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 THE QUEST OF HERACLES 
 AND OTHER POEMS -V <• -V 
 
Z his first cditiou, on small paper, consists 
 of five hundred copies, four hundred 
 and fifty of which are for sale. 
 
The Title-page and Cover are designed 
 by Mr. Pierre la Rose. 
 
THE QVEST OF 
 HERACLES AND 
 OTHER POEMS 
 
 BY 
 
 HVGH MCCVLLOCH 
 
 IVNIOR 
 
 STONE AND KIMBALL 
 
 CAMBRIDGE • CHICAGO 
 
 MDCCCXCIV 
 

 -^ Copyright, 1893, by -:• 
 Hugh McCulloch, Jr. 
 
TO MY MOTHER I DEDICATE ALL 
 
 IN THIS BOOK THAT IS LEAST 
 
 UNWORTHY OF HER 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 THE QUEST OF HERACLES 13 
 
 HERMAPHRODITUS 32 
 
 ISIS 40 
 
 MIDNIGHT 41 
 
 A BALLADE OF ROSES 44 
 
 BALLADE OF MOLIERE ...... 46 
 
 ANTINOUS 48 
 
 A BALLADE OF DAWN 55 
 
 9 
 
PAGE 
 
 REFUGE 57 
 
 STRIFE 58 
 
 SHADOW'S HOUSE 59 
 
 SPRING-SONG 60 
 
 SCENT O' PINES 61 
 
 PHAETON 62 
 
 MOON-RISE 73 
 
 PR.ETERITA 74 
 
 A BALLADE OF RIDING 75 
 
 REQUIEM 77 
 
 10 
 
PAGE 
 
 FIVE SONNETS 79 
 
 NURSE'S SONG 84 
 
 COMPLETION 85 
 
 RETIREMENT 86 
 
 SONG 87 
 
 CONFESSIONS 88 
 
 HER PICTURE 89 
 
 SAINT LOUIS 90 
 
 II 
 
THE QUEST OF HERACLES 
 
 ^{^^^HE eleventh labour unto Heracles 
 
 Eurystheus bade ; the golden fruit to bring 
 From out the grove of the Hesperides. 
 
 When he departed it was early Spring ; 
 The sea and earth and heaven were serene, 
 And joyousness clothed every living thing 
 
 As with a garment. Yet the breeze was keen — 
 A little, fearing, as it seemed, lest heat 
 Should still men's ardour, parch the foliage green 
 
 Ere Summer's fulness made their lives complete. 
 A kind of expectation filled the air; 
 Uncertainty, that made the world-heart beat 
 
 With longing as for some possession rare. 
 A part of all the world was in his heart 
 When he began his journeying, a share 
 
 Of nature's confidence serene, a part 
 Of her great longing to achieve the deed 
 His soul was bent on, by his strength and art. 
 13 
 
THE QUEST OF HERACLES 
 
 For he was confident he should succeed, 
 Albeit he could not tell the how, or why ; 
 As men are sure that from the planted seed 
 
 The grain will grow, yet cannot justify 
 
 Their faith with explanation. For he knew 
 Not even where the enchanted grove might lie — 
 
 Except that from the westward breezes blew 
 That bore to men the garden-scent and spice 
 Which filled their hearts with aspirations new, 
 
 Recalling memories of paradise 
 
 And of the golden age. So toward the west 
 He journeyed out of Thebes, his laughing eyes 
 
 Set ever on this new labourious quest 
 
 Which promised dangers to be dared, and fame 
 Enough to still the longing of his breast. 
 
 He journeyed onward swiftly till he came 
 Unto the sea, beyond whose utmost shore. 
 Somewhere afar, and toward the sunset flame, 
 
 The garden lay, and there the tree which bore 
 The golden fruit of the Hesperides. 
 Upon the sand a hundred boats or more 
 
 Were beached, and from among them Heracles 
 Chose him the one that fittest seemed to bear 
 His mighty strength across the billowing seas; 
 14 
 
THE QUEST OF HERACLES 
 
 A tiny boat, most men would scarcely dare 
 To journey far in, almost like a toy, 
 But strongly built, well jointed everywhere. 
 
 While he began with eagerness of joy 
 
 To make her ready, storing meat and wine 
 Within her, he beheld a half-grown boy 
 
 Toward him running, making many a sign 
 
 For him to wait. And when the boy drew near 
 He prayed by all the immortal ones divine 
 
 That he might go ; for he was used to steer, 
 He said, and skilled to row and set the sail, 
 Inured to hardship, destitute of fear. 
 
 And longed to link his name to some brave tale 
 As friend to heroes. Then the Hero bent 
 His gaze upon the lad, nor saw him quail 
 
 Beneath the scrutiny, and was content 
 
 To have him come, he looked so fair and brave. 
 So westward then the boy and Hero went. 
 
 By daylight tossed they westward o'er the wave. 
 At night upon some shore they beached their boat, 
 When shore appeared and welcoming shelter gave. 
 
 Or else, compelled beneath the stars to float, 
 They talked the night away, of valourous deed 
 Discoursing, or retold some tale of note. 
 15 
 
THE QUEST OF HERACLES 
 
 And oft the boy by cunning trails would lead 
 
 The Hero to recount the labours done 
 
 Aforetime ; tell his shifts in time of need, 
 His fights appearing lost, but finally won 
 
 By constancy and persevering might. 
 
 And often Heracles, as to a son. 
 Would teach the boy to guard him in the fight. 
 
 To save his force until the foe should tire. 
 
 In dubious hours demean himself aright, 
 And so at last to come to his desire. 
 
 For many days they journeyed o'er the sea 
 
 Southwestward; while the noonday sun grew higher. 
 Then came they to the land of mystery, 
 
 To Africa, and journeyed from the shore. 
 
 Enquiring where the enchanted grove might be 
 Of all they met, and learning little more 
 
 Than they had known when they began their way. 
 
 For each one answered : "Somewhere midst the roar 
 Of waves implacable, our legends say. 
 
 Divided from us by untraversed seas. 
 
 Lie blessed Islands, countless leagues away, 
 And there the grove of the Hesperides. 
 
 But where these Islands are we do not know," 
 
 One day a sage replied to Heracles : 
 i6 
 
THE QUEST OF HERACLES 
 
 " Myself, I cannot tell the way; but go 
 To Atlas, a week's journey from the sea ; 
 To Altas, sky sustaining, where the glow 
 
 Of midday sun is hottest. It may be 
 
 That he can tell thee where these Islands are ; 
 None else in all the world is wise as he." 
 
 So Heracles began to journey far 
 
 Within the Southland, where the untrodden ways 
 For weaker men all journeying would bar. 
 
 Since desert lands extended there for days, 
 
 And jungles, where the ground was always wet. 
 And slimy as with serpents. Where the gaze 
 
 Met nothing but dense, thorny barriers set 
 Against advance. The Hero overcame 
 Such obstacles, and journeying on, he met 
 
 Mysterious people, tribes without a name, 
 Unthinking, hardly knowing they were men, 
 And ignorant of evil and of shame. 
 
 Withal a peace-eyed folk, and courteous when 
 They met the Hero in their forest glade 
 And shared with him their stores; or in some glen 
 
 Besought his company until he stayed 
 And rested him amidst their simple care. 
 Delighted with their truth, and unafraid 
 - 17 
 
THE QUEST OF HERACLES 
 
 Of treachery. With such he loved to share 
 
 His strength and knowledge, teaching many a thing, 
 And helping them their heaviest loads to bear. 
 
 And when he journeyed onward, all would bring 
 Their simple gifts, and, loath to have him leave, 
 Beseeching him, about his limbs would cling ; 
 
 And failing thus to gain the least reprieve. 
 
 Would journey with him, honouring his might. 
 Until the Hero, eager to retrieve 
 
 Delay, had hastened onward from their sight. 
 At last he came where Atlas held the sky 
 Upon his shoulders; where, by day and night. 
 
 The burden bore, and had no hope to die. 
 Him Heracles accosted, asking where 
 The garden of the blessed fruit might lie. 
 
 Then Atlas answered with a cunning air 
 Which Heracles perceived not (Atlas saw 
 The Hero's strength, and knew what he would dare) : 
 
 " Forever am I bound by deathless law 
 To bear the heavens; and I cannot think 
 To answer thee, so much the burdens draw 
 
 Upon my strength. But if thou dost not shrink 
 From bearing up my burden for a space, 
 Perchance I can direct thee to the brink 
 l8 
 
THE QUEST OF HERACLES 
 
 Wherefrom thine eyes can see the wished-for place." 
 Then Heracles made haste to answer him 
 Lest he should falter in the proffered grace : 
 
 " Yea, I can easily support the grim 
 
 Immortal burden, who with Jason went. 
 
 Who countless leagues of struggling sea could swim 
 
 Unconquered, when my soul on conquest bent 
 Would slay the beast whose tawny fell I wear. 
 Give nie the burden. Earth and heaven blent 
 
 Affright not me, since I am strong to bear 
 The mightiest spirit ever known to men." 
 And Atlas laughed to shift his burden there. 
 
 Which laugh the Hero did not notice then. 
 Engrossed with bearing up the bending sky. 
 And Atlas, wild at being free again. 
 
 Stretched out his limbs, stretched up his hands on high. 
 Laughed, as though wakened from a painful dream 
 And found it false, nor longer cared to die. 
 
 Then Heracles addressed him : " Since you seem 
 Recovered from your weariness, I pray 
 That I may learn beside what distant stream 
 
 The garden lies, and how to find the way 
 To lead me to the far Hesperides." 
 Then Atlas, laughing soft, as at the play 
 
 19 
 
THE QUEST OF HERACLES 
 
 Of his own fancy, answered: " Heracles, 
 The way is far, but easy ; straightway west 
 You journey, sheer unto the western seas ; 
 
 And westward straight upon the ocean's breast 
 A ten days' journey from the eastern shore, 
 Unto the purple Islands of the Blest. 
 
