BY MARGARET J. PRESTON. BOSTON: ROBERTS BROTHERS. I875. Coypyrigzt, BY ROBERTS BROTHERS. I875Cambridge: Press of 7ohn Wilson &. Son. TO ELIZABETH RANDOLPH PRESTON ALLAN. CONTE NT S. PAGE THE GOOD OF IT....... 7 artoonz from tIe Life of tc te ~Iab fazter., MONA LISA'S PICTURE. 13 THE IMAESTRO'S CONFESSION.. 18 VITTORIA COLONNA TO MICHAEL ANGELO.... 24 SEBASTIANO AT SUPPER........ 29 IN THE SISTINE........... 33 THE DUKE'S COMMISSION.......... 39 DONNA MARGHERITA..... 42 POUSSIN AND HIS MASTER... 45 THE BARON'S DAUGHTER....... 48 EMIGRAVIT............ 56 MURILLO'S TRANCE....... 59 THE SHADOW........ 62 TINTORETTO'S LAST PAINTING........ 66 WOMAN'S ART...........70 iv CONTENTS. ~artoonz ftom tJe Life of tbe 3Leffsnmb PAGE ST. GREGORY'S SUPPER........ 75 DIOROTHEA'S ROSES.. 79 FRANCESCA'S WORSHIP...... 84 THE BISHOP'S BAN. O......... 88 CONSUMMATUM EST....... 92 BEDA VENERABILIS....... 94 RABBI SIMEON'S PARABLE... 97 SAINT MARTIN'S TEMPTATION... I00 THE REAPERS OF LANDISFARNE. IO4 THE HERMIT'S VIGIL.......... I09 BACHARACH WINE..... 112 THE QUEEN'S KISS......... II6 THE LEGEND OF THE WOODPECKER... I I9 THE COUNT'S SOWING...... I22 SAINT LAMBERT'S COAL...... I25 THE LEAVES OF HEALING........ 128 CHRIMHILDE'S TREASURES......... 130 THE ROYALLEST GIFT...... I34 THE LADY RIBERTA'S HARVEST.... I37 HERIBERT'S KISS......144 CONTENTS. v Qartoulz from tbe Life of go-May. PAGE THE HERO OF THE COMMUNE...... 15I IN AN EASTERN BAZAAR.......... 54 ALPENGLOW.... 158 ROSSEL.............. 161 His NAME............. 163 A SOLILOQUY IN THE VATICAN........ 65 UNAWARES............ i68 *INASMUCH............. I7 ONE DAY...... I75 SMITTEN.......... I76 DEAD DAYS............... I77 THE QUESTION............. I79 GONE FORWARD...... I80 THE SHADE OF THE TREES......... 82 AGASSIZ............... 84 SANDRINGHAM........ 86 THROUGH THE PASS....... 89 KINGSLEY................ I92 BLEMISHED OFFERING...I 95 BECAUSE............197 MYRRH-BEARERS...... 200 vi CONTENTS. Cartoons from the Lzfe of To-Day (continued). PAGE BY-AND-BY.......... 203 AGNES........... 205 LETTING-GO OF HANDS......... 207 PROPHETS OF DOUBT.... 210 THE GRANDEST DEED......... 214 COMFORTED............. 218 A BIRD'S MINISTRY......... 221 THE BRAHMIN'S TEST........... 224 THE GRIT OF THE MILLSTONE........ 228 TRUST........ 230 HARVESTED......... 231 BABY FAITH........... 233,'THE LITTLE WATCHER........ 235 TO THE UTTERMOST........ 237 NOTES............ 239 THE GOOD OF IT. WHEN any task my hands essay, Wherewith to fill the eager day, There rises to my thought alway, This hindering question: -Whence the need Of this thy lightly-weighted deed? Forego it, and who taketh heed.? Perform it, -who will praise or blame, Though it be wrought with purest aim? Done or undone,'tis all the same! It cannot surely much behoove, If, in thy life's so shallow groove, Thou movest, or thou dost not move. 8 THE GOOD OF IT. Amidst the -thousand myriad lives That overcrowd earth's human hives, What matter if no work survives Of thy small doing? - Who counts, alas, One cricket chirping in the grass, The less, when summer-time doth pass? So, keep thy song unwritten; spare To spill thy music on the air; Let go the stainless canvas bare. The world is over-deaved with speech; And who so out of wisdom's reach, As yet to lack what Itou canst teach? O poor, proud reasoning! Shall the spray Of fern beside the boulder gray, Thrid with the morning's opals, say,"Whole winged flocks their nests have made In yon great oak. Why should my blade Afford an humble-bee its shade?" THE GOOD OF IT. 9 Or the light breeze sigh: " Loud and deep, The mountain-winds the forests sweep; Must I just rock one rose asleep? " Or glow-worm murmur: " So divine, So flooding, sunlight's, moonlight's shine, This moth can need no glint of mine!" Because our music is not keyed Beethoven-wise, therefore, indeed, We scorn to blow the oaten reed. Because we may not counterpart The dance and trance of Shakespeare's art, We will not soothe one aching heart! — Mock meekness all! There doth not live Any so poor but they may give, Any so rich but may receive. Withhold the very meagrest dole Hands can bestow, in part or whole, And we may stint a starving soul. 10 THE GOOD OF IT. What then? - If one weak song of mine Should yet prevail to bring the shine Back o'er some spirit's dull decline, And for a moment seem to fling A flash about its sun-setting, - I think (God granting) I may sing. FROM THE LIFE OF THE OLD MASTERS. MONA LISA'S PICTURE. FRANCESCO. GOOD Messer Leonardo, - dawdling still Over that canvas? Pray how many times Have the black olives dropped in yonder garden Since you began it? LEONARDO.' Do I gauge my work By olive-harvests? If you reckon toil By its results, then count me out its sum, Beseech you. On the very day I planned The altar-piece for Nunziata's Church, You came with Mona Lisa first. But since, —Why, there's Valdarno bridge, and the great mill Nigh to Fucecchio, and the wide canal, That floated off my thoughts, as they had been Merceries for the market. Then that plague Anent Duke Sforza's bronze; and the designs The Flanders merchants harried me about; Besides, my Di NVatzra, and - what else? 14 MONA LISA'S PICTURE. FRANCESCO. "Besides," forsooth! Why, there are twenty more Unfinished schemes. If thus you mean to count, I'd say the portrait of my wife had been In your bottefgz, - well, - some dozen years; And yet, I do believe,'tis barely four. But, look you! all this time the panel waits:'Tis done, - now grant it so; the picture's done. LEONARDO. Done? - Nothing that my pencil ever touches Is wholly done. There's some evasive grace Always beyond, which still I fail to reach, As heretofore, I've failed to hold and fix Your Mona Lisa's changeful loveliness. Why, think of it, my lord. Here's Nature's self Has patient wrought these two-and-twenty years, With subtlest transmutations, making her Your pride, the pride of Florence and - my despair! Her native sky, Salerno's azurn sky, Gave (to begin) that half-Greek dower of hers; And every atmosphere that she has breathed Since, - all the potent essences that light, Air, color, perfume, set of mellowing suns, MONA LISA'S PICTURE. 15 Crisp morns, rich noons, and fruited evening-times, All agencies that happiness and love Commingled bring,- all mystic confluence Of passionate life with herimperial calm, All interfuse of high intelligence, All entertainments of divinest thought, That cause Saint Catherine's ecstasies seem pale,Why these, I say, have been so many masters, Each perfect in his art, who, on the curves Of her pure face, with silent chiselling, Have toiled these two-and-twenty years! while I, Nature's unskilled disciple — FRANCESCO. Hold! Draw breath! "Unskilled?" Nay, man, you dig too many channels, Dividing so your overmastering powers To your own discontent;- that's all. I would This restive genius had been parcelled out Midst a half dozen grateful citizens, To make their fortunes wherewithal; and then Less time would serve my lady's face. LEONARDO. My lord, "If what thou wouldst, thou canst not, be content 1i6 IMONA LISA'S PICTURE. To striz've for what thou canst." So sang I once.* I strive for what I can. But you, - you tire, You gibe, because through a brief season's space - (FRANCESCO. Four mortal years since he began the picture!) LEONARDO. I've not attained unto the capture yet Of that shy, furtive beauty. Oft you've watched The miracle of her smile? Now, see you here,'Tis only just half caught, - not half, observe: Next time that Mona Lisa sits, I'll work Into it finer grace; I'll trap the charm Somehow. You'll see-m FRANCESCO. Good faith! but don't you hear The panel waits? I'm tired of seeing the arras Hang blankly over it. San Luca's feast Falls four days hence, and on its eve I hold A banquet. Mark, -the portrait must be placed Ere thenX " Chi non pub quel che vuol, quel che pub voglia." -From a Sonnet by Leonardo. M0ONA LISA'S PICTURE. I 7 LEONARDO. Ay, have it, —have it, an you will, In season for your guests, betwixt their cups, To sum its lack. I marvel you should fail To note its incompleteness! Why, this flesh Would pulsate else; this lash betray a droop Under full gaze,- these pearls would ebb and flow With every rippling lapse of tided breath, Astrand on the white beaching of her throat! — But have the panel filled (if that's the point), And barter, for one night's fresh - iovelty, An immortality of loveliness For Mona Lisa; since, once carried hence, My brush shall never touch the canvas more. THE MAESTRO'S CONFESSION. (ANDREA DAL CASTAGNO. I460.) Io THREE-SCORE and ten, - I wish it were all to live again! Doesn't the Scripture somewhere say, By reason of strength that mortals may Even reach fourscore? Alack! who knows! Ten sweet, long years of life! I would paint My Lady and many and many a saint, And thereby win my soul's repose. Yet, Fra Bernardo, you shake your head; Has the leech once said I must die? But he Is only a fallible man, you see. Now, if it had been our Father, the Pope, I should know there was then no hope. Were only I sure of a few kind years More-to be merry in, then my fears THE MAESTRO'S CONFESSION. I 9 Faugh! - wouldn't I slip them all awhile For mocking me so, -and turn and smile At their hated reckonings? Whence the need Of squaring accounts for word and deed, Till the lease is up?- What? - Now?.. You fright Me strangely! I couldn't have heard aright, - "To-night?" No, no! - Did you say,-" To-nig/t? " II. Ah, woe! ah, well! " Confess - confess, and so beforgiven:" Is there no easier path to heaven? Santa Maria i - how can I tell What now for a score Of years and more, I've buried away in my heart so deep; That howso weary I've been, I've kept Eyes waking, when near me another slept, Lest I might mutter it in my sleep? And now at the last, to blab it clear! How the women will shirk my pictures i! And worse Will the men do,- spit on my name and curse: But then, - up in heaven I shall not hear! - I faint — I faintQuick, Fra Bernardo! —the figure stands 20 THE MAESTRO'S CONFESSIOX. There in the niche, - my patron saint: Put it within my trembling hands Till they are steadier, - so... My brain Dizzied and whirled with sudden pain, Trying to span that gulf of years,Fronting once more those long-laid fears. Confess, - why, yes, - if I must, I must; Now good San Christopher be my trust! But fill me first, from yon crystal cup, Strong wine to bolster my courage up. -(That thing is a gem of craftsmanship; Just note how its curvings fit the lip!) Ah! you, in your sodden, stagnant life, What should you know of the rage and strife, The blinding envy, the lashing smart That swirls and sweeps through the Maestro's heart, When he sees his housemate snatch the prize Out from under his very eyes, For which he would wreck his soul? You see, I taught him his art from first to last: Whatever he was, he owed to me; And then to be browbeat, - overpassed, - THE MAESTRO'S CONFESSION. 2I Stealthily jeered behind the hand! Why, that was more than a saint could stand, And I was no saint. And if my soul, With a pride like the devil's, spurned control, And goaded me on to madness, till I lost all measure of good or ill,Whose fault was it, pray? 0, many a day I've cursed it, yet whose is the blame, I say? His name? - How odd that you question so i When I'm sure I have spoken it over and o'er, And why should you care to hear it more? Well, - as I was saying, - Domenico Was wont of my skill to make such light, That seeing him go, on a certain night, Out with his lute, I followed. Hot From a battle of words, I heeded not Whither I went, till I heard him twang A madrigal under the lattice, where Only the night before I sang. - A double robbery! and I swear'Twas overmuch for the flesh to bear. 22 YTHE MAESTRO'S CONFESSION. Why ask me? I knew not what I did; But I hastened home with my rapier hid Under my cloak,- and the blade was wet:... Just open that cabinet there, and see The strange, red rustiness on it yet. A calm that was dead as dead could be, Numbed me. I seized my chalks to trace - What think you? - udas Iscariot'sface I I just had gotten the scowl, no more, When the shuffle of feet drew near my door, — (We long had been messmates, as I've said,) Then, -wide they flung it, and on the floor Laid down Domenico, -dead! Back reeled my senses; a scorching pain Tingled like lightning through my brain; And ere the spasm of fear was broke, The men who had borne him homeward, spoke Soothingly: —" Some assassin's knife Had taken the innocent artist's life, - Wherefore,'twere hard to say; - all men Had troubles to vex them now and then, Unguessed of the world. Unto his friend, THE MAESTRO'S CONFESSION. 23 The bitterest sufferer (since he knew Only how faithful he was, and true), Neighbors stood ready to extend Pity and comfort."... Then came my tears, - And I've been sorry these twenty years! Now, Fra Bernardo, you have my sin: Do you think Saint Peter will let me in? VITTORIA COLONNA TO MICHAEL ANGELO. (ROME. 1546.) ALL past and gone for us,- all past and gone! The shadow on the dial doth not move Back, while I cloud the sunny Heretofore With the Hereafter. Yet I am content To watch the shadow broaden into the dark, Secure of the fair morrow overhead. Best friend!-be thou so, also: For we twain, Who, through the foulness of this festering age, Drew each the other with such instinct true As kept from utter wreck faith in our kind, We twain, - one lingering on the violet verge, And one with eyes raised to the twilight peaks, - Shall meet i' the morn again.'Tis the old tune Wherewith sweet Mother Nature soothes to sleep Her tired-out children. Yet, at memory's touch COLONNA TO MICHAEL ANGELO. 25 The dial dolt seem to move; and o'er again I live our evenings in the sacristy Of San Silvestro, where, in high discourse, Shallowed beyond the creeping ebb of time, We reasoned oft, of such exalted themes As caught us hence: and if'twere in the body Or out of it we spake, we scarce could tell. The hum of voices on the Esquiline Way, - The sunbeam's finger pointing hushingly Along the frescoed wall, - the fitful plash Of the choked fountain gurgling through the weeds,The horses pawing at some palace-gate - Such outward things, thou well rememberest how, In breaches of our talk, they made us know Who, -what we were. Not spirits divest of clay: But thou, Art's last apostle, chosen of God To write a new Apocalypse for man, In thy self-exile, banished from thy kind, My lonely Angelo i - and I, a woman, Widowed and waxen sick of earthly shows, (Save dreams of my enchanted Ischia), Yet charged of Heaven with still one errand more, Despite the hands that dropped so worn. 26 COLONNA TO MICHA EL ANGEL O. - Methinks, Amid these blind, uncomprehending times, We are the only two that, face to face, Do know each other, as God doth know us both. -O0 fearless friendship, that held nothing back! O absolute trust, that yielded every key, And flung each curtain up, and drew me on To enter the white temple of thy soul, So vast, so cold, so waste! -and give thee sense Of living warmth, of throbbing tenderness, Of soft dependencies! 0 faith that made Thee free to seek the spot where my dead hopes Have sepulture, and read above the crypt Deep graven, the tearful legend of my life! There, gloomed.with the memorials of my past, Thou once for all didst learn what man accepts Lothly (- how should lie else? )- that never woman, Fashioned a woman, - heart, brain, body, soul, - Ever twice loved. False gods there be enow: But o'er the altar of her worship, see, Highest and chiefest of her decalogue, That First Commandment written " Vo love but one /' Nor hath a treacherous if ensnared our path:2 My broken life gave up, thou knew'st its best: COLONNA TO MICHAEL ANGELO. 27 Little, I trow; but thy so grand content Greatened the gift. Supremest truth I gave; Reverence, whose crystal sheen was never blurred' By faintest film of over-breathing doubt; Quick comprehension of thine unsaid thought, That seemed a half omniscience; helpfulness Such as thou hadst not known, of womanly hands; And sympathies so urgent, they made bold To press their way where never mortal yet Entrance had gained, - even to thy soul. Ah, sad And hunger-bitten soul! whose lion pride Scorned, from its lair, the world-folk cowering by I - If I, grown brave through discipline of grief, Fearless, did lure thee forth, and make thee feel Some poor sufficing of thy human needs, - Christ's grace have thanks therefor; - no meed of mine. - " Vittoria scullore: * - thus thou writ'st; Even that thy life bears witness to my hand, Chisel and file. Ah, friend i - if unawares, Some little trick of Art I've caught from thee, " Tal di stesso nacqui e venni prima Umil model, per opra piuh perfetta Rinoscer poi di voi, donna alta e degna. " Mfickhael Anzgelo to Vittoria. 28 COLONNA TO MICHAEL ANGELO. Sweet theft it was, as honest work confessed, That lets me know why grief forbore to slay. I understood not, when the angel stooped, Whispering, - "Live on! for yet one joyless soul, Void of true faith in human happiness, Waits to be won by thee, from unbelief." Now, all is clear. For thy sake I am glad I waited. Not that some far age may say, — " God's benison on her, since she was the friend Of Michael Angelo " But better far, And holier so, that like Beatrice, (How oft I've heard thee read the blessed vision!)'Twas mine to point thee to that Paradise Whither I go, -whither thou'lt follow soon. SEBASTIANO AT SUPPER.8 - HA! ha! - how free and happy I am, Here in my roystering, rollic calm, With never a scowling monk to gibe, Or harry me for the crab-like way They tell me I work. That beggarly tribe, Priors and abbesses, deem that a day Must count in the life of a picture: Fools! Do they think that they grow like mushroom stools? -" Here's so many feet of blank, bare wall, Here's so many days to fresco all." Bah! Through the Father's grace that's past, And I'm free, - do you hear, friends? -free at last, With only the Seals upon my mind; As idle a Frate as you'll find In Rome or out of it. Here are we, Gandolfo and Messer Luigi, - three Right merry old comrades, faith, we be: The night is before us: with shout and chorus, We'll set the rafters a-ringing o'er us: 30 SEBASTIAVO A 7T SUPPER. For I vow I never could tell which art, — The brush or the bow, most swayed my heart. - es - Yes, — His Worship, Ippolito, Once served me a sorry trick, I trow, The time he sent -(he was love a-craze, And wanted the work quick done) —relays Of horses for speed, when he made me paint The Donna Guhlma: she was the saint His prayers were prayed to, in those old days! -Well, - would you believe it? - nathless,'tis true I left my pigments behind, and brought My viol, as uppermost in my thought: - And what did his Cardinal Eminence do? He smashed and he crashed the strings right through! And so, thereafter, I could not shirk, For sake of my music, a day of work: Ay, ay, - be sure,'twas a brutal shame! But it helped, in a month, to build my fame; For I need not tell you the picture's name. II. Heigho! - with what a relief I sigh, As I lounge so masterless here, - you by, Dearest of gossips, - sigh to think SEBASTIANO A T SUPPER. How Michelagnolo pinned me down, Granting me scarcely leave to wink, Impaled all day on his frescoes brown,Lout that I was to fear his frown! No toil can tire him out: he'll be Still fresh - you mark me - at ninety-three, With muscles like his own David's. Well It was that we quarrelled: for who can tell, If, under his all-compelling will, I might not be mixing his mortars still? His love for me, sooth, was small enow: For I made him my debtor long ago, And it rankles his crabbed pride. You see, I'voyaged to Ischia once, to paint The lovely Marchesa: (What a saint Of a wife Pescara had! And he But we'll tell no tales: It's all forgiven, Now that he's been these years in heaven!) The picture I gave to Michael, who Had learned to worship that face, as you Worship Our Lady's; nor would I touch In boot, a baioccho:'tis so much To have him beholden! And that is how The liking of old he grudges now. 32 SEBASTIANO AT SUPPER. III. Ah, well! It is past; and I've loved my Art; Beautiful mistress she ever was; And yet we are not unloth to part, Though bound together for years: because I inwardly groan to come and go At beck of the best; and I leave her, so. Besides, -I own, of the perilous stuff The world calls fame, I have had enough: To Franco, Perino, and such,'tis best, I think, on the whole, to leave the rest! I'm garrulous. Why have you let me waste My breath a-chattering? Only taste This vintage (- I swear it might cheat the Fates!) And, see you, my friends, - the supper waits. IN THE SISTINE. (RAFFAELLE AND GIULIO ROMANO.) RAFFAELLE. - IT is divine! — I scarce can gaze around With knees unbent. My calm Philosophers * Are earthliest mortals, verily, beside These gods of Michael's. Would we twain might m8et Here, while I did him reverence, owning how He, of all men, did first unseal my eyes To the sublime significance of Form, That day in Florence, when burst his Pietd Like a new sense upon me. GIULIO. Better so: That rapier tongue of his might have its thrust, Touching your labors in the Vatican: 4 And though its point would blunt itself against The proof-mail of your temper, it might gash * The School of Aithens, just completed. 