Nirvana Days
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QUARREL
And is it soThat two who standHeart closed in heart,Hand knit to hand,Can let love goAsunder, so?Speak hard – not understand?That one asks much?One gives too small?And so is lost,It may be – All?That for a touchOf pride we suchA heaven can let fall?No! – But to FateSay with me, "Go:Death may bring drossBut this I know;Love can abateLife's harshest hate,So loving I bend low."OF THE FLESH
(At Monte Carlo)We met upon the street;Quick passion sprung into the eye of each;No dilettante heat!For though I do not love her now, beseechYou, signor, do you thinkWe could face so in any spot, nor fearTo leap the fatal brinkInto each other's arms – that, once a-near,Hell's self could make us shrink?No, no! Such love as oursStabbed peace heart-deep and burnt the flesh to mad.It scorned the simple powersOf sympathy and mild repose, and hadOne thirst alone – to holdEach other mouth to still unsated mouthUntil, perchance, the coldAnd damp of death should end some night its drouth.But only day would come,Unlock our arms and show us duty's eyeCalm, pale, and sternly dumb.And so we'd swear never to kiss or sighAgain – for well we knewGod grants such boons only to man and wife.But night distilled the dewOf loneliness – and so, once more, that life.And how was the spell burst?Each long embrace seemed sweeter than the last;Each dulling heart-beat nurstThe shame, until I tore me from the past,And cried, "I hate my soul,And thine and this false love!" She fainted – fell.I kissed her lips … stoleThe ring that choked her finger … said farewell.And since then Time has pressedTen restless years. But if I saw her layHer hand upon her breast,As once she used, and send her soul to sayA word with those dark eyes …Ha, what is that, signor? "Respect?.. My wife?"That's as may be. You rise?Adieu, signor. Fate deals the cards in life.A DEATH SONG
(For a Drama)Toll no bell and say no prayer,Let no rose die on my bier.All I hoped for shall appearOr be well forgotten, there.(Like the waves of yesteryear.)Toll no bell and drop no sigh,Bear me softly to the tomb;Life was dark, but light is nigh —Light no sorrow shall consume(And no kiss of love – or cry).Toll no bell; the clod will tollGrief enough for any ear.When the last has sounded clear,Know that I have reached the Goal(Which is God seen thro no tear).ON BALLYTEIGUE BAY
I've heard the sea-dead three nights come keeningAnd crying to my door.Why will they affright me with their threeningForevermore!O have they no grave in the salt sea-placesTo lay them in?Do they know, do they know – with their cold dead faces! —Know … my sin?There's blood on my soul. The Lord cannot wipe itAway with His own blood.I've beaten my breast with blows that stripe it,And burned His RoodWith kisses that shrivel my lips – that shrivelTo sin on the air.But the night and the storm cry on me evil.Does He not care?There's blood on my soul: but then … she should neverHave said it was his– the child —And hers– for she knew I'd never forgive her …I grew so wildThere was just one thing to be done – to kill her:Just one – no more.I took the keen steel … one stroke would still her …I counted four.And she fell – fell down on the kelp – none near her.But when she lay so fairI kissed her … because I knew I should fear her,And smoothed her hair;And shut her two eyes that fixed me fearlessOf death and pain.And the blood on my hand I wiped off tearless —And that on my brain.And I buried her quickly. The thorn-trees coverHer grave with spines. I prayThat each in its fall will prick her and shove herTo colder clay.But … yonder! … she's up! and moans in the heatherA whimpering thing!I'll bury her deeper in Autumn weather …Or Winter … or Spring.And then if she comes with them still to call meEach night, I'll tell her loudHe was mine! and laugh when they try to pall meWith sea and shroud.And I'll swear not to care for Christ or Devil.They'll skitter backTo the waves, at that, and be gone with their revel…God spare me the rack!NIGHT-RIDERS 1
