LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. Chap. Copyright No... Shelfi *&, UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. LYRICS OF BROTHERHOOD BY RICHARD BURTON Dumb in June 75 cents Literary Likings : A Book of Essays $i 5° Memorial Day and Other Poems *i .oo Small, Maynard & Company Boston LYRICS OF BROTHERHOOD / RICHARD BURTON BOSTON SMALL, MAYNARD & COMPANY M DCCC XCIX UUI 1 f lutfv fmall, Maynard iff Company. 4&Sl**>d/ {Incorporated.) Entered at Stationers' HalL \ 43628 TWO COPIES RECEIVED, ^ copy; Rockwell and Churchill Press Boston, U.S.A. if Due acknowledgments are made to the ' editors of the Atlantic, the Century, Har- per's Magazine, the Cosmopolitan, the Bookman, the Critic, the Independent, and the Outlook for permission to reprint poems originally appearing in those pub- lications. Contents black sheep Page 3 " THE MORN IS FINE " \ THE WORLD PLAY 5 THE HUMAN TOUCH J NOSTALGIA 8 OLD SONGS 9 THE FOREFATHER IO TO— MORROW AND TO— DAY 12 THE POLAR QUEST I 3 WAR NOTES : I FALSE PEACE AND TRUE 1 4 II EXTRAS 1 4 III PRO PATRIA MORI I 5 IV PARADES l6 V DECORATION DAY I J THE SPHINX l8 CITIES OF ELD 20 A CHOPIN PRELUDE 23 THE WAYS RETURN 24 THE ELEMENTAL JOYS 25 THE NORTH LIGHT 26 LIGHT AND SHADE 28 CHILD-PLAY 29 LIFE 30 THE ETERNAL FEMININE 3 1 A WESTERN SCENE 32 THE MODERN SAINT 33 SEALED ORDERS 34 BLACK OAKS 35 HAYING TIME 36 changeless Page 37 " IN SPEAKING OF THE LITTLE ONES WE LOVE " 38 GOSPELS 39 TRAVEL 40 THE QUEST OF SUMMER 4 1 ON THE LINE 48 CLEAR HEAVENS 50 TWO BARDS 51 PLAINT OF THE PINE 52 TRAGEDIES 5 3 FLASHES 54 LAUREL 55 MARY MAGDALEN 56 PICTURES 57 THE DREAM AND THE WAKING 58 LIFE AND SONG 59 INTERPRETATION 60 THE NATIONAL AIR 6 I A PRELUDE 62 IN THE GRASS 63 THE POET TO THE CLOUD 64 A STORM 65 THE LILY 66 THE MUSIC STRAIN 67 A MADRIGAL 68 GYPSIES 69 A LEGEND OF THE MOON 7° Lyrics of Brotherhood BLACK SHEEP FROM their folded mates they wander far, Their ways seem harsh and wild; They follow the beck of a baleful star, Their paths are dream-beguiled. Yet haply they sought but a wider range, Some loftier mountain-slope, And little recked of the country strange Beyond the gates of hope. And haply a bell with a luring call Summoned their feet to tread Midst the cruel rocks, where the deep pitfall And the lurking snare are spread. Maybe, in spite of their tameless days Of outcast liberty, They're sick at heart for the homely ways Where their gathered brothers be. And oft at night, when the plains fall dark And the hills loom large and dim, For the Shepherd's voice they mutely hark, And their souls go out to him. Meanwhile, " Black sheep! Black sheep!" we cry, Safe in the inner fold ; And maybe they hear, and wonder why, And marvel, out in the cold. -THE MORN IS FINE" THE morn is fine, the wind smells sweet ; The nomad man that lurks in me Arouses, and I fain would meet The fellowship of vagrancy Along the mountain roads of day. Hail, foot-farers from near and far ; Ye who do love the wandering way Of Beauty, show what stuff ye are, And face the westward-luring path : The hours are yours 'twixt dawn and night ; And since that Youth's sure aftermath Is Memory — use the day aright, That by the fire, when evening's here, Your cronies gathered close around, The old-time deeds may twinkle clear, And peace be in the back-log's sound. THE WORLD PLAY ( u AND ALL THE MEN AND WOMEN MERELY PLAYERS ") THE entrance-price you willy-nilly pay, Sit with your kind, take pleasure, if you may, Or puzzle at the meaning of the play. Comedy The humors of the time, the painted show Of character, the Attic salt of wit ; Now, laughter lifts it high, now, tender woe For a pale moment o'er the stage must flit, To make the main plot merrier ; maids and men Teach life is sweet and love may come again. Melodrama See how the swashbucklers swagger ! Hark to the villain's dark cry ! Much is a-doing and many are ruing. Innocents, destined to die, Haply, with thrust of a dagger. Evil frustrate and virtue tried and true, Romance, adventure, sleight, and derring-do, The earth's wide passions served up hot for you ! Farce See the buffoon's fat cheeks ballooning out ! Thwack ! the lath sword descends, guffaws are rife 'Midst gallery gods, with many a boorish shout Of approbation. Yet, 'tis part of life, 5 The And honest too, — the grammarless, crude heart World Of one's own kinsmen, and this stir-about " Is wholesome, though it lack the soul of art. Tragedy Slow evolution to a fateful close ; Deepest of dramas knocking at our soul ; Glints of the gay, but gloom that spreads and grows Towards some sardonic end, the gruesome goal Of all the light, the motion, and the glee Pranked out high-heartedly. Behind man's quest and woman's sacrifice, Bravery and risk and lure of ardent eyes, Quieting the stir, Mingling mould-odors with love's sweetest myrrh, Forever looms and glooms the sepulchre ! Epilogue Great Watcher of the whole, the modey shift Of play and counterplay, sole Critic, who Must understand, because Creator too ; Prompter and playwright both : the curtains lift And fall, while joy and sorrow interweave ; We know full well what time to smile or grieve, No more ; the ultimate meaning's shut from view. The world-play act by act moves on, and we Are shaken by its moods, — mirth, anguish, mystery. THE HUMAN TOUCH HIGH thoughts and noble in all lands Help me; my soul is fed by such. But ah, the touch of lips and hands, — The human touch ! Warm, vital, close, life's symbols dear, — These need I most, and now, and here. NOSTALGIA ALL through their lives men build or dream them homes, Longing for peace and quiet and household love ; All through their lives — though offering heca- tombs To worldly pleasures and the shows thereof. And at the last, life-sick, with still the same Unconquerable desire within their breast, They yearn for heaven and murmur its dear name, Deeming it, more than mortal homes are, blest. OLD SONGS THERE is many a simple song one hears, To an outworn tune, that starts the tears ; Not for itself — for the buried years. Perchance 'twas heard in the days of youth, When breath was buoyant and words were truth ; When joys were peddled at Life's gay booth. Or maybe it sounded along a lane Where She walked with you — and now again You catch Love's cadence, Love's old sweet pain. Or else it stole through a room where lay A dear one dying, and seemed to say : €€ Love and death, they shall pass away." It rises out of the Long Ago, And that is the reason it shakes you so With pain and passion and buried woe. There is many a simple song that brings From deeps of living, on viewless wings, The tender magic of bygone things. THE FOREFATHER "ERE at the country inn, I lie in my quiet bed, And the ardent onrush of armies Throbs and throbs in my head. H 1 Why, in this calm, sweet place, Where only silence is heard, Am I ' ware of the crash of conflict — Is my blood to battle stirred ? Without, the night is blessed With the smell of pines, with stars ; Within, is the mood of slumber, The healing of daytime scars. 'Tis strange — yet I am thrall To epic agonies : The tumult of myriads dying Is borne to me on the breeze. Mayhap in the long ago My forefather grim and stark Stood in some hell of carnage, Faced forward, fell in the dark ; And I, who have always known Peace, with her dove-like ways, Am gripped by his martial spirit Here in the after days. 10 I cannot rightly tell : The I lie, from all stress apart, Forefather And the ardent onrush of armies Surges hot through my heart. II TO-MORROW AND TO-DAY TO-MORROW hath a rare, alluring sound ; To-day is very prose ; and yet the twain Are but one vision seen through altered eyes. Our dreams inhabit one ; our stress and pain Surge through the other. Heaven is but to-day Made lovely with to-morrow's face, for aye. 12 THE POLAR QUEST UNCONQUERABLY, men venture on the quest And seek an ocean amplitude unsailed, Cold, virgin, awful. Scorning ease and rest, And heedless of the heroes who have failed, They face the ice floes with a dauntless zest. The polar quest ! Life's offer to the strong ! To pass beyond the pale, to do and dare, Leaving a name that stirs us like a song, And making captive some strange Otherwhere, Though grim the conquest, and the labor long. Forever courage kindles, faith moves forth To find the mystic flood way of the North. 13 WAR NOTES I False Peace and True THERE is a peace wherein man's mood is tame — Like clouds upon a windless summer day The hours float by ; the people take no shame In alien mocks ; like children are they gay. Such peace is craven-bought, the cost is great ; Not so is nourished a puissant state. There is a peace amidst the shock of arms That satisfies the soul, though all the air Hurtles with horror and is rude with harms ; Life's gray gleams into golden deeds, and where, The while swords slept, unrighteousness was done, Wrong takes her death-blow, and from sun to sun That clarion cry My Country ! makes men one. II "Extras" THE crocuses in the Square Lend a winsome touch to the May ; The clouds are vanished away, The weather is bland and fair ; Now peace seems everywhere. Hark to the raucous, sullen cries : " Extra ! Extra ! " — tersely flies The news, and a great hope mounts, or dies. H About the bulletin-boards War Notes Dark knots of people surge ; Strained faces show, then merge In the inconspicuous hordes That yet are the Nation's lords. " Extra ! Extra ! Big fight at sea ! " Was the luck with us ? Is it victory ? Dear God, they died for you and me ! Meanwhile the crocuses down the street With heaven's own patience are calm and sweet, III Pro Patria Mori AS a gold and scarlet sunset Glories a sombre day, That else were all unmemoried, Dying in dusk away : Great acts man's day emblazon, God's lilies out of life's mud ; The splendid flower of heroes Out of a soil of blood. The date of the deed ? Who recks it ? Such moments are timeless things. Of old, Leonidas thrills us, He travels on Fame's wide wings ;~ Or, blithe through the Russian bullets, Rushes the Light Brigade To death — and the whole world echoes The sound of the charge they made. IS War Notes And now, — with the ancient valor, — In the clutch of a tropic sun, Our own Rough Riders conquer, Though the foe be four to one. The date of the deed ? 'Tis nothing ! Count it by tears or cheers. For the men who die for Country Have naught to do with the years ! IV Parades Civic Display THE uniforms gleam bright, and bands galore Play up the feet that step in time full gay ; This soldiering looks handsome ; hark, the roar That rends the very skies of Spring to-day From mobile multitudes who line the way. Behold the grace and gallantry of war ! The Return of the Veterans Beneath grey gloom they tramp along : their tread Lacks rhythm ; faded, soiled, and torn their dress ; They wot of storm and peril, wounds that bled, And pains beyond imagination's guess. The lookers-on, struck mute by tenderness, Hardly huzza : it is as if the dead Walked with the quick. Beneath a brooding sky The bronzed and battered veterans limp by. 16 V Decoration Day War Notes THE uses of adversity are sweet : Red war, the lust of conquest is forgot ; Beneath bland skies a nation stays her feet, To laud the hero, grace his sleeping-spot ; For every drop of blood old swords have let, The rose, the lily, and the violet. 17 THE SPHINX WHAT is her silence saying, As she peers from her stony eyes, Creature of massive sternness, Woman of monstrous size ? Ever the ages ask it Of the Deity of the Sands, And the Spirit of Egypt answers, The ancient one of the lands : " Drought is my old-time menace, Rain brings my happy while, I blossom forth like a garden With the flooding of the Nile. "It means good grain for my people, Yea, life for my maids and men ; My kings in their great hewn sepulchres, E'en they grow joyful then. S€ In the Sign of the Lion stately, In the Sign of the Virgin too, Do the waters come upwelling, And the fields turn fair to view. " So of old my servants builded The Sphinx; she rose amain, A shape half beast, half human, Above the burning plain ; 18 " For a sure, eternal token The Sphinx Of reverence and praise, A sacrifice to Father Nile Done in the elder days. "And if, in Time's later lapses, Innumerous aliens come To guess at her mystic semblance, And her front seems riddlesome, " My race will comprehend her, Their goddess, and laud her high In her worship of the waters Beneath a rainless sky." 19 CITIES OF ELD IN the Orient uplands afar, Beyond the roof of the world, Strange buried cities are, Where over the winds have whirled And the Sky's bleak stormings swirled For century-sweeps of time. They lie deep hid in the slime, Or frore in their ancient shroud, Careless of clear or cloud, — But dimly imagined of man. There once the opulent East, With sumptuous caravan And blithe bazar and feast, Rejoiced in the gifts of life ; And love allured, and strife Was wine to the conquering strong. There women with ardent eyes Drew souls to sacrifice, And the day of work seemed long Till it brought the night of rest, When the instruments of the dance Made the hours a happy trance ; And jewels were thrown to the best In wit or story or song. The silver of temple bells Clove through the sunset gold, Or else, in these cities old, Called the early to prayer, 20 When the swart, unhurrying throng Cities of Eld Paced to their altars there ; The splendid pillars upsoared Circled with painted scenes From the midst of the forest greens ; And marbled fountains plashed And swords processional flashed, When the gaping crowds stood fast, Beholding some mighty lord Go by, with his pomp of state. Alas, for the fall of fate ! Look ! there is nothing there ; Listen ! no sound is heard, Save haply a vagrant bird Or a wind-wail, or the blare Of thunder ; — there is no worth Of merchandise, no mirth, No lyric word of love ; Great, savage seams of earth Cover the marks thereof. "Tis only but now and then That venturesome modern men Set forth on a hard-won quest From the fresher world of the West, To stand in that silent Vast And remember them of the Past. 'Tis scarcely more than a dream, This olden worship and lust, This fragrance smothered in rust, This beauty of transient gleam ; 21 Cities of Eld A symphony sunk to a moan, A famine after a feast ; The most are like to the least ; The towers are razed, are prone, Yea, all of the folk are dust And even their gods unknown. 22 A CHOPIN PRELUDE A CERTAIN Chopin prelude once I heard. Strive as I may to tell, no mortal word Can all-express that music. Like a bird My soul went up the blue — the sweetest pain, The deepest passion, love without a stain, A high and holy yearning that had lain Buried, did come in a white company, In tremulous procession, unto me. For an immortal moment I was free O' the flesh, and leaped in spirit and was- strong With beauty, shaken by magic of that song. 23 THE WAYS RETURN MANY the ways that man must fare, The roads run up and down ; Some thrid the country hillsides fair, Some slink within the town. Some tortuous are and hard to keep, But others slip along Where gardens grow and fountains leap And speech is sweet, and song. Some stretch away 'midst alien sights, 'Midst strange, far-lying things ; Others be near the native lights, Nor reck of journeyings. And oh, the lingering, long quest, The stumblings, triumphs, pain, The while man fares it east and west Ere he return again. But one boon, one, is sure to be, How far soe'er he roam : At last the wandering ways agree, At last they lead him home. 24 THE ELEMENTAL JOYS THE elemental joys ! How far away And dim they seem, amidst the modern fret ; The tumultuous probings, and the eyes tear-wet ; The dark forever treading on the day ! The elemental joys ! And yet, Behold them close at hand ! The open sky, And all her sweep and thrill ; the open fire, Sleeking the body to its heart's desire ; The white hands of the chosen home-mate — why, They all are goodly-nigh, Nor is death any greedier than of old: So, comrades, let us foot it free and bold, Win song and love and solace like a boy's — The elemental joys ! 25 THE NORTH LIGHT THE ARTIST SPEAKS GIVE me the room with a clear north light To paint my pictures in ; For how may the artist paint aright, And meed eternal win, Unless the sun come temperately Through the roof there, overhead ? Yea, the clear north light is the light for me, As the dark is for the dead ! If I let the fervid south fierce shine On the creatures of my brush, They are passion-warped, for the heat, like wine, Will set my blood a-rush ; Whereas, the artist, like God on high, Must work in no hot whim ; Aroused, yet calm, with a steady eye, While the centuries gaze at him. There is love that lasts and a patience long In his forms and colors sure ; And the light he needs, that he go not wrong, Is a high light, sane and pure. When the great Thought comes and the gleam of Power, There is warmth divine in his soul; But the labor drugs him hour by hour And far away is the goal ; 26 So, for masterv, and the deed well done, The He must cleanse his sight of all North Li 8 ht The quick distempers bred in the sun That take weak men in thrall. Must nurse the spark and the vision swift In the chastened light of the sky ; That the work, though slow, have a heavenward lift, That the Beautv mav not die. f In the place where the pictures have their birth Give me a north light clear, ^ ith more of God and less of earth In the quiet atmosphere. 27 LIGHT AND SHADE THIS one knows joy, and says: " Ah, Life is sweet ! " And sorrow this one : " Nay, 'tis drowned in tears." Meanwhile, the picture is made all complete By God, great Chiaroscurist of the years, Who uses light and shade, and in whose thought The whole is clearly limned and calmly sought. 28 CHILD-PLAY AS children play with toys, So men with hopes and fancies : The little ones with romp and noise Build card-frail, gold romances ; Their elders through the perilous years Build dreams — and wake to toil and tears. But, old or young the same, The glittering baubles please them ; And be it fame or game, These make-believes release them From iron circumstance, from drear Realities that choke them here. 29 LIFE FRIENDLY it stands, yon Inn upon the plain, And keen the lamps burn through the cryptic night. How jocund sound the voices, and how bright The cheer ! how warm the housing from the rain ! The traveller, once arrived, forgets the long, Blank journey leading thither ; all the dim, Mysterious days are nothing now to him, Seated amidst the food and wine and song. But when, the reckoning paid, his comrades fled, He steps upon the road and moves away, His soul is puzzled sore — he cannot say What Inn it was, or by whom tenanted. SO THE ETERNAL FEMININE FOREVER shall she beckon. Men may prate Of custom, fashion, change, — still doth she call To high endeavor ; dreams begotten thence Turn with the day to deeds chivalric ; vows Are pledged eternally before this shrine Whose taper-lights are stars, whose choristers Are souls bowed down with Beauty. Years on years But dim the garments of the worshippers, The light, the lure, are constant. All too brief Is Time wherein to follow from afar The Way of Wonder leading down to Love. Look, at the alley-end she sways and smiles, Fresh as a morn-birth, fair as paradise, — Yet ancient as the moaning of the sea ! 3' A WESTERN SCENE THE land puts on a haggard look ; For branchless boles of trees uprise In straggling groups, in tragic wise, Black, weather-beaten, God-forsook. Upon the plain, in high relief Against wide heaven, you may see Them flaunt spectacular misery, Stamping a summer scene with grief. Yet somewhile in the long ago Blossomed and bloomed an Eden-show Of beauty here — where now is this Bleak picture of a wilderness ? 32 THE MODERN SAINT NO monkish garb he wears, no beads he tells, Nor is immured in walls remote from strife. But from his heart deep mercy ever wells ; He looks humanely forth on human life. In place of missals or of altar dreams, He cons the passioned book of deeds and days ; Striving to cast the comforting sweet beams Of charity on dark and noisome ways. Not hedged about by sacerdotal rule, He walks a fellow of the scarred and weak. Liberal and wise his gifts ; he goes to school To Justice ; and he turns the other cheek. He looks not holy ; simple is his belief ; His creed for mystic visions do not scan ; His face shows lines cut there by others' grief, And in his eyes is love of brother-man. Not self nor self- salvation is his care ; He yearns to make the world a sunnier clime To live in ; and his mission everywhere Is strangely like to Christ's in olden time. No mediaeval mystery, no crowned, Dim figure, halo-ringed, uncanny bright. A modern saint : a man who treads earth's ground, And ministers to men with all his might. 33 SEALED ORDERS WE bear sealed orders o'er Life's weltered sea, Our haven dim and far ; We can but man the helm right cheerily, Steer by the brightest star, And hope that when at last the Great Command Is read, we then may hear Our anchor song, and see the longed-for land Lie, known and very near. 34 BLACK OAKS THE leaves of the black oak linger the winter through In the woods of the wide Northwest ; leech- like they cling To the branch, and they nowise yield * to blight and snow, Presences dun and mystic ; oft is the view Framed in their subtle richness ; oft they ring Horizons else remote as the Long Ago. The leaves of the black oak bide, and for me their grace Has a conjuring touch of home, of a dear lost place ; I forget the plains, I behold New England's face. 35 HAYING-TIME IN the meadows the men are haying : I can hear the creak of the cart, I can see the play of the muscles, And the honest sweat outstart. But the blue sky, calm and ample, With tranquil speech doth say : " Why sweat, O ye tiny toilers, When your work is for a day ? " 36 CHANGELESS LOVE hath full many semblances : Now this Fair face doth lure, now yonder smile re- makes A sorry world ; now at a mad-cap kiss We build unstable dreams : the vision takes A myriad forms, and hath the charm thereof. — But ever, in the background, soareth Love, One deathless creature poised beyond, above ! 37 « IN SPEAKING OF THE LITTLE ONES WE LOVE" IN speaking of the little ones we love Our souls grow warm and tender : Young-of- Years So helpless seems, yet valiant, trusting all It sees, and putting faith in the Unseen ; Deeming the whole cold-hearted outer world A mother-embrace, a bosom for its sleep. We men are little ones before high God : In pain, in sickness, and in moods that yearn For consolation, or when we intrust Our pigmy bodies to their night-still beds, The spirit feels its youth and feebleness And turns like any weak, perplexed child Toward home, toward father, mother, and the things Indwelling, known of old, and longed for still, 'Midst infinite barrenness and all unrest. We men are little ones before high God : The boasts of brain, the passions of the mind Are nothing, set beside the one brief hour Of faith re-born, calm dreams, and utter love. 38 GOSPELS TWO Gospels there are of the years That haunt men, and follow them after And one is the Gospel of tears, The other the Gospel of laughter. The Gospel of laughter is good, For it sweetens the gall of our sorrow ; Therethrough is slow anguish withstood And the spirit trussed up for the morrow. The Gospel of tears is divine, For it makes us draw closer together, And shows us the beacon and sign Of souls, in Life's stormiest weather. Two Gospels there are of the years, Rich-crowning our grief and our pleasure : The Gospel of laughter, of tears, With meanings that man may not measure. 39 TRAVEL SIT in mine house at ease, Moving nor foot nor hand ; Yet sail through unchartered seas And wander from land to land. I And though I may travel far, It is always well with me ; I can come from an outmost star At a touch, at a call from thee. 40 r THE QUEST OF SUMMER I HAD been waiting long For its coming, For the time of bird-song And the humming Of the bees and the smell of May grass, Till it seemed that the winter sleep never would pass To the buoyant bright waking of summer, Sweet comer, With the mood of a love-plighted lass. But it came, In a garment of sensitive flame In the west, and a royal blue sky overhead, With exuberant breath and the bloom of all things Having wonders and wings, Being risen elate from the dead. Yea, it came with a flush Of pied flowers, and a turbulent rush Of spring-loosened waters, and an odorous hush At nightfall, — and then I was glad With the gladness of one who for militant months has been sad. Then for days, In the warm noon haze, In the freshness of morning or spirit-still mood of the night, My delight Was wordless and deep, was a benison straight from my God ; 4 1 The Quest For the sky and the sod of Summer Were marvels, and living a joy, and dun winter a myth ; But therewith Crept a change, — no swift spasm of nature, no death Of brightness and beauty, but soberer drawing of breath That follows on rapture ; no pall Of sorrow, but splendid and bounteous Fall, Whose veil is soft silver, who heralds a festival Of harvests and hopes and desires, Around whose fires Dance satyrs and nymphs and young Bacchus the jocund, whose shapes Are purply with time-mists and grapes. Then I knew How September's most opulent blue Must merge in October's calm gold, As ever of old ; A month thorough-thrilled with the prescience of ultimate pain ; That again Would follow November wind-writhen and sere, Then winter, a wild-mannered fere. So I said : " I will hasten from here, I will win to what climes are more winsome and warm, Where skyey beatitudes are, and no storm • May startle them out of their passionless norm Of peace ; 42 Where release The Quest From weathers shall last through each day of the of Summer seven, So long as below is the earth and above is the heaven." So when the season came of hooded skies, Of wailing voices and of cheerless ways, I ventured forth upon this sole emprise, Nor saw my mother-land for many days. II Soft slumbrous breathings of the enchanted noon That drift and sift across the lapsed lagoon ; The hush of heat, and for a constant tune The languid silver swash of Southern seas. The cocoa palms seem tranced upon the air With cassia odorous ; all bright and bare Of sails the sea ; the coral reefs gleam fair Along the beach, and boom the big swart bees. Here in this island-haunt a soul may rest Like to a child upon the mother-breast, Dreaming no dream that is not smooth and blest, Nor waking save to solaces as dear. Night follows noon, and then each star above Looms like a moon and pulses life and love ; The waters moan as moans a rapt white dove, And whilom water-fowls make clamor clear. 43 The Quest How long have I been here ? Ah, who can tell ? of Summer j he hours are but es trays of Time —no bell Tinkles to warn the islanders ; but well They know the day-dawn : It was yesteryear, Perchance, or yesterday ; it matters not, There are no hounding cares to make a blot Upon Life's face, to rouse the tranced spot Into unease and bodings fraught with fear. How can I e'er be sad, so bathed in bliss ? Here is unceasing summer ; here, I wis, One need but lie and watch the sky-line kiss The waves, and pluck the poppy in the sand. Unceasing summer, aye ; . . and far from home ! How many countless leagues across the foam The sail-sick mariner must rock and roam Before he sight the long-witholden land ! And there are icy wind and barren snow, And here all tropic splendors bloom and blow ; Then who would leave it, nor be loth to go From pleasance such to breast a wintry clime ? Lo, for the asking, lemons, mangoes, milk, And berries, shedding fragrance ; soft as silk The bed whereon I lie, the breezes ilk That fan my face, the bath at morning-time. 44 Below, a myriad colors on the earth, The Quest Around, a shifting miracle, a birth of Summer Of beauty new, and ever wonder-worth ; Above, the great deep sapphire of the sky. It were a marvel did a man regret Within this June eternal : ah, but yet I feel mine eyes north-gazing, sometimes wet. Mayhap it is mere surfeit of delight, Or is it love and longing for the lost Keen raptures of a country tempest-tossed, By all the savageries of nature crossed And crowned with cold, as kings with circlets bright ? Nay, ask me not ; but I must now away, Seeking my native land, as wanderers may, Homesick, and taught by every flawless day How better than all else the old-time things. I must away — so fetch my lithe canoe To dare the foam and tread the sea-halls blue. A swift farewell, O Isle of Dreams, to you, Southern Cross, see where in heaven it swings. Ill 1 came with the winds and the weather To the well-beloved place, And I recked not a rose-worth whether Sere winter had showed his face 45 The Quest On the sea and the land, of Summer In the icy ^ Or whether the year was bland and fair : All weather was seemly weather, Because it was homelike there. In those sunshine isles of the Southern sea The old keen joyance had slipt from me, I sated soon of the ceaseless boon Of drowsy days by the still lagoon. But now my thoughts were interblent with birds And blandishments of morning ; all the land Was lovely past the putting it in words, Yet changeful as a maid who gives her hand, But will not do it wantonly, for fear It make her seem less dear. So the secret was won forever, And I hugged it tight to my breast : How the life all-summered, never Knows passion nor joy's behest. How the spring change wakes to rapture The spirit so long asleep, And the May month seems to capture A bliss that is twofold deep When it follows hard on a sullen time Of cheerless fields and of limping rhyme, With a lyric thrill and a burst sublime. 4 6 So my quest of summer was over ; The Quest The time of corn and of clover, of Summer Of robin and rose and radiant hours, Came to my door as a welcome guest, Welcome with birds and flowers, And I feasted fine in the warmth and scent ; But when 'twas o'er I was well content, Facing the sober fall with zest ; Nor winter frore Could evermore Be aught but a rough-wayed friend to me, — A friend who had preached high-heartedly Courage, faith in the good-to-be. For the sweetest of all seasons Is that which follows pain, And the best of winter's reasons Is the summer here again. 47 ON THE LINE A LITTLE picture hung — its peaceful stretch Of sunny field ; its glimpse of shady lane Wherein the cattle, stragglers ponderous, Made leisurely advance ; its distant hills That left the background dreamy, and above, Beyond, the summer sky white-flecked with cloud, — Dulled down and killed because on either side Were canvases of other themes and tones. The eye, confused by these so variant thoughts, Must wander helplessly, nor stay to judge The patient artist's meaning; so the small And modest picture missed its due effect. 'Twas bought by one who had the seeing soul. One day he showed it me within a room Where all was harmonized to suit its mood. I found it hard to think my memory Had played me false, so foully disesteemed The treasure that mine eyes must now behold : The wealth of coloring, the breadth and range, The worship breathing through and under all. 'Tis thus with men. Alive, they josde past, Shoulder to shoulder with some fellow-man Who draws our gaze away. We hardly know If they be gods or ghosts, so carelessly We sense their presence. Death lifts up his hand And beckons once ; they follow, leave the crowd. + 8 We straight collect their words and scattered On the Line deeds, Abstract our thoughts from off the busy world, And study all that went to make them rare, Until they stand disburdened and declared. Then, next, we garnish up a pedestal, Unused before, and lift their image high For wise posterity in after-time To humbly pause and view them, stern in stone. 49 CLEAR HEAVENS THE sky is wind-swept, and the golden air, Rain -washed, is crystal-clear and keen to breathe. The hills since yesterday have shaken off Their dim aloofness, and uprise so near, Clean cut and purple ' gainst the brow of morn, They startle you. There is a brilliancy Set like a seal on earth and heaven ; it seems As if all Nature made her ready for Some festival, some august guest to come And tarry for a day. Some joy-to-be Haunts in the field, inhabits all the woods, And thrids the blue ; nor e'en night's darker mood Dispels the strong illusion : since the stars Shine brighter than their wont, and breezes blow The message, " Patience ; it will all come true." 5o TWO BARDS A BARD who wrote in staves Once made a heathen hymn. It had this stern refrain, That moved as though in pain : €€ The under-glimpse of graves Makes the sea grim." A south-land singer sung With happy heart and free. The living, not the dead, He dealt with, and he said : ** The world is glad and young, And good to me." And ever since, mankind Is shuttled back and forth Between these singers twain Of glad and sad refrain : — The southland warm and kind, The bitter north. 51 PLAINT OF THE PINE I FOUND a pine that shot its solemn bole Twice fifty feet against the summer sky From out a sunless gorge ; and sad of soul It seemed, until I sought to question why ; Whereat the tree moaned darkly — made this strange reply : " I am troubled betimes, I am sad in my sleep, Foreboding the day I shall stagger and leap And tremble through tempests o'er seas that are deep. " They will fashion me forth for a ship ; they will make My stature and girth but a mock ; they will break My branches and rend me for merchanting' s sake. " Eternal unease shall be portioned to me, A creature firm rooted and fain so to be, — Eternal unease on the shifting, loud sea. €( For each to his nature ; and mine is to grow Tall, sombre, and steadfast, and gravely a-row With brothers as grave, while the centuries go. "I am troubled betimes, I am sorely oppressed, As I ponder and dream on my mother-earth's breast, With a fear of the ocean, that knoweth not rest." 52 TRAGEDIES TWO kinds there are : the one theatric, bold, A murder, maybe, horrible to see, Lives lost by fire or flood, and bodies cold That speak some tale of awful agony ; The other, mumming 'neath a milder name : A human soul that as the days go by Sinks deeper down into some pit of shame, Yet knows the stars shine silvery and high. 53 FLASHES A FLASH of the lightning keen! And io! we know that, miles on miles, The dim, lost land is lying green. It brims our heart with joy, the whiles, To see that through the thick night-screen Full many a meadow smiles and smiles. A flash from the poet's brain! The meaning of the many years, That mazeful seemed, grows very plain ; The level lands of gloom and tears Hint holy heights, turn bright again ; The night a transient thing appears. 54 LAUREL ALONG the road in the month of June, With all the roses in their prime, The laurel blooms and hears the tune Of all the birds, for 'tis their time Of fullest, fairest singing. And no man meets awake, a-dream, A daintier pink on lady-cheek Than paints those clustered cups that seem Like nuns demure and over-meek, So close together clinging. Some flowers are for city walks, And some o'er love's light lattice climb ; And some are noisome on their stalks, While others scent the summer time In quiet garden closes. But most of all, methinks, I love Along some road of solitude To see the laurel, flower of A simpler yet a sweeter mood Than any mood of roses! 55 MARY MAGDALEN AT dawn she sought the Saviour slain, To kiss the spot where he had lain And weep warm tears, like Spring-time rain ; When lo ! there stood, unstained of death, A man that spake with slow, sweet breath ; And " Master ! " Mary answereth. From out the far and fragrant years, How sweeter than the songs of seers That tender offering of tears ! 56 PICTURES I A PALLID nun, by serge made doubly pale, Stoops to the pavement for a red, ripe leaf Dropt from a tree, and smiles beneath her veil In thinking this may soothe a sick child's grief. II A cool contralto voice that calms the soul, As night-wind calms the pulses hot with pain; And, crouching in a seat, the grave her goal, A wanton grown a simple girl again. Ill A street musician singing of the sea Amidst the shipping of a smoke -wrapt town ; Until a soft south breeze from Italy Touches the cheek, and fairer skies float down. 57 THE DREAM AND THE WAKING A DREAM slipped out of a wood : Ah, foolish dream ! You found no other good By stile, by stream (So would it surely seem), Like to the cool sweet wood With odors all ateem. But stay ! A slight girl stood, White browed, with clasped hands, Down in the meadow lands, Down in the meadow there, And fair, ah fair ! The dream, the wood forsaking, Wise in his way, full wise, Stopped because of her eyes, Stopped and found fair waking, — The dream slipped out of the wood And found a better good : The sweet pine haunts forsaking, He passed to a happy waking, To life in a maiden's eyes. Ah, he was wise ! 58 LIFE AND SONG IFE is the seed one soweth, f Song is the springing flower Life is the tear that floweth, Song is the happy hour. V For as the seed must tarry Under the chilly mould, Only to swell and carry Savor in every fold ; And as the tear prepareth Hearts for the coming bliss, And by the pain it beareth Widens the soul for this ; So will a seed of sorrow Blossom my life along ; So will a tearful morrow Write me a deeper song. 59 INTERPRETATION A SORROWER went his way along, And I heard him sing and say : €€ The noon is bright, but soon the night Will come, the grave of the day." Then I smiled to hear his woful song And sent this word for nay : t€ The noon is bright, but the blackest night Cradles another day." 60 THE NATIONAL AIR I SAT at home and heard an air Played slow and solemnly ; But slow or swift, I did not care, It nothing spake tome, 'Twas hackneyed, stale, I could but smile To think how some will cheer, Yea, daundess tramp through death' s defile, If but that song be near. In after days I heard again This anthem rolling grand ; But now I sat 'midst foreign men Within a foreign land. And in a trice my soul took flame, My blood was fire in me ; I trembled at my country's name With love and fealty ! 61 A PRELUDE LITTLE conjurer of keys, You shall play me, and you please, From the masters, music-blessed, Playing what I love the best : Something sweet of Schumann's make, Something sad for Chopin's sake ; Then a waltz with gayer graces Born of Liszt and pleasant places. Next, to sway my dreaming soul, Play a Schubert barcarole ; And, to wake me from the trance, Just a tricksy Spanish dance. Now a fugue of Bach's, a song Weaving thoughts of right and wrong ; And a thing of airy tone That belongs to Mendelssohn. A sonata-strain whose grief Gave Beethoven's heart relief; Last a melody divine From the soul of Rubinstein. Playing thus, the warp of life, Dark of hue and sorrow-rife, Shall be gladdened fold on fold With a woof of sunny gold, Woven from your melodies, Little conjurer of keys, 62 THE GRASS I AM one with waving things, Lying in the grass to-day ; Harkening to the song that rings When the robin has his say. Cares and crosses fall away, As the raindrops from the wings Of a bird. Amidst the hay I am one with waving things. I am one with waving things, For I do not speak aloud. Nay, the peace that silence brings Keeps me like a windless cloud, Till I clean forget the crowd Cityward, whose happenings Oft and o'er my soul have cowed, Dull and dead to waving things. I am one with waving things, For I lie and brood and grow Very full of bygone springs, Very full of dreams that flow Saplike after winter snow ; Brother to the bird that sings For a cause he may not know I am one with waving things. 63 THE POET TO THE CLOUD SOFT white cloud in the sky, Wise are you in your day : One side turned toward God on high, One toward the world alway. Soft white cloud, I too Would bear me like to you. So might I secrets learn From heaven, and tell to men ; And so might their spirits beat and burn To make it their country then. Soft white cloud, make mine Such manner of life as thine. 6 4 A STORM KEEN fiery furrows in the skyward field : The thunder's big black voice sounds loud and long, The wind, wild witch, has fitful shrieked and reeled From east to west, as stung by sense of wrong ; While from a tree, 'midst goodly green concealed, A fearless bird carols a careless song. 65 THE LILY THY loveliness is meek and free From arrogance, and yet I find A certain stately pride in thee That wakens revery in my mind. And well I ween why it is so ! — A lily once the Master took His lesson from, then let it go, But first he blessed it with a look. Ah ! who can doubt the flower was thrilled With tremblings strange, and raised its head With joy, its lovesome body filled With sense of what the Master said ? And lilies since, forevermore, Do hold them high, do bear them well, Do raise their cups more proudly, for The lily of the parable. 66 THE MUSIC STRAIN M USIC strain, where do you go, When you hush and vanish so ? " " Sure, I only take my rest In a spot that's beauty-blest." " Music strain, may mortals too Gird them up and go with you ? " " Nay, for I am all divine, And my country is not thine. ' ' €€ Music strain, will death reveal All the bliss you make us feel ? ' ' " Mortal, listen, love me well, And together we may dwell." " Yes, but when, O subtle song ! For the waiting seems so long ? * ' < * I will house thee safe and sure, When thy love is perfect-pure." "Ah, it seems I cannot stay For the break of such a day ! ' ' " Mortal, it is wondrous near ; Hope and hark, and have no fear." 6 7 A MADRIGAL APRIL eyes, April eyes, Alight with laughter, Where is the lucky swain Who in those blue orbs twain May read the answer plain He would be after ? April eyes, April eyes, Fast brimming over, Will he not come again ? Ah, after blue skies rain, After brief pleasure pain ; Love is a rover. 68 GYPSIES CHILDREN of the lost tribe, home-banished ones, Aliens and outcasts, — but rich dowered in The sun and shade and all the leagues of air, Ye are a sign and symbol of the race — The restless, unappeased race of man — Whose roots, mayhap, strike deep in some dear soil Long lost, but whose unsure and questing feet Wander, the while his eye that scans the blue Welcomes new vistas, and his seeking soul Camps for a night, — but with the morn's first sounds Girds up, to take the old eternal trail Godward, to find the Tent of Peace, wherein All nomads relish the home-keeping ways, — Clan of the wander-weary, tamed at last. 69 A LEGEND OF THE MOON NIGHTLONG I yearned so madly toward the moon, Meseemed she whispered low the ancient rune Of her past history — as strange a word On life and death and doom as e'er I heard : So wondrous strange it did my soul constrain To tell the tale again. A legend this of eld and other spheres : In times before the dawn of human deeds On earth, life swarmed upon the mystic moon, Where now is stony silence, — ages ere Chaldaeans probed the riddles of the sky, Or swart Egyptians slumbered in their tombs. The air was sweet for breathing ; all the ways Trembled with speech of folk or song of birds Blithe-mooded — cities clung along the slopes Or darkened on the plains, the land teemed tilth ; Wide-yawing ships swept over seas whose names Are immemorial ; wars raged red, and Art Thrust temples white where once the wild beast prowled, And in her limbec poured men's grosser thoughts Distilling dreams and subtle dews divine. The moon-man is the sole possessor now In those vast regions. He is known of all The children from their birth-while : him you see On cloud-clear nights (if you will patient peer) Sitting upon a round of massy stone Within a great grey desert where the light 70 Is