UC-NRLF B 3 315 7V JAMES RYDER RANDALL (AT TWENTY-TWO) WHEN MARYLAND, MY MARYLAND, WAS WRITTEN MARYLAND, MY MARYLAND AND OTHER POEMS BY James Ryder Randall JOHN MURPHY COMPANY {htbltahrra BALTIMORE. MD. NEW YORK JOHN MURPHY COMPANY TO THE MEMORY OF MY MOTHER M61191 CONTENTS PAGE Introduction 11 Maryland, My Maryland 17 Pelham 20 There s Life in the Old Land Yet . . . . .22 John W. Morton 24 On the Rampart . 28 Memorial Day . . 31 The Battle Cry of The South . . . . .32 The Lone Sentry 36 At Fort Pillow . 38 Our Confederate Dead 42 Placide Bossier . . . . . ... . .44 Ashes 45 The Unconquered Banner ...... 46 At Arlington -. .49 The Oriel Window 55 Anima ...... ..-.59 Eidolon . . . . . ." . . . 61 The Damsel of Mobile . . . * . . . .64 The Dying Girl . . ... . . . 66 Jamais .68 The Cameo Bracelet 70 POEMS OF JAMES RYDER RANDALL PAGE The Cobra Capello . . . . . . . . . 72 Why The Robin s Breast is Red . . ... 75 Adieu . . . . . . . . . . .76 Silver Spring ......... 78 To the Queen of the Wax Dolls . . . . .81 Stone Apples 83 Althee . . . . . . ... .88 Isis 91 Far Out At Sea . 95 Flourine 97 Alexandrine . 98 Speaking Eyes 101 The Grand Duke 103 My Bonny Kate . . . . , . . . 105 Elsie Gay . . . 108 The Willow ......... 109 Architecture 112 Marathon 114 Ode to Professor Dimitry . . . . . .116 Ha! Ha! .... . . . . . . 119 Sarcastic . . . . . . . . . .. .; 122 Madame La Grippe . . . , . . . 123 Silhouette ... . , . . . . . 127 Magdalen . . 131 Keats . . , , ...-..., 132 Palinodia . . . . . . . . . . 134 Malison . 136 CONTENTS PAGE Clay 138 The Unbought Seminole 142 After A Little While 149 The Place of Rest . - 151 Refuge of Sinners 153 Mother and Son , 155 The Only Boy 158 Labor and Prayer 160 In Memoriam . . . . . . . .162 Cuthbert In Heaven 164 Sunday Revery 167 La Fete Des Morts 171 Night and Day 173 Lost and Saved 174 Resurgam 179 INTRODUCTION These poems have been collected and are published at the request of the many friends of James Ryder Randall, who died on the 15th day of January, 1908, in Augusta, Ga. Mr. Randall was born in Maryland, and, although circumstances compelled him to live for many years far away from his native State, he never lost his intense love for the place of his birth, and it was the hope of his life, in later years, to close his career in dear old Maryland. When he was last in Baltimore, he was persuaded to surrender to friends the stray poems, which he had written, at various times, that they might be published in book form. His great poem, which Oliver Wendell Holmes declared to be the greatest war song of any nation, POEMS OF JAMES RYDER RANDALL "Maryland, My Maryland," constitutes the main feature of this publication. The circumstances under which it was penned are thus described by himself: "In April, 1861, I read in the New Orleans Delta news of the attack on the Massachusetts troops as they passed through Baltimore. "This account greatly excited me. I had long been absent from my native city, and the startling event there influenced my mind. That night I could not dismiss from my mind what I had read in the paper. About midnight I arose, lit a candle and went to my desk. Some powerful influence seemed to possess me, and almost involuntarily I proceeded to write the song of My Maryland/ "I remember that this idea seemed to take shape as music in my brain some wild air that I can not now recall. The whole poem was dashed off rapidly when once begun. It was not composed in cold blood, but under what may be called a conflagration of the senses, if not an inspiration of the intellect. No one was more surprised than I was at the wide spread and instantaneous popularity I had been so strangely stimulated to write." INTRODUCTION Mr. Randall was, at the time, a Professor of English Literature and Classics in Poydras College at Pointe Coupee, Louisiana. While he was, thus, engaged, poetry was with him a passion and he had often, in the hours of leisure indulged in the ecstacy of writing exquisite poetry. Published in the last days of April, 1861, his war song fired the Southern heart. It displays the warmth of youth with the valor of the soldier, and pleads with his mother State to vindicate her peerless chivalry. After the war, his deep religious devotion turned his heart in kindness to those, who had been on the other side in the fratricidal strife, and he wrote the beautiful poem "At Arlington." A devoted friend of Colonel Ran dall thus described the circumstances under which that poem was written. In the hearts of some of his triumphant foes the gall of bitterness still lingered, and "on one Decoration Day," so the story goes, "the graves of Federal soldiers at Arlington Cemetery were heaped with flowers, and some pious women strewed a few garlands on the nearby graves of some Confederate dead. Whereupon, some Northern men, POEMS OF JAMES RYDER RANDALL who saw the loving act, trampled under foot the gar lands placed on the "Rebel Sod." But when the sun rose next morning the flowers were decking the Confederate graves and this was how it happened: Jehovah judged, abashing man: For in the vigils of the night, His mighty storm-avengers ran Together in one choral clan, Rebuking wrong, rewarding right ; Plucking the wreaths from those who won, The tempest, heaped them dewy bright On Rebel graves at Arlington. Other poems of rare beauty adorn this little book ; but the grandest of all in spirituality of thought, in sublime religious faith and in beseeching supplica tion is that of "Resurgam :" Banished from thee ! where shall I find For my poor soul A safe retreat from storms that blind Or seas that roll? Come to me, Christ, ere I forlorn, Sink neath the wave, And on this blessed Easter morn A lost one, save! INTRODUCTION This collection of poems is, now, sent forth in the hope of the author s friends, that it may receive a large share of favor from the public for the benefit of the family of the deceased author and poet, JAMBS RYDER RANDALL. Baltimore, February 7, 1908. Oliver Wendell Holmes once said of Maryland, My Maryland: "My only regret is that I could not do for Massachusetts what Randall did for Maryland" MARYLAND, MY MARYLAND The despot s heel is on thy shore, Maryland ! His touch is at thy temple door, Maryland ! Avenge the patriotic gore That flecked the streets of Baltimore, And be the battle queen of yore, Maryland! My Maryland! Hark to a wand ring son s appeal, Maryland ! My mother State ! to thee I kneel, Maryland ! For life and death, for woe and weal, Thy peerless chivalry reveal, And gird thy beauteous limbs with steel, Maryland! My Maryland! [17] POEMS OF JAMES RYDER RANDALL Thou wilt not cower in the dust, Maryland! . . . .. .- Thy beajuifcg sword shall never rust, Maryland ! Remember Carroll s sacred trust, Remember Howard s warlike thrust, And all thy slumberers with the just, Maryland! My Maryland! Come ! tis the red dawn of the day, Maryland I Come with thy panoplied array, Maryland ! With Ringgold s spirit for the fray, With Watson s blood at Monterey, With fearless Lowe and dashing May, Maryland! My Maryland! Come ! for thy shield is bright and strong, Maryland ! Come ! for thy dalliance does thee wrong, Maryland ! Come to thine own heroic throng, That stalks with liberty along, And gives a new Key to thy song, Maryland! My Maryland! [18] MARYLAND, MY MARYLAND Dear Mother ! burst the tyrant s chain, Maryland ! Virginia should not call in vain, Maryland! She meets her sisters on the plain "Sic semper!" tis the proud refrain That baffles minions back again, Maryland! My Maryland! I see the blush upon thy cheek, Maryland ! But thou wast ever bravely meek, Maryland ! Rut lo ! there surges forth a shriek From hill to hill, from creek to creek- Potomac calls to Chesapeake, Maryland! My Maryland! Thou wilt not yield the Vandal toll, Maryland ! Thou wilt not crook to his control, Maryland ! Better the fire upon thee roll, Better the blade, the shot, the bowl, Than crucifixion of the soul, Maryland! My Maryland! [19] POEMS OF JAMES RYDER RANDALL I hear the distant thunder hum, Maryland ! The Old Line s bugle, fife, and drum, Maryland ! She is not dead, nor deaf, nor dumb Huzza ! she spurns the Northern scum ! She breathes! she burns! she ll come! she ll come! Maryland! My Maryland! PELHAM Just as the Spring came laughing through the strife, With all its gorgeous cheer; In the bright April of historic life, Fell the great cannoneer. A wondrous lulling of a hero s breath, His bleeding country weeps; Hushed in the alabaster arms of Death, Our young Marcellus sleeps. Nobler and grander than the Child of Rome, Curbing his chariot steeds; The knightly scion of a Southern home, Dazzled the land with deeds. [20] PELHAM Gentlest and bravest in the battle s brunt, The Champion of the Truth ; He won his banner in the very front Of our immortal youth. A clang of sabres mid Virginian snow, The fiery pang of shells And there s a wail of immemorial woe In Alabama dells. The pennon droops that led the sacred band Along the crimson field; The meteor blade sinks from the nerveless hand Over the spotless shield. We gazed and gazed upon that beauteous face, While round the lips and eyes, Couched in their marble slumber, flashed the grace Of a divine surprise. O Mother of a blessed soul on high ! Thy tears may soon be shed Think of thy boy with princes of the sky, Among the Southern Dead. How must he smile on this dull world beneath, Favored with swift renown ; He with the martyr s amaranthine wreath Twining the victor s crown ! [21] POEMS OF JAMES RYDER RANDALL THERE S LIFE IN THE OLD LAND YET* By blue Patapsco s billowy dash The Tyrant s war shout comes, Along with the cymbal s fitful clash And the growl of his sullen drums ; We hear it we heed it, with vengeful thrills, And we shall not forgive or forget There s faith in the streams, there s hope in the hills, There s Life in the Old Land yet ! Minions ! we sleep, but we are not dead, We are crushed we are scourged we are scarred We crouch tis to welcome the triumph-tread Of the peerless Beauregard. Then woe to your vile, polluting horde When the Southern braves are met There s faith in the victor s stainless sword There s Life in the Old Land yet ! *Not to be confused with the song by A. F. Gibson, and dedicated to Severn Teackle Wallis. This poem by Mr. Ran dall was set to music under the title, "We Sleep, but We are Not Dead." [22] THERE S LIFE IN THE OLD LAND YET Bigots ! ye quell not the valiant mind With the clank of an iron chain ; The Spirit of Freedom sings in the wind O er Herryman, Thomas, and Kane! And we though we smite not are not thralls, We are piling a gory debt; While down by HcHenry s dungeon walls There s Life in the Old Land yet ! Our women have hung their harps away, And they scowl on your brutal bands, While the nimble poniard dares the day In their dear, defiant hands ! They will strip their tresses to string our bows Ere the Northern sun is set There s faith in their unrelenting woes, There s Life in the Old Land yet ! There s life, though it throbbeth in silent veins, Tis vocal without noise It gushed o er Manassas solemn plains From the Mood of the Maryland boys! That blood shall cry aloud, and rise With an everlasting threat By the death of the brave, by the God in the skies, There s Life in the Old Land yet ! [23] POEMS OF JAMES RYDER RANDALL JOHN W. MORTON Ringed with flame and sore beset, Where gunboat and rifle fire met ; Where cannon blazed from water and land Upon the Donelson Southern band, A gallant lad of nineteen years, A stranger to tremor and to fears, Stood by a battery piece and shot The first shell in that crater hot. His captain, Porter, smitten down Where all the volleyed thunders frown, Shouted, when borne in pain away : "John, don t give up that gun, I say ! "No ! not while a man is left," replied The lad, in the flush of martial pride ; And he kept his word to the utter end, While a man could live in that river bend. [24] JOHN W. MORTON "No prison for me", grim Forrest said, And thousands followed where he led. But other thousands remained because They bowed to Buckner s word and laws. Whelmed by the girdling Northern men, They marched to the captive s dismal den, And the lad who fired the first gun past Into that solitude sad and vast. A few months more, and the daring boy Breathed the air that the free enjoy. A few months more, and he gayly went Where dauntless Forrest pitched his tent. Saluting the hero, he quickly gave To the South s own "bravest of the brave" A paper that said he was to be The Wizard s Chief of Artillery. A derisive smile swept over the face Of the stern commander, in his place. "W T hat !" he growled, "are you to wield Command of my guns in war s fierce field? Nonsense, boy, go grow a beard !" And this was what the stripling heard. [25] POEMS OF JAMES RYDER RANDALL But presently the Wizard s brow Grew calm. "I ll try you, anyhow", He said, and from that setting sun Morton and Forrest were as one. Nigh four tremendous, bloody years, Full of combat, smiles and tears ; O er miles of land in battles grand, Forrest and Morton went hand in hand. With sword and pistol the Wizard slew, While Morton s guns mowed men in blue. If mortal man could ever have freed The South from the foeman s grasp and greed, That man was Forrest, but we see It was not destined so to be. ii. Long years have gone, the grass is spread Above the bivouacs of the dead. The mighty Wizard s wand is still Like his heart; but from every Southern hill, And mount and stream and vale bedight, With sun and moon and star alight, He lives in glorious deeds, alway, Baffling the onset of decay. [26] JOHN W. MORTON The lad who made the cannon roar Survives on Life s tumultuous shore. His locks are silvered, but his brain Burns with heroic throbs amain. Gentle and kind, but valiant yet, Forgiving, he cannot forget The Cause he fought for, with his mate Immortal, whatsoe er its fate; While from his great dark eyes there gleams The orient of remembered dreams. And now the old bard s final rhyme Invokes a blessing of Easter time, Upon his people and home and race, Like manna-dew of heavenly grace. With higher aims, in war s surcease, Be thou allied with the Prince of Peace, And never, henceforth, forget to be "Soldier of Him who died for thee." [27] POEMS OF JAMES RYDER RANDALL ON THE RAMPART On Sumter s rampart, that sweet eve, I heard the vesper bugle play In chorus with the ocean s heave, All in the golden prime of May. On either side, the level lands Swam seaward gray and serpentine; The billows burst in corsair bands Against their shield of rock and pine. Aloof, beyond the sullen bar Crouching, the black armada rides Afront the vulture ships of war, Brooded the giant Ironsides. The fortress guns scowled from their lair Along the sentry s bristling beat; While on the sultry wave, aglare, Back frowned the gaunt and baffled fleet. [28] ON THE RAMPART Above her, in the glittering day, The white-winged banner s battle stars. Crisping the bosom of the bay, Bold Moultrie stands with all her scars; Amid the island, in repose, The casual breeze at last grew still; And, through the haze of twilight, rose The tower of Secessionville. The patient moon clomb up the sky Forever on the sun god s trail The saddest, loveliest thing on high, And like Oenone s passion pale. The signal fires wink through the dark Aleft and right, as rays may reach Around the red and feverish arc Of muffled batteries on the beach. A hallowed radiance, calm and grave, Gilded the city s storied spires, Where watch the beautiful and brave, Where sleep the Carolinian sires. [29] POEMS OF JAMES KYDER RANDALL On Sumter