THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LOS ANGELES ASHES AND SPARKS "Scatter, as from an unextinguished hearth Ashes and sparks, my words among mankind!" From Shellty's ODE TO THE WEST WIND. ASHES AND SPARKS RICHARD WIGHTMAN Author of "The Things He Wrote to Her, "Soul-Spur," etc. NEW YORK THE CENTURY CO 19*5 Copyright, 1915, by RICHARD WIGHTMAN Published, October, 1915 To My Lady Patricia 904133 IN THIS VOLUME PAGE AT THE SHRINE OF THE HILL-BROOK 3 THE LANE 5 LURE O' DREAMS 7 MY BODY AND I 10 HER ROSARY I3 THE GRASSHOPPER AEROPLANES 14 THE FRONTIERSMAN l6 IN THE NEW COUNTRY ig THE CHATTEL 2O THE DISADVANTAGES OF CHAZY 2 2 HER NEED SUPREME 24 A WAYSIDE REVERIE 25 THE SCULPTOR 27 THE CYNIC'S ADVICE 2Q ADIRONDACKS 31 THE PILGRIM 33 THE NAKED DAY 35 THE SOUL'S SONG OF INDEPENDENCE 36 THE PLOWMAN 39 MOOD O' JUNE 4 THE WHITE OLD LADY 43 THE SERVANTS 46 MARGUERITE 48 TRANSIENT SYMBOLS 50 THE TINDERBOX 52 SEVENTY-ODD 53 THE MENTOR 55 IN THIS VOLUME PAGE THE GREAT MAN 56 SING ON, O HEART 58 THE DISTINCTION OF DIFFERENCE go THE EXPOSITION 62 THE FRIEND 67 THE GAUNTLET FLUNG TO DEATH 69 LINCOLN 70 THE INDIVIDUAL 74 THE MAN-CHILD 76 THE PATH TO HEAVEN ." 79 THE QUEST gl THE GUARDING LOVE 85 THE CRISIS HOUR 87 THE HEART UNIVERSAL 89 IF THIS BE LIFE AND DEATH . . PRESENTATION ODE . . . , . AFTER THE THORNS _' 90 92 99 IN A DESERT PLACE IOO THE LAST LULLABY . ... . . X IOI WHEN YOU ARE GONE . , . . IO2 TRANSIENCE IO 4 THE CONQUEROR . IOS RELINQUISHMENT . . .' , IO7 ANDREW F. BRANDO IO 8 THE MAIDEN IIO THE JAIL-BREAKER II2 AS WOMAN LOVETH II3 THE COMRADE IIS FRANCES II7 A LOST MESSAGE , . . I2 i BY LOVE OF HER I23 THE WEAVER OF THE WOOD I2 g THE MARINER 127 129 REVIEW I32 AFTER TOIL ASHES AND SPARKS ASHES AND SPARKS AT THE SHRINE OF THE HILL- BROOK OING to me, little stream, sing to me long, ^ The soul of me thirsts for thy undulant song. Prone in thy grasses I listening lie, Pine trees and verdant leas, bracken and sky Are near to me, dear to me, but, little stream, Sing me away to the sweet Land of Dream. AT SHRINE OF THE HILL-BROOK The fag of the city has mantled my heart, My weary feet bleed from the thorns of the mart, The spirit within me is ill with the strife, But thou art unweary, O, blithe thing of life ! I am pleading, and needing thy lilt and thy gleam Sing to me, sing to me now, little stream ! THE LANE TOW far will you go with me, my love? To the stile, or the bridge, or the great oak-tree ? The lane is a lonely and fearsome place, And there 's no one journeying there but me." She smiled at the stile with a sweet disdain ; She scoffed at the bridge and the great oak- tree; And looked me full in the eyes and said, "I will go to the end of the lane with thee." 5 THE LANE Then I loved her anew, with a strange, fierce love, As high as the stars and as deep as the sea : She would share my heaven and share my hell! She would go to the end of the lane with me. 6 LURE O' DREAMS '\\ 7HERE do you keep your dreams, my ** boy? Your face is lit, and for very joy Your feet are swift in the vale and lea, Tell me, pray, where your dreams may be." "They are wonderful dreams," he made reply, "And I share them not with the passer-by. Here in my heart I have hid them deep ; They bless my waking and thread my sleep With golden strands but I must not tell, 7 LURE O' DREAMS They are wonderful dreams and serve me well!" "Where are your dreams?" His face was tense With the toil of years, and the wage-man's pence Was hung where the weary day grew dim; "Where are your dreams?" I asked of him. He raised his face in the late sun's glare And took his cap from the graying hair. "They were wonderful dreams," he made reply, "And I shared them not with the passer-by. Here in my heart I hid them deep As men hide rubies, but oh, the steep Rough Way and the hunger keen, 8 LURE O' DREAMS And the dry brook-bed where the willows lean Their dead trunks vainly!" He drove his spade Deep where the line of the trench was laid, And from the swamp, across the hill, Came the sad far cry of the whip-poor-will. MY BODY AND I T GOT this body in the Fleshing Shop When it was small and pudgy-like and red; No teeth it had nor could it stand erect, A fuzzy down grew sparse upon its head. At sight of it the neighbors stood and laughed, And tickled it and jogged it up and down; Then some one put it in a little cart And wheeled it gaily through the gaping town. 10 MY BODY AND I When it grew bigger and could walk and run, I wet it in the pond above the mill, Or took it to a building called a "school," And there I had to keep it very still. And later, when its muscles stronger grew, I made it sow and reap to get its grain, And tanned it in the summer's fiercest suns, And toughened it with wind and cold and rain. It served to keep me near my friend, the Earth, It helped me well to get from place to place, And then, perhaps, a tiny bit of me Has sometimes worked out through its hands and face! ii MY BODY AND I How long I Ve had it ! longer than it seems Since first they wrapped it in a linen clout, And now 't is shrivelled, patched and break ing down I guess, forsooth, that I have worn it out ! And If O, bless you ! I am ever young. A soul ne'er ages, is nor bent nor gray, And when the body breaks and crumbles down The Fleshing Shop is just across the way ! 12 HER ROSARY \ CHAIN of gold, pearl-strung; a sym- boled cross; The imaged form of Him who hung thereon For love, in whose great name thy prayer Ascends for me, my sweet, when I am gone ! O vigils of thy heart ! O sacred pearls, Worn by thy fingers as thou pleadst my weal ! The only answering meed I have for thee Is mine own soul, sealed with love's scarlet seal! THE GRASSHOPPER AEROPLANES 5 TV TEATH arching skies benignly blue, ^ ^ Where zigzag fences skirt the lanes, One August day I lolled aglee And watched the myriad aeroplanes. I saw them fuel in the grass And preen them ere began their flight; I heard the little engines whir, And then ah, 't was a pretty sight ! From stalk of timothy they sped To light upon the jimson-weed, THE GRASSHOPPER AEROPLANES Or circled in the drowsy air Above the wheat-field's waving meed. And some were green and some were brown, And some a soft and elfish gray As on the air-paths undulant They sailed and sailed the hours away. Singly, paired, in gauzy flocks, They rode upon the summer breeze 'Mid cheers of finch and chick-a-dee And locust-fiddling in the trees! THE FRONTIERSMAN suns of summer seared his skin; The cold his blood congealed ; The forest giants blocked