MEMORIAL
AND OTHER VERSE
- . . _- JT
HBLEN-LEAH-REEO
THE LIBRARY
OF
THE UNIVERSITY
OF CALIFORNIA
LOS ANGELES
MEMORIAL DAY
AND OTHER VERSE
MEMORIAL DAY
AND OTHER VERSE
(ORIGINAL AND TRANSLATED)
BY
HELEN LEAH REED
AUTHOR OF SERBIA; A SKETCH
NAPOLEON S YOUNG NEIGHBOR
THE BRENDA SERIES, ETC.
DE WOLFE AND FISKE CO.
20 FRANKLIN ST.
BOSTON
COPYRIGHT, 1917, BY
HELEN LEAH REED
Entered at Stationers Hall
This book is sold for the benefit of work for blinded soldiers
THE-PLIMPTON-PBESS
NORWOOD-MAS S-U-S-A
P5
TO THE MEMORY OF
THOMAS WENTWORTH HIGGINSON
SOLDIER, SCHOLAR, FRIEND
626190
The author thanks the editors of the following
publications for the right to reprint certain poems
of hers that they first published:
Scribner s Magazine, Horace 111-29. Collier s Weekly,
Horace 1-14. Poet Lore, Horace 1-11. Chicago Inlerocean,
The Fading Vision. The Christian Union, Jack Frost and
the Flowers. New York Sun, The . Rivals. Metropolitan
Magazine, Strength Renewed. Christian Endeavor World,
Town and Country. Boston Transcript, Summer in London;
His Monument; Memorial Day. Boston Herald, The Cry of
the Women. Ladies Home Journal, The Christmas Letter.
Woman s Home Companion, Frightened. The Delineator,
The Victim; A Modern Grandmother. The Youth s Com
panion, A Curiosity.
CONTENTS
i
PATRIOTIC AND SERIOUS
PAGE
Memorial Day 2
Flowers for the Brave
His Monument
your Country and Mine
The Grand Army Passes 6
The Harvard Regiment
Summer in London g
Serbia o
Canadian Trooper to Hw Horse 1Q
The Cry of the Women ^
Cassandra -^2
Song of Spring 12
Life and Death ^
Man of Today 14
The Fading Vision 15
The Titanw 16
// Love were All ^
The Raven 17
Ah! Little Lake 18
Severus 19
Town and Country 2 Q
Strength Renewed 2Q
At Miami 21
Which 22
The Bkssed Dead 22
Oak Leaves 2 j
Self-satisfied 23
My Vigil 24
To Mrs. Julia Ward Howe 24
TheSoarer 25
A Fancy 25
The Shrieking Woman 26
The Huguenot Lovers 27
To John Townsend Trowbndge 2?
Weed or Flower 28
To Thomas Wentworth Higginson ....
II
LIGHTER VERSE
PAGE
Frightened 31
The Christmas Letter 32
A Victim 33
Jack Frost 34
A Curiosity 35
The First Lie 35
The Parasol 36
A Modern Grandmotlier 37
Signs for the Serious 38
Trimming 39
The Annex 40
A Liberty Bond 41
A Hero 42
The Rivals 44
FROM THE ODES OF HORACE
To Maecenas 47
To Leuconoe 49
Neobule 49
The Hardy Youth 50
To the State 51
To Apollo 52
To Diana 52
To Melpomene 53
Horace and Lydia 54
To Censorinus 55
To Thaliarchus 56
To Chloe 56
ToFuscus 57
To Venus 57
A Palinode 58
Lasting Fame 59
Religion . 59
[ vui]
PATRIOTIC AND SERIOUS
MEMORIAL DAY
NO warrior he, a village lad,
needing nor words nor other prod
To point his duty; he was glad
to tread the path his fathers trod.
Week days he worked in wood and field;
with homely joys he decked his life;
The sword of hate he would not wield,
nor take a part in cankering strife.
On Sunday in the little choir
he sang of Peace and brotherly love,
And as his thoughts soared higher and higher,
they reached unmeasured heights above.
A cry for Freedom rent the Land
"Our Country calls, come, come, tis War;
Together let us firmly stand; "
he answered, though his heart beat sore
At leaving home, and kin, and one
in whose fond eyes too late he read
That life for her had but begun
with the farewells he sadly said.
A half a century has passed
and more since all those myriads fell;
For he was one of those who cast
sweet life into a Battle s hell.
The village has become a town,
brick buildings the old graveyard gird;
Of him who fought not for renown,
no one now hears a spoken word,
But on the Monument his name
in gold is lettered with the rest.
Without a sordid thought of fame
he to his Country gave his best.
[13
Strew flowers, then, Memorial Day
for him, for all who for us fought.
With speech and music honors pay;
teach what our brave defenders taught.
And now our sons are setting out;
the call for Right rings to the sky,
"Our Country! Freedom!" hear them shout,
re-echoing their Grandsires cry.
FLOWERS FOR BRAVE SOLDIERS
T^LOWERS for brave soldiers,
JL Flowers for those who gave us
A Country undivided.
Flowers for the dead!
With flags we are marking
Their last earth-dwelling.
Our hearts are bending
In gratitude,
While we are praying
That this our Nation
Pass safe through peril,
Through deadly war.
Flowers for brave soldiers
Flowers for those who loved us,
Flowers to their memory,
This fair spring day!
[2]
HIS MONUMENT
FROM top to pedestal you scan it lightly
Capped head to lettered base and you are smiling.
What see you there to set your lips a-quiver?
An awkward figure cut from ugly granite,
Aye, roughly hewn, as if unhelped by chisel,
This peaceful man of war, sculptured grotesquely.
Still there is metal in the gun he is holding,
And in the cannon balls piled up before him
The artist s symbols of a real soldier.
Yet jeer no longer!
Before you is a soldier of the Union,
Crowned with the tears and prayers of many
mourners.
The Village set him here for all to honor,
Here, in the centre of their foot-worn common,
Where on long, summer evenings boys at baseball
May gaze and gaze, and make him an example;
A hero they would follow.
Beholding him I see no granite figure,
But face a man who fought to save his country,
Whose heart was pierced when wife, and child and
mother
Clung to him closely in that tearful parting.
Yet brave he marched away while flags were flut
tering,
Though in his soul he knew that never, never,
Might he again see those he loved so dearly,
Nor look again upon the old white steeple,
Upon the little streets and shabby buildings
Straggling unevenly toward the Common;
Or if he came back, he d be maimed and battered,
Subject to hateful pity.
Therefore I smile not at the queer, gaunt figure,
The tilted cap the wide and baggy trousers,
The long loose overcoat, the dangling knapsack,
This is the man who fought to save our country!
Who, in his millions, marched from every village,
From every city of our mighty Nation;
[3]
Who heard the drums and trumpets blithely
playing
"Tramp, tramp, tramp, the boys are marching."
So there it stands thank-offering of a people
Whether of rough-hewn stone, or bronze, or marble
Proving our debt to those who saved the Union,
Pointing the way for those who d like to follow
Who to the death would fight were we in peril
The Soldier s Monument!
YOUR COUNTRY AND MINE
SING of America, sing of our Country!
Land of two oceans, of palm-tree and pine!
Firm as the rock of her towering mountains,
Free as her rivers from Heaven-born foun
tains,
Unafraid as her eagle, as true to the line;
Sing of our Country, your Country and mine I
Sing of America, self-governed Country I
Dear Land, thou to tyranny never wilt bow;
Ever with thee the oppressed have had haven ;
While Freedom droops, thy true sons are not
craven;
Look! They are fighting to honor thee now,
With Victory and Peace to bejewel thy brow.
Sing of America, loving humanity !
" Avenge ye the slaughtered ! " Heed ye her decree ;
Ye who have reaped of the father s brave sowing,
High hold your flag when the war winds are
blowing!
Safe for all men keep the path of the sea;
Secure in their rights help small Nations to be.
Fight for America, noble America!
Liberty, Justice, and Truth the divine,
Carrying onward, her lamp proudly burning
Craving no empire, intrigue ever spurning,
Over the Earth shall ber beacon-light shine!
Fight for our Country, your Country and mine!
[43
THE GRAND ARMY PASSES
BEHOLD a long procession passing proudly,
And yet no glittering pomp adorns its way,
Only the emblems of our States and Nation,
Only the flags that floated on the day
These men, our men, trod upon fields of glory ;
The tattered flags that this Grand Army bore
For the Republic flags that furled and faded
To their old vividness our hearts restore.
