Part 2

But Mr. Carman is not only a Canadian, he is also a Briton; and evidence of this is his _Ode on the Coronation_, written on the occasion of the crowning of King Edward VII in 1902. This poem--the very existence of which is hardly known among us--ought to be put in the hands of every child and youth who speaks the English tongue, for no other, I dare maintain--nothing by Kipling, or Newbolt, or any other of our so-called "Imperial singers"--expresses more truly and more movingly the deep feeling of love and reverence which the very thought of England evokes in every son of hers, even though it may never have been his to see her white cliffs rise or to tread her storied ground:

O England, little mother by the sleepless Northern tide, Having bred so many nations to devotion, trust, and pride, Very tenderly we turn With welling hearts that yearn Still to love you and defend you,--let the sons of men discern Wherein your right and title, might and majesty, reside.

In concluding this, I greatly fear, lamentably inadequate study, I come to the collection which follows, and which, as intimated above, represents the work of Mr. Carman's latest period. I must say at once that, while I yield to no one in admiration for _Low Tide_ and the other books of that period, or for the work of the second period, as represented by the _Songs from Vagabondia_ volumes, I have no hesitation in declaring that I regard the poet's work of the past few years with even higher admiration. It may not possess the force and vigor of the work which preceded it; but anything seemingly missing in that respect is more than made up for me by increased beauty and clarity of expression. The mysticism--verging, or more than verging, at times on symbolism--which marked his earlier poems, and which hung, as it were, as a veil between them and the reader, has gone, and the poet's thought or theme now lies clearly before us as in a mirror. What--to take a verse from the following pages at random--could be more pellucid, more crystal clear in expression--what indeed, could come closer to that achieving of the impossible at which every real poet must aim--than this from "In Gold Lacquer" (page 12)?

Gold are the great trees overhead, And gold the leaf-strewn grass, As though a cloth of gold were spread To let a seraph pass. And where the pageant should go by, Meadow and wood and stream, The world is all of lacquered gold, Expectant as a dream.

The poet, happily, has fully recovered from the serious illness which laid him low some two years ago, and which for a time caused his friends and admirers the gravest concern, and so we may look forward hopefully to seeing further volumes of verse come from the press to make certain his name and fame. But if, for any reason, this should not be--which the gods forfend!--_Later Poems_, I dare affirm, must and will be regarded as the fine flower and crowning achievement of the genius and art of Bliss Carman.

R. H. HATHAWAY.

Toronto, 1921.

THE BOOKS OF BLISS CARMAN: POETRY AND PROSE

LOW TIDE ON GRAND PRE: A BOOK OF LYRICS . . . . . . . . . . . . 1893

SONGS FROM VAGABONDIA (WITH RICHARD HOVEY) . . . . . . . . . . . 1894

BEHIND THE ARRAS: A BOOK OF THE UNSEEN . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1895

A SEAMARK: A THRENODY FOR ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON . . . . . . . . 1895

MORE SONGS FROM VAGABONDIA (WITH HOVEY) . . . . . . . . . . . . 1896

BALLADS OF LOST HAVEN: A BOOK OF THE SEA . . . . . . . . . . . . 1897

BY THE AURELIAN WALL, AND OTHER ELEGIES . . . . . . . . . . . . 1898

A WINTER HOLIDAY . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1899

LAST SONGS FROM VAGABONDIA (WITH HOVEY) . . . . . . . . . . . . 1901

BALLADS AND LYRICS (A SELECTION) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1902

ODE ON THE CORONATION OF KING EDWARD . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1902

FROM THE BOOK OF MYTHS ("PIPES OF PAN," No. I.) . . . . . . . . 1902

FROM THE GREEN BOOK OF THE BARDS ("PIPES OF PAN," No. II.) . . . 1903

THE KINSHIP OF NATURE (ESSAYS) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1904

SONGS OF THE SEA CHILDREN ("PIPES OF PAN," No. III.) . . . . . . 1904

SONGS FROM A NORTHERN GARDEN ("PIPES OF PAN," No. IV.) . . . . . 1904

THE FRIENDSHIP OF ART (ESSAYS) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1904

SAPPHO: ONE HUNDRED LYRICS (500 COPIES) . . . . . . . . . . . . 1905

FROM THE BOOK OF VALENTINES ("PIPES OF PAN," No. V.) . . . . . . 1905

THE POETRY OF LIFE (ESSAYS) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1905

COLLECTED POEMS, 2 VOLS. (500 COPIES) . . . . . . . . . 1905 (1904)

