Hesperia

Front matter

K ^ H "v

THEME.

Astrtea, the Genius of Liberty and Justice, seeks a dwelling-place upon the earth. Persecuted and driven from land to land, she follows the evening star and finds at last a beautiful kingdom in the western world ; this becomes her home and the birthplace of her beloved daughter Hesperia.

PART I. Shenandoah 127

Cliona 129

Ouina, Childhood 133

Kanawa 146

Requiem to Ouina 149

PART IT.

Laus Natura : Dedication 155

Powhatan 168

CONTENTS. vn

Pocahontas 170

Massasoit 173

King Philip 175

Canonicus 178

Canonchet 179

Garangula 180

Tecumseh . . . 181

Logan 182

Osceola . 185

Pontiac v 187

Sagoyawatha .189

Hymn to the Mississippi 192

moketavata ' . 202

Benediction : Dedication *.>•' 219

if

Retribution : Red 221

Compensation : White 224

Prophecy: Blue 229

INDUCTION.

ON a high rock, o'erhanging the sad sea, Round which the wild waves dash unceasingly, Tossing their tempest arms tumultuously,

ii.

I saw a wondrous woman fearless stand, Turning her weary face from the drear strand, Stretching toward the sea her snowy hand.

in.

Her silver locks around her feet did flow, The blossom of a strange, unearthly woe, Meeting the white bloom of the spray below.

IV.

No touch of treacherous time was there, nor trace Of dull decay, to mar her perfect grace, But a strange pallor dwelt upon her face.

HESPERIA.

And O, 'twere joy to look into those eyes, Half filled with tears, like dews of paradise, And lighted with the fires of prophecies.

VI.

Long stood she musing thus, as if to gaze Through the low weary mists and darkened maze Of ages past and unforgotten days.

VII.

She seemed as one awakened from sleep, But not as oft before to watch and weep ; Her fair form now a burden sweet did keep.

VIII.

O, mouth of many mighty melodies !

She spoke, and richest, sweetest symphonies

Filled all the vibrant air with harmonies.

IX.

Old Neptune, raptured by the magic tone

Of that sweet voice, ceased for a while to moan

Sabrina, too, heard music like her own.

x.

"Closed are yon gates of porphyry and gold; For me the Orient no charms can hold, The clouds of amethyst no more enfold

XI.

" The young world's Eden : desolate decay Sits at the gates of morn and e'er doth prey Upon the nations till they pass away.

XII.

" The Crescent, like a deadly serpent, holds Earth's first-born nations in its fiery folds ; And rank corruption hides them 'neath its moulds.

XIII.

" Closed, closed on this side darkest to my sight, The other holds, perchance, some ray of light, For Jove can fashion light from deepest night.

XIV.

" Ye fairest twain, my first and latest born, Cradled and nursed in splendors of the morn, E'en now your beauty doth my life adorn ;

xv. 1 "When from your gemmed isles, fair Greece, I flew, And o'er the Adriatic waste withdrew To where the Tiber pours its deadly dew,

1 The xvth and xvith stanzas were suggested by the following lines : —

" When Liberty from Greece withdrew, And o'er the Adriatic flew

To where the Tiber pours his urn, She struck the rude Tarpeian Rock ; Sparks were kindled by the shock — Again thy fires began to burn."

HESPERIA.

XVI.

"My feet were torn on the Tarpeian Rock, And Freedom's fires were kindled by the shock ; But Death his dreadful doors on thee did lock :

XVII.

" And thou, fair daughter of the earth and sea, Holding all sacred things 'twixt heaven and me, — Thou nearest and thou dearest Italy!

XVIII.

"I cradled thee amid those amber seas, Till thou wert bright as heaven's Pleiades, Nor saw beyond the gates of Hercules

XIX.

"That I must pass, deserted and alone, From land to land, from weary zone to zone, , A childless mother ; yet I will not moan.

xx.

" Closed are the sapphire oceans, where arose Pale Arethusa from her bed of snows, Her white lips silent with unspoken woes.

XXI.

"Those Hyperborean wastes no power can move, They hold the secrets of Great Nature's love, Which she in silent power must ever prove.

INDUCTION.

XXII.

"Europe shall feel my breath, erewhile she hates And loathes me and my children, but she waits Until slow tyranny unlock the gates.

XXIII.

'Let Cross and Crescent bar the doors of pearl, Let em'rald waters all their wild waves hurl, Hope doth her banner brightly now unfurl."

XXIV.

From the rich splendors of the purple east, And from the power of Gorgon-headed beast, Alluring nations to its upas feast,

xxv.

Freedom now turned ; her face had paler grown, As though her sorrows were not all her own, And her deep voice bore a prophetic tone.

XXVI.

Her hand now swept toward the glowing west In one grand gesture full of deep unrest, Kindling a sudden flame on nature's breast ;

XXVII.

From the broad belt of beauteous land that lies Between the southern cross and northern skies, She chose the fairest for her paradise.

HESPERIA.

XXVIII.

From sea to sea she cast her shivering glance, In one full gleam of a prophetic trance, Which probed the future like a lightning lance :

XXIX.

