Part 4

Ye have sung me your songs, ye have chanted your rimes (I scorn your beguiling, O sea!) Ye fondle me now, but to strike me betimes. (A treacherous lover, the sea!) Once I saw as I lay, half-awash in the night A hull in the gloom -- a quick hail -- and a light And I lurched o'er to leeward and saved her for spite From the doom that ye meted to me.

I was sister to 'Terrible', seventy-four, (Yo ho! for the swing of the sea!) And ye sank her in fathoms a thousand or more (Alas! for the might of the sea!) Ye taunt me and sing me her fate for a sign! What harm can ye wreak more on me or on mine? Ho braggart! I care not for boasting of thine -- A fig for the wrath of the sea!

Some night to the lee of the land I shall steal, (Heigh-ho to be home from the sea!) No pilot but Death at the rudderless wheel, (None knoweth the harbor as he!) To lie where the slow tide creeps hither and fro And the shifting sand laps me around, for I know That my gallant old crew are in Port long ago -- For ever at peace with the sea!

Quebec

1608-1908

Of old, like Helen, guerdon of the strong -- Like Helen fair, like Helen light of word, -- "The spoils unto the conquerors belong. Who winneth me must win me by the sword."

Grown old, like Helen, once the jealous prize That strong men battled for in savage hate, Can she look forth with unregretful eyes, Where sleep Montcalm and Wolfe beside her gate?

Then and Now

Beneath her window in the fragrant night I half forget how truant years have flown Since I looked up to see her chamber-light, Or catch, perchance, her slender shadow thrown Upon the casement; but the nodding leaves Sweep lazily across the unlit pane, And to and fro beneath the shadowy eaves, Like restless birds, the breath of coming rain Creeps, lilac-laden, up the village street When all is still, as if the very trees Were listening for the coming of her feet That come no more; yet, lest I weep, the breeze Sings some forgotten song of those old years Until my heart grows far too glad for tears.

Unsolved

Amid my books I lived the hurrying years, Disdaining kinship with my fellow man; Alike to me were human smiles and tears, I cared not whither Earth's great life-stream ran, Till as I knelt before my mouldered shrine, God made me look into a woman's eyes; And I, who thought all earthly wisdom mine, Knew in a moment that the eternal skies Were measured but in inches, to the quest That lay before me in that mystic gaze. "Surely I have been errant: it is best That I should tread, with men their human ways." God took the teacher, ere the task was learned, And to my lonely books again I turned.

The Hope of My Heart

"Delicta juventutis et ignorantius ejus, quoesumus ne memineris, Domine."

I left, to earth, a little maiden fair, With locks of gold, and eyes that shamed the light; I prayed that God might have her in His care And sight.

Earth's love was false; her voice, a siren's song; (Sweet mother-earth was but a lying name) The path she showed was but the path of wrong And shame.

"Cast her not out!" I cry. God's kind words come -- "Her future is with Me, as was her past; It shall be My good will to bring her home At last."

Penance

My lover died a century ago, Her dear heart stricken by my sland'rous breath, Wherefore the Gods forbade that I should know The peace of death.

Men pass my grave, and say, "'Twere well to sleep, Like such an one, amid the uncaring dead!" How should they know the vigils that I keep, The tears I shed?

Upon the grave, I count with lifeless breath, Each night, each year, the flowers that bloom and die, Deeming the leaves, that fall to dreamless death, More blest than I.

'Twas just last year -- I heard two lovers pass So near, I caught the tender words he said: To-night the rain-drenched breezes sway the grass Above his head.

That night full envious of his life was I, That youth and love should stand at his behest; To-night, I envy him, that he should lie At utter rest.

Slumber Songs

Sleep, little eyes That brim with childish tears amid thy play, Be comforted! No grief of night can weigh Against the joys that throng thy coming day.

Sleep, little heart! There is no place in Slumberland for tears: Life soon enough will bring its chilling fears And sorrows that will dim the after years. Sleep, little heart!

Ah, little eyes Dead blossoms of a springtime long ago, That life's storm crushed and left to lie below The benediction of the falling snow!

Sleep, little heart That ceased so long ago its frantic beat! The years that come and go with silent feet Have naught to tell save this -- that rest is sweet. Dear little heart.

The Oldest Drama