Florence Earle Coates

“ LE GRAND SALUT
"Major Dreyfus, in the name of the Republic and of the people of France, I proclaim you a knight of the Legion of Honour."
THERE is a power in innocence, a might
⁠Which, clothed in weakness, makes injustice vain:
⁠A strength, o'ertopping reason to explain,
Which bears it—though deep-buried out of sight—
Slowly and surely upward to the light:
⁠A conscious certainty amidst its pain
⁠That, robbed of all things, it shall all regain,
Through that eternal law which guards the right. ”

“ And set a horror at his door of life!
Humanity but sorrows for her own;
⁠The Autocrat she mourns not, but the man,
⁠Who, loving Russia, lived beneath her ban,
⁠Powerless to soften fate or change the plan
That called him all unwilling to a throne,
Hereditary evils to atone.
⁠She mourns not Cæsar, but the pathos old
⁠Of a quick conscience, driven to uphold
A dynasty the world had long outgrown.
Woe to the Tsar!—Livadia's cannon boom,
⁠Proclaiming that the Tsar from woe is free!
⁠Peace to the Tsar! but, Russia, woe to thee! ”

“ There's not a bird in all the boughs but's eager now to sing,
⁠And from afar a ship is sailing home!
The cherry-blooms, all lightly blown about the verdant sward,
⁠With silver fleck the dandelion's gold;
The jasmine and arbutus breathe the fragrance they have stored;
⁠The crumpled ferns, like faery tents, unfold.
And low the rills are laughing, and the rivers in the sun
⁠Are gliding on, impatient for the sea;
The wintry days are past and gone, the summer is begun,
⁠And love from far is sailing home to me! ”

“ WHERE hast thou gone, my Day?
⁠I meant to follow,
Extracting from thine every hour its sweet;
⁠But thou, beguiling hope with pledges hollow,
Art flown on wingèd feet.
Hardly I greet thy morn,
⁠The glory dwindles;
And as I plan thy moments with delight,
⁠The evening-primrose in my pathway kindles
Her taper for the night.
Ah, too precipitate!
⁠Might I not linger
To gather a stray blossom by the way,
⁠But pointing onward with thy warning finger,
Thou must outstrip me, Day? ”

“ For our ideals make us what we are,—
⁠Through self-effacing years,
Thou, toiling where the burdened city moans,
Hast lost no accent of the higher zones.
⁠Smiles, and the truth of tears,
And memories, and melodies unsung,
Have visited thy heart, and kept it young.
Thou hast had strength, where many failed, to glean
Good from a doubtful harvest; thou hast seen
⁠Light where the shade lay deep.
The future with the present praise must blend
To crown thy triumphs worthily, O friend! ”

“ To overthrow a cause for which I would have died.
The sun may shine with naught to shroud
⁠⁠Its beam yet show less bright
Than when from out eclipsing cloud
⁠⁠It pours its radiant light;
And Lincoln seen amid the shows of war
Clothed in his sober black, was somehow felt the more
To be a centre and a soul of power,—
⁠⁠An influence benign
To kindle in a faithless hour
⁠⁠New trust in the divine.
Grave was his visage, but no cloud could dull
The radiance from within that made it beautiful. ”

“ And as one startled wakes from a fair dream
⁠He fain would dream again, if that might be,
You looked on Death clothed in his might supreme,
⁠And gave yourself to him,—forgetting me.
All beauteous in the blossom-time of youth,
⁠Ere yet a cloud your radiance could dim,—
You knew him for God's messenger, in truth,
⁠And like an angel, went away with him. ”

“ Who fill our hearts with hope and glad forgiving;
Who mid the battle's deafening roar,
⁠When fell the ranks like autumn leaves,
⁠Guarded the standard of the free,
⁠The ægis of our victory:
Who, fevered and anhungered, bore
The more appalling tests of tragic War,
⁠And laureate return, and bring to us their sheaves!
⁠Warriors of the land
⁠⁠And warriors of the sea,
⁠⁠Bold to meet adversity
⁠And constant to withstand;
Heroes of battle, hospital, and tent,
⁠Men chivalrous and never tired,
⁠Women devoted, love-inspired,
Who nursed to life the loyal ones you lent ”

