Part 1

Chapter 13,687 wordsPublic domain

AFTERGLOW

LATER POEMS

JULIA C. R. DORR

NEW YORK CHARLES SCRIBNER’S SONS 1900

THE DE VINNE PRESS

TO S. M. D.

If love could wing its flight To yon far realm of light, Fain would I bring to you, O tender heart and true, These spoils of later years, Half sunshine and half tears!

CONTENTS

PAGE

INCONSISTENCY 3

WHOM THE GODS LOVE 5

HUSH! 7

THY SONGS AND MINE 8

A POET’S WIFE 9

“DO THEY MEASURE TIME WHERE THOU ART?” 10

THE WISE MEN 11

A KNIGHT-ERRANT 12

THE COUNTERSIGN 13

THE DOWER 14

SUPPLICATION 15

THE COMRADES 18

AN AFTERTHOUGHT 22

THE SANCTUARY LAMP 25

AFTER THE MAGNIFICAT 31

THREE CROSSES 34

ON THE HEIGHT 37

WHEN SPENSER DIED 39

LOOKING TOWARD SPAIN 42

INSTALLATION HYMN 44

THE SACRAMENTAL HYMN 46

LESSONS TWAIN 48

OUTLIVED 49

JACQUES AND SUZETTE 51

AT BAR HARBOR 55

HUBERT DE BURGH 56

CHRISTIANA 59

THE CHAMBER 61

“IN MANUS TUAS, DOMINE!” 64

THE CITY CALLED CHU 66

THE DEATH-SONG OF THE HEMLOCK 68

FOR A CHRISTENING 72

THE DREAM-BEARER 75

THE SECRET CHAMBER 77

“OUT OF THE SILENCE, SPEAK!” 79

AFTER MANY DAYS 82

AFTERGLOW

LATER POEMS

INCONSISTENCY

When dawns some day fairer than other days, And all the mountain passes are aglow With its supernal splendor, and the low, Dim valleys sleeping in the woodland ways Waken to glorious life at morn’s first rays,-- When happy birds sing, and all winds that blow, Laden with seeds of blessing come and go, And earth no secret of her woe betrays,-- Then, O belovèd, when my heart is light And all is well with me, and pain and care Have vanished as a dream of last year’s rose Fades with the passing of a summer night, My soul in ecstasy of love and prayer Cries: “God, I thank thee that he knows, he knows!”

But on some other day, when skies unroll Their storm-cloud banners only, and the beat Of the wild tempest is like hurrying feet That stay not, halt not, till they reach the goal; When doubt and dread assail my fainting soul, And, when I fain God’s mercy would entreat, Even the prayers my trembling lips repeat Seem like the clamor of harsh bells that toll-- Then, thinking of thee in some far, dim realm,-- Dim to our senses, glorious to thine,-- Where never once a cruel wind doth blow, Nor storm, nor stress, come near thee to o’erwhelm, I lift mine eyes unto the hills divine, And cry: “Thank God, thank God, he does not know!”

WHOM THE GODS LOVE

“Whom the Gods love die young”? Nay, rather say With bated breath, “Whom the Gods love die old!” Shall the morn pale ere it hath coined its gold? The sun go down while yet it is full day? The statue sleep unmoulded in the clay? The parchment crumble ere it is unrolled? The story end with half the tale untold? The song drop mute and breathless by the way? Oh, weep for Adonais when he dies With all youth’s lofty promise unfulfilled, Its splendor lost in sudden drear eclipse! With love unlived and dreams half dreamed he lies, All the red wine from life’s gold chalice spilled Ere its bright brim hath touched his eager lips!

Whom the Gods love die old! O life, dear life, Let the old sing thy praises, for they know How year by year the summers come and go, Each with its own abounding sweetness rife! They know, though frosts be cruel as the knife, Yet with each June the perfect rose shall blow, And daisies blossom and the green grass grow, Triumphant still, unvexed by storm or strife. They know that night more splendid is than day; That sunset skies flame in the gathering dark, And the deep waters change to molten gold; They know that Autumn richer is than May; They hear the night-birds singing like the lark-- Ah, life, sweet life, whom the Gods love die old!

