The Poetical Works of Oliver Wendell Holmes Part 11

THE PARTING WORD

I MUST leave thee, lady sweet Months shall waste before we meet; Winds are fair and sails are spread, Anchors leave their ocean bed; Ere this s.h.i.+ning day grow dark, Skies shall gird my sh.o.r.eless bark.

Through thy tears, O lady mine, Read thy lover's parting line.

When the first sad sun shall set, Thou shalt tear thy locks of jet; When the morning star shall rise, Thou shalt wake with weeping eyes; When the second sun goes down, Thou more tranquil shalt be grown, Taught too well that wild despair Dims thine eyes and spoils thy hair.

All the first unquiet week Thou shalt wear a smileless cheek; In the first month's second half Thou shalt once attempt to laugh; Then in Pickwick thou shalt dip, Slightly puckering round the lip, Till at last, in sorrow's spite, Samuel makes thee laugh outright.

While the first seven mornings last, Round thy chamber bolted fast Many a youth shall fume and pout, "Hang the girl, she's always out!"

While the second week goes round, Vainly shall they ring and pound; When the third week shall begin, "Martha, let the creature in."

Now once more the flattering throng Round thee flock with smile and song, But thy lips, unweaned as yet, Lisp, "Oh, how can I forget!"

Men and devils both contrive Traps for catching girls alive; Eve was duped, and Helen kissed,-- How, oh how can you resist?

First be careful of your fan, Trust it not to youth or man; Love has filled a pirate's sail Often with its perfumed gale.

Mind your kerchief most of all, Fingers touch when kerchiefs fall; Shorter ell than mercers clip Is the s.p.a.ce from hand to lip.

Trust not such as talk in tropes, Full of pistols, daggers, ropes; All the hemp that Russia bears Scarce would answer lovers' prayers; Never thread was spun so fine, Never spider stretched the line, Would not hold the lovers true That would really swing for you.

Fiercely some shall storm and swear, Beating b.r.e.a.s.t.s in black despair; Others murmur with a sigh, You must melt, or they will die: Painted words on empty lies, Grubs with wings like b.u.t.terflies; Let them die, and welcome, too; Pray what better could they do?

Fare thee well: if years efface From thy heart love's burning trace, Keep, oh keep that hallowed seat From the tread of vulgar feet; If the blue lips of the sea Wait with icy kiss for me, Let not thine forget the vow, Sealed how often, Love, as now.

A SONG OF OTHER DAYS

As o'er the glacier's frozen sheet Breathes soft the Alpine rose, So through life's desert springing sweet The flower of friends.h.i.+p grows; And as where'er the roses grow Some rain or dew descends, 'T is nature's law that wine should flow To wet the lips of friends.

Then once again, before we part, My empty gla.s.s shall ring; And he that has the warmest heart Shall loudest laugh and sing.

They say we were not born to eat; But gray-haired sages think It means, Be moderate in your meat, And partly live to drink.

For baser tribes the rivers flow That know not wine or song; Man wants but little drink below, But wants that little strong.

Then once again, etc.

If one bright drop is like the gem That decks a monarch's crown, One goblet holds a diadem Of rubies melted down!

A fig for Caesar's blazing brow, But, like the Egyptian queen, Bid each dissolving jewel glow My thirsty lips between.

Then once again, etc.

The Grecian's mound, the Roman's urn, Are silent when we call, Yet still the purple grapes return To cl.u.s.ter on the wall; It was a bright Immortal's head They circled with the vine, And o'er their best and bravest dead They poured the dark-red wine.

Then once again, etc.

Methinks o'er every sparkling gla.s.s Young Eros waves his wings, And echoes o'er its dimples pa.s.s From dead Anacreon's strings; And, tossing round its beaded brim Their locks of floating gold, With bacchant dance and choral hymn Return the nymphs of old.

Then once again, etc.

A welcome then to joy and mirth, From hearts as fresh as ours, To scatter o'er the dust of earth Their sweetly mingled flowers; 'T is Wisdom's self the cup that fills In spite of Folly's frown, And Nature, from her vine-clad hills, That rains her life-blood down!

Then once again, before we part, My empty gla.s.s shall ring; And he that has the warmest heart Shall loudest laugh and sing.

SONG

FOR A TEMPERANCE DINNER TO WHICH LADIES WERE INVITED (NEW YORK MERCANTILE LIBRARY a.s.sOCIATION, NOVEMBER, 1842)

A HEALTH to dear woman! She bids us untwine, From the cup it encircles, the fast-clinging vine; But her cheek in its crystal with pleasure will glow, And mirror its bloom in the bright wave below.

