Poems : household ed. --
Aldrich, Thomas Bailey, 1836-1907
^■S>ss* Vv-v/J-ifc-. flti. ''< "' '■-•:■ ■ - 'j \ ■11 3 9007 0309 0271 2 ■ (&tdu ^*LfO. i/fay/M^^ ALDRICH'S POEMS OT>.oiw! THE POEMS THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH J?ouskI)cId Coition WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BOSTON AND NEW YORK HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN AND COMPANY tarfce ntoers'ibe Prcs& <Camfcri&oe PS mo Copyright, 1858, 1860, 1862, 1865, 1873, 1876, and 1886, Bl THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH, TICKNOR & FIELDS and JAMES R. OSGOOD & CO. Copyright, 1882, 1883, and 1885, By HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN & CO. All rights reserved' The Riverside Press, Cambridge: Electrotyped and Trinted by H. 0. Houghton & Co. CONTENTS. PAGE Flower and Thorn 13 I. Cloth of Gold. Proem 17 An Arab Welcome 17 A Turkish Legend .18 The Crescent aud the Cross 19 The Unforgiven 20 Dressing the Bride 21 Two Songs from the Persian 22 Tiger-Lilies 2'5 The Sultana 24 The World's Way 25 Latakia 26 When the Sultan goes to Ispahan .... 28 Hascheesh 30 A Prelude 31 II. Interludes. Hesperides ' . 35 Before the Rain 36 After the Rain 36 Castles 37 Ingratitude 38 December 39 The Faded Violet 41 Ballad 42 The Lunch . . .42 The One White Rose 43 Nameless Pain 43 At Two-and- Twenty 44 Song-Time 45 The Daemon Lover 45 Palabras Carinosas 46 May 47 VI CONTENTS. The Bluebells of New England 48 Wedded 49 Romance 50 Destiny 51 Unsung 52 Frost- Work 53 Landscape 53 Rococo 54 Haunted 55 Fable 56 A Snow-Flake 57 Across the Street 57 Identity 58 Nocturne 59 An Untimely Thought 60 Rencontre 61 A Winter Piece 61 Love's Calendar 62 Palinode 62 III. Spring in New England and Other Poems. Spring in New England 67 Baby Bell 73 Pampina 77 Sorcery 80 Invocation to Sleep 81 Seadrift 83 In the Old Church Tower 85 Piscataqua River 86 The Flight of the Goddess 88 On an Intaglio Head of Minerva 90 An Old Castle 92 Lost at Sea 95 The Queen's Ride ' • -97 Dirge 98 On Lynn Terrace 100 The Piazza of St. Mark at Midnight . . . .103 The Metempsychosis 104 IV. Friar Jerome's Beautifci. Book, etc. Friar Jerome's Beautiful Book Ill Miantowona 119 The Guerdon 127 The Jew's Gift 130 Tita's Tears 134 CONTENTS. vii The Lady of Castelnore 136 In an Atelier 140 The Tragedy 143 Pepita 146 The Legend of Ara-Coeli 149 Judith. I. Judith in the Tower 164 II. The Camp of Assur 174 m. The Flight 185 Sonnets and Quatrains. Sonnets. " Sick of myself and all that keeps the light " . .201 " The increasing moonlight drifts across my bed " . 202 " When I behold what pleasure is Pursuit " . . . 202 " Fantastic Sleep is busy with my eyes "... 203 " Thus spake the Preacher : O, my friends, beware " . 204 " Now if Euterpe held me not in scorn "... 204 "Pleasant it is to lie amid the grass" . . . .205 " Those forms we fancy shadows, those strange lights " 206 " The soft new grass is creeping o'er the graves "  hold your breath " . 208 " You by the Arno shape your marble dream " . . 209 " While men pay reverence to mighty things " . . 210 "Yonder we see it from the steamer's deck" . . 210 "In scarlet clusters o'er the gray stone-wall " . -21 1 " They never crowned him, never knew his worth " .212 "Touched with the delicate green of early May" . 212 "Thus spake his dust, so seemed it as I read" . . 213 " While yet my lip was breathing youth's first breath " 214 " When to soft Sleep we give ourselves away " . .215 Quatrains. Day and Night . 216 Maple Leaves 216 A Child's Grave 217 Pessimist and Optinii>t 217 Grace and Strength 217 Among the Pints 218 From the Spanish 218 Masks 218 Coquette . 219 Vlll CONTENTS. Epitaphs 219 Popularity 219 Human Ignorance 220 Spendthrift 220 The Iron Age 220 Myrtilla .221 On her Blushing 221 On a Volume of Anonymous Poems .... 221 Fame 222 The Difference 222 On Beading 222 The Bose 223 Moonrise at Sea ........ 223 Borneo and Juliet .,,,,.,. 223 Omar Khayyam . , 224 Circumstance , , 224 Herrick 224 Memories 225  Bivouac , 229 ii. At Arguano . , . . , , - , . 243 VII. Later Lyrics. Intaglios 269 Lyrics and Epics 270 Heredity 270 Comedy 271 Prescience 272 One Woman 273 Bealism 273 Discipline ....,..<• 274 Appreciation .,,...•••  Nieuwe Kerk . . ' . . . 277 Apparitions 278 Mare'ehul Niel 278 Bayard Taylor 279 Epilogue .280 LIST OF ILLUSTEATIONS. PAGE Portrait Frontispiece. Dressing the Bride 21 "When* the Sultan goes to Ispahan 28 Fable 56 Spring in New England 68 Head of Baby Bell 73 The Queen's RidB 98 Friar Jerome 116 Legend of Ara-Cceli 163 Judith 173 Egypt 203 Mooniuse at Sea 223 FLOWER AND THORN. FLOWER AND THORN. TO L. A. I. At Shiraz, in a sultan's garden, stood A tree whereon a curious apple grew, One side like honey, and one side like rue. Thus sweet and bitter is the life of man, The sultan said, for thus together grow Bitter and sweet, but wherefore none may know. Herewith together you have flower and thorn, Both rose and brier, for thus together grow Bitter and sweet, but wherefore none may know. II. Take them and keep them, Silvery thorn and flower, Plucked just at random In the rosy weather — Snowdrops and pansies, Sprigs of wayside heather, And five-leaved wild-rose Dead within an hour. (13) 14 FLOWER AND THORN. Take them and keep them : Who can tell? some day, dear, (Though they be withered, Flower and thorn and blossom,) Held for