Gustav Melby

“ Where’s the music of the hum and drone of pollen-painted bees,
Then my soul takes up its harp, which long upon the willows hung,
And attunes it to the gladness that is floating in the air,
For it is in lilac-blossom-time that everything grows young,
And the heart of man is lighter, and has little less of care.
In the lilac-blossom-time it seems, the brown thrush blithest sings,
And the wood-dove cooes the deepest from a breast brimful with love,
And the Oriole’s glad music clearest ’mongst the branches rings,
To its mate that sits abrooding on the nest upon the bough ”

“ Their cleansing tones, refreshing to the mind,
And nature, smiling, drank their harmony,
The crystal dew vibrating with delight,
A veil of mist, the garment of the night,
Hung o’er the deepest valley, seemed to flee
Before their dancing with a timid wind.
Sordino felt their rapture like a flow
Of scented warmth, which crept through limbs and brain,
And to his heart, where lotus-like it stayed,
Until each chilling sorrow was allayed,
And joy of other years returned again,
Enkindling in his face a new life’s glow. ”

“ A whisper from a Sibyl’s cave it seems,
A soothing balm for every human ill,
A true solution of man’s checkered dreams.
Thou sable sovereign of man’s destiny,
Thou cypress-crowned queen of night and grave,
Thou ruler of man’s woe and misery,—
The world’s great cry which like a wave
Breaks on the rocks of cruel Fate,—
Thou autocrat of all that overwhelms
Man’s soul with sorrow, disappointment, hate,
To thee belongs, at last, all worlds and realms. ”

“ So often their poison bring,
And the dreams that I dream are of things that are past,
With remorse for their follies and hopes,
That the few joys of life so briefly do last,
And the noon-day so rapidly slopes.
Yet, the butterflies dance for a time without care,
And why should I murmur and fret,
While the summer is here, and all nature is fair,
And gleams mid the shadows are set?
I’ll banish remorse and the sorrow which slays,
And dance with the butterflies gay,
And dream little less, and enter the ways
Of things which remain for a day. ”

“ Unless their life in heav’n’s pure light they robe.
This gleam was ever glowing in the heart
Of him whom men might say was “lacking sense,”
The light of beauty and a smould’ring love.—
Since strait-laced folk may now his acts reprove,
And fearing this, we shall the tale condense,
Of what took place, before he did depart.
One day he met a scholar from Vienna,
Whose home was on the banks of that fair stream,
Renowned in history and minstrel’s song,
O’er whose blue waters, as they flow along,
Some olden romance hovers like a dream,
In saffron hues of terra di Sienna. ”

“ But self-eliminating,—
Since Thou alone art Truth and Love.
What is of man’s finiteness
Is nothing in Thy Everlastingness;—
He only is; That only is,
Which is a part of Thee in mind or matter!
THE DEATH CHANT
I heard a chant and a wailing,
Among the wooded hills,
From an Indian hut where they carried away
A man from his earthly ills.
The black-garbed women were chanting
The weirdest song I have heard—
An Indian lamentation,
Till nature itself seemed stirred.
And my heart was filled with pity,
As I saw that band forlorn,
Its poverty and sorrow—
On that bright September morn. ”

“ And woke the warbler’s glad refrain,
And all the heart of nature blest;
What matters though the clouds obscure
Its finished course one single eve,
If we, like children, can allure
Even clouds and mist to pleasure give.
Fourth Evening
The glitt’ring wavelets blind my sight,
And neath the hand I needs must scan
The dazzling shimmer of the light,
Which like Seraphic highways span
The breeze-swept, glad expanse;
Methinks I see the Naiads dance
To music of the swaying reeds
And rushes, where the narrows jut,
Adorned with many-colored weeds,
From Neptune’s gardens freshly cut. ”

“ The blossom of the memory
Of what in him was good and true.
With this we will his grave adorn,
In summer-sun and winter’s frost,
Its beauty never shall be lost,
But growing brighter with each morn.
IV
’Tis evening, and the clouds hang low,
The rain has fall’n the livelong day,
But in the west there is a ray,
A gentle gleam of evening-glow.{107}
Down are the curtains and the shades,
Where hearts in silence weep and brood,
They nature’s sadness may exclude,
But also that one gleam—which fades. ”

