TO THE MAN-OF-WAR-BIRD Thou who hast slept all night upon the storm, Far, far at sea, 5 After the night's fierce drifts have strewn the shore with wrecks, ΙΟ The rosy and elastic dawn, the flashing sun, The limpid spread of air cerulean, Thou also re-appearest. Thou born to match the gale (thou art all wings), To cope with heaven and earth and sea and hurricane, 15 Thou ship of air that never furl'st thy sails, Days, even weeks, untired and onward, through spaces, realms gyrating, At dusk that look'st on Senegal, at morn America, That sport'st amid the lightning-flash and thunder-cloud, In them, in thy experiences, had'st thou my soul, What joys! what joys were thine! 1876. SPIRIT THAT FORM'D THIS SCENE (Written in Platte Cañon, Colorado) Spirit that form'd this scene, These tumbled rock-piles grim and red, These reckless heaven-ambitious peaks, These gorges, turbulent-clear streams, this naked freshness, I know thee, savage spirit-we have communed together; Mine too such wild arrays, for reasons of their own. Was 't charged against my chants they had forgotten art— But thou that revelest here, spirit that form'd this scene, 1879. 1881. WITH HUSKY-HAUGHTY LIPS, O SEA With husky-haughty lips, O sea! Where day and night I wend thy surf-beat shore, Thy ample, smiling face, dash'd with the sparkling dimples of the sun, Thy unsubduedness, caprices, wilfulness; Great as thou art above the rest, thy many tears-a lack from all eternity in thy content (Naught but the greatest struggles, wrongs, defeats, could make thee greatest-no less could make thee); Thy lonely state-something thou ever seek'st and seek'st, yet never gain'st, Surely some right withheld—some voice, in huge monotonous rage, of freedom-lover pent, Some vast heart, like a planet's, chain'd and chafing in those breakers; And rhythmic rasping of thy sands and waves, And serpent hiss, and savage peals of laughter, And undertones of distant lion roar (Sounding, appealing to the sky's deaf ear-but now, rapport for once, A phantom in the night thy confidant for once), The first and last confession of the globe, Outsurging, muttering from thy soul's abysms, Thou tellest to a kindred soul. 5 IO 15 20 1884. GOOD-BYE, MY FANCY Good-bye, my Fancy! Farewell, dear mate, dear love! I'm going away, I know not where, Or to what fortune, or whether I may ever see you again, Now for my last let me look back a moment; 5 Long have we lived, joy'd, caress'd together; Delightful!-now separation-Good-bye, my Fancy. Yet let me not be too hasty: Long indeed have we lived, slept, filter'd, become really blended into one; Then if we die we die together (yes, we 'll remain one), If we go anywhere we 'll go together to meet what happens, May-be it is yourself now really ushering me to the true songs (who May-be it is you the mortal knob really undoing, turning-so now finally, Good-bye and hail! my Fancy. 1891. RICHARD HENRY STODDARD LEONATUS The fair boy Leonatus, It was his duty evermore To tend the Lady Imogen; By peep of day he might be seen To wake the sleepy waiting-maid, ΙΟ 15 5 And dragged him down the vaults, where wine To pick a flask of vintage fine; Came up, and clomb the garden wall, And plucked from out the sunny spots Peaches and luscious apricots, And filled his golden salver there, And hurried to his lady fair. The gallant Leonatus, The page of Imogen. He had a steed from Arab ground; And when the lords and ladies gay But when they saw the deer go by, And scoured beside her o'er the plain. The strange boy Leonatus, Sometimes he used to stand for hours Within her room, behind her chair; Across his eyes, and bees from flowers Hummed round him, but he did not stir: A pure and reverent worshipper, A dreamer building airy towers. But when she spoke, he gave a start The sad boy Leonatus, He lost all relish and delight He stammered, sighed, and answered, "Naught." She shook her head, and then she thought 75 What all his malady could mean: It might be love; her maid was fair, And Leon had a loving air; She watched them with a jealous care, And played the spy, but naught was seen. The dear boy Leonatus, She loved, but owned it not as yet. She called him twenty times a day, And lived in sorrow and regret. Sometimes she frowned with stately mien, And then she soothed him meek and mild, |