way While others leaped the barriers at a bound, And stand with bays and praise immortal crowned. The world that scoffed and jeered and would not hear Now raise without the walls their peals of cheer. At the morning gate My brother man goes by, his heart elate With thought of gain that waits for him ahead, And treads upon these flowers, withered, dead. Dead ! Ah, be it so ! But let me lay Them close within the morning gate, I pray, AT THE MORNING GATE. 1 3 Where kindred spirits will not mock their ghost, And where some friend among that laureled host, Remembering the path he trod, will say, / saw them as I passed the gate this zvay. 2* 14 ASHES AND INCENSE. A WATCH IN THE NIGHT. HERE must have been a Yesterday, This swart Night's fair young bride, — Ah, yes, I saw her pass this way With flowers at her side. They say he loved her not, but frowned When she, with crimson blush, Drew near his side. Alas ! the wound Went to her heart, — but hush ! How sweetly and how calmly there she lay, In shroud of yellow hair : dear Yesterday ! So uncomplainingly she gave her life, She who was bride (speak low) but was not wife. Some stars came out to light her spirit's way To where all Yesterdays become To-day. When she was empress of the blessed land, Before her face they ne'er presumed to stand. The birds that sung her praise are voiceless now, And one sad owl sits moaning on the bough. A WATCH IN THE NIGHT. 1 5 But oh, that I might die as she did die, With radiant face illumining the sky! There is no friend to watch with me Till dawn shall break, And the earth shall take Its bath of showered gold, and wake Its minstrelsy. For even Hope hath fallen asleep, And Faith must rest her tired wings, And Love hath stayed without to weep O'er wounds that bleed and bitter stings; But Love doth never fall asleep, And Love doth never rest her wings! On the tide of the night The wrecks of the day come in, With tales of the reefs Where our driven ships have been : Beautiful sloops all shattered, Sails by the sharp winds tattered, Navies and fleets that are scattered 1 6 ASHES AND INCENSE. Come home to trouble the soul, With the mournful billows that roll On the tide of the night ; But only the watcher that waits for the last full tide Knoweth what wrecks there be In the depth of the hungry sea To crush the last of his pride. The tired town has fallen asleep, And Virtue and Sin lie side by side, For Sin hath Virtue for his bride. But some there be that keep Their watch by vacant hearths and wait For steps that do not come : — so late The hours grow; So ghostly is the light the dying embers throw ! And some there be that lie With faces toward the eastern sky, With faces toward the dawn of hope, And think perchance for them shall ope A WATCH IN THE NIGHT. 1 7 The sun-built gates of a brighter day, — Thus man doth hope alway. And some there be (ah, who shall say How much their blame?) Who cry with tortured souls, and pray That darkness might forever stay To hide their shame. But though the darkness hath come up from out the deep, As doubt doth rise from out the depth of sin, It cannot keep The heaven- lighted spirit in. Too blessed are these quiet hours To give to dull forgetful sleep, For they that build the Babel towers Must now their silence keep, — A flood of darkness rises o'er the land And round the piles they build upon the sand. 1 8 ASHES AND INCENSE. God pity those who die to feed. The hungry maw of Greed; And pity those of whom is made A sacrifice to Trade; God pity those who starve their souls To pay the heavy tolls That Life exacts in Shop and Mart: O Life, here at the start Of life, I plead with thee with heart that bleeds For what may be, oh, starve not thus my soul! But let me follow where the wild wind leads, And where the lands of beauty sweep and roll ; Or if it must be mine to grope along And hear, except my own, no cheerful song, Let that be so; the way will not be long, — But, Life, starve not my soul ! This night is but a bit of Silence cut From that eternal Calm which but A little distance lies before, And where no more A WATCH IN THE NIGHT 1 9 Shall toil and traffic, million-mouthed, be heard, Nor vision by their smoke and dust be blurred ; Or like an Isle of Patmos it doth stand, Shut off from all the busy babbling land ; And here my watch I keep in peace, As he of old upon the isle of Greece ; Here visions rise And fill the midnight skies, And here, Without a fear Of any earth-thrown Primal-light eclipse, The soul may have its own Apocalypse ! Glimpses of sylphs and fairies and fays And folk of the wandering air ; Perfumes distilled in millions of Mays, And sweet as my BeautifuFs hair; Essences born of the night and the stars ; Music majestic scaled on the sky: Each star is a note and the bars Are the comets that cross as they fly, — 20 ASHES AND INCENSE. Music that hath a compass as great As the greatness of God, And reacheth from over the crystal gate To the burial sod; Kisses that wait to be claimed by the dead, And whispers of love that wait to be said ; Sighs that escaped from the maiden that slept, And tears that were felt but never were wept; Blushes of love and pride and shame, And sins and crimes without a name, And time and death and the sodden grave, And life with its evolving wave. A highway as broad as the hopes of the race, Yet narrow as a life's last needs; And she that passeth hath a face That beameth and that bleeds. Her name is the name of the song that's writ On this and the other side of the sky ; Her breath is a flame which, being lit, Gives life or causeth to die! A WATCH IN THE NIGHT. 21 She cometh! she cometh, with the might of a god, And gentle as a reed by the brook; She toucheth a prince, she toucheth a clod (Oh, give me the power to look !), And each hath become divine ! And by this miracle-sign I know that she cometh down from above, And her name — it is Love ! Oh, have I not seen that face before The traces of sorrow were there, In cycles agone when the wide world o'er Held nothing to make a care ? It seemeth to me young Love and I Once danced to the piping of Pan And his reed under the morning sky, What time before the world began To learn a fear or a tear or a sigh ; When the heart of the earth and the heart of man Still beat as one, and both As the heart of Love, nor loath 3 22 ASHES AND INCENSE. To own her sway- In that young day. Since then the earth hath bruised her feet, And the world hath bruised her heart ; And now when here again we meet I see that Sorrow hath stolen a part Of the glory that lighted her face. But she hath given to Sorrow a grace And sweetness akin to her own, And this is the reason that, hand in hand, So often they walk throughout the land Where Love once walked alone. Upon the thankful earth doth rest A cloak of charity : beneath the west Detective Sun hath slunk away; And now let him who can be gay. Is there a sigh ? The music will keep it from the ears of the crowd, — Is there a cry In the heart of the belle with bearing so proud ? A WATCH IN THE NIGHT. 23 So let it He Buried beneath the roses he gave. And a tear ? Twill be noticed for nothing save To brighten the eye. The feet will fly, And care be lost on the rapturous wave ; But oh, for her will the morn be gray Or the morn be bright, When the breath of the roses has stolen away Out on the night? My watch I keep for them that die, As well as them that dance, — For them upon whose face doth lie A holy radiance. Across the street a light burns low, And death is there; Across the street the light burns low, And life is there; For life goes out and life comes in, — And she hath perished for her sin. 24 ASHES AND INCENSE. For love her trusting life she gave, But love is greater than the grave, And all the scorn that all the world Upon her head hath hurled; And as I watch across the street The light burn low, And dim, And die away, I fancy I can see her sweet, Sad spirit go To Him Who loves alway ! And now, the glamour in the hall ; And now, the flicker on the pall ; The candle at the window-pane, The spark of hope that watched in vain For him who cometh not, are gone, And every sign of life's withdrawn. So still And empty is the lonesome land, And Time forgets the lifted sand. A WATCH IN THE NIGHT. 25 A Chill Creeps through my heart, but still I keep My watch upon the boundless deep Of oceaned Silences, and hear The God of Silence whisper : Fear Thou not ; This is the hour when forth I walk Upon the tired earth and talk With them who keep their watch for Me ; Thy faithful vigil shall not be Forgot! But see ! the massive gates of gold Of the morn begin to turn ! Behold ! The couriers of the King of Day Come dancing, piping up this way, With oriflamme and bandrol flying Above the earth where Night lies dying! Across the sky a banner's flung Of blue and gold, and every tongue Of bird and every living thing Cries " Hail ! Thrice hail the coming King !" 