THE WHITE ROSE.

Hail, first of the spring,Pearly sky-tinted thingTouched with pencil of HimWho rollest the year!Lo, thy aureole rimNo painter may limn—Vision thou hast, and no fear!Fair child of the light,What fixes thy sight?Wide-open thy rollFrom the seal of the clod,And thy heaven-writ scrollGlows, beautiful soul,With the shining of God!Thou look'st into heavenAs surely as Stephen,So steadfast thy will is!And from earth's inglenookSeest Christ of the liliesAnd daffadowndillies,And catchest His look.And a portion is mine,Rapt gazer divine,From thy countenance given—Angel bliss in thy face!I've looked into heavenAs surely as Stephen,From out of my place!

Hail, first of the spring,Pearly sky-tinted thingTouched with pencil of HimWho rollest the year!Lo, thy aureole rimNo painter may limn—Vision thou hast, and no fear!

Fair child of the light,What fixes thy sight?Wide-open thy rollFrom the seal of the clod,And thy heaven-writ scrollGlows, beautiful soul,With the shining of God!

Thou look'st into heavenAs surely as Stephen,So steadfast thy will is!And from earth's inglenookSeest Christ of the liliesAnd daffadowndillies,And catchest His look.

And a portion is mine,Rapt gazer divine,From thy countenance given—Angel bliss in thy face!I've looked into heavenAs surely as Stephen,From out of my place!

(AT ——'S GRAVE.)

Rose pendent in calm of the sun,(A type of my holiest thought)Fair substance and emblem in one,—Sweet rose—sweet soul without spot!Sweetness of beauty of GodBoth over and under the sod.Each moulded in earth's cloud and shine,White fulness of being complete,Love's rose of beauty divine!Thy past, but evolvings sweet,Now, moment of essence for aye,Thy future, eternity's day!O rose in the mirror of time—Calm image from under the sod—O form of eternal prime,All-peaceful beauty of God,—Fulness of seventy times seven,Made without hands, in the heaven!What though thy time-garment fadeAnd vanish from out of my sight,Thy beauty shall never know shadeWith the Chief of the sons of light—Redeemed from under the sod,Ravishing beauty of God!

Rose pendent in calm of the sun,(A type of my holiest thought)Fair substance and emblem in one,—Sweet rose—sweet soul without spot!Sweetness of beauty of GodBoth over and under the sod.

Each moulded in earth's cloud and shine,White fulness of being complete,Love's rose of beauty divine!Thy past, but evolvings sweet,Now, moment of essence for aye,Thy future, eternity's day!

O rose in the mirror of time—Calm image from under the sod—O form of eternal prime,All-peaceful beauty of God,—Fulness of seventy times seven,Made without hands, in the heaven!

What though thy time-garment fadeAnd vanish from out of my sight,Thy beauty shall never know shadeWith the Chief of the sons of light—Redeemed from under the sod,Ravishing beauty of God!

Under Mount ŒtaThe blue Artemisium,Flanked about with huge crags,Stilled its wild winter drum,—The sun turned aside,The sea nestled in calm,Zeus's wisdom of calm,—Rude Hercules died!A wine-glass of azureFrom the breast of the bay,Caught up by the sun,Smiled on by the sun,—Hope's halcyon ray!Kiss of love for a bride,Kiss of peace and of calm,Zeus's wisdom of calm,—Wild Hercules died!A nest and a homeOn the wintry sea,On the blue Artemise,In the rough country,Heaven set in the azure tide!The sea nestled in calm,Zeus's wisdom of calm,—Fierce Hercules died!O halcyon of rest,Sweet azure of peace,Brood thy sky-tinted eggs,Fill the world with increase—On the sea's bosom ride!Now it nestles to calm,Zeus's wisdom of calm,—Mad Hercules died!January, 1896.

Under Mount ŒtaThe blue Artemisium,Flanked about with huge crags,Stilled its wild winter drum,—The sun turned aside,The sea nestled in calm,Zeus's wisdom of calm,—Rude Hercules died!

