Complete poetical works of John Hay / [by John Hay] ; with an introd. by Clarence L. Hay [electronic text]

NEW AND OLD

MILES KEOGH'S HORSE

ON the bluff of the Little Big-Horn, At the close of a woful day, Custer and his Three Hundred In death and silence lay.

Three Hundred to three Thousand! They had bravely fought and bled; For such is the will of Congress When the White man meets the Red.

The White men are ten millions, The thriftiest under the sun; The Reds are fifty thousand, And warriors every one.

So Custer and all his fighting men Lay under the evening skies, Staring up at the tranquil heaven With wide, accusing eyes.

And of all that stood at noonday In that fiery scorpion ring, Miles Keogh's horse at evening Was the only living thing.

Alone from that field of slaughter, Where lay the three hundred slain, The horse Comanche wandered, With Keogh's blood on his mane.

And Sturgis issued this order, Which future times shall read, While the love and honor of comrades Are the soul of the soldier's creed.

He said —Let the horse Comanche Henceforth till he shall die, Be kindly cherished and cared for By the Seventh Cavalry.

He shall do no labor; he never shall know The touch of spur or rein; Nor shall his back be ever crossed By living rider again.

And at regimental formation Of the Seventh Cavalry, Comanche draped in mourning and led By a trooper of Company I,

Shall parade with the Regiment!Thus it was Commanded and thus done, By order of General Sturgis, signed By Adjutant Garlington.

Even as the sword of Custer, In his disastrous fall, Flashed out a blaze that charmed the world And glorified his pall,

This order, issued amid the gloom That shrouds our army's name, When all foul beasts are free to rend And tear its honest fame,

Shall prove to a callous people That the sense of a soldier's worth, That the love of comrades, the honor of arms, Have not yet perished from earth.

THE ADVANCE GUARD

IN the dream of the Northern poets, The brave who in battle die Fight on in shadowy phalanx In the field of the upper sky; And as we read the sounding rhyme, The reverent fancy hears The ghostly ring of the viewless swords And the clash of the spectral spears.

We think with imperious questionings Of the brothers whom we have lost, And we strive to track in death's mystery The flight of each valiant ghost. The Northern myth comes back to us, And we feel, through our sorrow's night, That those young souls are striving still Somewhere for the truth and light.

It was not their time for rest and sleep; Their hearts beat high and strong; In their fresh veins the blood of youth Was singing its hot, sweet song. The open heaven bent over them, Mid flowers their lithe feet trod, Their lives lay vivid in light, and blest By the smiles of women and God.

Again they come! Again I hear The tread of that goodly band; I know the flash of Ellsworth's eye And the grasp of his hard, warm hand; And Putnam, and Shaw, of the lion-heart, And an eye like a Boston girl's; And I see the light of heaven which lay On UIric Dahlgren's curls.

There is no power in the gloom of hell To quench those spirits' fire; There is no power in the bliss of heaven To bid them not aspire;

But somewhere in the eternal plan That strength, that life survive, And like the files on Lookout's crest, Above death's clouds they strive.

A chosen corps, they are marching on In a wider field than ours; Those bright battalions still fulfill The scheme of the heavenly powers; And high brave thoughts float down to us, The echoes of that far fight, Like the flash of a distant picket's gun Through the shades of the severing night.

No fear for them! In our lower field Let us keep our arms unstained, That at last we be worthy to stand with them On the shining heights they've gained. We shall meet and greet in closing ranks In Time's declining sun, When the bugles of God shall sound recall And the battle of life be won.

LOVE'S PRAYER

IF Heaven would hear my prayer, My dearest wish would be, Thy sorrows not to share But take them all on me; If Heaven would hear my prayer.

I'd beg with prayers and sighs That never a tear might flow From out thy lovely eyes, If Heaven might grant it so; Mine be the tears and sighs.

No cloud thy brow should cover, But smiles each other chase From lips to eyes all over Thy sweet and sunny face; The clouds my heart should cover.

That all thy path be light Let darkness fall on me; If all thy days be bright, Mine black as night could be; My love would light my night.

For thou art more than life, And if our fate should set Life and my love at strife, How could I then forget I love thee more than life?

CHRISTINE

THE beauty of the northern dawns, Their pure, pale light is thine; Yet all the dreams of tropic nights Within thy blue eyes shine. Not statelier in their prisoning seas The icebergs grandly move, But in thy smile is youth and joy, And in thy voice is love.

Thou art like Hecla's crest that stands So lonely, proud, and high, No earthly thing may come between Her summit and the sky. The sun in vain may strive to melt Her crown of virgin snow— But the great heart of the mountain glows With deathless fire below.

EXPECTATION

ROLL, on, O shining sun, To the far seas, Bring down, ye shades of eve, The soft, salt breeze! Shine out, O stars, and light My darling's pathway bright, As through the summer night She comes to me.

No beam of any star Can match her eyes; Her smile the bursting day In light outvies. Her voice — the sweetest thing Heard by the raptured spring When waking wild-woods ring— She comes to me.

Ye stars, more swiftly wheel, O'er earth's still breast; More wildly plunge and reel In the dim west! The earth is lone and lorn, Till the glad day be born, Till with the happy morn She comes to me.

TO FLORA

WHEN April woke the drowsy flowers, And vagrant odors thronged the breeze, And bluebirds wrangled in the bowers, And daisies flashed along the leas, And faint arbutus strove among Dead winter's leaf-strewn wreck to rise, And nature's sweetly jubilant song Went murmuring up the sunny skies, Into this cheerful world you came, And gained by right your vernal name.

I think the springs have changed of late, For "Arctics" are my daily wear, The skies are turned to cold gray slate, And zephyrs are but draughts of air; But you make up whate'er we lack, When we, too rarely, come together, More potent than the almanac, You bring the ideal April weather;

When you are with us we defy The blustering air, the lowering sky; In spite of Winter's icy darts, We've spring and sunshine in our hearts.

In fine, upon this April day, This deep conundrum I will bring: Tell me the two good reasons, pray, I have, to say you are like spring?

You give it up? Because we love you — And see so very little of you.

A HAUNTED ROOM

IN the dim chamber whence but yesterday Passed my belovèd, filled with awe I stand; And haunting Loves fluttering on every hand Whisper her praises who is far away. A thousand delicate fancies glance and play On every object which her robes have fanned, And tenderest thoughts and hopes bloom and expand In the sweet memory of her beauty's ray. Ah! could that glass but hold the faintest trace Of all the loveliness once mirrored there, The clustering glory of the shadowy hair That framed so well the dear young angel face! But no, it shows my own face, full of care, And my heart is her beauty's dwelling-place.

DREAMS

I LOVE a woman tenderly, But cannot know if she loves me. I press her hand, her lips I kiss, But still love's full assurance miss. Our waking life forever seems Cleft by a veil of doubt and dreams.

But love and night and sleep combine In dreams to make her wholly mine. A sure love lights her eyes' deep blue, Her hands and lips are warm and true. Always the fact unreal seems, And truth I find alone in dreams.

THE LIGHT OF LOVE

EACH shining light above us Has its own peculiar grace; But every light of heaven Is in my darling's face.

For it is like the sunlight, So strong and pure and warm, That folds all good and happy things, And guards from gloom and harm.

And it is like the moonlight, So holy and so calm; The rapt peace of a summer night, When soft winds die in balm.

And it is like the starlight; For, love her as I may, She dwells still lofty and serene In mystery far away.

QUAND MÊME

I STROVE, like Israel, with my youth, And said, Till thou bestow Upon my life Love's joy and truth, I will not let thee go.

And sudden on my night there woke The trouble of the dawn; Out of the east the red light broke, To broaden on and on.

And now let death be far or nigh, Let fortune gloom or shine, I cannot all untimely die, For love, for love is mine.

My days are tuned to finer chords, And lit by higher suns;

Through all my thoughts and all my words A purer purpose runs.