3* 26 ASHES AND INCENSE. Arouse thee, Hope, from thy dreamy sleep! And Faith, where are thy trusted wings? And Love, there is no time to weep O'er wounds and unintended stings ! The bugle calls to come away: And forth I go into the day! THE NORTH HILL-SIDE IN DECEMBER. 2J THE NORTH HILL-SIDE IN DE- CEMBER. EAR how the Wind complaineth all day long Because naught now remains for him to kill : There is no flower, or brook, or bird, or song Since that sad night when he came down the hill. The lean and shiv'ring grass, Awake to hear him pass, Fell down and crept away, but could not hide, — The whole world's wrath hath touched the north hill-side ! The Blast that stalks across the frozen field Hath wrapt about himself his kirtle brown ; Alone ! so lone ! the stricken earth doth yield No kindly thing to steal from him his frown. 28 ASHES AND INCENSE. Have pity, Night, and bring Upon your swiftest wing A winding-sheet of purest snow, to spread Above these children of the hill-side, dead ! THY NAME. 29 THY NAME. AKE tip thy pen and write What I shall say, — Thus said a Voice to me One perfect day In summer's regal prime, When marching by Came all the splendors of The earth and sky A-step to song of birds, And with the trees For banners waving in The lusty breeze. Take itp thy pen and write What I shall say, — 30 ASHES AND INCENSE. And so I wrote and wrote, That perfect day; But every word I wrote Was just the same, And every word I wrote Was just — thy name! And when I asked the Voice, I heard it say: No other word is meet For such a day ! II. Take up thy pen and zvrite What I shall say, — Thus said a Voice to me One dreary day In winters bitter time, When earth and sky THY NAME, 3 1 Their gleaming cohorts led No longer by; A day when all the world Lost heart and bowed Its head to sleet and rain From sullen cloud. Take up thy pen and write What I shall say, — And so I wrote and wrote, That doleful day; But every word I wrote Was just the same, And every word I wrote Was just — thy name! And when I asked the Voice, I heard it say : No other word gives life To such a day I 32 ASHES AND INCENSE. THE OLD ETCHER. OR forty years or more One masterpiece his work has been upon; And never rests he once from dawn to dawn, But o'er and o'er The lines of beauty infinite I see Him trace And then erase Their matchless grace Of imagery. Upon a ground of blue and gold and gray A thousand changes makes he every day; And in the night, By wan starlight, Such figures come and go That I who watch would give my all to know The limner's secret, or to stay THE OLD ETCHER. 33 For but a day The lines that cross my raptured gaze and melt away. In plaintless solitude, With straggling locks, and nude, He stands, With withered hands, — This etcher old, — Against the fretted sky of blue and gray and gold. And naught for praise or blame cares he, — This wind-blown and dismantled cherry-tree ! 34 ASHES AND INCENSE. THE MARSH AND THE MOCK- ING-BIRD. LOAF by the marsh, and she telleth me Of her faithful love for the grim old sea, And patiently waits for the rapturous hour When she lieth held by the tide in his power. But the fickle sea is away to-day, His arms about some island fair, And in her hair He sprinkles radiant jewels rare, Forgetting the marsh in her garb of gray. And this that I hear? Surely no song can be made In a day so drear, When a burden of grief on the land is laid. THE MARSH AND THE MOCKING-BIRD. 35 Is it a message from the sea to the marsh ? Or a whisper of love from the marsh to the sea ? The voice of the ocean is harsh, And the marsh She lieth dumb in her misery. Hath the wind from some Virginia hill Come down to pipe on a reed ? Hath a soul escaped from the world and its greed ? Are the oaks a-thrill With a secret and cannot be still ? Hath a shell On the shore decided its story to tell? Do the currents of life that counter have run Unite as one, And a symphony raise Of tribute and praise To Him who sitteth alone On the Maestro's throne ? Ah ! the mystery now is plain To me and the marsh and the main. 36 ASHES AND INCENSE. It is no voice of the sea or the wood or the wind, And the taunting shell Its ancient secret doth not tell ; But yonder doth a feathered Lind Pour out its soul in notes that rise Like incense to the farthest skies ! ASHES AND INCENSE. 37 ASHES AND INCENSE. I. ER love was pure as earth Would let it be, And helped to link this life With all eternity; But hope, with which it walked At early dawn, Lost heart and died before The night came on ; But still we tell the path She used to tread By rare, sweet incense from The hope that's dead. II. His passion scorched a line Of blackness where It touched what else had been All that is fair, 4* 38 ASHES AND INCENSE. And burned itself away To ashes gray, — And cursed is the spot For aye and aye. AN OLD LOVE-SONG. 39 AN OLD LOVE-SONG. HE thrush doth pipe his mate An old love-song, And yet his love for her Is new and strong, — The song that fluttered hearts In ancient wood When God first saw the earth And called it good. No master's symphony Hath lived so long As this bird's plaintive, sweet, And old love-song, — A simple strain, without A touch of art, It lives because it comes Straight from his heart. 40 ASHES AND INCENSE. A WORD WITH THEE. WORD with thee, my Fancy wild, A word with thee, For thou hast been a madcap child: Come home, some day, and rest with me, Forget thy haunts beyond the sea; Tis long since thou didst go away. My envoy thou hast been to lay My tributes down at sacred shrines; Come home and rest, all wreathed in vines, An hour with me. A word with thee, my Soul, I pray, A word with thee; Grant me this boon, then have thy way : Some day, while yet the full tide flows, Cease for an hour thy fretful throes; Give me a sense of calm and rest Before we journey to the west ; A WORD WITH THEE. 4 1 WeVe been together many days, And turbulent have been thy ways As wind-racked sea. A word with thee, my Life, I plead, A word with thee ; And if thou lovest me, oh, heed : If Fancy will not hear my call, And if my Soul is bound in thrall To its unrest, then give me power To meet thy most tumultuous hour, So that when Fancy farthest soars And when the Soul-tide fiercest roars My faith may be Still strong in thee. 42 ASHES AND INCENSE. THE CHARITY OF NIGHT. NIGHT, thou Queen of Ethiope ! Thou weavest of thy star-bejeweled hair, That floats in sombre mists upon the air, A cloak of charity for all the race ; And thou dost lend it with such tender grace That unto him it seems, Who wears it, in his dreams, The vesture of a king, And not a borrowed thing To hide his nakedness. In thy dominion grows The lotus-leaf, and flows The Lethe-stream, to bless With all forgetfulness, — More than the Day, thou feedest Hope, O Night, thou Queen of Ethiope ! ART AND LOVE AND LIFE. 43 a ££ ART AND LOVE AND LIFE. WILL not heed thee, Love," he said, And pushed her hand aside, — " I will not turn to hear thy tread, Nor journey at thy side; "For I have plighted to mine Art My troth for years to be; And since I've given her my heart I have naught left for thee." But Love would not be turned away ; She soothed his tired brain, Nor let him know (it is Love's way) How broke her heart with pain. Her hand took up his pen, and lo ! A new and living power; For Life began to breathe and glow Within his Art that hour ! 44 ASHES AND INCENSE. THE HEART OF THE EARTH. HEART of the Earth ! my heart is thine. I have drunken deep of thy buoyant wine; Have felt thy bosom's beat; Have laid my head on thy friendly breast When the night rose out of the frowning west And stayed th' impatient feet. Thy winds blow cheer to the willing ear; Thy dews are kind as the maiden's tear That falls with love a-weight; Thy streams laugh " Welcome !" o'er the sands ; Thy oaks lift high their pleading hands For benisons on all the lands, And then, or soon or late, A kingly home thou giv'st to all, Green-roofed, where cypress-shadows fall. THE HEART OF THE EARTH 45 A faithful friend thou art, great Heart, And even I may claim a part Of thy unchanging love. Thy cliffs may scowl, thy wastes look drear, Thy hills be hoary as a Lear, And churlish clouds above ; But storms and frowns can never part Us from the love of thy large Heart ! When rocks and caves were homes for man, And grov'ling his desires ran On plane with beast or clod, Two friends he had, e'en then as now: The one, O kindly Earth, wast thou, The other was his God. And now that Heart that ne'er grows old, That Heart that thrills the sea and wold, That Heart that ne'er betrayed or sold, Is friend to me as him. May I be true to it as well, Its sacred whisperings to tell, Its radiant face to limn ! 