3 34 IN THE SISTINE. Great dints in mine. He was supreme in Rome Before you came; but now the loggie-loungers Take sides and wrangle; and he loathes to see His realm beset by rivals, least of all By one whose whole decade of scanter years Would seemRAFFAELLE. Forbear, my Giulio, —'tis not so! Standing in such majestic Presences, Whose models even, his genius hath evoked, (For where can Rome or Florence show to-day,.Titans like these?) it were not possible That I could link one thought of paltriness With this most royal soul. Who thus creates, Hath something kindred with the Hand Divine. Such eyried pride stoops not to foul its beak With envy's garbage. Doth Vesuvius grudge The pretty vineyard at his foot, its grapes? -For me, - I sink o'ertasked, - a-strain to gauge The reach beyond my grasping, hinted here, By these grand Prophet brows. See yonder sweep Of daring touch, - how arrogant of power, Through sense of mastery! Verily, I do think IN THEI SISTI1NE. 35 He would not halt, afeared, nor blench, if bidden To picture God-the-Father, face to face! GIULIO. That would he not! Hath he not browbeat oft His Holiness even? Could Satan's self do more? — O ho! Our Angelo's angelical After Apollyon's fashion — -RAFFAELLE. Peace!- It hurts That you should wrong him so! Think how remote His isolate world from ours. Companionless, Renouncing even his self-humanity, - He dwells apart on Art's Olympian top, In brotherhood with gods, curtained about With tragic mists that blot our common ways Out from his knowledge: And when he descends,'Tis as the gossips chatter of his work On this grand ceiling —how through lengthened gaze Upward, the power of earthward glance was lost: And therefore (blame him not), he overlooks Us lesser mortals who but haunt the slope — GIULIO. "Lesser," i' faith! Good Master, I lose patience! 36 IN THE SISTINE. RAFFAELLE. Content you, we'll say hajpier then: We, rich In miracle of sunset and of dawn, - In wonderments of blue, ethereal air, In yellowing corn-fields, and sheep-dotted dells, And interspaces flaked with flooding light, And all the maddening sweetnesses his eyes, - Poor, blinded eyes! - had never vision for! We, over-rich through maidens' solacings, And childhood's mirth, and wonted fellowships, And the keen joyance of this summer-land: O happier thus a thousand-fold than he, He, midst his chilling clouds upraised too high For human needs, -too high to be aught else Than numbed and frost-pinched, and so doomed to miss The fervid meltings of a foolish love Trickling about his heart! I, overblest Through its sufficingness, - I, garmented So silkenly in Art's delightsomeness; So warmed by the felicities of life, I needs must nurse a grievous ache to think On Michael's cold, white, statued loneliness. IN THE SISTINE. 37 GIULIo. Dear,.gentle Master, he would scout such pity: What is all life to him, - its men, its women, The tumult and the process of its loves, Its hates, its strifes, - what but a quarry, whence To hew and shape his wrestling thoughtsRAFFAELLE. But then, Confess his Atlases can heave a world! GIULIO. Ay, grant you, giants all: Just see their brows So wrinkle-gasht, - their knotted muscles, - thews Like cordage stretcht. Who ever dreams to find A nesting here for dove-eyed charities? Look you aloft: he holds mere Beauty, weak. Where is the breathing flesh, the humid light, The tremulous tints, the centred calm, which make Whatso mny Master touches, all divine? His women - see them! Stout Minervas, who Would flout the clinging of a baby's arms — RAFFAELLE. Consider, Giulio,- they do say of him He never kissed a woman, - never caught 38 IN -THE SISTINE. Some kindling warmth from foldings of her hands, Nor from her lap hath tossed a crooning child, With the white milk-drop on its mouth, - and then Be merciful i GIULIO. And let him teach disdain Of life's soft graciousness? Why, he would make Us infidels to love and all sweet passions! Save that kind Heaven has set our Raffaelle here, A crowning antidote, to prove that not Colossal Force nor Form can rule the realm Of Art or Nature with such sovran power As a fair woman's face. And so the smile You've left on Mary-Mother's lips, though toucht With trouble of tears, will keep within men's souls The purer worship; - so the shine above Your Holy Child will seem a miracle Wherewith to seal the world's true faith for ever! THE DUKE'S COMMISSION. A FLORENTINE Duke, (the tale you know,) Bade summon in haste his sculptor: -" Lo, Your marble! Now carve me a bust in snow." ('Twas a rare amaze for a Tuscan eye To see heaped swathes in the archways lie, And swirl on the balconies full knee-high.) And the sculptor moulded it, marvellous, white, From dark to dawn of a winter night; And the city all gathered to see the sight. He thought to jeer him,- the braggart Duke; But grand was the Master's dumb rebuke: It mattered not what his genius took To body his. art, - the snow from the sky, A block from Carrara's quarries nigh; -The work that has soul in it cannot die! 40 THE DUKE'S COMMIrSSION. Has the Greek's strange witchery perished? Wherle Is the canvas that Zeuxis wrought? Declare, Was the voice of the Academe only air? -As it's truth I tell, that statue set In the common ways where the people met, Has never, through ages, crumbled yet! The hand that shaped it has turned to clay, The ducal splendor has passed away; But stand on the storied spot to-day, In the square of the palace, and close your eyes, And clear on the blue of the Tuscan skies, You'll see the figure before you rise, As perfect as when in its Sphinx-like grace, It flashed for a single morning's space On each wondering Florentine's upturned face. ('Tis only the outward perisheth: Where genius has breathed its vital breath, There never can come decay or death.) THE D UKE'S COMMISSION. 4 And so, as it were, to soothe the taunt, Right noble avenging time doth grant: -The snow is enduring as adamant! And the scoffing Duke?... Go search and see If nave, basilica, sacristy, Keep marble memory of such as he. Has his name been graven on frieze or wall? What echo comes back, when Fame doth call? - The tale of the mockery, - that is all i 5 DONNA MARGHERITA. - HERE is the chamber: Messers, enter ye: A Borgherini needs must courtesy show To whoso comes.6... Ye see upon the walls, My pricelesss pictures, famed o'er Tuscany, Jacopo's work. Behold the Patriarch's sons, Cruel, unpitying, grouped about the boy, Whom, for a fardel of rough, Midian gold, They barter, mindless of his frantic prayers. Ha, Palla i!- stand where thou canst note the chaffer; Ay,- so!.. And now, I say, this Simeon, VWho clutches from the Arab's sleeve the price They higgle o'er, - is as a puling milk-sop To that thou art! He cheapened only blood; Thou, - honor, faith, and... Florence! And because She lies, our Florence, weeping at the feet Of her invaders, in her broideries wrapped, DO]NNA MARGHERITA. 43 -(An Empress still, wanting, albeit, a crust, -) Thy thief's hand twitches off thy mother's robe, Leaving her in her nuded majesty To perish: Out upon thy villany! I would this jewelled bodkin were a lance, For other impalement than a woman's hair! But, being a woman, shorn of all defence, Saving my shuddering hate, I dare defy Thee and thy myrmidons, though ye be armed With the Signbri's huckstering warrant: Nay! Ye wrest no pictures from these walls, except Ye wrest, as well, my life!.P. Palla, behold Within that carven niche, my bridal couch: And when I use, from my Francesco's face To turn, I ever met the love-born glance On Jacob's brow, (look!) as, with thirsting lips, He quaffs the Syrian maiden's loveliness. The earliest sight that held the baby eyes Of my young Tuscans, was yon Hebrew lad, Clasping his brothers' knees. Why, I should lack Such common mother-instincts even, as teach The leaguered lioness to shield her lair, 44 DONNA MARGHER~TA. If less I dare for these! My scorn's white heats Shall shrivel your purpose, till ye shun to see Each gazing on each,- how dastards haste to crawl Out of its blaze.... Yet Palla hath loved Art, And he hath painted oft Our Lady's face Divinely, as if through auroral clouds Herself had stooped to grant him seraph-glimpse Else unconceived - Palla, - some wine? Meseems There's sudden faintness: N o? hen sit apart Under the arch here, where thou best canst mark Reuben, the coward, who slinks away, afeared To brave the wrath of Judah and the rest.... What! - tire ye of the masterpiece so soon That ye turn backs on't? Ay,'tis well ye put Your tools up; they'll set free no frames to-day, From Casa Borgherini's walls, I pledge: And to the brave Signbri - (strong as brave!) Bear a weak, helpless woman's duty back, And say, she chaffers overmuch about The Iscariot price, seeing she holds too dear Her pictures, - even at cost of her heart's blood. POUSSIN AND HIS MASTER.7 I. -ALWAYS the way! — Just when the light is fairest -- Just when it floods the canvas to my mind, Starting to sudden life those charms, the rarest That lurk, lost, in the clare-obscure behind,Eluding thus the gaze of the beholder, Some curious eye comes peering o'er my shoulder. II. Only a copyist: That is what they're saying; For looks speak loudest oft, when lips are dumb: Small care to me the leer their scorn betraying, If yet the secret of his skill should come Even at the last. I'd rise above disaster, Envy, and wrong, as did the dear old master. III. What marvel if he lives yet!-I would wander Over all Italy to find his home, And bless him for the hallowed vision yonder: How Raffaelle would have loved this Saint 7erome, 46 POUSSIN AND HIS MASTER. And given it praise! Yet the base herd will gather A-gape before some flaunting Venus rather. IV. -One more to vex me! Tottering on his crutches, Here comes a drivelling wretch to carp and stare; Ha! -have a care, old man! - your staff - it touches The outmost corner of the canvas there: - Good lack! it sets a-flutter all my passion To see its grandeur treated in such fashion! V. "Who painted it?" Now get you gone, and winnow The chaff that chokes your memory! Can it be, That, where he won his bays, Domenichino Is so forgotten they question, -" Who is he? " O heart o' mine! -what folly even to cherish Thy lightest dream, when such a name can perish! VI. -What?- How? - Say it once more! -You -you the master, -Domenichino?... You? Alive?.. in Rome? (One moment let me lean on this pilaster, So fast my breath comes! ) Sick - without a home? POUSSIAN AND HIS MASTER. 47 Of honor cheated -filched of honest wages, And this - and this your gift to all the ages? VII. Thank God that I have found you! On the border Of your poor garment would I leave a kiss! Let me but serve you, - let me be your warder, Till you, with Raffaelle, share (your right it is!) An homage that the centuries shall not sunder, Till on your work, as his, men gaze and wonder. VIII. How say you? Palter, truckle to the fancies Of these degenerate times and -prosper so? Nay! Give me sevenfold rather your mischances, So I to Art be true, — so I but know One such creation mine, and one before it To stand, as I, a worshipper, and adore it! THE BARON'S DAUGHTER. (ST. SEBALD'S. NUREMBERG.) ALBRECHT DURER. - SHE promised to meet me here, when through The panes of yon mullion'd window came The sun's last flaunt in a ruby flame, And now -it has slidden up to the blue Of St. Michael's robe: But hist -- the feet I hear may be hers:- Ah, Laggard, - Sweet - AUGUSTA. Thou didst not doubt of me, Albrecht? ALBRECHT. Nay, But Love is no Joshua: though he may Call on the sun its course to stay, Think'st thou it heeds? Then Love makes moan, Left in the ambushed hush alone, THE BARON'S DAUGHTER. 49 Beleaguered with secret fears about, To battle with Amoritish doubt: For 0, my moon of Ajalon! see, The lance that pierces the blazonry Is blue;- it has shotten the crimson paneAUGUSTA. Miserly haggler over the wane Of a bit of a minute! ALBRECHT. But think how few These minutes! No marvel I seem a Jew, Exorbitant, grasping, when for gold I count thy smiles my florins, and hold Each savour'd word as the sacring-bread On which my worshipping heart is fed. And now, while the starveling'for a space Feasts on the sanctity of thy face, Tell me what hope thou bringest; I wait Breathless, to learn the drift of fate. AUGUSTA. Ah, me! - and the hope is a pallid fear! But stand we apart by the pillar here 4 50 THE BARON'S DA UGHTER. Where the shadows deepen: (My maidens stay My coming beside the cloister-way A moment, as I have bidden, there To wait, as they deem, my one last prayer:) But the tidings? - Yea. Thou knowest, I wis, How stern of speech, and how strong of will, And how haughty of mien my father is. Well —yesternight in a softer mood He seemed, as he sate and stroked my hair, And likened me to my mother, - fair He said, as a violet of the wood: And he praised the picture he bade thee paint Of this same brown head; and he laughed anon, And vowed when an age or twain had goone, Church-folk would christen it for a saint, With its pleading eyes, - and hence, some day, It might come to pass that men would pray Before it as Santa Augusta - ALBRECHT. One Kneeleth already - (my shrined nun!) AUGUSTA. Still praising my mother, he said, her life Turned on one pivot, - as daughter, wife, THE BARON_'S DAUGHTER. 51 To render obedience, instant, true: He stressed the word; and at once I knew (For it came with a sudden flash and heat) That somewhere, a snare was underfeet. Scared and a-flutter to slip the gin Ere that its meshes should net me in, Not meaning it yet, but to forefend The hidden hazard that might impend, I blurted our secret: - How it came That sitting together day by day (The portrait he asked for, all our aim) And lifting mine eyes to thine alway, As artist-wise thou hadst willed, there grew, Unconscious as grow the buds of May, A blossoming love betwixt us two, Unwatered by spoken word.... He flung My hand from his, as if it had stung, Just there, to the quick: a wrack of pain Seized me; but lest I should fear again To plead, I caught in my palms his face, And I kissed and I kissed his anger down, And held, as in leash, the snarling frown That sprang as I spake to the smile's old place, Thus bribing my way the sweet tale through. 52 THE BARON'S DA UGH TER. ALBRECHT. High-hearted and leal and brave and true - AUGUSTA. Nay, hear to the end: I charged that he (As if, lest the seed ungermed remain) Had showered opportunity, as the rain, When from thine etchings he summoned thee, Reluctant, to deck his banquet-hall, Linking, perforce, our daisied hours Into a chain of mystic flowers, While to my hands commending all. Once, as I paused for breath, he flung His tankard of wine upon the floor; I saw that his rage was foaming o'er - ALBRECHT. (For me - for me was the dear heart wrung! ) AUGUSTA. But I gave no heed; and I made him know Ambition had set thy soul aflame; I pointed to Leonardo: so Thou too shouldst stand as a prince, - thy name THE BARON'S DAUGHTER. 53 On the lips of kings, and their guest, as he,That even a Baron might grow to be Proud... Theere he stopped me: - and then he swore A terrible oath I quailed before, That never, henceforth, should I see thee more. ALBRECHT. O love, thou wilt dare his wrath?- thou hast! AUGUSTA. Yea, -only to tell thee all is past, - Is past, - and we meet in the crowd no more Just to touch hands, as heretofore, After our vesper prayer. Yet who May measure what chance and change can do? And the waiting-time, - will it seem so long To hearts that are loving.and young and strong And trustful as ours? - But hark! I hear The clatter of hoofs at the great east door;... What if my fatherALBRECHT. Sweetheart, fear Sharpens thy sense:'Tis nothing more 54 THE BARON'S DA UGHTER. Than some Nurembergers hot with wine, Who trouble the street with noisy fray: But here for a moment at Sebald's shrine Kneel, till I banish thy dread away. -Out from the dim cathedral Albrecht passed, And scanned the Platz where burghers came and went, And crimson-bodic'd maidens laughed'good-night,' Flinging out kisses in their wasteful way, And children gambolled: but he nowhere saw The angry father with his men-at-arms (As on his daughter's frighted fancy flashed), Waiting to snatch her thence, and hide her where The'arrogant smith' should never find her. Then Turning, a grasp detained him, and he knew The Baron's chaplain, who had questionings Touching some altar-panel. Albrecht failed To shake him off, nor dared to leave him, lest Following, he should know all. Thus held, he heard A smothered call. Back through the dusking aisles He rushed amain, - only to catch the gleam Of a white garment, at the farther door, Only to hear, outside the walls, the hoofs Of galloping horsemen swallowed in the gloom. THE BARON'S DAUGHTER. 