A wine-glass of azureFrom the breast of the bay,Caught up by the sun,Smiled on by the sun,—Hope's halcyon ray!Kiss of love for a bride,Kiss of peace and of calm,Zeus's wisdom of calm,—Wild Hercules died!

A nest and a homeOn the wintry sea,On the blue Artemise,In the rough country,Heaven set in the azure tide!The sea nestled in calm,Zeus's wisdom of calm,—Fierce Hercules died!

O halcyon of rest,Sweet azure of peace,Brood thy sky-tinted eggs,Fill the world with increase—On the sea's bosom ride!Now it nestles to calm,Zeus's wisdom of calm,—Mad Hercules died!

January, 1896.

To him that hears the calling in the calm,And, naked, feeds his soul at Wisdom's lip,Bird, grove, and brook—God's voice in silver psalm—Are like a secret honeycomb adrip.

II.

Remote in thought from every living thing,Silent the sage without his threshold sate,Pondering the mysteries of Gyges' ring,Dreaming of timeless years and iron fate.The whirr of sudden wings his ear awoke,—A lark rose free in its grey singing robe."O miracle of life," in speech he broke,"A bird is greater than the solid globe!"

Remote in thought from every living thing,Silent the sage without his threshold sate,Pondering the mysteries of Gyges' ring,Dreaming of timeless years and iron fate.

The whirr of sudden wings his ear awoke,—A lark rose free in its grey singing robe."O miracle of life," in speech he broke,"A bird is greater than the solid globe!"

III.

But yesterday I saw a hillside groveWhose trunks were clad with lichens grey as frost;At night a storm of rain and wind fierce drove,—Each bole to-day in living green's embossed!And so, I said, the clinging lives which makeYearful and spectral those who yield them ruth,Shall, when o'er these the night in storm doth break,Wreathe them in freshness of immortal youth.

But yesterday I saw a hillside groveWhose trunks were clad with lichens grey as frost;At night a storm of rain and wind fierce drove,—Each bole to-day in living green's embossed!

And so, I said, the clinging lives which makeYearful and spectral those who yield them ruth,Shall, when o'er these the night in storm doth break,Wreathe them in freshness of immortal youth.

IV.

Adown the steep cliff's face I saw unurnIts waters full, a crystal brook to-day;The silvery bubbles coursed each scar by turn,Safe as on a full-fed meadow stream in May.I thought of that sweet Scripture Satan usedTo tempt the Christ, and knew it true they bearIn woven hands our souls, else deadly bruised,By hell thrust down some precipice's stair.

Adown the steep cliff's face I saw unurnIts waters full, a crystal brook to-day;The silvery bubbles coursed each scar by turn,Safe as on a full-fed meadow stream in May.

I thought of that sweet Scripture Satan usedTo tempt the Christ, and knew it true they bearIn woven hands our souls, else deadly bruised,By hell thrust down some precipice's stair.

Still at the breeze of day doth nature's GodForth in earth's paradisal bowers walk,And of soul-freedom, Love's restoring rod,And angel guardianship, He deigns to talk.

"Had I two loaves of bread—ay, ay!One would I sell and hyacinths buyTo feed my soul."—"Or let me die!"Beauty, dew-sweet, of heavenly birth,Thy flower is writ of grief, not mirth,Thy rainbow's footed on the earth.Rainbows and hyacinths! O seers,Your voices call across the years:"The bread of Beauty's wet with tears!

"Had I two loaves of bread—ay, ay!One would I sell and hyacinths buyTo feed my soul."—"Or let me die!"

Beauty, dew-sweet, of heavenly birth,Thy flower is writ of grief, not mirth,Thy rainbow's footed on the earth.

Rainbows and hyacinths! O seers,Your voices call across the years:"The bread of Beauty's wet with tears!

II.

The living words from Beauty's mien,Than blade by swordsman swung more keen,Spirit and soul divide between:"Pure as the sapphire-blue from blame,Humble as glad, of holiest aim—Love's seven-fold beam a flashing flame!"

The living words from Beauty's mien,Than blade by swordsman swung more keen,Spirit and soul divide between:

"Pure as the sapphire-blue from blame,Humble as glad, of holiest aim—Love's seven-fold beam a flashing flame!"