his way; The stubborn acres' yield He wrenched from them by dint of arm, And grim old Solitude Broke bread with him and shared his cot Within the cabin rude. The gray rocks gnarled his massive hands; The north wind shook his frame ; The wolf of hunger bit him oft; The world forgot his name; 16 THE FRONTIERSMAN But 'mid the lurch and crash of trees, Within the clearing's span Where now the bursting wheat-heads dip, The Fates turned out a man! IN THE NEW COUNTRY (A CAMEO) T WANT Lucille. I Ve grubbed on this ^ old Section now for months And lashed the stubborn acres with my steel, But now my heart, all human-like, cries out I want Lucille. The cabin is quite finished every crevice mortared and the roof Is fit for any rain. The stove is set And all the dishes patient on their shelves; The bed with its checked coverlet is there In its own corner, and the chair 18 IN THE NEW COUNTRY I made for her is rocking empty in the breeze ; The nails on which to hang her things are driven And the mirror placed at her own height, a little less than mine. Out in the shed the Alderney is tied and Bess, her mare, Is coated for the Fall. The saddle on its rack Is waiting, as am I, just for Lucille. It 's strange, is n't it, how strong a man can be And yet how lonesome he can feel ? But I don't care I want Lucille ! THE CHATTEL \ MAN on the block in the city's Square, Thronged with bidders from far and near! I can see his face in the red sun's glare Pale at the cry of the Auctioneer. "How much am I offered a dollar? Ten? Oh, come now ! give me a decent bid ! For men in the market are always men, And in this one there 's a fortune hid. Why, look at his eyes, now the shift and fall ! And look at his hands with their nervous clutch ! And the scheming brain of him look ye all ! 20 THE CHATTEL What? scruple ? say! well, not over- much! Ten thousand? Twenty? (I almost laughed!) Come! Here is a very exceptional man He ''11 plug your game and he '11 work your graft, And push to the finish your rottenest plan. Twenty-fa/ thousand once ! twice ! are you done? The man 's in his prime 't would be cheap were he old; He 's a long way ahead of the regular run And I 'm bid twenty-/^ fair warning ! SOLD!" 21 THE DISADVANTAGES OF CHAZY (ADIRONDACKS) fT^HERE is no market here. On certain days One rides along the unfrequented ways, Beckons the farmer from his mellow field And buys first-handed what his acres yield. There are no steamboats here. His arm is brown Who spurns the varied engines of the town, And to the measured rhythm of the oar Bounds in his skiff along the verdant shore. 22 THE DISADVANTAGES OF CHAZY There are no pavements here. The forest loam Signals our feet and far we blithely roam Where strange, sweet odors soothe our little ills, And valleys guide the courses of the rills. There is no college here. But well endowed Is every growing thing and every cloud, And He who knoweth all imparts His mind Unsparingly to docile hearts and kind. There are no churches here. The only spires Are those upon the pine-trees, but the fires Of true oblation burn their brightest when Prayer is exultant with no last amen. w ,, HER NEED SUPREME HAT do I want most of all, most of O, man of my heart, with the world within call? You are generous, quite, with your gems and your gold, You keep me from starving and keep me from cold, But a woman 's a rose on its bush by the wall, And I want you to want me, dear, that most of all ! 24 A WAYSIDE REVERIE ^T^HE past? Well, what of the past, I * say! Poor outworn thing; can I mend it, pray? Do tears avail for the misspent days ? Will pining straighten the crooked ways? Must yesterday's heartbreak last for ay, And yesterday's mist hide the sun to-day? Nay, life is life, and the farer's toll Is a hopeful heart as the hours unroll. The path ascends ; each winding rood Blooms at the touch of a blithesome mood. I will hold that the best is a bit beyond 25 A WAYSIDE REVERIE And drink a toast from the lily's f rond- A toast in dew to the day that 's done, And one to the better day begun. 26 THE SCULPTOR A ^"ARBLE is docile to me, **-* Like a world, all nebular, Awaiting its designer And valueless until I give it life. No form it has, nor soul, Nor spell of beauty; No angel shows, Nor hint of human grace. 'T is stone not more mere stone, And fit for but a peasant's spit Or kick of his thick boot. And then I dream! 27 THE SCULPTOR (Ah, God, I dream!) And toil, (Ah, God, I toil!) And something comes of it, A something white and gleaming In the City's Square. "Look there!" they cry, "A General!" "A Pope!" "A Statesman!" or "A Poet!" "Wonderful!" But on my bench beneath the tree I sit and smile The fools ! And blind at that ! / am the statue, whatsoe'er its form. My soul and sweat are there, And all my awful years. Myself is in the stone ! 28 THE CYNIC'S AD.VICE f"T"VHERE is only one task, little man, little man, In this wonderful, wonderful Island of Trade ; 'Tis to capture the dollars wherever you can Nor matters the motive, nor matters the plan So long as you do it, thus winners are made. So heat your heart, lad, in the hot money- fire, And harden it well in the cold tank of greed ; 29 THE CYNIC'S ADVICE On gold and dominion set fast your desire And never to justice and kindness aspire, But trample your brothers and laugh when they bleed. For "business is business," remember that well, 'Tis a fine, sturdy maxim time-honored and true, (I doubt, as some say, that 'twas authored in hell) Adopt it and Bradstreet your triumph will tell, And you will get all that is coming to you ! ADIRONDACKS OOUND, sweet sleep on a balsam bed, ^ A dip in the lake at morn, A climb to the crest of Eagle's Nest, The ring of the breakfast horn; A laugh at the quip of my comrades brown, A reach for the reel and rod, A swinging pace for the streams that race Down the hills of the Land of God; The swish of the ferns in the brackened trail, The give of the loam 'neath my feet, The squirrel's chirr, the woodcock's whir, The call of the veery sweet; ADIRONDACKS A still approach to the waiting pool, A cast, a flash, a thrill, And a shortened line where the roots entwine To test the fisher's skill; A varied wade through a rocky maze, By noon a weight in the creel ; A venison snack, a drowse, and back With a heart of hope and weal. This may list low to the men who know The tricks of the Street's mad strife, But if I may, just let me say By George, I call it life ! THE PILGRIM T AM my ancient self. * Long paths I 've trod, The luring light