Chapter 3

"All that I ask," says Love, "of life, of death, Or of high heaven itself, is just to stand, Glance melting into glance, hand twined in hand, The while I drink the nectar of thy breath, In one sweet kiss, but one, of all thy store, I ask no more."

"All that I ask"--nay, self-deceiving Love, Reverse thy phrase, so thus the words may fall, In place of "all I ask," say, "I ask all," All that pertains to earth or soars above, All that thou wert, art, will be, body, soul, Love asks the whole.

=Does It Pay=

If one poor burdened toiler o'er life's road, Who meets us by the way, Goes on less conscious of his galling load, Then life indeed, does pay.

If we can show one troubled heart the gain, That lies alway in loss, Why then, we too, are paid for all the pain Of bearing life's hard cross.

If some despondent soul to hope is stirred, Some sad lip made to smile, By any act of ours, or any word, Then, life has been worth while.

=Sestina=

I wandered o'er the vast green plains of youth, And searched for Pleasure. On a distant height Fame's silhouette stood sharp against the skies. Beyond vast crowds that thronged a broad high-way I caught the glimmer of a golden goal, While from a blooming bower smiled siren Love.

Straight gazing in her eyes, I laughed at Love, With all the haughty insolence of youth, As past her bower I strode to seek my goal. "Now will I climb to glory's dizzy height," I said, "for there above the common way Doth pleasure dwell companioned by the skies."

But when I reached that summit near the skies, So far from man I seemed, so far from Love-- "Not here," I cried, "doth Pleasure find her way," Seen from the distant borderland of youth. Fame smiles upon us from her sun-kissed height, But frowns in shadows when we reach the goal.

Then were mine eyes fixed on that glittering goal, Dear to all sense--sunk souls beneath the skies. Gold tempts the artist from the lofty height, Gold lures the maiden from the arms of Love, Gold buys the fresh ingenuous heart of youth, "And gold," I said, "will show me Pleasure's way."

But ah! the soil and discord of that way, Where savage hordes rushed headlong to the goal, Dead to the best impulses of their youth, Blind to the azure beauty of the skies; Dulled to the voice of conscience and of love, They wandered far from Truth's eternal height.

Then Truth spoke to me from that noble height, Saying: "Thou didst pass Pleasure on the way, She with the yearning eyes so full of Love, Whom thou disdained to seek for glory's goal." Two blending paths beneath God's arching skies Lead straight to Pleasure. Ah, blind heart of youth, Not up fame's height, not toward the base god's goal, Doth Pleasure make her way, but 'neath calm skies Where Duty walks with Love in endless youth.

=The Optimist=

The fields were bleak and sodden. Not a wing Or note enlivened the depressing wood, A soiled and sullen, stubborn snowdrift stood Beside the roadway. Winds came muttering Of storms to be, and brought the chilly sting Of icebergs in their breath. Stalled cattle mooed Forth plaintive pleadings for the earth's green food. No gleam, no hint of hope in anything.

The sky was blank and ashen, like the face Of some poor wretch who drains life's cup too fast. Yet, swaying to and fro, as if to fling About chilled Nature its lithe arms of grace, Smiling with promise in the wintry blast, The optimistic Willow spoke of spring.

=The Pessimist=

The pessimistic locust, last to leaf, Though all the world is glad, still talks of grief.

=The Hammock's Complaint=

Who thinks how desolate and strange To me must seem the autumn's change, When housed in attic or in chest, A lonely and unwilling guest, I lie through nights of bleak December, And think in silence, and remember.

I think of hempen fields, where I Once played with insects floating by, And joyed alike in sun and rain, Unconscious of approaching pain. I dwell upon my later lot, Where, swung in some secluded spot Between two tried and trusted trees, All summer long I wooed the breeze. With song of bee and call of bird And lover's secrets overheard, And sight and scent of blooming flowers, To fill the happy sunlight's hours. When verdant fields grow bare and brown, When forest leaves come raining down, When frost has mated with the weather And all the birds go south together, When drying boats turn up their keels, Who wonders how the hammock feels?

=Life's Harmonies=

Let no man pray that he know not sorrow, Let no soul ask to be free from pain, For the gall of to-day is the sweet of to-morrow, And the moment's loss is the lifetime's gain.

