MISCELLANEOUS POEMS.

MISCELLANEOUS POEMS.I.SONGS AND STUDIES.

Splendors of morning the billow-crests brighten,Lighting and luring them on to the land,—Far-away waves where the wan vessels whiten,Blue rollers breaking in surf where we stand.Curved like the necks of a legion of horses,Each with his froth-gilded mane flowing free,Hither they speed in perpetual courses,Bearing thy riches, O beautiful sea!Strong with the striving of yesterday’s surges,Lashed by the wanton winds leagues from the shore,Each, driven fast by its follower, urgesFearlessly those that are fleeting before;How they leap over the ridges we walk on,Flinging us gifts from the depths of the sea,—Silvery fish for the foam-haunting falcon,Palm-weed and pearls for my darling and me!Light falls her foot where the rift follows after,Finer her hair than your feathery spray,Sweeter her voice than your infinite laughter,—Hist! ye wild couriers, list to my lay!Deep in the chambers of grottos auroralMorn laves her jewels and bends her red knee:Thence to my dear one your amber and coralBring for her dowry, O beautiful sea!

Splendors of morning the billow-crests brighten,

Lighting and luring them on to the land,—

Far-away waves where the wan vessels whiten,

Blue rollers breaking in surf where we stand.

Curved like the necks of a legion of horses,

Each with his froth-gilded mane flowing free,

Hither they speed in perpetual courses,

Bearing thy riches, O beautiful sea!

Strong with the striving of yesterday’s surges,Lashed by the wanton winds leagues from the shore,Each, driven fast by its follower, urgesFearlessly those that are fleeting before;How they leap over the ridges we walk on,Flinging us gifts from the depths of the sea,—Silvery fish for the foam-haunting falcon,Palm-weed and pearls for my darling and me!

Strong with the striving of yesterday’s surges,

Lashed by the wanton winds leagues from the shore,

Each, driven fast by its follower, urges

Fearlessly those that are fleeting before;

How they leap over the ridges we walk on,

Flinging us gifts from the depths of the sea,—

Silvery fish for the foam-haunting falcon,

Palm-weed and pearls for my darling and me!

Light falls her foot where the rift follows after,Finer her hair than your feathery spray,Sweeter her voice than your infinite laughter,—Hist! ye wild couriers, list to my lay!Deep in the chambers of grottos auroralMorn laves her jewels and bends her red knee:Thence to my dear one your amber and coralBring for her dowry, O beautiful sea!

Light falls her foot where the rift follows after,

Finer her hair than your feathery spray,

Sweeter her voice than your infinite laughter,—

Hist! ye wild couriers, list to my lay!

Deep in the chambers of grottos auroral

Morn laves her jewels and bends her red knee:

Thence to my dear one your amber and coral

Bring for her dowry, O beautiful sea!

Prithee tell me, Dimple-Chin,At what age does Love begin?Your blue eyes have scarcely seenSummers three, my fairy queen,But a miracle of sweets,Soft approaches, sly retreats,Show the little archer there,Hidden in your pretty hair;When didst learn a heart to win?Prithee tell me, Dimple-Chin!“Oh!” the rosy lips reply,“I can’t tell you if I try.’Tis so long I can’t remember:Ask some younger lass than I!”Tell, O tell me, Grizzled-Face,Do your heart and head keep pace?When does hoary Love expire,When do frosts put out the fire?Can its embers burn belowAll that chill December snow?Care you still soft hands to press,Bonny heads to smooth and bless?When does Love give up the chase?Tell, O tell me, Grizzled-Face!“Ah!” the wise old lips reply,“Youth may pass and strength may die;But of Love I can’t foretoken:Ask some older sage than I!”

Prithee tell me, Dimple-Chin,

At what age does Love begin?

Your blue eyes have scarcely seen

Summers three, my fairy queen,

But a miracle of sweets,

Soft approaches, sly retreats,

Show the little archer there,

Hidden in your pretty hair;

When didst learn a heart to win?

Prithee tell me, Dimple-Chin!

“Oh!” the rosy lips reply,“I can’t tell you if I try.’Tis so long I can’t remember:Ask some younger lass than I!”

“Oh!” the rosy lips reply,

“I can’t tell you if I try.

’Tis so long I can’t remember:

Ask some younger lass than I!”

Tell, O tell me, Grizzled-Face,Do your heart and head keep pace?When does hoary Love expire,When do frosts put out the fire?Can its embers burn belowAll that chill December snow?

Tell, O tell me, Grizzled-Face,

Do your heart and head keep pace?

When does hoary Love expire,

When do frosts put out the fire?

Can its embers burn below

All that chill December snow?

Care you still soft hands to press,Bonny heads to smooth and bless?When does Love give up the chase?Tell, O tell me, Grizzled-Face!

Care you still soft hands to press,

Bonny heads to smooth and bless?

When does Love give up the chase?

Tell, O tell me, Grizzled-Face!

“Ah!” the wise old lips reply,“Youth may pass and strength may die;But of Love I can’t foretoken:Ask some older sage than I!”

“Ah!” the wise old lips reply,

“Youth may pass and strength may die;

But of Love I can’t foretoken:

Ask some older sage than I!”

Laura, my darling, the roses have blushedAt the kiss of the dew, and our chamber is hushed;Our murmuring babe to your bosom has clung,And hears in his slumber the song that you sung;I watch you asleep with your arms round him thrown,Your links of dark tresses wound in with his own,And the wife is as dear as the gentle young brideOf the hour when you first, darling, came to my side.Laura, my darling, our sail down the streamOf Youth’s summers and winters has been like a dream;Years have but rounded your womanly grace,And added their spell to the light of your face;Your soul is the same as though part were not givenTo the two, like yourself, sent to bless me from heaven,—Dear lives, springing forth from the life of my life,To make you more near, darling, mother and wife!Laura, my darling, there’s hazel-eyed Fred,Asleep in his own tiny cot by the bed,And little King Arthur, whose curls have the artOf winding their tendrils so close round my heart;Yet fairer than either, and dearer than both,Is the true one who gave me in girlhood her troth:For we, when we mated for evil and good,—What were we, darling, but babes in the wood?Laura, my darling, the years which have flownBrought few of the prizes I pledged to my own.I said that no sorrow should roughen her way,—Her life should be cloudless, a long summer’s day.Shadow and sunshine, thistles and flowers,Which of the two, darling, most have been ours?Yet to-night, by the smile on your lips, I can seeYou are dreaming of me, darling, dreaming of me.Laura, my darling, the stars, that we knewIn our youth, are still shining as tender and true;The midnight is sounding its slumberous bell,And I come to the one who has loved me so well.Wake, darling, wake, for my vigil is done:What shall dissever our lives which are one?Say, while the rose listens under her breath,“Naught until death, darling, naught until death!”