s rampart, that sweet night, Leaning beside the shattered wall, Thy gentle face, so fair and bright, Kept me, dear love, within thy thrall. I turned from wrecks of storm and strife To thee within some distant home ; I felt that all my fate and life Were thine, wherever I must roam. A glory has come o er my days In dreaming noblest dreams of thee ; Beyond the rampart, how my gaze Went proudly o er the Southern sea! And dreams like mine can still defy Even the tempest of distrust ; I know that they shall never die Because they are not of the dust. Dear love ! though dreams may wither here, They are upgathered from the sod, And we shall see them reappear In the long summer time of God ! [30] MEMORIAL DAY MEMORIAL DAY Noblest of martyrs in a glorious fight ! Ye died to save the cause of Truth and Right. And though your banner beams no more on high, Not vainly did it wave or did ye die ! No blood for freedom shed is spent in vain ; It is as fertile as the Summer rain; And the last tribute of heroic breath Is always conqueror over Wrong and Death. The grand procession of avenging years Has turned to triumph all our bitter tears; And the cause lost, by battle s stern behest, Is won by Justice, and by Heaven blest. Dark grew the night above our sacred slain, Who sleeps upon the mountain and the plain ; But darker still the black and blinding pall That whelmed the living in its lurid thrall. But taught by heroes, who had yielded life, We fainted not, nor faltered in the strife ; With weapons bright, from peaceful Reason won, We cleaved the clouds and gained the golden sun. [31] POEMS OF JAMES EYDEK RANDALL And so today the marble shaft may soar In memory of those who are no more; The proudest boast of centuries shall be, That they who fell with JACKSON rise with LEE ! THE BATTLE CRY OF THE SOUTH Arm yourselves and be valiant men, and see that we be in readiness against the morning, that ye may fight with these nations that are assembled against us, to destroy us and our sanctuary. For it is better for us to die in battle than to behold the calamities of our people and our sanctuary. Maccabees 1. Brothers ! the thunder-cloud is black, And the wail of the South wings forth ; Will ye cringe to the hot tornado s rack, And the Vampires of the North? Strike ! ye can win a martyr s goal ; Strike ! with a ruthless hand Strike! with the vengeance of the soul For your bright, beleaguered land ! To arms ! to arms ! for the South needs help, And a craven is he who flees For ye have the sword of the Lion s Whelp,* And the God of the Maccabees ! *The surname of the great Maccabees. [32] THE BATTLE CRY OF THE SOUTH Arise ! though the stars have a rugged glare, And the moon has a wrath-blurred crown Brothers ! a blessing is ambushed there In the cliffs of the Father s frown ; Arise ! ye are worthy the wondrous light Which the Sun of Justice gives In the caves and sepulchres of night Jehovah the Lord King lives ! To arms ! to arms ! for the South needs help, And a craven is he who flees For ye have the sword of the Lion s Whelp, And the God of the Maccabees ! Think of the dead by the Tennessee In their frozen shrouds of gore Think of the mothers who shall see Those darling eyes no more ! But better are they in a hero-grave Than the serfs of time and breath, For they are the Children of the Brave, And the Cherubim of Death! To arms ! to arms ! for the South needs help, And a craven is he who flees For ye have the sword of the Lion s Whelp, And the God of the Maccabees ! [33] POEMS OF JAMES RYDER RANDALL Better the charnels of the West And a hecatomb of lives, Than the foul invader as a guest, Mid your sisters and your wives But a spirit lurketh in every maid, Though, brothers, ye should quail, To sharpen a Judith s lurid blade, And the livid spike of Jael ! To arms ! to arms ! for the South needs help, And a craven is he who flees For ye have the sword of the Lion s Whelp, And the God of the Maccabees ! Brothers ! I see you tramping by, With the gladiator gaze, And your shout is the Macedonian cry Of old, heroic days ! March on ! with trumpet and with drum, With rifle, pike, and dart, And die if even death must come Upon your country s heart. To arms ! to arms ! for the South needs help, And a craven is he who flees For ye have the sword of the Lion s Whelp, And the God of the Maccabees ! [34] THE BATTLE CRY OF THE SOUTH Brothers ! the thunder cloud is black, And the wail of the South wings forth ; Will ye cringe to the hot tornado s rack, And the Vampires of the North ? Strike ! ye can win a martyr s goal, Strike! with a ruthless hand; Strike ! with the vengeance of the soul For your bright, beleaguered land ! To arms ! to arms ! for the South needs help, And a craven is he who flees For ye have the sword of the Lion s whelp, And the God of the Maccabees ! [35] POEMS OF JAMES RYDER RANDALL THE LONE SENTRY Previous to the first battle of Manassas, when the troops under Stonewall Jackson had made a forced march, on halt ing at night they fell on the ground, exhausted and faint. The hour arrived for setting the watch for the night. The officer of the day went to the General s tent and said : "General, the men are all wearied and there is not one but is asleep. Shall I wake them?" "No," said the noble Jackson. "Let them sleep, and I will watch the camp tonight." And all night long he rode around that lonely camp, the one lone sentinel for that brave, but weary, body of Virginia heroes. When glorious morning broke, the soldiers awoke fresh and ready for action, all unconscious of the vigil kept over their slumbers. Twas at the dying of the day, The darkness grew so still The drowsy pipe of evening birds Was hushed upon the hill. Athwart the shadows of the vale Slumbered the men of might, And one lone sentry paced his rounds To watch the camp that night. [3*] THE LONE SENTRY A grave and solemn man was he, With deep and somber brow; The dreamful eves seemed hoarding up Some unaccomplished vow. The wistful glance peered o er the plain Beneath the starry light, And with the murmured name of God He watched the camp that night. The future opened unto him Its grand and awful scroll Manassas and the Valley march Came heaving o er his soul, Richmond and Sharpsburg thundered by With that tremendous fight That gave him to the angel host Who watched the camp that night. We mourn for him who died for us With one resistless moan, While up the Valley of the Lord He marches to the Throne ! He kept the faith of men and saints Sublime and pure and bright; He sleeps and all is well with him Who watched the camp that night. [37] POEMS OF JAMES RYDER RANDALL Brothers ! The midnight of our Cause Is shrouded in our fate The demon Goths pollute our halls With fire and lust and hate! Be strong, be valiant, be assured Strike home for Heaven and Right ! The soul of Jackson stalks abroad And guards the camp tonight. AT FORT PILLOW You shudder as you think upon The carnage of the grim report, The desolation when we won The inner trenches of the fort. But there are deeds you may not know That scourge the pulses into strife; Dark memories of deathless woe Pointing the bayonet and knife. [38] AT FORT PILLOW The house is ashes where I dwelt Beyond the mighty inland sea, The tombstones shattered where I knelt By that old church upon the lee. The prowling fiends who came with fire Camped on the consecrated sod, And trampled in the dust and mire The holy tenement of God ! The spot where darling mother sleeps, Beneath the glimpse of yon sad moon, Is crushed, with splintered marble heaps, To stall the horse of some dragoon. And when I ponder that black day, It makes my frantic spirit wince; I marched with Longstreet far away, But have beheld the ravage since. The tears are hot upon my face, When thinking what bleak fate befell The only sister of our race A thing too horrible to tell. They say that ere her senses fled, She rescued, of her brothers cried, TLen feebly bowed her stricken head, Too good to live thus so she died. [39] POEMS OF JAMES EYDER RANDALL Two of those brothers heard no plea, With their proud hearts for ever still Guy, shrouded by the Tennessee, And Bertram at the Malvern Hill. But I have heard it everywhere, Vibrating like a mystic knell ; Tis as perpetual as the air And solemn as a funeral bell. By scorched lagoon and murky swamp, My wrath was never in the lurch ; I ve killed the picket in his camp, And many a pilot on his perch. With steady rifle, sharpened brand, A week ago, upon my steed, With Forrest and his warrior band, I made the hell-hounds writhe and bleed. You should have seen our leader go Upon the battle s burning marge, Swooping, like falcon, on the foe, Heading the gray line s iron charge. All outcasts from our ruined marts, We heard th undying serpent hiss, And, in the desert of our hearts, The fatal spell of Nemesis. [40] AT FORT PILLOW The Southern yell rang loud and high, The moment that we thundered in, Smiting the demons hip and thigh, Cleaving them to the very chin. My right arm, bared for fiercer play, The left one held the rein in slack ; In all the fury of the fray, I sought the white man, not the black. The dabbled clots of brain and gore Across the swirling sabers ran ; To me each brutal visage bore The front of one accursed man. Trobbing along the frenzied vein, My blood seemed kindled into song The death-dirge of the sacred slain, The slogan of immortal wrong. It glared athwart the dripping glaives- It blazed in each avenging eye The thought of desecrated graves And some lone sister s desperate cry! Wilmington, April 25, 1864. [41] POEMS OF JAMES RYDER RANDALL OUR CONFEDERATE DEAD Unknown to me, brave boy, but still I wreathe For you the tenderest of wildwood flowers ; And o er your tomb a virgin s prayer I breathe To greet the pure moon and the April showers. I only know, I only care to know, You died for me for me and country bled ; A thousand Springs and wild December snow Will weep for one of all the Southern Dead. Perchance some mother gazes up the skies, Wailing, like Rachel, for her martyred brave Oh, for her darling sake, my dewy eyes Moisten the turf above your lowly grave. The cause is sacred, when our maidens stand Linked with sad matrons and heroic sires, Above the relics of a vanquished land, And light the torch of sanctifying fires. [42] OUR CONFEDERATE DEAD Your bed of honor has a rosy cope, To shimmer back the tributary stars; And every petal glistens with a hope When Love has blossomed in the disk of Mars. Sleep ! On your couch of glory slumber comes Bosomed amid th archangelic choir, Not with the grumble of impetuous drum, Deep ning the chorus of embattled ire. Above you shall the oak and cedar fling Their giant plumage and protecting shade ; For you the song-bird pause upon its wing And warble requiem ever undismayed. Farewell ! And, if your spirit wander near To kiss this plaint of unaspiring art Translated, even in the heavenly sphere, As the libretto of a maiden s heart. [43] POEMS OF JAMES RYDER RANDALL PLACIDE BOSSIER Ah, friend ! in the tender College time No evil deed could stain thee, And now mid the combat s iron chime, In purity they ve slain thee. Sans peur et sans reproche to live, Sans peur the foe defying Sans peur et sans reproche we give Thy epitaph when dying. When the Southern bullet sang the knell Of the butchering invader, Then then triumphantly he fell, Our spotless young Crusader ; With the loud hurrah and the dauntless tramp Of the charging Creole yoemen, He fell where the Cherubim encamp, With his face to the flying foemen. The blood moon guides its torch of night Through the smoke envolumed valleys, And the hillocks tell where the reddest fight Shook the quick, convulsive vollies; In the foremost phalanx he shall rest His head in the dust declining, The rifle shielding the soldier breast The cross on the saint-heart shining! [44] ASHES ASHES The Spring will come with its ebullient blood, With flush of roses and imperial eyes ; A vein of strength will throb along the flood Banners of beauty toss the pillared wood When birds of music anthem to the skies. And man prowls forth to mar thy gentle ways, With sword and shot and sacrilegious hand ; Thy reign is fallen upon demon days, We peer at thee althrough a gory haze, Weeping and praying for our stricken land. O Land ! O Land ! of benignant South ! The Great High Priest approaches to thy brow, Anointing it with ashes ; let thy mouth Rebel not, nor thy heart be filled with drouth The hand will raise thee up that smites thee now. Ash Wednesday, 1865. [45] POEMS OF JAMES RYDER RANDALL THE UNCONQUERED BANNER "A Lost Cause !" If lost, it was false ; if true, it is not lost. If the Cause is lost, the Constitution is lost; the Union, defined by it is lost ; the liberty of, the States and the people, which they both at first and for half a century guarded, are lost." Henry A. Wise. "Yet, Freedom yet, thy banner, torn though flying, Streams, like a thunderstorm, against the wind." Byron. The sad priest-singer, in his dread despair, When our war-trumpets ceased their charging blare, Wailed, in melodious numbers, o er the South, Her righteous Cause crushed at the cannon-mouth. He bade us fold our banner and for aye, Because its night had come and not one ray Of hope remained to gild its glorious head, And that it typified the hopeless dead. [46] THE UNCONQUERED BANNER The peerless poet of that desperate age Wrote an immortal lyric, but the rage Of the aggressive section is no more, And thus our Southern flag, from shore to shore, Emerges like an eagle from its sleep To woo the sun, and, in its heart to keep The never-dying principle of Right, Surviving every fierce, unequal fight. Men die, but principles can know no death No last extinguishment of mortal breath. We fought for what our fathers held in trust; It did not fall forever in the dust. Our foemen sought to make us worse than slaves And envy all who sleep in hero-graves; They failed at last to do the deed they meant They failed in trying God to circumvent. And well for them they failed, for, in the end, Their fate and ours must ever interblend, If we have Csesar, so must Caesar be With them in fullest perpetuity. If they have empire and the sordid ban Of Shylock and the money-changing clan ; The South is blameless ; for she holds in fee The stainless swords of Washington and Lee. [47] POEMS OF JAMES KYDEE RANDALL There was scant glory in our overthrow Not Valor did it, but a brutal blow. Five hundred thousand Hessians and a horde Of blacks and Tories broke the Southern Sword. Shut from the sea, o erwhelmed upon the land, We fought the battle to a final stand. But the Great Cause, outlasting all debates, Lives in free union of unfettered States. Now, let our Banner, symbol of the Bight, Kiss every wind in its unconquered might ; Let the glad spirit of the poet-priest Hover above this grand Beunion feast To watch our Banner, from the grave of strife Rise with the glory of a new-born life; Twined with the ancient flag, o er land and main. And wed to deathless liberty again. [48] AT ARLINGTON AT ARLINGTON On the day that the graves of the Federal soldiers buried at Arlington were decorated, in 1869, a number of ladies entered the cemetery for the purpose of placing flowers on the graves of thirty Confederates. Their progress was stopped by bayonets, and they were not allowed to perform their mission of love. During the night a high wind arose, and in the morning all the floral offerings that had been placed the day before upon the Federal graves were found piled upon the mounds under which reposed the thirty Con federates. The broken column, reared in