Pike County Ballads and Other Poems Part 16

X.

Maidens! why should you worry in choosing whom you shall marry?

Choose whom you may, you will find you have got somebody else.

XI.

Unto each man comes a day when his favourite sins all forsake him, And he complacently thinks he has forsaken his sins.

XII.

Be not too anxious to gain your next-door neighbour's approval: Live your own life, and let him strive your approval to gain.

XIII.

Who would succeed in the world should be wise in the use of his p.r.o.nouns.

Utter the You twenty times, where you once utter the I.

XIV.

The best-loved man or maid in the town would perish with anguish Could they hear all that their friends say in the course of a day.

XV.

True luck consists not in holding the best of the cards at the table: Luckiest he who knows just when to rise and go home.

XVI.

Pleasant enough it is to hear the world speak of your virtues; But in your secret heart 'tis of your faults you are proud.

XVII.

Try not to beat back the current, yet be not drowned in its waters; Speak with the speech of the world, think with the thoughts of the few.

XVIII.

Make all good men your well-wishers, and then, in the years' steady sifting, Some of them turn into friends. Friends are the sunshine of life.

REGARDANT.

As I lay at your feet that afternoon, Little we spoke,--you sat and mused, Humming a sweet old-fashioned tune,

And I worshipped you, with a sense confused Of the good time gone and the bad on the way, While my hungry eyes your face perused,

To catch and brand on my soul for aye The subtle smile which had grown my doom.

Drinking sweet poison hushed I lay

Till the sunset shimmered athwart the room.

I rose to go. You stood so fair And dim in the dead day's tender gloom:

All at once, or ever I was aware, Flashed from you on me a warm strong wave Of pa.s.sion and power; in the silence there

I fell on my knees, like a lover, or slave, With my wild hands clasping your slender waist; And my lips, with a sudden frenzy brave,

A madman's kiss on your girdle pressed, And I felt your calm heart's quickening beat, And your soft hands on me one instant rest.

And if G.o.d had loved me, how endlessly sweet Had He let my heart in its rapture burst, And throb its last at your firm small feet!

And when I was forth, I shuddered at first At my imminent bliss. As a soul in pain, Treading his desolate path accursed,

Looks back and dreams through his tears' dim rain That by Heaven's wide gate the angels smile, Relenting, and beckon him back again,

And goes on, thrice d.a.m.ned by that devil's wile,-- So sometimes burns in my weary brain The thought that you loved me all the while.

GUY OF THE TEMPLE.

Down the dim west slowly fails the stricken sun, And from his hot face fades the crimson flush Veiled in death's herald-shadows sick and grey.

Silent and dark the sombre valley lies Forgotten; happy in the late fond beams Glimmer the constant waves of Galilee.

Afar, below, in airy music ring The bugles of my host; the column halts, A wearied serpent glittering in the vale, Where rising mist-like gleam the tented camps.

Pitch my pavilion here, where its high cross May catch the last light lingering on the hill.

The savage shadows, struggling by the sh.o.r.e, Have conquered in the valley; inch by inch The vanquished light fights bravely to these crags To perish glorious in the sunset fire; Even as our hunted Cause so pressed and torn In Syrian valleys, and the trampled marge Of consecrated streams, displays at last Its narrowing glories from these steadfast walls.

Here in G.o.d's name we stand, and brighter far Shines the stern virtue of my martyr-host Through these invidious fortunes, than of old, When the still sunshine glinted on their helms, And dallying breezes woke their bridle-bells To tinkling music by the reedy sh.o.r.e Of calm Tiberias, where our angry Lord, Wroth at the deadly sin that cursed our camp, Denied and blinded us, and gave us up To the avenging sword of Saladin.

Yet would He not permit His truth to sink To utter loss amid that foundering fight, But led us, scarred and shattered from the spoil Of Paynim rage, the desert's thirsty death, To where beneath the sheltering crags we prayed And rested and grew strong. Heroes and saints To alien peoples shall they be, my brave And patient warriors; for in their stout hearts G.o.d's Spirit dwells for ever, and their hands Are swift to do His service on His foes.

The swelling music of their vesper-hymn Is rising fragrant from the shadowed vale Familiar to the welcoming gates of heaven.

Mother of G.o.d! as evening falls Upon the silent sea, And shadows veil the mountain walls, We lift our souls to thee!

From lurking perils of the night, The desert's hidden harms, From plagues that waste, from blasts that smite, Defend thy men-at-arms!

Ay! Heaven keep them! and ye angel-hosts That wait with fluttering plumes around the great White throne of G.o.d, guard them from scath and harm!

For in your starry records never shone The memory of desert so great as theirs.

I hold not first, though peerless else on earth, That knightly valour, born of gentle blood And war's long tutelage, which hath made their name Blaze like a baleful planet o'er these lands; Firm seat in saddle, lance unmoved, a hand Wedding the hilt with death's persistent grasp; One-minded rush in fight that naught can stay.

Not these the highest, though I scorn not these, But rather offer Heaven with humble heart The deeds that Heaven hath given us arms to do.

For when G.o.d's smile was with us we were strong To go like sudden lightning to our mark: As on that summer day when Saladin-- Pa.s.sing in scorn our host at Antioch, Who spent the days in revel, and shamed the stars With nightly scandal--came with all his host, Its gay battalia brave with saffron silks, Flaunting the banners of the Caliphate Beneath the walls of fair Jerusalem: And white and shaking came the Leper-King, Great Baldwin's blasted scion, and Tripoli And I, and twenty score of Temple Knights, To meet the myriads marshalled by the bright Untarnished flower of Eastern chivalry; A moment paused with level-fronting spears And moveless helms before that shining host, Whose gay attire abashed the morning light, And then struck spur and charged, while from the ma.s.s Of rushing terror burst the awful cry, G.o.d AND THE TEMPLE! As the avalanche slides Down Alpine slopes, precipitous, cold and dark, Unpitying and unwrathful, grinds and crushes The mountain violets and the valley weeds, And drags behind a trail of chaos and death; So burst we on that field, and through and through The gay battalia brave with saffron silks, Crushed and abolished every grace and gleam, And dragged where'er we rode a sinuous track Of chaos and death, till all the plain was filled With battered armour, turbaned trunkless heads, With silken mantles blushing angry gules And Bagdad's banners trampled and forlorn.

And Saladin, stunned and bewildered sore,-- The greatest prince, save in the grace of G.o.d, That now wears sword,--mounted his brother's barb, And, followed by a half-score followers, Sped to his castle Shaubec, over against The cliffs by Ascalon, and there abode: And sullenly made order that no more The royal nouba should be played for him Until he should erase the rusting stain Upon his knightly honour; and no more The nouba sounded by the Sultan's tent, Morning nor evening by the silent tent, Until the headlong greed of Chatillon Spread ruin on our cause from Montreale.

But greatest are my warriors, as I deem, In that their hearts, nearer than any else, Keep true the pledge of perfect purity They pledged upon their sword-hilts long ago.

For all is possible to the pure in heart.

Mother of G.o.d! thy starry smile Still bless us from above!

Keep pure our souls from pa.s.sion's guile, Our hearts from earthly love!

Still save each soul from guilt apart As stainless as each sword, And guard undimmed in every heart The image of our Lord!