Chapter IV

But from the trance she sudden broke— The trance, or death into promoted life; At her feet a shivered yoke, And in her aspect turned to heaven No trace of passion or of strife— A clear calm look. It spake of pain, But such as purifies from stain— Sharp pangs that never come again— And triumph repressed by knowledge meet, Power dedicate, and hope grown wise, And youth matured for age’s seat— Law on her brow and empire in her eyes. So she, with graver air and lifted flag; While the shadow, chased by light, Fled along the far-drawn height, And left her on the crag.

INSCRIPTION

_For Graves at Pea Ridge, Arkansas_

Let none misgive we died amiss When here we strove in furious fight: Furious it was; nathless was this Better than tranquil plight, And tame surrender of the Cause Hallowed by hearts and by the laws. We here who warred for Man and Right, The choice of warring never laid with us. There we were ruled by the traitor’s choice. Nor long we stood to trim and poise, But marched and fell—victorious!

THE FORTITUDE OF THE NORTH

_Under the Disaster of the Second Manassas_

They take no shame for dark defeat While prizing yet each victory won, Who fight for the Right through all retreat, Nor pause until their work is done. The Cape-of-Storms is proof to every throe; Vainly against that foreland beat Wild winds aloft and wilder waves below: The black cliffs gleam through rents in sleet When the livid Antarctic storm-clouds glow.

THE MOUND BY THE LAKE

The grass shall never forget this grave. When homeward footing it in the sun After the weary ride by rail, The stripling soldiers passed her door, Wounded perchance, or wan and pale, She left her household work undone— Duly the wayside table spread, With evergreens shaded, to regale Each travel-spent and grateful one. So warm her heart—childless—unwed, Who like a mother comforted.

ON THE SLAIN AT CHICKAMAUGA

Happy are they and charmed in life Who through long wars arrive unscarred At peace. To such the wreath be given, If they unfalteringly have striven— In honor, as in limb, unmarred. Let cheerful praise be rife, And let them live their years at ease, Musing on brothers who victorious died— Loved mates whose memory shall ever please.

And yet mischance is honorable too— Seeming defeat in conflict justified Whose end to closing eyes is hid from view. The will, that never can relent— The aim, survivor of the bafflement, Make this memorial due.

AN UNINSCRIBED MONUMENT

_On one of the Battle-fields of the Wilderness_

Silence and solitude may hint (Whose home is in yon piney wood) What I, though tableted, could never tell— The din which here befell, And striving of the multitude. The iron cones and spheres of death Set round me in their rust, These, too, if just, Shall speak with more than animated breath. Thou who beholdest, if thy thought, Not narrowed down to personal cheer, Take in the import of the quiet here— The after-quiet—the calm full fraught; Thou too wilt silent stand— Silent as I, and lonesome as the land.

ON THE GRAVE OF A YOUNG CAVALRY OFFICER KILLED IN THE VALLEY OF VIRGINIA

Beauty and youth, with manners sweet, and friends— Gold, yet a mind not unenriched had he Whom here low violets veil from eyes. But all these gifts transcended be: His happier fortune in this mound you see.

A REQUIEM

_For Soldiers lost in Ocean Transports_

When, after storms that woodlands rue, To valleys comes atoning dawn, The robins blithe their orchard-sports renew; And meadow-larks, no more withdrawn Caroling fly in the languid blue; The while, from many a hid recess, Alert to partake the blessedness, The pouring mites their airy dance pursue. So, after ocean’s ghastly gales, When laughing light of hoyden morning breaks, Every finny hider wakes— From vaults profound swims up with glittering scales; Through the delightsome sea he sails, With shoals of shining tiny things Frolic on every wave that flings Against the prow its showery spray; All creatures joying in the morn, Save them forever from joyance torn, Whose bark was lost where now the dolphins play; Save them that by the fabled shore, Down the pale stream are washed away, Far to the reef of bones are borne; And never revisits them the light, Nor sight of long-sought land and pilot more; Nor heed they now the lone bird’s flight Round the lone spar where mid-sea surges pour.

COMMEMORATIVE OF A NAVAL VICTORY

Sailors there are of the gentlest breed, Yet strong, like every goodly thing; The discipline of arms refines, And the wave gives tempering. The damasked blade its beam can fling; It lends the last grave grace: The hawk, the hound, and sworded nobleman In Titian’s picture for a king, Are of hunter or warrior race.

In social halls a favored guest In years that follow victory won, How sweet to feel your festal fame In woman’s glance instinctive thrown: Repose is yours—your deed is known, It musks the amber wine; It lives, and sheds a light from storied days Rich as October sunsets brown, Which make the barren place to shine.

But seldom the laurel wreath is seen Unmixed with pensive pansies dark; There’s a light and a shadow on every man Who at last attains his lifted mark— Nursing through night the ethereal spark. Elate he never can be; He feels that spirit which glad had hailed his worth, Sleep in oblivion.—The shark Glides white through the phosphorus sea.

