HAPPY ENDING

CONTENTS

G.F. Watts, pinx.Hollyer, Photo.

HAPPY ENDING

The Collected Lyrics of Louise Imogen Guiney

TOUT BIEN OU RIEN

HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY BOSTON AND NEW YORK: 1909

COPYRIGHT, 1909, BY LOUISE IMOGEN GUINEY ALL RIGHTS RESERVED Published December 1909

TO ANNE WHITNEY

PREFACE

This volume has been garnered from the author's earlier books. Two poems have been chosen from "The White Sail" (1887); nine Oxford Sonnets from a privately printed booklet (1895), since added to, and much altered; and many lyrics, under a revised form, from "A Roadside Harp" (1893), and "The Martyrs' Idyl" (1899), plus some twenty newer titles transferred, with grateful acknowledgments, from McClure's Magazine, The Atlantic, Harper's, Scribner's, and The Century. The principle of exclusion goes far enough to cover all poems in narrative form, or of any appreciable length, or translated; also, any which seemed out of keeping with the character of the present collection. Such as that is, it comprises the less faulty half of all the author's published verse.

L.I.G.

Boston, October 21, 1909.

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HAPPY ENDING

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The Kings

A man said unto his Angel: "My spirits are fallen low, And I cannot carry this battle: O brother! where might I go? "The terrible Kings are on me With spears that are deadly bright; Against me so from the cradle Do fate and my fathers fight." Then said to the man his Angel: "Thou wavering witless soul, Back to the ranks! What matter To win or to lose the whole, "As judged by the little judges Who hearken not well, nor see? Not thus, by the outer issue, The Wise shall interpret thee. "Thy will is the sovereign measure And only event of things:-4- The puniest heart, defying, Were stronger than all these Kings. "Though out of the past they gather, Mind's Doubt, and Bodily Pain, And pallid Thirst of the Spirit That is kin to the other twain, "And Grief, in a cloud of banners, And ringletted Vain Desires, And Vice, with the spoils upon him Of thee and thy beaten sires,— "While Kings of eternal evil Yet darken the hills about, Thy part is with broken sabre To rise on the last redoubt; "To fear not sensible failure, Nor covet the game at all, But fighting, fighting, fighting,

Die, driven against the wall."

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The Squall

While all was glad, It seemed our birch-tree had, That August hour, intelligence of death; For warningly against the eaves she beat Her body old, lamenting, prophesying, And the hot breath Of ferny hollows nestled at her feet Spread out in startled sighing. Across an argent sea, Distinct unto the farthest reef and isle, The clouds began to be. Huge forms 'neath sombre draperies, awhile Made slow uncertain rally; But as their ranks conjoined, and from the north The leader shook his lance, Oh, then how fair Unvested, they stood forth, In diverse armour, plumed majestically, Each with his own esquires, a King in air! Up moved the dark vanguard, With insolent colours that o'erdusked the skies,-6- And trailed from beach to beach: Massed orange and mould-green; vermilion barred On bronze or mottled silver; saffron dyes And purples migratory Fanned each in each, As the long column broke, athirst for glory. Sudden, the thunder! Upon the roofed verandas how it rolled, Twice, thrice: a thud and flame of doom that told New-fallen, nor far away, Some black destruction on the innocent day.

And little Everard Deep in the hammock under, eyes alight With healthful fear and wonder The brave do ne'er unlearn, Clenched his soft hand, and breathing hard, Smiled there against his father, like a knight Baptized on Cressy field or Bannockburn. A moment gone, Into our paradise from Acheron,-7- With imperceptive sorcery crawled ashore Odours unnamable: an exhalation Of men and ships in oozy graves. (Ah, cease, Derisive nereids! cease: Be it enough, that even ye can pour, From crystal flagons of your ancient peace, So strange obscene libation.) But with the thunder-peal Sprang the pure winds, their thurible swung wide, To chase that tainted tide; Fresh from the pastures and the cedar-grove, They rode the copper ridges of the main, And bared a league of distance to reveal A sail, aslant, astrain, Impetuous for the cove; And tossing after, panic-stricken, Another, and a third: white spirits, fain to sicken, Nor out of natural harm salvation gain. The selfsame hunter winds that drave The horror down, as faithful-hearted drew The sad clouds from their carnage, and up-piled-8-

