GopyrigMF hr^ CXIPXRIGHT DEPOSIT. ^-^ /2e^i^ ^ie.^dL^^^'e.'i^^^ THE BELLS OF IS OR VOICES HEARD IN RAMBLES WITH THE MUSE By ISAAC STEPHEN SMITH, A.M., n Author of "Foursquare and Full-Orhcd," "Observa- tions ill Life Realms," "Reminiscences and Reflections," "Through God's Real Fairyland" etc. A SEER'S SURVEY OF LIFE, RANDOM RHYMES, AND A LITERARY EXCURSION Boston The Roxburgh Publishing Company Inc. .^^ 7>'^\^'^ ^H- Copyrighted, 1919, By ISAAC STEPHEN SMITH Rights Reserved AUG i I ibib ©CLA529538 THIS VOLUME Is DEDICATED To IVAN HAROLD SMITH To Whom Acknowledgement Is Made by the Author for Many Helpful Suggestions. Prologue Did ever mortal wreathe such harmonies As echo from the city neath the seas? Once, dreaming by the haunted shore of time, I found the shell of beauty, rhythmic rhyme, And mad the sea's Aeolian harp to sing, I fondly deemed the sheen a living thing. Fortune and ease I sacrificed to roam And turned my back on kindred, friends and home. Resolved to follow where the goddess led To depths below or raptures overhead ; And often as my quest I did pursue And watch the sun sink lower, as he threw His crimson paths athwart the waters wide, And white unending waves urged by the tide Foamed and resounded near me, I could hear A marvelous noise of whisper, whistle clear, Of laughter or of murmurs, sobs or sighs. Which with the restless billows seemed to rise — - And through it all there pierced the sound of song, I Some gentle, homely song that once was sung. I still can hear the music of those bells Buried beneath the sea where beauty dwells ; Wild witch-lights haunt the gaily sculptured tomb ; Song's everlasting lamp burns in the gloom. Brief Notes of Explanation, Acknowledg- ment and Apology No autobiographical declaration That may be found in this publication Is to be taken as a personal revelation; But rather these rhymes, Whatever their merit, Are the poetical pass-times, Of an exuberant spirit. Though at times melancholy, Who had in his folly, Absorbed, to make sure Of what would endure, The very soul of all literature ; And whose memory finds, Midst the Autumn leaves, Shapes, hues of all kinds Which his fancy weaves ; — Thus made into wreathes for the brow of Poesy, Laden with honey-dew, nectar, ambrosia, A tribute is offered that even the Muse 'Tis fondly conjectured would not deign to refuse. 3 The title is that of a legend well-known, That comes from the records of ages long flown, Of a city sunk under the sea. Where the bells keep a-ringing And the harps go on singing, Thus evermore making strange, beautiful music, A grand symphony, Whose echoes resound. The wide world around. And whose notes ma}^ be found In every country where mortals may be. In the title the term Rambles is chosen be- cause It represents something untrammeled by laws, Unrestrained, haphazard, unfettered and free. Suggesting the easy jog-trot as you see. With abundance of time as you leisurely pass — If you please as you lie full length on the grass — The eagle that soars high up in the sky Where the clouds are like flocks of white sheep driven by, Or the wild deer that graze in cool shadows below ; 4 Or to stop and to study the flowers as they grow In richest profusion on much of the way And to seek for the roads to the sunlight each day ; To challenge the good and the evil of things That faces each one in his earth-wander- ings; As he hears in the silence the music of trees, The rambler, in loneliness, more of life sees Than the tourists in multitudes hurrying along With their eyes on the dust and no time for a song, Their object in life just to say they have done it, And who seek for a prize but to claim they have won it ; Like the blindest of races to will-o'-wisp places ; Like many who have a keen vision for faces. But who learn not expression, nor study of course, The emotion or character which is its source ; Alone upon thrones they would recognize Kings, For they penetrate not to the essence of things. To see as they are the flower and the star, 5 The tiny things near and the great things afar. But the Rambler, unwearied, unhurried, has time, As he jots down his rambles in prose or in rhyme, To study a flower in its delicate bloom. Or to pierce the bewildering mystical gloom That encircles the earth with its nations of men From creation's birth down the cycles since then, And to see all the stars in their glitter of light Far away o'er the lowering gloom of earth's night. The author acknowledging debts that he owes To all the poets and writers of prose, Due credit to each would if possible give In his legacy which to the world he doth leave. From Petrarch, and Chaucer, and Shakes- peare, to Poe, From the latest of bards to Boccaccio, Every author has been like the busiest bee In searching for honey from flower and tree. Even Homer had listened ere smote on his lyre, 6 Surely enough has been written, And why should one write more, By distress and misfortune smitten, Whose heart is so sad and sore? Who has traveled through days of trouble And spent long nights alone ; Whose life has burst like a bubble And whose hope has turned to a moan? Yet the dream of beauty's fruition Comes back from the shades of the past, A passionate, exquisite vision, Too fair to forget, or to last. Remembering whatever he might require ; In modern decades what writer has done Aught in verse more original? Surely not one. What is said — has it never been said before? What is sought — can a writer justly claim more Then just the peculiar cut of his style, Or the power to call forth a tear or a smile By some new adjustment of shade or of light? All the blossoms thought beautiful, fragrant or bright Long since have been culled ; how seldom we find One whose lustre or perfume does not us re- mind Of some other flower we gathered before ; And tracing each one to its stem, or down lower, To the roots and the soil where such bright flower grew — Is there anything under the sun that is new? Still Homer harps on of the things that he heard And gilds his ideal with glittering word ; Still sings the great songs of humanity He has heard men sing on land and on sea; Still publishes tropes his name to adorn, Built a thousand years before he was born. 8 A SEER'S SURVEY OF LIFE Chapter I I Spent by the toil of life's strange history And saddened by its wrong and mystery, Bereft of friends aweary and forlorn, I early wandered forth one Christmas morn ; A peaceful quietude was in the air, A tender silence brooded everywhere, As if all nature sympathized with me And with the sacred office of the day; A day for gratitude, day of good cheer, To multitudes best day of all the year. II Behind me lay the city's noise and strife And the perpetual unquiet life. Around me were green fields and cheeriness ; Before me lay the pathless wilderness. Vast fields of grain lay laughing in the sun. Or list'ning to the murmuring brooks that run 9 10 THE BELLS OF IS Along by clumps of bushes and wild briars; Thus aimlessly I wandered on for hours ; Then turned into a rustic road which led. Directly downward toward the riverbed. Ill About the half-worn path the cattle grazed, Cropping young grass, or languidly they gazed Toward the shine of stream which flashed between The trees in bands — a semi-tropic scene. Far in the woods I met a lonely man Whose pilgrimage had passed the allotted span ; Quaint and loquacious — garrulous inclined. Majestic was his mien, superb his mind; His speech though fluent was I did discern Inlaid with thoughts that breathe and words that burn. IV Although most unexpected was our meet- ing. Both frank and unaffected was his greeting. I saw at once he was nobody's fool — A polished gentleman of the old school Withdrawn from social cares to Nature's wild. He had retained the manner of a child, THE BELLS OF IS ii Fresh and spontaneous ; but with his age Acquired reflective wisdom of the sage ; All that he said was unreserved, but bore The marks of keen insight and deepest lore. V His wisdom had the wideness of the sky And scintillated with philosophy ; His wit was wonderful, and I could trace All that distinguishes the human race — All loves impassioned, all that men have thought, Outlined in words instinct with life. Who taught The hermit of the wilderness his lore With hidden secrets never known before? To weave thus easily