an instant Up against thy bosom, They might make December Seem to thee like May, dear I I. CLOTH OF GOLD. CLOTH OF GOLD. PROEM. You ask us if by rule or no Our many-colored songs are wrought: Upon the cunning loom of thought, We weave our fancies, so and so. The busy shuttle comes and goes Across the rhymes, and deftly weaves A tissue out of autumn leaves, With here a thistle, there a rose. With art and patience thus is made The poet's perfect Cloth of Gold : When woven so, nor moth nor mould Nor time can make its colors fade. AN ARAB WELCOME. Because thou com'st, a weary guest, Unto my tent, I bid thee rest. (17) 18 CLOTH OF GOLD. This cruse of oil, this skin of wine, These tamarinds and dates are thine ; And while thou eatest, Medjid, there, Shall bathe the heated nostrils of thy mare. Illah il' Allah ! Even so An Arab chieftain treats a foe, Holds him as one without a fault Who breaks his bread and tastes his salt ; And, in fair battle, strikes him dead With the same pleasure that he gives him bread! A TURKISH LEGEND. A certain Pasha, dead these thousand years, Once from his harem fled in sudden tears, And had this sentence on the city's gate Deeply engraven, " Only God is great." So those four words above the city's noise Hung like the accents of an angel's voice, And evermore, from the high barbacan, Saluted each returning caravan. Lost is that city's glory. Every gust Lifts, with crisp leaves, the unknown Pasha's dust. CLOTH OF GOLD. 19 And all is ruin — save one wrinkled gate Whereon is written, " Only God is great." THE CRESCENT AND THE CROSS. Kind was my friend who, in the Eastern land, Remembered me with such a gracious hand, And sent this Moorish Crescent which has been Worn on the haughty bosom of a queen. No more it sinks and rises in unrest To the soft music of her heathen breast ; No barbarous chief shall bow before it more, No turbaned slave shall envy and adore. I place beside this relic of the Sun A Cross of Cedar brought from Lebanon, Once borne, perchance, by some pale monk who trod The desert to Jerusalem — and his God. Here do they lie, two symbols of two creeds, Each meaning something to our human needs, Both stained with blood, and sacred made by faith, By tears, and prayers, and martyrdom, and death. That for the Moslem is, but this for me ! The waning Crescent lacks divinity: It gives me dreams of battles, and the woes Of women shut in dim seraglios. 20 CLOTH OF GOLD. But when this Cross of simple wood I see, The Star of Bethlehem shines again for me, And glorious visions break upon my gloom — The patient Christ, and Mary at the Tomb ! THE UNFORGIVEN. Near my bed, there, hangs the picture jewels could not buy from me : 'T is a Siren, a brown Siren, in her sea-weed dra- pery, Playing on a lute of amber, by the margin of a sea. In the east, the rose of morning seems as if 't would blossom soon, But it never, never blossoms, in this picture ; and the moon Never ceases to be crescent, and the June is always June. And the heavy-branched banana never yields its creamy fruit; In the citron-trees are nightingales forever stricken mute ; And the Siren sits, her fingers on the pulses of the lute. DRESSING THE BRIDE." Page21. CLOTH OF GOLD. 21 In the hushes of the midnight, when the heliotropes grow strong With the dampness, I hear music — hear a quiet, plaintive song — A most sad, melodious utterance, as of some im- mortal wrong — Like the pleading, oft repeated, of a Soul that pleads in vain, Of a damne*d Soul repentant, that would fain be pure again ! — And I lie awake and listen to the music of her pain. And whence comes this mournful music ? — whence, unless it chance to be From the Siren, the brown Siren, in her sea-weed drapery, Playing on a lute of amber, by the margin of a sea. DRESSING THE BRIDE. A FRAGMENT. So, after bath, the slave-girls brought The broidered raiment for her wear, The misty izar from Mosul, The pearls and opals for her hair, 22 CLOTH OF GOLD. The slippers for her supple feet, (Two radiant crescent moons they were,) And lavender, and spikenard sweet, And attars, nedd, and richest musk. When they had finished dressing her, (The eye of morn, the hearths desire !) Like one pale star against the dusk, A single diamond on her brow Trembled with its imprisoned fire! TWO SONGS FROM THE PERSIAN. i. O cease, sweet music, let us rest! Too soon the hateful light is born; Henceforth let day be counted night, And midnight called the morn. O cease, sweet music, let us rest! A tearful, languid spirit lies, Like the dim scent in violets, In beauty's gentle eyes. There is a sadness in sweet sound That quickens tears. 