 But thou art tired, and cannot journey more ; 
 Thou hast, beside, the heavens to upbear 
 Whereof thou hast relieved me. I therefore 
 
 Will journey in thy place. If thou shalt hear 
 No tidings of me, thou wilt know that I 
 Have found the Islands, and for many a year 
 
 Shall liv-e in bliss, while thou dost hold the sky 
 Instead of me." But Heracles, the while, 
 Was silent, for he would not stoop to cry 
 
 On treachery or wrong however vile 
 When he was powerless to do the right. 
 And his great heart was ignorant of guile. 
 
 Meanwhile the boy, who loved the Hero's might, 
 And yearned to aid him, whispered in his ear 
 A stratagem which though it seemed so slight 
 
 Might cost the treachery of Atlas dear. 
 For Atlas, in his freedom seeming mad, 
 Unreasoning in his pleasure, lingered near; 
 20 
 
THE QUEST OF HERACLES 
 
 Such joy to see his shifted toil he had. 
 Then Heracles in sobered accents spoke : 
 '"T is well, great Atlas ! You may well be glad^ 
 
 Since you have caught me napping, and this yoke 
 I needs must bear, and needs must bear it long. 
 You surely are the wisest of all folk. 
 
 But though beyond all mortals I am strong, 
 I have my burden in such awkward wise 
 I scarce may hold it. Lest they suffer wrong, 
 
 I pray you, but a moment hold the skies. 
 That I may take them rightly as you do. 
 Who well my strength and wisdom may despise." 
 
 The Giant in his heart thought : " It is true; 
 He holds it wrongly ; he is free from guile; 
 He 's strong and foolish ; all his wisdom grew 
 
 To bone and brawn. 'T is but a little while. ..." 
 And then aloud: " 'T is granted, Heracles." 
 Then straight released him from the heavy pile 
 
 As he continued : " Burdens such as these 
 
 Must thus be borne. ..." But even as he said, 
 Westward, toward the far Hesperides 
 
 The Hero and the faithful lad had sped, 
 Not venturing to linger in that land 
 Lest Atlas new and subtler snares should spread 
 
 2* 21 
 
THE QUEST OF HERACLES 
 
 Beyond their simple brains to understand. 
 For many weary days they wandered through 
 Enormous soHtudes of desert sand. 
 
 At length they caught a distant glimpse of blue 
 Toward the west, and crying out : " The sea ! 
 The sea!" they hastened joyously thereto. 
 
 Beside the shore they found a sturdy tree 
 
 Whose bark would do to make a rough-hewn boat 
 Which must suffice, though savage it might be. 
 
 And soon upon the crested waves afloat. 
 
 They journeyed toward the ramparts of the Sun 
 Whence Gods upon their subject empire gloat, 
 
 Where Sol returns when every day is done. 
 Ten days they journeyed o'er the golden way, 
 And almost feared the prize would ne'er be won, 
 
 So far from earthly goals they seemed away. 
 But on the eleventh, close upon the dawn, 
 When westward shot the Sun's awakening ray, 
 
 A purple cloud upon the watery' lawn 
 
 They saw. More smoothly o'er the silent sea 
 Grown calm now, breathlessly they hurried on, 
 
 22 
 
THE QUEST OF HERACLES 
 
 The land more lovely seeming each degree 
 
 They neared it. Then they heard a mingled song 
 
 Of leaves from many an odour-bearing tree, 
 The sound of rivers murmuring along, 
 
 Of birds that caroled forth eternal bliss : 
 
 The hymn of Nature, free from human wrong. 
 And over all, the Gods' eternal kiss, 
 
 There dwelt a savour of supreme content. 
 
 Lulled by the blended sweetness of all this 
 They beached the skiff, and through the forest went 
 
 Toward a golden gate that gleamed like fire. 
 
 With sound of many a murmuring instrument, 
 Of lute and dulcimer, and harp and lyre, 
 
 The gate swept inward, opening left and right. 
 
 Then, passing through this portal of desire, 
 They entered in the garden of delight. 
 
 At evening, when the feverish day is done. 
 And silence heralds the repose of night. 
 The stars come twinkling on us one by one ; 
 And we gaze upward, ever open-eyed. 
 Upon their mystery, stretching sun on sun, 
 23 
 
THE QUEST OF HERACLES 
 
 To where eternal verities abide. 
 
 But when from out the palpitating East 
 
 The imperial moon in majesty doth ride, 
 We turn us from the fading stars, to feast 
 
 Our eyes upon the glory of her state. 
 
 Our worship of the infinite increased. 
 So Heracles, when he had passed the gate 
 
 With his companion, quite forgot the sound 
 
 Which lately made his weary heart wax great, 
 And led him into this enchanted ground. 
 
 He found him in the entrance to a glen 
 
 Whose flowers, and trees, and perfumed rivers drowned 
 The memories which had haunted him till then : 
 
 The thoughts of mortal infamy and pain. 
 
 The murmuring multitudes of weary men. 
 The agony of sinew and of brain. 
 
 Amidst the garden's melody and spice, 
 
 Afar, across the joy enmantlcd plain. 
 Flamed Argos with his hundred glowing eyes, 
 
 The guardian of the treasure-bearing tree. 
 
 Forever fiercer grew his glowing dyes, 
 And ever more in dreams of luxur)' 
 
 The Hero's fancy plunged. Upon the green 
 
 Lay maidens, glancing carelessly to see 
 24 
 
THE QUEST OF HERACLES 
 
 Who trod the happy garden which had been 
 
 Long time unvisited byUving men. 
 
 But when the glorious Hero they had seen, 
 Quickly they raised them from the grass, and then 
 
 Ran toward him, plucking flowers as they ran, 
 
 To wreath his forehead. Then they turned again, 
 And bade him follow where the Pipes of Pan 
 
 Were making all the perfumed garden glad. 
 
 Almost the Hero yielded, and began 
 To follow one whose limbs in saffron clad 
 
 Were outlined by the fluttering of the breeze. 
 
 The boy, meanwhile, but scanty notion had 
 Of what temptations lay in sights like these 
 
 To idleness. He passed the maidens by, 
 
 And gazing on, beneath the spreading trees 
 He saw a group of naked athletes vie 
 
 In deeds of strength and skill. He longed to be 
 
 Where he might find some novel feat to try. 
 So, turning toward the weakening Hero, he 
 
 Besought him to continue on the way. 
 
 And pointed out the contest. Suddenly, 
 Brought to himself, the Hero cast away 
 
 All thoughts of idleness, and hastened where 
 
 He saw two wrestling athletes grip and sway. 
 25 
 
THE QUEST OF HERACLES 
 
 No longer wore he the enamoured air 
 
 He late had worn ; his eyes again flamed bright, 
 He burned to be among the wrestlers there, — 
 
 To feel again the joy of his own might 
 
 Which came from feeling others bend and fall 
 Beneath his prowess. His companion's sight, 
 
 In boyish restlessness, had witnessed all 
 It cared to of the struggle on the grass. 
 He felt new things upon his interest call. 
 
 He let his vision by the wrestlers pass 
 
 To where, among the trees, he saw a dance, 
 Hardby the place where eager Argos was. 
 
 Forthwith his heart impelled him to advance. 
 But now he heard the Hero breathing hard 
 With lust for combat, — saw his eager glance 
 
 Toward the wrestlers writhing on the sward. 
 He felt that once among them, Heracles 
 No more the nearing contest would regard 
 
 With Argos, but would waste his strength with these 
 In barren triumphs to the end of time ; 
 For death is barred from the Hesperides, 
 
 And life exults, forever in its prime. 
 He laid his hand upon the Hero's arm, 
 And, " Thou the subject of heroic rhyme," 
 26 
 
THE QUEST OF HERACLES 
 
 He said, "can'stthou be turned bypassing charm 
 
 When Argos, the great enemy, is near? 
 
 See, even now he glows in his alarm. 
 If now thou turnest, he will think it fear." 
 
 The eyes of Argos ever brighter grew 
 
 To see the Hero pause in his career. 
 Then Heracles with sullen bosom drew 
 
 His gaze from off the wrestlers, and he turned 
 
 Where Argos, menacing with flaming hues 
 In hundred eyes, forever fiercer burned. 
 
 And to the lad he muttered : "It was thou 
 
 That brought me from the pleasure I had earned 
 By my exertions, to this place, and now 
 
 Dost urge me on again. But thou art right : 
 
 Before I rest, I must achieve my vow ; 
 Pleasure is fourfold welcome after fight." 
 
 Then on he hastened toward the approaching quest. 
 
 And now was Argos plainly in their sight. 
 But what he was, in what apparel dressed. 
 
 They could not see. Amid the sacred tree 
 
 He burned as any sunset in the west. 
 Like such a sunset where the eye can see 
 
 No form specific, but a golden glow 
 
 More overwhelming for its mystery. 
 27 
 
THE QUEST OF HERACLES 
 
 The Hero half despaired of such a foe, 
 
 Which seemed unbodied, having never a Hmb 
 To grasp ; but eyes that darted to and fro, 
 
 Comminghng and retiring, to the brim 
 With fury filled, as though with liquid fire. 
 And so he stood, and firmly gazed at him. 
 
 So filled was he with his supreme desire, 
 He had not noted that about the tree 
 A band of youths and maids in perfect quire 
 
 Were dancing to their own soft minstrelsy. 
 But now their choral drew his thoughts away, 
 And made him half forget the fight to be. 
 
 " What profits it, O creature of a day. 
 To toil forever, to deny delight 
 Until thy body turneth into clay ? 
 
 When on the borders of eternal night 
 
 Thou standest trembling, thou wilt weep for all 
 The pleasure that thy pride hath made thee slight ; 
 
 Tho' thou art Heracles thou art so small 
 When thou art weighed against eternity. 
 It doth not matter where thy moments fall. 
 
 How idle mortals in their vanity 
 
 To think the universal Whole can care 
 For what or how their petty actions be. 
 
