? * 
 V./ 
 
THE POEMS AND PLAYS 
 
 OF 
 
 William ^aug^ 
 
 IN TWO VOLUMES 
 VOLUME I 
 
We 
 POEMS AND PLAYS, 
 
 5^tlltatn 
 
 WITH AN INTRODUCTION BY 
 JOHN M. MANLY 
 
 VOL.1 
 POEMS AND POETIC DRAMAS 
 
 p"" 
 
 BOSTON AND NEW YORK 
 HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY 
 
 1912 
 
COPYRIGHT, 1900, BY SMALL, MAYNARD & COMPANY (INCORPORATED) 
 
 COPYRIGHT, 1901 AND 1904, BY WILLIAM VAUGHN MOODY 
 
 COPYRIGHT, 1912, BY HARRIET C. MOODY 
 
 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED 
 
 96" 
 
 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 INTRODUCTION, BY JOHN M. MANLY Vli 
 
 6louce0ter spoors, ana tl>er poems? 
 
 GLOUCESTER MOORS 3 
 
 GOOD FRIDAY NIGHT 8 
 
 ROAD-HYMN FOR THE START 12 
 
 AN ODE IN TIME OF HESITATION 15 
 
 THE QUARRY 26 
 
 ON A SOLDIER FALLEN IN THE PHILIPPINES . 2Q 
 UNTIL THE TROUBLING OF THE WATERS . . . .31 
 
 JETSAM 45 
 
 THE BRUTE 55 
 
 THE MENAGERIE 6l 
 
 THE GOLBEN JOURNEY 68 
 
 HEART S WILD-FLOWER . . . . . . . .71 
 
 HARMONICS 73 
 
 ON THE RIVER -74 
 
 THE BRACELET OF GRASS . . 75 
 
 THE DEPARTURE . 77 
 
 FADED PICTURES 79 
 
 A GREY DAY 80 
 
 THE RIDE BACK 8 1 
 
 253659 
 
vi CONTENTS 
 
 SONG-FLOWER AND POPPY ........ 85 
 
 I. IN NEW YORK 
 II. AT ASSISI 
 
 HOW THE MEAD-SLAVE WAS SET FREE ..... 9! 
 
 A DIALOGUE IN PURGATORY ....... 94 
 
 THE DAGUERREOTYPE ......... 1 03 
 
 >econ& Coming, ana Later poems 
 
 SECOND COMING .......... 115 
 
 OLD POURQUOI .......... 121 
 
 I AM THE WOMAN ......... 127 
 
 THE DEATH OF EVE .......... 133 
 
 THE THREE ANGELS ......... 144 
 
 A PRAIRIE RIDE .......... 147 
 
 SONG ............. I 5 I 
 
 MUSA MERETRIX .......... 152 
 
 THE COUNTING MAN . ....... 153 
 
 THE MOON-MOTH .......... 155 
 
 THE FOUNTAIN .......... l66 
 
 THAMMUZ ............ 177 
 
 poetic 
 
 THE FIRE-BRINGER ......... l8l 
 
 THE MASQUE OF JUDGMENT ....... 275 
 
 THE DEATH OF EVE (A FRAGMENT) ..... 395 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 NOT merely because William Vaughn Moody 
 was my colleague and my friend do I wish 
 to speak of him, but because I feel that the poetry 
 he left us is of unique and permanent value to us 
 all, and believe that it was growing in depth, in 
 sweetness, and in strength when the darkness de 
 scended so tragically upon him. The beauty of 
 poetry as little needs the aid of argument as does 
 that of a rose, and Moody s poetry is here to man 
 ifest its own loveliness and power; but the lover 
 of beauty in a poem or in a rose may increase his 
 delight by sharing it with another, and I, who 
 have seen Moody s poetry growing into fuller and 
 fuller kinship with that of the elder and most 
 authentic poets of our tongue, while retaining its 
 own unmistakable individuality, would gladly 
 share my vision and delight. 
 
 Of the sanity and manifold charm of the man 
 himself, no description, much less so brief an ac 
 count as this must be, can give any adequate idea. 
 A volume of his letters soon to be published under 
 
viii INTRODUCTION 
 
 the care of one of his most intimate friends will 
 make it possible for all to know something of his 
 vigor, his grace, his humor, his courage, his large 
 humanity, his daily passion for material and spirit 
 ual beauty; and these letters will give a fuller 
 record of the notable incidents of his life than can 
 be attempted here. But his work was so natural 
 and inevitable a flowering of his whole being that 
 something must be said of his character and his 
 career. 
 
 Like so many men of unusual intellectual and 
 emotional powers, Moody was one in whom dif 
 ferent racial or temperamental strains met and 
 blended. His father, Francis Burdette Moody, 
 was of English and French descent; his mother, 
 Henrietta Stoy, of English and German. To them 
 were born three sons and four daughters. The 
 third son and sixth child was William Vaughn, 
 who was born at Spencer, Indiana, on July 8, 
 1869. That the father was a man of enterprise and 
 of vigor is indicated not merely by his emigration 
 from New York to the thriving State of Indiana; 
 but also by the fact that he was for many years a 
 steamboat captain, an occupation requiring no 
 little resourcefulness, power of rapid decision, and 
 
INTRODUCTION ix 
 
 ability to command men. To him his son pays a 
 noble tribute in certain lines of "The Daguerreo 
 type." But the mother doubtless had the larger 
 share in the guidance and discipline of the grow 
 ing boy, and the profound impression she left 
 upon his mind and heart is recorded not only in 
 "The Daguerreotype" a poem so deep of 
 thought, so full of poignant feeling and clairvoy 
 ant vision, so wrought of passionate beauty that 
 I know not where to look for another tribute from 
 any poet to his mother that equals it and in the 
 veiled but illuminating reference in "Faded Pic 
 tures," but even more fully in that love and rever 
 ence for woman which became fundamental to his 
 whole philosophy of life. 
 
 About 1871 the family moved to New Albany, 
 on the Ohio River, and there the mother died in 
 1884 and the father in 1886. After his father s 
 death the career of Moody was much like that of 
 many another ambitious boy. He taught for a 
 while in a country school near New Albany, and 
 in the autumn of 1888 went to Riverside Academy , 
 New York, where he helped with the teaching to 
 put himself through school. From 1889 to 1893 
 he was technically an undergraduate at Harvard 
 
x INTRODUCTION 
 
 University, but, having completed the courses 
 necessary for his degree, he went abroad in his 
 senior year as tutor for a boy. The year was nota 
 ble for a walking trip through the Black Forest 
 and Switzerland with Robert Lovett and Norman 
 Hapgood and L. H. Dow, for the winter which he 
 spent in Florence, and for his first visit to Greece. 
 In 1893-94 he was back at Harvard as a member 
 of the Graduate School. What courses of study 
 he took I do not know, but I remember hearing at 
 the time from Professor Kittredge of his insatiable 
 appetite for mediaeval French romances. At the 
 end of the year he took his master s degree and 
 became a member of the staff of the department 
 of English. 
 
 In the autumn of 1895 he came to the Univers 
 ity of Chicago as instructor in English and con 
 tinued to serve as instructor and assistant pro 
 fessor until 1903. His work as a teacher was re 
 lieved by various trips in this country and abroad. 
 In June, 1896, he made a ten-day bicycle trip with 
 Ferdinand Schevill through northern Illinois and 
 southern Wisconsin. The spring and summer of 
 1897 he spent in Europe. His experiences there 
 included a bicycle trip with Ferdinand Schevill 
 
INTRODUCTION xi 
 
 from Rome to Lake Como, through the Alban 
 Hills and over the Apennines. At Sorrento he saw 
 the Eastertide procession that suggested his 
 poem "Good Friday Night." During the bicycle 
 trip mentioned he sketched the "Road-Hymn for 
 the Start." The imagery of the poem recalls con 
 ditions and circumstances connected with Monte- 
 fiascone and Lago di Bolsena. In June he was 
 with his friends, the Lovetts, at Venice in the 
 Casa Frollo on the Giudecca. Later he visited 
 Asolo and tramped with Robert Lovett through 
 the Dolomites. The same trip included an ascent 
 of the Grosser Venediger. This was followed by 
 a brief residence at Cortina, where he and Lovett 
 found delight in climbing mountains and in ice- 
 cold plunges into a pool fed by a neighboring 
 glacier. He then returned to Ravenna and thence 
 bicycled alone across Italy to Genoa. On account 
 of the intense heat he was obliged to travel mostly 
 by night, and an illness which had attacked him 
 at Innsbruck returned at Genoa. In the summer 
 of 1901 he made his first visit to Mackinac Island, 
 and in August went on a brief camping trip in 
 Colorado with Hamlin Garland. In 1902 he was 
 again abroad on a trip to Greece, notable for a 
 
xii INTRODUCTION 
 
 lonely ride through the Peloponnesus; but he 
 spent much of his time in Greece reading Greek 
 tragedy, and upon his return remarked upon the 
 deeper and clearer understanding of Greek art 
 which came to one under Grecian skies. After 
 giving up his work at the University he made sev 
 eral interesting and important trips, one in the 
 spring of 1905 with Ferdinand Schevill to Ari 
 zona. They spent a week at Oraibi among the 
 Hopi Indians, saw the Spring Dance at Walpi, 
 and while there Moody definitely planned "The 
 Great Divide," which was rapidly written soon 
 after his return. In the spring and early summer 
 of 1907 he went with Ridgely Torrence to Tan 
 gier, Spain, Italy, and France. 
 
 These excursions are all significant of his tastes 
 and of his fondness for physical activity. He was 
 no mere bookish, indoor poet, but found his great 
 est delight in swimming, bicycling, golf, tennis, 
 walking, mountain-climbing, and such athletic 
 sports as are pursued for the love of the sport and 
 not the applause of the public. Much as he loved 
 literature and art and all the fruits of human cul 
 ture, exquisite as was his sensitiveness to rhythm 
 and melody and sonorous diction in verse, to inter- 
 
INTRODUCTION xiii 
 
 woven and complex harmonies in music, to color 
 and composition and tactile strain in painting, to 
 imagination and truth in all the arts, his pleas 
 ure in the physical world of sense was no less ex 
 quisite or keen. Of slightly more than medium 
 height, with a vigorous, well-knit body in which 
 every organ of power and sensation was perfect, 
 he not only theoretically but in fact felt that the 
 perfection of life lies in the realization of all its 
 resources of thought and emotion and bodily sen 
 sation. Not in less degree than a Greek of the age 
 of Pericles was he an epicure of life, a voluptuary 
 of the whole range of physical, mental, and spirit 
 ual perfections. To recognize this, one had only 
 to look upon his body, sensitive to every delight 
 and exuberant with vitality ; to be suddenly fixed 
 by his wonderful eyes, light, clear blue, and shin 
 ing like large gems because of the sailor-like rud 
 diness that wind and sun had laid upon his cheek 
 and brow ; to hear his eager discourse upon art or 
 life, both of which to him were one. But that his 
 sensitiveness to all that is beautiful was due, not 
 to weakness, but to vigor and health of mind and 
 character, is shown by the unwavering determin 
 ation with which he put aside softness and ease 
 
xiv INTRODUCTION 
 
 and lived hardly and barely in order to do his 
 appointed work as poet. 
 
 After 1902 he ceased to teach in the University, 
 though the authorities induced him to maintain 
 for some years a nominal connection, in the hope 
 that he might resume his work as a lecturer, even 
 if only occasionally and for brief periods. But 
 although courses were sometimes planned for 
 him, they were always withdrawn before the time 
 to give them arrived. Nothing is more character 
 istic of the man than the determination with 
 which he pursued his own proper career. President 
 Harper believed so thoroughly in his value to the 
 University that he offered him the full salary of a 
 professor if he would continue to lecture for a 
 single quarter each year. Temptation of this sort 
 and offers of financial assistance from friends he 
 resolutely put aside, preferring to live hardly and 
 poorly for the sake of living independently and 
 doing the work to which he had long since deter 
 mined to devote all his powers. Relief from the 
 drudgery of teaching came with the publication of 
 the History of English Literature which he wrote 
 in collaboration with Robert M. Lovett. This 
 book, like the others which he published to sup- 
 
INTRODUCTION xv 
 
 plement his salary, chief among them an edition 
 of Bunyan s Pilgrim s Progress with introduction 
 and notes, and a complete edition of the English 
 and Latin poems of Milton, was a brilliant and 
 scholarly piece of work, the fruit of years of study 
 and reflection. 
 
 There was never a more conscientious teacher 
 than Moody, whether his task was lecturing on 
 English literature or the monotonous grind of 
 theme correction, and seldom a more brilliant 
 and inspiring lecturer. Traditions of his teaching 
 still linger about the University, but even from a 
 child he had thought poetry was his proper func 
 tion and he gave himself up entirely to his work 
 as soon as it was possible to do so. Conscientious 
 and successful as was his teaching, his heart was 
 never in it. He looked forward eagerly to his 
 vacations and counted the days till the summit of 
 the quarter should be reached and the pleasant 
 slope to the end should begin. In January, 1898, he 
 wrote to a friend, " I started in to-day on another 
 quarter s work at the shop with vacation and 
 restored consciousness three months away." This 
 was partly because he felt, as all lovers of beauty 
 feel, that the formal teaching of literature has in 
 
xvi INTRODUCTION 
 
 it something destructive and deadening. When, 
 after his last visit to Greece, I was urging him 
 to return to the University and lecture upon 
 English poetry in the new light on Greek litera 
 ture which had come to him, he steadily refused 
 to do so, and finally said, "I cannot do it; I feel 
 that at every lecture I slay a poet." 
 
 Moody s earlier work as a poet was, like that of 
 Keats and, indeed, many other writers, purely 
 experimental and detached from life. Some of 
 these poems were never published ; some were pub 
 lished in the Harvard Monthly ; some he rewrote ; 
 but there were comparatively few which in later 
 years he was willing to see reprinted. To this 
 critical attitude is due, in part, the fact that, 
 though he wrote with ease, the volume of short 
 poems which he published in 1901, containing all 
 he then wished made permanent, is small com 
 pared with the output of much less fertile and 
 vigorous artists. The ease with which he wrote 
 may be inferred from a remark he made to me in 
 1898. He had been reading a revised version of 
 "The Amber Witch," a poem inspired in his under 
 graduate years by Keats s "La Belle Dame Sans 
 Merci," and then began to talk of a play he was 
 
INTRODUCTION xvii 
 
 planning to write in blank verse on a theme sug 
 gested by the meteoric glow and disappearance of 
 Schlatter the Faith Healer. Upon my venturing 
 the opinion that it was too late in the history of 
 the world to write plays in anything but prose, 
 he replied that for such a subject he thought blank 
 verse more suitable and that it was easier to write 
 blank verse than prose. 
 
 Like the experimental work of most young poets, 
 Moody s was imitative, but he did not even then 
 make himself "the sedulous ape" either of one 
 writer or of many. Traces of Shakespeare, of 
 Milton, of Keats, of Browning, of Rossetti, of 
 William Morris, of Walt Whitman, one may find 
 either in theme, or tone, or rhythm, or, though 
 seldom, in phrasal echo. Of Tennyson there is 
 perhaps not a trace, for he had long been rejected 
 by the critical spirits of the English Club and the 
 Monthly ; and of Swinburne quite as little, for the 
 Swinburne epidemic, once strong, had spent itself 
 at Harvard the year that Moody entered as a 
 freshman. Specimens, not of his earliest work, 
 but of work which still recalls in some measure 
 the manner of his favorite poets, are the song " My 
 Love is gone into the East," "The Ride to the 
 
xviii INTRODUCTION 
 
 Lady," now entitled "The Ride Back," "How 
 the Mead-Slave was Set Free," and the sonnet 
 "Harmonics." 
 
 But early as these poems are, it is singular to 
 find in them so little of morbidity, so little of that 
 aimless melancholy which marks the youthful 
 work of most poets. Moreover, there is not one 
 which does not contain some striking example of 
 Moody s individuality and boldness of conception 
 and phrasing. In "The Ride Back," a purely 
 ornamental, self-conscious bit of pre-Raphaelit- 
 ism of the Morris type, occur such lines as : 
 
 About the dabbled reeds a breeze 
 
 Went moaning broken words and dim, 
 and 
 
 Lewd as the palsied lips of hags 
 
 The petals in the moon did shake, 
 and 
 
 And songs blown out like thistle seed ; 
 
 and most wonderful of all is the whole of the fourth 
 stanza from the end. Just as artificial and as liter 
 ary in its inspiration is " How the Mead-Slave was 
 Set Free," but how characteristically and vividly 
 conceived are the pictures of stanzas two and three 
 and stanza eight, and how true and rare is the 
 observation in the lines : 
 
INTRODUCTION xix 
 
 thrill like happy things 
 
 That flutter from the gray cocoons 
 On hedgerows, in your gradual springs! 
 
 And who but Moody himself could speak, as he 
 does in "Harmonics," of 
 
 such a laddered music, rung on rung, 
 
 As from the patriarch s pillow skyward sprung, 
 Crowded with wide-flung wings and feet of fire? 
 
 In 1896 came the first poem suggested by his 
 own experience. In May of that year, along with 
 a copy of a poem called " Wilding Flowers," he 
 wrote to his friend Daniel G. Mason: "I send you 
 a poem which I have just written about the Crea 
 ture I once hinted to you of a girl who haunted 
 the Symphonies last winter. I hope you will like 
 it, because it is almost the first thing I have done 
 which has been a direct impulse from real life, and 
 you know I have theories about that." This poem, 
 now entitled " Heart s Wild-Flower," is in sub 
 ject, diction, and melody not altogether without 
 kinship to Rossetti, but the simple and exquisite 
 phrasing, the subtle reticence of youthful adora 
 tion, reach a climax of sincerity and individuality 
 in the last six lines. Again, in July of the same 
 
xx INTRODUCTION 
 
 v_-- * 
 year, with a copy of " Dawn Parley," a poe.n iiot 
 
 in the present collection, he writes, "I inclose a 
 reaction on a recent notable experience." 
 
 From this time on, much of his poetry was more 
 /or less directly suggested by real incidents or 
 / situations of his life ; and the large body of it which 
 still had an alien origin or inspiration is shot 
 through with transformed emotional images of 
 v them. In some instances the later poems go back 
 several years for the experiences they transcribe. 
 Thus "Old Pourquoi," written after 1901, recalls 
 an incident of a walk from Caudebec to Yvetot in 
 August, 1895. "Good Friday Night, "suggested by 
 an Eastertide procession at Sorrento in April, 
 1897, was not completed till the end of the year. 
 The "Road-Hymn for the Start" was sketched 
 in May of the same year, but was not written 
 until later. "Song- Flower and Poppy," written 
 in New York in the spring of 1899, is crowded 
 with recollections of the Italian journeys of 1897. 
 On the other hand, "A Grey Day" and "Glou 
 cester Moors" were written among the scenes 
 they transcribe; and the composition of "The 
 Daguerreotype," the "Ode in Time of Hesita 
 tion," "On a Soldier Fallen in the Philippines," 
 
INTRODUCTION xxi 
 
 "The Quarry," and "The Moon-Moth," followed 
 close upon the incidents which gave them being. 
 But Moody s poetry, whether due to a direct 
 impulse from life or suggested, like the " Dialogue 
 in Purgatory" and "The Fountain" and "Tham- 
 muz," by literature, is notable for its freedom 
 from response to the obvious, the trivial, the 
 merely pretty. This is, no doubt, one reason why, 
 for all his rich and various melody, his wealth of 
 fresh and vivid imagery, his modernity, his wor 
 ship of beauty and love, his depth of spiritual 
 emotion, he is not popular, is indeed hardly re 
 membered by any except those to whom poetry 
 is not an idle pastime, but a passion ; for the idler 
 wants art in all its forms tabe obvious, and trivial, 
 and pretty. Moody s themes are often the com 
 mon themes of poetry: love, patriotism, human 
 suffering, God, and the soul. But he sees them 
 ever from some new angle, he finds in them new 
 significance, he mingles them with unaccustomed 
 but predestined associations. His vision and feel 
 ing are not simple, but interwoven with rich 
 threads of reflection and transmuting emotion. 
 Even the oldest theme or image becomes his own, 
 because he has seen and felt it anew. What is 
 
xxii INTRODUCTION 
 
 there more common than a street song that 
 seizes the heart of the listener and bears it far 
 away? Wordsworth gives it perhaps as simple 
 a rendering as it ever had in poetry. Moody s 
 "Song- Flower and Poppy" shows no more effort 
 at complexity than the "Reverie of Poor Susan " ; 
 it is richer in imagery and in meaning, more 
 intense, more significant, just because the street 
 song falls not on the ears of a housemaid but on 
 those of a passionate lover of beauty and of life. 
 All of us, in this day of human brotherhood and 
 sympathy for the poor, have felt that we have, per 
 haps, more than our share of the good things of 
 life; but who but Moody, watching the spring 
 come up the land, has thought of his fellowmen 
 and written : 
 
 To be out of the moiling street 
 With its swelter and its sin! 
 Who has given to me this sweet, 
 And given my brother dust to eat? 
 And when will his wage come in? 
 
 Ages ago old Omar wrote that 
 
 never blows so red 
 The Rose as where some buried Caesar bled; 
 
 and the 
 
 e tumulo fortunataque favilla 
 Nascentur violse 
 
INTRODUCTION xxiii 
 
 of Persius has been echoed by Shakespeare and 
 by Tennyson; but this pretty conceit, this sweet 
 and pious prayer, found new and deeper signifi 
 cance when Moody wrote of the burial in a com 
 mon grave of Robert Shaw and his faithful band 
 of negroes : 
 
 Now limb doth mingle with dissolved limb 
 
 In nature s busy old democracy, 
 
 To flush the mountain laurel when she blows 
 
 Sweet by the southern sea, 
 
 And heart with crumbled heart climbs in the rose. 
 
 That Moody s poetry does not always reveal 
 its meaning to the careless and casual reader is 
 true; to such perhaps it never reveals itself en 
 tirely. This is due to several causes. For one 
 thing, the only types of poetry that are easy to 
 read are the narrative and what may be called 
 the universal lyric. Moody rarely wrote narra 
 tive verse, and the little that he did write has, 
 like most of his lyrics, dramatic quality also, and 
 demands that the reader conceive a situation and 
 follow it in all its changing phases. Even Good 
 Friday Night" and " Second Coming," two of 
 the simplest as well as the profoundest and most 
 beautiful of his narrative poems, make large de- 
 
xxiv INTRODUCTION 
 
 mands upon the imagination and the emotions; 
 and even larger demands are made by "The 
 Death of Eve" and "The Moon-Moth." Poems 
 of other types are even more difficult. How many 
 times have I not heard intelligent persons ques 
 tion what was intended by that marvelous per 
 sonification of machinery, "The Brute," that 
 vision of the early roseate hopes for economic 
 relief, the grimy present reality, and the final 
 compelling of the Brute to bring the good time 
 on! Insoluble, perhaps, without the hint given 
 by the date, is "The Quarry." Yet even that 
 becomes clear when one remembers that it was 
 then that the beasts of prey gathered to dismem 
 ber China, and that the attitude and intent of the 
 Eagle were long doubtful. 
 
 Another cause of difficulty arises from the 
 ( quality of Moody s imagination and his inexhaust- 
 ^ble store of sensory images. He has few similes 
 and his sense impressions are so specific that they 
 make great demands upon both experience and 
 memory. How many of us think of the fourth 
 stanza of "Gloucester Moors" as anything but 
 a fantastic image? And yet any one who will 
 steadily watch the summer clouds as they sail 
 
INTRODUCTION xxv 
 
 overhead in a light wind will veritably feel the 
 11 velvet plunge and soft upreel"of the steadfast 
 earth. Have you seen 
 
 O er the grey deep the dories crawl, 
 Four-legged, with rowers twain? 
 
 Have you noted the opal heart" of a summer 
 afternoon, seen the "ashen lips "of the western 
 storm, watched "the raindrops dot the sand," 
 and "the shards of day sweep past"? Scarcely 
 a page, certainly not a poem, however short, 
 fails to yield some notable phrasing of a sight, 
 a sound, an odor that gives us a more vivid 
 realization of it than the object itself would give, 
 and leaves us with a permanently greater capac 
 ity of enjoyment of such sensations. 
 
 Like his imagery, Moody s diction is rich, 
 condensed, packed with meaning. Any one of 
 the poems will furnish abundant instances. Good 
 Friday Night" is full of them: "twilight circles," 
 "ancient square," "unspiritual," "throned in its 
 hundred candles," "the doll-face, waxen white, 
 flowered out a living dimness," "the odorous 
 hill," "heart-stung." Often, as here, the words 
 themselves are simple and separately not of spe 
 cial beauty, but partly from his native bent, and 
 
xxvi INTRODUCTION 
 
 partly from his loving study of ^Eschylus and 
 Milton, Moody loved beautiful words for their 
 own sakes, words sonorous, or melodious, or rich 
 in suggestion. The second and third sections of 
 the "Ode in Time of Hesitation," for all their large 
 meaning and their jeweled picturesqueness, are 
 a veritable symphony of rich and melodious 
 words. Of similar character are the speeches of 
 Prometheus in the first act of "The Fire-Bringer." 
 Moody has, too, especially in his lyrics, the 
 gift of unaccountable magic of simple phrases 
 which stir the emotions or awaken a sense of 
 significance far beyond the power of the words or 
 the thought. His lyrics, especially the brief lyrics 
 in the poetic dramas, are full of this, the songs of 
 Pandora in "The Fire-Bringer" and those of the 
 Spirits in "The Masque of Judgment": 
 
 Along the earth and up the sky 
 
 The Fowler spreads his net: 
 O soul, what pinions wild and shy 
 
 Are on thy shoulders set? 
 What wings of longing undeterred 
 Are native to thee, spirit bird? 
 
 Or Raphael s song in terza rima of God s in 
 terest and pleasure in all his creatures great and 
 small : 
 
INTRODUCTION xxvii 
 
 Down curved spaces He may warp 
 With old planets, long and long; 
 Where the snail doth tease and carp, 
 Asking with its jellied prong, 
 A whole summer he may bide, 
 Wondrous tiny lives among, 
 Curious, unsatisfied. 
 
 Or, most remarkable of all, the song of the Re 
 deemed Spirits, as they fly past: i 
 
 In the wilds of life astray, 
 Held far from our delight, 
 Following the cloud by day 
 And the fire by night, 
 Came we a desert way. * 
 O Lord, with apples feed us, 
 With flagons stay ! 
 By Thy still waters lead us! 
 
 What resides in those last three lines to make us 
 accept their poor offerings as heavenly food and 
 drink and all the joys that await the Redeemed? 
 I cannot for the life of me tell, any more than I 
 know why an unfathomable fount of sorrow lies 
 in Wordsworth s 
 
 Perhaps the plaintive numbers flow / 
 For old, unhappy, far-off things, 
 And battles long ago; 
 
xxviii INTRODUCTION 
 
 or why the whole riddle of the universe arises 
 with Shakespeare s 
 
 We are such stuff as dreams are made on, 
 And our little life is rounded with a sleep. 
 
 That the words all have meanings and associa 
 tions is true, but the meanings and associations 
 are inadequate to the emotional effect. Is it the 
 rhythm, the harmonic overtones? Is it true that 
 a single note of a violin will set a steel bridge in 
 vibration or shatter a stone building if only the 
 right tone be found? 
 
 In such lyrics as these, poetry perhaps makes 
 its nearest approach to pure music. Its effects are 
 those of rhythm, of melody of those wonderful 
 interweavings of present tones with past tones 
 that still linger in the brain, if not in the ear, and 
 form harmonies. Such effects may be produced, 
 as we have seen, almost without reference to any 
 thought or associations conveyed by the words 
 themselves; but they are naturally most power 
 ful and beautiful when joined with beautiful 
 thoughts and associations, as in many of the 
 stanzas of "Song- Flower and Poppy," or in the 
 Song of the Stone Men and Earth Women in 
 
INTRODUCTION xxix 
 
 the last act of "The Fire-Bringer," or Pandora s 
 songs in the second act, or the song of the Girl in 
 the Prelude to "The Masque of Judgment." 
 
 Much of Moody s success in these lyrics, as 
 elsewhere in his poetry, comes from his fearless 
 mastery of diction and of movement. We have 
 already seen, in part, the bold individuality of his 
 sense impressions and of his imagery. Only a mas 
 ter has the sincerity to see things freshly and ren 
 der fearlessly his vision of them. And in expres 
 sion Moody is as sincere and fearless as in vision. 
 He gets his idea and the phrase which renders it; 
 and the movement, the rhythm, takes care of itself. 
 This is especially evident in his handling of the 
 long lines of the lyric portion of the epic " Death 
 of Eve" and of the song "I am the Woman." 
 Only a master of English verse could make lines 
 of such length move at all, while to make them 
 run and dance and sparkle with light is a tri 
 umphant achievement. The same thing is true 
 of the choral movements in "The Fire- B ringer." 
 These rhythms may lack the elaborately varied 
 structure of Greek choral movements, but it 
 would be difficult to find in English any verse that 
 more satisfactorily recalls the Greek. 
 
xxx INTRODUCTION 
 
 Thus far we have spoken mainly of the technical 
 elements of Moody s poetry. More interesting 
 and more important are his ideas. To say that 
 they are new would be the same as saying that 
 they are unfit for poetry. Art never deals, never 
 can deal, with ideas that have not already been 
 associated with powerful human emotions. But 
 Moody s ideas, though familiar and indeed in 
 many cases ancient themes of art, are made new 
 and vital by subjection to his temperament and 
 culture and by association with the elements of 
 his spiritual life. In later years his main themes 
 were social and economic injustice, patriotism, 
 the heart of woman, and the relations of God and 
 the soul, the meaning of human life. To the re- 
 conception of all these large issues, he brought 
 the richest intellectual and emotional endowment 
 possessed by any American poet. 
 
 Hints have already been given of his classical 
 culture, one of the most important formative 
 forces of his art. The influence of ^schylus is 
 evident in his diction, his music, and his imagery, 
 but most powerful and most evident is the influ 
 ence of the BacchcB of Euripides. It appears not 
 only in the Prelude to " The Masque of Judgment " 
 
INTRODUCTION xxxi 
 
 and the songs and choruses of "The Fire- B ringer," 
 but probably motived the choice of Thammuz 
 as a subject, though the subject be Biblical, and 
 certainly aided the union of religious mysticism 
 and joy in sensuous life which is the dominant 
 note of all Moody s later work. Indeed the 
 Bacchce seems to have meant even more to Moody 
 than to Shelley, and that is saying much. He was 
 an excellent classical scholar when he went up to 
 Harvard. But for his later and deeper interest 
 in Greek literature he was largely indebted to 
 Trumbull Stickney, whose influence upon him 
 Moody rated high, and whose untimely death 
 affected him greatly. With Stickney he read or 
 reread the whole body of Greek Tragedy in 1902 
 at Paris. 
 
 Moody s knowledge of English literature of all 
 periods and of mediaeval French romance has also 
 been indicated. He was equally at home in modern 
 French and German literature ; and he had caught 
 the very spirit and austere manner of Dante, as 
 his "Dialogue in Purgatory" witnesses. In the 
 summer of 1 894 he was reading Spanish and sketch 
 ing, as I learn from Mr. Mason. Whether he pur 
 sued the study of Spanish literature further, I do 
 
xxxii INTRODUCTION 
 
 not know; but in 1903 he took up painting after 
 an interval of many years, and produced work so 
 true and so well composed that several profes 
 sional painters urged him to devote himself en 
 tirely to painting. 
 
 But his culture was not merely classical and 
 artistic. The theory of evolution with all its im 
 plications is implicit in "The Menagerie," and, 
 despite an antique cosmology retained for poet 
 ical purposes, runs through "The Fire-Bringer" 
 and "The Masque of Judgment." Modernity is, 
 indeed, the note of all his thinking. His dream of 
 the city beautiful as the final work of the Brute is 
 the latest word of sociology; as his dream of lei 
 sure and intelligence and self-control and the 
 enjoyment of nature as rights of all men has made 
 "Gloucester Moors" a favorite poem with work- 
 ( ers in the slums. His patriotism passionate 
 and beautiful derives much of its passion and 
 beauty from his sense of the opinion of mankind, 
 his desire that in the eyes of the whole world his 
 beloved land shall stand up clean and pure and 
 beautiful, shall hold the Philippines for no sordid 
 motives, shall refrain from intervention in the dis 
 memberment of China for no base fear. 
 
INTRODUCTION xxxiii 
 
 Walter Pater has somewhere said that no great 
 political poem can be written while men still care 
 for the issues involved. This seems like a dictum 
 uttered by the way to inclose some special case. 
 Certainly Moody s political poetry the "Ode 
 in Time of Hesitation," "On a Soldier Fallen in 
 the Philippines," and "The Quarry" was writ 
 ten and set forth while the public mind was still 
 divided ; and however much men then differed as 
 to the actions discussed, no one could deny the 
 beauty, the power, or the lasting significance of 
 the poems. We may all become reconciled to the 
 holding of the islands and the partition of China 
 as inevitable, but we shall never be able to min 
 imize the large moral issues which at the moment 
 were involved or to remain cold to Moody s clear 
 and moving statement of them. 
 
 The largest literary plan of Moody s career and, 
 though uncompleted, the fullest expression of his 
 vision of life, is the trilogy which was to consist 
 of "The Fire- B ringer," "The Masque of Judg 
 ment," and "The Death of Eve." The sequence 
 of these is subject to the logic of his solution of 
 life, not to the chronology of action or of composi 
 tion. To be judged fairly, they must be taken not 
 
xxxiv INTRODUCTION 
 
 as separate and complete wholes but as members 
 of a trilogy, the final word of which was to be 
 spoken at the end of the last. The trilogy, more 
 over, being Moody s vision of life as a whole, can 
 hardly be understood without some further refer 
 ence to his temperament and the influences of his 
 childhood. He was, as we have seen, a pure pagan 
 in his sensitiveness to beauty of all kinds, but he 
 was also temperamentally a mystic, one who, 
 without resort to ascetic austerities, though he 
 may not have felt the divine warmth in his breast, 
 heard the divine music, tasted the divine sweet 
 ness, or been surrounded by heavenly odors, at 
 least saw, both in youth and in maturer age, with 
 his physical eyes the habitants of heaven. Such 
 a combination is strange enough, but in addition, 
 Moody was born, as we must remember, in the 
 United States of America about the middle of the 
 nineteenth century. He was therefore born and 
 brought up as a Puritan. Whether the ideals of 
 his childhood came from north or from south, 
 this is true. Much has been written about Puri 
 tan and Cavalier in the history of this -country, 
 but it is all fallacious; their ideals were, except 
 superficially, the same; you had only to scratch 
 
INTRODUCTION xxxv 
 
 a Cavalier ever so lightly to find below the surface 
 a Puritan in full theological panoply. This early 
 training, these early associations, left an indelible 
 impress upon Moody. His task, as poet, was either 
 to reject one or more of these elements or to unify 
 them ; but he could not reject any of them, and his 
 whole nature called for the unification of them. 
 He was not content few of us are to make his 
 heart a battleground for his temperament and 
 his training. So he fused his ancient cosmology 
 and theology with his evolutionary theories, re- 
 charactered his God, as so many of us have 
 done, and achieved a poetic solution of the uni 
 verse. 
 
 This solution, with the problems which throw 
 it into relief, he set forth in a trilogy of poetic 
 dramas. These dramas contain much of his finest 
 poetry, lyric, reflective, and what is none too 
 common in poetic drama dramatic; and besides 
 they exhibit a large and steady increase of strength 
 and control, with no diminution of any of the 
 poet s powers. That Moody was preoccupied with 
 such questions as these dramas discuss, appears 
 in a number of his shorter poems, in the " Road- 
 Hymn for the Start," in "Good Friday Night," 
 
xxxvi INTRODUCTION 
 
 in his patriotic poems, in the experimental and 
 unsatisfactory "Until the Troubling of the Wa 
 ters," in "Song- Flower and Poppy," and, if we 
 accept "The Ride Back" as symbolic of the soul s 
 return to God, in it also. 
 
 All three of the dramas are in large measure 
 symbolic, and should be interpreted and judged 
 as such. Strictly dramatic and subject to the 
 laws of dramatic speech and action they were 
 never intended to be, as was shown in the drama 
 first written and published, "The Masque of 
 Judgment," by the presence of such dramatis per 
 sona as the Spirits of the Throne-Lamps, the Lion 
 and the Eagle of the Throne, and Spirits of the 
 Saved and of the Lost; by the predominance of 
 descriptive, expository, and lyric poetry, and by 
 the very title of the drama. The critic may prefer 
 dramatic action to broad oratorio-like movement; 
 but the poet has the right to choose his form and 
 medium and to be judged by his success in that. 
 Strictly speaking, "The Masque of Judgment" 
 is in structure and persona more like a mediaeval 
 myst ere than a masque, but Moody, who was fam 
 iliar with these forms of drama, chose the term 
 "masque" to indicate the symbolic character of 
 
INTRODUCTION xxxvii 
 
 his technique and to justify the large majesty of 
 the action. 
 
 The order of the members of the trilogy is at 
 first a little confusing: neither in date of composi 
 tion nor in theme is chronology regarded. "The 
 Masque of Judgment," ranging in dramatic time 
 from just before the Incarnation of Christ to the 
 Evening of the Day of Judgment, and first in or 
 der of composition, is logically the second member 
 of the trilogy. "The Fire-Bringer," dealing with 
 the myth of Prometheus and therefore hardly 
 capable of adjustment to any time scheme of a 
 Christian cosmogony, was second in time of com 
 position, but is logically the first member of the 
 trilogy. The third member of the trilogy, "The 
 Death of Eve," was unfortunately left fragment 
 ary, only the first act having been completed. As 
 these relations have occasioned difficulty to some 
 readers, it may be well to give a brief statement 
 of Moody s plan of the trilogy as a whole, premis 
 ing that the precise development of the final theme 
 had changed more than once in his conception and 
 might conceivably have changed again. 
 
 The central or dominant thought of the trilogy 
 is the inseparableness, and, in a certain sense, the 
 
xxxviii INTRODUCTION 
 
 unity of God and man. This thought is set forth 
 in the first member, "The Fire-Bringer," through 
 the reaction on the human race of the effort of 
 Prometheus to make man independent of God ; in 
 the second member, "The Masque of Judgment," 
 through a declaration of the consequences to God 
 himself that would inevitably follow his decree 
 for the destruction of mankind ; in the third mem 
 ber, "The Death of Eve," it was intended to set 
 forth the impossibility of separation, the complete 
 unity of the Creator and his creation. 
 
 Despite the fact that these poems were from 
 the beginning known to be members of an organic 
 plan, each of the two has been interpreted as if it 
 were in itself a complete expression of Moody s 
 thought, instead of a phase of its development. It 
 is to be noted that, although Pandora is a prom 
 inent figure in "The Fire-Bringer," and in many 
 ways anticipates the feelings and attitudes finally 
 expressed through Eve, Prometheus is the domin 
 ant figure, and the poem closes with a triumphant 
 and somewhat insolent chorus of Young Men just 
 awakened to power and sensual delight. Through 
 out the second drama, Raphael is the dominant 
 figure. Despite his archangelic nature and his kin- 
 
INTRODUCTION xxxix 
 
 ship with God as the first of his creatures, his long 
 and watchful care of man has made him love and 
 pardon even man s blindnesses and weaknesses; 
 and torn as his heart is by his love for both God 
 and man, he and Uriel and the Spirits of the Throne- 
 Lamps join in expressing the desolation in Heaven 
 as it becomes evident that the destruction of man 
 involves the annihilation of God also. 
 
 The third jmpTryfar of the trilogy was to centre 
 upon Eve, who, being the means of separation of 
 man from God, is the appropriate and necessary 
 means of reconciliation. She, having survived 
 "ages of years," has undergone a new spiritual 
 awakening, and with clearing vision sees that her 
 sin need not have been the final, fatal thing it 
 seemed; that God s creatures live by and within 
 his being and cannot be estranged or divided from 
 him. (Seeing this dimly, she is under the compul 
 sion of a great need to return to the place where 
 her defiant thought had originated and there de 
 clare her new vision of life. 1 } She seeks among her 
 kindred for one with understanding and courage, 
 to accompany her; and being often refused, she 
 accepts finally the companionship of the young 
 est of her descendants, Jubal, a lad of spiritual 
 
xl INTRODUCTION 
 
 insight, a poet and musician, and with him sets 
 out to find Cain and take him with her into the 
 lost Paradise for the supreme reconciliation. The 
 acceptance of her command by Cain and "the ex 
 pression by Jubal of the new-found joy of living 
 close the first act in its present form. A conclud 
 ing lyric, sung by Jubal as he leads the little maid 
 Abdera up to the strong, mysterious city of Cain, 
 was unfortunately never written. The other acts 
 of this part of the trilogy, two in number, were to 
 be diversified by many illuminating incidents, 
 among them the instinctive wandering of the age- 
 stricken Adam back to the Garden, ostensibly fol 
 lowing Eve, but really yearning forward to par 
 ticipate in the new and glorious solution of life. 
 In the third act there was to be a song by Eve, 
 the burden of which would be the inseparableness 
 of God and man, during which, as she rises to a 
 clearer and clearer view of the spiritual life, she 
 gently passes from the vision of her beholders; 
 while, delicately symbolizing the permanence 
 and beauty of the earth, Jubal and Abdera draw 
 together with broken words of tenderness. 
 
 The full vision of Eve, as has been said, never 
 found lyric expression, but one may find anticipa- 
 
INTRODUCTION xli 
 
 tions of its thought, if not of its probably elabor 
 ate and jubilant form, in the wonderful song of 
 Pandora, who in so many ways expresses the 
 beauty and power of woman. The poem, beauti 
 fully simple in structure and in diction, indicates 
 in its parallel phrasing the identity of the thoughts 
 and desires of God and man. 
 
 Pandora (sings) 
 
 I stood within the heart of God ; 
 It seems a place that I had known: 
 (I was blood-sister to the clod, 
 Blood-brother to the stone.) 
 
 I found my love and labor there, 
 My house, my raiment, meat and wine, 
 My ancient rage, my old despair, 
 Yea, all things that were mine. 
 
 I saw the spring and summer pass, 
 The trees grow bare, and winter come; 
 All was the same as once it was 
 Upon my hills at home. 
 
 Then suddenly in my own heart 
 
 I felt God walk and gaze about; 
 
 He spoke ; His words seemed held apart 
 
 With gladness and with doubt. 
 
 "Here is my meat and wine," He said, 
 "My love, my toil, my ancient care; 
 
xlii INTRODUCTION 
 
 Here is my cloak, my book, my bed, 
 And here my old despair. 
 
 "Here are my seasons: winter, spring, 
 Summer the same, and autumn spills 
 The fruits I look for; everything 
 As on my heavenly hills." 
 
 Moody s conception of God was not, for all his 
 insistence upon the inseparableness of God and 
 man, pantheistic; indeed, it was not a formal 
 philosophical conception, but a poetical vision 
 incorporating the most diverse elements of cul 
 ture. It must never be forgotten that in his sensi 
 tiveness to beauty and his sense of the eternal 
 value of beauty he was a pagan ; by nature also he 
 was a mystic, with a feeling of the reality and 
 nearness of God and of his own capacity for direct 
 vision of Him and communication with Him. 
 These elements of pagan "joy of living" and of 
 mystic ecstasy were helped into union by the in 
 fluence of Platonism and of the Bacchce of Eu 
 ripides. God figures ambiguously in his poetry: 
 sometimes as the Puritan God, whom he does not 
 love and in whom he does not believe ; sometimes 
 as the no less anthropomorphic God from whom 
 he cannot keep his fellowship and love. 
 
INTRODUCTION xliii 
 
 The tremendous part which woman plays in 
 Moody s poetry and in his solution of the problem 
 of life is worthy of special attention. In the first 
 place, there is, as we have already seen, scarcely 
 any hint in Moody s writings of sick and doubtful 
 love, the weak sentimentality which is the main 
 stock in trade of so many poets. This is due to the 
 sanity of his mental and emotional natures, for he 
 was a man of unusual sexual interest and sexual 
 power, and he celebrated love as the universal 
 Mother, the glorious and all-powerful being of 
 whom Lucretius sang. Furthermore, woman, as 
 idealized by him, is a far different creature from 
 the bloodless angel who has been the subject of so 
 many futile songs. Woman, as Moody conceived 
 her, is glorious and wonderful, not because of the 
 lack of human and even special weaknesses, but 
 because of the possession of human and special 
 powers. What he conceives her to be he has set 
 forth in many a poem, but most conspicuously in 
 the Girl s song in the Prelude to "The Masque of 
 Judgment," in the Girl s song on pages 57, 58, of 
 "The Fire-Bringer," in the epic vision of "The 
 Death of Eve," and, above all, in that marvelous 
 outburst of varied melody, "I am the Woman." 
 
xliv INTRODUCTION 
 
 Only a word can be said of his work as a writer 
 of prose plays. The impulse to write the two 
 he wrote was imperative and irresistible. They 
 embody important phases of his thought, and 
 they show a power of humor and a capacity for 
 dealing with the homely and familiar as well as 
 the poetical which some critics were disposed to 
 deny to him. They are now generally recognized 
 as among the most encouraging signs of the pos 
 sibility of an American drama that shall be at 
 once popular, powerful, and worthily conceived 
 and written. Some persons have supposed that 
 Moody was seduced by the phenomenal success 
 of "The Great Divide" into the hasty composi 
 tion of another play. But, as I have said, he 
 discussed the plan of "The Faith Healer" with 
 me in the autumn of 1898, and even before that 
 he had discussed it with Mr. Mason. That this 
 play was not a popular success was due, I think, 
 to Moody s refusal to use the sensational means 
 of music and an excited crowd at the beginning of 
 the first act necessary to establish the emotional 
 atmosphere which alone could have prepared the 
 audience to receive the theme sympathetically. 
 
 But even before this play was staged or even 
 
INTRODUCTION xlv 
 
 completed, he had definitely determined to return 
 to poetry as his proper lifework. What he might 
 have done had years of vigor been granted him 
 we can in part infer from the increase in beauty 
 and power shown in his latest work. He was 
 growing in vigor and depth of thought, in breadth 
 of vision, in sensitiveness to beauty, and in tech 
 nical power up to the very time of his fatal attack, 
 in the summer of 1909. Under the care of Harriet 
 C. Brainerd, for years a constant source of 
 strength and inspiration as his dearest friend, 
 and for a few brief months his devoted partner 
 in a marriage of ideal sweetness and unity of feel 
 ing, he sought vainly for restoration to health 
 and strength, but the end came at Colorado 
 Springs on the seventeenth of October, 1910. 
 
 That a man so endowed in body, heart, mind, 
 and soul should be taken away in the very flower of 
 his manhood is a loss to the world ; that so strong 
 and sweet a soul is with us here no more is an 
 irreparable loss to those who knew and loved 
 him. But Moody, though he did not finish his 
 work, had lived a life of singular richness and 
 fullness. A strong, as well as a fine spirit, he had 
 never compromised with circumstances or fate, 
 
xlvi INTRODUCTION 
 
 and he could well say at the end, as he said long 
 before in "Song- Flower and Poppy": 
 
 Heart, we have chosen the better part! 
 Save sacred love and sacred art, 
 Nothing is good for long. 
 
GLOUCESTER MOORS 
 
GLOUCESTER MOORS 
 
 A MILE behind is Gloucester town 
 Where the fishing fleets put in, 
 A mile ahead the land dips down 
 And the woods and farms begin. 
 Here, where the moors stretch free 
 In the high blue afternoon, 
 Are the marching sun and talking sea, 
 And the racing winds that wheel and flee 
 On the flying heels of June. 
 
 / Jill-o er-the-ground is purple blue, 
 Blue is the quaker-maid, 
 The wild geranium holds its dew 
 Long in the boulder s shade. 
 Wax-red hangs the cup 
 From the huckleberry boughs, 
 In barberry bells the grey moths sup, 
 Or where the choke-cherry lifts high up 
 Sweet bowls for their carouse. 
 
 Over the shelf of the sandy cove 
 Beach-peas blossom late. 
 
4 GLOUCESTER MOORS 
 
 By copse and cliff the swallows rove 
 
 Each calling to his mate. 
 
 Seaward the sea-gulls go, 
 
 And the land-birds all are here; 
 
 That green-gold flash was a vireo, 
 
 And yonder flame where the marsh-flags grow 
 
 Was a scarlet tanager. 
 
 This earth is not the steadfast place 
 
 We landsmen build upon; 
 
 From deep to deep she varies pace, 
 
 And while she comes is gone. 
 
 Beneath my feet I feel 
 
 Her smooth bulk heave and dip; 
 
 With velvet plunge and soft upreel 
 
 She swings and steadies to her keel 
 
 Like a gallant, gallant ship. 
 
 
 
 These summer clouds she sets for sail, 
 
 The sun is her masthead light, 
 
 She tows the moon like a pinnace frail 
 
 Where her phosphor wake churns bright. 
 
 Now hid, now looming clear, 
 
 On the face of the dangerous blue 
 
 The star fleets tack and wheel and veer, 
 
GLOUCESTER MOORS 5 
 
 But on, but on does the old earth steer 
 As if her port she knew. 
 
 God, dear God ! Does she know her port, 
 Though she goes so far about? 
 Or blind astray, does she make her sport 
 To brazen and chance it out? 
 I watched when her captains passed: 
 She were better captainless. 
 Men in the cabin, before the mast, 
 J3ut some were reckless and some aghast, 
 
 And some sat gorged at mess. 
 
 
 
 By her battened hatch I leaned and caught 
 
 Sounds from the noisome hold, 
 
 Cursing and sighing of souls distraught 
 
 And cries too sad to be told. 
 
 Then I strove to go down and see; 
 
 But they said, "Thou art not of us!" 
 
 I turned to those on the deck with me 
 
 And cried, "Give help!" But they said, "Let be: 
 
 Our ship sails faster thus." 
 
 Jill-o er-the-ground is purple blue, 
 Blue is the quaker-maid, 
 
6 GLOUCESTER MOORS 
 
 The alder-clump where the brook comes through 
 
 Breeds cresses in its shade. 
 
 To be out of the moiling street 
 
 With its swelter and its sin! 
 
 Who has given to me this sweet, 
 
 And given my brother dust to eat? 
 
 And when will his wage come in? 
 
 Scattering wide or blown in ranks, 
 
 Yellow and white and brown, 
 
 Boats and boats from the fishing banks 
 
 Come home to Gloucester town. 
 
 There is cash to purse and spend, 
 
 There are wives to be embraced, 
 
 Hearts to borrow and hearts to lend, 
 
 And hearts to take and keep to the end, 
 
 O little sails, make haste! 
 
 But thou, vast outbound ship of souls, 
 
 What harbor town for thee? 
 
 What shapes, when thy arriving tolls, 
 
 Shall crowd the banks to see? 
 
 Shall all the happy shipmates then 
 
 Stand singing brotherly? 
 
 Or shall a haggard ruthless few 
 
GLOUCESTER MOORS 7 
 
 Warp her over and bring her to, 
 While the many broken souls of men 
 Fester down in the slaver s pen, 
 And nothing to say or do? 
 
V 
 
 GOOD FRIDAY NIGHT 
 
 AT last the bird that sang so long 
 In twilight circles, hushed his song: 
 Above the ancient square 
 The stars came here and there. 
 
 Good Friday night ! Some hearts were bowed. 
 But some amid the waiting crowd 
 Because of too much youth 
 Felt not that mystic ruth; 
 
 And of these hearts my heart was one : 
 Nor when beneath the arch of stone 
 With dirge and candle flame 
 The cross of passion came, 
 
 Did my glad spirit feel reproof, 
 Though on the awful tree aloof, 
 Unspiritual, dead, 
 Drooped the ensanguined Head. 
 
 To one who stood where myrtles made 
 A little space of deeper shade 
 
GOOD FRIDAY NIGHT 
 
 (As I could half descry, 
 A stranger, even as I), 
 
 I said, "These youths who bear along 
 The symbols of their Saviour s wrong, 
 The spear, the garment torn, 
 The flaggel, and the thorn, 
 
 "Why do they make this mummery? 
 Would not a brave man gladly die 
 For a much smaller thing 
 Than to be Christ and king?" 
 
 He answered nothing, and I turned. 
 Throned in its hundred candles burned 
 The jeweled eidolon 
 Of her who bore the Son. 
 
 The crowd was prostrate; still, I felt 
 No shame until the stranger knelt; 
 Then not to kneel, almost 
 Seemed like a vulgar boast. 
 
 I knelt. The doll-face, waxen white, 
 Flowered out a living dimness; bright 
 
io GOOD FRIDAY NIGHT 
 
 Dawned the dear mortal grace 
 Of my own mother s face. 
 
 When we were risen up, the street 
 Was vacant; all the air hung sweet 
 With lemon-flowers; and soon 
 The sky would hold the moon. 
 
 More silently than new-found friends 
 To whom much silence makes amends 
 For the much babble vain 
 While yet their lives were twain, 
 
 We walked along the odorous hill. 
 The light was little yet; his will 
 I could not see to trace 
 Upon his form or face. 
 
 So when aloft the gold moon broke, 
 I cried, heart-stung. As one who woke 
 He turned unto my cries 
 The anguish of his eyes. 
 
 "Friend! Master!" I cried falteringly, 
 "Thou seest the thing they make of thee, 
 
GOOD FRIDAY NIGHT n 
 
 Oh, by the light divine 
 
 My mother shares with thine, 
 
 " I beg that I may lay my head 
 Upon thy shoulder and be fed 
 With thoughts of brotherhood!" 
 So through the odorous wood, 
 
 More silently than friends new-found 
 We walked. At the first meadow bound 
 His figure ashen-stoled 
 Sank in the moon s broad gold. 
 
ROAD-HYMN FOR THE START 
 
 LEAVE the early bells at chime, 
 Leave the kindled hearth to blaze, 
 Leave the trellised panes where children linger out 
 
 the waking- time, 
 Leave the forms of sons and fathers trudging 
 
 through the misty ways, 
 
 Leave the sounds of mothers taking up their sweet 
 laborious days. 
 
 Pass them by! even while our soul 
 Yearns to them with keen distress. 
 Unto them a part is given ; we will strive to see the 
 
 whole. 
 
 Dear shall be the banquet table where their sing 
 ing spirits press; 
 
 Dearer be our sacred hunger, and our pilgrim 
 loneliness. 
 
 We have felt the ancient swaying 
 Of the earth before the sun, 
 On the darkened marge of midnight heard sidereal 
 rivers playing; 
 
ROAD-HYMN FOR THE START 13 
 
 Rash it was to bathe our souls there, but we 
 
 plunged and all was done. 
 That is lives and lives behind us lo, our journey 
 
 is begun! 
 
 Careless where our face is set, 
 Let us take the open way. 
 What we are no tongue has told us : Errand-goers 
 
 who forget? 
 Soldiers heedless of their harry? Pilgrim people 
 
 gone astray? 
 
 We have heard a voice cry "Wander!" That was 
 all we heard it say. 
 
 Ask no more: t is much, t is much! 
 Down the road the day-star calls; 
 Touched with change in the wide heavens, like a 
 
 leaf the frost winds touch, 
 Flames the failing moon a moment, ere it shrivels 
 
 white and falls; 
 
 Hid aloft, a wild throat holdeth sweet and sweeter 
 intervals. 
 
 Leave him still to ease in song 
 Half his little heart s unrest: 
 
14 ROAD-HYMN FOR THE START 
 
 Speech is his, but we may journey toward the life 
 for which we long. 
 
 God, who gives the bird its anguish, maketh no 
 thing manifest, 
 
 But upon our lifted foreheads pours the boon of 
 endless quest. 
 
AN ODE IN TIME OF HESITATION 
 
 (After seeing at Boston the statue of Robert Gould Shaw, 
 killed while storming Fort Wagner, July 18, 1863, at the 
 head of the first enlisted negro regiment, the Fifty-fourth 
 Massachusetts.) 
 
 BEFORE the solemn bronze Saint Gaudens 
 
 made 
 
 To thrill the heedless passer s heart with awe, 
 And set here in the city s talk and trade 
 To the good memory of Robert Shaw, 
 This bright March morn I stand, 
 And hear the distant spring come up the land; 
 Knowing that what I hear is not unheard 
 Of this boy soldier and his negro band, 
 For all their gaze is fixed so stern ahead, 
 For all the fatal rhythm of their tread. 
 The land they died to save from death and 
 
 shame 
 Trembles and waits, hearing the spring s great 
 
 name, 
 And by her pangs these resolute ghosts are stirred. 
 
