IV

BLUEBIRD'S GREETING

Over the mossy walls, Above the slumbering fields Where yet the ground no fruitage yields, Save as the sunlight falls In dreams of harvest-yellow, What voice remembered calls,— So bubbling fresh, so soft and mellow?

A darting, azure-feathered arrow From some lithe sapling's bow-curve, fleet The bluebird, springing light and narrow, Sings in flight, with gurglings sweet:

"Out of the South I wing, Blown on the breath of Spring: The little faltering song That in my beak I bring Some maiden shall catch and sing, Filling it with the longing And the blithe, unfettered thronging Of her spirit's blossoming.

"Warbling along In the sunny weather, Float, my notes, Through the sunny motes, Falling light as a feather! Flit, flit, o'er the fertile land 'Mid hovering insects' hums; Fall into the sower's hand: Then, when his harvest comes, The seed and the song shall have flowered together.

"From the Coosa and Altamaha, With a thought of the dim blue Gulf; From the Roanoke and Kanawha; From the musical Southern rivers, O'er the land where the fierce war-wolf Lies slain and buried in flowers; I come to your chill, sad hours And the woods where the sunlight shivers. I come like an echo: 'Awake!' I answer the sky and the lake And the clear, cool color that quivers In all your azure rills. I come to your wan, bleak hills For a greeting that rises dearer, To homely hearts draws me nearer Than the warmth of the rice-fields or wealth of the ranches.

"I will charm away your sorrow, For I sing of the dewy morrow: My melody sways like the branches My light feet set astir: I bring to the old, as I hover, The days and the joys that were, And hope to the waiting lover! Then, take my note and sing, Filling it with the longing And the blithe, unfettered thronging Of your spirit's blossoming!"

Not long that music lingers: Like the breath of forgotten singers It flies,—or like the March-cloud's shadow That sweeps with its wing the faded meadow Not long! And yet thy fleeting, Thy tender, flute-toned greeting, O bluebird, wakes an answer that remains The purest chord in all the year's refrains.

THE VOICE OF THE VOID

I warn, like the one drop of rain On your face, ere the storm; Or tremble in whispered refrain With your blood, beating warm. I am the presence that ever Baffles your touch's endeavor,— Gone like the glimmer of dust Dispersed by a gust. I am the absence that taunts you, The fancy that haunts you; The ever unsatisfied guess That, questioning emptiness, Wins a sigh for reply. Nay; nothing am I, But the flight of a breath— For I am Death!

"O WHOLESOME DEATH"

O wholesome Death, thy sombre funeral-car Looms ever dimly on the lengthening way Of life; while, lengthening still, in sad array, My deeds in long procession go, that are As mourners of the man they helped to mar. I see it all in dreams, such as waylay The wandering fancy when the solid day Has fallen in smoldering ruins, and night's star, Aloft there, with its steady point of light Mastering the eye, has wrapped the brain in sleep. Ah, when I die, and planets hold their flight Above my grave, still let my spirit keep Sometimes its vigil of divine remorse, 'Midst pity, praise, or blame heaped o'er my corse!

INCANTATION

When the leaves, by thousands thinned, A thousand times have whirled in the wind, And the moon, with hollow cheek, Staring from her hollow height, Consolation seems to seek From the dim, reechoing night; And the fog-streaks dead and white Lie like ghosts of lost delight O'er highest earth and lowest sky; Then, Autumn, work thy witchery!

Strew the ground with poppy-seeds, And let my bed be hung with weeds, Growing gaunt and rank and tall, Drooping o'er me like a pall. Send thy stealthy, white-eyed mist Across my brow to turn and twist Fold on fold, and leave me blind To all save visions in the mind. Then, in the depth of rain-fed streams I shall slumber, and in dreams Slide through some long glen that burns With a crust of blood-red ferns And brown-withered wings of brake Like a burning lava-lake;— So, urged to fearful, faster flow By the awful gasp, "Hahk! hahk!" of the crow, Shall pass by many a haunted rood Of the nutty, odorous wood; Or, where the hemlocks lean and loom, Shall fill my heart with bitter gloom; Till, lured by light, reflected cloud, I burst aloft my watery shroud, And upward through the ether sail Far above the shrill wind's wail;— But, falling thence, my soul involve With the dust dead flowers dissolve; And, gliding out at last to sea, Lulled to a long tranquillity, The perfect poise of seasons keep With the tides that rest at neap. So must be fulfilled the rite That giveth me the dead year's might; And at dawn I shall arise A spirit, though with human eyes, A human form and human face; And where'er I go or stay, There the summer's perished grace Shall be with me, night and day.

