Chapter 4
Success allures us in the earth and skies: We seek to win her, but, too amorous, Mocking, she flees us.--Haply, were we wise, We would not strive and she would come to us.
SCIENCE.
Miranda-like, above the world she waves The wand of Prospero; and, beautiful, Ariel the airy, Caliban the dull,-- Lightning and steam,--are her unwilling slaves.
ECHO.
Dweller in hollow places, hills and rocks, Daughter of Silence and old Solitude, Tip-toe she stands within her cave or wood, Her only life the noises that she mocks.
THE UNIVERSAL WIND.
Wild son of Heav'n, with laughter and alarm, Now East, now West, now North, now South he goes, Bearing in one harsh hand dark death and storm, And in the other, sunshine and a rose.
COMPENSATION.
Yea, whom He loves the Lord God chasteneth With disappointments, so that this side death, Through suffering and failure, they know Hell To make them worthy in that Heaven to dwell Of Love's attainment, where they come to be Parts of its beauty and divinity.
POPPIES.
Summer met Sleep at sunset, Dreaming within the south,-- Drugged with his soul's deep slumber, Red with her heart's hot drouth, These are the drowsy kisses She pressed upon his mouth.
HER EYES AND MOUTH.
There is no Paradise like that which lies Deep in the heavens of her azure eyes: There is no Eden here on Earth that glows Like that which smiles rich in her mouth's red rose.
HER SOUL.
To me not only does her soul suggest Palms and the peace of tropic shore and wood, But, oceaned far beyond the golden West, The Fortunate Islands of true Womanhood.
HER FACE.
The gladness of our Southern spring; the grace Of summer; and the dreaminess of fall Are parts of her sweet nature.--Such a face Was Ruth's, methinks, divinely spiritual.
AT THE SIGN OF THE SKULL.
_It's "Gallop and go!" and "Slow, now, slow!" With every man in this life below-- But the things of this world are a fleeting show._
The postchaise Time that all must take Is old with clay and dust; Two horses strain its rusty brake Named Pleasure and Disgust.
Our baggage totters on its roof, Of Vanity and Care, As Hope, the postboy, spurs each hoof, Or heavy-eyed Despair.
And now a comrade with us rides, Love, haply, or Remorse; And that dim traveler besides, Gaunt Memory on a horse.
And be we king or be we kern Who ride the roads of Sin, No matter how the roads may turn They lead us to that Inn.
Unto that Inn within that land Of silence and of gloom, Whose ghastly landlord takes our hand And leads us to our room.
_It's "Gallop and go!" and "Slow, now, slow!" With every man in this life below-- But the things of this world are a fleeting show._
A CAVALIER'S TOAST.
I.
Some drink to Friendship, some to Love,-- Through whom the world is fair, perdie!-- But I to one these others prove, Who leaps 'mid lions for a glove, Or dies to set another free-- I drink to Loyalty.
II.
No dagger his, no cloak and mask, Free-faced he stands so all may see; Let Friendship set him any task, Or Love--reward he does not ask, The deed is done whate'er it be-- So here's to Loyalty.
SLEEP IS A SPIRIT.
Sleep is a spirit, who beside us sits, Or through our frames like some dim glamour flits; From out her form a pearly light is shed, As from a lily, in a lily-bed, A firefly's gleam. Her face is pale as stone, And languid as a cloud that drifts alone In starry heav'n. And her diaphanous feet Are easy as the dew or opaline heat Of summer.
Lo! with ears--aurora pink As Dawn's--she leans and listens on the brink Of being, dark with dreadfulness and doubt, Wherein vague lights and shadows move about, And palpitations beat--like some huge heart Of Earth--the surging pulse of which we're part. One hand, that hollows her divining eyes, Glows like the curved moon over twilight skies; And with her gaze she fathoms life and death-- Gulfs, where man's conscience, like a restless breath Of wind, goes wand'ring; whispering low of things, The irremediable, where sorrow clings. Around her limbs a veil of woven mist Wavers, and turns from fibered amethyst To textured crystal; through which symboled bars Of silver burn, and cabalistic stars Of nebulous gold.
