The Coast of Bohemia

by Thomas Nelson Page

From the ruddy morning on Egypt's sands,
When her eagles rose in their terrible flight
To stretch their shadow across the lands
Till it perished in Russia's frozen night,
When th' insatiable conqueror's reckoning came
And his Empire melted away in flame:

When there at Moscow the Lord God spoke
And said, "Thine end is at hand: prepare,"
As at Kadesh once, from amid the smoke,
To the prophet who led His People there;
"I set thee up, I will cast thee down,
For that thou claimedst thyself the crown.

"Thine eyes have seen; but thou shalt not stand
On the promised shore of a world set free;
The People shall pass alone to the Land
Of Promise and Light and Liberty:
Of Peace enthroned in a Nation's trust,
When thou and thy throne alike are dust."

THE PRINCESS' PROGRESS

Across the dusky land
The Gracious Goddess, Spring,
In vernal robes arrayed,
Last night her royal progress made,
Scattering with lavish hand
Her fragrant blossoming.
Along the wold,
In spendthrift glee,
She strewed her gold
And gilded all the lea.
The dandelions' yellow coin
Lie scattered in the tangled grass,
And buttercup and crocus join
To tell the way she chose to pass.
In lavish wealth the gleaming daffodil
Shines on the cloudy April hill,
And many a yellow marigold
Marks where her brazen chariot rolled;
The slender-necked narcissus bends
His dewy head, and leaning down,
Looks deep to find within a dew-drop's lens
A mirrowing pool where Love may drown.
No cranny deep nor nook
But felt her tender look;
No secret leafy place
But warmed before her face
And blossomed with her grace.
The woodland, sombre yesterday,
Hath in her presence donned a brave array,
And in a night grown gay.
Her purple cloak, all careless flung,
Upon the red-bud hung;
And on the forest trees,
Her richest laceries.
While sprinkled deep with dust of gold
The tender, flowery branches hold
Her verdant robe blown fold on fold.
Her queenly figure clad
In broidered raiment glad,
Complete and passing sweet,
Hath set the sylvan zephyrs mad.
About her breathed rare odors sweet,
Of roses blowing neath her feet:
About her breathed sweet odors rare,
Of violets shaken from her hair,
As though unseen of mortal eyes,
She 'd jarred the gates of Paradise.
Her crystal horn in passing by she wound,
And at the witching sound,
As by the enchanter's stroke,
The fields in music broke,
And every silent grove in melody awoke.
Responsive to her charmèd lyre
The dewy-throated choir
Carol in every brake and brier,
And flood with golden song
The verdant reaches ranged along—
Where drinking deep from fountains clear
Their inspiration,
They hymn their jubilation
That Spring again is here;
And all together sing
The Goddess of the Year,
The Spring: the gracious Spring.

YOUTH

I once might hear the fairies sing
Upon the feathery grass a-swing,
Or in the orchard's blossoming:
Their melody so fine and clear,
One had to bend his ear to hear,
Or else the music well might pass
For zephyrs whispering in the grass.

I once might see the fairies dance
A-circle in their meadow-haunts,
Soft-tapered by the new-moon's glance:
Their airy feet in crystal shoon
Made twinklings neath the silver moon.
Such witchery, but that 't was seen,
Might well have been the dew-drops' sheen.