Poems By John L. Stoddard Part 10

The pang of age compared with youth, Or hunger with the spendthrift's wealth, Gnaws not with such a cruel tooth As that of pain confronting health.

Yet must the strong s.h.i.+p breast the wave, The wreck lie rotting on the sh.o.r.e; O hopes that perish in the grave!

O youthful dreams that come no more!

SOLITUDE

Had I but lived when music-loving Pan Still played his flute amid the whispering reeds, When through Arcadian groves the dryads ran, And--symbolizing well man's earlier creeds-- A host of sculptured forms, divinely fair, Portrayed the G.o.ds, and led men's thoughts to prayer,

I would have sought some beautiful retreat, Remote from cities and the din of men,-- Some tranquil sh.o.r.e where lake and forest meet By limpid stream or flower-lit, sylvan glen, And would have reared, where none could e'er intrude, A shrine to thee, O precious Solitude!

How hath a heedless world neglected thee, Thou coy divinity, too shy and proud To sue for followers from those who see Attraction merely in the strenuous crowd!

For only those can know thee, as thou art, Who wisely seek and study thee ... apart.

No rapt enthusiast, or mystic sage, No Asian founder of a faith divine, No bard, or writer of inspired page Hath ever failed to wors.h.i.+p at thy shrine, O Nourisher of steadfast self-control, Of n.o.ble thoughts, of loftiness of soul!

Yet no continuous homage dost thou crave, No anchorite's seclusion wouldst thou ask, Thou lov'st no misanthrope or sullen slave, But only those who, faithful to life's task, Must yet at times look upward from the clod, And seek through thee acquaintances.h.i.+p with G.o.d.

OUT OF THE RANKS

From the bitter fight I have made my way To the peaceful crest of a lonely hill, But the noise and heat of the deadly fray And the smart of wounds are with me still.

No recreant I to a n.o.ble cause, Nor traitor base to a leader bold; 'Twas a fight where he won most applause Who captured most of his neighbor's gold;

Where the wounded crawled away to die, Or, hopeless, ate their bread with tears, And the only cries that rent the sky Were the shouts of frenzied financiers.

Alas for the prematurely gray, Who struggle there through joyless lives To win the means of more display For thankless children, thoughtless wives!

Alas for those whose spirits yearn For leisure, books, and sunlit fields, Who yet can never pause to learn The joy that a life of culture yields!

Still sway the mad crowds to and fro!

I hear their groans and panting breath, The hideous impacts, blow on blow, The moans of those who are crushed to death!

None stoop to lift up those who fall; A thousand leap for a vacant place, Thrust weaker thousands to the wall, And trample many an upturned face!

But I, however the fight may go, Have turned my back on the sordid fray, To face the tranquil sunset-glow, And hope for the dawn of a better day.

AUTONOMY

Stand forth, my soul, and take thine own!

Though all should blame thee, have no fear!

Self-poised and steadfast, dare alone Thy self-elected course to steer.

Before thee lies the open sea; Beyond it is the wished-for sh.o.r.e; The route that seemeth best to thee Select, and hesitate no more!

For he who lives the timorous slave Of social plaudits or disdain, Drags feebly to a nameless grave A craven's ever-lengthening chain.

Are thy plans n.o.ble, just, and fair?

Pursue them bravely to the end, Nor pause to question or to care What says thy foe, or what thy friend.

Succeed, and thou shalt surely find That those who longed to see thee fail, And, lingering hopelessly behind, Spat venom on thine upward trail,

Shall run to reach thee on thy path, To grasp thy hand and say "'Twas well"; Or, distant, gnaw their lips in wrath, Their envious hearts a living h.e.l.l.

Forever, flint-like, set thy face Against the loss of self-control; Compel the world to keep its place; Be thou the captain of thy soul!

ORIENT TO OCCIDENT, 1906

You thought me sunk in lethargy, too deeply drugged with sleep To notice how your armored fleets kept creeping o'er the deep, Too indolent to organize, too feeble to resist, Too timid to return the blow of Europe's mailed fist; And Asia's conquest seemed to you a matter of such ease That all your kings knew perfectly the part which each would seize.