air To him who made our country great, Can almost cast its shadow where The victims of a grand despair, In long, long ranks of death await The last loud trump, the Judgment-Sun, Which come for all, and, soon or late, Will come for those at Arlington. [49] POEMS OF JAMES RYDER RANDALL In that vast sepulchre repose The thousands reaped from every fray ; The Men in Blue who once uprose In battle-front to smite their foes The Spartan Bands who wore the grey ; The combat o er, the death-hug done, In summer blaze or winter snows, They keep the truce at Arlington. And almost lost in myriad graves, Of those who gained the unequal fight, Are mounds that hide Confederate braves, Who reck not how the North wind raves, In dazzling day or dimmest night, O er those who lost and those who won ; Death holds no parley which was right Jehovah judges Arlington. The dead had rest ; the Dove of Peace Brooded o er both with equal wings ; To both had come that great surcease, The last omnipotent release From all the world s delirious stings. To bugle deaf and signal-gun, They slept, like heroes of old Greece, Beneath the glebe at Arlington. [50] AT ARLINGTON And in the Spring s benignant reign, The sweet May woke her harp of pines ; Teaching her choir a thrilling strain Of jubilee to land and main, She danced in emerald down the lines. Denying largesse bright to none, She saw no difference in the signs That told who slept at Arlington. She gave her grasses and her showers To all alike who dreamed in dust; Her song-birds wove their dainty bowers Amid the jasmine buds and flowers, And piped with an impartial trust ; Waifs of the air and liberal sun, Their guileless glees were kind and just To friend and foe at Arlington. And mid the generous spring there came Some women of the land, who strove To make this funeral-field of fame Glad as the May-God s altar-flame, With rosy wreaths of mutual love Unmindful who had lost or won, They scorned the jargon of a name No North, no South, at Arlington. [61] POEMS OF JAMES RYDER RANDALL Between their pious thought and God Stood files of men with brutal steel ; The garlands placed on "Rebel sod" Were trampled in the common clod, To die beneath the hireling heel. Facing this triumph of the Hun, Our Smoky Caesar gave no nod, To keep the peace at Arlington. Jehovah judged abashing man For in the vigils of the night, His mighty storm-avengers ran Together in one choral clan, Rebuking wrong, rewarding right; Plucking the wreaths from those who won. The tempest heaped them dewy-bright On REBEL graves at Arlington. And when the morn came young and fair, Brimful of blushes ripe and red, Knee-deep in sky-sent roses there, Nature began her earliest prayer Above triumphant Southern dead. So, in the dark and in the sun, Our Cause survives the Tyrant s tread, And sleeps to wake at Arlington. [52] POEMS SENTIMENTAL AND MISCELLANEOUS PART SECOND Beginning with "The Oriel Window", ending with "Resurgam" THE ORIEL WINDOW THE ORIEL WINDOW I pray in the country church, alas ! With missal and mind contrary; And in spite of the hymn and the blessed Mass, In spite of my Ave Mary, My fancies are drowned in the faces around, In spite of my Ave Mary ! The bluffs, the breeze, the bulwark trees, Are grand and glad and holy yet; The river as proudly seeks the seas As it did in the days of Joilet It s wave-lips stirr d with the babble of a bird As a psalm and a psalter for Joilet. [55] POEMS OF JAMES RYDER RANDALL And then uprolled from the rafter s mold, Come the dear ones, the departed The fair and old neath the marigold, The bold and the broken-hearted Till I shudder to think how we rabble on the brink Of the early broken-hearted. In mystic trance of my old Romance, I let all my sorrow and sin go; Forgetting the graves as they glance and dance Down down through the ghastly window With column and cross and banners of moss, Down down through the Oriel Window. A purple band from the Phantom Land, Come the idol-gods I cherished, And lo ! they stand by a throne of sand, With palsied brows and perished And scoop from the shore of the sea no more The shells of the Past and Perished. But from those shells ring passion bells, Till my soul from its sacred duty Is ravished along with an earthly song, But a song of love and beauty, Till the air is aglow with lustrous hair And dark-eyed songs of beauty. [56] THE ORIEL WINDOW She kneels in a nook by the dusty choir, W T ith aspect lost and lornful ; My breast is gored with spears of fire To see her looking so mournful Ah, tis not meet that one so sweet Should ever be moody and mournful. She tells, I wist, the beads on her wrist, With a gentle, lyrical motion ; And she seems in a mist when the Eucharist Is soared for the people s devotion ; While a glittering crown for the head bowed down Is the meed of her dear devotion. Have you come in the guise of Paradise Our heart-troth to dissever? In tears, for the lonesome, bitter years, Would you woo me back forever? Oh, speak, love, speak what your sad eyes seek, And win me back forever ! Both overthrown, we both have known How the chains of mortality clank ill But tonight, tonight a vow we ll plight, To make our wild hearts tranquil ; While the flambeaux shine over thine and mine Untroubled, untortured and tranquil. [57] POEMS OF JAMES RYDER RANDALL She kneels in a nook by the dusty choir, Shakes the bloom from my dream-mimosa, I rush to the nook in the choir to greet The Mater Dolorosa ! Nought, nought was there but a sculptured prayer Of the Mater Dolorosa. No more in a trance of my old Romance Shall I let all my sorrow and sin go ; But I ll join the graves as they glance and dance Down down through the ghastly window, With column and cross, and banners of moss Down down through the Oriel Window ! Point Coupee on the Mississippi, 1861. [58] ANIMA ANIMA You came to me in feeble health, the hectic on your cheek, Revealed to my adoring sight a body frail and weak ; The lissome form, the glamoured eyes, the spirit un- denled, These, and a glimpse of early death, I saw, beloved child! And if, my guilty heart could dare to make your heart its goal I did not love you for your face I loved you for your soul ! You came to me a waif of God, unsullied by deceit; I felt it sacrilege to kiss the shadows of your feet. And when your thoughts were magnified beyond the dull terrene, Me dreamt you sat within the Heaven beside the Nazarene. And if my fierce emotions seared your being like a scroll I did not love you for your face I love you for your soul! [59] POEMS OF JAMES EYDEE KANDALL You came to me like manna dews like an embodied prayer; Till your imploring accents turned the torrent of despair. You made me feel the blight of Sin, the majesty of Love, And when I clutched an earthly crown, you merely glanced above. Oh, gladly for you would these hands demand the beggar s dole I did not love you for your face I loved you for your soul! You left me, darling child, before the Promised Land was won, And it was hard for me to look upon the living sun. Twas no ignoble whim that hoped to make you mine alway ; My idol was no frenzy of the perishable clay. And if I kneel to you no more, save by the church yard knoll, 1 have not loved you for your face I ve loved you for your soul! [60] EIDOLON EIDOLON Ah, sweet-eyed Christ ! Thy image smiles In its Cathedral cell, Shrined in the heaven-enamored arms Of her who never fell ; And if my phantom eyes implore A more benignant beam, Tis a nepenthe I would crave For a memorial dream ! Dear Leonie ! here did st thou kneel That musky summer noon, As the zephyrs kissed in ecstasy The dimpled cheeks of June As the sunlight drifted o er thy brow A golden wave of grace, Bright blending with the miracles Of that angelic face. [61] POEMS OF JAMES RYDER RANDALL Adorably Madonna-like, By this communion rail, Thy raptured face, though rich with youth, Was spirit-lit and pale ; And oh those opulent blue eyes, Those Meccas of despair They, they were glorious Eden-isles Lost in a lake of prayer ! Saint Leonie ! I saw thee flit Gazelle-like to the street, And pure, melodious angels led Thy dainty, tinkling feet ; My rebel thoughts were petrel-winged, Attendant upon thee, Chasing thy loved and lissome shape As Arabs of the sea. Long did I love thee, belle Creole, As Gebirs love the sun, And in the temple of my soul Thou wast the eidolon ; Long did I love thee, belle Creole, Where corsair billows rise, And where the silver planets soar In unfamiliar skies ! [62] EIDOLON Dark Corcovado ! did I not, With heart and soul aflame, Carve on thy broad, monarchal brow Her wildly-worshipped name - Watching the homeward ships scud by Before the nimble breeze, Till memory with them wept away Beyond the tropic seas! Years, years had died, and once again I saw the spires of home; Then, armed with an undying hope, I stood beneath this dome. But not within the pillared aisle, Nor by the sacred sign, Could my bewildered eyes behold The loveliness of thine. The sad November days had come, And eagerly I fled To find thee where the maidens deck The kingdoms of the dead ; I found thee yes, I found thee, love, Beneath the willow tree With marble cross and immortelle And one word "Leonie !" [63] POEMS OF JAMES EYDEE RANDALL THE DAMSEL OF MOBILE I met thee in the Summer time, The Summer of my youth In days of my melodious prime And thine unsullied truth. I met thee when the jasmine buds, Their velvet locks reveal ; Til I loved thee, til I loved thee, Darling Damsel of Mobile! O shining tresses of the sun ! O eyes of ocean blue ! O dainty feet to nimbly run Upon the glittering dew! The cypress breathes its gloomy buds On all I felt and feel- Still I love thee ! Still I love thee ! Darling Damsel of Mobile ! [64] THE DAMSEL OF MOBILE And now the Summer time no more, The vikings of the rain Thunder their turf-steeds on the shore And prowl the jasmine plain; The night shade blackens on my brow, The lightnings gash like steel But a Summer heart still throbs for thee, Darling Damsel of Mobile ! I know, I know that Summer goes, Like some divine disguise; I know that Summer rapture flows By ringlets and blue eyes But thou, my Psyche and my soul ! To thee alone I kneel, With the Summer sunshine in thy hair, Darling Damsel of Mobile! [65] POEMS OF JAMES RYDER RANDALL THE DYING GIRL Written at the Age of Sixteen Earth is fading heaven beaming All around grows dark and chill ; White robed phantoms near me streaming- Streaming, streaming, streaming still. Clasp me, mother, clasp me lightly, Lest you press the soul too soon From the form that once shone brightly Quenched its brilliance in its noon. Kiss me, father, kiss me sweetly ; Smoothe the ringlets from my brow Quick oh quick for fleetly, fleetly Speeds life s current from me now ! Where is Harry, where is Harry ? Far from Stella s weeping bed ; Who to him my words shall carry Who shall tell him I am dead ! [66] THE DYING GIRL Far away, he thinks me blooming Into beauty proud and dear, While before my orbs are looming Visions of the shroud and bier. Take these withered lilies to him Whence this tremor, whence this gloom? Show the buds, all drooping, show him Let him strew them o er my tomb. Icy drops upon me gleaming Slower, slower pants my breath ; Tell me, mother, am I dreaming Tell me, am I tasting death? I am going ! I am going ! Far from Harry far from home, Where eternal truth is glowing Where the meteor angels roam. The spoiler comes, on flashing pinions, Thirsting is his eager dart ; Now he beckons to his minions Now his keen lance drinks my heart! Farewell, father! farewell, mother! Catch my latest look and sigh ; Farewell, Harry more than brother God of life! I die I die! [67] POEMS OF JAMES RYDER RANDALL JAMAIS Early love is swift and golden, Fond and foolish, too, perchance, But tis haloed by the olden, Golden moonlight of romance. Once it s ripe aurelia bound me, Brimful with the birds of May; By the ruins that surround me, It shall bind no more Jamais ! Once I felt the blue above thee, Peri-peopled by thine art; But twas death in life to love thee, Woman of the diamond heart ! Thou hast sown the sky with ashes, Made its constellations grey, While the wind-gust knells and gnashes Dirge-like to the night "Jamais ! " [68] JAMAIS I was rich in pure affection, Passions chastened and alert But my rival had perfection In the opulence of dirt. He but wooed thee to deceive thee, Won thee, only to betray; Shall that shadow ever leave thee? Never while I live Jamais! Time is just, and Fate s surrender Comes like chrism and myrrh to me. He is quelled in coffined splendor, Hearsed in marble mimicry. I though Arctic years have chilled me, Thrust my stature in the day ; But the voice that erst has thrilled me, Thrills no more Jamais! Jamais! Though with purpose unbenighted, Though with intellect unshorn, Still my spirit maimed and blighted, Bleeds beyond its battle morn. Herbless deserts demon-haunted, Mark the fury of the fray, But that spirit, still undaunted, Bends to thee Jamais! Jamais! [69] POEMS OF JAMES RYDER RANDALL Woman ! I shall cling beside thee As a marvel in thy way ; While I scorn, I shall deride thee With this requiem of "Jamais!" Sleep with adders on thy pillow- Wake but spectral shapes of clay, Flocking from the cloud and billow, Goad thee with "Jamais ! " "Jamais ! " THE CAMEO BRACELET Eva sits on the ottoman there, Sits by a Psyche carved in stone, With just such a face and just such an air, As Esther upon her throne. She s sifting lint for the brave who bled, And I watch her fingers float and flow Over the linen, as thread by thread, It flakes to her lap like snow. A bracelet clinks on her delicate wrist, Wrought, as Cellini s were at Rome, Out of the tears of the amethyst And the wan Vesuvian foam. [70] THE CAMEO BRACELET And fall on the bauble-crest alway A cameo image keen and fine Glares thy impetuous knife, Corday, And the Lara-locks are thine. I thought of the wehr-wolves on our trail, Their gaunt fangs sluiced with gouts of blood; Til the Past, in a dead, mesmeric veil, Drooped with a wizard flood. Til the surly blaze, through the iron bars, Shot to the hearth, with a pang and cry And a lank howl plunged from the Champ de Mars To the Column of July. Til Corday sprang from the gem, I swear, And the dove-eyed damsel I knew had flown For Eva was not on the ottoman there, By Psyche carved in stone. She grew like a Pythoness, flushed with fate, With the incantation in her gaze A lip of scorn, an arm of hate, And a dirge of the Marseillaise ! Eva, the vision was not wild, When wreaked on the tyrants of the land For you were transfigured to Nemesis, child, W T ith the dagger in your hand ! [71] POEMS OF JAMES RYDER RANDALL THE COBRA CAPELLO "The cobra, though exceedingly venomous, has an aspect of gentleness and docility." Encyclopedia. Beautiful yes ! for her basilisk eyes Gleam out when the features are luscious and mel low; Beautiful yes ! but adown the disguise, I detect just a tinge of the Cobra Capello. And I think Mother Eve looked exactly like this When she played such a prank on uxorious Adam ; I ve a chronic dislike to a serpentine kiss, And never eat apples in any style, Madam. Beautiful yes ! as she paddles her fan Mid the bordered lagoons of her robe of white muslin ; And the tight little boot taps a quick rataplan, In a way most piratical, not to say puzzling. [72] THE COBRA CAPELLO She prates of Tom Noddy, the handsome young goose Of Don Trombonetti, divine on the flute; And then, with a smile that s as arch as the deuce, Quotes pert panegyrics on somebody s foot ! She ll sing you a hymn or tell you a fib, (Just one of those cynical, feathery