The Project Gutenberg eBook of Embers, Complete
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Title: Embers, Complete
Author: Gilbert Parker
Release date: November 18, 2004 [eBook #6271]
Most recently updated: January 27, 2021
Language: English
Credits: Produced by David Widger
*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK EMBERS, COMPLETE ***
EMBERS
By Gilbert Parker
INTRODUCTION
I had not intended that Embers should ever be given to the public, but friends whose judgment I respect have urged me to include it in the subscription edition at least, and with real reluctance I have consented. It was a pleasure to me to have one piece of work of mine which made no bid for pence or praise; but if that is a kind of selfishness, perhaps unnecessary, since no one may wish to read the verses, I will now free myself from any chance of reproach. This much I will say to soothe away my own compunctions, that the book will only make the bid for popularity or consideration with near a score of others, and not separately, and that my responsibility is thus modified. The preface to Embers says all that need be said about a collection which is, on the whole, merely a book of youth and memory and impressionism in verse. At least it was all spontaneous; it was not made to order on any page of it, and it is the handful left from very many handfuls destroyed. Since the first edition (intended only for my personal friends) was published I have written “Rosleen,” “Where Shall We Betake Us?” “Granada,” “Mary Callaghan and Me,” “The Crowning” (on the Coronation of King Edward VII), the fragment “Kildare” and “I Heard the Desert Calling”; and I have also included others like “The Tall Dakoon” and “The Red Patrol,” written over twenty years ago. “Mary Callaghan and Me” has been set to music by Mr. Max Muller, and has made many friends, and “The Crowning” was the Coronation ode of ‘The People’, which gave a prize, too ample I think, for the best musical setting of the lines. Many of the other pieces in ‘Embers’ have been set to music by distinguished composers like Sir Edward Elgar, who has made a song-cycle of several, Sir Alexander Mackenzie, Mr. Arthur Foote, Mrs. Amy Woodforde Finden, Robert Somerville, and others. The first to have musical setting was “You’ll Travel Far and Wide,” to which in 1895 Mr. Arthur Foote gave fame as “An Irish Folk Song.” Like “O Flower of All the World,” by Mrs. Amy Woodforde Finden, it has had a world of admirers, and such singers as Mrs. Henschel helped to make Mr. Foote’s music loved by thousands, and conferred something more than an ephemeral acceptance of the author’s words.
When thou comest to the safe tent of the good comrade,
abide there till thy going forth with a stedfast mind; and
if, at the hospitable fire, thou hast learned the secret of a
heart, thou shalt keep it holy, as the North Wind the
trouble of the Stars.
abide there till thy going forth with a stedfast mind; and
if, at the hospitable fire, thou hast learned the secret of a
heart, thou shalt keep it holy, as the North Wind the
trouble of the Stars.
PROEM
And the Angel said:
“What hast thou for all thy travail—
what dost thou bring with thee out
of the dust of the world?”
And the man answered:
“Behold, I bring one perfect yesterday!”
And the Angel questioned:
“Hast thou then no to-morrow?
Hast thou no hope?”
And the man replied:
“Who am I that I should hope!
Out of all my life I have been granted one
sheaf of memory.”
And the Angel said:
“Is this all!”
And the man answered:
“Of all else was I robbed by the way:
but Memory was hidden safely
in my heart—the world found it not.”
“What hast thou for all thy travail—
what dost thou bring with thee out
of the dust of the world?”
And the man answered:
“Behold, I bring one perfect yesterday!”
And the Angel questioned:
“Hast thou then no to-morrow?
Hast thou no hope?”
And the man replied:
“Who am I that I should hope!
Out of all my life I have been granted one
sheaf of memory.”
And the Angel said:
“Is this all!”
And the man answered:
“Of all else was I robbed by the way:
but Memory was hidden safely
in my heart—the world found it not.”
ROSLEEN
“She’s the darlin’ of the parish, she’s the pride of
Inniskillen;
‘Twould make your heart lep up to see her trippin’
down the glen;
There’s not a lad of life and fame that wouldn’t take
her shillin’
And inlist inside her service-did ye hear her laughin’
then?
