BOOKS BY MR. STEDMAN PROSE AND POETIC WORKS. Including Poems, Victorian Poets, Poets of America, Nature and Elements of Poetry. 4 vols. uniform, crown 8vo, gilt top, in box, $7.50. POEMS. Household Edition. With Portrait and Illustra tions. I2mo, $I.50; full gilt, $2.00o. HAWTHORNE, AND OTHER POEMS. I6mo, $I.25. VICTORIAN POETS. Revised and Enlarged Edition. Crown 8vo, gilt top, $2.25. POETS OF AMERICA. A companion volume to " Vic torian Poets." Crown 8vo, gilt top, $z.25. THE NATURE AND ELEMENTS OF POETRY. Crown 8vo, gilt top, $I.50. A VICTORIAN ANTHOLOGY. x837-I895. Selec tions illustrating the Editor's Critical Review of British Poetry in the Reign of Victoria. Large 8vo, gilt top, $2. 50 i full gilt, $3.00. POEMS NOW FIRST COLLECTED. xizmo, gilt top, $1-.50. AN AMERICAN ANTHOLOGY. Selections illustrat ing the Editor's Critical Review of Poetry in America. Large 8vo. (In Preparation.) HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN AND COMPANY BOSTON AND NEW YORK POEMS NOW FIRST COLLECTED POEMM F I R S T C TED: By CLARENCE DMAN BOSTON: HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN AND COMPANY: NEW Y-oRK MDCCCXCVII I~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ N O W COLLE EDMUND STE er.af"e COPYRIGHT x897 BY EDMUND CLARENCE STEDMAN ALL RIGHTS RESERVED TO MY WIFE CONTENTS I VARIOUS POEMS PAGE 3 5 MUSIC AT HOME THE HAND OF LINCOLN. NOCTURNE... - YE TOMBE OF YE POET CHAUCER " THE CONSTANT HEART GUESTS AT YULE.. THE OLD PICTURE-DEALER THE WORLD WELL LOST. HEBE... SOUVENIR DE JEUNESSE A VIGIL... THE STAR BEARER. EVENTIDE.. HELEN KELLER PORTRAIT D'UNE DAME ESPAGNOLE vii 8 10 14 i6 j8 22 24 30 32 34 38 39 41 CONTENTS A SEA-CHANGE, AT KELP ROCK HAREBELL... THE PILGRIMS.. MORS BENEFICA PROEM TO A VICTORIAN A ON WHITE CARNATIONS BIRTHDAY. FATHER JARDINE.. FIN DE SIECLE.. II OTHER SONGS AND BALLADS FALSTAFF'S SONG. PROVENCAL LOVERS. THE WEDDING-DAY THE DUTCH PATROL. WITCHCRAFT, I., A.D. I692 i II., A. D. I884 AARON BURR'S WOOING. COUSIN LUCRECE HUNTINGTON HOUSE CENTURIA INSCRIPTIONS vii v111 43 48 51 52 53 GIVEN ME FOR MY 54 55 58 65 67 70 72 77 79 8 ii 84. 8 9 92 .. 94 CONTENTS III COMMEMORATIONS THE DEATH OF BRYANT GIFFORD.... CORDA CONCORDIA... ON A GREAT MAN WHOSE MIND IS CLOUDING ON THE DEATH OF AN INVINCIBLE SOLDIER LIBERTY ENLIGHTENING THE WORLD AD VIGILEM... " ERGO IRIS " W. W. BYRON.... YALE ODE FOR COMMENCEMENT DAY " UBI SUNT QUI ANTE NOS?". IV THE CARIB SEA KENNST DU?.. SARGASSO WEED. CASTLE ISLAND LIGHT CHRISTOPHE. ix 97 103 105 115 ii6 lig . 1 22 123 . 124 125 . 130 132 . 141 145 . 147 153 CONTENTS LA SOURCE... TO L. H. S... JAMAICA... CREOLE LOVER'S SONG THE ROSE AND THE JASMINE FERN-LAND... MORGAN.. CAPTAIN FRANCISCA PANAMA. MARTINIQUE IDYL ASTRA CAELI. V ARIEL ARIE*.. 0 NOTE - Having delayed collecting my own poems of recent years, I now find them so various in theme, motive, and expression as to render their arrangement a somewhat difficult task. The plan finally adopted seems as good as any other. With few exceptions, the pieces within each of the general divisions are given in the order of their composition as shown by the respective dates. The Caribbean series has been completed for this volume, and much of it appears for the first time. E. C. S. x . 155 159 . x6z x66 . x69 174 . ii 8 ii x84 . Igo . 192 . x96 ARIEL. 201 Thou, - whose endearing hand once laid in sooth Upon thy follower, no want thenceforth, Nor toil, nor joy and pain, nor waste of years Filled with all cares that deaden and subdue, Can make thee less to him - can make thee less Than sovereign queen, his first liege, and his last Remembered to the unconscious dying hour, Return and be thou kind, bright Spirit of song, Thou whom I yet loved most, loved most of all Even when I left thee - I, now so long strayed From thy beholding! And renew, renew Thy gft to me fain clinging to thy robe! Still be thou kind, for still thou wast most dear. I897 I VARIOUS POEMS MUSIC AT HOME I SAT beneath a fragrant tasselled tree, Whose trunk encoiling vines had made to be A glossy fount of leafage. Sweet the air, Far-off the smoke-veiled city and its care, Precious and near the book within my handThe deathless song of that immortal land Wherefrom Keats took his young Endymion And laurelled bards enow their wreaths have won; When from some topmost spray began to chant And flute, and trill, a warbling visitant, A cat-bird, riotous the world above, Hasting to spend his heritage ere love Should music change to madness in his throat, Leaving him naught but one discordant note. And as my home-bred chorister outvied The nightingale, old England's lark beside, I thought - What need to borrow? Lustier clime Than ours Earth has not, - nor her scroll a time Ampler of human glory and desire To touch the plume, the brush, the lips, with fire; 3 MUSIC AT HOME No sunrise chant on ancient shore and sea, Since sang the morning stars, more worth shall be Than ours, once uttered from the very heart Of the glad race that here shall act its part. Blithe prodigal, the rhythm free and strong Of thy brave voice forecasts our poet's song! 4 THE HAND OF LINCOLN LOOK on this cast, and know the hand That bore a nation in its hold: From this mute witness understand What Lincoln was, -how large of mould The man who sped the woodman's team, And deepest sunk the ploughman's share, And pushed the laden raft astream, Of fate before him unaware. This was the hand that knew to swing The axe - since thus would Freedom train Her son -and made the forest ring, And drove the wedge, and toiled amain. Firm hand, that loftier office took, A conscious leader's will obeyed, And, when men sought his word and look, With steadfast might the gathering swayed. 5 THE HAND OF LINCOLN No courtier's, toying with a sword, Nor minstrel's, laid across a lute; A chief's, uplifted to the Lord When all the kings of earth were mute! The hand of Anak, sinewed strong, The fingers that on greatness clutch; Yet, lo! the marks their lines along Of one who strove and suffered much. For here in knotted cord and vein I trace the varying chart of years; I know the troubled heart, the strain, The weight of Atlas - and the tears. Again I see the patient brow That palm erewhile was wont to press; And now't is furrowed deep, and now Made smooth with hope and tenderness. For something of a formless grace This moulded outline plays about; A pitying flame, beyond our trace, Breathes like a spirit, in and out, 6 THE HAND OF LINCOLN The love that cast an aureole Round one who, longer to endure, Called mirth to ease his ceaseless dole, Yet kept his nobler purpose sure. Lo, as I gaze, the statured man, Built up from yon large hand, appears: A type that Nature wills to plan But once in all a people's years. What better than this voiceless cast To tell of such a one as he, Since through its living semblance passed The thought that bade a race be free! x883 7 NOCTURNE THE silent world is sleeping, And spirits hover nigh, With downward pinions keeping Our love from mortal eye, Nor any ear of Earth can hear The heart-beat and the sigh. Now no more the twilight bird Showers his triple notes around; In the dewy paths is heard No rude footfall's sound. In the stillness I await Thy coming late, In the dusk would lay my heart Close to thine own, and say how dear thou art! O life! O rarest hour! When the dark world onward rolls, And the fiery planets drift, Then from our commingled souls 8 NOCTURNE Clouds of passion and of power, Flames of incense, lift! Come, for the world is turning To meet the morning star! Answer my spirit's yearning And seek the arms that call thee from afar: Let them close-ah, let them close Around thee now, and lure thee to repose. x878 9 "-YE TOMBE OF YEF POET CHAUCER" ABBOT and monks of Westminster Here placed his tomb, in all men's view. "Our Chaucer dead? " - King Harry said, "A mass for him, and burial due!" This very aisle his footsteps knew; Here Gower's benediction fell, Brother thou were and minstral trewe; Now slepe thou wel. There died with that old century's death, I wot, five hundred years ago, One whose blithe heart, whose morning art, Made England's Castaly to flow. He in whose song that fount we know, With every tale the skylarks tell, Had right, Saint Bennet's wall below To slumber well. Eftsoons his master piously In Surrey hied him to his rest; IO "bYE TOMBE OF yE POET CHAUCER" The Thames, between their closes green, Parted these warblers breast from breast, - The gravest from the joyfulest Whose notes the matin chorus swell: A league divided, east and west, They slumber well. Is there no care in holy ground The world's deep undertone to hear? Can this strong sleep our Chaucer keep When May-time buds and blossoms peer? Less strange that many a sceptred year, While the twin houses towered and fell, Alike through England's pride and fear, He slumbered well. The envious Roses woefully By turns a bleeding kingdom sway; Thrones topple down, to robe and crown Who comes at last must hew his way. No sound of all that piteous fray, Nor of its ceasing, breaks the spell; Still on, to great Eliza's day, He slumbers well. II "CyE TOMBE OF yE POET CHAUCER" Methinks, had Shakespeare lightly walked Anear him in the minster old, He would have heard,- his sleep had stirred With dreams of wonders manifold; Even though no sad vibration told His ear when sounded Mary's knell, Though, when the mask on Charles laid hold, He slumbered well. In climes beyond his calendar The latest century's splendors grow; London is great,- the Abbey's state A young world's eager wanderers know; New songs, new minstrels, come and go; Naught as of old outside his cell, Just as of old, within it low, He slumbers well. And now, when hawthorn is in flower, And throstles sing as once sang he, In this last age, on pilgrimage Like mine from lands that distant be, Come youths and maidens, summer-free, Where shades of bards and warriors dwell, And say, "The sire of minstrelsy Here slumbers well;" I z2 "'yE TOMBE OF yE POET CHAUCER" And say, "While London's Abbey stands No less shall England's strength endure!" Ay, though its old wall crumbling fall, Shall last her song's sweet overture; Some purling stream shall flow, be sure, From out the ivied heap, to tell That here the fount of English pure Long slumbered well. i879 I 3 THE CONSTANT HEART SADDE songe is out of season When birdes and lovers mate, When soule to soule must paye swete toll And fate be joyned with fate; Sadde songe and wofull thought controle This constant heart of myne, And make newe love a treason Unto my Valentine. How shall my wan lippes utter Their summons to the dedde,Where nowe repeate the promise swete, So farre my love hath fledd? My onely love! What musicke fleet Shall crosse the walle that barres? To earthe the burthen mutter, Or singe it to the starrs? Perchance she dwelles a spirite In beautye undestroyed I4 THE CONSTANT HEART Where brightest starrs are closely sett Farre out beyonde the voyd; If Margaret be risen yet Her looke will hither turne, I knowe that she will heare it, And all my trewe heart learne. But if no resurrection Unseale her dwellinge low, If one so fayre must bide her there Until the trumpe shall blowe, Nathlesse shall Love outvie Despaire, (Whilst constant heart is myne) And, robbed of her perfection, Be faithfull to her shrine. At this blythe season bending Ile whisper to the clodde, To the chill grasse where shadowes passe And leaflesse branches nodde; There keepe my watche, and crye -Alas That Love may not forget, That Joye must have swifte ending And Life be laggard yet! i882 x5 GUESTS AT YULE Noe! Noel! Thus sounds each Christmas bell Across the winter snow. But what are the little footprints all That mark the path from the church-yard wall? They are those of the children waked to-night From sleep by the Christmas bells and light: Ring sweetly, chimes! Soft, soft, my rhymes! Their beds are under the snow. Noel! NAoel! Carols each Christmas bell. What are the wraiths of mist That gather anear the window-pane Where the winter frost all day has lain? They are soulless elves, who fain would peer Within, and laugh at our Christmas cheer: Ring fleetly, chimes! Swift, swift, my rhymes! They are made of the mocking mist. i6 GUESTS AT YULE Noel! Noel! Cease, cease, each Christmas bell! Under the holly bough, Where the happy children throng and shout, What shadow seems to flit about? Is it the mother, then, who died Ere the greens were sere last Christmas-tide? Hush, falling chimes! Cease, cease, my rhymes! The guests are gathered now. i882 I 7 THE OLD PICTURE-DEALER THE second landing-place. Above, Sun-pictures for a shilling each. Below, a haunt that Teutons love, Beer, smoke and pretzels all in reach. Between the two, a mouldy nook Where loungers hunt for things of worthEngraving, curio, or book Here drifted from all over Earth. Be the day's traffic more or less, Old Brian seeks his Leyden chair Placed in the ante-room's recess, Our connoisseur's securest lair: Here, turning full the burner's rays, Holds long his treasure-trove in sight,Upon a painting sets his gaze Like some devoted eremite. The book-worms rummage as they will, Loud roars the wonted Broadway din, I8 THE OLD PICTURE-DEALER Life runs its hackneyed round, -but still One tireless boon can Brian win,Can picture in this modern time A life no more the world shall know, And dream of Beauty at her prime In Parma, with Correggio. Withered the dealer's face, and old, But wearing yet the first surprise Of him whose eyes the light behold Of Italy and Paradise: Forever blest, forever young, The rapt Madonna poises there, Her praise by hovering cherubs sung, Her robes by ether buoyed, not air. See from the graybeard's meerschaum float A cloud of incense! Day or night, He needs must steal apart to note Her grace, her consecrating light. With less ecstatic worship lay, Before his marble goddess prone, The crippled poet, that last day When in the Louvre he made his moan. I9 THE OLD PICTURE-DEALER Warm grows the radiant masterpiece, The sweetness of Correggio! The visionary hues increase, Angelic lustres come and go; And still, as still in Parma too, - In Rome, Bologna, Florence, all,Goes on the outer world's ado, Life's transitory, harsh recall. A real Correggio? And here! Yes, to the one impassioned heart, Transfiguring all, the strokes appear That mark the perfect master's art. You question of the proof? You owe More faith to fact than fancy? Hush! Look with expectant eyes, and know, With him, the hand that held the brush! The same wild thought that warmed from stone The Venus of the monkish Gest, The image of Pygmalion, Here finds Correggio confest. And Art requires its votary: The Queen of Heaven herself may pine When these quaint rooms no longer see The one that knew her all divine. 20 THE OLD PICTURE-DEALER Ah, me! ah me, for centuries veiled! (The desolate Virgin then may say,) Once more my rainbow tints are paled With that unquestioning soul away - Whose faith compelled the sun, the stars, To yield their halos for my sake, And saw through Time's obscuring bars The Parmese master's glory break! i883 2I THE WORLD WELL LOST THAT year? Yes, doubtless I remember still, - Though why take count of every wind that blows! 