Chapter 2

Oh, the days are growing longer, All the rivulets dumb will laugh, and run Over the meadows with dancing feet; Following the silvery plough of the sun, Will be furrows filled with wild flowers sweet: And the days are growing longer.

Oh, the days are growing longer; Over whispering streams will rushes lean, To answer the waves' soft murmurous call; The lily will bend from its watch-tower green, To list to the lark's low madrigal, And the days are growing longer.

Oh, the days are growing longer; When they lengthen to ripe and perfect prime, Then, oh, then, I will build my happy nest; And all in that pleasant and balmy time, There never will be a bird so blest; And the days are growing longer.

* * * * *

SUMMER.

Now sinks the Summer sun into the sea; Sure never such a sunset shone as this, That on its golden wing has borne such bliss; Dear Love to thee and me.

Ah, life was drear and lonely, missing thee, Though what my loss I did not then divine; But all is past--the sweet words, thou art mine, Make bliss for thee and me.

How swells the light breeze o'er the blossoming lea, Sure never winds swept past so sweet and low, No lonely, unblest future waiteth now; Dear Love for thee and me.

Look upward o'er the glowing West, and see, Surely the star of evening never shone With such a holy radiance--oh, my own, Heaven smiles on thee and me.

SUMMER SONG OF THE SWALLOW.

You will journey many a weary day and long, Ere you will see so restful and sweet a place, As this, my home, my nest so downy and warm, The labor of many happy and hopeful days; But its low brown walls are laid and softly lined, And oh, full happily now my rest I take, And care not I when it lightly rocks in the wind, For the branch above though it bends will never break; And close by my side rings out the voice of my mate--my lover; Oh, the days are long, and the days are bright--and Summer will last forever.

Now the stream that divides us from perfect bliss Seems floating past so narrow--so narrow, You could span its wave such a morn as this, With a moment winged like a golden arrow, And the sweet wind waves all the tasselled broom, And over the hill does it loitering come, Oh, the perfect light--oh, the perfect bloom, And the silence is thrilled with the murmurous hum Of the bees a-kissing the red-lipped clover; Oh, the days are long, and the days are bright--and Summer will last forever.

When the West is a golden glow, and lower The sun is sinking large and round, Like a golden goblet spilling o'er, Glittering drops that drip to the ground-- Then I spread my lustrous wings and cleave the air Sailing high with a motion calm and slow, Far down the green earth lies like a picture fair, Then with rapid wing I sink in the shining glow; A-chasing the glinting, gleaming drops; oh, a diver Am I in a clear and golden sea, and Summer will last forever.

The leaves with a pleasant rustling sound are stirred Of a night, and the stars are calm and bright; And I know, although I am only a little bird, One large serious star is watching me all the night, For when the dewy leaves are waved by the breeze, I see it forever smiling down on me. So I cover my head with my wing, and sleep in peace, As blessed as ever a little bird can be; And the silver moonlight falls over land and sea and river, And the nights are cool, and the nights are still, and Summer will last forever.

I think you would journey many and many a day, Ere you so contented and blest a bird would see; Not all the wealth of the world could lure my love away, For my brown little nest is all the world to me; And care not I if brighter bowers there are Lying close to the sun--where tall palms pierce the sky; Oh, you would journey a weary way and a far, Ere you would behold a bird so blest as I; And singing close to my side is my mate--my kin--my lover; Oh, the days are long, and the days are bright--and Summer will last forever.

* * * * *

AUTUMN.

Yes! yes! I dare say it is so, And you should be pitied, but how could I know, Watching alone by the moon-lit bay; But that is past for many a day, For the woman that loved, died years ago, Years ago.

She had loving eyes, with a wistful look In their depths that day, and I know you took Her face in your hands and read it o'er, As if you should never see it more; You were right, for she died long years ago, Years ago.

Had I trusted you--for trust, you know Will keep love's fire forever aglow; Then what would have mattered storm or sun, But the watching--the waiting, all is done; For the woman that loved, died years ago, Years ago.