5 5 - Never again in Nuremberg was seen The Baron's daughter. None could surely tell If walled in convent-cloisters, she dragged on Her death-in-life; or, if the hapless bride Of some rude lord, in solitude she starved Her heart, and died so. Albrecht's dream was dreamed: No other love profaned his soul's pure shrine Through his half century's years: - and each rapt face That grew henceforth beneath his hand, was only Augusta, with the halo round her hair.8 EMIGRAVIT. (Inscribed on the tomb of Albrecht Diirer, at Nuremberg.) I. WELL was it written: Three hundred years grown hoary With old-world life, have lichened o'er his head, Since here was traced the simple legend-story Of him they mourned,- not dead, Only gone hence, they said. II. The Oread winds of each Franconian mountain, The antique city where they nurse his fame, First of possessions, - dome and arch and fountain Are vital with the claim Wherewith they hoard his name. III. Wherever Art hath borne her smallest treasure, Wherever Beauty's worship hath a place, His praise is spoken in yet richer measure, Than to his living face They ever spake his praise. EMIGRA VIT. 57 IV. Truth, with severe yet earnest justice, holds him Close to her breast. Religion, on his brow Setting her kiss, with shielding arms enfolds him, His service to avow, Her Art-priest then and now. V. For he did teach the ages adoration Of all things holy. His so hallowed skill Came to the people like a revelation, Divine, yet human still, Interpreting God's will. VI. His Gothic fancy widened Art's dominions; His freer instincts rent the clogs away, Wherewith old forms had cobwebbed the strong pinions That courted sweep and sway Through purer faith's full day. VII. And so, because he wrought the lore whose lessons Take hold on heaven, and stretch to grasp the sky, - Because his burin breathes the immortal essence That time and death defy, Therefore he cannot die. 58 EMIGRA VIT. VIII. Well then it hath been written of Albrecht Diirer, Trlrough all the centuries drifting o'er his head,Those centuries that but make his fame securer, The Master is not dead, Only gone hence, they said. MURILLO'S TRANCE. "HERE, Pedro, while I quench these candles, hold My lantern; for, I promise you, we burn No waxlights at our chapel-shrines till morn, As in the great Cathedral, kept ablaze Like any crowded plaza in Seville, From sun to sun. I wonder if they think That the dead knights, - Fernando and the rest, — Whose bronze and marble couches line the walls, Like to scared children, cannot sleep i' the dark:" And, muttering thus, the churlish Sacristan Went, snuffing out the lights that only served To worsen the wan gloom. And (mindful still Of his Dolores' greed of candle-ends) He chid, at whiles, some lagging worshipper, Nor spared to hint, above the low-dropp'd heads, Grumblings of sunshine being in Seville Cheaper than waxlight, and'twere best to pray 6o MURILLO'S TRANCE. When all the saints were broad awake, and thus Liker to hear. So shuffling on, he neared The altar with its single lamp a-light. Above, touched with its glow, the chapel's pride, Its one Ribera hung, -a fearful-sad, Soul-harrowing picture of the stark dead Christ, Stretcht on the cross beneath a ghastly glare Of lurid rift, that made more terrible The God-forsaken loneliness. In front, A chasm of shadow clove the checker'd floor, And hastening towards it, the old verger called Wonderingly back: "Why, Pedro, only see! The boy kneels still! What ails him, think you? Here He came long hours before the vesper-chime; And all the while, as to and fro I've wrought, — Cleansing of altar-steps and dusting shrines, And such like tasks, I have not missed him once From that same spot. What marvel if he were Some lunatic escaped from Caridad? Observe! he takes no heed of aught I say:'Tis time he waked." As moveless as the statues MURILLO'S TRANCE. 6I Niched round, a youth before the picture knelt, His hands tight clenched, and his moist forehead strewn With tossings of dank hair. Upon his arm The rude old man sprang such a sudden grasp As caused a start; while in his ear he cried Sharply, " Get hence! What do you here so late?" Slow on the questioner a face was turned That caused the heavy hand to drop; a face Strangely pathetic, with wide-gazing eyes And wistful brows, and lips that wanly made Essay to speak before the words would come; And an imploring lifting of the hands That seemed a prayer: — " I wait, -- wait," he said, " Till oseph bring the linen, pare and white, Till Mary fetch the spices; till they come, Peter and _7ohn and all the holy women, And take Him down; but 0, they tarry long! See how the darkness grows! So long,... so long/" THE SHADOW. DAY by day, through morns of misted splendor; Under noons that brought Breathless languors; into twilights tender, Still the artist wrought; Striving through his pencil's skilled expression, Forth to lure the train Of the haunting beings, whose procession Trooped athwart his brain. In the tumult of creative passion, Sometimes there would come Quickening throes of so supreme a fashion, That the flesh sank dumb In the presence of their revelations, Uttering no complaint, Though the rending pain of such creations Left it weak and faint. THE StA DO W. 63 Yet not always was the spirit master; And one day, there grew, As Velasquez labored fast and faster, Feud betwixt the two. Just a touch, - and in its finished beauty Would his picture shine, Setting forth a deed of lowly duty, Till it seemed divine. But irresolute the painter pondered, With a brow perplexed, And distrustfully his vision wandered, And his voice grew vext. "Ah, that shadow! Why, the water bickered Here but yesterday; NVow, the sheeny light that o'er it flickered, Fades to rusty gray. "See! this flesh has lost its vital shimmer; Here, all radiance dies; Strange! I cannot find one living glimmer In those staring eyes! 64 THE SHA DOW. "Let me sweep my canvas of such creatures!" And with passion's rush, As he raised his hand to dash the features, With full-laden brush, — From behind a grasp his act arrested: "Are you mad? Behold! To confirm your picture's worth attested, Here be bags of gold, "Which the king has sent as payment proffered, Should you choose it so; More than double what Don Luis offered Just three days ago. " Shadoz? Why, I shrivel in yon torrid Blaze of tropic light, And unwittingly I shield my forehead, Lest it blind my sight. "Get you forth mid Andalusian meadows, For I hold it plain Nature's turning on you, - casting shadows Over eye and brain. THE SHAI OW. 65 "Give her respite, or may come disaster Which you dare not brave; For she will not, though she owns you master, Stoop to be your slave. "Spirit goads the flesh, and like the Prophet, Urges left and right, Past the hindering shadow: Do not scoff it, Lest the angel smite." 5 TINTORETTO'S LAST PAINTING.* O BITTER, bitter truth I I see it now, Heightening the lofty calmness of her face, Until it seems transfigured: On her brow The gray mists settle. I begin to trace The whitening circle round her lips; the fine Curve of the nostril pinches,... ah, the sign Indubitable! I dare thrust aside No longer what ye oft in vain have tried To force upon my sight, that day by day My Venice-lily drops her leaves away, While I have seen no fading, I, who should Have known it earliest. II. Only thirty years For this unfolding flush of womanhood To fruiten into ripeness: 0, if tears * The portrait of his artist-daughter, Marietta Robusti, as she lay dying. TINTORETTO'S LAST PAINTING. 67 Could bribe, how soon my harvested fourscore Should take the thirty's place! For I have had Life's large ingathering, and I crave no more. But she,... she just begins to taste how glad The mellower clusters are, -when see! -- the woe! One blast of mortal ravage, and here lies Before my startled eyes, The laden vine, uprooted at a blow. III. My PaEradiso * does not hold a face That is not richer through my darling's gift: One angel has the hushed, adoring lift Of her arched lids; another wears the grace That dimples round her flexile mouth; and one -The nearest to The Mother and her Son — Borrows the tawny glory of her hair: And yet, - how strange! - as full and perfect whole, Her form, her features, all the breathing soul Of her, I have not pictured otherwhere. IV. Tommaso, bring my colors hither: Haste! We have no time to waste. * Tintoretto's master-piece. 68 TINTORETTO'S LAST PAINTING. Draw back the curtain; in the fairest light Set forth my easel, - I am blind to-night, Blind through my weeping. But I must not lose Even the shadow's shadow. Now they prop Her for the breeze: There! just as I would choose, They smooth the pillows. Dear Ottavia, drop Your Persian scarf across her couch, that so Its wine-red flecks may interfuse the cold Blanch of the linen's deaded snow. V. Nay, - hold! Give her no hint; forbear to let her know That the old doting father fain would snatch This phantom from death's grip. My child! my child! My inmost soul rebels, unreconciled! Heart sinks, hand palsies, while I strive to match Such beatific loveliness with blot Of earthly color. All my tints but seem Ashen and muddy to reflect the gleam Of those celestial eyes fast-fixt on what Spirits alone can see. Ah! now, - she smiles - VI. Look on my canvas: if the wish beguiles Not judgment, I have caught a glimmer here TINTORETTO'S LAST PAINTING. 69 Of the old shine that used to flash so clear Across our evening circle, - like the last Long sunset ray aslant our gray lagunes, When she would lean, with Veronese anear, Beside the sill, and listen to the tunes Of gondoliers who'neath our windows passed. Now softly bid Ottavia loosen out Her golden-thridded hair; and bring a rose From yonder vase, and let her fingers close, -Poor, fragile fingers! -the green stem about. VII. Yea, - so! But all is blurred through rush of tears: Only the vanish'd, mocking long ago, Frescoed with memories of her happy years, Betwixt me and the canvas seems to glow. And now,- and now! Her hair rays off, - an aureole round her brow: And see! Tommaso, see! I understand Not what I do: for, in her slackening hand, I've put a palm-branch where I meant the rose Should drop its spark of warmth the whiteness o'er; How wan she looks! Surely the pallor grows, Nay, push the easel back,... I can no more! WOMAN'S ART. (IN BOLOGNA.) MORE than three hundred years ago (Hunt for the place where it tells you so There in your Baedeker), lived and wrought, Here in Bologna, a girl, whose thought, Carved on the stone of a plum, survives The volumed records of thousand lives. Yes, you were shown the frieze, you say, In San Petronio, the other day, And the pair of angels that bear her name Properzia, - marvellous works these same, Being a woman's. But did you know, Praising the antique cuttings so, Who made them? Maestro Amico, Her artist-neighbor, refused to see Rareness in any work that she, A woman, might plan. "A woman's power Bends to the sway of the passing hour; WOMAN4S ART. 71 Achieves, but never creates. The stone Of the quarries was meant for men alone, Whose genius had gift to shape it: walls Of churches, basilicas, palace-halls, Only were ample enough to yield To limitless skill, the nobler field: But woman!... a cherry-stone might well Hold whatsoever she had to tell!" Misprized and taunted, the maiden's pride Would none of the marble thus denied, Nor the canvas grudged. Henceforth she wrought On the kernel of olive and apricot, Marvels of frost-like carvings, - such As grew under Benvenuto's touch. Go to the Casa Grassi: see The scene of the Passion on Calvary: Mark, as you may, the sacred head, And the Godlike look o'er the features shed, And honor the art that skilled to trace Such miracles scarce in an inch's space. Now puzzle the guide by asking where Are the wonderful frescoes, vast and rare, 72 WOMAN'S ART. Of her neighbor, the jealous artist, who Flung her his scorn.... Just so! I knew His name would be strange to the Bolognese: — Did ever it reach us, over seas? Yet woman is weak for Art, you prove, Since her genius works in a narrow groove; But if, as the crucial test appears, It ever outlives three hundred years, Better thus work than chlafe or starve, - Give her the plum-stone and let her carve! FROM THE LIFE OF THE LEGENDS. ST. GREGORY'S SUPPER. "SERVANT Of servants: * that is the name Falleth the fittest when they call; Jesus, my Master, bore the same, Even though sovereign Lord of all. Shut in my crypt by night, by day, Breathing His peace with every breath, I was content to wear away, Tasting a calm as sweet as death: Yet they have bidden me forth to bear Mitre and cope and sacred staff, —Burdens that stoop my heart with care, Heart that is weak as winnowed chaff. II. "Valens, abide with me, friend of friends, Share, as we use, the weal, the woe: * Servus Servorum, - St. Gregory's chosen title. 76 ST. GREGORY'S SUPPER. Order my household, make amends, Steading me thus, to poor and low, Whom, in their hovels I'll see no more. Gather each night about my board Twelve gray beggars to halve my store; (Am I not almoner for my Lord?) Twelve of the outcasts: even to such Still I would Servant of servants be; Small the abasement; think how much Lower the Master stooped for me." III. Forth to his service the Pontiff passed, Wrapt in his prayerful thoughts apart, Watchful lest clouding pride should cast Shadows of bale above his heart. Valens made haste against he came, Summoned as guests the twelve he bade, Hungry and homeless, vile of name, Only in filth and rags arrayed: Just as they were, defiled, unsweet, Grimed with the squalid scurf of sin, Pressing their hands their host did greet Each, as they wondering entered in. ST. GREGORY'S SUPPER. 77 IV. Lifting his voice he prayed, then brake Generous bread for their free repast:"Welcome," he said, "for the dear Lord's sake;" While on the group his eyes he cast. "As it is written: He sat at meat Thus with the Twelve: - Ha! what may it mean? Valens, I bade that but twelve should eat, IYet there be verily here, thirteen I" Valens made answer: "Even so, Heeded I, hearkening to thy hest; One hath intruded, nor do I know Wherefore he sitteth among the rest." v. " Whence art thou come unbidden? - speak!" Straightway the stranger then gave reply: "Once did a way-worn palmer seek Alms of thee, passing thy cloister by;'Nothing,' (thou said'st,)' is mine to give, Saving this silvern bowl, - to me Gift of my mother: yet take, and live.' -- Know'st thou the palmer? Tam he/" 78 ST. GREGORY'S SUPPER. Ev'n as he spake his face waxed faint, Brightened and passed in a splendor dim, Leaving them mazed; and then the Saint Knew it was Christ who had supped with him! DOROTHEA'S ROSES. (IN FLORENCE.) YES, here is the old cathedral; Out of the glare and heat, We'll plunge in these depths of coolness, (Take the prie-dieu for a seat): Bathe in this gloom your vision So tired with frescoed shows, And let the slow ripples of silence, Tide-like, around you close. Then at your ease I'll show you That picture of Carlo's,+ - the sight Of whose so ineffable sweetness, Prismed my dreams last night. * Carlo Dolce's St. Dorothea. 80 DOROTHEA'S ROSES. Surely you've heard the legend -Saint Cyprian hands it down - Of the beautiful Dorothea, Who was crowned with the fiery crown? JNo? Then sit as you're sitting There, in that oaken stall, Just where the great rose-window Splendors the eastern wall,Just where the sunset shivers Its darts on the altar rail, And while the blue smoke of the incense Rises, I'll tell the tale. There dwelt (while the old religion For the languid East sufficed, While the Grecian Zeus was worshipped In the temples instead of Christ, - When burnings and rack and dungeon Awaited the neophyte Who turned from an idol's statue, Or shrank from a pagan rite), DOROTHEA'S ROSES. 81 In a fair Greek city, a maiden Whose praises were noised abroad Because of her wondrous beauty, And they called her The Gift of God. One day as she passed, bestowing Oblations at Her'e's shrine, Strange words to her ear were wafted, New doctrines that seemed divine: And, pausing, she listened. The hermit Placed in her hands a scroll, -Saint John-the-Divine's sweet Gospel; She read, - and believed the whole. Henceforth in the faith of her fathers, No. longer the maiden trod; She kneeled at a purer altar, And worshipped the Christians' God. Thereat did the fierce proconsul Rise in his wrath: " Deny This myth of the Galilean, Or thou, by the gods, shalt die!" 6 82 DOROTHEA'S ROSES. Meekly she bowed before him, With a trust no threat could dim: "He hath died for me, and I cannot, I dare not do less for Himi! / 1 As out through- the gates of the city They led her to meet her death, From the midst of his gay companions, Hilarion, mocking, saith: " Ha! goest thou, lovely maiden,' (Such joy on thy face I see), Afar to some fair Elysium, Where thy bridegroom awaiteth thee? " If there an Hesperides' garden Blooms that is brighter than ours, Send me, beseech thee, in token, A spray of celestial flowers." She smiled with a smile seraphic: "Is that of thy faith the price? Then, verily, thou shalt have roses Gathered in Paradise!" DOROTHEA'S ROSES. 83 Onward she went exulting, As though she were borne mid-air, And lo! as she neared the pyre, A fair-haired boy stood there, - In his hand, three dewy roses Clustered about their stem: "Ah! hasten," she said, "sweet angel, Hilarion waits for them!" Come now and see Carlo's picture Of the maiden as she stands With the golden nimbus around her, And the roses within her hands. FRANCESCA'S WORSHIP. IN the deep afternoon, when westering calms Brooded above the streets of Rome, and cooled Their sultry clamor, at her orisons In San Domenico, Francesca knelt. All day her charities had overflowed For others. Husband, children, friends, had claimed Service ungrudged. The poor had found their wage Doubled by reason of her soothing hands: Sick eyes had lifted at her step, as lifts The parcht Campagna grass at the cool kiss Of winds that have been dallying with the snows Of Alban mountain-tops. And now, released From outward ministries, and free to turn Inward, and up the solemn aisle of thought Conduct her soul, she bowed with open page Before the altar: " Tenuisti manum Dexteram meam i — FRANCESCA'S WORSHIP. 5 On her lips she held The words distillingly, as though she drained A honeyed drop from each slow syllable; But even while her whisper clove the air Upon her still seclusion breaking, came A messenger: "Sweet mistress, grace, I pray! But, unaware, our lord hath come again, Guests at his back; and he hath bidden me fetch My lady, if for only one half-hour, Saying, the wine was flavorless without Her hand to pour it." At the word she rose, And unreluctant went. No undertow Of secret fret disturbed th' unrippled blue Of those serenest eyes that mirrored heaven. Then, when they all had been refreshed, and forth Had ridden abroad, Francesca sought her place Before the shrine. The refluent wave of prayer, Held in brief poise by duty's interclaim, Bore back her soul into a tideless calm, As o'er the Psalter's leaf again she pored: - " an volunzale tua deduxisti "She conned it with an iterating joy, 86 FRA NCESCA'S WORSHIP. As though she heard the voice drop through the fringe Of angel-faces frescoed round the dome. So tranced, she caught no footfall on the floor, Nor knew that any spake, until there fell A quiet touch: " The Sister Barbara Comes seeking wherewithal to dress some wounds Got in a brawl upon the Appian Way." And now athwart the western windows gleamed Rainbows of shafted light, as thither, back Francesca came to end her " Offices." A ray, that seemed a burnished pencil held Within the fingers of the Christ that glowed In the stained-oriel, pointed to the words Where she had paused, to do the nun's behest: "Czum gloria suscepisti me." She kissed The illumined leaf, thanks nestling at her heart, That here, at last, no duty disallowing, Her loosened soul out through the sunset bars Might float, and catch heaven's crystal sheen. But scarce Had meditation smoothed the wing of thought, Before the hangings of the door unclosed With yet a further summons. From a Triton That spouted in the court, her three-year boy, FRA NCESCA'S WORSHIP. 