'T was plain, men said, that Fortune used me ill That year, - the self-same year I met with Rose. Crops failed; wealth took a flight; house, treasure, land, Slipped from my hold -thus plenty comes and goes. One friend I had, but he too loosed his hand (Or was it I?) the year I met with Rose. There was a war, I think; some rumor, too, Of famine, pestilence, fire, deluge, snows; Things went awry. My rivals, straight in view, Throve, spite of all; but I,- I met with Rose. 22 THE WORLD WELL LOST That year my white-faced Alma pined and died: Some trouble vexed her quiet heart, - who knows? Not I, who scarcely missed her from my side, Or aught else gone, the year I met with Rose. Was there no more? Yes, that year life began: All life before a dream, false joys, light woes,All after-life compressed within the span Of that one year, -the year I met with Rose! I883 23 HEBE SEE, what a beauty! Half-shut eyes, Hide all buff, and without a break To the tail's brown tuft that mostly lies So quiet one thinks her scarce awake; But pass too near, one step too free, You find her slumber a devil's truce: Up comes that paw, - all plush, you see, - Out four claws, fit for Satan's use. 'Ware! Just a sleeve's breadth closer then, And your last appearance on any stage! Loll, if you like, by Daniel's Den, But clear and away from Hebe's cage: That's Hebe! listen to that purr, Rumbling as from the ground below: Strange, when the ring begins to stir, The fleshings always vex her so. You think't were a rougher task by far To tame her mate with the sooty mane? 24 HEBE A splendid bronze for a showman's car, And listless enough for bit and rein. But Hebe is -just like all her sex - Not good, then bad, - be sure of that: In either case't would a sage perplex To make them out, both woman and cat. A curious record, Hebe's. Reared In Italy; age, - that's hard to fix; Trained from a cub, until she feared The lash, and learned her round of tricks; Always a traveller, - one of two A woman-tamer took in hand, Whipped them, coaxed them, and so they grew To fawn or cower at her command. None but Florina - that was her name And this the story of Hebe hereEntered their cage; the brutes were tame As kittens, though, their mistress near. A tall, proud wench as ever was seen, Supple and handsome, full of grace: The world would bow to a real queen That had Florina's form and face. 25 HEBE Her lover - for one she had, of course Was Marco, acrobat, circus-star, The lightest foot on a running horse, The surest leap from a swinging bar; And she, - so jealous he dared not touch A woman's hand, and, truth to say, He had no humor to tease her much Till a girl in spangles crossed their way. 'T was at Marseilles, the final scene: This pretty rider joined the ring, Ma'am'selle Celeste or Victorine, And captured him under Florina's wing. They hid their meetings, but when, you see, Doubt holds the candle, love will show, And in love's division the one of three, Whose share is lessened, needs must know. One night, then, after the throng outpoured From the show, and the lions my Lady's power Had been made to feel, with lash that scored And eye that cowed them, a snarling hour;(They were just in the mood for pleasantry Of those holidays when saints were thrown 26 HEBE To beasts, and the Romans, entrance-free, Clapped hands;) -that night, as she stood alone, Florina, Queen of the Lions, called Sir Marco toward her, while her hand Still touched the spring of a door that walled Her subjects safe within Lion-land. He came there panting, hot from the ring, So brave a figure that one might know Among all his tribe he must be king, - If in some wild tract you met him so. "Do you love me still," she asked, "as when You swore it first?" "Have never a doubt!" "But I have a fancy - men are men, And one whim drives another out," "What fancy? Is this all? Have done: You tire me." "Look you, Marco! oh, I should die if another woman won Your love, - but would kill you first, you know!" "Kill me? and how, - with a jealous tongue? " " THUS!" quoth Florina, and slipped the bolt 27 HEBE Of the cage's door, and headlong flung Sir Marco, ere he could breathe, the dolt! Plump on the lion he bounced, and fell Beyond, and Hebe leapt for him there,No need for their lady's voice to tell The work in hand for that ready pair. They say one would n't have cared to see The group commingled, man and beast, Or to hear the shrieks and roars, -all three One red, the feasters and the feast! Guns, pistols, blazed, till the lion sprawled, Shot dead, but Hebe held to her prey And drank his blood, while keepers bawled And their hot irons made yon scars that day. But the woman? True, I had forgot: She never flinched at the havoc made, Nor gave one cry, but there on the spot Drove to the heart her poniard-blade, Straight, like a man, and fell, nor stirred Again; - so that fine pair were dead; One lied, and the other kept her word, And death pays debts, when all is said. 28 HEBE So they hustled Hebe out of France, To Spain, or may be to England first. Then hitherward over seas, by chance, She came as you see her, always athirst, As if, like the tigresses that slink In the village canes of Hindostan, Of one rare draught she loves to think, And ever to get it must plan and plan. x884 29 SOUVENIR DE JEUNESSE WHEN Sibyl kept her tryst with me, the harvest moon was rounded, In evening hush through pathways lush with fern we reached the glade; The rippling river soft and low with fairy plashes sounded, The silver poplar rustled as we sat within its shade. "And why," she whispered, "evermore should lovers meet to sunder? Where stars arise in other skies let other lips than mine Their sorrows lisp, and other hearts at love's delay ing wonder O stay! "- and soon her tearful eyes were each a pearly shrine. I soothed her fears and stayed her tears, her hands in mine enfolding, 30 SOUVENIR DE JEUNESSE And then we cared no more for aught save this one hour we had; Upwelled that dreamful selfish tide of young Love's rapture, holding The fair round world itself in pledge to make us still more glad. For us the night was musical, for us the meadows shining; The summer air was odorous that we might breathe and love; Sweet Nature throbbed for us alone - her mother soul divining No fonder pair that fleeting hour her zephyrs sighed above. Amid the nodding rushes the heron drank his tip ple, The night-hawk's cry and whir anigh a deeper stillness made, A thousand little starlights danced upon the river's ripple, And the silver poplar rustled as we kissed within its shade. I884 3I A VIGIL I WALK the lane's dim hollow, - Past is the twilight hour, But stealthy shadows follow And Night withholds her power, For somewhere in the eastern sky The shrouded moon is high. Dews from the wild rose drip unheard, Their unforgotten scent With that of woods and grasses blent; No muffled flight of bird, No whispering voice, my footfall stops; No breeze amid the poplar-tops The smallest leaf has stirred. Yet round me, here and there, A little fluttering wind Plays now,- these senses have divined A breath across my hair,A touch, -that on my forehead lies, 32z A VIGIL And presses long These lips so mute of song, And now, with kisses cool, my half-shut eyes. This night? 0 what is here! What viewless aura clings So fitfully, so near, On this returning eventide When Memory will not be denied Unfettered wings? My arms reach out,- in vain, - They fold the air: And yet -that wandering breath again! Too vague to make her phantom plain, Too tender for despair. i884 33 THE STAR BEARER THERE were seven angels erst that spanned Heaven's roadway out through space, Lighting with stars, by God's command, The fringe of that high place Whence plumed beings in their joy, The servitors His thoughts employ, Fly ceaselessly. No goodlier band Looked upward to His face. There, on bright hovering wings that tire Never, they rested mute, Nor of far journeys had desire, Nor of the deathless fruit; For in and through each angel soul All waves of life and knowledge roll, Even as to nadir streamed the fire Of their torches resolute. They lighted Michael's outpost through Where fly the armored brood, 34 THE STAR BEARER And the wintry Earth their omens knew Of Spring's beatitude; Rude folk, ere yet the promise came, Gave to their orbs a heathen name, Saying how steadfast in men's view The watchful Pleiads stood. All in the solstice of the year, When the sun apace must turn, The seven bright angels'gan to hear Heaven's twin gates outward yearn: Forth with its light and minstrelsy A lordly troop came speeding by, And joyed to see each cresset sphere So gloriously burn. Staying his fearless passage then The Captain of that host Spake with strong voice: "We bear to men God's gift the uttermost, Whereof the oracle and sign Sibyl and sages may divine: A star shall blazon in their ken, Borne with us from your post. 35 THE STAR BEARER "This night the Heir of Heaven's throne A new-born mortal lies! Since Earth's first morning hath not shone Such joy in seraph eyes." He spake. The least in honor there Answered with longing like a prayer, "My star, albeit thenceforth unknown, Shall light for you Earth's skies." Onward the blessed legion swept, That angel at the head; (Where seven of old their station kept There are six that shine instead.) Straight hitherward came troop and star; Like some celestial bird afar Into Earth's night the cohort leapt With beauteous wings outspread. Dazzling the East beneath it there, The Star gave out its rays: Right through the still Judean air The shepherds see it blaze, They see the plume-borne heavenly throng, And hear a burst of that high song Of which in Paradise aware Saints count their years but days. 36 THE STAR BEARER For they sang such music as, I deem, In God's chief court of joys, Had stayed the flow of the crystal stream And made souls in mid-flight poise; They sang of Glory to Him most High, Of Peace on Earth abidingly, And of all delights the which, men dream, Nor sin nor grief alloys. Breathless the kneeling shepherds heard, Charmed from their first rude fear, Nor while that music dwelt had stirred Were it a month or year: And Mary Mother drank its flow, Couched with her Babe divine,-and, lo! Ere falls the last ecstatic word Three Holy Kings draw near. Whenas the star-led shining train Wheeled from their task complete, Skyward from over Bethlehem's plain They sped with rapture fleet; And the angel of that orient star, Thenceforth where Heaven's lordliest are, Stands with a harp, while Christ doth reign, A seraph near His feet. I887 37 EVENTIDE THE sunset fires old Portsmouth spires, Out creeps the ebbing tide; Beyond the battery-point I see A glimmering schooner glide; White flares the turning Whale-back light, The silent ground-swell rolls; Low and afar shines one red star Above the Isles of Shoals. x888 38 HELEN KELLER MUTE, sightless visitant, From what uncharted world Hast voyaged into Life's rude sea, With guidance scant; As if some bark mysteriously Should hither glide, with spars aslant And sails all furled? In what perpetual dawn, Child of the spotless brow, Hast kept thy spirit far withdrawn - Thy birthright undefiled? What views to thy sealed eyes appear? What voices mayst thou hear Speak as we know not how? Of grief and sin hast thou, O radiant child, Even thou, a share? Can mortal taint Have power on thee unfearing The woes our sight, our hearing, Learn from Earth's crime and plaint? 39 HELEN KELLER Not as we see Earth, sky, insensate forms, ourselves, Thou seest, - but vision-free Thy fancy soars and delves, Albeit no sounds to us relate The wondrous things Thy brave imaginings Within their starry night create. Pity thy unconfined Clear spirit, whose enfranchised eyes Use not their grosser sense? Ah, no! thy bright intelligence Hath its own Paradise, A realm wherein to hear and see Things hidden from our kind. Not thou, not thou -'t is we Are deaf, are dumb, are blind! xI888 4o PORTRAIT D'UNE DAME ESPAGNOLE (FORTUNY) THE hand that drew thee lies in Roman soil, Whilst on the canvas thou hast deathless grown, Endued by him who deemed it meaner toil To give the world a portrait save thine own. Yet had he found thy peer, and Rome forborne Such envy of his conquest over Time, Beauty had waked, and Art another morn Had gained, and ceased to sorrow for her prime. What spirit was it - where the masters are Brooding the gloom and glory that were Spain, Through centuries waited in its orb afar Until our age Fortuny's brush should gain? What stroke but his who pictured in their state Queen, beggar, noble, Philip's princely brood, 41 PORTRAIT D'UNE DAME ESPAGNOLE Could thus the boast of Seville recreate, Even when one like thee before him stood? Like thee, own child of Spain, whose beauteous pride, Desire, disdain, all sins thy mien express, Should need no absolution - hadst thou died Unhouselled, in their imaged loveliness. All this had Fate decreed, - the antique skill, The halt, the poise, the long auspicious day,Yielding this once, thy triumph to fulfil, Velasquez' sceptre to Fortuny's sway. Shine from thy cloud of night, fair star, nor fear Oblivion, though men thy dust inurn, For who may bid thy counterpart appear Until the hand that drew thee shall return! I889 42 A SEA-CHANGE, AT KELP ROCK JUST at this full noon of summer There's a touch, unfelt before, Charms our Coastland, smoothing from her The last crease her forehead wore: She, too, drains the sun-god's potion, Quits her part of anchorite, Smiles to see her leaden ocean Sparkle in the austral light; While the tidal depths beneath her Palpitate with warmth and love, And the infinite pure aether Floods the yearning creek and cove, Harbor, woodland, promontory, Swarded fields that slope between,And our gray tower, tinged with glory, Midway flames above the scene. On this day of all most luring, This one morn of all the year, 43 A SEA-CHANGE, AT KELP ROCK Read I - soul and body curing In the seaward loggia here - Once, twice, thrice, that chorus sweetest (Fortune's darling, Sophokles!) Of the grove whose steeds are fleetest, Nurtured by the sacred breeze; Of Kolonos, where in clusters Blooms narcissus- where unfold Ivied trees their leafy lustres And the crocus spreads its gold; Where the nightingales keep singing And the streamlets never cease, To the son of Laius bringing Rest at last, forgiveness, peace. Drops the book- but from its prison Tell me now what antique spell, Through the unclaspt cover risen, Moves the waves I know so well; Bids me find in them hereafter, Dimpled to their utmost zone With the old innumerous laughter, An ]Egean of my own? 44 A SEA-CHANGE, AT KELP ROCK Even so: the blue ]Egean Through our tendriled arches smiles, And the distant empyrean Curves to kiss enchanted isles: Isles of Shoals, I know -yet fancy This one day shall have free range, And yon isles her necromancy Shall to those of Hellas change. Look! beyond the lanterned pharos Girt with reefs that evermore, Lashed and foaming, cry "Beware us!" Cloud-white sails draw nigh the shore: Sails, methinks, of burnished galleys Wafting dark-browed maids within, From those island hills and valleys, Dread Athene's grace to win. Sandalled, coiffed, and white-robed maidens, Chanting in their carven boats; List! and hear anon the cadence Of their virginal fresh notes. You shall hear the choric hymnos, Or some clear prosodion Known to Delos, Naxos, Lemnos, Isles beneath the eastern sun. 45 A SEA-CHANGE, AT KELP ROCK 'T is the famed AEolian quire Bearing Pallas flowers and fruit - Some with white hands touch the lyre, Some with red lips kiss the flute; You shall see the vestured priestess, Violet-crowned, her chalice swing, Ere yon cerylus has ceased his Swirl upon "the sea-blue wing." In the great Panathenaea Climbing marble porch and stair, Soon before the statued Dea Votive baskets they shall bear, Sacred palm, and fragrant censer, Wine-cups But what vapor hoar, What cloud-curtain dense, and denser, Looms between them and the shore? Off, thou Norseland Terror, clouding Hellas with the jealous wraith Which, the gods of old enshrouding, Froze their hearts, the poet saith! 