Class _„:^S^ 5^05 Book H^^-3l Copyright }|°, 311^ COPVRIGHT DEPOSIT. Far From the Stone Streets HENRY and HELEN CHADWICK '^ H'^ARTI et VeRITATFl Tl BOSTON: RICHARD O. BADGER 1904 Copyright 1904 by Henry M. Chadwick All rights reserved LIBRARY of CONGRESS Two Copies Received APR 19 1904 CoDVrlght Entry CLASS CS-' XXc. No. 5" If s- ! i COPY B i^^y- PRINTED AT THE GORHAM PRESS BOSTON, U. S. A. From these stone streets I would go Where the pines' rude blossoms blow; Where the zvinds the leaf lids lift, Letting sunshine through each rift; Where bright brooks keep ceaseless song As their foam flecks Hie along; Where the outer ocean lies Solitary 'neath the skies; Where the zvind-built sand dunes lift Sun-bleached shoidders, drift on drift. Far from tasteless toil to Uy, There Vd rest, and Vd be I. (HontmtB FAR FROM THE STONE STREETS Page Sleighing ...... II Winter's Masquerade . . . . 13 Exotics ...... 13 The Pine's Dream .... 14 Ideals Afar ..... 14 At Sunset ..... 15 Winter Evening .... 15 When the Ice goes Out 16 Song Sparrows in March . 17 Hepaticas ..... 18 Lily of the Valley .... 19 A May Shower .... 19 UVULARIA ..... 20 Ultima Thule .... 21 The Call ..... 22 Anticipation ..... 22 The Brook ..... 23 The Approach of Summer . 24 A Summer Drive .... 25 " The Wind is Sighing Through My Latticb Bower" ..... • 27 To the East Wind .... 28 Rest ...... . 30 The Thunder Storm .... • 31 A Boat Song ..... • 32 In Fern Time .... • 33 A Fandango ..... • 34 Yellow and White Chrysanthemums . 36 Looking Off ..... . 36 East Wind in the City • 37 Renewal ..... ■ 38 Page " Purple Shades of Autumn " . . -39 At Evening 40 October 40 The Forest Park 41 Despoiled 41 By the Sea 42 Autumn 42 Aurora Borealis 43 To Some Neighboring Cedars 43 In the Fall 44 Thanksgiving Eve 44 God and Immortality 45 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS Stepping Stones 51 The Torchlight Parade . 63 " Put Him to Death " • 65 A Mystery . 66 Raphael's Cherubs . 67 The Ring Nebula 68 Hamlet 68 Intuitions 69 Isolation 70 The True Nobility . 71 Prince Christian 71 The Harp of Judah . 72 The Beyond IZ Man's Mind the Key to the Universe 75 Awakening 75 To the Mount 76 The Elf and the Dev^drop 71 The Staubbach 71 The Annunciation . 78 The Word 83 The Cripple 84 Our Mother's Voice . 87 The Man of Sorrows What doth Youth Know of Love The North to the South . On a Portrait of Stanley . The Unexpected The Orchid The Unknown Mathematician A Sonnet Page 87 90 90 91 92 Jar Jrnm tlf^ Btttm BtntU SLEIGHING Here are we nestled, warm and snug, Within the cutter's perfumed rug. And swiftly o'er the light road skim Toward the hills that far and dim Lie on the cold horizon's rim. Away, away ! the snow is white. The air is clear, the moon is bright. To backward glance the village spires. Tipped with their pale up-pointing fires, Fade as a holy thought expires. Away ! tonight our company The spirits of the frost shall be ; We'll chase the flying bells whose play On moonlit meadows far away Is softened to a murmur gay. Away through villages that lie Like silver jewels, gliding by The river's gleaming stream of steel. Whose fringe of ice the waves conceal That echo back our sleigh bells' peal. Here stands a quiet farmhouse ; there A stretch of glistening fields lies bare ; Here thickets, robed in white array, Climb the steep banks, and sharply lay Dark shadows o'er our rapid way. The shaken trees their crystals fling, That shatter with an airy ring ; And hark ! a mocking ripple swells From where the covered streamlet wells And tinkles through its icy cells. Away again ! yon pine-trees tall Close round us a mysterious wall ; Through their great harps the solemn moan Of winds is sweeping, long and lone, In melancholy minor tone. Away through spicy forests, hung With mantles by the storm winds flung, From out whose solitude the sigh Of breezes brings some weird, wild cry. To scare us as we glimmer by. Ah, see ! the watch fire on the lake. Where merry skaters pleasure take ! Their voices, as we onward go, Die to a light cadenza, low As sounds through dreams of music flow. The prospect widens ; on before Stretches the broad lake's dazzling floor ; And far, where pearly vapors rise. Shine through a mist the peaceful skies And azure hills of paradise. The distance shuts like wings behind ; Before, it opens silver-lined ; The angel of the radiant night Leads ever on before our flight. And past us stream its robes of light. WINTER'S MASQUERADE What robe is this that Winter hath put on ? Jealous of Spring, the antic-minded wight Hath wove a mimic springtime in the night. Through gentle groves of mist we gaze at dawn, Save these, in place of living green, are white. Where'er the eye may turn, pale avenues Stretch fairy vistas 'mong the veiled rocks — Ghost of the imprisoned Spring, whose beauty mocks The weighted evergreens and the lone birds. 'T is useless, Winter ! no soft breeze yet woos — No busy hum of voices speaks delight, And thy low clouds keep sullen oversight. And look! where sunlight bursts, too swift for words. Thy fair pretending groves with ice flash bright ! EXOTICS Thou ! I love thee ! cool, dim green and carmine, Creamy, pure white and frail pink deep'ning down — Rare mingling forms and perfumed colors ming- ling— O sweetest soundless music that can drown All feelings save this longing thou dost wake Toward — I know not what ! — Art thou a key To ope the door of the mysterious Life Whose fire leaps into my heart through thee? Ah ! now I know the secret of thy power ! Poem of Nature ! the Promethean flame — The infinite Thought breathes in thy perfect beauty. And writes on thee the glory of a Name. 13 THE PINE'S DREAM " A pine-tree standeth lonely, And of a palm it dreameth." — Heine. The pine-tree * * * * is as immortal as I am, and perchance will go to as high a heaven." — Thoreau. It dreams that palm and pine-tree Will die ; that winds will wait To waft their final perfumes To some far, airy state Where they will meet and mingle Beneath the azure dome, Like souls on earth long sundered, That find in Heaven one home. IDEALS AFAR I view the sunlit, snow-encumbered world, And in the distance see a treeless hill. Upon the hill's white shoulder is a space Of shade, thrown from a cloud low-poised and still. My soul's ideal stands serene and pure. But o'er its light there bends a shape of woe, Spirit of earthly strife — as yonder shade Bedims the lustre of the unsullied snow. 14 AT SUNSET The snow came down on Saugus, And left a wide, white plain — The rosy evening tingles With the breath of the far, blue main. There's laid an ermine mantle On distant, pale Nahant, Where the purple fires of sunset Fall tenderly aslant: Fall from the orange glowing In the wine-red vault of the west, That strikes through bold black lacings Of elm-tree boughs at rest. Beneath, the farmhouse raises Its picturesque silhouette — Cold, darker hills sweep onward To where the sun has set ; And high in the violet ether The crescent moon shines clear; Dusk is a vesper chanted To the heart held still to hear. WINTER EVENING The_ flames around my birch log flash, and furl Their yellow pennants, while weird smoke streams whirl. Without, the night notes of the frozen rain Sound snipping, snapping on the window pane. 15 . WHEN THE ICE GOES OUT BY THE MERRIMAC When the ice goes out, The great float rushes, grinds along the shore ; Then fragments flocked like dolphins glide to sea — Swift runs the steely current, quivering cold — When the ice goes out. When the ice goes out, The water flashes o'er its darkling blue, And, glad with life renewed, at sunset flushing. Answers the stooping sky — O fair the pic- ture ! — When the ice goes out. When the ice goes out. Quickens the earth, and sudden gleams of sun- shine Play o'er the dark pine shores with smiles pro- phetic. And clouds pile up in April gloom and splendor, When the ice goes out. When the ice goes out, The stark limbs of white birches on the shore — All wakening things — reach toward the softened sunlight, Dreaming of rustling leaves and babbling runnels, When the ice goes out. i6 SONG SPARROWS IN MARCH New life hath touched the heart of the earth in its beating, For, down on the marshes wide, Where 'neath a soft-flecked sky flows in the luminous tide. Blossom the pussy-willows, on stems o'er the stone walls meeting; And clear and clear From far and near, The thread-like trills of song sparrows a web of music are weaving Over the marshes wide, far out where the sea is heaving. Sing on, O luminous tide, from the sea of silver flooding ! O birds, what means your song? Strong is your faith in a dream that Summer will come ere long. (Sweet the odors of turf and sea breeze and the spice the willows fling.) Though the east wind blow Through flurries of snow. From out some place of hiding your undaunted eyes will be peering. As you wait to fill with music the sunset in its clearing. Then tenderly over the marshes the amber light will be falling, Over the sea's blue strip Where far on the dim horizon blushes some fleeting ship ; 17 And flung- out loud and clear the thread-like trills will be calling, — " Hope hath returned And the joy that burned In our hearts was not misleading ; for Summer is telling her story, Sending out messages far and wide in the sun- set's glory ! " HEPATICAS Meek woodland stars ! purple and rose and white, Opening your silvery buds in noonday light, I welcome the glad messages you bring — That Winter's cold yields to the warmth of Spring. How frail you are ! and yet some quenchless hope Leads you to face, on this north-looking slope, The chilly air and brown woods yet unstirred By whispers that your quicker ears have heard. Most like you are to hopes of Heaven that spring Within the sinful heart, just wakening. Like these bare fields, from out the power of death. Touched by the Holy Spirit's quickening breath. And you, sweet blossoms, in your seeds have slept Till Spring her promise to awake you kept, Have shaped God's thought of you to leaves and flowers With mindless patience through the winter hours, Till, ere I plucked you, waiting here you stood To give me pleasure ! Truly, God is good. i8 LILY OF THE VALLEY how fast you grow, Dainty little thing! Fairy wands all in a row, In the tender Spring. 1 look every day In your leaves' cool cells, Hoping you have heard Spring say, " Now bring out your bells ! " Every little heart. Robed in moonbeam white, Slowly bursts its globe apart And opens to the light. Then, quite wide awake. Each astonished bell Gives itself a tiny shake — " My ! how sweet I smell ! " A MAY SHOWER It caught the breath of flowers away And dashed it in my face, And all the resin buds of May Leaped up with jocund hearts that day ; The streams whipped foam in shallow pools, Where all the air the rain-splash cools, And apple blossoms peeped to see What spattered them so merrily — It was the rain of May. 19 The birds set up a warbling shout Above the rushing fall; Gold dandelions round about To wash their faces had come out, And colors streaked the rocks, between Wet branches weaving mists of green. But suddenly there came to me The old salt odor of the sea, Blown through the rain of May. UVULARIA Frail woodland beauty ! thou dost spring to meet The wandering hamadryad's seeking eye, Breathing thy secret of nativity. 