into his strain What poets learn with loss, express with pain? VI A wondrous seer, apostle, prophet, sage — A messenger to our apostate age — Would that I could recall to memory Each smallest word of all he said to me ! A medley of the muses it might seem, Mosaic of the minstrels, or a dream. All that I ever read of, ever heard. And much for which there is no speech or word, 12 THE BELLS OF IS All that I ever thought of great or good. Found utterance within the solitude. VII His look and tone could I revive within me To such a deep profound delight 'twould win me A photographic poem I might write, A phonographic volume whose delight Would hold unto the end the reader's eyes — Like one caught up in view of Paradise ; Or one who standing on the holy mount Regarded common things of small account ; Or those who on the honey-dew had fed : — To close the book at last with holy dread. VIII The hermit's home was not a cave close- shut; Among the giant cedars was his hut Of wood and stone, quaint wrought in curi- ous styles. And roofed with vines o'er multicolored tiles. O'er which the rustling branches waving met, And sounded like the city's voices, yet So far removed from all the city's din That heaven's peace could shut the spirit in ; There, where the gates of heaven open wide What voices came, what visions did abide! THE BELLS OF IS 13 IX I've reached, the hermit said, the snowy heights ; I stand upon the summit of this life ; Around me falls in golden rays the sun. Beneath the lightning plays, the storm-god howls ; And deep'ning shades obscure the vales of time. Afar, the light breaks on horizons dim ; The day removes his royal diadem ; The night unveils her jewelry of suns; All chaos turns to cosmos ; I behold The past, the present and futurity. X Long years ago I dwelt above the clouds ; Ere I had mingled with the dust of earth ; Ere I became the erring child of night. Above their spectral shrouds of mysteries I breathed seraphic ether. I was not A creature then of circumstance. My thoughts Were unconfined by tenement of clay, My sight had unimpeded scope, and was Clear with the vision of eternity. And trained by view of myriads of worlds. XI The universe swung from infinitude, A pit, as shapeless void and noiseless as 14 THE BELLS OF IS The shadow of a vision draped in rain ; And, as the pendulum of unborn Time, It swung its dusky pace from cloud to cloud And reckoned with its mournful melody, In dim sepulchral strides, the pulse of Fate. There was no sun or moon or starry sky. No changing seasons, and no sea except The inky sea of night on which I sailed. XII The elements, ungentle as they were, Became the ship on which I listless lay And drifted with the ever-drifting tide. Or rolled in dark distress, apparently Without a compass and without a guide. Upon Night's ebon bosom I was borne, Till sweeping past the Sources of the winds And speeding by the lightning ancient tower, Afar from heaven's agate gates I fell And touched at length a lowly spot of earth. XIII Beside a fevered mother's breast I lay ; My soul was bound about by strange decay ; I was a babe ; a struggling thing of life. Strange voices spoke in stranger words of strife. No more I soared above the tempest's flight, THE BELLS OF IS 15 No more I dwelt upon the mountain-height, The pinacle from which my soul was hurled. Twas night; about me slept an aching world ; Before moved a specter grim as death And set his seal upon my earliest breath. XIV Thus from the silent brooding home I came, Thus from the immemorial house of love, To wail and wonder at the world's bleak morn ; To sojourn for an uncongenial day — Move with unhalting pace toward the eve, The length'ning shadow and the common bourne : Through cities vast and dark on lonely farms ; A waif upon the sea ; and eddying dust Upon the shore blown by a harrying wind; A fleeing ghost from inescapable hell. XV Born in the pouring radiance of song And with the pulse of music, God-de- signed — Creative magic had been shaping me A song-winged messenger. Starvation came With loneliness, the desert of the soul, The dreary waste, a slave to sordid toil — i6 THE BELLS OF IS The magic slimed by opiate of the night. Upon life's great imperious surge I rode The dark'ning flood, till o'er the tide was blown A song — the music of my far-ofif soul : XVI The song of Life, of which I am a part ; Life from the depths of heaven to the clod, Ascending like a water-spring to man ; To David in the eastern hills at night; To Joan in the orchard, and to me ; Life, binding us as brothers into sheaves With trees that shake the blossoms from its breast, And bees that gather honey from its lips ; (We kneel together in the dust, and we Together glorify the Source of Life.) XVII Swift gliding seasons had long marches stole And infancy was into childhood merged. I wandered thoughtlessly through fields and woods, And braved the dashing current in my glee ; Yet I was always sad, I knew not why, And strange emotions often filled my breast. A demon seemed to haunt me, and he wrote His image on my life. E'en from my birth I had not been as others on the earth ; Aloof I held myself from all mankind. THE BELLS OF IS 17 XVIII Yet oft I dreamed in those dear days of old, 'Neath wide kind skies, of the strange stories told Of life within the far-off towns of men. Of glory on the firing-line, and then — Mad music on the highway, it did seem, Drowned out the sweet enchantment of my dream. As for the inaccessible I pined And sighed for all that never should be mine. Yet vainly strove the hopeless to attain — In those dear days that come not back again. XIX I loved the fragrance of the clover fields. The hum of bees, the tender streaks of dawn. The dewy brightness of the early spring, The mellow glories of the autumn day. As each in turn did tranquilize and charm ; And oft was thrilled with innocent delight By beauty of a flower or song of birds ; And thus from earliest youth, the tender vines Did clamber over nature's ruggedness — Sweet flowers nestled in life's crevices. XX I loved all things inanimate, and oft I dwelt alone with Nature. And when years i8 THE BELLS OF IS Swift-winged, had childhood into manhood turned, I stood as adamant against the world, Warm from within, but cold and bleak without. Misunderstood, my motives misconceived, I, discontented, left my native land And wandered over unfrequented seas. I walked on barren soils where ne'er before The footprint of a human step was made. XXI I sought for scenes where man had never been. Where woman never smiled and never wept, There to abide with Nature and with God, There to untroubled and untroubling sleep — The grass below, above, the vaulted sky. But, doomed to live with shadows, I was tossed Into the city's nothingness of scorn — Back to the living sea of waking dreams, Where e'en the dearest, that I loved the best. Seemed strange — nay rather, stranger than the rest. XXII Too oft I saw the haunts of Babylon — Its tumult and intensity at night, The sells of is ig The flash of careless spending limitless In jets of nervous vibrancy ; too oft I saw Arabian Nights (Manhattan Nights), The care-free nights of tragic consequence. Back from the gay encounter I would come, And, like the glorious Byron, I would go To render 'neath the sting of revelry Some new Childe Harold — for myself alone. XXIII I'd thought, when just a boy afar from town. My chiefest joy would be to win renown ; The winds bore magic words from east and west, And dreams of fame were surging in my breast. Though poor in purse, how rich in hope and health ! How little cared I then for sordid wealth ! While want like frost-bite often kills the grain That Fancy sows within a teaming brain. Still, youth within itself is rich in dreams, And builds fine castles by life's golden streams. XXIV One day when fresh winds blew upon my cheek, I journeyed forth my happiness to seek — io THE BELLS OF IS To learn how wonderful the world might be; I roamed by copses and by sunny lea ; And as delightful music led the way To where the lamplight shone like amber day, I came unto an ornate palace tall, With marble pillars and with marble wall. And windows formed of glass so large and clear, The panes seemed like the lucid atmosphere. XXV I paused a moment while the crowds went by, And through the windows gazed