"He will not come.' "He's not a fool." "The men Who set the savage free must face the blame." A Choctaw brave smiled bitterly, and then

Smiled proudly, with raised head, as Dixon came.

Silent and stern, a woman at his heels,

He motions to the brave, who stays her tread.

Next minute flame the guns,

And drops without a moan: Dixon is dead.

MAURICE THOMPSON

224. On A Fly-Leaf of Theocritus

THOSE

HOSE were good times, in olden days,
Of which the poet has his dreams,
When gods beset the woodland ways,
And lay in wait by all the streams.

One could be sure of something then
Severely simple, simply grand,

Or keenly, subtly sweet, as when

Venus and Love went hand in hand.

Now I would give (such is my need)

1844-1901

All the world's store of rhythm and rhyme.

To see Pan fluting on reed

And with his goat-hoof keeping time!

225.

A Flight Shot

E were twin brothers, tall and hale,

WE

Glad wanderers over hill and dale.

We stood within the twilight shade
Of pines that rimmed a Southern glade.

He said: "Let's settle, if we can,
Which of us is the stronger man.

"We'll try a flight shot, high and good, Across the green glade toward the wood."

And so we bent in sheer delight
Our old yew bows with all our might.

Our long keen shafts, drawn to the head,
Were poised a moment ere they sped.

As we leaned back a breath of air
Mingled the brown locks of our hair.

We loosed. As one our bow-cords rang,
As one away our arrows sprang.

Away they sprang; the wind of June
Thrilled to their softly whistled tune.

We watched their flight, and saw them strike Deep in the ground slantwise alike,

226.

So far away that they might pass
For two thin straws of broom-sedge grass!

Then arm in arm we doubting went
To find whose shaft was farthest sent,

Each fearing in his loving heart
That brother's shaft had fallen short.

But who could tell by such a plan
Which of us was the stronger man?

There at the margin of the wood,
Side by side our arrows stood,

Their red cock-feathers wing and wing,
Their amber nocks still quivering,

Their points deep-planted where they fell
An inch apart and parallel!

We clasped each other's hands; said he,
"Twin champions of the world are we!”

Wild Honey

WE

'HERE hints of racy sap and gum

Out of the old dark forest come;

Where birds their beaks like hammers wield, And pith is pierced, and bark is peeled;

Where the green walnut's outer rind
Gives precious bitterness to the wind;

There lurks the sweet creative power,
As lurks the honey in the flower.

In winter's bud that bursts in spring,
In nut of autumn's ripening,

In acrid bulb beneath the mold,
Sleeps the elixir, strong and old,

That Rosicrucians sought in vain, -
Life that renews itself again!

What bottled perfume is so good
As fragrance of split tulip-wood?

What fabled drink of God or muse
Was rich as purple mulberry juice?

And what school-polished gem of thought Is like the rune from Nature caught?

He is a poet strong and true
Who loves wild thyme and honey-dew;

And like a brown bee works and sings
With morning freshness on his wings,

And a gold burden on his thighs,
The pollen-dust of centuries!

2.27.

WH

Atalanta

HEN spring grows old, and sleepy winds
Set from the south with odors sweet,
I see my love in green cool groves
Speed down dusk aisles with shining feet.

She throws a kiss, and bids me run
In accents sweet as roses' breath.
I know I cannot win the race,
And at the end, I know, is death.

Yet joyfully I bare my limbs,
Anoint me with the tropic breeze,
And feel through every sinew thrill
The vigor of Hippomenes.

O race of love, we all have run

Thy happy cause through groves of spring,
And cared not, when at last we lost,

For life or death or any thing.

RICHARD WATSON GILDER

228.

Ode

I

1844-1909

I

AM the spirit of the morning sea;

I am the awakening and the glad surprise;

I fill the skies

With laughter and with light.

Not tears, but jollity

At birth of day brim the strong man-child's eyes.