III.

It yearns me sore, so near, so far!My heart moans like the harbor-bar,For coming of the morning star.Buy hyacinths—a goodly share!Ascend, O soul, love's iris-stair,The bridegroom waiteth for thee there!

It yearns me sore, so near, so far!My heart moans like the harbor-bar,For coming of the morning star.

Buy hyacinths—a goodly share!Ascend, O soul, love's iris-stair,The bridegroom waiteth for thee there!

Winged wonder of motionIn splendor of sheen,Cruising the shining blueWaters all day,Smit with hunger of heartAnd seized of a questWhich nor beauty of flowerNor promise of restHas charm to appeaseOr slacken or stay,—What is it you seek,Unopen, unseen?

II.

Are you blind to the sightOf the heavens of blue,Or the wind-fretted cloudsOn their white, airy wings,Or the emerald grassThat velvets the lawn,Or glory of meadowsAflame like the dawn?Are you deaf to the noteIn the woodland that ringsWith the song of the whitethroat,As crystal as dew?

III.

Winged wonder of motionIn splendor of sheen,Stay, stay a brief momentThy hither and thitherQuick-beating wings,Thy flashes of flight;And tell me thy heart,Is it sad, is it light,Is it pulsing with fearsWhich scorch it and wither,Or joys that up-wellIn a girdle of green?

IV.

"O breather of wordsAnd poet of life,I tremble with joy,I flutter with fear!Ages it seemeth,Yet only to-dayInto this world ofGold sunbeams at play,I came from the deeps.O crystalline sphere!O beauteous light!O glory of life!

"On the watery floorOf this sibilant lake,I lived in the twilight dim.'There's a world of Day,'Some pled, 'a worldOf ether and wings athrobClose over our head.''It's a dream, it's a whim,A whisper of reeds,' they said,—And anon the waters would sob,And ever the goingWent on to the deadWithout the glint of a ray,And the watchers watchedIn their vanishing wake.

VI.

"The passingPassed for aye,And the waitingWaited in vain!Some power seemed to enfoldThe tremulous waters around,Yet never in heatNor in shrivelling cold,Nor darkness deep or grey,—Came token of sound or touch,—A clear unquestioned 'Yea!'And the scoffers scoffed,In swelling refrain,'Let us eat and drink,For to-morrow we die.'

VII.

"But, O, in a trance of bliss,With gauzy wings I awoke!An ecstasy bore me awayO'er field and meadow and plain.I thought not of recent pain,But revelled, as splendors brokeFrom sun and cloud and air,In the eye of golden Day.

VIII.

"I'm yearning to breakTo my fellows belowThe secret of ages hoar;In the quick-flashing lightI dart up and down,Forth and back, everywhere,But the waters are sealedLike a pavement of glass,—Sealed that I may not pass.O for waters of air!Or the wing of an eagle's mightTo cleave a pathway below!"

IX.

And the Dragonfly in splendorCruises ever o'er the lake,Holding in his heart a secretWhich in vain he seeks to break.

The coy soul of man,Moving through its time-span,Unheeding of wings,Tastes the death of all things—Of the flower and weedAnd the faint-voiced reed.

II.

The fair seasons rollFor you and for me.The inhabiting soulOf the flower and tree,With the day of eachBorn to be and to die,—No eternity-speech,No eternity-cryThat pierces above,Nor infinite thrillAt the touch of Love,Or the voice of His will—From His fingers begot,—God-breathed it is not!

III.

'Twas a shy fair one,Like a beam of lightFrom the clouded sun,That rose to the sightOf the eye of emotionIn the soul of the Greek,And eternized the form;And vision, devotion,Ever fixt on the norm,—Type of beauty of flower,Of grove and of bower,Deathless, unique!

IV.

Not from pole unto poleIs man's hunger of soul,But eternity's setAs a deathless fretIn the heart of manAs it beats the earth-span,—Beating not from the sod,But an ongoing of God!And it listens for HimOver Time's flying rim,And it sips, or it stings,A life from all things—From the flower and the weedAnd the faint-voiced reed.