Laura, my darling, the roses have blushed

At the kiss of the dew, and our chamber is hushed;

Our murmuring babe to your bosom has clung,

And hears in his slumber the song that you sung;

I watch you asleep with your arms round him thrown,

Your links of dark tresses wound in with his own,

And the wife is as dear as the gentle young bride

Of the hour when you first, darling, came to my side.

Laura, my darling, our sail down the streamOf Youth’s summers and winters has been like a dream;Years have but rounded your womanly grace,And added their spell to the light of your face;Your soul is the same as though part were not givenTo the two, like yourself, sent to bless me from heaven,—Dear lives, springing forth from the life of my life,To make you more near, darling, mother and wife!

Laura, my darling, our sail down the stream

Of Youth’s summers and winters has been like a dream;

Years have but rounded your womanly grace,

And added their spell to the light of your face;

Your soul is the same as though part were not given

To the two, like yourself, sent to bless me from heaven,—

Dear lives, springing forth from the life of my life,

To make you more near, darling, mother and wife!

Laura, my darling, there’s hazel-eyed Fred,Asleep in his own tiny cot by the bed,And little King Arthur, whose curls have the artOf winding their tendrils so close round my heart;Yet fairer than either, and dearer than both,Is the true one who gave me in girlhood her troth:For we, when we mated for evil and good,—What were we, darling, but babes in the wood?

Laura, my darling, there’s hazel-eyed Fred,

Asleep in his own tiny cot by the bed,

And little King Arthur, whose curls have the art

Of winding their tendrils so close round my heart;

Yet fairer than either, and dearer than both,

Is the true one who gave me in girlhood her troth:

For we, when we mated for evil and good,—

What were we, darling, but babes in the wood?

Laura, my darling, the years which have flownBrought few of the prizes I pledged to my own.I said that no sorrow should roughen her way,—Her life should be cloudless, a long summer’s day.Shadow and sunshine, thistles and flowers,Which of the two, darling, most have been ours?Yet to-night, by the smile on your lips, I can seeYou are dreaming of me, darling, dreaming of me.

Laura, my darling, the years which have flown

Brought few of the prizes I pledged to my own.

I said that no sorrow should roughen her way,—

Her life should be cloudless, a long summer’s day.

Shadow and sunshine, thistles and flowers,

Which of the two, darling, most have been ours?

Yet to-night, by the smile on your lips, I can see

You are dreaming of me, darling, dreaming of me.

Laura, my darling, the stars, that we knewIn our youth, are still shining as tender and true;The midnight is sounding its slumberous bell,And I come to the one who has loved me so well.Wake, darling, wake, for my vigil is done:What shall dissever our lives which are one?Say, while the rose listens under her breath,“Naught until death, darling, naught until death!”

Laura, my darling, the stars, that we knew

In our youth, are still shining as tender and true;

The midnight is sounding its slumberous bell,

And I come to the one who has loved me so well.

Wake, darling, wake, for my vigil is done:

What shall dissever our lives which are one?

Say, while the rose listens under her breath,

“Naught until death, darling, naught until death!”

Sleeping, I dreamed that thou wast mine,In some ambrosial lovers’ shrine.My lips against thy lips were pressed,And all our passion was confessed;So near and dear my darling seemed,I knew not that I only dreamed.Waking, this mid and moonlit night,I clasp thee close by lover’s right.Thou fearest not my warm embrace,And yet, so like the dream thy faceAnd kisses, I but half partakeThe joy, and know not if I wake.

Sleeping, I dreamed that thou wast mine,

In some ambrosial lovers’ shrine.

My lips against thy lips were pressed,

And all our passion was confessed;

So near and dear my darling seemed,

I knew not that I only dreamed.

Waking, this mid and moonlit night,

I clasp thee close by lover’s right.

Thou fearest not my warm embrace,

And yet, so like the dream thy face

And kisses, I but half partake

The joy, and know not if I wake.

One can never quite forgetEyes like yours, May Margaret,Eyes of dewy violet!Nothing like them, Margaret,Save the blossoms newly bornOf the May and of the Morn.Oft my memory wanders backTo those burning eyes and black,Whose heat-lightnings once could moveMe to passion, not to love;Longer in my heart of heartsLinger those disguiséd arts,Which, betimes, a hazel pairUsed upon me unaware;And the wise and tender gray—Eyes wherewith a saint might pray—Speak of pledges that endureAnd of faith and vigils pure;But for him who fain would knowAll the fire the first can show,All the art, or friendship fast,Of the second and the last,—And would gain a subtler worth,Part of Heaven, part of Earth,—He these mingled rays can findIn but one immortal kind:In those eyes of violet,Inyoureyes, May Margaret!

One can never quite forgetEyes like yours, May Margaret,Eyes of dewy violet!Nothing like them, Margaret,Save the blossoms newly bornOf the May and of the Morn.

One can never quite forget

Eyes like yours, May Margaret,

Eyes of dewy violet!

Nothing like them, Margaret,

Save the blossoms newly born

Of the May and of the Morn.

Oft my memory wanders backTo those burning eyes and black,Whose heat-lightnings once could moveMe to passion, not to love;Longer in my heart of heartsLinger those disguiséd arts,Which, betimes, a hazel pairUsed upon me unaware;And the wise and tender gray—Eyes wherewith a saint might pray—Speak of pledges that endureAnd of faith and vigils pure;But for him who fain would knowAll the fire the first can show,All the art, or friendship fast,Of the second and the last,—And would gain a subtler worth,Part of Heaven, part of Earth,—He these mingled rays can findIn but one immortal kind:In those eyes of violet,Inyoureyes, May Margaret!

Oft my memory wanders back

To those burning eyes and black,

Whose heat-lightnings once could move

Me to passion, not to love;

Longer in my heart of hearts

Linger those disguiséd arts,

Which, betimes, a hazel pair

Used upon me unaware;

And the wise and tender gray—

Eyes wherewith a saint might pray—

Speak of pledges that endure

And of faith and vigils pure;

But for him who fain would know

All the fire the first can show,

All the art, or friendship fast,

Of the second and the last,—

And would gain a subtler worth,

Part of Heaven, part of Earth,—

He these mingled rays can find

In but one immortal kind:

In those eyes of violet,

Inyoureyes, May Margaret!

The conference-meeting through at last,We boys around the vestry waitedTo see the girls come tripping pastLike snow-birds willing to be mated.Not braver he that leaps the wallBy level musket-flashes litten,Than I, who stepped before them allWho longed to see me get the mitten.But no, she blushed and took my arm!We let the old folks have the highway,And started toward the Maple FarmAlong a kind of lovers’ by-way.I can’t remember what we said,’Twas nothing worth a song or story;Yet that rude path by which we spedSeemed all transformed and in a glory.The snow was crisp beneath our feet,The moon was full, the fields were gleaming;By hood and tippet sheltered sweet,Her face with youth and health was beaming.The little hand outside her muff,—O sculptor, if you could but mould it!—So lightly touched my jacket-cuff,To keep it warm I had to hold it.To have her with me there alone,—’Twas love and fear and triumph blended.At last we reached the foot-worn stoneWhere that delicious journey ended.The old folks, too, were almost home;Her dimpled hand the latches fingered,We heard the voices nearer come,Yet on the doorstep still we lingered.She shook her ringlets from her hoodAnd with a “Thank you, Ned,” dissembled,But yet I knew she understoodWith what a daring wish I trembled.A cloud passed kindly overhead,The moon was slyly peeping through it,Yet hid its face, as if it said,“Come, now or never! do it!do it!”My lips till then had only knownThe kiss of mother and of sister,But somehow, full upon her ownSweet, rosy, darling mouth,—I kissed her!Perhaps ’twas boyish love, yet still,O listless woman, weary lover!To feel once more that fresh, wild thrillI’d give—but who can live youth over?