THE PIPES OF PAN (DEFINITIVE EDITION) . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1906

THE MAKING OF PERSONALITY (ESSAYS) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1908

THE ROUGH RIDER, AND OTHER POEMS . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1909

ECHOES FROM VAGABONDIA . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1912

DAUGHTERS OF DAWN: A LYRICAL PAGEANT (WITH MARY PERRY KING) . . 1913

EARTH DEITIES, AND OTHER RYTHMIC MASQUES (WITH MARY PERRY KING) 1914

APRIL AIRS: A BOOK OF NEW ENGLAND LYRICS . . . . . . . . . . . . 1916

Contents

BLISS CARMAN: AN APPRECIATION VESTIGIA A REMEMBRANCE THE SHIPS OF YULE THE SHIPS OF SAINT JOHN THE GARDEN OF DREAMS GARDEN MAGIC IN GOLD LACQUER APRILIAN GARDEN SHADOWS IN THE DAY OF BATTLE TREES THE GIVERS OF LIFE A FIRESIDE VISION A WATER COLOR THRENODY FOR A POET DUST OF THE STREET TO A YOUNG LADY ON HER BIRTHDAY THE GIFT THE CRY OF THE HILLBORN A MOUNTAIN GATEWAY MORNING IN THE HILLS A WOODPATH WEATHER OF THE SOUL HERE AND NOW THE ANGEL OF JOY THE HOMESTEAD "THE STARRY MIDNIGHT WHISPERS" A LYRIC "APRIL NOW IN MORNING CLAD" NIKE THE ENCHANTED TRAVELLER SPRING'S SARABAND TRIUMPHALIS "NOW THE LENGTHENING TWILIGHTS HOLD" THE SOUL OF APRIL AN APRIL MORNING EARTH VOICES RESURGAM EASTER EVE NOW IS THE TIME OF YEAR THE REDWING THE RAINBIRD LAMENT UNDER THE APRIL MOON THE FLUTE OF SPRING SPRING NIGHT BLOODROOT DAFFODIL'S RETURN NOW THE LILAC TREE'S IN BUD WHITE IRIS THE TREE OF HEAVEN PEONY THE URBAN PAN THE SAILING OF THE FLEETS "'TIS MAY NOW IN NEW ENGLAND" IN EARLY MAY FIREFLIES THE PATH TO SANKOTY OFF MONOMOY IN ST GERMAIN STREET PAN IN THE CATSKILLS A NEW ENGLAND JUNE THE TENT OF NOON CHILDREN OF DREAM ROADSIDE FLOWERS THE GARDEN OF SAINT ROSE THE WORLD VOICE SONGS OF THE GRASS THE CHORISTERS THE WEED'S COUNSEL THE BLUE HERON WOODLAND RAIN SUMMER STORM DANCE OF THE SUNBEAMS THE CAMPFIRE OF THE SUN SUMMER STREAMS THE GOD OF THE WOODS AT SUNRISE AT TWILIGHT MOONRISE THE QUEEN OF NIGHT NIGHT LYRIC THE HEART OF NIGHT PEACE THE OLD GRAY WALL TE DEUM IN OCTOBER BY STILL WATERS LINES FOR A PICTURE THE DESERTED PASTURE AUTUMN NOVEMBER TWILIGHT THE GHOSTYARD OF THE GOLDENROD BEFORE THE SNOW WINTER A WINTER PIECE WINTER STREAMS WINTER TWILIGHT THE TWELFTH NIGHT STAR A CHRISTMAS EVE CHORAL CHRISTMAS SONG THE WISE MEN FROM THE EAST THE SENDING OF THE MAGI THE ANGELS OF MAN AT THE MAKING OF MAN ST. MICHAEL'S STAR THE DREAMERS EL DORADO ON THE PLAZA A PAINTER'S HOLIDAY MIRAGE THE WINGED VICTORY THE GATE OF PEACE

Later Poems

Vestigia.

_I took a day to search for God, And found Him not. But as I trod By rocky ledge, through woods untamed, Just where one scarlet lily flamed, I saw His footprint in the sod._

_Then suddenly, all unaware, Far off in the deep shadows, where A solitary hermit thrush Sang through the holy twilight hush-- I heard His voice upon the air._

_And even as I marvelled how God gives us Heaven here and now, In a stir of wind that hardly shook The poplar leaves beside the brook-- His hand was light upon my brow._

_At last with evening as I turned Homeward, and thought what I had learned And all that there was still to probe-- I caught the glory of His robe Where the last fires of sunset burned._

_Back to the world with quickening start I looked and longed for any part In making saving Beauty be.... And from that kindling ecstasy I knew God dwelt within my heart._

A Remembrance.

