The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Snowflake, and Other Poems

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Title: The Snowflake, and Other Poems

Author: Arthur Weir

Release date: November 28, 2016 [eBook #53623]
Most recently updated: October 23, 2024

Language: English

Credits: Produced by Larry B. Harrison, Chuck Greif and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE SNOWFLAKE, AND OTHER POEMS ***

 

 

BY THE SAME AUTHOR

————
FLEURS DE LYS, and OTHER POEMS
1887, E. M. Renouf, Montreal
————
THE ROMANCE OF SIR RICHARD, SONNETS, and OTHER POEMS
1890, W. Drysdale & Co., Montreal

THE SNOWFLAKE

AND

O T H E R   P O E M S

BY

ARTHUR WEIR



MONTREAL:
JOHN LOVELL & SON
1897

Copyrighted, 1896, by Arthur Weir, Montreal.

CONTENTS.

 PAGE
THE SNOWFLAKE1
THE MASQUE OF THE YEAR11
THE MUSE AND THE PEN21
THE BEAVER MEADOW27
VOYAGEUR SONG31
DEDICATORY ODE34
ENTERING PORT36
WILD FLOWERS38
DEDICATORY BALLAD41
TIMOR MORTIS CONTURBAT ME44
ON NEW YEAR’S EVE46
IN THE CLOSING HOURS50
WHERE HEAVEN IS51
NEW YEAR’S EVE53
PEGASUS55
IT WOULD BE EASY TO BE GOOD57
THE LITTLE TROOPER59
CUPID’S DISGUISES61
MUSIC63
BABY’S STOCKING65
MY DIVINITY66
THE SLEEPING SOUL69
THE MOTHER71
PLUCK FLOWERS IN YOUTH73
O FOOLISH HEART74
MY HEART’S A MERRY ROVER75
THE CIGARETTE SMOKER77
TAKE ME AS YOU FIND ME78
AT THE TRYST79
SONNETS IN CALIFORNIA80
THE POOL OF SANT’ OLINE83
WINTER IN THE SOUTH85
THE KINDERGARTEN87
THE POET89
GOLD TRESSES91
EN ROUTE93
AT DAWN95
MY STAR97
TO A PICTURE99
THE POET AND HIS RHYMES101
TO AN INFANT103
TO SCOTLAND105
ROSINA VOKES106
A LITTLE MAID107
SAMSON AND DELILAH109
MY LADY’S BONNET110
FLOWERS AND FEARS111
THE ROSEBUD112
NIL DESPERANDUM113
FLESH AND SPIRIT114
IN CHURCH115
SUCCOR THE CHILDREN116
THE SUNSET LESSON117
AS FROM THE NECTAR-LADEN LILY    118
MUMMY THOUGHTS119
TO CERTAIN NATURE POETS120
THE PATRIARCH’S DEATH121
OH, WERE IT NOT122
FAREWELL123
THE TIDE124
MY COMRADE125
MY GIFT127
HAMLIN’S MILL128
A BALLADE OF JOY130
REMEMBRANCE132
THE GLOVE133
THE MAGIC BOW135
AT THE SEASIDE137
THE ORPHANS138
ALADDIN’S LAMP139
SONG142
QUATRAINS143

TO

HUGH GRAHAM, Esq.,

TO WHOSE

ENCOURAGEMENT, TASTE AND ENTERPRISE

THE AUTHOR

IS LARGELY INDEBTED

FOR

WHATEVER OF PUBLIC FAVOR HE ENJOYS,

THIS VOLUME

IS

Gratefully Dedicated.

ERRATA (corrected in this etext)
Page 23, Second verse, first line, for “And” read “As.”
Page 24, Second verse, last line, for “Thinkest” read “think’st.”
Page 27, Third verse, third line, last word, read “athirst.”
Page 86, Second verse, second line, for “a many” read “many a.”
Page 44, for Conterbat, read “Conturbat” throughout.

T H E   S N O W F L A K E

AND OTHER POEMS.

THE SNOWFLAKE.