0 music, lest We weep with thy strange sorrow, cease Be still, and let us rest. CLOTH OF GOLD. 23 II. Ah! sad are they who know not love, But, far from passion's tears and smiles, Drift down a moonless sea, beyond The silvery coasts of fairy isles. And sadder they whose longing lips Kiss empty air, and never touch The dear warm mouth of those they love — Waiting, wasting, suffering much. But clear as amber, fine as musk, Is life to those who, pilgrim-wise, Move hand in hand from dawn to dusk, Each morning nearer Paradise. O, not for them shall angels pray! They stand in everlasting light, They walk in Allah's smile by day, And nestle in his heart by night. TIGER-LILIES. I like not lady-slippers, Nor yet the sweet-pea blossoms, Nor yet the flaky roses, Red, or white as snow; 24 CLOTH OF GOLD I like the chaliced lilies, The heavy Eastern lilies, The gorgeous tiger-lilies, That in our garden grow. For they are tall and slender; Their mouths are dashed with carmine; And when the wind sweeps by them, On their emerald stalks They bend so proud and graceful — They are Circassian women, The favorites of the Sultan, Adown our garden walks ! And when the rain is falling, I sit beside the window And watch them glow and glisten, How they burn and glow! O for the burning lilies, The tender Eastern lilies, The gorgeous tiger-lilies, That in our garden grow THE SULTANA. In the draperies' purple gloom, In the gilded chamber she stands, I catch a glimpse of her bosom's bloom, And the white of her jewelled hands. CLOTH OF GOLD. 25 Each wandering wind that blows By the lattice, seems to bear From her parted lips the scent of the rose, And the jasmine from her hair. Her dark-browed odalisques lean To the fountain's feathery rain, And a paroquet, by the broidered screen, Dangles its silvery chain. But pallid, luminous, cold, Like a phantom she fills the place, Sick to the heart, in that cage of gold, With her sumptuous disgrace! THE WORLD'S WAY» At Haroun's court it chanced, upon a time, An Arab poet made this pleasant rhyme: "The new moon is a horseshoe, wrought of God, Wherewith the Sultan's stallion shall be shod." On hearing this, his highness smiled, and gave The man a gold-piece. Sing again, 0 slave I Above his lute the happy singer bent, And turned another gracious compliment. 26 CLOTH OF GOLD. And, as before, the smiling Sultan gave The man a sekkah. Sing again, 0 slave! Again the verse came, fluent as a rill That wanders, silver-footed, down a hilL The Sultan, listening, nodded as before, Still gave the gold, and still demanded more. The nimble fancy that had climbed so high Grew weary with its climbing by and by : Strange discords rose ; the sense went quite amiss ; The singer's rhymes refused to meet and kiss : Invention flagged, the lute had got unstrung, And twice he sang the song already sung. The Sultan, furious, called a mute, and said, O Musta, straightway whip me off his head! Poets ! not in Arabia alone You get beheaded when your skill is gone. LATAKIA. When all the panes are hung with frost, Wild wizard-work of silver lace, CLOTH OF GOLD. 27 I draw my sofa on the rug Before the ancient chimney-place. Upon the painted tiles are mosques And minarets, and here and there A blind muezzin lifts his hands And calls the faithful unto prayer. Folded in idle, twilight dreams, I hear the hemlock chirp and sing As if within its ruddy core It held the happy heart of Spring. Ferdousi never sang like that, Nor Saadi grave, nor Hafiz gay: I lounge, and blow white rings of smoke, And watch them rise and float away. ir. The curling wreaths like turbans seem Of silent slaves that come and go — Or Viziers, packed with craft and crime, Whom I behead from time to time, With pipe-stem, at a single blow. And now and then a lingering cloud Takes gracious form at my desire, And at my side my lady stands, Unwinds her veil with snowy hands — A shadowy shape, a breath of fire 1 O Love, if you were only here Beside me in this mellow light, 28 CLOTH OF GOLD. Though all the bitter winds should blow, And all the ways be choked with snow, 'T would be a true Arabian night! WHEN THE SULTAN GOES TO ISPAHAN. When the Sultan Shah-Zaman Goes to the city Ispahan, Even before he gets so far As the place where the clustered palm-trees are, At the last of the thirty palace-gates, The flower of the harem, Rose-in-Bloom, Orders a feast in his favorite room — Glittering squares of colored ice, Sweetened with syrop, tinctured with spice, Creams, and cordials, and sugared dates, Syrian apples, Othmanee quinces, Limes, and citrons, and apricots, And wines that are known to Eastern princes; And Nubian slaves, with smoking pots Of spice"d meats and costliest fish And all that the curious palate could wish, Pass in and out of the cedarn doors ; Scattered over mosaic floors Are anemones, myrtles, and violets, And a musical fountain throws its jets Of a hundred colors into the air. The dusk Sultana loosens her hair, 'WHEN THE SULTAN GOES TO ISPAHAN.'1 Page 28. CLOTH OF GOLD. 29 And stains with the henna-plant the tips Of her pointed nails, and bites her lips Till they bloom again ; but, alas, that rose Not for the Sultan buds and blows ! Not for the Sultan Shah-Zaman When he goes to the city Ispahan. Then at a wave of her sunny hand The dancing-girls of Samarcand Glide in like shapes from fairy-land, Making a sudden mist in air Of fleecy veils and floating hair And white arms lifted. Orient blood Runs in their veins, shines in their eyes. And there, in this Eastern Paradise, Filled with the breath of sandal-wood, And Khoten musk, and aloes and myrrh, Sits Rose-in-Bloom on a silk divan, Sipping the wines of Astrakhan ; And her Arab lover sits with her. That 's when the Sultan Shah-Zaman Goes to the city Ispahan. Now, when I see an extra light, Flaming, flickering on the night From my neighbor's casement opposite, I know as well as I know to pray, I know as well as a tongue can say, That the innocent Sultan Shah-Zaman Has gone to the city Ispahan. 