I dreamed the Lord of Life was dead.Tremulous awe fell on the earth,Virtue had gone from out all things,The sun and rain were nothing worth.Rude power seized the painted woodsAnd hurled their glory down the steep,The landscape wrapt in cerementsAnd left in death's eternal sleep.Nor bloom nor odor met the sense,Nor wind-chant of the foliaged tree,Nor grove of singing birds, nor psalmBorne from the ever-voiceful sea.Color had fled the air and sky,A stony stillness held the earth,Virtue had gone from out all things,Man's ebbing life was nothing worth.And as I wept within my dreamAnd knew my pulse of being slowed,I sudden was aware of change—A flush on pallid nature showed!Lo, heralds of the arriving year!The bugled flock beclangs the blue,The hyla pipes by willowed run,The flashing swallow skims the dew.Up from the rampike's ghastly armsThe gold-shaft high-hole's challenge floats,While greening hill and valley laughAnd shore breaks out in pæan notes.And in my dream I leapt for joy—"'Twas but an awful dream," I said,"The Lord of Life, for evermoreHe lives—'twas once for all He bled!"And waked from sleep by beating heart,I heard the first red robin sing,And knew that once again had comeFresh from the life of God the spring.

I dreamed the Lord of Life was dead.Tremulous awe fell on the earth,Virtue had gone from out all things,The sun and rain were nothing worth.

Rude power seized the painted woodsAnd hurled their glory down the steep,The landscape wrapt in cerementsAnd left in death's eternal sleep.

Nor bloom nor odor met the sense,Nor wind-chant of the foliaged tree,Nor grove of singing birds, nor psalmBorne from the ever-voiceful sea.

Color had fled the air and sky,A stony stillness held the earth,Virtue had gone from out all things,Man's ebbing life was nothing worth.

And as I wept within my dreamAnd knew my pulse of being slowed,I sudden was aware of change—A flush on pallid nature showed!

Lo, heralds of the arriving year!The bugled flock beclangs the blue,The hyla pipes by willowed run,The flashing swallow skims the dew.

Up from the rampike's ghastly armsThe gold-shaft high-hole's challenge floats,While greening hill and valley laughAnd shore breaks out in pæan notes.

And in my dream I leapt for joy—"'Twas but an awful dream," I said,"The Lord of Life, for evermoreHe lives—'twas once for all He bled!"

And waked from sleep by beating heart,I heard the first red robin sing,And knew that once again had comeFresh from the life of God the spring.

The large, far intentOf the Kingly OneIs only begunIn rearing the tent;To nurture a soulIs the shining goal.Keen science speakethA word clear and fair"The carbon in airThe young oak seekethIn the greening years,Lo, a giant appears!"Shelter and warmth, see!Here final causeOf nature's wise laws;And the breath of the treeIs life unto manAnd lengthens his span.'But the Chemist who movesThe atoms in dance,His all-seeing glanceBy His working proves,—From far-off to nigher,Feeds life that is higher.From blade to full ear,From acorn to beam,Unfoldings of dream,Linkëd series of cheer,Evolvings of grace,Shadows bright of His face!Sweet procession and slow,Every step of the wayMore precious each day,Till the starlit airs blow,Wake emotion that sleeps,Stir the fount of the deeps.O heaven's own factEternal, that beauty,As the sword on duty,Hangs silent on actOf nature forever,—Soul and body together!Nature, series divineOf act and of wordFrom God's mouth seen or heard!As thou bring'st bread and wineI hear thy deep tone,"O not these alone!"All-divine unity!Writes the heaven-touched mindResponsive, once blind:All-divine harmony!Emotion's attestIn the glow of my breast.

The large, far intentOf the Kingly OneIs only begunIn rearing the tent;To nurture a soulIs the shining goal.

Keen science speakethA word clear and fair"The carbon in airThe young oak seekethIn the greening years,Lo, a giant appears!

"Shelter and warmth, see!Here final causeOf nature's wise laws;And the breath of the treeIs life unto manAnd lengthens his span.'

But the Chemist who movesThe atoms in dance,His all-seeing glanceBy His working proves,—From far-off to nigher,Feeds life that is higher.

