And crying to my door.
Why will they affright me with their threening
Forevermore!
O have they no grave in the salt sea-places
To lay them in?
Do they know, do they know—with their cold dead faces!—
Know ... my sin?
Away with His own blood.
I've beaten my breast with blows that stripe it,
And burned His Rood
With kisses that shrivel my lips—that shrivel
To sin on the air.
But the night and the storm cry on me evil.
Does He not care?
Have said it was his—the child—
And hers—for she knew I'd never forgive her ...
I grew so wild
There was just one thing to be done—to kill her:
Just one—no more.
I took the keen steel ... one stroke would still her ...
I counted four.
But when she lay so fair
I kissed her ... because I knew I should fear her,
And smoothed her hair;
And shut her two eyes that fixed me fearless
Of death and pain.
And the blood on my hand I wiped off tearless—
And that on my brain.
Her grave with spines. I pray
That each in its fall will prick her and shove her
To colder clay.
But ... yonder! ... she's up! and moans in the heather
A whimpering thing!
I'll bury her deeper in Autumn weather ...
Or Winter ... or Spring.
NIGHT-RIDERS[1]
[1] This clan of tobacco outlaws in Kentucky during 1907-1908 cast such disgrace on her good name as years will not suffice to erase.
Men, three hundred strong!
Armed and silent, masked from the light,
Speeding swartly along.
What is their errand? manly fight?
Clench with a manly foe?
I would rather be dead of wrong
Than ride among them so.
Hear the warning shot!
Keep to your beds, free men—down, down!
Dare you to move?—dare not!
These are your masters—these who crown
Black Anarchy their king—
I would rather my hand should rot
Than have it do this thing.
Brave men, O, brave all!
There lies a sick boy, fever-weak;
Who comes forth at call?
A woman? "Go in, you bitch!" they reek.
"Give us the old man out!"
Rather my bitten tongue should fall
To palsy than so shout.
Bound—with nine beside.
One, a Judge of the Law's grave brow,
Sworn by it to bide.
"Lash him!"—a hundred lashes plow
A free-born back with pain!
God, shall we let such cowards ride
And burn and beat and stain?
That thus, across our land,
Crime can arise and write her name
Broad, with a bloody hand!
O the shame, and the bitter shame
Upon our chivalry.
I would rather have led the band
That diced on Calvary.
Avenging, wrongly, wrong.
But when the children at your side
Grow lawless up and strong;
When at their drunken hands you've died
As beasts beside your door,
You will repent, God knows it—long,
These nights to Hell made o'er.
HONOR
(To the Night-Riders Who Murdered Hedges)
Who leave their homes
And children safe asleep,
To take the cover of night and fright
Women that wake and weep!
Honor, again,
To those who mount
For blood—hounds in a pack!
But let us honor the most of all—
Men that shoot in the back!
To fare a-field
And frighten helpless things,
And how good with a torch to scorch
A poor man's harvestings.
But, if you would
Do something high
And blameless, brave not black,
Ride till you find a peaceful man—
Then shoot—shoot in the back!
In Palestine
Who gave a certain kiss.
More, fine friends, do you give who live
In a land not far from this!
For what he had done
He hanged himself—
Shame made a sick heart crack.
But you will muster and ride again—
And shoot—shoot in the back!
But wait, the Day
Will come—shall it not come?
The Sovereign Law that you flaunt and daunt,
Will she lie always dumb?
Her prisons gray
They are slow, but wide;
When they open, you will lack
Many a thing—but most the fair,
Brave chance to shoot in the back!
Should write such words
Of any soul alive!
That any shameless ear should hear—
And still in stealth connive
To burn and to ban,
From home and help,
The weak who fear the rack!
That he could wait till Justice turns,
Then shoot—shoot in the back!
BRUDE[2]
(A Dramatic Fantasy)
[2] This sketch, written in 1898, was in no sense conceived for the stage.
Dealing with:
Boadicea, queen of the Britons.
Lamora, a Gaulish captive.
Brude, a Druid.
Cormo, a warrior.
Corlun, Druid high-priest,
and
Horma, a wandering hag.
