The Project Gutenberg eBook ofEmbers, Volume 1.This ebook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this ebook or online atwww.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this eBook.Title: Embers, Volume 1.Author: Gilbert ParkerRelease date: August 1, 2004 [eBook #6268]Most recently updated: December 29, 2020Language: EnglishCredits: This eBook was produced by David Widger*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK EMBERS, VOLUME 1. ***
This ebook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this ebook or online atwww.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this eBook.
Title: Embers, Volume 1.Author: Gilbert ParkerRelease date: August 1, 2004 [eBook #6268]Most recently updated: December 29, 2020Language: EnglishCredits: This eBook was produced by David Widger
Title: Embers, Volume 1.
Author: Gilbert Parker
Author: Gilbert Parker
Release date: August 1, 2004 [eBook #6268]Most recently updated: December 29, 2020
Language: English
Credits: This eBook was produced by David Widger
*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK EMBERS, VOLUME 1. ***
This eBook was produced by David Widger
By Gilbert Parker
I had not intended that Embers should ever be given to the public, but friends whose judgment I respect have urged me to include it in the subscription edition at least, and with real reluctance I have consented. It was a pleasure to me to have one piece of work of mine which made no bid for pence or praise; but if that is a kind of selfishness, perhaps unnecessary, since no one may wish to read the verses, I will now free myself from any chance of reproach. This much I will say to soothe away my own compunctions, that the book will only make the bid for popularity or consideration with near a score of others, and not separately, and that my responsibility is thus modified. The preface to Embers says all that need be said about a collection which is, on the whole, merely a book of youth and memory and impressionism in verse. At least it was all spontaneous; it was not made to order on any page of it, and it is the handful left from very many handfuls destroyed. Since the first edition (intended only for my personal friends) was published I have written "Rosleen," "Where Shall We Betake Us?" "Granada," "Mary Callaghan and Me," "The Crowning" (on the Coronation of King Edward VII), the fragment "Kildare" and "I Heard the Desert Calling"; and I have also included others like "The Tall Dakoon" and "The Red Patrol," written over twenty years ago. "Mary Callaghan and Me" has been set to music by Mr. Max Muller, and has made many friends, and "The Crowning" was the Coronation ode of 'The People', which gave a prize, too ample I think, for the best musical setting of the lines. Many of the other pieces in 'Embers' have been set to music by distinguished composers like Sir Edward Elgar, who has made a song-cycle of several, Sir Alexander Mackenzie, Mr. Arthur Foote, Mrs. Amy Woodforde Finden, Robert Somerville, and others. The first to have musical setting was "You'll Travel Far and Wide," to which in 1895 Mr. Arthur Foote gave fame as "An Irish Folk Song." Like "O Flower of All the World," by Mrs. Amy Woodforde Finden, it has had a world of admirers, and such singers as Mrs. Henschel helped to make Mr. Foote's music loved by thousands, and conferred something more than an ephemeral acceptance of the author's words.
When thou comest to the safe tent of the good comrade, abide there till thy going forth with a stedfast mind; and if, at the hospitable fire, thou hast learned the secret of a heart, thou shalt keep it holy, as the North Wind the trouble of the Stars.
And the Angel said: "What hast thou for all thy travail— what dost thou bring with thee out of the dust of the world?"
And the man answered:"Behold, I bring one perfect yesterday!"
And the Angel questioned:"Hast thou then no to-morrow?Hast thou no hope?"
And the man replied:"Who am I that I should hope!Out of all my life I have been granted onesheaf of memory."
And the Angel said:"Is this all!"
And the man answered: "Of all else was I robbed by the way: but Memory was hidden safely in my heart—the world found it not."
"She's the darlin' of the parish, she's the pride ofInniskillen;'Twould make your heart lep up to see her trippin'down the glen;There's not a lad of life and fame that wouldn't takeher shillin'And inlist inside her service-did ye hear her laugh-in' then?
Did ye see her with her hand in mine the day thatClancy married?Ah, darlin', how we footed it-the grass it was sogreen!And when the neighbours wandered home, I was theguest that tarried,An hour plucked from Paradise—come back to me,Rosleen!