16, AN ODE IN TIME OF HESITATION 
 
 II 
 
 Through street and mall the tides of people go 
 
 Heedless; the trees upon the Common show 
 
 No hint of green; but to my listening heart 
 
 The still earth doth impart 
 
 Assurance of her jubilant emprise, 
 
 And it is clear to my long-searching eyes 
 
 That love at last has might upon the skies. 
 
 The ice is runneled on the little pond ; 
 
 A telltale patter drips from off the trees; 
 
 The air is touched with southland spiceries, 
 
 As if but yesterday it tossed the frond 
 
 Of pendant mosses where the live-oaks grow 
 
 Beyond Virginia and the Carolines, 
 
 Or had its will among the fruits and vines 
 
 Of aromatic isles asleep beyond 
 
 Florida and the Gulf of Mexico. 
 
 Ill 
 
 Soon shall the Cape Ann children shout in glee, 
 Spying the arbutus, spring s dear recluse; 
 Hill lads at dawn shall hearken the wild goose 
 Go honking northward over Tennessee ; 
 West from Oswego to Sault Sainte-Marie, 
 
AN ODE IN TIME OF HESITATION 17 
 
 And on to where the Pictured Rocks are hung, 
 
 And yonder where, gigantic, wilful, young, 
 
 Chicago sitteth at the northwest gates, 
 
 With restless violent hands and casual tongue 
 
 Moulding her mighty fates, 
 
 The Lakes shall robe them in ethereal sheen; 
 
 And like a larger sea, the vital green 
 
 Of springing wheat shall vastly be outflung 
 
 Over Dakota and the prairie states. 
 
 By desert people immemorial 
 
 On Arizonan mesas shall be done 
 
 Dim rites unto the thunder and the sun; 
 
 Nor shall the primal gods lack sacrifice 
 
 More splendid, when the white Sierras call 
 
 Unto the Rockies straightway to arise 
 
 And dance before the unveiled ark of the year, 
 
 Sounding their windy cedars as for shawms, 
 
 Unrolling rivers clear 
 
 For flutter of broad phylacteries; 
 
 While Shasta signals to Alaskan seas 
 
 That watch old sluggish glaciers downward creep 
 
 To fling their icebergs thundering from the steep, 
 
 And Mariposa through the purple calms 
 
 Gazes at far Hawaii crowned with palms 
 
 Where East and West are met, 
 
i8 AN ODE IN TIME OF HESITATION 
 
 A rich seal on the ocean s bosom set 
 To say that East and West are twain, 
 With different loss and gain : 
 The Lord hath sundered them; let them be sun 
 dered yet. 
 
 IV 
 
 Alas ! what sounds are these that come 
 
 Sullenly over the Pacific seas, - 
 
 Sounds of ignoble battle, striking dumb 
 
 The season s half- awakened ecstasies? 
 
 Must I be humble, then, 
 
 Now when my heart hath need of pride? 
 
 Wild love falls on me from these sculptured men ; 
 
 By loving much the land for which they died 
 
 I would be justified. 
 
 My spirit was away on pinions wide 
 
 To soothe in praise of her its passionate mood 
 
 And ease it of its ache of gratitude. 
 
 Too sorely heavy is the debt they lay 
 
 On me and the companions of my day. 
 
 I would remember now 
 
 My country s goodliness, make sweet her name. 
 
 Alas! what shade art thou 
 
 Of sorrow or of blame 
 
AN ODE IN TIME OF HESITATION 19 
 
 Liftcst the lyric leafage from her brow, 
 And pointest a slow finger at her shame? 
 
 V 
 
 Lies! lies! It cannot be! The wars we wage 
 Are noble, and our battles still are won 
 By justice for us, ere we lift the gage. 
 We have not sold our loftiest heritage. 
 The proud republic hath not stooped to cheat 
 And scramble in the market-place of war; 
 Her forehead weareth yet its solemn star. 
 Here is her witness: this, her perfect son, 
 This delicate and proud New England soul 
 Who leads despised men, with just-unshackled 
 
 feet, 
 
 Up the large ways where death and glory meet, 
 To show all peoples that our shame is done, 
 That once more we are clean and spirit-whole. 
 
 VI 
 
 Crouched in the sea fog on the moaning sand 
 All night he lay, speaking some simple word 
 From hour to hour to the slow minds that heard, 
 Holding each poor life gently in his hand 
 And breathing on the base rejected clay 
 Till each dark face shone mystical and grand 
 
20 AN ODE IN TIME OF HESITATION 
 
 Against the breaking day; 
 
 And lo, the shard the potter cast away 
 
 Was grown a fiery chalice crystal-fine 
 
 Fulfilled of the divine 
 
 Great wine of battle wrath by God s ring-finger 
 
 stirred. 
 
 Then upward, where the shadowy bastion loomed 
 Huge on the mountain in the wet sea light, 
 Whence now, and now, infernal flowerage bloomed, 
 Bloomed, burst, and scattered down its deadly 
 
 seed, 
 
 They swept, and died like freemen on the height, 
 Like freemen, and like men of noble breed; 
 And when the battle fell away at night 
 By hasty and contemptuous hands were thrust 
 Obscurely in a common grave with him 
 The fair-haired keeper of their love and trust. 
 Now limb doth mingle with dissolved limb 
 In nature s busy old democracy 
 To flush the mountain laurel when she blows 
 Sweet by the southern sea, 
 And heart with crumbled heart climbs in the 
 
 rose : - 
 The untaught hearts with the high heart that 
 
 knew 
 
AN ODE IN TIME OF HESITATION 21 
 
 This mountain fortress for no earthly hold 
 
 Of temporal quarrel, but the bastion old 
 
 Of spiritual wrong, 
 
 Built by an unjust nation sheer and strong, 
 
 Expugnable but by a nation s rue 
 
 And bowing down before that equal shrine 
 
 By all men held divine, 
 
 Whereof his band and he were the most holy sign. 
 
 VII 
 
 O bitter, bitter shade! 
 Wilt thou not put the scorn 
 And instant tragic question from thine eye? 
 Do thy dark brows yet crave 
 That swift and angry stave - 
 Unmeet for this desirous morn 
 That I have striven, striven to evade? 
 Gazing on him, must I not deem they err 
 Whose careless lips in street and shop aver 
 As common tidings, deeds to make his cheek 
 Flush from the bronze, and his dead throat to 
 
 speak? 
 
 Surely some elder singer would arise, 
 Whose harp hath leave to threaten and to mourn 
 Above this people when they go astray. 
 
22 AN ODE IN TIME OF HESITATION 
 
 Is Whitman, the strong spirit, overworn? 
 Has Whittier put his yearning wrath away? 
 I will not and I dare not yet believe! 
 Though furtively the sunlight seems to grieve, 
 And the spring-laden breeze 
 Out of the gladdening west is sinister 
 With sounds of nameless battle overseas; 
 Though when we turn and question in suspense 
 If these things be indeed after these ways, 
 And what things are to follow after these, 
 Our fluent men of place and consequence 
 Fumble and fill their mouths with hollow phrase, 
 Or for the end-all of deep arguments 
 Intone their dull commercial liturgies - 
 I dare not yet believe! My ears are shut! 
 I will not hear the thin satiric praise 
 And muffled laughter of our enemies, 
 Bidding us never sheathe our valiant sword 
 Till we have changed our birthright for a gourd 
 Of wild pulse stolen from a barbarian s hut; 
 Showing how wise it is to cast away 
 The symbols of our spiritual sway, 
 That so our hands with better ease 
 May wield the driver s whip and grasp the jailer s 
 keys. 
 
AN ODE IN TIME OF HESITATION 23 
 
 VIII 
 
 Was it for this our fathers kept the law? 
 
 This crown shall crown their struggle and their 
 
 ruth? 
 
 Are we the eagle nation Milton saw 
 Mewing its mighty youth, 
 Soon to possess the mountain winds of truth, 
 And be a swift familiar of the sun 
 Where aye before God s face his trumpets run? 
 Or have we but the talons and the maw, 
 And for the abject likeness of our heart 
 Shall some less lordly bird be set apart? - 
 Some gross-billed wader where the swamps are 
 
 fat? 
 Some gorger in the sun? Some prowler with the 
 
 bat? 
 
 IX 
 Ah no! 
 
 We have not fallen so. 
 
 We are our fathers sons: let those who lead us 
 
 know ! 
 
 T was only yesterday sick Cuba s cry 
 Came up the tropic wind, "Now help us, for we 
 
 die!" 
 
24 AN ODE IN TIME OF HESITATION 
 
 Then Alabama heard, 
 
 And rising, pale, to Maine and Idaho 
 
 Shouted a burning word. 
 
 Proud state with proud impassioned state con 
 ferred, 
 
 And at the liftitig of a hand sprang forth, 
 
 East, west, and south, and north, 
 
 Beautiful armies. Oh, by the sweet blood and 
 young 
 
 Shed on the awful hill slope at San Juan, 
 
 By the unforgotten names of eager boys 
 
 Who might have tasted girls love and been stung 
 
 With the old mystic joys 
 
 And starry griefs, now the spring nights come on, 
 
 But that the heart of youth is generous, - 
 
 We charge you, ye who lead us, 
 
 Breathe on their chivalry no hint of stain ! 
 
 Turn not their new- world victories to gain ! 
 
 One least leaf plucked for chaffer from the bays 
 
 Of their dear praise, 
 
 One jot of their pure conquest put to hire, 
 
 The implacable republic will require; 
 
 With clamor, in the glare and gaze of noon, 
 
 Or subtly, coming as a thief at night, 
 
 But surely, very surely, slow or soon 
 
AN ODE IN TIME OF HESITATION 25 
 
 That insult deep we deeply will requite. 
 Tempt not our weakness, our cupidity ! 
 For save we let the island men go free, 
 Those baffled and dislaureled ghosts 
 Will curse us from the lamentable coasts 
 Where walk the frustrate dead. 
 The cup of trembling shall be drained quite, 
 Eaten the sour bread of astonishment, 
 With ashes of the hearth shall be made white 
 Our hair, and wailing shall be in the tent; 
 Then on your guiltier hea4 
 Shall our intolerable self-disdain 
 Wreak suddenly its anger and its pain; 
 For manifest in that disastrous light 
 We shall discern the right 
 And .do it, tardily. O ye who lead, 
 Take heed ! 
 
 Blindness we may forgive, but baseness we will 
 smite. 
 
 1900. 
 
THE QUARRY 
 
 BETWEEN the rice swamps and the fields of tea 
 I met a sacred elephant, snow-white. 
 Upon his back a huge pagoda towered 
 Full of brass gods and food of sacrifice. 
 Upon his forehead sat a golden throne, 
 The massy metal twisted into shapes 
 Grotesque, antediluvian, such as move 
 In myth or have their broken images 
 Sealed in the stony middle of the hills. 
 A peacock spread his thousand dyes to screen 
 The yellow sunlight from the head of one 
 Who sat upon the throne, clad stiff with gems, 
 Heirlooms of dynasties of buried kings, - 
 Himself the likeness of a buried king, 
 With frozen gesture and unfocused eyes. 
 The trappings of the beast were over-scrawled 
 With broideries sea-shapes and flying things, 
 Fan-trees and dwarfed nodosities of pine, 
 Mixed with old alphabets, and faded lore 
 Fallen from ecstatic mouths before the Flood, 
 
THE QUARRY 27 
 
 Or gathered by the daughters when they walked 
 
 Eastward in Eden with the Sons of God 
 
 * 
 
 Whom love and the deep moon made garrulous. 
 Between the carven tusks his trunk hung dead ; 
 Blind as the eyes of pearl in Buddha s brow 
 His beaded eyes stared thwart upon the road ; 
 And feebler than the doting knees of eld, 
 His joints, of size to swing the builder s crane 
 Across the war- walls of the Anakim, 
 Made vain and shaken haste. Good need was his 
 To hasten: panting, foaming, on the slot 
 Came many brutes of prey, their several hates 
 Laid by until the sharing of the spoil. 
 Just as they gathered stomach for the leap, 
 The sun was darkened, and wide-balanced wings 
 Beat downward on the trade- wind from the sea. 
 A wheel of shadow sped along the fields 
 And o er the dreaming cities. Suddenly 
 My heart misgave me, and I cried aloud, 
 "Alas! What dost thou here? What dost thou 
 
 here?" 
 
 The great beasts and the little halted sharp, 
 Eyed the grand circler, doubting his intent. 
 Straightway the wind flawed and he came about, 
 Stooping to take the vanward of the pack; 
 
28 THE QUARRY 
 
 Then turned, between the chasers and the chased, 
 Crying a word I could not understand, - 
 But stiller- tongued, with eyes somewhat askance, 
 They settled to the slot and disappeared. 
 
 1900. 
 
ON A SOLDIER FALLEN IN THE 
 PHILIPPINES 
 
 STREETS of the roaring town, 
 
 Hush for him, hush, be still! 
 
 He comes, who was stricken down 
 
 Doing the word of our will. 
 
 Hush! Let him have his state, 
 
 Give him his soldier s crown. 
 
 The grists of trade can wait 
 
 Their grinding at the mill, 
 But he cannot wait for his honor, now the trumpet 
 
 has been blown ; 
 
 Wreathe pride now for his granite brow, lay love 
 on his breast of stone. 
 
 Toll! Let the great bells toll 
 Till the clashing air is dim. 
 Did we wrong this parted soul? 
 We will make up it to him. 
 Toll ! Let him never guess 
 What work we set him to. 
 Laurel, laurel, yes; 
 He did what we bade him do. 
 
30 A SOLDIER IN THE PHILIPPINES 
 
 Praise, and never a whispered hint but the fight 
 
 he fought was good ; 
 Never a word that the blood on his sword was 
 
 his country s own heart s-blood. 
 
 A flag for the soldier s bier 
 Who dies that his land may live; 
 O, banners, banners here, 
 That he doubt not nor misgive! 
 That he heed not from the tomb 
 The evil days draw near 
 When the nation, robed in gloom, 
 With its faithless past shall strive. 
 
 Let him never dream that his bullet s scream 
 went wide of its island mark, 
 
 Home to the heart of his darling land where she 
 stumbled and sinned in the dark. 
 
UNTIL THE TROUBLING OF THE 
 WATERS 
 
 Two hours, two hours: God give me strength 
 
 for it! 
 
 He who has given so much strength to me 
 And nothing to my child, must give to-day 
 What more I need to try and save my child 
 And get for him the life I owe to him. 
 To think that I may get it for him now, 
 Before he knows how much he might have missed 
 That other boys have got ! The bitterest thought 
 Of all that plagued me when he came was this, 
 How some day he would see the difference, 
 And drag himself to me with puzzled eyes 
 To ask me why it was. He would have been 
 Cruel enough to do it, knowing not 
 That was the question my rebellious heart 
 Cried over and over one whole year to God, 
 And got no answer and no help at all. 
 If he had asked me, what could I have said? 
 What single word could I have found to say 
 To hide me from his searching, puzzled gaze? 
 
32 TROUBLING OF THE WATERS 
 
 Some coward thing at best, never the truth ; 
 The truth I never could have told him. No, 
 I never could have said, "God gave you me 
 To fashion you a body, right and strong, 
 With sturdy little limbs and chest and neck 
 For fun and fighting with your little mates, 
 Great feats and voyages in the breathless world 
 Of out-of-doors, He gave you me for this, 
 And I was such a bungler, that is all!" 
 O, the old lie that thought was not the worst. 
 I never have been truthful with myself. 
 For by the door where lurked one ghostly thought 
 I stood with crazy hands to thrust it back 
 If it should dare to peep and whisper out 
 Unbearable things about me, hearing which 
 The women passing in the streets would turn 
 To pity me and scold me with their eyes, 
 Who was so bad a mother and so slow 
 To learn to help God do his wonder in her 
 That she O my sweet baby! It was not 
 The fear that you would see the difference 
 Between you and the other boys and girls; 
 No, no, it was the dimmer, wilder fear, 
 That you might never see it, never look 
 Out of your tiny baby-house of mind, 
 
TROUBLING OF THE WATERS 33 
 
 But sit your life through, quiet in the dark, 
 
 Smiling and nodding at what was not there! 
 
 A foolish fear: God could not punish so. 
 
 Yet until yesterday I thought He would. 
 
 My soul was always cowering at the blow 
 
 I saw suspended, ready to be dealt 
 
 The moment that I showed my fear too much. 
 
 Therefore I hid it from Him all I could, 
 
 And only stole a shaking glance at it 
 
 Sometimes in the dead minutes before dawn 
 
 When He forgets to watch. Till yesterday. 
 
 For yesterday was wonderful and strange 
 
 From the beginning. When I wakened first 
 
 And looked out at the window, the last snow 
 
 Was gone from earth; about the apple-trees 
 
 Hung a faint mist of bloom; small sudden green 
 
 Had run and spread and rippled everywhere 
 
 Over the fields; and in the level sun 
 
 Walked something like a presence and a power, 
 
 Uttering hopes and loving-kindnesses 
 
 To all the world, but chiefly unto me. 
 
 It walked before me when I went to work, 
 
 And all day long the noises of the mill 
 
 Were spun upon a core of golden sound, 
 
 Half-spoken words and interrupted songs 
 
34 TROUBLING OF THE WATERS 
 
 Of blessed promise, meant for all the world, 
 
 But most for me, because I suffered most. 
 
 The shooting spindles, the smooth-humming 
 
 wheels, 
 
 The rocking webs, seemed toiling to some end 
 Beneficent and human known to them, 
 And duly brought to pass in power and love. 
 The faces of the girls and men at work 
 Met mine with intense greeting, veiled at once 
 As if they knew a secret they must keep 
 For fear the joy would harm me if they told 
 Before some inkling filtered to my mind 
 In roundabout ways. When the day s work was 
 
 done 
 
 There lay a special silence on the fields; 
 And, as I passed, the bushes and the trees, 
 The very ruts and puddles of the road 
 Spoke to each other, saying it was she, 
 The happy woman, the elected one, 
 The vessel of strange mercy and the sign 
 Of many loving wonders done in Heaven 
 To help the piteous earth. 
 
 At last I stopped 
 And looked about me in sheer wonderment. 
 
TROUBLING OF THE WATERS 35 
 
 What did it mean? What did they want with me? 
 
 What was the matter with the evening now 
 
 That it was just as bound to make me glad 
 
 As morning and the live-long day had been? 
 
 Me, who had quite forgot what gladness was, 
 
 Who had no right to anything but toil, 
 
 And food and sleep for strength to toil again, 
 
 And that fierce frightened anguish of my love 
 
 For the poor little spirit I had wronged 
 
 With life that was no life. W T hat had befallen 
 
 Since yesterday? No need to stop and ask! 
 
 Back there in the dark places of my mind 
 
 Where I had thrust it, fearing to believe 
 
 An unbelievable mercy, shone the news 
 
 Told by the village neighbors coming home 
 
 Last night from the great city, of a man 
 
 Arisen, like the first evangelists, 
 
 With power to heal the bodies of the sick, 
 
 In testimony of his master Christ, 
 
 Who heals the soul when it is sick with sin. 
 
 Could such a thing be true in these hard days? 
 
 Was help still sent in such a way as that? 
 
 No, no! I did not dare to think of it, 
 
 Feeling what weakness and despair would come 
 
 After the crazy hope broke under me. 
 
36 TROUBLING OF THE WATERS 
 
 I turned and started homeward, faster now, 
 But never fast enough to leave behind 
 The voices and the troubled happiness 
 That still kept mounting, mounting like a sea, 
 And singing far-off like a rush of wings. 
 Far down the road a yellow spot of light 
 Shone from my cottage window, rayless yet, 
 Where the last sunset crimson caught the panes. 
 Alice had lit the lamp before she went; 
 Her day of pity and unmirthful play 
 Was over, and her young heart free to live 
 Until to-morrow brought her nursing-task 
 Again, and made her feel how dark and still 
 That life could be to others which to her 
 Was full of dreams that beckoned, reaching hands, 
 And thrilling invitations young girls hear. 
 My boy was sleeping, little mind and frame 
 More tired just lying there awake two hours 
 Than with a whole day s romp he should have 
 
 been. 
 
 He would not know his mother had come home; 
 But after supper I would sit awhile 
 Beside his bed, and let my heart have time 
 For that worst love that stabs and breaks and 
 
 kills. 
 
.TROUBLING OF THE WATERS 37 
 
 This I thought over to myself by rote 
 And habit, but I could not feel my thoughts; 
 For still that dim unmeaning happiness 
 Kept mounting, mounting round me like a sea, 
 And singing inward like a wind of \vings. 
 
 Before I lifted up the latch, I knew. 
 
 I felt no fear; the One who waited there 
 
 In the low lamplight by the bed, had come 
 
 Because I was his sister and in need. 
 
 My word had got to Him somehow -at last, 
 
 And He had come to help me or to tell 
 
 Where help was to be found. It was not strange. 
 
 Strange only He had stayed away so long; 
 
 But that should be forgotten He was here. 
 
 I pushed the door wide open and looked in. 
 
 He had been kneeling by the bed, and now, 
 
 Half-risen, kissed my boy upon the lips, 
 
 Then turned and smiled and pointed with his 
 
 hand. 
 
 I must have fallen on the threshold stone, 
 For I remember that I felt, not saw, 
 The resurrection glory and the peace 
 Shed from his face and raiment as He went 
 Out by the door into the evening street. 
 
38 TROUBLING OF THE WATERS 
 
 But when I looked, the place about the bed 
 Was yet all bathed in light, and in the midst 
 My boy lay changed, no longer clothed upon 
 With scraps and shreds of life, but like the child 
 Of some most fortunate mother. In a breath 
 The image faded. There he lay again 
 The same as always ; and the light was gone. 
 I sank with moans and cries beside the bed. 
 The cruelty, O Christ, the cruelty! 
 To come at last arid then to go like that, 
 Leaving the darkness deeper than before! 
 Then, though I heard no sound, I grew aware 
 Of some one standing by the open door 
 Among the dry vines rustling in the porch. 
 My heart laughed suddenly. He had come back ! 
 He had come back to make the vision true. 
 He had not meant to mock me: God was God, 
 And Christ was Christ; there was no falsehood 
 
 there. 
 
 I heard a quiet footstep cross the room 
 And felt a hand laid gently on my hair, 
 A human hand, worn hard by daily toil, 
 Heavy with life-long struggle after bread. 
 Alice s father. The kind homely voice 
 Had in it such strange music that I dreamed 
 
TROUBLING OF THE WATERS 39 
 
 Perhaps it was the Other speaking in him, 
 Because his own bright form had made me swoon 
 With its too much of glory. What he brought 
 Was news as good as ever heavenly lips 
 Had the dear right to utter. He had been 
 All day among the crowds of curious folk 
 From the great city and the country-side 
 Gathered to watch the Healer do his work 
 Of mercy on the sick and halt and blind, 
 And with his very eyes had seen such things 
 As awestruck men had witnessed long ago 
 In Galilee, and writ of in the Book. 
 To-morrow morning he would take me there 
 If I had strength and courage to believe. 
 It might be there was hope; he could not say, 
 But knew what he had seen. When he was gone 
 I lay for hours, letting the solemn waves 
 Thundering joy go over and over me. 
 
 Just before midnight baby fretted, woke; 
 He never yet has slept a whole night through 
 Without his food and petting. As I sat 
 Feeding and petting him and singing soft, 
 I felt a jealousy begin to ache 
 And worry at my heartstrings, hushing down 
 
40 TROUBLING OF THE WATERS 
 
 The gladness. Jealousy of what or whom? 
 I hardly knew, or could not put in words; 
 At least it seemed too foolish and too wrong 
 When said, and so I shut the thought away. 
 Only, next minute, it came stealing back. 
 After the change, would my boy be the same 
 As this one? Would he be my boy at all, 
 And not another s his who gave the life 
 I could not give, or did not anyhow? 
 How could I look in his new eyes to claim 
 The whole of him, the body and the breath, 
 When some one not his mother, a strange man, 
 Had clothed him in that beauty of the flesh - 
 Perhaps (for who could know?), perhaps, by some 
 Hateful disfiguring miracle, had even 
 Transformed his spirit to a better one, 
 Better, but not the same I prayed for him 
 Down out of Heaven through the sleepless 
 
 nights, - 
 
 The best that God would send to such as me. 
 I tried to strangle back the wicked pain ; 
 Fancied him changed and tried to love him so. 
 No use; it was another, not my child, 
 Not my frail, broken, priceless little one, 
 My cup of anguish, and my trembling star 
 
TROUBLING OF THE WATERS 41 
 
 Hung small and sad and sweet above the earth, 
 So sure to fall but for my cherishing! 
 
 When he had dropped asleep again, I rose 
 
 And wrestled with the sinful selfishness, 
 
 The dark injustice, the unnatural pain. 
 
 Fevered at last with pacing to and fro, 
 
 I raised the bedroom window and leaned out. 
 
 The white moon, low behind the sycamores, 
 
 Silvered the silent country ; not a voice 
 
 Of all the myriads summer moves to sing 
 
 Had yet awakened ; in the level moon 
 
 Walked that same presence I had heard at dawn 
 
 Uttering hopes and loving-kindnesses, 
 
 But now, dispirited and reticent, 
 
 It walked the moonlight like a homeless thing. 
 
 O, how to cleanse me of the cowardice! 
 
 How to be just! Was I a mother, then, 
 
 A mother, and not love her child as well 
 
 As her own covetous and morbid love? 
 
 Was it for this the Comforter had come, 
 
 Smiling at me and pointing with his hand? 
 
 What had He meant to have me think or 
 
 do, 
 Smiling and pointing? 
 
42 TROUBLING OF THE WATERS 
 
 All at once I saw 
 
 A way to save my darling from myself 
 And make atonement for my grudging love! 
 Under the sycamores and up the hill 
 And down across the river, the wet road 
 Went stretching cityward, silvered in the moon. 
 I who had shrunk from sacrifice, even I, 
 Who had refused God s blessing for my boy, 
 W 7 ould take him in my arms and carry him 
 Up to the altar of the miracle. 
 I would not wait for daylight, nor the help 
 Of any human friendship ; I alone, 
 Through the still miles of country, I alone, 
 Only my arms to shield him and my feet 
 To bear him : he should have no one to thank 
 But me for that. I knew the way was long, 
 But knew strength would be given. So I came. 
 Soon the stars failed ; the late moon faded too : 
 I think my heart had sucked their beams from 
 
 them 
 
 To build more blue amid the murky night 
 Its own miraculous day. From creeks and fields 
 The fog climbed slowly, blotted out the road; 
 And hid the signposts telling of the town; 
 After a while rain fell, with sleet and snow. 
 
TROUBLING OF THE WATERS 43 
 
 What did I care? Baby was snug and dry. 
 
 Some day, when I was telling him of this, 
 
 He would but hug me closer, hearing how 
 
 The night conspired against us. Better hard 
 
 Than easy, then : I almost felt regret 
 
 My body was so capable and strong 
 
 To do its errand. Honeyed drop by drop, 
 
 The ghostly jealousy*, loosening at my breast, 
 
 Distilled into a dew of quiet tears 
 
 And fell with splash of music in the wells 
 
 And on the hidden rivers of my soul. 
 
 The hardest part was coming through the town. 
 The country, even when it hindered most, 
 Seemed conscious of the thing I went to find. 
 The rocks and bushes looming through the mist 
 Questioned and acquiesced and understood ; 
 The trees and streams believed; the wind and 
 
 rain, 
 
 Even they, for all their temper, had some words 
 Of faith and comfort. But the glaring streets, 
 The dizzy traffic, the piled merchandise, 
 The giant buildings swarming with fierce life 
 Cared nothing for me. They had never heard 
 Of me nor of my business. When I asked 
 
44 TROUBLING OF THE WATERS 
 
 My way, a shade of pity or contempt 
 
 Showed through men s kindness for they all 
 
 were kind. 
 
 Daunted and chilled and very sick at heart, 
 I walked the endless pavements. But at last 
 The streets grew quieter; the houses seemed 
 As if they might be homes where people lived ; 
 Then came the factories and cottages, 
 And all was well again. Much more than well, 
 For many sick and broken went my way, 
 Alone or helped along by loving hands; 
 And from a thousand eyes the famished hope 
 Looked out at mine wild, patient, querulous, 
 But always hope and hope, a thousand tongues 
 Speaking one word in many languages. 
 
 In two hours He will come, they say, will stand 
 There on the steps, above the waiting crowd, 
 And touch with healing hands whoever asks 
 Believingly, in spirit and in truth. 
 Can such a mercy be, in these hard days? 
 Is help still sent in such a way as that? 
 Christ, I believe; pity my unbelief! 
 
JETSAM 
 
 I WONDER can this be the world it was 
 
 At sunset? I remember the sky fell 
 
 Green as pale meadows, at the long street-ends, 
 
 But overhead the smoke- wrack hugged the roofs 
 
 As if to shut the city from God s eyes 
 
 Till dawn should quench the laughter and the 
 
 lights. 
 
 Beneath the gas flare stolid faces passed, 
 Too dull for sin ; old loosened lips set hard 
 To drain the stale lees from the cup of sense; 
 Or if a young face yearned from out the mist 
 Made by its own bright hair, the eyes were wan 
 With desolate fore-knowledge of the end. 
 My life lay waste about me: as I walked, 
 From the gross dark of unfrequented streets 
 The face of my own youth peered forth at me, 
 Struck white with pity at the thing I was; 
 And globed in ghostly fire, thrice- virginal, 
 With lifted face star-strong, went one who sang 
 Lost verses from my youth s gold canticle. 
 Out of the void dark came my face and hers 
 
46 JETSAM 
 
 One vivid moment then the street was there ; 
 Bloat shapes and mean eyes blotted the sear dusk; 
 And in the curtained window of a house 
 Whence sin reeked on the night, a shameful head 
 Was silhouetted black as Satan s face 
 Against eternal fires. I stumbled on 
 Down the dark slope that reaches riverward, 
 Stretching blind hands to find the throat of God 
 And crush Him in his lies. The river lay 
 Coiled in its factory filth and few lean trees. 
 All was too hateful I could not die there ! 
 I whom the Spring had strained unto her breast, 
 Whose lips had felt the wet vague lips of dawn. 
 So under the thin willows leprous shade 
 And through the tangled ranks of riverweed 
 I pushed till lo, God heard me! I came forth 
 Where, neath the shoreless hush of region light, 
 Through a new world, undreamed of, undesired, 
 Beyond imagining of man s weary heart, 
 Far to the white marge of the wondering sea 
 This still plain widens, and this moon rains down 
 Insufferable ecstasy of peace. 
 
 My heart is man s heart, strong to bear this 
 night s 
 
JETSAM 47 
 
 Unspeakable affliction of mute love 
 
 That crazes lesser things. The rocks and clods 
 
 Dissemble, feign a busy intercourse; 
 
 The bushes deal in shadowy subterfuge, 
 
 Lurk dull, dart spiteful out, make heartless signs, 
 
 Utter awestricken purpose of no sense, 
 
 But I walk quiet, crush aside the hands 
 
 Stretched furtively to drag me madmen s ways. 
 
 I know the thing they suffer, and the tricks 
 
 They must be at to help themselves endure. 
 
 I would not be too boastful ; I am weak, 
 
 Too weak to put aside the utter ache 
 
 Of this lone splendor long enough to see 
 
 Whether the moon is still her white strange self 
 
 Or something whiter, stranger, even the face 
 
 Which by the changed face of my risen youth 
 
 Sang, globed in fire, her golden canticle. 
 
 I dare not look again ; another gaze 
 
 Might drive me to the wavering coppice there, 
 
 Where bat-winged madness brushed me, the wild 
 
 laugh 
 
 Of naked nature crashed across my blood. 
 So rank it was with earthy presences, 
 Faun-shapes in goatish dance, young witches eyes 
 Slanting deep invitation, whinnying calls 
 
48 JETSAM 
 
 Ambiguous, shocks and whirlwinds of wild 
 
 mirth, - 
 
 They had undone me in the darkness there, 
 But that within me, smiting through my lids 
 Lowered to shut in the thick whirl of sense. 
 The dumb light ached and rummaged, and with 
 out, 
 
 The soaring splendor summoned me aloud 
 To leave the low dank thickets of the flesh 
 Where man meets beast and makes his lair with 
 
 him, 
 
 For spirit reaches of the strenuous vast, 
 Where stalwart stars reap grain to make the bread 
 God breaketh at his tables and is glad. 
 I came out in the moonlight cleansed and strong, 
 And gazed up at the lyric face to see 
 All sweetness tasted of in earthen cups 
 Ere it be dashed and spilled, all radiance flung 
 Beyond experience, every benison dream, 
 Treasured and mystically crescent there. 
 
 O, who will shield me from her? Who will place 
 A veil between me and the fierce in-throng 
 Of her inexorable benedicite? 
 See, I have loved her well and been with her! 
 
, JETSAM 49 
 
 Through tragic twilights when the stricken sea 
 Groveled with fear; or when she made her throne 
 In imminent cities built of gorgeous winds 
 And paved with lightnings ; or when the sobering 
 
 stars 
 Would lead her home mid wealth of plundered 
 
 May 
 
 Along the violet slopes of evensong. 
 Of all the sights that starred the dreamy year, 
 For me one sight stood peerless and apart: 
 Bright rivers tacit; low hills prone and dumb; 
 Forests that hushed their tiniest voice to hear; 
 Skies for the unutterable advent robed 
 In purple like the opening iris buds; 
 And by some lone expectant pool, one tree 
 Whose grey boughs shivered with excess of awe, 
 As with preluding gush of amber light, 
 And herald trumpets softly lifted through, 
 Across the palpitant horizon marge 
 Crocus-filleted came the singing moon. 
 Out of her changing lights I wove my youth 
 A place to dwell in, sweet and spiritual, 
 And all the bitter years of my exile 
 My heart has called afar off unto her. 
 Lo, after many days love finds its own ! 
 
50 JETSAM 
 
 The futile adorations, the waste tears, 
 
 The hymns that fluttered low in the false dawn, 
 
 She has uptreasured as a lover s gifts; 
 
 They are the mystic garment that she wears 
 
 Against the bridal, and the crocus flowers 
 
 She twined her brow with at the going forth ; 
 
 They are the burden of the song she made 
 
 In coming through the quiet fields of space, 
 
 And breathe between her passion-parted lips 
 
 Calling me out along the flowering road 
 
 Which summers through the dimness of the sea. 
 
 Hark, where the deep feels round its thousand 
 
 shores 
 
 To find remembered respite, and far drawn 
 Through weed-strewn shelves and crannies of the 
 
 coast 
 
 The myriad silence yearns to myriad speech. 
 O sea that yearns a day, shall thy tongues be 
 So eloquent, and heart, shall all thy tongues 
 Be dumb to speak thy longing? Say I hold 
 Life as a broken jewel in my hand, 
 And fain would buy a little love with it 
 For comfort, say I fain would make it shine 
 Once in remembering eyes ere it be dust, 
 
JETSAM 51 
 
 Were life not worthy spent? Then what of this, 
 
 When all my spirit hungers to repay 
 
 The beauty that has drenched my soul with 
 
 peace? 
 
 Once at a simple turning of the way 
 I met God walking; and although the dawn 
 Was large behind Him, and the morning stars 
 Circled and sang about his face as birds 
 About the fieldward morning cottager, 
 My coward heart said faintly, "Let us haste! 
 Day grows and it is far to market- town." 
 Once where I lay in darkness after fight, 
 Sore smitten, thrilled a little thread of song 
 Searching and searching at my muffled sense 
 Until it shook sweet pangs through all my blood, 
 And I beheld one globed in ghostly fire 
 Singing, star-strong, her golden canticle ; 
 And her mouth sang, "The hosts of Hate roll 
 
 past, 
 
 A dance of dust motes in the sliding sun; 
 Love s battle comes on the wide wings of storm, 
 From east to west one legion! Wilt thou strive?" 
 Then, since the splendor of her sword-bright gaze 
 Was heavy on me with yearning and with scorn 
 My sick heart muttered, "Yea, the little strife, 
 
52 JETSAM 
 
 Yet see, the grievous wounds! I fain would 
 
 sleep." 
 
 O heart, shalt thou not once be strong to go 
 Where all sweet throats are calling, once be brave 
 To slake with deed thy dumbness? Let us go 
 The path her singing face looms low to point, 
 Pendulous, blanched with longing, shedding flame 
 Of silver on the brown grope of the flood ; 
 For all my spirit s soilure is put by 
 And all my body s soilure, lacking now 
 But the last lustral sacrament of death 
 To make me clean for those near-searching eyes 
 That question yonder whether all be well, 
 And pause a little ere they dare rejoice. 
 
 Question and be thou answered, passionate face! 
 For I am worthy, worthy now at last 
 After so long unworth ; strong now at last 
 To give myself to beauty and be saved ; 
 Now, being man, to give myself to thee, 
 As once the tumult of my boyish heart 
 Companioned thee with rapture through the 
 
 world, 
 
 Forth from a land whereof no poet s lip 
 Made mention how the leas were lily-sprent, 
 
JETSAM 53 
 
 Into a land God s eyes had looked not on 
 To love the tender bloom upon the hills. 
 To-morrow, when the fishers come at dawn 
 Upon that shell of me the sea has tossed 
 To land, as fit for earth to use again, 
 Men, meeting at the shops and corner streets, 
 Will speak a word of pity, glossing o er 
 With altered accent, dubious sweep of hand, 
 Their virile, just contempt for one who failed. 
 But they can never cast my earnings up, 
 Who know so well my losses. Even you 
 Who in the mild light of the spirit walk 
 And hold yourselves acquainted with the truth, 
 Be not too swift to judge and cast me out! 
 You shall find other, nobler ways than mine 
 To work your soul s redemption, glorious noons 
 Of battle neath the heaven-suspended sign, 
 And nightly refuge neath God s aegis-rim; 
 Increase of wisdom, and acquaintance held 
 With the heart s austerities; still governance, 
 And ripening of the blood in the weekday sun 
 To make the full-orbed consecrated fruit 
 At life s end for the Sabbath supper meet. 
 I shall not sit beside you at that feast, 
 For ere a seedling of my golden tree 
 
54 JETSAM 
 
 Pushed off its petals to get room to grow, 
 
 I stripped the boughs to make an April gaud 
 
 And wreathe a spendthrift garland for my hair. 
 
 But mine is not the failure God deplores; 
 
 For I of old am beauty s votarist, 
 
 Long recreant, often foiled and led astray, 
 
 But resolute at last to seek her there 
 
 Where most she does abide, and crave with tears 
 
 That she assoil me of my blemishment. 
 
 Low looms her singing face to point the way, 
 
 Pendulous, blanched with longing, shedding flame 
 
 Of silver on the brown grope of the flood. 
 
 The stars are for me; the horizon wakes 
 
 Its pilgrim chanting; and the little sand 
 
 Grows musical of hope beneath my feet. 
 
 The waves that leap to meet my swimming breast 
 
 Gossip sweet secrets of the light-drenched way, 
 
 And when the deep throbs of the rising surge 
 
 Pulse upward with me, and a rain of wings 
 
 Blurs round the moon s pale place, she stoops to 
 
 reach 
 
 Still welcome of bright hands across the wave 
 And sings low, low, globed all in ghostly fire, 
 Lost verses from my youth s gold canticle. 
 
THE BRUTE 
 
 THROUGH his might men work their wills. 
 
 They have boweled out the hills 
 
 For food to keep him toiling in the cages they have 
 wrought; 
 
 And they fling him, hour by hour, 
 
 Limbs of men to give him power; 
 
 Brains of men to give him cunning; and for dain 
 ties to devour 
 
 Children s souls, the little worth; hearts of 
 women, cheaply bought: 
 
 He takes them and he breaks them, but he gives 
 them scanty thought. 
 
 For about the noisy land, 
 
 Roaring, quivering neath his hand, 
 
 His thoughts brood fierce and sullen or laugh in 
 
 lust of pride 
 
 O er the stubborn things that he, 
 Breaks to dust and brings to be. 
 Some he mightily establishes, some flings down 
 
 utterly. 
 
56 THE BRUTE 
 
 There is thunder in his stride, nothing ancient 
 
 can abide, 
 When he hales the hills together and bridles up 
 
 the tide. 
 
 Quietude and loveliness, 
 
 Holy sights that heal and bless, 
 
 They are scattered and abolished where his iron 
 
 hoof is set; 
 
 When he splashes through the brae 
 Silver streams are choked with clay, 
 When he snorts the bright cliffs crumble and the 
 
 woods go down like hay; 
 He lairs in pleasant cities, and the haggard people 
 
 fret 
 Squalid mid their new-got riches, soot-begrimed 
 
 and desolate. 
 
 They who caught and bound him tight 
 
 Laughed exultant at his might, 
 
 Saying, "Now behold, the good time comes for 
 the weariest and the least ! 
 
 We will use this lusty knave: 
 
 No more need for men to slave ; 
 
 We may rise and look about us and have know 
 ledge ere the grave." 
 
THE BRUTE 57 
 
 But the Brute said in his breast, "Till the mills 
 
 I grind have ceased, 
 The riches shall be dust of dust, dry ashes be the 
 
 feast! 
 
 "On the strong and cunning few 
 
 Cynic favors I will strew; 
 
 I will stuff their maw with overplus until their 
 
 spirit dies ; 
 
 From the patient and the low 
 I will take the joys they know; 
 They shall hunger after vanities and still an-hun- 
 
 gered go. 
 Madness shall be on the people, ghastly jealousies 
 
 arise ; 
 Brother s blood shall cry on brother up the dead 
 
 and empty skies. 
 
 " I will burn and dig and hack 
 
 Till the heavens suffer lack; 
 
 God shall feel a pleasure fail Him, crying to his 
 
 cherubim, 
 
 Who hath flung yon mud-ball there 
 Where my world went green and fair? 
 I shall laugh and hug me, hearing how his senti 
 nels declare, 
 
58 THE BRUTE 
 
 "T is the Brute they chained to labor! He has 
 
 made the bright earth dim. 
 Store of wares and pelf a plenty, but they got no 
 
 good of him." 
 
 So he plotted in his rage: 
 
 So he deals it, age by age. 
 
 But even as he roared his curse a still small Voice 
 
 befell; 
 Lo, a still and pleasant voice bade them none the 
 
 less rejoice, 
 For the Brute must bring the good time on; he 
 
 has no other choice. 
 He may struggle, sweat, and yell, but he knows 
 
 exceeding well 
 He must work them out salvation ere they send 
 
 him back to hell. 
 
 All the desert that he made 
 
 He must treble bless with shade, 
 
 In primal wastes set precious seed of rapture and 
 
 of pain; 
 
 All the strongholds that he built 
 For the powers of greed and guilt - 
 He must strew their bastions down the sea and 
 
 choke their towers with silt; 
 
THE BRUTE 59 
 
 He must make the temples clean for the gods to 
 
 come again, 
 And lift the lordly cities under skies without a 
 
 stain. 
 
 In a very cunning tether 
 
 He must lead the tyrant weather; 
 
 He must loose the curse of Adam from the worn 
 neck of the race; 
 
 He must cast out hate and fear, 
 
 Dry away each fruitless tear, 
 
 And make the fruitful tears to gush from the deep 
 heart and clear. 
 
 He must give each man his portion, each his 
 pride and worthy place ; 
 
 He must batter down the arrogant and lift the 
 weary face, 
 
 On each vile mouth set purity, on each low fore 
 head grace. 
 
 Then, perhaps, at the last day, 
 
 They will whistle him away, 
 
 Lay a hand upon his muzzle in the face of God, 
 
 and say, 
 "Honor, Lord, the Thing we tamed! 
 
60 THE BRUTE 
 
 Let him not be scourged or blamed/ 
 
 Even through his wrath and fierceness was thy 
 
 fierce wroth world reclaimed! 
 Honor Thou thy servants servant; let thy justice 
 
 now be shown." 
 Then the Lord will heed their saying, and the 
 
 Brute come to his own, 
 Twixt the Lion and the Eagle, by the armpost 
 
 of the Throne. 
 
THE MENAGERIE 
 
 THANK God my brain is not inclined to cut 
 Such capers every day! I m just about 
 Mellow, but then There goes the tent-flap 
 
 shut. 
 
 Rain s in the wind. I thought so : every snout 
 Was twitching when the keeper turned me out. 
 
 That screaming parrot makes my blood run cold. 
 
 Gabriel s trump! the big bull elephant 
 
 Squeals "Rain!" to the parched herd. The 
 
 monkeys scold, 
 
 And jabber that it s rain water they want. 
 (It makes me sick to see a monkey pant.) 
 
 I 11 foot it home, to try and make believe 
 I m sober. After this I stick to beer, 
 And drop the circus when the sane folks leave. 
 A man s a fool to look at things too near: 
 They look back, and begin to cut up queer. 
 
 Beasts do, at any rate; especially 
 
 Wild devils caged. They have the coolest way 
 
62 THE MENAGERIE 
 
 Of being something else than what you see : 
 You pass a sleek young zebra nosing hay, 
 A nylghau looking bored and distingue, 
 
 And think you ve seen a donkey and a bird. 
 Not on your life! Just glance back, if you dare. 
 The zebra chews, the nylghau has n t stirred; 
 But something s happened, Heaven knows what 
 
 or where 
 To freeze your scalp and pompadour your hair. 
 
 
 
 I m not precisely an aeolian lute 
 Hung in the wandering winds of sentiment, 
 But drown me if the ugliest, meanest brute 
 Grunting and fretting in that sultry tent 
 Did n t just floor me with embarrassment! 
 
 T was like a thunder-clap from out the clear, - 
 One minute they were circus beasts, some grand, 
 Some ugly, some amusing, and some queer: 
 Rival attractions to the hobo band, 
 The flying jenny, and the peanut stand. 
 
 Next minute they were old hearth-mates of mine ! 
 Lost people, eyeing me with such a stare! 
 
THE MENAGERIE 63 
 
 Patient, satiric, devilish, divine; 
 
 A gaze of hopeless envy, squalid care, 
 
 Hatred, and thwarted love, and dim despair. 
 
 Within my blood my ancient kindred spoke, 
 Grotesque and monstrous voices, heard afar 
 Down ocean caves when behemoth awoke, 
 Or through fern forests roared the plesiosaur 
 Locked with the giant-bat in ghastly war. 
 
 And suddenly, as in a flash of light, 
 
 I saw great Nature working out her plan ; 
 
 Through all her shapes from mastodon to mite 
 
 Forever groping, testing, passing on 
 
 To find at last the shape and soul of Man. 
 
 Till in the fullness of accomplished time, 
 Comes brother Forepaugh, upon business bent, 
 Tracks her through frozen and through torrid 
 
 clime, 
 
 And shows us, neatly labeled in a tent, 
 The stages of her huge experiment; 
 
 Blabbing aloud her shy and reticent hours; 
 Dragging to light her blinking, slothful moods; 
 
6 4 THE MENAGERIE 
 
 Publishing fretful seasons when her powers 
 
 Worked wild and sullen in her solitudes, 
 
 ,Or when her mordant laughter shook the woods. 
 
 . 
 Here, round about me, were her vagrant births; 
 
 Sick dreams she had, fierce projects she essayed; 
 Her qualms, her fiery prides, her crazy mirths; 
 The troublings of her spirit as she strayed, 
 Cringed, gloated, mocked, was lordly, was afraid, 
 
 On that long road she went to seek mankind; 
 Here were the darkling coverts that she beat 
 To find the Hider she was sent to find; 
 Here the distracted footprints of her feet 
 Whereby her soul s Desire she came to greet. 
 
 But why should they, her botch-work, turn about 
 And stare disdain at me, her finished job? 
 Why was the place one vast suspended shout 
 Of laughter? Why did all the daylight throb 
 With soundless guffaw and dumb-stricken sob? 
 
 Helpless I stood among those awful cages; 
 
 The beasts were walking loose, and I was bagged ! 
 
 I, I, last product of the toiling ages, 
 
THE MENAGERIE 65 
 
 Goal of heroic feet that never lagged, 
 A little man in trousers, slightly jagged. 
 
 Deliver me from such another jury! 
 The Judgment-day will be a picnic to t. 
 Their satire was more dreadful than their fury, 
 And worst of all was just a kind of brute 
 Disgust, and giving up, and sinking mute. 
 
 Survival of the fittest, adaptation, 
 And all their other evolution terms, 
 Seem to omit one small consideration, 
 To wit, that tumblebugs and angleworms 
 Have souls: there s soul in everything that 
 squirms. 
 
 And souls are restless, plagued, impatient things, 
 All dream and unaccountable desire ; 
 Crawling, but pestered with the thought of wings; 
 Spreading through every inch of earth s old mire 
 Mystical hanker after something higher. 
 
 Wishes are horses, as I understand. 
 
 I guess a wistful polyp that has strokes 
 
 Of feeling faint to gallivant on land 
 
66 THE MENAGERIE 
 
 Will come to be a scandal to his folks; 
 
 Legs he will sprout, in spite of threats and jokes. 
 
 And at the core of every life that crawls 
 Or runs or flies or swims or vegetates - 
 Churning the mammoth s heart-blood, in the galls 
 Of shark and tiger planting gorgeous hates, 
 Lighting the love of eagles for their mates; 
 
 Yes, in the dim brain of the jellied fish 
 
 That is and is not living moved and stirred 
 
 From the beginning a mysterious wish, 
 
 A vision, a command, a fatal Word: 
 
 The name of Man was uttered, and they heard. 
 
 Upward along the aeons of old war 
 
 They sought him: wing and shank-bone, claw and 
 
 bill 
 
 Were fashioned and rejected ; wide and far 
 They roamed the twilight jungles of their will; 
 But still they sought him, and desired him still. 
 
 Man they desired, but mind you, Perfect Man, 
 The radiant and the loving, yet to be! 
 I hardly wonder, when they came to scan 
 
THE MENAGERIE 67 
 
 The upshot of their strenuosity, 
 
 They gazed with mixed emotions upon me. 
 
 Well, my advice to you is, Face the creatures, 
 Or spot them sideways with your weather eye, 
 Just to keep tab on their expansive features; 
 It is n t pleasant when you re stepping high 
 To catch a giraffe smiling on the sly. 
 
 If nature made you graceful, don t get gay 
 Back- to before the hippopotamus; 
 If meek and godly, find some place to play 
 Besides right where three mad hyenas fuss: 
 You may hear language that we won t discuss. 
 
 If you re a sweet thing in a flower-bed hat, 
 Or her best fellow with your tie tucked in, 
 Don t squander love s bright springtime girding at 
 An old chimpanzee with an Irish chin : 
 There may be hidden meaning in his grin. 
 
THE GOLDEN JOURNEY 
 
 ALL day he drowses by the sail 
 
 With dreams of her, and all night long 
 
 The broken waters are at song 
 
 Of how she lingers, wild and pale, 
 
 When all the temple lights are dumb, 
 
 And weaves her spells to make him come. 
 
 The wide sea traversed, he will stand 
 With straining eyes, until the shoal 
 Green water from the prow shall roll 
 Upon the yellow strip of sand - 
 Searching some fern-hid tangled way 
 Into the forest old and grey. 
 
 Then he will leap upon the shore, 
 And cast one look up at the sun, 
 Over his loosened locks will run 
 The dawn breeze, and a bird will pour 
 Its rapture out to make life seem 
 Too sweet to leave for such a dream. 
 
THE GOLDEN JOURNEY 69 
 
 But all the swifter will he go 
 Through the pale, scattered asphodels, 
 Down mote-hung dusk of olive dells, 
 To where the ancient basins throw 
 Fleet threads of blue and trembling zones 
 Of gold upon the temple stones. 
 
 There noon keeps just a twilight trace; 
 Twixt love and hate, and death and birth, 
 No man may choose; nor sobs nor mirth 
 May enter in that haunted place. 
 All day the fountain sphynx lets drip 
 Slow drops of silence from her lip. 
 
 To hold the porch-roof slender girls 
 Of milk-white marble stand arow; 
 Doubt never blurs a single brow, 
 And never the noon s faintness curls 
 From their expectant hush of pride 
 The lips the god has glorified. 
 
 But these things he will barely view, 
 Or if he stay to heed them, still 
 But as the lark the lights that spill 
 From out the sun it soars unto, 
 
70 THE GOLDEN JOURNEY 
 
 Where, past the splendors and the heats, 
 The sun s heart s self forever beats. 
 
 For wide the brazen doors will swing 
 Soon as his sandals touch the pave; 
 The anxious light inside will wave 
 And tremble to a lunar ring 
 About the form that lieth prone 
 Before the dreadful altar-stone. 
 
 She will not look or speak or stir, 
 
 But with drowned lips and cheeks death- white 
 
 Will lie amid the pool of light, 
 
 Until, grown faint with thirst of her, 
 
 He shall bow down his face and sink 
 
 Breathless beneath the eddying brink. 
 
 Then a swift music will begin, 
 And as the brazen doors shut slow, 
 There will be hurrying to and fro, 
 And lights and calls and silver din, 
 While through the star-freaked swirl of air 
 The god s sweet cruel eyes will stare. 
 
HEART S WILD-FLOWER 
 
 TO-NIGHT her lids shall lift again, slow, soft, with 
 
 vague desire, 
 And lay about my breast and brain their hush of 
 
 spirit fire, 
 And I shall take the sweet of pain as the laborer 
 
 his hire. 
 
 And though no word shall e er be said to ease the 
 
 ghostly sting, 
 And though our hearts, unhoused, unfed, must 
 
 still go wandering, 
 My sign is set upon her head while stars do meet 
 
 and sing. 
 
 Not such a sign as women wear who make their 
 foreheads tame 
 
 With fife s long tolerance, and bear love s sweet 
 est, humblest name, 
 
 Nor such as passion eateth bare with its crown of 
 tears and flame. 
 
72 HEART S WILD-FLOWER 
 
 Nor such a sign as happy friend sets on his friend s 
 
 dear brow 
 When meadow-pipings break and blend to a key 
 
 of autumn woe, 
 And the woodland says playtime s at end, best 
 
 unclasp hands and go. 
 
 But where she strays, through blight or blooth, 
 
 one fadeless flower she wears, 
 A little gift God gave my youth, whose petals 
 
 dim were fears, 
 Awes, adorations, songs of ruth, hesitancies, and 
 
 tears. 
 
 O heart of mine, with all thy powers of white 
 
 beatitude, 
 What are the dearest of God s dowers to the 
 
 children of his blood? 
 How blow the shy, shy wilding flowers in the 
 
 hollows of his wood ! 
 
HARMONICS 
 
 THIS string upon my harp was best beloved : 
 I thought I knew its secrets through and through ; 
 Till an old man, whose young eyes lightened blue 
 Neath his white hair, bent over me and moved 
 His fingers up and down, and broke the wire 
 To such a laddered music, rung on rung, 
 As from the patriarch s pillow skyward sprung 
 Crowded with wide-flung wings and feet of fire. 
 
 O vibrant heart! so metely tuned and strung 
 That any untaught hand can draw from thee 
 One clear gold note that makes the tired years 
 
 young 
 
 What of the time when Love had whispered me 
 Where slept thy nodes, and my hand pausefully 
 Gave to the dim harmonics voice and tongue? 
 
ON THE RIVER 
 
 THE faint stars wake and wonder, 
 Fade and find heart anew ; 
 Above us and far under 
 Sphereth the watchful blue. 
 
 Silent she sits, outbending, 
 A wild pathetic grace, 
 A beauty strange, heart-rending, 
 Upon her hair and face. 
 
 O spirit cries that sever 
 The cricket s level drone! 
 O to give o er endeavor 
 And let love have its own! 
 
 Within the mirrored bushes 
 There wakes a little stir; 
 The white-throat moves, and hushes 
 Her nestlings under her. 
 
 Beneath, the lustrous river, 
 The watchful sky o erhead. 
 God, God, that Thou should st ever 
 Poison thy children s bread! 
 
THE BRACELET OF GRASS 
 
 THE opal heart of afternoon 
 
 Was clouding on to throbs of storm, 
 
 Ashen within the ardent west 
 
 The lips of thunder muttered harm, 
 
 And as a bubble like to break 
 
 Hung heaven s trembling amethyst, 
 
 When with the sedge-grass by the lake 
 
 I braceleted her wrist. 
 