Did ye see her with her hand in mine the day that
Clancy married?
Ah, darlin’, how we footed it-the grass it was so
green!
And when the neighbours wandered home, I was the
guest that tarried,
An hour plucked from Paradise—come back to me,
Rosleen!
Across the seas, beyand the hills, by lovely Inniskillen,
The rigiment come marchin’—I hear the call once
more
Shure, a woman’s but a woman—so I took the Sergeant’s
shillin’,
For the pride o’ me was hurted—shall I never see
her more?
She turned her face away from me, and black as night
the land became;
Her eyes were jewels of the sky, the finest iver seen;
She left me for another lad, he was a lad of life and
fame,
And the heart of me was hurted—but there’s none
that’s like Rosleen!”
Inniskillen;
‘Twould make your heart lep up to see her trippin’
down the glen;
There’s not a lad of life and fame that wouldn’t take
her shillin’
And inlist inside her service-did ye hear her laughin’
then?
Did ye see her with her hand in mine the day that
Clancy married?
Ah, darlin’, how we footed it-the grass it was so
green!
And when the neighbours wandered home, I was the
guest that tarried,
An hour plucked from Paradise—come back to me,
Rosleen!
Across the seas, beyand the hills, by lovely Inniskillen,
The rigiment come marchin’—I hear the call once
more
Shure, a woman’s but a woman—so I took the Sergeant’s
shillin’,
For the pride o’ me was hurted—shall I never see
her more?
She turned her face away from me, and black as night
the land became;
Her eyes were jewels of the sky, the finest iver seen;
She left me for another lad, he was a lad of life and
fame,
And the heart of me was hurted—but there’s none
that’s like Rosleen!”
WILL YOU COME BACK HOME?
Will you come back home, where the young larks are
singin’?
The door is open wide, and the bells of Lynn are ringin’;
There’s a little lake I know,
And a boat you used to row
To the shore beyond that’s quiet—will you come back
home?
Will you come back, darlin’? Never heed the pain and
blightin’,
Never trouble that you’re wounded, that you bear the
scars of fightin’;
Here’s the luck o’ Heaven to you,
Here’s the hand of love will brew you
The cup of peace—ah, darlin’, will you come back
home?
singin’?
The door is open wide, and the bells of Lynn are ringin’;
There’s a little lake I know,
And a boat you used to row
To the shore beyond that’s quiet—will you come back
home?
Will you come back, darlin’? Never heed the pain and
blightin’,
Never trouble that you’re wounded, that you bear the
scars of fightin’;
Here’s the luck o’ Heaven to you,
Here’s the hand of love will brew you
The cup of peace—ah, darlin’, will you come back
home?
MARY CALLAGHAN AND ME
It was as fine a churchful as you ever clapt an eye on;
Oh, the bells was ringin’ gaily, and the sun was shinin’
free;
There was singers, there was clargy—“Bless ye both,”
says Father Tryon—
They was weddin’ Mary Callaghan and me.
There was gatherin’ of women, there was hush upon the
stairway,
There was whisperin’ and smilin’, but it was no place
for me;
A little ship was comin’ into harbour through the
fairway—
It belongs to Mary Callaghan and me.
Shure, the longest day has endin’, and the wildest storm
has fallin’—
There’s a young gossoon in yander, and he sits upon
my knee;
There’s a churchful for the christenin’—do you hear
the imp a-callin’?
He’s the pride of Mary Callaghan and me.
Oh, the bells was ringin’ gaily, and the sun was shinin’
free;
There was singers, there was clargy—“Bless ye both,”
says Father Tryon—
They was weddin’ Mary Callaghan and me.
There was gatherin’ of women, there was hush upon the
stairway,
There was whisperin’ and smilin’, but it was no place
for me;
A little ship was comin’ into harbour through the
fairway—
It belongs to Mary Callaghan and me.
Shure, the longest day has endin’, and the wildest storm
has fallin’—
There’s a young gossoon in yander, and he sits upon
my knee;
There’s a churchful for the christenin’—do you hear
the imp a-callin’?
He’s the pride of Mary Callaghan and me.
