Part 2
The quiet miles have grown to leagues, The trees are strange and tall, They listen for the gypsy’s steps And follow where they fall.
She sings a song of Wander-land, For very joy they weep: Adown the hills the dying day Soft like a cloud doth creep.
The forest folk have gone to rest, The trees are dark and high: The gypsy’s song it crooneth soft Their mother’s lullaby.
A misty moon now rides the clouds, They sink in happy sleep: The gypsy laughing low at them Slips in the forest deep.
They wake into a fearsome dawn, Lost in a gloomy fen: They follow no more gypsy maids In all their life again.
THREE SONGS
I. THE SAILOR
You hold me for a day, my dear, I lose you for a life, And that’s the sailor’s way, my dear, A love, but not a wife. ’Tis never I will blame you, ’Tis not my eyes are wet, But ’tis I that must remember-- ’Tis you that will forget.
You kiss me for a night, my dear, I kiss you for the years, And that’s the sailor’s right, my dear, And life’s too short for tears. ’Tis never I will stay you When once the moon has set, But ’tis I that must remember-- ’Tis you that will forget.
II. THE HUNTER
One came chasing the fallow deer When all the wood was green, But through my heart an arrow went That ne’er by him was seen-- Ah me! That ne’er by him was seen.
One came hunting the eagle-king When all the wood was brown, But over me a lure was cast That dragged my proud heart down-- Ah me! That dragged my proud heart down.
One came tracking the mighty boar When all the wood was white, But from my wound the red drops fell That guided him that night-- Ah me! That guided him that night.
III. THE PRINCE
My heart it was a cup of gold That at his lip did long to lie, But he hath drunk the red wine down, And tossed the goblet by.
My heart it was a floating bird That through the world did wander free, But he hath locked it in a cage, And lost the silver key.
My heart it was a white, white rose That bloomed upon a broken bough, He did but wear it for an hour, And it is withered now.
THE LITTLE DEAD CHILD
When all but her were sleeping fast, And the night was nearly fled, The little dead child came up the stair And stood by his mother’s bed.
“Ah, God!” she cried, “the nights are three, And yet I have not slept!” The little dead child he sat him down, And sank his head, and wept.
* * * * *
“And is it thou, my little dead child, Come in from out the storm? Ah, lie thou back against my heart, And I will keep thee warm!”
_That is long ago, mother, Long and long ago! Shall I grow warm who lay three nights Beneath the winter snow?_
* * * * *
“Hast thou not heard the old nurse weep? She sings to us no more; And thy brothers leave the broken toys And whisper in the door.”
_That is far away, mother, Far and far away! Above my head the stone is white, My hands forget to play._
* * * * *
“What wilt thou then, my little dead child, Since here thou may’st not lie? Ah, me! that snow should be thy sheet, And winds thy lullaby!”
_Down within my grave, mother, I heard, I know not how, “Go up to God, thou little child, Go up and meet him now!”_
_That is far to fare, mother, Far and far to fare! I come for thee to carry me The way from here to there._
“O hold thy peace, my little dead child, My heart will break in me! Thy way to God thou must go alone, I may not carry thee!”
* * * * *
The cock crew out the early dawn Ere she could stay her moan; She heard the cry of a little child, Upon his way alone.
AT PARTING
Oh, all too well beloved, at last I know That for us two the parting of the ways Has come, and brought the ending of sweet days. Bid me good-bye, and loose my hand, and go. To-day’s fair peak we ran to climb, and low Before us, glowing in our last sun’s rays, The path slopes down, nor undivided stays; The path slopes down, but separate and slow.
Henceforward you and I alone must fare. Nay, look not all so sad! Was ever done A deed to merit all that we have won Of joy? I tell you, there are those whose prayer Is nightly on their knees that they might bear Our shadow, could they but have known our sun!
THE NIXY
They brought her honey and milk, They brought her curds and wine, “But oh!” she cried, “for the river side, And the rushes that were mine!”