46 A SEA-CHANGE, AT KELP ROCK Vain the cry: from yon abysm Now the fog-horn's woeful blast - Stern New England's exorcism! - Ends my vision of the past. I890 47 HAREBELL A REPARATION "GRANT him," I said, "a well-earned name, The stage's knight, the keen assayer Of parts whence all save greatness came, But-not a player. "Strange, as of fate's perverseness, this Proud, eager soul, this fine-strung creature Should seem forever just to miss That touch of nature; "The instinct she so lightly gives Some fellow at his rivals snarling, Some churl who gains the boards, and lives Transformed- her darling!" "You think so?" he replied. "Well, I Thought likewise, maugre Lanciotto, 48 HAREBELL And Yorick, though his Cassius nigh Won Hamlet's motto. "But would you learn, as I, his clew To nature's heart, and judge him fairly Go see his rustic bard, go view His Man o' Airlie. "See that defenceless minstrel brought From hope to wan despair, from laughter To frenzy's moan: the image wrought Will haunt you after. "Then see him crowned at last! If such A guerdon waits the stricken poet, 'T were well, you'11 own, to bear as much Even die, to know it." " Bravo! " cried I, "I too, the thrill Must feel which thus your blood can waken." And once I saw upon the bill That part retaken; 49 HAREBELL But leagues of travel stretched between Me and that idyl played so rarely: And then -his death! nor had I seen "The Man o' Airlie." My failure; not the actor's, loved By all to art and nature loyal; Not his, whom Harebell's passion proved Of the blood royal. I89a so THE PILGRIMS O PILGRIM from the Indies! O guest from out the North, Where low and dun the midnight sun Upon the wave rides forth! What country is most dear of all Beneath the heaven blue? The dearest land is one's own land, Go search the wide world through. O know you not that henceforth All countries are as one? Ere summer fail, the world shall hail Its golden year begun. But still each pilgrim answering names The clime that gave him birth: One's own land is the dearest land Of allfair lands on earth. Children's Song, Columbian Exposition, 1893 5I MORS BENEFICA GIvE me to die unwitting of the day, And stricken in Life's brave heat, with senses clear: Not swathed and couched until the lines ap pear Of Death's wan mask upon this withering clay, But as that old man eloquent made way From Earth, a nation's conclave hushed anear; Or as the chief whose fates, that he may hear The victory, one glorious moment stay. Or, if not thus, then with no cry in vain, No ministrant beside to ward and weep, Hand upon helm I would my quittance gain In some wild turmoil of the waters deep, And sink content into a dreamless sleep (Spared grave and shroud) below the ancient main. I893 52 PROEM TO A VICTORIAN ANTHOLOGY ENGLAND! since Shakespeare died no loftier day For thee than lights herewith a century's goal, Nor statelier exit of heroic soul Conjoined with soul heroic, - nor a lay Excelling theirs who made renowned thy sway Even as they heard the billows which outroll Thine ancient sea, and left their joy and dole In song, and on the strand their mantles gray. Star-rayed with fame thine Abbey windows loom Above his dust, whom the Venetian barge Bore to the main; who passed the twofold marge To slumber in thy keeping, -yet make room For the great Laurifer, whose chanting large And sweet shall last until our tongue's far doom. i895 53 ON WHITE CARNATIONS GIVEN ME FOR MY BIRTHDAY ExQUISITE tufts of perfume and of light, Fair gift of Summer unto Autumn borne, Were but the years ye calendar as white, As sweet, as you, Age could not be forlorn. Yet, beauteous symbols of my only gain Love, portioned from your givers' envied share, Honor, whose laurel at their feet hath lain - Make me this night of Life's waste unaware! October 8, I894 54 FATHER JARDINE TRINITY CHURCH, ST. LOUIS AROUND his loins, when the last breath had gone From the gaunt frame -and death's encroach ing mist, A veil betwixt earth left and heaven won, Told naught of all it wist Close to the flesh, sore-lashed by waves of pain, They found the iron girth that ate his side, Its links worn bright: the cruel, secret chain, They found it when he died. Son of the Church, though worldlings spake her creed And smiled askance, even in the altar fold, This man, this piteous soul, believed indeed With the stern faith of old. 55 FATHER JARDINE Unquestioning aught, aye, in the eager West Surcharged with life that mocks the vague un known, His ligature of anguish unconfest He wore alone - alone. Alone? but trebly welded links of fate More lives than one are bidden to endure, Forged in a chain's indissoluble weight Of agonies more sure. His torture was self-torture; to his soul No jest of time irrevocably brought A woe more grim than underneath the stole His gnawing cincture wrought. Belike my garments, - yes, or thine, - conceal The sorer wound, the pitiabler throe, Not even the traitor Death shall quite reveal For his rough mutes to know. What the heart hungered for and was denied, Still foiled with guerdons for a world to see 56 FATHER JARDINE And envy it, -this furrows deep and wide Its grooves in thee- in me. Borne, always borne- what martyrdoms assoil The laden soul from hostile chance and blind? Nor time can loose the adamantine coil, Nor Azrael unbind. Redemption for the priest! but naught their gain Who forfeit still the one thing asked of Earth, Knowing all penance light beside this pain - All pleasure, nothing worth. 1894 57 FIN DE SIPCLE Now making exit to the outer vast Our century speeds, and shall retain no more Its perihelion splendor, save to cast A search-light on the chartless course before. I hear the murmur of our kind, whose eyes Follow the spread of that phantasmal ray; Who see as infants see, nor can surmise Aright of what is near- what far away. I hear the jest, the threnody, the low Recount of dreams which down the years have fled, Of fair romance now shattered with love's bow, Of legend brought to test, and passion dead. Dark Science broods in Fancy's hermitage, The rainbow fades, —and hushed, they say, is Song 5 8 FIN DE SI CLE With those high bards who lingering charmed the age Ere one by one they joined the statued throng. I hear the dirge for beauty sped, and faith Astray in space and time's far archways lost, Till Life itself becomes a tenuous wraith, A wandering shade whom wandering shades accost. Their light sad plaint I hear who thus divine The future, counselling that all is done, - Naught left for art's sweet touch- but to re fine, For courage- but to face the setting sun. I hear, yet have no will to falter so. We seek out matter's alchemy, and tame Force to our needs, but what shall make us know Whether the twain are parted, or the same? The same! then conscious substance, fetterless The more when most subdued to Will's con trol, 59 FIN DE SIECLE Free though in bonds, foredestined to progress, Ever, and ever still- the soul, the soul: The unvexed spirit, to whose sure intent All else is relative. Or large or small, The Afrit, cloud or being, free or pent, Enshrouds, impenetrates, and masters all. No grain of sand too narrow to enfold The spirit's incarnation; no vast land And sea, but, readjusted to their mould, It deems Atlantis scarce a grain of sand. Time's intervals are ages; planets sleep In death, or blaze in living light afar; Thought answers thought; deep calleth unto deep Alike within the globule and the star. Ay, even the rock-bound globe, which still doth feign Itself inanimate, itself shall seem From yonder void a bead upon the train Of heaven's warder rayed with beam on beam. 6o FIN DE SIECLE Life, when the harper tunes his shrillest string, As to low thunder lends a finer ear Unseen. Niagara's slow vibrating Is but the treble of the greater sphere, Whose lightest orchestras such movements play As mock the forest's moan, the bass profound Of surges that against deep barriers stay Their might, in throes which shake the ancient ground. Will, consciousness, the tenant lord of all, Self-tenanted, is still the wrinkled wave Which climbs a wave upon the clambering wall Beyond, or in the hollow seeks a grave. We time the ray, we pulsate with the fling Of ether -feel the sure magnetic thrill Make answer to each sombre vortex ring Whirled with the whirling sun that binds us still; That binds us, bound itself from girth to pole By some unconquerable deathless force 6i FIN DE SIECLE Akin to this which thinks, acts, feels, -the soul Of man, forever eddying like its source. Passion and jest, the laugh and wail of earth, High thought and speech, the rare considerings Of beauty that to fairer art gives birth, The winnowing of poesy's swift wings, - These though the hoary century inurn Our great -no gathering mould of time shall clod: They bide their hour, they pass but to return With men, as now, the progeny of God. I89z 62 II OTHER SONGS AND BALLADS FALSTAFF'S SONG WHERE'S he that died o' Wednesday? What place on earth hath he? A tailor's yard beneath, I wot, Where worms approaching be; For the wight that died o' Wednesday, Just laid the light below, Is dead as the varlet turned to clay A score of years ago. Where's he that died o' Sabba' day? Good Lord, I'd not be he! The best of days is foul enough From this world's fare to flee; And the saint that died o' Sabba' day, With his grave turf yet to grow, Is dead as the sinner brought to pray A hundred years ago. Where's he that died o' yesterday? What better chance hath he 65 FALSTAFF'S SONG To clink the can and toss the pot When this night's junkets be? For the lad that died o' yesterday Is just as dead -ho! ho! As the whoreson knave men laid away A thousand years ago. 66 PROVENtAL LOVERS AUCASSIN AND NICOLETTE WITHIN the garden of Beaucaire He met her by a secret stair, - The night was centuries ago. Said Aucassin, "My love, my pet, These old confessors vex me so! They threaten all the pains of hell Unless I give you up, ma belle; " Said Aucassin to Nicolette. "Now, who should there in Heaven be To fill your place, ma tres-douce mie? To reach that spot I little care! There all the droning priests are met; All the old cripples, too, are there That unto shrines and altars cling To filch the Peter-pence we bring; " Said Aucassin to Nicolette. 67 PROVENtAL LOVERS There are the barefoot monks and friars With gowns well tattered by the briars, The saints who lift their eyes and whine: I like them not - a starveling set! Who'd care with folk like these to dine? The other road't were just as well That you and I should take, ma belle! "Said Aucassin to Nicolette. To purgatory I would go With pleasant comrades whom we know, Fair scholars, minstrels, lusty knights Whose deeds the land will not forget, The captains of a hundred fights, The men of valor and degree: We'11 join that gallant company," - Said Aucassin to Nicolette. There, too, are jousts and joyance rare, And beauteous ladies debonair, The pretty dames, the merry brides, Who with their wedded lords coquette And have a friend or two besides, And all in gold and trappings gay, With furs, and crests in vair and gray;"Said Aucassin to Nicolette. 68 PROVEN(AL LOVERS "Sweet players on the cithern strings, And they who roam the world like kings, Are gathered there, so blithe and free! Pardie! I'd join them now, my pet, If you went also, ma douce mie! The joys of heaven I'd forego To have you with me there below," - Said Aucassin to Nicolette. 1878 69 THE WEDDING-DAY I SWEETHEART, name the day for me When we two shall wedded be. Make it ere another moon, While the meadows are in tune, And the trees are blossoming, And the robins mate and sing. Whisper, love, and name a day In this merry month of May. No, no, no, You shall not escape me so! Love will not forever wait; Roses fade when gathered late. II Fie, for shame, Sir Malcontent! How can time be better spent 70 THE WEDDING-DAY Than in wooing? I would wed When the clover blossoms red, When the air is full of bliss, And the sunshine like a kiss. If you're good I'11 grant a boon: You shall have me, sir, in June. Nay, nay, nay, Girls for once should have their way! If you love me, wait till June: Rosebuds wither, picked too soon. I878 7 I THE DUTCH PATROL WHEN Christmas-Eve is ended, Just at the noon of night, Rare things are seen by mortal een That have the second sight. In St. Mark's church-yard then They see the shape arise Of him who ruled Nieuw Amsterdam And here in slumber lies. His face, beneath the close black cap, Has a martial look and grim; On either side his locks fall wide To the broad collar's rim; His sleeves are slashed; the velvet coat Is fashioned Hollandese Above his fustian breeches, trimmed With scarf-knots at the knees. His leg of flesh is hosed in silk; His wooden leg is bound, 72 THE DUTCH PATROL As well befits a conqueror's, With silver bands around. He reads the lines that mark His tablet on the wall, Where boldly PETRUS STUYVESANT Stands out beyond them all. "'T is well! " he says, and sternly smiles, "They hold our memory dear; Nor rust nor moss hath crept across; 'T will last this many a year." Then down the path he strides, And through the iron gate, Where the sage Nine Men, his councillors, Their Governor await. Here are Van der Donck and Van Cortlandt, A triplet more of Vans, And Hendrick Kip of the haughty lip, And Govert Loockermans, Jan Jansen Dam, and Jansen, Of whom our annals tell,All risen this night their lord to greet At sound of the Christmas bell. 73 THE DUTCH PATROL Nine lusty forms in linsey coats, Puffed sleeves and ample hose! Each burgher smokes a Flemish pipe To warm his ancient nose; The smoke-wreaths rise like mist, The smokers all are mute, Yet all, with pipes thrice waving slow, Brave Stuyvesant salute. Then into ranks they fall, And step out three by three, And he of the wooden leg and staff In front walks solemnly. Along their wonted course The phantom troop patrol, To see how fares Nieuw Amsterdam, And what the years unroll. Street after street and mile on mile, From river bound to bound, From old St. Mark's to Whitehall Point, They foot the limits round; From Maiden Lane to Corlaer's Hook The Dutchmen's pypen glow, But never a word from their lips is heard, And none their passing know. 74 THE DUTCH PATROL Ere the first streak of dawn St. Mark's again they near, And by a vault the Nine Men halt, Their Governor's voice to hear. Mynheeren," he says, "ye see Each year our borders spread! Lo, one by one, the landmarks gone, And marvels come instead! Not even a windmill left, Nor a garden-plot we knew, And but a paling marks the spot Where erst my pear-tree grew. Our walks are wearier still, - Perchance and it were best, So little of worth is left on earth, To break no more our rest?" Thus speaks old Petrus doubtfully And shakes his valiant head, When- on the roofs a sound of hoofs, A rattling, pattering tread! The bells of reindeer tinkle, The Dutchmen plainly spy St. Nicholas, who drives his team Across the roof-tops nigh. 75 THE DUTCH PATROL "Beshrew me for a craven! " Cries Petrus -" All goes well! Our patron saint still makes his round At sound of the Christmas bell. So long as stanch St. Nicholas Shall guard these houses tall, There shall come no harm from hostile arm No evil chance befall! "The yongens and the meisjes Shall have their hosen filled; The butcher and the baker, And every honest guild, Shall merrily thrive and flourish; Good-night, and be of cheer; We may safely lay us down again To sleep another year!" Once more the pipes are waved, Stout Petrus gives the sign, The misty smoke enfolds them round, Him and his burghers nine. All, when the cloud has lifted, Have vanished quite away, And the crowing cock and steeple clock Proclaim't is Christmas-Day. 76 WITCHCRAFT I A. D. 1692 SOR, Mistress Anne, faire neighbour myne, How rides a witche when nighte-winds blowe? Folk saye that you are none too goode To joyne the crewe in Salem woode, When one you wot of gives the signe: Righte well, methinks, the pathe you knowe. In Meetinge-time I watched you well, Whiles godly Master Parris prayed: Your folded hands laye on your booke; But Richard answered to a looke That fain would tempt him unto hell, Where, Mistress Anne, your place is made. You looke into my Richard's eyes With evill glances shamelesse growne; I found about his wriste a hair, And guesse what fingers tyed it there: 77 WITCHCRAFT He shall not lightly be your prize Your Master firste shall take his owne. 