KILDARE
He’s the man that killed Black Care,
He’s the pride of all Kildare;
Shure the devil takes his hat off whin he comes:
‘Tis the clargy bow before him,
‘Tis the women they adore him,
And the Lord Lieutenant orders out the drums—
For his hangin’, all the drums,
All the drums!
He’s the pride of all Kildare;
Shure the devil takes his hat off whin he comes:
‘Tis the clargy bow before him,
‘Tis the women they adore him,
And the Lord Lieutenant orders out the drums—
For his hangin’, all the drums,
All the drums!
YOU’LL TRAVEL FAR AND WIDE
You’ll travel far and wide, dear, but you’ll come back
again,
You’ll come back to your father and your mother in
the glen,
Although we should be lyin’ ‘neath the heather grasses
then—
You’ll be comin’ back, my darlin’!
You’ll see the icebergs sailin’ along the wintry foam,
The white hair of the breakers, and the wild swans as
they roam;
But you’ll not forget the rowan beside your father’s
home
You’ll be comin’ back, my darlin’!
New friends will clasp your hand, dear, new faces on
you smile;
You’ll bide with them and love them, but you’ll long
for us the while;
For the word across the water, and the farewell by the
stile—
For the true heart’s here, my darlin’!
You’ll hear the wild birds singin’ beneath a brighter sky,
The roof-tree of your home, dear, it will be grand and
high;
But you’ll hunger for the hearthstone where, a child,
you used to lie—
You’ll be comin’ back, my darlin’!
And when your foot is weary, and when your heart is sore,
And you come back to the moor that spreads beyand
your father’s door,
There’ll be many an ancient comrade to greet you on
the shore—
At your comin’ back, my darlin’!
Ah, the hillock cannot cover, and the grass it cannot hide
The love that never changeth, whatever wind or tide;
And though you’ll not be seein’, we’ll be standin’ by
your side—
You’ll be comin’ back, my darlin’!
O, there’s no home like the old home, there’s no pillow
like the breast
You slumbered on in childhood, like a young bird in
the nest:
We are livin’ still and waitin’, and we’re hopin’ for the
best—
Ah, you’re comin’ back, my darlin’—comin’ back!
again,
You’ll come back to your father and your mother in
the glen,
Although we should be lyin’ ‘neath the heather grasses
then—
You’ll be comin’ back, my darlin’!
You’ll see the icebergs sailin’ along the wintry foam,
The white hair of the breakers, and the wild swans as
they roam;
But you’ll not forget the rowan beside your father’s
home
You’ll be comin’ back, my darlin’!
New friends will clasp your hand, dear, new faces on
you smile;
You’ll bide with them and love them, but you’ll long
for us the while;
For the word across the water, and the farewell by the
stile—
For the true heart’s here, my darlin’!
You’ll hear the wild birds singin’ beneath a brighter sky,
The roof-tree of your home, dear, it will be grand and
high;
But you’ll hunger for the hearthstone where, a child,
you used to lie—
You’ll be comin’ back, my darlin’!
And when your foot is weary, and when your heart is sore,
And you come back to the moor that spreads beyand
your father’s door,
There’ll be many an ancient comrade to greet you on
the shore—
At your comin’ back, my darlin’!
Ah, the hillock cannot cover, and the grass it cannot hide
The love that never changeth, whatever wind or tide;
And though you’ll not be seein’, we’ll be standin’ by
your side—
You’ll be comin’ back, my darlin’!
O, there’s no home like the old home, there’s no pillow
like the breast
You slumbered on in childhood, like a young bird in
the nest:
We are livin’ still and waitin’, and we’re hopin’ for the
best—
Ah, you’re comin’ back, my darlin’—comin’ back!
FARCALLADEN RISE
Oh, it’s down the long side of Farcalladen Rise,
With the knees pressing hard to the saddle, my men;
With the sparks from the hoofs giving light to the eyes,
And our hearts beating hard as we rode to the glen!
And it’s back with the ring of the chain and the spur,
And it’s back with the sun on the hill and the moor,
And it’s back is the thought sets my pulses astir,—
But I’ll never go back to Farcalladen more!