Yes; I think you are constant, true and good, I am tired, and would love you if I could; I am tired, oh, friend, tired out; and yet, Can we make sweet morn of the dim sunset? The woman that loved, died years ago, Years ago.

Not a pulse of my heart is stirred by you, No; even your tears cannot move me now; So leave me alone, what is said is said, What boots your prayers, she is dead! is dead! The woman you loved, long years ago, Years ago.

AUTUMN SONG OF THE SWALLOW.

The sky is dark and the air is full of snow, I go to a warmer clime afar and away; Though my heart is so tired I do not care for it now, But here in my empty nest I cannot stay; Thus cried the swallow, I go from the falling snow, oh, follow me--oh, follow.

One night my mate came home with a broken wing, So he died; and my brood went long ago; And I am alone, and I have no heart to sing, With no one to hear my song, and I must go; Thus cried the swallow, Away from dust and decay, oh, follow me--oh, follow.

But I think I will never find so warm and safe a nest, As my home, in the pleasant days gone by, gone by, I think I shall never fold my wings in such happy rest, Never again--oh, never again till I die; Thus cried the swallow, But I go from the falling snow, oh, follow me--oh, follow.

THE COQUETTE.

How can I be to blame? Is it my fault I am fair? I did not fashion my features, Or brush the gold in my hair; Because my eyes are so blue and bright, Must I never look up from the ground, But put out with my eyelids' snow their light, Lest some foolish heart they should wound?

How can I be in fault? I am sure where hearts are so few, It is difficult to discern The diamonds of paste from the true; I thought him like all the rest, Skilful in playing his part; As careful at cards or at chess, As winning a woman's heart.

I am sure it is nothing wrong, Nothing to think of--and yet I know I lured him with glance and song, Into my shining net; Provokingly cold at first he seemed, Like crystal to smiles and sighs, But at last he felt the magic that gleamed In my dreamy violet eyes.

And I led him on and on, Farther, in truth, than I strove, For he frightened me with the earnestness And violence of his love; These calm-eyed men deceive-- Had I known the man had a heart, I would have paused, I would, I believe, Have acted a different part.

In his royal indignation He uttered some wholesome truth-- He almost roused the emotion That died in my innocent youth; Emotion that lived when life was new, Ere that man my pathway crossed, Who played me a game untrue, When I staked all my love, and lost.

Oh for a saintly beauty, What efforts my soul did make; I thought all goodness and purity Were possible for his sake; The world seemed born anew, my life Such holy meaning wore, I fancy so fair and fond a dream Never fell into ruins before.

He toyed with my fresh affection As he breathed the country air, To refresh him after a season Of fashion, and falsehood, and glare; Had he not slain my tenderness, Had my life been more sweet, I might have known nobler happiness Than to humble men to my feet.

But now I love to lure them on, To make them slaves to my gaze, Like serfs to a conqueror's chariot, Like moths to a candle-blaze. I melt most royally time, the pearl, And quaff the cup like a queen, And forget in the dizzy tumult and whirl, The woman I might have been.

LITTLE NELL.

Clasp your arms round her neck to-night, Little Nell, Arms so delicate, soft and white, And yet so strong in love's strange might; Clasp them around the kneeling form, Fold them tenderly close and warm, And who can tell But such slight links may draw her back, Away from the fatal, fatal track; Who can tell, Little Nell?

Press your lips to the lips of snow, Little Nell; Oh baby heart, may you never know The anguish that makes them quiver so; But now in her weakness and mortal pain, Let your kisses fall like a dewy rain, And who can tell But your innocent love, your childish kiss May lure her back from the dread abyss; Who can tell, Little Nell.

Lay your cheek on her aching breast, Little Nell; To you 'tis a refuge of holy rest, But a dying bird never drooped its crest With a deadlier pain in its wounded heart; Ah! love's sweet links may be torn apart, Little Nell; The altar may flame with gems and gold, And splendor be bought, and peace be sold, But is it well, Little Nell?

Veil her face with your tresses bright, Little Nell; Hide that vision out of her sight-- Those dark dark eyes with their tender light-- Uplift your pure face, can it be She will bid farewell to heaven and thee, Little Nell? No; your mute lips plead with eloquent power, Her tears fall like a tropic shower; All is well, Little Nell.

