THE DEATH OF CAIN

    After publishing his translation from the English of Byron's Cain, Franko followed it up with his own deeply philosophical and symbolistic poem, The Death of Cain. In it he continues and develops some of Byron's ideas, but in his own original manner. He called his poem a legend,' and he describes Cain's experiences after having killed his brother Abel. Cain wanders for many years, his only companion his faithful sister-wife, who loyally followed him after his expulsion from the gates of Eden. When she finally dies, Cain buries her and continues his wanderings. But her death has shaken him and he begins to feel an unconquerable desire to look once more on Paradise, the first home of the human race. After incredible sufferings, which symbolize man's search for the true meaning and object of life, he finally reaches a high mountain from which he can gaze down into the Garden of Eden afar off. There he beholds two trees, each guarded by a beast symbolically related to the trees. One is the Tree of Knowledge (reason, intellect); the other, the Tree of Life (emotion, feeling). He sees a swarm of shadowy human forms—a panorama of the future of the race—who crowd round the Tree of Knowledge, while very few seek the Tree of Life. At first he only sees the conflict between the thirst for knowledge and the longing for sensuous life. After long meditation, however, he comes to the conclusion that there need be no conflict between the two and that the solution for gaining happiness in life lies in harmonizing the two by love. Therefore, by love, man will find the true Paradise within himself. Filled with pity for his hapless descendants, he finds peace for his own hitherto divided soul, and by the discovery he is fired with enthusiasm to preach the new-found truth to those descendants who must be dwelling somewhere. In carrying out this mission he meets with death at the hands of Lamech, old and blind, who stands for the masses with their unreasoning prejudices. Such in brief is the outline of this beautiful poem which is adorned with a wealth of symbolism and allegory. By a few churchmen, Franko was harshly censured for presenting Cain other than he appears in the Bible, and some of the intelligentsia showed a remarkable obtuseness in grasping the aim of the poet. However, the passing years have brought with them an ever growing admiration for and appreciation of the work. The present selection begins when Cain, having surmounted all the difficulties of the search, is about to get a glimpse of the lost Paradise, the Garden of Eden.

            From THE DEATH OF CAIN
    At last one day, at eventide it was,
When Cain crawled to the very topmost peak—
A wretched skeleton, all scored with wounds,
Chilled to the bone itself and scarce alive,
He gathered up his ebbing strength and stood
Upon the icy top. The mighty blast
Blew through his locks, tore at his ragged garb,
And froze the blood within his veins. But Cain
Felt naught; all his remaining powers, his soul,
He centered in his eyes alone and sent
Their gaze into the distances remote,
Where far away in gleaming purple haze
Enveloped lay the 'garden of the Lord.

   And what did he behold therein?

                                        A waste!
Some solitary trees alone, whose leaves
Sad murmuring made, and glorious flowers
Which hung on bruised stems. Apart from these,
No living thing, and not a sound was heard.
But no! There in the midst upon the sward,
Two soaring trees, magnificent, superb!
Ah, Cain knew well those trees from stories that
He from his father heard. There on the right,
The Tree of Life. A thunderbolt from heaven
Had shattered its fair crown, had riven all
Its trunk in twain down to the very roots,
Yet had not quite destroyed its power to live!
It still showed growth, still spread its branches forth,
New seed forever casting on the ground.
The Tree of Knowledge was the other one,
But all around its foot a snake was coiled;
The fruits of knowledge, good and evil both,
Hung on its branches. Plenteous were those fruits,

Alluring to the eye and to the taste.
A gust of wind came and, like falling hail,
The fruits fell down, but when they touched the ground
They instantly turned into cinder ash,
Consumed by fires that blazed and then went out.

   Cain closer looked and in that rosy haze
He saw a swarm of light, transparent forms,
Like festal crowd. He peered—'twas people there!
By thousands, by the million, human folk,
Who, like a cloud of dust, gyrated, swayed,
And drove in endless, long drawn-out array.
They all around the Tree of Knowledge pressed,
They struggled, crowded, fell and rose again,
And fought to climb up high to seize the fruit,
Be it a single one, one apple from
The Tree of Knowledge. Streams of smoking blood
And seas of tears marked all the way—in vain!
Whoever set his teeth into a fruit,
It straightway turned to ashes on his lips,
First bursting into flame. And he who ate
Of that fell fruit became still more enraged,
Became more brutal to his fellow-man,
He murdered, butchered, put in chains the rest,
Tore down, in ruins laid what others built,
Put torch to it, destroyed with insane lust.

