i!iii!yei<&3ff^fiiffi3?L^^i»!isffleoP!!!ssEas' 17 fy mMm - ' ^w U Q R ;n.:;3v,.,i^;.,j,4,5„^gysgggj^^jjjjj5,^,jj^ XANDKR RGBERTSON -47S^ia.^?3K|^J»lSSJia!^8f| Class. P£3535__- Ctipyrlghl N" THE DEAD CALYPSO AND OTHER VERSES THE DEAD CALYPSO AND OTHER VERSES BY LOUIS ALEXANDER ROBERTSON ) J > , 5 J > • • » O ] • }« ' ' ' J ' > ' 1 ' ' , ' ■. , - 3^0 J«, SAN FRANCISCO A. M. ROBERTSON I 9 O I THE LI8«A«V OF CONGRESS. Two COPItS RECeiVED AUG. 12 1901 C©»»VBIOHT ENT»y COPY 8. ri3 3J"3j- 19 (J I COPYRIGHT, 1901, BY LOUIS A. RORERTSON *.« c.« ; /. ••. ... 1 * * • • « • % f .• • •.: "..: • • • • * ••• ••• , * • ■ • • • « ••! • ••• ••! t • • • • * • » ••• ••• .«. • , •• •• • • •! • « « • • • • • • , ••••••«•; • e a c • • » •••• ••••••» • • ••• The Murdock Press San Francisco WITH THE FOLLOWING LINES I INSCRIBE THIS LITTLE BOOK TO &anti0 UH. JFotman By Western Shores oft Triton blows His sounding shell ; and she who rose All wet and wanton from the deep. To make man's pulse with passion leap. Here on the wave in beauty glows. A herd upon the hillside lows. And where yon stream in music flows. There Pan is piping to his sheep. By Western Shores. Here vine-crowned Bacchus doth repose. And nymphs and satyrs, like to those Of Tempe, from the copses peep ; Why for the fabled Lotus v^^eep. When 'neath the Poppy we may doze. By Western Shores ? CONTENTS THE DEAD CALYPSO ...... 9 THE SONNET ....... 1 7 THROUGH PAINTED PANES . . . . . l8 THE MAN IS NOTHING, THE WORK IS ALL . . 1 9 EVOLUTION ........ 23 ART 33 THE TRUTH SHALL MAKE YOU FREE . . . .34 THOU UNSEEN HARP . . . . . . 38 THE WANDERER ....... 39 DREAMS ........ 40 WHEN DREAMS DERIDE . . . . . . 4I ICEBERG ........ 42 HOVE-TO ........ 43 THE CALIFORNIA REDWOODS ..... 44 DIALECT VERSE ....... 45 THE TUNELESS TYRO ...... 46 THE REFORMED TRANSFORMED ..... 47 JOB ......... 48 THE lord's prayer ...... 49 VIA CRUCIS ....... 50 CHRISTMAS SONNET ....... 54 THE CROSS-CROWNED CAIRN . . . . . 55 THE ROCK OF AGES . . . . . .58 THE NAZARENE ....... 59 CONTENTS GOLGOTHA 64 TO THE UNKNOWN GOD 66 THE LORD OF HOSTS 71 HYMN TO FREEDOM 72 THE SECRET GRASP . 11 HAVOC 78 THE OLD YEAR 84 JUBILATE DEO 85 TENNYSON 95 BYRON 96 ON A PORTRAIT OF LUCIUS HARWOOD FOOTE 97 there's NOTHING LIKE THE OLD BALLADE 98 ON NEW year's eve • ••••• [02 VIVE LA BAGATELLE • • • • • [03 BIRTHDAY SONNET . . to5 THE DEVOTEE • • • • • [06 FRANCESCA • ••■•• 108 THROUGH JOYOUS YEARS • • • « • [09 ADIEU d' AMOUR [lO ENGLAMOURED ] II I LOVE THEE STILL [ 12 THE SUPPLICANT . 113 THEA , [14 WAIFS 1 ti5 RUBRIC . ] [16 IN ABSENCE . [17 LOVE ME ONCE MORE [18 THE IDOLATER . • • • • » [20 CONTENTS WHEN LULU COMES VICTOR LOVE .... GOOD-BY, SWEETHEART THE TEMPTRESS .... THE KING IS dead; LONG LIVE THE KING VACILLATION .... THE friar's confession , THE MAENAD .... THE WEDDING-BELL . , , , A WHITED SEPULCHRE HEAVEN AND HELL , , , A SKETCH .... A CAROL OF THE CURSED , THE VAMPIRE .... IT 'S NOT THE DISTANCE, IT 's THE PACE, THAT KILLS MEDUSA ..... THE UNKNOWN LOVE , . . LONE MOUNTAIN WEARY PAIN ASHES COMPENSATION .... TEARS ...... ATAXIA ..... CONSOLATION .... OUT OF EGYPT .... THE LOOM ..... 21 22 24 25 26 28 29 31 32 42 43 52 53 58 59 63 64 65 66 68 69 72 73 74 82 83 84 THE DEAD CALYPSO Where be thy witcheries now, woman of won- derful beauty, Priestess of profligate love, passionless, pallid and still? Sweet was the soul-searing cult taught by thy liberal kisses. Sweeter the chalice of love formed by thy sen- suous mouth. Ripe as the rapturing grape, rich as the rose in its redness. But unto them that did drink fatal as waters of death. Left unto thee are the dregs, bitter and biting as wormwood. Freezing the blood in thy veins, leaving thee rigid and cold. 9 THE DEAD CALYPSO Strange that those lewd lava lips, once so alluring and mocking, Wear such an innocent smile, chaste as a maid- en's in sleep ! Nay, but they wither and change, livid they seem unto blueness, Shrunk in their soft silken skin, as when the tropical sun Drinking the life of the grape, leaves it aban- doned and shriveled. Gibbeted on its own vine, swinging like felon forgot. Almost again do I hear thy voice and its pas- sionate pleading. Soft as the musical moan of waves in a mur- muring shell. Luring and leading me on to a haven that shone like a heaven, lO THE DEAD CALYPSO Bright with a promise of peace, fair as a rhapso- dist's dream. Misted with halos of gold, yet but a vanishing splendor Miraged in exquisite grace over a desert of death. But when youth's passionate pulse pleads with its eager insistence, When the white waiting snows of the heart melt with the breath of the spring. When the clamoring currents of life leap with ineffable joyance. Where is the hand that can point to the channels through which they shall run, — Whether through vistas of peace, till lost in love's infinite ocean. Or on through dark intricate ways to mix with the silt of the sewer? II THE DEAD CALYPSO Dead is the light in thine eyes, yet recollection beholds them Mirrored like stars of the night in the face of a flood that is calm, Then losing themselves in the deep, when the breath of the gathering tempest Lashes the slumbering wave till it leaps to the lowering skies. Thus when thy senses were drowned in thy passion's exuberant triumph. Leaving the lures of thy lips have I looked on thy wondering eyes. Swooning away into white, as when the rays ot the morning Chase the black shadows of night back to their caverns of gloom. Oft have I seen them revolve, slowly and dream- ily turning 12 THE DEAD CALYPSO Into thy love-laden brain, there passion's secret to find ; Leaving their opaline orbs blind in the trance that enthralled them, Till the long kiss that I gave coaxed the lost irises back. Now, under curtains of wax, lustreless crescents of whiteness. Cold as the frost on the pane, hint of those rapturous hours. Where is their luminous gleam, which, like the treacherous beacons Lighted by wreckers to lure the mariner on to his doom, O'er life's unpiloted sea shone with a bale and a beauty. Till the poor credulous bark dashed on the rock of thy heart ? 13 THE DEAD CALYPSO Season of spring, when the blood quickened to life in the pulses. And, murmuring, sighed with delight and laughed at the prospect of death ! Summer that seethed in the veins, with its grapes growing richer and redder, Till in a wine-press of sorrow the dregs of the vintage were found ! When all thy sepulchred past, on the rack of an exquisite passion. Gave up its secrets of old in thy voiceless but voluble vows ; Then to thy lust-leavened lips rose the lees of a thousand caresses That artifice could not disguise, nor fraud into fealty frame. Swiftly the meshes of silk were spun into steel, but I lingered, 14 THE DEAD CALYPSO Fondling the fetters I feared, yet fearing to fling them away. Lost to the lips I had loved, yet with the thirst of a drunkard Draining the draught that enslaved, e'en while the spirit recoiled. Day after day, as the scales fell from mine eyes, I beheld thee. Garbed in the glamour of lust, rise from the ashes of love ; Night after night, though thy beauty oft baffled my fears and beguiled me. Soon every sigh seemed to breathe naught but a sibilant hiss. Or but the laugh of a fiend that rang in mine ears till I left thee, To come at the last and to lay the lips that forgive on thy brow. 15 THE DEAD CALYPSO Long, long ago, in the past, did the daughters of earth, with their beauty, Lure from the heavens above the white-pinioned Children of God ; Why should I wonder that thou, O fairest and frailest of women. Didst with thy sorceries bind the souls and the bodies of men? Where are thy worshipers now, they who did pant to embrace thee ? Where is the homage they poured once in those death-deafened ears ? Where is the word that could waken thee now, O voluptuous sleeper. Or the gold that could bribe thee to break thy last lover's lethal embrace? i6 THE SONNET As OFTEN in some grand and ancient fane A devotee will kneel him down to pray At one familiar shrine day after day. And to his guardian saint his woes complain; There, while his fingers tell the beaded chain, His soul in ecstasy drifts far away. Till back returning with the vesper strain, It enters once again its home of clay. So in the cloistered corridors of song There is one altar where I love to kneel ; Though humblest of the worshipers who throng Its narrow space, yet there I often steal. And in the Sonnet's sacred chalice pour My tears and sighs until I weep no more. 17 THROUGH PAINTED PANES (rondeau) Through painted panes a glory flows, And over aisle and altar throws Soft floods of crimson, blue, and gold, Till silent forms, in sculpture stoled. Seem waking from a long repose. Ah, how the tinted marble glows ! For every cheek now wears a rose. And each white face seems aureoled Through painted panes. These weird word-weavers who disclose Strange things to us in rhyme or prose, Who conjure up the dead and cold. Or Life's great varied page unfold. Their art is but a light that shows Through painted panes. i8 THE MAN IS NOTHING, THE WORK IS ALL (double ballade) This world is but a noisy show, A mighty, motley masquerade. Where countless actors come and go, A tragedy and gasconade. Where many puzzling parts are played ; Till curtained with Death's dusty pall. And in Time's testing balance weighed. The man is nothing, the work is all. 19 THE MAN IS NOTHING, THE WORK IS ALL Forward they press, both high and low, And rich and poor, and gay and staid; Some climb where Fame's fair mountains glow. While others grovel in the glade ; But when, at last, the sexton's spade Hath built the bed to which they crawl. When requiems roll and prayers are prayed. The man is nothing, the work is all. Though rivers red as crimson flow Beneath the shot-torn barricade ; Though on the clay of fallen foe Thrones have been reared with reeking blade ; Still war is but a sorry trade. And often but a murderous brawl ; For even Glory's gleam will fade, — The man is nothing, the work is all. 20 THE MAN IS NOTHING, THE WORK IS ALL Fate*s shuttle flashes to and fro, And many curious webs are made ; For Fortune may her smile bestow. And light some dullard through the shade To where Fame's glittering prize is paid ; While Genius oft doth drink Life's gall. Of flouting Fortune unafraid, — The man is nothing, the work is all. In vilest soil the seed may grow. For many a living germ hath strayed Where sower never meant to sow ; The heart of reckless renegade Hath been ere this a shrine where swayed Truth's sacred censer, letting fall The spark, oft slighted, oft obeyed, — The man is nothing, the work is all. 21 THE MAN IS NOTHING, THE WORK IS ALL To some misleading guides we owe Lights that have made us retrograde ; While others up Time's ramparts throw For us a shining escalade, By which we shall at last invade Truth's glorious and eternal hall ; Or fair, or foul, in Life's crusade. The man is nothing, the work is all. ENVOY Whene'er we glory or upbraid The good or bad, the great or small, This maxim may our judgment aid, — The man is nothing, the work is all. 22 EVOLUTION Mystical Dream of Creation ! Problem of Dark Evolution 1 Tell us the world's early story, Life's hidden secret unfold. Vain is each wild speculation, Groping in gloom for solution. Enough that from darkness sprang glory, Sunrise in crimson and gold. 23 EVOLUTION Mounting the stream of the ages. Up to its sources of mystery. Threading its channels uncertain. What, after all, have we won ? Blank were the world's early pages. Buried in myth was its history. Long after earth's misty curtain Glowed with the light of the sun. Still in the quarried tradition, Still in the ice-graven story. Still in the rock-written fable, Linger the throes of thy birth ; Marking thy growth and transition. Back in the centuries hoary. Legends that teach and enable Thy children to know thee, O Earth 24 EVOLUTION Nebulous waif of obscurity, On through immensity stealing, Wandering child of the forces. Dropped from the matrix of night ; Fashioning thyself to maturity, Sphering and fusing, annealing. Through the dark centuries' courses. Drifting along to the light. Chaos all order confounding. Yet ever silently speeding On with instinctive elusion. Steadily holding thy way ; Darkness primeval abounding, Down through the aeons unheeding. Still amid murky confusion Blundering on to the day. 25 EVOLUTION Thundered a mandate through heaven, " Let there be light," and the vapors. Losing themselves in the ocean. Mingled again with the deep ; Then followed morning and even. Night lit her pale distant tapers, Order was born of commotion. Earth was awakened from sleep. Laboring in primal gestation. Life in its forms multifarious. Eager to meet the sun's kisses. Leaped in her womb with delight ; Weary of long nidulation. Up from their wallows lutarious. Up from their darksome abysses. Swarmed the strange brood of the night, 26 EVOLUTION Life in fantastic variety, Breeding and battling and dying, Struggling for very existence, Rending with fang and with nail ; Death, never gorged with satiety. Over the massacre flying, Blind to the light in the distance. Deaf to the song in the gale. Type against type for survival. Through the long ages contending, All for supremacy striving, Man, as the master, they own ; Brute of the brutes, without rival. Up from the conflict ascending. Scheming, coercing, contriving. Building the steps to his throne. 