Through want of a thing does its worth redouble, Through hunger's pangs does the feast content, And only the heart that has harbored trouble, Can fully rejoice when joy is sent.

Let no man shrink from the bitter tonics Of grief, and yearning, and need, and strife, For the rarest chords in the soul's harmonies, Are found in the minor strains of life.

=Preaching vs. Practice=

It is easy to sit in the sunshine And talk to the man in the shade; It is easy to float in a well-trimmed boat, And point out the places to wade.

But once we pass into the shadows, We murmur and fret and frown, And, our length from the bank, we shout for a plank, Or throw up our hands and go down.

It is easy to sit in your carriage, And counsel the man on foot, But get down and walk, and you'll change your talk, As you feel the peg in your boot.

It is easy to tell the toiler How best he can carry his pack, But no one can rate a burden's weight Until it has been on his back.

The up-curled mouth of pleasure, Can prate of sorrow's worth, But give it a sip, and a wryer lip, Was never made on earth.

=An Old Man To His Sleeping Young Bride=

As when the old moon lighted by the tender And radiant crescent of the new is seen, And for a moment's space suggests the splendor Of what in its full prime it once has been, So on my waning years you cast the glory Of youth and pleasure, for a little hour; And life again seems like an unread story, And joy and hope both stir me with their power.

Can blooming June be fond of bleak December? I dare not wait to hear my heart reply. I will forget the question--and remember Alone the priceless feast spread for mine eye, That radiant hair that flows across the pillows, Like shimmering sunbeams over drifts of snow; Those heaving breasts, like undulating billows, Whose dangers or delights but Love can know.

That crimson mouth from which sly Cupid borrowed The pattern for his bow, nor asked consent; That smooth, unruffled brow which has not sorrowed-- All these are mine; should I not be content? Yet are these treasures mine, or only lent me? And who shall claim them when I pass away? Oh, jealous Fate, to torture and torment me With thoughts like these in my too fleeting day!

For while I gained the prize which all were seeking, And won you with the ardor of my quest, The bitter truth I know without your speaking-- _You only let me love you at the best_. E'en while I lean and count my riches over, And view with gloating eyes your priceless charms, I know somewhere there dwells the unnamed lover Who yet shall clasp you, willing, in his arms.

And while my hands stray through your clustering tresses, And while my lips are pressed upon your own, This unseen lover waits for such caresses As my poor hungering clay has never known, And when some day, between you and your duty A green grave lies, his love shall make you glad, And you shall crown him with your splendid beauty-- Ah, God! ah, God! 'tis this way men go mad!

=I Am=

I know not whence I came, I know not whither I go; But the fact stands clear that I am here In this world of pleasure and woe. And out of the mist and murk, Another truth shines plain. It is in my power each day and hour To add to its joy or its pain.

I know that the earth exists, It is none of my business why. I cannot find out what it's all about, I would but waste time to try. My life is a brief, brief thing, I am here for a little space. And while I stay I would like, if I may, To brighten and better the place.

The trouble, I think, with us all Is the lack of a high conceit. If each man thought he was sent to this spot To make it a bit more sweet, How soon we could gladden the world. How easily right all wrong. If nobody shirked, and each one worked To help his fellows along.

Cease wondering why you came-- Stop looking for faults and flaws. Rise up to-day in your pride and say, "I am part of the First Great Cause! However full the world There is room for an earnest man. It had need of _me_ or I would not be, I am here to strengthen the plan."

=Two Nights=

(Suggested by the lives of Napoleon and Josephine.)

I.

One night was full of rapture and delight-- Of reunited arms and swooning kisses, And all the unnamed and unnumbered blisses Which fond souls find in love of love at night.

Heart beat with heart, and each clung into each With twining arms that did but loose their hold To cling still closer; and fond glances told These truths for which there is no uttered speech.

There was sweet laughter and endearing words, Made broken by the kiss that could not wait, And cooing sounds as of dear little birds That in spring-time love and woo and mate.

And languid sighs that breathed of love's content And all too soon this night of rapture went.

II.

One night was full of anguish and of pain, Of nerveless arms and mockery of kisses; And those caresses where one sick heart misses The quick response the other cannot feign.