“ Beauty, transcending all that bans and bars,
Moves as the light moves on, eternal as the stars!
Too well acquaint with passions that benumb,
⁠Earth is with them no more in kind accord.
'T is only by ascending we may come
⁠Where waits for her the new, the unexplored.
She longs—ah, how she longs!—to break asunder
⁠Her ancient chains, to lave in morning dew,
To stand a little space mid realms of wonder,
⁠To feel her nearness to the good and true:
She longs for beauty—vernal through the years—
To touch the dried-up spring and fount of happy tears! ”

“ But oh, the armor he so meekly bore
⁠Was wrought for him in other worlds than ours!
In firm defense of what he battled for,
⁠Were leagued eternal powers!
I fell; yet overwhelmed by my disgrace,
⁠At last I saw his face.
And in its matchless beauty I forgot
⁠The constant service to my pledges due,
And, with adoring love that sorrowed not,
⁠Entreated, "Tell me who
Hath so o'erthrown my will and pride of youth!"
⁠He answered, "I am Truth." ”

“ Call upon all thy strength—not later, now!—
⁠Now while the world waits breathless for thy deed,
That it eternally may disavow
The faith that "Might makes Right," nor bow
⁠To Savagery's brute creed!
Brave in defence of honor and the word
⁠Which, given freely, binds and maketh free.
Arm, that the weak and helpless may be heard!—
Yea, that the hearts of men may still be stirred
⁠To Christ's humanity! ”

“ I⁠ LOOKED on beauteous forms, as I lay dreaming,
⁠But on no form as beautiful as thine,
Who here, amid the moonbeams white and holy,
⁠Standest in silence by this bed of mine.
I looked on faces fair, as I lay sleeping,
⁠But on no face that seemed as nobly sweet
As that which in the pallid light above me
⁠My wondering, half-awakened sense doth greet.
Who and what art thou? Have I kept thee waiting? ”

“ Yet in the Prison House of Pain things full of beauty blow,—
⁠Like Christmas-roses, which attain
Perfection 'mid the snow;
Love, entering, in his mild warmth the darkest shadows melt,
And often, where the hush is deep, the waft of wings is felt.
Ah, me! the Prison House of Pain!—what lessons there are bought!—
⁠Lessons of a sublimer strain
Than any elsewhere taught;
Amid its loneliness and gloom, grave meanings grow more clear,
For to no earthly dwelling-place seems God so strangely near. ”

“ Far from the home their fame endears—
⁠The Inniskillings, the Connaught Rangers,
⁠⁠⁠The Dublin Fusiliers;
⁠And the little plant they loved so well—
⁠⁠Better than fairest flower that blows—
⁠⁠⁠Is set apart
⁠⁠⁠In Britannia's heart
⁠With the Scottish thistle and the rose:
⁠Is set apart, and never again
⁠⁠Shall human eyes the shamrock see
⁠Without a thought of the heroes slain
⁠⁠⁠Whose splendid loyalty,
⁠Stronger than ancient hate or wrong,
⁠Sublimed them 'midst the battle's hell—
⁠⁠⁠A tidal wave
⁠⁠⁠From the souls of the brave,
⁠That made them deathless as they fell! ”

“ Warms the chill breast of earth,
And gives new birth
To beauty! High above
All miracles—the miracle of love,
Which by its own glad and triumphant power
Brings life to flower.
Oh, love is wonderful!
⁠More wonderful than is the dew-fed rose
⁠Whose petals half unclose,
⁠⁠In welcome of the light,
When first the Dawn comes robed in vesture cool
⁠⁠Of fragrant, shimmering white!—
More wonderful and strange
Than moonrise, which doth change
Dulness to glory—
Yea, with a touch transforms the mountains hoary,
⁠⁠And fills the darkling rills with living silver bright! ”

