- - V THE PRAISE OF SONG BY ISAAC BASSETT CHOATE BOSTON CHAPPLE PUBLISHING COMPANY, LTD. 1914 COPYRIGHT, 1914. BY ISAAC BASSETT CHOATE THE CHAPPLE PRESS BOSTON, MASS., U.S.A. CONTENTS PRELUDE PRAISE OF SONG INVITATION SONG REALM OF SONO POWER OF SONQ THEMES OF SONG MORNING SONG YOUTH OF SONG HEIGHTS OF SONG AT WORSHIP 11 LIFE'S CHORISTER 12 EASTER BELLS 13 VILLAGE BELLS 14 CARILLON 15 MAGIC OF SONG 16 TRIUMPH OF SONG 17 MY SONG 18 SING ON 19 CHARMED 20 THE CAGED SINGER 21 BRETON'S SONG OF THE LARK 22 LARK SONG 23 HAUNT OF SONG 24 IN AONIA 25 WHAT SONG BRINGS 26 HOME OF SONG 27 SONGS OF TODAY 28 SONG 29 TIDE OF SONG 30 EBB OF SONG 31 ENGLISH SONG 32 ELIZABETHAN SONG 33 WHAT WAKENS SONQ 34 STREAM OF SONG 35 WORTH OF SONG 36 POET'S CORNER 37 GARDEN OF SONG 38 EVOLUTION OF SONO 39 REMEMBERED SONG 40 LAND OF SONG . . .41 PAGE PAGE 1 SONG'S GOLDEN CROWN 42 2 NATURE WORSHIP 43 3 IN NATURE'S SANCTUARY ... 44 4 MAKING OF SONG 45 5 To THE MUSE 46 6 OUR LEADER 47 7 HERALDS OF DAY 48 8 MUSES 49 9 THE SACRED WELL 50 10 WHEN LIFE WAS YOUNG .... 51 FOLLOWING 52 SONG OF GLADNESS 53 SONG'S PROVINCE 54 THE SINGER'S WAGE 55 IN MINOR KEY 56 PRIMEVAL SONG 57 THE SONG-MASTER 58 SUNG HUNTER 59 SONG MYTH 60 OLD-TIME SONG 61 SONG-MAKING 62 SUNRISE SONGS 63 SONG OF MEMORY 64 LOVE, THE CHORISTER 65 UNDERTONES 66 MODERN MUSES 67 SONG OF TODAY 68 SILENCED SONG 69 THE CAGED BIRD 70 SONG-HAUNTED 71 AN IDLE SONG 72 SONG-SURVIVAL 73 THE MYSTERY 74 WHAT CHARM 75 CHARM OF SONG 76 GYPSY SONG 77 RAIN SONG 78 SOUL OF MELODY 79 RENEWAL 80 CRADLE SONG 81 OJIBWAY LULLABY 82 [iii] PAGE OUR SONOS 83 SONG OF LOTS 84 A LITTLE SONG 85 RIVER SONG 86 WHISTLING 87 PRIMER AND PSALTER 88 HEART LONGING 89 Music OP THE BAY 90 WIND HARPS 91 BY THE BROOK 92 PLAINSONG 93 IN PRAISE op THE OLD 94 SOLITUDE 95 HEART OP JUNE 96 HAPPINESS 97 SELF-BORN 98 BY THE STREAM 99 PIPES OF PAN 100 THE GOLDEN AGE 101 Music OF HUMANITY 102 AT THE LOOM 103 OF SONG 104 HARP OP THE WOODS 105 THE SURVIVAL 106 REPEATED SONG 107 IN IDLENESS 108 UNFOHOOTTBN 109 SILENCES 110 SOLACE OP SONG Ill SONG OF THE RIVER 112 SONG FOR RELIEF 113 THE LITTLE HAND 114 UNCHANGED 115 HUSHED THOUGHT 116 REIGN OF SILENCE 117 To AVALON . . .118 PAOB RESPONSIVENESS 119 COMING AND GOING 120 LIGHT AND SHADE 121 BROKEN STRAINS 122 SLEEP 123 OFF SIREN SHORE 124 NATURE'S TRAINING 125 INTIMATIONS 126 SONG IN WINTER 127 WOOD NOTES 128 THE LINNETS' LESSON 129 POET LORE 130 THE SUMMER BIRD 131 THE IDLE SINGER 132 HEART OP OAK 133 LIFE AND LOVE 134 THE ANGELUS 135 WAYS OF SONG 136 ART Is NOT ALL 137 FORESHADOWINGS 138 THE SINGER'S TASK 139 SONG BY THE RIVER 140 SONG'S NATIVITY 141 To BION 142 AT DELPHI 143 Music OF THE HEART 144 BY TURNS 145 SPELL OF SILENCE 146 SING ON, MY LUTE 147 WHITHER FLED 148 GARDEN OF LETTERS 149 SONG IN NOVEMBER 150 MY LUTE, GOOD-BYE 151 DEDICATING MY LYRE 152 L'ENVOYE 153 LADS DEO . . 154 IV THE PRAISE OF SONG INVOCATION Sweet Spirit that informs our English tongue With the full tenderness of melody, Didst help to modulate what songs were sung In England's time of youthful ecstasy, When would my fingers vainly seek the key That should unlock emotions of the heart, My skill has lost the art, And I, forsooth, am forced to come to thee, A suppliant, and beg thou wilt impart Most graciously Thy help to one who serves in minstrelsy PRELUDE OONG has no limiting in space, Nor any bounds in time ; Song's rights of sovereignty embrace People of every clime; Nobility sublime Is not above Song's charming grace, Nor are the lowliest of our race Deaf to the rhythm and rhyme That in her numbers chime. Who, then, will venture forth to bring What tribute may belong To modulations soft that cling In melodies of Song ; To what has echoed long In pasans that of victory sing, In dirges sad with sorrowing, From hearts are crushed by wrong, From hearts by Faith made strong? 1] PRAISE OF SONG IT may be that the singing bird In artless symphony is heard Lone countryside along ; The bird is gracious to beguile The wayfarer a weary mile With magic of its song. It may be that a child's voice sweet Is heard upon the city street From out that eager throng ; Some sorry heart is filled with cheer That innocent young heart to hear Poured in pathetic song. Song has the gift our ease to bless, Relieve the anguished soul's distress, A gracious helper strong ; And that is just the reason why, In these unstudied rhymes, do I Attempt the Praise of Song. 2] INVITATION V-iOME to the fields out into open air, On tireless wings, are swallows flying there; Across blue skies, dark clouds, white-bordered, go, And free as flying clouds themselves do shadows sweep below ; Where all is life, there must life's pulses bound, And there the thought and soul of man must rise above the ground. It is not in the wealth of ripening field, Not in the golden grain these furrows yield, That chiefly does the charm of nature lie; But in the glorious landscape here that feeds the famished eye, Rough granite crags that form the mountain's face, Fair meadows, violet-robed, that lie in slumber at its base. Come to the fields come to the banquet spread, At which the heart and soul of man are fed, Where in the stillness at the dawn is heard The loud exultant morning-song of happy-waking bird; Where at the closing of the day is seen, With sunset glory overspread, all earth and heaven between. [3] SONG .L/ONG as there may be youth, And life yields a generous wine, Long as men reverence Truth And in worship kneel at her shrine, They in their hearts will so long Keep singing the praises of song. Long as the warm heart shall beat With a passionate throb for the right, While the hand and the sword-hilt shall meet In a readiness both for the fight, So long in the world ah! so long Will the hero be honored with song. Long, then, as beauty may bloom To cover all trace of decay; Long, then, as duty may loom On the sun-lighted path of today, Both beauty and duty so long Will be the fair province of song. 4J REALM OF SONG hath a realm its own ; No limits to its sphere Of sovereignty here, Where on imperial throne Song reigns supreme, alone, No rival power near. This hath no bounds in space More than have winds that blow Over far peaks of snow, Across the ocean race ; Song finds a homelike place Wherever it may go. No more doth Song in time Have any limit set ; The World will ne'er forget Songs of its earliest prime, Enshrined in rhythm and rhyme, Ring strains of Miriam yet. So is it everywhere, Rough ways of life along, Weary of strife and wrong, Worn with our work and care, We meet the cheerful air, Sweet charming lilt of Song. 5] POWER OF SONG 1 HE river wears its channel deep Where pours its current strong, Where over rocks and ledges steep The foaming waters madly leap And swiftly rush along ; There, never do the echoes sleep, But, faithful to their duty, keep Repeating Nature's song. It is not where the waters rest, Low grassy banks between, Where lilies sleep upon their breast, Where level meadow lands are dressed In robes of living green ; It is not there, with leisure blessed, The sluggish waters sing their best Songs to the meadow queen. It is the stir of life that sends Thought's tidal wave along ; The hammer-stroke of labor blends With stroke of weapon that defends The right against the wrong ; The pulsing beat of purpose bends Life's action to harmonious ends That flood the world with song. [6] THEMES OF SONG W HAT worthy theme of song Shall claim the singer's art That it may linger long In hospitable heart, Be cherished as a guest In the warm, loving breast Of one who would not wrong Friendship in any part? Of war and victory, Adventures far and bold, High deeds of chivalry Done in brave days of old, Giving immortal fame To Valor's splendid name, Has ancient minstrelsy War's tale of glory told. The singer of today Needs naught of war's alarms, But rather will he stay The ready rush to arms; Of peace will he rehearse The blessings in his verse, And of the Muses pray They crown this with their charms. 