John Smith, U.S.A Part 8

With that winter in my heart, Oft in dead of night I start-- Start and lift me up and weep, For those visions in my sleep Mind me of the yonder deep!

'Tis _his_ face lifts from the sea-- 'Tis _his_ voice calls out to me-- _Thus_ the winter bides with me.

Krinken was the little child By the maiden Nis beguiled; Oft the h.o.a.ry sea and grim Reached its longing arms to him, Calling: "Sun-Child, come to me, Let me warm my heart with thee!"

But the sea calls out no more And 'tis winter on the sh.o.r.e-- Summer in the silver sea Where with maiden Nis went he-- And the winter bides with me!

ARMENIAN FOLK-SONG--THE STORK.

Welcome, O truant stork!

And where have you been so long?

And do you bring that grace of spring That filleth my heart with song?

Descend upon my roof-- Bide on this ash content; I would have you know what cruel woe Befell me when you went.

All up in the moody sky (A s.h.i.+fting threat o'er head!) They were breaking the snow and bidding it go Cover the beautiful dead.

Came snow on garden spot, Came snow on mere and wold, Came the withering breath of white robed death, And the once warm earth was cold.

Stork, the tender rose tree, That bloometh when you are here, Trembled and sighed like a waiting bride-- Then drooped on a virgin bier.

But the brook that hath seen you come Leaps forth with a hearty shout, And the crocus peeps from the bed where it sleeps To know what the noise is about.

Welcome, O honest friend!

And bide on my roof content; For my heart would sing of the grace of spring, When the winter of woe is spent.

THE VISION OF THE HOLY GRAIL.

_Deere Chryste, let not the cheere of earth, To fill our hearts with heedless mirth This holy Christma.s.se time; But give us of thy heavenly cheere That we may hold thy love most deere And know thy peace sublime._

Full merry waxed King Pelles court With Yuletide cheere and Yuletide sport, And, when the board was spread, Now wit ye well 'twas good to see So fair and brave a companie With Pelles at the head.

"Come hence, Elaine," King Pelles cried, "Come hence and sit ye by my side, For never yet, I trow, Have gentle virtues like to thine Been proved by sword nor pledged in wine, Nor shall be nevermo!"

"Sweete sir, my father," quoth Elaine, "Me it repents to give thee pain-- Yet, tarry I may not; For I shall soond and I shall die If I behold this companie And see not Launcelot!

"My heart shall have no love but this-- My lips shall know no other kiss, Save only, father, thine; So graunt me leave to seek my bower, The lonely chamber in the toure, Where sleeps his child and mine."

Then frowned the King in sore despite; "A murrain seize that traitrous knight, For that he lies!" he cried-- "A base, unchristian paynim he, Else, by my beard, he would not be A recreant to his bride!

"Oh, I had liefer yield my life Than see thee the deserted wife Of dastard Launcelot!

Yet, an' thou hast no mind to stay, Go with thy damosels away-- Lo, I'll detain ye not."

Her damosels in goodly train Back to her chamber led Elaine, And when her eyes were cast Upon her babe, her tears did flow And she did wail and weep as though Her heart had like to brast.

The while she grieved the Yuletide sport Waxed l.u.s.tier in King Pelles' court, And louder, houre by houre, The echoes of the rout were borne To where the lady, all forlorn, Made moning in the toure,

"Swete Chryste," she cried, "ne let me hear Their ribald sounds of Yuletide cheere That mock at mine and me; Graunt that my sore affliction cease And give me of the heavenly peace That comes with thoughts of thee!"

Lo, as she spake, a wondrous light Made all that lonely chamber bright, And o'er the infant's bed A spirit hand, as samite pail, Held sodaine foorth the Holy Grail Above the infant's head.

And from the sacred golden cup A subtle incense floated up And filled the conscious air, Which, when she breather, the fair Elaine Forgot her grief, forgot her pain.

Forgot her sore despair.

And as the Grail's mysterious balm Wrought in her heart a wondrous calm, Great mervail 'twas to see The sleeping child stretch one hand up As if in dreams he held the cup Which none mought win but he.

Through all the night King Pelles' court Made mighty cheer and goodly sport.

Nor never recked the joy That was vouchsafed that Christma.s.s tide To Launcelot's deserted bride And to her sleeping boy.

_Swete Chryste, let not the cheere of earth To fill our hearts with heedless mirth This present Christma.s.se night; But send among us to and fro Thy Holy Grail, that men may know The joy withe wisdom dight._

THE DIVINE LULLABY.

I hear Thy voice, dear Lord, I hear it by the stormy sea, When winter nights are black and wild, And when, affright, I call to Thee; It calms my fears and whispers me, "Sleep well, my child."

I hear Thy voice, dear Lord, In singing winds and falling snow, The curfew chimes, the midnight bell, "Sleep well, my child," it murmurs low; "The guardian angels come and go-- O child, sleep well!"

I hear Thy voice, dear Lord, Aye, though the singing winds be stilled, Though hushed the tumult of the deep, My fainting heart with anguish chilled By Thy a.s.suring tone is thrilled-- "Fear not, and sleep!"

Speak on--speak on, dear Lord!

And when the last dread night is near, With doubts and fears and terrors wild, Oh, let my soul expiring hear Only these words of heavenly cheer, "Sleep well, my child!"

MORTALITY.

O Nicias, not for us alone Was laughing Eros born, Nor s.h.i.+nes alone for us the moon, Nor burns the ruddy morn; Alas! to-morrow lies not in the ken Of us who are, O Nicias, mortal men!

A FICKLE WOMAN.

Her nature is the sea's, that smiles to-night A radiant maiden in the moon's soft light; The unsuspecting seaman sets his sails, Forgetful of the fury of her gales; To-morrow, mad with storms, the ocean roars, And o'er his hapless wreck the flood she pours!