   The Tree of Life, however, stood and grieved;
No one seemed drawn to it. Upon it hung
No fruitage great or luscious to the sight;
'Twas hidden in the leaves among the thorns
So that none eager seemed to come and taste.
Yet sometimes one, who broke from out the crowd,
Approached the tree, and having tasted once
Its wondrous fruit, began to call unto

The rest to come and follow him—but like
A flock of crows they all swarmed down on him,
And beat and tore and mutilated him.
As though he had committed grievous sin.

   And lo! there were two beasts upon the sward.
And one beneath the Tree of Knowledge sat,
Enormous and immovable, austere.
It had a woman's face most beautiful
And body lionlike in form. Like moths
Attracted to a flame, the airy forms
Besieged the beast as though they questions asked.
Their faces bore the marks of grievous woe
And hellish pains, their shadowy figures shook.
With eyes and soul they hung upon the lips
Of that mute beast. It uttered not a sound,
Nor blinked an eye. Again a swarm pressed round
The Tree of Knowledge, where they battled, fought
To reach the fruit and eat—came back again
Unto the beast—but no response they found.
They seemed like autumn leaves pursued and blown
By hostile, persecuting blasts of wind.

   The other beast sat 'neath the Tree of Life.
Its wings were like a bat's, its tail seemed like
A peacock's, it had eagle's claws, its form
Like a chameleon's, and a serpent's tongue.
It ever altered color, changed its pose,
Enticed all to itself to lure them from
The Tree of Life. However, all who put
Their dearest hopes upon the beast and rushed
Headlong to reach it, bruised their feet on stones,
Were pierced by thorns, and stopped by deep ravines.
Then with uplifted hands, they wildly buried
Loud curses—-not against the changeful beast,

But always at the Tree of Life: "Behold
The arrant cheat, the chimera, the lie!"
Their grievous clamor smote the phantom air.

   Cain gazed upon the sight, and gazing, felt
As though a knife had cut him to the heart.
To him it seemed that all the grief, the pain,
The disillusionment of those poor folk
Were storming in his soul, squeezing his heart
As in a press, probing his inmost deeps.
He covered up his face in both his hands
And cried aloud: "Enough, enough, O God!
I wish no more to look upon this sight!"

   Then suddenly the sun went down, the dark
Fell like a pall and covered Paradise;
Yet still the anguish in Cain's soul remained,
A supernatural, keen pain. He groaned,
And on that frigid, ice-bound spot sank down
And lay there like a corpse.

                                        The biting cold
Awakened him. In heaven above, the sun
Beamed faintly down and shone with frosty smile,
Like hope that has been victimized, betrayed.
Where yesterday was Paradise, now hung
A thick, white mist which filled the atmosphere,
Like curtains from the sky. Cain did not grieve
That Paradise was hid. He only heard
An inner voice: "Away from here, away!"
And, like a thief who into some one's house
Has crept and then instead of booty rare
Finds that his hand has touched off an alarm—
So Cain sped downhill from the snowy peak,
And heavy thoughts, like vultures on their prey,
Swooped down on him and bore him company.

   And thus he thought: "Hereby doth God delude
Us all from Adam down! For certainly,
Without His knowledge and His will, these things
Could not have been! For who has torn in twain
Both life and knowledge and has made of them
Accursed enemies? Who else but He?
When side by side in Paradise He set
The Trees of Knowledge and of Life, before
He yet created Adam, did He not
Thereby appoint him and his seed to woe
And endless pain ? For if this knowledge be
A foe to life, why then should man desire
To know ? Why did not God make us like stones
Or foliage ? If we were not to taste
The fruits of knowledge, why then plant the Tree
And lend its fruits such an entrancing charm?
If God designed that we should fully live,
Why did He not command us first to eat
Fruit from the Tree of Life?"

   So, like the gull

Which screams above its young, and o'er the marsh
Low flying, strikes its breast against the reeds,
And then in flight wheels upwards to the sun,
And wails and screams the while it swoops and whirls—
Thus these consuming thoughts, devouring him,
Swept through Cain's mind in endless spirallings
With no solution found. He sat beside
A rock to rest, all wet with clammy sweat.
He let his eyelids fall and mentally
Recalled what he had seen. Once more his thoughts
A new turn took.

