Textarchiv - John William De Forest

Overthrow

mrbot — Sat, 10 Aug 2019 21:10:08 +0000

I looked upon the earth; and lo
A hollow void where life was spent;
I looked upon the firmament,
And saw nor sun nor aster glow.

The hills were stricken to their fall,
The mountains reeled like driven waves;
Mankind had vanished into graves,
And silence brooded over all.

The melodists of morn had failed,
The fragrant gardens lay a-waste;
The haughty cities were abased
To ruins, where the owlet wailed.

Because of rushing steeds, and din
Of archers, they arose in flight
To fen and wold and rocky height,
Nor any man remained therein.

Yea, scattered were they; hurled before
The coming of the Lord of hosts;
His anger quelled their swelling boasts
And swept them like a besomed floor.

"Because I purposed it," he saith,
"Because I promised in my wrath,
I will not turn upon my path,
Nor sorrow when they sink to death.

"Because I prophesied their doom,
The land shall lie a wilderness,
The earth shall mourn in sore distress,
The firmament be veiled in gloom."

John William De Forest

1902

Jeroboam

mrbot — Sat, 10 Aug 2019 21:10:02 +0000

O Israel, hearken to me!
Said Jeroboam, the king;
Go not to Zion to bend the knee!
Said the son of Nebat, the king.

A golden Apis I make in Dan,
An Apis of gold in Beth-El;
So bear your offerings, every man,
To them, and all will be well.

Gods are they who brought your sires
From Egypt in days agone;
So gather about their altar fires
And worship from eve to dawn.

I burn the incense, I am the priest,
Said Jeroboam, the king;
O Ephraim, come to my holy feast,
Said the son of Nebat, the king.

John William De Forest

1902

Raven Van Ross

mrbot — Fri, 09 Aug 2019 21:20:13 +0000

They say that the Vandals will come.
I would not believe it till now;
But this horrible throbbing and hum
Is the tramp of their march drawing near
And the roll of their barbarous drum.
So let me remember my vow,
And hasten forth, robed for my bier,
To strike at the joy of their cheer,
To strike and leave some one dumb.

My lineage is gentle and old,
And my heart is virginal pure;
My hair is a girl's flossy gold
And my hand is of satiny gloss;
But no heart can more proudly endure
The anguish of honor's red cross;
No hand with the pistol is truer,
And I'll shoot the first Yankee as sure
As my name is Raven Van Ross.

She speeded forth into the night
And spied the dark column anigh;
She stood there in delicate white,
A maiden too lovely to die;
Too precious for aught but the sight
Of love, and the kiss of his mouth,
And the clasp of his yearning delight;
But maddened by echoes of fight
And the passionate blood of the South.

She shot. But no death-cry replied.
The column sent backward no ball.
It trampled on, massive and wide,
From curbstone to curbstone across,
Dumb, solemn and black as a pall;
Unknowing that close by its side,
Withdrawn from life's hyssop and gall,
Heart-broken, death-stricken, lay all
That remained of Raven Van Ross.

John William De Forest

1902

Despondencies

mrbot — Fri, 09 Aug 2019 21:20:13 +0000

Where are the visions of my boyish nights?
And where the glowing hopes of yestermorn?
Have I done anything since I was born
But watch, with eyelids closed, unreal sights?

I sometimes think of labors gone before,
And say, "To-morrow morning I resume;
The treasured flask retains the old perfume. "—
Alas! the treasured flask retains no more.

Unless the sun of Austerlitz arise,
In vain the chieftain's head, the hero's heart;.
Unless the tricksy wind of fortune start,
We cannot reach our Earthly Paradise.

An archer shot an arrow in the dark,
And laughed, "'Tis but an arrow thrown away."
But when he sported forth at break of day
He found his brother lying white and stark.

A speck of dust has lost another speck,
And prays the Sund'ring Storm to soothe its woes;
The Storm drives on, and every moment blows
A thousand other tiny loves to wreck.

Each century some mighty soul displays
The all-explaining Fact which all admit;
But ere a hundred years his name is writ
Among the charlatans of bygone days.

"No hell!" the sage proclaimed: we danced with mirth.
Apollyon heard, and answered with a smile:
"You cannot do without me yet awhile,
Unless you hanker for a hell on earth."

John William De Forest

1902

A Seaside Story

mrbot — Thu, 08 Aug 2019 21:10:09 +0000

I. The Mermaiden

There were jubilant sails on the ocean
And skeleton wrecks on the land;
There were laughters of billows in motion
To dance and to die on the sand.

There were shadowy Thules of islands,
Where Edens of lovers might be;
There was sea to the faraway skylands,
Wild, futile heartbeatings of sea.

There were sea-gods and nymphs in the waters
That burnished the beach with their spray;
All the beautiful sons and the daughters
Of ocean had gathered in play.

