Read Ebook: Three Sunsets and Other Poems by Carroll Lewis Thomson E Gertrude Emily Gertrude Illustrator

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Ebook has 203 lines and 13831 words, and 5 pages

"Where hearts are fierce and hands are strong, Where peals the bugle loud and long, Where blood is dropping in the throng:

"Still, with a dim and glazing eye, To watch the tide of victory, To hear in death the battle-cry:

"Then, gathered grandly to his grave, To rest among the true and brave, In holy ground, where yew-trees wave:

"Where, from church-windows sculptured fair, Float out upon the evening air The note of praise, the voice of prayer:

"Where no vain marble mockery Insults with loud and boastful lie The simple soldier's memory:

Her voice died out: like one in dreams she sat. "Alas!" she sighed. "For what can Woman do? Her life is aimless, and her death unknown: Hemmed in by social forms she pines in vain. Man has his work, but what can Woman do?" And answer came there from the creeping gloom, The creeping gloom that settled into night: "Peace! For thy lot is other than a man's: His is a path of thorns: he beats them down: He faces death: he wrestles with despair. Thine is of roses, to adorn and cheer His lonely life, and hide the thorns in flowers." She spake again: in bitter tone she spake: "Aye, as a toy, the puppet of an hour, Or a fair posy, newly plucked at morn, But flung aside and withered ere the night." And answer came there from the creeping gloom, The creeping gloom that blackened into night: "So shalt thou be the lamp to light his path, What time the shades of sorrow close around." And, so it seemed to her, an awful light Pierced slowly through the darkness, orbed, and grew, Until all passed away--the ancient room-- The sunlight dying through the trellised vine-- The one tall window--all had passed away, And she was standing on the mighty hills. Beneath, around, and far as eye could see, Squadron on squadron, stretched opposing hosts, Ranked as for battle, mute and motionless. Anon a distant thunder shook the ground, The tramp of horses, and a troop shot by-- Plunged headlong in that living sea of men-- Plunged to their death: back from that fatal field A scattered handful, fighting hard for life, Broke through the serried lines; but, as she gazed, They shrank and melted, and their forms grew thin-- Grew pale as ghosts when the first morning ray Dawns from the East--the trumpet's brazen blare Died into silence--and the vision passed-- Passed to a room where sick and dying lay In long, sad line--there brooded Fear and Pain-- Darkness was there, the shade of Azrael's wing. But there was one that ever, to and fro, Moved with light footfall: purely calm her face, And those deep steadfast eyes that starred the gloom: Still, as she went, she ministered to each Comfort and counsel; cooled the fevered brow With softest touch, and in the listening ear Of the pale sufferer whispered words of peace. The dying warrior, gazing as she passed, Clasped his thin hands and blessed her. Bless her too, Thou, who didst bless the merciful of old! So prayed the Lady, watching tearfully Her gentle moving onward, till the night Had veiled her wholly, and the vision passed. Then once again the solemn whisper came: "So in the darkest path of man's despair, Where War and Terror shake the troubled earth, Lies woman's mission; with unblenching brow To pass through scenes of horror and affright Where men grow sick and tremble: unto her All things are sanctified, for all are good. Nothing so mean, but shall deserve her care: Nothing so great, but she may bear her part. No life is vain: each hath his place assigned: Do thou thy task, and leave the rest to God." And there was silence, but the Lady made No answer, save one deeply-breathed "Amen." And she arose, and in that darkening room Stood lonely as a spirit of the night-- Stood calm and fearless in the gathered night-- And raised her eyes to heaven. There were tears Upon her face, but in her heart was peace, Peace that the world nor gives nor takes away!

THE VALLEY OF THE SHADOW OF DEATH.

My son, it minds me of a day Left half a life behind, That I have prayed to put away For ever from my mind. But bitter memory will not die: It haunts my soul when none is nigh: I hear its whisper in the sigh Of that complaining wind.