Oh, it’s down the long side of Farcalladen Rise,
And it’s swift as an arrow and straight as a spear,
And it’s keen as the frost when the summer-time dies,
That we rode to the glen, and with never a fear.
And it’s hey for the hedge, and it’s hey for the wall,
And it’s over the stream with an echoing cry;
And there’s three fled for ever from old Donegal,
And there’s two that have shown how bold Irishmen die!
For it’s rest when the gallop is over, my men,
And it’s here’s to the lads that have ridden their last;
And it’s here’s to the lasses we leave in the glen,
With a smile for the future, a sigh for the past!
With the knees pressing hard to the saddle, my men;
With the sparks from the hoofs giving light to the eyes,
And our hearts beating hard as we rode to the glen!
And it’s back with the ring of the chain and the spur,
And it’s back with the sun on the hill and the moor,
And it’s back is the thought sets my pulses astir,—
But I’ll never go back to Farcalladen more!
Oh, it’s down the long side of Farcalladen Rise,
And it’s swift as an arrow and straight as a spear,
And it’s keen as the frost when the summer-time dies,
That we rode to the glen, and with never a fear.
And it’s hey for the hedge, and it’s hey for the wall,
And it’s over the stream with an echoing cry;
And there’s three fled for ever from old Donegal,
And there’s two that have shown how bold Irishmen die!
For it’s rest when the gallop is over, my men,
And it’s here’s to the lads that have ridden their last;
And it’s here’s to the lasses we leave in the glen,
With a smile for the future, a sigh for the past!
GIVE ME THE LIGHT HEART
Give, me the light heart, Heaven above!
Give me the hand of a friend,
Give me one high fine spirit to love,
I’ll abide my fate to the end:
I will help where I can, I will cherish my own,
Nor walk the steep way of the world alone.
Give me the hand of a friend,
Give me one high fine spirit to love,
I’ll abide my fate to the end:
I will help where I can, I will cherish my own,
Nor walk the steep way of the world alone.
WHERE SHALL WE BETAKE US?
“Where shall we betake us when the day’s work is over?
(Ah, red is the rose-bush in the lane.)
Happy is the maid that knows the footstep of her lover—
(Sing the song, the Eden song, again.)
Who shall listen to us when black sorrow comes a-reaping?
(See the young lark falling from the sky.)
Happy is the man that has a true heart in his keeping—
True hearts flourish when the roses die.”
(Ah, red is the rose-bush in the lane.)
Happy is the maid that knows the footstep of her lover—
(Sing the song, the Eden song, again.)
Who shall listen to us when black sorrow comes a-reaping?
(See the young lark falling from the sky.)
Happy is the man that has a true heart in his keeping—
True hearts flourish when the roses die.”
NO MAN’S LAND
Oh, we have been a-maying, dear, beyond the city gates,
The little city set upon a hill;
And we have seen the jocund smile upon the lips of Fate,
And we have known the splendours of our will.
Oh, we have wandered far, my dear, and we have loved apace;
A little hut we built upon the sand,
The sun without to lighten it, within, your golden face,—
O happy dream, O happy No Man’s Land!
The pleasant furniture of spring was set in all the fields,
And gay and wholesome were the herbs and flowers;
Our simple cloth of love was spread with all that nature yields,
And frugal only were the passing hours.
Oh, we have been a-maying, dear, we’ve left the world behind,
We’ve sung and danced and gossiped as we strayed;
And when within our little but your fingers draw the blind,
We’ll loiter by the fire that love has made.
The little city set upon a hill;
And we have seen the jocund smile upon the lips of Fate,
And we have known the splendours of our will.
Oh, we have wandered far, my dear, and we have loved apace;
A little hut we built upon the sand,
The sun without to lighten it, within, your golden face,—
O happy dream, O happy No Man’s Land!
The pleasant furniture of spring was set in all the fields,
And gay and wholesome were the herbs and flowers;
Our simple cloth of love was spread with all that nature yields,
And frugal only were the passing hours.
Oh, we have been a-maying, dear, we’ve left the world behind,
We’ve sung and danced and gossiped as we strayed;
And when within our little but your fingers draw the blind,
We’ll loiter by the fire that love has made.