Across the seas, beyand the hills, by lovely Inniskillen,The rigiment come marchin'—I hear the call oncemoreShure, a woman's but a woman—so I took the Ser-geant's shillin',For the pride o' me was hurted—shall I never seeher more?
She turned her face away from me, and black as nightthe land became;Her eyes were jewels of the sky, the finest iver seen;She left me for another lad, he was a lad of life andfame,And the heart of me was hurted—but there's nonethat's like Rosleen!"
Will you come back home, where the young larks aresingin'?The door is open wide, and the bells of Lynn are ringin';There's a little lake I know,And a boat you used to rowTo the shore beyond that's quiet—will you come backhome?
Will you come back, darlin'? Never heed the pain andblightin',Never trouble that you're wounded, that you bear thescars of fightin';Here's the luck o' Heaven to you,Here's the hand of love will brew youThe cup of peace—ah, darlin', will you come backhome?
It was as fine a churchful as you ever clapt an eye on;Oh, the bells was ringin' gaily, and the sun was shinin'free;There was singers, there was clargy—"Bless ye both,"says Father Tryon—They was weddin' Mary Callaghan and me.
There was gatherin' of women, there was hush upon thestairway,There was whisperin' and smilin', but it was no placefor me;A little ship was comin' into harbour through the fair-way—It belongs to Mary Callaghan and me.
Shure, the longest day has endin', and the wildest stormhas fallin'—There's a young gossoon in yander, and he sits uponmy knee;There's a churchful for the christenin'—do you hearthe imp a-callin'?He's the pride of Mary Callaghan and me.
He's the man that killed Black Care,He's the pride of all Kildare;Shure the devil takes his hat off whin he comes:'Tis the clargy bow before him,'Tis the women they adore him,And the Lord Lieutenant orders out the drums—For his hangin', all the drums,All the drums!
You'll travel far and wide, dear, but you'll come backagain,You'll come back to your father and your mother inthe glen,Although we should be lyin' 'neath the heather grassesthen—You'll be comin' back, my darlin'!
You'll see the icebergs sailin' along the wintry foam,The white hair of the breakers, and the wild swans asthey roam;But you'll not forget the rowan beside your father'shomeYou'll be comin' back, my darlin'!
New friends will clasp your hand, dear, new faces onyou smile;You'll bide with them and love them, but you'll longfor us the while;For the word across the water, and the farewell by thestile—For the true heart's here, my darlin'!
You'll hear the wild birds singin' beneath a brighter sky,The roof-tree of your home, dear, it will be grand andhigh;But you'll hunger for the hearthstone where, a child,you used to lie—You'll be comin' back, my darlin'!
And when your foot is weary, and when your heart is sore,And you come back to the moor that spreads beyandyour father's door,There'll be many an ancient comrade to greet you onthe shore—At your comin' back, my darlin' !
Ah, the hillock cannot cover, and the grass it cannot hideThe love that never changeth, whatever wind or tide;And though you'll not be seein', we'll be standin' byyour side—You'll be comin' back, my darlin'!
O, there's no home like the old home, there's no pillowlike the breastYou slumbered on in childhood, like a young bird inthe nest:We are livin' still and waitin', and we're hopin' for thebest—Ah, you're comin' back, my darlin'—comin' back!
Oh, it's down the long side of Farcalladen Rise,With the knees pressing hard to the saddle, my men;With the sparks from the hoofs giving light to the eyes,And our hearts beating hard as we rode to the glen!
And it's back with the ring of the chain and the spur,And it's back with the sun on the hill and the moor,And it's back is the thought sets my pulses astir,—But I'll never go back to Farcalladen more!
Oh, it's down the long side of Farcalladen Rise,And it's swift as an arrow and straight as a spear,And it's keen as the frost when the summer-time dies,That we rode to the glen, and with never a fear.
And it's hey for the hedge, and it's hey for the wall,And it's over the stream with an echoing cry;And there's three fled for ever from old Donegal,And there's two that have shown how bold Irishmen die!
For it's rest when the gallop is over, my men,And it's here's to the lads that have ridden their last;And it's here's to the lasses we leave in the glen,With a smile for the future, a sigh for the past!