trifles,) And then, with a smirk that I think rather glib, Sigh after some monster that left with the Rifles. She vows I m a miracle walking with men (Ugh! I swallow it all with a groan and a cough), For I know that most women are comical, when Their nightcaps are on and the visitors off! Ay, rattle ahead and prattle away, But, in sepulchred thought, I brood over another; We parted, alas ! about nine months today, And we never must meet again somehow or other. They tell me, poor bird, it is painful to see How you ve changed, since we rode in the warm summer weather; And oh, if I felt you were pining for me, I d hew me a path that would bring us together. [73] POEMS OF JAMES RYDER RANDALL In your solitude still, do you sing the old songs? O, the "Long Weary Day!" shall it cease for us never ? But here, in the ruck of the sumptuous throngs, Your name in my lone heart is sacred forever ! Ah me ! I am chill, for tis fearful to sit By the Cobra, when languished with tenderer matters Ha ! I see that my secret is guessed every bit For she s nibbling her lip, and the fan is in tatters. Beautiful yes ! but I shall not succumb, Though wifeless from Beersheba even to Dan ; Heigho ! if my heart were but under her thumb, She d crumple it, too, like the innocent fan! [74] WHY THE ROBIN S BREAST IS RED The Saviour, bowed beneath his cross, Clomb up the dreary hill, While from the agonizing wreath Ran many a crimson rill. The brawny Roman thrust him on W T ith unrelenting hand- Till, staggering slowly mid the crowd, He fell upon the sand. A little bird that warbled near, That memorable day, Flitted around and strove to wrench One single thorn away ; The cruel spike impaled his breast, And thus tis sweetly said, The Robin wears his silver vest In panoplies of red. Ah Jesu ! Jesu ! Son of Man ! My dolour and my sighs Reveal the lesson taught by this Winged Ishmael of the skies. I, in the palace of delight, Or caverns of despair, Have plucked no thorns from Thy dear brow, But planted thousands there ! [75] POEMS OF JAMES RYDER RANDALL ADIEU Adieu! adieu! Bright eye of blue, With ebbless oceans in thy hue; Unloved, unblest, I can not rest, While thou art waving to the West. His prayer surceased, The Golden Priest Hath chanted Masses in the East, And soon will skim The river s rim, To sing his dying vesper hymn. I think I think If I could sink Beyond this juggling orbit s brink, That I might drown The Demon s frown, Where suns and satellites go down. [76] ADIEU Farewell ! farewell ! My bonnie belle, I dungeon what I cannot quell ; Distraction s slave, I weep and rave, While prophets warn me from the grave. A wretch abhorred, I broke my sword Upon the buckler of the Lord ; I feel the shock, Upon my rock, While the foul condors round me flock. Good-bye! good-bye! I can not die Beneath thy sacramental eye; WTien gulf and knoll Atween us roll, Wilt thou be patient then, my soul? Adieu! adieu! Sad eye of blue ; I ve wrecked my life within thy hue. I grieve, I grieve, And yet I live To know the future God may give. [77] POEMS OF JAMES RYDEE RANDALL I flee the plain, Accurst by Cain, To grasp my battle-ax again; And in the sign Of Bread and Wine God the Consoler ! I am Thine ! SILVER SPRING When the Lord of Light revealed The flashing radiance of His shield, Glorifying wave and field ; When he felt he must expire, Then His orbs with blazing ire Shot their dying shafts of fire; When the palpitating breeze Smote the gitterns of the trees, Like the shout of distant seas; When the jeweled birds that sing Moved on rainbow-tinted wing, I beheld thy face of splendor blushing with the wild and tender, Silver Spring! [78] SILVER SPRING Virgin! when the shadows roll To the ice-embattled pole, From thy sweet, pellucid soul- Each angelic host on high Sees in that cerulian eye Blossom-beauties of the sky. Blessed spirits! ye who dwell Far beyond the ether swell, How ye anthem, "It is well ! " On thy bosom let me seem Kerneled in a Bagdad dream, Rocked to slumber by a Seraph over thy celestial stream ! On a fairy, pensive pinion Gloat I o er thy deep dominion, Shaming e en the Augustinian ; Wonders rushing thicker faster! Here a porphyry piaster, Here a temple alabaster; And the sunshine as it falls Splinters on quintillion halls, And a miracle of walls! Now thy bannerets are beaming Now with mystic music gleaming O er a city gem-girt city in a gush of dervish dreaming ! [79] POEMS OF JAMES RYDER RANDALL Here, ah here, the Indian maiden, When with love and languor laden, Sought thee, as the cells of Adenn ; With a world of gentle guesses, In thy flood her floating tresses Poured their cascade of caresses! Here her hero from the rattle Of the crimson blows of battle, Slept beneath her soothing prattle Slept but, ere the sun s decline, Like the lightning-riven pine, And his heart s blood, Silver Billow, swept its throb- bings into thine. When the sad and solemn moon Muses o er the lone lagoon, And laughs the melancholy loon, When the crooning winter breeze, Hapless from the Hebrides, Chafes the dead cathedral trees; Mid the vultures muffled wails, Stifled by the panther hails Shuddering up palmetto trails ; When the globe is wrought in sleep, When the gnomes their vigils keep By the mountain and the deep I can fancy phantom things, On their thunder-tarnished wings, Soaring with a fallen grandeur over the enchanted springs ! [ 80 ] QUEEN OF THE WAX DOLLS Dusky plume and siroc frown, Lo the night conies trampling down O er thy palaces and town ! Lo! a legion like the stars, Speeding from their crystal cars, Leap beyond the sable bars; How they glittered as they roll d! How thy streets are stormed with gold! Undine! Undine! thou art princess of the parables of old! TO THE QUEEN OF THE WAX DOLLS Twas in the old church yard I told you all, Beneath the Norway pine; There, by your mother s grave, I thought to call That poor lost mother mine. I saw you bend above an orphan child To kiss its winsome face; This woman, quoth I, is all undefiled, A miracle of grace. [81] POEMS OF JAMES EYDEE KANDALL The world could never guess your riddle quite, Nor shake your soft repose ; The same meek orbs that shone upon the night, Were stars when morning rose. Oh hypocrite! your cool, Antarctic sighs Make memory an eclipse; I feel the serpent from those poisoned eyes Browsing upon my lips. You changed. You stumbled from the better path; You robed your vows on biers ; And now my lexicon of love and wrath Is syllabled with tears. You changed! Your eyes are purple-lidded beads, Your hair a coil of flax, And the cold splendor of your shape recedes Into a mould of wax! 0, wormwood ! that a thing of wax and wire Could make me love it so; 1, with a Hecla-heart and nerve of fire, Gasping amid that snow. [82] QUEEN OF THE WAX DOLLS And now, repenting, you would be my wife, Would pawn your troth to me Poor Doll ! beyond the icebergs of your life There throbs no open sea! I sought it once, and lo! my former self Is shipwrecked in the quest. See the impassioned Franklin, with his pelf, Dead on your gelid breast. You scream tis but a delicate doll s cry A trick, as all perceive it; They say you re stuffed with sawdust though a lie, A skeptic might believe it! STONE APPLES Mid the shimmer of lamps and the redowa s dash. Where the trumpet the thick-tongued song salutes- Mid the flutter of gauze and the diamond s flash, Mid the masquerade of flutes ! [83] POEMS OF JAMES RYDER RANDALL The boreal wind outside was keen, And the heavens had frosty eyes that night; Within was the realm of a tropic queen, Auroral with delight. Amiddle the foam of the frescoed ships On the pictured walls were the genii grim ; And the languid lotus, with chaliced lips, Was nectared to the brim. Here bevies of blondes with hyacinth hair, Flirt their silver arms mid the fervid dance; And the dusk-eyed brunette wreathes her snare Through the sensuous advance. The vivid, voluptuous waltz is done, But the beaux are busy as they can be ; The buzzing butterflies round the sun Of a dazzling coterie. But I, in the wavering whirl of mirth Cast gloom and glamour far and wide; To me twas the emptiness of earth The feast of the Barmecide. [84] STONE APPLES And there in a niche by the colonnade, Alone with the crisp and biting breeze, I counted the curves by the river made, And the grenadier-like trees. And I vow that the cold and dark to me Were better than melody, wit and wine, For I saw, what never on earth should be, Under the chill moonshine. I saw by the sinewy river side A willowy cottage, neat and white, Where the bayou ripples prank and glide To the clover aleft and right. And a damsel, shaming the damsels here, With nought of their satin and silk and pearls, She in a modest, maidenly sphere, They like the Gwazee girls ! Oh, how I worshipped you then and there, The mother of God alone can tell With the bandeau dimming your starry hair, And your hand in mine, Estelle! [85] POEMS OF JAMES RYDER RANDALL Lo! the boreal wind blew warm and soft, And the heavens had gentle eyes for all I looked, with a gallant smile, aloft, And my spirit had no gall. My steps were turned to the ball again, With an arching front and a springy tread- "Oh, she is an angel to this train; She is better than any," I said. And better is she, sweet child, away In that willowy cottage, neat and white, For she is the darlingest bird of day, But these are the birds of night. The dear God nestles her eyes in sleep, And her visions are beautiful and serene ; The dawn has nothing for her to weep, With a flushed, disheveled mien. And I swear, as I murmured things like these, And even the revelry seemed but good, I saw, mid its giddiest ecstacies, My Violet of the Wood. [86] STONE APPLES Not in the garb of the olden days, But tricked with a tinselry of toys And she frowned as she met my eager gaze, And she smiled o er the foppish joys. And she, high and haughtily, brushed me by, To harvest the spoils of her fevered bliss To drink in the honeyed laugh and lie, The honeyed serpent s hiss. Yes ! the boreal wind cut keen and bleak, And the heavens had frosty eyes once more, For the apples I plucked from the Venus-cheek Were petrified to the core! And I sighed to my heart: "My love is rash, Since these are the false and blasting fruits; I thrust it back mid the diamond s flash, Mid the masquerade of flutes" ! [87] POEMS OF JAMES RYDER RANDALL ALTHEE Could tongue define In warbling line The music of this heart of mine, Twould sing, today, A roundelay, For thee, ma belle Creole Althee! But words are weak, When words would speak, The ripeness of thy satin cheek, Or pearl that tips With dewy sips The arches of those blushing lips. The floods of lace That flirt and race In eddying ripples round thy face, Have framed, I ween, In magic mien, The daintiest image ever seen. [83] ALTHEE Ah, sweet Althee ! Around thee play The plumed, and crystal tribes of May; And in those eyes Float, flash, and rise Gay atmosphere of orient guise. The eyes the eyes ! The planet eyes Fresh from their dreams of Paradise ! My spirit sees, But never flees Their sorcery of sorceries. Truth, Grace, and Love From worlds above Hints of the Pure and Holy Dove Divinely bright, These gems of sight Are throned upon their globes of light. Thus heaven-beguiled, Beloved child, Have all the cherubs on thee smiled; Let joys depart Still, sweet, thou art Voiced in the virgin s sacred heart. [89] POEMS OF JAMES RYDER RANDALL Madonna! fold Her heart of gold In thy dear arms, when it is cold; Madonna! sing This bird of Spring To sleep beneath thy velvet wing ! Athwart my brain A shadowy rain Sobs forth this desolate refrain : Thy star is sped, Thy sunshine fled, Thy dream is bosomed with the dead! Ay! dim dim dim My senses swim Down by the lordly river s brim ; All pagan-eyed, I thrust my pride Out on the mad and stalwart tide. And will it roll To some fair goal, Quaffing elixirs of the soul Or witheringly Grope out to sea And drift but will it drift to thee? [90] ISIS ISIS My friend, the young artist, is clever and kind, With a broad Roman forehead and deep German heart; And though but a tyro, I cannot be blind To his whimsical skill and his exquisite art. I laugh at his quips, as I lounge in his room, Where we gin the grum world with its duns and its debts, Till spun by philosophy out of the gloom, And Calle Obispo s divine cigarettes. Anon we play chess, with the odds of a pawn, On an arabesque baize full of goblins and Circes; You should see how he strangles a masculine yawn As I gasp out my last little spasm of verses. Tis the game of my life, this game of the squares, For my Queen of White Chessmen is coy as the stars ; When a bishop, like Dunstan, snakes up unawares And soon there is nothing but death or cigars ! [91] POEMS OF JAMES RYDER RANDALL Cotillions of smoke swirl the curtains and walls By a swart old Tertullian, all gnarled and knotty ; And then in quadrilles, as it stifles and crawls On a muscular torso by Buonarotti. Here Leviathan gores through a shock of harpoons- There, Lazarus mumbles his crust on the sod Afar, in this carnival dance of cartoons, Hypatia glares on the crucified God! Here, Scanderberg gashes the Ottomite van There, the dulcimer damsel of Kubla is heard Hard by, a neat sketch of the crafty old man We have sent to inveigle Napoleon the Third. There are foils on the arras and shields on the stair, While an arquebuse bosses the lank balustrade; And trailing just over that worm-eaten chair Is a woman s white dress with its bodice and braid. The visions of youth are the wizards of thought, No matter how gusty, no matter how good; How many have married the woman they sought How seldom we marry the woman we should ! [92] ISIS I sprang from the couch, till I stood by the side Of my friend, as he gazed at the bodice and dress; "This way," whispered he, "and I ll show you a bride Not to wed but to worship to sing not to bless." Dear God ! as the picture the painter unsealed, The curtain was shrivelled away to a scroll I felt that an Isis of Eld was revealed, That Isis I veiled in the crypt of my soul ! Those pure melting eyes float that mystical gauze, Which prophecy weaves on the sight and the hair Of those that peer down the death-vistas and pause O er the slab and the violets waiting them there. There s a fountain of tears by the fountain of mirth, As twilights are thin twixt an old and new leaven ; And if not a paladin hero of earth She could make me a passionate pilgrim of heaven. Ah, the glove s on the mantel, the rose in the glass, The name in the Bible upon the blank page, And the very same rosary fingered at mass Coiled by the canary bird dead in its cage. [93] POEMS OF JAMES RYDER RANDALL O beautiful child of a beautiful morn ! There s a beautiful bodice begemming thy breast, But it speaks of the cerement, that Seraphs have worn, And it tells of a nightingale slain in its nest. And I gaze, and I gaze, and I gaze, till the moon, With its irised aureola, sleeps on her brow My Isis ! thy image departed too soon, For I gaze and I gaze on thy vacancy now. O beautiful child of a beautiful day ! There s a beautiful song on thy Sibylline lip; But it sings of the breaker that boils in the bay, And it dirges the doom of a desolate ship. Lost lost, long ago ! and she dreams o er the sea, Where the rude Saxon daisies above her have blown ; I know that the angels are angry with me, For the woman is dead that my spirit hath known ! New Orleans, 1861. [94] COLONEL JAMES RYDER RANDALL (IN 1882) FAR OUT AT SEA FAR OUT AT SEA Far out at sea! far out at sea! The winged wind warbles melody; The billows fringe their curls of foam, And tremble back