The line of veterans once firm and crowded,
The long, long line is wavering and thin ;
With faltering steps Old Age speaks mutely to them
Youth marched abreast when they were mustered in.
Oh, Comrades of the Campfire and the Council,
Oh, Comrades who in peril won your fight !
Honor to you and to your dead companions,
You risked your all for Liberty and Right I
Fraternity and Charity your watchwords,
And Loyalty to this our own dear Land !
Our flag you have, the brazen star, the eagle
Undying symbols for your gallant band.
Look at them, youths and maidens, as they pass you,
While old-time war-tunes break upon the air,
And staring crowds applaud ; read ye the message
That from the past these veterans nobly bear,
" Our gift the gift of Freedom to the Nation,
Our great Republic would entrust to you,
Cherish it fondly, keeping it untarnished,
That, in the Future, looming on our view,
You with the World may share your gift of Freedom.
This is the message that our youth must con,
While the Grand Army, answering its last roll-call
And laying down life s weapons, passes on.
[5]
THE HARVARD REGIMENT
WE saw the Regiment, alert and strong,
In marching line, on Soldiers Field today
Ah! ready they to battle with the wrong,
This flower of youth eager and brave and gay.
And we > on-looking, cheered them as they passed,
And we, down-heartened, prayed a silent prayer
uazmg upon them with a grim forecast,
And many a sad-eyed mother watched them there.
Proudly they turned, and at attention stood,
Or shouldered arms while war-like music thrilled.
Alas! we listened in unhappy mood!
"Why should these boys in martial ways be
skilled? "
No comfort for our grieving was revealed,
Until we looked across the valiant line
To the old College, far beyond this Field
That honors men who fell at Freedom s shrine.
"Oh, ancient College, that so long hast bred
Son after son to heed his Country s call.
The answer to our questionings is read -
In yonder Tower of your Memorial Hall."
[6]
SUMMER IN LONDON
OH, the noise of Piccadilly its rumble and its
roar!
A tide of life s broad ocean surging toward the shore.
Who once has listened, ever can hear its long refrain
With haunting echo drowning or dirge or flaunting
strain.
Who heeds it, in his vision may see a world-throng
pass
And over there the Green Park with laughing lad
and lass;
While weary men and women and careless youth
goby,
Where windows glow and glitter , and in the evening
sky
A crescent moon is watching the laughing lass and
lad.
The long, warm London twilight! Happy they are,
though sad.
With kiss and tear they are parting. Tis late the
rush and roar
The life of Picadilly is waning is no more.
Ah, the dark, the cold, the stillness of the trenches
in the night,
Where freezing men are crouching in the lull before
the fight.
Then for one the calm is broken by the rumble and
the roar
Of far-off Picadilly, and in dreams, as oft before,
He sees her who wept at parting. What was that?
A whining shell?
Once a man that huddled horror! He was smiling
as he fell.
Summer has returned to London. Now the Green
Park gleams anew.
Cheers and tears together mingle but the break
ing heart beats true.
C7]
Blare of trumpet! blood and fire I so her hero
marched away.
Happy lad and lass they parted now the pitying
sky is gray.
Blood and fire! Through its heroes shall a nation
live again.
Blare of trumpet! But in silence aching hearts must
bear their pain.
Ah, the stillness of the trenches! ah, the rumble and
the roar!
Cheers and tears by England offered for the lads
who come no more.
1915
SERBIA
SERBIA, valiant daughter of the Ages,
Happiness and light should be thy portion!
Yet thy day is dimmed, thine heart is heavy;
Long hast thou endured a little longer
Bear thy burden, for a fair to-morrow
Soon will gleam upon thy flower-spread valleys,
Soon will brighten all thy shadowy mountains;
Soon will sparkle on thy foaming torrents
Rushing toward the world beyond thy rivers.
Bulgar, Turk and Magyar long assailed thee.
Now the Teuton s cruel hand is on thee
Though he break thy heart and rack thy body,
Tis not his to crush thy lofty spirit.
Serbia cannot die. She lives immortal,
Serbia all thy loyal men bring comfort
Fighting, fighting, and thy far-flung banner
Blazons to the world thy high endeavor,
- This thy strife for brotherhood and freedom -
Like an air-free bird unknowing bondage,
Soaring far from carnage, smoke and tumult,
Serbia thy soul shall live forever!
Serbia, undaunted is, immortal!
[8]
A CANADIAN TROOPER TO HIS HORSE
REST here, my horse, the night is dull, the
blood-sick stars are gone,
Listen, for thou like me wert bred in far Saskat
chewan.
And this September night at home, under a happier
sky,
The bursting yellow sheaves upon the unbounded
prairie lie.
Bread, bread the staff and stay of life tis what
the wheatlands yield;
But only death and agony are gathered from this
field.
There s respite now, but ah! good friend, before
another day,
Although our bodies may be here, we, we, how far
away!
We ve ridden many a weary mile, together we have
fought
For Freedom, honor and the right, and anything
we ve wrought
Our Country to the Empire will still more closely
bind.
Ah! where the reddened maple leaf is fluttering in
the wind,
There is my heart, oh noble horse, and may we gallop
free
Some day again in Canada, our Land of Liberty.
The night drags on toward the dawn, and far on
yonder plain
I hear the throb of musketry, I feel its echoing pain.
I see the star-shells breaking, and nearer than their
flare,
A wreath of deadly smoke points out that once a
town was there.
Look, brother horse, the night is past, and glorious
is the dawn,
m
Away with peril! We ll ride on for our Saskat
chewan.
With day comes hope, and though again the sky with
blood is red,
We ll ride against the enemy, for Victory lies ahead,
Ayel for the Empire Victory that thou shalt help
to bring.
And for the Allies Victory on earth what greater
thing!
THE CRY OF THE WOMEN
ANEW YEAR dawning on a warring world!
And many fight, and many pray for peace;
But yet the roar of battle will not cease,
Still man against his brother man is hurled.
So we who wait we women in our woe,
Who wait and work who wait, and work, and
weep
, For us there is no rest, for us no sleep,
As our sad thoughts are wandering grim and slow,
Across those dreary fields where far away
Our hero myriads bleed and burn and die,
We lift our hearts toward the pitying sky -
Dawns there no hope upon this New Year s day?
1915
[10]
CASSANDRA
OF all the luckless women ever bora,
Or ever to be born here on our earth,
Most pitied be Cassandra, from her birth
Condemned to woes unearned by her. Forlorn,
She early read great Ilium s doom, and tried,
Clear-eyed, clear-voiced, her countrymen to warn.
But she Apollo s passion in high scorn
Had once repelled, and of his injured pride
The God for her had bred this punishment,
That good, or bad, all things she prophesied
Though true as truth, should ever be decried
And flouted by the people. As she went
Far from old Priam s gates among the crowd,
To save her country was her heart intent.
Pure, fearless, on an holy errand bent,
They called her "mad," who was a Princess proud.
"Alas, the City falls! Beware the horse!
Woe, woe, the Greeks!" Ah! why was she
endowed
With this sad gift? Able to pierce the cloud
That veils the future, in its wasting course
She could not stop the storm. Bitter the pain
When those she loved and trusted weak
resource
Her prophecies believed not; when the force
Of all her pleading spent itself in vain.
Poor Maid! She knew no greater agony
When dragged a slave in Agamemnon s train.
And though she fell by Clytemnestra slain
She smiled on Death who eased her misery.
For oh what grief to one of faithful heart
It is to know the evils that must be.
Helpless their doom to make the imperilled see,
Unskilled to shield them from the fatal dart!
[11]
SONG OF SPRING
ON every bush are roses blooming, everywhere the
nightingale
To his love again is warbling plaintively his oft-told
tale.
Now within our balmy garden dances the tall cypress
tree,
And the poplar never ceases clapping his slim hands
in glee.
From the height of every bough-tip you can hear the
turtle sing,
With loud voice proclaiming gaily the glad coming of
the spring.
On the head of the narcissus gleams as bright his
diadem,
As the crown of China s Emperor decked with many
a costly gem.
Here the west wind, there the north wind, in true
token of their love,
At the feet of yonder rose lay treasure poured down
from above.
All the earth with musk is scented, and musk-laden
is the aii-.
Everything proclaims that daily now draws nearer
spring the fair.