From blade to full ear,From acorn to beam,Unfoldings of dream,Linkëd series of cheer,Evolvings of grace,Shadows bright of His face!

Sweet procession and slow,Every step of the wayMore precious each day,Till the starlit airs blow,Wake emotion that sleeps,Stir the fount of the deeps.

O heaven's own factEternal, that beauty,As the sword on duty,Hangs silent on actOf nature forever,—Soul and body together!

Nature, series divineOf act and of wordFrom God's mouth seen or heard!As thou bring'st bread and wineI hear thy deep tone,"O not these alone!"

All-divine unity!Writes the heaven-touched mindResponsive, once blind:All-divine harmony!Emotion's attestIn the glow of my breast.

I am, and therefore these,Existence is by me,—Flux of pendulous seas,The stable, free.I am in blush of the rose,The shimmer of dawn;Am girdle Orion knows,The fount undrawn.I am earth's potency,The chemic ray's, the rain's,The reciprocityThat loads the wains.I am, or the heavens fall!I dwell in my woven tent,Am immanent in all,—Suprámanent!I am the Life in life,Impact and verve of thought,The reason's lens and knife,The ethic "ought."I am of being the stress,I am the brooding Dove,I am the blessing in "bless,"The Love in love.I am the living thrillAnd fire of poet and seer,The breath of man's goodwill,The Father near;Am end of the way men grope,Core of the ceaseless strife,I am man's bread of hope,Water of life.I am the root of faith,Substance of vision, too,The spirit shadowed in wraith,Urim in dew.I am the soul's white Sun,Love's slain, enthronëd Lamb,I am the Holy One,I am I AM!

I am, and therefore these,Existence is by me,—Flux of pendulous seas,The stable, free.

I am in blush of the rose,The shimmer of dawn;Am girdle Orion knows,The fount undrawn.

I am earth's potency,The chemic ray's, the rain's,The reciprocityThat loads the wains.

I am, or the heavens fall!I dwell in my woven tent,Am immanent in all,—Suprámanent!

I am the Life in life,Impact and verve of thought,The reason's lens and knife,The ethic "ought."

I am of being the stress,I am the brooding Dove,I am the blessing in "bless,"The Love in love.

I am the living thrillAnd fire of poet and seer,The breath of man's goodwill,The Father near;

Am end of the way men grope,Core of the ceaseless strife,I am man's bread of hope,Water of life.

I am the root of faith,Substance of vision, too,The spirit shadowed in wraith,Urim in dew.

I am the soul's white Sun,Love's slain, enthronëd Lamb,I am the Holy One,I am I AM!

The glad golden yearWheels slow in its coming.Wild labor commotionsAnd murmurings for breadWhile besotted with beerIs the day's up-summing,—Insurgent emotionsTo beauty stone-dead!What help, do you say,For these sons of men?In God's image they're made—Cleanse their eyes to His light,Tune their ears to His lay,Give His bread once againWhose price the Christ paid,—Heaven's bread is their right!Earth's means of achieving(Herds, field-food, and river,Rain-cisterns in sky,And sunshine elysian)Forever are weaving,And fain would deliver,Web of God's beauty nigh—Sense-ravishing vision!Sow bread in the field:Warm rain will transfigureThe humble grey furrowWith a million pearl sunsOn the lanceolate shieldOf emerald and ligure,And the moon o'er each burrowOf the low-buried onesTurn silver the spear-tipsIn the dusk, with her lips;And when breezy morn's told,All ripples in gold.With envious repiningOr solace of delight—As emotion is pureOr turbid with ill—Man views the outshiningFrom the heavenly height,Feels the sweet picture's lure,Hears the bird-copse athrill,Makes him lord, or does not,Of the park, house, or cot.Who holds the sure keyTo this largesse of treasureIs a king among men,Though a workman in blue,—Of a strain yet to beWho with God taketh pleasureIn the young earth again,And feeleth it new.Slow speeds the glad yearTold by poet and seer,Yet I catch the far hum—It will come, it will come!