with thoughts of home ; I stream my soul on every crest That gambles onward to the west Tis freighted, love, with hope and thee. Far out at sea ! far out at sea ! The petrels soar the surge with glee ; The livelong day they skim the air, The livelong night they slumber there Wild, wand ring souls of those who sleep Beneath the coral-citied deep, And from the shades heart-break to be Far out at sea ! far out at sea ! [95] POEMS OF JAMES RYDER RANDALL Far out at sea! far out at sea! The bird-like bark flew merrily! The day-god slept his bride on high Wove isles of light o er wave and sky ; On, on we flew, and from the wake What moon-enameled beauties break ! A vapory veil of silver bars Entangled in a sky of stars Supernal visions came to me Far out at sea ! far out at sea ! Far out at sea ! far out at sea ! The raven screams upon the lee; The storm-king rides the lightning now, And wreck and ruin bare his brow A gallant ship, descending fast, Is whirled beneath the waters vast, And with her in the whelming tide, The loveliest child that ever died In faith, in purity and pride! One fair white arm upon her breast, One sunny curl lost from the rest, And there she lies sweet Melanie! Far out at sea ! far out at sea ! [96] FLOURINE Far out at sea ! far out at sea ! And art thou happy, Melanie? Oh! in thy grand and mystic grave Beneath the blue, blue tropic wave, Dost see, sweet child, the diamond blaze Upon the Nereid of old days Dost hear the choral song of shells, More musical than golden bells And in thy ocean jubilee Dost think of him who loveth thee? Far out at sea ! far out at sea ! FLOURINE Little Flourine, with golden hair, And rose-red cheeks and features fair, You shall be the New Year s Queen, Little Flourine! Pretty Flourine, with the bright-blue eyes, Whose tints are caught from the azure skies ; Airy, fairy, with heavenly mien, Pretty Flourine! [97] POEMS OF JAMES RYDEK KANDALL Dainty Flourine, with your dazzling grace, And the beautiful wonders of your face; May you have nothing but roses to glean, Dainty Flourine! Darling Flourine, may Time bring to you Days full of music and skies full of blue Bliss that the saints and the angels have seen, Darling Flourine ! ALEXANDRINE Twas the morning of Palm Sunday, in Village Adair, And the shy little chapel seemed jubilant there; Twas the morn of Palm Sunday, sad Sunday, I ween That I met thee and loved thee, Alexandrine, Alexandrine ! I stood by the pew that was nearest to thine, While gentle St. Agnes, just over the shrine, Yearned tenderly to thee, as if she had seen, Thy face up in Heaven, Alexandrine, Alexandrine ! [98] ALEXANDRINE I remember thy bodice, so snowy and blest, With a violet guarding its virginal nest ; Thy sensitive forehead, thy contour serene, And a ripple of ringlets, Alexandrine, Alexandrine! We met in the aisle how I think of it now! And meekly I tendered my sanctified bough. Twas fondled, thy darling, deft fingers between Ah! the poor bough is withered, Alexandrine, Alexandrine ! And withered am I by a pitiless doom, Like a blast from the lungs of the Demon Simoon ; In the magical spell of a haunted ravine, Dost thou hear when I call thee, Alexandrine? Alexandrine ! On my cheek there is health, all my mind is aglow, But my soul is the saddest Sahara, I know ; For thought hath not compassed, and eye hath not seen The kingdom I m banished from, Alexandrine. Alexandrine ! [99] POEMS OF JAMES RYDER RANDALL By the way of the cross gleams thy radiant crown; By the way of the world all my dreams have gone down: For thee peace and mercy ; for me daggers keen, And war with the wehr-wolf, Alexandrine, Alexandrine ! In thy saintliest prayer I would ask to remain, Though for me there be no resurrection again. The stars in their courses have mocked me, my queen, But I bless thee forever, Alexandrine, Alexandrine! Thy sorrows were many, thy happy days few ; Thy tears bowed thee down like a rose crushed with dew; But those tears were too precious for mortal to glean, And a bride of the sky art thou, Alexandrine, Alexandrine ! [100] SPEAKING EYES SPEAKING EYES There are some faces, rarely met, That weave a weird and winsome spell, Just as the songs we ne er forget Of Kubla Khan and Christabel ; And these so strange and fine eclipse The silken swarm of rosebud dyes Though silence loiters on the lips, Sad poems warble with the eyes. And such a face, sweet child, is thine, Thine in the blossom of thy days Ah! woe is me! that love of mine Should nestle in that magic gaze! We met but once, and mid my brain The flames of sorcery arise Oh! should we ever meet again, Speak to me, darling, with thine eyes! [101] POEMS OF JAMES RYDER RANDALL Through many lands I sought to find Some idol nobler than the Past; N o more a jpilgrim pale and blind, r I ve Found thee, loveliest, at last ! At last, I scan thy warm, white brow, At last, the Mecca planets rise The wizard charm is on me now Speak to me, darling, with thine eyes! And with thine eyes, beloved, speak The subtle thought that keeps me strong, The sacred hope that fires my cheek In combat with the base and wrong. Better the everlasting night Than glittering with the world s disguise, But while the Heaven is in their light, Speak to me, darling, with thine eyes! My days are dark, and still I think To claim thee in this globe of ours Brimming the swart Vesuvian brink Volcanic brows are fringed with flowers; Together, by eternal meads That broaden up to healthier skies, My heart shall answer with its deeds What thou art speaking with thine eyes ! Written in 1863. [102] THE GRAND DUKE THE GRAND DUKE You gave me flowers in the crimson eves, Down by the garden gate, Where, on his throne of glad geranium leaves, The Grand Duke sat in state. You pitied him the Grand Duke and you sent A rare and budding bride, A lithe and fragrant Duchess, dew-be-sprent, Snow-bosomed and blue-eyed. Anon, the Grand Duke frowned and stood apart- The cold and bashful churl ! Until you bound them, darling, heart to heart, With one enamored curl. Ah me ! I have the plaintive bouquet here, With all its lustre fled; The lissome bride on her geranium bier, And the dear Grand Duke dead. And many sad and sombre thoughts arise Within me and without; Spectres of flowerets pictured on mine eyes, Robed in a shroud of doubt. [103] POEMS OF JAMES RYDER RANDALL Here, in the hot June midnight, grave and lone, By the dull candle s flare, I weave unutterable words, and moan Over a woman s hair. "Only a woman s hair ! " and still I sob O er memory with her pearls, Crushing my brows with anguish till they throb Writhing my soul with curls. No no ! I must not ponder things like these ; Be mine a breast of mail Though but a Nautilus of frenzied seas, Swift solitary frail. The world will know you not, my song, for you Speak but to one, and say Something I dare not, to an eve of blue When I am far away. I dare not for I flit the waif of chance, A riddle few have read, Like the Grand Duke, I ve had my day s romance, Like the Grand Duke, am dead. [104] MY BONNY KATE MY BONNY KATE! The sultry sun with angry eye, Gleams from the lurid summer sky, Through all the veins of red July, My bonny Kate ! So, very sad and very lone, I sit beside the window stone Musing on months forever flown, My bonny Kate ! This very day, one year ago, I roamed where Charleston fronts the foe, And loved, but did not tell you so, It was my fate. But soon I sought your eager eyes And answered all their glad surprise With love that falters not nor dies, My bonny Kate ! [105] POEMS OF JAMES KYDER RANDALL You must remember times so bright When every pulse thrilled through with light, Watching the sweet morn s silver flight, My bonny Kate ! That evening in the country town, The morning ride, up hill and down, The spring, where Eros won his crown, My bonny Kate ! We parted, twas the first sharp pain, We met and parted once again It seemed as though our love were vain, So long to wait! I strove to bring the world to bay, From early dawn to twilight grey. The promised land loomed far away, My bonny Kate ! Thus garnered, in that sacred past, My love has grown superb and vast, Each day sublimer than the last, My bonny Kate ! My heart is full and yet I know, To-morrow it will overflow, Forever yours, for weal or woe, My bonny Kate ! [106] MY BONNY KATE Then, darling, think what pangs assail Your lover s triple vest of mail, Dreaming that even you might fail, Your last year s mate. Another sits where you have been, With you another walks the green And tender words have passed between, My bonny Kate ! A few short weeks, and I may be Dashing along the hostile sea, Winning the gold that ransoms thee, My bonny Kate! To God I yield the doubt to you I give my solemn troth anew, My love, my faithful and my true My bonny Kate! [107] POEMS OF JAMES RYDER RANDALL ELSIE GAY You gave me a geranium leaf A little thing but full of meaning; When inclinations half belief, The token made it worth the gleaning. Last night your hand was clasped in mine, Twas but the pressure of a minute, And yet, by some mysterious sign, A red rose blushed to birth within it! Oh! rather pluck for me, fair child A branch of cypress or of willow; My days are bleak, my thoughts are wild, I am but sea-weed on the billow. For me nor love, nor home, nor wife Can ever be a curse or blessing The envious riddle of my life Would puzzle half your days in guessing. A week a month perchance a year, You might remember how you met me, And then, with neither smile nor tear, Twill be so easy to forget me. With you the world is frolic May, With me, tis many a month of weeping And you ll be dancing, Elsie Gay When I am in the valley sleeping. [108] THE WILLOW THE WILLOW "Et moi, j ai aussi t en Arcadie" My parent stem was nurtured in the soil Of St. Helena, near the grave of him Who shook the world in many a battle broil, And died a captive where dark waters swim, In that lone isle of Afric s subtle coil A memory no time or age may dim. Torn from that ever memorable tree, I was borne long and weary miles away, Across a mighty waste of restless sea, To be enrooted in the honored clay That guards the noblest son of Liberty Asleep, awaiting the eternal day. So, after mingling with heroic dust Napoleon, Washington I came at last To find a final resting place, I trust ; Where the Savannah s tawny tide glides past A city venerable and august In a glad garden I was fondly cast. [109] POEMS OF JAMES RYDER RANDALL I bravely grew, wooed by a Southern sun, A graceful tree, with opulence of tress. The vital sap through all my fibers spun, And dainty damsels gave me their caress. A lovely matron all my senses won, And so I longed her happy home to bless. Anon, the winter stripped me of my leaves, Until I stood disheveled and forlorn; But still my tropic heart clung to the eaves Of that dear household, in the night and morn. Soon the lord Spring, who blesses and reprieves, Poured emerald largess o er my features shorn. How have I thrilled when they I loved were gay, In the warm sunshine and the alert breeze ! When round the festal board wit ruled the day And wisdom was espoused to pleasantries. How have I wished such happiness could stay, Unsmitten always with sad memories! Alas! there came a dread, dissolving scene To snap the jocund circle of my friends ! So, one by one, they fled all things terrene, To seek the mystic shore that never ends Where Mortal must on th Immortal lean, Where the true Ideal with the Real blends. [110] THE WILLOW The reverend grandsire left my grateful shade And baby eyes beheld iny form no more; The dazzling lawyer in the sod was laid ; The keen preceptor fell, with all his lore ; The brilliant master slumbers in the glade Not lost, but in due meekness gone before. Still lingers my sweet matron, gravely bright, With stalwart sons and daughters tall and grand. They stand between her and the ghosts who might Become a mournful, melancholy band. I watch her, when the hours are aflight, Her gaze uplifted to the shining strand! Perchance, you think a willow has no tongue, No sentient touch, no article of speech, No power to soothe the heart, in anguish wrung, No message to impart or moral teach. But lo! a poet all my dreams has sung, And who that sorcery will dare impeach? [Ill] POEMS OF JAMES EYDEE RANDALL ARCHITECTURE Gone gone the spires, and pinnacles, and fanes, I built upon the mist-isles of the past, Nought but a hollow Babylon remains Of all the bright, adorable, and vast ; Still I make miraculous amends By hewing Meccas from your hearts, my friends ! Welcome ! ye passionate rills that cleave my brain, Blest with ebullient melodies of morn While mid the plumed battalia of the cane Throb the red sun-flags by encrimsoned corn ! Here, where the forest with the field contends, I ll sculpture immortalities, my friends ! Imperial Heart ! that blossomed into mine Hot with eleusia of electric youth Friend of my boyhood ! a majestic shrine I chisel from that burning heart of truth. Where the parched gulls to velvet waves descend, Be thou, my Monolith of Faith, my friend! [112] ARCHITECTURE Devoted Heart! that bore mine, like an ark, Through the blind deluge of disease and care, Giving it shelter in the light when dark And hideous fortunes throttled with despair While the glad planets o er the globe impend, Be thou my battlement of Pride, my friend ! Undaunted Heart! that into mine hath poured The subtle wine-blood of its lusty praise A living bulwark, with its shield and sword, When I had fallen upon coward days; O, could I to ethereal worlds ascend, Thy Heart should be my Pantheon, my friend! Maternal Heart ! that charmed mine in the path That glideth to the splendor of the Throne, And soothed it, blistered in the climes of wrath, And kissed it, shud ring from the abyss of moan, The sweet, sweet skies, like incense, interblend About the Altar of thy Heart, my friend! And thou who comest like a meteor-beam To quell me in the zenith of my pride Thou thou who mocketh me with that fatal gleam Which gave me but the ghost-world for a bride Woe! woe! the palaces I wrought depart, And all my necromancy is a tomb my Heart. [113] POEMS OF JAMES KYDER RANDALL MARATHON Written at the Age of Eighteen Stern Marathon! the mountains view thee yet; Thy monarch plain with dew eternal s wet ! Each blade of grass that feathers from thy green Bears the bright impress of a hallowed mien. Shoot to the sky their cloud-defiant crest The bristling rocks, with climbing vines caressed; Cradle the King-bird in his eyrie home, When down he darts from heaven s starry dome ; Stand the bold sentries of the holy vast ; Hurl from their thrones the thunder- throated blast ; Sigh o er the graves of valorous renown ; Then lordly smile whilst gazing grandly down Tomb of the Brave! thy echo sways the breeze, Before thy name all mimic grandeur flees, Before thy fame the world is thrilled with awe, Time has no tooth Oblivion rends its maw! Those martyr forms whom ages cannot quell Haunt the grey sod whereon they grap ling fell Call from the dust the Persian s fiery host, And lo ! what tumult stirs each gibbering ghost ! Thus when the lurid bolt is whirled along, These grim old foes are mingled once again: [114] MARATHON When the hoarse thunder bellows from the sky, And dusky pinions storm the cliffs on high; When the big rain conies rattling from the clouds Starting the dead in myriads from their shrouds Amid the clangor of their dread refrain These grim old foes are mingled once again : The dark Platean in the tide of war, The comely Median in his battered car, The bright Athenian dealing death and fear, The Persian tottering on his shivered