Chapter 2

Oh! she has seen your strong young limbs, And heard your laughter loud and gay, And in your voices she has caught The echo of a far-off day, When man was closer to the earth; And she has marked you for her prey.

She feels the old Antæan strength In you, the great dynamic beat Of primal passions, and she sees In you the last besieged retreat Of love relentless, lusty, fierce, Love pain-ecstatic, cruel-sweet.

O, brothers mine, take care! Take care! The great white witch rides out to-night. O, younger brothers mine, beware! Look not upon her beauty bright; For in her glance there is a snare, And in her smile there is a blight.

MOTHER NIGHT

Eternities before the first-born day, Or ere the first sun fledged his wings of flame, Calm Night, the everlasting and the same, A brooding mother over chaos lay. And whirling suns shall blaze and then decay, Shall run their fiery courses and then claim The haven of the darkness whence they came; Back to Nirvanic peace shall grope their way.

So when my feeble sun of life burns out, And sounded is the hour for my long sleep, I shall, full weary of the feverish light, Welcome the darkness without fear or doubt, And heavy-lidded, I shall softly creep Into the quiet bosom of the Night.

THE YOUNG WARRIOR

Mother, shed no mournful tears, But gird me on my sword; And give no utterance to thy fears, But bless me with thy word.

The lines are drawn! The fight is on! A cause is to be won! Mother, look not so white and wan; Give Godspeed to thy son.

Now let thine eyes my way pursue Where'er my footsteps fare; And when they lead beyond thy view, Send after me a prayer.

But pray not to defend from harm, Nor danger to dispel; Pray, rather, that with steadfast arm I fight the battle well.

Pray, mother of mine, that I always keep My heart and purpose strong, My sword unsullied and ready to leap Unsheathed against the wrong.

THE GLORY OF THE DAY WAS IN HER FACE

The glory of the day was in her face, The beauty of the night was in her eyes. And over all her loveliness, the grace Of Morning blushing in the early skies.

And in her voice, the calling of the dove; Like music of a sweet, melodious part. And in her smile, the breaking light of love; And all the gentle virtues in her heart.

And now the glorious day, the beauteous night, The birds that signal to their mates at dawn, To my dull ears, to my tear-blinded sight Are one with all the dead, since she is gone.

SONNET

(_From the Spanish of Plácido_)

Enough of love! Let break its every hold! Ended my youthful folly! for I know That, like the dazzling, glister-shedding snow, Celia, thou art beautiful, but cold. I do not find in thee that warmth which glows, Which, all these dreary days, my heart has sought, That warmth without which love is lifeless, naught More than a painted fruit, a waxen rose.

Such love as thine, scarce can it bear love's name, Deaf to the pleading notes of his sweet lyre, A frank, impulsive heart I wish to claim, A heart that blindly follows its desire. I wish to embrace a woman full of flame, I want to kiss a woman made of fire.

FROM THE SPANISH

Twenty years go by on noiseless feet, He returns, and once again they meet, She exclaims, "Good heavens! and is that he?" He mutters, "My God! and that is she!"

FROM THE GERMAN OF UHLAND

Three students once tarried over the Rhine, And into Frau Wirthin's turned to dine.

"Say, hostess, have you good beer and wine? And where is that pretty daughter of thine?"

"My beer and wine is fresh and clear. My daughter lies on her funeral bier."

They softly tipped into the room; She lay there in the silent gloom.

The first the white cloth gently raised, And tearfully upon her gazed.

"If thou wert alive, O, lovely maid, My heart at thy feet would to-day be laid!"

The second covered her face again, And turned away with grief and pain.

"Ah, thou upon thy snow-white bier! And I have loved thee so many a year."

The third drew back again the veil, And kissed the lips so cold and pale.

"I've loved thee always, I love thee to-day, And will love thee, yes, forever and aye!"

BEFORE A PAINTING

I knew not who had wrought with skill so fine What I beheld; nor by what laws of art He had created life and love and heart On canvas, from mere color, curve and line. Silent I stood and made no move or sign; Not with the crowd, but reverently apart; Nor felt the power my rooted limbs to start, But mutely gazed upon that face divine.