Shrouding her feet and hair, Within this woof, fantastic, everywhere, Dreams come and go; the instant images Of things she sees and thinks; realities, Shadows, with which her heart and fancy swarm That in the veil take momentary form: Now picturing heaven in celestial fire, And now the hell of every soul's desire; Hinting at worlds, God wraps in mystery, Beyond the world we know and touch and see.
KENNST DU DAS LAND.
FROM THE GERMAN OF GOETHE.
Know'st thou the land where the lemon-tree flowers; The orange glows gold in the darkness of bowers, Out of blue heaven a softer zephyr blows, And still the myrtle, tall the laurel grows? Know'st it indeed? Thither, ah, me! ah, me! Would I with thee, O my belovéd, flee.
Know'st thou the house? Columns support its beams, Its long hall glitters and its gallery gleams; And sculpture glows and asks, in marble mild, "What have they done to thee, thou poor, poor child?" Know'st it indeed? Thither, ah, me! ah, me! Would I with thee, O my protector, flee.
Know'st thou the mountain and its cloud-built bridge? In mist the mule treads cautiously its ridge; The dragon's ancient brood still haunts its caves; Down the loud crag the plunging torrent raves. Know'st it indeed? Thither, ah, me! ah, me! Our pathway leads! O father, let us flee!
AT MIDNIGHT.
At midnight in the trysting wood I wandered by the waterside, When, soft as mist, before me stood My sweetheart who had died.
But so unchanged was she, meseemed That I had only dreamed her dead; Glad in her eyes the love-light gleamed; Her lips were warm and red.
What though the stars shone shadowy through Her form as by my side she went, And by her feet no drop of dew Was stirred, no blade was bent!
What though through her white loveliness The wildflower dimmed, the moonlight paled, Real to my touch she was; no less Than when the earth prevailed.
She took my hand. My heart beat wild. She kissed my mouth. I bowed my head. Then gazing in my eyes, she smiled: "When did'st thou die?" she said.
THE MAN IN GRAY.
_Written for the Reunion of the Confederate Veterans at Louisville, Ky., May and June, 1900._
I.
Again, in dreams, the veteran hears The bugle and the drum; Again the boom of battle nears, Again the bullets hum: Again he mounts, again he cheers, Again his charge speeds home-- O memories of those long gone years! O years that are to come!
We live in dreams as well as deeds, in thoughts as well as acts; And life through things we feel, not know, is realized the most; The conquered are the conquerors, despite the face of facts, If they still feel their cause was just who fought for it and lost.
II.
Again, in thought, he hears at dawn The far reveille die; Again he marches stern and wan Beneath a burning sky: He bivouacs; the night comes on; His comrades 'round him lie-- O memories of the years long gone! O years that now go by!
The vintager of Earth is War, is War whose grapes are men; Into his wine-vats armies go, his wine-vats steaming red: The crimson vats of battle where he stalks, as in a den, Drunk with the must of Hell that spurts beneath his iron tread.
III.
Again, in mind, he's lying where The trenches slay with heat; Again his flag floats o'er him, fair In charge or fierce retreat: Again all's lost; again despair Makes death seem three times sweet-- O years of tears that crowned his hair With laurels of defeat!
There is reward for those who dare, for those who dare and do: Who face the dark inevitable, who fall and know no shame; Upon their banner triumph sits and in the horn they blew,-- Naught's lost if honor be not lost, defeat is but a name.
HALLOWE'EN.
It was down in the woodland on last Hallowe'en, Where silence and darkness had built them a lair, That I felt the dim presence of her, the unseen, And heard her still step on the ghost-haunted air.
It was last Hallowe'en in the glimmer and swoon Of mist and of moonlight that thickened and thinned, That I saw the gray gleam of her eyes in the moon, And hair, like a raven, blown wild in the wind.
It was last Hallowe'en where starlight and dew Made mystical marriage on flower and leaf, That she led me with looks of a love that I knew, And lured with the voice of a heart-buried grief.
It was last Hallowe'en in the forest of dreams, Where trees are eidolons and shadows have eyes, That I saw her pale face like the foam of far streams, And heard, like the leaf-lisp, her tears and her sighs.
It was last Hallowe'en, the haunted, the dread, In the wind-tattered wood by the storm-twisted pine, That I, who am living, kept tryst with the dead, And clasped her a moment and dreamed she was mine.