before, Behind, the rod; And in the beam and blow The misty God. I am my ancient self. My flesh is young, But old, mysterious words Engage my tongue, And weird, lost songs Old bards have sung. 33 THE PILGRIM I have not fared alone. In mount and dell The one I fain would be Stands by me well, And bids my man's heart list To the far bell. Give me nor ease nor goal Only the Way, A bit of bread and sleep Where the white waters play, The pines, the patient stars, And the new day. 34 THE NAKED DAY HP^HE day itself was glorious enough, * Needing no drape of travel or of talk, And so I lay at reverent ease Beside the shadowed walk, And drank deep of the beauty of the day And put my sighs and little sins away. 35 THE SOUL'S SONG OF INDEPENDENCE T)UT out the stars! My essence is light ; I laugh at the haste Of the darkness in flight. Dry up the streams ! I am fertile and, lo, My springs are within me To ward the drought's blow. SOUL'S SONG OF INDEPENDENCE Burn all the books ! They are fragments of Him Who is with me and of me, My sinew and limb. Unmast the flags ! My banner I '11 be, Hued with the dye-stuffs Of Infinity. Scuttle the ships! On the paths of the sea I will fleet to the Islands Of far Arcady. Banish the market! My barter in dreams I carry on shrewdly Where no arc-light gleams. 37 SOUL'S SONG OF INDEPENDENCE Level the towns ! I 'm a child of the plain And merrily houseless I journey amain. Melt down the gold Till it seethes in the pot ! I am my riches, Of Croesus begot. Woo my friends from me ! I am my best friend In a compact of comradeship, Never to end. Bury the flesh! I am I and for ay Will bide through the eons And hail the young day ! 38 THE PLOWMAN GEE up there, Brain! Gee up there, Hand! I am a tiller of the land. Ye are my oxen docile, strong, To make the furrow straight and long. I '11 feed ye, rest ye, tend ye well, And stall ye at the evening bell. But now 't is morn ; the uplands lie To take their pulsing pregnancy. The plow is set; its sheening steel Is eager for the harvest's weal. So haw there, Brain ! and haw there, Hand ! I am a tiller of the land! 39 (A RHAPSODY OF DEFIANCE) OTAND back, ye irking devils of despair! Behold, my head is bare To the balmed breeze from off the sapphire sea And lifted to the sun. For unto me The Voices call, call resonant and clear, "Live, man! live strong! Another June is here!" June! Look a belted bee is in the rose, And soon will stagger in his flight to close 40 MOOD O' JUNE The comb with weight of gathered sweet. And, see A red-wing 's on the flag and swinging free ! I catch the flash of crimson mid the jet, As there he balances above the wet, Lush grass beside the pasture-pond, where slow, Brown cattle at the evening go. Now, too, the brook its cheery gossip spills Into the pools among the shaded hills, Or widens in the meadow to caress The crisp tanged leaves of the o'er-bending cress, While in the riffles finning trout await With upstream heads the fall of fly or bait. Up from their Earth the floral children rise And blow their kisses to the wooing skies In gleeful troth, and deck themselves anew With filmy fabrics spangled o'er with dew. MOOD O' JUNE The useful grass along the fertile plain Stirs in the heat and becks the friendly rain, And high the lark his silver lyre tunes To sift on all below its mystic runes. Bird-song and bloom and reach of trellised vine! The Voices call, and all the earth is mine, And for my feet the clovered paths that go Where poise and peace abide ! And so Stand back, ye irking devils of despair! A glass of June-wine in the odored air I lift to Nature to her hills and trees, To wave and shallop by the bouldered leas, To star and sun, to night and dewy dawn, To days to be, to plaints and sorrows gone, To life, to love, to Woman and to Man, And to the utter goodness of the Plan ! 42 THE WHITE OLD LADY rr^HE white old lady who lived next * door, Whose face was weazened with years and care, Forgot for the moment her life's long stress, Whenever Evangeline went there, And curtsied and chirruped and acted young Oh, the tales she told and the songs she sung ! Evangeline was a little child, And the white old lady was long past that : 43 THE WHITE OLD LADY She had buried her kinsfolk one by one, And lived alone with her dog and cat. And she stirred her gruel and baked her tarts, And harked for the sound of the tradesmen's carts. Evangeline was a little child A little child, as I said before And the white old lady knew well her knock, For it often rang on the entry door : And, stopping to right things and primp a bit, The white old lady would answer it. For sweetness the pinks in the garden there Were not to be named with Evangeline, As she 'd wait with her biggest and blondest doll 44 THE WHITE OLD LADY While the white old lady unlatched the screen. I never was asked to the party small, But I Ve sat at my window and guessed it all. When the white old lady was old no more, And had opened her eyes to the lasting dawn, And the choir sang in the stuffy room, And the neighbors trod on the shaded lawn, The one real mourner was scarcely four She had oftenest knocked at the entry door. 45 THE SERVANTS QINGER, sing! The hoary world Needs reminder of its youth: Prophet, tell! The darkness lies On the labyrinths of truth: Builder, build! Let rocks uprise Into cities 'neath thy hand: Farmer, till ! The sun and rain Harken for the seed's demand: Artist, paint ! Thy canvases Patiently convey thy soul: Writer, write ! With pen blood-dipped Trace no segment, but the whole : Teacher, teach! Thyself the creed 46 THE SERVANTS Only this a child may know : Dreamer, dream! Nor hide thy face Though thy castles crumble low. Where the toiler turns the sod Man beholds the living God. 47 MARGUERITE T WILL not forsake thee, sweet Maiden of Woe Thy lips like the cherry, thy breasts like the snow. The winds may be cruel to thy raven hair But I '11 hold thee, enfold thee, and soothe thy despair. Thine eyes tell the story of love that went wrong, And stilled is thy laughter and sobered thy song, 48 MARGUERITE But a path I will point to the Gardens of Rest, Where no rod is, where God is, O, Maiden oppressed ! And the man? Ah, the man! Let him shift as he may, And bleed from the thorns that encompass his way, For justice ne'er sleeps and the man and his kin Shall sink o'er the brink of the Chasm of Sin. 49 TRANSIENT SYMBOLS (A CHRISTMAS POEM) T N snowy vales the evergreen we seek, And find it growing strong, with never reek Of passion or of greed or vaunting pride; The