30 CLOTH OF GOLD. HASCHEESH. Stricken with dreams, I wandered through the night ; The heavens leaned down to me with splendid fires ; The south-wind breathing upon unseen lyres Made music as I went ; and to my sight A Palace shaped itself against the skies : Great sapphire-studded portals suddenly Opened on vast Ionic galleries Of gold and porphyry, and I could see, Through half-drawn curtains that let in the day, Dim tropic gardens stretching far away. ii. Ah! what a wonder fell upon my soul, When from that structure of the upper airs I saw unfold a flight of crystal stairs For my ascending. . . . Then I heard the roll Of unseen oceans clashing at .the Pole. . .. A terror seized upon me ... a vague sense Of near calamity. " O, lead me hence ! " I shrieked, and lo! from out a darkling hole That opened at, my feet, crawled after me, Up the broad staircase, creatures of huge size, Fanged, warty monsters, with their lips and eyes Hung with slim leeches sucking hungrily. — CLOTH OF GOLD. 31 Away, vile drug! I will avoid thy spell, Honey of Paradise, black dew of Hell! A PRELUDE. Hassan ben Abdul at the Ivory Gate Of Bagdad sat and chattered in the sun, Like any magpie chattered to himself And four lank, swarthy Arab boys that stopt A gambling game with peach-pits, and drew near. Then Iman Khan, the friend of thirsty souls, The seller of pure water, ceased his cry, And placed his water-skins against the gate — They looked so like him, with their sallow cheeks Puffed out like Iman's. Then a eunuch came And swung a pack of sweetmeats from his head, And stood — a hideous pagan cut in jet. And then a Jew, whose sandal-straps were red "With desert-dust, limped, cringing, to the crowd — He, too, would listen ; and close after him A jeweller that glittered like his shop. Then two blind mendicants, who wished to go Six diverse ways at once, came stumbling by, But hearing Hassan chatter, sat them down. And if the Khaleef had been riding near, He would have paused to listen like the rest, For Hassan's fame was ripe in all the East. From white-walled Cairo to far Ispahan, 82 CLOTH OF GOLD. From Mecca to Damascus, he was known, Hassan, the Arab with the Singing Heart. His songs were sung by boatmen on the Nile, By Beddowee maidens, and in Tartar camps, While all men loved him as they loved their eyes ; And when he spake, the wisest, next to him, Was he who listened. And- thus Hassan sung. — And I, a stranger lingering in Bagdad, Half English and half Arab, by my beard ! Caught at the gilded epic as it grew, And for my Christian brothers wrote it down. II. INTERLUDES. INTERLUDES. HESPERIDES. If thy soul, Herrick, dwelt with me, This is what my songs would be: Hints of our sea-breezes, blent With odors from the Orient; Indian vessels deep with spice; Star-showers from the Norland ice; Wine-red jewels that seem to hold Fire, but only burn with cold ; Antique goblets, strangely wrought, Filled with the wine of happy thought; Bridal measures, vain regrets, Laburnum buds and violets ; Hopeful as the break of day ; Clear as crystal ; new as May ; Musical as brooks that run O'er yellow shallows in the sun ; Soft as the satin fringe that shades The eyelids of thy fragrant maids; Brief as thy lyrics, Herrick, are, ^ And polished as the bosom of a star. (35) 36 INTERLUDES. BEFORE THE RAIN. We knew it would rain, for all the morn, A spirit on slender ropes of mist Was lowering its golden buckets down Into the' vapory amethyst Of marshes and swamps and dismal fens — Scooping the dew that lay in the flowers, Dipping the jewels out of the sea, To sprinkle them over the land in showers. We knew it would rain, for the poplars showed The white of their leaves, the amber grain Shrunk in the wind — and the lightning now Is tangled in tremulous skeins of rain ! AFTER THE RAIN. The rain has ceased, and in my room The sunshine pours an airy flood ; And on the church's dizzy vane The ancient Cross is bathed in blood. From out the dripping ivy-leaves, Antiquely carven, gray and high, INTERLUDES. 37 A dormer, facing westward, looks Upon the village like an eye : And now it glimmers in the sun, A square of gold, a disk, a speck: And in the belfry sits a Dove With purple ripples on her neck. CASTLES. Theee is a picture in my brain That only fades to come again — The sunlight, through a veil of rain To leeward, gilding A narrow stretch of brown sea-sand, A lighthouse half a league from land, And two young lovers, hand in hand, A castle-building. Upon the budded apple-trees The robins sing by twos and threes, And ever, at the faintest breeze, Down drops a blossom ; And ever would that lover be The wind that robs the burgeoned tree, And lifts the soft tress daintily On Beauty's bosom. 38 INTERLUDES. Ah, gray beard, what a happy thing It was, when life was in its spring, To peep through love's betrothal ring At fields Elysian, To move and breathe in magic air, To think that all that seems is fair — Ah, ripe young mouth and golden hair, Thou pretty vision! Well, well, I think not on these two But the old wound breaks out anew, And the old dream, as if 't were true, In my heart nestles; Then tears come welling to my eyes, For yonder, all in saintly guise, As 'twere, a sweet dead woman lies Upon the trestles. INGRATITUDE. Four bluish eggs all in the moss ! Soft-lined home on the cherry-bough ! Life is trouble, and love is loss — There 's only one robin now. O robin up in the cherry-tree, Singing your soul away, Great is the grief befallen me, And how can you be so gay? INTERLUDES. 