But the marvel of all, and the jewel,
Was a heart that had worshipped for years,
Which a mermaiden laughing and cruel
Had flung to a tempest of tears.

II. The Seaside Lake

A lake beside the ocean's brim,
Where velvet lilies dream and swim,
And rushes nod beside the whisper
Of ripples shimmering faint and dim.

Anear, the yearning tempest cries;
In comes from Love's lost paradise;
It leaps against the barring beaches;
It foams in agony, writhes and dies.

In vain the surges sob and break;
They cannot reach the prisoned lake,
Nor rive the crystal of its ripples,
Nor kiss one silvery flower awake.

O love, our lives are shored apart,
And all the cyclones of my heart
Can never fling one throbbing billow
Among the refuges where thou art.

III. The Meeting

Do you remember the night
Of crescented, astral glamor,
The beaches brindled with light,
The foam and the billowy clamor?

Do you remember the bliss
So stealthily sought and hidden?
The clasp, the pressure, the kiss,
That all the gods had forbidden?

Alas that a love for life
Must live and die without token!
That the dearest of words, "My wife"
Must be forever unspoken!

As Heaven is my witness, I
Had gladly cherished that woman
In face of the sea and the sky,
The earth and all that is human.

Years hence that evening will beam
Athwart life's ocean of sadness,
And I shall see it, and dream
That loving was naught but gladness.

IV. Remembrance

I had though to see her no more,
But I dwell in Thules of fancy,
And she haunteth their every shore
With her beautiful necromancy.

In the midnight's hiddenmost lair,
In the morning's vividest portal,
I discern her aslant on air,
Like a spirit who greets a mortal.

O the delicate, tender gleam
Of the carven Parian features,
Such as sculptors delight to dream
Of in marble for godlike creatures!

As I worship she seems to chase
All of sombreness from my story,
And around me infinite space
Overbrims one moment with glory.

But a moment! And then the spot
Is a cell for the broken-hearted,
And that portraiture, thus forgot,
Is another angel departed.

John William De Forest

1902

Reëstablishment

mrbot — Thu, 08 Aug 2019 21:10:09 +0000

Thus saith the Lord of mercies: Lo,
I bring again the captive host
Of Judah from the heathen coast
To build anew the long-ago.

I wash away their many sins,
I pardon every evil thought,
Although against my law they wrought
And pierced my love with keen chagrins.

The many tribes of earth shall fear
Because I lift my children up,
Because I fill their humble cup
So full of comforting and cheer.

Again, yet once again, this land
Of sunny mountain, fruitful vale,
Refreshed by humid western gale,
Yet barren now as desert sand;

This ravined land, devoid of life,
Will see the shepherd fold his sheep
And number them in holy sleep,
Secure from bloody sons of strife.

Again, yet once again, this place,
This Zion, stripped of man and brute,
These dwellings desolate and mute
This temple smitten to its base,

Shall hear the bridegroom and the bride
The gladsome noise of dance and game,
The psalm of those who praise my name,
Because my promises abide.

John William De Forest

1902

Hope in Sorrow

mrbot — Thu, 08 Aug 2019 21:10:02 +0000

Behold me, the man who hath known
Affliction and scorning;
I wander in darkness alone
And find not the morning.

The hand of Jehovah is turned
Against me forever;
He heareth me not, he hath spurned
My prayer and endeavor.

And yet His compassions are sure
And new every morrow;
Or how should we ever endure
The arrows of sorrow?

Oh, well for a man that he grieve
While yet he is youthful;
Yea, well that he calmly believe
In Him who is ruthful,

He sitteth in silence profound,
Rememb'ring his punishment;
He boweth his mouth to the ground,
Accepting admonishment.

He giveth his cheek unto him
Who executes sentence;
His spirit is filled to the brim
With trustful repentance.

For God will redeem us at last,
Though sorely He chasten;
His anger will quickly be past,
His mercies will hasten.

He hates not the children of dust,
To cause them to perish;
And though his resentment be just,
He yearneth to cherish.

John William De Forest

1902

The Bishop of Thule

mrbot — Wed, 07 Aug 2019 21:10:10 +0000

The Lord Archbishop of Thule
(God grant him honor and ruth!)
Believed most truly and duly
In all that he held for truth.

As angels know in the skylands
High grace the bishop achieved;
He sailed to the Fairy Islands
And preached there what he believed.

He summoned the elfin legions
To leave their heathenish creed,
And told them of lofty regions
More lovely than fairy mead.

Far into the night he pleaded;
The moon went hearkening by,
And only the starlight beaded
The magical elfland sky.

"O brothers," he cried, "great wonders
The truth of my words shall prove;
Belief can loosen the thunders
And cause the hills to remove,

"But thunders would sorely frighten,
And never a hill is here;
I'll pray that the stars which brighten
This welkin may disappear."

His honest old hands he lifted,
And closed his honest old eyes,
And prayed till the daybeams drifted
In argosies through the skies.