 And when the ribbon grass was tied, 
 Sad with the happiness we planned, 
 Palm linked in palm we stood awhile 
 And watched the raindrops dot the sand ; 
 Until the anger of the breeze 
 Chid all the lake s bright breathing down, 
 And ravished all the radiancies 
 From her deep eyes of brown. 
 
 We gazed from shelter on the storm, 
 And through our hearts swept ghostly pain 
 To see the shards of day sweep past, 
 Broken, and none might mend again. 
 
76 THE BRACELET OF GRASS 
 
 Broken, that none shall ever mend; 
 Loosened, that none shall ever tie. 
 O the wind and the wind, will it never end? 
 O the sweeping past of the ruined sky ! 
 
THE DEPARTURE 
 
 I 
 
 I SAT beside the glassy evening sea, 
 
 One foot upon the thin horn of, my lyre, 
 
 And all its strings of laughter and desire 
 
 Crushed in the rank wet grasses heedlessly; 
 
 Nor did my dull eyes care to question how 
 
 The boat close by had spread its saffron sails, 
 
 Nor what might mean the coffers and the bales, 
 
 And streaks of new wine on the gilded prow. 
 
 Neither was wonder in me when I saw 
 
 Fair women step therein, though they were fair 
 
 Even to adoration and to awe, 
 
 And in the gracious fillets of their hair 
 
 Were blossoms from a garden I had known, 
 
 Sweet mornings ere the apple buds were blown. 
 
 II 
 
 One gazed steadfast into the dying west 
 With lips apart to greet the evening star; 
 And one with eyes that caught the strife and jar 
 Of the sea s heart, followed the sunward breast 
 
78 THE DEPARTURE 
 
 Of a lone gull ; from a slow harp one drew 
 
 Blind music like a laugh or like a wail ; 
 
 And in the uncertain shadow of the sail 
 
 One wove a crown of berries and of yew. 
 
 Yet even as I said with dull desire, 
 
 1 All these were mine, and one was mine indeed," 
 
 The smoky music burst into a fire, 
 
 And I was left alone in my great need, 
 
 One foot upon the thin horn of my lyre 
 
 And all its strings crushed in the dripping weed. 
 
FADED PICTURES 
 
 ONLY two patient eyes to stare 
 
 Out of the canvas. All the rest - 
 
 The warm green gown, the small hands pressed 
 
 Light in the lap, the braided hair 
 
 That must have made the sweet low brow 
 So earnest, centuries ago, 
 When some one saw it change and glow 
 All faded! Just the eyes burn now. 
 
 I dare say people pass and pass 
 Before the blistered little frame, 
 And dingy work without a name 
 Stuck in behind its square of glass. 
 
 But I, well, I left Raphael 
 Just to come drink these eyes of hers, 
 To think away the stains and blurs 
 And make all new again and well. 
 
 Only, for tears my head will bow, 
 Because there on my heart s last wall, 
 Scarce one tint left to tell it all, 
 A picture keeps its eyes, somehow. 
 
A GREY DAY 
 
 GREY drizzling mists the moorlands drape, 
 
 Rain whitens the dead sea, 
 
 From headland dim to sullen cape 
 
 Grey sails creep wearily. 
 
 I know not how that merchantman 
 
 Has found the heart; but t is her plan 
 
 Seaward her endless course to shape. 
 
 Unreal as insects that appall 
 A drunkard s peevish brain, 
 O er the grey deep the dories crawl, 
 Four-legged, with rowers twain: 
 Midgets and minims of the earth, 
 Across old ocean s vasty girth 
 Toiling heroic, comical ! 
 
 I wonder how that merchant s crew 
 
 Have ever found the will ! 
 
 I wonder what the fishers do 
 
 To keep them toiling still ! 
 
 I wonder how the heart of man 
 
 Has patience to live out its span, 
 
 Or wait until its dreams come true. 
 
THE RIDE BACK 
 
 Before the coming of the dark, he dreamed 
 An old-world faded story: of a knight, 
 Much like in need to him, who was no knight! 
 And of a road, much like the road his soul 
 Groped over, desperate to meet Her soul. 
 Beside the bed Death waited. And he dreamed. 
 
 His limbs were heavy from the fight, 
 His mail was dark with dust and blood; 
 On this good horse they bound him tight, 
 And on his breast they bound the rood 
 To help him in the ride that night. 
 
 When he crashed through the wood s wet rim, 
 About the dabbled reeds a breeze 
 Went moaning broken words and dim ; 
 The haggard shapes of twilight trees 
 Caught with their scrawny hands at him. 
 
 Between the doubtful aisles of day 
 Strange folk and lamentable stood 
 
82 THE RIDE BACK 
 
 To maze and beckon him astray, 
 
 But through the grey wrath of the wood 
 
 He held right on his bitter way. 
 
 When he came where the trees were thin, 
 The moon sat waiting there to see; 
 On her worn palm she laid her chin, 
 And laughed awhile in sober glee 
 
 To think how strong this knight had been, 
 i 
 
 When he rode past the pallid lake 
 The withered yellow stems of flags 
 Stood breast-high for his horse to break ; 
 Lewd as the palsied lips of hags 
 The petals in the moon did shake. 
 
 When he came by the mountain wall, 
 The snow upon the heights looked down 
 And said, "The sight is pitiful. 
 The nostrils of his steed are brown 
 With frozen blood; and he will fall." 
 
 The iron passes of the hills 
 \Vith question were importunate; 
 And, but the sharp-tongued icy rills 
 
THE RIDE BACK 83 
 
 Had grown for once compassionate, 
 The spiteful shades had had their wills. 
 
 Just when the ache in breast and brain 
 And the frost smiting at his face 
 Had sealed his spirit up with pain, 
 He came out in a better place, 
 And morning lay across the plain. 
 
 He saw the wet snails crawl and cling 
 On fern-stalks where the rime had run, 
 The careless birds went wing and wing, 
 And in the low smile of the sun 
 Life seemed almost a pleasant thing. 
 
 Right on the panting charger swung 
 Through the bright depths of quiet grass; 
 The knight s lips moved as if they sung, 
 And through the peace there came to pass 
 The flattery of lute and tongue. 
 
 From the mid-flowering of the mead 
 There swelled a sob of minstrelsy, 
 Faint sackbuts and the dreamy reed, 
 And plaintive lips of maids thereby, 
 And songs blown out like thistle seed. 
 
84 THE RIDE BACK 
 
 Forth from her maidens came the bride, 
 And as his loosened rein fell slack" 
 He muttered, "In their throats they lied 
 Who said that I should ne er win back 
 To kiss her lips before I died!" 
 
SONG-FLOWER AND POPPY 
 
 IN NEW YORK 
 
 HE plays the deuce with my writing time, 
 For the penny my sixth-floor neighbor throws; 
 He finds me proud of my pondered rhyme, 
 And he leaves me well, God knows 
 It takes the shine from a tunester s line 
 When a little mate of the deathless Nine 
 Pipes up under your nose ! 
 
 For listen, there is his voice again, 
 
 Wistful and clear and piercing sweet. 
 
 Where did the boy find such a strain 
 
 To make a dead heart beat? 
 
 And how in the name of care can he bear 
 
 To jet such a fountain into the air 
 
 In this grey gulch of a street? 
 
 Tuscan slopes or the Piedmontese? 
 
 Umbria under the Apennine? 
 
 South, where the terraced lemon-trees 
 
86 SONG-FLOWER AND POPPY 
 
 Round rich Sorrento shine? 
 Venice moon on the smooth lagoon? - 
 Where have I heard that aching tune, 
 That boyish throat divine? 
 
 Beyond my roofs and chimney pots 
 A rag of sunset crumbles grey; 
 Below, fierce radiance hangs in clots 
 O er the streams that never stay. 
 Shrill and high, newsboys cry 
 The worst of the city s infamy 
 For one more sordid day. 
 
 But my desire has taken sail 
 For lands beyond, sof t-horizoned : 
 Down languorous leagues I hold the trail, 
 From Marmalada, steeply throned 
 Above high pastures washed with light, 
 Where dolomite by dolomite 
 Looms sheer and spectral-coned, 
 
 To purple vineyards looking south 
 On reaches of the still Tyrrhene; 
 Virgilian headlands, and the mouth 
 Of Tiber, where that ship put in 
 
SONG-FLOWER AND POPPY 87 
 
 To take the dead men home to God, 
 Whereof Casella told the mode 
 To the great Florentine. 
 
 Up stairways blue with flowering weed 
 
 I climb to hill-hung Bergamo; 
 
 All day I watch the thunder breed 
 
 Golden above the springs of Po, 
 
 Till the voice makes sure its wavering lure, 
 
 And by Assisi s portals pure 
 
 I stand, with heart bent low. 
 
 O hear, how it blooms in the blear dayfall, 
 
 That flower of passionate wistful song! 
 
 How it blows like a rose by the iron wall 
 
 Of the city loud and strong. 
 
 How it cries "Nay, nay" to the worldling s way, 
 
 To the heart s clear dream how it whispers, " Yea; 
 
 Time comes, though the time is long." 
 
 Beyond my roofs and chimney piles 
 Sunset crumbles, ragged, dire; 
 The roaring street is hung for miles 
 With fierce electric fire. 
 Shrill and high, newsboys cry 
 
88 SONG-FLOWER AND POPPY 
 
 The gross of the planet s destiny 
 Through one more sullen gyre. 
 
 Stolidly the town flings down 
 Its lust by day for its nightly lust; 
 Who does his given stint, t is known, 
 Shall have his mug and crust. 
 Too base of mood, too harsh of blood, 
 Too stout to seize the grosser good, 
 Too hungry after dust ! 
 
 O hark! how it blooms in the falling dark, 
 That flower of mystical yearning song : 
 Sad as a hermit thrush, as a lark 
 Uplifted, glad, and strong. 
 Heart, we have chosen the better part ! 
 Save sacred love and sacred art 
 Nothing is good for long. 
 
 II 
 
 AT ASSIST 
 
 Before St. Francis* burg I wait, 
 Frozen in spirit, faint with dread ; 
 His presence stands within the gate, 
 Mild splendor rings his head. 
 
SONG-FLOWER AND POPPY 89 
 
 Gently he seems to welcome me: 
 Knows he not I am quick, and he 
 Is dead, and priest of the dead? 
 
 I turn away from the grey church pile ; 
 
 I dare not enter, thus undone: 
 
 Here in the roadside grass awhile 
 
 I will lie and watch for the sun. 
 
 Too purged of earth s good glee and strife, 
 
 Too drained of the honfed lusts of life, 
 
 Was the peace these old saints won ! 
 
 And lo ! how the laughing earth says no 
 
 To trie fear that mastered me; 
 
 To the blood that aches and clamors so 
 
 How it whispers "Verily." 
 
 Here by my side, marvelous-dyed, 
 
 Bold stray-away from the courts of pride, 
 
 A poppy-bell flaunts free, v 
 
 St. Francis sleeps upon his hill, 
 
 And a poppy flower laughs down his creed; 
 
 Triumphant light her petals spill, 
 
 His shrines are dim indeed. 
 
 Men build and plan, but the soul of man, 
 
90 SONG-FLOWER AND POPPY 
 
 Coming with haughty eyes to scan, 
 Feels richer, wilder need. 
 
 How long, old builder Time, wilt bide 
 
 Till at thy thrilling word 
 
 Life s crimson pride shall have to bride 
 
 The spirit s white accord, 
 
 Within that gate of good estate 
 
 Which thou must build us soon or late, 
 
 Hoar workman of the Lord? 
 
HOW THE MEAD-SLAVE WAS SET 
 FREE 
 
 NAY, move not! Sit just as you are, 
 Under the carved wings of the chair. 
 The hearth-glow sifting through your hair 
 Turns every dim pearl to a star 
 Dawn-drowned in floods of brightening air. 
 
 I have been thinking of that night 
 When all the wide hall burst to blaze 
 With spears caught up, thrust fifty ways 
 To find my throat, while I lay white 
 And sick with joy, to think the days 
 
 I dragged out in your hateful North 
 A slave, constrained at banquet s need 
 To fill the black bull s horns with mead 
 For drunken sea- thieves were henceforth 
 Cast from me as a poison weed, 
 
 While Death thrust roses in my hands! 
 But you, who knew the flowers he had 
 
92 THE MEAD-SLAVE SET FREE 
 
 Were no such roses ripe and glad 
 As nod in my far southern lands, 
 But pallid things to make men sad, 
 
 Put back the spears with one calm hand, 
 Raised on your knee my wondering head, 
 Wiped off the trickling drops of red 
 From my torn forehead with a strand 
 Of your bright loosened hair, and said : 
 
 "Sea-rovers! would you kill a skald? 
 This boy has hearkened Odin sing 
 Unto the clang and winnowing 
 Of raven s wings. His heart is thralled 
 To music, as to some strong king; 
 
 "And this great thraldom works disdain 
 Of lesser serving. Once release 
 These bonds he bears, and he may please 
 To give you guerdon sweet as rain 
 To sailors calmed in thirsty seas." 
 
 Then, having soothed their rage to rest, 
 You led me to old Skagi s throne, 
 Where yellow gold rims in the stone; 
 
THE MEAD-SLAVE SET FREE 93 
 
 And in my arms, against my breast, 
 Thrust his great harp of walrus bone. 
 
 How they came crowding, tunes on tunes! 
 How good it was to touch the strings 
 And feel them thrill like happy things 
 That flutter from the grey cocoons 
 On hedge rows, in your gradual springs ! 
 
 All grew a blur before my sight, 
 As when the stealthy white fog slips 
 At noonday on the staggering ships; 
 I saw one single spot of light, 
 Your white face, with its eager lips - 
 
 And so I sang to that. O thou 
 
 Who liftedst me from out my shame! 
 
 Wert thou content when Skagi came, 
 
 Put his own chaplet on my brow, 
 
 And bent and kissed his own harp-frame? 
 
A DIALOGUE IN PURGATORY 
 
 Poi disse un altro. . . . "lo son Buonconte: 
 Giovanna o altri non ha di me cura; 
 Per ch io vo tra costor con bassa fronte." 
 
 Seguito il terzo spirito al secondo, 
 "Ricorditi di me, che son la Pia; 
 Siena wife, disfecemi Maremma. 
 Salsi colni che inannellata pria 
 Disposata m avea colla sna gemma" 
 
 PURGATORIO, CANTO V. 
 
 I 
 BUONCONTE 
 
 SISTER, the sun has ceased to shine; 
 By companies of twain and trine 
 Stars gather; from the sea 
 The moon comes momently. 
 
 On all the roads that ring our hill 
 The sighing and the hymns are still; 
 It is our time to gain 
 Strength for to-morrow s pain. 
 
 Yet still your eyes are wholly bent 
 Upon the way that Virgil went, 
 
A DIALOGUE IN PURGATORY 95 
 
 Following Bordello s sign, 
 With the dark Florentine. 
 
 Night now has barred their upward track: 
 There where the mountain-side folds back 
 And in the Vale of Flowers 
 The Princes count their hours 
 
 Those three friends sit in the clear starlight 
 With the green-clad angels left and right, 
 Soul made by wakeful soul 
 More earnest for the goal. 
 
 So let us, sister, though our place 
 Is barren of that Valley s grace, 
 Sit hand in hand, till we 
 Seem rich as those friends be. 
 
 * II 
 
 LA PIA 
 
 Brother, t were sweet your hand to feel 
 In mine; it would a little heal 
 The shame that makes me poor, 
 And dumb at the heart s core. 
 
96 A DIALOGUE IN PURGATORY 
 
 But where our spirits felt Love s dearth, 
 Down on the green and pleasant earth, 
 . Remains the fleshly shell, 
 Love s garment tangible. 
 
 So now our hands have naught to say : 
 Heart unto heart some other way 
 Must utter forth its pain, 
 Must glee or comfort gain. 
 
 Ah, no ! For souls like you and me 
 Some comfort waits, but never glee: 
 Not yours the young men s singing 
 In Heaven, at the bride-bringing; 
 
 Not mine, beside God s living waters, 
 Dance of the marriageable daughters, 
 The laughter and the ease 
 Beneath His summer trees. 
 
 Ill * 
 
 BUONCONTE 
 
 In fair Arezzo s halls and bowers 
 My Giovanna speeds her hours 
 Delicately, nor cares 
 To shorten by her prayers 
 
A DIALOGUE IN PURGATORY 97 
 
 My days upon this mount of ruth: 
 
 If those who come from earth speak sooth, 
 
 Though still I call and call, 
 
 She does not heed at all. 
 
 And if aright your words I read 
 At Dante s passing, he you wed 
 Dipped from the drains of Hell 
 The marriage hydromel. 
 
 O therefore, while the moon intense 
 Holds yonder dreaming sea suspense, 
 And round the shadowy coasts 
 Gather the wistful ghosts, 
 
 Let us sit quiet all the night, 
 And wonder, wonder on the light 
 Worn by those spirits fair 
 Whom Love has not left bare. 
 
 IV 
 
 LA PIA 
 
 Even as theirs, the chance was mine 
 To meet* and mate beneath Love s sign, 
 To feel in soul and sense 
 The solemn influence 
 
98 A DIALOGUE IN PURGATORY 
 
 Which, breathed upon a man or maid, 
 Maketh forever unafraid, 
 Though life with death unite 
 That spirit to affright, - 
 
 Which lifts the changed heart high up, 
 As the priest lifts the changed cup, 
 Boldens the feet to pace 
 Before God s proving face. 
 
 just a thought beyond the blue 
 
 The wings of the dove yearned down and through ! 
 Even now I hear and hear 
 How near they were, how near! 
 
 1 murmur not. Rightly disgraced, 
 
 The weak hand stretched abroad in haste 
 For gifts barely allowed 
 The tacit, strong, and proud. 
 
 But therefore was I so intent 
 
 To watch where Dante onward went 
 
 With the Roman spirit pure 
 
 And the grave troubadour, 
 
 Because my mind was busy then 
 
 With the loves that wait those gentle men: 
 
A DIALOGUE IN PURGATORY 99 
 
 Cunizza one ; and one 
 Bice, above the sun ; 
 
 And for the other, more and less 
 Than woman s near-felt tenderness, 
 A million voices dim 
 Praising him, praising him. 
 
 V 
 
 BUONCONTE 
 
 The waves that wash this mountain s base 
 Were crimson in the sun s low rays, 
 When, singing high and fast, 
 An angel downward passed, 
 
 To bid some patient soul arise 
 And make it fair for Paradise; 
 And upward, so attended, 
 That soul its journey wended; 
 
 Yet you, who in these lower rings 
 Wait for the coming of such wings, 
 Turned not your eyes to view 
 Whether they came for you, 
 
ioo A DIALOGUE IN PURGATORY 
 
 But watched, but watched great Virgil stayed 
 Greeting Sordello s couchant shade, 
 Which to salute him rose 
 Like lion from its pose; 
 
 While humbly by those lords of song 
 Stood he whose living limbs are strong 
 To mount where Mary s bliss 
 Is shed on Beatrice. 
 
 On him your gaze was fastened, more 
 Than on those great names Mantua bore; 
 Your eyes hold the distress 
 Still, of that wistfulness. 
 
 Yea, fit he seemed much love to rouse 
 His pilgrim lips and iron brows 
 Grew like a woman s, dim, 
 While you held speech with him ; 
 
 And troubled came his mortal breath 
 The while I told him of my death ; 
 His looks were changed and wan 
 When Virgil led him on. 
 
A DIALOGUE IN PURGATORY 101 
 VI 
 
 LA PIA 
 
 E er since Casella came this morn, 
 Newly o er yonder ocean borne, 
 Bound upward for the choir 
 Who purge themselves in fire, 
 
 And from that meinie he was of 
 Stayed backward at my cry of love, 
 To speak awhile with me 
 Of life and Tuscany, 
 
 And, parting, told us how e er day 
 Was done, Dante would come this way, 
 With mortal feet, to find 
 His sweetheart, sky-enshrined, - 
 
 E er since Casella spoke such news 
 My heart has lain in a golden muse, 
 Picturing him and her, 
 What starry ones they were. 
 
 And now the moon sheds its compassion 
 O er the hushed mount, I try to fashion 
 
102 A DIALOGUE IN PURGATORY 
 
 The manner of their meeting, 
 Their few first words of greeting. 
 
 O well for them, with clasped hands, 
 Unshamed amid the heavenly bands! 
 They hear no pitying pair 
 Of old-time lovers there 
 
 Look down and say in an undertone, 
 "This latest-come, who comes alone, 
 Was still alone on earth, 
 And lonely from his birth." 
 
 Nor feel a sudden whisper mar 
 God s weather, "Dost thou see the scar 
 That spirit hideth so? 
 Who dealt her such a blow 
 
 "That God can hardly wipe it out?" 
 And answer, "She gave love, no doubt, 
 To one who saw not fit 
 To set much store by it." 
 
THE DAGUERREOTYPE 
 
 THIS, then, is she, 
 
 My mother as she looked at seventeen, 
 
 When she first met my father. Young incredibly, 
 
 Younger than spring, without the faintest trace 
 
 Of disappointment, weariness, or tean 
 
 Upon the childlike earnestness and grace 
 
 Of the waiting face. 
 
 These close-wound ropes of pearl 
 
 (Or common beads made precious by their use) 
 
 Seem heavy for so slight a throat to wear; 
 
 But the low bodice leaves the shoulders bare 
 
 And half the glad swell of the breast, for news 
 
 That now the woman stirs within the girl. 
 
 And yet, 
 
 Even so, the loops and globes 
 
 Of beaten gold 
 
 And jet 
 
 Hung, in the stately way of old, 
 
 From the ears drooping lobes 
 
 On festivals and Lord s-day of the week, 
 
 Show all too matron-sober for the cheek, 
 
104 THE DAGUERREOTYPE 
 
 Which, now I look again, is perfect child, 
 Or no or no - - t is girlhood s very self, 
 Moulded by some deep, mischief-ridden elf 
 So meek, so maiden mild, 
 But startling the close gazer with the sense 
 Of passions forest-shy and forest- wild, 
 And delicate delirious merriments. 
 
 As a moth beats sidewise 
 
 And up and over, and tries 
 
 To skirt the irresistible lure 
 
 Of the flame that has him sure, 
 
 My spirit, that is none too strong to-day, 
 
 Flutters and makes delay, - 
 
 Pausing to w r onder on the perfect lips, 
 
 Lifting to muse upon the low-drawn hair 
 
 And each hid radiance there, 
 
 But powerless to stem the tide-race bright, 
 
 The vehement peace which drifts it toward the 
 
 light 
 
 Where soon ah, now, with cries 
 Of grief and giving-up unto its gain 
 It shrinks no longer nor denies, 
 But dips 
 Hurriedly home to the exquisite heart of pain, 
 
THE DAGUERREOTYPE 105 
 
 And all is well, for I have seen them plain, 
 The unforgettable, the unforgotten eyes! 
 Across the blinding gush of these good tears 
 They shine as in the sweet and heavy years 
 When by her bed and chair 
 We children gathered jealously to share 
 The sunlit aura breathing myrrh and thyme, 
 Where the sore-stricken body made a clime 
 Gentler than May and pleasanter than rhyme, 
 Holier and more mystical than prayer. 
 
 God, how thy ways are strange! 
 
 That this should be, even this, 
 
 The patient head 
 
 Which suffered years ago the dreary change ! 
 
 That these so dewy lips should be the same 
 
 As those I stooped to kiss 
 
 And heard my harrowing half-spoken name, 
 
 A little ere the one who bowed above her, 
 
 Our father and her very constant lover, 
 
 Rose stoical, and we knew that she was dead. 
 
 Then I, who could not understand or share 
 
 His antique nobleness, 
 
 Being unapt to bear 
 
 The insults which time flings us for our proof, 
 
1 06 THE DAGUERREOTYPE 
 
 Fled from the horrible roof 
 
 Into the alien sunshine merciless, 
 
 The shrill satiric fields ghastly with day, 
 
 Raging to front God in his pride of sway 
 
 And hurl across the lifted swords of fate 
 
 That ringed Him where He sat 
 
 My puny gage of scorn and desolate hate 
 
 Which somehow should undo Him, after all ! 
 
 That this girl face, expectant, virginal, 
 
 Which gazes out at me t 
 
 Boon as a sweetheart, as if nothing loth 
 
 (Save for the eyes, with other presage stored) 
 
 To pledge me troth, 
 
 And in the kingdom where the heart is lord 
 
 Take sail on the terrible gladness of the deep 
 
 Whose winds the grey Norns keep, 
 
 That this should be indeed 
 
 The flesh which caught my soul, a flying seed, 
 
 Out of the to and fro 
 
 Of scattering hands where the seedsman Mage, 
 
 Stooping from star to star and age to age 
 
 Sings as he sows! 
 
 That underneath this breast 
 
 Nine moons I fed 
 
 Deep of divine unrest, 
 
THE DAGUERREOTYPE 107 
 
 While over and over in the dark she said, 
 
 " Blessed ! but not as happier children blessed " 
 
 That this should be 
 
 Even she. . . . 
 
 God, how with time and change 
 
 Thou makest thy footsteps strange! 
 
 Ah, now I know 
 
 They play upon me, and it is not so. 
 
 Why, t is a girl I never saw before, 
 
 A little thing to flatter and make weep, 
 
 To tease until her heart is sore, 
 
 Then kiss and clear the score; 
 
 A gypsy run-the-fields, 
 
 A little liberal daughter of the earth, 
 
 Good for what hour of truancy and mirth 
 
 The careless season yields 
 
 Hither-side the flood of the year and yonder of 
 
 the neap ; 
 Then thank you, thanks again, and twenty light 
 
 good-byes. 
 O shrined above the skies, 
 Frown not, clear brow, 
 Darken not, holy eyes! 
 Thou knowest well I know that it is thou! 
 Only to save me from such memories 
 
io8 THE DAGUERREOTYPE 
 
 As would unman me quite, 
 
 Here in this web of strangeness caught 
 
 And prey to troubled thought 
 
 Do I devise 
 
 These foolish shifts and slight; 
 
 Only to shield me from the afflicting sense 
 
 Of some waste influence 
 
 Which from this morning face an,d lustrous hair 
 
 Breathes on me sudden ruin and despair. 
 
 In any other guise, 
 
 With any but this girlish depth of gaze, 
 
 Your coming had not so unsealed and poured 
 
 The dusty amphoras where I had stored 
 
 The drippings of the winepress of my days. 
 
 I think these eyes foresee, 
 
 Now in their unawakened virgin time, 
 
 Their mother s pride in me, 
 
 And dream even now, unconsciously, 
 
 Upon each soaring peak and sky-hung lea 
 
 You pictured I should climb. 
 
 Broken premonitions come, 
 
 Shapes, gestures visionary, 
 
 Not as once to maiden Mary 
 
 The manifest angel with fresh lilies came 
 
 Intelligibly calling her by name; 
 
THE DAGUERREOTYPE 109 
 
 But vanishingly, dumb, 
 
 Thwarted and bright and wild, 
 
 As heralding a sin-defiled, 
 
 Earth-encumbered, blood-begotten, passionate 
 
 man-child, 
 
 Who yet should be a trump of mighty call 
 Blown in the gates of evil kings 
 To make them fall ; 
 
 Who yet should be a sword of flame before 
 The soul s inviolate door 
 To beat away the clang of hellish wings; 
 Who yet should be a lyre 
 Of high unquenchable desire 
 In the day of little things. - 
 Look, where the amphoras, 
 The yield of many days, 
 Trod by my hot soul from the pulp of self 
 And set upon the shelf 
 In sullen pride 
 
 The Vineyard-master s tasting to abide 
 O mother mine ! 
 
 Are these the bringings-in, the doings fine, 
 Of him you used to praise? 
 Emptied and overthrown 
 The jars lie strown. 
 
i io THE DAGUERREOTYPE 
 
 These, for their flavor duly nursed, 
 
 Drip from the stopples vinegar accursed ; 
 
 These, I thought honied to the very seal, 
 
 Dry, dry, a little acid meal, 
 
 A pinch of mouldy dust, 
 
 Sole leavings of the amber-mantling must; 
 
 These, rude to look upon, 
 
 But flasking up the liquor dearest won, 
 
 Through sacred hours and hard, 
 
 With watching and with wrestlings and with grief, 
 
 Even of these, of these in chief, 
 
 The stale breath sickens, reeking from the shard. 
 
 Nothing is left. Ay, how much less than naught! 
 
 What shall be said or thought 
 
 Of the slack hours and waste imaginings, 
 
 The cynic rending of the wings, 
 
 Known to that froward, that unreckoning heart 
 
 Whereof this brewage was the precious part, 
 
 Treasured and set away with furtive boast? 
 
 O dear and cruel ghost, 
 
 Be merciful, be just! 
 
 See, I was yours and I am in the dust. 
 
 Then look not so, as if all things were well ! 
 
 Take your eyes from me, leave me to my shame, 
 
 Or else, if gaze they must, 
 
THE DAGUERREOTYPE in 
 
 Steel them with judgment, darken them with 
 
 blame; 
 
 But by the ways of light ineffable 
 You bade me go and I have faltered from, 
 By the low waters moaning out of hell 
 Whereto my feet have come, 
 
 Lav not on me these intolerable 
 
 . 
 
 Looks of rejoicing love, of pride, of happy trust! 
 
 Nothing dismayed? 
 
 By all I say and all I hint not made 
 
 Afraid? 
 
 O then, stay by me! Let 
 
 These eyes afflict me, cleanse me, keep me yet 
 
 Brave eyes and true! 
 
 See how the shriveled heart, that long has lain 
 
 Dead to delight and pain, 
 
 Stirs, and begins again 
 
 To utter pleasant life, as if it knew 
 
 The wintry days were through ; 
 
 As if in its awakening boughs it heard 
 
 The quick, sweet-spoken bird. 
 
 Strong eyes and brave, 
 
 Inexorable to save! 
 
SECOND COMING 
 &nt> Stater 
 
SECOND COMING 
 
 ONCE, by an arch of ancient stone, 
 
 Beneath Italian olive-trees 
 (In pentecostal youth, too prone 
 
 To visions such as these), 
 
 And now a second time, to-day, 
 Yonder, an hour ago! T is strange. 
 - The hot beach shelving to the bay, 
 That far white mountain range, 
 
 The motley town where Turk and Greek 
 
 Spit scorn and hatred as I pass; 
 Seraglio windows, doors that reek 
 
 Sick perfume of the mass ; 
 
 The muezzin cry from Allah s tower, 
 French sailors singing in the street; 
 
 The Western meets the Eastern power, 
 And mingles this is Crete. 
 
 Yonder on snowy Ida, Zeus 
 
 Was cradled; through those mountain haunts 
 
ii6 SECOND COMING 
 
 The new moon hurried, letting loose 
 The raving Corybants, 
 
 Who after thrid the Cyclades 
 
 To Thebes of Cadmos, with the slim 
 
 Wild god for whom Euripides 
 Fashioned the deathless hymn. 
 
 And yonder, ere in Ajalon 
 
 Young Judah s lion ramped for war, 
 Daedalus built the Knossian 
 
 House of the Minotaur. 
 
 T is strange ! No wonder and no drea^ 
 Was on me; hardly even surprise. 
 
 I knew before he raised his head 
 Or fixed me with his eyes 
 
 That it was he; far off I knew 
 The leaning figure by the boat, 
 
 The long straight gown of faded hue; 
 The hair that round his throat 
 
 Fell forward as he bent in speech 
 Above the naked sailor there, 
 
SECOND COMING 117 
 
 Calking his vessel on the beach, 
 Full in the noonday glare. 
 
 Sharp rang the sailor s mallet-stroke 
 Pounding the tow into the seam; 
 
 He paused and mused, and would have spoke, 
 Lifting great eyes of dream 
 
 Unto those eyes which slowly turned 
 
 As once before, even so now - 
 Till full on mine their passion burned 
 
 With, "Yes, and is it thou?" 
 
 Then o er the face about to speak 
 Again he leaned ; the sunburnt hair, 
 
 Fallen forward, hid the tawny cheek; 
 And I who, for my share, 
 
 Had but the instant s gaze, no more, 
 And sweat and shuddering of the mind, 
 
 Stumbled along the dazzling shore, 
 Until a cool sweet wind 
 
 From far-off Ida s silver caves 
 
 Said, "Stay"; and here I sit the while. 
 
ii8 SECOND COMING 
 
 - Silken Mediterranean waves, 
 From isle to fabled isle, 
 
 Flame softly north to Sunium, 
 
 And west by England s war-cliff strong 
 To where Ulysses men saw loom 
 
 The mount of Dante s song. 
 
 As far as where the coast-line dies 
 In sharp sun-dazzle, goes the light 
 
 Dance-dance of amber butterflies 
 Above the beach-flowers, bright 
 
 And jealous as the sudden blood 
 The lovers of these island girls 
 
 Spill in their frays ; o er flower and bud 
 The light dance dips and whirls. 
 
 And all my being, for an hour, 
 
 Has sat in stupor, without thought, 
 
 Empty of memory, love, or power, 
 A dumb wild creature caught 
 
 In toils of purpose not its own! 
 
 But now at last the ebbed will turns; 
 
SECOND COMING 119 
 
 Feeding on spirit, blood, and bone, 
 The ghostly protest burns. 
 
 "Yea, it is I, tis I indeed! 
 
 But who art thou, and plannest what? 
 Beyond all use, beyond all need! 
 Importunate, unbesought, 
 
 " Unwelcome, unendurable ! 
 
 To the vague boy I was before 
 O unto him thou earnest well ; 
 But now, a boy no more, 
 
 "Firm-seated in my proper good, 
 
 Clear-operant in my functions due, 
 Potent and plenteous of my mood, 
 What hast thou here to do? 
 
 "Yes, I have loved thee love thee, yes; 
 
 But also hear st thou? also him 
 Who out of Ida s wilderness 
 Over the bright sea-rim, 
 
 "With shaken cones and mystic dance, 
 To Dirce and her seven waters 
 
120 SECOND COMING 
 
 Led on the raving Corybants, 
 And lured the Theban daughters 
 
 "To play on the delirious hills 
 
 Three summer days, three summer nights, 
 Where wert thou when these had their wills? 
 How liked thee their delights? 
 
 "Past Melos, Delos, to the straits, 
 
 The waters roll their spangled mirth, 
 And westward, through Gibraltar gates, 
 To my own under-earth, 
 
 "My glad, great land, which at the most 
 Knows that its fathers knew thee; so 
 Will spend for thee nor count the cost; 
 But follow thee? Ah, no! 
 
 "Thine image gently. fades from earth! 
 
 Thy churches are as empty shells, 
 Dim-plaining of thy words and worth, 
 And of thy funerals! 
 
 "But oh, upon what errand, then, 
 
 Leanest thou at the sailor s ear? 
 Hast thou yet more to say, that men 
 Have heard not, and must hear?" 
 
OLD POURQUOI 
 
 T WAS not yet night, but night was due; 
 The earth had fallen chalky-dun; 
 Our road dipped straight as eye could run, 
 Between the poles, set two and two, 
 And poplars, one and one, 
 
 Then rose to where far roofs and spires 
 Etched a vague strip of Norman sky: 
 The sea-wind had begun to sigh 
 From tree to tree, and up the wires 
 Slid its frail, mounting cry. 
 
 All afternoon our minds had reveled 
 In steep, skylarking enterprise; 
 Our hearts had climbed a dozen skies, 
 And fifty frowning strongholds leveled 
 Of Life s old enemies. 
 
 A trifle, here and there, was spared 
 Till morning found us more adept; 
 But, broadly speaking, we had swept 
 
122 OLD POURQUOI 
 
 Earth of her wrongs; light had been flared 
 Where the last Error slept! 
 
 Then, nothing said and nothing seen, 
 Misgiving gripped us. Treeless, bare, 
 The moorland country everywhere 
 Lay blackened ; but a powdery sheen 
 Hung tangled in the air. 
 
 And Heaven knows what suspense and doubt 
 Prowled in the dusk! A peasant s door, 
 Where naught was visible before, 
 Opened, and let the lamp shine out 
 Across the crumpled moor. 
 
 A stone s-throw off some drowsy sheep 
 Took fright; across a rise of land 
 In shadowy scamper went the band ; 
 Three bleating ewes held back to keep 
 Their coward young in hand. 
 
 And borne across the shallow vale, 
 Along the highway from the town, 
 A voice the distance could not drown 
 Chanted an eerie, endless tale, 
 Now shrill, now dropping down 
 
OLD POURQUOI 123 
 
 To querulous, questioning minor song; 
 Now sweeping in a solemn gust, 
 As if some great dishonoured dust 
 Came crying its ancestral wrong, 
 And found no listener just. 
 
 And as the voice drew nearer toward, 
 
 It dropped through vague disastrous bars, 
 
 Heart-broken roulades, sudden jars 
 
 Of discord ; then superbly soared 
 
 Into a heaven whose stars 
 
 Twinkled to some immortal jest, 
 And satire was the cosmic mood ; - 
 Upon which, down the twilight road, 
 With stolid haste, monotonous zest, 
 Shuffled or limped or strode, - 
 
 Who? What? King David, crazed and free! 
 Hamlet, grown old, and wandering! 
 The ghost of Tiryns murdered king 
 Clamorous by its native sea; 
 Or his who made to sing 
 
 The Frogs, and set the Wasps to buzz 
 Round plague-struck Athens; the mid-pain 
 
124 OLD POURQUOI 
 
 Of old Laocoon ; Paul Verlaine, 
 In high talk with the Man of Uz 
 Outside his prison-pane! 
 
 One moment by the darkening West 
 We saw the grand old grizzled head, 
 The stricken face, the rolling, red, 
 Quizzical eyeballs, the bared chest, 
 Hairy, Homeric, spread 
 
 And laboring with the grievous chant, 
 The knotted "hands raised high and wrung, 
 As, craning through the gloom, he flung 
 Into our teeth that iterant 
 Enormous word he sung. 
 
 Then he was gone. Slow up the hill, 
 And faster down the other side, 
 The wild monotonous question died ; 
 Again the sea-wind whispered shrill, 
 As if the sea replied. 
 
 I muttered, "Did you hear?" and you 
 
 Nodded. In silence half a mile 
 
 We stumbled onward: you meanwhile 
 
OLD POURQUOI 125 
 
 Had paper out, your pencil flew 
 In quirk and quiddet vile. 
 
 Till in disgust I seized your hand, 
 And thundered, "Scratching music, clod? 
 Getting his tune down? Suffering God ! 
 Have you no heart to understand?" 
 One more New-England nod, 
 
 And "Yes, I heard, my son, I heard. 
 A tune fit for the mutinous dead 
 To march to when, Prometheus-led, 
 They storm high Heaven! As for his word, 
 Pourquoi? was all he said!" 
 
 Pourquoi ? Pourquoi ? Yes, that was all ! 
 Only the darkest cry that haunts 
 The corridors of tragic chance, 
 Couched in the sweet, satirical, 
 Impudent tongue of France. 
 
 Only the bitterest wail flung out 
 From worlds that traffic to their mart 
 Without a pilot or a chart; 
 With "What?" the body of their doubt, 
 And "Why?" the quaking heart. 
 
126 OLD POURQUOI 
 
 Old bard and brother to the Sphinx! 
 I wonder what abysmal luck 
 Had left your face so planet-struck, 
 And driven you on such horrid brinks 
 To play the run-amuck. 
 
 I wonder down what road to-night 
 You shuffle; from what plunging star 
 Your gnarled old hands uplifted are, 
 Between moth-light and cockshut-light, 
 Calling young hearts to war! 
 
I/ 
 
 I AM THE WOMAN 
 
 I AM the Woman, ark of the law and its breaker, 
 Who chastened her step and taught her knees to 
 
 be meek, 
 Bridled and bitted her heart and humbled her 
 
 cheek, 
 Parceled her will, and cried, "Take more!" to the 
 
 taker, 
 Shunned what they told her to shun, sought what 
 
 they bade her seek, 
 Locked up her mouth from scornful speaking: 
 
 now it is open to speak. 
 
 I am she that is terribly fashioned, the creature 
 Wrought in God s perilous mood, in His unsafe 
 
 hour. 
 
 The morning star was mute, beholding my feature, 
 Seeing the rapture I was, the shame, and the 
 
 power, 
 
 Scared at my manifold meaning; he heard me call, 
 "O fairest among ten thousand, acceptable 
 
 brother!" 
 
128 I AM THE WOMAN 
 
 And he answered not, for doubt; till he saw me 
 
 crawl 
 
 And whisper down to the secret worm, " O mother, 
 Be not wroth in the ancient house; thy daughter 
 
 forgets not at all!" 
 
 I am the Woman, fleer away, 
 
 Soft withdrawer back from the maddened mate, 
 
 Lurer inward and down to the gates of day 
 
 And crier there in the gate, 
 
 "What shall I give for thee, wild one, say! 
 
 The long, slow rapture and patient anguish of life, 
 
 Or art thou minded a swifter way? 
 
 Ask if thou canst, the gold, but O, if thou must, 
 
 Good is the shining dross, lovely the dust! 
 
 Look at me, I am the Woman, harlot and heav 
 enly wife; 
 
 Tell me thy price, be unashamed ; I will assuredly 
 pay!" 
 
 I am also the Mother: of two that I bore 
 
 I comfort and feed the slayer, feed and comfort 
 
 the slain. 
 Did they number my daughters and sons? I am 
 
 mother of more ! 
 
I AM THE WOMAN 129 
 
 Many a head they marked not, here in my bosom 
 
 has lain, 
 
 Babbling with unborn lips in a tongue to be, 
 Far, incredible matters, all familiar to me. 
 Still would the man come whispering, "Wife!" 
 
 but many a time my breast 
 Took him not as a husband: I soothed him and 
 
 laid him to rest 
 Even as the babe of my body, and knew him for 
 
 such. 
 My mouth is open to speak, that was dumb too 
 
 much! 
 I say to you I am the Mother; and under the 
 
 sword 
 Which flamed each way to harry us forth from the 
 
 Lord, 
 I saw Him young at the portal, weeping and 
 
 staying the rod, 
 And I, even I was His mother, and I yearned as 
 
 the mother of God. 
 
 I am also the Spirit. The Sisters laughed 
 When I sat with them dumb in the portals, over 
 
 my lamp, 
 Half asleep in the doors: for my gown was raught 
 
130 I AM THE WOMAN 
 
 Off at the shoulder to shield from the wind and the 
 
 rain 
 
 The wick I tended against the mysterious hour 
 When the silent City of Being should ring with song, 
 As the Lord came in with Life to the marriage 
 
 bower. 
 "Look!" laughed the elder Sisters; and crimson 
 
 with shame 
 
 I hid my breast away from the rosy flame. 
 "Ah!" cried 1^ie leaning Sisters, pointing, doing 
 
 me wrong ; 
 
 II Do you see? " laughed the wanton Sisters. "She 
 
 will get her a lover erelong!" 
 And it was but a little while till unto my need 
 He was given, indeed, 
 And we walked where waxing world after world 
 
 went by ; 
 
 And I said to my lover, "Let us begone, 
 O, let us begone, and try 
 Which of them all the fairest to dwell in is, 
 Which is the place for us, our desirable clime!" 
 But he said, "They are only the huts and the little 
 
 villages, 
 Pleasant to go and lodge in rudely over the 
 
 vintage- time!" 
 
I AM THE WOMAN 131 
 
 Scornfully spake he, being unwise, 
 
 Being flushed at heart because of our walking 
 
 together. 
 
 But I was mute with passionate prophecies; 
 My heart went veiled and faint in the golden 
 
 weather, 
 
 While universe drifted by after still universe. 
 Then I cried, "Alas, we must hasten and lodge 
 
 therein, 
 One after one, and in every star that they 
 
 shed! 
 
 A dark and a weary thing is come on our head 
 To search obedience out in the bosom of sin, 
 To listen deep for love when thunders the curse; 
 For O my love, behold where the Lord hath 
 
 planted 
 
 In every star in the midst his dangerous Tree! 
 Still I must pluck thereof and bring unto thee, 
 Saying, "The coolness for which all night we have 
 
 panted ; 
 
 Taste of the goodly thing, I have tasted first!" 
 Bringing us noway coolness, but burning thirst, 
 Giving us noway peace, but implacable strife, 
 Loosing upon us the wounding joy and the wast 
 ing sorrow of life ! . 
 
132 I AM THE WOMAN 
 
 I am the Woman, ark of the Law and sacred arm 
 
 to upbear it, 
 Heathen trumpet to overthrow and idolatrous 
 
 sword to shear it : 
 Yea, she whose arm was round the neck of the 
 
 morning star at song, 
 Is she who kneeleth now in the dust and cries at 
 
 the secret door, 
 "Open to me, O sleeping mother! The gate is 
 
 heavy and strong. 
 Open to me, I am come at last ; be wroth with thy 
 
 child no more. 
 Let me lie down with thee there in the dark, and 
 
 be slothful with thee as before!" 
 
THE DEATH OF EVE 
 
 1 -W- L 
 
 AT dawn they came to the stream Hiddekel, 
 Old Eve and her red first-born, who was now 
 Greyer than she, and bowed with more than years. 
 Then Cain beneath his level palm looked hard 
 Across the desert, and turned with outspread hand 
 As one who says, "Thou seest; we are fooled." 
 But Eve, with clutching fingers on his arm, 
 And pointing eastward where the risen sun 
 Made a low mist of light, said, "It is there!" 0". 
 
 II 
 
 For, many, many months, in the great tent 
 Of Enoch, Eve had pined, and dared not tell 
 
 *M ^ k 
 
 Her longing: not to Irad, Enoch s son, 
 
 Masterful like his father, who had held 
 
 Harsh rule, and named the tent-place with his 
 
 name; 
 
 Not to mild Seth, given her in Abel s stead; 
 Not unto angry Lamech, nor his wives, 
 Usurjpers of her honor in the house; 
 
134 THE DEATH OF EVE 
 
 Not to young Jubal, songs-man of the tribe, 
 Who touched his harp at twilight by her door; 
 And not to bep!-rid Adam, most of all 
 Not unto Adam. Yet at last, the spring 
 Being at end, and evening with warm stars 
 Falling upon them by the camel kraal, 
 Weary with long desire she spoke to Seth, 
 Touching her meaning faintly and far off 
 To try him. With still scrutiny awhile 
 He looked at her; then, lifting doubtful hands 
 Of prayer, he led her homeward to the tent, 
 With tremulous speech of small and week-day 
 
 things. 
 
 Next, as she lay by Adam before dawn, 
 His big and wasted hand groping for hers 
 Suddenly made her half-awakened heart 
 Break back and back across the shadowy years 
 To Eden, and God calling in the dew, 
 And all that song of Paradise foredone 
 Which Jubal made in secret, fearing her 
 The storied mother; but in secret, too, 
 Herself had listened, while the maids at toil 
 Or by the well^at evening sang of her 
 Untruthful thyigs, which, when she once had 
 
 heard, 
 
THE DEATH OF EVE 135 
 
 Seemed truthful. Now, bowed upon Adam s 
 
 breast, 
 
 In the deep hush that comes before the dawn, 
 She whispered hints and fragments of her will ; 
 And when the shaggy forehead made no sign, 
 And the blind face searched still as quietly 
 In the tent-roof for what, these many months, 
 It seemed to seek for there, she held him close 
 And poured her whole wild meaning in his ear. 
 But as a man upon his death-bed dreams 
 That he should know a matter, and knows it 
 
 not, 
 
 Norjwho they are who fain would have him know, 
 He turned to hers his dim, disastrous eyes, 
 Wherein the knowledge of her and the long love 
 Glimmered through veil on veil of vacancy. 
 That evening little Jubal, coming home 
 Singing behind his flock, saw ancient Eve 
 Crouched by the ruined altar in the glade, 
 The accursed place, sown deep each early spring 
 With stones and salt the Valley of the Blood; 
 And that same night Eve fled under the stars 
 Eastward to Nod, the land of violence, 
 To Cain, and the strong city he had built 
 Against all men who hunted for his soul. 
 
136 THE DEATH OF EVE 
 
 III 
 
 She gave her message darkly in the gates, 
 And waited trembling. At day-fall he came. 
 She knew him not beneath his whitened hair; 
 But when at length she knew him, and was known, 
 The whitened hair, the bent and listening frame, 
 The savage misery of the sidelong eyes, 
 Fell on her heart with strangling. So it was 
 That now for many days she held her peace, 
 Abiding with him till he seemed again 
 The babe she bare first in the wilderness, 
 Her maiden fruits to Adam, the new joy 
 The desert bloomed with, which the desert stars 
 Whispered concerning. Yet she held her peace, 
 Until he seemed a young man in the house, 
 A gold frontlet of pride and a green cedar; 
 Then, leading him apart, Evejold her wish, 
 Not faltering now nor uttering it far off, . V>* 
 But as a sovereign mother to her son (l^ 
 
 - rr:rrr===: z~^,__^Z -^^^~-~ "=- 
 
 Speaks simple destiny. He looked at her 
 Dimly, as if he saw her not; then stooped, 
 Sharpening his brows upon her. With a cry 
 She laid fierce, shaken hands about his breast, 
 Drew down his neck, and harshly from his brow 
 Pushing the head-band and the matted locks, 
 
THE, DEATH OF EVE 137 
 
 Baring the livid flesh with. ..violence, 
 
 She kissed him on the Sigrj. Cain bowed his head 
 
 Upon her shoulder, saying, "I will go!" 
 
 IV 
 
 Now they had come to the stream Hiddekel, ^ ? 
 And passed beyond the stream. There, full in 
 
 face, 
 
 Where the low morning made a mist of light, 
 The Garden and its gates lay like a flower! 
 Afloat on the still waters of the dawn. 
 The clicking leap of bright-mailed grasshoppers, 
 The dropping of sage-beetles from their perch 
 On the gnawed cactus, even the pulsing drum 
 Of blood-beats in their ears, merged suddenly 
 Into ethereal hush. Then Cain made halt, 
 Held her, and muttered, " Tis enough. Thou 
 
 sawest! A , 
 
 His Angel stood and threatened in the sun!" 
 And Eve said, " Yea,jmd though the day were set 
 With sworded angels, thou would st wait for me 
 Yonder, before the gates; which, look you, child, 
 Lie open to me as the gates to him, 
 Thy father, when Ijg entered in his rage, 
 Calling thee from the dark, where of old days 
 
138 THE DEATH OF EVE 
 
 I kept thee folded, hidden, till he called." 
 So grey Cain by the unguarded portal sat, 
 His arms crossed o er his forehead, and his face 
 Hid in his meagre knees; but ancient Eve 
 Passed on into the vales of Paradise. 
 
 v 
 
 Tranced in lonely radiance stood the 
 As Eve put back the glimmering ferns and vines 
 And crept into the place. Awhile she stooped, 
 And as a wild thing by the drinking-pool 
 Peers ere it drinks, she peered. Then, laughing 
 
 low, 
 
 Her frame of grief and body of her years 
 She lifted proudly to its virgin height, 
 Flung her lean arms into the pouring day, 
 
 pAnd circling with slow paces round the Tree, 
 She sang her stifled meaning out to God. 
 
 EVE S SONG 
 
 Behold, against thy will, against thy word, 
 Against the wrath and warning of thy sword, 
 Eve has been Eve, Lord! 
 A pitcher filled, she comes back from the brook, 
 A wain she comes, laden with mellow ears; 
 
THE DEATH OF EVE 139 
 
 She is a roll inscribed, a prophet s book 
 
 Writ strong with characters. 
 
 Behold, Eve willed it so; look, if it be so, look! 
 
 Early at dawn, while yet thy watchers slept. 
 
 Lightly her untamed spirit over-leapt 
 
 The walls where she was kept. 
 
 As a young comely leopardess she stood: 
 
 Her lustrous fell, her sullen grace, her fleetness, 
 
 They^gave her foretaste, in thy tangled wood, 
 
 Of many a savage sweetness, 
 
 Good to fore-gloat upon; being tasted, sweet and good. 
 
 swayer in the sunlit tops of trees, 
 O comer up with cloud out of the seas, 
 laugher at thine ease 
 Over thine everlasting dream of mirth, 
 O^prd of savage pleasures, savage pains, 
 Knew st Thou not Eve, who broughtest her to birth? 
 Searcher of breast and reins, 
 Thou should st have searched thy iWoman, the seed- 
 pod of thine earth! 
 
 Herself hath searched her softly through and through; 
 Singing she lifts her full soul up to view; 
 Lord, do Thou praise it, too! 
 
140 THE DEATH OF EVE 
 
 Look, as she turns it, how it dartles free 
 Its gathered meanings: woman, mother, wife, 
 Spirit that was and is and waits to be, 
 Worm of the dust of life, 
 
 Child, sister ghostly rays! What lights are these, 
 Lord, see! 
 
 Look where Eve lifts her storied soul on high, 
 And turns it as a ball, she knows not why, 
 Save that she could not die 
 Till she had shown Thee all the secret sphere 
 The bright rays and the dim, and these that run 
 Bright-darkling, making Thee to doubt and fear, 
 Oh, love them every one! 
 
 Eve pardons Thee not one, not one, Lord; dost Thou 
 hear? 
 
 Lovely to Eve was Adam s praising breath; 
 His face averted bitter was as death; 
 Abel, her son, and Seth 
 Lifted her heart to heaven, praising her; 
 Cain with a little frown darkened the stars; 
 And when the strings of Jubal s harp would stir, 
 Like honey in cool jars 
 
 The words he praised her with, like rain his praises 
 were. 
 
THE DEATH OF EVE 141 
 
 Still, still with prayer and ecstasy she strove 
 To be the woman they did well approve, 
 That, narrowed to their love, 
 She might have done with bitterness and blame; 
 But still along the yonder edge of prayer 
 A spirit in a fiery whirlwind came 
 Eve s spirit, wild and fair 
 Crying with Eve s own voice the number of her 
 name. 
 
 Yea, turning in the whirlwind and the fire, 
 
 Eve saw her own proud being all entire 
 
 Made perfect by desire; 
 
 And from the rounded gladness of that sphere 
 
 Came bridal songs and har pings and fresh laughter; 
 
 "Glory unto the faithful!" sounded clear, 
 
 And then, a little after, 
 
 "Whoso denyeth aught, let him depart from here!" 
 
 Now, therefore, Eve, with mystic years o er-scored, 
 
 Danceth and doeth pleasure to Thee, Lord, 
 
 According to the word 
 
 That Thou hast spoken to her by her dream. 
 
 Singing a song she dimly understands, 
 
 She lifts her soul to let the splendor stream. 
 
142 THE DEATH OF EVE 
 
 Lord, take away thy hands! 
 
 Let this beam pierce thy heart, ana this most piercing 
 beam ! 
 
 Far off, rebelliously, yet for thy sake, 
 
 She gathered them, Thou who lovest to break 
 
 A thousand souls, and shake 
 
 Their dust along the wind, but sleeplessly 
 
 Sear chest the Bride fulfilled in limb and feature, 
 
 Ready and boon to be fulfilled of Thee, 
 
 Thine ample, tameless creature, - 
 
 Against thy will and word, behold, Lord, this is She! 
 
 VI 
 
 From carven plinth and thousand-galleried green 
 Cedars, and all close boughs that over-tower, 
 The shadows lengthened eastward from the gates, 
 And still Cain hid his forehead in his knees, 
 Nor dared to look abroad lest he might find 
 More watchers in the portals : for he heard 
 What seemed the rush of wings; from while to 
 
 while 
 
 A pallor grew and faded in his brain, 
 As if a great light passed him near at hand. 
 But when above the darkening desert swales 
 
THE DEATH OF EVE 143 
 
 The moon came, shedding white, unlikely day, 
 Cain rose, and with his back against the stones, 
 As a keen fighter at the desperate odds, 
 Glared round him. Cool and silent lay the night, 
 Empty of any foe. Then, as a man 
 Who has a thing to do, and makes his fear 
 An icy wind to freeze his purpose firm, 
 He stole in through the pillars of the gate, 
 Down aisles of shadow windowed with the moon, 
 By meads with the still stars communicant, 
 Past heaven-bosoming pool and pooled stream, 
 Until he saw, through tangled fern and vine, 
 The Tree, where God had made its habitation : 
 And crouched above the shape that had been Eve, 
 With savage, listening frame and sidelong eyes, 
 Cain waited for the coming of the dawn. 
 
THE THREE ANGELS 
 
 BEFORE my feet the curving strand 
 Unblurs its outline from the sea, 
 And light feels upward like a hand 
 To find if yet creation be. 
 Like one whose eyes in fear are furled 
 It feels about the pallid world, 
 And gropes and lingers anxiously. 
 