They robed her body with silk, They filled her lap with gold, “But oh!” she prayed, “for the mossy shade, And the green depths, pure and cold!”
They kissed her ankles for love, They worshiped at her eyes, “But oh!” she moaned, “for the flood, deep-toned, And the sweeping spray that flies!”
They draped her chamber with black, They wept there at her bier, But her glad soul fled when her heart was dead, And flowed with the river clear.
A JAPANESE FAN
Is it so warm in old Japan? Do flowers flaunt out such riot glare? Hangs that soft, golden mist so low? Ah me, ah me, to journey there!
Inked out against the yellow glow One sharp peak rises, blackly bare; A stately swan steers up the sky-- Ah me, ah me, to journey there!
And see her as she furls her fan! Was ever lady half so fair? She beckons to me with her eyes-- Ah me, ah me, to journey there!
Were ever feet so dainty small? Was ever coiled such shining hair? Her hands are like curled lily-buds-- Ah me, ah me, to journey there!
Fan-pictured, dear Japan, thy calm Fills us of West with dull despair! (The palm-leaves sift the sunlight through) Ah me, ah me, to journey there!
TWO SONNETS FROM THE HEBREW
I. THE PREPARATION
“_And he said, I will not destroy it for the ten’s sake._”
Look back and see this brooding tenderness! Ye wait till Bethlehem? Nay then, not I! Under the law doth Israel ever sigh? Is there no mercy till the great redress? See now, amid the nameless wickedness Love dreadeth lest one soul of his should die, Spareth and faltereth and passeth by, Soft’ning the law to ease a son’s distress.
Shall not the judge of all the earth do right? Aye, child, and more! thou hast not learned to spell Love’s first great letter: centuries of pain Still leave him terrible in thy scared sight Who quencheth with his tears the fires of hell, And yearneth o’er the cities of the Plain!
II. THE INCARNATION
“_Yea, they may forget, yet will I not forget thee!_”
“Speak thou for us: with God we will not speak!” Ye will have prophet, yea, and saviour too, And saint and creed and priest to worship through, Whereat Love smiles and gives them, ye being weak. And most ye clutch at her, that virgin meek With cradling arms: ah, child of Love, but who Curved her soft breast, and taught the dove to coo, And sent the shepherd forth the lamb to seek?
Surely great wings are wrapped around our world! And the one pulse that in us ebbs and flows Leaps at her name, for she has understood: In our hearts’ lowest leaves her love is curled, Unshrined, she yet hath comfort for all woes, If not God’s mother, still God’s motherhood!
ODE: WRITTEN FOR THE TWENTY-SECOND OF FEBRUARY
Upon the shore of God’s unfinished years, Waiting impatient while the slow mist clears, The younger sister of the nations stands, And shades her eyes with mighty, eager hands.
So great, so proud, so strong! with youthful scorn She leaves behind her sisters elder born, And stands before the parting of the ways, Unburdened with their weight of yesterdays.
Hard eyes and restless hers, agleam for gain, And peevish children struggle in her train; Yet her broad brows have bloody laurels pressed, And she hath nourished heroes at her breast.
Half scornful of her children of to-day, She dreams how long ago and far away Her firstborn brought across the new-found seas Their mighty faith, long gone, alas, from these!
She sees them, where th’ untrodden forest waves, Building new homes upon their thick-set graves, Raising new altars to a stern, high creed, Training in fear of God their stalwart breed.
She hears them fling across the hostile sea That cry that cheered her on to victory; She feels again the thrill that shook her soul When wondering nations watched her flag unroll.
She sees--and ah, her heart grows big with tears From out the mists of those long-vanished years,-- She sees her best beloved come, her pride; There stands again her hero at her side.
Her eyes are soft with love, and to her heart There comes anew with sweet, resistless smart Her long-forgotten motherhood, she turns, And toward her children as of old she yearns.
“Oh, grown beyond my power to curb or stay, Turn ye a moment from your sordid way, Lift ye your restless, weary eyes on high, This son your mother bore in days gone by!
