Part 2

Makin’ the candy-man grin, Here we are crowdin’ and pushin’; No matter how we come in He knows the wush we’re a-wushin’.

* * * * *

_Return._

L-l-lp! but that’s better’n ma’s jelly, Down to the candy-man’s shop! Hang to my hand now, Nellie,-- Here we go hippety-hop.

LIFE TO LOVE.

_A Triolet._

It is life just to love With a heart’s true devotion: ’Tis the great law Above. It is life just to love,-- For the soul just to move With a sweet, wild emotion. It is life just to love With a heart’s true devotion.

COME TO THE SHADOWS.

_A Pantoum._

Come to the shadows of eve Falling like mantles around us; Come where the winds ever weave Songs in the tree-webs around us.

Falling like mantles around us Sweet chime the vespers of love; Songs in the tree-webs around us Waft from some Idean grove.

Sweet chime the vespers of love Borne by the zephyrs of even; Waft from some Idean grove Lydian measures of heaven.

Borne by the zephyrs of even Love in his quiver bears Lydian measures of heaven, Softest of musical airs.

Love in his quiver bears Aye when the star-flowers blossom Softest of musical airs, Night folding Day to his bosom.

Aye when the star-flowers blossom Love sings the sweetest of themes; Night folding day to his bosom Lies down to rapturous dreams.

Love sings the sweetest of themes Bidding my heart that yet never Lies down to rapturous dreams Fold thine own close to mine ever.

* * * * *

Out ’mid the dew-loved flowers Come where the winds ever weave Love in the web of the hours, Come to the shadows of eve.

SOUL OF MY SOUL.

Out on the river that rolleth forever, Floweth forever and moaneth for aye, Floateth a sorrow that never shall borrow Peace to release it from me to the sea.

Sorrow that ever my sad heart’s quiver, Sheathing alone this one arrow of woe, Binds as the billow that never shall pillow Crest on the breast of the moaning flow.

O Stygian water, of heart-breakings fraughter, Far more aburdened of mournful commotion Than night is of stillness or Hell is of fellness, Knoll thou and toll my ocean devotion!

Dash thy dread roll ’gainst my turbulent soul, Strike till its tones shall thy moanings control, Bearing emotion as deep as the ocean Unto the one who is soul of my soul!--

Unto the maiden whom angels of Aidenn, Wandering over the strand of the blest, Enviously stole from the heart of my soul, Bore to thy shore and prest to thy breast.

Let not thy plashing and turbulent dashing Grate on the ear of my radiant Love; Kiss her bright tresses with fondest caresses Controlling thy rolling with love from above.

Her fair form enfold on thy bosom cold, Rowing her soft with thy Lethean oar; Whisper, oh whisper, as winds of the wold Unto the one whom they bore to thy shore.

Farewell, fair Minevr! soft over the river Unto thy rest shall the waves gently roll, Where never forever death-rivers dissever Heart from fond heart, or thy soul from my soul.

MINCE PIE.

Tell me not in great big _numbers_ Facts can never _lie_; For no fact in muddled slumbers _Lies_ so heavy as mince pie.

TEARS AND LAUGHTER.

Tears are often liveries stolen From the equipage of grief; Nor in Anger’s red eyes swollen Do they e’er disguise the thief.

Tears are often pettish, Darling, Like the foamy fretting run; Like the foam they sparkle, Darling, At the kisses of the sun.

Tears, true tears, are sad and lonely Like the ocean’s music bars; Like the music, vanish only With the cycles of the stars.

Tears are often pent-up gladness, Like the clouds that hold the bow; Like the clouds they use their sadness That their joys may better show.

Tears may often be imploring Like the waves that kiss the skies; Like the waves, for’er adoring, They reflect their loved one’s eyes.

Tears? They are but kin to laughter, Wedded as the night and day; Like the day and night, each after Each prepares the other’s way.

MIST-WING.

Oh my heart was light and airy Like the mist-wing of the fairy That I loved; And I sang with song enchanting, For the angel I was wanting Dwelt above.

