II. The Children of the Night   
4. An Old Story   
     
STRANGE that I did not know him then,      
  That friend of mine!      
I did not even show him then      
  One friendly sign;      
   
But cursed him for the ways he had           5   
  To make me see      
My envy of the praise he had      
  For praising me.      
   
I would have rid the earth of him      
  Once, in my pride.…          10   
I never knew the worth of him      
  Until he died.

II. The Children of the Night   
5. Ballade by the Fire   
     
SLOWLY I smoke and hug my knee,      
  The while a witless masquerade      
Of things that only children see      
  Floats in a mist of light and shade:      
  They pass, a flimsy cavalcade,           5   
And with a weak, remindful glow,      
  The falling embers break and fade,      
As one by one the phantoms go.      
   
Then, with a melancholy glee      
  To think where once my fancy strayed,          10   
I muse on what the years may be      
  Whose coming tales are all unsaid,      
  Till tongs and shovel, snugly laid      
Within their shadowed niches, grow      
  By grim degrees to pick and spade,          15   
As one by one the phantoms go.      
   
But then, what though the mystic Three      
  Around me ply their merry trade?—      
And Charon soon may carry me      
  Across the gloomy Stygian glade?—          20   
  Be up, my soul; nor be afraid      
Of what some unborn year may show;      
  But mind your human debts are paid,      
As one by one the phantoms go.      
   
ENVOY

Life is the game that must be played:          25   
  This truth at least, good friends, we know;      
So live and laugh, nor be dismayed      
  As one by one the phantoms go.

II. The Children of the Night   
6. Ballade of Broken Flutes   
     
(To A. T. Schumann)


IN dreams I crossed a barren land,      
  A land of ruin, far away;      
Around me hung on every hand      
  A deathful stillness of decay;      
  And silent, as in bleak dismay           5   
That song should thus forsaken be,      
  On that forgotten ground there lay      
The broken flutes of Arcady.      
   
The forest that was all so grand      
  When pipes and tabors had their sway          10   
Stood leafless now, a ghostly band      
  Of skeletons in cold array.      
  A lonely surge of ancient spray      
Told of an unforgetful sea,      
  But iron blows had hushed for aye          15   
The broken flutes of Arcady.      
   
No more by summer breezes fanned,      
  The place was desolate and gray;      
But still my dream was to command      
  New life into that shrunken clay.          20   
  I tried it. And you scan to-day,      
With uncommiserating glee,      
  The songs of one who strove to play      
The broken flutes of Arcady.      
   
ENVOY

So, Rock, I join the common fray,          25   
  To fight where Mammon may decree;      
And leave, to crumble as they may,      
  The broken flutes of Arcady.

II. The Children of the Night   
7. Her Eyes   
     
UP from the street and the crowds that went,      
  Morning and midnight, to and fro,      
Still was the room where his days he spent,      
  And the stars were bleak, and the nights were slow.      
   
Year after year, with his dream shut fast,           5   
  He suffered and strove till his eyes were dim,      
For the love that his brushes had earned at last,      
  And the whole world rang with the praise of him.      
   
But he cloaked his triumph, and searched, instead,      
  Till his cheeks were sere and his hairs were gray.          10   
“There are women enough, God knows,” he said …      
  “There are stars enough—when the sun’s away.”      
   
Then he went back to the same still room      
  That had held his dream in the long ago,      
When he buried his days in a nameless tomb,          15   
  And the stars were bleak, and the nights were slow.      
   
And a passionate humor seized him there—      
  Seized him and held him until there grew      
Like life on his canvas, glowing and fair,      
  A perilous face—and an angel’s too.          20   
   
Angel and maiden, and all in one,—      
  All but the eyes. They were there, but yet      
They seemed somehow like a soul half done.      
  What was the matter? Did God forget? …      
   
But he wrought them at last with a skill so sure          25   
  That her eyes were the eyes of a deathless woman,—      
With a gleam of heaven to make them pure,      
  And a glimmer of hell to make them human.      
   
God never forgets.—And he worships her      
  There in that same still room of his,          30   
For his wife, and his constant arbiter      
  Of the world that was and the world that is.      
   