The blank page of my heart grows rife With wealth of tender lore; Her image, stamped upon my life, Gives value evermore.

She is so noble, firm, and true, I drink truth from her eyes, As violets gain the heaven's own blue In gazing at the skies.

No matter if my hands attain The golden crown or cross; Only to love is such a gain That losing is not loss.

And thus whatever fate betide Of rapture or of pain, If storm or sun the future hide, My love is not in vain.

So only thanks are on my lips; And through my love I see My earliest dreams, like freighted ships, Come sailing home to me.

WORDS

WHEN violets were springing And sunshine filled the day, And happy birds were singing The praises of the May, A word came to me, blighting The beauty of the scene, And in my heart was winter, Though all the trees were green.

Now down the blast go sailing The dead leaves, brown and sere; The forests are bewailing The dying of the year; A word comes to me, lighting With rapture all the air, And in my heart is summer, Though all the trees are bare.

THE STIRRUP CUP

MY short and happy day is done, The long and dreary night comes on; And at my door the Pale Horse stands, To carry me to unknown lands.

His whinny shrill, his pawing hoof, Sound dreadful as a gathering storm; And I must leave this sheltering roof, And joys of life so soft and warm.

Tender and warm the joys of life, — Good friends, the faithful and the true; My rosy children and my wife, So sweet to kiss, so fair to view.

So sweet to kiss, so fair to view, — The night comes down, the lights burn blue; And at my door the Pale Horse stands, To bear me forth to unknown lands.

A DREAM OF BRIC-À-BRAC

[C. K. loquitur. ]

I DREAMED I was in fair Niphon. Amid tea-fields I journeyed on, Reclined in my jinrikishaw; Across the rolling plains I saw The lordly Fusi-yama rise, His blue cone lost in bluer skies.

At last I bade my bearers stop Before what seemed a china-shop. I roused myself and entered in. A fearful joy, like some sweet sin, Pierced through my bosom as I gazed, Entranced, transported, and amazed. For all the house was but one room, And in its clear and grateful gloom, Filled with all odors strange and strong That to the wondrous East belong,

I saw above, around, below, A sight to make the warm heart glow, And leave the eager soul no lack,— An endless wealth of bric-à-brac.

I saw bronze statues, old and rare, Fashioned by no mere mortal skill, With robes that fluttered in the air, Blown out by Art's eternal will; And delicate ivory netsukes, Richer in tone than Cheddar cheese, Of saints and hermits, cats and dogs, Grim warriors and ecstatic frogs. And here and there those wondrous masks, More living flesh than sandal-wood, Where the full soul in pleasure basks And dreams of love, the only good. The walls were all with pictures hung: Gay villas bright in rain-washed air, Trees to whose boughs brown monkeys clung, Outlineless dabs of fuzzy hair.

And all about the opulent shelves Littered with porcelain beyond price: Imari pots arrayed themselves Beside Ming dishes; grain-of-rice Vied with the Royal Satsuma, Proud of its sallow ivory beam; And Kaga's Thousand Hermits lay Tranced in some punch-bowl's golden gleam. Over bronze censers, black with age, The five-clawed dragons strife engage; A curled and insolent Dog of Foo Sniffs at the smoke aspiring through.

In what old days, in what far lands, What busy brains, what cunning hands, With what quaint speech, what alien thought, Strange fellow-men these marvels wrought!

As thus I mused, I was aware There grew before my eager eyes A little maid too bright and fair, Too strangely lovely for surprise.

It seemed the beauty of the place Had suddenly become concrete, So full was she of Orient grace, From her slant eyes and burnished face Down to her little gold-bronze feet.

She was a girl of old Japan; Her small hand held a glided fan, Which scattered fragrance through the room; Her cheek was rich with pallid bloom, Her eye was dark with languid fire, Her red lips breathed a vague desire; Her teeth, of pearl inviolate, Sweetly proclaimed her maiden state. Her garb was stiff with broidered gold Twined with mysterious fold on fold, That gave no hint where, hidden well, Her dainty form might warmly dwell, — A pearl within too large a shell. So quaint, so short, so lissome, she, It seemed as if it well might be

Some jocose god, with sportive whirl, Had taken up a long lithe girl And tied a graceful knot in her.

I tried to speak, and found, oh, bliss! I needed no interpreter; I knew the Japanese for kiss, — I had no other thought but this; And she, with smile and blush divine, Kind to my stammering prayer did seem; My thought was hers, and hers was mine, In the swift logic of my dream. My arms clung round her slender waist, Through gold and silk the form I traced, And glad as rain that follows drouth, I kissed and kissed her bright red mouth.

What ailed the girl? No loving sigh Heaved the round bosom; in her eye Trembled no tear; from her dear throat Bubbled a sweet and silvery note

Of girlish laughter, shrill and clear, That all the statues seemed to hear The bronzes tinkled laughter fine; I heard a chuckle argentine Ring from the silver images; Even the ivory netsukes Uttered in every silent pause Dry, bony laughs from tiny jaws; The painted monkeys on the wall Waked up with chatter impudent; Pottery, porcelain, bronze, and all Broke out in ghostly merriment, — Faint as rain pattering on dry leaves, Or cricket's chirp on summer eves.

And suddenly upon my sight There grew a portent: left and right, On every side, as if the air Had taken substance then and there, In every sort of form and face, A throng of tourists filled the place.

I saw a Frenchman's sneering shrug; A German countess, in one hand A sky-blue string which held a pug, With the other a fiery face she fanned; A Yankee with a soft felt hat; A Coptic priest from Ararat; An English girl with cheeks of rose; A Nihilist with Socratic nose; Paddy from Cork with baggage light And pockets stuffed with dynamite; A haughty Southern Readjuster Wrapped in his pride and linen duster; Two noisy New York stock-brokérs And twenty British globe-trottérs.

To my disgust and vast surprise They turned on me lack-lustre eyes, And each with dropped and wagging jaw Burst out into a wild guffaw: They laughed with huge mouths opened wide; They roared till each one held his side;

They screamed and writhed with brutal glee, With fingers rudely stretched to me,— Till lo! at once the laughter died, The tourists faded into air; None but my fair maid lingered there, Who stood demurely by my side."Who were your friends?" I asked the maid, Taking a tea-cup from its shelf. "This audience is disclosed," she said, "Whenever a man makes a fool of himself."

LIBERTY

WHAT man is there so bold that he should say "Thus, and thus only, would I have the sea"? For whether lying calm and beautiful, Clasping the earth in love, and throwing back The smile of heaven from waves of amethyst; Or whether, freshened by the busy winds, It bears the trade and navies of the world To ends of use or stern activity; Or whether, lashed by tempests, it gives way To elemental fury, howls and roars At all its rocky barriers, in wild lust Of ruin drinks the blood of living things, And strews its wrecks o'er leagues of desolate shore, — Always it is the sea, and men bow down Before its vast and varied majesty.

So all in vain will timorous ones essay To set the metes and bounds of Liberty.

For Freedom is its own eternal law; It makes its own conditions, and in storm Or calm alike fulfills the unerring Will. Let us not then despise it when it lies Still as a sleeping lion, while a swarm Of gnat-like evils hover round its head; Nor doubt it when in mad, disjointed times It shakes the torch of terror, and its cry Shrills o'er the quaking earth, and in the flame Of riot and war we see its awful form Rise by the scaffold, where the crimson axe Rings down its grooves the knell of shuddering kings. Forever in thine eyes, O Liberty, Shines that high light whereby the world is saved, And though thou slay us, we will trust in thee!

THE WHITE FLAG

I SENT my love two roses, — one As white as driven snow, And one a blushing royal red, A flaming Jacqueminot.

I meant to touch and test my fate; That night I should divine, The moment I should see my love, If her true heart were mine.

For if she holds me dear, I said, She'll wear my blushing rose; If not, she'll wear my cold Lamarque, As white as winter's snows.