Here in lovely New England When summer is come, a sea-turn Flutters a page of remembrance In the volume of long ago.

Soft is the wind over Grand Pre, Stirring the heads of the grasses, Sweet is the breath of the orchards White with their apple-blow.

There at their infinite business Of measuring time forever, Murmuring songs of the sea, The great tides come and go.

Over the dikes and the uplands Wander the great cloud shadows, Strange as the passing of sorrow, Beautiful, solemn, and slow.

For, spreading her old enchantment Of tender ineffable wonder, Summer is there in the Northland! How should my heart not know?

The Ships of Yule

When I was just a little boy, Before I went to school, I had a fleet of forty sail I called the Ships of Yule;

Of every rig, from rakish brig And gallant barkentine, To little Fundy fishing boats With gunwales painted green.

They used to go on trading trips Around the world for me, For though I had to stay on shore My heart was on the sea.

They stopped at every port to call From Babylon to Rome, To load with all the lovely things We never had at home;

With elephants and ivory Bought from the King of Tyre, And shells and silk and sandal-wood That sailor men admire;

With figs and dates from Samarcand, And squatty ginger-jars, And scented silver amulets From Indian bazaars;

With sugar-cane from Port of Spain, And monkeys from Ceylon, And paper lanterns from Pekin With painted dragons on;

With cocoanuts from Zanzibar, And pines from Singapore; And when they had unloaded these They could go back for more.

And even after I was big And had to go to school, My mind was often far away Aboard the Ships of Yule.

The Ships of Saint John

Where are the ships I used to know, That came to port on the Fundy tide Half a century ago, In beauty and stately pride?

In they would come past the beacon light, With the sun on gleaming sail and spar, Folding their wings like birds in flight From countries strange and far.

Schooner and brig and barkentine, I watched them slow as the sails were furled, And wondered what cities they must have seen On the other side of the world.

Frenchman and Britisher and Dane, Yankee, Spaniard and Portugee, And many a home ship back again With her stories of the sea.

Calm and victorious, at rest From the relentless, rough sea-play, The wild duck on the river's breast Was not more sure than they.

The creatures of a passing race, The dark spruce forests made them strong, The sea's lore gave them magic grace, The great winds taught them song.

And God endowed them each with life-- His blessing on the craftsman's skill-- To meet the blind unreasoned strife And dare the risk of ill.

Not mere insensate wood and paint Obedient to the helm's command, But often restive as a saint Beneath the Heavenly hand.

All the beauty and mystery Of life were there, adventure bold, Youth, and the glamour of the sea And all its sorrows old.

And many a time I saw them go Out on the flood at morning brave, As the little tugs had them in tow, And the sunlight danced on the wave.

There all day long you could hear the sound Of the caulking iron, the ship's bronze bell, And the clank of the capstan going round As the great tides rose and fell.

The sailors' songs, the Captain's shout, The boatswain's whistle piping shrill, And the roar as the anchor chain runs out,-- I often hear them still.

I can see them still, the sun on their gear, The shining streak as the hulls careen, And the flag at the peak unfurling,--clear As a picture on a screen.

The fog still hangs on the long tide-rips, The gulls go wavering to and fro, But where are all the beautiful ships I knew so long ago?

The Garden of Dreams

My heart is a garden of dreams Where you walk when day is done, Fair as the royal flowers, Calm as the lingering sun.

Never a drouth comes there, Nor any frost that mars, Only the wind of love Under the early stars,--

The living breath that moves Whispering to and fro, Like the voice of God in the dusk Of the garden long ago.

Garden Magic

Within my stone-walled garden (I see her standing now, Uplifted in the twilight, With glory on her brow!)

I love to walk at evening And watch, when winds are low, The new moon in the tree-tops, Because she loved it so!

And there entranced I listen, While flowers and winds confer, And all their conversation Is redolent of her.

I love the trees that guard it, Upstanding and serene, So noble, so undaunted, Because that was her mien.

I love the brook that bounds it, Because its silver voice Is like her bubbling laughter That made the world rejoice.

I love the golden jonquils, Because she used to say, If soul could choose a color It would be clothed as they.

I love the blue-gray iris, Because her eyes were blue, Sea-deep and heaven-tender In meaning and in hue.

I love the small wild roses, Because she used to stand Adoringly above them And bless them with her hand.