ax descends upon its quivering side; With glee the corse is shouldered to the feast, But while succeeding suns flame in the East The Tree of Life lives on. Upon the patient boughs the candles flare And shining trinkets are suspended there A top for Tom, a waxen doll for Sue TRANSIENT SYMBOLS The jocund hour is as a dream come true; But though the dream has vanished ere the morn, The candles die, the trinkets are outworn, The Gift of gifts ne'er dims. Though it be wrought in love the Christ mas cheer Our hearts are changeful as the changeful year, Having their heat and chill, bud, bloom, decay. Where are the friends and loves of yester day? Gone like the whisp'rings of the restless sea ! But for the world's toil-struck humanity The love of Christ abides. THE TINDERBOX fnr^HE structure stood, and Hope and Dream the timbers crossed and crossed; Then Fate came by and carelessly a flaming splinter tossed, And merrily the sparks leaped high! Who heard the weary builder's sigh? SEVENTY-ODD 'T^HEY say I 'm old, perhaps I am, But not too old to dream and laugh, And I Ve a pipe and a collie dog, Some memories and an oaken staff. They say the best of my span has gone. That I deny, for today I know The deep, true things of life and love That were hid from me in the long ago. I would not be a boy again, With a boy's unrest and a boy's desire; The long content of a later youth Is best and the glow of a later fire. 53 SEVENTY-ODD I sit and rock with my hands at rest ; The sun is falling behind the hill; And a reasoned faith in the things to be The better things is with me still. My house is small and my fare is plain; My books are few and my eyes are dim; But the stars are hung in their wonted place, And the world is good to the very rim ! 54 THE MENTOR TT 7ITHIN my being, scarce perceived as * * yet, Stands fair a statue infinitely wrought, And though too oft I grovel in the gloom Its flawless lines cast over me their spell, Shaming my spirit into hate of sin, Luring my feet to altitudes unguessed. And when at that most good and longed-for day The veil falls limp about the crystal base, With leaping heart and vision clarified I shall stand face to face with my true self. 55 THE GREAT MAN 'T^HEY said that his lips were white-hot With the touch of a coal from some fire divine; They said that his will was of iron he stood For the Cause and hewed straight to the line; They said that his courage was born of the God That was in him, directing his might; They said that his torch was a heavenly flame To guide a vast people aright. 56 THE GREAT MAN But, in his own heart, he was conscious each hour That the faith of a woman was suckling his pow'r. 57 SING ON, O HEART! HEART, sing on! The drought is long, The birds are panting stilled their song; The typhoon marshals in the plain, The air is hot, no sign of rain, But still, O Heart, sing on! Heart, sing on ! Somewhere bides She Who lives and hopes and waits for thee. 1 know not when nor where thy quest Shall end, and thou shalt find thy rest, But still, O Heart, sing on! 58 SING ON, O HEART! Sing on, O Heart ! The summit far Is topped by light of yonder star ; The climb is sheer, nor paved with ease, The wind is mournful in the trees, But still, O Heart, sing on! Sing on, O Heart ! That thou canst sing Holds sure the promise of the spring, And love's fruition full and long, And thine own height above the throng, And so, O Heart, sing on ! 59 THE DISTINCTION OF DIFFERENCE T DO not want to be a cog in the whirling wheel of a great machine, Nor merely a drop in the turbulent stream that flows where the elms and the wil lows lean; Nor a chair like the other chairs set in a row with their backs all shaped to a common line, Conform ! Conform ! is the cry I hear but I never will bow to a will not mine. I do not choose to be the thing the whiplash hits in its swift decent ; 60 THE DISTINCTION OF DIFFERENCE A slave is a slave though the field be fair and manhood dies when the soul is bent. Aye, serving is good but I serve as a king with glance shot straight at the earthly Plan, For the life-blood leaps in my veins today and I '11 be, by the gods' good grace a man. 61 THE EXPOSITION OHE and I went to it the Big Fair. We were the whole Attendance. It was all under one roof, which was called the Sky. Every day this was rehued by invisible brushes, gloriously, And at night all lit by countless lights, star- shaped, And arranged curiously in the form of Dip pers and things. It must have cost a fortune in some kind of rare coin To do it that way. 62 THE EXPOSITION By day the place was vast and very beautiful. The far edge of it, all around, was called the Horizon. Each morning, out of the East, A huge golden disk came And swung itself slowly up along the arch of the sky-roof And settled to the Westward, leaving numer ous glories behind. There was a water-place there, a Lake, with an Inlet and an Outlet. It was not little and brown like those you see at the Sportsman's Show, But big and blue and clean. We splashed ourselves in it and laughed, like children. The Lake had trout in it ; I saw them leap when the water was still And the golden disk was falling. 63 THE EXPOSITION I looked around for a "Don't" sign, But there was none; So I took a hook and caught some, And She cooked them, for I had built a fire. (You see, one could do almost anything there that one liked; There were no Rules.) And there was a Spring, which kept filling itself and filling itself from somewhere, And spilling itself over its brim into the Lake, As if it were not a bit afraid there would n't be any more. The Spring was clear and cold, And we knelt by it and saw ourselves in it, And sucked its water through our lips. There were also real trees, beeches and birches, And sometimes a real wind swayed them, And their leaves made a sound 64 THE EXPOSITION Like the song of soft voices blended. Pines there were, too, and balsams But they were very still and dignified, And never bent much, even when the wind was in them. (We rented our cot from the balsams The one we slept on the nights we were there. And, oh, such a sleep!) And hills ! You should have seen them ! Each was different from the others, An individual, but together they made a Range, With a wavy top-line against the sky-roof. And we climbed the hills and lost our breath, And on their crests stood long, And looked out over wooded valleys Threaded by satin streams. It was better for our eyes than an oculist's shop. 65 THE EXPOSITION Then, up there, we would sit down on the moss-cushions, She and I, And hum some old tunes, some very old tunes, And be quietly happy A sort of happiness that did n't seem to need anything Outside of itself. We did n't see the Manager at all, But there must have been one around there somewhere To arrange all this and look after it. And we did n't pay anything to get in ; Our hearts invited us. 66 THE FRIEND rTT^AKE the lid from off your heart and let **" me see within ; Curious, I, and impudent, a rugged man of sin. And yet I hold you truer than would presi dent or priest; I put my bowl against your lip and seat you at my feast; I probe your wound and chafe your limbs and get my gods to see That you are strengthened as we fare the forest and the lea. 67 THE FRIEND Strike hands with me the glasses brim the sun is on the heather, And love is good and life is long and two are best together. 