Chapter 2

# To be given very harshly, with a snapping explosiveness. # Listen to the iron-horns, ripping, racking. Listen to the quack-horns, slack and clacking. Way down the road, trilling like a toad, Here comes the _dice_-horn, here comes the _vice_-horn, Here comes the _snarl_-horn, _brawl_-horn, _lewd_-horn, Followed by the _prude_-horn, bleak and squeaking:-- (Some of them from Kansas, some of them from Kansas.) Here comes the _hod_-horn, _plod_-horn, _sod_-horn, Nevermore-to-_roam_-horn, _loam_-horn, _home_-horn. (Some of them from Kansas, some of them from Kansas.) # To be read or sung, well-nigh in a whisper. # Far away the Rachel-Jane Not defeated by the horns Sings amid a hedge of thorns:-- "Love and life, Eternal youth-- Sweet, sweet, sweet, sweet, Dew and glory, Love and truth, Sweet, sweet, sweet, sweet." # Louder and louder, faster and faster. # WHILE SMOKE-BLACK FREIGHTS ON THE DOUBLE-TRACKED RAILROAD, DRIVEN AS THOUGH BY THE FOUL-FIEND'S OX-GOAD, SCREAMING TO THE WEST COAST, SCREAMING TO THE EAST, CARRY OFF A HARVEST, BRING BACK A FEAST, HARVESTING MACHINERY AND HARNESS FOR THE BEAST. THE HAND-CARS WHIZ, AND RATTLE ON THE RAILS, THE SUNLIGHT FLASHES ON THE TIN DINNER-PAILS. # In a rolling bass, with increasing deliberation. # And then, in an instant, Ye modern men, Behold the procession once again, # With a snapping explosiveness. # Listen to the iron-horns, ripping, racking, Listen to the _wise_-horn, desperate-to-_advise_-horn, Listen to the _fast_-horn, _kill_-horn, _blast_-horn.... # To be sung or read well-nigh in a whisper. # Far away the Rachel-Jane Not defeated by the horns Sings amid a hedge of thorns:-- Love and life, Eternal youth, Sweet, sweet, sweet, sweet, Dew and glory, Love and truth. Sweet, sweet, sweet, sweet. # To be brawled in the beginning with a snapping explosiveness, ending in a languorous chant. # The mufflers open on a score of cars With wonderful thunder, CRACK, CRACK, CRACK, CRACK-CRACK, CRACK-CRACK, CRACK-CRACK-CRACK,... Listen to the gold-horn... Old-horn... Cold-horn... And all of the tunes, till the night comes down On hay-stack, and ant-hill, and wind-bitten town. # To be sung to exactly the same whispered tune as the first five lines. # Then far in the west, as in the beginning, Dim in the distance, sweet in retreating, Hark to the faint-horn, quaint-horn, saint-horn, Hark to the calm-horn, balm-horn, psalm-horn....

# This section beginning sonorously, ending in a languorous whisper. # They are hunting the goals that they understand:-- San Francisco and the brown sea-sand. My goal is the mystery the beggars win. I am caught in the web the night-winds spin. The edge of the wheat-ridge speaks to me. I talk with the leaves of the mulberry tree. And now I hear, as I sit all alone In the dusk, by another big Santa Fe stone, The souls of the tall corn gathering round And the gay little souls of the grass in the ground. Listen to the tale the cotton-wood tells. Listen to the wind-mills, singing o'er the wells. Listen to the whistling flutes without price Of myriad prophets out of paradise. Harken to the wonder That the night-air carries.... Listen... to... the... whisper... Of... the... prairie... fairies Singing o'er the fairy plain:-- # To the same whispered tune as the Rachel-Jane song-- but very slowly. # "Sweet, sweet, sweet, sweet. Love and glory, Stars and rain, Sweet, sweet, sweet, sweet...."