with wist- ful eye ; The walls were splendid with their paint and gold, The couches fit for Sybarites of old ; The floor was bright and soft with velvet woof, And flowery fresco ran all o'er the roof. A radiance delicate, from globes of glass. Fell soft as sunlight on the emerald grass. I found me next in a majestic store, Where Earth had sent her v/ares from every shore. THE BELLS OF IS 21 XXVI Ah, then I walked the crowded streets alone, Where barren walls, and earth o'erlaid with stone, Shut out from all beneath, the breath of life ; And watched the constant hosts, the busy strife ; The strange and eager glimpses of delights That poverty forbade ; the brilliant nights ; The ceaseless throngs that came from far and wide ; The favored few, the great defeated tide Of hopeless women and of weary men, Who striving fail — to strive and fail again. XXVII Alone I wandered through the busy street, Where streaks of sky looked down my eye to greet; The surging throngs poured by in constant change ; No friendly glance met mine — each face was strange. I felt the pulse of life, its joy, its woe. As aimlessly I wandered to and fro. The moving crowds like pictures came and went; They did not halt — each on some purpose bent ; 22 THE BELLS OF IS For me they all seemed blind and deaf and dumb; Ah me! my heart grew cold and strangely numb. XXVIII And when at night the streets all burst in bloom With shifting lights that emphasized the gloom. The multitudes, in endless quest, moved on, In search of pleasure till the night was gone — Or till, deep in the night, by sleep oppressed, When midnight yawned, they sought a little rest; Surrounded by grim shapes in brick or stone, I like an eagle wandered, still alone ; Or like a sailor lost upon the sea, I pierced the dark, to greet but Memory. XXIX To sound the depths of human misery, I visited the penitentiary. The criminal court, the city's darkest slum. And where mid lights of crimson color come The followers of Bacchus and of her Whose ways are death; the foolish wor- shipper THE BELLS OF IS 23 Of Venus, and the heartless hardened soul Who takes in rents or petty fines his toll That vice may flourish ; met the devotee Of Mammon, darker than the debauchee. XXX As I went forth, nor tarried as a guest, I did not fear to touch the worst or best; I went like Raleigh on a thankless mission. Told men who ruled their purpose was am- bition ; I told the courts they glowed like rotten wood. The church it showed the good, but did not good. The doctors that their skill was but preten- sion. Called charity but show, and law contention ; Informed the schools they wanted in pro- foundness. And held the arts lacked both in charm and soundness. XXXI I learned — not in the schools of borrowed knowledge — In halls of grief, in sorrow's classic college. I met with courage that cannot avail. Afar from war's dire dread, its rage and hail; 24 THE BELLS OF IS I've known the longing that cannot attain; The love that ne'er forgets, and loves in vain; I bade farewell to hope in blindness set, And turned my back on joys remembered yet; And thus became the bosom friend of woe — To know; alas, not knowing how to know. XXXII Self-pity is pathetic; O the heart That lives a life so lonely and apart ! The feet of earth that climb to summit goals Must climb alone; and always lonesome souls Walk with the multitude, unseen, unheard, Of any comprehended look or word. Amid the din and roar, if they could know Of one who understands 'twould comfort so ; But Prejudice, both in and out of season, Can, at one stroke, slay Sympathy and Reason. XXXIII Long had I borne with envy, hate and sor- row. And dreamed of peace and of a bright to- morrow ; I longed within the dearest arms to rest The weary head upon the loving breast ; THE BELLS OF IS 25 The love and joy in those pure orbs to see — The vision was too fair, it could not be ; The parting came, the eyes with sorrow wet; Thus evermore the rose with thorns is set; It is the bitterness of life's long story, Poor heart that dwelt at first in dreams of glory. XXXIV Spring's blossoms fade when they have spent their day And scatter till the vine is bare and gray; The fairest cheek with youth's effulgent glow Must wither and grow pale, youth's tri- umphs go; The passing years leave scars their path t^ trace ; But I can always see one lovely face Just as in youthful days it used to be; Then it was fair — still it is fair to me ; I'll cherish it till angels call me, too, With ecstasy forever fond and true. XXXV And oft as I go walking in the woods Alone, companion of all solitudes, I take with me one thought, the thought of her — 26 THE BELLS OF IS I almost see her image in the air. And when I fall asleep at night I pray The powers to bring her back to me some day; Oft in the afternoon when all is still When sunshine sleeps or loiters on the hill, I seem to hear the sound of one who creeps, And then I hear the voice of one who weeps. XXXVI I've dreamed of faces that cannot be seen Except in dreams — the dreams that lie be- tween The waking and the sleeping — and the waking, Which cast the foolish heart into fresh breaking — Imagining the heart a fertile plain Where flowers spring up to bear the fruit of pain; I've dreamed that I might kiss those eyes — in truth Called back the well-beloved morn of youth, Time when my heart was in the snare of love. But woke — the noonday sun was bright above. XXXVII I dreamed the fates left in my path an heir ; I thought to make his life a poem rare, THE BELLS OF IS 27 Replete with noble thought and lofty aim, And crown him with the coronet of fame. I meant to show him wisdom's fairy bowers ; I should have deemed most blest the happy hours, And sweeter than all luxuries to prize His confidence, the love-light in his eyes. Alas ! so swiftly time its changes brings — I woke to find that dream had taken wings. XXXVIII Again I dreamed that fate had brought an heir, And she was young and innocent and fair; A glinting gold of wayward witching curl Enshrined the laughing face of the young girl. She sang and smiled, and dancing down the street With small feet flying, cheeks aglow, to meet Her sire, to give or take some sweet sur- prise — But as the mirth shone in her hazel eyes With lingering petulance of baby ways, All vanished with the dreams of other days. XXXIX I've stood and viewed the billows rushing on. Wild beings seeking peace forever gone, 28 THE BELLS OF IS The breakers beating like an eagle's plume 'Gainst prison bars in restless, hopeless gloom ; Watched pensively barefooted children play, Their faces like their joys so fresh and gay. Free from regret for perished days of yore Ere storms shall thunder: Fled forever- more! And as the w^hite-winged sails fled far away, I've longed on snowier wings to leave this clay. XL Again I heard the old heart-breaking call Of distances, fair fates that elsewhere fall. And journeyed east on to the farthest west. To where the sun leaves all the world to rest; Saw turquoise seas curve rippling round the bays. And mountains melt and swim in opal haze. Or veil their heads in amethystine snow; War's desolations, far-off pagan's woe ; — An eagle in whose fierce and lonely heart The beauty nor the pathos had a part. XLI I walked, a pilgrim, through the desert dreary THE BELLS OF IS 29 And oft by strangers' tombs have lingered weary — Since grown a stranger to my native ways — Or watched their bones lit by the lightning's blaze, Lone wanderers whose skeletons were whit- ened, And envied those whose dying hours were lightened By friendly hands or fanned by native air ; (I, too, might leave my frame I knew not where.) Thus loving home, chagrined, dismayed, I found My boat was steered the whole wide world around. XLII Thus had I traveled o'er a barren earth In search of good — in quest of real worth; Had sought for Pleasure — an elusive dream That hovered over me and oft did seem Within my grasp, escaping from my hand; I chased it over wastes of burning sand ; Like a mirage it led me wearily To desert lands and left me there to die ; Then, as the sun poured down his scorching ray. My steps were led along another way. 30 THE BELLS OF IS XLIII I left my native land again and sought For Rest in solitudes of climes untaught ; I crossed Eurasian lands from sea to sea, And stemmed the ocean's billows