68 THE GAUNTLET FLUNG TO DEATH XT THERE cedars lift and grasses sway It waits my grave and I scarce gray. Well, let it feed upon my form While I, alive and strong and warm, Go blithely on my way. Ah, surely for no grave was I Intended, but for lea and sky And stretch of wood and lily-flame. Mayhap this hulking mortal frame Will crumble, but not I ! 69 LINCOLN 1809-1865 A ND he was once a babe, little and like * any other, Wan, slow-eyed, knowing not his mother, knowing only her breasts, Sleeping in the day, showing no hint of stature or of pow'r ! What recked he that the walls about were less than palace walls, Or that the snow, sifting upon him through the log-crevices, Was not the dust of warm and gentle stars ? 70 LINCOLN Rude-handed they who tended him rough miners with a Kohinoor And yet were they the tools of God to help that babe to be ! Then sun succeeded sun, and to the wid'ning eyes of Youth Far heights on heights stood clear, Topped by a nameless glory to be won By life and love and tireless trust in Right, And patient toil and fearless grapple with the Wrong. 'T was but the vision of a dreamful boy, But in it surely lay the unity of States, The lengthened gleam of all the Flag's fair stars, And justice done to men some white, some black, LINCOLN The owners and the owned, But bondaged all until the great Decree ! And O, the soul of him So stalwartly enbarred within its clay, Yet roaming far, halting not upon the shores of his America, Crossing seas and deserts to set up its claim Of universal kinship! We say we are his people, proudly we say it and with reverence, But in his heart he kept all men and fathered them with tenderness. Almost it seemed as if from out his loins This great parental man the race had sprung ! 72 LINCOLN He knew no couch of down, no viands rare, no easy leveled way. Lonely he fought his fight and gained the meed of Wisdom, The insignia of Poise, and Love's gemmed chaplet, fadeless through the years. We say that he was born, and date his death, But while the light seeks out the vales, and darkness holds them close, This man shall be ! 73 THE INDIVIDUAL WILL obey my light * Though my light be night ; This is the only right. I will declare my word Though to the world absurd; Thus only may I be heard. I will live out my dream Though it should folly seem, And but for me the gleam. 74 THE INDIVIDUAL I will pursue my way Though no illuming ray Eases the toilsome day. Others may scout the plan, Wise men my nature ban I will be my own man. 75 THE MAN-CHILD THE World's great Child, born and re born, is Dream, Oft parented by Penury and Pain ; Nor drifts he ever on a tranquil stream. His heritage is wind and cold and rain. No sable wears he when the blast is keen, No couch of down e'er knows his weary frame ; Upon no shoulder may he fainting lean, His breast is valleyed by the scorch of flame. 76 THE MAN-CHILD The sordid eye ne'er looks upon his face Till it is wrought in canvas or in stone, But ever comes he to the souls who know And claim and hold him for their very own. Within the life of every child he lies And gently stirs the curtain of the soul Till, peeping forth, the youthful eye descries The glinting of the fair and distant goal. He is the great Companion of the few Whose windows open toward the early sun, Who find all love within a drop of dew And worship where the silver hill-brooks run. He sees the iron hidden in its earth, Black ballast of the whirling, circling sphere, And, shaping it, brings cities to their birth While nations pause to wonder and to cheer. 77 THE MAN-CHILD He seeks the attic where the genius bends Above his task with wan and nerveless hands, And spur of hope and tireless patience lends To him whose thought shall blossom through the lands. O, Dream, live on! and live and live again! Scorned and derided thou art Prince su preme; Ruler of progress in the world of men, Ever thine own shall love and hail thee, Dream ! THE PATH TO HEAVEN jrr^WAS a wee little path, this path I would sing. It ran thro' the meadow and skirted the spring; In and out 'mongst the sumachs and on through the wood Where the tall, green-domed hemlocks in majesty stood. Across it a squirrel frisked lissome and gray, And a chipmunk perched chattering not far away. 'T was a wee little path, as was said at the start, 79 THE PATH TO HEAVEN But 't was ample to lure my feet and my heart, For it led to a tryst-spot, the old poplar-tree, Where Clarissa was patiently waiting for me. 80 To Sir Ernest H. Shackleton, C.V.O., guest of the Trans portation Club, New York, March 30, 1910. THE QUEST ^T^HE test of man is ever in his tasks; * His deeds ah, these his inmost soul reveal, And show him craven or of courage fine To forfeit ease and urge the human weal. The treasures man would gain are hidden deep, Fast-locked beneath his feet the old earth lies; The flowers of progress bloom in dangered ways 81 THE QUEST And yield their fragrance but to brave em prise. And some there be who hug the hearth, or lean To gentle gain within the place of trade; And some the craft of statesmanship essay In governmental halls where laws are made. The docile canvas waits the artist's soul, The colors on the palette patient lie To meet the beck of him who would portray The varied hues of landscape and of sky. The wan inventor bends the heated steel, The soldier arms for battle at the dawn, The writer limns his story of mankind, The singer sings his song and passes on. Each in his acre holds his sheening plow, Commanded but to till as best he may, And who shall say that these have lived in vain 82 THE QUEST Or strewn their seed along a barren way ? But great is he