Of such a "sluggish, inert ma.s.s" why should you be afraid?

You wanted ports and provinces for purposes of trade, And monster "spheres of influence", whose wealth could be controlled And plundered by your Governments to fill their vaults with gold; Hence, since it seemed so probable that none of us would fight, Why should you even hesitate to prove that Might makes Right?

And yet perhaps it had been well, before you formed your plan, To study Asia's history from Persia to j.a.pan; For though the sleeping Orient, like grain before the blast, May bow its head, it rights itself when once the storm is past.

How often has the Occident invaded our domains And boasted of its victories! Yet of them what remains?

Seems India exceptional? Fools, judge not by a day!

The horologe of centuries moves slowly in Cathay.

The brilliant son of Macedon saw, crushed and pale with fear, The vanquished East from Babylon to Egypt and Cashmere; But though the conquered Orient lay helpless, as his slave, Of Alexander's influence how much survived his grave?

Of Rome's prodigious armaments, to Asian conquests led, Where is there now a souvenir save relics of the dead?

And of the vast Crusading hosts, which in their madness rose And hurled themselves repeatedly upon their Moslem foes,-- What is to-day the net result? A thousand years have pa.s.sed, But none of all their vaunted gains proved great enough to last; The Saviour's tomb, Jerusalem, and all the sacred lands Connected with the Christian faith are still in Asian hands!

We needed rude awakening to rouse us from our sloth; It came among our northern isles, whose heroes, nothing loth, Unbarred their ports to modern fleets, their ancient life forswore, And learned from greedy foreigners the Christians' art of war.

Behold! the world in fifty years is breathless with surprise, And Europe's greatest Government has sought us for allies!

That little section of our ma.s.s aroused itself, and lo!

Your largest Occidental Power has reeled beneath the blow; And while our living troops receive men's rapturous acclaim, Our fallen heroes have attained the Pantheon of fame.

Yet think not we deceive ourselves; you praise, but really dread The valour of the Orient, if this awakening spread; Behind this movement of the East you think you hear the low, Long murmur of the Asians,--"The foreigner must go"!

What wonder that we hate you all? You look on us to-day As lions look on antelopes,--their heaven-appointed prey; You know you have no lawful right to lands that you possess; You gained them all through violence, or lying and finesse; Your cursed opium alone, despite our prayers and tears, Has ruined millions of our race for more than two score years, And when we rose indignantly to right that bitter wrong, Your heavy guns bombarded us, and you annexed ... Hong Kong!

You force yourselves on us, and ask concessions, favors, mines, Protection for your mission schools, and grants of railway lines, But when we cross the seas to you, an entry you refuse, And curse, illtreat, and harry us with loathing and abuse.

j.a.pan has shown the only way of keeping for our own The fertile fields which rightfully belong to us alone; We do not wish to arm ourselves, and fighting we abhor, But self-protection forces us to learn and practise war.

Hence, if a.s.sailed, we shall not shun a struggle with the West; Not bent on conquest, like yourselves, but, rising to the test Of "Asia for the Asians", defend our threatened farms By sending to encounter you a million men in arms.

You think yourselves invincible? Learn something from j.a.pan, The fever of whose chivalry now spreads from man to man, Encouraging the Orient to hasten on the day When all enlightened Asians shall cry "Enough! Away!

Go exploit helpless Africa, where you have shamed the beast, But understand, your cruel day is over in the East!"

You still have many things to learn, base wors.h.i.+ppers of gold; When you were wild barbarians, our Governments were old!

Your self-conceit and arrogance we therefore laugh to scorn; We had our laws millenniums before your courts were born.

You talk by electricity, you ride on wings of steam, You thunder with machinery,--and these you proudly deem The grandest triumphs of the race, forgetting that mere speed In transference of men and things is less than one great deed.

You treat us condescendingly, as if our gifts were small, But do you think Almighty G.o.d has dowered you with all?

Earth's greatest continent is ours; her highest mountains rise In unapproached sublimity beneath our starry skies; Ours, too, the cradle of the race; and at our Buddha's shrine Unequalled numbers of mankind adore him as divine.