The Triumph of Music, and Other Lyrics. Madison Julius Cawein

       WHERE AND WHAT?

       THE SPRING.

       " O Fons Bandusiæ! "

       LILLITA.

       ARTEMIS.

       IN NOVEMBER.

       A CHARACTER.

       A MOOD.

       A THOUGHT.

       SONG.

       FACE TO FACE.

       THE CHANGELING.

       ST. JOHN'S EVE.

       LALAGE.

       MIRIAM.

       THE WIND.

       MUSIC.

       [ A Nocturne. ]

       TO ——.

       YULE.

       THE TROUBADOUR.

       WHY?

       FROM UNBELIEF TO BELIEF.

       THE KING.

THE TRIUMPH OF MUSIC.

       Table of Contents

      I

       There lay in a vale 'twixt lone mountains

       A garden entangled with flowers,

       Where the whisper of echoing fountains

       Stirred softly the musk-breathing bowers.

       Where torrents cast down from rock-masses,

       From caverns of red-granite steeps,

       With thunders sonorous clove passes

       And maddened dark gulfs with rash leaps,

       With the dolorous foam of their leaps.

      II

      And, oh, when the sunrays came heaping

       The foam of those musical chasms,

       With a scintillant dust as of diamonds,

       It seemed that white spirits were sweeping

       Down, down thro' those voluble chasms,

       Wild weeping in resonant spasms.

       And the wave from the red-hearted granite

       In veins rolled tumbling around;

       Meandered thro' shade-haunted forests

       Where many rock barriers did span it

       To dash it in froth and in sound:

       Where the nights with their great moons could wan it,

       Or star its dusk stillness profound.

      III

      And here in the night would I wander

       On woodways where fragrances kissed,

       By shadows where murmurings kissed;

       And here would I tarry to ponder

       When the moon in blue vales made a mist;

       Dim in forests of rank, rocking cedars,

       Whose wildness made glad with their scent,

       Whose boughs in the tempests were bent

       Like the pennons and plumes of fierce leaders,

       In the battle all ragged and rent.

      IV

      And so when the moonshine was floating

       Far up on the mountain's bleak head,

       On the uttermost foam of the torrent,

       Would I string a wild harp while was gloating

       The moon on my blossomy bed.

       Or I lay where a fountain of blossoms

       Rained rustling from arches aloft,

       From the thick-scented arbors aloft,

       And I sang as the blossoms' white bosoms

       Pressed silk-smooth to mine and lay soft:

       I sang as their redolence stung me,

       And laughed on my blossomy couch,

       Till the fragrance and music had flung me

       Into shadows of sleep with their touch,

       The magic of exquisite touch. …

      V

      One night as I wondered and wandered

       In this my rare Aidenn of flowers,

       I saw where I lingered and pondered

       A youth cast asleep mid the bowers:

       A youth on a mantle of satin,

       A poppy-red robe in the flowers.

      VI

      So I kissed his thin eyelids full tender,

       I kissed his high forehead and pale,

       I sighed as I kissed his black splendor

       Of curls that were kissed of the gale,

       That were moved of the balm-breathing gale.

       And he woke and cried out as if haunted:—

       "Oh God! for one note of that song!

       For a sob of that languishing song!

       Whose tumult of sorrow enchanted,

       And swept my weak spirit along!"

      VII

      Than I sate me upon the red satin

       And plunged a long look in his eyes;

       I bowed on the weft of red satin

       And kindled his love with my sighs.