7] MORNING SONG z\ SONG of the early morn To the genial day, new born, To speed the flight Of the shadowy night Over lands and seas forlorn. A song that the glad heart sings To the opening day, that brings To you and to me Some ministry Of gladness to humble things. A carol of thankfulness For the sunshine that comes to bless Poor hearts of ours, And our feeble powers To help in another's distress. An outburst of melody, A paean of victory When the task is done, When the plaudits are won, And we're home from life's stormy sea. [8] YOUTH OF SONG /\GE may not touch the happy heart of Song That is from happy heart of minstrel sung ; To childhood life its merry strains belong, And so its own life is forever young ; As joyous as when first 'twas heard among Dark pines that grace the slopes of Helicon, Or olive groves beside the ^gean Sea, Its measures suited to pipes played upon By shepherds tending flocks in Thessaly. He cannot miss true singer of today The magic of that minstrelsy of old ; Its music, ringing ever light and gay, Has charm resistless in its power to hold His spirit loyal to that Age of Gold; And when it is that he essays to rhyme The gentle rapture of his soul in truth, The measure of his melody must chime With that of old, and Song renew its youth. [9] HEIGHTS OF SONG \VHAT land is sacred now to truth and duty, For right and justice strong ; Through ages loyal still to youth and beauty, The favored Land of Song? Now that the Muses join no more in chorus Around Pierian spring, Sweet voices that have thrown enchantment o'er us No longer, longer sing. For what fair land has Melody, forsaken, Left her Castalian shrine? On what highway may she be overtaken By halting steps of mine? Ah, whither have they fled, unhappy Muses, From Helicon have fled? The cry is vain. The modern world refuses That steep way to be led. Now must the singer journey, unattended, A cheerless road along ; But yet he lifts his eyes to vision splendid, To glorious Heights of Song. 10 AT WORSHIP 11 E who would know what beauty is abroad, Summer and winter, on New England hills, What smiling overspreads the April sod, What rippling laughter goes beside the rills, Light-hearted joy of wind-blown daffodils, Must bring a soul responsive to the nod Of buttercups, to look of violets shy, Faith that he follows where have fairies trod, Heaven's gracious gift, the beauty-seeing eye. He who would feel the harmony of sound In Nature's sanctuary to be heard, That breathes a benediction soft around, Sweet psalm of peacefulness without a word ; The blended voice of wind with voice of bird To thrill the heart with ecstasy profound, He must into this spacious temple here Come silently, with wreathed myrtle crowned, And listen long with sympathetic ear. LIFE'S CHORISTER JLIE who, the best of singers, taught A race of shepherds how to sing, Who from the banks of Ladon brought Green rushes, lightly whispering What secrets of the winds they heard, What sighs their tremulous being stirred, And what was story softly sweet Of waters flowing round their feet ; He leadeth still By lapsing rill, With all the old Arcadian skill. Blue violets spring about our feet While we go listening down the stream, With breath of bloom the air is sweet, And soft as whisper in a dream ; If then we heed the rushes' stir, We hear th' Arcadian chorister Pipe on his syrinx, faint and low, What pleased the shepherds long ago; And thus may we, Entranced, be Led to the vast, deep Mystery. 12] EASTER BELLS O 'VER the broken fells, Over the valleys wide Comes far ringing of bells, Gladly it tells Full joy of the Eastertide. Earth from her slumber wakes, Roused by the morning song Of birds whose melody breaks Silence that makes Our winter seem so long. Now from the cradling grass Look up the violets sweet ; Tears fill their eyes, alas! While the chimings pass With music-sandalled feet. And still loud ringing of bells, Over the countryside, Rises and falls and swells Into canticles Of joy for the Eastertide. 13] VILLAGE BELLS OVER densely- wooded region, Rugged slopes and hollow dells, Fir and spruce, a countless legion Over all, the sound of bells; Sabbath bells, in measure ringing, Many a mile of woods away, From the distant hamlet bringing Sweet remindings of the day! Chime of bells with Nature blending In a symphony divine, Congregated forest lending Voice of hemlock, voice of pine ; As a harp-string set in motion By an organ's measured beat, As a shell beside the ocean Learns its music to repeat, So today those bells are ringing As I heard them ring of yore, To my thought their music bringing, Years of varied fortune o'er, Notes that waken as from slumbers Memories I've cherished long, As the Morning wakes to numbers And begins the day with song. [14] CARILLON IT is a morning of the summer time, A tender Sabbath morning, calm and still, Far over wooded valleys comes the chime Rung out from village belfry on the hill ; The music fills the region far and wide, Floods farm and hamlet of the countryside As to the marshes comes the constant tide, Repeating ebb and flow, as measured rhyme Comes to its cadence at the singer's will. So is it that a music as of bells, Chiming in harmony their notes of praise, O'er boundless stretches of our being swells And deepens silence of Sabbatic days; A music that about our memory clings And, like returning tide of ocean, brings A fresh renewal to all fainting things; Unto the Heart a tender story tells, And leads fond Fancy forth on witching ways. 15 MAGIC OF SONG 1 HERE is somewhat comes with the singing, With the jubilant song of a bird, A note in the melody bringing More than the music that's heard ; There is somewhat of gladness falling Out of the heavens today, Sweet carol of Nature calling Our souls to the hills away. The streamlet with constant laughter Comes down rough slope of the hill, But the waters are silent after, In the pools they are lying still ; And there chimes with that merry tinkling The course of the brook along, Glad voice of a bobolink sprinkling The earth with fragments of song. The magic of song in the meadow And the magic of song in the sky, These are closely related, as shadow Is brother to clouds on high ; And the song that is sung by the linnet Has somewhat defying art, A passionate joy within it That chimes with the joy in my heart. [16] TRIUMPH OF SONG JVlEN build for coming years, For ages far ahead, Lay arches and supporting piers On most unyielding bed ; To plumb-line brick and stone are laid, With buttresses the walls are stayed, And yet with all the skill displayed Decay is closely wed. How many cities of the past Have built their walls to stand, Their palaces, their temples vast, Their portals proudly grand! But now those walls are fallen low, On broken arch wild olives grow, And sculptured stone is wearing slow To waste of drifting sand. However wisely planned And built however strong, Of masonry no pride can stand The wear of ages long ; Foundations laid with utmost care And walls erected true and fair Cannot for permanence compare With Miriam's victory song. 17 MY SONG JVlY song, it cannot change, For, ever lingering, It haunts the vibrant string ; My song, it cannot range Beyond the theme I sing. My song must be the same Whether occasion be Defeat or victory ; Bestowing praise or blame Is not the role for me. I can but sing the note Of gladness that I hear Repeated year by year, And only learned by rote As it came to my ear. This slender song of mine Is but the overflow Of melody below, Full crowning of the wine Of life that sparkles so. [18] SING ON! OING on to welcome day, To greet the coining light ; Sing on with happy heart, I pray, The eastern clouds are bright ; Sing on, O happy bird, Thy song is gladly heard, Thy music charms all gloom away, Thy beauty charms our sight. Sing on at noontide hour When other throats are still, And let thy song with magic power These woodland arches fill. Thy singing is always More eloquent of praise Than voice of man, with song for dower, With help of human skill. Sing on till eventide Shall bring the world to rest, Till quiet peacefulness abide Within the swallow's nest; Sing on, thy song will keep Its rhythm in our sleep ; Will go with dreams, though ranging wide, And thus our dreams be blest. 