"What then can knowledge be?
Can it be really such a foe to life?
Yet so it seems—'Twas cursed knowledge that

Aroused within my heart a fury gainst
My brother; this made me a murderer,
Because he, without thinking, foolishly,
Did all he could to turn me back into
His childlike path from which my eager soul
Had long ago emerged. This knowledge leads
Posterity to what? To slaughter beasts
And birds, their fellows too, ransack the earth
To find out only what and whom to kill?
For them, the hard and cutting stones they find
But suited seem for knife or spear or dart.
For this they tear the horns from stag and buck,
The teeth from other beasts. The woman said
That they had found a certain kind of stone
Which in the fire dissolves as though 'twere wax,
And from it they have learned to make them knives
And spears and arrowheads more hard and sharp
Than those of flint. So here's where knowledge leads!
Blood, wounds, and death, these are its primal gifts!

   "What then does this desire for knowledge mean?
That we desire death? Nay, that's not true!
Was it that I the death of Abel wished?
I wanted but to live my way—no more.
Does hunter merely wish the wild beast's death?
He wants to live, he needs the meat, that's all!
He wants to live, so must defend himself,
Lest he should be devoured. And he who first
A bow and arrows made, was his desire
Death to inflict alone? No, he desired
To live, contrived himself an aid to life!
So knowledge then is not desire for death,
Nor enemy to life! It leads to life!

It stabilizes life! Here's its intent!
The arrow which strikes down the bird is but
An instrument. The knife which kills is not
Itself the murderer. Knowledge, therefore,
Is not to blame. 'Tis neither good nor bad;
It only doth become or good or bad
According to the manner of its use.
But as to him who uses it? The one
Who holds it in his hands as archer holds
The bow? What then of him?"

                                    Unused to thought,
The old man's mind, like sorely wounded bird,
Pulsated poignantly in darksome night,
Yet ne'er an answer to his questionings
In this direction found. His thoughts then took
Another turn.

            "What is the Tree of Life?

What secret power lies hidden in its fruit?
Doth it in truth give immortality?
It doth not seem to do so! Those who there
In Paradise plucked of its fruit and ate,
Fell underneath the multitude's wild rage
And savage blows—they perished, so it seemed.
But did that fruit give naught to them? Ah, yes!
They went to death as to a marriage feast,
They perished with a smile, with mortal wounds;
In pain, they blessed their executioners.
What can it mean? It means that death for them
No terrors held. The spring of life welled in
Their souls. What is this spring?

                                        "I saw as soon
As one plucked fruit from off the Tree of Life
And ate, he was transformed, a blessed peace

Possessed his soul, he raised his voice and called
To all to come to him; his bitterest foes
He kissed like dearest friends; he seemed to be
Like plaster lenitive of honey sweet
And pure which soothes and brings relief,
All penetrated by a holy sentiment,
That is; by feeling, all-embracing love—
Ah! That's the spring of life!"

                              Then Cain sprang up
Like startled animal, he looked all round
About him and he whispered as though dazed:
" Tis feeling, love! Can this be it, O God!
That in these two small words there may lie hid
A key to mysteries, to which no clue
The Tree of Knowledge gives, nor yet the beast
Beneath it tells? O wretched, wretched folk!
Why do ye strive and fight to reach that tree

Why do ye wait an answer from the beast?
Look into your own heart and it will teach
You more than ye shall learn from tree or beast!
'Tis feeling, love! And those we find within!
Their mighty embryo dwells in each heart
Alive—if it is cherished, it will spring
And wax and bloom. That is: we have the spring
Of life within ourselves and do not need
To rush to Paradise to find it there.
O Thou great God! Why must this needs be so?
Was it a sport of Thine, as fathers with
Their children play, when out of Paradise
Thou drovest man, yet in his heart didst plant
A paradise to show us Thy true way?"

   That moment Cain appeared as one transformed.
A strange and wondrous peace came flooding in
His soul. Forgotten were his sufferings!

The sun seemed warm, the earth grew radiant,
A rosy glow enveloped everything,
Like lovely maiden coming from the bath.
A moment's space, drunk with this happiness,
He was beside himself, he smote his breast,
He leaped, could not believe himself.

                                            "Great God!
Can this be true? E'en in this heart of mine,
Corrupt and hard, insensitive as stone,
Doth there still dwell to germinate and flower
That seed of Paradise; affection, love?
Ah yes! I feel it! After these long years
Of life beneath Thy curse, I feel myself
Reborn, renewed. As icy film dissolves
In warmth, so hatred melts within my heart.
I feel a yearning pity for mankind,
Poor, wretched, blinded folk. I love them in
Their wilful blindness and their grievous woe
With vain impulses towards the good. What dread
And powerful temptations Thou, O God,
Hast spread before them, and how weak and frail
The nature Thou has given them! How poor
The knowledge which they cherish as a spark
And try to blow to flame! What is it worth?
Mists and enigmas lie in wait for them,
While still the path which leads straight to the heart,
To sincere, selfish love—the second beast
Has fenced it in, that swift-winged chimera,
Which lures men on and turns the brightest truth
Into a dream, an empty fantasy.
They pass away, as withered leaves are blown
By autumn winds. They hunt and massacre
Each other far more fiercely than the beasts.
They burrow in the earth, strive heaven to reach,
They cross the seas—beyond them hope to find

A Paradise of peace and happiness.
They seek for what already in their hearts
In mutual love alone is to be found.