The glad golden yearWheels slow in its coming.Wild labor commotionsAnd murmurings for breadWhile besotted with beerIs the day's up-summing,—Insurgent emotionsTo beauty stone-dead!

What help, do you say,For these sons of men?In God's image they're made—Cleanse their eyes to His light,Tune their ears to His lay,Give His bread once againWhose price the Christ paid,—Heaven's bread is their right!

Earth's means of achieving(Herds, field-food, and river,Rain-cisterns in sky,And sunshine elysian)Forever are weaving,And fain would deliver,Web of God's beauty nigh—Sense-ravishing vision!

Sow bread in the field:Warm rain will transfigureThe humble grey furrowWith a million pearl sunsOn the lanceolate shieldOf emerald and ligure,And the moon o'er each burrowOf the low-buried onesTurn silver the spear-tipsIn the dusk, with her lips;And when breezy morn's told,All ripples in gold.

With envious repiningOr solace of delight—As emotion is pureOr turbid with ill—Man views the outshiningFrom the heavenly height,Feels the sweet picture's lure,Hears the bird-copse athrill,Makes him lord, or does not,Of the park, house, or cot.

Who holds the sure keyTo this largesse of treasureIs a king among men,Though a workman in blue,—Of a strain yet to beWho with God taketh pleasureIn the young earth again,And feeleth it new.Slow speeds the glad yearTold by poet and seer,Yet I catch the far hum—It will come, it will come!

LOVE.

The blooming flowers, the galaxies of space,Lie pictured in a sheeny drop of even;And globed in one round word, on lips of grace,Shine out the best of earth and all of heaven.

SACRIFICE.

Green-haloed cup of the gods, cool from the deeps,Fountain of life, whence comes thy wave that blesses?"The burdened cloud attempts the mountain steeps,To perish 'mid the rugged wildernesses."

LIBERTY.

Thou rugged Gaian of man's free behests,Belted and helmed 'neath God's red thunder-flails;World climes upon thy many-cloven crests,And ordered kingdoms in thy fertile vales!

BEAUTY.

The grace of strength the shaggy hills attest,And cresting billows in their power serene;Beauty was suckled at no weakling's breast,She sits the manëd lion like a queen.

Hid in the virgin wilderness,The fretted Conway's Fairy GlenThis summer day reveals its charmsFor painter's brush or poet's pen.The air is flecked with night and day,The ground is tiger-dusk and -gold,The rocks and trees, empearled in haze,A soft and far enchantment hold.The place is peopled with shy windsWhose fitful plumes waft dewy balmFrom all the wildwood, and let fallAn incommunicable calm.Through cleft rocks green with spray-wet moss,Deep in the sweet wood's golden glooms,The amber waters pulsing go,With foam like creamy lily blooms.Shuttles of shadow and of lightIn-gleam and -gloom the watery woofAs rolls the endless stream awayBeneath the wind-swayed leafy roof.(So life's swift shuttles dart and play,As ceaseless speeds its flashing loom;Our day is woven of sun and cloud,A figured web of gold and gloom.)God's arbor, this enchanted Glen!The air is sentient with His name;Put off thy shoes from off thy feet,The trees are bursting into flame!

Hid in the virgin wilderness,The fretted Conway's Fairy GlenThis summer day reveals its charmsFor painter's brush or poet's pen.

The air is flecked with night and day,The ground is tiger-dusk and -gold,The rocks and trees, empearled in haze,A soft and far enchantment hold.

The place is peopled with shy windsWhose fitful plumes waft dewy balmFrom all the wildwood, and let fallAn incommunicable calm.

Through cleft rocks green with spray-wet moss,Deep in the sweet wood's golden glooms,The amber waters pulsing go,With foam like creamy lily blooms.

Shuttles of shadow and of lightIn-gleam and -gloom the watery woofAs rolls the endless stream awayBeneath the wind-swayed leafy roof.

(So life's swift shuttles dart and play,As ceaseless speeds its flashing loom;Our day is woven of sun and cloud,A figured web of gold and gloom.)

God's arbor, this enchanted Glen!The air is sentient with His name;Put off thy shoes from off thy feet,The trees are bursting into flame!