AT SEA
Through the round window above, the deep palpable blue,
The wan bright moon, and the sweet stinging breath of the sea;
And below, in the shadows, thine eyes like stars,
And Love brooding low, and the warm white glory of thee.
Oh, soft was the song in my soul, and soft beyond thought
were thy lips,
And thou wert mine own, and Eden reconquered was mine
And the way that I go is the way of thy feet, and the breath
that I breathe,
It hath being from thee and life from the life that is thine!
The wan bright moon, and the sweet stinging breath of the sea;
And below, in the shadows, thine eyes like stars,
And Love brooding low, and the warm white glory of thee.
Oh, soft was the song in my soul, and soft beyond thought
were thy lips,
And thou wert mine own, and Eden reconquered was mine
And the way that I go is the way of thy feet, and the breath
that I breathe,
It hath being from thee and life from the life that is thine!
ATHENIAN
Your voice I knew, its cadences and thrill;
It stilled the tumult and the overthrow
When Athens trembled to the people’s will;
I knew it—‘twas a thousand years ago.
I see the fountains, and the gardens where
You sang the fury from the Satrap’s brow;
I feel the quiver in the raptured air,
I heard it in the Athenian grove—I hear you now.
It stilled the tumult and the overthrow
When Athens trembled to the people’s will;
I knew it—‘twas a thousand years ago.
I see the fountains, and the gardens where
You sang the fury from the Satrap’s brow;
I feel the quiver in the raptured air,
I heard it in the Athenian grove—I hear you now.
EYES LIKE THE SEA
Eyes like the sea, look up, the beacons brighten,
Home comes the sailor, home across the tide!
Back drifts the cloud, behold the heavens whiten,
The port of Love is open, he anchors at thy side.
Home comes the sailor, home across the tide!
Back drifts the cloud, behold the heavens whiten,
The port of Love is open, he anchors at thy side.
UNDER THE CLIFF
The sands and the sea, and the white gulls fleeting,
The mist on the island, the cloud on the hill;
The song in my heart, and the old hope beating
Its life ‘gainst the bars of thy will.
The sands and the sea, and the white gulls fleeting,
The mist on the island, the cloud on the hill;
The song in my heart, and the old hope beating
Its life ‘gainst the bars of thy will.
OPEN THY GATE
Here in the highway without thy garden wall,
Here in the babel and the glare,
Sick for thy haven, O Sweet, to thee I call:
Open thy gate unto my prayer—
Open thy gate.
Cool is thy garden-plot, pleasant thy shade,
All things commend thee in thy place;
Dwelling on thy perfectness, O Sweet, I am afraid,
But, fearing, long to look upon thy face—
Open thy gate.
Over the ample globe, searching for thee,
Thee and thy garden have I come;
Ended my questing: no more, no more for me,
O Sweet, the pilgrim’s sandals, call me home—
Open thy gate.
Here in the babel and the glare,
Sick for thy haven, O Sweet, to thee I call:
Open thy gate unto my prayer—
Open thy gate.
Cool is thy garden-plot, pleasant thy shade,
All things commend thee in thy place;
Dwelling on thy perfectness, O Sweet, I am afraid,
But, fearing, long to look upon thy face—
Open thy gate.
Over the ample globe, searching for thee,
Thee and thy garden have I come;
Ended my questing: no more, no more for me,
O Sweet, the pilgrim’s sandals, call me home—
Open thy gate.
SUMMER IS COME
Summer is come; the corn is in the ear,
The haze is swimming where the beeches stand;
Summer is come, though winter months be here—
My love is summer passing through the land.
Summer is come; I hear the skylarks sing,
The honeysuckle flaunts it to the bees;
Summer is come, and ‘tis not yet the spring—
My love is summer blessing all she sees.
Summer is come; I see an open door,
A sweet hand beckons, and I know
That, winter or summer, I shall go forth no more—
My heart is homing where her summer-roses grow.
The haze is swimming where the beeches stand;
Summer is come, though winter months be here—
My love is summer passing through the land.
Summer is come; I hear the skylarks sing,
The honeysuckle flaunts it to the bees;
Summer is come, and ‘tis not yet the spring—
My love is summer blessing all she sees.
