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.. meta::
   :PG.Id: 49631
   :PG.Title: Cosmos
   :PG.Released: 2015-08-06
   :PG.Rights: Public Domain
   :PG.Producer: Al Haines
   :DC.Creator: Ernest McGaffey
   :DC.Title: Cosmos
   :DC.Language: en
   :DC.Created: 1903
   :coverpage: images/img-cover.jpg

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COSMOS
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      :alt: Ernest McGaffey

      Ernest McGaffey

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      COSMOS

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      By ERNEST McGAFFEY

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      The Philosopher Press
      Wausau Wisconsin

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      COPYRIGHTED 1903
      BY ERNEST McGAFFEY

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      DEDICATED TO
      CARTER \H. HARRISON
      OF CHICAGO

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.. _`ONE`:

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   COSMOS

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   ONE

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..

   |  I

   |  Go search the æons an you will
   |  Where withered leaves of Doubt are whirled,
   |  And who hath solved this riddle, Life,
   |  Or Death—that moves with sails unfurled,
   |  Beyond the straining eyes of man
   |  Marooned upon an unknown world.

   |  II

   |  Nor tongue hath told, nor vision caught
   |  That paradox, Primeval Cause;
   |  Each age has had some parable
   |  Each age succeeding marked the flaws;
   |  While shifted, with the calendar,
   |  What men have termed generic laws.

   |  III

   |  Creed after creed behold them now
   |  Like Etna on Vesuvius piled;
   |  Till, scaled to earth by drifting sands
   |  They lie in later days reviled,
   |  And pushed aside by Time's rough hand
   |  As toys are, by a peevish child.

   |  IV

   |  For Priest-made doctrine reads grotesque.
   |  And earthly worship is but dross;
   |  Whether it be your Brahm of Ind
   |  Or squat and hideous Chinese Joss;
   |  Or Jove, aloft on cloud-capped throne
   |  Or the pale Christ upon his cross.

   |  V

   |  Why question still the blindfold graves
   |  Or pluck the veil of Isis dread?
   |  Over Death's icy mystery
   |  A pall immutable is spread;
   |  And never tear-wrung agony
   |  Shall move the lips we loved—once dead.

   |  VI

   |  Why grope in labyrinthian maze?
   |  Why palter thus with doubt and fear?
   |  The Past is but the mollusc print
   |  The Future looms, a barrier sheer;
   |  The Present centers in To-day
   |  The hope for men is Now, and Here.

   |  VII

   |  Believe no scientific cant
   |  That man descended from the ape;
   |  Gorilla-like once beat his breast
   |  And grew at last to human shape,
   |  To watch the flocks, and till the fields,
   |  Harry the seas and bruise the grape.

   |  VIII

   |  For though enrobed in savage skins
   |  And though his forehead backward ran,
   |  The brute was not all-dominant
   |  Some spark revealed a Primal plan;
   |  His brain was coupled with his will
   |  The hairy mammal still was man.

   |  IX

   |  And ever as the cycles waned
   |  He came and went, he rose and fell,
   |  At times transformed, as butterflies
   |  That rise from chrysalis in the cell;
   |  And oft through hate and ignorance
   |  Sunk downward deep as fabled Hell.

   |  X

   |  But through it all, and with it all
   |  How-e'er the upward trending veers,
   |  He fought his fight against great odds
   |  He peopled ice-bound hemispheres,
   |  Endured the sweltering Torrid Zones
   |  And stamped his impress on the years.





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   TWO

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..

   |  I

   |  What romance hast thy childhood known
   |  Of God-made world in seven days?
   |  Of woven sands and swaying grass
   |  And bird and beast in forest ways,
   |  Of panoramas vast unrolled
   |  Before a stern Creator's gaze?

   |  II

   |  Of rivers ribboning the vales;
   |  Of plains that stretched in smoothness down,
   |  And unborn seasons yet to be
   |  Spring's violet banks, and Autumn's brown;
   |  Bright Summer, mistress of the sun,
   |  And grey-beard Winter's boreal crown.

   |  III

   |  And when at length the scheme complete
   |  Unfolded to the Maker's sight,
   |  How He, Almighty and divine
   |  Said in his power, "Let there be light!"
   |  Gave sun and moon, and sowed the stars
   |  Along the furrows of the night!