Hands idly clasped and unclasped, and lost hold, And the averted eyes, that turned away, And in whose depths no love nor longing lay, The saddest of all truths too plainly told.

There was salt sorrow and the gall of tears, Some useless words that ended in a moan, And a dull dread of long unending years When one must walk forever more alone. Deep shuddering sighs told more than lips could say; And the long night of sorrow wore away.

=Preparation=

We must not force events, but rather make The heart soil ready for their coming, as The earth spreads carpets for the feet of Spring, Or, with the strengthening tonic of the frost, Prepares for Winter. Should a July noon Burst suddenly upon a frozen world Small joy would follow, even tho' that world Were longing for the Summer. Should the sting Of sharp December pierce the heart of June, What death and devastation would ensue! All things are planned. The most majestic sphere That whirls through space is governed and controlled By supreme law, as is the blade of grass Which through the bursting bosom of the earth Creeps up to kiss the light. Poor puny man Alone doth strive and battle with the Force Which rules all lives and worlds, and he alone Demands effect before producing cause. How vain the hope! We cannot harvest joy Until we sow the seed, and God alone Knows when that seed has ripened. Oft we stand And watch the ground with anxious brooding eyes Complaining of the slow unfruitful yield, Not knowing that the shadow of ourselves Keeps off the sunlight and delays result. Sometimes our fierce impatience of desire Doth like a sultry May force tender shoots Of half-formed pleasures and unshaped events To ripen prematurely, and we reap But disappointment; or we rot the germs With briny tears ere they have time to grow. While stars are born and mighty planets die And hissing comets scorch the brow of space The Universe keeps its eternal calm. Through patient preparation, year on year, The earth endures the travail of the Spring And Winter's desolation. So our souls In grand submission to a higher law Should move serene through all the ills of life, Believing them masked joys.

=Custer=

=BOOK FIRST=

I.

All valor died not on the plains of Troy. Awake, my Muse, awake! be thine the joy To sing of deeds as dauntless and as brave As e'er lent luster to a warrior's grave. Sing of that noble soldier, nobler man, Dear to the heart of each American. Sound forth his praise from sea to listening sea-- Greece her Achilles claimed, immortal Custer, we.

II.

Intrepid are earth's heroes now as when The gods came down to measure strength with men. Let danger threaten or let duty call, And self surrenders to the needs of all; Incurs vast perils, or, to save those dear, Embraces death without one sigh or tear. Life's martyrs still the endless drama play Though no great Homer lives to chant their worth to-day.

III.

And if he chanted, who would list his songs, So hurried now the world's gold-seeking throngs? And yet shall silence mantle mighty deeds? Awake, dear Muse, and sing though no ear heeds! Extol the triumphs, and bemoan the end Of that true hero, lover, son and friend Whose faithful heart in his last choice was shown-- Death with the comrades dear, refusing flight alone.

IV.

He who was born for battle and for strife Like some caged eagle frets in peaceful life; So Custer fretted when detained afar From scenes of stirring action and of war. And as the captive eagle in delight, When freedom offers, plumes himself for flight And soars away to thunder clouds on high, With palpitating wings and wild exultant cry.

V.

So lion-hearted Custer sprang to arms, And gloried in the conflict's loud alarms. But one dark shadow marred his bounding joy; And then the soldier vanished, and the boy, The tender son, clung close, with sobbing breath, To her from whom each parting was new death; That mother who like goddesses of old, Gave to the mighty Mars, three warriors brave and bold,

VI.

Yet who, unlike those martial dames of yore, Grew pale and shuddered at the sight of gore. A fragile being, born to grace the hearth, Untroubled by the conflicts of the earth. Some gentle dove who reared young eaglets, might, In watching those bold birdlings take their flight, Feel what that mother felt who saw her sons Rush from her loving arms, to face death-dealing guns.

VII.

But ere thy lyre is strung to martial strains Of wars which sent our hero o'er the plains, To add the cypress to his laureled brow, Be brave, my Muse, and darker truths avow. Let Justice ask a preface to thy songs, Before the Indian's crimes declare his wrongs; Before effects, wherein all horrors blend, Declare the shameful cause, precursor of the end.

VIII.