   "And must they still for ever wander thus ?
Can it be possible they nevermore
Shall find that direct path? Has this unslaked,
Imperious desire been given in vain?
No, no! They but desire to live! And all
Have been endowed with mind to make
Distinction between life and death. So if
To them were shown the pathway unto life,
They sure would never walk the way to death.
Then I, myself, will show this way to them!
I, their forebear, to them will truth unveil,
The truth attained by age-long agony.
I'll fold them to my heart and I will teach
Them mutual love, persuade them to forsake
Their enmities, shedding each other's blood.
I, first of murderers, will thus my sin
Redeem by turning man from violence.
My people, children, all posterity!
Give up your tears for a lost Paradise!
I bring you it! The wisdom that I bring
Shall help you to attain it for yourselves,
To recreate lost Eden in your hearts!"

   Such were Cain's thoughts, as with a hurried step,
His heart brimful of longing for his kind,
A love unquenchable in its deep warmth,
He went straight for the village. Now and then
He stumbled, had to stop to catch his breath,
But ever hastened on. His old heart throbbed
And fluttered like a bird's while to his mind
A throng of old, forgotten memories

Came rushing in, when from behind a hill,
A thin, blue cloud, he saw the smoke arise
From human habitations. Like a child,
He ran full speed right up the slope and stood
A long time on its crest to feast his eyes
Upon the sight he saw, a hundred times
More lovely than the glimpse of Paradise.

   A superb landscape! In the background lay
A mighty sheet of water, looking like
A mirror, blue and crystalline. Its shores,
Adorned with rich, luxuriant green, thrust out
Long fingers far away into its depths
And seemed to plash therein or to admire
Their beauty pictured in the mirror clear.
And, near at hand, the hills, with forests clothed,
Divided, like a mighty girdling wall,
This tranquil spot from all the world.

                                                And lo!
There in a quiet bay, some distance from
The shore, upon the water, like a flock
Of ducks, the village lay. Upon stout poles,
Plunged deep into the water's bed, there stood
Low cottages, wattled and thatched with reeds,
With jutting eaves, and all by bridges linked.
Smoke curled up from the roofs. The women fti
The cottages to one another called.
Light skiffs plied to and fro upon the lake,
And fishermen were dragging heavy nets;
They shouted, pulled their oars, whilst in the sun
Their barbed harpoons reflected back the light.
And, opposite the village, on the shore,
There stretched a grassy sward on which a swarm—
But not of honey-bees or bu2zing flies—
A swarm of village children played. The sun

Shone on their naked bodies, tanned and brown.
Their silvery voices rang, the light breeze blew
And tossed about their black and gleaming locks.
Some ran about full tilt while others played
Or skipped in circling dance. Another group
Were gathering shells along the water's edge,
And some there were who practiced with the bow
And tried their skill at targets, while the rest
Were gathered round an old greybeard who sat
Upon a stone and plucked a rude harp's strings,
The while he sang.

                           All this Cain saw as though
It were upon his palm; he wept and laughed
For sheerest joy. So long he had not seen
His kin! The sight of this, their peaceful life,
Their labors, their diversions and their play,
So marvellously beautiful appeared
To him that spell-bound on the spot he stood
And gazing with unwavering eye drank in
The sight that seemed earth's greatest happiness.
And then a cry arose among the boys:
One's bow string had been snapped. "Lamech, grandsire!
Repair my bow!" The old man ceased his song
And took the bow; he felt it with his hands
On every side, shaking his head in doubt
As he bent o'er the bow. At once it dawned
On Cain: the old man must be blind, of course!
And then the greybeard from his bosom took
A string, and having strung the bow anew,
He twanged it hard. The string gave out a tone
As clear as swallow's note. The old man thrilled:
"Eh, boys!" he cried and jumped up from his seat,
"Though I be old and blind to boot, I'm not
Afraid to try my archer's skill with you!"