spear The cloven helmet and the ghastly blow, The crimson scimetar, the stringless bow They smite their shields, they form, prepare, ad vance : Sword splinters sword, lance crashes against lance Away! the golden lamp swings forth once more And all is mute upon that dreamy shore ! The living hills are marble for the dead, Their burial ground is where they fought and bled, Their epitaph is centred in a breath "The dying freeman yields not quite to death ! " Their deeds are chanted by the choral surge, That holiest Harper of undying dirge! Each frolic wave that pillows on the plain Murmurs a praise sur passing mortal strain, For those who perished there but not in vain ! [115] POEMS OF JAMES RYDER RANDALL ODE TO PROFESSOR DIMITRY Suggested by his admirable lecture on the "Temples and Monuments of Greece" Written at Georgetown University at the Age of Eighteen Behold the man ! What matchless lines of grace Are blazoned round his great, expressive face! The voice so full, so tremulously grand Speaks from his heart the woes of that far land, Which fallen now, once reigned the titled Queen Of Mind, of Soul all-seeing and all-seen Nurse of the Gods ! bright Liberty s abode ! The Poet s pride! whence Homer s song has flowed, Rolling with ocean-flow from age to age The first the last the best on History s page! Foremost in Art, in Science, and in Strife, In columned grandeur and in marble life Bend, bend before Hellenic tow ring might Ye gifted children of the Pure and Bright! All this and more thrills forth how silent all ! The burning echo riots round the hall, [116] ODE TO PROFESSOR DIMITRY In every breast responsive echoes breathe, The ravished senses twine a deathless wreath For those who fought for Freedom, scorning shame, Then bartered life for an eternal fame! Thus, not in vain, he courts the willing ear Calls on the dead, and living forms appear; Both gods and men in awful grandeur move The "Blind old Bard" the "Cloud-compelling Jove ! " He bids them tell of days when Greece was free, When Athens rode triumphant o er the sea, Athens the peerless prescient the blind Athens the mutable the undefined! The fount of Eloquence ! whose spring inspired Her godlike son, and with his breath expired; Which in one warning yet majestic cry Made Philip quail and cowards gladly die! When Sparta stalked the Lioness of the shore With iron nerves brute heart what, nothing more? Ay! ay! a single boon kind Nature gave, Alone to drag her from Oblivion s grave; One hoary rock, the Keystone of the plain A shivered altar but a hallowed fane, For patriot s blood has trickled round the stone Dread august sacrifice ! this this alone [117] POEMS OF JAMES RYDER RANDALL Redeems the land with a renewing birth, Its faults forgotten in thy faultless worth ! Manes of the brave ! your gore s not vainly shed O stern baptism on a nation s head! Yet did that blood quench Persia s fiery pride And seal the spot where heroes fell not died, Leaving thy name a watchword to the free Unmouldering Record! lone Thermopylae! Turn from this scene. Exulting to the skies A temple flits before the captive eyes, Unrivalled, chaste e en as the new-born day, In perfect form it looms along the way Unrivalled whole unrivalled in decay! Behold the Parthenon the miracle the fair ! Look once again. What ruin breedeth there! A pilfered wreck, a desecrated shrine, Sport of the blast, polluted yet divine The mind untouched from a dismembered whole How glorious yet, thou Mecca of the Soul ! [118] HA! HA! HA! HA! When summer suns are glancing on the merry dam sels dancing Neath the pendulous aroma of the beauty-blushing vine; When summer birds are cooing, in a pantomimic wooing Mid the azure-dimpled ether, which the poet calls divine : I win a frolic girl, From the rustle and the whirl, And I say she is a seraph and I swear she is a pearl Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Who is gentler, who is fairer, ha ! ha ! who is sweeter, Who is brighter, ha ! ha ! who is wittier and neater, Than the queen of my spirit its glorified defeater Ha! Ha! Ha! Malgherita! Malgherita! Ha ! gaily we are flying, with laughter, love and sigh ing, O er the valley of Berilla, in its livery of green ! Ha! madly we are dashing by the torrent thunder- flashing, [119] POEMS OF JAMES RYDER RANDALL And beyond the echo-flutter of the flute and violin. Little fairy, little fay, From the torrent keep away, Or thy roses and thy ribbons will be waltzing in the spray, Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Who is gentler, who is fairer ha! ha! who is sweeter ; Who is brighter, ha! ha! who is wittier and neater, Than the queen of my spirit its glorified defeater Ha! Ha! Ha! Malgherita! Malgherita! In the twinkle of a minute, she wildly pours within it The glory of her tresses like a vivid golden veil ; In a second of derision, she forgetteth her precision, And is captured by the current as it dashes to the vale. I shoot beneath the flood All the lightning of my blood I reach her and I save her and I bear her to the wood. Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Who is gentler, who is fairer ha! ha! who is sweeter; [120] HA! HA! Who is brighter, ha! ha! who is wittier and neater, Than the queen of my spirit its glorified defeater Ha! Ha! Ha! Malgherita! Malgherita! You may fancy that the fountain, baffled billow of the mountain, Is singing you this secret as it crashes grandly down; "What beatitude completer, he is wed to Malgherita, And they emulate the angels neath the summer s burning crown !" We are wed ! we are wed ! As Khuleborn hath said, And we envy not the annals of the living or the dead. Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Who is gentler, who is fairer ha! ha! who is sweeter ; Who is brighter, ha! ha! who is wittier and neater, Than the queen of my spirit its glorified defeater Ha! Ha! Ha! Malgherita! Malgherita! [121] POEMS OF JAMES RYDER RANDALL SARCASTIC Loud sir, I am Myself o er thrown By your tremendous racket; But let us see In what degree That you and I most lack it. A wise old saw Hath made it law (Now all your ears displaying) That lions quell Their roar a spell, When jackasses are a-braying. [122] MADAME LA GRIPPE MADAME LA GRIPPE Where the seas meet the land, and the land quits the seas, The universe shakes with a terrible sneeze, The Czar in his palace, the serf in his hut, Explode all alike when the nostril is shut, The saint s holy person is no more exempt Than the sinner whom Satan refuses to tempt. The pest of the air takes a world-waking trip, And its banners are blazoned: "Beware of La Grippe." We heard of it first where Peter the Great Made the marsh of the Neva the heart of his State. It crumpled the Cossack, and then, in the morn, Crossed the Balkan and captured the fair Golden Horn. The Sultan dropped down with a bigness of head That made his whole harem afraid of the dead, For a microbic Skobeleff rushed with a skip And held old Byzantium fast in his grip. [123] POEMS OF JAMES RYDER RANDALL From the dome of Sophia to Stephen s tall spire It swept in its fury and coughed in its ire. The Kaiser succumbed before set of sun And cried : "Better far Kossuth or the Hun !" But the Hun was himself loaded up with quinine, While Bismarck felt humbled at Canossa s shrine, For the head of the haughty takes a cyclonic dip When it feels the congestion of Madame La Grippe! The Berlin professors went down in despair And their scholars tore Greek, by the roots, from their hair, The Titans who humbled the nations are weak, While their battle-cry sinks to a sad nasal squeak. The Emperor William grows weary of beer, And wiltedly "ambles away on his ear." The White Lady scare and the pale Phantom Ship Are nothing in horror like Madame La Orippe! It tweaked the Republic of France by the nose, And a new reign of terror insistently rose. The dust of Napoleon quivered perhaps With the cruel, catarrhal, convulsive collapse. The Socialist demon declined to conspire, For his backbone was seared by St. Anthony s fire. The sirens who smile to beguile on the road Felt their jewels a curse, like the head of a toad, [124] MADAME LA GRIPPE And the doctor alone, who is sure of his tip, Stood firm in the presence of Madame La Grippe! Zigzagging along the Baltic s bleak strand, It crossed the grim channel to sturdy England. The eloquent Gladstone lost power of speech And Salisbury took to his bed with a screech. The Queen drank hot toddy of fine Irish make, And dreamed that Parnell was attending her wake With ;i dark, scowling visage and sinister lip, Disguised in the raiment of Madame La Grippe! Astride of the cable, by British emprise, It shot to the land of the free and the wise. The Bostonese stomach disdained pork and beans, And lived on a diet of antipyrines. New York heard the figure of Liberty whoop Like a child in the robust embrace of the croup. Mr. Chauncey Depew wrote funeral verse While the Negro Problem passed by in a hearse. The scissors were dropped from Coupon s keen clip As Wall Street went mad in the waltz of La Grippe! On the wings of a blizzard, it flew to the West, With a wild and a woolly rheumatic behest. Chicago surrendered at once the World s Fair And took a first prize in the Prince of the Air. [125] POEMS OF JAMES RYDEE RANDALL Mr. Ingall s trumpet made all Kansas wheeze As Washington answered his cynical sneeze. The big bulk of Barnes was a rampart of might, But it sunk at the shock of this malefic sprite. East and West, West and East, with a roar and a rip, Crashed the thunderous footfall of Madame La Grippe! You may hear that this imp is a myth at the South, But this is a pleasant romance of the mouth. By the river St. John, at a place they call Jax, This writer first felt the prelude of attacks. Very mild was the touch, but as he fared forth, A little more near to the stars of the North, It kicked and it cuffed and it swirled him about Until he resembled a famous dish-clout. And now, as he takes his medicinal nip, He bows out, most humbly, this Madame La Grippe! The moral, perchance, is not proper to hide, It levels at once our poor human pride. We are all in the clutch of invisible foes, And the elements fill us with blessings and woes. We have brotherhood bonds to pay at our ease, In all the vast circle of health and disease. We are saved by the self-same Omnipotent Power, While none is too poor to escape from its dower ; And little it matters, whatever may slip, So God s buckler shield us from Satanic grip ! [126] SILHOUETTE SILHOUETTE Ladies and gallants, well a day ! If ride ye must, and will not stay, Ah, do not ride in midmost May ! Lassie ! be sure to take your brother ; Laddie ! go not without grandmother ; Lassie and laddie, take no other! For I have been the dupe of blisses My malison on blonden Misses, With cherry months lip-full with kisses; And jaunty hats with ribboned bows, And beaded basques and heaven knows What gilded pitfalls full of woes! Dear little bread and butter chit, You jilted me I must admit And split my heart the deuce a bit ! [127] POEMS OF JAMES RYDER RANDALL I swore the jewel of Glamschid Than you less excellency hid ; You thought so too you know you did. And yet you made a famous fool Of one a lastrum since from school ; I m on the penitential stool. With groan and grimace acrimonious, I vote all flirting most erroneous, And bivouac with Saint Antonius, Old Nick shall thump me black and blue, And with his horned head punch me through, Ere I succumb to jays like you. I ll make the calaboose my bunk, I ll delve in some monastic trunk; Twere highly proper to get drunk ! I ll sing Am Rhein in the Casino Become obstreperous with Blineau; In divers ways I ll breeze my spleen, oh ! Lycanthropy to me is placid ; I ll out-strut e en Haroun Alraschid Read Werter, too, for prussic acid. [128] SILHOUETTE I ll button-hole old Villabobia, Prating of bonnets and Zenobia Bombastes B and hydrophobia. Of Fremont Brutus (Junius Lucius) Seward Scaezola (baptized Mutius) Of Mother Goose and Kean Confucius. All womankind shall learn to rue it; I ll drench my locks with mutton suet, And guard the corners young men do it! Upon reflection, I will not Become an interesting sot, And sprout a nasal apricot ! Philosophy shall be obeyed; I ll puff my meerschaum in the shade, And live to see you an old maid! A starch old maid with snuff and chat. With crippled curls and think of that A fusty parrot and a cat ! Alack! and what shall I be then? Perchance a Bedouin with men Perchance a starved wolf in my den. [129] POEMS OF JAMES RYDEE RANDALL No no ! I can not hate you yet, While many a treasured amulet Of lang syne dares me to forgot ! I have your tiny gloves hard by ; You gave them to me with a sigh They re torn and faded so am I. I banquet on them with my looks, I haunt the meadow tangled brooks, And sift dried jasmins from my books. And brooding o er them wrath is felled ; I only see the hands they held, Becking me ever back to Eld ! Yes yes ! I do forgive the Past ; And though your stars be overcast, I ll deem you loveliest to the last. But I shall ride no more away, In kingly cavalier array, In midmost love in midmost May ! [130] MAGDALEN MAGDALEN The Hebrew girl, with flaming brow, The banner-blush of shame, Sinks at the sinless Saviour s knees And dares to breathe His name. From the full fountain of her eyes The lava-globes are roll d They wash his feet ; she spurns them off With her ringlet-scarf of gold. The Meek One feels the eloquence Of agonizing prayer, The burning tears, the suppliant face, The penitential hair; And when, to crown her brimming woe, The ointment box is riven "Rise, daughter, rise ! Much hast thou loved, Be all thy sins forgiven !" Dear God ! The prayers of good and pure, The canticles of light, Enrobe Thy throne with gorgeous skies, As incense in Thy sight; May the shivered vase of Magdalen Soothe many an outcast s smart, Teaching what fragrant pleas may spring From out a broken heart! [131] POEMS OF JAMES RYDER RANDALL KEATS "Here lies one whose name was writ on water" Beyond the wall that belts the town, Where grand Saint Peter s titan crown Looks apostolically down ; With shrunken form and shrouded lid, The Song Bird not the Song is hid Near Caius Cestius pyramid. There purer from his Roman pyre, The star-eyed Skylark of the Choir,* Slumbers, a radiant Child of Fire ! Twin bards twin death ! no slander parts, With livid tongue and venomed darts, The Soul of Souls and "Heart of Hearts." The coheirs of Porphyrogene, Their dreams are royal and serene Beneath the Night s sweet sybil queen. *Shelley. [132] KEATS Methinks, their sad song sadly calls From every breeze that swells and falls Along the Coliseum s halls. And that sad song shall murmur there, Upon the pulses of the air, With incense-wings of warbled prayer. And it shall sigh and fondly flit When dome and tomb are bright moonlit, O er him whose name was water-writ. Twas writ on water, but the wave That surges from a hallowed grave Is not old Ocean s liquid slave. Tis the tumultuous Sea of Song The Scroll of the Anointed Throng To whom eternities belong ! Thy name, dear Keats, had water-birth, And now, in its majestic worth, It heaves its billow* over earth ! [133] POEMS OF JAMES RYDER RANDALL PALINODIA Though it leave me ashes, I will thrust This Etna from my breast, My times have been tumultuous, they shall know The ecstacy of rest. They marred the work of heaven when they scoff d My unpolluted truth Oh, it was death to feel the venom-dews Trickling the veins of youth ! My mind was swung in blindness, like a cloud, O er caverns of despair; My soul was a dead Carthage, with a doomed And baffled