Scene: A Hall of hewn wood, on the island of Mona, in which Boadicea sits enthroned and attended. On her right, warriors, long-haired, mustached and painted with woad. On the left, a band of Druids robed in white: among them Brude, whom she watches jealously from time to time. On the floor in front of her cringes Lamora, held by Cormo.
Boadicea. Britons, hear!
Ye know how my lord,
Caerleon's liege,
Swore feal to the Romans
His lorn wife and daughters—
When the wolf, Death,
Gnawed life from his heart.
Ye know how the Roman,
Ravenous traitor,
Slaves us with thongs
Of brutal behest.
Will ye still daunt
Your necks to the noose?
All. No! no! Queen! no, no, no!
Boadicea. Then, warriors of iron,
Sworded with terror,
Fly to your henges!
Fight till ye crowd
Hell with the ghosts
Of ethlings that Britons hate.
Warriors. To the slaughter! Hro! to the slaughter!
[They rush from the hall in haste.
Boadicea (continuing). And ye, Druid seers,
Heard by the gods,
Feared by the fiends,
Ye must away!
To your dark fane,
The gaunt oak-forest
Holy with mistle!
White-robed as spirits,
Gold knives uplifting,
Sing to the serpents,
Seek the Charmed Egg!
Druids (bowing with weird signs). Great is the Queen.
Her Druids hear.
But shall no gift be made?
Boadicea. Yea ... since Lactantius,
God more than all gods,
Will not be soothed
By sheep or cattle,
On your high altar
Slay ye this maiden of Gaul!
[Points to Lamora, who cries out to her, then to Brude:
Lamora. Nay, Queen, O pity!
O, Brude, win pity!
Let her not yield me
Prey to the gods.
Rather in battle
'Gainst the hard Roman
Would I be trampled
Into the grave.
Trampled by war-hoofs ...
Into a grave of blood!
Boadicea. Proud-lip! mocker!
Dare you sputter
Shame on the awful gods?
[Strikes her down.... Brude watches helpless.
Corlun (coming forward). Kneel, Druids, kneel!
Then bear her away!
Meet me at midnight,
Druids' day,
Deep within Mona's wood.
[They kneel, then go, bearing Lamora.
Scene II: Sunset. A rocky cave near the forest. Brude facing back and forth with restless muttering.
Brude. O thou Lactantius,
Whom other gods
Worship with trembling,
While their star-chariots
Roll to the sea!
Symbolled by circles,
Endless in being,
Dost thou love life-blood
As Druids say?
When the white maiden's
Pierced on the altar
Dost thou drink praises
From her wide wound?
So teach the seers,
So did I, Brude, swear—
Till I saw Lamora!
Her eyes are love-fires,
Her words are sorcery
Stronger than god-laws!
But ... who comes hither?
[Has heard a moan.
Hither harasser
Of these my thoughts?
Ha! is it Lamora
Followed by Cormo?
Curses like vampires
Fall on his head!
[Steps aside.
Lamora (entering in despair). Mother! sweet mother,
Far in the Eastland,
Soon must thy daughter
Pass from earth's day!
Ne'er shall a boy-babe
Suck from her bosom
Valor to strangle
Wolves in the lair!
Never shall husband
From the red war-fields
Bring her the foeman's spoils!
Cormo (behind her). Lamora, proud one—
Lamora. Leave me, viper!
Stand from me farther!
Will you e'en now
With tongue spit poison
On my last ebbing hour?
Cormo. Nay, maiden, cruel,
But I will aid thee.
Words are as smoke,
Deeds as flame!
Hear! I will save thee
From Druid talons
And bear thee whither thou wilt:
Give but thy vow to wed me!
Lamora. Wed thee?—thee?...
Never—while cliffs
O'er the plain jutting
Plight void death to the leaper!
Never while waves
Curl gray lips
Yearning to gulf the doomed!
Cormo. Then thou shalt die! shalt die!
Druids shall gash
Streamings of life
Out of thy shrinking sides!
Lamora. Then die I will!...
But not thro fear.
Coward of Britons,
Will I e'er mother
Child of thy loins.