    "Ho, ho! Grandfather Lamech takes the bow!"
The boys in chorus yelled. "Bravo, grandsire!
Let us now see if thou canst hit the mark!"

   "Where is the mark? Lead me to where ye boys
Have set it up!"

                        That moment, those who ran,
Perceived that Cain emerged and now drew near
Upon the grassy sward.

                                        "Ah, woe is us!
A stranger, bandit, savage from the woods!
Grandfather, help!"

                        And, as a flock of chicks
Flee from the hawk, they all ran unto him.
Old Lamech quaked.

                    "The savage, where is he?"
He asked.

            "He was behind the cedar there!
He's coming now towards us!"

                                Lamech spoke not
Another word, but laid an arrow new
Upon the bow—and shot.

                                "Stay, Lamech, stay!"
A voice rang out—"I am thy forebear, Cain!"
But as he spoke, the pointed arrow struck
And pierced him to the heart. Cain leaped up in
The air and then fell prone upon the earth,
The arrow head protruding from his back.
Convulsively his hands tore at the ground,
And then lay limp.

                        "Hurrah, grandsire Lamech!"
The boys cried out, but Lamech only shook
His head. Stock-still, as livid as a corpse,
He stood; he let the bow slip from his hand
Upon the ground.

        "What's wrong with thee, grandsire?"
Alarmed, the boys began to cry, but scarce
Above a whisper, Lamech said: "What did
That savage say?"

                            "He said that he was Cain,
Thy forebear."

                    "Cain! how could that ever be?
My forebear Cain! O children, this would be
A fearful mischance if it should be true!
Let's run to him! Where did he fall?"

                                                "He fell
Beside the cedar tree. He's lying still."
"Let's go to him, perhaps he's still alive.
O God, preserve us from this evil chance
That I should be the one to shed Cain's blood!"

   Then stumbling, trembling like a leaf,
Old Lamech forward moved and after him
There came the crowd of boys. Though blind, he went
Directly to the spot where he had shot.
Again he stumbled, almost fell across
The corpse of Cain.

                        " 'Tis he, 'tis he, indeed!"
Old Lamech cried in anguished tones. "We're lost,
My children, lost! And all our tribe as well,
For all eternity! Cain has been slain,
And by my hand! Run, call your fathers here!
Call hither everyone!"

                                And while the boy?
All ran to call their sires, old Lamech sat
Beside the corpse, and passed his hand across
Its face and touched the breast by arrow pierced,
And sang, as one might o'er a cradle sing,
An ancient song, with weak and quavering voice:

        "Adah, Zillah, hear my song!
        Hear God's voice against the wrong!
        Whoe'er of Lamech mock shall make,
        Revenge for that shall Lamech take,

            Not once, but seven times.
        But who the ban on Cain shall break,
        God will on such His vengeance slake,

            Not once, but seventy times."
        And without cease, like one insane, he sang
The song. Already all the village folk
Had gathered in alarm. They stood around
The murdered and the murderer aghast.
At last, as if awaking out of sleep,
Old Lamech raised his head, as though still dazed,
And said: "What, is there anyone with me?"

    "We all are here, grandsire," the crowd replied.

   "Then weep, my children! This is Cain, our sire!
Accursed of God because of fratricide,
And sevenfold the more accursed because
He neared our dwelling place and death received
From these cursed hands of mine. That death of his
Will bring God's judgment down on all of us,
And vengeance on your children and their seed.
Then weep, my children! Weep for your own selves!
And now this body, this accursed corpse,
Without a hand laid on it, we must hide
So that it may God's world no more defile,

So that the sun no more may gaze on it,
Lest any beast devouring it, go mad,
Or bird which claws it, may not thereby die.
Bring stones and cast them on him, like a dog,
Heap them upon him, cover all with sand,
And fence it all around with thorns, and let
His resting place forever be accursed!"

   Straightway with headlong haste, and savage cries,
The crowd began to hurl and pile up stones
Upon the corpse. But he lay like a child
In peaceful slumber lulled, with outstretched hands,
His face all luminous and calm, as though
Long after death, the glow of unquenched love
And joy unspeakable still lingered on.
But by degrees the corpse was lost to view
Beneath the stones. One stone cast purposely
Smashed in his face; the rest rained down and soon
He lay forever buried 'neath the cairn.
1889

from PRISON SONNETS

VISIONS

In prison dreadful visions visit me.
But are they merely visions, for they seem
More vivid and more solid than a dream,
So much of sleepless pain they cause tome?
The sorest pangs and tortures most refined
That ever man inflicted on his kind,

The martyred ones who bore them and who died—
These fill the prison cell where I abide.
They swarm about me, relay on relay:
The saintly heroes, brutal hirelings.
I see the martyrs' wounds as plain as day.