THE IMAGE IN THE GLASS.
I.
The slow reflection of a woman's face Grew, as by witchcraft, in the oval space Of that strange glass on which the moon looked in:-- As cruel as death beneath the auburn hair The dark eyes burned; and, o'er the faultless chin,-- Evil as night yet as the daybreak fair,-- Rose-red and sensual smiled the mouth of sin.
II.
The glorious throat and shoulders and, twin crests Of snow, the splendid beauty of the breasts, Filled soul and body with the old desire.-- Daughter of darkness! how could this thing be? You, whom I loathed! for whom my heart's fierce fire Had burnt to ashes of satiety! You, who had sunk my soul in all that's dire!
III.
How came your image there? and in that room! Where she, the all adored, my life's sweet bloom, Died poisoned! She, my scarcely one week's bride-- Yea, poisoned by a gift you sent to her, Thinking her death would win me to your side. And so it did! but ... well, it made some stir-- By your own hand, I think, they said you died.
IV.
Time passed. And then--was it the curse of crime, That night of nights, which forced my feet to climb To that locked bridal-room?--'Twas midnight when A longing, like to madness, mastered me, Compelled me to that chamber, which for ten Sad years was sealed; a dark necessity To gaze upon--I knew not what again.
V.
Love's ghost, perhaps. Or, in the curvature Of that strange mirror, something that might cure The ache in me--some message, said perchance Of her dead loveliness, which once it glassed, That might repeat again my lost romance In momentary pictures of the past, While in its depths her image swam in trance.
VI.
I did not dream to see the soulless eyes Of you I hated; nor the lips where lies And kisses curled; your features,--that were tuned To all demonic,--smiling up as might Some deep damnation! while.... my God! I swooned!... Oozed slowly out, between the breast's dead white, The ghastly red of that wide dagger-wound.
HER PRAYER.
She kneels with haggard eyes and hair Unto the Christ upon the Cross: Her gown is torn; her feet are bare.
What is this thing she begs of him, The gentle Christ upon the Cross? Her hands are clasped; her face is dim.
Is it forgiveness for her sin, She asks of Christ upon the Cross? And mercy for the soul within?
With anguished face, so sad and sweet, She kneels to Christ upon the Cross: Her arms embrace his nail-pierced feet.
Her tears run slowly down her face, O piteous Christ upon the Cross! And through her tears she sighs and says:--
"The thing that I would crave of Thee, O Christ upon the cruel Cross, Is not a thing to comfort me.
"Thou, who hast taught us to forgive, O tender Christ upon the Cross, Help Thou my love for _him_ to live.
"Oh, let the love that was my fall, O loving Christ upon the Cross, Still to my life be all in all.
"With love for him who loves no more, O patient Christ upon the Cross, Make Thou my punishment full sore."
She kneels with haggard eyes and hair Unto the Christ upon the Cross: Her gown is torn; her feet are bare.
THE MESSAGE OF THE LILIES.
My soul and I went walking Beneath the moon of Spring; The lilies pale were talking, Were faintly murmuring.
From dimly moonlit places They thrust long throats of white, And lovely lifted faces Of fragrant snow and light.
Their language was an essence, Yet clearer than a bird's; And from it grew a presence As music grows from words.
A spirit born of silence And chastity and dew Among Elysian islands Were not more white to view.
A spirit born of fire And holiness and snow Within the Heavens' desire, Were not more pure to know.
He smiled amid them lifting Pale hands of prayer and peace-- And through the moonlight, drifting, Came words to me like these:
"We are His lilies, lilies, Whose praises aye we sing! We are the lilies, lilies Of Christ our Lord and King!"
A LEGEND OF THE LILY.
Pale as a star that shines through rain Her face was seen at the window-pane, Her sad, frail face that watched in vain.
The face of a girl whose brow was wan, To whom the kind sun spoke at dawn, And a star and the moon when the day was gone.
And oft and often the sun had said-- "O fair, white face, O sweet, fair head, Come talk with me of the love that's dead."
And she would sit in the sun awhile, Down in the garth by the old stone-dial, Where never again would he make her smile.
And often the first bright star o'erhead Had whispered, "Sweet, where the rose blooms red, Come look with me for the love that's dead."