39 Long ago when you cried in the nest, The last of the sickly brood, Scarcely a pinfeather warming your breast, Who was it brought you food? Who said, " Music, come nil his throat, Or ever the May be fled"? Who was it loved the low sweet note And the bosom's sea-shell red? Who said, " Cherries, grow ripe and big, Black and ripe for this bird of mine " ? How little bright-bosom bends the twig, Sipping the black-heart's wine! Now that my days and nights are woe, Now that I weep for love's dear sake — There you go singing away as though Never a heart could break! DECEMBER. Only the sea intoning, Only the wainscot-mouse, Only the wild wind moaning Over the lonely house. Darkest of all Decembers Ever mv life has known, 40 INTERLUDES. Sitting here by the embers, Stunned and helpless, alone — Dreaming of two graves lying Out in the damp and chill: One where the buzzard, flying, Pauses at Malvern Hill ; The other — alas! the pillows Of that uneasy bed Rise and fall with the billows Over our sailor's head. Theirs the heroic story — Died, by frigate and town ! Theirs the Calm and the Glory, Theirs the Cross and the Crown. Mine to linger and languish Here by the wintry sea. Ah, faint heart ! in thy anguish, What is there left to thee? Only the sea intoning, Only the wainscot-mouse, Only the wild wind moaning Over the lonely house. INTERLUDES. 41 THE FADED VIOLET. What thought is folded in thy leaves ! What tender thought, what speechless pain! I hold thy faded lips to mine, Thou darling of the April rain ! I hold thy faded lips to mine, Though scent and azure tint are fled — 0 dry, mute lips ! ye are the type Of something in me cold and dead: Of something wilted like thy leaves ; Of fragrance flown, of beauty dim ; Yet, for the love of those white hands That found thee by a river's brim — That found thee when thy dewy mouth Was purpled as with stains of wine — For love of her who love forgot, 1 hold thy faded lips to mine. That thou shouldst live when I am dead, When hate is dead, for me, and wrong, For this, I use my subtlest j rt, For this, I fold thee in my song. 42 INTERLUDES. BALLAD. The blackbird sings in the hazel-brake, And the squirrel sits on the tree ; And Blanche she walks in the merry greenwood, Down by the summer sea. The blackbird lies when he sings of love, And the squirrel, a thief is he; And Blanche is an arrant flirt, I swear, And light as light can be. O blackbird, die in the hazel-brake! And squirrel, starve on the tree ! And Blanche — you may walk in the merry green- wood. You are nothing more to me. THE LUNCH. A Gothic window, where a damask curtain Made the blank daylight shadowy and uncertain : A slab of agate on four eagle-talons Held trimly up and neatly taught to balance : A porcelain dish, o'er which in many a cluster Black grapes hung down, dead -ripe and without lustre : INTERLUDES. 43 A melon cut in thin, delicious slices: A cake that seemed mosaic-work in spices : Two China cups with golden tulips sunny, And rich inside with chocolate like honey : And she and I the banquet-scene completing With dreamy words — and very pleasant eating ! THE ONE WHITE ROSE. A sorrowful woman said to me, " Gome in and look on our child.'* I saw an Angel at shut of day, And it never spoke — but smiled. I think of it in the city's streets, I dream of it when I rest — The violet eyes, the waxen hands, And the one white rose on the breast! NAMELESS PAIN. In my nostrils the summer wind Blows the exquisite scent of the rose : O for the golden, golden wind, Breaking the buds as it goes ! 44 INTERLUDES. Breaking the buds and bending the grass, And spilling the scent of the rose. 0 wind of the summer morn, Tearing the petals in twain, Wafting the fragrant soul Of the rose through valley and plain, 1 would you could tear my heart to-day And scatter its nameless pain ! AT TWO-AND-TWENTY. Marian, May, and Maud Have not passed me by — Arche*d foot, and rosy mouth, And bronze-brown eye ! When my hair is gray, Then I shall be wise ; Then, thank Heaven ! I shall not care For bronze-brown eyes. Then let Maud and May And Marian pass me by: So they do not scorn me now, What care I? INTERLUDES. 45 SONG-TIME. From out the blossomed cherry-tops Sing, blithesome robin, chant and sing; With chirp, and trill, and magic-stops Win thou the listening ear of Spring! For while thou lingerest in delight, An idle poet, with thy rhyme, The summer hours will take their flight And leave thee in a barren clime. Not all the autumn's rustling gold, Nor sun, nor moon, nor star shall bring The jocund spirit which of old Made it an easy joy to sing! So said a poet — having lost The precious time when he was young — Now wandering by the wintry coast With empty heart and silent tongue. THE D^MON LOVER. Under the night, In the white moonshine, 46 INTERLUDES. Sit thou with me, By the graveyard tree, Imogene. The fire-flies swarm In the white moonshine, Each with its light For our bridal night, Imogene. Blushing with love, In the white moonshine, Lie in my arms, So, safe from alarms, Imogene. Paler art thou Than the white moonshine. Ho! thou art lost — Thou lovest a Ghost, Imogene. PALABRAS CARINOSAS. (SPANISH AIR.) Good-night! I have to say good-night To such a host of peerless things! INTERLUDES. 