“Ye will not see me old before my time! Ye will not make me barren in my prime! Help me to bear ye men again like these! Make me the greatest land the great sun sees!”
Ashamed and dumb her summoned children stand, And love with the old love their Mother-land. Deep in their hearts her elder son is set: Thinking on him, they cannot quite forget!
Before his gracious calm their fevered schemes Awhile are gone, and flushed with the old dreams, They see in him writ large the old, high aim, They point, though backward, to one perfect fame!
THE DEATH SONG
“The island of Martinique will not, in all probability, be built up again.”
Hearken, my father the lowering Sky! Hearken, my brother the heaving Sea! Who but thy sister calls to thee? I, the Mountain, make end and die.
Bridled was I and bitted sure? Bridged with homes and with gardens chained? God’s tame beast to his uses trained? Ye to go free, and I endure?
See, my father, I cloud like thee! See, my brother, like thee I swell! Ye league with death, but I rule all hell, And the Lord of heaven shall shrink from me.
Once I groaned, and the scared wind sighed, Twice I heaved, and the sick earth turned, Thrice I spat out my blood that burned, Roaring with torture, aflame with pride.
Down below me they swarmed and stirred, Ants in an ant-hill, row on row. “Haste!” I cried to them, “haste and go!” Have I not warned? but they have not heard.
“Pains of the deep hold me in thrall, World-old cancers that eat my heart, Blood o’ the earth--I feel it start-- Gone, get ye gone, or it floods you all!”
Living and breeding, still they smile, Ants of the ant-hill, pygmy men, “Pelée stirs? she will rest again; Live and love me and dance awhile!”
* * * * *
Ha, my heart it is rent in twain! Up and out in a fiery path Sweeps a river of molten wrath, Falls a torrent of scorching rain!
Ho, my brother, you boil and hiss! Ho, my father, I hide your sun! Up, at last, little ants, and run! Shrivel and blanch at Pelée’s kiss!
Hark! did I hear from below my hill Rise and echo a puny din? Through my thunder a wailing thin? When I listened, the ants were still.
One throe more, and the sea is death, Yet again, and the land is bare: Brother, your glory is all to share-- I have outmurdered ye, breath for breath!
Lone I must lie in my stately doom, Stark and still on my island bier: Ashen silence shall wrap me here-- Pelée the Mountain makes her tomb!
SEVEN CHILD SONGS
I. DO YOU KNOW?
Behind the currant bushes, when the night was coming on, There was such a funny whisper--do you know? It made us shiver-shiver, and it made our hearts beat quick, And we knew it wasn’t any good to carry out a stick, But we did it just the same, or else you never would have gone-- _Do you know?_
Beyond the old syringa, when the stars were peeping out, There was such a funny shadow--do you know? And over in the flower-bed you had left your father’s spade, And you had to go and get it, and you said you weren’t afraid, But you told me afterward about the creeping Indian scout-- _Do you know?_
Beneath the kitchen window, when the moon was climbing high, There was such a funny coldness--do you know? No matter if ’twas summer, it was cool just like a well, And the reason was because a ghost--but when you tried to tell, I put my fingers in my ears, and how I used to cry! _Do you know?_
II. THE SECRET PLAYMATE
When I am playing underneath the tree, I look around--and there he is with me!
Among the shadows of the boughs he stands, And shakes the leaves at me with both his hands.
And then upon the mossy roots we lie, And watch the leaves make pictures on the sky.
And then we swing and float from bough to bough-- And never fall? I can’t remember now.
The games I play with him are always best, And yet we cannot teach them to the rest.
For when the others come to join our play, I look around--and he has slipped away!
They ask me if he speaks--I cannot tell; But no one else can play with me so well.