Sandaled with plumes of thought, her spirit sent

Its living form across the continent, —

A thousand leagues, on its great purpose bent.

XXX.

She touched an ocean with each loving hand, And deftly wrought, with her own wondrous wand, Rich robes, for the new princess of the land :

XXXI.

White robes from clouds, and mountain mists, and sheen Of silver waters ; vestments of bright green 'Broidered with flowers, from hills and vales between ;

XXXII.

Rich em'rald robes reaching to either sea, Fold after fold flowing wonderfully, Beaded with spray and foam-like tracery;

XXXIII.

Slippers, fitted for smallest, fairest feet, Enwrought with island gems, more fair and sweet Than all the isles where eastern waters meet ;

INDUCTION.

XXXIV.

Bracelets and bands of silver mountain streams, Whose diamond sources flashed the many beams Of day, brighter than opalescent gleams ;

XXXV.

Broad river girdles, bodices of flame, Widening to lakes, each one a living name Of wonder, which no other land can claim ;

XXXVI.

All fragrant with perfumes of starry flowers, Distilled by Flora and her maids, the Hours, Making sweet music with their winged powers;

XXXVII.

A crown, from shining shafts of mountain heights, Whose diamond sword-points cleave the darkest nights, And mock the starry hosts with their clear lights;

XXXVIII.

Reflecting all hues, holding only one, — The threefold light of Heaven's perfect sun, Reveale'd in the whiteness of His Son.

XXXIX.

Then through the red and white of sunset dyes, A chasm of starry 'blue inspired her eyes, And glory, like God's smile, adorned the skies.

HESPERIA.

XL.

Urania found her as she proudly stood

Expectant, for her matchless motherhood

Saw all her work, and smiled that it was good.

XLI.

Then, from the womb of Freedom's weary night There burst a sudden dawn, as clear and bright As on that morn when God first called the light.

XLII.

As sprang Minerva from the brow of Jove, Most potent among mighty minds that move, Hesperia was born, the Child of Love.

BOOK I.

ASTR^EA.

DEDICATED TO MY MOTHER.

PRELUDE.

VAIN, vain, the painter's skill To picture nature's grace, — The daisy meadow holds A hue no art can boast ; The Iris arch uprears Its matchless, crescent dome ; The mountain glacier gleams Near the cerulean sky, Which, flecked with fleecy clouds, Changes but cannot die.

In autumn sunset glow All gorgeous colors blend, As though a million gems Had molten fire become, Splashing the trees with flame And kindling to the sky • The insect's tiny wing Of opalescent light, Transcends all touch of art ; And every living thing, Between the day and night Of God's great mind and earth, Reveals His Master Hand.

Correggio's rare gift,

12 HESPER1A.

Those peerless forms to trace On shores of shining sand, Where shells of tinted rose And crystal waters gleam, Reflecting beauty's grace ; Or Raphael's high thought, Like an inspired dream Of Heaven, ensphered in love, In which Christ's mother shone In every lovely face, And every cherub boy Was but a budding thought Of Him named Deity ; Or Rembrandt's deeper shade Of coloring intense, In which each passion glowed, As though the thought itself Had burst the bonds of sense, And was absorbed in hue And deepest, darkest tints, Till it embodied came, And was a thing of life.

Yet all in vain, for these Are but the cast-off robes, While the true Artist's soul Is ever clothed anew, Even as nature casts Her bright apparel down Robing herself in light.

II

Vainly the sculptor stands With ready lifted glaive, And chisel fine as thread Of maiden's silken tress.

A shape, indeed, of grace Appears beneath his hand, But ah ! no life is there, — The polished face is cold, The rounded form is dead ; Not all the art of earth Can breathe incarnate fire Through kindling arteries, Or nerves of thrilling light.

Motion is art: whoe'er Has made a moving form, — Be it a white winged sail, A horse with fiery breath, A million arms of power Uplifting those who toil, Or mounting, cleaves the air With wond'rous globes of space, — He is indeed a god.

But chiseled statues stand The emblems of a thought Which has grown old and gray, And which the hand of time Plucks from its pedestal And proudly flings away.

While motion ever holds The living infant's form,

And one babe at the breast Drinking its fill of life, With moving dimpled limbs, Is better than all shapes Of sculptor's finest art.

in.

Vain is high Poesy : The greatest thoughts have wings; Before we catch our breath To sing our highest song, Our bird is out of sight ; We pluck a falling plume, We stand upon the shore, The sea-song rolls afar; A drop of silver spray Touches our burning lips, We drink who are athirst, And call that drop our song.

Imagination lends Her silver sandaled plumes, We mount amid the stars 'Striving to crown our brows With their bright diadems, — A meteoric light Is all we bring to earth; Heaven never gave its stars, — Only their broken beams.

The Hebraic bards sublime Chanted their hymns of praise In deeds and words of love, Or worship unto God,

And only left their torn

And tattered shreds of thought

For us to gather up

And call the Word of God.

In vain great Homer's lay,

Save to perpetuate

The errors and the crimes

Of rankest unbelief, —

Unless indeed we draw

Aside the charme'd veil,

And read, as Homer did,

Nature, and feel her soul.