 28 
 
THE QUEST OF HERACLES 
 
 What seemeth virtue may but be a snare 
 To lure a man to waste his precious bliss 
 In chasing phantoms gibbering and bare. 
 
 Reflect how empty any triumph is, 
 
 How disappointing, and the toil how long, 
 And bend thyself to pleasure with a kiss ! " 
 
 But Heracles, when he had heard the song, 
 
 Laughed with a laugh that lightened face and eyes, 
 So frank it was, and answering the throng: 
 
 "When on the earth my dying body lies, 
 
 My mind shall dwell upon my triumphs won; 
 I fear not toil, nor care I for the prize. 
 
 I shall review my actions one by one. 
 
 And finding I have borne me like a man, 
 Await what cometh when our life is done, 
 
 Unflinching. Now, with all the strength I can, 
 I '11 fight with Argos ; let my arms but seize 
 His body, and he cannot form a plan 
 
 To escape me. Ware ! make way for Heracles ! " 
 Fled all the youths and maidens. Toward the foe 
 The Hero strode. It seemed that all the trees 
 
 Were made of furious eyes. He faced their glow 
 Undaunted, and unto the fruit of gold 
 Went firmly, trusting in his strength. And,, lo ! 
 29 
 
THE QUEST OF HERACLES 
 
 As he approached the sacred tree and old, 
 The eyes that menaced him with raging heat 
 Grew fainter in their colouring, grew cold ; 
 
 And fading into some unseen retreat 
 
 They were not. As if Argos had not been, 
 But seemed to be to frighten from the feat 
 
 The dauntless Hero, who could yield to sin, 
 To lust, and combat, but who mocked despair, 
 And every cowardice contained therein. 
 
 Bewildered, for a moment stood he there. 
 Then laughed to think of Argos fled away. 
 So silent and so strange, he knew not where ; 
 
 Then shook the tree until the apples lay 
 
 A-glimmering in the flower-besprinkled grass. 
 And gathering them he said: "No time for play ! 
 
 Upon our homeward journey must we pass 
 To find us fresh adventures to pursue." 
 The boy, now weary, answered him : "Alas ! 
 
 Thou hast the prize ; what further wouldst thou do ? 
 What thou hast toiled for wilt thou give to one 
 That hath done nothing? If old tales are true, 
 
 This fruit is precious. Glowing like the sun 
 It makes the owner mighty ; keep it then." 
 But Heracles: "When once a deed is done, 
 ^o 
 
THE QUEST OF HERACLES 
 
 However great among the sons of men, 
 I care not for it. I had rather bring 
 The fruit of victory from this perfumed glen 
 
 Unto the palace of the laggard king 
 
 Than keep it here amidst the fragrant mead. 
 My heart exultant evermore must spring, 
 
 Forever reaching toward a mightier deed." 
 
 "M 
 
HERMAPHRODITUS 
 
 ^^HEN all the world had felt the breath of Spring 
 And thrilled at his caress ; when every thing 
 LJ/ 'v*/ In all the world renewed its leaves and flowers 
 To gladden man ; when all the days and hours 
 Brought ever fairer gifts unto their lord, — 
 Hermaphroditus raised him from the sward 
 Where he was lying, blissful but to be, 
 And journeyed slowly inland from the sea 
 Whereon he long had pondered. As he went 
 His heart was filled with a supreme content 
 To see the might and beauty of the earth; 
 To see the rivers dimpling in their mirth. 
 And over all the fields and flowers and trees 
 The great sun shine. Yet thought he not of these, 
 But rather felt them in a subtle-wise 
 That had no need of seeing, and his eyes 
 Were raised unto the vast expanse of skies 
 That seemed inwoven of sun and mystery. 
 32 
 
HERMAPHRODITUS 
 
 Now in his slow, sweet journeying came he 
 Where greenest meadows sloping met a stream 
 Whereon the sun did dance and play and gleam 
 Like beaten gold : and coming there, he bent 
 To spy sate crossing. There some rocks had pent 
 A portion of the stream into a well, 
 A pool of light for shapes of sleep to dwell 
 In quietness. And when he glanced therein 
 He saw himself reflected. Sure no sin 
 For any maid to dream and long for him ! 
 His father, Hermes, had endowed each limb 
 With his perfection, and his sunburned face 
 Flashed back the lustre of his mother's grace. 
 Yet he had never dreamed that he was fair, 
 But only knew him happy. Crossing where 
 The stream was shallow, pausing to admire 
 The rocks and darting fish, with no desire 
 To gaze on his own beauty, on he went. 
 The blossoms, that had all their beauty spent 
 To welcome him, from him caught grace anew ; 
 The grass was bright with diamonded dew ; 
 And over all a mighty stillness hung — 
 The awe, that quieted a world still young, 
 Fearing to break the slumber of the gods. 
 
 3 iz 
 
HERMAPHRODITUS 
 
 And through this stillness, o'er the glowing sods, 
 Embalmed in beauty, strayed the Cyprian's son, 
 A part of nature. Now the day had run 
 The half-way of his course, and held his steeds 
 A moment on the zenith poised (he needs, 
 Yea, even he, a little space to rest), 
 And every flower, its head upon its breast, 
 Was slumbering, excepting the sun's flower. 
 The heliotrope, for whom the choicest hour 
 Had come wherein the sweetest scent was made. 
 Hermaphroditus, longing for the shade 
 Of trees, again descended toward a stream 
 That crossed his path, and where, with many a dream. 
 Dwelt peaceful hours forever. Then he turned, 
 Allured by some suggestion he discerned 
 In subtle-wise, to trace the stream that spurned 
 So pettishly the rocks and roots of trees 
 That strove to stay it : now the hum of bees 
 And sounds of woodland creatures met his ears : 
 Mysterious rustlings, timorous faint fears 
 Of forest things; yet followed he the stream 
 Unheeding, like one walking in a dream, 
 A waking revery. And soon his guide 
 Grew smaller and more threadlike, still to glide 
 34 
 
HERMAPHRODITUS 
 
 Half-mocking over last year's fallen leaves. 
 On either side rose wooded hills where sheaves 
 Of bushes hid all view of field or road, 
 Or aught that lay beyond. The valley showed 
 No sight but arching trees brown-gray and green. 
 Except the brook, no other thing was seen 
 Of all the world. The stream turned at this place ; 
 Hermaphroditus saw that for a space 
 The hills receded, and thus made a glade 
 Whose light was half of sunlight, half of shade 
 Commingled. And from out the soft green grass 
 Whereon fleet shadows of the trees would pass 
 Grew heaps and heaps of roses. All the air 
 Was sweet with them ; a million blossomed there, 
 And all unknown, in seeming, unto men. 
 Hermaphroditus startled, wondering, when 
 He came upon this roseland, half forgot 
 The stream that brought him hither to the spot ; 
 Then suddenly remembering, he sought 
 His guide with downward eyes, and when he caught 
 A glimpse of it, and followed with his eyes 
 An hundred steps or so, to his surprise 
 Beheld it issue from a widening pool 
 As still as evening air. It lay there cool 
 35 
 
HERMAPHRODITUS 
 
 And quiet, clear and deep, a miracle. 
 A willow grew beside the woodland well ; 
 And there was carved through bark and skin of this 
 The nymph's name of the fountain, Salmacis. 
 Naught knew Hermaphroditus of this name, 
 But saw the fountain cool to quench the flame 
 The sun had made in his blood. He threw aside 
 His saffron tunic with its border wide, 
 And plunged into the depths of that still pool. 
 Ah, it was sweet to feel the water cool 
 His sunwarmed veins ; to feel it lave his head 
 And chest and limbs ; and in his heart he said, 
 *' If Salmacis be god or maid or man. 
 My thanks are due ..." Exultant he began 
 To swim with long, slow strokes around, and cleft 
 The clinging water joyously. Now left 
 He every thought, save of the present bhss 
 Till suddenly he felt a burning kiss, 
 Felt rounded arms about his neck entwine. 
 And in his ear a murmur heard, divine. 
 That whispered : " Oh, my own, you tarried long, 
 Until I sent my stream to woo with song 
 And mystery ; now you are come ; — the bliss 
 To gaze and love — even I am Salmacis ! " 
 36 
 
HERMAPHRODITUS 
 
 Hermaphroditus felt the joy depart 
 From all his soul ; and in its stead, his heart 
 Grew heavy ; all his joyous, eager bliss 
 Seemed tainted by the memory of the kiss 
 His lips returned not. Hastily he flung 
 The nymph away, whose arms about him clung, 
 And gained the bank. He threw his tunic on 
 And turned to go; yet might he not be gone 
 From that sweet place — he felt the roses call 
 Him to return ; the trees, the hilly wall 
 All spoke to him, the very skies above. 
 Ah, foolish boy ! He heard the wings of love. 
 Still he remained ; the lady all the while 
 Gazed at him with a piteous wavering smile 
 Half tearful: on the grass he lay; and he, 
 Though reared up in Love's house, the mystery 
 Of love knew nothing. Silent sat he there 
 Unheeding Salmacis' unspoken prayer. 
 Then she began aloud : " Oh, Zeus, whose throne 
 Forever liveth, give me for mine own 
 This boy whom thou hast fashioned for me ! " 
 And Zeus in majesty was sad to see 
 The water-nymph's despair and misery. 
 Then spoke the boy : " Great Zeus, grant not her prayer. 
 37 
 
 3* 
 
HERMAPHRODITUS 
 
 What have I done that I should tarry there 
 With her I love not ? Pitiless is she ! " 
 Then Salmacis: " Let him be part of me, — 
 Nay, be myself, — since then his scorn must die." 
 And Zeus, the omnipotent, Zeus, the most high, 
 All knowing, saw within the boy's young heart 
 Love growing, though his will there had no part; 
 And to the nymph he gave her heart's desire. 
 For straight Hermaphroditus felt a fire 
 Arise v^ithin him, first a timorous flame 
 That ever greater and more fierce became. 
 And then he crept unto the nymph who lay 
 With ashen face, as pale as unborn day, 
 And kissed her softly. With the first caress 
 She rose in all her perfect loveliness 
 To render back his kisses unto him. 
 When lo ! a marvel ! every lovely limb 
 Melted like gold and was a part of his, 
 And only one remained — and Salmacis 
 Was given her prayer, and each was made a part 
 Of each, one soul, one body, and one heart — 
 One being. 
 
