And, behold, as I approached it—with a rapt and dazzled stare,
Thinking that I saw old comrades just ascending the great Stair,
Suddenly the solemn challenge broke of—' Halt, and who goes there!'
‘I'm a friend,' I said, ‘if you are.”—“ Then advance, sir, to the Stair!'
"I advanced!-That sentry, Doctor, was Elijah Ballantyne !
First of all to fall on Monday, after we had
'Welcome, my old Sergeant, welcome! Wel come by that countersign!'
And he pointed to the scar there, under this old cloak of mine!
"As he grasped my hand, I shuddered, thinking only of the grave;
But he smiled and pointed upward with a bright and bloodless glaive:
'That's the way, sir, to Head-quarters.' 'What Head-quarters!'-' Of the Brave.'
'But the great Tower?'-That,' he answered, 'Is the way, sir, of the Brave!'
"Then a sudden shame came o'er me at his uniform of light;
At my own so old and tattered, and at his so new and bright;
"Ah!' said he, you have forgotten the New Uniform to-night,—
Hurry back, for you must be here at just twelve o'clock to-night!'
"And the next thing I remember, you were sit ting there, and I—
Doctor-did you hear a footstep? Hark!-God bless you all! Good-by!
Doctor, please to give my musket and my knapsack, when I die,
To my Son-my Son that's coming, he won't get here till I die!
"Tell him his old father blessed him as he never did before,
And to carry that old musket"-Hark! a knock is at the door!
"Till the Union-" See! it opens!" Father! Father! speak once more!"
"Bless you!"-gasped the old, gray Sergeant, and he lay and said no more!
IN Spring the Poet is glad,
And in Summer the Poet is gay;
But in Autumn the Poet is sad,
And has something sad to say:
For the Wind moans in the Wood,
And the Leaf drops from the Tree; And the cold Rain falls on the graves of the Good,
And the cold Mist comes up from the Sea:
And the Autumn Songs of the Poet's soul
Are set to the passionate grief,
Of Winds that sough and Bells that toll
The Dirge of the Falling Leaf,
"PIKE COUNTY BALLADS AND OTHER POEMS." 1871.
Through the hot, black breath of the burnin'
Jim Bludso's voice was heard, And they all had trust in his cussedness, And knowed he would keep his word. And, sure's you're born, they all got off Afore the smokestacks fell,And Bludso's ghost went up alone
In the smoke of the Prairie Belle.
He weren't no saint,-but at jedgment I'd run my chance with Jim, 'Longside of some pious gentlemen
That wouldn't shook hands with him. He seen his duty, a dead-sure thing,And went for it thar and then; And Christ ain't going to be too hard On a man that died for men.
A SENTINEL angel sitting high in glory Heard this shrill wail ring out from Purgatory: "Have mercy, mighty angel, hear my story!
"I loved, and, blind with passionate love, I fell.
Love brought me down to death, and death to Hell.
For God is just, and death for sin is well.
"I do not rage against his high decree,
Nor for myself do ask that grace shall be;
But for my love on earth who mourns for me.
"Great Spirit! Let me see my love again
And comfort him one hour, and I were fain
To pay a thousand years of fire and pain."
Then said the pitying angel, "Nay, repent
That wild vow! Look, the dial-finger's bent
Down to the last hour of thy punishment!"
But still she wailed, "I pray thee, let me go!
I cannot rise to peace and leave him so.
O, let me soothe him in his bitter woe!'
The brazen gates ground sullenly ajar, And upward, joyous, like a rising star, She rose and vanished in the ether far.
But soon adown the dying sunset sailing,
And like a wounded bird her pinions trailing,
She fluttered back, with broken-hearted wailing.
She sobbed, "I found him by the summer sea
Reclined, his head upon a maiden's knee,-
She curled his hair and kissed him. Woe is me!"
She wept, "Now let my punishment begin!
I have been fond and foolish. Let me in
To expiate my sorrow and my sin."