My heart sank when I met her: sure I had been overbold, For on her breast my pale rose lay In virgin whiteness cold.

Yet with low words she greeted me, With smiles divinely tender; Upon her cheek the red rose dawned, — The white rose meant surrender.

THE LAW OF DEATH

THE song of Kilvani: fairest she In all the land of Savatthi. She had one child, as sweet and gay And dear to her as the light of day. She was so young, and he so fair, The same bright eyes and the same dark hair; To see them by the blossomy way, They seemed two children at their play.

There came a death-dart from the sky, Kilvani saw her darling die. The glimmering shade his eyes invades, Out of his cheek the red bloom fades; His warm heart feels the icy chill, The round limbs shudder, and are still. And yet Kilvani held him fast Long after life's last pulse was past, As if her kisses could restore The smile gone out forevermore.

But when she saw her child was dead, She scattered ashes on her head, And seized the small corpse, pale and sweet, And rushing wildly through the street, She sobbing fell at Buddha's feet. "Master, all-helpful, help me now! Here at thy feet I humbly bow; Have mercy, Buddha, help me now!" She groveled on the marble floor, And kissed the dead child o'er and o'er. And suddenly upon the air There fell the answer to her prayer: "Bring me to-night a lotus tied With thread from a house where none has died."

She rose, and laughed with thankful joy, Sure that the god would save the boy. She found a lotus by the stream; She plucked it from its noonday dream. And then from door to door she fared, To ask what house by Death was spared.

Her heart grew cold to see the eyes Of all dilate with slow surprise: "Kilvani, thou hast lost thy head; Nothing can help a child that's dead. There stands not by the Ganges' side A house where none hath ever died." Thus, through the long and weary day, From every door she bore away Within her heart, and on her arm, A heavier load, a deeper harm. By gates of gold and ivory, By wattled huts of poverty, The same refrain heard poor Kilvani, The living are few, the dead are many.

The evening came — so still and fleet — And overtook her hurrying feet. And, heartsick, by the sacred lane She fell, and prayed the god again. She sobbed and beat her bursting breast: "Ah, thou hast mocked me, Mightiest!

Lo I have wandered far and wide; There stands no house where none hath died." And Buddha answered, in a tone Soft as a flute at twilight blown, But grand as heaven and strong as death To him who hears with ears of faith: "Child, thou art answered. Murmur not! Bow, and accept the common lot."

Kilvani heard with reverence meet, And laid her child at Buddha's feet.

MOUNT TABOR

ON Tabor's height a glory came, And, shrined in clouds of lambent flame, The awestruck, hushed disciples saw Christ and the prophets of the law. Moses, whose grand and awful face Of Sinai's thunder bore the trace, And wise Elias, — in his eyes The shade of Israel's prophecies, — Stood in that wide, mysterious light, Than Syrian noons more purely bright, One on each hand, and high between Shone forth the godlike Nazarene. They bowed their heads in holy fright, — No mortal eyes could bear the sight, — And when they looked again, behold! The fiery clouds had backward rolled, And borne aloft in grandeur lonely, Nothing was left "save Jesus only."

Resplendent type of things to be! We read its mystery to-dayWith clearer eyes than even they, The fisher-saints of Galilee. We see the Christ stand out between The ancient law and faith serene, Spirit and letter; but above Spirit and letter both was Love.

Led by the hand of Jacob's God, Through wastes of eld a path was trod By which the savage world could move Upward through law and faith to love. And there in Tabor's harmless flame The crowning revelation came. The old world knelt in homage due, The prophets near in reverence drew, Law ceased its mission to fulfill, And Love was lord on Tabor's hill.

So now, while creeds perplex the mind And wranglings load the weary wind,

When all the air is filled with words And texts that ring like clashing swords, Still, as for refuge, we may turn Where Tabor's shining glories burn, — The soul of antique Israel gone, And nothing left but Christ alone.

RELIGION AND DOCTRINE

HE stood before the Sanhedrim; The scowling rabbis gazed at him. He recked not of their praise or blame; There was no fear, there was no shame, For one upon whose dazzled eyes The whole world poured its vast surprise. The open heaven was far too near, His first day's light too sweet and clear, To let him waste his new-gained ken On the hate-clouded face of men.

But still they questioned, Who art thou? What hast thou been? What art thou now? Thou art not he who yesterday Sat here and begged beside the way; For he was blind. — And I am he; For I was blind, but now I see.

He told the story o'er and o'er; It was his full heart's only lore: A prophet on the Sabbath-day Had touched his sightless eyes with clay, And made him see who had been blind. Their words passed by him like the wind, Which raves and howls, but cannot shock The hundred-fathom-rooted rock.

Their threats and fury all went wide; They could not touch his Hebrew pride. Their sneers at Jesus and His band, Nameless and homeless in the land, Their boasts of Moses and his Lord, All could not change him by one word.

I know not what this man may be, Sinner or saint; but as for me, One thing I know, — that I am he Who once was blind, and now I see.

They were all doctors of renown, The great men of a famous town, With deep brows, wrinkled, broad, and wise, Beneath their wide phylacteries; The wisdom of the East was theirs, And honor crowned their silver hairs. The man they jeered and laughed to scorn

Was unlearned, poor, and humbly born; But he knew better far than they What came to him that Sabbath-day; And what the Christ had done for him He knew, and not the Sanhedrim.

SINAI AND CALVARY

THERE are two mountains hallowed By majesty sublime, Which rear their crests unconquered Above the floods of Time. Uncounted generations Have gazed on them with awe, — The mountain of the Gospel, The mountain of the Law.

From Sinai's cloud of darkness The vivid lightnings play; They serve the God of vengeance, The Lord who shall repay. Each fault must bring its penance, Each sin the avenging blade, For God upholds in justice The laws that He hath made.

But Calvary stands to ransom The earth from utter loss, In shade than light more glorious, The shadow of the Cross. To heal a sick world's trouble, To soothe its woe and pain, On Calvary's sacred summit The Paschal Lamb was slain.

The boundless might of Heaven Its law in mercy furled, As once the bow of promise O'erarched a drowning world. The Law said, As you keep me, It shall be done to you; But Calvary prays, Forgive them; They know not what they do.

Almighty God! direct us To keep Thy perfect Law! O blessed Savior, help us Nearer to Thee to draw!

Let Sinai's thunders aid us To guard our feet from sin; And Calvary's light inspire us The love of God to win.

THE VISION OF SAINT PETER

To Peter by night the faithfullest came And said, "We appeal to thee! The life of the Church is in thy life; We pray thee to rise and flee.

"For the tyrant's hand is red with blood, And his arm is heavy with power; Thy head, the head of the Church, will fall, If thou tarry in Rome an hour."

Through the sleeping town Saint Peter passed To the wide Campagna plain; In the starry light of the Alban night He drew free breath again:

When across his path an awful form In luminous glory stood;

His thorn-crowned brow, His hands and feet, Were wet with immortal blood.

The godlike sorrow which filled His eyes Seemed changed to a godlike wrath, As they turned on Peter, who cried aloud, And sank to his knees in the path.

"Lord of my life, my love, my soul! Say, what wilt Thou with me?" A voice replied, "I go to Rome To be crucified for thee."

The apostle sprang, all flushed, to his feet, — The vision had passed away; The light still lay on the dewy plain, But the sky in the east was gray.

To the city walls Saint Peter turned, And his heart in his breast grew fire; In every vein the hot blood burned With the strength of one high desire.

And sturdily back he marched to his death Of terrible pain and shame; And never a shade of fear again To the stout apostle came.

ISRAEL

WHEN by Jabbok the patriarch waited To learn on the morrow his doom, And his dubious spirit debated In darkness and silence and gloom, There descended a Being with whom He wrestled in agony sore, With striving of heart and of brawn, And not for an instant forbore Till the east gave a threat of the dawn; And then, as the Awful One blessed him, To his lips and his spirit there came, Compelled by the doubts that oppressed him, The cry that through questioning ages Has been wrung from the hinds and the sages. "Tell me, I pray Thee, Thy name!"