And she would wait with the star she knew, Where the fountain splashed and the roses blew, Where never again would he come to woo.
And oft the moon, when she lay in bed, Had sighed, "Dear heart, in the orchardstead. Come, dream with me of the love that's dead."
And she would stand in the moon, the dim, Where the fruit made heavy the apple limb, Where never again would she dream with him.
So summer passed and the autumn came; And the wind-torn boughs were touched with flame; But her life and her sorrow remained the same.
Or, if she changed, as it comes about A life may change through trouble and doubt,-- As a candle flickers and then goes out,--
'Twas only to grow more quiet and wan, Sadly waiting at dusk and at dawn For the coming of love forever gone.
And so, one night, when the star looked in, It kissed her face that was white and thin, And murmured, "Come! thou free of sin!"
And when the moon, on another night, Beheld her lying still and white, It sighed, "'Tis well! now all is right."
And when one morning the sun arose, And they bore her bier down the garden-close, It touched her, saying, "At last, repose."
And they laid her down, so young and fair, Where the grass was withered, the bough was bare, All wrapped in the light of her golden hair....
So autumn passed and the winter went; And spring, like a blue-eyed penitent, Came, telling her beads of blossom and scent.
And, lo! to the grave of the beautiful The strong sun cried, "Why art thou dull? Awake! awake! Forget thy skull!"
And the evening star and the moon above Called out, "O dust, now speak thereof! Proclaim thyself! Arise, O love!"
And the skull and the dust in the darkness beard. Each icy germ in its cerements stirred, As Lazarus moved at the Lord's loud word.
And a flower arose on the mound of green, White as the robe of the Nazarene; To testify of the life unseen.
And I paused by the grave; then went my way: And it seemed that I heard the lily say-- "Here was a miracle wrought to-day."
THE END OF THE CENTURY.
There are moments when, as missions, God reveals to us strange visions; When, within their separate stations, We may see the Centuries, Like revolving constellations Shaping out Earth's destinies.
I have gazed in Time's abysses, Where no smallest thing Earth misses That was hers once. 'Mid her chattels, There the Past's gigantic ghost Sits and dreams of thrones and battles In the night of ages lost.
Far before her eyes, unholy Mist was spread; that darkly, slowly Rolled aside,--like some huge curtain Hung above the land and sea;-- And beneath it, wild, uncertain, Rose the wraiths of memory.
First I saw colossal spectres Of dead cities: Troy--once Hector's Pride; then Babylon and Tyre; Karnac, Carthage, and the gray Walls of Thebes,--Apollo's lyre Built;--and Rome and Nineveh.
Empires followed: first, in seeming, Old Chaldea lost in dreaming; Egypt next, a bulk Memnonian Staring from her pyramids; Then Assyria, Babylonian Night beneath her hell-lit lids.
Greece, in classic white, sidereal Armored; Rome, in dark, imperial Purple, crowned with blood and fire, Down the deeps barbaric strode; Gaul and Britain stalking by her, Skin-clad and tattooed with woad.
All around them, rent and scattered, Lay their gods with features battered, Brute and human, stone and iron, Caked with gems and gnarled with gold; Temples, that did once environ These, in wreck around them rolled.
While I stood and gazed and waited, Slowly night obliterated All; and other phantoms drifted Out of darkness pale as stars; Shapes that tyrant faces lifted, Sultans, kings, and emperors.
Man and steed in ponderous metal Panoplied, they seemed to settle, Condors gaunt of devastation, On the world: behind their march-- Desolation; conflagration Loomed before them with her torch.
Helmets flamed like fearful flowers; Chariots rose and moving towers; Captains passed; each fierce commander With his gauntlet on his sword: Agamemnon, Alexander, Cæsar, each led on his horde.
Huns and Vandals; wild invaders: Goths and Arabs; stern Crusaders: Each, like some terrific torrent, Rolled above a ruined world; Till a cataract abhorrent Seemed the swarming spears uphurled.
Banners and escutcheons, kindled By the light of slaughter, dwindled-- in darkness;--the chimera Of the Past was laid at last. But, behold, another era From her corpse rose, vague and vast.