The conference-meeting through at last,We boys around the vestry waitedTo see the girls come tripping pastLike snow-birds willing to be mated.

The conference-meeting through at last,

We boys around the vestry waited

To see the girls come tripping past

Like snow-birds willing to be mated.

Not braver he that leaps the wallBy level musket-flashes litten,Than I, who stepped before them allWho longed to see me get the mitten.

Not braver he that leaps the wall

By level musket-flashes litten,

Than I, who stepped before them all

Who longed to see me get the mitten.

But no, she blushed and took my arm!We let the old folks have the highway,And started toward the Maple FarmAlong a kind of lovers’ by-way.

But no, she blushed and took my arm!

We let the old folks have the highway,

And started toward the Maple Farm

Along a kind of lovers’ by-way.

I can’t remember what we said,’Twas nothing worth a song or story;Yet that rude path by which we spedSeemed all transformed and in a glory.

I can’t remember what we said,

’Twas nothing worth a song or story;

Yet that rude path by which we sped

Seemed all transformed and in a glory.

The snow was crisp beneath our feet,The moon was full, the fields were gleaming;By hood and tippet sheltered sweet,Her face with youth and health was beaming.

The snow was crisp beneath our feet,

The moon was full, the fields were gleaming;

By hood and tippet sheltered sweet,

Her face with youth and health was beaming.

The little hand outside her muff,—O sculptor, if you could but mould it!—So lightly touched my jacket-cuff,To keep it warm I had to hold it.

The little hand outside her muff,—

O sculptor, if you could but mould it!—

So lightly touched my jacket-cuff,

To keep it warm I had to hold it.

To have her with me there alone,—’Twas love and fear and triumph blended.At last we reached the foot-worn stoneWhere that delicious journey ended.

To have her with me there alone,—

’Twas love and fear and triumph blended.

At last we reached the foot-worn stone

Where that delicious journey ended.

The old folks, too, were almost home;Her dimpled hand the latches fingered,We heard the voices nearer come,Yet on the doorstep still we lingered.

The old folks, too, were almost home;

Her dimpled hand the latches fingered,

We heard the voices nearer come,

Yet on the doorstep still we lingered.

She shook her ringlets from her hoodAnd with a “Thank you, Ned,” dissembled,But yet I knew she understoodWith what a daring wish I trembled.

She shook her ringlets from her hood

And with a “Thank you, Ned,” dissembled,

But yet I knew she understood

With what a daring wish I trembled.

A cloud passed kindly overhead,The moon was slyly peeping through it,Yet hid its face, as if it said,“Come, now or never! do it!do it!”

A cloud passed kindly overhead,

The moon was slyly peeping through it,

Yet hid its face, as if it said,

“Come, now or never! do it!do it!”

My lips till then had only knownThe kiss of mother and of sister,But somehow, full upon her ownSweet, rosy, darling mouth,—I kissed her!

My lips till then had only known

The kiss of mother and of sister,

But somehow, full upon her own

Sweet, rosy, darling mouth,—I kissed her!

Perhaps ’twas boyish love, yet still,O listless woman, weary lover!To feel once more that fresh, wild thrillI’d give—but who can live youth over?

Perhaps ’twas boyish love, yet still,

O listless woman, weary lover!

To feel once more that fresh, wild thrill

I’d give—but who can live youth over?

One by one they died,—Last of all their race;Nothing left but pride,Lace, and buckled hose.Their quietus made,On their dwelling-placeRuthless hands are laid:Down the old house goes!See the ancient manseMeet its fate at last!Time, in his advance,Age nor honor knows;Axe and broadaxe fall,Lopping off the Past:Hit with bar and maul,Down the old house goes!Sevenscore years it stood:Yes, they built it well,Though they built of wood,When that house arose.For its cross-beams squareOak and walnut fell;Little worse for wear,Down the old house goes!Rending board and plank,Men with crowbars ply,Opening fissures dank,Striking deadly blows.From the gabled roofHow the shingles fly!Keep you here aloof,—Down the old house goes!Holding still its place,There the chimney stands,Stanch from top to base,Frowning on its foes.Heave apart the stones,Burst its iron bands!How it shakes and groans!Down the old house goes!Round the mantel-pieceGlisten Scripture tiles;Henceforth they shall ceasePainting Egypt’s woes,Painting David’s fight,Fair Bathsheba’s smiles,Blinded Samson’s might,—Down the old house goes!On these oaken floorsHigh-shoed ladies trod;Through those panelled doorsTrailed their furbelows:Long their day has ceased;Now, beneath the sod,With the worms they feast,—Down the old house goes!Many a bride has stoodIn yon spacious room;Here her hand was wooedUnderneath the rose;O’er that sill the deadReached the family tomb:All, that were, have fled,—Down the old house goes!Once, in yonder hall,Washington, they say,Led the New-Year’s ball,Stateliest of beaux.O that minuet,Maids and matrons gay!Are there such sights yet?Down the old house goes!British troopers cameEre another year,With their coats aflame,Mincing on their toes;Daughters of the houseGave them haughty cheer,Laughed to scorn their vows,—Down the old house goes!Doorway high the boxIn the grass-plot spreads;It has borne its locksThrough a thousand snows;In an evil day,From those garden-bedsNow ’tis hacked away,—Down the old house goes!Lo! the sycamores,Scathed and scrawny mates,At the mansion doorsShiver, full of woes;With its life they grew,Guarded well its gates;Now their task is through,—Down the old house goes!On this honored siteModern trade will build,—What unseemly frightHeaven only knows!Something peaked and high,Smacking of the guild:Let us heave a sigh,—Down the old house goes!

One by one they died,—Last of all their race;Nothing left but pride,Lace, and buckled hose.Their quietus made,On their dwelling-placeRuthless hands are laid:Down the old house goes!

One by one they died,—

Last of all their race;

Nothing left but pride,

Lace, and buckled hose.

Their quietus made,

On their dwelling-place

Ruthless hands are laid:

Down the old house goes!

See the ancient manseMeet its fate at last!Time, in his advance,Age nor honor knows;Axe and broadaxe fall,Lopping off the Past:Hit with bar and maul,Down the old house goes!

See the ancient manse

Meet its fate at last!