The angel answered, "Nay, sad soul, go higher!
To be deceived in your true heart's desire
Was bitterer than a thousand years of fire!"
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.
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.
SAD is the thought of sunniest days
Of love and rapture perished,
And shine through memory's tearful haze
The eves 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.
"EPISODES AND LYRIC PIECES." 1870.
I STUMBLED thrice, and twice I fell and lay
Moaning and faint, and yet I did not pray
To any God or Goddess of them all;
Because I never doubted, climb or crawl,
That I should reach the fountain and the tall
One old familiar pine-tree, where I lay
Prone on my face, with outstretched hands, you
Fallen once again-this time against the goal.
And now, what shall I pray for? since my whole
Wish is accomplished, and I have your face
Once more by mine in the remembered place,
And the cool hand laid on my head aright,
A little while before I die to-night.
For surely I am dying: not a vein
But has received the poison and the pain
Of Philoctetes' arrow-Oh! I heard
The hissing of the vengeance long deferred,
And felt it smite me, and not smite me dead;
And all at once the very words you said
Too long ago returned to me once more-
When, as you shall be, you are wounded sore,
Come back to me, and I will cure you then,
Whom none but I can cure: and once again,
Sweet! I am with you, and am cured by you,
And by you only; and yet it is true
That I must die, Enone. So it is,
And better that it is so! Hark to this.
How good it were, if we could live once more
The old sweet life we found so sweet before-
Here in the mountain where we were so glad,
Ere I was cruel and ere you were sad!
How good it were could we begin again
The old sweet life just where we left it then!
A song, love-but my singing voice is gone--
The one song that I made, the only one
After I left you to be mad so long;
(A marvellous thing to have made no other song!)
The only one-which, many months ago,
Cam to me strangely with a soft and slow
Movement of music, which at first was sad,
But sad and sweet, and after only sad,
An then most bitter, as its death gave birth
To a low laughter of uneasy mirth-
Made of blent noises that the night-winds bore,
The lapse of waves upon the dusky shore,
The creaking of the tackle, and the stir
Of threatening banners where the camp-fires were
About the armies, that no such a charm
As a regretful love song could disarm,
And bring to life the heroes that were slain,
And make the war as if it were a vain
Noise in the night that at the morn is not,
And all the Past a dream that it begot.
The wind was right to laugh my song away!
And then I thought-if only for a day
I might be with her, only for so long
As to be pardoned or (forgive the wrong)
Cursed by her there, and so get leave to die!
And here we are, Enone, you and I!
Yes, we are here! why ever otherwhere?
Ah! why indeed? And yet, love, let me dare
Uncover my whole heart to you once more;
I think I never was so blest before-
Never so happy as I am to-day.
Not even, indeed, when in the early May
We found each other, and were quite too glad
To know the value of the love we had.
But now I seem to know it in my need,
Inhaling the full sweetness of it-freed
Now, for the first time, from its perfect flower;
Ah! quite too sweet to overlast its hour!
What more now shall I pray for? To be let
Live and not die? Ah! if we could forget
All but the Present and outlaw the Past!
And yet I know not-could the Present last
If quite cut off from all that gave it birth,
And not be changed, if changed to alien earth,
Into a Future that we know not of?
We will not ask: we have attained to Love-
Whatever grown from-which not all the years
Past or to come, nor memories nor fears,
Can rob us of forever, nor make less.
No praying then-but only thankfulness!
No sound floats hither from the smoky plain:
Turn me a little-never mind the pain-
I see it now. And that was Ilion then!
The accursed city in the mouths of men,
Whose mouths are swift to interweave its name
With mine forever for a word of shame.
I never loved it, and it loved me not-
The fatal firebrand that itself begot
And tried to quench and could not-there it
smokes !
And there the shed blood of its people soaks
Into the soil that they loved more than life.
Let the Gods answer who decreed the strife!