'T is thus she reads her poems, in the leaves Of flowers finding all philosophy — Sweet books, where perfect law Love's message weaves In the pure native tongue the heart doth greet. How much they hold. Eternity reveals — Stars are but letters on the lustrous page — Yet this true speech hath such a wondrous gauge, One airy sentence, like this blossom here. Touches the Author's plan. Age after age, Groping for words that shall life's deeps make clear. Oft in despair by some frail flower kneels. 20 ULTIMA THULE Far off, where the misty headlands Melt into the serene ocean, I would fly, — there even motion Hath more quiet than my rest. Here the sun shines, but a sadness Haunts the spring, outweighing gladness. While the tree tops weave their laces, There, perhaps, are silent places Where the empty soul embraces The sweet secret of its rest. Even now the sea wind's fingers Touch my heart, where softly lingers Thought of infinite peace — deep feeling Wafted from those isles of healing; Utmost Isle ! there the vexed spirit Seeks the joy it shall inherit. So, if I could be uplifted And to those far headlands drifted. Where the sunshine's gold hath sifted Gleams that on the waters rest, — Somewhere on those far off headlands, Looking on the ceaseless motion Of the unending blue of ocean, I might find the perfect rest. 21 THE CALL " The Red Gods call us out and we must go." — Kipling. Do you know a shady woodland where smooth roads go winding through, Over which the soft-shod cycles glide and gleam ? Do you know a country highway where the shadows wave and weave, Near an old log bridge that spans a spinning stream ? O 'tis there that I am going, going wheeling with my lover, And we'll drink from brooks that falter as they flow ; We shall hear the squirrel chuckle, see the part- ridge whir to cover, " For the Red Gods call us out and we must go." ANTICIPATION We shall stand on that hill where the pines brush the blue, And the mountains will lend their grand grace to the view ; And sweet rest and twilight will bless me and you, While the setting sun fashions his flames. 22 THE BROOK I know where its stream first sees the day, Far back in the rockbound wells ; And it softly creeps on its sinuous way, A thread of light through the pebbles gray. Singing — ah, what ? who tells ? The wavelet crisps on its widening sea, And dancing bubbles break, As an Artist draws, with a hand full free, Circle and line — soft vocal glee Ripples along their wake. The ancients thought that the tune of the tide Laughed through some naiad's throat ; But 't is only the music that doth abide At the heart of all, whate'er betide — Creation's hopeful note. In noiseless pools — like rests that lie In song, too deep for speech. Glows the calm beauty of the sky — The measureless Divinity — Love soaring beyond reach. The mirrored stars afar o& swinging, Join in the brook's low rhyme. The endless fugue through all space ringing, Chords hearts, and spheres and spray drops flinging — The symphony of Time. Sing, brook! soft syllables repeating What sages may not know ! If I could tell what foam waves breaking Might tell, or the wind the long grass shaking, How would my numbers flow ! 23 THE APPROACH OF SUMMER A warm breath blew my hair ; I looked, but everywhere Bloomed innocent child-blossoms of the Spring. Silence and May were near ; But still — yes, I could hear A silver voice in far off echoing. A soft hand touched my own ; I looked, and, overgrown, A damask bud was bursting into bloom. Slow from the low, flushed sky, As velvet robes trail by. Passed a rich, almost visible, perfume. A presence smote my soul. And, vibrating, it stole Upward, a note of earth's full harmony. Sound, glowing color, scent. In one sweet outburst blent. Poured forth inspired Summer's symphony. But ah, my heart, my heart ! f ' Why should within thee start Pale images of roses that are dead? The song thy summer sung, l| Long, long ago it rang • An echo 'mons: the hills with sunset red. I 24 A SUMMER DRIVE Along the peaceful village street We ride, in pleasant talk at ease. Far off the sparkling river lies Deep blue beneath the summer skies. Among the overarching trees Rustles the fragrant southwest breeze, And on the firm white road the cheery hoof- strokes beat. Beyond the wayside hedges, dream Green meadows, where the red kine graze. Wide fields of waving corn and wheat Drink in the sun's fierce, ripening heat, And far, a line of low hills raise Their summits in the tender haze That marks the winding way of Powow's gentle stream. Ah, how the fresh breeze springs from o'er The river's white-capped, blue expanse ! Its wide, deep current flows between Low shores and hills of sombre green. Birds twitter, silver sparkles dance, The birches' gay leaves gleam and glance, And light-rushing wavelets break upon the shore. Through country ways, on, on for miles, Till shadows lengthen : from this height, Behind, the purple stream winds down Past hill, and field, and distant town ; Before, through gates of dazzling light, A sea of silver melts from sight. Wide o'er the happy earth the peace of Heaven smiles ! 25 The summer woods ! this shaded way — How cool it is — how sweet and still ! A tender, vernal dusk pervades The silence of these leafy glades, Save where, through broken openings, spill Splashes of sunlight ; oft a trill Bubbles, and quick wings rustle from a tilting spray. What drifts of white, luxuriant bloom Along the sylvan vistas grow? Lo, clematis hath twined her bowers Of gushing leaves and foaming flowers ! Down through her wreaths of virgin snow The sunset's hazy splendors glow. And beams of golden green slant through the verdurous gloom. The sun hath set ; down pleasant lanes Come slowly home the lowing kine. Sweet odors fill the gathering dew From meadows where the hay is new. Drifting o'er yonder misty line Of coast, comes inland from the brine The strong salt air. Slowly the glimmering twi- light wanes. Now on the bridge, resounding slow. Homeward, we cross the river's breast. Deep in its polished mirror lie The crescent moon, the hollow sky, And wooded banks ; and, islands blest, The rosy cloudlets of the west Lie anchored in a second golden heaven below. 26 A sense of rest the evening fills — An influence of tenderness. The Spirit clothed in nature's grace Unveils the beauty of His face. Soft zephyr, like a light caress, Springs as the lingering day grows less, And from the scented fields the insect chorus shrills. " THE WIND IS SIGHING THROUGH MY LATTICE BOWER" The wind is sighing through my lattice bower, And leafy shadows tremble on the floor. The solemn light That steeps the mountains in its sleeping gold, Is sleeping here, and far and far away, No sound, no motion save the noiseless drift Of rose leaves on the grass ; and through my heart A sadness steals One with the nameless grief that haunts the day, Whose softened glory, wafted from the east. Holds the wild, mystic secret of the sea. A yellow butterfly goes flitting down The garden path, And disappears. A spirit broods alone. Beautiful, but like a spirit of the dead. 27 TO THE EAST WIND thou that echoest the voicefnl deep — Mighty and strong! I dare to come to thee In love, not fear. I bring to thee, O Wind, The thoughts which thou hast left me, blossomed out. Thou ! while thou circlest in thy stormy sweep, Setting thy long-imprisoned voices free ! — 1 hear beyond them wail a sorrowing mind. And sounds of weeping mingle with thy shout. Ah, is it strange 'tis so, when thou hast come From places where the centuries lie dead — Where all the darkness moves with memories Of the far past, and naught but dripping ledges Answer them, save when thou leav'st thy home, And far and near thy haunted vapors shed? The cooling hand that on my forehead lies Perchance hath come from where long ocean sedges Trail o'er the lost, or wrecks that through the gloom Like phantoms move the water in low sighs ; Or where gold heaps run into darts of light, And curious fishes smell and pass them by. All things that in the salt sea find a tomb — The windless forests desolate of skies — Decaying cities sunken in the night Of long oblivion, where ruined lie Their splendors past, and crusted are their halls With shellfish and the seaweed's flaunting hair — Where fins fan through the windows, and the ghost That comes to visit his earth home once more Flies frightened when some mouldered turret falls 28 With sullen splash, — O Wind, thou from thy lair Tellest of these, and more ; thy viewless host Shudder within me as the ocean's roar. But there are da3'^s — the fresh and bright and free — When o'er the darting- sparkles of the blue Thy voice hath gained a sound that calls a sheen Of glory from the glory of the sea ! The skies are clear and lustrous, and from thee The nodding rose takes on a fairer hue. The grass streams westward with a fresher green. But twilight sees thee whiten silently, And fogs roll in o'er marshes, and the smell Of ocean flowers blows stronger from the brine, And like a tide within me come and go Vague longings after dead and buried things. And faintly, as thou weep'st to rest, the swell Of rocking billows, foaming line on line. Comes up the land, and with a pallid glow, Beneath the moon thy mists fold up their wings. 'Tis then we hear the elfin sea music Rise in fantastic melodies of eld. And far within the dusky purple east A thousand murmurous harmonies run on. O Wind, not always dreams the stilly lick Of low surf on the shore, but oft have swelled The waters, lashed to an angry yeast. And thou, swooping to land with strength new- won, Tear'st through the valley with monotonous boom. Tameless and swift — Oh, I would with thee go ! Yes, for within my breast an answering voice Struggles to follow thine — it lifts me high 29 E'en as thy flying clouds ! I feel a doom To bear, like thee, the memories that flow From the dead past, that in their strength rejoice, When I, like thee, would from my unrest fly. Ay, trailing after us, they come, they come ! Oh, let me link my empty hands with thine ! Perchance in thy far revellings may break The chains from which I never can be free. Alas, it is not so ! but. East Wind ! some Morn shall dissolve these fetters, thine and mine, When the evangel of the Lord shall wake Eternity across the glorious sea! REST I stand alone on this rock-armored shore, Breathing the incense of the sun-flamed sea. The world seems fair and from all evil free. And everything partakes of joy's full store. The balanced waves move on with rhythmic tread — Their bending forms the winds' rude motions bear ; These blue-encumbered lengths of water wear Rich ermine capes upon their shoulders spread. But now the sea grows still, the wearied air Ceases, the ripples lisp their last farewells, — Only the tireless swell now sways the calm. A subtle power frees my soul from care. Yes, like the sea's still motion, in me dwells Thought's onward movement tempered by rest's balm. 3° THE THUNDER STORM The sunlight flees the air, — the earth retreats to sullen gloom. The burning day anticipates the coming of heat's doom, For in the west the clouds' dark brows frown o'er the timid sky, And silence waits with anxious calm until the storm draws nigh. The air tunes all its harp strings to the thunder's gathering tone ; The wind strikes mighty discords, till the strife of sounds is thrown Throughout that breadth of atmosphere where silence held its sway. Ha ! what new foeman of the heat unleashed his poniard's play? The lightning's struggling splendor with its glit- tering streams of light, Flows o'er the plains of darkness ; but the climax of its might Bursts all the flood gates of the clouds, and rain streams are expelled Until the coolness soothes the air, and haughty heat is quelled. But see! The darkness falters, and beyond the air's wet fields, Unshattered lances from the sun pierce through the cloud's black shields. Soon the dark tumult ceases — gloom is by light unbound ; And Nature, thankful for the storm, smiles from the rain-stained ground. 