These were her boon companions. But more than all the rest I love the April lilac, Because she loved it best.

Soul of undying rapture! How love's enchantment clings, With sorcery and fragrance, About familiar things!

In Gold Lacquer

Gold are the great trees overhead, And gold the leaf-strewn grass, As though a cloth of gold were spread To let a seraph pass. And where the pageant should go by, Meadow and wood and stream, The world is all of lacquered gold, Expectant as a dream.

Against the sunset's burning gold, Etched in dark monotone Behind its alley of grey trees And gateposts of grey stone, Stands the Old Manse, about whose eaves An air of mystery clings, Abandoned to the lonely peace Of bygone ghostly things.

In molten gold the river winds With languid sweep and turn, Beside the red-gold wooded hill Yellowed with ash and fern. The streets are tiled with gold-green shade And arched with fretted gold, Ecstatic aisles that richly thread This minster grim and old.

The air is flecked with filtered gold,-- The shimmer of romance Whose ageless glamour still must hold The world as in a trance, Pouring o'er every time and place Light of an amber sea, The spell of all the gladsome things That have been or shall be.

Aprilian

When April came with sunshine And showers and lilac bloom, My heart with sudden gladness Was like a fragrant room.

Her eyes were heaven's own azure, As deep as God's own truth. Her soul was made of rapture And mystery and youth.

She knew the sorry burden Of all the ancient years, Yet could not dwell with sadness And memory and tears.

With her there was no shadow Of failure nor despair, But only loving joyance. O Heart, how glad we were!

Garden Shadows

When the dawn winds whisper To the standing corn, And the rose of morning From the dark is born, All my shadowy garden Seems to grow aware Of a fragrant presence, Half expected there.

In the golden shimmer Of the burning noon, When the birds are silent And the poppies swoon, Once more I behold her Smile and turn her face, With its infinite regard, Its immortal grace.

When the twilight silvers Every nodding flower, And the new moon hallows The first evening hour, Is it not her footfall Down the garden walks, Where the drowsy blossoms Slumber on their stalks?

In the starry quiet, When the soul is free, And a vernal message Stirs the lilac tree, Surely I have felt her Pass and brush my cheek, With the eloquence of love That does not need to speak!

In The Day of Battle

In the day of battle, In the night of dread, Let one hymn be lifted, Let one prayer be said.

Not for pride of conquest, Not for vengeance wrought, Nor for peace and safety With dishonour bought!

Praise for faith in freedom, Our fighting fathers' stay, Born of dreams and daring, Bred above dismay.

Prayer for cloudless vision, And the valiant hand, That the right may triumph To the last demand.

Trees

In the Garden of Eden, planted by God, There were goodly trees in the springing sod,--

Trees of beauty and height and grace, To stand in splendor before His face.

Apple and hickory, ash and pear, Oak and beech and the tulip rare,

The trembling aspen, the noble pine, The sweeping elm by the river line;

Trees for the birds to build and sing, And the lilac tree for a joy in spring;

Trees to turn at the frosty call And carpet the ground for their Lord's footfall;

Trees for fruitage and fire and shade, Trees for the cunning builder's trade;

Wood for the bow, the spear, and the flail, The keel and the mast of the daring sail;

He made them of every grain and girth For the use of man in the Garden of Earth.

Then lest the soul should not lift her eyes From the gift to the Giver of Paradise,

On the crown of a hill, for all to see, God planted a scarlet maple tree.

The Givers of Life

I

Who called us forth out of darkness and gave us the gift of life, Who set our hands to the toiling, our feet in the field of strife?

Darkly they mused, predestined to knowledge of viewless things, Sowing the seed of wisdom, guarding the living springs.

Little they reckoned privation, hunger or hardship or cold, If only the life might prosper, and the joy that grows not old.

With sorceries subtler than music, with knowledge older than speech, Gentle as wind in the wheat-field, strong as the tide on the beach,

Out of their beauty and longing, out of their raptures and tears, In patience and pride they bore us, to war with the warring years.

II

Who looked on the world before them, and summoned and chose our sires, Subduing the wayward impulse to the will of their deep desires?

Sovereigns of ultimate issues under the greater laws, Theirs was the mystic mission of the eternal cause;

Confident, tender, courageous, leaving the low for the higher, Lifting the feet of the nations out of the dust and the mire; Luring civilization on to the fair and new, Given God's bidding to follow, having God's business to do.

III

Who strengthened our souls with courage, and taught us the ways of Earth? Who gave us our patterns of beauty, our standards of flawless worth?