Close your blue eyes now in sleep, Little Nell; Her angel smiles to see her weep; At morn a ship will cleave the deep, And one alone will be borne away, And one will clasp thee close, and pray; Oh Little Nell, Never, never beneath the sun, Will you dream what you this night have done, Done so well, Little Nell.

THE FISHER'S WIFE.

A long, low waste of yellow sand Lay shining northward far as eye could reach, Southward a rocky bluff rose high Broken in wild, fantastic shapes. Near by, one jagged rock towered high, And o'er the waters leaned, like giant grim, Striving to peer into the mysteries The ocean whispers of continually, And covers with her soft, treacherous face. For the rest, the sun was sinking low Like a great golden globe, into the sea; Above the rock a bird was flying In dizzy circles, with shrill cries, And on a plank floated from some wreck, With shreds of musty seaweed Clinging to it yet, a woman sat Holding a child within her arms; A sweet-faced woman--looking out to sea With dark, patient eyes, and singing to the child, And this the song she in the sunset sang:

Thine eyes are brown, my beauty, brown and bright, Drowned deep in languor now, the angel Sleep Is clasping thee within her arms so white, Bearing thee up the dreamland's sunny steep. Oh, baby, sleep, my baby, sleep.

Thy father's boat, I see its swaying shroud Like a white sea-gull, swinging to and fro Against the ledges of a crimson cloud, A tiny bird with flutt'ring wing of snow. Oh, baby, sleep, my baby, sleep.

Thy father toils beyond the harbor bar, And, singing at his toil, he thinks of thee; Lit by the red lamp of the evening star Home will he come, will come to thee and me, Oh, baby, sleep, my baby, sleep.

His cabin shall be bright with flowers sweet, The table shall be set, the fire shall glow, We'll wait within the door, his coming steps to greet, And if my eye be sad, he will not know-- Oh, baby, sleep, my baby, sleep.

He will not pause to ponder things so slight, He is not one a smile to prize or miss; Yet he would shield us with a strong arm's might, And he will meet us with a loving kiss-- Oh, baby, sleep, my baby, sleep.

But would I could forget those other days When if with gayer gleam mine eyes had shone, Or shade of sorrow, gentlest eyes would gaze With tender questioning into my own. Oh, baby, sleep, my baby, sleep.

Thine eyes are brown--thou hast thy father's eyes, But those, my darling, those were clear and blue, Ah, me! how sorrowfully that sea-bird cries, Cries for its mate, oh, tender bird and true; My, baby, sleep, my baby, sleep.

Oh, of my truest love well worthy he, And near was I, ah, nearest to his heart; But ships are parted on the dreary sea Swept by the waves, forever swept apart-- Oh, baby, sleep, my baby, sleep.

And sometimes sad-eyed women sighing say, Sweet love is lost, all that remains is rest, So in their weakness they are lured to lay Their head upon some strong and loving breast. Oh, baby, sleep, my baby, sleep.

Our cabin stands upon the dreary sands, And it is sad to be alone, alone. But on my bosom thou hast lain thy hands, Near to me art thou, near, my precious one-- My, baby, sleep, my baby, sleep.

The red light faded as she sung, A chill breeze rose and swept across the sea, She drew her cloak still closer round the child, And turned toward the cabin; As she went a faint glow glimmered In the east, and slowly rose-- The silver crescent of the moon. Another, paler light, than the warm sunset glow, But clear enough to guide her home.

THE LAND OF LONG AGO.

Now while the crimson light fades in the west, And twilight drops her purple shadows low-- We stand with Memory on the mountain's crest, That overlooks the land of Long Ago.

Unmoved and still the form beside us stands, While mournful tears our heavy eyes o'erflow, As silently he lifts his shadowy hands, And points us to the land of Long Ago.

It lies in beauty 'neath our sad eyes' range, Bathed in a richer light, a warmer glow; For fairer moons, and sunsets rare and strange, Illume the landscape of the Long Ago.

We see its vales of peace, its hills of light Shine in the rosy air, ah! well we know-- That nevermore will bless our yearning sight, So fair and dear a land as Long Ago.