Give, me the light heart, Heaven above!Give me the hand of a friend,Give me one high fine spirit to love,I'll abide my fate to the end:I will help where I can, I will cherish my own,Nor walk the steep way of the world alone.
"Where shall we betake us when the day's work is over?(Ah, red is the rose-bush in the lane.)Happy is the maid that knows the footstep of her lover—(Sing the song, the Eden song, again.)Who shall listen to us when black sorrow comes a-reaping?(See the young lark falling from the sky.)Happy is the man that has a true heart in his keeping—True hearts flourish when the roses die."
Oh, we have been a-maying, dear, beyond the city gates,The little city set upon a hill;And we have seen the jocund smile upon the lips of Fate,And we have known the splendours of our will.
Oh, we have wandered far, my dear, and we have loved apace;A little hut we built upon the sand,The sun without to lighten it, within, your golden face,—O happy dream, O happy No Man's Land!
The pleasant furniture of spring was set in all the fields,And gay and wholesome were the herbs and flowers;Our simple cloth of love was spread with all that nature yields,And frugal only were the passing hours.
Oh, we have been a-maying, dear, we've left the world behind,We've sung and danced and gossiped as we strayed;And when within our little but your fingers draw the blind,We'll loiter by the fire that love has made.
Through the round window above, the deep palpable blue,The wan bright moon, and the sweet stinging breath of the sea;And below, in the shadows, thine eyes like stars,And Love brooding low, and the warm white glory of thee.
Oh, soft was the song in my soul, and soft beyond thoughtwere thy lips,And thou wert mine own, and Eden reconquered was mineAnd the way that I go is the way of thy feet, and the breaththat I breathe,It hath being from thee and life from the life that is thine!
Your voice I knew, its cadences and thrill;It stilled the tumult and the overthrowWhen Athens trembled to the people's will;I knew it—'twas a thousand years ago.
I see the fountains, and the gardens whereYou sang the fury from the Satrap's brow;I feel the quiver in the raptured air,I heard it in the Athenian grove—I hear you now.
Eyes like the sea, look up, the beacons brighten,Home comes the sailor, home across the tide!Back drifts the cloud, behold the heavens whiten,The port of Love is open, he anchors at thy side.
UNDER THE CLIFFThe sands and the sea, and the white gulls fleeting,The mist on the island, the cloud on the hill;The song in my heart, and the old hope beatingIts life 'gainst the bars of thy will.
Here in the highway without thy garden wall,Here in the babel and the glare,Sick for thy haven, O Sweet, to thee I call:Open thy gate unto my prayer—Open thy gate.
Cool is thy garden-plot, pleasant thy shade,All things commend thee in thy place;Dwelling on thy perfectness, O Sweet, I am afraid,But, fearing, long to look upon thy face—Open thy gate.
Over the ample globe, searching for thee,Thee and thy garden have I come;Ended my questing: no more, no more for me,O Sweet, the pilgrim's sandals, call me home—Open thy gate.
Summer is come; the corn is in the ear,The haze is swimming where the beeches stand;Summer is come, though winter months be here—My love is summer passing through the land.
Summer is come; I hear the skylarks sing,The honeysuckle flaunts it to the bees;Summer is come, and 'tis not yet the spring—My love is summer blessing all she sees.
Summer is come; I see an open door,A sweet hand beckons, and I knowThat, winter or summer, I shall go forth no more—My heart is homing where her summer-roses grow.
O flower of all the world, O flower of all,The garden where thou dwellest is so fair,Thou art so goodly, and so queenly tall,Thy sweetness scatters sweetness everywhere,O flower of all!
O flower of all the years, O flower of all,A day beside thee is a day of days;Thy voice is softer than the throstle's call,There is not song enough to sing thy praise,O flower of all!
O flower of all the years, O flower of all,I seek thee in thy garden, and I dareTo love thee; and though my deserts be small,Thou art the only flower I would wear,O flower of all!
Once in another land,Ages ago,You were a queen, and I,I loved you so:Where was it that we loved—Ah, do you know?
Was it some golden starHot with romance?Was it in Malabar,Italy, France?Did we know Charlemagne,Dido, perchance?
But you were a queen, and IFought for you then:How did you honour me—More than all men!Kissed me upon the lips;Kiss me again.