“ GREAT-HEARTED son of the Titan mother, Earth,
⁠Fed at her breast,
He builded upward from the solid ground,
While listening ever for the heavenly sound
⁠Of higher voices, to his soul addressed.
The elemental mother, lending might
⁠With vital breath,
Made him, with her instinctive courage, brave;
And the immortals to his spirit gave
⁠Their deeper knowledge and their scorn of death.
So evermore with energy and joy,
⁠He followed Truth:
Still for the message and the vision sought,
Still to the temple of her worship brought
⁠The imagination of unaging youth ”

“ How strange could death divide who, living, share
⁠All happiness and care!
Still as you gaze, bereft of your desire,
On the dull embers of your lonely fire,
⁠You shall behold me there,
And though through hiemal glooms you sometimes learn
⁠To doubt, nor hope discern,—
Yet when the timid firstling buds awake,
And birds come back and sing, your heart to break,—
⁠Always, I shall return! ”

“ Thou, sun-god! who hast led me here:
⁠Whose smile caressing,
⁠My wrong redressing,
Tells me the Maid is near!
Blessèd, O blessèd, be thy light!
She comes from the shadows—blissful sight!—
⁠To the breast that bore her
⁠To the yearning for her,
That fills me, day and night! ”

“ Have shown the world the bulwark set around thee,
⁠Adding new consecration to thy fame.
Nor have they blessed thee, only: Fate defying,
⁠Others in lands remote shall fear contemn,
And find it easier, themselves denying,
⁠To die like heroes, too,—remembering them.
They do not lie in lonely graves forsaken,
⁠Who for high ends can so supremely dare;
From human hearts they can no more be taken,
⁠And Immortality is with them there. ”

“ Its helpless prey with hideous uproar.
Twice had I lost my footing; yet I clave,
As one who struggles more than life to save,—
My every thought of her; but when at last,
Sore bruised and breathless, as one shoreward cast
After rude shipwreck, I dared raise my eyes,
Seeking in that vast Hell my Paradise,—
There, like some virgin image carved in stone,
She stood in her white radiance—alone.
Where were the men that loved her, as they said? ”

“ Father, mine eyes with tears are wet,
⁠Reject me not!
Though Thou forgive, shall I forget?
Nay, though thy mercy fall like rain,
My spirit still must bear the pain
And burden of a vast regret.
⁠Reject me not!
To whom, unfriended, should I flee? ”

“ No distant fields of morn, no blooms unfound,
No skyey hopes to beckon from the ground,—
⁠No loves whose waiting welcome ne'er betrays!
Were there no promise of returning Spring
When Autumn preens a migratory wing,
⁠And on earth's hearth the fire is burning low!—
⁠Were there no future with romance aglow,
⁠When the chilled blood within the vein moves slow,
No dream of a fair dawning, in the night,—
No fond expectancy,—no pledge of light
⁠Fairer than cloud-veiled days of winter know! ”

“ What more than mortal beauty there,
What coy, what wooing-sweet perfection
Entrancèd held him, bound as in a snare?
No need to urge him now to stay! . . .
Alas! he could not turn away,
But on the Naiad's nearing charms
Gazed amorous:—on locks of brown,
On melting eyes, and rubied lips,
Slim throats and dewy finger-tips.
He stooped; they caught him in their arms,
And held him fast, and drew him down.
⁠Down, down, down, down,
Through the liquid deeps of the soundless well:
⁠Down, down, down, down,—
How many fathom, ah! who can tell? ”

