Part 1
SHORT FLIGHTS
BY _MEREDITH NICHOLSON_
_With a weak, uncertain wing And a short flight, faltering Like a heart afraid to sing._
INDIANAPOLIS THE BOWEN-MERRILL CO. 1891
Copyright 1890 BY MEREDITH NICHOLSON
TO MY UNCLE
WILLIAM MORTON MEREDITH
CONTENTS
INVOCATION--TO THE SEASONS xi
SAT EST VIXISSE 1
SONG 3
’TIS NEVER NIGHT IN LOVE’S DOMAIN 5
ESTRANGED 7
WHEN FRIENDS ARE PARTED 8
WHEREAWAY 9
A SECRET 11
DISAPPOINTMENT 13
STRIVING 14
AN IDOLATER 16
LOVE’S MIDAS TOUCH 17
IN ETHER SPACES 18
MY PADDLE GLEAMED 20
FAITHLESS 21
GRAPE BLOOM 22
ILL-STARRED 23
THE SOLDIER HEART 25
AN UNWRITTEN LETTER 27
MY LADY OF THE GOLDEN HEART 28
DREAMS 30
CARDINAL NEWMAN 31
ON THE MEDITERRANEAN 32
WATCHING THE WORLD GO BY 34
RIGHTEOUS WRATH 36
SUNSET 37
RONDEAU OF EVENTIDE 38
A PRINCE’S TREASURE 39
DIEU VOUS GARDE 41
SWEETHEART TIME 42
THE ROAD TO HAPPINESS 44
GUARDING SHADOWS 46
ART’S LESSON 47
IN THE SHADOW 48
“LEAD, KINDLY LIGHT” 50
SONGS AND WORDS 51
FOR A NEW YEAR’S MORN 53
THREE FRIENDS 54
A RHYME OF LITTLE GIRLS 57
THE BATTLES GRANDSIRE MISSED 59
BARRED 61
A SLUMBER SONG 62
BEFORE THE FIRE 64
OCTOBER 66
IN WINTER I WAS BORN 68
GOOD NIGHT AND PLEASANT DREAMS 69
WHERE LOVE WAS NOT 71
DOWN THE AISLES 73
RUIN 74
HALF FLIGHTS 76
A KIND OF MAN 77
TRANSFIGURED 78
LOVE’S POWER 79
FIRE-HUNTING 80
HEARTACHE 81
FRIENDSHIP’S SACRAMENT 83
OMAR KHAYYAM 84
A DISCOVERY 86
_SONNETS_
A MODERN PURITAN 89
THE LAW OF LIFE 90
TO EUGENE FIELD IN ENGLAND 91
DEPENDENCE 92
BY SHERIDAN’S GRAVE 93
VIKING 94
VIOLIN 95
WHAT THE BABIES SAY 96
SECRETS 97
BLIND 98
A FANCY 99
THOREAU 100
_SHORT FLIGHTS_
TO THE SEASONS.
_Seasons that pass me by in varied mood, As on the impressionable land you leave a trace, Molding sometime a delicate flower’s sweet face, Touching again with green the somber wood, Or drawing all beneath a snowy hood,-- Am I not worthy as they to have a place In your remembrance? Am I made too base To know what weed and thorn have understood?_
_Fair vernal time, I need your quickening Even as the sleeping Earth! O summer heat Make flower and fruit in me that I may bring Full hands to Autumn when above me beat The serious winds; and Winter, make me strong Like the glad music of your battle song!_
SAT EST VIXISSE.
I.
To have lived! To have felt a quickened beat Of the heart in spring; To have known that something sweet Moved the birds to sing; To have seen dim waves of heat O’er a field of green retreat!
II.
To have found the hiding-place Of the wild wood rose; To have held, a little space, Any flower that grows; To have known a moment’s grace Looking in a loved one’s face To have lived, to have lived!
III.
Still, doth it suffice alone That the world is fair? O’er what fields have these hands sown? Are they gold or bare? And though all the flowers are flown, If to God my heart is known, Then shall I in truth be shown How to live, why to live!
SONG.
Glad and sad make rhyme, my dear, Glad and sad make rhyme. Though the sun may not appear, Though there be a time When the hours are very long, And there is no joy for you, Weave this thought into a song: Glad and sad make jingle true-- Happy jingle true!
They are joined together, dear, Joined together they, Like the dark sky and the clear Of an April day. Like the grief that dies in gladness Turmoil into peace will grow, Soon there is an end of sadness-- Glad and sad make rhyme, you know, Perfect rhyme, you know.
They make perfect rhyme, my dear. Perfect as can be; Falling sweet upon the ear, Telling you and me That the thorn and rose are wed, That night holds in store the dawn, And till hope and trust are dead Glad and sad will jingle on, Jingle, jingle on!
’TIS NEVER NIGHT IN LOVE’S DOMAIN.