'T is not in nature he should be (Who loved me soe when Springe was greene) A childe, to hange upon your gowne! He loved me well in Salem Towne Until this wanton witcherie His hearte and myne crept dark betweene. Last Sabbath nighte, the gossips saye, Your goodman missed you from his side. He had no strength to move, untill Agen, as if in slumber still, Beside him at the dawne you laye. Tell, nowe, what meanwhile did betide. Dame Anne, mye hate goe with you fleete As driftes the Bay fogg overheadOr over yonder hill-topp, where There is a tree ripe fruite shall bear When, neighbour myne, your wicked feet The stones of Gallowes Hill shall tread. 78 WITCHCRAFT II A. D. I884 Our great-great-grandpapas had schooled Your fancies, Lita, were you born In days when Cotton Mather ruled And damask petticoats were worn! Your pretty ways, your mocking air, Had passed, mayhap, for Satan's wilesAs fraught with danger, then and there, To you, as now to us your smiles. Why not? Were inquest to begin, The tokens are not far to seek: Item- the dimple of your chin; Item - that freckle on your cheek. Grace shield his simple soul from harm Who enters yon flirtation niche, Or trusts in whispered counter-charm, Alone with such a parlous witch! Your fan a wand is, in disguise; It conjures, and we straight are drawn Within a witches' Paradise Of music, germans, roses, lawn. 79 WITCHCRAFT So through the season, where you go, All else than Lita men forget: One needs no second-sight to know That sorcery is rampant yet. Now, since the bars no more await Fair maids that practise sable arts, Take heed, while I pronounce the fate Of her who thus ensnares men's hearts: In time you shall a wizard meet With spells more potent than your own, And you shall know your master, Sweet, And for these witcheries atone..:I For you at his behest shall wear A veil, and seek with him the church, And at the altar rail forswear The craft that left you in the lurch; But oft thereafter, musing long, With smile, and sigh, and conscience-twitch, You shall too late confess the wrong A captive and repentant witch. I884 8o AARON BURR'S WOOING FROM the commandant's quarters on Westchester height The blue hills of Ramapo lie in full sight; On their slope gleam the gables that shield his heart's queen, But the redcoats are wary - the Hudson's between Through the camp runs a jest: "There's no moon -'t will be dark; 'T is odds little Aaron will go on a spark!" And the toast of the troopers is: "Pickets, lie low, And good luck to the colonel and Widow Pre vost!" Eight miles to the river he gallops his steed, Lays him bound in the barge, bids his escort make speed, Loose their swords, sit athwart, through the fleet reach yon shore. Not a word -not a plash of the thick-muffled oar! 8 I AARON BURR'S WOOING Once across, once again in the seat and away - Five leagues are soon over when love has the say; And "Old Put" and his rider a bridle-path know To the Hermitage manor of Madame Prevost. Lightly done! but he halts in the grove's deepest glade, Ties his horse to a birch, trims his cue, slings his blade, Wipes the dust and the dew from his smooth, handsome face, With the'kerchief she broidered and bordered in lace; Then slips through the box-rows and taps at the hall, Sees the glint of a waxlight, a hand white and small, And the door is unbarred by herself all aglow Half in smiles, half in tears Theodosia Prevost. Alack for the soldier that's buried and gone! What's a volley above him, a wreath on his stone, Compared with sweet life and a wife for one's view Like this dame, ripe and warm in her India fichu? She chides her bold lover, yet holds him more dear, For the daring that brings him a night-rider here; 82 AARON BURR'S WOOING British gallants by day through her doors come and go, But a Yankee's the winner of Theo Prevost. Where's the widow or maid with a mouth to be kist, When Burr comes a-wooing, that long would resist? Lights and wine on the beaufet, the shutters all fast, And "Old Put" stamps in vain till an hour has flown past But an hour, for eight leagues must be covered ere day; Laughs Aaron, "Let Washington frown as he may, When he hears of me next, in a raid on the foe, He'11 forgive this night's tryst with the Widow Prevost! i886 83 COUSIN LUCRECE HERE where the curfew Still, they say, rings, Time rested long ago, Folding his wings; Here, on old Norwich's Out-along road, Cousin Lucretia Had her abode. Norridge, not Nor-wich (See Mother Goose), Good enough English For a song's use. Side and roof shingled, All of a piece, Here was the cottage Of Cousin Lucrece. Living forlornly On nothing a year, 84 COUSIN LUCRECE How she took comfort Does not appear; How kept her body, On what they gave, Out of the poor-house, Out of the grave. Highly connected? Straight as the Nile Down from "the Gard'ners" Of Gardiner's Isle; (Three bugles, chevron gules, Hand upon sword), Great-great-granddaughter Of the third lord. Bent almost double, Deaf as a witch, Gout her chief trouble - Just as if rich; Vain of her ancestry, Mouth all agrin, Nose half-way meeting her Sky-pointed chin. 85 COUSIN LUCRECE Ducking her forehead-top, Wrinkled and bare, With a colonial Furbelowed air Greeting her next of kin, Nephew and niece, - Foolish old, prating old Cousin Lucrece. Once every year she had All she could eat: Turkey and cranberries, Pudding and sweet; Every Thanksgiving, Up to the great House of her kinsman, was Driven in state. Oh, what a sight to see, Rigged in her best! Wearing the famous gown Drawn from her chest, Worn, ere King George's reign Here chanced to cease, Once by a forbear Of Cousin Lucrece. 86 COUSIN LUCRECE Damask brocaded, Cut very low; Short sleeves and finger-mitts Fit for a show; Palsied neck shaking her Rust-yellow curls, Rattling its roundabout String of mock pearls; Over her noddle, Draggled and stark, Two ostrich feathers - Brought from the ark. Shoes of frayed satin, All heel and toe, On her poor crippled feet Hobbled below. My! how the Justice's Sons and their wives Laughed; while the little folk Ran for their lives, Asking if beldames Out of the past, Old fairy godmothers, Always could last? 87 COUSIN LUCRECE No! One Thanksgiving, Bitterly cold, After they took her home (Ever so old), In her great chair she sank, There to find peace; Died in her ancient dress Poor old Lucrece. I892 88 HUNTINGTON HOUSE LADIES, Ladies Huntington, your father served, we know, As aide-de-camp to Washington - you often told us so; And when you sat you side by side in that ances tral pew, We knew his ghost sat next the door, and very proud of you. Ladies, Ladies Huntington, like you there are no more: Nancy, Sarah, Emily, Louise, - proud maidens four; Nancy tall and angular, Louise a rosy dear, And Emily as fine as lace but just a little sere. What was it, pray, your life within the mansion grand and old, Four dormers in its gambrel-roof, their shingles grim with mould? 89 HUNTINGTON HOUSE How dwelt you in your spinsterhood, ye ancient virgins lone, From infancy to bag-and-muff so resolutely grown? Each Sunday morning out you drove to Parson Arms's church, As straight as if Time had not left you somehow in the lurch; And so lived where your grandfather and father lived and died, Until you sought them one by one -and last of all stayed pride. You knew that with them you would lie in that old burial ground Wherethrough the name of Huntington on vault and stone is found, Where Norwichtown's first infant male, in sixteen sixty born, Grave Christopher, still rests beneath his cherub carved forlorn. There sleep your warlike ancestors, their feet toward the east, 90 HUNTINGTON HOUSE And thus shall face the Judgment Throne when Gabriel's blast hath ceased. The frost of years may heave the tomb whereto you were consigned, And school-boys peer atween the cracks, but you - will never mind. 1894 9I CENTURIA (TWELFTH NIGHT CHORUS, CENTURY ASSOCIATION) THE burthen is all that there is of this song, Centuria! Let it sound through the halls where our memories throng - Where thy dead and thy living commingled belong; Centuria, Centuria, vivat Centuria! Let it sound till the wise and the gentle and brave, Centuria, Come back from the vale where their soft grasses wave, And list to our revel and join in the stave; Centuria, Centuria, vivat Centuria! For the pen, lute and gown, and the iris-hued sky, Centuria, Were theirs, and are ours while the nights still go by 92 CENTURIA With song, wit and wassail, and true hearts anigh. Centuria, Centuria, vivat Centuria! Then love as they loved when thine eldest was young, Centuria! 0 the comrades that gossipped and painted and sung, 0 the smoke-cloud that lingers their places among! Centuria, Centuria, vivat Centuria! And sing as they'11 sing in thy fair years untold, Centuria, Strong hearts that shall follow, as tender and bold; We may fade, we shall pass, but thou growest not old; Centuria, Centuria, vivat Centuria! x892 93 INSCRIPTIONS THAT border land'twixt Day and Night be mine, And choice companions gathered there to dine, With talk, song, mirth, soup, salad, bread and wine. Twilight Club, I 8 8 3 II AT set of sun one lone star rules the skies, Night spreads a feast the day's long toil has won: Eat, drink, - enough, no more, - and speak, ye wise, Speak - but enough, no more, at set of sun! Sunset Club, I 8 91 94 III COMMEMORATIONS I THE DEATH OF BRYANT How was it then with Nature when the soul Of her own poet heard a voice which came From out the void, "Thou art no longer lent To Earth!" when that incarnate spirit, blent With the abiding force of waves that roll, Wind-cradled vapors, circling stars that flame, She did recall? How went His antique shade, beaconed upon its way Through the still aisles of night to universal day? Her voice it was, her sovereign voice, which bade The Earth resolve his elemental mould; And once more came her summons: "Long, too long, Thou lingerest, and charmest with thy song! Return! return!" Thus Nature spoke, and made Her sign; and forthwith on the minstrel old An arrow, bright and strong, 97 THE DEATH OF BRYANT Fell from the bent bow of the answering Sun, Who cried, "The song is closed, the invocation done!" But not as for those youths dead ere their prime, New-entered on their music's high domain, Then snatched away, did all things sorrow own: No utterance now like that sad sweetest tone When Bion died, and the Sicilian rhyme Bewailed; no sobbing of the reeds that plain Rehearsing some last moan Of Lycidas; no strains which skyward swell For Adonais still, and still for Asphodel! The Muses wept not for him as for those Of whom each vanished like a beauteous star Quenched ere the shining midwatch of the night; The greenwood Nymphs mourned not his lost de light; Nor Echo, hidden in the tangled close, Grieved that she could not mimic him afar. He ceased not from our sight Like him who, in the first glad flight of spring, Fell as an eagle pierced with shafts from his own wing. 98 i THE DEATH OF BRYANT This was not Thyrsis! no, the minstrel lone And reverend, the woodland singer hoar, Who was dear Nature's nursling, and the priest Whom most she loved; nor had his office ceased But for her mandate: "Seek again thine own; The walks of men shall draw thy steps no more!" Softly, as from a feast The guest departs that hears a low recall, He went, and left behind his harp and coronal. "Return!" she cried, "unto thine own return! Too long the pilgrimage; too long the dream In which, lest thou shouldst be companionless, Unto the oracles thou hadst access, - The sacred groves that with my presence yearn." The voice was heard by mountain, dell, and stream, Meadow and wildernessAll fair things vestured by the changing year, Which now awoke in joy to welcome one most dear. "He comes! " declared the unseen ones that haunt The dark recesses, the infinitude 99 *0.I I' THE DEATH OF BRYANT Of whispering old oaks and soughing pines. "He comes!" the warders of the forest shrines Sang joyously. "His spirit ministrant Henceforth with us shall walk the underwood, Till mortal ear divines Its music added to our choral hymn, Rising and falling far through archways deep and dim!" The orchard fields, the hillside pastures green, Put gladness on; the rippling harvest-wave Ran like a smile, as if a moment there His shadow poised in the midsummer air Above; the cataract took a pearly sheen Even as it leapt; the winding river gave A sound of welcome where He came, and trembled, far as to the sea It moves from rock-ribbed heights where its dark fountains be. His presence brooded on the rolling plain, And on the lake there fell a sudden calm,His own tranquillity; the mountain bowed Its head, and felt the coolness of a cloud, And murmured, "He is passing! " and again 100 '- I.'..* :'.. THE DEATH OF BRYANT Through all its firs the wind swept like a psalm; Its eagles, thunder-browed, In that mist-moulded shape their kinsman knew, And circled high, and in his mantle soared from view. So drew he to the living veil, which hung Of old above the deep's unimaged face, And sought his own. Henceforward he is free Of vassalage to that mortality Which men have given a sepulchre among The pathways of their kind, - a resting-place Where, bending one great knee, Knelt the proud mother of a mighty land In tenderness, and came anon a plumed band. Came one by one the seasons meetly drest, To sentinel the relics of their seer. First Spring -upon whose head a wreath was set Of wind-flowers and the yellow violetAdvanced. Then Summer led his loveliest Of months, one ever to the minstrel dear (Her sweet eyes dewy wet), June, and her sisters, whose brown hands entwine The brier-rose and the bee-haunted columbine. I0I THE DEATH OF BRYANT Next, Autumn, like a monarch sad of heart, Came, tended by his melancholy days. Purple he wore, and bore a golden rod, His sceptre; and let fall upon the sod A lone fringed-gentian ere he would depart. Scarce had his train gone darkling down the ways When Winter thither trod, Winter, with beard and raiment blown before, That was so seeming like our poet old and hoar. What forms are these amid the pageant fair, Harping with hands that falter? What sad throng? They wait in vain, a mournful brotherhood, And listen where their laurelled elder stood For some last music fallen through the air. "i What cold, thin atmosphere now hears thy song?" They ask, and long have wooed The woods and waves that knew him, but can learn Naught save the hollow, haunting cry, "Return! return!" 