“ More fitting worship the far drift of clouds
⁠O'er azure floating with a swan-like motion,
The Siren-lays faint heard amid the shrouds,
⁠The voiceless swell of the unfathomed ocean,
The silver Dian pours on the calm stream
Where pale the lotus-blossoms lie adream,—
Yet, mother of all high imaginings,
⁠In whom is neither barrenness nor dearth,
Wise guardian of the sacred springs
⁠Whose fresh primordial waters heal the earth,—
O soul of muted fire,
Of whom is born the passionate desire
⁠That gives to beauty birth ”

“ Keeper of the abiding scroll of fame,
Lo! we entrust to thee a hero's name!
⁠Life, like a restless river, hurrying by,
Bears us so swiftly on, we may forget
The name to which we owe so deep a debt ”

“ THE world in mourning for a Russian Tsar!
⁠A despot of the nineteenth century
⁠Mourned by the nations that have made men free!
⁠Ye captives of his rule! where'er ye be,
Whether in dungeons or in mines afar—
Wretches who mourn, yet mourn not for the Tsar,—
⁠Forgive the tears that seem a wrong to grief
⁠Barren of comfort and without relief;
The Tsar was Russia's martyr—as ye are! ”

“ The exile by far Lena perishing,
⁠The captive in Kara who bears thy ban,
⁠⁠⁠Ransomed at length and free,
⁠Shall rise from torments that make heroes strong;
Shall rise, as equal souls, to question thee;
And for defense there nothing shall endure
⁠Of all which to thy lofty state belong,
Save that thou hast of human, brave, and pure!
Cæsar, thou still art man, and serv'st a King
⁠Who wields a power more terrible than thine! ”

“ As sung the birds in Paradise
⁠When life and love were young!
He and I,—O aching heart!—
Only a narrow grave apart!
⁠Yet seeking for his face in vain,
How changed, to me, the world has grown;
How cold it seems, how strange, how lone,
⁠How infinite in pain! ”

“ MIGHT I return to that May-day of gladness
⁠When life is young, and all its promise fair;
Might I efface each memory of sadness,
⁠And put away the weary load of care,—
To pluck the rose that in Time's Eden blows,
⁠I would not go, were I to miss you there! ”

“ So, love, thy voice breathes a diviner music in the chill
⁠Of autumn, when the glen is still
⁠And Flora's gold all tarnished on the hill,
Than in the time when merry May calls forth her bashful flowers. ”

“ A HERO
HE sang of joy; whate'er he knew of sadness
⁠He kept for his own heart's peculiar share:
So well he sang, the world imagined gladness
⁠To be sole tenant there.
For dreams were his, and in the dawn's fair shining,
⁠His spirit soared beyond the mounting lark ”

“ Though I to-day first behold you—
You who must pass as a vision
Nobly enthralling and glad?
Does he who, lone in the forest,
Finds there an exquisite blossom,
Joy in it less that its beauty
Blooms not to fade on his breast? ”

“ For if I'm to love ye at all, dear,
⁠I'm thinking it's time to begin.
The mavis is singing hard by, dear,
⁠The hedges are white wi' the may,
And there's never a cloud i' the sky, dear,
⁠To hinder a ship on its way. ”

“ She full revealed the sweep of her strong wings,
⁠And gained the suffrage of the grateful earth;
Choosing, as war should from her realms depart,
To give herself to the enduring Art
⁠That was her own at birth. ”

“ One thought all the weary day hath caressed me:
⁠⁠⁠Though cloud-o'ercast
⁠⁠⁠Is the way I go,
Though steep is the hill I must climb, yet, oh,
When evening falls and the light is past,
⁠At my Father's house I will rest me. ”

“ After the heat of anger,
⁠Love that all life enwraps;
After the stress of battle,
⁠The trumpet sounding "taps."
After despair and doubting,
⁠A faith without alloy,
God here and over yonder,—
⁠The end of all things—joy! ”

“ SHE will not hear you if you sing,
Bluebird and whitethroat of the Spring!
Why did you stay away so long,
She wearying for your song?
She will not notice if you pass,
Sweet airs that woo the meadow grass!
Why could you not have spread, more fleet,
Soft carpet for her feet? ”