“ Gleam in the dew,
And as we looked into his eyes
So large and brown,
It seemed an angel from the skies
Had just come down.
What heaven gave, again it took—
Its ways are good,
But now in pity it does look
On motherhood,—
Whose love so young, so pure, so deep,
Eats sorrow’s bread,—
And whispers: “Woman do not weep,
He is not dead.” ”

“ A little lay which to Sordino’s page
Had spirit-flight, as never he had known,
It was to him the lifting of a dawn
From night’s and sorrow’s dark and fearful cage,
The skylark’s rise and soar on raptured wing.
“Adieu, my native land, adieu,
I leave thee for a while,
As fade thy cliffs amid the blue,
And trembling of thy smile!
I sing my parting song with tears,
But not as cravens do,
Thy love casts out the coward’s fears
And leaves a courage true.” ”

“ Our country’s dream: that when the southwind’s
breath
Shall wake to life and gladness all the land,
Like risen pow’r our chosen youth shall stand
Around the flag which means the tyrant’s death,—
That like the life which quickens everything,
Our hosts from South and North and East and West
Shall fare rejoicing o’er the ocean’s crest,
And Freedom’s victory to Europe bring,—
Midwinter’s dream in every loyal heart,
Who dreams it not, in Freedom has no part. ”

“ Which all seem idly spent and vain,
Fair Hope comes, saying: “Nought is lost,
Life’s failures bring the better gain!”
When sorrow, troubles come in flocks,
Like angry clouds, driven by the blast,
Like waves against the riven rocks,
On which my helpless soul is cast,
And night and darkness come apace,
With not a friend around to cheer,
Again she shows her angel face,
And whispers gently: “Do not fear.” ”

“ The earth and heaven new shall be their lot,
Upon the morn, now dawning from the night.
A MAY MORNING, 1917
From purple woods the stock-dove’s notes are flowing,
As deep and melancholy as the night,
Whose shadows from the early morning’s glowing
Now take their flight;
So sweetly clear, and gently wooing,
They bring my soul an exquisite delight.
A byre-cock’s crow comes shrilly from afar,
And wakes loud answers in the neighbor’s yard,
They greet the coming of Apollo’s car,
Like many a modern and accepted bard ”

“ Their sacred task he almost envied them,
To have a noble aim and be assured
That heaven its benediction on it smiles,
And loving hearts are with the weary miles,
For such a quest all things might be endured,
And death itself be life’s great diadem.
A mission and a woman’s love is all
A man should crave for earthly happiness,
Sordino thought, while absently his gaze
Did fall upon the sweet Madonna’s face,
And he had none of these to lift and bless
His aimless, dark and love-tormented soul. ”

“ To throne-rooms of the Sovereign’s pow’r,
Where not a shadow of dark Fate
Had part in any dial’s hour;
But truth and righteousness and love
Did govern life and destiny,
The Sovereign’s will, supreme above
The ways of man, did all decree.
And in this hour of awful gloom,
When faith is wrecked, and hope is low,
The glory from this Palace-room
Makes all the mountain-peaks aglow;
And shadows flee from vale and plain,
And struggling armies see a gleam,
Commensurate with grief and pain,—
The truth of what seemed but a dream. ”

“ And the mingled perfume from meadows and hills and vale
Wrought with a fairy-potion,
Dreams and thrills of the soul.
The lazy smoke of the Saint John’s fire
Like pillars rose from the wooded heights
To the sky cerulian,
Where the evening star shone bright,
Like an eye that twinkles with tears of joy;
It shimmered above a cataract,
Whose music rose and fell
Where the river leaped over the rocks to the fjord.
The night had voices:
Laughter and singing of youth round the bonfires;
Purling of streams, and twitter of sleepless birds ”

“ And he returns, at times, with taunts and gibes;
But if they put away some modern scribes,
And did great Shakespeare’s drama resurrect,
Our modern stage would not be half as rotten.
Regenerated, cleansed, what ally this
To all that’s true and noble under heaven!
A mirror of ourselves? Much more! A vision
Of life’s ideal, and its highest mission,
And though the weary heart must mirth be given,
The thrill of truth’s clear gleam is better bliss. ”