Those wounds resound like thunder in my soul:
"Thou art a part of all our sufferings,
Then let thy song our sufferings console!"

September 22,1889

            THE TWO GODDESSES
In sleep two goddesses appeared to me.
The face of one was glorious to see,
Her blue eyes seemed to speak of joys untold,
Her curling tresses had the glint of gold.
The other's face was partly veiled from sight,
But black eyes glittered like the lightning bright
'Gainst thunder clouds. Her gleaming raven hair
Made her like stormy summer morn appear.
"Weep not, O lonely one!" the lovely voice
Of that first goddess said: "Weep not, my child!
I bring a gift to make thy heart rejoice."
She handed me her gift, a sunflower fine;
The other drove a thorn deep in my flesh—
At once I knew that joy and pain were mine.

The first then said: "Behold me! I am love,
The sun of life which never sets above,
And like the flower which always seeks the sun,
So follow me until thy life be done.
Then shalt thou see the brighter side of things,
The world of beauty, all that therein sings.
The sordid and the vile shall scarce appear
As verities to vex thy eye and ear.
My gift will win thee many a noble heart,
The bravest and the worthiest of thy time.
In all that's good and great shalt thou have part.
Therefore, my child, guard well that which I give;
Make full place for it in thy heart and grow
In love for man as long as thou shalt live."

The other said: "Behold me! I am hate,
Sister to love, her ever-constant mate.
I hate oppression, inhumanity,
Contempt for others' rights and cruelty.
I hate that great injustice whereby men
Have driven their fellows back into the den
Of ignorance, where in its darkness grow
Servility, despair, all mankind's woe.
Man's heart is good, yet evil breeds its powers
In ignorance and in the social state
Which men erect, which also them devours.
Thou'ltfeel my sting until the time comes when
Thy heart shall burn with hate, for only he
Who fights 'gainst evil loves his fellow men.

September 18,1889

               THE DOVE

A hermit was sitting by his lonely cell,
Far off in the heart of the primeval woods
Where nothing was heard but the voices of birds,
And murmurs of leaves as the wind rose and fell.
When lo! he looked upwards and there he descried
His sole friend returning, a snowy white dove,
Which he for two days had been mourning as lost.
The dove fluttered down, came to rest at his feet.
The hermit at once to the dove, where it stood,
Extended his hand to caress it, but stopped—
Those snowy white wings bore the stain of men's blood.
The holy man gasped: "What a curse on all things
There must be, when even a dove doth return
From dwellings of men with their blood on its wings!"

September 13,1889

            A LEGEND OF PILATE

So Pilate yielded Christ to their demands,
And saying: "I'm not guilty, ye have erred!"
Took water and in public washed his hands,
And then went home as though naught had occurred.
But this took place: as from a serpent dread,
All those who saw him in wild panic fled—
His slaves, his servants, e'en his men of might,
His soldiers fierce, were daunted by the sight.
Up to the roof he went, his wife to seek
Who was awaiting him, but with a shriek,
She jumped, crashed in the street and lay there dead.
His little child lay sleeping in its bed;
He gazed, it woke, its eyes were terrified
By what it saw; it gasped and straightway died.

Thus God marked Pilate with eternal stain,
Cursed him in soul and body, live or dead;
Far worse than Cain, who having Abel slain,
Washed not his hands, but owned his guilt and fled.
For he who had delivered righteousness
To violence, acknowledged not his blame;
Therefore he was deprived of every claim
To human worth, to love or happiness.
His family all vanished without trace,
Great Caesar banished him from pride of place,
In his own city found he no abode.
Infirm and old he sat beside the road
And begged for scraps with sad and piteous moans
Till hostile hands slew him with clods and stones.

Then someone dragged his corpse off by the feet,
And in a pit to bury it they tried.
When morning came it lay again outside;
The grave would not the cursed thing secrete

And then they heaped a pile of wood well tarred,
And cast the corpse thereon and kindled flame.
The wood burned up—the corpse remained the same,
A pile of ashes, but the corpse unmarred.
A millstone then about his neck they tied,
And, binding hands and feet, into the sea
They cast the cursed body carefully.
The ropes, however, burst and came untied,
And now the corpse of Pilate, cursed but free,
Still floats somewhere upon the open sea.