Time, in his advance,

Age nor honor knows;

Axe and broadaxe fall,

Lopping off the Past:

Hit with bar and maul,

Down the old house goes!

Sevenscore years it stood:Yes, they built it well,Though they built of wood,When that house arose.For its cross-beams squareOak and walnut fell;Little worse for wear,Down the old house goes!

Sevenscore years it stood:

Yes, they built it well,

Though they built of wood,

When that house arose.

For its cross-beams square

Oak and walnut fell;

Little worse for wear,

Down the old house goes!

Rending board and plank,Men with crowbars ply,Opening fissures dank,Striking deadly blows.From the gabled roofHow the shingles fly!Keep you here aloof,—Down the old house goes!

Rending board and plank,

Men with crowbars ply,

Opening fissures dank,

Striking deadly blows.

From the gabled roof

How the shingles fly!

Keep you here aloof,—

Down the old house goes!

Holding still its place,There the chimney stands,Stanch from top to base,Frowning on its foes.Heave apart the stones,Burst its iron bands!How it shakes and groans!Down the old house goes!

Holding still its place,

There the chimney stands,

Stanch from top to base,

Frowning on its foes.

Heave apart the stones,

Burst its iron bands!

How it shakes and groans!

Down the old house goes!

Round the mantel-pieceGlisten Scripture tiles;Henceforth they shall ceasePainting Egypt’s woes,Painting David’s fight,Fair Bathsheba’s smiles,Blinded Samson’s might,—Down the old house goes!

Round the mantel-piece

Glisten Scripture tiles;

Henceforth they shall cease

Painting Egypt’s woes,

Painting David’s fight,

Fair Bathsheba’s smiles,

Blinded Samson’s might,—

Down the old house goes!

On these oaken floorsHigh-shoed ladies trod;Through those panelled doorsTrailed their furbelows:Long their day has ceased;Now, beneath the sod,With the worms they feast,—Down the old house goes!

On these oaken floors

High-shoed ladies trod;

Through those panelled doors

Trailed their furbelows:

Long their day has ceased;

Now, beneath the sod,

With the worms they feast,—

Down the old house goes!

Many a bride has stoodIn yon spacious room;Here her hand was wooedUnderneath the rose;O’er that sill the deadReached the family tomb:All, that were, have fled,—Down the old house goes!

Many a bride has stood

In yon spacious room;

Here her hand was wooed

Underneath the rose;

O’er that sill the dead

Reached the family tomb:

All, that were, have fled,—

Down the old house goes!

Once, in yonder hall,Washington, they say,Led the New-Year’s ball,Stateliest of beaux.O that minuet,Maids and matrons gay!Are there such sights yet?Down the old house goes!

Once, in yonder hall,

Washington, they say,

Led the New-Year’s ball,

Stateliest of beaux.

O that minuet,

Maids and matrons gay!

Are there such sights yet?

Down the old house goes!

British troopers cameEre another year,With their coats aflame,Mincing on their toes;Daughters of the houseGave them haughty cheer,Laughed to scorn their vows,—Down the old house goes!

British troopers came

Ere another year,

With their coats aflame,

Mincing on their toes;

Daughters of the house

Gave them haughty cheer,

Laughed to scorn their vows,—

Down the old house goes!

Doorway high the boxIn the grass-plot spreads;It has borne its locksThrough a thousand snows;In an evil day,From those garden-bedsNow ’tis hacked away,—Down the old house goes!

Doorway high the box

In the grass-plot spreads;

It has borne its locks

Through a thousand snows;

In an evil day,

From those garden-beds

Now ’tis hacked away,—

Down the old house goes!

Lo! the sycamores,Scathed and scrawny mates,At the mansion doorsShiver, full of woes;With its life they grew,Guarded well its gates;Now their task is through,—Down the old house goes!

Lo! the sycamores,

Scathed and scrawny mates,

At the mansion doors

Shiver, full of woes;

With its life they grew,

Guarded well its gates;

Now their task is through,—

Down the old house goes!

On this honored siteModern trade will build,—What unseemly frightHeaven only knows!Something peaked and high,Smacking of the guild:Let us heave a sigh,—Down the old house goes!

On this honored site

Modern trade will build,—

What unseemly fright

Heaven only knows!

Something peaked and high,

Smacking of the guild:

Let us heave a sigh,—

Down the old house goes!

In January, when down the dairyThe cream and clabber freeze,When snow-drifts cover the fences over,We farmers take our ease.At night we rig the team,And bring the cutter out;Then fill it, fill it, fill it, fill it,And heap the furs about.Here friends and cousins dash up by dozens,And sleighs at least a score;There John and Molly, behind, are jolly,—Nell rides with me, before.All down the village streetWe range us in a row:Now jingle, jingle, jingle, jingle,And over the crispy snow!The windows glisten, the old folks listenTo hear the sleigh-bells pass;The fields grow whiter, the stars are brighter,The road is smooth as glass.Our muffled faces burn,The clear north-wind blows cold,The girls all nestle, nestle, nestle,Each in her lover’s hold.Through bridge and gateway we’re shooting straightway,Their tollman was too slow!He’ll listen after our song and laughterAs over the hill we go.The girls cry, “Fie! for shame!”Their cheeks and lips are red,And so, with kisses, kisses, kisses,They take the toll instead.Still follow, follow! across the hollowThe tavern fronts the road.Whoa, now! all steady! the host is ready,—He knows the country mode!The irons are in the fire,The hissing flip is got;So pour and sip it, sip it, sip it,And sip it while ’tis hot.Push back the tables, and from the stablesBring Tom, the fiddler, in;All take your places, and make your graces,And let the dance begin.The girls are beating timeTo hear the music sound;Now foot it, foot it, foot it, foot it,And swing your partners round.Last couple toward the left! all forward!Cotillons through, let’s wheel:First tune the fiddle, then down the middleIn old Virginia Reel.Play Money Musk to close,Then take the “long chassé,”While in to supper, supper, supper,The landlord leads the way.The bells are ringing, the ostlers bringingThe cutters up anew;The beasts are neighing; too long we’re staying,The night is half-way through.Wrap close the buffalo-robes,We’re all aboard once more;Now jingle, jingle, jingle, jingle,Away from the tavern-doorSo follow, follow, by hill and hollow,And swiftly homeward glide.What midnight splendor! how warm and tenderThe maiden by your side!The sleighs drop far apart,Her words are soft and low;Now, if you love her, love her, love her,’Tis safe to tell her so.

In January, when down the dairy

The cream and clabber freeze,

When snow-drifts cover the fences over,

We farmers take our ease.

At night we rig the team,

And bring the cutter out;

Then fill it, fill it, fill it, fill it,

And heap the furs about.

Here friends and cousins dash up by dozens,And sleighs at least a score;There John and Molly, behind, are jolly,—Nell rides with me, before.All down the village streetWe range us in a row:Now jingle, jingle, jingle, jingle,And over the crispy snow!