And now in death my soul is fain To tell the tale of fear That hidden in my breast hath lain Through many a weary year: Yet time would fail to utter all-- The evil spells that held me thrall, And thrust my life from fall to fall, Thou needest not to hear.

The spells that bound me with a chain, Sin's stern behests to do, Till Pleasure's self, invoked in vain, A heavy burden grew-- Till from my spirit's fevered eye, A hunted thing, I seemed to fly Through the dark woods that underlie Yon mountain-range of blue.

Deep in those woods I found a vale No sunlight visiteth, Nor star, nor wandering moonbeam pale; Where never comes the breath Of summer-breeze--there in mine ear, Even as I lingered half in fear, I heard a whisper, cold and clear, "This is the gate of Death.

"O bitter is it to abide In weariness alway: At dawn to sigh for eventide, At eventide for day. Thy noon hath fled: thy sun hath shone. The brightness of thy day is gone: What need to lag and linger on Till life be cold and gray?

"O well," it said, "beneath yon pool, In some still cavern deep, The fevered brain might slumber cool, The eyes forget to weep: Within that goblet's mystic rim Are draughts of healing, stored for him Whose heart is sick, whose sight is dim, Who prayeth but to sleep!"

The evening-breeze went moaning by, Like mourner for the dead, And stirred, with shrill complaining sigh, The tree-tops overhead: My guardian-angel seemed to stand And mutely wave a warning hand-- With sudden terror all unmanned, I turned myself and fled!

A cottage-gate stood open wide: Soft fell the dying ray On two fair children, side by side, That rested from their play-- Together bent the earnest head, As ever and anon they read From one dear Book: the words they said Come back to me to-day.

Like twin cascades on mountain-stair Together wandered down The ripples of the golden hair, The ripples of the brown: While, through the tangled silken haze, Blue eyes looked forth in eager gaze, More starlike than the gems that blaze About a monarch's crown.

My son, there comes to each an hour When sinks the spirit's pride-- When weary hands forget their power The strokes of death to guide: In such a moment, warriors say, A word the panic-rout may stay, A sudden charge redeem the day And turn the living tide.

I could not see, for blinding tears, The glories of the west: A heavenly music filled mine ears, A heavenly peace my breast. "Come unto Me, come unto Me-- All ye that labour, unto Me-- Ye heavy-laden, come to Me-- And I will give you rest."

The night drew onward: thin and blue The evening mists arise To bathe the thirsty land in dew, As erst in Paradise-- While, over silent field and town, The deep blue vault of heaven looked down; Not, as of old, in angry frown, But bright with angels' eyes.

Blest day! Then first I heard the voice That since hath oft beguiled These eyes from tears, and bid rejoice This heart with anguish wild-- Thy mother, boy, thou hast not known; So soon she left me here to moan-- Left me to weep and watch, alone, Our one beloved child.

Though, parted from my aching sight, Like homeward-speeding dove, She passed into the perfect light That floods the world above; Yet our twin spirits, well I know-- Though one abide in pain below-- Love, as in summers long ago, And evermore shall love.

So with a glad and patient heart I move toward mine end: The streams, that flow awhile apart, Shall both in ocean blend. I dare not weep: I can but bless The Love that pitied my distress, And lent me, in Life's wilderness, So sweet and true a friend.

But if there be--O if there be A truth in what they say, That angel-forms we cannot see Go with us on our way; Then surely she is with me here, I dimly feel her spirit near-- The morning-mists grow thin and clear, And Death brings in the Day.

SOLITUDE.

I love the stillness of the wood: I love the music of the rill: I love to couch in pensive mood Upon some silent hill.

Scarce heard, beneath yon arching trees, The silver-crested ripples pass; And, like a mimic brook, the breeze Whispers among the grass.

Here from the world I win release, Nor scorn of men, nor footstep rude, Break in to mar the holy peace Of this great solitude.

Here may the silent tears I weep Lull the vexed spirit into rest, As infants sob themselves to sleep Upon a mother's breast.