19 CHARMED "HUSH! Ohark!" With the sun and labor tanned Does the enraptured maiden stand ; She bids her soul to hear The morning song so clear Of the lark. "Hush! O hush!" Let no unfitting word Alarm the singing bird, No note discordant wrong Well modulated song Of the thrush. That bird voice Has all the magic power For one uncounted hour To cause the girl who stands Mute, with uplifted hands, To rejoice. To her tongue Will come in later days Diviner hymns of praise, Because she stopped to hear From out a higher sphere Matins sung. [20] THE CAGED SINGER JjIRD of the open air On whom no sun has shone, Fain the rough winds to dare On whom no winds have blown ; Caged in a room that's bare Of all that's bright and fair, Trilling thy music where No other song is known! What is thy cage to thee, O bird of pinion strong, Born to serve Liberty, Enslaved by cruel wrong? Here is no chance to see What charm is on the lea, Nor to list the melody Of another singer's song. Ah me, that men should bind, Thyself in bondage hold ; Thy song, for the world designed, Be bargained for and sold! Yet mortals are resigned To imprisonment of mind, If only their bars they find Are bars o'erlaid with gold. 21 BRETON'S SONG OF THE LARK HARK, hark! 'Tis the singing of the lark, Singing and singing with all his might, Thus giving his welcome to the light, With joy that has safely passed the night, And has vanished all the dark, But only hark! High, high! Till the lark is lost in the sky, Till only his song now sprinkles the lands With melody while the maiden stands Holding her sickle upraised in her hands And lost to her toil nearby In ecstasy. Here, here In the picture, light and clear, Do we see how that soul upsprings To mount with the lark that sings As if on the song's soft wings, Into bright regions near The celestial sphere. [22] LARK SONG SlNG on, Sweet Chorister of Heaven, Your soul-inspiring lay, To whom the duty has been given To welcome in the day! Sing on, so far beyond our sight, But not beyond our ear, That men and angels may delight Your matin song to hear! How through the air the singer rose Upon adventurous wing, And how have our hearts followed close To hear the minstrel sing! Adown your pathway, falling straight, Your strains melodious flow, And angels leaning o'er Heaven's gate Hear your sweet song below. O singer of the upper air, O herald of the day, How happy were my heart if there My soul could make its way! How happy if my soul might soar As lark from lowly nest, And in the song my lips might pour My thought could be expressed! 23 HAUNT OF SONG earliest is Echo found Below the wooded hill to stand, And with uplifted hand Catch the first footfall sound Of Morning as it steals along Within the shadow of the wood, And wakes the hermit thrush to raise Its matin hymn of praise In that lone solitude, There is the chosen haunt of Song. There does Song love to dwell With Echo as a neighbor near, And there she loves to hear That magic voice her triumphs tell To all the listening woods around ; There is the dwelling of her choice, And there, when other songs are still, She hears the running rill, On its long course, rejoice, Enchanted with the melody of sound. [24] IN AONIA DESIDE the sweet Aonian springs No more the idle shepherd sings To Pan, the keeper of his flocks; The voice of Echo faintly dies Away, the drought of summer dries These now unsheltered rocks. Only the cricket keeps its song Unchanging through the ages long, Where once the nightingale Poured on deep silences of night A melody that was delight To this Muse-haunted vale. Sweet-measured song that charmed the ear Of shepherd folk of Pan to hear, Sung over linnet-wise ; It fails us as the water fails The springs and rivulets of the vales, And earth the poorer lies. 25 WHAT SONG BRINGS (DOMING from the mountains, Coming from the hills, From the bubbling fountains, From the running rills ; Of the snow-cap singing, Of the wooded glen, What may Song be bringing To the hearts of men? Simple notes of gladness, Notes of hearty cheer, In their hours of sadness For mourning hearts to hear ; Unto memory ringing From departed years, And to sorrow bringing Warm sympathy of tears. From heroic ages, Dimmest shores of time, History's sober pages Are bordered round with rhyme ; And down that stream of story, Through all the centuries long, Is brought that ancient glory Upon the flood of song. 26 HOME OF SONG A LAND of rising hills, With smiling vales between Fair slopes of vivid green, All watered and made glad with singing rills; A land of shadowy wood, Where in the summer breeze Rustle the poplar trees, And wild birds sing to sleep the drowsy brood; A bounteous land that yields Its wealth of golden grain, On hillside and on plain, To reapers singing in the harvest fields ; A land where Freedom dwells At home with noblest Thought, Where dreams of Heaven are brought Enraptured souls on chimes of vesper bells; To such a land belong The duty of her sons, And of her singing ones, That they salute her happy Home of Song. [27] SONGS OF TODAY Wi HAT song shall charm the world anew, What music soft and tender Shall follow Pan's low pipings through Enchanted rushes slender? The waters flow, The rushes grow As erst beside the river; The breezes blow, And, shaken so, Are rushes all a-quiver, But he who listens heareth no Sweet pipings, practised soft and low By Pan, beside the river. Pan piped of peace the perfect praise In his melodious measures ; He led the folk in simple ways To relish simple pleasures ; There was no fear Of vengeance near While men were thus enchanted, By bugle clear, By clash of spear No spirit mild was daunted ; But now, through all the livelong year, By war's alarms are heart and ear And thought and memory haunted. [28] SONG 1 HERE is song for the hours of gladness, And sweet is the mirthful strain ; There is song for the hours of sadness, More sweet for the sense of pain. What melody hails the morrow That brings in the genial light ; How tender the notes of sorrow That greet the coming of night! What passionate, amorous story Do the voices of summer sing ; To what anthem of praise and of glory Do the tempests of winter ring! For, whether of triumph telling, Or it tell of bitter defeat, The song from the full heart welling To another heart is sweet. Then what if the springtime linger? Or what if the night be long? There is always a song for the singer, And a welcome always for song. 29 TIDE OF SONG IT flows in channel wide, Fair, sloping banks along, With love and passion, side by side, An endless tide of song; Its source, who can disclose, Who find its fountain-head, Or who, from human knowledge, knows How its deep springs are fed. It brings from ages past, From centuries far away, Dim memories of ambitions vast, Enlargement and decay ; With grief is mingled joy, What's fair with what is bold, As in the dark, sad tale of Troy Is Helen's beauty told. As where a river flows Down from high snow-clad hills, Along that mighty current goes Rich tribute of the rills ; So where do streams of thought And feeling surge along, There, too, the bounteous flood is brought Of tributary song. [30] EBB OF SONG OOW still the woods are in this burning heat! So still the poplar trees They turn no leaf to catch the idle breeze, Nor is there rustling heard where oak leaves meet. How silent are the pine trees all around! Their tops are held so high We hear no murmuring as the winds go by, Of whispered secrets, too, we catch no sound. The woods are songless as in winter time, No voice of singing bird In notes of untaught melody is heard With sound of falling rivulet to chime. Ah me! these lonesome silences that brood On thicket and on bower, Of song left empty at this noontide hour, Where at the sunrise Pan in rapture stood And listened long to singing blithe and gay, That hailed the morning light Over the eastern hilltops coming bright ; Where, too, will Pan be found at close of day. This stillness at the noon of summer days Is but the ebb of song That will at eventime again be strong, Will charm the world anew with flood of praise. 