And over me the sense of beauty fell, As music over a raptured listener to The deep-voiced organ breathing out a hymn; Or as on one who kneels, his beads to tell, There falls the aureate glory filtered through The windows in some old cathedral dim.

I HEAR THE STARS STILL SINGING

I hear the stars still singing To the beautiful, silent night, As they speed with noiseless winging Their ever westward flight. I hear the waves still falling On the stretch of lonely shore, But the sound of a sweet voice calling I shall hear, alas! no more.

GIRL OF FIFTEEN

Girl of fifteen, I see you each morning from my window As you pass on your way to school. I do more than see, I watch you. I furtively draw the curtain aside. And my heart leaps through my eyes And follows you down the street; Leaving me behind, half-hid And wholly ashamed.

What holds me back, Half-hid behind the curtains and wholly ashamed, But my forty years beyond your fifteen?

Girl of fifteen, as you pass There passes, too, a lightning flash of time In which you lift those forty summers off my head, And take those forty winters out of my heart.

THE SUICIDE

For fifty years, Cruel, insatiable Old World, You have punched me over the heart Till you made me cough blood. The few paltry things I gathered You snatched out of my hands. You have knocked the cup from my thirsty lips. You have laughed at my hunger of body and soul.

You look at me now and think, "He is still strong, There ought to be twenty more years of good punching there. At the end of that time he will be old and broken, Not able to strike back, But cringing and crying for leave To live a little longer."

Those twenty, pitiful, extra years Would please you more than the fifty past, Would they not, Old World? Well, I hold them up before your greedy eyes, And snatch them away as I laugh in your face, Ha! Ha! Bang--!

DOWN BY THE CARIB SEA

I

_Sunrise in the Tropics_

Sol, Sol, mighty lord of the tropic zone, Here I wait with the trembling stars To see thee once more take thy throne.

There the patient palm tree watching Waits to say, "Good morn" to thee, And a throb of expectation Pulses through the earth and me.

Now, o'er nature falls a hush, Look! the East is all a-blush; And a growing crimson crest Dims the late stars in the west; Now, a flood of golden light Sweeps across the silver night, Swift the pale moon fades away Before the light-girt King of Day, See! the miracle is done! Once more behold! The Sun!

II

_Los Cigarillos_

This is the land of the dark-eyed _gente_, Of the _dolce far niente_, Where we dream away Both the night and day, At night-time in sleep our dreams we invoke, Our dreams come by day through the redolent smoke, As it lazily curls, And slowly unfurls From our lips, And the tips Of our fragrant _cigarillos_. For life in the tropics is only a joke, So we pass it in dreams, and we pass it in smoke, Smoke--smoke--smoke.

Tropical constitutions Call for occasional revolutions; But after that's through, Why there's nothing to do But smoke--smoke;

For life in the tropics is only a joke, So we pass it in dreams, and we pass it in smoke, Smoke--smoke--smoke.

III

_Teestay_

Of tropic sensations, the worst Is, _sin duda_, the tropical thirst.

When it starts in your throat and constantly grows, Till you feel that it reaches down to your toes, When your mouth tastes like fur And your tongue turns to dust, There's but one thing to do, And do it you must, Drink _teestay_.

_Teestay_, a drink with a history, A delicious, delectable mystery, "_Cinco centavos el vaso, señor_," If you take one, you will surely want more.

_Teestay, teestay_, The national drink on a feast day; How it coolingly tickles, As downward it trickles, _Teestay, teestay_.

And you wish, as you take it down at a quaff, That your neck was constructed à la giraffe. _Teestay, teestay_.

IV

_The Lottery Girl_

"Lottery, lottery, Take a chance at the lottery? Take a ticket, Or, better, take two; Who knows what the future May hold for you? Lottery, lottery, Take a chance at the lottery?"

Oh, limpid-eyed girl, I would take every chance, If only the prize Were a love-flashing glance From your fathomless eyes.