Most fatal, most futile, of questions! Wherever the heart of man beats,

In the spirit's most sacred retreats, It comes with its sombre suggestions, Unanswered forever and aye. The blessing may come and may stay, For the wrestler's heroic endeavor; But the question, unheeded forever, Dies out in the broadening day.

In the ages before our traditions, By the altars of dark superstitions, The imperious question has come; When the death-stricken victim lay sobbing At the feet of his slayer and priest, And his heart was laid smoking and throbbing To the sound of the cymbal and drum On the steps of the high Teocallis; When the delicate Greek at his feast Poured forth the red wine from his chalice With mocking and cynical prayer; When by Nile Egypt worshiping lay, And afar, through the rosy, flushed air

The Memnon called out to the day; Where the Muezzin's cry floats from his spire: In the vaulted Cathedral's dim shades, Where the crushed hearts of thousands aspire Through art's highest miracles higher, This question of questions invades Each heart bowed in worship or shame; In the air where the censers are swinging, A voice, going up with the singing, Cries, "Tell me, I pray Thee, Thy name!"

No answer came back, not a word, To the patriarch there by the ford; No answer has come through the ages To the poets, the seers, and the sages Who have sought in the secrets of science The name and the nature of God, Whether cursing in desperate defiance Or kissing his absolute rod. But the answer which was and shall be, "My name! Nay, what is it to thee?"

The search and the question are vain. By use of the strength that is in you, By wrestling of soul and of sinew The blessing of God you may gain. There are lights in the far-gleaming Heaven That never will shine on our eyes; To mortals it may not be given To range those inviolate skies. The mind, whether praying or scorning, That tempts those dread secrets shall fail; But strive through the night till the morning, And mightily shalt thou prevail.

THE CROWS AT WASHINGTON

SLOW flapping to the setting sun By twos and threes, in wavering rows. As twilight shadows dimly close, The crows fly over Washington.

Under the crimson sunset sky Virginian woodlands leafless lie, In wintry torpor bleak and dun. Through the rich vault of heaven, which shines Like a warmed opal in the sun, With wide advance in broken lines The crows fly over Washington.

Over the Capitol's white dome, Across the obelisk soaring bare To prick the clouds, they travel home, Content and weary, winnowing With dusky vans the golden air, Which hints the coming of the spring, Though winter whitens Washington.

The dim, deep air, the level ray Of dying sunlight on their plumes, Give them a beauty not their own; Their hoarse notes fail and faint away; A rustling murmur floating down Blends sweetly with the thickening glooms; They touch with grace the fading day, Slow flying over Washington.

I stand and watch with clouded eyes These dim battalions move along; Out of the distance memory cries Of days when life and hope were strong, When love was prompt and wit was gay; Even then, at evening, as to-day, I watched, while twilight hovered dim Over Potomac's curving rim, This selfsame flight of homing crows Blotting the sunset's fading rose, Above the roofs of Washington.

REMORSE

SAD is the thought of sunniest days Of love and rapture perished, And shine through memory's tearful haze The eyes once fondliest cherished. Reproachful is the ghost of toys That charmed while life was wasted. But saddest is the thought of joys That never yet were tasted.

Sad is the vague and tender dream Of dead love's lingering kisses, To crushed hearts haloed by the gleam Of unreturning blisses; Deep mourns the soul in anguished pride For the pitiless death that won them, — But the saddest wail is for lips that died With the virgin dew upon them.

ESSE QUAM VIDERI

THE knightly legend of thy shield betrays The moral of thy life; a forecast wise, And that large honor that deceit defies, Inspired thy fathers in the eider days, Who decked thy scutcheon with that sturdy phrase, To be rather than seem. As eve's red skies Surpass the morning's rosy prophecies, Thy life to that proud boast its answer pays. Scorning thy faith and purpose to defend The ever-mutable multitude at last Will hail the power they did not comprehend, — Thy fame will broaden through the centuries; As, storm and billowy tumult overpast, The moon rules calmly o'er the conquered seas.

WHEN THE BOYS COME HOME

THERE'S a happy time coming, When the boys come home. There's a glorious day coming, When the boys come home. We will end the dreadful story Of this treason dark and gory In a sunburst of glory, When the boys come home.

The day will seem brighter When the boys come home, For our hearts will be lighter When the boys come home. Wives and sweethearts will press them In their arms and caress them, And pray God to bless them, When the boys come home.

The thinned ranks will be proudest When the boys come home, And their cheer will ring the loudest When the boys come home. The full ranks will be shattered, And the bright arms will be battered, And the battle-standards tattered, When the boys come home.

Their bayonets may be rusty, When the boys come home, And their uniforms dusty, When the boys come home. But all shall see the traces Of battle's royal graces, In the brown and bearded faces, When the boys come home.

Our love shall go to meet them, When the boys come home, To bless them and to greet them, When the boys come home;

And the fame of their endeavor Time and change shall not dissever From the nation's heart forever, When the boys come home.

LÈSE-AMOUR

How well my heart remembers Beside these camp-fire embers The eyes that smiled so far away, — The joy that was November's.

Her voice to laughter moving, So merrily reproving, — We wandered through the autumn woods And neither thought of loving.

The hills with light were glowing, The waves in joy were flowing, — It was not to the clouded sun The day's delight was owing.

Though through the brown leaves straying, Our lives seemed gone a-Maying; We knew not Love was with us there, No look nor tone betraying.

How unbelief still misses The best of being's blisses! Our parting saw the first and last Of love's imagined kisses.

Now 'mid these scenes the drearest I dream of her, the dearest, — Whose eyes outshine the Southern stars, So far, and yet the nearest.

And Love, so gayly taunted, Who died, no welcome granted, Comes to me now, a pallid ghost, By whom my life is haunted.

With bonds I may not sever, He binds my heart forever, And leads me where we murdered him,— The Hill beside the River.

Camp Shaw, Florida, February, 1864.

NORTHWARD

UNDER the high unclouded sun That makes the ship and shadow one, I sail away as from the fort Booms sullenly the noonday gun.

The odorous airs blow thin and fine, The sparkling waves like emeralds shine, The lustre of the coral reefs Gleams whitely through the tepid brine.

And glitters o'er the liquid miles The jewelled ring of verdant isles, Where generous Nature holds her court Of ripened bloom and sunny smiles.

Encinctured by the faithful seas Inviolate gardens lead the breeze, Where flaunt like giant-warders' plumes The pennants of the cocoa-trees.

Enthroned in light and bathed in balm, In lonely majesty the Palm Blesses the isles with waving hands, — High-Priest of the eternal Calm.

Yet Northward with an equal mind I steer my course, and leave behind The rapture of the Southern skies, — The wooing of the Southern wind.

For here o'er Nature's wanton bloom Falls far and near the shade of gloom, Cast from the hovering vulture-wings Of one dark thought of woe and doom.

I know that in the snow-white pines The brave Norse fire of freedom shines, And fain for this I leave the land Where endless summer pranks the vines.

O strong, free North, so wise and brave! O South, too lovely for a slave!

Why read ye not the changeless truth, — The free can conquer but to save?

May God upon these shining sands Send Love and Victory clasping hands, And Freedom's banners wave in peace Forever o'er the rescued lands!

And here, in that triumphant hour, Shall yielding Beauty wed with Power; And blushing earth and smiling sea In dalliance deck the bridal bower.

Key West, 1864.

IN THE FIRELIGHT

My dear wife sits beside the fire With folded hands and dreaming eyes, Watching the restless flames aspire, And wrapped in thralling memories. I mark the fitful firelight fling Its warm caresses on her brow, And kiss her hands' unmelting snow, And glisten on her wedding-ring.