47 Good-night unto the fragile hand AH queenly with its weight of rings ; Good-night to fond, uplifted eyes, Good-night to chestnut braids of hair, Good-night unto the perfect mouth, And all the sweetness nestled there — The snowy hand detains me, then I '11 have to say Good-night again ! But there will come a time, my love, When, if I read our stars aright, I shall not linger by this porch With my adieus. Till then, good-night! You wish the time were now? And I. You do not blush to wish it so? You would have blushed yourself to death To own so much a year ago — What, both these snowy hands! ahf then I '11 have to say Good-night again ! MAY. Hebe's here, May is here! The air is fresh and sunny ; And the miser-bees are busy Hoarding golden honey. See the knots of buttercups, And the purple pansies — 48 INTERLUDES. Thick as these, within my brain, Grow the wildest fancies. Let me write my songs to-day. Rhymes with dulcet closes — Four-line epics one might hide In the hearts of roses. THE BLUEBELLS OF NEW ENGLAND. The roses are a regal troop, And modest folk the daisies ; But, Bluebells of New England, To you I give my praises — To you, fair phantoms in the sun, Whom merry Spring discovers, With bluebirds for your laureates, And honey-bees for lovers. The south-wind breathes, and lo! you throng This rugged land of ours: I think the pale blue clouds of May Drop down, and turn to flowers ! By cottage doors along the roads You show your winsome faces, And, like the spectre lady, haunt The lonely woodland places. INTERLUDES. 49 All night your eyes are closed in sleep, Kept fresh for day's adorning : Such simple faith as yours can see God's coming in the morning! You lead me by your holiness To pleasant ways of duty; You set my thoughts to melody, You fill me with your beauty. Long may the heavens give you rain, The sunshine its caresses, Long may the woman that I love Entwine you in her tresses! WEDDED. (PROVENCAL AIR.) The happy bells shall ring, Marguerite ; The summer birds shall sing, Marguerite — You smile, but you shall wear Orange-blossoms in your hair, Marguerite. Ah me! the bells have rung, Marguerite ; 50 INTERLUDES. The summer birds have sung, Marguerite — But cypress leaf and rue Make a sorry wreath for you, Marguerite. ROMANCE. i. I have placed a golden Ring upon the hand Of the blithest little Lady in the land! When the early roses Scent the sunny air, She shall gather white ones To tremble in her hair ! Hasten, happy roses, Come to me by May — In your folded petals Lies my wedding-day. ii. The chestnuts shine through the cloven rind, And the woodland leaves are red, my dear; The scarlet fuchsias burn in the wind — Funeral plumes for the Year! INTERLUDES. 51 The Year which has brought me so much woe That if it were not for you, my dear, I could wish the fuchsias' fire might glow For me as well as the Year. in. Out from the depths of my heart Had arisen this single cry, Let me behold my beloved, Let me behold her, and die. At last, like a sinful soul At the portals of Heaven I lie, Never to walk with the blest, Ah, never! . . . only to die. DESTINY. Three roses, wan as moonlight and weighed down Each with its loveliness as with a crown, Drooped in a florist's window in a town. The first a lover bought. It lay at rest, Like flower on flower, that night, on Beauty's breast. The second rose, as virginal and fair, Shrunk in the tangles of a harlot's hair. 52 INTERLUDES. The third, a widow, with new grief made wild, Shut in the icy palm of her dead child. UNSUNG. As sweet as the breath that goes From the lips of the white rose, As weird as the elfin lights That glimmer of frosty nights, As wild as the winds that tear The curled red leaf in the air, Is the song I have never sung. In slumber, a hundred times I have said the mystic rhymes, But ere I open my eyes This ghost of a poem flies; Of the interfluent strains Not even a note remains : I know by my pulses' beat It was something wild and sweet, And my heart is strangely stirred By an unremembered word ! I strive, but I strive in vain, To recall the lost refrain. On some miraculous day Perhaps it will come and stay ; INTERLUDES. 53 In some unimagined Spring I may find my voice, and sing The song I have never sung. FROST-WORK. These winter nights, against my window-pane Nature with busy pencil draws designs Of ferns and blossoms and fine spray of pines, Oak-leaf and acorn and fantastic vines, Which she will make when summer comes again Quaint arabesques in argent, flat and cold, Like curious Chinese etchings. . . . By and by, I in my leafy garden as of old, These frosty fantasies shall charm my eye In azure, damask, emerald, and gold. LANDSCAPE. TWILIGHT. Gaunt shadows stretch along the hill ; Cold clouds drift slowly west; Soft flocks of vagrant snow-flakes fill The redwing's empty nest. 54 INTERLUDES. By sunken reefs the hoarse sea roars; Above the shelving sands, Like skeletons the sycamores Uplift their wasted hands. The air is full of hints of grief, Strange voices touched with pain — The pathos of the falling leaf And rustling of the rain. 0 In yonder cottage shines a light, Far-gleaming like a gem — Not fairer to the Rabbins' sight Was star of Bethlehem I ROCOCO. By studying my lady's eyes I 've grown so learned day by day, So Machiavelian in this wise, That when I send her flowers, I say To each small flower (no matter what, Geranium, pink, or tuberose, Syringa, or forget-me-not, Or violet) before it goes: INTERLUDES. 