When first this soil the great Columbus trod, He was less like the image of his God Than those ingenuous souls, unspoiled by art, Who lived so near to Mother Nature's heart; Those simple children of the wood and wave, As frank as trusting, and as true as brave; Savage they were, when on some hostile raid (For where is he so high, whom war does not degrade?)

IX.

But dark deceit and falsehood's shameless shame They had not learned, until the white man came. He taught them, too, the lurking devil's joy In liquid lies, that lure but to destroy. With wily words, as false as they were sweet, He spread his snares for unsuspecting feet; Paid truth with guile, and trampled in the dust Their gentle childlike faith and unaffected trust.

X.

And for the sport of idle kings and knaves Of Nature's greater noblemen, made slaves. Alas, the hour, when the wronged Indian knows His seeming benefactors are but foes. His kinsmen kidnapped and his lands possessed, The demon woke in that untutored breast. Four hundred years have rolled upon their way-- The ruthless demon rules the red man to this day.

XI.

If, in the morning of success, that grand Invincible discoverer of our land Had made no lodge or wigwam desolate To carry trophies to the proud and great; If on our history's page there were no blot Left by the cruel rapine of Cabot, Of Verrazin, and Hudson, dare we claim The Indian of the plains, to-day had been the same?

XII.

For in this brief existence, not alone Do our lives gather what our hands have sown, But we reap, too, what others long ago Sowed, careless of the harvests that might grow. Thus hour by hour the humblest human souls Inscribe in cipher on unending scrolls, The history of nations yet to be; Incite fierce bloody wars, to rage from sea to sea,

XIII.

Or pave the way to peace. There is no past, So deathless are events--results so vast. And he who strives to make one act or hour Stand separate and alone, needs first the power To look upon the breaking wave and say, "These drops were bosomed by a cloud to-day, And those from far mid-ocean's crest were sent." So future, present, past, in one wide sea are blent.

=BOOK SECOND=

I.

Oh, for the power to call to aid, of mine Own humble Muse, the famed and sacred nine. Then might she fitly sing, and only then, Of those intrepid and unflinching men Who knew no homes save ever moving tents, And who 'twixt fierce unfriendly elements And wild barbarians warred. Yet unfraid, Since love impels thy strains, sing, sing, my modest maid.

II.

Relate how Custer in midwinter sought Far Washita's cold shores; tell why he fought With savage nomads fortressed in deep snows. Woman, thou source of half the sad world's woes And all its joys, what sanguinary strife Has vexed the earth and made contention rife Because of thee! For, hidden in man's heart, Ay, in his very soul, of his true self a part,

III.

The natural impulse and the wish belongs To win thy favor and redress thy wrongs. Alas! for woman, and for man, alas! If that dread hour should ever come to pass, When, through her new-born passion for control, She drives that beauteous impulse from his soul. What were her vaunted independence worth If to obtain she sells her sweetest rights of birth?

IV.

God formed fair woman for her true estate-- Man's tender comrade, and his equal mate, Not his competitor in toil and trade. While coarser man, with greater strength was made To fight her battles and her rights protect. Ay! to protect the rights of earth's elect (The virgin maiden and the spotless wife) From immemorial time has man laid down his life.

V.

And now brave Custer's valiant army pressed Across the dangerous desert of the West, To rescue fair white captives from the hands Of brutal Cheyenne and Comanche bands, On Washita's bleak banks. Nine hundred strong It moved its slow determined way along, Past frontier homes left dark and desolate By the wild Indians' fierce and unrelenting hate;

VI.

Past forts where ranchmen, strong of heart and bold, Wept now like orphaned children as they told, With quivering muscles and with anguished breath, Of captured wives, whose fate was worse than death; Past naked bodies whose disfiguring wounds Spoke of the hellish hate of human hounds; Past bleaching skeleton and rifled grave, On pressed th' avenging host, to rescue and to save.

VII.

Uncertain Nature, like a fickle friend, (Worse than the foe on whom we may depend) Turned on these dauntless souls a brow of wrath And hurled her icy jav'lins in their path. With treacherous quicksands, and with storms that blight, Entrapped their footsteps and confused their sight. "Yet on," urged Custer, "on at any cost, No hour is there to waste, no moment to be lost."

VIII.