31 A BOAT SONG Upon the trackless desert of the ocean, I sailed my little boat one summer's day. She bounded with a swift and buoyant motion, Dashing from bows to stern with scattered spray. Fathoms of mighty water lay beneath me, Miles of blue, rolling meadows stretched away, And far and near the waves with whitecaps hoary Looked o'er each other's shoulders in their play. The sea's great arc the pale horizon belted, — Measureless azure brooded overhead; White domes, and hills, and pearl-paved road- ways melted In the soft winds that breathed on them and fled. Lightly the monster bore his tiny rider — But see ! the sky is changed, and on the shore — Woe to the boat if e'er such seas betide her — Comb the wild breakers with a sullen roar. Fly, little boat ! with swift and swifter motion. Stagger and leap toward your sheltered home. When angry surges sweep the wakening ocean. Who would be tempted from his hearth to roam ? 32 IN FERN TIME Pale shapes of green, in bosky covert springing, Send through my mind a pensive music ringing. As though a troop of fays were faintly singing, Winding in the slant moonbeams. Shining through midsummer dreams. Wandering in the August woodlands slowly. Oft I come upon their jungles lowly — Sudden wildernesses of ferns, Hiding in Nature's cool, dim urns — They swell a thin and wild, sweet melody Through the strong forest's deeper harmony. Like treble flute notes in a symphony. Their clusters spring along these deep glades sleeping Round clififs o'er which the tangled vines lie creeping. And where the waxen clethra spikes are steeping The air with fragrance ; down below Bright in the grassy meadows, blow Troops of wild lilies in the breezes swaying Like scarlet butterflies together playing. Against my wreath of vine and fern, Their gathered cups of color burn Among fair harebells grouped around their feet. E'en so the fiery hearts are wont to beat Warmly toward others that are cold and sweet. A fairy spot, this little headland lying Out in the woodland lake ; here shadows, dying, Melt in the mirrored blue ; to soft winds sighing, The honeyed wild azaleas shake A rose-streaked blossom in the lake. And, in the sunshine, water lilies dreaming Stir on the crystal deeps around them gleaming. 33 Here, amid leaves, the maidenhair Unbinds her tresses to the air In fragile beauty. How thou seemest near, Spirit of these lone woods ! such shapes appear That whisper One hath been before me here. The world is full of God ! in the soft splendor Of earth and sky I read his message tender. Here will I rest, my silent praise to render Beneath the whispering trees. How still The landscape ! drinking in its fill Of sunlight. The waves on the pebbles breaking, Rush, foam, and lapse. I would that never waking This peace might know, while yet I feel Its gentle rest across me steal. With idle rise and fall, my spirit flows Whithersoe'er uplifted fancy goes To dream within the afternoon's repose. A FANDANGO The moon looked down one summer night A yellow globe of tender light — Upon a little brook at play That dashed its silver rills to spray, And bubbled o'er with gurgles gay. And danced and danced A light fandango in the meadow. The slender iris' purple cup With dewy fragrance filling up, And sweet white violets that grew In crowds near by, their shadows threw That flickered when the night wind blew, And danced and danced A light fandango in the meadow. 34 A firefly, with gambols rash Floating in many a dying flash, Now ht a-tilt on a grassy bar, Now gleamed within the dusk afar, Now downward slid like a falling star ; And danced and danced A light fandango in the meadow. There was a happy frog who knew His sweetheart's tender love was true ; So, where the brooklet's wavelets beat, And washed against their twinkling feet, They sang a polka shrill and sweet. And danced and danced A light fandango in the meadow. What wonder I was moved to speed On twirling tiptoe down the mead? And as, in fairy guise, with glee I whirled a quickstep airily. We joined in mirthful revelry, And danced and danced A light fandango in the meadow. 35 YELLOW AND WHITE CHRYSANTHE- MUMS O rich and pure ! what fair and downy dreams Are pillowed soft within your melting bloom? Methinks the eastern moonlight lifts the gloom Where, through thick leafage, parting as it gleams, You lean to meet the blushing silver beams. Ah ! now I hear an airy footstep start Down terraced walks where statues shine apart, — One comes and earth with nobler beauty teems. O now she gathers you with her light touch Into those warm, white fingers ! — Gods ! I feel That clasp you meet so pale and passionless. Swaying your long, loose fringes ! 'Tis of such Dreaming, the hours my senses steal. And steal my heart, for her — I dream — to bless. LOOKING OFF Far, far across the waters blue, The land of Beulah comes in view — The white Hesperides. Here flashing breakers rush and roar ; But on that distant, dream-locked shore Is rest and flowery ease. Could I but dip my pearly feet In purple waves in that retreat, How sweet the summer's day ! But I should long for the bright, wild sea. For the rough, red rocks, and the storm — and thee; So let life have its way. 36 EAST WIND IN THE CITY The skies are fair this afternoon, The trees and grass are green with June ; Salt-scented, from the marshy lea, In long, delicious breaths set free. The east wind comes in from the sea. The atmosphere's soft, crystal light Reveals the city, clean and bright. Cool shadows in the trees dive deep Beneath the vivid lights that steep The groves and streets in tranquil sleep. I smell the freshening ocean air ; I feel its breath blow back my hair ; I seem to see long, wet sands shine. And hear the billows, line on line, Roll inward from the flashing brine. In fancy, once again I lie Where great rocks pile their ruins high. Far down below, against their feet. The restless breakers rush and beat In loud advance and light retreat. Eastward the sparkling water lies. Far reaching 'neath the circling skies. A white gull gleams across the blue, A white sail glimmers into view, And flecks of foam the breezes strew. With half-shut eyes I dream, I glide Away out with the flowing tide. As though the great heart of the sea Had drawn my own away from me In its mysterious sympathy. 37 But round me lies no summer reach Of hoary cliJff, nor yellow beach. The sound the breezes murmur o'er Is not the waves upon the shore, But busy traffic's ceaseless roar. Yet in the day's drear brightness, dwells The secret that the wild sea tells. Wide o'er the land its trance is spread. That seems from yearning sadness bred, Like memories of joys long dead. The tender glory in the air Rests like a blessing, everywhere ; The sunset's slanting haze that falls On distant spired towns and walls The vision of St. John recalls. Such must the Holy City be, When earth wears immortality. When, in its airs of solemn gold. Wide, still, the Almighty's wings unfold In baptism of peace untold. RENEWAL There comes drifting over the marshes An odor known to me. And a tumult stirs my spirit, Almost lost to memory. My flagging blood flows faster — My heart is struggling free Out of its dull, long sadness, For oh, I smell the sea ! 38 Roll back, thou years of sorrow, Thou long, long years of pain ! Let in a flood of sunshine Through the drear clouds fringed with rain. Come back, youth's dewy freshness, The hopes and dreams all vain, The happiness I longed for — I smell the sea again. Take heart, O weary woman ! There yet remains for thee All that thou thought'st had vanished This side eternity. Renew thy race, glad Virtue, — Life's purpose, strong and free ; God sends His cheering message In the odor of the sea. "PURPLE SHADES OF AUTUMN" Purple shades of autumn stained the white sails Down by the sea ; Beauty and heartache touched the world together. Coming to me. Lonely the splendid sunlight brooded a-dreaming Over the lea, Where goldenrod flamed and beckoned, Calling to thee. Heartache crept softly out and left earth's pure beauty. How tenderly ! For through the light and shade came footsteps Down by the sea. 39 AT EVENING The glowworm in the rose's cell A message had from thee, That, shining through her softened light, Brought thy dear eyes to me. The rose reached out and thrilled my hand- She whispered something sweet ; And then methought that softly so I knew thy heart could beat. The summer night slid down and touched My spirit with her own. Ah, in her passionate low speech I heard thy gentle tone ! Still must the heart strings in my breast Throb lonely 'neath such themes? O come to me and comfort me. Or haunt me not in dreams ! OCTOBER A hush hath fallen o'er the autumn days. The white sail, noiseless, steals away from shore ; Blue seas spray silverly with mellowing rush On rocks steeped through with sunshine. All the woods. That meet the happy pathways of the fields. Find death a rapture, pouring through their veins The draught none save immortals can endure. And oh, the sky ! those heights on heights of blue, Seen through the arches and gold-fretted domes Of lofty elms, how beautiful ! They rain Thought writ in fire, drenching the heart with love. 40 THE FOREST PARK Thy long, low, winding mounds and vales, that rest Where trees' contending shadows always lower. Show where some glacier furrowed earth's broad breast With icy ploughshares, drawn by mystic power. Though roughly hewn, thy slopes grew grand with time. As hidden secrets 'mid thy dust were wrought ; Till now triumphant pine-trees stand sublime, The noble actions crowning Nature's thought. A temple thou — saved from destruction's bane — Where dwells the goddess Rest, whose power divine Unties for men the tangles in life's skein If they but worship at her forest shrine. Though greed and change may threaten, firmly stand In thy primeval purity alone, E'en though the city raises round thy land A greater, envious wilderness of stone. DESPOILED Ceased is the summer shower. And empty clouds lie listless, Wrecked on the far horizon's shore. Like shells of India's sea. Robbed of their pearls ; and useless, Cast on some sandy, wave-wet floor. 