Summer is come; I see an open door,
A sweet hand beckons, and I know
That, winter or summer, I shall go forth no more—
My heart is homing where her summer-roses grow.
O FLOWER OF ALL THE WORLD
O flower of all the world, O flower of all,
The garden where thou dwellest is so fair,
Thou art so goodly, and so queenly tall,
Thy sweetness scatters sweetness everywhere,
O flower of all!
O flower of all the years, O flower of all,
A day beside thee is a day of days;
Thy voice is softer than the throstle’s call,
There is not song enough to sing thy praise,
O flower of all!
O flower of all the years, O flower of all,
I seek thee in thy garden, and I dare
To love thee; and though my deserts be small,
Thou art the only flower I would wear,
O flower of all!
O flower of all the world, O flower of all,
The garden where thou dwellest is so fair,
Thou art so goodly, and so queenly tall,
Thy sweetness scatters sweetness everywhere,
O flower of all!
O flower of all the years, O flower of all,
A day beside thee is a day of days;
Thy voice is softer than the throstle’s call,
There is not song enough to sing thy praise,
O flower of all!
O flower of all the years, O flower of all,
I seek thee in thy garden, and I dare
To love thee; and though my deserts be small,
Thou art the only flower I would wear,
O flower of all!
WAS IT SOME GOLDEN STAR?
Once in another land,
Ages ago,
You were a queen, and I,
I loved you so:
Where was it that we loved—
Ah, do you know?
Was it some golden star
Hot with romance?
Was it in Malabar,
Italy, France?
Did we know Charlemagne,
Dido, perchance?
But you were a queen, and I
Fought for you then:
How did you honour me—
More than all men!
Kissed me upon the lips;
Kiss me again.
Have you forgotten it,
All that we said?
I still remember though
Ages have fled.
Whisper the word of life,—
“Love is not dead.”
Ages ago,
You were a queen, and I,
I loved you so:
Where was it that we loved—
Ah, do you know?
Was it some golden star
Hot with romance?
Was it in Malabar,
Italy, France?
Did we know Charlemagne,
Dido, perchance?
But you were a queen, and I
Fought for you then:
How did you honour me—
More than all men!
Kissed me upon the lips;
Kiss me again.
Have you forgotten it,
All that we said?
I still remember though
Ages have fled.
Whisper the word of life,—
“Love is not dead.”
I HEARD THE DESERT CALLING
I heard the desert calling, and my heart stood still—
There was winter in my world and in my heart;
A breath came from the mesa, and a message stirred my will,
And my soul and I arose up to depart.
I heard the desert calling, and I knew that over there
In an olive-sheltered garden where the mesquite grows,
Was a woman of the sunrise with the star-shine in her hair
And a beauty that the almond-blossom blows.
In the night-time when the ghost-trees glimmered in the moon,
Where the mesa by the water-course was spanned,
Her loveliness enwrapped me like the blessedness of June,
And all my life was thrilling in her hand.
I hear the desert calling, and my heart stands still—
There is summer in my world, and in my heart;
A breath comes from the mesa, and a will beyond my will
Binds my footsteps as I rise up to depart.
There was winter in my world and in my heart;
A breath came from the mesa, and a message stirred my will,
And my soul and I arose up to depart.
I heard the desert calling, and I knew that over there
In an olive-sheltered garden where the mesquite grows,
Was a woman of the sunrise with the star-shine in her hair
And a beauty that the almond-blossom blows.
In the night-time when the ghost-trees glimmered in the moon,
Where the mesa by the water-course was spanned,
Her loveliness enwrapped me like the blessedness of June,
And all my life was thrilling in her hand.
I hear the desert calling, and my heart stands still—
There is summer in my world, and in my heart;
A breath comes from the mesa, and a will beyond my will
Binds my footsteps as I rise up to depart.
THE FORGOTTEN WORD
Once in the twilight of the Austrian hills,
A word came to me, wonderful and good;
If I had spoken it—that message of the stars—
Love would have filled thy blood;
Love would have sent thee pulsing to my arms,
Laughing with joy, thy heart a nestling bird
An instant passed—it fled; and now I seek in vain
For that forgotten word.