HUSH!

Oh, hush thee, Earth! Fold thou thy weary palms! The sunset glory fadeth in the west; The purple splendor leaves the mountain’s crest; Gray twilight comes as one who beareth alms, Darkness and silence and delicious calms. Take thou the gift, O Earth! on Night’s soft breast Lay thy tired head and sink to dreamless rest, Lulled by the music of her evening psalms. Cool darkness, silence, and the holy stars, Long shadows when the pale moon soars on high, One far, lone night-bird singing from the hill, And utter rest from Day’s discordant jars; O soul of mine! when the long night draws nigh Will such deep peace thine inmost being fill?

THY SONGS AND MINE

Sing thou my songs for me when I am dead! Soul of my soul, some day thou wilt awake To see the morning on the hilltops break, And the far summits flame with rosy red-- But I shall wake not, though above my head Armies should thunder; nor for Love’s sweet sake, Though he the tenderest pilgrimage should make Where I am lying in my grassy bed. I shall be silent, with my song half sung; I shall be dumb, with half the story told; I shall be mute, leaving the half unsaid. Take thou the harp ere yet it be unstrung-- Wake thou the lyre ere yet its chords be cold-- Sing thou my songs, and thine, when I am dead!

A POET’S WIFE

TO L. A.

When first I saw thy face, I found thee fair, Dainty and fragrant as a perfect rose That in some sweet, secluded garden grows. Thou didst remind me of a jewel rare Most fitly set; a pearl a king might wear When, in high banquet-halls at daylight’s close, On blazoned walls a softened splendor glows, And pulsing music thrills the enchanted air. Again we met, one sullen wintry day; We talked of life and love, of sorrow’s night, Of death’s dark why and wherefore, till thine eyes Grew deep with thought and prayer. Then said I, “Nay! Why should thy rare bard mourn the Goddess’ flight? _This_ muse shall lure him to song’s upper skies!”

“DO THEY MEASURE TIME WHERE THOU ART?”

Do they measure time where thou art? Dost thou know How the immutable, relentless years, Delaying not for human hopes or fears, In long processionals still come and go? When, as of old, thy summer roses blow, Art thou aware, thou who art done with tears? O blessed habitant of other spheres, Takest thou heed of Earth’s hoar-frost and snow? We count the years, and tell them, one by one, Since thy feet trod the path where silence is; How oft the harvest moon has waned! we say. Dost thou remember when thy rest was won? Or art thou like to the high Gods in this, That unto thee a year is but a day?

THE WISE MEN

Ye happy stars, that o’er the desert wold Saw Jasper, Melchior, and Balthazar Bearing rich gifts and offerings from afar (Sweet Orient spices, gems, and burning gold) To Bethlehem’s manger, where the Child foretold By seer and prophet slept beneath his star,-- Fill with glad song the blue depths where ye are, Singing as sang the morning stars of old! Lo! once again the wise men from the East, Crossing the desert and the rolling main And the high mountains, bid their eyes behold The glory of the Lord! To his great feast Thronging they press, the eager, mystic train, Giving and taking wine and oil untold!

A KNIGHT-ERRANT

Let me not weep! Thou wert as true a knight As ever yet laid his proud lance in rest For tilt or tournament, or wore his crest Of blazoned splendor in the thickest fight! When trumpets blared, in all thine armor dight, Forth didst thou fare to do thy lord’s behest, Nor shrank from fiercest field, nor hardest quest Keeping his banner ever in thy sight. If now thy liege hath further need of thee In the high courts of some wide realm afar, Where in fair state his best and noblest are, Shall I bewail thee with my woman’s tears? Nay! Go thou on at his most wise decree, And dwell triumphant in those higher spheres!