who feels the lure of lands Uncharted, where no human foot has trod; Who hears afar from out the icy vast, His call the summons of an onward God. This man, this son of reasoned discontent The flame of conquering within his breast What recks he of the city's paven lanes, Of feasting, or of cushioned ease and rest? For him naught but the long and rugged way, The memoried kiss of her who could not go, The ceaseless stare of cold antarctic suns, The fearful marches through eternal snow; The tug of hunger at his shrinking frame, No hearth-fire lending its warm meed of cheer, Companioned oft by solitude and pain Amid the vigils of the awesome year! But once again has man his fiber shown, 83 THE QUEST And Aspiration's banner flung afar; For him awaits the chaplet of the brave, The silent Hail of every gleaming star. The quest unfinished, ah, 't is ever sweet ! The goal unreached, the best of life ne'er done! And on the scroll of couraged men and great, Writ clear in light, the name of Shackleton. 84 THE GUARDING LOVE TF in my life's long, eager quest * I faltered, fell and missed my best; Or bent my brow to take a bay Gained in some base, unhonored way What would She say? If when in weariness her soul Should crave me, and I flung a dole A hasty word, a careless hour And gave her not my heart's best dow'r,- What would She say? THE GUARDING LOVE If to my path another came And kissed my lips and breathed my name As women do in passion's ruth, Wanting a man but not his truth What would She say? If in the eons yet to be 'Mid waning stars and shrinking sea, When e'en our graves are quite forgot, She called me and I answered not What would She say? 86 THE CRISIS HOUR A MBUSHED within the Swamp of Time ^^ it lay, And toward it, fearing naught, I made my way. I thought that life was peace and love and joy- Thus did they teach me when I was a boy. And so I wandered on, unarmored, weak, When something sharp and gleaming smote my cheek, And something splashed upon my pallid arm And frightened me, for it was red and warm. 87 THE CRISIS HOUR The pines were there and in the sky a star, But in that hour I learned that life is war. There have been other hours, and other scars Gained 'mid the placid pines, 'neath smiling stars, And not in vain if late some voice may say, "Look there! A soldier goeth on his way!" 88 THE HEART UNIVERSAL , I am the bee in the clover-head And the breeze in the leaning birches, And the foam-capped wave of the lusty sea Where the craft of the seaman lurches, And the lilt of the song in the maiden's throat, And the glint of a wing in the cover, For the gods in a kindly mood decreed That I might be a lover ! 89 IF THIS BE LIFE AND DEATH \ LITTLE itching of the soul ; * The briefest glimpse of a distant goal; A fall full-face in the cutting sand ; A gasp, a pallor, an icy hand, If this be life and death, I say Then let me die, and die today. But if life be the surge I feel Bearing me on through endless weal 'Neath faithful suns and smiling stars, O'er soundless depths and gleaming bars, 90 IF THIS BE LIFE AND DEATH Through storms that threaten, calms that lull, Drunk with the silence wonderful, Or keen to take the lore that lies In Nature's fine immensities; If life with all its pain and stress Is but a lure to onwardness; If death reveal an ampler life With greater love and vision rife, If such be life and death, I say Then let me live and die alway! To James Schoolcraft Sherman, Vice-President of the United States, to whom was presented at the Transporta tion Club, New York City, January 14, /pop, a gavel for use in the United States Senate, made from the wood of one of the American gunboats in action at the naval Battle of Champlain in the War of the Revolution. PRESENTATION ODE ^ | ^HE land lay hermited betwixt the seas As rich as now gold in its hills, pow'r in its streams, warmth in its leas. Magnolia, maple, eucalyptus, pine Were compass-points; no dim and varying governmental line Wavered along its span, Although a man With skin of copper hue would sometimes bend to drink 92 PRESENTATION ODE Above the brink Of some clear pool whose basin lay Hollowed in Nature's way Irregular, and mossy at the brim, And friendly, beckoning the skim Of swallows and the feet of panting deer. And God was here, Aye, God, with face enveiled by that fine fabric, we have come to know As Opportunity, a fabric, O most lumi nous, and lo, By faith, by tide, by wind, by evening star, Men came in little ships from lands afar, And bent their knees upon this hermit soil, And made it blossom with the wand of toil ! Beneath the cleavage of the flashing blade Tall trees were laid Prone in the forest, and the clearings, sweet 93 PRESENTATION ODE With the lure of nurture, wooed the wheat And made each grain a stalk, Full-headed, while the gentle talk Of women graced the harvest, and the cabin fire In winter met the heart's desire For comradeship and thoughtfulness and cheer ; All the long year Was benisoned by labor, song and prayer, And love was there. The Pilgrims bred, for in their loins lay The ancient urge of Nature. 'T is the way Of sturdy sires to get them sturdy sons, And when the time-worn guns Rang out to save a heritage Of hope and toil, Youth vied with Age In opening its veins 94 PRESENTATION ODE Upon the plains Of Lexington, and wet the decks of quickly- builded ships With crimson ooze from lips Which, to the last, spake couraged words of cheer From hearts which knew nor fear Nor mood to flee, Counting such death a victory! Then, in a later day, our Lincoln came And did his work, and passed on in a flame Of glory and a drench of tears ! The boasted years We call our own are dowered with the touch of vanished hands. The Western lands Are sown with Pilgrim wheat, and in the strange new courage of the hour 95 PRESENTATION ODE Which balks not at the place of gold or pow'r If but the Right may be, We clearly see The shining of the face Of him who knew no race Save man, And made the wise Lincolnian plan Of State as big and kind as God, Knowing no rod Save Justice, with the common good Welded within the forge of Brotherhood. The Nation's chief distinguishment is not its tow'rs Which, in the morrow's hours May fall. Nor is it in the lines of steel Spun far to gain the weal Of traffic. Nay, rather must it e'er be seen 96 PRESENTATION ODE Enduring, glorious, serene, Within the souls of its own sons who were and are Dreamers of Truth beneath the great white Star Of Progress, pendant in the vaulted sky To light this land to its