And I fain had clasped the maiden In her mist-winged robes of Aidenn With my love; But my eyes were blind with gleamings, And my hands, bound fast by dreamings, Would not move.

Then my heart, with horror filling, Mid-leap froze with awful chilling Like to death; For upon her mist-wings thrilling Did a demon blow his chilling, Blasting breath.

Where my Mist-Wing fair was ferried There my hope and heart lie buried, Turned to stone; There the dreams of bygones cheery Drone a dreary, ceaseless, weary Monotone.

Where my fairy floats forever O’er the ripples of the river, Bound in sleep, There my fondest fancies follow And with haunting features hollow Vigils keep.

From a star a light is streaming In her golden tresses gleaming Fair as Hope; Fade the phantoms faster, faster, From the Morning-star, life’s vaster Horoscope.

She is waking, waking, waking, And my soul and body breaking Swift apart. Joy! my spirit soon shall hold her And forever more enfold her, Heart to heart.

THE COMMON LOT.

_Choriambic._

Sweet bird, sitting so sad singing your song there on the limb alone, Why make all the sad world sympathize with every mournful tone?

Ah yes! weep then, my dear, over the loss of the dear one you love: All hearts weep with you, dear, weep for some heart lured to the land above.

Yet not even the deep river of tears rolls from the heart the stone; No, naught save the white-robed Angel of Hope born of the soul alone.

O dove! mourning alone, croon to the moon over the one you love; O soul! Hope is thine own, throned in the white dome of thy home above!

ECHO SONG.

Echo, be not heartless, I implore you, Listen to my woe; And I’ll evermore, as now, adore you (Tho’ that augurs that I sometimes bore you) For I fain would know What’s to be done. --“Be done!”

Oh but, sir, I must beseech, entreat you That you hear me through.-- If a rare and radiant maid should meet you And with smiles and wiles and pranks should greet you, Pray, what’s one to do When one sees her? “Seize her!”

But I’m not quite well enough acquainted With her, don’t you see? Echo, when her lily face is painted (On my soul), and at my heart she’s _feinted_, And I’m blind as she, How can I seize her? “See, sir.”

But alas! the laws of Love prohibit That his subjects see; And besides, explicitly inhibit Other sight than blindness to exhibit. What then? I can ne “See,” nor “seize her.” “Cease, sir.”

But, friend Echo (for you are most truly Friend and counselor), Love’s commands must all be followed duly (Tho’ himself most blind and most unruly); Hence I can’t “see,” sir, “Cease,” nor “seize her.” “Cæsar!”

Yes, that’s what I’ve been ejaculating, But it’s idle breath. Now, if this consuming passionating Doesn’t stop its wild peregrinating It’ll be my death. Must I let it? “Let it!”

Friend should answer friend more seriously Nor play upon _grave_ words. She’s affected quite as amorously As who wakens you thus clamorously With love’s scattered sherds, Seeking surcease-- “Sir, cease!”

Nay, I _will not_ cease till satisfaction Is obtained from you. Tell me what to do in this distraction And I’ll vary from it not a fraction.-- Truth is, there are two-- Ann and Mary. “Marry!”

Tell me, Echo, O sweet Echo, tell me, Oh and truly tell What sweet thralling charm should most impel me That no other wight may quite excel me When I choose my belle For matrimony-- “Money.”

Tell me then without equivocation If you value health, Swear it by the hills, your habitation, Whence you issue like an exhalation,-- Which one has the wealth? Truly answer-- “Ann, sir.”

Thanks to thee, sweet Echo, Love’s pathfinder! We shall never part. Forthwith I will hie me forth and find her And the wealthiest jingling love-songs wind her Till I win her heart _And_ earn her _mine_.-- “_Ann!_--dern her _mine_!”

[This last he hears in after years.]

THE HAUNTED HOUSE.

Hope and Love have gone away Closing every window-blind, Locking every door behind, Bearing off the key.

