Read Ebook: Idyllic Monologues: Old and New World Verses by Cawein Madison Julius

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When I behold how some pursue Fame, that is care's embodiment, Or fortune, whose false face looks true,-- A humble home with sweet content Is all I ask for me and you.

A humble home, where pigeons coo, Whose path leads under breezy lines Of frosty-berried cedars to A gate, one mass of trumpet-vines, Is all I ask for me and you.

A garden, which, all summer through, The roses old make redolent, And morning-glories, gay of hue, And tansy, with its homely scent, Is all I ask for me and you.

An orchard, that the pippins strew, From whose bruised gold the juices spring; A vineyard, where the grapes hang blue, Wine-big and ripe for vintaging, Is all I ask for me and you.

A lane, that leads to some far view Of forest and of fallow-land, Bloomed o'er with rose and meadow-rue, Each with a bee in its hot hand, Is all I ask for me and you.

At morn, a pathway deep with dew, And birds to vary time and tune; At eve, a sunset avenue, And whippoorwills that haunt the moon, Is all I ask for me and you.

Dear heart, with wants so small and few, And faith, that's better far than gold, A lowly friend, a child or two, To care for us when we are old, Is all I ask for me and you.

Berrying

My love went berrying Where brooks were merrying And wild wings ferrying Heaven's amethyst; The wildflowers blessed her, My dearest Hester, The winds caressed her, The sunbeams kissed.

I followed, carrying Her basket; varying Fond hopes of marrying With hopes denied; Both late and early She deemed me surly, And bowed her curly Fair head and sighed:

"The skies look lowery; It will he showery; No longer flowery The way I find. No use in going. 'T will soon be snowing If you keep growing Much more unkind."

Then looked up tearfully. And I, all fearfully, Replied, "My dear, fully Will I explain: I love you dearly, But look not cheerly Since all says clearly I love in vain."

Then smiled she airily; And answered merrily With words that--verily Made me decide: And drawing tow'rd her, I there implored her-- I who adored her-- To be my bride.

O sweet simplicity Of young rusticity, Without duplicity, Whom love made know, That hearts in meter Make earth completer; And kisses, sweeter Than--berries grow.

To a Pansy-Violet

Found Solitary Among the Hills.

O pansy-violet, With early April wet, How frail and pure you look Lost in this glow-worm nook Of heaven-holding hills: Down which the hurrying rills Fling scrolls of melodies: O'er which the birds and bees Weave gossamers of song, Invisible, but strong: Sweet music webs they spin To snare the spirit in.

O pansy-violet, O darling floweret, Hued like the timid gem That stars the diadem Of Fay or Sylvan Sprite, Who, in the woods, all night Is busy with the blooms, Young leaves and wild perfumes, Through you I seem t' have seen All that such dreams may mean.

O pansy-violet, Long, long ago we met-- 'T was in a Fairy-tale: Two children in a vale Sat underneath glad stars, Far from the world of wars; Each loved the other well: Her eyes were like the spell Of dusk and dawning skies-- The purple dark that dyes The midnight: his were blue As heaven the day shines through.

O pansy-violet, What is this vague regret, This yearning, so like tears, That touches through the years Long past, when Myth and Fable In all strange things were able To beautify the Earth, Things of immortal worth?-- This longing, that to me Is like a memory Lived long ago, of those Fair children who, it knows, Loved with no mortal love; Whom smiling heaven above Fostered, and when they died Laid side by loving side.

O pansy-violet, I dream, remembering yet A wood-god-guarded tomb, Out of whose moss a bloom Sprang, with three petals wan As are the eyes of dawn; And two as darkly deep As are the eyes of sleep.-- O flower,--that seems to hold Some memory of old, A hope, a happiness, At which I can but guess,-- You are a sign to me Of immortality: Through you my spirit sees The deathless purposes Of death, that still evolves The beauty it resolves; The change that aye fulfills Life's meaning as God wills.

Heart of my Heart

Here where the season turns the land to gold, Among the fields our feet have known of old,-- When we were children who would laugh and run, Glad little playmates of the wind and sun,-- Before came toil and care and years went ill, And one forgot and one remembered still, Heart of my heart, among the old fields here, Give me your hands and let me draw you near. Heart of my heart.

Stars are not truer than your soul is true-- What need I more of heaven then than you? Flowers are not sweeter than your face is sweet-- What need I more to make my world complete? O woman nature, love that still endures, What strength hath ours that is not born of yours? Heart of my heart, to you, whatever come, To you the lead, whose love hath led me home. Heart of my heart.

Witnesses

You say I do not love you!--Tell me why, When I have gazed a little on your face, And then gone forth into the world of men, A beauty, neither of the Earth or Sky, A glamour, that transforms each common place, Attends my spirit then?

You say I do not love you!--Yet I know When I have heard you speak and dwelt upon Your words awhile, my heart has gone away Filled with strange music, very soft and low, A dim companion, touching with sweet tone The discords of the day.