The Firemen's Ball

Section One

"Give the engines room, Give the engines room." Louder, faster The little band-master Whips up the fluting, Hurries up the tooting. He thinks that he stands, # To be read, or chanted, with the heavy buzzing bass of fire-engines pumping. # The reins in his hands, In the fire-chief's place In the night alarm chase. The cymbals whang, The kettledrums bang:-- # In this passage the reading or chanting is shriller and higher. # "Clear the street, Clear the street, Clear the street--Boom, boom. In the evening gloom, In the evening gloom, Give the engines room, Give the engines room, Lest souls be trapped In a terrible tomb." The sparks and the pine-brands Whirl on high From the black and reeking alleys To the wide red sky. Hear the hot glass crashing, Hear the stone steps hissing. Coal black streams Down the gutters pour. There are cries for help From a far fifth floor. For a longer ladder Hear the fire-chief call. Listen to the music Of the firemen's ball. Listen to the music Of the firemen's ball. # To be read or chanted in a heavy bass. # "'Tis the NIGHT Of doom," Say the ding-dong doom-bells. "NIGHT Of doom," Say the ding-dong doom-bells. Faster, faster The red flames come. "Hum grum," say the engines, "Hum grum grum." # Shriller and higher. # "Buzz, buzz," Says the crowd. "See, see," Calls the crowd. "Look out," Yelps the crowd And the high walls fall:-- Listen to the music Of the firemen's ball. Listen to the music Of the firemen's ball. # Heavy bass. # "'Tis the NIGHT Of doom," Say the ding-dong doom-bells. "NIGHT Of doom," Say the ding-dong doom-bells. Whangaranga, whangaranga, Whang, whang, whang, Clang, clang, clangaranga, # Bass, much slower. # Clang, clang, clang. Clang--a--ranga-- Clang--a--ranga-- Clang, Clang, Clang. Listen--to--the--music-- Of the firemen's ball--

Section Two

"Many's the heart that's breaking If we could read them all After the ball is over." (An old song.)

# To be read or sung slowly and softly, in the manner of lustful, insinuating music. # Scornfully, gaily The bandmaster sways, Changing the strain That the wild band plays. With a red and royal intoxication, A tangle of sounds And a syncopation, Sweeping and bending From side to side, Master of dreams, With a peacock pride. A lord of the delicate flowers of delight He drives compunction Back through the night. Dreams he's a soldier Plumed and spurred, And valiant lads Arise at his word, Flaying the sober Thoughts he hates, Driving them back From the dream-town gates. How can the languorous Dancers know The red dreams come # To be read or chanted slowly and softly in the manner of lustful insinuating music. # When the good dreams go? "'Tis the NIGHT Of love," Call the silver joy-bells, "NIGHT Of love," Call the silver joy-bells. "Honey and wine, Honey and wine. Sing low, now, violins, Sing, sing low, Blow gently, wood-wind, Mellow and slow. Like midnight poppies The sweethearts bloom. Their eyes flash power, Their lips are dumb. Faster and faster Their pulses come, Though softer now The drum-beats fall. Honey and wine, Honey and wine. 'Tis the firemen's ball, 'Tis the firemen's ball.

# With a climax of whispered mourning. # "I am slain," Cries true-love There in the shadow. "And I die," Cries true-love, There laid low. "When the fire-dreams come, The wise dreams go." # Suddenly interrupting. To be read or sung in a heavy bass. First eight lines as harsh as possible. Then gradually musical and sonorous. # BUT HIS CRY IS DROWNED BY THE PROUD BAND-MASTER. And now great gongs whang, Sharper, faster, And kettledrums rattle And hide the shame With a swish and a swirk In dead love's name. Red and crimson And scarlet and rose Magical poppies The sweethearts bloom. The scarlet stays When the rose-flush goes, And love lies low In a marble tomb. "'Tis the NIGHT Of doom," Call the ding-dong doom-bells. "NIGHT Of Doom," Call the ding-dong doom-bells. # Sharply interrupting in a very high key. # Hark how the piccolos still make cheer. "'Tis a moonlight night in the spring of the year." # Heavy bass. # CLANGARANGA, CLANGARANGA, CLANG... CLANG... CLANG. CLANG... A... RANGA... CLANG... A... RANGA... CLANG... CLANG... CLANG... LISTEN... TO... THE... MUSIC... OF... THE... FIREMEN'S BALL... LISTEN... TO... THE... MUSIC... OF... THE... FIREMEN'S... BALL....

Section Three

In Which, contrary to Artistic Custom, the moral of the piece is placed before the reader.