III. LONELINESS
How can I play any longer with my doll? You know she has lost her head. And Mary’s the one that used to mend her for me-- _And Mary, you say, is dead._
Why do I leave the sand-heap all alone? Because it has dried and spread. And Mary’s the one that always brought the water-- _And Mary, you say, is dead._
More on the beach? Well, I think I know that, too! And _you_ are the one that said That Mary and I should sleep in a room together-- _And now you say Mary’s dead._
No, I don’t like the hotel--I’d be alone; I’d cry in that great big bed: And Mary and I played tent in the morning early-- _And now Mary can’t--she’s dead._
Happier? no, not a bit! not a single bit! Then why are your eyes so red? And Mary’s the one that never liked angel-stories-- _And Mary’s the one that’s dead._
IV. DREAMS
One night I climbed a mountain all of snow, A great black creature showed me where to go: We went into a church with no one there, And cried because the wind began to blow.
And then a King that wore a golden crown Climbed up the spire and tried to help me down, But I spread out my arms, and flew and flew, And all the people watched us from the town.
They chased me through the streets, but I ran fast, And got into a secret place at last. I’d float down stairways, touching just my toes, And laugh and mock at them as I went past.
And then we went to Cinderella’s ball, I had no shoes nor stockings on at all: They smiled and pointed at me till I cried, And woke up just as when you slip and fall.
V. THE SHADOW
If you and I should join our hands And go at night soft through the hall, I wonder could we hope to catch That shadow sliding from the wall?
He slips and slips and slips away, I touched his arm--and he was gone! I cannot see his face, can you? What wall can that be painted on?
Because they say he isn’t real, They say he’s just a flattened form; But me, I don’t believe it’s true, _I touched his arm, and it was warm_!
Right through the wall he slips and sinks: The room behind, you know, is mine. What can he want there in the dark? He never makes a sound nor sign.
He never goes there in the day, Only at night, right after tea, And then I go to bed, you know, And then he runs ahead of me.
If you will hold my hand quite close, And creep along with me quite still, We’ll make a sudden jump--but no! We’ll touch him then--I know we will!
VI. HEAVEN
She says that when we all have died We’ll walk in white there (then she cried) All free from sorrow, sin, and care-- But I’m not sure I’d like it there.
She cannot tell me what we’ll do, I couldn’t sing the whole day through: The angels might not care to play, Or else I mightn’t like their way.
I never loved my Uncle Ned, So I can’t love him now he’s dead. He’d be the only one I know-- She says it’s wicked to talk so.
I’d like to see how God would look, I’d like to see that Judgment Book: But pretty soon I’d want to be Where the real people were, you see.
When people turn dead in a dream, I wake up, and I scream and scream: And since they’re all dead there, you know, I’m sure that I should feel just so!
VII. THE PEAR TREE
We lived out under the pear tree, We dined upon tarts and cream, I married you there for ever, But, dear, ’twas only a dream!
We sailed away in the branches To countries strange and new, For we owned estates in Dreamland, But, sweetheart, it isn’t true!
We made a church in the pear tree, Where the angels came to sing, We stroked their wings--but, dearest, You mustn’t believe a thing!
We cut our names in the tree trunk, So the bark could never grow, And the Dryad cried! But, my darling, ’Twas none of it really so!
INSCRIPTIONS
FOR A CHILD’S PLATE
My Child, when from this Plate you Eat, Give Thanks to God, who Sends your Meat. Beware you Show no Haste nor Greed, To those who Serve pay Gentle Heed, Spare out some Bread to Feed the Poor, And you shall Never Want, be Sure.
FOR HIS CUP
When drinking, Child, from out this Cup To Ease your thirsty Pain, Think how the Earth to God looks up And Thanks Him for the Rain.
FOR HIS CHAIR
When in this Chair you Rest, my Child, Let all your Thoughts be Kind and Mild, Your Face and Hands quite Neat: Rise up until your Elders sit, Seek not to Show a Saucy Wit, Nor all you Hear Repeat.
