| ALONG A River-Side, I Know Not Where, | |
| I walked one night in mystery of dream; | |
| A chill creeps curdling yet beneath my hair, | |
| To think what chanced me by the pallid gleam | |
| Of a moon-wraith that waned through haunted air. | 5 |
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| Pale fireflies pulsed within the meadow-mist | |
| Their halos, wavering thistledowns of light; | |
| The loon, that seemed to mock some goblin tryst, | |
| Laughed; and the echoes, huddling in affright, | |
| Like Odin's hounds, fled baying down the night. | 10 |
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| Then all was silent, till there smote my ear | |
| A movement in the stream that checked my breath: | |
| Was it the slow plash of a wading deer? | |
| But something said, "This water is of Death! | |
| The Sisters wash a shroud,—ill thing to hear!" | 15 |
| |
| I, looking then, beheld the ancient Three | |
| Known to the Greek's and to the Northman's creed, | |
| That sit in shadow of the mystic Tree, | |
| Still crooning, as they weave their endless brede, | |
| One song: "Time was, Time is, and Time shall be." | 20 |
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| No wrinkled crones were they as I had deemed, | |
| But fair as yesterday, to-day, to-morrow, | |
| To mourner, lover, poet, ever seemed; | |
| Something too high for joy, too deep for sorrow, | |
| Thrilled in their tones, and from their faces gleamed. | 25 |
| |
| "Still men and nations reap as they have strawn," | |
| So sang they, working at their task the while; | |
| "The fatal raiment must be cleansed ere dawn: | |
| For Austria? Italy? the Sea-Queen's isle? | |
| O'er what quenched grandeur must our shroud be drawn? | 30 |
| |
| "What make we, murmur'st thou? and what are we? | |
| When empires must be wound, we bring the shroud, | |
| The time-old web of the implacable Three: | |
| Is it too coarse for him, the young and proud? | |
| Earth's mightiest deigned to wear it,—why not he?" | 35 |
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| "Is there no hope?" I moaned, "so strong, so fair! | |
| Our Fowler whose proud bird would brook erewhile | |
| No rival's swoop in all our western air! | |
| Gather the ravens, then, in funeral file | |
| For him, life's morn yet golden in his hair? | 40 |
| |
| "Leave me not hopeless, ye unpitying dames! | |
| I see, half seeing. Tell me, ye who scanned | |
| The stars, Earth's elders, still must noblest aims | |
| Be traced upon oblivious ocean-sands? | |
| Must Hesper join the wailing ghosts of names?" | 45 |
| |
| "When grass-blades stiffen with red battle-dew, | |
| Ye deem we choose the victor and the slain: | |
| Say, choose we them that shall be leal and true | |
| To the heart's longing, the high faith of brain? | |
| Yet there the victory lies, if ye but knew. | 50 |
| |
| "Three roots bear up Dominion: Knowledge, Will,— | |
| These twain are strong, but stronger yet the third,— | |
| Obedience,—'t is the great tap-root that still, | |
| Knit round to rock of Duty, is not stirred, | |
| Though Heaven-loosed tempests spend their utmost skill. | 55 |
| |
| "Is the doom sealed for Hesper? 'T is not we | |
| Denounce it, but the Law before all time: | |
| The brave makes danger opportunity; | |
| The waverer, paltering with the chance sublime, | |
| Dwarfs it to peril: which shall Hesper be? | 60 |
| |
| "Hath he let vultures climb his eagle's seat | |
| To make Jove's bolts purveyors of their maw? | |
| Hath he the Many's plaudits found more sweet | |
| Than Wisdom? held Opinion's wind for Law? | |
| Then let him hearken for the doomster's feet! | 65 |
| |
| "Rough are the steps, slow-hewn in flintiest rock, | |
| States climb to power by; slippery those with gold | |
| Down which they stumble to eternal mock: | |
| No chafferer's hand shall long the sceptre hold, | |
| Who, given a Fate to shape, would sell the block. | 70 |
| |
| "We sing old Sagas, songs of weal and woe, | |
| Mystic because cheaply understood; | |
| Dark sayings are not ours; men hear and know, | |
| See Evil weak, see strength alone in Good, | |
| Yet hope to stem God's fire with walls of tow. | 75 |
| |
| "Time Was unlocks the riddle of Time Is, | |
| That offers choice of glory or of gloom; | |
| The solver makes Time Shall Be surely his. | |
| But hasten, Sisters! for even now the tomb | |
| Grates its slow hinges and calls from the abyss." | 80 |
| |
| "But not for him," I cried, "not yet for him, | |
| Whose large horizon, westering, star by star | |
| Wins from the void to where on Ocean's rim | |
| The sunset shuts the world with golden bar, | |
| Not yet his thews shall fail, his eyes grow dim! | 85 |
| |
| "His shall be larger manhood, save for those | |
| That walk unblenching through the trial-fires; | |
| Not suffering, but faint heart, is worst of woes, | |
| And he no base-born son of craven sires, | |
| Whose eye need blench confronted with his foes. | 90 |
| |
| "Tears may be ours, but proud, for those who win | |
| Death's royal purple in the foeman's lines; | |
| Peace, too, brings tears; and mid the battle-din, | |
| The wiser ear some text of God divines, | |
| For the sheathed blade may rust with darker sin. | 95 |
| |
| "God, give us peace! not such as lulls to sleep, | |
| But sword on thigh, and brow with purpose knit! | |
| And let our Ship of State to harbor sweep, | |
| Her ports all up, her battle-lanterns lit, | |
| And her leashed thunders gathering for their leap!" | 100 |
| |
| So cried I with clenched hands and passionate pain, | |
| Thinking of dear ones by Potomac's side; | |
| Again the loon laughed mocking, and again | |
| The echoes bayed far down the night and died, | |
| While waking I recalled my wandering brain. | 105 |