87 Through wayward prank, had fallen; and naught would soothe The lacerate brow save the soft mother-kiss. "I come," she said, her forehead luminous With inward light: "For Thou wouldst teach me, Lord, That Thou art just as near me, ministering At home, as in these consecrated aisles; And that I worship Thee as purely, when I pour the wine for him I love, or hold The little throbbing head, as when I bow Above the sacred leaf,- since duty's shrine Is the true altar where I serve Thee best." When under the Campagna's purple rim The sun had sunk so long that all was gray, Once more across the dusking sacristy Francesca glided back. The Psalter lay Scarcely discernible amid the gloom; But lo, the marvel! On the open page, The verse which thrice she had essayed to read, Now shone irradiate, silver-clear, as though God's hand had written it with the flash of stars! THE BISHOP'S BAN. (A LEGEND OF ST. AMBROSE.) UPON his staff the holy man Leaned, girt for journeying: "But, ere I get me hence," he bade, "Beseech ye, hither bring My one-night host, to whom behooves, I speak a certain thing." Then straightway came the baron forth, To whom the bishop said: "I and my hungry acolytes, With travel-toil bestead, Since yester-eve have been refreshed Through breaking of thy bread. "And now, what wilt thou? Is there naught That I, our Lord, his thrall, THE BISHOP'S BAN. 89 Through prayer may win for thee, what time On Jesu Christ I call? No holier joys, no richer stores Than yet to thee befall?" Then lightly laughed the Tuscan knight: "Good Milan Bishop, grace! Bestow thy prayer some otherwhere; No alms beseem my case: Nor yet withal for ghostly gifts Find I a hand-breadth's place. " A brave, right winsome world is this, That stints not of its store: No sickness have I known, -my heart Was never sorrow-sore: The Church's benison, I wis, Would fail to bring me more. "No wife in all our Tuscany, I swear, is fair as mine; No ruddier children dance away Sunsetting'neath the vine; And, at my feast of life, friends' talk Is sweet as parsley'd wine. 90 THE BISHOP'S BAiN.'My lands have broadened till they reach Yon gray-green brede of sea: My wains are burdened with their sheaves, So vast my harvests be; And liefly, mine own vassal folk Do yield their fealty. "Strong manhood's doughty lustiness Riots in every vein: Go to, Sir Bishop! what have I At thy wan hands to gain? Keep thou thy heaven, and I, my earth, - At best, till age and pain-" "Hold! hold thy scoffs! " St. Ambrose cried; " Friends, hie ye all a-field, Nor tarry near this roof foredoomed, For to mine eyes revealed, I read: Thou hast thy good t/zings here / The sentence signed and sealed." Forth gat the frighted acolytes, Forth gat the Bishop gray, THE BISHOP'S BAN. 91 Without the gates: and nevermore Did any from that day See aught, where rose the castle walls, But piles that ruined lay. CONSUMMATUM EST. (A.D. 735.) SCRIPTOR. THOU art weary, Father: Rest, While I bear the scrolls away Till some morrow's stronger day, For the sun drops down the west, Near to setting — ST. BEDE. Surely so, - Near to selling: Therefore dip Quicklier still thy pen and write What my strength may yet indite, Ere dead silence ash my lip, And my holiest work forego Full completion. SCRIPTOR. There remains But one chapter of St. John, CONSUMMA T5UM EST. 93 Ere the whole be overgone; So, beseech thee, pause: thy pains Wrack thee: ST. BEDE. Ah, my Saxons! they Mfust have Christ's full gospel: Pray Haste the transcript -haste it. SCRIPTOR. Yea, As thou wilt then. Father, now Just one verse till - Selah: (How Fast the dark creeps!) See!'tis done: ST. BEDE. Consummatum est; my son, Thou hast said itSCRIPTOR. Ha! his head Drops: God's mercy, - he is dead! BEDA VENERABILIS. THERE was grief in the quiet cloister, One sorrowful Easter day; For under the chapel pavement In tranquillest slumber lay The gentle and saintly abbot, Who had passed in his peace away. And Wilbert, the clerkly scriptor, Who came at the teacher's call, And day after day had written His words, as he heard them fall,Wilbert sate bowed with weeping, The sorest bereaved of all. "Now what shall we trace above him, Deep-graved in the flag's smooth stone, Whereby, in the after ages, His name shall be fitly known, Who wrought till his locks all bleachen In the service of God had grown?" BEDA VENIRA BILIS. 95 And he chose from the stores of vellum, A sheet of the fairest white, (With a sob as he thought of the master, Who never would more indite), And he sate on the ancient settle, And dipped his pen to write. And he wrote:- "Hac sunt in fossa — Though the tears would his eyelids brim,' Bedae - (then a blank line)- ossa. " What word should be linked with him? And he pondered, and searched, and questioned, Till his puzzled brain grew dim. For many a night-long vigil And fasting had Wilbert kept, As close by the dying pillow He had written, and watched, and wept: Now, soothed by invisible fingers, He slackened his pen, and slept. And when with a start he wakened From the slumber he had not willed, 96 BEDA VENERABILIS. He found on the clear sheet written (And a wonder within him thrilled), Bedae VENERABILIS OSSa: - The blank he had left was filled! RABBI SIMEON'S PARABLE. AND it came to pass as the sun waxe'd hot, And crowds in the synagogue came and went, That under an oak they pitched his tent, And the Rabbi sat and taught. And ever and oft as his eyes would stray Beyond the circle that girt him round, On Lebanon's slopes they rested, -crowned With its silvery crown alway; As along by the brinded belts of green, Leading their flocks from rill to rill, Up where the grass shone lusher still, Were the distant shepherds seen. Then lifting his voice, the Rabbi spake To his young disciples: "Behold ye now, Those sheep new-washen, on Horon's brow, Each fair as a fresh snow flake; 7 98 RABBI SIMEON'S PARABLE. And mark in their very midst, as well Ye wondering may, where quiet as though It followed beside the mother-doe, There browses a brown gazelle. "And Imlah the shepherd avoucheth us Concerning the dappled thing: One day, As it watched from a crag the flocks at play, As yonder disporting thus, - "From its rocky haunts and its bleating dam's Udder unweaned, it straightway sped Down to the pastured plain, and fed As a lamb amidst the lambs. "And at folding time, when the day is o'er, Wild-natured still, and as shy as erst, It follows the flock, and is oft-times first To enter the wattled door. "And therefore doth Imlah the shepherd shield It even with yet a gentler care, Than any his bosom'd weanlings share, As he leadeth them all a-field. RABBI SIMEON'S PARABLE. 99 "He hath cherished tiem alway; they have left No wilderness mates, -no coverts grown Wonted by reason of use, alone To break from their native cleft, "And join them with strangers. Hearken ye, Now unto my parable's lesson: God, Who guideth His chosen with staff and rod, Where fairest the pastures be, - "Doth welcome the alien, who to dwell Among them, all other ties hath riven, With love that is passing tender, - even As the shepherd yon brown gazelle." SAINT MARTIN'S TEMPTATION. FOR forty and five long years I have followed my Master, Christ; Through frailty and toils and tears, Through passions that still enticed: Through honors that came unsought, To dazzle, ensnare, betray; Through the baits the Tempter brought To lure me out of the way; Through the peril and greed of power, (The bribe that he thought most sure!) Through the name that hath made me cower, "The holy Bishop of Tours! " Now, faint with the droil of care, I am waiting to enter in To the only cloister where My soul shall be safe from sin. SAINT _MAR[TIN_'S TEMP T TIrON. 101 Iio Ah, none but my Lord hath seen How oft I have swerved aside; How the word or the look serene Hath hidden the heart of pride. When a beggar once crouched in need, I flung him my priestly stole, And the people did laud the deed, Withholding, the while, their dole: Then I closed my lips on a curse, Like a scorpion curled within, On such cheap charity,- worse Was even than theirs, my sin! And once, when a royal hand Brake bread for the Christ's sweet grace; I was proud that a queen should stand And serve in the henchman's place. III. But illest of all bestead Was a night in my narrow cell As I pondered with low-bowed head, A purpose that pleased me well. I02 SAINT HMAR TIN'S TEMP TA TIONV.'Twas fond to the sense and fair, Attuned to the heart and will, While yet on its face it bare The look of a duty still: And I murmured, as doubt took wing, "Where reason and choice accord, It is even a pleasant thing To tefesl, to serve the Lord!" IV. I turned, and I saw a sight Wondrous and strange to see, A being as marvellous bright As the visions of angels be: His vesture was woven of flame, And a crown on his forehead shone With jewels of nameless name, Like the glory about the Throne. "Worship thou me," he said; And I sought as I sank, to trace Through his hands above me spread, The lineaments of his face. I pored on each palm to see SAINT MAR TIN'S TEMPTA TfON. I03 The scar of the stigma, where They had fastened him to the Tree, But, - no print of the nails was there! Then I shuddered, aghast of brow, As I cried, -" Accurst! abhorred! Get thee behind me! for thou Art Satan, and not my Lord " He vanished before the spell Of the Sacred Name I named, And I lay in my darkened cell, Repentant, astonied, shamed. Thenceforth, whatever the dress That a seeming duty ware, I knew'twas a wile, unless Thzeprint of th/e nails was there. THE REAPERS OF LANDISFARNE. IN his abbey cell Saint Cuthbert Sate burdened and care-dismayed: For the wild Northumbrian people, For whom he had wrought and prayed, Still clung to their warlike pastime, Their plunder and border raid; II. Still scouted all peaceful tillage, And queried with scowling brow, "Shall we who have won our victual By the stout, strong hand till now, Forswearing the free, bold foray, Crawl after the servile plow?" THE REAPERS OF LANDISFAR NE. I05 III. " Through year and through year I have taught them, By the word of my mouth," he said; "And still, in their untamed rudeness, They trust to the wilds for bread; But now will I teach henceforward, By the toil of my hands instead. IV. "In their sight I will set the lesson; And, gazing across the tarn, They shall see on its nether border, Garth, byre, and hurdled barn, And the brave, fair field of barley That shall whiten at Landisfarne." v. Therewith from his Melrose cloister Saint Cuthbert went his way: He felled the hurst, and the meadow Bare him rich swaths of hay, And forth and aback in the furrow He wearied the longsome day. io6 THE REAPERS OF LANDISFAIRNE. VI. And it came to pass when the autumn The ground with its sere leaves strawed, And the purple was over the moorlands, And the rust on the sunburnt sod, That ripe for the reaper, the barley Silvered the acres broad. VII. Then certain among the people, Fierce folk who had laughed to scorn The cark of the patient toiler, While riot, and hunt, and horn, Were wiling them in the greenwood, Cried: " Never Northumbrian born, VIII. "Shall make of his sword a sickle, Or help to winnow the heap: The hand that hath sowed may garner The grain as he list, -or sleep, And pray the hard Lord he serveth, That His angels may come and reap." THE REAPERS OF LAINDISFA RVE. I07 IX. Right sadly Saint Cuthbert listened; And, bowing his silvered head, He sought for a Christ-like patience (As he lay on his rush-strewn bed), And strength for the morrow's scything, Till his fears and his sadness fled. X. Then he dreamed that he saw descending On the marge of the moorland tarn, A circle of shining reapers, Who heaped in the low-eaved barn, The sheaves that their gleaming sickles Had levelled at Landisfarne. XI. In the cool of the crispy morning, Ere the lark had quitted her nest In the beaded grass, the sleeper Arose from his place of rest; " For," he sighed, " I must toil till the gloaming Is graying the golden west." IO8 THE REAPERS OF LANDISFARNIE. XII. He turned to look at his corn-land; Did he dream? Did he see aright? -Close cut was the field of barley, And the stubble stood thick in sight: For the reapers with shining sickles ZItad harvested all the night I THE HERMIT'S VIGIL. HERE is the ancient legend I was reading From the black-letter vellum page, last night: Its yellow husk holds lessons worth the heeding, If we unfold it right. The tome is musty with dank superstition, From which we shrink recoiling to th' extreme Of an unfaith, that, with material vision, Accounts as myth or dream, Problems too subtle for our clumsy fingers, High truths that burn beyond our reach, as far As o'er the fire-fly in the grass that lingers, Burns yonder quenchless star. I IO THE HERMIZT'S VIGIL. Give rather back the old hallucinations, — The ecstasies, the transport, terror, grief, Of faith so human, than the drear negations Of dumb, dead unbelief! But hear the story now: Within a forest, By black morasses girt, a hermit dwelt: And as one midnight, when the storm raged sorest, In his lone hut he knelt, In ghostly penance, sounds of fiendish laughter Smote on the tempest's lull with hideous jar That sent the gibbering echoes pealing after, Through windy wolds afar. "Christ bring ye ban!" he cried, the door wide flinging; "Speed ye some whither with perdition's dole?" "We go " (from out the wrack, a shriek came ringing) "To seize the emperor's soul, "Who lies this hour death-stricken." Execration Thereat, still fouler filled the sulphurous air.: Before the rood the hermit sank: " Salvation Grant, Lord, in his despair! " THE HERMIT'S VIGIL. III And agonizing thus, with lips all ashen, He prayed; till back, with ghastlier rage and roar, The daemon rout rushed, strung to fiercer passion, And crashed his ozier door. " Speak, fiend! I do adjure thee! Came repentance Too late? 7' With hissing curse was answer made: " Heaped high within the Judgment-Scales for sentence, The emperor's sins were laid; "And downward, downward, with a plunge descended Our scale till we exulted, - when a moan, -' Save, Christ, 0, save me /'- from his lips was rended Out with his dying groan. "Quick in the other scale did Mercy lay it, Lo! it outweighed his guilt —" "Ha, baffled! braved! " The hermit cried; " Hence, fiends! nor dare gainsay it, The emperor's soul is saved!/" BACHARACH WINE. (A.D. I494.)' "WHY should they crown me Emperor? Why Summon me hither from merry cheer With my life-long wassailers? Surely I, Prince of good fellows, am happier here. I smother to think of the cramping weight Of Charlemagne's iron about my brow: My own Bohemia's crown and state Are more than enough for me, I vow, When I'd cast off care, and drink my full Of wine and wit at the K6nigstuhl. II. "I wonder if Charlemagne ever drank A tankard of Assmanshausen? Nay, If he had, his empire never would rank As it does with the royalest realms to-day. BACHARA CH WINE. 113 For the goddess that laughs within the cup, Had wiled and won him from blood and war, And shown, as he drained her long draughts up, There was something better worth living for Than kingcraft, keeping his gruff brow sad; ( —I wish from my very soul she had!) III. "Consider now, Rupert! With such a realm As that to govern from year to year; The brain must be steady that holds the helm, The senses alert and quick and clear. And how could I dare to jest and drink, Till brain grew dizzy, and sense a wrack? For I never would be the man, I think, To shirk the burden once on my back: But what's an Imperial name, I pray, To the madness of drinking the soul away? IV. "This Assmanshausen! Why, I declare, There never was such heart-staying wine, So brimmed with the sky, the sun, the air, Vintaged along our lordly Rhine-" 8 1I I;4 BA CHA RACH WINE. "I challenge thy word," Prince Rupert said; "I know a better by seven-fold, With a century's warp of cobwebs spread Over the barrels mossed and old. Hie never has been to heaven and back, Who has not drunken of Bacharach." V. "Now by my sceptre," roared the King, " Fetch me the wine thus held so high, And if it can twice the rapture bring That slumbers in Assmanshausen - why, Here on the spot I'll lay thee down, (Inly thou cravest it now, I trow,) Plighted and pledged, the Iron crown: Hasten - a flagon -! let me know At once if this Bacharach can be More than an Emperor's state to me." VI. The wine was brought him, - the bowls were filled, And they drank deep into the winter night, Till the heart of the new-made Emperor thrilled, And tingled with such divine delight, BA CHARA CH WINE. I 15 That he cried: " Prince Rupert, if thou wilt give Three butts a year of Bacharach wine, Just such as this, through the years I live, Then Charlemagne's sceptre shall be thine." Prince Rupert sware: For his royal guest, Freedom and Bacharach wine were best. THE QUEEN'S KISS. UPON the purple dais sate the Queen, Blanche of Castile; and, at her fair right hand, The Prince, upon whose one decade even then There dawned a somewhat of the saintlihood That through the centuries since, still stars his name. In waiting, pages stood, of noblest rank, Attent to win, through courtly service wrought, Those knightliest honors held a prize so high. Among them one seemed diverse from the rest, Apart and sad; and his too level gaze Lacked youth's forecasting eagerness, as though He reached no hand to pluck at future joy. The royal glance swept round the hall, and paused Upon the stranger, who but late had come Into the household; and the queenly heart, Instinct with motherhood, leaped forth to meet The pathos in his face. THE QUEEN'S KISS. I 7 "Hence, little Prince," She bade, "and bring yon stripling to my knee." With courtesies, the pledge of breeding had'Neath palace roofs, the boy knelt at the dais, And lifted to his lips the broidered hem Of the Queen's robe, as she besought his name. He clasped his hands, and with an upward look Of reverence, softly said: " I am Prince Hubert, Son of Elizabeth of Hunfgary." WVith startled gesture rose the Queen, her eyes Hazed through quick-coming tears, and lifted up The kneeling boy. " Scnctnl Elisabetta / Thou hadst a blessed mother! Tell me where She used to kiss thee." With a sudden flush Flooding the day-break whiteness of his face, He laid his finger where the delicate line Of eyebrows met. Then framing in her hands His girl-like cheeks, and solemnly as though She touched some hallowed reliquaire, the Queen I I8 THE QUEEA7N'S KISS. Kissed over and over again the spot; and fast His thick sobs rose, as to her passionate prayer He listened; for upon his shut lids fell What seemed the dropping of his mother's tears. THE LEGEND OF THE WOODPECKER. (A NORWEGIAN TRADITION.) O'ER a firwood trencher the housewife bent, With bare arms kneading the barley bread: And her eyes to the path oft wandering went, That down to the Fiord led. "He is late: no boat in the offing yet; My loaf will be brown as a pine-tree cone," She muttered with peevish fume and fret, As she heated the baking-stone. Anon at the door a knock was heard; And out in the gloaming clear and keen, In well-worn mantle of lynx-skin furred, Was a shivering traveller seen. I20 LEGEND OF THE WOODPECKER. Out-stretching his frost-pinched palm, he spake, "For the love of God, a bit of dough, Now lay on the hearth for me and bake;" And ashamed to say him -N o, A miserly morsel the kneader chose, And as in her hand it moulded lay, A-sudden it spread, and swelled, and rose, Till it covered the kneading-tray. "Nay, - here- is too much:" and she rolled a piece Like a curlew's egg: but, as quick as thought, It overran with its strange increase, The table at which she wrought. "See! tZis shall suffice! " she cried, and then, Choosing what lightly an acorn-cup Might carry, she shapened it: lo, again It grew to an armful up. "Beshrew thee! " she flashed, and her cheek waxed bright As her crimson cap: "Nor great, nor small Be any the loaf bestowed to-night, My Oldsen and I keep all!" LEGEND OF THE WOODPECKER. I 2 I Then sternly the wayfarer chode: "Even though Thou hadst more than uttermost need sufficed, No crumb hath thy greed to give: Now, know, The beggar who pleads is - Christ! " To the doom decreed thee henceforth, hark: Thy food, as a bird (from thy kind accurst), Thou shalt painfully seek'twixt wood and bark, And save when it rains, shalt thirst." THE COUNT'S SOWING. OFT had the Abbot of Rudenstein, Piously praying within his stall, Under the castle by the Rhine, Grudgingly craved the lands whose line Bordered his convent garden-wall. Ii. "Long have our fields been far too strait For the growing needs of the Brotherhood: These meadows we'll have or soon or late, A part and parcel of our estate, As sure as there's help in the Holy Rood. III. "Lightly will matter an oath or twain, If out of it come such good, I trow, Vellum we have of an ancient stain Whereon we will write our title plain As dated a hundred years ago." THE COUNT'S SOWING. 