31 ENGLISH SONG r~lOW sweet the songs were sung In our dear English tongue, Now many outlived centuries ago, When Beauty's praise was rung From the lips of old and young, And Beauty proud to be admired so! These songs to us repeat The pulse, the rhythmic beat Of love, by a responsive passion fed; They tell in numbers sweet The rapture, how complete, Of two fond hearts are now long centuries dead. How far outlives their praise That beauty and those bays, By singers honored with fidelity! What thought inspired those lays, So steadfast to our days, And gives to love an immortality! [32] ELIZABETHAN SONG THE men who sang of old sang from the heart Those thoughts that moved their tuneful souls to song ; They sang not for display of studied art, But as do happy birds, all summer long, Sing from full-sounding throats Melodious notes That blend harmoniously with Nature's voice, When sound of running rill Chimes with their trill, So did the singers of that earlier day rejoice. Then was of English song the morning hour, The world was waking from a long repose ; To day was given the beauty of the hour, Was given as well the sweetness of the rose; Then was that eastern sky Of saffron dye, And poets turned their faces to adore ; Then did the singers raise Their songs of praise, Such as had mortals never heard before. [33] WHAT WAKENS SONG WHAT is it wakens Song That long has dreamed Until it seemed To oblivion to belong? Is it the battle-cry, The bells' alarms, Loud call to arms, Bold challenge and reply? Is it hoarse cannon's roar, Rough broken rout, Proud victor shout When is the battle o'er? These have slight force to break Strong spell of sleep, Of silence deep, Bid slumbering Song awake. Of lighter mood, it seems; For gentle thought From Fancy caught Song wakens from her dreams. 34 STREAM OF SONG 1 HE stream of English song Runs with unbroken flow, In freshet pouring full along, In drought of summer, low; But running all the year With current pure and clear, It brings the pulses of the past in music to the ear. The songs are sung today Were sung long years ago, Perchance in measure not so gay, But no less charming so ; We have but changed the score From what it was before ; Our songs are just the same in thought as were the songs of yore. So will that stream flow on, A future age to bless, With tender thought for ages gone, For vanished loveliness. So may it ever be Until it meets the sea, A source of pure delight to all as it has been to me. [35] WORTH OF SONG L-/ET the measure of my verse From the heart its music borrow, Whether it may joys rehearse Or may sound a note of sorrow ; All the worth and power of song To its truthfulness belong ; Only let its numbers be With our lives in harmony ; Be these better then or worse, Song will brighter make the morrow. Let us sing of what is fair, What is glorious in story, Of what deeds the world may care To have kept traditions hoary ; Only let us sing them so They with wonted life may glow, That a later age may feel What do ages past reveal, Hearts of men be kept aware How undimmed is blaze of glory. 36] POET'S CORNER A LITTLE nook Outside the current of the stream, Where lie the waters of the brook At rest, and dream Of daffodils upon the shore, Narcissus at the fount once more, Careless of danger, leaning o'er; Fondly they seem Into those quiet depths to look, With joy supreme. The poet there Finds for himself a pleasant place, The pictured world is just as fair And full of grace: There are the waters, everything, Clouds in the sky, birds on the wing, In silence all, as listening To Summer's pace, While sky, and brook, and meadow wear A smiling face. [37] GARDEN OF SONG How many Eastern bards have sung In softest phrase of Eastern tongue Full glories of a garden placed Amid the desert's boundless waste! There in the joy of spring it lies Beneath fond smile of tender skies An unforbidden Paradise. There peace and happiness are found While death and silence reign around, And there are sweetest numbers heard, Sung by the rill and by the bird ; But who the thither way has learned, The beauty of that spot discerned, Has never o'er the sands returned. 'Tis not for human skill to trace The pathway to that magic place ; But who with patience listens long Will bear the music of that song Ring in the winter of the year, Ring in the desert lone and drear, A sweet voice singing, low but clear. [38] EVOLUTION OF SONG F AR back in the unknown When the Lord God was alone, No worlds before His face, There came a thought of grace, First-born of all its own, That thought itself was Space. Then through the Oversoul Rose thought from goal to goal, Striving by steps to climb To heights yet more sublime, Whence it might view the whole, Its steps the birth of Time. Then was the birth of Song That ran with Time along Toward far Eternity Until it came to be An inspiration strong, Inspiring even me. [39] REMEMBERED SONG IN idleness of summer's slow-paced days, When long the shadow stays, As it would gladly loiter here always In one unending noon, The song-sparrow repeats his gladsome tune In praise of leafy June. The boy that all the morning through has played Now rests him in the shade By full-leafed maples on the greensward made ; He listens to that song Kept up still, quiet hour of noontide long, Full-throated strain and strong. How will this melody in later years Bring back with starting tears The world of summer as it now appears To this light-hearted lad ; And, though his days of care and toil be sad, Make him for childhood glad! Ah, wondrous magic of that melody, Unstudied song and free, As it is often now recalled by me, A song bird's simple strain That long in fondest memory has lain, And I'm a boy again! 40 LAND OF SONG JL/AND of the myrtle and the vine, Of pastured slopes with verdure clad, Replete with garlands and with wine To make the heart of minstrel glad; Land of the soft, warm summer sky, To which earth's peace and rest belong, Among whose hills and valleys lie Clear fountains and bright rills of song ;- Thou art the home of melody, Dost hold my heart in fealty. Land of the sturdy oak and pine, Of rugged steep and broken braes, Through all the years of boyhood mine, Remembered well in later days; Land of the wintry cloud and snow, Whose biting blasts are rude and strong, That from the North, triumphant, blow Rough strains of an heroic song ; Thou, too, dear land, hast charm for me That I should sing in praise of thee. [41] SONG'S GOLDEN CROWN VJREECE wears with pride upon her radiant brow Unequalled glory of the Parthenon, Though it be only broken ruin now, Still it proclaims renown of ages gone ; Wide scattered fragments of that sculptured frieze, Strong pillared walls deep architrave of stone Bear witness to the faith that fashioned these, Show what of art was to the builders known. They were the workmen who in patience wrought What to their vision Pallas had made clear, What was their aspiration, what their thought, We find upon the stone recorded here ; We see bright torches to Eleusis brought, The hymns of youths and maidens still we hear, Deep reverence to divinity is taught, To truth revealed, obedience severe. But though the virgin goddess of that fane Stood faithful sentinel above her town, The power of her divinity was vain To shield from ruthless hand her old renown ; Time, too, has worn and blurred with deepening stain What pious craftsmen would have handed down, But through the Muses' immemorial reign Has Hellas worn, undimmed, song's golden crown. 42 NATURE WORSHIP 1 HERE is an early hour of the day, An hour before the coming of the sun, When all the copses are with singing gay, The notes are many, but the song is one ; A song of greeting to the eastern grey, Of adoration which the singers pay Unto the royal lord of day before the day 's begun. So may I from deep, restful slumber wake, And so begin the day with cheerful song, Soon as o'er eastern hills the morn shall break ; And let me help to swell that current strong Of melody the artless warblers make From their o'erbrimming gladness, for the sake Of life and of what blesses life, however short or long. And may the closing hymn of worship be That softly lapsing song the wood thrush trills, Low cadenced music of that melody Which through life's summer field and forest fills; And at life's twilight hour may I see, Drawn as night's richly-broidered drapery, Bright sunset-painted clouds above deep-shad- owed western hills. 