41 BY THE SEA The unending blue of ocean meets mine eye, All life and sparkle, and the fresh, spiced air Rushes, its gladness with my soul to share. These waves are friends, — together we laugh, sigh. Without the need of words ; such ones would I Dwell with, whose silence is a speech most rare. Today this bright sea hath no room for care. Voicing, unchecked, the eternal harmony. God in this scene maketh my soul grow still, Reaching me through creation, telling all That is ; and I, most willing pupil, learn By touch of Love that love is all His will. Assurance sweet! we hear His truth's strong call, And, listening, forget to weep and yearn. AUTUMN Lo! on the threshold of the year's decay Eternal Life looks down, and Nature's lyre Smites with a prescient tumult of desire. Earth, listening, glows beneath the rapturous lay. Look ! where the skies faint o'er the azure day. What chords are blending! gold and scarlet fire. Cool green that melts to amber mounting higher. And, fading like a dream of joy away, Against the blue, rose hues and violets lie. From west to east rich color pours along The dying hills, flashing immortal breath — A glorious burst of longdrawn harmony. Like to that sumptuous and triumphant song That strikes its music through the soul of death. 42 AURORA BOREALIS Out from the far, cold circle of the north, The flames of Heaven's great watch fires strupple forth, And paint the ceiling of the star-pierced night With restless frescoings of beauteous light; Now glowing low, with steadiness intense. Like nobleness enshrined in some strong soul ; Now gathering vividness, until immense, Full chords of color swell and upward roll. Across the night, these wondrous flashlights throw Their silent signalings, now quick, now slow. Weaving the stars in their mysterious veil, — A drama grand — but no man reads the tale. TO SOME NEIGHBORING CEDARS Last night the storm swept through thee, and thy boughs. Drenched with the pulsing millions of its drops, Thrilled to a wild and eerie melody. From where the sea bird rocks, it came to thee, And messages from the sweeping clouds down- poured — Songs that the winds and rains and sunshine hoard. Shut from the cold I lay, and listened long, Watching thy slender spires against the sky Beat like a baton, writing on the air That Nature's score which in divine despair The rapt composer follows, till he hears, Broken, afar, the music of the spheres. 43 IN THE FALL The eddies of the north wind sweep Through dead leaves rustHng low ; Its breath is from the freshened deep, And woods with frost aglow. Thin, blue, the waving tree shades lie Across the gray road winding by, And high on rocky steeps, and higher, Glows the red sumach's fire. Each loosened leaf writes on the air A poem in its fall ; It beckons me its dream to share, And binds me in its thrall. Through the still sunset, amber clear, I hear some far off chanticleer From out the farmyard call. The azure fire that fills the sky Is cold, but full of love. Rocked on its breast the cedars lie Crowning the clifit's above. And, running down yon chain of hills, Color with praise the autumn fills. Knowing 'tis joy to die. THANKSGIVING EVE The crescent moon, a shining blade, Glitters adown the west. Gray bars of cloud, vermilion-dashed. Sink wind-blown to their rest. 'Tis pleasant by the wood fire's blaze When darkness shrouds the country ways And harvest fields undressed. 44 GOD AND IMMORTALITY SUGGESTED THROUGH NATURE And canst thou, having senses, doubt, my soul — Doubt of a God, and of eternal life ? Look 'round thee and forget thy fears — look up ! O deeps on deeps on deeps of heavenly blue. Wonderful mystery! for which no name The spirit hath while gazing into thee. Entranced in the Invisible ! No word But thine, O Love, opes the true utterance Toward such a power as fastens on me now In yonder azure. Speak, my heart, thy thought, That doth outrun the reasoning of mind. And say thou meetest God within the sky ! Lo, how those heavenly airs whose thrilling touch Sweeps through the groves of resurrected spring Long miles of music in the newborn leaves — How breathe they on the doubting and despair That struggle with life's auguries, till they wake, Through some sweet, wordless argument, to faith In infinite love and immortality! Hark how the gale leaps from the lightning cloud ! Answers the bellowing thunder's deep-toned voice, Rolling across the surging forests tossed Like billows of the ocean — Glorious ! God! roars exultingly the storm along. God ! leaps triumphant through the laboring soul Caught to the bosom of the tempest — God ! As a frail note's whelmed by a music tide, Rushes its passion on the spirit — God ! Within those springtime forests, where o'erbroods His pregnant Being, ever year by year Writing life's quenchless hope in tender flowers That die to live again, and drawing from Old trees the bud and blossoming of youth, — 45 Within those places we call solitudes, A Presence draws the soul into itself, Uplifted yet at home, clasped in the rest That fills the eternal dwelling place of Him. Stand thou upon the tempest-beaten shore, Where the fierce ocean wind comes sweeping like An eagle by thee, and the lashing waves Boom on the rocks below with rush and roar Of harmony, — that tumult speaks to thee With a familiar voice — thou knowest the tones Of One who dwells within thee as without. Who, standing on the mountains, with his feet Set where the peaks at morn and evening crown Their heads with changeful beavtty — lifting up Altars of amber fire in setting suns. Blushing as softly as an infant's cheek When o'er them palpitates the morning star, Swelling with swaying cycles of soft sound The while the silken zephyr's sighing tone Low agitates their forests, or awake To the stern music of the savage storm — Who, standing here, uplifted, while below Spreads the round, rugged earth that shows her- self A vast ball hung in space, — who but then through His sense of overwhelming weakness feels The conviction swell and shadow it — O Thou, Upon the threshold of whose life I stand, I see Thee, feel Thee, know Thee — Thou art here. Enthroned upon these heights. But, looking up Beyond the summit of earth's ancient hills. The secret of the heavens leads the mind To thought that it but dimly comprehends. And leaves it, lost, before the Infinite. 46 The stars, prophets whose feet tread out our lives, Whose countless eyes, in the forgotten past. Beheld the birth of man, and saw the rise And fall of powerful nations, whose vast worlds In constellations numberless people space. And still are more, and more beyond the more, — Millions of suns, the centres of bright troops, Whirling down measureless tracks through the unknown Black ether fields, flashing through endless space The syllables of an almighty Word, Unutterable by man — O when I look Breathless, into the awful, glittering night, My soul is smitten with humility That kills her sense of worth. But, as I feel Crushed into nothingness, my spirit then Springs as a mighty force restrengthens it. And with its foot upon the heavens, clasps The hand of God in reverent fellowship. 47 misr^Uanwus fn^ma STEPPING-STONES I hold it truth, with him who sings To one clear harp in divers tones, That rnen may rise on stepping-stones Of their dead selves to higher things. Tennyson Scene : A Studio. Two artists at work. First artist throws down his brush, and, going to the zuindozu, stajids looking out. First A. (soliloquising) 'Tis of no use ! They told me in my youth That genius should be free. And I am free! Free as yon smoke that wavers up and down, Wandering wheresoever it shall list. How free is that ? There are fixed laws that trace The lightest whirl that marks its upward way. And so with me ; wherever I may turn, There is some bar, some harshly pointing hand, That says, " Thou shalt go this way ; " and I go. Free ! — was I free when o'er the mountain steep I wandered till fatigue delayed my steps? Ah, was I free when down the torrent wild My small boat shot, and bore me on with it Till only chance hands snatched me from my death ? How free was I when passion's whirling race Bore me toward her heart to starve unfed? How free was I when through that other soul. Formed of the mingled dreams of heaven and hell, I tasted mad delight and dull despair? Ah, I was free ! what hollow mockery ! Have I of late been free, when from the glass All glowing with the life blood of the vine I drained the false elixir, till at last I swam entranced in festival of sense 51 And glorious visions, only to return To earth and find myself a bestial sot ? Ay, that was freedom — freedom to be cursed With everlasting thirst and endless strife — With habits whose unbridled course would bind Me to the misery of Tantalus, And drag the manhood left to slavery. Ah, I am free ! what lovely ministry Those legions of the damned that I have raised In this my search for freedom — how they strive To do some service to my noble art ! How vie they with all sweet wiles known to them, Each to express himself, while I stand by Wielding the brush for them that shall depict A portrait of my masters ! Ah, I free ! God ! I were freer rotted back to dust, Though even that slaves for the elements. Second Artist approaches, and lays his hand upon the other's shoulder. Second A. What moves you, brother? First A. Some few thoughts, no more. Second A. You look one lost in woe. First A. Lost, that is true — In what, I cannot name. It is enough To feel the name, and shudder at its deeps. Some people call it hell. Second A. Why, what is this? First A. Do you shrink from me? Second A. Shrink from you? Not so. These are the fancies of a fevered brain. First A. See what a beauteous vision gathers shape Upon your canvas ! It is full of peace, — So I should name a thing I never knew. Second A. You ne'er knew peace? First A. Nay, what may it be like? 52 Second A. (thoughtfully) I knew it not myself till latterly. First A. So you do know it ! Tell me where 'tis bred. Second A. 