   |  IV

   |  Lo! every nation has its tale
   |  And every people, how they be;
   |  Whether where Southern zephyrs loose
   |  The blooms from off the tamarind tree,
   |  Or where the six-month seasons bide
   |  Around the cloistered Polar sea.

   |  V

   |  And Science with unyielding scales
   |  Weighs each and all of varied styles;
   |  And like a Goddess molds decrees
   |  Oblivious both to tears or smiles;
   |  Points out the error, reads the rule
   |  And God with Nature reconciles.

   |  VI

   |  But who shall sift the false and true?
   |  What Oracle the rule enforce?
   |  Not man-made creed, nor man-learned law
   |  Is wise to fathom Nature's course;
   |  No sea is deeper than its bed
   |  No stream is higher than its source.

   |  VII

   |  Vain hope to solve the Infinite!
   |  Mere words to babble, when they say
   |  "Thus Science teaches,"—"thus our God"—
   |  Thus this or that—what of it, pray?
   |  The marvel overlapping all—
   |  Go ask the Sphynx of Yesterday.

   |  VIII

   |  We know the All, and nothing know;
   |  The great we ken as well as least;
   |  But sum it all when we have said
   |  That man is different from the beast;
   |  And spite of all Theology
   |  The Pagan's equal to the Priest.

   |  IX

   |  And globes will lapse, and suns expire;
   |  As stars have fallen, worlds can change;
   |  Forever shall the centuries roll
   |  And roving planets tireless range;
   |  And Life be masked in secrecy
   |  With Death, as ever, passing strange.

   |  X

   |  And trow not, Mortal, in thy pride
   |  That where yon beetling column stands
   |  Rests Permanence; 'twill disappear
   |  To sink in marsh or barren lands,
   |  Where bitterns boom, or sunlight stares
   |  Across the immemorial sands.





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.. _`THREE`:

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   THREE

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   |  I

   |  Of old when man to being came
   |  He fashioned Gods of brittle bone;
   |  Bowed down to wooden fetiches
   |  Or worshipped idols carved from stone;
   |  And, locked in Superstition's grasp
   |  For sacrifice made lives atone.

   |  II

   |  And Fear was then the Higher Law
   |  And fleshly joys the aftermath;
   |  He knew no screed of Righteousness
   |  And trod no straight and narrow path;
   |  His Deity a terror was
   |  A Demon winged with might and wrath.

   |  III

   |  And then where Nilus dipped his feet
   |  By Egypt sands, rose temples tall
   |  To Isis and Osiris—Ptah—
   |  And many a God foredoomed to fall;
   |  Where sank the shades of Pharaoh's reign?
   |  Whence have they vanished, one and all?

   |  IV

   |  But whiles to other years advanced
   |  And now by cosmic marvels won,
   |  Men sought remote Pelagian shores
   |  Where breeze and spray their tapestry spun,
   |  To wait the coming of the day
   |  And there adore the rising sun.

   |  V

   |  This passed; the Gods of Greece and Rome
   |  In splendor thronged the earth and skies;
   |  Jove, with the thunders in his hand
   |  Apollo of the star-lit eyes,
   |  Aurora, Priestess of the Dawn
   |  And Pan of haunting melodies,—

   |  VI

   |  And countless more; their temples fair
   |  Where reverent Pagans curved the knee,
   |  Mid sweet, perpetual summer stood
   |  While murmured as the murmuring bee,
   |  The lulling sweep of listless brine
   |  Beside the green Ægean sea.

   |  VII

   |  And merged in island-wooded calms
   |  By towering groves of ancient oak,
   |  where Triton's charging cavalry
   |  Against the cliffs of Britain broke,
   |  With horrid rite of human blood
   |  The Celtic Druids moved and spoke.

   |  VIII

   |  Still wheeled the cycles; still did men
   |  With new religions make them wise;
   |  Mahomet rose magnificent
   |  As rainbow in the eastern skies;
   |  With Seven Heavens of Koran taught
   |  And Houris with the sloe-black eyes.

   |  IX

   |  Brahm, Baal, Dagon, Moloch, Thor,
   |  And legions more had long sufficed;
   |  Heavens in turn with bliss diverse
   |  And Hells with ebon glaciers iced;
   |  And latest on celestial scrolls
   |  The prophets wrote the name of Christ.

   |  X

   |  We need them not; No! each and all
   |  Will load Tradition's dusty shelf;
   |  As shattered Idols, put away
   |  To lie forgot like broken delf;
   |  Humanity is over all!
   |  And Man's redemption in himself.