 And sure at length that all is good, 
 
 Upon the pavement of the deep 
 
 Dawn walks with wings that burn abroad 
 
 And lifted hands that seem to keep 
 
 Attention till a word be said ; 
 
 And now day lifts above its head 
 
 A harp that soon those hands will sweep. 
 
 O angel day, if thou wilt sing 
 Look hither what has fallen to us 
 Me on the bright beach wandering 
 And her within the cliff-hung house ! 
 The word thou darest not say, she says; 
 
THE THREE ANGELS 145 
 
 A wilder than thy song, I raise 
 Above the passes perilous. 
 
 Last night I sat at her right hand : 
 Though Death upon the left hand stood, 
 Our hearts were ne er so light and bland; 
 As in a moonlit summer wood 
 Friend unto happy friend we spake, 
 As swan by swan on a windless lake 
 We drifted down God s glassy flood. 
 
 We had been sweet friends long before, 
 But till this evening s dark mischance, 
 Aye, never till this deep death-hour 
 Had such a heart been ours to dance 
 Childlike upon the hills of glee; 
 So on those hills she played with me, 
 Through swooning pain and ether trance. 
 
 And yet had not been breathed a sound 
 Of love, nor a thought of love been thought. 
 With light of light her brow was wound 
 When mutely she made question, "What 
 Means this strange light about your brow?" 
 And I made answer mute, "You know 
 It is the love that we have found." 
 
146 THE THREE ANGELS 
 
 Like flame afar her life did rise 
 And from the ends of being came, 
 Bare as at birth, without disguise, 
 To meet my spirit s naked flame 
 Which towered from out the primal mist 
 To her. Her lips lay all unkissed; 
 We made no sign, we named no name. 
 
 O angel day, O seraph bright! 
 
 As thou upon the mortal deep 
 
 We o er these coasts of deathless light, 
 
 With lifted wings strong silence keep. 
 
 Between the plumed and whispering fires 
 
 We raise on high the golden lyres 
 
 Which soon our burning hands shall smite ! 
 
A PRAIRIE RIDE 
 
 I 
 
 WHEN I look back and say, of all our hours 
 This one or that was best, 
 Straightway, from north and south, from east and 
 
 west, 
 
 With banners strange and tributary powers 
 The others camp against me. Thus, 
 Now for many nights and days, 
 The hills of memory are mutinous, 
 Hearing me raise 
 Above all other praise 
 That autumn morn 
 
 When league on league between ripe fields of corn, 
 Galloping neck and neck or loitering hand in hand, 
 We rode across the prairie land 
 Where I was born. 
 
 II 
 
 I never knew how good 
 Were those fields and happy farms, 
 Till, leaning from her horse, she stretched her 
 arms 
 
148 A PRAIRIE RIDE 
 
 To greet and to receive them ; nor for all 
 
 My knowing, did I know her womanhood 
 
 Until I saw the gesture understood, 
 
 And answer made, and amity begun. 
 
 On the proud fields and on her proud bent head 
 
 The sunlight like a covenant did fall ; 
 
 Then with a gesture rich and liberal 
 
 She raised her hands with laughter to the sun, - 
 
 And it was done, 
 
 Never in life or death to be gainsaid ! 
 
 And I, till then, 
 
 Home-come yet alien, 
 
 Held by some thwart and skeptic mind aloof 
 
 From nature s dear behoof, 
 
 Knelt down in heart and kissed the kindly earth, 
 
 And, having swept on wings of mirth 
 
 The big horizon round, I swiftly clomb, 
 
 And from the utter dome 
 
 Of most high morning laughed, and sang my loved 
 
 one home! 
 
 Meanwhile, within the rings our laughter made, 
 Bending like a water-arum 
 Where impetuous waters meet, 
 Rhythmic to the strong alarum, 
 Of her horse s rushing feet, 
 
A PRAIRIE RIDE 149 
 
 Before me and beside me and on before me swayed 
 
 Her body like a water-arum blade, 
 
 Like a slanted gull for motion, 
 
 And the blown corn like an ocean 
 
 For its billows and their rumor, and the tassels 
 
 snapping free 
 
 As whittled foam and brine-scud of the sea. 
 Thanks to God, 
 
 No ocean, but the rife and homely sod, 
 And golden corn to feed 
 A universe at need ! 
 Land of mine, my mother s country ! 
 My heritage! But through her loosening hair 
 She has tossed me back the dare. 
 Drunken-hearted! shall it be a race indeed? 
 Then drink again, and drink again, to reeling 
 
 drink the winy speed! 
 
 Ill 
 
 Ye on the jealous hills, 
 Ye shall not have your wills 
 For many a dreaming day 
 And haunted night. 
 
 To that high morning, walled and domed with 
 light, 
 
150 A PRAIRIE RIDE 
 
 I am given away; 
 
 And often here, above the weary feet 
 
 That pour along this fierce and jaded street, 
 
 As from a taintless source 
 
 Of power and grace, 
 
 Anxious and shrill and sweet 
 
 I hear her strong unblemished horse 
 
 Neigh to the pastured mothers of the race. 
 
SONG 
 
 MY love is gone into the East 
 Across the wide dawn-kindled sea; 
 My love remembreth naught of me 
 Nor of my lips nor of my breast, 
 For he has gone where morning dwells 
 Into the land of dreams and spells. 
 
 But yet sometimes deep in the night 
 
 A foolish little cricket thing, 
 
 A kind of voice, will wake and sing 
 
 And drone and sing till it is light; 
 
 I am not sure, but every day 
 
 I grow to think he sings this way : - 
 
 1 Into the West, or late or soon, 
 Across dim seas into the West, 
 Thy lover will sail back in quest 
 Of Earth s one gift and life s one boon, 
 Of simple love that comes to pass 
 As dew falls or as springs the grass." 
 
MUSA MERETRIX 
 
 I TURN the last leaf down, and lay 
 The flaunting rubbish in the grass; 
 With folded arms across my face 
 I shut the summer light away. 
 On him too the old trick to play! 
 Too dull, too base! 
 
 I see again his dream-worn hand 
 Shaken by my poor praise, his brow 
 Flushed by the words I scarce knew how 
 To speak at all, so shadowy grand 
 He stalked there in Song s lonely land, 
 Under the vow. 
 
 So rare a spirit, and if frail 
 Curse thee! what should a spirit be 
 That ate not, drank not, save for thee? 
 Flat brothel- jestress, thing of sale, 
 On his head too to pour the stale 
 Indignity! 
 
THE COUNTING MAN 
 
 I 
 
 EENY, meeny, miney, mo, 
 Cracka feeny, finey, fo; 
 Omma nooja, oppa tooja, 
 Rick, bick, ban, do! 
 
 II 
 
 Eeny, meeny, miney, mo, 
 All the children in a row. 
 Cracka feeny, who is he, 
 Counting out so solemnly? 
 
 Ill 
 
 Eeny, meeny, look how tall, 
 Like a shadow on the wall ! 
 When did he come down the street, 
 Muffled up from head to feet? 
 
 IV 
 
 Listen! Don t you hear the shiny 
 Shadow-man count meeny-miney? 
 Hush! when all the counting s done 
 Maybe I might be The One! 
 
154 THE COUNTING MAN 
 
 V 
 
 Cracka feeny, finey, fo, 
 Watch his shining fingers go! 
 He can see enough to play, 
 Though he hides his face away. 
 
 VI 
 
 Oppa tooja, rick, bick, ban, 
 O the solemn Counting Man ! 
 Forty- leven from the top - 
 Now where will his fingers stop? 
 
 VII 
 
 Eeny, meeny, miney, mo, 
 Cracka feeny, finey, fo; 
 Omma nooja, oppa tooja, 
 Rick, bick, ban, do! 
 
THE MOON-MOTH 
 
 AGAIN the steep path turns, and pained at heart 
 With prescience of the beauty soon to be, 
 Climbing I break the flowering weeds apart 
 And the low vines that mat about my knee, 
 Till airy-strong against the sky and sea 
 Juts out the fragment of a temple s base 
 And one great corner-stone. 
 Deep, deep, within me, in some deepest place 
 Of unknown being, laughter wakes, and moans, 
 As on the marble ledge I lay my face, 
 Bowed down with thoughts of Her who had this 
 house and throne. 
 
 Above the market and the popular well 
 
 Within whose carven niche the old men sat 
 
 To murmur at Medea, and to tell 
 
 Haw her witch-love for Jason turned to hate, 
 
 High o er the struggles old men wonder at, 
 
 High in the delicate heavens, beheld of none 
 
 Save who should climb above 
 
 Yonder hill-fountain where Bellerophon 
 
156 THE MOON-MOTH 
 
 Snared the winged horse and backed him in the 
 
 moon, - 
 
 Corinth the city raised up unto Love 
 This specular temple pure and its far-gazing 
 
 grove; 
 
 That in the intense zenith laughing free, 
 Making inviolable light its screen, 
 Passion might know a wilder secrecy, 
 To an abandonment more wounding lean, 
 More richly healing of a hurt more keen; 
 That, high in prospect of all Hellene story, 
 Love, which will gather power 
 From all it sees of beauty and of glory, 
 And on the top of every lifted hour 
 Stand singing of itself as from a tower, 
 Might stand and sing at ease from this bright 
 promontory. 
 
 Temple and grove are gone; the summit lies 
 Bare to the feet of the fantastic year. 
 Weeds of strange flower, and moths of many dyes, 
 Creepers and flyers small, that, watched anear, 
 Are as outlandish gods and things of fear 
 Seen at their amorous revels and their wars 
 
THE MOON-MOTH 157 
 
 These only keep the height, 
 These and the jeweled air that laps and jars 
 In tide and gulf-stream of ecstatic light, 
 Through pale gold deeps, whereof no ripple mars 
 Outspreaded Greece flame-pale and more than 
 earthly bright. 
 
 Those faint vermilion hills that southward peer 
 Look over into Clytemnestra s land, 
 As if each crouching summit leaned to hear 
 White-lipped Cassandra, by Apollo banned 
 To drink with cries of loathing from his hand 
 Her horrid vision of the house of sin ; 
 Those heights of flame and dew, 
 Gleaming far westward, lock Arcadia in; 
 And where the olive-mottled gulf burns blue, 
 The Muses mount, with silver summits twin, 
 Shines o er the violet steep that Delphi clings 
 unto. 
 
 Yonder a name, yonder a name, and yonder 
 A name to make the troubled blood beat fast 
 And the o ertaken spirit ache with wonder: 
 Daphne, whose slope the spring-time revelers 
 passed, 
 
158 THE MOON-MOTH 
 
 With Eleusinian Demeter to taste 
 
 The bread of resurrection; Sunion, 
 
 Glad shrine and pharos glad; 
 
 Hymettos and grape-dark Pentelicon; 
 
 And bright, O bright against their bronzen shade, 
 
 Athens, by time and ruin undismayed, 
 
 Lifting her solemn crown of temples to the sun. 
 
 Mountains and seas, cities and isles and capes, 
 All frail as dream and painted like a dream, 
 All swimming with the fairy light that drapes 
 A bubble, when the colors curl and stream 
 And meet and flee asunder. I could deem 
 This earth, this air, my dizzy soul, the sky, 
 Time, knowledge, and the gods 
 Were lapsing, curling, streaming lazily 
 Down a great bubble s rondure, dye on dye, 
 To swell the perilous clinging drop that nods, 
 Gathers, and nods, and clings, through all eternity. 
 
 We cry with drowsy lips how life is strange, 
 . And shadowy hands pour for us while we speak 
 Old bowls of slumber, that the stars may range 
 And the gods walk unhowled-at. ... To my 
 cheek 
 
THE MOON-MOTH 159 
 
 This stone feels blessed cool. My heart could 
 
 break 
 
 Of its long searching and its finding not, 
 But that it has forgot 
 
 What t was it searched, and how it failed thereof. 
 - O soft, ye flute-players ! No temple dove 
 Be fluttered ! Soft, sing soft, ye lyric girls, 
 Till the shrine portals ope and the blue smoke 
 
 outcurls ! 
 
 Dance slowly, singing as if Pindar heard 
 And loved again this sweet fruit of his breast. 
 O let the strophe, like a smooth sea-bird, 
 Drift down the wave, and wheel again to rest 
 One long, long instant on the glittering crest. 
 Scare not the sacred peacock where he spreads 
 His fan upon the wall; 
 Let not a flower, let not a petal fall 
 From those fresh-woven garlands on your heads; 
 Dance delicately slow as yon light treads 
 From isle to isle: though late, love comes at last 
 to all! 
 
 And might it not be sweeter late than soon? 
 What though the western radiance flame and fail ? 
 
1 6o THE MOON-MOTH 
 
 What though the ivory circle of the moon 
 Deepen to gold? What though the keen stars 
 
 tell 
 Through Heaven s abysm their midnight and 
 
 all V well, 
 
 And still not yet the jealous doors unclose? 
 Despair not; these delays 
 We know are Paphian, and the waked thrush 
 
 knows 
 Who from the grove chants love s heart-broken 
 
 praise. 
 
 "Too late, too soon! Too soon, too late!" he says, 
 "O goddess, hear them now, before the sweet 
 
 night goes!" 
 
 Aye, deeply heard ! In Aphrodite s porch 
 Perfect of her the slumbering lovers He, 
 And on the shrine steps where her saffron torch, 
 Lights their young bosoms when they turn and 
 
 sigh, 
 
 And in the moonlit grove, and round the high 
 Plinth, where her fiery urns purpureal 
 Signal her native deep; 
 To these she giveth all things, even sleep. 
 But, rich, rich giver, hast thou given all? 
 
THE MOON-MOTH 161 
 
 Dost thou not some diviner secret keep 
 For me, though outland, though half-atheist in 
 thy hall? 
 
 Shattered ! And I awake. The prayer was 
 
 rash. 
 
 Daylight is hardly touched with failure yet, 
 Though there a glowing headland drops to ash 
 And there a chanting island will forget 
 Its glory soon. The stones with dew are wet. 
 The moon sings up the world or in my blood 
 Climbs it, the choiring peace? 
 What have I done, what suffered or withstood, 
 That all within me is so bright and good? 
 
 Look, lo, the rainbow-colored pinions please 
 To settle! A moon-moth, by all my dreams it is! 
 
 Rich as a pulse a worshiped head rests on, 
 
 The glimmering vans that time the trembling life 
 
 Open and close above the moon-washed stone, 
 
 As if the fairy heart were fugitive, 
 
 As if it halted panting from a strife 
 
 Too large for its frail day. O missionary 
 
 Winds of the far and dear! 
 
 O elfin ship, why flap your gallants there? 
 
162 THE MOON-MOTH 
 
 My heart has many a brimming estuary 
 Where you can ease you from the endless air, 
 The ocean light you sailed to bring me news of 
 her! 
 
 Our souls had risen from their second birth, 
 
 And were at peace within the land thereof; 
 
 With tears we trod there, and with careless mirth : 
 
 And sometimes on the bosom of my love, 
 
 Or on her lips or brow, or poised above 
 
 All palpitant and doubtful on her head, 
 
 A soft-winged splendor lit; 
 
 And I would say, "The Butterfly!" and sit 
 
 Loving it till it went. And once I said 
 
 "Hush, the Moon-Moth ! " That evening we were 
 
 wed 
 Anew, and we were glad as the uprisen dead. 
 
 And now, what gladness ails thee now, my soul? 
 For all the desolate, all the wasted days 
 Nothing but strong delight? The lifted bowl, 
 The cones of ecstasy, the wands of praise, 
 Tossing delirious dow^n the mountain ways 
 Of all that s forfeit, all that is foregone? 
 Triumphing through the seas, 
 
THE MOON-MOTH 163 
 
 And past the ghostly power that, leagued with these, 
 Did make as if the bolts of God were drawn 
 Between her life and me? And like a fawn 
 Thou It dance there in the moon, where now the 
 moon-moth flees? 
 
 But whither, flame of pearl, vapor of pearl, 
 Breath and decantment of sea-buried gems 
 That with the foam-born Woman did upswirl 
 To wreathe their brightness round her breast and 
 
 limbs 
 
 And give their color to the cup that dims 
 Earth s piercing cry to music, whither now 
 Do the weighed wings intend? 
 Fawn heart of me, that with the upflung brow 
 Followest on, where will thy dances end? 
 O after many days! O let me bow, 
 Let me be risen lordly up ! My love, my friend, 
 
 My wild one, my soul s need, my song of life! 
 Through the strange seas and past the ghostly 
 
 powers 
 
 Safe come and sure, and like a festal wife, 
 Admonished of the seasons and the hours, 
 The time of times and the prepared bowers! 
 
i6 4 THE MOON-MOTH 
 
 Above thy brow floats like an influence 
 
 The moon-moth, our dear sign, 
 
 No plainer now than when these eyes of mine 
 
 In faith imagined and beheld it once, 
 
 As these thy hands to all my thirsting sense, 
 
 To lips and breast and brow, are palpable as then. 
 
 More palpable, by that dark curtain wove 
 And hung between us for Earth s lie of lies! 
 Which these our meeting hands make nothing of 
 And this thy happy bending-down denies, 
 And these our clinging lips and closed eyes 
 And mating breasts have never, never known 
 But for the cheat it was. 
 
 - Sigh not, love ; tremble not ! Be all at peace ! 
 You will not go because the moth is flown? 
 
 -Gone, beyond passion s cry! The moon- 
 washed stone, 
 
 The sleeping weeds, the stars few over dreaming 
 Greece. 
 
 And my far country swims into the light. 
 The seaboard states are up, the prairies stay 
 But little longer now to make them bright. 
 Westward the burning bugles of the day 
 
THE MOON-MOTH 165 
 
 Are blowing strong across America. 
 
 New laws, new arts, new gods, new souls of men, 
 
 New hopes and charities! 
 
 Why do I traffic where no profit is, 
 
 Taking but one or two where they take ten 
 
 Who trade to their own shores, and back again 
 
 To their own shores? O my beloved ! Who replies 
 
 But thou, fled heart, who cling st here close and 
 
 true! 
 
 For us the future was, the past will be, 
 And all the holy human years are new, 
 And all are tasted of eternally, 
 And still the eaten fruit shines on the tree, 
 Let us go down. There, in that naked glen, 
 Bellerophon played the thief. 
 Much lower lies the well where the old men 
 Sat murmuring at Medea, and at their chief 
 Spoused to the witch. Love, we ll not grieve 
 
 again, 
 We ne er shall grieve again, not what we could 
 
 call grief! 
 
THE FOUNTAIN 
 
 ANOTHER evening falls, another leaf 
 Drops from the withered bough. Here let us rest 
 Till dawn, if still another dawn be ours, 
 And these be not the limits of our hopes. 
 This desert starlight seems to shale away 
 The crus.t and rind of our disfigurement, 
 And I can see us on the palm-fringed shore, 
 Young, in a land of virgin miracle. 
 With laughter and light words we burnt the ships, 
 And waited while the morning jewel-pure 
 Between the flaming zenith and the sea 
 Drank up the smoke, and left all crystalline. 
 Then, after prayer and planting of the cross, 
 Our captain rose, and o er us where we kneeled 
 Let stream the ensign of our strange attempt. 
 With shout and song we took the wilderness, 
 Light song which in the arrogance of joy 
 Mocked all the shadowy issues of our seacch. 
 
 - Wondrously near those first days rise to-night 
 Bright-pictured to the visionary sense, 
 And like a stepping music, full of gust 
 
THE FOUNTAIN 167 
 
 And savorous to the marrow of the tune. 
 But dim and without sound, a realm inert, 
 Lie the long stretches of our after- toil. 
 You know how hunger, accident, disease, 
 Ambush and open battle wore us down, 
 How schism split us, envious leadership 
 Ditched into rivulets of little head 
 The stream and onset of our expedition; 
 How some for love of women, v some for sloth, 
 Some for a taint of wildness in the blood, 
 Some brain-sick, or with dreams of savage rule, 
 Fell off from us and mingled with the tribes. 
 You know how, when the knighthood we were of 
 Was broken, when despair was in the ranks, 
 And the main voice was loud for turning back, 
 This handful, heroes of a dwindling hope, 
 Bade deep farewell, and set our faces on. 
 Long, long ago the others found their kin, 
 Wept in the shrunken bosoms of their wives, 
 And leaned their weight of weakness on their 
 
 sons, 
 
 Or else, not fortunate, sank by the way, 
 With eyes turned homeward, and delirious hands 
 Held up through the death-mist to signal Spain. 
 But we, who now out-tarry our own selves, 
 
1 68 THE FOUNTAIN 
 
 Who are as our own spectres haunting us, 
 Many a dim immemorable year 
 We grope about, at hazard of our clue; 
 Again and yet again the thin thread snaps, 
 The half-heard rumor dies upon the air; 
 Then sit we drowsed, forgetting what we seek, 
 Again remembering only to forget, 
 Till, in some wakeful moment such as this, 
 Or such as come under the struggling dawn, 
 When earth is taken with anxiety, 
 And till the crisis all the gates of life 
 Swing wide, and there is access everywhere 
 And mighty recognitions, then once more - 
 I know not how ye others keep the quest, 
 I know not on what root of hope ye feed, 
 But as for me, the voices that I hear, 
 The beckoning hands I follow, are of them 
 Whom you reject as false and lying guides. 
 Again I see that dark-eyed leaf-crowned boy, 
 That tawny budding girl, earnest and vague, 
 Who took our meaning with soft-brightening gaze, 
 And beckoning slipped before us through the wild ; 
 And like a fountain on the hills of dream 
 Wells the clear music of their mated throats, 
 Now rising from the maiden s single heart, 
 
THE FOUNTAIN 169 
 
 Now from the youth s, rejoicing far away, 
 But ever wedded in the secret depths 
 And raining up inextricable song. 
 
 "Hasten, hasten, turn and twine 
 Body mine, spirit mine, 
 Spells behind me, 
 Lest he follow me and find me! 
 Never stay, but as we may 
 Fleeing, fleeing, bar the way; 
 To my love s delicious moan 
 Make the air no thoroughfare, 
 Lock the light to stone! 
 By the heavenly pool to-day, 
 Body mine, spirit mine, 
 We must bathe, we must play 
 Alone, alone! 11 
 
 "I knew not when I rose from thee, 
 I only knew 
 
 That on from tree to dreaming tree 
 All the wet, dark forest through 
 I touched and traced the fairy clew. 
 Upland silences unstirred 
 By wind of dawn 
 
170 THE FOUNTAIN 
 
 Or wakeful bird. 
 With signals wan and unaverred 
 Led me, lured me, lulled me on. 
 To where a brook or little river 
 Bubbled from a Source divine 
 0, by many a mighty sign 
 Sealed and set apart forever 
 Mine, mine!" 
 
 Again I listened to that married pair, 
 Who laid their hands upon the giant trees, 
 Saying, "When these were seedlings, we were far 
 Gone in the wonder and the peace of love, * 
 Yet seemed young as the bloom they led us through. 
 And I can hear again the husband s song 
 At which the woman clung to him and wept, 
 And after seemed more blessed than before. 
 
 "Dost thou fear, my bride, to dwell 
 Longer near the wondrous well, 
 Where we, careless leaning, 
 Drank and were glorified? 
 Stirs and flutters in thy side, 
 Love, the sweet meaning 
 Why we abide, 
 
THE FOUNTAIN 171 
 
 Here where the waters flow 
 
 Till the heart-prophecied hour! 
 
 When with tears of weakness, songs of power. 
 
 We have knelt the stream beside, 
 
 And poured the chrysm wild 
 
 Over our deathless child, 
 
 Then we will go 
 
 whither, whither, love, seeking our child that died! " 
 
 Yea, yea, I know to what unlikely springs, 
 
 To what mere household wells and neighbor 
 
 brooks 
 
 Some led us, saying, "Here by chance we drank 
 And suffered the bright change; stoop ye and 
 
 drink!" 
 
 Also I know how others stood at loss, 
 Saying, " T was here, t was such a place as this; 
 But nowhere wells the water. Blame us not! 
 Perhaps it has its seasons!" Seasons four 
 We waited once, and when the fourth was run 
 We put our guide to death unrighteously ! 
 For look you, but a little after that, 
 Upon the monstrous borders of this place, 
 We met the ancient comrades of our quest. 
 A lifetime since, they fell away from us 
 
172 THE FOUNTAIN 
 
 And mingled with the tribes. Nine souls we met, 
 Seven thereof as old and worn as we, 
 And with them women-kind more broken still ; 
 But two were more divine uplifted men 
 Than when we knelt beside the burning ships. 
 You know how, at our question, one spake naught, 
 But wept, and gave us mutely of his store, 
 Filling our hands with precious necessaries; 
 The other, from our vasty mountain shelf, 
 Pointed far westward over silver peaks. 
 Then she who went beside him as his bride 
 Smiled and said Nay to the uplifted arm; 
 Yet followed where he led us. Twelve days march 
 By west and north we journeyed, through a world 
 Gigantic and phantasmal, as if flung 
 In terror of their fancy from the hands 
 Of rude and early gods. And as we went, 
 Ever before us that bright woman sang 
 Many a bright, disturbing song, whereof 
 One was the strangest among many strange. 
 
 "/ saw a thousand gates unclose, 
 A risen woman in each gate; 
 Each woman cried, For thee I rose: 
 Waitest thou? I can wait! 
 
THE FOUNTAIN 173 
 
 "/ scared the stars above the sun, 
 I shook the old roots of the sea, 
 The anchored continents did shun 
 My importunity. 
 
 "I cried, / will not suffer death, 
 Nor shameful age, the death in life! 
 What from our love God hidden hath 
 Be wrung from Him with strife! 
 
 " In faintness once again I lay, 
 And saw those gates unclose about me, 
 I heard the thousand women say 
 
 How long, then, wilt thou doubt me? 
 
 " For thee, I rose, for thee I wait 
 Who am thyself, long, long uprisen; 
 Come to the*Fountain; it is late; 
 And darker grows thy prison! 1 
 
 11 All mutinous thoughts away I flung, % 
 And I, a risen woman, trod 
 Those liberties where gushed and sung 
 The living wells of God" 
 
 So, for twelve days, her singing led us on : 
 The twelfth day, in the fading light, we came 
 
174 THE FOUNTAIN 
 
 Into a region where the laboring earth 
 Spouted whale-like her fountains, icy some 
 And clear as ice, some boiling sulphurous. 
 Then, by the master-water in the midst, 
 He who far off had pointed out the land 
 Halted us, saying, "Here I drank; drink ye!" 
 And when we drank and found no virtue in it, 
 He muttered, "Even as the other seven!" 
 And beckoning his bright woman, slipped away. 
 But he, our other comrade, who had wept 
 To see us, and had followed without speech, 
 Broke silence then, and as the mountain dusk 
 Shut over them, we heard his lessening song 
 Mix with the pouring \vaters and the wind. 
 
 "Not with searching, not with strife, 
 Not by traveler s true repbrting, 
 Nor by signs of old importing, 
 Win ye to the Fount of Life. 
 But as the husband to the wife 
 At evening thoughtless goes, 
 And lo, about her careless head 
 Twines terror like a flashing knife, 
 Breathes wonder like a climbing rose, 
 And dreams wherewith his youth was rife, 
 
THE FOUNTAIN 175 
 
 The sorrowed-for, the long-since dead, 
 He finds up-gathered in her eyes 
 Beyond belief, beyond surprise 
 So shall ye find, not otherwise ! 
 For ere with striving you are come 
 The fountain s singing heart is dumb, 
 Faded its spell; 
 
 And down the world at random hurled 
 By conduits and thwart under sir earns. 
 The secret waters of the well * 
 Where the thirsty millions dwell 
 Or neath unvisited moonbeams 
 Renew their miracle!" 
 
 To-morrow morn, yet fewer than to-night, 
 We will go on, leaving the fallen head. 
 These peaceful desert men will give it honor. 
 From moon to moon they hold us more in awe, 
 And as they deal with their outlying gods, - 
 Them of the farther fields and water-holes, 
 Too shy to climb into their rock-perched towns 
 So do they unto us, in lonely places 
 Setting us sacred food, honey and maize, 
 Sun-baken fruits and sacrificial bread. 
 I think there have been battles waged for us, 
 
176 THE FOUNTAIN 
 
 And vigil set in all their eagle- towers; 
 I think their priests come with us afar off, 
 Staying when we stay, moving when we move : 
 Either t is so, or t is a thing I dream. 
 
 Though order and the comeliness of truth 
 No more reign constant in the spirit s house, 
 Though far and near shift places, and our sleep 
 Tangles itself with what we are awake, 
 Yet, O worn Brothers, much-enduring men, 
 Without search, without striving, go we on, 
 For I am told at heart that we shall find ! . . . 
 Perhaps within the pictured water-jars 
 They fill and place for us along our path ; 
 Perhaps in stooping where the wild and tame 
 Fight for the thread of moisture in the rocks; 
 Perhaps as ghosts beside the ghostly lakes 
 Which noonday paints upon the distant sand; 
 Perhaps far sunken by a canyon pool, 
 Under the soft rein of a cataract 
 Which leaps and scatters down the walls of 
 Death. 
 
THAMMUZ 
 
 DAUGHTERS, daughters, do ye grieve? 
 Crimson dark the freshes flow ! 
 Were ye violent at eve? 
 Crimson stains where the rushes grow! 
 What is this that I must know? 
 
 Mourners by the dark red waters, 
 Met ye Thammuz at his play? 
 Was your mood upon you, daughters? 
 Had ye drunken? O how grey 
 Looks your hair in the rising day! 
 
 Mourners, mourn not overmuch 
 That ye slew your lovely one. 
 Such ye are; and be ye such! 
 Lift your heads; the waters run 
 Ruby bright in the climbing sun. 
 
 Raven hair and hair of gold, 
 Look who bendeth over you ! 
 This is not the shepherd old; 
 This is Thammuz, whom ye slew, 
 Radiant Thammuz, risen anew ! 
 
POETIC DRAMAS 
 
THE FIRE-BRINGER 
 
 And when Zeus determined to destroy the men of 
 the brazen age, Deukalion, being forewarned by Pro 
 metheus, built a boat, and putting into it food and 
 drink, embarked with Pyrrha. Zeus sent a great rain 
 from heaven , so that all men were overwhelmed, except 
 a few who Jled to the high places. Deukalion was 
 driven upon the darkness of the waters until he came 
 to Parnassus ; and there, when the rains had abated, 
 he landed and made sacrifice, praying for men to re- 
 people the earth. Then Deukalion and Pyrrha took 
 stones, and threw them over their heads ; those which 
 Deukalion threw became men, and those which Pyrrha 
 threw became women. . . . Also Prometheus gave to 
 them fire, bringing it secretly in a fennel stalk. When 
 Zeus learned of this, he commanded Heph<zstos to bind 
 the body of Prometheus upon Mount Caucasus ; and 
 for the theft of fire Prometheus suffered this punish 
 ment. APOLLODORUS. 
 
The Fire-Bringer is intended as the first member 
 of a trilogy on the Promethean theme, of which The 
 Masque of Judgment is the second member ; but the 
 connection between the present poem and the one 
 which follows it in the dramatic sequence is infor 
 mal, and the action of each is complete in itself. 
 
 DRAMATIS PERSONS 
 
 PROMETHEUS 
 
 PANDORA 
 
 DEUKALION 
 
 PYRRHA 
 
 LYKOPHON 
 
 ALCYONE 
 
 RHODOPE 
 
 THE STONE MEN 
 
 THE EARTH WOMEN 
 
 A PRIEST OF ZEUS 
 
 Various persons, survivors of Deukaliori s flood. 
 
THE FIRE-BRINGER 
 
 ACT I 
 
 Darkness covers the scene. Faintly discernible ; a moun 
 tain slope, backed by low cliffs, and beyond these 
 the upper stretches of the mountain. In the cliffs a 
 small cave, and before the mouth of the cave a rude 
 altar of earth. Deukalion and Pyrrha are seated 
 against the cliff ; j&Lolus lies on his face at their 
 feet. 
 
 DEUKALION. 
 
 Thou hast slept long. 
 
 PYRRHA. 
 
 I saw a burning lamp 
 
 That passed between the levret and the dove 
 On Zeus s altar, and a smoke went up. 
 
 DEUKALION. 
 
 Dreams: we are old. The green heart and the sear 
 He feeds with dreams ; having some purpose in it, 
 Or else His idleness. 
 
 PYRRHA. 
 
 No lamp was here? 
 No fire, no light? 
 
1 84 THE FIRE-BRINGER [ACT I 
 
 
 
 DEUKALION. 
 
 Some fire-spa: -ks in the eyes 
 Of dull bewildered beasts that rame to gaze, 
 And dully moved again into the mist. 
 They have forgot their natures, even as we, 
 And those who tremble yonaer on the heights 
 For fear the ebbing deep should mount again, 
 Breathing this darkness have forgot ourselves, 
 Our natures, and the motions of our souls. 
 
 PYRRHA. 
 
 Was not the Titan here? Seemed as he stood, 
 Behind him dawn, and in his lifted hand 
 
 DEUKALION. 
 He came, in darkness. 
 
 PYRRHA. 
 
 What word should he bring? 
 
 DEUKALION. 
 I feigned to sleep. I had no heart for speech. 
 
 PYRRHA. 
 What did he, being with us? 
 
 DEUKALION. 
 
 Stood awhile 
 Watching thy slumber; touched the sleeping head 
 
ACT I] THE FIRE-BRINGER 185 
 
 Of ^Eolus ; gazed upward to the heights ; 
 Then vanished down the slope : and far below 
 Pandora sang. 
 
 PYRRHA. 
 Again? 
 
 DEUKALION. 
 
 I say below 
 
 I heard her once, and once upon the peaks. 
 A little after, thunder tore the sky, 
 And t was as if, far off, unearthly steeds 
 And cloudy chariots plunged across the dark. 
 Hush fell; and, wailing like a broken bird, 
 I heard her dropping down from rock to rock. 
 Then for an endless season sat she here, 
 Her head between her knees, and all her hair 
 Spread like a night-pool in the autumn woods. 
 Pause. 
 
 PYRRHA. 
 
 Since the loosed raven flew, nor came again, 
 And since the black wind ceasing cast us here, 
 How long should the time be? 
 
 DEUKALION. 
 
 A week, a month, 
 Measureless years, some moments. Time is dead, 
 
i86 THE FIRE-BRINGER [ACT I 
 
 Drowned in the waste of waters; or it lies 
 Somewhere abolished in the primal mud, 
 Caught in the rings of Python, whom at dusk 
 Of that last day, peering in terror forth 
 Before we shut the windows of our boat, 
 We heard hiss from the north and from the 
 
 south, 
 
 And from the east and west, and saw him lay 
 His circles round the frothy rim of the world ; 
 Or fled above the dark, Time softly there 
 Laughs through the abyss of radiance with the 
 
 gods. 
 
 PYRRHA. 
 Think st thou the gods laugh, now the colored 
 
 world 
 
 They sought to when the spring was on the hills, 
 And had their stolen loves here, lies snuffed out, 
 A reeking lamp? 
 
 DEUKALION. w 
 
 Also therefore they laugh: 
 
 And therefore also do we bow us down 
 
 In fear and worship. 
 
 PYRRHA. 
 Aye, so. What sayest thou? 
 
ACT I] THE FIRE-BRINGER 187 
 
 DEUKALION. 
 
 I say supernal laughter and smooth days 
 Fill up Heaven s golden room ! For that the earth 
 Hath her dim sorrow and her shrouded face, 
 Should the gods grieve? 
 
 PYRRHA. 
 
 Husband, these breasts are dry 
 That fed our many sons; that head of thine 
 Is hoar with majesty of years and rule; 
 Much have I learned of thee and stored at heart 
 Concerning gods and men, the elder age 
 Of golden peace, the silver time between, 
 When lust and strife began to gnaw the world, 
 And these wild latter days. In the ark also, 
 Crouching in darkness, and upon this mount 
 Of weary darkness, hast thou held a torch 
 To light my mind to patience of these woes 
 Through understanding. Yet, behold, O king, 
 I understand not! Wherefore hath great Zeus, 
 Thy likeness in the heavens, bound like thee 
 To shepherd his wide people, sentTnsTToods 
 To whelm them up, shut from the remnant clans 
 Sun, moon, and stars; andjfor a final curse 
 Drawn from the flints and dry boughs of the pine 
 
188 THE FIRE-BRINGER [ACT I 
 
 The seed of divine fire, yea, from our blood, 
 Yea, from the secret "places of our frames 
 Sucked up the fire of passion and of will, 
 And left us here by the desolate black ebb 
 To rot and crumble with the crumbling world? 
 Wherefore is this, O king? 
 
 DEUKALION. 
 
 Thyself hast said. 
 
 PYRRHA. 
 
 Yet know not. Heavy of thought! Make me 
 to know. 
 
 DEUKALION. 
 
 Because these latter days are full of pride 
 And lust and wrangling; because his skies were 
 
 vexed 
 
 With the might of rearing horses, and the wheels 
 Of chariots, and the young men blowing horns 
 Against his citadel ; because the south 
 In all its chambers laughed a grievous red 
 Out of the vineyards of its wantonness; 
 Because our fitful pulses, when they fell, 
 Sang grief, division, terror, shame, and loss, 
 Troubling that harmony which is the breath 
 
ACT I] THE FIRE-BRINGER 189 
 
 Ofjihe gods nostrils, yea the delicate tune 
 
 To which they pace their souls, and act with joy 
 
 Their several ministries. 
 
 PYRRHA. 
 
 Why then so long 
 
 Do these flat slugs, that once were statured men, 
 Cling to the oozy earth-rind He would cleanse 
 For some new perfect race? Why, wher^thou 
 
 heard st 
 
 Prometheus whisper thee his fearful news 
 That evening by the farm-gate, did st thou grant 
 No sleep to slave or free, till from the hills 
 The mighty pines were dragged, the hull-beams 
 
 laid, 
 
 The roof- tree .raised, the doors and windows set, 
 And through the muttering thunder all thy house 
 Led in to safety? When the holy fire, 
 Brought by thine own hands from the hearth, 
 
 went out, 
 
 Why did st thou bare thy white head to the storm 
 To fetch another brand, and, finding none, 
 Come forth with lamentation? Why were seen, 
 Through all thy mountain kingdom, runners 
 stripped, 
 
190 THE FIRE-BRINGER [ACT i 
 
 And panted words, and flying to the peaks? 
 Thou answerest not; but leaning darkly down 
 Over the head of little ^Eolus, 
 Fingerest a tarnished lock from out the dust! 
 Speak, father! Through this numbing gloom, this 
 
 death, 
 This veil of years, thy silence pierceth me. 
 
 DEUKALION. 
 
 I try to feel again the thing I felt, 
 But cannot, so the sinews of my soul 
 Are loosened. Yet t was for this radiant head 
 That all was done defiantly toward God. 
 His father Hellen and our other sons 
 Were wandering, or had poured their lifeblood 
 
 out 
 
 In obscure battle. This alone was left, 
 This little flower of Greece, for whom I dreamed 
 Kingdoms and glories, plaudits, trophies, palms, 
 And sound of deathless lyres across the world. 
 For his sake, fumbling in the gloom I built 
 This altar, and have groped about the rocks 
 For live thing worthy sacrifice; have lain 
 In bush and hollow till some dreaming bird 
 Or sleep-besotted beast fell to my hands, 
 
ACT I] THE FIRE-BRINGER 191 
 
 And rent the same, and offered it yith groans 
 Upon the smokeless altar. 
 
 PYRRHA. 
 
 Once He heard, 
 Thpji Jmo_vst. 
 
 DEUKALION. 
 I know. We will not think thereon! 
 
 PYRRHA. 
 
 The unwrought shapes, the unmoulded attitudes ! . 
 The tongues of earth, the stony craving eyes! 
 
 DEUKALION. 
 
 Unto the husband was the wife s desire 
 No longer, nor the husband s to the wife. 
 The young maid lay undreamed on by the boy. 
 The little life that was, was sinking fast 
 Or sunk beyond recall. God s doubtful voice ^ 
 Out of the wind of the oak was fair to hear,./ 
 Seeming to promise store of goodly men, Q 
 And women vessels for the flowing life 
 To enter and be spilled not. There was hope. 
 Prometheus said not nay. Beside the verge 
 Of the spent flood did we not see him stoop. 
 Kneading the clay in with the roiled foam, 
 
192 THE FIRE-BRINGER [ACT I 
 
 Breathing and_breathing with his fiery breath, 
 
 Then cry upon his work, and scattering it 
 
 Rise up in haste and wrath? Yet here was hope! 
 
 PYRRHA. 
 
 Yea, as I flungjjie clods, and stooped and flung, 
 I dared not look behind, for hope; and thou, 
 Stooping and flinging the allotted stones, 
 Seemed clothed in prime of years, foreseeing earth 
 With a big breed replenished; till on a sudden 
 Terribly out of the gloom the Titan cried ; 
 Then we, ceasing, beheld, and fled in fear. 
 
 DEUKALION. 
 
 Would they might sit as now, removed apart, 
 Brooding upon the ground ; nor come again 
 With vague slow motion up the shrouded slope, 
 Filling the mist with formless utterance, 
 As craving to be born ! Mvjnen of stone 
 In dreams appal me with their lifted hands 
 Of threat and supplication, and by thee 
 Stand the earth-women pleading. 
 
 PYRRHA. 
 
 Ere I slept 
 I was anhungered. Searching for sweet roots 
 
ACT I] THE FIRE-BRINGER 193 
 
 I crawled and groped my way, till I was come 
 
 Unto a brackish water cupped and held 
 
 From that same sea whereof the gurge but 
 
 then 
 
 Lessened its roar far down the cragged dark. 
 There by the pool they sat, with faces lift 
 And brows of harsh attention; in their midst 
 Pandora bowed, and sang a doubtful song, 
 Its meaning faint or none, but mingled up 
 Of all that nests and housekeeps in the heart, 
 Or puts out in lone passion toward the vast 
 And cannot choose but go. 
 
 DEUKALION. 
 
 In mockery sent, 
 
 In mercy be she taken, or on the hills 
 Drinking this darkness, wither and be changed 
 To such as we are! 
 
 PYRRHA. 
 
 Thinkest thou that Zeus 
 In anger made her thus? 
 
 DEUKALION. 
 
 T will be so. When she came 
 Our minds were dim an3TTearful. 
 
194 THE FIRE-BRINGER [ACT i 
 
 PYRRHA. 
 
 Very dim, 
 
 And blurred with fearful dream ; but By the boat 
 We crouched, and hearkened if the water still 
 Drew downward, or was crawling up again 
 To seize us unaware; the mist was full 
 Of beasts and men in wretched fellowship; 
 Then suddenly a breath like morning blew; 
 I saw as t were a shadowy sun and moon 
 /Go up the blinded sky; far off yet near 
 \ I heard Prometheus speaking, and her voice 
 /In low and happy answer. 
 
 DEUKALION. 
 
 He would catch 
 
 The hurled thunder-bolt* and forge from it 
 A reaper s hook; the vials of white wrath 
 He spills to make a wine-cup for a feast; 
 Curses he knows not from the gifts of love; 
 And in the shadow of this death, even here, 
 As low as from her pitch of pride earth s fallen, 
 He will be plotting that whereby to climb 
 And lift us high above the peaks of God 
 One dizzy instant, ere we fall indeed 
 And he with us forever! 
 
ACT I] THE FIRE-BRINGER 195 
 
 PANDORA. 
 
 Sings, below. 
 
 Along the earth and up the sky } 
 
 i 
 
 The Fowler spreads his net: 
 
 ( 
 
 , what pinions wild and shy \ 
 
 Are on thy shoulders set? 
 
 J 
 
 m 
 What wings of longing undeterred 
 
 L^^, ^ 
 Are native to thee, spirit bird? 
 
 PYRRHA. 
 
 ^Hearken, is t not 
 
 Her song again? Far down among the vales 
 Did st hear it? Faint and far, but Hearken 
 still! 
 
 PANDORA. 
 Sings. 
 
 What sky is thine behind the sky t 
 
 For refuge and for ecstasy ? 
 
 Of all thy heavens of clear delight 
 
 Why is each heaven twain, 
 
 soul! that when the lure is cast 
 
 Before thy heedless flight, 
 
 And thou art snared and taken fast 
 
 Within one sky of light, 
 
196 THE FIRE-BRINGER [ACT I 
 
 Behold, the net is empty, the cast is vain, 
 And from thy circling in the other sky the lyric 
 laughters rain! 
 
 DEUKALION. 
 Through the gorge there a shadow Pyrrha, 
 
 look! 
 
 Over the torrent bed and up the slope 
 Something comes on, in stature more than man, 
 And swifter. 
 
 PYRRHA. 
 
 O swift-comer, it is thou ! 
 None other, thou, wind-ranger, bringer-in! 
 Child, be awake! Prometheus! 
 
 PROMETHEUS. 
 
 Entering, lifts Pyrrha. 
 
 Do not so; 
 
 These hands come poor; these feet bring nothing 
 
 back. 
 
 PYRRHA. 
 Thy hands come filled with thee, thy feet from 
 
 thence 
 Have brought thee hither; it is gifts enough. 
 
 DEUKALION. 
 Is there no hope? 
 
ACT I] THE FIRE-BRINGER 197 
 
 PYRRHA. 
 
 Speak! speak! Through this dark cloud 
 The eyes of Zeus s eagle cannot pierce 
 Or any listener heed. Have we a hope? 
 
 PROMETHEUS. 
 Fromj^arl^La^ 
 The fire is gone. 
 
 PYRRHA. 
 
 Thy searchings ! Giveth ease 
 If but to hear thy voice. 
 
 PROMETHEUS. 
 Seats himself beside the cliff. 
 
 I clambered down 
 
 Old earthquake-cloven rifts and monstrous chasms 
 Where long ago the stripling Titans peered 
 At play and dared not venture, found me out 
 Flint-stones so buried in disastrous rock 
 I thought the Darkener sure had passed them by; 
 But not a spark lived in them. Past the walls 
 Rhipean, and the Arimaspian caves, 
 I sought the far hyperborean^day, 
 But not a banner of their rustling light 
 Flapped through the sagging sky, nor did the Fates 
 
198 THE FIRE-BRINGER [ACT I 
 
 Once fling their gleaming shuttles east or west. 
 
 By Indian Nysa and the Edonian fount 
 
 Of Haemus long I lurked, in hope to find 
 
 Young Dionysus as he raced along 
 
 And wrest his pine-torch from him, or to snare 
 
 Some god-distracted dancing aegipan, 
 
 And from his garland crush a wine of fire 
 
 To light the passion of the world again 
 
 And fill man s veins with music; but there went 
 
 A voice of sighing through the ghostly woods, 
 
 And up the mountain pastures in the mist 
 
 Desolate creatures sorrowed for the god. 
 
 Across the quenched ^Egean, where of old 
 
 The shining islands sang their stasimon, 
 
 Forever chorusing great hymns of light 
 
 Round Delos, through the driving dark I steered 
 
 To seek Hephsestos on his Lemnian mount; 
 
 But found him not. His porches were o erthrown, 
 
 His altar out, and round his faded peak 
 
 The toiled Cyclops, bowing huge and dim, 
 
 Uncouthly mourned. . . . 
 
 He starts up, and gazes toward tJie mountain-top. 
 
 Soon will the smouldering life 
 Ceasejeven to smoulder! I must forth again. 
 But where? But where? 
 Pause. 
 
ACT I] THE FIRE-BRINGER 199 
 
 DEUKALION. 
 
 Where suppliants still must go, 
 But with the act of suppliance, and the mind. 
 Not stiff and rebel brows, not daring deeds 
 Be of availment, but to clasp the knees 
 And touch the beard of Zeus. Within his house 
 Still lives the sacred fire. T is there to have, 
 If one by sacrifice and rites full-brought 
 Could find the way. 
 
 PROMETHEUS. 
 
 Laughs. T is there to have; thou sayst! 
 
 One thistledown of fortune to the good 
 And t had been ravished thence, an hour ago, 
 To better uses! 
 
 DEUKALION. 
 
 T was but so long since 
 
 The thunder spake. Across the vault of heaven 
 Plunged down the shadowy furnishment of war. 
 
 PYRRHA. 
 Thou rt wounded! Lo, this arm hangs helpless 
 
 by!- 
 
 O, rash and overbold ! Thou thou hast dared 
 The hermae holding vigil at Heaven s bound 
 
200 THE FIRE-BRINGER [ACT I 
 
 
 Have cried thy name out, and the shadows vast 
 
 Of perished gods, beside the inmost hearth, 
 Have spoken of thee, that the soul of Zeus 
 Hath shook with dreams of evil to his house! 
 
 DEUKALION. 
 
 How might st thou pass the terror of his ward, 
 Tread his serenest citadel, and come 
 Not thunder- blasted hither, with slight wound? 
 
 PROMETHEUS. 
 
 Flings himself again upon the ground. 
 When each great cycle of Olympian years 
 Rounds to its end, there comes upon the gods 
 Mysterious compulsion. As a gem 
 Borne from a lighted chamber into dusk, 
 Heaven of its splendor disarrays itself, 
 Hushes its dyes, and all the whispering sphere 
 Hangs like a moon of change. Knowing not why, 
 Nor unto what, each brooding deity 
 Wends to the sacred old Uranian field, 
 Where bloom old flowers, which, in the morn of 
 
 time, 
 
 Forgotten gods did garland for their hair, 
 To celebrate some long- forgotten joy 
 That then did pierce the heart of the young world. 
 
ACT I] THE FIRE-BRINGER 201 
 
 Here gather they, with mute and doubtful looks 
 At one another, waiting till She comes, 
 Mnemosyne, mother of thought and tears, 
 Remembrancer, and bringer out of death 
 Burden of longing and sweet-fruited song. 
 Then toward the upper windows of the stars, 
 The roof and dome of things, the place supreme 
 Of speculation inward on the frame 
 Of life create, and outward on the abyss 
 That moans and welters in the wind of love, 
 She leadeth up their shining theory, 
 And there they stand and wonder on the time 
 When they were not and when they shall not be. 
 This was my moment; for I knew t was near, 
 And laired away among the steep-up crags 
 That bastion and shore-fast his pearl of power, 
 His white acropolis. Soft as light I passed 
 The perilous gates that are acquainted forth, 
 The walls of starry safety and alarm, 
 The pillars and the awful roofs of song, 
 The stairs and colonnades whose marble work 
 Is spirit, and the joinings spirit also, - 
 And from the well-brink of his central court 
 Dipped vital fire of fire, flooding my vase, 
 Glutting it arm-deep in the keen element. 
 
202 THE FIRE-BRINGER [ACT i 
 
 Then backward swifter than the osprey dips 
 Down the green slide of the sea, till Fool, O 
 
 fool! 
 T was in my hands ! T was next my bosom ! 
 
 Fierce 
 
 Sang the bright essence past my scorching cheek, 
 Blown up and backward as I dropped and skimmed 
 The glacier-drifts, cataracts, wild moraines, 
 And walls of frightful plunge. Upon the shore 
 Of this our night-bound wretched earth I paused, 
 Lifted on high the triumph of my hands, 
 AricTFhmg back words and laughter. As I dropped, 
 The dogs of thunder chased me at the heels, 
 A white tongue shook against me in the dark, 
 And lo, my vase was rended in my hands, 
 And all the precious substance that it held 
 Spread, faded, and was gone, was quenched, 
 
 was gone! 
 Pause. 
 
 DEUKALION. 
 In a low voice. 
 
 We cannot thank thee, though thy love be love. 
 Great is thy heart; we cannot praise thy deed. 
 
 PROMETHEUS. 
 It was not therefore done! 
 
ACT I] THE FIRE-BRINGER 203 
 
 PYRRHA. 
 
 For our poor praise, 
 
 For our poor love and praise; albeit now 
 The shouting of thy loud blood drowneth all ! 
 
 DEUKALION. 
 
 After a long silence. 
 
 Prometheus, thou hast thought to be our friend, 
 Our blood-kin, our indweller; hast indued 
 Vesture of our mortality and pain, - 
 Wherefore if not for pride, for fiercest pride? 
 Thou hast found out wild pathways for our tread 
 ing, 
 
 Whispered us Nature s secrets, given to our hand 
 The spirit of fire and all its restless works, 
 Yea, blown aflame our all too eager blood 
 Till earth went red and reeling like a torch 
 When Dionysus calls under the moon. 
 Look round thee, O storm-sower, what we reap 
 Now in the season s fullness! Is it good? 
 Pride was thy lesson, and earth learned so well 
 That she is fallen more low than she was high. 
 
 PROMETHEUS. 
 
 And shall be higher than that height she was, 
 By all this depth she has fallen! 
 
204 THE FIRE-BRINGER [ACT I 
 
 DEUKALION. 
 
 In that day 
 
 Let Chronos lift his old abolished head 
 From mid Lethean mallows, and dim-tongued 
 Call to thy shadowy brothers where they dream, 
 And leading up his faint forgetful host, 
 Rive the great diadem from Zeus s brow. 
 Then may thy stormy will at last be thine; 
 But as for now, even for thy earth s dear sake, 
 Bejhumble, OJ)g.inimble! Bind thy hair 
 With willow, and put on the iron ring, 
 [That so, by walking fearfully at last, 
 We bend Heaven from its anger. Else shall 
 
 man 
 
 Suffer such woes as now we muse not of, 
 And thou such punishment as quails the heart 
 To think on. 
 
 PROMETHEUS. 
 
 Either now with violent hand 
 ( We snatch salvation home, or here we sit 
 ! Till Python, hissing softly up the dark, 
 Dizzy our lapsed souls, and headlong -down 
 We drop into his jaws, which from the first 
 See, the boy wakes! 
 
ACT I] THE FIRE-BRINGER 205 
 
 ^EOLUS. 
 Waking. 
 
 Give me to eat and drink. 
 
 PYRRHA. 
 
 Water and roots I hoarded in the cave. 
 I will go fetch them forth. 
 She goes iff to the cave. 
 
 DEUKALION. 
 
 Was t well with thee 
 In slumber, child? 
 
 I know not. I did sleep. 
 
 PYRRHA. 
 
 Coming out. 
 
 The roots are gnawed, and the sweet water spilled. 
 Be patient, ^Eolus, I will seek thee more. 
 
 DEUKALION. 
 
 Stay; let me fetch them rather. Thou wilt fall, 
 Or meet some fear. The sluggish serpents lie 
 And will not move, though trodden, save to sting. 
 
 PYRRHA. 
 Thou knowest not where the roots are still to find. 
 
206 THE FIRE-BRINGER [ACT i 
 
 DEUKALION. 
 
 Rising painfully . 
 
 Together then. Ah, me! Where is thy hand? 
 
 PYRRHA. 
 
 Here, father. No, this way ! 
 They go slowly out, feeling along the cliff. 
 
 PROMETHEUS. 
 
 Poor poisoned flower, 
 Poor droop-head, down again! 
 Stoops over sEolus. 
 
 Woe for the house, 
 
 Woe for the vineyard, woe for the orchard croft, 
 The oil-tree and the place of standing corn! 
 Woe for the ships of venture! Woe on Him 
 Who sows and will not gather; shame and woe 
 Who sendeth forth and when the message comes 
 Makes deaf and strange! 
 He sinks down beside the cliff. 
 
 O Mother Clymene, 
 
 What of the song-thrush and the morning star, 
 The moon deep-hung with increase down the 
 
 dawn, 
 
 The wet fields brightening fast, the hour thy pangs 
 Came on thee for my sake? What of the earth 
 
ACT I] THE FIRE-BRINGER 207 
 
 Thou loved st so well and taught st me well to 
 
 love? 
 
 - Hears not ! T was long ago. 
 His head falls upon his knees. 
 
 One deep, deep hour! 
 
 To drop ten thousand fathoms softly down 
 Below the lowest heaving of life s sea, 
 Till memory, sentience, will, are all annulled, 
 And the wild eyes of the must-be-answered 
 
 Sphinx, 
 
 Couchant at dusk upon the spirit s moor, 
 Blocking at noon the highway of the soul, 
 At morn and night a spectre in her gates, 
 For once, for one deep hour - 
 He lifts his head slowly, and peers into the darkness. 
 
 Say who ye are 
 
 That fill the night with deeper heaviness! 
 Break up your strangling circle and come out. 
 More, more, and wretcheder! A spirit pass 
 Into some old and unachieved world, 
 A storm-fall in some wood of rooted souls! 
 But O, what spirit-piercing flower of life 
 Blooms irorrftKe wasteful heap? 
 From among the crouching figures of the Stone Men 
 and Earth Women, Pandoras voice is heard. 
 