5 46 ASHES AND INCENSE, AFTER THE HUNT. HROUGH all the night the hounds have run ; And now the rising autumn sun Salutes the gray Virginia hills, But twilight still the hollows fills. The hounds lie panting at our feet; The sport was fine, the fox was fleet; And they have chased her to her den, O'er hill and vale, through brake and fen ; Their bay has filled the hollow night, And we have followed at our might. The fox is safe: the hunt is done; The night is spent,— what have we won? Far off to southward lies a town Where men are hunting up and down, AFTER THE HUNT 47 And chasing through life's brakes and fens Its wily pleasures to their dens; But when the hunt of life is done, What game have they ? What have they won ? 48 ASHES AND INCENSE. WREATH AND VEIL. H, garland my brow with the valley's delight, And robe me in robes of immaculate white, And a veil like a mist of the moon's mellow gold Throw round me to-night. Let the wedding strains slowly and softly be played, Benedictory hands of loved ones be laid On my head, for a joy in its depth all untold Has mastered me quite. Let mirth and the dance and music prevail To drown the mad moan of the storm and its wail, WREATH AND VEIL. 49 And let the lamps weave their meshes of light, And let the bells peal. For oh, I'm a bride ! and with wreath and with ring My heart to the sacred altar I bring, My troth and my love and my life to plight By his side as I kneel. II. Oh, garland her brow with sad immortelles, And veil her fair form and weep your farewells ; We will lay her to rest where the lilies shall grow A perpetual crown. With wreath and with veil we will lay her away, But oh, so dolesomely changed are they ! For death it has come as the north winds blow, — And her lilies are brown. 50 ASHES AND INCENSE. SONG OF THE MONONGAHELA. EY-HO ! I leave my haunts in the woods, I leave the land of snow; Hey-ho ! I leave my mountain friends And away to the south I go ; Away to run through cotton-fields, Away to swell the orange yields, Away to be kissed by sun and breeze, Away to be mixed with shoreless seas. Hey-ho ! to the wider world I run, Hey-ho ! to the land o' the sun. I'll fill the Beautiful River's heart With joy as free as an elf; I'll e'en become a very part Of the Father of Waters himself. With wider purpose, larger sweep, My steadfast course I'll run, SONG OF THE MONONGAHELA. 5 1 Like one whose aims in life reach out Till all his work be done, And he at last merged in the sea Whose farther shore no man Has ever glimpsed with earth-bound eyes Since first the world began. The mighty, pulsing trade I'll serve And yield to man's behest; His burdens bear from land to sea Adown the wondrous west. And just as lovers sing to me here When the shades of the hills reach out Across the waters' crystal bed And the harvest moon is near, E'en so beneath the southland shades, When the mocking-bird sings low And the breeze comes up from the restless sea, They'll sing to me there I know. When the air is rich with the odor of May, Swept in from distant pines, They'll sing to me then and vow their love Is measured by no confines. 52 ASHES AND INCENSE. But back I'll come to my mountain home To tell the woodland sprites How maidens' sighs and thrushes' songs Fill all the southern nights. Like one who loves his childhood home That's set among the hills, And oft returns from broader fields To feel its mystic thrills, So I shall come from the ocean's sweep To hear the same old song, And leap the rocks and kiss the boughs That have waved for me so long. Then away to my task for the sons of men, Away through city and plain; The voices of comrades bid me stay, But all their tempting is vain. Hey-ho! to the wider world I run, Hey-ho! to the land o' the sun. VOICES OF THE NIGHT WIND. S3 VOICES OF THE NIGHT WIND. STARVED and ruined soul last night Went out from house of clay, And on the night wind's wings is borne A wail of woe alway. This morn a sinless maiden slept The sleep that men call death, And every breeze is sweeter now With perfume of her breath. 54 ASHES AND INCENSE. I'D NOT HAVE SERVED THEE SO. ND thou art dead ! Couldst thou not stay Until I came to kiss away From these cold lips their last warm breath? Thou lovedst me less than thou didst Death, Else thou wouldst not have gone with him, — That ghastly lover, cold and grim. Dear heart, I'd not have served thee so, But said to Death, "I will not go Until my love has given me leave; I could not bear to have her grieve. ,, But thou art gone with him, and I Have not so much as thy "good-by." I'D NOT HAVE SERVED THEE SO. 55 How can I know, since thou art free, If thou wouldst have me follow thee ? Would thy new lover jealous be If I should come some day to thee ? And how am I, dear love, to know, Since thou wast in such haste to go, In what dim shadow-land afar Thou and thy new-found lover are ? Where has he taken thee to dwell? I blame thee that thou didst not tell, That I might come to thee some day, When thy new love has died away; For surely thou didst ask him where He'd built his home to take thee there. What did he say, to steal away Thy love from me ? What did he say ? $6 ASHES AND INCENSE. The rest of all the world he'll take : He might have left thee for my sake. I kiss thy cold, unanswering clay: Why couldst thou not have stayed a day To say good-by, and tell me what I did to lose thy love? I'd not Have served thee so, — that thou dost know,- Sweetheart, Fd not have served thee so ! IN THE WHITE GARDEN. $? IN THE WHITE GARDEN. MAY not say just when Her unbound spirit passed this way, In silent night or sunlit day; But all these children of the May Have bloomed in white since then. She hung her soul's fair flowers On every bush and shrub and vine, And lingered with her cups of wine Where in the grass the lilies shine, And in the jasmine bowers. And so they hold to-day The fragrance of her parting breath, Which, like a loved one's kiss at death, Love best of all remembereth With hope that lives alway. 6 58 ASHES AND INCENSE. Beneath this list'ning rose A loving friend once spoke her name ; And was the favored rose to blame Because to every breeze that came It did that name disclose ? And still throughout the years That come and go, that come and go, Her name is whispered, oh, so low, By every leaf she cherished so, — Behold ! they're wet with tears ! "THERE'S SNOW IN THE AIR." 59 "THERE'S SNOW IN THE AIR." a HERE'S snow in the air," the old man said, As he shivered in through the gate And pulled his chair to the cheerful fire That glowed in the open grate. " I feel it in my aching limbs, And the night is damp and chill: I hear the southward-winging birds A-calling over the hill. " Would I could follow where they lead To a land that's warm and fair; For to-night the clouds have covered the sky, And I feel the snow in the air." 60 ASHES AND INCENSE. The sun was bright on the hills next day, And the forest was red and gold; But the old man sat with an icy stare, And muttering o'er, " There's snow in the air," He passed as a tale that is told. A PHANTASY OF LIFE. 6 1 A PHANTASY OF LIFE. HE rose-time is full Of a merry bird-chorus That times to the dance Of the leaves hanging o'er us, — To the dance of the leaves with the zephyrs that love them, And whose breath is the breath of the sun up above them. But only a few Birds of them all Are left to sing When the first snows fall, — Only a faithful bird or two Has a heart remaining forever true. The gate of the future, — Who has the key of it ? 6* 62 ASHES AND INCENSE. This burden called Being, — Who shall be free of it ? Whoe'er spells out, though it be but a line, Of this mystic life-volume hath touched the Divine. This mystic life-volume, Written in tracings And graphics so delicate, And blurred with erasings, And the last of whose mouldering pages are found Only a little way under the ground. EARTH'S EQUATION. 63 EARTH'S EQUATION. I. NE day like this, of sun and song, Atones for all the wrong That all the wrathful nights have hurled Across the patient world. II. One note like that I heard this morn, In yonder clump of thorn, Can give the key to nature's rune, And set the earth attune. III. One slab from tempest-quarried sea, Of wondrous masonry, Makes homes for thousands evermore Who had no homes before. 64 ASHES AND INCENSE. IV. One ray from far Pierides Can flood with light all these Dense-shadowed wastes, where, day by day, We wear our lives away. HER OWN RECEIVE HER NOT. 65 HER OWN RECEIVE HER NOT. HE world has stoned thee and crowned thee with thorns, Thou Priestess of Beauty, divine ! Because thou wilt not turn its mills, it scorns Thy sparkling cups of wine ! And since it cannot mint thy heart, believes It vain and worthless dross; And seeks to crucify thee with the thieves Nailed to its brazen cross ! Upon thy samite robes of white is thrown The tainture of the towns. Dost thou remember when thou hadst a throne, And worshippers, and crowns ? 