123 IV. So mused the Abbot: and in his zeal He rated the Count from year to year, Who heard nor heeded the bold appeal; For well he reckoned the royal seal Whereby he could prove his tenure clear. V. But worried and worn by long demand, And weakened by hints of churchly threat, He promised, at length, to yield the land For ever and aye beneath his hand, If one condition were fairly met. VI. "Now grant me your leave to sow once more, A single crop in the meadows, mine, The fief of my fathers heretofore; And, when it is ripe and had in store, The soil you covet I thence resign." VII. Full gladly the Abbot pledged him true, In the Holy Name, all sealed and signed: The seed it was sown, and the green blades grew Fast under his eye: but strange to view Were the stalks that bent in the waving wind. I 24 THE COUNT'S SOWING. VIII. One day as he watched the field, a groan Brake forth as if born of sudden fears; "Ach Himmel! what hopes are overthrown! - The crop of acorns the Count hath sown, Will not be ripe for a hundred years! " SAINT LAMBERT'S COAL. WILD hordes had sacked the minster: scattered Upon the broken pavement lay The crash of luminous windows shattered By lawless hands in wanton fray, Who wrought their worst, and went their way. Across pale, pictured saints, rude gashes Showed where their godless blades had thrust Profane defiance; with thick ashes Strewn was the altar, and encrust Was chalice, pyx and urn with rust. No light within the lamp was kindled, No curling incense breathed its fume; And as the lonely evening dwindled, Swart shadows chill with ghostly gloom, Wrapped every niche and shrine and tomb. 126 SAINT LAzMBERT'S COAL. Anon athwart the murk came stealing Faint floatings of a chanted hymn, That rolled, gust-blown, from floor to ceiling, As slowly a procession dim Out of the darkness seemed to swim. Onward it wended, nor did falter, Till, breaking silence, one cried: "Who Bethought him of the quenched altar? Alas, how guide the service through? Would God might light the lamp anew!" "A men I" adown the aisle came drifting, And from the train outforth there stole A little acolyth, who lifting His surplice-hem, displayed a coal That glowed, - yet left the garment whole. "Chris/us Illuminator I" kneeling, The wondering Bishop cried: " From whom Can light else come? Thyself revealing, Give forth that faith to chase our gloom, Which burns, and yet doth not consume? SAINT LAMBERT'S COAL. 127 " Such faith is thine, 0 Lambert! Lighten Therewith the altar-lamp, and let Its rays to distant ages brighten." He took the coal, - the flame reset, And there, they tell,'tis burning yet. THE LEAVES OF HEALING. THE fragrant waftings of an old tradition Come faintly wavering down the world-worn ages, (Blown from the rosy isle of Aphrodite), Of Barnabas, who breaking the soft shackles His Cyprus linked, went far and wide, an exile, Startling the Greeks with the strange name of Jesus. And every whither bare he in his bosom The sacred parchment of St. Matthew's gospel, Bequeathed him as th' Evangelist lay a-dying. And when they brought to him, upon his journeys, The sick, the blind, the palsied, on their foreheads He laid the writing, and straightway it healed them. So runs the record; and a hidden meaning As seed-corn held within a mummy's fingers, Lies at its core, a germ of living beauty. THE LEAVES OF HEALING. I29 For whoso now will bind the holy transcript Close to his heart, and with a faith as steadfast As drew the ancient saint from flowery Cyprus, Will lay upon the soreliest bruised spirit, This medicament, -- Come unto fMe, ye weary," — Its miracle-touch will heal the hurt for ever. 9 CHRIMHILDE'S TREASURES. COUNT Conrad sate in his castle tower, And leaned his head on his mailed hands, As he gazed below on the leaguering foe Who battered his walls and spoiled his lands. "I can do no more: not a crust is left; My men lie starved by the donjon keep; Sweet Chrimhilde alone gives forth no groan, As she rocks her boy on her breast asleep. III. "If they were but saved! " and as he sighed, He heard her low footstep on the stair; And his stout heart bled as he turned his head To hide the trace of his blank despair. CHRIMHILDE'S TREASURES. I 3 Iv. There gleamed a hope in her sunken eye As she dropped at his side with a gesture fond, And sought, in a way that would bide no nay, For leave to pass to the hosts beyond. V. "Our archers perish: bare ten are left, And strengthenless they, to draw the bow; But, if we must yield, give me thy shield, Nor question the errand on which I go. VI. "TI' seek the besieger in his camp, And hither will haste with his reply: Thine honor, be sure, is well secure With her who would live for thee, or die." VII. The Count looked up with a vacant air, As the slow nay rose to his lips so wan; And he flung his arm as to clasp from harm The tender pleader, but - she was gone. 132 CtHRIMNHLDE'S TREASURES. VII. And, ere he could order his wildered thought, The postern opened and closed again; And he saw, in affright, with a pennon white, His Chrimhilde glide o'er the tented plain. IX. "By the pity of God, your grace! " she cried, And on unchallenged her way she went, All weak as she was, till her step had pause In front of the startled chieftain's tent. x. As the sunset glinted her golden hair And her blue eyes lifted to intercede, To the soldier it seemed as if he dreamed That the Mother of Christ had come to plead. XI. And stately she stood as stands a queen Who sovranly makes her mandates known: "I have come to yield this dinted shield, Sir Baron, if thou the terms wilt own. CHIRIMHILDE'S TREASURES. 133 XII. "Count Conrad's castle shall hence be thine, If out of the garrison's chosen men, Who have nobly fought as the noblest ought, Thou passest in freedom, only ten. XIII. "Count Conrad's riches shall fill thine hands, If forth thou grantest me leave to take Some treasures I hold priced over gold: Now promise it, for thy knighthood's sake! " XIV. The Baron all dazed by her royal mien, And awed by her beauty, nothing loth To answer a prayer so seeming fair, Swore on the battered shield his oath. XV. "And now, my treasures - they are but twain, Husband and child — thou grantest so?" She paused: for reply, in the Baron's eye There sparkled a tear, as he bade her go. THE ROYALLEST GIFT. LONG centuries since, in the Rhine-land, There reigned a valorous king, Who, out of his war-won treasures, Vowed unto the Lord to bring Some token of fair requital: "' A fane," he said, " that shall seem, In its marvel of stone-work frostings, Like the cunningest craftsman's dream. "I'll lavish my vast abundance With open, unreck'ning hand; And still be the richest monarch That rules in this Western land. "Albeit from base to roof-cope, My grandeur shall mark the whole, There still is the unseen rubble My vassals have leave to dole. THE ROYALLEST GIFT. I35 "Then hearken and heed, good people! Bring hither your tithings all, For I will reject no pittance Ye offer, howe'er so small." Thereafter the work went forward Right nobly; and each did bring Out of their meagre hoardings Some slenderest offering. As the statued walls rose skyward, And blossoms bloomed out from stone, It chanced that a rude-clad woman, As she watched, one day, made moan: " If one of these workers love Thee, As I, - Thou Lord, dost know; And yet I am empty-handed Of witness to prove it so. "Even yonder the straining oxen, That drag at the heavy beam, Are toiling in Thy sweet service: How spent with their work they seem! 136 THE ROYALLEST GIFT. "Dear Lord, since for Thee they labor, Hard-wrought on the king's high-way, What hinders that I should give them The corn I have gleaned to-day?" - When grand in its towered glory, The beautiful minster shone, The eyes of the wondering people Saw graved on a mystic stone, The name of the royallest giver Whose largess had crowned the fane: Behold!'twas an unknown woman's, And they searched for the king's in vain. THE LADY RIBERTA'S HARVEST. I. IN the days of eld there was wont to be, On the jagged coast of the Zuyder Zee, A city from whence broad galleons went To distant island and continent, To lands that under the tropics lay, Ind and the fabled far Cathay, To gather from earth, and sea, and air, All that was beautiful, rich, and rare. And back they voyaged so laden full With fairy fabrics from old Stamboul; With pungent woods that breathed out balms; With broidered stuffs from the realm of palms; With shawls from the marts of Ispahan; With marvellous lacquers from strange Japan: That through this traffic on many a sea, So grand did its merchants grow to be, That even Venetian lords became Half covetous of the city's fame. 138 LADY RIBERTA'S HARVEST. II. The Lady Riberta's fleet was great, And year by year it had brought such store Of treasures, until in her queenly state There scarcely sufficed her room for more. Her feasts — no prince in the realms around Had service so rich or food so fine, As daily her carven tables crowned; And proud she was of her luscious cates, And her rare conserves, and her priceless wine, And her golden salvers and golden plates: For all that the sea or the shore could bring, Was hers for the fairest furnishing. III. It fell one day, that a stranger came In garb of an Eastern sage arrayed, Commended by one of noble name: He had traversed many a clime, he said, And, whithersoever he went, had heard Of the Lady Riberta's state, that so In his heart a secret yearning stirred To find if the tale were true or no. LAD Y RIBERTA'S HA R VEST. 139 At once the Lady Riberta's pride Upsprang, and into her lordly hall She led the stranger, and at her side She bade him be seated in sight of all. IV. Silver and gold around him gleamed, The daintiest dishes before him steamed; The rarest of fish, and flesh, and bird, Fruits all flushed with the tropic sun, Nuts whose names he had never heard, Were offered: the stranger would have none; Nor spake he in praise a single word. "Doth any thing lack? " with chafe, at last, The hostess queried, "from the repast?" Gravely the guest then gave reply: " Lady, since thou dost question, I, Daring to speak the truth alway, Even in such a presence, say Something is wanting: I have sate Oft at the tables of rich and great, Nor seen such viands as these: but yet, I marvel me much thou should'st forget The world's one best thing: for'tis clear, Whatever beside, it is not here." 140 LAD Y RIBERTA'S HAIR VEST. V. "Name it," the Lady flashed, " and nought Will I grudge of search till the best is brought." But never another word the guest Uttered, as soothly he waived aside Her question, that in the heat of pride, Mindless of courtesy, still she pressed. And when from her grand refection hall They fared from their feasting, one and all, Again with a heightened tone and air To the guest she turned, but no guest was there. "I'll have it," she stamped, "whatever it be; I'll scour the land, and I'll sweep the sea, Nor ever the tireless quest resign Till I know the world's one best thing mine!" VI. Once more were the white-sailed galleons sent To far-off island and continent, In search of the most delicious things That ever had whetted the greed of kings: But none of the luxuries that they brought, Seemed quite the marvel the Lady sought. LADY RIBERTA'S HARVEST. 141 VII. At length from his latest voyage back Sailed one of her captains: he told her how Wild weather had driven him from his track, And his vessel had sprung aleak, till bow And stern were merged, and a rime of mould Had mossed the flour within the hold, And nothing was left but wine and meat, Through weary weeks, for the crew to eat. " Then the words of the stranger rose," he said, " And I felt that the one best thing was bread: And so, for a cargo, I was fain Thereafter to load my ships with grain." VIII. The Lady Riberta's wrath out-sprang Like a sword from its sheath, and her keen voice rang Sharp as a lance-thrust: " Get thee back To the vessels, and have forth every sack, And spill in the sea thy cursed store, Nor ever sail with my galleons more " IX. The people who hungered for daily bread, Prayed that to them in their need, instead, The grain might be dealt: but she heeded none, Nor rested until the deed was done. 142 LADY RIBERTA'S HARVEST. x. The months passed on, and the harvest sown In the furrows of deep sea-fields had grown To a forest of slender stalks, - a wide Strong net to trap whatever the tide Drew on in its wake, - the drift and wreck Of many a shattered mast and deck, And all the tangle of weeds there be Afloat in the trough of the plunging sea. Until as the years went by, a shoal Of sand had tided a sunken mole Across the mouth of the port, that so The galleys were foundered; and to and fro No longer went forth: and merchants sought Harbors elsewhere for the stores they brought. The Lady Riberta's ships went down In the offing: the city's old renown Faded and fled with its commerce dead, And the Lady Riberta beggedfor bread. XI. The hungry billows with rage and roar Have broken the ancient barriers o'er, LADY RIBERTA'S HARVEST. I43 And bitten their way into the shore, And where such traffic was wont to be, The voyager now can only see The spume and fret of the Zuyder Zee. HERIBERT'S KISS. I. "WHITHER away have sped huntsmen and knights and all, While I have loitered here watching the waterfall? Yonder the dark comes down over the Mummelsee; What if its haunting sprites shower their spells on me?" II. And the page so debonair in scarlet and gold arrayed, Rushed hither and yon to find the path to the open glade: His bugle he loudly blew, and then as he paused to hear, Only the dying fall of its echo swept his ear. III. " In the Black Forest -lost! "-but even the while he spake, Keenly his searching eye turned to the misty lake, And there, through the rifts of green, he saw on the lonely strand A shallop, and from it sprang a youth on the beaching sand. HERIBERT'S KISS. 145 IV. "God's benison! " Heribert cried: " the Duke and his hunters chase Out of my reach the boar home to his hiding-place Deep in the hills, while I, musing with idle mind, Only through silence learn how far I am left behind." V. Then, with a courteous air, guidance of him he sought, But mutely the youth stalked on, as though he had heard him not; And Heribert followed close, till they reached a castle door: "What castle, forsooth?" he asked; but his guide was seen no more. VI. He wound his bugle-horn, and a hoary seneschal Lowered the creaking draw, and led him across the hall: He parted the arras' folds, and, out of the murk and gloom, Half wildered and blind he passed to the blaze of a gorgeous room. IO I46 HERIBERT'S KI"SS. VII. There on the dais sate a beautiful maiden, clad In bridal snow: and yet her face had an aspect sad As a nun's beneath her veil, and lower she dropped her eye, As Heribert told his tale, and waited for her reply. VIII. When with a gentle stress, he pleadingly begged a sign Of grace, she calmly rose, and poured him a cup of wine. He drank, and his senses swam, and his heart was touched to flame, As he gazed on the maiden's brow, and blushingly sought her name. IX. " Erma of Windeck," slow, she answered; "of all bereft, I am the last lone stalk of a stately lineage left." HIeribert heard with joy, and, dropping upon his knee, -" I will be more than all, all thou hast lost, to thee! x. Quick from his finger he his mother's troth-ring drew, And slid it upon the hand that whitely hung in view: HERIBER T'S KISS. 147 Instant a rapturous flash reddened her pallid brow: "I have waited for this so long! Come to the chapel now." XI. And as they trode the aisle, a touch she lightly laid On a sculptured statue there, in cassock and stole arrayed: Out from its niche it stepped, and followed them slow and pale, And solemnly stood with hands pressing the altar-rail. XII. " Heribert, Count of Klein, standest thou here to wed Erma of Windeck now, - the living among the dead?" Heribert's lips waxed white through passion and shock of bliss, As he stooped to the virgin brow, and gave, for reply, a kiss. XIII. - Rumble and crash and start! What did he seem to hear? Only his pawing steed, neighing beside his ear; Only the far-off shout of the flying huntsman's glee. Only the dreamy lap of the mystic Mummelsee. FROM THE LIFE OF TO-DAY. THE HERO OF THE COMMUNE. " GARCON! You - you Snared along with this cursed crew? (Only a child, and yet so bold, Scarcely as much as ten years old!) Do you hear? do you know Why the gensdarmes put you there, in the row, You, with those Commune wretches tall, With your face to the wall? " II. "Knoze? To be sure I know! why not? We're here to be shot; And there, by the pillar,'s the very spot, Fighting for France, my father fell: Ah, well!That's just the way Iwould choose to fall, With my back to the wall!" 152 HERO OF THE COMMUNE. III. (" Sacre! Fair, open fight, I say, Is something right gallant in its way, And fine for warming the blood; but who Wants wolfish work like this to do? Bah!'tis a butcher's business!) How? (The boy is beckoning to me now: I knew that his poor child's heart would fail,.... Yet his cheek's not pale:) Quick! say your say, for don't you see, When the Church-clock yonder tolls out Three, You're all to be shot? — What?'Excuse you one moment'? O, ho, ho I Do.you think to fool a gendarme so?" IV. "But, sir, here's a watch that a friend, one day (My father's friend), just over the way, Lent me; and if you'll let me free, - It still lacks seven minutes of Three,I'll come, on the word of a soldier's son, Straight back into line, when my errand's done." HERO OF THE COMMUNE. 