Here friends and cousins dash up by dozens,

And sleighs at least a score;

There John and Molly, behind, are jolly,—

Nell rides with me, before.

All down the village street

We range us in a row:

Now jingle, jingle, jingle, jingle,

And over the crispy snow!

The windows glisten, the old folks listenTo hear the sleigh-bells pass;The fields grow whiter, the stars are brighter,The road is smooth as glass.Our muffled faces burn,The clear north-wind blows cold,The girls all nestle, nestle, nestle,Each in her lover’s hold.

The windows glisten, the old folks listen

To hear the sleigh-bells pass;

The fields grow whiter, the stars are brighter,

The road is smooth as glass.

Our muffled faces burn,

The clear north-wind blows cold,

The girls all nestle, nestle, nestle,

Each in her lover’s hold.

Through bridge and gateway we’re shooting straightway,Their tollman was too slow!He’ll listen after our song and laughterAs over the hill we go.The girls cry, “Fie! for shame!”Their cheeks and lips are red,And so, with kisses, kisses, kisses,They take the toll instead.

Through bridge and gateway we’re shooting straightway,

Their tollman was too slow!

He’ll listen after our song and laughter

As over the hill we go.

The girls cry, “Fie! for shame!”

Their cheeks and lips are red,

And so, with kisses, kisses, kisses,

They take the toll instead.

Still follow, follow! across the hollowThe tavern fronts the road.Whoa, now! all steady! the host is ready,—He knows the country mode!The irons are in the fire,The hissing flip is got;So pour and sip it, sip it, sip it,And sip it while ’tis hot.

Still follow, follow! across the hollow

The tavern fronts the road.

Whoa, now! all steady! the host is ready,—

He knows the country mode!

The irons are in the fire,

The hissing flip is got;

So pour and sip it, sip it, sip it,

And sip it while ’tis hot.

Push back the tables, and from the stablesBring Tom, the fiddler, in;All take your places, and make your graces,And let the dance begin.The girls are beating timeTo hear the music sound;Now foot it, foot it, foot it, foot it,And swing your partners round.

Push back the tables, and from the stables

Bring Tom, the fiddler, in;

All take your places, and make your graces,

And let the dance begin.

The girls are beating time

To hear the music sound;

Now foot it, foot it, foot it, foot it,

And swing your partners round.

Last couple toward the left! all forward!Cotillons through, let’s wheel:First tune the fiddle, then down the middleIn old Virginia Reel.Play Money Musk to close,Then take the “long chassé,”While in to supper, supper, supper,The landlord leads the way.

Last couple toward the left! all forward!

Cotillons through, let’s wheel:

First tune the fiddle, then down the middle

In old Virginia Reel.

Play Money Musk to close,

Then take the “long chassé,”

While in to supper, supper, supper,

The landlord leads the way.

The bells are ringing, the ostlers bringingThe cutters up anew;The beasts are neighing; too long we’re staying,The night is half-way through.Wrap close the buffalo-robes,We’re all aboard once more;Now jingle, jingle, jingle, jingle,Away from the tavern-door

The bells are ringing, the ostlers bringing

The cutters up anew;

The beasts are neighing; too long we’re staying,

The night is half-way through.

Wrap close the buffalo-robes,

We’re all aboard once more;

Now jingle, jingle, jingle, jingle,

Away from the tavern-door

So follow, follow, by hill and hollow,And swiftly homeward glide.What midnight splendor! how warm and tenderThe maiden by your side!The sleighs drop far apart,Her words are soft and low;Now, if you love her, love her, love her,’Tis safe to tell her so.

So follow, follow, by hill and hollow,

And swiftly homeward glide.

What midnight splendor! how warm and tender

The maiden by your side!

The sleighs drop far apart,

Her words are soft and low;

Now, if you love her, love her, love her,

’Tis safe to tell her so.

Just where the Treasury’s marble frontLooks over Wall Street’s mingled nations;Where Jews and Gentiles most are wontTo throng for trade and last quotations;Where, hour by hour, the rates of goldOutrival, in the ears of people,The quarter-chimes, serenely tolledFrom Trinity’s undaunted steeple,—Even there I heard a strange, wild strainSound high above the modern clamor,Above the cries of greed and gain,The curbstone war, the auction’s hammer;And swift, on Music’s misty ways,It led, from all this strife for millions,To ancient, sweet-do-nothing daysAmong the kirtle-robed Sicilians.And as it stilled the multitude,And yet more joyous rose, and shriller,I saw the minstrel, where he stoodAt ease against a Doric pillar:One hand a droning organ played,The other held a Pan’s-pipe (fashionedLike those of old) to lips that madeThe reeds give out that strain impassioned.’Twas Pan himself had wandered hereA-strolling through this sordid city,And piping to the civic earThe prelude of some pastoral ditty!The demigod had crossed the seas,—From haunts of shepherd, nymph, and satyr,And Syracusan times,—to theseFar shores and twenty centuries later.A ragged cap was on his head;But—hidden thus—there was no doubtingThat, all with crispy locks o’erspread,His gnarléd horns were somewhere sprouting;His club-feet, cased in rusty shoes,Were crossed, as on some frieze you see them,And trousers, patched of divers hues,Concealed his crooked shanks beneath them.He filled the quivering reeds with sound,And o’er his mouth their changes shifted,And with his goat’s-eyes looked aroundWhere’er the passing current drifted;And soon, as on Trinacrian hillsThe nymphs and herdsmen ran to hear him,Even now the tradesmen from their tills,With clerks and porters, crowded near him.The bulls and bears together drewFrom Jauncey Court and New Street Alley,As erst, if pastorals be true,Came beasts from every wooded valley;The random passers stayed to list,—A boxer Ægon, rough and merry,A Broadway Daphnis, on his trystWith Nais at the Brooklyn Ferry.A one-eyed Cyclops halted longIn tattered cloak of army pattern,And Galatea joined the throng,—A blowsy, apple-vending slattern;While old Silenus staggered outFrom some new-fangled lunch-house handy,And bade the piper, with a shout,To strike up Yankee Doodle Dandy!A newsboy and a peanut-girlLike little Fauns began to caper:His hair was all in tangled curl,Her tawny legs were bare and taper;And still the gathering larger grew,And gave its pence and crowded nigher,While aye the shepherd-minstrel blewHis pipe, and struck the gamut higher.O heart of Nature, beating stillWith throbs her vernal passion taught her,—Even here, as on the vine-clad hill,Or by the Arethusan water!New forms may fold the speech, new landsArise within these ocean-portals,But Music waves eternal wands,—Enchantress of the souls of mortals!So thought I,—but among us trodA man in blue, with legal baton,And scoffed the vagrant demigod,And pushed him from the step I sat on.Doubting I mused upon the cry,“Great Pan is dead!”—and all the peopleWent on their ways:—and clear and highThe quarter sounded from the steeple.