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   FOUR

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   |  I

   |  The morning stars together sang
   |  So runs the story, in that time,
   |  When groves were loud with melody
   |  And ripples danced to liquid rhyme;
   |  Far in the embryonic spheres
   |  Before the earth was in her prime.

   |  II

   |  Then first the feline-padded gales
   |  Unleashed and prowling journeyed free,
   |  To purr amid the cowering grass
   |  Or roar in stormy jubilee,
   |  Or, joining in with Ocean, growl
   |  A hoarse duet of wind and sea.

   |  III

   |  And where by meadowy rushes dank
   |  The yellow sunbeams thick were sown,
   |  And brooks flowed down through April ways
   |  O'er pebbled bar and shingly stone,
   |  There first welled up in gurgling strain
   |  The lisping current's monotone.

   |  IV

   |  And oft was heard, in forest aisles
   |  Where rocking trees of leaves were thinned,
   |  And drear November wandered lorn
   |  With wild wide eyes and hair unpinned,
   |  A wailing harp of minor chords
   |  Struck by the strong hands of the wind.

   |  V

   |  And Man, through imitative art,
   |  With clumsy tool and method crude,
   |  Copied these echoes as he might
   |  To soothe him in his solitude;
   |  And when that other sound was dumb
   |  His reed-notes quavered music rude.

   |  VI

   |  And as the gentler graces came
   |  To vivify barbaric night,
   |  So Poesy, with singing Lyre,
   |  Descended from Parnassian height,
   |  With constellations aureoled
   |  Her raiment wove of flowing light.

   |  VII

   |  And in Man's heart a thrill leaped up;
   |  His eye was lit by prophet gleams;
   |  He sought the truth of When and How
   |  He voiced the lyrics of the streams;
   |  His beard was tossed, his locks were gray
   |  His soul beneath the spell of dreams.

   |  VIII

   |  Thus numbers came; and Poets lived
   |  To chant the glories of the Race;
   |  Their rhyme on limp papyrus roll
   |  Or etched on crumbling pillar's base,
   |  Has long outlived the Kings they sung
   |  And conquered even Time and Space.

   |  IX

   |  Aye! vain the vaunt of Heroes; vain
   |  The deeds that once were thought sublime;
   |  And vain your Monarchs, briefly staged
   |  In tinselled royal pantomime;
   |  Their House was builded on the sands
   |  And they unworth a random rhyme.

   |  X

   |  Vain are the works of man; most vain
   |  His bubbled Glory, Aye! or Fame;
   |  More fragile than a last-year's leaf
   |  Unnoticed of the sunset's flame;
   |  And naught endures unless it stands
   |  Linked with a deathless Poet's name.





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   FIVE

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   |  I

   |  How flourished then the lesser arts
   |  As man to manhood slowly grew?
   |  With blackened stick from ruddy fires
   |  That on his cave reflections threw,
   |  He scrawled the rock which sheltered him
   |  And thus the first rude picture drew.

   |  II

   |  And catching hints from Nature's lore
   |  He squeezed his colors from the clay;
   |  Steeped leaf and bark, and dyed the skins
   |  That round about his dwelling lay;
   |  And, urged by vanity, his cheeks
   |  Were daubed with dash of pigments gay.

   |  III

   |  So, ever as the seasons died
   |  His mind expanded with his will;
   |  He saw the dry leaves touched with gold
   |  And grass grow tawny on the hill;
   |  Found etchings on the ruffled streams
   |  And marked the sunset's hectic thrill.

   |  IV

   |  And dreaming thus, with defter skill
   |  He fast employed his nights and days,
   |  Spun magic webs of chequered lights
   |  And limned October's purple haze;
   |  While women's faces from his brush
   |  Fired, like wine, the se'er's gaze.

   |  V

   |  Until at last was handed down
   |  Beyond the treasure-trove of Greece,
   |  Beyond the strain that Sappho sung
   |  And reveries of the Golden Fleece,
   |  The art of Titian, Rubens, Thal,
   |  And Tintoretto's masterpiece.