The proud free head that crowns so well The neck superb, whose outlines glide Into the bosom's perfect swell Soft-billowed by its peaceful tide, The cheek's faint flush, the lip's red glow, The gracious charm her beauty wears, Fill my fond eyes with tender tears As in the days of long ago.

Days long ago, when in her eyes The only heaven I cared for lay, When from our thoughtless Paradise All care and toil dwelt far away; When Hope in wayward fancies throve, And rioted in secret sweets, Beguiled by Passion's dear deceits, — The mysteries of maiden love.

One year had passed since first my sight Was gladdened by her girlish charms, When on a rapturous summer night I clasped her in possessing arms. And now ten years have rolled away, And left such blessings as their dower, I owe her tenfold at this hour The love that lit our wedding-day.

For now, vague-hovering o'er her form, My fancy sees, by love refined, A warmer and a dearer charm By wedlock's mystic hands intwined, —

A golden coil of wifely cares That years have forged, the loving joy That guards the curly-headed boy Asleep an hour ago up stairs.

A fair young mother, pure as fair, A matron heart and virgin soul! The flickering light that crowns her hair Seems like a saintly aureole. A tender sense upon me falls That joy unmerited is mine, And in this pleasant twilight shine My perfect bliss myself appalls.

Come back! my darling, strayed so far Into the realm of fantasy,— Let thy dear face shine like a star In love-light beaming over me. My melting soul is jealous, sweet, Of thy long silence' drear eclipse, Oh, kiss me back with living lips To life, love, lying at thy feet!

IN A GRAVEYARD

IN the dewy depths of the graveyard I lie in the tangled grass, And watch, in the sea of azure, The white cloud-islands pass.

The birds in the rustling branches Sing gayly overhead; Gray stones like sentinel spectres Are guarding the silent dead.

The early flowers sleep shaded In the cool green noonday glooms; The broken light falls shuddering On the cold white face of the tombs.

Without, the world is smiling In the infinite love of God, But the sunlight fails and falters When it falls on the churchyard sod.

On me the joyous rapture Of a heart's first love is shed, But it falls on my heart as coldly As sunlight on the dead.

THE PRAIRIE

THE skies are blue above my head, The prairie green below, And flickering o'er the tufted grass The shifting shadows go, Vague-sailing, where the feathery clouds Fleck white the tranquil skies, Black javelins darting where aloft The whirring pheasant flies.

A glimmering plain in drowsy trance The dim horizon bounds, Where all the air is resonant With sleepy summer sounds, — The life that sings among the flowers, The lisping of the breeze, The hot cicala's sultry cry, The murmurous dream of bees.

The butterfly — a flying flower — Wheels swift in flashing rings, And flutters round his quiet kin, With brave flame-mottled wings. The wild Pinks burst in crimson fire, The Phlox' bright clusters shine, And Prairie-Cups are swinging free To spill their airy wine.

And lavishly beneath the sun, In liberal splendor rolled, The Fennel fills the dipping plain With floods of flowery gold; And widely weaves the Iron-Weed A woof of purple dyes Where Autumn's royal feet may tread When bankrupt Summer flies.

In verdurous tumult far away The prairie-billows gleam, Upon their crests in blessing rests The noontide's gracious beam.

Low quivering vapors steaming dim The level splendors break Where languid Lilies deck the rim Of some land-circled lake.

Far in the East like low-hung clouds The waving woodlands lie; Far in the West the glowing plain Melts warmly in the sky. No accent wounds the reverent air, No footprint dints the sod,— Lone in the light the prairie lies, Rapt in a dream of God.

Illinois, 1858.

CENTENNIAL

A HUNDRED times the bells of Brown Have rung to sleep the idle summers, And still to-day clangs clamoring down A greeting to the welcome comers.

And far, like waves of morning, pours Her call, in airy ripples breaking, And wanders to the farthest shores, Her children's drowsy hearts awaking.

The wild vibration floats along, O'er heart-strings tense its magic plying, And wakes in every breast its song Of love and gratitude undying.

My heart to meet the summons leaps At limit of its straining tether, Where the fresh western sunlight steeps In golden flame the prairie heather.

And others, happier, rise and fare To pass within the hallowed portal, And see the glory shining there Shrined in her steadfast eyes immortal.

What though their eyes be dim and dull, Their heads be white in reverend blossom; Our mother's smile is beautiful As when she bore them on her bosom!

Her heavenly forehead bears no line Of Time's iconoclastic fingers, But o'er her form the grace divine Of deathless youth and wisdom lingers.

We fade and pass, grow faint and old, Till youth and joy and hope are banished, And still her beauty seems to fold The sum of all the glory vanished.

As while Tithonus faltered on The threshold of the Olympian dawnings,

Aurora's front eternal shone With lustre of the myriad mornings.

So joys that slip like dead leaves down, And hopes burnt out that die in ashes, Rise restless from their graves to crown Our mother's brow with fadeless flashes.

And lives wrapped in tradition's mist These honored halls to-day are haunting, And lips by lips long withered kissed The sagas of the past are chanting.

Scornful of absence's envious bar BROWN smiles upon the mystic meeting Of those her sons, who, sundered far, In brotherhood of heart are greeting;

Her wayward children wandering on Where setting stars are lowly burning, But still in worship toward the dawn That gilds their souls' dear Mecca turning;

Or those who, armed for God's own fight, Stand by his word through fire and slaughter, Or bear our banner's starry light Far-flashing through the Gulf's blue water.

For where one strikes for light and truth The right to aid, the wrong redressing, The mother of his spirit's youth Sheds o'er his soul her silent blessing.

She gained her crown a gem of flame When KNEASS fell dead in victory gory; New splendor blazed upon her name When IVES' young life went out in glory!

Thus bright forever may she keep Her fires of tolerant Freedom burning, Till War's red eyes are charmed to sleep And bells ring home the boys returning.

And may she shed her radiant truth In largess on ingenuous comers, And hold the bloom of gracious youth Through many a hundred tranquil summers!

A WINTER NIGHT

THE winter wind is raving fierce and shrill And chides with angry moan the frosty skies, The white stars gaze with sleepless Gorgon eyes That freeze the earth in terror fixed and still. We reck not of the wild night's gloom and chill, Housed from its rage, dear friend; and fancy flies, Lured by the hand of beckoning memories, Back to those summer evenings on the hill Where we together watched the sun go down Beyond the gold-washed uplands, while his fires Touched into glittering life the vanes and spires Piercing the purpling mists that veiled the town. The wintry night thy voice and eyes beguile, Till wake the sleeping summers in thy smile.

STUDENT-SONG

WHEN Youth's warm heart beats high, my friend, And Youth's blue sky is bright, And shines in Youth's clear eye, my friend, Love's early dawning light, Let the free soul spurn care's control, And while the glad days shine, We'll use their beams for Youth's gay dreams Of Love and Song and Wine.

Let not the bigot's frown, my friend, O'ercast thy brow with gloom, For Autumn's sober brown, my friend, Shall follow Summer's bloom. Let smiles and sighs and loving eyes In changeful beauty shine, And shed their beams on Youth's gay dreams Of Love and Song and Wine.

For in the weary years, my friend, That stretched before us lie, There'll be enough of tears, my friend, To dim the brightest eye. So let them wait, and laugh at fate, While Youth's sweet moments shine, — Till memory gleams with golden dreams Of Love and Song and Wine.

HOW IT HAPPENED

I PRAY you, pardon me, Elsie, And smile that frown away That dims the light of your lovely face As a thunder-cloud the day. I really could not help it, — Before I thought, 't was done, — And those great gray eyes flashed bright and cold, Like an icicle in the sun.

I was thinking of the summers When we were boys and girls, And wandered in the blossoming woods, And the gay winds romped with your curls. And you seemed to me the same little girl I kissed in the alder-path, I kissed the little girl's lips, and alas! I have roused a woman's wrath.