’Twas morning when one found his way Within the garden lands of love. He lingered till he thought the day Should surely unto night yield sway. But morning’s sun still shone above In skies unmarred by evening’s gray, While on the air rang this refrain-- ’Tis never night in love’s domain.
Love’s palace beauteous is, and tall, And broad, and grand is his estate. Gay courtiers throng each spacious hall Where laughing echoes ceaseless fall And mock the silent outcast, hate, Who ever cowers by post and wall. And scowls as rings the glad refrain-- ’Tis never night in love’s domain.
And thence through groves with myrtle grown He followed Venus’ dove-drawn car By paths he ne’er before had known, And yet, the morning had not flown, And yet, fresh winds blew from afar As came, in ne’er decreasing tone, The song through which ran this refrain-- ’Tis never night in love’s domain.
Ah, love of mine, how well we know The glories of those garden lands Through which Lethean waters flow! Oft we have wandered to and fro Down those bright halls, and seen the hands Of tiny elves that beckoned so They kept the time to this refrain-- ’Tis never night in love’s domain.
ESTRANGED.
It was but yesterday that thou Wert with love-whispers eloquent, Yet come and look upon her now That life is spent.
How strangely white the face hath grown, No longer prest by kisses fond; Why turn’st, now that her soul hath flown And rests beyond?
Why enter’st not the darkened room To touch again those cold, white lips-- So cold and white, seen in the gloom Of Death’s eclipse?
Thou wert so loving once, but now Take that cold hand as lovers may, Implant a kiss on that calm brow, Nor turn away.
It was but yesterday that thou Wert with love-whispers eloquent-- Thou wilt not look upon her now That life is spent.
WHEN FRIENDS ARE PARTED.
Time keeps no measure when true friends are parted,-- No record day by day; The sands move not for those who, loyal-hearted, Friendship’s firm laws obey.
It is not well to note with dull precision The flight of days or years; Memory depends not on a proof by vision, And has no foolish fears.
The migrant birds when they are Southward flying Have no regrets; they go Full of the knowledge born of faith undying, That they again shall know
The homes and nests which they have left behind them Unmarred by change the while; The Southern lands they seek will but remind them Of the North’s summer smile.
And so I know that you will come to meet me In the old, well-loved way; That, though a year go by, you still will greet me As kindly as to-day.
WHEREAWAY.
Where are you going my bright blue eyes, My boy so happy-hearted? You are very young and very wise, And early you have started. Where is the city you’re bound for, lad? Come tell me of it truly; Is it one that is fair, and one that is glad And was it builded newly? Oh, tell me whereaway my lad-- Whereaway?
The day is fair and the skies are blue, Come rest awhile and listen: By far too great is the world for you, The spires in dreams that glisten Are far away from this quiet place With many a mile between, So rest, blue eyes, for a little space Here where the slopes are green-- Oh, tell me whereaway my lad-- Whereaway?
Oh, dim and vague is the early haze That holds your world of seeming; This day is fairer than other days Only in boyish dreaming,-- So do not hasten but pause to tell Why you make such a hurry-- Do you want to go, have you pondered well About the cost and worry? Oh, tell me whereaway my lad-- Whereaway?
Oh, dear blue eyes and brave young heart Why must you turn to leave me? Am I so old that we now must part, Why will you go to grieve me? But he turns away with a smile and nod And will not tell me truly About the place to which he will plod, If old or builded newly; He does not answer “Where, my lad?” Whereaway?
A SECRET.
He said, “No one shall ever learn This secret that my heart must keep; No matter how the wolds may burn, No matter how my heart may leap, No one shall know I love her so, No one shall know, no one shall know!”
But though his lips were tightly sealed, The very birds his secret guessed, For in his eyes it was revealed, And in his face it was confessed-- “I love her so, I love her so, But none shall know, but none shall know?”
The wind soon found it and ran on To tell it to the wondering flowers, And bear it to the gates of dawn, Where loiter all the coming hours, That they might know he loved her so, That they might know, that they might know!
Some time all secrets must unfold, And soon did he a listener seek, To whom his story might be told Before the laughing world should speak And tell her (if she did not know!) He loved her so, he loved her so!
DISAPPOINTMENT.
The broad-armed wave that reaches for the land Sees not the towering rock that bars the way Unto the longed-for play-ground of the strand, Until, thrown back, it sees through tears of spray.
STRIVING.
It is not much that I can do. My hands are weak. The lines they draw seem never true; The works I speak Are not the ones I long to say,-- I speak not prayers I long to pray.
It is no coward spirit, no-- I try to learn How others bravely strive and go Rewards to earn, And yet success is never mine-- I labor on a false design.
They are not much, these little things That form my task, Yet constant seeking never brings What I would ask, And of what use is life to one Who never knew a victory won?