And he wonders yet what her love could be      
  To punish him after that strife so grim;      
But the longer he lives with her eyes to see,          35   
  The plainer it all comes back to him.

II. The Children of the Night   
8. Two Men   
     
THERE be two men of all mankind      
  That I should like to know about;      
But search and question where I will,      
  I cannot ever find them out.      
   
Melchizedek, he praised the Lord,           5   
  And gave some wine to Abraham;      
But who can tell what else he did      
  Must be more learned than I am.      
   
Ucalegon, he lost his house      
  When Agamemnon came to Troy;          10   
But who can tell me who he was—      
  I’ll pray the gods to give him joy.      
   
There be two men of all mankind      
  That I’m forever thinking on:      
They chase me everywhere I go,—          15   
  Melchizedek, Ucalegon.

II. The Children of the Night   
9. Villanelle of Change   
     
SINCE Persia fell at Marathon,      
  The yellow years have gathered fast:      
Long centuries have come and gone.      
   
And yet (they say) the place will don      
  A phantom fury of the past,           5   
Since Persia fell at Marathon;      
   
And as of old, when Helicon      
  Trembled and swayed with rapture vast      
(Long centuries have come and gone),      
   
This ancient plain, when night comes on,          10   
  Shakes to a ghostly battle-blast,      
Since Persia fell at Marathon.      
   
But into soundless Acheron      
  The glory of Greek shame was cast:      
Long centuries have come and gone,          15   
   
The suns of Hellas have all shone,      
  The first has fallen to the last:—      
Since Persia fell at Marathon,      
Long centuries have come and gone.

II. The Children of the Night   
10. The House on the Hill   
     
THEY are all gone away,      
  The House is shut and still,      
There is nothing more to say.      
   
Through broken walls and gray      
  The winds blow bleak and shrill:           5   
They are all gone away.      
   
Nor is there one to-day      
  To speak them good or ill:      
There is nothing more to say.      
   
Why is it then we stray          10   
  Around the sunken sill?      
They are all gone away,      
   
And our poor fancy-play      
  For them is wasted skill:      
There is nothing more to say.          15   
   
There is ruin and decay      
  In the House on the Hill:      
They are all gone away,      
There is nothing more to say.

II. The Children of the Night   
11. Richard Corey   
     
WHENEVER Richard Cory went down town,      
We people on the pavement looked at him:      
He was a gentleman from sole to crown,      
Clean favored, and imperially slim.      
   
And he was always quietly arrayed,           5   
And he was always human when he talked;      
But still he fluttered pulses when he said,      
“Good-morning,” and he glittered when he walked.      
   
And he was rich—yes, richer than a king—      
And admirably schooled in every grace:          10   
In fine, we thought that he was everything      
To make us wish that we were in his place.      
   
So on we worked, and waited for the light,      
And went without the meat, and cursed the bread;      
And Richard Cory, one calm summer night,          15   
Went home and put a bullet through his head.

II. The Children of the Night   
12. Boston   
     
MY northern pines are good enough for me,      
But there’s a town my memory uprears—      
A town that always like a friend appears,      
And always in the sunrise by the sea.      
And over it, somehow, there seems to be           5   
A downward flash of something new and fierce,      
That ever strives to clear, but never clears      
The dimness of a charmed antiquity.

II. The Children of the Night   
13. Calvary   
     
FRIENDLESS and faint, with martyred steps and slow,      
Faint for the flesh, but for the spirit free,      
Stung by the mob that came to see the show,      
The Master toiled along to Calvary;      
We gibed him, as he went, with houndish glee,           5   
Till his dimned eyes for us did overflow;      
We cursed his vengeless hands thrice wretchedly,—      
And this was nineteen hundred years ago.      
   
But after nineteen hundred years the shame      
Still clings, and we have not made good the loss          10   
That outraged faith has entered in his name.      
Ah, when shall come love’s courage to be strong!      
Tell me, O Lord—tell me, O Lord, how long      
Are we to keep Christ writhing on the cross!