(Versified from a Persian paraphrase.)
LIFE AND DEATH
DEATH after life" shall we sigh as we say it,
Sigh as if death were the end for us all,
Pale at the thought, as in silence we weigh it,
Yield our dull souls to it, bending in thrall?
"Life after death" look ahead, weakling spirit
Sure is the way to a world that is ours.
Death is fruition, why then should we fear it?
Death the fruition of life s budding powers.
[12]
MAN OF TODAY
FOR thee he thought,
The Greek, who by the sea
Lay in his lithe-limbed grace, as dreamily
He gazed upon the sky begemmed with stars,
And pondered mysteries. Ah, few the bars
To stop that lofty spirit in its flight
Compared with those that lock our souls in night.
For thee he thought!
For thee he wrought,
The Tyrian, who of old
His rich web wove of purple dye and gold;
Whose little bark, outstanding many a storm,
To ruder lands the spirit and the form
Of Eastern culture bore. Ah! what we owe
To him today, let sage and poet show.
For thee he wrought!
For thee he fought!
The Saxon, who upheld
The freedom of our race; whose broad-ax felled
Imperial legions in the forest dim
Where loud his war-cry rang a noble hymn
For manhood s victory over regal pride,
On the sad day when mighty Varus died.
For thee he fought!
For thee He taught!
The Nazarene who bore
The burden of the world, who by the shore
Of Galilee His words of wisdom spake
Whose life a pattern for our life we d take,
Whose words, re-echoing to remotest time,
Shall lead us on toward a height sublime.
For thee He taught!
Man man! thou heir of all the ages, thou,
Man of today! uplift thy drooping brow!
Think, work, fight, teach thine heritage pass on
Tenfold increased. He ll reap who has foregone
Life s little, limited delights, in measure
As selfless he has sown his earthly treasure.
[IS]
THE FADING VISION
rriHE vision fades dome, pinnacle and tower,
JL All the white beauty of the lake-side dream,
The artist s ideal, the poet s theme
Vanish away. Yet for no fleeting hour
Was this proud fabric raised. The crumbling wall
Entombs not memory s treasure, and we hold
This truth dear as the miser his loved gold,
Dome, pinnacle and tower cannot fall.
No marvel this, that memory holds fast
Such beauty, passing beauty seen before,
The grace and charm of every clime and shore,
Strength of today, the glories of the past,
All met in one great whole for not alone
Man s hand the wonder wrought, but soaring high
His spirit, like the bird that cleaves the sky,
Knew naught of obstacle from zone to zone.
Deathless his work. Age shall repeat to age
The story of the city by the Lake.
And as the waves that on the near sands break
Reach far-off shores, so on the pictured page
Throughout remotest time, serene in pride,
Wearing her crown of glory, shall be seen
Stately and fair, Chicago, Western queen,
With all the Nations gathered at her side.
Gladly they met, each teaching and each taught,
Light-skinned or dark-skinned from the West or
East.
Peoples unlike, as at a loving feast,
Distant no more, united in a thought.
Columbia 1 this thy lesson, learn it well
The comity of Nations; this the plan
Of God from time s first dawn, that man with
man,
Bound in one brotherhood in peace should dwell.
[14]
Great Voyager, whose caravels outsped
Man s swiftest fancy in those earlier daysl
If, looking far beyond the curving bays
Of this new world thy glowing spirit read
That here there stretched a mighty continent
Where a sure haven for mankind should be,
Small didst thou count thy peril on the sea,
Well knowing what thy sufferings had meant.
For it was thine to turn toward the West
The worn old-world, and westward as the star
Of Power moves, nor tyranny nor war
Its fires sustains it shines for the oppressed.
The vision fades dome, pinnacle and tower
Yet fades not like the substance of a dream
Nation to Nation, State to State shall seem
Drawn to each other closer through its power,
1893
07
THE TITANIC
of the misty North
A stealthy foeman stole;
Far from the haunted Pole
On the wide sea went he forth,
And he met a giant ship
As he scoured the sea for toll
It cannot reach its goal
Crushed in his icy grip.
"Of every four just three"
This was his deadly dole.
Unseen he called the roll
Ah! a cold grave is the Sea.
Yet the Sea is not the end,
And Life is not the whole.
Over each heroic soul
Shall Eternity extend.
[15]
IF LOVE WERE ALL
IF Love were all, how dark the world!
What sorrow for the stricken heart!
If Love were all, with Love grown cold
No tempest raging bleak and bold,
Its icy fury ever hurled
As madly as the storms that dart
Across the soul when Love is dead.
Poor soul, on bitter passion fed,
Seeing in Earth or Heaven no bliss,
When Love has died in Love s last kiss.
If Love were all!
If Love were all, how fair the earth!
What joy in every heart-throb here!
If Love were all, and Love were kind,
Love s message, blown on every wind,
Thrilling the soul, would give small worth
To cringing caution, or the jeer
Of those who murmur "Love must die"
When Love s alight from eye to eye,
Life is a happy holiday.
* Where s Whiter? " Ah, twere ever May,
If Love were all!
THE ROVER
r T 1 HAT it be love, I dare not say,
JL I only know when he s away,
Dark as the night, so dark the day.
But still he ll rove, and still I ll try
Some light to see in yon grim sky.
For I will prove if power there be
To lead him through the night to me
In that soul-star, fair Constancy.
AH! LITTLE LAKE
AH! little lake, though fair thou art,
A sapphire flashing to the sky,
Thy charm is only for the eye,
Thy beauty cannot hold my heart.
Green hill-sides bending to thy shore
Gleam clear in the autumnal light,
While far above, Monadnock s height
Keeps rugged guard thy waters o er.
And yet these very beauties cloy;
As in a prison I am bound,
Though fair the walls that gird me round,
My housemate is no longer joy.
Thy loveliness breeds discontent,
For far my foolish heart would be,
It longs for the unquiet sea,
And with desire is sorely rent.
Hateful the walls that me debar
From happier things that haunt me so,
Even my weary thoughts are slow
To reach the great, great world afar.
I half believe there is no world
Those cruel hill-tops there beyond.
Oh for the wizard Merlin s wand !
That all these mountain curves uncurled.
I might behold the shore I love,
Might hear the roaring of the tide,
Might see the ocean, reaching wide
And boundless as the sky above.
One hour beside that sea-kissed beach
Quick throbbing to its love s caress,
Would yield to me more happiness
Than a whole life-time here could teach.
[17]
SEVERUS SPEAKS
FOR nearly eighteen years upon my head
The crown of Empire heavily has set.
The burden on my shoulders I have borne
Of an estate encumbered far and wide
With debts I had to pay. Ah! everywhere
Murmurs, revolts, or wars assailed my throne.
Now quiet comes even in Britain here,
The most disturbing Province of them all.
Yet I must go, the profits I must leave
To others to enjoy to hold with ease
What I with bitter travail have obtained.
Peace there must be, and mutual amity,
The one support to hold the Empire firm,
To keep the Glory of the Empire bright.
Discord would be the ruin of the pile,
That my poor hands have built so painfully.
Only when Peace prevails may we behold
How small things grow to greatness.
Now I die
And all the issue of the coming days
I leave to my successor, and my son,
Though he has been a cruel son to me.
Bassanius I name your Emperor,
The new-made Antoninus, who long tried
To get that title by the sword,
Who sought my death, the dangers knowing not
That always must surround a diadem,
Forgetting that the places of the great
Are guarded well by Envy and by Fear.
Blind is ambition, for it cannot see
That though a sovereign s power large may seem
To others, by himself the things possessed
Are counted small enough, aye small they are.
For titles cannot make a happy man.
While his thin thread of life must waver so,
His might is laid upon a weak support.
So men may point to me, and say Behold
A man who once was all things in this world,
[18]
Yet now is nothing. For like meaner men
He paid his debt to nature. His exploits
He left behind. Aye, friends I leave my deeds
For you to register. Reproach or praise
The shadowing pencil of oblivion
At last will blot. And yet that all the care
That I have takn for the general good
May bring forth happy fruits when I am dust,
This would I make my one, my last request,
Assist my sons with counsel and with aid,
That they may rule according to the law,
And you obey according to the right.
So, through you both my legions and my sons
The Empire shall be held in high respect."
And then the dying Emperor feebly turned
Toward the urn wherein so soon must lie
His ashes and he cried "So shalt thou hold
What the whole world one time could not contain."