FAMINE AND HARVEST

[PLYMOUTH PLANTATION: 1622]

The strong and the tender, The young and the old, Unto Death we must render;— Our silver, our gold.

To break their long sleeping No voice may avail: They hear not our weeping— Our famished love's wail.

Yea, those whom we cherish Depart, day by day. Soon we, too, shall perish And crumble to clay.

And the vine and the berry Above us will bloom; The wind shall make merry While we lie in gloom.

Fear not! Though thou starvest, Provision is made: God gathers His harvest When our hopes fade!

THE CHILD'S WISH GRANTED

Do you remember, my sweet, absent son, How in the soft June days forever done You loved the heavens so warm and clear and high; And when I lifted you, soft came your cry,— "Put me 'way up—'way, 'way up in blue sky"?

I laughed and said I could not;—set you down, Your gray eyes wonder-filled beneath that crown Of bright hair gladdening me as you raced by. Another Father now, more strong than I, Has borne you voiceless to your dear blue sky.

THE FLOWN SOUL

(FRANCIS HAWTHORNE LATHROP) FEBRUARY 6, 1881

Come not again! I dwell with you Above the realm of frost and dew, Of pain and fire, and growth to death. I dwell with you where never breath Is drawn, but fragrance vital flows From life to life, even as a rose Unseen pours sweetness through each vein And from the air distills again. You are my rose unseen; we live Where each to other joy may give In ways untold, by means unknown And secret as the magnet-stone.

For which of us, indeed, is dead? No more I lean to kiss your head— The gold-red hair so thick upon it; Joy feels no more the touch that won it When o'er my brow your pearl-cool palm In tenderness so childish, calm, Crept softly, once. Yet, see, my arm Is strong, and still my blood runs warm. I still can work, and think and weep. But all this show of life I keep Is but the shadow of your shine, Flicker of your fire, husk of your vine;

Therefore, you are not dead, nor I

Who hear your laughter's minstrelsy. Among the stars your feet are set; Your little feet are dancing yet Their rhythmic beat, as when on earth. So swift, so slight are death and birth!

Come not again, dear child. If thou By any chance couldst break that vow Of silence at thy last hour made; If to this grim life unafraid Thou couldst return, and melt the frost Wherein thy bright limbs' power was lost; Still would I whisper—since so fair This silent comradeship we share— Yes, whisper 'mid the unbidden rain Of tears: "Come not, come not again!"

SUNSET AND SHORE

Birds that like vanishing visions go winging, White, white in the flame of the sunset's burning, Fly with the wild spray the billows are flinging, Blend, blend with the nightfall, and fade, unreturning!

Fire of the heaven, whose splendor all-glowing Soon, soon shall end, and in darkness must perish; Sea-bird and flame-wreath and foam lightly blowing;— Soon, soon tho' we lose you, your beauty we cherish.

Visions may vanish, the sweetest, the dearest; Hush'd, hush'd be the voice of love's echo replying; Spirits may leave us that clung to us nearest:— Love, love, only love dwells with us undying!

THE PHOEBE-BIRD

(A REPLY)

Yes, I was wrong about the phoebe-bird. Two songs it has, and both of them I've heard: I did not know those strains of joy and sorrow Came from one throat, or that each note could borrow Strength from the other, making one more brave And one as sad as rain-drops on a grave.

But thus it is. Two songs have men and maidens: One is for hey-day, one is sorrow's cadence. Our voices vary with the changing seasons Of life's long year, for deep and natural reasons. Therefore despair not. Think not you have altered, If, at some time, the gayer note has faltered. We are as God has made us. Gladness, pain, Delight and death, and moods of bliss or bane, With love and hate, or good and evil—all, At separate times, in separate accents call; Yet 't is the same heart-throb within the breast That gives an impulse to our worst and best. I doubt not when our earthly cries are ended, The Listener finds them in one music blended.