55 " Be not triumphant, little flower, When on her haughty heart you lie, But modestly enjoy your hour : She '11 weary of you by and by." HAUNTED. A noisome mildewed vine Crawls to the rotting eaves ; The gate has dropped from the rusty hinge, And the walks are stamped with leaves. Close by the shattered fence The red-clay road runs by To a haunted wood, where the hemlocks groan And the willows sob and sigh. Among the dank lush flowers The spiteful fire-fly glows, And a woman steals by the stagnant pond Wrapt in her burial clothes. There 's a dark blue scar on her throat, And ever she makes a moan, And the humid lizards gleam in the grass, And the lichens weep on the stone ; And the Moon shrinks in a cloud, And the traveller shakes with fear, 56 INTERLUDES. And an Owl on the skirts of the wood Hoots, and says, Do you hear? Go not there at night, For a spell hangs over all — The palsied elms, and the dismal road, And the broken garden-wall. O, go not there at night, For a curse is on the place ; Go not there, for fear you meet The Murdered face to face ! FABLE. ROME, 1875. A certain bird in a certain wood, Feeling the spring-time warm and good, Sang to it, in melodious mood. On other neighboring branches stood Other birds who heard his song : Loudly he sang, and clear and strong ; Sweetly he sang, and it stirred their gall There should be a voice so musical. They said to themselves : " We must stop that bird, He 's the sweetest voice was ever heard. ■aMMMMHi INTERLUDES. 57 That rich, deep chest-note, crystal-clear, Is a mortifying thing to hear. We have sharper beaks and hardier wings, Yet we but croak : this fellow sings ! " So they planned and planned, and killed the bird With the sweetest voice was ever heard. Passing his grave one happy May, I brought this English daisy away. A SNOW-FLAKE. Once he sang of summer, Nothing but the summer; Now he sings of winter, Of winter bleak and drear : Just because there 's fallen A snow-flake on his forehead. He must go and fancy 'T is winter all the year ! ACROSS THE STREET. With lash on cheek, she comes and goes; I watch her when she little knows: I wonder if she dreams of it. 58 INTERLUDES. Sitting and working at my rhymes, I weave into my verse at times Her sunny hair, or gleams of it. Upon her window-ledge is set A box of flowering mignonette ; Morning and eve she tends to them — The senseless flowers, that do not care About that loosened strand of hair, As prettily she bends to them. If I could once contrive to get Into that box of mignonette Some morning when she tends to them — She comes ! I see the rich blood rise From throat to cheek ! — down go the eyes, Demurely, as she bends to them ! IDENTITY. Somewhere — in desolate wind-swept space In Twilight-land — in No-man's-land — Two hurrying Shapes met face to face, And bade each other stand. " And who are you ? " cried one a-gape, Shuddering in the gloaming light. " I know not," said the second Shape, " I only died last night ! " INTERLUDES. 59 NOCTURNE. BELLAGGIO. Up to her chamber window A slight wire trellis goes, And up this Romeo's ladder Clambers a bold white rose. I lounge in the ilex shadows, I see the lady lean, Unclasping her silken girdle, The curtain's folds between. She smiles on her white-rose lover, She reaches out her hand And helps him in at the window — I see it where I stand ! To her scarlet lip she holds him, And kisses him many a time — Ah, me ! it was he that won her Because he dared to climb! 60 INTERLUDES. AN UNTIMELY THOUGHT. I wonder what day of the week — I wonder what month of the year — Will it be midnight, or morning, And who will bend over my bier? — What a hideous fancy to come As I wait, at the foot of the stair, While Lilian gives the last touch To her robe, or the rose in her hair. Do I like your new dress — pompadour ? And do I like you t On my life, You are eighteen, and not a day more, And have not been six years my wife. Those two rosy boys in the crib Up-stairs are not ours, to be sure ! — You are just a sweet bride in her bloom, All sunshine, and snowy, and pure. As the carriage rolls down the dark street The little wife laughs and makes cheer — But ... I wonder what day of the week, I wonder what month of the year. INTERLUDES. 61 RENCONTRE. Toiling across the Mer de Glace, I thought of, longed for thee ; What miles between us stretched, alas! What miles of land and sea! My foe, undreamed of, at my side Stood suddenly, like Fate. For those who love, the world is wide, But not for those who hate. A WINTER PIECE. Sous le voile qui vous protege, Defiant les regards jaloux, Si vous sortez par cette neige, Eedoutez vos pieds andalous. Th6ophile Gactibe. Beneath the heavy veil you wear, Shielded from jealous eyes you go ; But of your pretty feet have care If you should venture through the snow. Howe'er you tread, a dainty mould Betrays that light foot all the same; Upon this glistening, snowy fold At every step it signs your name. 62 INTERLUDES. Thus guided, one might come too close Upon the slyly-hidden nest Where Psyche, with her cheek's cold rose, On Love's warm bosom lies at rest. LOVE'S CALENDAR The Summer comes and the Summer goes; Wild-flowers are fringing the dusty lanes, The swallows go darting through fragrant rains, Then, all of a sudden — it snows. Dear Heart, our lives so happily flow, So lightly we heed the flying hours, We only know Winter is gone — by the flowers, We only know Winter is come — by the snow. PALINODE. I. When I was young and light of heart I made sad songs with easy art : Now I am sad, and no more young, My sorrow cannot find a tongue. INTERLUDES. 