bold and free; Upon the banks of Amazon's broad stream I sat as though enraptured in a dream ; There walked about within the forest shade, And in the verdant wild a home I made ; But pain still made its home within my breast And still I sought, but vainly sought, for Rest. XLIV With weary toil I traced the winding streams Through rock defiles as wild as sculptured dreams ; Forsaken beds where ancient streams had run; Through oozy swamps where slimy rain- bows shone ; O'er massive boulders humped with age; o'er dead Volcanic soils that crackled 'neath my tread ; Where dangers lurked and naked horrors frowned ; And I have traveled far beyond the sound Of living thing, where sad winds found no stone THE BELLS OF IS 31 On parched plain to whet their breath upon. XLV Oft I have watched the wild Atlantic's roar From where I stood on Afric's barren shore ; And often viewed those parched plains afar Beyond which sets the lonely Southern Star. I once, like Crusoe, found a little isle On which I made myself a lone exile, And there refused to look upon the past, Swept from my mind each memory but the last ; Filled with despair, at length I sought the home From which my footsteps foolishly did roam. XLVI I wandered back to scenes of early boy- hood; Again I rambled through the pathless wood ; Amid the sounds of bells on distant hills I heard the katydids and whippoorwills, The deep basso-profundo of the frogs ; While seated on the old familiar logs — Just as long years ago I used to be — I watched the squirrels jump from tree to tree. And saw the graceful curves of chimney swallow 32 THE BELLS OF IS And heard the wise old owl in Sleepy- Hollow. XLVII And as I listened to the harmony So weird and wild, a vision rose to me : I thought that I was but a boy once more And played again about my father's door. How little knew that boy that far-off time The depths to delve, the dizzy heights to climb ! To climb the mount of wealth whereon he died, Upon its cross of gold be crucified ! To rise ; to seek the pearl of fame for years. To find it hidden neath a sea of tears ! XLVIII To dive into the ocean depths of Form, Hoping to find a perfect pearl, the charm Of Formlessness ; or to the surface bring Those priceless pearls of which I still would sing: Courage that bids the timid world be bold, And Love that rides all tempests uncon- trolled ; Yet not the courage of the brilliant dash. Nor love expiring with a moment's flash. But loving courage striving for the goal. Courageous love abiding in the soul. THE BELLS OF IS 33 XLIX Bereft of hope and yet without a fear, Scorning a smile, yet scoffing at a tear, Despising what was near, I traveled far, And visited the scenes of foreign war; I trod the shores of many an alien land ; Trifled, alas, with many a virgin's hand ; And still the ocean was my only love — Upon its boundless billow's I did rove ; For who was there at home to cheer my heart. Where only censure hurled its heedless dart? L The flowers that bloomed so sweet in earlier years, Have faded now; no gem of spring appears. Yet oft I tread youth's pathway as of yore, But waking, find those flowers bloom no more. If on those early plants there had been shed Some kindred spirit's tears, no charm had fled; In bright profusion round my path each day They would have smiled beneath the sum- mer's ray. Thus early loss oft nips the buds of spring. Turns gold to dross, and clips the untried wing. 34 THE BELLS OF IS CHAPTER II I I roamed o'er land and sea in dark despair, And cursed all nature, all infinitude ; Those curses did rebound upon my soul. A storm unprecedented set its strength Against my feeble craft. The winds ne'er howled So loudly, and the waves ne'er tossed so high Or leaped so furiously against the sky ; The skies repulsed the charge with bolts of fire. Which sank my boat a wreck among the waves Upon whose heaving waters I did drift. II The fury of the tempest quelled its fright As mountain blasts misspent their force in rage. Air slumbered ; wave with cloud no longer strove. My strength was gone and gloom encircled me. A Thing-of-Light flamed in the far-off skies, THE BELLS OF IS 35 And broke the darkness of my gale-born couch ; A brooding tempest swept me from the seas ; The cloud became my pillow, and the breeze Again was my enchantress wafting me To shore — aye, to this lofty eminence. in Alone here in the wilds and mountains, I Have hunted wandering and wonderingly Till I possessed the origin of things — The good of earth and sun, a million suns ; Till I no longer looked through others' eyes. No longer fed on specters found in books; I understood the courage of all times, And suffering; the calmness and disdain Of martyrs, witches, felons, who have been Burned or condemned, as innocent as heaven. IV Thus I have learned to solve life's lowly stage. The substance of this life's epitome ; To penetrate the mystery of the past. And pierce the dense bewildering gloom of now. Survey with searchful glance the things to come, And view the varied scenes of mortal life; 36 THE BELLS OF IS Thus I behold the kingdoms of this world, Their provinces and subjects manifold, In outline, magnitude, relationship And order — one complete harmonious whole. V Anear me lies the field, the grove, the chase, The camp, the court, the crown — the inci- dents Of time — all physical and social realms ; Beyond, a sea o'er-swept by winds and wings ; By thoughts, emotions, acts — vast multi- tudes ; Afar above these weary ways, a sky, A widening heaven, majestic realm whose breath Is freshness and whose mighty pulse is peace. No question palter of horizons dim — Beyond time's boundary the rest is Rest. VI The ranks of living things before me pass, And I have learned to know my brothers all In air and water and the silent wood ; I gaze upon them as on old-time friends, And knowing them I know (almost) myself. Within my breast the secret of this life. The deep, m.ysterious miracle unfolds ; THE BELLS OF IS 37 Around me float from every precipice The silvery phantoms of the ages past To temper the austere delight of thought. VII Thus I have reached the heights from whence I may The boundless v^astes and wilds of man sur- vey; And with an eye unbiased I looked down Upon the storms of passion, power renown; And view these lower regions of turmoil, As only gay afflictions, golden toil. I look upon the mightiest monarchs' wars As robberies, as murders that they are. Where evermore the fortune that prevails Is right — although the wrong is least that fails. VIII The storms of sad confusion, strife that rages Within the present for the coming ages Appall me not ; I take no part at all ; I know the worst that can to man befall ; Although I pity imbecility. Affliction and distressed mortality, While seeing that the course of things must run, I look on all as if already done ; 38 I'HE BELLS OF IS Man builds on blood, and rises by distress — I view it all as from the shores of peace. IX And neither fear nor hope can shake the frame Of settled peace, nor wrong disturb the same. Thus I have learned to muse on many things That to the mind transcendant quiet brings ; While some men gold and gain their god may deem. And others fame the greatest good esteem, Still others hold that not renown or wealth Can be compared to ease and perfect health, I've learned how none of these nor all of this, Can without peace of mind bring happiness. X While others wail in scorn or mourn in ruth, The shipwreck of an ill-adventured youth. Put Yesterday upon the back of Morrow, To add new griefs, to aggravate the sor- row — The clouds of many yesterdays are vain To bring to-day a single drop of rain. Lo, hear a prophecy from days primeval : Sufficient for the day shall be the evil ; To which I add that even present pain THE BELLS OF IS 39 Is nought, nor need one heed the world's disdain. XI No evils of the past can I undo, But I must do what I was born to do ; Vast is theater and vast the skill, But in the scene my part I must fulfill. Though some rate goodness by the praise they find. As virtue were a servant of the minu. And set to vulgair air their servile song, And could not live if praise had not a tongue, I live my life, nor condemnation fear Though errors of my youth in all appear. XII I live my life in my own simple way. Calm and serene when clouds shut out the day; I ask no boon of fate, no gift of God, Nor bend in grief beneath the chastening rod; I scorn to reap where other hands have sown. Desire no riches that are not my own ; No friendship seek unearned by power to bless. Nor love I cannot win by worthiness ; Thus I possess the privilege resplendant. And glorious of being independent. 