'Tis bred in battle with our dead- liest foe. First A. What may you mean? Second A. In victory over self. First A. I never sought to subjugate myself. Second A. Then 'tis no wonder that you are in hell. Our nature is two-fold. The selfish will, Set against God's will, is the road to hell. This rebel loosed will breed a thousand fiends To whip you to destruction. You are bound. First A. I need not you to tell me I am bound. But I will yet gain freedom if there lives Power in the soul of man to taste of such. Second A. There does ; if you will learn, — it needs naught else. First A. Teach me the way, and I am e'er your friend. What mean you by God's will ? Second A. I call it that. There is a governing Spirit everywhere That harbors with my conscience ; and when I, Through fiercest struggles with my selfish will Obey the mandates of this lawgiver, Then follow peace, and freedom of the soul. My conscience is God's will. First A. You must obey Your conscience? How is that then to be free? Second A. What if it be the conscience points to that Which reason through experience has proved Alone is to be loved and struggled for As yielding you your freedom? What if you S2> Find that God's will gives all your own has missed In darkest ignorance through devious ways — The only way that leads you safely home Unto the wished for goal ? First A. (musingly) Once I did know A woman that I would have counted such, — Ay, and would now, — and serving her should feel That I had found my freedom, for it is A bondage that I long for ; such no more Is bondage, but free service, and delight. Second A. Ay, now you speak the word — free service for That which we love the most — 'tis freedom so. First A. Yet many choose to love the blight, the curse; They hug the chains that make of them a slave. Free service, but where freedom? Second A. You do err. No man loved yet destruction. Oft the clutch Of some vile habit breeds a false delight — A vampire that does sap the life it feeds, And powerless 'neath its charm the wretch prefers Poison to food, and still no less is doomed. Ask such a bondman if he loves his chains ! Yourself but now owned that you were in hell. First A. How learn we then that conscience — God's will — is The only master that can set us free? Second A. By hard experience, as you have learned. And, speaking of this woman, you are wrong In deeming you could serve the imperfect so, Unless you were yourself perfected first. Somewhere this mortal soul would show a flaw, And disappoint you. Could you serve her still, 54 And find your freedom so? First A. No — Second A. I have been Bound to a woman thus with all my soul, And found the bondage madness — for no fault Of hers, — what right had I to ask of her That she should be my savior, and reveal Perfection absolute, that I might wait Joyful upon her will and thus be free? I sought and found the Perfect, higher far. First A. Where can you find perfection? Second A. It exists. If you but knew it once, you could but choose To know your master and your destiny. To know yourself — for in yourself it lies. Mankind must serve ; it is its very breath — The spring of every motive — to give self To some beloved thing. Only the wise Unwind their tendrils from unworthy gods — Idols of clay — and learn to love aright The Father of all freedom — we His heirs. Not blighting other loves, but guiding them To their true place, unto their true delight. First A. Unwind their tendrils ! so would I, alas ! But where can I find strength ? This means to me Struggles protracted, wherein I may be The vanquished, not the victor ; so am I Bound in the chains of habit. Second A. So was I. " The Truth shall make you free." First A. What is the truth? Where is it to be found ? Such words are vague ; They bring no meaning to the mind perplexed. Second A. I felt as you, and thus I made my search. I said, I have sought freedom all my life, 55 Lured on by passion's flattering promises, That do but bind me to her caprices. If there is aught within this universe That can command these clamorous, lustful tongues That make my rest a nightmare, and my flesh A double burden if I them obey — If there lives any Power can set me free. So that I may be tranquil, and no more A curse unto myself and all the world, — Even perchance a blessing, if such hope Can visit a dead destiny like mine, — Reach down and give me strength to follow Thee. First A. And were you helped? Second A. Ay, helped to help myself. A faint, persistent, and yet loving voice Urged me on bleeding feet to sacrifice ; But after sacrifice came the reward. I learned that in myself a spirit dwells Godlike — ay, even one with God Himself. It told me I was happy, sinless, free. It gently took the reins from flesh and sense, And turning all my being toward itself. Reigned, and rebellion perished ; for the law That erst I found so irksome, had become My innermost desire, and my peace. I could not be discouraged, though the way It led me upward in was long and hard. First A. And this mysterious life you call the truth ? Second A. Ay, truth, the spirit of the Christ in you. First A. In me? O no. Second A. I tell you, yes, in you. When Peter said, " Thou art the Son of God ! " Christ answered, " Thou art, Peter, and upon This rock I build my church." I say in you. 56 First A. (laughing) Though your theology- may be at fault, Your heart is not. I'll follow after you. II Early evening. Clara English in boudoir alone. Reads from nezvspaper. Cla. " The artist, Henry Frankenstal, was found In an intoxicated state last night, Past midnight, lying by the entrance of The Murray Hill Hotel. An officer Carried him to the station house, where he Was held on bail this morning. 'Tis well known Among the friends of Frankenstal, that he For a year past had given up the use Of liquors, which he drank much formerly. Though ne'er before to common drunkenness ; And for this reason they regard as strange His swift return without apparent cause, And with such violence, to an old vice. As for himself, he will not talk of it." (Rises and paces the floor.) So what they said was true ! Ah me, ah me ! I hoped he had abandoned his wild course. He loves me — yes, he said it, says it now ; And yet he stooped, and still stoops, to this pass. My God ! found in the gutter — Frankenstal ! The man I love — alas ! he knows it not ! Why should he know it? I will wear a smile Over this breaking heart for all my life, Ere such a man shall claim me as his own. Poor Henry ! He must suffer so tonight — For he was always proud — as low as this ! Why should I pity him who chose to seek Perdition, rather than reform for me? 57 I never asked him, true. / ask a man To set my love a prize 'gainst appetite! So — for a year — and now he falls like this ! (Kneels by the couch and remains so a long time.) (Rising) I am going to him — he needs a friend. Ill An elegant apartment. Frankenstal alone. Enter Valet. Valet. A lady at the door would see you, sir. Frank. Conduct her in. (^Valet returns with Clara, veiled.) Aladam, be seated, pray. (Valet zvithdrazvs. Clara removes her veil.) Miss English ! Am I making a mistake ? Cla. No, no mistake. My mother waits with- out. Frank. You wish to see me? Cla. I — I wish to, yes. Frank. 'Tis many years since you and I have met. Cla. Have you forgotten — Frank. That three days ago I wrote and asked your hand — the hand that you Have twice refused to me? and that tonight My name is spoken by a thousand tongues In accents of contempt? Both I recall. How can I serve you now? Cla. Henry ! Frank. I know Not what you mean. Cla. Help me to tell you, then ! Frank. Remove your hand, and stand away from me. If it was pity brought you here tonight. 58 I thank you. It was kind. I need it not. Cla. You not need pity? Frank. Clara, pray return. You do not know how low a man has sunk Who can forget himself as I have done. Pity me, if you can. The time has come When I am grateful to you e'en for this. But you must not stay here. Goodnight — good- bye. Cla. I will not go. It breaks my heart to go. I love you. Frank. You love — mef Cla. I love you — yes. Frank. Are you aware the man you say you love Came out this morning from the city jail, A common drunkard? Cla. Henry, I love you. Frank, (turning from her and kneeling by a chair. Muttering.) They say the souls in hell may look on heaven. Cla. (kneeling beside him) Dear Henry, let me touch you — let me speak ! This is not new to me, as you may think. It was the same, yes, years ago, when first You said you cared for me. I cannot tell Why, in despite of all you seem to me Of what is strong and manly, you persist In this unhappy course. I only know God gave my heart to you, and I must love ; And I will not forsake you now if you Still cannot change, but following on will hope To bring you to the better way at last. It is my duty. Henry, don't ! ah, don't ! You will not send me from you after this? Frank, (whispering) Please take your arm from me. It breaks my heart, 59 And does pollute you, too. Cla. Whatever now Pollutes you, it shall me, for I am yours. {Frankenstdl lifts her and, rising, stands back.) You look so strange ! Am I unwelcome then ? Frank. Unwelcome — you ? Cla. Dear Henry — Frank. Oh, my God! I must not keep you thus within my arms. I am a brute, a fallen, drunken beast, Unfit to breathe the air with such as you. Dear Clara, part from me, or I shall die. Cla. (reproachfully) You used to love me. Frank. Love ! and do I not ? If this sad, bruised heart, drenched by its tears. Wrung- by the struggles of a guilty soul Striving to grasp its virtue — could it now Shed its poor blood to give you happiness, Would it not do so ? Love you ! do you know That not an hour of all these ten long years Your soul has held mine, but has given you The best it had to give? My one wild grief That I in the deep gulf looked up and saw The star I longed to climb to, yet could not. Striving and ever falling? Ay, I love! I love you with a love that knows not change. Pure even now, polluted as I am — Fallen from the renewed manhood all but grasped Within my hand — ah, wretched ! that I see My heaven at last and dare not enter it. Cursed with the crowning woe of hurting you ! But bear with me — my noblest, dearest — give Only the privilege to speak to you From day to day, to touch your saving hand. There is a spirit in my bosom yet That spite of all shall make the man you love 60 That which he longs to be — for Christ and you. Cla. For Christ? you care for Christ? Frank. You are well amazed. Sit here, I'll tell you all. (They sit.) Dear friend, sweet friend, Angel of innocence! (He pauses, gazing at her.) Cla. Many have been Far worse nor cared so much. Frank. The shame that wrings My spirit beside thee! Cla. How could you do So, then, thinking of me? Frank. I thought you did Not care. Cla. And yet I would have died for you. (Frankcnstdl sinks on his knees, hiding his face and sobbing.) Frank. I know not what does ail me, yet my heart Grows lighter, as if freed from a great load. (Dries his eyes.) You die for me ! What would I do for you ? Cla. I want to hear you tell — how you have learned — Frank. To think of Christ? A)^ strange as it may sound From lips like mine — yes, I will tell it you. You know my friend, Ivan the painter, he Now is abroad — thankful I am 'tis so, For he would break his heart as you for me. Ah ! what am I, that God gives me such friends ? He taught me how to struggle 'gainst myself, And let the Son of God shine through my flesh. He led me