63 H. Pray, Muses, since I may not sing Of Death or any grievous thing, Teach me some joyous strain, that I May mock my youth's hypocrisy! III. SPKING IE" M¥ ENGLAND AND OTHER POEMS. SPRING IN NEW ENGLAND AND OTHER POEMS. SPRING IN NEW ENGLAND. I. The long years come and go, And the Past, The sorrowful, splendid Past, With its glory and its woe, Seems never to have been. The bugle's taunting blast Has died away by Southern ford and glen: The mock-bird sings unfrightened in its dell; The ensanguined stream flows pure again ; Where once the hissing death-bolt fell, And all along the artillery's level lines Leapt flames of hell, The farmer smiles upon the sprouting grain, And tends his vines. Seems never to have been ? O sombre days and grand, How ye crowd back once more, Seeing our heroes' graves are green (67) 68 SPRING IN NEW ENGLAND. By the Potomac and the Cumberland, And in the valley of the Shenandoah! ii. Now while the pale arbutus in our woods Wakes to faint life beneath the dead year's leaves, And the bleak North lets loose its wailing broods Of winds upon us, and the gray sea grieves Along our coast ; while yet the Winter's hand Heavily presses on New England's heart, And Spring averts the sunshine of her eyes Lest some vain cowslip should untimely start — While we are housed in this rude season's gloom, In this rude land, Bereft of warmth and bloom, We know, far off beneath the Southern skies, Where the flush blossoms mock our drifts of snow And the lithe vine unfolds its emerald sheen — On many a sunny hillside there, we know Our heroes' graves are green. in. The long years come, but they Come not again ! Through vapors dense and gray Steals back the May, But they come not again — Swept by the battle's fiery breath Down unknown ways of death. How can our fancies help but go SPRING IN NEW ENGLAND. 69 Out from this realm of mist and rain, Out from this realm of sleet and snow, When the first Southern violets blow? IV. While yet the year is young Many a garland shall be hung In our gardens of the dead ; On obelisk and urn Shall the lilac's purple burn, And the wild-rose leaves be shed. And afar in the woodland ways, Through the rustic church-yard gate Matrons and maidens shall pass, Striplings and white-haired men, And, spreading aside the grass, Linger at name and date, Remembering old, old days! And the lettering on each stone Where the mould's green breath has blown Tears shall wash clear again ! v. But far away to the South, in the sultry, stricken land — On the banks of silvery streams gurgling among their reeds, By many a drear morass, where the long-neckec' pelican feeds, By many a dark bayou, and blinding dune of sand, 70 SPRING IN NEW ENGLAND. By many a cypress swamp where the cayman seeks its prey, In many a moss-hung wood, the twilight's haunt by day, And down where the land's parched lip drinks at the salt sea-waves, And the ghostly sails glide by — there are piteous, nameless graves. Their names no tongue may tell, Buried there where they fell, The bravest of our braves! Never sweetheart, or friend, Wan pale mother, or bride, Over these mounds shall bend, Tenderly putting aside The unremembering grass ! Never the votive wreath For the unknown brows beneath, Never a tear, alas! How can our fancies help but go Out from this realm of mist and rain, Out from this realm of sleet and snow, When the first Southern violets blow? How must our thought bend over them, Blessing the flowers that cover them — Piteous, nameless graves! VI. Ah, but the life they gave Is not shut in the grave : SPRING IN NEW ENGLAND. 71 The valorous spirits freed Live in the vital deed ! Marble shall crumble to dust, Plinth of bronze and of stone, Carved escutcheon and crest — Silently, one by one, The sculptured lilies fall: Softly the tooth of the rust Gnaws through the brazen shield : Broken, and covered with stains, The crossed stone swords must yield s Mined by the frost and the drouth, Smitten by north and south, Smitten by east and west, Down comes column and all! But the great deed remains. VII. When we remember how they died — In dark ravine and on the mountain-side, In leaguered fort and fire-encircled town, Upon the gun-boat's splintered deck, And where the iron ships went down — How their dear lives were spent, In the crushed and reddened wreck, By lone lagoons and streams, In the weary hospital-tent, In the cockpit's crowded hive — How they languished and died In the black stockades — it seems 72 SPRING IN NEW ENGLAND. Ignoble to be alive ! Tears will well to our eyes, And the bitter doubt will rise — But hush ! for the strife is done, Forgiven are wound and scar; The fight was fought and won Long since, on sea and shore, And every scattered star Set in the blue once more: We are one as before, "With the blot from our scutcheon gone! VIII. So let our heroes rest Upon your sunny breast: Keep them, O South, our tender hearts and true, Keep them, O South, and learn to hold them dear From year to year ! Never forget, Dying for us, they died for you. This hallowed dust should knit us closer yet. IX. 