Have you forgotten it,All that we said?I still remember thoughAges have fled.Whisper the word of life,—"Love is not dead."
I heard the desert calling, and my heart stood still—There was winter in my world and in my heart;A breath came from the mesa, and a message stirred my will,And my soul and I arose up to depart.
I heard the desert calling, and I knew that over thereIn an olive-sheltered garden where the mesquite grows,Was a woman of the sunrise with the star-shine in her hairAnd a beauty that the almond-blossom blows.
In the night-time when the ghost-trees glimmered in the moon,Where the mesa by the water-course was spanned,Her loveliness enwrapped me like the blessedness of June,And all my life was thrilling in her hand.
I hear the desert calling, and my heart stands still—There is summer in my world, and in my heart;A breath comes from the mesa, and a will beyond my willBinds my footsteps as I rise up to depart.
Once in the twilight of the Austrian hills,A word came to me, wonderful and good;If I had spoken it—that message of the stars—Love would have filled thy blood;Love would have sent thee pulsing to my arms,Laughing with joy, thy heart a nestling birdAn instant passed—it fled; and now I seek in vainFor that forgotten word.
What will this matter, dear, when you and IHave left our sad world for some fairer sky?What will it matter, dear, when, far apart,We miss the touch of hand and beat of heart;When one's at peace, while unto one is givenWith lonely feet to walk the hills at even?What will it matter that one fault more nowBrings clouds upon one eager mortal brow,That one grace less is given to one poor soul,When both drink from the last immortal bowl?For fault and grace, dear love, when we go henceWill find the same Eternal recompense.
Into a New World wandered I,A strong vast realm afar;And down the white peaks of its sky,Beckoned my courier star.
It hailed me to mine ancient North,—The meadows of the Pole;It whistled my gay hunters forth,It bugled in my soul.On plateaux of the constant snowI heard the meteors whir;I saw the red wolves nor'ward goFrom my low huts of fir.
The dun moose ran the deep ravine,The musk-ox ranged the plain;The hunter's song dripped in betweenIn notes of scarlet rain.
The land was mine: its lonely pride,Its distant deep desires;And I abode, as hunters bide,With joy beside its fires.
Into a New World wandered I,A world austere, sublime;And unseen feet came sauntering by;A voice with ardent chimeRang down the idle lanes of sleep;I waked: the night was still;I saw my star its sentry keepAlong a southern hill.
O flaming star! my courier star!My herald, fine and tall!You gestured from your opal car,I answered to that call.I rose; the flumes of snow I trod,I trailed to southward then;I left behind the camps of God,And sought the tents of men.
And where a princely face looked throughThe curtains of the playOf life, O star, you paused; I knewThe comrade of my day.And good the trails that I have trod,My courier star before;And good the nor'land camps of God:And though I lodge no more
Where stalwart deeds and dreams rejoice,And gallant hunters roam,Where I can hear your voice, your voice,I drive the tent-peg home.
When God was making the world,(Swift was the wind and white was the fire)The feet of His people danced the stars;There was laughter and swinging bells,And clanging iron and breaking breath,The hammers of heaven making the hills,The vales, on the anvils of God.(Wild is the fire and low is the wind)
When God had finished the world,(Bright was the fire and sweet was the wind)Up from the valleys came song,To answer the morning stars;And the hand of man on the anvil rang,His breath was big in his breast, his lifeBeat strong 'gainst the walls of the world.(Glad is the wind and tall is the fire)
None shall stand in the way of the lord,The Lord of the Earth—of the rivers and trees,Of the cattle and fields and vines:Hew!Here shall I build me my cedar home,A city with gates, a road to the sea—For I am the lord of the Earth:Hew! Hew!Hew and hew, and the sap of the treeShall be yours, and your bones shall be strong,Shall be yours, and your heart shall rejoice,Shall be yours, and the city be yours,And the key of its gates be the keyOf the home where your little ones dwell.Hew and be strong! Hew and rejoice!For man is the lord of the Earth,And God is the Lord over all.
"Son of man, stand upon thy feetand I will speak to thee."
O son of man, beholdIf thou shouldst stumble on the nameless trail,The trail that no man rides,Lift up thy heart,Behold, O son of man, thou hast a helper near!