27 EVOLUTION Fatuous child of mortality. Swaddled in dark superstition, Groping thy way through obscurity. Stumbling, but stumbling to rise ; Casting aside animality. Girding thyself with ambition. Fearlessly facing futurity, Scaling the steeps of the skies. Race against race for dominion. Creed against creed for conviction. Throne against throne for subversion. Moving like puppets at play ; Battling to force an opinion. Bleeding to follow a fiction. Dying with instant reversion. To mingle again in the fray. 28 EVOLUTION Many a crimson libation, Poured on barbarian altars Freer and faster than water, Purples thy triumph with shame ; Many a lurid oblation. Smoking to priest-prated psalters. Many a monster of slaughter Fiddling a kingdom to flame. Many a Moloch of cruelty. Many a Tophet infernal, Hope, after gory baptism. Flung to the funeral pyre ; But with death-scorning credulity. Pluming its pinions eternal. Up from the murderous abysm, Springing like phoenix from fire. 29 EVOLUTION Dross of the brute disappearing, Lost in the burning purgation, Leaving the spirit less weighted. Less overburdened with clay ; On to the light ever faring, Toiling in endless gradation, Lower to higher translated, Rising from darkness to day. Many a sacred Thermopylae Hurling defiance at slavery ; Many a crucified martyr Dying for love of his kind ; Tyranny, kingcraft, monopoly. Yielding to justice and bravery. Liberty's blood-blazoned charter Many a despot hath signed. 30 EVOLUTION Many a conquest of Science Shaming the warrior*s sabre ; Many a triumph of morals, Wisdom and Mercy and Love ; Many a blade of defiance Forged to the ploughshare of labor ; Many a chaplet of laurels Wreathed with the olive above. Height after height thou hast taken, Yet there are others remaining, Far in the pure empyrean Truth's shining battlements rise ; Scale them with courage unshaken. Death and disaster disdaining. Storm them with jubilant paean. Capture the gates of the skies. 31 EVOLUTION Then shall all ills of mortality Unto thy wisdom surrender ; Knowledge supreme and supernal, Leaving no summit to scale; Truth, in her white-robed reality. Opening her portals of splendor. Yielding her treasures eternal. Lifting Obscurity's veil. 32 ART Thou breathest on the cold insensate stone, And lo ! it throbs with immortality ; The canvas, with thy conjuring pigments strown. Glows with a beauty that will never die ; The deepest fountains of the heart run dry. When o'er the trembling strings thy hand is thrown. And when we hear thy tongue's rich sorcery. We know not why we laugh, or weep, or moan. We know not why, nor do we care to know Where rise the waters of that mystic stream Whose current bears us onward in its flow. Till, all unconscious of the clay, we seem To feel the breath of an ambrosial breeze. And drift far, far away o'er sapphire seas. 33 THE TRUTH SHALL MAKE YOU FREE (double ballade) Since we, like all before, Must quickly pass away, 'T is idle to deplore, Or weep above decay ; Since all who breathe obey And bend to Fate's decree. This promise be your stay, — The Truth shall make you free. 34 THE TRUTH SHALL MAKE YOU FREE This freedom bought with gore, These shrines at which you pray. Your books with all their lore, Do they the gift convey ? The centuries answer. Nay, But all the years to be Roll back an echoing Yea, The Truth shall make you free. To gloomy gods of yore Why adoration pay ? Zeus, Isis, Buddha, Thor, All pass like common clay ; Before the brightening day Their night-born shadows flee. Till under Reason's sway The Truth shall make you free. 35 THE TRUTH SHALL MAKE YOU FREE Ah, cruel to the core. The creeds that once did slay ; When rack with torture tore. Or red auto-da-fe Did 'round its victims play ; A martyred Christ their plea To brand and burn and flay, — The Truth shall make you free. Though Superstition hoar. With all the ages gray. Should bid you tread once more The paths that lead astray. You *11 never gang a-gley For beldams such as she ; Nous avons tout change\ The Truth shall make you free. 36 THE TRUTH SHALL MAKE YOU FREE When cannon cease to roar. When bugles cease to bray, When nations never war, When all your skies display One circling rainbow ray, *Round every land and sea, Earth*s sister stars shall say The Truth hath made you free. ENVOY Her temple stands for aye. There boldly bend the knee ; She speaks not to betray, — The Truth shall make you free. 37 THOU UNSEEN HARP Thou Unseen Harp, that hangest in the skies, Chorded with beams that stretch from star to star. Thy deep vibrations reach me from afar. For every mighty string in music sighs Till night's dark dome is filled with symphonies. O starry midnight hymns ! to me ye are A comfort and a hope ; no cloud shall bar Nor dawn defraud me of the faith that flies On climbing wing across the bridgeless night. To where the din and discord of the day Can never reach. Dear faces that I know. And sweet familiar words, my soul invite. Till all forgotten is the shackling clay That binds me to this troublous scene below. 38 THE WANDERER The old cathedral bells sound sweet and clear, And as I listen to their well-known peal A thousand thronging recollections steal Across the gulf of many a vanished year. At last I stand a wayworn wanderer Within Thy temple, God, and almost feel The presence of the dead, and as I kneel Sweet angel voices mingle with my prayer. The bells are hushed ; the mighty organ rolls Majestic music through the gloomy fane ; A happy chorus of triumphant souls With hallelujahs swell the sacred strain ; A light celestial fills my streaming eyes, A Jacob's ladder reaching to the skies. 39 DREAMS Thou Shoreless Sea, I love thy murmuring song That soothes to slumber with its drowsy strain ; O'er thy wide waters drifts the helmless brain, Manned with fantastic phantoms that belong To Sleep's weird world, and which around me throng, Till with the dawning day their shadows wane. To bind them on this page with inky chain, 'T would need an art as apt, a pen as strong As his who drew that mighty mutineer. Who 'gainst the God of Heaven did rebel. Then from those ramparts plunged forever- more. Or his who trod the regions of despair With Virgil's shade, and did their depths explore. And calmly talked with monstrous shapes in hell. 40 WHEN DREAMS DERIDE (rondeau) When dreams deride, and Fancy's train Throngs to enthrone her in the brain ; When Reason, ruler of the day. Her sober sceptre down doth lay. To leave her sister free to reign : Then Memory builds a wondrous fane. Her organ rolls a mimic strain, And through the Past*s dim aisles I stray. When dreams deride. Ah, fictioned fabric ! it were vain Thy weird devotions to explain ; Oft in thy shadowy shrine I pray That sleep might steal my soul away Some morn before thy cloisters wane. When dreams deride. 41 ICEBERG Launched on the bleak waste of the polar sea. Where fitful borealis splendors shine, How like thou art to some majestic shrine, Drifting in silence to its destiny ! O frozen, floating minster ! over thee The sunset throws a glory half divine ; Spellbound we wonder at thy chaste design. And in a rapture almost bend the knee. We seem to hear a pealing anthem roll Across the surface of the moaning tide. And from thy spires a solemn requiem toll. As on to dissolution thou dost glide. Cradled where rolls the dark, cold arctic wave. To find at last in tropic seas a grave. 42 HOVE-TO Baffled, but bravely, like a stag at bay. She faced the driving gale and angry sea ; Under short canvas and with helm a-lee, Hove-to, upon the starboard tack, she lay. And looked into the wind's wild eye that day ; Over the great green rolling billows she Rode like a storm-bird, and did seem to be A mist-born phantom rising from the spray. Her tightened weather-shrouds rang like a lyre. Swept by the furious storm-king as he passed ; Wild ocean wraiths wailed in the thundering choir, A thousand demons shrieked in every blast ; Yet better thus to battle with the gale. Than drift o'er glassy seas with listless sail. 43 THE CALIFORNIA REDWOODS Ere over Nilus* waking wave the strain Of Memnon*s morning melody was blown ; Ere Cheops from his quarries clove the stone And piled his pyramid on Egypt's plain ; And later — ere the God-projected fane Of Solomon had into grandeur grown ; Before the glory of the Greek was known, Or Romulus the she-wolPs dugs did drain ; We stood in youth where now in age we stand, Colossal types of Life, that closer climb To clasp the stars, than any living thing. Ye cherish crumbling temples that were planned In Dian's day, yet deem it not a crime Our older glory in the dust to fling. 44 DIALECT VERSE I LIKE not overmuch the verse that 's set In the rough rustic language of the hind ; Though here and there a fragrant bud we find Hidden among such weeds. The violet, Blue as the skies, with dewy crystals wet, With rankest growths hath often been entwined; But Art could never thus herself forget, As in one wreath the fair and foul to bind. The poor provincial's patois may be strong With the rude eloquence that stirs the soul ; But when in raucous rhyme, or senseless song. The uncouth verbs and nouns together roll In tangled tropes — then must I turn away. And let the yokel's sponsor have his say. 45 THE TUNELESS TYRO A SLEEPING moth upon a window-pane May hide the brightest star that lights the gloom ; A buzzing insect in a quiet room May drown the thunder of the distant main ; The fetid, fen-fed breezes may profane The fragrance of the fairest buds that bloom ; So Art's antitheses do sometimes loom Large for a moment, then — to nothing wane. Poor Tuneless Tyro ! with the clod-clogged feet, — Groaning beneath an overwhelming weight Of bad bucolics, — thou wilt linger long At Fame's closed portals, and there vainly bleat Thy socialistic sermons ; for that gate Yields only to the voice of deathless song. 46 THE REFORMED TRANSFORMED Oft have I seen the drunkard full arrayed In all the rigor of the Rechabite, Walking with face uplifted to the light, Sure in the conquest that his soul hath made ; Oft have I seen the resolution fade From out his eyes, and marked in them the blight Of baffled purpose, as the fiends of night Shrieked to recall the righteous renegade. Oh ! when I see the lips that Time hath taught To triumph o'er the banished bane begin To palter with the poison, then I say That he who knows the dice are loaded ought To murmur never if he fail to win When Satan with him for his soul doth play. 47 JOB Majestic Mourner ! when thy spirit moaned Itself to music on thy wondrous page; When thy great sorrowing soul in anguish groaned, And when Fate flung to thee her galling gage, Oh ! what a soul-sustaining heritage Was hidden in the fortitude that owned How vain and weak it were a war to wage With Him, the Lord, who sits in heaven enthroned. Thy flesh was fed to foulness. Sorrow clad Thy soul with sackcloth, and thy forehead frowned With the black ashes of a heart consumed ; But through it all, O Man of Uz, thy sad But sure philosophy thy trials crowned With perfect peace that out of patience bloomed. 48 THE LORD^S PRAYER Our Heavenly Father, unto Thee we pour Our constant prayers, and bless Thy hallowed Name ! Come in Thy kingdom, God, and now pro- claim The age of peace to last forevermore. In every land, from distant shore to shore. Through all the earth Thy blessed will be done. As where, in heaven, before Thy shining throne. Thy saints and seraphs ceaselessly adore. Give us, O God, each day our daily bread ; Forgive us now, as others we forgive ; Guide our weak feet that they may never tread Temptation's paths, and teach us how to live. That, by Thy power, we from the tomb shall rise And share Thy glorious kingdom in the skies. 