A word came to me, wonderful and good;
If I had spoken it—that message of the stars—
Love would have filled thy blood;
Love would have sent thee pulsing to my arms,
Laughing with joy, thy heart a nestling bird
An instant passed—it fled; and now I seek in vain
For that forgotten word.
WHAT WILL IT MATTER?
What will this matter, dear, when you and I
Have left our sad world for some fairer sky?
What will it matter, dear, when, far apart,
We miss the touch of hand and beat of heart;
When one’s at peace, while unto one is given
With lonely feet to walk the hills at even?
What will it matter that one fault more now
Brings clouds upon one eager mortal brow,
That one grace less is given to one poor soul,
When both drink from the last immortal bowl?
For fault and grace, dear love, when we go hence
Will find the same Eternal recompense.
Have left our sad world for some fairer sky?
What will it matter, dear, when, far apart,
We miss the touch of hand and beat of heart;
When one’s at peace, while unto one is given
With lonely feet to walk the hills at even?
What will it matter that one fault more now
Brings clouds upon one eager mortal brow,
That one grace less is given to one poor soul,
When both drink from the last immortal bowl?
For fault and grace, dear love, when we go hence
Will find the same Eternal recompense.
THE COURIER STAR
Into a New World wandered I,
A strong vast realm afar;
And down the white peaks of its sky,
Beckoned my courier star.
It hailed me to mine ancient North,—
The meadows of the Pole;
It whistled my gay hunters forth,
It bugled in my soul.
On plateaux of the constant snow
I heard the meteors whir;
I saw the red wolves nor’ward go
From my low huts of fir.
The dun moose ran the deep ravine,
The musk-ox ranged the plain;
The hunter’s song dripped in between
In notes of scarlet rain.
The land was mine: its lonely pride,
Its distant deep desires;
And I abode, as hunters bide,
With joy beside its fires.
Into a New World wandered I,
A world austere, sublime;
And unseen feet came sauntering by;
A voice with ardent chime
Rang down the idle lanes of sleep;
I waked: the night was still;
I saw my star its sentry keep
Along a southern hill.
O flaming star! my courier star!
My herald, fine and tall!
You gestured from your opal car,
I answered to that call.
I rose; the flumes of snow I trod,
I trailed to southward then;
I left behind the camps of God,
And sought the tents of men.
And where a princely face looked through
The curtains of the play
Of life, O star, you paused; I knew
The comrade of my day.
And good the trails that I have trod,
My courier star before;
And good the nor’land camps of God:
And though I lodge no more
Where stalwart deeds and dreams rejoice,
And gallant hunters roam,
Where I can hear your voice, your voice,
I drive the tent-peg home.
A strong vast realm afar;
And down the white peaks of its sky,
Beckoned my courier star.
It hailed me to mine ancient North,—
The meadows of the Pole;
It whistled my gay hunters forth,
It bugled in my soul.
On plateaux of the constant snow
I heard the meteors whir;
I saw the red wolves nor’ward go
From my low huts of fir.
The dun moose ran the deep ravine,
The musk-ox ranged the plain;
The hunter’s song dripped in between
In notes of scarlet rain.
The land was mine: its lonely pride,
Its distant deep desires;
And I abode, as hunters bide,
With joy beside its fires.
Into a New World wandered I,
A world austere, sublime;
And unseen feet came sauntering by;
A voice with ardent chime
Rang down the idle lanes of sleep;
I waked: the night was still;
I saw my star its sentry keep
Along a southern hill.
O flaming star! my courier star!
My herald, fine and tall!
You gestured from your opal car,
I answered to that call.
I rose; the flumes of snow I trod,
I trailed to southward then;
I left behind the camps of God,
And sought the tents of men.
And where a princely face looked through
The curtains of the play
Of life, O star, you paused; I knew
The comrade of my day.
And good the trails that I have trod,
My courier star before;
And good the nor’land camps of God:
And though I lodge no more
Where stalwart deeds and dreams rejoice,
And gallant hunters roam,
Where I can hear your voice, your voice,
I drive the tent-peg home.