Tenantless the musty house Throws on passers-by its gloom; Nor in any haunted room Dares a living mouse.

Old and mouldy there it stands All mysterious and lone With its mosses overgrown-- Ruin’s myriad hands.

Useless grow the choking weeds While the winding eglantine And the morning-glory vine Scatter wild their seeds.

Times there are when winds, hard pressed, Gibber at the ghosts within, Hollow-voiced with staring grin, Uninvited guests.

Rumor, waking night and day, Sees strange sights through window-panes, Hears weird sounds of clanking chains Sounding far away.

Rumor tells that Hope and Love Walk the ghosts of murdered selves When the midnight hour twelves: Empty rooms they rove.

But malicious town-folk say Hope and Love are not away But art hiding day by day: Murderers are they!

But alas! I would ’twere so!-- Would that Hope and Love each might, Might return e’en tho’ at night, Tho’ at morn they go!

For Despair and Hate hide there, Quiet thro’ the daytime quite, Ghosting sights and sounds by night, Demons of the air.

Counterfeiters both are they, Coining only after night, Minting metal ghostly white, Holding revelry.

Aye, ’tis haunted! Hate is wed, Wedded to his mate Despair, And they hold high revels there: Hope and Love are dead!

Good my friends, remove the pile, Ere it fall to foul decay; Hope and Love have gone away, Ruin feeds the while.

Hope and Love have gone away, Closing door and closing blind, Leaving Ruin lone behind, Bearing off the key.

SONNETS OF LIFE.

I.

A brilliant battle Darkness fought with Light, A brilliant battle all the living day; The Sun, awearied in the deadly fray, Sank vanquished ’neath his armored foeman’s might, But flung his arms far up the black’ning height, From the quiver of the planets joyously Drew forth his arrows, star-tipped, feathery, And pierced the iron-plated breast of Night With ten thousand starry-spangled blades of fire. Night, wounded by the arrows of the Sun, Poured out ten thousand streams of living blood That dripped from every fire-tipped arrow dire Down in the sorrowing sea; and the wounds each one And the arrows all lay skyed in the doming flood.

II.

Triumphant Darkness stretched his blackened height Along the ground of heaven; all bleeding lay Grim Night upon the heaving breast of Day, Exulting with a demon’s own delight. Reviving Sun again, with heaven-born might, Upflung his hands, far up the eastern gray, From the shining quiver of Divinity Drew forth his shafts, white-hot with God’s own light, And pierced the mail of Night, blood-rusting red, With countless dazzling fire-tipped darts of gold. Down into the Lethal power of Chaos dread Sank vanquished Night with all the damned dead! And ever over Darkness, ages old, Triumphant ruleth Light,--the great Godhead!

SYMBOLS IN SONNETS OF LIFE.

On submitting this poem to critics, I find that various ideas are gleaned. Some take it as a literal description of night and day, or light and darkness! Others think that it celebrates the victory of truth over error, right over wrong, virtue over vice, or possibly the triumph of learning over ignorance, or civilization over barbarism. This is not so surprising; for I confess it does, indeed, admit various interpretations. Some say that in its obscurity, though in nothing else, it somewhat resembles the work of some great poet. The only consolation that I can squeeze out of all these various opinions is that obscurity and occultness synchronously attend upon and are concomitant with both iconographic delineations and symbolical phraseology. ’Tis _said_ ’tis so,--and so ’tis sad!

“Sing a song o’ six-pence, pocket full of rye, four and twenty black-birds baked in a pie,” etc., is comparatively meaningless, tho’ pleasing, unless we know what is symbolized. The “pie” is the _day_, the “four and twenty black-birds” are the twenty-four _hours_ of the _day_, etc., etc. The symbols thus completed give a new beauty to that old jingle. In fact, it was that identical jingle with its symbols that suggested _Sonnets of Life_.

As the title and staring Carlylean capitals throughout suggest, I intended this poem to be a sort of _Analogue of Life_. In consequence of all the foregoing, and for the delectation of those who care to read the piece a second time, I have subjoined these

_Symbols and Notes._

I.