49 VIA CRUCIS Thou thorn-crowned God of Glory ! Rejected Nazarene ! I often read Thy story, And linger o'er each scene, Till, with rapt wonder gazing, Mine eyes behold afar. Above Thy cradle blazing. The Magi's pilot star. 50 VIA CRUCIS Back through the night of ages I tread the faith-lit way, And with the seers and sages My adoration pay. With them I kneel and ponder Why Thou foredoomed shouldst be Through all Thy life to wander. But always toward the tree. The distant, dismal rafter Did o'er Thy childhood throw A shadow which thereafter Stood forth a cross of woe ; No sound of mirth or gladness Was heard through all Thy years ; Thy life was full of sadness, Thy cup was filled with tears. 51 VIA CRUCIS Yet in Thy love revealing A mercy all could claim, Sustaining, cheering, healing The sick, the blind, the lame ; Consoling and forgiving. Thy hands above them spread,- O Lips that cheered the living ! O Voice that waked the dead ! Yet sorrow was Thy guerdon. And grief was ever near. And mindful of the burden That Thou wert doomed to bear. Through gathering gloom extended Thy path of pain, until Thy bleeding footsteps wended Up Calvary's dark hill. 52 VIA CRUCIS Through darkness there directing The way that Thou must go, Its shadow still reflecting Along Thy path of woe, The ancient auguration, Fulfilled, at last doth rise In black-sparred consummation. To lift Thee to the skies. Thy breaking heart presages The end that now is nigh ; But soon, O Light of Ages And Dayspring from on high. Through clouds of glory cleaving. Thy soul shall find the light. Behind Thee ever leaving Darkness and death and night. 53 CHRISTMAS SONNET Faith-founded Vision of the Manger, rise In all thy humble glory and unfold Time's dusty leaves, until thy page of gold Shines through the ages on our wondering eyes. From out the starry silence of the skies A mighty flood of harmony is rolled, Once more the song is sung, the story told. And cradled on the earth a Saviour lies. What priests and prophets did with faith foretell. We, looking backward, with clear eyes can see The thorn-crowned God forsake His throne above ; We hear the chorus, but we hear as well The midnight moan in dark Gethsemane, And sink overwhelmed beneath His bound- less love. 54 THE CROSS-CROWNED CAIRN A WHISPERED prayer, a stone with reverent hand Laid near a cross that on a cairn doth stand, — This and no more ; no fragrant buds to wreathe A garland for the silent dead beneath ; No requiem rolling on the desert air To guide us to the lonely sleeper there ; No rudely written legend to proclaim His birth, his death, his country, age, or name ; Yet never vault, from dark Machpelah's cave. Where Israel's primal Patriarch found a grave ; Nor yet the dome that Artemisia raised O'er Caria's king, at which a world amazed In wonder stood ; nor Gizeh's gloomy pile. Housing the haughtiest Pharaoh by the Nile ; Nor sacred shrine, nor quiet cloistered fane, Wherein the proudest dust of earth hath lain, 55 THE CROSS-CROWNED CAIRN E*er sent a softer slumber than these stones That shelter from the sun a wanderer's bones. The prayers we pray, our dirges of distress, 'Neath carven arch, or in the wilderness, What are they to the dead ? Oh, who can say Where the dread Spoiler pauses, — if the clay Alone surrenders to his blighting breath, Or whether down the sombre stream of death. The spirit, drifting into darkness, dies. As did this flesh beneath these burning skies ? It is not so ! The Symbol that doth keep Its lonely vigil on yon stony heap Is eloquent, and tells of Him who first Did through Death's black, unbroken barriers burst ; Of Him on whom a world hath learnt to lean. And from the darkest hours of grief to glean 56 THE CROSS-CROWNED CAIRN The Hope that helps when other comforts fail, The Faith that falters not before the veil, The Love that prays — in every Christian land. When in the presence of the dead we stand — That though the dreamless dust may never wake, The soul may somewhere see the morning break. 57 THE ROCK OF AGES I AM the Babe that in the manger lay. The mystic offspring of the mother-maid ; I am the Christ whose pale and suffering clay Was the great price for man's salvation paid ; I am the God to whom a world has prayed For nineteen hundred years. I am the Way, The Truth, the Life, the comfort and the stay. To whom despairing mortals look for aid. Faith-faggots, kindled in the furious light Of bigot hate, like wrecking beacons gleam Across the crimson waves that beat Time's shore ; But through the wildest storm and darkest night I stand the Rock of Ages, and My beam Leadeth and saveth those whose hearts are pure. 58 THE NAZARENE A MANGER-CRADLED Child, His mother near. And one they call His father standing by. Shepherds and Magi, with the gifts they bear. An angel-chorus rolling through the sky, — Once more the sacred mystery we scan, And wonder if the Christ be God's best gift to man. Pale, patient Pleader for the poor and those Whose hearts are homes of sorrow and of pain. Thy voice is as a balm for all their woes ; Through twenty centuries it calleth plain As when it breathed the invitation blest, — Ye weary, come to Me, and I will give you rest. 59 THE NAZARENE We mark Thy miracles, but would not bring Them to the test of Reason's crucible. What profit were it such full faith to fling To unbelief's wild winds? Oh, who can tell The sacred secrets hidden by the veil That Reason cannot rend nor mortal man assail ? Why should we doubt that Thou didst walk the wave, That Thou didst still the storm on Galilee, That Thou didst summon Lazarus from his grave. Or mad*st the leper clean, the blind to see ? Oh, for the faith that hath the power to burn Bright through these skeptic mists, though Reason from it turn ! 60 THE NAZARENE But most we love Thee for the voice that blessed The little children when they came to Thee, And for the human heart within Thy breast That beat for all, but bled for misery ; And for the hand stretched down in love to greet. That lifted back to life the woman of the street. For things like these our hearts can under- stand, — All, all is human, nothing doth beguile ; But Thy great deeds such credence do demand That Faith and Reason fail to reconcile. Is that within our breasts a fabled hope ? Oh, leave it undisturbed, lest in the gloom we grope ! 6i THE NAZARENE Fond fictions of our faith ! though Science turn Her searchlight on the past, and Reason scorn, What comfort give they when the soul doth yearn For that pure peace that passeth all things born Of human knowledge ? Then Thy mystic birth. Thy life, Thy love. Thy death declare Thy saving worth. Then let the wrecking infidel proclaim His creedless course o'er Life's uncertain sea. What knows he of the faith that Thou didst frame. That falters not to face eternity ? The grave, his gloomy goal, is but a door Through which we pass to life, as Thou didst pass before. 62 THE NAZARENE Reason may seek to ruin, Science scorn, But that great love of Thine hath made us wise In wisdom not of understanding born. That bids us turn to Thee with longing eyes And outstretched hands. We know that Thou art He, Nor do we seek a sign, as did the Pharisee. Sweet festival that bringeth back once more The golden dreams of childhood, let us turn Like little children to the Christmas lore That once did hold us spellbound, till we learn ^ Again the lesson of Thy love ; for we Must be like children. Lord, ere we can come to Thee. 63 GOLGOTHA (a sonnet of the cross) Morn hid her face, and day was backward rolled, Mysterious rumblings shook the sacred hill. In ghastly wonder there, shrouded and chill. Uprose the dead, Christ's passing to behold ; Waked stalkers, from your couches in the mould Weird miracles ye saw, portending ill ; God's days of flesh were o'er. His moments told, A prayer groaned through His lips, then all was still. His crown of thorns. His bleeding hands and feet. That fatal drain sped by the soldier's spear, A fountain whence Mercy's encrimsoned tide 64 GOLGOTHA Flows free to all ; one short forgiving prayer. Then soared His soul ; man's ransom was complete, The world's great price was paid when Christos died. The Saviour's last words, " My God ! My God ! why hast Thou forsaken me ? " with the exception of the word " why " are woven into the above sonnet, in regular order, and form a cross. As only twenty-eight letters could be used, the word referred to was omitted. Begin with the first letter of the first line, then the second of the second, the third of the third, and so on up to the fourteenth of the fourteenth; then the first of the fourteenth, the second of the thirteenth, and back in like manner to the fourteenth of the first. 6s TO THE UNKNOWN GOD Supreme, Unknown, whom yet we trace But dimly through a darkened glass, When shall the mists that hide Thee pass. And we behold Thee face to face ? For countless ages we have trod The lower trails that lead to Thee ; Now on the distant heights we see The banners of the hosts of God. A thousand gods have we confessed. And warped our worship age by age. Creed blotting creed from off the page. An ever-changing palimpsest. 66 TO THE UNKNOWN GOD Long through the gloom Thy skies we scanned,- We cried to Thee, but Thou wert dumb ; Yet Faith oft heard a whispered " Come/' And Fancy felt a guiding hand. Confirming our audacious guess, Thy lightnings clove the clouds and seemed To write amen to all we dreamed, Thy crashing thunders answered Yes. Altars and fanes to Thee we raised, Built on one vague but constant hope. That taught us through the gloom to grope. While on the silent stars we gazed. We searched the skies for Thee, then turned The glass upon the atom, till We saw the life within it thrill To clasp the mightiest star that burned. 67 TO THE UNKNOWN GOD Life yearning unto Life — the spark Within the seed that bursts the sod Claims kindred with an unknown God, But never leaps the bridgeless dark. Hope crying in the gloom, a child Amid strange lights and shadows lost, 'Twixt doubt and fear perplexed and tossed, By any whispered word beguiled. Unfaltering Faith may seek to tear And sweep the baffling veil aside ; We know not if the dead deride Her efforts, but the living hear Death laughing ever at her creed. Blighting each promise ere it bloom. Till all the past seems but a tomb. And every hope a broken reed. 68 TO THE UNKNOWN GOD A tomb ! a broken reed ! Ah no ! We die, but dying leave behind That which may teach us yet to find Where Life's immortal waters flow. A thousand ages yet unborn. Pregnant with promises that cast Their beams before, may bring at last The birth-blaze of the coming morn. Within the growing light we fade With all the things of yesterday That swift-paced Progress flings away. Or Science scoffs into the shade. Or as the scattered fragments fly Beneath the Builder's hand, so we Fall from the fabric that shall be A temple lifted to the sky. 69 TO THE UNKNOWN GOD Or is it Babel that we build Age after age upon our dead ? And is our faith a fiction fed On dreams as vain as those that filled The sons of Noah when they toiled And piled the tower on Shinar*s plain ? Oh ! is the hope we cherish vain, And at the last shall we be foiled ? Nay, when far future years have passed, Our lives shall not have been for naught ; For, out of bleak oblivion brought. We shall behold Thy face at last. 70 THE LORD OF HOSTS Figment of hoary myth and outworn creed, Born of the thunder-peal and blazing rift That lighted earth's dark dawn, to Thee we lift Our hands and cry for succor as we bleed. Jove and Jehovah, Allah, Mars, and Thor, All held the cloudy throne where now we kneel To beg Thy blessing on the flashing steel That lights our legions through the mists of war. Alas ! we linger still in Janus* fane. And watch the twin-faced god glare east and west, While Mammon mocks the Martyr on the Tree. The angel seen by shepherds on the plain Comes once again, but comes in armor dressed, The herald of a darker deity. 