208 THE FIRE-BRINGER [ACT I 
 
 PANDORA. 
 Sings. 
 
 Of wounds and sore defeat 
 
 I made my battle stay ; 
 
 Winged sandals for my feet 
 
 I wove of my delay ; 
 
 Of weariness and fear, 
 
 I made my shouting spear ; 
 
 Of loss, and doubt, and dread, 
 
 And swift oncoming doom 
 
 I made a helmet for my head 
 
 And a floating plume. 
 
 From the shutting mist of death, 
 
 From the failure of the breath, 
 
 I made a battle-horn to blow 
 
 A cross the vales of overthrow. 
 
 O hearken, love, the battle-horn! 
 
 The triumph clear, the silver scorn! 
 
 hearken where the echoes bring. 
 
 Down the grey disastrous morn, 
 
 Laughter and rallying! 
 
 PROMETHEUS. 
 
 Thou! Is it thou? 
 
ACT l] THE FIRE-BRINGER 209 
 
 PANDORA. 
 
 Comes from among the recumbent figures, holding some 
 thing aloft. 
 Where is Prometheus? 
 
 PROMETHEUS. 
 
 I am I, thou knowest. 
 
 PANDORA. 
 I had a gift for him. Where is he gone? 
 
 PROMETHEUS. 
 
 Give me thy gift. T will bring Prometheus back 
 To the high home and fortress of his soul, 
 Where thou and he made gladness. 
 She gives him a fennel stalk. 
 
 What is this? 
 
 PANDORA. 
 A hollow reed. I found it on the hills. 
 
 PROMETHEUS. 
 
 Such used the mothers in the upland farms 
 Fetch unpolluted fire in, once a year, 
 To light their hearths anew; such would the girls 
 Crown with fir-cone and smilax when they heard 
 
210 THE FIRE-BRINGER [ACT i 
 
 The frenzied pipe call in the midnight hills, 
 And whisperings of anguish dimmed their blood. 
 
 PANDORA. 
 
 (Such had Prometheus, were he here again, 
 /Wreathed for his listening earth ; such had he filled 
 jWith unpolluted fire, and kindled new 
 \Ehe hearth- cheer of the world. 
 
 PROMETHEUS. 
 
 Earth, sea, and air, 
 
 The caverned clouds, the chambers of the storm, 
 Yea, the thrice perilous alps and crags of Heaven 
 Have watched the robber lurk, and laughed at 
 
 him! 
 Do not thou mock him too! 
 
 PANDORA. 
 
 Him I will mock 
 
 Who, being thirsty, climbs not to the spring, 
 But meanly drinks at rillet and low pool, 
 And thirsteth still the more. 
 
 PROMETHEUS. 
 
 The spring? The spring? 
 He hesitates, then starts up with a wild gesture. 
 I could have done it once! I could have done it! 
 
ACT I] THE FIRE-BRINGER 211 
 
 PANDORA. 
 
 Coming nearer. 
 
 Stranger ! 
 
 PROMETHEUS. 
 Hush, look! They rise at me again! 
 
 THE STONE MEN. 
 When earth_did heavejzs thejsea^ at the lifting up of 
 
 the hills, 
 One said, " Ye shall wake and be; fear not, ye shall 
 
 have your wills." 
 We waited patient and dumb; and ere we thought 
 
 to have heard. 
 One said to us, l Stay ! and Come ! " a dim and 
 
 a mumbled word. 
 Mortise us into the wall again, or lift us up that we 
 
 look therefrom! 
 
 THE EARTH WOMEN. 
 
 The night, the rain, and the dew from of old had 
 
 lain with us, 
 The suns and winds were our lovers too, and our 
 
 husbands bounteous: 
 But lo, we were sick at heart when we leaned from 
 
 the towers of the pine, 
 
212 THE FIRE-BRINGER [ACT I 
 
 We yearned and thirsted apart in the crimson globes 
 of the vine. 
 
 tell us of them that hew the tree, bring us to them 
 
 that drink the wine ! 
 They disappear. 
 
 PROMETHEUS. 
 
 Only a moment did they strain their brows 
 In weary question at me, ere they turned 
 And melted down into the blotting dark! 
 He starts slowly down the slope. 
 
 PANDORA. 
 They go to find Prometheus. 
 
 PROMETHEUS. 
 
 Of these stones 
 
 To build my rumoring city, based deep 
 On elemental silence; in this earth 
 To plant my cool vine and my shady tree 
 Whose roots shall feed upon the central fire! 
 He turns to Pandora. 
 Love! 
 
 PANDORA. 
 Where thou goest, I am; there, even now 
 
 1 stand and cry thee to me. 
 
ACT I] THE FIRE-BRINGER 213 
 
 PROMETHEUS. 
 
 Starts again down the slope. 
 
 Yea, I come, 
 
 I come ; to find somewhere through the piled gloom 
 A mountain path to unimagined day, 
 Build all this anger into walls of war 
 Not dreamed of, dung and fatten with this death 
 New fields of pleasant life, and make them teem 
 Strange corn, miraculous wine! 
 
 PANDORA. 
 
 Watching him disappear. 
 
 Prometheus, lord! 
 
ACT II 
 
 Scene as before. The space below the cliffs is deserted ; 
 on tJie slope above, voices of men and women are 
 heard. 
 
 FIRST VOICE. 
 Peer farther down! Hear st thou the waters yet? 
 
 SECOND VOICE. 
 
 With sea-slime and with lichen-tangled shells 
 The rocks are strewn, and ocean-breathing things 
 Gasp in the shallow pools; but the main flood 
 Is sunken further than the ear can hark. 
 They descend. 
 
 A YOUNG MAN S VOICE. 
 
 Above. 
 
 A little strength, sister, a little strength! 
 Nay then, I die with thee. 
 
 AN OLD MAN S VOICE. 
 
 My son, my son, 
 Where art thou? Answer me! 
 
ACT II] THE FIRE-BRINGER 215 
 
 ANOTHER VOICE. 
 
 Peace. He is deacf. 
 I saw him sink upon the farther slope. 
 Back to him, if thou wilt; thou lt come too late. 
 
 CHORUS OF MEN. 
 The fallen must lie where they fell, 
 For the dead cannot succor the dead. 
 
 CHORUS OF WOMEN. 
 O when through the valleys of hell 
 Shall the light of our Saviour be shed? 
 They descend. Others appear from above. 
 
 FIRST VOICE. 
 
 Above. 
 
 Trust not the sea! Look where the frothing lip 
 Curls off the giant fang! Back to the heights! 
 
 SECOND VOICE. 
 Nay, fallen are the waters. It is past. 
 
 THIRD VOICE. 
 
 The life we hurled from off the temple crag 
 With supplications and with piercing song, 
 Has made thus much appeasement. One more 
 life 
 
216 THE FIRE-BRINGER [ACT II 
 
 Will roll away the ocean of main dark; 
 Unless we be forever doomed to lie 
 As now, blind bulks of sleep, or hunger-bitten 
 To creep the stagnant bottom of the world. 
 
 FOURTH VOICE. 
 
 This way, t is said, Deukalion carried him. 
 
 Follow on, yonder, where the cliff breaks down. 
 
 They descend ; others follow. Frem the side, below the 
 cliffs, a muttering group presses in ; in their midst 
 are Deukalion andPyrrha, who shield sEolus against 
 the cliff. The space about the altar is filled with in 
 distinct figures. 
 
 DEUKALION. 
 
 I am king, hear ye, am I not the king? 
 Higher than I is none. Take me! Why him, 
 Little of strength and wisdom? I am wise, 
 My cunning brain is stronger than a host. 
 Though this my spear-arm be a little fallen 
 From when it led you out against the north, 
 I am more terrible and mighty now, 
 An old, much-seeing spirit. In my death 
 The gods will taste a pleasure and be. soothed. 
 But from this child, this playmate look ye 
 here 
 
ACT ii] THE FIRE-BRINGER 217 
 
 This piece of summer s carelessness, this tuft 
 Of hyssop planted by the wells of glee, 
 What honor should the dread gods have on him? 
 They shall have me, Deukalion 
 
 A MAN S VOICE. 
 
 Bring not on us 
 
 With wordy shifts, the last steep horror down ! 
 That is no babe thy withered arm hides there. 
 We know him; we have seen. If he might live 
 His name would fill the future, and make big 
 The story of his folk. He is our best, 
 Our soul of price, and him the gods demand, 
 Together with the maid, whose father here 
 O how much more a kinglier will than thou ! 
 
 DEUKALION. 
 Where art thou, Lykophon? Mine eyes are dim. 
 
 LYKOPHON. 
 Here by the altar. 
 
 DEUKALION. 
 And thy child? 
 
 LYKOPHON. 
 
 Here too. 
 
218 THE FIRE-BRINGER [ACT II 
 
 DEUKALION. 
 
 Thy heart is firm to do it? Thou wilt live, 
 And think on t after? Ay, remember that! 
 Hast weighed that with the rest? 
 
 LYKOPHON. 
 
 He was my slave, 
 
 Whose crazed old voice cried yonder of his son. 
 Was it to win a remnant of dim days, 
 A handful of poor mealtimes and to-beds, 
 He offered him? To watch some mornings rise, 
 Some evenings fall, fringing with fearful light 
 The cliff he hurled him from to the hungry 
 
 sea? 
 Am I a lesser than my bondman is? 
 
 DEUKALION. 
 
 Yea, ye will teach me, and I 11 bear it tame ! 
 I know what fits a king, what he must pay 
 In peace of soul and heart s blood for his folk. 
 King-drownling of an island of drowned dogs, 
 Wolves, snakes, and field-rats, crept from out the 
 
 flood 
 
 For hunger and the hell-bred fog to rot ! 
 Rot ye! I 11 keep my own. 
 
ACT II] THE FIRE-BRINGER 219 
 
 LYKOPHON. 
 To the crowd. 
 
 Back, back, I say! 
 The gods despise enforced offerings. 
 When the heart brings its dearest and its last 
 Then only will they hear if then, if then! 
 
 DEUKALION. 
 
 Be this life taken, what is left? O friends, 
 O wretched children, lift your hearts and eyes, 
 Look through the death-dark hither and be known 
 On what you ask; think on yourselves, on me, 
 On them that keep the heights, and who lie strewn 
 Along the downward path. See how the price 
 Doth shame the purchase! 
 
 A MAN S VOICE. 
 
 We have thought on these, 
 And find they are our brothers and our friends, 
 Our parents, children, wives; and that they die. 
 
 LYKOPHON. 
 Not they alone. The past, the future dies. 
 
 A WOMAN S VOICE. 
 
 Hark what he says ! He knows not, yet he says ! 
 None of you know. I have cried unto you 
 
220 THE FIRE-BRINGER [ACT n 
 
 And told you of it, but you will not know! 
 You will not listen what I carry here 
 Under my heart, and feed and shelter now, 
 That then shall be the bread and wine of the world, 
 The torch and sword and lyre, the water-brook, 
 The lion-gate and wall of many towers, 
 The marshaler of dances, there, O there 
 Beyond the shadow and the sorrow, far 
 In God s new garden, his green virgin mount! 
 
 CHORUS OF WOMEN. 
 
 Would, would we might be silent, for we know 
 Though now He puts us by, 
 Though now He heeds us not nor hearkeneth, 
 The groping of our anguish up the sky 
 Will wean and wear Him so 
 That in the vexed sendings of his breath 
 He will breathe out a deeper than the gloom 
 Of our deep doom, 
 
 And put in death a sting sharper than death. 
 Distant thunder. 
 
 CHORUS OF MEN. 
 
 Seize them and stifle up their irking lips! 
 He grudgeth at us, but forgetteth where 
 He felt our spreaded palms, and was aware 
 
ACT II] THE FIRE-BRINGER 221 
 
 Of fierce and tedious prayer. 
 Yonder of us night darkens with his frown; 
 Far off, and all forgetfully He drips 
 His drowsy anger down. 
 
 The thunder rolls nearer, and terrific storm sweeps over 
 the scene. 
 
 A WOMAN S VOICE. 
 
 Ah, no, He smiteth us! His lightning leaps 
 From end to end of the world ! 
 
 A MAN S VOICE. 
 
 His thunder shakes 
 The pillars of the dark. Lo, up above 
 The roof of darkness ruins and lets in 
 Thrice horrible night! 
 
 ANOTHER VOICE. 
 
 Alas, the wind, the wind! 
 The trampling and the bellowing herds of rain 
 Loose on the mountain slopes ! Bow down ! Bow 
 down! 
 
 DEUKALION. 
 Gropes forward through the tempest and lifts ALolus 
 
 upon the altar. 
 
 Lord, stretch thy hand and take him! He is 
 thine. 
 
222 THE FIRE-BRINGER [ACT n 
 
 LYKOPHON. 
 What criest thou, Deukalion? 
 
 DEUKALION. 
 
 Take the child. 
 
 The gods dark will be done! I am content. 
 He/alls. 
 
 LYKOPHON. 
 Bending over him. 
 Deukalion ! 
 
 PYRRHA. 
 Husband ! Father ! Speak, look up ! 
 
 LYKOPHON. 
 Rising. 
 
 The king is down. Here in his mighty room 
 I stand up over you ! Where is the priest 
 Who serves the altar on God s mountain top? 
 
 A MAN S VOICE. 
 
 Yonder he crouches, and his sacred eyes 
 Are set athwart; he wanders in his wit. 
 
 LYKOPHON. 
 
 Prepare him for his ministry. . . . And thou, 
 Alcyone, sweet head ! Thou keepsake life 
 
ACT II] THE FIRE-BRINGER 223 
 
 Left me for memory, thou precious seal 
 Stamped with her mystic love-sign unto me, 
 I put her blessing on thee; and do thou 
 Kiss me, and put her blessing upon me 
 For this I do. 
 He lifts her iipon the altar. 
 
 Weep not. Room for the priest ! 
 The priest advances, holding the sacrificial knife. 
 
 PYRRHA. 
 
 Flings herself before the altar. 
 Hold off your hands, hold off! The king is fallen, 
 And falling spake somewhat. But I, who drank 
 Of his deep will, who ever was and am 
 His heart s high furtherer, cry over him 
 Ye shall not touch them yet ! Not yet ye shall ! 
 Not till Prometheus comes or makes a sign! 
 
 LYKOPHON. 
 
 Thou see st the grey eternities of time 
 
 That we have waited, till our minds are crazed 
 
 With watching, and our all o er-hearkened ears 
 
 Hear silence roar and mutter like a sea; 
 
 And still he comes not, and no word comes past 
 
 The crouching places and close lairs of death. 
 
224 THE FIRE-BRINGER [ACT n 
 
 A MAN S VOICE. 
 
 Yet he will come: his haughty soul shall not 
 Be hindered of its walk. 
 
 PRIEST. 
 
 Behind the wall 
 
 A thief was taken, and his sons at dawn 
 Said, "Now he comes with purchase; we will 
 
 feast," - 
 
 Even while the ravens on his glazing eyes 
 Were feasted, and the master of the house 
 Said, "I have judged him and forgotten him." 
 Ye blind and credulous, ye whispering things! 
 Mutterers, collusioners ! What wait we for? 
 
 CHORUS OF WOMEN. 
 O that our spirits might not thus 
 Afflict us, making pictures on the dark, 
 And giving silence tongues to cry against us! 
 For though we shut our ears and will not hark, 
 And blind our eyes from seeing, he is there; 
 The dust of heavenly battle dims his hair, 
 The large gods close about him, he is down; 
 Now thrice three times about the shining town 
 The thunder- winged chariot drags his corse; 
 
ACT II] THE FIRE-BRINGER 225 
 
 And now they bind him to the winged horse 
 With chains of burning light; the portent rears 
 
 away 
 O er prairies of insufferable day! 
 
 CHORUS OF MEN. 
 
 Twixt Berenice s tangled hair 
 
 And that blue region of the morning where 
 
 The bright wind-shaken Lyre 
 
 Sheds down the dawn its spilth of silver fire, 
 
 We saw him stoop and run upon the air, 
 
 Shielding from region gusts the stolen flame; 
 
 But from a steep cloud warping up the west 
 
 A curse of lightning came. 
 
 With tort-flung neck and clutched breast 
 
 He fell, a ruined star; 
 
 And now the char 
 
 Had quenched itself with hissing, in the sea, 
 
 But lo, again his soul flamed gloriously! 
 
 The eagle tempest, gyring from its place, 
 
 Seized him, and whirled, 
 
 And hung him on the plunging prow of the world, 
 
 To shed the anguish of his face 
 
 Upon the reefs and shoals of space, 
 
 To lighten with the splendor of his pain 
 
226 THE FIRE-BRINGER [ACT n 
 
 Earth s pathway through the main, 
 
 Though death was all her freightage, and the 
 
 breath 
 That swelled her sails was death. 
 
 A MAN S VOICE. 
 
 He will not come. I heard an old bard once 
 Sing of him, saying Titan,lapetos 
 Fathered him not; his mother Clymene, 
 Wandering in the morning of the world, 
 Suffered human embraces. T will be so, 
 For he is human-minded,. and too, slight 
 To wrest from God s hand the withholden fire. 
 
 SECOND VOICE. 
 Hearken! One sings upon the upper slopes. 
 
 THIRD VOICE. 
 
 T is she, the other gift in mockery sent, 
 Pandora. 
 
 FOURTH VOICE. 
 Haunting, cruel to the heart. 
 She opens sunny doors, which ere we look 
 Are closed foreverlasting, and their place 
 Not to be guessed. 
 
ACT II] THE FIRE-BRINGER 227 
 
 FIFTH VOICE. 
 
 This was another thing 
 
 Prometheus did. Whom the gods sent in wrath 
 To make us know how wondrous was the life 
 That inchmeal they took from us, even her 
 He chose out for his love, and even here 
 He made his bridals. 
 
 SIXTH VOICE. 
 
 Some say t is not so, 
 But she Pandora is a child he had 
 Before the sea rose and the night came down, 
 And others say his sister, whom he fetched 
 From Hades, where she was with Clymene, 
 Being childed late, after the Titans fell. 
 
 A WOMAN S VOICE. 
 
 Hush, hark, the pouring music! Never yet 
 The pools below the waterfalls, thy pools, 
 Thy dark pools, O my heart ! 
 
 A YOUNG MAN S VOICE. 
 
 Delirious breast ! 
 
 She jetteth gladness as a sacred bird, 
 That o er the springtime waves, at large of dawn, 
 
228 THE FIRE-BRINGER [ACT II 
 
 Off Delos, to the wakening Cyclades 
 Declares Apollo. 
 
 A GIRL S VOICE. 
 
 Once more, once more, O sisters, ere we die 
 I will lift up my cry 
 
 To Him who loved us though He puts us by. 
 For yonder singer with the golden mouth 
 Hath fallen upon us privily as falls 
 The still spring out of the south 
 On the shut passes and locked mountain walls, 
 And suddenly from out my frozen heart 
 Dark buds of sorrow start, 
 
 Freshets of thought through my faint being roll, 
 And dim remembrance gropes and travails in my 
 soul. 
 
 I will cry on Him piercingly 
 
 By reason of my girlhood how it ailed, 
 
 Then when I seemed 
 
 Unto myself a thing myself had dreamed, 
 
 And for whose sake the visionary Spring 
 
 High in the chilly meadows where she stood 
 
 With lips of passionate listening 
 
 In the sea- wind above the moaning wood, 
 
ACT II] THE FIRE-BRINGER 229 
 
 Scattered her discrowned hair, and bowed herself, 
 
 and wailed. 
 
 And then, a little after, came a day 
 Xhat loosed my bands of ailing all away ; 
 For somewhere in the wilds a spirit spoke, 
 The ghostly earth went past me like a stream, 
 And swooning suddenly aloft I woke 
 To an intenser dream. 
 
 Would mine were that same spirit s tongue to tell 
 The joy that then befell, 
 Rather befell not, but refrained, 
 Lurked and withdrew, , 
 
 And was an inner freshness in the dew, 
 A look inscrutable the stars put on, 
 A fount of secret color in the dawn, 
 After day-fall a daylight that remained 
 Brighter than what was gone. 
 O sisters, kiss the numbing death away 
 From off my heavy lips, and let me say 
 How fair my summoned spirit blossomed in its clay, 
 When the girls sang of me that I was his 
 Whose voice I heard treading the wilderness; 
 And I had followed him as the homing dove 
 That furtive way he went, 
 Till now he had brought me up into his tent, 
 
230 THE FIRE-BRINGER [ACT II 
 
 Where flutes made mention of love, and wild 
 
 throats said 
 
 With wine and honey of love were his tables spread, 
 Also the banner over us was love ! 
 Pause. 
 
 A WOMAN S VOICE. 
 
 Look, Pandora comes! 
 
 See, there above the cliff she glimmers down, 
 And darker shapes come with her. 
 
 A MAN S VOICE. 
 
 The big seed 
 Deukalion and Pyrrha sowed in hope 
 
 To reap in terror; the scarce-featured sons 
 Of stone, and daughters of the sullen glebe. 
 
 DEUKALION. 
 
 Waking. 
 
 Pyrrha! Where art thou? 
 
 PYRRHA. 
 
 T is my face thou feelest, 
 Thy groping hands are even on me, father. 
 
 DEUKALION. 
 
 Who are these? How is t with us? O wherefore 
 Gaze ye all thus aloft? 
 
ACT n] THE FIRE-BRINGER 231 
 
 PYRRHA. 
 
 Pandora comes. 
 
 DEUKALION. 
 
 I see naught. Since a little while mine eyes 
 And brain are faded. Help mine eyes to see. 
 
 PYRRHA. 
 
 She pauses on the margin of the cliff. 
 About her are the shapes of them who rose 
 Behind us, when we sowed the heavy seed. 
 Her either hand is on a kneeling head, 
 Female and male; her forehead more than theirs 
 Is lifted up in yearning, and her face 
 Is like the lyrist s when at first he waits 
 And drifts his heart up through the cloudy strings. 
 
 A MAN S VOICE. 
 
 Take heed there to the lad, where he hath risen 
 His height upon the altar! And the maid 
 Is risen. Look to them! 
 
 PYRRQA. 
 
 Children! ^olus! 
 
 What is t with you ? What search ye in the 
 heavens? 
 
232 THE FIRE-BRINGER [ACT n 
 
 O, to what high thing do your spirits strain 
 And your hands tremble up? 
 
 AND ALCYONE. 
 Looking and pointing upward. 
 
 The stars! The stars! 
 Pause. 
 
 DEUKALION. 
 
 Why hath so deep a hush fallen on the night? 
 I heard a whispering cry. What whisper they? 
 
 PYRRHA. 
 ^Eolus pointed whispering of the stars. 
 
 DEUKALION. 
 ^Eolus stars. Pyrrha ! 
 
 PYRRHA. 
 
 Withthee! 
 
 DEUKALION. 
 
 Spakest thou 
 Of stars? 
 
 PYRRHA. 
 Ay, so he whispered ! 
 
ACT II] THE FIRE-BRINGER 233 
 
 DEUKALION. 
 
 Thou and thou? 
 
 PYRRHA. 
 
 Nothing, nothing. My soul was as a lake 
 Spread out in utter darkness; to its depth 
 There pierced a silvery trembling 
 
 DEUKALION. 
 
 Look again. 
 
 Wife, cease to pray ! Look out again ! 
 
 PYRRHA. 
 
 The dark 
 
 Gathers and flees, and the wide roof of night 
 Leans in as it would break; the mountainous 
 
 gloom 
 
 Unmoors, and streameth on us like a sea. 
 O Earth, lift up thy gates! It is the stars! 
 It is the stars! It is the ancient stars! 
 It is the young and everlasting stars! 
 
 PANDORA. 
 Sings. 
 
 Because one creature of his breath 
 Sang loud into the face of death, 
 Because one child of his despair 
 
234 THE FIRE-BRINGER [ACT II 
 
 Could strangely hope and wildly dare. 
 
 The Spirit comes to the Bride again, 
 
 And breathes at her door the name of the child; 
 
 " This is the son that ye bore me! When 
 
 < 
 
 Shall we kiss, and be reconciled? 11 
 
 Furtive, dumb, in the tardy stone, 
 
 With gropings sweet in the patient sod, 
 
 In the roots of the pine, in the crumbled cone, 
 
 With cries of haste in the willow-rod, - 
 
 By pools where the hyla swells his throat 
 
 And the partridge drums to his crouching mate, 
 
 Where the moorland stag and the mountain goat 
 
 Strictly seek to the ones that wait, - 
 
 In seas aswing on the coral bar, 
 
 In feasting depths of the evening star, 
 
 In the dust where the mourner bows his head, 
 
 In the blood of the living, the bones of the dead, - 
 
 Wounded with love in breast and side, 
 
 The Spirit goes in to the Bride! 
 
 PYRRHA. 
 
 The veil that hid the holy sky is rent; 
 The vapors ravel down ; and a bright wind 
 Blows, that the planets and the shoaled worlds 
 Stoop from their dance, and wheel and shout again, 
 
ACT II] THE FIRE-BRINGER 235 
 
 Scattering influence as a maenad shakes 
 
 Pine sparks and moon-dew from her whirling 
 
 hair. 
 
 And hark, below, the many-voiced earth, 
 The chanting of the old religious trees, 
 Rustle of far-off waters, woven sounds 
 Of small and multitudinous lives awake, 
 Peopling the grasses and the pools with joy, 
 Uttering their meaning to the mystic night! 
 
 A MAN S VOICE. 
 
 Within my soul there is a rushing down 
 Like darkness, and my being, as a heaven, 
 Soareth apparent, as a heaven with stars. 
 A heaven hung with stars my spirit is, 
 And all among them walks a wind of will, 
 Uttering life, and purpose, and desire! 
 
 A WOMAN S VOICE. 
 
 O for the dreaming herbs, the whispering trees, 
 And rustling, far-off waters of my heart! 
 O for the mystic night risen within me! 
 The multitudinous life, the busy sounds 
 Of woven love, the hushed and pouring love, 
 The pouring love and stillness of the night! 
 
236 THE FIRE-BRINGER [ACT 1 1 
 
 DEUKALION. 
 Wife, wife, what falleth since? 
 
 PYRRHA. 
 
 A stir of joy 
 
 Troubles the fields of air twixt star and star. 
 Across the quivering acres, by and large, 
 An unimaginable Reaper goes, 
 And where he walks the heavens are seldom-sown ; 
 Till o er wan earth the spreaded heavens are 
 
 bare, 
 
 Save for one mighty star that gathers light 
 And stands like a flushed singer telling glory. 
 Now he, now even he has no dominion, 
 For he has looked behind him to the mountains, 
 O, he has looked up to the lovely mountains 
 Of the unimagined morning, and has hearkened 
 The pouring of the chill, eternal urns! 
 Over the solemn world grey habitation 
 Wonders at habitation. Room by room, 
 The heavens tremble and put on delight, 
 Ignorant one to another why it is 
 The festal wish compels them. They are bright 
 ened 
 Under the feet of many breathless spirits, 
 
ACT ii] THE FIRE-BRINGER 237 
 
 Who, lifting up their hands by the springs of 
 
 ocean, 
 
 Cried "Paean!" and "O, Hymen!" As a stream 
 Silvereth in a wind-start, heaven is brightened 
 Under the speed and striving of those spirits, - 
 Who now, even now dissolve, and leave behind 
 
 them 
 
 Only their gladness and their speed ; for now 
 Through all its height and frame of living light, 
 Through all its clear creation, breathing depths 
 And fleeing distances, the sacred sky 
 Pulses and is astonished like a heart; 
 It looketh inward and bethinks itself, 
 Outward, and putteth all its question by, 
 To shine and soar and sing and be at one ! 
 Nearhand the slopes drink light, and far about 
 Among the mountain places, headlands, cliffs, 
 Lone peaks, and brotherhoods of battlement 
 Shout, having apprehended. Paler grow 
 The gulfs of shadowy air that brim the vales; 
 As ocean bateth in her thousand firths, 
 The grey and silver air draws down the land. 
 The little trees that climb among the rocks 
 As high as they can live, pierce with their spires 
 The shoaling mist, swim softly into light, 
 
238 THE FIRE-BRINGER [ACT 1 1 
 
 And stand apparent, shapely, every one 
 A dream of divine life, a miracle. 
 Chasms are cloven in the violet 
 And amethystine waters of the air; 
 Forests and winding rivers of the plain 
 Are given and withdrawn; a moment since 
 I saw, I thought I saw a strength of hill 
 Uplifted far below us, built upon 
 With what was once a lordly place of souls, 
 A carved and marble place of puissant souls, 
 Builded to such strong music that the sea 
 Had hardly heaved one lintel from its post, 
 Or marred one face of all the sculptured men, 
 Or shaken from his seat one musing god. - 
 Again the air is cloven ; I have seen 
 Fane-crowned promontories, curving sweeps 
 Of silver shore, islands, and straits, and bays; 
 And bright beyond, the myriad ocean stream. 
 And O, beyond beyond! O shelter me! 
 Bow down ! Cover your eyes ! 
 
 CONFUSED VOICES. 
 
 Terrible wings ! 
 
 Light awfuller than darkness or the sea! - 
 O spirit of sharp flame amid the burning! 
 
ACT n] THE FIRE-BRINGER 239 
 
 A BOY S VOICE. 
 
 My hands are on my eyelids, and my knees 
 Shelter my face. O mother, lay thy breast 
 About me, and shut out the killing light, 
 Before my eyeballs and my brain be dead! 
 
 DEUKALION. 
 
 On his knees, with outstretched hands. 
 
 Of late mine eyes were quenched, and now I see. 
 
 PYRRHA. 
 
 Thine eyelids are not open, but thy face 
 Searcheth into the radiance. Father, cease! 
 Look not upon it with thy soul. Thy face 
 Is terrible with beauty in the light. 
 I cannot look upon thy seeing face. 
 Take not the mortal glory on thy face! 
 Bow down O let me shield thy sightless eyes ! 
 
 DEUKALION. 
 
 Burning is laid unto the roots of the world; 
 The deep spouts conflagration from her springs ; 
 And fire feeds on the air that feeds the stars. 
 Out of the sea has burst, from rended deeps 
 Of the unthought-on rearward has leapt out 
 
240 THE FIRE-BRINGER [ACT 1 1 
 
 The appearance of the glory of the sun, 
 Filling the one side of the roaring world 
 With creatures and with branch-work of pale fire; 
 And through the woods of fire the beasts of fire, 
 The birds and serpents and the naked souls 
 Flee, that their fleeing startles the slow dead 
 Through all their patient kingdoms, and the 
 
 gods 
 In their faint spheres are flown and passionate. 
 
 A MAN S VOICE. 
 
 My soul is among lions. God, my God, 
 Thou see st my quivering spirit what it is! 
 O lay not life upon it! We not knew 
 The thing we asked for. We had all forgot 
 How cruel was thy splendor in the house 
 Of sense, how awful in the house of thought, 
 How far unbearable in the wild house 
 That thou hast cast and builded for the heart! 
 
 LYKOPHON. 
 Deukalion, speak again! 
 
 PYRRHA. 
 
 If yet thy flesh 
 Endure to look upon it, speak again. 
 
ACT II] THE FIRE-BRINGER 241 
 
 DEUKALION. 
 
 His soul is strong and will deliver him! 
 The feature of his anguish and his joy 
 Makes dim the light adjacent, and his soul 
 Is bright to overcome. He treads the glory 
 Over against the roaring, hitherward. 
 Seeing the taper of small excellent light 
 He lifteth in his hand, the night rolls on 
 Before him, and day follows after him. 
 The hours, the months, the seasons, and the times 
 Acknowledge him ; the w^ste calls to the sown ; 
 The islands and hoar places of the sea 
 Sing, as the chief of them that are taught praises. 
 About his torch shineth a dust of souls, 
 Daughters and sons, who fly into the light 
 With trembling, and emerge with prophecy; 
 And round about goeth a wind of tongues, 
 A wind as of the travailing of the nations ; 
 Vast sorrow, and the cry of desperate lives 
 To God, and God to them crying or answering. - 
 Child! ^Eolus! My child. Where is my child? 
 
 PYRRHA. 
 
 I cannot see; the dazzle of his coming 
 Makes blind the place. Here, father, in thy knees! 
 
242 THE FIRE-BRINGER [ACT n 
 
 Feel, t is the darling head! Wild comer, when? 
 Hasten, have pity, we are nothing strong! 
 Father, how is t with thee? Why bow st thou 
 
 down ? 
 
 Thy hand is cold, thy lips are very cold. - 
 O gone, O gone, even at the entering-in! 
 
 A VOICE. 
 
 Who are these coming down, that they are mighty 
 To walk with foreheads forward to the light, 
 Singing the mortal radiance to its face? 
 
 A VOICE. 
 
 It is Pandora and the unborn men, 
 Deukalion s seed. She doth it of her power, 
 They of their weakness. 
 
 PANDORA. 
 Sings, invisible in the light. 
 
 Ye who from the stone and clay 
 Unto godhood grope your way, 
 Hastening up the morning see 
 Yonder One in trinity! 
 
 THE EARTH WOMEN. 
 Save us, flaming Three! 
 
ACT II] THE FIRE-BRINGER 243 
 
 PANDORA. 
 
 Dionysus hath the wine, 
 Eros hath the rose divine, 
 Lord Apollo hath the lyre: 
 Three and one is the soul s desire. 
 
 THE STONE MEN. 
 Save us, sons of fire! 
 
 A WOMAN S VOICE. 
 
 Listen, they have passed. 
 They go with singing forward down the light. 
 
 PROMETHEUS. 
 Below, invisible. 
 Thou gavest me the vessel ; it is filled. 
 
 PANDORA. 
 
 I am the vessel, and with thee t is filled. 
 Pause. 
 
 LYKOPHON. 
 
 Whispers. 
 
 Pyrrha! 
 
 PYRRHA. 
 Who whispers me? 
 
244 THE FIRE-BRINGER [ACT II 
 
 LYKOPHON. 
 
 Is he not come? 
 Is he not busied by the altar there? 
 
 PYRRHA. 
 
 Nay Lo, the terrible taper! It is he! 
 I see him not; my spirit seeth him; 
 My heart acheth upon him busied there. 
 - Deukalion, O Deukalion ! 
 
 PROMETHEUS. 
 From the altar. 
 
 Pyrrha! Pyrrha! 
 
 PYRRHA. 
 Prometheus, saviour! 
 
 PROMETHEUS. 
 Lykophon ! 
 
 LYKOPHON. 
 
 Lo, me! 
 
 PROMETHEUS. 
 Bring me your children hither. 
 
 PYRRHA AND LYKOPHON. 
 Groping forward with ALolus and Alcyone. 
 
 Here are they! 
 
ACT ii] THE FIRE-BRINGER 245 
 
 PROMETHEUS. 
 
 Unto this twain, man-child and woman-child, 
 I give the passion of this element; 
 This seed of longing, substance of this love; 
 This power, this purity, this annihilation. 
 Let their hands light the altar of the world. 
 T is yours forever. I have brought it home! 
 
 The radiant mist fades ; it is clear day, flooded with 
 morning sunlight. The children apply the burning 
 reed to the fuel, and fire flames high upon the altar. 
 Pandora s voice is heard faintly, far below. 
 
 i 
 
 PANDORA. 
 
 Too jar, too far, though hidden in thine arms; 
 Too darkly far, though lips on lips are laid! 
 Love, love, I am afraid; 
 I know not where to find thee in these storms 
 That dashed thy changed breast my breast upon, 
 Here in the estranging dawn. 
 Unsteadfast! who didst call and hast not stayed. 
 Tryst-breaker! I have heard 
 Thy voice in the green wood, and not deferred: 
 fold me closer, fugitive one, and say where thou 
 art gone! 
 
246 THE FIRE-BRINGER [ACT 1 1 
 
 Nay, speak not, strive not, sorrow not at all! 
 
 0, dim and gradual! - 
 
 Beloved, my beloved, shall it be? 
 
 Keep me, keep me with thy kiss, 
 
 Save me with thy deep embrace; 
 
 For down the gulfs of spirit space, 
 
 The slow, the implacable winds, now unes capably 
 
 Wheel us downward to our bliss, 
 
 Whelm us, darken us lethal winds! down to 
 our destined place. 
 
 Swimming faint, beneath, afar 
 
 lover, let there be 
 
 No haste, nor clamor of thy heart to see! 
 
 But I have seen, and I whisper thee 
 
 How the rivers of peace apparent are, 
 
 And the city of bridal peace 
 
 Waits, and wavers, and hardly is, 
 
 Fades, and is folded away from sight; 
 
 And now like a lily it openeth wistfully, 
 
 Whispering through its courts of light 
 
 How long shall we be denied? 
 
 How long must the eastern gate stand wide, 
 
 Ere these who are called shall enter in, and the bride 
 groom be with the bride?" 
 
ACT III 
 
 An open rocky place higher in the mountains; in the 
 rock-wall at one side is a rough-hewn open tomb ; in 
 the rear the stranded ark of Deukalion, caught amid 
 great rocks, is outlined against snow-peaks and 
 against a vast sunset cloud, full of shifting light. 
 The funeral train of Deukalion winds up the steep 
 path from below. Lykophon and a company of grown 
 men carry the bier, beside which walk Pyrrha and 
 jEolus. 
 
 CHORUS OF OLD MEN. 
 In one same breath 
 Uttering life and death, 
 Whatso his mouth seems darkly to ordain 
 The darkling signal of his hand makes vain, 
 And like a heart confused He sayeth and gain- 
 
 saith. 
 
 With himself He wrestles thus 
 Or gives this wrestling unto us. 
 Whichever, it is well. 
 O children, we are risen out of hell, 
 And it is pleasant evening! Daughters, sing! 
 
248 THE FIRE-BRINGER [ACT in 
 
 Upon his way let soft and golden mirth 
 Be spoken round the king, 
 
 And unto heaven be told the sweetness of the 
 earth. 
 
 CHORUS OF GIRLS. 
 
 How shall the thought of our hearts be said, 
 
 Here, where this averted head 
 
 Lonely walks by the lonely dead? 
 
 T were better others sang, 
 
 Not we, not we! 
 
 For when the mighty morning sprang 
 
 Terrible in gladness from the sea, 
 
 When, entering the high places of the air, 
 
 Noontide unbelievably 
 
 Possessed them, and lifted up his trophy there, 
 
 Yea, all the noon and all the afternoon, 
 
 We could have put our secret by, we could have 
 
 spoken 
 
 Well before thee, O mourner, O heart broken! 
 But now, but now Mother, mother, 
 We have seen one coming with thee up the steep ; 
 His mild great wing we saw him keep 
 Over thee like a sheltering arm, 
 And the shadow of one pinion fell across 
 
ACT in] THE FIRE-BRINGER 249 
 
 To shield the bosom of thy lord from harm ; 
 
 We have seen him, the dark peace-giver, Thana- 
 tos;- 
 
 But O, we have seen also another, 
 
 Winged like him, and dazzling dim, 
 
 He came up out of the sun, yet he goeth not down 
 therewith ; 
 
 For, ever warmer, closer, as the evening falleth 
 pale, 
 
 His arm is over our necks, and his breath 
 
 Searches whispering under our hair ; and his burn 
 ing whisper saith 
 
 A thing that maketh the heart to cease and the 
 limbs to fail, 
 
 And the hands to grope for they know not what; 
 
 We would not find what he whispers of, and we 
 die if we find it not! 
 
 CHORUS OF YOUNG WOMEN. 
 Ere our mothers gave us birth, 
 Or in the morning of the earth 
 The high gods walked with the daughters and 
 
 found them fair, 
 Ere ever the hills were piled or the seas were 
 
 spread, 
 
250 THE FIRE-BRINGER [ACT HI 
 
 His arm was over our necks, my sisters, his breath 
 
 was under our hair! 
 
 Their spirits withered and died who then 
 Found not the thing that his whisper said, 
 But we are the living, the chosen of life, who found 
 
 it and found it again. 
 Where, walking secret in the flame, 
 Unbearably the Titan came, 
 Eros, Eros, yet we knew thee, 
 Yet we saw and cried unto thee! 
 Where thy face amid exceeding day more excel 
 lently shone 
 There our still hearts laughed upon thee, thou 
 
 divine despaired-of one! 
 Though o er and o er our eyes and ears the heavy 
 
 hair was wound, 
 
 Yet we saw thee, yet we heard thy pinions beat ! 
 Though our fore-arms hid our faces and our brows 
 
 were on the ground, 
 Yet, O Eros, we declare 
 That with flutes and timbrels meet, 
 Whirling garments, drunken feet, 
 With tears and throes our souls arose and danced 
 
 before thee there! 
 They place the body in the hewn vault of the rock. 
 
ACT in] THE FIRE-BRINGER 251 
 
 PYRRHA. 
 
 Go down now. I and ^Eolus will watch 
 Till dawn, when ye will come to shut the tomb 
 And sing him to his peace. 
 
 LYKOPHON. 
 
 Some few with thee 
 Will hold the watch, for safety. 
 
 PYRRHA. 
 
 None. Alone. 
 
 The others go down the path, leaving Pyrrha and 
 j&olus seated by the tomb ; a girl lingers behind, and 
 when the last figure has disappeared, throws herself 
 at Pyrrha s feet. 
 
 RHODOPE. 
 
 See, it is Rhodope, thy handmaiden! 
 Behold, thou knowest. He loved her. She would 
 stay. 
 
 PYRRHA. 
 
 Touching her head. 
 
 Thy heart shall take no fear. O, stay with us! 
 The voices of the young men are heard, descending. 
 
 CHORUS OF YOUNG MEN. 
 When, to the king s unveiled eyes 
 The rended deeps and the rended skies 
 
252 THE FIRE-BRINGER [ACT in 
 
 Seemed as a burning wood, - 
 
 lacchos! lacchos! 
 
 When flame took hold of the place of the dead, 
 
 And burning seized on the throne of God, 
 
 And birds and beasts and the souls of men 
 
 As a wind of burning fled, - 
 
 lacchos! 
 
 Yea, in the blinding radiance when 
 
 The Bringer of Light by the altar stood, 
 
 lacchos! lacchos! Evoe! 
 
 We saw thee, we knew thee, we cried upon 
 
 thee! 
 
 We had lost thee and had thee again! 
 Plucker of the tragic fruit, 
 Eater of the frantic root, 
 Shaker of the cones of raving, sounder of the 
 
 panic flute 
 Over man and brute, 
 lacchos ! 
 
 Hunter in the burning wood, 
 Planter of the mystic vine, 
 From the spirit and the blood 
 Crusher of the awful wine, 
 I acchos ! Evoe ! I acchos ! 
 The voice dies away in the distance. Silence. 
 
ACT in] THE FIRE-BRINGER 253 
 
 Whispers to Rhodope. 
 See stthou? The cloud! 
 Touching Pyrrha. 
 
 Mother, what means the cloud? 
 
 PYRRHA. 
 
 Raising her head. 
 
 How, child? 
 
 /EOLUS. 
 
 The cloud. See how it lives within ! 
 
 PYRRHA. 
 
 T will rain ; he brought us back the blessed rain, 
 And storm, and natural darkness, with the light. 
 Bows her head again. 
 As also to our hearts the shutting-in 
 Of rain and natural darkness. 
 
 RHODOPE. 
 Looking up from Pyrrha s knees. 
 
 All the hours 
 
 Since long ago at dawn, the livelong hours 
 Of glory, sincere brought the morning back, 
 The cloud has piled itself, and wondrous lights 
 Have been thus restless in it. 
 
254 THE FIRE-BRINGER [ACT HI 
 
 ^LOLUS. 
 
 Where is he? 
 PYRRHA. 
 
 I know not, child. It may be that he sleeps, 
 Being weary ; or he wanders with his love 
 To gaze upon the gladness of the world. 
 
 RHODOPE. 
 
 No one has seen him since he fetched the light. 
 They say of him I heard the old men say - 
 
 PYRRHA. 
 
 The sun goes down : we will be silent now. 
 Silence. ^Eolus and R ho dope, leaning together, fall 
 
 asleep. Pyrrha kneels by the tomb, with hands 
 
 stretched aloft upon the kings breast. 
 
 PYRRHA. 
 
 Speaks low. 
 
 Thou whom my glad heart once deliberately 
 Chose, and this morning suddenly with tears 
 Chose, and was chosen, and was made thine at 
 
 last 
 
 In the destroying light Deukalion^ lord, 
 The day is past, the evening cometh on. 
 Once more to thy full-wishing lips I hold 
 
ACT ill] THE FIRE-BRINGER 255 
 
 The chalice of my heart up, husband! husband! 
 For night begins to pour her voices out, 
 And thou art stayed for on the voiceless hills. 
 She lifts her head and listens. In the distance Pan 
 dora s voice is heard, sharp and agonized. 
 
 PYRRHA. 
 
 For thee too, then! Even also for thee 
 He smote the rock; thy spirit thirsted too 
 Afar there in the desert of thy joy, 
 And came and drank against the morning ray 
 Waters of trembling. By the pools in haste 
 Thy soul stooped, plucking herb and flower of 
 
 pain 
 That groweth newly there, by the new stream ! 
 
 RHODOPE. 
 
 Runs with sEohis, and crouches beside Pyrrha. 
 Pyrrha! Mother Pyrrha! Look, alas, 
 Lo, how it comes upon us ! The bird ! The bird ! 
 
 PYRRHA. 
 What where? How suddenly has darkness 
 
 fallen, 
 
 And now as suddenly t is light again! 
 How terribly the lion thunder roared 
 
256 THE FIRE-BRINGER [ACT in 
 
 Leaping along the mountains to the sea! 
 - What saw ye? What went by us in the wind? 
 
 RHODOPE. 
 Look where the giant wings rock down the slope ! 
 
 PYRRHA. 
 
 Gazing below. 
 
 Go^sJ^kcLoL wrath! Swift is thy wrath, O God, 
 Strong i$- thy jealousy! 
 
 RHODOPE. 
 
 Awhile I slept; 
 
 Then as I looked and wondered at the cloud, 
 The restless lights flushed angry, and all the west 
 Shone stormy bright with ridges of blown fire. 
 The cloud flamed like a peak of the fiery isles, 
 Where in the western seas Hephaestos toils. 
 Then from yon cloven valley in the midst 
 Came forth the wings and shadow of the bird, 
 And grew towards us vaster than storm, more 
 
 swift 
 
 Than I could cry upon him, and passed down. 
 Once o er the plain and o er the ocean straits, 
 And twice o er the old olives by the stream 
 Where the folk rest to-night, his shadow wheeled, 
 
ACT in] THE FIRE-BRINGER 257 
 
 And now he towers straight upward like a smoke, 
 
 High, high, into the evening. 
 
 Pandora s cry is heard again ; she appears in the rocks 
 above the tomb, gazing upward. After a moment she 
 comes down and kneels beside Pyrrha, hiding her 
 face against the rocks. Pause. 
 
 PYRRHA. 
 
 In a low voice, gazing at the cloud. 
 
 Deemest thou 
 
 That he will yield himself unmurmuring up, 
 
 Or will he make wild war along the peaks? 
 
 Prometheus enters swiftly from below, and raises Pan 
 dora. They stand clasped in each other s arms beside 
 Pyrrha, who, still kneeling, draws herself up to gaze 
 into the king s face, then clasps dEolus with one arm 
 and with the other the knees of Prometheus. 
 
 PYRRHA. 
 
 Leave us not yet, before another dawn 
 Comes, bringing surety! For the giant dark, 
 Seeing thee absent, may arise again, 
 And Python lift unnameably his head 
 In hell, hearing the gods hiss him awake. 
 
 PROMETHEUS. 
 
 Be comforted; it is established .sure. 
 Light shall arise from light, day follow day, 
 
258 THE FIRE-BRINGER [ACT in 
 
 Season meet season, with all lovely signs 
 And portents of the year. These shall not fail ; 
 From their appointed dance no star shall swerve, 
 Nor mar one accent of one whirling strophe 
 Of that unfathomed chorus that they sing 
 Within the porch and laughing house of Life, 
 Which Time and Space and Change, bright 
 
 caryatids, 
 
 Do meanwhile pillar up. These shall not fail ; 
 But O, these were the least I brought you home ! 
 The sun whose rising and whose going down 
 Are joy and grief and wonder in the heart; 
 The moon whose tides are passion, thought, and 
 
 will; 
 
 The signs and portents of the spirit year, - 
 For these, if you would keep them, you must strive 
 Morning and night againsL.the.4ealous gods 
 With anger, and with laughter, and with love; 
 And no man hath them till he brings them down 
 With love, and rage, and laughter from the 
 
 heavens, - 
 
 Himself the heavens, himself the scornful gods, 
 The sun, the sun-thief, and the flaming reed 
 That kindles new the beauty of the world. 
 He draws ^Eolus and Rhodope to him. 
 
ACT in] THE FIRE-BRINGER 259 
 
 For you the moon stilly imagineth 
 
 Her loiterings and her soft vicissitudes ; 
 
 For you the Pleiades are seven, and one 
 
 Wanders invisible because of you ; 
 
 For you the snake is burnished in the spring, 
 
 The flower has plots touching its marriage time, 
 
 The queen-bee from her wassailed lords soars high 
 
 And high and high into the nuptial blue, 
 
 Till only one heroic lover now 
 
 Flies with her, and her royal wish is prone 
 
 To the elected one, whose dizzy heart 
 
 Presageth him of ecstasy and death. 
 
 For you the sea has rivers in the midst, 
 
 And fathomless abysses where it breeds 
 
 Fantastic life; and each its tiniest drop 
 
 Flung from the fisher s oar-blade in the sun 
 
 Has rivers, abysses, and fantastic life. 
 
 For your sakes it was spoken of the soul 
 
 That it shall be a sea whereon the moon 
 
 Has might, and the four winds shall walk upon 
 
 it, - 
 
 Also it has great rivers in the midst, 
 Uncharted islands that no sailor sees, 
 And fathomless abysses where it breeds 
 Mysterious life; yea, each its tiniest drop 
 
26o THE FIRE-BRINGER [ACT HI 
 
 Flung from the fisher s oar-blade in the sun 
 Has rivers, tempests, and eternal tides, 
 Untouched-at isles, horizons never hailed, 
 And fathomless abysses where it breeds 
 Incredible life, without astonishment. 
 He bends over Deukalion. 
 
 O death, majestic mood! Transfigured brow 
 And eyes heavy with vision, since the time 
 
 (.They saw creation sitting like a sphinx, 
 
 (Woman and lion, riddling of herself 
 At twilight, in the place of parted souls - 
 He pauses, looks at the lighted clojid, and below at the 
 darkening earth, where a mist is beginning to rise. 
 
 As far as being goes out past the stars 
 
 Into unthinkable distance, and as far 
 
 As being inward goes unthinkably, 
 
 Traveling the atom to its fleeing core, 
 
 Through world in world, heaven beneath wheeling 
 
 heaven, 
 
 Firmament under firmament, without end, 
 To-day there is rejoicing, and the folk, 
 Though ignorant, call us blessed in their hearts. 
 Yea, He who is the Life of all this life, 
 Death of this death and Riser from this death, 
 Calleth us blessed in his heart of hearts; 
 
ACT in] THE FIRE-BRINGER 261 
 
 And once again, in the dim end of things, 
 
 When the sun sickens, and the heaven of heavens 
 
 Flames as a frosty leaf unto the fall, 
 
 In swoon and anguish shall his stormed heart 
 
 Cry unto us; his cry is ringing there 
 
 In the sun s core! I heard it when I stood 
 
 Where all things past and present and to come 
 
 Ray out in fiery patterns, fading, changing, 
 
 Forevermore unfaded and unchanged. 
 
 AEOLUS. 
 
 Behold, alas, mother, look up! 
 
 O haste, let us be hidden in the rocks! 
 
 PYRRHA. 
 
 The wings that were a little cloud in heaven 
 Shed doom over the third part of the north ; 
 And now he slants enormous down the west 
 Toward his throne and eyrie in the cloud. 
 In the background, about the ark of Deukalion, the fig 
 ures of the Stone Men and Earth Women emerge, 
 and stand darkly outlined against the sunset cloud. 
 Prometheus speaks low to Pandora, who falls at his 
 feet. 
 
 PANDORA. 
 I would be there with thee, love. O, not here! 
 
262 THE FIRE-BRINGER [ACT in 
 
 PROMETHEUS. 
 
 Stooping over her. 
 
 There where I go thou art; there, even now 
 Thou cried st me to thee, and I come, I come. 
 He lays her in PyrrJias arms, and disappears in the 
 
 rocks ; he emerges on a higher level behind, and turns 
 
 westward. 
 
 Pausing beside the ark. 
 
 rude and dazed spirits ! Ye shall grope 
 And wonder toward a knowledge and a grace 
 That now we dream not of; then loneliness 
 Shall flee away, and enmity no more 
 
 Be spectral in the houses and the streets 
 Where walk your primal hearts in the large light 
 That floods the after-earth. 
 He raises his arms over them. 
 
 Out of these stones 
 
 1 build my rumoring city, based deep 
 On elemental silence; in this soil 
 
 I plant my cool vine and my shady tree, 
 Whose roots shall feed upon the central fire ! 
 He crosses a rocky stretch leading to the western heights 
 over which the cloud rests, and disappears in a mist- 
 filled pass. j^Eolus and Rhodope creep closer to Pyrrha 
 and Pandora, sheltering themselves from the chill of 
 the rising mist, which slowly covers the scene. There 
 is a long silence, broken by faint peals of thunder. 
 
ACT in] THE FIRE-BRINGER 263 
 
 AEOLUS. 
 
 Whispers. 
 
 Mother, the mist was grey and thick to breathe 
 But now; and now t is thin, and flushes red 
 As if all round the forests were aflame. 
 
 RHODOPE. 
 
 Whispers. 
 
 Hush ! See st thou not it is the mighty cloud, 
 That flames more fiery when the thunder speaks, 
 
 Heavy thunder; Pandora starts wildly up, 
 
 PYRRHA. 
 
 Drawing her down. 
 
 Thou spirit bird, that sangest all night long 
 And mad st sweet utterance from the secret shade 
 Where his wild heart spread coolness in the sun, 
 For thee to flit and sing, O look not out ! 
 Still hide thee in my breast! 
 Pandora sinks back. Pyrrha whispers to Rhodope. 
 
 Rise thou, and look! 
 
 RHODOPE. 
 
 Rises and speaks in a low voice. 
 Over against the region where he went 
 Thunder has torn the curtain of the mist, 
 And out of moving darkness soars the cloud 
 
264 THE FIRE-BRINGER [ACT in 
 
 (Like as a shadowed ruby, but above 
 
 /Like as an opal and a sardine stone 
 Sun- touched to the panting heart; and in the 
 
 midst 
 
 Are shapes throned on the moving of the lights, 
 Who ride the wrathful lights, and are the lights. 
 Up through the driving fringes of the mist 
 Battle a living splendor and a gloom. 
 O, while the shapes gather and wait at gaze, 
 That pharos of our peril in the straits, 
 That treader of the cups of gladness out 
 In the sun s vineyard for us Mother! Mother! 
 Look hither, look at last, for it is time. 
 Up through the crud and substance of the cloud 
 Prometheus wrestles, with the bird of J^od ! 
 Pyrrha rises, lifting Pandora. 
 
 AEOLUS. 
 
 Look how the sudden wind has quenched the 
 
 cloud, 
 
 And them that were therein ; and how its blowing 
 Shoulders the mist away from the keen stars 
 That rushed out at the fading of the lights! 
 Look you, the cloud comes on us in the wind ! 
 It tramples down the mountains, and above 
 
ACT in] THE FIRE-BRINGER 265 
 
 Reaches abroad in darkness, blotting out 
 Place upon place of stars. 
 
 RHODOPE. 
 
 The smoky air 
 
 Climbs up and eddies round us and falls down, 
 Rolling and spreading wider than the world ! 
 As the cloud advances. Pandora goes toward it ivith 
 outstretched hands, and pauses beside the prow of 
 the ark, among the Stone Men and Earth Women, 
 while deeper and deeper darkness drifts over the 
 scene. The voices of Pyrrha and Pandora are heard 
 as from the midst of the cloud. 
 
 PYRRHA. 
 
 Vast sorrow, and the voice of broken souls; 
 A cry as of all kinds and generations, 
 Times, places, and tongues; or as a mother 
 Heareth her unborn child crying for birth. 
 
 PANDORA. 
 Sings. 
 