66 ASHES AND INCENSE. A ROSE IDYL. HE roses held revel On the garden's green level, And the fire-flies lighted the lawn. The dew was their wine Of a vintage so fine, And they danced till gray of the dawn. White roses fair, Red roses rare, Beautiful damask and yellow, Sweetbrier fine, First love of mine, And black rose downy and mellow. Musicians were there, light-fingered gales, iEolian harps a-playing; And moths floated by with silvery sails, No captain or master obeying. A ROSE IDYL. 6? The white rose smiled to the red, And the red rose bowed and said, "Oh, dance with me." The hours winged and fled, The eastern sky grew red Out o'er the sea; But on they danced and danced, She blushed and he advanced, Till the sun came up from the deep Like a thirsty king from his sleep, And drank all their wine Of a vintage so fine, And now they drowse in his shine. 68 ASHES AND INCENSE. ETERNAL SILENCES. THOUSAND hoofs are clanging on the streets Where noisy commerce crushes all it meets ; And he who cries his wares above the rest Has most of gold and glory for his zest. This bustling and voracious throng of men Will strut about a little hour, and then, Without a tear for any missing face, Another surging crowd will take its place. But through my open window, far away Beyond the utmost reach of traffic's sway, Into eternal silences I gaze: Infinitude of peace and patience stays Upon those heights that man may know the will Of Him who calmed the waves with, — " Peace, be still!" A HUMBLE TRAGEDY. 69 A HUMBLE TRAGEDY. HERE, that will do ! The tragedy is done. A queen of tragedy has quit the stage, — A queen of tragedy, and yet the rose I place upon her grave is first and last Of floral tribute to her years of toil. Her soul was dwarfed among these barren hills, And love was starved, but life was loath to leave The only spot of earth it knew, and stayed These seventy years, — these lonesome, hungry years. No day of rest, no night of song she knew, No sweet and friendly voice came to her from Beyond the hills around her humble home To tell her of a larger life and of a world That's bountiful and beautiful. Within Her little realm there was no sun or stars, No gentle slopes, no breath from bud or bloom, JO ASHES AND INCENSE. No music's tender spell, so bleak and bare Was all the life in which her life was set. But bravely toiled she day by day, and naught Complained she of the fate that shut her in. No slab will mark her lonely resting-place ; And none will care to know the tragedy Of such a plain and humble life as hers. But all the earth doth hold no sadder tale Than these, — than these that lie unsung, untold, Among the barren hills. BACK TO THE ORIENT 7 1 BACK TO THE ORIENT. HE western world is richer to-day In laws, in deeds, in creeds, But the tired brain with its leaden pain, And the heart with all its needs, Remain the same, — as poor to-day As when the bards of yore Cried from the east what now we cry Back from the western shore. 72 ASHES AND INCENSE. THE ROBIN'S CREED. URE worshipper, this Easter morn, Among the orchard aisles ! Brave anthemer, thy creed shall win The world in afterwhiles ! Thy creed, — 'tis sweet as thine own song, And as the apple-bloom That cometh by and by to deck These naked aisles of gloom. Thy creed, — 'tis simple as thy notes That drop like beads of gold : 'Tis new this morn, and yet Old Time Himself is not so old. Within thy creed is room for all The universe ; — so great Thy heart that it contains no place That's small enough for hate ! A LYRIC OF THE STREET. 73 A LYRIC OF THE STREET. HE gray-haired bard may sing his song, The sculptor cut his marble cold, Until the one lifts us among The angels of the other's mould ; But yonder school-girl, down the street, Has more of grace than Phidias wrought ; And in her laugh is music sweet, Such as no poet ever caught. The dusk that lingers in her hair, The olive on her cheek and brow, Would drive a painter to despair If he could see her yonder now. Alas ! that when that laughter dies, And when that lithesome form decays, The sculptor's shaft shall o'er her rise, And mourners sing the poet's lays ; 7* 74 ASHES AND INCENSE. And loving friends shall treasure much The portrait that the painter made, Although the glow eludes his touch, And the dusk that gathered in her braid. IN APRIL WOOD. 75 IN APRIL WOOD. JNCOVER thy head, and be still ! A thrill From the Infinite Heart Hath touched the heart of the hill. A wave from the Ocean of Love Hath rolled from above; I tremble and start With a sense of unutterable fear That a voice too fine for mine ear May be whispering now to the trees, — Hark ! Is it a bird or a breeze Or a breath from the Infinite Seas That I hear in the trees? How good and thrice good And how blessed to be The poorest and plainest lichen or tree To-day in the wood, y6 ASHES AND INCENSE. And feel the touch of the spirit that maketh Alive, and taketh The gloom of the world away, And giveth the green and the gold for the gray ! NARROW LAND > TWIXT LIFE AND DEATH. J J THE NARROW LAND 'TWIXT LIFE AND DEATH. fi$ STOOD alone upon The narrow land that lies Twixt life and death. Both day and night were gone, And gone the arching skies And summer's breath. I saw that all is death Within the land of life, — 'Tis death at last When skies and summer's breath And love and toil and strife And pain are past. I saw that all is light And life within the land 78 ASHES AND INCENSE. Of death, — for there There is no sign of night Or death, but all the land Is sweet and fair. A POEM UNWRITTEN. 79 A POEM UNWRITTEN. IVE me a breath from the apple-bloom, Give me a bit of the morning sky, Give me a note from the thrush's throat And give me a glance from my lady's eye To set within my little song, And nothing more I'll ask of fame; — Alas, for me, that I should be Unmeet to sign to it my name! 80 ASHES AND INCENSE. THE COMRADE HILLS. HY hand, dear friend, Thy hand; and away to the hills,- To the brave and stalwart hills ! Mayhap they'll lend Some strength of heart and hand To us, — to us who stand Their last of kin, Born in a later day, Evolved from out their clay, Through death and sin. For that same power That throws across their brow A glint of sunshine now, Gives thee thy dower Of radiant blush and bloom. Like us, from ancient gloom THE COMRADE HILLS. 8 1 These hills have come, And what shall be for you, Or them, or me, we too, Like them, are dumb. No need is there That any spring-time wood Should lend thy maidenhood Aught that is fair, Nor any summer-land Put flowers in thy hand ; No need is there That any perfect May Should give to thee this day Aught that is rare. But hast thou power, When all the world is gloomed, And morning hopes are doomed, To stand that hour, Like these old hills so brave That laugh at Beauty's grave 8 82 ASHES AND INCENSE. And know no fear, Though all the flowers below Should He beneath the snow And death be near? That gray old stone, Which neither kiss of breeze Nor friendly nod of trees Can make to own A smile, they cherish more Than any birds that soar, Or buds that blow, Or plight of love, or song Of brook that trends along The vale below. The sleeted wind, Which asks not in its wrath A hand to clear its path, In them doth find A comrade spirit old; And when the clouds enfold THE COMRADE HILLS. 83 Their heads, how proud, Like turbaned giants calm, They stand, while healing balm Drips from the cloud! Man's hope are they: The storehouse of his wealth ; Protectors of his health From plagues that prey On him in marish place; Defenders of his race Against the wrath Of flood and storm that sweep, With ruin in their keep, Across his path. The lowland ways Are dusk with Shadow's wings That touch the fairest things Of brightest days ; But on that happy height A benison of light 84 ASHES AND INCENSE. Makes gold of sand, And lingers like a touch — Indeed it must be such — From God's own hand. Thy hand, dear friend, Thy hand ; and away to the hills ! We'll leave our cares and ills Below, and bend Our steps to higher things. The lark that sweetest sings Is highest flown; The soul that heeds the call To sunlit heights hath all Things for its own. LOVE'S PATHWAY. 85 LOVE'S PATHWAY. THOUSAND miles of winter earth Lies 'twixt us twain, And yet thy love makes all the way A summer lane Where roses rollic o'er the hedge, The wood-thrush sings, And June — our Lady Bountiful — Her blessing brings. 8* 86 ASHES AND INCENSE. NATURE'S TRIUMPH. I. CROSS the hill, on sunny bank, A wild rose grew; Alone it stood and nightly drank The gentle dew. Upon the rose-bank soon there waved The standing corn ; And all the fruitful land was saved From brier and thorn; But dead was then the wilding rose, And buried low, And shocks of corn above it rose, — Grave-shafts of woe. II. A home was built adown the lane Where waved the corn; A childish voice laughed o'er the main Both night and morn; NATURE'S TRIUMPH. 