But when the bitter hour is gone, And the keen throbbing pangs are still, Oh sweetest then to couch alone Upon some silent hill!

To live in joys that once have been, To put the cold world out of sight, And deck life's drear and barren scene With hues of rainbow-light.

For what to man the gift of breath, If sorrow be his lot below; If all the day that ends in death Be dark with clouds of woe?

Shall the poor transport of an hour Repay long years of sore distress-- The fragrance of a lonely flower Make glad the wilderness?

Ye golden hours of Life's young spring, Of innocence, of love and truth! Bright, beyond all imagining, Thou fairy-dream of youth!

I'd give all wealth that years have piled, The slow result of Life's decay, To be once more a little child For one bright summer-day.

FAR AWAY.

He stept so lightly to the land, All in his manly pride: He kissed her cheek, he clasped her hand; Yet still she glanced aside. "Too gay he seems," she darkly dreams, "Too gallant and too gay, To think of me--poor simple me-- When he is far away!"

"I bring my Love this goodly pearl Across the seas," he said: "A gem to deck the dearest girl That ever sailor wed!" She holds it tight: her eyes are bright: Her throbbing heart would say "He thought of me--he thought of me-- When he was far away!"

The ship has sailed into the West: Her ocean-bird is flown: A dull dead pain is in her breast, And she is weak and lone: But there's a smile upon her face, A smile that seems to say "He'll think of me--he'll think of me-- When he is far away!

"Though waters wide between us glide, Our lives are warm and near: No distance parts two faithful hearts-- Two hearts that love so dear: And I will trust my sailor-lad, For ever and a day, To think of me--to think of me-- When he is far away!"

BEATRICE.

In her eyes is the living light Of a wanderer to earth From a far celestial height: Summers five are all the span-- Summers five since Time began To veil in mists of human night A shining angel-birth.

Does an angel look from her eyes? Will she suddenly spring away, And soar to her home in the skies? Beatrice! Blessing and blessed to be! Beatrice! Still, as I gaze on thee, Visions of two sweet maids arise, Whose life was of yesterday:

Of a Beatrice pale and stern, With the lips of a dumb despair, With the innocent eyes that yearn-- Yearn for the young sweet hours of life, Far from sorrow and far from strife, For the happy summers, that never return, When the world seemed good and fair:

Of a Beatrice glorious, bright-- Of a sainted, ethereal maid, Whose blue eyes are deep fountains of light, Cheering the poet that broodeth apart, Filling with gladness his desolate heart, Like the moon when she shines thro' a cloudless night On a world of silence and shade.

And the visions waver and faint, And the visions vanish away That my fancy delighted to paint-- She is here at my side, a living child, With the glowing cheek and the tresses wild, Nor death-pale martyr, nor radiant saint, Yet stainless and bright as they.

For I think, if a grim wild beast Were to come from his charnel-cave, From his jungle-home in the East-- Stealthily creeping with bated breath, Stealthily creeping with eyes of death-- He would all forget his dream of the feast, And crouch at her feet a slave.

She would twine her hand in his mane: She would prattle in silvery tone, Like the tinkle of summer-rain-- Questioning him with her laughing eyes, Questioning him with a glad surprise, Till she caught from those fierce eyes again The love that lit her own.

And be sure, if a savage heart, In a mask of human guise, Were to come on her here apart-- Bound for a dark and a deadly deed, Hurrying past with pitiless speed-- He would suddenly falter and guiltily start At the glance of her pure blue eyes.

Nay, be sure, if an angel fair, A bright seraph undefiled, Were to stoop from the trackless air, Fain would she linger in glad amaze-- Lovingly linger to ponder and gaze, With a sister's love and a sister's care, On the happy, innocent child.

STOLEN WATERS.

The light was faint, and soft the air That breathed around the place; And she was lithe, and tall, and fair, And with a wayward grace Her queenly head she bare.

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