1878 102 GIFFORD I THE CLOSED STUDIO THIS was a magician's cell: Beauty's self obeyed his spell! When the air was gloom without, Grace and Color played about Yonder easel. Many a sprite, Golden-winged with heaven's light, Let the upper skies go drear, Spreading his rare plumage here. Skyward now,- alas the day!See the truant Ariels play! Cloud and air with light they fill, Wandering at idle will, Nor (with half their tasks undone) Stay to mourn the master gone. Only in this hollow room, Now, the stillness and the gloom. 103 GIFFORD II OF WINTER NIGHTS When the long nights return, and find us met Where he was wont to meet us, and the flame On the deep hearth-stone gladdens as of old, And there is cheer, as ever in that place, How shall our utmost nearing close the gap Known, but till then scarce measured? Or what light Of cheer for us, his gracious presence gone, His speech delayed, till none shall fail to miss That halting voice, yet sure, speaking, it seemed The one apt word? For well the painter knew Art's alchemy and law; her nobleness Was in his soul, her wisdom in his speech, And loyalty was housed in that true heart, Gentle yet strong, and yielding not one whit Of right or purpose. Now, not more afar The-light of last year's Yule fire than the smile Of Gifford, nor more irreclaimable Its vapor mingled with the wintry air. I88o Io04 CORDA CONCORDIA READ AT THE OPENING SESSION OF THE SUMMER SCHOOL OF PHILOSOPHY, CONCORD, JULY I I, I 88i No sandalled footsteps fall, Tablet and coronal From the Cephissian grove have vanished long, Yet in the sacred dale Still bides the nightingale Easing his ancient heart-break still with song; Or is there some dim audience Viewless to all save his unclouded sense? Revisit now those glades The stately mantled shades Whose lips so wear the inexorable spell? Saying, with heads sunk low, 11 that we sought, we know, - We know, but not to mortal ears may tell: No answer unto man's desire Shall thus be made, to quench his eager fire. Io5 CORDA CONCORDIA Under these orchard trees Still pure and fresh the breeze As where the plane-tree whispered to the elm; 1 The thrush and robin bring A new-world offering Of song, - nor are we banished from the realm Of thought that as the wind is pure, And converse deep, and memories that endure. Some honey dropped as well, Some dew of hydromel From wilding meadow-bees, upon the lips Of poet and sage who found, Here on our own dear ground, Light as of old; who let no dull eclipse Obscure this modern sky, where first Through perilous clouds the dawn of freedom burst. Within this leafy haunt Their service ministrant Upheld the nobler freedom of the soul. How was it hither came The message and the flame Anew? Make answer from thine aureole I Aristophanes: Nubes, 995. io6 CORDA CONCORDIA O mother Nature, thou who best Man's heart in all thy ways interpretest! High thoughts of thee brought near Unto our minstrel-seer The antique calm, the Asian wisdom old, Till in his verse we heard Of blossom, bee, and bird, Of mountain crag and pine, the manifold Rich song, -and on the world his eyes Dwelt penetrant with vision sweet and wise. Whence came the silver tongue To one forever young Who spoke until our hearts within us burned? This reverend one, who took No palimpsest or book, But read his soul with glances inward turned, While (her rapt forehead like the dawn) The Sibyl listened, by that music drawn, And from her fearless mouth, Where never speech had drouth, Gave voice to some old chant of womanhcod, Her own imaginings, 107 CORDA CONCORDIA Like swift, resplendent things, Flashing from eyes that knew to beam or brood. What sought these shining ones? What thought From preacher-saint have poet and teacher caught? In scorn of meaner use, Anon, the young recluse Builded his hut beside the woodland lake, And set the world far off, Though with no will to scoff, Thus from the Earth's near breast fresh life to take. Against her bosom, heart to heart, All Nature's sweets he ravished for his Art. The soul's fine instrument, Of pains and raptures blent, Replied to these clear voices, tone for tone, Their cadence answering With tuneful sounds that wing The upper air a few perchance have known, The stormless empyrean, where In strength and joy a few move unaware. Ah, even thus the thrill Of life beyond life's ill Io8 CORDA CONCORDIA To feel betimes our envious selves are fain, Seeing that, as birds in night Wind-driven against the light Whose unseen armor mocks their stress and pain, Most men fall baffled in the surge That to their cry responds but with a dirge. Where broods the Absolute, Or shuns our long pursuit By fiery utmost pathways out of ken? Fleeter than sunbeams, lo, Our passionate spirits go, And traverse immemorial space, and then Look off, and look in vain, to find The master-clew to all they left behind. White orbs like angels pass Before the triple glass, That men may scan the record of each flame, - Of spectral line and line The legendry divine, - Finding their mould the same, and aye the same, The atoms that we knew before Of which ourselves are made, - dust, and no more. lo9 CORDA CONCORDIA So let our defter art Probe the warm brain, and part Each convolution of the trembling shell: But whither now has fled The sense to matter wed That murmured here? All silence, such as fell When to the shrine beyond the Ark The soldiers reached, and found it void and dark. Seek elsewhere, and in vain The" wings of morning chain; Their speed transmute to fire, and bring the Light, The co-eternal beam Of the blind minstrel's dream; But think not that bright heat to know aright, Nor how the trodden seed takes root, Waked by its glow, and climbs to flower and fruit. Behind each captured law Weird shadows give us awe; Press with your swords, the phantoms still evade; Through our alertest host Wanders at ease some ghost, Now here, now there, by no enchantment laid, And works upon our souls its will, Leading us on to subtler mazes still. I IO0 CORDA CONCORDIA We think, we feel, we are; And light, as of a star, Gropes through the mist, - a little light is given; And aye from life and death We strive, with indrawn breath, To somehow wrest the truth, and long have striven, Nor pause, though book and star and clod Reply, Canst thou by searching find out God? As from the hollow deep The soul's strong tide must keep Its purpose still. We rest not, though we hear No voice from heaven let fall, No chant antiphonal Sounding through sunlit clefts that open near; We look not outward, but within, And think not quite to end as we begin. For now the questioning age Cries to each hermitage, Cease not to ask, - or bring again the time When the young world's belief Made light the mourner's grief And strong the sage's word, the poet's rhyme, Ere Knowledge thrust a spear-head through The temple's veil that priests so closely drew. III CORDA CONCORDIA From what our fate inurns Save that which music yearns To speak, in ecstasy none understand, And (Oh, how like to it!) The half-formed rays that flit, Like memories vague, above the further land Cry, as the star-led Magi cried, We seek, we seek, we will not be denied! Let the blind throng await A healer at the gate; Our hearts press on to see what yonder lies, Knowing that arch on arch Shall loom across the march And over portals gained new strongholds rise. The search itself a glory brings, Though foiled so oft, that seeks the soul of things. Some brave discovery, Howbeit in vain we try To clutch the shape that lures us evermore, It shall be ours to make, As, where the waters break Upon the margin of a pathless shore, They find, who sought for gold alone, The sudden wonders of a clime unknown. 112 CORDA CONCORDIA Such treasure by the way Your errantry shall pay, Nor shall it aught against your hope prevail That not to waking eyes The golden clouds arise Wherewith our visions clothe the mystic Grail, When, in blithe halts upon the road, We sleep where pilgrims earlier gone abode. After the twelvemonth set When as of old they met, (A twelvemonth and a day, and kept their tryst), And knight to pilgrim told, Things given them to behold What country found, what gained of all they wist, (While ministering hands assign To each a share of healing food and wine,) So come, - when long grass waves Above the holiest graves Of them whose ripe adventure chides our own, - Come where the great elms lean Their quivering leaves and green To shade the moss-clung roofs now sacred grown, And where the bronze and granite tell How Liberty was hailed with Life's farewell. II3 CORDA CONCORDIA Here let your Academe Be no ignoble dream, But, consecrate with life and death and song, Through the land's spaces spread The trust inherited, The hope which from your hands shall take no wrong, And build an altar that may last Till heads now young be laurelled with the Past. II4 ON A GREAT MAN WHOSE MIND IS CLOUDING THAT sovereign thought obscured? That vision clear Dimmed in the shadow of the sable wing, And fainter grown the fine interpreting Which as an oracle was ours to hear! Nay, but the Gods reclaim not from the seer Their gift,- although he ceases here to sing, And, like the antique sage, a covering Draws round his head, knowing what change is near. x88z2 II5 ON THE DEATH OF AN INVINCIBLE SOLDIER O what a sore campaign, Of which men long shall tell, Ended when he was slain When this our greatest fell! For him no mould had cast A bullet surely sped; No falchion, welded fast,, His iron blood had shed. Death on the hundredth field Had failed to bring him low; He was not born to yield To might of mortal foe. Even to himself unknown, He bore the fated sword, ii6 DEATH OF AN INVINCIBLE SOLDIER Forged somewhere near His throne Of battles still the Lord. That weapon when he drew, Back rolled the wrath of men, - Their onset feebler grew, The Nation rose again. The splendor and the fame - Whisper of these alone, Nor say that round his name A moment's shade was thrown; Count not each satellite 'Twixt him and glory's sun, The circling things of night; Number his battles won. Where then to choose his grave? From mountain unto sea, The Land he fought to save His sepulchre shall be. II7 ....... DEATH OF AN INVINCIBLE SOLDIER Yet to its fruitful earth His quickening ashes lend, That chieftains may have birth, And patriots without end. His carven scroll shall read: Here rests the valiant heart Whose duty was his creed, Whose lot, the warrior's part. Who, when the fight was done, The grim last foe defied, Naught knew save victory won, Surrendered not- but died. x885 i i8 .... LIBERTY ENLIGHTENING THE WORLD WARDER at ocean's gate, Thy feet on sea and shore, Like one the skies await When time shall be no more! What splendors crown thy brow? What bright dread angel Thou, Dazzling the waves before Thy station great? " My name is Liberty! From out a mighty land I face the ancient sea, I lift to God my hand; By day in Heaven's light, A pillar of fire by night, At ocean's gate I stand Nor bend the knee. II9 LIBERTY ENLIGHTENING THE WORLD " The dark Earth lay in sleep, Her children crouched forlorn, Ere on the western steep I sprang to height, reborn: Then what a joyous shout The quickened lands gave out, And all the choir of morn Sang anthems deep. Beneath yon firmament, The New World to the Old My sword and summons sent, My azure flag unrolled: The Old World's hands renew Their strength; the form ye view Came from a living mould In glory blent. "O ye, whose broken spars Tell of the storms ye met, Enter! fear not the bars Across your pathway set; Enter at Freedom's porch, For you I lift my torch, For you my coronet Is rayed with stars. I 20 LIBERTY ENLIGHTENING THE WORLD "But ye that hither draw To desecrate my fee, Nor yet have held in awe The justice that makes free, - Avaunt, ye darkling brood! By Right my house hath stood: My name is Liberty, My throne is Law." O wonderful and bright, Immortal Freedom, hail! Front, in thy fiery might, The midnight and the gale; Undaunted on this base Guard well thy dwelling-place: Till the last sun grow pale Let there be Light! I888 I 21 AD VIGILEM WHAT seest thou, where the peaks about thee stand, Far up the ridge that severs from our view That realm unvisited? What prospect new Holds thy rapt eye? What glories of the land, Which from yon loftier cliff thou now hast scanned, Upon thy visage set their lustrous hue? Speak, and interpret still, 0 Watchman true, The signals answering thy lifted hand! And bide thee yet! still linger, ere thy feet To sainted bards that beckon bear thee downThough lilies, asphodel and spikenard sweet Await thy tread to blossom; and the crown Long since is woven of Heaven's palm-leaves, meet For him whom Earth can lend no more renown. Whittier's Eightieth Birthday December 17, 1 887 I 22 "ERGO IRIS" WEARY at length of the ancestral gloom, The self-same drone, the patter of dull pens, Nature sent Iris of the rosy plume, Bearing to Holmes her wonder-working lens; Grateful, he gave his dearest child her name, Lit the shrewd East with laughter, love and tears, - Bade halt the sun - and arching into fame His rainbowed fancy now the world enspheres. On his Eightieth Birthday August -9, I889 123 W. W. GOOD-BYE, Walt! Good-bye, from all you loved of earthRock, tree, dumb creature, man and woman - To you, their comrade human. The last assault Ends now; and now in some great world has birth A minstrel, whose strong soul finds broader wings, More brave imaginings. Stars crown the hilltop where your dust shall lie, Even as we say good-bye, Good-bye, old Walt! Lines sent to his funeral with an ivy wreath, March 30, Ix89z I 2Z4 BYRON A HUNDRED years,'t is writ, - 0 presage vain! Earth wills her offspring life, ere one com plete His term, and rest from travail, and be fain To lay him down in natural death and sweet. What of her child whose swift divining soul With triple fervor burns the torch apace, And in one radiant third compacts the whole Ethereal flame that lights him on his race? Ay, what of him who to the winds upheld A star-like brand, with pride and joy and tears, And lived in that fleet course from youth to eld, Count them who will, his century of years? The Power that arches heaven's orbway round Gave to this planet's brood its soul of fire, Iz25 BYRON Its heart of passion, -and for life unbound By chain or creed the measureless desire; Gave to one poet these, and manifold High thoughts, beyond our lesser mortal share,Gave dreams of beauty, yes, and with a mould The antique world had worshipped made him fair; Then touched his lips with music, - lit his brow, Even as a fane upon a sunward hill, For strength, gave scorn, the pride that would not bow, The glorious weapon of a dauntless will.' But that the surcharged spirit - a vapor pent In beetling crags - a torrent barriered longA wind'gainst heaven's four winds imminent Might memorably vent its noble song, Each soaring gift was fretted with a band That deadlier clung which way he fain would press: I 26 BYRON His were an adverse age, a sordid land, Gauging his heart by their own littleness; Blind guides! the fiery spirit scorned their curb, And Byron's love and gladness, - such the wise Of ministrants whom evil times perturb, To wrath and melancholy changed their guise. Yet this was he whose swift imaginings Engirt fair Liberty from clime to clime, - From Alp to ocean with an eagle's wings Pursued her flight, in Harold's lofty rime. Where the mind's freedom was not, could not be, That bigot soil he rendered to disdain, And sought, like Omar in his revelry, At least the semblance of a joy to gain. Laughter was at his beck, and wisdom's ruth Sore-learned from fierce experiences that test Life's masquerade, the carnival