O son of man, take heedIf thou shouldst fall upon the vacant plain,The plain that no man loves,Reach out thy hand,Take heed, O son of man, strength shall be given thee!
O son of man, rejoice:If thou art blinded even at the door,The door of the Safe Tent,Sing in thy heart,Rejoice, O son of man, thy pilot leads thee home!
In the lodge of the Mother of Men,In the land of Desire,Are the embers of fire,Are the ashes of those who return.Who return to the world;Who flame at the breathOf the Mockers of Death.O Sweet, we will voyage againTo the camp of Love's fire,Nevermore to return!
O love, by the light of thine eyesWe will fare over-sea;We will beAs the silver-winged herons that restBy the shallows,The shallows of sapphire stone;No more shall we wander alone.As the foam to the shoreIs my spirit to thine,And God's serfs as they fly,—The Mockers of Death-They will breathe on the embers of fireWe shall live by that breath.Sweet, thy heart to my heart,As we journey afar,No more, nevermore, to return!
War does the fire no longer burn?(I am so lonely)Why does the tent-door swing outward?(I have no home)Oh, let me breathe hard in your face!(I am so lonely)Oh, why do you shut your eyes to me?(I have no home)
Let us make friends with the stars;(I am so lonely)Give me your hand, I will hold it;(I have no home)Let us go hunting together:(I am so lonely)We will sleep at God's camp to-night.(I have no home)
He stands in the porch of the World—(Why should the door be shut?)The grey wolf waits at his heel,(Why is the window barred?)Wild is the trail from the Kimash Hills,The blight has fallen on bush and tree,The choking earth has swallowed the streams,Hungry and cold is the Red Patrol-(Why should the door be shut?)The Scarlet Hunter has come to bide—(Why is the window barred?)
He waits at the threshold stone—(Why should the key-hole rust?)The eagle broods at his side,(Why should the blind be drawn?)Long has he watched and far has he called—The lonely sentinel of the North—"Who goes there?" to the wandering soulHeavy of heart is the Red Patrol—(Why should the key-hole rust?)The Scarlet Hunter is sick for home,(Why should the blind be drawn?)
Heavy of heart is the Red Patrol—(Why should the key-hole rust?)The Scarlet Hunter is sick for home,(Why should the blind be drawn?)Hungry and cold is the Red Patrol—(Why should the door be shut?)The Scarlet Hunter has come to bide,(Why is the window barred?)
In the flash of the singing dawn,At the door of the Great One,The joy of his lodge knelt down,Knelt down, and her hair in the sunShone like showering dust,And her eyes were as eyes of the fawn.And she cried to her lord,"O my lord, O my life,From the desert I come;From the hills of the Dawn."And he lifted the curtain and said,"Hast thou seen It, the Yellow Swan?"
And she lifted her head, and her eyesWere as lights in the dark,And her hands folded slow on her breast,And her face was as one who has seenThe gods and the place where they dwell;And she said, "Is it meet that I kneel,That I kneel as I speak to my lord?"And he answered her, "Nay, but to stand,And to sit by my side;But speak: thou has followed the trail,Hast thou found It, the Yellow Swan?"And she stood as a queen, and her voiceWas as one who hath seen the Hills,The Hills of the Mighty Men,And hath heard them cry in the night,Hath heard them call in the dawn,Hath seen It, the Yellow Swan.And she said, "It is not for my lord";And she murmured, "I cannot tell;But my lord must go as I went,And my lord must come as I came,And my lord shall be wise."
And he cried in his wrath,"What is thine, it is mine,And thine eyes are my eyes,Thou shalt speak of the Yellow Swan."But she answered him, "Nay, though I die.I have lain in the nest of the Swan,I have heard, I have known;When thine eyes too have seen,When thine ears too have heard,Thou shalt do with me then as thou wilt."
And he lifted his hand to strike,And he straightened his spear to slay;But a great light struck on his eyes,And he heard the rushing of wings,And his long spear fell from his hand,And a terrible stillness came:And when the spell passed from his eyesHe stood in his doorway alone,And gone was the queen of his soulAnd gone was the Yellow Swan.