good destiny. Our institutions change, likewise our laws; The program of the Seasons knows its pause ; The very rivers thread along New courses, and the lark's blithe song Is altered by the meadow's mood ; But every onward rood Of the long path our fathers chose, Down to the very close Of days, is ours to dare, elate and free, Clothed with that ancient loyalty 97 PRESENTATION ODE To Right which made America the land whose name And birthright we so proudly claim. And now, Sir, in your hand we place this wood, Symboling order and the Nation's good. Your task, Sir, is not little, but the shades Of patriot fathers steal from out the glades Of early strife to hearten you, and say "Serve as we served; yours is the greater day!" 98 AFTER THE THORNS Night, soft Night, hold me close and tell me Where the soul of me may rest! Wondrous woes befell me All along the Way of Life. Do not count me fretful, But I would die, or live, or swoon, could I but be forgetful. Calm Night, soft Night, be to me a mother; She I had has gone away, and there is none other. 99 IN A DESERT PLACE NCE in a desert, 'mid the heat I found a rock and spring, And now within my quiet home Their ministry I sing. Long since the rock and spring forgot The worn and thirsty man Who took the shade and drank the draught, When stopped the caravan. Exampled by the rock and spring, O, Father, teach me yet To bide where goes the caravan, To serve and then forget. 100 THE LAST LULLABY T ITTLE heart, a bird is flying! -L/ Ease thyself for thou art dying, Wearied long by need and trying Take thy meed of rest. Little heart, the sun is setting, Symbol of thine own forgetting Of the chains, the lash, the fretting Not one soul has guessed! 101 WHEN YOU ARE GONE TT 7HEN you are gone the phoebe's call is W stilled, Or seems to be ; The sheen upon the maple's green is dulled As by a shadow ; My eyes, unseeing, make me miss The violets, Though they are blooming there As when we stooped in quiet joy To break their dew-wet stems. Over the stars a veil is hung, And all the sadness of the sea 1 02 WHEN YOU ARE GONE Is flung upon the sands. (To feel your hands Upon my brow ! To feel them now!) The hurt of you afar Is in the sun and rain, And I am bent and old When you are gone. 103 TRANSIENCE ^T^HE song I sang but yesterday, Alas, I sing no more ! Its notes have died upon my lips, For I have passed the door That opens to another day, Which asks an unfamiliar lay. No time without its music is, But songs and singers pass Like prayers unanswered by the gods, Like shadows on the grass. And yet it is a goodly thing To live one day, one song to sing. 104 THE CONQUEROR T FACE my failure with a glad despair ; * Along the way I strove and strove again; And now that I have missed the goal, elate I drink and laugh and speak a deep amen ! The world was roseate before my eyes ; 'T is roseate still, but with the glow of fires That feed upon the fabric of my dreams, And leave me but the ash of my desires. 105 THE CONQUEROR Yet I will love my life unto the end There is no end, for life is life for ay, And by the goodness of a God unknown I '11 dare the issues of another day ! 1 06 RELINQUISHMENT T TOUCH thy lips and let thee go A And keep the hurt of it for ay, While over moor and fen and hill Stretches the long, long way. At morn I hear the robin's call And sense the odors of the Spring, But song within my soul is pent And hope has missed its blossoming. I speed thee on thy later quest And bow to take my stent of care ; Athirst I dip at Mem'ry's rill And shrine thee in my prayer. 107 ANDREW F. BRANDO TT 7"E call him Brandy in our summer tongue. He is not old, nor is he very young, Just old enough to be a boy again, And young enough to dodge the woes of men. I saw him first all garnished with tar, For he was fishing where the punkies are. His catch that day was light, likewise his heart, The woods had smoothed his wrinkles 't is their art. 1 08 ANDREW F. BRANDO His voice was like the hill-brook in its fall 'Mongst rocks where woven branches shelter all; He took my hand as if we long had known Each other, and would never more be lone. He came and sat beside my oaken fire And helped the flames to light the camp entire ; I pulled his latchstring and he met me fair, I could not tell the things that happened there ! O, royal host, O, fisherman of skill, Husband your strength and live among us still! I '11 fish with you till all my flies are lost, Or all the trout into the basket tossed. When worn with toil, O friend, to you I look, Craving a swig of Brandy on the brook! 109 THE MAIDEN OHE came with her new-found heart at ^ morn And stood by the wordless sea, Amid the litter of lifeless shells Strewn high on the yellow lea. And she looked away to the land's far end And swept with her eyes the sea, And cried as her hair caught the shoreward wind: "Oh, who will my lover be ? Pray, stands he tall in a soldier's shoes, Or sails he over the sea ? no THE MAIDEN Or reaps he grain in the Autumn field This lover who lives for me? Or sings he songs in the city's streets, Or casts his net in the sea, Or writes his heart on a living page Oh, who will my lover be?" Aye, ever she comes with her new-found heart And stands by the wordless sea, And cries to the wild, unansw'ring winds : "Oh, who will my lover be?" in THE JAIL-BREAKER T CAUGHT my happiness and chained it * fast. It laughed and slipped the fetters, and I knew My prisoner had been a dream, a breath, A hint of mignonette, a drop of dew. 112 TF I could be near thee, my love, at the * morn, When the sun on the meadows is wooing the dew, And near thee at noon when the kine seek the river And lash their brown sides in the shade of the yew ; If I could be near thee at every sun's setting, And when the foamed sky with its stars is alight Heart of me, soul of me, flesh of me pulsing, AS WOMAN LOVETH Ah, that would be heaven and that would be right. But since it may never be thus, O beloved, I take with glad hands what the gods deign to send A line from thy heart, or thine eyes' secret glances, The sound of thy footfall, our spirits' soft blend. To glimpse from my lattice thy form in its passing, To sense that thou art, though afar on the main, Is bread to me, wine to me, kiss and posses sion Aye, paltry the kingdoms where other queens reign ! 