The Three Taverns | Page 9

himself in sight,

Unsighted, he sails on.
At last there is a lifting of the cloud
Between the flood before him
and the sky;
And then -- though he may curse the Power aloud
That
has no power to die --
He steers himself away from what is haunted
By the old ghost of
what has been before, --
Abandoning, as always, and undaunted,

One fog-walled island more.
Tact
Observant of the way she told
So much of what was true,
No vanity

could long withhold
Regard that was her due:
She spared him the
familiar guile,
So easily achieved,
That only made a man to smile

And left him undeceived.
Aware that all imagining
Of more than what she meant
Would urge
an end of everything,
He stayed; and when he went,
They parted
with a merry word
That was to him as light
As any that was ever
heard
Upon a starry night.
She smiled a little, knowing well
That he would not remark
The
ruins of a day that fell
Around her in the dark:
He saw no ruins
anywhere,
Nor fancied there were scars
On anyone who lingered
there,
Alone below the stars.
On the Way
(Philadelphia, 1794)
Note. -- The following imaginary dialogue between Alexander
Hamilton and Aaron Burr, which is not based upon any specific
incident in American history, may be supposed to have occurred a few
months previous to Hamilton's retirement from Washington's Cabinet
in 1795 and a few years before the political ingenuities of Burr -- who
has been characterized, without much exaggeration,
as the inventor of
American politics -- began to be conspicuously formidable to the
Federalists. These activities on the part of Burr resulted, as the reader
will remember, in the Burr-Jefferson tie for the Presidency in 1800, and
finally in the Burr-Hamilton duel at Weehawken in 1804.
BURR
Hamilton, if he rides you down, remember
That I was here to speak,
and so to save
Your fabric from catastrophe. That's good;
For I
perceive that you observe him also.
A President, a-riding of his horse,

May dust a General and be forgiven;
But why be dusted -- when
we're all alike,
All equal, and all happy. Here he comes --
And there

he goes. And we, by your new patent,
Would seem to be two kings
here by the wayside,
With our two hats off to his Excellency.
Why
not his Majesty, and done with it?
Forgive me if I shook your
meditation,
But you that weld our credit should have eyes
To see
what's coming. Bury me first if -I- do.
HAMILTON
There's always in some pocket of your brain
A care for me;
wherefore my gratitude
For your attention is commensurate
With
your concern. Yes, Burr, we are two kings;
We are as royal as two
ditch-diggers;
But owe me not your sceptre. These are the days

When first a few seem all; but if we live,
We may again be seen to be
the few
That we have always been. These are the days
When men
forget the stars, and are forgotten.
BURR
But why forget them? They're the same that winked
Upon the world
when Alcibiades
Cut off his dog's tail to induce distinction.
There
are dogs yet, and Alcibiades
Is not forgotten.
HAMILTON
Yes, there are dogs enough,
God knows; and I can hear them in my
dreams.
BURR
Never a doubt. But what you hear the most
Is your new music,
something out of tune
With your intention. How in the name of Cain,

I seem to hear you ask, are men to dance,
When all men are
musicians. Tell me that,
I hear you saying, and I'll tell you the name

Of Samson's mother. But why shroud yourself
Before the coffin
comes? For all you know,
The tree that is to fall for your last house


Is now a sapling. You may have to wait
So long as to be sorry;
though I doubt it,
For you are not at home in your new Eden
Where
chilly whispers of a likely frost
Accumulate already in the air.
I
think a touch of ermine, Hamilton,
Would be for you in your
autumnal mood
A pleasant sort of warmth along the shoulders.
HAMILTON
If so it is you think, you may as well
Give over thinking. We are done
with ermine.
What I fear most is not the multitude,
But those who
are to loop it with a string
That has one end in France and one end
here.
I'm not so fortified with observation
That I could swear that
more than half a score
Among us who see lightning see that ruin
Is
not the work of thunder. Since the world
Was ordered, there was
never a long pause
For caution between doing and undoing.
BURR
Go on, sir; my attention is a trap
Set for the catching of all
compliments
To Monticello, and all else abroad
That has a name or
an identity.
HAMILTON
I leave to you the names -- there are too many;
Yet one there is to sift
and hold apart,
As now I see. There comes at last a glimmer
That is
not always clouded, or too late.
But I was near and young, and had
the reins
To play with while he manned a team so raw
That only
God knows