40 THE BELLS OF IS XIII I've tasted toil, and joy that triumph brings ; I've dwelt with tribes and sat at board with Kings ; But whether to a hall or tent I came, Friendly to all my welcome was the same ; In northern blasts, in heat of desert sun, I found where 'er I strayed that Life is one ; Amid the clatter and the chatter and the strife. The babble and the turmoil men call life, The Soul, through changing scenes I've found the same ; Thus I have learned to call the Soul by name. XIV Yet life hath charms of which I cannot boast ; I have been voyaging along the coast, Like some poor ever-roving pirate crew. In their rank, narrow ship, who never knew Aught of the mainland, save the barren strand Of unfrequented bays where they may land In safety ; inland vales the coast conceals, The fair and exquisite the earth reveals, Unknown in their rude voyage ; yet in this Have missed perhaps no satisfying bliss. THE BELLS OF IS 41 XV Life holds unmeasured and immortal glories, Immortal and unmeasured sanctities : The sun and moon, the stars and western skies. The ripe June day in which deep wonder lies, The mood of autumn, and the rippling rain. The passion that makes no moment in vain. 'Tis strange, most passing strange, this gift of breath, Of life, yet stranger far than life or death. Than all the pageant of the earth and sea. Is love divine, the soul's great mystery. XVI How happy were those days, so short a space When I could catch a glimpse of One Bright Face; When on some cloud or flower I could gaze. And in their shadows see eternities. Ah ! then I felt through all this fleshly dress The verdant shoots of everlastingness. And now, time-tired, I long to travel back. And tread again the bright immortal track — See mysteries that lie beyond the dust, And wear again the jewels of the just. XVII The flying hours of my past life are gone, 42 THE BELLS OF IS Its dreams now live in memory alone ; The time that is to come is time that's not ; The present moment, then, is all my lot. This moment true, talk not of broken vows ; The present time is all that heaven allows. There was a time which I remember well, When in the past and future I did dwell, And bore the burdens of humanity — When ah, the meanest thing might master me. XVIII My hand upon the plow, my faltering hand Found naught in front of me but untilled land, A wilderness and solitary place, The lonely desert and its interspace; Dread husbandry ; and for these years of pain What harvest comes to me? What meed of grain ? No gold of gain, no pleasurings soft-shod — And unblazed trail of tears my feet have trod. My soul through many waters has been tried ; Mine is the peace that comes to those denied. XIX I've wondered how the sun e'er thought it worth THE BELLS OF IS 43 His while to send his beams upon the earth — This home of plants and animals, this kind Of tabernacle for the human mind ; I've looked upon the moon remembering" How I once called it but a barren thing, A worn-out world, for so I named it then. Yet far more wise than to give life to men ; Still I behold the smile of mother earth. The glory and the gladness of our birth. XX I'll take the gifts my mother gives and smile — Her gifts if small and for a little while ; Her last gift. Rest, is long ; when I am gone. Her mountains are my monuments of stone ; The cattle on her hills will still be grazing, The small red wild-flower in the grass be blazing; The sun still sink into the western sea. The moon still glimmer o'er the eastern bay. What credit shall I have when life is ended For anything accomplished howe'er splen- did? XXI Perhaps long leagues of land, long leagues of wave, Shall lie between my cradle and my grave ; And none behold the tomb with tear or sigh 44 THE BELLS OF IS Where I shall rest beneath an alien sky, Yet mother earth, my mother, still my own. Will make my lonely tomb a laureled throne ; The old familiar voices I shall hear, The meadow-lark, and other kindred dear ; And back again in old days it will seem — For life is real, and death is but a dream. XXII For myriads of centuries the earth Had longed for life ; to give to life its birth ; To nourish it till it had greater grown Than anything the earth had ever known. No tongues had seas, no languages the sands ; Earth yearned for these, for brains and lips and hands For brains to think mid her gropings and needs ; For hands to fashion her love into deeds ; For lips her splendors to express in speech — For souls to rise great thoughts and deeds to reach. XXIII Poor creatures pitiful spawned in the sea, And on the hills ; far greater yet to be, They thrived, they grew, some with life- splendor fresh. Some make-shift feet, a touch of feeling flesh : THE BELLS OF IS 45 Earth aged for ages and strange children walked The radiant hills ; and in strange ways they talked ; Earth's poor dim children ; then with grow- ing might, Earth caught a fire from some selectial height, And having reached at last her top-most span, Held on her breast the miracle called man. XXIV Thus earth's long ages have been piled, and told In countless centuries. You say that I am old. That my gray hairs and face's wrinkled lines Show how my youth is passed, my life de- clines — /Now past its zenith, growing less and less, 'Twill turn to dreams, and then forgetful- ness ; 'Tis true ; the sun is not so old as I, Nor the green earth on which I softly lie, For in my bosom dwells eternity ; I am a drop of life's immortal sea. XXV Brief is this life, yet I have wandered far That I might see what my possessions are; 46 THE BELLS OF IS Bent on beholding what it is I own, Each hour unfolding has more priceless grown ; Yet as I watch the caravan of years Creep by, I cry with mingled hopes and fears ; O Earth, reach hands to help ! I walk the shore Of some blaclc ocean, pitiless, and o'er Its waters soon I shall be swept away — Upon its waves to wait the light of day. XXVI A little while the myrtle and the rose; A little while and then the winter snows ; A little while to sing, to love and linger. Then silence falls on both the song and singer. From our desires the gods exalt our lives — We dream that bloom and passion still sur- vives ; The heart in twilight seeks its dead again To gild with love — ah, does it seek in vain? Still mounts the hope, still broods the dull distrust ; Which shall prevail, the vision or the dust? XXVII Gone are the youthful days of poetry ; Romance with mystery has passed away ; THE BELLS OF IS 47 A narrow science, cold and hard and dry, Has chased the lovely rainbows from our sky; And crushes out the soul of man which seems Just one of man's fair pre-historic dreams — All gone, if this the scientific view Prevails, and science must of course be true. Yet science might, if it were understood, Bring back the things for which e'en fairies stood. XXVIII How vainly learning trifles with the vast Unknown of ages ! ghost-like from the past. Dim shadows flit along the streams of time ; And as in seances or wizards' rime, We ask the dead about the days gone by, And living voices rise to make reply ; Voiceless and wan we question them in vain; We wave the wand ; they live, they breathe again ; They leave unsolved life's mighty yester- day, But as we live, so lived and so loved they. XXIX The vast dim unrecorded past is fled ; What word comes from the unreturning dead 48 THE BELLS OF IS To tell us if they once were such as we — To tell us whether now at all they be? No word ; but in the night hope sees a star And listening love hears rustling wings afar, And reason points, with recollections back. Or forward on the soul's immortal track; And faith, transcending hope and memory. Relies on surer words of prophecy, XXX Poor soul that takest thy flight I know not whither. Must you and I no longer live together? Poor body, lie neglected and forgot. When I have gone to meet — I know not what? Sometimes with humorous vein in pleasing folly. More oft with wavering, pensive melan- choly, I dread