A STRONG CITY

For them that hope in Thee.... Thou shalt hide them in the secret of Thy face, from the disturbance of men.

Thou shalt protect them in Thy tabernacle from the contradiction of tongues.

Blessed be the Lord, for He hath shewn His wonderful mercy to me in a fortified city.—Psalm xxx.

Beauty and splendor were on every hand: Yet strangely crawled dark shadows down the lanes, Twisting across the fields, like dragon-shapes That smote the air with blackness, and devoured The life of light, and choked the smiling world Till it grew livid with a sudden age— The death of hope.

O squandered happiness; Vain dust of misery powdering life's fresh flower! The sky was holy, but the earth was not.

Men ruled, but ruled in vain; since wretchedness Of soul and body, for the mass of men, Made them like dead leaves in an idle drift Around the plough of progress as it drove Sharp through the glebe of modern days, to plant A civilized world. Ay; civilized—but not Christian!

Civilization is a clarion voice Crying in the wilderness; a prophet-word Still unfulfilled. And lo, along the ways Crowded with nations, there arose a strife; Disturbance of men; tongues contradicting tongues; Madness of noise, that scattered multitudes; A trample of blind feet, beneath whose tread Truth's bloom shrank withered; while incessant mouths Howled "Progress! Change!"—as though all moods of change Were fiats of truth eternal.

'Mid the din Two pilgrims, faring forward, saw the light In a strong city, fortified, and moved Patiently thither. "All your steps are vain," Cried scoffers. "There is mercy in the world; But chiefly mercy of man to man. For we Are good. We help our fellows, when we can. Our charity is enormous. Look at these Long rolls of rich subscriptions. We are good. 'T is true, God's mercy plays a part in things; But most is left to us; and we judge well. Stay with us in the field of endless war! Here only is health. Yon city fortified You dream of—why, its ramparts are as dust. It gives no safety. One assaulting sweep Of our huge cohorts would annul its power— Crush it in atoms; make it meaningless."

The pilgrims listened; but onward still they moved. They passed the gates; they stood upon a hill Enclosed, but in that strong enclosure free! Though earth opposed, they held the key to heaven. On came the turbulent multitude in war, Dashing against the city's walls; and swept Through all the streets, and robbed and burned and killed. The walls were strong; the gates were always open. And so the invader rioted, and was proud. But sudden, in seeming triumph, the enemy host Was stricken with death; and still the city stayed. Skyward the souls of its defenders rose, Returning soon in mist intangible That flashed with radiance of half-hidden swords; And those who still assaulted—though they crept Into the inmost vantage-points, with craft— Fell, blasted namelessly by this veiled flash, Even as they shouted out, "The place is ours!"

So those two pilgrims dwelt there, fortified In that strong city men had thought so frail. They died, and lived again. Fiercest attack Was as a perfumed breeze to them, which drew Their souls still closer unto God. And there Beauty and splendor bloomed untouched. The stars Spoke to them, bidding them be of good cheer, Though hostile hordes rushed over them in blood. And still the prayers of all that people rose As incense mingled with music of their hearts. For Christ was with them: angels were their aid. What though the enemy used their open gates? The children of the citadel conquered all Their conquerors, smiting them with the pure light That shone in that strong city fortified.

THREE DOVES

Seaward, at morn, my doves flew free; At eve they circled back to me. The first was Faith; the second, Hope; The third—the whitest—Charity.

Above the plunging surge's play Dream-like they hovered, day by day. At last they turned, and bore to me Green signs of peace thro' nightfall gray.

No shore forlorn, no loveliest land Their gentle eyes had left unscanned, 'Mid hues of twilight-heliotrope Or daybreak fires by heaven-breath fanned.

Quick visions of celestial grace,— Hither they waft, from earth's broad space, Kind thoughts for all humanity. They shine with radiance from God's face.

Ah, since my heart they choose for home, Why loose them,—forth again to roam? Yet look: they rise! with loftier scope They wheel in flight toward heaven's pure dome.

Fly, messengers that find no rest Save in such toil as makes man blest! Your home is God's immensity: We hold you but at his behest.