   |  VI

   |  Thus, too, as man with curious eye
   |  Had noted outline, curve, and form,
   |  In toppling surge or lofty crag
   |  In woman's bosom beating warm,
   |  In cloudy shapes revealed on high
   |  Intaglios of the wind and storm,—

   |  VII

   |  He modelled from the plastic loam;
   |  On shell and boulder graved a sign;
   |  Chiselled the stately obelisks
   |  With hieroglyphics, line on line;
   |  Colossal wrought his haughty Kings
   |  Or metal-traced the clambering vine.

   |  VIII

   |  And many an image was his work
   |  And many a statuette and bust;
   |  Some that remain, but most that lie
   |  As shards to outer darkness thrust;
   |  These buried under coral sands
   |  Those cloaked beneath forgotten dust.

   |  IX

   |  Upon the lonely washes that stretch
   |  Where the Egyptian rivers croon,
   |  And floats above the Pyramids
   |  On tropic nights the lifeless moon,
   |  The mightiest waits,—the brooding Sphynx—
   |  Half-lion and half Daemon hewn.

   |  X

   |  So Sculpture, pierced in mountain sides
   |  Or dragged from Mythologic seas,
   |  Still holds a sway; and worlds will bow
   |  In homage yet to such as these—
   |  The noble bronze by Phidias wrought,
   |  The marbles of Praxiteles.





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   SIX

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   |  I

   |  To those who for their country bleed
   |  To those who die for freedom's sake,
   |  All Hail!  for them the Immortal dawns
   |  In waves of lilied silver break;
   |  For them in dusky-templed night
   |  The eternal stars a halo make.

   |  II

   |  In History's tome their chronicle
   |  An ever-living page shall be;
   |  The souls who flashed like sabers drawn
   |  The men who died to make men free;
   |  Their flag in every land has flown
   |  Their sails have whitened every sea.

   |  III

   |  On gallows high they met their doom
   |  Or breasted straight the serried spears
   |  Of Tyranny; in dungeons damp
   |  Scarred on the stones their name appears;
   |  For them the flower of Memory
   |  Shall blossom, watered by our tears.

   |  IV

   |  But Conquest, Glory, transient Fame,
   |  What baubles these to struggle for,
   |  When draped in sulphurous films uprise
   |  The cannon-throated fiends of War!
   |  What childish trumpery cheap as this—
   |  The trophies of a Conqueror?

   |  V

   |  How many an army marches forth
   |  With bugle-note or battle-hymn,
   |  To drench the soil in human gore
   |  And multiply Golgothas grim;
   |  And all for what? a Ruler's pique
   |  Religion's call, or Harlot's whim.

   |  VI

   |  And ghastliest far among them all
   |  Where torn and stained the thirsty sod
   |  With carnage reeks—where standards fly,
   |  And horses gallop, iron-shod,
   |  Are those remorseless mockeries
   |  The wars they wage in name of God.

   |  VIII

   |  Vague, dim and vague, and noiselessly,
   |  The Warrior's triumphs fade like haze;
   |  And building winds have heaped the sands
   |  O'er monuments of martial days;
   |  While Legend throws a flickering gleam
   |  Where the tall Trojan towers blaze.

   |  VIII

   |  Yea! whether sought for Woman's face
   |  Or, Conquest-seeking, seaward poured,
   |  Or at the beck of Holy Church
   |  War still shall be the thing abhorred;
   |  And they who by the sword would live
   |  Shall surely perish by the sword.

   |  IX

   |  Yet whether at Thermopylæ
   |  Where battled the intrepid Greek,
   |  Or Waterloo—their quarry still
   |  The red-eyed ravening vultures seek;
   |  Where prowl the jackal and the fox
   |  And the swart raven whets his beak.

   |  X

   |  And somewhere, though by Alien seas
   |  The tide of Hate unceasing frets;
   |  For dawn to dusk, and dusk to dawn
   |  The red sun rises, no, nor sets,
   |  Save where the wraith of War is seen
   |  Above her glittering bayonets.