 A thousand, ceous, nailed in pain 
 On the blown world s plunging prow, 
 That seeks across the eternal main, 
 Down whatever storms we drift, 
 What disastrous headlands lift, 
 
266 THE FIRE-BRINGER [ACT in 
 
 Festal lips, triumphant brow, 
 Light us with thy joy, as now! 
 
 PYRRHA. 
 
 A sound of calling and of answering; 
 Answer or watch-cry of all desperate lives 
 To God, and God to them calling or answering. 
 The Stone Men and Earth Women sing, their voices 
 growing fainter as they descend the valley behind. 
 
 THE STONE MEN AND EARTH WOMEN. 
 
 We have heard the valleys groan 
 With one voice and manifold; 
 Stone is crying unto stone, 
 Mould is whispering unto mould. 
 
 THE STONE MEN. 
 Hear them whisper, hear them call, 
 "All for one, and one for all, 
 Dig the well and raise the wall" 
 
 THE EARTH WOMEN. 
 
 "For the nations to be born, 
 Root away the bitter thorn, 
 Reap and sow the golden corny 
 
ACT III] THE FIRE-BRINGER 267 
 
 RHODOPE. 
 To Pyrrha. 
 Hear st thou this yet that thou didst whisper 
 
 of, 
 
 Or is all silence now even to thee? 
 Pyrrha does not answer. Pandora s voice is heard, also 
 from the valley behind, but more distant. 
 
 PANDORA. 
 
 Sings. 
 
 I stood within the heart of God; 
 It seemed a place that I had known: 
 (I was blood-sister to the clod, 
 Blood-brother to the stone.) 
 
 I found my love and labor there, 
 My house, my raiment, meat and wine, 
 My ancient rage, my old despair, 
 Yea, all things that were mine. 
 
 RHODOPE. 
 To ^Eolus. 
 
 Doth not the cloud go by us? Yonder, see, 
 
 A star looks dimly through. And there, and there 
 
 T is all awake with stars ! 
 
268 THE FIRE-BRINGER [ACT m 
 
 PANDORA. 
 Sings. 
 
 I saw the spring and summer pass, 
 The trees grow bare, and winter come; 
 All was the same as once it was 
 Upon my hills at home. 
 
 Then suddenly in my own heart 
 I felt God walk and gaze about; 
 He spoke; his words seemed held apart 
 With gladness and with doubt. 
 
 Here is my meat and wine" He said, 
 "My love, my toil, my ancient care; 
 
 Here is my cloak, my book, my bed, 
 
 And here my old despair. 
 
 "Here are my seasons: winter, spring, 
 Summer the same, and autumn spills 
 The fruits I look for; everything 
 As on my heavenly hills. 
 
 RHODOPE. 
 
 How swiftly now, 
 As if it had a meaning in its haste, 
 The cloud-bank fades and dwindles in the north! 
 
ACT in] THE FIRE-BRINGER 269 
 
 Starlight and silence. After a time, dawn begins to 
 break in the east. Pyrrha rises and kneels again by 
 the tomb. As the light increases, sEolus and Rhodope 
 climb higher among the rocks and watch for the ris 
 ing of the sun. Below, the voices of the young men 
 are heard. 
 
 CHORUS OF YOUNG MEN. 
 Ascending. 
 
 One large last star, not yet persuaded well, 
 
 Expected till the mountains should declare; 
 
 But from his hesitant attitude, 
 
 From his wild and waiting mood, 
 
 Wildly, waitingly there came 
 
 Over sea and earth and air 
 
 And on our bended hearts there fell 
 
 Trembling and expectation of thy name, 
 
 Apollo ! 
 
 Now the East to the West has flung 
 
 Sudden hands aloft, and sung 
 
 Thy titles, and thy certain coming-on; 
 
 Wheeling ever to the right hand, wheeling ever 
 
 to the dawn, 
 
 The South has danced before the North, 
 And the text of her talking feet is the news of thy 
 
 going forth, 
 Apollo! Apollo! Apollo! 
 
270 THE FIRE-BRINGER [ACT m 
 
 When radiance hid the Titan s face 
 
 And all was blind in the altar place, 
 
 Then we knew thee, O we cried upon thee then, 
 
 Apollo! Apollo! 
 
 Past thee Dionysus swept, 
 
 The wings of Eros stirred and slept, 
 
 And we knew not the mist of thy song from the 
 
 mist of the fire, 
 As out of the core of the light thy lyre laughed and 
 
 thundered again! 
 
 Eros, how sweet 
 
 Is the cup of thy drunkenness! 
 
 Dionysus, how our feet 
 
 Hasten to the burning cup 
 
 Thou lif test up ! 
 
 But O how sweetest and how most burning it is 
 
 To drink of the wine of thy lightsome chalices, 
 
 Apollo! Apollo! To-day 
 
 We say we will follow thee and put all others away. 
 
 For thou alone, O thou alone art he 
 
 Who settest the prisoned spirit free, 
 
 And sometimes leadest the rapt soul. on 
 
 Where never mortal thought has gone; 
 
 Till by the ultimate stream 
 
ACT in] THE FIRE-BRINGER 271 
 
 Of vision and of dream 
 She stands 
 
 With startled eyes and outstretched hands, 
 Looking where other suns rise over other lands, 
 And rends the lonely skies with her prophetic 
 scream. 
 
THE MASQUE OF 
 JUDGMENT 
 
To E. D. S. 
 
THE MASQUE OF 
 JUDGMENT 
 
 PRELUDE 
 
 The action falls immediately before the Incarnation. 
 
 PERSONS OF THE PRELUDE 
 
 RAPHAEL 
 
 URIEL 
 THE ANGEL OF THE PALE HORSE 
 
 A SHEPHERD 
 
 A SHEPHERD BOY 
 
 A YOUNG MAN (persona muta) 
 
 A GIRL 
 
 SCENE I 
 
 A meadow and coppice near the sea ; beyond low hills 
 the roofs of a town. Dawn. 
 
 RAPHAEL. 
 
 Another night like this would change my blood 
 To human: the soft tumult of the sea 
 Under the moon, the panting of the stars, 
 
276 THE MASQUE OF JUDGMENT 
 
 The notes of querulous love from pool and clod, 
 In earth and air the dreamy under-hum 
 Of hived hearts swarming, such another night 
 Would quite unsphere me from my angelhood! 
 Thrice have I touched my lute s least human 
 
 strings 
 And hushed their throbbing, hearing how they 
 
 spake 
 
 Sheer earthly, they that once so heavenly sang 
 Above the pure unclouded psalmody. 
 Sing as thou wilt, then, since thou needs must 
 
 sing! 
 
 For ever song grows dearer as I walk 
 These evenings of large sunset, these dumb noons 
 Vastly suspended, these enormous nights 
 Through which earth heaves her bulk toward the 
 
 dawn. 
 
 With song I shelter me, who else were left 
 Defenseless amid God s infinitudes, 
 Bruised by the unshod trample of his hours. 
 He sings. 
 
 The late moon would not stay, 
 The stars grow far and few; 
 Into her house of day 
 Hung with Sidonian blue 
 
THE MASQUE OF JUDGMENT 277 
 
 Stealeth the earth, as a mcenad girl 
 Steals to her home when the orgies are o er 
 That startled the glens and the sleeping shore. 
 And up from the passionate deeps of night 
 Into the shallows and straits of light 
 Softly the forests whirl. 
 Laugh, earth! For thy feigning-face is wise; 
 There is naught so clear as thy morning eyes; 
 And the sun thy lord is an easy lord! 
 What should they be to him, 
 Thine hours of dance in the woodland dim, 
 The brandished torch and the shouted word, 
 The flight, the struggle, the honeyed swoon 
 Neath the wild, wild lips of the moon? 
 
 Beyond the seaward screen of hazel boughs 
 The waves flash argent neath the clambering light ; 
 But wherefore do these wondrous colors run 
 Out of the place of morning? The young leaves 
 Are swept and winnowed upward as a flame, 
 And in their whispering glories swiftly dawns 
 A shape of lordly wings, each plume distinct 
 With dyes auroral. Where, mid store of light, 
 Most spiritual silver burns, a face comes through. 
 My comrade Uriel cometh from the sun! 
 
278 THE MASQUE OF JUDGMENT 
 
 URIEL. 
 
 Appearing. 
 
 Why tarriest on thine errand, Raphael? 
 
 RAPHAEL. 
 I do no errand here. 
 
 URIEL. 
 Why earnest thou then? 
 
 RAPHAEL. 
 
 Since earth is dear to me. Sometimes it seems 
 Treading the prairie s autumn sibilance, 
 Or when the tongues of summer lightning speak 
 In the corners of the cloud I could forget 
 My station mid the deathless hierarchies, 
 And change into a clot of anxious clay. 
 
 URIEL. 
 Mock not, sweet brother! thou who knowest 
 
 well 
 
 Better than I or Michael or the rest - 
 The throes that shake these clots of passionate 
 
 clay; 
 Knowest their lewd harsh blood, their shell of 
 
 sense 
 So frail, so piteously contrived for pain. 
 
THE MASQUE OF JUDGMENT 279 
 
 RAPHAEL. 
 
 I dare to say how little jest it was. 
 Oft, as I leave these sliding shafts of dark, 
 And homeward climb the immaterial cliffs, 
 My heart makes question which were worthier state 
 For a free soul to choose, angelic calm, 
 Angelic vision, ebbless, increscent, 
 Or earth-life with its Teachings and recoils, 
 Its lewd harsh blood so swift to change and flower 
 At the least touch of love, its shell of sense 
 So subtly made to minister them delight, 
 So frail, so piteously contrived for pain. 
 
 URIEL. 
 
 Brother, thou dost not well to wander here. 
 If thou wilt roam, choose some less troubled star. 
 The roaring midst of the insatiate sun 
 Where God has set my watch, is peace to this! 
 Of all the bitter drops that dewed His brow 
 In his old agony, this earth-drop fell 
 Most bitter salt, and ever since hath been 
 Fuller of travailing than other worlds. 
 
 RAPHAEL. 
 Thy speech is dark. I understand it not. 
 
280 THE MASQUE OF JUDGMENT 
 
 URIEL. 
 
 Of a dark thing I speak a few dark words. 
 
 Put from thy gaze the sweet bloom of these hills 
 
 And all this gorgeous dapple of the sea, 
 
 And let thy memory stand again with me 
 
 On Time s untrodden threshold, that first day 
 
 Which searched and stung our immemorial peace 
 
 With pangs of vernal influence. Heaven rose 
 
 As if from sleep, and, lo, through all the void 
 
 Clambered and curled creation like a vine, 
 
 Hanging the dark with clusters of young bloom. 
 
 Then from the viewless ever-folded heart 
 
 Of the mystic Rose, stole breath and pulse of 
 
 change, 
 
 Delicious pantings such as seize the breast 
 Of lovers when the love-tide nears its flood, 
 Yet touched with endless potency of pain, 
 As lips of mothers when their anguish ebbs 
 And leaves the waifling life. Then first the Dove 
 Began to mourn above the mercy-seat, 
 And the dear sister spirits of the Lamps 
 Bent all their shimmering wings one way to screen 
 Their wicks from the wind-flaw. Large with ques 
 tion turned 
 
THE MASQUE OF JUDGMENT 281 
 
 Angelic eyes to archangelic eyes, 
 
 Archangels laid changed lips to the ears of Thrones, 
 
 Thrones gazed at Dominations, Powers made sign 
 
 To Principalities; but not one dared, 
 
 Voicing the fear that filled him, to cry, "Lord, 
 
 What hast Thou brought upon Thy kingdom, 
 
 Thou 
 Ancient of Days!" Their silence was right well. 
 
 RAPHAEL. 
 
 All this the meditative spirits oft 
 Have pondered. But thy meaning still is dark. 
 
 URIEL. 
 Ourselves who questioned why the world was 
 
 made 
 
 Were born of the same questionable seed, 
 And we who feared were the first cause of fear. 
 Of a dark thing I speak a few dark words. 
 Of old the mind of God, coiled on itself 
 In contemplation single and eterne, 
 Felt suddenly a stealing wistfulness 
 Sully the essence of his old content 
 With pangs of dim division. Long He strove 
 Against his bosom s deep necessity, 
 
282 THE MASQUE OF JUDGMENT 
 
 Then, groping for surcease, put forth the orbs 
 
 Of Paradise, with all their imagery, 
 
 And the ordered hierarchies where we stand; 
 
 Some sharing more in his essential calm, 
 
 Some, rebel spirits, banished now or quelled, 
 
 The ill-starred sons of his disquietude, - 
 
 Disquietude not quenched when fell the pride 
 
 Of Lucifer, long bastioned in the North. 
 
 Demand of joy, hardly to be gainsaid, 
 
 And vast necessity of grief, still worked 
 
 Compulsive in his breast: our essence calm, 
 
 Those lucid orbs accordant, could not bring 
 
 Nepenthe long. His hand He still, withheld 
 
 Ages of ages, fearing the event, 
 
 Till, bathed in brighter urge and wistfulness 
 
 He put forth suddenly this vine of Time 
 
 And hung the hollow dark with passionate change. 
 
 RAPHAEL. 
 
 I think for me Heaven seemed not Heaven till then, 
 When from our seats of peace we could behold 
 The strife of ripening suns and withering moons, 
 Marching of ice-floes, and the nameless wars 
 Of monster races laboring to be man ; 
 When we could hear the wrestle of hoarse sound 
 
THE MASQUE OF JUDGMENT 283 
 
 Hurl gust on gust obscurely toward the time 
 Of disinvolved music: till at last, 
 Standing erect amid the giant fern 
 
 URIEL. 
 
 At last! At last! O shaken Breast, nowhere 
 Couldst thou find quiet save in putting forth 
 This last imagination? Could no form 
 Of being stanch thee in thy groping thought 
 Save this of Man? Puny and terrible; 
 Apt to imagine powers beyond himself 
 In wind and lightning; cunning to evoke 
 From mould and flint-stone the surprising fire, 
 And carve the heavy hills to spiritual shapes 
 Of town and temple; nursing in his veins 
 More restlessness than called him from the void, 
 Perfidies, hungers, dreams, idolatries, 
 Pain, laughter, wonder, anger, sex, and song! 
 % 
 
 RAPHAEL. 
 
 God had one other thought, more sweet, more dire ; 
 Thy latest words remind thee. 
 Behind the trees a girV s voice sings. 
 
 daughters of Jerusalem! 
 What said ye unto her 
 
284 THE MASQUE OF JUDGMENT 
 
 Who took her love by the garment s hem, 
 Where the tanned grape- gatherers were? 
 Did any go down and see 
 If she led him into her house? 
 Or was it aloft where the wild harts flee, 
 Was it high in the hills, neath the cedar-tree, 
 That she kissed him and called him spouse? 
 A young man and a girl come over the hill from the 
 town. 
 
 URIEL. 
 
 Unto man 
 
 Woman was due. To hearts of fire more fire, 
 To pride of strength a still subduing strength. 
 As they pass through the coppice, the girl sings. 
 
 keepers of the city walls! 
 Have ye taken her veil away, 
 Whose hasting feet and low love-calls 
 Ye heard at the drop of day? , 
 
 Have ye taken her ankle-rings, 
 Who is fair, who hath eyes like a dove? 
 Must she seek her lover, her king of kings, 
 Naked, stripped of her costly things? 
 Must she have no garment but love? 
 
SCENE II 
 
 A mountain glade and forest. Midnight. 
 
 SHEPHERD. 
 
 Here stand, if thou wilt see, by this great bole. 
 This way they passed, and hither should return. 
 But pray thee, gentle god, when they draw near 
 Abate the splendor of thy face, fold close 
 Thine eyed and irised plumage. God thou art, 
 But thou must needs be mighty to escape 
 The hill girls when they rage! From these old 
 
 boughs 
 
 The climbing moon will soon pour deeper shade 
 To screen thee more. 
 
 RAPHAEL. 
 How looked they when they passed? 
 
 SHEPHERD BOY. 
 
 Coney, how passed the hailstorm o er, quotha! 
 Patter! patter! t was sung beneath i the dark. 
 I lost a birch cup full of whortleberries 
 Scrambling to cover when I heard their songs. 
 
286 THE MASQUE OF JUDGMENT 
 
 But when they burst across the glade, I peeped, 
 And saw their breasts gleam through their angry 
 
 hair. 
 
 Evoe! they had snared the village lad 
 They hanker for so long. I hear them talk, 
 Dawdling on well-curbs with their water-skins 
 Or picking the May-apples. 
 
 SHEPHERD. 
 
 T is the lad 
 
 Who sat mute at the merry threshing-stead, 
 Turned from their orgies in the sacred wood 
 With large bright eyes unamorous, and sang 
 In lonesome places piercing lonesome songs 
 Of other lives and other gods than theirs 
 Perchance of thee and thy bright-winged mates, 
 If mates be thine, for god thou surely art. 
 
 SHEPHERD BOY. 
 
 To-night they have him limed ! Brow of the hawk, 
 Throat of the hermit- thrush, and ring-dove eyes! 
 
 SHEPHERD. 
 
 He came across the moon-drench dragged by three 
 Whose bodies shone like the peeled willow wand ; 
 The little snakes they knot into their hair 
 
THE MASQUE OF JUDGMENT 287 
 
 Lipping his neck, where oozed the red of grapes 
 From his crushed garland ; his hands flung aloft 
 To the symbol of their fierce licentious god. 
 His eyes were large and fixed, his lips apart, 
 As I have seen him in the lonesome woods, 
 But madder than the maddest bacchant there! 
 
 RAPHAEL. 
 Who cometh yonder? 
 
 SHEPHERD. 
 Where? 
 
 RAPHAEL. 
 
 Across the glade. 
 
 SHEPHERD. 
 I see nought. 
 
 RAPHAEL. 
 
 There, behind the trailing mist. 
 The moonlight gathers to a ghostly shape, 
 Unearthly silver, throbbing like a heart! 
 It seems a beast and rider. 
 The shepherds make off. 
 
 Ah, I know 
 
 That icy influence, and the voice I know, 
 First heard in Heaven when time began to be, 
 
288 THE MASQUE OF JUDGMENT 
 
 A voice above our voices, and a hush 
 Beneath our hush, freezing the heart with fear, 
 With fear the heart even of spirit-kind. . . . 
 
 THE ANGEL OF THE PALE HORSE. 
 Sings. 
 
 The scourge of the wrath of God 
 
 We swing and we stay: 
 
 (Rest, my steed, rest!) 
 
 On the green of the hill we have trod, 
 
 And the green is grey. 
 
 .Ours is his scourging rod. 
 
 Yea, thy hoofs long to be fleet 
 
 On the armied hills; 
 
 (Yet rest, my steed, rest!) 
 
 Scent of the arrowy sleet 
 
 Broadens thy nostrils; 
 
 The mown field smelleth sweet. 
 
 God giveth his loins 1 increase 
 
 Into our hand; 
 
 (Rest, my steed, rest!) 
 
 We shall establish his peace 
 
 By sea and by land. 
 
 Soon shall their troubling cease! 
 
THE MASQUE OF JUDGMENT 289 
 
 RAPHAEL. 
 What makes thine errand here? 
 
 ANGEL OF THE PALE HORSE. 
 
 Still as of old. 
 RAPHAEL. 
 I think thou art way- wandered. Here is life. 
 
 ANGEL OF THE PALE HORSE. 
 My horse s feet err not; they are way- wise. 
 
 RAPHAEL. 
 
 Stand by me in the shade of these old boughs, 
 And let no anger fan thy wings alight 
 Or flake the nostrils of thy horse with fire 
 When the young bacchants halloo down the steep. 
 
 ANGEL OF THE PALE HORSE. 
 Thou feedest thy giddy and half-human mind 
 Still on these little spectacles of change, 
 Forgetting Heaven s great woes! 
 
 RAPHAEL. 
 
 What woe can come 
 Into those courts of old beatitude? 
 
2QO THE MASQUE OF JUDGMENT 
 
 ANGEL OF THE PALE HORSE. 
 Hast thou not felt its presence there? 
 
 RAPHAEL. 
 
 Yes nay 
 
 I know not . . . When I enter Heaven gate, 
 Fear comes upon me, for I seem to feel 
 Some subtle waning of accustomed joy, 
 Some dying off of music thin, minute, 
 As the single cricket amid chorusing fields, 
 Whose ceasing breaks the rapture. Often, too, 
 Wan faces shun me in the woods of light 
 And voices of vague dolor die away 
 Along the living lilies as I come. 
 But this I held a phantasy of dream, 
 Bred of too earnest looking on the blight 
 That falls on mortal things. 
 
 ANGEL OF THE PALE HORSE. 
 
 It is no dream; 
 
 Though more mysterious, more dark than dream. 
 Momently fades the splendor, momently 
 Silence and dissonance like eating moths 
 Scatter corruption on the choiring orbs. 
 
THE MASQUE OF JUDGMENT 291 
 
 RAPHAEL. 
 No one declares the cause? 
 
 ANGEL OF THE PALE HORSE. 
 
 The cause is here, 
 
 Here in the vagrant courses of the moon, 
 Who makes her lair and wanders for her love 
 After her own loose law; in yonder stars, 
 Gay spendthrifts of their plentitude of fire; 
 In this most dissolute earth, who decks herself 
 With gorgeous phantasy, and delicate whim, 
 And paces forth before the worlds to dance 
 A maiden measure, modest lids downcast 
 To hide her harlot s guile; but more than these, 
 And more than all, unutterably more, 
 Here in the wild and sinful heart of man, 
 Of all the fruits upon creation s vine 
 The thirstiest one to drain the vital breast 
 Of God, wherein it grows. 
 
 RAPHAEL. 
 
 Too fiery sweet 
 
 Gushes the liquor from the vine He set, 
 Man the broad leaf and maid the honeyed flower! 
 The shepherds creep back, and stand peering from behind 
 the tree at the angels. 
 
292 THE MASQUE OF JUDGMENT 
 
 RAPHAEL. 
 
 Musing. 
 
 What if they rendered up their wills to His? 
 Hushed and subdued their personality? 
 Became as members of the living tree? 
 
 ANGEL OF THE PALE HORSE. 
 A whisper grows, various from tongue to tongue, 
 That so He will attempt. Those who consent 
 To render up their clamorous wills to Him, 
 To merge their fretful being in his peace, 
 He will accept: the rest He will destroy. 
 The boy whispers to Raphael. 
 
 RAPHAEL. 
 What wilt thou, little friend? 
 
 SHEPHERD BOY. 
 
 Hither, sweet god! 
 But let the ghostly centaur stay behind. 
 
 SHEPHERD. 
 
 Lean o er this rock and look into the gorge. 
 See how their torches dip from ledge to ledge. 
 They race beside some shape the torrent bears: 
 The eddies seize it now, and leaning out 
 Over the pool they stop to howl their hymns, 
 
THE MASQUE OF JUDGMENT 293 
 
 And, now it plunges, how they madden down 
 With laughter keen above the drumming foam. 
 
 RAPHAEL. 
 Is t not a man s torn trunk? 
 
 SHEPHERD BOY. 
 
 See those behind 
 
 Grasping the antlers of the lunging stag, 
 That bellows when their torches bite his flanks ! 
 I know the witch who rides him ! 
 
 RAPHAEL. 
 
 Come away 
 
 That is a bleeding head she holds aloft 
 Above the clutching of her comrades hands! 
 
 SHEPHERD BOY. 
 
 No more thou lt shun their orgies in the wood, 
 Throat of the hermit- thrush and ring-dove eyes! 
 Throat of the mourning thrush, thy songs are done ; 
 Sad ring-dove eyes, the lids have shut you in! 
 
 SHEPHERD. 
 
 That is his harp the dancers bear before, 
 Mocking his solemn songs of other gods 
 And other lives than theirs. 
 
294 THE MASQUE OF JUDGMENT 
 
 RAPHAEL. 
 
 Musing. 
 
 Those who consent 
 He will accept : the rest He will destroy ! 
 
 SHEPHERD BOY. 
 Look! look! the ghostly centaur goeth down. 
 
ACT I 
 
 Time : as in the Prelude 
 PERSONS OF THE MASQUE 
 
 RAPHAEL 
 
 URIEL 
 MICHAEL 
 AZAZIEL 
 
 THE ANGEL OF THE PALE HORSE 
 
 THE ANGEL OF THE WHITE HORSE 
 
 THE ANGEL OF THE RED HORSE 
 
 SPIRITS OF THE THRONE-LAMPS 
 
 THE LION OF THE THRONE 
 
 THE EAGLE OF THE THRONE 
 
 THE ANGEL OF THE TREE OF KNOWLEDGE 
 
 SPIRITS OF THE SAVED 
 
 SPIRITS OF THE LOST 
 
 MOON-SPIRITS 
 
 VOICES 
 
 SCENE I. 
 
 A high mountain pass, down which flows a brook, 
 with pools and waterfalls. Early morning. 
 
 RAPHAEL. 
 
 Climbing, sings. 
 
 On earth all is well, all is well on the sea; 
 Though the day breaks dull 
 
296 THE MASQUE OF JUDGMENT [ACT i 
 
 All is well. 
 
 Ere the thunder had ceased to yell 
 
 I flew through the wash of the sea 
 
 Wing and wing with my brother the gull. 
 
 On the crumbling comb of the swell, 
 
 With the spindrift slashing to lee, 
 
 Poised we; 
 
 The petrel thought us asleep 
 
 Till sidewise round on stiffened wing, 
 
 Keen and taut to take the swing 
 
 With the glass-green avalanches in their swerving 
 
 plunge and sweep, 
 Down the glassy, down the prone, 
 Swift as swerving thunder -stone, 
 We shot the green crevasses 
 And we hallooed down the passes 
 Of the deep. 
 
 On earth all is well, all is well. 
 In the weeds of the beach lay the shell 
 With the sleeper within, 
 And the pulse of the sleeper showed through 
 The walls of his delicate house 
 That will wake with the sun into silver and purple 
 and blue. 
 
ACT. I] THE MASQUE OF JUDGMENT 297 
 
 Where the creek makes out and the sea makes in 
 
 Between the low cliff-brows 
 
 Was borne the talk of the alder ed linn 
 
 Matching the meadow s subtile din; 
 
 And hark, from the grey high overhead 
 
 The lark s keen joy was shed! 
 
 For what though the morning sulky was 
 
 And the punctual sun belated, 
 
 His nest was snug in the tufted grass, 
 
 Soft-lined and stoutly plaited, 
 
 And shine sun may or stay away 
 
 Nests must be celebrated ! 
 
 Drowsy with dawn, barely asail, 
 
 Buzzes the blue-bottle over the shale, 
 
 Scared from the pool by the leaping trout; 
 
 And the brood of turtlings clamber out 
 
 On the log by their oozy house. 
 
 Round the roots of the cresses and stems of the 
 
 ferns 
 
 The muskrat goes by dddges and turns; 
 Till she has seized her prey she heeds not the whine 
 
 of her mouse. 
 Lovingly, spitefully, each 
 Kind unto kind makes speech; 
 
298 THE MASQUE OF JUDGMENT [ACT I 
 
 Marriage and birth and war, passion and hunger 
 
 and thirst. 
 Song and plotting and dream, as it was meant from 
 
 the first ! 
 
 He climbs higher, and sings. 
 
 Peering in the dust I thought 
 " How all creatures, small and great, 
 For his pleasure God hath wrought I 11 
 
 When I saw the robins mate 
 Low I sang unto my harp, 
 11 Happy, happy, his estate! 
 
 "Down curved spaces He may warp 
 With old planets; long and long, 
 Where the snail doth tease and carp, 
 
 "Asking with its jellied prong, 
 A whole summer He ma$ bide, 
 Wondrous tiny lives among, 
 Curious, unsatisfied." 
 Still climbing. 
 
 The trees grow stunted in this keener air, 
 And scarce the hardiest blossoms dare to take 
 
ACT I] THE MASQUE OF JUDGMENT 299 
 
 Assurance from the sun. Southward the rocks 
 Boast mosses and a poor increase of flowers, 
 But all the northern shelters hold their snow. 
 Such flowers as come, come not quite flower-like, 
 But smitten from their gracious habitudes 
 By some alarm, some vast and voiceless cry 
 That just has ceased to echo ere I came. 
 These white buds stand unnaturally white, 
 Breathing no odors till their terror pass; 
 Those grey souls toss their arms into the wind, 
 Peer through their locks with bright distracted 
 
 eyes 
 
 And hug the elfin horror to their breasts 
 Poor brain- turned gypsy wildlings, doomed to 
 
 birth 
 
 In this uneasy region! . . . Yonder lift 
 The outposts of the habitable land. 
 Ages of looking on the scene beyond 
 Have worn the granite into shapes of woe 
 And old disaster. 
 
 He climbs higher, to where the ravine debouches into 
 the Valley of the Judgment. 
 
 Each time when I stand 
 Upon the borders of this monstrous place, 
 I still must question wherefore it was flung 
 
300 THE MASQUE OF JUDGMENT [ACT I 
 
 Thus ruinous with toppled peak and scaur, 
 Sheer from the morning cliffs that hold up Hea 
 ven 
 
 To nether caverns where no foot of man 
 Has clambered down, nor eye of angel dared 
 To spy upon the sluggish denizens, 
 If any dwell so deep. What giant plow 
 Harnessed to behemoth and mastodon 
 Set this slope furrow down the side of the world? 
 And to what harvest? . . . Here the sons of men, 
 Living and dead and yet unborn, might come 
 Unto the final judgment; here the lost 
 Might make one desperate stand. . . . What 
 
 moveth there? 
 
 What leonine and winged shape is he 
 Steals up yon gorge all desolate of light 
 Whence voices of fierce- tongued and desperate 
 
 streams 
 
 Sound faint as throats of nooning doves? Till now 
 Never have I beheld a living thing 
 Amid these wastes. What manner beast is he 
 That he hath power to awe me, though removed 
 So far the fallen vastness of a cliff 
 Wherefrom a temple might be quarried, looks 
 Fit for a shepherd s sling? . . . Surely he comes 
 
ACT I] THE MASQUE OF JUDGMENT 301 
 
 From nameless battle yonder in the depths; 
 But whither steals he homeward there aloft? 
 What lair is his cloud-hidden in the snows, 
 Whose mates and loves wait neath the desert 
 
 palms 
 
 To hear him tell his deed? Huge was the fight 
 That left that mighty prowess broken so! 
 For sorely is he broken : now he stops 
 And lies exhausted by an icy pool, 
 Now labors up the shale, skirts the bald top, 
 Drops with fierce caution down the further slope 
 Eyeing the next hard pass. I wonder . . . ? No . . . 
 
 Strange! t was a blood-drop fell upon that flower 
 A-tremble from the brink. Another here 
 Upon the ground-moss nay, upon my hand 
 It falls all round me! ... 
 Looking upward. 
 
 Ah, an eagle goes 
 
 Lame from the battle, mate or duelist 
 Of him who crept by yonder. Even here 
 I see the vast wings, shattered and unpenned, 
 Almost refuse their labor; now he swerves 
 To rest upon a needled dolomite, 
 Then upward grievously another stage 
 
302 THE MASQUE OF JUDGMENT [ACT I 
 
 Toward some sad eyrie where his heart abides. 
 I too must seek my eyrie sad enough, 
 Since there my heart abides not any more, 
 Amid the waste infinitudes of light 
 Missing the flow of day, the refluent dark; 
 Amid the bliss of unconcerning eyes 
 Remembering woman s anguish, man s resolve, 
 Youth s wistful darling guess, kindled and 
 
 quenched 
 
 And quenched and kindled yet a little year 
 In eyes too frail to hold their meaning long 
 Where chance and enmity conspire with death. 
 He flies tip the Valley. 
 
ACT I. SCENE II 
 
 Above the peaks that crown the head of the Valley of 
 the Judgment. 
 
 RAPHAEL. 
 Flying. 
 
 Soon will the cliffs of Heaven give easier way, 
 For though my heart grows human, yet my frame 
 With immaterial things accordance keeps, 
 And to my feet these spiritual hills 
 Feel native, and the climate kind to breathe; 
 Still kindlier for the shredded mist of song 
 That wanders here at morning and at eve 
 Whispering witless words and prophecy. 
 
 VOICES. 
 Above. 
 
 Through the vines of tangled light 
 In the jungles of the sun 
 Swept the Hunter in his might 
 And his lion-beagle dun 
 Gaped for prey to left and right. 
 
 O er the passes of the moon 
 Strode the Hunter in his wrath: 
 The eagle sniffed the icy noon, 
 
30 4 THE MASQUE OF JUDGMENT [ACT i 
 
 "Master, knowest thou the path? 
 Shall we meet thy foe-man soon? 
 
 11 On what interstellar plain, 
 Mid what comet s blinding haze, 
 Storm of star dust, meteor rain, 
 Shall we spy his crouching gaze, 
 Leap at him, and end thy pain?" 
 
 Peace is on the heavenly meres, 
 Sabbath lies on Paradise; 
 But the little Throne-Lamp fears, 
 For she sees the Master s eyes, 
 And she tastes the Master s tears. 
 
 RAPHAEL. 
 
 Many an age your song has hovered round 
 This theme of Heaven s distress. What mean ye 
 
 now? 
 
 Was that the lion-hound of which ye sing 
 Crept wounded hither, masterless, this hour? 
 
 VOICES. 
 As before. 
 
 Where had his gadding spirit led ? 
 Beside what peopled water-head 
 
ACT I] THE MASQUE OF JUDGMENT 305 
 
 Stooped he, or on what sleeping face 
 
 Was he intent the dream to trace? 
 
 Had creature love upon him fawned 
 
 Or had he drunk of mortal mirth 
 
 That he knew not what a morning dawned 
 
 Over his darling earth? 
 
 Heard not the storm, heard not the cries, 
 
 Heard not the talk of the startled skies 
 
 Over the guilty earth? 
 
 RAPHAEL. 
 
 Those dubious voices fade, and in their stead 
 Succeeds a sound more anxious and perturbed, 
 Voices and mutterings of supernal wrath 
 Or whisperings of fear. . . . Ah, there aloft 
 Upon the beetling rosy crag they stand, 
 The pale horse and the white horse and the red ! 
 What rage vermilions his expanded wing? 
 Why streams his mane so fiery on the wind 
 Back from his staring eyeballs? What should 
 
 make 
 
 His brother s steady candor pulse and throb 
 And falter like the light on cavern walls 
 Rocked under by the tide? O never yet 
 Did the pale horse seem terrible as now, 
 
306 THE MASQUE OF JUDGMENT [ACT I 
 
 Pawing the margent cliff and snorting down 
 Pale fire into the Valley ! . . . Brothers, hail ! 
 I fare from outland. Tell me what befalls. 
 
 ANGEL OF THE WHITE HORSE. 
 He strays too much abroad. He hath not heard. 
 
 ANGEL OF THE PALE HORSE. 
 They say that he has lived too much in the sun 
 And waxes mortal, mortal. We shall see. 
 
 ANGEL OF THE RED HORSE. 
 Saw st thou aught stirring in the valley deeps? 
 
 RAPHAEL. 
 
 Far down below a beast crept wounded hither. 
 Why gaze ye on each other thus aghast? 
 
 ANGEL OF THE RED HORSE. 
 Cast ye that way the passes and defiles ! 
 This way will I. 
 The Angels of the Horses disappear. 
 
 RAPHAEL. 
 
 What news has spread concern 
 Even to these marks and purlieus of God s dream? 
 
ACT i] THE MASQUE OF JUDGMENT 307 
 
 Below the sun s pale rim a paleness moves, 
 Grows larger, blots the disc with deepening light. . . . 
 And now above the Valley treads a shape 
 Too lordly to be aught but Uriel! 
 Poised on a peak he halts to gaze behind ; 
 Now wingeth nearer, in the Eagle s track 
 
 URIEL. 
 
 Approaching. 
 
 Hail, brother. 
 
 RAPHAEL. 
 Hail! Saw st thou the fight below? 
 
 URIEL. 
 
 Of what I saw I cannot spell the sense, 
 Too darkly hid for me! 
 
 RAPHAEL. 
 
 Share me at least 
 
 Thy news, though scant. That winged and brin 
 dled bulk, 
 
 Whence came it and what quarry did it seek ? 
 And the great eagle, was it mate or foe? 
 
 URIEL. 
 
 No earthly beast it was, no earthly bird, 
 Seeking no earthly quarry. More than this 
 
308 THE MASQUE OF JUDGMENT [ACT i 
 
 I know not how to say, ere I have mused 
 Where in the sun s core light and thought are one. 
 
 RAPHAEL. 
 But yet conjecture clamors at thy heart. 
 
 URIEL. 
 
 Thou knowest what whispers are abroad in Heaven ; 
 How God pines ever for his broken dream, 
 Broken by vague division, whence who knows! 
 And pangs of restless love too strong to quench 
 Save by the putting of creation forth, 
 Quenched then but for a moment, since the worlds 
 He made to soothe Him only vex Him more, 
 Being compact of passion, violent, 
 Exceeding quarrelsome, and in their midst 
 Man the arch-troubler. Fainter whispers say 
 He ponders how to win his prodigal 
 By some extremity to render back 
 The heritage abused, to merge again 
 Each individual will into his will : 
 Till when, his pangs increase. 
 
 RAPHAEL. 
 
 A nine days tale. 
 I hold Him no such weakling! Yet . . . and yet. . . 
 
ACT I] THE MASQUE OF JUDGMENT 309 
 
 I have beheld ... I know not . . . pallor 
 
 couched 
 
 On brows that wont to beacon ; through the orbs 
 Quivers of twilight, hints and flecks of change. . . . 
 We cannot be, we would not be, I deem, 
 The same as ere space was, or time began 
 To trellis there life s wild and various bloom. 
 We linger. Let me hear. 
 
 URIEL. 
 
 Some things He made 
 Out of his wistfulness, his ecstasy, 
 And made them lovely fair; yet other some 
 Out of his loathing, out of his remorse, 
 Out of chagrin at the antinomy 
 Cleaving his nature ; these are monstrous shapes, 
 Whereof the most abhorred one dwells below 
 Within the caves and aged wells of dark 
 Toward which this Valley plunges. There it waits 
 Hoarding its ugly strength till time be full. 
 
 RAPHAEL. 
 How nam st thou him? 
 
 URIEL. 
 
 The spirits meditative 
 Darkly name him : The Worm that Dieth not, 
 
310 THE MASQUE OF JUDGMENT [ACT i 
 
 Perhaps the scourge reserved for those who 
 
 prove 
 
 Rebellious in the event, perhaps himself 
 Scourge of the Scourger, biding but his hour 
 To venge his miscreation. So he lies, 
 A thing most opposite to spirit-kind, 
 Most hated by the Four who guard the Throne, 
 Within the viewless panoply of light 
 Immediately ministrant. To them, 
 But to the Lion and the Eagle most, 
 Is given to gaze in the Eternal eyes 
 Like hounds about a hunter s knee, that watch 
 Each passion written on their master s brow, 
 And having read his trouble, steal away 
 To taste the troubler s flesh beneath their 
 
 fangs. 
 
 So stole away the Lion of the Throne, 
 The Eagle for his aid. Beneath the moon 
 Last night I came upon them stealing down, 
 Too eager on the scent to mark my flight. 
 Even to the splintered curb of the last profound 
 I followed, and thence heard the battle rage 
 Bellowed above by the loath elements, 
 Till dawn showed in the east, an ashen dawn 
 Clotted and drizzled o er with sullen light. 
 
ACT I] THE MASQUE OF JUDGMENT 311 
 
 RAPHAEL. 
 
 Their hearts were faithful. They were fain to save 
 The Master from some sad extremity. . . . 
 But not in yonder depths, alas, doth lie 
 The arch-foe of his peace. Would it were so ! 
 A monster bred to hatred in the dark. 
 Would it were so ! not rather, as we fear, 
 Man the uplifted stature, the proud mind, 
 The laughter! 
 
 URIEL. 
 
 Speedily our doubt shall end, 
 For not much more delayeth the event. 
 My watch is set within the sun, and thither 
 My hour constrains me. 
 
 RAPHAEL. 
 
 Heavenward I. Farewell! 
 
 ACT I. SCENE III 
 
 A garden in Heaven. The Eagle sits on the Tree of 
 Knowledge ; the Lion and the Angel of the White 
 Horse rest beneath. 
 
 ANGEL OF THE WHITE HORSE. 
 Deep in the purple umbrage droops the bird, 
 His sick eye sealed beneath the weary lid 
 
312 THE MASQUE OF JUDGMENT [ACT i 
 
 Which scarce his right wing s torn and gaping gold 
 Disfeathered hideth, since long hours ago 
 He sidewise tucked his wounded head away, 
 Shunning the light s offense; and through the 
 
 boughs 
 
 Let sink this mighty pinion sinister 
 A vast and ruined length, whereof the plumes 
 That yesterday planed sunlike o er the Throne 
 Are all blood-rusted now and misted on 
 With obscure breathings of a nadir clime. 
 Between the Lion s paws a thousand flowers 
 Have withered since he laid him groaning down, 
 And in uneasy slumber racked with dreams 
 Flingeth at whiles a sanguine froth abroad 
 To sear what rests of herbage or of bloom 
 Un withered by his breath. They saw me not 
 Though close I tracked them up the cloudy 
 
 heights, 
 Nor once have marked me through the exhausted 
 
 hours 
 While here I wait the time to question them. 
 
 Hark! in their dreams they speak, and in their 
 
 dreams 
 Do act again their awful enterprise. 
 
ACT i] THE MASQUE OF JUDGMENT 313 
 
 THE EAGLE. 
 
 Creep softly, softly! Heaven s streets are still, 
 Each seraph sentry drowseth on his hill, 
 The winds of song are folded, and as flowers 
 Folded are all the domes and dreaming towers. 
 Creep softly, softly ; I am with thee, mate ! 
 Softly I soar above the shrouded gate, 
 And till thou comest past the warding swords 
 Lone in the outer moonlight I will wait. 
 
 THE LION. 
 
 Wing swiftly ! For the walls of chrysopras 
 Have melted at my roar to let me pass; 
 But Heaven is up and peers with mazed eyes, 
 And wings are weighed to hinder our emprise. 
 Wing swiftly, swiftly, down the glooming air, 
 Past cloud and precipice and mountain stair, 
 For ere another morning drowns the stars 
 We must have met the Worm wfthin his lair. 
 
 THE EAGLE. 
 
 Drear are the depths, O brother, 
 Bitter the fight! 
 Vainly we stand by each other. 
 
3 i4 THE MASQUE OF JUDGMENT [ACT I 
 
 Thy might and my might 
 
 Are as straw, in the flame and the smother. 
 
 ANGEL OF THE WHITE HORSE. 
 
 ye familiars benedite, 
 
 Who, hidden in the eternal glow, 
 Keep guard about the Throne, 
 What things were given to your sight 
 Ere to the hold of such a foe 
 Ye dared to venture down? 
 
 THE LION. 
 
 A waking. 
 
 Ages and ages we gazed, 
 
 Stricken at heart and amazed, 
 
 Till the morning look 
 
 From his brow was strook, 
 
 Silver and vair 
 
 In the flame of his hair 
 
 And his lip with anguish crazed. 
 
 Then low I spoke to my mate, 
 "My heart must unburden its hate. 
 
 1 will walk through the pathless woods 
 Where the wild stars hatch their broods, 
 I will girdle the steppes 
 
ACT I] THE MASQUE OF JUDGMENT 315 
 
 Where the meteor creeps 
 
 Like a slug on the rimy sward. 
 
 Perhaps at the trampled brink 
 
 Where the Bear goes down to drink, 
 
 Perhaps where on the purple leas 
 
 Dance the young Pleiades, 
 
 Somewhere at length 
 
 I shall laugh in my strength 
 
 Spying the Shape abhorred, 
 
 Somewhere at last 
 
 I shall break my fast 
 
 On the flesh of the Foe of the Lord!" 
 
 THE EAGLE. 
 
 Wearily thou crep st back 
 Sore from the track; 
 
 Thy hide was torn and thy tongue was black. 
 Long thou did st slumber and deep. 
 
 THE LION. 
 
 A voice came in my sleep 
 Saying, "Why wander so far? 
 Nearhand lieth the earth 
 Full of rumors of war, 
 Of passion and pride no dearth. 
 There in his cavern cold 
 
316 THE MASQUE OF JUDGMENT [ACT I 
 
 Lurketh the Dragon old ; 
 
 He lies and pastures, plain to see, 
 
 On God s heart, sluggishly, 
 
 As once he sucked of the fruits of gold 
 
 Ages ago, on the Eden tree. 
 
 ANGEL OF THE WHITE HORSE. 
 Hearken ! A wind walks in the Tree 
 Though the lily-heads are still, 
 From bough to bough inscrutably 
 It feeleth out its will; 
 And now the leaves, a-tremble long, 
 Utter impulsive song. 
 
 THE ANGEL OF THE TREE. 
 Not in the loosened whirlwinds that invade 
 The sun s white core with shade, 
 Not in the wandering tribes of fire that sweep 
 With rapine through the deep, 
 Not in the venom of the caverned Worm 
 That drowseth out his term, 
 Nay, not in these or aught akin to these 
 Consisteth of God s groaning and disease 
 The incorporeal germ. 
 Though all that He hath made 
 Rebels and is exceeding turbulent, 
 
ACT I] THE MASQUE OF JUDGMENT 317 
 
 Though all his loins increase 
 
 Go after pleasures other than He meant, 
 
 And with excessive claims 
 
 Drain and defile the founts of his content, 
 
 Yet only one of all the shapes He brought 
 
 Out of the gulfs of thought, 
 
 One only creature of his quickening hands 
 
 Hath from its brow 
 
 With reckless laugh and with reiterate vow 
 
 Stripped clean away all decencies and shames; 
 
 Till with continual strife 
 
 And divagant demands 
 
 Of separate life, 
 
 The searching and the scornful heart of Man 
 
 God s inmost being maims. 
 
 THE EAGLE. 
 
 For naught have my wings been broken, 
 Vain are the wounds of thy paws! 
 Hark what the Tree hath spoken. 
 
 ANGEL OF THE PALE HORSE. 
 Hush ! For a murmur shakes the bloom 
 That once drank Eden dew, 
 A shadowed wind like a word of doom 
 Darkens the branches through. 
 
3i8 THE MASQUE OF JUDGMENT [ACT I 
 
 THE ANGEL OF THE TREE. 
 Now draweth on the time declared of old 
 When He shall make division of the fold, 
 Shall winnow out the kernels from the chaff, 
 Shall tread his grapes, and in a silver cup 
 Chalice the good wine up 
 And cast away the pummace and the draff. 
 
 Too long and much too long 
 
 He hath endured his wrong. 
 
 A little vine of life He set to grow 
 
 Not far off from the footstool of his feet, 
 
 That it might be in spring a pleasant show 
 
 Of budding charities, 
 
 In autumn clothe itself with temperate sweet 
 
 Of love s long-mellowing fruit 
 
 So mild the angel youth might pluck and eat 
 
 Nor feel the mortal savor trouble shoot 
 
 Across their holy ease. 
 
 But now the vine, 
 
 Grown waste and riotous, has sent its root 
 
 With monstrous loop and twine 
 
 In circles nine times nine 
 
 About the bowels of his holy hill, 
 
 And million-fold its mouth 
 
ACT I] THE MASQUE OF JUDGMENT 319 
 
 Has drunk his songful springs and quenched his 
 
 veins with drouth. 
 Twelve shapes of sculptured dream 
 On Heaven s twelve gateways gleam, 
 Jasper, chalcedony, and jade, 
 Beryl and lazuline; 
 
 And there-amid the rank leaves of the vine 
 Earthy and lush 
 At morn with laughter push, 
 At evening droop and fade. 
 Its carnal fruits are insolently laid, 
 With stealth and hasty birth, 
 Even in God s streets and in his garden bowers, 
 And from the topmost glory of his towers 
 Singeth and maketh mirth 
 The exultation of its sudden flowers. 
 Long and too long hath his compassion shrunk 
 From laying of the axe unto the trunk; 
 Nor, though the blade is ground, and kindled white 
 The furnace, will He quite 
 Even now, 
 
 Even now, though day is late, 
 Utterly burn and cast into the slough 
 The thing He made to love and still is loath to 
 
 hate. 
 
320 THE MASQUE OF JUDGMENT [ACT I 
 
 But first He will put off eternity 
 
 And put on body of their flowering clay, 
 
 That thus brought near He may familiarly 
 
 Close in each ear the word of pleading say. 
 
 Each blinding heart that stubborns all astray 
 
 Shall hear Him calling closer than the blood 
 
 That both its ruby gates with tumult fills; 
 
 And to the wild procession of their wills 
 
 Raving idolatrous in the sacred wood, 
 
 His voice of poignant love 
 
 Though quiet as the voice of dust to dust 
 
 Shall clearly sound above 
 
 The beaten cymbal and the shrewd-blown shell, 
 
 Saying as soft as rain, 
 
 "The gift I gave I fain would have again, 
 
 Ye have not used it well ! 
 
 Break ye the thyrsus and the phallic sign, 
 
 Put off the ivy and the violet, 
 
 A dearer standard shall before you shine 
 
 And for your lustral foreheads ye shall twine 
 
 A fairer garland yet, 
 
 When the processions mild 
 
 Shall greet you and behold you reconciled 
 
 And sing you home across the deathless asphodel. 
 
 But ye who will not so, 
 
ACT I] THE MASQUE OF JUDGMENT 321 
 
 Take up the phallus and the wreathed snake, 
 Let the wine flow, 
 
 And let the mountains echo to your yell. 
 Your ways lie by the burning of the lake 
 Long kindled for your sake : 
 Be ye not slow, 
 But go 
 
 Urging your panther teams through the wide 
 woods of Hell!" 
 
ACT II 
 
 Time: during and immediately after the Crucifixion. 
 The outlying plains of Heaven. Storm and darkness. 
 
 RAPHAEL. 
 
 But now the air was thick with panic shades 
 Who made no answer when I cried to them 
 Across the vortices of spiritual dark. 
 Upon what stricken plain have I been flung, 
 Whose miscreations blot with leaves like hands 
 The far horizon light? Some glow-worm ghost 
 Flees yonder, pauses, turns, and flees again : 
 A woman spirit, by the anguish sweet 
 Wakes in me at her anguish. Sister, hear! 
 
 THE SPIRIT OF THE THRONE-LAMP. 
 O Light undimmed, if thou art powerful, 
 Speak to the wind ! For see, my wings are torn 
 And shelter not my lamp ; t is almost spent. 
 
 RAPHAEL. 
 
 Me too the wind afflicts. Together thus 
 Our wings will shield the flame. Already, see, 
 It climbs and steadies in the crystal bowl, 
 
ACT II] THE MASQUE OF JUDGMENT 323 
 
 And purges half the terror from thine eyes, 
 Thou love-lamp of the Lord ! Are these his storms? 
 By his allowance are we thus distraught? 
 
 THE SPIRIT OF THE LAMP. 
 His throne is empty and Himself is gone. 
 
 RAPHAEL. 
 Child, fright hath crazed thee. Lean thy shaking 
 
 breast 
 On mine : shut out the terrifying dark. 
 
 THE SPIRIT OF THE LAMP. 
 He died with grieving o er the world He made. 
 
 RAPHAEL. 
 
 We live in Him ; with Him shall all things die. 
 Bright burns thy lamp ; take heart, and tell me soon 
 What hath befallen in Heaven. 
 
 THE SPIRIT OF THE LAMP. 
 
 I know not well. 
 My secret lies upon my heart too long. . . . 
 
 RAPHAEL. 
 
 Nay, tremble not. Rather look out and see 
 What presence comes; its influence makes cheer; 
 T will be some spirit glad and resolute. 
 
324 THE MASQUE OF JUDGMENT [ACT n 
 
 Put by thy wings and look ; my eyes are blind 
 Watching the feverous pulsings of thy lamp. 
 
 THE SPIRIT OF THE LAMP. 
 
 T is he whose tent is pitched within the sun, 
 But hardly glad, no longer resolute. 
 Even Uriel s lordly light the wind subdues. 
 
 RAPHAEL. 
 Hail, Uriel! 
 
 THE SPIRIT OF THE LAMP. 
 Hail! 
 
 URIEL. 
 Hail, brother! Sister, hail! 
 
 RAPHAEL. 
 
 Close, lend thy breadth of wing! Thou art a 
 
 strength. 
 Speak, if thou knowest what has come to pass. 
 
 URIEL. 
 
 Something I know, and hither through the storms 
 Ttfat vex the deeps and on disastrous shores 
 Fling all frail stars that coast and merchant there, 
 
ACT II] THE MASQUE OF JUDGMENT 325 
 
 I come to learn the sequel if to learn 
 Be mine, in such a matter. 
 
 RAPHAEL. 
 
 Speak. 
 
 THE SPIRIT OF THE LAMP. 
 
 Oh, speak! 
 URIEL. 
 
 Neath pleached boughs and vines of ancient fire 
 In the white centre of the sun I lay, 
 And watched the armies of young seraphim 
 Naked at play on the candescent plains, 
 When suddenly the skies of flame were rent 
 In sunder, and the plain became a sea 
 Whereon the whirlwind walked through weltering 
 
 lanes 
 
 To the sun s core. With pain I made my way 
 Twixt element and angry element. 
 Vast shapes of gathering and dissolving fire 
 That seemed as beast and bird, and awful frames 
 Of shadow, dubious whether bird or beast 
 Or fish or reptile, hidden until now 
 In shifting caverns of the photosphere, 
 Rose up across my path ; and in their eyes 
 Sat fear, and on their limbs astonishment. 
 
326 THE MASQUE OF JUDGMENT [ACT n 
 
 At last, long battling and bewildered oft, 
 I gained the solar coasts. Wide round I saw 
 Each planet passion-changed, each haggard star 
 Reeling from flight and swoon, and the great deep 
 Toiled like a runner s heart who runs with death. 
 Calm at confusion s centre stood the Earth, 
 A spiritual nimbus round her brow 
 Like as a woman angel-visited, 
 Sightless and deaf to all things save her swoon 
 And her heart s solemn hallelujah. 
 
 THE SPIRIT OF THE LAMP. 
 
 Oh, 
 
 What hath He sent upon the joyous Earth? 
 The Earth that has the blue and little flowers 
 Thou brought st me once to wreath my lamp 
 
 withal, 
 
 Earth-lover! But they faded very soon, 
 And left a nameless hunger in my heart. 
 Thy Earth was chosen, Raphael! Art thou glad? 
 
 RAPHAEL. 
 
 Not glad nor sorry, sister, since not yet 
 I know the meaning of our brother s words. 
 Earth-wandering, and the shows of restless time, 
 Have weighed the eyelids of my spirit down. 
 
ACT ii] THE MASQUE OF JUDGMENT 327 
 
 Speak, Uriel, and speak plain. What followed 
 
 then? 
 
 URIEL. 
 
 That rapt and solemn aspect of the Earth 
 Soon drew me to her through the shuddering air; 
 And circling swiftly round her as she went 
 I neared the twilight verge that dipped toward 
 
 night. 
 
 Here on a sunset hill I stayed my wings. 
 Rabble of people and much soldiery 
 Poured thence into their city gates; the place 
 Was steeped in level spendor after storm, 
 And like to pillars of advancing fire 
 Three trees of crucifixion loomed, whereon 
 Three men hung crucified, one beautiful 
 Beyond the measure of Man s flowering clay, 
 Conspicuous o er the world placed for a sign. 
 Slowly to meet my gaze the dying lids 
 Were lifted, and the faint eyes swam on mine 
 
 RAPHAEL. 
 Nay, sister, sink not ! We are three : be strong. 
 
 THE SPIRIT OF THE LAMP. 
 I know whose eyes swam faint on thine ! I know 
 The sorrows that He suffered for his world, 
 
328 THE MASQUE OF JUDGMENT [ACT n 
 
 Ere ever He put off eternity 
 
 And put on clay, to be by hands of clay 
 
 Hung for a sign! 
 
 RAPHAEL. 
 
 Above the pausing wind 
 Hearken! a rush of pinions. Who are these 
 That put an influence in this bitter air 
 Like Spring when she comes galliard from the 
 south? 
 
 URIEL. 
 
 The globe of amber light wherein they fly 
 Goes ashen in the flaws. That ship of souls 
 Tacks in the wind s teeth and is blown abroad 
 Nigh Heaven s last confines. Now it veers again, 
 And groweth larger: they will pass this way. 
 Brother, lift up thy voice and sing to them. 
 These be the spirits that within the moon 
 Wander the lucent forests; shy are they 
 Amid their wood-thoughts and their shy love- 
 thoughts, 
 
 Only by song their minds are quickly swayed. 
 Wide has the ocean been for their frail wings, 
 And wild the panic that has driven them forth 
 From their still lunar isle. Thy song shall be 
 A kindly net to snare them as they pass. 
 
