Chapter 3

The lithe wind races and sings Over the grasses and wheat-- See the emerald floor as it springs To the touch of invisible feet!

Ah, later, the fir and the pine Shall stoop to its weightier tread, As it tramps the thundering brine Till it shudders and whitens in dread!

Breath of man! a glass of thine own Is the wind on the land, on the sea-- Joy of life at thy touch!--full grown, Destruction and death maybe!

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THE CRYSTAL SPRING.

I.

Fair spirit of the plaining sea, Thou heard'st Apollo's lyre!-- Now folded are thy silver wings Thee sunward bore, A dream and a desire.

Ranging the upper azure deeps, The sunlight on thy wings, How blanched thy purpose as there fell The lightning's stroke, And darkness on all things!

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In agony of rain and hail, And phantom dance of snow, The chastening angels of the air To mountain bleak Consigned thee far below.

There in the arms of heartless frost, And burdened with thy train, The keen stars watched thy ageful way, Till breast of earth Warmed thee to life again.

And in thy course thou wert God's plow, Thy furrow deep the valley Of wooded walls and flowers to be,-- The circling sun Keeps slow and sure the tally.

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Reborn, thou waitedst not far down The sunless caves to speed-- (Thy twin, lade with unfabled spoils, Did build the plain, Or green the expectant mead,

And weave the fabric, forge the plow, Bear inland steam and sail)-- Or serv'dst, in mines and nether realms Of shadowland, The gnomes and genii pale.

II.

O fontal wealth of hasting life, By stressful toil made sweet, Stay now thy journey--here oft come Wild sylvan things, Here tender lovers meet.

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By day the traveller spies the path To thy o'erbending shade, Drinks deep the brimming, cooling wave, A living draught, And wends his way, remade.

At night the one shy Pleiad drops Her veil to look within Thy clear, green-haloed deeps, and sees Herself more fair Than all her shining kin.

And, fair with labor's healthy toil, Each face of yon dear home Thou'st set within the pearly blue, Or crocus glow, Of overarching dome.

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And when return world-wandering feet, Elate, or slow with sorrow, Thy pencil paints the changing form; And here clasp hands The yester year and morrow.

O bright reincarnation, thou! Though long thy heart, like fire, Burned to mount upward and away To sun and sky, A dream and a desire,

Here, here thy place and service too,-- 'Tis heaven by thee to sup, To see the great red sun drop down, The stars swim out,-- O Nature's loving cup!

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III.

And here the crystal spring abides-- Yet passes to the sea, There to renew the broken task Of long ago, Now joyous task and free.

Fair spirit of the bourneless waves, Glad voice in their sad choir, Sweeter 'mid sorrow's dirge to blend The note of cheer, Than list Apollo's lyre!

The sunbeams kiss the plaining deep, Wreathe with innumerous smiles The sounding waters as they meet,-- While sister sprites Wake laughter round the isles.

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And ever as the rolling moon The unanchored sea forth-swings, The poet's ear may catch anew The gladsome notes, Notes of the crystal springs.

And when he sits this spring beside, Worn with the journey's strife, He cannot help but think of HIM Of Jacob's well, FOUNT of the deathless life.

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AY ME!

Silent, with hands crost meekly on his breast, Long time, with keen and meditative eye, Stood the old painter of Siena by A canvas, whose sign manual him confest.

His head droopt low, his eye ceased from its quest, As tears filled full the fountains long since dry; And from his lips there broke the haunting cry: "May God forgive me--I did not my best!"

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THE YEARS.

"Time in advance behind him hides his wings."--YOUNG.

As comes amain the glossy flying raven, That with unwavering wing, breast on the view, Cleaves slow the lucid air beneath the blue, And seems scarce other than a figure graven-- Ha! now the sweeping pinions flash as levin, And all their silken cordage whistles loud!-- Lo, the departing flight, like fleck of cloud, Is swallowed quick by the awaiting heaven!

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So lag and tarry, to the youth, the years In their oncoming from the brooding sky, Till bursts at middle life their rushing speed All breathless with the world of hopes and fears; And, lo, departing, the Eternal Eye Winks them to moments in His endless brede!

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THE NOTE OF NATURE.

Earth's manifold noises break Overhead, in the calm, In unison full, and wake The note of a psalm.

On the sunny hills, in the vales, It falls on my ear; Down the baffling winds it sails, In the night draweth near.

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It sounds like great mountains to me, A deep monotone-- Like the veiled AEonian sea, That girdles Time's zone.

The sun and the stars and the moon Keep time with this note, The evening and morning and noon, Things near and remote.

The tides ebb and flow to its beat, 'Tis the seasons' rhyme,-- The harebell and twin-flower sweet Its undertone chime.

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The night-moth stirs to the reed, And the beetle booms; The bird and the beast are keyed To the flower that blooms.

And man to his high service goes Aswing to his goal, Like the tides and the stars and the rose,-- Tone, overtone, whole!

I hear it by day and by night, In storm and in calm,-- A low swelling note from a height, With the roll of a psalm.

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AT THE FORD.

I.

A death-like dew was falling On the herbs and the grassy ground; The stars to their bournes prest forward, Night cloaked the hills around.

He thought of a night long past,-- Of the ladder that reached to heaven, The Face that shone above it, The pillar, his pillows of even.

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II.

From out of the sleeve of the darkness Was thrust an arm of strength,-- Long he wrestled for mastery, But begged for blessing at length.

White fear fell on him at dawn, As the Nameless spake with him then; "Prevailer and Prince," called He him, "A power with God and with men."

And, alone, the lame wrestler mused: "The Face of God is this place! Ah me--and my life is preserved, Yet God have I seen face to face!"

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III.

Life's darkness is background for God, For unsleeping Love's high command, And the shadowy heap of each life Is revealed at the touch of His hand.

And the arm of Love doth wrestle All night by the fords we cross, To shrivel our sinews of self And give His blessing for loss.

Night shows the houses of heaven, O pilgrim for life's journey shod! And from out the sleeve of darkness Is thrust the arm of God.

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REPOSE.

A mossy footfall in this wood A peal of thunder were, Or autumn tempest-shriek, compared With the unwhispered stir Of massy fluids lift in air, To build these leafy pillars fair.

Lavished at wordless wish or mute Command, the chemic wealth Upsprings to meet the builders' hands, All hushed as dusky stealth. Noiseless as love, as silent prayer Mysterious, the builders are.

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Ah, sure, these silences are works Of God's sabbatic rest, A music perfect as the calm Of wave's unbroken crest! These woven leaves that stilly nod, These violets, ope their eyes on God.

The deep serene that worketh here Works, too, 'mid human tears; A thousand years as one day is, One day a thousand years. Fell death still thunders at his task, But death the peace of God doth mask.