CROSSING THE TROPICS _From "The Saya-y-Manto."_
While now the Pole Star sinks from sight The Southern Cross it climbs the sky; But losing thee, my love, my light, O bride but for one bridal night, The loss no rising joys supply.
Love, love, the Trade Winds urge abaft, And thee, from thee, they steadfast waft.
By day the blue and silver sea And chime of waters blandly fanned-- Nor these, nor Gama"s stars to me May yield delight since still for thee I long as Gama longed for land.
I yearn, I yearn, reverting turn, My heart it streams in wake astern When, cut by slanting sleet, we swoop Where raves the world"s inverted year, If roses all your porch shall loop, Not less your heart for me will droop Doubling the world"s last outpost drear.
O love, O love, these oceans vast: Love, love, it is as death were past!
THE BERG _A Dream_
I SAW a ship of martial build (Her standards set, her brave apparel on) Directed as by madness mere Against a stolid iceberg steer, Nor budge it, though the infatuate ship went down.
The impact made huge ice-cubes fall Sullen, in tons that crashed the deck; But that one avalanche was all No other movement save the foundering wreck.
Along the spurs of ridges pale, Not any slenderest shaft and frail, A prism over gla.s.s--green gorges lone, Toppled; nor lace of traceries fine, Nor pendant drops in grot or mine Were jarred, when the stunned ship went down.
Nor sole the gulls in cloud that wheeled Circling one snow-flanked peak afar, But nearer fowl the floes that skimmed And crystal beaches, felt no jar.
No thrill transmitted stirred the lock Of jack-straw needle-ice at base; Towers undermined by waves--the block Atilt impending--kept their place.
Seals, dozing sleek on sliddery ledges Slipt never, when by loftier edges Through very inertia overthrown, The impetuous ship in bafflement went down.
Hard Berg (methought), so cold, so vast, With mortal damps self-overcast; Exhaling still thy dankish breath-- Adrift dissolving, bound for death; Though lumpish thou, a lumbering one-- A lumbering lubbard loitering slow, Impingers rue thee and go down, Sounding thy precipice below, Nor stir the slimy slug that sprawls Along thy dense stolidity of walls.
THE ENVIABLE ISLES _From "Rammon."_
Through storms you reach them and from storms are free.
Afar descried, the foremost drear in hue, But, nearer, green; and, on the marge, the sea Makes thunder low and mist of rainbowed dew.
But, inland, where the sleep that folds the hills A dreamier sleep, the trance of G.o.d, instills-- On uplands hazed, in wandering airs aswoon, Slow-swaying palms salute love"s cypress tree Adown in vale where pebbly runlets croon A song to lull all sorrow and all glee.
Sweet-fern and moss in many a glade are here.
Where, strewn in flocks, what cheek-flushed myriads lie Dimpling in dream--unconscious slumberers mere, While billows endless round the beaches die.
PEBBLES
I Though the Clerk of the Weather insist, And lay down the weather-law, Pintado and gannet they wist That the winds blow whither they list In tempest or flaw.
II Old are the creeds, but stale the schools, Revamped as the mode may veer, But Orm from the schools to the beaches strays And, finding a Conch h.o.a.r with time, he delays And reverent lifts it to ear.
That Voice, pitched in far monotone, Shall it swerve? shall it deviate ever?
The Seas have inspired it, and Truth-- Truth, varying from sameness never.
III In hollows of the liquid hills Where the long Blue Ridges run, The flattery of no echo thrills, For echo the seas have none; Nor aught that gives man back man"s strain-- The hope of his heart, the dream in his brain.
IV On ocean where the embattled fleets repair, Man, suffering inflictor, sails on sufferance there.
V Implacable I, the old Implacable Sea: Implacable most when most I smile serene-- Pleased, not appeased, by myriad wrecks in me.
VI Curled in the comb of yon billow Andean, Is it the Dragon"s heaven-challenging crest?
Elemental mad ramping of ravening waters-- Yet Christ on the Mount, and the dove in her nest!
VII Healed of my hurt, I laud the inhuman Sea-- Yea, bless the Angels Four that there convene; For healed I am ever by their pitiless breath Distilled in wholesome dew named rosmarine.
Poems From Timoleon
LINES TRACED UNDER AN IMAGE OF AMOR THREATENING
Fear me, virgin whosoever Taking pride from love exempt, Fear me, slighted. Never, never Brave me, nor my fury tempt: Downy wings, but wroth they beat Tempest even in reason"s seat.
THE NIGHT MARCH
With banners furled and clarions mute, An army pa.s.ses in the night; And beaming spears and helms salute The dark with bright.
In silence deep the legions stream, With open ranks, in order true; Over boundless plains they stream and gleam-- No chief in view!
Afar, in twinkling distance lost, (So legends tell) he lonely wends And back through all that shining host His mandate sends.
THE RAVAGED VILLA
In shards the sylvan vases lie, Their links of dance undone, And brambles wither by thy brim, Choked fountain of the sun!
The spider in the laurel spins, The weed exiles the flower: And, flung to kiln, Apollo"s bust Makes lime for Mammon"s tower.