71 HYMN TO FREEDOM Blood-bought, and yet the price was freely paid, As many a crimsoned battle-field could tell ; And thunder tread of war, and clash of blade. And the glad clanging birth-song of a bell ; Then one bright torch that blazed above the gloom. As Liberty leaped forth and sealed Oppression's doom. The grit and grandeur of the men who poured Their blood to buy this priceless heritage, — They whose quick hands ne'er trifled with the sword. Nor trembled when they signed the chartered page, Sleep in the soil they saved, and yet they rise And look on us to-day with stern demanding eyes. 72 HYMN TO FREEDOM ^ What were it worth, this birthright of the free. If we, as careless keepers of the trust. The byword of a world at last should be ? Ye glib-tongued sophists! shall our sabres rust? Beware, ye Babel-builders, lest these towers That climb to kiss the stars, should fall when Treason glowers ! What can we claim, when in the scales of God We throw the patriot prestige of the past ? Our fathers' blood, long silent in the sod. Begins to mourn; yea, though wc now should cast Into the balance every deathless name That lights our sacred scroll, 't would light us to our shame. 73 HYMN TO FREEDOM If we, as watchers of a nation's fate, While all our skies above are rainbow- spanned. Forget the stealthy foe within our gate. Or the broad, rugged creed our fathers planned. What is it worth, this liberty we boast. While rank Corruption's growth spreads thick from coast to coast. While perjured politicians with a bait Of luring lies ensnare a people's vote. While journalistic scavengers can freight With filth the sheets that through the country float, While Justice weeps to see upon her throne A bought and bloated thing that boodlers boldly own? 74 HYMN TO FREEDOM For less than this methinks the hero clay That stood our bulwark oft against the foe Would rise to save its country from decay, Did not this deadly upas o'er it grow ; Shame be it that its poisoned branches spread Their blasting shade above the soil that holds such dead ! What time a deadlier devastating blight Than this or any country ever knew Dared lift its ghastly features to the light, A milHon blades 'round Freedom's banner drew. Now let Corruption check these dastard hordes. Or soon the grass we tread will glisten into swords. 75 HYMN TO FREEDOM Then, slumber on, ye brave, and have no fear ; We stand beside our watch-fires, and our eyes. Fixed on God's changeless stars, see, shining clear. The light that saves. Yea, we shall realize The faith-framed fabric of your morning dream, And clasp the captured grail that guides us with its gleam. For, as our fathers did, we turn to Thee, Great God of Nations, and we rest secure ; Our eyes behold across Time's troublous sea, A pharos flaming high above the roar Of bafHing tempest and of changing tide, — Triumphant type that tells of wrecking storms defied. 76 THE SECRET GRASP These mongrel miscreants from o'er the sea Would any country, any cause betray. As witness our own civil war, when they In scores of thousands from the flag did flee. Let everlasting shame be ours if we Should in one balance their black perjuries weigh 'Gainst England's friendship ! Shall we thus repay The mighty service rendered us, when she Stretched forth her arm and held the world aloof While, with a secret grasp and whispered word. She strained Neutrality's stern laws and gave Of blood and brotherhood such sterling proof. That Europe's marshaled millions never stirred. Though Spain cried loud to them for help to save ? 77 HAVOC Wait till these ragged vagabonds now swarming o'er the land Are clothed and fed, and drilled and led, and feel the guiding hand Of some clear-headed leader, born upon the battle-field. Some new Napoleon of the West, whose iron hand can wield The sceptre equal with the sword, some daring son of Mars, Some hero of a hundred fights, who laughs at death and scars ; 78 HAVOC Wait till his marching myriads come, poor vaga- bonds no more, But every one a soldier trained, a dog of death and war. Straining until the leash is slipped, these human hounds of hell. Armed to the teeth, crime in their hearts, rushing with angry yell Down on your crowded cities there, where loot and beauty stand Easy to pluck, like ripened fruit, by any daring hand. Nay, smile not in derision, for be sure that day will come, — You '11 see their bayonets glitter, you '11 hear their rolling drum. 79 HAVOC E'en now the moaning of the storm is in the distance heard, — Yea, even now the tranquil sky with thunder clouds is blurred. They 're swelling big and bigger still, and yet you sit and smile, Secure behind your money-bags but for a little while. For soon the awful storm will burst upon you like a flood. The gutters of your crowded streets will overflow with blood. What right divine do you possess ? What angel guards your door ? Listen, and down a hundred years you still can the roar 80 HAVOC Of frantic Frenchmen dancing 'round the crim- soned guillotine. Drunk with the blood of gentlemen, of nobles, king and queen. And still, poor idiots, do you smile, secure behind your gold. When heads a thousand times more firm have in the basket rolled. Remember that the wealth you hoard, got by your scheming skill. Will never purchase safety then, — these demons hunt to kill. You Ve often clothed and fed them, too, but now no trifling sop. Though thrown in haste before his jaws, this Cerberus can stop. HAVOC With murder in his hellish heart, he wants both blood and gold ; He only knows that you are rich, that he is starved and cold. " Down with the rich ! " his battle-cry, " The people shall be free ! " Freedom for them ! You gave it when you called them o*er the sea, — The vice, the crime, the scum, the slime of every foreign land. And over them your aegis threw, and grasped each traitor hand. Now you shall reap the harvest that by your- selves was sown. And tread the burning ploughshare with many a bitter groan. 82 HAVOC You fought about the negro once; now for your- selves take care, — There 's treachery around you, and there *s mur- der lurking near. 83 THE OLD YEAR The year is dying with its hopes and fears, Its few faint smiles, its many bitter tears ; Another comes when strikes the midnight hour, — Will Fortune light my path, or will it lower With Disappointment's clouds ? Beyond the power Or ken of aught of mortal birth to say, The evil is sufficient to the day. And they, I ween, are happiest who defy Sunshine or shadow, bright or cloudy sky, And to the future look with calm philosophy. 84 JUBILATE DEO Righteous Ruler, Royal Lady, throned in majesty and splendor. Thou before whose matchless prestige all the past and present pale, Hear the world-encircling chorus which thy many millions render. Hear our mighty Jubilate, — Sovereign-Queen and Empress, hail ! * While thy white-walled island shaketh with the message that is pouring From thy thunder-throated warders as they tell it to the deep. While the heaven-storming anthem now above the clouds is soaring. While the bounding heart of Britain doth with exultation leap, 85 JUBILATE DEO All along the seas the echo rolleth till earth's corners listen; Mighty marts and commerce-crowded ports and rivers hear it swell, Lonely islands of the ocean, set in tropic tides that glisten Into gladness, speed it onward, and the tale of triumph tell. Where the dawn of new dominion into splendid noon is glowing. And the bright prophetic legend over Afric skies is scrolled. Where thy sons the seeds of empire with ambi- tious hands are sowing. There they think of thee and England, and their song is skyward rolled. 86 JUBILATE DEO Hark ! while India's dusky myriads in their many tongues proclaim thee ; Mighty Empress of the East, three hundred millions to thee call ; There from Scinde to far Sadiya, now again we hear them name thee, Now again their mingling voices ring from Gilgit down to Galle. Where in unfamiliar beauty night's bright lamps are hung in heaven, While the starry crux is dying in the dawn of austral skies. There the cannonading chorus flashes forth from lips of levin, And o'er sunny seas of sapphire on from isle to island flies. 87 JUBILATE DEO Drowned to-day the mighty music of Niagara's falling river. Lost in pure Pacific paeans, mingling with Atlantic's roar; Mountain, field, and lake are listening, into life the forests quiver, For they hear Vancouver calling unto lonely Labrador. Many a bivouac and barrack hears the reveille rejoicing. Many a citadel and fortress frowning over foreign foam Knows the music of that bugle, and with tongues of thunder voicing Forth a great lo Triumphed rolls an answering message home. 88 JUBILATE DEO Where the sheltering flag of England over land and sea is streaming, Where beneath a foreign banner British hearts beat quick with pride. Where across the trackless waters England's ships are swiftly steaming. Where her barks with tempest battle, or at anchor safely ride. There thy liegemen now salute thee, for wherever they may wander, 'Neath that flag is always England, but to-day it is a shrine. Where they kneel and on her thousand years of matchless glory ponder. Rising never to forget the brightest of them all are thine. 89 JUBILATE DEO Where the home and hearth are sacred, yea, wherever women glory In the virtue that doth vanquish, where in every land they dwell, For long years they Ve learnt to love and linger o'er thy stainless story. And a world of women's voices of another empire tell. Golden mists of sixty summers melt and we again behold thee Maiden-monarch, sceptred, symboled, throned and crowned as England's Queen, There the promise of the present with its glory aureoled thee. While the ancient Abbey's arches never bent o'er grander scene. 90 JUBILATE DEO Then we see thee wife and mother, — tranquil days of joy whose fleetness Grandeur, glory, power, and prestige could not for one moment stay, — Days that dawned in peace and compassed every rare domestic sweetness. Till a life-enshrouding shadow fell across thy cloudless way. From thy lips the lurking Spoiler dashed the cup of all thy gladness, — O ye Mountains of Gilboa ! tears were then your dews and rain ; Then from Dan to Beersheba all the land was filled with sadness. For our tears with thine were mingled when thy lofty mate was slain. 91 JUBILATE DEO Ah, we miss thy minstrel Merlin, who with swift, unfaltering fingers. Taught the sounding Harp of England Honor's hymn and Sorrow's tale ; Over many a song immortal, sung to thee, how Memory lingers. Till we almost hear his voice and see the guiding gleam and grail. Nay, the gleam is ever with us ; thou for sixty years hast worn it, — 'T is the guiding light of England, Glory's star and Honor's ray ; On thy forehead now it resteth. Truth and Righteousness adorn it. And it still shall lead us onward as it lights our path to-day. 92 JUBILATE DEO Now though Court and Camp and Cloister, Art and Song around thee cluster, Till the glory that enfolds thee seemeth more of heaven than earth, Yet it cannot for one moment blind us to the brighter lustre Of the faith that never faltered, of the woman's splendid worth. Though with triumph and with pageant and with paean we extol thee, As we lift thee and enthrone thee on the height of England's fame. Yet thy three-times-twenty years of blameless womanhood enroll thee With a halo that outshineth all thy gemmed tiara's flame. 93 JUBILATE DEO Now unto the King of Kings, the Lord of Hosts, the God of Nations, On^whose Truth, for strength and wisdom, thou with fearless faith dost lean. While the prayer and psalm are mingling with an empire's acclamations. Unto Him we do commend thee. Sovereign Lady, Empress, Queen. 94 TENNYSON His was the hand to strike our English lyre, And his the voice to answer to its tone ; From the low cottage to the lofty throne, In roaring London, or in sleeping shire. We knew the beacon gleam of Merlin's fire. Long as our language lives the world shall hear His clarion notes still ringing loud and clear. The purest voice in our celestial choir. He sang of love, and lo ! our brimming eyes Flowed over as we thought of fair Elaine ; He sang of death in stately harmonies. And half relieved it of its grief and pain : Whene'er the trembling chords his fingers swept. The world stood silent, or with gladness wept. 95 BYRON Thou Master Minstrel ! through whose won- drous strain, Rebellious notes of fierce defiance ring ; For thy deformity did to thee bring A bitterness that frenzied heart and brain, And galled thy restless spirit like a chain. Thy tongue was sharper than an adder's sting. And quick and far its venom it could fling, Or blight, or blast, or wither with disdain. But in thy matchless measures thou didst paint Love's loveliest scenes, and such a glamour throw O'er sin's soft errors, that we almost kneel To each frail beauty as to some fair saint ; The flowery path seems not to lead to woe. Thy rich red roses all its thorns conceal. 