Fierce Neptune’s daughter, beneath the water,
 In grottoes cool dwelt I,
 And, laughing, hid in the seashell’s lid,
 As fishes arrowed by.
 My feet were free to the undersea;
 I played amidst its gloom,
 And in the deep where the mermaids weep
 Above the hero’s tomb,
 Where the sea snake strips dainty maiden lips
 Of kisses once so warm,
 And the lifeless child, by the eddies wild,
 Is torn from the mother’s arm.
 The foam-browed billow my head would pillow
 Upon its bosom fair,
 While the restless sweep of the moon-led deep
 Would drift us here and there.
 I oft would float in the dainty boat
 The Nautilus oared for me,
 Out, far, far out, where a noisy rout
 Of breakers leapt in glee;
 Or further urge to the world’s dim verge,
 Where heaven meets the wave,
 And the seagull’s wing was the only thing
 To follow us was brave.
Then called by the blast, as it glided past,
 I would turn and clap my hands,
 As the waves were tossed on the tropic coast,
 And furrowed the silver sands.
Where, with weedy locks, the bare limbed rocks
 Bend over the foaming sea,
 I oft resorted, and, as I sported,
 The sunbeams played with me.
 We would dance all day in the prismed spray,
 Or in the blossoms hide,
 That, trembling, clung to the crags and hung
 Above the boiling tide.
 Oftimes the cool, green depths of a pool
 Would lure me down to rest,
 Till the sunbeams came in a path of flame
 And found me in my nest.
 With colors gaily they decked me daily,
 And tempted me to fly
 Afar from the foam of my ocean home
 Aloft in the cloudless sky.
 But I said them nay, for the leaping spray,
 And cool, green depths of sea,
 Than the flight of birds and the sunbeams’ words
 Were dearer far to me.
 “I had seen,” I said, “to the sky o’erhead
 My sisters, laughing, soar
 For a merry flight through the azure bright,
 And never saw them more.
 I love my home in the ocean foam,
 I love the moonlit sands,
 And I would sigh in the depths of sky
 And die in distant lands.”
But who can prove to the plea of love,
 Unyielding and unkind?
 At love’s low call we hasten all,
 Like leaves at the voice of wind.
 And ere the moon at the night’s high noon
 Had twelve times orbed grown,
 My heart was stirred at a whispered word,
 My soul was not mine own.
 My lover was fair as the balmy air
 That follows after storm,
 When the careless sea, with a song of glee,
 Trips over the shallows warm.
 He was the first through the gloom that burst
 To bring the dawn to me,
 And he was the last from my sight that passed
 When darkness walked the sea.
 One shimmering day, as asleep I lay
 Upon the tide-worn sand,
 He stole apart, with an eager heart,
 From all the sunny band.
 He came to me, as I lay thought free,
 And bent my couch above,
 And while I slumbered, with words unnumbered,
 He pleaded for my love;
 Then as I woke at the words he spoke,
 And rising turned to flee,
 I was closely pressed to his ardent breast,
 And kisses were rained on me.
“My heart’s own dearest,” he cried, “why fearest
 Thou to take flight with me?
 Is there aught more fair than the realms of air
 In yonder sullen sea?
 Is the sea-gull’s scream or the under gleam
 Of billows rushing by
 More sweet to thee than the melody
 Of larks in the azure sky?
 Oh, be thou my bride, and side by side
 We’ll float upon the breeze
 O’er river and town, o’er forest and down,
 Wherever we twain shall please.
 We’ll swim in the wine of the luscious vine
 Which brims the crystal high,
 And when of her lover the fond words move her,
 We’ll dance in the maiden’s eye.
 We’ll scale vast mountains and o’er gay fountains
 Hover in noon’s warm glare,
 And when night lowers, shall sleep in flowers
 That sway in the dewy air.
 And shouldst thou tire, nor more desire
 The airy plains to roam,
 But pine again for the leaping main
 And the drench of flying foam,
 We need but glide on the leaf-sown tide
 Of some swift coursing stream
 To our home at last, and the happy past
 Shall be but a varied dream.”
I could but yield as he thus appealed,
 And clasping hand in hand,
 With a parting glance at the sea’s expanse,
 Dun rocks and silver strand,
 We mounted high in the glowing sky,
 And, leaving home behind,
 Fared swiftly forth to the distant north
 Upon the balmy wind.
 O’er tangled brakes where the twilight makes
 For evermore its home,
 And the tiger sleeps and the cobra creeps,
 And prowling jackals roam,
 We floated fast, till the hills, at last,
 To bar our path appeared,
 And many a peak its forehead bleak
 And tawny flanks upreared.
 O’er many a cleft in the rocks bereft
 Of life and the sunlight’s sheen,
 Wild torrents were hurled to the under world,
 And wheeled the eagles keen.
 In faltering lines, the famished pines
 Pressed up the mountain sides,
 And sang to the blast, as it hurried past,
 The song of the ocean tides,
 Till I yearned once more for the tropic shore
 Beside the emerald waves,
 And my sisters gay and the dashing spray
 And ocean’s weedy caves.
On, on we went, till the distance lent
 The hills an azure hue,
