We felt quite sure
The eagle's death bequeathed new lease of life.
We cast about at once, in hope to find
Some object for defense. The tomb was strange.
Alone the spider could have known of it.
A rich sarcophagus stood in the midst,
Of deftly inlaid woods, or carved, or bronzed.
Within, a skeleton, its white skull crowned
With gold bestarred with diamonds, chilled my blood.
A bronze lamp, cast to represent the beast
Slain by Bellerophon, the Chimæra,
Was on the floor; and from its lion's mouth
The flame had issued, like the flame of life
That flickered and went out with him gold-crowned.
A target stood near by, and on it clashed
Griffon and stag, adverse as right and wrong.
About, lay cups of onyx set in gold.
On conic jars were bacchanalian scenes,—
Nude chubby Bacchi, grotesque leering fauns,
All linked 'neath vines that grew important grapes;
And in the jars were rings and flowers of gold.
We found twin ear-drops cut from choicest stone,
Metallic mirrors, and a statuette
Of amorous Dido naked to the waist.
Life is a harp, and all its nervous strings,
Touched by the fingers of the fear of death,
Jar with pathetic music. Having found
No trusty implement to bar the way
Of threatening peril, we embraced,
And kissed with silent kisses mixed with tears,
And waited for the end.
When no more,
Hope, like an eagle in the mountain air,
Soars in time's future, it mounts up with wings
Toward the unmapped city walled by death.
Thither the eagle of our hope took flight.
The sun was in the zenith. His back
Toward us, crouched the spider, at the mouth
Of our strange prison on the towering cliff.
The spider's shape was full a fathom long.
Two parts it had, the fore part, head and breast;
The hinder part, the trunk. The first was black,
But all the last was covered with short hair,
Yellow and fine. Eight sprawling legs adhered
To his tough breast. Eight eyes were in his head,
Two in the front, and three on either side;
They had no eyelids, and were never closed,
Protected by a strong transparent nail.
His pincers grew between his foremost eyes—
Were toothed like saws, were venomous, and sharp,
With claws on either end. Two arms stretched out
From his mailed shoulders, and with these he caught
His tangled prey, or guided what he spun.
Slowly the monster turned, and glared at us,
Working his arms, and opening his claws,
Then moved toward us fiercely for attack.
We ran to gain the limit of the tomb
Where darkness was; there as we crouched with dread,
My foot struck some hard substance. In despair
I grasped at it, and with great joy upheld
An ancient sword!—surely, a sharp, bold tooth
To bite the spider. I would sink it deep,
Up to the gum of the crossed guard. Alert,
I sprang upon the monster as he came,
And with one blow cut off his brutish head.
He writhed awhile with pain, but in the end,
Drew up the eight long legs and two thick arms,
And rolling over on his useless back,
Died with a pang.
So we issued forth,
And the green earth seemed happy to be free,
And glad the sky cloud-frescoed 'gainst the blue.
We sought the sea-side cottage, where the chief
Clasped once again his daughter to his breast.
Down from the hill we fetched the spider slain,
And I to science gave these simple facts:
Spiders have no antennæ, therefore rank
Not with the insects. As they breathe with gills
Beneath the body, they possess a heart.
The treasure of the tomb brought wealth to us,
And we who loved were wed one golden day;
And the great Czar hearing our story told,
Sent presents to the bride of silk and pearls.
GRACE BERNARD.
I know the drift and purpose of the years;
The will, which is the magnet of the soul,
Shall yet attain new powers, and man
Be something more than man. The husks fall off;
Old civilizations pass, the new come on.
I.
There are two farms which, smiling in the sun,
Adjoin each other, as I trust, some day
Two hearts will join, who from their bounty live.
One farm is John Bernard's, and one is mine;
And she, the one pearl woman in my eyes,
Is his sweet daughter, gentle Grace Bernard.
Three years ago, my father followed her
Who gave me birth home to his narrow house.
I was at college when death's summons came,
And all the grief fell on me, crushing me;
And all my heart cried out in bitterness,
Moaning to cease with its wet language,—tears.
Then with my prospects of professional life
Thwarted and void, I came back to the farm—
I came back to the love of Grace Bernard.
She was the dove that on the flood of grief
Brought to my window there love's olive spray.
From college to the farm-house where I dwelt
I took my books, friends who are never cold,
With fragile instruments of chemistry,
And cabinets of mineral and rock
With limestone encrinites; asterias
Old as the mountains, or the sea's white lash
Wherewith he smites the shoulders of the shore;
Tarentula and scarabee I brought,
And, too, I brought my diamond microscope
Which magnifies a pin's head to a man's,
And gives me sights in water and in air
The naturalists have not yet touched upon.
Over my fields I wander frequently,
Breaking the past's upturned face of shelving rocks
For special specimens to fill my home;
But find my footsteps always thither tend,
Toward the farm-house of the other farm,
Where Grace Bernard is noontime and delight.