Demogorgon of the Present! Who in one hand raised a Crescent, In the other, with submissive Fingers, lifted up a Cross; Reverent and yet derisive Seemed she, robed in gold and dross.
In her skeptic eyes professions Of great faith I saw; expressions, Christian and humanitarian, Played around her cynic lip; Still I knew her a barbarian By the sword upon her hip.
And she cherished strange eidolons, Pagan shadows--Platos, Solons-- From whose teachings she indentured Forms of law and sophistry; Seeking still for truth she ventured Just so far as these could see.
When she vanished, I--uplifting Eyes to where the dawn was rifting Darkness,--lo! beheld a shadow Towering on Earth's utmost peaks; 'Round whom morning's eldorado Rivered gold in blinding streaks.
On her brow I saw the stigma Still of death; and life's enigma Filled her eyes: around her shimmered Folds of silence; and afar, Faint above her forehead, glimmered Lone the light of one pale star.
Then a voice,--above or under Earth,--against her seemed to thunder Questions, wherein was repeated, "Christ or Cain?" and "God or beast?" And the Future, shadowy-sheeted, Turning, pointed towards the East.
THE ISLE OF VOICES.
The wind blew free that morn that we, High-hearted, sailed away; Bound for Favonian islands blest, Remote within the utmost West, Beyond the golden day.
There, we were told, each dream of old, Each deed and dream of youth, Each myth of life's divinest prime, And every romance, dear to time, Put on immortal truth.
The love undone, the aim unwon, The hope that turned despair; The thought unborn; the dream that died; The unattained, unsatisfied, Should be accomplished there.
So we believed. And, undeceived, A little crew set sail; A little crew with hearts as stout As any yet that faced a doubt And tore away its veil.
And time went by; and sea and sky Had worn our masts and decks; When, lo! one morn with canvas torn, A phantom ship, we came forlorn Into the Sea of Wrecks.
There, day and night, the mist lay white, And pale stars shone at noon; The sea around was foam and fire, And overhead hung wan a wire, A will-o'-wisp of moon.
And through the mist, all white and whist, Gaunt ships, with sea-weed wound, With rotting masts, upon whose spars The corposants lit spectre stars, Sailed by without a sound.
And all about,--now in, now out,-- Their ancient hulls was shed The worm-like glow of green decay, That writhed and glimmered in the gray Of canvas overhead.
And each that passed, in hull and mast, Seemed that wild ship that flees Before the tempest--seamen tell-- Deep-cargoed with the curse of Hell, Through roaring night and seas.
Ay! many a craft we left abaft Upon that haunted sea; But never a hulk that clewed a sail, Or waved a hand, or answered hail, And never a man saw we.
At last we came where--pouring flame-- In darkness and in storm, A vast volcano westward reared An awful summit, lava-seared, Like some terrific arm.
And we could feel beneath our keel The ocean throb and swell, As if the Earthquake there uncoiled Its monster bulk, or Titans toiled At the red heart of Hell.
Like madmen now we turned our prow North, towards an ocean weird Of Northern Lights and icy blasts; And for ten moons with reeling masts And leaking hold we steered.
Then black as blood through streaming scud Land loomed above our boom, A land of iron gulfs and crags And cataracts, like wind-tossed rags, And caverns lost in gloom.
And burning white on every height, And white in every cave, A naked spirit, with a flame, Now gleamed, now vanished; went and came Above the whining wave.
No mortal thing of foot or wing Made glad its steep and strand; But voices, voices seemingly-- Vague voices of the sky and sea-- Peopled the demon land.
Yea, everywhere, in earth and air, A lamentation wept; That, gathering strength above, below, Now like a mighty wind of woe, Around the island swept.
And in that sound, it seemed, was bound All life's despair of art; The bitterness of joy that died; The anguish of faith's crucified; And love that broke its heart.
The ghost it seemed of all we'd dreamed, Of all we had desired; That--turned a curse, an empty cry-- With wailing words went trailing by In hope's dead robes attired.
And could this be the land that we Had sought for soon and late? Those Islands of the Blest, the fair, Where we had hoped to ease our care And end the fight with fate?
O lie that lured! O pain endured! O years of toil and thirst! Where we had looked for blesséd ground The Islands of the Damned we found, And in the end--were curst!
A. D. NINETEEN HUNDRED.