Determined, silent, on they rode, and on, Like fabled Centaurs, men and steeds seemed one. No bugle echoed and no voice spoke near, Lest on some lurking Indian's list'ning ear The sound might fall. Through swift descending snow The stealthy guides crept, tracing out the foe; No fire was lighted, and no halt was made From haggard gray-lipped dawn till night lent friendly shade.

IX.

Then, by the shelt'ring river's bank at last, The weary warriors paused for their repast. A couch of ice and falling snows for spread Made many a suffering soldier's chilling bed. They slept to dream of glory and delight, While the pale fingers of the pitying night Wove ghostly winding sheets for that doomed score Who, ere another eve, should sleep to wake no more.

X.

But those who slept not, saw with startled eyes Far off, athwart dim unprotecting skies, Ascending slowly with majestic grace, A lustrous rocket, rising out of space. "Behold the signal of the foe," cried one, The field is lost before the strife's begun. Yet no! for see! yon rays spread near and far; It is the day's first smile, the radiant morning star.

XI.

The long hours counting till the daylight broke, In whispered words the restless warriors spoke. They talked of battles, but they thought of home (For hearts are faithful though the feet may roam). Brave Hamilton, all eager for the strife, Mused o'er that two-fold mystery--death and life; "And when I die," quoth he, "mine be the part To fall upon the field, a bullet in my heart."

XII.

At break of dawn the scouts crept in to say The foe was camped a rifle shot away. The baying of a dog, an infant's cry Pierced through the air; sleep fled from every eye. To horse! to arms! the dead demand the dead! Let the grand charge upon the lodge be led! Let the Mosaic law, life for a life Pay the long standing debt of blood. War to the knife!

XIII.

So spake each heart in that unholy rage Which fires the brain, when war the thoughts engage. War, hideous war, appealing to the worst In complex man, and waking that wild thirst For human blood which blood alone can slake. Yet for their country's safety, and the sake Of tortured captives moaning in alarm The Indian must be made to fear the law's strong arm.

XIV.

A noble vengeance burned in Custer's breast, But, as he led his army to the crest, Above the wigwams, ready for the charge He felt the heart within him, swelling large With human pity, as an infant's wail Shrilled once again above the wintry gale. Then hosts of murdered children seemed to rise; And shame his halting thought with sad accusing eyes,

XV.

And urge him on to action. Stern of brow The just avenger, and the General now, He gives the silent signal to the band Which, all impatient, waits for his command. Cold lips to colder metal press; the air Echoes those merry strains which mean despair For sleeping chieftain and for toiling squaw, But joy to those stern hearts which glory in the law

XVI.

Of murder paying murder's awful debt. And now four squadrons in one charge are met. From east and west, from north and south they come, At call of bugle and at roll of drum. Their rifles rain hot hail upon the foe, Who flee from danger in death's jaws to go. The Indians fight like maddened bulls at bay, And dying shriek and groan, wound the young ear of day.

XVII.

A pallid captive and a white-browed boy Add to the tumult piercing cries of joy, As forth they fly, with high hope animate. A hideous squaw pursues them with her hate; Her knife descends with sickening force and sound; Their bloody entrails stain the snow-clad ground. She shouts with glee, then yells with rage and falls Dead by her victims' side, pierced by avenging balls.

XVIII.

Now war runs riot, carnage reigns supreme. All thoughts of mercy fade from Custer's scheme. Inhuman methods for inhuman foes, Who feed on horrors and exult in woes. To conquer and subdue alone remains In dealing with the red man on the plains. The breast that knows no conscience yields to fear, Strike! let the Indian meet his master now and here.

XIX.

With thoughts like these was Custer's mind engaged. The gentlest are the sternest when enraged. All felt the swift contagion of his ire, For he was one who could arouse and fire The coldest heart, so ardent was his own. His fearless eye, his calm intrepid tone, Bespoke the leader, strong with conscious power, Whom following friends will bless, while foes will curse and cower.

XX.

Again they charge! and now among the killed Lies Hamilton, his wish so soon fulfilled, Brave Elliott pursues across the field The flying foe, his own young life to yield. But like the leaves in some autumnal gale The red men fall in Washita's wild vale. Each painted face and black befeathered head Still more repulsive seems with death's grim pallor wed.

XXI.