"Lottery, lottery, Try your luck at the lottery? Consider the size Of the capital prize, And take tickets For the lottery. Tickets, _señor_? Tickets, _señor_? Take a chance at the lottery?"

Oh, crimson-lipped girl, With the magical smile, I would count that the gamble Were well worth the while, Not a chance would I miss, If only the prize Were a honey-bee kiss Gathered in sips From those full-ripened lips, And a love-flashing glance From your eyes.

V

_The Dancing Girl_

Do you know what it is to dance? Perhaps, you do know, in a fashion; But by dancing I mean, Not what's generally seen, But dancing of fire and passion, Of fire and delirious passion.

With a dusky-haired _señorita_, Her dark, misty eyes near your own, And her scarlet-red mouth, Like a rose of the south, The reddest that ever was grown, So close that you catch Her quick-panting breath As across your own face it is blown, With a sigh, and a moan.

Ah! that is dancing, As here by the Carib it's known.

Now, whirling and twirling Like furies we go; Now, soft and caressing And sinuously slow; With an undulating motion, Like waves on a breeze-kissed ocean:-- And the scarlet-red mouth Is nearer your own, And the dark, misty eyes Still softer have grown.

Ah! that is dancing, that is loving, As here by the Carib they're known.

VI

_Sunset in the Tropics_

A silver flash from the sinking sun, Then a shot of crimson across the sky That, bursting, lets a thousand colors fly And riot among the clouds; they run, Deepening in purple, flaming in gold, Changing, and opening fold after fold, Then fading through all of the tints of the rose into gray, Till, taking quick fright at the coming night, They rush out down the west, In hurried quest Of the fleeing day.

Now above where the tardiest color flares a moment yet, One point of light, now two, now three are set To form the starry stairs,-- And, in her fire-fly crown, Queen Night, on velvet slippered feet, comes softly down.

AND THE GREATEST OF THESE IS WAR

Around the council-board of Hell, with Satan at their head, The Three Great Scourges of humanity sat. Gaunt Famine, with hollow cheek and voice, arose and spoke,-- "O, Prince, I have stalked the earth, And my victims by ten thousands I have slain, I have smitten old and young. Mouths of the helpless old moaning for bread, I have filled with dust; And I have laughed to see a crying babe tug at the shriveling breast Of its mother, dead and cold. I have heard the cries and prayers of men go up to a tearless sky, And fall back upon an earth of ashes; But, heedless, I have gone on with my work. 'Tis thus, O, Prince, that I have scourged mankind."

And Satan nodded his head.

Pale Pestilence, with stenchful breath, then spoke and said,-- "Great Prince, my brother, Famine, attacks the poor. He is most terrible against the helpless and the old. But I have made a charnel-house of the mightiest cities of men. When I strike, neither their stores of gold or of grain avail. With a breath I lay low their strongest, and wither up their fairest. I come upon them without warning, lancing invisible death. From me they flee with eyes and mouths distended; I poison the air for which they gasp, and I strike them down fleeing. 'Tis thus, great Prince, that I have scourged mankind."

And Satan nodded his head.

Then the red monster, War, rose up and spoke,-- His blood-shot eyes glared 'round him, and his thundering voice Echoed through the murky vaults of Hell.-- "O, mighty Prince, my brothers, Famine and Pestilence, Have slain their thousands and ten thousands,--true; But the greater their victories have been, The more have they wakened in Man's breast The God-like attributes of sympathy, of brotherhood and love And made of him a searcher after wisdom. But I arouse in Man the demon and the brute, I plant black hatred in his heart and red revenge. From the summit of fifty thousand years of upward climb I haul him down to the level of the start, back to the wolf. I give him claws. I set his teeth into his brother's throat. I make him drunk with his brother's blood. And I laugh ho! ho! while he destroys himself. O, mighty Prince, not only do I slay, But I draw Man hellward."

And Satan smiled, stretched out his hand, and said,-- "O War, of all the scourges of humanity, I crown you chief."

And Hell rang with the acclamation of the Fiends.