In vain the Prophet Bards

Have sung their silver songs;

The sound has died away,

But fragments of the fire

That kindled on their lips

And burned their life away,

Alone are left for those

Who touch, like them, the heights

Of that eternal mount,

Where poesy becomes

A form of living Truth.

IV

Vain, vain, the master mind Fashioned St. Peter's dome, The builder's coarser brain No perfect plan could hold.

O, Angelo, thy thought To blend the bending sky With the cloud curtained earth

Was lost in thy own mind;

Or it perchance became

The temple of that sphere

Wherein thy perfect soul

Hath now its blest abode.

Egypt's proud pyramids

May pierce the Orient ;

Those towers, domes, and spires

Are bathed in morning light ;

Colossal monuments

Of the first years of time,

Ruins of cities vast

Reared in the world's young prime

And consecrate to Art,

And to Religion kind.

O, Rome, with all thy spires,

Thy shafts and obelisks,

Thy pillars and thy dim

And dark cathedral aisles,

Thy sacred works and words,

Thy crowning splendors all, —

Vain are thy treasured walls ;

The blue Italian sky

Bends in one living dome

Encircling, star enwrought,

Upheld by pictured hills,

And pillared with the clouds

That rest on sea and shore.

Yes, vain, for Alpine heights

Still kindle in the morn,

And Chimborazo's peak

Pierces with shaft of flame

The vaulted chasm of air ; The Andes lift their brows Against the hand of God, And all the world is held By matchless* masonry.

> v.

Vain, vain is music's breath, Though reaching up to heaven ; A thousand warblers wake The wild woods with their notes, And from a myriad throats Scatter their melody : The skylark is not dead, The nightingale still sings Her lonely love lament Through the long summer nights ; (The anthems of the sea still sound exultingly.)

In vain the master minds Of harmony have poured Their music o'er the world ; The weird winds still weave Their wondrous minstrelsy: Shivering silver sighs From trembling aspen leaves ; Broad peans from the pines, — The. matchless murm'ring pines, The writhing, wailing pines, The sighing, sobbing pines, The music haunted pines, — And weeping willow boughs ;

O, forest harps, we weep For melody like yours ; (The anthems of the sea still sound exultingly.)

Vain, Mozart, was thy tone, Like a clear voice from Heaven; Whose grand interpreter Thou wert, and who hast given, In syllables of fire Vibrating from thy soul, Nature's high symphonies, — In vain, unless we too Float in that atmosphere Where thou didst ever move, Thou music-winged dove; (The anthems of the sea still sound exultingly.)

And ye twin brothers rare Of sacred harmonies, — Handel with all thy power Of perfect melody, Haydn with thy deep breath Of Heaven inspiring song : But chiefly thou whose tones Are like the sea of soul Washing against the shores Of time, thou, Beethoven ; (The anthems of the sea still sound exultingly.)

And ye bright stars of song, Baptized and bathed in light From the clear atmosphere

Of Italy's dark night, Who sung with cross of fire Suspended to each breast, Yet war could never quench Your melody's unrest ; (The anthems of the sea still sound exultingly.)

Vain, vain the instruments, And all the songs of time, O choirs invisible, — Orchestras all unseen ; O, harps with golden strings, Hung on all places high; O, pipings of sweet Pan ; Apollo's charmed lyre ; O mighty minstrelsies, O vocal vibrations, O voiceless harmonies ; Oratorios grand ; O sacred symphonies ; (The anthems of the sea still sound exultingly.)

VI

No, no, not all in vain : One perfect form of art, Though never typified, Becomes a living form, Which through eternity Endures and shall not fade.

Those high, immortal minds, — Masters of harmony, Masters of poesy,

Masters of line and* form,

Masters of masonry, —

'Each clasp their hands with all,

And climb the threefold height

Of that art pyramid

That reaches up to heaven.

They touch the hand of Him

Who reared the Royal arch,

And placed the Corner-stone,

And carved the pillars vast,

And painted all the forms

Of life with coloring,

And fashioned every shape

Of beauty, filling all

The void interstices

Of chaos and of space

With the rare beauty bright,

With grandeur all supreme ;

And rounded the vast dome,

And kindled all the worlds,

And lighted with His breath

The central suns of space,

Until each atom grew

Unto a perfect form,

And every sun became

A portion of that Light

Which is the Universe !

So every thought of ours

Unfolds like a sweet rose

Blooming eternally

Upon the breast of God.

So every perfect thought

Enfolds us like a robe, Becomes a part of all That we ourselves become, And paves the starry way To our eternal home.

Like water-lilies white, Or sacred lotus flowers, Uplifting their rare forms From low and dismal pools, We lift our brows to God From the low marsh of time, And the dark waves of life With lilies of white thoughts Are crowned and glorified: And every sun and world, Responsive to our life, Becomes the sweet abode Of our immortal souls.

The stars, like stepping-stones To travellers' weary feet, Or like the emerald branch To weary white -winged doves, Are but the oases Of the soul in its flight, While each augmented life Brings us forever near And nearer unto God.