_Darkness_,--death. _Light_,--life (on earth). _day_,--one’s duration of life. _Sun_,--one’s life. _black’ning height_,--hour of death. _quiver of the planets_,--thoughts, desires, longings, hopes. _arrows_,--faith in the future. _iron-plated breast of Night_,--gloom of one’s death. _streams of living blood_,--hope others receive from the Christian’s death. _dire_,--i. e., _dire_ only to Darkness. _sorrowing sea_,--sorrowing friends. _skyed in the doming flood_,--acts, deeds, words, hopes, etc., of the dead, reflected in humanity and especially in the hearts of friends.

II.

_Reviving Sun_,--soul, on morning of resurrection. _eastern gray_,--dawning of the morning of the resurrection day. _mail of Night_,--sleep of death. _Last sonnet_ closes all life on earth, triumphs over death, and brings the resurrection day. _Last two lines_ begin and indefinitely extend the Life Eternal.

This may aid somewhat. Too close an interpretation cannot be permitted in any poem: ’twould make some of the most exquisite poetic thought of literature ridiculous and nonsensical. The true poetic nature never needs more in the interpretation of any poem than the title and the naked poem itself to _suggest_ thoughts and images infinitely more beautiful than explanation can possibly make them.

A MODERN TRAGEDY AVERTED.

HE (_in despondency_).

Heartless! heartless! Oh, I know! Tho’ your heart forget me And my own be turned to stone; Tho’ no day may let me Claim my loved one as my own, Still my heart is true To you, Still is true, Still is true!

SHE (_faithfully_).

Heartless?--heartless!--So? Ah no! Tho’ long years divide us With the burdened stream of care; Tho’ the waves deride us With a still unanswered prayer, Still my heart is true To you, Still is true, Still is true.

HE (_joyously_).

Then not heartless?! No! No, no! If I’ve wronged you, Dearest, ’Tis because I’m mad for love; ’Tis that you are nearest When my thoughts in madness move. Still my heart is true To you, Still is true, Still is true.

SHE (_flippantly_).

Then not heartless? No! Not so! Tho’ you gave the treasure Of your very life to me, I thus at my pleasure Give it back to you, you see!-- Still my heart is true To you, Still is true, Still is true.

HE (_bitterly and sadly_).

Heartless! heartless! Oh ’Tis so! All the world is dreary: Stars and love have ceased to shine; Oh the weary, weary Night that endlessly is mine!-- Still my heart is true To you, Still is true, Still is true.

SHE (_tauntingly_).

Ha! I’m heartless, tho’? No, no! I was only funning And I didn’t mean it once;-- Never thought of running Into love, you great big dunce.-- ’Course, my heart is true To you, Still is true, Still is true!

HE (_in despair_).

Heartless! heartless! Flow, My woe! Oh this life is bitter!-- Poison, river, rope, or gun-- Any death is fitter Than two hearts thus dead in one.-- Still my heart is true To you, Still is true, Still is true.

_She_ (_in fear, imploringly_).

No! not heartless! No! No, no! I am true as ever;-- Oh _don’t_ take your precious life And I’ll be forever Your own darling little wife.-- Still my heart is true To you, Still is true, Still is true.

THE HUMAN HEART.

_Birth._

Laughter is music and music is kin to laughter: The heart has forgotten its tears; For life is but death, and Death is the Life hereafter-- God is revolving the years.

_Joy on Account of Birth._

With a rose-bud goblet the Morning stands glowing and burning, Sipping the heart’s night dew; Through dream-laded lashes the flashes of joy are returning-- God is letting them through.

_Sorrow on Account of Death._

With a Spade all golden the Night of Sorrow is digging Deep in the heart’s confines: A Dream drifts out with a sable shroud and rigging-- God is working the mines!

_Soul Passes Beyond._

In the hands of the angels the cymballine stars are clinking A wealth of music untold: For the Rising of Life, as the sun, must follow its sinking-- God has coined His gold!