But this one thing I know, that He Who guides the stars Will look in charity on me And see the scars Which show that I have tried to trace A path that weeds could not efface.
AN IDOLATER.
I read of pagan priests in idols hiding, That with their own lips they might make reply To prayers of worshippers in them confiding-- To vouchsafe or deny.
And all idolatry has not departed; For yet I faith in one fair idol hold. Unlike those of the heathen, hollow-hearted. Voiceless, inert and cold;
But one who dwells, a queen, among the living. Whose eyes light lip, my waiting eyes to greet And speak, before the lips, sweet answer giving From her soul’s judgment seat.
LOVE’S MIDAS TOUCH.
Your love has made life dear to me; Until you came I did not know How beautiful the world could be-- How full of joy its days could grow.
Once peace was not in anything, But love has made life dear to me; The winter has given way to spring, And skies are fair and clear to me.
My heart is listening when you speak; To hold your hand or touch your cheek,-- Since love has made life dear to me! Sends flying love and fear through me.
Glad is the grass your feet have pressed, Your eyes throw joy on all they see, Around you there is gracious rest, Your love has made life dear to me.
IN ETHER SPACES.
Somewhere in space there is a realm where lingers Each word that ever fell from lips of man, All music stirred to life by touch of fingers, All sounds since time began.
Rumble of quaking earth and plains upturning Creation morn; the sullen beat of rain, The coo of dove with olive-leaf returning, The stir of life again.
A Child’s soft treble in the temple, heeded By doctors who about him listening drew; “Father, forgive them,” on dark Calvary pleaded, “They know not what they do.”
The songs are there which echoed through dim ages, And chants of kneeling priests at pagan shrines, The speech of prophets writ on history’s pages In God-directed lines.
There dormant dwells the roar of battle royal, The clash of arms amid war’s furnace flame, Victorious cries of warriors brave and loyal, A people’s loud acclaim;
With words that gladdened hearts of earliest lovers, And curses since night’s robes trailed Eden’s sky, While vague as half-remembered dreams there hovers Each mother’s lullaby.
O sounds afar in ether spaces dwelling, In mighty minstrelsy awake! Unite In chords the story of the æons telling Since stars first gemmed the night.
MY PADDLE GLEAMED.
My paddle gleamed, the light canoe The river’s waters glided through With scarce a sound to fret the air; The sun shone bright, the morn was fair And from the South soft breezes blew.
O’erhead the swallows darting flew, Then dropt to earth to brush the dew From off the tangled grasses there My paddle gleamed!
In form as perfect, fresh and new As when they first in Eden grew God’s gifts, before, lay everywhere; Behind, the city’s toil and care; Content, I joy’s full measure knew-- My paddle gleamed!
FAITHLESS.
Ah, yes! Thy love was like the stars, but not Like faithful stars which gleam with steadfast light, But as a darting ærolite, swift shot Across the blackness of a sombre night, Fading as quickly, and as soon forgot.
GRAPE BLOOM.
I walk ’mid vines which rest upon An arbor o’er a garden way Where southern breezes come to play And never-ending races run.
The dew drips from the clustering vines, A swallow like a shuttle cleaves The air above and vainly weaves His fancies into unseen lines.
But stealing forth and dwelling there Within the shadows of the walk, A perfume comes as when gods talk And their glad breathings fill the air.
Scarce seen among the vines the shapes That hold and throw the rare perfume-- The tiny bits of early bloom Presageful of the coming grapes.
And when they ripened grace the vine, That sweetness shall return again, Like hopes fulfilled to trustful men, And have new life in autumn’s wine.
ILL-STARRED.
Oh, prayers and sympathetic tears For each and every ill-starred knight For whom ring no victorious cheers; For those who, early in the fight, Saw daylight turning into night And yielded up to Fate their spears.
The dented shield, the pierced cuirass, Sad story is it that they tell Of brave young knights whose hopes, alas! Bore meagre fruit; who fighting fell Before the foe they could not quell; Who found no wine within the glass.
For some there are but ill-equipped To face the world; some weak of will And some faint-hearted, feeble-lipped, Fit but the lowest posts to fill, Some shivering with the coward’s chill And of the armor “courage” stripped.
Oh, you ’gainst whom the fates are set, E’en though you’ve failed on every field To gain fair honor’s banneret, Let high above be held each shield, Each one with purpose strong annealed, And all shall win a victory yet.
THE SOLDIER HEART.
One day in careless wise I said: “They were no heroes, they who bled To save the Nation and to free the slave; There is no honor now in being brave;” And thought not how my father hearing me-- (He who had fought with Sherman to the sea, True as a knight of storied chivalry), Would feel the sting my words conveyed, as though I deemed the venture of his life should go A thing unworthy of remembrance. Then His look of pain (soft are the hearts of men!) Made me think deeply of the soldier’s part, (As when on Memory’s day the quick tears start To see the line each spring becoming less, The slowing step, heads’ winter snowiness!) And vowed I then that while my blood should run I should not be a son To speak a word not kindly of a soldier true; To utter naught but praise of all who dared to do, Whether in mail of gray or clad in honest blue!