 So through all the years that sped 
 Each had his love, nor yet was satiated 
 38 
 
HERMAPHRODITUS 
 
 Possessing : never felt the heart sink, tired 
 To death of one that lately was desired 
 Beyond all gifts of life. And so men said 
 When some one asked which one of all the dead 
 Gave love most ample in its perfect bliss : 
 *' Hermaphroditus unto Salmacis." 
 
 39 
 
ISIS 
 
 50 fear is in those eyes, no love, no hate, 
 Nor aught of mortal, nor have men a name 
 For her emotions wherein pride and shame 
 Are known as slightly as men know their fate. 
 In awful calm the end she doth await. 
 Ten thousand years ago all mortals came 
 Unto her image with supreme acclaim. 
 She doth not care that worshippers abate. 
 
 Now men affirm of her that she is not : 
 Yet, when no word of man can be forgot 
 But ever liveth, thrilling through the airs: 
 When not a deed of man but bears its fruit. 
 Can speaking lips be barren as tho' mute ? 
 Might not a goddess spring from many prayers ? 
 
 40 
 
MIDNIGHT 
 
 S|AS it a dream ? The mid-moon's light 
 Flung sheer athwart the misty night, 
 Opened long reaches to my sight, 
 Faint with the quivering delight 
 
 Of moon-lit mist. 
 And but for this, that here and there 
 The moon made clear the tremulous air, 
 The mist hung silent everywhere, 
 And ugly things were changed to fair. 
 Enrobed, and kissed. 
 
 And as I passed, I saw the place 
 Was filled with tombs (then, for a space, 
 The moon had torn the mist's frail lace). 
 Me seemed some prehistoric race 
 
 Had reared these stones 
 In days when Ocean's river ran 
 Around the earth ; for now no man 
 41 
 
MIDNIGHT 
 
 With all his new-found servants can 
 Uprear such slabs by spell or ban 
 To hold his bones. 
 
 But even these could not defy 
 Time's mightier hand, for some did lie 
 All shattered, and some, still on high, 
 Half tottered as I wandered by, 
 
 Yet stood upright. 
 And then I saw a mightier tomb 
 Half ruined ; an abyss of gloom 
 Yawned in the midst, and in the room 
 Of stones I saw a shadow loom — 
 
 A shade of light. 
 
 I saw more clearly as I neared 
 The riven ruin; the mist veered 
 A little, and the moon shone weird 
 Upon a skeleton that leered 
 
 From out the gloom; — 
 Then wrote upon the prostrate door 
 That lay upon the ground before 
 
MIDNIGHT 
 
 My feet, the moonlight glancing o'er, 
 While steadfastly mine eyes did pore : 
 " Nousfht — but the tomb ! " 
 
 I turned, and slowly walked away 
 
 Into a garden fair, that lay 
 
 Hard by, with birds and flowers gay. 
 
 Sweet with the sounds and scents of May, 
 
 Where joy was rife : 
 I sat me down and bound my head 
 With garlands fitted for the dead, 
 And to my love of loves I said : 
 " We may forget, when life has sped. 
 
 This dream of life." 
 
 43 
 
A BALLADE OF ROSES 
 
 " I hid my heart in a nest of roses." 
 
 SWINBL'RNE. 
 
 HID my heart in a nest of roses 
 Far from the glare of the midsummer skies, — 
 There where the humble-bee drowsily dozes, 
 There where the perfumed breezes rise. 
 And I said : "As long as the humming-bird flies 
 
 Ceaselessly over thee, O my heart. 
 From all the lures that the love-god tries, 
 Forever and ever secure thou art." 
 
 And safe it lay as a leaf that reposes 
 
 On the river's breast when the twilight dies ; 
 And still it was as a flower that grows is 
 
 As a lily that cool in the water lies. 
 And never a foe came there to surprise 
 
 The fortress wherein I hid my heart ; 
 And I said : "Of mortals I am most wise : 
 
 Forever and ever secure thou art." 
 44 
 
A BALLADE OF ROSES 
 
 But the queen of the flowers in the garden-closes, 
 
 The maiden with mystical, wonderful eyes. 
 Whom a wall of scornfulness aye encloses^ 
 
 Safe from all lover's prayers and sighs — 
 She for whom never a love may suffice 
 
 Out of its fortress drew my heart; 
 And yet I say on, in braggart-wise, 
 
 *' Forever and ever secure thou art." 
 
 45 
 
BALLADE OF MOLIERE 
 
 ^HEN life in France meant court and king, 
 When marquises judged art and play, 
 When every poet strove to sing 
 The praise of Louis, great and gay ; 
 When wars and pensions swept away 
 
 The peasants' living, grain and sheep, 
 The poet told them (sad as they) : 
 " To laugh is better than to weep. 
 
 " When grief and care your bosoms wring, 
 
 Laugh as you wander on your way ; 
 For weeping cannot ease the sting 
 
 That grief in troubled hearts may lay ; 
 Though pleasure comes not all the day. 
 
 Though all your joy be buried deep, 
 Though trouble through your houses stray, — 
 
 To laugh is better than to weep." 
 46 
 
BALLADE OF MOLIERE 
 
 Whatever evil life might bring, 
 
 He mocked at it, and so grew gray 
 With laughter, never sorrowing 
 
 For wrongs his hands were weak to stay, 
 So, when Armande was led astray. 
 
 When all his joy was buried deep, 
 When he was sick to death, he 'd say : 
 
 "To laugh is better than to weep." 
 
 Envoi 
 Poet, we grieve too, but betray 
 
 Our grief with tears ; we cannot keep 
 The rule thy strength could still obey : 
 
 To laugh is better than to weep. 
 
 47 
 
ANTINOUS 
 
 .Tc3/\GT CLOUDLESS sky above a treeless plain 
 rJVJ^^C Of sand and sandhills, where one longs in vain 
 ^S^^'^^2 For shade which neither cloud nor tree affords 
 Though hosts may die — where thirst and death are lords 
 Of all the long, lone land and breathless air 
 Which stifles every breeze with its despair. 
 A traveller entering hardly may return 
 From out this land, where thirst and famine burn 
 Death's incense ; whereon gazing, he must feel 
 A doubt through all his veins and sinews steal 
 That gods are good, since they have made this land 
 Hate-worthy, with its death-ensnaring sand 
 Forever seeking for some further prey. 
 
 And so Antinoiis, all the livelong day, 
 Thrice seven days that seemed like seven years, 
 With night and day contending, sharp as spears, 
 'Gainst bitter grief, he lay and gazed athwart 
 The desert, feeling hatred in his heart 
 48 
 
ANTINOUS 
 
 Toward all the gods. The terrace where he lay 
 Was faint with heat and garish with the day ; 
 He knew it not, but buried his head deep 
 Within the cushions that would have him sleep 
 For joy to hold him, and moaned '' Hadrian ! " 
 And all the long courts murmured " Hadrian I " 
 
 For Hadrian, the lord, was sick to death ; 
 The days dragged on, and men could scarce see breath 
 Upon the mirror held above his mouth. 
 His pulse scarce stirred; the languor of the south 
 Enwrapped his limbs ; and messengers had sped 
 To Beza, to the god, where truth was wed 
 To prophecy most surely, there to learn 
 If he must die, or if he might return 
 To life through any leechcraft known to men. 
 'T was time the seekers should return again 
 With answer, so men waited. Now of all 
 His followers of war, or chase, or hall. 
 The great lord loved Antinoiis the most. 
 There was no warrior chief in all his host, 
 No maid of all the fragrant singing bands 
 That tended him, the choice of many lands, 
 He loved so much. Antinoiis returned 
 His love so greatly that he scarcely yearned 
 49 
 
ANTINOUS 
 
 For love of women. So he sadly lay 
 Upon the terrace, gazing on the way 
 Whereby the messengers should come. And now 
 He saw a speck upon the desert's brow, 
 A tiny speck against the setting sun 
 In silhouette. And shortly, one by one, 
 A train of camels, carrying each a man 
 Grew from the cloud, and ere the night began 
 Drew near unto the palace. Each man knew 
 The answer, seeing them. Antinoiis, too, 
 Saw by their looks that he to whom he gave 
 His love, might live. And to the foremost slave 
 That entered, he gave thanks for the good cheer 
 He brought. The weary messenger drew near 
 In solemn-wise, and said with tearful voice: 
 ■" 'T is well for us, Antinoiis, to rejoice — 
 The emperor may live : and yet 1 fear 
 He '11 grieve therefor, since thus-wise in my ear 
 The great god spoke, ' The emperor may live 
 In health and peace, if only he will give 
 The life of whom he loveth most : if not 
 His bones must lie within the hopeless spot 
 Where now he lieth, 'T is the only way 
 His eyes may rest upon each new-born day 
 50 
 
ANTINOUS 
 
 With gladness in the joy thereof.' " And then 
 The slave traversed the courtyards thronged with men, 
 Unto his resting-place. Antinoiis left 
 Alone, gave thanks like one not all bereft 
 Of gladness, yet not happy quite. He knew 
 The import of the oracle ; him too 
 The god had mentioned in his guarded-wise 
 Unnaming, since of all beneath the skies 
 The emperor held him dearest. And for this 
 He had been born on earth ; had known the bliss 
 Of love surpassing woman's love ; had known 
 The joy of straining arms about him thrown, 
 The free companionship of Hadrian, — 
 That he might give his life for Hadrian. 
 He wrestled fiercely in his anguished heart 
 Against his love ; he wept, that he must part 
 From life and all its joy, to wander where 
 He never more could breathe Bithynian air, 
 Nor see Hyrcanian lions battle fierce 
 'Gainst Dacian slaves ; no more see spear-heads pierce 
 Broad breasts of men ; nor see the choking fight, 
 The wounds and blood and death and sickening fright 
 He loathed and fiercely loved. He fought in vain; 
 His love grew greater, showed his way more plain, 
 51 
 
ANTINOUS 
 
 Burned stronger from the conflict; and again 
 He hid his head and murmured, " Hadrian ! " 
 And all the long courts echoed, " Hadrian ! " 
 
 Then summoned he a slave, and bade him bring 
 
 His stylus and his tablets — everything — 
 
 For writing; and like one enwrapt in spell, 
 
 He wrote : " Oh, Hadrian, my friend, farewell ! 
 