Their rebel gonfalons, or jocund threw Their cannon in the wave; And subtly, with a parting whisper, gave An eve most mild: A sunset like a prayer, a world all rose and blue: A good world, as it was, And as it shall be: clear circumferent space, Where punctual yet, for worship of their Cause, The stars came thick in choir. Sleep had our Everard in her cool embrace, Else from his cot he hardly need have stooped To see (and laugh to see!) the headland pine Embossed on changing fire: For close behind it, cooped Within a smallest span, In fury, to and fro and round and round, The routed leopards of the lightning ran: Bright, bright, inside their dungeon-bars, malign They ran; and ran till dawn, without a sound.

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Open, Time

Open, Time, and let him pass Shortly where his feet would be! Like a leaf at Michaelmas Swooning from the tree, Ere its hour the manly mind Trembles in a sure decrease, Nor the body now can find Any hold on peace. Take him, weak and overworn; Fold about his dying dream Boyhood, and the April morn, And the rolling stream: Weather on a sunny ridge, Showery weather, far from here; Under some deep-ivied bridge, Water rushing clear: Water quick to cross and part (Golden light on silver sound),-10- Weather that was next his heart All the world around! Soon upon his vision break These, in their remembered blue; He shall toil no more, but wake Young, in air he knew. He hath done with roofs and men. Open, Time, and let him pass, Vague and innocent again, Into country grass.

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The Knight Errant

(Donatello’s Saint George)

Spirits of old that bore me, And set me, meek of mind, Between great dreams before me, And deeds as great behind, Knowing humanity my star As first abroad I ride, Shall help me wear with every scar Honour at eventide. Let claws of lightning clutch me From summer's groaning cloud, Or ever malice touch me, And glory make me proud. Oh, give my youth, my faith, my sword, Choice of the heart's desire: A short life in the saddle, Lord! Not long life by the fire. Forethought and recollection Rivet mine armour gay!-12- The passion for perfection Redeem my failing way! The arrows of the upper slope From sudden ambush cast, Rain quick and true, with one to ope My Paradise at last! I fear no breathing bowman, But only, east and west, The awful other foeman Impowered in my breast. The outer fray in the sun shall be, The inner beneath the moon; And may Our Lady lend to me Sight of the Dragon soon!

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To a Dog’s Memory

The gusty morns are here, When all the reeds ride low with level spear; And on such nights as lured us far of yore, Down rocky alleys yet, and through the pine, The Hound-star and the pagan Hunter shine: But I and thou, ah, field-fellow of mine, Together roam no more. Soft showers go laden now With odours of the sappy orchard-bough, And brooks begin to brawl along the march; Steams the late frost from hollow sedges high; The finch is come, the flame-blue dragonfly, The marsh-born marigold that children spy, The plume upon the larch. There is a music fills The oaks of Belmont and the Wayland hills Southward to Dewing's little bubbly stream,— The heavenly weather's call! Oh, who alive Hastes not to start, delays not to arrive,-14- Having free feet that never felt a gyve Weigh, even in a dream? But thou, instead, hast found The sunless April uplands underground, And still, wherever thou art, I must be. My beautiful! arise in might and mirth, (For we were tameless travellers from our birth); Arise against thy narrow door of earth, And keep the watch for me.

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Memorial Day

O day of roses and regret, Kissing the old graves of our own! Not to the slain love's lovely debt Alone. But jealous hearts that live and ache, Remember; and while drums are mute, Beneath your banners' bright outbreak, Salute: And say for us to lessening ranks That keep the memory and the pride, On whose thinned hair our tears and thanks Abide, Who from their saved Republic pass, Glad with the Prince of Peace to dwell: Hail, dearest few! and soon, alas, Farewell.

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