of youth, The world of man. Then Folly lost her zest, I127 BYRON Yet left undimmed (her valediction sung With Juan's smiles and tears) his natal ray Of genius inextinguishably young,_ An Eos through those mists proclaiming day. How then, when to his ear came Hellas' cry, He shred the garlands of the wild night's feast, And rose a chief, to lead- alas, to die And leave men mourning for that music ceased! America! When nations for thy knell Listened, one prophet oracled thy part: Now, in thy morn of strength, remember well The bard whose chant foretold thee as thou art. Sky, mount, and forest, and high-sounding main, The storm-cloud's vortex, splendor of the day, Gloom of the night, -with these abide his strain, And these are thine, though he has passed away; Their elemental force had roused to might Great Nature's child in this her realm su preme, - I28 BYRON From their commingling he had guessed aright The plenitude of all we know or dream. Read thou aright his vision and his song, That this enfranchised spirit of the spheres May know his name henceforth shall take no wrong, Outbroadening still yon ocean and these years! i888 I z29 I YALE ODE FOR COMMENCEMENT DAY I HARK! through the archways old High voices manifold Sing praise to our fair Mother, praise to Yale! The Muses' rustling garments trail; White arms, with myrtle and with laurel wound, Bring crowns to her, the Crowned! Youngest and blithest, and awaited long, The heavenly maid, sweet Music's child divine, With golden lyre and joy of choric song Leads all the Sisters Nine. II In the gray of a people's morn, In the faith of the years to be, The sacred Mother was born On the shore of the fruitful sea; 130 YALE ODE FOR COMMENCEMENT DAY By the shore she grew, and the ancient winds of the East Made her brave and strong, and her beauteous youth increased Till the winds of the West, from a wondrous land, From the strand of the setting sun to the sea of her sunrise strand, From fanes which her own dear hand hath planted in grove and mead and vale, Breathe love from her countless sons of might to the Mother - breathe praise to Yale. III Mother of Learning! thou whose torch Starward uplifts, afar its light to bear, Thine own revere thee throned within thy porch, Rayed with thy shining hair. The youngest know thee still more young,The stateliest, statelier yet than prophet-bard hath sung. O mighty Mother, proudly set Beside the far-inreaching sea, None shall the trophied Past forget Or doubt thy splendor yet to be! I895 I 3 I "UBI SUNT QUI ANTE NOS?" READ AT THE SEMI-CENTENNIAL MEETING OF THE CENTURY ASSOCIATION, JANUARY 13, I897 How now are the Others faring? Where sit They all in state? And is there a token that somewhere, beyond the muffled gate, The vanished and unreturning, whose names our memories fill, Are holding their upper conclave and are of the Century still? Is it all a fancy that somewhere, that somehow, the mindful Dead, From the first that made his exit to the latest kins man sped, Their vision ourselves unnoting, their shapes by ourselves unseen, Have gathered like us, together this night in that strange demesne? 13Z "UBI SUNT QUI ANTE NOS?" That the astral world's telepathy along their aisles of light Has summoned our brave immortals, this selfsame mortal night, All in that rare existence where thoughts a suo stance are, To their native planet's aura, from journeyings near and far; And that now with forms made over, and life as jocund and young As when they here kept wassail and joined in the catches sung, They have met in the ancient fashion, and now in the old-time speech Are chanting their Vivat Centuria just out of our hearing's reach? Yes, O yes, -as the pictured ghosts of Huns war on in middle air With a fiercer battle-hunger from the field up flinging there, And since the things we have chosen from all, as most of worth Forever here and hereafter, cease not with the end of Earth; I33 "UBI SUNT QUI ANTE NOS?" Since joy and knowledge and beauty, and the love of man to man Passing the love of women, the links of our chain began, Yea, even as these are ceaseless, so they who were liegemen here Hark back and are all Centurions this night of the fiftieth year! Yes, the draftsmen and craftsmen have fashioned with a dream's compelling force The Century's lordlier temple, have builded it course on course, And a luminiferous ether floods the great assembly hall Where the scintillant "C. A." colophon burns high in the sight of all. The painters have hung from end to end cloud canvases ablaze With that color- scheme from us hidden in the ultra-violet rays, I34 "~UBI SUNT QUI ANTE NOS?" With the new chiaroscuro of things that each way face, And the in-and-out perspective of their four-dimen sioned space. 0, to hear the famed Cantators upraise the mighty chant, With their bass transposed to the rumbling depth below our octaves scant, And a tenor of those Elysian notes "too fine for mortal ear," Yet tuned to the diapason of this dear old darkling sphere! And 0, to catch but a glimpse of the company thronged aroundThe scholars that know it all at last, the poets finally crowned! There the blithe divines, that fear no more the midnight chimes, sit each With his halo tilted a trifle, and his harp at easy reach; I 35 c'UBI SUNT QUI ANTE NOS?" There all the jolly Centurions of high or low de gree, This night of nights, as in early time, foregather gloriously, - Come back, mayhap, from Martian meads, from many an orb come back, Full sure the cheer they cared for here this night shall have no lack; For they know the jovial servitors have mingled a noble brew Of the tipple men call nectarean, the pure celes tial dew, And are passing around ambrosial cakes, while the incense-clouds arise Of something akin to those earthly fumes not even the Blest despise. And yet - and yet - could we listen, we might o'erhear them say They would barter a year of Aidenn to be here for a night and a day; And if one of us yearns to follow the paths that thitherward wendLet him rest content, - let him have no fear, he verily shall in the end. 136 "UBI SUNT QUI ANTE NOS?" Then not for the quick alone this hour unbar the entrance gate, But a health to the brethren gone before, however they hold their state! Nor think it all fancy that to our hearts there comes an answering thrill From the Dead that echo our Vivats and are of the Century still. I37 IV THE CARIB SEA KENNST DU? Do you know the blue of the Carib Sea Far out where there's nothing but sky to bound The gaze to windward, the glance to lee, More deep than the bluest spaces be Betwixt white clouds in heaven's round? Have you seen the liquid lazuli spread From edge to edge, so wondrous blue That your footfall's trust it might almost woo, Were it smooth and low for one to tread? So clear and warm, so bright, so dark, That he who looks on it can but mark 'Tis a different tide from the far-away Perpetual waters, old and gray, And can but wonder if Mother Earth Has given a younger ocean birth. Do you know how surely the trade-wind blows To west-sou'west, through the whole round year? How, after the hurricane comes and goes, For nine fair moons there is naught to fear? '4' THE CARIB SEA How the brave wind carries the tide before Its breath, and on to the southwest shore? How the Caribbean billows roll, One after the other, and climb forever, The yearning waves of a shoreless river That never, never can reach its goal? They follow, follow, now and for aye, One after the other, brother and brother, And their hollow crests half hide the play Of light where the sun's red sword thrusts home; But still in a tangled shining chain They quiver and fall and rise again, And far before them the wind-borne spray Is shaken on from their froth and foam, And for leagues beyond, in gray and rose, The sundown shimmering distance glows! - So bright, so swift, so glad, the sea That girts the isles of Caribbee. Do you know the green of those island shores By the morning sea-breeze fanned? (The tide on the reefs that guard them roars Then slips by stealth to the sand.) Have you found the inlet, cut between Like a rift across the crescent moon, And anchored off the dull lagoon Close by forest fringes green, I42 KENNST DU? Cool and green, save for the lines Of yellow cocoa-trunks that lean, Each in its own wind-nurtured way, And bend their fronds to the wanton vines Beneath them all astray? Here is no mangrove warp-and-woof From which a vapor lifts aloof, But on the beaches smooth and dry Red-lipped conch-shells lieEven at the edge of that green wall Where the shore-grape's tendriled runners spread And purple trumpet-creepers fall, And the frangipani's clusters shed Their starry sweets withal. The silly cactuses writhe around, Yet cannot choose but in grace to mingle, This side the twittering waters sound, On the other opens a low green dingle, And between your ship and the shore and sky The frigate-birds like fates appear, The flapping pelican feeds about, The tufted cardinals sing and fly. So fair the shore, one has no fear; And the sailors, gathered forward, shout With strange glad voices each to each, Though well the harbor's depth they know I43 THE CARIB SEA And the craven shark that lurks below, " Ho! let us over, and strike out Until we stand upon the beach, Until that wonderland we reach!" -So green, so fair, the island lies, As if't were adrift from Paradise. I44 SARGASSO WEED OUT from the seething Stream To the steadfast trade-wind's courses, Over the bright vast swirl Of a tide from evil free, - Where the ship has a level beam, And the storm has spent his forces, And the sky is a hollow pearl Curved over a sapphire seas Here it floats as of old, Beaded with gold and amber, Sea-frond buoyed with fruit, Sere as the yellow oak, Long since carven and scrolled, Of some blue-ceiled Gothic chamber Used to the viol and lute And the ancient belfry's stroke. Eddying far and still In the drift that never ceases, 145 THE CARIB SEA The dun Sargasso weed Slips from before our prow, And its sight makes strong our will, As of old the Genoese's, When he stood in his hour of need On the Santa Maria's bow. Ay, and the winds at play Toy with these peopled islands, Each of itself as well Naught but a brave New World, Where the crab and sea-slug stay In the lochs of its tiny highlands, And the nautilus moors his shell With his sail and streamers furled. Each floats ever and on As the round green Earth is floating Out through the sea of space Bearing our mortal kind, Parasites soon to be gone, Whom others be sure are noting, While to their astral race We in our turn are blind. I46 CASTLE ISLAND LIGHT BETWEEN the outer Keys, Where the drear Bahamas be, Through a crooked pass the vessels sail To reach the Carib Sea. 'T is the Windward Passage, long and dread, From bleak San Salvador; (Three thousand miles the wave must roll Ere it wash the Afric shore). Here are the coral reefs That hold their booty fast; The sea-fan blooms in groves beneath, And sharks go lolling past. Hither and yon the sand-bars lie Where the prickly bush has grown, 1'.7 THE CARIB SEA And where the rude sponge-fisher dwells In his wattled hut, alone. Southward, amid the strait, Is the Castle Island Light; Of all that bound the ocean round It has the loneliest site. II 'Twixt earth and heaven the waves are driven Sorely upon its flank; The light streams out for sea-leagues seven To the Great Bahama Bank. A girded tower, a furlong scant Of whitened sand and rock, And one sole being the waters seeing, Where the gull and gannet flock. He is the warder of the pass That mariners must find; His beard drifts down like the ashen moss Which hangs in the southern wind. 148 CASTLE ISLAND LIGHT The old man hoar stands on the shore And bodes the withering gale, Or wonders whence from the distant world Will come the next dim sail. From the Northern Main, from England, From France, the craft go by; Yet sometimes one will stay her course That must his wants supply. III In a Christmas storm the "Claribel" struck At night, on the Pelican Shoal, But the keeper's wife heard not the guns And the bell's imploring toll. She died ere the gale went down, Wept by her daughters threeSun-flecked, yet fair, with their English hair, Nymphs of the wind and sea. With sail and oar some island shore At will their skiffs might gain, I49 THE CARIB SEA But they never had known the kiss of man, Nor had looked on the peopled main, Nor heard of the old man Atlas, Who holds the unknown seas, And the golden fruit that is guarded well By the young Hesperides. IV Who steers by Castle Island Light May hear the seamen tell How one, the mate, alone was saved From the wreck of the "Claribel; " And how for months he tarried With the keeper on the isle, And for each of the blue-eyed daughters Had ever a word or a smile. Between the two that loved him He lightly made his choice, 150o CASTLE ISLAND LIGHT And betimes a chance ship took them off From the father's sight and voice. The second her trouble could not bear, So wild her thoughts had grown That she fled with a lurking smuggler's crew, But whither was never known. Then the keeper aged like Lear, Left with one faithful child; But't was ill to see a maid so young Who never sang or smiled. 'T is sad to bide with an old, old man, And between the wave and sky To watch all day the sea-fowl play, While lone ships hasten by. v There came, anon, the white full moon That rules the middle year, ISI THE CARIB SEA Before whose sheen the lesser stars Grow pale and disappear. It glistened down on a lighthouse tower, A beach on either hand, And the features wan of a gray old man Digging a grave in the sand. I52 CHRISTOPHE (CAPE HAYTIEN) KING HENRI is King Stephen's peer, His breeches cost him but a crown!" So from the old world came the jeer Of them who hunted Toussaint down: But what was this grim slave that swept The shambles, then to greatness leapt? Their counterfeit in bronze, a thing To mock, -or every inch a king? On San-Souci's defiant wall His people saw, against the sky, Christophe, - a shape the height of Saul, -- A chief who brooked no rivals nigh. Right well he aped the antique state; His birth was mean, his heart was great; No azure filled his veins, - instead, The Afric torrent, hot and red. 53 THE CARIB SEA He built far up the mountain-side A royal keep, and walled it round With towers the palm-tops could not hide; The ramparts toward ocean frowned; Beneath, within the rock-hewn hold, He heaped a monarch's store of gold; He made his nobles in a breath; He held the power of life and death; And here through torrid years he ruled The Haitian horde, a despot king, - Mocked Europe's pomp, -her minions schooled In trade and war and parleying,Yet reared his dusky heirs in vain: To end the drama, Fate grew fain, Uprose a rebel tide, and flowed Close to the threshold where he strode. "And now the Black must exit make, A craven at the last," they say: Not so, - Christophe his leave will take The long unwonted Roman way. "Ho! Ho!" cried he, "the day is done, And I go down with the setting sun!" A pistol-shot, no sign of fear, - So died Christophe without a peer. IS4 LA SOURCE (PORT-AU-PRINCE) A HAUNT the mountain roadside near, Wherefrom the cliff that rose behind Kept back, through all the tropic year, The sundrouth and the whirling wind: These here could never entrance find; Perpetual summer balm it knew; And skyward, thick-set boughs entwined Their coil, where birds made sweet ado, And heaven through glossy leaves was deepest blue. Twin relics of some forest grim, The last of their primeval race Left scatheless, knit them