1 53 "Ha, ha! No doubt of it! Off! Begone! (Now, good Saint Dennis, speed him on! The work will be easier since he's saved; For I hardly see how I coZld have braved The ardor of that innocent eye, As he stood and heard, While I gave the word, Dooming him like a dog to die.") VI. "In time! Well, thanks, that my desire Was granted; and now, I am ready:- Fire! One word! - that's all! -You'll let me turn my back to the wall?" VII. "Parbleu! Come out of the line, I say, Come out! (Who said that his name was Neby?) Ha! France will hear of him yet one day! " IN AN EASTERN BAZAAR. I. I AM tired! Let us sit in the shadow This mosque flings, and puff a cigar, And watch, as they come from yon meadow, Those carriers, each with his jar: How lithe and how languid they are! II. Confess now,'tis something delicious To leave the old life all behind, Its turbulence, worries, and wishes, Its labors and longings, and find A Nirwana, for once, to your mind. III. What softness suffuses the picture! How tranquil the poppied repose! See the child there, unbound by the stricture Of dress that encumbers: he knows (All nude of the gyves we impose,) IN ANV EASTERN BAZAAR. I55 IV. What the meaning of freedom is better Than any young Frank of them all, Whose civilized feet we must fetter, Whose white Christian limbs we must gall With garments that chafe and enthrall. V. Just look at yon brown caryatid Who poises the urn on her head; Don't tell me her long locks are matted, But mark the Greek Naiad instead, — Such grace to such symmetry wed! VI. Quick! notice the droop of her shoulder, As she lowers the urn to her arm: None ever will tell, or has told her How perfect she is: there's the charm! Such knowledge brings nothing but harm. VII. Here's a group now: The jealous Zenanas Unveil in the twilight their bowers; And girls that look proud as Sultanas, Bloom out as the night-blooming flowers, That drowse, with their langours, the hours. I56 IN AN EASTERN BAZAAR. VIII. True wildings of nature! Each gesture A study, by art undefiled; They gather or loosen their vesture, By no thought of observance beguiled, Unconscious of aim as a child. IX. The traffic too: —What now could ruffle This white-turban'd Aryan's repose, As, placidly scorning the scuffle And chaffer, he waits? for he knows Whose the vantage will be at the close. x. I miss, (and how restful the feeling!) As I catch the low hum of these hives, That Occident worry that's stealing (Through schemes that our culture contrives,) The calmness all out of our lives. XI. No exigence harries their pleasures; Unbeautiful haste does not fray Their time of its margin of leisures: While we, in our prodigal way, Forestall a whole morrow to-day. IN AN EASTERN BAZAAR. 157 XII. Yes - yes - I concede we're their betters, Self-gratulant Goth that I am! We have science, religion, and letters, - With the bane of the curse we've the balm: They keep their inviolate calm. XIII. If only this land of the lotus Would teach us the charm it knows best, That could soothe the rasp'd nerve, -that could float us Far off to some Island of Rest, - What a boon from the East to the West! ALPENGLOW. YES, that's what I said; The grass has been greening above his head Two summers and more, yet -I scarce know why - There was that in his smile that could not die, For it has not died. In this autumn ray, (Ah, me! the third since he went away i)'Tis palpable as the Alpenglow That clings to the footless slopes of snow, As if to lighten, through evengloam, Some loitering mountain-climber home; Or rather, -turn to the sunset hills Yonder, and mark how the shadow fills All of their sadden'd faces: one,The amber'd peak that is next the sun, Holds yet to its breast, as I to mine, A glint of the still remembered shine: ALPENGLO W. I59 - Well, that is the way With the smile I was telling you of to-day. II. Have you watched a bird Ever poise itself when something stirred Its spirit to song? A quiver of throat, The croon of a tremulous, trial note, The catch with a crowding rapture crowned, Then, - floods, where the swooning soul was drowned! Even so, I have often sat apart And marked the flutter about his heart Thrill to his lips, as with a hum Of voiceless music it seemed to come And ripple around his mouth, with shy, Impassionate answers of the eye, While an overflush of marvellous grace Would master, a-sudden, all his face, Till the delicate nostril curved and swelled, And the glance an eloquent sparkle held, And a sense of song would come and go, Such as dreamers watched by Ariel, know: - Well, that was the way With the smile I was telling you of to-day. I6o ALPENGLOW. III. And because I said The grass has been greening above his head Two summers and o'er, shall I think, therefore, That smile can never be kindled more? — That the grave could hold it, that cannot hold Captive one straggling gleam of gold? - That it's prisoned away in ashen'd clay, As centuried sunbeams are to-day'Neath fathoms of blacken'd strata? No! Can essence immortal perish so? When clouds have gathered betwixt the star And the vision that watches it blazing far In limitless aether, shall the eye Drop earthward, and lips that are faithless, sigl, - "Ah me! for the mist, the murk, the rain! I never shall find my star again:" While, to spirits that come and go, its shine Has never before seemed so divine? - Well, that is the way With the smile I was telling you of to-day. ROSSEL. O WRECK of all chivalries! whither Has vanished thy glory? O France! Shall the last of thyflezrs-de-lis wither Which the Uhlan has spared? Shall his lance Be dropped with a gesture of pity? Shall the bomb-shell in harmlessness burst? Shall the shot that has furrowed the city (Forbearing to compass the worst,) Unscathed leave the best of your foemen, While ye, in your cowardice fell, (Scared rulers) shoot down the one Roman Among them, - Rossel? IT. "A4 Communist?" Ay, whose one crime was Too fervid a faith in his cause; Too noble a trust that the time was The chosen of Fate, and a pause II 162 ROSSEL. Might rivet, for ages, the fetter That Liberty, crazed through despair, Had rent in her frenziedness. " Better Die then, in their fury, and there, Than yet by new masters be goaded!" - Success has its laurels, as well As Failure its chains.... They have loaded The s" felon " Rossel. III. Ah, short-sighted zealots of Order! Has mastery stricken you blind? Was death the sole, pitiless warder Whose cell had no postern behind?... The spirit whose ardor had fired A cause that was desperate -yea, A Breton as brave as a Bayard, Could never have stooped to betray! But Time shall avenge him: each lowland, Hill, plain, with his story shall swell, As they say: The Gironde had its Roland; The Commune, Rossel/ HIS NAME. (AN INCIDENT OF THE GREAT BOSTON FIRE.) I. O, THE billows of fire! With maelstrom-like swirl, Their surges they hurl Over roof, over spire, Mad, masterless, higher, Till rumble - crack - crash - Down boom with a flash, Whole columns of granite and marble: see! see! Sucked in as a weed on the ocean might be, Or engulfed as a sail In the hurricane-riot and wreak of the gale! II. Ha! yonder they rush where the death-dealing stecam, Over-pent, waits their gleam To shudder the city with earthquake! Who, wzeho Will adventure mid-flame, and unfasten the screw, I64 HIS NAME. Set the fiend loose, and save us so? Fireman, you - You willing? Would God you might hazard it! Nay, The red tongues are licking the faucets now! Stay! Too late i -'tis too late! If ruin, explosion, must come, let us wait Its coming: To go is to perish: - Hold! hold! You are young -I am old - You've a wife too, - and children?... O God! he is gone Straight into destruction! The pipes, men! On - on! Play the water-stream on him - full - faster - the whole! And now... Christ save his soul! III. I stifle I choke — And he —Heaven grant that he smother in smoke Ere the dread detonation! Hark hark! What's the shout? Is he saved? Is he out? Did he compass his purpose?... The hero! One name This pencil of fire on the records of Fame Shall blazon, if justice is meted. Why here On my cheek is a tear, Which not a whole city in ashes could claim! -- His name, now, - Can nobody tell me his name? A SOLILOQUY IN THE VATICAN. (I873.) WHAT ails the world? Can those last days be nearing, Foredoomed in the divine Apocalypse? Of heresies my ears are stunned with hearing, Uncatholic schism our ancient empire strips Of half its power, and half is in eclipse. O for the might St. Gregory's arm once wielded! (In pace requiescat!) Kaisers pay No homage such as royal Henry yielded;* And my dead son of France, I loathly say, Proved but a poor St. Louis in his day. In place of a Matilda,t bringing purely, With woman's grace, all aids to soothe my pain, I smile upon (I own, somewhat demurely!) Her scarce immaculate Majesty of Spain: Ah! who will wear my Goldren Rose again? * Henry II., Emperor of Germany. t Countess of Tuscany. i66 A SOLILOQUY IN THE VATICAN. Yet none hath held, since Pontifex St. Peter Here sate, so long as I, the sacred chair: And when had Mother-Church such hosts to greet her "Commemoration " past, as met to share From every clime, her pomps and splendors rare? Fixt is the tenet battled for through ages; Infallible, henceforth, the Holy See; And that illustrious dogma that engages Ave Maria's saintly purity, Both won: yet whence the gain of all - to me? Has Heaven become ungrateful? Blessed warder, Who holdest in thy hand the mystic keys, Hast thou no care for this unchecked disorder, Content in Paradise to take thine ease? Bethink thee - Thou once felt the surge of seas! Cloistered in peace so long, hast thou no pity? No prison-memories of thy Mamertine? It must be! Else, in my Eternal City Would I sit captive, questioning, " Is it mine?" While Lombards fill once more the Esquiline;While radical railways, levelling schools, free Bibles, Like the Campagna's breath, are poisoning Rome; A SOLILOQUY IN THE VMATICAN. I67 While printed sheets that spread infectious libels Are read (Heaven help!) beneath St. Peter's dome; While here another Alaric finds his home! "Son of the Church," yet grudge the Holy Father His poor polenta! Never shall he kiss This ruby on my finger here: far rather Forego such cozening fealty, and miss Henceforth that traitorous, "Master, hail! " of his! Bismarck and D6llinger! The same sad story! Without, within, feigned friends and crafty foes: Where will it end? I'll summon Monsignore Good Antonelli; for he ever knows How best to balsam my despairs and woes. O for the old, untroubled days of quiet, When loungers basked beside the fountains cool, Unplagued by all this' liberal' rant and riot, So they were fed, not caring who might rule: But now! - The beggars vole and go lo school/ UNAWARES. WE'VE passed each other in the street For years, my hem your garment sweeping; And when we met in converse sweet, Always the hours on silver feet Danced to the time your talk was keeping. II. I thought I knew you, heart and mind, Content o'er surface forms to linger; Nor ever dreamed that what I've pined And searched for all my life to find, Was just beneath my heedless finger. III. 0, happy random touch and tone, Informed with sense beyond my seeing, That to my inner eye has thrown Open your guarded soul, and shown The latent treasures of your being! UNA WARES. I69 IV. Here is a cabinet: Over-seas It came, while yet Sir Walter's glory Flung round his Virgin Colonies The lustre of those chivalries That blazon all our earlier story. V. Some old Venetian wrought his life Into its countless, quaint vagaries: Its ebon front with hints is rife, Of all that moved him - children, wife, — A Satyr's face, and then a Mary's. VI. Early I learned each secret cell; Its sinuous maze I could unravel, And held the clew, and knew the spell Of every covert spring as well As windings of the garden-gravel. VII. But toying in an aimless way Some dusty, cobwebbed spaces under, It chanced that I should touch one day A spray of carvings, - when the spray Flew back, and left me mute with wonder. 170 UNA I4WARES. VIII. For there, to my astonished sight, Within a mouldy nook lay gleaming, Beneath the sun's intrusive light, An urn of carven malachite,A cameo cut beyond my dreaming! IX. -To think what countless hood-winked eyes, Unconscious of the riches hidden In reach, for ever missed the prize, Which yet a touch so randomwise As mine, revealed to me unbidden! x. Here at my throat the gem I wear, O'er which my fancy loves to wander, Deeming I trace Cellini there; And see my other pride, -that rare Antique upon the bracket yonder. INASMUCH. THE day, with all its fervid hours Of golden possibility, Went down behind the sapphire sea; And that dull sense of squandered powers, Before whose waste the conscience cowers, Was all those hours had left to me. Remorsefully I bowed my head And sighed: " Ah, Lord, Thy heart doth know I would not have the record so Written above the day that's dead,Its doing and undoing done: Instead, My love had fanned a zeal whose glow "Waited my touch to leap to flame; I felt the inbreathed power to write Words that Thy Spirit should indite; And when I named Thy sacred Name, The cloven inspiration came, As with a pentecostal might. I72 ZNASHieUCH. "I had no other thought to sing Than for Thy glory: since I knew No bird went breasting up the blue, With throb of throat and strain of wing, That did not in its measure bring Accepted service, pure and true. "That rapture past, I planned a deed Of costly effort for Thy sake, In which I charged that Self should take No slightest share, nor flesh have heed, Nor shrinking Will have let to plead,.Nor heart betray a conscious ache. "And now the day within whose scope I set my deeds, is dead and done, And all my aims are missed: Not one Of those with which I thought to cope In dauntlessness of faith and hope, Has ev'n so much as been begun." As thus I moaned my self-complaint, Across the midnight seemed to loom A vision, and athwart the gloom IZNASMVUCH. 173 A whisper fell, so sweet, so faint, That I looked up with strange constraint, And lo! a brightness swam the room. I sank o'erawed; and as I lay With downward face, a dream of voice Drifted above: it said, " Rejoice! Thy dead day, wept for, lives, -a day Vital with action, though it may Have brought but failure to thy choice. "Thy work undone, I take as though Wrought to completion; and the strain That throbs, unsung, within thy brain, I hear in all its overflow, And know as thou canst never know, The silent music born of pain. "'Twas I who bade the hindrance stir Thy soul from singing, -- who laid My hand upon thy hands, and stayed Their chosen purpose, while to her Who suffered, as a minister I sent thee, erranding mine aid. I74 INASMUCH. "And inasmuch as thou hast brought Thy draught of water, deemed so small; And inasmuch as at My call Thou didst the work thou hadst not sought,As double deeds, wrought and unwrought, I, needing none, accept them all." ONE DAY. A SONNET. WHAT saith the sightless poet, brighter-eyed Through inward vision than all the bards of old? -The gods in wisdom, boundless, manifold, Have reason's guidance unto men supplied, Enough for one day's usage, - nought beside; And One to whom a thousand years are told Even as a tale, doth bid us have and hold The day sufficient, - let whatso betide. There is no morrow: Though before our face The shadow named so stretches, we alway Fail to o'ertake it, hasten as we may: God only gives one island-inch of space Betwixt the Eternities, as standing-place, Where each may work, - th' inexorable To-day! S'M ITTEN. A SONNET. {IF I might only enter to thy soul And give thee comfort! But it were as though The stalwart oak, root-shaken by the blow Of battling elements that rage and roll With thunder-crash against the mighty bole, Should heed (while limbs are snapped, and to and fro, Its leafy robe, rent in access of woe, Floats tempest-tossed), if faintly upward stole The violet's whisper: "I, mid swirls that choke My sunshine out, with drowning eyes entreat That I may bear some fragrance, soothing-sweet, In my small cup, to medicine the stroke That strips and maims thee! " Ah, my ravaged oak, See! I am but the violet at thy feet! DEAD DAYS. I. (OUR summers are but burial-places where We lay to rest the sweet days as they die, Softening their outline with love's rosemary, And memory's lavender, and all of rare Tokens to keep them fair. II. Our winters are the vaults, whose ice-fring'd cells Shut in our sorrow-shrouded days, for whom, When borne and left amid their frozen gloom, White-surplic'd flakes (in place of lily-bells) Tinkle their muffled knells. III. We bury them, and sigh with bowing head, Submissive else: The tender days must go, For they are earthly-born, and perish so; Yet by what augury hath any said That they are wholly dead? 12 178 DEAD DAYS. IV. The short child-meted grave o'er which we yearn Even yet; the empty bird's-nest filled with snows; The leafless bough; the Spring that comes and goes, Teach resurrection lessons, each in turn, Which we are quick to learn. V. Our days die thus: and we, - their lives withdrawn,Like other mourners, fail of faith's control, Forgetful that each memory is the soul Of a dead day, such as in summers gone Midst rosemary sleeps on. VI. And when they meet us yonder, face to face, In the grand Easter-Morning — shall we then Hail them with greet and welcome once again, Companions of our blessedness always, Dear, risen, deathless days? THE QUESTION. A SONNET. O NATURE, gracious mother of us all, Within thy bosom myriad secrets lie Which thou surrenderest to the patient eye That seeks and waits. But to the yearning call, That has not ceased from hungering lips to fall Reiterate, through the centuries sweeping by, Thou hast not once vouchsafed assured reply, Nor answered even with voicings still and small, These eager questionings;- Wkence do we come? From what nonentity, to live our day? And when this marvellous being melts away, Whitherward do we go? To this, the sum Of human mysteries, what hast thou to say? Nought: Memnon-like, thy mighty lips are dumb. GONE FORWARD. YES, "Let the tent be struck:" Victorious morning Through every crevice flashes in a day Magnificent beyond all earth's adorning: The night is over; wherefore should he stay? And wherefore should our voices choke to say, "The General has gone forward "? Life's foughten field not once beheld surrender; But with superb endurance, present, past, Our pure Commander, lofty, simple, tender, Through good, through ill, held his high purpose fast, Wearing his armor spotless,- till at last, Death gave the final, "Forzward." IIIl All hearts grew sudden palsied: Yet what said he Thus summoned? - " et the tent be struck " -- For when Did call of duty fail to find him ready GONE FOR WARD. 8 I Nobly to do his work in sight of men, For God's and for his country's sake- and then, To watch, wait, or go forward? IV. We will not weep, -we dare not! Such a story As his large life writes on the century's years, Should crowd our bosoms with a flush of glory, That manhood's type, supremest that appears To-day, he shows the ages. Nay, no tears Because he has gone forward! V. Gone forward? - Whither? - Where the marshall'd legions, Christ's well-worn soldiers, from their conflicts cease; Where Faith's true Red-Cross knights repose in regions Thick-studded with the calm, white tents of peace, - Thither, right joyful to accept release, The General has gone forward! THE SHADE OF THE TREES. WHAT are the thoughts that are stirring his breast? What is the mystical vision he sees? -" Let us pnass over the river and rest Under the shade of thze trees." Has he grown sick of his toils and his tasks? Sighs the worn spirit for respite or ease? Is it a moment's cool halt that he asks Under the shade of the trees? Is it the gurgle of waters whose flow Oft-time has come to him, borne on the breeze, Memory listens to, lapsing so low, Under the shade of the trees? Nay -though the rasp of the flesh was so sore, Faith that had yearnings far keener than these, Saw the soft sheen of the Thitherward Shore, Under the shade of the trees; — THE SHADE OF THE TREES. 