on, till I believed my feet Were set upon the living Rock indeed, 6i Safe in the eternal good. Alas for me ! I could not yield all hope, and when I knew — Clara — the face of Jesus left me then ! In a brief madness I denied His love, And owned the flesh again. It shall not be Aught but a dream. As you were entering, I swore that I would cling to Christ again And live without you. Angel — Oh, I love — Cla. (weeping) Henry, His spirit sent me here tonight. Let the world go ! together we will win Your peace and mine, and owe it to God's love. IV A garden at sunset. Henry and Clara together. Frank. This peace is wonderful ! the color flares Mingling like chords of music. There may be Beings that hear those sweet strains as they rise. Cla. To see them through your eyes is all I ask. Frank. My heart — my wife ! how long past seems all strife. Cla. God is so good. Frank. He always was, if we Self-blinded, had not deemed it otherwise. Cla. Eternity stretches before us like A shining plain. Frank. True, it is 'round us here. 62 THE TORCHLIGHT PARADE We heard, far off, the pulsing beat Of drums that marched from street to street. Till ranks of piercing gems in sight Came winding through the sable night. In one long, milky way of light. Beneath the torches' flickering glare To fife and drum and trumpet blare — A rich, enchanted, weird parade. The passing bright hosts glow and fade Down brilliantly embroidered shade. Look where their torches burst again From out the dark of yonder glen ! In many a starry, three-fold line Their restless constellations twine Through glooms where kindling colors shine. Now moves a mass of jewels through A burning radiance of blue ; Beyond them ranks of diamonds gleam In pure white fire, and onward beam Where vivid ruby vapors stream. What ! lone and black and still thou Night ! How quickly out of sound and sight Have slipped those lights, and left alone The stars above where lately shone A host more brilliant than their own. Only the light breeze floats a note From out some larger bugle's throat — Only far off the drum repeats Its pulsing echo through the streets — Naught else the sight or hearing greets. 63 Ah, see! they come! against the jet Of night their fierce gold hghts are set ! To measure of the rolhng drum, Gay, booming silver sound, and hum Of marching feet, again they come ! Along the endless, glittering way. Red, white, and blue, the rockets play ; And rainbow hues are flushing high Where round the black, encircling sky A hundred gorgeous sunsets die. Not for the joyous light and sound That pours its glad excitement round, Alone the watching thousands gaze When wide those peaceful armies raise Their bristling bayonets of blaze : Thoughts of the nation's weal and woe Follow the melody's quick flow ; Thoughts that stout hearts, as good and brave As those that died the land to save. Beat where those thousand torches wave. Nor yet for one man's hope of gain Swells loudly the triumphant strain ; The quenchless love of country springs Within unnumbered breasts, and flings Its strength on music's trembling strings. Beat, hearts and drums, across the night ! Beat out the wrong, beat in the right! Beat for our martyrs that have bled — Beat for our just to progress wed — Beat for the living and the dead ! Till bloody wars forever cease, Till reigns a universal peace, 64 When armies rest as free from fight As thine, whose twinkHng Hnes of hght Wind back into the sable night. " PUT HIM TO DEATH ! " Amid the splendid court of Babylon, The saintly Daniel stood ; And, that he labored for the highest good, Idolaters, through ignorance set on, Reproved and maddened, held him up to scorn ; Nobles 'twere made raved 'gainst the noble born, " Put him to death ! " From out the soil of sacred Galilee The holy Saviour sprang ; And that with truth his words and actions rang. With aim to set from evil all men free. Against him rose poor, wild humanity. And shouted, wroth with their great destiny, " Put him to death ! " Against the false and evil, Luther fought. Striving to raise his kind ; And thousands, in their carnal passions blind, Set his protesting, purer life at naught ; Condemned him for the better things he taught. Shrieked " Freedom ! " in a cry that bondage wrought — " Put him to death ! " In Italy did Galileo live ; And, that he sought and found Much key to mysteries that hedge us round, That he some glimpse of God's great plan did give To minds glad, eager, never could forgive 65 Fools fighting knowledge that the wrong might live, " Put him to death ! " The same old spirit in our midst today Cries loud in its conceit : " If aught outside the views I hold should greet The eyes of mortals, let the light of day Banish its face from me and mine alway ; And they who see it, cursed, too, be they : Put it to death ! " O God ! how grovelling is the human race ! Well of them thou didst write — " They loved the darkness rather than the light." O well for them, through Thy protecting grace, The fate they cried be not their ending place. That ever springs to life, with brighter face. Truth put to death. A MYSTERY I read a poem, and a form of fire Flared in my shaken soul. I said. Strange Spirit, quickening high desire. What art thou — whence thy power to control ? I heard a strain of music, and my life Enchanted was, and drew Its breath as breathed the sweet, harmonious strife. I said. Can lifeless Song my will subdue? I looked upon a picture ; my heart stirred In strange, sad echoing. I said. What whispers that I have not heard. Speak to the listening heart from this dead thing ? 66 I stood beneath the starry heavens, alone. Quickening the sky, the sod, Creation o'er my spirit flashed her own. And I conceived the might and love of God. Composer ! Artist ! Poet ! can you tell What is the language fine, Whose keen vibrations, in their noiseless swell, Wake with resistless power your soul in mine? RAPHAEL'S CHERUBS Resting in clouds untouched by sun or storm — Arms, wings, and heads to make each little form. Yon chubby boys, with heavenly eyes uplifted As though before their gaze bright visions drifted, — What do you see? A sweet and tender awe Shines through your looks, as though you hardly saw But felt, such rapture as a dewdrop feels When through its trembling heart the sunlight steals. You had been playing in the summer sky, Bidding " God-speed " the prayers that floated by. Dropping bright blossoms before human feet That wondered why they found the way so sweet, When lo! a sound, beating with every joy The soul most longs for — Love without alloy We seek, but never give nor take on earth — That deep chord sped your swift wings to the birth Of harmony such as Christ's gift of life. With its eternal victory over strife. Would make in music. As its streams arise. Things sweeter than I know are in your eyes. 67 THE RING NEBULA So sunk in space it seems almost a dream — The pale ring nebula ! O eons old, Mysterious, sublime, strange life untold ! Man's little day crosses thy solemn beam. Perhaps it be that golden circlet's gleam Is set for lovers as a sign in heaven, Watching o'er those to whom true love is given. Vainly we guess what mighty meanings stream Unto the earth from the unmeasured spheres. While prisoned spirits long to know their will, Striving for wider reach of soul and sense. On those still shores there seems no lapse of years : Eternity, above earth's silver sill. Hath ope'd her doors : We ask her — whither ? whence ? HAMLET Above the wilderness of Shakespeare's verse. The character of Hamlet, like a star. Shines from his topmost heaven. So pure, so true, By very stress of love's own fealty Urged on to hate and vengeance. Feeling all The plea of those eternal verities That shape men's course to virtue, yet distraught By human frailty crossing all his dreams. Oh, there is that in such a noble heart Which reaches down through centuries to wake Mankind's divinity ; this from the dust Doth chivalrous spring to take a brother's part. Who, struggling with life's problem, could not yield His high-born soul to baseness, but toiled on Through strife, and pain, and death — to victory. 68 INTUITIONS The poet knows if his song be true ; For it comes with a whirl and a fire, As his fingers, wandering in the dark Over Life's harpstrings, strike a spark Out of the golden wire. The artist knows if his art be true ; For it seizes and wields his hand, While smites his anointed heart and eye The Vision Beautiful passing by ; Few see, none understand. The musician knows if his theme be drawn From the eternal score ; For his Eden, held by a flaming sword. Opes, and he hears the liquid word That haunts him evermore. The lover knows if his love be true ; For he reads, untaught, the scroll Of another life, with the wondering thought That the universe to man is brought In the touch of a kindred soul. The Christian knows if his faith be true ; For he feels the hallowed blade Of his soul's ideal pierce his heart With the wound that heals, and he bears his part Of the cross on the Saviour laid. 69 ISOLATION I know a language I have never spoken — The words that voice my soul. Oft over me its eloquent billows roll; Swift, fiery, it longs to give some token To other ears, but there is none that hears. I make companions of the woods and waves, — They seem to understand ; The God within them takes me by the hand ; But, lonely else, the inner being craves Some human tone whose utterance is its own. Prisoned in self, each spirit dwells apart ; No common tongue, no cry Has power to voice the personality. Since Babel fell upon the human heart, Man strives in vain his true speech to regain. Yet sometimes some familiar secret word Flashes from other eyes — Our own reply to them in glad surprise; Heart leaps to heart, rejoicing to be heard. Who that has met his friend thus, can forget ? 70 THE TRUE NOBILITY Perchance their way hath naught of pageantry — No sound nor show of state — Perchance no voice among men names them great. About the footstool of Christ's throne they wait — His glorious band of aristocracy. They claim no worth — only the few well see How gracious is their smile, How sweet their service and how true the while. White, high-bred souls no evil doth defile — The friends and ministers of Royalty. Aristocrats, yet a democracy : They choose Christ for their King, And all mankind to high estate would bring. Strong for the work of Truth, at heart they sing, Already clothed in immortality. PRINCE CHRISTIAN O Prince ! I gaze upon thy manly face — It is not beautiful, yet there I trace Some charm, some power, some sudden, winning smile. That make the heart and eye remember thee. There is a royal movement to thine hand. And in thy quiet bearing something grand, Reminding us of kings — as kings should be. Where is thine abdicated throne, young knight? Hast thou forgot it in the alarm, the fight ? Is it in some far land where men hate guile. Unerring true to virtue as the sword That flashes from the scabbard of the Lord ? How He must love thee, and souls like to thee, Whose arms on earth give Christ the victory. 