yet hope that we may meet again ; I hope yet fear that all my hopes are vain ; But if of that bright hope my soul be shorn. Ah, sure 'twere better I had not been born. XXXI When fond desire at last and fond regret Go hand in hand to death, shall I forget? If memory all earthly ills retain THE BELLS OF IS 49 What balm can heal the unforgotten pain? Oh, shall there in the golden air be blown The incense of some sweeter grace un- known, The petals of some flowering amulet, Enabling one remembering to forget? Is there some charm to give the magic choice To hear, or close the ear to m.emory's voice. XXXII My life is gliding downward day by day Through canyons to the plains of far-away; While time is running through the years- to-be, Past voice's call, aye, still v/ill call to me ; I hear the roar where rapids foam and tear And smell the upland balsam-laden air; I'll dream I am riding down yon woody vale With burro and its burden on the trail ; See waving fields of grain from sky to sky — When life's last, best and sweetest have past by. XXXIII In forest-aisles, in mountains grim and vast. The shadowy forms from out the misty past. The old familiar faces, how they crowd. Like ghosts with life forever more endowed ! With them I sit beside the camp-fire's glow ; 50 THE BELLS OF IS Watch God's white silence in the falling snow ; Hear them discourse, through good or evil fame, Of faithful love unknowing selfish aim ; These are my partners in world-storm and stress. Their friendships pure that grow not faint or less. XXXIV What shall an old man worn and weary say, What fitting tribute shall the living pay The mighty dead who lived in other years? What praise ere the eternal twilight nears When he with them shall grope with parted hands The dim unknown, illimitable lands? No biased word befits the splendid dead. No partial praise; let me with bended head Stand still in awe, then write with tear- blurred scrawl Beneath their names, "1 love and reverence all." XXXV Some I have known, the loveliest and the best, Have one by one crept silently to rest. Soon I shall reach the shadow-house whose portals tHE BELLS OF IS 51 Lead to the luminous land of the immortals, To which amid alternate hopes and fears Have gone my comrades of six thousand years. The moon I've seen so often wax and wane Shall look for me but she shall look in vain ; Yon sun greet me no more with smiles so splendid — Then darkness, days of mourning, shall be ended. XXXVI As darkness spreads and fades the evening light, I look complacently upon the night. Man bent on evil, darkness views with awe, And trembles 'neath the eye of night, the law. No torch though lit from heaven the blind illumes ; Man is the terror that the land consumes, And most to dread when mad with social error. He rules with worse than tyrant's power and terror — Then virtue flees pursued by vice, in awe. And universal crime becomes the law. XXXVII When with its wiles, the world my heart perplexes. S2 THE BELLS OF IS I view the stars whom pride nor passion vexes ; When treachery my heart to fury lashes I think how soon we shall be dust and ashes ; I say to foes: Let strife between us cease; Death is our lot — 'twixt comrades should be peace. I seek no brother's sins my robe to whiten — To dim another's fame no crown v/ill brighten. Do right, and let the v/orld say what it pleases ; All loads of blame a quiet conscience eases. XXXVIII Loving the truth, I sought to paint earth's woes, Sometimes in words like modern shredded prose. Or in prose-rhyme, prose-poems or free verse ; I took the platform, and was not averse To standing in the pulpit, at the bar, Or on the stump, to paint things as they are; 'Tis strange how many will themselves de- ceive. What multitudes the false alone believe — Or, was it I that failed so signally O'er Error's shoulder Truth's fair face to see? THE BELLS OF IS 53 2\2\.2\.L2\. I've softly trodden with intrusive step The empty haunts of swirling crowds; I've wept With others' grief, their sadness and their tears, In silent crypts of far-remembered years ; I've stood and listened in those marble halls. Whose turbulence still echoed from the walls, Whose stairways had been treadmills of des- pair. Runways of greed, whose narrow passages were The skirmish line of battles fought within, Where many a hope had perished in the din. XL And there I heard the treacherous promise given, As dark as hell in garb as bright as heaven ; With bribes of goodness, friendship, love, I saw The tragedy of crime made into law. The darker powers prevailing. Where are now Those men who came, the dawn upon their brow? The naked truth, alas, the record mars — 54 THE BELLS OF IS Forgot those holy dreams- beneath the stars ; At noonday caught in currents of despair, Or sunk in stupor of prudential air. XLI Poor man, thy name, like mine, is Might- have-been ; Or else Too-late, No-more, or Ne'er-again ; Unto thine ear thou holdst the dead sea- shell That echoes but one word, a faint farewell ; And to thine eyes the glass, where that is seen Which had life's form and love's ; but on the screen — The once fair mirror broken by thy spell — Thy shaken shadow is intolerable ; Thy dearest friends behold with dull sur- prise, Then turn away with cold, averted eyes. XLII With pain and penury, what ills await! Death is the refuge from storms of fate ; Night with her specters wan and sickly dews, The night of time, will pass. The heavenly muse Strives not in vain to break the twilight gloom, THE BELLS OF IS 55 And comfort me as through these shades I roam. Some words of mine, to sacred muses owed, Might others too have cheered in dull abode ; And savage youths afar might oft repeat To dusky maids my numbers wild and sweet. XLIII Mine was the spirit of delicious song; To me as of true right did once belong The myriads of music notes that swell From poet's lute, or from the breathing shell. At mention of the Muse my heart still springs Up to my lips as if 'twere borne on wings ; As if suggestion of the name had brought Back snatches of the old inspired thought, When melodies accompanied each word, Like martial notes from distant hilltops heard. XLIV Then, when I sang of Nature's lovely face, How lines would rise touched with her own sweet grace! If 'twere to sing of some bright garden scene, There, though unknown, the minstrel I had been; S6 THE BELLS OF IS And I could link the words of charmed power With each green leaf, and garland every flower. To sing of woman and her loveliness Was ecstasy — I reveled to excess ; For I could catch all spells that can beguile In dark, magnetic eye or rosy smile. XLV Whene'er I sang of love then some sweet tale Arose, like that told by the nightingale. Was it some deed possessing a just claim Upon the earth for high enduring fame, Or those endearing, kindly feelings sent But for the hearth and home; or sweet con- tent. Of lofty thought, or counsel of the sage — All these might have been found upon my page; To me thus bounteously did once belong The Muse's gift the spirit of sweet song, XLVI Then, in the gardens of the gods I walked, And face to face with heavenly muses talked ; I gathered sweets from ever)-- flower bright, And beauties from ten thousand fields of light, THE BELLS OF IS 57 And caught the music of the far-off spheres — Oh, there was music, music everywhere, Like some ethereal ocean broad and long, Whose silver surf forever breaks in song ; With heaven's first-born upon each cloudy pillow, And anthems heard in every rolling billow. XLVII Now, in the desert, or the crowded street, Fragments of song come floating incom- plete, The words half-lost in chasms where traffic roared — Their melodies still piercing like a sword ; Forgotten sorrows haunt each vagrant strain. Like ghosts of paupers from the fields of pain ; And wraiths of passion of the yesteryears, As sweet as kisses and as sad as tears. Now rise, to vanish, baffling, half-revealed, As pangs of flesh still tell of wounds long healed. XLVIII Long, in this veil, I've sought again to find The soul of beauty, universal mind, The god, the holy ghost, atoning lord, Eternal presence — never yet explored ; 58 THE BELLS OF IS Gone aown full many a windy midnight lane, Pressed in blind hope some lighted window- pane ; And I have knocked at many a musty door, Probed in old walls and felt along the floor; In vain ; still sometimes when the moon is full I hear strange tunes played by the Beau- tiful. XLIX I hear the music, and I cannot sleep ; The voices sobbing in the dark, and weep ; The waters still are wailing far-away, And moan together at the break of day ; The forests trumpet on with all their might ; The winds tempestuous throughout the night Are like the chanting of a mighty hymn Across the steppes or in the forests dim ; And in it all I hear the echo yet — Things I no more can utter nor forget. L If I could come again to the dear place Where once I talked with Beauty face to face; If, as I stood and gazed among the leaves, Saw the red herdsman gather up his sheaves, THE BELLS OF IS 59 Or brimming waters tremble on the shore — If she appeared again as once before In that old time before I learned to speak, And leaned to me with color in the cheek, And love on lips, the joy would make me wise, And I should know all things, all mysteries. 