We see the gleaming spires of those high halls We garnished with bright gems and precious show; No foot within the gilded doorway falls, Empty the rooms within the Long Ago.

Troops of white doves still haunt the shining towers, And fold in blissful calm, their wings of snow; We bade them build their nests in brighter bowers, But still they linger in the Long Ago.

There in its sunny bay stand stately ships, We freighted for fair lands where we would go; Still gleams our gold within their secret crypts, Becalmed beside the shore of Long Ago.

Between that land and this of dread and doubt, The silent years have drifted trackless snow; Hiding the pathway where we wandered out, Forever from the land of Long Ago.

LEMOINE.

In the unquiet night, With all her beauty bright, She walketh my silent chamber to and fro; Not twice of the same mind, Sometimes unkind--unkind, And again no cooing dove hath a voice so sweet and low.

Such madness of mirth lies In the haunting hazel eyes, When the melody of her laugh charms the listening night; Its glamour as of old My charmed senses hold, Forget I earth and heaven in the pleasures of sense and sight.

With sudden gay caprice Quaint sonnets doth she seize, Wedding them unto sweetness, falling from crimson lips; Holding the broidered flowers Of those enchanted hours, When she wound my will with her silk round her white finger-tips.

Then doth she silent stand, Lifting her slender hand, On which gleams the ring I tore from his hand at Baywood; The tiny opal hearts Are broken in two parts, And where the ruby burned there hangeth a drop of blood.

Then with my burning cheek, Raising my head, I speak, "Lemoine, Lemoine, my lost! Oh, speak to me once, I pray!" But no word will she deign, Adown the shining lane, The long and lustrous lane of the moonlight she glides away.

I fancy oft a stir, Of wings seem following her, Trailing a terrible gloom along the oaken floor, As she walks to and fro; Louder the strange sounds grow To a nameless, dreadful horror, that floods the chamber o'er.

And then I raise my head From terror-haunted bed, And hush my breath, and my very pulses hush and hark; But as I glance around, The stir, the murmuring sound, Dies away in the moonlight, lying there stiff and stark.

* * * * *

And thus you ever flee, Elude and baffle me, My lady you will not always so lightly glide away; Though on the swiftest breeze, You sail o'er farthest seas, Remember, side by side we two will stand one day.

Though my dust feed the wind, Yours be with prayer consigned To the keeping of churchyard seraphs and marble saints; Lemoine, we two shall meet, And not then at my feet Will you fetter a late repentance with wiles and tearful plaints.

Repentance and strong, That would have found a tongue, And shrieked the truth to heaven with madd'ning din; The truth of that dread hour, That black accursed hour, When to free you from hated fetters, I plunged my soul in sin.

Whatever wise man thinks, Sin forges strongest links, You can break them never, although for a time you may hide Buried in flowers and wine; This chain of thine and mine, At the last dread day of doom will draw us side by side.

If one, then both are cursed, And come the best, the worst, Forever and ever your fate and mine are entwined; And though it be mad--mad, Heaven knows the thought is glad, I do not breed my thoughts, how can I help my mind.

* * * * *

So silent doth she come, Standing here pale and dumb, With her finger laid on her lips in a warning way; Her dark eyes looking back, As if upon her track And mine, some phantom shape of impending evil lay.

But when I strive to see, Of what she's warning me, Cruelly calm, no sign will she deign to love or fears; Unheeding vow or prayer, As noiseless as the air, She glideth into the pallid moonlight and disappears.

SLEEP.

Come to me soft-eyed sleep, With your ermine sandalled feet; Press the pain from my troubled brow With your kisses cool and sweet; Lull me with slumbrous song, Song of your clime, the blest, While on my heavy eyelids Your dewy fingers rest.

Come with your native flowers, Heartsease and lotus bloom, Enwrap my weary senses With the cloud of their perfume; For the whispers of thought tire me, Their constant, dull repeat, Like low waves throbbing, sobbing, With endless, endless beat.

THE LADY MAUD.

