Music and Other Poems | Page 7

dark we scarce could see its rays,
And in the light of
perfect-placid days
Nothing but smouldering embers dull and slow.


Vainly, for love's delight, we sought to throw
New pleasures on the
pyre to make it blaze:
In life's calm air and tranquil-prosperous ways

We missed the radiant heat of long ago.
Then in the night, a night of sad alarms,
Bitter with pain and black
with fog of fears,
That drove us trembling to each other's arms--

Across the gulf of darkness and salt tears,
Into life's calm the wind of
sorrow came,
And fanned the fire of love to clearest flame.
March, 1903.
PATRIA
I would not even ask my heart to say
If I could love some other land as well
As thee, my country, had I felt
the spell
Of Italy at birth, or learned to obey
The charm of France,
or England's mighty sway.
I would not be so much an infidel
As
once to dream, or fashion words to tell,
What land could hold my
love from thee away.
For like a law of nature in my blood
I feel thy sweet and secret
sovereignty,
And woven through my soul thy vital sign.
My life is
but a wave, and thou the flood;
I am a leaf and thou the mother-tree;

Nor should I be at all, were I not thine.
June, 1904.
LEGENDS
A LEGEND OF SERVICE
It pleased the Lord of Angels (praise His name!)
To hear, one day,
report from those who came
With pitying sorrow, or exultant joy,

To tell of earthly tasks in His employ:
For some were sorry when
they saw how slow
The stream of heavenly love on earth must flow;


And some were glad because their eyes had seen,
Along its banks,
fresh flowers and living green.
So, at a certain hour, before the throne

The youngest angel, Asmiel, stood alone;
Nor glad, nor sad, but
full of earnest thought,
And thus his tidings to the Master brought:

"Lord, in the city Lupon I have found
"Three servants of thy holy
name, renowned
"Above their fellows. One is very wise,
"With
thoughts that ever range above the skies;
"And one is gifted with the
golden speech
"That makes men glad to hear when he will teach;

"And one, with no rare gift or grace endued,
"Has won the people's
love by doing good.
"With three such saints Lupon is trebly blest;

"But, Lord, I fain would know, which loves Thee best?"
Then spake the Lord of Angels, to whose look
The hearts of all are
like an open book:
"In every soul the secret thought I read,
"And
well I know who loves me best indeed.
"But every life has pages
vacant still,
"Whereon a man may write the thing he will;

"Therefore I read in silence, day by day,
"And wait for hearts
untaught to learn my way.
"But thou shalt go to Lupon, to the three

"Who serve me there, and take this word from me:
"Tell each of them
his Master bids him go
"Alone to Spiran's huts, across the snow;

"There he shall find a certain task for me:
"But what, I do not tell to
them nor thee.
"Give thou the message, make my word the test,

"And crown for me the one who answers best."
Silent the angel stood,
with folded hands,
To take the imprint of his Lord's commands;

Then drew one breath, obedient and elate,
And passed, the self-same
hour, through Lupon's gate.
First to the Temple door he made his way;
And there, because it was
an holy-day,
He saw the folk by thousands thronging, stirred
By
ardent thirst to hear the preacher's word.
Then, while the echoes
murmured Bernol's name,
Through aisles that hushed behind him,
Bernol came;

Strung to the keenest pitch of conscious might,
With
lips prepared and firm, and eyes alight.
One moment at the pulpit

steps he knelt
In silent prayer, and on his shoulder felt
The angel's
hand: --"The Master bids thee go
"Alone to Spiran's huts, across the
snow,
"To serve Him there." Then Bernol's hidden face
Went white
as death, and for about the space
Of ten slow heart-beats there was no
reply;
Till Bernol looked around and whispered, "WHY?"
But
answer to his question came there none;
The angel sighed, and with a
sigh was gone.
Within the humble house where Malvin spent
His studious years, on
holy things intent,
Sweet stillness reigned; and there the angel found

The saintly sage immersed in thought profound,
Weaving with
patient toil and willing care
A web of wisdom, wonderful and fair:

A seamless robe for Truth's great bridal meet,
And needing but one
thread to be complete.
Then Asmiel touched his hand, and broke the
thread
Of fine-spun thought, and very gently said,
"The One of
whom thou thinkest bids thee go
"Alone to Spiran's huts, across the
snow,
"To serve Him there." With sorrow and surprise
Malvin
looked up, reluctance in his eyes.
The broken thought, the strangeness
of the call,
The perilous passage of the mountain-wall,
The solitary
journey, and the length
Of ways unknown, too great for his frail
strength,
Appalled him. With a doubtful brow
He scanned the
doubtful task, and muttered "HOW?"
But Asmiel answered, as he
turned to go,
With cold, disheartened voice, "I do not know."
Now as he went, with fading hope,