71 THE HARP OF JUDAH I stood on barren hills scorched by the sun ; The sky arched over them its pale blue light That here and there revealed old ruins set In dreary desert places, where the sand Sifted its desolation undisturbed. No sound relieved the stillness, not a form Flitted across the fiery heat to seek The unrefreshing shadows of the noon. A mighty loneliness, as if the face Of God were turned against it, brooded o'er The circle of my vision. But what glow, Afar on yonder mountains dipped in haze, Blushes with rosy azure, creeping o'er The fainting land like love across despair? The glance that sweeps the weird monotony Leaps to catch sparkles and soft gleams of blue ; And looking down, tracing through vales obscure, I marked a river winding to the sea. With eager feet descending, soon I stood Close by its willowed margin, drinking in Its cooling breath, and listening to the sounds It babbled on the pebbles. Noting how It ever widened as it neared the sea, I saw upon a drooping tree that trailed Its tremulous branches in the eddying stream, A mouldering lyre, Judah's neglected harp. Long given up to silence and decay. Quickly I seized it, curious to hear Its wakened tones, so grand in ages gone, And struck with careless vehemence the strings. When, as a thousand voices swelling from Caverns far underground and regions hid In the remote, vast solitudes, arose A strain of such unearthly, wailing sound, 72 Of hope deferred, of terror, and of woe, I shuddered as I heard ; it swept along Through the deep valleys echoing with moans, Till, borne to farthest distance, died away. The silence reassured me, and as one Held by a scene of horror looks again E'en as he turns away, so tremblingly Again I touched the harp. O sweet surprise ! Its melting notes crept forth, and flew on wings Of swiftest ecstacy where high in air, From north and east, from south and west, such streams Of harmony united, that the earth Swayed tremulous as a star that longs to break Free from its narrow circle, drawn by some More strong and radiant sphere; and my own soul. Ringing one note of joy into the song That swelled and beat around the walls of Heaven, Laid itself down at the Messiah's feet. And knew content at last. THE BEYOND Out in the caves of night, Blazing in glory. Millions of marshaled suns Tell us their story. Ever, in those far fields. Comets fly gleaming — Throbbing with crystal fire Planets rise beaming. In clouds of nebulous mist New suns are dawning — 73 Over some unknown sky Flashes the morning. Infinite spheres of light Whose shining portals Beckon to lovelier worlds Pure souls of mortals. Sirius and Betelgeuse, Rigel, Capella, Altair and Procyon Lead the host stellar ; Vega and Arcturus, Algol, Antares ; Spica and Fomalhaut, — Silver that star is : Pleiads and Hyades Veiled in soft splendor — Hundreds of stars like dust, Mellowed and tender. How might those monsters laugh At earth's poor naming, When such a glorious tongue From them is flaming. How might the small earth laugh, As, in God's keeping. Over space's mighty sea Man's thought is leaping. Laugh, then, O little Earth! For, through the Spirit, Thy sons of carnal birth Heaven shall inherit. 74 MAN'S MIND THE KEY TO THE UNIVERSE Once, in a studious mood, I scanned the heavens Through old Hipparchus' eyes, and onward up Through Newton's ; and I thought, to man is given All knowledge if he will but quaff the cup. On yonder mountain summit sits the truth, And waits to be discovered ; in this breast Deep secrets lie recorded, and joy, ruth, Answers have framed that shall reward our quest. Wise messages are shouted in the gale ; Nightly the stars proclaim their history ; And not a flower that decks the hill or vale Would of its being make a mystery. Turn where we may the key of All is there ; The name of Deity itself is writ Boldly in glorious letters everywhere. And sometime all mankind shall utter it. AWAKENING Dark is the distant sea ; The sails stand white Before the light That from the sun is streaming. Along my unkempt life. What deeds of mine Deserve to shine Faultless, beneath Truth's gleaming? 75 TO THE MOUNT O Mount, th}^ glorious days are done — The beauty of thy past is gone ; Man did decide thy fate. For he, with his despoihng hand, Hath crossed the borders of thy land, And left thee desolate. For thou a shining gem hast been In Nature's hilly necklace green — A jewel, stern but fair ; Thy shoulders, by the forest dressed, Upheld with pride thy rocky crest In higher realms of air. But now thy forest cloak is worn. And all its seams, thy paths, are torn By tramp of many feet ; The flowers no longer grace thy sod ; The columbine's familiar nod No more the spring doth greet. But, though thy slopes have been deprived Of verdure, that upon them lived When thou wert in thy prime, Long may thy ledges unmoved stand, Unchiseled, save by Nature's hand Tracing the course of time. 76 THE ELF AND THE DEWDROP An elf sat on a cobweb And thought and thought awhile ; He was a wicked little eff And meditated guile. What were those wondrous jewels That flashed around him so? Caught in the meshes of the net, They glittered to and fro. The spider frowned upon him. " Pray leave my home," he said ; " When rises up the god of day Those jewels will have fled." The elf did not believe him. Ah, could he make one fall ! He slyly stretched his tiny foot And kicked one like a ball. The jewel burst and vanished. Alas! how cheated he Who thinks and thinks in hopes to win Great gain through roguery. THE STAUBBACH Down a Swiss mountain runs a small stream, Catching the sunlight, gleam after gleam ; Through the grooved gorges, with a wild song. This snow-born rivulet races along. Over a precipice, with shining feet. It tries the deep distance, confident, fleet. Ere it can fall to the vale far away, All its bright flood is air-shattered to spray. 77 THE ANNUNCIATION Over Judea's hills the setting sun Shed a soft, purple splendor ; in their midst, White in the heart of verdure, Nazareth Climbed from a valley's hollow, dreaming in The tender western light that fell like an Unspoken blessing. To the north, vestured In mists of azure and deep glooms, hill rose On hill, each lovelier than the last ; till, crowned With snow, in the blue distance Hermon raised His dazzling silver summit to the sun. Lying to south and east, serenely clear. Plains reached where lonely TalDor slept in airs Of golden amber, and from plains beyond, Eastward of Jordan's wide-extended vale, The shadowy heights of Bashan blurred the sky. In Nazareth all was still, where now the sun Had hid his face behind the western steep. Leaving a gentle twilight, while around O'er the broad landscape lingered yet the day. All still, save children's laughter floated up To open windows, and anon the sounds Of some late workman broke upon the dusk ; Or voices from low housetops, or from courts Closed in their walls, made dreamy monotone More peaceful than deep silence. Here, alone. Beside her chamber window, Mary sat, — Mary betrothed to Joseph, David's son, — Sat leaning with bowed head, lost in her thought. One round white arm rose from the fallen sleeve That lay upon the sill, and a slim hand Pillowed the midnight blackness of rich hair That swept in loose confusion to the floor. The light in those large, tropical dark eyes, 78 Where purity has Ht a watchful torch, The deep, calm breath, the parted, crimson lips, The statuesque grace of attitude that shows Two white feet idly crossed, and the deep rose That breathes its velvet passion through a cheek Else lit with holy pallor, — they need not Of words to tell their meaning, — virgin thoughts, Ideal fancies of the quiet hour That come with youth and health and stainless hopes. I see her now ; those dreaming eyes are fixed Where far away the rugged country lies In still, bright beauty, laid with lengthening shades That tell of the coming night ; from slopes below The vineyards whisper in the cooling air. And plaintively the turtle's note is heard At intervals, cooing above her young. Nature's soft musings in the twilight steal Into the heart like human svmpathv, Lulling its cares to sleep. Over the girl. The long, vague past, that fled like morning dew. Its purified, sweet memory distills ; And, nearer drawn, the present lavs its hand Lightly in hers, and leads her far 'away. One face, that brightens through her cloudland most. Fairest and best beloved, is of him Who waits to link his future with her own. Most natural for her, in this calm hour. To feel the consciousness of love like his The presence of that life which flows to her, And wraps her in its atmosphere of joy; Yet not of him her thought, save as a stream About the roots of rushes stirs them, though They bend another way. The shadows fall Longer and darker on the northern hills, 79 And grows the glimmering dusk ; yet, gleaming still, Mount Hermon, like the gate of Paradise, Shines on a darkened world. What strange, pure hope. What deep, uplifted longing fills her heart. As, gazing on the parting smile of day. She feels her spirit stretch its arms toward That mountain touched with light ? A holy peace, Calm and yet full of rapture, spreads its wings Dovelike above her ; she can hear sweet sounds Within the distance, melting past, new and Yet half familiar, and she dreams that the Messiah's eyes — Judea's coming king — Look down on her from heaven. Suddenly The strong impression deepens, and as one In a calm ecstasy of gladness feels His soul reach up to fellowship with God, So Mary, turning, saw with no surprise. Radiant in the gloom, the angel Gabriel. His figure towered tall and powerful Within the little room, yet with such grace And majesty of bearing that he seemed A noble pillar, hung with raiment white And glistening as snow beneath the moon. Around his head a halo faintly shone Above its hair of gold, and from his face's Almost unbearable brightness, his deep eyes, Keen in their mighty strength and innocence, Yet tender with great kindness, bent on her The power of their light. Thus they looked In silence on each other, till his voice Glided into the stillness, sweet and low As alto flute notes ; silence fled not away But loved the sound, and poured her soul into It. Thus he spoke : '' Hail, thou that art highly 80 Favored, the Lord is with thee : blessed art Thou among women." Mary answered not — So strange it seemed to speak to such a one — But pondered in her thought the meaning of His words, troubled. Which Gabriel, seeing, Spake once again ; and 'neath his solemn gaze The past and present vanished like a dream, And all her life poised magnet-like upon The current of his speech, nor knew nor cared To know aught else. He told her how the Lord Had chosen her to be the mother of The Saviour; how her holy Son, hers and The Son of God, should reign upon the throne Of David, and his kingdom have no end ; How near within the future lay the