Poems By John L. Stoddard Part 14

Far worthier men had vainly sought To win her for herself alone; What potent spell could Love have wrought To draw her to a tactless drone?

A palace she might well have graced.

And led its functions like a queen; Instead, her life has run to waste, The wraith of what it might have been.

For boorishness hath brought its blight; Her rare accomplishments are marred, And every path, with promise bright, By stupid tyranny is barred.

Yet still she bravely moves through life, Ignoring her pathetic fall;-- A loveless, broken-hearted wife; Alas, the pity of it all!

IN A MODERN CITY

Dreary fog and drizzling sleet, And a lamp-lit track of slime; Phantoms dim in the misty street, Vanishing, streaked with grime; Overhead in a spurious night, Formed by the vapors dun, Wraith-like globes of haloed light, Mocking the hidden sun;--

Children, shod in sodden shoes, (That is a sight that hurts;) Women, furrowing filthy ooze In thin, bedraggled skirts; Horses, lashed with cruel zest, Ploughing the fumid fog; Hark! ... a car, with no arrest, Killing a howling dog;--

Clanging trams, with haggard men Forcing their way within,-- Some compressed in a steaming-pen, Others soaked to the skin; Smoke and soot in the murky sky, Death in the tainted air, Each aware, were he to die, None in the crowd would care;--

Here and there a carriage fine, Cleaving the reeking ma.s.s; Scowling faces, ranged in line, Watching the rich man pa.s.s; Envy's gleam in many an eye, Hate in many a threat; Why should he be warm and dry, And they be cold and wet?

Pictures these of the "Pa.s.sing Show,"

Scenes in a world gone wrong, Wretched weaklings, born to woe, Crushed by the brutal strong!

Breaking hearts that crave release, Slaves to a ceaseless strife! ...

I will go back to sylvan peace And a sight of the Source of Life.

MY BORES

I take their hands with placid smile And words which social rules enforce, Though sadly conscious all the while Of something very like remorse, Because beneath the mask I wear I really wish they were not there.

Their visits I at heart resent; The half-read volume haunts my thought; The urgent note remains unsent; The verse, unfinished, comes to naught; And all because, on some pretence, They waste their time at my expense.

Yet no grim misanthrope am I, Who fears, distrusts, and hates his race; I merely wish them to pa.s.s by, And seek some other lounging-place; For, frankly, I should love them more A little further from my door.

In vain I make no answering calls; They blandly smile and come again!

Nay, even bring within my walls More curious strangers in their train, "Who wished so much your home to see!"

Why do they never think of me?

The few I want I can invite; Hence why should others thus intrude?

How dare they give themselves the right, Unasked, to spoil my solitude?

And why presume I care to know More triflers in their world of show?

Their idle life, on pleasure bent, Their mania for some silly game, Their hours in stupid gossip spent,-- Would give me self-contempt and shame; Between us is no common ground On which a comradeship to found.

A word or two upon the street Suffice me with the most of men; Beyond a greeting, when we meet.

I care not if we speak again; My books and Nature's charming face Such human consorts well replace.

Not all, indeed; for who but yearns To call some kindred heart his own?

Some friend to whom he fondly turns, And with whom he is still alone, Since each, while absolutely free, Respects the other's privacy.

To such his pent-up love o'erflows; With such his soul's seclusion ends; For each the other's nature knows, And every motive comprehends; So perfectly do both agree, So close their bond of sympathy!

But those who come to wear away With me the time they deem a bore, And blithely rob me of a day Which G.o.d Himself cannot restore-- From such, at risk of being rude, I will preserve my solitude.

Their vapid visits I refuse; Their forced attachment I decline; I surely have the right to choose The friends, whose lives shall blend with mine; My bark shall gain the open sea With but the few I love and me.

GRAt.i.tUDE

The sun is on the mountain crest, The sky without a cloud, The moon is slipping down the west, The robin's song is loud; White blossoms crown the apple trees, The dew is on the thorn, The scent of roses fills the breeze,-- Thank G.o.d, another morn!

The sunset embers smoulder low, The moon climbs o'er the hill, The peaks have caught the alpenglow, The robin's song is still; The hush of peace is on the earth, With stars the sky grows bright, The fire is kindled on my hearth,-- Thank G.o.d, another night!

IN TENEBRIS

All the lights have been extinguished In my closely-curtained room, Nothing now can be distinguished In the all-pervading gloom; And through darkness, so alluring, I would float away to sleep, Like a boat that slips its mooring, And moves gently toward the deep.

How delightful this seclusion From the garish light of day,-- All its turmoil and confusion Pushed, a little while, away!

Neither men nor things shall try me Till to-morrow brings its light; Let my cares go drifting by me!

I'll not think of them to-night.

Social cant and empty phrases, Base returns for kindness shown, Envy's serpent-smile, and praises Which convey, for bread, a stone,-- What a joy to have rejected All such griefs, of evil born!

What a boon to feel protected From their advent until morn!

Moon and stars, without, are gleaming Over snow-capped peaks sublime, But to-night I'll give to dreaming, Nor esteem it wasted time; Nay, through darkness, so alluring, I will float away to sleep, Like a boat that slips its mooring, And moves gently toward the deep.

TWO MOTHERS

One night two lonely women met Beside a storm-swept bay; With tears their mournful eyes were wet, Their pale lips salt with spray; They pa.s.sed; then turned, as though each yearned Some friendly word to say.

"Poor soul", cried one, "hast thou no fear To walk this haunted strand?

What hopeless sorrow brings thee here, Where dead men drift to land?

I too have grief beyond relief; Speak! I can understand."

"I mourn a son", the other said; "That ocean is his grave; My heart will not be comforted, It breaks with every wave; Would I might sleep in yonder deep With him I could not save!

"The wind was raging, as to-night; Straight on these rocks it blew; I watched until the dawning light Disclosed the wreck to view; From where we stand I saw his hand Wave me a last adieu!