Roman there. Stung by the blare and trespass of the world, I cursed it, on my knees, Where, in its cell, monastic Amazon Hymns to the cloistered trees. [134] PALINODIA I wrestled with iny soul when twilight fowls Began their rigadoon, Where the lost cypress, like Ophelia, mourns Above the gaunt lagoon. Dumb with disaster, we did grapple on, Like Ghibbeline and Guelph ; Though I could flee all other things beside, I could not flee myself. Yes! I have pillaged the forbidden boughs Of all their stealthy lore ; The fruit that shed its dust upon my lips Was from Gomorrha s shore. Love ! I will cleanse those lips at Siloe s pool, Incumbent to the sod; I look upon my Past, as Pagan s look Upon their cloven god. Love ! will kneel at holier knees again, With sin-abashing brow, And learn a new Philosophy from Faith To save me from the slough. [135] POEMS OF JAMES RYDER RANDALL Love ! it was thy meek eyes and gentle words That gave my spirit sight, And it will follow thee to higher laws Through the dim Vale of Night. MALISON I promised no reproach, Elise, Though all thy flimsy vows were fickle; My slender-necked anemones Have perished by thy crafty sickle ; Well ! let them go, though soiled and stolen, And headless, too, as Anna Boleyn Ay, let them go, though debonnair With hazel, poppy-perfumed hair. I ll not reproach, Elise, but I Will make my malediction lie Upon thee, feathery as a sigh ; Till from abysmal peaks of woe My curse shall shroud thee with its snow ; [136] MALISON Softly upon the forehead fair, Crisping the poppy-perfumed hair, Its winnowing ice-birds lilt and go, But no reproach, Elise, oh no Only the rustle of the snow ! Twill skim thy throat not rude or redly Its dapper feet, Slippered with sleet, Shall into thy bonnet and bossom retreat With a stinging like snow, Which is woe Only my curse, my curse you know ! Not rude or redly Nothing but snow ! As shy as smooth as cool as slow- As deadly. [137] POEMS OF JAMES RYDER RANDALL CLAY Written on the occasion of the unveiling of the Clay Statue, April 12th, 1860 Immortal Mind ! thy burning torch A deathless halo flings Around the Prophets crucified, And Sybaritic Kings; We chaunt, today, a paean song To thy divinest flashes To our imperishable one, The Mill Boy of the Slashes ! The fervid breast of Nature poured Its deluge to his sips, The bee-winged breezes charmed anew Hymettus to his lips, Till, like a cleaving peak, his thoughts To sunward regions ran, And god beheld beneath his throne A mountain hearted Man. [138] CLAY His lispings fell like vesper dews Upon the alien leaves, Waking their inspirations through The palpitating sheaves ; Then from those clarion "wood-notes wild" Anointed dreams unsprung, Wedding the lightning of the brain To the thunder of the tongue ! We we have seen him in the pride Of his colossal youth, We we have heard his Vestal vows To the Eternal Truth ; We we have felt our spirits quail, Our very beings bow, When the supernal tempests shook That monumental brow ! And never yet, since morning stars Sang over Galilee, Have nations seen the peer of this Apostle of the free ! His was the avalanche of wrath That smites the despot down, And girds the brows of Justice with An undisheveled crown. [139] POEMS OF JAMES RYDEK KANDALL His trumpet-tones re-echoed like Evangels to the free, Where Chimborazo views a world Mosaic d in the sea; And his proud form shall stand erect In that triumphal car Which bears to the Valhalla gates Heroic Bolivar! He spoke for Greece, and freedom flew Along her sacred rills, Waking the mighty soul that slept On Marathinian hills ; While bold Buzzards launched his flag Upon the gull of night, And hurled a living thunderbolt Against the Ottomite! The pillars of the Union quaked Before discordant shocks, When Heaven had sent its liberal snows Upon his honored locks ; Though all the Angels beckoned him, His conquering arm uprose, And wrenched his country s flag away From its rebellious foes. [140] CLAY Then with perennial laurel wreaths, The matchless mind had wrought, His ladened bark went drifting on To find the "Kings of Thought;" And though the stately vessel long Hath left its earthly strand, The helmsman s voice re-echoes back From out the Phantom Land. Live, Patriot, live ! while oceans chafe Their adamantine bars- While mailed Orion flames his plume Mid bright-battaiioned stars; Live, Patriot, live ! while glory thrills The heart-strings of the free, And Mississippi pours its grand Libations to the sea ! [141] POEMS OF JAMES EYDER RANDALL THE UNBOUGHT SEMINOLE After the defection of many of the Seminole chiefs in 1857, Arpeik was approached by the United States Commissioners, and tendered money and lands if he would cease hostilities and consent to deportation. Though not less than one hundred and fourteen years old, blind and decrepit, his intellect sur vived the wreck of the body and his soul retained its ancient heat. His reply was worthy of any age: "Wagon loads of gold shall never buy me!" A few months afterward, he died and was buried among the Thousand Islands in a remote corner of the land which gave him birth, which he had fought to possess and which he never relinguished utterly. An old, old man, in thicker shades Than brood upon the brows of Night, Hath lit the ghastly Everglades With an imperishable light; A light more brilliant in its flame From the dusk soul from whence it came, Amid the war-cloud s clashing fame rut] THE UNBOUGHT SEMINOLE It burns ! it blazes ! let it be A globe-mark for the bold and free To beacon on Eternity. Ay, let it flash its halo high- Flash like a meteor in the sky With lightning flame To carve a name That cannot, will not quickly die ! No subtle tribute of the mine Could quell that hero-heart of thine; Not the ripe wilderness of gold Through which Pactolian tides have roll d; Not the star-gem that grandly flings Its flambeau by barbaric kings ; No traitor s breath, no hostile band, Not Power s all-pervading hand Could wrench thee from thy native land. The lone wolf from his lair May find a shelter from despair Man of the weary-foot, for thee No refuge held the land or sea Death, death alone could set thee free And, more than free, since thus it came Girt with the glory-wings of fame. [143] POEMS OF JAMES RYDER RANDALL O, wildwood Spartan of thy time! O more than Roman in thy crime, Love for thine own beloved clime. Dear God ! what segment of the earth Can match the region of our birth ! Though ice-beleagured, rill on pill, Though scorched to deserts, hill on hill It is our native country still. Our native country, what a sound To make heart, brain, and blood rebound! Our native country! bannered far On eagle wings, with cross and star; Diviner than the hymns of glee That flood Astarte-eyed Chaldee, It frets the war flag on the deep, It makes the bale-fire on the steep, It stirs a thought that cannot sleep. It arsenals the fleetest arm With the keen weapons of alarm, And sends them shimmering forth amain To smite and smite and smite again. It boomed a grand, cathedral bell Along the crags to Bruce and Tell ; It rang like cymbals on the breeze To Henry and Demosthenes; [144] THE U^BOUGHT SEMINOLE It pealed, like trumpets in the fray That canonized Thermopylae; It wailed o er Warren, sad and shrill, In the hot crash of Bunker Hill ; It wept wild music o er the dart That burst from Osceola s heart, And still fares forth, a choral wave Upon the never-dying brave. Such, such the heavenly-gardened seed That flowers each immortal deed. Such, such the spirit of the past That nobly battles to the last, And such the sunbeam of thy soul, Grim Brutus of the Seminole! And I though pale-faced and thy foe, Can laud thy joy and feel thy woe ; Would that a Homer s magic lyre, His Sybil lip, his tongue of fire, Were mine but one great moment then, Statued with monumental men, Thy ghostly form, rapt in renown, Should stand with helmet, sword, and crown- And who would dare to drag it down? [145] POEMS OF JAMES RYDER RANDALL From the throned summit of the Thousand Islands Meek virgins of the sea; Along their diadem of emerald highlands, The death-song sobs for thee. The gay magnolia musky-haired and tender, Queen-dryad of the scene, Snares, in its veil of flower-floating splendor, Winged linguist of the green. The bright-plumed cedar trails its daintiest pillow For nectar-laden bees; Kneels, by the lake, the tress-disheveled willow, Lone Magdalen of trees! The knightly oak, a bulwark swart and brawny, Stands by its page the vine; Or hangs its large, storm-gullied, cleft, and tawny, Upon its spear, the pine. A dreamy fleck of violet creations Stare at the anchored clouds, Or shrink to see the spectral cypress nations Rise glittering through their shrouds. [146] THE UNBOUGHT SEMINOLE Beneath the turban of a tall palmetto, Thy scattered warriors kneel, Grim pilgrims at their gallant heart s Loretto, With votive bead and steel. Upon their hearts, broad bucklers of alliance, The scars are greenly dim d Dread gaps, dread syllables of fierce defiance Upon the tiger-limbed. Apart from all, of all the goodliest number Are widowed ones, alas! In vain, in vain ye watch for those who slumber In lagoon and morass. A giant mound, with untold ages hoary Outspiraling the strand, Bears thee, great chieftain, like a steed of glory,, Upon the spirit-land. From the grey summit of Time s stateliest moun tain, Age, throned amid the rocks, Had shot the avalanche of a thousand fountains In silver down thy locks. [147] POEMS OF JAMES EYDEE RANDALL But now, but now, thy earthliness departed, De Leon s fount is won ; And all the dead who left thee, broken hearted, Outgleam the primal sun. There Micanopy, with his plumes vermilion, Stalks by the glittering ring, There Tustenuggee, neath a rich pavilion, Ay "every inch a King ! " There Osceola, warlike, wise and sparing, Outsoars the belting wave, There Coacbochee, warlike, wild and daring, From his bleak western grave. There, the Great Spirit, in his car of thunder, Salutes thee with a smile, "Live on, my son ! " The clouds are rent asunder About the funeral pile. Dark Withlacoochee caught the magic meaning, Triumphant with St. John, And bore it on, with every ripple gleaming, "Live on ! Live on ! Live on ! " [148] AFTER A LITTLE WHILE The comeliest damsels of thy shadowy nation Shall sing to thee: "Live on! " Shout echo, million-tongued o er the nation, "Live on ! Live on ! Live on ! " The lyric gales, in soft melodious motion, Thrill the harp-pines : "Live on ! " While throbs the everlasting dirge of ocean : "Live on ! Live on ! Live on ! " AFTER A LITTLE WHILE After a little while, When all the glories of the night and day Have fled for aye, From Friendship s glance and Beauty s win some smile, I pass away, After a little while. [149] POEMS OF JAMES KYDER RANDALL After a little while, The snow will fall from time and trial shocks Down these dark locks ; Then gliding onward to the Golden Isle, I pass the rocks, After a little whila After a little while, Perchance, when youth is blazoned on my brow, As Hope is now, I fade and quiver in this dim defile, A fruitless bough, After a little while. After a little while, And clouds that shimmer on the robes of June And vestal moon, No more my vagrant fancies can beguile I slumber soon, After a little while. After a little while, The birds will serenade in bush and tree, But not for me; On billows duskier than the gloomy Nile My barque must be After a little while. [150] THE PLACE OF REST After a little while, The cross will glisten and the thistles wave Above my grave, And planets smile; Sweet Lord! then pillowed on Thy gentle breast, I fain would rest, After a little while. THE PLACE OF REST I am not happy, though my smiles betoken The jocund fancies which I do not feel ; I am not happy, all my hopes are broken Upon the world s inexorable wheel. Tis said the dying shed no useless tears, And so, I weep not for the vanished years. I weep not for them, though they flock around me In solitude, and in the noontide glare; I weep not for them, though fond eyes confound me, With midnight havened in their realmless stare. With jests upon my lips I stand aghast O er the Dead Angel that we call the Past. [151] POEMS OF JAMES RYDER RANDALL No More ! O terrible, wild word ! the days That have been shudder in the iron grave ; And lo, I totter on, in blind amaze, Mid the black gulches of th o erwhelming wave: No star-bright seas, no Pharos-litten shore, While the hoarse Raven croaks, "No More! No More!" And still I weep not, it may be, alas ! That I am hardened into more than stone Ah, happy they whose hearts like brittle glass, Break ere the worst of bitterness is known. The cold remain, the gentle pass away, In their white innocence how happy they ! The drums are clattering in the crowded streets, The fife and bugle warlike concords blend, The roar of cannon to my soul repeats : Peace, weary one, thy pilgrimage can end There s rest for thee upon the battle field, With Triumph towering in thy shattered shields! [152] REFUGE OF SINNERS "REFUGE OF SINNERS " Though loathsome sin, usurping grace, Should make my soul its dwelling place ; Though Satan, with his host of flame, Combined to crush my spirit s fame; I d look to heav n avaunt despair! Because I have a Mother there. Though man should couch foul slander s dart To pierce with death my wounded heart; Though trusted friends, nay, all that s dear Should flee my sight without a tear, I d waft on high an earnest prayer, Because I have a Mother there. Though the poor beggar s staff be mine, And all despise, I ll not repine ; Though hunger writes upon my cheek Its fatal mark, in Winter s bleak ; For heaven s sake all this I ll bear, Because I have a Mother there. [153] POEMS OF JAMES RYDER RANDALL Though God should call to Him above, Snatching away mine early love; An earthly mother wrap away From hence to realms of endless day; I would not bid our dear Lord spare, Because I d have two Mothers there. When I am with the countless dead, When wild weeds riot o er my head, One boon I ask, one favor crave: Let one true mourner guard my grave, And let my soul seek regions fair, Because it has a Mother there. [154] MOTHER AND SON MOTHER AND SON Thirty years ago two of my Catholic friends, fond parents, were called upon to endure a grievous tribulation in the death, by accidental drowning, of a noble virtuous son. I promised the father to write a poem on this sad theme, but, somehow, in the distraction of active secular journalism and the need of practical support for a growing family, I could not accomplish that purpose. A few days ago, with more leisure and a return of the long-neglected gift. I determined to pay the debt, and as some hearts may be comforted by sympathetic verse, I take the liberty of asking The Colum bian to reproduce the poem, for the first time : Tis thirty years, my son, Since we were parted ; Thy bright course swiftly run I, broken hearted, Hast thou been gone so long To realms of light, To choirs of angel-song, To visions bright? [155] POEMS OF JAMES RYDER RANDALL When thou wert rapt away By the stern tide, I taught thee how to pray In innocence abide. So, though thy call was brief, With no good-bye, I know, with firm belief, Twas well to die. Thy piety and worth Were all secure; Yea, from thy Christian birth Thy days were pure. And so, the God of love Claimed thee His own. Thy spirit winged above To seek its throne. Father and mother both Gave thee to bliss; Resigned, however loath, Thy parting kiss. We learned to bless the hour Thy soul should be Beyond all sinful power And grandly free. [156] MOTHER AND SON Thy father saw thee