ghostly wan. Upon his face is writ A Legend of Unuttered agonies of things long lost the Moon Yet keen remembered : rugged is his brow, And in his eyes a Horror blackly broods. But how he came, and why he sits alone, Behooves the telling — list, it happened thus : ^Eons ago the gods had mind to make (For pleasure of their august realms) a world Of beings fleshed in bodies, but with souls Whose spark was like their own. Whereon they glanced About those primal heavens, and saw afar A little globe that wheeled a constant course Through space. And since it looked a seemly spot To nourish life, they spoke the fiat — then A cry of young humanity was heard Upon the moon. But ere the word was said That gave this dubious gift of living, lo ! The gods did set a bound to lunar years, To lives that dwell thereon : So long a time (They swore) as human face should look on face With faith and kindliness, might breath be drawn, And no whit after, — changeless the decree. Herein was shown most meet desire that love Be Lord of Life, that neither loveless crime Nor lust should harden hearts until that men, Wrapt up in self-hood, let their brothers go To bliss or bane unnoted : hence the law. 71 A Legend of Then ages fled and kingdoms waxed and waned the Moon j n ^^ m0 on-country with the march of time. But life, that first bloomed freshly, like a flower Sweet-natured with the air and rain and sun, Grew weed-like, noisome, foul. Thereon the gods Sent plagues to scourge : — the moon-folk heeded not. Then certain of the cities most engorged In fleshly ways, were smote ; as afterwhile The earth saw cities stricken in their pride : Sodom, Gomorrah, wide-walled Babylon, Whose monarch was anhungered with the kine. The people paused, but soon, emboldened, turned Unto their idol of the cloven hoof; And over all the land men's eyes were glazed Toward Love, and greedy but for sordid gain. Now came the gods to council, and the law, The ancient screed wherein was set the terms Of habitation on the doomed orb, Was gravely conned : and it was plain to see That total, fell destruction must ensue, If they would keep their word inviolate. And so with ponderous, grim debate they chose To send a rain of fire from heaven to scorch The world of men and women on the moon : Save only one, a hermit hoary, who Had all his days lived wisely, sought the light And loved his fellows. Leave him to his prayer, And suffer him to make a gentler end Whenso he wills, the mighty mandate read. 72 So was it done : one awful day and night A Legend of (Uncalendared within that dateless land) the Moon The liquid flame licked down, and ceasing, left Ashes and bones and formless waste, wherefrom The some-time splendor of a world had been. And he, the moon-man, whom the children know, The childlike hermit of this elder race, Was left alone. And now a bleak despair And sorrow nipped his blood, and he was fain To perish by his cave. But erst at eve He stood within a strange and windless plain And with lack-lustre gaze beheld where shone Through trackless leagues of space the clustered lights Of constellations, idly looked upon Fixed stars of vibrant flickerings, did mark The changeless glow of planets in their path, Argent or gold or ruddy-faced like Mars : And saw, or deemed he saw, or dreamed he saw, A shape, that moved upon one orb, the earth, A silver cirque that lit the nether sky. Whereat a tremor shook his spirit lax, And it grew tense : his soul was hung upon That shifting thing, that blot against a star, Until he knew it for a mortal man And wept, and cried aloud, to think that he Was less companionless. Thereafter, though His lot was gruesome and his sorrows lead Against his heart, a kind of pensive calm 73 A Legend of Settled within him as he watched our orb the Moon Th ro > years and sweeping cycles, e'en to Now. Nor had he will to die, because of this Weird watch and ward, this brooding over us. Nay, once he even smiled a moment's space, Beholding how a deed of charity Was done a lonesome soul : and once his eyes Looked dreamy in their sockets gaunt, because An earth-poet's fancy dubbed yon yellow ball An octoroon beside those slim white girls, The stars. But most his mood set sorrowward, And most his sighs were like the homeless wind That moans about the gables in the night. Sleep does not visit him from month to month : Mandrake nor poppy may not lure his eyes From earthward quest ; awake and sad, he seems To yearn within his poised and dizzy haunt For easement of the warning in his mind To us of earth, lest we let Love be lost — That crystal candle 'midst the bogs of hate And guile and lack-of-Love and lusts untamed — As did his kindred, so their sorry case Be ours : remembering that the self-same gods Shaped him and us and all. Be such his thoughts Or no, he keeps his vigil, and his front Looks dumbly down, — while I upgaze at him And wonder if his brain be not distraint With horrid weight of memory. Shall he find A final solace for a fate forlorn, And meet with us upon some higher sphere To commerce once again with human kind 74 By touch of hand and mouth and interchange A Legend of Of words, a long withholden boon to him ? the Moon So far the moon has whispered : here she stays Her silver secrets, leaves me unappeased. Along came Science in a surly mood Of introspection, harked awhile, nor spake, Frowned ominously, and then at length found speech, That made but tatters of my peopled moon, The mid-air ship that bore my single fleece Of story. 9 Tis a lie, quoth he, for ne'er Since chaos was there breath on yonder orb Nor moving wight, nor sound of speech nor song To make the mountains merry and the plains Vital and thick with voices : None but babes And sucklings can be fooled with such a myth. Whereat mine answer : Men are children still. And love their legends and their wonder-tales. Moreover, came the record not from heaven, From very heaven upon a cloudless night ? So, Science, leave me to my conjuring Of moons and mortals and of olden days. 75 OCT i4i 1899 Deacidified using the Bookkeeper process. Neutralizing agent: Magnesium Oxide Treatment Date: Sept. 2009 PreservationTechnologies A WORLD LEADER IN COLLECTIONS PRESERVATION 111 Thomson Park Drive Cranberry Township, PA 1 6066 (724)779-2111