96 ON A PORTRAIT OF LUCIUS HAR- WOOD FOOTE When Art's apt fingers almost show the mind, And Genius doth unto the canvas lend The look of life, the colors thus combined In an immortal masterpiece do blend ; Though skilfully and well hereon are laid The conjuring pigments, yet when Time shall stain And dust bedim, a voice from out the shade Will echo on in an undying strain. We know, white-souled and loyal-hearted man. That unto all who shall this picture scan. Though it may be far on in distant days. Thy face will be familiar, for the fame Which now thy modest heart bids thee disclaim Will crown thy brow with Art's eternal bays. 97 THERE *S NOTHING LIKE THE OLD BALLADE ( DOUBLE BALLADE ) Of all the tangled tropes that tell Of love or hate, or joy or pain. In sonnet, rondeau, villanelle. Or ode, or epic, or quatrain. Or any other kind of strain. Or light or heavy, gay or sad. To bring a boon or balk a bane. There 's nothing like the old ballade. 98 THERE »S NOTHING LIKE THE OLD BALLADE Its single cymbal suits me well, But when I sound the clanging twain. Then Pegasus begins to smell The battle, and he shakes his mane ; No need of spur, — I give him rein. Think ye that he 's a patient pad ? To make him gallop for his grain, There 's nothing like the old ballade. Did not rash Villon in his cell Hard by the sobbing waves of Seine, Deaf to the dooming, dismal bell, And all unmindful of his chain. There carol forth a rare refrain That comes to us with glory clad ? If rhyme could rid him of his stain. There *s nothing like the old ballade. 99 ll.o^C. THERE'S NOTHING LIKE THE OLD BALLADE For from his reckless lips there fell Such glowing gems that Glory's fane, Wherein the world's Immortals dwell, Doth many a less than he contain. The prude may treat him with disdain. She neither can detract nor add, For beauty did a champion gain, — There 's nothing like the old ballade. The high-born maiden's heart will swell. And think the whispered vow inane Sweet as the voice of philomel, When poesy hath made it plain. See yonder awkward, stammering swain ! His simple song makes Chloe glad ; When tongues are tied and vows are vain. There 's nothing like the old ballade. lOO THERE'S NOTHING LIKE THE OLD BALLADE The tune that Triton taught the shell, Sung by the surge and hurricane, The lute of Orpheus, *neath whose spell We, like the Thracians, long have lain. Pan's pipes that filled the shepherd's brain With melody that made him mad. All live, — so why should Villon wane? There 's nothing like the old ballade. ENVOY Prince ! though this tantalizing skein Of rhyme hath less of good than bad, A cup to Villon let us drain, — There 's nothing like the old ballade. lot ON NEW YEARNS EVE ( RONDEAU ) On New Year's Eve, long years ago, Ere Temple Bar was leveled low, I strolled along the Strand and Fleet, — I mean, of course, the classic street, — Then Ludgate Hill I mounted slow. I paused in Paternoster Row, At Amen Corner there, — for oh ! I heard Paul's bells a paean beat. On New Year's Eve. Their music drowned the Bells of Bow, In Cheapside near, for such a flow Of rhythmic ringing, full and sweet. Did greet me then, it still doth greet Me through the years where'er I go On New Year's Eve. I02 VIVE LA BAGATELLE (ballade) Often when I think Of the days gone by, Into gloom I sink. And I sit and sigh. Scarcely knowing why ; Monk in lonely cell Happier is than I, — Vive la bagatelle I Let the glasses clink ! Drain the beakers dry ! Death to sorrow drink ! Life to jollity ! See the shadows fly ! Better cap and bell, Than in grief to die, — Vive la bagatelle ! 103 VIVE LA BAGATELLE Ah, those cheeks of pink ! Little rogue so sly, Forging link by link, Every one a tie ; Lips that I might try Vainly to repel. Conquer as they cry, Vive la bagatelle I ENVOY Happy hearts that lie Safe within love's spell ; Sorrow may defy, — Vive la bagatelle I 104 BIRTHDAY SONNET We cry when we are born, but when we die, Though others there may be who for us weep, Yet do we often welcome that last sleep. And pass away from earth without a sigh. But in the intervening years that fly Sorrow and joy uncertain vigils keep, Till life itself seems naught but vanity. And death the only harvest we shall reap. As to Egyptian feasts the corpse was brought, To teach the revelers that life was naught, So may this dismal verse to thee appear ; But not one shadow would I cast this day, — I wish thee all good things, and with them pray That God will give thee many a happy year. 105 THE DEVOTEE Thou art no saint, but when I feel Thy blessed lips on mine, In adoration I could kneel And own thee half divine. A glory crowns thy golden hair, And lights thy loving eyes ; Daughter of earth, thou art as fair As those who tread the skies. And when in my enraptured ears Thy murmuring accents flow, I think some spirit of the spheres Hath wandered here below ; For angel lips alone could move In melody so sweet. Child of the skies, behold thy love A suppliant at thy feet. 1 06 THE DEVOTEE Time's rough unsparing hand will chase Thy loveliness away ; But there *s a nobler, loftier grace That triumphs o'er decay. The heart that never once betrayed, That changing years have tried. When all thy other beauties fade. Shall draw me to thy side. 107 FRANCESCA Lady, thy melodist, on Fancy's wing, Far through the golden-misted past doth stray; Oh, if to crown thy beauty he could bring The silver beam of Dante's deathless ray, That 'round the brow of Beatrice doth play. Or that which Petrarch did o'er Laura fling, — Thy name, dear love, should down the ages ring. Till earth and all thereon were swept away. Fame's living leaves should be thine aureole. And such a song as shrines old Ilium's curse Should tell the years the beauty that is thine ; A hymn of homage down Time's tide to roll. To bear thee onward in a deathless verse, — That were thy guerdon, if the gift were mine. io8 THROUGH JOYOUS YEARS Through joyous years, that ever show Increase of gladness as they go, May calm content and happiness. And all life holds to crown and bless, Be what the gods on thee bestow. May summer skies above thee glow. And favoring breezes ever blow. Thy bark o*er tranquil tides to press Through joyous years. And tears, — if tears should sometimes flow,- May they be April showers that owe Their source to joy and not distress ; That vanish with the close caress Of lips that love and fonder grow Through joyous years. 109 ADIEU D' AMOUR Faithful in every fibre of thy heart. And all as beautiful as thou art true, Yet if it be thy wish that we should part, Let *s unkiss all our vows and say Adieu. The love that glowed so warmly in thy breast Is dying slowly, — shall we let it die? Yes, if the flickering flame brings thee unrest. My tears shall drown it as I weep Good-by. Good-by ! Ah no ! We cannot break the chain ; The fetters fused in passion's crucible Are hard to sever ; so we must remain Bound to each other, though we sigh Farewell, no ENGLAMOURED There 's a love that every other love excelleth, And its glamour doth outglow the noonday sun; *T is the faith that with suspicion never dwelleth, And the rapture that is reckless to outrun The fond hope that every compassed joy sur- passes, Till with eagerness it thrilleth to embrace. They may bid me look on thee through Doubt's dark glasses, But I only see the beauty of thy face. Ill I LOVE THEE STILL (rondeau) I LOVE thee still, — there 's not a day That drags its dreary length away, From dark December unto June, Through winter night or summer noon. But unto thee my fancies stray. Poor heralds of my heart are they Who would to thee my love convey And woo thee with the wearying tune, — I love thee still. Ah, but to feel thy pulses play. And once again my head to lay On thy white breast ! For such a boon. Though thou wert fickle as the moon. My lips would cling to thee and say, — I love thee still. 112 THE SUPPLICANT Ideal beauty such as angels wear Clothes thee with living glory, and I feel An overpowering influence to kneel And vows of love, eternal love, to swear ; Oh listen, and these supplications hear ! These sighs and tears which I cannot conceal Would move a heart of adamantine steel. Or from a silent sphinx its secret tear. Mysterious power of Love ! lend me thine aid,- They never call in vain who cry to thee. By that wild kiss which on her lips I laid, Tumultuous type of richer rhapsody. For one short hour these fevered lips of mine Steep in voluptuous love's enchanted wine. 113 THEA When 'gainst the clamor of my blood the wave Of chiding crimson rushes to thy face ; When with insistent beat my pulses race And mock the rebel blushes that would brave And balk me of the bliss for which I crave, — Then, though thy lips may mutine for a space, Soon in the cincture of a close embrace Breathes the surrendering sigh that oft forgave. I dream of thee by day and night ; the flame Thy kiss hath kindled in my blood doth glow Like to a ceaseless and a secret fire To light me to the hour when I shall claim The pledge of passion promised long ago, — The crowning of my love and life's desire. 114 WAIFS One morn with quickened pulses did we stand Where life's young fountains murmured of unrest ; The virgin vintage of her lips I pressed, And lo ! we passed to an enchanted land, Where Ruin's bridgeless gulf was rainbow- spanned ; But when that night she wept upon my breast, She seemed a love-wrecked angel on the strand Of some strange star, wing-weary and unblest. Not all unhappy, still we drift along, Down the wild waters of Love's waif-strown sea; And closer do we cling, when others tell Of that dark whirlpool in whose eddies strong Frail passion-freighted lovers such as we Are dragged by under-currents down to hell. RUBRIC Not as the Pharisee who stood apart And thanked Thee that he was not Hke the rest; But as the Publican who smote his breast And owned the sin that ruled his rebel heart ; So when we err forgive us, for Thou art Most merciful to those who in love's quest Grow obdurate, till Conscience hath no dart That is not dulled and ceases to molest. When the warm warrant of the blood begins To lend its license to our love, and we Revel in all the rapturous joys that make Us derelict to duty, may our sins Be lighter held if then we pray to Thee That other hearts through us may never ache. ii6 IN ABSENCE I SIT with Pan beneath Arcadian trees And see the satyr and the nymph and faun ; I look on dazzhng Aphrodite drawn By dolphins over shining sapphire seas ; I hear the tune of Triton in the breeze, Sad philomel at night, the lark at dawn. But little power have they to appease My passion and my pain when thou art gone. ■♦ Yea, e'en the paths of poesy seem bare Of all their beauty, for I fail to find In them the flowers whose fragrance once could fling A spell around me that defied despair, That made me deaf to love, to passion blind, — But little consolation now they bring. 117 LOVE ME ONCE MORE Love me once more. Ah, what have I to do With love, or what has love to do with me ? And yet thy face by day and night 1 see, And with this prayer my soul doth thine pursue,- Love me once more. Love me once more ; and it will teach the pen That pleads so feebly to thee on this page To tell lorn lovers, in some after age. That love, though dead, may leap to life again. Love me once more ; for as the hart doth pant To drink the water-brooks, I thirst for thee ; Here, in the waste of life, I bend the knee And murmur like a famished mendicant, — Love me once more. ii8 LOVE ME ONCE MORE Love me once more ; and these poor rhymes 1 write In thrilling trumpet tones shall sound thy name, . . Till it shall echo where the Peaks of Fame Are bathed forever in ambrosial light. Love me once more. Dost thou no longer heed That which had once been life's supremest prize ? And wilt thou now the proffered gift despise And turn away, to mock me, as I plead, — Love me once more ? 