43 IN NATURE'S SANCTUARY W HO finds not in the lonely wood, Within the shadows of the pine, Those solemn mysteries that brood About the minster's holy shrine ; Who feels not in that loneliness Companionship of angels near, Will miss the sweetest charms that bless Our pilgrimage of duty here, Will stand outside the brotherhood That shares the human and divine. Who hears not in the winds that steal Through shadowy arches far and dim, The dying note of organ peal, Low cadence of a vesper hymn; Who heeds not the faint breath that stirs The bough that canopies his head, The cross-tipped pinnacles of firs, That bring the incense lilies shed ; Alas! the oracles reveal None of their mysteries to him! 44 MAKING OF SONG JL\ BOY, impatient of the Spring, Long by the brookside lingering As if entranced, delaying there To hear the blackbirds loudly sing, To watch the willows growing fair, Anemones at blossoming ; The boy, of melody aware, As bird or spring is free from care. The water runs by side of him, The channel filling to the brim, It babbles broken rocks among, Of shadows deep, of sunlight dim, Where by the sturdy oak is flung Across the pool a giant limb ; Those liquid notes, from Nature's tongue, Chime with loud song by blackbirds sung. And this is how the boy will learn Himself to sing his song in turn, When he the magic skill has caught From Nature, seeming mistress stern, To wed her feeling with his thought As bird note chimes with singing burn ; Of strains from woods and waters brought Are measures most melodious wrought. 45 TO THE MUSE VJIFT of Poesy we praise In our lays Of an off-hand, careless measure, Neither to the gracious Muse Do refuse Such return as giveth pleasure ; By the waters of the rill, Try our skill With the ripples and the rushes; Strive to reproduce the notes From the throats Of tuneful bobolinks and thrushes. Unto Erato belong Gifts of song Woven of our brightest fancies, And the singer well may be Glad if he Win but swiftest of her glances. 46 OUR LEADER JL/OVE leads my song and love that song doth end, To praise of love my musing fancies tend ; Did not love call They would not go at all, Nor should I care one anxious thought to send After an absent friend. Love is the prompter of our hearts to sing, He guides the ringers o'er the trembling string ; He has the skill To wield the poet's quill, And to the cadenced verse such music bring, Therein his praises ring. And shall not Love, then, in our song avail Of praises due to have the honest tale, And shall not we Enroll ourselves to be Most loyal in his service, never fail Where honor should prevail ? 47 HERALDS OF DAY 1 HE robin in the orchard tree, The lark up in the sky, The morning on the eastern crest Lists to their matin song ; The waters, sleeping silently, In dreams unbroken lie, With lilies folded to their breast, For day have waited long. Sweet charm of music in the air And in the heavens above, Sweet silence resting on the streams And on the wooded hills ; The world is listening everywhere, With tenderness of love, For song that wakes from pleasant dreams And heart of Nature fills. O robin in the orchard tree, O lark up in the sky, Before the sun is on the hill Or on the pond below ; You sing a happy song to me, Whose feeble voice will try To practise those sweet notes that thrill My soul with beauty so. 48 MUSES I E maidens of the pure Castalian spring, Whose youth, unfading, in the pool below Is seen reflected in the tender glow Of rapture spiritual with which you sing Your heart's devotion so ; Your fond devotion to that gentle art, Which with its mild persuasion leads the way, Our timid aspirations would essay From beaten track of life and thought apart In fields unreal to stray; How do those meadows, ever growing green, And thickly sprinkled with those flowers bright As stars of heaven are in the dewy night, From dust and din of this familiar scene Our tired feet invite! Thither our steps shall tend, we may not come Into the presence of these maids divine, Before their gracious sovereignty incline, Yet, at a distance, reverently dumb, Will venerate their shrine. 49 THE SACRED WELL 15 Y what becoming rite, What offering That we may bring, Shall we at length requite The debt we owe To streams that flow Down from Parnassan height? What litany of praise Will poet sing To that fair spring That charmed Narcissus* gaze, That won the youth By perfect truth Of what its glass repays? How may the singer tell Of Helicon, Where, in years gone, Did gracious Muses dwell, Whose memory Makes that to be E'en yet a sacred well? [50] WHEN LIFE WAS YOUNG W HEN life was young, the day went by As goes the wayward butterfly, One moment stayed by kingcup bright, Next moment dancing in the light, With not the shadow of a care Which way the restless feet should fare, For over every path was flung Hope's rainbow arch when life was young. When life was young, the world was new And fresh as violets bathed in dew ; It had not lost the power to please With child-bewitching mysteries; Around the idly-straying feet The wild flowers shed a fragrance sweet, And lily bells were softly rung To Fancy's ear when life was young. When life was young, the heart was stirred By every note of singing bird; It did not seem to listening boy There could be room for so much joy, His heart was brimming so to hear Brown thrushes sing their carol clear ; For thus it seemed those songs were sung For his delight when life was young. 51 FOLLOWING FOLLOW whither Fancy leads, With the twittering of the swallow, Rambling through the grassy meads, Through the brambles and the weeds, Scent of hidden blossom follow ; Follow waters of the rill Slipping softly down the hill, Follow clatter of the mill, Through the brakes and bushes, till You have come to sighing reeds, Wind-swept in a lonely hollow. Going, you shall have the bird, Singing linnet, for your fellow, Have beside you waters heard, To a lively measure stirred, Rippling over rock and shallow ; You shall have along the way Company that's light and gay, Linnet singing all the day His delightful roundelay, Song of love with not a word, Only music sweet and mellow. 52 SONG OF GLADNESS A. SONG of gladness on the morning air, Of melody from hedgerow, field and wood; Loud song of joy, repeated everywhere By wakened birds to waken drowsy brood; A song to greet the day At early eastern gray, To cheer the place that else were solitude. A song of gladness in the hearts of men, Of sweet contentment in their happy lot, Sung over in those quiet hours when Are mercies counted, miseries forgot ; Low song of genial mirth, Sung at the cottage hearth, Where dwelleth Peace that Luxury knoweth not. A song of gladness, with no note of pain, No mournful cadence in the lilting line, No cry of anguish forming its refrain, Let truth and melody therein combine ; Let there no sadness be, No deep despondency, Nor any trace of grief in song of mine. 53] SONG'S PROVINCE 1 HE plowboy at his plow, Fair spinner at her wheel, The bold adventurer at the prow Of his adventurous keel These are bright themes of song Is worthy to be sung In smoothest measures that belong To our dear English tongue. Songs for the rich and poor, The highest and the least, For gossips at the cottage door, For princes at the feast ; Songs that may move the thought, May move the heart to love By which to human need is brought Help from the Strength above. Too long the singer's voice Has sung at Fame's behest, Now should it help the world rejoice In what is truly best ; No more should Music swell The wonted praise of Might, And pen of poet now should tell The glory of the Right. [54] THE SINGER'S WAGE W HAT has the singer to count for his gains, His singing what profit has brought him? Or what can he show for the labor and pains He has taken to render those simple strains The wildwood warbler has taught him? The world its small wage does how grudgingly pay, Or oftener yet refuses! It would hire this work to be done by the day, Or with a gratuity send on his way Each vagabond child of the Muses. It matters but little the world's cold sneer In a world of his own he rejoices; The singer keeps on with his notes full of cheer, In full hope that some heart may gratefully hear Them resung by more musical voices. The singer, he has but an hour or two To devote to his favorite folly; But if he can only spend them with you, Dear Reader, patiently following through, He will think that his life has been jolly. [55 IN MINOR KEY IHROUGH the grand symphony Of Nature's voices in the universe, One hears a melody Sung in a minor key, As if it would heart sufferings rehearse. 