 A life love-worthy unto thee alone 
 
 I offer up that thou mayst keep thine own 
 
 Of all men needed. Pray thee, think of me 
 
 When I am gone beyond the bitter sea 
 
 Men mention with hushed breath. Again, farewell ! " 
 
 His heart leapt up, although it heard its knell 
 
 Pealed softly forth. He faltered not, but gave 
 
 The letter to the still-attending slave. 
 
 Bidding him lay it by the emperor's bed 
 
 Against his waking. Then he softly sped 
 
 Toward the stables, bade bring out a horse, 
 
 Then mounted, and in swift unthinking course 
 
 Rode far athwart the still, the moonlit night. 
 
 The desert reached the palace on the right, 
 Upon the left, a strip of fertile ground 
 Stretched sheer unto the river bank to bound 
 52 
 
ANTINOUS 
 
 The waste of water and the waste of sand. 
 Between two deserts lay this garden land. 
 Through this AntinoUs galloped till he came 
 Unto the Nile that gleamed like palest flame, 
 So pallid, underneath the long moonlight, — 
 A molten silver stream athwart the night. 
 So broad that all the further bank was lost 
 In mystery, save where a temple tossed 
 The broken moonbeams from its polished walls. 
 And all was still as death's enmuffled halls 
 Skull-mounted. Here and there stars made a glade 
 Within the Nile. Sometime Antinoiis stayed 
 In musing lost and thought. His charger neighed 
 For fear ; Antinoiis loosed him, and he sped 
 Back homeward. There, as lonely as the dead, 
 Antinoiis stood, the fairest born of men 
 Beside earth's fairest river. Then again 
 He murmured slowly, sadly, " Hadrian ! " 
 And all the world made answer, " Hadrian ! " 
 For to Antinoiis all the world's hope clung. 
 Now gently went he, silently, among 
 The river sedges, till advancing where 
 The lazy river lapped its boundaries, there 
 He paused a moment. On he went, the while 
 The stream grew deeper. Then the mighty Nile, 
 ** 53 
 
ANTINOUS 
 
 The great of rivers, rose to welcome him. 
 The long waves wrapped around each cleaving limb 
 And drew him onward. Then the gods were glad, 
 And all was over. 
 
 Only one was sad 
 In all the world : the Emperor. When he read 
 His friend's farewell, and knew that he was dead, 
 He longed for death, and lived. But still he made 
 In every court, in every temple shade, 
 An image of the fairest born of men ; 
 And it is told that on his deathbed, when 
 His courtiers asked what man should hold the throne. 
 He answered nothing, murmuring alone 
 " Antinoiis." And surely of the twain 
 Antinoiis was the happier, — his the gain 
 Of love in death, while unto Hadrian 
 The death in love. And in this later earth. 
 With all its pain and pleasure, grief and mirth. 
 There scarce is one who hath not in some place 
 The image of Antinoiis. The fair face 
 And sweet lips, telling us 'twixt sigh and smile 
 The memory and mystery of the Nile — 
 That tell us without need of speech or breath 
 The joy of life, the wondrous peace of death. 
 54 
 
A BALLADE OF DAWN 
 
 " Placida notte, e verecondo raggio 
 Delia cadente luna." 
 
 ^(^^S^HE wan east quivers, and a chilling breeze 
 
 fi< Comes trembling o'er the earth; the silence lies 
 '"I Oppressively on all things, and the trees 
 Don ever-changing shapes while night-time dies; 
 From off the river feathery mists arise 
 And clothe the shivering earth with garments rare. 
 Changed things that seem like uncouth monsters glare 
 Where late the moonlight cast a charmed glow. 
 The stars grow faint and fade into the air, 
 And in the west the weary moon hangs low. 
 
 To-night has been a night of nights; great seas 
 Of tremulous moonlight, pouring from the skies 
 Enchanted all the earth and made surcease 
 Of restlessness, and stilled each vague surmise. 
 Its beauty charmed away earth's laboring sighs, 
 55 
 
A BALLADE OF DAWN 
 
 And brought nepenthe for its sharp despair. 
 Strange shadows hurried o'er the meadows where 
 The wavering mist now billows to and fro. 
 Alas ! the night is gone that was so fair, 
 And in the west the weary moon hangs low. 
 
 And with the night hath fled the golden ease 
 That filled my heart beneath the myriad eyes 
 Of midnight. Day is near, and beauty flees 
 Beneath her naked squalor. Now the cries 
 Of birds are heard, who know that in some wise 
 Another day must yield the wonted share 
 Of hard-earned food. And all the beasts prepare 
 To fight for niggard gifts their lives bestow. 
 Day's murmurs stir them in their nightly lair. 
 And in the west the weary moon hangs low. 
 
 Yet this is but a symbol ; everywhere 
 
 Could man find peace if his weak heart would dare 
 
 To search ; the very dawn is joyful, though 
 
 Its breath seems chilled with day and toil, and care. 
 
 And in the west the weary moon hangs low. 
 
 56 
 
REFUGE 
 
 5AIN would I journey from these barren lands 
 Where I was born, unto the magic isles 
 Of tropic seas, where Winter kindher smiles 
 Than doth the Summer of our northern strands. 
 And I would wander on the golden sands 
 Of tropic rivers reaching miles and miles 
 Thro' orchid-bowers where the sun beguiles 
 Our hearts with scattered gifts from lavish hands. 
 
 Then Homer to the Old World carries me 
 In hollow ships across the crested main ; 
 And Chaucer shows each April-haunted lane 
 Of England. Spenser gives enchanted sea, 
 His summer woods and purple pageantry, 
 While Dante guides me through the world of pain. 
 
 57 
 
STRIFE 
 
 MAN may gather wisdom, growing old, 
 "•/M^c And pleasure, as he sees each well-wrought task 
 Approach completion ; yet his heart may ask 
 Were youth not cheaply bought with learning's gold? 
 
 And thou, oh world, may weep that having sold 
 Thy birthright, thou didst leave the peaceful fields 
 Of youth to struggle through the path that yields 
 A finite joy with labour manifold. 
 
 But we, the children of these later years, 
 The years whose very faith is doubt-embued, 
 Rejoice that, plunging in the path of spears, 
 Thou left the land where peace doth ever brood. 
 Our hearts, inured to wringing hopes from fears 
 Had sickened in that endless quietude. 
 
 58 
 
SHADOW'S HOUSE 
 
 )T is a castle builded as of old 
 
 Men built, with triple rampart girded round, 
 And stored with vaults that reaching 
 underground, 
 Keep what the Past hath left of sinful gold. 
 Armed sentries guard the entrance to the hold, 
 To bar men out ; and till a man hath found 
 The countersign, and murmured o'er the sound, 
 He may not see the iron doors unfold. 
 
 Yet one way is there to defy the bar ; . . . 
 
 For oft a sleeping soul is borne therein 
 
 And sees and mourns the shadow of her sin, \ 
 
 And mourns the shadowy pleasure, flown afar. 
 
 Returning then, while fear and darkness are, 
 
 She shuddereth, knowing scarce where she hath been. 
 
 59 
 
SPRING-SONG 
 
 C^^f^WEET, since the Spring hath come with 
 
 Qix}^l!~5 lengthening days, 
 
 cCi>'i^_li; And all the world 
 
 Is bright with many-flowered perfumed ways, 
 
 And every bird is ofifering Love his praise 
 
 With wing unfurled — 
 Shall we keep silence in the golden hours ? 
 Shall we not bend us to Love's sovereign powers? 
 Shall we not love while all the young-eyed flowers 
 
 With dew are pearled ? 
 
 And sweet, since May's round moon is full and bright 
 
 As when, in Thrace, 
 The virgins met in each month's midmost night, 
 And prayed with mystic charms of occult might 
 
 For Dian's grace — 
 Shall we, when all the night with love is ringing, 
 When all the woods are sweet with dewdrops clinging. 
 Shall we, with all the great world's heart a-singing. 
 
 Not seek Love's face ? 
 
 60 
 
'tv ' v» 
 
 SCENT O' PINES 
 
 ^(ilOVE, shall I liken thee unto the rose 
 That is so sweet ? 
 Nay, since for a single day she grows, 
 Then scattered lies upon the garden-rows 
 Beneath our feet. 
 
 But to the perfume shed when forests nod. 
 
 When noonday shines, 
 That lulls us as we tread the wood-land sod, 
 
 Eternal as the eternal peace of God — 
 
 The scent o' pines. 
 
 6i 
 
PHAETON 
 
 G^V!^y3N ancient days, ere man had quite outgrown 
 r^ ^^ His young-eyed wonder at the lovely earth, 
 ^L.^^iSb The ocean swelling with exultant moan 
 At her vast travail, all the four winds' mirth, 
 The sky that bendeth over perfumed airs 
 In hovering wise, the rivers that engirth 
 Immortal islands, all the world which wears 
 Such beauty manifold — in those old days 
 One god might not suffice for all men's prayers ; 
 But temples rose in many a sacred place 
 To many gods. And chiefly where the sky 
 Contemplates Egypt with unchanging gaze 
 All mortals lived and worshipped reverently. 
 And in far ^Ethiopia, where man's care 
 Bore lightly on him, anthems soared on high 
 To various gods and heroes. lo there 
 
 Brought Epiphas, the son of Zeus, and dwelt 
 In temples, midst the incense-laden air. 
 62 
 
PHAETON 
 
 But none the less in other temples knelt 
 The people ; for in that land Clymene, 
 The great queen, ruled, for whom Apollo felt 
 
 Such love that in one flowery April she 
 
 Brought forth to Phoebus Phaeton ; and all 
 The earth rejoiced to see his progeny. 
 