Thus died Severus.
TOWN AND COUNTRY
ABOUT the country they may talk who will,
Who praise it ever to the town s despite.
Let him extol the charms of wood and hill
Who finds them peerless. None disputes his right.
For me the town! Each well-worn footway old
To me is dearer than your grass-grown lane.
Not all who struggle here contend for gold;
Green-growing things quit not the soul of pain.
"God made the country." Ay, and God made man.
Working through man His power He displays,
And in the city s mazes His great plan
Is writ as clear as in calm country ways.
[19]
STRENGTH RENEWED
ANT/EUS, as the ancient poets sing,
Though in his contest with the God of Power
Doomed to be conquered, stayed the fatal hour,
And the onlookers set to wondering.
For overborne, to Earth he d closely cling,
Until he rose again, a mighty tower.
Thus could the Earth with strength her lover
dower,
And very near to victory could bring.
So when I feel thy tender hand in mine,
I, too, dear love, against the world could stand,
Courage divine comes with thy lightest touch.
Afar from thee Antaeus-like I pine,
But strength returns now as I clasp thy hand.
Ah! that so slight a thing should mean so
much.
AT MIAMI
HERE, where the proud hibiscus blooms in flame,
Where swaying palms nod lightly to the sea,
Where each azalea towers a stately tree
And orange blossoms charm, today I came
Upon a little flower unknown to fame,
Half hid in the scant sward, white as this shell
From yonder beach, and I can hardly tell
What drew me to it, murmuring its name.
"Bred in cool meadows, vagrant from the North,
Fair Dewberry, what art thou doing here?
Or chance, or purpose started thee to roam?
And yet whatever power sent thee forth,
Still it is thine to call the sudden tear,
To stir the trembling heart with thoughts of
home."
[20]
WHICH
WHO then is rich, who poor? I ll tell you now
Of one, a meagre life who had to live,
Wear dingy garb, and scarcely could allow
Himself what men call comfort; yet to give
Was his delight, to give full-heartedly.
Though Fate had hampered him, he always knew
Some one still poorer. In humility
He thus gave hope to him who had small view
Of happier things; solace to him who wept;
And to the beaten courage to endure.
He shared his little with the starved, and kept
His best for those who needed most. Though
poor,
By giving he grew richer day by day
In all that brightens life s uncertain way.
There was another who had never known
A wish unsatisfied. For everything
That luxury could offer was his own.
Thus all that learning, all that wealth could bring
Adorned his life. The many him would praise,
For this world loves the prosperous, and still
Close to himself he hugged his all. To raise
A helping hand he never had the will.
He never heard the cries of men in need.
Of all he had he would not give a part.
For "I" and "mine" was ever his one creed.
No balm had he for any aching heart.
Mean was his life (as was the other s great)
Despite the splendor of his high estate.
And now in yonder world I wonder which
For both are dead is counted poor or rich.
[21]
THE BLESSED DEAD
r I " HEY loved life, even as we, who went away
-L From their dear dwelling-place to one un
known
To us who linger here. They could not stay,
Nor we go with them, so they went alone.
Although their beating hearts with ours kept time,
Although their clinging hands we fondly held,
We could not walk the path they had to climb,
Hardly we heard the death-call when it knelled.
Trustful, or fearful of the way ahead,
They had to journey from this throbbing life,
And we we know they are the blessed dead,
For they have gone away from pain and strife.
We cannot see the land where they have gone.
Our eyes are dim, and they are hid in light,
But we are following them toward the dawn,
Who knows when it will break upon our sight!
OAK-LEAVES
/"CRINKLED oak-leaves, twinkling in the sun,
\^4 Splashed by midday showers, dripping cold
Serrate oak-leaves, silvered by the sun
That has brushed yon dull brown grass with gold.
Green and crinkled oak leaves, tremble now
Strong you would be, strong would be and bold,
Ah! green oak-leaves, you are trembling now
By the saucy wind deceived cajoled!
Trembling oak leaves you are soon to fall,
Soon to hide the earth with yellowing mould
Twinkling, crinkling oak-leaves, soon you ll fall
For the autumn sun is shining cold.
[22]
SELF-SATISFIED
WELL satisfied with all his own, he stands
Holding a trembling balance in his hands;
On one scale wealth and ease, men s Braises, too,
Whatever charms the soul, and keeps it true.
But on the other scale lo the foul street
Where pallid children play, where poor folk greet,
And crowded houses dirty, dimly lit,
On whose dull walls all misery is writ,
Houses wherein the herded cannot fight
The ambushed evil lurking day and night.
Has he contented one who counts his gain,
Balanced the cost the wretchedness and pain
Of those who help him hoard his heap of gold?
Ah, human life may be too dearly sold!
For see, the one scale weighs the other down.
His gold, his ease, his honors by Heaven s frown
Withered to nothing, now, behold he stands
Broken his scales reaching imploring hands.
MY VIGIL
COMPANIONED by the lonely hours,
\J( My vigil with the stars I keep,
The happy stars that never weep,
The wakeful stars that never sleep,
Spirit of me that frets and cowers,
Ah, what am I, that I should be
And breathe in this Infinity?
Unburdened of the weight of self,
Toward the highest heights I am borne,
Below lies Earth, begrimed and worn,
Far, far from me her praise, her scorn,
Her joys, her woes, her loss her pelf,
One with the happy stars am 1 1
Our limits the unbounded skyl
[23]
TO MRS. JULIA WARD HOWE
DEAR Lady of Tranquillity, Ah I lightly have
the years
Their music on thy heart-strings played, and all the
smiles and tears
That mark the joy of living, that sound the depths
of pain
For thee make one great harmony a happy
heart s refrain.
(On her eighty-sixth birthday.)
THE SOARER
r I ^HERE soars a warbler toward high Heaven,
_L His course seems sure and straight;
So speeds an arrow from the bow-string,
Yet who can read his fate!
For while he carols like a seraph
Bound for a radiant star
Mayhap the fowler s eye, relentless,
Has doomed him from afar.
A longer life the crawling snail hath
Than thou O wanderer bright
Ah, let the sluggard crawl in safety,
Thine is the realm of light!
Like thee a soaring soul s in peril,
Yet its one hour is worth
A whole Eternity of grovelling
Closer to grimy earth.
[24]
A FANCY
THE world of dreams is all my own,
Wherein I wander free, alone;
And each weird, fervid fantasy
Is dearer than earth s joys to me.
The waking world I share with you;
And yours, as mine, is the ocean s blue.
For us both spring s early flowers are fair,
Or the cold stars gleam through the frosty air.
But in the world of dreams I rove
Over sunny fields, or in shaded grove,
Such beauty your eyes never saw
And all is mine without let or law.
Ah! the hopes and fears that come and go
With my flying fancy, none may know;
Though unsubstantial, it seems
My real world this world of dreams.
THE SHRIEKING WOMAN AT MARBLEHEAD
T i^WAS a Spanish gaUeon sailed the seas,
JL Two centuries since have rolled
Laden with silver and gems to please
Gay dames and gallants bold.
But villainous pirates seized the ship
As homeward she was bound;
Ah, she has made her last long trip
For they ran her soon aground.
From Oakum Bay into Marblehead
They brought one lady fair,
Her husband, alas, and his crew are dead,
And her they will not spare.
[253
Loud, loud she shrieked in the pirates arms,
"Oh, save me Jesu, save!
Cruel echo mocked at her wild alarms,
As they dug her a nameless grave.
Yet once a year when the night has come
That saw her dreadful death,
You can hear her above the ocean s boom
Shriek out with her dying breath.
THE HUGUENOT LOVERS
O ORROWFUL pleading on her face is written
O With love commingled, and my heart throbs
fast,
Flooded with currents of a deep emotion
Stirred by the memory of that awful past.
Note the sad gaze of him who bends above her,
What say his eyes in answer to her own?
What did he think as tenderly he kissed her?
What was the meaning of his whispered tone?
Spoke he of honor s claim poor love s outweighing,
Or did her circling arms so well enfold
That the white kerchief wearing-badge of safety
He passed the lurking foe with spirit bold.
Ah, they are vanished now the maid and lover,
Their history the wisest cannot tell.
Mayhap upon that night of cruel slaughter,
Eager to meet the zealot s hate he fell.