119 THE IDOLATER Methinks it is not strange that I should kneel, For 'round thy head a golden glory plays ; Nor do I wonder that my senses reel, Delirious with the glamour of thy gaze ; And when thy rich, impassioned lips I press. Life's cup is full, and death would be most sweet If I could breathe farewell in that caress And make thy snowy limbs my winding-sheet. Ah no, dear love, unless that parting sigh Mingles with thine, and in one joyous flight We voyage onward o'er the trackless sky. Till havened in some heaven of delight, I 'd rather linger with thee on this sphere. For heaven is close when thou, my love, art near. I20 WHEN LULU COMES (rondeau) When Lulu comes, — yea, long before Her dainty fingers beat my door. Before her eager step I hear. My heart leaps up to greet my dear, — It must be Love's unconscious lore. I live upon the topmost floor ; Yet never lark did skyward soar With gladder heart than hers, I swear. When Lulu comes. Like waves that beat a distant shore, The crowded streets beneath me roar. What care I for that sullen sphere. When heaven itself is drawing near ? Its glowing gates I '11 pass once more. When Lulu comes. 121 VICTOR LOVE Tender, melting lips, distilling Lovers rich vintage, sweet and rare ; Trusting, pleading eyes, now filling With the bright reproachful tear, A sob so sweet, so softly low, A breath of heaven, a knell of woe. Ah, the murmuring and the sighing, And the tumult in each breast ! Heart to heart is now replying, Victor Love is crowned and blest ; The tyrant sits in Reason's throne. And claims the kingdom for his own. 122 VICTOR LOVE How he scatters all his treasures On his subjects, you and me, — Golden showers of richest pleasures ! Godlike mortals now are we. What care we for the sword of flame That bars the gate through which we came ! What, beloved, art thou sobbing. Weeping that there *s no return ? How thy timid heart is throbbing ! How thy cheeks with crimson burn ! My kiss shall teach thee to forget. And love shall triumph o'er regret. 123 GOOD-BY, SWEETHEART (rondeau) GooD-BY, sweetheart, — you made me blest, But now you leave me like the rest. The future seems a black abyss, But o*er the gulf I waft a kiss. Which on this parting page is pressed. By others I have been caressed. But you I loved the last and best. Yet now, like them, you murmur this, — Good-by, sweetheart. Your coldness long ago was guessed. Although it never was confessed ; But I forgive you for the bliss Of bygone days, which I shall miss In those to come, — but why protest? Good-by, sweetheart. 124 THE TEMPTRESS Belike thou art a temptress come from hell, — The devil oft dons a fair disguise, — And yet I like the laughter in thine eyes. And for thy lips, I love them wondrous well ; They do remind me of an ocean shell. With all its murmuring melody of sighs, Till I forget, when captive to their spell, The whispered music may be naught but lies. Nay, nay ! I do thee wrong ; have I not felt The rosy rebels into sweetness melt, And seen thee swoon beneath my warm caress ? What matter if thy lips the word withhold, — In the mute music of thy pulses bold Thy love grows voluble and doth confess. 12,5 THE KING IS DEAD; LONG LIVE THE KING! (ballade) When Villon sang the melted snows, The white shroud of a buried year, Say, did the traitor winds disclose Their hiding-place, or tell him where Were laid the dead, the debonair Lost women whom he loved to sing ? No, but they sighed, then answered clear, — The king is dead ; long live the king ! Why weep the love-surrendered rose ? Is faded beauty worth a tear? On yonder stem another glows. In fresher fragrance hanging there ; 126 THE KING IS DEAD; LONG LIVE THE KING While in the murmuring breeze we hear The love-song of the joyous Spring, Shouting above old Winter's bier. The king is dead ; long live the king ! And thus the cycling measure goes ; One day fond lips allegiance swear, The next the wanton traitress throws Her eyes on some new cavalier, Who for a season short may wear Her favors, in his turn to fling Them to the winds for one more fair, — The king is dead ; long live the king ! ENVOY Prince ! when you listen to the cheer That through your crowded courts shall ring, Remember, thus they '11 hail your heir — The king is dead ; long live the king ! 127 VACILLATION The blessing and the curse alternate rise ; One day I swear that thou art fairer far Than the chaste beauty of yon silver star That nightly hangs her lamp in western skies ; The next I look on thee with other eyes, — Thy beauty hath all vanished, and thou art Foul as a leper, and thy traitor heart Seems but a sink of craftiness and lies. One day with many a passion-prompted vow I braid love's votive blossoms in thy hair ; The next I tear the tribute from thy brow. And crown thee with the curses of despair : Swayed by the changing moon, tides ebb and flow. So to thy fickle heart these moods I owe. 128 THE FRIAR'S CONFESSION (ballade) Of this fasting and praying I 'm weary, For the flesh is rebellious and bold ; I have mumbled and said Ave Mary, Of my Paters a thousand I Ve told. And in sackcloth I *m cassocked and stoled ; I am buttressed with candle and bell. Still a face of the lost I behold, For of such is the kingdom of hell. At the first she seemed timid and chary. And she blushed *neath her nimbus of gold ; Then she smiled at each sinful vagary That her whispering lips did unfold. Till I thought of that temptress of old Whom Saint Anthony drove from his cell ; But I shrived her and soothed and consoled. For of such is the kingdom of hell. 129 H THE FRIAR'S CONFESSION But she left me one day, and I query, To whose arms has the wanderer strolled ? Let Te Deum, and not Miserere, A loud song of thanksgiving be trolled. But perhaps she is under the mould. And her soul with the devil doth dwell ; Let Beelzebub then be condoled. For of such is the kingdom of hell. ENVOY When the face of a wanton *s enrolled With a halo, it 's hard to repel ; Then no wonder we 're often cajoled. For of such is the kingdom of hell. 130 THE MAENAD That fiction in thy face is not a blush, — Do I not know thy glowing beauty well ? *T is Passion's rosy herald, as I crush The ripe grapes of thy lips, and doth foretell A richer vintage than did ever crown Bacchante's reddest beaker ; though that flood Hath often lit with laughter Sorrow's frown, It never lent such longings to my blood. Thy kisses shake my pulses, till my heart. Lured by the murmuring music in thy veins, Panteth with Passion's painless pangs for thee. Who taught thy lips to link with such sweet art These soul-ensnaring and flesh-fettering chains. Thy tongue this soft Circean sorcery ? 131 THE WEDDING-BELL This day, long years ago, my love and life And loyalty were pledged, and as thy bride, Thy best beloved, thy chosen one and wife, I heard these words, when standing at thy side : — "Whom God hath joined, let naught on earth divide." With clean young lips I gave thee vow for vow. From thee no secret did my heart then hide, With faith and love thy words did me endow, — Down through the wasted years thy voice comes ringing now. My heart was pure as is the crystal dew That trembles in the lily's breast ot snow; But only for a few short months 't was true ; 132 THE WEDDING-BELL How few, 't were better for thee not to know. Before distrust was dreamt of, years ago, I gave myself to one whose lips of fire Made my young placid pulses throb and glow And leap beneath the lashes of desire. Till Innocence lay dead on Passion's flaming pyre. They say the first false step is hard to take ! To some, perhaps, it is, but unto me It was most easy ; for I did forsake Virtue's stern path as one who turns to flee From some unpleasant thing ; I sought the free. Voluptuous scenes where Passion spreads her flowers, Nor did I have one weak regret for thee ; Eager I was for Sin's soft sensual hours. And from thy side would steal to those forbidden bowers. 133 THE WEDDING-BELL How many times I Ve felt thy lips on mine, Joined in a kiss of trusting tenderness ! While I would cling unto thee like a vine, And lasting love and loyalty confess, Little thy poor deluded heart did guess In other arms that very hour I 'd lain : Thus with my Judas lips and soft caress Did I thy love and confidence retain, While closer round thy heart I forged the galling chain. I loved the guilty glamour at the first, — It painted hell in most alluring dyes ; For Sin's adulterous cup my soul did thirst, — With it I swallowed all the flattering lies That sang the praises of my lips and eyes. And, like a moth, I flew to meet the flame. But soon I found their hollow gallantries 134 THE WEDDING-BELL Did always cloak and cover but one aim, — In every brimming glass they made me drink my shame. When first my stealthy steps began to tread Sin's crooked labyrinth, I did conceal Each guilty act with care ; for I did dread Thy watchful eye, and then, perhaps, did feel A little shame ; but now, with heart of steel And face of brass and bolder feet, I go The slippery way; or, like a drunkard, reel Reckless and fearless of the fate I know That drags me down and down to one dark doom of woe. The beauty that thy lips once loved to praise Withers so fast that I can see it fade ; And Lust's bold burning breath will soon erase The little that is left me to degrade. 135 THE WEDDING-BELL I found it hard at first in shame to trade, — I gave them my young soul, which they did mould Howe'er they wished, the while thy name was made A byword and a sneer ; now, bold and cold. My meretricious lips have learnt to ask for gold. And now, I am — ah God ! I hate to speak The loathsome word — a thing that knows not where Its proper place is. Sometimes when I seek To gather from the past some hope to cheer, I think of what I am, and freeze with fear ; But in my dreams I wander back again To brighter scenes, and I behold thee, dear, As in our love's young days. Alas, how vain ! Before the breaking dawn the dreamy vistas wane. 136 THE WEDDING-BELL At first a few were good to me and kind, But all their kindness was of no avail ; Bound up in self, I was both deaf and blind. The promises I made were meant to fail. 'T is easy to be false when one is frail. And I became an adept to deceive. Till now there is no sin at which I quail. Nor anything in life o'er which I grieve. Except, perhaps, our child, to whom I hope to cleave. And so they all did go, till every one Had passed away from me, and quickly, too. I saw old friends, with faces turned to shun. Avoid me on the street ; for well they knew That I had joined the black, abandoned crew. And like a chattel could be bought and sold. Did I say all ? No ; one poor fool was true, — 137 THE WEDDING-BELL One who had loved me well in days of old, — But the devoted dupe could give me little gold. And now I do not find it very hard To stalk my quarry on the public street ; Practice hath skilled me well my looks to guard, And often when some stranger comes to greet My actions are most proper and discreet. My long-experienced eyes have learnt to look With well-schooled glances, most demure and sweet ; I know the crafty lesson like a book, And with what charms are left I bait the hidden hook. Why enter into all the ways and wiles That women like me use to gain their ends ? 138 THE WEDDING-BELL The contemplation hardly reconciles The present with the past ; it only blends Sorrow and sin together, and it lends A bitterness that rankles in the heart. Though I am hardened now beyond amends, And all untouched by Shame's most poignant dart. Yet when I think on thee my soul with pain doth smart. I loved thee once ; I think I love thee still, Though time hath taught my hardened heart to shrink From brooding o'er those days ; but Memory will Call up the tears. When now, too late, I think That I gave thee life's bitterest cup to drink, 139 THE WEDDING-BELL How fast they rise, though no one sees them flow! And when I kiss thy child, the one last link That binds me to the past, too well I know That to myself alone my misery I owe. The breath of Spring once more is in the air As on that day ; the skies are clear and bright ; I feel the breezes running through my hair, And, for a moment, gaze with aching sight Across the years to scenes that half invite My wandering feet to struggle and return. Alas ! the vision passes as I write ; 'T were vain to let my heart one moment yearn In tenderness for thee, — the suppliant thou wouldst spurn. 140 THE WEDDING-BELL I once did think that from my murdered past No spectres e*er could rise to bring me pain ; But now they throng around me thick and fast, Beating with unseen wings my throbbing brain. Once more I stand by thee, and once again With perjured lips my marriage vows I tell, — God! What is this? Have I become insane ? No ! no ! And yet I hear my wedding-bell Striking across the years, — Hope's fateful, final knell. 