6o THE BELLS OF IS CHAPTER III I I had been born one of Apollo's heirs, And sacred muses challenged me as theirs, And princes might my melodies have sung, My flowing verses read in every tongue ; And little children when they learned to go. By gentle mothers guided to and fro, Might have been taught my numbers to re- hearse And lovers' lips been sweetened by my verse; Ah, well, though heaven does the best it can. How could it put an angel into man? II Great heaven, whose beams the greater world do light — Shines in our little world to inward sight. Whose radiance though hid by earthly shades Dispels the night but in our darkness fades — Oh ! still inspire the burden of my song And teach me still v/hat travails do belong To earthly life, a short but tedious space — THE BELLS OF IS 6i O kindly light still guide my panting pace Till I my lost inheritance o'ertake, And heaven win, the world at last forsake ! Ill But why vex heaven with my bootless cries When in disgrace of fortune or men's eyes ? Or why should I my outcast state bemoan, Or curse my fate v/hen I am all alone ? Or wish that I might be more rich in hope, Desiring one man's art, another's scope — With what I most enjoy contented least? Does not the sun unseen from out the east Triumphantly above the tem.pests ride? Do not the clouds but for the mom.ent hide? IV Though solitary I am not alone ; Far from the clamorous crowd I live my own ; Oh, how more sweet the birds' harmonious note Than those that flov/ from grandest organ's throat ! More soft the sobbings of the widowed dove Than whisperings that evil do approve And good make doubtful. Sweet the zephyr's breath Compared to the applause that men be- queath. 62 THE BELLS OF iS The world is full of horrors, falsehoods, slights ; Woods, silent shades, have only true de- lights. V The glories, pleasures, pomps, delights and ease Of any state can outward senses please Alone when inner senses of the mind Are taught, untroubled and by peace re- fined ; Great sorrows mingled with contents pre- pare The rest of soul that banishes all care ; Though riches flourish, yet they must de- cay ; Though beauties shine, they too much pass away; Love reigns in life supreme, and yet what art Can find a balsam for a broken heart? VI I'm not ashamed of anything I've done ; I've gone my round, my changeless circuit run; Why bow my head at thought of something mean To cast a shadow on the quiet scene? THE BELLS OF IS 63 I'll stana erect and look straight on, and be Fearless of all that in the light I'll see When I have passed beyond the twilight hill; I'll gather only what is kept from ill ; In this the fullness of my hope and love, I live, I sing, trust on, and look above. VII Mine is the spirit of the Universe; In solitude I oftentimes converse With Wisdom, the eternity of thought, That breath and everlasting motion brought To forms and images ; I intertwine The greater passions of the Soul with mine ; In fellowship vouchsafed I recognize The power to purify, uplift, make wise ; To bear me up as if on eagle's wings Above all mean to high, enduring things. VIII Through drudging moments of my daily toil My soul is raised above the sordid soil ; For like a bird my thought wings toward the blue ; Whate'er I'm doing I am dreaming, too; And as my thoughts go wandering afield. Oh, what revv ard my rambling fancies yield ! And even pushed along the crowded street By jostling throngs what visions joyous, sweet 64 THE BELLS OF IS And loftier than vulgar words can tell, Come to the heart v/here no mean thing can dwell ! IX The shadow on the ground points to the sun, And frozen streamlets shall in summer run ; The jangling discord hints at harmony, And widest deserts stretch toward the sea. There is no lie but counterfeits the truth. And love embraces hate as age does youth; As sense and finiteness to soul give way. So evil holds o'er good but seeming sway; So is the soul, though poor to blinded eyes. The heir to all the glories of the skies. X Soul-history in mystery abides ; Whence that strange fire that in the heart resides, That gives to life its earnest, serious air? I've known its warmth, I've felt it other- where ; I knew it ere I knew the guage of time ; I felt it in some far-off foreign clime ; Long since I met it in some distant place, Before I wore the manacles of space ; Perhaps when in the heavenly house I trod And lay upon the bosom of my God. THE BELLS OF IS 65 XI Time carved in ivory and ebony — Of day and night — is in the history Of the eternal soul, a monument, A momentary pause of dire portent, Or of tremendous possibility. The soul's memorial or its prophecy. There is no greater happiness we know Than solace for past sadness, and no woe Like that remembrance brings of happier days — Thus memory makes heaven or hell always. XII In all her mazes nature's face I viewed. And where she disappeared my search pur- sued ; I've watched unfold the faint and dawning strife Of infant atoms kindling into life; How lambient flames from life's bright lamps arise And dart in emanations from the eyes ; How the same nerves are fashioned to sus- tain The greatest pleasure and the greatest pain ; Till with increasing penetration I Might paint a thought, or photograph a sigh ! 66 THE BELLS OF IS XIII I understand the harmony between The outward figure and the form unseen ; How quick their faculties the limbs fulfill, And act at every summons of the will ; How the dim speck of entity began To change its form and stretch itself to man. Nor have I vainly sought the cause to find How mind on body acts, reacts on mind; And I have seen, mysterious to descry, These mighty facts in distant causes lie. XIV I see the light which makes the light of day; That like the sun does with indifferent ray, Within the palace and the cottage shine. And show the soul by oracle divine. The lamp through all the regions of the brain Doth shed such beams that I distinguish plain The soul of man, and with what ease I trace Each subtle line of her immortal face ! And thus to view myself I did begin To set my eye upon the light within. XV Hail to the inner light, the rising sun ! As mysteries that since the world begun THE BELLS OF IS (i1 Have by these later times been brought to light, So that which still lies hid from mortal sight — The avenues by which the soul discerns The outer world — of these man slowly learns ! How they are interchangeable ; how light May reach the inner ear, and how the sight May catch unfailingly the spoken word As other senses may be seen and heard. XVI What is man's mission in this world be- low? What is he sent here on the earth to do? All through his life to scheme, to plot and plan? Is this the mission that is given man? Is it to play, to think, to dress, to eat? What is success that ends not in defeat? If man be judged by skill of brain or hand, Who shall find peace in that far-distant land? Who save the brilliant? If the good are glad, Then what shall be the fate of all the sad? XVII Is happiness humanity's great need? 68 THE BELLS OF IS Then what of mangled lives and hearts that bleed? Shall fame remain one's own unto the end. Shine in the hand where shadows ne'er de- scend? If so what meed for those shut from the throne Whose lives are struggles here, and deeds unknown ? Man's mission on the earth — ah, who can tell What soul has served its plan and