A health to sweet woman! The days are no more When she watched for her lord till the revel was o'er, And smoothed the white pillow, and blushed when he came, As she pressed her cold lips on his forehead of flame.

Alas for the loved one! too spotless and fair The joys of his banquet to chasten and share; Her eye lost its light that his goblet might s.h.i.+ne, And the rose of her cheek was dissolved in his wine.

Joy smiles in the fountain, health flows in the rills, As their ribbons of silver unwind from the hills; They breathe not the mist of the baccha.n.a.l's dream, But the lilies of innocence float on their stream.

Then a health and a welcome to woman once more!

She brings us a pa.s.sport that laughs at our door; It is written on crimson,--its letters are pearls,-- It is countersigned Nature.--So, room for the Girls!

A SENTIMENT

THE pledge of Friends.h.i.+p! it is still divine, Though watery floods have quenched its burning wine; Whatever vase the sacred drops may hold, The gourd, the sh.e.l.l, the cup of beaten gold, Around its brim the hand of Nature throws A garland sweeter than the banquet's rose.

Bright are the blushes of the vine-wreathed bowl, Warm with the suns.h.i.+ne of Anacreon's soul, But dearer memories gild the tasteless wave That fainting Sidney perished as he gave.

'T is the heart's current lends the cup its glow, Whate'er the fountain whence the draught may flow,-- The diamond dew-drops sparkling through the sand, Scooped by the Arab in his sunburnt hand, Or the dark streamlet oozing from the snow, Where creep and crouch the shuddering Esquimaux; Ay, in the stream that, ere again we meet, Shall burst the pavement, glistening at our feet, And, stealing silent from its leafy hills, Thread all our alleys with its thousand rills,-- In each pale draught if generous feeling blend, And o'er the goblet friend shall smile on friend, Even cold Cochituate every heart shall warm, And genial Nature still defy reform!

A RHYMED LESSON (URANIA)

This poem was delivered before the Boston Mercantile Library a.s.sociation, October 14, 1846.

YES, dear Enchantress,--wandering far and long, In realms unperfumed by the breath of song, Where flowers ill-flavored shed their sweets around, And bitterest roots invade the ungenial ground, Whose gems are crystals from the Epsom mine, Whose vineyards flow with antimonial wine, Whose gates admit no mirthful feature in, Save one gaunt mocker, the Sardonic grin, Whose pangs are real, not the woes of rhyme That blue-eyed misses warble out of time;-- Truant, not recreant to thy sacred claim, Older by reckoning, but in heart the same, Freed for a moment from the chains of toil, I tread once more thy consecrated soil; Here at thy feet my old allegiance own, Thy subject still, and loyal to thy throne!

My dazzled glance explores the crowded hall; Alas, how vain to hope the smiles of all!

I know my audience. All the gay and young Love the light antics of a playful tongue; And these, remembering some expansive line My lips let loose among the nuts and wine, Are all impatience till the opening pun Proclaims the witty shamfight is begun.

Two fifths at least, if not the total half, Have come infuriate for an earthquake laugh; I know full well what alderman has tied His red bandanna tight about his side; I see the mother, who, aware that boys Perform their laughter with superfluous noise, Beside her kerchief brought an extra one To stop the explosions of her bursting son; I know a tailor, once a friend of mine, Expects great doings in the b.u.t.ton line,-- For mirth's concussions rip the outward case, And plant the st.i.tches in a tenderer place.

I know my audience,--these shall have their due; A smile awaits them ere my song is through!

I know myself. Not servile for applause, My Muse permits no deprecating clause; Modest or vain, she will not be denied One bold confession due to honest pride; And well she knows the drooping veil of song Shall save her boldness from the caviller's wrong.

Her sweeter voice the Heavenly Maid imparts To tell the secrets of our aching hearts For this, a suppliant, captive, prostrate, bound, She kneels imploring at the feet of sound; For this, convulsed in thought's maternal pains, She loads her arms with rhyme's resounding chains; Faint though the music of her fetters be, It lends one charm,--her lips are ever free!

Think not I come, in manhood's fiery noon, To steal his laurels from the stage buffoon; His sword of lath the harlequin may wield; Behold the star upon my lifted s.h.i.+eld Though the just critic pa.s.s my humble name, And sweeter lips have drained the cup of fame, While my gay stanza pleased the banquet's lords, The soul within was tuned to deeper chords!