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   SEVEN

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   |  I

   |  How fared the body when the soul
   |  In olden days had taken flight?
   |  Had passed as through a shutter slips
   |  A trembling shaft of summer light!
   |  And all that once was Life's warm glow
   |  Had sudden changed to dreadful night!

   |  II

   |  How fared the mourners; how the Priest;
   |  How spoken his funereal theme?
   |  What dirges for the Heroic dead
   |  What flowers to soften death's extreme?
   |  Was Life to them a wayside Inn
   |  Death the beginning of a dream?

   |  III

   |  We cannot know; except by tales
   |  Caught in the traveller's flying loom,
   |  Or carven granite friezes found
   |  Or parchment penned in convent gloom;
   |  Or here and there, defying Time
   |  Some long-dead Emperor's giant tomb.

   |  IV

   |  Where tower the steep Egyptian cones
   |  By couriers of the storm bestrid,
   |  Wrapped in his blackening cerements
   |  Sahura lies in shadow hid,
   |  While billowy sand-curves rise and dash
   |  Like surf, against his Pyramid.

   |  V

   |  And on the bald Norweyan shores
   |  When Odin for the Viking came,
   |  A ship was launched, and on it placed
   |  With solemn state, the Hero's frame;
   |  The torch applied, and sent to sea,
   |  A double burial,—wave and flame.

   |  VI

   |  And when the Hindu Prince lay prone—
   |  In final consecration dire
   |  His Hindu Princess followed on
   |  And climbed the blazing funeral pyre,
   |  To stand in living sacrifice
   |  Transfigured in her robes of fire.

   |  VII

   |  Where the red Indian of the Plains
   |  To the Great Spirit bowed his head,
   |  On pole-built scaffold, Eagle-plumed,
   |  The painted warrior laid his dead;
   |  Beneath, the favorite charger slain
   |  And by the Chief his weapons spread.

   |  VIII

   |  We clothe our dead in modish dress
   |  Dust unto dust the Preacher saith,
   |  The church-bells toll, the organ peals,
   |  And mourners wait with ebbing breath;
   |  Oh! grave, this is thy mockery,
   |  The weird farce-comedy of Death.

   |  IX

   |  Nay! burn the shell with simplest rites;
   |  Scatter its ashes to the skies;
   |  And on the stairways of the clouds
   |  In winding spirals let it rise;
   |  What needs the soul of mortal garb
   |  Whether in Hell or Paradise?

   |  X

   |  Aye! lost and gone; what cares the corse
   |  When Death unfolds his sable wings,
   |  Whether it rest in wind-swept tree
   |  Or where the deep-sea echo rings?
   |  Be laid to sleep in Potter's Field
   |  Or lone Iona's cairn of Kings?





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.. _`EIGHT`:

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   EIGHT

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   |  I

   |  Above unsightly city roofs
   |  Where smoky serpents trail the sky,
   |  Broods Commerce; in her factories
   |  A million clacking shuttles fly;
   |  Where, choked with lint, in sickly air
   |  The little children droop and die.

   |  II

   |  The rattling clash of jarring wheels
   |  Against the windows echoing beats;
   |  And when the pallid gas-jets flare
   |  Where sombre night with twilight meets,
   |  Like flotsam on the stream of Fate
   |  The toiler's myriads crowd the streets.

   |  III

   |  With hiving tumult to and fro
   |  Trade's devotees, a hurrying mass,
   |  Through the long corridor of years
   |  In due procession rise and pass;
   |  To earn their wage, to seek their goal
   |  And melt, like dew-drops on the grass.

   |  IV

   |  And here, within the age of Gain
   |  Our forest-masted harbors shine
   |  With shimmering fleets; and we go on
   |  To climes afar of palm and vine,
   |  And in the warp of Traffic weave
   |  A sinister and base design,

   |  V

   |  Of mild and hapless Islanders
   |  Who fall before our soldiers' aim;
   |  Of broken faith—of sophistries—
   |  Of sin, of blood-shed, and of shame;
   |  Oh!  Commerce, Commerce, who shall tell
   |  The crimes committed in thy name.

   |  VI

   |  Turn, turn my Fancy, inland borne
   |  Where Nature's solace shall not fail
   |  To ease the heart; view skyey seas
   |  Where cloud armadas, sail on sail,
   |  Manned by the winds go warping down
   |  Below the far horizon's trail.

   |  VII

   |  And as the budding willows blow
   |  When March comes whirling past the lanes,
   |  With bird-note wild, and fifing winds
   |  And undertone of sibilant rains,
   |  On slopes where Winter's garment melts
   |  Blue as the sea are violet stains.