A MID-DAY DREAMER

I love to sit alone, and dream, And dream, and dream; In fancy's boat to softly glide Along some stream Where fairy palaces of gold And crystal bright Stand all along the glistening shore: A wondrous sight.

My craft is built of ivory, With silver oars, The sails are spun of golden threads, And priceless stores Of precious gems adorn its prow, And 'round its mast An hundred silken cords are set To hold it fast.

My galley-slaves are sprightly elves Who, as they row, And as their shining oars they swing Them to and fro, Keep time to music wafted on The scented air, Made by the mermaids as they comb Their golden hair.

And I the while lie idly back, And dream, and dream, And let them row me where they will Adown the stream.

THE TEMPTRESS

Old Devil, when you come with horns and tail, With diabolic grin and crafty leer; I say, such bogey-man devices wholly fail To waken in my heart a single fear.

But when you wear a form I know so well, A form so human, yet so near divine; 'Tis then I fall beneath the magic of your spell, 'Tis then I know the vantage is not mine.

Ah! when you take your horns from off your head, And soft and fragrant hair is in their place; I must admit I fear the tangled path I tread When that dear head is laid against my face.

And at what time you change your baleful eyes For stars that melt into the gloom of night, All of my courage, my dear fellow, quickly flies; I know my chance is slim to win the fight.

And when, instead of charging down to wreck Me on a red-hot pitchfork in your hand, You throw a pair of slender arms about my neck, I dare not trust the ground on which I stand.

Whene'er in place of using patent wile, Or trying to frighten me with horrid grin, You tempt me with two crimson lips curved in a smile; Old Devil, I must really own, you win.

GHOSTS OF THE OLD YEAR

The snow has ceased its fluttering flight, The wind sunk to a whisper light, An ominous stillness fills the night, A pause--a hush. At last, a sound that breaks the spell, Loud, clanging mouthings of a bell, That through the silence peal and swell, And roll, and rush.

What does this brazen tongue declare, That falling on the midnight air Brings to my heart a sense of care Akin to fright? 'Tis telling that the year is dead, The New Year come, the Old Year fled, Another leaf before me spread On which to write.

It tells the deeds that were not done, It tells of races never run, Of victories that were not won, Barriers unleaped. It tells of many a squandered day, Of slighted gems and treasured clay, Of precious stores not laid away, Of fields unreaped.

And so the years go swiftly by, Each, coming, brings ambitions high, And each, departing, leaves a sigh Linked to the past. Large resolutions, little deeds; Thus, filled with aims unreached, life speeds Until the blotted record reads, "Failure!" at last.

THE GHOST OF DEACON BROWN

In a backwoods town Lived Deacon Brown, And he was a miser old; He would trust no bank, So he dug, and sank In the ground a box of gold, Down deep in the ground a box of gold.

He hid his gold, As has been told, He remembered that he did it; But sad to say, On the very next day, He forgot just where he hid it: To find his gold he tried and tried Till he grew faint and sick, and died.

Then on each dark and gloomy night A form in phosphorescent white, A genuine hair-raising sight, Would wander through the town. And as it slowly roamed around, With a spade it dug each foot of ground; So the folks about Said there was no doubt 'Twas the ghost of Deacon Brown.

Around the church This Ghost would search, And whenever it would see The passers-by Take wings and fly It would laugh in ghostly glee, Hee, hee!--it would laugh in ghostly glee.

And so the town Went quickly down, For they said that it was haunted; And doors and gates, So the story states, Bore a notice, "Tenants wanted."

And the town is now for let, But the ghost is digging yet.

"LAZY"

Some men enjoy the constant strife Of days with work and worry rife, But that is not my dream of life: I think such men are crazy. For me, a life with worries few, A job of nothing much to do, Just pelf enough to see me through: I fear that I am lazy.

On winter mornings cold and drear, When six o'clock alarms I hear, 'Tis then I love to shift my ear, And hug my downy pillows. When in the shade it's ninety-three, No job in town looks good to me, I'd rather loaf down by the sea, And watch the foaming billows.