141 A WHITED SEPULCHRE A FACE most fair and aureoled above With such a golden glory, it doth seem A garland woven in a poet's dream To bind the brows of Innocence and Love ; Eyes with the trusting fondness of the dove. And lips, so sweetly parted, they appear To breathe the heart's pure orisons sincere, Or with Truth's tender vows alone to move. Ah, whited charnel ! where the roses bloom. Only to hide the horrors of the tomb. Thy ghastly foulness thou canst not disguise. Those facile lips are skilled in every art. The ready servants of a venal heart. While serpents lurk within the dove-like eyes. 142 HEAVEN AND HELL If within those pearly portals where the just made perfect sing Endless songs and hallelujahs in the presence of the King ; Where the Church Triumphant triumphs over all the things of earth. Where they know the full fruition of their mystic second birth ; Born of water and the Spirit, into glory, into light. Sunshine ever, darkness never, clothed in robes of spotless white ; 143 HEAVEN AND HELL Where through all the courts of heaven ring hosannas to the Lamb, Where they glorify the Father, He, the One, the Great I AM, If, ye beatific spirits ever circling *round the throne. Ye are happy, still remain so. Earth hath pleas- ures of her own. Flesh and blood cannot inherit those eternal halls of light. Though at times the baffled spirit tries to reach them in its flight. Far above the clouds it rises on some heaven- storming strain. But the weight of clay it rarries drags it down to earth again ; 144 HEAVEN AND HELL Or, perhaps, when hearts are beating and when tender lips are pressed To our own in love's rare moments, then, caress- ing and caressed. Little care we for the raptures that the sons of God may know, — Earth hath daughters still as fair as when they knew them long ago. Where the gnawing worm ne'er dieth, and the cry of torture rolls. Where the smoke through hell's hot hatches riseth up from burning souls. Where old Dives, in his torment, heavenward rolls his pleading eyes. Clutching with his shriveled fingers at the dear and distant skies, 145 HEAVEN AND HELL Sees the cool and crystal river where the lazy Lazarus laves His polluted limbs, and mocks him in his anguish as he raves. Begging for one drop of water, but one drop, to cool his tongue, Though from off the leper's finger even that one drop were flung; Where forever dwell the millions who preferred the primrose way. Where they reap helFs hottest whirlwind and the price of evil pay ; If, my brothers in the brimstone, recollections with ye dwell Of your earthly days, remember earth itself can turn to hell. 146 HEAVEN AND HELL Go and ask that ghastly sleeper stretched upon the public slab, When he sought the quick quietus, whether swift self-given stab. Boring bullet, gas, or poison, hell itself, he did not crave. As his haunted, hunted spirit glared across the Stygian wave. Go and conjure back the breath to its abandoned home of clay. Then bend over his pale lips and listen well to what they say : — " Bankrupt purse and tortured body, broken heart and burning brain. Fed upon me at the last as vultures feed upon the slain ; 147 HEAVEN AND HELL " And with hungry beak and talon did they at this carcase tear. But they fled their breathing banquet when the pistol-shot rang clear. "Youth and health, and wealth and station, all the world could give, was mine, — Though the dregs were black and bitter, yet the draught was half divine. " Once I thought the light of heaven shone within a woman*s eyes. But Delilah ne'er more deftly did her treachery disguise. "All unconscious of disaster did I clasp unto my heart One whose Judas lips did ever with betraying kisses part, — 148 HEAVEN AND HELL " One whose harlot-hearted homage covered all her crafty ways, Till heirs torturing torch was kindled and on earth began to blaze. "In its lurid light I saw her, and, by righteous vengeance swayed, First I thought to slay the slayer of the life she had betrayed; " But a coward kindness showing, let her as the wronged appear. Till her perjured plea, * desertion,' caught a judge's willing ear; " Then the court-created strumpet, licensed with her false decree. Took my child, and took my name, and left me blasted, wrecked, and free. 149 HEAVEN AND HELL " Those that had to me been silent then the galling story told, How, when honored and beloved and trusted in the days of old, " Had her stealthy footsteps wandered from me at the very first, How her red, adulterous lips had always known the guilty thirst. " Maddened with the revelation, quick a bullet crashed its way Through my frenzied brain, and left me as you find me here to-day." Go and give him comfort. Dives ; thou art not alone accurst; Thou but cravest drops of water, — he, methinks, a hotter thirst ; 150 HEAVEN AND HELL Ask him, as the flaming torments 'round about ye leap and blaze, Whether hell's most cruel tortures equal his last earthly days. 151 A SKETCH Virtue and truth were thine long, long ago. But from the first thy girlish steps did walk ; The last, they say, who saw thee upward grow, Fled when thy lisping lips began to talk. And thou wert wondrous fair, as many know, But now, though plastered paint and powdered chalk Strive hard to hide the footprints of the crow. Time is one suitor whom thou canst not mock. Yea, thou didst triumph once, and rigid dames With plainer features, but with cleaner names, Hated the baleful beauty of thy face. Now in the limbo of a hell whose blaze Leaps to enfold thee, thou wouldst mend thy ways And try thy zigzag footsteps to retrace. 152 A CAROL OF THE CURSED To THAT sad second circle, where the gale Whirls like dead leaves the souls of those who wail O'er bygone earthly bliss ; where, thick as dust, The blast is peopled with the hosts of Lust, One night I wandered, in a dream, and there Looked on the loved and lost ones of Despair. I saw the Mantuan with the Tuscan stand. And with them for a space the scene I scanned. Beauty and Anguish freighted full the blast As Earth's immortal lemans drifted past. All who e'er loved to hear the serpent's hiss, From that great carnal queen, Semiramis, Down to the comely and complying maid Who to her lover's arms steals through the shade, — All who have fed their flesh to Passion's fire Here moan forever in a mournful choir. 153 A CAROL OF THE CURSED First, Helen, whose white flesh bore many a mark Branded by burning lips, swept through the dark; Then, following, came Egypta's black-browed queen. Within whose glowing orbs a light was seen That scorched a soul still hungry with desire ; Then Dido passed, who died upon the pyre ; Francesca wept and told her tale again. Then sought Paolo in the ghostly train ; Delilah, Messalina, Jezebel, With myriads made the circling course of hell. The cloudy cortege as it passed displayed Full many a fair and well-remembered shade ; When lo ! I saw amid the tearful throng One that did unto youth's fair days belong. One I had deemed unspotted of the world. Along the winds of hell came swiftly hurled. 154 A CAROL OF THE CURSED She paused, divining well what I would ask, And said : " I know thy wish ; shall I unmask The secret of my life and tell thee how I came to be what thou beholdest now ? Shall Memory, mocking Misery, upHft The curtain of the past ? Shall Sorrow shift The far-oiF sunny scenes of girlhood till I show where first I trembled to the thrill Of Passion's conquering kiss ? Shall these pale lips. Now parched and withered in this bitter gust. Boast of a beauty that ne'er knew eclipse, Until, at last, it shuddered into dust ? " " Yea, tell me all," I cried. She said : "Though years Have passed since I beheld thee, though thine ears Heard nothing of me, in another name, 155 A CAROL OF THE CURSED In distant lands, my face the creed became Of men who kneel to beauty. Soon I rose High in a world where rank a glamour throws Full oft around the Paphian, and I found Myself a queen, unrivaled, myrtle-crowned. I scaled the glittering heights of sin, where shame Was soon forgotten in the flush of fame ; Yet often unto thee my thoughts would turn. For 't was thy kiss first made my blood to burn In crimson mutiny, and in my breast Waked the persistent demon of unrest. Like flame on flax, thy lips on mine did lay The red coals of desire. One Christmas day. Within home's hallowed circle, long ago. Lust leaped and claimed me 'neath the mistletoe. And turned my blood to a tumultuous tide That bore me on and on until I died. Though in my sequent sin thou hadst no part, Yet thy bold lips awakened in my heart 156 A CAROL OF THE CURSED A hope of happiness that never bloomed, But brought me here among the deathless doomed." She sighed, " Farewell 1 " then, borne upon the wind. Swept through the doleful deeps of hell to find Some lover she had known on earth, with whom To voyage for a season through the gloom. 157 THE VAMPIRE Angel or demon, tell me which thou art, And whither thou wouldst bear my captive soul, — If far beyond the stars that o'er us roll. To some bright sphere where we shall never part. Or to those regions of eternal flame. Where spirits lost forever loudly wail. So thou art there, dear love, 't will be the same ; Or heaven or hell with thee I '11 gladly hail. Body and soul now thine, and thine alone. And the rash homage of each pulsing vein. As frenzied love leaps into Reason's throne. And like a drunken prodigal doth reign, — All, all confess the raptures that I feel. As through thy lips my swooning senses steal. 158 IT'S NOT THE DISTANCE, IT 'S THE PACE, THAT KILLS (double ballade) Whenas, in summer, Sophonisba goes. In fine foulard, adown the promenade, — Or when, in furs, she faces winter snows. In sumptuous sables gorgeously arrayed, — I wonder how the rosy rustic maid That milked the cows with simple Jacks and Jills Into the Babylonian labyrinth strayed, — It 's not the distance, it 's the pace, that kills. For her the lowing herd no longer lows. No more she drives it homeward through the shade ; The husky hoeman pauses as he hoes To wonder why she wandered from the glade. 159 IT' S THE PACE THAT KILLS Not overmuch she loved him and his spade, So turned her from the glebe the yokel tills And sought the city and an easy trade, — It 's not the distance, it*s the pace, that kills. Fair is she as the fabled queen that rose From out the rippling waves that 'round her played. Or she who made the Greek and Trojan foes, And watched them battle from the barricade Through which the wooden war-horse was conveyed That brought about old Ilium's endless ills. 'Twere better she and Helen home had stayed, — It 's not the distance, it 's the pace, that kills. As yet her sky is overarched with bows. Naught in the balance of her brain is weighed ; i6o IT'S THE PACE THAT KILLS Little cares she for Fate's hard-handed blows, And nothing for the hair-suspended blade. The distant whirling blast — in which is swayed The reaping-hook of Fate — no warning shrills ; Such far forebodings rarely are obeyed, — It's not the distance, it's the pace, that kills. Mayhap the radiant loveliness that glows Upon her cheek will not too quickly fade ; I Ve sometimes seen it linger long with those Who foot it fleetest down the fatal grade. 1 mean not now your ancient withered jade. Whose fissured features art inaptly fills ; She trots for years the tempting turf, afraid, — It *s not the distance, it 's the pace, that kills. Where to the passing zephyr Pleasure sows The seeds that Sorrow reaps without her aid ; Where many a fizzing flagon upward throws i6i IT'S THE PACE THAT KILLS The sparkling bubbles till the roof is sprayed ; Where Folly runs her maddest escapade, And most unholy passion throbs and thrills, There laughs and loves the rustic renegade, — It *s not the distance, it 's the pace, that kills. ENVOY Some morning in the morgue we *11 see her laid, Silent within the cold caress that stills. That comes the rosiest revel to upbraid, — It *s not the distance, it *s the pace, that kills. 162 MEDUSA Bound fast in tangled threads of golden hair, Drunk with the fiery vintage of her kiss, I drained a draught of death and thought it bliss, And all unheeding slept for many a year, A willing captive in a silken snare. And has that heaven turned to hell like this ? For now I hear the coiling serpents hiss. And in her eyes behold a threatening glare. I shudder as each lock of shining gold Changes to hideous life, and Vound me flings Its stifling circles, winding fold on fold. While in mine ears her mocking laughter rings ; I feel her freezing breath and viper fangs. For each forgotten kiss a thousand pangs. 