_L’Envoy._

Oh, laughter is music, and both are akin to sorrow,-- The heart holds the songs of the spheres; For life is but death, and Death is the Life to-morrow-- God is speeding the years.

THE NIGHTMARE.

In the depths of my ink bottle, With a fiery gleaming throttle Stood a fierce and ghoulish demon all the day; And the murky ink was lighted With a fiendish fire that blighted Every sprite of good that on its bosom lay.

And my pen, from Love’s own quiver, Wrought of gold, began to shiver With a fearful quaking terror born of death As I touched the hellish-lighted Surface of the Ink that frighted Pluto’s self and stole Persephone’s sweet breath.

Hour after fearful hour Stood that blasting, fiendish power In whose grasp my golden pen was ground to dust. Oh, the wasting, endless season Chilling heart and killing reason As the gloating demon glutted full his lust!

“Golden Pen that Love had given, Wrought of gold from my heart riven, Thus my palsied, broken heart must bury thee In the fiendish ink, made blacker By the demon’s fiery lacquer On the surface of its dark uncertainty.”

Then a shadow came before me And a loathing sickness o’er me As the demon sank below and out of sight; For I saw a stream of gold That the demon could not hold To the bottom of the darkness drip its light.

Then I knew that never, never Would Love’s gold-illumined quiver Bind again the shaft the demon could not hold; For I saw a radiance shining ’Round the place, and angels twining Strange and all-eternal Beauty of the gold!

Darkness reigned then, deep, unlighted, Silence sitting near, half-frighted By the demon’s disappointed distant wail And far-off mingled angel voices Tuned to music that rejoices In the glory of a love that cannot fail.

* * * * *

Morning?--Thank God that all our seeing And our seeming is not being! Dear wife, let your warm cheek still against mine lie While your loving arms and kisses Doubly tell what loving bliss is.-- Warning:--Before you go to bed, don’t eat mince pie!

“FALSE WOMANKIND!”

ON READING A SLUR THAT WAS MADE ON HER BY THE LACK-LOVE GAY, OF QUEEN ANNE’S DAY.

“False womankind, false womankind!” Thus wails and rails a many a blind And foolish heart, too long confined Where light and love have never shined. E’en sweetest Shakespeare’s pen, embrined With biting bitterness of mind, “As false as woman’s love,” has whined. --Unkind the cut, the heart unkind.

“False womankind, false womankind!”-- I hurl the lie back from my mind To those who thus a wreath have twined Of roseless thorns to crown and bind A sister’s crown, or mother’s kind And sainted brow;--or twine and wind It, thorns and all, round heart and mind Of sweetheart-wife in love enshrined.

False, false the charge and false the mind That ever says “False womankind!” For the pæan ages wind Unto me this truth they find In the heart of humankind, In the human heart enshrined:-- “None so false and none so blind As whose loveless pens have lined

“What the heart has undermined, ‘False womankind, false womankind!’ None so true as _her_ we find: None so pure of heart and mind, None so sweet and so refined, None so great and good and kind, None so in the heart enshrined As womankind, as womankind!”

LONELY!

TO ---- (LONG AGO DEAD.)

I am lonelier, lonelier, Dear, to-day Than ever I’ve been before: And the restless old ocean, foam-fretted alway, Moans only of days of yore.

But somehow my heart is so sad in life’s whirl, And my life is so shut in its shell, Tho’ it heal every wound o’er with purest of pearl Of naught but the sea will it tell.

Oh, lonely and lorn as the bittern’s boom, I haunt every solitude known, Only to find from the wide world’s room A nameless something has flown.

I know not the reason, and fear nor I care; I only know I am lonelier, Dear, As over the well-wonted moorland I fare, Than ever the death-wept tear.

How lonely, Dear! how long the time!-- But I’ll bear it, I’ll bear it for thee, That at last I may join in the glad-voiced chime Far out on the crystal sea.

I’SE SEEN A LIGHT IN DE SKY.

(A PLANTATION MELODY.)