You say I do not love you!--Yet it seems, When I have kissed your hand and said farewell, A fragrance, sweeter than did flower yet bloom, Accompanies my soul and fills, with dreams, The sad and sordid streets, where people dwell, Dreams of spring's wild perfume.

Wherefore

I would not see, yet must behold The truth they preach in church and hall; And question so,--Is death then all, And life an idle tale that's told?

The myriad wonders art hath wrought I deemed eternal as God's love: No more than shadows these shall prove, And insubstantial as a thought.

And love and labor, who have gone, Hand in close hand, and civilized The wilderness, these shall be prized No more than if they had not done.

Then wherefore strive? Why strain and bend Beneath a burden so unjust? Our works are builded out of dust, And dust their universal end.

Pagan

The gods, who could loose and bind In the long ago, The gods, who were stern and kind To men below, Where shall we seek and find, Or, finding, know?

Where Greece, with king on king, Dreamed in her halls; Where Rome kneeled worshiping, The owl now calls, And whispering ivies cling To mouldering walls.

They have served, and have passed away From the earth and sky, And their Creed is a record gray, Where the passer-by Reads, "Live and be glad to-day, For to-morrow ye die."

And shall it be so, indeed, When we are no more, That nations to be shall read,-- As we have before,-- In the dust of a Christian Creed, But pagan lore?

"The Fathers of our Fathers"

Written February 24, 1898, on reading the latest news concerning the battleship Maine, blown up in Havana harbor, February 15th.

The fathers of our fathers they were men!-- What are we who now stand idle while we see our seamen slain? Who behold our flag dishonored, and still pause! Are we blind to her duplicity, the treachery of Spain? To the rights, she scorns, of nations and their laws? Let us rise, a mighty people, let us wipe away the stain! Must we wait till she insult us for a cause?-- The fathers of our fathers they were men!

The fathers of our fathers they were men!-- Had they nursed delay as we do? had they sat thus deaf and dumb, With these cowards compromising year by year? Never hearing what they should hear, never saying what should come, While the courteous mask of Spain still hid a sneer! No! such news had roused their natures like a rolling battle-drum-- God of earth! and God of heaven! do we fear?-- The fathers of our fathers they were men!

The fathers of our fathers they were men!-- What are we who are so cautious, never venturing too far! Shall we, at the cost of honor, still keep peace? While we see the thousands starving and the struggling Cuban star, And the outraged form of Freedom on her knees! Let our long, steel ocean-bloodhounds, adamantine dogs of war, Sweep the yellow Spanish panther from the seas!-- The fathers of our fathers they were men!

"Mene, Mene, Tekel, Upharsin"

Behold! we have gathered together our battleships near and afar; Their decks they are cleared for action, their guns they are shotted for war: From the East to the West there is hurry, in the North and the South a peal Of hammers in fort and shipyard, and the clamor and clang of steel; And the roar and the rush of engines, and clanking of derrick and crane-- Thou art weighed in the Scales and found wanting, the balance of God, O Spain!

Behold! I have stood on the mountains, and this was writ in the sky:-- "She is weighed in the Scales and found wanting, the balance God holds on high!" The balance He once weighed Babylon, the Mother of Harlots, in: One scale holds thy pride and thy power and empire, begotten of sin; Heavy with woe and torture, the crimes of a thousand years, Mortared and welded together with fire and blood and tears; In the other, for justice and mercy, a blade with never a stain, Is laid the Sword of Liberty, and the balance dips, O Spain!

Summon thy vessels together! great is thy need for these!-- Cristobal Colon, Vizcaya, Oquendo, and Maria Terese-- Let them be strong and many, for a vision I had by night, That the ancient wrongs thou hast done the world came howling to the fight; From the New-World shores they gathered, Inca and Aztec slain, To the Cuban shot but yesterday, and our own dead seamen, Spain!

Summon thy ships together, gather a mighty fleet! For a strong young Nation is arming, that never hath known defeat. Summon thy ships together, there on thy blood-stained sands! For a shadowy army gathers with manacled feet and hands, A shadowy host of sorrows and shames, too black to tell, That reach, with their horrible wounds, for thee to drag thee down to Hell; A myriad phantoms and spectres, thou warrest against in vain-- Thou art weighed in the Scales and found wanting, the balance of God, O Spain!

Her Vivien Eyes

Her Vivien eyes,--beware! beware!-- Though they be stars, a deadly snare They set beneath her night of hair. Regard them not! lest, drawing near-- As sages once in old Chaldee-- Thou shouldst become a worshiper, And they thy evil destiny.

Her Vivien eyes,--away! away!-- Though they be springs, remorseless they Gleam underneath her brow's bright day. Turn, turn aside, whate'er the cost! Lest in their deeps thou lures behold, Through which thy captive soul were lost, As was young Hylas once of old.

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