THE COUNTERSIGN

How shall I know thee when we two shall meet In the vast spaces where the dead abide? Never on earth shall we stand side by side. I have not heard thy voice, nor the quick beat Of thy glad footsteps in the hurrying street; Nor have I seen thy face; nor, in the wide, Deep silences where prayer is justified, Have we two knelt God’s dear love to entreat. Then by what strange, mysterious countersign, What mystic shibboleth, will thy strong soul Recognize mine in that transcendent hour When, face to face on some fair mount divine, We see far off the mighty planets roll, Love and immortal life our deathless dower?

THE DOWER

The whole wide earth, O poet, is thy dower! Claim thou its affluence as by right divine. For thee suns rise and set, and clear stars shine, Old ocean rolls, and far heights heavenward tower. The thrush and nightingale, and every flower Of every clime and every age, are thine; All Gods shall fill thy golden cup with wine, All prophets pledge thee in the uplifted hour! Thine are the mysteries of life and death: All loves, all joys, all passion, and all pain, Temptations shared not, sins thou hast not known, False hopes, frail raptures trembling at a breath, The hero’s ecstasy, the martyr’s gain, The high prayer soaring to the Great White Throne!

SUPPLICATION

Forsake me not, O Light of many days! Low sinks the westering sun; An amethystine haze Flushes with purple all the upland ways; The shadows lengthen in the twilight glow, And well I know That day is almost done!

Thou whom I worshipped when my life was new, Say not that we must part! I have been leal and true, Loving thee better as the swift years flew, With such pure homage that nor time nor change Could e’er estrange From thee my constant heart.

When I was but a child I heard thy voice, And followed thee afar In humble, happy choice, Content in this far following to rejoice; Didst thou but whisper, heaven and earth grew bright With holy light, Clearer than sun or star.

I dared not kiss thy garment’s hem, nor lay One pale flower at thy feet: It was enough to stray In a child’s dream of thee by night, by day, In tremulous ecstasy to feel thee near, And half in fear, Half joy, thy coming greet.

For thou wert one with nature. All things fair Spoke to my soul of thee: The azure depths of air, Sunrise, and starbeam, and the moonlight rare, Splendor of summer, winter’s frost and snow, Autumn’s rich glow, Bird, river, flower, and tree.

Thou wert in love’s first whisper, and the slow Thrill of its dying kiss; In the strong ebb and flow Of the resistless tides of joy and woe; In life’s supremest hour thou hadst a share, Its stress of prayer, Its rapturous trance of bliss!

Leave me not now when the long shadows fall Athwart the sunset bars; Hold thou my soul in thrall Till it shall answer to a mightier call; Remain thou with me till the holy night Puts out the light-- And kindles all the stars!

THE COMRADES

THE SOUL TO THE BODY

Comrade, art thou weary? Hath the way been long? Dost thou faint and falter-- Thou, who wert so strong?

Ah, I well remember How, when life was young, Forth we fared together, Glad of heart and tongue.

Then no height appalled thee; Thou didst mount and sing With the joyous ardor Of a bird on wing!

Once thou wert the stronger-- Led me by thy will; I obeyed thy mandates, Gloried in thy skill;

Owed thee much, and loved thee, Half the joy of living (Comrade, dost thou hear me?) Hath been of thy giving.

Think what thou has brought me! All that eye hath seen-- Glow of dawn and sunset; Starlight’s silver sheen;

All the pomp and splendor Of the summer day; Gleam of sparkling waters Leaping in their play;

Night and storm and darkness; Mountains high and hoar; Ocean billows sweeping On from shore to shore!

Think of what I owe thee! Fragrance of the rose, Breath of odorous lily And each flower that blows;

Song of thrush and veery Deep in woodland bowers; Chime of sweet bells pealing From cathedral towers;

Love’s most dear caresses, Touch of lip and cheek, Throb of heart revealing What no tongue can speak!