See them mount in the dead of night —Men, three hundred strong!Armed and silent, masked from the light,Speeding swartly along.What is their errand? manly fight?Clench with a manly foe?I would rather be dead of wrongThan ride among them so.See them enter the sleeping town.Hear the warning shot!Keep to your beds, free men – down, down!Dare you to move? – dare not!These are your masters – these who crownBlack Anarchy their king —I would rather my hand should rotThan have it do this thing.See them steal to the house they seek —Brave men, O, brave all!There lies a sick boy, fever-weak;Who comes forth at call?A woman? "Go in, you bitch!" they reek."Give us the old man out!"Rather my bitten tongue should fallTo palsy than so shout.And – they have him, "the old man," now,Bound – with nine beside.One, a Judge of the Law's grave brow,Sworn by it to bide."Lash him!" – a hundred lashes plowA free-born back with pain!God, shall we let such cowards rideAnd burn and beat and stain?O the shame, and the bitter shame,That thus, across our land,Crime can arise and write her nameBroad, with a bloody hand!O the shame, and the bitter shameUpon our chivalry.I would rather have led the bandThat diced on Calvary.So, Night-errants, ride on and ride —Avenging, wrongly, wrong.But when the children at your sideGrow lawless up and strong;When at their drunken hands you've diedAs beasts beside your door,You will repent, God knows it – long,These nights to Hell made o'er.HONOR
(To the Night-Riders Who Murdered Hedges)Honor to menWho leave their homesAnd children safe asleep,To take the cover of night and frightWomen that wake and weep!Honor, again,To those who mountFor blood – hounds in a pack!But let us honor the most of all —Men that shoot in the back!For, it is goodTo fare a-fieldAnd frighten helpless things,And how good with a torch to scorchA poor man's harvestings.But, if you wouldDo something highAnd blameless, brave not black,Ride till you find a peaceful man —Then shoot – shoot in the back!Why, there was oneIn PalestineWho gave a certain kiss.More, fine friends, do you give who liveIn a land not far from this!For what he had doneHe hanged himself —Shame made a sick heart crack.But you will muster and ride again —And shoot – shoot in the back!Oh, and you may!But wait, the DayWill come – shall it not come?The Sovereign Law that you flaunt and daunt,Will she lie always dumb?Her prisons grayThey are slow, but wide;When they open, you will lackMany a thing – but most the fair,Brave chance to shoot in the back!O that a manShould write such wordsOf any soul alive!That any shameless ear should hear —And still in stealth conniveTo burn and to ban,From home and help,The weak who fear the rack!That he could wait till Justice turns,Then shoot – shoot in the back!BRUDE 2
(A Dramatic Fantasy)Dealing with:
Boadicea, queen of the Britons.Lamora, a Gaulish captive.Brude, a Druid.Cormo, a warrior.Corlun, Druid high-priest,andHorma, a wandering hag.Scene: A Hall of hewn wood, on the island of Mona, in which Boadicea sits enthroned and attended. On her right, warriors, long-haired, mustached and painted with woad. On the left, a band of Druids robed in white: among them Brude, whom she watches jealously from time to time. On the floor in front of her cringes Lamora, held by Cormo.
Boadicea. Britons, hear!Ye know how my lord,Caerleon's liege,Swore feal to the RomansHis lorn wife and daughters —When the wolf, Death,Gnawed life from his heart.Ye know how the Roman,Ravenous traitor,Slaves us with thongsOf brutal behest.Will ye still dauntYour necks to the noose?All. No! no! Queen! no, no, no!Boadicea. Then, warriors of iron,Sworded with terror,Fly to your henges!Fight till ye crowdHell with the ghostsOf ethlings that Britons hate.Warriors. To the slaughter! Hro! to the slaughter![They rush from the hall in haste.Boadicea (continuing). And ye, Druid seers,Heard by the gods,Feared by the fiends,Ye must away!To your dark fane,The gaunt oak-forestHoly with mistle!White-robed as spirits,Gold knives uplifting,Sing to the serpents,Seek the Charmed Egg!Druids (bowing with weird signs). Great is the Queen.Her Druids hear.But shall no gift be made?Boadicea. Yea … since Lactantius,God more than all gods,Will not be soothedBy sheep or cattle,On your high altarSlay ye this maiden of Gaul![Points to Lamora, who cries out to her, then to Brude:Lamora. Nay, Queen, O pity!O, Brude, win pity!Let her not yield mePrey to the gods.Rather in battle'Gainst the hard RomanWould I be trampledInto the grave.Trampled by war-hoofs …Into a grave of blood!Boadicea. Proud-lip! mocker!Dare you sputterShame on the awful gods?[Strikes her down… Brude watches helpless.Corlun (coming forward). Kneel, Druids, kneel!Then bear her away!Meet me at midnight,Druids' day,Deep within Mona's wood.[They kneel, then go, bearing Lamora.Scene II: Sunset. A rocky cave near the forest. Brude facing back and forth with restless muttering.