Then yearning, hoping, confiding,
Upturning his grateful gaze,
He saw the galaxies hiding
Their glory in morning's haze.

Thereon the little brown people,
The trolls and fairies and elves,
Erected a chapel and steeple,
And prayed for wonders themselves.

And the bishop proclaimed in Thule,
"A miracle God hath wrought;"
And all that he said he truly
Believed in his inmost thought.

John William De Forest

1902

Carmel

mrbot — Wed, 07 Aug 2019 21:10:10 +0000

The Holy One of Shiloh bade:
"Elijah, speak to Ephraim's king,
And I, the merciful, will bring
My rain anew on hill and glade."

And Ahab railed: "Art thou the man
Who troubles thirsting Israel?" —
"Not I, but Sidon's Jezebel;
Not I, but Omri's heathen clan."

"Why should the Highest bless a fold
That turns from Him to ways of death,
Adoring Baal and Ashtoreth
And Jeroboam's beasts of gold?

"Why should He pour His fruitful rain
Upon the realm of her who drave
His faithful seers from cave to cave,
And spilled their blood on mount and plain?

"Now gather thou on Carmel all
The prophets of the starry horde
And Arbel's queen and Sidon's lord;
Yea, whoso scoffs at Yahveh's call.

"And they shall cry to gods of stone,
And I to El's eternal name.;
And whoso sends consuming flame,
The earth shall hail him God alone."

O fire of Heaven! Sinai's breath!
Elijah's altar blazes high!
The priests of Baal and Ashtar lie
By Kishon's river, dumb in death.

Then wailed the Canaanitish queen:
"O gods infernal! Death and Fear!
Avenge me on this bloody seer!
Or slay me also, gods unseen!"

John William De Forest

1902

Lost and Won

mrbot — Wed, 07 Aug 2019 21:10:03 +0000

The battle sprang through dingy dawn,
A stealthy battle shod with lawn.
It scared the morning with its leap,
A tiger battle slaying sleep.
One aster pierced the reddening east
And lit the monster to his feast.
From lofty heights that faced our camp
He crept on paws of velvet wiles
Down torrent gulches green and damp,
Up wooded slopes and gray defiles,
Till, stealing round our leftward wing,
He crouched and made his fearful spring.

My foot was on the stirrup plate,
My hand was on the saddle bow;
I leaped astride and spurred agate
Through tangled paths to spy the foe.
But vainly might I lean and gaze;
The lanskip showed no living shape.
I saw but woodlands draped in haze;
One foreland groping like a cape
Through pallid gulfs; beyond, a pall
Of tiding mists; and that was all.
But still afar I heard the yell
Of men who conquered, men who fell.

III

Then presently a phantom grove
Disparted wide its filmy aisles;
And through them, half discovered, drove
A drifting swarm of broken files,
Accoutred as they sprang from sleep;
Half vestured; herding close, like sheep
In terror; glancing back amazed,
And croaking low, as creatures dazed
By some incredible mischance,
A thrust of magic's fated lance.
In vain were rally calls. They stared
Unanswering, and ever fared
To rearward, stolidly as hosts
Of brutes, and helplessly as ghosts.
So disappeared our shattered van,
And so the daylong fight began,
While downward drave that lurid star
(Red Thor menacing from his car),
And slowly clomb in rosy lawn
The unavailing peace of dawn.

Now silence fell — a moment's grace —
An anxious, fearful breathing space —
Like that between two evil dreams,
Two combing waves, two levin gleams, —
The while we swiftly altered form,
Battalions wheeling, swarm by swarm,
The ranks a-shake and intertwined,
The very chieftains groping blind
To meet the coming of a foe
Whose striking-place we could not know, —
A panther-footed foe whose claws
Crept daintily through morning's gauze.

Then battle's second billow broke,
With tongues of fire and spouting smoke,
With whirring grape and howling shell,
With yelping, piercing yell on yell.
The cannon-vapor folded high,
The spiteful bullet speeded by,
While back we drifted, ever back,
A bleeding, rifted, reeling wrack,
The field with mangled men bestrown,
With fallen steeds, guns overthrown,
And foul with sprinklings, trails and pools
Of blood, as 'twere a land of ghouls.

Till noon the hurrying foe prevailed,
Nor any stroke of ours availed.
But then! O what a change there was!
He came! the Roland of our cause!
He came! we needed but his glance
To halt, to rally, and advance,
To strike as 'twere a dying blow,
And see the day all laureled go.
O monstrous joy, akin to madness!
O cruel joy, the victor's gladness!
His dearest comrade falls anear;
He rushes on without a tear.
He leaps along the roaring field
And laughs to see the foemen yield.
He faces death's demoniac jaws
And rends the air with gay hurrahs.
No other joy that earth may give,
No other moment man may live,
Outshines the radiant moment whiles
Red victory crowns the weary files.

John William De Forest

1902