163 THE UNKNOWN LOVE As IN the City of the Violet Crown An altar to the Unknown God was raised Midst shrines of beauty that a world amazed, And even now in crumbling grandeur frown ; For well the fine Hellenic hand could gown The stone with glory ; but while strangers praised The peerless piles, the Greek upon them gazed Unmoved by all their beauty and renown. For every sense was sated, and he yearned For more than soulless marble could contain. Then did his vague idolatry disown. So I on Passion's altars long have burned The incense of my soul ; but all in vain, — The love I dream of I have never known. 164 LONE MOUNTAIN Thou cross-crowned hill, to which I often turn, Although no dead of mine lie slumbering there, I watch the western skies behind thee burn. And my pale lips are parted with a prayer, Till resignation drives away despair. With tear-dimmed eyes I gaze and can discern The silent resting-place for which I yearn. And unto which with faltering feet I fare. When I shall rest beneath thee evermore. And cold, gray fogs drift o'er me from the deep. Perchance — who knows? — the voices of the sea. Rolling in deep-toned music from the shore. May not be all unheard in that last sleep. Murmuring a long, low slumber-song to me. 165 WEARY Not as a means of grace. And hope of glory, — no ! But could I see Thy face. And hear the blessing flow, As when Thy living lips the promise poured. Then would I kneel and wait for mercy, Lord. Ye weary, come to Me And I will give you rest. Have I not bent the knee And all my soul confessed ? Art Thou a myth, O God ? or am I blind, Groping in gloom for peace I cannot find ? i66 WEARY Oh, shed one beam of light, And when my flesh is wrung Through agony's long night, When all my life is hung On Retrospection's cross, and when the spear Of Conscience strikes my soul, then be Thou near. Whisper one word of hope. That my faint heart may know How with these fears to cope, And respite gain from woe. Bind up my wounds and breathe the healing balm Of one kind word to comfort and to calm. Not for a heaven unearned. Nor to escape a hell. My lips have often burned To drink of Mercy's well ; Yearning in that sweet flood themselves to steep. And drift away from life in dreamless sleep. 167 PAIN Now IF this ink were blood, this pen a quill Torn from some fierce and flesh-fed vulture's wing, This sheet a shroud, and mine such matchless skill As his who o*er the deathless damned did fling A glory that the ages cannot pale, — Yea, were these mine, it might not then be vain To 'prison on this page an anguished wail Or torture-telling threnody of pain. But my sore, songless heart doth only groan Low grief-ground curses through my gnashing teeth. Familiar fiend of hell ! wherein have I Sinned more than others, that thou dost bequeath To me an agony that could atone For half a world and its salvation buy ? i68 ASHES To BE carnally-minded is death To the spirit as well as the clay. Like a black, blighting frost is the breath Of the lusts that we love to obey ; How they lure us and lead us astray ! How they battle for body and soul ! How they riot by night and by day, And our passionate pulses control ! When the lights and the laughter and song, And the wine and the women of lust Teach the blood of our boyhood to long. Do we dream of the wild whirling gust ? Do we think that Life's apples are dust ? Do we dread the dark dregs in the wine ? No ! we barter Life's bread for a crust And a draught that is bitter as brine. 169 ASHES Recollection may call up the past, That comfortless mocker of ill, But it fades in the withering blast Of the whirlwind's heart-harrowing chill. For this, oh for this, do we till And bury the soul in the soil Of a past that the present doth kill. Of a future from which we recoil ! Though the flesh may be fed to the fire Until nothing but ashes remain. Yet the smouldering coals of desire, Still lingering, live in the brain. When the senses are silent or slain, By Remembrance they 're often cajoled,- Poor Fancy, that forges a chain Whose links but a skeleton hold ! 170 ASHES Can the lips that with eagerness drain The lust-leavened cup to the lees, — Can the soul with a sensual stain Ever know the redemption that frees ? Can Passion's extortionate fees, By the flesh-fettered profligate paid, The soul in its sorrowing ease, Or the body in agony aid ? 171 COMPENSATION Yea, though these trembling limbs should cease to bear The drooping body that they now uphold ; Though life's faint flame should flicker many a year. And keep this breathing corpse above the mould ; Though I should be of everything bereft, By friends forsaken, helpless and forlorn, Methinks as long as life itself were left All things but one could patiently be borne. I would not bid the lurking Spoiler stay His lifted hand if I should live to see Thy face at last in coldness turn away, Thy dear familiar lips grow strange to me ; For when with tender touch my own they greet Pain is not pain, and sorrow is most sweet. 172 TEARS Could I but crystallize these midnight tears And gather from their beaded bitterness A rosary for burning lips to press, Some pain-born token of these joyless years To teach the faith that saves, the hope that cheers ; Then would I bid these fountains of distress Flow fast and free, if their sad floods could bless Or murmur peace in some poor sufferer's ears. Have I not known, O God ! have I not felt The benediction of another's verse Steal o'er me in the dark and lonely hour? Hath it not made my stubborn heart to melt, And turned to prayer the deep rebellious curse. And soothed my soul to rest with wondrous power? 173 ATAXIA My world has shrunk at last to this small room. Where like a prisoner I must now remain ; I 'd rather be a captive in the gloom Of some damp dungeon, tearing at my chain, For then, perchance, my freedom I might gain. Ah God ! to think that I must languish here. Fettered by sickness and subdued by pain. To die a living death from year to year, Joy banished from my breast and Sorrow brood- ing there ! Yet these familiar walls do sometimes fade, — Then my faint eyes on fair horizons rest ; By Memory's distant lights I am betrayed. And Hope a moment flutters in my breast. Till I forget that I am all unblest. 174 ATAXIA My vagrant fancies wander far away, Fond faces hover near, dear lips are pressed, My stagnant pulses seem to leap and play Anew with youth's wild heat and half revive this clay. I often think how once these stumbling feet, That now can scarcely bear me to my bed. Were swift to follow, as the wind is fleet. The baleful beam that to destruction led ; Nor paused I till the luring light had fled, — Till on mine ears there broke the dismal roar Of that black stream whose waters wail the dead; Dumb with despair I stood, and from that shore Saw Charon's spectre craft and heard his doleful oar. ^75 ATAXIA Thou domineering power ! or love, or lust, Or passion, or whatever else thou art, How have thy crimson roses turned to dust And strown their withered leaves upon this heart ! Though through my vitals now thy venomed dart Strikes like an adder's sting, yet still I feel From Egypt's fleshpots it is hard to part ; And my weak, wandering glances often steal Back to sweet sinful things, until my senses reel. Sometimes at night around my bed there rise Fair, faithless loves who in the past were known ; But now I look on them with other eyes. The wanton witches I no longer own ; They come to mock me as they hear me moan. And float a cloud of taunting witnesses. 176 ATAXIA Yet were there some, whose arms around me thrown As in the olden days, with soft caress. Could make me half forget these hours of sharp distress. I do remind me now of one whose heart Hath leaped against mine own a thousand times. And though we did not find it hard to part. And years have passed, and now in different climes Our lives asunder lie ; yet could these rhymes Bring back that leman and those long-lost days, I 'd make their strains ascend where angel chimes Ring forth glad paeans of eternal praise, And from the dead, cold past that matchless minion raise. 177 ATAXIA Had Time but halted for us, as the sun Stood still on Gibeon while Joshua strove ! Ah no ; the silver moon of Ajalon Would have looked kindlier on those nights of love ! Little cared we for sun or moon above, Or for the gems upon the black-browed night ; We may have seen them through the heavens move. But recked not, thought not of their wheeling flight, Blinded, poor love-sick fools ! by Passion's daz- zling light. Oft in that light's fast-fading afterglow Her visioned presence unto me appears ; And as I first beheld her long ago. The same alluring loveliness she wears. Oft in the midnight silence fancy hears 178 ATAXIA A sweeter plaint than Pandion's daughter's strain. Murmur in kisses that beguile my fears, While in my dreams I clasp her form again. To wake, alas ! and weep to find the vision vain. She was but one of an ungodly throng Whose name was legion ; but among them all To her my best and brightest years belong. Though there were others whom I oft recall. Who wove their shining threads through this dark pall Long years ago in Passion*s panting loom, Before Life*s honeyed cup had turned to gall, Or yet the day had deepened to the gloom That wraps me like a shroud within this living tomb. 179 ATAXIA O Marah ! Marah ! as thy bitter stream Was turned to sweetness by the magic tree. So the dark current of my years doth seem To flow at times in murmuring melody. 'Tis when, dear Lyric Maid, I turn to thee, — Then the light laughing loves of other days Hide their false faces or like shadows flee. Oft had I fallen in these cheerless ways. But heard the whispered words that comfort and upraise. Now though these limbs are cold and almost dead And torture runs through every sluggish vein, Yet is endurance out of sufi^ering bred And fortitude to triumph over pain. The wasted body shrinks, but still the brain i8o ATAXIA Urges the palsied hand along the sheet, On which, alas ! tears often fall like rain ; But Fancy even Misery can cheat. And in the pain-born rhyme will find a refuge sweet. But even there the Spoiler with his scythe Torments the withered sheaf he waits to reap ; His torturing reminders make me writhe. Till, mad with pain, I beg the final sweep That surely soon must come to give me sleep. Still one retreat is left, to which I flee, — Dear dreamy draught, in which I often steep Body and soul ! I turn again to thee. And drift down Lethe's stream out on Oblivion's sea. i8i CONSOLATION A SOB of sorrow sounding through the strings As Recollection ponders on the past, — Is this the only solace Memory brings To soothe a soul that shivers in the blast ? How soon the feast was followed by the fast ! How quick the fruits and flowers turned to dust ! How swift the waters sped on which I cast The bread of life, that cometh back a crust ! A crust ! Ah no ! though barren is the shore Of Life's once tempting tide, — whose waters hold The dreams of youth that in their depths were drowned, — Not fruitless is the flood ; its waves restore What Folly flung to them a thousand-fold When on the strand some pearl of song is found. 182 OUT OF EGYPT Hope of the helpless ! Comforter of those Whose world is walled within the sick man's room ! Lord God of Love and Mercy ! unto whom Pale prisoners of pain come with their woes ; I thank Thee for the cheering light that throws Its blessed beam at last across the gloom, — A cloud by day, a fire by night, it glows, Hope's pilot pillars that my path illume. Oh, if it be Thy will that I should make My way from out the durance of despair. Though to full strength I never may attain. Yea, even though these links I may not break, Let me remember still in grateful prayer The Love that for a season loosed the chain. 183 THE LOOM A WEARIED weaver at the loom, I gaze On that which I have woven till mine eyes Grow dim to see the fabric it displays ; The warp of all my work seems woofed with sighs. No more for me Life's shuttle swiftly flies. But falters feebly through the fibred maze As thread on thread it slowly multiplies. Weaving, alas ! a weft of dreary days. For in the woven meshes there appears The sombre shade of sorrow. Do I weave But sackcloth for my soul ? And am I now But one who gloats upon the garb he wears, — Who in the shadow sits apart to grieve. The ashes of his life upon his brow ? 184 ▲og r ^ m" ■lii ii^ iii iiijiliii imiumimi UlUtih iiiiiil