87 But all the crowned and tasselled corn, — Ah, well-a-day ! — E'en as the sweetbrier and the thorn, Had died away. III. Across the hill to-day I found A little grave, And saw, upon the weedy mound, A wild rose wave; Alone it stands, as years ago On that bright morn, And o'er the graves its petals blow Of child and corn. 88 ASHES AND INCENSE. QUATRAINS AND FANCIES. PAN. HE thunder's roar and the moan of the sea Are sweet to the ears of the great god Pan; But he heareth, too, the bird and the bee, And the feeble, wailing voice of man. OCTOBER. The mellow days are hushed and still ; Not sad, but calm and sober; The robin's song and cricket's trill Have but one word, — October. UNDER THE MAPLES. I stretch myself upon this rug Of many an Oriental hue ; Twas woven by the winds and frosts In patterns that above me grew. QUATRAINS AND FANCIES. 89 THE LOVER AND THE BOOK. Thousands of men have fallen in love With books, and, as knights of old, obeyed them; And unto this day it has never been said That their mistress has ever betrayed them. THE JUDEAN AND THE PRINCE. One was born in a stranger's hut, But the world is full of his fame ; The other was born in a palace of gold, But no man knoweth his name. SYMPATHY. The shouts of Caesar's mailed hosts, Or the roar of the ocean's wrath, Came not so near the Master's ear As the cry of a child in His path. THE CITY AND THE FIELDS. The city's great heart has a thousand full views, And it throbs with a strength all unknown ; go ASHES AND INCENSE. But the fields with their feathered harpers and choirs Have a thousand free hearts of their own. THE CRITIC. The critic is the meanest man of his race ; He gloats o'er wrinkles in Earth's old face; But in a cycle he could not have made So much as even a sea-weed blade. THE LOST ECHO. 9 1 THE LOST ECHO. E pitiful, O Mother Earth ! Why are thy hills so still and cold ? Why hold from me that greater worth Than honor's wreath or traffic's gold ? Somewhere among these stoic rocks, Or hidden in this cloistered dell, Shut in by Time's unyielding locks, Lost echoes of my boyhood dwell. And I have come from far to stand With naked brow, and wait, and wait To hear that voice ; O Silent Land ! And have I come too late, too late? I find that still the bob-whites call Across the field through all the day, Until the robes of darkness fall Upon the mountain, far away; 92 ASHES AND INCENSE. And still for me the breaking morn Brings fragrance fresh from clover-fields ; And still for me the tasselled corn Its sweetly-whispered music yields. But not for love, or gold, or tears, These warders of my boisterous glee That hold the best part of my years, Will give one echo back to me. A LITTLE CORNER OF LIFE. 93 A LITTLE CORNER OF LIFE. HERE is no life so overgrown with weeds, No life so waste with desert sands, But that in some secluded nook thereof A struggling, fragrant flower stands. It may not lift its head to public view, The weeds may shut it from the sun, But it will leave its fragrance on the air Long after life itself be done. A humble flower, perchance, of modest hue, And all the world may pass it by To praise the gaudy blooms that court applause And flaunt their colors to the sky; Some sweet arbutus vine, content to creep Beneath the withered leaves and snows, While every maiden wears upon her breast The pampered, proud, and royal rose. 94 ASHES AND INCENSE. THE NYMPH EGERIA. [" The Fountain of Egeria flows to-day ... as it flowed nigh three thousand years ago." — Dr. Hugh Macmillan.] HE Nymph is gone from the Coelian Hill, And all the Muses are fled, But the Fount of Egeria bubbles and flows Forever on to its bed. For thousands of years Pompilius lies With the dust of the crumbled hills, But the cooling waters of the living stream Sport on in ripples and rills. Romance is gone from the Aventine, And the deities back to the skies ; But the spring of truth is ever fresh : It lives when all else dies. AMID THE MOUNTAIN PINES. 95 AMID THE MOUNTAIN PINES. HE snows fall deep, the snows fall fast, And the lights are out of the sky ; The moan, oh, the moan of the winter wind, And its wail as it skurries by! The laurel-brake and maiden-hair Seem dead as the hopes of May; I stand alone beneath the pines, And the mountains stretch away. The wolfs hoarse howl, the jackal's bay, Or the least of nature's signs, Would music, welcome music be Amid these mountain pines. From cold gray earth to cold gray sky They reach like plummet-lines, And I am but an unseen speck Amid these mountain pines. g6 ASHES AND INCENSE. THE PATIENT EARTH. OW patiently await the parched fields The coming of the trumpet - bearing cloud ! How uncomplainingly the summer yields Its children to be wrapt in winter's shroud! How sweetly do the gentle valleys bear The frowns that fall across them from the hills ! How bravely all the woodland stretches wear Their sombre robes ! — how Nature bears her ills! FROM THE GALLERY. 97 FROM THE GALLERY. (A RHYME OF NEW ORLEANS.) HE laugh of la belle Creole, The perfume of olive and rose, The breath of the Mexican sea Come up to my gallery and me On every wind that blows. Romance and legend and story And tales of the dear old days Are sitting here at my side And gossiping o'er with pride The Spaniard's wayward ways. Bienville and Bourbon and Dauphine, Ursulines, Lopez, Dumaine, — Each street preserves in its name Some story of virtue or fame, And tells it over again. 9* 98 ASHES AND INCENSE. And every breeze from the Ramparts At peaceful bayou St. John, And every breath from "The Oaks," With their swinging mossy cloaks, Is a whisper of duel or don. But my heart goes down and lives In the quaint old shops and stalls, With their musty books and brown, In the dingy old French town With crumbling stuccoed walls. STANZAS. 99 STANZAS. (from "song of a century.") HAT have we left of those whose strong right hand Felled low the leaf-crowned monarchs of the land? We peer in vain, with hand above our brow, Adown the way with hundred mile-stones now, Nor catch a gleam of that far-flashing steel Whose edge the great tree-hearts were made to feel. But just as he who watches from afar The axeman dealing sturdy strokes that jar The very hills, can hear the final blow When he no longer sees the gleam and glow, So we, from this high-rising hill of time, Look o'er to where those men were in their prime, And hear the echo of their blows roll on, Though woodman, axe, and forest all are gone. IOO ASHES AND INCENSE. What guerdon had these men of all their toil? For all their wounds where was the wine and oil? The larger world to them was all unknown, But know that smaller world was all their own ! They drank a richer wine than Moorish king E'er quaffed to dark-eyed maid 'mid wassail ring ; They drank the breeze that filtered through and through The poplar boughs, from heaven's distant blue. True men, so brave of heart and strong of hand! Made of the sterner stuff and heaven's own brand ! I cannot find their graves, unmarked so long, — No flower or stone; I only sing a halting, weak-voiced song, Backward blown. . 5}» 5f» 5j» *(» »P *(» With all thy wealth of years and laughing skies A city still thou art of lesser size, But large enough for hearts as bold and brave As ever thrust a sword or filled a grave ! STANZAS. IOI Hemmed in by hills and by yon wayward stream, A city only in thy larger dream, But wide enough for lives as pure and strong As ever worshipped Right or battled Wrong! Without the city's sheen and blinding glare, Thou still art wondrous fair and debonair, And bright enough for eyes as soft and deep As ever vanquished man or robbed his sleep! And vast enough art thou for sorrow's blight To test its length and breadth and depth and height ! And large enough for many myrtled graves, O'er which the surging years have lapped their waves. Thou art not even known to those whose eyes See naught unless its towers pierce the skies; But thou art famed enough for Love and Fear And Life and Death to find a pathway here; And Sorrow comes this way and drops a tear. 102 ASHES AND INCENSE. And who shall speak for those who silent lie Beneath the blush of this October sky ? They reck not how we sing to-day nor why. In yonder sacred-shrined and shafted grove Asleep are they whose hearth-stone name was Love, — I speak for them! Upon these folded hills with gentle sweep Is holy dust, for which we weep and weep; Know thou, " He giveth His beloved sleep," — I speak for them ! In yonder king of lands, " the uncrowned west," Are some who loved this old town first and best; So mute and cold are they in deepest rest, — I speak for them! With sword and cap and gloves upon their biers Were laid to rest brave men in those dread years ; But hush ! the glory theirs and ours the tears, — I speak for them, I speak for them! STANZAS. 