 And the earth beneath was a naked heath
 Where winds in anger blew.
 We saw the smoke like a wave that broke
 Above the homes of men,
 And in the bowers of the meadow flowers
 Took rest for flight again.
 A myriad sights were a thousand delights
 As on through space we sped,
 But the happy day soon faded away
 And the sun in the west lay dead.
 Then the shadows of death with their icy breath
 Drew ever more surely nigh,
 And in frightened crowds the murky clouds
 Swept under the ebon sky.
 Afar in the north a fire flamed forth
 And flickered with ghastly light,
 Like a lamp that burns when a soul returns
 To God in the dead of night.
 Gloom blotted the hills and the tinkling rills
 Were bound in frosty chains,
 And the flowers once gay all lifeless lay
 Upon the dreary plains.
 There was no sound in the air around,
 No voice upon earth below,
 Save the angry beat of the wild winds’ feet,
 That wandered to and fro.
In a frenzy of fear, with many a tear,
 I clung to my darling’s breast,
 For the wintry night with its baleful light
 My timorous soul distressed.
 “Beloved,” he cried, “sweet sea-nurtured bride,
 My love brings sorrow to thee,
 For I feel at my heart the pitiless dart
 That Death has made keen for me.”
 I cried, “There are caves in the amethyst waves
 Wherein love may make life sweet,
 Oh! haste and return, ere the elements stern
 Have beaten us under their feet.”
 There was no reply to my passionate cry,
 No answering kiss to mine,
 And I felt in the storm from my trembling form
 My lover’s arms untwine.
 All heavy he grew, like a wounded sea mew
 That dies in the midmost air,
 And fell without sound to the frosty ground,
 And lay like a dead bird there.
 The tresses of gold on his forehead cold
 I parted, and kissed his brow,
 But his lips nor smiled at my fondling wild,
 His eyes nor knew me now.
 And the icy blast, as it thundered past
 The hollow wherein he lay,
 Tore him apart from my anguished heart,
 And carried him away.
I heard the trees moan in an undertone
 As the storm king struck them low,
 And the river flood grew still as he stood
 And bade it cease to flow.
 There was no flower in that sad hour
 Had strength to lift its head,
 And I was alone in a land unknown
 And mourned my love for dead.
 Then in countless hosts, like white-robed ghosts,
 My sisters lost drew near,
 And hemmed me round, but they made no sound
 My breaking heart to cheer.
 Each wore a star that glittered afar,
 Amid her flowing hair,
 And they went and came like the lightless flame
 That pierced the northern air.
 They floated high to the pitiless sky
 And gathered on the heath,
 Till their myriad feet did mingle and meet,
 And hide the earth beneath.
 And was it a dream that I should seem
 A snowy robe to don,
 And tread without pleasure their swift, weird measure,
 As the wintry wind piped on.
 Methought we flowed through that drear abode
 In sheets of spray and foam,
 As erst with hope and mirth on the slope
 Of waves in our ocean home.
Then many a day in a trance I lay
 Upon the dreary plain,
 Till, at last, I heard the pipe of a bird,
 And my heart grew warm again.
 At the bird’s sweet call through night’s thick pall
 The faint sun peered and shone,
 As of yore at home through the flying foam
 He looked from the gates of dawn.
 He looked and smiled, and the air, beguiled,
 Grew warm and bright again,
 And my sisters all each to each did call,
 As erst in the joyous main.
 Like the leaping rills from the sunny hills
 That tinkle to the sea,
 They sang as they glanced in the sun and danced
 On the rivers rushing free.
 The flowers awoke from their sleep, and broke
 With many an emerald spear
 And banner bright to the warm sunlight
 Through the leaves of the bygone year.
 And one with a crown of gold bent down
 And took me to its heart,
 “Poor waif of the storm,” it said, “grow warm
 And share of my joy a part.
 In the sky above there are many will love
 A heart as pure as thine;
 Leave grief with the past, like the shadow we cast
 As we hasten where sunbeams shine.”
I dwelt in the bower of the generous flower
 For many a quiet day,
 Till, on soft winds blown, the seeds were sown;
 And then I wandered away.
 For sake of my love, the sun above
 Upraised me to the sky,
 And east and west I went on my quest,
 But my dear one found not I.
 Oft I heard from brooks in shadowy nooks
 My sisters call to me
 To join their throng as they drifted along,
 Seeking the distant sea.
 And hearing their lays in the woodland ways
 Through autumn’s golden air,
 A yearning came that I could not name,
 Stronger than my despair.
 “If I must live on when my love is gone,”
 I murmured to my soul,
 “Oh, let it be by the throbbing sea
 My sisters make their goal.
 There let me rest like a child on the breast,
 Close to its great warm heart,
 Till my sorrows cease and I am at peace,
 O lover, where thou art.”
 So I sought the brook, and the sky forsook,
 And reached the sea at last,
 In whose briny waves and weedy caves
 I brood upon the past.