Mayhap in some fair corner of the Kingdom,
Under the gentler rule of brave Navarre,
They showed the kerchief to their children s children,
And told the story of the unholy war.
[26]
TO JOHN TOWNSEND TROWBRIDGE
GAY Summer sees the flowering
Of buds that were the gift of Spring;
And Winter counts the ripened sheaves
That Autumn harvested. Who grieves
When he at length has won the race,
Or backward then his way would trace?
Oh, honored Poet, Wit, and Sage,
This birthday marks an open page,
And here before its record s writ,
These words we would inscribe on it.
"Thou, upon whom thy years fourscore
So lightly sit, thou hast a store ;
Of memories such as they alone
May have whose hearts all truth have known.
Now may this year bring thee no less
Than all the past of happiness!"
(On his eightieth birthday.)
WEED OR FLOWER
r I ^IS but a common thing," one coldly said,
JL "Nay, call it not a flower this little weed,
If plucking it, I kill it, root and seed
Better the world were if it lay there dead."
" Ah rather let it live!" a second cried,
"Weed it may be, and yet it has its use,
Here in its healing essence its excuse
For blooming lies, and here its only pride."
"Destroy it not!" another pled, "Behold
This tapering leaf this soft and tender green,
Upon my canvas it shall bloom serene
This tiny chalice-fleck of living gold."
Then one bent over it, "Ah, flowret bright!
For only flowers in this garden grow,
His earth, His sunshine made thee, o er thee blow
His winds, frail thing ! In thee He shows His might."
[273
THOMAS WENTWORTH HIGGINSON (IN MEMORY)
SAGE of the silver pen!
Wherever thy thought was heard,
Thou wert a leader of men.
Poet of honored word!
Knight of the eagle glance,
Piercing the depths of wrong,
"Justice" thy cry, and thy lance
True in its aim, and strong.
Man of the ruddy heart
Beating warm for our kind!
Thine was the hero s part;
Eyes wert thou to the blind:
Thou a staff to the weak,
Here we our tribute lay
Homage thou didst not seek
Twined with a wreath of bay,
A garland woven of love,
Woven of love and tears,
Pure as the note of a dove,
Voicing thy peaceful years.
(Read at the Memorial Meeting Nov. 20, 1911.)
LIGHTER VERSE
FRIGHTENED
TODAY I had the awfulest time,
Dear mother, in the wood.
That hill out there we were to climb,
And we d been very good.
But nurse was walking up the hill,
When little Anne and I,
We had to stop and stand quite still,
And Anne began to cry.
For something moved behind the trees,
We felt so all alone
Said I to Anne, "Stop crying, please,
I ll hit it with a stone."
Cried Anne, "Oh, listen, hear it growl."
Said I, "I m not afraid
Of bears or lions." "Now don t scowl.
You look so cross," she said.
So then I had to smile and smile, for Anne was cry
ing all the while.
And if we didn t hear a bear, I m sure, dear mother,
one was there.
Boys always must take care of girls,
You see you ve told me so.
That s why I tried to pat Anne s curls,
And walked with her real slow.
But when we heard nurse calling out,
"Come, children, come along!"
"Come, Nurse," you should have heard me shout
Anne says my voice is strong.
"Run, Anne," I cried, "I m almost five, and I ll kill
any bear alive."
And if we didn t see a bear, I truly think that one
was there.
How glad I was when Nurse turn d round,
For everything seemed queer.
The trees looked strange, and then that sound
We didn t like to hear.
C31]
Nurse laughed when we had told her all
About the bear we saw.
" I came as quick s I heard you call,
And it s against the law
For bears to live where people stay. They are five
hundred miles away."
But if we didn t meet a bear, I m sure that almost
one was there.
THE CHRISTMAS LETTER
I M always glad when Christmas comes, and yet
I d like it better;
If mother wouldn t bother me to write a Christmas
letter
To uncle John and Cousin Kate and dear old Grand-
aunt Gray,
And all whose presents come to me from places far
away.
Of course I love my presents, and if givers should
forget her,
No little girl, my mother says, need write a Christ
mas letter.
For oh! my ink makes awful blots, though I try
to do real well,
And when you write them out of school, all words
are hard to spell.
I mean to mind my mother, she s so kind I would
not fret her,
But when she says, "Stop playing, dear. Come,
write this Christmas letter,"
That s just the thing I hate to hear, and if I dared,
I wouldn t
Rememeber how to hold a pen, I d make believe I
couldn t.
[32]
A VICTIM
MY Auntie has a camera, and when I m out at
play
And see her coming with it, I try to hide away.
For oh, it is so bothersome to hear her, with a laugh,
Call, "Stand just were you are, dear; I ll take a
photograph."
Sometimes, an angry lion, I have just begun to roar,
And all the children run from me to sneak behind
the door,
When Auntie to our forest comes why does she
stop our fun?
I d like to shoot that camera there with my wooden
gun.
Perhaps, a fire engine, I am rushing to a fire,
While people loudly call for help as flames rise higher
and higher.
I hurry toward the hydrant here, for oh! the flames
are hot!
When Auntie with her camera cries, "What a fine
snapshot!"
But then it doesn t seem to snap, so I must be polite,
And when she says, "Oh please, stand still, the sun is
not just right,"
I have to pull up where I am, and see that house
burn down,
For Auntie doesn t understand, even when I twist
and frown.
She only says, "Don t squirm, my pet! Oh, what a
cunning pose!
Your scowl is better than a smile," so that s the
way it goes
A p liceman or an admiral, no matter what I am,
I have to face that camera as quiet as a lamb.
[33]
JACK FROST
OH! it is little Margery who has a garden-bed,
Wherein grow purple pansies and geraniums
white and red,
With feverfew and dahlias, and delicate pink phlox,
And grandmother s fair favorites, old-fashioned
hollyhocks.
One night we feared Jack Frost might come to blight
the tender flowers
We almost felt his cruel breath in the early evening
hours;
So Margery took coverings and spread them, thick
and warm,
To shield the flowers, as blankets wrap a sleeping
baby s form.
Then in the morning, when we looked across the
dewy grass,
And saw the traces Jack Frost leaves where he is
wont to pass
For each spreading tree and slender bush had felt
his chill caress,
And some had drooped, and some had blushed in
crimson loveliness
We hastened to the garden-bed, and there, in bright
array,
The little flowers looked blithely up to greet the
smiling day.
Safe hid from Jack Frost s piercing breath, he never
saw them there,
And the flowers still bloom for Margery, to thank
her for her care.
[34]
A CURIOSITY
I KNEW a little boy, not very long ago,
Who was as bright and happy as any boy you
know.
He had an only fault, and you will all agree
That from a fault like this a boy himself might free.
"I wonder who is there, oh, see! now, why is this?"
And "Oh, where are they going?" and "Tell me
what it is?"
Ah! "which" and "why" and "who," and "what"
and "where" and "when,"
We often wished that never need we hear those
words again.
He seldom stopped to think; he almost always knew
The answer to the questions that around the world
he threw.
To children seeking knowledge a quick reply we give,
But answering what he asked was pouring water
through a sieve.
Yet you ll admit his fate was as sad as it was strange.
Our eyes we hardly trusted, who slowly saw him
change.
More curious grew his head, stemlike his limbs, and
hark!
He was at last a mere interrogation-mark!
THE FIRST LIE
I M sure I did not break this cup;
It just fell down, I know it did
For I was only climbing up,
Why do they keep the cake-box hid?
I wanted such a little bit!
And then I heard that creaking door,
I can t tell what it was I hit,
Nor how that cup got on the floor.
[35]
The shelf it stood on was too high,
That cup my mother loved the most!
Oh dear! I never told a lie,
And mother whispered, "Do not boast,"
The day I said I never could.
(But there s that broken cup!) and then
I promised that I never would
So I ll not tell a lie again.
THE PARASOL
YOU are the loveliest parasol
I ever saw, and all my own,
What frilly frills! I feel as tall
As mother now. Here! take my doll.
Dolls are for children ladies grown
Have parasols, and fans, and rings,
And all those pretty, shiny things.
Nurse calls you " sunshade," but I think
That is too plain a word, for see I
You are so satiny and pink
And there is such a curly kink
Here in your handle, there could be
No name too fine, I love you so,
I ll take you everywhere I go.
Next Sunday when to church I walk,
Above my head I ll hold you high.