Lifelong friend and comrade, Twin-born brother, thou, Think how thou hast served me-- Let me serve thee now!

Let my strength uphold thee As thine own strength fails, As the way grows steeper And the night prevails.

Cheer thee, cheer thee, comrade! Drink thou of my wine; Lo! the cup I bring thee Holds a draught divine!

AN AFTERTHOUGHT

THE BODY TO THE SOUL

Together still, old comrade--thou and I! From out the dark, drear places, The awful, rayless spaces, Where only storms and dreadful shapes swept by, We have come forth again Into the world of men, Have seen the darkness vanish, and the day Drive night away!

Art thou not glad? Is it not good to be Alive on this green earth, This realm of home and hearth? Is it not good for thee as well as me? Oh, earth is warm and dear; Its touch is close and near; And the unknown is cold and dim, and far As any star!

Speak thou, O soul! Art thou not glad to-day That we are still together In the clear summer weather? Can see the shadows on the mountains play, The glory of the trees, The splendor of the seas, The pomp of dawn and sunset, and the fair Blue fields of air?

Hark, how the birds are singing! and I hear From shrub and flower and tree The humming of the bee, Nature’s melodious chanting soft and clear, The breath of winds that pass Over the bending grass, Childhood’s blithe laughter, and the sweet Fall of its feet!

Thank God! thank God! Comrade, rejoice with me In that I still am here Where life and love are dear, And as of old clasp loyal hands with thee! And yet--and yet-- I cannot quite forget That thou didst fail me in mine hour of need, Nor gave me heed!

Ah, whither didst thou flee what time I lay In the unfathomed dark? Soul, didst thou find an ark Secure and safe until the dawn of day, Forgetting thou hadst sworn An oath not yet outworn, To stay me with thy strength, to bring me wine From hills divine?

But--I forgive thee! It may be that thou, Even as I, wert bound Beyond all ken, or sound, Or faintest memory of earthly vow. So, hand in hand, old friend, Until the path shall end, We will fare on together, thou and I, Counting the stars on high!

THE SANCTUARY LAMP

Thus spake the lady abbess, as the nuns Passed, two by two, through the wide cloister gate Whereon were carven figures of dead saints And kneeling women bearing in their hands Ascension lilies: “Go ye one and all To the confessional, and shrive yourselves; Then kneel at the high altar, and pray ye For one who lieth very near to death.” Then the pale nuns, with sudden, swift accord, Made each the mystic token of the cross, And passed on silently, save one--the last, Who walked alone, the eldest of the house. “Is it the novice?” said she, speaking low. “Let others pray! I will keep watch with thee.”

“Nay, it is not the novice. She does well,” The abbess made hushed answer; “come with me.” Down the long corridor she swept in haste, Her robe a trailing shadow, her dark veil Floating behind her, and her snowy band A white flame on her forehead, till she paused At a low door set in the eastern wall; Then turned and whispered: “She hath come at last, Our great Queen Berengaria, to die In the fair abbey she hath builded well. Enter, but speak not, for mayhap she sleeps.”

The white, hushed room was like a temple dim With floating incense; for the lamp burnt low, And through the latticed casement softly stole The night wind heavy with the fragrant breath Of rose and violet. On a low couch Lay the fair woman Cœur de Lion loved, And all the golden splendor of her hair, Unbound, unbraided, rippled to the floor Like waves of sunshine in a shady glen; And all her eyes’ blue splendor lit the place, Mocking the flame that burnt upon her cheek. “Ah! never death wore such fair guise before, If this be death,” Assunta said, and wept; Yet in her heart believed not it was death, So like it seemed to flush of youth and health. But the wise abbess knew, for she had gone With many a one to the extremest verge Of the dark vale where soul and body part. Swiftly she crossed the chamber, and knelt down To touch the hot lips of the queen with wine; Then drew Assunta nearer, whispering: “Look! Her poor wits wander! She would braid her hair As for a festival.” For in and out Through the long, golden meshes of her hair Her trembling fingers strayed continuously, Weaving the shining strands.