FOR HIS BED
Go not to Sleep in this White Bed, My Child, before your Prayers are Said. Give Thanks to God for all your Joys, For Mother, Home, and Friends and Toys. Ask Pardon for the Sins you’ve Done, Then Shut your Eyes until the Sun: Your Dream shall be a happy one.
THE WANDERERS
THE PRINCE A MAN-AT-ARMS A GYPSY
_Scene: The Edge of the Forest_
THE PRINCE
So then, I am crowned to-morrow?
MAN-AT-ARMS
Yes, my lord.
PRINCE
How fleet the time runs by! But yesterday I played in the fountain with the great white hound. My old, old nurse that died.... But all is changed. I am a man now?
MAN-AT-ARMS
So it seems, my lord.
PRINCE
And I am king to-morrow. Ah, dear saints! This is the saddest day of all my life. Farewell, farewell, sweet Yesterday! Farewell, Thou once so sweet To-morrow! Thou for me Shalt no more beckon down the widening road That flows through all the forests and the fields, That flowers into the sunset and the sea! Henceforth companioned by the same To-day, The dull, cramped state, the tired formality, False thoughtfulness and feigned remembrances, I yoke my life to one recurring task, No sooner done than all’s to do again! I would I were a child with one white hound That lapped the fountain.... Wherefore do you sigh? Why are you sad? You need not be a king.
MAN-AT-ARMS
My lord, I love you.
PRINCE
I know it. Oh, my friend, Listen, and I will tell you. Only you Are friendly-souled in all this cruel court; And that is strange, for you must ever dog me, That I go not afield nor roam the woods. Why may I not?
MAN-AT-ARMS
My lord, it is forbidden.
PRINCE
But why?
MAN-AT-ARMS
I know not. What would you tell me, sir?
PRINCE
Why, this. Last night I leaned far out the tower To catch the smell o’ the woods and hear the birds Quiet their young to sleep, and watch the stars Slip one by one to sight, and feel the wind, That blows so soft at night, come floating by. And on my ear there fell a sudden song: So throstle-sweet it was, so faëry-gay, My heart stood still to hear it. It rose high, And all my soul rose with it; it sank low-- My cheeks were wet with tears. I tell you, friend, My years slipped from me like a mantle dropped. I felt the wonderful, the wild, sweet dreams That blessed those nights when I, a little boy, Trembled a moment on the forest brink, Then flung myself into its dusky arms, Swung in the billowy boughs and pressed the moss, Drank from the pool beside the spotted deer, And at the murmurous swaying of the pines Wept in my childish sleep for joy too great.
(_The Gypsy song is heard._)
_Oh, the goodwife turns the wheel at home, And the bird will keep her nest, But it’s ah me! for the world’s to see Or ever my heart have rest!_
PRINCE
There, there! You heard it? Ah, unhappy prince! For me the green earth spreads her fields in vain, The forest pleads in vain with dusky arms: I shall die caged. Ah, do you see him there?
MAN-AT-ARMS
See whom, my lord?
PRINCE
The stranger in the wood. How brown, how bright! How gallantly it swings, That tattered robe! And see his gleaming chain, His scarlet berries! Nay, I will not go! Nay, if you touch me I shall kill you! Nay, I will speak with him if I die for it! He turns his eye upon me-- Ah, dear saints! I mind me of my mother suddenly, That died for sorrow when she brought me forth To chain me to a throne. Ah me, ah me! When did my mother die?
MAN-AT-ARMS
The queen, my lord, Left life behind her at the early dawn, Just as the spring was coming on.
PRINCE
And where?
MAN-AT-ARMS
How can I tell?
PRINCE
I know you will tell true.
MAN-AT-ARMS
My lord, the queen, your mother, grew distraught, And ere her time was come she crept at night Between her watchers while they drowsed, and found A glade among the hills that spring had kissed, And underneath green boughs she laid her down.
PRINCE
And I was born there?
MAN-AT-ARMS
Aye, my lord. Below The first faint budding bough we found you there.
PRINCE
You should have told me this. See, he comes near!
(_To the Gypsy._) God save you, sir!