The Complete Poetical Works of James Russell Lowell Part 67

I twisted this magic in gossamer strings Over a wind-harp's Delphian hollow; Then called to the idle breeze that swings All day in the pine-tops, and clings, and sings 'Mid the musical leaves, and said, 'Oh, follow The will of those tears that deepen my words, And fly to my window to waken these chords.'

So they trembled to life, and, doubtfully Feeling their way to my sense, sang, 'Say whether They sit all day by the greenwood tree, The lover and loved, as it wont to be, When we--' But grief conquered, and all together They swelled such weird murmur as haunts a sh.o.r.e Of some planet dispeopled,--'Nevermore!'

Then from deep in the past, as seemed to me, The strings gathered sorrow and sang forsaken, 'One lover still waits 'neath the greenwood tree, But 'tis dark,' and they shuddered, 'where lieth she, Dark and cold! Forever must one be taken?'

But I groaned, 'O harp of all ruth bereft, This Scripture is sadder,--"the other left"!'

There murmured, as if one strove to speak, And tears came instead; then the sad tones wandered And faltered among the uncertain chords In a troubled doubt between sorrow and words; At last with themselves they questioned and pondered, 'Hereafter?--who knoweth?' and so they sighed Down the long steps that lead to silence and died.

AUF WIEDERSEHEN

SUMMER

The little gate was reached at last, Half hid in lilacs down the lane; She pushed it wide, and, as she past, A wistful look she backward cast, And said,--'_Auf wiedersehen!_'

With hand on latch, a vision white Lingered reluctant, and again Half doubting if she did aright, Soft as the dews that fell that night, She said,--'_Auf wiedersehen!_'

The lamp's clear gleam flits up the stair; I linger in delicious pain; Ah, in that chamber, whose rich air To breathe in thought I scarcely dare, Thinks she,--'_Auf wiedersehen?_' ...

'Tis thirteen years; once more I press The turf that silences the lane; I hear the rustle of her dress, I smell the lilacs, and--ah, yes, I hear '_Auf wiedersehen!_'

Sweet piece of bashful maiden art!

The English words had seemed too fain, But these--they drew us heart to heart, Yet held us tenderly apart; She said, '_Auf wiedersehen!_'

PALINODE

AUTUMN

Still thirteen years: 'tis autumn now On field and hill, in heart and brain; The naked trees at evening sough; The leaf to the forsaken bough Sighs not,--'_Auf wiedersehen!_'

Two watched yon oriole's pendent dome, That now is void, and dank with rain, And one,--oh, hope more frail than foam!

The bird to his deserted home Sings not,--'_Auf wiedersehen!_'

The loath gate swings with rusty creak; Once, parting there, we played at pain: There came a parting, when the weak And fading lips essayed to speak Vainly,--'_Auf wiedersehen!_'

Somewhere is comfort, somewhere faith, Though thou in outer dark remain; One sweet sad voice enn.o.bles death, And still, for eighteen centuries saith Softly,--'_Auf wiedersehen!_'

If earth another grave must bear, Yet heaven hath won a sweeter strain, And something whispers my despair, That, from an orient chamber there, Floats down, '_Auf wiedersehen!_'

AFTER THE BURIAL

Yes, faith is a goodly anchor; When skies are sweet as a psalm, At the bows it lolls so stalwart, In its bluff, broad-shouldered calm.

And when over breakers to leeward The tattered surges are hurled, It may keep our head to the tempest, With its grip on the base of the world.

But, after the s.h.i.+pwreck, tell me What help in its iron thews, Still true to the broken hawser, Deep down among sea-weed and ooze?

In the breaking gulfs of sorrow, When the helpless feet stretch out And find in the deeps of darkness No footing so solid as doubt,

Then better one spar of Memory, One broken plank of the Past, That our human heart may cling to, Though hopeless of sh.o.r.e at last!

To the spirit its splendid conjectures, To the flesh its sweet despair, Its tears o'er the thin-worn locket With its anguish of deathless hair!

Immortal? I feel it and know it, Who doubts it of such as she?

But that is the pang's very secret,-- Immortal away from me.

There's a narrow ridge in the graveyard Would scarce stay a child in his race, But to me and my thought it is wider Than the star-sown vague of s.p.a.ce.

Your logic, my friend, is perfect, Your moral most drearily true; But, since the earth clashed on _her_ coffin, I keep hearing that, and not you.

Console if you will, I can bear it; 'Tis a well-meant alms of breath; But not all the preaching since Adam Has made Death other than Death.

It is pagan; but wait till you feel it,-- That jar of our earth, that dull shock When the ploughshare of deeper pa.s.sion Tears down to our primitive rock.

Communion in spirit! Forgive me, But I, who am earthly and weak, Would give all my incomes from dreamland For a touch of her hand on my cheek.

That little shoe in the corner, So worn and wrinkled and brown, With its emptiness confutes you, And argues your wisdom down.

THE DEAD HOUSE

Here once my step was quickened, Here beckoned the opening door, And welcome thrilled from the threshold To the foot it had known before.

A glow came forth to meet me From the flame that laughed in the grate, And shadows adance on the ceiling, Danced blither with mine for a mate.

'I claim you, old friend,' yawned the arm-chair, 'This corner, you know, is your seat;'

'Best your slippers on me,' beamed the fender, 'I brighten at touch of your feet.'

'We know the practised finger,'

Said the books, 'that seems like brain;'

And the shy page rustled the secret It had kept till I came again.

Sang the pillow, 'My down once quivered On nightingales' throats that flew Through moonlit gardens of Hafiz To gather quaint dreams for you.'

Ah me, where the Past sowed heart's-ease.

The Present plucks rue for us men!

I come back: that scar unhealing Was not in the churchyard then.

But, I think, the house is unaltered, I will go and beg to look At the rooms that were once familiar To my life as its bed to a brook.

Unaltered! Alas for the sameness That makes the change but more!

'Tis a dead man I see in the mirrors, 'Tis his tread that chills the floor!