birth Of him whose life should be the herald of That greater Life, God entered into man. And Mary, wondering, believed the word Of him who spake, and bowing her meek head She said, " Behold the handmaid of the Lord. Be it unto me according to thy word." Enwrapt she sat, vmtil, as one who feels A discord break the spell of harmony That lifted him into a higher world, So Mary felt her being smote with change ; And, looking up, beheld the empty room, Scented the heavy evening dew, and heard The night wind rustle in the harvest fields. An April crescent, brimmed with silver light, Edging with vap'rous pearl the western hill. Poured over her its pale, uncertain beams, And in its flood she knelt, to thank the Lord, And hold communion with her wondrous thoughts. O Earth, O Earth ! when Mary knelt that night, Didst thou not tremble when Love's golden chain 8i Caught thee to bridge the hiatus to God? I seem to feel the rushing baptism That swept along its links to light on her — Christ's solitary worshiper below. The soft spring air, that knew not even of Its own brief sweetness, filled its bosom with The breath of Galilee, and bore it down Through fruit-tree groves and vineyards dimly seen. Touching the cheeks of great leaves silvery- tipped. Blew down through mountain passes, and o'er plains Where tended flocks couched dreaming, where the sound Of welling fountains rippled louder as The freighted zephyrs passed, blew down, blew down Over Jerusalem. Softly the moon Wrapped mystic street and tower and dropped its hush Upon the city's babel. Fair and high Rose the pale Temple on its sacred mount, Silent yet eloquent with the peace of God, That awed the passerby with something of Its grand, yet tender, rest. And tenderly The breezes passed within its holy place. Resting. Perhaps some forehead bared to catch Its fragrant breath, felt near the Infinite In that brief moment ; perhaps some eyes Turned heavenward in a sudden thankfulness. But still the walls echoed the mingled sounds Of trafific and of pleasure, and hard hearts Knew not whose face was brooding low that night. More beautiful and tenderer than the moon, More full of light and comfort than the sun. 82 THE WORD There is a word — one Word — ne'er spoke nor writ ; But since Time's birth each age Hath sought to utter it by tongue and page. All things seek evermore to utter it; Yet never was there aught Save One, that did express its boundless thought. By strange bands that great Word to soul is knit. Touch one, 'twill leap and shake The heart its fuller utterance would break. 'Tis at the heart of Love, the soul of Wit, The Ideal's heavenly light Tempting our feet from height to greater height. What spirit but its mystic flash hath lit? Stand thou in thought apart Beneath the stars, — they tell it to the heart ; And Music, too, would fain embody it, — Its long Promethean flame Searches through sound to find itself a name ; And Science, Art, wrapped in their dreamings sit. Feeling it strive to speak Thoughts for which human language is too weak. Yet what is life save longing days that flit, Seeking that perfect Word Which none can ever tell, but all have heard? It is the Spirit, opening to admit Our lives into its own. That word we strive to speak is God alone. 83 Then onward, upward ! leave the shadowy pit ! Somewhere upon his breast, Souls shall in silence speak the Word — and rest. THE CRIPPLE She lies upon her weary bed From night till morn, from morn till night ; Day after day the mornings blush, Eve after eve the stars grow bright. Unmarked by her accustomed eyes. The constellations pale and glow ; Unmarked by sad accustomed thought, The long, slow hours come and go. The spring awakes, the summer wanes. The autumn fires, the snow lies white, — She almost thinks the seasons change In dreams of some sweet, restful night: While, as around her silent room The tides of being ever roll. The iron heel of suffering Is pressed into her aching soul. Yet the clear eyes, the calm face, bear Few traces of pain's bitter strife, And many a heart has learned to prize The lesson of her patient life. Only God sees the thin, clasped hands Raised heavenward in mute despair; Only God hears that heart sore tried Pour out its agony of prayer. Save when, at times beyond control, That heart, benumbed by years of grief. Grows conscious of its heavy care. And finds in stormy tears reHef. No more for her the springtime comes. The wild birds sing, the wild flowers blow ; No more for her the orchard lifts Its fragrant drifts of rosy snow. Wide o'er the happy earth float down Deep thrilling breaths that softly stir All living things to newer life Of blush and bloom — but not for her. Yet, as she smells the fresh, sweet scents That through the open window blow. And sees the curtain's lazy length In lullaby waft too and fro, The movements of mysterious change That make the outer world so fair, Creep like a spent wave through her heart. And wake the ghost of springtime there. She dreams of rippling daisy fields ; Of sunny woodland openings, where In times gone by, in dreamful ease. The soft winds trifled with her hair. And oft, as on bright, quiet days. She hears some organ's far off tune. Within her yearning bosom start Pale roses of a vanished June. What though, on cheering thought intent, She counts her list of blessings o'er? Quick tears, that will not be repressed. Gush for the days that are no more. 85 O tired heart and brain ! what cheer Can come to thee from days like these? What healing mystery of life Can give to thee its golden keys? Ah, not alone she keeps her watch From night till morn, from morn till night, For in the twilight of her life She sees the stars of Love grow bright. Whole days, whole weeks she lies within A glorious mantle of delight. That God, on pitying kindness bent. Wraps round her by his mystic might. And though no more she treads the hills Of morning with glad, healthful feet, She hears, in happier valley lands, The footfalls of the angels beat. And like a flower of light her soul Opes ever, through the passing years. Toward some coming wondrous change, — A rainbow seen through falling tears. Not hope revived, not sorrow healed. Alone that radiant vision is ; But the great miracle of Love, When Christ redeems her life with His. 86 OUR MOTHER'S VOICE Rolling up like clouds of incense Stand the great trees in the moonlight, Breathing out again in beauty The same Spirit that has formed them. Like a strong tide flows around me This mysterious soul of all things, Calling ever to my spirit ; And I rise and try to follow. THE MAN OF SORROWS His eyes are dark with unshed tears, Yet full of some hope's flooding light. As the full radiance of the moon Pierces the gloom of night. The crown of thorns is on his brow ; He heeds it not ; but sees above The spirit of immortal man Safe in the fold of love. O man of sorrows ! many a soul Feels those same thorns, knows those same tears, Till vision of his life redeemed Brightens beyond the years. 87 WHAT DOTH YOUTH KNOW OF LOVE? What doth youth know of Love? It phicks at will, Content in thinking everywhere its fill Is waiting within reach like buds in June — As in the soul of Music some new tune. What doth youth know of Love? The heart may try A thousand springs and yet none satisfy ; A thousand forms may touch us in the press, And still the spirit cry for loneliness. What doth youth know of Love? The hand, the face, That find their way to the soul's sacred place. Ah ! these come not at will ; but, having come, Thenceforth wherever they may be is home. What doth youth know of Love? Its need is strong. 'Tis life's long music, not its morning song. Joyful the middle age that finds its own, And sad the same whose early dreams have flown. What doth youth know of Love? Age knows it best. Love's memories few and precious are its rest. God and eternity shine through dear eyes, And teach us of the bliss that never dies. THE NORTH TO THE SOUTH Heart of the South! In wild luxuriance blooming, Outpouring thy rich beauties half untold, Glowing with smiles alike for kin or stranger — Call'st thou me cold? Heart of the South — In wild luxuriance blooming! Somewhere in waiting eyes there is a sun That from my heart could woo thy lavish sweet- ness. And all for one. ON A PORTRAIT OF STANLEY The music of strange fancies quivers nigh While thus I gaze upon thy noble face, Where written are those many themes that lace The lovely story of thy destiny. Fathomless trial in those looks I trace, But virtue's victory hath set its seal In the proud nostril and the alert steel That quickens through thy fearless, mild blue eye. Fancy and fact have run with lightning pace Across thy brow, but fancy won the race. Thou dost not smile, but round thee I descry That grace which owns some tender history — Sweeter than I could e'er divine or touch. Had not my own heart written once of such. 89 THE UNEXPECTED God forced me, weeping, toward dark, sullen doors, The ending to a path of blackest night. Trembling with terror, I essayed the latch, When lo! I stood transfigured in the light. THE ORCHID Some artist, in the spacious ancient times. Bearing a glorious message for the world, Unheeded wrought, till shame and sorrow hurled His spirit down to death ; what we call death — Genius can never die. And through all climes His scattered message sought again the breath Of the earth whereto 'twas sent. And there un- furled Rare flowers fashioned by his thoughts divine. Springing in east and west, in north and south. Thriving in air or soil, in rain or drouth, — Strange aliens, breathing their Promethean flame. Suddenly from long indifference supine, Mankind rose, gazed, proclaimed the artist's name, — The Orchid's tardy praise filled every mouth. 90 THE UNKNOWN MATHEMATICIAN Who taught the snowflake to geometrize? Who trained to rhythmic movement the wind's feet? Who gave the Hght its subtle skill to beat The gamut of the colors, or surprise Heaven's bow in flashes of the raindrop's eyes? Who told the brook, when wind and waters meet, To fret itself in circles? Sure and fleet, Who set the spider, where the green banks rise. To weaving hexagons? Through some fine law The restless elements part and combine, — Some wisdom sweeps the orbits of the stars. A voice taught Flora rules without a flaw For packing flowers ; and a hand divine Wrote first for Love's high song its notes and bars. 91 A SONNET The largeness of the mountains is in thee, The airy spaces of the deep blue sky With their eternal calm and mystery, Crossed by the tempest that but comes to flee. A lion spirit, roaming like the sea, Yet full of truth's unswerving majesty, Glad to be bound by perfect sovereignty. Knowing the soul in such a bond is free. No more thy being to high peaks of thought Ascends alone, to ponder or adore, — No more alone thy footsteps slip or fall. A still, attendant light thy way hath caught : Truth met with kindred truth forevermore. That cannot part, — they tell each other all. 92 APR 19 ^904