I sit in the cloud and the darkness Where I lost you, peerless one; Your bright face shines upon fairer lands, Like the dawning of the sun, And what to you is the rustic youth, You sometimes smiled upon.

You have roamed through mighty cities, By the Orient's gleaming sea, Down the glittering streets of Venice, And soft-skied Araby: Life to you has been an anthem, But a solemn dirge to me.

For everywhere, by Rome's bright hills, Or by the silvery Rhine, You win all hearts to you, where'er Your glancing tresses shine; But, darling, the love of the many, Is not a love like mine.

Last night I heard your voice in my dreams, I woke with a joyous thrill To hear but the half-awakened birds, For the dark dawn lingered still, And the lonesome sound of the waters, At the foot of Carey's hill.

Oh the pines are dark on Carey's hill, And the waters are black below, But they shone like waves of jasper Upon one day I know, The day I bore you out of the stream, With your face as white as snow.

You lay like a little lamb in my arms, So frail a thing, so weak, And my coward lips said burning words They never had dared to speak If they had not felt the chill of your brow, And the marble of your cheek.

Life had been but a bitter gift, That I fain would have thrown away, But I could have thanked my God on my knees, For giving me life that day, As I took you, lying so helpless, From the gates of death away.

How your noble kinsmen laughed and wept O'er their treasure snatched from the flood, And your white-faced brother brought me gold-- You loved him, or I could Have obeyed the fiend that told me To curse him where he stood.

Gold! Oh, darling, they had no need Such insults to repeat; I knew the Heaven was above the earth, I knew, I knew, my sweet, I was not worthy to touch the shoes That covered your dainty feet.

I knew as you laid your hand in mine, So kind as I turned away, That we were severed as wide apart, That hour, as we are to-day, And you in your stately English home, So far, so far away.

That soft white hand you laid in mine With a smile as I turned to go, Oh, Lady Maud, I marvel If you ever stoop so low, As to wonder what those tears meant, That glittered on its snow.

But I know if you had dreamed the truth Your beautiful dark brown eyes Would only have grown more gentle, With a sorrowful surprise; For a nobler and a kinder heart Ne'er beat beneath the skies.

You never meant to give me pain, But oh, 'twas a cruel good, I so low in the world's esteem, You of such noble blood, That you stooped to as gentle words and deeds, As ever an angel could.

I blessed you for your brightness When you came unto our shore, For the dull earth caught a beauty It never had before; But you left a lonesome shadow, That will lie there evermore.

How proud the good ship bore you Adown the golden bay, The sun's last light upon its sails-- I stood there mournfully; For I know it left the darkness-- Took the sunlight all away.

THE HAUNTED CASTLE.

It stands alone on a haunted shore, With curious words of deathless lore On its massive gate impearled; And its carefully guarded mystic key Locks in its silent mystery From the seeking eyes of the world.

Oft do its stately walls repeat Echoes of music wildly sweet Swelling to gladness high-- With mournful ballads of ancient time, And funeral hymns--and a nursery rhyme Dying away in a sigh.

Pictures out of each haunted room, Up through the ghostly shadows loom, And gleam with a spectral light; Pictures lit with a radiant glow, And some that image such desolate woe That, weeping, you turn from the sight.

Shining like stars in the twilight gloom Brows as white as a lily's bloom Gleam from its lattice and door; And voices soft as a seraph's note, Through its mysterious chambers float Back from eternity's shore.

In the mournful silence of midnight air You hear on its stately and winding stair The echoes of fairy feet. Gentle footsteps that lightly fall Through the enchanted castle hall, And up in the golden street.

And still in a dark forsaken tower, Crowned with a withered cypress flower, Is a bowed head turned away; A face like carved marble white, Sweet eyes drooping away from the light, Shunning the eye of day.

And oft when the light burns low and dim A haggard form ungainly and grim Unbidden enters the door; With chiding eyes whose burning light You fain would bury in darkness and night, Never to meet you more.

Mysteries strange its still walls keep, Strange are the forms that through it sweep-- Walking by night and by day. But evermore will the castle hall Echo their footsteps' phantom fall, Till its walls shall crumble away.

THE STORY OF GLADYS.