ACT II] THE MASQUE OF JUDGMENT 329 
 
 RAPHAEL. 
 
 Sings. 
 
 Shore-birds wet with deep-sea dew, 
 
 Fold your wings and stay your flight; 
 
 Stay, stay! 
 
 Long was the way, 
 
 Grieved with wind is your tender light, 
 
 Stay, till our love rekindle you. 
 
 Wood-birds that through lunar glens 
 
 Flood the noon of night with singing, 
 
 Hearken, hearken! 
 
 Our minds undarken: 
 
 O er your phosphor forests winging, 
 
 Say, what shadow scared you thence? 
 
 The moon-spirits alight in a circle round the three an 
 gels. 
 
 THE SPIRIT OF THE LAMP. 
 
 How fair they must have been ere yet their light 
 Was ruined with the wind and flying spume, 
 Being so fair, though ruined ! 
 
 FIRST MOON-SPIRIT. 
 
 Who are ye 
 
 That seem so safe when every shaken world 
 Voideth its tenantry, and even those stars 
 
330 THE MASQUE OF JUDGMENT [ACT n 
 
 That keep the marches and strongholds of space 
 Flee with affrighted eyes down alien deeps, 
 Or cling to the necks of comets, whispering words 
 That stop them in their courses, though they 
 
 be 
 Violent souls and outlaw. 
 
 URIEL. 
 
 We are such 
 
 As share God s sorrow in his evil time, 
 And wait the issue of the desperate draught 
 He drinks this hour to win surcease of pain. 
 
 SECOND MOON-SPIRIT. 
 
 Speak simply to the simple ; make thy words 
 Accordant to our minds; our element 
 Is the moon s meek, unintellectual day. 
 
 URIEL. 
 
 You in the moon have felt his pangs more near 
 Than may the passionate dwellers in quick worlds 
 Wrapped in their own hot being ; for your sphere 
 Has cooled the angry metal in its veins, 
 Its spent volcanoes utter now no more 
 Their proud and hasty meanings; age by age 
 Your world tends back to silence, rendering up 
 
ACT n] THE MASQUE OF JUDGMENT 331 
 
 Its selfhood and control into his hands 
 
 Whence it rebelled, like all his prodigals, 
 
 To spend the hoard of fire He dowered them 
 
 with 
 
 Too rashly. So it hangs, a doubtful ground : 
 Now, brooded on by powers of heavenly peace, 
 It goeth darkling and your hearts are dumb, 
 Now, caught within the orbits of desire, 
 It gathers ghostly splendor; in your woods 
 Old rites are paid, and o er your crystal peaks, 
 That burn at the heart like genie-haunted gems, 
 Sweeps revelry so wild that mortal men, 
 Shepherds or sailors, gazing half a night, 
 Wander at dawn brain-crazed. 
 
 THIRD MOON-SPIRIT. 
 
 Angel, we wait, 
 
 We wait with trembling till thy lips declare 
 This present hour s disaster. Whose the arm 
 That broke our steppes in twain, and from the 
 
 roots 
 
 Of cloven hills haled shapes of former men 
 And frames of monstrous ravin, ages dead? 
 Whose mouth was set against the moon-children 
 To blow their sheeny pleasances to dust 
 
332 THE MASQUE OF JUDGMENT [ACT n 
 
 And scare them from their world? 
 
 What plains are these 
 Whose spiritual pulse of light and dark 
 Throbs as if hope and terror struggled there? 
 
 URIEL. 
 
 These are the plains of Heaven, least create 
 Of God s creation, nearest to his hand 
 When He would discreate, as now perchance, 
 The deeps that teem with rebel energies 
 Wanton, unteachable, intolerable, 
 Whereof the soul of man, though meant to be 
 His dearest pride and joy, is frowardest 
 And first to vex Him: were Man s will subdued, 
 The rest beneath his banners soon would swarm. 
 Long hath He warned and pleaded, but to-day 
 With a most searching bosom-whisper pleads; 
 For in their likeness clad He gives Himself 
 To die that they may live, accepting Him, 
 Or, still rejecting, and preferring still 
 Their own unto his pleasure, may be cast 
 To outer darkness and the second death. 
 These storms and perturbations are his throes, 
 And here we wait until He reassume 
 His attributes and kingdom. 
 
ACT II] THE MASQUE OF JUDGMENT 333 
 
 THE SPIRIT OF THE LAMP. 
 
 Will He come? 
 
 And will the ancient peace be ours again? 
 Speak, brother, will it be? 
 
 URIEL. 
 
 Hope still is ours. 
 
 Tremble no more, sweet Flame ! Good hope is ours. 
 
 THE SPIRIT OF THE LAMP. 
 My secret lies upon my heart too long! 
 Since first the trumpet told of Time begun, 
 And in the seven bowls the seven flames, 
 So white before and still, a patient praise, 
 Leaped up in restless colors, fear hath stood 
 A whispering eighth among the sisters seven, 
 A thin small voice singing above our songs, 
 A hush beneath our hush. Each side the throne 
 The mystic olive trees began to blow, 
 And on the candlesticks that burn beneath 
 Dropped dying bloom and fruitage mortal ripe. 
 When evening spread upon the holy hill 
 Its excellence of peace, small restless wings, 
 To Heaven unnative, fluttered round our lamps, 
 Forever circling nearer till they threw 
 Into the flame their lives of longing dust, 
 
334 THE MASQUE OF JUDGMENT [ACT n 
 
 And though we plucked the char out hastily 
 A climbing rust had dulled our torch of praise. 
 Nay, where the very breast of God should be, 
 Fofever panoplied with viewless light, 
 Gnawed darkness like a worm, and when this wind 
 That never came till now, blew wide and thin 
 The splendor of the Throne-stead hush, bend 
 
 close ! 
 His eyes were old with pain. Then all at once 
 
 brothers, is it hours or aeons since? 
 Intolerable lambence lit the air; 
 
 The sea of glass whereon the nations stand 
 At morn to carol, curdled red as blood, 
 And rolled a moaning billow to the shore; 
 The Eagle screamed; upon the tabled gem 
 Where was the footstool of God s feet, lay prone 
 The Lion s whining muzzle; and the Calf 
 Bleated beneath his six-times-folded wing. 
 My sister lamps were quenched, but ere I fled 
 
 1 crept up past the Lion s awful paws, 
 
 Up past the shrouding light, and saw His place 
 Was empty. ... Is it hours or aeons since? 
 I found the shadowed fields about me, grey 
 Each hearted amaranth and asphodel, 
 The living forests with their veins of light 
 
ACT n] THE MASQUE OF JUDGMENT 335 
 
 Looped thickly, and the burning flowers between, 
 The living waters, and the lily souls 
 Along the waters all a stricken grey ! 
 Where er I fled or turned it still pursued - 
 That Nothingness that sat upon the Throne; 
 And now it waits to seize me yonder, here ! 
 
 URIEL. 
 
 Hush, be of better comfort. Through the plain 
 Auroral pallors wake the asphodels; 
 The wind at last is still ; and eastward far 
 Beyond the friths and islands of that sea 
 Which spreads before his dwelling in the Mount, 
 Behold, beginning glories star the dusk, 
 As if the clouds rolled burning from the throne, 
 To show us signs and wonders risen there. 
 And hark! the happy presage of keen wings 
 Ingathering from the corners of the winds; 
 Large light, and silvery calls and far replies, 
 And deeps of song that call unto the deeps. 
 
 RAPHAEL. 
 
 * 
 His agony is done : a little while 
 
 He tarries, but He surely comes again 
 Even though but for a little. 
 
336 THE MASQUE OF JUDGMENT [ACT n 
 
 THE SPIRIT OF THE LAMP. 
 
 Let us join 
 
 These hasting companies whose steady flight 
 Goes tempered to all manner instruments 
 Borne in their midst by hidden taborists, 
 Lute-players, and them that pluck the dulcimer 
 All sweet musicians! Surely these go in 
 Unto some holy matter. 
 
 RAPHAEL. 
 
 Surely. Come! 
 
ACT III. SCENE I 
 
 A peak above the Valley of the Judgment. Between 
 midnight and dawn of the Day of Judgment. 
 
 RAPHAEL. 
 
 Alas, on this lone height my pinions fail, 
 And half my dreaming world unvisited ! 
 As a sick woman, who, when morning glooms 
 Must leave for aye the house where she was 
 
 wed, 
 
 Yearns to behold the thrice-familiar rooms, 
 And rises trembling, and with watch-lamp goes 
 From chamber unto chamber, stopping now 
 To muse upon her dead child s pictured brow, 
 And now to dream of little merriments 
 Enacted, and of trivial dear events, 
 Until her weakness grows 
 Upon her, and she sinks and cannot rise, - 
 So, since upon the sad and prescient skies 
 The darkness of this ultimate night was shed, 
 My feet from haunted place to haunted place 
 Of my familiar earth have kept their pace : 
 
338 THE MASQUE OF JUDGMENT [ACT in 
 
 Alas, that ere the half be mused upon, 
 And while the coming up of dreadful day 
 Is still an hour away 
 My wing is broken, and my strength is gone! 
 
 Star after star goes out above the peak, 
 And only from the morning star is shed 
 Keen influence. Great star! He is not weak, 
 His pinions fail not; for he never quaffed 
 This frail and fiery air that mortals drink: 
 He has not heard when little children laughed ; 
 He has not watched old pensioners break their 
 
 bread ; 
 
 To woman s lips he never held the draught 
 Of anguish, that a man-child might be born; 
 The May woods never saw him hiding there 
 His wings and flaming hair 
 
 To watch the young men pluck the budded thorn ; 
 Nor has his mouth put off its seraph scorn 
 To hang with startled cry 
 Of grievous inquiry 
 Above the stoic forehead of the dead. 
 
 O heart of man, how I have loved thee ! 
 Hidden in sunlight what sweet hours were 
 mine 
 
ACT. in] THE MASQUE OF JUDGMENT 339 
 
 Of lover-like espial upon thine; 
 
 Thrilled with thy shadowy fears, half guessing 
 
 The hope that lit thy veins like wine, 
 
 Musing why this was bane and that thy bless 
 ing, 
 
 My angel-ichor moved by all that moved thee; 
 
 Though oft the meanings of thy joy and woe 
 
 Were hid, were hard to know; 
 
 For deep beneath the clear crystalline waters 
 
 That feed the hearts of Heaven s sons and daugh 
 ters, 
 
 The roots of thy life go. 
 
 O dreamer! O desirer! Goer down 
 
 Unto untraveled seas in untried ships! 
 
 O crusher of the unimagined grape 
 
 On unconceived lips! 
 
 O player upon a lordly instrument 
 
 No man or god hath had in mind to invent; 
 
 O cunning how to shape 
 
 Effulgent Heaven and scoop out bitter Hell 
 
 From the little shine and saltness of a tear; 
 
 Sieger and harrier, 
 
 Beyond the moon, of thine own builded town, 
 
 Each morning won, each eve impregnable, 
 
 Each noon evanished sheer! 
 
340 THE MASQUE OF JUDGMENT [ACT in 
 
 Thou fiery essence in a vase of fire! 
 
 What quarry gathered and packed down the clay 
 
 To make this delicate vessel of desire? 
 
 Who digged it? In what mortar did he bray? 
 
 Whose wistful hand did lead 
 
 All round the lyric brede? 
 
 Who tinted it, and burned the dross away? 
 
 He, He," (doth some one say?) 
 
 " Whose mallet-arm is lift and knitted hard 
 
 To break it into shard!" 
 
 Were that the Maker s way? 
 
 Who brings to being aught, 
 
 Love is his skill untaught, 
 
 Love is his ore, his furnace, and his tool ; 
 
 Who makes, destroyeth not, 
 
 But much is dashed in pieces by the fool. 
 
 O struggler in the mesh 
 
 Of spirit and of flesh 
 
 Some subtle hand hath tied to make thee Man, 
 
 That now is unto thee a wide domain 
 
 To laugh and love and dare in for a span, 
 
 And straightway is a prison-house of pain, 
 
 A den of loathing, and a violent place, 
 
 A hold for unclean wing and cruel face 
 
ACT in] THE MASQUE OF JUDGMENT 341 
 
 That mock the seared heart and darkened brain, 
 
 My bosom yearns above thee at the end, 
 
 Thinking of all thy gladness, all thy woe; 
 
 Whoever is thy foe, 
 
 I am thy friend, thy friend! 
 
 As thou hast striven, I strove to comprehend 
 
 The piteous sundering set betwixt the zenith 
 
 And nadir of thy fates, 
 
 Whose life doth serious message send 
 
 To moon and stars, anon itself demeaneth 
 
 Below the brute estates. 
 
 Wild heart, that through the steepening arcs art 
 
 whirled 
 
 To a bright master- world, 
 And in a trice must blindly backward hark 
 To the sub terrene dark, 
 Deem not that mighty gamut-frame was set 
 For wanton finger- fret ! 
 No empty-hearted gymnast of the strings 
 Gave the wild treble wings, 
 Or flung the shuddering bass from Hell s last 
 
 parapet. 
 
 Though now the Master sad 
 With vehemence shall break thee, 
 Not lightly did He make thee, 
 
342 THE MASQUE OF JUDGMENT [ACT ill 
 
 That morning when his heart was music-mad : 
 Lovely importings then his looks and gestures had. 
 
 Whatever cometh with to-morrow s light, 
 
 Oh, deem not that in idlesse or in spite 
 
 The strong knot of thy fate 
 
 Was woven so implicate, 
 
 Or that a jester put thee in that plight. 
 
 Darkly, but oh, for good, for good, 
 
 The spirit infinite 
 
 Was throned upon the perishable blood; 
 
 To moan and to be abject at the neap, 
 
 To ride portentous on the shrieking scud 
 
 Of the aroused flood, 
 
 And halcyon hours to preen and prate in the 
 
 boon 
 Tropical afternoon. 
 
 Not in vain, not in vain, 
 
 The spirit hath its sanguine stain, 
 
 And from its senses five doth peer 
 
 As a fawn from the green windows of a wood ; 
 
 Slave of the panic woodland fear, 
 
 Boon-fellow in the game of blood and lust 
 
 That fills with tragic mirth the woodland year, 
 
 Searched with starry agonies 
 
ACT in] THE MASQUE OF JUDGMENT 343 
 
 Through the breast and through the reins, 
 Maddened and led by lone moon-wandering 
 
 cries. 
 
 Dust unto dust complains, 
 Dust laugheth out to dust, 
 Sod unto sod moves fellowship, 
 And the soul utters, as she must, 
 Her meanings with a loose and carnal lip; 
 But deep in her ambiguous eyes 
 Forever shine and slip 
 Quenchless expectancies, 
 And in a far-off day she seems to put her trust. 
 
 O Morning Star! that dost arise 
 
 Haughtily now from off thy flaming throne, 
 
 And standest in thy wings outspreaded zone, 
 
 With hand uplift and intense vision glad, 
 
 More kindling while thy brother planets fade, 
 
 Wilt thou, the seldofh-speaker, speak and say 
 
 If this, if this be then the far-off day 
 
 When God shall give the substance for the shade? 
 
 When Man shall wake, and be no more adrad 
 
 To lose the precious dream he dreamed he had, 
 
 And the long groping of his heart be stayed? 
 
344 THE MASQUE OF JUDGMENT [ACT in 
 
 He answers not; the globed light he wears 
 Largens and largens like a wondrous flower, 
 And in the midst his wavering radiance fades. 
 Behold, upon the waters, them that be 
 Above the heavens, how the lily light 
 Blooms mystical and vast! till all the stars 
 And all the gathered clouds that wait the day 
 Are blotted by its rondure. Dimly grows 
 From height to depth of that magnificence 
 A splendor sad that taketh feature on. . . . 
 Lo! where God s body hangs upon the cross, 
 Drooping from out yon skyey Golgotha 
 Above the wills and passions of the world ! 
 O doomed, rejected world, awake! awake! 
 See where He droopeth white and pitiful ! 
 Behold, his drooping brow is pitiful! 
 Cry unto Him for pity. Climb, oh, haste, 
 Climb swiftly up yon skyey Golgotha 
 To where his feet are wounded ! Even now 
 He must have pity on his childish ones; 
 He knoweth, He remembereth they are dust! 
 
 Earth slumbers; and the freshening winds begin 
 To blow from out the unuprisen east; 
 Yet still abides that awful Eidolon 
 
ACT in] THE MASQUE OF JUDGMENT 345 
 
 Large on the face of Heaven, and its light 
 Is as the patience of a thousand moons 
 Upon the peaks and gorges of the vale. 
 Now on that giant forehead slowly dawns 
 Again the star, the bright, the morning star; 
 Amid the changeful lampings of his orb 
 The Angel stands, with keen out-spreaded 
 
 wings, 
 
 And lifted hand and intense vision glad, 
 As when he led his brother orbs in song. 
 But yet no word nor any breath of song 
 Begins upon the region silences: 
 All s hushed as ere the first-created throat 
 Was vocal. 
 
 Now remoter wonders wake, 
 Impatient glories gather and transpeer 
 That sky-suspended Image. Three by three 
 The beryl gates, the gates of chrysoprase, 
 And those that are a very perfect pearl 
 Open, and all the citadel of God 
 Even to the bright acropolis thereof, 
 The temple of the ark of the covenant, 
 Lies open, steeped in wroth light from the 
 
 Throne; 
 And all the heavenly folk are busy there. 
 
346 THE MASQUE OF JUDGMENT [ACT in 
 
 \ 
 ACT III. SCENE II 
 
 A peak above the Valley of the Judgment. Twilight of 
 the Day of Judgment. 
 
 MICHAEL. 
 
 God s vengeance is full wrought, unless this form 
 That labors from the dark mists of the Vale 
 Be one whose strength has overlived our wrath, 
 And the last hunger of whose heart shall be 
 To creep from out that mass of death, and wait 
 High on these ruined hills for death to come 
 At nightfall, when the last strong soul must die. 
 Nay, t is no mortal creature, though he wears 
 A fallen unhappy splendor, and his wings, 
 All eyed and irised like the gladdest ones 
 That glimmer in the pageantry of Heaven, 
 Are folded sadly o er his downcast eyes 
 As now he sits and dreams. T is Raphael. 
 Michael descends. 
 
 Why sitteth Raphael disconsolate 
 After the manifest glories of this day? 
 
 RAPHAEL. 
 The rest may keep the glory. 
 
ACT in] THE MASQUE OF JUDGMENT 347 
 
 MICHAEL. 
 
 Wilt thou share 
 
 The love-feast of the saved in Heaven to-night 
 With hidden traitorous thoughts clouding thy 
 heart? 
 
 RAPHAEL. 
 
 Never again! Never again for me! 
 Never again the lily souls that live 
 Along the margent of the streams, shall grow 
 More candid at my coming. Never more 
 God s birds above the bearers of the Ark 
 Shall make a wood of implicated wings, 
 Swept by the wind of slow ecstatic song. 
 Thy youths shall hold their summer cenacles; 
 I am not of their fellowship, it seems. 
 God s ancient peace shall feed them, as it feeds 
 These yet uplifted hills. I would I knew 
 Where bubbled that insistent spring. To drink 
 Deep, and forget what I have seen to-day! 
 
 MICHAEL. 
 
 What thou hast seen? The splendor of his power 
 Sent forth against the wicked ; his right arm 
 Cleaving unbearable glories, lifted high 
 
348 THE MASQUE OF JUDGMENT [ACT in 
 To hurl his chivalry down slopes of flame 
 With wheels and tramplings; the wide threshing- 
 floor 
 
 Become a furnace ; drop by anguished drop 
 The oozing of the wine-press of his wrath ; 
 The gross pulp cumbering the floor of the world, 
 The little priceless liquor chaliced up, 
 Borne back mid plaining silver and sweet throats 
 For the Spirit s earliest house-gift to the Bride! 
 Thou would st forget this gladly, Raphael? 
 
 RAPHAEL. 
 Yes, yes; right gladly. 
 
 MICHAEL. 
 
 Yonder where the fight 
 
 Flung its main sea of blood and broken souls 
 Into the nether dark, I saw a youth 
 Cling for a moment to a jutting rock 
 And gaze back at the angel shapes that rode 
 The neck of the avalanche; between the wings 
 Of the pale horse and the red his vision pierced, 
 Between the ranks of spectral charioteers, 
 Supernal arms and banners prone for speed, 
 Up to the central menace of the Hand 
 That launched that bulk of ruin ; and I saw 
 
ACT in] THE MASQUE OF JUDGMENT 349 
 
 A light of mighty pleasure fill his eyes 
 At all that harness and dispatch of war 
 Storming aslope. He laughed defiance back 
 Ere down cascades of blood and fire was flung 
 His body indistinguishably damned. 
 How should this puny valor rise in glee 
 To greet the power that crushed it, and thy heart, 
 Angelically dowered, stand listless by? 
 
 RAPHAEL. 
 
 Perhaps for thinking on another sight. 
 After thy chivalry passed down and left 
 The valley-trough cumbered and heaped with 
 
 death, 
 
 A broken girl o er-lived to find the breast 
 Her arms had clung to in the awful fall 
 Strange, alien, not her lover s boyish shape 
 She deemed she held, but gross with years and 
 
 sins. 
 
 Her changed eyes heavily a moment roamed, 
 Then settled back on his, the darkened mate 
 Whom chance had flung her at the hour extreme 
 In scornful bridals. From his brow she drew 
 The war-worn locks, and laid her kisses there 
 Unutterable with life s Extreme tenderness. 
 
350 THE MASQUE OF JUDGMENT [ACT HI 
 
 Hark! where thejast of those redeemed go by, 
 
 Companioned of the hasting paranymphs 
 
 Who hear afar the Spirit and the Bride 
 
 Say "Come," and see the nuptial torch alight 
 
 Ere they have put their saffron vesture on, - 
 
 Too eager for their goal to join the song 
 
 Those throats redeemed raise, save that their 
 
 hearts 
 
 Throb rhythmic with it, systole dim 
 And bright diastole, with wax and wane 
 Of spirit-splendor pulsing to the tune. 
 
 REDEEMED SPIRITS. 
 Sing, as they fly past below. 
 
 In the wilds of life astray, 
 Held far from our delight, 
 Following the cloud by day 
 And the fire by night, 
 Came we a desert way. 
 Lord, with apples feed us, 
 With flagons stay ! 
 By Thy still waters lead us ! 
 
 As bird torn from the breast 
 Of mother -cherishings, 
 Far from the swaying nest 
 
ACT in] THE MASQUE OF JUDGMENT 351 
 
 Dies for the mother wings, 
 So did the birth-hour wrest 
 From Thy sweet will and word 
 Our souls distressed. 
 Open Thy breast, thou Bird ! 
 
 RAPHAEL. 
 
 Another neareth, chill upon the wind; 
 Wan fire-flakes stain the clustering spires of cliff, 
 From ledge to shoulder hapless echo clings 
 
 And falters up. 
 
 MICHAEL. 
 
 The pale one s homing-song! 
 To-day he makes good harvest, and his voice 
 Has autumn meanings; jealously and late 
 His steed foregoes the trampled threshing-stead. 
 
 RAPHAEL. 
 
 Terrible angel ! Never until now 
 Have I beheld his features through the veil 
 Of pallor that enwrapped them ; now at last 
 Their terror is distinct, for triumph now 
 And large appeasement lights them visibly, 
 As o er his horse s neck he strains for speed. 
 
 MICHAEL. 
 One flieth with him, rosy-lit within. 
 
352 THE MASQUE OF JUDGMENT [ACT in 
 
 RAPHAEL. 
 
 Not as the battailous breathing of thy mates 
 Enrubies them: more vesperine and sad. 
 T will be the lordly light of Uriel, dimmed. 
 Hail, Uriel ! Quench thy speed. 
 
 THE ANGEL OF THE PALE HORSE. 
 Flying. 
 
 Why tarry now? 
 
 God s acts are throughly complished: Heaven 
 
 stays 
 
 Till all her sons be gathered. 
 Flies past. 
 
 URIEL. 
 
 Alighting. 
 
 Here I wait 
 To see the swift reprisals Man shall take. 
 
 MICHAEL. 
 
 Blaspheme not, lest I hurl thee down to swell 
 The carrion sin that Raphael mourns above! 
 
 RAPHAEL. 
 
 Uriel s place is there, by those pale heads, 
 Those sightless eyes with awful question changed, 
 Those desperate broken hands cheated in death 
 
ACT in] THE MASQUE OF JUDGMENT 353 
 
 With poor embraces chance and alien. 
 
 Not Uriel s only, mine, and thine, and theirs 
 
 Thy warrior mates, and chiefly his whose breast 
 
 Bathed in some dawn s bright urge and wistfulness 
 
 Put out this lovely fruitage, this sweet vine 
 
 Of man the leaf and maid the honeyed flower 
 
 In mystic alternation, and when noon 
 
 Spread clamor in the pulses of the vine, 
 
 Was pined and plucked it up! Not so shall one 
 
 Deal with another s, much less with his own. 
 
 MICHAEL. 
 
 For sins not to be borne He cut them off. 
 Murders, adulteries, and acts unclean, 
 Idolatries, and broken covenants, 
 Violent hearts and unconsidering tongues. 
 
 URIEL. 
 
 The violence and the unclean acts were his; 
 Unto Himself himself brake covenant; 
 Before the monstrous fancies of his heart 
 His heart made heathen mummery and song. 
 Wherefore to-day himself He punishes. 
 
 MICHAEL. 
 
 Thy mouth uttereth darkness. Is all dream? 
 Human and heavenly deed unmeaning both? 
 
354 THE MASQUE OF JUDGMENT [ACT in 
 
 RAPHAEL. 
 To Uriel. 
 
 Brother, thou art all wisdom, as I know 
 And still have proved rejoicingly, but now 
 Thy word indeed is difficult and dark. 
 Take not away Man s ancient dignity, 
 The privilege and power to elect his ways, 
 His kingly self-possession. Level not 
 The head that lies too low to-day. Snatch not 
 From brows abased the crown of personal will 
 Which made them noble, though it brought them 
 
 down, 
 
 Being worn too carelessly, too like a wreath 
 Of ivy or poppies meant for holiday. 
 Man s agonies and ecstasies obscure 
 Were more than shadow-show! Not all in vain 
 His groping toward some quaint imagined good, 
 His blood shed for a scruple, his low days 
 
 Winged and illumined with long-suffering love ! 
 
 t 
 
 URIEL. 
 
 Nay, not in vain were these, though otherwise 
 Bound with the sum of things than unto Man 
 Seemed likely, wearing that glad wreath he wore, 
 And going after good the headstrong way. 
 
ACT in] THE MASQUE OF JUDGMENT 355 
 
 RAPHAEL. 
 We wait to hear this riddling talk made plain. 
 
 URIEL. 
 
 Truth is not soon made plain, nor in a breath 
 Fluently solved while the chance listener waits, 
 Nor by the elemental wrestling mind 
 Wrung from the rock with sobs. Myself have held, 
 Where in the sun s core light and thought are one, 
 of question, and am darkling still. 
 
 RAPHAEL. 
 Speak, brother, though thy words be hard and 
 
 scant. 
 The candle flame goes far a moonless night. 
 
 URIEL. 
 
 The worlds and all their tenantry are Him, 
 Even to the utmost archipelagoes 
 Gazed at by maritime angels ere they veer 
 Homeward, awestruck by omens and sea-signs 
 Known to no pilot of them, and far off 
 Watch the scared islanders beside the straits, 
 All these, and whatso lies beyond our hail, 
 Are effluence of the life that moves in Him, 
 Thought of his brain, wish of his working/ blood: 
 
356 THE MASQUE OF JUDGMENT [ACT in 
 
 Yet every separate creature of his thought 
 
 Hath separate claims and separate potencies. 
 
 Oh, not a sparrow falleth to the ground 
 
 But He regardeth it! Since ere it fell 
 
 A little gladness died away in Him. 
 
 And not a creature sinneth but He weeps 
 
 His own sin with his creature s fourfold pain, 
 
 Since god and creature, false each to itself, 
 
 Was false each to the other. Not a heart 
 
 O ercometh evil and mounts up to good, 
 
 But He o ercometh and is lifted too. 
 
 Each life of clay that flowered in fragrant 
 
 deed, 
 
 Each grass-blade that grew willingly, each bird 
 That through the churlish weather hoarded song, 
 Not only worked its own salvation out 
 But helped Him in his old struggle with himself - 
 Or might have helped or might have helped, it 
 
 seemed. . . . 
 
 RAPHAEL. 
 Yet did not, thy disconsolate ending says. 
 
 URIEL. 
 
 Who shall dispute finalities with Him? 
 Not Uriel. But as far as Uriel sees, 
 
ACT in] THE MASQUE OF JUDGMENT 357 
 
 Salvation lies annulled in yonder Vale 
 And prone are God s true helpers. 
 
 MICHAEL. 
 
 Clay of clay! 
 
 Wassailers, fleshlings, quarrel-mongers, thieves 
 Of pleasure, plighters of unholy troth, 
 Mimes, gypsies, idol-breakers, idol-smiths, 
 Dervishing fantasists most likely help ! 
 
 URIEL. 
 
 Unlikely : yet the marrow of his bones ; 
 Heat of the breath of his mouth; corpuscles red 
 Energic in his veins, loud gainsayers 
 Of death s insinuating whisper, " Peace!" . . . 
 Before the Heavens were spread, or He himself 
 Rose from his changeless and unpictured dream, 
 These stirred in Him, demanding to be dowered 
 With individual shape and destiny, - 
 Each one a soul, yet each incorporate 
 With his great soul, which to far happy ends 
 Should henceforth in a million shapes of will 
 Immensely groan and travail, not with tears 
 Alone, but laughter, with singing as with sobs. 
 Oh, many a golden station on that march 
 Lie backward of us! when the armed worlds 
 
358 THE MASQUE OF JUDGMENT [ACT m 
 
 Broke leaguer round some conquered capital, 
 And in the pleasure-places of its kings 
 Sat down to feast, the unhelmed gleemen chant 
 ing 
 
 Victory past and victory to come. 
 Let me not darken thought with imagery! 
 Still the naked word escapes me, being too vast, 
 Too simple, for our little pictured speech. 
 This chiefly I would say: the restless joy 
 Which called God from his sleep and bade his 
 
 hand 
 
 Depict much life and language on the dark, 
 Had other aims and meanings than are writ 
 In yonder Valley for an epilogue. 
 Man s violence was earnest of his strength, 
 His sin a heady overflow, dynamic 
 Unto all lovely uses, to be curbed 
 And sweetened, never broken with the rod! 
 
 RAPHAEL. 
 
 Why did He quench their passion? I have walked 
 The rings of planets where strange-colored moons 
 Hung thick as dew, in ocean orchards feared 
 The glaucous tremble of the living boughs 
 Whose fruit hath eyes and purpose; but nowhere 
 
ACT in] THE MASQUE OF JUDGMENT 359 
 
 Found any law but this : Passion is power, 
 And, kindly tempered, saves. All things declare 
 Struggle hath deeper peace than sleep can bring: 
 The restlessness that put creation forth 
 Impure and violent, held holier calm 
 Than that Nirvana whence it wakened Him. 
 
 URIEL. 
 
 This day declares He deemeth otherwise. 
 The Shining Wrestler, tired of strife, hath slain 
 The dark antagonist whose enmity 
 Gave Him rejoicing sinews; but of Him 
 His foe was flesh of flesh and bone of bone; 
 With suicidal hand He smote him down : 
 Soon we shall feel His lethal pangs begin. 
 
 RAPHAEL. 
 
 Fiercer than those that clove thy burning realms 
 And sent grey winds to waste the plains of 
 
 Heaven 
 
 When on the Cross He sought to purchase peace 
 And lure his wayward world back to his hand ! 
 
 MICHAEL. 
 
 His lightning dry thy tongue! Why should our 
 minds 
 
36o THE MASQUE OF JUDGMENT [ACT HI 
 
 Peer and conjecture of the danger past? 
 Thou knowest what glory followeth. 
 
 RAPHAEL. 
 
 Yes, I know. 
 
 The clouds at last rolled burning from the 
 
 Throne 
 
 And let us see the risen wonders there. 
 Again I hear the gathering psalmody 
 Chant out the clement tale eternal God 
 Made clay, by hands of clay unto the Cross 
 Hung for a sign, that who beholding Him 
 Should find Him very God, might dwell with us 
 In endless light and life. Again I hear 
 The deep consenting chorus mount and merge 
 The wayward crests of treble into one; 
 But still between the calling deeps of song 
 Vague and unacquiescent hung my heart, 
 Conning the burden wistfully anew 
 In hopes to find the joy my comrades found 
 Hid in the dubious notes. Vague hung my heart, 
 Wistful as morning boughs that watch the 
 
 moon, 
 
 Not strong as now when I have seen all clear 
 And o er the ashes of the world declare - 
 Listen! Are there not voices in the Vale? 
 
ACT ill] THE MASQUE OF JUDGMENT 361 
 
 MICHAEL. 
 They talk together. Some die not till dark. 
 
 RAPHAEL. 
 Aye, until dark! T will be a starless night. 
 
ACT IV 
 
 Time: evening of the Day of Judgment. 
 
 A rock in the Valley of the Judgment ; about the rock, 
 
 and filling the whole trough of the valley, lie tJie 
 
 bodies of the lost. Twilight. 
 
 RAPHAEL. 
 
 My lot is cast with these : I watch to-night 
 Here islanded in death. Say me not nay: 
 Till from the last lip anguish is unwreathed, 
 From the last brow the frown of horror fades, 
 Here I must sit, witness and comforter 
 If any more conspicuous strengths survive 
 To mutter or make signal in the dusk. 
 
 MICHAEL. 
 Nay, brother, stay not. Though thy words are 
 
 calm, 
 
 Thy desperate eyes betray thee; thou resolvest 
 Some sudden irremediable thing. 
 The past is done, and, whether well or ill, 
 Necessitously. Put on that robe of song 
 Woven of youngest light and over-runed 
 
ACT iv] THE MASQUE OF JUDGMENT 363 
 
 With flickerings of the golden elder speech, 
 
 Wherein thou led st the lily souls along 
 
 Choregic o er the unclouded psalmody 
 
 And wert so starry long agone! Arise! 
 
 My soul is heavy at thee. Thou art wan ; 
 
 Thine eyes are dull yet wild, even as these 
 
 Who lie involved and heaped along the Vale 
 
 Seeming in death to threaten and to rave. 
 
 Arise and come away! Why tarry here 
 
 To mourn above these outcast, since the fan 
 
 Hath winnowed them and left no righteous one? 
 
 Rather arise, make glad thy countenance, 
 
 And through the courts of day let herald throats 
 
 Softly declare thy coming, virgin hands, 
 
 From that oraculous tree whose leaves are tongues, 
 
 Laurel thee best of Heaven s lutanists 
 
 And seat thee at the minstrel-hand of God. 
 
 RAPHAEL. 
 
 
 
 You urge me well. I think my songs to-night 
 Would cheer their festivals: I have a theme 
 Of very present gladness, deeply conned. 
 But if amid the gratulating chant, 
 If through 3 the dances orbed and interorbed, 
 Furnished with solemn symbol and device, 
 
364 THE MASQUE OF JUDGMENT [ACT iv 
 
 Perchance there stole a quite unfurnished shape 
 
 Nakedly risen from this company? 
 
 Holding up horrible accusing hands 
 
 Against the nuptial light? That were scarce well. 
 
 I fear my lute would glance and jangle off 
 
 To themes as good unsung. Hark! 
 
 MICHAEL. 
 
 T was a voice, 
 Not distant. 
 
 RAPHAEL. 
 
 Nay, t is yonder, he who lies 
 Half lifted from the jetsam of this sea 
 Across that ragged reef. Another, hush! 
 A woman s voice, was t not? And see, below 
 That aged throat would fain articulate. . . . 
 They taste sweet speech ere the long silence comes. 
 
 A YOUTH S VOICE. 
 
 Do any live but me? Do any wake to hear 
 A word spoke in the dark before I die? 
 
 AN OLD MAN. 
 An old and wakeful spirit rests thee near. 
 
 A YOUNG WOMAN. 
 Long had I lain asleep, but wakened at thy cry. 
 
ACT iv] THE MASQUE OF JUDGMENT 365 
 
 THE YOUTH. 
 
 Not all discourteous is the Conqueror s heart, 
 Since now of that good strength I wore at noon 
 Ebbs back a little part. 
 
 OLD MAN. 
 
 Enough to syllable thy soul s young scorn, 
 Though all unripe, unwise; 
 And haply rouse some one of these that lie 
 Fixing the dark with undivining eyes 
 Of human wit and seemliness forlorn, 
 To speak their separate word or unto thine reply. 
 
 THE YOUTH. 
 
 A song of scorn I minded to have sung, 
 But all the words are faded from my tongue. 
 Mysteriously withdrawn, 
 Out of this desolation I am gone 
 Aloft into the light of other days. 
 My heart runs naked in the wind, more fleet 
 Than are my flying feet, 
 
 Above the misty foss and up the mountain lawn 
 To seek the place of Morning where she stays. 
 The silver summits held across the dawn 
 By some gigantic arm, like wrought candelabras, 
 Kindle their wicks of praise 
 
366 THE MASQUE OF JUDGMENT [ACT iv 
 
 To light the temple builded not with hands 
 
 Above the prostrate lands, 
 
 And the religious winds, song-stoled, 
 
 Pacing the mighty nave 
 
 Fill azure dome and star-held architrave 
 
 With hymns unto the gods that grow not old, 
 
 Lords of the joy of life made known 
 
 Not unto gods alone, 
 
 But perfectly to man and beast and stone, 
 
 And by the atomies with rapture shared, 
 
 But ne er by poet s golden mouth 
 
 Nor by the west wind singing to the south 
 
 Fitly declared. 
 
 Oh, for a voice 
 
 Here in the doors of death 
 
 To speak the praise of life, existence mere, 
 
 The simple come and go of natural breath, 
 
 And habitation of the body s house with its five 
 
 windows clear! 
 
 O souls defeated, broken, and undone, 
 Rejoice with me, rejoice 
 
 That we have walked beneath the moon and sun 
 Not churlishly, nor slanderous of the bliss; 
 But rather leaving this 
 
ACT iv] THE MASQUE OF JUDGMENT 367 
 
 To the many prophets strict and sedulous 
 
 Of that sad-spoken god 
 
 Who now hath conquered and is surely king, 
 
 Have given our lips for life to closely kiss, 
 
 Have heard the sweet persuasion of the sod 
 
 And been heart-credulous 
 
 To trust the signs and whispers of the spring. 
 
 SECOND YOUTH. 
 
 Various the reasons why we could not pay 
 The price exacted from us! 
 
 My ear, though fain, I might have turned away 
 From spring s love-startled promise, 
 I might have given up the glorious sea 
 And the majestic mountains might for me 
 Have ceased to be; 
 
 God, with one sudden rinsing of his hand, 
 Might have wiped bare 
 The earth-ball of its deeds and pageantries, 
 Yea, even of light and air, 
 That on the stark circumference I might stand 
 And choose deliberately, unvexed of these, 
 Between my will and his. 
 
 Then I had said, with cheerful voice and strong, 
 Somewhat dismayed, yet with a cheerful voice, 
 
368 THE MASQUE OF JUDGMENT [ACT iv 
 
 "This many days, Lord, I have thought it long 
 
 Till I could put away creation s noise, 
 
 The tragic streets, the poignant drip of rains, 
 
 But chiefly the loud speaking in my veins 
 
 Concerning this and that desirable. 
 
 Now you have put me in a quiet place, 
 
 Take but away your too expectant face, 
 
 And all shall then be well. 
 
 Then I can ponder, as I meant to do 
 
 And as I singly long since thought was mine, 
 
 The mysteries divine; 
 
 Make quiet proof of you 
 
 If you be verily my lord or no, 
 
 And, having found you to be truly so, 
 
 Shall understand for sooth, 
 
 That down the eternities I may launch my mind 
 
 Not as a tame hawk haggard down the wind, 
 
 Whom huntsman s cry pursueth, 
 
 But as an eagle without bell or jess, 
 
 Obedient alone to his soul s lordliness. 
 
 THIRD YOUTH. 
 
 Better with captives in the slaver s pen 
 Hear women sob, and sit with cursing men, 
 Yea, better here among these writhen lips, 
 
ACT iv] THE MASQUE OF JUDGMENT 369 
 
 Than pluck out from the blood its old companion 
 ships. 
 If God had set me for one hour alone, 
 
 Apart from clash of sword 
 
 f 
 
 And trumpet- pealed word, 
 
 I think I should have fled unto his throne. 
 
 But always ere the dayspring took the sky, 
 
 Somewhere the silver trumpets were aery, 
 
 Sweet, high, oh, high and sweet! 
 
 What voice could summon so but the soul s Para 
 clete? 
 
 Whom should such voices call but me, to dare and 
 die? 
 
 O ye asleep here in the eyrie town, 
 
 Ye mothers, babes, and maids, and aged men, 
 
 The plain is full of f oemen ! Turn again - 
 
 Sleep sound, or waken half 
 
 Only to hear our happy bugles laugh 
 
 Lovely defiance down, 
 
 As through the steep 
 
 Grey streets we sweep, 
 
 Each horse and man a ribbed fan to scatter all 
 that chaff! 
 
 How from the lance-shock and the griding sword 
 Untwine the still small accents of the Lord? 
 
370 THE MASQUE OF JUDGMENT [ACT iv 
 
 How hear the Prince of Peace and Lord of Hosts 
 
 Speak from the zenith mid his marshalled ghosts, 
 
 " Vengeance is mine, I will repay; 
 
 Cease thou and come away!" 
 
 Or having seen and harkened, how refrain 
 
 From crying, heart and brain, 
 
 "So, Lord, Thou sayest it, Thine 
 
 But also mine, ah, surely also mine! 
 
 Else why and for what good 
 
 This strength of arm my father got for me 
 
 By perfect chastity, 
 
 This glorious anger poured into my blood 
 
 Out of my mother s depths of ardency? " 
 
 A CONFUSED VOICE. 
 Not very long to-day 
 
 Thy arm held back the mischief of the tide! 
 Thou could st not check the play 
 Of scythes, the awful chariots beside! 
 Thy blood has ebbed a little from its pride. 
 
 A GIRL S VOICE. 
 
 I waited patiently and thought to hear 
 The secret reason dark, 
 The secret reason dark and dear 
 
ACT iv] THE MASQUE OF JUDGMENT 371 
 
 Why none of us had heart to mark 
 
 The pale evangel whispering from the sphere. 
 
 For oft the moon between the garden boughs 
 
 Her looks of summer longing would efface, 
 
 And come to be a halo round the brows 
 
 Of Him who died to give the sinner grace, 
 
 Now saddening o er His purchase from that place. 
 
 And oft at dawn I heard the Sons of Morning 
 
 Silvered with lovely menace fill the sky, 
 
 And heard their solemn lips deliver warning 
 
 What time the central singer lifted high, 
 
 In the deep hush twixt ode and palinode, 
 
 The sangrael of the sun, brimmed with redeeming 
 
 blood. 
 
 But how might I attend the minatory 
 Voices of many angels breathing doom, 
 When from the window of the little room 
 My love s face had not faded, and the story 
 His wakeful mouth had whispered in the gloom 
 Spake in my pulses yet? And how at evening turn 
 To feel those sad eyes down the moonlight yearn, 
 When mouth to mouth and breast to aching breast 
 I held my lover close, and by his nest 
 The nightingale, scarce master of his mood, 
 Now after faint essay 
 
372 THE MASQUE OF JUDGMENT [ACT IV 
 
 And amorous dim delay 
 
 Suddenly steeped his heart in song s mad pleni 
 tude? 
 
 A WOMAN S VOICE. 
 
 What unripe girl is this who maketh bold 
 To speak for lovers at the extreme hour, 
 Yet fancy-paints the flower? 
 Yet hides with image-gilt the naked gold?, 
 O sisters, brothers, help me to arise! 
 Of God s two-horned throne I will lay hold 
 And let Him see my eyes; 
 That He may understand what love can be, 
 And raise his curse, and set his children free. 
 
 ANOTHER WOMAN S VOICE. 
 My life was a rank venomed weed 
 And hers, I think, a flower; 
 But my harsh voice shall have a power 
 Fiercer than hers to plead. 
 About his knees with curses I will cling, 
 My veins I will break open, till He see 
 The barb of the intolerable sting, 
 The tongues of the immitigable fire 
 He planted there to fret and fumble through me, 
 To craze and to undo me, 
 
ACT iv] THE MASQUE OF JUDGMENT 373 
 
 Till on the cruel altars where He threw me 
 I slew my heart s desire! 
 
 OLD MAN. 
 
 Of double fetters be not fain, my child, 
 To these thou wearest be thou reconciled. 
 Spread not before his dark averted gaze 
 (Now that He holds his hand and seemeth satis 
 fied) 
 
 The love that called you unappointed ways 
 And filled your hearts with pride. 
 A little while He left you free 
 In passion s privilege 
 To god it on the peaks of personality, 
 But ye have walked too near the hither edge. 
 
 Yet once I thought 
 
 My old heart meekened to an evening mood 
 
 By dint of years and much beatitude 
 
 He was not jealous as the prophet taught, 
 
 Nor loving-tolerant as mild teachers held 
 
 But swayed to mystical participation 
 
 Of various delight 
 
 By every chrysalid s meandering flight 
 
 And million-footed onset of heroic nation ; 
 
374 THE MASQUE OF JUDGMENT [ACT iv 
 
 To instant joy impelled 
 
 By every jet of life that from Time s fountain 
 
 quelled. 
 
 So deemed I, musing on the headstrong glee 
 Of children at my knee, 
 But He ordained his ways after another fashion. 
 
 FOURTH YOUTH. 
 
 T was not the lover nor the warrior stirred 
 
 His jealous arm to smite, 
 
 Nor he who longed to launch forth as a bird 
 
 In far and lonely flight 
 
 To seek the truth of things, nor he who heard 
 
 The choral winds in Nature s temple chaunting. 
 
 All these He could endure, 
 
 Since his creation and its furniture 
 
 They merely used, nor vexed his ears with vaunt 
 ing 
 
 Themselves creators too 
 
 And fashioners of worlds, and pilots of them 
 flaunting 
 
 Beside his in the blue. 
 
 But some there were infatuate, audacious, 
 
 To whom the world s vast girth 
 
 Seemed niggard and unspacious; 
 
ACT iv] TtfE MASQUE OF JUDGMENT 375 
 
 Who, having clambered or been borne on wings 
 
 Above the realms of sense 
 
 From off God s secret altars ravished thence 
 
 The plastic fire of his imaginings 
 
 And brought it down to earth. 
 
 Then, pale with supernatural intention, 
 
 We builders of the over-world arose, 
 
 And softly to their houses of ascension, 
 
 Orbing as soft as April buds unclose, 
 
 But bowelled of the furious lava-stream, 
 
 Star after ordered star went up the heavens of 
 
 dream : 
 
 Each from the other ever differing, 
 Glory from glory, 
 
 And each a world summed and replete 
 With all the human heart forebodeth well 
 Or hoardeth to repeat 
 Of tragical and sweet 
 In earthly summer and the mortal spring 
 And man s peculiar story, 
 Yet by the mind made an immortal thing, 
 Patiently purged and weaned of its corruptible. 
 
 Oh, how should Man into the dust be trod, 
 Who is himself a god? 
 
376 THE MASQUE OF JUDGMENT [ACT iv 
 
 How should the lord of each enchanted isle 
 
 For gazing on a brother god s high sacrificial 
 
 sorrow 
 
 Say himself low and vile, 
 Or for that Sufferer s sake 
 Teen to his own undarkened being borrow, 
 And in a gloom of abnegation break 
 The wand wherewith he summoned from their 
 
 sleep 
 
 The whirlwinds of the everlasting deep, 
 And souls of men and spirits of lost hours 
 And spring s sequestered firstlings, the sky flowers, 
 Bound to his golden powers? 
 
 MICHAEL. 
 
 I wait no longer on their stammering tongues ! 
 Once more I pray thee rise and come away. 
 The Valley darkens fast, and Heaven stays 
 Thy single voice to make its concord full. 
 
 RAPHAEL. 
 
 These voices we have hearkened lack as well, 
 To make such concord as I care to hear. 
 
 MICHAEL. 
 
 Then curse thee for a stubborn heart ! Nay, nay, 
 I will not curse thee whom I love. . Take heed 
 
ACT IV] THE MASQUE OF JUDGMENT 377 
 
 Lest any wing patrolling in the dark, 
 Mistaking thee for one of these, should smite. 
 
 RAPHAEL. 
 
 Already from the deeps approacheth one, 
 Staining the limbs and faces of the dead 
 With amber as he flies. What clime has blown 
 Azaziel s radiance to so blear a tinct? 
 
 AZAZIEL. 
 
 Flying past. 
 
 Woe! Woe! unto the dwellers in this Vale. 
 Woe unto them who wait the second death! 
 Prepare to meet the Worm that dieth not ! 
 
 RAPHAEL. 
 Azaziel, hear! What meaneth . . . ? 
 
 MICHAEL. 
 
 He is past, 
 
 Bearing his message further. How it sobs 
 And falters on the wind ! 
 
 RAPHAEL. 
 
 In the deeps begins 
 A myriad lamentation. . . . 
 
 MICHAEL. 
 
 Nearer now, 
 
 And mixed with keener individual cry. . . . 
 
378 THE MASQUE OF JUDGMENT [ACT iv 
 
 RAPHAEL. 
 
 The sea of death sways moaning and recoils, 
 Bristling with serried surf of forms uplift, 
 Postures of supplication and despair, 
 Forlorn attitudes! 
 
 MICHAEL. 
 
 From the starless sky 
 
 A star shoots screaming, hushes in mid-flight, 
 And stands at gaze above the vasty caves, 
 The canons and the aged wells of dark 
 Toward which this Valley plunges. 
 
 RAPHAEL. 
 
 Far below 
 
 Disastrous splendor glares above the abyss, 
 And in the midst a bulk of sinuous shade 
 That lifts and swings a snaky head aloft 
 Surveying where to strike. . . . 
 
 MICHAEL. 
 
 Away! Away! 
 
 Even now his pendulous neck doth sweep the 
 
 Vale 
 
 From wall to wall, incredibly advanced 
 Leagues hither, though his lewder folds are still 
 Hid backward in the abyss. Away! Away! 
 
ACT iv] THE MASQUE OF JUDGMENT 379 
 
 From yonder peak we may behold all safe : 
 To linger here even spirits dare not. 
 
 RAPHAEL. 
 
 Go; 
 
 I tarry. Let me take thy mighty sword. 
 A minstrel s hand can swing a blade at need. 
 
 MICHAEL. 
 
 Not so. Forgive me this my violence! 
 Thy soul is all distraught and desperate, 
 And I must save thee in thine own despite. 
 
 He overpowers Raphael, and bears him aloft just as the 
 enormous swinging head of the Serpent blots out the 
 scene. 
 
ACT V. SCENE I 
 
 Time : as in Act IV. 
 
 An exposed upland : one side looks down into the Val 
 ley of the Judgment, on the others the snow-peaks 
 fade into the visionary cliffs and slopes crowned by 
 the battlements of Heaven. Sunset glow still lingers 
 on the heights : the moon is rising. 
 
 RAPHAEL. 
 
 Awaking. 
 
 Where are we, brother? I remember naught. 
 
 MICHAEL. 
 Safe lifted o er the Vale, and none too soon. 
 
 RAPHAEL. 
 Help me to rise. 
 
 MICHAEL. 
 Nay, rest thee yet a while. 
 
 RAPHAEL. 
 
 Something of portent passes in the Vale 
 I cannot well recall, but know t is so 
 By thy wild looking. Can thy vision pierce 
 
ACTV] THE MASQUE OF JUDGMENT 381 
 
 So downward through the mists? Mine eyes are 
 
 weak 
 And blink at the mild moon. 
 
 MICHAEL. 
 
 Spare thou to look. 
 
 Even me it grieveth, thee it will destroy 
 With present heart-break. 
 
 RAPHAEL. 
 
 O remembrance now 
 Creeps moaning through the sea-halls of my 
 
 mind, 
 A sluggish neap, with loss and wreckage strewn ! 
 
 MICHAEL. 
 
 The Serpent enters now that last defile 
 High lifted toward the spiritual hills. 
 Behind him as he came has silence fallen 
 And gesture ceased: final ineloquence. 
 These hither people are the lesser thewed 
 But more inspirited, who held the fight 
 Vanward against us, and who fell the first 
 Before the whirlwind of our going down. 
 
 RAPHAEL. 
 Is it too late to save this remnant few 
 
382 THE MASQUE OF JUDGMENT [ACT v 
 
 For seed of a new world, planted afar 
 Beyond this trouble? Come, thy might and mine! 
 He lifts a questioning head and seems to stand 
 Hesitant at the mouth of the defile: 
 There give him battle. . . . 
 
 MICHAEL. 
 
 Nay. 
 
 RAPHAEL. 
 
 Then I alone. 
 
 MICHAEL. 
 
 Too late; and even if sooner, much too late! 
 He brings the second death ; his fangs have power, 
 T is whispered, on the flaming seraphim 
 To tarnish or to quench ; one venom fleck 
 Flung from his jaws, how might it lame and scar 
 Our substance archangelical. 
 
 RAPHAEL. 
 
 Yes, yes, 
 
 You give me reasons to it. Lovelier 
 Such scars upon the breast, though mortal proven, 
 Than that fair sigil set upon thy brow 
 The morn of thy first victory. Why live, 
 Why live, when all these wills that searched the 
 earth 
 
ACT v] THE MASQUE OF JUDGMENT 383 
 
 Until they found their one and inward love, 
 Refusing to be still have ceased to search, 
 Though quite unsatisfied? To feel the night 
 Unvexed of longing, and the day purged blank 
 Of laughter and of sorrow and of brawl ; 
 No pride of life to glory in the sun, 
 No ecstasy to mate the moon s increase, 
 No heart interpreting the twilight thrush - 
 All the heart s business done ! Nay, not for me ! 
 Mine ear hath lain too long on Nature s pulse, 
 I cannot miss that music. Let me go. 
 
 MICHAEL. 
 Still detaining him. 
 
 Govern thy heart and tongue. Nature, thou 
 
 knowest, 
 
 Was but a bye-thought of the Eternal Mind, 
 A whim extravagant, repented of, 
 And now in its chief element of Man 
 Annihilate and put away, save those 
 Who rendered up their wills to His, and share 
 This night with Him the immortal quietudes. 
 
 Lo, where the Serpent enters! Quick and dead 
 Loosen their maimed embraces. From beneath 
 Heaves the incumbent carnage. In the clefts 
 
384 THE MASQUE OF JUDGMENT [ACT v 
 
 And on the headlands scattered souls arise 
 Expectant or imploring . . . Now he reigns 
 Instant among them, and their sayings-nay 
 Decrease and come to nothing. 
 
 RAPHAEL. 
 
 All is done: 
 
 The great refusal made. The wayward heats 
 That might have moved God s blood to sweetest 
 
 ends 
 
 In dreams and deed, have bled themselves away, 
 And peace is his, though profitless. 
 
 MICHAEL. 
 
 Hush! Look! 
 The Worm goes on! . 
 
 RAPHAEL. 
 
 What say st thou? Speak! 
 Mine eyes are still too dim, I see not well 
 What passes neath the drifting fogs. 
 
 MICHAEL. 
 
 He mounts! 
 
 He lays his length upward the visioned hills, 
 The inviolable fundaments of Heaven! 
 There where he climbs the kindled slopes grow 
 pale, 
 
ACT v] THE MASQUE OF JUDGMENT 385 
 
 Ashen the amethystine dells, and dim 
 
 The starry reaches. . . . Now he coils his bull 
 
 About a foreland, and the nacrous light 
 
 It beetled with turns cinder. High he piles 
 
 His folds, and seems to note the upward way. 
 
 Hark, the trump sings to battle! I am called. 
 
 He flies upward toward the walls of Heaven. 
 
 RAPHAEL. 
 
 Alone. 
 