Mothers, unmilitant, lovely, moulding our manhood then, Walked in their woman's glory, swaying the might of men.

They schooled us to service and honor, modest and clean and fair,-- The code of their worth of living, taught with the sanction of prayer. They were our sharers of sorrow, they were our makers of joy, Lighting the lamp of manhood in the heart of the lonely boy.

Haloed with love and with wonder, in sheltered ways they trod, Seers of sublime divination, keeping the truce of God.

IV

Who called us from youth and dreaming, and set ambition alight, And made us fit for the contest,--men, by their tender rite?

Sweethearts above our merit, charming our strength and skill To be the pride of their loving, to be the means of their will.

If we be the builders of beauty, if we be the masters of art, Theirs were the gleaming ideals, theirs the uplift of the heart.

Truly they measure the lightness of trappings and ease and fame, For the teeming desire of their yearning is ever and ever the same:

To crown their lovers with gladness, to clothe their sons with delight, And see the men of their making lords in the best man's right.

Lavish of joy and labor, broken only by wrong, These are the guardians of being, spirited, sentient and strong.

Theirs is the starry vision, theirs the inspiriting hope, Since Night, the brooding enchantress, promised that day should ope.

V

Lo, we have built and invented, reasoned, discovered and planned, To rear us a palace of splendor, and make us a heaven by hand.

We are shaken with dark misgiving, as kingdoms rise and fall; But the women who went to found them are never counted at all.

Versed in the soul's traditions, skilled in humanity's lore, They wait for their crown of rapture, and weep for the sins of war.

And behold they turn from our triumphs, as it was in the first of days, For a little heaven of ardor and a little heartening of praise.

These are the rulers of kingdoms beyond the domains of state, Martyrs of all men's folly, over-rulers of fate. These we will love and honor, these we will serve and defend, Fulfilling the pride of nature, till nature shall have an end.

VI

This is the code unwritten, this is the creed we hold, Guarding the little and lonely, gladdening the helpless and old,--

Apart from the brunt of the battle our wondrous women shall bide, For the sake of a tranquil wisdom and the need of a spirit's guide.

Come they into assembly, or keep they another door, Our makers of life shall lighten the days as the years of yore.

The lure of their laughter shall lead us, the lilt of their words shall sway. Though life and death should defeat us, their solace shall be our stay.

Veiled in mysterious beauty, vested in magical grace, They have walked with angels at twilight and looked upon glory's face.

Life we will give for their safety, care for their fruitful ease, Though we break at the toiling benches or go down in the smoky seas.

This is the gospel appointed to govern a world of men. Till love has died, and the echoes have whispered the last Amen.

A Fireside Vision

Once I walked the world enchanted Through the scented woods of spring, Hand in hand with Love, in rapture Just to hear a bluebird sing.

Now the lonely winds of autumn Moan about my gusty eaves, As I sit beside the fire Listening to the flying leaves.

As the dying embers settle And the twilight falls apace, Through the gloom I see a vision Full of ardor, full of grace.

When the Architect of Beauty Breathed the lyric soul in man, Lo, the being that he fashioned Was of such a mould and plan!

Bravely through the deepening shadows Moves that figure half divine, With its tenderness of bearing, With its dignity of line.

Eyes more wonderful than evening With the new moon on the hill, Mouth with traces of God's humor In its corners lurking still.

Ah, she smiles, in recollection; Lays a hand upon my brow; Rests this head upon Love's bosom! Surely it is April now!

A Water Color

There's a picture in my room Lightens many an hour of gloom,--

Cheers me under fortune's frown And the drudgery of town.

Many and many a winter day When my soul sees all things gray,

Here is veritable June, Heart's content and spirit's boon.

It is scarce a hand-breadth wide, Not a span from side to side,

Yet it is an open door Looking back to joy once more,

Where the level marshes lie, A quiet journey of the eye,

And the unsubstantial blue Makes the fine illusion true.

So I forth and travel there In the blessed light and air,

Miles of green tranquillity Down the river to the sea.

Here the sea-birds roam at will, And the sea-wind on the hill

Brings the hollow pebbly roar From the dim and rosy shore,

With the very scent and draft Of the old sea's mighty craft.

I am standing on the dunes, By some charm that must be June's,

When the magic of her hand Lays a sea-spell on the land.

And the old enchantment falls On the blue-gray orchard walls

And the purple high-top boles, While the orange orioles

Flame and whistle through the green Of that paradisal scene.

Strolling idly for an hour Where the elder is in flower,