   |  VIII

   |  Where cattle seek the shaded pools
   |  And silence folds the sun-burned lands,
   |  Her auburn tresses backward flung
   |  Mid-Summer, like to Ceres stands,
   |  Beside the fields of waving grain
   |  With harvest-apples in her hands.

   |  IX

   |  And stealthily through winnowing dusk
   |  I see the curling smoke ascend,
   |  Where lie the farms; and evermore
   |  Where hope, and health, and manhood blend;
   |  While stubble shorn and pastures bare
   |  Proclaim the waning season's end.

   |  X

   |  And as beyond the naked hills
   |  The chill November sunset dies,
   |  And cloudward now a phalanx swims
   |  Where guttural honking fills the skies,
   |  Black-sculptured on approaching night
   |  And southward bound, the wild-goose flies.





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.. _`NINE`:

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   NINE

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   |  I

   |  Behold the kindred human types
   |  Tribe, Sept, and class, Race, Caste, and Clan;
   |  Red, Black and Yellow; White and Brown;
   |  Processions of Primordial Man
   |  That wax apace, and stream across
   |  In one unending caravan.

   |  II

   |  The Fisher-People with their shells
   |  And dwellers of the Age of Stone;
   |  The Kirghiz of the Western Steppes
   |  The Greek, the Turk, the Mongol shown,
   |  The Goth, the Frank,—I see them pass
   |  Like flash-lights by a mirror thrown.

   |  III

   |  So, too, the Arab, burnoose clad
   |  Who braves the stifling Simoon dry,
   |  Adrift upon Saharan tides
   |  His awkward camels lurching high,
   |  Long, lank, uncouth, but staunch as Death,
   |  Ships of the Desert, sailing by.

   |  IV

   |  Note the Caucasian in his pride
   |  Who prates of moldy pedigrees;
   |  A mushroom he, compared in Eld
   |  To the impassive, sly Chinese;
   |  Their records co-extant with Time
   |  And swarming by the sundown seas.

   |  V

   |  Each comes and goes; as came and went
   |  Rameses' millions; in their day
   |  What boast was made of Egypt's Kings
   |  How God-like seemed their valorous play;
   |  But cynic years dispersed their line
   |  Swift hurried with the winds away.

   |  VI

   |  Aye! even as motes they had their grace
   |  For a brief moment, son and sire;
   |  Then passed; as foam that sinks at sea
   |  Or chords which flee the Minstrel's lyre;
   |  Where rot the walls by Sidon raised?
   |  And where the long-lost hulls of Tyre?

   |  VII

   |  And all men listen in their turn
   |  To the same Sirens; greed of Gain—
   |  Love—Hate—Revenge—the lust of Power—
   |  And craze o'er fellow-man to reign—
   |  Ambition's lure—these intertwine
   |  Like links that form an endless chain.

   |  VIII

   |  Since Power is but the instant's clutch
   |  And naught so trivial as a Name,
   |  What crucial proof shall fix men's worth
   |  On lasting tablets write their claim;
   |  So that their memories may fill
   |  A niche within the walls of Fame?

   |  IX

   |  The test is not of Birth nor Race
   |  Since each is worthy of his hire;
   |  It rests in what men do for men
   |  Uplifted by the soul's desire,
   |  To tread Life's fiery furnaces
   |  And save their brothers from the fire.

   |  X

   |  And ranging far and searching deep
   |  However though the annals be,
   |  We find but one nigh faultless man
   |  There was none other such as He;
   |  The Jew who taught and practiced Love
   |  The man who walked by Galilee.





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.. _`TEN`:

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   TEN

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..

   |  I

   |  Enough my Muse; thy message cast
   |  As stone from out a sling is hurled,
   |  Let drop to night; or re-appear
   |  Where morning's gathering grey is pearled,
   |  And the bent sun, like Sisyphus,
   |  Toils laboring up the underworld.

   |  II

   |  Let be; thy wisdom knoweth well
   |  The just degrees of right and wrong;
   |  Although mayhap unmarked by men
   |  Shall fall the echoes of thy song;
   |  Unheeded by the pilgrim years
   |  Unrecked of, by the heedless throng.

   |  III

   |  And yet before the highways part
   |  And thou and I in darkness dwell,
   |  Do thou thy swiftest Herald send
   |  And this as final warning tell;
   |  'Banish all hope of gilded Heaven
   |  And laugh to scorn the fires of Hell'.