limb with limb Above the reaches of that place; Time's hand against their high embrace For seeming centuries had striven, But yet they grappled face to face, I 55 THE CARIB SEA Still from their olden guard undriven Though at their feet the cliff itself was riven. And from the rift a stream outflowed, The fountain of that cloven grot, La Source! Along the downward road It speeded, pitying the lot Of dwellers in each hot-roofed spot Which fiery noonday held in rule, Yet at the start neglected not To broaden into one deep pool Beneath those trees its staunchless waters cool. Near the green edge of this recess We made our halt, and marvelled, more Than at its sudden loveliness, To find reborn that life of yore When ocean to Nausicaa bore The wanderer from Calypso strayed, For here swart dames, and beldames hoar, With many a round-limbed supple maid, Plashed in the pool and eyed us unafraid. The simple, shameless washers there, Dusk children of the Haitian sun, i56 LA SOURCE Bent to the work their bodies, bare And brown, nor thought our gaze to shun, - Save that an elfish withered one, Scolding the white-toothed girls, set free Her tongue, and bade them now have done With saucy pranks, nor wanton be Before us stranger folk from over sea. But on the sward one rose full length From her sole covering, and stood Defiant in the beauteous strength Of nature unabashed: a nude And wilding slip of womanhood. Now for the master-hand, that shaped The Indian Hunter in his wood, To mould that lissome form undraped Ere from its grace the sure young lines escaped! Straight as the aloe's crested shoot That blooms a golden month and dies, She stayed an instant, with one foot On tiptoe, poising statue-wise, And stared, and mocked us with her eyes, - While rippling to her hip's firm swell The mestee hair, that so outvies I57 THE CARIB SEA Europe's soft mesh, and holds right well The Afric sheen, in one dark torrent fell. Fi, Angelique! we heard them scream, - What, could that child, in twice her years, Change to their like from this fair dream! Fi donc! - But she, as one who hears And cares not, at her leisure nears The pool, and toward her mates at play Plunges, - and laughter filled our ears As from La Source we turned away And rode again into the glare of day. 158 TO L. H. S. LOVE, these vagrant songs may woo you Once again from winter's ruth, Once more quicken memories failing Of those days when we went sailing, Eager as when first I knew you, Sailing after my lost youth. My lost youth, for in my sight you Had yourself forborne to change Since that age when we, together, Made such mock of wind and weather, Sought alone what might delight you, Ah, how sweet, how far, how strange! Yet, though scarcely else anear you Than Tithonus to Aurore, I am still by Time requited, Still can vaunt, as when we plighted, I59 THE CARIB SEA Sight to see you, ear to hear you, Voice to sing you, if no more. And in thought I yet behold you Nearing the enchanted zone, - (With delight of life the stronger As we sailed, each blue league longer, Toward the shore of which I told you, And the stars myself had known), - Wondering at the hue beneath you Of the restless shining waves, Asking of the palm and coral, - Of the white cascades - the floral Ridges waiting long to wreathe you With the blooms our Norseland craves. Winds enow since then have kissed you, On their way to bless or blight; Little may these songs recover Of that dream-life swiftly over, Nay, but Love, a moment list you, Since none else can set them right. 16o TO L. H. S. More and ever more, the while you Sailed where every distance gleams, Passed all sorrow, died all anger, In the clime of love and languor, Till we reached the mist-hung isle you Called the haunted Isle of Dreams. I6I JAMAICA I KNOW an island which the sun Stays in his course to shine upon, As if it were for this green isle Alone he kept his fondest smile. Long his rays delaying flood Its remotest solitude, Mountain, dell, and palmy wood, And the coral sands around That hear the blue sea's chiming sound. It is a watered island, one The upland rains pour down upon. Oft the westward-floating cloud To some purple crest is bowed, While the tangled vapors seek To escape from peak and peak, Yield themselves, and break, or glide Through deep forests undescried, Mourning their lost pathway wide. I6z JAMAICA In this land of woods and streams Ceaseless Summer paints her dreams: White, bewildered torrents fall, Dazzled by her morning beams, With an outcry musical From the ridges, plainward all; Mists of pearl, arising there, Mark their courses in the air, Sunlit, magically fair. Here the pilgrim may behold How the bended cocoa waves When at eve and morn a breeze Blows to and from the Carib seas, How the lush banana leaves From their braided trunk unfold; How the mango wears its gold, And the sceptred aloe's bloom Glorifies it for the tomb. When the day has ended quite, Splendor fills the drooping skies; All is beauty, naught is night. Then the Crosses twain arise, Southward far, above the deep, i63 THE CARIB SEA And the moon their light outvies. Hark! the wakened lute and song That to this fond clime belong,All is music, naught is sleep. Isle of plenty, isle of love! In the low, encircling plain Laboring Afric, loaded wain, Bearing sweets and spices, move; On the happy heights above Love his seat has chosen well, Dreamful ease and silence dwell, Life is all entranced, and time Passes like a tinkling rhyme. Ah, on those cool heights to dwell Yielded to the island's spell! There from some low-whispering mouth To learn the secret of the South, Or to watch dark eyes that close When their sleep the noondays bring, (List, the palm leaves murmuring!) And the wind that comes and goes Smells of every flower that blows. I 64 JAMAICA Or from ocean to descry Green plantations sloping nigh, Starry peaks, of beryl hewn, Whose strong footholds hidden lie Furlong deep beneath the sea! Long the mariners wistfully Landward gaze, and say aright, "Under sun or under moon Earth has no more beauteous sight!" i65 CREOLE LOVER'S SONG NIGHT wind, whispering wind, Wind of the Carib sea! The palms and the still lagoon Long for thy coming soon; But first my lady find: Hasten, nor look behind! To-night Love's herald be. The feathery bamboo moves, The dewy plantains weep; From the jasmine thickets bear The scents that are swooning there, And steal from the orange groves The breath of a thousand loves To waft her ere she sleep. And the lone bird's tender song That rings from the ceiba tree, The firefly's light, and the glow i66 CREOLE LOVER'S SONG Of the moonlit waters low, - All things that to night belong And can do my love no wrong Bear her this hour for me. Speed thee, wind of the deep, For the cyclone comes in wrath! The distant forests moan; Thou hast but an hour thine own, - An hour thy tryst to keep, Ere the hounds of tempest leap And follow upon thy path. Whisperer, tarry a space! She waits for thee in the night; She leans from the casement there With the star-blooms in her hair, And a shadow falls like lace From the fern-tree over her face, And over her mantle white. Spirit of air and fire, To-night my herald be! Tell her I love her well, i67 THE CARIB SEA And all that I bid thee, tell, And fold her ever the nigher With the strength of my soul's desire, Wind of the Carib sea! i68 THE ROSE AND THE JASMINE Now dies the rippling murmur of the strings That followed long, half-striving to retake, The burden of the lover's ended song. Silence! but we who listened linger yet, Two of the soul's near portals still unclosedSight and the sense of odor. At our feet, Beneath the open jalousies, is spread A copse of leaf and bloom, a knotted wild Of foliage and purple flowering vines, With here a dagger-plant to pierce them through, And there a lone papaya lifting high Its golden-gourded cresset. Night's high noon Is luminous; that swooning silvery hour When the concentrate spirit of the South Grows visible - so rare, and yet so filled With tremulous pulsation that it seems All light and fragrance and ethereal dew. Two vases - carved from some dark, precious wood, The red-grained heart of olden trees that cling I69 THE CARIB SEA To yonder mountain- in the moonlight cast Their scrolls' deep shadows on the glassy floor. A proud exotic Rose, brought from the North, Is set within the one; the other bears A double Jasmine for its counter-charm. Here on their thrones, in equal high estate, The rivals bloom; and both have drunk the dew, Tending their beauty in the midnight air, Until their sovereign odors meet and blend, As voices blend that whisper melody, Now each distinct, now mingled both in one: JASMINE I, like a star, against the woven gloom Of tresses on Dolores' brow shall rest. ROSE And I one happy, happy night shall bloom Twined in the border of her silken vest. JASMINE Throughout our isle the guardian winds deprive Of all their sweets a hundred common flowers, I70 THE ROSE AND THE JASMINE To feed my heart with fragrance! Lone they live, And drop their petals far from trellised bowers. ROSE Within the garden-plot whence I was borne No rifled sisterhood became less fine; My wealth made not the violet forlorn, And near me climbed the fearless eglantine. JASMINE Who feels my breath recalls the orange court, The terraced walks that jut upon the sea, The water in the moonlit bay amort, The midnight given to longing and to me. ROSE Who scents my blossoms dreams of bordered meads Deep down the hollow of some vale far north, Where Cuthbert with the fair-haired Hilda pleads, And overhead the stars of June come forth. I7' THE CARIB SEA JASMINE Me with full hands enamored Manuel Gathers for dark-browed Inez at his side, And both to love are quickened by my spell, And chide the day that doth their joys divide. ROSE Nay, but all climes, all tender sunlit lands From whose high places spring the palm or pine, Desire my gifts to grace the wedded bands, And every home for me has placed a shrine. JASMINE Fold up thy heart, proud virgin, ay, and blush With all the crimson tremors thou canst vaunt! My yearning waves of passion onward rush, And long the lover's wistful memory haunt. ROSE Pale temptress, the night's revel be thine own, Till love shall pall and rapture have its fill! I 72 THE ROSE AND THE JASMINE The morn's fresh light still finds me on a throne Where care is not, nor blissful pains that kill. JASMINE Sweet, sweet my breath, oh, sweet beyond compare! ROSE Rare, rare the splendors of my regal crown! BOTH Choose which thou wilt, bold lover, yet beware Lest to a luckless choice thou bendest down! I73 FERN-LAND I HITHER, where a woven roof Keeps the prying sun aloof From wonderland, From the fairies underland, Hither, where strange grasses grow With their curling rootlets set 'Twixt the black roots serpentine, Laurel roots that twist and twine Toward the cloven path below Of some cloud-born rivulet, This way enter Fern-Land, and from rim to centre All its secrets shall be thine. II Here within the covert see Fern-Land's mimic forestry; Royal tree-ferns I74 FERN-LAND Canopy the nestling wee ferns That with every pointed frond Lend their lords a duteous ear; Golden ferns a sunshine makeFleck their beauty on the brake; In their moonlight close beyond Silver ferns like sprites appear. Here beholden, Purple, silver, green and golden, Mingle for their own sweet sake. III Day's sure horologe of flowers Marks in turn the honeyed hours; Blossoms dangle, Lithe lianas twist and tangle; Here on the lagetta tree Laboring elves at starlight weave Filmy bride-veils of its spray, Shot with the cocuya's ray,For in fairy-land we be! Look, and you shall well believe Oberon reigneth, And Titania disdaineth, Still, to yield her lord his way. 175 THE CARIB SEA IV Here, unseen by grosser light, Fairy-land, at noon of night Holidaying, Sallies forth in fine arraying; Elfin, sylphide, fay and gnome On the dew-tipped ferns disport, In the festooned creepers swing, Their light plumage fluttering. Fern-Land is their ancient home, Here the monarch holds his court, Puck abideth; Here the Queen her changeling hideth, Ariel doth merrily sing. v Here, when Dian shuns the sky, Swift the winged watchmen fly, Flash their torches In and out mimosa porches Till the first pale glint of morn: Then the little people change Casque and doublet, robe and sash, In the twinkling of a lash, I76 FERN-LAND For the magic mantles worn Warily where mortals range, And beside us Now unseen, with glee deride us, Laugh to scorn our trespass rash. VI Then the gnomes, that change to newts, Lurk about the tree-fern's roots; Their commander Is the frog-mouthed salamander Who will marshal in the sun Red-backed lizards from the vines, Eft and newt from bog and spring,Many a crested, horny thing Sharp-eyed, fearsome,- and that one With the loathly spotted lines! Mortal heedeth Him, whose breath of poison speedeth Them that chafe the elfin king. VII Moths above, that feed on dew, Flit their wings of gold and blue, 177 THE CARIB SEA Fancy guesses These must be the court-princesses: Others are in durance pent, Changed to orchids for their tricks, Wantons they, who must remain All day long in beauteous pain Till stern Oberon relent, Pardon grant, and seal affix. Each repineth Thus until the monarch dineth And, content, doth loose her chain. VIII Would you had the fine, fine ear The dragonfly's recall to hear, Tiny words Of the vibrant humming-birds That, where bloom convolvuli, Round the dew-cups whir and hover, Thrusting each, hour after hour, His keen bill to heart o' the flower, As some mounted knight may ply His long lance, an eager lover, Through deep sedges, And athrough the coppice edges, Fain to reach his lady's bower. 178 FERN-LAND IX Whilst the emerald lancers poise In the soft air without noise, Brake and mould Hoard their marvels manifold. There the armored beetles creep, Shrouding in unseemly fear Each his shield of chrysoprase Lest its gleam himself betrays For our kind to seize and keep Prisoned in a damsel's ear. Each one stealeth Dumbly, and his dull way feeleth Until starlight shall appear. x Step you soft, be mute and wary Lest you wake the lords of Faery! Motion rude Fits not with their solitude: Else the spider will resent And the beetle nip you well, Bete-rouge in your neck will furrow, Garapata dig his burrow: - I 79 THE CARIB SEA Dread the wasp's swift punishment And the chegoe's vengeance fell: Well-defended, Fairies sleep till day hath ended, Leave we Fern-Land and its spell. i8o MORGAN OH, what a set of Vagabundos, Sons of Neptune, sons of Mars, Raked from todos otros mundos, Lascars, Gascons, Portsmouth tars, Prison mate and dock-yard fellow, Blades to Meg and Molly dear, Off to capture Porto Bello Sailed with Morgan the Buccaneer! Out they voyaged from Port Royal (Fathoms deep its ruins be, Pier and convent, fortress loyal, Sunk beneath the gaping sea); On the Spaniard's beach they landed, Dead to pity, void of fear,Round their blood-red flag embanded, Led by Morgan the Buccaneer. Dawn till dusk they stormed the castle, Beat the gates and gratings down; i8i THE CARIB SEA Then, with ruthless rout and wassail, Night and day they sacked the town, Staved the bins its cellars boasted, Port and Lisbon, tier on tier, Quaffed to heart's content, and toasted Harry Morgan the Buccaneer: Stripped the church and monastery, Racked the prior for his gold, With the traders' wives made merry, Lipped the young and mocked the old, Diced for hapless senfioritas (Sire and brother bound anear),Juanas, Lolas, Manuelitas, Cursing Morgan the Buccaneer. Lust and rapine, flame and slaughter, Forayed with the Welshman grim: "Take my pesos, spare my daughter!" "Ha! ha!" roared that devil's limb, " These shall jingle in our pouches, She with us shall find good cheer." " Lash the graybeard till he crouches!" Shouted Morgan the Buccaneer. I82 MORGAN Out again through reef and breaker, While the Spaniard moaned his fate, Back they voyaged to Jamaica, Flush with doubloons, coins of eight, Crosses wrung from Popish varlets, Jewels torn from arm and ear, - Jesu! how the Jews and harlots Welcomed Morgan the Buccaneer! 183 CAPTAIN FRANCISCA OFF Maracaibo's wall The squadron lay: The dykes are carried all With storm and shout! Le Basque and Lolonnois On land their crews deploy, Through all that ruthless day The Spaniards rout. They sack the captured town Ere set of sun; Their blood-red pennons crown The convent tower: Then Du Plessis, the bold, Cries: "Take my share of gold! For me this pretty one, This cloister flower!" Dice, drink, and song, the while They seek anew i 84 CAPTAIN FRANCISCA The filibusters' isle, Tortuga's port. Swift was the craft that bore Francisca from her shore; Red-handed were its crew And grim their sport. Unbraided fell her hair, A tropic cloud; Seven days, with sob and prayer, She mourned the dead; Like rain her tears fell; But Du Plessis right well By saint and relic vowed As on they sped. Ere past the Mer du Nord She smiled apace; Her dark eyes evermore Sought his alone. Hot wooed the Chevalier; His outlaw-priest was near: Forsworn were home and race, She was his own. 185 THE CARIB SEA Now cruel Lolonnois And fierce Le Basque Unlade with wolfish joy The cargazon; Land all their ribald braves, Captives and naked slaves, With many a bale and cask, By rapine won; Armor and altar-plate Brought over sea: Pesos, a countless weight, The horde divideTo each an equal share, Else blades are in the air! Cries Du Plessis: "For me, My ship, and bride!" They sailed the Mer du Nord, The Carib Sea, Whose galleons fled before The Frenchman's crew; But, in one deadly fight, A swivel aimed aright Brought down young Du Plessis, Shot through and through. i86 CAPTAIN FRANCISCA Wild heart of France, in pride And ruin bred! Against a heart he died, As brave, as free. Sternly she bade his men First sink the prize, and then Name one that in his stead Their chief should be. Each red-shirt laid his hand Upon the Cross, Swearing, at her command, Vengeance to wreak; To scour the blue sea there And seek the Spaniards' lair, From Gracias a Dios To Porto Rique. His corse the deep she gave, Her life to hate; Upon the land and wave Brought sudden fear: No bearded Capitan, Since first their woes began (The orphaned nifias prate), Cost them so dear! 187 THE CARIB SEA From Maracaibo's Bay Anon put out A frigate to waylay This ranger dark. It crossed the Mer du Nord, And, off San Salvador, Stayed, with defiance stout, Francisca's barque. They grappled stern and prow Till the guns kissed! Girt like her rovers, now She bids them board: The first her blade had shorn Was her own brother born. Blindly she smote, nor wist Whose life-stream poured. Yet, as he fell, one ball His sure aim sped. Her lips the battle-call Essay in vain. Then deathful stroke on stroke, Curses and powder-smoke, And blood like water shed Above the twain! i88 CAPTAIN FRANCISCA No quarter give or take! The decks are gore; Fresh gaps the Spaniards make, Charging anew: "Death to the buccaneer! No more our fleet shall fear, That sails the Mer du Nord, This corsair crew!" - On thy lone strand was made, San Salvador, One grave where two were laid For bane or boon! The last of all their race, To each an equal place. Guards well that sombre shore The still lagoon. I 89 PANAMA Two towers the old Cathedral lifts Above the sea-walled town,The wild pine bristles from their rifts, The runners dangle down; In either turret, staves in hand, All day the mongrel ringers stand And sound, far over bay and land, The Bells of Panama. Loudly the cracked bells, overhead, Of San Francisco ding, With Santa Ana, La Merced, Felipe, answering; Banged all at once, and four times four, Morn, noon, and night, the more and more Clatter and clang with huge uproar The Bells of Panama. From out their roosts the bellmen see The red-tiled roofs below, - 190 PANAMA The Plaza folk that lazily To mass and cockpit go, - Then pound afresh, with clamor fell, Each ancient, broken, thrice-blest bell, Till thrice our mouths have cursed as well The Bells of Panama. The Cordillera guards the main As when Pedrarias bore The cross, the castled flag of Spain, To the Pacific shore; The tide still ebbs a league from quay, The buzzards scour the emptied Bay: "There's a heretic to singe to-day, - Come out! Come out! "- still strive to say The Bells of Panama. I9I MARTINIQUE IDYL LOVE, the winds long to lure you to their home, To tempt you on beneath the northern arch! There, in the swift, bright summer, you and I i May loiter where the elms' deep shadows lie; There, by our household fire, bid Yule-tide come, And winter's cold, and every gust of March. Stay, 0 stay with me here, and chasten Your heart still longing to wander more! Ever the restless winds are winging, But the white-plumed egrets, skyward-springing, Over our blue sea hover, and hasten To light anew on their own dear shore. The lips grow tired of honey, the cloyed ear Of music, and of light the eyelids tire. I weary of the sky's eternal balm, The ceaseless droop and rustle of the palm; Only your whisper, love, constrains me here From that brave clime I would you might desire. I9z MARTINIQUE IDYL Cold, ah, cold is the sky, and leaden, There where earth rounds off to the pole! Still by kisses the moments number,Here are sweetness, and rest, and slumber, All to lighten and naught to deaden The heart's low murmur, the captured soul. Dear, I would have you yearn, amid these sweets, For the clear breeze that blows from waters gray, For some fresh, northern hill-top, overgrown With bush and bloom and brake to you unknown; There, while the hidden thrush his song repeats, The rose shall tinge your cheek the livelong day. Stay in the clime where living is loving And the lips make music unaware; Ihere copses thrill with the wood-doves' cooing, And astral moths on the flight are wooing; While the light colibris poise unmoving, - Winged Loves that mate in the trembling air. Nay, love itself will languish in the days When Summer never doffs his burning helm. I93 THE CARIB SEA No lasting links to bind the soul are wrought Where passion takes no deeper cast from thought; Ah! lend your ear a moment to the lays Our poets sing you of a trustier realm! Under the cocoa-fronds that flutter, Here, where the lush white trumpet-flower And the curled lianas roof us over, So that no evil thing discover The sighs we mingle, the words we utter, Here, oh here, let us make our bower! Love is not perfect, sweet, that like a dream Flows on without a forecast or a pain; Some burden must betide to make it strong, Some toil, to make its briefest bliss seem long, - Ay, longer than the crossing of a stream Mist-haunted, lit by moons that surely wane. Here, for a round of moons unbroken, A spell that holds shall your loss requite; The fleet, sweet moments shall pass unreckoned And all to our constant love be second, And the fragrant lily shall be our token, That folds itself on the waves at night. I94 MARTINIQUE IDYL Yonder, or here, and whether summer's star Burn overhead, or rains of autumn fall! Or snows of winter in the frozen North? Love, never doubt it! Take me with you forth! And oh, forget not in that land afar, I am your summer, -you, my lie, my all! 195 ASTRA CAELI OvER the Carib Sea to-night The stars hang low and near From the inexplicable dome, - Nearer, more close to sight, Than from the skies which bound sea That girts our northern home. Aftward the sister Crosses be, And yonder to the lee One burning cresset glows - a sphere With light beyond a new moon's rays, As if some world of vanished souls shone clear And straight before our gaze. Were now his spirit bright,Not veiled, nor dumb, - My brother's, with the smile of years ago, I96 the stern gray ASTRA CAELI Hither to glide far down that path of light, And lift a hand, and say aright,"Thou too shalt know The orb from which I come!" - Were thus'twixt star and wave His voice to reach me on the night-wind's breath, I would not lightly leave thee, Dear, Nor them who with thee here Make of Life's best for me the choice and sum,But yet might not bemoan me, as the slave Condemned, who hears the call to death; For that strange heralding Even of itself would answer all,- would prove Life but a voyage such as this, and bring To our adventuring Its gage of the immortal boon, Promise of after joy and toil and love; And I would yield me, as the bird takes wing Knowing its mate must follow sure and soon. Ay, -but the trackless spirit Comes not, nor is there utterance or sign Of all we would divine Vouchsafed from the unanswering dome: 197 THE CARIB SEA No presence east or west, Only the stars - the restless wondering sea Bearing us back, from foam-tipped crest to crest, Toward the one small part ourselves inherit Of this lone darkling world - and call our home. 198 V ARIEL IN MEMORY OF PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY: BORN ON THE FOURTH OF AUGUST, A. D., I792 ARIEL WERT thou on earth to-day, immortal one, How wouldst thou, in the starlight of thine eld, The likeness of that morntide look upon Which men beheld? How might it move thee, imaged in time's glass, As when the tomb has kept Unchanged the face of one who slept Too soon, yet moulders not, though seasons come and pass? Has Death a wont to stay the soul no less? And art thou still what SHELLEY was ere while, A feeling born of music's restlessness A child's swift smile Between its sobs - a wandering mist that rose At dawn- a cloud that hung The Euganean hills among; Thy voice, a wind-harp's strain in some enchanted close? 20I ARIEL Thyself the wild west wind, O boy divine, Thou fain wouldst be,- the spirit which in its breath Wooes yet the seaward ilex and the pine That wept thy death? Or art thou still the incarnate child of song Who gazed, as if astray From some uncharted stellar way, With eyes of wonder at our world of grief and wrong? Yet thou wast Nature's prodigal; the last Unto whose lips her beauteous mouth she bent An instant, ere thy kinsmen, fading fast, Their lorn way went. What though the faun and oread had fled? A tenantry thine own, Peopling their leafy coverts lone, With thee still dwelt as when sweet Fancy was not dead; Not dead as now, when we the visionless, In nature's alchemy more woeful wise, Say that no thought of us her depths possess, - No love, her skies. 202 ARIEL Not ours to parley with the whispering June, The genii of the wood, The shapes that lurk in solitude, The cloud, the mounting lark, the wan and wan ing moon. For thee the last time Hellas tipped her hills With beauty; India breathed her midnight moan, Her sigh, her ecstasy of passion's thrills, To thee alone. Such rapture thine, and the supremer gift Which can the minstrel raise, Above the myrtle and the bays, To watch the sea of pain whereon our galleys drift. Therefrom arose with thee that lyric cry, Sad cadence of the disillusioned soul That asks of heaven and earth its destiny, - Or joy or dole. Wild requiem of the heart whose vibratings, With laughter fraught, and tears, Beat through the century's dying years While for one more dark round the old Earth plumes her wings. z203 ARIEL No answer came to thee; from ether fell No voice, no radiant beam; and in thy youth How were it else, when still the oracle Withholds its truth? We sit in judgment,- we, above thy page Judge thee and such as thee, Pale heralds, sped too soon to see The marvels of our late yet unanointed age! The slaves of air and light obeyed afar Thy summons, Ariel; their elf-horns wound Strange notes which all uncapturable are Of broken sound. That music thou alone couldst rightly hear (0 rare impressionist! ) And mimic. Therefore still we list To its ethereal fall in this thy cyclic year. Be then the poet's poet still! for none Of them whose minstrelsy the stars have blessed Has from expression's wonderland so won The unexpressed,So wrought the charm of its elusive note 20+ ARIEL On us, who yearn in vain To mock the paan and the plain Of tides that rise and fall with sweet mysterious rote. Was it not well that the prophetic few, So long inheritors of that high verse, Dwelt in the mount alone, and haply knew What stars rehearse? But now with foolish cry the multitude Awards at last the throne, And claims thy cloudland for its own With voices all untuned to thy melodious mood. What joy it was to haunt some antique shade Lone as thine echo, and to wreak my youth Upon thy song, - to feel the throbs which made Thy bliss, thy ruth, - And thrill I knew not why, and dare to feel Myself an heir unknown To lands the poet treads alone Ere to his soul the gods their presence quite reveal! Even then, like thee, I vowed to dedicate My powers to beauty; ay, but thou didst keep 205 ARIEL The vow, whilst I knew not the afterweight That poets weep, The burthen under which one needs must bow, The rude years envying My voice the notes it fain would sing For men belike to hear, as still they hear thee now. Oh, the swift wind, the unrelenting sea! They loved thee, yet they lured thee unaware To be their spoil, lest alien skies to thee Should seem more fair; They had their will of thee, yet aye forlorn Mourned the lithe soul's escape, And gave the strand thy mortal shape To be resolved in flame whereof its life was born. Afloat on tropic waves, I yield once more In age that heart of youth unto thy spell. The century wanes: thy voice thrills as of yore When first it fell. Would that I too, so had I sung a lay The least upborne of thine, Had shared thy pain! Not so divine Our light, as faith to chant the far auroral day. ON THE CARIBBEAN SEA (Revisited i892) 206 INDEX OF TITLES INDEX OF TITLES Aaron Burr's Wooing, 8I. Ad Vigilem, I2Z.H ARIEL, 20I Astra Caeli, I96. Jamaica, i 6z. Captain Francisca, 1 84. CARIB SEA, THE, 139-198. Castle Island Light, 147. Centuria, 92. Christophe, 1 53.COMMEMORATIONS, 95-I 37. Constant Heart, The, 14. Corda Concordia, 105. Cousin Lucrece, 84. Creole Lover's Song, I66. Death of Bryant, The, 97. Dutch Patrol, The, 72. Old Picture-Dealer, The, I 8. On a Great Man Whose Mind is clouding, I 1 5. On the Death of an Invincible Soldier, I I 6. On White Carnations Given Me for My Birthday, 54. Falstaff's Song, 65. Father Jardine, 55. Fern-Land, I74. Fin de Siecle, 58. Panama, I 90. Pilgrims, The, 5 1. Portrait d'une Dame Espagnole, 4I. Proem to a Victorian Anthology, 53Provencal Lovers, 67. Gifford, 103. Guests at Yale, i 6. Hand of Lincoln, The, 5Harebell, 48. Hebe, 24. 209 Helen Keller, 3 9. Huntington House, 89. Inscripdons, 94. Byron, 125 Kennst Du? 141 La Source, 1 5 5 - Liberty Enlightening the I I g. World, Martinique Idyl, I 9 2. Morgan, i 8 i. Mors Benefica, 5-2Music at Home, 3 Nocturne, 8. I I Ergo Iris, " 1 2 3 - Eventide, 3 8.' INDEX OF TITLES Rose and the Jasmine, The, I69. VARIOUS POEMS, I-62. Vigil, A, 32. Sargasso Weed, 145. Sea Change, at Kelp Rock, A, 43.SONGS AND BALLADS, 63-94. Souvenir de Jeunesse, 30. Star Bearer, The, 34. 79World Well Lost, The, 2z. ToL. H. S. I59. Tombe of ye Poet Chaucer, Ye, IO. Yale Ode for Commencement Day, 130. " UbiSunt Qui Ante Nos?" I 32. 210O W. W. 1-24. Wedding-Day, The, 70Witchcraft, I., A. D. x692, 77Witchcraft, 11., A. D. - 1884,