purpose well? Although man knows not what he's sent to do, He finds repose who struggles to be true. XVIII Life in its dawn reposes foul or fair Beneath the mother-love's untiring care, And rosy dreams in slumber's arms begin ; 'Tis thus the cherished child is welcomed in — Sometimes mid sounds with merry music rife, More oft v^^'Ith discord and the voice of strife. Then swift the years like arrows fly away ; No more with girls the boy delights to play ; He bounds, he storms through life's tumul- tuous pleasures. THE BELLS OF IS 69 And with his pilgrim staff the wide world measures. XIX Awearied with the wish to farther roam, He stranger-like returns to father-home ; A vision breaks out of his native skies; A virgin stands with shame before his eyes ; A new and nameless longing seizes him, And tears before unknown his eyes bedim. He seems to see the gates of heaven unfold, With hope — the growth of life's first age of gold, And love — oh, that its transient bliss might stay, The whole year linger in the bloom of May ! XX Beware ! Take care before fore'er united, That heart to heart flow in true love — de- lighted ; Illusion is short-lived, repentance long If hearts be falsely plighted, mated wrong. Bring hither, then, with virgin wreath the bride. And to the feast invite from far and wide ; Make holiday — illusion's wings depart, And life's sweet May forever leaves the heart ; Now enter husband on the hostile life, 70 THE BELLS OF IS To wrestle, hunt down Fortune in the strife. XXI Swift are the steps of Woe ; no mortal state Can form a truce perpetual with Fate ; Despairing, wearied out, man bows at length To powers above, and Time's devouring strength ; With idle gaze, he sees their wrath con- sume His little all, submitting to his doom ; With mingled hope and sorrow bends to pray That suns beyond the realm of finite day May warm the seeds he buries in earth's gloom. And call them forth, and kiss them into bloom. XXII Earth-life is but a sand upon the shore ; Its voice the breath of breezes soon no more ; From whence man came and whither he shall go. He thinks, he hopes — how can he surely know? In all the progress won by mortal strife, No one to solve the mystery of life A step has taken ; here a little while. THE BELLS OF IS 71 A pendulum betwixt a tear and smile, How soon the moment comes that ends it all. And others take our places, as we fall ! XXIII For them the stars shall shine, the earth roll on, Just as they have for generations gone ; For them the harvest shall be gathered in. The snow-flakes fill the air, flowers bloom again ; And, like the life of man, the sun still rise, Ascend in glory to the mid-day skies — Rise out of darkness into morning light And sink into the darkness of the night ; And, out of sight, is it not shining still. And guided by a kind creator's will? XXIV If heaven takes note of every secret tear. There is a hope for those who suffer here; Else love were but a synonym for hate, And providence but blind or cruel fate, All justice but a tottering edifice Without foundation in eternal grace. But who shall say there is a recompense For those who weep, beyond these scenes of sense? Can human reason with its wrangling strife? 72 THE BELLS OF IS Does nature teach the way, the truth, the life? XXV Is man a weed that grows apace and dies, A flower that withers in the sun's hot rays, A tender plant nipped by untimely frost? Or is he deathless as the universe, To live, like gods, forever and for aye? . If pains and pleasures of the sense decay, If love arrayed in mortal vesture must Lose its immortal nature, turn to dust. Can we then look beyond these fading forms. These crude creations, to eternal charms? XXVI Does death renew the pleasures life holds dear — The hues we gaze on and the tones we hear? Shall faithful spouse rejoin remembered love In Paradise's fair Elysian grove? Shall these material things all pass away And man not perish like the flowers of May? Shall we live on in boundless space alone With all life's melody and beauty gone? Shall all that mortaJ life is. wont to cherish Forever pass when mortal life shall perish? THE BELLS OF IS 73 XXVII Blind creatures that we are ! too blind to see The kind of beings that we are to be When we have passed beyond the golden bars — To shine like suns and scintillate like stars ; To be like him who came to earth to be The great fore-runner of humanity, The gentle guide and shepherd of mankind — But ah ! when there if we shall fail to find All we have loved our pilgrimage along, Shall we not feel that something has gone wrong? XXVIII Why search the secrets of futurity Since no one can unveil the mystery? E'en when immersed in sin I did surmise, Nor doubted, I should enter Paradise ; I who would not bow down to aught above Submit with meekness to all-boundless love. The kingdom of his love within must be The badge of sonship, pledge of purity ; Its image is the object of mine eye, The goal towards which I strive until I die. XXIX upon the mirror of my soul I see The silent shadow of the age to be; The vision glimmering, my sight surveys 74 THE BELLS OF IS Through all life's thousand-fold entangled maze — Through countless means one solemn end is shown, To close life's labyrinth, a single throne. The mingled melody of many songs To one great song as golden links belongs, To blend earth's music with God^s harmony. As rivers melt into the mighty sea. XXX Have I not marked earth's longest way around? Yet all my faith is linked to shores unfound. Have I not seen how measureless the deep? Of seas more vast I still the image keep. No quest awaits, no world yet to explore ; But winds on hills, waves beating on the shore. Have voices calling far o'er lands and seas. And whispering of stranger lands than these. The golden light of stars, mysterious guide, Veils with celestial beauty deeps they hide. XXXI No chart or compass, voice or touch of hand I need to safely reach the Other Land ; For though it lies beyond the sea unknown. Am I the first to cross the sea alone? — Yet not alone, unmarked the way before them, THE BELLS OF IS 75 If One well-known guided the bark that bore them As through the darkness and the storm they sailed When ties of sense and gravitation failed ; — I'll float beyond the seas of time and space, Equipped at last by his eternal grace. XXXII To one familiar with its history Death has no terror and no mystery ; It had, like other kings upon the earth, Its origin, its parentage and birth, And one could write its full biography. Its short career, conquest and victory. Its coronation, kingdom, dining-hall. Its retinue of hired servants, all ; And finally its death, its great defeat ; Thus one could write the life of death com- plete. XXXIII But life lives on and death is not its end ; I gaze upon the far-off stars that send Their beams to light earth's darkened at- mosphere. And feel that my real home is there, not here. It must be that this deep and longing sense Is prophecy — the soul in going hence, 76 THE BELLS OF IS In passing from this life to that to come Will find in some bright star its promised home; And that the Eden lost forever here, Smiles welcoming from some celestial sphere. XXXIV Now as I walk beside the billows rolling, I say, O Lord, the ocean tides controlling. Make me the shallows of my soul to see, Lest greater evils still shall fall on me ; And as I walk o'er plains that have no bor- der. My life seems fashioned on such narrow order, That with bowed head, and hands and heart uplifted, I cry : O thou who art supremely gifted. Remove the bars, and break the encircling chains, And broaden me, and make me like thy plains. XXXV An exile here I am, a wanderer Into the wilds of nature ; places view Not yet defiled by man the leveler; For man is leveler of man. No pew I seek, to be imbued with purity ; THE BELLS OF LS ^^ No . 'hool for loftier flights of intellect ; I look for these, and the Almighty see — Where saints and doctors often least sus- pect — Whose face is mirrored in each shape and hue And tiniest flower that bloom along life's way. XXXVI I Jove to roam far into the Autumn woods And view the charms of nature's solitudes; I love the shaded brook which by me sings, The home of birds and beasts, the vine which clings To riven oak and shares its sad decline, Or droops in sympathy