THE MASQUE OF THE YEAR.

(Time is discovered seated in the midst of a bevy of maidens, each of whom represents a month.)

TIME.

Behold me, Time, inexorable Time,
 Twin brother of Death. Like him all hearts I tame.
 As babes with baubles play, so I with fame.
 I weigh all deeds, judge every poet’s rhyme,
 Sift heroes, smile at life’s quaint pantomime,
 Put down the present great, and oft reclaim
 From sad oblivion some forgotten name,
 Uplifting it to heights that are sublime.
 I sit, amid the months, upon my throne,
 Waiting to greet the New Year drawing nigh,
 And though it brings a destiny unknown,
 Naught need ye fear, since God is in the sky.
 Fate is God’s choice; be therefore of good cheer.
 Let mirth and song welcome each new crowned year.

JANUARY.

Far have I come, out of darkness, from chaos,
 The land of the future, dread realm unknown,
 Out of silence, alone.
 I have trodden the ice-fields of drear Baccalaos,
 Heard the grinding of bergs in the seas of the north
 As the gale urged them forth,
And at midday have looked on the sun’s feeble glory
 With a smile of disdain, for the warmth that he felt
 Ne’er my bosom could melt.
 Death and stillness are mine, and, save wolves on a foray,
 All is still, all is shrouded, all Nature’s asleep,
 Under snow hidden deep.
 I am the ruler of uncreate chaos,
 Queen of absolute void, which life comes not anear—
 First month of the year.

FEBRUARY.

I am the month of beginnings. I bear
 In my bosom the seed of all changes to come.
 As yet I am dumb,
 But Hope has been born in the breast of Despair.
 The pine boughs stir under their burden of snow,
 As though promise they know,
 Yet the sun shines no stronger, there’s naught that foretells
 The coming of summer. No song of a bird
 In the woodland is heard,
 Not a sound, save the stroke of the axe, as it fells
 Some wood king, whose form sinks beneath the keen blade,
 With a crash, through the glade;
 Yet the spirit of Nature’s awake, and the air
 Thrills with love. I soothe grief with my wonderful balm,
 Second month that I am.

MARCH.