Brude. O thou Lactantius,Whom other godsWorship with trembling,While their star-chariotsRoll to the sea!Symbolled by circles,Endless in being,Dost thou love life-bloodAs Druids say?When the white maiden'sPierced on the altarDost thou drink praisesFrom her wide wound?So teach the seers,So did I, Brude, swear —Till I saw Lamora!Her eyes are love-fires,Her words are sorceryStronger than god-laws!But … who comes hither?[Has heard a moan.Hither harasserOf these my thoughts?Ha! is it LamoraFollowed by Cormo?Curses like vampiresFall on his head![Steps aside.Lamora (entering in despair). Mother! sweet mother,Far in the Eastland,Soon must thy daughterPass from earth's day!Ne'er shall a boy-babeSuck from her bosomValor to strangleWolves in the lair!Never shall husbandFrom the red war-fieldsBring her the foeman's spoils!Cormo (behind her). Lamora, proud one —Lamora. Leave me, viper!Stand from me farther!Will you e'en nowWith tongue spit poisonOn my last ebbing hour?Cormo. Nay, maiden, cruel,But I will aid thee.Words are as smoke,Deeds as flame!Hear! I will save theeFrom Druid talonsAnd bear thee whither thou wilt:Give but thy vow to wed me!Lamora. Wed thee? – thee?..Never – while cliffsO'er the plain juttingPlight void death to the leaper!Never while wavesCurl gray lipsYearning to gulf the doomed!Cormo. Then thou shalt die! shalt die!Druids shall gashStreamings of lifeOut of thy shrinking sides!Lamora. Then die I will!..But not thro fear.Coward of Britons,Will I e'er motherChild of thy loins.Rather let flames,Tongues of the gods,Suck the red life from my breast.Yea, let the gods,Glutless as men,And, as women,Treacherous, vain —Strike, at the call of thy Queen![Goes, followed by Cormo.Brude (coming forward). No! thou shalt live, live, live![Goes into cave, then comes forth with a knife.Scene III: Midnight. A stormy glade in the forest. On one side a cromlech whereon Lamora lies bound: Corlun beside her with an uplifted blade of gold. On the other side Druids – around a pot of serpents over a fire in the cavern of an uprooted tree.
[Brude is among them, watchful.Corlun (chanting). Orpo! – Ai! —Now shall the RomanBackward be driven,O gods!Orpo! – Ai! —For to the death strokeLamora's given,O gods!Orpo! Ai! —Her skyward soulThro the dank dark shall rise,As the morn's sunUnto your hallsFar o'er the skies.And she shall sayThus Druids craveHelp of the helpers of men.Druids (incanting around the cavern). Orpo! – Ai! —Serpents are spawnedOf devils' spit,O gods!Orpo! – Ai! —Spit boiled with bloodIn caverns litBy fungous fangsFrom Mona's wood.[They circle. Brude steals behind Corlun.Orpo! – Ai! —Serpents are spawnedIn magic brothTo coil and wriggle,Writhe and twist;Till their frothBecomes a mist,Till the mistAn egg shall form —Charm that Druids prize.Brude (with a sudden cry). Corlun, the godsWait for thy soul![Slays him.Lamora, fly!With me, fly —Thro the black forest![Has cut her bonds.Great Lactantius,Maker of gods,Loves not the maiden's death-cry![They escape.Druids (in terror). Corlun is slain!Corlun! slain!Woe to the Druids!Woe from the heavens!Woe from the ireful Queen![They pursue confusedly.Scene IV: Dawn; far in the forest. Enter Brude and Lamora faintingly to a spot where Horma, the hag, unseen by them is gathering herbs.
Lamora. Strength no moreWings me for flight.With hunger of sleep I faint.[Falls.Brude (sinking by her). Yet ere thy sleep,Maid like the dawn,List to my heart's wild uttering!All I have daredWas for thy love —Tho but to love theeWould I dare all!Lamora. Ah! What is love,Brude wise and noble?Is it this burningFar in my breastMelting my soul to thine?Is it this powerHid in my eyesShaping thy faceOn hill and cloud?Is it this whisper,As of sea-waves,Singing thy name to me?Yea! So now we may sleep.[They lie down. Horma, the hag, who has heard them, creeps maundering up and gazes at them.Horma. Owl and eaglet?Have they fled?Then let witch-toads sing!Oaths forgotten,Would they wed?Then let bull-bats,Wild a-wing,Flap the moon from heaven!Deep in the forest —Ha! ho! ho![Breaks off, hearing shouts. Continues.They'll be slain![Fleeing.They'll be slain!Brude (waking). What was my dream?..[Hears the shouts.Lamora! Lamora![They start up and look at each other. Silence.Lamora (at length). So was it doomed.Now we must crossThro the death-fogUnto the blest.But side by side,And ere they come.[Hands him her knife.Here we shall die.But in the MeadowsWhere the thin shadesWander and wander,Ever in love we'll live!Fold first thy arms around me.[They embrace.Brude (starting from her). Hear! they have come —Cormo! The Queen!..Lamora. Then strike! for thy faceAlone would I see in death!Brude (killing her then himself). Cormo!.. Queen!.. Death!Ye shall never … tear us apart![Falls with her in his arms, as Boadicea and warriors enter.Boadicea (seeing them). Dead!.. Leave them, foodFor beast and bird!Leave them! away! away![All go with pride and spurning.THE END1
This clan of tobacco outlaws in Kentucky during 1907-1908 cast such disgrace on her good name as years will not suffice to erase.
2
This sketch, written in 1898, was in no sense conceived for the stage.