There is not so much to pardon,— For why were your lips so red? The blond hair fell in a shower of gold From the proud, provoking head. And the beauty that flashed from the splendid eyes, And played round the tender mouth, Rushed over my soul like a warm sweet wind That blows from the fragrant south.

And where, after all, is the harm done? I believe we were made to be gay, And all of youth not given to love Is vainly squandered away. And strewn through life's low labors, Like gold in the desert sands, Are love's swift kisses and sighs and vows And the clasp of clinging hands.

And when you are old and lonely, In Memory's magic shine You will see on your thin and wasting hands, Like gems, these kisses of mine.

And when you muse at evening At the sound of some vanished name, The ghost of my kisses shall touch your lips And kindle your heart to flame.

GOD'S VENGEANCE

SAITH the Lord, "Vengeance is mine; I will repay," saith the Lord; Ours be the anger divine, Lit by the flash of his word.

How shall his vengeance be done? How, when his purpose is clear? Must he come down from his throne? Hath he no instruments here?

Sleep not in imbecile trust Waiting for God to begin, While, growing strong in the dust, Rests the bruised serpent of sin.

Right and Wrong, — both cannot live Death-grappled. Which shall we see? Strike! only Justice can give Safety to all that shall be.

Shame! to stand paltering thus, Tricked by the balancing odds; Strike! God is waiting for us! Strike! for the vengeance is God's.

TOO LATE

HAD we but met in other days, Had we but loved in other ways, Another light and hope had shone On your life and my own.

In sweet but hopeless reveries I fancy how your wistful eyes Had saved me, had I known their power In fate's imperious hour;

How loving you, beloved of God, And following you, the path I trod Had led me, through your love and prayers, To God's love unawares:

And how our beings joined as one Had passed through checkered shade and sun, Until the earth our lives had given, With little change, to heaven.

God knows why this was not to be. You bloomed from childhood far from me, The sunshine of the favored place That knew your youth and grace.

And when your eyes, so fair and free, In fearless beauty beamed on me, I knew the fatal die was thrown, My choice in life was gone.

And still with wild and tender art Your child-love touched my torpid heart, Gilding the blackness where it fell, Like sunlight over hell.

In vain, in vain! my choice was gone! Better to struggle on alone Than blot your pure life's blameless shine With cloudy stains of mine.

A vague regret, a troubled prayer, And then the future vast and fair

Will tempt your young and eager eyes With all its glad surprise.

And I shall watch you, safe and far, As some late traveller eyes a star Wheeling beyond his desert sands To gladden happier lands.

LOVE'S DOUBT

'T IS love that blinds my heart and eyes, — I sometimes say in doubting dreams,— The face that near me perfect seems Cold Memory paints in fainter dyes.

'T was but love's dazzled eyes — I say — That made her seem so strangely bright; The face I worshipped yesternight, I dread to meet it changed to-day.

As, when dies out some song's refrain, And leaves your eyes in happy tears, Awake the same fond idle fears, — It cannot sound so sweet again.

You wait and say with vague annoy, "It will not sound so sweet again," Until comes back the wild refrain That floods your soul with treble joy.

So when I see my love again Fades the unquiet doubt away, While shines her beauty like the day Over my happy heart and brain.

And in that face I see no more The fancied faults I idly dreamed, But all the charms that fairest seemed, I find them, fairer than before.

LAGRIMAS

GOD send me tears! Loose the fierce band that binds my tired brain, Give me the melting heart of other years, And let me weep again!

Before me pass The shapes of things inexorably true. Gone is the sparkle of transforming dew From every blade of grass.

In life's high noon Aimless I stand, my promised task undone, And raise my hot eyes to the angry sun That will go down too soon.

Turned into gall Are the sweet joys of childhood's sunny reign; And memory is a torture, love a chain That binds my life in thrall.

And childhood's pain Could to me now the purest rapture yield; I pray for tears as in his parching field The husbandman for rain.

We pray in vain! The sullen sky flings down its blaze of brass; The joys of love all scorched and withering pass; I shall not weep again.

ON THE BLUFF

O GRANDLY flowing River! O silver-gliding River! Thy springing willows shiver In the sunset as of old; They shiver in the silence Of the willow-whitened islands, While the sun-bars and the sand-bars Fill air and wave with gold.

O gay, oblivious River! O sunset-kindled River! Do you remember ever The eyes and skies so blue On a summer day that shone here, When we were all alone here, And the blue eyes were too wise To speak the love they knew?

O stern impassive River! O still unanswering River! The shivering willows quiver As the night-winds moan and rave. From the past a voice is calling, From heaven a star is falling, And dew swells in the bluebells Above her hillside grave.

UNA

IN the whole wide world there was but one, Others for others, but she was mine, The one fair woman beneath the sun.

From her gold-flax curls' most marvellous shine Down to the lithe and delicate feet There was not a curve nor a waving line

But moved in a harmony firm and sweet With all of passion my life could know. By knowledge perfect and faith complete

I was bound to her, — as the planets go Adoring around their central star, Free, but united for weal or woe.

She was so near and Heaven so far— She grew my heaven and law and fate Rounding my life with a mystic bar

No thought beyond could violate. Our love to fulness in silence nursed Grew calm as morning, when through the gate

Of the glimmering East the sun has burst, With his hot life filling the waiting air. She kissed me once, — that last and first

Of her maiden kisses was placid as prayer. Against all comers I sat with lance In rest, and, drunk with my joy, I sware

Defiance and scorn to the world's worst chance. In vain! for soon unhorsed I lay At the feet of the strong god Circumstance—

And never again shall break the day, And never again shall fall the night That shall light me, or shield me, on my way

To the presence of my sad soul's delight. Her dead love comes like a passionate ghost To mourn the Body it held so light,

And Fate, like a hound with a purpose lost, Goes round bewildered with shame and fright.

THROUGH THE LONG DAYS

THROUGH the long days and years What will my loved one be, Parted from me?— Through the long days and years.

Always as then she was Loveliest, brightest, best, Blessing and blest,— Always as then she was.

Never on earth again Shall I before her stand, Touch lip or hand,— Never on earth again.

But while my darling lives Peaceful I journey on, Not quite alone, Not while my darling lives.

A PHYLACTERY

WISE men I hold those rakes of old Who, as we read in antique story, When lyres were struck and wine was poured, Set the white Death's Head on the board— Memento mori.

Love well! love truly! and love fast! True love evades the dilatory. Life's bloom flares like a meteor past; A joy so dazzling cannot last — Memento mori.

Stop not to pluck the leaves of bay That greenly deck the path of glory, The wreath will wither if you stay, So pass along your earnest way — Memento mori.

Hear but not heed, though wild and shrill, The cries of faction transitory; Cleave to your good, eschew your ill, A Hundred Years and all is still — Memento mori.

When Old Age comes with muffled drums, That beat to sleep our tired life's story, On thoughts of dying, (Rest is good!) Like old snakes coiled i' the sun, we brood— Memento mori.

BLONDINE

I WANDERED through a careless world Deceived when not deceiving, And never gave an idle heart The rapture of believing. The smiles, the sighs, the glancing eyes, Of many hundred comers Swept by me, light as rose-leaves blown From long-forgotten summers.

But never eyes so deep and bright And loyal in their seeming, And never smiles so full of light Have shone upon my dreaming. The looks and lips so gay and wise, The thousand charms that wreathe them, — Almost I dare believe that truth Is safely shrined beneath them.

Ah! do they shine, those eyes of thine, But for our own misleading? The fresh young smile, so pure and fine, Does it but mock our reading? Then faith is fled, and trust is dead, And unbelief grows duty, If fraud can wield the triple arm Of youth and wit and beauty.

DISTICHS

I

WISELY a woman prefers to a lover a man who neglects her. This one may love her some day, some day the lover will not.

II

There are three species of creatures who when they seem coming are going, When they seem going they come: Diplomates, women, and crabs.