   |  IV

   |  Phantasmal dance those dual sprites
   |  Mere witch-craft mummeries of the brain;
   |  The lying sorcery of the Priests
   |  A worldly influence to retain;
   |  Where shalt thou go?  What quest is thine?
   |  Where falls the single drop of rain?

   |  V

   |  But Courage, Faith, and Constancy,
   |  The cardinal virtues as I deem,
   |  May well be worshipped, as indeed
   |  The lilies of the soul they seem;
   |  Undying in their fragrance rare
   |  And glassed upon a sacred stream.

   |  VI

   |  Know thou, the Ideal Harmony
   |  That fills all space, below, above,
   |  Is not in Creed, nor Form, nor Rite
   |  Nor in those things thou dreamest of;
   |  But holds within its breadth and scope
   |  The sole and only note of Love.

   |  VII

   |  Reject all Creeds; and yet in each
   |  Seek such material as thou can,
   |  With here a tenet, there a thought
   |  Whether it sprang from Christ or Pan;
   |  And make the key-stone of thy arch
   |  The common brotherhood of Man.

   |  VIII

   |  And striving thus, a happier creed
   |  In time to come shall burst its bud,
   |  The pure air cleared of battle-smoke
   |  And war no more by field and flood;
   |  Where men can lift up guiltless hands
   |  Uncrimsoned by a brother's blood.

   |  IX

   |  When nevermore in calm or storm
   |  Shall hawk-like hover on the seas,
   |  The canvas of opposing ships
   |  Their pennants floating to the breeze;
   |  And golden hopes will supersede
   |  The apples of Hesperides.

   |  X

   |  When man-emancipated man
   |  Through loftier purpose wins control;
   |  With Justice as his only God
   |  To reign supreme o'er heart and soul;
   |  And Love, sun-like, illuminates
   |  The one, the true, the perfect whole.





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.. _`NOTES TO COSMOS`:

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   NOTES TO COSMOS

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.. class:: center

   Notes to Cosmos

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Certain stanzas once intended for the
original are here given.  They are set down
according to the chapters in which they were
to have appeared.

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..

   |  Chapter Two

   |  Of trees that stirred in early Spring
   |  The slow sap moving in their veins;
   |  Of flowers that dyed the woodland slopes
   |  The primrose pale, and daisy-chains;
   |  Sun-kissed betimes, or overmourned
   |  By shimmery tears of sobbing rains.

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..

   |  Chapter Four

   |  And all night long the restless sea
   |  Against its barriers rose and fell,
   |  Till grey-eyed Dawn, by lonely sands
   |  Saw flash and fade the last broad swell,
   |  Before her there the ebb-tide's gleam
   |  And at her feet a murmuring shell.

   |  And then were heard the Elder Bards
   |  In full, Prophetic tone sublime,
   |  Their eyes ablaze with ecstacy
   |  And on their lips the living rhyme;
   |  King-honored in an age of Kings
   |  And on their beards the frosts of Time.

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..

   |  Chapter Eight

   |  And when a-down the bare brown lanes
   |  Pattered the swift, white feet of Spring,
   |  I saw the velvet-golden flash
   |  That marked the yellow-hammer's wing
   |  A-curve on high; and later heard
   |  The robin, and the blue-bird sing.

   |  Far seaward on unnumbered isles
   |  Mid scent of spice and drowsy balm,
   |  The lotos-eating Islanders
   |  Lay soothed to sleep by utter calm;
   |  Low at their feet the pulsing tides
   |  And o'er their heads the tufted palm.

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..

   |  Chapter Nine

   |  Stark warriors of the Age of Stone
   |  With pristine valor all elate,
   |  Who sought and slew the great Cave Bear
   |  And robbed the tigress of her mate;
   |  And, weaponed with the ax and spear,
   |  Defied the towering mammoth's hate.

   |  And slant-eyed Mongols, yellow-skinned,
   |  Who traversed Western Steppes afar,
   |  Drank mare's milk, and observed their flocks
   |  White-clustered 'neath the Morning Star;
   |  Or, sallying forth with lance and bow
   |  Engaged in fierce Nomadic war.

   |  On vine-clad hills was found the Gaul;
   |  Above him glistened Alpine snows:
   |  And lower down where valleys lay
   |  Loved of the lily and the rose,
   |  By moon-light tranced, the nightingale
   |  Sang silvery-sweet adagios.

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