 * 
 
 O darkest creature of God s shaping thought, 
 Shamefulest born, in that unsacred hour 
 When, pining for the pools of ancient sloth, 
 His soul repenteth Him that He had made 
 Man, and had put that passion out to use! 
 C leaves t thou inward now to find the heart 
 That bore thee shuddering and hath fostered thee 
 With secret sweat of agonizing brows? 
 Has this day s great defection armed thy fang 
 And lit thy wrath to seek Him where He sits 
 Sickening amid his harsh-established peace? 
 
 On which side then shall Raphael be found, - 
 The sociable spirit, very friend of man 
 And Nature s old-time lover? Surely there 
 At God s right hand, with a loud song for sword 
 
386 THE MASQUE OF JUDGMENT [ACT v 
 
 To beat the Spectre back when armies fail, 
 And cheer Him as the shepherd Israel s king. 
 He flies after Michael. 
 
 ACT V. SCENE II 
 
 Raphael stands on a promontory of the cloudy slope 
 up which the Serpent has passed. The Valley of tJie 
 Judgment lies far below. 
 
 RAPHAEL. 
 
 A mortal weariness beats down my wing; 
 I cannot farther. Here I must remain, 
 Whether I will or no a truant still, 
 While battle rages round the heart of God, 
 A recreant on the very slopes where first 
 With wistful feet from Heaven adventuring 
 I sought those little flowers of shyest light 
 Whose earthy hue and palpitance would speak 
 A wild distress of sweetness, till my blood 
 Sang wander-songs, and pictured to itself 
 The happy outland chances of the spring. 
 I think none grow now in the muted dells 
 Nor on the chidden reaches; yet perhaps 
 If I should search as earnestly as once. . . . 
 
ACTV] THE MASQUE OF JUDGMENT 387 
 
 My mind strays like a fevered child s to-night 
 And plays with leaves and straws, regarding not 
 How fate comes on next instant ! . . . Not alone, 
 Not all companionless must I abide 
 Its coming, love be praised who sends me love 
 And comradeship now at my dearest need ! 
 For hither through the wintry windelstrae 
 Flee, veer, and flee a fluttered company 
 With hands outstretched and groping. Woman 
 kind, 
 
 By the lorn influence that companions them 
 And hangs grief in the wind. ... A taper s flame 
 Streams backward o er each trembling hand. 
 
 T will be 
 
 The seven dear sister spirits ancillary 
 Who tend their lamps of laud before the Throne. 
 
 Stay, sisters, stay ! They swerve aside and flee 
 More terror-stricken still. I prithee stay; 
 T is Raphael calls ! 
 
 FIRST LAMP. 
 
 O then art thou too fled? 
 Haste, let us flee together! We had thought 
 All but the timid spirits still abode 
 The battle s outcome. Timid thou art not, 
 
388 THE MASQUE OF JUDGMENT [ACT v 
 
 Though woman-gentle; is the battle lost? 
 Or won? Oh, surely won, since thou art here. 
 
 RAPHAEL. 
 
 I come from earthward. Mortal weariness 
 Beat down my wing, and I was forced to stay. 
 How goes the struggle? 
 
 FIRST LAMP. 
 
 In and in it stormed 
 
 From ring to lessening ring, until we fled, 
 I and the sister Lamps, save only one, 
 Our meekest and most patient flame of praise, 
 Whom naught could make afraid. Now by the 
 
 wind 
 Distract, we wander on these withered hills. 
 
 SECOND LAMP. 
 How withered from the day thou brought st us 
 
 hence 
 
 Flowers for our lampads ! tiny troublous things 
 That living pierced us with a faint unrest 
 And dying left a nameless woe behind. 
 
 RAPHAEL. 
 
 Call up each sweetness over-lived, for soon 
 Sweet shall be sweet no more, nor sad be sad. 
 
ACT v] THE MASQUE OF JUDGMENT 389 
 
 Momently yonder Heaven s heart of light 
 Throbs feebler, and the dark gains on the day. 
 
 Now where he runs afar,, the sun hath felt 
 Sharp pangs delay his feet, for swiftly hither 
 In the distressful beaming of the moon 
 Comes on the wasted light of Uriel. 
 
 URIEL. 
 
 Approaching. 
 
 The dream is done! Petal by petal falls 
 The coronal of creatured bloom God wove 
 To deck his brows at dawn. 
 
 RAPHAEL. 
 
 No hope remains? 
 URIEL. 
 
 To save Him from himself not cherubim 
 Nor seraphim avail. Who loves not life 
 Receiveth not life s gifts at any hand. 
 
 RAPHAEL. 
 And life He loved not, though it sprang from Him? 
 
 URIEL. 
 He loved it not entirely, good and ill. 
 
 RAPHAEL. 
 For what end should we love an evil thing? 
 
390 THE MASQUE OF JUDGMENT [ACT v 
 
 URIEL. 
 
 Better than I thou knowest, truant soul ! 
 Who all the summer hours didst love to stoop 
 O er insect feuds, herb-whisperings, and watch 
 The prurient-fingered sap startle the trees 
 To sudden laughter of bloom. Better than I 
 Thou knowest what lewd rebellion stings the core 
 Of nature, bidding every seed awake 
 To sacramental life after its kind; 
 Better than I thou knowest what cruelties 
 Rage round about each starry heroism, 
 Out of what murky stuff the lover builds 
 His soul s white habitation. T is not mine 
 To lesson thee how height and depth are bound 
 So straitly that when evil dies, as soon 
 Good languishes, nor how the flesh and soul 
 Quicken with striving, and when strife is done 
 Decline from what they were. 
 
 RAPHAEL. 
 
 Would He had dared 
 
 To nerve each member of his mighty frame - 
 Man, beast, and tree, and all the shapes of will 
 That dream their darling ends in clod and star 
 To everlasting conflict, wringing peace 
 
ACT V] THE MASQUE OF JUDGMENT 391 
 
 From struggle, and from struggle peace again, 
 
 Higher and sweeter and more passionate 
 
 With every danger passed! Would He had 
 
 spared 
 
 That dark Antagonist whose enmity 
 Gave Him rejoicing sinews, for of Him 
 His foe was flesh of flesh and bone of bone, 
 With suicidal hand He smote him down, 
 And now indeed His lethal pangs begin. 
 
 FIRST LAMP. 
 To Uriel. 
 
 Brother, what lies beyond this trouble? Death? 
 
 URIEL. 
 All live in Him, with Him shall all things die. 
 
 SECOND LAMP. 
 And the snake reign, coiled on the holy hill? 
 
 URIEL. 
 Sorrow dies with the heart it feeds upon. 
 
 RAPHAEL. 
 
 Look, where the red volcano of the fight 
 Hath burst, and down the violated hills 
 Pours ruin and repulse, a thousand streams 
 Choked with the pomp and furniture of Heaven. 
 
392 THE MASQUE OF JUDGMENT [ACT v 
 
 In vain the Lion ramps against the tide, 
 In vain from slope to slope the giant Wraths 
 Rally but to be broken. Dwindling dim 
 Across the blackened pampas of the wind 
 The routed Horses flee with hoof and wing, 
 Till their trine light is one, and now is quenched. 
 
 URIEL. 
 
 The spirits fugitive from Heaven s brink 
 Put off their substance of ethereal fire 
 And mourn phantasmal on the phantom alps. 
 
 FOURTH LAMP. 
 
 Mourn, sisters! For our light is fading too. 
 Thou of the topaz heart, thoii of the jade, 
 And thou sweet trembling opal ye are grown 
 Grey things, and aged as God s sorrowing eyes. 
 
 FIRST LAMP. 
 My wick burns blue and dim. 
 
 SECOND LAMP. 
 
 My oil is spent. 
 
 RAPHAEL. 
 
 The moon smoulders; and naked from their seats^ 
 The stars arise with lifted hands, and wait. 
 
THE DEATH OF EVE 
 & fragment 
 
THE DEATH OF EVE 
 
 ACT I 
 
 A rocky mountain slope rising on the left by rude stone 
 stairs towards Cain s stronghold in Nod, dimly dis 
 cerned above. On the right and toward the rear the 
 scene falls away to a wide desert country. In the 
 foreground, on the lowest level of a terraced plat l eau, 
 is a rudely sculptured well-curb. Behind this, on a 
 higher level, a stone seat, known as the Seat of Sup 
 plication, faces the Mercy-Seat, a throne of the same 
 primitive type, carved from the living rock. The 
 mountain stair, which rises behind the Mercy-Seat 
 toward the distant city, is barred, at a higher eleva 
 tion, by a stone gateway. 
 
 On the Seat of Supplication sits Eve, shrouded. Her 
 hand rests on the shoulder ofjubal, who sits at her 
 feet. As the scene progresses, the sky gradually fades, 
 then flushes with the colors of a tropical sunset. 
 
 EVE. 
 Yea, Jubal? 
 
 JUBAL. 
 
 Nothing, mother. 
 
396 THE DEATH OF EVE [ACT I 
 
 EVE. 
 
 Thy lips moved; 
 
 The hand upon thy knee rose as in question, 
 And fell as in reply. 
 
 JUBAL. 
 I slept; I dreamed. 
 
 EVE. 
 
 Sleep yet; the heat is strong. 
 Pause. 
 
 JUBAL. 
 
 I dreamed he came 
 
 At sunset here unto the Strangers well 
 To know us and our errand. 
 
 EVE. 
 
 Soon or late, 
 They say; his custom. 
 
 JUBAL. 
 
 Aye, they say it is. 
 
 But why should travelers seeking to great Cain, 
 Wayfarers, weaponed only with their hands, 
 Or come, as now, in love and duty to him ? 
 
 EVE. 
 I know not. T is his pleasure. 
 
ACT I] THE DEATH OF EVE 397 
 
 JUBAL. 
 
 And t is thine, 
 
 Being, O mother, even what thou art 
 And hast been what thou hast been t is thy 
 
 will 
 
 To hide thy name, to wait obscurely here, 
 Where at Cain s feet the desert suppliants 
 Kneel to unload their wrongs ! 
 
 EVE. 
 
 Question it not. 
 
 JUBAL. 
 But I must wonder. 
 
 EVE. 
 
 Wonder not either. 
 
 JUBAL. 
 
 Nay, 
 I will not then. 
 
 Pause. 
 
 At home t will be the hour 
 
 When the parched flocks climb faster as they feed, 
 Scenting the upper cisterns. Downward again 
 Toward folding time. 
 
 EVE. 
 
 Gazing at the sky. 
 
 I think the sun at home 
 
398 THE DEATH OF EVE [ACT I 
 
 Sits not in such a shoulder of the heavens. 
 We fetch him all about and overtake him. 
 
 JUBAL. 
 So do we. 
 Pause. 
 
 Is it well that we do so? 
 
 EVE. 
 
 We make our journey; if the lights of Heaven 
 Move from their ancient places as we move, 
 Let the Heavens look to it; it is none of ours! 
 
 JUBAL. 
 
 Thou sayest; and Jubal rises to thy words. 
 At home Eve never spake so. 
 
 EVE. 
 
 Jubal, Jubal, 
 
 I know not what is in me ! I am changed 
 From all I was. Or am I back- re turned 
 Through life s deep changes to my changeless self? 
 Look in my face, and say. 
 
 JUBAL. 
 
 Thy face is changed ; 
 
 And that behind the face, which looketh through, 
 Peers like a stranger. 
 
ACT i] THE DEATH OF EVE 399 
 
 EVE. 
 
 Since our latest guide, 
 Standing upon the red cliffs yester dawn, 
 Pointed and said, "Cain s City!" - 
 
 JUBAL. 
 
 Longer ago 
 The change came. 
 
 EVE. 
 
 Murmurs. 
 
 Know st me. 
 
 JUBAL. 
 
 O mother, since the night 
 When thy loud whisper startled me awake, 
 And following thee in wonder from the tents 
 I found our camels houseled for the start, 
 And the wide moonlit stretches calling us, 
 Since then, through desert perils, famine, beasts, 
 More ravenous men, and thirst the crown of ter 
 rors, 
 
 Thou art Eve, not that bowed soul we knew, 
 Not that great worn and patient majesty; 
 But like an angel going on an errand 
 Not for his lord but for his longing self, 
 Who burns from morn to morn and deep to deep 
 
400 THE DEATH OF EVE [ACT i 
 
 Toward his place, so Eve is, since the time 
 She fled, by night and stealth, from Adam s tent, 
 And took the wilderness. To what purpose took, 
 She keeps from me too long! 
 
 EVE. 
 
 Have I not said? 
 
 To look upon my first-born s face again, 
 And know him what he grows to. 
 
 JUBAL. 
 
 I am content. 
 
 EVE. 
 Jubal believes I scant him? 
 
 JUBAL. 
 
 I am content! 
 
 There is no scanting in thee. Silence, speech, 
 Giving, withholding, doing, and letting be, 
 Sit on thee lovely as a change of jewels 
 And bounteous as the River of the South : 
 Forget my lips that they were troublesome. 
 
 EVE. 
 Why do you hold my words for less than truth? 
 
 JUBAL. 
 
 Nay. 
 
ACT I] THE DEATH OF EVE 401 
 
 EVE. 
 Say on. 
 
 JUBAL. 
 Freely? 
 
 EVE. 
 
 Say right freely on. 
 
 JUBAL. 
 
 Eve knows ere Jubal speaks, yet he will speak. 
 At home lies bed-rid Adam in the tent, 
 With wasted hands and slow blank eyes agrope 
 To find the sole things they remember plain, 
 The hands and eyes of Eve, who never failed 
 To meet that need till now. And Eve sits here, 
 Within her eyes a high and thirsty light, 
 Brighter than burning Adam ever stilled 
 In that far storied morning of their loves ; 
 Within her hands Alas, I speak too near! 
 
 EVE. 
 Speak on. 
 
 JUBAL. 
 
 And in her hands I know not how 
 To say my meaning. 
 
 EVE. 
 
 Say, though. 
 
402 THE DEATH OF EVE [ACT I 
 
 JUBAL. 
 
 On her hands, 
 
 That lie so quiet and so empty here, 
 A look as if they seized the hands of God, 
 And dragged Him with her through his holy 
 
 mountain 
 Unwillingly to do her glorious will. 
 
 EVE. 
 
 Draws him to her. 
 
 Nearer. Bend back. Now by sweet Adah s pangs, 
 It is a goodly boy s face. Is it strong 
 As it is fresh and goodly? 
 
 JUBAL. 
 
 It is his 
 
 Whom Eve chose out, a boy, and left unchosen 
 Others, firm men. 
 
 EVE. 
 
 What if she tried them first, 
 The others, the firm men? Seth, Enoch, all? 
 Thy father Lamech, too, and Irad, too? 
 Firm men, firm men! I shook them from their 
 
 firmness ! 
 Sinews and blood and heart-strings, at a word 
 
ACT i] THE DEATH OF EVE 403 
 
 Melted to water! At a woman s word, 
 
 Touching far off her cloudy enterprise! 
 
 Pause. 
 
 One more is left to try! 
 
 Long pause. 
 
 JUBAL. 
 
 Mother, I saw 
 When thou did st speak with Seth. 
 
 EVE. 
 
 Startled. 
 
 Saw st? Thou saw st? 
 
 JUBAL. 
 
 I saw but heard not. Am no eaves-dropper, 
 No peep-thief neither, but mine eyes had looked 
 Before I knew t was secret. 
 
 EVE. 
 Low. 
 
 When was this? 
 JUBAL. 
 
 Early the third night ere we fled away 
 
 From Adam s tent-place. In the camel-close 
 
 I sat among the beasts, for one was big 
 
 And near her time. T was star-dusk, very still ; 
 
 Only the beast groan d low and human-like, 
 
 Or nosed my stroking hand and held her peace. 
 
404 THE DEATH OF EVE [ACT I 
 
 Thereby, over against, a voice, thy voice, 
 Never the words, only the naked voice, 
 Heavy and scant, as if a half-dead tongue 
 Fashioned its meaning stiffly. Then the moon 
 Stood all at once her height upon the hill 
 And showed thy form and Seth s within the gate. 
 Thy face I could not see, but saw thy hands 
 Raised unto Seth, pleading or threatening, 
 And saw the face of Seth, with mortal fear 
 Disfeatured, updrawn forehead, loosened jaw, 
 And staring eyes gone empty. Then, as one 
 Who shakes the night- witch Lilith from his breast, 
 He came into his manhood, took thy hands 
 And drew them down, kissed thee, and spoke thee 
 
 small 
 
 As one bespeaks a trance- awakened child, 
 Softly and small, until it knows itself 
 And its familiar things. So went ye hence. 
 And next day and the next Seth s eyes were on 
 
 thee, 
 Frightened and vague; but Eve walked straight 
 
 her ways 
 Not heeding him. 
 
 EVE. 
 Who heeds a broken staff? 
 
ACT i] THE DEATH OF EVE 405 
 
 Nay, nay, that wrongs him ! Broken not, but 
 
 bent, 
 
 No more but bent a little. A good son, 
 Tender and meek and patient with all men, 
 And most with me, child, most of all with me! 
 I blame not Seth. Let him look to it, then, 
 He blame me not. O would t were by with blame ! 
 When has the oak been proud against the willow? 
 Or the light aspen shook her jeweled hands 
 In scorn of the removeless mountain pine? 
 To every soul his stature, girth, and grain, 
 Each sovereign to its end : the use is all. 
 And yet, and yet Look you, he thought me 
 
 crazed ! 
 
 So did the others, or were ripe to think. 
 Some day they would have risen and stoned me 
 
 forth, 
 
 To be like those banned women of the rocks, 
 Who haunt the savage summits of our land, 
 Aye, you have seen them! They were human 
 
 once, 
 
 Daughters and sisters, mothers and right wives ; 
 And now they sit there, high up in the sun 
 On noon-steeped crags, naked but for their hair, 
 She-satyrs laughing with their satyr mates : 
 
406 THE DEATH OF EVE [ACT i 
 
 I might have sat aloft with them by now, 
 And thought not strange to be there. 
 Pause. 
 
 JUBAL. 
 
 Eve must know 
 Another thing, ere I have cleared my life. 
 
 EVE. 
 Clear thee! 
 
 JUBAL. 
 I saw her speak with Abel too. 
 
 EVE. 
 
 Looking fearfully about. 
 
 Thou sunlight shelter us! Abel? 
 
 JUBAL. 
 
 His ghost. 
 
 EVE. 
 The night we fled away? 
 
 JUBAL. 
 
 Thou know st t is so. 
 
 EVE. 
 
 How know? Albeit I blench to hear it said, 
 Yet I do talk with Abel, my lost son, 
 By night and day, forever! 
 
ACT I] THE DEATH OF EVE 407 
 
 JUBAL. 
 
 Day and night, 
 
 Life, death, the hid, the shown, are in thy know 
 ledge. 
 
 In his simplicity hath Jubal spoke, 
 And now his heart is free. 
 
 EVE. 
 
 Not yet! Not yet! 
 Abel? Thine eyes saw Abel? His risen ghost? 
 
 JUBAL. 
 
 The thousand eyeballs of this flesh, they saw, 
 What time my crowding spirits, wild and pale, 
 Made all my curdled blood from head to heel 
 Their tower of outlook. 
 
 EVE. 
 By the altar? Was it? 
 
 JUBAL. 
 Yea, yea. 
 
 EVE. 
 
 Cain s altar? 
 
 JUBAL. 
 
 Abel s altar mound ; 
 Though both be eat to nothing with the years. 
 
4 o8 THE DEATH OF EVE [ACT i 
 
 EVE. 
 
 Aye, aye, the eating years! At first I thought 
 I was mistook; t would be the farther mound. 
 After these years they should let something grow 
 there. 
 
 JUBAL. 
 
 Though salt were sown not, nor the stones not 
 
 flung, 
 
 No plant would spring within the awful vale 
 Where murder first was born. -- I followed thee 
 Scarce hoping to come thence again alive, 
 And crouched apart while Eve did call on Abel; 
 Thrice did she cry on him. 
 
 EVE. 
 
 Ere I cried once 
 
 I knew t was vain. He would not let me go. 
 Living and dead they failed me ! 
 Pause. 
 
 JUBAL. 
 
 Lamech too! 
 
 EVE. 
 
 Ah, for thy father Lamech, honor him! 
 Good father, and good husband to his wives ! 
 They point him and he goes, what man would not? 
 Both fair, and one right good; Adah is good. 
 
ACT I] THE DEATH OF EVE 409 
 
 Loves not much farther outward than her door, 
 But that is well for women, narrow love, 
 
 Narrow and deep. 
 
 JUBAL. 
 
 Then t is not well with Eve, 
 Who loves as wide as life, though deep as death. 
 
 EVE. 
 
 Once, once ! No longer now, these years of years ! 
 They would not have me so. Great years of 
 
 years 
 
 Since Eve in anguish called her wild heart in 
 And taught it what to do. Yet, yet, thou say- 
 
 est 
 What said st thou of me? 
 
 JUBAL. 
 
 What thyself said first, 
 O mighty Eve! Thy soul is back returned 
 Through life s sad changes to that joy it was 
 When first it soared into the new-made light. 
 
 EVE. 
 Seemeth almost it is so. Years of years ! 
 
 Pause. 
 
 JUBAL. 
 
 Hark! Heard st thou? 
 
4 io THE DEATH OF EVE [ACT I 
 
 EVE. 
 
 Women coming to the well. 
 
 JUBAL. 
 
 As the voices approach. 
 
 Mother, beseech ye, be as if we slept ! 
 
 For they will mock thee as before they did. 
 
 EVE. 
 I care not for their mocking. 
 
 JUBAL. 
 
 Be besought! 
 
 CHORUS OF WATER-BEARERS. 
 
 Two groups, one of young, the other of old women, sing 
 in alternation. 
 
 Old Women. 
 
 Like a hunter in his mountain walks the purpose of 
 the Lord! 
 
 Young Women. 
 0, the prey alert and little, be its littleness its ward! 
 
 Old Women. 
 
 Like a linnet on the lime-twig sings the bow-string 
 on the bow. 
 
ACT I] THE DEATH OF EVE 411 
 
 Young Women. 
 0, the serpent when he sitteth on his coils singeth so! 
 
 Chorus (in unison). 
 Even though, even though! 
 
 Be it ours to flee and double, be it His to bring us low. 
 Blessed she who tastes his arrow and lies broken in 
 
 the wood. 
 
 She has fled, she has fallen : it is good. 
 They fill their jars at the well. 
 
 FIRST WOMAN. 
 
 What makes the witch- wife hither? Have ye 
 heard? 
 
 SECOND WOMAN. 
 
 What make they all, who sit on yonder stone 
 To wait Cain s coming? 
 
 THIRD WOMAN. 
 
 The old tale. 
 
 Some sons of jackals, loping sharp-set by, 
 Have sniffed her hut, and stopped unhid to meat; 
 Some neighbor hath put sheep s-bane in her well; 
 An idle whirlwind, rising up to play, 
 Has wantoned with her little patch of dates, 
 And left it bleeding. 
 
4 i2 THE DEATH OF EVE [ACT i 
 
 SECOND WOMAN. 
 
 -Has none spoke with her? 
 
 FOURTH WOMAN. 
 
 Aye, to much purpose! She is sullen dumb, 
 Sun-crazed, or hath a spirit. T was my son 
 Who found her in the gates. "Cain!" would she 
 
 cry, 
 
 And " Cain! " again. By what she mumbled else 
 She will be outlandish. 
 
 FIFTH WOMAN. 
 
 By raiment too. 
 
 And then the starveling camel, did you mark? 
 Longer in limb and muzzle than our breed, 
 The pelt more reddish. 
 
 FOURTH WOMAN. 
 
 Let us stir her up ! 
 
 Some go toward Eve andjubal. Abdera, a young girl, 
 puts herself in their path. 
 
 ABDERA. 
 
 Ye shall not mock them! 
 t 
 
 FOURTH WOMAN. 
 
 What! Weaned since, swaddling-clout? 
 
ACT I] THE DEATH OF EVE 413 
 
 SECOND WOMAN. 
 
 The maid says well. They are all travel-spent. 
 They sit like souls foredone for weariness. 
 
 FOURTH WOMAN. 
 They feign! They feign! Saw ye? The stripling 
 
 peeps 
 And lowers beneath his arm! 
 
 SECOND WOMAN. 
 
 And let them feign. 
 
 Take up your jars, and take your singing up. 
 All except Abdera mount the path behind. 
 
 FOURTH WOMAN. 
 
 Looking back. 
 
 Look yon ! Look yon ! The little harlotry 
 Stops for her hire. 
 
 THIRD WOMAN. 
 
 T will be the lad that pays! 
 
 CHORUS OF WATER-BEARERS. 
 
 As they ascend the slope behind, and pass through the 
 gate. 
 
 Till the coming up of day, 
 
 Till the cool night flee away, 
 
 Till the Hunter rises up to pursue, 
 
414 THE DEATH OF EVE [ACT I 
 
 my sisters, we will laugh, we will play! 
 
 Though He wake and walk anear us, 
 
 He is mused, He will not hear us; 
 
 Though He wanders lone and late, 
 
 He will never hear how mate whispereth to darkling 
 
 mate. 
 
 Yea, and though He hear, and though! 
 Will He judge us, even so? 
 He is mused, He walketh harmless. In the shadowy 
 
 mountain hid 
 
 We will lure our lovers to us, even as our mothers did! 
 When He cometh forth at dawn, and His anger burns 
 
 anew, 
 
 As our hunted mothers did, even so we will do: 
 Flee and crouch and feint and double, leap the snare 
 
 or gnaw it through ! 
 
 EVE. 
 Who art thou? Tell us. 
 
 ABDERA. 
 
 Abdera. 
 
 EVE. 
 
 Whose daughter? 
 
 ABDERA. 
 Till now the daughter of captivity, 
 
ACT I] THE DEATH OF EVE 415 
 
 A leaf blown in by tempest of those wars 
 Which crushed the stem I grew to. 
 
 EVE. 
 
 And from now? 
 ABDERA. 
 
 Kneeling. 
 
 If thou art earthly and hast need of love, 
 Thy servant and thy daughter. O receive me! 
 Pause. 
 
 JUBAL. 
 
 Mother, she waits. Wilt thou not speak to her? 
 Her countenance, that was so bright, is fallen. 
 Eve draws Abdera near and bends over her. 
 
 ABDERA. 
 
 To Eve. 
 
 Why weep st thou? 
 Pause. To Jubal. 
 
 O why weeps she? At my words 
 She looked beyond, with thinking, sightless eyes, 
 As I have seen my father s gods to look 
 Out of the dreaming stone ; and then alas, 
 Tell me what t is you weep for! 
 
 EVE. 
 
 Lifting her head. 
 
 Sweet my child, 
 My fair new daughter, t is for thee I weep. 
 
4i6 THE DEATH OF EVE [ACT I 
 
 ABDERA. 
 No cause. See, I am glad now; all is well. 
 
 EVE. 
 
 Therefore I weep, that we all three are glad, 
 And all is well, thrice well. 
 She draws Jubal to her, also. To Jubal. 
 
 What say you, boy? 
 Hearts change ! Here is a stranger in thy place. 
 
 - There is a wondrous vine called Jealousy ; 
 It springs between this pulse-beat and the next, 
 And hangs the roofs of heaven with bitterness. 
 Does Jubal feel it growing? 
 
 JUBAL. 
 
 Nay, I know not. 
 EVE. 
 To Abdera. 
 
 He knows not. Then, alas, we know too well ! 
 
 JUBAL. 
 
 Touching his heart. 
 
 Mother, the Vine! I felt it springing here 
 Even as thou spakest, and hanging as it were 
 The roofs of Heaven, but not with bitterness. 
 
 EVE. 
 There may be other seeds I know not of, 
 
ACT I] THE DEATH OF EVE 417 
 
 That spring as fast, and load their trellises 
 With leaves of light and lovely fruits between. 
 
 ABDERA. 
 
 Some I have seen with fairy vans outspread 
 Sail high, and yet no wind, or good as none. 
 And some have hands and fingers : they will cling 
 To sheep or goat or ass, all one to them 
 So they be carried where they long to be. 
 
 EVE. 
 
 Aye, where they long to be! Winds of the world, 
 Blow as ye will and blow what seeds ye will 
 If this kind mingle in. 
 
 JUBAL. 
 
 She wonders at us. 
 Speak to her. 
 
 EVE. 
 Wonder st thou? Are we so strange? 
 
 ABDERA. 
 
 I was brought young to Cain s fierce citadel. 
 And since, day after day, season by season, 
 Now stark alone and now in bands of trouble, 
 The hurt and hungry people gather in, 
 To crouch upon this stone. Some I have feared, 
 
4 i 8 THE DEATH OF EVE [ACT I 
 
 Yea, hated for the wickedness in them, 
 Being myself made wicked by that hate; 
 Some seemed to fade to nothing where they sat, 
 Scarce there at all, and hardly gone, forgotten; 
 Of some I asked in wonder, "Who are ye? 
 What countrymen, what errand, and what 
 
 cheer?" 
 
 My heart not beating till the answer fell, 
 And long, long wildly beating to remember. 
 To-day I came, and lo, nothing to wonder, 
 Nothing to question of! Two trees of life 
 Planted from always unto everlasting 
 By the still waters; and my quiet soul, 
 With outspread hands and upturned countenance 
 In the bright shadow, saying, "Glory, glory!" 
 
 JUBAL. 
 
 Low. 
 
 One tree. 
 
 ABDERA. 
 
 Low to Jubal. 
 
 Thy parable? 
 
 JUBAL. 
 Indicating Eve, who sits in reverie. 
 
 She is the tree; 
 And I with thee stand singing in her shadow. 
 
ACT I] THE DEATH OF EVE 419 
 
 EVE. 
 
 Rousing. 
 
 What think the people of their master Cain? 
 
 ABDERA. 
 That he is master; that he is lord and king. 
 
 EVE. 
 No more? 
 
 ABDERA. 
 Some mutter darkly and apart. 
 
 EVE. 
 What should they mutter of? 
 
 ABDERA. 
 Looking about as in fear. 
 
 That Cain is old ; 
 That as he grows more weak he grows more cruel. 
 
 JUBAL. 
 Cruel? To thee? 
 
 ABDERA. 
 
 The storm that breaks the tower 
 Roots not the little hyssop from the chink. 
 Nor do I hold him cruel of his will, 
 But in his withered blood a poison works, 
 Distilling wrath and panic. Long ago, 
 
420 THE DEATH OF EVE [ACT I 
 
 In his hot youth, upon some jealousy 
 He slew his brother. Then the angry gods 
 Set on his brow a sign to know him by; 
 And since, in hopeless visions of his bed, 
 Or when the priestesses rave round his car, 
 Gashing themselves, and to their frothed mouths 
 Setting the adder s mouth, or when he lairs, 
 His madness on, with demons of the waste 
 The patient gods, the unwithdrawing gods, 
 Dropwise and piecemeal wean his soul from him. 
 
 EVE. 
 Old? Madness? Withered? Girl, can st thou not 
 
 speak plain? 
 
 Mutter not thou, whate er yon rebels do! 
 Tojubal. 
 Did she say "old"? 
 
 JUBAL. 
 
 What has she said amiss? 
 She shrinks with fear. 
 
 EVE. 
 
 Old! 
 
 JUBAL. 
 
 Seth, though the later born, 
 Thou knowest, Seth too 
 
ACT I] THE DEATH OF EVE 421 
 
 EVE. 
 
 Seth too? And what of him? 
 Yes, yes, all s clear. Seth truly! That is well. 
 Children as ye two be ! To the dropped lamb 
 The yearling from the father of the flock 
 Stands not a hair apart in reverend time. 
 And cruel, say they? He was never so! 
 Hasty and hot, a blood where rage would run 
 As swift as sun-fire through dry prairie grass, 
 But cruel never that. Thy shoulder, Jubal. 
 A faintness is come on me. T will pass, t is 
 
 passing. 
 
 Old old and cruel. 
 She rouses again. 
 
 Girl, girl! What else was t, then? 
 Weak? As he grows more weak? Why I have 
 
 seen 
 
 The young oak shudder in his wrestling arms, 
 And its torn roots come groaning from the hill, 
 When for a sport he did but breathe himself. 
 Ages of years ! Thrust from his gate like dogs ! 
 Weak, weak, indeed, to be afeard of us. 
 Her head sinks on JubaVs shoulder; her eyes close. 
 
 Abdera kisses the hem of Eve s garment, rises, and 
 
 takes up her jar. 
 
422 THE DEATH OF EVE [ACT i 
 
 ABDERA. 
 
 She set me in the garden of her love ; 
 At first I grew, as ne er by so sweet clime 
 A tree was told to prosper and put forth ; 
 But at the last not so. Sour were my fruits, 
 Apples of ignorance. 
 SJie turns to go. 
 
 JUBAL. 
 
 Where wilt thou go? 
 Stay yet ! I thought O ye two spake such 
 
 things ! 
 I thought and thou wilt leave us now again? 
 
 ABDERA. 
 
 Let me not leave you! Whither should I go? 
 I know naught else. I have been always here. 
 
 JUBAL. 
 
 He draws Abdera to him. 
 O never leave us more! 
 
 ABDERA. 
 
 Yielding to his embrace. 
 
 Fair, fair my brother. 
 
 JUBAL. 
 Know st thou nor guessest nothing who she is? 
 
ACT I] THE DEATH OF EVE 423 
 
 ABDERA. 
 
 She is the tree neath which we sing together, 
 Herself in all her boughs to Heaven singing. 
 
 JUBAL. 
 
 She sings not to the Heavens, but to the earth ; 
 Once hoarsely, like a look-out overwatched, 
 Now in a new voice, battle-songs and birth-songs. 
 
 ABDERA. 
 
 When first I looked on her I seemed to sit 
 A child and sleepy in my father s tent; 
 The wandering prophet sang, and neath my lids 
 I saw great shapes rise out of elder time; 
 Beginning earth, with other beasts and birds; 
 Ionian forests where winged serpents flew; 
 Seasons not ours, and long since fallen gods, \ 
 
 JUBAL. 
 
 She saw creation s morning; she will stay 
 To watch the everlasting twilight fall. 
 
 ABDERA. 
 Hush!- 
 
 JUBAL. 
 
 Looking about. 
 
 None to hear. 
 
424 THE DEATH OF EVE [ACT I 
 
 ABDERA. 
 Pointing in fear. 
 
 Look where above the sand 
 
 The hot light dances. Should it dance for naught? 
 
 JUBAL. 
 
 Know ye more gods but One? 
 i 
 
 ABDERA. 
 
 My fathers knew; 
 
 And sometimes I - Hush ! Bow thee ! They 
 walk, they hear! 
 
 JUBAL. 
 
 Looking upward, toward the citadel. 
 Not gods, but men, come from the eyrie town, 
 Slow down the mountain stair ! One walks between, 
 And two that stead him upon either hand; 
 And some before with singing, and yet some 
 Behind, with spears and banners. 
 
 ABDERA. 
 
 Whispers to Eve. 
 
 Cain, he comes! 
 
 All three rise and gaze upward. The procession de 
 scends. Cain, aged and broken, seats himself in the 
 throne-seat surrounded by his armed men, while Eve, 
 veiled but for the eyes, stands supported by Jubal and 
 
ACT I] THE DEATH OF EVE 425 
 
 Abdera. The chief officer at Cains side lifts his 
 
 hand. 
 
 CHIEF OFFICER. 
 
 The king is come into his judgment seat 
 If any in this presence have a cause, 
 The time is gracious, and the king gives ear. 
 
 EVE. 
 
 Gazing from Cain to one and another of his men. 
 Seek not to try me, who am over tried ! 
 Is this the king, or sits one in his room? 
 
 CAIN. 
 What says the woman? 
 
 OFFICER. 
 
 If thou be the king. 
 
 CAIN. 
 What should be answered? 
 
 OFFICER. 
 
 Mock not thy servant, lord, 
 Nor thy great self. 
 
 CAIN. 
 
 Mutters. 
 
 Still king, or not yet wakened 
 
 From dreaming such a matter. 
 
426 THE DEATH OF EVE [ACT i 
 
 To Eve. 
 
 Unveil thy face. 
 Uncover thee and speak. 
 
 Eve drops her veil. Cain stares with slow gathering 
 terror, then rises. 
 
 Thou hag of hell, 
 
 Glare not upon me with those caverned eyes ! 
 To his officers. 
 
 Whoever has done this, his life shall pay. 
 Do ye spread out your nets among the dead, 
 And toll them here out of the earth and air 
 To daunt me, and to shake me from myself? 
 To the priests who advance. 
 Try her if she be human ! Speak the word ! 
 Make the dread sign! 
 
 EVE. 
 
 Make not your sign on me! 
 For on your bloods and bodies ere the birth 
 Myself have made on you a mightier sign. 
 - Cain, Cain, dost thou not know me? Look 
 
 again ! 
 
 Cain, gazing- at her stupefied, makes a sign to his men 
 to leave him. 
 
 CAIN. 
 As they linger. 
 
 Back to the city! Away! Go, every one! 
 
ACT I] THE DEATH OF EVE 427 
 
 They mount the steps, with backward looks. An aged 
 warrior lingers. Jubal and Abdera, clinging together 
 in awe and fear, slip away down the desert path be 
 hind. 
 
 WARRIOR. 
 
 By one who in suspicion has grown grey, 
 
 And all to shield and warn thee, lord, be warned. 
 
 Many and subtle are thine enemies. 
 
 In many shapes they hunt thee for thy soul. 
 
 CAIN. 
 Leave us alone! Go, go! Alone, alone. 
 
 The old man mounts the steps. Cain, with averted head, 
 
 mutters to Eve. 
 God knows I know thee not. 
 
 EVE. 
 
 Approaching nearer. 
 
 Cain, Cain, look up! 
 
 Grieve no more; pity my grief. Eve knows thou 
 
 knowest. 
 
 He draws her to him, and sinks on the bench, she at 
 his feet, her head buried in his knees. Song above, 
 distant. 
 
 CAIN. 
 
 As the singing ceases. 
 The first that I remember of my life 
 
428 THE DEATH OF EVE [ACT i 
 
 Was such a place, such a still afternoon, 
 I sitting thus, thy bright head in my knees, 
 And such a bird above us as him yonder 
 Who dips and hushes, lifts and takes his note. 
 I know not what child s trespass I had done, 
 Nor why it drove the girl out of thy face, 
 Clutched at thy heart with panic, and in thine 
 
 eyes 
 Set shuddering love. 
 
 EVE. 
 
 O my first-born, my child ! 
 
 herald star in the wilderness appearing, 
 After the nine-fold moon of dubious speech, 
 Proclaiming silence soon to fall in Heaven - 
 The everlasting silence that soon did fall, 
 When by me lay thy little frame of breathing, 
 And blind and weak thou foundest out the breast ! 
 
 CAIN. 
 
 There was a day when winter held the hills 
 And all the lower places looking sunward 
 Knew that the spring was near. Until that day 
 
 1 had but walked in a boy s dream and dazzle, 
 And in soft darkness folded on herself 
 
 My soul had spun her blind and silken house. 
 
ACT I] THE DEATH OF EVE 429 
 
 It was my birthday, for at earliest dawn 
 
 You had crept to me in the outer tent, 
 
 Kissed me with tears and laughter, whispering 
 
 low 
 
 That I was born, and that the world was there, 
 A gift you had imagined and made for me. 
 Now, as I climbed the morning hills, behold, 
 Those words were true : the world at last was there ; 
 At last t was mine, and I was born at last. 
 I walked, and on my shoulders and my reins 
 Strength rang like armor; I sat, and in my belly 
 Strength gnawed like a new vinegar; I ran 
 And strength was on me like superfluous wings, 
 Even the six wings of the cherubim, 
 Twice twain to cover me and twain to fly. 
 
 EVE. 
 
 green tree ! O the young man in the house ! 
 A gold frontlet of pride, and a green cedar! 
 Pause, 
 
 CAIN. 
 
 His voice changes. 
 
 1 knew that you would come. 
 
 EVE. 
 
 Lo, I am here. 
 
430 THE DEATH OF EVE [ACT i 
 
 CAIN. 
 
 And knew t would be too late. 
 
 EVE. 
 
 In full good time. 
 
 CAIN. 
 
 Look on me; look once. Is this crazed frame 
 The thing Eve bare in joy? Let us climb down 
 Unto the sheep-pools; I will sit apart, 
 And do thou lean thee out over the pool 
 And look and tell me if that face be hers 
 Who waited while yon silence fell in Heaven 
 And Cain came forth the doors. Too late, too 
 late! 
 
 EVE. 
 
 Late, late, but in fair time ! Never too late. 
 Silence. 
 
 CAIN. 
 They told me Eve was dead. 
 
 EVE. 
 
 Startled. 
 
 They told alas, 
 Who told? 
 
 CAIN. 
 Chance-comers, wanderers from the waste. 
 
ACT I] THE DEATH OF EVE 431 
 
 EVE. 
 
 And do chance- wandering tongues still sound this 
 name? 
 
 CAIN. 
 
 Here one and there one, never aught aright, 
 But every man his tale, after his heart. 
 
 EVE. 
 
 Even in the tent my people do me this. 
 Even in my face, almost! Yea, I have lain, 
 Bowed on thy father s breast, and heard them do 
 
 it. 
 I feigned to sleep; I heard them. And look you, 
 
 son, 
 
 Here is the worst. Their glozing tales once heard, 
 Qflce pored on through long watches of the night, 
 They rise before my soul like very truth, 
 As bright, as fair, as strange, almost, almost ! 
 
 CAIN. 
 
 Darkly. 
 
 On Adam s breast? How long since? 
 
 EVE. 
 
 The road is far, 
 And hard to find. Also, the second moon, 
 
432 THE DEATH OF EVE [ACT i 
 
 One camel sickened, and his pining mate 
 Went laggard. Son, what ails thee? 
 
 CAIN. 
 
 He lives? 
 
 EVE. 
 
 Who lives? 
 
 -Aye, aye, he lives. Hast heard aught, child? 
 
 He lives, 
 Surely thy father lives. 
 
 CAIN. 
 
 And thou art here? 
 
 EVE. 
 But most for his sake. Listen while I tell ! 
 
 - Why do you harshly thrust my hands away,^ 
 And lift your clenched hands trembling to the sky 
 With wild and smothered words? 
 
 CAIN. 
 
 Pushing her front him. 
 
 I know you not, 
 
 Unclasp my knees. I thought you were yourself. 
 Yours, therefore mine at last. It is not so. 
 His, his, the same as when he cursed me forth 
 And Eve stood stockish, never one plea made, 
 
ACT I] THE DEATH OF EVE 433 
 
 One wail set up, one gesture of farewell, 
 No more than from a stone! 
 
 EVE. 
 
 She was a stone; 
 
 As afterwards, long years, a frozen stone. 
 No seasons and no weather on the earth ; 
 Sun, moon, and stars dead in a field of death; 
 And in her dead heart, nothing, nothing, nothing! 
 After long years, she wakened, knew herself, 
 Rose up to wring some profit from her days, 
 Conceived again, and once again brought forth; 
 Yea, saw the teeming race in circles kindle 
 Roaring to God, a flame of generation. 
 From out the tossing battle of that fire 
 Flashed seldom and again wild news of thee, 
 And one red instant, ere night drove between, 
 Thy form would stand gigantic in the glare, 
 Islanded huge among thine enemies, 
 As when the ice-bear rears upon the floe 
 And swings her flailing paws against the pack, 
 Or when the sea- volcano from his loins 
 Shakes climbing cities. 
 
 CAIN. 
 
 Better, better far 
 
434 THE DEATH OF EVE [ACT i 
 
 That Eve had never sought, nor Cain been found, 
 Than thus, being together, to be sundered 
 More than by ice-fields or the raving sea. 
 
 EVE. 
 
 Cain, how sundered? Look on me! Kiss my 
 
 lips, 
 And feel it is not so. 
 
 CAIN. 
 
 Repulsing her. 
 
 T is not so then. 
 
 There is no gateway shut between our souls, 
 No watchers stationed, and no lifted sword 
 Flaming forever! 
 
 EVE. 
 Ere I fled to thee 
 
 1 knelt in fear by Abel s altar-mound 
 
 And begged his leave to go. His spirit rose, 
 Or seemed to rise, and seemed to threaten me. 
 The same night on thy father s breast I bowed, 
 And spoke of this my journey. In his eyes, 
 If still they seemed to know me who I was, 
 Kindled none other knowledge. Albeit I rose, 
 And fled away, and suffered much, and came, 
 Thy name among the nations my sole guide, 
 Desire of thee my strength and company. 
 
ACT I] THE DEATH OF EVE 435 
 
 - Be glad of me ! O lovingly entreat me ! 
 Make all my meanings good, till such a time 
 
 As these our wounds are healed. Then if, per 
 chance, 
 
 Our hearts at ease, I something should unveil 
 My stranger will, my cloudier purposes - 
 
 CAIN. 
 
 Yea, yea, I wondered what would lurk behind ! 
 
 - Not for my sake, that were too mere a mother. 
 
 Wills, purposes ! Lo, am I taken in 
 Because your tongue veers off and skirts the quick? 
 Do I not hear the words you dare not speak 
 Thunder above your speech? Do not your eyes 
 Hover and flinch and crawl upon my brow, 
 Seeking, and shuddering off to turn again 
 
 In sick and deadly search? Look then! T is 
 
 here. 
 
 He pushes back the head-band, baring the sign. 
 It is not faded, though these hands have shed 
 Rivers of kindred blood to wash it off. 
 
 T was this you came for : bring your errand full. 
 Look and begone! 
 
 Eve, staring at the Sign, has fainted. Her head drops 
 on Cains shoulder. He tries to lift her head. 
 
436 THE DEATH OF EVE [ACT I 
 
 Pitiful God, not this! 
 
 She could not come after the endless years, 
 To go so soon. Mother, thou wilt not deal 
 Thus much unkindness to an unkind son, 
 As leave him when harsh words were on his lips. 
 Of old, when in our rage we thrust thee out, 
 Thou wouldst return again, unreconciled 
 To harshness and to wrath. O do it now, 
 In pity! 
 
 EVE. 
 Waking. 
 
 Where am I ? 
 
 CAIN. 
 
 Thou living Dread, 
 Whose fountains yet flow mercy ! 
 
 EVE. 
 
 What hath passed? 
 A faintness overfell me. Often of late, 
 But never quite so deep, so heavy deep. 
 I am far come, child. Lead me to thy house. 
 Much must be said, but there is time for all. 
 Nothing in haste; nothing before its hour. 
 
 CAIN. 
 Wait till I call my people. 
 
ACT i] THE DEATH OF EVE 437 
 
 EVE. 
 
 Rising. 
 
 I am strong. 
 
 We will go up together. I have dreamed 
 
 Of this our going-in, and spite of all 
 
 T is very like my dream, yea, very like. - 
 
 Thy people cursed me, stoned and thrust me down ; 
 
 But now I walk under thy mighty shadow. - 
 
 She pauses in their ascent, and looks out over the desert. 
 
 Where will my children be? 
 
 CAIN. 
 
 Thy children, mother? 
 
 EVE. 
 
 Jubal, my travel-mate, a stripling boy 
 But great of heart; and Abdera, thy maid. 
 
 CAIN. 
 
 Mine? 
 
 EVE. 
 
 So : thou hast forgot or never knew. 
 Leave them ; no matter where. They cannot stray. 
 The sun will shepherd them. 
 
 CAIN. 
 
 The sun is set. 
 
438 THE DEATH OF EVE [ACT i 
 
 EVE. 
 
 The stars, then, pouring influence. Lead me on. 
 
 Art thou faint, also? Two can make a strength. 
 
 They begin to mount tJie steps. Above, Azrael, the Death 
 Angel, appears, slowly descending, as from the city. 
 With his left hand he clasps to Ids breast the hilt of a 
 long sword ; in his right he holds a stalk of flower 
 ing asphodel. Eve, seeing him, shrinks back, draw 
 ing Cain with her. Azrael, gazing at the pair, lifts 
 the asphodel and descends to the left by a desert path, 
 disappearing behind the Seat of Supplication. Eve 
 gazes at the apparition in terrified silence, points at 
 it as it disappears, then hides her head in Cains 
 breast. 
 
 CAIN. 
 
 What ails thee, mother? Why dost thou point 
 
 and peer 
 And shrink away ? 
 
 EVE. 
 Whispers. 
 
 Saw st nothing? 
 
 CAIN. 
 
 Where? 
 EVE. 
 
 Pointing. 
 
 Yonder. 
 And there, and yonder. 
 
ACT I] THE DEATH OF EVE 439 
 
 CAIN. 
 
 Nothing. 
 
 EVE. 
 
 Look again! 
 
 Eve stands with face averted, while Cain peers over 
 where the path behind the Seat of Supplication de 
 scends hidden to the plain. 
 
 CAIN. 
 Two by the sheep-wells walking. 
 
 EVE. 
 
 Two? 
 
 CAIN. 
 
 Thine eyes! 
 Thy lips, mother! 
 
 EVE. 
 
 How many did ye say? 
 CAIN. 
 
 Twain, boy and girl. 
 
 EVE. 
 Lord, Lord! 
 
 CAIN. 
 
 Mother, thy face ? 
 
I 
 
 440 THE DEATH OF EVE [ACT i 
 
 EVE. 
 And this my son saw nothing! 
 
 CAIN. 
 
 What should I sec? 
 
 EVE. 
 Nothing. I praise Him. Long years yet for 
 
 thee, - 
 Fair years, till then. Nothing. I praise Him! 
 
 CAIN. 
 
 Thou hast endured too much. If in her house 
 And throne of rule that sovereign mind be shaken, 
 Yet night and sleep and the new-risen day 
 
 EVE. 
 
 Nor night nor day can help me who have seen 
 The angel of the Lord, the summoner. 
 There, there he stood, and lifted slowly up 
 His pallid flower, and without speech said , Come ! 
 As once before in Adam s tent he did, 
 And Eve, beholding, rose and fled away, 
 To look on thee ere darkness. Son, thou strength, 
 Spread thy strong hands o er this rebellious head, 
 That our two strengths yet for a little while 
 May hold against Jehovah! My fierce son, 
 
ACT I] THE DEATH OF EVE 441 
 
 Thou burning flame from childhood, look on me 
 And say that thou wilt do it, though the skies 
 Open to warn us back! Thy promise, Cain! 
 
 CAIN. 
 
 What would ye of me, that these opening skies 
 And that up-startled Wrath ? 
 
 EVE. 
 
 I had a son 
 
 Who questioned his own wrath, the skies thereof, 
 His own heart s wrathful skies, what they were 
 
 prone to, 
 
 And seeing where his will went, followed it. 
 I came to find that son. And shall I find him 
 But as the rest, whose marrow in their bones 
 Curdles to hear Eve s whisper? Nay, thou Cain, 
 Whose soul is as a torch blown back for speed, 
 T is thou shalt light me on that fearful way 
 That I must go, and that I haste to go 
 Ere darkness falls forever. 
 
 CAIN. 
 
 Though Cain were still 
 
 That flame which once he was, how should he 
 light thee, 
 
442 THE DEATH OF EVE [ACT i 
 
 Not knowing of thy way nor of thine errand? 
 Fearful? And be it so. My goings-out 
 And comings-in be fearful. Tell me plain. 
 
 EVE. 
 
 Plain will I tell thee, son. There was a place 
 There was a place and it will still be there, 
 For nightly I am told so there is a place 
 That once 
 
 CAIN. 
 Mother! 
 
 EVE. 
 
 That once I knew 
 
 CAIN. 
 
 woman! 
 EVE. 
 Thou sayest. A place that Eve the woman 
 
 knew, 
 
 Once, far off, long ago, when she was young - 
 With him - 
 
 CAIN. 
 Hush! 
 
 EVE. 
 
 Young with him 
 
ACT I] THE DEATH OF EVE 443 
 
 CAIN. 
 
 Wilt thou be still? 
 
 EVE. 
 Adam the man 
 
 CAIN. 
 Woe on thee! 
 
 EVE. 
 
 Him the man 
 
 And her the woman, in their ignorance 
 And still it waits there, waits for her to come, 
 Now she has gathered up a little knowledge. - 
 Be patient, child. See, I am very patient. 
 I tell thee quietly I would go thither; 
 Ere darkness falls, Eve must go back again.- 
 She hath an errand. 
 
 CAIN. 
 
 Will thy lips cease now, 
 Ere they bring doomsday down? 
 
 EVE. 
 
 Hast ever listen - 
 Hast ever, in thy desert wanderings, 
 Seen, or had news? Seen mayhap afar off ? 
 
444 THE DEATH OF EVE [ACT I 
 
 CAIN. 
 
 Once, once! 
 
 EVE. 
 Far off? Or near to? 
 
 CAIN. 
 
 Near enough. 
 EVE. 
 Ye stood and saw? 
 
 CAIN. 
 
 Yea, verily. 
 
 EVE. 
 
 How near? 
 
 CAIN. 
 
 Flesh goes not nearer than this flesh went near, 
 Yet t was far off. 
 
 EVE. 
 How far? 
 
 CAIN. 
 
 Far as a hawk 
 
 Up-wind can keep his wings set. 
 
 EVE. 
 
 Very near! 
 Saw st thou ? 
 
ACT I] THE DEATH OF EVE 445 
 
 CAIN. 
 
 O mother, hush on what I saw! 
 Hush, for thy life s sake, for thy reason s sake. 
 
 Night falls. Lean on me; let me lead thee 
 
 home. 
 
 EVE. 
 
 Home thou must lead me, to that wondrous home 
 That was and is and shall be till I come. 
 
 Turn not away so! Touching this same jour 
 
 ney, 
 
 I humbly do beseech thee, look thereon, 
 And be well pleased to lend thy royal favor, 
 Thereto the needed beasts and muniments 
 Proportioned to the distance and the time; 
 This only being besought, that my twain children, 
 Jubal and her, go up with me along 
 Into the gaze and silence of the Lord, 
 And that our starting be by dawn to-morrow. - 
 Unless, by favor, thy decreeing lips 
 ShoukTbreathe "To-night " and do it. Might it be? 
 T is but an hour to moonrise, and the moon 
 Is at her full, or nearly. Say st " To-night?" 
 Aye, aye, thy silence cries I have a son ! 
 
 To-night! That is right royal. 
 
446 THE DEATH OF EVE [ACT i 
 
 CAIN. 
 
 Neither to-night, 
 
 Nor yet to-morrow, nor the day to come, 
 Nor any day till Cain, Eve s bloody son, 
 Gone brain-sick as his dam - Call to him then 
 And haply he will hear thee where he raves 
 Above his moaning nation ! But for now 
 
 EVE. 
 
 Now, even now. So, I beseech no more. 
 But lay on thee my still and high command. 
 
 CAIN. 
 I will not hear thee; cannot, dare not hear! 
 
 EVE. 
 
 Thou wilt not hear me? Yea, but thou wilt hear! 
 Thy ears be not thy ears. I moulded them. 
 Thy life is not thy life. I gave it thee, 
 And do require it back. Thy beating heart 
 Beats not unto itself, but unto me, 
 Whose voice did tell it when to beat and how. 
 Thy deeds are not thy deeds. Ye conned them here, 
 Under this breast, where lay great store of deeds 
 Undone, for thee to choose from. 
 She uncovers the Sign on his forehead. 
 
ACT I] THE DEATH OF EVE 447 
 
 *T is not thy head 
 
 Weareth this Sign. T is my most cruel head, 
 Whose cruel hand, whose swift and bloody hand 
 Smote in its rage my own fair man-child down. 
 Not thy hand, Cain, not thine ; but my dark hand ; 
 And my dark forehead wears the sign thereof, 
 As now I take it on me. 
 She kisses him on the Sign. 
 
 CAIN. 
 
 With bowed head. 
 
 Peace, at last. 
 After these struggles, peace. 
 
 EVE. 
 
 At dawn, O Cain? 
 
 CAIN. 
 Whenever and wherever. 
 
 EVE. 
 
 My great son ! 
 
 Cain and Eve mount toward the gate, and pass through, 
 out of sight. Jubal and Abdera appear from the val 
 ley, behind the Seat of Supplication, and mount 
 toward the city. Under the gate Jubal stops and 
 looks over the desert. 
 
448 THE DEATH OF EVE [ACT I 
 
 JUBAL. 
 
 O Abdera, the strangeness of the world. 
 
 ABDERA. 
 
 Not strange. Strange, strange before ; no lon 
 ger so. 
 
 JUBAL. 
 
 Look where the star leans flaming from his throne 
 And viewless worlds are suppliant in his porches. 
 They pass through the gate and disappear, climbing up 
 ward. 
 
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