103 But why should aught be said for the soldier dead? And why disturb the peace of their narrow bed ? One shot of theirs outworthed all that IVe said ; Their songs were writ with sword and seething lead, — I cannot speak for them! What word can reach the sleepers in the west? Their spirits now, I trow, at Love's behest, Are gathered here ; if not, then let them rest, — I cannot speak for them ! And one short life of all that lie to-day So still, shut in by cold, unfeeling clay, Was nobler far than this my simple lay, — I cannot speak for them, I cannot speak for them ! sk * * >fc * * And thou, old Alma Mater, dear to me, One boon, one single boon, I ask of thee : The larger years are wheeling into place, When all the nations stand as face to face, And great is he who wins a single race. 104 ASHES AND INCENSE. Raise up some seer, — some prophet-poet soul, Before another hundred years shall roll In mist away, — Some master-mind full ripe to honor thee In the Century Song of the city that's to be In the coming day! THE MAID OF THE MEADOWS. 105 THE MAID OF THE MEADOWS, LITTLE girl in the meadow played Till the hours ran away And hid themselves where the fairies stayed 'Neath evening's cloak of gray; And a little star fell down at her feet, Fell down through the soft cool air; She picked it up and kissed it sweet, And pinned it in her hair. And every night the big stars seemed To look from the sky and smile On their little sister star that gleamed In the maiden's hair the while. Her wond'ring face caught their smiles by night, And the glory of the sun by day, And grew in beauty as grows the light At dawn in the midst of May. 10 106 ASHES AND INCENSE. Thus starlight and sunlight and soullight met In the blended beauty divine Of her who trips the meadow yet, — That beauty is thine, is thine! A WINTER MOOD. IO7 A WINTER MOOD. HE heart of the earth is the heart of a friend, And warm is its beat I know; But cold is the greeting it can send Through drifting banks of snow. The song of the lark is the song of a friend, As he lilts through the upper air; But months ago he went to spend His song where the skies were fair. The breath of the rose is the breath of a friend, In the sun of a June-time day; But the rose-time days are at an end And the June-time far away. The voice of the stream is the voice of a friend, Till hushed 'neath icy pall: No more it laughs adown the bend, — For death is over all. 108 ASHES AND INCENSE. THE GOD LOVE. HOU art a dangerous god, methinks; For thou hast made more ills than all The wars and plagues since death began To hold the struggling world in thrall. And yet thou curest all the ills Of pestilence and war beside Thine own and death's ; without thy balm The prostrate world itself had died. DREAMING OF THE MAY. 109 DREAMING OF THE MAY. ITH frowning brows the bald, oaks keep Their watch and ward where flowers sleep In chilly graves 'neath pall of mould. Their arms reach out unto the May, As lovers long and Christians pray For clasp of hands with friends of old. The shrubs that in the leafless wold Have quaked like shorn lambs in the cold Are taking hope and heart to-day, For aye they're dreaming of the May. And all the wilding forest flowers That stricken lie like hopes of ours, And at whose graves the April showers Are calling, Rise! Will soon come forth on some bright morn A waking world to greet and 'dorn 'Neath balmy skies. 10* IIO ASHES AND INCENSE. The frosts are creeping from the rocks, The poplar's pulse, with sluggish knocks, Is beating time to the falling rain; And all the heavy doubt and dole That lay upon the forest's soul Is being lifted, — Winter's slain! AN ARTIST 70 HIS MODEL. 1 1 1 AN ARTIST TO HIS MODEL. HERE is no line of beauty thou hast not, Nor curve of grace to artists known ; Not any masterpiece that's shown At Munich or beside the Seine has got A pose more Venus-like than thine; And yet the centuries shall shine On them, — to-morrow thou shalt be forgot ! For beauty not to be compared with thine, The princes of the earth have shed Their blood until it ran as red Across the plain as Bordelaisian wine ; And haughty cities have been burned; The tide of nations has been turned To other ways, — for beauty less than thine. 112 ASHES AND INCENSE. If I could give to marble half thy charm Of symmetry and gracefulness, To high renown I would possess A title that no jealous years could harm ; But none would even ask the name Of her to whom I'd owe my fame; But still for aye this stone would speak thy charm ! THE WINDS. "* THE WINDS. FLOWER! a flower !" The South Wind cried, And the violet blushed and bloomed ; "A weed! a weed!" The North Wind sighed, And the violet's life was doomed. Better things than summer flowers Are cheered or killed by words of ours, 114 ASHES AND INCENSE. THE LOST INHERITANCE— THE CRY OF THE PESSIMIST. HE heir is dead ! Scarce had the drift- ing gold Of seven summer suns lodged in his hair, And seven summer skies had lent their blue To paint his eyes the hue of heaven's dome. His voice had caught the songs the troubadours Sing in their woodland matinees. He knew The ballads of the winding brook by heart. His feet had run in race with halting Time, For Time to him went with but jogging pace, — He reached the Christmas-tide long weeks before Old Time came up to start the race anew. But voice and feet are still, the drifting gold Has ceased to lodge within his flowing hair, THE LOST INHERITANCE. 115 And halting Time outruns him now. Make moan; Go, wind the serge about, — the heir is dead ! He had not even heard of that vast realm To which, as son of man, he was the heir, Though sole, yet joint with all the world beside; And now he's lost it all. But hear the will : " Bequeath and give I unto him for aye A largess rich with sighs and burning tears, A throbbing brow, an aching heavy heart, A mourning robe of threescore-ply and ten, And frosted locks that do not wait for years. The stretching realm, though his, he shall not rule, For all the Fates, with direfid brow and grim, Sit throned and crowned, and all is at their will. To him shall fall the badge as Knight of Grief, And on his breast King Sorrow's seal. Before His hearth-stone there shall tramp a nightly watch Of armored guards to cry at every hour : Il6 ASHES AND INCENSE. i All's well; we've bound him down with stubborn chains! All these are his to hold in simple fee, And then at last the loosed silver cord And broken golden bowl!' Fond mother, weep ! Thy fair-haired boy shall never know the bliss Attendant on a broken heart or love Betrayed, nor the ecstatic joy that comes When hopes are torn to shreds and ground to dust ! Aye, weep for him ! The world will never give Him stones when he had prayed for fish or bread. He shall not even feel the tender pain Thou knowest now beside his coffined form. Go, wind the serge about, — the heir is dead ! SIDNEY LANIER. \\J SIDNEY LANIER. SPIRIT to a kingly holding born ! As beautiful as any southern morn That wakes to woo the willing hills, Thy life was hedged about by ills As pitiless as any northern night; Yet thou didst make it as thy " Sunrise" bright. The seas were not too deep for thee ; thine eye Was comrade with the farthest star on high. The marsh burst into bloom for thee, — And still abloom shall ever be! Its sluggish tide shall henceforth bear alway A charm it did not hold until thy day. And Life walks out upon the slipping sands With more of flowers in her trembling hands Since thou didst suffer and didst sing! And so to thy dear grave I bring One little rose, in poor exchange for all The flowers that from thy rich hand did fall. ii n8 ASHES AND INCENSE. A LIFE LESSON. PEARL ! a pearl !" exclaimed a lad, As he tracked by the raving sea. " Look what a wealth the wrinkled waves Have washed ashore for me!" And out upon the glassy deep He tossed and skipped the shells That round him lay, and laughed to hear The billows moan their sad farewells ; But never dreamed that he had thrown Into the mouth of a hungry sea A pearl that far outworthed the stone That he had gathered in his glee. AMONG THE GOLD HILLS. II9 AMONG THE GOLD HILLS. HE sun keeps tryst with the Western Sea; For many and many a year of old, When the hills were young and their hearts were free, He sought this shore and turned to gold, E'en to his own supernal gold, The hearts of these voluptuous hills, And turned their veins to aureate rills. And though the brawny, whiskered knight Of Forty-nine and Fifty-three Has wooed and won, on bended knee, The hearts of all these maiden hills, And crushed them as we crush in mills, The sun has never broken plight, Nor failed his parting kiss at night. 120 ASHES AND INCENSE. The million-suitored hills have lost Their lovers now, as maidens do Whose hearts 1 young gold is freely tossed To all the world, — they harvest rue. But he whose breath first kissed their brow Is constant still, and even now I see him wheel his chariot down The western slope of Sierra's crown. A DIRGE. 121 A DIRGE. PILLOWED head on the cold, cold clay, And a love and a life that died away! Pray God the head that lies so low Under the sleet and the shrouding snow Has less of death and deathless care Than the living heart that's buried there! For weary years the sun has lain Below the dreary western plain, And I have watched with lifted eyes To see it gild the eastern skies ; But now I know that nevermore Will light break on that distant shore. Ah! nevermore! unless, perchance, With richer, holier radiance, 122 ASHES AND INCENSE. It crown, through cycles all untold, The domes and spires of the City of Gold. Oh, shall these years of rayless night Unfit mine eyes for scenes so bright? THE SKIPPER'S BRIDE. 