The city's ways were crowded thick,—I bent my steps athrough its massOf men and women, stone and brick,Its whirring wheels and piping brass.And all day long, with hurrying feet,I trod the surging marts of trade;Yet in the rush and roar of streetA calm within my breast was made.For visions came of fair things wroughtBy beauty's witching hand and graceUpon my spirit when I caughtLife's spring-time image of her face:—Blue violets in mossy bed,Flashing with jewels on their breast;The sky-stained eggs of robin redLaid in her lined adobe nest;The shy lone brook, crept soft uponLest I should fright its brattling play;The woods ahark for something gone,Or whispering of elf and fay;The silver lake with lilies in bloom,Their cups half-full of heaven's gold,—The circling shore all prankt with plumeOf ferns, whose fronds the waters told;And up the hill the whitethroat's song—A crystal bell that shakes the dew!While floats in dream the cloud along,And veils the palpitating blue;The musical and dream-like rainFalling on roof o'er fragrant hay;The blood-red spear, unflushed of pain,Of sunbeam thrust 'tween battens grey;And in a trice, the sculptured shoreWhere halcyon tides with wonder-wingsRedden their plumes in toil to soarTo where Evangeline's memory clings,—Such sights and sounds swift came and went,—Glad sunshafts of an April day!And to impetuous traffic lentThe restful sweetness of the may.Imprisoned close in city marts,O childhood, so divinely fair,For thee, deep in my heart of hearts,Sweet pity beats her wings all bare!

The city's ways were crowded thick,—I bent my steps athrough its massOf men and women, stone and brick,Its whirring wheels and piping brass.

And all day long, with hurrying feet,I trod the surging marts of trade;Yet in the rush and roar of streetA calm within my breast was made.

For visions came of fair things wroughtBy beauty's witching hand and graceUpon my spirit when I caughtLife's spring-time image of her face:—

Blue violets in mossy bed,Flashing with jewels on their breast;The sky-stained eggs of robin redLaid in her lined adobe nest;

The shy lone brook, crept soft uponLest I should fright its brattling play;The woods ahark for something gone,Or whispering of elf and fay;

The silver lake with lilies in bloom,Their cups half-full of heaven's gold,—The circling shore all prankt with plumeOf ferns, whose fronds the waters told;

And up the hill the whitethroat's song—A crystal bell that shakes the dew!While floats in dream the cloud along,And veils the palpitating blue;

The musical and dream-like rainFalling on roof o'er fragrant hay;The blood-red spear, unflushed of pain,Of sunbeam thrust 'tween battens grey;

And in a trice, the sculptured shoreWhere halcyon tides with wonder-wingsRedden their plumes in toil to soarTo where Evangeline's memory clings,—

Such sights and sounds swift came and went,—Glad sunshafts of an April day!And to impetuous traffic lentThe restful sweetness of the may.

Imprisoned close in city marts,O childhood, so divinely fair,For thee, deep in my heart of hearts,Sweet pity beats her wings all bare!

Deep Bay, broad-breasted and brave!Oft rocked in thy swaying armsBeneath the hidden sun,As foam-bell tost on thy waveI drift again 'mid thy charmsTo sphinx-like Blomidon.Why are thy glories untold?Thy cliffs of purple and redAnd crystal-veinëd rocks,Thy hasting waters deep-rolled'Neath skies whose colors are spreadWith art that all art mocks;Thy faltering ranks of white mistFlanking vast floods and vast ebbs—A mimicry of war,—Oriflammes of dew-sprent list,Banners of gossamer webs,Soft blown as lights of Thor!

Deep Bay, broad-breasted and brave!Oft rocked in thy swaying armsBeneath the hidden sun,As foam-bell tost on thy waveI drift again 'mid thy charmsTo sphinx-like Blomidon.

Why are thy glories untold?Thy cliffs of purple and redAnd crystal-veinëd rocks,Thy hasting waters deep-rolled'Neath skies whose colors are spreadWith art that all art mocks;

Thy faltering ranks of white mistFlanking vast floods and vast ebbs—A mimicry of war,—Oriflammes of dew-sprent list,Banners of gossamer webs,Soft blown as lights of Thor!

