The Coming of the Princess, and Other Poems Part 9

You hear the waves that dimple and slide, Slide and s.h.i.+mmer and s.h.i.+ne, Under her fairy-slippered feet-- My golden celandine.

The hands of the little children Gather them without fear; Wonders of beauty and gladness To them my flowers appear.

I have seen them bend to listen, With poised and patient ear, The curfew chime of the fairies, In the lily's bell to hear.

Oh, blessed and innocent children, With eyes so crystal clear, That ye look with the dual vision Of the baby and the seer.

To you the stars and the angels, And the heavens themselves are near, And the amaranths of paradise, That blossom all the year: I would I could see what ye see, And hear what ye can hear.

RIVER SONG

Swift and silent and strong Under the low-browed arches, Through culverts, and under bridges, Sweeping with long forced marches Down to the ultimate ridges,-- The sand, and the reeds, and the midges, And the down-dropping ta.s.sels of larches, That border the ocean of song.

Swift and silent and deep Through the noisome and smoke-grimed city, Turning the wheels and the spindles, And the great looms that have no pity,-- Weight, and pulley, and windla.s.s, And steel that flashes and kindles, And hears no forest-learnt ditty, Not even in dreams and sleep.

Blithe and merry and sweet Over its shallows singing,-- I hear before I awaken The Bound of the church-bells ringing, And the sound of the leaves wind-shaken, Complaining and sun-forsaken, And the oriole warbling and singing, And the swish of the wind in the wheat

Sweet and tender and true!

From meadows of blossoming clover, Where sleepy-eyed cows are lowing, And bobolinks twittering over,-- Ebbing and falling and flowing-- Singing and gliding and going-- The river--my silver-shod lover, Down to the infinite blue.

Deep, and tender, and strong!

With resonant voice and hole-- To far away suns.h.i.+ny places, Haunts of the bee and the swallow, Where the Sabbath is sweet with the praises Of dumb things, of weeds and of daisies,-- Oh river! I hear thee--I follow To the ocean where I too belong.

THE RETURN

I have been where the roses blow, Where the orange ripens its gold, And the mountains stand with their peaks of snow, To fence away the cold, Where the lime and the myrtle lent Their fragrance to the air, To make the land of my banishment More exquisitely fair.

And I heard the ring dove call To his mate in the blossoming trees, And I saw the white waves heave and fall.

Far away over southern seas.

I listened along the beach, By the sh.o.r.e of the s.h.i.+fting sea, To the waves, till I knew their murmured speech, And the message they bore to me.

And I watched the great sails furled.

Like the wings of some ocean bird, That brought me, out of another world, A warning, and a word; For still beside my way, By sh.o.r.e or sunlit wave, There journeyed with me night and day, The shadow of a grave.

Oh, friends! my heart went forth To you with a yearning cry, To be taken back to my native North-- To be taken home to die.

For sweeter than southern suns, Or the blossoms of summer lands, Are the faces of my little ones, And the touch of their tender hands.

Come closer to my side, Your eyes are as clear and true As if they were stars my way to guide, My darlings, back to you.

Oh G.o.d! my heart is stirred With thankfulness and rest, To reach at last, like a wounded bird, The shelter of its nest

Oh, faint pulse, throbbing long!

And weary and fluttering breath, Twas the mother-love that kept you strong, Though face to face with death.

But now my eyes are dim, And my breath comes weak and slow, Sing to me softly the evening hymn, And kiss me ere I go.

Come close for the angel waits-- The angel with gentle hand, To open for me the shadowy gates, Into the silent land.

Oh, voices sweet and clear What light is in the skies?

Is it your glad voices that I hear-- Or the hymns of paradise?

Farewell your faces fade-- Fade--fade--and disappear In the light no earthly cloud may shade, Heaven's morning dawning clear.

Oh, land of rest so fair By angel footsteps trod, I shall wait for you, beloved there, In the paradise of G.o.d.

VOICES OF HOPE

It is the hither side, O Hope, And afternoon; our shadows slope Backward along the mountain cope.

The early morning was so sweet, We seemed to climb with winged feet, Like moving vapors fine and fleet,

Not more elastic poised and swung Harebell or yellow adder's tongue, Nor blither any bird that sung.

Thy light foot bent not any stem Of frailest plant, whose diadem In pa.s.sing kissed thy garment's hem.

O Hope! so near me and so bright, Thy foot above me on the height, I might not touch thy garments white.

Thy lifted face, so fair, so rapt, Like suns.h.i.+ne rolled and overlapped Cliff, slope, and tall peak thunder-capped.

Thy voice to me like silver brooks Down dropped from secret mountain nooks, Still drew me, like thy radiant looks.

Nor scorching sun, nor beating rain, Nor soil, nor grime, nor travel-stain, With thee, were weariness or pain.

But now--it is the afternoon Behind, the mountain summit's gloom: Before, night's shadows gather soon.

O Hope! where art thou?--rough and steep The way has grown; I faint and weep, Beside me torrents toss and leap,

And far below, unseen for tears, The river where life disappears, Uplifts its thunder to my ears.

Canst thou, with thy serener eyes, Over the flood G.o.d's paradise, Behold in awful beauty rise?

Far off I seem to see thee stand, Shading rapt eyes with radiant hand, To scan that unknown glorious land.

The glory of that unseen place, Gathers and brightens o'er thy face, And fills thy looks with tender grace.

O, Hope divine '--_I_ would behold Those s.h.i.+ning spires, those streets of gold: But ah! the waves are deadly cold!

I hear the thunder and the sweep Of waves; deep calleth unto deep; The pathway ends, abrupt and steep.

Yet, soft beside that solemn sh.o.r.e, I hear thy voice above its roar: "Life is a dream-and it is o'er;

"The night is past--behold the day, O new-born soul--O child of clay, O bird uncaged and still astray;