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The child； that would be king one day
Of a kingdom not human but divine。
His mother Mary of Nazareth
Sat watching beside his place of rest；
Watching the even flow of his breath；
For the joy of life and the terror of death
Were mingled together in her breast。
They laid their offerings at his feet：
The gold was their tribute to a King；
The frankincense； with its odor sweet；
Was for the Priest； the Paraclete；
The myrrh for the body's burying。
And the mother wondered and bowed her head；
And sat as still as a statue of stone；
Her heart was troubled yet comforted；
Remembering what the Angel had said
Of an endless reign and of David's throne。
Then the Kings rode out of the city gate；
With a clatter of hoofs in proud array；
But they went not back to Herod the Great；
For they knew his malice and feared his hate；
And returned to their homes by another way。
SONG
Stay； stay at home； my heart； and rest；
Home…keeping hearts are happiest；
For those that wander they know not where
Are full of trouble and full of care；
To stay at home is best。
Weary and homesick and distressed；
They wander east； they wander west；
And are baffled and beaten and blown about
By the winds of the wilderness of doubt；
To stay at home is best。
Then stay at home； my heart； and rest；
The bird is safest in its nest；
O'er all that flutter their wings and fly
A hawk is hovering in the sky；
To stay at home is best。
THE WHITE CZAR
The White Czar is Peter the Great。 Batyushka； Father dear； and
Gosudar； Sovereign； are titles the Russian people are fond of
giving to the Czar in their popular songs。
Dost thou see on the rampart's height
That wreath of mist； in the light
Of the midnight moon？ O； hist！
It is not a wreath of mist；
It is the Czar； the White Czar；
Batyushka！ Gosudar！
He has heard； among the dead；
The artillery roll o'erhead；
The drums and the tramp of feet
Of his soldiery in the street；
He is awake！ the White Czar；
Batyushka！ Gosudar！
He has heard in the grave the cries
Of his people： 〃Awake！ arise！〃
He has rent the gold brocade
Whereof his shroud was made；
He is risen！ the White Czar；
Batyushka！ Gosudar！
From the Volga and the Don
He has led his armies on；
Over river and morass；
Over desert and mountain pass；
The Czar； the Orthodox Czar；
Batyushka！ Gosudar！
He looks from the mountain…chain
Toward the seas； that cleave in twain
The continents； his hand
Points southward o'er the land
Of Roumili！ O Czar；
Batyushka！ Gosudar！
And the words break from his lips：
〃I am the builder of ships；
And my ships shall sail these seas
To the Pillars of Hercules！
I say it； the White Czar；
Batyushka！ Gosudar！
〃The Bosphorus shall be free；
It shall make room for me；
And the gates of its water…streets
Be unbarred before my fleets。
I say it； the White Czar；
Batyushka！ Gosudar！
〃And the Christian shall no more
Be crushed； as heretofore；
Beneath thine iron rule；
O Sultan of Istamboul！
I swear it； I the Czar；
Batyushka！ Gosudar！
DELIA
Sweet as the tender fragrance that survives；
When martyred flowers breathe out their little lives；
Sweet as a song that once consoled our pain；
But never will be sung to us again；
Is thy remembrance。 Now the hour of rest
Hath come to thee。 Sleep； darling； it is best。
ULTIMA THULE
DEDICATION
TO G。W。G。
With favoring winds； o'er sunlit seas；
We sailed for the Hesperides；
The land where golden apples grow；
But that； ah！ that was long ago。
How far； since then； the ocean streams
Have swept us from that land of dreams；
That land of fiction and of truth；
The lost Atlantis of our youth！
Whither； oh； whither？ Are not these
The tempest…haunted Hebrides；
Where sea gulls scream； and breakers roar；
And wreck and sea…weed line the shore？
Ultima Thule！ Utmost Isle！
Here in thy harbors for a while
We lower our sails； a while we rest
From the unending； endless quest。
POEMS
BAYARD TAYLOR
Dead he lay among his books！
The peace of God was in his looks。
As the statues in the gloom
Watch o'er Maximilian's tomb；
So those volumes from their shelves
Watched him； silent as themselves。
Ah！ his hand will nevermore
Turn their storied pages o'er；
Nevermore his lips repeat
Songs of theirs； however sweet。
Let the lifeless body rest！
He is gone； who was its guest；
Gone； as travellers haste to leave
An inn； nor tarry until eve。
Traveller！ in what realms afar；
In what planet； in what star；
In what vast； aerial space；
Shines the light upon thy face？
In what gardens of delight
Rest thy weary feet to…night？
Poet！ thou； whose latest verse
Was a garland on thy hearse；
Thou hast sung； with organ tone；
In Deukalion's life； thine own；
On the ruins of the Past
Blooms the perfect flower at last。
Friend！ but yesterday the bells
Rang for thee their loud farewells；
And to…day they toll for thee；
Lying dead beyond the sea；
Lying dead among thy books；
The peace of God in all thy looks！
THE CHAMBER OVER THE GATE
Is it so far from thee
Thou canst no longer see；
In the Chamber over the Gate；
That old man desolate；
Weeping and wailing sore
For his son； who is no more？
O Absalom； my son！
Is it so long ago
That cry of human woe
From the walled city came；
Calling on his dear name；
That it has died away
In the distance of to…day？
O Absalom； my son！
There is no far or near；
There is neither there nor here；
There is neither soon nor late；
In that Chamber over the Gate；
Nor any long ago
To that cry of human woe；
O Absalom； my son！
From the ages that are past
The voice sounds like a blast；
Over seas that wreck and drown；
Over tumult of traffic and town；
And from ages yet to be
Come the echoes back to me；
O Absalom； my son！
Somewhere at every hour
The watchman on the tower
Looks forth； and sees the fleet
Approach of the hurrying feet
Of messengers； that bear
The tidings of despair。
O Absalom； my son！
He goes forth from the door
Who shall return no more。
With him our joy departs；
The light goes out in our hearts；
In the Chamber over the Gate
We sit disconsolate。
O Absalom； my son！
That 't is a common grief
Bringeth but slight relief；
Ours is the bitterest loss；
Ours is the heaviest cross；
And forever the cry will be
〃Would God I had died for thee；
O Absalom； my son！〃
FROM MY ARM…CHAIR
TO THE CHILDREN OF CAMBRIDGE
Who presented to me on my Seventy…second Birth…day； February 27；
1879； this Chair； made from the Wood of the Village Blacksmith's
Chestnu