“Nay, my sweet Queen,” The abbess said, stilling the restless hands, “I am your tire-woman! Be it mine To bind these heavy tresses. Rest, dear heart.” But Berengaria smiled. “My wits stray not, Dear Mother Abbess. Gather you my hair In one thick coil--thus--and lay the rope Here in my hand. Now from my casket there Reach me the jewelled blade King Richard wore What time he fought with Saladin and drove Him out from Ascalon. He gave it me, With jest and laughter, one short hour before Proud Fanuelle fell--slain by the Saracens.” Then, lifting her right arm, with one swift stroke She severed the bright tresses, and fell back Unnerved, and pallid as a wan, white ghost That walks at midnight.

When her heart once more Sent the red current tingling through her veins, Again she spake: “Dear Abbess, give me leave For this one night to rule thy flock and thee! Go thou, Assunta, and with no delay Bring thou twelve sisters hither--they who are Of all your house most light and deft of touch. Swiftest to learn and do.”

And soon the nuns Entered the chamber as it were a shrine, Crossing themselves and kneeling, one by one. “Do me this grace, my sisters,” said the queen. “For this one night your wonted rest forego, And do my bidding. Take this coil of hair-- O golden waves Richard so oft hath kissed!-- And braid twelve slender chains as soft as silk; Then braid the twelve together.”

All night long The pale nuns bent them to their lovely task, Nor spake one to another. Silently The gold chains lengthened, while the lamps burnt clear, Making still radiance in the quiet room; And Berengaria lay with folded palms, Patiently waiting. Once a night-bird sang Outside the casement, and she, hearkening, smiled. Just as the dawn was breaking, in her hands They laid a shining rope as soft as silk, But strong as hempen cable.

“List ye all,” Then said the queen, as round her slender wrist She wound its golden length caressingly, Laid it against her cheek, and to her breast Pressed it with two white hands and held it close. “My liege lord sleeps in Fontevraud, and there Above his tomb hang ye a jewelled lamp Swinging from this fair chain--sole part of me That age can wither not, nor time deface! Let the lamp burn with ever-during flame. But lay my body in the abbey here; It shall not lie where he who loved it so--”

She ceased, and reverently the kneeling nuns Waited the moment she should further speak; And as they listened, lo! the nightingale Wailed faintly in the distance, and a lark Filled the new day with ecstasy of song.

AFTER THE MAGNIFICAT

I, Mary, unto whom the angel bore, That wondrous, moonlit night, On wings of light, Message no mortal ever heard before, Waking me from the sleep Of maiden dreams, to weep And smile in startled wonder--could I know It meant such woe?

“Blessèd” the angel called me. I _am_ blest! Let no man dare to say I am not, who can lay My Holy Child’s fair head upon my breast. He is mine own, mine own! Let my lips make no moan While it is theirs his brow, his lips, to kiss, Like this--like this!

And yet--and yet--at first I did not know! I was as others are-- A child with life afar, A maiden dreaming in the dawn’s young glow; And when the angel came, Calling me by my name, And told me what should be, I lifted up My hands and took the cup!

Then came the slow, strange hours when in me grew Sense of diviner things. My soul found wings, And from its nest on mighty pinions flew; Sang the exulting song That ages shall prolong-- Sang the Magnificat, and did not shrink From the flood’s brink!

But now, O mothers, I have grown too wise! What say the prophets old In scriptures manifold? A dove that hath no nest beneath the skies; A lamb to slaughter led; A king with uncrowned head; A man acquaint with grief--who knows All human woes!

Despised--rejected--and that sharper word, Forsaken! Let me be, Ye who would comfort me! That word strikes deeper than a two-edged sword. My little one, my child, Forgive me that I smiled When the proud Magi brought their gifts to thee On bended knee!