(From the first Khandaka of the Mahavagga: "There Buddha thus addressed his disciples: 'Everything, O mendicants, is burning. With what fire is it burning? I declare unto you it is burning with the fire of passion, with the fire of anger, with the fire of ignorance. It is burning with the anxieties of birth, decay and death, grief, lamentation, suffering and despair.... A disciple,... becoming weary of all that, divests himself of passion. By absence of passion, he is made free.'")

# To be intoned after the manner of a priestly service. # I once knew a teacher, Who turned from desire, Who said to the young men "Wine is a fire." Who said to the merchants:-- "Gold is a flame That sears and tortures If you play at the game." I once knew a teacher Who turned from desire Who said to the soldiers, "Hate is a fire." Who said to the statesmen:-- "Power is a flame That flays and blisters If you play at the game." I once knew a teacher Who turned from desire, Who said to the lordly,

"Pride is a fire." Who thus warned the revellers:-- "Life is a flame. Be cold as the dew Would you win at the game With hearts like the stars, With hearts like the stars." # Interrupting very loudly for the last time. # SO BEWARE, SO BEWARE, SO BEWARE OF THE FIRE. Clear the streets, BOOM, BOOM, Clear the streets, BOOM, BOOM, GIVE THE ENGINES ROOM, GIVE THE ENGINES ROOM, LEST SOULS BE TRAPPED IN A TERRIBLE TOMB. SAYS THE SWIFT WHITE HORSE TO THE SWIFT BLACK HORSE:-- "THERE GOES THE ALARM, THERE GOES THE ALARM. THEY ARE HITCHED, THEY ARE OFF, THEY ARE GONE IN A FLASH, AND THEY STRAIN AT THE DRIVER'S IRON ARM." CLANG... A... RANGA.... CLANG... A... RANGA.... CLANG... CLANG... CLANG.... CLANG... A... RANGA.... CLANG... A... RANGA.... CLANG... CLANG... CLANG.... CLANG... A... RANGA.... CLANG... A... RANGA.... CLANG... CLANG... _CLANG_....

The Master of the Dance

A chant to which it is intended a group of children shall dance and improvise pantomime led by their dancing-teacher.

I

A master deep-eyed Ere his manhood was ripe, He sang like a thrush, He could play any pipe. So dull in the school That he scarcely could spell, He read but a bit, And he figured not well. A bare-footed fool, Shod only with grace; Long hair streaming down Round a wind-hardened face; He smiled like a girl, Or like clear winter skies, A virginal light Making stars of his eyes. In swiftness and poise, A proud child of the deer, A white fawn he was, Yet a fawn without fear. No youth thought him vain, Or made mock of his hair, Or laughed when his ways Were most curiously fair. A mastiff at fight, He could strike to the earth The envious one Who would challenge his worth. However we bowed To the schoolmaster mild, Our spirits went out To the fawn-footed child. His beckoning led Our troop to the brush. We found nothing there But a wind and a hush. He sat by a stone And he looked on the ground, As if in the weeds There was something profound. His pipe seemed to neigh, Then to bleat like a sheep, Then sound like a stream Or a waterfall deep. It whispered strange tales, Human words it spoke not. Told fair things to come, And our marvellous lot If now with fawn-steps Unshod we advanced To the midst of the grove And in reverence danced. We obeyed as he piped Soft grass to young feet, Was a medicine mighty, A remedy meet. Our thin blood awoke, It grew dizzy and wild, Though scarcely a word Moved the lips of a child. Our dance gave allegiance, It set us apart, We tripped a strange measure, Uplifted of heart.

II

We thought to be proud Of our fawn everywhere. We could hardly see how Simple books were a care. No rule of the school This strange student could tame. He was banished one day, While we quivered with shame. He piped back our love On a moon-silvered night, Enticed us once more To the place of delight. A greeting he sang And it made our blood beat, It tramped upon custom And mocked at defeat. He builded a fire And we tripped in a ring, The embers our books And the fawn our good king. And now we approached All the mysteries rare That shadowed his eyelids And blew through his hair. That spell now was peace The deep strength of the trees, The children of nature We clambered her knees. Our breath and our moods Were in tune with her own, Tremendous her presence, Eternal her throne. The ostracized child Our white foreheads kissed, Our bodies and souls Became lighter than mist. Sweet dresses like snow Our small lady-loves wore, Like moonlight the thoughts That our bosoms upbore. Like a lily the touch Of each cold little hand. The loves of the stars We could now understand. O quivering air! O the crystalline night! O pauses of awe And the faces swan-white! O ferns in the dusk! O forest-shrined hour! O earth that sent upward The thrill and the power, To lift us like leaves, A delirious whirl, The masterful boy And the delicate girl! What child that strange night-time Can ever forget? His fealty due And his infinite debt To the folly divine, To the exquisite rule Of the perilous master, The fawn-footed fool?