Just where the Treasury’s marble front

Looks over Wall Street’s mingled nations;

Where Jews and Gentiles most are wont

To throng for trade and last quotations;

Where, hour by hour, the rates of gold

Outrival, in the ears of people,

The quarter-chimes, serenely tolled

From Trinity’s undaunted steeple,—

Even there I heard a strange, wild strainSound high above the modern clamor,Above the cries of greed and gain,The curbstone war, the auction’s hammer;And swift, on Music’s misty ways,It led, from all this strife for millions,To ancient, sweet-do-nothing daysAmong the kirtle-robed Sicilians.

Even there I heard a strange, wild strain

Sound high above the modern clamor,

Above the cries of greed and gain,

The curbstone war, the auction’s hammer;

And swift, on Music’s misty ways,

It led, from all this strife for millions,

To ancient, sweet-do-nothing days

Among the kirtle-robed Sicilians.

And as it stilled the multitude,And yet more joyous rose, and shriller,I saw the minstrel, where he stoodAt ease against a Doric pillar:One hand a droning organ played,The other held a Pan’s-pipe (fashionedLike those of old) to lips that madeThe reeds give out that strain impassioned.

And as it stilled the multitude,

And yet more joyous rose, and shriller,

I saw the minstrel, where he stood

At ease against a Doric pillar:

One hand a droning organ played,

The other held a Pan’s-pipe (fashioned

Like those of old) to lips that made

The reeds give out that strain impassioned.

’Twas Pan himself had wandered hereA-strolling through this sordid city,And piping to the civic earThe prelude of some pastoral ditty!The demigod had crossed the seas,—From haunts of shepherd, nymph, and satyr,And Syracusan times,—to theseFar shores and twenty centuries later.

’Twas Pan himself had wandered here

A-strolling through this sordid city,

And piping to the civic ear

The prelude of some pastoral ditty!

The demigod had crossed the seas,—

From haunts of shepherd, nymph, and satyr,

And Syracusan times,—to these

Far shores and twenty centuries later.

A ragged cap was on his head;But—hidden thus—there was no doubtingThat, all with crispy locks o’erspread,His gnarléd horns were somewhere sprouting;His club-feet, cased in rusty shoes,Were crossed, as on some frieze you see them,And trousers, patched of divers hues,Concealed his crooked shanks beneath them.

A ragged cap was on his head;

But—hidden thus—there was no doubting

That, all with crispy locks o’erspread,

His gnarléd horns were somewhere sprouting;

His club-feet, cased in rusty shoes,

Were crossed, as on some frieze you see them,

And trousers, patched of divers hues,

Concealed his crooked shanks beneath them.

He filled the quivering reeds with sound,And o’er his mouth their changes shifted,And with his goat’s-eyes looked aroundWhere’er the passing current drifted;And soon, as on Trinacrian hillsThe nymphs and herdsmen ran to hear him,Even now the tradesmen from their tills,With clerks and porters, crowded near him.

He filled the quivering reeds with sound,

And o’er his mouth their changes shifted,

And with his goat’s-eyes looked around

Where’er the passing current drifted;

And soon, as on Trinacrian hills

The nymphs and herdsmen ran to hear him,

Even now the tradesmen from their tills,

With clerks and porters, crowded near him.

The bulls and bears together drewFrom Jauncey Court and New Street Alley,As erst, if pastorals be true,Came beasts from every wooded valley;The random passers stayed to list,—A boxer Ægon, rough and merry,A Broadway Daphnis, on his trystWith Nais at the Brooklyn Ferry.

The bulls and bears together drew

From Jauncey Court and New Street Alley,

As erst, if pastorals be true,

Came beasts from every wooded valley;

The random passers stayed to list,—

A boxer Ægon, rough and merry,

A Broadway Daphnis, on his tryst

With Nais at the Brooklyn Ferry.

A one-eyed Cyclops halted longIn tattered cloak of army pattern,And Galatea joined the throng,—A blowsy, apple-vending slattern;While old Silenus staggered outFrom some new-fangled lunch-house handy,And bade the piper, with a shout,To strike up Yankee Doodle Dandy!

A one-eyed Cyclops halted long

In tattered cloak of army pattern,

And Galatea joined the throng,—

A blowsy, apple-vending slattern;

While old Silenus staggered out

From some new-fangled lunch-house handy,

And bade the piper, with a shout,

To strike up Yankee Doodle Dandy!

A newsboy and a peanut-girlLike little Fauns began to caper:His hair was all in tangled curl,Her tawny legs were bare and taper;And still the gathering larger grew,And gave its pence and crowded nigher,While aye the shepherd-minstrel blewHis pipe, and struck the gamut higher.

A newsboy and a peanut-girl

Like little Fauns began to caper:

His hair was all in tangled curl,

Her tawny legs were bare and taper;

And still the gathering larger grew,

And gave its pence and crowded nigher,

While aye the shepherd-minstrel blew

His pipe, and struck the gamut higher.

O heart of Nature, beating stillWith throbs her vernal passion taught her,—Even here, as on the vine-clad hill,Or by the Arethusan water!New forms may fold the speech, new landsArise within these ocean-portals,But Music waves eternal wands,—Enchantress of the souls of mortals!

O heart of Nature, beating still

With throbs her vernal passion taught her,—

Even here, as on the vine-clad hill,

Or by the Arethusan water!

New forms may fold the speech, new lands

Arise within these ocean-portals,

But Music waves eternal wands,—

Enchantress of the souls of mortals!

So thought I,—but among us trodA man in blue, with legal baton,And scoffed the vagrant demigod,And pushed him from the step I sat on.Doubting I mused upon the cry,“Great Pan is dead!”—and all the peopleWent on their ways:—and clear and highThe quarter sounded from the steeple.

So thought I,—but among us trod

A man in blue, with legal baton,

And scoffed the vagrant demigod,

And pushed him from the step I sat on.

Doubting I mused upon the cry,

“Great Pan is dead!”—and all the people

Went on their ways:—and clear and high

The quarter sounded from the steeple.

If I had been a rich man’s girl,With my tawny hair, and this wanton artOf lifting my eyes in the evening whirlAnd looking into another’s heart;Had love been mine at birth, and friendsCaressing and guarding me night and day,With doctors to watch my finger-ends,And a parson to teach me how to pray;If I had been reared as others have,—With but a tithe of these looks, which cameFrom my reckless mother, now in her grave,And the father who grudged me even his name,—Why, I should have station and tender care,Should ruin men in the high-bred way,Passionless, smiling at their despair,And marrying where my vantage lay.As it is, I must have love and dress,Jewelled trinkets, and costly food,For I was born for plenteousness,Music and flowers, and all things good.To that same father I owe some thanks,Seeing, at least, that blood will tell,And keep me ever above the ranksOf those who wallow where they fell.True, there are weary, weary daysIn the great hotel where I make my lair,Where I meet the men with their brutal praise,Or answer the women, stare for stare.’Tis an even fight, and I’ll carry it through,—Pit them against me, great and small:I grant no quarter, nor would I sueFor grace to the softest of them all.I cannot remember half the menWhose sin has tangled them in my toils,—All are alike before me then,Part of my easily conquered spoils:Tall or short, and dark or fair,Rich or famous, haughty or fond,There are few, I find, who will not forswearThe lover’s oath and the wedding bond.Fools! what is it that drives them onWith their perjured lips on poison fed;Vain of themselves, and cruel as stone,How should they be so cheaply led?Surely they know me as I am,—Only a cuckoo, at the best,Watching, careless of hate and shame,To crouch myself in another’s nest.But the women,—how they flutter and flout,The stupid, terribly virtuous wives,If I but chance to move aboutOr enter within their bustling hives!Buz! buz! in the scandalous gatherings,When a strange queen lights amid their throng,And their tongues have a thousand angry stingsTo send her travelling, right or wrong.Well, the earth is wide and open to all,And money and men are everywhere,And, as I roam, ’twill ill befallIf I do not gain my lawful share:One drops off; but another will comeWith as light a head and heavy a purse;So long as I have the world for a home,I’ll take my fortune, better or worse!

