Motionless torrents! silent cataracts!

Who made you glorious as the gates of Heaven Beneath the keen full moon? Who bade the Sun Clothe you with rainbows? Who, with living flowers Of loveliest blue, spread garlands at your feet?-- G.o.d! let the torrents, like a shout of nations, Answer! and let the ice-plains echo, G.o.d!

G.o.d! sing ye meadow-streams with gladsome voice!

Ye pine-groves, with your soft and soul-like sounds!

And they too have a voice, yon piles of snow, And in their perilous fall shall thunder, G.o.d!

Ye living flowers that skirt the eternal frost!

Ye wild goats sporting round the eagle's nest!

Ye eagles, play-mates of the mountain-storm!

Ye lightnings, the dread arrows of the clouds!

Ye signs and wonders of the element!

Utter forth G.o.d, and fill the hills with praise!

Thou too, h.o.a.r Mount! with thy sky-pointing peaks, Oft from whose feet the avalanche, unheard, Shoots downward, glittering through the pure serene Into the depth of clouds that veil thy breast-- Thou too again--stupendous Mountain! thou That as I raise my head, awhile bowed low In adoration, upward from thy base Slow traveling with dim eyes suffused with tears, Solemnly seemest like a vapory cloud, To rise before me--Rise, O ever rise, Rise like a cloud of incense, from the Earth!

Thou kingly Spirit throned among the hills, Thou dread amba.s.sador from Earth to Heaven, Great hierarch! tell thou the silent sky, And tell the stars, and tell yon rising sun, Earth, with her thousand voices, praises G.o.d.

--COLERIDGE.

XII

JAUN'S SONG FROM THE SPANISH GYPSY

Memory, Tell to me What is fair Past compare In the land of Tubal?

Is it Spring's Lovely things, Blossoms white, Rosy dight?

Then it is Pepita.

Summer's crest Red-gold tressed, Corn-flowers peeping under?

Idle noons, Lingering moons, Sudden cloud, Lightning's shroud,

Sudden rain, Quick again Smiles where late was thunder?

Are all these Made to please?

So too is Pepita.

Autumn's prime, Apple-time, Smooth cheek round, Heart all sound?-- Is it this You would kiss?

Then it is Pepita.

You can bring No sweet thing, But my mind Still shall find It is my Pepita.

Memory Says to me It is she-- She is fair Past compare In the land of Tubal.

XIII

PABLO'S SONG FROM THE SPANISH GYPSY

Spring comes. .h.i.ther, Buds the rose; Roses wither, Sweet spring goes.

Ojala, would she carry me!

Summer soars-- Wide-winged day, White light pours, Flies away.

Ojala, would he carry me!

Soft winds blow, Westward born, Onward go Toward the morn.

Ojala, would they carry me!

Sweet birds sing O'er the graves, Then take wing O'er the waves.

Ojala, would they carry me!

--GEORGE ELIOT.

XIV

MEMORY[5]

[5] This and the following poem appear by special permission of Houghton Mifflin Company, the publishers of Mr. Aldrich's poems.

My mind lets go a thousand things, Like dates of wars and deaths of kings, And yet recalls the very hour-- 'Twas noon by yonder village tower, And on the last blue noon in May-- The wind came briskly up this way, Crisping the brook beside the road; Then, pausing here, set down its load Of pine-scents, and shook listlessly Two petals from that wild-rose-tree.

XV

ENAMOURED ARCHITECT OF AIRY RHYME

Enamoured architect of airy rhyme, Build as thou wilt; heed not what each man says: Good souls, but innocent of dreamer's ways, Will come, and marvel why thou wastest time; Others, beholding how thy turrets climb 'Twixt theirs and heaven, will hate thee all thy days; But most beware of those who come to praise.

O Wondersmith, O Worker in sublime And Heaven-sent dreams, let art be all in all; Build as thou wilt, unspoiled by praise or blame, Build as thou wilt, and as thy light is given: Then, if at last the airy structure fall, Dissolve, and vanish--take thyself no shame.

They fail, and they alone, who have not striven.

--THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH.

XVI

LOVE IN THE WINDS[6]

[6] From _Along the Trail_, by Richard Hovey. Copyright, 1898, by Small, Maynard & Co., Duffield & Co., successors.

When I am standing on a mountain crest, Or hold the tiller in the dashing spray, My love of you leaps foaming in my breast, Shouts with the winds and sweeps to their foray; My heart bounds with the horses of the sea, And plunges in the wild ride of the night Flaunts in the teeth of tempest the large glee That rides out Fate and welcomes G.o.ds to fight.

Ho, love, I laugh aloud for love of you, Glad that our love is fellow to rough weather,-- No fretful orchid hot-housed from the dew, But hale and hardy as the highland heather, Rejoicing in the wind that stings and thrills, Comrades of ocean, playmate of the hills.

--RICHARD HOVEY.

XVII

CANDLEMAS[7]

[7] By permission of Houghton Mifflin Company.

O hearken, all ye little weeds That lie beneath the snow, (So low, dear hearts, in poverty so low!) The sun hath risen for royal deeds, A valiant wind the vanguard leads; Now quicken ye, lest unborn seeds Before ye rise and blow.

O furry living things, adream On Winter's drowsy breast, (How rest ye there, how softly, safely rest!) Arise and follow where a gleam Of wizard gold unbinds the stream, And all the woodland windings seem With sweet expectance blest.

My birds, come back! the hollow sky Is weary for your note.