Poems By John L. Stoddard Part 20

AUTUMN IN MERAN

The vintage time is gone, but not its glory; The grapes are garnered from their leafy gloom; Yet miles of vineyards, story crowning story, Cover the hillsides with a golden bloom.

The vine-clad terraces descend the mountains Like cascades rippling with resplendent gold; Steeped in the sun, and fed by sweet-voiced fountains, Tyrolean slopes a paradise unfold.

Above the vines the mountain sides are blending The oaks' and maples' multicolored glow, In variegated zones their hues ascending From radiant roses to eternal snow.

Now here, now there, through brilliant foliage peeping, A ruined castle seeks its walls to hide,-- High on some lonely crag in silence sleeping, Left centuries since by history's ebbing tide.

In sparkling foam the beryl-colored river Laughs in the suns.h.i.+ne between tinted walls; While on the cliffs the scarlet creepers s.h.i.+ver, Chilled by the breeze, as sunset's shadow falls.

Still in the valley Summer reigns victorious, Though Winter's silvery sheen creeps slowly down; Land of the vine and snow, at all times glorious, In Autumn wearest thou thy fairest crown.

THE STATUE OF THE EMPRESS ELIZABETH. MERAN

She is seated by the river In a robe of spotless white, With her lovely face illumined By the evening's tender light; But her eyes are full of sadness, As if weary of the day, And her gaze is toward the ocean, While the river glides away.

At her feet are beds of flowers, Overhead are stately trees Whose protecting branches murmur With the pa.s.sing of the breeze; Though her hand retains a volume, From its page her glances stray, For her thoughts are with the ocean, As the river flows away.

As I view her chastened features, I can feel the rising tears At the thought of all her anguish Through a martyrdom of years; For her joys were writ in water,-- Too impermanent to stay, And were swept toward sorrow's ocean, Ere her youth had pa.s.sed away.

She was captured in the morning Of her childhood's careless age, And imprisoned in a palace Like a linnet in a cage; And its gilded bars confined her To a Court's prescribed display, Which her simple nature hated, As the slow years crept away.

Thus her heart grew always sadder, Till her sorrows, one by one, Reached at last their tragic climax In the murder of her son; And this broken-hearted woman, As a madman's victim, lay By Geneva's placid waters, While her life-blood ebbed away!

Hence her marble face seems troubled, As she gazes down the stream, Like an angel who hath wakened From a fearful, earth-born dream; She is waiting for the sunset Of her tempest-darkened day, But her soul is with the ocean, Where all rivers wend their way.

THE OUTCASTS

The smile of G.o.d was in the air; Enwreathed in veils of silvery hue, The valley lay, divinely fair, Beneath a cloudless vault of blue; And singing, like a bird set free, The river hurried to the sea.

Through Alpine ether, crystal clear, The genial sun of South Tyrol Diffused its blessed warmth and cheer, Enriching body, mind and soul, While music floated o'er the stream, And made such beauty seem a dream.

Enraptured with the sun's caress And windless warmth 'mid peaks of snow, In careless quest of happiness The gay world sauntered to and fro, Or, seated on the well-kept strand, Enjoyed the music of the band.

Upon a bench, remote from those Whose dress betokened rank or wealth, Sat two poor waifs, whose weary pose Betrayed a fruitless search for health,-- An aged couple, near their end, United, yet without a friend.

But still they bravely tried to smile, --So warm the sun, so fair the scene!-- They could be happy yet a while, Ere death's cold shadow crept between; And music's softly rhythmic flow Recalled their youth of long ago.

"Begone!" a watchman's voice exclaimed; "Your rustic garb is much too poor; How comes it, you are not ashamed In such a place to play the boor?

From company like this withdraw!

Obey the mandate of the law!"

The startled strangers meekly rose And moved away with downcast eyes, Too wonted to such cruel blows To manifest the least surprise; Too humbled to inquire why; Too timid to attempt reply.

Poor outcasts from that joyous stage Where well-dressed hundreds strolled at ease, With faltering steps, and bowed with age, They vanished slowly 'neath the trees; But neither scanned the other's face, For fear a falling tear to trace.

Farewell, sweet, music-laden air, And suns.h.i.+ne on the sheltered strand!

I follow where that outcast pair Are walking sadly, hand in hand; For me your vaunted charm hath fled, While they remain uncomforted.

HEIMWEH

I dwell in a region of valleys fair, Of stately forests and mountains bold, Of churches filled with treasures rare, And storied castles centuries old; But now and then, when the sun sinks low, And the vesper bell is softly rung, I think of the days of long ago, And yearn for the land where I was young.

I live where the sun s.h.i.+nes bright and warm On feathery palms and terraced vines, Yet oft I sigh for a boreal storm And the sough of the wind through northern pines; And though my ear hath wonted grown To the accents strange of an alien tongue, No speech hath half so sweet a tone As the language learned when I was young.

I live in a land where men are kind, And friends increase, as the years roll on, Yet of them all not one I find So dear as those of the days now gone; And so I think, as the sun sinks low, And the curfew bell of my life is rung, I shall turn to my home of long ago, And die in the land where I was young.

MY LIBRARY

Shrine of my mind, my Library!

Each morn I greet thee with delight, When, soul-refreshed, I bring to thee The benediction of the night; Encompa.s.sed by thy sheltering walls, 'Mid books whose interest enthralls, Life's shadow from my spirit falls.

Behold! above the wooded height The sun-G.o.d's glittering disk appears, And at a bound its flood of light The intervening valley clears; Enveloped in its noiseless tide, Each castle on the mountain side Stands forth in splendor, glorified.

How welcome are the yellow waves That through the eastern windows pour And, with a warmth my nature craves, Trans.m.u.te to gold the polished floor!

Then mount to gild my desk, my chair, And e'en the spotless paper there, Which soon my written thought must bear.

In serried ranks around me rise Two thousand tried and trusty friends; Instructive, famous, witty, wise, Each gladly his a.s.sistance lends To suit, at will, my varying mood; But none that aid will e'er intrude, Or break, unsought, my solitude.

Some speak of problems of the soul,-- Profound, insoluble, sublime; Some tell of Law's supreme control; And some retrace through distant time The evolution of mankind, And in its ever-broadening mind A hope for future triumphs find.

A few the n.o.ble deeds rehea.r.s.e Of heroes famed in peace or war; While many in inspiring verse Show heights to which the soul may soar; But all with serious thoughts are filled, And some hold truths, from life distilled, Whose power my heart hath often thrilled.

By such companions cheered and blest, How vapid seems the listless throng Of those who, tortured by unrest, Find life too dull and days too long, And idly frittering time away, As scandal-mongers, rend and slay The friends they dined with yesterday!

My Library! to thee I turn, As turns the needle toward the pole, And feel my heart within me yearn For all thou offerest to the soul; Why should I join in feverish haste The crowd for which I have no taste, The precious boon of life to waste?

Yet not as an austere recluse,-- Still less as one who hates mankind--, Do I thy peaceful precincts choose; But as a student, who can find No joys in Vanity's gay Fair That for an instant can compare With those thou askest me to share.

Moreover, welcome as the sun Are friends whose love I prize and hold; Their visits I would never shun; To them my heart grows never cold; And whether they have wealth, or fame, Or bear a plain or t.i.tled name, To me will always be the same.

Nor am I ever quite alone When thus ensconced among my books; A kindred mind there meets my own, And with me toward the sunset looks; With blazing logs the hearth is bright, A treasured volume is in sight; Hence to the outer world good night!