'Tis borne on wind that goes Where'er it listeth, over land or sea, Drifting the arctic snows, Bringing the scent that blows To ships becalmed off shores of Araby. A music even lower Haunts deep recesses of the lonely wood, Its notes of magic pour Showers of feeling o'er Spirits responsive unto solitude. Not in the deafening sound Of surges beating on a rocky shore, But in the depths profound Of spirit there abound Currents of thought that move the soul yet more. [56] PRIMEVAL SONG IN what fair region, in what sunny clime And in what happy time, What Golden Age of poesy on earth, Has minstrel had his birth, Who, glorying in Apollo's sacred bays, Has sung of Love the praise, As in the summer evening's holy hush Has sung the hermit thrush? Words of the singer's song now serve as well The price of goods to tell, To tell the secrets of the shop and mart, As well as of the heart ; But singing bird with notes of feeling fills The tender, quavering trills, And with a cadence soft as brooklet flows, Brings her song to its close. Which was the first to sing, which first was heard, The minstrel or the bird? We cannot tell, but at this twilight hour We own the thrush's power. 57 THE SONG-MASTER 1 O whom shall magic gift belong, That he may gain the mastery Over mighty floods of song, Flowing through the world, along Far lines of human history? Who today will be so bold That he dare take Apollo's lyre, Wake those strings to strains of old, Send along the quivering gold Some ardor of the ancient fire? Nevermore the world shall hear What songs the earlier ages heard ; Voice of Muse, divinely clear, Ringing to enchanted ear ; The music wedded to the word. Not for us nor for these days Is there sung a strain that's new, A song that sings of Song the praise, For which the world its hurry stays And listens all the singing through. [58] SONG HUNTEk W ILD Navajo, in his pursuit of song, Went in his drifting boat down to the sea; The reeds sang softly as he moved along, The world seemed just as glad as world could be. Among tall cottonwoods he heard the breeze Delay a while with gentle whisperings, And in low murmured melody of these Were wakened memories of long-lost things. He saw the water tarry for a time, In friendly spirit with the rushes stay; He realized for rhythm and for rhyme Must singer yield some portion of his day. But when he came to where the shore was one, The river broadening out into a sea, He knew, forsooth, the song could not be done, Long as there were shores twain to memory; Long as there was a past from which he drew Notes that were charming to his youthful ear; Long as a future offered something new, Some melody replete with hopeful cheer. 59 SONG MYTH J. HE Pima singer, drifting down the stream, Charmed with the songs he heard from either shore, Went swiftly onward as borne in a dream, Until at length he would return once more. Then was he forced to stem a stronger tide Than dipping paddle, plied with frequent stroke, Could overcome, however hard he tried, However many gods did he invoke. Still drifting down, still nearer to the sea, From home and kindred more and more remote, He felt the ocean's dread immensity, Saw foaming billows threaten him and boat. Then came four sunbeams, as a braided strand Of golden threads that wove a cable strong ; They stretched a line of light across the sand, And safely towed the singer's boat along. So is it when the poet strives in vain For higher level than our footsteps know, His song to raise by a yet loftier strain, Will corded sunbeams take his craft in tow. 60 OLD-TIME SONG IT has been sung through many, many ages, A song of feeling, never growing old; It has been read with tears, on faded pages, Sweet song of deep affection never told; How has it found in heart of every hearer A chord responsive to its tender strain, Its softened cadences to memory dearer, Because of waking Love to life again. An old-time song it is, of quaint old verses, Joined to a melody of simple score; A song of love, whose every line rehearses What burden in the past some fond heart bore; Still does the pathos of that ancient ditty Move men as it was wont in former years; It fills the soul with sentiments of pity, And eyes of listeners are filled with tears. The more this pleases me because its measure Is linked with memory of childhood days, When it was oft repeated for my pleasure, Until its haunting music with me stays; It brings to mind deep tones of tender feeling, Were heard from lips that have been silent long, Into my soul blest benediction stealing From notes concordant of an old-time song. 61 SONG-MAKING JDY winding ways That weave unpatterned maze, By growing grasses spread, Made soft to silent tread, With leafage overhead To shield from rays Of bright midsummer days, The idle singer strays These solitary-crested hills along, And meditates the measure of a song. He hears the breeze Complaining from the trees ; He hears the noisy rills Go laughing down the hills ; The woodland music fills His soul with these Responsive harmonies That run to melodies, And with them run his happy thoughts along To join the lilting numbers in a song. 62] SUNRISE SONGS A.T the hour of prime In the early summer time, The wood thrush sings Its matin song that rings Harmonious with our moods as bells of Sabbath chime. Then the stars of night, Having faded from our sight, Mist veils below Are gilded with a glow From Day's uplifted torch of saffron-colored light. With the morning wake In thicket and in brake Broods God hath kept In safety while they slept, Joining now the tuneful choir their hymn of praise to make. So the men of old Were enraptured to behold The rising sun, And they hailed it, every one, As worthy of their worship, symbolized by yellow gold. 63 SONG OF MEMORY JVlUSIC coming o'er the sea As of Sirens singing, Wakens many a memory Of those joys that used to be So large a part of life to me ; Thoughts of boyhood bringing, And to life's matins ringing. Ay, this music brings to mind Childhood's pleasant dreaming,- Visions we have left behind, Longings breathed unto the wind, Hopes we never were to find, All our loss redeeming With only magic seeming. Song from out the past we hear With most pleasing sorrow, Sweetly falling on the ear, Ringing bells of memory clear, So that gathering shades appear Charmed silences to borrow From life's reflective morrow. 64 LOVE, THE CHORISTER SlNGING at the gates of day, Welcoming the morning light In a merry roundelay Sung with gladsome voice, and gay As the song of happy sprite, Sings the thrush its matin song Of praises that to life belong. Within the region of the cloud, Where this appears as bank of snow, The lark sings morning's praise so loud That linnets of the hedge are proud To hear their faint notes echoing so ; To all the hedgerow birds astir Is given the lark, their chorister. When Love within the heart first springs To life at sight of what is fair, He flutters upward on his wings And, as the lark, divinely sings The glory of existence there, A chorister to all who praise In song Love's early-summer days. 65 UNDERTONES VT HERE runs the river from the mill, Adown a channel rough with stone, The murmurings of its ripples fill This valley, spread from hill to hill, With measured music of their own, Sung in a low, sweet undertone. Where chirps the cricket in the grass For his own pleasure, it appears, How oft unheeding do we pass That minstrel's hermitage, alas! Our mind so occupied with fears, The song rings silent to our ears! It needs but that our thought should be FVom matters too engrossing won, That beauty in the world we see, And hear in Nature's minstrelsy A song was hitherto unknown, Sung in a low, sweet undertone. [66 MODERN MUSES OINGING aye of love and beauty, Careless aye of life and duty, Singing in a merry measure For an idle hour's pleasure, Happy Muses, Whom divine Apollo chooses. Silent now the pipes Pandean, Ended now the hymn and paean; Empty now the stage before us, Vanished are the mimes and chorus ; Hushed the singing, Once the joy of Bacchus bringing. Ye