183 Caught the high psalms of ecstatic delight, - Heard the harps harping, like soundings of seas, - Watched earth's assoiled ones walking in white Under the shade of the trees. 0, was it strange he should pine for release, Touched to the soul with such transports as these,He who so needed the balsam of peace, Under the shade of the trees? Yea, it was noblest for Aim -it was best, (Questioning naught of our Father's decrees,) There to pass over the river and rest Under the shade of the trees! AGASSIZ. NOT to his native Pays de Vaud, Fringed with its Alpine glaciers wan, Not to the pathless peaks whose snow Dazzled his childhood, has he gone. Not to the goatherd's gloaming call Turned he to listen, ringing clear; Not to the "kine-row" chant, of all Strains, most sweet to the Switzer's ear. Tender the voice was, nor in vain Ever to him its least behest; -— " Tired out spirit, wearied brain, Into my quiet come and rest." Even as once our Poet said,* Long had he traversed ways untrod, Finding in signs none else had read, Many a hieroglyph of God. * Mr. Longfellow's Birthday poenm. AGASSIZ. 85 Meekly from Nature's lips he learned, Tracking her steps from shore to shore, Secrets o'er which his soul had yearned,Marvels she never had told before. How at her hints, his heart would stir, Still on her shy suggestions bent, Whether through seas he followed her, Whether o'er breadths of continent! Toilers for self might take the fame Waiting to crown their toilings so: Careless of ease, or wealth, or name, All that he asked was, - leave to know. So, as he bowed with lowly head, Patiently conning the tasks she set, Softly the Teacher stooped and said, - "Now, that thou knowest thine alphabet,"Come from this narrow cosmic rule Straitened through ignorance, blight and curse, Home to thy Father's grander school, Into His boundless universe " SANDRINGHAM. EVEN here, within Sir Walter's Old Dominion, Among Virginian valleys shut away, Meeting, we questioned of the last opinion,"What tidings come from Sandringham to-day?" II. Midst the wild rush of our tumultuous cities, Whose billowy tides plunge seething on their way, The throb that stirred all hearts, was inmost pity's - " Hope scarcely breathes at Sandringham to-day." III. Along the ice-chained waters of Saint Lawrence, From fur-wrapt sledge, - on crowded street and quay,A flood of eager askings poured their torrents, - "What latest word from Sandringham to-day?" IV. On the lone out-posts of our Southern borders, Where watch-fires keep the scalping-knife at bay, There mingled strangely with the morning " orders," The call, — " Some news from Sandringham to-day?" SA4NDJIV97GHAM. I87 V. Where sits the golden Queen of the Pacific, Glad wives with broken voices, paused to say, - "Sweet Princess I" (while their brows grew beatific,) -" God bless her i - hope at Sandringham to-day " VI. Out o'er the Occident's wide reach of ocean, Wherever vessels crossed each others' way, The trumpet blared abroad the strong emotion, -" Hoy i - Life or death at Sandringham to-day?" VII. From Hoogly's Mouth to Kyber-Pass went flashing The quick inquiry: Where Australia's spray Closed o'er dropt anchors, through the breakers dashing, Sailors cried -" What of Sandringham to-day?" VIII. The diamond delver, reeking under torrid Colonial suns that poured their blinding ray, Sighed as he raised to heaven his burning forehead, -" Spare, Lord, the life at Sandringham to-day! " i88 SA NDDRINGHA AM. IX. The same sweet yearning of responsive pity Went up all whither Christian people pray; And Continental city asked of city, "What bulletin from Sandringham to-day?" x. In every English home, - by Scottish ingle, At Ireland's hearths; -on lone Welsh mountains gray, All hearts now with the girdling gladness tingle, - "There's life, - hope, - health, at Sandringham to-day!" XI. - Isfaith lost in the htmcaz? - Are ye able, Cold cynics, in your scorn, to rend away The marvellous strands of that electric cable That links the world with Sandringham to-day? 10 THROUGH THE PASS. (MATTHEW F. MAURY'S LAST WISH.) I.'" HOME, -bear me home, at last," - he said, "And lay me where my dead are lying, But not while skies are overspread, And mournful wintry winds are sighing. II. " Wait till the royal march of Spring Carpets your mountain fastness over, — Till chattering birds are on the wing, And buzzing bees are in the clover. III. "Wait till the laurel bursts its buds, And creeping ivy flings its graces About the lichen'd rocks, and floods Of sunshine fill the shady places. Igo90 THROUGH THE PASS. IV. "Then, when the sky, the air, the grass, Sweet Nature all, is glad and tender, Then bear me through'The Goshen Pass' Amid its flush of May-day splendor." V. -- So will we bear him i Human heart To the warm Earth's drew never nearer, And never stooped she to impart Lessons to one who held them dearer. VI. Stars lit new pages for him: seas Revealed the depths their waves were screening; The ebbs gave up their masteries, The tidal flows confessed their meaning. VIi. Of ocean-paths, the tangled clew He taught the nations to unravel; And mapped the track where safely through The lightning-footed thought might travel. THROUGH THE PASS. 19I VIII. And yet, unflattered by the store Of these supremer revelations, Who bowed more reverently before The lowliest of earth's fair creations? Ix. What sage of all the sages past Ambered in Plutarch's limpid story, Upon the age he served, has cast A radiance touched with worthier glory? x. His noble living for the ends God set him, - (duty underlying Each thought, word, action,) - naught transcends In lustre, save his nobler dying. XI. -Do homage, sky, and air, and grass, All things he cherished, sweet and tender, As through our gorgeous mountain-pass We bear him in the May-day splendor! KINGSLEY. (JANUARY 24TH, I875.) ONE voice the less to plead with men For God's down-trodden poor; One hand the less to wield the pen With aim so bold and sure; One heart the less to pity, when The ill was past his cure! Through Britain's length of island strand — From bald Ben Lomond's head To Devon's reach of silver sand The sudden tidings spread; And there was shadow on the land, Because this man was dead. How had that active brain been stressed, That tender heart been wrung! KINGSLEY. I93 What eloquence had poured its zest Through that persuasive tongue, That hoary wrongs might be redressed, And Work's true idyl sung! With life scarce past its equinox, Its shortening days still fair, We stagger at the blow that mocks The deeds he yet might dare. -Who now will bid the "Alton -Lockes" Rise from their grim despair? What arm will fling the banner high On which the legend ran: " Room in the lists to fight or die! - Let conquer him who can I " What lips take up his tilting-cry: "The Brotherhood of Man?" Full fairly has he won his prize, A prize the proud may scornThat thousand honest English eyes, Once hopeless and forlorn, To-day lift brighter to the skies, Because this man was born. 13 194 KINGSLE Y. Too busied with his ends to weigh The charm or cheat of fame, While routed wrong maintained the frayUnsought the guerdon came; -The wires that coil the world to-day All vibrate with his name! SONNETS. BLEMISHED. OFFERING. I. "I WOULD my gift were worthier!" - sighed the Greek, As on he goaded to the temple-door His spotted bullock. "Ever of our store Doth Zeus require the best; and fat and sleek The ox I vowed to him - (no brindled streak, No fleck of dun,) when through the breakers' roar He bore me safe, that day, to Naxos' shore; And now, - my gratitude, - how seeming-weak! "But here be chalk-pits: What if I should white The blotches, hiding all unfitness so? The victim in the people's eyes would show Better therefor;- the sacrificial rite Be quicklier granted at thus fair a sight, And the great Zeus himself might never know." I96 BLEMISHED OFFERING. II. We have a God who knows: And yet we dare On His consuming altar-coals to lay (Driven by the prick of conscience to obey) The whited sacrifice, the hollow prayer, In place of what we vowed, in our despair, Of best and holiest; —glad no mortal may Pierce through the cheat, and hoping half to stay That Eye before whose search all souls are bare! Nay rather; —Let us bring the victim-hear-t Defiled, unworthy, blemished, though it be, And fling it on the flame, entreating, -" See - I blush to know how vile in every part Is this my gift, through sin's delusive art, Yet,'tis the best that I can offer Thee!" B E C AU S E. (J. R. T.) THIS friend now, - a month or so only Ago, and you smiled in his smile; And when he grew weary or lonely, You jested, to cheer him the while: He prized the sweet solace you proffered, For gloom giving laughter instead: — You are glad of the gift that you offered, Because, - hle is dead. And becauzse he is dead, shall we gather The humanest relics there be, (All tenderer, dearer, the rather!) And pile up a Pagan suttee? Shall we speak of him, brows bending lowly? Shall we whisper his name underbreath? -Is not life in its living as holy And solemn as death? I98 BECA USE. As deathi - What is death but the ending Of all that the mortal can claim? -The drop of the mantle descending From the soul's mounting chariot of flame! Who pitied the prophet when guerdon So grand was requiting all loss? - Weep for him left behind, -with the Jordan Of trial to cross! Ah, surely the angels who love us, Must yearn with an ache of desire To show us, -poor blindlings! - above us, The pathway still trailed with the fire;Must melt with compassion to urge us, As, shuddering, we shrink from the tide, To smite, till the faith-smitten surges Of doubt shall divide. So, - speak of our friend who is walking In his chorister-garments of white, With the calm that would mellow your talking, If he sat in your presence to-night: BECA USE. 199 Yea, -name him with gladder elation, With fonder contentment, and shred -No brightness from out the narration, Because he is dead! To M. B. D. MYRRH-BEARERS. (IN ANCIENT GREEK ART THE MARYS WERE CALLED," MYROPHORES.") THREE women crept at break of day A-grope along the shadowy way, Where Joseph's tomb and garden lay. With blanch of woe each face was white, As the gray Orient's waxing light Brought back upon their awe-struck sight The sixth-day scene of anguish: Fast The starkly-standing cross they passed, And, breathless, neared the gate at last. Each on her throbbing bosom bore A burden of such fragrant store As never there had lain before. Spices the purest, richest, best, That e'er the musky East possessed, From Ind to Araby-the-Blest, MYRRH-BEARERS. 20 I Had they with sorrow-riven hearts, Searched all Jerusalem's costliest marts In quest of;- nards whose pungent arts Should the dead sepulchre imbue With vital odors through and through: -'Twas all their love had leave to do! Christ did not need their gifts: —And yet Did either Mary once regret Her offering? - Did Salome fret Over the unused aloes? - Nay! They counted not as waste, that day, What they had brought their Lord: - The way Home, seemed the path to Heaven: They bare, Thenceforth, about the robes they ware, The clinging perfume everywhere. - So, ministering as erst did these, Go women forth by twos and threes, (Unmindful of their morning ease,) 202 MYRRH-BEA RERS. Through tragic darkness, murk and dim, Where'er they see the faintest rim Of promise, - all for sake of Him Who rose from Joseph's tomb. They hold It just such joy as those of old, To tell the tale the Marys told. Myrrh-Bearers still, - at home, abroad, What paths have holy women trod, Burdened with votive gifts for God, - Rare gifts, whose chiefest worth was priced By this one thought, that all sufficed; - Their spices had been braised for Christ / BY-AND-BY. WHAT will it matter by-and-by, Whether my path below was bright, Whether it wound through dark or light, Under a gray or a golden sky, When I look back on it, by-and-by? What will it matter by-and-by, Whether, unhelped, I toiled alone, Dashing my foot against a stone, Missing the charge of the angel nigh, Bidding me think of the by-and-by? What will it matter by-and-by, Whether with dancing Joy I went Down through the years with a gay content, Never believing, - nay, not I, Tears would be sweeter by-and-by! What will it matter by-and-by, Whether with cheek to cheek I've lain Close by the pallid angel, Pain, 204 B Y-AND-B Y. Soothing myself through sob and sigh, " All will be elsewise, by-and-by!" What will it matter? -Naught, if I Only am sure the way I've trod, Gloomy or gladdened, leads to God, Questioning not of the how, the why, If I but reach Him, by-and-by. What will I care for the unshared sigh, If, in my fear of lapse or fall, Close I have clung to Christ through all, Mindless how rough the road might lie, Sure He will smoothen it by-and-by. What will it matter by-and-by? Nothing but this; - That Joy or Pain Lifted me skyward, - helped to gain, Whether through rack, or smile, or sigh, Heaven, - Home, - All in All, - by-and-by! AGNES. SURELY there hangs a dimmer shine Over the sky than a month ago; Droppings of tears this soughing pine Holds in its voice, -it is sobbing so: Yonder a lonely robin weaves Heart-breaks into his plaintive weet; Even the scarlet maple-leaves Sink with a sigh about my feet; And Indian-Summer's haze droops wan, -Agnes hkcs gone / II. There is the reason: Out of the sky, Purpled and paled with dreamy mist, Shaken from breezy wafts that lie Calmed in their isles of amethyst, Gurgling from every bird that croons, Heard in the leaf-fall, — heard in the rain, 206 A GIES. Under the nights, and under the noons, Ever there sounds the sad refrain, Throbbing and sobbing over and on, -'Agnes has gone I " III. Ah, can we live and bear to miss Out of our lives this life how rare? -Tender, so tender! an angel's kiss Hallowed it daily, unaware: Gracious as sunshine, sweet as dew Shut in a lily's golden core, Fragrant with goodness through and through, Pure as the spikenard Mary bore; Holy as twilight, soft as dawn, - Agnes has gone! LETTING-GO OF HANDS. O, THE chill, clinging crush of the fingers, Each pressure more faint than the last! 0, the slackening hold that still lingers, Though the wrench of the spirit be past! What heart, in its holpelessness breaking To feel them, can stifle the cry The human within us is making, -" God help, - or we die! " II. We wring with a passion of sorrow, We cover with kisses of pain, The palm that some fairer to-morrow, We'll fold in old fondness again.... We drop the pale fingers, whose colding Impassiveness startles our own, For ever — (how oft!) -from our holding, And yet not a moan 208 LETTING-GO OF HANDS. III. Breaks from us:- The spirit is deadened To numbness because of the blow; We know that the sunshine has leadened, Has blackened;'tis all that we know: We only can wonder, thus letting Hands go, that we keep, as we may, (- As we Imnst, -) life within us, - forgetting That grief does not slay. IV. Does not slay: - or how often, in lonely Despairs, would we hail it instead, Of friends the most friendly, if only It let us lie down by our dead! But with gall and with wormwood of anguish, Through silences stronger than tears, It nerves us to bear, as we languish Along the gray years. V. And kind ones, in soothingest fashion, (Not always ev'n Love understands!) LETTING-GO OF HANDS. 209 Speak low in their yearning compassion, Of the beautiful folding of hands Vouchsafed to the weary, - of graspings, For which the long-parted so pine: - What comfort to me the keen claspings, When the clasp is not mine VI. O hands that lie crossing so saintly The bosoms on which I have leant! Could I press them, though ever so faintly, Just once,... I would wait with content For the time that so loiters, so lingers, When, with rapture undreamed-of before, I catch to my lips the dear fingers, And loose them no more! I4 PROPHETS OF DOUBT. ONE lifts aloft his vatic cry, And bids the race believe in Man, The possible and perfect Pan, Who, if he wills it, may defy Whate'er of evil shares control With good, in his warfaring soul, And find his heaven beneath the sky. One craves with more than Attic zest, The fair Greek calm all statue-wrought To Phidian fineness,- pleasures caught From sensuous Nature at her best; Too lotos-lapped, Endymion-wise, To front with Eastern-gazing eyes The jar and jostle of the West. One meets us with a rolick air, And while he twirls his Ring and Book, Propounds with serious-comic look, Some paradox: Yet points us where PROPHETS OF DOUBT. 211 She sings, -'half angel and half bird,' Whose faith no Delphic doubt has blurred With fumes of a sublime despair. One pacing slow beside the seas That belt his island-home, can find No voice to hush the questioning mind, Or win the wrestling spirit ease; No gleam upon'the altar-stairs,' No test assured, save his who bears Beneath his cloak the jangled'keys.' One with a pale, pathetic gloom About his brows, beats on his breast And moans: - " I find no anchor'd rest Safe from the surge of doubt or doom: I pant to break the bars that prison My bonded soul: Christ is not risen! The seal is yet upon His tomb " One dreams above the gray-grown Past, But with a brow so earthly-sad, That even his May-tides scarce seem glad, And o'er his happiest skies are cast 212 PROPHETS OF DOUBT. A creeping chill, a curdling breath, Like cerecloth on the face of Death, Death that still ends the tale at last. One a new Gospel would rehearse In place of old dogmatic creed: — Through Culture shall the mind be freed From all of past or present curse; Till by its Sweetness and its Light, An out-grown God be banished quite Beyond the self-caused universe. And one, the last,his glowing lyre Cooled with Arcadian violets, sings Just what the veriest Pagan's strings Gave forth, before Promethean fire Into his leaping pulses stole, And taught him how the royal soul Disdains the senses' mean attire. -O, Prophets of a younger day! O, Seers of an unfaith that seems To shift with every dreamer's dreams, And veer with every meteor's ray, PROPHETS OF DOUBT. 