Some people think the world's a school, Where labor is the only rule; But I'll not make myself a mule, And don't you ever doubt it. I know that work may have its use, But still I feel that's no excuse For turning it into abuse; What do _you_ think about it?

Let others fume and sweat and boil, And scratch and dig for golden spoil, And live the life of work and toil, Their lives to labor giving. But what is gold when life is sped, And life is short, as has been said, And we are such a long time dead, I'll spend my life in living.

OMAR

Old Omar, jolly sceptic, it may be That, after all, you found the magic key To life and all its mystery, and I Must own you have almost persuaded me.

DEEP IN THE QUIET WOOD

Are you bowed down in heart? Do you but hear the clashing discords and the din of life? Then come away, come to the peaceful wood, Here bathe your soul in silence. Listen! Now, From out the palpitating solitude Do you not catch, yet faint, elusive strains? They are above, around, within you, everywhere. Silently listen! Clear, and still more clear, they come. They bubble up in rippling notes, and swell in singing tones. Now let your soul run the whole gamut of the wondrous scale Until, responsive to the tonic chord, It touches the diapason of God's grand cathedral organ, Filling earth for you with heavenly peace And holy harmonies.

VOLUPTAS

To chase a never-reached mirage Across the hot, white sand, And choke and die, while gazing on Its green and watered strand.

THE WORD OF AN ENGINEER

"She's built of steel From deck to keel, And bolted strong and tight; In scorn she'll sail The fiercest gale, And pierce the darkest night.

"The builder's art Has proved each part Throughout her breadth and length; Deep in the hulk, Of her mighty bulk, Ten thousand Titans' strength."

The tempest howls, The Ice Wolf prowls, The winds they shift and veer, But calm I sleep, And faith I keep In the word of an engineer.

Along the trail Of the slender rail The train, like a nightmare, flies And dashes on Through the black-mouthed yawn Where the cavernous tunnel lies.

Over the ridge, Across the bridge, Swung twixt the sky and hell, On an iron thread Spun from the head Of the man in a draughtsman's cell.

And so we ride Over land and tide, Without a thought of fear-- _Man never had The faith in God That he has in an engineer!_

LIFE

Out of the infinite sea of eternity To climb, and for an instant stand Upon an island speck of time.

From the impassible peace of the darkness To wake, and blink at the garish light Through one short hour of fretfulness.

SLEEP

O Sleep, thou kindest minister to man, Silent distiller of the balm of rest, How wonderful thy power, when naught else can, To soothe the torn and sorrow-laden breast! When bleeding hearts no comforter can find, When burdened souls droop under weight of woe, When thought is torture to the troubled mind, When grief-relieving tears refuse to flow; 'Tis then thou comest on soft-beating wings, And sweet oblivion's peace from them is shed; But ah, the old pain that the waking brings! That lives again so soon as thou art fled!

Man, why should thought of death cause thee to weep; Since death be but an endless, dreamless sleep?

PRAYER AT SUNRISE

O mighty, powerful, dark-dispelling sun, Now thou art risen, and thy day begun. How shrink the shrouding mists before thy face, As up thou spring'st to thy diurnal race! How darkness chases darkness to the west, As shades of light on light rise radiant from thy crest! For thee, great source of strength, emblem of might, In hours of darkest gloom there is no night. Thou shinest on though clouds hide thee from sight, And through each break thou sendest down thy light.

O greater Maker of this Thy great sun, Give me the strength this one day's race to run, Fill me with light, fill me with sun-like strength, Fill me with joy to rob the day its length. Light from within, light that will outward shine, Strength to make strong some weaker heart than mine, Joy to make glad each soul that feels its touch; Great Father of the sun, I ask this much.

THE GIFT TO SING

Sometimes the mist overhangs my path, And blackening clouds about me cling; But, oh, I have a magic way To turn the gloom to cheerful day-- I softly sing.

And if the way grows darker still, Shadowed by Sorrow's somber wing, With glad defiance in my throat, I pierce the darkness with a note, And sing, and sing.