have fled Pierian fountain, Fled the rough Parnassan mountain ; Ye are now the living voices Wherein Nature's heart rejoices; Haunting arches Under whispering pines and larches. [67] SONG OF TODAY Jt>ARDS sang in days of old Their songs in praise of wine ; Then were the charms of beauty told In strains that were divine ; Then had they melody of song Heard by the river-side along, Where reeds were pliant, breezes strong, Had sense of hearing fine. Then were the Muses kind To give approval clear To what was pleasing to the mind, Harmonious to the ear; To loving thought for absent one, To deed of kindness promptly done, Or victory by valor won, The pasan and the cheer. We sing in later days Themes that were sung of old, Of beauty and of love the praise Above the praise of gold; No matter if it all appears As folly unto modern ears, Melpomene, with smiling, cheers And bids our hearts be bold. 68 SILENCED SONG J\ ROUND Pierian spring still grows And blossoms fair the blushing rose ; Its fragrance now is just as sweet As when the Muses came to greet, To watch the crimson buds unclose With songs of joy, with dancing feet. The sunshine is as bright today, The song of birds is just as gay As when this chimed with minstrel song, Fair shores of ancient Greece along, When singer's brow was crowned with bay, His praises echoed by the throng. Now shadows sleep as sweetly on Green-mantled slopes of Helicon, And down the rugged, broken hill Comes, laughing loud, the merry rill; The melody of ages gone Unto the world is ringing still. It is not there is less of cheer In sounds of nature that we hear, The same sweet strains of music come In song of bird, in wild bee's hum, But for them we have not the ear, The soul is dead, the lips are dumb. [69] THE CAGED BIRD 1 OOR bird, though taught to sing So blithely gay, Untaught the use of wing To fly away ; How does one pity thee, Watching thy fellows, free, Out on the blossoming lea! With song the meadows ring The livelong day. Within thy prison walls, Though gilded fair, No summer sunshine falls Through boundless air ; The swallow in his flight Goes as a flash of light, Far out beyond thy sight, And song of blackbird calls Thee, over there. [70] SONG-HAUNTED S ONG-HAUNTED were the wooded hills, By fabled centaurs dwelt upon, And musical the mountain rills That fed the springs of Helicon; The pine tops murmured to the breeze That lingered with the poplar trees, And while the leaves were mutely still, Sang on sweet- voiced Pierides. Song-haunted were the groves of oak, Dim with Druidic mysteries, Upon whose mood of silence broke Sad drapas of the Northern seas; There Mimir's well-spring, glacier-born, Gave melody to hunters' horn, And there the voice of Bragi spoke Decrees of wise, prophetic Norn. Song-haunted is our world today, With blended strains of music past, With Grecian lyric, light and gay, The old Norse war-songs, loud and vast; No lack of song the world shall know, From mingled notes of joy and woe, Their melting harmonies shall stay And let the clashing discords go. 71 AN IDLE SONG /\N idle song to fill an idle hour, It makes a pastime for the summer's day, Or when with threatened snow the heavens lower, Dull winter's weariness it whiles away ; The singer's artless lay, Free from all cares that to our lives belong, Makes every season gay With merry music of an idle song. As sunbeams bursting through a passing shower So singing fills the saddened heart with cheer, To love's fond smiling gives its magic power As gives that smile its brightness to the tear; For sorrowing souls to hear, When life is empty and its hours are long, The melody is dear Although it be naught but an idle song. An idle song! but shall the singer cease, Because so few may care to hear him sing? Will mountain streamlet hold its way in peace, If I be not beside it in the spring? Does bluebird rest her wing? Ask blackbirds when they come, a merry throng, Do they neglect to bring Their humanly-uncared-for idle song? [72 SONG-SURVIVAL PERCHANCE Apollo's gift of song, Bestowed so graciously of old, Has been neglected now so long The god his favor would withhold ; No more to earth his music bring, No more inspire the bard to sing What praises unto him belong, Whose altars are now bare and cold. It may be that the Muses haunt No more the crystal-pure spring Of Helicon ; no longer chant The hymns it was their wont to sing ; The choral dance may weave no more As they were wont to dance of yore ; May have forgotten to descant High praise of Song's immortal king. But still without the draught of wine That once was served in cup of gold, Without that leadership divine Of which the ancient singers told, Without Pan piping in the shade By laurel and by myrtle made, Still sing the Muses' favored line In rhythmic measure, strong and bold. 73 THE MYSTERY HO may detect the thought From Nature caught, And folded away so close In the bud of the rose? The blush of crimson is there On the dimpled petals so fair, As if for its beauty so rare, A blush for the sweetness sought When its leaves unfold, For the grace with which has been wrought Its heart of gold. But the thought that we would know Is hidden below Whatever of purpose lies Before our eyes; For the rose it would be as sweet If it bloomed in a lone retreat, Unvisited by the feet Of one who will linger long In admiring gaze, Who will try to weave in his song A note of praise. 74 WHAT CHARM W HAT charm hath voice of fir or pine, In this deep solitude, To lead these wayward thoughts of mine To more reflective mood; What charm of feeling in their tone, As if soft pipes of Pan were blown By one who had our sorrows known, Our pain had understood? What charm hath song of singing bird, With its low melody, With voice of summer breezes heard From out the leafy tree ; What charm hath it in cadence sweet To lead these idly wandering feet Where I may hear the bird repeat What Youth sang o'er to me? What charm have flowers of this knoll, Moss-bedded, blooming fair, That give their beauty to the soul, Their fragrance to the air ; What charm have these, of charms the sum, That though their smiling lips are dumb, Yet sweetly sue and bid me come And find my lost youth there? [75] CHARM OF SONG 1 HERE is a hush upon the earth and air, A stillness in the forest depth around ; With lifted foot the fox seems not to dare Disturb with step a silence so profound ; Nor is there any sound Of voice of summer breeze From fir and hemlock trees That grow the noonday-shadowed stream along; No rustling in the weeds, No whispering of reeds, So hushed is Nature by the charm of song! It is the veery singing to his mate, And calling fondly from the wooded dell ; To hear that song all other singers wait As worshippers wait for the vesper bell Their rosaries to tell ; We, too, the magic own Of that soft plaintive tone Heard from the very bosom of the wood ; And as the fox refrains From marring perfect strains So are we loth the farther to intrude. [76] GYPSY SONG 1 HERE is sunlight on the mountain, There's a shadow on the hills, There is silence on the fountain, There is music on the rills ; So merry peals of laughter Are heard from wayside tent, With sighs and sobbing, after The short-lived joys are spent, For the Gypsies' hours of gladness Go hand in hand with sadness. While the Gypsy girl is singing As in a happy vein, There comes a sharp note bringing A memory of pain ; Her summer cannot sever Itself from winter quite, Her fairest day is ever Attended by the night ; Mirth follows after Sorrow, They will join upon the morrow. 