A MEDITATION

How often in the years that close, When truce had stilled the sieging gun, The soldiers, mounting on their works, With mutual curious glance have run From face to face along the fronting show, And kinsman spied, or friend—even in a foe.

What thoughts conflicting then were shared, While sacred tenderness perforce Welled from the heart and wet the eye; And something of a strange remorse Rebelled against the sanctioned sin of blood, And Christian wars of natural brotherhood.

Then stirred the god within the breast— The witness that is man’s at birth; A deep misgiving undermined Each plea and subterfuge of earth; They felt in that rapt pause, with warning rife, Horror and anguish for the civil strife.

Of North or South they reeked not then, Warm passion cursed the cause of war: Can Africa pay back this blood Spilt on Potomac’s shore? Yet doubts, as pangs, were vain the strife to stay, And hands that fain had clasped again could slay.

How frequent in the camp was seen The herald from the hostile one, A guest and frank companion there When the proud formal talk was done; The pipe of peace was smoked even ’mid the war, And fields in Mexico again fought o’er.

In Western battle long they lay So near opposed in trench or pit, That foeman unto foeman called As men who screened in tavern sit: “You bravely fight” each to the other said— “Toss us a biscuit!” o’er the wall it sped.

And pale on those same slopes, a boy— A stormer, bled in noon-day glare; No aid the Blue-coats then could bring, He cried to them who nearest were, And out there came ’mid howling shot and shell A daring foe who him befriended well.

Mark the great Captains on both sides, The soldiers with the broad renown— They all were messmates on the Hudson’s marge, Beneath one roof they laid them down; And, free from hate in many an after pass, Strove as in school-boy rivalry of the class.

A darker side there is; but doubt In Nature’s charity hovers there: If men for new agreement yearn, Then old upbraiding best forbear: “The South’s the sinner!” Well, so let it be; But shall the North sin worse, and stand the Pharisee?

O, now that brave men yield the sword, Mine be the manful soldier-view; By how much more they boldly warred, By so much more is mercy due: When Vicksburg fell, and the moody files marched out, Silent the victors stood, scorning to raise a shout.

POEMS FROM MARDI

WE FISH

We fish, we fish, we merrily swim, We care not for friend nor for foe. Our fins are stout, Our tails are out, As through the seas we go.

Fish, Fish, we are fish with red gills;
Naught disturbs us, our blood is at zero:
We are buoyant because of our bags,
Being many, each fish is a hero.
We care not what is it, this life
That we follow, this phantom unknown;
To swim, it’s exceedingly pleasant,—
So swim away, making a foam.
This strange looking thing by our side,
Not for safety, around it we flee:—
Its shadow’s so shady, that’s all,—
We only swim under its lee.
And as for the eels there above,
And as for the fowls of the air,
We care not for them nor their ways,
As we cheerily glide afar!

We fish, we fish, we merrily swim, We care not for friend nor for foe: Our fins are stout, Our tails are out, As through the seas we go.

INVOCATION

Ha, ha, gods and kings; fill high, one and all; Drink, drink! shout and drink! mad respond to the call! Fill fast, and fill full; ’gainst the goblet ne’er sin; Quaff there, at high tide, to the uttermost rim:— Flood-tide, and soul-tide to the brim!

Who with wine in him fears? who thinks of his cares? Who sighs to be wise, when wine in him flares? Water sinks down below, in currents full slow; But wine mounts on high with its genial glow:— Welling up, till the brain overflow!

As the spheres, with a roll, some fiery of soul, Others golden, with music, revolve round the pole; So let our cups, radiant with many hued wines, Round and round in groups circle, our Zodiac’s Signs:— Round reeling, and ringing their chimes!

Then drink, gods and kings; wine merriment brings; It bounds through the veins; there, jubilant sings. Let it ebb, then, and flow; wine never grows dim; Drain down that bright tide at the foam beaded rim:— Fill up, every cup, to the brim!

DIRGE

We drop our dead in the sea,
The bottomless, bottomless sea;
Each bubble a hollow sigh,
As it sinks forever and aye.

We drop our dead in the sea,—
The dead reek not of aught;
We drop our dead in the sea,—
The sea ne’er gives it a thought.

Sink, sink, oh corpse, still sink,
Far down in the bottomless sea,
Where the unknown forms do prowl,
Down, down in the bottomless sea.

’Tis night above, and night all round,
And night will it be with thee;
As thou sinkest, and sinkest for aye,
Deeper down in the bottomless sea.