 But Epiphas, the son of Zeus, was thrall 
 To envy, and it stung his soul to hear 
 Men honour Phaeton in every hall 
 
 As son to Phoebus. So with many a sneer 
 
 He vexed the sun-god's child ; declared that he 
 Was basely born, and envious, would sear 
 
 With ribald jest the heart of Clymene. 
 
 Now Phaeton at length had reached the age 
 When boyhood yields to manhood ; lustily 
 
 He yoked his steeds, had been where battles rage 
 And borne him manhke. In his face there shone 
 His mother's beauty and his father's sage. 
 
 Immortal glory. But one thing alone 
 Declared him mortal; an abyss of grief 
 Enimaged in his eyes ; a silent moan 
 
 That slumbered in their depths, with no relief 
 Of tears ; his inmost heart being filled with doubt 
 Instilled by Epiphas. His mother chief 
 63 
 
PHAETON 
 
 He doubted ; next the glad triumphant shout 
 Wherewith men hailed him as Apollo's son. 
 So one day when the sacrificing rout 
 
 Was on some pilgrimage, when Spring had run 
 Her dainty course, and Summer in her place 
 Was ruler of the hours, went Phaeton 
 
 To Clymene, and begged with glowing face 
 And eager heart, that she would let him go 
 Unto his father to beseech some grace, 
 
 Some sign from Phoebus, that the world might know 
 The truth. Then Clymene with falling tears 
 Besought him tenderly, but he would show 
 
 Scant mercy, so she yielded ; and his years 
 Were nearly those of manhood. Forthwith he 
 Departed, half with hopes and half with fears 
 
 Upon his distant journey. By the sea 
 
 He travelled first, nor was his heart too filled 
 To marvel at its beauty ; at the glee 
 
 Wherewith it raced upon the sand, now stilled, 
 Now troubled with some deep abysmal pain. 
 Anon it laughed innumerably, as willed 
 
 Its lord, Poseidon. Slowly did he gain 
 The Egyptian land, the land of hoary eld. 
 So old, that all the stars might strive in vain 
 64 
 
PHAETON 
 
 To count the years that in her hands she held. 
 There many marvels saw he as he prayed 
 To mystic Isis. Then in ships impelled 
 
 By oars and sails, he traversed, unafraid, 
 The roseate sea to Araby the blest. 
 And journeyed on through sunlight and through shade 
 
 Unceasingly. Fail* cities wooed to rest 
 His wearied limbs, and spice-perfumed airs 
 Allured him ; but with ever-quickening zest 
 
 He onward went. Not Babylon the fair, 
 Nor famed Damascus, Nineveh the great, 
 Persuaded him to pause. The fiery glare 
 
 Of deserts, nor the humid, awful state 
 Of mountain forests, where the day's bright eye 
 Scarce enters, stayed him. Tigers lay in wait, 
 
 Then fled at his approach. The burning sky 
 Of Burmah saw he, and he onward went 
 Through India, where old cities hidden lie 
 
 In sacred groves. Still on his steps were bent 
 Across th' unending plains of strange Cathay, 
 Sheer on into the utmost Orient. 
 
 There stood the glowing portals whence the day 
 Thrilled all the world. The palace from the sea 
 Towered upward ; he could see the billows play 
 5 65 
 
PHAETON 
 
 Around its base in rhythmical rough glee ; 
 And all the house with golden lustre burned, 
 A palace meet for gods. The mystery 
 
 Of this still house, whose gold reflection turned 
 The creeping sea to gold, filled Phaeton 
 With curious wonder; all his being yearned 
 
 To enter, and behold th' enthroned Sun 
 
 In his great hall. A staircase from the strand 
 Leapt up in soaring arches, everyone 
 
 Of storied gold strange-wrought by cunning hand. 
 Unto a mighty portal. Up this stair 
 Went Phaeton, albeit he scarce could stand 
 
 Through trembling. Firmer grown, he entered there 
 And gazed fulfilled with glory. 'T was a hall 
 Sustained on marble columns, midst an air 
 
 With perfume heavy ; golden was the wall, 
 And gold the far-reflecting architrave. 
 So smooth the fair translucent pillars all, 
 
 It seemed a journey-wearied man might lave 
 
 His limbs in their cool depths. And high on throne 
 The god sat, bright with glory which he gave. 
 
 In utmost majesty ; nor sat alone ; 
 
 For round him were the Days and Weeks and Hours, 
 Each girded with a golden, clinging zone, 
 66 
 
PHAETON 
 
 And lying lapt in heaps of golden flowers, 
 
 With godlike youth that knows the bliss of youth 
 Ere age comes near to sigh for youthful bowers 
 
 And maidenhood. But Phaeton, in sooth, 
 Saw nothing but his father sitting high 
 In that high hall, convinced that he in truth 
 
 Was son to Phoebus. Boldly drew he nigh 
 His father, and with eyes that did not shrink. 
 Gazed at his splendour. The god's gaze did lie 
 
 Full tenderly upon his child, to think 
 That youthful loveliness was his ; that he 
 Had dowered the earth with beauty, which should link 
 
 Its men with gods. His pulses thrilled to see 
 His lineaments impressed on every curve 
 Of Phaeton. He said, caressingly : 
 
 " My son, what king so potent dost thou serve, 
 That thou hast come upon so hard a way 
 Unto my house ? It straineth every nerve. 
 
 As I know well, returning every day 
 
 With my yoked steeds. Hast thou a master, stern 
 As him great Heracles once served ? " Then, " Nay," 
 
 Said Phaeton with fervour, "but did yearn 
 To gaze on thee, my father, to behold 
 The source whence came my life. I wished to learn 
 67 
 
PHAETON 
 
 The truth of things whereof I had been told 
 By Clymene, things doubtful unto men. 
 And since the heart thou gavest me was bold, 
 
 I came. Give proof of my high origin, 
 I pray, that men give credence to my word 
 And know me for thy son." Apollo, then. 
 
 Whose heart had hungered fiercely as he heard. 
 Made answer: " Phaeton, but name the sign, 
 And take it." And his sacred answer stirred 
 
 The listening heavens with a fear divine. 
 By this time all the portals of the east 
 Were open flung, and on the hall's confine 
 
 Stood the Sun's chariot, while the light increased 
 Within the hall. From far away there came 
 The faint-heard chant of worshipper and priest. 
 
 Adoring with high gaze the coming flame. 
 Then Phaeton, beholding the yoked team. 
 Thrilled with a plan to quench his brand of shame. 
 
 "Oh, father," cried he, "clothe me with the beam 
 Of thy great glory ! Let me for a day 
 Urge on thy horses, and my body gleam 
 
 With thy hot rays ! " But Phoebus: " Put away 
 This thought, oh, my beloved. What other thing 
 Thou wishest, take ; but ask not this, I pray. 
 68 
 
PHAETON 
 
 My steeds are fierce ; and even me, their king, 
 Will hardly suffer ; me, though I am strong. 
 How canst thou hope that they will homeward bring 
 
 Thy youth in safety? And the way is long. 
 At first it lies along the eastern steep 
 Where footing is so hard that many a throng 
 
 Of stars falls earthward ; then across the deep 
 Empyreal ocean ; then unto the west 
 A steep descent. And by the pathway sleep. 
 
 Or wake, or forage, fierce with eager zest, 
 
 Star monsters. In one place the ravening Bull, 
 The Scorpion, and afar, with labouring breast, 
 
 The Archer standeth, with his quiver full 
 Of winged shafts. Yet if thou dost persist, 
 I must permit it, having sworn. But pull 
 
 With steady hand upon the reins ; resist 
 
 The impulse to gaze earthward ; chiefly spare 
 The whip ; but best of all, do not insist 
 
 On this rash present. Take some other share 
 Of my dominion, houses full of gold. 
 And soft-hued slaves, fair women who shall bear 
 
 A wondrous offspring to thee ; thou shalt hold 
 Great kings as in the hollow of thy hand — 
 Ask not my steeds ! " "Deem not my heart too bold," 
 5* ^ 69 
 
PHAETON 
 
 Then answered Phaeton, *' tho' I withstand 
 Thy prayer, oh, father ! for this utmost boon 
 Is asked by utmost grieving. Many a band 
 
 Of wrestlers have I thrown ; besides, not soon 
 Do I grow weary hunting ; many a steed 
 Hath owned me master, nor doth highest noon 
 
 Impair my strength. Thy counsel I shall need 
 About the journey, then I fain would go." 
 Apollo might not waver, though his seed 
 
 Should perish, though his father-heart must know 
 That ill would come, he yielded, having sworn. 
 Last words of counsel gave he ; how the low 
 
 Descents must not be trod, lest death be borne 
 Unto the earth. And then, with gathered reins. 
 The boy quick followed in the steps of morn. 
 
 The coursers sniff the billowing ocean plains 
 And snort defiance to the hated bit. 
 Already Phaeton every sinew strains 
 
 To keep them on the path, whose steep no whit 
 Affrights them, since they breast it gallantly, 
 Unpanting, spurning it. Their long manes knit 
 
 Of fire, flame joyous o'er the wanton sea, 
 And soon they come unto the soaring arc 
 That spans the earth. There, waiting ravenously, 
 70 
 
PHAETON 
 
 The Bull herds clustering stars. The horses mark 
 His fiery eyes, and with a sudden start 
 Plunge wildly on their way, a glowing spark 
 
 In every eye. No more can mortal art 
 
 Suffice to check them, for they plunge and rear 
 Unsuffering guidance, till the tense reins part 
 
 In sunder, and the golden chariot sheer 
 Upon the brink of heaven is hurried on. 
 Yet Phaeton is unassailed by fear ; 
 
 He gives no thought to fiery Phlegethon, 
 But dilates with an exultation fierce 
 At the mad rush, as swifter still upon 
 
 The perilous way he goes. And now he peers 
 Down to the earth ; a madness seems to seize 
 His throbbing brain. With blows that bite like spears 
 
 He lashes the mad team by quick degrees 
 To greater madness. Like a whirlwind now 
 They rush, unwitting where they go, the breeze 
 
 All vain to cool their fever. On the brow 
 Of heaven's arch they stand an instant, then 
 Plunge madly down and down and down where bow 
 
 The clouds. And Phaeton, all quivering when 
 The horses paused, at that supernal leap 
 Felt loosed from bonds of flesh. Beyond his ken 
 71 
 
PHAETON 
 
 His exultation soared, the mighty deep 
 
 Of earth and heaven thrilhng with sympathy 
 At his emotion. Hardly could he keep 
 
 From springing out o' the car. To agony 
 His rapture grew, rapture too great for one 
 Of mortal birth. But now Zeus chanced to see 
 
 The horses plunging earthward, and upon 
 
 The earth all things grow blackened ; and he saw 
 The infinite bliss that maddened Phaeton ; 
 
 He saw the smouldering heaps of earth and straw 
 That once were houses, and he heard the prayer 
 Men moaned for aid. Compelled by final law 
 
 He hurled a bolt that, thrilling the parched air, 
 Struck Phaeton and bore him from the car. 
 And Hermes, the fair hero, he that bears 
 
 Wan spirits, calmed the steeds. But like a star 
 That slips from Heaven, toward the blackened plain 
 Fell Phaeton, and as he fell afar 
 
 And knew that Death was present, and his pain, 
 He murmured : " Gladly pay I my last breath 
 For this great rapture ; life had been but vain, 
 
 Henceforward, one long yearning after death." 
 
 72 
 
MOON-RISE 
 
 HEN Adam on his first terrestrial day 
 Beheld the dark devouring shades of night 
 i/ Descend and hide the garden from his sight, 
 He prostrate fell, and trembling strove to pray. 
 He pressed his forehead deep into the clay, 
 He harkened to earth's travail with affright; 
 He strove to still his breathing, lest it might 
 Enrage the Thing that drove the light away. 
 
 But when, as borne upon the night air's breath 
 A light shone, and the East therewith was dyed 
 To silver, Adam rose and saw the wide 
 Moon hurrying on as one that hasteneth. 
 Then was his heart released from fear of death, 
 And all the waiting world was glorified. 
 
 73 
 
PR^TERITA 
 
 l^^i^^(51IKE some old manuscript whereof each page 
 ^ T^^ ^^ blazoned with its sombre king or knight 
 Wv 's» S< Upon a golden ground whose aureole light 
 Is dim with time — so seems the vanished age 
 When sainted Louis held in vassalage 
 The realm of France and her crusading might, 
 Before Sire Joinville bade his scribe endite 
 The deeds of Louis and his baronage. 
 
 Between the iron rule of Charlemagne 
 And the bedizened, reckless Renaissance 
 It lies, this age when powers of Light were fain 
 Against the powers of Darkness to advance ; 
 A time as fair as Saturn's fabled reign — 
 The golden age of mediaeval France. 
 
 74 
 
ffi! 
 
 A BALLADE OF RIDING 
 
 3O, for a horse on a summer night ! 
 
 When the moon is full, and the winds at play 
 Laugh aloud in their free delight, 
 And have no will to stop nor stay. 
 And on rush we, away, away. 
 Under the forest boughs, so fleet 
 
 That we stir the leaves to dance and play, 
 And the whole world echoes with galloping feet 
 
 Thro' forest glades where the air is bright. 
 And moonlit branches glisten and sway, 
 
 And on thro' the midst of the forest's might 
 
 Where moonlight and shadow join tremulous fray, 
 Through darker aisles where never a ray 
 
 Of moon or star can find retreat; 
 
 And the darkness opens to give us way, 
 
 And the whole world echoes with galloping feet. 
 75 
 
A BALLADE OF RIDING 
 
 Hurrying on in our headlong flight, 
 
 We speed till we come in the night's decay 
 To the river, whose ripples, left and right, 
 
 Murmurous up to the edges stray. 
 
 Along the banks our course we lay. 
 And eastward speed the dawn to greet. 
 
 While the moon looks down so sad and gray, 
 And the whole world echoes with galloping feet. 
 
 Friend, is there any joy which may 
 Compare with this, when the pulses beat. 
 When life is young, and the heart is gay. 
 And the whole world echoes with galloping feet ? 
 
 76 
 
REQUIEM 
 
 ^OW she is dead, 
 
 What shall be said of her 
 
 By any man whose hand hath stroked her head, 
 Who was her worshipper? 
 Her tale is said ; 
 
 The glory of her palpitant life hath sped. 
 Come, lay her in the tomb 
 Where nought shall stir 
 Within the mantling of the reverent gloom. 
 
 She had no soul — 
 
 Nay, you that knew her well, 
 
 That made her timorous heart your utmost goal. 
 
 Yea, even you must tell 
 
 How the bells' toll 
 
 Hath signified the closing of the scroll 
 
 Whose rubric was her face. 
 
 The funeral knell 
 
 Hath rung the curtain on her radiant grace. 
 
 n 
 
REQUIEM 
 
 But where she lies 
 
 Plant every flower that grows. 
 
 Let violets set us dreaming of her eyes; 
 
 And for her heart a rose 
 
 With crimson dyes 
 
 Shall paint for us a murmurous paradise. 
 
 Let lilies flaunt and float 
 
 Within the close 
 
 In memory of the marvel of her throat. 
 
 And for her hair 
 
 Let tender fronds of fern 
 
 Grow tremulous in the enamoured air 
 
 Around her carven urn. 
 
 She was so fair, 
 
 We must not think what now is lying there 
 
 Beneath the sod, 
 
 Lest we should spurn 
 
 What once we worshipped as the proof of God. 
 
 78 
 
FIVE SONNETS 
 
 5IRST seeing thee, in heart a rebel, I 
 
 Half-knew that thou wouldst rule my life for me, 
 Yet impotently fought the tyranny 
 As earth resists the dominating sky. 
 I did not dare with mine to meet thine eye 
 For fear of being utter thrall to thee. 
 And half I hated — my hostility 
 Was but a mask for love, was but a lie. 
 
 Ah fool ! I did not know how sweet it is 
 To own a master ; to give up the fight, 
 And yield me to the overmastering bliss 
 Of being loved and loving. How my sight, 
 By struggle cleared, hath sounded Love's abyss, 
 And rapturous I yield me to his might. 
 
 79 
 
FIVE SONNETS 
 
 II. 
 
 It came upon me like a flash of sun 
 A-piercing through the cloudy raiment spread 
 Beneath the sky: "Why, this is love !" I said, 
 "And this is she, the Love-appointed one." 
 I know that long before had love begun 
 To turn my heart to her ere I had read 
 Its timorous path ; and so the sun had sped 
 Behind the threatening veil the clouds had spun. 
 
 Oh, who can tell the rapture of the thought 
 That some one sitteth, murmuring my name 
 Even as I murmur hers? So love hath brought 
 Our souls into the compass of one frame ; 
 We are twin spirits in one body caught. 
 Two sister sparks of God's eternal flame. 
 
 80 
 
FIVE SONNETS 
 
 III. 
 
 Together, side by side, we watched the dawn 
 Creep slowly from the shrouded lap of night. 
 The westering moon was shorn of half its light 
 By day's advance, and all the stars grew wan. 
 Within, the revelling dancers had not gone; 
 We heard their far-off laughter of delight ; 
 The music came with faint, pulsating might, 
 And fell with dying cadence on the lawn. 
 
 Beloved, I felt our twin-born spirits soar 
 
 Beyond the barriers of this earthly frame. 
 
 And mingling each with each, pass through the door 
 
 Archangels guard, their swords alive with flame, 
 
 Unto our Lady's feet ; and evermore 
 
 I love the Virgin since she bears thy name. 
 
FIVE SONNETS 
 
 IV. 
 
 Her name makes glad my lips when I awake 
 
 And laugh a welcome to the jocund day, 
 
 The while, about me, memories of her play — 
 
 Of things she did once, or of words she spake. 
 
 And if inevitable care o'ertake 
 
 My path — what life eternally is gay ? — 
 
 I think of her, and hasten care away, 
 
 And life is full of flowers for her sweet sake — 
 
 And when at night I turn me to my rest, 
 I think upon her love, and smile at fate. 
 I marvel my affection should be blest 
 With such a vast return ; thus, soon or late. 
 Whether my fortunes be at worst or best. 
 My livelong day to her is consecrate. 
 
FIVE SONNETS 
 
 Now she whom I swore true eternally 
 Has failed in loving, and I know not why. 
 I shall not ask the reason — she and I 
 Have been too near for questioning from me. 
 I '11 not reproach her ; her love should be free 
 However mine be bound; nor shall I cry 
 Because she loveth me no more, nor try 
 To hide from her my utter misery. 
 
 Suffice it she hath loved, and I love still — 
 More rapture than my merit had deserved ; 
 No gift had I to please her, but the will. 
 I did but duty had I never swerved 
 From striving her sweet wishes to fulfil. 
 I am rewarded in that I have served. 
 
 83 
 
NURSE'S SONG 
 
 ^^^HE serpent said; 
 
 ' A maid hath come to slumber in the grass ; 
 I will steal toward her softly, round her pass, 
 And sting her dead. 
 I am enamoured of her lovely head, 
 And fain would make for me a nest therein, 
 Where I may lie and brood on my great sin." 
 
 The serpent said : 
 
 " I shall make windows of her azure eyes, 
 
 Where through my sight may reach unto the skies, 
 
 When she is dead. 
 
 I will be guardian of her golden head ; 
 
 No worm shall gnaw the texture of her skin 
 
 For fear of me and horror of my sin." 
 
 84 
 
COMPLETION 
 
 LOVED your body for its gracious might, 
 Its suppleness, and for the vast repose 
 That were to me as perfume, music, light, 
 
 Complete in all things as a perfect rose. 
 
 I loved your heart, since it was utter truth, 
 
 And felt no need to mask itself, or lie ; 
 
 I loved it for its openness of youth, 
 
 Which never stooped to flatter or decry. 
 
 I loved your mind for its audacity. 
 
 Not caring what the world might choose to think ; 
 
 Determined its own monitor to be. 
 
 Disdaining from frequented wells to drink. 
 
 And all these three, which made one rounded whole, 
 
 I loved together, for I loved your soul. 
 
 85 
 
p> 
 
 RETIREMENT 
 
 )N dusky Nubia Rameses the great 
 Exhumed a temple from the living stone. 
 He wrought it for the joys of Gods alone, 
 Where they could dwell serene and brood on fate. 
 Afar from mortal glory, paltry state, 
 Eternally removed from hymn or moan, 
 Horemku, Amen, Ptah, with crown and throne, 
 The end of all things tranquilly await. 
 
 I too would carve, with what I have of art. 
 Inviolable, a sacred citadel 
 Within the utmost province of my heart. 
 Where, safe as spouse of God in convent cell, 
 My buried love, forevermore apart. 
 Serene unto eternity may dwell. 
 
 86 
 
SONG 
 
 5iHERE met we last ? What recollections rise 
 Within our hearts from out a shameful past ; 
 My soul springs up as many tongues, and cries; 
 "Where met we last ? " 
 
 The self-same sun is hurrying westward fast; 
 The same old landscape round about us lies ; 
 The self-same trees are bending in the blast. 
 
 But we who once gazed in each other's eyes 
 Unceasing, pass on now with eyes downcast. 
 We shudder as at faintly heard replies : 
 Where met we last ! 
 
 87 
 
CONFESSIONS 
 
 2:^1!PH, crimson rose, I 've searched the garden through, 
 Alkired by sweetest scents and colours rare; 
 rr^^ No other blossom shall my rapture share, 
 My heart shall breathe its secret but to you. 
 Oh, crimson rose, I know you will be true, 
 As true as she whose plighted love I bear . . . 
 With whispering plighted, while her glorious hair 
 Bent to my kisses, and my worship grew. 
 
 Oh, crimson rose, your glowing heart is deep, 
 But hers is deeper, and it hath confessed 
 Such secrets that the blessed angels weep 
 With holy envy. See, your lot is blessed ; 
 I send you from the garden stilled in sleep, 
 To die with rapture on my Lady's breast. 
 
 88 
 
HER PICTURE 
 
 HAT of her picture ? Nay it is not she, 
 Tho' all that lieth in it is so fair : 
 :L/ The silken eyelid and the heapy hair. 
 The haunting profile with its mystery — 
 The woman's heart for honest eyes to see, 
 The smile that drives a lover to despair, 
 Tho' these which seem her very self are there 
 That self from such imprisonment is free. 
 
 And yet I love her picture, lacking her, 
 And having her I still should cherish it. 
 I love each feature, though it doth not stir 
 I love the smiles that o'er her features flit. 
 Seeing her portrait, I 'm her worshipper. 
 And seeing her I love her counterfeit. 
 
 7* 
 
SAINT LOUIS 
 
 "Pensa oramai qual fu colui, che degno 
 Collega fu a mantener la barca 
 Di Pietro in alto mar per dritto segno ! " 
 
 Paradiso, XI, ii8. 
 
 ."i^aAfFTLTHOUGH this world be evil as they say 
 
 r,^mW;? Who struggle fiercely for the needful bread 
 
 i^^V^^3 To link their bitter life from day to day ; 
 
 Tho' it may be that pleasure soon is sped, 
 That joy is shadowed by a hovering pain, 
 And peace comes only when a man is dead ; 
 
 Yet now and then there swelleth such a strain 
 Of life harmonious on this earth of ours 
 It proves that virtue is no more in vain 
 
 Than is the beauty of the April flowers 
 
 When Spring returns with rapture unto men 
 And lends beatitude to all his hours. 
 
 And one such life the whole world witnessed when 
 St. Louis governed France with so much right 
 That eyes may hardly see its like again. 
 90 
 
SAINT LOUIS 
 
 For three ideals kept he in his sight 
 
 Which may by many knights have been defiled, 
 
 Yet must have guided every perfect knight. 
 The first : all duty to the God who smiled 
 
 In yielding up his best beloved for us 
 
 To come among us as a little child. 
 The second : love and worship chivalrous 
 
 For every woman, be she high or low, 
 
 For sake of Mary mother piteous 
 Whose offspring bore the burden of our woe. 
 
 The third : obedience to the slightest call 
 
 Of knightly duty that his strength might owe 
 Unto his vassals both in cot and hall. 
 
 Nor did he deem the last ideal the least r 
 
 For ever strove he to be just to all 
 And render others just. No knight nor priest 
 
 Oppressed the peasant, lest the king should hear. 
 
 And oftentimes he gave his royal feast 
 Unto a beggar, and his royal gear, 
 
 And took himself the beggar's crust of bread 
 
 However hard ; nor dared a courtier sneer 
 At seeing him dressed out in rags instead 
 
 Of royal raiment such as monarchs wear. 
 
 And any one whose heart with wrong had bled 
 91 
 
SAINT LOUIS 
 
 Was free to tell it, knowing he would care 
 For all his people. Nay, he used to sit 
 In summer in his orcliard-close, and there 
 
 Surrounded by his knights and men of wit 
 Would listen to complaints from every one, 
 And having weighed the wrong, would answer it. 
 
 And for the lofty saw he justice done 
 As well as for the lowly, so that he 
 Was held the justest man beneath the sun. 
 
 And neighbouring monarchs in their rivalry, 
 However jealous, would submit their claim 
 To him, confiding in his equity. 
 
 For ever did he deem it utter shame 
 For man to use a woman scornfully, 
 And utter ruin to a warrior's fame. 
 
 When he was young with holy reverence he 
 Demeaned himself to her that gave him birth, 
 Tho' oftentimes right tyrannous was she. 
 
 And as the finest knight in all the earth 
 He ever bore him toward the southern wife 
 His mother brought him from the land of mirth, 
 
 Provence. At no time in the thick of strife, 
 Tho' 'gainst his foes he bore him like a man. 
 Forgot he courtesy in all his life. 
 92 
 
SAINT LOUIS 
 
 And when in the crusade he led the van, 
 He acted rather as his people's sire, 
 And spared their strength as much as leader can. 
 
 And for the first ideal of his desire — 
 His service to his Master — as a lad 
 He taught his spirit upward to aspire. 
 
 A keen dehght in godly things he had, 
 He loved his matins and his vespers well, 
 He made the hearts of Christian shepherds glad. 
 
 And more ; a faith-sustaining miracle, 
 Within the dingy walls of Paris-town 
 He reared for Mary's love the Sainte Chapelle. 
 
 Yet never suffered to be trodden down 
 
 For all his meekness ; rather held his own 
 With sturdy arm, and girt up knightly gown 
 
 'Gainst threateners of his conscience or his throne, 
 Whether the crosier or the lance they bore. 
 And even the Holy Father had to own 
 
 The king was right, and never ventured more 
 Against the Gallic freedom to advance 
 While Louis IX. the royal mantle wore. 
 
 Yet more he wrought for God; uplifted lance 
 Undaunted did he bear in two crusades, 
 Tho' all his heart was pining for his France. 
 93 
 
SAINT LOUIS 
 
 He toiled through perils, sudden ambuscades, 
 Long sieges, fevers, battles, fights at sea, 
 Nor 'scaped the skill of Saracenic blades. 
 
 And though his prowess oft snatched victory 
 From hopelessness, the times were not in tune 
 For Palestine in Christian hands to be. 
 
 So Louis was denied the utmost boon 
 
 A knight could ask : to free the Sepulchre — 
 Yet suffered in the trying, for, one noon. 
 
 In Egypt, when the air could scarcely stir 
 For sullen heat, while yet the battle roared 
 More fiercely than the fabled thunderer. 
 
 The king, with shattered strength and broken sword, 
 Divided from his knights in the affray, 
 Was captured by the Babylonian lord. 
 
 And captive held until his land should pay 
 A royal ransom for her knight and king. 
 All Christendom was drowned in tears that day. 
 
 His death came from his second journeying 
 As holy warrior ; for a second time 
 Against the Pagans warred this sainted king. 
 
 But this time he was somewhat past his prime. 
 Was spent with all his years of knightly war, 
 And weary with combatting earthly crime. 
 94 
 
SAINT LOUIS 
 
 So, scarcely had he touched the northern shore 
 Of Africa, the land of hoary sin, 
 Which once th' adulterous Carthaginians bore 
 
 (His purpose was 'gainst Tunis to begin 
 The holy strife), when he was forced to lie 
 Upon his couch, his royal tent within. 
 
 Beneath the fervent Carthaginian sky 
 
 Which cloudless gazes on the fevered earth, 
 And changes not tho' kings and nations die. 
 
 He lay as helpless as a babe at birth. 
 And felt the fever stealthily advance 
 While all man's leach-craft was of little worth. 
 
 Just as he died, as tho' within a trance, 
 
 The king forgot that cursed land and brown, 
 And dying, thought him in his cherished France, 
 
 Within his well-beloved Paris-town. 
 
 And so he died, nor left his like behind, 
 
 And changed his mortal for a martyr's crown ; 
 
 By God made priest and king of all mankind. 
 
 95 
 
THIS IS THE END OF 
 
 THE QUEST OF HERACLES 
 
 WRITTEN BY HUGH McCULLOCH, Jr. 
 
 AND PRINTED FOR 
 
 STONE & KIMBALL 
 
 CAMBRIDGE AND CHICAGO 
 
 AT THE DE VINNE PRESS 
 
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 JINDERY INC. 
 
 . DEC 88 
 
 »vvi=l^ N. MANCHESTER, 
 *^fe^ INDIANA 46962 
 
 
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