Satires of Circumstance, Lyrics and Reveries, with Miscellaneous Pieces | Page 9

glorious range.
IV
And this phantasmal variousness
Ever possessed it as they drew
along:
Yet throughout all it symboled none the less
Potency vast
and loving-kindness strong.
V
Almost before I knew I bent
Towards the moving columns without a
word;
They, growing in bulk and numbers as they went,
Struck out
sick thoughts that could be overheard:-

VI
"O man-projected Figure, of late
Imaged as we, thy knell who shall
survive?
Whence came it we were tempted to create
One whom we
can no longer keep alive?
VII
"Framing him jealous, fierce, at first,
We gave him justice as the ages
rolled,
Will to bless those by circumstance accurst,
And
longsuffering, and mercies manifold.
VIII
"And, tricked by our own early dream
And need of solace, we grew
self-deceived,
Our making soon our maker did we deem,
And what
we had imagined we believed.
IX
"Till, in Time's stayless stealthy swing,
Uncompromising rude reality

Mangled the Monarch of our fashioning,
Who quavered, sank; and
now has ceased to be.
X
"So, toward our myth's oblivion,
Darkling, and languid-lipped, we
creep and grope
Sadlier than those who wept in Babylon,
Whose
Zion was a still abiding hope.
XI
"How sweet it was in years far hied
To start the wheels of day with
trustful prayer,
To lie down liegely at the eventide
And feel a blest
assurance he was there!
XII

"And who or what shall fill his place?
Whither will wanderers turn
distracted eyes
For some fixed star to stimulate their pace
Towards
the goal of their enterprise?" . . .
XIII
Some in the background then I saw,
Sweet women, youths, men, all
incredulous,
Who chimed as one: "This figure is of straw,
This
requiem mockery! Still he lives to us!"
XIV
I could not prop their faith: and yet
Many I had known: with all I
sympathized;
And though struck speechless, I did not forget
That
what was mourned for, I, too, once had prized.
XV
Still, how to bear such loss I deemed
The insistent question for each
animate mind,
And gazing, to my growing sight there seemed
A
pale yet positive gleam low down behind,
XVI
Whereof to lift the general night,
A certain few who stood aloof had
said,
"See you upon the horizon that small light -
Swelling
somewhat?" Each mourner shook his head.
XVII
And they composed a crowd of whom
Some were right good, and
many nigh the best . . .
Thus dazed and puzzled 'twixt the gleam and
gloom
Mechanically I followed with the rest.
1908-10.
SPECTRES THAT GRIEVE

"It is not death that harrows us," they lipped,
"The soundless cell is in
itself relief,
For life is an unfenced flower, benumbed and nipped
At
unawares, and at its best but brief."
The speakers, sundry phantoms of the gone,
Had risen like filmy
flames of phosphor dye,
As if the palest of sheet lightnings shone

From the sward near me, as from a nether sky.
And much surprised was I that, spent and dead,
They should not, like
the many, be at rest,
But stray as apparitions; hence I said,
"Why,
having slipped life, hark you back distressed?
"We are among the few death sets not free,
The hurt, misrepresented
names, who come
At each year's brink, and cry to History
To do
them justice, or go past them dumb.
"We are stript of rights; our shames lie unredressed,
Our deeds in full
anatomy are not shown,
Our words in morsels merely are expressed

On the scriptured page, our motives blurred, unknown."
Then all these shaken slighted visitants sped
Into the vague, and left
me musing there
On fames that well might instance what they had
said,
Until the New-Year's dawn strode up the air.
"AH, ARE YOU DIGGING ON MY GRAVE?"
"Ah, are you digging on my grave
My loved one?--planting rue?"
- "No: yesterday he went to wed

One of the brightest wealth has bred.
'It cannot hurt her now,' he said,
'That I should not be true.'"
"Then who is digging on my grave?
My nearest dearest kin?"
- "Ah, no; they sit and think, 'What use!


What good will planting flowers produce?
No tendance of her mound
can loose
Her spirit from Death's gin.'"
"But some one digs upon my grave?
My enemy?--prodding sly?"
- "Nay: when she heard you had passed
the Gate
That shuts on all flesh soon or late,
She thought you no
more worth her hate,
And cares not where you lie."
"Then, who is digging on my grave?
Say--since I have not guessed!"
- "O it is I, my mistress dear,
Your
little dog, who still lives near,
And much I hope my movements here
Have not disturbed your rest?"
"Ah, yes! YOU dig upon my grave . . .
Why flashed it not on me
That one true heart was left behind!
What
feeling do we ever find
To equal among human kind
A dog's fidelity!"
"Mistress, I dug upon your grave
To bury a bone, in case
I should be hungry near this spot
When
passing on my daily trot.
I am sorry, but I quite forgot
It was your resting-place."
SATIRES OF CIRCUMSTANCES
IN FIFTEEN GLIMPSES
I--AT TEA

The kettle descants in a cozy drone,
And the young wife looks in