THE MOUNTAIN HEART'S-EASE
By scattered rocks and turbid waters shifting, By furrowed glade and dell, To feverish men thy calm, sweet face uplifting, Thou stayest them to tell The delicate thought that cannot find expression, For ruder speech too fair, That, like thy petals, trembles in possession, And scatters on the air.
The miner pauses in his rugged labor, And, leaning on his spade, Laughingly calls unto his comrade-neighbor To see thy charms displayed.
But in his eyes a mist unwonted rises, And for a moment clear Some sweet home face his foolish thought surprises, And passes in a tear,--Some boyish vision of his Eastern village, Of uneventful toil, Where golden harvests followed quiet tillage Above a peaceful soil.
One moment only; for the pick, uplifting, Through root and fibre cleaves, And on the muddy current slowly drifting Are swept by bruised leaves.
And yet, O poet, in thy homely fashion, Thy work thou dost fulfill, For on the turbid current of his passion Thy face is shining still!
GRIZZLY.
Coward,--of heroic size, In whose lazy muscles lies Strength we fear and yet despise;
Savage,--whose relentless tusks Are content with acorn husks;
Robber,--whose exploits ne'er soared O'er the bee's or squirrel's hoard;
Whiskered chin and feeble nose, Claws of steel on baby toes,--Here, in solitude and shade, Shambling, shuffling plantigrade, Be thy courses undismayed!
Here, where Nature makes thy bed, Let thy rude, half-human tread Point to hidden Indian springs, Lost in ferns and fragrant grasses, Hovered o'er by timid wings, Where the wood-duck lightly passes, Where the wild bee holds her sweets,--Epicurean retreats, Fit for thee, and better than Fearful spoils of dangerous man.
In thy fat-jowled deviltry Friar Tuck shall live in thee;
Thou mayst levy tithe and dole;
Thou shalt spread the woodland cheer, From the pilgrim taking toll;
Match thy cunning with his fear;
Eat, and drink, and have thy fill;
Yet remain an outlaw still!
MADRONO
Captain of the Western wood, Thou that apest Robin Hood!
Green above thy scarlet hose, How thy velvet mantle shows!
Never tree like thee arrayed, O thou gallant of the glade!
When the fervid August sun Scorches all it looks upon, And the balsam of the pine Drips from stem to needle fine, Round thy compact shade arranged, Not a leaf of thee is changed!
When the yellow autumn sun Saddens all it looks upon, Spreads its sackcloth on the hills, Strews its ashes in the rills, Thou thy scarlet hose dost doff, And in limbs of purest buff Challengest the sombre glade For a sylvan masquerade.
Where, oh, where, shall he begin Who would paint thee, Harlequin?
With thy waxen burnished leaf, With thy branches' red relief, With thy polytinted fruit,--In thy spring or autumn suit,--Where begin, and oh, where end, Thou whose charms all art transcend?
COYOTE
Blown out of the prairie in twilight and dew, Half bold and half timid, yet lazy all through;
Loath ever to leave, and yet fearful to stay, He limps in the clearing, an outcast in gray.
A shade on the stubble, a ghost by the wall, Now leaping, now limping, now risking a fall, Lop-eared and large-jointed, but ever alway A thoroughly vagabond outcast in gray.
Here, Carlo, old fellow,--he's one of your kind,--Go, seek him, and bring him in out of the wind.
What! snarling, my Carlo! So even dogs may Deny their own kin in the outcast in gray.
Well, take what you will,--though it be on the sly, Marauding or begging,--I shall not ask why, But will call it a dole, just to help on his way A four-footed friar in orders of gray!
TO A SEA-BIRD
(SANTA CRUZ, 1869)
Sauntering hither on listless wings, Careless vagabond of the sea, Little thou heedest the surf that sings, The bar that thunders, the shale that rings,--Give me to keep thy company.
Little thou hast, old friend, that's new;
Storms and wrecks are old things to thee;
Sick am I of these changes, too;
Little to care for, little to rue,--I on the shore, and thou on the sea.
All of thy wanderings, far and near, Bring thee at last to shore and me;
All of my journeyings end them here:
This our tether must be our cheer,--I on the shore, and thou on the sea.
Lazily rocking on ocean's breast, Something in common, old friend, have we:
Thou on the shingle seek'st thy nest, I to the waters look for rest,--I on the shore, and thou on the sea.
WHAT THE CHIMNEY SANG
Over the chimney the night-wind sang And chanted a melody no one knew;
And the Woman stopped, as her babe she tossed, And thought of the one she had long since lost, And said, as her teardrops back she forced, "I hate the wind in the chimney."
Over the chimney the night-wind sang And chanted a melody no one knew;
And the Children said, as they closer drew, "'Tis some witch that is cleaving the black night through, 'Tis a fairy trumpet that just then blew, And we fear the wind in the chimney."
Over the chimney the night-wind sang And chanted a melody no one knew;
And the Man, as he sat on his hearth below, Said to himself, "It will surely snow, And fuel is dear and wages low, And I'll stop the leak in the chimney."
Over the chimney the night-wind sang And chanted a melody no one knew;
But the Poet listened and smiled, for he Was Man and Woman and Child, all three, And said, "It is God's own harmony, This wind we hear in the chimney."
DICKENS IN CAMP
Above the pines the moon was slowly drifting, The river sang below;
The dim Sierras, far beyond, uplifting Their minarets of snow.
The roaring camp-fire, with rude humor, painted The ruddy tints of health On haggard face and form that drooped and fainted In the fierce race for wealth;
Till one arose, and from his pack's scant treasure A hoarded volume drew, And cards were dropped from hands of listless leisure To hear the tale anew.
And then, while round them shadows gathered faster, And as the firelight fell, He read aloud the book wherein the Master Had writ of "Little Nell."
Perhaps 'twas boyish fancy,--for the reader Was youngest of them all,--But, as he read, from clustering pine and cedar A silence seemed to fall;
