Poems By John L. Stoddard Part 31

Here he pa.s.sed his sweetest hours 'Mid his statues, books, and flowers With a life and list of pleasures not dissimilar to ours, For the city's rush and roar Never reached this tranquil sh.o.r.e, And his writings prove completely that he yearned for them no more.

Here, as scholar, poet, sage, He filled many a pliant page With the philosophic wisdom and refinement of his age, And his letters to his peers Through a life of smiles and tears Make me often quite forgetful of the intervening years;

For the beauty of the bay And the magical display Of its coronet of mountains have not altered since his day, And the lake of which he wrote At that epoch so remote With the same caressing murmur laps my undulating boat.

Hence the subtle, tender spell Of the place he loved so well Holds me captive and enchanted, as these waters gently swell, And a vague and nameless pain Makes me long for,--though in vain--, That delightful cla.s.sic era, which will never come again.

Since the Goths' invading tide Wrecked Rome's potency and pride, Something wonderful has vanished, something exquisite has died; And in spite of modern fame And the l.u.s.tre of its name, Even beautiful Lake Como can be never quite the same.

So beside its sylvan sh.o.r.e, Where the wavelets evermore Seem to rythmically murmur of the cla.s.sic days of yore, Cease, O boatman, now to row!

For, while Alpine summits glow, I would dream that I am floating on the lake of long ago.

PERSONALLY ADDRESSED

LINES

written for a Golden Wedding, 1883

Just fifty years ago to-night, When earth was mantled deep with snow, The stars beheld with tender light The fairest scene this world can show.

Two graceful forms stood side by side, Two trembling hands were clasped as one, Two hearts exchanged perpetual faith, And love's sweet poem was begun.

For suns may rise and suns may set, And tides may ebb and tides may flow, Love is man's greatest blessing yet, And honest wedlock makes it so.

"Father" and "Mother",--sweetest words That human lips can ever frame, We gather here as children now To find your loving hearts the same.

Unchanged, unchangeable by time, Your love is boundless as the sea; The same as when our childish griefs Were hushed beside our mother's knee.

Years may have given us separate homes, Friends, children, happiness and fame, But oh! to-night our greatest wealth Is that we call you still by name.

G.o.d bless you both! for fifty years You've journeyed onward side by side; And still, for years to come, G.o.d grant Your paths may nevermore divide;

But, just as sunset's golden glow Makes Alpine snows divinely fair, So may the setting sun of life Rest lightly on your silvered hair!

Yes, suns may rise and suns may set, And tides may ebb and tides may flow, We are your loving children yet, And time will ever prove us so.

TO THE WALKING-STICK OF MY DEAD FRIEND

To my hand thou com'st at last, Wand of ebon, tipped with gold,-- Often carried in the past By a hand that now lies cold In his grave beyond the sea, Many thousand miles from me.

Faithful staff! for many years Thou didst travel far and wide Through a life of smiles and tears,-- Rarely absent from his side, As the light of day for him Grew pathetically dim.

When with thee he walked abroad, Every crossing, every stair By thy touch was first explored, Ere his feet were planted there, With a sort of rhythmic beat On the pavement of the street.

Hence, when brought to face the gloom Of a way, to all unknown, Called to leave his sunlit room For death's darkness, quite alone, He instinctively again Called to mind his faithful cane.

To whose grasp should it descend, Since with him it could not go?

Surely no one save a friend Would receive and prize it so!

Thus to me wast thou bequeathed, To console a heart bereaved.

Friends.h.i.+p's gift, belovd wand!

Thou shalt likewise go with me To the sh.o.r.e of the Beyond, To the dark, untravelled sea; Only left upon the strand, When my bark puts forth from land.

TO C....

Behind a laughing waterfall There lies a little fount of tears, Deep, dark, and rarely seen at all By those the sparkling torrent cheers.

Beneath a suit of armor bright, Shaft-proof and burnished, hard and cold, There beats, concealed from common sight, A tender woman's heart of gold!

To Mr. and Mrs. A.H.S., Brussels

BIRDS OF Pa.s.sAGE

Two homeless birds, fatigued by flight, Have rested on the Belgian sh.o.r.e; And now, at the approach of night, Must spread their wings, and fly once more.

Two others, when they saw them come From out the dark and stormy west, Conveyed them to their pleasant home, And fed and warmed them, breast to breast.

Dear Birds of Brussels, do not crave The long, long route by which we came; More safe than any restless wave The sheltered nest of Auderghem.

Henceforth, however far we roam, 'Neath clouds that chill, or suns that burn, The memory of your lovely home Will make us certain to return.

For, stronger than the subtle spell That homeward draws the carrier-dove, Are the sweet bonds that clearly tell Of Friends.h.i.+p welded into Love.

TO M.C. OF ATHENS

Son of the race that gave the world its best, Of ancient Greece a n.o.ble type thou art,-- An Attic spirit transferred to the West, The blood of h.e.l.las pulsing at thy heart; In homage to thyself and to thy land, Accept, I pray, these simple lines of mine; To one I offer both my heart and hand, Before the other kneel, as at a shrine.

TO J.B.

Within an Old World, cla.s.sic vase She blossomed like a flower, And made Italian summer days Seem fleeting as an hour; Then left the antique vase in gloom,-- Yet o'er its edges climb Some petals, with a sweet perfume That triumphs over time.