1 23 THE SKIPPER'S BRIDE. HEY told me a tale in the orange lands, As we loafed by the still bayou, Where Spanish mosses waved their hands To sails in the distant blue, — They told me a tale as weird as the main And the marsh that round us lay, While the waters crept like things in pain Through the weeds and grasses gray. They told me how by the river side A Creole cottage stood, Wherein there lived Nannette, in the pride Of her blooming maidenhood; But the rose within and the roses without Drew Death to the portal one day, And they coffined her form when he went out A-taking her soul away. 124 ASHES AND INCENSE. The river climbed the banks that night And stole what Death had left: It stole her body, wrapt in white, And shouted o'er its theft. It carried its prize to the Mexican sea Where the ships were coming ashore, And left it drifting there, ah, me! With sea-weed floating o'er: With sea-weed grim for immortelles, And the moan of the sea for a dirge, Where the Gulf winds mingled sad farewells With the sighs and the sough of the surge ; Till the floater was found by a passing sloop, And the coffin was hauled on the deck, And the sailors gathered around in a group To gaze on the ghastly wreck. THE SKIPPER'S BRIDE. 1 25 The lid was lifted,— " God ! Nannette !" And the skipper fell on his face, — "But there shall be a bridal yet, And this shall be the place !" They calmed his raving soul; they gave His bride again unto the sea With burial words and prayers to save Her soul from misery; But the skipper followed his Creole bride Before the sloop touched shore, And peaceful sleep they side by side " Till the sea shall be no more." 126 ASHES AND INCENSE. COMPENSATION. I. HE bird that throws an arch of song Across the flushing east Feels less the kinship of the earth Than any burrowing beast. II. From crag to sun the eagle soars, But counts no man its friend; The meanest churl to wounded dove A helping hand will lend. III. When all the choirs and orchestras Of art sublime are stilled, 'Tis then with Nature's overtures The waiting heart is filled. COMPENSATION. \2J IV. The soul that labors all content Within the pit's dim light Escapes the wrecking blasts that blow- Across the blazing height. 128 ASHES AND INCENSE. WHERE SUMMER BIDES. HE broken-hearted fields are dumb with grief, And wear their mourning garb of gray ; Their very tears are frozen as they fall, And through their tresses wild winds stray. The children that they held upon their breast In love through all the summer long Now walk the dim and ghostly lanes of death, And from the copse there comes no song. The silent city streets are walled with tombs, Like ways through catacombs of old, And loved ones weep for hopes that, hand in hand, Walk with the flowers of the wold. WHERE SUMMER BIDES. 1 29 But otherwhere, they say, by southern seas, Sweet olives bloom, and all the air Is filled with perfume and with song of birds ; And languid love its rest finds there. There lacing vines on gallery and court The forms of dark-eyed maids half hide ; There Nature doth her constant love declare And prove, — for there doth summer bide. 12 130 ASHES AND INCENSE, VERSES AT AN ALUMNI DIN- NER. HEALTH I ask you drink with me to-day To one not often met along the way The surging masses tread, — A way that rings with tramp of busy feet Of men who with their fellow-men compete For gold, or place, or bread. I ask that here a bumper large we take To him who knowledge loves for its own sake, E'en as his life as well ; Who counts not learning as his stock in trade, On which so much in dollars may be made, To barter or to sell. VERSES AT AN ALUMNI DINNER. 131 A love like this the Hebrew prophets felt When, moved with awe devout, they knelt Beneath the eastern stars; A love like this the men of Athens knew When Paul stood forth, a man of might, and true, Upon the Hill of Mars. A love like this the sages gave of old To all the secrets earth or heaven told, And called them words from God ; A love like this the Seer of Concord found For Truth, for Wisdom, and for all around,- A planet or a clod. A love like this some here to-day have known, And with the years that sacred love has grown, Though Wisdom farther seems Than when in years agone in this same hall They thought that she had kindly told them all Her secrets and her dreams. 132 ASHES AND INCENSE. A love like this makes gallant hearts and brave, — For did not Crito's friend go to the grave For Truth's and Wisdom's sake ? A love like this is pure as woman's love, And fills the suitor's heart with joy above The power of earth to take. He knows his mistress never hath betrayed The loyal heart upon her altar laid, Whoe'er the suitor be; The gods of fame and fortune fickle prove, But nothing can her constancy remove Through all eternity. He loves her not with selfish love and base, But unto him her form divine, and face Resplendent as a bride's, Are fairer than the dazzling brow of fame ; And for her smiles he'd gladly yield his claim On all the world besides. VERSES AT AN ALUMNI DINNER. I 33 The fevered world runs on with bated breath To conquest, or to glory, or to death, Forgetting him whose praise I sing, — the searcher after truer things ; And though my song goes but on crippled wings, This note for him I raise. 12* 1 34 ASHES AND INCENSE. TO A RARE OLD BOOK. HY back is bent with age, Thy wrinkled front is knit As brow of thought-worn sage, And browned and grayed by Time's Own brush is every page; But Death thou shalt not know, Old book, for years or slow Or fast make thee more fair Because thou art so rare ! A NOCTURNE. 1 35 A NOCTURNE. HE winter moon hangs low in the west, — O Maid of the Dusky Hair ! The ghostly snow, at the wind's behest, Is filling the bleak night air; And, like a grave, the world's at rest, — O Maid of the Dusky Hair! The light of life hangs low in the west, — O Maid of the Dusky Hair ! Its ghostly snows, at Time's behest, Are drifting through the air; And, like a grave, the dead years rest, — O Maid of the Dusky Hair ! I've sung for you at the window-sill, — Maid of the Dusky Hair ! A constant song, and sometimes still 1 surely see you there ; Though o'er your grave it blows at will, — O Maid of the Dusky Hair ! 136 ASHES AND INCENSE. THE OLD THRESHING-FLOOR. HE rugged hills were bearded o'er With shaggy, bristling grain That yellow gleamed in the noontide sun And bowed to wind and rain, Till the reapers came with harvest songs, And the fields were shorn and robbed; For them the dews at night-time fell And the winds of autumn sobbed. Upon a wide, projecting rock, As old as the ages gray, That frowning stands on the grim hill-side A-stretching far away, — Upon this giant's level breast, As smooth as an oaken floor, The cattle trod the bruised grain Till it could yield no more ; THE OLD THRESHING-FLOOR. 1 37 But the children laughed by the cottage hearth On the hill-side slope below, They laughed and ate the bruised grain, In brain and brawn to grow. The stony world is a threshing-floor, And human hearts the grain That's trod beneath the heel of Time, And seems forever slain ; But only chaff is blown away, The wheat appears again For other lives to strengthen by And grow in heart and brain. I38 ASHES AND INCENSE. WILD-FLOWERS IN THE CITY. H, beautiful, delicate wild-flowers ! Oh, exiled and innocent wild-flowers! You have come to me here, But are lonely, I fear, And long for the hills And the rills far away, For your home by the rills On the hills far away, Oh, beautiful, delicate wild-flowers ! Yau were plucked by a hand as fair as yourselves, And pure as the stream or the hearts of the elves That played at your feet; And surely 'twas meet That it should be so, For do you not know WILD-FLOWERS IN THE CITY. 1 39 That you would have died — Lain down side by side, Lain down there and died — In a few days at most? Oh, the winds and the frost ! Tis well that you now are slain to the death; You couldn't endure the city's foul breath ; And then you'd be lonely, So friendless and lonely, In the city out here, With its blistering breath And its carnival of death Through all the long year. And so, you are dead ; What prayer shall be said ? Shall I close these poor eyes That laughed to the skies ? Ah, no; it is done; They have shut out the sun, And the limp hands are crossed That so gracefully tossed 140 ASHES AND INCENSE. In sport with the winds A short week ago ; Hush ! speak of it low. Ah, welaway ! For dark is the day, Oh, perished, unfortunate wild-flowers ! My cherished, immaculate wild-flowers ! THE DEBUTANTE. 