III

Pleasures too hastily tasted grow sweeter in fond recollection, As the pomegranate plucked green ripens far over the sea.

IV

As the meek beasts in the Garden came flocking for Adam to name them, Men for a title to-day crawl to the feet of a king.

V

What is a first love worth, except to prepare for a second? What does the second love bring? Only regret for the first.

VI

Health was wooed by the Romans in groves of the laurel and myrtle. Happy and long are the lives brightened by glory and love.

VII

Wine is like rain: when it falls on the mire it but makes it the fouler, But when it strikes the good soil wakes it to beauty and bloom.

VIII

Break not the rose; its fragrance and beauty are surely sufficient: Resting contented with these, never a thorn shall you feel.

IX

When you break up housekeeping, you learn the extent of your treasures; Till he begins to reform, no one can number his sins.

X

Maidens! why should you worry in choosing whom you shall marry? Choose whom you may, you will find you have got somebody else.

XI

Unto each man comes a day when his favorite sins all forsake him, And he complacently thinks he has forsaken his sins.

XII

Be not too anxious to gain your next-door neighbor's approval: Live your own life, and let him strive your approval to gain.

XIII

Who would succeed in the world should be wise in the use of his pronouns. Utter the You twenty times, where you once utter the I.

XIV

The best loved man or maid in the town would perish with anguish Could they hear all that their friends say in the course of a day.

XV

True luck consists not in holding the best of the cards at the table: Luckiest he who knows just when to rise and go home.

XVI

Pleasant enough it is to hear the world speak of your virtues; But in your secret heart 't is of your faults you are proud.

XVII

Try not to beat back the current, yet be not drowned in its waters; Speak with the speech of the world, think with the thoughts of the few.

XVIII

Make all good men your well-wishers, and then, in the years' steady sifting, Some of them turn into friends. Friends are the sun shine of life.

REGARDANT

AS I lay at your feet that afternoon, Little we spoke, — you sat and mused, Humming a sweet old-fashioned tune,

And I worshipped you, with a sense confused Of the good time gone and the bad on the way, While my hungry eyes your face perused

To catch and brand on my soul for aye The subtle smile which had grown my doom. Drinking sweet poison hushed I lay

Till the sunset shimmered athwart the room. I rose to go. You stood so fair And dim in the dead day's tender gloom:

All at once, or ever I was aware, Flashed from you on me a warm strong wave Of passion and power; in the silence there

I fell on my knees, like a lover, or slave, With my wild hands clasping your slender waist: And my lips, with a sudden frenzy brave,

A madman's kiss on your girdle pressed, And I felt your calm heart's quickening beat, And your soft hands on me one instant rest.

And if God had loved me, how endlessly sweet Had he let my heart in its rapture burst, And throb its last at your firm small feet!

And when I was forth, I shuddered at first At my imminent bliss. As a soul in pain, Treading his desolate path accursed,

Looks back and dreams through his tears' dim rain That by Heaven's wide gate the angels smile, Relenting, and beckon him back again,

And goes on, thrice damned by that devil's wile, — So sometimes burns in my weary brain The thought that you loved me all the while.

GUY OF THE TEMPLE

DOWN the dim West slow fails the stricken sun, And from his hot face fades the crimson flush Veiled in death's herald-shadows sick and gray. Silent and dark the sombre valley lies Forgotten; happy in the late fond beams Glimmer the constant waves of Galilee. Afar, below, in airy music ring The bugles of my host; the column halts, A wearied serpent glittering in the vale, Where rising mist-like gleam the tented camps.

Pitch my pavilion here, where its high cross May catch the last light lingering on the hill. The savage shadows, struggling by the shore, Have conquered in the valley; inch by inch The vanquished light fights bravely to these crags To perish glorious in the sunset fire; Even as our hunted Cause, so pressed and torn

In Syrian valleys, and the trampled marge Of consecrated streams, displays at last Its narrowing glories from these steadfast walls. Here in God's name we stand, and brighter far Shines the stern virtue of my martyr-host Through these invidious fortunes, than of old, When the still sunshine glinted on their helms, And dallying breezes woke their bridle-bells To tinkling music by the reedy shore Of calm Tiberias, where our angry Lord, Wroth at the deadly sin that cursed our camp, Denied and blinded us, and gave us up To the avenging sword of Saladin. Yet would he not permit his truth to sink To utter loss amid that foundering fight, But led us, scarred and shattered from the spoil Of Paynim rage, the desert's thirsty death, To where beneath the sheltering crags we prayed And rested and grew strong. Heroes and saints To alien peoples shall they be, my brave And patient warriors; for in their stout hearts

God's spirit dwells forever, and their hands Are swift to do his service on his foes. The swelling music of their vesper-hymn Is rising fragrant from the shadowed vale Familiar to the welcoming gates of heaven.

Mother of God! as evening falls Upon the silent sea, And shadows veil the mountain walls, We lift our souls to thee! From lurking perils of the night, The desert' s hidden harms, From plagues that waste, from blasts that smite, Defend thy men-at-arms!

Ay! Heaven keep them! and ye angel-hosts That wait with fluttering plumes around the great White throne of God, guard them from scathe and harm! For in your starry records never shone The memory of desert so great as theirs. I hold not first, though peerless else on earth,

That knightly valor, born of gentle blood And war's long tutelage, which hath made their name Blaze like a baleful planet o'er these lands; Firm seat in saddle, lance unmoved, a hand Wedding the hilt with death's persistent grasp; One-minded rush in fight that naught can stay. Not these the highest, though I scorn not these, But rather offer Heaven with humble heart The deeds that heaven hath given us arms to do. For when God's smile was with us we were strong To go like sudden lightning to our mark: As on that summer day when Saladin — Passing in scorn our host at Antioch, Who spent the days in revel, and shamed the stars With nightly scandal — came with all his host, Its gay battalia brave with saffron silks, Flaunting the banners of the Caliphate Beneath the walls of fair Jerusalem: And white and shaking came the Leper-King, Great Baldwin's blasted scion, and Tripoli And I, and twenty score of Temple Knights,

To meet the myriads marshalled by the bright Untarnished flower of Eastern chivalry; A moment paused with level-fronting spears And moveless helms before that shining host, Whose gay attire abashed the morning light, And then struck spur and charged, while from the mass Of rushing terror burst the awful cry, God and the Temple! As the avalanche slides Down Alpine slopes, precipitous, cold and dark, Unpitying and unwrathful, grinds and crushes The mountain violets and the valley weeds, And drags behind a trail of chaos and death; So burst we on that field, and through and through The gay battalia brave with saffron silks, Crushed and abolished every grace and gleam, And dragged where'er we rode a sinuous track Of chaos and death, till all the plain was filled With battered armor, turbaned trunkless heads, With silken mantles blushing angry gules And Bagdad's banners trampled and forlorn. And Saladin, stunned and bewildered sore, —

The greatest prince, save in the grace of God, That now wears sword, — mounted his brother's barb And, followed by a half-score followers, Sped to his castle Shaubec, over against The cliffs by Ascalon, and there abode: And sullenly made order that no moreThe royal nouba should be played for him Until he should erase the rusting stain Upon his knightly honor; and no more The nouba sounded by the Sultan's tent, Morning nor evening by the silent tent, Until the headlong greed of Chatillon Spread ruin on our cause from Montreale. But greatest are my warriors, as I deem, In that their hearts, nearer than any else Keep true the pledge of perfect purity They pledged upon their sword-hilts long ago. For all is possible to the pure in heart.

Mother of God! thy starry smile Still bless us from above!

Keep pure our souls from passion' s guile, Our hearts from earthly love! Still save each soul from guilt apart As stainless as each sword, And guard undimmed in every heart The image of our Lord!