first In Christ s abode; His spirit was athirst For Heaven s road. Thy mother will await The last decree That opens glory s gate To welcome thee. To meet and see again Thy sire and thee, Beyond the reach of pain, In ecstacy. This is thy mother s prayer, And this her goal. To love and bless thee there, Soul unto soul. [157] POEMS OF JAMES RYDER RANDALL THE ONLY BOY Though heaven has gained one angel more, My heart, dear God, is wondrous sore; For that bright angel Thou hast won Was my sweet lamb, my only son. How shall an earthly mother bear Such awful anguish and despair? How shall she live, and living, know Such depths of overwhelming woe? Without Thy aid, dear God, my soul Is shipwrecked in a sea of dole. Without Thy rescuing hand, I sink Beyond the world s absymal brink. He was my pride, my hope, my joy Ah, bitterest thought, my only ~boy! And now, while night-winds madly rave My heart is buried in his grave. [158] THE ONLY BOY Too much I worshiped him, perchance Too much I drifted from Thy glance. Thou art a jealous God, and Thou Hast put Thy crown upon my brow. I pass beneath Thy rod; I pray To find salvation s thorny way I care not boy what pangs beguiled, So it but lead me to my child. Ah, blessed thought to know that he Is safe from sin and misery; That, in the young May of his life, He fell unsullied in the strife. I treasure up his image fair, I kiss his tress of shining hair, Thrilling to hope, in heaven, that he Will be "the first to welcome me." Within Thy sheltering arms, I place My idol, glorified by grace ; And, with the dear ones left, my eyes Gaze through the gates of Paradise. [ 159 ] POEMS OF JAMES RYDER RANDALL LABOR AND PRAYER Despite the wisdom of the Past, From lips prophetic or divine, Men wander in this world aghast, And ask another saving sign. They seek cold Science in her cell, With front of brass and feet of clay ; And this is what her sibyls tell : "The man who labors need not pray ! " Starving upon this soulless rind, The pilgrim, weary with his strife, Cries to the proud poetic mind : "Sing to us, seer, the psalm of life ! " The bard, with sensual lore endowed, Unclasps his dreamy Book of Fate, And answers : "Let the famished crowd First learn to labor and to wait ! " * [ 160 ] LABOR AND PRAYER With spirit-hunger humbler grown, The seeker lifts his saddened eyes To Him whose everlasting throne Fills all the earth and all the skies; And from that oracle of might, Healing the torment of the rod, List to the accents of delight: u The germ of action glows in God ! " The sum of all is: Seek ye first The heavenly kingdom Christ restored, Exclaiming, with supernal thirst, "The glory Thine alone, O Lord ! " Then shall descend celestial rest, Unknown to children of despair, The consecration of the Blest, In labor, patience, faith and prayer! Labor, to do the best we may, In patient kinship with our trust; Faith, to illume the coming day That wakes the tragic trance of dust; Prayer, to deserve the Guiding Hand, Without whose grasp our steps are vain- Lord ! to thy other Living Land Link us with that electric chain ! [161] POEMS OF JAMES RYDER RANDALL IN MEMORIAM Father and Lord! We know full well Thy chastisements are for the best; And while the loved and lost are blest, Our hearts throb like a funeral bell, Although the weary are at rest. We bow to Thy decree, we bow To that dread stroke which bore away, To regions of eternal day, Our darling boy, whose starry brow Beamed like a golden morn of May. And yet, dear God, how hard to yield, Even to Thee, that precious life Bequeathed to glory without strife, Without a scar or battle-field But with Love s tenderest virtues rife. He came to us as sunshine falls Upon a sorrow-stricken hearth. He came with innocence and mirth; His voice made music in our halls How can we hide him in the earth? [162] IN MEMORIAM Thou who wast scourged and crucified For fallen man! behold to-night A mother smitten in Thy sight. Behold how all her hopes have died! Send her Thy comfort and Thy light! Tell her that when the cruel wave Closed o er her child s benignant head, The Lord of Life in mercy sped, To glorify him in the grave And raise an angel from the dead. Too pure to combat this dark globe, Too gentle for the madding crowd, Better thy unpolluted shroud, Thy early death, thy spotless robe, Than many years with sadness bowed. Ah ! we who loved thee so will keep Thy memory a sacred trust, A sweet evangel from the dust, To cheer us when we wail and weep, While thou art dwelling with the Just ! [163] POEMS OF JAMES RYDER RANDALL Dedicated to MBS. ALBERT BALDWIN CUTHBERT IN HEAVEN Beautiful mother Of a beautiful boy, Life is Death s brother. Weep not for him Who from the world dim Rose to the realm of perpetual joy. Thank God for giving, Thank Him for taking. To the Land of the Living Cuthbert has flown, By the White Throne, Where the earth-sleepers in Heaven are waking. [ 164 ] CUTHBERT IN HEAVEN No mortal bliss Can match his above You ve an angel to kiss, When you aspire To the home of desire, Filled with an infinite Mercy and Love. Always to you He will be glorious, "Tender and true." Out of great sorrow Comes a bright morrow, When your strong soul will meet him victorious. He went before To lead you aright To endure and adore: Free from all stain, You shall meet him again, Crowned and caressed in kingdoms of light. Better by far To know he is blest, Like a radiant star, Than bruised by the blow Of the world in its woe Better God s wonderful, mystical rest. [165] POEMS OF JAMES KYDEE RANDALL Happy is he, Made a present to God, That his mother might see Her way to the skies. By the path of the wise, Where the chosen who triumph in anguish have trod. Christ, in His passion, Teaches your heart How sadness may fashion, With wonderful grace, The soul for its place Where mothers and children have never to part. Cling to the Cross That was sent you to save From terrible loss, Till you have risen From the tomb s prison, Welcomed by Christ who has conquered the grave ! [166] SUNDAY REVERY SUNDAY REVERY Beyond my dingy window pane, This beamy Sunday morn, I watch the red-breast on the vane And the ravens robbing corn; Hard by, the Alabama boils Its sallow flood along, With drift-wood biers and forest spoils A melancholy throng! The rich horizon melts away To an illumined arch, With summer tresses all astray Upon the brows of March; The birds, inebriate with glees, Seem happiest when they sing, Thrilling the aromatic trees With symphonies of Spring. [ 107 ] POEMS OF JAMES RYDER RANDALL The pulse of nature throbs anew Impassioned of the sun; The violet, with eyes of blue, Is modest as a nun. The roses reck not of the strife That crashes up the North; Alas! the mockery of life When Death is striding forth. An alien in this lonely land, I sound an alien strain, Until my own fair State shall stand Inviolate again; The long-lost Pleiad of our sky Is glimmering still afar, And nations yet shall see on high That bright and blessed star. The church bells toll their solemn chime, From out the minster eaves, Knelling some old religious rhyme, Half stifled by the leaves. A thousand miles away, I hear Those grand Cathedral notes, Which made my youth a fairy sphere With cymbal-clashing throats. [168] SUNDAY REVERY Vibrating to each sturdy tone, My soul remembers well The mild Madonna s statue-stone Within its ivory cell; The ritual read, the chanting done The belfry music roll d, And all my faith, like Whittington, Was in the tales it told ! And, oh! I feel as men must feel Who have not wept for years; Upon my cheek behold the seal Of consecrated tears. A mighty Sabbath calm is mine That baffles human lore, A resurrection of Lang Syne A guiltless child once more. And mother s school-boy with his mimes, This beamy Sunday morn, Forgets the grim, tumultuous times That hardened him in scorn. Forgets terrific ocean days Beyond the tropic gates, Where the Magellan clouds down-gaze On Patagonian Straits. [169] POEMS OF JAMES RYDER RANDALL He nothing heeds the long despair Within the savage swamp, The jungle and the thicket where The serpent tribes encamp; He little heeds the dream of Fame, Its treason or its trust, The hope of a sonorous name A requiem from the dust. But oh, he heeds Elysian hours That hint of Long Ago! Those dreamful days in college towers He never more shall know The home he never more may see, A Paradise to him The books he read at Mother s knee When her dear eyes grew dim ! O Mother Mother! Tears must fleet Along the battle track Ere yet thy lonely heart can greet Its weary wanderer back A deathless love these tears bespeak, For thy devotion shed, With thy pure kisses on my cheek, Thy blessing on my head ! [170] LA FETE DES MORTS LA FETE DES MORTS Peace to the dead; though the skies are chill, And the Norse wind waileth coarse and shrill. Peace to the dead! though the living shake The globe, with their brawling battle-quake. Peace to the dead ! though peace is not In the regal dome or the pauper cot. Peace to the dead ; there s peace, we trust, With the pale dreamers in the dust. Roses and pansies guard them well, Tinging triumphant immortelle, Minions of Doubt, we bend the knee To the kings and queens of mystery. Storm and sunshine, mist and rain, Do ye mock at their marble doors in vain? And ye, sepulchral cliffs of night, Do ye rise to appeal their shadowed sight? O Darkness ! thy mission is not just To the pale dreamers in the dust. [ 171 ] POEMS OF JAMES RYDER RANDALL Peace to the dead ! afar and near, In folds of satin or beggar s bier, Whether they sleep in the kirk-yard ground, Or bleach in the gullied seas profound ; Garnered by Time s dull scimitar, Or cleft in the scarlet fields of war ; Godless is he who breaketh the crust Of the Past, o er the dreamers in the dust. Peace to the mother, there beguiled With her frozen lily her deathless child; Peace to the father and his mate, Peace to the lowly and the great, Peace to the maidens as they rest With the cross on the cold and waxen breast ; Peace to the soldier, blossom and bud, For he fell with the sacrament of blood; Peace to the dead! there s peace, we trust, With the pale dreamers in the dust. Father! if peace is not with them, Where shall we seek for the subtle gem ? Tis not of the Earth, for we lose it here, And death is the gate of the golden sphere. Father! Thy mercies cannot cease; Crush us, but give Thy sleepers peace. Smite us, Redeemer, if Thou must, But pardon the dreamers in the dust ! New Orleans, Nov. 2, 1862. [172] NIGHT AND DAY NIGHT AND DAY Night above and night below Into the night you saw me go, With the midnight of my woe. Had I never sought your side, You had never stung my pride; Then my faith had never died. I was made to think you dear Madder far to kiss the spear Maddest, that I lingered here. Welcome back, good pilgrim s staff ! Truth is wind, and Love is chaff- Both are winnowed by a laugh. Hola ho; I will depart Though seditious tear-drops start- Though each foot-fall stabs my heart ! Sink or swim I ll tempt the stream; In your eye s repellant beam Tombing what I dared to dream. Day above and day below Into the day you ll see me go, With the day-break stars heigho. [173] POEMS OF JAMES RYDER RANDALL LOST AND SAVED When thou wert born into the world, My darling little child, A robin came a second time And piped its "wood-notes wild." When thou wert laid away to rest, Beneath the churchyard clay, A robin came a second time To sing a mournful lay. Did the bird come to solace me With message from the skies, When thou wert welcomed to the earth And then to Paradise? Was it thy guardian spirit, love, That met me, first and last, Across the sparkling bridge that spans The Future and the Past? [174] LOST AND SAVED Dear robin, with the tender heart, I know how it is said Your snowy bosom once became A holy tint of red. Twas in the Saviour s thorny crown You bruised your dainty breast, And unto you and Him I come For comfort and for rest. Lord! thou hast given me a child And taken her away! Behold me prostrate in the dust, A mourner night and day. My heart is empty and my soul Rebellious in Thy sight Grant me the boon of perfect trust, And lead me to the light. Teach me that it was surely best My one ewe lamb should go Beyond the starry gems of night And wilderness of woe. Teach me that on some radiant shore, Beyond th eternal main, I shall behold her glorious eyes, And clasp her form again! [175] POEMS OF JAMES RYDER RANDALL Lord! I am in the Vale of Death! No beacon burns within; Send me a vision of my child To break the spell of sin. Bid her come as a bird and say : "Mother, look up and see How I am saved for endless joy Sweet mother! follow me! "Had I remained upon the earth, As you so fiercely prayed, There would have come a dismal fate To grieve your little maid. Sorrow and sickness and despair Would toss my soul about, Till I should live a life of pain And die the death of doubt. "Christ, in His mercy and His love, Has spared your darling this, Giving instead a home divine And everlasting bliss. Lo! He has bid me fly to you, And in the twilight dim, Reveal how I was called away To lead you on to Him! [176] LOST AND SAVED "Mother! the faith that guides to God Will bring your soul to me; There is no other certain way Your cherub child to see. Close not your ears to this appeal That calms all human strife, Making the gloomy grave itself The Golden Gate of Life! "The love that shall not lose its own Must seek celestial fire Must light its torch by Heavenly flame, And not the Pagan pyre. Mother! dear mother! hear your child, And let her win you where The King of Glory sits enthroned With angels bright and fair. "And when the hour shall come for you To bid the world farewell, I shall be hovering o er your couch To hear the dying knell ; And you shall see me, robed in white, With the red-breast in my hand, Thrilling to guide you gently on To the Eternal Land ! " [177] POEMS OF JAMES RYDER RANDALL My child! I hear thy voice and heed I go to God and thee! Lead thou me on to thy abode Beyond the sapphire sea! And while thy little body sleeps Among the birds and flowers, I know thy sinless spirit soars, In happier skies than ours! [178] RESURGAM RESURGAM Teach me, my God, to bear my cross, As thine was borne; Teach me to make of every loss A crown of thorn. Give me Thy patience and Thy strength With every breath, Until my lingering days at length Shall welcome death. Dear Jesus, I believe that Thou Did st rise again, Instill the spirit in me now That conquers pain. Give me the grace to cast aside All vain desire, All the fierce throbbing of a pride That flames like tire. [179] POEMS OF JAMES RYDER RANDALL Give me the calm that Dante wrought From sensual din; The peace that errant Woolsey sought From stalwart sin. I seek repose upon Thy breast With child-like prayer; Oh let me find the heavenly rest And mercy there! If I have, in rebellious ways, Profaned my Iffe; If I have filled my daring days With worldly strife; If I have shunned the narrow path In crime to fall Lead me from th abode of wrath And pardon all ! Banished from Thee ! where shall I find For my poor soul A safe retreat from storms that blind, Or seas that roll? Come to me, Christ, ere I, forlorn, Sink neath the wave, And on this blessed Easter morn A lost one save! [180] 14 DAY USE RETURN TO DESK FROM WHICH BORROWED LOAN DEPT. ^asra&sBf **"- r icwed books are subject to immediate recall. 16Apr 64LM ^C*fD i -w u/ JLjL> ^64 -{(,- AM _ . . - LD 21A-40m-ll, 63 (El602slO)476B __ General Library University of California Berkeley M61I91 THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY