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wrote the Ode upon his death； which gained her the title of
Divine。
Once more； once more； Inarime；
I see thy purple hills！once more
I hear the billows of the bay
Wash the white pebbles on thy shore。
High o'er the sea…surge and the sands；
Like a great galleon wrecked and cast
Ashore by storms； thy castle stands；
A mouldering landmark of the Past。
Upon its terrace…walk I see
A phantom gliding to and fro；
It is Colonna；it is she
Who lived and loved so long ago。
Pescara's beautiful young wife；
The type of perfect womanhood；
Whose life was love； the life of life；
That time and change and death withstood。
For death； that breaks the marriage band
In others； only closer pressed
The wedding…ring upon her hand
And closer locked and barred her breast。
She knew the life…long martyrdom；
The weariness； the endless pain
Of waiting for some one to come
Who nevermore would come again。
The shadows of the chestnut…trees；
The odor of the orange blooms；
The song of birds； and； more than these；
The silence of deserted rooms；
The respiration of the sea；
The soft caresses of the air；
All things in nature seemed to be
But ministers of her despair；
Till the o'erburdened heart； so long
Imprisoned in itself； found vent
And voice in one impassioned song
Of inconsolable lament。
Then as the sun； though hidden from sight；
Transmutes to gold the leaden mist；
Her life was interfused with light；
From realms that； though unseen； exist；
Inarime！ Inarime！
Thy castle on the crags above
In dust shall crumble and decay；
But not the memory of her love。
THE REVENGE OF RAIN…IN…THE…FACE
In that desolate land and lone；
Where the Big Horn and Yellowstone
Roar down their mountain path；
By their fires the Sioux Chiefs
Muttered their woes and griefs
And the menace of their wrath。
〃Revenge！〃 cried Rain…in…the…Face；
〃Revenue upon all the race
Of the White Chief with yellow hair！〃
And the mountains dark and high
From their crags re…echoed the cry
Of his anger and despair。
In the meadow； spreading wide
By woodland and riverside
The Indian village stood；
All was silent as a dream；
Save the rushing a of the stream
And the blue…jay in the wood。
In his war paint and his beads；
Like a bison among the reeds；
In ambush the Sitting Bull
Lay with three thousand braves
Crouched in the clefts and caves；
Savage； unmerciful！
Into the fatal snare
The White Chief with yellow hair
And his three hundred men
Dashed headlong； sword in hand；
But of that gallant band
Not one returned again。
The sudden darkness of death
Overwhelmed them like the breath
And smoke of a furnace fire：
By the river's bank； and between
The rocks of the ravine；
They lay in their bloody attire。
But the foemen fled in the night；
And Rain…in…the…Face； in his flight
Uplifted high in air
As a ghastly trophy； bore
The brave heart； that beat no more；
Of the White Chief with yellow hair。
Whose was the right and the wrong？
Sing it； O funeral song；
With a voice that is full of tears；
And say that our broken faith
Wrought all this ruin and scathe；
In the Year of a Hundred Years。
TO THE RIVER YVETTE
O lovely river of Yvette！
O darling river！ like a bride；
Some dimpled； bashful； fair Lisette；
Thou goest to wed the Orge's tide。
Maincourt； and lordly Dampierre；
See and salute thee on thy way；
And； with a blessing and a prayer；
Ring the sweet bells of St。 Forget。
The valley of Chevreuse in vain
Would hold thee in its fond embrace；
Thou glidest from its arms again
And hurriest on with swifter pace。
Thou wilt not stay； with restless feet
Pursuing still thine onward flight；
Thou goest as one in haste to meet
Her sole desire； her head's delight。
O lovely river of Yvette！
O darling stream！ on balanced wings
The wood…birds sang the chansonnette
That here a wandering poet sings。
THE EMPEROR'S GLOVE
〃Combien faudrait…il de peaux d'Espagne pour faire un gant de
cette grandeur？〃 A play upon the words gant； a glove； and Gand；
the French for Ghent。
On St。 Baron's tower； commanding
Half of Flanders； his domain；
Charles the Emperor once was standing；
While beneath him on the landing
Stood Duke Alva and his train。
Like a print in books of fables；
Or a model made for show；
With its pointed roofs and gables；
Dormer windows； scrolls and labels；
Lay the city far below。
Through its squares and streets and alleys
Poured the populace of Ghent；
As a routed army rallies；
Or as rivers run through valleys；
Hurrying to their homes they went
〃Nest of Lutheran misbelievers！〃
Cried Duke Alva as he gazed；
〃Haunt of traitors and deceivers；
Stronghold of insurgent weavers；
Let it to the ground be razed！〃
On the Emperor's cap the feather
Nods； as laughing he replies：
〃How many skins of Spanish leather；
Think you； would； if stitched together
Make a glove of such a size？〃
A BALLAD OF THE FRENCH FLEET
OCTOBER； 1746
MR。 THOMAS PRINCE loquitur。
A fleet with flags arrayed
Sailed from the port of Brest；
And the Admiral's ship displayed
The signal： 〃Steer southwest。〃
For this Admiral D'Anville
Had sworn by cross and crown
To ravage with fire and steel
Our helpless Boston Town。
There were rumors in the street；
In the houses there was fear
Of the coming of the fleet；
And the danger hovering near。
And while from mouth to mouth
Spread the tidings of dismay；
I stood in the Old South；
Saying humbly： 〃Let us pray！
〃O Lord！ we would not advise；
But if in thy Providence
A tempest should arise
To drive the French fleet hence；
And scatter it far and wide；
Or sink it in the sea；
We should be satisfied；
And thine the glory be。〃
This was the prayer I made；
For my soul was all on flame；
And even as I prayed
The answering tempest came；
It came with a mighty power；
Shaking the windows and walls；
And tolling the bell in the tower；
As it tolls at funerals。
The lightning suddenly
Unsheathed its flaming sword；
And I cried： 〃Stand still； and see
The salvation of the Lord！〃
The heavens were black with cloud；
The sea was white with hail；
And ever more fierce and loud
Blew the October gale。
The fleet it overtook；
And the broad sails in the van
Like the tents of Cushan shook；
Or the curtains of Midian。
Down on the reeling decks
Crashed the o'erwhelming seas；
Ah； never were there wrecks
So pitiful as these！
Like a potter's vessel broke
The great ships of the line；
They were carried away as a smoke；
Or sank like lead in the brine。
O Lord！ before thy path