Oh! how the other girls will talk,
And maybe some of them will mock,
"How proud she feels," as I pass by
I d hold you up, straight down the aisle,
If only people wouldn t smile.
[36]
A MODERN GRANDMOTHER
I WANT to see a grandmother like those there
used to be,
In a cosy little farm-house, where I could go to tea;
A grandmother with spectacles and a funny, frilly
cap,
Who would make me sugar cookies, and take me on
her lap,
And tell me lots of stories of the days when she was
small,
When everyhing was perfect not like today at all.
My grandmother is "grandma," and she lives in a
hotel,
And when they ask "What is his age?" she smiles
and will not tell.
Says she doesn t care to realize that she is growing
old;
Then whispers " But you re far too big a boy for
me to hold."
Her dresses shine and rustle, and her hair is wavy
brown,
And she has an automobile, that she steers, herself,
down town.
My grandmother is pretty. "Do I love her?"
Rather yes;
Our Norah calls her stylish, and on the whole I guess
She s better than the other kind, for once, when I
was ill,
She helped my mother nurse me, and read to me
until
I fell asleep; and stayed with me, and wasn t tired,
and then
She played nine holes of golf with me when I got out
again.
Yet, because I ve never seen one, just once I want
to see
A real old-fashioned grandmother, like those there
used to be.
[37]
SIGNS FOR THE SERIOUS
HE has a taste that s superfine who flouts at
every subway sign,
He reckons not that some there be, who cannot tell,
unless they see
Spelled plain before them on the wall, what things
their own they ought to call
For instance, when I come to town, whom you may
dub a country clown
How should I know what things to buy, if not a
subway sign were nigh
To show the pills I ought to take my all-con
suming thirst to slake;
The hair restorer that will soothe my infant son
with his first tooth;
The ruddy catsup that is sure all family jars and ills
to cure;
The dollar watch that daintily we ll serve, wound
up, for early tea;
The window-screens that will not hide our failings
from the country-side;
What breakfast-food is our true friend, the dime
cigars that I should send
My wife to cure her racking cough. The hooks and
eyes that won t come off
Ah 1 hats, and soaps, and castor-oil, and cocoa that
we need not boil; -
And well-made suits and patent soup, and phono
graphs. But what a dupe
Of every city tradesman I, if all these vendibles I d
try
To purchase by my native wit! Yet what the sub
way "best" has writ
In flaming words, with weird device that make
I mine, and pay the price.
[38]
TRIMMING
WHEN your father, long ago, tried to train you
and you know
He thought mornings meant for school, and not
for swimming
How your heart beat loud in dread as relentlessly
he said,
"You ll remember when you ve had another
trimming."
When your daughter buys a hat, and you re won
dering thereat,
As before the glass she stands, its beauty hymn
ing;
Ah! the mischief in her eyes, as she pleads, "Show
no surprise
At the cost. One has to pay for pretty trimming."
When the butcher brings your bill, and you stare at
it until
Your tongue with fervid words is fairly brimming,
Then you hear him meekly say, as your anger you
display,
" It seems high, because there s so much waste in
trimming."
So when politicians try your votes to beg or buy
With their sophistry your common sense that s
dimming
Just remember then the cost (and the waste, should
all be lost),
Of the smooth-tongued, wordy trimmer s pretty
trimming.
[39]
THE ANNEX
STONE walls do not a prison make, nor iron
bars a cage"
High halls do not a College make, nor book-lined
shelves a sage.
So might I follow haltingly these olden words to
show
That even in this newer home the Annex may not
know
A greater zeal for learning than the old house could
bestow.
But comparisons are odious, so I ll merely try to say
That cherished deep within the hearts of many here
today
Is the memory of that early home in the classic
Appian Way.
There first did the young Annex (whose real Christian
name
Contains as many syllables as it has liens on fame)
Win laurels even brighter than its friends had hoped
to claim.
And there, too, in their search, for intellectual
recreation
Its students formed the short-lived Appian Way
Association
Of which this later Club is but an " Idler" imitation.
Just where the interloper dwelt was long a mystery.
In the past to Harvard students and to townsmen
equally,
Till they cried, "There is no Annex believe we
only what we see!"
Now the Annex and its mission every year are better
known,
From the smallest of beginnings strong and powerful
it has grown:
Only Harvard Freshmen speak of it in supercilious
tone,
Although custom would forbid us as we are passing
near,
[40]
To salute the ancient building with a rousing Annex
cheer,
We need no sign like this to prove that still we hold
it dear.
Now the students who have profited by their fore
seeing care
Fondly thank the Annex founders who knew not
the word "despair."
Its best home was the hearts of those who planned
the structure fair.
(Read at a College celebration.)
A LIBERTY BOND
\ LIBERTY BOND! What a queer contra-
JL\. diction!
Although truth, as you ve heard, may be stranger
than fiction.
For Liberty should from all fetters release us,
While bonds hold one fast, whether pauper or
Croesus.
Yet a Liberty Bond I d advise you to buy it
Will ensure you your freedom you ll see when you
try it.
Twill aid you to conquer foes cruel, despotic,
Twill help save your Country, come, be patriotic!
A Liberty Bond I d advise you to buy one
Will ensure you your freedom rejoice when you
try one I
[41]
A HERO
LIKE many another I have crossed
Oftener than once the broad Atlantic,
And feeling qualms when tempest-tossed,
Have shuddered at the waves gigantic,
Fearing that really nevermore
I d find myself again ashore.
Then when upset and scarce awake,
In moments of perturbed reflection,
My wandering thoughts would slowly take
Time and again the same direction.
I d think of that adventurous man,
Who crossed the sea first of my clan.
Tis not for me to hope to find
Upon my family tree s broad branches
Ancestors wholly to my mind;
I know that I am taking chances
In digging them up from the past
To deck this hardy tree at last.
Indeed I would not waste my breath,
And even less my ink and paper,
To prove from Queen Elizabeth
Is my descent (some cut this caper),
Nor in King Alfred root my tree
Here s jocund genealogy.
A Governor or two, of course,
Or even a Colonial preacher
I d not despise, nor yet perforce
A good Selectman, stern of feature,
Provided they came early here.
Such ancestors to me are dear.
[42]
Yet of them all the man I hold
A mighty hero none seems greater
Is he that honest man and bold
Whether Psalm-singer, or bear-baiter,
First of my name to reach the strand,
Of this almost unpeopled land.
He may have been of high estate,
He may have been a simple yeoman,
Undaunted by an adverse fate,
Brave was he as the bravest Roman.
At naught he quailed, his heart was stout,
When he for the New World set out.
Compared with mine a little skiff
His boat was, on the untracked ocean,
Comforts were scarce, and breezes stiff
No luxuries, though I ve a notion
Billows were just as high as now,
While Danger sat upon the prow.
Just where would be his landing-place.
He hardly knew when waves he tossed on
While my woes at sea efface
By merely murmuring, "Home is Boston."
Yet he had left his all behind
In the new world his all to find.
" R-E-E-D " " E-I " " E-A,"
Just how we spell it need not matter.
The name we honor here today
Each clan may claim with equal clatter
British, euphonious, clear and short,
Rede me a name of better sort!
Read at a meeting of a Genealogical Society.
THE RIVALS
SAID the Bicycle to the Automobile:
"How high and mighty and gay you feel;
Yet I can remember the day when I
Would let no other one pass me by
Cart horse and roadster and racehorse too,
Far ahead of them all I flew.
Now my tires are unpumped and my warning bell
The attention of nobody can compel.
"Though you maim your thousands where I hurt one,
Though ten times my farthest is your day s run,
Still I have been teaming while lying here,
That a rival s coming for you to fear.
I have heard them talk of a wonderful thing,
That can fly in the air like a bird on the wing,
That can carry a man over land, over sea;
In a twinkling he is where he wishes to be.
"So swiftly it speeds, in a week and a day
One may girdle the globe, I have heard them say,
While you are contented from dawn to dark
With a few score miles to have made your mark."
The giant, throughout his quivering frame,
Felt the truth that was mixed with his rival s blame.
" I ll never be such a clod as you,"
He sputtered as off on the road he flew;
And his end the Bicycle never knew.
[44]
FROM THE ODES OF HORACE
TO M&CENAS. III-2d
MAECENAS, scion of Tyrrhenian rulers,
A jar, as yet unpierced, of mellow wine
Long waits thee here, with balm for thee made ready
And blooming roses hi thy locks to twine.