But you, great-hearted, whom indeed I loved-
Brother and friend, by whom, if unapproved,
I was loved sometime in the upper air-
Will you turn from me when I meet you there
And greet you, Hector, in the other world?
Will you turn from me, with lips coldly curled,
And frank eyes hardened?—
I accept the sign! Lo you! Enone, where the gloomy line Of the slow clouds is broken, and a bright Gleam, like a smile, steals softly into sight And grows to a glory in the increasing sky! Nay, you are right, love! What have you and I
To do with Past or Future, who have for boon
So rich a Present, to exhaust so soon
Between the daylight and the afterglow?
The last cloud passes, and how calm I grow!
And now-if I should close my eyes, my love,
And seem to sleep a little, and not move
Until the sky has got its perfect gold,
You will not think me dying while I hold
Your hand thus closely? Kiss me now. Again!
Past chance of change-just where we left it
then.
I had him last! I had him first and last!
His morning beauty and his evening charm!
Oh, Love! triumphant over all the Past,
What Death can daunt you, or what Future
harm?
I WOULD not have believed it then,
If any one had told me so-
Ere you shall see his face again
A year and more shall go.
And let them come again to-day
To pity me and prophesy, And I will face them all, and say To all of them, You lie!
False prophets all, you lie, you lie !
I will believe no word but his ;
Will say December is July,
That Autumn April is,
Rather than say he has forgot,
Or will not come who bade me wait, Who wait him and accuse him not Of being very late.
He said that he would come in Spring,
And I believed-believe him now,
Though all the birds have ceased to sing
And bare is every bough;
For Spring is not till he appear,
Winter is not when he is nigh-
The only Lord of all my year,
For whom I live-and die!
To have the imploring hands of her Clasped on his shoulder, and his check Brushed over slowly by the stir
Of thrilling hair, and not to speak;
To see within the unlifted eyes
More than the fallen fringes prove Enough to hide, to see the rise
Of tear-drops in them, and not move;
Would this be strange? And yet at last,
What weary man may not do this,
Seeing when the long pursuit is past,
To only cease how sweet it is ?
To only cease and be as one
Who, when the fever leaves him, lies
Careless of what is come or gone,
Which yet he cannot realize;
For all his little thought is spent
In wondering what it was that gave To be so quiet and content, While yet he is not in the grave.
THIS is a dream I had of her
When in the middle seas we were
Sunlight possessed the clouds again,
Well emptied of unfruitful rain,
When, leaning o'er the vessel's side,
I watched the bubbles rise and glide
And break and pass away beneath;
And heard the creamy waters seethe,
As when an undecided breeze
Plays in the branches of the trees
Just ere the leaves begin to fall;
And as I listened, slowly all
The elm-tree branches on the Green
Rose up before me; and between
The stately trees on either side
I saw the pathway, smooth and wile,
In which I once had walked with her;
And in it men and women were,
Who came and went no otherwise
Than vague cloud-shadows to my eyes,
And whispering bubbles to my ear,
Who neither cared to see nor hear,
And straight forgot them every one.
But when the last of them was gone,
And now from end to end the walk
Was empty of them and their talk,
A listening, longing silence fell
Upon the elm-trees like a spell
Of expectation and desire,
And quick I saw the impulsive fire
Of sunset overflush the white
And waiting clouds with rosy light;
And then a breeze ran all along
The pathway, as if from a song-
Imparting freshness as it ran,
Till all the autumn leaves began
Midsummer murmurs in the air,
And suddenly I saw her there-
And felt my heart leap up, and then
As suddenly shrink back again
To see that she was not alone;
But with her walking there was one
Whose face turned sidewise, as it were
The better so to hark to her,
Showed not enough to let me know
What man it was I envied so:
And yet I could not go away,
But fascinated still to stay,
And wait till they should pass me by,
I stood and watched them cloudily,
And saw them coming near and near,
And nearer yet till I could hear
Her voice and recognize his face;
And, save that a transmitted grace
Made it not easy to be known,
So went the dream-it was my own.
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