If I had been a rich man’s girl,

With my tawny hair, and this wanton art

Of lifting my eyes in the evening whirl

And looking into another’s heart;

Had love been mine at birth, and friends

Caressing and guarding me night and day,

With doctors to watch my finger-ends,

And a parson to teach me how to pray;

If I had been reared as others have,—With but a tithe of these looks, which cameFrom my reckless mother, now in her grave,And the father who grudged me even his name,—Why, I should have station and tender care,Should ruin men in the high-bred way,Passionless, smiling at their despair,And marrying where my vantage lay.

If I had been reared as others have,—

With but a tithe of these looks, which came

From my reckless mother, now in her grave,

And the father who grudged me even his name,—

Why, I should have station and tender care,

Should ruin men in the high-bred way,

Passionless, smiling at their despair,

And marrying where my vantage lay.

As it is, I must have love and dress,Jewelled trinkets, and costly food,For I was born for plenteousness,Music and flowers, and all things good.To that same father I owe some thanks,Seeing, at least, that blood will tell,And keep me ever above the ranksOf those who wallow where they fell.

As it is, I must have love and dress,

Jewelled trinkets, and costly food,

For I was born for plenteousness,

Music and flowers, and all things good.

To that same father I owe some thanks,

Seeing, at least, that blood will tell,

And keep me ever above the ranks

Of those who wallow where they fell.

True, there are weary, weary daysIn the great hotel where I make my lair,Where I meet the men with their brutal praise,Or answer the women, stare for stare.’Tis an even fight, and I’ll carry it through,—Pit them against me, great and small:I grant no quarter, nor would I sueFor grace to the softest of them all.

True, there are weary, weary days

In the great hotel where I make my lair,

Where I meet the men with their brutal praise,

Or answer the women, stare for stare.

’Tis an even fight, and I’ll carry it through,—

Pit them against me, great and small:

I grant no quarter, nor would I sue

For grace to the softest of them all.

I cannot remember half the menWhose sin has tangled them in my toils,—All are alike before me then,Part of my easily conquered spoils:Tall or short, and dark or fair,Rich or famous, haughty or fond,There are few, I find, who will not forswearThe lover’s oath and the wedding bond.

I cannot remember half the men

Whose sin has tangled them in my toils,—

All are alike before me then,

Part of my easily conquered spoils:

Tall or short, and dark or fair,

Rich or famous, haughty or fond,

There are few, I find, who will not forswear

The lover’s oath and the wedding bond.

Fools! what is it that drives them onWith their perjured lips on poison fed;Vain of themselves, and cruel as stone,How should they be so cheaply led?Surely they know me as I am,—Only a cuckoo, at the best,Watching, careless of hate and shame,To crouch myself in another’s nest.

Fools! what is it that drives them on

With their perjured lips on poison fed;

Vain of themselves, and cruel as stone,

How should they be so cheaply led?

Surely they know me as I am,—

Only a cuckoo, at the best,

Watching, careless of hate and shame,

To crouch myself in another’s nest.

But the women,—how they flutter and flout,The stupid, terribly virtuous wives,If I but chance to move aboutOr enter within their bustling hives!Buz! buz! in the scandalous gatherings,When a strange queen lights amid their throng,And their tongues have a thousand angry stingsTo send her travelling, right or wrong.

But the women,—how they flutter and flout,

The stupid, terribly virtuous wives,

If I but chance to move about

Or enter within their bustling hives!

Buz! buz! in the scandalous gatherings,

When a strange queen lights amid their throng,

And their tongues have a thousand angry stings

To send her travelling, right or wrong.

Well, the earth is wide and open to all,And money and men are everywhere,And, as I roam, ’twill ill befallIf I do not gain my lawful share:One drops off; but another will comeWith as light a head and heavy a purse;So long as I have the world for a home,I’ll take my fortune, better or worse!

Well, the earth is wide and open to all,

And money and men are everywhere,

And, as I roam, ’twill ill befall

If I do not gain my lawful share:

One drops off; but another will come

With as light a head and heavy a purse;

So long as I have the world for a home,

I’ll take my fortune, better or worse!

Twelve hundred miles and moreFrom the stormy English shore,All aright, the seventh night,On her course our vessel bore.Her lantern shone ahead,And the green lamp and the redTo starboard and to larboardShot their light.Close on the midnight callWhat a mist began to fall,And to hide the ocean wide,And to wrap us in a pall!Beneath its folds we past:Hidden were shroud and mast,And faces, in near placesSide by side.Sudden there also fellA summons like a knell:Every ear the words could hear,—Whence spoken, who could tell?“What ship is this? where bound?”Gods, what a dismal sound!A stranger, and in danger,Sailing near.“The Virginia, on her routeFrom the Mersey, seven days out;Fore and aft, our trusty craftCarries a thousand souls, about.”“All these souls may travel still,Westward bound, if so they will;Bodies rather, I would gather!”Loud he laughed.“Who is’t that hails so rude,And for what this idle mood?Words like these, on midnight seas,Bode no friend nor fortune good!”“Care not to know my name,But whence I lastly came,At leisure, for my pleasure,Ask the breeze.“To the people of your portBear a message of this sort:Say, I haste unto the West,A sharer of their sport.Let them sweep the houses clean:Their fathers did, I ween,When hearing of my nearingAs a guest!“As by Halifax ye sailAnd the steamship England hail,Of me, then, bespeak her men;She took my latest mail,—’Twas somewhere near this spot:Doubtless they’ve not forgot.Remind them (if you find them!)Once again.“Yet that you all may knowWho is’t that hailed you so,(Slow he saith, and under breath,)I leave my sign below!”Then from our crowded holdA dreadful cry uprolled,Unbroken, and the token,—It was Death.

Twelve hundred miles and more

From the stormy English shore,

All aright, the seventh night,

On her course our vessel bore.

Her lantern shone ahead,

And the green lamp and the red

To starboard and to larboard

Shot their light.

