American Poetry

And now, gentlemen,

THE BASE OF ALL METAPHYSICS

A word I give to remain in your memories and minds,

As base, and finale too, for all metaphysics.

(So, to the students, the old professor,

At the close of his crowded course.)

Having studied the new and antique, the Greek and Germanic systems,

Kant having studied and stated-Fichte and Schelling and Hegel,

Stated the lore of Plato-and Socrates, greater than Plato,

And greater than Socrates sought and stated-Christ divine having studied long,

I see reminiscent to-day those Greek and Germanic systems,

See the philosophies all-Christian churches and tenets see,

Yet underneath Socrates clearly see-and underneath Christ the divine I see,
The dear love of man for his comrade-the attraction of friend to friend,
Of the well-married husband and wife-of children and parents,

Of city for city, and land for land.

O STAR OF FRANCE!

1870-71.
1

1870.

O Star of France!

The brightness of thy hope and strength and fame,

Like some proud ship that led the fleet so long,

Beseems to-day a wreck, driven by the gale-a mastless hulk;
And 'mid its teeming, madden'd, half-drown'd crowds,

Nor helm nor helmsman.

Dim, smitten star!

Orb not of France alone-pale symbol of my soul, its dearest hopes,
The struggle and the daring-rage divine for liberty,

Of aspirations toward the far ideal-enthusiast's dreams of brotherhood,
Of terror to the tyrant and the priest.

Miserable! yet for thy errors, vanities, sins, I will not now rebuke thee;
Thy unexampled woes and pangs have quell'd them all,

And left thee sacred.

In that amid thy many faults, thou ever aimedst highly,

In that thou wouldst not really sell thyself, however great the price,

In that thou surely wakedst weeping from thy drugg'd sleep,

In that alone, among thy sisters, thou, Giantess, didst rend the ones that shamed thee,

In that thou couldst not, wouldst not, wear the usual chains,

This cross, thy livid face, thy pierced hands and feet,

The spear thrust in thy side.

O star! O ship of France, beat back and baffled long!
Bear up, O smitten orb! O ship, continue on!

Sure, as the ship of all, the Earth itself,
Product of deathly fire and turbulent chaos,
Forth from its spasms of fury and its poisons,
Issuing at last in perfect power and beauty,
Onward, beneath the sun, following its course,
So thee, O ship of France!

Finish'd the days, the clouds dispell'd,

The travail o'er, the long-sought_extrication

When lo! reborn, high o'er the European world,

(In gladness, answering thence, as face afar to face, reflecting ours, Columbia,) Again thy star, O France-fair, lustrous star,

In heavenly peace, clearer, more bright than ever,
Shall beam immortal.

130

First published in "As a Strong Bird," 1872.

A CAROL CLOSING SIXTY-NINE

A carol closing sixty-nine-a résumé-a repetition,
My lines in joy and hope.continuing on the same,
Of ye, O God, Life, Nature, Freedom, Poetry;

Of you, my Land-your rivers, prairies, States-you, mottled Flag I love,
Your aggregate retain'd entire-O north, south, east and west, your items all;

Of me myself-the jocund heart yet beating in my breast,

The body wreck'd, old, poor and paralyzed-the strange inertia falling pall-like round me,

The burning fires down in my sluggish blood not yet extinct,

The undiminish'd faith-the groups of loving friends.

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,
So Good-bye my Fancy.

Now for my last-let me look back a moment;

The slower fainter ticking of the clock is in me,
Exit, nightfall, and soon the heart-thud stopping.

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 we'll be better off and blither, and learn something,

May-be it is yourself now really ushering me to the true songs, (who knows?)
May-be it is you the mortal knob really undoing, turning-so now finally,
Good-bye-and hail! my Fancy.

RICHARD HENRY STODDARD
(1825-1903)

THE WITCH'S WHELP

Along the shore the slimy brine-pits yawn,
Covered with thick green scum; the bil-

lows rise,

And fill them to the brim with clouded foam,

And then subside, and leave the scum again.

The ribbed sand is full of hollow gulfs, Where monsters from the waters come and lie.

Great serpents bask at noon along the
rocks,

To me no terror; coil on coil they roll 8
Back to their holes before my flying feet.
The Dragon of the Sea, my mother's god,
Enormous Setebos, comes here to sleep;
Him I molest not; when he flaps his wing
A whirlwind rises, when he swims the
deep

It threatens to engulf the trembling isle.
Sometimes when winds do blow, and
clouds are dark,

I seek the blasted wood whose barkless trunks

Are bleached with summer suns; the creaking trees

Stoop down to me, and swing me right and left

Through crashing limbs, but not a jot care I,

The thunder breaks above, and in their

Felled by the winds; through briery undergrowth

They slide with hissing tongues, beneath

my feet

To writhe, or in my fingers squeezed to
death.

There is a wild and solitary pine,
Deep in the meadows; all the island birds
From far and near fly there, and learn
new songs.

Something imprisoned in its wrinkled

bark

Powerless and mute beneath thy mighty

spell,

My heart was lost within itself and thee, As when a pearl is melted in its shell,

And sunken in the sea.

I sank and sank beneath thy song, but still
I thirsted after more the more I sank,
A flower that drooped with all the dew
it drank,

But still upheld its cup for Heaven to fill.
My inmost soul was drunk with melody, 70
Which thou didst pour around,
To crown the feast of sound,
And lift in light to all, but chief to me,
Whose spirit, uncontrolled,
Drained all the fiery wine, and clutched
its cup of gold!

THE FLIGHT OF YOUTH

There are gains for all our losses,

There are balms for all our pain: But when youth, the dream, departs, It takes something from our hearts, And it never comes again.

We are stronger, and are better,

Under manhood's sterner reign:
Still we feel that something sweet
Followed youth, with flying feet,
And will never come again.
Something beautiful is vanished,

And we sigh for it in vain :
We behold it everywhere,
On the earth, and in the air,

But it never comes again.

You may drink to your leman in gold, In a great golden goblet of wine; She's as ripe as the wine, and as bold As the glare of the gold:

But this little lady of mine,

I will not profane her in wine. I go where the garden so still is, (The moon raining through)

To pluck the white bowls of the lilies, And drink her in dew!

The sky is a drinking-cup,

That was overturned of old, And it pours in the eyes of men Its wine of airy gold.

We drink that wine all day.

Till the last drop is drained up, And are lighted off to bed By the jewels in the cup!

The gray old Earth goes on
At its ancient pace,
Lifting its thunder-voice
In the choir of space;

And the years as they go
Are singing slow,
Solemn dirges, full of wo.

Tyrants sit upon their thrones,
And will not hear the people's moans,
Nor hear their clanking chains:

Or if they do they add thereto,
And mock, not ease their pains.

But little liberty remains, There is but little room for thee, In this wide world, O Liberty! But where thy foot has once been set Thou wilt remain, though oft unseen:

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