September 9,1889

                    THE SONNET

In sonnets once did Dante and Petrarch,
Shakespeare, and Spenser, all of beauty sing.
In forms, like goblets of the highest mark,
They poured their love in phrases glittering.
The Germans forged those goblets into swords
When they expressed their patriotism stark.
Their "armored sonnets” like their corporals bark,
The lust of blood and steel is in their words.
But what have peasants with such swords to do?
We need new weapons for our coming strife.
Our people's swords must be reforged anew
Into a plough—to till the future scene,
A sickle—to reap harvests for new life,
A fork—to make Augean stables clean.

September 24,1889.

           from WITHERED LEAVES

THINE EYES

Thine eyes are like the deep, deep sea,

    Calm and peaceful, shining bright;
In their depths my old-time sorrow,
    Like a speck, sinks out of sight.

Thine eyes are like a deep, deep well,

    To the bottom crystal clear;
And like a star in heaven's depths
    Hope is shining there, my dear.

PRIDE

Ne'er pass by with scornful laugh,

    Or with scoffing boast!
What you laugh at now, perhaps,
    Holds what you need most.

Maybe that which you despise

    Might bring happiness;
Maybe what you now condemn

    Bears love's greatest bliss.

Maybe what with silvery laugh

    You may scorn today,
As a bitter, sad reproof
    Will in memory stay.

DESTINY

Ah, destiny! I utter no complaint,

    My steps with loving wisdom thou dost lead;
For if the earth a harvest shall bring forth,
   The plow must slay the flower with the weed.

The share relentless grinds deep through the sod,

    And with a sigh, the flower breathes out its life.
The heart breaks, and with lips in silence pursed,
    The soul swoons stricken in the mortal strife.

But thou dost follow and dost calmly cast

    Into the broken clods and seeming death
New seeds to germinate within the soil,
    And blow upon them thy life-giving breath.

NOON

Noon again.

The far-spreading unpeopled plain—
Wherever I turn, all around,
Not a sound!
Of man not a trace do I see,
Only grass like a billowy sea,
Pricked with flowers, deep green, changing shades,
And grasshoppers flit through its blades.

Without cease,

'Cross the river, a mirror of peace,
Up to the mountains' blue haze
Does my gaze

Move on till it sinks in the calm.
Perfumes drug my senses like balm,
The warmth lulls my soul in repose
Till I doze.

But listen!

Can that be a weeping I hear ?
Yet rather a sigh it resembles,
It trembles.

Perhaps it is but my own pain,
My sick heart that's throbbing again.
Ah, no! From somewhere on the air
The notes of a pipe reach my ear.

And then

In sweet music my heart joined once more,
It wept quiet tears while the pipe bore
It along.

Thee, my bright star, it brought back once more;
And to the pipe which played an old air,
Deep in my heart, sweet, debonair,
Came my song.

THE PLANE TREE'S GREEN

The plane tree's green, the plane tree's green,

    The willow's greener still;
Of all the maids, 'tis she alone
    My eye and heart can fill.

The rose is red, the rose is red,

    The loveliest flower of all;
The rose is naught, the rose is naught
    When I her face recall.

The golden stars in heaven's deeps
    Blink in the summer sky;
There's not a star, above, below,
    Can match her brilliant eye.

Sonorous bells and silvery chimes
    With music charm the air;
The melody of her sweet voice
    Brings heaven very near.

The heaving ocean, mighty sea,

    Whose marge no eye can see;
But in my heart is greater woe,

   She's lost for aye to me.

THE CRANBERRY

"Cranberry crimson, why dost thou bendiow?

    Why dost thou bend low?
Lov'st thou not the light, the sun dost not know,
    The sun dost not know ?

"Art thou not afraid for thy buds' tender hue?

    Thy buds' tender hue?

The storm dost thou fear, a bolt from the blue?
    A bolt from the blue?"

"My buds they are strong, no storms me affright,

    No storms me affright;
The sun is my friend, I'd bathe in his light,
    I'd bathe in his light.

"Upwards to grow I've no strength to spend,

    I've no strength to spend;
Therefore my branches I downwards must bend,
   I downwards must bend.

"I cannot grow straight, for lo, thou hast spread,

    O oak, thou hast spread
Above me like cloud thy shade overhead,
    Thy shade overhead."

THE LITTLE DOVE

Ah, woe is me, alas!

    I ache with bitter pain.
I let a little dove escape,
    Which I can't catch again.

While she was nigh at hand

    I never her allured,
But now I've lost her, in my heart
    There's pain that can't be cured.

While she was nigh at hand,

    I never gave it thought
That she so swiftly might depart
    Where she could not be sought.