213 Can phosphorescent sparks like these Guide thro' the trough of gulfing seas, Wrecks drifting in despair away? What help is here for hearts undone? What stay for frantic souls? What hope For piercing prayers that wildly grope After the peace they have not won, Across th' abysmal spaces? - Who Implores not some diviner clew To lead him to the central sun? Keep then your sad negations, iced With darkness, doubt, and frore despair; Bind up your vision, and declare That no Evangel has sufficed, (Despite the faith of myriads dead,) Upon your deviate paths to shed The light ye seek: But leave zs CHRIST! THE GRANDEST DEED. I. THE myriad messengers of God Before the central throne Waited, - attent to fly abroad, And make His errands known Wherever foot of man had trod, Or angel wing had flown. Nor any asked, if great or small The task, his portioned share A kingdom's or a sparrow's fall They held an equal care; His work, the same, supreme in all, Who governs everywhere. II. One spirit to a world afar In utmost rether went; And one to seek a new-born star, On mission vast intent; And one, where circling systems are Uncatalogued, was sent. THE GRANDEST DEED. 215 Came one, - the mightiest: O'er his face He spread his veiling wing, To soften the effulgent blaze Of God's forthshadowing, And craved, that he to Heaven's high praise Some added joy might bring. III. To him the errand fell:- " Thou seest Where yonder spark doth shine Beneath thee, - one among the least Of these fair worlds of Mine; Yet honored even above the rest By gifts the most divine: Go tell its dwellers how my Christ, Through human guise, made dim The glory that in Heaven sufficed To dazzle cherubim; And bid them, other faiths despised, Believe alone in Him." 216 THE GRANDEST DEED. Again before the emerald throne The messengers of God Stood flushed with tidings: They had gone Through worlds on worlds abroad, Wherever angel wing had flown, Or foot of man had trod. And one had triumphs strange to tell, By infinite Wisdom wrought; And one had works ineffable, To grand achievement brought; And one had mystic lore, to swell Seraphic bound of thought. TI. "Who hath believed thy report? "And at the questioning word, Throughout the vast celestial court, Uplifting wings were heard, As if some news of gladder sort Their crowding hosts had stirred. THE GRANDEST DEED. 2I7 And as the throb of silence sank Where loud the song had been, They parted, seven-fold rank on rank, To let the angel in, Who backward from the radiance shrank, Nor audience sought to win. III. Lowly he spake:-" Thy word I bore To men by sin enslaved; And thousands heard it o'er and o'er, Nor grace, nor pardon craved: Yet one who never heard before, One heathen soul was saved." Then through the circling ranks serene, The joy that thrilled the whole, Brake forth in rapture; while between, Ten thousand harpings stole: — The grandest deed of all had been To save that heathen soul! COMFORTED. THERE are who tell me I should be So firm of faith, so void of fear, So buoyed by calm, courageous cheer, (Assured, through Christ's security, There is a place prepared,) that I Should dare not be afraid to die. They question of the nameless dread, With lifted brow, - as if I let Unreasoning foretastes overfret My soul unduly, while I tread A path self-clouded, underneath The ever-conscious chill of death. They babble of the fuller life, Unswaddled of the mummied clay, Whose cerements hide the upper day That shines serene above the strife Of this poor charnel crypt, and cry, That they are happiest still, who die. COMFORTED. 2I 9 Who holds it cowardice to shrink Before the fearful truth, - That none Of all Time's myriads, - never one Whose feet have crossed the fatal brink, Has ever come to breathe our breath Again, and tell us what is death? We know that into outmost space, Snatched sheer of earth, the spirit goes Alone- stark - silent: but who knows The awful whitherward? - the place Which never deepest-piercing eye Had glimpse of, into which we die? Who knows?-God only: On His word I wholly rest, I solely lean, - The single voice that sounds between The Eternities! No soul hath heard One whisper else, one mystic breath That can reveal the why of death. — I think of all who've passed the strife; Pale women, who have failed to face With bravery of common grace 220 COMFORTED. Their daily apprehensive life, Who yet, with straining arms stretcht high Through ecstasy, could smile, and die:Of little children, who would scare To walk beneath the dark alone, Unless some hand should hold their own, Who've met the Terror unaware, Nor knew while breathing out their breath, The angel whom they saw, was Death I And I am comforted: because The love that bore these tremblers through Can fold its strength about me too, And I may find my quailing was, As theirs, a phantom that will fly, Dawn-smitten, when I come to die. Therefore I cleave with simple trust, Amid my hopes, amid my fears, Through the procession of my years, The years that bear me back to dust, And cry, -" Ah, Christ, if Thou be nigh, Strong in Thy strength, I dare to die! " A BIRD'S MINISTRY. FROM his home in an Eastern bungalow, In sight of the everlasting snow Of the grand Himalayas, row on row, Thus wrote my friend: — " I had travelled far From the Afghan towers of Candahar, Through the sand-white plains of Sinde-Sagar:And once, when the daily march was o'er, As tired I sat in my tented door, Hope failed me, as never it failed before. In swarming city, at wayside fane, By the Indus' bank, on the scorching plain, I had taught, - and my teaching all seemed vain.'No glimmer of light, (I sighed,) appears; The Moslem's Fate and the Buddhist's fears Have gloomed their worship this thousand years. 222 A BIRD'S MINISTRY.'For Christ and His truth I stand alone In the midst of millions: A sand-grain blown Against yon temple of ancient stone,'As soon may level it!'- Faith forsook My soul, as I turned on the pile to look: Then rising, my sadden'd way I took To its lofty roof, for the cooler air: I gazed, and marvelled; —how crumbled were. The walls I had deemed so firm and fair! For, wedged in a rift of the massive stone, Most plainly rent by its roots alone, A beautiful peepul-tree had grown: Whose gradual stress would still expand The crevice, and topple upon the sand The temple, while o'er its wreck should stand The tree in its living verdure! - Who Could compass the thought? -The bird that flew Hitherward, dropping a seed that grew, A BIRD'S MINISTRY. 223 Did more to shiver this ancient wall Than earthquake, -war, - simoon, - or all The centuries, in their lapse and fall! Then I knelt by the riven granite there, And my soul shook off its weight of care, As my voice rose clear on the tropic air; — "The living seeds I have dropped remain In the cleft: Lord, quicken with dew and rain, Then temple and mosque shall be rent in twain! " THE BRAHMIN'S TEST. I. A PUNDIT sat with knitted brows, His Shaster on his knees, And in his hand the printed page Which men from overseas, Disciples of the foreign faith, Had brought to vex his ease. IIo "How can I know," - he questioned sad, " If this or that be God? Since first the Vedas taught the fear Of Brahma's frown or nod, My fathers worshipped him, and I But tread the paths they trod. III. "This Christ - whence came He? As I read Of all He wrought and said, The teaching of our Holy Books Seems childish babble spread THE BRAHIMIN'S TEST. 225 Before my eyes, and doubt's simoon Swirls round and round my head. IV. "Yet strangely fastens on my heart This wondrous story told: Not thus within our sacred scrolls The Sages wrote of old: -— O Christ, so near and human-sweet! -O Brahm, so far and cold! V. "All joy is drained from life; all sleep Forsakes thejse eyes of mine: No self-negation soothes my soul, No pilgrimage, no shrine: My Vishnu's wisdom shows so weak, - This Jesus', so divine! VI. " Why should I shrink to end the doubt That racks my spirit so? -Is he Supreme? Then he can shield His life against my blow: 5 226 THE BRAHNMIN'S TEST. I'll test him at the dagger's point This very night, - and know! " VII. - Grim- darkness gloomed the Hindoo fane As through its silence stole, With hard-held breath and quivering limbs, The Pundit to his goal Before the idol, where he sank With terror-smitten soul. VIII. "O, what if th/zis be God indeed, And when he feels the smart My dagger deals, he from his throne In direst wrath shall start, And clutch me in his grasp and spill The life-blood from my heart! IX. "Yet, what if Christ be God indeed, His avaltr, the peace That reconciles this warring life, And gives, when time shall cease, From cycles of soul-wanderings, At last - at last release! THE BRAIMIN'S TEST. 227 x. "0, not to scoff at Brahma's power, I come -nor to deny: And if my wounding proves him God, He'll know the reason why I strike;- and should he slay me, still I dare the ruoth, and die I" XI. Full in the idol's breast the blade Was plunged:- There came no moan! The Pundit dropped with stifling joy Upon the pavement stone, Sobbing - M" Ay Brah/ma is a lie, — The C rist is God alone!" THE GRIT OF THE MILLSTONE. YEA -we give thanks for daily bread, With words that breathe a reverent air, And marvel much that others dare Eat of their Father's bounty spread, Nor bless Him for His boundless care. The dainty wheaten loaf, like snow Of triple-bolted white, we break, And with an inward zest partake, (We call it gratitude) and know'Tis only ours for Jesus' sake. Yet let a hidden dust of grit But set our teeth on edge, and how Each turns to each with captious brow, As (of all thankfulness acquit,) It were our right to murmur now. 0, graceless prodigals that we be! Self-beggared so, and turned adrift To starve, or back to come and lift THE GRIT OF THE MILLSTONE. 229 Appeals for hireling fare, shall we Fret if a sand-grain mar the gift,When we should take the menial's place And meekly say, whate'er befall: "Give as Thou wilt, or large or small, Since'tis of Thy so marvellous grace That Thou should'st grant Thy gifts at all!" So, hap what haps, with chastened mind, Let us receive the mercies spread Around us, all unmerited, Nor, as we use them, seek to find The grit within our daily bread. TRUST. A SONNET. CONSIDER: —Were it filial in a child To speak in such wise?-" Father, though I know How strong your love is, having proved it so Since earliest memory; and though you have piled Store upon store, with care that has beguiled You oft of needed ease, thus to bestow Comforts upon me when your head lies low, - Yet in my heart are doubts unreconciled. — To-morrow, when I hunger, can I be Right sure, for bread you will not give a clod, Letting me starve what time you hold in fee (O'erlooking lesser wants) the acres broad Won for me through your life-long toil?"... Yet we, In just such fashion, dare to doubt of God! HARVESTED.'TWAS late in a life's pale autumn, The green of the blades grew sere, And ripened and rich and mellow, The corn Was filling the ear. On the marge of the moistened Springtide Had the living seed been sown; And under the dews of heaven In shade and in shine had grown. The heats of the noon would wither, At times, its marrowy leaves; It bent to the brunt of the tempest That darkened the summer eves. The rasping Nor'east would buffet, — The mildew follow the rain; But all, in the eye of the Master, Was helping to fill the grain. 232 HA R VESTED. He knew how to temper and portion The sunshine, the wind, the air; He saw what its roots most needed, He watched what its blades could bear. And once and again he lopped it, For sake of the fruit, - he said; And bravely it bore the wounding, Though under the hurt, it bled. And so when the dim November Came with its mists at morn, And the autumn frost into whiteness Was bleaching the tasselled corn, - When the yellowing ears were fruited, And the grain was sweet to the core, The Master who saw that it needed To stand in the field no more,For the cold and the mould of winter To shrivel and shrink the leaf, Said, - " Put in the sickle, Reaper, And garner my full-ripe sheaf! " BABY-FAITH. 0, BEAUTIFUL faith of childhood i!- How It beamed to-night on the up-turned brow Of the little kneeler who bent to say Her prayers, in her innocent, dreamy way. "And doesn't my darling "-(soft I said, As I pressed my lips to the flossy head)" Long to be good, and by-and-by Go to a home in the happy sky, Away and away above yon star, Where all of the sweet child-angels are?" She lifted her drowsed and sleep-dewed eyes, And I saw a ripple of trouble rise That shimmered across their haze of blue, And kept the gladness from breaking through. "I think - I would like to go," - she said, Yet doubtingly dropped her silken head, 234 BAB Y-FAITH. And clasped my hands in her fingers small; "But then - I'm afraid that I might fall Out at the moon /" Her baby-eye Saw only an opening in the sky, A radiant oriel whence the light Of heaven streamed wide athwart the night; Where the angels lean, as they come and go, A-gaze at our world so far below. She mused a moment in pretty thought; Then suddenly every feature caught A glad, rare sparkle, and I could trace The dawn of the trust that flashed her face: "But God is good: He will understand That I am afraid, and He'll take my hand, And lead me in at the shining door, And then, I shall be afraid no more " THE LITTLE WATCHER. "So tired looking out of the window, And up at the cold gray sky, And down on the streams of people That never and never get by! "I wonder how long I've waited Alone in the darkness here Watching to see him coming; I think it must be a year. " I needn't have stood and listened For. his footstep day by day, If only I'd heard them saying A word of his going away. "For nobody thought to tell. me, Though I missed and missed him so: But all of the house seems empty, And that is the way I know. 236 THE LITTLE WA TCHER. "I'm hungry to have him kiss me, And I think as each night grows dim, He will come - if his heart keeps aching For me, as mine aches for him. "I've waited so long to tell him That I've heard two robins sing; And I want to show him my snowdrops, And to ask if it's almost Spring. " Hark! there's a step on the pavement Like his, -but... it passes by: I'll hide in the shade of the. curtain, Where nobody sees, and cry." -Ah, pitiful little weeper Nursing your griefs so dumb, You are but one of watchers Whose darlings will never come! TO THE UTTERMOST. A SONNET. OF His high attributes, beyond the most, I thank my God for that Omniscient Eye Beneath whose blaze no secret thing can lie, In His infinitude of being, lost. I bless my God, I am not wrecked and tossed Upon a sea of doubt, with power to fly And hide, somewhither in immensity, One single sin, out of His reckoning crossed. For even there - self-conscious of its thrall, Might spring the terror;-" If He knew the whole, And tracked this skulking guilt out to its goal, He could not pardon! "- But, or great, or small, He knows the inmost foldirgs of my soul, And knowing utterly, forgives me all! NOTE S. I. THIS celebrated portrait of Mona Lisa, the wife of Francesco Giacomo, is considered one of the four finest portraits of the world. Leonardo da Vinci had it on his easel four years, and then reluctantly gave it up, declaring it still unfinished. This great Master is well known to have been one of the most versatile men of his age, being scarcely less remarkable as architect, engineer, scholar, musician, than as poet and painter. 2. Vittoria Colonna, one of the most beautiful and accomplished women of her time, was the early-widowed wife of the Marquis di Pescara. She remained true to the memory of her first love, though sought in marriage by some of the most noted men of Italy. She was forty-seven, and Michael Angelo, sixty years old, when they first met: and there is no foundation for the impression that any emotion beyond that of the purest and most reverent friendship ever existed between them: she was the only woman he ever knew, - the one whom lte might have loved, if she had never loved and lost. 3. Sebastiano del Pionzbo, (so named because he was invested with certain Papal Seals, from which he drew his revenue to the utter neglect of his art, ) was a contemporary of Michael Angelo, and for a time his pupil, - having been his assistant while he was painting his frescoes in the Sistine Chapel. He was so given up to indolent self-indulgence, that it was almost impossible to compel him to fulfil his engagements, and finish his pictures. 4. It is scarcely possible that the two foremost artists of the modern world should not have met whilst they were severally executing their great works, - one covering the walls of the Vatican with his immortal creations; the other frescoing the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel. Biographers are fond of imagining a rivalry between these Masters, but close scrutiny reveals none. Raffaelle's admiration of Michael Angelo is well attested, and he was willing to owe something to him, inasmuch as his improvement inforjm was marked, after his study of the frescoes of the latter. 240 NO TES. 5. According to Vasari, it was Piero de Medici, whom his father, Lorenzo the Magnificent, used to call his " fool son," who put this indignity upon Michael Angelo. 6. In one of the sieges of Florence, the artist Palla, quite celebrated in his day, seized, with the connivance of the Tuscan Government, large numbers of the art treasures of the city, under pretence of a nominal price, and sold them to the King of France,- thus enriching himself through his country's ruin. The Donna Margherita Borgherini, who owned the masterpiece of Jacopo Puntormo ( The HIistory of yosejfii), braved the power of the Signziri, and defied them to take her pictures. 7. It was wholly through the loving championship of his pupil, Poussin, that the fine painting of Domenichino, St. ye;romze's Conmmounion, was finally hung opposite The TransJfguralion in the Vatican. 8. Albrecht Diirer married, after this, a wife of his father's choosing, but liis wedded life is always represented as unhappy. 9. This incident did occur, as his biographers relate, in the boyhood of Murillo. Io. The apology for introducing verses whose interest has passed with the hour for which they were written, is, simply, that they drew from the Princess of Wales an autograph letter to the London editor who first published them. Cambridge: Press of John Wilson & Son.