No more delay, nor always look with favor
The sloping fields of ^Esula upon;
Why gaze so long on ever marshy Tibur
Near by the mount of murderer Telegon?
Give up thy luxury it palls upon thee
Thy tower that reaches yonder lofty cloud;
Cease to admire the smoke, the wealth, the uproar,
And all that well hath made our Rome so proud.
Sometimes a change is grateful to the rich man,
A simple meal beneath a humble roof
Has often smoothed from care the furrowed forehead,
Though unadorned that home with purple woof.
Bright Cepheus now his long-hid fire is showing,
Now flames on high the angry lion-star,
Now Procyon rages, and the sun revolving
Brings back the thirsty season from afar.
Seeking a cooling stream, the weary shepherd
His languid flock leads to the shady wood
Where rough Sylvanus reigns, yet by the brookside.
No truant breeze disturbs the solitude.
Ah, who but thee is busy now with statecraft?
Thou plannest for Rome s weal, disquieted,
Lest warring Scythian, Bactrian, or Persian
Should st plunge the city into awful dread.
A prudent deity in pitchy darkness
The issue of futurity conceals,
And smiles when man beyond the right of mortals,
His fear about the time to come reveals.
(This version won, in 1890, the Sargent Prize, offered
annually to students of Harvard University and Radcliffe
College.)
[47]
Thou should st concern thee only with the present,
All else progresses as the river flows,
Which gliding at one time in middle channel
Toward the Tuscan Sea unruffled goes;
Or at another time, herds, trees, and houses,
And broken rocks to one destruction drags,
When wild the flood provokes the quiet current
With noise from neighboring woods and distant
crags.
Happy he li ves, and of himself is master,
That man who can at night with truth declare,
" I have lived to-day, to-morrow let the Father
Make as he will my sky or dark or fair,
" It is not his to render vain and worthless
My happy past the bliss has dearer grown
That the fleet-footed hour carried with it;
The joys that once have been are still my own.
" Now upon me, again on others smiling,
Fortune rejoices in her savage trade
Of shifting thus at will uncertain honors,
As stubbornly her mocking game is played.
"I praise her when she stays, but if she leave me,
Fluttering her airy wings in hasty flight,
I yield her what she gave, and wrapped in virtue,
In dowerless Poverty find my delight.
"Although the mast may crack beneath the South
wind,
I will not rush with many a doleful prayer
To barter thus my vows, lest all my treasure
From Tyre and Cyprus should become a share
"Of what the greedy sea has in possession;
Nay! then, protected in my two-oared boat,
With favoring winds, and with twin Pollux guiding
Safe through the /Egean tempests I will float."
[48]
TO LEUCONOE. 1-11
SEEK not to learn Leuconoe, a mortal may
not know
What term of life on you or me our deities bestow.
The Babylonian soothsayer consult not; better bear
Whatever comes, whether to you more winters Jove
shall spare,
Or whether this may be the last, grinding the Tuscan
sea
On yonder rocks. Even as we talk, time envious
shall flee.
Filter your wine, be wise, and clip your hopes to
life s brief span.
Then seize today; to-morrow trust as little as you
can.
TO NEOBUL&. 111-12
A HI Unhappy are the maidens, who love s game
are kept from playing,
Nor in mellow wine may wash away their cares;
Who, scared by scolding uncles tongues, their terror
are displaying,
But from you, though, Neobule, Cupid bears
Your basket and your webs, yet all the zeal you
have been showing
For industrious Minerva, is the prey
Of fair Hebrus, Liparsean, when his shoulders, oiled
and glowing,
He has bathed in Tiber s waters. Let me say
As a horseman, than Bellerophon he s really some
thing greater;
Never worsted in a hand-fight, nor a race.
Skilled to shoot the flying stag-herd in the open,
swift he later
Snares the boar, close-hidden in a shady place.
[493
THE HARDY YOUTH. III-S
THE hardy youth, my friends, in bitter warfare
To narrow poverty must learn to bend,
And, for his spear a horseman to be dreaded,
Courageous Parthians into flight must send.
And he must try all dangerous adventures,
His life out in the open he must pass;
The warring tyrant s wife and growing daughter
Him spying from their hostile walls, "Alas,"
They sigh for fear the royal husband,
Unskilled in warlike arts, should dare attack
This lion, fierce to touch, whom bloody anger
Into the midst of slaughter has dragged back.
Tis sweet and fit to perish for one s country,
Death follows fast upon the man who flees,
Nor spares the coward backs of youth retreating,
Nor saves them trembling on their timid knees,
Valor, of shabby failure all unconscious,
Gleams with untarnished honor where she stands,
Assuming not, nor laying down her emblems,
As now the gaping populace demands.
Valor, when opening Heaven to those, who dying
Deserve not death, by paths no other knows
Points out the way, and still while she is soaring,
Her scorn for crowds and humid earth she shows.
And there s a sure reward for loyal silence.
Him I ll forbid under my roof to sit
Who has divulged the Elusinian mysteries,
Nor in my fragile shallop shall he flit
Often great Jupiter, when once neglected,
The wicked near the innocent has put,
But punishment to overtake the guilty
Has rarely failed, though she is lame of foot
[50]
TO THE STATE. 1-14
OH! Ship of State! fresh billows to sea will bear
thee back,
Then turn about and bravely toward the harbor tack,
Thou see st that thy naked sides defending oarsmen
lack.
Behold! thy mast lies shattered before the swift
south wind,
Listen! the yards are creaking, the ropes no longer
bind,
Strength to endure the boisterous waves thy keel can
hardly find.
Now all thy sails are ragged; the gods are swept
away
To whom, borne down by peril, thy quaking soul
would pray.
Though lofty be thy lineage, its pride is vain today.
The power and name thou boastest are now of no
avail,
Thy stern is gayly painted, and still thy seamen
quail,
Beware lest thou art made the sport of every idle
gale.
Ah! dearly loved, my country; my fond yet heavy
care!
Thy discords lately wearied me, but now I breathe a
prayer
That thee the tides of faction, the glittering rocks
may spare.
[51]
TO APOLLO. 1-31
WHAT prays the poet of enshrined Apollo?
What is he asking for with lifted hands,
Pouring a fresh libation from his flagon?
Not fertile crops from rich Sardinian lands,
Not the fan- herds of sultry, damp Calabria,
Not even Indian ivory and gold;
Nor meadows that the Liris, silent river,
With sluggish flow has nibbled, as it rolled.
Let those whom Fortune has endowed with vine
yards,
With the Calenian knife their grapevines trim,
Let the rich merchant from his golden goblet
Drink wine by Syrian traffic bought for him.
Dear to the very gods he three times yearly,
Yes four times, travels the Atlantic Sea
Unharmed. But I I feed myself on olives,
Ay, succory and soft mallows are for me.
Let one enjoy sound health and my possessions
Son of Latona, grant to me, I pray,
With a sane mind an old age all unsullied,
Nor let my gift my lyre be taken away.
TO DIANA. 111-22
DIANA, Protector of mountain and wood,
Who when three times invoked, hast so well
understood,
And young mothers in child-birth hast rescued from
death,
Goddess, triply endowed I
Let this tree overhanging my house here, this pine
Be for thee, that each year I shall consecrate thine,
Happy still with the blood of a boar, whose last
breath,
Planned a side-long attack.
[52]
TO MELPOMENE. IV-3
OH, him whom at birth you with favor regarded
Melpomene! never an Isthmian game
Shall render renowned, though he s skilled as a
boxer,
Nor shall a swift horse lead him onward to fame.
Though a victor he rides in a chariot Achaian,
Not him shall the fortune of war ever show.
In the Capitol wearing the garland of laurel
Because the proud threatenings of kings he laid
low.
But every stream flowing over the country
Fertile Tibur around, and so every grove
With its thick-growing leaves shall ennoble the poet,
In ^Eolian song he ennobled shall prove.
The offspring of Rome, that is Queen among cities,
Me have deemed as a bard to be worthy a place
In her glorious choir, and less and less keenly
Already the sharp bite of Envy I trace.
Oh Pieris! oh Muse, who the sweet tone con-
trollest
Of the golden-tongued lyre, able too, to endow
The dumb fishes as well, if it happen to please thee,
With the notes of the swan, tis from thee it comes
now,
That I by the finger of those who are passing
The Lord of pur own Roman lyre am shown,
For all inspiration, for all that is pleasing,
If it happen to please, thou hast made it my own.