O goodliest fellowship that the world has known, True hearts and stalwart arms! above your breasts Glitters no flash of wreathen amulet Forged against sword-stroke by the chanted rhythm Of charms accurst; but in each steadfast heart Blazes the light of cloudless purity, That like a splendid jewel glorifies With restless fire the gold that spheres it round, And marks you children of our God, whose lives He guards with the awful jealousy of love. And even me that generous love has spared, — Me, trustless knight and miserable man,— Sad prey of dark and mutinous thoughts that tempt My sick soul into perjury and death—

Since his great love had pity of my pain, Has spared to lead these blameless warriors safe Into the desert from the blazing towns, Out of the desert to the inviolate hills Where God has roofed them with his hollow shield. Through all these days of tempest and eclipse His hand has led me and his wrath has flashed Its lightnings in the pathway of my sword. And so I hope, and so my crescent faith Gains daily power, that all my prayers and tears And toils and blood and anguish borne for him May blot the accusing of my deadly sin From heaven's high compt, and give me rest in death; And lay the pallid ghost of mortal love, That fills with banned and mournful loveliness, Unblest, the haunted chambers of my soul. My misery will atone, — my misery, — Dear God, will surely atone! for not the sting Of macerating thongs, nor the slow horror Of crowns of thorny iron maddening the brows, Nor all that else pale hermits have devised

To scourge the rebel senses in their shade Of caverned desolation, have the power To smart and goad and lash and mortify Like the great love that binds my ruined heart Relentless, as the insidious ivy binds The shattered bulk of some deserted tower, Enlacing slow and riving with strong hands Of pitiless verdure every seam and jut, Till none may tear it forth and save the tower, So binds and masters me my hopeless love. So through the desert, in the silent hills, I' the current of the battle's storm and stress, One thought has driven me, — that though men may call Me stainless Paladin, Knight leal and true To Christ and Our Lady, still I know myself A knight not after God's own heart, a soul Recreant, and whelmed in the forbidden sin. For dearer to my sad heart than the cross I give my heart's best blood for are the eyes That long ago, when youth and hope were mine, I loved in thy still valleys, far Provence!

And sweeter to my spirit than the bells Of rescued Salem are the loving tones Of her dear voice, soft echoing o'er the years. They haunt me in the stillness and the glare Of desert noontide when the horizon's line Swims faintly throbbing, and my shadow hides Skulking beneath me from the brassy sky; And when night comes to soothe with breath of balm And pomp of stars the worn and weary world, Her eyes rise in my soul and make its day. And even into the battle comes my love, Snatching the duty that I offer Heaven. At closing of El-Majed's awful day, When the last quivering sunbeams, choked with dust And fume of blood, failed on the level plain, In the last charge, when gathered all our knights The precious handful who from morn had stemmed The fury of the multitudinous hosts Of Islam, where in youth's hot fire and pride Ramped the young lion-whelp, Ben-Saladin; As down the slope we rode at eventide,

The dying sunlight faintly smiled to greet Our tattered guidons and our dinted helms And lance-heads blooming with the battle's rose. Into the vale, dusk with the shadow of death, With silent lips and ringing mail we rode. And something in the spirit of the hour, Or fate, or memory, or sorrow, or sin, Or love, which unto me is all of these, Possessed and bound me; for when dashed our troop In stormy clangor on the Paynim lines The soul of my dead youth came into me; Faded away my oath; the woes of Zion, God was forgot; blazed in my leaping heart, With instant flash, life's inextinguished fires; Plunging along each tense limb poured the blood Hot with its years of sleeping-smothered flame.And in a dream I charged, and in a dream I smote resistless; foemen in my path Fell unregarded, like the wayside flowers Clipped by the truant's staff in daisied lanes. For over me burned lustrous the dear eyes

Of my beloved; I strove as at a joust To gain at end the guerdon of her smile. And ever, as in the dense mêlée I dashed, Her name burst from my lips, as lightning breaks Out of the plunging wrack of summer storms.

O my lost love! Bright o'er the waste of years — That bliss and beauty shines upon my soul; As far beyond yon desert hangs the sun, Gilding with tender beam the barren stretch Of sands that intervene. In this still light The old sweet memories glimmer back to me. Fair summers of my youth, — the idle days I wandered in the bosky coverts hid In the dim woods that girt my ancient home;The blue young eyes I met and worshipped there; The love that growing turned those gloomy wilds To faery dells, and filled the vernal air With light that bathed the hills of Paradise; The warm, long days of rapturous summer-time, When through the forests thick and lush we strayed,

And love made our own sunshine in the shades. And all things fair and graceful in the woods I loved with liberal heart; the violets Were dear for her dear eyes, the quiring birds That caught the musical tremble of her voice. O happy twilights in the leafy glooms! When in the glowing dusk the winsome arts And maiden graces that all day had kept Us twain and separate melted awayIn blushing silence, and my love was mine Utterly, utterly, with clinging arms And quick, caressing fingers, warm red lips, Where vows, half uttered, drowned in kisses, died; Mine, with the starlight in her passionate eyes; The wild wind of the woodland breathing low To wake the elfin music of the leaves, And free the prisoned odors of the flowers, In honor of young Love come to his throne! While we under the stars, with twining arms And mutual lips insatiate, gave our souls — Madly forgetting earth and heaven —to love!

In desert march or battle' s flame, In fortress and in field, Our war-cry is thy holy name, Thy love our joy and shield! And if we falter, let thy power Thy stern avenger be, And God forget us in the hour We cease to think of thee!

Curse me not, God of Justice and of Love! Pitiful God, let my long woe atone!

I cannot deem but God has pitied me; Else why with painful care have I been saved, Whenever tossed and drenched in the fierce tide Of Saladin's victories by the walls profaned Of Jaffa, on the sands of far Daroum, Or in the battle thundering on the downs Of Ramlah, or the bloody day that shed Red horrors on high Gaza's parapets? For never a storm of fatal fight has raged

In Islam's track of rout and ruin swept From Egypt to Gebail, but when the ebb Of battle came I and my host have lain, Scarred, scorched, safe somewhere on its fiery shore. At Marcab's lingering siege, where day by day We told the Moslem legions toiling slow, Planting their engines, delving in their mines To quench in our destruction this last light Of Christendom, our fortress in the crags, God's beacon swung defiant from the stars; One thunderous night I knew their miners groped Below, and thought ere morn to die, in crush And tumult of the falling citadel. And pondering of my fate — the broken storm Sobbing its life away — I was aware There grew between me and the quieting skies A face and form I knew, — not as in dreams, The sad dishevelled loveliness of earth, But lighter than the thin air where she swayed,— Gold hair flame-fluttered, eyes and mouth aglow With lambent light of spiritual joy.

With sweet command she beckoned me away And led me vaguely dreaming, till I saw Where the wild flood in sudden fury had burst A passage through the rocks: and thence I led My host unharmed, following her luminous eyes, Until the East was gray, and with a smile Wooing me heavenward still she passed away Into the rosy trouble of the dawn.

And I believe my love is shrived in heaven, And I believe that I shall soon be free.

For ever, as I journey on, to me Waking or sleeping come faint whisperings And fancies not of earth, as if the gatesOf near eternity stood for me ajar, And ghostly gales come blowing o'er my soul Fraught with the amaranth odors of the skies. I go to join the Lion-Heart at Acre, And there, after due homage to my liege, And after patient penance of the church,

And after final devoir in the fight, If that my God be gracious, I shall die. And so I pray —Lord pardon if I sin!— That I may lose in death's imbittercd wave, The stain of sinful loving, and may find In glory again the love I lost below, With all of fair and bright and unattained, Beautiful in the cherishing smile of God, By the glad waters of the River of Life!

Night hangs above the valley; dies the day In peace, casting his last glance on my cross, And warns me to my prayers. Ave Maria!

Mother of God! the evening fades On wave and hill and lea, And in the twilight' s deepening shades We lift our souls to thee! In passion's stress, the battle's strife, The desert' s lurking harms, Maid-Mother of the Lord of Life, Protect thy men-at-arms!