II.

The smooth shining flats all bareTo the heavens' nakedest ken,Mirror the hills, like lakes.The drowsy lull of the airWill stir anew to life whenThe tidal note awakes.From lang'rous south seas that creep,These odors dank issue forth,Odors of sun-steeped brine—It comes! a breeze from a deep,Full-fed from seas of the North,A waft of Vikings' wine!Now beats the pulse of the flood,The throbbings deep of a heartFelt all around the world;Now smites its rhythm with a thud,—With ictus sure of its artThat mountains huge has hurled.The unsouled rivers and creeksHave being, have life to the full,Into their mouths rebreathed,As heaves the broad breast that seeksT' embosom each leaning hull,Bare on red banks tide-seethed.The iron gride of the flowPowders the rocks in its path,And bears the dust afarTo build their urns, where may growSweet grasses and "primrose rathe,"—Fair Grand Pré, Tantramar!

The smooth shining flats all bareTo the heavens' nakedest ken,Mirror the hills, like lakes.The drowsy lull of the airWill stir anew to life whenThe tidal note awakes.

From lang'rous south seas that creep,These odors dank issue forth,Odors of sun-steeped brine—It comes! a breeze from a deep,Full-fed from seas of the North,A waft of Vikings' wine!

Now beats the pulse of the flood,The throbbings deep of a heartFelt all around the world;Now smites its rhythm with a thud,—With ictus sure of its artThat mountains huge has hurled.

The unsouled rivers and creeksHave being, have life to the full,Into their mouths rebreathed,As heaves the broad breast that seeksT' embosom each leaning hull,Bare on red banks tide-seethed.

The iron gride of the flowPowders the rocks in its path,And bears the dust afarTo build their urns, where may growSweet grasses and "primrose rathe,"—Fair Grand Pré, Tantramar!

III.

Builder, unbuilder of shores,Thresher of cliffs vapor-stoled,God's masterworkman strong!Yet on thy bosom the oarsOf sailor lads ply and foldTo sweet refrains of song.And glad in thy twinkling smiles,Awing, like sea-gulls, the shipsAre breasting stout the breeze,—Ah me, thy treacherous wiles!Witching fog-wraiths draping rips!Currents of iron seas!

Builder, unbuilder of shores,Thresher of cliffs vapor-stoled,God's masterworkman strong!Yet on thy bosom the oarsOf sailor lads ply and foldTo sweet refrains of song.

And glad in thy twinkling smiles,Awing, like sea-gulls, the shipsAre breasting stout the breeze,—Ah me, thy treacherous wiles!Witching fog-wraiths draping rips!Currents of iron seas!

IV.

O Fundy, deep-breathing sea,Regal in power and rimmedIn hollow of His hand,Captive to beauty, yet free,Sleep now, thy Basin is brimmedIn fair Acadian land!Haloed with pearl-raying ringsThe moon, at her utmost poised,Looks on her silver shield;And the tide wakens and swings—Ebbs with a clangor far noisedAnd wheeling wings afield.

O Fundy, deep-breathing sea,Regal in power and rimmedIn hollow of His hand,Captive to beauty, yet free,Sleep now, thy Basin is brimmedIn fair Acadian land!

Haloed with pearl-raying ringsThe moon, at her utmost poised,Looks on her silver shield;And the tide wakens and swings—Ebbs with a clangor far noisedAnd wheeling wings afield.

(Partridge Island.)

What more can world-worn spirit askThan here in nature's arms to baskAnd see the plangent tide at task?The zest is swift as lusty youth,(Touched with an undertone of ruth,)Invincible as ageless truth,—The wonder of all wondrous things!How coy the birds! they lift their wings;The wary ship to her anchor swings.

What more can world-worn spirit askThan here in nature's arms to baskAnd see the plangent tide at task?

The zest is swift as lusty youth,(Touched with an undertone of ruth,)Invincible as ageless truth,—

The wonder of all wondrous things!How coy the birds! they lift their wings;The wary ship to her anchor swings.

II.

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