77 RAIN SONG AFTER the hush of a summer's noon, After the burning heat and the glare Of eagerly quivering air In which do the poppies droop and swoon, When the world has forgotten its morning song, When are leaves of the trembling poplar still, And the brook goes dreamily along In the shadow of the hill ; Then a whisper among the trees, Then a breath of the rising breeze, And a waking to life and music among Brown thrushes by the rill. Then do the hylas begin to peep In the dusky gloom of the shadows cool Over the meadow pool, And the robins wake from their noonday sleep To join with the linnets of the wood, With the sparrow of the fields again, With the twittering of the swallow's brood, Loud creaking of the vane ; Then the pines are gently stirred, And an undertone is heard Giving a welcome, hearty and good, To the coolness of the rain. 178] SOUL OF MELODY \VlTH all the singer's skill, With all persuasiveness of voice, He wooes from sloping hill And from its shady nook Soft murmuring of the running rill, Low song of idle brook, To come and with his song rejoice. It is to help of these, Their undertones lent to his song, The magic symphonies Of waters falling so, To wanderings of the wayward breeze That through the pine-tops go, All tributes of his praise belong. The singer's voice alone Would lack all grace of harmony ; There is another tone He strives to reach in vain, Wild note which, blending with his own, Shall from the perfect strain Breathe forth the soul of Melody. 79 RENEWAL T HE heart that springs up at the sight of a flower, Of a violet low in the grass, Must quickly respond to the magical power Of songs that are sung at the opening hour Of days that so merrily pass, When April is here With a smile and a tear, A smile for the meeting and greeting of Summer, Of all the glad seasons the joyfullest comer, A tear for her going, alas! A breath from the lily will serve as a token, As Echo repeating a song, Of thoughts that were tender, yet never were spoken, Of promises dear that have never been broken Although they've been cherished so long, That Nature is true And the whole world is new As often as lilies their incense are burning, And swallows to sheltering eaves are returning, The impressions of youth are how strong! [80] CRADLE SONG JL/ITTLE birds are in their nest, A-swinging on the bough, And the wind from out the West Rocks the twittering ones to rest As I rock the cradle now; As the mother bird loves best Sleepy brood beneath her breast So, my darling, art thou blest With a love strong as the bough, Even thou. Let the west wind softly blow On the bosom of the deep, Rock his dory to and fro, Rock my baby's father so As I rock my babe to sleep ; Lamp in lighthouse, flash and glow, Harbor of safe refuge show, Wings of angels, hover low Over land and over deep, Loved ones keep. [81] OJIBWAY LULLABY 1 HE wind is in the trees, Does my darling baby hear What is whispered to his ear With the lisping of the breeze, That love keeps his mother near, And that baby need not fear, For the wind is in the trees? The stars are in the skies, Does my darling baby see How they wink at him and me, Nearly bright as baby's eyes, How they wink to him that he Is as safe as safe can be, For the stars are in the skies? Then go to sleep, dear child, The squirrels are in bed, Black squirrels, gray and red, And the little foxes wild ; The stars are overhead, The winds with me have said, "Go, go to sleep, dear child." 82 OUR SONGS V_yUR songs are sad today; No more the heart rejoices In sound of happy voices, No more are spirits gay, Our songs are sad today. Our songs are sad today, Though all the woods are ringing With notes of rapturous singing, In whole-souled praise of May, Our songs are sad today. Our songs are sad today, Although there is no reason Why these in every season Should not our praise convey, Our songs are sad today. Let songs be glad today, Where is so much of beauty, So much of love and duty Which we can ne'er repay, Let songs be glad today! [83] SONG OF LOVE .NOT of daisies at our feet, Daisies white, with tips of red; Not of poppies in the wheat, Poppies hanging drowsy head; Not of roses fair and sweet, Roses rich in perfume shed ; Is the song my lips repeat, Song to living music wed. Not of diamond flashing light, Diamond from the murky mine ; Not of ruby burning bright, Ruby mocking Chian wine ; Not of pearl as daisy white, Pearl from ocean's depth of brine, Is the song I sing tonight, Song of mystery divine. Not of deeds of chivalry, Deeds of valor widely known ; Not the praise of victory, Praise by clarion trumpet blown; Not the pomp of majesty, Pomp about a monarch's throne, Is the song I sing to thee, Song of love, of love alone. 84 A LITTLE SONG IT is a little song the streamlets sing While on their way to join the mighty sea; A strain of quiet peacefulness they bring Into the humble life of bird and bee ; One note they add to Nature's minstrelsy, That through the outer world shall ever ring To human heart a cheerful melody. It is a little song the swallows sing While flying o'er the meadow to and fro, A repetition of low twittering Was made in swallow flights long years ago, And centuries to come that song shall know; To memory it faithfully will cling And keep the heart still youthful, singing so. It is a little song the Muse would sing, Of harmonies that rule the field and wood; She trusts not to an over- venturous wing, Attempts but simple themes in pensive mood, Content, if only these be understood By grieving heart that mourns some poor, lost thing That to the heart was very dear and good. 85] RIVER SONG W ITH a current bold and strong Runs the river along Between Its meadow-banks of green That lie Under the summer sky, And quietly listen, as I, To the river's perpetual song. Hushed are the birds in the trees, Only the murmurous bees As they pass, And the crickets in the grass Respond To the ripples from the pond, To the echoes from beyond, As if these had come over unmeasured seas. And the musical river sings Of the many mysterious things It has seen, The mountains and sea between ; Its song Is of love that endureth long, That grows, as the river, strong With the happiness that it brings. [86] WHISTLING 1 HE boy goes whistling down the lane, No thought of any care has he. And when the boy comes back again, Still is he whistling merrily; For sweet delight of lad, he deems The world just now made over new, That creatures of the woods and streams Are with himself as happy, too. Along his path, on either side, Is tangled growth of bush and brier, The friendly alders spreading wide, The slender birches reaching higher; From out the sheltering thickets near, Concealing broken walls of stone, The blackbird whistles loud and clear A hearty gladness of its own. Ah, happy boy; ah, happy bird! The joy of life is yours to share, The melody of music heard, The beauty of a vision fair; The world is with you in its youth, With you another age was born, Your songs they are the voice of truth, Your lives the glory of the morn. [87] PRIMER AND PSALTER IN merry England, when its king Was one of the Plantaganets, The English boy was taught to sing Those madrigals and canzonets Which gave to young and old delight, Which made the hours of pastime bright With music and with revelling, With sports the later world forgets. The schoolboy, on his morning way, Went as the culprit to his fate ; The world about him was so gay, The heart within so full of hate For primer, with its letters bold, That of his homely duties told, That taught him how his prayers to say, And what he owed to King and State. And with the primer went along The psalter, o'er his shoulder slung, To teach the boy the notes of song, His Maker's praises to be sung, So with his task there was combined This gracious training of the mind, That he might, when a yeoman strong, Bless what he learned when he was young. [88J HEART LONGING u*~r^ L HE rain is over, and the sun is out, The swallows are again upon the wing ; The brook is calling with a louder shout, And now begin the happy birds to sing ; The birds are happy, I am glad as they; O mother, mother, let me go and play! "A treetoad trills from out the orchard tree, A frog is crooning down below the well, The crickets in the wheatfield call to me, And there are more of them than I can tell ; Crickets are happy, I am glad as they ; O mother, mother, let me go and play! "The grasses are now washed a brighter green, With heavy raindrops are they bending low, And in the sunshine on their tips are seen Fair jewels of a princess, all aglow; They're proudly happy, I am glad as they; O mother, mother, let me go and play! "The swallow brood are flying to and fro, They skim the meadows with an easy wing ; The bobolinks above are singing so As hearts were breaking, if they could not sing; The birds are happy, I am glad as they; O mother, mother, let me go and play!" [89] MUSIC OF THE BAY H