114 THE COMRADE TJE thou young, I will romp with thee, ^*^ Sun up, sun high, sun down, stars; Be thou old, I will lean with thee, Cackling over the cattle-bars. Be thou sad, I will weep with thee : Tears are water, and, mingled, dry. Be thou glad, I will laugh with thee. Mirth is maddest when two are by. Be thou lone, I will come to thee: Twaining hearts make dearth of woe. Be thou ill, I will sit by thee, And bid thy devil quickly go. THE COMRADE Be thou living, I '11 live with thee, Strong in waking and warm in sleep. Be thou dead, I will lie with thee Under the cedars, cold and deep. 116 FRANCES X7"OU were a dog, Frances, a dog, " And I was just a man. The Universal Plan, Well, 't would have lacked something Had it lacked you. Somehow you fitted in like a far star Where the vast spaces are ; Or like a grass-blade Which helps the meadow To be a meadow ; Or like a song which kills a sigh And sings itself on and on 117 FRANCES Till all the world is full of it. You were the real thing, Frances, a soul ! Encarcassed, yes, but still a soul With feeling and regard and capable of woe. Oh, yes, I know, you were a dog, but I was just a man. I did not buy you, no, you simply came, Lost, and squatted on my door-step With that wide strap about your neck, A worn one with a huge buckle. When bigger dogs pitched onto you, You stood your ground and gave them all you had And took your wounds unwhimpering, but hid them. My, but you were game ! You were fine-haired And marked with Princeton colors, Black and deep yellow. 118 FRANCES No other fellow Could make you follow him, For you had chosen me to be your pal. My whistle was your law. You put your paw Upon my palm And in your calm, Deep eyes was writ The promise of long comradeship. When I came home from work, Late and ill-tempered, Always I heard the patter of your feet upon the oaken stairs ; Your nose was at the door-crack ; And whether I 'd been bad or good that day You fawned, and loved me just the same. It was your way to understand; And if I struck you my harsh hand Was wet with your caresses. 119 FRANCES You took my leavings, crumb and bone, And stuck by me through thick and thin. You were my kin. And then one day you died, At least that 's what they said. There was a box and You were in it, still, With a sprig of myrtle and your leash and blanket, And put deep ; But though you sleep and ever sleep I sense you at my heels ! 1 20 A LOST MESSAGE A FADED letter, wave-cast, flutt'ring * here Upon the shore where my feet chanced to stray ! Fain would I know what lover's plaint or plea It bore, or e'en perhaps the tidings of a day Which sank a sailor to his ocean tomb, Or saw the citadels of some far town Crumble before the guns of marshaled hosts Ere the red sun, which smiles at strife, went down. What heart was in the letter ? or what hope ? 121 A LOST MESSAGE What cry of pain, or chant of victory? Deeply the message lies, hidden for ay, Within the throbbing bosom of the sea ! 122 BY LOVE OF HER LASSIE girl, I never dreamed That I would love you as I do ! You came unbidden to my life And now my life is simply you. The grass is greener 'neath my feet; The sun is redder o'er the hill ; And oftener at dusk I hear The chant of some far whip-poor-will. The squirrels gray climb higher than The 'foretime squirrels used to climb, 123 BY LOVE OF HER And from their tow'r the bells ring out With strange, new sweetness in their chime. The glad stream laves its silver stones And swifter runs unto its sea, And all the joy a heart can hold The kindly gods have sent to me. And so the ox-eyed daisies sway With grace no daisies knew before, And once I surely saw the stern, Dark ocean gently kiss the shore. Erstwhile a dull-sens'd man of clay, How blind was I until you came Bringing love's vision to my eyes, Charming life's embers into flame ! 124 BY LOVE OF HER O lassie girl, I never dreamed That I would love you as I do! You came unbidden to my life And now my life is simply you. 125 THE WEAVER OF THE WOOD T WALKED the wood through leafy paths unknown And found a green mantilla woven on a stone, All dext'rously in intricate design, By unseen fingers through the rain and shine Of many fitful days. My lady's shoulders ne'er compelled amaze With drape surpassing this, Yet, save my own, the eye of man must miss This artistry in mossy fiber shown This green mantilla woven on a stone. 126 THE MARINER GOD, call out to me ! Amid the voices of the tossing sea, Competing, clamorous, bidding for my soul, Give me thy cheer and let me see the scroll, Full-lit by myriad steady stars, Whereon are chartered clear the deeps and bars Of life's broad ocean where my sail is set. The course is dim to me aye, dim, and yet Somewhere, afar maybe, with lights agleam, Waits the fair harbor of my hope and dream. 127 THE MARINER The storm is high astern the shelt'ring lea Dear God, call out to me! 128 AFTER TOIL T KNOW a path, shell-bordered, where the hollyhocks abloom Are drawn in parti-colored ranks to let me pass between, And the sun upon the windows of a dainty curtained room Has laid its parting benison in iridescent sheen. The bucket in the latticed well with fresh- drawn water drips, And the dipper, hung await within its wonted, shaded place, 129 AFTER TOIL Seems quite to sense my weariness and beckon to my lips, And there 's water in the basin for the cool ing of my face. The linen on the table, set for two, is smoothed and white, And the berries in their crystal dish with sugar powdered o'er, And I think there 's something extra in the baking-tins to-night, And some one waiting for me at the open cottage door. O Prince, condone my eagerness for hurry blame me less, And be not grieved because I envy not your place of state; 130 AFTER TOIL T is time for home and her, O Prince T m needing her caress, And I know her eyes are fixed upon the latchet of the gate. 13* REVIEW r\IMLY the spent days range themselves ^*^ in rows ; Backward we look upon the serried files; And what strong heart would fain recall the blows, Fate-struck, the weariness, the tears, the smiles ? We did not live as we had planned to do ; We did not walk the path our eyes descried ; What deemed we sweet turned out but bitter rue; Our firstling joys came fair, but quickly died. REVIEW Still the mosaic, Life, so deftly wrought, Within the halls of memory is hung As wonderful as if the things we sought Had all been found, and all our songs been sung. 133 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY Los Angeles This book is DUE on the last date stamped below. 17 1971 Form L9-40m-7,'56(C790s4)444 THE LIBRARY UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LOS ANGELES I PLEA5 DO NOT REMOVE THIS BOOK CARDZf University Research Library