III

Now soldiers we seem, And night brings a new thing, A terrible ire, As of thunder awing. A warrior power, That old chivalry stirred, When knights took up arms, As the maidens gave word. THE END OF OUR WAR, WILL BE GLORY UNTOLD. WHEN THE TOWN LIKE A GREAT BUDDING ROSE SHALL UNFOLD! _Near, nearer that war, And that ecstasy comes, We hear the trees beating Invisible drums. The fields of the night Are starlit above, Our girls are white torches Of conquest and love. No nerve without will, And no breast without breath, We whirl with the planets That never know death!_

The Mysterious Cat

A chant for a children's pantomime dance, suggested by a picture painted by George Mather Richards.

I saw a proud, mysterious cat, I saw a proud, mysterious cat Too proud to catch a mouse or rat-- Mew, mew, mew.

But catnip she would eat, and purr, But catnip she would eat, and purr. And goldfish she did much prefer-- Mew, mew, mew.

I saw a cat--'twas but a dream, I saw a cat--'twas but a dream Who scorned the slave that brought her cream-- Mew, mew, mew.

Unless the slave were dressed in style, Unless the slave were dressed in style And knelt before her all the while-- Mew, mew, mew.

Did you ever hear of a thing like that? Did you ever hear of a thing like that? Did you ever hear of a thing like that? Oh, what a proud mysterious cat. Oh, what a proud mysterious cat. Oh, what a proud mysterious cat. Mew... mew... mew.

A Dirge for a Righteous Kitten

To be intoned, all but the two italicized lines, which are to be spoken in a snappy, matter-of-fact way.

Ding-dong, ding-dong, ding-dong. Here lies a kitten good, who kept A kitten's proper place. He stole no pantry eatables, Nor scratched the baby's face. _He let the alley-cats alone_. He had no yowling vice. His shirt was always laundried well, He freed the house of mice. Until his death he had not caused His little mistress tears, He wore his ribbon prettily, _He washed behind his ears_. Ding-dong, ding-dong, ding-dong.

Yankee Doodle

This poem is intended as a description of a sort of Blashfield mural painting on the sky. To be sung to the tune of Yankee Doodle, yet in a slower, more orotund fashion. It is presumably an exercise for an entertainment on the evening of Washington's Birthday.

Dawn this morning burned all red Watching them in wonder. There I saw our spangled flag Divide the clouds asunder. Then there followed Washington. Ah, he rode from glory, Cold and mighty as his name And stern as Freedom's story. Unsubdued by burning dawn Led his continentals. Vast they were, and strange to see In gray old regimentals:-- Marching still with bleeding feet, Bleeding feet and jesting-- Marching from the judgment throne With energy unresting. How their merry quickstep played-- Silver, sharp, sonorous, Piercing through with prophecy The demons' rumbling chorus-- Behold the ancient powers of sin And slavery before them!-- Sworn to stop the glorious dawn, The pit-black clouds hung o'er them. Plagues that rose to blast the day Fiend and tiger faces, Monsters plotting bloodshed for The patient toiling races. Round the dawn their cannon raged, Hurling bolts of thunder, Yet before our spangled flag Their host was cut asunder. Like a mist they fled away.... Ended wrath and roaring. Still our restless soldier-host From East to West went pouring.

High beside the sun of noon They bore our banner splendid. All its days of stain and shame And heaviness were ended. Men were swelling now the throng From great and lowly station-- Valiant citizens to-day Of every tribe and nation. Not till night their rear-guard came, Down the west went marching, And left behind the sunset-rays In beauty overarching. War-god banners lead us still, Rob, enslave and harry Let us rather choose to-day The flag the angels carry-- Flag we love, but brighter far-- Soul of it made splendid: Let its days of stain and shame And heaviness be ended. Let its fifes fill all the sky, Redeemed souls marching after, Hills and mountains shake with song, While seas roll on in laughter.