Yet when she flew away,

    Came back no more to rest,
She'd carried with her in her flight
    The heart from out my breast.

She carried off my dreams,

    My hopes of happy hours,
As spring, departing, takes with her
    The sweetest-smelling flowers.

THE LITTLE PATHWAY

Here is the little pathway

    The maiden went along,
Who took from out my bosom
    Its joyous, happy song.

Lo, this is where she sauntered,

    Rejoicing as she went,
For with another lover
    She talked in sweet content.

I followed in her footsteps,
    Half-crazy in my mind,
And with my tears I watered
    The dust she left behind.

Then, like a supple cornstalk
    Which sways upon the air,
I glimpsed her for a moment,
    As she was walking there.

And, as the diver fishes

    The pearls from ocean's bed,
I hastily stole forward
    And caught the words she said.

Alas! that little pathway,

    It twists and winds along,
And twisted are my heartstrings,
    Discords instead of song.

Deep down within my bosom
    A dreary burden lay,
And life had lost all meaning
    For me on that sad day.

All that I felt most precious,

    The dearest thing of all,
On which my heart I nourished,
    Was gone beyond recall. . . .

The thing which kept me joyous,

    The thing which made me gay . . .
Oh, may that cursed pathway
    Be swallowed up for aye!

AT THY WINDOW

If at thy window thou shouldst chance to hear at night

    The sound of someone weeping, sobbing deep,
Oh, be not thou alarmed, do not rise up, my love.
    To see what's there. Sleep on, beloved, sleep!

'Twill be no orphan child who wails a mother lost,

    Nor hungry beggar asking charity,
But my lorn soul 'twill be, with longings unconsoled,
    The love I bear thee, weeping bitterly.

THE GILLYFLOWER

Though thou as flower wilt not win renown,
O modest, sweetly-smelling gillyflower,
Though thou in crowded life but seernst to drown
In dulling routine, languid, stagnant, sour,
Yet thou shalt always be to me a crown
Of loveliness to cheer a lonely hour.
A flower that's never known or frost or heat,
An ideal bright—because so far, and sweet.
I'll bear thee in my heart my whole life long,
All steeped in virgin charms of freshness sweet;
Thy beauty I'll transfuse into a song
Of sparkling eyes which radiate joy complete,
Of coral lips which sing both smooth and strong.
Just as a golden fly in amber set,
In quiet beauty there for aye doth shine,
So shalt thou live in this same song of mine.

WANING POWERS

Like ox 'neath the yoke, and day after day,

    I drag on my plough towards the finish
No longer with power any flame to emit
    From fires that now surely diminish.

The heart's youthful dreams now fade fast away,

    The well-spring of fantasy's seeping;
My words have become both arid and dry,
    'Tis time for the harvest's scant reaping.

Scant harvest! It may be my seed stock was poor,

    Too little and sown without wisdom.
But time would not wait. The cold rains come on,
    The stars prophesy a bleak autumn.

HYMN TO BUDDHA

All hail, Buddha, to thee!

    The light of our dark life!
Thou miracle, thou world
    Of peace in furious strife!

Majestic, placid, still,

    Thou didst eradicate
The allurement of a throne,
    The powers of love and hate.

Once king, as beggar, thou,

    Great athlete of the soul,
Dost light a hemisphere
    With thy bright aureole.

Thou didst a throne forsake

    Thy soul to seek and find.
Thou didst all fetters break
    To liberate man's mind.

Thou didst long years of pain

    Upon thyself impose
To find the bitter root
    Of all our human woes.

Thou foundest that the root

    Concealed in man's heart lies,
Where passion has its springs,
    Whence hopes delusive rise,

Where wrath spurts into flame,

    Where love begins to call,
Where error weaves the net
    To hold the soul in thrall,

And where the world lays hold

    To plunge it into strife,
And draw it in Sansara,
    The frantic whirl of life.

But thou from Passion's hell

    Wert able man to save,
Not with vain hopes delude
    Of bliss beyond the grave.

Naught is immortal save

    Our bodies, for we know
No atom e'er decays,
    Though ages come and go.

But that which in man throbs,

    And burns, and weeps, and cries,
Perceives and knows, creates,
    That longs, exults, and flies—

That dies out like a spark,

    As waves their surging cease,
To sink into Nirvana
    And find eternal peace.

All hail, Buddha! So say

    All we who worship thee,
Who struggle in the toils
    Of Passion's misery.

O Buddha! I greet thee,

    Who am about to leap
From out Sansara's whirl

    Into Nirvana's sleep.
1897