Old Spookses' Pass, Malcolm's Katie, and other poems Part 12

"Who curseth Sorrow knows her not at all.

Dark matrix she, from which the human soul Has its last birth; whence, with its misty thews, Close-knitted in her blackness, issues out; Strong for immortal toil up such great heights, As crown o'er crown rise through Eternity, Without the loud, deep clamour of her wail, The iron of her hands; the biting brine Of her black tears; the Soul but lightly built of indeterminate spirit, like a mist Would lapse to Chaos in soft, gilded dreams, As mists fade in the gazing of the sun.

Sorrow, dark mother of the soul, arise!

Be crown'd with spheres where thy bless'd children dwell, Who, but for thee, were not. No lesser seat Be thine, thou Helper of the Universe, Than planet on planet pil'd!--thou instrument, Close-clasp'd within the great Creative Hand!"

The Land had put his ruddy gauntlet on, Of Harvest gold, to dash in Famine's face.

And like a vintage wain, deep dy'd with juice, The great moon falter'd up the ripe, blue sky, Drawn by silver stars--like oxen white And horn'd with rays of light--Down the rich land Malcolm's small valleys, fill'd with grain, lip-high, Lay round a lonely hill that fac'd the moon, And caught the wine-kiss of its ruddy light.

A cusp'd, dark wood caught in its black embrace The valleys and the hill, and from its wilds, Spic'd with dark cedars, cried the Whip-poor-will.

A crane, belated, sail'd across the moon; On the bright, small, close link'd lakes green islets lay, Dusk knots of tangl'd vines, or maple boughs, Or tuft'd cedars, boss'd upon the waves.

The gay, enamell'd children of the swamp Roll'd a low ba.s.s to treble, tinkling notes Of little streamlets leaping from the woods.

Close to old Malcolm's mills, two wooden jaws Bit up the water on a sloping floor; And here, in season, rush'd the great logs down, To seek the river winding on its way.

In a green sheen, smooth as a Naiad's locks, The water roll'd between the shudd'ring jaws-- Then on the river level roar'd and reel'd-- In ivory-arm'd conflict with itself.

"Look down," said Alfred, "Katie, look and see "How that but pictures my mad heart to you.

"It tears itself in fighting that mad love "You swear is hopeless--hopeless--is it so?"

"Ah, yes!" said Katie, "ask me not again."

"But Katie, Max is false; no word has come, "Nor any sign from him for many months, "And--he is happy with his Indian wife."

She lifted eyes fair as the fresh grey dawn with all its dews and promises of sun.

"O, Alfred!--saver of my little life-- "Look in my eyes and read them honestly."

He laugh'd till all the isles and forests laugh'd.

"O simple child! what may the forest flames "See in the woodland ponds but their own fires?

"And have you, Katie, neither fears nor doubts?"

She, with the flow'r soft pinkness of her palm Cover'd her sudden tears, then quickly said: "Fears--never doubts, for true love never doubts."

Then Alfred paus'd a s.p.a.ce, as one who holds A white doe by the throat and searches for The blade to slay her. "This your answer still-- "You doubt not--doubt not this far love of yours, "Tho' sworn a false young recreant, Kate, by me?"

"He is as true as I am," Katie said; "And did I seek for stronger simile, "I could not find such in the universe!"

"And were he dead? what, Katie, were he dead-- "A handful of brown dust, a flame blown out-- "What then would love be strongly, true to--Naught?"

"Still, true to love my love would be," she said, And faintly smiling, pointed to the stars.

"O fool!" said Alfred, stirr'd--as craters rock "To their own throes--and over his pale lips Roll'd flaming stone, his molten heart. "Then, fool-- "Be true to what thou wilt--for he is dead.

"And there have grown this gilded summer past "Gra.s.ses and buds from his unburied flesh.

"I saw him dead. I heard his last, loud cry: "'O Kate!' ring thro' the woods; in truth I did."

She half-raised up a piteous, pleading hand, Then fell along the mosses at his feet.

"Now will I show I love you, Kate," he said, "And give you gift of love; you shall not wake "To feel the arrow, feather-deep, within "Your constant heart. For me, I never meant "To crawl an hour beyond what time I felt "The strange, fang'd monster that they call Remorse "Fold found my waken'd heart. The hour has come; "And as Love grew, the welded folds of steel "Slipp'd round in horrid zones. In Love's flaming eyes "Stared its fell eyeb.a.l.l.s, and with Hydra head "It sank hot fangs in breast, and brow and thigh.

"Come, Kate! O Anguish is a simple knave "Whom hucksters could outwit with small trade lies, "When thus so easily his smarting thralls, "May flee his knout! Come, come, my little Kate; "The black porch with its fringe of poppies waits-- "A propylaleum hospitably wide.

"No lictors with their fasces at its jaws, "Its floor as kindly to my fire-vein'd feet "As to thy silver, lilied, sinless ones.

"O you shall slumber soundly, tho' the white, "Wild waters pluck the crocus of your hair; "And scaly spies stare with round, lightless eyes "At your small face laid on my stony breast.

"Come, Kate! I must not have you wake, dear heart, "To hear you cry, perchance, on your dead Max."

He turn'd her still, face close upon his breast, And with his lips upon her soft, ring'd hair, Leap'd from the bank, low shelving o'er the knot Of frantic waters at the long slide's foot.

And as the sever'd waters crash'd and smote Together once again,--within the wave Stunn'd chamber of his ear there peal'd a cry: "O Kate! stay, madman; traitor, stay! O Kate!"