141 THE DEBUTANTE. EN ADAM stood by the Eden gate, And a woful look he wore As the Angel nailed the sign that said, "To be opened nevermore." " Our little garden party failed/' Ben Adam said, with a sigh, " But with all the flowers and fruits we had I can't imagine why." "I'll tell you why," the Angel said, As he lost himself in a cloud And left Ben Adam alone by the gate : " You hadn't a ' bud' in the crowd." 13 142 ASHES AND INCENSE. MESSAGES IN CIPHER. WONDROUS, matchless melody That fills the earth and air and sea! Thou art the song the masters heard And saved for us some meagre word ; And if that word so thrilleth me, What then must thy full chorus be ! And if a note from nature caught Is never lost and dieth not, How marvelous the sweep must be Of thy eternal symphony ! No sage or seer explains to me The tidings of the sonant sea, Nor tells me what the ocean saith, When, like the wrath of Allah's breath, It breaks upon the beetled shores And batters down a nation's doors. MESSAGES IN CIPHER. 1 43 And who unfolds the story told By the blue of the sky, or the green of the wold ? Or the plaint of the lonesome pine on the hill ? Or the answer that comes from the elm by the mill? Or the secret that lives in the sounding shell Where the island stays the breakers' swell ? They have a cipher sweeter far Than human speech and music are ; What is that runic sign, O seer? Their voices reach my 'wildered ear, And I have heard the message pass From haughty oak to trembling grass ; Have seen the rose-bud blush with pride, And Andes shake his hoary side. What saith the wind, as all night long It cries as one that suffers wrong? What saith it when from out the south It comes with fragrance in its mouth ? 144 ASHES AND INCENSE. What message bears it from the throne Of him whose realties the ice-bound zone ? Who'll tell me what the bluebirds sing Through all the days of laughing spring, Or read to me the ancient lay The ring-dove saith alway, alway? Their speech was old when Aryan tongue Its first imperfect accents sung, And still will live when human speech Is but an echo on Time's beach. THE LADY AND THE BOOK. 145 THE LADY AND THE BOOK, H, pale, sweet maiden rare ! With mellow hair, Thine eyes aweary Have grown, and strive in vain To ope again, — The book's so dreary. Tell me thy dream, wilt not? Ere it's forgot, And down I'll write it ; And none will weary grow The end to know, If thou indite it. 13 I46 ASHES AND INCENSE. THE CRUSADER'S RETURN. OW brighter shines that faithful star, Which I have followed toward the west, And follow still with greatest zest, For on the morrow I shall rest Where all my sacred treasures are. Above thy watchful castle tower It stays its guiding course, and stands And points its rays like dial hands To that which from far-distant lands I've come to seek, — my lady's bower. I bring thee from the foughten plain A 'scutcheon free from blot or blight, A sword oft tried in mortal fight, A heart that quails not in the right, And lay them at thy feet again. THE CRUSADER'S RETURN. 1 47 Thy keepsake was a talisman, Thy prayers have been my shield alway ; And when upon the sands I lay I heard thy voice above me say, " I'm with thee since thy course began." And once upon the midnight sky I saw thy name by lightnings made As plain as here upon this blade Of tempered steel, with pearls inlaid, — A name and sign to conquer by. My journeyings at last are done; IVe kept the sacred vow I swore To plant the cross and banner o'er The Mosque of Omar firm before I came to claim thy favor won. And with the faintest glimpse of day I'll wake the birds at thy window-sill ; And when thou smil'st my heart shall fill With love's reward, to live until My sword itself shall rust away. I48 ASHES AND INCENSE. THE SCHOLAR'S BRIDE. HE pillars of Karnak have seen but a day Of the years of the life of his bride ; She walked her lonesome, royal way While worlds were born and died. She saw the Nile creep from the sands And steal toward the sea; And yet a maiden young she stands, And smiles for you and me. Her name ? They called her Truth of old ; Sometimes by Beauty's name, When poets put her in their rhymes; But they are both the same. And Knowledge oft she's called, and some There be who call her Fame; THE SCHOLAR'S BRIDE. 1 49 But, modest maiden that she is, She answers not that name. And scholars, poets, artists, — these Have counted it their pride To give to her their choicest years That they might call her Bride. How fair she is, how wondrous fair, No man hath ever known ; Nor will she ever be to him In all her beauty shown ; He sees her sandaled feet but touch The distant yellow grain; He hears her voice among the reeds And in the summer rain. Her face illumes the western sky, And lights the book's gray page ; Her touch of hand gives hope to youth And solace to his age. I50 ASHES AND INCENSE. He sees her figure wrapt in clouds Far on the distant height, And finds her footprints in the sand Long ages hid from sight. She comes to him in dreams, and soothes His tired, fevered brain, And leads him, too, alas ! alas ! Where death and darkness reign. But darkest death and brightest life To him are both the same When she doth hold aloft her torch, And smile, and speak his name. THE POET'S MAGIC POWER. 151 THE POET'S MAGIC POWER. (TO ROBERT BURNS WILSON.) CROSS a field of gorse and sedge and broom And grasses dead you walked one day, When of the rain were woven webs of gloom, And hill and sky were cold and gray. But home you came with amaranth and rose And eglantine and lilies rare, — The choicest blooms the nooked woodway knows ; And sunshine played upon your hair. Across a field of roses, rare and red, I walked when all the world was bright ; But gathered only gorse and grasses dead, And bound them round with threads of night. 152 ASHES AND INCENSE. Far forth through silent lengths of winter lanes, That held no echo of a song, Or mem'ry of the bluebird's melting strains, You walked with Music's maid along. But mocking-bird and lark and nightingales Came forth with summer songs for you, Till all the air was stirred with songsters' sails, And every sail winged toward the blue. In nooks where mating birds their concerts give I lingered long to catch some note To set within a rhyme that it might live, — But dead to-day are the lines I wrote. THE POLAR ZONE. I 53 THE POLAR ZONE. SACRED, sheeted wild Of the frozen North ! A child, I thought of thee with awe, As round the hearth at night, With bitter gust and flaw, I heard the howling winds Strive with the wooden blinds, And shook with very fright. Thy messengers were they, From the icy courts away In the realm of the polar zone ; There Nature's God is king, Nor round his ice-built throne Polluting tread of Man, Since Time and Death began, Has come, nor unclean thing. 154 ASHES AND INCENSE. Man leaps the desert's graves And sails the rough sea-waves ; He chains the gods of air And earth; but thou art free, Thou cold, cold North, so fair! Thou stretch of spotless white !- As far as human sight, — I kneel and worship thee. Would that upon thy breast They'd lay me down to rest When all is lost and won ! But no; I would not will To be the very one To blemish and to wrong What I have loved so long, And love so constant still. A LANDSCAPE IMPRESS/ON. 1 55 A LANDSCAPE IMPRESSION. SOBER day, becoming almost sad As evening trails her sable skirts along The sloping fields ; across the lane one glad, Clear note seems out of place, — a vagrant's song. The faintest odor on the air — 'tis gone ! — Of long-forgotten Junes ; a hint — no more — That once there must have been, somewhere, a dawn ; A fledgling breeze, too weak to rave or roar. A brooding sense of deep desire, so calm It balances 'twixt joy and plaintive grief, That fears alike the morning's waking psalm And the parting whisper of a dying leaf. 156 ASHES AND INCENSE. A place await to kiss God's kindly hand, Or feel His blasting curse; afraid of each, — A silent and a humble-hearted land That needs an artist's brush to give it speech. TO MY FA THER. 1 5 7 TO MY FATHER. HE lad that sported years ago In Shenandoah fields Hath made his life as bountiful And blessed as their yields; As tender as the skies that stretch Above old Woodstock town, And pure as are the winds that blow From bleak Mount Jackson down. 158 ASHES AND INCENSE. FINIS. ASK not,— When shall the day be done, and rest come on ? I pray not That soon from me the " curse of toil" be gone ; I seek not A sluggard's couch with drowsy curtain drawn. But give me Time to fight the battle out as best I may ; And give me Strength and place to labor still at evening's gray; Then let me Sleep as one who toiled afield through all the day. ^^uo® V : X W V O -p c , ^ - Deacidified using the Bookkeeper pro< Neutralizing agent: Magnesium Oxide Treatment Date: Sept. 2009 PreservationTechnolog A WORLD LEADER IN COLLEGTiONS PRESERVl 111 Thomson Park Drive Cranberry Township, PA 1 6066 *< y "+J- a a v '