MARLENA

Far off in the sea is Marlena, A land of shades and streams, A land of many delights, Dark and bold, thy shores, Marlena; But green, and timorous, thy soft knolls, Crouching behind the woodlands. All shady thy hills; all gleaming thy springs, Like eyes in the earth looking at you. How charming thy haunts, Marlena!— Oh, the waters that flow through Onimoo; Oh, the leaves that rustle through Ponoo: Oh, the roses that blossom in Tarma. Come, and see the valley of Vina: How sweet, how sweet, the Isles from Hina: ’Tis aye afternoon of the full, full moon, And ever the season of fruit, And ever the hour of flowers, And never the time of rains and gales, All in and about Marlena. Soft sigh the boughs in the stilly air, Soft lap the beach the billows there; And in the woods or by the streams, You needs must nod in the Land of Dreams.

PIPE SONG

Care is all stuff:— Puff! Puff! To puff is enough:— Puff! Puff More musky than snuff, And warm is a puff:— Puff! Puff Here we sit mid our puffs, Like old lords in their ruffs, Snug as bears in their muffs:— Puff! Puff Then puff, puff, puff, For care is all stuff, Puffed off in a puff— Puff! Puff!

SONG OF YOOMY

Departed the pride, and the glory of Mardi:
The vaunt of her isles sleeps deep in the sea,
That rolls o’er his corse with a hush,
His warriors bend over their spears,
His sisters gaze upward and mourn.
Weep, weep, for Adondo is dead!
The sun has gone down in a shower;
Buried in clouds the face of the moon;
Tears stand in the eyes of the starry skies,
And stand in the eyes of the flowers;
And streams of tears are the trickling brooks,
Coursing adown the mountains.—
Departed the pride, and the glory of Mardi:
The vaunt of her isles sleeps deep in the sea.
Fast falls the small rain on its bosom that sobs,—
Not showers of rain, but the tears of Oro.

GOLD

We rovers bold,
To the land of Gold,
Over the bowling billows are gliding:
Eager to toil,
For the golden spoil,
And every hardship biding.
See! See!
Before our prows’ resistless dashes
The gold-fish fly in golden flashes!
’Neath a sun of gold,
We rovers bold,
On the golden land are gaining;
And every night,
We steer aright,
By golden stars unwaning!
All fires burn a golden glare:
No locks so bright as golden hair!
All orange groves have golden gushings;
All mornings dawn with golden flushings!
In a shower of gold, say fables old,
A maiden was won by the god of gold!
In golden goblets wine is beaming:
On golden couches kings are dreaming!
The Golden Rule dries many tears!
The Golden Number rules the spheres!
Gold, gold it is, that sways the nations:
Gold! gold! the center of all rotations!
On golden axles worlds are turning:
With phosphorescence seas are burning!
All fire-flies flame with golden gleamings!
Gold-hunters’ hearts with golden dreamings!
With golden arrows kings are slain:
With gold we’ll buy a freeman’s name!
In toilsome trades, for scanty earnings,
At home we’ve slaved, with stifled yearnings:
No light! no hope! Oh, heavy woe!
When nights fled fast, and days dragged slow.
But joyful now, with eager eye,
Fast to the Promised Land we fly:
Where in deep mines,
The treasure shines;
Or down in beds of golden streams,
The gold-flakes glance in golden gleams!
How we long to sift,
That yellow drift!
Rivers! Rivers! cease your goings!
Sand-bars! rise, and stay the tide!
’Till we’ve gained the golden flowing;
And in the golden haven ride!

THE LAND OF LOVE

Hail! voyagers, hail! Whence e’er ye come, where’er ye rove, No calmer strand, No sweeter land, Will e’er ye view, than the Land of Love!

Hail! voyagers, hail!
To these, our shores, soft gales invite:
The palm plumes wave,
The billows lave,
And hither point fix’d stars of light!

Hail! voyagers, hail!
Think not our groves wide brood with gloom;
In this, our isle,
Bright flowers smile:
Full urns, rose-heaped, these valleys bloom.

Hail! voyagers, hail!
Be not deceived; renounce vain things;
Ye may not find
A tranquil mind,
Though hence ye sail with swiftest wings.

Hail! voyagers, hail!
Time flies full fast; life soon is o’er;
And ye may mourn,
That hither borne,
Ye left behind our pleasant shore.

POEMS FROM CLAREL

DIRGE

Stay, Death, Not mine the Christus-wand Wherewith to charge thee and command: I plead. Most gently hold the hand Of her thou leadest far away; Fear thou to let her naked feet Tread ashes—but let mosses sweet Her footing tempt, where’er ye stray. Shun Orcus; win the moonlit land Belulled—the silent meadows lone, Where never any leaf is blown From lily-stem in Azrael’s hand. There, till her love rejoin her lowly (Pensive, a shade, but all her own) On honey feed her, wild and holy; Or trance her with thy choicest charm. And if, ere yet the lover’s free, Some added dusk thy rule decree— That shadow only let it be Thrown in the moon-glade by the palm.