IN THE TWILIGHT

1882

NOT bed-time yet! The night-winds blow, The stars are out,--full well we know The nurse is on the stair, With hand of ice and cheek of snow, And frozen lips that whisper low, "Come, children, it is time to go My peaceful couch to share."

No years a wakeful heart can tire; Not bed-time yet! Come, stir the fire And warm your dear old hands; Kind Mother Earth we love so well Has pleasant stories yet to tell Before we hear the curfew bell; Still glow the burning brands.

Not bed-time yet! We long to know What wonders time has yet to show, What unborn years shall bring; What ship the Arctic pole shall reach, What lessons Science waits to teach, What sermons there are left to preach.

What poems yet to sing.

What next? we ask; and is it true The sunshine falls on nothing new, As Israel's king declared?

Was ocean ploughed with harnessed fire?

Were nations coupled with a wire?

Did Tarshish telegraph to Tyre?

How Hiram would have stared!

And what if Sheba's curious queen, Who came to see,--and to be seen,-- Or something new to seek, And swooned, as ladies sometimes do, At sights that thrilled her through and through, Had heard, as she was "coming to,"

A locomotive's shriek,

And seen a rushing railway train As she looked out along the plain From David's lofty tower,-- A mile of smoke that blots the sky And blinds the eagles as they fly Behind the cars that thunder by A score of leagues an hour!

See to my _fiat lux_ respond This little slumbering fire-tipped wand,-- One touch,--it bursts in flame!

Steal me a portrait from the sun,-- One look,--and to! the picture done!

Are these old tricks, King Solomon, We lying moderns claim?

Could you have spectroscoped a star?

If both those mothers at your bar, The cruel and the mild, The young and tender, old and tough, Had said, "Divide,--you're right, though rough,"-- Did old Judea know enough To etherize the child?

These births of time our eyes have seen, With but a few brief years between; What wonder if the text, For other ages doubtless true, For coming years will never do,-- Whereof we all should like a few, If but to see what next.

If such things have been, such may be; Who would not like to live and see-- If Heaven may so ordain-- What waifs undreamed of, yet in store, The waves that roll forevermore On life's long beach may east ash.o.r.e From out the mist-clad main?

Will Earth to pagan dreams return To find from misery's painted urn That all save hope has flown,-- Of Book and Church and Priest bereft, The Rock of Ages vainly cleft, Life's compa.s.s gone, its anchor left, Left,--lost,--in depths unknown?

Shall Faith the trodden path pursue The _crux ansata_ wearers knew Who sleep with folded hands, Where, like a naked, lidless eye, The staring Nile rolls wandering by Those mountain slopes that climb the sky Above the drifting sands?

Or shall a n.o.bler Faith return, Its fanes a purer gospel learn, With holier anthems ring, And teach us that our transient creeds Were but the perishable seeds Of harvests sown for larger needs, That ripening years shall bring?

Well, let the present do its best, We trust our Maker for the rest, As on our way we plod; Our souls, full dressed in fleshly suits, Love air and sunshine, flowers and fruits, The daisies better than their roots Beneath the gra.s.sy sod.

Not bed-time yet! The full-blown flower Of all the year--this evening hour-- With friendship's flame is bright; Life still is sweet, the heavens are fair, Though fields are brown and woods are bare, And many a joy is left to share Before we say Good-night!

And when, our cheerful evening past, The nurse, long waiting, comes at last, Ere on her lap we lie In wearied nature's sweet repose, At peace with all her waking foes, Our lips shall murmur, ere they close, Good-night! and not Good-by!

A LOVING-CUP SONG

1883

COME, heap the f.a.gots! Ere we go Again the cheerful hearth shall glow; We 'll have another blaze, my boys!

When clouds are black and snows are white, Then Christmas logs lend ruddy light They stole from summer days, my boys, They stole from summer days.

And let the Loving-Cup go round, The Cup with blessed memories crowned, That flows whene'er we meet, my boys; No draught will hold a drop of sin If love is only well stirred in To keep it sound and sweet, my boys, To keep it sound and sweet.

Give me, to pin upon my breast, The blossoms twain I love the best, A rosebud and a pink, my boys; Their leaves shall nestle next my heart, Their perfumed breath shall own its part In every health we drink, my boys, In every health we drink.

The breathing blossoms stir my blood, Methinks I see the lilacs bud And hear the bluebirds sing, my boys; Why not? Yon l.u.s.ty oak has seen Full tenscore years, yet leaflets green Peep out with every spring, my boys, Peep out with every spring.

Old Time his rusty scythe may whet, The unmowed gra.s.s is glowing yet Beneath the sheltering snow, my boys; And if the crazy dotard ask, Is love worn out? Is life a task?

We'll bravely answer No! my boys, We 'll bravely answer No!

For life's bright taper is the same Love tipped of old with rosy flame That heaven's own altar lent, my boys, To glow in every cup we fill Till lips are mute and hearts are still, Till life and love are spent, my boys, Till life and love are spent.

THE GIRDLE OF FRIENDSHIP

1884

SHE gathered at her slender waist The beauteous robe she wore; Its folds a golden belt embraced, One rose-hued gem it bore.

The girdle shrank; its lessening round Still kept the shining gem, But now her flowing locks it bound, A l.u.s.trous diadem.

And narrower still the circlet grew; Behold! a glittering band, Its roseate diamond set anew, Her neck's white column spanned.

Suns rise and set; the straining clasp The shortened links resist, Yet flashes in a bracelet's grasp The diamond, on her wrist.

At length, the round of changes past The thieving years could bring, The jewel, glittering to the last, Still sparkles in a ring.

So, link by link, our friendships part, So loosen, break, and fall, A narrowing zone; the loving heart Lives changeless through them all.

THE LYRE OF ANACREON

1885

THE minstrel of the cla.s.sic lay Of love and wine who sings Still found the fingers run astray That touched the rebel strings.

Of Cadmus he would fain have sung, Of Atreus and his line; But all the jocund echoes rung With songs of love and wine.