He who cares not That his sire fought; He who shall think not proudly of the days His father felt the blaze Of war’s red furnace flame against his cheek, Has but a coward’s heart, too poor and weak To throw the blood through faltering limb-- Earth has no place for him!
While there is hearth and home to save, ’Tis something to be brave-- ’Tis something to have ventured near to Death, And felt his chilling breath!
AN UNWRITTEN LETTER.
She wrote a letter with her eyes, Well-filled with words of bliss; Then, like a prudent maid and wise, She sealed it with a kiss.
MY LADY OF THE GOLDEN HEART.
My lady of the golden heart, she comes each day Down by the lodge-gate that I keep; she comes demurely, And her two hounds sedate do follow and obey Her slightest wish, and they do love my lady surely.
She comes each day, my lady of the golden heart, Sometimes a-riding or sometimes she comes a-walking; The birds along the hedge they do not even start When she comes by, sometimes to her big hounds a-talking.
“Good morrow” says my lady, (she whose heart is gold), And gold out of her heart makes bright the gateway; The sunshine of her face in winter time does hold Green meadows and sweet flowers and makes a summer straightway.
My lady, she whose heart is gold, my lady goes Each day into the village, bread and good wine bearing To those that sick be, and my gentle lady knows All of the village folk and for them she be caring.
Now as she comes each day, (gold is my lady’s heart), Or goes away upon some errand Heaven has sent her, The gates of my poor heart, they do fly far apart. But there my lady fair and sweet, she will not enter.
DREAMS.
Like shadow-freighted ships which softly creep Across some far-off ghostly main, They haunt the chambers of the brain, And kiss their fingers to the watchman, Sleep!
CARDINAL NEWMAN.
“_To the last I never recognized the hold I had over young men._”--_Apologia pro Vita Sua._
No more the sun may know the strength it hath To stir the bark in spring with quickening blood: No more a storm controlleth its great wrath, Or doleth out the measure of its flood!
There is a quality of lasting youth That knoweth not the force that gave it birth; Some souls God pointeth subtler ways of truth, As highest tribute to their lasting worth.
He hath in souls like thine deposited A quenchless flame as calm and strong as dawn; Across the world thy potent fire is shed, Born of the “kindly light” that leadeth on!
ON THE MEDITERRANEAN.
THE GREEK GIRL’S SONG.
To-day my lover lends his flocks; He roams with them through fragrant meads, And guides across the barren rocks; With his own hands the lambs he feeds, And soothes them when the winds are cold Or terror comes among the fold. They soon forget the night’s alarms When folded in his shielding arms.
_So good and true to them is he I know he will be kind to me._
My lover walks in paths of peace, He would avoid the conflict’s noise And bid the warring legions cease, He is content with simple joys; He fain would always journey through Tall grasses shining in the dew And tend his sheep and dream his dreams Beside the quiet mountain streams;
_So faithful is his love of home His heart I know can never roam._
THE SHEPHERD’S SONG.
As fair as the flocks that graze There ’gainst the hill’s restful side; As sweet as the breath of night When across dim flowery ways Pours a mellifluous tide, Winging an odorous flight:
Thus is the maiden who sends Songs to the shepherd who tends Sheep by the streams, and who dies In the delight of her eyes.
Down by the shore in the night Rush the great breakers, nor cease Oft till the dawn lights the crest; And so is love in its might, Stirring my soul from its peace, Leaving the shepherd no rest.
Oh, if the sheep could but learn For me the answer I yearn! Come, my fair flock, we shall see What is the answer for me!
WATCHING THE WORLD GO BY.
Swift as a meteor and as quickly gone A train of cars darts swiftly through the night; Scorning the wood and field it hurries on, A thing of wrathful might.
There, from a farmer’s home a woman’s eyes, Roused by the sudden jar and passing flare, Follow the speeding phantom till it dies,-- An echo on the air.
Narrow the life that always has been hers The evening brings a longing to her breast; Deep in her heart some aspiration stirs And mocks her soul’s unrest.
Her tasks are mean and endless as the days, And sometimes love cannot repay all things; An instrument that rudely touched obeys Becomes discordant strings.
The train that followed in the headlight’s glare, Bound for the city and a larger world, Made emphasis of her poor life of care As from her sight it whirled.
_Thus from all lonely hearts the great earth rolls, Indifferent though one woman grieve and die, Along its iron track are many souls That watch the world go by._
RIGHTEOUS WRATH.
How splendid is the righteous wrath Born in a good man’s soul! Ignoble things fly from his path, Loud thunders round him roll,-- Yet tenderness and love he hath.