“ That night the sailor and the soldier perished;
Sordino and his page set out on flight;
But Stella and her father mourned the loss
Of one whom they thought gold, but was mere dross,—
A fortune-soldier with no sense of right,
Who nought but selfish aims had ever cherished.
A double life may win the noblest heart
By hiding foulness neath pretended good,
Until the judgment-day reveals the truth,
And to the innocent the crushing ruth,
When he, that trusted was, is understood,
And all dissemblings from his life depart. ”

“ This to Sordino a great sorrow was,
Since he had hoped to win her heart and hand.
He said adieu to these his friends, by chance,
And drew away, he cared but little whither,
Since wounded love has lost its grip on life,
And sees it like a night with horror rife,
Until the victim on some morning blither,
Does damn such meetings as that one in France. ”

“ From work, and its routine, a needed surcease,
And knowledge, to quicken the mind.
I moved mid the crowds in the cities of fame,
I pondered their pleasures and pride,
A stranger, alone, wherever I came,
I heard but the surge of the tide.{156}
Though knowledge increased with the sight of the new,
Though grandeur gave thrills of delight,
Though marvelling oft at the things, man can do,
Yet weariness came with the night.
And I longed for the sound of the voice of a friend,
I longed for my home far away,
When, behold, I met one at a thoroughfare’s end,
At the close of a wearisome day! ”

“ Unseen ’neath the thick ice flow,
Then I know thy life lies hidden
Under sorrow’s wintry plaid,
But the hope, which seems forbidden,
In its course cannot be staid.
When in spring new life is risen
From the grave with songs of joy,
Then thy soul shall leave its prison,
And its broken harp employ,
Then again that sighing whisper,
Charged with love and happiness,
I shall hear amid the woodlands
Which the dreamy lake caress.
TO A “KNOCKER”
This sturdy world is hard to knock,
Though hit it as you may,
It moves, unmindful of the shock,—
In its accustomed way. ”

“ In checkered sunlight, neath the cypress tree,
And greeted every breeze that wandered by.
Groups of the peasant folk were gathering
About the graves, in silent thoughtfulness,
And some in sorrow round the recent mounds;
The air so calm and mild with fragrance filled,
The tolling of the church bells deep and strong,
Made this a day of sweet solemnity,
Felt by the aged and the youth alike;
And while they lingered, lo, the sibyl came.{95}
From group to group a whisper passed with awe:
“It is the sibyl!” ”

“ Which none but Christ can give.
CHRISTMAS NIGHT
Night, and a lonely star,
Night, with its deep repose,
A gleam of light from afar—
To souls oppressed with woes.
Light of the Bethlehem-star
On the inn and the shepherd-cotes,
That breaks o’er the golden bar,
Whence the angel-anthem floats.
Song of peace upon earth,
Peace which to heaven has fled,
But shall find its second birth,
Where the blood of millions is shed.
“Peace and good will to men!”
Verily ’tis His voice,
Bidding us trust again,
Yea, even in hope to rejoice.{205} ”

“ We know not what the year will bring
Of loss and sorrow;
But help us Thou in faith to sing
Of every morrow
As that of hope and victory,
And larger meed,
With trust that Thou wilt ever be
Our help in need!
Thus we will breast the darkest storm,
Since not alone,
And confident, Thou wilt perform,
At last enthrone,
Thy righteous acts among all men,
And tyrants overthrow;
Grant that this year’s recording pen
Such victories may know! Amen.
{207} EASTER
Our souls have need of Easter—
Of resurrection light,
For never times were trister,
Nor darker seemed the night. ”

“ And when at last the chimes were cast, there came
A great collapse of utter weariness
Upon him, and he slept for many days;
The finishing, with all artistic ways,
Was patience’s work, more like a fond caress
Of something born of inspiration’s flame.
The day of testing came, the final test;
Sordino coming early in the morn,
Since eager was his soul to know for sooth,
If its ideal of the highest truth{16}—
Of harmony—incarnate can be born,
And with the works of man itself invest. ”

“ That he through these, perchance, might clearer see
The truth which echoed from another shore,
Each time their sovereign voice the silence rent.
And he waxed confident, the human cry
Is wafted somewhere to a higher sphere,
Where it is answered with a perfect peace,—
That not a soul from earth does find release,
Release from darkness and the night of fear,
Without a morn of better hope on high.
VI
The grave has, after all, the truest peace ”