Poetry

together feed.

This parable, by Nature breathed,
Blew on me as the South-wind free
O’er frozen brooks, that flow unsheathed
From icy thraldom, to the sea.

A blissful vision, through the night,
Would all my happy senses sway,
Of the good Shepherd on the height,
Or climbing up the starry way,

Holding our little lamb asleep⁠—
While, like the murmur of the sea,
Sounded that voice along the deep,
Saying, “Arise and follow me!”

Africa

She sat where the level sands
Sent back the sky’s fierce glare;
She folded her mighty hands,
And waited with calm despair,
While the red sun dropped down the streaming air.

Her throne was broad and low,
Builded of cinnamon;⁠—
Huge ivory, row on row,
Varying its columns dun,
Barred with the copper of the setting sun.

Up from the river came
The low and sullen roar
Of lions, with eyes of flame,
That haunted its reedy shore,
And the neigh of the hippopotamus,
Trampling the watery floor.

Her great dusk face no light
From the sunset-glow could take;
Dark as the primal night
Ere over the earth God spake
It seemed for her a dawn could never break.

She opened her massy lips,
And sighed with a dreary sound,
As when by the sand’s eclipse
Bewildered men are bound,
And like a train of mourners
The columned winds sweep round.

She said: “My torch at fount of day
I lit, now smouldering in decay;
Through futures vast I grope my way.

“I was sole Queen the broad earth through:
My children round my knees upgrew,
And from my breast sucked Wisdom’s dew.

“Day after day to them I hymned;
Fresh knowledge still my song o’erbrimmed,
Fresh knowledge, which no time had dimmed.

“I sang of Numbers; soon they knew
The spell they wrought, and on the blue
Foretold the stars in order due;⁠—

“Of Music; and they fain would rear
Something to tell its influence clear;
Uprose my Memnon, with nice ear,

“To wait upon the morning air,
Until the sun rose from his lair
Swifter, at greet of lutings rare.

“I sang of Forces whose great bands
Could knit together feeble hands
To uprear Thought’s supreme commands;

“Then, like broad tents, beside the Nile
They pitched the Pyramids’ great pile;
Where light and shade divided smile;

“And on white walls, in stately show,
Did Painting with fair movement go,
Leading the long processions slow.

“All laws that wondrous Nature taught,
To serve my children’s skill I brought,
And still for fresh devices sought.

“What need to tell? they lapsed away,
Their great light quenched in twilight gray,
Within their winding tombs they lay;

“And centuries went slowly by,
And looked into my sleepless eye,
Which only turned to see them die.

“The winds like mighty spirits came,
Alive and pure and strong as flame,
At last to lift me from my shame;

“For oft I heard them onward go,
Felt in the air their great wings row,
As down they dipped in journeying slow.

“Their course they steered above my head,
One strong voice to another said⁠—
‘Why sits she here so drear and dead?

“ ‘Her kingdom stretches far away;
Beyond the utmost verge of day,
Her myriad children dance and play.’

“Then throbbed my mother’s heart again,
Then knew my pulses finer pain,
Which wrought like fire within my brain.

“I sought my young barbarians, where
A mellower light broods on the air,
And heavier blooms swing incense rare.

“Swart-skinned, crisp-haired, they did not shun
The burning arrows of the sun;
Erect as palms stood every one.

“I said⁠—These shall live out their day
In song and dance and endless play;
The children of the world are they.

“Nor need they delve with heavy spade;
Their bread, on emerald dishes laid,
Sets forth a banquet in each shade.

“Only the thoughtful bees shall store
Their honey for them evermore;
They shall not learn such toilsome lore;

“Their finest skill shall be to snare
The birds that flaunt along the air,
And deck them in their feathers rare.

“So centuries went on their way,
And brought fresh generations gay
On my savannahs green to play.

“There came a change. They took my free,
My careless ones, and the great sea
Blew back their endless sighs to me:

“With earthquake shudderings oft the mould
Would gape; I saw keen spears of gold
Thrusting red hearts down, not yet cold

“But throbbing wildly; dreadful groans
Stole upward through Earth’s ribbed stones
And crept along through all my zones.

“I sought again my desert bare,
But still they followed on the air,
And still I hear them everywhere.

“So sit I dreary, desolate,
Till the slow-moving hand of Fate
Shall lift me from my sunken state.”

Her great lips closed upon her moan;
Silently sate she on her throne,
Rigid and black, as carved in stone.

Jesus and the Dove

A Catholic Legend

To A. H. W.

With patient hand Jesus in clay once wrought,
And made a snowy dove that upward flew:
Dear child, from all things draw some holy thought,
That like his dove they may fly upward too.

Mary, the mother good and mild,
Went forth one summer’s day,
That Jesus and his comrades all
In meadows green might play.

To find the brightest, freshest flowers,
They search the meadows round,
They twined them all into a wreath,
And little Jesus crowned.

Tired of play, they came at last
And sat at Mary’s feet,
While Jesus asked his mother dear
A story to repeat.

“And we,” said one, “from out this clay
Will make some little birds,
So shall we all sit quietly
And heed the mother’s words.”

Then Mary, in her gentle voice,
Told of a little child,
Who lost her way one dark, dark night
Upon a dreary wild;

And how an angel came to her,
And made all bright around,
And took the trembling little one
From off the damp, hard ground;

And how he bore her in his arms