Rather let flames,
Tongues of the gods,
Suck the red life from my breast.
Yea, let the gods,
Glutless as men,
And, as women,
Treacherous, vain—
Strike, at the call of thy Queen!
[Goes, followed by Cormo.
Brude (coming forward). No! thou shalt live, live, live!
[Goes into cave, then comes forth with a knife.
Scene III: Midnight. A stormy glade in the forest. On one side a cromlech whereon Lamora lies bound: Corlun beside her with an uplifted blade of gold. On the other side Druids—around a pot of serpents over a fire in the cavern of an uprooted tree.
[Brude is among them, watchful.
Corlun (chanting). Orpo!—Ai!—
Now shall the Roman
Backward be driven,
O gods!
Orpo!—Ai!—
For to the death stroke
Lamora's given,
O gods!
Orpo! Ai!—
Her skyward soul
Thro the dank dark shall rise,
As the morn's sun
Unto your halls
Far o'er the skies.
And she shall say
Thus Druids crave
Help of the helpers of men.
Druids (incanting around the cavern). Orpo!—Ai!—
Serpents are spawned
Of devils' spit,
O gods!
Orpo!—Ai!—
Spit boiled with blood
In caverns lit
By fungous fangs
From Mona's wood.
[They circle. Brude steals behind Corlun.
Orpo!—Ai!—
Serpents are spawned
In magic broth
To coil and wriggle,
Writhe and twist;
Till their froth
Becomes a mist,
Till the mist
An egg shall form—
Charm that Druids prize.
Brude (with a sudden cry). Corlun, the gods
Wait for thy soul!
[Slays him.
Lamora, fly!
With me, fly—
Thro the black forest!
[Has cut her bonds.
Great Lactantius,
Maker of gods,
Loves not the maiden's death-cry!
[They escape.
Druids (in terror). Corlun is slain!
Corlun! slain!
Woe to the Druids!
Woe from the heavens!
Woe from the ireful Queen!
[They pursue confusedly.
Scene IV: Dawn; far in the forest. Enter Brude and Lamora faintingly to a spot where Horma, the hag, unseen by them is gathering herbs.
Lamora. Strength no more
Wings me for flight.
With hunger of sleep I faint.
[Falls.
Brude (sinking by her). Yet ere thy sleep,
Maid like the dawn,
List to my heart's wild uttering!
All I have dared
Was for thy love—
Tho but to love thee
Would I dare all!
Lamora. Ah! What is love,
Brude wise and noble?
Is it this burning
Far in my breast
Melting my soul to thine?
Is it this power
Hid in my eyes
Shaping thy face
On hill and cloud?
Is it this whisper,
As of sea-waves,
Singing thy name to me?
Yea! So now we may sleep.
[They lie down. Horma, the hag, who has heard them, creeps maundering up and gazes at them.
Horma. Owl and eaglet?
Have they fled?
Then let witch-toads sing!
Oaths forgotten,
Would they wed?
Then let bull-bats,
Wild a-wing,
Flap the moon from heaven!
Deep in the forest—
Ha! ho! ho!
[Breaks off, hearing shouts. Continues.
They'll be slain!
[Fleeing.
They'll be slain!
Brude (waking). What was my dream?...
[Hears the shouts.
Lamora! Lamora!
[They start up and look at each other. Silence.
Lamora (at length). So was it doomed.
Now we must cross
Thro the death-fog
Unto the blest.
But side by side,
And ere they come.
[Hands him her knife.
Here we shall die.
But in the Meadows
Where the thin shades
Wander and wander,
Ever in love we'll live!
Fold first thy arms around me.
[They embrace.
Brude (starting from her). Hear! they have come—
Cormo! The Queen!...
Lamora. Then strike! for thy face
Alone would I see in death!
Brude (killing her then himself). Cormo!... Queen!... Death!
Ye shall never ... tear us apart!
[Falls with her in his arms, as Boadicea and warriors enter.
Boadicea (seeing them). Dead!... Leave them, food
For beast and bird!
Leave them! away! away!
[All go with pride and spurning.