Close on the midnight callWhat a mist began to fall,And to hide the ocean wide,And to wrap us in a pall!Beneath its folds we past:Hidden were shroud and mast,And faces, in near placesSide by side.

Close on the midnight call

What a mist began to fall,

And to hide the ocean wide,

And to wrap us in a pall!

Beneath its folds we past:

Hidden were shroud and mast,

And faces, in near places

Side by side.

Sudden there also fellA summons like a knell:Every ear the words could hear,—Whence spoken, who could tell?“What ship is this? where bound?”Gods, what a dismal sound!A stranger, and in danger,Sailing near.

Sudden there also fell

A summons like a knell:

Every ear the words could hear,—

Whence spoken, who could tell?

“What ship is this? where bound?”

Gods, what a dismal sound!

A stranger, and in danger,

Sailing near.

“The Virginia, on her routeFrom the Mersey, seven days out;Fore and aft, our trusty craftCarries a thousand souls, about.”“All these souls may travel still,Westward bound, if so they will;Bodies rather, I would gather!”Loud he laughed.

“The Virginia, on her route

From the Mersey, seven days out;

Fore and aft, our trusty craft

Carries a thousand souls, about.”

“All these souls may travel still,

Westward bound, if so they will;

Bodies rather, I would gather!”

Loud he laughed.

“Who is’t that hails so rude,And for what this idle mood?Words like these, on midnight seas,Bode no friend nor fortune good!”“Care not to know my name,But whence I lastly came,At leisure, for my pleasure,Ask the breeze.

“Who is’t that hails so rude,

And for what this idle mood?

Words like these, on midnight seas,

Bode no friend nor fortune good!”

“Care not to know my name,

But whence I lastly came,

At leisure, for my pleasure,

Ask the breeze.

“To the people of your portBear a message of this sort:Say, I haste unto the West,A sharer of their sport.Let them sweep the houses clean:Their fathers did, I ween,When hearing of my nearingAs a guest!

“To the people of your port

Bear a message of this sort:

Say, I haste unto the West,

A sharer of their sport.

Let them sweep the houses clean:

Their fathers did, I ween,

When hearing of my nearing

As a guest!

“As by Halifax ye sailAnd the steamship England hail,Of me, then, bespeak her men;She took my latest mail,—’Twas somewhere near this spot:Doubtless they’ve not forgot.Remind them (if you find them!)Once again.

“As by Halifax ye sail

And the steamship England hail,

Of me, then, bespeak her men;

She took my latest mail,—

’Twas somewhere near this spot:

Doubtless they’ve not forgot.

Remind them (if you find them!)

Once again.

“Yet that you all may knowWho is’t that hailed you so,(Slow he saith, and under breath,)I leave my sign below!”Then from our crowded holdA dreadful cry uprolled,Unbroken, and the token,—It was Death.

“Yet that you all may know

Who is’t that hailed you so,

(Slow he saith, and under breath,)

I leave my sign below!”

Then from our crowded hold

A dreadful cry uprolled,

Unbroken, and the token,—

It was Death.

Clothed in sable, crowned with gold,All his wars and councils ended,Philip lay, surnamed The Bold:Passing-bell his quittance tolled,And the chant of priests ascended.Mailéd knights and archers stand,Thronging in the church of Arras;Nevermore at his commandShall they scour the Netherland,Nevermore the outlaws harass;Naught is left of his arraySave a barren territory;Forty years of generous swaySped his princely hoards away,Bartered all his gold for glory.Forth steps Flemish Margaret then,Striding toward the silent ashes;And the eyes of arméd menFill with startled wonder, whenOn the bier her girdle clashes!Swift she drew it from her waist,And the purse and keys it carriedOn the ducal coffin placed;Then with proud demeanor facedSword and shield of him she married.“No encumbrance of the deadMust the living clog forever;From thy debts and dues,” she said,“From the liens of thy bed,We this day our line dissever.“From thy hand we gain release,Know all present by this token!Let the dead repose in peace,Let the claims upon us ceaseWhen the ties that bound are broken.“Philip, we have loved thee long,But, in years of future splendor,Burgundy shall count amongBravest deeds of tale and songThis, our widowhood’s surrender.”Back the stately Duchess turned,While the priests and friars chanted,And the swinging incense burned:Thus by feudal rite was earnedGreatness for a race undaunted.

Clothed in sable, crowned with gold,All his wars and councils ended,Philip lay, surnamed The Bold:Passing-bell his quittance tolled,And the chant of priests ascended.

Clothed in sable, crowned with gold,

All his wars and councils ended,

Philip lay, surnamed The Bold:

Passing-bell his quittance tolled,

And the chant of priests ascended.

Mailéd knights and archers stand,Thronging in the church of Arras;Nevermore at his commandShall they scour the Netherland,Nevermore the outlaws harass;

Mailéd knights and archers stand,

Thronging in the church of Arras;

Nevermore at his command

Shall they scour the Netherland,

Nevermore the outlaws harass;

Naught is left of his arraySave a barren territory;Forty years of generous swaySped his princely hoards away,Bartered all his gold for glory.

Naught is left of his array

Save a barren territory;

Forty years of generous sway

Sped his princely hoards away,

Bartered all his gold for glory.

Forth steps Flemish Margaret then,Striding toward the silent ashes;And the eyes of arméd menFill with startled wonder, whenOn the bier her girdle clashes!

Forth steps Flemish Margaret then,

Striding toward the silent ashes;

And the eyes of arméd men

Fill with startled wonder, when

On the bier her girdle clashes!

Swift she drew it from her waist,And the purse and keys it carriedOn the ducal coffin placed;Then with proud demeanor facedSword and shield of him she married.

Swift she drew it from her waist,

And the purse and keys it carried

On the ducal coffin placed;

Then with proud demeanor faced

Sword and shield of him she married.

“No encumbrance of the deadMust the living clog forever;From thy debts and dues,” she said,“From the liens of thy bed,We this day our line dissever.

“No encumbrance of the dead

Must the living clog forever;

From thy debts and dues,” she said,

“From the liens of thy bed,

We this day our line dissever.

“From thy hand we gain release,Know all present by this token!Let the dead repose in peace,Let the claims upon us ceaseWhen the ties that bound are broken.

“From thy hand we gain release,

Know all present by this token!

Let the dead repose in peace,

Let the claims upon us cease

When the ties that bound are broken.

“Philip, we have loved thee long,But, in years of future splendor,Burgundy shall count amongBravest deeds of tale and songThis, our widowhood’s surrender.”

“Philip, we have loved thee long,

But, in years of future splendor,

Burgundy shall count among

Bravest deeds of tale and song

This, our widowhood’s surrender.”

Back the stately Duchess turned,While the priests and friars chanted,And the swinging incense burned:Thus by feudal rite was earnedGreatness for a race undaunted.

Back the stately Duchess turned,

While the priests and friars chanted,

And the swinging incense burned:

Thus by feudal rite was earned

Greatness for a race undaunted.

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