The Black Hawk War of the Artists

Written for Lorado Taft's Statue of Black Hawk at Oregon, Illinois

To be given in the manner of the Indian Oration and the Indian War-Cry.

Hawk of the Rocks, Yours is our cause to-day. Watching your foes Here in our war array, Young men we stand, Wolves of the West at bay. _Power, power for war Comes from these trees divine; Power from the boughs, Boughs where the dew-beads shine, Power from the cones-- Yea, from the breath of the pine!_

Power to restore All that the white hand mars. See the dead east Crushed with the iron cars-- Chimneys black Blinding the sun and stars!

Hawk of the pines, Hawk of the plain-winds fleet, You shall be king There in the iron street, Factory and forge Trodden beneath your feet.

There will proud trees Grow as they grow by streams. There will proud thoughts Walk as in warrior dreams. There will proud deeds Bloom as when battle gleams!

Warriors of Art, We will hold council there, Hewing in stone Things to the trapper fair, Painting the gray Veils that the spring moons wear, This our revenge, This one tremendous change: Making new towns, Lit with a star-fire strange, Wild as the dawn Gilding the bison-range.

All the young men Chanting your cause that day, Red-men, new-made Out of the Saxon clay, Strong and redeemed, Bold in your war-array!

The Jingo and the Minstrel

An Argument for the Maintenance of Peace and Goodwill with the Japanese People

Glossary for the uninstructed and the hasty: Jimmu Tenno, ancestor of all the Japanese Emperors; Nikko, Japan's loveliest shrine; Iyeyasu, her greatest statesman; Bushido, her code of knighthood; The Forty-seven Ronins, her classic heroes; Nogi, her latest hero; Fuji, her most beautiful mountain.

# The minstrel speaks. # "Now do you know of Avalon That sailors call Japan? She holds as rare a chivalry As ever bled for man. King Arthur sleeps at Nikko hill Where Iyeyasu lies, And there the broad Pendragon flag In deathless splendor flies."

# The jingo answers. # _"Nay, minstrel, but the great ships come From out the sunset sea. We cannot greet the souls they bring With welcome high and free. How can the Nippon nondescripts That weird and dreadful band Be aught but what we find them here:-- The blasters of the land?"_

# The minstrel replies. # "First race, first men from anywhere To face you, eye to eye. For _that_ do you curse Avalon And raise a hue and cry? These toilers cannot kiss your hand, Or fawn with hearts bowed down. Be glad for them, and Avalon, And Arthur's ghostly crown.

"No doubt your guests, with sage debate In grave things gentlemen Will let your trade and farms alone And turn them back again. But why should brawling braggarts rise With hasty words of shame To drive them back like dogs and swine Who in due honor came?"

# The jingo answers. # _"We cannot give them honor, sir. We give them scorn for scorn. And Rumor steals around the world All white-skinned men to warn Against this sleek silk-merchant here And viler coolie-man And wrath within the courts of war Brews on against Japan!"_

# The minstrel replies. # "Must Avalon, with hope forlorn, Her back against the wall, Have lived her brilliant life in vain While ruder tribes take all? Must Arthur stand with Asian Celts, A ghost with spear and crown, Behind the great Pendragon flag And be again cut down?

"Tho Europe's self shall move against High Jimmu Tenno's throne The Forty-seven Ronin Men Will not be found alone. For Percival and Bedivere And Nogi side by side Will stand,--with mourning Merlin there, Tho all go down in pride.

"But has the world the envious dream-- Ah, such things cannot be,-- To tear their fairy-land like silk And toss it in the sea? Must venom rob the future day The ultimate world-man Of rare Bushido, code of codes, The fair heart of Japan?

"Go, be the guest of Avalon. Believe me, it lies there Behind the mighty gray sea-wall Where heathen bend in prayer: Where peasants lift adoring eyes To Fuji's crown of snow. King Arthur's knights will be your hosts, So cleanse your heart, and go.