[53]
HORACE AND LYDIA. 1 1 1-9
ONE time when I was pleasing to you, Lydia,
And when no other youth, preferred to me,
Your snowy neck could with his arms encircle,
Then happier I than Persia s King may be."
"When of another you were less enamored,
Nor ranked me after Chloe in your love,
Then I, your Lydia, of wide reputation,
Than Roman Ilia more renowned could prove."
"Now Thracian Chloe, skilled in mellow measures,
And expert on the harp, holds me her slave,
To die for her would never cause me terror,
If her my soul the Fates alive would save."
"Tis Calais, Ornytus son, the Thurian,
Who now consumes me with a mutual fire,
Ah! death for him twice over would I suffer,
Would but the Fates not let the boy expire."
"What if our former love to us returning,
Us in a stronger yoke should join again I
Should I unbar the door to cast-off Lydia,
And give up fair-haired Chloe, ah, what then?"
"Though he be lovelier than a constellation,
Though lighter than a cork, my dear, are you,
Than stormy Adriatic more uncertain,
With you I d love to live, die gladly, too."
[54]
TO CENSORINUS. IV-8
WITH kindly thought I d give, Oh Censorinus,
Bowls and bronze vases pleasing to each
friend ;
Tripods I d offer, prizes of brave Grecians,
And not the worst of gifts to you I d send
Were I, forsooth, rich in such artist s treasure
As Scopas and Parrhasius could convey,
This one in stone, and that in liquid color,
Skilled here a man, a god there to portray.
But mine no power like this, nor does your spirit
Or your affairs need luxuries so choice.
Songs we can give, and on the gift set value,
Songs we can give, and you in songs rejoice.
Not marble carved with popular inscriptions
Whereby the spirit and the life return
After their death unto our upright leaders,
Nor Hannibal s swift flight, nor threatenings stern
Thrown back on him, nor flames from impious
Carthage,
Ever more clearly pointed out the praise
Of him who, after Africa was conquered,
Acquired a name, than did the Calabrian lays.
And you would lose, if writings should be silent,
The price of all that you so well have done.
And Romulus, his fame had envy silenced
Where had he been great Mars and Ilia s son?
/Eacus, rescued from the Stygian waters,
The genius, the favor, and the tongue
Of mighty bards sent to the blessed islands,
He cannot die, whose praise the Muse has sung.
The Muse can deify. So tireless Hercules
In Jove s desired banquets has a share.
And the Tyndaridae s clear constellation
Of ships wrecked in the lowest depths takes care.
Liber, his brows adorned with living vine-leaf,
Brings to good issue every honest prayer.
[55]
TO THALIARCHUS. 1-9
YOU see how our Soracte now is standing
Hoary with heavy snow, and now its weight
To bear the struggling woods are hardly able,
And with the bitter cold the streams stagnate.
The cold melt thou away, oh, Thaliarchus,
By heaping logs upon thy fire, again
Replenishing, and from a Sabine flagon
Wine of a four years vintage draw thou then.
Leave to the gods the rest; for at the moment
They felled the winds upon the boiling sea
That battled fiercely, then there was not stirring
Or mountain-ash, or ancient cypress tree.
Cease thou to ask what is to be to-morrow,
The day that Fortune gives, score thou as gain.
As when a boy, thou shalt not scorn love s sweetness,
Nor smoothly moving dancers shalt disdain
While crabbed age from thy fresh youth is distant.
Now in the Field and hi the Public Square
All the soft whisperings that come at night-fall
Shall at the trysting be repeated there.
Now, too, the tempting laugh from a far corner
That must the maiden lurking there betray 1
Also the pledge that she hi feigned resistance,
Lets from her arm or hand be taken awayl
TO CHLOE. I-2S
AH Chloe, like a fawn you now elude me,
Seeking its timid dam on lonely hills,
Its dam who not without an idle tremor
At breezes in the forest thrills.
For if before the breeze the bushes quiver
With rustling leaves, or if green lizards start
Across the bramble, then it is it trembles,
This little fawn in knees and heart.
But Chloe, I am not a cruel tiger,
Nor a Giaetulian lion, thee to chase;
And now that thou art old enough to marry,
Beside thy mother take thy place.
[56]
TO FUSCUS. 1-22
OH, Fuscus, he whose life is pure and upright,
Wants not the Moorish javelin nor the bow,
Nor may he need the quiver, heavy laden
With arrows poisoned for the lurking foe.
Whether he is about to make a journey
To sultry Libya, or the unfriendly height
Of Caucasus, or to the distant places
That famed Hydaspes washes in his flight.
For lately me a wolf fled in the forest
The Sabine forest, as my Lalage
I sang about, beyond my boundaries wandering,
Care-free, unarmed the creature fled from me.
Apulia, land of soldiers, never nourished
In her broad woods a monster of such girth,
Nor Mauritania, arid nurse of lions,
To such a one has ever given birth.
Ah, put me on those plains, remote and barren,
Where not a tree can feel the summer wind,
And grow again a land of mist eternal
Whereover Jupiter still broods, unkind;
Or place me in that land denied man s dwelling,
Too near the chariot of the sun above,
Still my own Lalage so sweetly smiling,
My sweetly-speaking Lalage I ll love.
TO VENUS. 111-26
LATELY was I to gentle maidens suited,
And not without some glory did contend,
But now my weapons and my lute made useless
For contests, on this wall I will suspend,
That guards the left side of our sea-born Venus;
Here, here, place you my gleaming waxen torch,
My levers and my crow-bars that can threaten
The doors that ought to open on this porch.
Oh, Goddess, thou who blessed Cyprus rulest,
And Memphis ever lacking Thracian snow,
My Queen, in passing, with thy whip uplifted
Give to my haughty Chloe just one blow.
[57]
A PALINODE. 1-16
OH, daughter, lovelier than your lovely mother,
Whatever punishment you may desire
Give my offending verses; in the fire
Throw them, please you, or in the Adriatic.
Not Dindymene, no, nor even Apollo
So shakes the minds of priests within the shrine;
Nor so disturbing is the God of wine,
Nor Corybantes doubling their shrill cymbals,
As direful fits of anger that are frightened
Neither by Noric sword nor savage flame,
Nor by ship-wrecking seas, nor them can tame
Great Jupiter himself, with all his thunders.
To our original clay, they say Prometheus
Was forced to add a portion he had made
Of bits from every creature, and he laid
In human hearts rage from the furious lion.
With crushing rum rage destroyed Thyestes;
And as a final cause rage may be known
Why mighty cities fell, quite overthrown,
And why upon their walls a sneering army
Its plowshare drags along. But keep your temper!
Me, too in my sweet youth a frenzied heart
Has tempted sorely, and its maddening dart
Has driven me to write impetuous verses
To change sad things for brighter I am seeking,
And since my offending verses I retract,
I beg of you in turn a friendly act,
That you again to me your heart give over.
[58]
LASTING FAME. 111-30
\ MONUMENT outlasting brass I have builded,
l\.Higher than pyramids in their crumbling glory,
That no devouring storm, nor futile North wind
Can overthrow, nor years in long succession,
Nor fleeting seasons. I shall not wholly perish.
In great part I ll escape the funeral pyre;
And lately praised, my praise will go on growing
To latest years. As long as Priest and Vestal
Ascend the Capitol, I shall be mentioned
Where Aufidus fierce rages, and where Daunus
A rustic race rules in an arid country.
Great, though of humble birth, I the first poet
To write in Latin rhythms ^Eolian lyrics,
Take pride, Melpomene, in well-earned merits,
And crown me willingly with Delphic laurel.
RELIGION. I-S4
GOD S mean and careless servant while I
wander
Deep in the madness of Philosophy,
Now backward I must set my sail, and ponder
Where my forsaken course retraced shall be.
For Jupiter, who with his glittering fire
So often cleaves apart the threatening clouds,
His winged car and thundering horses higher
Toward air has driven where no shadow shrouds.
Whereat the sluggish earth, each vagrant river,
The Styx, and hated Tsenarus dread abode,
And the Atlantic borders shake and shiver.
Ah to reverse high things and low, our God
Is able, and the mighty he can lower,
The obscure can raise. From this man Fortune
steals
The crown to give to that one; in her power,
Showing with hissing wings the joy she feels.
[59]
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