Max, gaunt as prairie wolves in famine time, With long drawn sickness, reel'd upon the bank-- Katie, new-rescu'd, waking in his arms.

On the white riot of the waters gleam'd, The face of Alfred, calm, with close-seal'd eyes, And blood red on his temple where it smote The mossy timbers of the groaning slide.

"O G.o.d!" said Max, as Katie's opening eyes Looked up to his, slow budding to a smile Of wonder and of bliss, "My Kate, my Kate!"

She saw within his eyes a larger soul Than that light spirit that before she knew, And read the meaning of his glance and words.

"Do as you will, my Max. I would not keep "You back with one light-falling finger-tip!"

And cast herself from his large arms upon The mosses at his feet, and hid her face That she might not behold what he would do; Or lest the terror in her shining eyes Might bind him to her, and prevent his soul Work out its greatness; and her long, wet hair Drew, ma.s.s'd, about her ears, to shut the sound Of the vex'd waters from her anguish'd brain.

Max look'd upon her, turning as he look'd.

A moment came a voice in Katie's soul: "Arise, be not dismay'd; arise and look; "If he should perish, 'twill be as a G.o.d, "For he would die to save his enemy."

But answer'd her torn heart: "I cannot look-- "I cannot look and see him sob and die; "In those pale, angry arms. O, let me rest "Blind, blind and deaf until the swift pac'd end.

"My Max! O G.o.d--was that his Katie's name?"

Like a pale dove, hawk-hunted, Katie ran, Her fear's beak in her shoulder; and below, Where the coil'd waters straighten'd to a stream, Found Max all bruis'd and bleeding on they bank, But smiling with man's triumph in his eyes, When he has on fierce Danger's lion neck Plac'd his right hand and pluck'd the prey away.

And at his feet lay Alfred, still and while, A willow's shadow tremb'ling on his face, "There lies the false, fair devil, O my Kate, "Who would have parted us, but could not, Kate!"

"But could not, Max," said Katie. "Is he dead?"

But, swift perusing Max's strange, dear face, Close clasp'd against his breast--forgot him straight And ev'ry other evil thing upon The broad green earth.

PART VII

Again rang out the music of the axe, And on the slope, as in his happy dreams, The home of Max with wealth of drooping vines On the rude walls, and in the trellis'd porch Sat Katie, smiling o'er the rich, fresh fields; And by her side sat Malcolm, hale and strong; Upon his knee a little, smiling child, Nam'd--Alfred, as the seal of pardon set Upon the heart of one who sinn'd and woke to sorrow for his sins--and whom they lov'd With gracious joyousness--nor kept the dusk Of his past deeds between their hearts and his.

Malcolm had follow'd with his flocks and herds When Max and Katie, hand in hand, went out From his old home; and now, with slow, grave smile He said to Max, who twisted Katie's hair About his naked arm, bare from his toil: "It minds me of old times, this house of yours; "It stirs my heart to hearken to the axe, "And hear the windy crash of falling trees; "Aye, these fresh forests make an old man young."

"Oh, yes!" said Max, with laughter in his eyes; "And I do truly think that Eden bloom'd "Deep in the heart of tall, green maple groves, "With sudden scents of pine from mountain sides "And prairies with their b.r.e.a.s.t.s against the skies.

"And Eve was only little Katie's height."

"Hoot, lad! you speak as ev'ry Adam speaks "About his bonnie Eve; but what says Kate?"

"O Adam had not Max's soul,' she said; "And these wild woods and plains are fairer far "Than Eden's self. O bounteous mothers they!

"Beck'ning pale starvelings with their fresh, green hands, "And with their ashes mellowing the earth, "That she may yield her increase willingly.

"I would not change these wild and rocking woods, "Dotted by little homes of unbark'd trees, "Where dwell the fleers from the waves of want,-- "For the smooth sward of selfish Eden bowers, "Nor--Max for Adam, if I knew my mind!"

OLD SPENSE.

You've seen his place, I reckon, friend?

'Twas rather kind ov tryin'.

The way he made the dollars fly, Such gimcrack things a-buyin'-- He spent a big share ov a fortin'

On pesky things that went a snortin'

And hollerin' over all the fields, And ploughin' ev'ry furrow; We sort ov felt discouraged, for Spense wusn't one to borrow; An' wus--the old chap wouldn't lend A cent's wuth to his dearest friend!

Good land! the neighbours seed to wunst Them snortin', screamin' notions Wus jest enough tew drown the yearth In wrath, like roarin' oceans, "An' guess'd the Lord would give old Spense Blue fits for fightin' Pruvidence!"

Spense wus thet harden'd; when the yearth Wus like a bak'd pertater; Instead ov prayin' hard fur rain, He fetched an irrigator.

"The wicked flourish like green bays!"

Sed folks for comfort in them days.

I will allow his place was grand With not a stump upon it, The loam wus jest as rich an' black Es school ma'am's velvet bunnit; But tho' he flourish'd, folks all know'd What spiritooal ear-marks he show'd.

Spense had a notion in his mind, Ef some poor human grapples With pesky worms thet eat his vines, An' spile his summer apples, It don't seem enny kind ov sense Tew call that "cheekin' Pruvidence!"

An' ef a chap on Sabbath sees A thunder cloud a-strayin'

Above his fresh cut clover an'

Gets down tew steddy prayin', An' tries tew shew the Lord's mistake, Instead ov tacklin' tew his rake,

He ain't got enny kind ov show Tew talk ov chast'ning trials; When thet thar thunder cloud lets down It's sixty billion vials; No! when it looks tew rain on hay, First take yer rake an' then yer pray!